#Would that be psychological horror?? Maybe idk

[gorygirllovesart]

is it wrong of me to want to give my favorite characters children just so they can experience the horrors of parenthood???😿

[teethbomb]

hhhhhhnnngh

[acexsmhking]

Do you think you could do some headcanons for Toby if he was in college? I think it'd be fun to see something like that for him!! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞

(𝗻.) 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗶��𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲

╰┈➤ Tobias College Head-canons

Summary: Head-canon college for Tobias Rogers

Warning(s): 18+ content, mentions of math, mentions of canonical information, mention of alternative universe

Alternative Universe

Ooo I love this idea SO MUCH OMG

Since his parents kept him homeschooled pretty much his whole life, college is the first ‘real’ school he attends

Of course now that Toby is older they deem that he’s grown enough and that the world has grown enough to let the two collide

Toby… does not like college as much as he thought he would.. a bit of fault to his family

He’s grown so used, so attentive to his mother and sister’s care that being by himself finally is very difficult

He spends a lot of nights on call with Lyra to help himself

Connie calls 2-3 times a day no matter the time difference she always makes sure to call Toby on HIS time zone that’s appropriate

Since his dad is the one good with work Tobias often calls him to help with studying. He’s never quite had to study in the same sense as now so he has zero clue as to what the fuck he’s doing

Of course.. the world is still immature when Toby is college age, though maybe not as much as before but that doesn’t mean Toby doesn’t still come across some unsavory people

IDEA!!!: Toby attending the same college as Tim and Brian??? Omg so cute anyways

Toby mostly goes to a college in Oregon or Washington. He loves the climate and season changing, the nature and funny people

HE HATES CLASSES

He loves his profs though, they’re so funny unironically and he loves when his afternoon prof just brings her dog in

…idk anything about college sorry

He was always very academic gifted and college is no different but by the gods is it… a horror movie

Toby would probably major in something like biology, criminology, Human Resources or straight up psychology. It really depends!!

LOVEW HOLIDAYS, loves being able to go back home and hang out with his family and being babied by his mom

Calls his dad at 3am like “dad… what’s taxes..”

Current Universe

This is probably while he’s in the SCP foundation, they set up college courses for him to take

Again, Tobias is stupidly intelligent so he learns fairly quick

Finds out he hates math

Hates. Math.

But is ridiculously good at long division (actually his favorite… psycho)

He also loves multiplication but DO NOT ask him to multiply beyond 11, that’s when he starts losing it

Tim helps him a lot <3

Sometime Toby has a hard time remembering how to read English words so Tim explains it for him

“What’s that thing that go dirk dirk dirk..”

“Helicopter.”

“Yes!”

Tobias is actually so stupidly academically gifted he graduated earlier, which the foundation was actually thankful for

It’s hard lying to the government

Putting my own headcanons aside, foundation set up for Tim and Toby to live normal lives (under observation of course), they both live in their own separate townhouses

Private by Toby is still close to Tim when he has breakdowns

Again… 3am

“Timothy Wright, you never fucking told me about taxes!”

Falls off his bed laughing

“Why don’t they just tell me what I owe??? WHY DO I EVEN OWE ANYTHING.”

Toby might shoot a billionaire himself

Toby’s college experience in Canon-universe however is definitely 100% online with profs working FOR the SCP to help Tobias

They even set up for Tim to continue his own college courses since ya know.. he only finished somewhat and not everything he wanted to do

: ̗̀➛ This was such a cute idea thank you so much koa bear😽

[glamourscat]

Hello hello!

If/when you have the time to do so, it'd be pretty cool to see some headcannons about the type of nerd stuff Tim does/is into. Like what kinds of games and shows he's into, "nerdy" behaviors of his, would he ever cosplay, etc. I personally think that he'd be into Dungeons and Dragons (not sure to what degree though).

Also, as an alternative, you could do headcannons about Tim with a nerdy!S/O who "matches his freak", so to speak.

Anyway, that's pretty much it! Have a nice day/night!

TIM DRAKE NERDY HOBBIES HCS

Tim being into DnD is actually canon! The game he played in the comics was called Warlocks and Warriors

So, to what degree would he play? I think a pretty serious one

Not necessarily every week game night sort of thing, but at least once at month, or when he and his group can regroup to play together

I can see him going deep into the character making. Choosing the name accurately to the ability they have, the powers and so on

He wouldn’t be necessarily into “solving” games, like cluedo, for example. He is a vigilante, it’s a big part of him sure, but he also needs a break you know?

Games that represent too “close” to his real life would be a no no from the get go. Monopoly, cluedo and anything of the sorts

He is the type to prefer table games. Regrouping with his friends and play cards or anything really, just makes his night

In terms of video games I can see him play mini games (?) like small horror, thrilling ones on his pc. Otherwise he enjoys going to the arcade more. 80/90s style games are more up to his liking

Though, something he really LOVES, is Pokémon. He has a Nintendo switch just to play Pokémon games

Guilty pleasure are cooking mama, animal crossing and super Mario

The type to download the sim just to recreate you guys on the game and your love life

Loves legos. Especially the big set ones, he finishes them so quickly

A star wars fan

I see him as someone who really would enjoy watching anime and reading manga

Definitely fantasy ones, especially ones with mythical creatures, aka vampires (?) idk I just get those vibes

But heavy on the type of anime that play mind games. That are filled with mysteries, foreshadows and twists, confusion and maybe dive slightly into psychology too

JJK, blue exorcist (manga), attack of titans, erased, Steins:Gate, detective Conan, the case study of vanitas, odd taxi, psycho pass, the perfect insider, black butler, death note, monster

He would love to go to anime conventions

Definitely the type to lose himself around the stands 24567 times

Buys way too much merch

Has an extended collection of Funko pops, mangas, collectors editions and figures

Very big on graphic novels, comics and fantasy books too!

He is into coding. Something he really enjoys is creating little interactive websites pages for his s/o

Like this one

Collects the most random shit. Like I imagine him travelling for missions, state to state or outside the US and all of the sudden he brought back a collection of the most obscure handmade thing he could find in that place.

Big into astronomy. Hell, he is the type to randomly say in a conversation “today Mars will be visible at so and so degree, so I’m busy tonight” (I don’t even know if that’s possible but that’s besides the point)

Photography, although not as “nerdy”, he loves it. His style is more urban leaning. He manages to capture what he wants in his work perfectly

lastly, HE DEFINETLY COSPLAYS!!! i mean, look at canon

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[a-cow-stole-my-username]

Something that I've been thinking about BTD characters is how each of them could shine best in a different medium. You may disagree but let me explain:

Lawrence would do well on a book or a comic of some kind especially since it could give light to his inner thoughts creating this atmosphere that can only be completed through imagination. The lore and myth of fantasy/supernatural are best for him. Based on gatobob asks he's fond of books so it sounds right to me. Ethereal unsettling artwork or gruesome poetry for him.

Strade as a movie or short series, he's more straightforward and graphic also the scenery in the games plays a role in how you feel I would say the acting and expressions are also very important to the horror, all the body language to define who he is. The perspective of a camera putting the viewer into "feeling" his actions would be cool.

Ren works well as a visual novel but maybe an OVA would be nice too, or maybe another kind of adult game idk it fits him and what he does in borh games. How the player can influence him and all his possible outcomes could shine better like this. It's the balance of dialogue, fear and psychological analisis.

Mason would be perfect for a 1st person survival horror game, I enjoyed his route but a visual novel you can't properly show how scary that situation would be, especially for someone who's not used to being in the woods, getting lost quickly, the effects of the weather, avoiding his presence... Just imagine all the trees looking the same, everything is quiet and the sun is setting down, suddenly you feel something sharp inside your leg and it's over...

Derek in a similar fashion could be a game but more co-op or or geared towards action perhaps some kind of pvp? Similar to games like dead by daylight since the desert doesn't have much locations and how it's easy to be spotted is an important part of surviving them. The after "he took you home" would be best as a vn since again the possible outcomes are easier to navigate. The family dinamic of the goffards is something I've been itching to learn more about.

Celia I'm still not sure but a movie OR and erotic/horror bdsm book would fit her best, the themes in her route are very similar and to me the endings in which you die are boring, letting her go doesn't sound interesting to me either so a full story focusing on her, her job, marriage, her desires to lash out and how she expresses her kinks and frustrations are perfect for these two mediums. The occasional erotic artwork would also be nice, on the other hand music would also be interesting to explore especially for Celia, something elegant contrasted by chaos and fury would be nice to listen to.

Let me hear your thoughts 👀

[mrderofcr0ws]

HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra's most prized possession— but the winter soldier was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

it had been a long time since either of you had seen the sun. you could get out with his help in the brief, painful moments of clarity he had. when he answered to that long forgotten name, you could escape together.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter soldier who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky's time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr. (roughly edited)

<- previous part

PART TWO —

— KEEPING AN EYE

you hit him hard enough to hurt.

if you didn’t, someone else would.

and you couldn’t let that happen.

if anyone were to draw blood from his veins, it would be you. only you understood what it meant to make the winter soldier bleed. only you understood the importance of his blood. as you kicked him across the face, it kept him out of that god forsaken chair.

it kept his mind in one piece though you split his lip in two.

“jackass,” he hissed, cupping his mouth. he spit out red and it splattered across the sparing mat.

what a waste…

stop it.

“c’mon, winter.” you raised your hands and shifted your weight, watching each and every move he made.

he was slow this morning.

slow enough to draw the attention of those who sat inside the observatory box above you. the dark glass was almost a mirror. it blurred the shadows of the people inside— but you could feel them watching.

they were always watching.

everywhere except your bedroom, they were always keeping their eyes on the two of you. guards by the doors. cameras with blinking red lights, recording every second of your day. always being watched. always being tested and studied.

the winter soldier swung at you— but your reflexes were as fast as his. maybe faster.

whatever they had concocted in the bottle your abilities came out of made you a lethal machine of blood and bone. you could smell blood from miles away. you could crush bone between your teeth. you could hear the faintest of sounds. you could track trails that had been cold and dead a long time.

but you were impulsive.

hot-headed and volatile.

that is why they paired you with him.

he was exactly what he was supposed to be.

a weapon.

a weapon they had no problem deploying against you to keep you from biting back at the hands that made you.

the winter soldier uppercut you with that hard metal fist.

you stumbled back, catching yourself with your arms spread out. you spit out a tooth. a bloody red smile curled across your lips— and the tooth you lost was replaced by a new one in an instant.

the guards lining the room gripped their guns as they watched the two of you spar.

that was too gentle of a word to call what transpired on that mat.

it was war.

it was rage and blood and pain.

you swung yourself around him like a spider as he tried to pin you in a headlock. he hissed through blood stained teeth as you choked him with your legs. he roared like a feral animal.

you braced yourself as he slammed you both down onto the hard, cold mat. air escaped your lungs in a violent gasp. the two of you grappled for control.

he always had to have it.

and that vibranium arm made it easy to grasp.

he felt no pain.

no matter how hard you bit down, your teeth would break before the metal did. he pinned you down onto the mat by your face, hard metal fingers digging into your cheeks.

“yield,” he rasped.

you swung your legs up and caught his shoulders. twisting like an alligator, you rolled the two of you. you jammed your knee down into his throat, gasping for breath. that metal hand still encased your mouth.

‘yield!’ your eyes demanded.

“no mercy.”

the voice that came from the speakers above froze you both in place on the mat as it echoed across the room.

for a moment, all you did was stare at each other.

and then it was blood and pain and war again.

the winter soldier kicked you off of him in one fluid strike. you hit the mat hard. landing on your side, your ribs took the blow. fire encased your side and you scrambled to get up.

but he was already above you.

he grabbed you by your hair and pulled you onto your knees. you struggled to fight off the hold he had on you— but once that cold metal arm slid around your throat and he hoisted you up, it was over.

you choked as he dangled you inches above the ground. you tried to claw at his face but your hands kept flying back up around the hard metal to pry yourself free. the bruises on your neck made the pain worse. he crushed your throat in the bend of his elbow and leaned back, restricting any and all airflow you could get.

you tappped— but he did not let you go.

he couldn’t.

no mercy.

the edges of your vision began to blur. you could hear his breath fade in and out as he struggled to hold you still. your hands dropped from his arm, nails cracked and red with blood. when your head fell back against his shoulder, the lights went red.

“mercy.”

the winter soldier lowered you to the ground and placed you down on the mat. he stepped away as two guards swarmed you. he licked the blood off his lip and watched as they injected you in the thigh with a large, sharp needle.

you shot forward and let out a strangled, broken scream as adrenaline shot through your veins.

you grabbed one of the guards by the throat and dragged him in an instant onto the floor below you. the other guard shot you before you could tear at the padding protecting his throat.

you winced as the dart stuck into your arm.

you plucked it out and tossed it aside. you wobbled as the sleeping agent calmed the rage of adrenaline. the guard shoved you off and you hit the mat face first. blood smeared across your cheek as you landed in the puddle of it.

his blood.

you parted your lips and breathed in through your mouth, catching the faint taste of it in the air. a soft cry escaped you. you fought against the heaviness of your eyelids as you crawled across the mat. blood streaked along the dirty floor as you pulled yourself through it.

when you finally blacked out, you did so with your hand curled around the laces of his boot.

the winter soldier looked down at you. he nudged you with his foot but you did not move. those slender fingers stayed curled around his laces. laying there beside him face down on the mat, you looked nothing like a weapon— a heartless killer.

you looked like a woman.

he bent down lifted you off the ground like a groom would his bride— and he carried you off the mat without looking back at the box above.

— ☆ —

the good thing about getting your ass kicked was the medicine.

they drugged you up good when the bruises on your neck turned black and blue. that was the second time in only a handful of hours that he choked you. you were in for a rough couple days. it was hard to swallow and you were glad of it.

they gave you as much blood as you wanted.

they let you poke a straw straight into one of the spare blood bags they had stocked up for moments like this. you sipped it like a juice box, your feet propped up as you watched old black and white cartoons in the medical bed you were strapped into by the waist.

he sat beside you.

in an rickety wooden chair with his arms crossed against his chest, he had little interest in the cartoon. he watched the way you licked the dark red blood off your lips and sucked it off your teeth. he watched the way the corner of your lip would twitch into a slight smile when something was funny to you.

tv was a privilege so rarely gifted.

so was a smile from you.

you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

you should’ve been used to him staring at you by now. it had been decades now of you two staring at each other. most people were gray and wrinkled in that amount of time. married with kids and grandbabies to spoil.

marriage would never be possible for either of you.

you didn’t want to marry him, anyways.

you didn’t want to marry anyone.

you didn’t want him to marry anyone.

ever.

yet your face burned the longer he stared.

“spit it out,” you rasped through a weak, crushed windpipe.

he rolled the word on his tongue before spitting it out at you. his voice was too gruff. “sorry…”

“i don’t like when you say sorry.” you sighed. you focused on the cartoon, finding yourself less and less interested in the moving pictures. “just…just cut it out…”

“i am sorry, isla.”

the blood bag burst and splattered red across the whole of him as you threw it at his head.

you bared your teeth in a wicked, feral scowl whilst he sat as still as stone. blood dripped off his face and pooled on the chair as it slipped off his gear.

“don’t.” you hissed through your teeth.

with great restraint, the winter soldier wiped the blood from his eyes— except it wasn’t him. not really.

he was not alone in those deep, blue eyes.

you watched as he stood up and felt panic arise in you. your were trapped. you were strapped down to the bed with no way to free yourself— but the tension dropped from your shoulders and you uncurled your hands from around the sheets as he turned up the volume on the tv.

your heart skipped a beat as he reached above and turned the camera away.

“what are you doing?” you asked in a whisper as he approached. you were gripping the sheets again.

“you have a mess to clean up, no?”

you couldn’t tell who was speaking to you now. who was looking at you as he sat down beside you. he spoke like winter. he stared like him, too. cold and calculated.

but the way he touched you.

the way he touched you was different.

you winced as he kissed you.

it did not hurt in the slightest but you braced yourself as though you expected it to. you braced yourself for his hand at your throat.

his hand did touch you— but it was not the metal one.

his warm, calloused fingers caught your chin between their tips as he kissed you slowly.

your lips parted and your tongue swiped across his mouth, cleaning him of the blood you so rudely threw at him. your heart pounded with every sound outside the door. it wouldn’t be long before they realized he had turned the camera.

you had been caught doing worse with winter before.

but you were not kissing him now.

bucky savored the way each messy kiss felt on his face. it made him smile. spots you would clean of blood would cover him again in lipstick-like marks all over his pale face. you couldn’t help yourself.

blood and kisses— two things that disarmed you.

you swiped your finger along his jaw, catching the blood stuck in thick, un-fallen droplets. he watched you lick your finger clean.

to winter, it would’ve been arousing.

to you, it almost was.

to him, it was intimate.

bucky swiped his thumb across your lips. you were turning into more of a mess than he was. a soft tremble rattled through his frame as you sucked away the blood on his thumb.

“taste good?” he asked in a whisper.

“not as good as you.” you murmured, nipping at the tip of his thumb.

it wasn’t exactly true. his blood had no appeal in the sense that it quenched your thirst. it never did. you could not feel satiated on his blood alone.

but you loved the taste of it because it was him.

the door swung open and guns cocked, red lasers trained to the weakest parts of you both. one shot with the bullets in those guns would kill you. you both turned your heads as the guards parted and the head captain stepped into the room.

bucky was quick to stand and fall in.

you bared your teeth, a strangled growl slipping through them as he bashed bucky across the face with his gun.

bucky kept his head down.

the head captain walked across the room and positioned the camera back to the way it was supposed to be. a clear view of you on the bed. of him beside you in his chair— but they did not let him sit back down.

they did not let him stay.

and they did not let you watch tv again.

— ☆ —

it was weeks before you saw him.

they kept you from each other as punishment for the little stunt he pulled— and to make sure you recovered from your injury without any hiccups.

you two were prone to…roughhousing…and they couldn’t risk you worsening in any way.

once you could swallow real foods and the swelling in your throat went down, they let you out of the infirmary. you hated being there. that bed was uncomfortable. those lights were too bright. the smell of sterile alcohol and bleach made you feel sick.

the sound of him screaming made you feel sick, too.

they brought you into the lab bound in chains from head to toe with that metal muzzle over your mouth and forced you to stand in front of him. white froth spewed from his mouth around the black plastic bite they shoved between his teeth. the blood vessels in his eyes began to burst as he strained against the pain.

“longing.”

you turned your head at the sound. behind you, one of the doctors held that red notebook with the star. you curled your hands into fists and grit your teeth together.

they weren’t punishing him.

they were preparing him.

“rusted.”

he screamed around the bite in his mouth, shaking like a seizure patient within the chair. the veins in his head threatened to burst. his hips bucked wildly as if he were trying to stand— trying to escape.

you fought the urge to step forward.

no matter how valuable you were, they’d shoot you.

you’d be dead before you hit the ground.

“seventeen.”

you knew what each word meant. you had learned them over the last four decades as you watched them break him apart and reconstruct him.

they wanted you to know them in case you needed to put him back in his place.

longing— for his old life.

rusted— for his arm.

seventeen— the year he’d been born. 1917.

“daybreak.”

he groaned in agony as the tremors worsened. every vein in his body was protruding out of his skin. tears dripped from his unblinking eyes as sweat slipped down his face.

daybreak.

it was a taunt.

a jab at him.

at you, even.

you couldn’t remember the last time either of you had seen the sun. they dispatched you at night. neither of you had felt the sun on your skin in a long, long time.

“furnace!” the doctor shouted over his cries.

that’s where they threatened to throw him if he disobeyed. they’d burn him to nothing. they’d destroy him entirely.

“nine!”

nine for the date 1945.

the year he’d been pronounced dead.

“benign!”

that is how they saw the part of him they wanted weakened.

they wanted bucky barnes to be nothing more than a benign piece of his past.

“homecoming!”

this carefully picked set of words would bring their prize weapon home no matter how hard he fought against them.

“one!”

a weapon with one mission.

“freight car!”

the train.

his demise.

the death of james buchanan barnes.

the machine whirred as it powered down. the locks that held him in place unclicked and unlatched from around him. the steam wafting off him from how hot he’d become under all that strain fogged the air. his bloodshot eyes were void of all and any bit of emotion as he stood.

guards drew their guns and aimed them at his chest.

but there was no need for such a thing.

“ready to comply,” he rasped, his voice raw.

you stumbled as the guard holding the leash of heavy chain handed you over in one rough, unkind movement.

the winter soldier glanced at you.

though they wiped him clean, he could never forget you. you were too ingrained in his program. he went no where without you— and you nowhere without him.

but he was as unfeeling as the metal arm he looped the chain to your collar around. with a small tug, you stepped to his side. a well trained beast. you did not need words or pain to make you fall in.

you only needed fear of the winter soldier.

and that is something you felt down to the marrow of your bones.

you feared him like a child feared the monster under their bed— the way the guards feared you.

but you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

the two of you walked down the quiet, cold hallways with guards in front of and behind you. the collar around your neck was offensive to the leftover bruises, but you ignored it. it’s not as though you could tell anyone it bothered you, anyways.

the metal muzzle kept you from making a sound.

the dark, stuffy room you two were brought to was familiar. you sat down in your respective seats — two desks beside each other — and stared at the blank white screen ahead. a soft click echoed behind you and light shot out from the projector.

“this,” the head captain said as he pointed to the picture on the projector screen. “is shield agent nicholas fury.”

the image of the man with one eye on the screen was one of the clearest pictures you had ever seen. and it was in color.

you glanced at him as he glanced at you. you both wondered how long it had been since the last time you were awake if they had such high quality colored pictures these days.

“he has become a top agent in shield’s ranks and he has fallen onto our red list. he knows too much about the weapons we build. weapons designed to harness the power of the tesseract— and we fear shield has begun searching for it, too,” said the head captain.

“we want him gone.”

you sat back in your chair and rested your hands in your lap. it had been a long, long time since you were dispatched to assassinate a member of shield. nearly three sleeps ago, if you could remember correctly.

it was the most dangerous kind of job.

you turned your head to meet his gaze. he had the same lazy look in his eye that you did.

you were both pitifully unamused.

hydra had such a bad habit of leaving messes for you two to clean up— but at least it meant you’d be free of this hell-hole for a while.

“tell us where to find him and we will put an end to him.” the winter soldier said lowly.

you stuck out your hands, jiggling the chains. your eyes crinkled at the edges in a wicked, devilish smile.

the winter soldier shared that same smile as he watched them strip you of your cuffs, your chains, and your collar.

you both had a job to do.

and neither of you were intent on letting the name nick fury mean anything for a moment longer.

hope you enjoyed. next part ->

[nanamineedstherapy]

Mouth to Meat

Cannibal Yakuza Sukuna X [Retracted] F!Reader

Summary: Dr. Y/N L/N is tasked with profiling Ryomen Sukuna, a feared yakuza boss known for his violent tendencies and taste for human flesh. Through a series of therapy sessions, she gains his trust—or so it seems. But Sukuna isn’t the only predator in the room. Behind Y/N’s professional demeanor hides a secret far darker than even Sukuna’s sins. When the masks drop, it’s clear: monsters don’t always look like him.

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains themes of manipulation, torture, obsessive behavior, and violence (murder), twisted relationships, blood & gore, talks of cannibalism but none actually happening, sadistic behavior, manipulative characters, psychological horror, smut between aged-up characters who are a little OC (maybe idk.) If any of these subjects are sensitive for you, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this chapter.

A/N: I had to write this chapter because I couldn't let the bitch walk into the sunset with Sukuna without consequences. If you came here looking for sanity—you’re in the wrong place. If you came for blood, mind games, and a couple so unhinged they’d make Bonnie and Clyde look like amateurs—welcome home.

Previous Chapter 3 - Unravelling the first Red Threads (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 4 - Love Like a Blade to the Throat (Final Chapter)

20 years later - Prague, Czech Republic

Somewhere within a palace of glass and grandeur.

The scent of roasting flesh wove through the corridors like a lover’s whisper, curling into the opulent sitting room where she sat, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that bled light from the cloudy day onto the polished parquet.

Outside, the city stretched like a breathing tapestry—cobblestone veins pulsing with life, gothic spires cutting against the deep violet sky—a place of history, of culture, of meat .

She sipped her tea, an exquisite Darjeeling that Uraume had steeped to perfection, the delicate tannins swirling on her tongue, mixing with the ghost of her last meal.

A violinist played in the streets below, a haunting melody rising through the cold air, as if mourning something that hadn't yet died.

Sukuna was away, wrapped up in his Yakuza affairs—uninteresting, irrelevant. His business did not concern her unless it bled into her pleasures. And at this moment, her pleasure was solitude. The slow, methodical unraveling of the next course.

She ran a gloved finger along the gilded rim of her cup, watching the city breathe. The people—faceless, nameless, meaningless—walked beneath her like ants in a glass colony, unaware of their place in the food chain. She could already tell which ones would be worth her time. The elderly, too chewy. The sick, too bitter. The common, too dull.

Then there were the rarities. The ones who smelled of something divine.

She never discriminated. Child, woman, man—if they met her standard, they were meat. She appreciated the fine subtleties: the tender sweetness of youth, the complexity of a well-lived life, the marbled richness of one who indulged in excess. A trained palate could tell everything from scent alone—stress, diet, fear.

The best ones always had a touch of regret, like a delicate aging wine just before its peak.

From the lower levels of the palace, Uraume’s voice murmured instructions to the kitchen staff, knives gliding, bones cracking—the rhythmic symphony of preparation. The air carried the aroma of caramelizing fat, slow-roasted, methodically seasoned. A new acquisition.

A former artist, if she recalled correctly. He had smelled of oil paints and ambition—an excellent vintage.

A faint smile touched her lips as she traced patterns in the condensation on the windowpane.

The Japanese government had been searching for her and Sukuna for years, their relentless pursuit as amusing as it was futile. They had no face to chase and no name to whisper in their war rooms. She was a chameleon, slipping through their fingers like smoke, shifting personas like silk dresses.

She had once been a respected scientist, a leading mind in psychiatric evaluation. They had placed criminals before her, monsters they could not comprehend, and she had dissected them with words sharper than any scalpel.

But none had fascinated her. None had been worthy.

Not until him.

Sukuna.

Now how useful he’d been.

Nanami Kento had smelled of regret, of burnt-out ideals, of controlled rage masked beneath a meticulous routine. It had made his flesh all the more exquisite, the tension of his being seared into every bite.

Gojo Satoru had been more of a curiosity than a meal. A man who reeked of arrogance and saccharine defiance, the taste of him was almost overwhelming—too bright, too indulgent, like a dessert meant to be consumed in small, rare portions. And yet she had devoured him.

Together, they formed a rare combination of different types of meat that complemented each other beautifully. In fact, one could argue that they worked better in tandem than they did alone. The scent of sandalwood and petrichor still overwhelmed her senses whenever she thought of them. They were the only pair she had Sukuna personally age and dry, allowing them to indulge in small, exquisite quantities from time to time.

Their deaths had been art, a composition of pain and revelation. The moment they had realized what she was, what she had always been, had been sublime.

A deep, satisfied breath filled her lungs.

The violinist below finished her song.

A pause.

Then the next piece began—something somber, something hungry.

She smiled, taking another sip of her tea.

One day she’d invite her in for tea, and she’d never breathe again.

Suddenly, the cold kiss of metal pressed against her throat. A whisper of steel, a lover’s caress. The sharp edge bit in, precise, shallow—just enough to let warmth bloom against her skin. The scent of iron curled into the air, mingling with the fading notes of her tea.

She did not flinch.

Instead, she exhaled slowly, setting the cup down with a masterful grace. The porcelain barely whispered against the saucer. Outside, the city droned on, oblivious.

“Who are you?” She mused, voice carrying the weight of detached amusement.

“Doesn’t matter.”

The voice behind her was young. Rough with amusement, tinged with something manic, something starving. Close—too close. His breath skimmed the shell of her ear, warm and cloying with the scent of strawberry candy. That scent—familiar but off, like a memory half-rotted in the recess of her mind.

“All that matters is you are dying.”

A chuckle rumbled low in his throat, the kind that belonged to men who enjoyed carving smiles into others.

Her fingers traced the condensation on the windowpane. “At the very least,” she murmured, unbothered, “I should know who gets the privilege of killing me.”

He laughed, the sound sharp and wild, like the crackle of a fire before it swallowed a home.

“I don’t fulfill my food’s desires.”

So naive. So green.

Whoever this child was, he did not know her.

Did not recognize the years of artistry, the refinement of her craft.

But he would learn.

Her eyes flicked to his hand’s reflection in the glass, catching the faintest silhouette—a shadow barely restrained by flesh. Young. Vibrant. Pulsing with a thrill he did not yet understand.

“And Uraume?” She asked lightly, tilting her head just so. A calculated distraction. “They don’t fit your palate?”

The knife remained against her throat, but the air shifted.

“I don’t like pet meat,” he said with a rumbling laugh, something unhinged curling in his voice.

Her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. That was when she noticed it. The stillness.

Beneath her, the kitchen, once alive with the symphony of knives and fire, was silent. The staff—silent.

Not even the fire crackled anymore.

The palace was dead.

Her lips curled, amusement flickering beneath her growing hunger.

He had cleaned her table before she could even taste his work.

That was a shame.

And yet, this boy—this laughing, overgrown child—had gotten inside. Past Sukuna’s guards. Past Uraume. That in itself was... commendable .

He would taste divine.

He would taste even better if she hunted him for Sukuna before he came back.

She started her plan. The one that had never failed her before because ‘men always led with their dicks.’

Not that anyone had dared to come after her before this, so the situation would be… unique .

“I know I’m a few years older than you,” she mused, voice as smooth as the tea she had been sipping. “But I’d really like to taste you before I die.”

The blade didn’t waver.

She leaned ever so slightly into it—a delicate pressure, a dance of power.

His grip tensed.

“I can show you things you haven’t even imagined.” She let the words drip like honey, her voice lilting with something dangerous. “Might even ruin you for the rest of your life. Make you compare every woman you meet to me. And if you’ve gotten past the homeowner’s guards, then..." A small, sultry pause. “You must be worthy of a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

His laughter came abruptly, sharp and sudden, like the crack of a gunshot in an empty hall.

“Ahh, sorry, lady.”

He pulled away, hand gripping her jaw instead, forcing her gaze toward the figure—she hadn't noticed—standing in the corner.

Unmoving. Watching.

A man, twenties. Tall. Dark hair unruly, eyes shadowed with something that did not belong in the face of someone young.

Her brain flicked between them. The one behind her—grinning, feral—and the other, silent, still, with the patience of a predator that knew it would eat eventually.

“My boyfriend over there wouldn’t like that very much.”

A slow, teasing drawl.

“And I’m very loyal.”

The boy behind her—her would-be killer—let go of her jaw and took a step in front of her and crouched his gladiator form before her like a child observing a caged bird.

Close enough that the scent of him filled her lungs again—sweet, nostalgic. He reminded her of someone, but not enough. The base notes were there but not the full body of the scent.

Something was wrong.

Something was off .

“Besides,” he continued, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips beneath the large hood, the only part that was visible, “even if I wasn’t loyal and into women…” A pause, like he was savoring it. “I don’t think old hags with sloppy trail would appeal to me.”

Her blood boiled .

She was not old . Just… forties .

She was refined .

At worst, a cougar .

Her grip flexed against the armrest of her chair, nails pressing into the fabric. Her eyes flicked to the silent one in the corner again, his gaze steady, unreadable.

The boy in front of her smirked wider, tilting his head as if he could hear the rage simmering in her bones.

“Besides—” he drawled, a teasing lilt in his voice. “We’re related, Auntie .”

The room went still.

Something curdled in her stomach as he lifted a hand to his hood, peeling it back to reveal—

No.

The hair.

The shape of the jaw.

The way the light caught his features, so damnably familiar but younger, softer, unweathered by the years—

Yuji.

And yet—no.

This was something else entirely.

His grin sharpened, bright and bloodthirsty.

“Long time no see, Aunt.”

She did not let her expression waver.

“I thought you died in childbirth.”

Her voice was smooth, measured, revealing nothing. The wound at her throat was still bleeding, staining the delicate fabric of her dress, but she did not falter.

A lesser creature would have trembled. Would have broken under the weight of inevitability.

But she was not lesser.

Yuji grinned at her, bright and sharp, all teeth and madness. “Aww, well, we can’t all be lucky now, Aunt, can we?” He finished by booping her nose as he stood up to his full mountain height.

There was nothing human in his eyes.

No warmth. No mercy.

Not the kind of insanity she had known in her past lovers, in the men who thought themselves monsters but were simply misguided.

No, this was something else entirely.

This was a creature who would kill her, carve out her ribs, and dance inside the hollow of her corpse, laughing all the while.

He was like her, but tactless.

Her mind turned, cold and quick.

This was bad.

Sukuna’s relationship with Yuji’s family had never been cordial. This would not end well for her.

Not unless she could find an opening.

She refused to die on her knees. She refused to die, caught off-guard.

But before she could move, the other one—the silent one—shifted.

The dark-haired man stepped forward to say something, but Yuji grabbed him by the waist, pulling him flush against his chest in one fluid motion.

She watched as Yuji’s grip tightened possessively before he devoured the other man’s mouth. A hungry, desperate kiss, all sharp edges and insanity.

The raven-haired one stiffened, then let out a low chuckle against Yuji’s lips, something quiet and knowing, something that sent a ripple of unease down her spine. He blushed when Yuji grabbed his ass, his arms tightening around Yuji as he whispered something low, something only for Yuji to hear.

Yuji’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” His voice was laced with anticipation. He dragged his teeth along Megumi’s jaw, breathless. “Ah, Megumi, I can’t wait. I’ll give you anything you want. Whenever and wherever you want it.”

The—Megumi, apparently—blushed deeper.

Yuji kissed him again, slow and lingering, as if he’d  just offered Yuji something of value.

It didn’t matter.

None of this did.

Sukuna would be here soon, and these two would be dead.

She pressed the hidden emergency button beneath the window, her fingers barely brushing the smooth surface before retracting.

She cleared her throat, hoping to stall them with empty words.

But then—

The glint of steel.

A flash of silver.

The butcher’s knife buried deep in her throat.

The impact stole her breath. A vicious, grotesque intrusion that sent a violent shudder through her body as the blade tore into her carotid artery.

Her hand flew to the wound instinctively, fingers pressing against the gaping, bleeding maw at her neck, but it was already over.

Yuji’s voice ripped through the room.

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to Megumi!”

His face was painted in her blood, crimson streaks dripping from his chin, spattered across his cheekbones like a masterpiece of slaughter.

And he still hadn’t moved his other hand from Megumi’s waist.

Still hadn’t looked at her when he plunged the blade in deeper, twisting it viciously, backhanded, with the same ease as one might swat away an insect.

Her vision blurred.

She felt the warmth of her own life spilling down her chest, soaking into the fabric of her dress, pooling at her feet.

No.

No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

Her breath hitched, gurgling as blood filled her lungs, drowning her from the inside out. Her body convulsed, her fingers trembling as they clutched at her own throat, her own wound, desperate and useless.

Yuji barely spared her another glance, his attention already back on Megumi, his lips curling in delight as if she were nothing more than an afterthought.

Nothing more than meat.

Her body sagged forward, her consciousness slipping—

And the last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her whole was the way Megumi smirked against Yuji’s lips, eyes glinting with something ancient, something feral, something that whispered—

‘You never stood a chance.’

She was dead.

Should have been dead.

Should have succumbed to the darkness seeping into her veins, to the heat of her own blood pooling beneath her like a grotesque lover’s embrace.

But she wasn’t… dead .

Not yet.

With the last remnants of her strength, she moved.

Ripped the blade from her throat, lunged—

Yuji caught her effortlessly.

Like she was nothing.

Like she was a toy whose final act of defiance only amused him.

With an almost bored flick of his wrist, he sent her sprawling onto the cold marble, her body smacking against the ground with a wet, sickening sound. Before she could recover, before she could even breathe, he was on top of her, straddling her hips, his full weight pressing into her lungs, into her ribs, into her very existence.

She gasped. The world narrowed to the warmth of his breath, the press of his steel thighs caging her in, the sickly-sweet scent of strawberry candy, thick and artificial, tainting the coppery tang of her own blood.

Yuji leaned in close, his lips ghosting over her throat where she bled out, inhaling deeply.

“Aww, the hag fights.”

His voice was honeyed mockery, dripping with amusement.

She glared at him.

He grinned, sharp and wolfish, his nose grazing the sticky, open wound at her throat.

“Ahh, you smell nice.” He exhaled, letting the warmth of his breath trail down her skin. “But I’m not sophisticated like you, Aunt. I can’t even point out what you smell like.”

She clenched her teeth, fury crackling through her veins.

“Aww, are you mad because you’re going to be eaten?” he murmured, tilting his head, “or because you’ll be eaten by someone so uncultured?”

She wanted to spit at him, to carve her rage into his flesh, but her body was no longer hers to control.

The corners of his lips curled, delighting in her weakening form.

The edges of her vision blurred. Her limbs felt leaden. The air, thick with blood, became harder and harder to pull into her failing lungs.

Yuji tsked, shaking his head as he sat back, still straddling her, still watching the light fade from her eyes.

“I guess the mystery dies with you.” He pouted, disappointed. “Such a shame. I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, almost tender if not for the cruelty in his touch.

“You were my hero once,” he murmured, voice softer now, as if he were speaking to a childhood ghost. Then, with a sneer, he added, “And yet, you die like everyone else—pathetic. Gasping for air.”

He stood, her body already cooling beneath him.

Her vision darkened. The last thing she saw was Megumi, silent and watchful, stepping forward to press a bottle of bleach into Yuji’s waiting hand.

Yuji grinned, kissed Megumi’s cheek, and then—

The stench of chemicals flooded her senses.

The burn was instant. It set her nerves ablaze.

She screamed.

And he laughed.

She screamed again, her body thrashing weakly against the inevitable, her own agony peeling her mind apart like a scalpel to flesh—

And he laughed louder, tilting his head.

The last thing she felt was fire.

The last thing she heard was Megumi’s low, amused chuckle as Yuji whispered something against his lips.

Then—nothing.

The body was still warm when Yuji whipped his face of her blood and shoved Megumi onto the nearest table.

The same table she had sat at just moments ago, sipping her tea, watching the city below like some untouchable queen.

Now, she was nothing more than a stain on the floor.

With a smooth motion from one hand, Yuji’s hoodie hit the ground, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the play of muscles shifting as he rolled his shoulders. His breath was heavy, the scent of blood and bleach clinging to his skin like perfume.

Megumi barely had time to react before Yuji’s hands were on him— grabbing, pulling, owning .

He smirked against his boyfriend’s lips.

They fucked right next to her body.

Yuji bit his neck in return, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to leave a mark that would linger.

Megumi’s head tipped back, his voice breaking into something raw, something real.

The palace walls swallowed his cries, but the floors beneath them carried the sound two stories down.

They didn’t care.

Not when Yuji’s fingers dug into Megumi’s thighs, gripping tight, possessive, worshipping in a way only a monster could.

Not when Megumi's nails raked over Yuji’s shoulders, down his spine, carving half-moons into muscle until he, unknowingly, drew bits of blood as he shuddered under him.

Not when Yuji leaned down, peppering lazy kisses along Megumi’s jaw, down his throat, whispering, “You drive me insane, babe. I love you, so… so so much.” Each word punctuated by a deep thursts that had Megumi ascending.

And Megumi—Megumi, who never surrendered, who fought against every chain the world tried to place on him—simply whispered back, breathless, ruined, “I... I love you.”

Yuji tugged his hair, making space for himself so that he could leave his marks undisturbed. Biting and licking while his movements never slowed down.

The doors slammed open, the room shaking with Sukuna’s presence before he even spoke.

“What the fuck are you doing here, brat?” His voice was a growl, venomous and sharp. His crimson eyes flared, scanning the room— blood, bleach, a corpse.

Then his gaze snapped to Megumi.

His eyes darkened.

“And why the hell is your whore here?”

Megumi flinched, his dazed mind barely processing the insult.

Instinctively, his head dipped, pressing against Yuji’s chest, letting Yuji’s larger frame shield him from Sukuna’s line of sight.

Yuji, however—oh, Yuji did not pause.

Did not falter.

Did not even acknowledge the shift in atmosphere.

Instead, he turned his head, growling over his shoulder, voice thick with warning, dripping with something feral.

“Don’t fucking call him a whore.”

No threat. No bravado. No posturing.

Just a statement of fact.

Sukuna’s expression twitched.

Something flickered in those crimson eyes.

But whatever rage threatened to boil over, whatever punishment he had prepared, was forgotten when Yuji turned back to Megumi and continued—as Yuji felt him clench around him.

The sex was always good with Yuji, but the moments like these were what made Megumi turned on for Yuji impossibly more.

Not the voyeurism, definitely not.

Not the power.

But the devotions.

Megumi trembled, overwhelmed, undone, his entire body wrecked from the sheer force of it.

The last push, the final claim, and Megumi’s entire body shattered.

His teeth sank into Yuji’s shoulder to stifle his voice, his breath stuttering, drowning in sensation.

Yuji—strong, brutal, relentless—pressed kisses over Megumi’s hair, whispering low praises against his damp skin.

He followed soon after, burying himself deep, his fingers gripping Megumi’s waist just rough enough to hold him still, but never enough to bruise.

Even in pleasure, Yuji never hurt him.

A moment passed.

Then another.

The world slowed, settled, the tension shifting from chaos to something intimate.

Still covering him, still inside, Yuji reached for the throw blanket on the couch and draped it over Megumi’s body before pressing a soft kiss and pulling out.

Megumi, oversensitive and in love, almost whined at the loss.

Yuji kissed his nose to shush him.

Megumi, still dazed, still shaking, flushed at the warmth of it.

Yuji smirked, his voice dropping low, intimate, teasing.

“We’ll continue this in a bit.”

Megumi shivered.

He simply nodded, weakly tugging his hoodie over his head.

Yuji once dressed turned to face Sukuna, who had long since given up trying to understand whatever the hell this was. He was busy thinking.

The scent of bleach clung to the air, thick and suffocating.

His eyes flickered between the cooling corpse on the floor and the empty space where his most trusted guards should have been.

Uraume was still missing.

His staff—missing.

His castle—silent.

And standing before him now, with all the arrogance of a cat that had just torn open a bird’s throat and left it twitching in the dirt, was Yuji.

The brat yawned, stretching as if this were a casual visit. He tugged his hoodie into place, nonchalant, unbothered, unshaken.

“I came to talk retirement plans, Unc.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened.

The casualness. The audacity.

“I will kill you,” Sukuna growled, voice low, filled with venom. Then, with a wicked sneer, he added, “Then I’ll rape your whore.”

The words were designed to provoke.

Yuji’s brows twitched, but instead of the usual explosion—the feral, bloodthirsty rage Sukuna had come to expect from him ever since learning of his existence a few months ago—Yuji smirked.

Because Yuji knew.

Knew that not reacting would send Sukuna spiraling faster than any violent outburst ever could.

“How, though?” Yuji tilted his head, voice mockingly curious. “It’s not like you’ll live long enough for that.”

Sukuna’s scowl deepened. “Threats don’t work on me.”

"Ahh, but don’t you wanna know where she went?” Yuji asked lazily. Like he didn’t really care.

Sukuna had gotten an emergency pop-up; he didn’t think it was serious; he thought she was misusing it again because she just wanted some dick in the middle of the day.

Then realization slithered into his veins like ice water.

His gaze darted to the corner by the windows.

The corner where she always sat.

The dress—the dress he had bought her a few days ago, flickred to recognition—now just another piece of ruined fabric, clinging to a lifeless body.

Bleached.

Burned.

Destroyed beyond recognition.

A sound tore from Sukuna’s throat, something raw, something he didn’t recognize.

Rage?

No.

No, it was something worse.

Yuji barely gave him a moment to process before he moved.

Fast.

Effortless.

Like he was born to kill kings.

The same massive knife drove straight into Sukuna’s skull.

Sukuna fell to his knees.

Blood poured, thick and hot, down his face, into his mouth. His body screamed at him to fight, to consume the brat and spit his bones out across the marble floor—

But he couldn’t.

His limbs refused to obey.

Yuji crouched beside him on all fours, watching with the fascination of a child pulling the wings off an insect.

Sukuna growled, lips parting to curse him, to end him—

But his tongue was useless.

His voice was gone.

The knife in his skull was cutting through everything.

He knew.

He was dying.

“Damn, Unc,” Yuji mused, tapping the handle of the knife like it was nothing more than a misplaced ornament. “I expected more.”

Sukuna’s fingers twitched, reaching, reaching—

Yuji tsked, shaking his head.

“Pathetic,” he sighed. “You know, I was gonna eat you fancy-like. High fashion. Cannibal couture.” He grinned, teeth flashing, eyes glinting with unhinged amusement. “But now? Nah. I think I’ll deep fry your ass. Serve you up with ketchup. Maybe even wrap you in a burrito with some gas station nacho cheese.”

Sukuna’s vision blurred.

His limbs weakened.

He was crawling now.

Dragging himself across the floor, inch by inch, toward her.

Yuji let him.

Watched, entertained, before lazily kicking away the furniture Sukuna tried to use for support.

“Oops.”

Sukuna barely heard it.

Barely cared.

His fingers brushed against hers.

Cold.

Lifeless.

She had gone before him.

And now—he was following.

His vision blackened.

The last thing he heard was Yuji’s voice, light, teasing, victorious.

“You know, Uncle, it’s kinda funny,” he hummed. “I did in a day what the Japanese spies couldn’t do in years.”

And then—

Darkness.

---

Japan

The scent of burnt flesh still lingered in Megumi’s nostrils as he stood by the Mustang GT , eyes hidden behind sunglasses, hands in his pockets, waiting.

The city was alive behind him—the murmur of passing cars, the distant wail of sirens. Tokyo never stopped.

Neither did they.

He could still recall how they had to tie Sukuna along with his woman to a boulder and sink him in the ocean. Being cannibals sounded absolutely disgusting to both him and Yuji; it was more to piss her and Sukuna off in there final moments.

A woman and her son approaching broke him out of his thoughts.

The woman—blonde, aged by grief rather than years—moved stiffly, as if the weight of her own bones was too much to bear. Her son, broad-shouldered, protective, walked beside her like a silent bodyguard, one hand resting on her shoulder as if that could shield her from reality. He had to grow up too quickly when his older brother, some long white-haired idiot, got kidnapped by Y/N years ago, and they serched but found absolutely nothing until he met Megumi in college.

Megumi didn’t acknowledge them beyond extending his hand. The woman pressed a thick envelope of cash into his palm, fingers trembling.

He took it without looking.

In exchange, he handed her his envelope.

Inside was—photographs.

The last remnants of the woman she had spent decades searching for.

The last proof that her nightmare had an ending.

Her breath hitched as she flipped through them, her shoulders sagging with a relief that was almost indistinguishable from sorrow. Tears rolled down her cheeks, silent, exhausted.

Megumi turned to the son, offering him the envelope of cash back.

“Take this,” he said, voice as flat as dead air. “Leave the country. Never return.”

The son hesitated and looked at Megumi like he wanted to say something. But in the end, he took the money.

And they left.

Megumi watched Todo and his mother, Yuki Tsukumo, disappear into the Tokyo sunlight.

It had been years since Megumi first realized the world wasn’t made of heroes and villains—just predators and prey.

When he was a child, someone had killed his father’s best friend, his godfather, Gojo Satoru, Japan’s former defense minister. The same person had slaughtered Gojo’s husband, Nanami Kento, the nation’s most renowned psychiatric scientist for the criminally insane.

The murderer was never caught.

Not because there was no evidence. Not because there were no suspects.

But because no one ever saw the culprits again.

The perfect crime.

Or so they thought.

When Megumi entered university, he found him.

Itadori Yuji.

Shy, socially awkward, nerdy Yuji.

Yuji, who stuttered when Megumi looked at him too long.

Yuji, who was too eager to please, too quick to latch onto Megumi’s words like they were commandments from God.

Yuji, whose hands twitched when he thought no one was looking.

Yuji, who would do anything for him.

That was when Megumi knew.

Someone had to replace Geto Suguru after his unfortunate suicide.

And who better than Megumi himself.

The plan he had crafted with Higuruma would succeed. And it did.

Yuji wasn’t just insane.

He was Megumi’s brand of insane.

The problem was his family.

Toji and his sisters Maki and Mai were now breathing down his neck to let them ‘protect’ Megumi from Yuji.

He wasn’t supposed to become this insane.

They were watching, waiting for proof that Yuji had rotted beyond repair.

That he was too far gone.

For Megumi to kill him and clear his own name, forever.

They didn’t understand.

Yuji wasn’t a mistake.

Yuji was in love.

And Megumi didn’t want a love that came with boundaries wrapped in ‘unconditional’ packaging.

Megumi didn’t want a love who wouldn’t kill for him

Once he knew what he could have, he didn’t want to get back to dating a partner who would turn into just another ordinary 9-to-5 nobody—some lifeless, gutless thing that spent years chasing him only to grow fat and complacent the second he confessed.

Someone who’d let their body and mind wither, who would suck the life from him, siphon his ideas, drain his passion until he was nothing but a husk.

Sucking up his energy and drive and keep taking and taking until there is nothing left to take, then one day wake up and tell Megumi he’s changed. He’s not socially acceptable in one way or the other; he isn’t this or that when they never look at themselves.

No.

Megumi didn’t want it at any cost.

He wanted Yuji.

Because Yuji would never stop chasing him.

Yuji would never stop seeing him, loving him, prioritizing him over everything and everyone—even his own blood.

Yuji would never become complacent in any way that hurts Megumi.

Megumi wanted a love that could burn the world down for him all the while smiling about it.

And Yuji gave him that.

For seven years now, Yuji had proven it, time and time again.

He had slit throats and burned bodies and erased entire bloodlines for him.

He had made Megumi the center of his universe.

And Megumi would never settle for less.

So he decided.

He opened the car door with a click and slid inside.

Warm arms wrapped around him immediately.

Yuji’s lips ghosted over his temple, lingering, slow.

“You look like a hot celebrity in sunglasses, Megumi,” Yuji murmured in his ear, voice husky. “Keep wearing those.”

Megumi grumbled, but his face betrayed him, the blush creeping up his neck.

Yuji grinned, turned the ignition and shifted gears.

The Mustang GT roared to life, leaving the past in flames behind them.

A/N: And that concludes this love story—if you can even call it that. A relationship built on devotion, manipulation and an unholy amount of meat.

All Works Masterlist

[myliliofthevalley]

The Sakamakis x Reader Halloween Headcanons

Hello there! Finally, I've decided to put this account to good use and write something. Hope you enjoy!

Shuu Sakamaki

Pretends that he doesn’t care for it but deep inside he is kinda intrigued by the idea.

Probably won’t dress up and just sleep through it.

If you beg him enough, he might indulge in some matching costumes however he will probably be on the lazier side, just wearing something he found on the bottom of the darkest pits of his closet.

I have no idea why I view him as someone who’d wear one of those sheet ghost costumes. It just feels very on brand for him. Maybe you can be two sheet ghosts just chilling for this holiday.

Reiji Sakamaki

He seems like the type to plan his outfit months in advance.

As for matching costumes, I definitely see him as the type to be the Victor to your Emily. That would be so cute in my mind.

Imagine he hosts a Masquerade Ball (low chance but still) just for this occasion. Would probably teach you how to dance weeks if you don’t know, saying that if you don’t you’ll embarrass him.

Eventually you learn and, because he’s hosting the said ball, you just have about one dance together. T-T

Ayato Sakamaki

Would watch spooky/horror movies and either get absolutely terrified and then deny it or make fun of the low budget. No in between.

Might make fun of you for getting scared and then just hug you and awkwardly comfort you.

The type that might be into one of those Joker and Harley Quinn couple costumes.

Definitely enjoys scaring you randomly. You could just be chilling in your room and he’d pop out of a random corner and scare your everlasting soul out of your body.

Kanato Sakamaki

OH, THIS IS HIS TIME TO SHINE.

Makes the costumes from scratch, every little detail is on point. He’s putting that sick victorian child look of his to good use.

Of course Teddy also gets a costume. And of course it will match his. There’s no discussing this.

You better be prepared to make LOTS of sweets. What can I say, he loves his sweets. Especially if they are made to fit the occasion.

Laito Sakamaki

Would wear a Ghostface costume.

You know that audio from tiktok with the “So you’ve got a boyfriend?” “Why, you wanna ask me out on a date?”? YEAH THAT’S ACTUALLY HIM. He would do that trend with you.

Also a scary movie watcher. Though I believe he’d prefer more psychological ones as opposed to gorey.

He also gives vibes of someone who is either earrily quiet when watching something or overly talkative.

Subaru Sakamaki

Pretends that he hates it but in fact he loves it.

Loves everything about it: the movies, the music, the decoration, the costumes, EVERYTHING. 

It’s his soul holiday, you can’t deny it.

Speaking of costumes… Idk why but I feel like he’d be Jack Skellington and you’re Sally. Just imagine him in a striped suit with skeleton makeup. See the vision?

[ofmermaidstories]

Amnesia anon add on: maybe you're not pregnant, but Deku freezes and leans over, suddenly extremely hushed and asks if you think... should he get a test? Should I stay and wait to see if... and you're thinking a test for WHAT

Its A pregnancy test you two have been trying for a baby and depending on pregnancy mileage that can either feed into the wistful aching confusion or the psychological horror.

But the idea of being 21, you're still trying to do taxes without crying, you had to text an adult (because you are a child wearing adult clothes) how to get a stain out of your one nice shirt because you have a job interview for a position that would suck just a little bit less than the one you have now-- relationships are barely even on the radar, let alone children, let alone wanting a child, and then feeling so secure in your life that you could promise that by the time it is born you would still have a place to keep them warm and food to fill their belly. You can't even promise that for yourself yet.

The drama. The angst. You want your mom!!! But then again! This dude would be a dilf! Ngl! It's all very confusing.

Genuinely sorry to all the pregnancy averse people I get it unfortunately I have a soapopera soul.

LMAOOOO, reader, looking up at him like he’s bonkers, like test?????? oh my god im crying. imagine being in that position. like on the outside you are 36, a proper adult that’s in the perfect position to have a baby—but on the inside you are freaking out about essentially being a teenage mother LMFAOOOOOOOO. idk i think i would actually start flipping tables at that point.

when you balk at it deku would trip over himself to reassure you that everything happens in your time, whenever you wanna blah blah blah. meanwhile u are like. planning your escape from this nuthouse bc why is he talking about PREGNANCY tests, omg are you a captive? have you been CAPTURED by some SICKO?

(poor deku, he’d never recover if he knew what was going through your head LMAO)

anyways i agree with u anon, i get why being preggers can be a sore spot/fear, however. 😌 sometimes i have ideas. and my original idea was having Reader be like six months pregnant bc it would truly be body horror at that point lmao, but then i decided against it bc it kinda throws off the tone of the ending i have in mind so. 😔 next time ig.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

🌸Angel's GoodList🪽

Twisted W🪞nderland

🩷"Thy Destiny's Vanity..."🪽

Welcome to the Hall of Mirr🪞rs

Which mirror you'd like to enter?

Heartslabyul

Savannaclaw

Octavinelle

Scarabia

Pomefiore

Ignihyde

Diasomnia

Ramshackle

🩷🪽 Or would you hang out with the main cast outside at an event, dearest? 🩷🪽

Meeting up with TWST families

One event!!!

Multi Characters🌸🪽

Housewardens

🪽Heart of compassion, loyalty🪽 (-Kalim, +Jamil) continuation🪽

🪽Graceful figure to that of a doll, but he's willing to help you heal your broken parts🪽

🎀Vice-housewarden🎀

Nothing yet!

💘A beautiful, otherworldly prefect!?💘

Lethal Face-card???

Sing, MC.

♡He's My Man♡

Under Your Spell.

Unhealthy Obsessions

MY NAME IS BRUTUS.

Dark Red.

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

NRC vs RSA <- concept, continuation below:

[NATIONAL SHOWDOWN!]

[NATIONAL SHOWDOWN!] (Round 2😔)

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

💔They longed for you, but you waited for too long.💔

That warm touch he had never felt, that warm smile that had all the patience in the world, for him. He's sorry he made you wait. - [ft. Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Leona Kingscholar, Ruggie Bucchi, Azul Ashengrotto]

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

🎀Let's go together! 【Picking a club】🎀

Episodes: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and more!

Topic discuss:

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Writing in progress for more...

🪷 "In another universe, we could have been..." 🌸 TWST!AU

Bestie!Yuu

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Angel!reader

Scarabia, Pomefiore, Heartslabyul, Diasomnia, Octavinelle, Savannaclaw, Ignihyde, + staffs, side casts

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Disorder!reader [You have a disorder, how will they treat you? <-Request me if I'm open!]

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Asian!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Morute!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Dreaming Mary!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Weapon!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if... the first years, second years, and third years all were in a horror game? (Ft. Yuu, Grim and reader)

🪷🪷🪷🪷——��🪷🪷🪷🪷

Little nightmares!Yuu and Little nightmares!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

God/dess!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if reader had a boyfriend/girlfriend/partner and came to Twst?

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if... reader's emotions are based on the flowers that bloom around them [or on them]

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Universal Love!reader (AKA. Reader is the Universe's favorite mortal and decides to just bend the law for their every whimsy)

2 Universal Love!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What happens if... creepy!Yuu and victim!reader? (NOT YANDERE. THIS IS PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR/TRAUMA)

Creepy!yuu and Silver?

Creepy!yuu and Victim!reader

Creepy!yuu and Victim!reader 2

Creepy!yuu and Victim!reader 3

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if... Star Child!reader?

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Mother of Magical girls!reader (Summerize: You are called "little mother" from every magical girl/boy/OC of your choosing, because 1. You maybe shorter than them or 2. You are younger than them but still hold a special power over them (aka, your OP)).

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if...? Persona Diary!reader [Summerize: Idk your a walking personified version of my Diary that I've forgotten long ago, ig. Like, your entire ass story is based off my Diary filled with my trauma or whatever I've experienced is called.]

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

"Do I wish to be pretty? Honestly, yes. But in a way where I'm still myself, and they stare at me with no judgment in their eyes.."

*•☆•°`|——|`°•☆●*

Aesthetics~`♡`

*•☆•°`|——|`°•☆●*

☆♡As Miss Beelzebub likes it♡☆

《\~`•*°Magical Girls*•`~°▪︎》

♡<CH0B1T>♡

🎀(^ ＾ω＾) –> Hello Kitty <- ( ´・∀・｀)🌸

¡¡¡Junji Ito!!!

☆Random Dumps☆

Offaeciant's wedding

Shuri Sugarcoat Truffle

[z4ync]

What fears do you think the Glenwood cast would serve if they were in tma

I think the library trio would all serve the eye. But that's kinda all I got. It would be temping to say all Wolf shifters and vamps are the hunt but if u put that to the side, idk what they'd be.

Ooooo

The fears of Glenwood

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

Come as you are by Nirvana ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ��

As a quick introduction to the people who might not know what the Magnus Archives is, it's a british podcast that follows Johnathan Sims as he learns the true nature of his job and the world around him. there are these "Gods" (called fears) that have followers and those people have experiences that line up with that fear.

I highly recommend listening to it if you enjoy analog horror or psychological horror. It's an absolute thrill if you enjoy brutal pipe murder (iykyk).

So I will now start by introducing the fears!

(gotten from @meankeene )

Now for the part that you're actually here for— GLENWOOD AND THE FEARS! (I'm only doing the ones that have a direct listener)

Beth - THE HUNT - she's one of the shifters, obv, but also is a very big "I'm scary raw, big bad wolf"

Claire -THE HUNT - same reason

Knight - THE HUNT - Mostly just because of their need to have revenge for or favorite vampire

Seer - THE END/BEHOLDING - they're a seer, I don't know when you expected

Ranger - THE LONELY - it's mostly because of their recent arc

Gen - THE LONELY - mostly because of her first introduction when she was turned

Rachelle - THE CORRUPTION - cuz she's a bitch and she reminds of jane

Rachelle's listener - THE WEB - what'd u expect? (I forgot what they're called)

Abby - THE BEHOLDING - it's her podcast and it's uncanny feeling it has sometimes

Rose - THE BEHOLDING - she's a telepath she knows everything

Dear - THE SPIRAL - I have no explanation for this

Chloe - THE VAST - shes a water elemental

Dewdrop - THE VAST - same reason as chloe

Miss Liza - THE FLESH - maybe it's her cooking, I have no clue

Sugar - THE STRANGER - I HC them as uncanny to look at and they're just weird so yk

Harper - THE DESOLATION - obv, fire.

Old flame - THE VAST - Aire elementals am I right?

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

A/N. I actually loved making this, I'd love to do this with others! Please recommend more like this!!!

[witchering10123]

blood and cheese

ok, so for me this one's about fifty-fifty

i do think that we need to bear in mind that this needs to actually be filmed and give the child actors as little trauma as possible, so the psychological trauma of the children??? yeah, glad they didn't go down that route tbh

while maelor was an important part of b&c in the book, that would again have required a LOT from the child actors and I very much appreciate that they didn't traumatised the child actors

the change they made to make helaena choose between her son and daughter would have been just as emotionally torturous as making her choose between her two sons, and i thought that the actors did that really well

I did like that rhaenyra told daemon that she wanted aemond specifically, and he then went forward and added the whole "if you can't find him kill jaehaerys", it really adds to him grasping for more and more power and acting against rhaenyra's interests, it's going to make the rest of the season incredibly interesting

I also like how they're showing the bad and the good on both team black and green (after all the trouble to divide the fanbase lmao)

I think we should have gotten more scenes with jaehaerys and jaehaera - I thought that b&c was going to happen like next episode and it would build up the children and their relationship with helaena and aegon a bit more so we could be really gut punched during b&c. while it was horrific... we didn't get the chance to meet the family

i thought that cheese not knowing how to get to the upper levels and that they accidentally happened upon them was... not very good writing. the whole point was that b&c knew exactly what they were doing and they were very effective at what they did. it added to the horror that people could use the red keep against its inhabitants and do such an atrocity as b&c

this could be attributed to shock on helaena's part but I feel it was more a bad writing decision that they changed helaena offering her life to helaena offering her necklace??? like idk, obviously she has grasped the situation and maybe she did think that she could persuade them with money but surely when that failed she could have offered her life - obvi not wanting helaena dead I love her to pieces but it would have made the situation seem so much more horrible if helaena had been pleading for them to kill her instead only for them to wait for her to choose between her children

helaena walking in on alicent and criston felt like it was for shock value, and the fact that alicent and criston had sex earlier in the episode completely cancelled out the shock imo. I think it would have been far more effective to find aegon (as jaehaerys' father), aemond (as the initial target), or ser arryk (because I'm sorry where exactly were all the guards??? how the everlasting fuck did b&c walk through the castle without using the tunnels and only encounter a handmaiden???)

soooo on the whole, it was good??? the aftermath of b&c is really what's going to make it either be brilliant or not

[skyeoak]

Thoughts on tmagp episode 24

*cough* my sister had a newborn a few months ago. Here’s some red flags about “the health visitor” from today’s episode:

- newborns feed every 2-3 hours, usually 2.5. Idk if this is different in the UK but I don’t see why it would be.

- most babies are born with greyish eyes, which changes over time. If Rupert’s a newborn when she’s talking about his black orb eyes, this is maybe a red flag?

- “I couldn’t scream, I didn’t want to wake him” AHHHHHH oh god the psychological horror of having a newborn aghfjgjfhhhhhh

Very Rosemary’s Baby, but instead of going full satanic panic, “Raising Issues” focuses on the self-sacrificial narrative mothers are told, and how that leads to a dangerous and isolating situation as Patricia ignores every red flag in sight. I had my head in my hands. Honestly, I wish we’d dived deeper into the socioeconomic stuff rather than the body horror because back to back with “A New You” it felt like too similar of a story structure, even though imo they’re meant to be parallels.

23 and 24 have been so similar that they’re definitely intentional contrasts to each other. One’s from Chester talking about how you can long to change yourself so fully only for it to all go wrong, and this one’s from Norris about destroying yourself to support the one you love… I am ill, actually. Screaming crying relistening to the last recording in this case file and finding all the points that are reminiscent of Mag 170 (Recollection).

These lines specifically are making me think. Once again, I am ill.

Chester: “Alesis Newman is leaving this world and whatever comes next – though she may look like me in some ways, though she may carry a part of me with her – she’ll be better. Free of all my mistakes. Perhaps people will like her more than me. I already like her more than me. I want to see her walk off happy and strong. I hope she doesn’t feel this now, just be the good parts of me. (hoarse) I hope it’s like I dreamt, I hope she has my eyes…”

Norris: “I can’t remember when… when I last… had sleep. I think… I think days…” + “I don’t know what’s going to happen. There’s not much of me left. I’m so scared. But at least Rupey’s happy…”

Considering this is the first Norris case file in over 10 episodes (since episode 12, unless I’m wrong) and he’s literally just reading the stuff between recordings, I’m a bit concerned.

Who the fuck is reading this statement and why didn’t they mention it to Celia IMMEDIATELY? If it was Sam, he knows she has a kid and is in a support group, and if it was Celia herself, then idk why she isn’t at least concerned (that’s suspicious, Celia.) I guess Gwen and Alice don’t know about Jack, so they’re off the hook.

ALSO rupert? A red name? Philosopher’s stone alchemical reference? Or just referring to the blood he’s feeding on?

I know I’m gonna see a ton of takes on this episode being like “this is why I’m childfree” and, like yeah, I’m not planning on kids either but this story is such an extension of existing social structures that I hope we talk, at least a little, about the social narratives at work here about pregnancy, parenthood, and childcare.

[vespidclan]

Idk why but Sparkbreak ( 500 ) from the Roleswap seems like the type of " player " that resets a bunch of times for the " best outcome " or will reset if their favorite character/cat dies in a patrol or moon skip.

That probably sounds insane so let me explain. Moth ( 404 ) seems to have the type of playstyle of someone who's trying to tell a story/stick to a certain rule list like for challenges. Ik it's all to make cat's suffer but she's very methodical ( like cm only players interested in story lore would headcannon their rng kitty to have psychology broken at the sight of their God and then moon reset until they get the Kill Yourself prompt (( now that I say that that sounds like shade at you I promise it's not )) )

But Spark ( 500 ) would have the playstyle of getting to attached to every cat within the small clan and not wanting anything to happen to them, so I see him resetting moons that have death in them, resetting when a patrol outcome results in injury/death, and other odd things ( like if the clans prey stores are low just coding in more or even turning it completely off ).

But tbh thinking about it this way, I'd hate ro like in a 500 world. Could you imagine watching a friend/sibling/parent/partner die right in front of you? Then in an instant your back in your nest at the start of the day and they come in the den bringing you food like always. You never starve because the pile is always full, but you take note that it's always full, and that even if every cat was hunting at all times, they still couldn't catch that much. You feel like you should've been dead a long time ago. You're an elder that's surpassed life expectancy, you're suffering but something won't let you die. You're his daughter, he'd never hurt you, but in helping you he is.

Sorry for the ramble I'm mentally ill

I liked reading this! And this is an interesting idea for reverse Spark/500 in the sense that he’s the opposite of 404. Maybe instead of becoming hateful of everyone and himself he sees it as an opportunity to protect everyone he loves from what horrors he’s witnessed, and not 404’s differing mindset of wanting to break others down because of the mentioned horrors.

This has its drawbacks of course—the cats in the clan, the favored ones at least, will basically be invincible to any obstacle. They’re healthy and well fed. They will have no memory of dying or being in pain because 500 made sure they could never die. Imagine if they saw someone they loved die, and in the next moon, they’re suddenly conversing with you like it never happened. Everything is perfect, but too perfect, in an uncanny and fake way. Maybe your inferior mind can’t pinpoint exactly what’s wrong with your life, but something is definitely not right.

What if 500 picks favorites like the ‘favoriting’ system the actual game has? What does he do with the cats he doesn’t like? Would Out Of Bounds be turned into a prison for those cats if they end up dead? Would he cause their deaths to stay out of their ‘perfect clan’? How would 500 deem which cat is more favorable? He’s extremely protective to who he loves… and that’s his biggest flaw. Everyone else will languish, because to him, that’s the way it should be for them.

Or think of this! If he really wants to… he could alter a cat completely. New personality, appearance, quirks, a completely different cat, and everything would change to fit his view so that you’re the ‘ideal version’. One moment, you’re yourself. Next moment, you’re unrecognizable to yourself. Good for him, probably good for others, but for you? You would never know.

So what we’re getting at is; 404 and 500’s way of managing the game is just another example of dystopias and utopias… Neither are favorable but that’s what’s fun! Two sides of the same coin, meddling with something that they shouldn’t in order to benefit themselves… I think they’d fit this song really well actually.

I did base his design off of AM! Since it’s something I didn’t really do for 404 and I still want him to be based off of the same things that inspired 404, but just enough so that he’s his own thing. His original sketch had him look way more similar to him, but I went for a more cat-like look instead

[crobber-crab-robber]

Coming clean to admit I write fanfic sometimes while warming up for my personal projects.

I wanted to write something for FrankenFord, but it reminded me I have another bullet-point draft for a character study on Stan. It's technically about his memory recovery on the Stan-O-War II, but most of those memories are about his progress on the portal and grieving/not-grieving Ford, with a bit of mental deterioration and recovery. Both these stories are very similar topic wise (or at least tone wise, in my head), so Idk if it's a good idea to do both.

Portal One-Shot: Will 100% get done if I choose it. Will probably be 5k words or over. Would have more of a psychological focus with dream sequences and memory-mashing. Basically my excuse to pry open Stan's head in one fell swoop and then never write from his perspective again. (Being old is tragic and all, but I just wanted to write something based on when he was middle aged and success was the farthest away)

FrankenFord Multi-Chapter: I've never written a multi-chapter story before (except for one in the drafts I'm actively failing to progress on lmao... it's a Ford fic and I struggle BAD with his voice), so I DO want to challenge myself... just don't put too much faith in me, lol. Will be a little more horror-y, with the biggest difference being more supernatural horror than psychological (though there will still probably be a lot of that). Whether I write this one or not I'll still probably draw for the AU when I feel like it- just know I brainstorm with my drawings, so they'll be conceptual, not supplemental, lol.

[nerdygirlramblings]

I was on my way to school today and took the public bus. On one stop two man got in. They had to stand because it was school kid time and it was like really stuffed.

I sat on a seat beside the aisle and those men were standing right beside me and got really close to me, like REALLY close. I felt uncomfortable as hell because I couldn't see their faces, thanks to their scarves and sun glasses.

Two stops after that a woman got in and put herself between me and those men. Idk if she saw that I was uncomfortable or if she did it unintenionally. Either way I was thankfull as hell. This woman saved me I think.

I just wanna tell you this and shout out to all the girlies and woman who help and look out for each other. Especially in these days.

Boys and men, please, PLEASE don't hide your faces completely, maybe turn away or at least don't stare at woman and girls. It would make us feel more safe. Thank you

First, I'm glad someone stepped in (intentionally or not) and gave you back some peace. I know #notallmen, but most cis men do not understand the loved experience of afab persons (and that's nothing when it comes to queer folk either). I'm cis!fem and my cis!male hubs has been shocked when I explained things that happened to me. Add in a political climate (in the US where I am) that empowers dudebros to say bullshit like, "Your body, my choice," and is any wonder some people feel unsafe around male-presenting persons? And you had the double-whammy of not being able to see faces?!? That's the start of a psychological horror movie.

So yes, kudos to all the people who stand up for others, regardless of if the threats they stand against are perceived or lived.

I'm so glad you made it out of that situation physically unharmed, and I hope any possible psychological harm you suffered can be repaired with the support of those around you.