cowardlybean reblogged
And then, like he was picking out a can of soup for that night’s dinner, Swansea plainly asked, “y’wanna die, Capitano? I can make it quick.” The axe did not come down. It didn’t cleave for any of Curly’s vitals, didn’t swing for the space between his eyes. Instead, it idly tapped the floor, in repetitive, rhythmic knocks. Thump. Thump. Thump. …what? —— Swansea takes responsibility. It’s a long twenty years for them both.
post "good end" achievement au i've been chipping away at like a madman with @billymayslesbian for the past 16 days is here. read it if you like complicated friendships, tulpar media frenzies, pain, and thirsty little white dogs