#tw mild death

[madbunsy]

MLMSG NEW CHAPTER

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51170767/chapters/158465491

I am back after so long very long

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Stanley wasn't sure if he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't all too sure if he was supposed to be alive, either.

He was... somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but it didn't matter. Nothing really seemed to matter all that much in this strange place. Compared to the unfathomable expanse of nothingness that surrounded him, everything else practically paled in comparison. Still, Stanley felt as though this all-consuming abyss that kept him prisoner within its dark maw deserved a name; at the very least, a title. Yet, it didn't feel right to call this place anything. Death too egregious, and Life too extroadinary; either terms felt far too extreme to his liking. There was nothing particularly hideous nor amazing about where he was. He was simply somewhere in-between.

For as long as he could remember, Stanley's world was just that. This somewhere; this in-between of not quite Death and not quite Life. This empty, greedy abyss that seemed to swallow him whole, stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. There was no sky, no ground, no anything; only the daunting dakness engulfing his every senses and leaving him horribly, hopelessly blank.

That wasn't all there was to it, however. This... somewhere, it was more than just a lifeless void.

Stanley wasn't sure if he could find the right words to properly describe it. He didn't think he could ever come to fully understand the feeling himself, but. Somehow, the abyss felt... hungry. Unimaginably, insatiably, and unbearably hungry.

The hunger seemed to eat away at Stanley, tearing off pieces of him chunk by chunk, piece by piece. With every blink, another part of himself seemed to disappear into the ravenous darkness around him. The void never took much at once, only pieces; nigh imperceptible impossibly tiny crumbs of what made him- so little that they should have hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. But Stanley noticed. He noticed every particle, every atom that was taken away from him by this greedy hunger. The darkness was eating him; digesting him.

It was as though hunger was all that mattered in this somewhere, this stomach; the world itself a single immense digestive system. He could practically feel the void's biting hunger pangs reverberate through his bones. It was so hungry, so hungry.

The dark ate him slowly, ripping him apart from inside out and outside in. It took his flesh first; stealing away the muscles and fat beneath the skin, leaving behind nothing but meager skin stretched over bone. Sometimes, not even his bones were given the luxury of being spared, and he would find himself with an odd dip in his side where the abyss had taken a rib or two; or with half his face lopsidedly sagging into a limp mess with no muscles, fat, nor eye socket to properly hold up the skin of his face onto his skull.

The hunger took without mercy, without order nor preference. It ate anything, everything, as long it helped abate the forever stabbing, starving desperation that painfully twisted and tore at its non-existent stomach. It never really was satisfied.

It got worse when it started eating his memories.

Stanley despised the thought of losing more of himself than simply his physical body to this greedy void. However, what terrified him far more than the notion that this insatiable hunger could breach even his mind, was the fact that he couldn't remember which memories it took.

Stanley couldn't remember much; before the darkness; before the endless hunger. He liked to imagine, though, of what he could have been before. He'd probably had a warm home, warmer than the cold, cold abyss. He'd probably had a loving family. Probably. He couldn't remember.

Everything turned unsure when his own mind started failing on him. Stanley tried to cling to what little he knew. He had his name held tight in his iron clad grip, repeating it to himself like a mantra. He would try and keep track of time, but it was all in vain. Time didn't seem to matter in the face of hunger. Perhaps it had been years since Stanley's arrival; hundred, maybe even thousands. Or, perhaps it had only been a few days, weeks, months. Stan once had a fleeting, terrifying thought that maybe Time too was already victim to the darkness' insatiable hunger.

However, as much as Stan could forget his past, his identity, and life, perhaps the most tragic loss to him greater than anything else was the memory of Him.

He was important to Stanley. He couldn't remember why, but he was. There was nothing of Him left in his memories. No face, no name; not even why He mattered to him in the first place. All he knew was that the loss of Him had struck him with such profound heartache and sorrow that it had left him weeping helplessly for so long, unable to move and rooted in one spot for days, weeks, years. He couldn't remember how long.

Stan was only snapped out of his comatose stupor by His hand.

It was all that was left of Him, other than the knowledge of His past existence. It was warm, a glowing red hand that pulsed almost reassuringly within Stanley's own, its long six digits curled tightly and firmly around his hand, never once faltering in its grip. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it. He's had it clutched within his own cold, rough palms like a lifeline since forever; every step he took and every move he made done hand in hand with Him.

Desperately, frantically, he held onto His hand, never once letting it go. Losing the hand meant losing Him for good, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to cope with the consequences of that all alone.

However, ocasionally, even the the comforting presence of His hand was unable to keep his mind anchroed for too long, and Stanley would lose track of his memories. Plagued by odd laspes of utter emptiness, Stanley would suddenly forget. His own name, his face, everything he knew and remembered would slip withut warning between his fingers like sand; streaming down, down, down and getting lost in the gaping mouth of the void below him. He would wander aimlessly with no real destination in mind, simply roaming somwhere, anywhere.

He would come across all sorts of sights during these odd episodes of his. He'd crossed paths with hundreds upon thousands of partically decomposed remnants of once living, breathing organisms; All of them endeniably, for the lack of better words: dead. He'd walked past entire forests; enormous clusters of tall pine trees completely uprooted and floating in a massive mass of rotting leaves and half digested bark. He'd walked past countless animals, big and small, all in various stages of digestion. Animals always seemed to rot away faster than anything else, and Stanley wasn't so sure what that meant for him.

Once, Stan had somehow even found his way before the destroyed remains of a universe.

It was dead. There was no other way to describe the state it was in. He hadn't even known it was possible for entire universes to simply... die. Stolen away from its rightful place in the starry night sky.

The scene was everything he'd thought impossible to take place in this all-consuming abyss. It was extroadinary. A veritable bursting cacophany of light and heat. It was as though the universe's explosion had been paused at just the right moment, frozen in time at the very moment of its heat death. Its particles flickered, undulating softly and shifting ever so slightly like looking through a warped window. If Stanley stood still enough, and listened closely, he thought he could even hear the softest sound of the shattered screams of the broken remains of the universe ringing silently in the air. It was as ethereal as it was haunting.

The thought of the unimaginable power required to be able annihilate entire universes just like that... It scared Stan.

Stanley may not be sure of anything anymore, but as he watched the debris swirl gently in the blinding epicenter of the shattered universe from afar, he knew with a certainty that he didn't think he possessed anymore, that he did not belong here.

Part 1/2

[sad-leon]

That feeling when the passage of time clings to you and drags you down with it

Inspired by @remedyturtles's Death Wish fic that I've been rereading <3

KoFi || Patreon

[pincushionx]

A very rough comic continuation of this

Context, this is a late redemption au of Hunter where certain canon events don’t happen. This is shortly after Belos death. Hunter has his possession scars because it played out in a much different way. Sadly this also means very slow burn pittwins siblings :(

[hdra77]

When you're close to me ♡

i think i love this ship guys what do you think/silly

Jevin design belongs to my beloved @fishgrinder 💗

[lilacxquartz]

a bump in the middle of the night

oc male!demon × human female!reader

w.c: 1.1k

plot: a potential intruder sets midnight completely off and you learn just how dangerous he can truly be.

other works in this series.

—

The area I lived in was once decent, but now it was struggling.

A dwindling economy does that to a place. Most businesses that were once thriving were forced to close and those who could afford to leave, did just that.

Others stayed but they also struggled. I otherwise had the luxury of this apartment belonging to my grandparents so the mortgage was long settled, leaving me behind with only the regular bills to pay.

Most of the people that lived here did their best to just get by though, so for the most part it was safe.

But then the break-ins started to happen more often.

So maybe it was a blessing that I had a literal live-in demon cohabiting with me.

Keeping an eye on the things that went bump in the middle of the night.

Not that I could trust it. I still couldn’t bring myself to do so. Not one bit.

I woke up earlier during the night to a strange sound, though. I was a lighter sleeper than Midnight and would at oftentimes wake up to subtle sounds. This was initially annoying to me, but I quickly learned that as long as Midnight remained asleep, then there was nothing ever to worry about—so I always just dozed off again.

It was something about instincts, he said. If he’s awake during the night along with me, then that’s when I can feel worried.

I woke up to a noise just now, either way.

My eyes parted slowly, feeling the curl of his tail that looped around my legs. I could sense his breathing change and as he almost jolted awake. I shuddered at the sensation of his stare intensify at the back of my head as his body stretched, pulling me closer towards his chest.

Tonight, his instincts were on high alert.

“Quiet,” he whispered, noticing that I was awake too.

My voice remained hushed as I turned to face him, “Is someone else in here…?”

“Not yet,” Midnight replied, slowly bringing himself up to a sitting position, reluctantly letting go of me, “stay in bed.”

Something dangerous stirred within his presence and I harboured more fear for Midnight than the prospect of an actual intruder. It was as though his words were laced in something much more sinister, like a threat.

When the lock to the front door finally gave in, I could feel a change in the atmosphere almost right away. Midnight kept me grounded in bed by pressing his one arm behind him, locking me into place against the mattress. The way that he seemed to be guarding me felt territorial once again.

I remained deathly quiet as I felt the air continue to grow heavier; some type of droning sound playing from Midnight’s lips. His body reacted on instinct, almost, as his head jerked in slight movements—as though he was tracking something, or someone.

The hum slowly phased into a low growl, filling up the space with an unsettling aura that wafted through the confines of my home.

It was as though Midnight was making his presence known to send a warning.

People were reckless though. That’s what I started to understand after just a couple of weeks with him. Humans acted unpredictably, especially if influenced by fear.

So, perhaps he was just trying to strike enough unease into this person into leaving, but this didn’t seem to be the outcome just yet.

Midnight was gentle with me up until this very moment. He spent the last couple of weeks trying to gain my trust but he seemed to have a different priority right now. The way he seemed so tense during his investigation was quite jarring, especially now that he seemed hostile. Malicious, even.

Closer to an actual demon than ever before.

I felt afraid.

Noticing this, his demeanour softened for a moment, although it felt forced. He turned to face me, sensing my unease.

Cupping my face into his palms, he leaned in with a sedating kiss, “I’ll be right back.”

While his tone seemed calmer and while his touch bordered feather light, it was that same type of kiss that dulled my senses like all of those other times before.

Usually it was used as a nightcap for when I couldn’t get to sleep or for the earlier days when I couldn’t bring myself to relax within his company. However, it seemed to be for something else tonight.

Something seemed off.

His body language was different—almost erratic.

I drifted off into a fabricated sleep and phased on and off back into lucidity against my control. Certain sounds played in my mind, like screaming and low drawn out whines. Like bones waning and cracking. Faint imagery burnt into my mind of bloodied flesh and torn skin.

Under any other circumstance, I would have shaken that off as a vivid nightmare but it felt all too different this time.

Especially since the atmosphere since then felt even heavier than before and to an extent, almost suffocating.

My breath locked in my throat as I felt an anchoring presence settle over me, sinking me further into the mattress. I writhed just a little bit as my body tried to readjust into comfort, but I couldn’t move much at all.

I knew Midnight was on top of me, that much was clear.

I opened up my eyes once again, feeling the sedative finally fade. It was almost a jarring sensation, as if the ease washed away along with it. The air continued to thicken but now tinted with the smell of copper, my senses recoiling as something warm dripped from his lips and onto mine.

(Blood…?)

I couldn’t see him too clearly, but from the brief moments that the moonlight shone through the blinds—I could see it. He looked feral, almost as if he was drunk on something.

My breathing remained shallow as I felt some sort of innate fear settle deep within my core. I was starting to slowly understand why I felt so terrified in this very moment—my eyes widening in panicked realisation. I finally got it. My breath caught in my throat again as the dream-like stupor finally faded away, replacing itself with striking lucidity instead.

Midnight was savouring the taste of something.

Or someone.

Yet, despite catching onto my suspicion, he tried to brush away my almost overwhelming concern.

“Please don’t worry,” he cooed, that same soft tone returning as he finally settled, the one that carried the same facade as before, “go back to sleep, it will be okay.”

“But-“

“—the danger is gone, I promise,” Midnight purred as he stroked my cheeks with his fingers, leaning in closer as he licked the dried blood off of my lips, “in fact, the intruder isn’t just dealt with, he’s…”

“You didn’t?” I asked, finally able to say something. My voice sounded hoarse, almost dry.

Midnight simply smiled, his pointed teeth momentarily illuminated by the passing moonlight. He wasn’t going to elaborate even if he did suspect you knew. Instead, he fed you a cryptic response, sealed with yet another soothing kiss.

“Let’s just say that… he’s gone for good.”

[saturnisscreaming]

Grave dirt doesn't taste the way you think it does. Its all the sweeter upon crawling out of your own grave.

[sleep-deprived-mf]

"𝙽𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎…"

reblogs > likes

[azzayofchaos]

I heard we were leaning into the “Woolvs of Wool Street” bit, and to also make it weird.

This was specifically inspired by @theminecraftbee ‘s post!

(Maybe a bit risky tagging you! Tell me if you want me to remove it!)

[tanatola]

forget-me-not

[theforgottencrow]

{ Killermare week Day Four }

{CW : Killermare Angst, Animal death, Mild blood}

”Let that be a reminder to where your true priorities should lie, Killer.” -NM

——————————————————————— I COULDNT BARE TO MAKE THE ART ACTUALLY LOOK GOOD OUT OF PURE DESPAIR SO IGNORE HOW BAD IT LOOKS-

———————————————————————Promts/Killermare week started by @voidzphere, and @funtime29nm

———————————————————————

IK IM LATE AND IK I ONLY CHOSE TO DO DAY FOUR HUSH LET ME SOB IN PEACE

(srry if i offended you guys w/ what i decided to do with the prompt TvT)

[vyctorianbyron]

Covid is still killing more Americans than all opioids combined, each week (2024). We are supposed to "go back to normal" and "don't worry about Covid", despite it having a higher death toll on average. Unlike opioid drugs, Covid can effect literally anyone.

Even the vaccinated are still at some risk of infection, though the new updated shots are much better at preventing breakthrough infections. Why so many in government and the media are willing to ignore the reality of Covid when it's still worse than the opioid crisis is beyond me.

[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

You Betrayed Me

Tom Riddle II X Fem OC/Reader

Word Count: 1832

Warnings: Mild Language, Violence, Death, Angst, Sad, Heartbreaking/Happy ending, Baby, etc.

Prompt: After graduating from Hogwarts, Tom begins to go down a dark and angry path. His love for you is questionable, however your main focus is your shared son, Mattheo...

“How is our future dark lord?” Tom asks, stepping into Mattheo’s nursery.

Things have been rocky between the two of us since we graduated from Hogwarts. He was unhappy with his current job and now was on an angry, dark path. I was fine with letting him do his own thing, however I draw the line when it comes to my son.

“Stop calling him that, Tom. He is a baby and even when he is older, he won’t be apart of this.” I say seriously as I continue to rock Mattheo.

“He is my heir, Y/N. He will be a dark lord.” He says seriously.

“What has happened to you? You use to be the man I loved, but now your just a shell of the man I once knew.” I say in disbelief.

“I’m the same man you married.Your just being overdramatic.” He says, rolling his eyes.

“Just go.” I snap.

“Do not talk to me that way.” He yells, pulling his wand out and pointing at me.

Mattheo instantly starts to wail, however I couldn’t take my eyes away from Tom. His eyes that once shone with love and adoration for me, now held hate and a coldness to them. 

“You would actually kill me.” I say, still in shock.

“I am the dark lord! I will not tolerate your disrespect! You are with me or you are against me!” He shouts.

I look down at the son we share who was screaming louder. I gently shush him, rocking him slightly. This boy needed me. Tom wouldn’t give him the love and care he needed in this world. Tom would do what was necessary to keep him alive while forcing him to do whatever he pleases. 

“I will stand by you, but I do not want to be your wife no more.” I say, turning to place Mattheo in his crib.

He was calm now, looking around curiously. He didn’t look as happy as he did before Tom came into the room. I frown, gently caressing his cheek before I lift him enough to place a kiss on his head.

“Look at me.” Tom seethes.

“I love you, Mattheo. So much. Mommy is always going to be here for you, sweet boy. Get some sleep.” I murmur, gently caressing his cheek before I turn to Tom.

“You have betrayed me. Even my own wife can’t stand by me.” He says, tears welling in his eyes as he grips his wand tighter.

My own eyes water as I know what is going to happen before it happens. I didn’t even have a way to defend myself. My wand was put away in my room. 

“Tom, you don’t have to do this. Mattheo needs his mother. Please.” I plead.

“Avada Kedavra!” He shouts.

It all happened so fast, the green light filling the room. I stood and looked down at the floor where my body lied before looking at Tom. He was staring down at my body before collapsing to the floor as he sobs. He crawls towards my body, cupping my cheek.

“Wake up…wake up, Y/N! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I lost my temper! I’m sorry!” He cries. 

Mattheo starts to wail and I look over to see him standing in his crib, grasping the bars as he stared at me…not my body, me.

“Oh sweet boy. It’s okay. Mommy will always be here, watching and protecting you. Don’t you ever forget that mommy loves you.” I murmur as I step forward and stroke his cheek.

He quiets, looking up at me as he giggles and reaches up.

“Mattheo, what are you doing?” Tom mutters, standing at the end of the crib.

“Mama!” Mattheo cries again as he reaches up.

Tom looks at where I’m standing now, looking confused and lost before looking at Mattheo who was still looking up at me. I push a curl out of his eyes, smiling softly at him.

“Y/N…” Tom mumbles. 

“Mattheo! Choose a side! Just know your mother died choosing the wrong side!” Tom shouts. 

I frown, watching Mattheo. Choose his side. Choose it. 

“Mattheo! Please!” Narcissa pleads.

I smile sadly, she has protected him and raised him. I knew I could always rely on her.

“Issa…” Mattheo pleads.

“Your mother would want you to live.” She says.

“Choose a side son!” He shouts.

“I choose mom’s side!” He shouts back.

My eyes widen before I lunge forward in front of him as the spell casts. Everyone around us gasps including Tom and I knew they could see me. I looked at my hand to see it was translucent. It was like how ghosts in the stories were described.

“Mom.” Mattheo whispers. 

I turned around and saw that he was looking at me in surprise.

“My sweet boy.” I whisper, reaching out to caress his cheek.

He leans into my touch, a tear falling down his cheek. I smile softly at him.

“I miss you so much.” He says.

“I’m always with you, sweet boy. And I will always love you and care for you. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.” I murmur. 

“Y/N?” Tom finally says.

I turn and face him, the smile falling from my face.

“You have lost your mind, Tom. I hoped and prayed that you would stop this reckless path of yours, especially after seeing the way you fell apart after you killed me. But, you’ve lost it. He is our son. I told you that I never wanted him a part of this dark and angry path you’ve paved for yourself. I wanted him to make his own choices. Even if he decided he wanted to follow in your footsteps, I never would let him.” I say.

“Mattheo, you will die just as an agonizing death as your mother.” He snaps and I see that Mattheo was trying to get closer to Narcissa that was sneaking off.

I nod at her and dive in front of Mattheo, taking her wand and pointing it at him. Narcissa’s hushed hurries to both Mattheo and her son, Draco were all I could hear. 

“Y/N, move.” He warns.

“Never.” I say.

“You chose the wrong side once, don’t tell me you're doing it again.” He says.

“I’m willing to sacrifice my life, even as a spirit.” I say, my eyes watering.

If I didn’t play my cards out right, Tom would remember some of the old legends about the spirit of a wizard. As a pureblood, magic ran through me indefinitely…even dead. It is what allows me to show myself briefly, however the killing curse triggered something to make me be able to show myself like I was now. This wasn’t brief…it wasn’t temporary…this was permanent. 

Tom seemed to be calculating what to do. He was trying to figure out how to get rid of me once and for all. I couldn’t let him do that. Mattheo has me and he is going to need me. He needs to be protected from Tom. Tom still held a place in my heart even after everything. I find myself reminiscing the love we use to both share, before it was just me.

“How are you doing this?” He asks.

“A mothers love is something no one can explain. I knew once I found out I was pregnant with Mattheo, that I’d die for him. He became my world in a heartbeat and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I say. 

“Mom!” Mattheo shouts.

I glance over to see him throwing something my way. My wand. I throw Narcissa’s back and catch mine, quickly mouthing “I love you” to Mattheo. I turn back to Tom, gripping my wand tighter.

“Expelliarmus!” We shout.

A green stream of magic shoots out of his wand as a blinding white shoots out of mine. I step forward, gripping my wand tighter as my magic starts to overpower his. 

“You are not more powerful than me, do you not forget how you died.” He seethes.

“Don’t forget you played an unfair game. My wand was in the other room. Otherwise, I’m sure you’d be the one dead.” I seethe back, my eyes watching a young boy destroy the last horcrux: Nagini.

His magic begins to overpower mine and I focus on what I’m doing this for. Mattheo’s life. I focus on the anger I had for Tom taking away my ability to raise Mattheo. I focus on the anger of Tom killing me in front of Mattheo. I focus on my pain of loving and hating Tom Riddle. 

My magic overpowers him, sending his wand flying out of his hand. I catch his wand, glaring at Tom who looks at his hand that starts to turn to ash.

“It’s over Tom.” I say.

“I’ll be back.” He says.

I step forward until I stand in front of him and I grab his face as I look down at him with a blank look.

“No, you won’t. The dark magic you’ve used and using horcruxes for yourself, has ruined your chance of ever being a spirit. You're going straight to hell, Tom.” I whisper.

“And you say you loved me.” He says.

“I don’t love this version of you. I love the Tom Riddle I was with when we attended Hogwarts. That is the Tom Riddle I am in love with.” I say, stepping back. 

I watch as the rest of him turns to ash, looking down at the wand I held. My eyebrows furrow, noticing this wasn’t his wand. This was the Elder Wand. I turn and walk towards Professor McGonagall.

“I believe this goes to you.” I say.

“You always were…have been an incredible woman, Y/N. Go be with Mattheo…and then come back and let's talk about you staying here at Hogwarts.” She says.

I smile, before stepping away and turning to see that Mattheo was already watching me. He breaks into a sprint and I smile, opening my arms up and wrapping him in a tight hug. We sway back and forth, the both of us hugging each other like it was going to be our last time.

“I didn’t realize you were this tall. It’s different when I’m standing here with you and not off to the side.” I whisper.

“Please tell me you aren’t leaving me.” He pleads quietly.

“I’ll probably be joining Moaning Myrtle and the others here at Hogwarts. At least until I move on…but I’m not going to be moving on for a long while.” I say.

“Are you unhappy you can’t move on?” He asks quietly.

“No, no of course not, sweet boy. I’m here with you and that is all I could ever want. The day I move on is the day that you join me on this side…the spirit side. However, I hope that won’t be for a really long time. I hope to see you do many great things, Mattheo.” I say, smiling softly at him.

[squirrelpatties]

Some fucking nonsense

[birinboom]

Post-Apocalyptic Shopkeep Bakugou

Shopkeep Bakugou, linguist reader Post-apocalyptic au, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mild swearing, fluffy ending 💌 1,205 words

This came from me being tired and skimming a prompt for another piece - coffee shop/bookstore au or dystopia au with Bakugou - and my eepy brain turning it into ‘dystopian bookstore Bakugou’. I ended up imagining less of a bookstore per se, and more of a shop from a dystopian/post-apocalyptic game where you’d buy weapon upgrades, treasure maps, etc from an older and incredibly tired Bakugou.

WARNING! This is quite a bit darker than what I usually write, it contains mentions of blood and death (the reader recalling seeing someone being shot). 

Making the trek across the dried-up seabed was always a challenge, even as civilization slowly expanded, creeping closer and closer to the old shipwreck. You adjusted the piece of fabric you’d tied over your nose and mouth; the dust kicked up with every step was hazardous if inhaled. It would cut your lungs to shreds - or so you’d heard. You didn’t want to take any chances.

Finally you spotted the wreck, tucked into a dip in the ocean floor. As always, you took a short detour to marvel at the bones jutting from the ground close to the wreckage. You always liked to imagine that this giant creature was the one to take down the ship, tearing it to pieces before letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean. Maybe it died from its wounds? Maybe it had cut itself on the metal of the hull and bled to death? Or - much more likely - the creature was a victim of the ocean drying up, completely unrelated to the wreckage. You shrugged, reaching out to touch the sun-bleached bones. It didn’t matter what the truth was. You’d never find out anyway, and the idea of a battle between ship and sea monster was fun. 

Moving on, you started the climb onto the shipwreck, careful to not cut yourself on the rusty metal. Your gaze crept up to the bow of the ship where the name had once been painted. It had bleached enough over the centuries that it was almost invisible, all you could read was ‘MS Ba--’ Maybe that was why he’d picked this place. Far enough from civilization that only serious buyers would make the trek. You had started to think of the wreckage as the ‘MS Bakugou.’ Another thing to amuse yourself with. And amusement was exactly why you’d come.

The air cooled around you as you moved deeper into the wreck. Finally, you reached your destination, a door with the words ‘stay the fuck away!’ painted on it. Ignoring the warning, you began spinning the handle, your labored breath almost drowning out the muted sounds of the latches clicking into place on the opposite side of the door. Then, you heaved the door open, instantly raising your hands as the door clanged against the wall. 

A battle-hardened crimson gaze bore into you over the barrel of a shotgun. You stood still, knowing well that moving before he’d recognized you might cause him to pull the trigger. You’d seen it happen when some idiot decided to attempt to raid the wreck while you’d been present. His rattling breath still haunted your dreams. 

“It’s just me,” you said softly.

“You again?” His voice had a tinge of irritation, but he lowered the gun.

You entered, carefully stepping over the tall threshold, lest you trip like you did on your very first visit.

“What do you want this time?” Bakugou’s voice was tired. You couldn’t remember when his tone had changed from the snark it’d had that first time; when the hard edge had appeared. But you supposed that it happened to everybody over time.

Placing your hands behind your back, you looked around the room, inspecting the shelves.

“You got anything new?”

Bakugou gestured behind him before he picked up an oiled cloth and a rusty handgun receiver. “Bought a couple of crates from a traveler yesterday. Haven’t had a chance to look at them properly yet.”

Slipping behind the counter, you crouched next to the crates, slowly searching through the contents. Despite how irritated Bakugou had sounded when you showed up, it was testament to his trust that he allowed you to be behind him. It had taken years of visits before he’d stopped watching you like a hawk, longer still for him to relax in your presence. Turning your head, you just watched him for a while, watched his broad, scarred shoulders move under his tattered, sleeveless shirt as he cleaned the rusty handgun, gaze focused on the weapon. His movements were fluid with decades of practice. Hypnotizing. 

Bakugou spared you a glance. “Found anything?”

“Not yet,” you replied, eyes snapping back to the crates. 

You heard a soft chuckle but chose to ignore it as your fingertips brushed over something papery. Digging your hands further into the crate, you pulled out a stack of books, their pages yellow with age. 

“Bakugou, look at this!”

He turned, one eyebrow rising when he saw the stack in your hands.

“Heh, only a nerd like you would be so happy over books.”

“I’m a scholar, you old fart!” you retorted.

Bakugou bundled the oiled cloth in his fists, preparing to throw it at you as punishment. His hands sank when you took no notice of him, too busy looking through the books. He had to fight to keep the fond smile off his lips when you looked back up, your eyes shining with glee.

You held a book out to him. “Check this one out!”

Bakugou just looked at you for a moment. “You know I can’t read that old-ass language - what did you call it again, English? People like you pick up the most useless skills.”

You shrugged, looking back at the book. “It’s useful for treasure hunting. And you know my lock-picking skills are excellent.” Tapping the cover, you added, “It’s a book of fairy tales.”

“Keh, children’s drivel,” Bakugou replied. “Sounds like it’ll be right up your alley.”

Ignoring him, you moved on to the next book. “And this one… ‘maps of the contiguous United States.’ Okay, this one is useless.”

Looking through the rest of the books, you deemed everything but the book of fairy tales unworthy. Holding out the book again, you asked, “How much?”

Bakugou scoffed. “You can have it. Can’t sell that shit anyway. Might as well give it to someone who’ll enjoy it.”

You beamed at him. “I’ll read it to the kids at the village in your honor.”

He shrugged, returning to his gun-cleaning. “If you must.”

Settling on the lid of one of the crates, you spent a moment looking at the movement of his shoulders again.

“Why don’t you ever come to the village? It’s safe there, and I’m sure your fighting experience would be appreciated. You don’t have to live by yourself.”

Baugou stopped for a moment, just staring at his hands, fingers flexing. “I don’t get along with people,” he finally said.

“You get along with me…”

“You’re an exception.”

You looked at the book again, fighting to keep the heat from rising in your cheeks from the unexpected compliment. Looking over the faded cover picture of five mice dancing around a cat, you then opened the book to the first tale.

“Want me to read it to you? It’ll let me practice reading for the kids.” 

He shrugged again. “If you want.”

You started reading, pausing on occasion to think of a good translation or to explain some archaic term. During one of these times, you noticed that Bakugou had stopped working. He was leaning on the counter, hands still, eyes soft and unfocused as he listened. 

He frowned, his eyes slipping back into focus. “Why’d you stop?”

“Just thinking.”

You continued reading, a smile blooming on your lips.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks (on and off anon) are always greatly appreciated! If you like what you’ve read, please check out my other works. Love, Em 💖

Do not repost, redistribute, copy, modify, record, translate, or plagiarize my writing. If you see someone posting my writing claiming it as their own, or posting a narration of my writing, please let me know!

[xia0mi-c0m]

Im gonna be real honest with y'all.. I'm a Curly apologist-

OKAY LET ME EXPLAIN PLSSSS 😭😭😭

!!TW: MENTIONS OF RAPE, SUICIDE AND DEATH. AND SPOILERS OF MOUTHWASHING WILL BE IN HERE!!

Press "Keep reading" at your own risk if you're triggered by these topics but curious.

Let's get this out of the way; Curly's inaction about Jimmy raping Anya will be the main topic of this post.

I think most Mouthwashing fans seem to not understand that why Curly didn't step in to the situation beforehand is because (if I'm correct) Anya told the news to Curly 1 day before the crash from what I remember.

Do tell me, how is he supposed to process this in 1 day? And before anyone says something about arguing, hitting, etc. It's obvious Curly would not do that.

And I've seen some Mouthwashing fans say that when Curly was laughing at Jimmy that Curly was "actually crying".

If you replay that clip, he's obviously laughing.

But I think it wasn't him JUST laughing at Jimmy, but also himself. For just finding out that his friend is a monster from hell, for his inaction when he had the chance.

I also heard a theory that broke me.

There is a theory that when Swansea brought the axe to Daisuke's face and the camera pans out and distances itself, that is wasn't just to spare the player from gore but it was also Curly's perspective during that scene. That explains why the room-like place the camera pans out to looks so similar to the infirmary, and why the POV looks more like it was Curly looking directly at the scene.

Idk I saw that theory and decided to share it cuz it broke me especially knowing that Curly also had to see Anya take her own life and I wanted to break you guys too.

Like, why did Curly bashing even become a thing? Bro couldn't do anything before he got fucking horribly disabled, give him a break Jesus 😭😭

So with this, I'm gonna say it..

JIMMY SHOULD BE THE MF WE BASHING ALONE, CURLY IS NOT FULLY INNOCENT BUT AT LEAST HE AIN'T LIKE JIMBO, BUT Y'ALL CAN JUMP J*MMY. FOCK YOU J*MMY!!!

I'M J*MMY'S #1 PROFESIONAL HATER

No one can make me hate you Curly 🙏