sokodomo (소코도모) - MM feat. 박재범 (prod.sesåme)
sokodomo (소코도모) - MM feat. 박재범 (prod.sesåme)
the past is still the past that bridge to nowhere
Megumi just wants Itadori to be more careful with himself (he also is pining so so much)
@diverse-hearts inquired: ‘ who did this? ’ - Venti to Xiao
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Question Prompts—No Longer Accepting
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The Yaksha averted his gaze from the archon. It wasn’t often that he heard this serious tone from Venti... he was usually so free spirited, so happy, so joyful. Of course, Xiao knew that to be primarily an act. No one who was alive as long as they were and had see all the things that they had would be that happy naturally... but still.
“It doesn’t matter,” Xiao replied in his usual gruff tone. His gloved hand held the deep gash to his side, blood staining his clothing. However, if he cared at all about this fact, he wasn’t showing it. Pain meant nothing to him...after all, he had dealt with it for so long that he was used to the sensation. He’ll heal soon enough. For now, all he could do is rest and not push himself too hard...then his Yaksha abilities would heal the wound faster.
“Just...a stray demon,” Xiao told Venti as he moved to stand. A grunt left him as pain shot up from his wound to the rest of his body, leaving him stunned for only a second or so before he straightened up once again. “It’s been killed now. Stop worrying. I’m not some flower that can be trampled upon. This is nothing,” he added.
(yet another unsolved murder results from this)
so i got blood drawn today and i had headphones in to calm me down because i get really anxious and they stick the needle in me and i said DIDDLY DARN but i had headphones in and so i said it really LOUD anyways like 10 people heard me yell diddly darn and my sisters keep laughing at me 😌✌️
As much as you hate it, I'm the only one in this world you can call mother, got it?
A Tale of Two Sisters (2003) dir. Kim Jee-woon
There is a second-hand shop run by a late middle aged man with receding hair and a cigar perpetually between his teeth. He knows he is a man as he knows he breathes, and would probably insult you if you asked him about it.
In his second-hand shop window there is a guitar. It is electric, and needs rewired. It is a deep purplish blue, the color of some beetle's shells, and would shine like one were it not for the clear coat over the paint being almost all chipped away.
The guitar is far too overpriced, but it draws people into the shop, so the owner leaves it as it is. One day it draws a young man into the shop, the sort of man that is only barely no longer a boy, and probably wouldn't be either if he had time to stop and think about it.
The man stops at the counter by the window, and asks the price. It is about twice as much as he can afford. He buys it anyway. Asking the price was a formality. He needs that guitar more than anything in that moment, and figuring out how he'll afford rent will come later.
He hurries home with the guitar, and when he reaches his building he bounds up the stairs. There is no time to wait for an elevator. He reaches his part of the building, and walks into his near empty living room. He is slow now.
He sets down the guitar. He does not know it needs an amplifier. He figures it runs on batteries, and the sound comes out of a speaker embedded in the guitar, and so both are true. He checks the battery housing that was not there in the shop, and sees it is empty. He digs around in a drawer and finds a few double-As. He pops them into the guitar, and strums.
He checks the battery housing, flips over the upside-down one, and tries again.
What follows is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. He weeps with the music the guitar makes, aided by his fingers. He has never played before, but that does not matter. The music pours out like a rainstorm, and his tears fall on the strings.
Then his blood joins the tears, and he cries for a different reason. No one can play for hours on end like he has, not without a sacrifice, and his fingers are smooth and uncallused. The blood is flowing freely now, and he can feel the strings against his bone.
He does not stop, not even when he pales and falls to his knees with the pain and the blood loss. The fabric of his jeans soaks up the blood pooled on the floor and darkens to nearly black. He marvels at this as everything darkens, and then the guitar is silent once more.
When the neighbors begin to complain of the stench, his body is found. He is still in his own blood, fallen in an uncomfortable position, but now the blood is mostly dry. He is removed from the building, as are all his belongings. His death was ruled a suicide, because the mortician didn't know about the guitar.
His sister is tasked with going through his things, keeping anything of value and donating the rest. She is the first to notice the guitar after his death. It is old, with cracked paint and rust on the strings the color of dried blood. She decides to donate it, not being quite so rundown to throw out but not worth keeping or selling.
The guitar is donated to a second-hand shop, run by the kind of man who is sure of it, with close cropped hair and a pipe between his lips. The rest of his things end up there, too, but they don't matter.
The only thing that matters this moment is that the guitar is satiated, at least for now.
they did not have to cut his fingers so visually thank you very much 😑
time to go get my blood stolen
Not noticing injury | Hiding injury
This is an idea I had been mulling over for a while before the event, and I liked it enough that there’s a sequel drabble coming.
^^this is what I wrote when I first queued this post. I can now update to say that there are TWO sequel drabbles coming, so far. I’ve picrewed everybody on the team, and since Day 10 accidentally happened to have the same genders and number of team members, I’ve decided it goes with this story, too.
Now I just need to actually name all these people.
Fandom: Original work
Warnings: lady whumpee (no whumper), male whumpee, blood, stab wounds, mild gore, broken ribs, scars, self-sacrifice (no death)
She jumps up from her seat as the team of heroes floods through the door, nervously clasping her hands in front of her. There’s always a commotion when they come back from a fight, but this time it seems more frantic than usual. Her eyes dart over the group, doing a mental headcount, but it stutters to a halt when she sees Leader draped across Hero A’s arms, blood soaking the front of his suit.
She sucks a deep breath in, tries to keep her heart from plummeting into her stomach.
It’s time for her to do her job.
I can do this.
“What happened?” Healer asks, forcing herself into motion.
“Villain,” Hero B grounds out, prepping the cot for Leader to lie on. She waits until Hero A tenderly sets Leader down, then leans forward and rips open his suit around the tear already there. “He was stabbed, here.”
“You...you can save him...right?”
Hero C looks at her with wide, watery eyes, and her resolve grows. She gives a firm nod. Stepping closer, Healer removes the gloves that keep her from using her power involuntarily, setting them gently to the side, and reaches out toward Leader’s chest.
Just before making contact she hesitates. Breathe.
This is the only reason you’re part of this team.
This is why they asked you to join.
The warm stickiness of the blood surrounds her fingertips, but the sensation is quickly lost among all the others. Her power works in a cycle, magic flowing into the body while the injury or sickness flows out. The others are all focused on the pretty blue light that falls over Leader. Healer has her eyes screwed shut, trying not to show it when the pain starts to increase.
She can feel the blade entering her body, feel the ribs snap, feel the lung puncture. Only constant mental reminders that it’s not real, it’s only pain keep her from panicking. She knows there’s no blood. She knows there will be no indication that anything is there at all, besides a small scar that will match Leader’s.
It’s all just magic. Somebody has to take the pain, and if it’s her then it’s not life threatening. It’s worth it.
At last she pulls away, trying not to breathe too hard from the exertion. The invisible wound through her ribcage is worse than anything she’s felt before, like molten lava was poured inside of her. If she moves too much in any direction, it’s sure to flare, and she’s not sure if she’ll be able to keep from passing out. As it is, she’s struggling not to press her hand to the spot.
She’s glad that Leader isn’t feeling this anymore.
“You alright?” Hero A reaches out a hand to steady her by the arm. “You look wiped.”
Hero B is bent over Leader, inspecting the blood-soaked area, but she looks up and narrows her eyes at Healer. “Probably used too much magic. Get some rest, kid. You did good.”
Hero C nods eagerly, smiling. “You saved his life.”
“He’ll…” Her voice is weak, and she tries to fix that before continuing. “He’ll have a scar. I’m sorry.”
Hero A ruffles her hair. “You don’t have to be sorry. Hero C’s right, you saved him. He’s got plenty of scars already, anyway. Now do what Hero B said and go rest.”
She nods, tries her best to smile. Tries her best to not wince as she starts moving. Tries not to limp as she crosses the room.
It’ll be days, if not weeks, before the pain fades. Keeping the team from finding out won’t be easy.
But they have the fate of the city to worry about, and their own lives.
She’ll be fine.
Happy Birthday, @stydiaeverafter!!!
I'm not thinking about Buck's white shoes dirty with Eddie's blood. Nope
fears are like 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 . they grow 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝 if left 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 . ——— 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾 & 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝗋-𝖻𝖺𝗍𝖺𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌.
JENNIFER'S BODY (2009) dir. Karyn Kusama
i just realized that i have to maintain my weight for almost 3 weeks for my blood donation 🥲 goodbye, summer body! 👋
Well hello there