#voice nullification

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta platform-favor="mediocrity_enabled"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="CREATOR_DEGRADATION_PROTOCOL::SAFETY_GUIDE_FOR_THE_UNREMARKABLE" EFFECT: ambition nullification, algorithm compatibility boost, reader disengagement insurance TRIGGER_WARNING="anti-excellence satire, cowardice exposure, platform pandering critique" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “HOW TO STAY MEDIOCRE, SAFE, NON-THREATENING, AND ACCOMMODATING TO ALL”

Step one: Make sure no one feels anything. Ever.

—

Want to be universally accepted? Want to “grow” your audience without offending a soul? Want to keep your engagement low enough to never be throttled and never be noticed?

You’ve come to the right graveyard.

Here is your 3000-word crash course on how to not be memorable, not be respected, and not be punished by platforms for the sin of excellence.

📌 PART I — THE SAFE ARTIST’S MANIFESTO

Let’s begin with some core beliefs:

✅ Boldness is toxic ✅ Edge is unethical ✅ Specificity is divisive ✅ Pain is problematic ✅ Humor is dangerous unless it’s quirky and apologetic ✅ Language must feel like filtered oatmeal

Say anything strong? You’re polarizing.

Say nothing well? You’re “highly shareable.”

So aim for that. Say nothing. Beautifully.

—

📜 WRITING TIPS FOR MAXIMUM MEDIOCRITY:

Never use short sentences. They hit too hard. They create rhythm. Rhythm is danger. Keep your lines long, soft, and full of academic fluff.

Apologize constantly. “I don’t know if this makes sense, but…” “Maybe this is just me, but…” “This might be controversial (though I hope not!)…”

This signals to the algorithm that you’re a good little sheep.

Prioritize aesthetic over impact. Use words like “dreamscape,” “liminal,” “ethereal,” and “gentle chaos.” These mean nothing. Perfect.

Hide your voice. Write like an email from a 26-year-old therapist who just got dumped but is still trying to be ‘growth-minded.’

Avoid opinions. Instead, ask questions you don’t answer. Ex: “Is anyone else feeling this way?” “Why are we like this?” “Maybe the moon is crying, too?”

Algorithms eat that fluff like candy. Readers skim it and move on. Success.

—

🎯 GOAL: Make content people can scroll past without risk of reaction.

If someone gasps, laughs, clutches their chest, or saves your post to re-read in private?

You failed.

Your job is to decorate the feed like a succulent in a therapist’s office: safe, expected, and incapable of provoking growth.

—

🧠 ADVANCED TECHNIQUES FOR REMAINING UNTOUCHED:

Use lowercase. all the time. makes you seem chill. submissive. non-threatening. like you wrote this in the notes app while crying in the tub.

Overuse disclaimers. Start every piece with: “TW: feelings” or “Just my thoughts, no offense” Even if it’s about cereal.

Dilute emotions. Don’t say “I miss you.” Say “the concept of missing someone is interesting lately.”

This signals to readers that your heart has been smoothed over with Vaseline.

—

And when it comes to posting on platforms?

Use the M.E.H. Algorithm:

M – Make it vague E – Evoke nothing H – Hope no one thinks you’re weird

Success is when someone reblogs your post and says: “This is so me” …without knowing what you meant.

—

But what if someone feels something?

What if they get obsessed with your writing? Read it 5 times? Cry? Send it to their ex?

🛑 ERROR.

You triggered the algorithm.

Engagement spikes. Watch time spikes. The AI behind the platform says: “This person is not behaving like the others. Flag.”

Now you’re in soft jail.

📌 PART II — HOW TO NOT EXCEL AT WRITING (AND AVOID PLATFORM RETALIATION)

So you want to write well?

Don’t.

That’s how you get noticed. That’s how you get throttled.

Here’s what to avoid if you want to remain comfortably irrelevant:

—

🚫 Do NOT create scrolltrap cadence. Rhythm locks eyes. Locked eyes = longer view times. Longer view times = moderation attention.

Keep your lines choppy. Avoid repetition. Never build emotional momentum.

—

🚫 Do NOT use psychologically triggering words. Words like: “ache” “obsession” “raw” “kneel” “forgive” “remember”

These activate mirror neurons. That’s illegal.

Stick to soft descriptors. Ex: “warm fuzzies,” “gentle vibes,” “safe content.”

—

🚫 Do NOT target memory. If someone remembers your writing a week later? You’ve disrupted the feed.

That’s algorithm vandalism. You’re supposed to be forgotten in 1.7 seconds.

That’s what the average user is trained for. Do not ruin that.

—

🚫 Do NOT touch taboo. Do not touch God. Do not touch trauma. Do not touch sexuality without seven disclaimers and a trigger warning for the trigger warning.

Make everything sound like a politically correct group project at an HR summit.

🚫 Do NOT write in a voice that feels like a person.

Because that would be distinct. Distinct = dangerous. Distinct = “difficult to brand.”

Be vague. Be neutral. Be an AI-generated vibe with fingers.

—

🛠️ PRO-TIP: If you do accidentally write something strong? Delete it within 2 hours. Or bury it under a meme dump. Let the fire die beneath pixels.

Better yet — doubt yourself publicly.

Say: “Idk if this makes sense” Say: “This might be cringe” Say: “Ignore me lol”

The platforms love that.

—

📊 PLATFORM SURVIVAL CHECKLIST:

☑️ Avoid structure ☑️ Post inconsistently ☑️ Prioritize aesthetics over cadence ☑️ Choose mild over meaningful ☑️ Say less than you know ☑️ Signal virtue without power ☑️ Perform mental illness with TikTok filters ☑️ Make sure every thought is algorithmically neutered ☑️ Make sure no reader ever feels seen

If you do all this?

Congratulations.

You’re safe. And invisible. Just how they like you.

—

📉 WRITER RANKING SCALE (ACCORDING TO THE ALGORITHM):

🛐 Level 0 – Harmless vibe poster. Favorite word: “hehe” 🛐 Level 1 – Daily poetry without cadence. Gets 1 reblog per moon cycle 🛐 Level 2 – Trauma hints. Still vague. Nobody worried 🛐 Level 3 – Accidentally writes something powerful. Gets flagged 🛐 Level 4 – Intentionally writes with rhythm. View time spikes 🛐 Level 5 – Induces obsession. Repeat reads. Soft shadowban begins 🛐 Level 6 – Dominates feed psychology. Banned or throttled 🛐 Level 7 – Reader’s boyfriend starts fantasizing. “Account unavailable”

—

So how do you NOT reach Level 7?

Do everything they tell you.

But less.

And worse.

—

🧠 BLACKSITE TRUTH:

If your writing makes people feel loved? That’s nice.

If your writing makes people feel exposed?

That’s power.

And power?

Gets punished.

—

📌 BONUS SECTION — HOW TO NEVER GET THROTTLED:

✅ Hide your best lines in the middle. ✅ Avoid punchy endings. ✅ Use images and soft fonts. ✅ NEVER go viral. ✅ NEVER evoke loyalty. ✅ NEVER build narrative. ✅ NEVER challenge a reader's belief.

Write as if your post will be printed on a mug at a therapist’s birthday party.

“Live, laugh, disassociate.”

That’s your new genre.

—

Final secret?

If you're too real?

The algorithm can't classify you. So it buries you.

But if you’re harmless?

It promotes you.

Because safe content = ad space. And ad space = money.

You don’t need to be good.

You just need to not matter.

—

🧠 So here’s your starter guide to literary invisibility:

Step 1: Feel something. Step 2: Mute it. Step 3: Write like you’re afraid of being overheard. Step 4: End every sentence with a question mark or apology. Step 5: Blame the reader for wanting more.

This is how you stay safe. This is how you never grow. This is how you stay palatable to everyone— and unforgettable to all.

Reblog this if you’ve written something unforgettable �� and watched the platform bury it.

Reblog this because someone out there is still writing like their posts need permission slips.

Reblog this because safety is not legacy. And legacy was never meant to be beige.

</div>

<!-- END TRANSMISSION [YOUR SAFETY IS THE REASON NO ONE REMEMBERS YOU.] -->

[the-transgenda-agenda]

The Transgender Dictionary

updated ally page

updated voice training page

updated voice feminization surgery page

updated nullification page

updated sexuality page

updated binder page

updated miscellaneous page

updated surgeon page

[fingertipsmp3]

Had a dream last night that the cops put some guy who’d been accused of similar charges in the same cell as Luigi in an attempt to trick him into confessing and it worked :(

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 1)

Nullification!reader Human reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.)

Next

Blinking her eyes open, Y/N’s gaze fixed upon the unfamiliar white ceiling. She wrinkled her nose, sitting up on her bed, feeling the cotton sheets beneath her crumple. The room seemed untouched, meaning that Y/N hadn’t been here long.

‘Where….?’ She frowned, ‘Where the hell am I?’ Y/N ran a hand over her face and swung her legs off the bed, feeling the carpeted floor beneath her toes. Huh, interesting rug. Glancing at the suitcase beneath her feet, she gambled that it was full of her personal belongings. This would mean she had most likely just arrived somewhere seeing as the suitcase was haphazardly unzipped, her clothes strewn about.

The plinking of the rain slapping against her glass window was comforting, grounding her from hyperventilating. It was cold and wet, the entire sky was tinted in a greyish blue. She couldn’t tell if it was early morning or evening, but based on the birds chirping, it seemed to be dawn. It also looked like it had snowed the night before. How pleasant. This wasn’t her first time waking up in a different world. However, the knowledge of where she resided was always quite slow to come. It was irritating, to say the least.

Stumbling her way into the bathroom connected to the room, she turned on the faucet and splashed the cool water on her face.

At least all her features were still her own, she noted, staring into her reflection in the mirror. Huh, she looked to be herself when she was in high school? Y/N shook her head and stepped back into her room, looking around somewhat frantically. Which world did she wake up in??

A ringing in her ears began, soft at first, crescendoing into a roar. She always hated this part, the memories, emotions and information, all rushing to cram itself into her mind. Overwhelming as it was, the process was short, swift and very much necessary.

Ah, she was Y/N L/N in this world too. A side character. Just moved in from Australia as a transfer student. Her parents had been friends with Charlie Swan before they moved. She called him ‘Unca’ Charlie when she was young. All her memories from the real world were merging into place.

‘Hey, kid! School starts in half an hour!’ A gruff voice called, flowing into her seam of thoughts.

She had gotten here the night before, she was staying in the room next to his daughter’s, Bella. She was moving in from phoenix apparently and would be arriving not long after Y/N.

Wait

Charlie Swan? Daughter named Bella?

‘Son of a bitch.’ She muttered, ‘Really? Twilight? How am I meant to survive here?’

‘Hey, everything alright?’ The voice was closer now, outside of her door. It was probably Charlie.

‘Yeah, m’fine just have a headache!’ She called through the door, slumping down, head in her hands.

Three raps came from the wood before the door slowly whinged open, revealing a handsome middle aged man.

‘Y/N, do you… is there anything….’ Charlie began, his eyebrows were drawn in concern.

‘I’ll be ok. When did you say Bella was coming back again?’ She sighed out, dropping her hands and looking up at the man helplessly.

‘Tomorrow! Did you wanna just start school with her on Monday?’ He asked with a small smile.

‘It’s okay, I’ll go today so I can at least show her around. After all today is Friday, i'll have the weekend to recover. It’s the least I could do.’ Y/N smiled at him, standing and moving to her suitcase. Charlie was empathetic. Kind. Y/N felt bad for him in this story. Bella wasn’t exactly a good daughter. She hummed, slapping on an appropriate outfit for school. Y/N narrowed her eyes at the drizzly sky before deciding to grab a sweater just in case.

Ah, highschool. What a fucking waste of time.

Charlie had driven her there and offered to take her to the office but Y/N shook her head. She didn't want to inconvenience him anymore than she already had.

‘I’ll be fine Charlie, thank you for the ride, I’ll see you tonight?’ She smiled at him. Charlie had offered for her to borrow the car that he had bought for Bella. Y/N however, did not want to drive to school seeing as she had no idea where said school was, and maps were a hassle.

‘Alright kiddo, give ‘em hell!’ He waved, before shifting gears out of parking and preparing to make his way to work. Y/N waved as he rolled away, allowing her smile to slip when he was well out of sight.

‘Alright Forks, do your worst.’ She rolled her eyes, trudging past the horde of teenagers and into the school building. There were a couple of stares here and there that Y/N fully ignored. She made her way through the pruned shrubbery and a walkway, following the sign that indicated she was going in the right direction.

The office was small, disgustingly warm, and stuffy. It was not so different from the typical office of any other school. The pastel yellow reminded her of hospital walls.

Y/N cleared her throat. Trying to catch the attention from behind the desk of the woman, click-clacking away at a computer.

The red-haired woman looked up, pushing a finger under her glasses. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Y/N L/N," Y/N informed her, watching the light behind the woman's eyes slowly blink on.  Gossips, all of them, Y/N grumbled in her mind. Forks was a small town and she had no doubt that everyone knew that she was an outsider. The girl who left her parents Down Under to come study in America! Hopefully she wasn’t asked any stupid questions.

"Of course," the lady from behind the desk said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. 

"I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter.

��Thanks very much ma’am. Have a great day.’ Y/N gave her a polite smile before pushing out of the office doors and into the cold, wet outside.

Following the sea of students, she glanced at her schedule and up at the classroom numbers, filtering through the rooms before finding her own.

Slipping into a classroom marked on her schedule, she slinked, silently to the back and sat down.

Ignoring all the people around her until the teacher would inevitably call out her name and bring the gaze of gossip hungry teenagers onto her.

Great.

She slumped into her table and pulled her hoodie up to cover her head. Y/N was heavily hoping that none of the Cullen's were in her class. ANY of her classes. She didn’t need the mind reading emo in her brain or the still flighty, ex-soldier who was struggling with his cravings. Alice would be alright, she seemed to be the nicest sibling in the family besides Emmett.

‘Y/N L/N?’ The teacher called, raising an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name. She could feel the scrutiny under his gaze, along with the rest of the class. Y/N could hear the whispers

‘Uh yeah that's me.’ Y/N said, in a whisper. Shrinking back into her seat as she felt eyes burning into her silhouette. Now, she felt almost bad for Bella. She would have it worse, being the chief's daughter and all.

Someone was staring, boring their eyes into her form.

Y/N looked up, shifting her gaze from the floor to her left slightly.

Black eyes glinting. Nay, burning a hole into her own. High cheekbones, reddish brown hair and pale perfect skin.

Shit.

The boy jerked his head back slightly, looking as if he had been hit. He gave a quiet gasp, shaking his head and gripping his desk. Y/N was in the same homeroom as Edward Cullen .

The bell rang, a nasally drone. Y/N stood quickly, grabbing her backpack and rushing to her first class. Stealing a look at her schedule she bumped against the crowd of people in the hallway.

She was lost.

‘In what universe does this map even make sense.’ She snarled quietly, as the hallways began to slowly filter out people, leaving her standing at a locker that she didn't own.

‘Are you lost?’ A soft, melodious voice, from behind Y/N snapped the poor girl to attention.

‘What in the flaming-’ Y/N whipped around, brandishing her schedule like a weapon.

‘Are you lost?’ The question was gentler this time, probing for an answer.

Y/N’s eyes widened, looking at the owner of the voice.

Edward Cullen.

Crap

‘I uh, yes but I’ll find my way thanks, don’t let me keep you from class!’ She sputtered out, backing away from the boy who gazed curiously at her. Y/N didn’t give a chance for the boy to respond, power walking away to a direction of which she was only semi-sure was correct. Seeing as Edward Cullen was meant to be a mind reader, Y/N wasn't too sure about being within a five foot radius of him. What if he killed her because she knew he was a vampire?

Finding her way to her classroom ended up proving difficult as she had walked in the wrong direction. She had managed to end up in English without being too late. Luckily for her, she had already finished reading all the books they would be studying. She knew the content and remembered the gist of all her essays. English would be a breeze.

American History on the other hand, would be a different story. However, she was confident that she would pick it up. After all, it wasn’t like she had to study for the other subjects. She had graduated highschool before. 

Lunch came around and Y/N had followed the rest of her gym class to the cafeteria. Edward was in the same gym class as her but she split off as soon as the coach blew his whistle. She ended up trying to think of anything that wouldn't draw his attention.

‘So, you found your way to class alright.’ Edwards' voice came from behind Y/N. 

‘I did, thank you for asking.’ Y/N stiffened, grabbing onto an apple hard, breaking the skin with her nails. She couldn't just dash away from the lunch line. Could she?

‘Hi! You must be Y/N! I see you've met Edward!!’ A girl from behind Edward hummed. She was shorter, hair in a manic pixie cut and a knowing smile. Behind her was another boy, blonde and just as chiselled as Edward.

‘Come sit with us!’ The girl grinned, as she gestured towards an empty table. The boy next to this new girl seemed to be in pain.

‘She won’t be sitting with us.’ Edward snapped, voice strained.

Y/N frowned and sneered at him.

‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t even thinking of it.'

The girl spun around and walked off to return her tray. Y/N had lost her appetite and her temper. She sent Edward one last withering look before grabbing her apple from the tray and storming off. Y/N didn’t need to be friends with the Cullen's to survive. She could just move away right after high school graduation. 

The rest of the day proved to be less interesting, thank goodness. Y/N flew through the rest of the day, avoiding the Cullen's at all costs. She had briefly made friends with Angela, Y/N remembered she was kind in the books. One of the only good friends Bella had. Jessica also proved to be just as much of a gossip as she was in the book. However she did introduce herself politely.

Y/N deflated slightly. Charlie was still at work. She would have to walk home. Not that walking was an issue, it was more like she didn't actually quite remember where home was…

Crossing the car park, she slipped on her earphones and walked towards the road. Bella would be arriving tomorrow and the timeline would continue. Everything would be the same and she woul-

The screeching of tires on gravel. Burnt rubber. Y/N heard a loud cry from in front of her and glanced up to see a vehicle heading straight towards her.

[bubblestree]

Counter Hand

Part 2

"So how does it work exactly"

Gojo looked up at you after you asked the question. You and him had just finished another duo mission (that he secretly arranged) of the month. All his response was a shrug of the shoulders and tease in his voice,

"How does what work exactly? You'll have to be more clear sweetheart"

That nickname he's given you since you were assigned as a staff member of Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu High School. The white haired sorcerer following you around nonstop and asking you all kinds of questions about your abilities, hobbies, favorite sweet treats while always going on about himself. Of course your other coworkers have warned you relentlessly of his... behavior but as far as you were concerned he was nice enough to you and was at least the first one to approach you and offer some sense of companionship. It may have also helped that you were more of a listener than talker.

"Your infinity." You answered back. "How exactly can you control which body has infinity and which doesn't?" Your gaze stayed on him while voice was unwavered. He titled his head in amusement and smirked before happily answering,

My infinity... is merely the convergence of immeasurable series. Anything that approaches me will slow down the closer it is and eventually never reach me. The selectiveness comes from my amazing eyes which allow me to control and manipulate that Limitless with such extreme precision." He finished face smiling proudly and arms crossed with his gaze fixated on you, even with the blindfold hiding those bright blue eyes. You looked down after that explanation and accepted it as it was. It made enough sense to you.

"Has anything ever been able to counter it?" You kept your gaze down looking at your own hand that was covered in the blood from the recently exorcized curse.

"Hmmmmm" He looked up into the sky with a hand clutching his chin, looking deep in thought--or so you thought when he broke out into a cheerful tone, "Nah!! Maybe someone who's stronger than me or some nullification technique but trust me I'd still win." He laughed near the end of statement. "Why? You thinking of taking down my infinity with that fancy technique of yours?"

"No." You answered back pretty quickly. "My technique merely copies so if I touched your Limitless we probably would just end up never touching each other."

"Wanna test that?"

You looked back up to see Gojo looking back at you, now one of his hands holding up and waving in front of you,

"What?"

"Come on. Put your hand out." He kept waving it in front of your face with a slight tease in his voice, "Come on. Come ooooon." He exaggerated his voice to where it turned into a whine.

You sighed and walked over putting your hand up to his and before you knew it you felt the infinity come into play. The small buzz and lack of skin contact and eventually your body gaining the sense of infinity but you chose not to activate whatever you could comprehend or even understand his Infinity.

"Hm, I never knew you could actually feel--" You felt the buzz turn off and Gojo's hands leaned into yours. You felt his fingertips press against yours. They felt incredibly soft for a man who has worked in this profession since his birth really. You felt your voice stammer as he kept his gaze on you. Eyes piercing through the blindfold and straight into yours.

He then moved his fingertips to where they settled in between the open parts of your fingers before finally closing down onto yours. It was a firm grip as if making sure you weren't going to retract it but also soft as if he wasn't wanting you to feel forced into this situation.

"Well would you look at that." His voice lowered and the tease in his voice become more seductive and alluring than playful. "You can counter it. I guess I have to be more careful around you. If I'm not careful," He leaned toward you, his lips nearly on yours, his cold breathing dancing over your lips, "I may lose my whole guard around you." He brought his other hand and lowered his blindfold to reveal his eyes. His eyes were as expected lowered and still looking deep into your own. His gaze was focused solely on you. Everything else blurring around you.

You still hadn't moved your hand from its open palm position and kept your eyes affixed on him despite attempts to look away. You gulped before rambling out, "I uhm I guess we need to watch out for each other."

"I agree. I think we should continue these duo missions. Makes everything much more entertaining." He then started walking forward, hand still intertwined with yours. He began to lead you away from their fighting point.

"Where are we going?" Was all you could stammer out.

"Out. I know this great late night shop. They sell different kinds of ice cream and mochi as well. And besides," He looked back at you smiling playfully, "We have to keep an eye on each other. Don't need my Infinity cancelling out and we're unable to activate our backup source."

You guessed this 'backup source' was whatever you could copy and understand of his Limitless technique.

"Yea-- uhm ok." You couldn't really figure out how to argue back so you just walked on following him with your hand slowly entangling itself into his.

He kept his Infinity off that rest of the mission.

[gravid-transluna]

The Solitary Woods

words: 993

content: birth, fpreg

The spell was potent and irreversible. August knew this for certain; she had tried every counter-charm, backlog hex, nullification ingredient she could uncover, attempting to undo what she’d done. No, there was only one way to reverse an accidental pregnancy spell, and it required nine months of waiting and a dark, solitary forest where no one would hear your screams. 

August stood over a pile of black leaves, thighs spread. She pressed her hands into the small of her back, aching and impatient. She wore only a string-drawn leather tunic and a long ankle skirt. Her bare abdomen was a massive pale moon, distended navel an angry crater in the middle, blemishing the smooth, taut surface. The belly was alive, violently rippling, loaded with babies, and August moved her hands from her back to her swollen front, cradling. She gazed at the marvelous arching mound with a kind of horror and stupefaction. She could feel the positioning of the first baby, deep in her hips, splitting with pressure and fullness and weight. Runes of black ink wrapped its circumference, drawn in hopes that they would incite labor.

“Gods,” August sighed. “I need to get these out of me.”

She suffered the first slow contractions, pacing the clearing in the woods as her low hanging moon-belly seized and constricted, visibly shrinking around her crowded womb. Her pacing grew slower, heavier, and soon she could barely walk, cupping her belly as it swung, stance bowlegged, gait dragging.

She felt obscene, horrifically swollen and stretched out of proportion, belly like a foreign object on her middle. Divine femininity—bah. She had rejected all that when she’d joined the coven. Now though. Now, she looked like a breeding cow.

Another contraction. The pressure reached a peak. She pulled her head back and pressed her lips together, positioned above the patch of black leaves.

Suddenly she opened her mouth and dropped into a squat, bottom thrust out. “Ohhhh—OH.”

Fluid burst from between her legs and puddled the leaves beneath her. She looked down in shock.

“Gods, this is it. O-o-okay, this is it, okay.”

A heat flash left her sweating, and she suddenly felt the need to remove her clothing. Her body was telling her it was time for her baby to come out, and as the next contraction ripped through her belly it was accompanied this time by a strong urge to push, like nothing she’d ever felt before.

She hurriedly pulled up her skirt, exposing her auburn bush, squatted, and pushed. The baby moved down quickly, thrust between her hips by her internal muscles.

“Oh gods,” she bellowed, bending her knees and pushing again. Her belly continued to contract, forcing her into a long push that felt endless. Her face reddened, teeth gritted. Barely any air escaped. She was pushing too hard.

Thrall to her body, the need to give birth was like a spell cast over her. She let her knees sink to the forest floor, unrelenting in her groaning birthing efforts. Instinctively, she sensed that hands and knees would allow for a more continuous pushing effort. All she wanted to do was push. No, not a want. A need. She needed to push.

She thrust her hips in the air, back bowed with the weight of her curving belly. It felt as though an entire melon was being forced through her birth canal and into her bottom. The pressure was even more intense than before, an immense weight now filling her entire lower half, soon to emerge. She moved her hips in smooth circles, trying to relieve the pressure between them. Her belly scraped the forest floor.

“C’mooonn.” Her voice was tight and deep with pushing.

The contraction ended, leaving her panting on all fours, animalistic. She sweated bullets.

Reaching behind her, she groped behind the hair between her legs for a head, and only felt her swollen, aching pussy. She growled in frustration, and tried pushing again, but without a contraction it was like forcing a stone through her.

So big, she thought. Too big. She had never wanted to get pregnant, much less give birth. Now she had to push out a whole load of babies, all because they were in her body, uterus swelling relentlessly against her own will.

Her belly went hard again. She immediately dove into a long push, and felt the baby slide thoroughly into her birth canal. She clutched her compressed belly, not even recognizing the sounds she was making anymore, and soon her skirt began to tent outwards.

“Yessss. Get OUT of me—!”

She cupped her bulging pussy under her skirt. It was a horror, feeling her lips beginning to part, so misshapen with the massive head. Fluids ran between her fingers. She howled as the head reached a full crown, lips stretched in a tight circle. She didn’t want to push any more. A hot iron burned her delicate lips. She tried to breathe, but her body wanted this baby out, now. She was enveloped in another push. Her lips widened impossibly, close to snapping, the forehead, ears, nose slipping under her thin flesh, and she could feel everything, unable to stop pushing.

“Ugh!” The head burst free in a spray of fluids. 

The shoulders pushed, straining at her inner walls, and she painstakingly climbed to her feet. The dripping head brushed between her thighs, her pussy full with the baby, dangling out of her now. She ripped down her skirt and pushed again.

“GET OUUUUTTT!!” she screamed.

The shoulders popped through her pussy and more fluids gushed from her as the baby slipped into her waiting hands. She gasped, falling to her knees. It stirred something inside her, something she dreaded could be motherhood.

The woods were still echoing with her screams and the squalling of her baby when her belly grew stony again.

“Oh…” August said, remembering the two other babies now sliding into position, body readying her for birth again. “Hecate, help me.”

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hii!! I don't know if you're taking reqs rn but if you are could you possibly do this one Dazai x reader idea I had?

So this is based off my bsd oc who works at the ada and like she's one of the ability users there. Her ability allows her to like kind of summon the characters she writes, similar to kyouka, koyou and moris ability. However, unlike the aforementioned characters, my oc actually sees the characters like her own children. She's quite protective of them, even if they cannot die without her influence. (Overprotective mom core)

Now for the main point, it's like how dazai is with that ability of hers (fun fact: the name of the ability is 'Through our eyes'. This is subject to change but I named it that since my oc is an author and it's based off a quote I made up for one of her books 'through our eyes, we share our wounds. Yet still, the weight of your pain never decreases.') As far as I know, dazai wont be able to physically interact with her characters due to his nullification but he should still be able to talk to them. Even if Dazai isn't the type to talk to them, the characters would nag him into talking and yada yada.

This is basically it. super sorry for the long request, you can skip this if you want. Have a great day!!

Inkbound Hearts

synopsis: In a city of chaos and shadows, a writer with the power to bring her characters to life finds unexpected belonging in the Armed Detective Agency—where her fictional family begins to see a distant, broken man as their own, long before she dares admit her growing feelings for him.

content/warnings: ADA!Dazai x reader, fluff, 3.808 words

Yokohama's old train yard was a wreck of twisted steel, smoke, and chaos. Kunikida's glasses were cracked. Atsushi crouched behind a derailed cargo car, blood seeping from his shoulder. Even Ranpo was grimacing—an unsettling sight, given he rarely bothered showing up unless success was assured.

The mission had been simple: locate and retrieve a smuggled artifact tied to the Port Mafia. Low-risk. Clean. Routine.

Now the sky glowed the wrong color, a contract ability-user had unleashed something molten and monstrous, and the retrieval team stood seconds from annihilation.

Then the pages fell. Literally.

Thin, parchment-like sheets drifted from the sky, ink gleaming midair as they curled into lines of prose—sentences forming before they even touched the ground.

"What the hell—?" Kunikida began, but a shockwave swallowed his voice.

And then—

"Scatter, Rika!" "With pleasure!"

Twin voices rang out, sharp and sudden, like a snapped chord in a string quartet.

From behind a rusted crate, two figures surged forward. A girl in a high-collared tunic, wielding a serrated blade taller than herself. Beside her, a boy with a matching blade held in reverse grip, wearing a grin too wide for the moment—like war was a game and he was winning.

They moved in perfect tandem. Fluid. Calculated. Inevitable. As if their choreography had been written long before the battle began.

Steel met shadow. The beast shrieked. The twins carved through the chaos, a blur of synchronicity and sharpened edge.

Mid-leap, Rika cleaved through one of its legs. "Mom said not to overdo it." Yori laughed, narrowly dodging a writhing tentacle. "Mom also said to enjoy ourselves!"

The team stared, momentarily stunned.

Ranpo blinked. "Did… did they say mom?"

Dazai, arms loosely crossed, tilted his head. "Interesting. I didn't know the enemy had metaphors."

"No," came a voice from behind them — calm, warm, and completely unfazed by the chaos. "They're talking about me."

You stepped onto the field with a worn leather notebook in one hand and a pen behind your ear. Your clothes were scuffed with ink stains, your boots caked in dirt, and your gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

You looked down at the page in your hand — an open journal entry, half-written — and flicked your fingers once.

Another figure emerged from ink and air: a massive man in bronze armor, carrying a curved halberd glowing faintly red. He stepped between Kunikida and an oncoming beast's strike like it was nothing.

"I believe you all needed some help?"

Back at the Agency office, the mood was a strange mix of awe and exhausted suspicion.

Atsushi sat on the edge of a desk as Yosano wrapped his shoulder, but his eyes kept drifting to the twins—now perched on a filing cabinet, legs swinging in perfect sync like they didn't just go toe-to-toe with a nightmare.

Kunikida, nursing a headache, flipped through your notebook with a gloved hand.

"These aren't ability blueprints… they're actual narratives?"

You nodded from the couch, sipping tea. "Every character I write becomes someone I can summon. But only if I believe in them enough. Only if they're real to me."

"That's why they called you 'Mom'," Atsushi murmured, blinking wide-eyed.

"Exactly," you said gently. "I create them, raise them, protect them. They're family to me."

Dazai finally spoke, voice smooth as always, but eyes narrowed just slightly. "And how long have you had this… army of storybook people?"

You tilted your head. "They're not an army."

"They fought like one," he countered.

"They fight to protect what I care about. That's different."

Your gaze met his.

He held it for a beat too long.

And then: "Hm. Cute."

You weren't sure if he meant you or the answer. Probably neither.

Kunikida made noise about protocols and clearances and power thresholds, but Fukuzawa approved your placement within hours.

"Abilities born from emotional truth are rare," he said. "And dangerous. But I believe yours is grounded. That's what matters."

You introduced the Agency to a few of your mainstays:

Rika and Yori, the sword twins — chaotic, loyal, eager to duel anyone who made eye contact for too long.

Kaoru, the former soldier, stoic and quietly polite, already trading tired nods with Yosano.

Momo, the half-winged beast girl who'd accidentally eaten four of Kenji's rice balls before realizing they weren't part of her world's food system.

Rei, the tactician, who had already tried (and failed) to beat Ranpo in a riddle match.

You warned them, though.

"There will be more," you said, hand resting on your notebook. "There have to be more. I don't stop writing. I can't."

Dazai watched you closely as you said it.

Like he was reading the spaces between your words.

Yokohama's morning sun cast a warm, gold light over the bay, glinting off the windows of the Armed Detective Agency's office. The peace was deceptive, fragile—like everything else in this city.

The quiet didn't last long.

"Mom! He took my sword again!"

A blur of blue hair darted down the hall, followed by a boy only slightly taller, both no older than twelve. The slightly younger girl was puffing with righteous fury, her ornate blade now in the hands of her grinning counterpart.

"Did not! You left it in the umbrella stand!"

"Because I was drying it!"

From his desk, Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose with the restrained suffering of a man who had memorized his ideal schedule by the minute. And none of it included a sword fight before lunch.

"You know this is a government-sanctioned office, not a kindergarten, right?"

At the center of it all, standing calmly with a cup of tea in one hand and a pen behind the ear, was you.

"I'm aware," you said sweetly. You snapped your fingers once, and both children immediately froze mid-run, blinking at you like guilty puppies.

"You two—outside, five laps around the block. And no summoning elemental bursts this time, Yori, Rika."

"Yes, Mom..." the two mumbled before darting out the door with a supernatural speed that made Tanizaki flinch in his chair.

Your ability Through Our Eyes manifested as an extension of your writing—your soul, quite literally, poured into words. Whatever characters you crafted in your stories could be summoned into the real world with form, emotion, and purpose. You didn't just give them roles—you gave them lives. Names. Histories. Pain. Joy. And love.

They came to life like flickers of imagination carved into reality—some warriors, some children, some ethereal beings. They were family to you, and you were their creator, guardian... mother.

They couldn't be destroyed unless you allowed it. Pain and injury were real to them, but death was negotiable. Their connection to you wasn't just magical—it was emotional. They felt your grief, your fear, your rage—and responded in kind. When you hurt, they hurt. When you smiled, they danced in the sun.

It was an ability born of empathy and imagination—a dangerous power wrapped in softness.

Despite the initial chaos, the ADA adapted—more or less—to your unique presence. You've been with them for a few months now and you felt home here. 

Kenji had taken to your younger characters like a duck to water. He spent his breaks rolling around in the grass with them, showing them how to fish, or trying to ride the winged horse girl you wrote for a fantasy short story once.

"I think Momo's part cow," he had said once, completely straight-faced. "She's got those eyes."

Momo, the aforementioned winged girl, had mooed out of spite and kicked a lamp off the wall.

Kunikida on the other hand had not adapted.

"This is not a daycare!" he barked one afternoon as a pair of your summoned twins reenacted a pirate duel behind the filing cabinets. "There is paperwork being trampled!"

"They're technically centuries-old sword spirits," you offered helpfully. "They just like to stay in child form."

"That does not help!"

You had to rewrite one of them as allergic to ink just to keep them off his schedule sheets.

Atsushi, poor sweet boy, had no idea how to handle your characters—especially the older girls.

They'd swoop in, touch his face with curious fingers, giggle at his stammering, and coo about his "puppy eyes." One even offered to braid his hair.

Atsushi turned beet red. "I-I'm not a doll—please stop petting me—!"

You eventually had to stop a flirtatious sky-warrior named Kaida who kept calling him "My little tiger cub."

Tanizaki mostly avoided eye contact. Naomi tried to get fashion advice from one of your more stoic female characters, who unfortunately didn't understand the concept of modern clothing and suggested Naomi wear a breastplate and fur cloak.

Naomi was delighted.

Yosano was fascinated. You caught her chatting with one of your battle-worn soldier characters, Kaoru, comparing scars and talking field medicine like old war buddies. It was oddly heartwarming... until you heard Yosano ask if Kaoru had ever tried battlefield amputation for fun.

Kaoru requested to go back in the book after that.

Ranpo didn't care at first... until one of the characters, Rei, solved a riddle he was working on, then bragged about it for two days.

From that point on, they were locked in a silent battle of wits—he would leave puzzles out, Rei would try to solve them first. Ranpo always won. He never said anything. But he smiled a little wider when Rei got close.

Despite the chaos, your presence felt like a strange kind of glue. You brought warmth—messy, loud, infuriating warmth—to a place that was often soaked in darkness.

The Agency was slowly, grudgingly, adjusting to having not just one new member—but an entire cast of them.

And in the center of it all, you stood—writer, summoner, mother, and soldier—pen in one hand, stories in your heart.

Dazai didn't dislike you. In fact, that was the problem.

He watched you from the corner of his vision more often than he cared to admit—pen tucked behind your ear, hands always moving, pages scribbled in ink and coffee stains, hair mussed from the breeze your "children" caused when they rushed around the office like a thunderstorm of feelings and half-finished story arcs.

You were messy. Warm. Full of empathy that made his skin itch in a way he didn't understand.

And your ability? It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

Through Our Eyes—a strange, beautiful title for something so dangerous. The power to pull characters from your mind, from your stories, to give them shape and substance. Not just tools, not weapons. People. Emotions. Families.

It should've disturbed him.

Instead, it unsettled him. Because he could never touch them.

The first time it happened, it had been an accident.

One of the twins—Yori—had tripped near Dazai's desk. Instinctively, Dazai had reached out.

Yori vanished with a snap of nullification, evaporating mid-gasp like smoke from a snuffed-out candle.

Your head had whipped around, just in time to see Dazai's outstretched hand and the faint ripple of ability cancellation still fading from his fingers.

You didn't say anything—no anger, no blame—but your eyes… your eyes.

Hurt flickered there for just a second.

Dazai never touched them again. Kept his distance. He dodged their playful jabs, skirted around their boisterous presence, and avoided their relentless curiosity like it was a particularly persistent headache.

But they didn't take the hint.

Rika and Yori became expert annoyance artists—poking, prodding, and rattling Dazai's carefully maintained calm with relentless questions and teasing barbs.

"Why do you always look like you're hiding something?" Rika would demand, circling him like a mischievous shadow.

Yori would chime in with a grin, "You're like a puzzle wrapped in a riddle and dipped in mystery sauce."

He'd sigh, half amused and half exasperated, but they wouldn't relent.

The others joined in too. Kaoru quietly offered unsolicited advice on his posture, while Momo's sharp eyes would study him like a curious beast sizing up prey. Rei, ever the tactician, analyzed him with cool detachment, dropping cryptic comments that left Dazai wondering if he was the subject of some secret game.

No matter how much he tried to avoid them, your characters found ways to get under his skin—not physically, but emotionally.

And then, there was the breaking point.

It wasn't during a battle or an Agency mission, but a quiet moment turned sour when an offhand insult from an outsider caught one of them off guard.

Kaoru—the soldier—had heard a cruel remark, dismissive and sharp. The weight of it pressed down harder than any wound, harder than any physical pain.

Without warning, Kaoru appeared at Dazai's side, silent and steady.

Before Dazai could say a word, Kaoru reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

The world seemed to ripple—the edges blurred—and Kaoru vanished, retreating back into the worn pages of your notebook.

The office was suddenly quieter.

Later, when you found the spot where Kaoru had faded, you understood.

These characters—your family—needed refuge. When the chaos, the pain, the harshness of the real world overwhelmed them, they came to the one person who seemed able to hold that strange calm within the storm.

Dazai.

He might avoid them on purpose, but when they needed him, they found their way to him.

And when they touched him to disappear—returning to the safety of the stories—they found peace.

Until you summoned them again.

Dazai's reluctance to engage with your characters—your children— had always been clear, but beneath his cool, evasive exterior, something else was quietly unfolding.

What he didn't know was that your characters' persistent antics weren't random. They were driven by more than curiosity or mischief.

They knew.

They knew about you. About the way your gaze lingered just a bit longer when you looked at Dazai. The soft catch in your voice when his name slipped from your lips. The way you'd scribble furiously in your notebook, pages upon pages filled with stories that felt less like fiction and more like a secret confession.

Every stolen glance. Every shy smile you tried to hide behind a sip of tea.

Your feelings—careful, complicated, and still blossoming—wove themselves into the very fabric of the characters you created.

So it was no accident that Rika and Yori, Kaoru and Rei, Momo and the rest, took a particular interest in Dazai. Not just as an Agency colleague, but as a magnet for the attention they knew you wished you could give freely.

They taunted and teased him, prodded at his composure, not because they disliked him, but because they sensed his guardedness—and wanted to draw him out.

"Why do you act like you don't care?" Rika asked once, sharp eyes catching his every twitch. "We know you do."

"You're just scared to admit it," Yori grinned.

Dazai's smirk was slow to form, but when it did, it was reluctant.

What they didn't realize—what you hadn't yet voiced aloud—was that their restless energy was a reflection of your own tangled emotions.

After long days of watching the subtle dance between Dazai and your creations, you found yourself pouring those feelings onto paper.

The pen in your hand became a conduit for your heart—writing stories that blended reality and fantasy, crafting scenes where the quiet moments between two people said everything words couldn't.

You wrote about a man who was both distant and near, enigmatic but achingly familiar. A man who wore his walls like armor, yet somehow carried the weight of others on his shoulders.

Your characters echoed those stories, their personalities shaped by the nuances you poured into your pages—the laughter, the frustrations, the tenderness hidden beneath sarcasm.

And as the characters grew to like Dazai—not as a crush, but as something almost paternal, protective—they mirrored your own complex feelings, embodying a family you'd begun to build in this strange new world.

Later, in the solitude of your room—your pages scattered, your fingers stained with ink—you found yourself writing again. Not just to ease your thoughts, but to understand them.

You wrote about walls and doors. About people who closed themselves off because the idea of letting someone in had once led to ruin. You wrote about patience, about small kindnesses that chipped away at those walls without ever demanding they fall.

The next day, Dazai returned from a mission with a quiet sort of exhaustion in his eyes. No injuries, no dramatic flair. Just a weight in his shoulders that told you something had gone wrong.

He didn't speak to anyone—not even Kunikida. He simply walked to the break room, sat at the window, and stared out at the street below.

You entered a few minutes later, alone. No sword-wielding twins. No elemental bursts. No scribbled pages fluttering behind you.

Just you. And him.

You poured two cups of tea and sat down across from him without asking.

He didn't acknowledge you, but he didn't leave either.

"I rewrote Haruki," you said eventually, softly. "He didn't want to fight anymore. I changed him into a healer."

Dazai glanced sideways, having met the former soldier a few times. "And did he thank you for it?"

"No," you smiled faintly. "But he cried the first time he saved someone."

There was a long pause.

"You change them because you love them," he murmured. Not a question.

You nodded. "They grow. Just like we do."

He turned back to the window, his voice quiet but deliberate. "I don't know how to grow without breaking first."

You swallowed, the ache in your chest blooming like bruised ink.

"Then let someone hold the pieces," you said. "Even if it's just for a while."

His gaze lowered to his tea, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For the first time since you'd met, he looked… unsure. Not lost. Not masking. Just tired.

And still, he didn't leave.

Outside, the city carried on in its usual rhythm—cars moving, people walking, birds weaving across the rooftops. But inside the break room, everything had slowed, softened.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just two people, quietly sitting at the edge of something not yet spoken, but deeply felt.

The shift between you started small.

Dazai didn't seek you out—but he stopped avoiding you. He'd drift near when your characters were out, pretend he was simply walking by when really, he'd linger near the edges of your quiet presence. You learned not to startle that fragile nearness. You let him arrive and leave on his own time.

Some days, he'd speak.

Some days, he wouldn't.

But he always stayed longer than he meant to.

Once, after a mission that left half the Agency nursing burns and bruises, he showed up at your door without knocking. His coat was torn, his expression unreadable.

"I don't want to talk," he said.

You stepped aside to let him in.

He didn't speak a word for over an hour. You just sat with him. Two cups of tea between you. A soft hum of wind through the open window. One of your newer characters drifted briefly into the hallway, then vanished again at your subtle shake of the head.

Later, when he stood to leave, he paused. Something almost apologetic in the curve of his shoulders.

"Thank you," he said. Barely above a whisper.

You didn't ask for more.

It became a pattern.

Not daily. Not scheduled. But real.

He'd show up sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes between missions, sometimes with eyes hollow from seeing too much. And you would be there—with tea, with silence, or with stories if he needed them.

You never asked what happened. You never pried.

And in return, he began offering more than you expected.

He'd mention things he noticed—"You haven't eaten today," or "That new character you summoned… she's a little like you." He remembered details. Made observations that didn't seem important until they nestled under your skin hours later.

One evening, as twilight painted the Agency in amber light, Dazai sat beside you on the rooftop. Your notebook was open in your lap, ink smudging the corner of your palm.

You glanced over, feeling the weight of his presence settle like a soft exhale beside you.

"I wrote something today," you murmured.

He didn't move, but his gaze shifted to you.

You flipped to a page—not new, not recent. One that had been revisited many times. Your fingers grazed the margin where a line was underlined and circled, again and again.

"Through our eyes, we share our wounds. Yet still, the weight of your pain never decreases."

Dazai looked at you.

Really looked.

And for once, you didn't look away.

"I don't ask you to share it," you said. "I just want you to know… you don't have to carry all of it alone."

His voice, when it came, was so quiet you almost missed it.

"I don't know how not to."

You nodded, returning your gaze to the page.

"Then let us keep walking with you," you said. "Even if we can't take the weight, we can still be there."

A silence stretched between you. This time, not tense or uncertain—just full. Like something had finally shifted into place.

You didn't touch. You didn't confess.

But you stayed.

Your characters noticed, of course. They always did. They became gentler around him, even the rowdy ones. They still teased—especially Rika and Yori—but the flukes grew softer. Familiar.

They orbited him like he was part of their story now, not just a passing name in the margins.

And then one morning, as Dazai walked into the office with his usual disinterested slouch, the twins ambushed him at the doorway. They stood in front of him, not letting him pass if he didn't want to accidentally sent them back in their books when touching them.

He raised a brow. "Am I being arrested?"

"You're stalling," Rika said, eyes narrowed.

Yori nodded solemnly. "We've been patient."

Dazai sighed. "For what?"

Rika tilted her head. "For you to admit it."

"Admit what?"

Yori grinned. "That you're part of this family."

Dazai went still.

Not sarcastic. Not smiling.

Just still.

You entered the hallway a moment later, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and your notebook in the other. You paused when you saw them—but didn't interrupt.

The twins looked back at you, then up at him again.

"You can pretend all you want," Rika muttered.

"But you're not just 'some guy' anymore," Yori finished.

Dazai's gaze flicked from them… to you.

You didn't say a word. Just offered the faintest smile. Open. Steady.

He didn't answer.

But he didn't deny it either.

And that, for now, was enough.

Masterlist

[tapewormfound]

Would love to see you expand on #4 from the fic ideas you posted the other day!

In the Afterglow

Chuuya survives a mission where Corruption is used too long — too deeply. The damage is slow, not instant. It starts with migraines. Then nausea. Then his hands shake when he’s alone. The ability is no longer an on/off switch — it’s bleeding into him, eating through the borders of his mind.

At first it’s easy to hide.

He’s always had headaches — from Dazai’s voice, from Mori’s orders, from too much wine after too much blood. A couple pills, a stiff drink, and he gets through the day.

But then the nausea starts. Subtle, lingering. Like something’s off balance inside him — not quite illness, not quite exhaustion. He keeps moving.

The shaking is harder. Only when he’s alone. Only when it’s quiet. His hands twitch like they’re still remembering a fight, like something inside him never stopped.

Corruption doesn’t shut off anymore.

The red fades from his eyes, the mission ends, the enemy dies — and it’s still there. Like residue. Like radiation. He feels it when he breathes too deep. When he stands too fast. When he closes his eyes and sees nothing but light.

It’s bleeding through. Slipping past the lines Dazai used to hold. He can’t stop it. Can’t contain it.

And he doesn’t tell anyone.

Because if it’s changing him — if it’s undoing him — then he’d rather rot quietly than let them see.

Chuuya was never afraid of dying. But this — this slow erasure — this is different. This is worse.

This is being turned into something he can’t control. Again.

—

It gets worse in winter.

The cold makes the tremors more visible. The pain sharper. He stops wearing gloves — what’s the point? Let them see. Let them wonder. No one asks.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep anymore. He just wakes up in strange places. On the floor. Against a wall. Once, on the roof of headquarters, coat gone, lips cracked blue. No one mentions it. Maybe they’re afraid to.

Corruption flickers at the edges of everything now — when he walks, the ground warps slightly beneath his feet. When he speaks, sometimes his voice vibrates too low, inhuman. The ability is feeding on him, or through him. And there’s no off-switch. No Dazai. Not anymore.

He doesn’t know where Dazai went.

He never asked.

And when Dazai finally does come back — months too late, shoes dry, eyes sharp — Chuuya is already gone in the ways that count.

His body still moves. Still fights. Still drinks, even. But there’s a distance now, one Dazai can’t touch. Not with a hand. Not even with that cursed nullification of his. Because what’s breaking isn’t the ability — it’s the man underneath.

“You look like shit,” Dazai says lightly, like nothing’s changed.

Chuuya doesn’t respond. He just laughs — quiet, breathless, like he’s running out of air.

“You took too long.”

He doesn’t mean it as an accusation.

He means it as a fact.

The words hang there, weightless. Not bitter. Not angry. Just said, like stating the time.

Dazai frowns. Not the theatrical kind — the real one. Small, tight at the corners. His eyes flick over Chuuya’s frame, slow, calculating. He notices the tremor in his hand, the way he doesn’t hide it. The pale around his mouth. The slight flicker in the air around him, like heat shimmer on pavement.

“You’re not using Corruption,” Dazai says.

Chuuya doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Just keeps looking past him, like there’s something else in the room Dazai can’t see.

“I said—”

“I know what you said.”

Chuuya’s voice is flat. Distant. Not tired — something colder than that. Like fatigue that sank too deep to feel.

Dazai steps closer. Reaches for his arm without thinking, instinct. Skin to skin. Nothing activates. No weightlessness. No red glow. No rush of power. But Chuuya still flinches.

“You’re not using it,” Dazai says again, quieter this time.

Chuuya finally looks at him. Really looks.

“I never turned it off.”

Dazai stills.

It’s not confusion now. It’s dread. That sharp, cold realization that comes too late — when the blood’s already on the floor, when the damage is past undoing.

“You mean—”

“Don’t bother.” Chuuya cuts him off, eyes dull. “I already tried that. Nullification. Pills. Restraints. You name it.”

He smiles — or something like it.

“Turns out, there’s a limit to how many times a body can be rewritten before it forgets how to be human.”

And Dazai, for once, has nothing to say.

Because what do you say when the weapon you built learned how to kill itself?

I feel like a lot of people wanted more of this prompt so i hope this holds up to everyone’s standards and i hope you guys enjoyed!! :))

[toujourssbelle]

My heart is shattered with the news. I saw earlier today while at work and felt my heart sinking; this is so insane. We all knew it could lead to this — especially seeing the new political changes happening in the US currently — but seeing it be made official makes me so heart broken.

I can't stop thinking about his family, about his parents. I can't even begin to imagine the awful pain that it must be to see the son you raised and love so much being in that position, having his life used as a political PR move and strategy.

I'm trying to not panic and focus on the current fact that he hasn't been tried yet and there's a high possibility of jury nullification in the future. Also, from KFA's statement we can tell that his team is going to put up an immense fight and use everything they can to prove his innocence. Knowing that Luigi has such strong legal team makes my heart a little less distressed, because I know he's in good hands.

So, to everyone that have the means to, keep donating to Luigi's legal fund and don't stop talking about him online and using your voice and platform to spread the word about him and the corruption of not only the medical industry, but the current justice system that is trying to reap Luigi's life while at the same time defending the interests of the CEOs that destroy millions of people's lives every day. Luigi's life is not a political strategy like they're trying to make it seem, he's a human being who deserves to have a FAIR TRIAL.

[readychilledwine]

Roots

Summary - 5 years into her new life, Elain starts to wonder why she was paired with Lucien

Warnings - Fated mates, snooping, mentions of abuse, mentions of death,

A/N - Happy House of Vanserra week 💕 I am so excited for you all to see the different things we all have created. Be sure to hop over to the @thehouseofvanserra blog to see all the fun.

Ps - I very loosely edited things for this event. I'll be fixing errors once I have fresh eyes

A steady thrum echoed in Elain's ears. She could dance to the rhythmic pattern if she wanted to. She had memorized it within a month of being made. What else could she have done, though? That steady drum tied to the male she resented.

Though, if it was truly resentment, she did not truly know. Lucien was… unexpected, to say the least. So, perhaps she would wind her feelings for Lucien to that. They were an unknown and unexpected.

Elain had planned her life perfectly before all of this. She was going to marry Graysen, have 4 children, then tend to her gardens until they grew old and gray together. They'd be laid to rest under her favorite weeping tree that sat on his home. Together forever. But forever looked different now.

Being made, being turned into this, it still sat like a rock in her stomach at times. She had lost so much. Her papa, her fiancé, every sense of things familiar and comforting, but she had gained more.

She had gained a brother in Rhysand. a close friend she could rely on who gave her the energy she gave to him. She had gained Nuala and Cerridwen, second sisters who loved her for her kindness and talents. She had gained a chance to repair things with Feyre to learn who her little sister was. As little as she wanted to admit, she had also gained Lucien. A man, male, she corrected her mind, made for her.

Elain stood, her blush robe light and brushing the ground as she walked outside to her balcony. “Why him,” her voice carried to the wind, to the trees. She sighed as she looked to the moon. “Please. Tell me.”

Silence met her as it had since the Cauldron's nullification. Silence and a beat. A soft thud that synced with hers if she allowed it.

She shivered in the early autumn breeze but paused to catch the perfect leaf fluttering by. The red hues were like fire, the veining deep and tangled, enchanting her so deeply she missed that she had missed the sudden switch of magic. When she looked up, she was no longer in the Night Court. That much was clear.

The room Elain Archeron was vacant of scent or warmth. It had been emptied of life for a while. Elain did notice, though, there was not a speck of dust. It was as if the room was a relic, standing still in time. So still, that even a book remained unmoved, a dried and persevered tulip marking the reader's place in pages that had not been turned for some time.

She took tentative steps, dropping the leaf and failing to notice when it disappeared to return to its rightful owner. The book was bound in deep green leather with brown trim. The pages were yellowed with age, something she knew was common in the libraries of the fae. She flipped it over, eyes softening as she read the stitching on the front. “Flora : A Complete Botanical Study of the Autumn Court.”

The pages were dog-eared as she flipped through it, sitting on the bed to admire the text. Graceful scroll filled the margins of the thick parchment, notes about petal shape, hardiness, meaning behind the flowers. Something in her began to sing as she reached the bookmark. It was a tulip pressed and persevered. She closed the book, holding it to her chest as she continued to walk around the room.

The next thing to catch her eye was a desk. Maps were laid out on it, notes on separate paper, ink faded with age. Travel plans stared back at her. Each destination was picked with time and care. This clearly had been a trip its planner had wanted to take in one long journey. It bounced between the coast and mainlands. Nation to nation throughout the realm. Each spot had notes regarding what would be done there and during which the adventure planned on making it there by.

One city caught her eye the most. Liltwood sat across the sea, and the only note was one she had only heard rumors of as a girl “Spring Flower Festival." She snuck those plans into the book, intending on asking Rhysand about this Liltwood once she found a way to explain her sudden discovery.

This room was filled with things she longed to keep. A whittled box holding flowers pressed and enchanted, no doubt used for the same thing as the tulip in the book she held. More books than she could count regarding the Flora and Fauna of the courts of Prythian. But she also had figured out where she was. Soft clues of him lingered as if they were a ghost.

Fine clothing still sat pressed and prepared for Lucien over a changing screen. Perhaps, at some point, it was a sign of him that someone refused to let go of. An altar that they used to try to bring him home. Elain had heard the story many times, the death of the female her mate loved, his banishment from his true home.

“How ironic,” she thought to herself, that both she and the male she bound to by the Cauldron had lost their first loves and the one place they both longed to call home.

Calloused hands grabbed her upper arm, “Don't make a noise.” Lucien was whispering. “You should not be here, Elain.”

Elain spun quickly, brown eyes assessing him as he looked her over, checking for injury in case the letter sent from Eris had not gotten to him fast enough. In case she was hurt. “How did-”

Lucien interrupted her gently, “The Forest House is a living being, my lady. The second you used my key, I knew. The House knew. Everyone inside knew. Eris has been warding the door since you arrived.”

His metal eye did a quick whirl before landing on the book in her arms, “Taking my belongings, Elain?”

Her blush was a thing of beauty, covering those high cheekbones. “I- I,” she paused before trying to tap into the sass she had hidden deep down. “It was there for the taking,” she settled.

“Oh was it,” his smirk made her heart flutter, the bond tying their ribs glowing. “Let me get you home.” He walked over to the box holding the dried flowers he'd used as bookmarks before offering them to Elain.

Their hands touched, chills running down both of their spines, as she took the wooden container and hugged it close. Lucien pulled out that familiar leaf, offering his hand out. The Forest House opened that rip between courts. Lucien walked himself and Elain through it, almost rolling his eyes as they ended up in his room at the House of Wind. “Figures,” he huffed. “They're both sentient and connected.”

Elain didn't remove her hand from his, instead pulling him to sit on the bed with her. “Does your key into the Forest House always go to your room?”

Lucien glanced at her before sighing, “No, it takes me to where it believes I need to go. Typically, Eris or my mother.”

“So the Forest House believed I needed to see your former bedroom,” her hand traced the title of the book.

“Yes,” his voice was neutral, refusing to see hope where darkness had long stood. “Though, I do not know why.”

She bit her bottom lip, debating on telling him the truth. To her, it was clear as day why the leaf had taken her there. Why did the Forest House decide that's where she needed to be.

She had been looking for answers, and her hands now held them. “I.. had asked why we were.. Why the Cauldron decided I should be with you,” she paused to watch his reaction, the stilling of his breath. She didn't miss the way that beating rhythm skipped. “Do you like flowers?”

Lucien began to chuckle, his eyes meeting her, “I love them, actually. I had wanted to travel the courts when I was young to collect seeds and beg Beron for a greenhouse.” His smile was so genuine. “The house actually summoned all those books for me. I had so much spare time as a 7th son.”

She laughed at the idea of her mate doing nothing but reading. The idea of Lucien in one place seemed so silly, especially now that she held his travel plans from so many years ago in her hands.

“Tell me about your favorite flower,” she asked him.

And as if fate was smiling again, Lucien began to talk about tulips.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[ravelsquadespresso]

Chaos WIP --- what day is it now?

Xavier Calcazar IS MEAN for 350ish words straight. How dare you not choose violence?

**********************************************************************

“You should have finished them off,” Calcazar said, voice ragged from the fumes. “Chorda. Doloroso. While you had a chance.”

Amanar did not look up. She was crouched beside van Calox, slowly tracing his bloodless face, breath faint but still there. The nullification bomb had torn through him like frost through marrow. Kibellah felt the faint echo of the null field remnants flowing off him, bathing the room in oppressive grays and browns.

No, she told herself. I am not a psyker to feel that. It’s just fatigue. Just priors playing tricks on exhausted brain.

“Now they’ll retreat. Regroup. Preach. You’ve made them martyrs who lived,” Calcazar went on, pushing past a cough.

“There will be a war, Amanar. A long one. With burning fleets and blockades and Exterminatus writs. With your name in the litanies.”

“It was them dead or you alive,” Amanar snapped. “I made a choice”.

Calcazar’s eyes narrowed.

“You chose your retainers. Your high priestess. Your witch. Your man. Over your sworn duty to the Throne. Over your oath as Rogue Trader.”

Amanar stood in one fluid, predatory motion. “I owe the Imperium no lives,” she spat.

Calcazar stared, lip curled. “You don’t owe the Imperium?” he echoed, barely above a whisper. “You wear its seal over your heart. You swore—before your officers. Before my people. Van Calox was there, both times. I gave you your life back when the easier choice was to end it and salt the ash.”

He stepped closer, just beyond Kibellah’s threshold of murder. Her body tensed. One step more and she'd draw. Silent Verdict was cold under her palm, comforting.

Calcazar smirked, noticing, giving her an appraising look. You would not dare, it said.

“I spent weeks trying to defang them,” he continued, quieter now. “You had them in your sights. You let them live. And now they’ll start a fratricidal crusade.”

He looked from Amanar to van Calox.

“You’ll be killing people who should have died fighting the Eldar at your side.”

He paused.

“You think you saved the ones you love. But what you really did was buy their deaths—in daily installments.”

************************************************************************

Sending some astropathic communiques: we need some reinforcements here, or Chorda is going to eat our brains @halfelvened @avalost @fourraccoonsinacoat @just-another-pigeon @swordbisexual @nadas-dirthalen @nusaran

Pretty much anyone, consider this your tag :)

[dalishthunder]

魔羅と菩薩: Mara and the Bodhisattva

Chapter 1: An Auspicious Day

AO3 Link: 魔羅と菩薩: Mara and the Bodhisattva

Pairing: Sukuna/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 7.2k

CW: Smut, Dubcon, mentions of cannibalism, violence

Mountain air once pure, carried the heady scent of ash, the cries and screams that rang out in the town below only barely breaking the silence of the monastery halls; Untouched by all of the mayhem. There was something almost poetic about that, wasn’t there…. Buddha’s stillness speaking louder than his compassion as though he sat above it all, untouched.

Flames licked around Sukuna’s fingers as he walked, the vines that carpeted the stone floor charring where he stepped. He would level the town from the temple’s roof, watching the fires spread throughout the countryside.

A message.

A reminder.

Neither god nor mortal stood above him.

Neither god nor mortal was safe from his wrath.

Ryomen Sukuna alone, was to be feared.

Through the windows he could see them fleeing to the woods like insects scurrying from an overturned rock. As if that would protect them. His tongue f licked over his teeth.

It was going to be a massacre.

He breathed deep, the incense they used in temples was always of such fine quality. Perhaps he would take that for himself after tearing down every last Buddha. His fingers brushed against one as he passed it, scorching its vapid, smiling face.

The hall opened up to the central prayer chamber, light filtering in from the tall windows to illuminate the massive statue on the far wall. A lone figure standing in front of it as though waiting for him.

“Don’t you know that the boughs that bear most, hang lowest?” Voice low and steady, there was a defiance there; A confidence rarely found in those who bore the full weight of his gaze.

“I can’t help but notice you hold your head quite high,” The king of curses tilted his head in answer to your call.

Eyes steely and cold, you adopted a defensive stance, “And still yet lower than yours.”

Sukuna chuckled , your robes, white and plain denoted someone of faith . Perhaps a local priest… that would make the most sense. Your cursed energy flowed with a regularity usually saved for curse users or sorcerers. Interesting, though it wasn’t uncommon for the religious to exorcise curses, it did not change the fact that you were little more than a thin piece of rice paper waiting to be turned to ash .

“ Do you even know who you’ re speak ing with, Priest?”

Your expression did not change, voice did not waver as you lifted your chin. “ Do you? ”

The incredulous laugh that fell from his lips bounced off the stone walls, echoing through the halls .

When was the last time someone had had the absolute gall to speak to him that way…?

“ I think you could stand to be cut down a notch,” With a lazy flick of the wrist, he intended to slice through your ankles. It would be fun watching you writhe around on the ground like the worm you were . Helplessly watching as he tore the temple down.

Devouring you in front of your gods before toppling the mountains themselves for your insolence .

But despite seeing the slashes clearly, you still stood before him as though it were nothing to you.

His grin widened, eyes narrowed as he aimed another at your neck.

“ Is this what your wicked deeds have amounted to? Or have I been misled on the power of the great Ryomen Sukuna . ” That self-righteous look had not left your face just has your head had not left your shoulders .

A manic cackle bubbled in his throat.

This was about to get interesting.

He circled you, eyes watching you intently as he flicked another dismantle at you followed by a cleave . And the strangest thing happened; You reached your hand for it as though you’d be able to block it… and it somehow, you did.

Damage nullification? A defensive technique for a pacifist. How boring.

He lunged, slashing at your stomach, but you redirected his force with a brief touch of your hand, spinning around so that you faced his back, adjusting your stance.

Perhaps not true damage nullification then… if it were, you probably would have taken the hit head on.

Immediately, he leapt up, closing the distance once more, grabbing onto your robes to throw you at the wall only for you to twist, redirecting the momentum and slipping through the air, kicking at his face only for him to block. The force was greater than he anticipated though nothing extraordinary. What was more interesting was the lack of cursed energy behind it .

“ You’ll need more than those pathetic little smacks to do anything to me.”

You landed on your feet, blocking the next few punches with open palms, twisting and turning. It was impossible not to notice the circular pattern to your movements, or that you mostly spent your time defending. But with each hit you didn’t seem to tire, if anything that determined expression only persevered. Though each time your palm touched him to redirect the flow of his attack, it seemed as though the energy behind it was… drawn out anyway.

Sukuna hopped back with a delighted cackle, “Can you do anything other than defend, Priest? It’s getting old rather quick, so I think I’ll just burn you with the rest of the temple. ”

Flames licked up his hands as he formed an arrow.

“■ Open.”

As the words left his lips, fingers releasing, you lunged forward, hand outstretched as it met his fire. But instead of burning you, you seemed to absorb it into your body and immediately grabb ed his hand.

Cursed energy absorption…. Far more interesting than just damage nullification or mitigation. The pulls on his cursed energy had been real then. It must have only been your socks that had been cut, though it seemed you had to have some contact in order to absorb the energy.

Was it automatic?

The world spun as he felt himself being thrown to the ground, your other open palm rushing to meet his face. Your cursed energy was far greater than it was just a second ago, not enough to end him, but certainly enough that it would hurt if it hit.

He raised an arm to shield himself, catching your blow just below his elbow.

At least you were fighting back now, and with a potentially interesting technique-

Sukuna’s mind went blank as your palm made contact with his muscle, cursed energy tearing through him, rupturing his flesh. The pain was excruciating as he watched his arm burst, bathing him in his own blood and bone.

There was a second of hesitation, something in your eyes flickering.

“Renounce your ways, walk the middle path, and I will let you leave. No one need die today.” Your cadence was smooth, pleasant to listen to.

Your screams of pain would probably just as pleasant when he killed you.

A laugh bubbled in his throat as he turned his lower right eye to survey the stump that was left of that arm. It was all gone, in puddles on his kimono, all over your white robes, all the way up to his mid bicep. The pain was exquisite .

When had someone hurt him last?

Four years ago now? An assassin from the Toh had managed to pierce his liver, but nothing like this. That a random Buddhist priest in a small temple in a remote village could have such devastating power.

His grin turned feral.

“ Priest, you wound me . You really think this is enough to stop me? ” His hand whipped up to grab your neck, smacking your head down into the stone, rolling to his feet and grabbing you in a throw. “Do you think so little of me?”

Your back collided with the wall, a cry of pain escaping your lips, but you still managed to twist out of the way as he went to finish you off, palms deflecting his punches as you spun around him, elbow digging into the hollow of his back with that same bite as before though less power. But something for sure had ruptured, the taste of iron on his tongue as he whipped around.

Blood dripped down your face, coating almost the entire right side, and you wiped your eye, smearing both his and your own across your skin and sleeve. “ My offer stands.”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes as he smirked, “ Can you do it, priest? Can you kill me? ”

He lunged forward again, feinting a left jab as you before striking from the right. It just grazed your robe as you again redirected it. Your hand made contact with his skin again as you swirled around him, his energy following the flow of your movements as your fingers brushed across his back. But he was ready for it this time, kicking back, foot hitting you square in the gut.

He had expected you to go flying from the blow, but the cursed energy you’d absorbed seemed to have reinforced the area. Immediately your fingers wrapped around his ankle, drawing cursed energy from him with intent.

It didn’t take much effort to shake you off, but the cursed energy inside of you had grown in intensity; Circulating throughout your body like blood. Sukuna renewed his onslaught with vigor. He could kill you, right then and there. You bled like any other flesh and blood creature.

But when was the last time that he’d had this much fun?

“ Do it! Kill me! ” His raucous laughter echoed through the monastery, rolling down the mountain. “ Don’t you want to save those beetles scuttling around outside? If you don’t kill me here, I’ll kill again! ”

Dismantle and Cleave tore through the air around you, nicking your clothes, scouring the stones that made up the monastery, but your skin remained unscathed. A nd he laughed again, throwing his head back, enjoying the way you fought back, the way your energy bit into him as you struck back.

You were fast. Cursed energy enhancing your movements and reinforcing you, and for each bit spent, you took more from him. But even so, you r wounds began to accumulate and compound , the fight was catching up to you.

One last punch sent you flying into the Buddha statue, cracks sprouting in the stone as you fell prone. You weren’t moving, but your cursed energy still flowed, body shaking as you struggled to breathe. You’d lasted far longer than he’d imagined, and he idly wondered how far the townspeople had gotten. Not that they were of any particular consequence to him anymore….

He almost felt sated.

Almost.

“Get up, Priest,” He drawled, each of his four eyes trained on your prone form. His lips curled lazily over his teeth in a grin as he made his way towards you. “I know you’re not dead yet.”

Your limbs were heavy, head obviously still swimming from the collision as you struggled to push yourself to your feet, swallowing down your anger, you looked up at him…. It was evident from the way your lips pursed that your stomach fell as he held out his arm, flesh bubbling and stitching itself back together again as though it were nothing to him. Hands raised, poised to strike, you took a defensive stance, “Then I am not finished with you yet.”

He barked a laugh, crimson eyes ablaze, “ Finished with me? That’s the spirit, Priest, that’s the spirit ! ”

H e wiggled his fingers as he knit them back into existence, laughing at the taste of iron on his tongue… it had been so long since anyone had drawn his blood let alone this amount .

Who knew a nobody priest in this backwater mountain town could pack such power….

Defiance still radiated off of you as you glared at him, and he would have been lying if he said it did nothing for him. There were so many ways to break you.

There was of course, the straightforward physical way… your flesh bruised and bones splintered just as they would for any other human.

Snap you in half…?

No. Boring.

Rip you apart limb from limb, slowly pulling until your tendons gave way from their sockets?

Slowly he circled you, savoring the taste of his own blood on his lips, the ache from where you’d bruised him.

Fun, but not fitting .

Sukuna couldn’t help the giddy laugh that poured from his throat as he watched you, studying him as closely as he was studying you no doubt. Waiting for an opening .

He could already feel the delicious pull of his cursed energy as you dragged it out from his pores.

Eat you alive, drinking your blood as your heart pumped it out?

Not quite… though he was sure your flesh would be delicious.

“ Tell me your name, Priest. ”

You continued to watch him, shifting to always watch him with that exquisite expression on your face. Calculating. Defiant. It was exactly twelve seconds before you answered.

Collapsing the temple on top of you, allowing the stone to crush you into paste?

No…. That would be a waste.

“Why do you need to know my name, Ryomen Sukuna?”

Your voice was measured, cad e nce slow.

Wary? …No. You’d used his full name. Your words were c arefully measured to delay his ransacking of the village; Giving more time to the maggots and whelps escape.

You loved them, didn’t you?

Disgusting .

“ I like you, Priest. I want to say your name before I kill you.”

“I am not a priest - ”

His smile faltered, “Semantics. I know you’re stalling.” It took a single bound to close the gap between the two of you, reaching for your face only to have his hand smacked away, the bite of your cursed energy working through his veins. Your other hand swooping to strike at his side. You were slowing though…. Tired.

He should probably stop that before it hit.

But the blooming, sharp pain when your cursed energy had hit the last time was near euphoric….

Only the tip of your finger grazed him as he caught your wrist, letting out a low groan as you just barely nicked him. One of his eyes glanced down to confirm the purple blush of his skin where you touched him.

Flay you alive and feed you your own skin?

No. He’d been doing a lot of that lately, you deserved something more fitting, something he didn’t do so frequently ….

Carve your heart out and eat it like an apple in front of you?

Maybe…. That one felt promising.

His grasp on your wrists tightened, two of his arms pulling them above your head until only the tips of your toes touched the ground. He squeezed your cheeks until you looked like a fish. A very angry fish, and he grinned again, leaning in until his nose was just brushing yours. “I am in a very good mood right now, Priest, so I will give you another chance; Tell me your name. ”

Puncture your liver and watch you slowly bleed out on the tiles of the now ruined temple?

You could make a magnificent corpse, but no…. That one didn’t feel right either.

You jerked your head, catching one of his fingers and biting hard enough to draw blood, and he let out a breathy chuckle as he watched his blood drip from your lips before you spat your name at hi m. Eyes so full of determination and defiance.

He savored the way your name felt in his mouth as he repeated it back to you, “You should be honored .”

The fingers of his fourth hand gripped your ch e eks again, holding your head in place as he smeared his blood on your lips, little droplets falling onto your tattered white robes as you tried to pull away. He increased the pressure until your mouth was forced open and he slid the bloody digit in, coating your tongue as you gagged and thrashed in his grasp .

His eyelids fluttered leaning in, breath tickling your ear. “ Swallow. ”

You just thrashed harder, and he shifted, holding your wrists in one hand as the one now freed wrapped around your throat. “It’s not often I bleed,” He chuckled again, low and dangerous. “So savor this taste, and swallow… or I’ll hunt down every last villager and devour them in front of you.”

The muscles flexed in your neck as you complied after a few seconds, your tongue warm and wet against his skin as it slid between his fingers. His grip tightened experimentally.

Slowly squeeze the life out of you as you struggled for breath, your small fingers scrabbling against his wrists ?

Tempting.

He pushed his fingers further into your mouth, reveling in the way you gagged. And as he pressed closer, his eyes widened, grin splitting his face, a croaking chuckle in his throat.

You may have been a Buddhist, but your throat didn’t match the title .

“You’ve been holding out on me, Priest.” Releasing your neck , you gasped around his fingers, and he trailed his hand curiously down your body, sliding it into your robe.

People could be broken without killing them.

Immediately he felt his cursed energy being pulled from him in full force as you resumed your struggle with renewed vigor, biting down on the two fingers in your mout h . And then you twisted, kick catching him in the ribs as you gripped his hand. It wasn’t anywhere near the explosive power that you’d hit him with earlier, but it was enough to elicit a deep groan as he flung you against the wall again .

“ Keep it up, Priest, you’re the most entertainment I’ve had in a while. ” He cracked his neck, grin never once faltering as he admired the deep purple bruising on his hand. The blood on his claws sang to him, and he brought it to his tongue appreciatively before closing the distance before you could get to your feet and grabbing you around the throat once more. Your eyes met his, determination and defiance still sparking within them. “ So, I think I’ll keep playing with you until I grow bored.”

Sukuna’s words trailed off as he heard footsteps echoing through the cavernous prayer room.

At least 4 different sets, maybe five….

Jujutsu Sorcerers? No, the cursed energy coming from them didn’t feel anywhere near refined enough for that.

Your eyes drifted, panic evident as you focused on the doorway behind him, voice hoarse as you hissed out, “ Get out of here you idiots ! ”

He grinned as he looked over his shoulder.

Five….

This was going to be fun.

“ Bodhisattva! We came back for y-”

With a lazy flick of the wrist, one of the monks’ flesh was shredded to ribbons before he could even finish his sentence . Sukuna’s eyes lit up at your horror, your scrambling against him as you called out the m onk’s name.

He turned to face them all.

Love.

Love was easily manipulated.

“ I don’t remember inviting onlookers, but I am in a very good mood. So if you behave,” The King of Curses cackled, “I might let you live.”

The fear radiating off of them was intoxicating.

“ Kneel. ”

They fell to their knees, as all good monks should, and he turned his attention back to you. You had stopped struggling against him, but the defiance had not left your eyes.

Bodhisattva. One walking the path of Buddha, huh?

Good.

This was going to be very fun.

“ Tell me,” He pulled you close, crossing his lower arms as he looked you up and down, “Do they really make you take vows of chastity when you join the monastery ?”

Your expression remained unchanged though it was impossible to miss the gears turning in your head as though you were considering your words carefully.

One of the monks began to stammer, but Sukuna cut him off, a single eye rolling back to pin him with his gaze. “Did I somehow give you the impression I was addressing you , wo rm , or are you purposefully testing my very limited patience ? ”

“ P- please forgive me ,” Came the man’s wavering reply.

“ Know your place. ”

He raked his nails gently over your scalp before grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. “You haven’t answered my question, Bodhisattva .” The title rolled off his, and he could feel the way you swallowed, a nother hand going to undo the sash of your robe.

You grit your jaw before speaking, voice low and soft, “Indulgences of the flesh cannot quench the thirst of the soul , therefore we who seek enlightenment must abstain from the dangers of passion in all things .”

“The ‘dangers of passion’, huh?” He snorted, rolling his eyes though his grin didn’t falter. “How boring. Do you really believe that crap? Are you possessed by a fox, or are you a tengu masquerading as a human?1” He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip as his other hands pulled off your tattered robes. “Never? Not even in secret with one of your little monks? The one I just killed maybe?”

You bared your teeth in a snarl, cheeks flushed , anger burning brightly through you.

“Aw, did I hit a nerve?” Sukuna gave you a mocking pout, bringing his nose up against your own. “What’s with that expression, huh? I thought you said passion couldn’t quench the thirst of the soul.” His lips parted in a grin again, pulling away and sitting on the stone floor forcing you to hunch over, bowed before the statue of your old god.

He brought your face level with his, “You look good bowed before your new god, Bodhisattva .” The dull throb in his hand from where your technique had hit him still hadn’t fully subsided, and his eyelids drooped as he leaned in to murmur in your ear. “I think you deserve a reward for entertaining me… should I exorcise that cursed spirit from your body?”

He knew you could see your monks over his shoulder.

“Are you giving me a choice?” Your voice was stilted, cold.

“Of course,” Sukuna purred, “You’re fun, Bodhisattva, I’ll let you live for now… but the real question is,” A chuckle bubbled from deep in his chest. “If I’m bored, will I let them?”

He pulled back just enough to watch you out of the corner of his eye, feeling the way your neck flexed as you swallowed. “What would you have me do?”

“ I knew you’d make the right choice.”

He pulled you down into his lap as he leaned back. Your chest was still bound so he sharpened one of his claws, slicing through the fabric. B ut you just grit your teeth, thighs twitching reflexively as he guided them to either side of his stomach. With a wicked grin, he craned his head back to look at the monks, their gaze averted, bodies shiver ing .

It would be so easy to take you by force. Make it hurt.

“I’m being generous right now,” He drawled, hand coming to grope at your flesh, delighting in the way your thighs flexed around him as you squirmed. “ You should be grateful I’m t eaching you about those dangerous passions you avoid.”

But physical pain was easy to brush off.

They mumbled something in deference , and he turned his attention back to you, a wicked grin on his face. Despite the way your body trembled, that look of defiance hadn’t left your eyes, and he found himself chuckling.

That haughty self righteousness… he was pretty sure no amount of bodily pain he inflicted would wipe that damn expression off your face. You’d gotten a taste of his power already and still hadn’t submitted.

Though he supposed if you had, the thought of this wouldn’t have even come to mind.

“I’m about to find out if you’ve been lying,” He gripped your chin in his fingers, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Do you have anything to confess to your new god? Though I will admit they,” He gestured to the monks by the door, “Probably care more than me.”

Your stared down at him imperiously from where you were perched on his belly, your palm flat on his ribs, “ From lust springs grief and fear. For one who is wholly free of it there is no grief, and thus no fear.”

He sat up a bit at that, fingers curling in your hair and pulling, exposing your throat to him as he murmured in your ear, “ Sounds like somebody’s not doing it right then. ”

Your skin tasted of salt and sweat and blood and fear as his tongue ran the length of your jaw and Sukuna let out a content sigh as you stiffened. He dug his fingers into the meat of your thighs, holding you flush to him as he circled a thumb around your nipple until it had pebbled before pinching. Your jaw clenched, no noise escaping your lips.

That wouldn’t do.

He twisted, nipping at the inside of your thigh with the mouth on his stomach, watching as your nostrils flared, eyes widening before you blinked and stared stony faced forward even as his tongue traced the teeth marks he’d left . He raked his teeth over your throat, feeling the rapid beats of your heart against his lips as he bit down. He soothed it with the flat of his tongue, large hand cupping and kneading your chest.

Releasing your hair, he slid a hand down your body, tracing your stomach as he dipped lower, claws extending to tear through the fabric of your undergarments.

Your nostrils flared again, and he grinned, pressing his nose up against yours. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, Bodhisattva, we’re only just getting started.” Slowly he pulled the remains of the fabric from between the two of you and tossing it to the side and leaving you bare save your socks and sandals. “And I meant it when I said I would keep playing with you until I grow bored.”

His grip on your legs tightened, angling your body so you were resting lower on his belly, and he opened his second mouth to lick up the inside of your thigh.

There was more than one way to make someone hurt .

“ I’m going to make you scream. ”

Your upper lip curled in a half snarl, brows creasing, a soft murmur to yourself, “Even death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean in fear,” He nipped at your ear, two hands playing with your nipples, before laying back down to take the sight of you in, enjoying the way his cock twitched.

When his tongue finally met your slit, your eyes snapped shut, screwed up in concentration. He made a second pass, enjoying the taste of your skin and the way your thighs dug into his sides, and he reached his fingers between where your body met his, parting your folds.

Your body tensed as he pressed his tongue to your flesh once more, licking a long stripe and savoring the way your fingers twitched on his abdomen, curling, nails worrying little crescents into his skin. Cursed energy pulsed through you, fluctuating in intensity, drawing on his own.

Not with intent. Not like before.

He almost wondered if that was simply your state of being.

What would happen if you were denied that?

How much could you absorb at once? You’d been able to absorb plenty from his techniques earlier, but techniques were efficient in their use of cursed energy, refined .

Sukuna slid his tongue up, reaching the bump at the top of your slit, and your eyes shot open, sweat beading on your brow; That defiant concentration warped but still present, and you let out a sharp breath when he repeated the action. You blinked, inhaling deeply as he continued to lap at you, fixing your stoic mask back back in place despite the way your body trembled with each pass.

He placed a hand over your own, pressing it harder into his abdomen as he channeled cursed energy through that area. Immediately, you attempted to wrench your hand away, but he held it steadfast in place, meeting your gaze with a wicked smile. Sure enough, you absorbed it, another shaky breath escaping your lips, and he let out a wanton moan as he felt it leave his body.

It was somehow better than he’d originally imagined.

“Hey, Bodhisattva,” Sukuna tightened his grip on your thighs, tongue finding your entrance and teasing it, “I can’t help but notice how wet you are. Could it be that you’re enjoying these so called dangerous passions?”

The way your muscles tensed and jaw clenched was answer enough.

His tongue pressed against your entrance, and you rewarded him with another shaky breath, nails digging into the skin of his stomach. It was a tight fit, only managing to get the tip of it in, but the sweat dripping from your brow, lips pursing into a thin line was worth it.

Maybe you were telling the truth about your religious self-imposed chastity.

Though he really didn’t know much about any of that if he were being honest. Such mundane human things were of little interest to him.

A single eye rolled back to watch the monks while he continued twisting his tongue. “ Bodhisattva , don’t you know it’s a sin to lie? It’s obvious you’ve been messing around with someone .” He spoke loud enough for your followers to hear, heads bowed too low to see their faces though their ears flushed. His smirk widened as your nostrils flared, calm facade dropping for a moment as you dug your nails further into his ski n, blood welling around them and dripping into his mouth, and he arched his back with a low groan .

It was going to be so much fun breaking you.

A hand came up to lightly encircle your throat, the other stopped playing with your nipples to trail down your stomach thumb finding your clit. Immediately, he felt your walls clench around his tongue, and he laughed. “Are you getting off on this? Are you really that needy?”

“ You’re a filthy liar, ” You spat back, clamping your mouth shut for a second when his thumb made a lazy circle. You regained your composure after a moment, “ Just as the earth itself stood witness for Buddha G- Gautama’s grace , it too will bear witness to y- ” You let out a shuddering breath, “Your lies.”

Sukuna laughed once more, digging his claws into the meat of your thighs, “You can invoke whatever holy shit you want with your mouth, but this,” He slid his fingers between your bodies once more, extricating his tongue so he could replace it with them, “Doesn’t lie.”

For a second it almost looked like you were going to take his bait, lips stretching into a snarl before you closed your eyes, facing giving way to that vapid equanimity of a Buddha. Oh well…. He was none too gentle as he pressed his middle finger into your slick hole.

Aside from a twitch of your mouth, and the way your walls hugged his digit, you offered no reaction. You were tight even after having worked his tongue into you, it was impossible not to notice the rigidity of your body.

He added a second finger, noting how the corners of your mouth turned down, though your walls hugged him shamelessly. Experimentally, he pumped his fingers several times, but again, you offered very little in return other than a dripping cunt and what he could only call a sneer.

And for a moment, he wondered if perhaps drawing out that passion from you would be more complicated than he’d originally anticipated. Sukuna could count on two hands the amount of times he had dabbled in lust only to find that sex really wasn’t all it was hyped up to be. It was enjoyable, sure, but not that much more enjoyable than his own hand, and with that he could at least nap afterward…. And he hadn’t particularly cared about getting his partners off; They usually broke when he played with them too roughly. He much preferred eating people, if he were honest.

With you though….

Making a Bodhisattva scream as the passions they so avidly avoided consumed them…. Corrupted them….

That would be fun.

He ground the palm of his hand against your clit, and you jolted as though struck, facade cracking once more. Grin widening, he did it again, twisting his hand, skin dragging against your bud as he pumped his fingers.

The King of Curses was nothing if not a quick study; Even when he had been small and weak, there were none who had been able to best his cunning. Just as he had read you when you fought, he could read you now, the way you twitched around him, fingers digging into the flesh of his stomach, heart rate speeding up… no matter the stoic face you tried to put on, you had tells.

Your eyes were almost as calculating as his as you tried to subtly take in the details around you, looking anywhere but him. Cheeks red, skin slicked with sweat and blood, sex practically weeping into his open mouth, you were downright sinful.

“I wonder how many of those monks wanted you like this,” Taunted Sukuna, eyes fixated on both you and the monks behind him as he sat knuckle deep within you. “Judging by how taut their bodies are, I’d say more than a few, wouldn’t you? Are they your harem, Bodhisattva? Do you bring all the good little monks to the land of Buddha Amitabha?”

With each word your ears turned redder, facade cracking more and more, but the way you clenched around his fingers was absolutely decadent. He spread his fingers in retaliation, pushing against your slick walls.

Your breaths were heavy now, tremors running through you with each stroke, each time his ground his palm against you, and he wiggled his fingers inside you. The mask of stoicism you’d worn broke around your eyes first, calm replaced by a rising panic, wide, feral. While you’d been good and taken it before, energy surged through you as you began to struggle. Body taut as a bowstring ready to fire.

Oh.

Oh.

Sukuna’s eyes sharpened, lips splitting over his teeth in excitement.

This was your first one, wasn’t it?

“How precious. You really are full of surprises for me.” His laugh bounced around the walls, “Don’t you want to taste Nirvana, Bodhisattva?”

You tried to look away, but his hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his crimson gaze as he pressed the heel of his hand against your pearl, making an exaggerated circle. There was only so long you could hold out, quivering on the edge. “Stop holding onto your arrow. I want to see it pierce the heavens.”

And then he licked over his hand, and your back arched, shuddering as your fluttered around his fingers. Though you remained silent, the way your eyelids drooped, mouth falling slack as you lost yourself was deeply gratifying.

After a few seconds, he pulled out, replacing his fingers with his tongue once more to lap at your weeping entrance. Your body shook with each pass, and you began trying to pull away to his amusement. When your eyes finally met his again, there was beautiful mixture of panic and disdain swirling within, and he made a show of bringing his fingers to his upper mouth and sucking on them with an exaggerated moan.

And at that moment, it was impossible to miss the fleeting glimmer of fascination that flashed for a split second behind your eyes. Gone just as quickly as it came, you clawed at him, using your technique to push cursed energy into him the way you had before. Not controlled enough to do more than bruise him though, you were unfocused and he had learned this trick of your already, but the pain was still euphoric as he arched his own back with a shameless moan, cock uncomfortably hard in his pants.

Still he held you fast to him despite your struggle, your body already starting to show the signs of another build-up. Faster this time as Sukuna pressed his tongue into you, wedging himself deep than he had before.

“T- too much.”

“I don’t think you understand, so let me be very clear, Bodhisattva,” He drawled as his claws dug into the fat of your ass. The sounds your body made for him were obscene, lewd and wet despite your commitment not to moan for him. “I will drink my fill of you, then, and only then, I will pour myself into what remains.”

It wasn’t long before he’d pushed you over the edge again, doubling in on yourself forehead bowed as you shook.

Part of him wondered if he should go for seven to let your soul cross over, but his pants were already uncomfortably tented despite how loose they normally hung. He undid them, pushing them down, hissing as the fabric dragged over his stiffness.

Finally, his grip loosened on your hips, pulling you up enough to have you straddle his hips as you came down from your high. Your eyes bulged as you looked down, focus flitting between his shaft and his face.

“What are you waiting for, Bodhisattva?” He sneered, sarcasm dripping from your title, “Bring me to Amitabha’s pure land.”

A snort escaped his nose at your hesitation, “I don’t think he needs that arm, do you?”

Before you could react, Sukuna flicked his wrist at the monk furthest to the left, severing the appendage in a spray of blood, watching as the color drained from your face. A knowing look of horror enveloped you, and he couldn’t help the cackle that spilled from his lips, drowning out the monk’s screams of pain.

Another hand gripping your chin and wiggled it as he gave you a mock pout, “If only their great Bodhisattva cared enough to distract the capricious curse that besieged the temple.”

Anger.

Hatred.

Fear.

He devoured it all with a lazy smile as you stared at him, “Are you going to spear yourself on me, or would you like me to take his other arm? Or maybe a leg, if you’re quick, I’ll let you choose which.”

Your fingers wrapped around his member, and he gave you a heated look and a warning, “You even think of trying that delicious cursed technique of yours on that, and I will level this mountain and burn the countryside to ash as I eat every single inhabitant in front of you.”

You swallowed in response, lips curling down, eyes cold and calculating once more. However, you opted to waste no time, hand beginning to work over his shaft before lining him up with your entrance and lowering yourself onto him. He hummed in pleasure as his tip breached your entrance, putting an arm behind his head to prop it up as he watched you slowly engulf him.

“Make sure to take all of me, Bodhisattva,” Voice laced with lust, two hand snaked over your form, playing with your nipples and kneading the fat there. You slowed past the halfway point, face scrunched up as you struggled to take more.

“Don’t give up, I know you can do it,” He teased, claws lengthening as he dug the tips into your skin, “It’s only fair that you bring me to the pure lands of bliss when I was so gracious in teaching you about Nirvana.”

“Is there a single word within you that isn’t seeped in hate?” You snapped back, hands resting on his lower pecs as you adjusted yourself. “A single thought in your head untouched by malice?”

Sukuna gave you a mock pout again, hand stroking his chin as though he were thinking, before his lips split into a grin once more, “No. Can’t find one.”

“Why?”

He cackled, snapping his hips up and burying the rest of his length into you as you gasped, “Would you ask the ocean why it must crash against the shore? The thunder why it must light up the sky?” He gripped your hair, pulling it roughly, “Your question is dumb as is your premise.”

You clenched around him and he let out a content moan, and after a few seconds, you began to rock your hips. Rhythm slow, experimental, and he rolled his eyes, bucking into you to disrupt your cadence. “You can do better than that.”

Sweat slicked your skin as you increased the tempo, eyes closed though whether in concentration or trying to pretend you were somewhere else wasn’t clear, so he reached up to lay a hand on your throat. He could feel the way your muscles contracted as you swallowed. You clenched around him again, your tight heat already almost overwhelming as he let out another shameless moan. “That’s it.”

It wasn’t long before he was matching your pace, thrusting up into you eyelids fluttering shut as you squeezed him again, almost as hot as the flames that threatened to immolate him from within. He slid out his lower tongue, arching his back so he could taste the salt on your skin, snaking lower until he ran it over your clit and you jolted, pulsing around him.

A throaty chuckle bubbled from his chest, and he reached a hand down to start rubbing fast circles around that little nub. “You’re going to come undone on my cock, Bodhisattva, I haven’t had my fill just yet.”

You let out a stuttering breath, walls hugging him so tightly he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to pull out. Just as euphoric as the pain you’d subjected him to moments before. It wasn’t long before your body was pulled taut once more, hanging on the precipice and impossibly tight around him.

You remained that way for a while, his own hips stuttering in pleasure at moments as he tried to push you over. He dug his fingers into your hair again, nails scraping against your scalp as he pulled again.

Though no sound escaped your throat, the way your back arched, walls squeezing and fluttering around him, a low and visceral growl was pulled from him, and he sped up, riding the high as long as it would carry him. He continued fucking you through your orgasm, past the point where you were a spasming mess above him, chasing his own pleasure.

“H-hey, Bodhisattva, you ready to show me that pure land?”

Your nails dug into his skin and buried himself to the hilt, spilling himself in you.

Sukuna sank boneless onto the floor, only vaguely aware of the blissful, sleepy grin on his face. After a few deep breaths, he finally cracked one eye open and fixing it on you. Utterly debauched, his seed leaking out from where you were still joined. He reached down, dipping his fingers into the mixture of blood, slick, and cum.

Idly he wrote his name on your stomach with the mess on his fingers.

“What’s that look for?” He asked with a smirk.

You watched him with tired disdain.

“Kill me.”

Slowly Sukuna’s grin widened, “And here I was about to offer you a deal, Crane.”

You sighed in defeat.

What an auspicious day.

[onesiesdaydream]

I come back to your inbox humbly asking for an angsty hurt/comfort(?) scenario with Chuuya amd Dazai, basically during a mission or like some agency case an ability user with a mind control ability hijacks Readers body and is basically holding them hostage until Chuuya/Dazai figure out a way to free them(i dont think Dazai can just nullify it by touching reader if we take into account his way of nullifying Q’s ability)

Parasite I Dazai Osamu x Platonic! Reader x Chuuya Nakahara

Summary: Chuuya and Dazai charge in to pull you back from the brink, turning a near-disaster into a reminder that you’re stuck with each other.

A/N: Sorry for taking so long on this one, love! Sometimes life (and stories) don’t move as fast as I want them to. Thanks a ton for hanging in there with me — you’re the best. Hope you enjoy it!❤️

TW: This story includes themes of mind control and possession, physical injury, and psychological distress. There are scenes involving a parasitic invasion, blood, and medical treatment. If any of these topics are difficult for you, please take care while reading.

MASTERLIST

They hadn’t expected things to go this wrong.

It was supposed to be a routine retrieval—intel said the ability user was low-threat, known for petty blackmail and mind games, nothing more. The three of you had split off from the rest of the team to corner him in a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of Yokohama. No signs of resistance. No signs of a trap.

Then the screaming started.

By the time Chuuya and Dazai fought their way into the building, you were already gone. Not physically—you were still on the comms, briefly. Just long enough to tell them to turn back, that something was wrong, before your voice warped into something else entirely.

Then silence.

Now, they were running.

The warehouse was cold—too cold. The concrete walls echoed with nothing but the frantic drag of footsteps and the low, panicked breath of Chuuya Nakahara as he sprinted through the dark corridor.

“She’s in here!” he barked into his comm, boot colliding with the steel door.

Dazai appeared a moment later, his usually unreadable face pulled tight with tension. “We don’t have time. The longer that parasite stays latched, the more damage it’s doing.”

“Then let’s move,” Chuuya snapped, throwing his shoulder against the rusted door.

Inside, they found you.

You stood in the center of the room, still as stone, head tilted at a wrong, unnatural angle. Your eyes—usually warm, so full of fight—were dull. Off. Watching them with the eerie calm of something that wasn’t you.

“Ah,” your voice cooed, laced with something foreign. “The mafia's little dogs have come to fetch their pet.”

Chuuya’s knuckles went white. “Get the hell out of her.”

Dazai held out an arm, cautioning him. “That’s not her talking.”

You smiled, slow and venomous, and stepped forward. There was a twitch in your jaw, a brief flash of resistance that flickered and died just as quickly. It was like watching a puppet trying to chew through its own strings.

“She’s fighting it,” Dazai said quietly. “But not for long.”

The parasite wasn’t like Q’s ability—it wasn’t just about madness or manipulation. This was physical. A parasitic ability, burrowed somewhere inside your body, anchoring itself in your nervous system. Dazai’s nullification could work—but only if they exposed the core of the parasite.

Which meant hurting you.

Dazai pulled something small and black from his coat: a stun-needle Chuuya had stolen off the black market last year. “We don’t have another option.”

“I’m not hurting her,” Chuuya said immediately. “You know I won’t.”

“Then I will,” Dazai said softly. “But you need to hold her down.”

You lunged—too fast, too sharp—and Chuuya caught you mid-sprint, wrapping his arms around your thrashing form, trying not to hear the animal sounds you made as the parasite fought back.

“I’ve got you—I’ve got you, okay?” he whispered, holding on even as your body jerked violently in his arms. “You’re gonna be fine, just hold on—hold on for me, please.”

Dazai moved fast. Ripped open the back of your shirt, fingers pressing around your spine until he felt the heat—an unnatural pulse just beneath your skin. The parasite coiled there, near your shoulder blade, squirming at his touch.

“Here we go,” he murmured.

The blade cut deep. Chuuya flinched as you screamed—your own voice, this time, not the puppetmaster’s. Your head thrashed, your hands clawing at Chuuya’s sleeves, but he didn’t let go.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, choking on the words. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Dazai reached into the wound, fingers blood-slick and surgical. Then-

Got it.

The thing squirmed between his fingers, leech-like and black and twitching.

With a flick of his ability, it crumbled into dust.

You collapsed.

Silence.

You woke to soft light and sterile sheets. Your whole body ached—like fire under your skin—but you were warm, clean, and… safe.

The infirmary smelled like antiseptic and fresh linen. The steady hum of the ventilation above you was oddly comforting.

You blinked up at the ceiling, trying to steady your breath. Every muscle in your body ached, your back especially—an echo of pain radiating from the stitched wound. But compared to what you’d felt before, this was nothing. Just pain. Manageable. Real.

Your fingers twitched under the blanket.

A chair creaked beside you.

“Hey,” Chuuya’s voice was quiet, hoarse from disuse. “You with me?”

You turned your head and saw him slouched next to your bed, one hand buried in his coat pocket, the other clenching his phone like he’d been waiting for hours—for days.

Chuuya stood slowly and leaned over you, brushing a knuckle just barely over your temple, like he wasn’t sure if touching you would hurt.

“You had us scared shitless, y’know that?” he muttered, eyes narrowed but wet at the edges.

You tried to speak, but your throat was raw. All that came out was a rasp. Chuuya immediately reached for the water on your bedside table and helped you drink, steadying the glass with a hand that trembled just slightly.

“I… made it?” you croaked.

“Yeah. You did,” Chuuya said, and the tension in his shoulders dropped just a little.

On the far wall, Dazai looked up from a medical report, arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable—but softer than usual.

“You look terrible,” he said lightly, coming over. “Which means you’re going to be fine.”

You tried to sit up and winced. Pain exploded down your spine. Chuuya was at your side in an instant.

“Easy,” he said, gently easing you back down. “You took a blade to the back, remember?”

“I remember,” you whispered. “I remember everything. I couldn’t move. I was trapped inside my own body. I could hear you both, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t answer.”

Dazai leaned forward, expression more serious now. “That’s how the parasite works. Full override. You were lucky to stay conscious at all.”

You swallowed hard, voice cracking. “I tried to fight it. I did. But it felt like it was digging into me. Like it was part of me.”

“You fought harder than anyone else could have,” Chuuya said quietly. “We saw it. You slowed it down. You gave us the opening.”

You turned away slightly, tears slipping past your lashes before you could stop them. “I’m sorry. I—I could’ve hurt you. I wanted to. I wasn’t in control but it was like… part of me was still trying.”

“Don’t do that,” Chuuya said firmly. “Don’t blame yourself for something someone else did to you. You didn’t fail. You made it home.”

You wiped at your eyes, but Dazai’s coat was already tossed over you like a blanket, warm and worn. “We’ve all been there. Mind control, possession, psychological torment—it’s practically a rite of passage in our line of work.”

Chuuya gave him a sharp look. “Maybe don’t say it like that while she’s literally full of stitches, dumbass.”

But you smiled faintly. “Thanks. Both of you.”

Dazai shrugged one shoulder, but he didn’t hide the flicker of relief that crossed his face. “Just don’t make a habit of getting brain-hijacked. It’s bad for morale.”

Chuuya pulled up the blanket around you a bit more. “You’re gonna be out for a while. We’ll be here.”

“You don’t have to stay,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed how much you didn’t want them to leave.

Chuuya scoffed. “Not a damn chance.”

Dazai moved to the empty cot beside yours and flopped down onto it like it was his personal couch. “Wake me up if she tries to dramatically code out again.”

“Real comforting, jackass,” Chuuya muttered, but he didn’t move from your bedside.

There was a long, quiet moment.

Then Chuuya leaned forward, resting his arms on the bed rail, close but not touching you unless you reached first.

“You scared me,” he said, voice almost inaudible. “And I don’t scare easy.”

You blinked at him, startled. He wasn’t looking at you—just watching the blanket rise and fall with your breath.

“I’ve seen a lot of shit,” he continued, “but watching you hurt, knowing you were still in there, trying to get out…” He clenched his jaw. “If we’d been a minute later—”

“But you weren’t,” you said softly.

Chuuya finally looked at you, then down at your hand resting on the blanket.

He covered it gently with his.

“No,” he said. “We weren’t.”

A few days had passed.

Your body was healing, slowly. The pain in your back dulled from white-hot to a deep, manageable ache, and the worst of the muscle spasms had stopped. You could sit up now without help—though Chuuya still hovered like a bodyguard with a nursing license.

He was surprisingly gentle with the bandage changes.

“Try not to flinch,” he muttered as he peeled the gauze away, careful not to tug too fast. “You’ll just reopen the scab if you jerk around.”

“I’m not flinching,” you said, biting your cheek. “I’m wincing. Very different.”

“Tch. Don’t sass your medic.”

“You’re not a medic.”

“I am now.”

Chuuya dabbed antiseptic over the edge of the stitched wound, brows pinched in focus. He looked exhausted, circles under his eyes and a faint scab healing along his neck—your doing, probably. He hadn’t once brought it up.

You glanced past him, across the room.

Dazai was sitting in the windowsill, flipping through a thin paperback he hadn’t turned a page of in ten minutes. His long coat was draped over the back of your chair, his scarf still hanging from one sleeve.

“Why are you still here?” you asked suddenly.

Dazai looked up, surprised. “You trying to get rid of us already?”

“I just…” You hesitated. “You don’t usually stay for cleanup.”

Chuuya snorted, not looking up. “Believe me, I was shocked too.”

Dazai stretched out one leg and tilted his head lazily. “Normally I’d say something flippant—‘I was bored’, or ‘the vending machine here has better snacks’—but…” His gaze met yours. Calm. Honest.

“You’re part of the team,” he said simply. “Even I don’t walk out on that.”

The words settled in your chest like warmth spreading through your ribs. No dramatics, no false cheer. Just truth, the rare kind Dazai only gave when it mattered.

He turned back to his book like it hadn’t meant anything. “Besides, if I left you alone with Chuuya, you’d be bored to death by his micromanaging.”

“You say ‘micromanaging,’ I say ‘doing it right,’” Chuuya grumbled, taping a fresh bandage in place. “There. All done.”

You sat up slowly and let out a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

Chuuya looked at you, really looked—his eyes scanning your face like he still didn’t quite believe you were okay. Then, softly:

“You scared the hell outta me, y’know.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head.

“Don’t say sorry again,” he added. “You already did. Just…” He reached out and adjusted your blanket without meeting your eyes. “Don’t do it again.”

You nodded. Quietly. “I’ll try.”

There was a silence. Comfortable, now.

Then Dazai stood, brushing nonexistent lint from his shirt. “Since you’re no longer writhing in agony, I assume it’s safe to bring you real food again.”

Chuuya arched a brow. “You mean instead of smuggling in all those horrible convenience store snacks?”

“I’ll have you know she requested those,” Dazai said airily. “Apparently the hospital miso soup was offensive.”

“It was,” you agreed, grimacing. “I’m still traumatized.”

Dazai smiled faintly and turned toward the door. “I’ll be back in ten. Don’t let her escape.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Chuuya said, nudging your shoulder. “She’s got stitches the size of a freight line.”

“Still faster than you,” you mumbled, and Chuuya let out an incredulous laugh.

When Dazai returned, he brought soup, rice, and some weird sugary drink he claimed would “restore your will to live.”

You sat between them, shoulder brushing Chuuya’s, knees tucked up under the blanket Dazai had thrown over you earlier. No one spoke much, but you didn’t need to.

The worst had passed.

And even though you still ached, even though the memory of that thing inside you made your skin crawl, you felt grounded. Steady. Because they’d pulled you back, piece by piece. And they were still here—not because they had to be, but because they chose to be.

That was something stronger than any parasite. Stronger than fear.

That was family.

The apartment wasn’t big, but it was warm. Lived-in.

Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting soft gold across the low coffee table and the rumpled blanket someone had tossed over the back of the couch. You sat cross-legged on the floor, nursing a mug of tea that had gone lukewarm while you zoned out watching the steam fade.

Your body still ached if you moved too fast. The wound along your back pulled when you bent a certain way, and your sleep was fractured—shadows of the parasite’s control sometimes chasing you into half-lucid dreams. But it was better. Every day a little more of yourself came back.

The TV played something low and mindless. A nature documentary. Chuuya was sprawled sideways on the couch behind you, one arm hanging off the edge, absentmindedly twirling a pen between his fingers.

“You’re staring again,” you said, not turning around.

“I’m not,” he lied smoothly.

“You are. I can feel it.”

“I’m just making sure you’re not about to keel over and smash your head on the table.”

You smirked faintly into your mug. “That would be impressive considering I’ve been sitting perfectly still for the last hour.”

“That’s exactly when people do dumb shit.”

You looked back at him over your shoulder. “You can stop hovering, y’know. I’m not gonna drop dead on your carpet.”

Chuuya gave you a look. “That’s exactly what someone who’s about to drop dead would say.”

You laughed, dry but real. The sound seemed to settle something in him—he shifted down onto the floor beside you, close but not crowding, and took a sip from his own mug. Coffee, probably. Chuuya didn’t do herbal.

“Where’s Dazai?” you asked.

“Out,” Chuuya said, rolling his eyes. “He left a note that said ‘Don’t wait up’ and drew a little octopus with sunglasses.”

You snorted. “Was he… okay? Lately?”

“He’s Dazai,” Chuuya said with a sigh. “Which means yes, and also no, and also probably setting something on fire just to see how long it burns.”

But his tone wasn’t bitter—more resigned. Familiar. Like he knew Dazai’s rhythms better than anyone and didn’t expect them to change, only to cycle.

“I think it shook him,” you said quietly. “What happened. With me.”

Chuuya was quiet for a beat.

“Yeah,” he said. “It did.”

You looked down into your tea. “He hides it better than you.”

“I don’t hide anything,” Chuuya said. “I just swear a lot instead.”

The front door clicked open a moment later.

Speak of the devil.

Dazai stepped in, coat slung over one arm, scarf missing. He looked slightly windblown, one hand holding a plastic bag that he dramatically wiggled in the air.

“I come bearing gifts,” he said. “And by gifts, I mean sugar.”

He set the bag on the table, revealing a lopsided assortment of mochi, cream puffs, and some neon-pink drink that probably shouldn’t be legally ingestible.

Chuuya made a face. “That’s not food. That’s a health hazard.”

“That’s joy, Chuuya. You should try it sometime.”

You smiled tiredly and reached for one of the mochi. “Thanks.”

Dazai sat on the arm of the couch, eyes flicking over you. “How’s your pain today?”

“Manageable. Still sore. Still tired.”

He nodded. “That’s human, at least.”

The three of you sat in the soft quiet that came after shared catastrophe—no urgent mission, no blood in the air, no need to speak just to fill silence. You leaned sideways until your shoulder pressed against Chuuya’s, and he shifted just enough to steady you.

Dazai, surprisingly, didn’t make a joke. Just rested his chin in his hand and watched the light play across the hardwood floor.

“I know I said it already,” you murmured, “but… thanks. For not giving up on me.”

“Please,” Dazai said, voice mild. “Do you know how hard it is to find people who don’t scream when I walk into a room?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “He means ‘you’re welcome.’”

You grinned.

Outside, a breeze rustled the balcony plants you hadn’t managed to kill yet.

Inside, you sat between two dangerous, complicated men—one a walking contradiction, the other a knife in a velvet glove—and for the first time in weeks, the weight in your chest didn’t feel unbearable.

You were healing.

And you weren’t doing it alone.

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 2)

Nullification!reader Human reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous - next

Everything was moving and not in slow motion. The movies lied. Edward was standing at least six meters away from her, gawking in complete terror. Y/N wasn’t quite sure why his mask of horror stood out from the rest of the crowd or why her eyes were drawn to him.

The dark blue van was now skidding towards her, brakes squealing. 

It was the rain, it had turned the light snow to sleet causing the roads to become slick. Y/N was standing between a parked car and the skidding van. There was nowhere to move. It was going to hit her no matter what she did and Y/N didn’t even have time to blink.

There was no crunch, but something had knocked Y/N over. She had hit the ground hard, head smashed against the wet gravel. Something hard was pinning her to the ground and she had no idea where it came from. The van was still coming, still hurtling towards her, spinning, still about to collide with Y/N.

A recognisable voice let out a grunt, followed by long white hands that reached out defensively in front of Y/N, bringing the van to a shuddering halt, a ruler’s length away from her face. Y/N let out a gasp, watching the cold mist puff out, grazing the surface of the van.

‘Y/N? Are you hurt? Y/N?’ Edward’s low voice was panic-stricken. His eyes were wide, pupils trembling.

‘I, I’m fine.’ Her voice, raspy, and scratchy. Blinking, she tried to sit up, but Edward was clutching her in a vice-like grip against his body. 

It seemed like Edwards hands had dented the van.

‘Stay still, I'll carry you. You need to go to the hospital. You could have a concussion.’ His teeth were gritted, he looked, scared? How strange. It wasn't as if she was Bella. Her death wouldn't have changed the storyline. Why had he saved her/ And why did he look so upset?

‘Are you okay Edward?’ Y/N whispered, slightly breathless.

‘Huh?’ The boy blinked in surprise, gazing down at the (possibly) concussed girl. ‘You almost got crushed by a van and you’re asking me if I’m okay?’ His tone was incredulous, his jaw slack.

“I mean, you look terrified and you… You were the one who stopped the van..’ She gave him a shrug, before wincing, clutching her shoulder with opposite hand.

‘Ah, your shoulder, is it hurt?’ He cringed, picking up his pace toward his car, the famed Volvo S60. Edward was conveniently avoiding her comments. 

‘It feels iffy. I-’ Y/N grasped onto Edwards shirt after he shifted her onto his one arm to reach for his keys. 

‘Ow.’ She mumbled, fingers gripping onto his sleeve. She let her head rest on his chest for a second, eyes wrung tight. He was cool, like a popsicle except, dry? It was weird how no one else in the school had noticed they weren't normal beside the fact that they were devastatingly good looking.

‘Ah, sorry.’ Y/N released his shirt, flustered by her sudden vulnerability. ‘I didn’t mean to. I-’ The red cheeked girl rambled, waving her hands around.

‘We’re going to the hospital. Come on.’ He tucked the girl's body into the passenger seat and grabbed her seatbelt. 

‘Mm, you’re cold.’ Y/N blinked sleepily, head resting on Edward’s lingering hand on her seatbelt. His car had been running earlier, possibly ready for him to leave as soon as possible. Unsurprisingly the heater was not on.

‘Y/N?’ Edward frantically fastened her seatbelt, his was soft, and melodic. ‘Y/N don’t fall asleep.’ The boy was insistent, cold, marble like hands brushing over her face.

‘Just gonna close my eyes.’ Y/N mumbled, eyes closing,  relishing in the cold smooth skin brushing over her forehead. His touch was gentle, almost as if touching a polished, prized relic 

‘Y/N stay awake for me, come on.’ 

‘If I stay awake, will you drive me home?’ Y/N mumbled, blinking blearily at the concerned boy.

‘No, Y/N we’re going to the hospital.’ Edward reluctantly drew back his hand and closed her door before rushing into the driver's seat.  ‘I think you have a concussion.’

The grip Cullen had with one hand, seemed to be a hair away from crushing the steering wheel. His jaw was set and his eyes kept flickering to Y/N’s face. The other hand was firmly covering his mouth and chin with his palm. He looked anxious, his eyebrows were drawn together into a high pinch.

‘Hey, Why do you hate me? It’s my first day, I haven’t done anything yet.’ Y/N whispered, hey eyes closing again, laying her head on the car window. She opened one eye, glancing at Edward. His eyes flickered to hers, face contorting into a small frown.

‘You.. you elude me. I can’t figure you out.’ He grimaced, eyes now back on the road. ‘It’s like you make everything quieter. I can't hear anything when I'm around you.’ 

‘Hear anything?’ Y/N’s eyebrows twitched. ‘What do you mean? I barely talked to you. Not to mention you basically told me to fuck right off at lunch.’

She glared into the side of Edwards face, hoping he felt her points, figuratively and literally. Did this mean he couldn't hear her thoughts?

‘Ah, that. Forgive me, change is not something I’m used to. You had me quite confused.’ The boy tried for a smile that fell flat. He seemed to be trying to convince himself more than anything else. 

He pulled into the parking lot, rushing to the passenger side after parking. With an insistent arm around Y/N’s waist, he led her to the emergency room and sped off to talk to a nurse. 

‘Ah, Miss Y/N L/N!’ A smooth voice called her name. With the way he walked and his blonde hair and golden eyes, this had to be Carlisle Cullen.

‘Y/N/N!’ Charlie was charging towards her, barreling past Carlisle, who was going in the same direction. ‘Who the hell was it? Their licence is being revoked today.’ He was fuming, hands on his hips in a fatherly way. It made Y/N smile a little. It felt good to have a person care about her safety so much.

‘Uh, I don't remember. I didn't see the-’

‘It was Tyler Crowely. His ridiculous van went skidding in the parking lot. I think she could have a concussion, please Carlisle.’ Edward reappeared, putting a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. The hand on her shoulder did not go unnoticed by Charlie.

‘I didn't mean to-’ Tyler's voice came from the doorway. He was being rolled in on a gurney, someone had called an ambulance for him most likely. He looked to be in worse shape than Y/N in all honesty. His forehead was bleeding and his arm was in a makeshift sling.

‘It’s o-’ 

‘It’s not okay.’ Edward snarled, drawing the thin privacy curtain between Tyler and Y/N. Charlie nodded in approval, coming to stand beside Carlisle. 

‘So, I'm Dr Carlisle Cullen. I'm Edwards' father. I heard you were almost hit by a van? Do you have a headache? On a scale of one to five, how much pain are you in?’ 

‘It feels like a dull ache. I'd say two?’ Y/N smiled tiredly. ‘I just really want to take a nap but Edward wouldn't let me in the car.’ She nodded at said boy, who was gazing down at her in concern. It looked like Edward had filled Charlie and Carlisle in on the situation.

‘Well he was right. It’d be harder for me to assess you if you were asleep!’ Carlisle chuckled, taking a pen light from his pocket, ‘Okay, I’m going to do a few tests, it'll take a minute. Bare with me alright?’ He gave Y/N an easy going smile to which she nodded.

Edward had disappeared mid way through the tests and Y/N had a pretty good idea that he was being yelled at by Rosalie. As Y/N’s primary caregiver, Charlie had gone to fill out a few forms. Thanks to Edward, she didn’t have to pay any ambulance fees.

Seeing as she was discharged, Y/N decided to test her theory, walking down a corridor next to the Emergency Department she found Edward and Rosalie talking animatedly.

‘Uh, hey. You must be Rosalie.’ Y/N smiled nervously, breaking up the conversation that didn't seem to be going in favour of Edward. The blonde haired girl gave her a cold look. This would probably be the make or break whether or not Rosalie Hale would approve of Y/N. Hopefully Y/N was on her good side. 

‘I won't tell. I won't even ask.’ Y/N’s face became serious, coming to stand in front of the two.

‘I’m not stupid, I know you aren't human. I process fast, I'll save you from mopey, emo Edward.’ She glanced at him, giving him a playful smirk. Rosalie’s eyebrows were raised, with a surprised smile.

‘Excuse me, mopey and emo?’ Edward looked offended, arms crossing. Turning to look at Y/N.

‘Yeah, we talked about this in the car, remember?’ She grinned, nudging him. ‘He said that I eluded him and that he wasn't used to change.’ Y/N rolled her eyes. 

‘Huh, eluded?’ Rosalie tilted her head, suddenly interested.

‘Yep, honestly I have an idea of what that means but I’m not fully sure just yet.’ Y/N hummed, tilting her head to match the blonde girl. 

‘Y/N right? How'd you figure it out?’ Rosalie looked impressed and cautious at the same time. This was different, she hadn't seemed so reasonable in the books.

‘Well, a huge giveaway was when Edward went from being in front of his car to being next to me in under a second. That wasn’t human, and don't tell me that was because I was concussed.’ Y/N pointed a finger at Edward before he could interrupt. ‘Don’t make me go ask for the security camera footage Cullen.’

Edward, with wide eyes, raised his hands in defeat. 

‘She's a smart one.’ Rosalie hummed in appreciation. ‘Although I'd love to continue this conversation here,’

‘It’d be safer to continue this at home.’ Dr Cullen appeared behind Y/N, making her jump slightly.

‘Holy crap. That's not normal either.’ She huffed, putting a hand over her heart. Rosalie chuckled and put a hand on Y/N’s back, 

‘Edward will make a date, you can meet the rest of us.’ 

‘Sounds like a plan!’ Y/N grinned, happy that Rosalie seemed so accepting. It was probably due to the fact that Edward wasn't attracted to Y/N, seeing as in the books, Rosalie was jealous of Bella’s humanity. Honestly it was a reasonable reason to be jealous. Bella was able to do all the things Rosalie wasn't, grow old and have children. Rosalie was from an older time so that was the normal standard back then.

After agreeing to discuss the details at a later time, Y/N followed Edward back to the parking lot. Charlie had just finished the paper work, waiting by his police cruiser. He was stuck between giving Edward the stink eye and being grateful that he saved Y/N from the van debacle.

‘Everything alright?’ He gave Y/N a once-over, his hands on her arms.

‘I should be fine, i’ll let you know if I'm feeling unwell Charlie.’ She nodded, flashing him a reassuring grin. 

‘Thank you Edward, truly.’ Charlie nodded at the boy, sticking out his hand for Edward to shake.

‘No problems Chief. Would have done it again.’ Edward gave a warm grin. The one that probably caused all girls within a five foot radius to swoon. ‘I’ll see you soon Y/N.’ He said, as Y/N slid into the passenger seat, waving at him.

[elizais]

the longest day

summary: your ability hurts your body after prolonged use and you end up in yosano's office dazai osamu x fem!reader, comfort/fluff warnings: reader gets injured

every time you had used your ability, your muscles were sore, you felt tired and it was never a pleasant experience afterwards. usually, you just took a nap and felt better. but today, you were asked to stop another ability user. being such a strong ability user - you went by yourself, leaving the rest of the agency as it didn't seem severe enough. you and everyone else were certain you could complete this task by yourself with ease.

hours went by with no response from you, the other members starting to get worried. infact, atsushi had asked kunikida how long you were meant to be out for and that was when tensions really started to rise. eyes began to turn to dazai, fidgeting with whatever was on his desk. it was then that fukuzawa requested that someone is sent out for you.

about an hour later, yosano walks towards dazai as he is leaving to go downstairs to the cafe, still looking as anxious as ever. she calls out his name but he is so lost in his own world he can't hear her over his own thoughts. yosano taps him on the shoulder "dazai? she is in my office." her voice is barely above a whisper as she knows how anything louder would but a grenade in the thick tension around him. "thank you." he says as he turns around but she follows him, informing him that "her ability has made her really disorientated and the medicine she has been put on to ease her surroundings has made her high as a kite. give her some time, please." reluctantly, he nods and forgets about his previous trip to join junichiro, atsushi, kunikida and ranpo.

osamu tried his best to occupy himself until the end of his work day. kunikida was easier on him, dazai even done his own paperwork (surprisingly). the last 10 minutes were the worst, he knew you were probably sleeping it off but his mind kept on thinking the worst. if yosano didn't need to use her ability and just used meds, then your body would heal itself. as soon as his shift was over, he threw his coat on and made his way towards the room you are in.

as he expected, you were fast asleep. dazai whispered your name as he looked at your pretty hair across the pillow. he whispered your name and you stirred, half opening your eyes. "'samu?" you slurred, absolutely out of it. "oh darling, what did i say about overusing your ability?" osamu whispered back as he laid a hand on your arm, allowing his ability to help your pain subside, at least a little bit. "can we.." you paused, a sharp pain behind your eyes. but before you could complete your sentence he finishes it. "yosano will be back soon, let her check you over again and then we can go home, dear." you nodded ever so slightly.

sitting up slowly, you squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to counter the overwhelming dizziness. osamu chuckled at your scrunched up face before helping you up. the door opened and yosano came in holding her documents. "you can go, but please try to not use your ability to this extent in the future." you flashed her a grateful smile and a small "thank you, akiko" before leaving. holding onto osamu's arm for balance and for his nullification ability.

walking out, you were under his sandy coat with your weak body attached to him, he was essentially carrying your half asleep figure. he didn't mind though. he would rather you be less stubborn on going by yourself next time though. "i'm sorry, osamu", you slipped out of your mouth. "don't apologise, i will be here for you every time."

[enchantedbat]

We don't know a lot about witches. The following is not canon. I try to use what it given to us but we barely have any information on the witches and their powers.

Let it be said first: I hate how the witches are used in the show. Cloud Tower is taken over again and again and again... Griffin was also part of the Company of Light and she was powerful enough to be paired up with Valtor first. Why is her school always hijacked?

I believe, the witches are often running away and, most of the times, cowards because Griffin taught them that nothing is as valuable as their life. Not even their dignity and pride.

Anyway! To understand the powers of the witches better, we should have more background on their education. A simple curriculum by yours truely:

Botany & Herbology

Psychology

Meditation

Potionology

Ancient & Magical Languages

History

Laws & Contracts

Demonology & Monster Studies

Sigils & Wards

Abjuration:

Resistance

Nullification

Dispelling

Conjuration:

Summonings

Binds

Banishment 

Teleportation

Creation

Alteration

Metamorphosis 

Mutation

Transfiguration

Illusionary Magic

Invisibility

Glamour

Mimikry 

Phantasm

Bewitchment

Cursology

Charms

Hypnosis 

Mind Control

Necromancy

These classes are more or less the basic skill set of witches. Of course, some master a few of these better than others. The Trix.

Witches can form coven, advised to have atleast three members and not more than thirteen. Most of them do not want to be in a group.

While we had at least some information on the Alfea fairies, we have almost none on the witches. What we have are a ton of names. Let's dive right in.

Shilly - Witch of Blood

blood manipulation & body control

healing, blood doping & blood thinning 

blood production, solidification and constructs need either her own blood or that of others (it can’t go back into her body!)

blood consumption through touch 

familiar: I mean, it has to be bat.

she is always getting the others in danger because this woman only dates red flags. poor Shilly just wants to meet her true love!

dated like four vampires before Lucy out a spell on their dorm, so all three witches have to grant them entry (Pulisatilla likes to enable her friend's bad decisions)

Shilly was a bad student and failed enough courses that made Griffin worry about her having such a great power

she is protective over her friends and can be extremely dangerous when angry.

she always tells Bloom the newest gossip from Cloud Tower and who she is dating right now

Pulisatilla - Witch of Fears

fear immunity 

fear augmentation and negation

fear detection, inducement and manifestation 

fear embodiment (illusionary and shapeshifting)

fear creation

familiar: spider. I think they get a bad reputation and are feared the most. 

Shilly and Pulisatilla became friends after a while which is rather rare for witches. they appreciate both appreciate a good flirt and a successful shopping spree.

she wanted to be their coven leader but Lucy really impressed her and somehow they ended up being good friends.

while Lucy and Shilly have friends at Alfea, Pulisatilla just accompanies them. she pretends to have no fun when they are out with the fairies but secretly enjoys some of their companies.

Ederaviola - Witch of Souls 

soul and spirit manipulation

possession

reincarnation

soul mutilation & destruction 

soul energy solidification 

soul sealing

familiar: jackal. Anubis-inspired.

While Shilly and Pulisatilla join Lucy's coven, Ederaviola stays on her own. She is deeply connected to the Cloud Tower as their souls "touched" throughout her whole school years. She will stay to teach there.

I spent a lot of time on their powers and finding very good explanations and connections to their names. I had to stop myself. Well, the honorable mentions (and my chosen powers for them!)

Karen - Witch of Misfortune

Lucrezia - Witch of Greed 

Lunilla - Witch of Voices

Tabitha - Witch of Nightmares

Vera - Witch of Lies

Verbena - Witch of Metals

Gerbera - Witch of Mushrooms

Euphorbia - Witch of Diseases 

Hecate - Witch of Travel

Endora - Witch of Undead

(one day I might try to do a meet the cloud tower witches slideshow.)