#and you all start frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs

[adriles]

they are Cancelling me for dealing with my grief as best i can . also for the vicious war Crimes

#book 24 #the conversation between the gods at the beginning there is just this #greatest hits #all i say is vicious war crimes in a vague way #and you all start frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs #a lot of yall get the memo with the blorbo tags but also. seeing quite a few strange pulls #not exactly war crimes but Ok #sometimes normal vicious crimes can just be normal vicious crimes ok guys #can yall stop tagging this as israel u guys r fucking weird…. #if u see this and think it is a joke about actual fucking horrific war crimes and ethnic cleansing. u may be fucked up in the head #please be normal #will people stop commenting on this please. none of yall r funny

[sukunas-wife]

Why was the servant girl smiling`?

I forgot to elaborate I’m Sorry 😭

But here’s a snippet of

✨Y/n’s Shrine House History✨

🤫 Read closely

Sealed Series History

First of All the Shrine was opened to Honor Y/n as a dirty, she was worshipped for being able to bare Lord Sukuna’s heir. In the shrine she’d previously used a reverse cursed technique to heal pregnant women if they sustained any non visible damage to their reproductive organs and the fetus.

Yuji was actually able to grown in y/n’s womb because while the cursed child was forming in her womb when it would take a physical toll on her body she would use a reverse curse technique to improve/stabilize her position.

It’s a bit in the Sealed series how a man heard of her legend and went all the way to Sukuna’s Palace, to try and find any trace instead finding the prison realm cube washed and worn away from the palace but not by much, freeing her his only request was that she bless his pregnant wife because she hadn’t been able to bare child before, (story line: the lady was physically abused as a child leaving bruising and damaged on her uterus y/n heals it and the child who also had minor organ issues)

Anyways~

The Shrine was originally open for all husbands and wives to enter together freely. It was a place of peace where you could find hope, to prove there was light in the dark. In this Case how a child so small and sweet can be born from a Curse. When Yuji was born, you presented him to the public in a bed for all to come admire but not touch. Everyone brought gifs to honor the “Prince of Curses” admiring his soft sleeping face. It made it hard to believe even Ryomen Sukuna was once a child.

Hints, the reason everyone (eunuchs, servants) was asking if Yuji was with Y/n?

The cursed man had entered the shrine 3/4 months after Yuji had been born. After having seen Yuji presented to the public.

This cursed man was striving to be on Par with Sukuna and when he learned Ryomen Sukuna had been given a direct blood heir by a human woman (eventually) turned curse. He decided that same woman would give him his heir. Walking into the shrine freely greeted by eunuchs and servants as he made his way to the main room. There you sat in the middle of the platform reading over a booklet of finance your hand maid had left you with while she left briefly. Hearing the sanctuary doors close you looked up and there stood 6’4 terrifying, bulky man who was in the process of becoming a curse by corrupting, twisting and breaking his own soul.

He looked down at you and the room was filled with a dark aura. It was suffocating, the man immediately reaching out for heavy breathing frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog, when he said “So you’re the woman who carried Ryomen Sukuna’s child, then you’ll do the same and honor me.”

Y/n rushed to get up and run, but what’s your height to 6’4? Not easy- luckily for you Uraume was entering the room after Sukuna sent him to get you. Froze the man in place and immediately called for Lord Sukun, Uraume tried to pull you away when in came enraged Sukuna, almost obliterating the man leaving him there laying close to death a half curse can be. There stood Sukuna bloodied standing over his body, heavy breathing and snarling, he very much tore the limbs off the man leaving him there screaming and squirming in fear. Before he could crush the man’s head in with his foot, Yuji started screaming from the next room. Both of you in panic something had happened to him or was happening you all left them man on the floor rushing to find your prince. He was fine, your handmaiden had just woken him and he lost it realizing neither of his parents were with him.

After this, Sukuna hunted this man down and couldn’t find him. He posted Sorcers/Eunuchs at your shrine and forbade any man from ever entering the doors, the only exception being Yuji.

7 Years Later

When the man had yet to return you eased up on the security a bit letting the sorcerers who stood outside on guard go. Keeping your servants/eunuchs who working inside mixed with sorcerers and non sorcerers.

One day a girl who 15ish came to work at your shrine, young Yuji didn’t trust her the few timeshe had seen her.

Why?

Because she’s a fraud and was working with Cursed man. How did he recruit a child?

He didn’t-

she was a curse user who specialized in transfigurations and became smitten with him. (She’s like 32)

Sadly he had no interest in her. He wanted Ryomen Sukuna’s wife to bare his first child. She sneaks in at “15” the years he plans his attack. Plays servant well enough to be seen as normal and she can slip him in using the private ways the servants use to get in and out unnoticed to the public eye.

Why was she smiling?

She was smiling because she was “Cursed Man’s Accomplice” and was fulfilling her role. Even if she was jealous of y/n being the woman to carry his heir. Her Lord was accomplishing his desires, maybe after she’d have entrance into his life affairs. (More specifically romantically)

Wrong- She wasn’t exactly the strongest or resistant so when she was caught off guard in Yuji’s unstable Domain Expansion and attack. In short she was killed. Sukuna took care of Cursed guy the way he should.

Don’t know what the sealed series is but found the lore?

Here’s a link to Part 1

Perm: @sakuxxi @mercymccann @simpforyoubitch @certainduckanchor @domainofmarie @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare

Sealed: @needsleep3000 @lunafrisk303999 @ang3lz-lov3 @christinerose380 @dl-yum @yumieis @bellinghambby22 @samatokisunfinishedcigarette @amitiel-truth @kundere20000000 @r0ckst4rjk @maybe-a-bi-witch @kouyoumarryme @wannabewolf @lunaizhere @futureittomainn @raiiny-night @3ve88

@t4naiis @blkmystery @the2ndl @too-pretty-to-live @v-sh @officialjellydoughnut @catmouseggy @f1uveryysblog @icantsleeplol809 @wsp1st @ivysenpai3 @babyqueen17 @lupita97lm @oh-gods-its-a-dragon @nxxrxm @avyannasstuff @nameless-mushroom-warrior @fullwriterpoem @nanamisbigassschlong @queen-luna-007 @alonelyvagabond @pupbistro @clxvrs @dangerous-girls-world @saiyara05 @isagivinny

#🤍mail time #sukunas wife #daddy sukuna #sukunas wife speaks #sukunas wife’s ask #sealed series #sealed away #Sealed Away Lore #son yuji mom reader #son yuji #dadkuna #SukuNation #sukuna ryomen #dad sukuna son Yuji #yuji x mom reader #yuji and mom reader #true form sukuna

[sunnibits]

Listen listen listen ok I’m just. Really into Fang/Izzy/Ivan as this kind of low-key kind of amusing thing where Ivan and Fang are just like, the only people who can handle Izzy when he’s being a little shit. Izzy is just a feral little dog frothing at the mouth and Fang and Ivan are his resigned caretakers.

Like, everyone else hates Izzy with a passion but Ivan and Fang don’t even seem to really hate Izzy that much tbh? They’re just kinda annoyed with him when he’s being a dick. So I feel like they would be the only two in the crew that are like ‘yeah he’s kinda annoying as fuck but he’s not that bad when you get used to him’ because they’ve just dealt with his shit for YEARS now.

They are the only ones who know how to calm this wet rabid cat of a man down, and damn if they don’t have it down to a science at this point. If he starts picking a fight at a bar or something, one of them can just sling him over like a sack of potatoes, hissing and cursing them out all the way back to the ship. But he doesn’t kill them as much as he threatens to. He calms down eventually.

One day he’s being especially rude and troublesome with the crew of the revenge and his two big boyfriends just give a heavy sigh like, ‘it’s fine, we can handle this’ and suddenly work some goddamn fucking MAGIC on Izzy that has him chilled out and actually snuggling in Fang’s lap??? in like five minutes flat - meanwhile the rest of the crew is like ‘what the actual FUCK just happened’.

#idk I’m just rambling. i really really like them and this is how I imagine their dynamic working #i feel like they are the only ones who would tolerate Izzy and also don’t require some super deep emotional conversations with him #in order to get them to a point of reasonable forgiveness #if anything Izzy has more reason to hate them then they have to hate him so #that’s one step up from Izzy’s usual relationships #izzy hands #ivan #fang #ofmd

[silverhandj]

"what if they kissed?" for Beth, two assholes being dudes 😏

>... The scream sheets froth at the mouth at the latest headlines, running rabid at the rise of the Rockerboy and it's golden child has always been in the running for the most wanted, SAMURAI just knows how to party. Except, Johnny's frowning at the latest tabloid covering the news of the raging band giving murder a show front and center for the masses to consume with eager eyes, lingering closer over the edge for the next band's tour dates to crop up from the underground. A silver hand crumples the paper, and his eyes roll when Beth finally wanders in.

>... | " I'd say you've got balls for knocking out some poor bastard, but m'starting to think you like being their fuckin' puppet, "

>... Always a sore point, the media, the culture vultures, the way if they both weren't in the spotlight then who the fuck would be their fans. He reaches out with both his hands, drawing her into him and stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs. He'd not give her the satisfaction of seeing him all bothered at the idea of it, the way rock'n'roll was starting to become this lawless dog of rabid cyberpsychos screaming about the anti-corp, not when it wasn't him leading the charge.

>... Nah, he'd rather stoke the flames in the right direction... Johnny brings a palm to his face and kisses it, finally peering up at her from the tops of his glasses, | " there's showbiz, and then there's fucking stupid, Beth. " He nips at the skin between her thumb and forefinger once, sinking his anger into the softest point just to satiate the violence screaming to level the playing field; his silver hand being the one which pulls her even closer, wrapping her into his arms as he finally kisses her, rough and hard enough to bruise the softness of her. He wouldn't bother to explain, not when this was easier.

@unrclypirxte

#| ▐ ( . . . ) * incoming message‚ asks #>:D

[dual-fantasy]

i think the chowie household would be the absolute worst for like a solid year. i imagine them moving in together before they start dating(around the time they start actually being friends and bowie realizes he needs to get the fuck out of the beach house, i imagine the whole Situation happens/starts when theyre like.. 20). chase is actively going through the worst moments of his life. he is also the worst houseguest ever even if he wasnt crying every day at least once. him moving in with bowie was absolutely a horrible idea in hindsight. the beach house sucked but it was somewhere familiar for him to wake up in a feral panic(and the beach guys wouldnt try and figure out what happened. theyd sit with him until he stopped freaking out but they wouldnt ask him about it) first nightmare at bowies house was full on rabid dog behaviour frothing at the mouth and everything but theyre also funny as hell bowie takes him clothes shopping the first week and its awful. he teaches him how to load the dishwasher. it wont let me send the emojis but Grave Dog

yes omg they are the absolute worst when it starts. neither of them are very good at adapting when it starts. chase isn't used to having someone make him talk through his emotions, so when he wakes up screaming Bowie tries to help but it doesn't do anything for either of them. they're so tragic and nothing good can come from it. they're both 20ish or old enough to own an apartment, and I think Bowie is going to uni but chase isn't. so chase stays home all day and he doesn't know what to do. they eventually improve but it takes a while.

they're the silliest though. they mean everything to me always and they're so so stupid and tragic and everything. Bowie takes chase out on a date and it goes horrendously. it's so fun to me. grave dog you understand them

#total drama #total drama 2023 #td chase #total drama spoilers #chowie #td23 #td 2023 #🪦🐕

[carlosfruitsnacks]

due to recent events (at the time of this request anyway LMAOOOOOOO)

i think its only right if you write a carlos x reader (could be fem or gn) crackfic where he shapeshifts into a rabid dog in defense of the reader because one of his friends tried getting on in his insult saying that the reader is stupid

bonus if the reader is calmly doing something completely oblivious that a frothing rabid carlos as a dog is furiously chasing his own "friends" with a pocket knife on his mouth aimed at them is occurring behind them LMAO

"rabid danger"

summary:

—  Your boyfriend has always been the overprotective type, you know it. But unbeknownst to you, Carlos will go to any lengths to protect you, and yes, that includes shapeshifting into a dog with his mouth foaming and shit.

genre:

— crackfic

notes:

— gender-neutral reader, Carlos shapeshifts into animals. I do not speak fluent Spanish and all of the Spanish here is translated from google, feel free to correct me if I got something wrong though I will refrain from using too much Spanish.

warning/s:

— rabid Carlos lmfao

a/n:

—  one fucking crackfic filled with fresh crack coming your way <333

Being in a relationship with the one and only Carlos Madrigal was the best. You adore him with all your heart and soul and you're aware that he feels the same with you too, even if he doesn't show it that much. Carlos was...bizarre when it came to showing acts of affection. He likes to tease and insult you relentlessly, luckily, you don't get ticked off by it. He enjoys playing pranks on you but not to the point that'll hurt you. And he loves to do these weird things like sticking his tongue out and hissing like a snake every time something bothers him. When you would cuddle with him he'd unknowingly purr. Oh, and he likes to lick your cheek...a lot.

Despite your lover's very unusual behavior, you love him just the way he is. Today was any other day, the weather was particularly amazing so you asked Carlos out for a date. At first, he declines, you know he's not fond of public dates but then you pulled the magic trick on him and gave him the puppy dog eyes (his weakness) so he reluctantly says yes.

You drag your boyfriend around town, buying food and chatting with each other. You two decided to have lunch at your local eatery. Carlos would play a prank or two by transforming either into a snake or an insect to watch your horrified reaction. It was at that eatery did Carlos' friends showed up. They're a couple of dudes sneering at you but you were too busy eating your food. Carlos pipes up.

"Ey, pendejo, what are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to ask if you guys have room for three"

"This is my date-"

"Oh, sure! Have a seat Andrés!"

You said with a smile. This guy, Andrés, along with his gang joined you two for lunch. They gingerly ordered food and interrupted Carlos' moment with you. He couldn't protest because of your kindness, you were always the kindhearted among you both so for your sake, he glues his lips shut. He glares at his friends as they keep hogging on all the fun.

Midway, you noticed that you have ordered the wrong food but you can't take it back since you've practically devoured it already. You frowned and turned to your boyfriend.

"Aw, amor, I ordered the wrong food but I can't ask for a refund because I already ate it"

"So, you're telling me, you didn't notice that you ordered the wrong food when you started eating it?"

"Lo siento. I was too hungry to notice"

You pouted at Carlos, the latter lets out a sigh and rubbed his temples as he whispered a string of curses.

"Ugh, you're such an idiot, [Name]"

"I'll just go order the food I want right now! Oh wait, I have no money..."

"And you're so stupid too"

Carlos rolled his eyes and handed you some spare money, your eyes twinkled as you took the money and went to go order more food. The shapeshifter kept an eye on you. One of his friends chuckled.

"So, you and [Name], huh? Never thought that would happen"

"Well, it did, cállate Santiago"

His friend, Santiago, scoffs and shoves food into his mouth. Carlos gives him a glare before checking on his lover, you were stumbling over your words while asking if it's possible to get a refund even if you have already eaten the food. Carlos groans and runs a hand through his curls.

"Oye Carlos, why'd have to go out with [Name]? There's a lot of other choices out there but you decided to stoop this low"

"It's none of your fucking business, Diego"

Carlos spat at Diego, the boy shuddered as he saw the animalistic look in his eyes. Andrés listened to the entire conversation and let out a laugh, Carlos raised a brow at him and looked at him, dangerously.

"Looks like [Name] isn't done getting their food yet"

"I know, they're such a fucking dumbass sometimes"

"Yeah, [Name]'s really dumb-"

At the speed of light, Carlos slammed his fist on the table, merely breaking it. All three of his friends flinched and looked at him wide-eyed. One of the things that irritated Carlos Madrigal the most is whenever someone would talk shit about you. It was only him who had the right to do that, no other person is allowed to do it. Carlos is aware of how nasty he can be when he's jealous but he's more terrifying when someone dares to shit-talk you.

"You fucking take that back"

Carlos whispered with venom towards Andrés, the other watched as his features were slowly morphing into a snake. His irises turned into slits as he began to hiss at him, Andrés tried to say something but the fear in his system beats him to it.

"I said, YOU FUCKING TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT [NAME]!"

"Carlos you need to chill! ¡Cálmate, muchacho!"

"Oh, you ain't calming me down, cabrón!"

"Come on, compadre! I was just being honest!"

"Oh yeah? Nobody gives a shit what you think, pendejo! But the moment you open that stupid mouth of yours and say stupid shit about mi amor I knew I had to fucking knock that head of yours to see if your brain's still there functioning!"

The shapeshifter hisses. Every one of his friends started bolting out to the door to escape him but Carlos was not having it. He momentarily lets out a loud groan as he reverted his form from a snake and then shapeshifts into a large Doberman with his pocket knife in his foaming mouth. Carlos now in dog form, growls and starts to chase after the three guys at full speed.

Meanwhile, you're patiently waiting for your food to be cooked while oblivious to the chaos occurring behind you. Humming, you're thinking if you wanted to order some extra food for Carlos, you were about to turn around and ask him personally but debated against it. You placed your chin on top of your knuckles while Carlos chased his friends behind you, drool dripping down to his chin as he keeps the pocketknife steady in his mouth.

"Here's your order!"

"¡Gracias!"

You grabbed your food, you were about to witness your boyfriend terrorizing his friends until you noticed that the food you ordered didn't have the sauce you requested.

"Excuse me? You forgot my sauce"

"Oh, my bad, let me get it for you!"

You smile and waited again. For some reason, you're oddly deaf to the blood-curling screams of Carlos' (ex) friends as he goes completely rabid on each one of them as a dog while frothing in the mouth. You're somewhat immune to what's happening in the background. Finally, your sauce arrives.

"Here you go"

"Thanks!"

With your food, you turn around to see....your lovely boyfriend sitting and patiently waiting for you, not a hair out of place. You grinned and sat across him, you gazed around to find his friends gone.

"Hmm? Where's Andrés and the others?"

"They left. Andrés' dog probably went rabid because he's a shitty dog owner who doesn't know when to shut the fuck up"

You emitted a loud cackle at Carlos' supposed joke, your boyfriend softly smiles at you for it. He watches you eat your food and enjoys the rest of your date as he pretends that he didn't just shapeshift into a fucking Doberman, foaming on the mouth, chasing his old friends until they got tired and left them with bruises and cuts outside the street. No, Carlos is just an overprotective boyfriend who loves you with all his heart. Yes, definitely not the boyfriend who beats up whoever talks shit about you. Haha...there's nothing to see here.

masterlist

#encanto #disney encanto #encanto fanfic #encanto fanfiction #carlos madrigal #carlos my beloved #carlos madrigal my beloved #carlos madrigal x reader #carlos madrigal x y/n #carlos x you #carlos x reader #carlos x y/n #crackfic #rabid carlos supremacy #jay's fanfics™️ #jay's crack fics™️

[midethefangirl]

y’all white tom hiddleston fangirls are so fucking weird

today on God’s green earth and beyoncé’s internet, i had to see the white hiddles starting their bullshit again all because the white man they want to fuck so badly is engaged to a black woman (zawe ashton) and they are so mad about it. first, it was an open letter from a bitter hiddles mad that their fave is with ashton, then it was another claiming that tom was gay (despite his history of dating women) and using ashton as a beard, then it is this dumbass tweet from a dumbfuck claiming that ashton is controlling tom using some photos that are probably photoshopped as proof. also, the racist implications of using a sapphire caricature on ashton.

can y’all just stop this delusional and pathetic bullshit y’all are doing? turns out you are not the default/only desirable ones, right? i have observed how when black girls/girls of colour express their desire/attraction/love for a (mostly) white man (or male character) who is an object of desire to many people, white fangirls come out with their racist bs saying “oh, he cannot like you, he’ll never date a black woman/woman of color” because they have been the default for so long, they use to put down women of colour.

and when it turns out that indeed, this man/male character does find women of color desirable, that is when they froth in the mouth like rabid dogs because in this case, they have been proven wrong about women of color not being desirable; that is when they show their true colors because they realize that “oh, it turns out i am not the default”.

while all this drama can be chalked up to the formation of parasocial relationships, let us not ignore the elephant in the room, which is of course misogynoir. this is the primary reason why a lot of white hiddles are going after ashton, because how dare that black woman be engaged to the white man i have always written erotic fantasies about? how dare she hold that attention i have always wanted to be focused on me?

look, ain’t nothing wrong with daydreaming about wanting to be with a celebrity (i’ve done it a few times) but you gotta realize it for what it is - a daydream and nothing but that. there is a .000001% chance that you are gonna end up with that celebrity you’ve been dreaming about and kudos to you if you are within the minuscule number of folks who do end up with their faves, you must be God’s favourite 🤷🏾‍♀️. however, life is not like that.

most of the hiddles embarrassing themselves like this are either 14-year-old kids or middle-aged women who are already married with kids. you really think a 41-year-old man is gonna wait for you or break up your marriage? are you seriously that pathetic that you believe that is gonna happen? this is the real world, tom hiddleston is happily engaged to zawe ashton, a black woman and if that offends you so much, i hope you choke on your tears.

#tom hiddleston #zawe ashton #tom and zawe #parasocial relationships #tom hiddleston fandom #misogynoir

[ilovethecompanions]

Companions reacting to Sole having to put down a rabid Dogmeat after a fight with a rabid mole rat/yao guai/radstag/etc?

Cait: Ah shit, ah Sole, she’s… she’s sorry. Cait doesn’t know quite what to say, she’s not used to emotional stuff like this. But she wants to say the right thing, she wants to be there for her friend. She offers to do it, to put Dogmeat out of his misery. She will do it as quickly and painlessly as she can. It’s the least she can do. After the deed is done Cait will lend Sole her shoulder to cry on. Get it all out buddy. She knows they loved that dog. Damn, she’s not gonna cry, she refuses to. Fuck, she’s crying too. Dammit. This day fucking sucks.

Codsworth: Oh sir/mum, he’s so so sorry. This… this isn’t what you deserve, not at all. Neither does the pup. Oh, please cry if you need to, he’s got a tissue for you. Sole has already lost so much, first the life that they knew, their spouse, Shaun and now Dogmeat? It’s not fair. Sole is such a good, kind hearted person and Codsworth knows how much Dogmeat means to them, how the dog has helped them heal. He wishes things could have gone differently.

Curie: She’s crying. Her whole body is shaking from sobbing so hard. Curie is absolutely distraught. From the very beginning she was aware that Dogmeat would die before any of them but she had always thought that it would be due to old age. She thought they’d all have so much time together, so many more memories to make. This all happened so fast, she’s not prepared. Will stay with Sole as they have to put Dogmeat down but as soon as the deed is done she excuses herself. She needs to have a moment alone.

Danse: As much as he tries to remind himself that this is no longer Dogmeat but a dangerous beast, it’s still hard for him not to remember the happy dog with the constantly wagging tail. But as difficult this is for him he knows that Sole must be feeling ten times worse so he puts his own feelings aside as he euthanizes Dogmeat for them. It only takes one quick shot to the temple and Danse looks away as he does it. He can’t bear looking Dogmeat in the eyes. Now all that is left is to console his dear friend and help them deal with their loss.

Deacon: For once there’s no jokes or snarky comments, just a muttered “shit” and a comforting hand on Sole’s shoulder. He tells them he understands that this is hard for them but they have to put an end to this now. It’s not fair to let Dogmeat suffer. If Sole can’t pull the trigger then he will gently take the gun away from them and tell them to look away as he does it for them. He promises no one will judge them for not being able to do it. Stuff like this never gets any easier.

Dogmeat: Nothing makes sense, everything seems dangerous, like it will hurt him. Fear, rage, confusion, there’s only that. Attack before being attacked. Bark, claw, bite. Then he sees them. His Friend. He knows them. He loves them. But he can’t stop himself. Attack, attack. No, he doesn’t want to! But his mind is in disarray. He lunges at them, teeth bared. Bang! Pain, pain. It hurts. But Friend is safe, he didn’t hurt Friend. That’s good. He loves his Friend. And then everything goes black and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

Hancock: Fuck. Fucking hell. He glances at Sole and he can see how utterly distraught they are. Hancock knows how much Dogmeat means to them, how much they have come to rely on the dog for emotional support, so he can’t even begin to imagine how they must be feeling right now. He doesn’t want their last memory of Dogmeat to be of his dead body so he tells them to go inside and wait for him. He will take care of this. Before putting an end to Dogmeat’s misery he apologizes, despite knowing that the canine won’t understand him. In the end it’s more for himself that he says it.

MacCready: There are tears in his eyes threatening to spill over any second but he desperately keeps himself from crying. He’s had dogs die before but that doesn’t make it any less sad when it happens, especially not when it’s such a great dog like Dogmeat. Offers to put him down if he sees that Sole is in too much emotional turmoil because he knows that this can really emotionally scar someone. Afterwards he makes a grave for Dogmeat and he’ll offer Sole his shoulder to cry on. It’s the least he can do.

Nick Valentine: His nonexistent heart breaks as he holds the now rabid Dogmeat back from ripping out Sole’s throat, his grip firm but also gently stroking the dog’s fur. They don’t deserve this, neither of them. Sole is a genuinely good person and Dogmeat a true best friend and the two of them are as thick as thieves, always at each other’s side. Truly, he wishes that things didn’t have to go this way. But Dogmeat isn’t safe to have around anymore and he’s clearly suffering. That’s why, as Sole brings up their gun with shaking hands, Nick does his best to reassure them that this is the only option.

Piper: She’s crying and her nose is starting to run but goddammit, she’s not going to let Sole go through this by themself. As bad as she is feeling she knows that Sole is feeling ten times worse and fuck, this just ain’t fair. Why do bad things always happen to good people? Will let Sole mourn and once a decent amount of time has passed Piper will try to give them a puppy. She knows that it will never replace Dogmeat but perhaps it will help with the pain. If they don’t want it then she will understand and give it to someone else.

Preston: Dogmeat was there the first time Preston met Sole and so he has a hard time to imagine Sole without their canine companion. They were two peas in a pod, inseparable best friends. So when he sees Dogmeat, frothing at the mouth and snarling, he lets out a string of curses. Preston offers his condolences to Sole and offers to put him down so that they don’t have to. Still, even if he offers this, his hands won’t stop shaking as he lines up the shot. And if he closes his eyes before he shoots? Well, no one can really blame him, can they?

Strong: Now Strong understands more than people think he does. He gets that mongrels are different from regular dogs, more viscous, dangerous. Not as dangerous as a mutant hound but that isn’t the point. Anyway, Strong can see that Dogmeat is a mongrel now. Mongrels are pests, they need to be killed. And normally, Strong would have no problem doing this. But as he raises his hands to deal a killing blow he hesitates. Memories of wagging tails, happy barks and a wet tongue licking his face makes him feel weird inside. Strong feels even weirder when he stares down at Dogmeat’s dead body. Killing has never felt so… wrong.

X6-88: The only reason he doesn’t immediately put a bullet in Dogmeat’s head is because he knows that Sole will need a moment to collect themself and accept what’s going to happen. So he waits, gun still pointed at Dogmeat as Sole says goodbye to their most loyal companion. Then, when they’re done and they give him the sign, he shoots. X6 fires just one shot, it’s all that he needs, and Dogmeat’s death is quick and painless. Then he offers a few words of comfort to the now distraught Sole. Yes, he knows that he’s not the most… comforting person but he can at least try. He wants to help.

[arigatouiris]

the fool’s curse // akutagawa ryunosuke x reader

Author’s Note: I absolutely adore Akutagawa and think he deserves the world; and I can definitely see him as being soft with someone he has feelings for and whoop why not give his coughing a reason anyway lmao. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 8k+

Pairing: Akutagawa Ryunosuke x Reader

Summary: ［Ａｋｕｔａｇａｗａ ｘ Ｒｅａｄｅｒ］: Akutagawa wasn't someone who hoped, he chased after what he believed he deserved, like a dog chasing after cars. Futility was part of existence, after all, and it was a fact he believed he had accepted. Every part of your existence was a bane to his, and he was cursed to have even met you. Love was nothing but a fool's curse, and Akutagawa hated being one. Especially when it was physically killing him in the form of lilac petals infused with blood. [Hanahaki AU]

Warnings: angst to fluff, soft aku, mentions of blood, swearing (because Aku ofc), softness, tooth-rotting fluff, some angst if you squint (Also Chuuya makes an appeareance bc I love that shrimp mafioso)

If Akutagawa could place together pieces of why he was aggravated by your very presence, it wouldn’t have led him to where he currently was. Avoiding your gaze, coughs multiplied by numerous ramifications, hands shaking, forehead breaking out into a sweat—he had never felt more obscenely weak than sitting before you on his bed, having your keen gaze observe his frail body. Numbness coursed through his veins and never before had he wished to disappear more than right then; it was suffocating to sit in front of you while you wordlessly judged him, deemed him moronic in that pretty little head of yours. He stilled momentarily before slapping himself internally; you were no such person. You wouldn’t judge another. The entire reason for his predicament right then was simply because of how perfect you were.

    And no perfect human being would dare judge another. Especially not someone as broken as he.

    “Is it…” You sounded so defeated, he’d have done anything to hear your giggles and laughter once again, but life wasn’t as giving to him. It had never been. “Is that person… me?”

    Indeed, it had always been you. Ever since he had laid his eyes on you, ever since there had been that cursed deepening between the bond he shared with you, the moronic display of his own version of affection that on odd days caught him off guard—ever since he had coughed out blood infused with purple-magenta lilacs, he had known that it was you. He wasn’t familiar with the disease he carried, but he deemed it a fool’s curse to be caught with a feeling as hopeless as this. Yet, you were the one to once again aid him. You were the one who had told him what was happening and it had thus become inevitably clear to him as if it wasn’t clear already; Akutagawa “Rabid Dog” Ryuunosuke was hopelessly, carelessly, irrevocably, and painfully in love with you—a commoner, a medical student, a moron.

*

The first time Akutagawa saw you was when he was returning from a minor mission. It was something Higuchi herself could have easily handled, but there wasn’t a chance the dog was letting his subordinates handle an entire subgroup on their own. Intimidation was something Akutagawa did best, and it was the one thing he looked forward to when concerned with minor missions such as these. Not that anyone minded that he tagged along; however, once it was done, there was no more reason for him to waste any more time around the area. Returning to the car, he merely had to just stand near the vehicle for Higuchi to come running and start the engine, heading back to the headquarters.

    A sudden break harshly pulled him out of his reverie and that was when he saw you—on the other end, hands outstretched and a pleading look in your eye. It wasn’t that he was always quick to anger, he knew there was a reason why you were stopping traffic, and when he craned his neck to look at what you were shielding, the answer was clear. There was a man, frothing from his mouth, shaking uncontrollably on the ground and there you were, wearing a white coat, hair pulled behind you in a messy bun, eyes far too tired to be seen in such broad daylight, begging him to stop his car so that she can at least move the man.

    “What should I do, senpai?” Higuchi asked, her voice cold. “Should I ram into—“

    “No,” Akutagawa leaned back and watched, “This doesn't concern me.”

    “Looks like the man is having an epileptic attack.” The blonde woman said, blinking.

    It didn’t matter to him what was happening with the man, but when you pulled yourself over to the window by which Akutagawa sat, he was alerted. You knocked twice, albeit pleadingly at his window, before he turned to Higuchi who easily read the look he gave her incorrectly. Pulling out a gun, she threatened to shoot you before ordering you to back away, but you stood there, staring right into her eyes expressionlessly. Akutagawa blinked before wondering where else he had seen eyes as devoid of fear as yours before lowering his window.

    “What do you want?”

    “That man is dying,” You said, “You’re the Port Mafia, right?”

Higuchi hissed before shoving her gun forward, but you paid her no heed.

    “That’s right. Back away while you know what’s good for you, peasant.” Akutagawa said, looking away from you.

    “The Port Mafia loves the city, correct? I’m sure whoever your leader is would agree that saving one man is also in a way keeping the peace. Help me take him to a hospital, and you’ll never see this peasant again.”

    Just before Higuchi could try to intimidate you once more, Akutagawa stopped her. It was not the kindness of his heart that decided to go with your pleas. It was not anything to do with a positive emotion at all, it was simply the fact that the nearest hospital was 500 meters ahead, and a frail person like yourself couldn’t possibly move a dying man on your own. You immediately turned to the epileptic man and ignored the helpless, ignorant onlookers before putting one arm under his shaking one, and attempted to pull him forward; however, a long, dark cloth-like substance wrapped itself around the man before pulling him inside the car forcefully, earning a gasp out of you. You stared at Akutagawa before nodding and following him inside. You sat beside the dying man before offering him a piece of metal and placed it in between his mouth, to prevent him from biting his tongue off in shock. Akutagawa watched you from the rear-view mirror without a word, wondering if he was doing something idiotic or if he was actually carrying forward the legacy his organization aimed to keep.

    “Senpai,” Higuchi whispered, “Are you sure… this is fine?”

    He didn’t answer her but instead turned to you. He noticed that your white coat was no ordinary lab coat, you were a doctor. This explained why you looked so tired and why you wanted to help a random man on the road, but what it didn’t explain was how unfazed you were with Higuchi’s threats earlier; this was what alerted Akutagawa in the first place. The eyes you wore maliciously, the eyes devoid of emotion, especially for a young doctor—it wasn’t ordinary.

    “Is there a reason why you’re staring at me?” You asked, turning to him.

    “How dare you—“

  “Shut up, Higuchi,” He scolded before turning to you with a snarky smirk, “You’re a doctor. Surely, you should know you can’t help everyone you see. You saw the people around you, those are the people you’re trying to protect. Your efforts are futile if it’s thankless.”

    “So are yours,” You answered instantly, not meeting his gaze. “Just living is thankless, and yet we thrive. It’s both fascinating and utterly stupid.”

    The car stopped and you instantly ran out before calling in someone from the hospital to help you carry the man away. Akutagawa couldn’t forget what you had said; the words slipped out of you as if you memorized them, it was marvelous how effortlessly you had replied to his attempt at minor intimidation. It wasn’t enough for him to be allured by you but the moment Higuchi attempted to drive off, you rushed back and knocked on the window beside his face once more. This time the tired look in your eyes was more than evident, yet the chapped-lipped smile made him queasy. Akutagawa wasn’t always the receiver of such positive reactions from the general public, so this change was bizarre.

    “Even though it’s futile, or worthless, I like doing it. And you helped me. So, thank you… Uh…”

    “Akutagawa.”

    Your smile only widened before you tilted your head a bit, “Thank you, Akutagawa-san.”

    His eyes landed on your nameplate inches above your coat pocket and he memorized your name: (l/n) (y/n). He watched as you skirted around and walked into the hospital, not a word was said thereafter. He could feel Higuchi kickstart the car and drive them back to base, but as much as he’d have liked to stop thinking of you, it was, as you had said, futile.

*

The next time Akutagawa saw you was in a place he’d never expected to find you in. He stilled in his movements when he spotted you walk into the Port Mafia building, guided by two other armed men, before rushing forward to know what you were doing there. He noticed Koyo Ozaki, standing in front of the room you had just entered and he stopped before her, a questioning look in his eye. She blinked at him before wondering what he wanted, Akutagawa wasn’t the type to exchange pleasantries after all.

    “Are you looking for the other runt? He’s inside—“

    “Why was she here?”

    He should have understood that a pronoun with no prior mention to a name would barely hold any meaning to someone like Koyo. She continued to give him a blank stare before wondering if he was referring to you, the girl who had just walked in to talk to Mori. She could have wondered how the rabid dog knew someone like you, but it wasn’t her place to care. Shrugging, Koyo knew that whatever she said didn’t matter right then.

    “She’s the daughter of one of Mori-san’s old enemies. He’s trying to recruit her,” Koyo waved her hand callously in the air, “Either that or she’ll be terminated. It’s not really my problem so I don’t know. I’m here because there’s something I need to tell him after.”

    What he couldn’t understand was how you were linked to the Port Mafia. Your father was one of the enemies? Did that mean you were an enemy? Were you still linked to your father or had he been terminated beforehand? Not knowing these details, but merely remembering the way you had smiled at him angered him, and he felt a raging cough begin to itch at his throat. Koyo watched as Akutagawa coughed into his hand, feeling the familiar itch that only managed to grow till it burned his nostrils.

    “There’s a name for such a disease,” She said, eyes cloudy, “But, I can see you haven’t caught it yet.”

    The black-haired man narrowed his eyes at the cryptic words the woman said, before turning to find the door opening. You walked out, this time with no one but Nakahara Chuuya behind you. Your eyes widened when you spotted Akutagawa and a smile adorned your features. You approached him before nodding at him, as to acknowledge him. Chuuya blinked before scratching his chin.

    “You know each other?”

    “Yes—“

    “Barely,” Akutagawa said, in between coughs, “What’s she doing here?”

    “You should get that cough looked at, Akutagawa-san. I’d be happy to—“

  “Shut up,” He threatened before glaring at you, and then turning to Chuuya, “What’s going on?”

   Chuuya shrugged, “This girl’s some hot shot’s daughter, but since he’s dead, Boss decided not to worry about her. Besides, she’s harmless. No ability, just a med student.”

    “Nakahara-san, if you would please drop me back from where you rudely picked me up, I’d be grateful.”

    Chuuya groaned before shutting his eyes, “Uh, you know, Akutagawa, why don’t you drop her off? You two can catch up—“

    “I don’t know her.”

    “—and I don’t care. Thanks. See ya!”

    Koyo let out a sigh before wandering inside the room Mori-san is in. You turned to Akutagawa before letting out a sigh yourself, and bowing slightly. He watched you with annoyance plastered all over his face, wondering why in the world you were all of a sudden everywhere. Ever since meeting you, you’d been plaguing his mind like some sort of disease, it was angering. He clicked his tongue before leading you out of the building and finding Higuchi’s car. Higuchi had ensured that Akutagawa would have an additional pair of keys with him at all costs, which came in handy just then. Akutagawa hated the position he was in, completing menial tasks that were assigned to someone else first—Chuuya always pushed minor work on to him whenever he felt like it, and now, he was stuck with you—someone he felt agitated around, someone he believed, even breathing felt like carrying a boulder on his shoulders.

    “I’m very sorry about this,” You said, just a moment before stopping in front of the car, “If I had known Nakahara-san would simply push this on to you, I’d have refrained from asking him—“

    “You think I can’t do something so simple?” He snapped, glaring at you.

    “N-No, that’s… I know it’s a burden.”

    Akutagawa gave you a look, which was either a mix between confusion and fear—an unusual look for him to sport on his face, having never been used to feeling such intense positive emotions before. You were looking at him, afraid to be a burden? This was his job. There was no burden, there was no blessing. It was all worthless in the end.

    “You’re not important enough to be a burden,” He snarled, getting into the car, “Stop worrying over idiotic things.”

    “We all worry over idiotic things,” You said, smiling and getting into the car yourself, “I think it’s a part of who we are.”

    “Don’t group me along with the likes of you.”

    You stayed quiet for a second before nodding, “Yeah,” Akutagawa paused momentarily at your sudden acceptance, “You’re right.”

    What did you mean by that? What did you mean by your words? Why did they sound so heavily laced with an emotion that triggered the worst of responses from him? Suddenly, he felt the urge to either slam his hand against the steering wheel out of sheer anger or just stare at you, attempting to decipher any meaning from the words that had just slipped out of you. What a bane to his existence, when answers seemed more confusing than anything Dazai had put him through. Perhaps, you understood from his silence that he was curious about your origins, but now was not the time to unveil anything of the sort. You carried your own burdens, dark and menacing as they may be, but the only solace Akutagawa found in that second was when you turned to him with those very callous eyes and smiled instead.

    “Thank you, again.”

    This time, he did not fight back. This time, he glanced at you as if you were an enchanting representation of everything he had been missing in his life. With eyes like his, he had never imagined that a smile could even be possible—that anything positive could be linked to the way his mind worked. He had been broken beyond repair, or perhaps that was his assumption, but then again, with the way you were looking at him right then, Akutagawa felt an emotion he hadn’t felt in a desperately long time.

    He drove in silence but figured that it was the silence that made things weird for you; he could notice you trying to fill in the gaps with baseless talk, commenting on the weather, talking about patients from your med school, everything and anything that distracted him from your mysterious origins, yet, every time your words would reflect against the barrier of quiet he had put around himself, Akutagawa felt his mind land back on discovering about you. The drive to the hospital wasn’t long, but it felt like one the longest drives he had ever taken. He stopped there, before noticing you still in your seat. You were supposed to get up and leave yet there was this aching hunger in him that demanded you answer his unasked questions before going. You turned to him before blinking a few times, and before you can say anything at all, Akutagawa began to cough. It was something he carried wherever he went, and the confusion he felt around you only made it worse. This proved that you were merely a disease, an error in the making. There was nothing he would get from you apart from violent chest burns and a waste of time. You reached forward to touch him out of worry, but he grabbed your wrist so harshly you winced, pulling away out of instinct. As he coughed, he turned to you with a menacing glare—warning you to never attempt to do that again.

    “Akutagawa-san, I—“

    “Don’t,” He took a raspy breath, before coughing again, “Don’t touch me!”

    He gripped harder, knowing full well that the pressure was enough to hurt you. Yet, you sat there, worried eyes plastered toward his form. He hated it. He hated when you directed such a look toward him, he hated being scrutinized by your apparent kindness. Who were you to direct it toward him anyway? A nobody. A peasant. A moron.

    You pulled back quietly, but he wouldn’t let go. You stared at him before letting out a breath; it wasn’t sympathy that pushed you to do what you did next, it was the only human emotion you didn’t feel too ashamed displaying out in the open—care.

    “Akutagawa-san, normally when I study I go to this cafe in central Yokohama,” You pursed your lips, wondering if this information would even make a difference, “The silence there, the… the atmosphere of the place makes it too easy for me to relax and just read. And they have great tea, too!”

    “What useless information.”

    You smiled a bit before shaking your head and opening the door, “I hope I see you around, Akutagawa-san.”

    When you got out of the car, Akutagawa wasted no time in driving back. The fact remained: he stayed there any longer, he’d merely be wasting time. Yet, for some reason, your presence lingered in the seat that you were sitting in earlier, and when he thought of that he felt the sudden urge to cough yet again. However, this time, he felt a tad bit different than general. The cough that carried over began from his chest, phlegm that was never present before manifested out of nowhere and he thought for a second if he had been out in the cold for too long or if he had eaten something to have caused such a reaction, but the image of your bitter smile marred with those callous eyes of yours catered to create a tornado within his chest that left him a breathing, aching mess of disgruntled coughs that radiated a new weakness. It has to be a cold, he thought before continuing on driving back.

    Gin never asked her brother to accompany her when she took evening walks, but that evening since he was also quite free, the siblings decided to get some tea together. He always merely followed after her, since she knew the place better than he ever did; yet, Akutagawa did things differently that evening. He walked alongside his sister, mumbling something about a quiet cafe in central Yokohama, and Gin paused.

    “How do you know about that?” She asked, “It’s one of my favorite places to go to.”

    So, you weren’t lying. It must be a decent place if his sister approved of it, hence there was no reason to not go. It wasn’t as if he was going there to see you—the last thing he wanted was to see you and have you invoke that disgusting emotion in him again. The mere thought of you made him want to cough some more, but he was well hydrated that evening. He followed Gin toward the central streets, finding a lone cafe toward the end of the street; he walked inside, but when his chest ached, he realized you weren’t there.

    “The tea here is really good.” Gin said before going over to sit at a table.

    He took a few seconds before seating himself across from her, feeling the urge to cough once more. Pulling out his hand, which was nestled in his pocket, Akutagawa coughed violently into his fist, alerting his sister. As he coughed, he could feel phlegm build up in his fist but the second his eyes landed on what he had coughed out, Akutagawa froze. Mixed with his own blood sat a tiny petal, a purplish-red hue on it and he couldn’t tell if it was the blood that gave it that color or not. When he breathed in, he felt as if something were lodged in his chest and the more he coughed, the more he coughed out the petals as if there was a live plant growing inside him. Excusing himself, Akutagawa headed inside the cafe’s bathroom before finally allowing himself to cough freely. Four more petals shoved themselves out of his throat before his eyes leaked tears that burned his skin. What was this new sickness? Was this an ability?

    His eyes widened. He had understood. It was you. Ever since he had seen you, he had been infused with a different cough. This was your doing. You were trying to take out the strongest rabid dog in the mafia for your own intentions; perhaps, it was because your father was Mori-san’s enemy, perhaps you wanted revenge for something that happened in the past. Perhaps, your smile meant nothing, after all—it was all a farce so you could take him out, and Akutagawa had been the fool and fallen for your trick. He washed his hands thoroughly before knowing full well that the next time he’d see you would be him barging through your apartment door, demanding answers for what you had done to him. Whether he’d kill you or not wasn’t too clear yet, but he was sure of one thing.

    He felt like he would die if he didn’t see you. Thinking of the petals that he had coughed out, Akutagawa was more than sure that death was imminent.

*

Your hands were shaking and you could barely breathe; the anxiety rappelled from inside your mind and held a vine-like grip all over your body. You knew it was futile to try and breathe or get any studying done with the way you were being, but you had to try. Tears leaked out of your eyes and it felt as if waves were crashing inside your head and every inch of you was drowning and you did very little to try and hold on to the limited reality that was visible to you. You breathed in heavily before another sob cracked through your throat, sinking your entire body to the ground. Your books lay scattered everywhere and you tried to swallow some saliva to soothe your aching throat, but your body wasn’t listening to you and neither was your mind.

    So, at that moment, when the door barged open and black cloth-like arms wrapped around you, pulling you to the air, you let it take you. You shut your eyes before the sobs only multiplied, now you were both scared for your life and desperate, but no part of you would run. You were held in place until a familiar voice pulled you out of the reverie you were in, bringing you back to where you had been before the breakdown happened.

    “What’s wrong with you?” Akutagawa asked, narrowing his eyes.

    He hadn’t expected to find you in such a pitiful state. Surely, if you were a mastermind of deception, you’d be a little more prepared. You didn’t look like you were anywhere close to prepared, you didn’t even look like you were willing to fight. When you opened your eyes, he saw it again—the hollow, empty shells that they were despite the sobs that broke through your lips. Had he scared you? No, you had been in that pitiful state even before he got there. He felt his chest burn once again and that made him think of your ability—the one you had apparently used on him.

    “Akutagawa-san…” Your voice was raspy, and it was then he realized it might have been holding on to you far too tightly to deem comfortable. “…please…”

    He didn’t know what you were asking for but he let you down and waited. Were you going to give him the answers he needed? Was everyone going to be made clear? What was it that you did? What was your master plan?

    “I’m… I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” You said, letting out a bitter chuckle, “And… my door… You broke it.”

    He turned to look at the door and he had indeed broken it down, but that wasn’t the problem. He looked back at you before noticing that you were standing up now, walking toward your kitchen. He couldn’t understand why he let silence envelop both of you right then, but no part of him was complaining. Strangely, being around you had calmed his chest and there was no cough that radiated from within. He followed after you before watching you carefully, noticing you wipe the remaining tears that had stained your cheeks.

    “I… I get anxiety attacks around my exams. I feel like I’m never good enough. No matter how hard I work, how much effort I put it… It’s all…” You bit your lip to stop it from shaking, “…I’m not going to stop, though. I won’t stop. I want to be a doctor. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’m going to do this. I have to.”

    “Why does your father know the boss?”

    You stilled for just a moment before continuing with making tea. You pulled out two cups, one for him and one for you, and despite not knowing him enough, the silence that he so well carried with himself was strong and special. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, an eerie thing to feel so loudly, and during every third breath, Akutagawa felt breathless.

    “My father was an assassin,” You said, “Gave up that line of work and became a drug kingpin here. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been told I was useless if I didn’t do as he told me to. I did everything. I… everything.”

    Akutagawa’s eyes widened. He watched you as you effortlessly made tea and poured it into his cup. A small dash of honey, and chamomile tea bags, and a kitchen where the aroma was enough to intoxicate a blind person. He had never imagined drinking a tea like this and yet, no part of him complained.

    “You killed people.”

    You looked barely 20 years old. So that could only mean you were a child assassin. After all, it was an easier profession for children.

    “No one expects a child to kill, especially if she’s smiling.” You smiled sweetly, yet the callous expression in your eyes never faded.

    You turned to him a second later before Akutagawa coughed into his hands, multiple petals falling into his fist and then to the floor. You froze as you realized what this was, your hands flying to his now bloody wrist. He caught the bruise he had given you the other day and made no attempt to stop you. You opened his palm and found more lilac petals, covered in phlegm and blood and you stared. Akutagawa didn’t understand what your look meant but waited nonetheless. When you looked up to meet his gaze, he could swear that the callousness in your eyes was slowly fading.

    “Akutagawa-san…” Your voice was a whisper, “This is the hanahaki disease.”

    “What is it?” His voice was coarse, again from the intense coughing.

    “It’s… It’s a sign you’re in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same for you.”

    “Love?” His eyes widened as he repeated the preposterous word, “L-Love, you say?”

    He pulled his hand away from you, letting the bloody petals fall to the floor. You looked at him pleadingly before he coughed some more, slapping the tea from the counter and spilling it everywhere.

    “What a useless emotion!” He screamed, “Love!? That’s what’s gotten me weaker?!”

    “Does it anger you that you can love?”

    He clicked his tongue before pushing you away, wondering what in the world he was even doing there in the first place. He had gotten to know who you were, he had gotten to know what your deal was and yet—every part of him wanted more. It was quiet desperation that he couldn’t quite understand or grasp to his fullest capabilities, and this inadequacy left him aching on the inside. You stared at him before pursing your lips, what more could you tell someone who refused to believe that no one could be broken enough to not love?

    “Your anger and emotional outbursts usually result when someone penetrates to the core of what you don’t like about yourself or still cannot accept.”

    “Get rid of it,” Akutagawa threatened, “Get rid of this… this thing!”

    You wondered if he knew what he was talking about. Did he even know where these emotions came from? Did he even know why he was feeling this way? Had he ever acknowledge that he could feel love for another person? You slowly got up from where you were pushed to and let out a shaky breath.

    “Akutagawa-san…” You began, “There is a way to remove it.”

    “Good. What is it?”

    “The person has to love you back.”

    “How useless—“

    You threw yourself at the man before noticing him turn fiercely rigid. While it was miraculous that he didn’t outright push you away, it was also a tad bit disappointing that he stood as if was waiting for it to be done. The first time you saw Akutagawa’s face, you had seen that he was someone who was constantly running. Either from his past, from his pain, or toward a goal he would never reach, Akutagawa’s journey revolved around his own imperfection. It was a desire that dug so deeply into you that it gave you every right to see yourself in them. After all, you had broken off such ties after your father’s demise. Yet, no part of you, physical or otherwise, had forgotten what killing had done to you. It had robbed you from a chance to live a regular life, and here was another person, going through the very same thing.

    However, to see that he had developed a disease that proved limerence in such a deep context could only mean that there was still hope left for you as well. After all, it was the deeply broken that knew how to love best. For they knew what was constantly at stake, and they know the pain of devastating loss. Pulling back, you made a vow to yourself. If you eventually did become a doctor, if you eventually did end up saving more lives than you had ended in the past, it must and should begin with Akutagawa. Because only then could you truly save yourself.

    “I’ll help you,” You said, earnestly, “I’ll make it happen.”

    Kindness, as worthless as he believed it was, did not assist in making someone stronger. It never worked with him, it never persuaded him as much as hate and pain did, yet, there was something to intoxicating about kindness that made him crave for more. As he looked into your eyes, Akutagawa saw a radiance he had only dreamt of seeing before; a radiance he had grown to believe did not exist in the world, a radiance he had attempted to protect in the past. Inching closer, Akutagawa felt the constricting in his chest increase as he closed the distance between you and him, yet, he paused. He couldn’t move a step further. You smiled a second later before holding his hands, bloody and messy, it didn’t look like you cared.

    “So, who is this person?”

*

The next time Akutagawa saw you, he wasn’t expecting to see you. A careless slip in a battle deemed him worthy of a strong injury; he was distracted by the lilacs he had been coughing out and didn’t see an incoming blow, which scraped him at his left hip—missing the bone. While he knew he could allow Higuchi to help him, every part of him ached for you. Pushing aside Higuchi, he got into the streets walking toward your apartment. He remembered the way as if it were the back of his hand, and it led him to you, painstakingly. He wanted to move faster, he wanted to see your face despite knowing that the injury wouldn’t necessarily kill him. After all, you had said you’d help him.

   The person has to love you back, you had said; and how ironic that was. Akutagawa went chasing after people who would constantly deem him inadequate; he would never be enough, and that was what this disease was telling him. It was practically ending his life because he would never be enough—and what more proof would he need? Every inch of his body craved for another and yet, the other person knew nothing of his growing limerence. It was killing him and yet, there was nothing that could save him except his own demise. What an ironic way to die, he thought, as he reached your door. You had fixed it the day after he had broken it down, and ever since, he believed that reaching you would require him to use a softer approach. Soft like your skin—the very same skin he had bruised the first time he had touched it.

    You opened the door and your eyes instantly widened; Akutagawa took one step further, but your arms wrapped around him before pulling him to your chest, his chin landing on your shoulder, your hands wrapped around his back. You could feel his heavy heartbeat before dragging him to your bed. Just as you were about to remove his jacket, he stopped you—not allowing you to touch it.

    “I…” His raspy voice scared you, “I… don’t want to hurt you.”

    “How would you—“

    He didn’t let you finish and simply removed the jacket himself, before laying on the bed; you carefully placed the jacket around the chair and got to work on Akutagawa. You carefully removed the shirt that was stained with his blood before bringing in all the required materials needed to clean his wound first. You didn’t hear a wince from him the entire time, knowing full well that it would sting him beyond belief. It was as if he was used to the pain, and wasn’t moving because somehow this pain had been familiarised. You felt your heart go out for him, but your hands continued working on his wounds. You sat beside him to his left, where the wound was, and continued dressing the large gash, before momentarily feeling his right arm grasp your wrist. You looked up to find Akutagawa staring into your eyes, some sort of pleading look embedded in them.

    “Does it hurt?”

    He shook his head before freeing you, and it was then you realized how soft his touch actually was. Unlike the last time when he had bruised your wrist, Akutagawa’s touch was almost feather like; they say soft feathers cannot make a cruel bird kind, but Akutagawa had led his entire life believing he was nothing but cruel and it took him one touch, just one touch at your wrist to learn that he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was the wound that was making him think this way or if he was finally seeing things clearly, but the view he had by sitting right beside you, gazing into your form as you cleaned his wound, was the only thing he believed he’d want to see for the rest of his life. Dazai’s approval meant squat if it meant being able to sit beside you in absolute silence; if life allowed him to meet you, learn of your existence and perfection, then there was some redeeming quality in him that gave him the right to be sitting by you.

    “Doesn’t hurt.” He said, truthfully, before feeling the urge to want to touch you more. He wanted to be touched by you, and hopefully, he wouldn’t push you away as he had before. He wanted nothing more than to be gentle, feel your hair between the pads of his fingers, watch you as you studied, wrap you in his arms gently if he ever saw you crying again—Akutagawa wanted to wholeheartedly detach his anger whenever you were around and it was your existence that gave him the confidence that it was possible.

    “I…” You said, “I don’t know your full name.”

    “Akutagawa Ryunosuke.”

    You gulped before pursing your lips.

    “Is it okay if I call you Ryuu?” He blinked at you, “L-Like when we’re alone! I mean… I’m not saying I don’t like your name, I… just… well, you can call me (y/n), if you’d like! I just… I think… I like—“

    “Do as you wish.”

    You smiled a bit before taking the bandages in your hands. With the sound of your heart pounding the way it was, Akutagawa didn’t realize that it had been roughly 2 hours since he had last coughed out flowers. Perhaps, the pace with which it slowed meant something. Perhaps, it didn’t. He wouldn’t be able to tell for a while at least.

*

On odd days, Akutagawa found that his cough was getting better; a sign that presented him with an emotion he once believed was dead in him—hope. He remembered your words loud and clear that this disease called for the person he was in love with return his emotions for him to stop dying. However, the cough didn’t entirely stop. During nights when he missed your presence greatly, Akutagawa’s coughs were enhanced—lilacs poured out of his chest like a clogged waterfall let free, and his eyes stung with the intensity with which he remained a trembling mess of a person he thought he was. Despite learning to accept his emotions for you, on nights like these, Akutagawa was reminded of how weak he truly was, of Dazai’s harsh words for him that were imprinted in his very soul, of how inadequate he felt to even earn a disease such as this. When his hands shook, he felt the fear of dying—not of losing his life, but of never being able to see you again. And thoughts like this left him skirmish, it left him aching for his past-self, where he had never met you, where he wouldn’t have had to face such a metamorphosis that ridiculed him in such a manner.

    Akutagawa was not used to hoping for love, he was only, in every right, a giver. He chased after everything he thought he deserved, yet never realized that chasing it was never the right way for him to attain it. On nights like these, where he begged for a power that would rid him of his emotions for you, he’d wake up regretting those very words for the prospect of being able to see you, protect you, stay by your side and earn your precious silence. Some part of him always yearned for something that enveloped him not in a sense of passion but a calm care. Akutagawa needed someone he could rely on to not always expect him to perform or achieve some standard. Someone who saw how quiet he was and respected it. Not that no one ever had, Gin had always admired his tenacity and intrinsically quiet nature. It was the expectation that his life now put on him that broke him, more than just a little.

    The next day poured onto him excruciating pain. His chest and throat burned, and he could barely open his eyes. His sister who was living with him knew that his coughing had reached a dangerous point, yet she knew that meddling with his affairs would infuriate him more. Yet, the worry seeped out of her and she forced herself to barge into his quarters and at least ask him what she could do. It wasn’t like him to take a day off from work, but in his current state, even standing up could be a challenge.

    “Nii-san,” She voiced, “Is there something I can do? Someone I can bring who can take a look at—“

    “No. Get out.”

    Gin pursed her lips before walking away quietly, recalling with everything she had if there was someone she had seen her brother speak to who could help. She contemplated calling Chuuya, or anyone else from the Black Lizard, but involving the Mafia would only anger her brother in more ways than one. Taking in a deep breath, she found herself walking toward her favorite cafe, wanting to bring back some tea for her brother—the tea she knew he enjoyed. Calming chamomile tea always soothed him, rid his anxieties, which might even assist in his coughs. While she had no idea the origin behind those coughs, she knew they were different from the regular tickle in his throat.

    On reaching the cafe, she felt a mild tap on her shoulder, which she knew must have alerted her beyond belief, but the person whose eyes she landed on caused Gin to blink with confusion. She had seen you before, but she couldn’t understand where. You looked at her with an awkward expression, a quiet sort of worry seeping out of your bones.

    “I… I know you’re acquainted with Akutagawa-san? I was… Well, I wanted to know how he’s doing?”

    Gin’s eyes widened. Were you a friend of her brother’s? Not that she wasn’t surprised with her brother having a friend in the first place, especially that friend being a regular girl like you. She contemplated letting you know that her brother’s condition was deteriorating at a quicker pace than she had ever thought, but wondered if it was the right thing to do. What would Ryuunosuke want her to do? What would she do? Pausing for just a moment, Gin realized she was thinking too hard. She’d now do what any sister would.

    “He’s not doing so well,” She spoke honestly, “If… If you can come take a look, I think he’d appreciate it.”

    When your eyes widened with horror, Gin knew she may have done the right thing. You bit your lip and nodded, before following her out of the cafe; she led you to their shared apartment before also slipping in that she was his sister and not anyone you’d have to think too hard over. You blushed when Gin made it clear but refused to speak about it. Once inside, Gin nodded before leaving to work, knowing full well that her presence was no longer required. You jumped when you heard violent coughing coming in from a room with a closed door, and you slowly approached it, your heart pounding rapidly; however, just when you could feel your heartbeat in your ears, blinding you and depriving you of focusing on any other senses, your hands stilled before they could reach the doorknob. Sudden silence enveloped the room, and it slowly made sense to you on what was going on. With the way he was avoiding you these few days, with the way how he suddenly turned soft toward you, with the way Akutagawa helped you—your mind spat at you for never seeing it before. Tears filled your eyes before you realized that his disease was your fault, in almost every possible way, and instead of blaming you, he was taking it on himself.

    “Ryuu?”

    Akutagawa froze on the bed where he lay before staring at the ceiling. With the rapidity of his growing coughs, he was almost sure that you would never return his affections; he didn’t even want affection, in the first place. What Akutagawa wanted and needed never intersected, they were parallels that would never meet, yet somehow you were now standing opposite his door, calling him by a name no one would dare call him by.

    And the strangest thing of all, he let you.

    “What are you doing here?” Violent coughs only made his voice sound weaker than he felt, and he hated every second of it.

    “Can I come inside?”

    “How did you get here?” He sounded angry now, almost raging.

    “Please,” His heart ached when you pleaded. He’d give you anything in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t understand why this was so hard, “I want to see you.”

    His eyes widened. You wanted to see him? While it didn’t make sense, no reply from him gave you the assurance you needed to enter the room he was in, and the second his eyes fell on your form, Akutagawa felt breathless. He couldn't take his gaze from you. Your wide, wondering eyes were like soft midnight, star-glittered with forgotten tears. The curves of your body looked firm and sweet, nothing but inviting, sensual softness. If you were his... he might finally have the sense of ease other men had. No more spending every minute of the day striving and hungering and never feeling sated. But, was that even possible?

    “The hanahaki disease,” You began, standing a few feet away from him, “It’s when you love a person who doesn’t feel the same,” He could hear your voice tremble, and he felt like scum for letting it get here, “I’m not sure entirely but…”

    If Akutagawa could place together pieces of why he was aggravated by your very presence, it wouldn’t have led him to where he currently was. Avoiding your gaze coughs multiplied by numerous ramifications, hands shaking, forehead breaking out into a sweat—he had never felt more obscenely weak than sitting before you on his bed, having your keen gaze observe his frail body. Numbness coursed through his veins and never before had he wished to disappear more than right then; it was suffocating to sit in front of you while you wordlessly judged him, deemed him moronic in that pretty little head of yours. He stilled momentarily before slapping himself internally; you were no such person. You wouldn’t judge another. The entire reason for his predicament right then was simply because of how perfect you were.

    And no perfect human being would dare judge another. Especially not someone as broken as he.

    “Is it…” You sounded so defeated, he’d have done anything to hear your giggles and laughter once again, but life wasn’t as giving to him. It had never been. “Is that person… me?”

    A fool’s curse, he had deemed it—love was nothing but just that. He was a dark, damaged individual with a past that deemed him unworthy of your gaze, of your silence, of your soft fingers grazing his hair in dreams that felt forbidden to even wake from; Akutagawa wondered why it was that he even fell for you, in such a short duration of time, with limited interaction, with wordless conversations. And yet, the answer hit him. He didn’t need much from you, only a smile. A smile from your callous eyes, eyes that were like how his once were; and when he was someone who couldn’t smile the way you did, you had won over life in a way he never had. This sight—this very sight of your victory over a life that had deemed you unworthy, captured his heart. In you, Akutagawa saw every single desire that he had locked away, that he had deemed irrational and asinine. And you wore the irrational and asinine parts with pride.

    When he didn’t answer, the answer came to you. Tears leaked down your eyes as you reached forward and combed his hair, feeling him tense under your touch. Akutagawa wasn’t touch-starved, he didn’t starve for something he had no idea about. Yet, when your fingers skimmed through his hair, the need to breathe followed quickly after. He shut his eyes and leaned into your touch almost instinctively, before feeling you wrap your other hand around his neck and pull his head to your chest. You stood beside him as he sat on his bed, his head resting on the valley of your breasts. Your hold tightened and Akutagawa felt like he could die right then and there would be no regrets.

    “Ryuu…” You cooed, rubbing your hands in his hair. You smelt divine, almost intoxicating and he wondered if opening his eyes would have you disappear. You pressed your chin to the top of his head and he felt so ridiculous, he wondered if he should push you away or pull you closer. You answered his question by bringing yourself closer anyway, pressing your nose to his hair.

    “I’m so sorry,” You said, tears leaking out of your eyes. “I love you! I do! I love you so much!”

    Akutagawa’s eyes widened, before he turned, only to be pressed into your chest more. He calmly lifted one of his hands, touched your arm and pushed you away slightly, and noticed your drenched face. He looked at you like you were a fool, before shaking his head.

    “You said I’ll stop coughing once the person I—“

    “Yeah—“

    “I haven’t stopped coughing.” He said, eyeing you like you were a liar.

    You shook your head before throwing your hands softly against either of his cheeks; you could see them turning red, but you didn’t mind.

    “That was because you truly believed I couldn’t return your feelings, Ryuu. How will your disease know I love you if you don’t believe it first?”

    Was it truly that simple? It marveled him at how much of a moron you were, feeling love for a murderer like himself, but you were crying for him—you were miraculously here in his apartment, holding him like your life was dependent on it. He was no fool, and he never really pushed aside what his eyes were seeing, so while he was slowly becoming aware that you returned his feelings, he wanted to scold you for the dumbest choice you had ever made. Yet, instead of doing any of that, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke did something else that took your breath away.

    Reaching forward, he grazed the pads of his fingers across your cheek, wiping a stray tear that threatened to fall lower, and he tried smiling. Callous eyes and a hopeful smile—the only thing that got him to fall for you, Akutagawa now tried his best to return it, knowing full well he owed you at least that much. Your eyes widened at the sight he presented you with before you placed a shaky hand on his that was on your cheek. Leaning into his touch, you wondered if two broken people could ever love, yet, with the way he was smiling right then, you would be damned if you came close to calling him broken.

    Leaning forward, boldly, you placed a kiss on his head, causing his eyes to turn to saucers with the unfamiliar action. You felt him tense up once again, and you held him close despite that, knowing full well that whatever was foreign to him wasn’t essentially bad, all you had to do was familiarise Akutagawa to love and he would learn to accept it better. Looking up, he pulled you down from the back of your neck and pressed his lips to yours—you could feel how dry they were, yet, that didn’t stop you from kissing him back. You could feel his hands tremble with the way he was holding you, not used to pressing softly, yet hard at the same time. When Akutagawa pulled apart from you a few moments later, it felt as if he was breathing for the first time. You allowed yourself to sit beside him now, enveloping the silence around you as if it were a comforting blanket. He looked at you so gently, slipping his arm around you and stroking your hair with a movement so soft you wondered if he realized he was doing it. He was capable of such softness that it presented as a strength instead of what he truly believed it was.

*

Nakahara Chuuya often finds himself in strange wine stores, looking for the wine he knew he could spend money on, wine more expensive than the one he had bought previously, keeping up with a mental game with himself. Walking out of the store, he spotted you—someone he believed he’d never see again, wearing a sundress and hair done up in a complicated plait that had you looking cute if he were being honest. He shook his head before focusing on getting home and drinking to some food, but just as he turned away, he turned back to you with wide eyes, almost dropping the wine he had bought, but he was glad he had his ability to prevent that from happening.

    What the f*ck? Chuuya thought when he saw Akutagawa slip his hand in yours, in a movement so casual that it seemed almost out of character for a rapid dog to act like a Labrador in love. You smiled at Akutagawa who returned half of it before Chuuya wounded if he was looking at Akutagawa at all in the first place. A moment later, he noticed the man slip his arm around your waist before leading you away from the area, in such a nonchalant yet casual manner that it left bewildered Chuuya to just stand there with his mouth ajar and heart raging. How the f*ck does that runt have a lover? Chuuya’s thoughts weren’t jealous, or even close, but it was a pure shock that left him jaw-dropped.

Well, whatever, he thought, before heading home, reminded thanks to Akutagawa and his new girlfriend that Chuuya was to drink alone that night. Again.

#akutagawa #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa ryunosuke x reader #akutagawa ryunosuke #chuuya nakahara #port mafia #rabid dog of port mafia #akutagawa bungo stray dogs #rashomon #ryunosuke akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x y/n #hanahaki au #akutagawa hanahaki #dazai #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #akutagawa fluff #akutagawa angst #soft akutagawa

[valleydean]

Ok so I’m probably overthinking cuz this is spn we’re talking about, but I never really got the whole michael sword being a vessel thing.

The michael sword was michael’s primary weapon in banishing lucifer to hell. This incarnation (dean) being a vessel makes sense because the battle was going to be fought on earth. But the original battle didn’t happen on earth, and no vessels were used.

So we can presume that there is an actual literal sword of michael. I get why the angels were obsessed with getting dean to say yes. It was their plan after all. But tfw?cas?gabriel even, how did they not think about the fact that michael hadn’t needed a vessel the last time around, and therefore it wasn’t actually necessary for dean to be possessed as long as he had the actual sword with him in order to defeat lucifer?

i also think you’re overthinking it lmaoo. no jk jk. i mean..... i don’t have an answer for you other than “they thought it would be cool to call michael’s vessel ‘the michael sword’ and they were absolutely right” and “they probably didn’t think about it too hard.” i mean, you’re right. you’re right. but also i don’t care because every time i hear “dean winchester is the michael sword” i start absolutely frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog on steroids.

#ask #dean #spn #Anonymous #doesn't matter how many times i rewatch the show #it gets to the point in 5x01 when zachariah says dean is the michael sword #and i go balls to the ball buckwild #every damn time #i'm a simple gal

[enigmaincrimson-personal]

Thinking of reformatting the blog.

Or... migrating to a new iteration.

Not sure which.

Just feels like the way things are right now is causing too many hard feelings and maybe a fresh start is what I need.

Or at least a refresh for that matter.

The reason why I haven’t done so already though is mostly because I don’t want to lose anyone that did stay despite my own personal issues and instability.

So part of me is thinking that breaking the verses down again and separating the more convoluted verses back into smaller parts... would bother those people less than trying to start over.

The Sonic and Zelda verses are definite victims of this fragmented messiness... and I’m tempted to split them apart and give them their own verse pages.

The other muses page needs to be streamlined and polished... and I really would like to somehow get side features like the gallery (Which needs to be cleaned) back into the forefront.

I really doubt I’ll be ever good enough no matter how hard I try, but I should at least try to regain something... or at least make things better for anyone that’s still left.

I should also eliminate the failed sideblogs and fix the NSFW blog while I’m at it. Not really sure how though...

I’m having enough trouble figuring out a better way to sift through all the badly written and overly convoluted junk on the main blog.

There’s something good down there and I know it, but I never can consistently find the right way to put it in a way that actually makes sense.

I know that there’s an amazing muse in there that I would love to share with everyone, but it feels like I’m just bugging everyone because of all the other stuff that’s piled on top of it that pretty much distracts and even ruins the intended experience.

It really hurts when I know what I should be able to offer, but with things the way they are now... with me pretty much having to try to organized my ever confused and muddled thoughts alone... I feel like I’ve failed everyone.

And honestly... I know there’s people out there telling people that I’m some sort of evil nasty creep out there... and how we’re “mortal enemies” and making all sorts of racket about how I should just die and save the world the trouble.

You never actually won. I’m still here. I still care about you. What’s upsetting me that you are obsessed over such small and idiotic things... I mean, is it really a crime to decide to go for a simple and organized theme or not wanting to take someone’s advice?

I’ve been around here for over ten years... and longer in real life. I’ve seen many people try to get rid of me and drive themselves mad in that time many times over. They’ve even tried to outright murder me in some cases... if the dangerous situation they tried to put me in didn’t do me in first.

Your wasting your time and your life trying to get rid of someone over issues that really shouldn’t have been issues. I’m not even angry... I’m just disappointed and frustrated that I have to keep seeing these same stupid lines being repeated over and over while being spread around on this garbage site like it’s some big moral issue.

Discussion isn’t godmodding. Plotting isn’t gaslighting. Fixing one’s mistakes isn’t toxicity. Asking for personal information is a rights and privacy issue. Your personal fetishes aren’t important than everyone else... and I really could keep going on and on here.

And seriously... just because someone sunk thousands of dollars in custom blogs doesn’t mean that they have the right to try to bully someone who just happens to have mutual followers into oblivion. Just because Tumblr’s badly made app crashes on your phone doesn’t mean that it’s someone on Tumblr’s fault.

They never tried to communicate, not like sane people... They only charged in and accused, frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs... and screaming like an angry mob while acting like the smallest thing is an affront to their moral standing.

Not even once has these people even tried to understand anything from the other person’s view... They never tried to resolve the situation. They just immediately dubbed the other person as the most evil of things, plugged their ears, and acted like their rights were more important than everyone else.

The funny thing... is that I’m not angry. I feel sorry for them. I pity them. After all, what sort of life do they live that an unpaid hobby is so important that they are willing to tear themselves and other people down over something as stupid and petty as follower count?

I’m getting tired of getting kicked out of groups because of these people though... Apparently feeling passionate about creating is some terrible crime... and not being able to draw my muses myself without some sort of technical aid is an offence.

It’s supposed to be a hobby... We’re supposed to create together, have fun, and see what new and beautiful things might come from it.

Instead, these people stomp all over it over dumb shit like “I wanna harem and you don’t want that kind of relationship” or “I want all the canon muses to myself and you’re in the way.”... as well as others like it.

Of course I’m going to be upset. People have literally wanted to beat me to death and hunted me daily because one of them pushed me through a church window and wanted to punish me for it.

But who is going to believe me when I say such things? I can’t prove it... The only witnesses are the people accusing me of the equivalent of “She’s keeping the crops from growing” and even saying about it is supposedly some major sin.

Yes, I know I’m rambling and drifting from one subject to another.

In the end, I still care and I don't like to see anyone get hurt because of me or anyone else... especially over the dumb and should have been easily and peacefully resolved petty shit that I keep mentioning over and over.

I love seeing your creations every day, even if I’m not sure if I’m welcome or allowed to be there with how things have been. Usually I end up just watching from a distance as a result.

I know I’m clumsy and at times irritating, but communication has, is, and will always be a precious commodity.

#enigmaincrimson #ooc

[theleftoversworld]

The Lord is My Shepard

There can’t be more than two hundred people in this dirt pile that they call a town. Why am I here? Why do I do this? Is it not God’s will that they die for their sins? The rapture has come. They were not taken by the Lord’s hand, so their punishment must be here, on earth. But you have called me here Lord... you must have your reasons. Casandra thinks as she rides her motorbike up to the lone business that looks like it’s operational. The same in all of these filthy towns. The church is derelict, and the tavern is thriving. Filthy Godless people. She’s been in these towns enough to know that in boondocks like this there is always a board with jobs listed on it. That’s why she’s here. The church sent her on a pilgrimage around rural Illinois to help the people and find out what God’s plan is for her. The other reason she’s here is that taverns like this always have passable whiskey, which is required before attempting to deal with these people. She runs a hand through her long knotted brown hair to try to get the bugs and leaves out of it. After a moment’s pause she pulls her rosary from inside her leather jacket. This should have some sway to help her get information and stop the drooling men from trying to make a pass. She takes one last breath of clean fresh air before heading inside. It smells like every other tavern in this cursed land. Urine, body odor, and desperation. There’s half a dozen men at the bar already. They look like they spent their day out in the sun digging dirt. They have nothing here. No crops can grow here after the rapture, the earth doesn’t want to support them anymore. Why don’t they leave these barren lands and find someplace where they can actually survive instead of scraping by? A sunburnt man in overalls who stands behind the bar gives her a once over. “Ya?” He says in an accusing tone as though she’s forcing him to be there. “Whiskey.” She grunts, trying to match his tone. She’s learned that gruff works better than nice, and she’s never been good at being cordial. In one motion she sits down and puts enough money on the table for three shots. “Two shots and the extra is to leave me alone.” The man behind the bar seems to appreciate this. He pours two shots and then turns his back on her. She downs the first shot and winces. No chaser, the pain gives her focus, lets her see things she normally wouldn’t. The man at the other end of the bar has a dirt covered lipstick mark on his neck. Probably having an affair with another dirt person. The child at that round table keeps shifting in her seat. She has to pee and her parents haven’t noticed. The family in the back of the bar nearest the rear door, a mother and two kids. The mother has blood on her pants near her ankle. She’s resting it on her other foot so it doesn’t accidentally get any weight put on it. Something bit her. From the mess on her clothes she’s been working with animals. Where’s her husband? Dead? Or did he just leave? Cassandra takes a long breath. Nothing in here is immediately threatening. She can take a bit of time to think. She rests back on her barstool. I was a devout child. I went to catholic school, attended church twice a week. Every extra curricular thing I could do with the church I did. So why was I left behind in the Rapture? Why did God not take me to live with him? Why am I still here on this diseased planet? She frowns. This line of thought never gets her anywhere but into a fight. As if on cue a young man sits down next to her. Really he’s more of a boy than a man. If I ignore him, maybe he won’t say anything. I need work, the last thing I need is to break this kid’s teeth. She thinks and reaches for her second shot. “Hey, you’re pretty good looking for a church girl.” The man says and reaches out to stop her from grabbing the shot. “If you touch me I will circumcise you with my sword.” She growls. “I can’t promise it will be clean.” He quickly retracts his hand. “Meant no harm. We just never get visitors. Especially ones that look as good as you.” She throws the shot back. “Ever think you’re the

reason?” She slams the glass down and gets up to leave. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her now but she doesn’t care. They don’t deserve to be saved. I bet they don’t even go to church on Sunday. She thinks as she makes for the exit. Once she’s outside she spies the jobs board. It looks like someone’s been through here already. “Damn the hunters.” She grumbles as she walks to it. “They took almost everything... Let’s see what they left for me. The storekeeper’s wife is missing. I would bet money she’s above that bar working. I could smell the sin from outside. Aaaand sheep have been attacked at night on the edge of town.” She sighs. “One sucks far less than the other.” She rips the sheep job off the board and heads to the south end of town.

The town is so small she could have walked to the farm but she needs what’s on her bike. At the edge of town she finds a house with around twenty sheep in a hastily constructed small pen. A gate on one end of the pen tells her that they used to free range outside of town, but not anymore. Poor buggers. The animals have it the worst. They don’t understand that they are being punished along with the sinners.

After speaking to the owner of the house she goes back to her bike to set up. It’s the woman from the bar. She informs Cassandra that the attacks come at night so she might as well set up a camp and wait. When pressed for what happened to her ankle she says she stepped into a trap meant for the zombies. Cassandra nods, she seems a bit clumsy and careless. After a few more questions she heads back to her bike.

The church sent her out with rations, MRE’s that they got from what was left of the US military. This one is potato chowder and she hates to admit it, but it wasn’t half bad. Probably better than whatever she would have gotten at that tavern. Damn, the tavern. Another few shots would sure help the time pass. She hears a familiar voice calling from the house. It’s one of the boys. He must have dropped his dinner. She thinks and tries to ignore him. But then something he says catches her ear. “Please! She’s frothing like a rabid dog!” He shouts. She’s on her feet in an instant and running. She pulls out her sword as she runs as well as a small silver dagger she keeps in a belt pouch. “Sounds like a werewolf transformation! Where is she?” She asks as she makes it to the door. “On the kitchen floor! This way!” The boy shouts and leads her to the room. As soon as she enters the room though she knows that it’s not werewolves. The boy’s mother is there on the floor, foaming from the mouth like he said. But her eyes are almost bugging out of her head and the most telling part is her leg. The wound, which is now exposed, is septic and the skin around it has turned green. “Damnit! She needs to die now!” Casandra shouts and pulls her sword back but the boy steps in her way.

“No! She’s my mom! Help her! Doesn’t the church help people?” “There is no helping her! She’s been infected with the zombie virus! Now step aside or I will cleave you to get to her!” Cassandra yells angrily. He doesn’t move. “Lord, have mercy on their souls!” She growls but as she starts to bring the sword down. The boy lets out a bone shaking scream that causes her to wince and stop her blade. The boy falls and it becomes quickly obvious. The boy’s mother is chewing on his leg, tearing flesh with her teeth. The boy is looking at her in horror and screaming, both in terror and in pain. Cassandra shakes her head violently to clear it and then chops the boy’s head off in one swift motion. “Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.” She entones as she then goes to cut off the mothers head. “May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.” Once she’s done she looks at them in some disgust and takes stock of everything. “I guess I know what attacked the sheep then. I need some holy water to perform the ritual to make sure you two stay dead. And to find the other child, maybe they can be saved. Though I doubt it.” She turns to go to her bike but she stops in her tracks. One of the problems with zombies is that they don’t moan like they did in the movies. They are surprisingly quiet and can sneak up on you if you aren’t paying attention. There are fifteen of them in the house, between her and the front door. She glances at the window and sees more of them outside watching her. “No way out.” One of the zombies says. “If you give up, we will make it quick.” “Give up? Give up!?!” She says, getting angry. She raises her sword and changes into the zombies in the hallway. I believe in God! The Father Almighty! Creator of Heaven and earth!

and in Jesus Christ! His only Son Our Lord!” She shouts as she cleaves through the first two zombies. “Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate! Was crucified, died, and was buried!” Two more zombies fall at her feet, their evil purged from this world by her divine blade.

Although she is covered in their putrid blood, she doesn’t falter. This is her life, she was put on earth to slay evil. “He descended into Hell; the third day He rose again from the dead!” Five try to rush her at once but she steps back and makes a wide swing. She cuts off four arms and then raises her sword hand, clenched fist facing the zombies. “He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead!” A stream of fire comes from her hand like a hose. She sweeps it over the zombies that remain between her and the door. “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting!” She finishes the prayer and then barrels through the now burning zombies. They don’t feel pain, so fire is a double edged sword. They don’t recoil from it, so it makes them a danger if they touch you. But they are also fragile to begin with, so fire makes them like glass. She plows through them and runs out the front door. By the light of the burning house she fights zombies, slicing through them with ease. Once they are all dead she tosses their bodies into the house to make sure they burn.

By this time townspeople have turned out to see what is going on. They could see the fire and came running but they do not approach her. She ignores them while she’s working. If they wanted to help they could have joined in but they didn’t, telling her what they thought of her work. Once she’s done tossing bodies into the house she walks up to the bartender. “Let it burn. You want to make sure that none of them stand back up.” Then she boards her bike. No pay for this job, the person who put the job on the board was the second person she beheaded. She takes off, heading for the next town. It is not worth staying in a town where you burned down a house. That’s a lesson she learned already. Especially in small towns. They seem to take that personally.

Once the glow of the fire fades behind her she allows herself to relax a little. “Almighty and Loving God, I praise you from my heart, that of your boundless goodness you have preserved me this night past, and have, with the impenetrable shield of your providence, protected me from the power and malice of the devil.” She mutters as she rides off into the darkness. “Do not withdraw Lord, I kindly ask, your protection from me, but mercifully on this day watch over me with the eyes of your mercy. Lead my soul and body according to the rule of your will, and fill my heart with your Holy Spirit, that I may pass this day, and all the rest of my days, to your glory. Amen.”

Taglist: : @hellishhin @thelaughingstag

#i suck at editing #horror #writeblr #post apocalypse #blood cw #death cw

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO

Redpaw gazed at her mother.

It wasn’t fair, really, how peaceful they had managed to make her appear in death. Her eyes were closed serenely, her fur neatly groomed, mouth closed and cleaned of froth. She looked as though she was just asleep and having a nice dream. As if this whole ceremony was a joke. As if she would wake up any minute.

It was stupid. She wasn’t coming back. Why taunt everyone like this?

“Roany?”

Redpaw managed to tear her eyes away to meet her stepmother’s. The cream molly, Palefeather, was looking down at her with love and concern.

“How are you doing, honey?” she asked softly.

It was a stupid question, but Redpaw knew she meant well. She took a breath and looked down again.

“You wouldn’t think the white fury was in her blood,” she said. She was grateful that her voice was at the right volume, quiet but audible, because she had no say where it was herself. “She’s… she looks content.”

“She does.” Palefeather stepped in beside Redpaw, and the two stood in silence together.

Cats walked by them, pausing to crouch and whisper their respects to Thornfang – not touching her, as was custom of handling a white fury body – and offering a sympathetic nod to Redpaw and Palefeather before moving on. The Clast were shifting around in groups to swap stories about one of the most well-loved warriors in the community; how she had been unmatched in her battle strategies and hunting skill, how she had been a wonderful friend and a hilarious storyteller, how brave she had been in leading away the rabid dog that had gotten through the Hillock border, sacrificing her own safety to trap it in a currently dry gash in the earth that the dog had broken its neck falling into after it had bitten her. It was a shame she never became deputy, they said. She would have been a legendary leader in time.

Redpaw didn’t want to hear any of it. She pinned her ears against her head and shut her eyes tight, trying to mute out everything, but the conversations dug into her mind and latched on with terrible little claws, forcing her ears to stay open. Her own claws scraped against the stone floor.

Palefeather must have noticed, because she started grooming Redpaw’s head, purring quietly. Redpaw latched onto the sensation and focused as hard as she could on the feeling of a rough tongue and a soothing purr. Gradually, she relaxed.

“It’s not fair,” she murmured eventually. “She shouldn’t be here right now, on the ground.”

Palefeather paused her ministrations to reply. “She isn’t, Roany. She’s in StarClan now. She’s safe and happy. We’ll see her again one day.”

Redpaw opened her eyes halfway, returning her focus to her mother’s body. She wasn’t satisfied with that, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue against her stepmother. She knew that Palefeather needed that comfort as much as she did. She just sighed, shut her eyes again, and leaned into her only living family.

 Over the next week, Redpaw hunted alone. The rest of the Clast knew to leave her be – though perhaps Palefeather had a paw in that. Redpaw said nothing to anyone and ate very little of what she brought back. More often than not, she was out in the night while everyone was asleep, just to ensure that promise of solitude.

One evening, as she stalked, sniffing the air, she caught something new. A cold scent, that smelled of the dark and the mist. She frowned and stood straight, opening her mouth to taste it.

Very odd.

Very interesting.

Redpaw looked around in the moonlit hollow, thick with grass and cut through by a stream. She could swear that, under that chill, she had caught the scent of another cat.

“Is someone here?” she asked, calling just loud enough to be heard across the way.

You could say that.

Redpaw flinched. The voice was there, seemingly in her ear, close as a thought, but she couldn’t distinguish who it was or if they were near her. She looked around again, but even with her feline eyes, no one popped up out of the shadows.

Then, there – something thin, dim, a silhouette under a lone tree.

She relaxed and approached a few steps. “I didn’t know anyone else was awake.”

I’m always awake, the silhouette said. Sleep begets nightmares.

Redpaw frowned. Why couldn’t she define how this voice sounded?

“You’re not from the Clast,” she said.

The sensation of eyes regarding her, half-narrowed. I wouldn’t know anymore.

Redpaw didn’t know how to respond to that. She stopped walking and squinted, trying to make out whoever this was. They seemed little more than a shadow.

Who…?

I know about your mother, they said suddenly. I’m sorry.

Redpaw’s head went back a little and she blinked. “No one’s left the Clast this week. Why would you know about-?”

Saw it. Their long, narrow head tilted to the side. Wanted to stop her, but that never works. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer molly.

Redpaw stared. “You saw her and you didn’t come to the vigil?”

I wouldn’t be welcome in most of our society. They gazed at her silently for a moment. I can’t tell you how much I regret her fate.

Redpaw was confused by this riddle-talking… whoever they were. She still couldn’t make out their features, and it was starting to unnerve her.

Still, she could remain polite.

She recited Palefeather’s current mantra. “At least she’s happy in StarClan now.”

The silhouette rippled suddenly, violently. Don’t follow that hollow sentiment, Redpaw. It’s not true.

Redpaw flinched and took a step back, somewhere between offended and alarmed.

StarClan is the last place you want her to go, they said – and their voice did not get louder in her head, but it became more intense, more powerful.

Redpaw didn’t know what she wanted to say, but she managed a, “Why not?”

The rippling ceased and there was a long, low breath… or perhaps it was the breeze. When you go to sleep, call for her. Dream tonight. You’ll see.

Then they were gone.

It took Redpaw a moment to realize that she was alone. She blinked, looking for that silhouette, and then turning this way and that, a little afraid. No one was with her. The scent of cold and dark and damp had vanished.

Redpaw told no one about her encounter – something in her advised against it, and she followed her instincts. She was lucky that most of the cats had retired to their nests by the time she got home. Hardly anyone lifted their head to even greet her. She took her nest that she had pushed to be a little further away from the usual cluster in each house, curled up, and shut her eyes, trying to will herself to become sleepy.

“Mother,” she whispered under her breath, to avoid catching any attention. “If you can hear me…”

Something creaked.

She opened her eyes and startled. All around her was a grassy, beautiful clearing. Flowers in a scattered rainbow of colors caught the sunlight that warmed Redpaw’s pelt. Redpaw recovered from her shock and shook it out of her fur. She inhaled deeply, blessed with the scent of prey and ground just drying from the rain.

She seemed to be alone, but hesitantly, she called, “Mother?” and, after a pause, quieter, “Is this StarClan?”

There was an odd sensation, like Redpaw’s sight shuddered, and something sun-bright was in front of her. She squinted, eyes relaxing slowly as it dimmed, until she recognized her aged spitting-image in front of her.

“Mother,” she breathed. Elation straightened her posture and her fur flared with excitement. She stumbled a step forward.

Then she stopped.

Thornfang’s eyes were wide, darker than they were in life, sunken in. They bulged with terror. Her claws sunk into the grass, her tail bristled like a coyote’s. Why did she look so gaunt?

Redpaw looked at her mother. Thornfang looked at her.

“Run,” she said.

The ground burst open behind her, rocks splitting and jutting out skyward. Redpaw fell to her stomach as the earth shook. All around was a deafening, grinding groan, slow and strained.

Thornfang started forward. Something eye-searingly bright shot up out of the opening in the ground. It wrapped itself around Thornfang’s sides and jerked her up off her feet.

“Run!” Thornfang shouted, voice cracking in animal terror.

Then she was pulled into the hole, and the earth shook again, violent. It crumbled away, closing in on Redpaw until she had nothing under her paws. She half-fell, half-floated in the

 in the

  She saw it.

  She screamed.

   Hush.

Redpaw shot up out of her nest, hyperventilating. She pedaled backwards until she hit a stone wall, too terrified to think straight. She was on the verge of passing out, and she knew it, and it scared her, as if she might return to that thing once she lost consciousness.

In front of her was the dark figure, free of the shadows. They stood tall, thin, long, and unnaturally calm.

And shush, they said. Now Redpaw knew their words were in her head – no one so much as flicked an ear in their sleep. For it may be listening.

The very last string of sensibility grabbed at Redpaw’s heart and held on, ordering her to slow her breathing. She was barely able to obey, taking deeper, more elongated breaths, until she was merely trembling and not frozen in place.

The silhouette nodded once. Come.

They turned and walked out of the house. Their tail was like a snake, but it seemed to be fading at the tip.

Redheart looked around to ensure that no one had awoken – they hadn’t – before shakily following the figure out of the silent, night-stained settlement and towards the area they had first met.

You saw it, then, they said at last. You know now.

“I don’t know what I saw!” Redpaw cried. “My mother- something- it got her-“

Yes. They turned to her, an oddly comforting look on their face. It was StarClan. Or the thing pretending to be StarClan.

Redpaw listened in horrified silence as they explained a truth that she would carry with her for the rest of her life.

I’ve been trying all my afterlife to warn everyone, they concluded, but it’s done a good job of ensuring everyone flees or tries to kill me or alerts it to my location. I am merely a devil now to most.

Redpaw wanted to weep. She maintained her composure and lowered her head. “Then you’re…”

The Runagate, they said quietly. Yes. You are one of the only ones that know about me. About my truth. About the truth.

Redpaw’s head jerked up immediately. “There are more?”

What little Redpaw could deduce of their face twitched, like it was wryly amused. One, at least. The veil doesn’t touch him. It may do good to find him.

Sudden and slight, there was a spark of anger in Redpaw’s heart. She latched onto it, warmed it, let it begin to turn into a small flame of righteous determination. “I’ll try. I'll find him as soon as I can. I can’t… I can’t shoulder this alone. I don’t know how you did.”

The Runagate’s entire posture relaxed, and the voice in her head had a smile in it. I don’t anymore.

 ---

 “Then that’s how you two met,” Darkpelt said, almost in awe. “All this time, the connection was there, and no one knew.”

“Greyleaf didn’t know her.” Mistface shook his head. “I would’ve heard about it.”

“No,” Greyleaf replied with a sigh. “You wouldn’t have. I never told you.”

Mistface stared at him, eyes wide.

“I never told you about any of this.” Greyleaf had settled down as Redheart’s tale went on, but now his tail tapped the ground in stress. “Nor Mama, nor my mentor. I couldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t know about the whole truth, at first.”

Flyfang cleared her throat, her voice still ragged. “I guess you have your side to tell, then.”

Greyleaf closed his eyes. “I guess I do.”

#warrior cats #steorra #arc three #chapter #chapter three #that is a reference to coraline before you ask yes #greyleaf #redheart #darkpelt #flyfang #mistface #the runagate

[thetorturerwrites]

Ok Well I lost the ask because I’m a dolt and posted this on the wrong week. BUT I did get an ask for Kylo fucking you on your period, and this is what my brain produced. :)

C/N: NON CON/ Medical(ish) torture

***

Someone was screaming.

Your head pounded. Your ears rang. Your mouth felt stuffed with cotton, and someone was screaming loudly, incessantly, desperately.

Oh.

It was you.

You lifted your head as far as you could and looked for someone, anyone, from beneath puffy eyelids. You tried to blink away the running, claggy mascara and eyeliner, but your eyeballs burned from the attempt. Gulping down air, you searched for any identifiable thing in the room, but you were in a barren warehouse.

Looking beneath you, you found yourself bent over and tied to a gigantic oak table.  You fought against the thick ropes binding you and tried to jerk your ankles away from the sturdy legs for even a smidgen of decency. Your stockings and panties were down around your knees, and your skirt hiked high over your ass.

Worse, though, you could feel chilly air on your hot pussy and the squish and froth of accumulated blood, the markings of your period.

Concentrating, you determined that the only things here were you, the table to which he tied you, and a laptop set up on an overturned box across from you. He came into view a second later, stepping around a cement pillar from some dark corner you couldn’t see, and the faucets behind your eyelids turned back on.

“Kylo, please,” you strained and sobbed. “Please don’t do this. Just let me go, and I won’t say anything. I swear.”

“It’s already done.”

His simple reply sent icy spikes into your heart, and you hiccuped a fearful gasp.  When he set down the object he had been cleaning, you shook your head wildly and clawed at the table like a rabid dog.

It was a speculum.

The world snapped into place, and you remembered. He caught you after class, promised you he’d help you grade papers, and offered a ride to the coffee shop you liked so much.

But then you were here. He had slapped you and shoved you face first into the table. Expertly and efficiently tied in place, he had completely ignored your pleas and threats of police action. You yelled yourself hoarse when he unpacked the speculum from his bag; and when the first chilly millimeter of it slid into your pussy, your mind emptied.

Your body was on auto-pilot as the barbaric instrument lodged into place and clicked open. You shouted and railed in response to his invading questions. Your heart stopped beating when he slid one long, thick finger in to feel your cervix.

You unraveled into mad, mindless screams at that point. You broke away from your body, howling in utter, abject fear.

“All caught up, are we?”

You snorted at his derision, loathing him for the way he just stood there, calmly waiting for your brain to put itself back together. Crouching, he wiped your face clean of tears, snot, and drool. 

“Don’t worry, sweet.” He pressed his lips to your temple, turning the laptop to face you. “I will take care of you.”

You stared in horror, the screen awash in pinks and reds.  Taking in every individual pixel, you put the puzzle pieces together. Smooth sides. Rosy cavern. Pulse, clench, tremble. Dribble, ooze, bubble. You closed your eyes, turning away. 

He had put a camera in your pussy, aimed directly at your cervix.

It hung low, slightly open and weeping, and everything on the display shuddered, awash in the dark remnants of your uterine lining.

Tapping a button on the computer, he stepped behind you, caressing the ample curve of your ass before walloping it with a hard swat. You yelped and thrashed in the bondage, but your objection was cut off by an insistent buzzing and a smooth vibration against the puffy lips of your cunt.

“Let’s see what this pretty pussy does, shall we?”

You bristled, burning with helpless shame. The rotund vibrator head settled right between your two slippery folds, and you fought back a groan. You hated that your body was responding; that you stood onto your toes to get the thing in a better spot; that he laughed each time you did.

“Filthy thing.” He finally moved the infernal, blessed thing an inch down, and you shouted a response. “Better now?”

You slammed your eyes shut because it was too much, too fast. You could smell the coppery tint to the air now, and it dragged a wretched whimper from deep in your chest.

You were nothing more than a vibrating nerve, the percussion in your cunt taking over everything. There was no crime, no rope, no humiliation, no tears. There was only that blissful warmth seeping out from your core, the quaking of your thighs as the pleasure spread throughout your lower half.

“Good girl.” His hand on your lower back pressed you even more into the ruthless toy, and you wailed in response. “Watch it. Watch your pussy cum.”

You shook your head vigorously because there was no way you could do that; but when he took the vibrator away, you whined and stood onto your toes again. Looking up, you focused on the small screen and saw the exact moment the thing contacted your aching cunt again, the spasm and carnal clutch unmistakable.

He buried the fat, round vibrator head even further into your pussy, and you felt the tremor from clit to core, unending and consuming.

You tried to watch, fearful that he would leave you dangling off this cliff if you looked away, but it was all so overwhelming. Your toes curled. Your knees pressed inwards helplessly. Your ass and hips danced under the wicked machine’s ministrations, and your eyes screwed tightly shut.

The orgasm tore through your body with an accompanying volley of shrieks and curses. You could do nothing but hold on, barely clinging to this orbit. It was white lightning, brain seizures, and an all-encompassing shift inside your body. 

A torrent of lust and leakage spilled down your thighs, a ruddy, sticky slip painting your body a profane hue. You collapsed against the table, sweaty and shaking.

“Please,” your whisper cracked, your throat hoarse from shouting. “Kylo, please, let me go.”

“No, no.” The merciless machine dug into your folds again, shooting your head up off of the table once more. “We’re just getting started.”

#torturer tuesdays #friendly neighborhood Torturer #kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut

[reddie-fangirl24]

A forehead kiss for reddie, please! :)

NOTE: This is based on Stephen King’s Cujo. I may write more to it. Enjoy! @reddies-posts request line is also in this.

Support me on my Ko-Fi!

“I know you’re still hungry. Here, have the rest of mine,” Richie offered his boyfriend, giving him the last slice of his sandwich. 

Eddie looked up at him with these guilted eyes. Not only that but he looked haggard from today’s events. All they wanted to do was take a nice trip so they could spend some time together. Now here they were in a crappy car that wouldn’t start, a rabid dog stalking them outside the doors, and it was night time. If any luck they were set to get out of this hellhole by tomorrow. 

“No, Rich, that’s yours. Besides we should save it,” he told him, smiling at the kind gesture. Since he started dating Richie they became such pigs eating snacks all the time. Luckily they brought along a bag of their favorite treats. 

Richie could sense how anxious Eddie was as he kept scanning the grounds for that dog. When they first showed up, that dog attacked right at the open passenger-side window. Eddie was freaking out thinking the dog bit him - but he didn’t. It took a while for him to calm down. He didn’t like the idea of being stuck here all night. 

“You should get some sleep,” Richie told him, placing a hand on his tense shoulder.

“I don’t know if I can sleep with that dog here,” Eddie told him, failing to smile. His eyes drooped as he leaned into the seat. At least they were comfortable, unlike most cars Richie had been in.

“I’ll keep watch,” Richie declared. He was in the direct path of the shine of the moon. He looked so beautiful. If this were under better circumstances Eddie would have liked sleeping under the starlit sky with Richie.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Really?”

“Well, you know me, I may drift off. Or I could draw a mustache on you once you’re asleep,” Richie teased, pushing at his nose. Trying to act annoyed, Eddie smirked. Finally, he got him to smile. After all, Eddie needed to rest because of his condition. He became tired very easily. “But I will keep watch, I promise. I am not going to let anything happen to you.”

How did he get so lucky? They’d only been in a relationship for eleven months. Next week marked their one year anniversary. That was why they were on this trip. To celebrate. 

“It’s disgusting how much I love you,” Eddie old his boyfriend, his eyelids growing heavy.

“Oh, is that so?” Richie kissed his forehead. “Your mom thought so, too.”

Eddie was already fast asleep, his chest lightly moving in gentle rhythms. He was so beautiful when he slept. A year ago, when they were in the hospital, Richie never took his eyes off Eddie, watching every breath that he took. If Myra refused to be there for him then it was in his duty to be there for Eddie. 

Holding Eddie’s limp hand, Richie kept watching for the dog. Cujo was watching from the porch of the house. He was watching as froth dripped from his mouth.

#Reddie #Cujo #It Chapter 2 #It Movie #Reddie Fanfiction #Richie Tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak

[wrathbites]

In study of a Witcher

So I started watching the Witcher.  And then I had to start reading it.  I have finished neither, but I have a ship already and I shan’t be departing any time soon.  Jaskier/Geralt oneshot under the cut.

He has the face only a mother could love. Or so they say.

"He" being one Geralt of Rivia, infamous White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, Witcher Extraordinaire! Also a flea-bitten mongrel, a scoundrel, a mutant. Or so they say.

"They" being the unscrupulous of the townsfolk, the fools as likely to spit in a Witcher's face as hand him honest coin for honest work. The unhappy folk with bees in their bonnets, looking for an outlet for impotent rage and disquiet with their lot in life.

Now if someone were to ask Jaskier the way of it, he'd say the lot of them need a swift kick in the teeth (and perhaps their soggy collection of mouldy balls). But does anyone think to pose such a question to Jaskier? No! No they bloody well do not. No, instead they pause as he strums at his beloved lute, unhappy little frowns carving across their faces as he sings of the Great Geralt. They squabble amongst themselves as he spins ballads from his heroic deeds. And as a pack of rabid dogs they attack! Food thrown, drinks upended, yowling like cats with their tails caught in a trap and, if he's had one too many drinks and misplaced one too many of his wits, they snatch at him with all the vicious tenacity of a woman thrice-scorned. Or a Warg after its pound of flesh. And if his luck has well and truly perished on such a particular day, they go after his darling lute!

Such abuse she has suffered during his adventures, and yet she holds herself proud still, her scratches a badge of honour as she hums under his fingers and his alone. It would be easier to part with her during such outrage he knows, to wield her as Geralt does his sword and swing her overhead, bring her down on some frothing lout's skull. But such violence is not the way of this bard, no, not when his silver tongue still wags in his mouth, thank you very much.

But back to Geralt! Yes, his face is a touch... how to say... unique to his profession. He might have been called handsome once, but ravaged by tooth and claw he's more of a rugged attraction now. A wild one, the scars torn across his face reminders of the animal prowling under his skin (Jaskier doesn't call him White Wolf for nothing, he will have you know). His eyes are an odd colour - they remind Jaskier of those shiny little baubles sometimes removed from the earth, scattered around the perfumed lairs of fortune-tellers and witches and a fair few wily women versed in the arts of charm and untruths. Citrine, yes, they do have that gleam about them, that luster. Of course there are some who dare to say Geralt's eyes look the colour of piss and, well! Jaskier simply cannot restrain himself from giving them a piece of his mind for such an insult. How dare they compare the golden, buttery warmth of sunlight on a summer day to piss, have they no culture beyond the fumes they find up their own arse?!

(Yes, he was chased from that particular tavern, but he doesn't lament the loss).

And his teeth! Never let it be said Geralt has a winning smile, even Jaskier will not lie about that. See, his teeth lean a tad too far on the sharp side to set one's mind at ease when under the full brunt of the Witcher's scrutiny. That's not to say he has fangs, he doesn't, but... well. The pointy teeth are a bit pointer than one might consider normal, you see, and the bottom set are uneven in their arrangement. It lends them quite the jagged appearance and with the number of times Jaskier's seen Geralt's mouth set in a snarling slash with blood smeared all over it like war paint... well. A deadly bite the Witcher doesn't have, but that doesn't mean he refrains from using it all the same.

He's a tall fellow, Geralt. More than capable of looming and casting a very large shadow, oh yes. He would know, see, he's had the Witcher leaning over his shoulder before, peering down at his work and following the dance of his quill as he does it. Not that he provided commentary on his latest composition, or even so much as a snort of derision. Jaskier would have preferred that to the silence, honestly, but you take what you can get with this man. And he's built like an ox. With the quick, silent feet of a cat on the hunt - he even has the slinking down to a fine art. One would think a man of such stature would make some noise, or that all that leather would give a creak of protest when forced to strain across his bulk, but alas, there has been many an upset drink or upended candle (right on his parchment!) when he's spoken seemingly from thin air, right behind him or, in some cases, when he looms. He really is quite good at it. He can drain the blood from a farmer's face in the time it takes Jaskier to blink and draw breath for another flurry of finely arranged insults. He can make the most stern of the nursemaids quiver in her skirts and forget the words she teaches her charges. And he can give Jaskier quite the fright and have his poor little heart doing triple its rhythm.

His hands! Oh, he could whisper sweet poems of Geralt's hands for days. Have you ever seen hands so large? So capable? So perfect to wield a sword, the perfect bridge between his arms and the blade? They're a killer's hands, yes, they've seen their fair share of blood. And scars. And unspeakable, filthy things dredged up from the guts of monsters. They've snapped bone and bruised flesh and stolen the air from unwary lungs and, of course, the sighs of many a lover with some expert use of those fingers. Jaskier reckons those fingers could work their magic on a lute and charm an entire town into depositing every last coin into Geralt's pouch, but he's not a man used to the finer things in life. Apparently (Jaskier has his doubts, and the memory of that lovely bottom cupped in his oiled hands, finer things in life indeed, oh, he should have perished on the spot from sheer delight).

And of course, how can he mention those wonderful hands without also tying in the strength within them, beyond them, flowing through the muscles of his arms and the broad span of his shoulders and through the rest of his body, rooting him in place? He might not be as strong as some of the monsters he wrestles with - not that he's so foolish as to rely on brute strength alone in the first place - but he's certainly made of sturdier stuff than the average man! It's something to do with all the Witcher-y business, Jaskier's certain of it, but any attempt at prying such secrets from him shuts down conversation faster than the arrow flies. It's a sorry day indeed when Roach is more inclined to chatter than her master, and more verbose in her equine sounds while she's at it, but then Jaskier doesn't require inside knowledge in order to appreciate the flex of muscle under him when he's hoisted into those arms (safe, secure, pressed ever so close to such a magnificent chest even hidden by armour as it is) or over a shoulder (which is not as comfortable as one might imagine when said shoulder belongs to a man carved from marble or mountain), or carried on Geralt's back like a child while he gibbers absolute nonsense in the Witcher's ear after one too many drinks.

Ah, on that thought! Geralt is a patient man, and he will not have anyone say otherwise!

Yet for all that his dear friend (and yes, they are friends, Jaskier will insist upon it until the day he dies with just as much ferocity as Geralt denies it) is, by all reckoning, a dangerous man... he is also gentle. Merciful. Helpful. How many times has he gone to the aid of families torn apart by war, by the creatures lurking in darkness and shadow, by poverty? How many times has he given a quick, clean death to an animal doomed to hours, or even days, of needless suffering? How many times has he come to Jaskier's aid against fellow man and monster alike, with no expectation for coin, that furrowed brow of his speaking volumes of his silent concern? How softly he croons to Roach when she's spooked, or grumpy, or clomping her hooves with impatience. How he'll take a moment to crouch down and run his fingers along the sleek, arched back of a mrrping cat. How he speaks in quiet tones to Ciri when the lass comes awake from a nightmare, a wild fear in the darting of her eyes, settling his own blanket round her shoulders and allowing her rest against his side where it is, arguably, safest. How he'll fix Jaskier with that piercing, heavy stare of his, and heave a mighty sigh, and hold his other arm high in silent offer and of course Jaskier accepts. Only a fool dropped on their head at birth would refuse.

All of this anyone could learn if they set their mind to it, if they spent months by his side as Jaskier has. But there is knowledge for Jaskier and Jaskier alone, when it comes to Geralt of Rivia. The kind of knowledge one learns about another in the dead of night and under silk sheets (or furs, or just rolling around in the hay of a farmer's barn, waking to the incensed shrieking of the hired help) and between the spread of glorious, too-tense thighs. What sounds he can coax from the Witcher's throat - his Witcher's throat - when he curls his fingers in the moonspun silk of his hair (provided he's had his way with it in a nice warm bath first, otherwise it's a hideous, coarse riot) and tugs just so to expose his neck to the press and nip of teeth... those are a secret he'll share with no-one.

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