© LEXASPERATED

When Bakugou had first joined The Typhoon, he vanished himself. He was almost invisible, becoming one of those extras, a side character molded into the background. He spent all that time sulking over his death, the future that had been stolen from him the day that the apocalypse had arrived, unaccepting that his life there had been lost. He should have been grateful to have been given a second chance but even now he had mixed feelings about his life here. Although he was now much more involved in The Typhoon, trying to keep on top of politics and other duties, he felt an emptiness for the place he used to be from. It felt disorientating to remember the sensation of having delicate fingers, the bones that made up his hand, the skin that created his palms. To wake up in a cold sweat, remembering what it was like to be human, and know that his paws couldn't move the same way was the same feeling as having his ears straining to hear noise. It was like screaming underwater, unheard despite the pain of the lungs, the ejection of air passing through his trachea. It wasn't right and he hated it so much, it made him so furious and unsatisfied with the world around him. But, at the same time, he can't imagine his life outside of The Typhoon. He was stuck in this dual-existence, memories of being human, eyes seeing that he was not.

One day, he will probably grow mad at the feelings that were always bubbling beneath his skin. He would go into a rage, a fit, a childish tantrum and burn a forest. He felt himself to be a walking contradiction. He wanted to live. He was afraid of dying, the odd calmness that came with it. Sleeping was terrifying. But at the same time, he thought it to be peaceful. Rage will leave him. No longer would he have to feel the sensation of anger, the fury that defined and swam within his very genetics. The anger was a part of him, it felt like it would never leave except in death. Eternal indifference didn't sound too bad. It was so strange that such a normal thing would horrify him, he felt weak at the bones, almost nauseous. He didn't have any aims or ambitions anymore, nothing to set as his goal, and yet he hesitated to end. He just wanted to live for the sake of it, unsure if there was even anything fate was preparing for him. Maybe part of him just wants to let life take him where she pleases. If he were to die tomorrow, there wouldn't be any disappointments...but there also wouldn't be any disappointments if he were to survive tomorrow.

The Reaver holds his tongue, approaching the gathering of pirates, noticing that one of them happened to be the Captain himself. He doesn't say anything, still assessing and trying to understand the situation until the stranger of interest spoke, filling the male in enough. The way Pincher held the young girl was enough to tell him of their relationship. 'Dad'. It was another one of his children, another one he had to make sure he didn't set alight in annoyance. Although he doesn't particularly care about his future, he thinks drowning to be an inconvenience. He doesn't plan on ever walking the plank in future. The feeling of being unable to breath, unable to use his fire, was too unsettling for the ragdoll. He didn't really have anything to add when it came to 'welcome back's, not one for soppy situations or acting in an affectionate manner. He could...swear at the girl, but he doesn't see any gain from it. He might have been an unpleasant male but he certainly wasn't a complete asshole. "Maybe ya should have sent a search party for her," the Reaver says to the Captain with a huff, noting that the girl had said she was lost. "Well, she's back now I guess."