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ophelian-darling · 5 months

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𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧.

Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Female reader.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As you awake from a nightdream of a family to a daymare in Sukuna's lap, you desperately clutch on the remaining thread of your self.

TW: War themes, Blood & Gore, Concubinage, Misogynistic themes, Non-con, Cannibalism, Pregnancy, Objectification, Nudity.

enjoy ♡

This is a NSFW piece, Minors/Ageless blogs DNI.

Awake! awake! Oh, slumbering souls, Arise like him who rules the night and leads forth the stars with wails¹. From behind the twilight and under the veil of darkness, Shadows danced, performing a morbid parade of welcoming the New king- King of Curses, the strongest of his time. Fear glared through a prism; its darkest shades casting over a village, a village like any other, one that was ode to be remembered in a look at a Byōbu or to be perceived in a vivid painting within a historian's imagination, when an Era of a creature- a creature like none of the other, a beast whose tale would unfold through terrified tongues and jittery letters across the centuries. hopelessness washes your heart with grief and a sense of naught as it crosses your mind that you, once a farmer's daughter in a nameless year, will be weighed as one of the girls who were orphaned, captured, adorned and sprawled across the mattress of Ryomen Sukuna, no more than a concubine in tales of the past.

The darkest of nights, of no moon to pray to, or a glimpse of a star to weep for: the night the beast howled, rushing forth into the outskirts, loud cries reverberating into a thin air on light ears of which death was its plague of mind. in the far distance of your memory, you could still hear the drums, booming thunder loud, whipping its dimmest horrors at the strings of the faintest of hearts. Hell wasn't only of the imagination- thousand splendid suns of a single space burned in the horizon, the prime of Kagutsuchi² painted in living colors.

The heart is a heavy stone, for the weight of sorrows slumber in a deep corner and rest on the tender angle of its sinews, joys long banished to a cold rib. memories glint unwanted and unwelcomed: in a strike of lighting, long knives flashed and grinned in red, tearing flesh and crushing bone, their sharp tips spearing through eyes; gush of blood emerging from a scar of a socket. recalling it alone pricked needles on your skin, a bitter taste rising in the back of your throat. such macabreness used to be only present in your visualization of inferno, now a series of crimson images played themselves too hastily, their detail remained as ashes of a fire, laughing at your door and haunting you even in sleep. Judgment day cannot be in a shade of horror as what took place in your village: a limb of your brother was left discarded; seemingly his arm- undoubtedly, his fingers that once wiped your tears are now cosseting the pool of blood on earth. no traces of your father or mother, their absence from your sight and knowing not of their fate tore your heart with grief.

You - alongside many girls of the village - were taken as war trophies, not before tasting the raw humiliation of being violated and used by the swordsmen of the king- your friends and cousins, some of whose milk teeth are still in their mouths. your heart wept for them before your eyes, no amount of pleading would alter everything to ordinary, when poverty and hunger were graces when compared to a current degradation and sufferance. ropes burned your skin, boiled water beneath flaming your wrists and neck, the thick bundle of ties extended behind you, shackling all girls and women with its length in a way a great serpent swallows a nest of mice. The barks of swordsmen pierce the silence of the trek occasionally, harshly instructing the girls to remain quiet and continue walking as would a shepherd to cattle. the stench of vomit and blood coursed through your lungs, you struggled to adjust to the new air, a hammer of ache drumming through your skull, the roars of angry men landing sharp blows to your ears. the thorns of grass and soil pinched and wounded at your toes and heels; the straw sandals decaying with each step. Despair pooled at the lake of your heart: how long was hell's path³?

Dusk blazed scarlet, slowly metamorphosing to indigo with a sole star twinkling across the sky's page; it's getting dark and a camp had to be set. a girl rocked herself back and forth, shuddering and calling for a name, perhaps praying this was all a daymare to awaken from. a pregnant woman slouched on the cold earth, blue threads right under her eyelids, lips losing their drops of ichor. tears warmed your irises out of pity for her- unlike you, she won't see the dawn break, her babe following not long after, forced out of its mother's womb to be burnt with her, as the king of curses regarded little lives to be lower than dust. Now it crossed your mind that Lord Ryomen hasn't appeared yet- he's surely on cloud nine to grasp another village in his fist; your prayers to the moon to protect your farms from him fell on deaf ears, all is hopeless.

Speak of the devil and he doth appear. a blur of a foot knocked the wind out of your chest, the guard's voice boomed at you to bow to the ground, immediately obeying while pain throbbed at your ribs. for seeing is believing, you didn't have to look up to perceive his presence; you felt it like a blind man would feel the light. you dared not stare, stealing a glance from the fan of eyelashes to see a fragment of him sauntering in the front. As fast as forgetfulness brushes a mind, you come to realize what was about to happen: he'll check his fruit, dispose of some and leave some to devour. a sob nearly broke off your throat; the Shinigami was guarding your heel, waiting for a harvest for the night.

Death wore masks and laughed in many voices; gentle in seconds and somber in long times. you would solace yourself with the idea that a quick death is tenderer than a slow torment; drawing rose-colored glasses of both death and life- if you happened to be one of whose heads flew into the air, you would finally rest from an existence that merely recounted hell, hurt and hunger; yet if you lived to go through more miseries, you would dare not call it a heavenly mercy.

“Get up, woman.”

Ordered he, voice landing heavy on your ears, tar liquid spilling on your heart before your mind. snow melted through your limbs, little heart forgetting its own rhythm of beat as you raised yourself from the ground, cowering under his solid gaze. under a curtain of vision, through a corner of an eye, red painted everything, separate pieces of what used to be humans ornamented a pale canvas of soil.

“You shall be my concubine for the rest of your life”

For it is so appropriate to color monstrosities in red; the horizon swam in a crimson rinse, sun darkening to an austere cinnabar. you watched everything die on the skyline, a candle dwindling in an end of no sight, shyly blinking behind the mountains and forests. The carriage trailed across the hill for two days and a night, a time that flowed like ten months of starvation. now closer than ever to the myth of the King of curses- no longer just hearing of him, but now feeling him before seeing him: if terror manifested into flesh and bone, he'd be him. never you'd think that a smile can mortify more than a rage mien: his lips curved up, cooing violence while his eyes -four of them- twinkled gorily. in the dead of night, under the stars and through the murk, your flesh is ironed by kisses, flames that bloomed atop your face, lips, neck and spine, an arm clutching you in place, another cuffing your hands with ease, both of your small palms choked in his big hand; a third arm sneaked its digits on your clit, rubbing and abusing the petal flesh, jarring a wave of ache with each movement. drowning in his scent, his voice, deep and twisting the strings of your heart with his loud snickers at the shell of your ear; skin on yours, flaying the innocent memory of your limbs, tearing apart the fabric on your muscles with a dig of his nails. Your tears did anything short of balming your pain, and if they ever had any use, they only added more fuel to his fire. the fourth hand of his, now in your sight, scalped your head in a burning grip, his gist clear when the words struck a pang of despair.

“On all fours, concubine!”

You didn't even need to obey. As soon as the command was uttered, his fingers seized your hair and raised your weakling body onto your knees, giving you a taste of more pain before penetrating you in one go.

When the last star in the sky had vanished, you jolted awake for the tenth time during night, the smell of blood stenching still, this time your own between your thighs.

The old maid in the temple wore a blind eye. For days, she silently washed and scraped your body, the washcloth rough in her hands; water trickling down your hair, cascading down to your chest and waist, seeping across your thighs and legs. the images of your reflection in the water were shattered to thousands of frames, none of them resembling you.

a halo of moon crowned the heavens, even at dawn. In another life, around this time, your father would rise first, just when the rooster crows, then he is seconded by your mother and brother, and at last, you would get up. a feather of gray flicked your heart's veil, echoing journeys to fields and markets, humble supper and early bed. in a dying corridor of your anamnesis, your father's bon mot on how a satisfied sweeper was blessed more than an anxious affluent reverberated; his soul watching from above, whispering on your existence. Now that you're a part of Lord Ryomen- an extension of him, in the nature of a fifth arm or a shoe to foot⁴, you bathed more than you ate, you spread your legs more than you slumbered, altered to the shapes of his whims. When days are blessed, he cackles and cheers, thrilling in your small body as he takes you, sensation of dagger that saws through the tender flesh between your fingers, except it happened too close to where your heart and mind wept, cutting your youth to ribbons with each thrust. When the moon drowns, he'll return, vexed and voracious, a malodour of blood filling your nostrils as you crawl to him, enduring humiliations to ease his wrath.

The silk of the long Junihitoe extended like a page of water, thirteen layers like waves. the old dame's fingers danced across your face, smearing the tone of your skin with rice powder, stitching a bridal mask to be your face- the concubine's face. rouge of a ruby coloring your lips, melted sugar glittering in an obscenely innocent seduction, a rose on each cheek, powder of red. The woman in the glass is beautiful, a piece of moon even: lovely and lonesome. scents of jasmine and cherry blossom were rubbed on your face, neck, shoulders and bosom, as the maid's hands seemed to be more lively than her; they scoured and dallied and adorned and squeezed every inch of your posture. it comes to your mind, out of the blue, while sitting in Sukuna's lap, how would she appear as a sort of slaughterer: she drags your form, coaxes you to wear the silk as a skin, arrays you from head to toe and offers you on a platter for him, a lamb to wolf. At times, from the corner of your vision, you catch a curve of a smile on her face, marveling at the sight of scars and bruises, as well as the smell of seed on your body. Perhaps she herself took pleasure in witnessing the slow staining of chastity.

“Listen, dear” gently called she, not of her character (even if you knew nothing about her, you could tell that kindness wasn't a word in her book), her hands mooching wet on your breast. The lapping of water was louder than breathing, her hand drowning the washcloth in the bucket for the hundredth time.

You just sat in silence.

“You're not the first girl who warms Lord Sukuna's bed. there were many; many of girls before you, more than my wry fingers could count…”

Her hands stopped briefly, continuing when you gave no response.

“They were all just as beautiful as you, and as miserable as yourself. they cried and begged for mercy, but had none. some were really feisty, they dared to talk back and rebel… only to end up where the devil himself would weep if thrown into…”

It is just now that a zephyr blew through your nerves, a trace of goosebumps bloomed on your back, certainly not from your nudity, or how less loving was water you bathed with.

“... a poor maiden said a word- a little word, and her tongue was fed to the dogs… another bit his arm, her teeth were plucked one by one, as you would pick cherries from the trees… the poor soul, how wept she…”

An amphora of ink shattered between your ribs.

“...What still twists the sinews of my heart to this very moment, is when I remember a young woman- a princess as I dare say, pretty as Kaguya-Hime herself, she had the king's child in her stomach…”

Her silence was deep gray, yet she found a tongue to carry on.

“...She filled her head with roses, thinking about escaping and so did she… and in the blink of an eye, her flesh fell to pieces… so the babe in her womb… Lord Sukuna saw red and her death wasn't enough…he…”

Were you to weep for yourself, for your lost family, for the abandoned corpses of the girls from your village, for the past concubines who served him or for the old woman whose tears fell from her empty eyes?

a sob struck her old ribs, they could rive from the strength of it.

“... He… he forced me to cook her flesh myself … and I did… a flesh I spiced with my tears… he ate to his heart's content… and I chewed on her as well… everyone in this temple did… we were all starving… I can't live to see another demise…”

Your mother- you felt a fraction of her tenderness, as the old dame caressed your cheek.

“...Please… I'm tired of seeing flowers die… my heart cannot take any more pain… please… be a good girl… don't cross Lord Sukuna… bear him children… please him… try to love him- even if it was fake… spare another girl the pain you're living now…”

“I see it in your eyes that you're a kind soul with the gold of a heart... don't die…” the last word fell on your ears like a drop of dew on a leaf. her lips wobbled, helpless in a true color.

Heart, heart…you hated having a heart.

As ten full moons passed by, the feeling of his hands, the humps of his muscles and the size of his girth became a new memory. deep under your skin and atop of your red flesh, his touch was known to your body as your own name, a drop of his blood through your wounds, dwelling inside and wandering around to where every notion of life resided in you. The lineaments of his face are strangely familiar, no longer coursing its old atrocity through your soul. you burn the candles of thought as you lay next to him stripped, head on chest, of your existence as a plaything: surely you had the life of a princess you dreamt of, but at the cost of your feelings and dignity.

“My, your hands are such a wonder. my little concubine knows how to please her master”

Eyes glinting from above, he regarded you with a smile -never soft, predatory to say precisely- while you knelt in front of him, washing his feet in a basin and massaging them. you came to practice a so-called art of ‘coquetry’, or rather what would you think of as patting a beast's head so as to not be eaten by it. Sukuna's ego was something majestic, and majestic things had to be caressed and stroked. you gave a polite smile from beneath, saying nothing.

“You're quite the good girl, I'm glad that you learnt your place.” He leaned his face against one of his four fists, while another played with your hair.

“I'm glad to be in your service, my lord.” you said, a little lost in your task.

a short-lived silence stretched, before he praised again “You know, I've never been served by a girl whose as obedient and pretty as yourself, little girl, I like you”

Something twinged in the pit of your chest. your fingers went numb, mindlessly swimming in the water.

“Not only are you obedient, but sweet and tender. I trust that you'll be the best mother too, my heirs need a mother”

Knots wrapped themselves in your lungs. just how many women before you heard these words from him? is he lying- of course he's a liar, one his lies are masterfully hidden, you can't predict when he's telling the truth or manipulating you.

His hand snaked around your throat, moving then to cosset your clothed chest.

“a mother who'll piously carry them in her womb, let them suckle greedily from her breast, wash them and rock them in her bosom, teach them how to bow to their father…”

Your own face grew foreign to you; you couldn't feel it even if you tried to touch it. you didn't sense yourself, but another existence that sojourned far in. His digits spidered to your chin, holding your head up to look at him. his face was gravelly now- the amusement he wore a minute ago slipped to the ground.

“I expect you to raise this child well”

He knew, before you could.

Truth seemed way wilder than imagination. The feathery movements were as real as the sky, a clot of blood that connected itself to the warmth of your guts. you would stare at your form in the mirror, searching for whatever change appeared during long months, leisurely, your own eyes would betray you and the metamorphosis of your body would happen regardless of what you'd seen: a small bubble that wasn't visible under your kimonos, then a light mound, to a clear swelling and to a heavy node. The heavy rock of a weight above your pelvis was anything short of normalcy: seven months, you assumed, vigorous at night and still at day. your hands fondled your large bump, seeping in the sensation of something that is tethered to you yet not a part of you. you wondered if your baby can hear your trail of thought- would your future son or daughter carve a memory of you being unloving to them? or to carry down your shame on their flesh, ironing your mayhem on their skin. much worse: were they destined to be like their father? a joint of a human beast and a helpless doll, a new mantra of cruelty and violence. Sukuna already mentioned that if the child was to be a male, he'll raise it himself to heights of power and ruthlessness.

“You'll just have to give birth and breastfeed, woman. if you ruin my heir with your softness, I'll tear you to shreds and gorge your flesh” manhandling your heavily pregnant body on his cock, he threatened, enjoying the flash of fear in your eyes. Seeing your terror was his ultimate joy; even when you're overweight with another human inside of you, he still took pleasure in ravishing you, violently and to the point your slit went puffy and aches blossomed down your thighs and buttocks. Moving around and rushing back and forth on roads and fields swiftly was a talent you mastered, now your arms grew iron heavy and legs raw, immobilized and in need of help when bathing or in want of support when walking. your breasts had their fair share of dilatation as well, leaking milk and burning from the least touch. silent tears cascaded down your cheeks: what happened to the maiden who careened through meadows and danced in orchards? When did the curves of a body melt and pour into a swell of a shape ? How did the fabric of a flesh distort into scars and marks? She's never again a Lily; a deflowered chrysanthemum.

a Blood moon crested above, stars were nowhere to be seen in a dark layer of heaven. a winter's wind blew outside, howling and whipping the trees. your eyes beheld the crimson orb in the sky, deciphering an expression or a voice in hopes for a last chance for survival: you prayed for your death, for your soul to be given to the creature that was about to emerge from your flesh. a pinch atop of your ribs throbbed, striking a cord for your voice to tear the silence of the night in a low cry. a fire foamed across your back and shot to your abdomen, all colors and shapes of pain, from a pallid ache to pure agony, cleaved your stomach open. the anguish ceased when the shy sun poured white rays through, the scream of your infant caroled the morn; it was a baby boy.

“Well done, my little concubine!” He held the tiny human up in the air, its sole existence eliciting his pride and joy, a reminder that you went to a limit no other woman before you reached: winning the motto of the Queen of curses. For the first time ever, Sukuna called your name, praising you yet again with a dose of honor that will never live for too long.

“I knew that you were a good girl who loves me, and I adore you for that. from now on, you'll remain by my side to your last breath, as now I announce you my wife”

Your lips sewed themselves together, frowning not nor curving up and unable to snivel or rejoice.

The far prime of the sky burned with red, swallowing the sun in a slow fade from yellow to scarlet. you watched it with great attention, nursing the bundle of your child in your lap. you glanced at your little one's face: he stared at you in a meek confusion of innocence, taking your nipple in his lips. Soon enough, Sukuna would be back to see you, cradling the heir like a good mother and attending to the father like a good wife. Was a shallow living more merciful and a lively death? you don't know. a fragment of your old self still lulled from the back of your head, singing your life into thousands of sunsets, hoping to be remembered.

¹ :a reference to one of Omar Khayyam's rubáiyát, with the original stanza of the poem saying :

Awake! awake! Oh, slumbering souls,Arise like him who rules the morn and leads forth the stars with song.

² :The deity of fire in Japanese mythology.

³ :Reference to Dante's Inferno.

⁴ :Allusion to Silivia Plath's poem 'Daddy'.

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ophelian-darling · 6 months

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¹ : Charles Baudelaire : Les Fleurs du Mal - The Ghost.

² : Paperweight eye By Tazawa Kouji.

³ , ⁴ : Joyce Carol Oates : The Museum of Doctor Moses - 'Valentine : July heat wave.'

⁵ : Zekkyō Gakkyū By Ishikawa Emi - The Boyfriend Story.

⁶ : John Fowles : The Collector.

⁷ : Kon'ya Wa Tsuki Ga Kirei Desu Ga, Toriaezu Shine ? By Kaname Majuro.

⁸,⁹ : Charles Baudelaire : Les Fleurs du Mal - Autumn song.

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ophelian-darling · 6 months

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"Have you ever fell in love so hard ? I have"

"Your scent is still on my clothes... I still miss you..."

"I want to hug you till I crush all of your ribs..."

Yandere Jotaro Kujo x Female Reader.

TW: Implied non-con, Kidnapping, Obsession, OOC.

Tag: @animelover2142

This is a NSFW piece, Minors DNI.

enjoy ♡

It occurred to you sometimes (more frequently to be exact) that you saw a looming shadow in the corner of your vision: in classes, a cold breeze would draft across your neck, blooming shivers down your back, during breaks or even sensing a strange hue of a proximity in your room. you rarely raised a flag at something you weren't completely sure of, yet the omen of a terrible encounter gnawed at your thoughts harshly.

The ropes burned your ankles, gawking at them alone tore a wave of pain through your nerves; the wisest thing to do right now was to stay still, just like he ordered you to.

"Just be quiet, I promise I'll untie you once you calm down" he whispered, warm with a core of fire. It's been hours since you arrived here- well, woke up here, in anything but familiar walls, with a classmate whom you barely knew.

Any memory of his presence was a blurred image. He was once someone you feared in the school (Though he was a sweetheart of so many girls) and his quite interesting reputation was enough of an evidence. All of a sudden, he was absent, as if a shadow on a cloudy day. You were -like all of your classmates- curious about it, yet didn't cock the slightest curve of an eyebrow , even when he was back.

Your head rotated upwards, gathering scattered remains of courage to look him in the eyes, or rather his strange blues: a gray flash glinted for a nanosecond before misting to the same strange blue. you weren't sure if it was your imagination, or him being as the school rumors chewed on; a possessed man. His features were composed, yet his eyes moved in every shape and shifted to thousands of emotions, ones that weren't decipherable.

His fingers twisted the knots of your shackles, keeping his word of letting you loose (Not to let you go, that wasn't what he actually meant) and focused on the task more than you, The object of this unexpected kidnap. you rolled every possible solution within your head: you can run as fast as you could to the door, demand an explanation from him and solve this in logic or just accept whatever he wanted to propose- not that, his intentions may unveil their dimness.

Slowly, the burn of ropes faded, the heat of your skin cooling down once they were unbind. you caught how much he was putting a sort of care in untying you, like you were something that was expected to break at the slightest touch, but at the same time, going as far as to take you forcefully for unknown intentions.

Maybe, He was aware of something dangerous hovering over you while you were in complete ignorance of it, maybe you could trust-

"Have you ever fell in love so hard?"

What?!

You blinked owlishly, asking him in puzzled eyes of what he had just said. you didn't understand exactly why you, of all people, were concerned with a romantic involvement of someone you only knew a cover of their persona. Is he asking for advice or something? you weren't a friend or an acquaintance to put yourself in an advising position.

"Do you like someone?" He asked again after hearing no answer from your side. Upon receiving the same bewildered look, he tugged firmly on your blouse's collar, bringing your face closer to his in a last warning for you to answer.

"No- no one at all…" it automatically slipped on your tongue. Even if you were to tell him about the boy with gray eyes in your class, you didn't see any use of this info on the conversation's track.

Luckily, he bought it without further inquiring (or rather seemed to get what he wanted to hear, either way, you were out of the hook for now). His eyes looked foreign; Depth of an ocean to shallowed colors of yours, uncanny yearning to perplexed confusion.

"I have... experienced it"

In a sudden move, his warmth cupped your skin as he got closer, closer than he was before, as if inspecting something about you that was lost to him. your imagination directed a kiss scene- an awkward image of him pecking your lips, not like you wanted him to, but because it was the first thing you guessed, only to feel a branding touch on the mellowy flesh on top of your collarbone.

Your eyes followed the roof's lineaments while your mind scrawled, dithered at his actions.

What is he intending?!

Even with gentleness of butterflies and sweetness of pomes, his kisses baffled you even more; digging an unexplained feeling down to your abdomen, continuing to an amount you lost track of. He quickly retreated.

"You changed your perfume…" Murmured he, eyes clinging to your neck, and possibly regarding your cleavage that felt exposed.

"My… perfume?"

"This is not your scent"

"What..?"

What did he mean ?!

His breath halted.

"I know how you smelled, I remember how you smelled… it's on my jacket" Hastily, he took a deep breath into the fabric of his jacket, inhaling what he percepted to be your 'scent'. JoJo closed his eyes in bliss, eerie serenity cosseting his features that looked now so unfamiliar.

"I keep it in my room, on my desk… your broken bottle of cherry blossom perfume…" He stared at the side he inspired from, voice empty as wind "You threw it away, and I kept it…your scent is still on my clothes ever since…"

Broken perfume bottle. the pink one in a heart shaped glass, one you received on your birthday. you whined about how it was too precious to be shattered because of a stupid mistake, so to be thrown after. your stomach twisted as you thought how he, Jotaro Kujo, would search the trash can to find your belongings, and keep them in his chamber as a sort of souvenir. This didn't seem like a plot of a silly love song or a balcony poem; it's more of a thriller comic story you had less fortune to participate in, as a heroine.

"It's still on my clothes… your scent…and so is your voice in my ears…" hoarse and low- dangerously baleful. your mother had said before that your ultimate weakness was your reflexes: automatically still whenever you felt uneasy, something she took notice of over the years of raising you. it came to your memory when you felt his fingers trace your shoulders, ghostly at first, then downright brash when they unclothed your shoulders.

"Mhm!"

A pathetic yelp was all you could deliver. Slowly, he conquered your personal space, not letting you have a privilege of reacting with anything and immobilizing your movements. His arms held your small frame effortlessly, the white blouse slided down your chest in the process.

Open kisses and pressuring smooches sealed your skin: across your face, on top of your lips, on your shoulders, flattering your collarbones and flowering your ribs. your heart loud as a drum in your ears, convulsing beneath his lips while your skin unmoved.

"It's still on my skin…I missed it…I missed you- I still miss you…"

He rotated your head, meeting your muddled eyes that glinted in a panic-stricken hue.

"You have no idea how much I dreamt of this… ever since you smiled at me when I was back…"

His digits snuck to the straps of your bra, hesitating before unclasping it.

"I wanted to have you all to myself… hold your hands and taste your lips… Be with you… forever…"

He chanted between kisses, drunken by your skin's balm.

"I want to squeeze you till I bruise you… I want to hug you till I crush all of your ribs… till you can't move… is this normal to feel?"

His broad chest appeared in sight, looming over your lain figure.

It followed with more than kisses and caroled louder than whispers. and by the end of afternoon, as the cinnabar rays broke through the glass and curtains, your eyes locked in his, you came to contain how he, Jotaro Kujo, was anything but a normal person.

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ophelian-darling · 6 months

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Hello!! I’ve read your cruel bloodline darling and I gotta say it’s my fav thing so far! The idea of the Y/N’s only acting cruel and mean when it comes to the Joestars really interested me.

But, what if there’s a reason why they’re like that? What if there’s a curse that’s keeping them from loving them. This curse was there ever since the first Y/N, and none of the members of the family are safe from it.

If a Joestar falls in love with them, their time becomes limited. They’ll slowly start to rot until they’re no longer a person, just an empty shell. So, in order to ‘protect’ the Joestars, the Y/Ns treated them horribly so they don’t experience the pain of losing them.

But this is just a silly lil thought:33 Keep up the amazing work, don’t push yourself too much!!! <3333

Link of 'More than words'.

an ask that expands the cruel bloodline concept.

Hello dear anon, really glad that you loved it!

As of your concept, I find it quite interesting how you put more depth to darling's personality as they are more than just a harsh face and mean actions (while I myself didn't think more of their character when I worked on that piece). the worst about darling's 'love life' that they have to abuse the jojos to no end, swallowing their remorse and tears grudgingly so as the jojos stay alive.

Darling really doesn't know how to break the curse or show love without clawing at their beloved's. the lack of solutions forces them to choose the least terrible method : abuse, emotional or physical, but mostly emotional.

TW for physical/verbal abuse, generational trauma.

Darlings were in a peaceful world, thinking that they finally got together with their Sweethearts the joestars, but a while after a deep loving relationship, they noticed how the joestars grew numb and silent, something like they weren't at all. just as darling was trying to figure things out, a heavy anvil of a shocking revelation falls on them as their parent informs them about the curse.

Darling is in terror: 'can't I just try to love?' and they just receive a dull answer of 'if you truly love them, make sure they stay alive, just like your grandparent did'. and so, everything started.

Slowly, darling changes their treatment: kisses with wounds, love confessions with degrading and support with control. at least they were lively again- you would say, but wanting to kiss and embrace them is impossible; you're stripped of the simplest right to love.

Darling wants to say 'you're my everything' when they say 'you mean nothing to me' to Jonathan. They want to say 'please don't go' when they say 'I'm done with you' to Joseph. They want to say 'I need you' when they utter 'I don't love you' to Jotaro. They want to say 'you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen' when they say 'you're ugly' to Josuke. They want to say 'Your love saved me' when they want to say 'you're a monster' to Giorno. They want to say 'be always with me, now and forever' when they say 'you're annoying' to Jolyne'. it's an endless cycle of pain for both parts who know they can't live without the other if they left.

Thank you for the thought anon! I enjoyed adding more to it, hope I'll hear from you soon 🦋

#really glad that this piece gained some sort of lore #i love your thoughts ya'll #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #yandere jojo x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo #asks #more than words #I'll start tagging the asks related to 'more than words' so it's easier for you all to read anything about it #also using 'cruel bloodline'#cruel bloodline

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ophelian-darling · 6 months

Text

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto and Kento Nanami - gn reader.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Their Obsession was too much to handle, and you find yourself growing impatient with their acts of dandling, till you had enough.

TW : Implied Kidnapping, Physical and Verbal/psychological abuse, Blood & Injury.

enjoy ♡

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 :

Days passed like a vision through the glass, slow to come and quick to go, without even a faint image of them or a smallest fragment of memory, as if you were looking into someone else's life, not your own. The horizon blended now into Satoru's eyes- you were no longer able to see the real extension of a natural blue, instead looking through his irises, faux felt and fake friendly, non-stop and ad nauseam. a smile would paint itself across his features and a kind touch would cosset your hands, attempting to mimic a color of romance.

"Whatcha Thinkin' of, Babe?" He asked, a honeyed voice softening his words, already knowing what was in your head; wanting a sweet lie out of your tongue. You hated his voice- no, everything about him, from his stares, the contorts and shapes of his face and the many shades of his affection; one minute, sugar and honey drip off his tongue, in Hopes of aiming at the moon and winning your trust, the other all of his sweetness is poisoned and laced with venom, intentions of wounding your ego into submission. At times, to him, you were Valentine, Babe, Love and Dreamboat; just as you were the useless, pathetic, whiney and liar, depending on his mood.

The horror of him was his eyes, they were softly in a cruel way, no effort of smiling or laughter could coffin the rage and Mania you were too aware of. You were always on alert, counting your sins and thinking of ways to redeem yourself, mentioning Kissing back, twisting your lips with pink lies, thanking him for his gifts and wearing a gleeful expression on your face.

"Aww Satoru! you spoil me, I don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't around!..."

You felt maggots crawl under your skin, rushing forth to your brain while you struggled to keep your smile. The more the hours fly, the more your cover of ardor cracks. a thin string of bitterness lining from beneath your nail right into your heart, stitching more into a scornful crimson slowly.

Just how dare he- take you against your will, fondle and caress you as if you were a mere housecat and call himself a saint for bothering to look after you, while you don't remember asking or consenting for any of his attention? During so many times, including the moment as of now, you'd imagine him bleeding, cascades of red contradicting his snow complexion, pieces of glass needling his eyes that you hated with all Satan's grudge to heaven. You are sure no single speck of a tear would warm your eyelid if he dies, it was what he deserved.

"You okay, Love? something is off with you" Concern painted his face, while his blues remained ever unsettling.

Your mouth clinged into a straight tight line, no longer able to remember the supposed smile. a harsh retort died on the tip of your tongue, leaving the room to even a harsher, short-lived silence to stretch.

His thumb traced on your cheek, before he stood up "I'm gonna make you a cup of coffee to lift you up a li'l, stay here while I'm in there"

Of course you're staying here, where else would you go?! Moving an inch without seeing his face was less likely than seeing a green sky.

The string of your heart sewn itself thicker. As memories of him puppeteering you flashed unwelcomed, the scornful thread darned into a ferocious rag, veiling any sense of your heart, caging it with a hating aviary. You carried yourself up, heading to the kitchen absentmindedly, guided by the heavy feeling in your chest. He didn't tire himself to look around- not like you could do anything, wrapped around his digits to control.

An unknown tune he hummed caroled the small kitchen, his hands moving around to prepare the mugs and the coffee, too immersed in his own realm of thought to discern your motives.

If you ever got the chance to recount this exact moment, you would say that it happened so fast that your mind didn't settle on one image: did you shatter the mug on the top of his head or the back of his neck? You don't remember, yet the anamnesis of your muscles retained the surge of Adrenaline, a slow motion second of your hand grabbing the porcelain cup and breaking it on his skull. you do recall he said something- things. a series of slurs that were too filthy, every curse and insult in the scripture.

The crimson rag was torn off from your heart, a delicious feeling of revenge drugging you in a lucid Catharsis. your fingers twitched, your body braced itself for whatever beating it was about to receive. Oddly enough, he continued groaning and grunting, holding his head in both his bloodied hands.

Dark red seeped through his white locks, oozing down his neck, sullying his shirt and tinting his fingers and hands. For the first time, his strange blues held an emotion different from insanity, a glassy layer over them, just a tad bit up from his usually static stare. his eyelids wept with red as he stared at you for a moment, saying nothing, before heading -as it seems- to the bathroom, a trail of red spots on the floor marking your deed.

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 :

In your dreams, the sunrises and sunsets were sin crimson, dark as Abel's blood. You'd see Suguru and yourself, sitting on a shore, its sea so transparent, hued with the cinnabar rays casting from a cloudless sky. You often look forth into the puce red horizon and not to him, rarely ever locking eyes with his. One time, as you remember from a shattered vestige in your awakening, you rotate your head to the side to see him staring at you; a half erased smile contouring his lips, Black eyes mirroring the skyline that stretched to no end in sight. Twice or thrice, he'd say something, a trail of meaningless letters sliding down his composed voice. You don't retain on his words exactly, but your name was amongst them; during a glib talk of his, your name rolls down his tongue with his usual calmness, scripting your dreams as such almost always ever since you were tied to him.

"Something in your mind, Dear?" The calmness- you can hear the smile in his inquiry without looking at him, drumming through your skull in an image of him in your dreams. You looked up from your lap, noticing that he was stitching something up, the needle struggling to remain still in his fingers. Of course, he was anything short of a tailor as much as he was short of a lover, wanting to be something he can't be but insisting anyway like the stubborn cockroach he is.

You rolled your tongue across your teeth, only to let out a muffled 'nothing' as a response. you were really trying hard to not hurl at him, he was getting on your nerves for just his existence.

He chuckled, digging the needle into a red fabric "Something is in your mind indeed. I don't know what it is and why you look so upset, but I promise I'll make you feel better"

You'll only make me feel better by choking on a dagger, Suguru. you wanted to say, yet being completely aware that it'll have consequences- ones you were needless for. The numbness on your face is constantly pricking its presence across your flesh, swells and mounds that remind you of his black eyes losing their serenity, metamorphosing into a brutal night dark. His hands slapped and punched as equally as they billed and cooed, and your skin has grown hateful of both.

He does not appear as a human at all. in a vast space of thinking, you would theorize that he was not much but a parasite that sucked life out of everything beautiful, including love. his version of amour was twisted, burying care under Control and killing fondness to revive fervor. Cords you couldn't see snaked around your heart and soul, burning as they got tighter, paralyzing you with apathy that was leisurely altered to a pale hue of resentment, until it fully discolored to a dim rage.

It creeped its way to your fingers. you could hear Satan's whisper, planting the vilest of ideas in your mind; at least you had the luxury of hiding your thoughts and making them behind an expression you can't feel now- you're becoming him, a hollow shell of one face and multiple voices, already sensing the stitches of a mask, a dull one that a death face left more lineaments to remember. you were blessed with emotions unlike him, there's no way you'll melt into Suguru.

"Darling I have a surprise for you, look!" He announced cheerfully, bringing the piece of fabric he's been working on to your attention.

He raised the Obi belt in his hands, proud of his handmade sewing. you scanned it carefully: the silk is red candy colored with few golden flowers orienting it, not much skill or talent radiating off of this mimicry of a cloth.

"I intended to offer you this as a birthday gift, but I preferred giving it to you now. maybe it'll cheer you up a little, you've been really quiet lately…" the damn calm smile decorated his face again, this time a drop of what sounded like concern is mixed with it.

You took the thing from his hand, acting like you're inspecting it but in fact holding a cackle. how in hell's seven circles he expected you to wear this?! If Suguru thought with that little sense he always prides himself of, he'd see that he wasted such a gorgeous material on such a failure of an accessory.

"Do you like it? I hope so…" there's an octave in his voice translated as 'please tell me it's the best gift you ever received', too bad it's ugly to give him the pleasure of hearing a compliment.

"I've been working on it for weeks. I had to choose between red or pink, deciding to pick the former because I thought it would look better on you… I'm nothing of a tailor, but I did my best" he rubbed his palms together, as if an imaginary balm coating them. he laughed a little "I gave myself a lot of needle pricks, but it was worth it-"

"It's awful"

You didn't have to look up to see his face.

"What?" He muttered, completely not seeing this coming.

"It's terrible, I hate it" a joyful spark twinkled throughout your body as you said so. the smile that you tried so hard to repress curved itself on your lips. you felt you could add more fuel to the fire.

"The color is dull and this silk looks cheap, but that's not why it's ugly. I bet a child can sew an Obi belt better than you do. this thing should go back where it belongs, the trash."

The silk wasn't cheap at all. you silently praised whoever produced it as the fabric resisted between your fingers. for a second, you considered just throwing the belt at his face, but you already teared it up a little, imagining that you were tearing Suguru apart between your fingers, the very same Suguru who was standing in front of you, ghostly pale and owl eyed, uttering not a word.

Red ribbons rippled through the small space between your hands and feet, forming a pile on the floor and resting in place. your heart clenched in excitement, a reaction that replaced the usual fear of him beating you senseless in such situations. you awaited for his hand to fly, for his voice to raise, but none came.

His gaze froze. He apparently couldn't contain how his present ended up being nothing more than some piece of garbage that had to be disposed of. Suguru opened his mouth then closed it before turning his heels around and exiting the room. bringing back your eyes to the remains of the belt, it now jumped to you that there was something written on the back of it.

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 :

It is agreed upon as a human truth, that Shackles do not necessarily form as chains- For it merely requires a key to be freed from. but in most absent minds, the understanding of captivity and freedom were abridged in crime and punishment or torture (always coming first as physical in most thoughts), yet there is a sort of abstract bindings; way more restraining than tangible ones and with no limit of their ability to fetter the prisoner regardless of how strong is their will to break free, or how far their access to the key goes. mind games have proven themselves to be more effective throughout history, even in the simplest circumstances. What is more, playing on the strings of sentiment: romanticization of bonds -no matter how abusive they were- such as parenthood, friendship or more formally formed ties; marriage.

There is this magical thing about marriage : it is a golden cage, a caressing shackle perceived as a warm nest in a vision of a romance, colored as red and pink, planted as roses. a cuff that priests call matrimony, poets call union and goldsmiths call rings- you name it; it's still a menacle, whether spouses consented to it or not.

Kento was the typical man with the ordinary ambitions of immersing in a job (best if it paid generously), owning what is enough and settling down. To him, marriage was the ultimate expression of love, more than a mere ring, a wedding or flowery vows.

"I do have for you a love so dear that I drink from what your lips touch, I breathe when your lungs exhale, I slumber on where your skin embraces the mattress; one of both life and death."

- Your adoring one.

Engraved in red, the words slided over your heart's veil, forgotten in a memory of a cold rib. Satan lured Adam with an apple, so how would sugary words find any trouble deceiving?

"You're making me worried, Sweetheart…" sotto voce in the nature of a Dove's coo; disgustingly fondling.

Of course, a silver tongue cuts sharp in the same way it pours coquetry. life with Kento was seeing a moon and its dark side. under the beam of light, his lips mulls everything on you; kisses on your lips, cheeks and forehead blossomed, full rainbow ray of flowers were gifted to you, mostly red, attached to them little cards and billets-doux that enveloped letters of dalliance, arranged together and too sweet to the point it sickens you. The irony of his dimness was that he's more tolerable when he gnashes his teeth; wounds at your skin and soul, scolds and punishes in a parental manner. even for days, you'd hear the beast howling in your ear, ringing through the corridors of your head and it hurts to think.

Your eyes reflected in his figure, kneeling in front of you, not meaning they were drinking in the sight of him.

His thumbs brushed across your palms "Can I see your smile again? you look beautiful when you smile, you already are no matter how your face appears" nothing stirred up in you, emptiness of a blind man's face swam through the void.

"Please… sweetheart.." your composure nearly broke; a laugh dwindled within your throat. Does he think that you were a sole toy?! there to be played with, clothed and stripped to the colors of his whims, put on a pedestal at dawn and degraded at dusk?! it gnaws now on the branches of your chest, melts in your heart and fills your brain with a spiteful flow.

"I've got something nice, just for you, I'm sure it'll make you happy" with that, he left quickly and returned just as, something in the outlines of a large flower bouquet behind his back. no surprise, he had a proclivity for flowers; for how red are roses, for how fragrant was jasmine and for how innocent were lilies.

"I love you Sweetheart, never forget that!" as expected, roses. a pink posy of them.

You took the bouquet from his hands, glaring at the flowers in a burning grudge. for a flash of a glint, Medusa's serpents coiled between your digits, circling wrists, their skin flaying with yours. a bottle of somber tears shattered, impuring your core with loathing never imagined to be stored in your soul. With the swiftness of a sword out of its sheath, your hand flew high, landing the thorny plants across his face, over and over again, no drop of fear in you. Kento succeeded in grabbing your hand- not the one attacking him, squeezing your wrist to make you yield, but to no avail. your blood rushed hot through your veins, carving your mind with screams of violence and to hurt him more, that is when your fists balled and your ankles rose up sharply.

"Stop!"

You would never. your hands had their own mind, they scratched and punched and grabbed to your heart's content, avenging you after so long of a macabre suffering. your shackles started to unravel, each movement of yours freeing the hollowness outside you. short minutes stretched forth like long hours until you were done- or like you were over with him for now.

a blur on your vision subdued, the faint image clearing line by line. Kento was on the floor, leaning on a chair and balancing his weight on a knee, right hand shielding over his face. you couldn't see the damage well through his fingers till he got up, still holding his face in his hand, silently giving you his back and leaving you to your own devices. as he left, you noticed red across the sides of his hands and arms; few cuts and swells distorting the fabric of his pale skin.

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ophelian-darling · 6 months

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This the first and the last reblog I'll ever share here. I was extremely hesitant to discuss The Palestinian situation on a blog that I'm not active on, but here we are.

It's disgusting and purely vile how majority of western governments still support the Zionist system (Based on their best interests, they don't care as long as everything is fulfilled for them) even after witnessing the horrific images, any kind of footage or media that clearly shows who's oppressed- not just that, daring to steal pictures of seriously severed Palestinian children and posting them on news articles as Zionist children, Is this really how low the Western Media has stooped?

I won't say anything more. But please, For the love of God, I already mentioned that I don't want any Zionists around this blog. If you, by any chance, support Zionism or even take a neutral view, please block me and don't bother to send anon hate because I won't answer it.

why does everyone need a white person to break it down....

no LITERALLY??? it’s so frustrating. is it only relevant & trustworthy if a white person is breaking it down for them? zionists in my ask box trynna manipulate me thinking i’m dumb and know nothing as if i did not grow up watching and learning about their attacks on palestine on tv 24/7??? i have palestinian friends & neighbors who have went through hell. but all they care about is “hamas kidnapped a civilian🥺” lmao okay what about people dying every day in horrendous ways? i’m so sick

#not posting until things get a little better #.

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ophelian-darling · 7 months

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Prompta 94 + 38 with noriyaki kakyoin. He's ready captured you and confessed his love to you and you're still trying to get used to your new home.

"I'm the only one who can understand you"

"You're adorable when you're asleep"

TW: Isolation, Obsession, Implied Stalking and kidnapping, delusional thoughts.

Word Count : 1.3k words.

enjoy ♡

"Smile for me!"

It's been weeks- at least in your perception. There are certain thoughts of obscurity that gnaw your brain, the effect of Noriaki present even in the scatters of your mind's rambles: Time has no existence except that of the imagination, the more our thinking daubs with life colors, the more we get old. The clouds behind the window marched in a Foggy lane; so dreadful with a beauty of its own.

"Everything is beautiful! our eyes just can't see the bewitching charm of it. it's the human eye that is ugly"

Noriaki would chatter for hours about everything and nothing. Clutching a brush and standing in front of a canvas, aimlessly coloring a homely sketch in a passion of a Picasso yet in the skill of the Austrian painter, an opinion that God forbid if you shared to him no matter how he insisted you to. Better leave him to swim in a warm sea of his own illusions if it meant that you're out of any disturbing antics he would present.

A first look at him would tell no secret about the madness veining through him; it's just an introverted classmate with an amateur hobby of painting, someone who isn't recognizable in any way or form. Anyone who sees him scribbling on a paper would think that he's just recording notes for a class, while he is lining a crimson billet-doux. They would think he was fulfilling his class cleaning duty in the evening, while he was wiping the violent evidence of his crimes. They thought he was a sweet boyfriend to walk his lover home, while he was-

"What are you thinking of, Dollface?"

"Uh-" Instinctively changing your position as you uttered a faux-casual 'nothing', you realized that you were staring through a skylight window for too long, perhaps forgetting (or ignoring?) him as he ordered you to smile. quickly, you put your lips curves to a height that felt awkward, a smile of a rushed family photo. He hummed in response, seemingly buying it so as to complete his 'Masterpiece' (using his words).

"I'm almost done, I can't wait for you to see it"

"I'm so excited to see it!" you lied, the family photo smile still plastered on your face.

"This is the best thing I've ever drawn so far" He smiled, cheerfully eyeing your resting figure on the chair "I wanted to paint you in full coloring for so long, and now I'm glad I got the chance to finally do it"

Just at your left, a wall stood still, dozens of haste sketches hanging on, some semi-completed, others either barely spilled any effort or neglected at their prime, jittery lineaments in dark pencil. You could tell that Noriaki was frustrated with them: they never matched the tableau vivant he carved in his mind's eye; yet they somehow ended up being useful enough to have the honor to be remembered and kept.

Leisurely, the corners of the house engraved themselves in your memory corridors, so was the daily script of life here: days mimed each other, Noriaki's smiles split into thousands of colors, yet his eyes were ever the same as fake greens; none of them held any normalcy or spontaneity, just faux calmness. In the morning, you both wake up- He's the first to rise from bed, rattling you awake before having breakfast together. His tongue flows when the sun shines, he talks and speaks and laughs and chatters nineteen to the dozen, his voice very clear in your anamnesis yet his words hazy. as your teacup hangs between your thumb and index finger, you focus on the movement of his lips and nod at whatever letter he throws. As the ether discolor into cinnabar, his room is solely altered to be a temple honoring you: poems, paintings and pictures wallpapered the small room in a morbid show of attachment. When the moon is crowned in the sky with stars, The jar of cogitation breaks, and Noriaki would animate his dreams of a family and a blithe life, framing you and him in one iridescent cadre, until the heavy curtain of dreamless slumber falls on your eyes.

"I'm done!" He announced happily "Come take a look"

You stood up, blood circulating again through the muscles of your backside and thighs. Of course, sitting for two hours in a stiff position to please the Mr.Artist was nowhere of an exertion near his. You just have to sit and look pretty, he would argue.

"It's the best ever! I'm really proud of this one. I've been thinking about making it real for so long, and it's as perfect as I imagined!" The palette in his left hand moved with each word, intonating his speech. He surely was excited- you never got a reaction so enthusiastic from him.

You kept your smile, looking at the product of two hours in front of you.

A dark line rimmed a color that seemed like your skin tone, vigor lines on what you assumed to be the head pastiched your hair, proving even more how much of blind digits he had. The eyes of your own face were closed, an expression you never felt or recognized on your features layered your replica on the canvas. it was what a crow would caw compared to what a nightingale would chant.

"So?" He waited for your approval.

Life with Noriaki taught you a massively important key skill: Lying. your lips curve up, your vocal cords silken as the lie rolls down your tongue "It's really beautiful!" you reach up to his face and kiss his cheek as a 'thank you for bothering yourself to appreciate my beauty'. He basked in your validation and demanded it almost always.

"But I'm kinda curious, why did you draw my eyes closed?" you noticed his smile shift from a saccharine one to egoistic.

"You know you're already cute right? yet not genuinely" He stared at the painting, carrying on "I think that honesty suits your face best. I know that you didn't like the painting, and I know that you never liked any of my sketches or anything I ever made for you" His lips merged into a thin line, a gray flicker flashing in his irises. coolly, he continued "You have that stupid fake kindness about you, you don't want to hurt my feelings, and I hate pressing you to tell me your honest thoughts. I feel like at this point you treat me like a fucking toddler, you encourage and say sugary things to please me… you constantly lie to me to make me happy, and as much as this is caring, it bothers me"

Your lips sewed themselves.

"But I found a way. I memorize everything about you every single day, I came to know you more and more. isn't this sweet, My lovely eye candy? I get to understand you better! Now I know just too well about you! Now I'm the only one who can understand you"

Four eyes widened, two out of pure shock, others out of an unfamiliar emotion, something that sounded like a pink Mania.

"And to answer your question, I realized why I love looking at you sleeping… I couldn't put my finger on it for a year, but the more I see the more I fathom it: you're most vulnerable when you're asleep… all appealing and appetizing and too pure to commit the crime of lying so glibly and beautifully… slumber has just a nice touch on your face, You're truly adorable when you're asleep"

Thinking has no time to course within your brain. The head of his brush was smudged back in a crimson mix of colors, taking a clot of red and sullying the white canvas, just above the head of your painting.

"Let's see how honest I can make you"

All red, a human Masterpiece of his.

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