Tokyo Ghoul Stitches Novels & Stories

I squat in front of this little girl and talk to her to calm her down. "This will be cold. So, hold still for me please." I tell her. I dab some of the potion on her gash. "Tell me if you can feel me poking you. Okay?" I say to her. I poke her arm next to her gash and she shakes her little head no. I grab the surgical needle and the thread. I angle her arm in a way I only can see it. Carefully, I begin to stitch it up her gash. With twelve stitches, I clean the remaining blood off her arm. To keep her arm from getting an infections, I place gauze on her stitched-up arm.

The morning of the fourth day did not bring a miracle. It brought a mountain of work. Neo-Tokyo was no longer a Syndicate stronghold, but it wasn't a paradise yet. The fusion of the black needle-ship and the white Spire had created a biological anomaly that hummed at a frequency that made the teeth of everyone within ten miles ache. The "Green-Ghost" vines were still pulsing, their black-and-gold leaves casting long, flickering shadows over the streets of the Gutter.

Niko There is no painkiller available, so I brace myself as Sven takes on the critical task of patching up the jagged hole left by the bullet. With a steady hand and an unwavering focus, he threads a needle, meticulously preparing to stitch the two sides of skin that have been forcibly separated. Every prick of the needle feels like a sharp jolt, each tug a reminder of the shot endured. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to maintain composure as I watch the world around me blurring in and out of focus through bleary eyes. Bianca's earlier theft of the medical gear now weighs heavily on my mind, amplifying my discomfort as Sven deftly works, weaving the sutures with expertise honed through exper

With that she sailed out of the room. Sia and I exchanged a look. We waited for her to come back and after ten or so minutes she returned. The Giant was with her. He gave me a nod and pulled out a drawer from under the mirrors and then took out a kit. I watched as he took out needles and threads and whatnot. My heart started to hammer in my chest and I felt panic. Sia said, “I am here. You need the stitches.” I nodded. The little lady came with a bottle of amber liquid and then poured it on my wound. I bit down on a scream as it burned and almost jumped out of my seat. The giant pressed his hand on my shoulder and I eyed the needle he was holding in his fingers.

The stitches are far from professional, but they’ll do the job and close the skin, keeping muscle and tissue on the inside where they belong. Never strangle a man with a knife in his hand is my new motto. He sliced into my side before I could stop him. He’s dead now and I’m alive, so I’ll take it as a lesson learned. Putting up with Gomez’s shit for my stupidity isn’t helping me feel the love as he stitches me up. “Fuck,” he swears as he wipes his bloody hands on a blood-covered cloth. I look down at myself as he readjusts his grip on the large needle. “You can’t do things halfway, can you?” he taunts as the needle punctures my skin again.

He grinned back at me. I doubled up the string, made it as thick as possible so it didn’t break going through my skin. I took a deep breath. I pinched the skin of my leg together and pushed the needle through; I connected the two pieces together. I hissed out as I pulled the needle and string through. I made a knot and went in for another stitch. My hands shook as I continued to make the stitches. Five minutes went by, and I completed my last stitch. I made ten haphazard stitches along the cut; it would scar, but it wasn’t bad for what I had available. “Not bad,” Joe said as he watched me cut the string with my teeth.

Barely noticeable—unless you knew where to look. There, in the left shoulder seam of the gown, a double stitch had been drawn. Two tiny, purposeful dashes. She hadn’t included that in the original sketch. It was something her mentor used to mark as a hidden sign of tailored armour—a metaphor. Invisible from the front, but strong enough to hold the entire structure. Her mentor used to call it *the ghost stitch*. Ximena felt her blood still. Only two people knew about that symbol: her, and— No.

The Doctor hissed as he examined my wounds, shaking his head and turning to Theonardo he said, "She's too weak, so her wounds aren't healing. I'm going to need to stitch them up." My head shot up at the word "stitch," and I started to panic, fiddling with my fingers in my lap, gazing over at Theonardo almost pleadingly, my bottom lip quivering. "Alright, Kacie, I'm just going to numb the area with-" At the sight of the needle, I shot off the bed, aiming for the door, but before I could reach it, Theonardo wrapped his huge arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground.

“Well… I mean… people talk.” Paulo didn’t respond. Lewis crosses his arms defensively. “I swear, I didn’t know it was him.” Before Paulo could reply, another man walks in and stops at the doorway. He was wearing a plain black shirt and moves with quiet confidence. “Paulo,” the man said. Paulo turns toward him. “What?” “Madam Stygian is awake,” the man answered. Paulo’s expression changes slightly. “That's good news,” he said to the man.