Imagine That - Don't Starve x Reader

9 - Death

I consulted my awesome friends for this chapter like three times in the last six months. Some parts are longer than others bc some are just more straightforward. Sorry this took super duper long, it's a super long chapter compared to the previous content and I didn't want it to get repetitive, plus I'm trying to keep up some good grades cause school is very important to me!!

Unrelated. But this book is like a year old now! (Born August 25 2022) Everyone day happy birthday to the book.

TW - GORE, DEATH, VIOLENCE, ILLNESS (FEVER/HEATSTROKE)

Wilson
——————
Lunar Island is not a very safe place to camp, despite it offering respite from the shadows. Wilson was very well aware of this (you warned him many times of this before he left, and he tried his hardest to heed such warnings).He made sure to bring weapons and any other equipment he'd need to stay safe while logging the creatures of the islands in the communal scrapbook. Besides, he wasn't alone anyways. Wickerbottom would come to assist him in the registering.

And when he got there, things went smoothly for the first couple of nights. He kept to himself, surveying flora, and those strange glowing springs of water. Wilson would monitor whatever he was focused on for the day, and Wickerbottom would do the same, and then they'd go over their research during the night.

He got too cocky when he spotted the flock of mutated Pengulls– too naïve. But they looked so strange— nothing at all like the ones on the mainland. You could see right through them! They couldn't be organic; he just had to take a closer look.

Too naïve.

Wilson got much too close– he fully aware of it, too– but then they didn't slide away on their bellies, they didn't do what he was trying to coax them into doing and they got angry. Snapped their stone beaks and slammed into his stomach hard– ah, they aren't gelatinous but cold, like ice—.

He couldn't catch his breath before cold, milky eyes, so many of them, bore into him and began plunging their beaks into his body, ripping what they could from him. Chunks of flesh, fabric and hair, blood, all on their cold, glassy bodies as he screamed and kicked.

...

Wickerbottom identifies the picked-clean bones as Wilson's moments later, not only due to the clumps of black hair and leather bound book drenched in blood, but due to the fact that his ghastly figure is trying to haunt his dropped feather pencil to write his notes down.

At the very least, the flock has moved on after their dinner, making the approach to the spectre easy. Out of respect, she doesn't step on the bone fragments or the open scrapbook.

"Oh dear. They're going to have your head when you return to being corporal, dear."

"OoOooh!"

Willow
——————
Bernie had been going through a lot recently. He was battered enough that the brave little bear had its stuffing leaking everywhere. Nothing moved, stitches were ripped from his arms.

It was happening again. Willow, usually so headstrong and brave, had been losing her familiar warmth, in a metaphorical sense, and physical too. She shivered under her long clothes, barked at anything and everything that made noise, rubbing her forehead underneath her greasy bangs in a feeble attempt to make everything go away. But it doesn't help. It's not enough.

Of course, Willow's terrible mental state is a result of the nights growing colder and darker. Clinging to the remains of Bernie could do nothing for her throbbing headache. So, she had to resort to fire, her first love, and you had resorted to stitching up what you could of Bernie, while she muttered out insults to the unseen shadows.