#tw: gruesome injury

[couchcouchcouchcouch]

guess who finally finished reading the Nausicaa manga : )

#augh what a story #of course many thoughts but they are for me #i had a tough time coloring this. imagine me if you will. keeping the manga by my desk and flipping thru it like a bible #knowing full well i am using a limited color palette and will not be faithful to the colored illustrations within these volumes #i dont know why both of my most recent pieces are of women holding their hand up to the viewer #it just turned out that way #my art #digital art #ghibli #nausicaa of the valley of the wind #nausicaä of the valley of the wind #nausicaa #fanart #couchcouchcouchcouchart #tw blood #tw animal injury #<- nothing gruesome or even visible really #but these birds do have blood down their front and it is implied they have been coughing it up #obviously

[breath-of-eternity]

Chapter 27

Amaia inhaled sharply to scream and promptly bit down on her tongue before it came out, not because it would attract monsters, but because if she started, she’d never be able to stop. Her chances of coming out of this alive had vanished to almost nothing. She could not afford to erase the last sliver of a chance she had left.

She backed into the wall and gritty flakes showered down on her. The stone wasn’t cool to the touch or damp, and put her in mind of the dead bee’s nest Yan found years ago. The purpose she didn’t know, but perhaps it was where the monsters kept their hatchlings.

The faint rush of air hadn’t changed since she’d been down here, and the fact that her guts were still on the inside meant this place had been abandoned. Their nesting behavior was speculated in stories, some saying they were more akin to snakes that buried their clutch and left, their job done. If that were true, there would be stories about someone, somewhere spotting an unguarded nest. No, the monsters were like birds who hovered over their nests, perhaps alongside other parents.

Then why was this place empty?

She crouched and swept her hand back and forth, inching forward until she smacked against a cylinder thick like a branch but with waxy skin instead of bark. Revulsion shuddered through her, but she kept feeling along until she came to the needle-like claws at the end of the fingers, probably useful for breaking through a shell. From claws to the stump of flesh at the other end, it was the length of her forearm, and the opened end was dry instead of sticky or oozing like as she expected. She put her fingers to her nose and sniffed, picking up the faint odor of charcoal.

No monster did this.

No creature did this.

She sidled along, back pressed to the wall, every breath a shaky gasp. Her foot bumped into something the size of a log and she stepped over. There was a way out somewhere. Monsters were smart enough not to trap themselves. A choked laugh escaped her and then the ground turned slick. Amaia threw her hands out and smacked into muck, cool drops splattering up her arms. A sob choked her.

Keep going, she told herself. Don’t think about what’s squelching under your feet, or the way the walls feel like a tree after a fire cooled off. The ground is sloping upwards. Keep going until you find the light.

She shut out everything, refusing to acknowledge whatever tacky sap was sticking to her knees and hands. She found the wall again, followed it until the air around her shifted, no longer the emptiness of a cave. She patted the flaky wall and left it, arm outstretched, and immediately brushed into the other side. It did not matter where this tunnel led as long as it was away.

The scorched and rotten smell ebbed, but much like the river, it did not disappear completely. It was trapped in her nose or her mind, and one would never be free unless the other was as well. Maybe she could plug her nose with pieces of her tattered furs, but she could not blot out her imagination. Even if she could, she wouldn’t. Imagination was the only thing she had left.

It was the people she loved, the memories that made her who she was. Once, she used it to give life to the stories of beasts running swift over the plains, legs so thin for their massive bodies, or the lost cities shining all through the night and full of people who may not have lived peacefully, but at least they lived. The loneliness had poisoned it, the monsters has poisoned it, and now it warped into another tool for her to survive with, because survival was truly the only thing she had left.

Amaia stepped into a hole and felt herself going over. Her body reacted in the best way to reduce damage, buckling her knees so she landed on her ass and scraping up the elbow that had just scabbed over. Better than breaking an ankle, she supposed.

Loud, harsh rasps escaped her, though she wasn’t sure if they were muffled laughter or screams. She brushed dirt and pebbles from her elbows, wincing at the pain. The cuts didn’t reopen, but that might not be a good thing. Flowing blood washed out infection, and who knew what kind of nastiness was coated on the ground here?

She got back up and kept moving, one hand on the side of the tunnel, each step a careful choice. The stench was still everywhere, she could even taste it, but she couldn’t muster enough saliva to spit it out of her mouth. One water skin was empty. The other faintly sloshed, and when she tipped it up to her mouth, what was left was barely enough to coat her tongue.

“I need to get out of here,” she croaked. As if that wasn’t obvious. But it had been so long since she heard a voice.

She yawned and sat by the wall, just for a rest, she didn’t have time for more, then her shoulders were aching because she had slumped over, hugging her bag, and probably had been in the same position for quite a while. She curled up next to her bag, one arm wrapped around it, and dreamed she was slogging through the day trying to smile away the stabbing pain in her back. She helped set up a tent and tears dripped down her cheeks. The others asked if she was all right and she insisted she was, because they didn’t have time to rest. Monsters had been at the campsite every night that week and she had to be ready to grab the children and flee at any moment.

Children?

Amaia wasn’t herself. She was her mother.

She awoke grabbing at the small of her back, below the knot that had been tied around her spine. Not that, please. She had enough agony in her life. She didn’t need her mother’s back problems, too.

It might be inevitable, a chilling voice said. You escape the dark, learn to survive alone, only to succumb when you can’t move to go feed yourself. Problems like this often pass from parent to child. Mother did say her own father often suffered back pain.

Amaia jumped up and grabbed her bag. Once she got moving, the knots would unclench. She would be fine. Fine.

At some point, an eternity later, or maybe just a few breaths, the tunnel abruptly narrowed. She felt around, but she wouldn’t even be able to wriggle through on her stomach. The monsters must not have come down here. Damn it, all this way and now she had to go back?

Cold air brushed across the top of her head. She craned her neck up, and high above her were twinkling lights in a sea of deep blue.

She couldn’t contain the squeal. The outside was right above her! Not even far, three or four times her height.

But she wasn’t stupid enough to try that in the dark. She laid down, staring up at the stars, hoping the sky was lightening to dawn and not closing on night. She wasn’t tired at all, it was just her eyelids that were heavy.

“Be careful when you climb,” Father said.

“I know. I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”

“I don’t mean it that way. I just worry. I always go to the worst case scenario.”

She imagined him sitting down next to her and resting his hand on her forehead.

“It must be why you lived as long as you did,” she said.

“Maybe. You have to react quickly to survive. I can’t count how many days I whiled away planning the safest escape route, along with several backup options.”

Amaia’s eyes flew open, and she swore, just for a moment, a figure was staring down at her from the darkness. There was no mistaking it, the stars were gone, the sky a dusty pink.

“What if I can’t do it?” she said. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to live on my own.”

“We’re all strong enough, until we’re not. Promise me you’ll keep going.”

“You’re not even here.”

“Promise yourself then.”

But she couldn’t get the words out.

The sky faded to blue, and for the first time in days—she wasn’t sure how many—she could see her hands, roughened and streaked with dirt. The cave itself was paler than she expected, the color of the clouds before a storm, several stones sticking out to use as handholds. She gripped one and tugged, and it didn’t crack.

She checked the tie in her bag and looped it over her shoulder. She licked her lips, dry as old leaves, and gripped one of the outcroppings. It took a moment for her to decide which of the rocks looked sturdy enough to hold her weight.

Her hand slid across gouges in the stone, three of them, a monster clawing its way up. It would probably be easy for them, a leap and they could grab the edge and pull themselves out. For her, it was a game of testing the rock, pressing into the jagged edges, sliding along an edge when there were no good holds around her. Something crumbled beneath her and she froze as it clattered down the side. Her heart pounded so hard she was afraid it was going to knock her over. She lifted her head. Only halfway up. Black spots bloomed in her vision.

She took a deep breath, then another, and the thrumming in her chest quieted. Another and the spots faded. One more and she was ready to feel around for a better hold.

“Careful, careful,” Mother whispered in her ear. Amaia shut it out. She could not afford the distraction.

A jagged piece of stone jabbed into her thigh. She lifted her leg, sliding it against rock so rough it seemed to bite, and placed her foot onto the outcropping. When she leaned against it, there was no give. Almost there.

Her skin scraped against the stone as she lifted herself up. Even pressed to the rock as she was, her center of gravity couldn’t hold her and she was in the air, she was inhaling for a scream, she was smashing into the ground and so many bones were broken she’d never be able to get back up. She blinked and the images were gone, the pain was gone, she teetered on the edge of balance fumbling for anything to hold onto. Fingernails uselessly clawed rock. She spotted a crack in the rock face and shoved her hand in as far as it would go. Someone settled an old drum in her ears, wham-wham, wham-wham, but she was no longer falling.

The left foot was secure, but the right had nothing to support her except a hump she’d slide off of if she tried to go farther. For a moment, she did not try to think of anything, just breathed and let her heart slow down. She brought her legs together and switched the one supported by the outcropping.

So close, a few more feet and she’d be able to reach the rim of the cleft.

She had to release the crack in order to move over. She licked her lips, not one lick of moisture, and let go, praying she’d be able to grab it again if gravity betrayed her.

Slow, steady, careful.

There was another crack higher up, a split big enough for her to fit in. She stuck her foot in near the bottom and hissed in pain as skin rubbed off the top, but she lifted herself up and wedged herself in the widening gap, inside of it save for her left leg below the knee.

For a moment, she shut her eyes and blocked out the rest of the world. Her foot stung, she scratched her stomach and knocked off dirt and pebbles.

She started up again, bracing her arms on the sides and pushing. Rock snapped beneath her and clattered down the gap. It was another nightmare where she was and struggling to breathe. She always woke up before she was able to free herself.

Sunlight beamed down on her face, blinding her. She reached for it and immediately began to slide down the gap, and she snatched up a handful thin branches that snapped in her hand.

She dug her fingers into the dirt and wrenched herself around so she was facing the rock wall. When she braced her feet against it and pushed, her head finally popped up over the rim. Branches danced in the breeze. She grabbed a handful and yanked herself up, and the bush soon pulled free of the loose soil. But her knee was on the edge and she pushed and fell over onto her back, panting for air.

I’m alive, she thought. I’m out.

Rays of light baked into her, warmer than any animal skins. She didn’t think she slept, but when she did open her eyes, the sun was noticeably higher and her mind was logy. Her entire body ached, but somehow she was able to get to her feet and stagger away from the chasm. The air, the sun, the blue of the sky. She reached up to embrace it. If only her heart would stop beating. The thud-thud-thud did not sound healthy.

Her body shook. She shaded her eyes and scanned the horizon and found the black flyer beating the air.

And it was heading her way.

#original fiction #post apocalyptic fiction #LAST novel #post apocalyptic #fiction #writeblr #writers on tumblr #tw: gruesome #tw: injury

[blueseakelp]

i know dreams aren’t real, but how am i supposed to come back from the way people are in them?

#tw suicide #<-ahead in the tags #okay so last night i dreamt that this boy (who i’m pretty sure likes me) killed himself (vv gruesomely) #anyways i felt like it was my fault for not liking him back #and then there was a scene where he kinda reanimated but w all the injuries still #which freaked the shit outta me #but anyways apparently my student teacher also thought it was my fault #he kept glaring at me but also kinda smirking in a weird sort of way from the corner #anyways he gave me a glass of lemonade and after i drank it all told me it was poisoned #(with a tylenol overdose perhaps???) #so anyways i kinda needed to go to the hospital to live so i went to class to see if anyone would help #bc i could drive myself to the hospital #and i think maybe this one person (who couldn’t drive) kept defending me and finally got an adult to take me to the hospital #and i got better p quick and then just went back to doing everything normally except ignoring everyone #so long story short ik my student teacher isnt out to get me BUT #you have to understand that my dreams always feel so much like reality in the moment right? #like i remember thinking: how is this going to work to go to barbershop rehearsals and just pretend like he didn’t try to kill me?? #and stuff like that #and no matter how ‘unrealistic’ it is #it always surprises me when i wake up from these kinds of dreams bc they can kinda integrate into my reality #if that makes sense

[bratxfantasy]

Time was infinite in hell and Sukuna was growing bored of it. He sat on his throne, watching the souls travel past him with a blank expression. No one caught his interest and he doubt one ever will. He was about to give up his search for the day when a glowing speck drew his attention. Reaching into the sea of souls, he plucked it out.

It was frail, but still was trying to hold on to life. Sukuna smirked. It would seem that it was a human life that had been abruptly put to an end. The god of hell did not know why this soul interested him so much, but it did.

"Go on, little one. Come to me. Let me see what you look like."

Going to the voice, not knowing much of any better, the soul appeared in front of the devil. Her white combat boots were stained with blood as well as her black dress. Her green dyed hair was a bit of a mess from the attacker, a hole in her chest from the wound.

She gazed up at the devil, with little breath, “am I dead?”

#👑 sukuna 👑 #tw injury #tw bl0od #tw gruesome

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Contingent.

Commissioner by the very lovely @pale-horse-writing.

Pairing: Yandere!Warrior!OC x Reader.

Word Count: 3.5k.

TW: Dub/Con, AMAB!Reader, Mentions of Blood + Gore, Obsessive Behavior, Codependent Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Past Trauma, and Possessiveness.

He returned from the battlefield only minutes before sunset, bathed in golden light and backed by the crimson sky. From a distance, you could almost trick yourself into believing you didn’t recognize him, that you didn’t know why a masked man carrying enough weaponry to supply the better part of a legion would be approaching your ramshackle home, but you weary mind was not so yet exhausted as to slip so easily into such pleasant delusions. Maybe, one day, you’d be able to find that escape, to allow yourself a world without such gruesome rituals, but for now, you didn’t have the time to be so optimistic, so hopeful.

For now, you had to entertain Hidemasa – lest he find himself craving pastimes less wholesome than vying for your favor.

Today was a worse day than most to be so closely tethered to reality. Even from the stone steps of your cabin, you could see the fruits of his labor, make out the scarlet blood dripping from his blade and splattered across his bare chest. A jagged cut had been carved into his right cheek, visible above the grinning mouth of his wooden mask, but you saw no other injuries save for the bruises and scrapes he brought on himself with his relentless training. Even the cut, as ugly as it looked, had probably been his doing; either a blow taken deliberately or his own work, committed with the shattered sword of a fallen enemy when he realized the battle had left him unscathed. He was many things – brutal, manic, unyielding – but Hidemasa had never been exceedingly strategic. To him, injuries were tokens that could be traded in for your attention. The idea that there would be a wound you couldn’t bandage was as foreign as that of an opponent he could afford to leave alive – something that scared and worried you in equal measures.

With a sigh, you shut your eyes and stood, an age-old injury protesting from somewhere deep within the scar tissue of your side. As you fought to ignore the pulsing ache, a pair of well-toned arms found their way around your waist, lifting you off the ground entirely and hauling you against Hidemasa’s broad chest. Thankfully, he remembered himself before you had to correct him, placing you back onto your own feet as delicately as a man the size of a mountain with the strength to match could. Still, his hands remained on your hips, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck, then the dip of your shoulder as he slotted himself against you. You could only be grateful exposure had left you numb to his constant affection.

Carved wood grated roughly against your skin. With no small amount of hesitation, you brought a hand up and raked your fingers through his long, untamed hair – tangled and matted with gore after such a long fight. You tugged, and with only a slight groan by way of protest, he raised his head, blinking curiously. “I saw the size of their encampment. Were there any survivors?”

There was a delay before his answer, and you reminded yourself to be patient. Speaking was still relatively new to Hidemasa. A well-forged weapon had no need to respond to its commands. “There weren’t.”

“This is not a matter you can take lightly. Warriors traveling in such great numbers might be here on behalf of the shogun, and a single survivor could bring—”

“There were no survivors.” His voice was gruff, his tone clipped, and yet, he practically keened into your palm, more than happy to melt into your touch. “Have I done something to upset you, master?”

It was a question asked with complete sincerity, his earnestness alone enough to lodge a tight knot of guilt in the back of your throat. You pulled away from him quickly, taking a step back. “Never, ‘masa.”  You paused, nodded towards the two straw baskets sitting by the door to your cabin. Fruit and vegetation spilled over the sides of each in excess. Personal trinkets had been nestled among the bare necessities, and you saw Hidemasa‘s on a palm-sized plush rabbit before flickering back to you. There was no doubt in your mind that it‘d be added to his ever-growing collection before the night ended. “A group of women from the village wanted to show you their appreciation for staving off the newest wave of invaders. Can you take them inside?”

You watched as he stiffened, cocking his head to the side. “You…” Speech was still new to Hidemasa, you repeated to yourself. He did not have the necessary training to disguise negative emotions so easily. Even if he’d been a better liar, the way his eyes dipped to your exposed chest would’ve given him away. “You spoke to the villagers? Alone?”

“They came while I was fetching water. We only passed each other briefly.” You, on the other hand, were a skilled liar. It would’ve been hard not to be, when Hidemasa provided so many opportunities for practice. Before he could linger on the subject, you beckoned him inside. “If I must, I’ll recite the encounter to you in its entirety later on. Right now, you need to bathe - I won’t have you tracking filth through our home.”

At the mention of ‘our’ home, he immediately softened, any jealous outburst delayed in favor of following after you like an overgrown lapdog. The overflowing baskets were lifted without a trace of effort and carried to your meager kitchen while you found your way to the back porch, where a carpenter had been kind enough to build you an outdoor onsen after Hidemasa saved his family’s farm from a group of pillagers. Your routine was well-defined, and you played your part dutifully – filling the stone basin and igniting the small stack of coal and kindling that laid underneath. Hidemasa didn’t mind the cold, but he’d be unbearable if you caught so much as a chill.

He appeared as you finished, already undressed and, for the most part, unarmed. With a quick glance to you and a nod by way of permission, he collapsed into the basin. Water sloshed over the stone walls, and you took your place behind him, running a comb through his now-damp hair.  He let out a satisfied groan, shutting his eyes and settling into place. “Heard there was going to be a festival in town tomorrow,” he muttered as you worked, barely audible. “Wanna go with you, to celebrate.”

You frowned. Handling Hidemasa was a balancing act. He was tolerated so long as he protected the village from greedy warlords and roaming samari, and you were tolerated so long as you were able to keep him in-line; a task easier said than done, considering his own strength had surpassed your own long before you’d ever met him. The fact that he had such a gentle demeanor only complicated things. Trying to read his expression was useless when he could strike down a hundred men without ever letting his smile falter. He didn’t have a taste for civilian blood, but he didn’t have to. A single misstep around you, and every man, woman, and child in the village would be cut down within the hour.

With a hum, you set down the comb and began to braid his hair with a rushed sort of swiftness. “What are we celebrating, exactly?”  

“Our anniversary.” He glanced over his shoulder, a slight grin painted across his lips. “It’ll have been five years since the day we met, come sunrise.”

You tugged the final strand into place. “I’d hardly think that’s something worth remembering. It took three weeks before I could believe you wouldn’t die in your sleep.”

“It was the happiest day of my life,” he countered, his tone one of dream-like wonder. “It was the day I fell in love with you.”

Something large and sharp lodged itself in the pit of your stomach. Another sigh, another moment taken to gather your composure before you pushed yourself to your feet and found your way to the edge of the basin. You took a few seconds to reevaluate his injuries (or lack thereof), but again, found only the cut on his cheek. You didn’t think before raising your hand to it, dragging your thumb underneath the thin line of tattered skin. “You were barely alive. You would’ve fallen in love with whoever filled your stomach and gave you a place to sleep.”

“Which is why I’m so happy that it was you.” His grin widened as he melted into your palm. “You loved me too, right? I know you do now, but—” His smile took on a shy lilt. “—did you love me back then?”

It was a familiar question, one he asked as often as he could afford to, and you gave a familiar answer. “Of course.” You leaned toward him, letting your lips ghost over the top of his head and lingering there. “How could I not grow to love such a devoted student?”

He didn’t laugh, this time, but purr – the sound reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest. Before you could draw back, an arm caught you by the wrist and dragged you into the scalding water, into his lap. Out of instinct, you made a weak attempt to straighten yourself, to pull away from him, but your pride crumbled quickly under Hidemasa’s strength and, with only a thin scowl and a half-hearted glare by way of protest, you settled against him, his chest against yours and his face once again buried in the side of your neck. Without his mask to act as a barrier, he was free to latch onto you, his teeth gazing over the curve of your throat before he found the target of his harsh affection: the tender patch of flesh underneath your jugular vein. His canines pierced vulnerable skin without resistance, and he groaned as fresh blood washed over his tongue, as he lapped over the fresh puncture marks as if in apology. Again, you fought the temptation to push him away, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as his fell to your waist, then lower – his calloused fingertips digging into your ass through the now-soaked material of your yukata.

With his face buried in the dip of your shoulder, he rutted into the knee that’d fallen between his legs, his agonizingly stiff cock grinding against your thigh. You’d been fortunate enough not to notice his arousal before being pulled into his lap, but you could only imagine he’d been hard long before he’d gotten into the water. Since he got home, if not from the moment he departed from you that morning – his head full of thoughts of victory and his body already aching for the reward he’d come to expect from you. Distantly, you heard him whine, saw a dark flush begin to spread over his pale cheeks, and for a moment, you could almost believe that this was not the bruised, battered, half-staved boy you’d taken in, but someone else entirely. For a moment, you could almost believe that a monster had crept into the home in the dead of night and taken away your poor student, leaving only this unsatiable beast of a man in its wake. For a moment, you could almost believe that you didn’t truly hate Hidemasa, but only pitied the creature he’d become.

Then, one of his hands fell that much lower – gazing over your hip before curling around your limp cock, and once again, you were freed from such juvenile delusions.

“Need you,” he muttered against your shoulder, beginning to pump his fist over your shaft in stunted, hasty movements. You weren’t hard, let alone excited, but if Hidemasa could tell the difference between his eagerness and your suppressed dread, if he minded the pained look that came across your expression as your cock begin to pulse against his palm, then it would’ve been impossible to tell. As always, he was more than happy to do the work himself, to grind the heel of his palm into your base and swipe the pad of his thumb over your tip until you were leaking in his vice-grip. His technique was sloppy, his pace prone to waning whenever his attention drifted to nipping at your throat or nuzzling into your chest, but he knew your body well. It was almost endearing, his clumsy passion, how whole-heartedly he devoted himself to your pleasure. It might’ve been, had you been more willing to endure that pleasure.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day.” A hitched breath, his cock jutting against your thigh. “I never wanna be that far from you again. Thought I might—” He drew back, allowing just enough distance between your body and his to slip an arm between you. There was a moment of relief, then a renewed pressure as he took his cock up along with yours, pumping his fist over both in tandem. His gaze softened, and your skin began to crawl. “Feels like I can’t breathe when I don’t know where you are. Think my heart might stop beating if I ever have to be away from you for that long, again.”

His pace grew more erratic, this grip tightening to a nearly painful degree. You winced, moved to tell him to be more careful, but a ragged groan cut you off as his mouth crashed into yours. Kissing, too, was an art he’d never taken the time to perfect, despite all the time he’d put aside to practice it. His tongue forced its way past your teeth as his lips moved against yours, teeth clashing against teeth as he did his best to suffocate you, to leave you entirely pliable under his touch. He wouldn’t. As far as you could tell, his greatest desire was not unrestrained pleasure, but mutual pleasure – for you to be as obsessed with him as he was with you. If something were to happen to you, if you told him to stop and truly meant it, he would. You had to believe that he would.

Not that you would ever get a chance to try. Hidemasa had not been taught to endure rejection, and he sought your approval so relentlessly - you could only imagine what your refusal would do to him. You could only imagine what his anger would do to you, after that kind of—

His hand flexed around your cock and for a blissful moment, your thought blurred and distorted before blotting out completely. Moaning into Hidemasa’s mouth, you came into his hand and, although he’d only received half the stimulation, he did the same – the evidence of his satisfaction splattering messily against your stomach. You would’ve been content to sit in the lingering pleasure, to let the aftershocks fade with his body pressed against yours, but Hidemasa was less lethargic; winding an arm around your waist and hauling himself upward. The basin was forgotten entirely, and with a clumsy haste, he carried you into your home, into the bedroom you shared with him. You were laid unceremoniously onto your unfurled futon with another messy kiss, another hitched whimper that seemed to fall from Hidemasa’s lips in fractured pieces. Hands that you’d seen crush skulls and split open rib cages came to rest on either side of your head, and for a moment, he hovered above you, dark eyes boring into your skin, kiss-bruised lips ever so slightly parted. For a moment, all you could picture was the blood on his chest, the battlefield’s worth of bodies the villagers would be burning long into the night.

Your hand found its way back to his cheek. You shouldn’t have asked, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself – the question slipping out before you could so much as attempt to swallow it back. “Does it ever bother you?” His head lulled to the side inquisitively. “What we ask you to do, I mean. I know it’s gruesome work.”

His answer was delayed, and you ran your thumb over his cheek by way of encouragement. “I don’t like anything that takes me away from you,” he admitted, eventually. “If I could, I’d like to fight by your side again, but that’s—” His gaze fell to the scarring stitched into your side, and he shook his head. “Sometimes, I think it’d be better just to get rid of everyone else – everyone but me or you. That way, there wouldn’t be anyone left to fight, and we could always be together.”

You weren’t surprised. You couldn’t be, not he’d always worn his twisted heart on his sleeve. “That’s a rather callous solution.”

“Oh.” For the first time since his return, his lips quirked downward. “I’m sorry, should I… should I have said something else?”

He remained steady, but his voice shook, his hands curling into fists on either side of you. Of course, you rushed to comfort him and of course, he embraced your sympathy with enthusiasm – allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck, to draw him that much closer to you. “No, ‘masa, of course not – I shouldn’t have asked at all.” It was your turn to kiss him, now, although your affection was much more delicate than his own. You stopped yourself from pulling away until you were breathless and he was distracted, his concentration once again centered on rutting his cock (still hard, still leaking, you noted with more than a drop of despair) against your thigh. You couldn’t help but laugh, the noise more weary than amused. Still, it didn’t seem to make a difference to Hidemasa. “Do you want to take care of me, tonight?”

This time, there was no hesitation, his immediate answer coming in the form of an eager nod, an abrupt desire to paw at your clothes. Your sash gave out with a single tug and the damp material of your yukata was shoved aside; disregarded in favor of leaving you completely and entirely exposed. You let your head roll back, your eyes fall shut, but Hidemasa was far more proactive – straddling your waist as he aligned your cock with his entrance. There was only a moment of solace, of anticipation, and then, you were fully sheathed inside of him.

You’d tried alternatives, before, when Hidemasa was younger and you had yet to fully grasp the weight of your responsibilities. You thought it might be a more passive role, that you might just be able to close your eyes and allow it to pass over, but Hidemasa’s size made that impossible; even after hours of preparation, a single thrust had been enough to leave tears welling in the corners of your eyes as you begged him to pull out. You’d been unable to walk the next day, but this – his body on top of yours, your cock buried inside of him, the walls of his tight canal clenching around your length – was hardly better, only slightly less overwhelming than the feeling of him tearing you open had been. His back arched as the head of your cock brushed against something soft and sensitive inside of him, knocking his braid loose and leaving you trapped within an impenetrable curtain of pitch-black hair that smothered the world around you, swallowed everything that wasn’t Hidemasa, Hidemasa, Hidemasa. “Been thinking, and—” His breath hitched, and he rolled his hips, immediately falling into a steady but unrelenting pattern of rising and falling, grinding and rutting. “—I wanna marry you, master.”

For the first time in months, you felt your blood run cold. You only barely managed to stop yourself from shaking your head, from letting your revulsion show. It was a useless precaution – in his fervor, you doubted he would’ve noticed if you’d screamed, doubted he was capable of acknowledging anything save for the feeling of your cock fucking into him, of your nails biting into his scalp as your hands shot to his hair. “…think it’d be nice just to be able to call you my husband.” he went on, voice airy and concentration clearly elsewhere. You felt him clamp down around you and drew back sharply, only for Hidemasa to catch your wrist, to press your limp hand against his cheek, against the proof of his devotion to you. “Think it’d be nice to hear you call me your wife.”

“No, ‘masa, that’s not—” You were cut off by a ragged whine from Hidemasa, his hands soon braced against your hips as he started to ride you properly. The pleasure was rough and invasive, that sudden spark of heat enough to turn your body unbearably hot, and whatever you might’ve said was lost to the pure heat that coursed through your form. He’d caught you off-guard, last time, but you could feel him dragging you toward your second climax, see it on the horizon despite your best efforts to hold out for that much longer, to spare yourself the guilt of coming undone so easily for your former student. He was relentless, though, determined to split himself open on your cock, never happy unless you were buried as deeply inside of him as was humanly possible. He was warm, and tight, and you couldn’t stop your hip from snapping against his ass; your eyes clamping shut and your body going stiff as you came undone inside of him. Hidemasa wasn’t far behind you, his hand wrapping around his cock and pumping once, twice before you felt something thick and searing crash onto your stomach, your chest. You didn’t let yourself look at the damage, you didn’t let yourself look at him – letting your head roll to the side and keeping your eyes shut, even as you felt him shift, even as he leaned over you, your cum leaking out of his ask and spilling onto your thighs.

His tone was so light, his voice so innocent, you could almost believe it was a question posed out of love rather than obsession.

Almost.

“We’ll always be together, right, master?”

You couldn’t think, but you didn’t have to.

There was only ever one answer you could give, when it came to Hidemasa.

“Of course.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere warrior #yanderecore #yancore

[lostfracturess]

【 ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ 】 9

x PAIRING gojo satoru x fem!reader (main); megumi fushiguro x fem!reader x WORD COUNT 7.8 k x SUMMARY you never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers, yet fate had other plans when the one and only satoru gojo took you under his wing at jujutsu high. as the lines between student and teacher begin to blur, hidden powers surge to life, and a deadly target is set on your head. x WARNINGS + NOTES this story contains partly abusive and possessive behavior, explicit content, graphic depictions of violence, injury, combat and angst. you can also read it on wattpad or ao3. pls like or repost if you enjoyed ♡

➸ ch 1; ch 2; ch 3; ch 4; ch 5; ch 6; ch 7; ch 8

tw: character death; suicidal thoughts

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

When was it really that it all fell down?

Was it when Yuji lost control?

Was that the first downfall?

Yuji was not one to lose control.

He never really did. But after what happened on that mission, he lost it all. And somehow, you felt like you lost a part of yourself that day as well. The horrors you witnessed etched into your very soul, leaving scars that may never heal.

You never wanted to see him like that again.

Maybe that was the day everything changed.

As you came to your senses, a scene of nightmarish destruction unfolded before your eyes. Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring the sun and plunging the world into a cruel twilight. The ground was marred by deep craters, festering wounds in the earth's flesh.

It was a battlefield that bore the marks of Satoru's destructive fury rather than Yuji's. 

No. 

Not Yuji's. 

He's not cruel. 

He's not violent. 

But Sukuna is.

You couldn't really remember what happened. You were on this mission. Curses swarmed from all sides. One moment, you stood beside Yuji, and the next, you passed out and found yourself thrown to the unforgiving ground.

A ringing in your ears drowned out the world around you. It rang through your skull, piercing your mind like a thousand needles. Pain shot into your temple. You raised your hand to your face. It came away slick with blood.

Your vision was blurred and distorted, turning the world into a series of bright, disjointed images. Perhaps that was an attempt by your brain to protect you. Protecting you from the gruesome truth, refusing to accept the horrors that had unfolded before your eyes.

But the stench of ash and blood was so strong, you could almost taste it on your tongue.

This was no dream. It was a nightmare.

You wanted to cry out for Satoru. But he wasn't there. You were alone on a mission with him.

Satoru was not there to help you.

You hastily examined your body. Somehow all parts of your body were still there and seemed to be functioning. You gathered your strength to pull yourself to your feet. The throbbing pain from the gash on your head strangely absent, drowned out by the chaos around you.

Where was Yuji?

When the dust settled, you saw him.

Sukuna's marks disappeared from his body.

He lay sprawled beneath a heap of debris. His lifeless form pressed into the unforgiving earth. His face was buried in the dirt. He didn't move. Your heart clenched.

You staggered toward him. Your bloody hands desperately clawed away the rubble that imprisoned him. Your hands slipped a few times, unable to get a grip. Finally, you freed him, rolled him onto his front, and hovered over him. Your trembling fingers cupped his pale face.

"Yuji!" you screamed, your voice tearing through the eerie stillness. "Yuji, wake up!"

And then, a gasp. 

Life returned to him, his chest rising and falling as air once again filled his lungs. 

You brushed away the dust from his face. Relief washed over you as warmth seeped back into his pale features.

"Yuji, wake up. It's over."

Yuji's eyelids quivered open. His eyes welled up with tears, cascading down his cheeks like a torrent.

What?

Why did he cry?

You wanted him to stop.

Why didn't he stop?

You didn't want to see him cry.

That wasn't Yuji. That wasn't the kindhearted man you knew.

Before you lay a broken young man-a young man grappling with a burden too heavy-a curse too dark. His body convulsed with sobs as he lay there. His gaze avoided yours, as if unable to meet your eyes.

"I'm sorry," he choked out between sobs. His lips quivered uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry."

His once-vibrant eyes were bloodshot. Tear tracks streaked his cheeks, carving pathways through the grime and gore that marred his face. 

Words failed you. You didn't know what to say. What you could ever say. Nothing you could say would be enough. All you could do was stare, absorbing the sheer horror and pain etched into every line of his face as he cried.

"I'm so sorry, I lost control." His sobs grew more violent. "I should just die," he screamed before shielding his face with his hands from your relentless gaze. 

He tore at his eyes, as if attempting to gouge out the pain within. You grabbed his wrist. "Stop it, Yuji! it's not your fault!" you screamed, your voice a desperate plea that seemed to echo in the blood-soaked battlefield. 

But it didn't reach him.

"I'm no good. All I do is evil!" His voice choked with despair, tears streaming down his face like a relentless cascade.

"Yuji, listen to me," you tried to pierce through the chaos of his mind. "You are not your curse! You are not a monster!"

But his fingers continued their merciless assault on his eyes. You were afraid that if you couldn't stop him, he might actually rip his own eyes out in his madness.

You felt like you were about to cry. You wanted to cry. But no tears came out. There was only the feeling of your heart being torn to shreds. 

He was not a monster. He couldn't be. 

Because if he was, then you surely were one too.

His fingers dug deeper into his skin, leaving cruel, bloody streaks etched against his pale complexion.

In a desperate attempt to reach him, you let go of his wrists and instead cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were glassy, tears spilling over, but they did nothing to wash away the terror within them. You felt so utterly, entirely useless. 

"Yuji, this is not what you are. You are not him!"

"I am. I am responsible for all of this," he whispered, his voice barely more than a fragile thread. "I don't know if I can keep doing this."

His words struck you like a dagger through the heart. 

How could he say something like that?

"Shut up, Yuji! If I can keep doing it, you can too!" you yelled at him, your own frustration and desperation coming to the surface. You couldn't let him surrender to the darkness, for if he did, it would mean accepting that you were just as much a monster as he feared himself to be.

"Weren't you the one who always told me, it's not me? It's not me who violently killed? It's my cursed technique? It's the evil of cursed energy itself? So listen to me, Yuji, when I say it's not you, it's Sukuna! You're not him! And I'm not my cursed technique!" 

He was silenced. Your grip on his face tightened as his terrified eyes locked onto yours.

"If I can live with this burden, you can too. You're stronger than me," you whispered, your voice softening with a plea. "So please, Yuji, keep fighting. Because if you don't, I'm not sure if I can."

Yuji's tears ceased as you continued to speak.

"What role do we have in this world if we admit that we are monsters? Tell me, Yuji. What reason do we have to keep on living then? We can never undo the damage we've done, but we can try to make it right. It's either that or surrender to the darkness that threatens to consume us."

Your hands trembled. 

Your hands trembled so violently, you had to withdraw them from his face. You clenched them together, your knuckles white with tension.

Satoru never let you go on a mission alone with Yuji again.

So tell me, when was it really that it all fell down?

Was it back then? When you saw the terror in Yuji's eyes?

Was it then when you decided to protect what was left of Yuji's humanity?

Or was it when you met Satoru, the sorcerer who has altered the course of your life forever?

Who stole your heart?

Was it then that you wanted to do everything possible to protect them? 

To protect him?

But the truth is, it didn't really matter anymore, did it? 

None of these questions could change the brutal reality of the present.

****

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭.

Your hands trembled again.

Your hands trembled so violently, you had to dig your fingers into the palm of your hand to silence them. Blood dripped down.

Was this the final downfall?

Rising to your feet, the world around you blurred into chaos. You watched as Satoru collapsed to the ground. His breathing ragged and heavy. Blood poured from his wounds, staining the earth beneath him, as if the very ground wept for the tragedy that had befallen.

Each heartbeat felt like a crushing weight. Perhaps your heart could no longer bear the pain of beating. You hastily wiped away the tears that blurred your vision.

You had to be fast. Satoru would soon recover.

You moved quickly, weaving through the ruins of the battlefield. The pain coursing through your body was almost unbearable, and you longed for nothing more than to surrender to the agony that threatened to overwhelm you.

Then you saw them. Megumi and Yuji. Megumi rushed towards you, his brow furrowed. "What's happening? Where's Gojo?" he demanded, blocking your path.

"Megumi, just trust me," you pleaded, your voice strained.

"It's hard to trust you when you're acting like this."

As you tried to walk past him, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, halting you. His intense gaze piercing through you, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"Swear to me you're not doing anything reckless," he said.

Time was running out.

Tears streaked down your cheeks. "Don't make me hurt you, Megumi."

Megumi gritted his teeth. "What are you saying?"

You held his gaze, hoping he would trust you enough-trust you enough to let you go.

"Let's just go home," he begged. "Please."

The weight of it all pressed down upon your battered form. You knew that you couldn't bear it much longer. Yet, you pushed forward, no matter the cost, no matter the pain.

"I can't."

He was torn. He was torn between stopping you and letting you go.

He knew that if he let you go, you would not back down, not now, not when you were so close. He knew he would have to kill you to stop you. So he let go. Knowing that whatever was to come was partly his fault. He would never forgive himself. But neither would he be able to hurt you. 

Not you.

So he let go of your wrist. 

He felt like he was signing your death sentence.

You turned away from him and sprinted towards Yuji.  

Your heart raced. You wanted to rip it out. 

Yuji looked up at you, his eyes filled with fear and terror. It was the same haunting expression he had worn when he lost control. You swore yourself you never wanted to see him ever again like this. But now you were the one he feared. The one he was so scared of.

It hurt. It hurt you to see him like that. When will there be an end to the pain.

Time seemed to slow down as you approached Yuji. He opened his mouth to speak, to reach out to you, but you stretched your trembling hand over his face, cutting off his words-sealing his fate.

"Domain Expansion."

****

"Who are you?"

Sukuna cracked open an eye to peer down at you from his shrine. His crimson eyes drilling into your very soul. Your blood run cold.

You briefly glanced down at your feet. You stood ankle-deep in blood. The surroundings had twisted into a nightmarish version of reality. Crimson shadows danced and twisted around the space like tortured souls.

This was no longer your domain, was it? Had Sukuna taken control of it somehow? But how was that even possible?

No. 

Drown out your thoughts.

Calm Down.

It will work.

"Don't even remember me?" you asked.

He pondered for a moment, his lips forming a cruel, mocking smile. "Aren't you the Fujiwara woman, who crumbled so easily when the brat lost control? Why are you here? Do you want to die?"

"I'm here to end you," you declared, your grip on your weapon tightening.

Sukuna burst into raucous laughter. Slowly, he sat up, his curiosity piqued. "My ending, huh? Bold statement. Let's see if you can justify it, wife of Satoru Gojo."

You flinched. Of course, Sukuna knew everything, just as Yuji did. Get a fucking grip on yourself. It was all part of the plan. The one slim chance you had to reach Sukuna and end this nightmare once and for all.

It's ok.

It will work.

You didn't need to beat him-just reach him. That's all. Then it would all be over.

****

𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

"How can you be sure it will work?"

Snowflakes landed softly on your shoulders. Yet, the cold air was sharp, biting at any exposed skin. Each breath you took sent a small cloud of vapor into the frigid air.

Jack turned to you. "I can't guarantee it."

"So, it's a suicide mission?" you asked, a wry half-smile touching your lips.

"Not if you can control your cursed technique," he countered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Sukuna's strength lies in his cursed energy, flowing through his fingers. Disrupt that, and you'll render him powerless."

"Forever?"

"I guess so."

You raised an eyebrow. "You 'guess' so?"

Jack met your gaze, his eyes serious. "Like I said, I can't guarantee it. But based on what we know, yes, it should be permanent. If you can connect with him, even for a moment, you can use your cursed technique to break the flow of his cursed energy. But you need the fingers-they're the key."

"-and so easy to obtain," you added with a hint of irony.

"Mahito has them. All of Sukuna's fingers. You'll need to defeat him to get them. But there's a problem-he's with Kenjaku."

"Kenjaku?" You paused mid-step, the snow crunching under your boots. "This plan is becoming more insane by the second."

"You just have to separate them somehow, then go after Mahito to get the fingers."

"You say it all like it's nothing."

Jack's expression was grave. "I know it sounds insane, but it's the only way. And you are the only one who can do it."

You resumed walking. Each step felt heavy.

"And once I have the fingers, what's next? I have to fight Sukuna?"

"No," Jack shook his head. "This isn't about fighting him. It's about timing. When he makes contact, use that moment. With your cursed technique you can stop the flow of his cursed energy. You just have to be connected to his fingers at the same time as his body and stop it all."

He was surely insane.

Why did you want to meet him in the first place?

Ah. Right. How could you forget.

"I can stop the flow of cursed energy, but I've never done it permanently. And we're talking about the King of Curses here," you said.

"But you managed it with Gojo, didn't you?"

"Yes, but not permanently, as you might have guessed."

"If it worked on Gojo, it's likely to work on Sukuna too."

"And about making it permanent?" you pressed.

"That's the part where you'll have to improvise," Jack admitted. "There are no guarantees, but it's the best shot we have."

"What happens afterwards, if I can actually do it?" 

The question hung in the cold air.

"He'll be rendered powerless," Jack said. "Stripped of his cursed abilities."

"And Yuji will return to being a normal guy," you mused, coming to a halt and locking eyes with Jack. "Free of Sukuna's influence."

Jack nodded. 

With a heavy exhale, you tilted your head back, gazing up at the sky. Soft snowflakes landed gently on your face, melting instantly against your heated skin.

"Pick a side, Fujiwara. You can end this curse forever," Jack continued. "It's your chance for atonement. Your clan has already caused enough damage."

****

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭.

His eyes bored into you, a predator closing in on its prey.

The air shifted as Sukuna moved.

Sukuna lunged, his movements a blur. His hand sliced through the air towards you. Every instinct screamed to dodge, to evade, but you stood still. This was the moment you had prepared for, the moment that everything depended on.

The sharp, searing pain was immediate as Sukuna's hand made contact, slicing through your flesh. Agonizing waves of pain coursed through your being, threatening to rip your consciousness apart.

"Wow, you're just as easily crushed as all your other pathetic family members. How lame," Sukuna sneered, spitting on the ground. "But you, you were by far the weakest."

You grinned. "You think so?"

You seized his arm where it had gouged into the side of your abdomen with one hand and clenched his fingers tightly with the other.

You activated your cursed technique, tapping into the link that had just been formed. A burst of your own energy surged through the link, colliding  head-on into the onslaught of Sukuna's cursed energy.

It was overwhelming.  It was a malevolence beyond anything you had ever felt-a manifestation of pure evil that seemed to transcend the boundaries of human comprehension. It swept over you like a tidal wave. But you held firm. 

You envisioned the flow of his cursed energy, visualized it coming to a halt, and poured every ounce of your will into making it a reality.

Sukuna's laughter died. His eyes widened. The realization of what was happening dawned on him too late. You could feel his cursed energy faltering, its flow stuttering under your influence.

Your grin widened.

But in the blink of an eye, strong arms seized you. 

The walls of your domain shattered like fragile glass in a storm. You were hurled backwards with staggering force. Your connection to Sukuna's cursed energy snapped, leaving you disoriented and robbed of the taste of victory that had been so tantalizingly close.

No.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

No!

So close.

You were so close to stop it forever.

You crashed to the ground, wrapped in Satoru's arms. He held you close to him. He held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, as if by sheer will, he could protect you from the cruel twist of fate-or form yourself.

"Let me go, Satoru!"

Your legs kicked wildly in his grasp. Your fingers gripped his arms violently, nails digging into his flesh. You screamed and fought against Satoru's unyielding hold.

Your fingernails dug deeper into his flesh, leaving furious red welts and rivulets of blood in their wake. You could feel the shudder that ran through his body as he endured your assault.  But in that moment, you didn't care.

For what were those minor scratches compared to the pain Satoru had endured during those agonizing minutes when he believed he had lost you?

It was nothing.

A small sacrifice.

Nothing you could do would be nearly as painful to him as the suffering he had experienced while unconscious, not knowing where you were.

So when he saw your domain, he had no choice but to destroy it-free you-bring you back to him.

"Let go, damn it!" you hissed through gritted teeth.

"Stop it, love. It's enough!" His grip around you tightened, each painful squeeze of your wounded flesh adding to your agony. "What can I do to make you stop? Tell me. I'd do anything for you," Satoru's voice was soft, almost breaking, as he pleaded with you, his breath warm against your neck.

As you strained against his grip, you became painfully aware of his heartbeat. You could feel the warmth of his body, inhale the familiar scent of him that was unmistakably Satoru. It was all so awfully familiar. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you stopped fighting against his embrace.

"It's too late, Satoru. We have to do this now, or it's over forever," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. Resignation flowed through you, leaving you limp in his arms. The fight had drained out of you. All that remained was the harsh reality of the situation.

This was it.

The last downfall.

Sukuna, having partially taken control of Yuji, was closer than ever to seizing all his fingers. If you didn't stop him now, no one ever could.

"Then let Sukuna take over. It doesn't matter. You're all that matters." He paused, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Don't you understand? I can't lose you."

He was willing to sacrifice everything.

He had seen you nearly slip away too many times, and he couldn't bear to lose you again.

It had always been a dance of love and pain, sacrifice and betrayal. The wounds from past battles still lingered, scars etched deep into your heart. But despite the hurt, the love had never wavered, an unbreakable thread that bound you together.

Yes, he was willing to sacrifice everything for you.

But so were you.

You knew that it was your turn to make the sacrifice. To put an end to the suffering that had haunted you both for far too long.

"Sorry, do I interrupt the lovely couple?"

Sukuna's voice cut through the tension like a blade. His steps were slow as he approached, his crimson eyes locked onto both of you. Your heart raced, but you couldn't let fear consume you now. There was too much at stake.

He halted a few meters away, across from you.

"Satoru-" You whispered his name, a last desperate plea.

Satoru took a deep inhale. He lifted his head from where it had been nestled in your hair. "How long do we have left?"

"His cursed energy is suppressed, but only for another minute, maybe two."

"Then we need to be fast," he said, releasing you from his protective hold. "Will your plan still work?"

"I hope so." Your hand instinctively went to your belt, relieved to feel the fingers of Sukuna still securely fastened there. Your body ached. You were far beyond your limits, but the familiar rush of adrenaline dulled the pain. "It would have worked if you hadn't destroyed my domain," you added as you turned to face him.

He met your gaze squarely. "Consider it payback for stabbing me with that damn dagger of yours," he retorted, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Ha? You started it by throwing a fucking car at me!"

Sukuna watched silently, almost bemused. Then, with a heavy sigh, as if tired of the delay, he lunged towards you both. In a flash, Megumi positioned himself in front of you and Satoru, blocking Sukuna's attack.

"Can you save this discussion for couples therapy and focus on the fight?" Megumi shouted.

"What do you need?" Satoru quickly asked you.

"An opening."

"Nothing easier than that," Satoru replied, a hint of a cruel smile playing on his lips. 

In a flash, he lunged forward into the fray. "Move, Megumi!" he shouted. Without hesitation, Megumi dodged and cleared the way for Satoru to unleash his full power.

Satoru's fist drew back. Then, with explosive force, he unleashed his punch. His fist met Sukuna's jaw, and an instant shockwave tore through the air.

Sukuna was hurled backwards. He crashed into the remains of a building with a bone-shattering thud. The already fragile structure groaned and crumbled under the immense impact. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring the aftermath of Satoru's devastating attack.

As the dust settled and the debris slowly cleared, Satoru's eyes remained fixed on the spot where Sukuna had been thrown.

Then, from the midst of the wreckage, a chilling laughter echoed. Sukuna emerged from the rubble, his form astonishingly unharmed. He brushed aside the debris that clung to him. His crimson eyes burned with malevolent fire.

"Is that the best you've got, Gojo?" he taunted.

Satoru cracked his knuckles and assumed a fighting stance. "I was just getting warmed up."

But you knew him better. You knew what you'd done to him, you'd stopped his cursed energy, and he wasn't quite back. His injuries still lingered, his cursed energy faltered. He was far from his peak. But so was Sukuna.

In an explosive burst of speed, Sukuna closed the gap on Satoru, their clash causing a shockwave that shook the surrounding.

Megumi clenched his fists and called his divine dog to his side.  "Go to the left!" Without hesitation, you darted to the left, circling around to flank Sukuna.

Sukuna's fist flew towards Satoru's face. Satoru dropped to the ground. In one fluid motion, Satoru twisted his body and unleashed a powerful kick from the ground, sending Sukuna flying over your head.

For a brief moment, Sukuna soared overhead. Your eyes locked with his.

Defying gravity and physical limitations, Sukuna regained control mid-air and hurtled towards you. But Megumi's divine dog was at your side in an instant, shielding you with its form.

In the next heartbeat, Satoru was there. "Don't touch my wife!" His kick connected with Sukuna, sending the cursed spirit flying away from you with a force that echoed through the battlefield. 

What the hell was Satoru doing?

Time was running out.

"What are you doing, Satoru?!" you shouted. "I need to physically touch him, stop sending him flying miles away from me!"

"Oh right, sorry." Satoru landed back beside you, his feet barely touching the ground before he moved again.

Simultaneously, you and Satoru charged forward. Sukuna swiftly regained his footing. In a blur of movement, Satoru's fist shot forward, aiming for Sukuna. His punch smashed into the brick wall where Sukuna's head had been a split second earlier. Chunks of brick flew into the air.

Sukuna exploited the brief opening. He lunged towards you, bypassing Satoru. You tensed, preparing for the impact, but Satoru was faster.

Satoru parried the attack with a swift, powerful kick to Sukuna's midsection. Blood spurted from Sukuna's mouth. Without missing a beat, Satoru followed up with a lightning-fast jab to Sukuna's face.

"Now!" he yelled, spotting an opening.

You lunged forward.  But Sukuna quickly regained his footing. He leaped back, dodging Satoru's punch with a fluidity that belied his injured state. He parried, sending Satoru reeling back.

In the blink of an eye, Sukuna's hand shot out, gripping your leg with an iron grasp. He swept your legs from under you. You crashed to the ground.

Looking up, Sukuna towered over you, his grin malicious. His crimson eyes glinted with malevolence. But before he could make a move, Megumi's divine dog intervened. Its huge form crashed into Sukuna and tore him away from you.

Megumi rushed to your side. "You good?" he asked, offering a hand.

"Never been better," you grabbed his hand, pulling yourself up swiftly.

Satoru was back on Sukuna, delivering a powerful kick. Sukuna dodged. He countered with a fast jab to Satoru's torso, breaking bone with a sickening crack.

Megumi, not missing a beat, joined the fight, his movements synchronized with Satoru's. They worked in unison-teacher and student.

Megumi feigned an attack, drawing Sukuna's attention. Satoru sought an opening. They were relentless, a blur of rapid strikes and feints as they pushed Sukuna to his limits.

Sukuna's desperate defense faltered. His movements became erratic. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, the stench of blood filling the air. Sukuna found himself cornered as Satoru and Megumi closed in for the kill.

There was no way to escape now.

They had him.

At Satoru's call, you burst into action. 

Sprinting forward, you positioned yourself between Satoru and Megumi. You didn't hesitate. Your hand shot out, seizing Sukuna's chest in an iron grip, while your other hand retrieved his severed fingers from your belt. 

With a deep breath, you activated your cursed technique once more, tapping into the fragile link you had established. Sukuna's cursed energy surged through the connection, dark and malevolent, but you were ready for it this time. 

You had felt it before. 

Now, all that mattered was stopping it-halting it forever.

You closed your eyes. The world around you faded into the background as you focused solely on the flow of cursed energy. Satoru and Megumi held Sukuna in place, their combined efforts restraining the sorcerrer.

But then, you sensed a change-a surge of power that shouldn't have been possible. Sukuna's cursed energy roared back to life.

It was too late.

Your eyes snapped open. You starred directly into Sukuna's eyes. He grinned.

"Too late," Sukuna sneered.

In an instant, Sukuna unleashed a devastating shockwave of cursed energy. It erupted like an tempest, its sheer force sending Satoru and Megumi hurtling backward. Their hold on Sukuna shattered.

But you stood still, your hand still pressed firmly against Sukuna's chest. You blocked the surge of cursed energy that rushed at you, deflecting it away from you. The chaotic energy swirled and raged around you. 

The ground beneath your feet shattered and ripped open. You twisted your feet to get more grip, holding your ground against Sukuna's overwhelming power.

The world descended into sheer chaos.

What do you think, was it then when it all fell down?

Perhaps.

Satoru and Megumi shouted. But their voices were drowned out by the chaotic force. Satoru cried out desperately, pleading with you to stop, to step away from the maelstrom, to return to him. 

And you wanted to do that. You really wanted to. You wanted nothing more than to heed his call, to turn back to the safety of his arms.

But it was too late, wasn't it? 

It was all too late.

You drowned out Satoru's pleas, the sound of his voice breaking with each desperate scream of your name. The searing heat of Sukuna's cursed energy scorched your skin. You felt your flesh tearing apart, wounds ripping open across your battered form.

You looked eyes with Sukuna. His crimson eyes bored into you, but all you could do was smile. Your lips twisted into a wry grin as you felt his cursed energy slowing.

You could almost feel the grinding halt of Sukuna's cursed energy in your mind's eye, pouring every ounce of your will into making it a reality.

Sukuna seized your arm. His grip brutal. His fingers dug into your flesh,  drawing forth a wellspring of blood. You winced at the pain, but your focus did not waver. Then Sukuna's hand shot towards your torso with lethal precision. 

The pain was sharp and immediate as Sukuna's hand pierced your flesh. A wave of agony ripped through you, so intense it was almost blinding. Blood trickled from your mouth, but all you could do was grin at Sukuna.

"Too late," you echoed his earlier taunt. In that moment, as your blood spilled and your body screamed in pain, you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you had succeeded.

Sukuna's laughter died. His eyes widened. The realization of what was happening dawned on him too late. You felt the flow of his cursed energy stutter, then stop altogether.

The shockwave subsided. Everything seemed to come to a halt. Frozen in the very air as Sukuna's cursed energy ceased to exist.

Forever.

Sukuna withdrew his arm from your abdomen. Blood gushed forth from the wound as he did so.

You watched as Yuji returned to normal. Sukuna's marks disappeared from his face,  leaving behind the familiar, gentle features you loved so much. Tears brimmed in Yuji's eyes before he sank to the ground.

You let out a heavy exhale.

It's over.

It's over.

Your breaths grew shallow.

All strength drained.

Your legs, no longer able to support your weight, buckled beneath you. The world spun, its edges darkening, as you teetered on the brink of consciousness.

Just as you began to fall, strong arms encircled you, catching you before you could hit the ground. It was Satoru. His eyes full of horror.

He held you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your blood as it spilled down his hands. He wanted to staunch the flow, to press against the open wound. Stop the bleeding. But a hole couldn't be stopped from bleeding. Some wounds couldn't be stopped.

"Stay with me, love," he whispered hoarsely. He brushed away the bloodstained strands of hair from your face. His fingers trembled. They trembled so violently. "Don't go. I can't live without you."

Over Satoru's shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Megumi. In all the years you had known him, you had never seen him shed a tear. He sank to the ground, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Satoru," you managed to breathe out. "Let's go back to the beach and live there. I'm tired of fighting," you said with a strained chuckle. Blood pooled around you, seeping into the ground, staining it crimson. 

Tears fell on your face, warm and salty-his tears.

Satoru's eyes were like the ocean as he looked at you. 

How you loved the ocean. 

You loved him so much.

You didn't know what was more painful, the pain of what had happened or the pain of what would never be-the future that was slipping away-the life you could have had-the dreams that would remain unfulfilled.

He looked so young in that moment-he was not the strongest-just a vulnerable young man. Stripped of all his strength. But what was strength anyway if he couldn't protect the ones he loved. How could he name himself the strongest sorcerer, yet be powerless in the moments that truly mattered.

It was all so meaningless to him in that moment, pointless, hollow. 

Without you, the world lost its purpose.

Oh, how cruel fate is.

How utterly cruel some fates were meant to be.

"Yeah, I'm tired of fighting, too," he murmured, his voice a soft, pained whisper. "We'll return to the beach and stay there, forever. Anything for you, love."

Your smiled. You reached up, cupping his face gently in your hand. "I'm all yours," you whispered. As your consciousness waned, you held onto the image of Satoru, the love you felt for him, and the peace of the beach that you would never see again. 

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. "And I'm all yours," he echoed softly. "Forever."

And then your hand slipped away from his cheek. It fell to your side, lifeless and still. The light in your eyes dimmed, leaving Satoru adrift in a sea of despair, grappling with the cruel reality that you were slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I love you," he uttered, each word fracturing his heart a little more as he pulled your lifeless form closer to his chest. Repeating the phrase, as if each utterance could somehow bridge the chasm that death had created between you.

"I love you," he repeated over and over as you drew your last breath. The silence screamed in his ears. He couldn't move. He could hardly breathe. All he could do was hold your frail body in his arms-so limp and lifeless, so utterly different from the force of nature he knew-he loved.

The world around him had crumbled, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill-leaving behind an unbearable weight of a future denied.

But all he could do was cry.

His heart shattered and broke in ways he never thought it could.

And all he could do was cry.

"I love you," he whispered until his tears drowned everything out.

Because all he could do was cry.

I love you.

Three simple words.

Three simple words Satoru Gojo could never bring himself to utter again.

To anyone.

Ever.

****

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.

53,245.

That was the count. 53,245 curses eradicated since you left. Each one a silent, ruthless kill—each one a cruel reminder of his relentless agony.

53,245 emotionless annihilations.

53,245 final gasps of cursed beings.

53,245... and yet, Satoru Gojo felt nothing. 

No satisfaction, no relief. 

Nothing.

Only emptiness.

How could this world just go on. 

Why didn't it stop. 

Because it had stopped for him—frozen in the moment he lost you.

Satoru Gojo was soaked in cold vengeance and unyielding fury. Nothing more then a shell of his former self—a vessel fueled by rage and an insatiable thirst for retribution, his eyes long devoid of any spark.

Every curse he annihilated  was a futile attempt to fill an ever-deepening chasm within. But with each battle, with each kill, the chasm only grew wider, deeper, consuming what little of him remained.

Blood dripped from his fingers as he stood amidst the remains of yet another curse he had violently torn apart. His form was barely recognizable beneath the layers of blood splatter, the gore clinging to his body as if it had become one with his very being.

The wind whispered through the desolation, carrying away the echoes of his silent screams.

53,246.

Still this feeling.

Emptiness. 

An ever consuming, overwhelming emptiness.

Why?

Why didn't it go away?

Why did it haunt him?

Why did it have to haunt him so relentlessly?

Why was there no end?

To the emptiness?

To him?

53,246.

But who was counting anymore? 

The number was just a hollow count.

Pointless.

Meaningless.

Satoru Gojo had lost himself. He became a shadow, haunted by the memory of what could have been and the brutal reality of what was.

The only constant was the blood that stained his hands.

He didn't care. 

He had stopped caring a long time ago.

Because the world had moved on—that traitorous thing of a world had moved on, but Satoru Gojo remained trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Unable to find an escape. Unable to let go.

He had tried to fill the void, god believe me, he had tried so desperately—tried to fill it with his duties as a sorcerer, throwing himself into battle after battle, seeking solace in the slaughter of curses.

But nothing changed.

The emptiness remained.

There was no end to his journey, no final destination. 

There was only the hunt, the endless pursuit of a peace he knew he would never again find. 

The laughter, the love, the light—all extinguished in the wake of your death. The loss of you had stripped away the last vestiges of warmth from his heart. What remained was a man driven by a singular, unyielding purpose: to eradicate every curse that dared to taint the world you had once walked upon.

And so, he continued, a lone figure against the backdrop of a world struggling to maintain its balance, a sorcerer whose heart had been irrevocably shattered, leaving behind nothing but the cold, ruthless determination of a man with nothing left to lose.

Because nothing really mattered any more.

All that mattered was the void in his heart, the ache of your absence. He had lost the love of his life, and nothing else could ever compare.

Some days he couldn't help but think back to the days when it wasn't too late, remember the sound of your voice, the color of your eyes, the feeling of your skin—they were distant memories now, fading with each passing day. He had tried to hold on to them, but they slipped through his fingers like sand.

And then the darkness consumed him again.

So this was his life now—a never-ending cycle of violence and death.

He was the strongest sorcerer in the world, but it meant nothing to him. All that mattered was the one thing he could never have again. All that mattered was the one person he could not protect.

Why couldn't he protect you? 

Why was he so pathetically powerless?

Why? 

Why?  

When did it all go wrong? 

Why didn't he see it sooner? 

Why didn't he keep you closer? 

The question echoed relentlessly, infiltrating his every waking moment and plaguing his restless nights. He searched for answers that seemed forever beyond his grasp, aching to comprehend the agonizing twists of fate that had torn you from his embrace.

His mind relentlessly retraced the steps that led to this loss. He replayed those moments, desperately seeking the point of divergence where he might have altered the course of fate, prevented the tragedy that had destroyed his world.

But he couldn't.

It was all meaningless.

Amidst the bloodshed of his massacre, he stood, his head tilted back as he gazed at the sky above. He wiped across his eyes with the back of his hand.

It's been two years. 

Still every day was painful.

Still every day he thinks about you.

Some days he thinks he's healed. Other days the wounds are fresh, cutting deeper than ever. But the unchanging, unbearable reality was that he missed you every single day.

****

"It's hot," Yuji remarked.

He's right.

The summer heat was unbearable, the air heavy and still. This summer was violent, each day bringing a scorching heat that seemed to drain the energy from everything it touched. Yuji and Megumi sat in the shade, seeking a fleeting escape from the heat.

"I wonder if Nobara's happy overseas," Yuji mused, his hands mechanically working through the motions of slicing watermelon. 

"It doesn't matter where she is. Here or overseas. She won't be happy," Megumi said as he watched the aimless swirl of a leaf caught in the still air.

"Probably not," Yuji agreed.

A heavy silence fell upon them, pressing down like the summer heat.

After a moment, Yuji spoke up again. "Aren't you leaving soon as well?"

"Yeah, tomorrow."

"You think it'll change anything?" Yuji asked, his eyes searching Megumi's face for an answer they both knew but didn't want to admit.

Megumi paused, his gaze drifting away. "I have to try."

Yuji exhaled heavily. "So, it's just me now here."

"You'll be fine, Yuji. Gojo's still around," Megumi tried to reassure, though his words lacked conviction.

Yuji propped himself up on one elbow. "Didn't Gojo-sensei say he wants to quit teaching?"

Megumi's eyes widened slightly.

At that moment, a familiar voice cut through the heat. "Did I just hear my name?"

As they turned, the sight of Satoru halted their breaths. Of course, they were shocked. But they were not surprised. They long stopped to be surprised to see him like that. In this state.

His silver hair hung in disheveled strands, plastered to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and dried blood. His form was drenched in scarlet, the blood indistinguishable as to whether it was his own or someone else's. His eyes were shadowed with the familiar emptiness.

His exposed skin bore the marks of numerous injuries, bruises and scratches marring his pale complexion. He no longer healed himself with his reversed cursed technique unless his injuries were lethal.

He wanted to feel the pain.

He wanted to feel the pain of each and every scratch and wound.

He wanted to see the blood run down his skin—wanted to see it run out—wanted to see it end his pain.

Yet amidst the chaos of his broken appearance, a small patch on his left hand had always remained meticulously shielded by his infinity, untouched, unblemished. The wedding ring still adorned his finger, a singular spot free from the onslaught of his self-imposed penance.

Satoru drew closer until his shadow fell on Yuji. Yuji tilted his head back. "Oh, Gojo-sensei. What brings you here?"

Satoru strolled closer, picked up a slice of watermelon and sat down next to them. He seemed unfazed by the blood that transferred from his hands to the watermelon as he took a bite. The air around him carried the pungent scent of battle.

"You reek of burned flesh and ashes," Megumi commented.

"Do I?" Satoru responded, seemingly unbothered by the observation.

Silence.

"Is it true?" Megumi spoke up. "You're done with teaching?"

Satoru turned his gaze to them. "Yeah, I'm stepping back. It's time for you all to take over." He paused, his jaw clenched. "I'm tired," he added, almost in a whisper.

His gaze then shifted to Yuji. "Yuji, you're in for the teacher training program."

Yuji's eyes widened in surprise. "What? Really?"

"Yes, you've done well," Satoru said with a fleeting smile that hardly touched the weariness in his eyes. "You too, Megumi, if you want to stay," Satoru added, but he already knew the answer to that.

"Who would've thought? Me as a teacher. Times really are changing," Yuji mused aloud.

Just then, Maki arrived, her directness cutting like a blade. "Gojo, you're reeking up the place. Ever heard of a shower?"

Satoru shot a quick, irritable glance her way. "Shut it, Zenin."

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his response. "Seriously, Gojo? When are you going to end your self-destruction? It's been two years!"

Satoru's fist clenched, his patience clearly fraying. "Watch your words," he retorted sharply.

But Maki wasn't done. She had had enough. She had grieved, too, like everyone else, but to watch Satoru drown in self-pity made her blood boil; knowing that it was far from what you would have wanted for him.

She crossed her arms, her gaze drilling into him. "Look at yourself, Gojo! You're a mess! When do you think you will finally be redeemed? Huh? When you have wiped out every curse on earth?"

At her words, something in Satoru snapped. He stood up abruptly, his presence suddenly more threatening. "Enough," he warned, his voice icy, barely containing his simmering rage. "Shut your tongue, or I'll rip it out myself."

Maki held his gaze, unflinching. "And then what, Gojo? You think that will bring you peace?"

Satoru's eyes narrowed. "I advise you to stay out of matters that do not concern you." With that, he turned and left, leaving Megumi, Yuji, and Maki behind.

Maki let out an exasperated sigh, running her hand through her hair. "When will Gojo get a grip on himself?"

"Drop it, Maki," Megumi snapped back with an uncharacteristic sharpness. 

Maki's eyes narrowed, her own patience wearing thin. "Oh, come on! You're just as bad, Fushiguro. Both of you need to move forward. It's painful to watch."

Megumi's expression darkened. Without another word, he stood up, turned on his heel and walked away. Maki and Yuji were left in silence, the tension still hanging in the air.

"Was I too harsh?" Maki sat down besides Yuji.

"Maybe, Maki. I don't know. I really don't know." Yuji let out a weary exhale. "Just don't be so hard on them. They torture themselves enough already," he said while his fingers traced the faint lines under his eyes where painful marks had once been. "We all do."

That's it, isn't it?

That's fate.

That's life.

Unforgiving.

Cruel.

Somehow, some fates are meant to be cruel—cursed even.

And all they could do was hope—hope that one day the pain would ease, that it would become more bearable. Or that life would, at lat, offer them the sweet release they lacked the courage to seize for themselves—the release from the pain that held them captive.

Sometimes, Satoru thought about it.

In the quiet nights.

When he missed you the most.

He wanted to forget, to let go of the memories that haunted him. Maybe then the pain would be easier to bear. Maybe then it would be easier to breathe. Yet, he couldn't. He couldn't allow himself to forget, even though he wished he could.

But the curses that plagued the world were a constant reminder of what had been cruelly taken from him, and he couldn't rest until he had annihilated every last one of them.

Until that day came, he would continue his relentless hunt, each cursed spirit he extinguished bringing him a faint step closer to redemption.

Or so he desperately hoped.

a/n: I can't believe I've finally completed this fic. It's been an incredible journey, and I want to express my deepest gratitude to all of you who stuck with me through it. This was my first-ever long fanfiction, and I've learned so much while writing it. 

I hope you enjoyed the ride, even if it was a bit wobbly from time to time; I just wrote it as it flowed into my brain, chapter by chapter.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. I hope you have a wonderful day or night, and maybe we'll cross paths again in another story! ♥

#gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #satoru gojo angst

[animeyanderelover]

can i request characters of your choice from tokyo ghoul (+kaneki, haise and ayato if possible) with a darling whose blood is sweet and addictive like yui from DL?

Last few exams will be written next week and then I only have to wait the last weeks until my holidays. Wish me the best.

Tags: @naeho @flaming-vulpix

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, obsession, possessive behavior, delusional thoughts, stalking, sadism, isolation, paranoia, clinginess, overprotective behavior, abduction, self-harm, death

Sweet & addictive blood

Ken Kankeki

��​Kaneki, who hasn't been a ghoul until the accident, already struggles with his self-control a bit yet his s/o really puts his mental composure to the test. Kaneki would never hurt his s/o, he'd die for them. So why is his mouth watering a bit whenever he catches a good whiff of their skin? That enticing smell invades his mind and fuels his greed for a taste yet as soon as he catches himself indulging in the thought of those primal desires, disgust and self-loathing burns through his entire being. He punishes himself for even thinking about you like this, although all inflicted wounds heal after a while due to his regeneration abilities. He spends hours in his room, tears in his eyes and his own blood coating his mouth and his teeth as he stares at his arms and watches the injuries slowly healing. It isn't enough, he thinks to himself. This pain isn't enough to make up for letting himself develop such vile desires for your flesh and blood.

🔲​Through all of this hatred directed against himself, there's another fear blossoming deep inside of Kaneki's soul. If he already lusts for a taste of you like this, how would it be for other ghouls? Suddenly his thoughts are overwhelmed with images of other ghouls attacking you, tearing you apart, devouring you as your agonizing screams die down and the life leaves your eyes. Such gruesome thoughts nearly make him throw up whenever they won't leave his head and twist and turn his stomach. Despite his disgust for himself, Kaneki follows you around whenever he can and every ghoul he comes across whilst following you, he attacks. His paranoia makes every ghoul see him as your future murderer so he scares them, hurts them and in the worst case kills them. His mind is spinning, his heart is aching and his body is just yearning for closeness with you until Kaneki who has already been cracking under the pressure of his own emotions crumbles apart.

🔲​Your scent soon fills his apartment wherever he goes and it is as soothing as it makes him go a bit crazy. He feels hunger for you, for just a small taste of your blood yet he always holds himself back. You're always uneasy around him as he often just stares at you and you see his entire body softly trembling. Occasionally he takes a step or two in your direction, his gaze needy before he stumbles back again and mumbles something to himself. Kaneki tries to stay away from you but it doesn't always work. You remember sometimes waking up at night to him wrapped around you, his face in your neck as he takes deep breaths and you can feel his own racing heart beat through his chest. If you should ever hurt yourself and the blood just seeps out of your wound, he completely relapses on his delicate control for a moment or two, might even taste the wound with his warm tongue.

Touka Kirishima

🟪Touka has been having some emotions for you for a while now but she has actively tried to ignore them. She's even pushing you away from her, seems short-tempered and brash around you if you should ever try to start a conversation with her. You're confused and wonder if you've done something wrong yet really, none of this is your fault. At least not a fault you made consciously. It's just that your scent ...drives her a bit mad. Touka has never wanted this obsession with you and as if her own emotions aren't already enough to give her a headache, your very sweet blood rushing through your body complicates it all a bit. It isn't that she's about to lose control per se as she has experience in controlling her appetite but the combination of her feelings and your sweet smell seem to make it so difficult for her.

🟪She knows how most humans view ghouls so she is very bend on never letting you find out what she is because as tough as she may try to be, she fears to see her darling being afraid of her due to her being a ghoul. Yet she also knows that not all ghouls will be as careful around you as she is so Touka often starts stalking you or just simply walking you home. Honestly, her behavior contradicts itself often around you because on the one hand she avoids yet also often accompanies you but it's not like you'll get an answer out of her for this. She does all of this for protection because she is fully aware that ghouls might very well come after you for your sweet scent. No one will harm you under her watch though because even with her quiet and aloof exterior at times, she is very ready to become violent for your sake.

🟪Her secret can't remain a secret forever though and eventually she sees herself forced to tell you the truth about her biology and also reveal to you what your sweet smell does to the hunger of a ghoul. She has to swallow back her her emotions when she sees the fear blooming on your face, some of it also directed at her. This is what she expected but still... seeing it hurts. This reveal doesn't have to end in an abduction though and she makes that clear to you too. If you just do as she says and let her continue watching over you, she would be willing to let you live on with your life as you're used to it. Although she knows it'll probably never be quite the same for you again now that you know what she is and are also aware just how special and sweet your blood is for her kind.

Ayato Kirishima

🌌Ayato would rather come up with every other excuse than the one that involves him admitting that he harbors deep inside his heart romantic attraction to a human. Your sweet and special blood is so used as his best excuse to deny his feelings and instead make it look like he's only obsessed with you due to your addictive blood. He's very straightforward in clarifying it to every other ghoul that they shouldn't dare to harm you unless they want to be attacked and murdered by him. Ayato is very straightforward with his territorial feelings and every ghoul who resides even close to you will be beaten bloody by him to the point where even their regeneration won't do much for them. He's big on just stalking you for a couple of months because he still doesn't know what to do with the mess of emotions inside of him. He knows who is to blame for it though. You.

🌌The time eventually comes where Ayato grows sick and tired of seeing you walk around and be so unaware and in good spirits whilst he is tearing himself mentally apart because of his conflicting emotions and has gone on a killing spree just to prevent any other ghoul from attacking you and devouring you. You're such an ungrateful brat. You don't deserve to be left like this, so carefree and happy with your life. He abducts you because he's spiteful and angry with you. A part of him just wants to see you suffer a bit so that he can feel better about himself and also convince himself that you're nothing more than a petty and pathetic human. You should be careful not to anger him since Ayato is very trigger-happy the first few weeks after abduction because your constant presence confronts him harshly with his true feeling for you.

🌌He's being a sadistic asshole for a while with you and hurts you on purpose to taste some of your blood, his tongue digging into your injuries as he watches you squirm with discomfort and tears in your eyes. Ayato is being careful enough to not injure you seriously but enough to make you fear him so that you will listen to him and enough to quench some of his lust for your blood. Passing time changes his heart slowly though and to his huge shame he finds himself growing a small soft spot for you. That's the last thing he wants, he doesn't want you to realize that you are a weak spot for him since he has a fear of you abusing his feelings for you for your own selfish purposes. Sometimes his love for you slips out though and instead of a harsh bite you expected from him you feel a rough kiss being placed on your skin, one that has him recoiling when he realizes what he's just done.

Nishio Nishiki

🎓​Nishiki has some conflicted emotions regarding his obsession with you too because humans were the ones who took his older sister away from him by murdering her. He won't deny that he holds a grudge against your kind but he's more mature in handling this situation. He can't deny that your blood has him lusting for a taste of you too but he knows to wait a bit and to not act too impulsively. Most importantly is that he realizes that you might be targeted by other people of his kind thanks to your rare and sweet blood and the enticing scent you carry around with you. To prevent anyone from hurting and/or killing you to enjoy you as their next meal, he opts to worm his way into your life as quickly as possible in order to have a good eye on you all of the time and prevent anything from happening to you.

🎓​There is a deep-rooted fear of Nishio to lose you too because he has lost the most precious person to him already with the death of his sister. Even if he doesn't show it, he is a tad bit paranoid to lose you as well now that you've grown on him so much. Perhaps this is why he turns into such a controlling individual around you and has set his mind to achieving a certain level of influence over you and your life. For that he uses his charm and his intelligence to get approval from your friends and your parents to have them put trust in his words and his judgement too if you shouldn't be as obedient and follow his decisions as he would like. In his mind, you just don't know any better though. You're only a human and differently from him, you've seen nothing. Nishio thinks of himself as better suited to make decisions involving your life.

🎓​He can't help himself at times from stepping closer to you and taking a few deep sniffs of your smell. As good and experienced he may be in regards of his hunger, a few weak moments still happen from time to time. He keeps everything a secret from you as long as he can though, including why he always has to accompany you and why you aren't allowed to walk around alone at night. When the time comes for you to find out though, Nishiki actually uses it as a way to blackmail and manipulate you further. If it wouldn't have been for him, you would have been attacked multiple times already by a ghoul. The only reason why you're still alive today is because he protected you and fought for you against other ghouls who planned to ambush you. Don't you understand him? You need him.

Shuu Tsukiyama

🍷​Tsukiyama is a self-proclaimed gourmet in the world of ghouls and one who wouldn't even shy away from cannibalism if it would present him with a new and unique flavor to explore and present to other ghouls. So when he one day just walks through the city and you just happen to pass him on the street, leaving a trail of your sweet scent behind you, he knows that he has found his next attraction, his next meal for him to taste and gush about. He doesn't just abduct you instantly though as he thinks of such a sudden act as bland, tasteless and beneath him. Instead it almost appears as if this young man is courting you at first with sweet words and lots of presents whilst simultanously having to swallow back his saliva by constantly being surrounded by your excellent and mouth-watering aroma.

🍷​His obsession for your mere blood deepens during this time where the unknown eye just assumes that this flamboyant young man is just courting you. Your company is genuinely enjoyable and he soon starts thinking about you as more than just the next fantastic meal for him to discover and present to others. Your personality is adorable and sweet and he genuinely enjoys teasing you and making you a tad bit uncomfortable. This triggers the abduction though because Shuu is ridiculously jealous and possessive over you all of a sudden and even with romantic feelings now involved, Shuu is still a sadist. In one moment he can be sweet, clingy and doting and in the next moment he pins you down with a creepy grin on his face as he rips your shirt away from your body, sniffing your bare skin and letting his tongue glide across you before letting his teeth sink into your flesh, enjoying his taste of your sweet blood that he won't share with anyone else.

🍷​By the time his father finds out about you and the way his son has treated you, your already covered in bite marks and scared for your life. Needless to say, you're rescued from Shuu and taken care of by the Tsukiyama household with Shuu strictly forbidden to see you. The man throws the biggest scene ever as he throws a temper tantrum, begs his father to let him see you again only to start crying when his father tells him harshly off and refuses to let his son see you until he has learnt how to treat the person he claims to love. Mirumo is utterly disappointed with the way his son has treated you, apologizes to you and promises you to never let such terrible things happen to you again. Shuu is kept for as long away from you until his father deems him to have learned his lesson, although even then Mirumo still is in the same room as you when Shuu can finally visit you again.

Uta

🎭You've stumbled by sheer chance into his store but find yourself staying for a while longer since you've never seen someone like Uta before. Uta, upon first meeting you, seems to realize that you are quite special too. He can tell as much from your scent that even makes his mouth water a bit but he hides it very well as he just starts chatting with you about random stuff now that you're here anyways. Initially he doesn't seem to care much for you, seems only interested to see how long you can manage to stay alive with that sweet blood of yours. As time piles on though and you continue to visit his shop since you find the owner of it so unique though, he has a chance of heart as he decides that you're too special to be killed. It would be a pity if he would lose his little muse because some ghouls couldn't control themselves now, wouldn't it?

🎭Uta is a bit more lazy so he wouldn't want to go on a killing spree or stalk you everyday if he can take other meassurements to ensure that no other ghoul touches. His occupation as a ghoul who crafts masks for a lot of ghouls is a small help as he always finds out about rumors and current events through his customers by sparking some conversation with them. If one of his customers happens to mention a human with very sweet blood, Uta automatically knows who he has to target if it should come down to it. All of his laziness aside though, Uta can be exceptionally cruel and sadistic if he should ever come to the point where he has to get rid of a threat. He takes your protection very serious so he would be damned if he would let someone else ever dare to touch you and take you away from him.

🎭You've grown accustomed to Uta's very quirky sides. He is just very weird so at one point you stop protesting when he sometimes leans closer to you and starts sniffing you like some sort of dog. Uta keeps his identity initially a secret from you too but eventually he just decides to tell you about what he is. Trying to escape is useless, he's locked the door up so you have nowhere to run. No reason to be so skittish though, he doesn't plan to kill you. He'd just like you to be his, his sweet muse. If you do as he says, he'd even let you leave again. If you tell anyone though or try to run away, he will come for you and he will find you. Uta is quite chill most of the time but he has his short sadistic moments where he just decides that a small taste won't hurt and so you can only sob silently as teeth cut through your skin to taste your blood only to have him afterwards hush and comfort you through your pain.

Haise Sasaki

🔳​Sasaki is more responsible and mature although also painfully good-willed to the point where he might appear as a tad bit naive. He isn't aware who he used to be in his past though so perhaps that's why he can be the way he is. He works to protect people against ghouls so his darling falls into the category of people he has sworn to protect. Yet something about their scent is quite enticing and sweet even for him but he would never admit that. He knows that it would sound very creepy to others and he himself recoils out of shame and embarrassment whenever he gets a bit too lost in the scent of yours. Instead he hides all of his thoughts and just acts around you like he acts around everyone else. A bit more reserved but still very polite. Maybe just a tad bit kinder to make up for thinking about you in such unsettling ways, even if you don't know about that.

🔳​Perhaps his willingness to be nicer around you to make himself feel better about his thoughts regarding your scent are what really starts his obsession as he spends more time with you. Partially to still do everything to make himself feel less guilty and partially because he is capable of realizing that every other ghoul would come after you for your sweet blood. Because he spends such an abundance of time with you, he really starts getting to know you and even starts developing feelings for you. You're kind and adorable and some part of him just wants to protect you from this cruel world that will rip you away from him and- He doesn't even know where those dark and intrusive thoughts come from but he knows that he has to push his growing feelings away as such creepy ideas start infiltrating your mind and he finds himself sometimes thinking of just locking you away and shielding you from all evil in this world.

🔳​He knows that he already spends a lot of time with you but somehow this doesn't seem to be enough. He wants to be even more with you but in order to not be seen as too clingy, he starts stalking you. It is embarrassing and shameful but he really can't help himself. He just has to protect you and a small voice in his head always reminds him that something could happen to you whilst he is gone and fuels his paranoia a bit. When you hug him, a part of him really just wants to hold you and never let you go so that he can get lost in your sweet aroma but he holds himself back from doing so, although his body starts slightly trembling as this takes a lot of his self-control. He does his best to hold himself back as good as he can but it's undeniable that some part inside of him, someone else inside of him, just wants to lock you away, keep you and murder everyone who would dare to touch a single strand on your head the wrong way.

#yandere tokyo ghoul #yandere kaneki #yandere ken kaneki #yandere touka #yandere touka kirishima #yandere ayato #yandere ayato kirishima #yandere nishiki #yandere nishio nishiki #yandere tsukiyama #yandere shuu tsukiyama #yandere uta #yandere haise #yandere haise sasaki

[poeticlilies]

okay, first of all i want to say that i love the way you write💞 you said that you would try writing something platonic so can you write something for akutagawa and executive!reader who is chuuya’s s/o? They have a similar personality to dazai’s and used to be closed friends with him back when he was in the pm; so just something where akutagawa and reader are sent on a mission and he messes it up to the point he gets severely injured and reader has to fix the situation and afterwards he expects them to snap at him or something but they just take care of him and reassure him that everything is okay :(

okay i didn’t expect this to get so long and specific😭 ofc you can change whatever you don’t like if you even choose to write something like this🫶🏻

♡ Accidents happen!

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke x Reader (Platonic) , Mentions of Nakahara Chuuya x Reader (Romantic)

Desc: You comfort Akutagawa after he fucks up a mission. (gender neutral reader)

TW/CW: dark themes, bad thoughts, severe injuries, mentions of hospitals/surgery/treatment, fight scenes

He fucked up.

He fucked up, bad.

And he knew it; from the large slash across his chest to the fatigue settled deep into his bones, he knew that he had messed up big time.

But there you were; ever so casual, laughing merrily as you hauled his ass back to an escape vehicle, waving cheerily and telling him you'd handle it.

Though there was no ill intention in your words, Akutagawa couldn't help but try to swallow the rising pit of fear bubbling in his chest, crawling up his throat and choking him. Though there was no ill intention in your eyes, he never knew, because he didn't meet them once after he had gotten careless and suffered as a result.

He had been cornered; stuck between a rock and a hard place. The files the mafia needed were right there, and so he gambled his chances and lunged forward, hand outstretched, desperately trying to grasp the documents.

However, the damned newbie, the one the Port Mafia didn't have any information on yet, somehow managed to blow the sheets of paper away, pearly white fluttering against the wind before being torn to shreds by oncoming bullets.

He had frozen, in shock; still processing the situation even as the group recovered and launched a counterattack. And though his Rashomon acted on it's own, it still wasn't as efficient without it's master's command, like a piece of technology being given instructions but not how to carry them out.

He felt it, felt it as it dug into his chest; how it burned on his skin like fire and how it had woken him from his slumber. Eliminating everyone else was easy; he was made for this, was born for it, it came naturally like breathing. However, there was no way to recover the lost documents, and as more and more swarms of men came running (where did they even come from?) Akutagawa Ryuunosuke simply stood there, bitterness filling his throat as the wound slowly stained his shirt crimson.

It was then that you had arrived; yelling (or rather, screaming) his name and tackling him just as an onslaught of bullets whizzed by where the two of you where moments before.

Every other detail was a blur; all he remembered were flashes of it, little pieces that he tried to stitch together, but couldn't. Eventually, he gave up; and in the back of the black Port Mafia vehicle, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to fade away into unconsciousness.

He woke up, however. Everyone has to wake up at some point, except for when you're dead.

You were by his bedside, talking to another executive; words swam around in his head before he finally grasped the name of the orange-haired male who stood beside you. Nakahara Chuuya, he thought. That's right.

You were chatting with him, recalling details of your (failed) mission. Though the events and details you recounted were gruesome, you still had that grin on your face as you recounted details and made little jokes.

For a second, your figure was replaced with Dazai's, his ex-mentor; and he immediately panicked.

Scrambling up, he saluted you with shaking hands despite the pain that flared up in his chest. Heaving, he choked out apologies for failing the mission, for being careless, for gambling it all and losing, as images of Dazai flashed through his head.

You startled, surprised, before pushing him (gently) back into bed. Hushing him when he looked at you, shocked that it was you, and not Dazai; telling him it was okay as Chuuya watched in concern for his subordinate.

You told Chuuya to leave the room, bidding him farewell with a kiss to the cheek and a smile. He complied, waving goodbye and looking at Akutagawa for the last time (with pity? or concern? or scorn?) before disappearing into the hallway.

Akutagawa shook like a leaf in the wind; terrified of what was next.

He expected you to shout, to yell, to scream; to hit him and berate him and cruelly punishing him. That's surely why you had sent Nakahara-san out.

So, instead, when he was met with your gentle embrace and the warm comfort of your reassurances, he froze up again like he did some hours prior. Stunned that he wasn't being yelled at, kicked at, for messing up the mission.

He opened his mouth to talk, but all that came out was a soft gasp; his hands acted of their own accord as they curled into your shirt, grasping tightly and burying themselves into the fabric as he gently rested his head against your shoulder.

"Shh.. it's okay..." you had told him. "It's alright, we can fix it.. it's not a big deal, it's okay..."

Those words were so foreign, so strange, he had to take a moment to comprehend them; chest rising and falling as tears clouded his vision. It was okay? He was being forgiven for failing the mission?

Even as he began to softly cry, latching on to your figure and refusing to let go, you comforted him; murmuring reassurances as you held him, in the hospital wing of the mafia building; the only sound other than his crying the soft beeps and whirrs of the machines next to the bed.

Eventually, he tired himself out; tears stopping like a river's flow in the summertime, slowly ebbing away until there was nothing left except his uneven breaths and sounds of the medical equipment next to him.

He was so, so tired; and you were so, so comfortable; and though he fought it, he could not help but sample the sweet taste of rest as the sensation of sleep lulled him into a tranquil state. You slowly rested his upper body against the mattress, gently adjusting the covers as he closed his eyes.

"It's okay. Just go to sleep." you said; and he listened. Followed your advice as you gently soothed him to sleep, hand smoothing out the knots in his hair as you sat by his bedside, keeping watch over him.

And as he was slowly pulled into dreamland, he curled up against your body, knowing it would be alright. That you were here, now, and that you would fix this.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke fucked up a mission;

but it wasn't the end of the world. It was okay. You would be there to catch him if he fell, like you did today.

--

eugh,, so tired. this is so bad. i'm sorry for the quality.

#akutagawa x you #ryunosuke akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke #akutagawa x reader #bsd aktugawa #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd comfort

[winterlynightlystories]

Welcome to Hawkins

Tw; swearing, mention of child abuse, mention of injuries.

To not steal my work, thank you!

Billy Hargrove/Male reader (he/him)

Summary; you find Billy on the side of the road, bloody and angry. The worse part? You are not alone in the dark.

~~~

Hawkins was a weird place. Even before the Byers boy went missing, the town faced strange things. Electrical anomalies, weird sightings in the forest and sometimes animals would meet a gruesome end. By now you were used to it.

Until the Hargrove came to town.

Hawkins was a small place where everybody knew everyone. There was no secret, not even inside your home. Even if you went in the middle of the wood, by morning the whole town would be aware of what you did. So it was no surprise they were met with mistrust.

Because it only took one look for everyone to agree; there was something wrong with them all. Especially with the father, you thought. With the way, he spoke to his son and how Billy would sometime flinch when his father moved his hands. It was obvious that something was going on.

And then they all met Billy Hargrove at school. Violent, racist, and always ready to fight. He tried so hard to be the king of the school, it was almost pathetic. But he was good to party with, you heard.

For your part, you disliked him. Billy and you would always fight; in the corridors, after school or even during sports class. Sometimes he would win, but most of the time? You would show no mercy and beat the shit out of him.

You weren't violent, some would even call you peaceful. But peaceful doesn't mean harmless and you refused to let Billy Hargrove do as he pleased.

You also pitied him.

No one was blind to the bruised he would try to play off as accidents or results of fights that never happened. Or how he would flinch, even so slightly when someone accidentally slammed a door or dropped something heavy. Or the fear his eyes would hold for a second when someone would throw a ball of paper and it would pass close to his head.

It broke your heart.

And there was nothing you could do.

That night as you drove, the forest on each side of the road, you kept thinking about the Hargrove boy. You wondered what kind of person he really was underneath all those masks he wore to protect himself.

Halfway through the forest, something caught your attention. At first, you thought it was a dead animal, maybe a deer. But then, it moved.

- “Shit!” you cursed, hitting the brake. “Hargrove? What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked, getting out of your car.

Because sitting on the side of the road was the one and only Billy Hargrove. Hair messy and bloody lips, Billy seemed to come out of a fight as the loser. But something was terribly wrong; his eyes were red and puffy and wet as if he has cried.

- “Fuck off man.” Billy snapped, looking away.

- “Seriously?” you sighed “C’mon city boy, I'm driving you home.” you added, eyes turning to the forest.

- “I said, fuck off! Or are you deaf?” replied Hargrove, making you grunt.

- “Oh, shut up. You think I'm leaving you here to be eaten by a bear?”

- “There aren't any bears in Hawkins.” objected Billy, scuffing.

- “Ah yes! I forgot it was my imaginary friend Steve who killed those animals!” you replied sarcastically. “Now you either get in the car by yourself like the good boy you are, or I'll get you in.”

- “Fuck. You.” slowly said Billy, smiling. “Anyway, why do you care so much? We are not friends or anything.”

- “Because there is no way I am leaving you here in the middle of the night!” you snapped, approaching him.

- “Wait, wait, wait! Don't tell me you are scared?” mocked Billy. “Seriously? Scared of the dark, Y/n?”

- “No, not the dark, but of what's hiding in it,” you said, seriously, stopping in front of Billy.

Billy was about to reply something when you heard the eeriest scream coming from the forest. You both froze, staring into the darkness. There was no sound, not even a cricket, or wind. It felt just wrong. Like a second before the disaster. And you felt watched like a prey being stalked.

- “Hargrove, get in the car.” you said, voice shaking as you saw a large shadow move between the tree. “NOW!”

You grabbed him by the collar and turned on your heels. Without another word, you two ran as another scream came from the forest, closer this time.

You barely closed the door before turning the engine on and driving away as fast as you could.

- “What the fuck was that?” asked Billy, looking behind. “That wasn't a bear!”

- “I don't know! I don't fucking know, man!” you replied, still freaking out. “It was too skinny to be a bear. Maybe a sick deer.”

- “Bitch, are you serious? Deer don't stand on their back legs!”

You didn't have the time to reply to anything, spotting the shadow on your left. In the dark, you could not really distinguish anything, but you could swear it was now running on four.

- “I don't want to sound dramatic, but I think it's following us.” you said.

- “How...”

Billy never finished his sentence. Instead, you both screamed when a tall shadow jumped in front of the car as you hit the brakes.

Standing on its back legs, the creature had smooth skin, almost like an eel” you thought. But darker. Like charcoal or shadows. And its head was like a flower.

You almost screamed again, feeling Billy gripping your arms and digging his nails into your skin.

- “What the fuck. Man, what the fuck is that?” he asked, his voice a mumbling mess.

- “Don't ask me! I don't know!” you whined, hands shaking on the wheel. “Man, I can't do a U-turn and there is no way I can drive in reverse in the dark.”

- “Then just run over it! Do something!”

And you did just that.

Pushing your car as fast as it could toward the creature. Maybe it knew what you were trying to do, or maybe it got scared, but seconds before the impact, the creature jumped out of your way. You sighed in relief but didn't slow down.

You heard Billy’s breath slow down before you felt his forehead on your shoulder. If he was crying, you saw nothing, because God be your witness, you were too. Not letting go of your arm, Billy actually tightened his grip.

- “Tell me it's gone. Please tell me it's gone.” he begged with a small voice.

- “Yeah, I don't see it anymore,” you replied.

- “I don't think I can go party anymore.”,” said Billy.

- “Yeah. Welcome to Hawkins.” you scoffed. “So, mind guiding me to your place?”

- “I'll rather not” he whispered.

- “Mind if I take you to mine then? I'll give you some of my shit and will take care of those bruised. I know where my parents hid their alcohol. God, I need a drink!”

- “As long as you share that drink, that sounds good to me. But I'm taking the bed!”

- “Fine princess!”

Billy said nothing and you relaxed. Heart still racing in your chest, you wondered of it was that thing who was responsible for the latest slaughter in the nearby farms. Or killed those missing outsiders. A part of you also knew you needed to call the sheriff, but the other knew it was useless. No one would believe you and you didn't want to put Billy in more danger.

So to your home, it was.

#male reader #x male reader #stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x male reader #fanfic

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

ophiocordyceps unilateralis

summary: on a supply run gone bad, the group split up and you got stuck with Steve.

warnings: Steve Harrington/reader, zombie apocalypse au, smut, hurt/comfort, kinda angst, patching up each other's wounds (in an unsterile, apocalyptic way... don't do this at home kids), tw weapons and violence, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pull out method, squirting, blowjob (kinda, a little), kinda in the realm of perv!Steve (mainly because of the dirty talk), tiny bit of impact play (beloved pussy slaps)

word count: 2637

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“I think that building over there should be safe enough for tonight,” you pointed to the seemingly abandoned structure ways down the road, “what do you think?”

“I think we should keep moving,” Steve kept his gaze fixed forward, not even looking at the house in question for one second, “find the others.”

“We need a break,” you fiddled with the straps of your worn backpack, eyeing his blood-soaked shirt, “you need a break.”

“I’m fine,” he clenched his jaw tightly, clearly attempting to swallow the pain that merely walking was causing him to endure. 

“No, you’re not. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Those guys back there got a lot of hits in, and you haven’t even stopped to take a breath.”

“What, it’s not like they pulled their punches just because you’re a girl.”

“True, but I look better than you,” you smiled, thankful that you got out of it with more bruises than cuts. Stopping dead in your tracks, you tried once more, “Steve, please. I don’t want one of those things to take a bite out of you just because you’re in too much pain to put up a fight.”

“…fine,” he agreed begrudgingly, “but we leave at first light, alright?”

Just as you were about to yell out the all-clear to Steve, a few guttural growls coming from the room you’d presume he was inspecting found your ears. 

“Steve?” you whirled around the corner just in time to see him hovering over a now motionless rotting corps, yanking back his nail-clad baseball bat that had gotten slightly stuck in its cranium, “you good?”

“Yeah,” he breathed heavy, the swings apparently took more out of him than expected, “all good.”

Fearing that he’d perhaps faint, you rushed towards him and grabbed his elbow. Standing this close to him, you got a better look at just how gruesome the gashes on his abdomen alone were. “Steve,” you sighed quietly, making him turn more towards you, “that does not look all good.”

“It’s better than it looks,” he carefully shrugged off his heavy backpack, “trust me.”

“Really? Because it looks pretty bad to me,” you grabbed his bag before he could place it on the floor, “will you at least just let me help you?”

Letting out a long exhale, he agreed, “sure,” and visibly let his shoulders relax more, dropping his weapon and walking over to the nearby table.

“Take your shirt off,” you rolled your eyes at the smirk those words conjured on his face. When he began to just carelessly tug off his layers, “slowly!” practically exploded out of you and you restrained your palm from slapping him clear across the face, “oh god.” 

It had been too long a day and your patience for Steve had run out. You had nearly been killed by not only the undead but also the group of people that had followed you all from the previous town you stayed in.

Reaching into the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out the small med kit that you’d scavenged a while back. Motioning for Steve to take a seat on the table, you stepped closer and took a good look. 

“Okay,” you breathed out, trying your best not to ogle at his fuzzy bare chest and instead focus on the several injuries that decorated his skin. “Good news, I don’t think you need stitches,” you crouched down, ending up on your knees in order to be at eye level with the worst one. Blinking up at him, it hit you the position you’d put yourself in. The angle… “I, um,” you looked down and fished out a small travel-sized vodka bottle, as well as some bandages, “do you want a warning first or the element of surprise?” you unscrewed the bottle with one hand. 

“Just fucking do it, just-,” you didn’t hesitate, downing the gash on his abdomen with alcohol, effectively punching all of the air out of his lungs at the very first drop, “holy- fuck!” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut and instinctively slammed his fist down to meet the tabletop. Setting the bottle down on the dirty floor, you began to wrap him up, hearing a small muttering of gratitude as you tied it off. 

“Any more bad ones?” you didn’t dare to look up and see the way he was melting against the table, trying to regain the ability to breathe.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” he exhaled, “one of them got my leg pretty good, so that hurts like a motherfucker, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

You craned your neck to search for the aforementioned wound and found it high on the side of his thigh, cargo pants ripped giving you a good view of it, “oof, yeah,” you hissed, pulling back some of the fabric with your fingers, “it’ll be okay, I think. It will properly scar, but you’ll live.”

“That’s fine,” he breathed out a small chuckle, “chicks dig scars.” That they fucking do… okay, okay, just take a breath, think about something else, anything else. Anything that didn’t make you throb… “Thanks, doc,” you blinked up to find him to be already looking down at you, “what about you?”

“I’m okay,” you shifted in your seat, tugging one of your feet under you more and almost letting out a small gasp when it felt like pure electricity brushing against your covered core. “I, um, yeah… ten fingers, ten toes…” your words didn’t work to unfurrow his worried brow, so then you huffed out, “what, do you not believe me? What do you want, strip search me?”

It had been a joke, but judging by Steve’s facial expression, that was not how he took it. 

Quickly you clarified, averting your gaze, “it was a joke…”

Hearing him let out a long, calm exhale, he asked you softly, “was it?”

Shaking your head lightly, “Steve…”

“Yeah?” you felt one of his fingers move some hair out of your face. 

Blinking up at him, you bit your lip and then uttered slowly, “thanks for having my back, back there.”

“You’re welcome,” he kneeled down to be at your level, “thank you for having mine.”

His hands came up to cradle the sides of your face, eyes flickering down towards your bitten lip. 

As he pushed closer, you rested a hand on his wrist, “please tell me that we’re not just doing this because of the kind of day we’ve had.”

“We’re not,” he said simply in a sure tone. 

“We’re not?”

“I’m not,” he averted his gaze briefly, brow furrowing softly. 

“Me neither,” was all you managed to whisper before he kissed you. “Fuck,” you whimpered against his lips, instantly clinging onto him for dear life, “I didn’t think you noticed me.”

That only managed to make him chuckle and therefore halt the long-awaited kiss, “seriously? I can’t take my eyes off of you. I thought it was obvious. Literally everyone knows, they tease me about it and everything.”

“Really?” 

“I think we should find some glasses for you because you are blind.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, shoving his firm chest playfully. 

“Can you even see me right now?” he teased.

“Oh my god,” you shook your head and stood up.

“Hey, you’d look so cute!” he caught your hand, preventing you from straying any further away, “and you would finally be able to notice me.”

“I do notice you,” you exclaimed, “my vision is fine!”

Getting back up onto his feet, he squinted his eyes, “you sure about that?”

“Yes! Now shut up and kiss me again!” a request that he happily obliged to fulfil. 

Draping your arms around his neck, it didn’t take long before he scooped you up and onto the table behind you. 

“Fuck,” he hummed, grabbing your hips, and sliding them forward to meet his own for some form of relief. You weren’t really sure which one of you was the one that took off your clothes since all four hands were ripping at the fabric in order for you to be on the same playing field as Steve was. 

The wiry hairs on his chest pressed up against your now exposed tits, smooching them against him in desperate need of contact. 

“Don’t you fucking dare cum inside me,” you warned as he unzipped your pants, making room for his fingers to slip down them, “I swear I will kill.”

Finding your panties ruined, soaked with anticipation, he groaned against your lips, “I’ll pull out.”

“Good,” you gasped, eyes fluttering as he rubbed your clit through the thin cotton, “this world is hard enough to survive as it is. You are not knocking me up.”

“I know, I know, I won’t do that, I promise,” his words vowed, but his tone sounded more like there was nothing else in this whole world he’d wish for than to fill your aching pussy up to the brim with his cum.

Wrapping your legs up around his hips, you were practically clawing like a kitten for more. Reaching down, between your close bodies, you palmed his painfully obvious bulge through his dark pants. 

Wandering down to kiss his neck, you left little love marks all along his rapid pulse, “Steve…”

“Yeah?” it felt like the barrier underneath his fingers might break from the intoxicating friction he caused.

“Please fuck me before infected break in here and burst our bubble.”

Getting his face right in front of yours, he breathed out slowly, “then lie down.”

Lowering yourself down on the table, feeling the cold surface meet your bare back, Steve used the hand that was already down your pants to yank them down and off your body. 

Quickly pulling your underwear down as well, he took a step back to admire the state you were in. Palming himself for a bit, it didn’t take long before he got equally exposed, keeping his eyes locked on your body as he rid himself of the last bits of clothes that covered him. 

Propping yourself up onto your elbows, half out of impatience and half to get a better view of the show, you lifted your knees up, letting one fall, granting him better access to the embarrassingly wet mess between your thighs. 

Taking a step forward, Steve’s hand started at your knee then slowly slid down, closer and closer to your throbbing cunt. But to your disappointment, you never felt the contact of his hand, instead, he had spread you open and successfully sent a bolt of lightning through your body as his heavy cock fell down upon your swollen clit. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he slid his shaft along your pussy, parting your plump lips for him and making him shimmer and shine within seconds, “you’re so fucking wet, shit…”

With light fingers around the base, he slapped the angry head against your clit, making your hips buckle. “You sure you want it?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes, please,” you cried.

“You want my cock, huh?”

“Please, I need it.”

“Oh really? You need my big dick to stretch you out, is that it?” he stated to linger every time he came down towards your entrance, “need me to ruin this little hole, huh?”

Sinking just the essence of his tip in, he came back up to tease your clit, repeating the motion multiple times till you were scared that you might actually cry. 

“Steve, please.”

Bowing down to place a soft kiss upon your lips, you felt his hips snap and fill you up in one fell swoop. 

Disconnecting from the peck, your arms gave out and sent you tumbling down towards the table. Luckily, Steve’s quick reflexes caught your head before you could get a concussion. 

Chuckling lightly, he mocked just to stroke his own ego, “what’s wrong? Can’t take it? Is it too much?”

You wanted to laugh, but all that could escape your lips were whimpering moans. 

Leaning back, his mouth hung agape as he studied the magic trick of him disappearing inside of you. 

“Jesus christ, baby,” he bucked his hips wildly, “you feel so good.”

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, as you reached down to circle your clit, already being dangerously close to the edge. 

“What?” his palm found your left boob, playing with it lightly, “what is it, huh?

“I’m-, shit, keep doing that,” you struggled to keep your eyes locked with his, releasing shaky profanities as your walls fluttered around him.

Cursing, he fucked you through your orgasm, only giving you a second or so to recover before he began to move again, fearing that your cunt might choke him to death.

“Who knew you had those pretty sounds in you?” he grinned, bending down to bury his face in your tits.

“Sorry,” the reflex rushed out of you.

“Oh no, don’t you dare,” he blinked up to look at you through his long lashes, “we’re all alone, please be as loud as you can. I swear, from now on, you will have to wrestle me not to take you somewhere far away from the group just so I can hear them again. Or do you think you’d even be able to keep them at bay if I just fucked you while we’re on watch and everyone else is asleep? You think you’d be able to keep quiet for me? Hiding behind a tree or even sneakily take you from behind when everyone else thinks we’re just spooning for warmth? Because I don’t want you to. I want them to know. I want them to hear you fucking scream. To hear how much of a little slut you become when my cock is inside of you.”  

“Fuck, don’t stop,” your thighs shook, “you’re gonna make me cum again!”

“Yeah?” his lips let go of the pebble-like nipple he was successfully turning a deep purple, to lean back, driving into you harder, angling his hips so that he repeatedly hit that spot that almost made you scream out loud. “Be a good girl and cum again,” his hand came down to tap your puffy pussy, repeating it with increased force every time till it stung in the best way possible. 

You didn’t even hear the lewd squelching sounds as you came again, too busy sobbing out desperately, “don’t stop, don't stop, don't stop-,“ trembling as you squirted all over your partner. 

Writhing on the table, you heard Steve laugh, actually laugh, “holy shit,” he played with your cunt, repeatedly plunging his dick in just to rip it out again in order to see how many times he could make it gush like his own little fountain. “Just like that, baby, keep cumming for me, fuck.”

Somewhere in the haze, you felt Steve disappear with a guttural moan, only to quickly reappear right by your face, furiously stroking his cock. Caressing one palm over your cheek, bringing you back to him, you lulled your head to the side and drunkenly opened your mouth, presenting your soft tongue to him.

Jumping at the offer, he only managed to breach the entrance of your lips before he spilt his hot load all over your tongue. A pure moaning mess, he ran his fingers through your hair as you closed your mouth around him, sucking just the tip to get every last drop.

“Atta girl,” he choked out, pulling you off of him with a small pop, placing his thumb on your chin to part your lips and let him see the mess, “swallow it.” 

Happily doing so, you beamed up at him through your heavy lids. Kneeling down, he grabbed your face softly and gave you a needy kiss, swiping his tongue against yours, moaning as he tasted himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he swooned, melting his forehead against yours. 

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #zombie apocalypse!steve harrington #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #perv!steve #perv!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #zombie apocalypse au #zombie au #apocalypse au #halloween smut #steve harrington au #stranger things au

[anxiteyandsleep]

I'm so sorry if I made you flustered about the smut question- didn't mean to! 🫢🫣😆

Okay so I'm gonna try and request this: 🙏

Could I please request Thranduil x Male reader who's this tall and buffed tiefling (big horns, long strong tail) who looks scary asf but is actually a total sweetheart? He only looks intimidating bc he's always wearing his armor, covers his face with a cloth/a mask, has dark makeup around his eyes and basically looks like a fricking demon?

He wears a cloth/a mask around his mouth bc he has a big open scar on his cheek (naaah nothing too graphic he just can do this trick with food where when you're facing his healthy side he sticks a carrot into the opening (scar) on the other side and chews without even opening his lips- totally normal- he did it in front of Legolas once and that poor child didn't sleep for a week). He's not ashamed of it, he just doesn't like the stares.

Even tho I'm as old as the first LOTR movie I only just now became a fan and I saw that Thranduil has an injury on his face as well (but hidden) so that got me thinking...

Maybe reader and Thranduil are a couple (reader was treated badly for being a barbarian tiefling -> not by Thranduil <- but proved himself when he saved him) and he then made reader his personal guard, became friends and then lovers.

Thranduil is curious about reader hiding his face but never pushes him to uncover himself (Like why are you hidding yourself from me hmm? Why don't you kiss me? Your other facial features are gorgeous asf, for a tiefling barbarian who rips goblins in half with his bare hands you could even compete with some elves I know-).

One day Thranduil has some issues with his own injury which reader sees and comes to his aid, Thranduil is embarrassed and nearly breaks down, tears fill his eyes bc his love saw his hideous face and is afraid he will leave him (god I'm so bad at romance bro) but reader just chuckles, takes the cloth/mask from his face and shows Thranduil his own injury.

Now they both have scars! They know each other struggles! And they love each other like never before! Happy ending- No but really, angst with fluffy comfort for our two boys and mainly for the elf himself, he needs the love.

Maybe even emotional way back to their shared bedroom by sunset all lovely dovely bc why dafuq not- just Thranduil giggling kicking his feet and twirling his hair as he's princess carried-

Jesus...I got way too into this. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Sorry for it being so long, I honestly don't know how to write short requests...also sorry for any mistakes, english is my second language.

Add something, remove something, it's up to you. You don't even have to write it if you hate it or you're not comfy with it. 😘😘

This is adorable ahhh and dw you didn't make me embarrassed or anything! I may have missed some details, this was written over the course of multiple days with very little sleep😭

I included my head canon that Thranduil is blind in his one eye from the dragon fire, as well as that when low on energy he can't keep the disguise up.

Slight TW for blood, scars and such???

It has been almost a year since you and Thranduil had started dating, you were his personal guard and beloved boyfriend, he adored you so much. He never knew why you hid your face but he didn't pry, especially considering he hides his face in a way too.

Thranduil had always been impressed by you, a strong tiefling with a kind soul, much like a gentle giant. Sure you were rather... Gruesome in battle, using your bare hands to fight and always returning covered in blood and gore. It was truly terrifying but Thranduil loved it, especially after you had saved him from a spider attack.

Today, however, Thranduil was hiding away from his beloved barbarian, tucked away in his room with nothing but a small candle dimly lighting the room. He had overworked himself again, his head was aching and he had no energy left to maintain his disguise, the burnt skin and muscle visible, a sight he despised.

When you heard that Thranduil was taking the day off and locked himself in his room, you grew worried. He's never done that before, usually on his days off he spends them with you, taking a walk through the garden or getting some much needed sleep. So of course you immediately went to check on him, making your way to your shared bedroom.

"Thranduil? Are you alright? I heard the guards say you weren't feeling well and I-" you fell silent as you entered the bedroom, squinting as you adjusted to the dim light but you knew exactly what you saw. You never knew Thranduil had such a scar, it covered the left half of his face and his eye was completely white.

Thranduil had to turn his head completely to actually see you, quickly attempting to cover up the scar but alas, he couldn't manage to use his magic in such a state. He never wanted you to see this side or him, he wanted to keep this horrid scar hidden from you.

"(Name)... What... What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on patrol?" He managed to get out, clearing his throat and doing his best to speak in his usual tone but his voice still sounded shaky. Perhaps if he didn't bring attention to the scar, you would just ignore it as well

"I just got back, my love..." You replied, slowly walking closer to Thranduil, head tilted slightly in curiosity as you examined the scar. When you reached the edge of the bed, you knelt down before him, resting your chin on his legs. "is that from the dragon you faced?"

Thranduil sighed softly, closing his eyes as he couldn't bare to look at you, afraid he'd see disgust in your eyes. "yes...I managed to survive but..." He vaguely gestured to the scar, shaking his head slightly. Thranduil finally opened his eyes again when he felt your strong hands holding his, the touch was so gentle and caring, he just had to see you.

The way you were looking at him surprised him, your eyes were full so of love and admiration, it made his heart swell.

"We kinda match" you hum in a soft whisper, reaching up to remove the mask you always wore and revealing your own scar. You weren't ashamed of it, you mostly hid it for everyone's comfort as the sight of your open cheek often made people uneasy and you hated the looks they'd give you.

it was now Thranduil's turn to stare in awe, one of his delicate hands reaching up to gently trace around the scar, his fingers soft and gentle as always. "hm I suppose we do, my love" he replied softly his hand trailing up to gently trace over your horns, following the pattern and ridges of them.

"forgive me for keeping this from you... I... I do not like people seeing me in such a state but I should've told you" Thranduil apologized, moving his hands back to gently cup your face, being careful to not disturb the scar

You couldn't help but chuckle a little, leaning into his touch while your tail wagged slightly. "there's no need to apologize, I kept a secret from you too"

Thranduil felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders, the stress slowly melting away as he held you in his hands. "Well now that we both have told the truth, how about we rest?" He whispered sweetly, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss, one you eagerly returned.

Without breaking the kiss, you got off your knees, cradling the back of Thranduils neck with one of your hands. You kicked off your boots, accidentally sending one flying across the room but you didn't care. "a nap sounds good, yeah" you muttered against his lips as you carefully push him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him to continue the kiss.

Thranduil couldn't help but chuckle, pulling back from your lips just enough to talk. "My love, this is not napping ~" he didn't really mind as you continued to pamper him with kisses, his delicate hands reaching up to gently tangle themselves in your hair.

"mm we'll nap after, then"

#the hobbit #thranduil x male reader #thranduil #lord of the rings #lotr elves

[luna-writes-stuff]

Francesca, Aragorn

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Angst with fluffy ending

Word count: 2651

Tw: Mentions of battle/injuries/deaths. Mourning and loss and whatnot. Aftermath of the Battle of Helm’s Deep.

Summary: When you joined the fellowship, it was in order to protect the ring bearer. You had never been in a true fight, nor had you ever slain anyone before. Your first battle had been a gruesome one, and you struggle to compose yourself afterwards. Aragorn comes to your room to comfort you.

Requested by @rebelbagel . You initially wanted Until It Sleeps, but when I was writing it, I realised the fic was pretty much exactly the same to this one (hurt/comfort). This one was written for someone else who didn’t want to be tagged, but I decided to combine it with your request! I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I still hope you like it <;33

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me? Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?”

You weren’t a fighter. Never had been. You’d never even killed someone to begin with, and that would say a lot considering the life of a ranger. You knew how to hunt, you knew how to hide, but you would never fight unless there had been no other option. And in all your years, the need for it had never been apparent.

You should have known better when you joined the fellowship. You had met Aragorn years earlier, and began travelling together shortly after. You had aided him in bringing the hobbits to safety in Bree, after which you swore to protect him and the ring bearer. You knew the journey would be a dangerous one, and you would never get through it without fighting, however much you wished to have held the same positivity as Merry and Pippin.

You had gotten the relatively easy route initially. Your first kill had been an Uruk-Hai, and though still terrifying, you didn’t feel much remorse for it afterwards - they were ruthless killers to begin with.

But everything quickly went downhill after the Battle of Helm’s Deep. The desperate screams of the women, the final shouts of fallen men, rain water turning red upon reaching the floor, and the abandoned weapons. You had expected to calm down once the battle had been over and you were free to return to your appointed chambers, but somehow, the feeling of desperation and grief only seemed to grow at the impending silence. The second you had entered the room, you had sat down on the bed, simply staring ahead, your eyes glued at the wall, hyper aware of all sounds around you.

“Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change. My life was a storm, since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane?”

You could still hear the sobbing and praying in the square, followed by footsteps in the keep and hushed whispers which you couldn’t quite decipher. But most heartbreaking of all were the mothers crying out for their lost children. Your fight did not lie with the people of Rohan - you had fought alongside them. Yet, it felt as if you were to blame for all this pain.

Familiar footsteps were heard coming up the hall, before gently halting in front of your door. You wanted to call out, be it to dismiss him or to invite him, but you couldn’t bring it in yourself to make any noise. So when he knocked and you remained silent, he let himself in.

“You should let someone see your injuries,” He remarked kindly, having already taken note of your sudden silence after the battle. He knew better than to comment on the whole ordeal immediately. You merely shrugged at him, your eyes slowly falling onto his figure. He sighed as he observed you, silently closing the door behind him before nearing you.

He didn’t say anything as he sat down beside you, his own injuries seemingly not having been attended to as well. You didn’t tease him for it. Not now. You just stared back at the blank wall, your mind replaying the scenes that had occurred only moments earlier.

“If someone asked me at the end. I'll tell them put me back in it Darling, I would do it again.”

His hand on yours is what slowly pulled you out of your mind and back to the present. You didn’t know what to say. No words would make up for what you had seen or what you had felt. It just felt wrong. All of it did.

“The people of Rohan will be safe now,” Aragorn tried to console, but you interrupted him halfway. “These are mothers,” your finger pointed towards the window, where sobbing was still audibly heard. “And they just lost their children.” Then, your head turned slightly, your eyes trailing up to meet his. “How do you cope with that?”

Sincerity and sympathy formed in his eyes as he furrowed his eyebrows together, visibly contemplating what to say next: “We can’t linger on that which is already lost.” You just scoffed at that, shaking your head lightly. “That sounds easy.” He dared risk a little smile at that, squeezing your hand in reassurance.

You tried to copy his smile, forcing happiness onto your features. A single choked sob escaped you as the lump in your throat began to build, your eyes squeezing shut as you tried to push the feeling down. You didn’t see nor hear Aragorn push closer to you until his arms were around you.

“If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again.”

He didn’t speak as you broke down in his arms. Your hands clung tightly to the back of his shirt, your face buried against his chest as your body shook with your sobs. You had endured hardship before this travel, and had seen enough of it during your travel, but it suddenly seemed to become too much. Inexplicable grief washes over you. Grief for people you fought with; whose names you might not have known, but who you would have laid your life down for.

The aftermath seemed to simply be the breaking point. When all adrenaline had worn off and reality had begun to settle in. The moment you realised what you have done and what it had cost. The aching in your body seemed all the more visible now, but somehow it hadn’t even come close to the mental turmoil soaring through your body.

If this is what Aragorn had felt during all his earlier battles, you weren’t quite sure how you would manage after that. You had sworn to protect Frodo, and though he wasn’t near now, you would gladly give your life to pave the way for him. However, now you wanted nothing more than to simply stay here and help everyone build the keep back up again.

“I would still be surprised I could find you, darling In any life. If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I would do it again.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted through sobs, too embarrassed to look back up at him, even though you were sure he wouldn’t have minded. Be that as it may, you heard his gentle voice soothing you, shushing you before speaking: “I understand.”

You didn’t know what you expected him to say, but you would have at least anticipated some resistance. Some voice of reassurance telling you that you would be okay. That it was simply all in your head and that there was no reason to be stuck up on this. You would have anticipated anything but him telling you that he simply understood.

If this was your moment and your decision to stay, he wouldn’t even fight you on it. You and him both knew that you staying here would only make the destruction of Mordor and Sauron more difficult, but Aragorn was willing to risk it all just to let you handle on your own boundaries. If you hadn’t already fallen for him before, you might have just done it all over now.

“For all that was said Of where we'd end up at the end of it. When the heart would cease. Ours never knew peace. What good would it be on the far side of things?”

The hurricane of anguish and anger slowly settled as you properly processed his two words, your crying eventually dying down, though his grip did not fade.

Finally, you looked up at him, confusion on your face. “What if I were to stay? Are you not going to ask me with you?” “Why should I?” He countered softly, no ill intentions on his tongue. “Of course I would want nothing more than you beside me, but who am I to force you into a fight you do not wish to be part of?”

You couldn’t suppress the slight scoff in your throat as his words. Shaking your head lightly, you rested it back upon his chest, his hold now more comfortable than soothing. “This fight requires everyone to take part,” you lectured quietly. “Sauron takes no neutral opponents.”

Instead of a verbal response, he lowered his head lightly, placing a kiss in your hair, letting it linger for a while.

“It was too soon When that part of you was ripped away. A grip taking hold Like a cancer that grows Each piece of your body that it takes.”

“If you wish to stay here, I will let you.” He confessed, his voice a mumble against your skin. You would have loved to stay and get caught up in a fairy tale where you didn’t have to face the consequences of your actions, nor keep to the promises you had made. But you knew better than to remain there that was safe and false.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, hesitation clear in your voice. A heavy sigh came from you as your shoulders drooped. “It was all so much.”

Aragorn hummed in understanding, his hands squeezing you slightly, before parting from your hold. “The aftermath of a battle is the hardest part of fighting.” When you nodded at him, he continued: “But it also reminds me of why to never stop fighting. If I had not, I do not think I would have been on the right side of history.”

Again, you couldn’t help but smile slightly, wiping the tears from your face as you tried to forget about your breakdown seconds prior. “You want to leave a legacy.” You voiced.

“Though I know my heart would break I'll tell them put me back in it. Darling, I would do it again.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But not for the world.” Then, he rose from his seat on the bed, now making way to the window, observing the people walking around on the battle-ridden fields. “For those who properly knew me. I do not want to die, knowing I could have fought.”

He turned around at his own words, dropping his head to the side as if hearing his own advice for the first time. “You live. That is why you keep fighting.”

You wanted to believe him. He seemed so confident about his own speech that it nearly enticed you as well. But as you followed his footsteps and came faced with that which you had dreaded this entire time, your expression fell again: “What about those who lost their kin. Their loved ones?”

Aragorn followed your gaze, spotting an elderly woman weeping at the tears of an older soldier - one who you could have only guessed to be her spouse. Empathy came to Aragorn’s senses. Yes; he did feel bad for the people. It was, in a way, his responsibility to keep them safe. And though a great half of them had been alive, he could not say so for the rest. Yet, he kept his head high: “It is not up to us to determine their sorrow, nor force ourselves into their narratives. Let them grieve in their own way.”

“If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again.”

Your hand found him as you stood beside him, your head leaning on his shoulder as you observed the people. You could understand his point, and you wanted to feel that way as well. But words were easier spoken than actions were executed.

“Yes, lives were lost,” the man continued. “But there always will be. We remember those who have fallen and fight our next battles in their honour. There is no dignity in dying for salvation.”

‘There is no dignity in dying for salvation’. Those were words that you could understand. Words that you might have believed and emphasised with. He did have a natural skill for great speeches. You voiced this to him: “Spoken like a true king.”

“I am no leader.” He chuckled, shaking his head. Before he could bring his argument, you interrupted him, pointing towards Théoden, who was speaking to a small group of men: “I think the people would disagree.” Then, you looked up at him, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I think I would disagree.”

“I would still be surprised I could find you, darling In any life. If I could hold you for a minute. Darling, I would do it again.”

He reciprocated your look, that somehow permanent and effortless expression of gratitude and love written on his face. “I would have you; king or no king.” He spoke sincerely. “I do not care for the thoughts of others.”

In any other scenario, you could have easily said something back. But the comment seemed to come out of thin air, taking you by surprise. Regardless of the amount of times he had expressed his love to you verbally, it could still take you aback at times. Your face heated at his words, a flustered ‘thank you’ spilling from your lips as you forced your eyes to the mountains ahead.

Darkness loomed there, the sky having turned almost black. If there had been any sunlight left, it was not in the east of Middle-Earth. Helm’s Deep appeared to be the final destination of a little sliver of light, its luminescence faint, but apparent. It reminded you of what you had yet to face. That this battle might not be the most difficult one yet. Perhaps you were right to stay. It would certainly be the safer option.

But there was no point in being on the wrong side of history.

“I would not change it each time Heaven is not fit to house a love Like you and I.”

“I could not stay,” you ultimately decided aloud. “If I can do anything about the terror of Sauron, I should. His defeat is near, I know this.”

A snicker of relief came from Aragorn as he let go of your hand. “You have great hope in Sam and Frodo,” he shared. “Keep it; hope is your greatest weapon.”

“No,” you dismissed. “My weapon is my greatest weapon. And maybe you.” Finally, a genuine smile climbed on his face. No assuring chuckles or elevating grins; a genuine, relieved smile. “Maybe me?” “If you were not here to tell me all this, I don’t think I would have walked with you to the ends of the earth.” “You do not have to,” Aragorn tried to convince, but your mind was already made up.

“No, I’m going to.”

“I would not change it each time. Heaven is not fit to house a love Like you and I.”

His arm wrapped around you as he pulled you into his side, a hum of acknowledgment vibrating through him. “Then I am glad to have you at my side.”

You turned your head to the side, leaning down to place a kiss on the hand that held your arm. In response, the fingers flexed slightly; a signal of near affection and endearment. If he could not voice it, he would show it.

“I’ll fight,” you hummed, nodding your head towards the square in front of you. “For them. And for all who might follow them.”

And though a fight against Sauron sounded terrifying, you found yourself oozing with new-found confidence, if not some sort of comfort. A legacy; not for the people of Middle-Earth, but for your kin. Something to remember you by. If you were to go down, you weren’t doing it by giving up. You would do it beside him, fighting for those who cannot. And somehow, that seemed more peaceful than you imagined war to sound like.

“I would not change it each time. Heaven is not fit to house a love Like you and I.”

#November writings 2023 #tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #Aragorn #viggo mortensen #aragorn x reader

[hardboiledleggs]

Not Sterile, a quick Steddie ficlet

(Tw for blood and mentions of bad injuries, nothing too icky though)

The Harrington’s house looms above a head of dark, curly hair. Eddie jumps, cursing as a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky. He isn’t sure why he feels so jumpy, but something about the house and Buckley’s harried phone call had put him on edge. It isn’t like he’s never been to the house before; every party needs a good dealer. He had just never been without a crowd of drunk teens canoodling the lawn.

He raps his knuckles smartly against the door and steps back, rubbing his foot against the back of his calf and nibbling on the inside of his cheek. The door swings open, and Robin Buckley is silhouetted in the frame, her appearance punctuated by a clap of thunder.

“Hurry, hurry,” she hisses, grasping his wrist and tugging him across the threshold. Her hands are wet, and Eddie gasps as she releases him, revealing the bright red handprint she had left on his arm.

“Jesus, Buckley, is that blood? What the hell are you–“

He’s cut off by a horrible groan. Robin turns away from him and hurries into the house, waving him after her without looking at him. Eddie follows her, trying to ignore the sudden lurching in his stomach. He steps into the spotless kitchen, squinting his eyes against all the white of the counters and the cabinets, and comes to an abrupt halt at the coppery tang that clouds the air. Another piteous moan splits the silence, and Eddie revolves slowly, desperate not to look but unable to keep his eyes away.

The scene before him is gruesome. Buckley kneels on the floor next to a mostly white couch. Mostly white, because there is a steady pool of blood flowing from the body lying atop it. The man on the couch lets out a grunt of pain as Robin laces their fingers together, whispering into his ear and smoothing bronze tufts of blood-soaked hair from his face. Eddie can feel his heart beating in his throat, and he breathes deeply through his mouth as the room begins to spin. He knows that hair.

“What did you bring, Munson? I need something that isn’t a blood thinner, and I need a lot of it.” Buckley doesn’t look at him as he speaks. Eddie shakes his head, trying to kickstart his brain again.

“W-why aren’t you at a hospital, Buckley? We need to call an ambulance, right now!” He’s swaying on his feet. “I don’t have d-drugs for THIS! He needs doctors!”

She looks at Steve Harrington’s bloody form, gnawing at her bottom lip. There is a fire in her eyes that Eddie has never seen. They’ve never been friends, per se, but he has dealt to all the band kids at one point or another, and he’s never seen her look anything but cheerful. The expression on her face right now promises hellfire and destruction.

“We can’t go to a doctor for this. I need help, and you’re it. Just tell me what you brought before I kick your teeth in and take it from you!”

Eddie fumbles in his pockets, yanking out a plastic baggy with shaking fingers. He sinks to his knees, still fighting the dizziness, and tosses the bag to Buckley. His eyes are locked onto the pool of blood that is still creeping along the floor.

“What the hell happened to him?” he whispers. He pulls himself unwillingly across the floor to kneel beside Buckley as she rifles through the bag of pills.

“Do you really want to know?” she murmurs, still not looking at him. “Once I tell you, you’re in this just as much as we are. You can take what I owe you from my bag over there and leave if you want to stay in the dark. Your choice.”

Eddie swallows down the terror that her words evoke. There is something in the air here, like an otherworldly film has settled over his senses. Every breath settles low in his chest like he is filling his lungs with stone. Despite the fear prickling at the base of his spine, his curiosity wins out.

“Tell me.”

Buckley meets his eye, ice blue and chocolate brown meeting in a deadly dance. She nods.

“Fine, I’ll talk while we work. I’ll grab some water, and I need you to figure out how much of this shit we can give him without it being dangerous.”

By the time she kneels down beside him again with a pristine glass of water, Eddie has measured out several hundred milligrams of hydrocodone and lined them up on the arm of the couch. Harrington’s eyelids flutter against the bruises on his cheekbones.

“Hi, Stevie. You ready to take some medicine for me? Can you sit up a little so you can swallow?” Robin’s voice is gentle as she settles herself behind Harrington’s head.

Eddie’s hands flutter uselessly against his knees and she carefully shifts to rest the other man’s head against her thigh. He grabs the glass and shuffles forward until he’s pressed against the couch.

“I measured out enough to send him to Cloud 9 for several hours, but you’ll have to watch him really carefully. I really doubt he’s a habitual pill popper and I’m not sure how he’ll react,” Eddie murmurs. Buckley places a few of the pills on Harrington’s tongue, and Eddie lifts the glass to his blood-spattered lips. When they’ve finished, the man collapses back against the couch with a groan.

“You’m get it out, Robs. Hurrss,” Harrington slurs. His eyes are closed, and his fingers twitch feebly where they’re resting against his chest.

“I will, honey. Just give the medicine some time to work,” Buckley chokes out as she blots at the tears on her cheeks.

Eddie ducks his head, feeling like an intruder into such a pure moment of love and devotion. Harrington sighs, curling in on himself.

Still smoothing the hair from his forehead, Robin turns to Eddie.

“Alright, Munson. You know how weird shit goes down in Hawkins, like, constantly? Well, turns out it’s because the government has been doing super unethical experiments at the Hawkins Lab, and they sorta opened a portal into a demon dimension a few years ago.” She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “With me so far?”

“Government sucks and opens an interdimensional portal. Chaos ensues,” Eddie intones, fighting back a rising surge of panic.

“Right. Steve here has been helping to fight the bad shit every time it pops up in Hawkins again. This time, it was a giant mind-control monster made out of liquified humans.” She wrinkled her nose. “When we were fighting it, Steve got clawed or bit or some shit, and now we have to get the monster bits inside of him out. We can’t go to the hospital, because it’s going to be really hard to explain why he needs surgery on a wiggly bit of monster flesh in his stomach.”

Eddie cringes away from Harrington’s abdomen. “There’s something alive in there?!”

“It’s probably not alive anymore, but I still need to get it out. Will you help me?”

He shudders. His stomach is roiling, turning over and over and threatening to spill his guts all over the already ruined carpet.

“Help you how? I can’t, I mean, I don’t like blood and flesh and–“ Eddie stops before he pukes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I just need you to help me hold him down. Even with the pills, this is going to hurt like hell and I can’t have him thrashing around while I’m trying to dig it out. Will you help me, Eddie?” Buckley’s eyes are hard chips of flint in her face.

“I can try, but I…” he trails off. “Are you sure he can’t go to a hospital?”

“I’m sure. Come on, switch places with me. You’re going to have to keep his torso as still as possible, okay?” she says. Eddie nods numbly as he sinks into the couch cushion she had vacated. He’s never touched Steve Harrington before, and his hands tremble as he presses his fingers against the other man’s shoulders. Harrington lets out a small sound of complaint, but some of the pain seems to have been leached from his system.

“He tried to do this himself at first, you know? That’s why it looks so bad. He didn’t want to tell anyone anything was wrong, wanted to take care of it himself. Idiot.” Buckley looks fond and exasperated in equal measure. “Are you ready?”

She’s holding a small knife in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. A chill worms its way up his spine, but he tightens his hands over Harrington’s shoulders.

“Make it quick, Buckley. I don’t want to blow chunks over the sterile surgical area.”

She chokes on an unwilling laugh. “Alright, Steve. Are you ready?”

Harrington nods his head dazedly. His fingers fumble against Eddie’s wrist, locking his fingers against Eddie’s. His heart skips a beat, and he tightens his grip around Steve’s frozen fingers.

Robin grits her teeth. She shoves Steve’s shirt up past his ribs, exposing an ugly, festering gash that oozes and pulses with red. Eddie closes his eyes as she lowers the knife. Steve screams.

~~~

Eddie slumps against the ugly plaid wall of Steve Harrington’s bedroom, swearing.

“We didn’t pop a stitch, did we?” he wheezes.

Buckley’s hands flutter over the stark-white cotton bandages they had hastily wrapped around the clumsily-stitched wound.

“No, I think it held. I told you I like embroidery.”

“So not the same, but whatever,” Eddie pants.

“I need to shower and change. Do you mind sitting with him, just for a bit? Then you can leave and I won’t stop you, I swear.”

Eddie waves her toward the door. “I’m in too deep now, Birdie. I’ll watch him, go on.” The exhaustion creasing her features is clear.

He drags the rickety wooden chair from the desk over to the side of the bed and pulls up Harrington’s shirt, checking that the bandages are still in place. The man lets out a small protest as Eddie’s slender fingers dance over the stretch of bandaged flesh that Robin had sliced open.

“Hey, you with me, Harrington?” Eddie murmurs softly.

Steve’s eyes flutter open, dazed. His brow wrinkles as his gaze lands on Eddie.

“What’re you doin’ here, Munson? Robbie is…” he trails off with a wince.

“Buckley’s showering off the monster goop. You know, you seem much cooler now that I know you hunt eldritch horrors beyond my comprehension in your spare time,” Eddie grins weakly, searching for his famous Munson bravado. “I will admit, though, it kinda goes against my personal Munson Doctrine to admit you might actually be a pretty good dude. Fabulous hair and a selfless superhero? Some people really get all the luck.”

The aforementioned superhero frowns again. “She told you? Tha’s dangerous. Government might be… mad.”

“I won’t tell anybody. Do you really think Hawkins’ resident dealer is buddies with “Just Say No” Reagan?” Eddie snorts.

“Still dangerous.” Another sigh. “Why’re you here?”

“I supplied the illicit drugs for your super sterile living room surgery and was too much of a chickenshit to leave without knowing if I accidentally killed you with an overdose,” he shrugs. “Now I’m in your secret monster club, according to Birdie.”

Harrington’s eyes were already slipping shut again. His hand fumbles clumsily across the sheets until it finds Eddie’s wrist.

“Stay? Don’t want… alone.”

He hesitates for only a moment as something stirs in his chest. “Sure thing, princess. I’ll stay.”

Steve’s lips split into a dreamy smile before he slips back into unconsciousness.

~~~

Ah I do love to write these two :) Might continue this if I get any more brain wiggles about it. As always, I have a permanent tag list for all things Steddie I write that you can be added to if you would like, just let me know. Also, if you're sick of my tags, also let me know no hard feelings :) Smooches my friends

Tag list: @brassreign @inmoonywetrust @kyoxyukiforever @spectrum-spectre @vampireinthesun @luna-munson83 @awkwardgravity1 @obsessivlyme @piningapple @steddieassheg0es @gay-stranger-things @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @sunflowers-and-knives @original-cypher 

#steddie #steddie ficlet #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #tw blood #tw medical shit and surgery #sleepy drugged up steve #eddie joins the gang a little early #platonic stobin #robin buckley bamf #robin buckley #st fanfic #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steddie fic #stobin #i love this characterization of lonely steve who is too out of it to put his walls up around eddie #bleh #steddie brainrot

[transmasccofee]

mini fic about Kusuo and Kuusuke bc I am a little crazy about them — tw for suicide attempt and suicidal ideation, as well as kind of gruesome injury and probably incorrect medical practices lol

also it’s 1st person bc I wrote a lot of this while half asleep and I guess wrote it in 1st person, and then when I woke up it was too woven into the narration to change it to 3rd. Sorry lol.

-

“I like this look on you,” Kuusuke says, a tinge of excitement in his voice. 

I don’t know what he means by that, he must notice my confusion, because he laughs. “You’re at the end of your rope, you’re gonna snap soon and do whatever you can think of that’ll make this all go away.”

I shudder. I don’t want to kill him, but I’m worried at this rate he won’t stop until I do. I don’t like being part of this new dynamic, wherein my own brother views me as a weapon he can do whatever he pleases with. 

He blasts his gun at me again, and it grazes my arm, singeing it. As this fight’s gone on, it’s almost like his machine has gotten more powerful. Or maybe I’ve just grown weaker to it…in any case, it hurts. It hurts so badly. I clench my teeth and try not to show it. 

“Hey. Do you think if I shot him he’d survive?” He grins, gesturing to a certain fallen esper who up until now has gone relatively unmentioned. My blood runs cold and the second I start running towards Toritsuka, another blast can be heard. Panicking, I teleport in front of him, blocking him with my body. The bullet hits my chest and stomach, and the only word I can use to describe the feeling that follows is agony. I want to scream, but I bite my tongue. 

Kuusuke looks at me, his expression different now. “You’re really not gonna kill me, are you?”

I don’t know what to say. It’s hard to think of words right now, I kind of just want to throw up and fall asleep forever. My ears are ringing. Of course I wasn’t gonna kill you, just how do you view your little brother? How have you viewed me my whole life?

Suddenly he seems frustrated, he starts shooting faster and more randomly, he looks  like a madman and in the moment it’s terrifying. About 30% of his shots are hitting me, and at some point the pain gets too great to be interpreted as pain anymore, and instead mellows into a dull aching numbness. I’m depleting my energy to get my limiter back, but in this moment it doesn’t feel worth it. If I had my full powers it might be easier to dodge these bullets consistently. 

I slump over slightly, and he makes some taunting comment. I don’t bother listening. It all hurts so much. I wish I’d been born normal so then maybe we could be playing video games together instead of doing whatever this is.

I wish we could be doing that. A bullet scorches my hair, and this imaginary world where me and him are friends starts to consume my thoughts. 

Despite myself, my shoulders shake. I can barely stand up anymore, in this imaginary world where I’m not ruining everything, Kuusuke notices and runs over to help. 

I know I’m not there, though, when I look up through watering eyes and see a bright light pointed directly at my face. 

If this hits me, I’ll die. I don’t know how exactly I know that, but I know I know.

Without thinking, I half duck half collapse to the ground. It misses and crumbles the wall behind me. Now I just have to get back up, I still need my limiter back, and Toritsuka is still in acute danger. 

…I find then that I can’t get up. I try but everything my body refuses and I slump back down to the cold stone floor. Great. 

It’s my fault, I overdid it. Now Toritsuka is probably gonna die, and I’m probably gonna die, and it’s my fault. Helplessly, a choked sound escapes me. I don’t want to die here, I don’t want Toritsuka to die here. Shit, I completely failed him. 

After a moment, I notice that I’m the only one making any noise. The bullets have stopped coming, and Kuusuke is silent. 

Tentative, he leaves the machine, then he must see my sorry physical state because he breaks into a run towards me.

Unwittingly I flinch back. He notices this too, and slows. Then, he pauses and throws off his mask. His facial expression is one I haven’t seen him make before. 

“I went too far, didn’t I?” Is all he says. I don’t understand, but I can’t do much as he grabs me and flips me onto my back. He makes a hissing noise, which I curl inwards at. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m gonna need to take your shirt off.”

What…? I shake my head vigorously. Of course it’s just another game. Honestly, how was I so stupid as to think he was actually concerned for a second? 

“Kusuo,” he pleads. “This is kind of serious, I need to be able to see the full extent of the damage.”What damage? Does he mean my stomach? I’m fine. I mean, it hurts, but it’s fine.

He takes off my jacket anyways, then curses and peels off my undershirt too. I’m waiting for something to happen, someone to pop out and upload a photo of me at my weakest to the internet as some awful prank, my friends (sans Toritsuka) to come walking out and see me like this, anything. For some reason none of that is happening, Kuusuke is silently surveying me, his whole face is pinched in some unreadable expression. 

“Here, stay here,” he orders. I want to laugh, as it is I can’t even stand, what does he expect me to do?

In my peripheral, I see Toritsuka. He seems to be stirring. Internally, I beg him not to. I can’t do anything right now, he could kill me if he wanted, and then Kuusuke would probably kill him.

When he comes back he’s carrying an array of things. Bandages, water, a cloth, some kind of disinfectant, and a black blanket. It’s odd, despite everything, despite all our fighting, I never feared my brother until now. It’s a potent feeling, and I have to look away. I don’t know what he’s planning. Without a word he hoists me onto his knee, and begins doing something. I can’t stop him without killing him, so I don’t. 

I can feel water, then the cloth dabbing at my chest and arms shoulders, then something cold and sharp touching me. It hurts more than I except. Part of me just wants to surrender, let unconsciousness spare me from any more of this, but then I’d really be powerless against him, so I fight it off. 

I feel something wrap tightly around my torso, and then he murmurs something and puts my undershirt back on, before wrapping me in what is definitely that shitty blanket he brought out. 

For a brief moment, I let myself feel relieved. Then he climbs back onto the machine, and I feel my stomach sink. Tears spring to my eyes. I knew he didn’t like me, but isn’t this…too cruel? Letting me feel safe before destroying me? I brace for the killing blow, knowing that even if I try to teleport away, i won’t have enough control of my muscles to protect myself. 

But it never comes. 

Instead, I hear a turning of keys, and it powers off. He walks back over to me and sighs. I feel small, curled up in this thin blanket on the floor, shaking uncontrollably under him. I’m not meant to be this useless, nor this out of my element. 

“Shit…” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I really did go too far. Look at you. What am I even doing?”

I don’t know what he means. 

“Are you in any pain?” He asks. I want to scoff at him, but I’m still a little on edge and my mind is still numb from the earlier agony it faced. I nod slowly. He inhales.

“I’m sorry.” 

It catches me off guard. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard him apologize like that. I’m dumbfounded. 

“You’re my baby brother, I don’t- I don’t know how I could stoop to something like this. What if I’d killed you…?”

I blink at him. I…I don’t understand. I want to go home. Looking around me I notice the not insignificant amount of blood that had pooled where I was laying. Kuusuke is also covered in blood. Wait, how bad were my injuries?

I look at my shirt, and with sudden horror, I throw up. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve and in the corner of my eye I see my brother’s eyes are as wide as saucers. 

“Shit,” he apologizes again. “Yeah. I guess I really really hurt you. You’re even throwing up…On the bright-side, your friend over there is awake.”

That’s not a good thing, I glare at him hoping that’s conveyed. He looks at me and shrugs, nonchalant. “Don’t worry, he’s not gonna hurt you.”

This time I do scoff out loud. What the hell is he talking about? He just tried to kill me, he’s always hated me, you were the exact person who caused him to realize that. 

Toritsuka looks around blearily, then he makes eye contact with me. I steel myself, waiting for him to laugh, take advantage of my current state, mock me at least. 

He doesn’t, in fact, I’m surprised to see his eyes grow wide with horror. Suddenly he’s crying out my name and barreling towards me, he looks devastated. I don’t know how I’m meant to react. Yet again I don’t understand, I haven’t understood anything that’s happened in the past few minutes. Why are people suddenly treating me like I’m fragile?

He’s at my side, prodding around at my injuries and then the stained floor around me, and then my face. His eyes soften and fill with tears. 

“This is all my fault,” he hiccups. “I- the scientist… he- I’m such an idiot for ever listening to him. Now you’re all hurt, and it’s- I caused it…” 

I don’t say anything, none of this is anything I’m used to. He looks at the intact wall where he was a moment ago, then at me. His whole face sinks into something genuinely pained.

“You protected me, didn’t you.” He sounds really unlike himself, and it creeps me out. Apprehensively, I nod.  I did, but it’s not a huge deal. He doesn’t have to make it a huge deal. 

“Why…?”

Why? I pause. I don’t know. Looking up at him, I shrug. You’re my friend. I guess I care about you. That’s why. 

He shakes his head, then his gaze focuses in on my chest. “Shit…P-Please don’t tell me that’s not where that came from.” He points to the blood soaked bandages hugging my torso. I resist the urge to gag looking at them again. This kind of devastation on my own body is admittedly fascinating, but to someone like me it’s also disturbing. I’m kind of miffed that he’s decided to remind me of that area so blatantly, what happened to manners? Don’t point out the gaping hole in your friends chest so crudely, Toritsuka. 

My lack of response clearly functions as a response for him, because he eventually chokes back a knowing sob. “Shit, fuck, goddammit,” he cries. “I’m the worst, I’m seriously the worst. I’m so sorry. If- if you don’t want to see me again after this…I-“ he trails off. 

I’m a little stunned. It’s really not a big deal. It’s not like he was the one shooting at me, that guy’s lingering a few feet away like a creep. I try to explain this to him, but it just makes it worse. He’s actually crying now, which is making me all sorts of uncomfortable. “Don’t forgive me so easily!” He sobs into my arm. I sigh. This is a pain, all of this is. I’m tired, at this point I just want to go home and sleep. 

Kuusuke must notice, as he takes a step towards me. Suddenly, I notice that I can hear his thoughts. 

Toritsuka catches him moving, and jumps in front of me protectively. “St-stay away!” He snarls. Kuusuke looks amused for a second, but quickly his expression shifts into one of irritation. 

“You’re bothering him. Let me take him home.”

“As if i’d trust you! He almost died because of you! I mean, just look at what you did to him!” Toritsuka gestures widely at me and the area surrounding me. Kuusuke doesn’t answer, and now that I can read his thoughts, I can tell…he’s feeling guilty.

Well, of course, He had apologized earlier, but it takes me aback just how potent it truly is. For most of my life I assumed he hated me, assumed he didn’t care about me at all, but now…I don’t know if knowing he does makes me feel better or worse. 

“I’m sorry,” he says at last, not really directly to either of us. He’s looking past me, straight at the destroyed walls behind us. “I know I went too far, but he can’t stay here.”

“So I’ll take him home!” Toritsuka argues, unwilling to trust him. It’s understandable, I wouldn’t. I don’t. 

“It’s better if I do. You’ll jostle him. Plus, he’s my brother, so if It’s me our parents will be more understanding.”

That last part’s a blatant lie, I know it and I know he knows it. The first part is reasonable, though. Toritsuka is only a little heavier than me, and he’s not very physically fit. Carrying me all the way back to my house on his own would be difficult and potentially dangerous for both of us. 

“You’re his brother…??” He gapes, then rage takes over his shock. “How could you do something like this, then?!”

He yet again doesn’t answer, and his thoughts grow even heavier. Honestly I find that I kind of miss his limiter. 

Annoyed, I attempt to sit up, the sharp stabbing pain that jolts through me makes me regret that choice, as I slam back down against the floor. Both of them whirl around to look at me with considerable distress. 

“Don’t move,” Kuusuke is the first to speak. I glare, wanting nothing more than to punch him right now. My injuries should’ve healed by now, right? Why haven’t they?

He looks sheepish. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Er, about that…the way my invention works, those are gonna stay for a while. Sorry.”

I stare at him, Toritsuka does too. 

“I created it to weaken you, so…it sort of overrides everything about you, including the mind control you’ve done.”

I blink. I’ll ask him how he even did that later, right now I’m just furious. Seriously, what was he thinking? My mind is more clear than it was earlier, and I at least feel enough in my element to be angry, even if physically the bets are still off.

Internally I beg Toritsuka not to ask about the mind control thing, I’m too tired to even attempt explaining that.

Fortunately he doesn’t, though I’m all too aware of how he shelves it for later questioning. 

“By weaken, don’t you just mean destroy?” Is what he asks instead. I now wish he’d just asked about the mind control. What kind of loaded question is that? He realizes I’m right here, doesn’t he?

“I created it to destroy myself,” he says honestly. I already knew, but hearing it out loud, so blatantly is still hurtful. Toritsuka looks confused, so unfortunately he elaborates. “I was hoping if I drove him low enough, he’d snap and destroy me.” Too honest. Dial it back a bit for the readers at home. 

“Oh,” is all Toritsuka can think to respond with. I really can’t blame him. I want to go home, I don’t want to be here anymore. 

“It was a mistake, though, and now look. My baby brother is badly hurt, all because of me.”

“…yeah. He really is.” Not helpful. Both of you should leave, just let me die here, it’s better than having to listen to this exchange any longer. 

They stop talking, though their thoughts are both still so loud. It’s all too heavy, I can’t deal with this, especially not presently. 

“…fine,” Toritsuka says. “Only If Saiki-san is fine with it, we’ll accept your help.”

I kind of want to ask where he got the idea that he had stakes in this decision at all, but honestly I’m a little relieved he’s here acting as a middle-man. 

“Okay. And? Is he?” Kuusuke questions, peering over at me. I shrug. “You don’t know?” I shrug again. I don’t want to interact with him. 

“You’re upset, you don’t want to talk to me,” he says matter of factly.  I forgot that he’d gotten kind of skilled at reading me. “I get it, but I really do need to know where you stand on this, otherwise there’s not much I can do for you.”

I sigh. As much as I keep telling myself I want to go home, the idea of my parents seeing me like this is mortifying, especially if he’s there too. 

“You don’t want to go home? You’re scared of our parents seeing you like this, especially when I’m there too?” He parrots. I flinch. know I said he was skilled at reading me, but that’s basically just telepathy. Toritsuka makes a face like he’s just had an idea. 

“He can go to my house! I have a lot of first aid stuff.”

You do? Why? Actually, I don’t want to know. Admittedly, it’s not an awful idea if I ignore the fact that I’d be inside Toritsuka’s house. The one good thing about being in a situation like this with these two is that they both know not to suggest the hospital. Hesitantly, I nod. 

“Great, that’s settled then?” Kuusuke sounds tired too. 

“I guess so.”

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, right. Erm…I’ll just lead you guys there.”

“Ok then.”

Kuusuke, without much warning, scoops me up off the ground. “Lead the way!” He chirps, presumably trying not to sound too annoyed.

Surprisingly, Toritsuka actually manages to lead us to where he lives without much issue. Maybe he’s more reliable than I thought. That, or my bar is just way too low for him. Probably the second one. 

“He can go on the bed,” he says over his shoulder. Kuusuke nods and sets me down. “So…now what are we doing?” He comes back with way more first aid supplies than any one person should ever need. Now I really feel the need to know why he had this stuff in the first place…

“Stitches.” Kuusuke replies, completely distracting me from Toritsuka’s stash. Did I hear that right? How does he intend to do that, an ice pick can’t break my skin, so really, how does he expect a needle to be able to??

He laughs. “Are you curious about how I’d be able to break your skin?”

Yes, but stop reading my mind, please. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve studied you enough to know this isn’t an issue. See, it’s not actually that your body is impenetrable…it’s a protective shield, a very thin protective shield.”

I’m confused by what he’s trying to say. 

“Basically,” he explains. “Your body naturally stops anything from harming you, of course it’s not impossible to bypass this shield, but most things that would kill a regular person won’t really affect you...”

I’m about to ask where he’s going with this, but Toritsuka beats me to it. “Sorry, but what does this have to do with giving him stitches…?”

“The stitches wouldn’t be harming him, they’d be helping him.”

“Ohhh. Right. Okay, I get it.” He lies. 

I’m skeptical. Kuusuke knows more about my body than I do, but it’s hard to trust him. I guess there’s not any other options, and I don’t really know how he could use this to beat me anyways. Reluctantly, I give him permission to attempt this. 

Against all my expectations, it kind of works. I mean, the first needle shatters, as do the second and third, but once I manage to relax it becomes almost too easy. Of course, it hurts, though strangely not as much as him cleaning the wound in preparation had. Toritsuka is talking to me about something stupid, I couldn’t make out what he was saying even if I wanted to, my mind is swimming too much. The sound of his voice is a decent distraction, though. 

Eventually, after what must’ve been a few hours, as well as the tragic loss of many needles that shattered the second I tensed even a little, Kuusuke finishes up. 

“Good as new!” He says, which is objectively untrue, but whatever. “…How do you feel?”

Bad, but less urgently. I don’t know if I can sit up yet, the thought of trying makes me shiver. Right now I’m tired, all I want is to sleep. 

“I’ll check in tomorrow. You’ll look after him, I assume,” he asks Toritsuka, who nods. “Alright.”

And with that he’s off. 

Toritsuka looks at me, all I can hope is that he won’t try to engage in serious conversation with me. He doesn’t.

He doesn’t say anything, actually. He thinks a lot, a lot of apologies, but he says nothing aloud. Silently, he lays on the floor and closes his eyes. 

I roll my eyes, he’s punishing himself. That’s annoying. Do what you like, but in front of me? over something that wasn’t your fault…? When he falls asleep I’ll be sure to give him at least a pillow and blanket, it won’t help anyone if we have two people in pain tomorrow. 

Once he’s asleep, I finally let myself drift off too. 

I’m woken up by Toritsuka’s miserable thoughts. It seems Kuusuke isn’t here yet, in the meantime I wonder if there’s anything I can do to make Toritsuka realize he doesn’t have to be so hard on himself. It’s fine. 

“Can you sit up yet?” He asks, I blink at him. It’s too early for this, seriously. I just woke up. 

I push myself up with my elbows, there’s a significant throbbing pain throughout my body, but I can ignore that. 

“Hey, that’s good! Maybe your weird brother was wrong…?”

He probably wasn’t, but one can hope. I give a thumbs up, for whatever reason my hands are shaking. 

Kuusuke arrives, he checks in, “supervises” for awhile, then he leaves. At night Toritsuka tries to punish himself by sleeping completely uncovered on the hard floors, I thwart his plans and then fall asleep myself. This repeats for weeks, honestly it’s becoming monotonous. Kuusuke keeps reassuring us that he has all the technical stuff “handled”, and I guess I have to believe him. 

Not only that, it’s all frustrating. There’s something nagging at me, it feels like a pit in my stomach, the same feeling you get when you haven’t eaten for a long time, and I don’t know what it is or why it’s happening. There’s something we didn’t address, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. 

It comes to me one day, at a point where I’m far enough long in this awful recovery period that I can walk around with only some agonizing pain. The stitches have been removed, I’m probably gonna go to my regular home soon. Toritsuka’s gradually stopped punishing himself, everything is going…fine. 

I’m even kind of getting along with Kuusuke, if I ignore everything that lead up to this, I might be able to pretend we’ve always been like this. 

Then one day, it’s like he snaps.

“Kill me,” Kuusuke says, grabbing my shoulders. It’s raining, we’re both outside and he’s knocked over the umbrella I was holding. I’m too shocked to respond. “I’m asking you to kill me, however you like, but please kill me.”

I can’t think of what to say to him. Weren’t we over this…? I guess not. That must’ve been what was bothering me so much. He looks desperate, desperate in a way I haven’t seen him before. 

“I deserve it, you deserve to be the one who does it. It would be humiliating to die to anything besides you, so please…”

I really thought we were over this. 

There’s some kind of cruelty present here, and the worst part is I don’t even know if he recognizes it. I feel the resolve I’ve been clutching crumble just a little. 

The reality is I never, never in my life, truthfully wanted to kill him, I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone. I wish I’d made that clearer, maybe we could’ve avoided all of this. I feel, for a moment, profoundly angry, then it’s washed away and all I can feel is hurt. Hurt that even after all this, he still thinks of me this way, hurt that he thinks of himself this way, hurt that our relationship is like this. I want to cry, I want to curl up as tight as possible and cry until all of this melts away. How did we even get here? How did it get this bad? 

He looks about two seconds from breaking down himself. I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t think I can. Once again I picture that imaginary reality where I’m normal, and I imagine a Kuusuke who’s offering words of comfort.

Against my will, tears come rushing. I can’t stop them, I’m helpless. I’ve caused all of this, the fault of my existence is why any of us are in this situation. My face is wet, and I don’t care to tell what’s from rain and what’s from me. It’s humiliating regardless. 

“Kusuo…? Are you…-” He sounds so far away. Quickly, I cover my face with my arm, stepping back in shame. I wish I’d just gone home when I was first injured, I want my mom, she’d know what to say right now. Then again, I’m sure that would’ve caused her a lot of trouble, so it’s probably good I didn’t. Probably. I don’t know. 

“Are you crying?” He asks, I laugh. Obviously I’m not. Or, wait, actually I am. Huh. I’m crying right now.

I’m so tired of all this. I know our relationship will never be like the one I keep picturing, but I just wish it was better than this. I don’t want to be crying alone right now.

He pauses. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. No matter how much he says that, I can’t seem to believe him. “I see now, I’m wrong.”

I don’t know what he means, I don’t want to know. It’s a different kind of pain, this feeling. 

“You want a normal brother, don’t you?”

I guess so, Its more that I want to be a normal brother. I don’t want to be someone he feels the need to compete with all the time, I want to be someone he can laugh with and play video games with and not feel like he’s going up against a machine. 

The pit in my stomach deepens, and it hurts terribly. Like a child would, I reach out and grab his sleeve. He freezes as I do so. I don’t know what to say to him, I’m just desperate and hurt and alone, and he was there.

“…What are you doing? Why are you grabbing me?” I can’t think of a coherent reply. He was there, is all I can think of. Logically I know it’s probably deeper than that. I don’t respond, I can’t let go. If I let go…I don’t want to think about it. 

After a moment, I feel arms wrap around me. He’s hugging me. For whatever reason, he’s hugging me. 

I don’t move, I’m scared if I do, that I’ll hurt him. I don’t want to do that. He exhales. “I don’t know why you keep me around, if I was you I would’ve killed me ages ago.”

Huh. I shrug. I don’t know, I say to him. You’re my brother, and I guess I care about you. That’s why. 

#Idk if I will post this to ao3 since it’s pretty short #Maybe #for now I’m just gonna dump it here lmao #tw suicide #tw injury #writing #< tag in case I do any more random mini fics lol #Toritsuka is also here and he is miserable. Bc it’s the cat gun arc obv he’s unhappy.

[avelera]

Maintaining Scope of Violence in Your Story's World

I saw an interesting discussion in the Baldur's Gate 3 subreddit, commenting how a player's immersion was broken when a version of the player character, known as "The Dark Urge", is apparently to blame for a particularly brutal murder and yet the companion characters don't turn on him/her/them immediately. The commenter was baffled given the brutality of the killing. Yet many replies pointed out that other members of the party are also murderers or tapdancing on the edge of committing atrocities, not to mention other mitigating circumstances that it would be spoilers to go into.

This got me thinking about scope of violence in genre fiction and how, on top of all the other difficult jobs the writer has before them, establishing what level of violence is "commonplace" vs "shocking" can be a surprisingly delicate process.

(Cut for length. Includes references to Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, John Wick, and NBC's Hannibal in an exploration of how to establish the scope and scale of on-screen violence. TW for discussions of violence against children in shows like GoT and HotD, though it is largely in abstract terms.)

I'm reminded of "House of the Dragon" (HotD) which, I must confess, I found to have rather patchy and uneven writing.

One moment in HotD that I found rather dissonant, shall we say, was when a child of the nobility loses his eye in a brawl with other children. His mother, an aristocrat, is understandably horrified and enraged. However, some of the threats she makes to equally powerful Houses over the incident feel, dare I say, disproportionate to the event, given that her threats could lead to the world as she knows it being plunged into civil war, all over what amounts to a tussle between children, albeit one that ends in a particularly gruesome manner.

On the one hand, any modern mother likely would completely freak out at such an appalling injury as a lost eye from a knife fight between children. That would be a major shock to a modern community, where such violence is quite rare. And in fairness, the aristocrats of the world of "Game of Thrones" and HotD by extension are largely insulated by their privilege from the day to day violence we see portrayed in the series. If anyone was realistically going to have a modern response to a child's maiming, it would be the sheltered daughter of a noble house with regards to her beloved child.

However, as understandable as her reaction might be to modern viewers and to those who take into account her sheltered upbringing, in my mind, the show's narrative wobbled there in terms of establishing the level of violence that is considered commonplace in the world of HotD/GoT. In the first season of Game of Thrones, we famously saw a child pushed out of a window, permanently disabled and left in a coma for months, and while this is a major event that creates a great deal of tension and conflict, ultimately the family after their attempts at individual revenge the fact is they can't start a civil war over this single event. So in a way we're sort of left with: this is just a thing that happens that we have to suck up and deal with, even if certain individuals might wish to and continue to pursue a personal vendetta. Couple that with commoner children being murdered and the deaths going completely unremarked upon by wider society, we're left with the impression of a world in which brutality, even brutality against children which would grind a modern community to a halt, is simply an ugly and relatively common part of life. A life with so much ugliness and personal violence that it really almost gets lost amidst all the other horrors.

Which makes the HotD mother's reaction feel... disproportionate. Not in relation to her child's suffering, which is entirely understandable, but her view of what retaliation constitutes a proportional response comes across as hysterical. Too modern. Children are horrifically injured in the GoT/HotD world all the time. Frankly, by comparison, a lost eye is almost minor compared to a loss of mobility in a rigorously martial world, access to which Bran lost with his fall. We don't get as good of a set up of what the conflicting morals of this world are, we don't get the comparison between commoner and noble children as clearly as in GoT, we don't really get all the conflicting views of "When is it normal to start a civil war over a child's injury?" - the sense of scope and scale of violence and how we and the characters are supposed to react to it... wobbles.

Along these lines, I've also pointed out that in shows like NBC's Hannibal, the show is scrupulously careful about not really referencing global events like wars. In my mind, there's a simple reason for that. Your average drone attack on civilians in the Middle East kills more innocent people by accident than Hannibal Lecter has ever killed in his entire murderous career. Compared to weapons of war, one murderous serial killer is barely a rounding error in terms of death and human suffering. So the show has to remain almost claustrophobically intimate so we never get confronted with the "So what?" of the individual death and human suffering Hannibal and the other serial killers bring about on a very close, personal basis. The horror style is meant to force us to imagine ourselves if we were the victims (or the killer) in these incredibly intimate murders. If our suffering was writ large. If every individual death was massively significant. But this is in contrast with real world mass casualty events which would dwarf many times all of the deaths in the Hannibal show combined.

As a final example, the moment the first season of "True Detective" lost me was when the value of a single life also wobbled dramatically. The conceit of the show is that a single murder, or a half dozen at most, murders of young white women is worthy of a major, multi-year investigation. Yet when the investigation inadvertently leads to an outbreak of violence in a predominantly black community, shown almost immediately to kill more people (in front of their children, even) than were lost in the entire murder spree of white women that's being investigated, the show didn't seem to care at all. Individual white female victims were worthy of a breathless investigation into their untimely loss, but twice that number of black people killed in an outbreak of violence directly linked to the investigation didn't even seem worthy of commentary or reflection at all. The value of a single human life was no longer consistent. If these deaths aren't worthy of justice, then why should I care about the few individual deaths being investigated?

As with any measuring of scope in fiction, it's very hard for the author to do alone. It really is an instance where an outside pair of eyes is incredibly valuable.

But things to keep in mind while crafting a narrative around violence is just how much are readers or viewers supposed to be alarmed by individual acts of violence. It's common and indeed necessary for modern media to establish the rules of its world. Even stories nominally set in "our" world actually do almost as much worldbuilding as any fantasy tale in this respect. In a cop drama where each episode is built around a single murder, we need to inhabit a world where a single murder is worthy of dozens of people spending time and resources bringing the killer to justice. In such a world, a mass casualty event of several deaths should be shocking. To this end, like in NBC's Hannibal, it's probably best to avoid mentions of mass casualty events caused by war or natural disasters.

By contrast, an action film like John Wick might place less value on individual deaths (beyond the motivating deaths of a single dog, which is thoroughly commented on within the story as feeling disproportionate and therein lies much of what makes the plot so unique. I'd argue it is also the cutest dog ever born, but I digress). We're not going to see a lurid headline, "John Wick murders 26 local men in cold blood, read about this tragic loss along with quotes by their devastated wives and children on page 6". To a certain extent, the violence there is meant to be just shocking enough to thrill, but we're not meant to get too invested in the details of the actual body count.

And, to go even more extreme, in war or disaster movies, we see or have narrated that thousands have died at a time. Again, to go back to Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon, one reason it's hard to see the mother's reaction to her child's maiming as anything but a bit disproportionate is because we see with such brutality hundreds if not thousands of men, women, and children dying directly or indirectly as a result of war. While it's understandable that a mother would burn the world down for an injury to her child, we're not well placed to agree with or sympathize with her reactions on the broader scale, in terms of retribution that would lead to war, against a backdrop of brutal mass casualty events in the thousands where even more families are devastated and more children injured or killed.

As a final, positive word on the Game of Thrones universe, the early seasons of the GoT were actually very good at controlling the audience's reaction to the scope of violence. Namely, the Battle of the Blackwater sticks out in my mind. The world of GoT is so grounded in the mud, in ugly, personal but intimate violence done with hands or blades, otherwise rudimentary weapons, that the first time we see an explosion on a near-modern scale feels as genuinely breathtaking to modern eyes as it might have to the Medieval-eseque eyes of that world. Yet there are movies chock-full of explosions where the explosions lose impact and importance, become background noise, because they're simply one of many. By rigorously tamping down and limiting the scope and type of violence to largely hand to hand combat, Game of Thrones set up a moment where modern warfare-style explosions are awe-inspiring. Against that backdrop, the appearance of fire-breathing dragons on the battlefield is also arresting, though their capabilities would likely be dwarfed by a modern fighter jet and many viewers of GoT would be familiar with films where the scope and scale of violence is much bigger and more explosive. It feels big in GoT because the scope and scale has been so small to that point.

Once you as a writer have established the modernity of your violence, the scope and scale of it, the average body count, the importance of a single human life, it's important to stick to it. If a character has a differing view, then they should be noted as having it by the narrative. A grizzled war veteran might shrug at a small town murder investigation of a single individual, but a sleepy town might lose its mind over it. In the modern world, the lives of children are put on the highest pedestal, but once you establish in your world that some children's lives are of lower value, then showing a mother act with an understandable modern sensibility of horror and outrage still needs to be commented on so we understand where her reaction falls within her society, especially if it's in contrast. That is what teaches us how to watch and appreciate the narrative choices as they're meant to be appreciated.

#writing #maggie rambles

[pyrrhicpoison]

tw // self harm mention + scars

WOOHOOO THEYRE FINALLY DONE!! team rwby are here and real after nearly 23 hours spent on them in total 😵‍💫

^ versions without the text&arrows

vvv hc transcript + hcs not mentioned vvv:

Ruby

She/they/crescent

5’4

Genderfluid

Butch Lesbian

AuDHD + PTSD

goggles: ‘Goggles to protect remaining eye (+they make crescent look cool as hell)

right eye: ‘Eye scratched out by Cinder’s grimm arm’

green hairband: ‘For Penny :(‘

nose: ‘Shares nose shape, skin tone & freckles with their Dad & Yang’

upper chest: ‘scars on chest from CC’s attempted possession’

chest 1: ‘Yang bought their binder & had it customised for her (+ Blake)’

chest 2: ‘Binds their chest most of the time except from when she’s in Vacuo. Then they borrow trans tape from Blake and bind with that instead’

sash: ‘CR hooks onto the back of sash and sits diagonally across crescent’s back’

shirt and shorts: ‘Stole one of Yang’s goofy shirts & cut his cargos into shorts’

Weiss

She/her

4’11 (5’2 w/ heels)

Transfem lesbian

Asexual

OCD + PTSD

hair: ‘Hair cut shorter & she wears it down more often’

green hair tie: ‘For Penny :,)’

nose: ‘Shares nose shape with her brother + got her beauty mark from her mother who has one in the same place (TO ME!!)’

face: ‘On E’

red bandana: ‘gift from Ruby :)’

right arm: ‘Heavily scarred arms from SH & fighting grimm’

left eye: ‘Blind in this eye’

left shoulder: ‘Wears shawl to protect shoulders from the sun (burns easily)’

right side: ‘Chest scar carries over to her back & she has no feeling in the skin there — the nerves were burned away and caused permanent damage’ then off that ‘Doesn’t cope well in hot climates (Vacuo) too well because of this’

myrtenaster: ‘Has a strict routine she keeps with maintaining Myrtenaster and if she doesn’t do it, it’ll send her into a spiral’

Blake

She/they

5’7

Non-binary bisexual

Autistic + PTSD

ears: ‘Gold jewellery like her mum’s’

right eye: ‘Eyes shine in the dark due to faunus night vision’

left eye: ‘More prominent faunus facial features (slit pupils, fangs, nose, etc.)

hood: ‘Hood has cat ear shaped pockets that unzip so she can choose whether to have her ears out or covered’

chest: ‘wearing trans tape under crop top’

left bicep: ‘Has big, strong arm & shoulder muscles from throwing Yang around with Gambol, but a softer tummy cause she’s healing from all the bad habits they picked up in the WF’

orange scarf: ‘Wears orange scarf to mirror where Yang’s arm ends and where metal begins’

tummy: ‘happy trail and STRETCH MARKS!!!”

shoulder+elbow: ‘More furry like their Dad’

forearm: ‘Scars from WF training, SH & grimm’

waist straps: ‘Yang uses these to pull her in for a kiss all the time :)’

chaps: ‘chaps + cowboy boots = sapphic devastation’

tummy scar: ‘The scar on her hip is the only one that still looks fairly gruesome, and the only one that burns and stings even long after the initial injury is healed. She thinks it’s because technically she was stabbed there twice, even if the second time she managed to use her semblance to get away.’

Yang

She/he

6’0

Butch lesbian

AuDHD + PTSD

nose: ‘Got his nose scar while fighting a jabber walker’

eye: ‘Eyes have specs of crimson in them even when his semblance isn’t active’

ear: ‘Shares skin tone, nose and hair with his dad’

facial hair: ‘On T’

left bicep: wears scarf on left bicep to mirror Blake’

arm,legs,tummy,chest: ‘HAIRY!!! :D’

leg: ‘Heavily scarred from SH, grimm and bar fights’

shorts: ‘Can sew and likes to decorate his trousers/shorts with patches & pins. He also likes to sew things for his team (he’s the reason they all have the team colours somewhere on their outfits)’

chest 1: ‘Scar across chest from Neo’s blade’

chest 2: ‘Got top surgery at some point in Vacuo (he likes to joke around and say that her semblance blew his tits off).

HCS NOT PUT HERE (i forgor):

Ruby:

•takes tips and advice from Yang on how to dress but mainly just throws clothes on and hopes for the best. she hasn’t quite got the hang of things looking… cohesive… yet.

•strong arms from swinging CR around.

Weiss:

•Was quite slender, but began gaining a bit of weight once she got back to Remnant. Starting to heal :,).

Blake:

•has chronic pain that stems from her tummy scar and radiates up her spine. Overworking, stress & the cold cause most flare-ups.

Yang:

•has a collection of goofy shirts (That ruby always steals from).

•has weapons hidden in her prosthetic arm in case he’s ever out of dust or in a bind.

•still experiences phantom pain in his stump and pain from some of the scars he’s acquired over the course of the war.

#bumbleby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #rwby #pyrrhicpoison #rwby fanart #ruby rose rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #headcanons #the bee crumbs i’ve put into their side #hehe #who left those kiss marks on yang’s pecs #and tummy #i guess we’ll never know #🤭🤭 #anyway i spent a long time on this #lost a lot of sanity #BUT IT WAS WORTH IT #jumps up and down #okay now time to sleep #and write #and then inevitably start drawing again #gonna put the #hcs #tag again #JUST TO SOLIDIFY #this is just my take on the team