godsbox

[godsbox]

" Do you want a key to my private place? " Specific emphasis on specific words with specific voice. " Then you can just relax--- " after? After whatever they did, wouldn't matter. Just a means to be ---, a sign to show that he wanted him around - fully.

his neatness is an amendment, behaviors pruned and holding his own knees stiff enough to not upset a stack of wax-shined wrappers     some with the candy silently spat back in, bored of working through the coating. wanting only for the preoccupation and having had an entire carton to spare for it. it felt ... rationally alright, stoppering up his own words and finding flyaway thoughts wouldn't come as easy, could deflate like a flat gum bubble and hold his tongue just as stained with the failure of it all. felt like something suguru wanted ; like some twisted up mistranslated mess of whatever satoru could make of it, holding his hands clear of touching on the past, of being a poor house guest, of saying anything displeasing & finding himself entirely silent at the end of it all. and thirteen candy wrappers deep into his carboard carton with thirteen sentences quietly bitten into soft taffy squares, satoru's brows tick up, surprise in the addressing like being roused from sleep, like being finally called from a very long waiting room sit.

was it a reward ? he'd pushed a wad of candy to tuck to the side of his cheek and gingerly wiped knuckles at his lips, black glass the only cautionary measure pulling bare bright eyes back away from the draw of his attentions     never needed to wonder when people'd become such gnats to dim bulbs, suguru's was a light that blinded. he could rationalize burning the skin of his fingertips just to touch on that warmth for even a little while. ❝ isn't that .. ? ❞ words stall a little. tasting like fruit flavoring, like strawberry. it was an intimate thing, wasn't it ? a facsimile like a near neighbor to being asked to stay, move in, live together ( maybe only in the movies. maybe only in an imagination free from context, cut from reality. ) satoru added another wrapper to the stack, split the candy between his teeth. ❝ if you're offering. guess so. ❞

[godsbox]

[godsbox]

acknowledgement of self-failings were just scattered parts of a sum. for the time, it'd felt nice and charitable to leave with his best intentions all bundled in his palms in meager sizes, tasks taken on like sweating out a fever or spitting up something spoiling his stomach and letting it all lead him by the nose in the promise of betterment after the woes, progress, happiness ; it was just splitting himself open, not knowing how to suture up the aftermath. i messed up, i'm messing up ... so what comes after that ? even a shot in the dark dead set on a bullseye was a limp bandaid fix, a guessed right answer. if he felt any feeling perpendicular to suguru's, saying so wouldn't have made him any happier to hear     not if he counted it as bullshit. counted satoru as insincere, stupidly mixed up, looking more for what little of the past still clung to the dark of his lashes than for the eyes beneath them. and what was worse than ... not knowing if he was wrong or not. if there were grounds to argue when the instinct for rebuttal that'd always made a second home up and down the channel of his throat, just . choked itself to silence, now. lumped tight, grated his voice to nothing. he'd gone biding time returning to form, restlessness passed from fists and fingers in plucking up missions for the hell of it ( and pausing, thumbing souvenir gifts, leaving empty handed every time ) easier to wash up the muck of a couple dozen cross city curses than it would've been to wedge himself back into place over there with no more certainty to offer than the last day he'd left.

a long leg swayed, water rippling at the tip of his shoe. a guy with space wrapped like a second skin'd never came away too many wounds to lick, and the ones at his collar faded back to colorless nothing     par for the course for shortlived stuff. eroding things, dams dislodging ; satoru'd slumped so far towards his left side's beam that he'd knock his temple for the silence sliced like butter, pulling bright eyes up over black lenses, surprise splashed in a whip across the drooped dull of his face. not quick enough to scoot, and fingers turned pink in the cooling air bit into the wood, tensed where they'd brushed, a short laugh clouded in a fog. the fish scattered, run off by the dip of his wet laces.

❝ i can only make up so many stories about what a slippery con you are. ❞ ( 's like you want us caught this way, bastard ) but, always so keenly aware. eyes always opened. there was nobody else around to note the damning proximity, the hands of the strongest gripping, fidgeting where he sat. something in his face cracked open, hairline fractured. caution like a blanket folding down his shoulders when he turns his head, looks off to the opposite end. ❝ if i want ? if you want. ❞

There is something to be said about pursuing and being pursued. About the lingering grace to show someone that they are wanted, no matter in what way, with which kind and what emotions, feelings tugging at a string so tightly wound around one's heart. There's something to be said about a realisation when it came to that as well, about the time that had passed, like the sand flowing smoothly through the aperture of an hourglass, watching it with eyes lazily drawn to the back and forth when reaching for the blown out glass, fine cracks visible from turning over and over, and setting it up anew. He could have been questioned how often this has happened, whiling away his time slowly and surely before setting out for a walk. 

Had meant to get some things, had meant to be somewhere [ how long has it been since their last meeting? ].

" Hey, Satoru. " He's seen him there, time and time again on this little wooden bridge, sitting precariously close to tipping over the edge, looking at whatever life is meandering to and fro right beneath his reach. Had seen him [ had he been spotted in return? ], thoughts initially settled on ignorance for their Honored One in the mere means to simply leave him be. Not to agitate, their last 'intermezzo' hadn't been a thoroughly perfect one [ hadn't been at all, wasn't that right? ]. So he stands there, had discarded that 'gaudy outfit' he knows Satoru hates so much--- stands there only for a moment before just sitting down next to him. " Would think you know this is my usual way. Could think you sit around here because of that. " [ they both know, right? ]. 

" Can always come back with me for a bit, if you want. " @godsbox 💕

[godsbox]

hi gojo-mun! it’s the nobara-anon! i was wondering who made your icon border?? they’re so pretty! 🫣 i’m pretty crappy at photoshop and i have an aesthetic in mind for nobara, but executing it is a bid hard! do you know of anyone actively taking graphic comms?

thank you !! i've always made all own stuff and then just lazily repurpose it over and over from blog to blog bc i'm not really all that creative but 😅 just from looking around real quick, i found a couple really talented graphic creators with open comms that might interest you 01, 02, 03. or if nothing's working out, there's more options here for some really beautiful premade templates that might catch your eye 01, 02, 03, 04. ( or if anyone's reading this who does commissions / knows of someone accepting commissions, pls shout yourselves out ) best of luck, sorry i couldn't be of more help !

[godsbox]

Watched/read all of jjk recently. Here’s how satosugu can still get a happy ending [delusional]

[godsbox]

Ways you can Support Palestine :

please note this is absolutely not an all-encompassing list, and to constantly check the status of aid or groups in how able they are to help Palestinian people at that moment; stay informed, stay current, listen to, uplift, and share Palestinian voices, and don't stay silent.

DO NOT TAG AS CURRENT EVENTS OR POLITICS TW/CW.

important information / helpful links

Decolonize Palestine

A Simple Guide to what's happening, by Al Jazeera

US Campaign for Palestinian Rights

For US Citizens: USCPR - Ceasefire Now

For US Citizens: Action Network - Ceasefire Now - a video explaining how to use the site

Palestinian Speculative Fiction Reading List

how to donate

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

US Campaign for Palestinian Rights

Arab.org - a free, daily click-to-donate site that works with UNRWA

Doctors Without Borders

how to know what to boycott

The BDS movement

Boycott is/rael products list (2023, from adda247)

List of Companies that Posted Statements Supporting is/rael (gdoc, copied & pasted from som.yale.edu so as to not provide site traffic; updated 10/26/23)

[godsbox]

Ways you can Support Palestine :

please note this is absolutely not an all-encompassing list, and to constantly check the status of aid or groups in how able they are to help Palestinian people at that moment; stay informed, stay current, listen to, uplift, and share Palestinian voices, and don't stay silent.

DO NOT TAG AS CURRENT EVENTS OR POLITICS TW/CW.

important information / helpful links

Decolonize Palestine

A Simple Guide to what's happening, by Al Jazeera

US Campaign for Palestinian Rights

For US Citizens: USCPR - Ceasefire Now

For US Citizens: Action Network - Ceasefire Now - a video explaining how to use the site

Palestinian Speculative Fiction Reading List

Jewish Voice for Peace - a Jewish, anti-zio/nist organization

how to donate

Palestine Children's Relief Fund (PCRF)

US Campaign for Palestinian Rights (USCPR)

Arab.org - a free, daily click-to-donate site that works with UNRWA - Make sure to turn off adblocker for the site before you click, as money donated is filtered through ad revenue

Doctors Without Borders

Islamic Relief USA (IRUSA)

United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA)

how to know what to boycott

The BDS movement

Boycott is/rael products list (2023, from adda247)

List of Companies that Posted Statements Supporting is/rael (gdoc, copied & pasted from som.yale.edu so as to not provide site traffic; doc will be updated as original site is updated- check gdoc timestamp)

[godsbox]

[godsbox]

why do you suck at the kissing thing so much, do you need someone to train with

delights him in a way that sprouts unabashed to hear him, him and the perfect coil of a cult charmer voice lightened down to grit and grime and an ease like ice melted into lukewarm limbs ; brushing hands, outward knuckles. closeness in small doses that he'd bottle all up and sip from reserves in the dead hours, pulling warmth from his own guts. ❝ -huh ? suited me just fine. ❞ retort like a jerk of a knee strung itself over the word, kiss, kissing thing     a missed meteoric wrinkle in the the makeup of his mind, all the tangled facets to the topic of geto now so damnably tinted ( but embarrassment was a melty misshapen thing to fit between them. no room for it, a wrong shape . he'd rather taste than stay stuck sharing breath with shame and patience. ) ❝ what'd you want me to be good for ? i'll get scooped up for sure, then     get a whole line going when demand gets as high as my quality. ❞ grin bitten, suguru's wrist a hot heartbeat in the circle of satoru's hand, ❝ you want me to yourself, right ? tell me it has to be you. ❞

[godsbox]

this was supposed to be a doodle!! because i was feeling a little sick and then i put my playlist on and the yaoi monster took over. i literally love them so much they are everything theyre in love theyre so beautifully tragic together they are my favorites of everything ever i love them

[godsbox]

he'd landed himself with a fondness for predictability, somehow. felt it better than the floor under his feet, the blandness of a sure-thing. an idea that he could pin down trust and leave it vivisected down to the easiest barest bones of all this, the premeditated hope of paths opened by impulse, crack open the unending circle of reality in repeat, of wanting geto to want to [ ] with him and to be left to his own devices, his own hands, his own solitary care ; sagged back into the cushion of the couch, feeling his own breath fanned out around his nose : a smile carves itself out , ice splitting. that broken open look hadn't fit satoru's face very well. ❝ what's all that ? . . buyer's remorse ? ❞ receipt marked and for all of suguru's fixated needling to know about wanting, about disclosure, to read it all out in plain black text would've spelled that satoru'd gotten what he'd wanted, hadn't he ? to burn up beneath suguru's attention. to stand in his way, in some way, in the only way he could ever bear to ( and what a sickly abomination that still was even in minimal violence, in argument kept petty ) even with the surface of his skin still buzzing, ringing, his mouth numbed where it'd been touched.

it, starts, stops, a hand crawled to flatten at the cage of his own chest in surprised laughter puffing breathlessly hollow, never more aware of the unending pumping than every fresh pulse coming now like a dull scoop digging down to the center of him, bound to weed him out straight through to the other side. could the strongest go out like this ? heart failure, pink faced and on the painful side of juvenile stickiness just to prove he could . ( what guy wanted to be consoled after coming ? ) decent thing for suguru to at least pretend that'd turned him on, but     he wasn't being un-decent. more . . . the opposite, really. too decent. more than deserved. more than the picture of all this called for. maybe there was a little grace left in admitting that, letting humility ping about the already over-stuffed walls of his skull and turn his face away to rub the permanence of that protective smile against his sleeve, drying his lashes, rubbing them red-lined. an ugly shade for so much blue. a misplaced hotness bubbling up behind his eyes, head submerged. everything knocked loose and sharpened painfully clear, bullshit that'd warbled through a strained voice now just an unwanted stranger on the steps of satoru's memory.

shouldn't take anything from him, not clothes and not courtesy ( already taken the peace of mind of a man in his own home ) and it isn't so bad to angle out his legs and drag the whites of his socks out across the shined floorboards, scooting to the edge and stretching himself out to reach the neatly folded mass of discarded bandages. stark, out of place on a table so decisively arranged, bits and baubles all placed just so ( only hate the decor so much because i know i don't fit into it . can't fit without carving out a hole. won't fit without ruining something of yours. ) ❝ that all doesn't make any sense to me. ❞ weary, words settled. a defeat to the weight of them with his head downturned, fingers unwinding the length of the bandages where they'd dangle over his knees. ❝ you are suguru. i'll always find you, i'd know you out of a crowd of a million. my eyes can't forget you     higher ups would love it if i could, be real damn convenient for 'em if i'd just start looking at you like you're a stranger . . . just. didn't think that was what you wanted, too. ❞ cored again, that pang in his chest still a pain worth grimacing at, worth forcing out an airy chuckle as he looped those bandages tight over his eyelids. didn't think, a cardinal sin tailor made by that point. didn't think, mutuality presumed off the back of make-believe hopefulness when this was all one teetering mess built off that day suguru'd left him on the sidewalk ; hadn't that spoken for itself ? hadn't it been loud enough to still satoru's hand for this many years ? wasn't untrue so much time had made his heart fond, maybe it'd gone ahead and tossed the hulking bleeding thing a coagulated delusional shell. cherry on top. nail in his coffin.

It was some sort of made-up, make-believe sick and twisted idea of a hollowed-out corpse of fun only a few moments ago, now melting into the feeling of an overblown game of truth and dare, where no matter what Suguru would have chosen to utter or pretend to do--- by design of the very game, there were no winners, only losers. Even within those seconds piling together in this worn down, blown apart hourglass, clicking and flowing bit by bit till the surroundings that kept them contained in one or the other mindless space, had filled itself to the brim. This was a game that would not allow for either of them to get out of with emotions intact and not heartstrings rubbed raw by the splinters of glass pushing deeper and deeper the more they would wriggle and wind to adjust to their own outgrown reality about each other. All just culminating within the realisation he couldn't tamper and would never tamper: Satoru's anger had always been breathtakingly beautiful. And due to that there was not much else to do but admit and admire, adore nothing else but these suffocating colours, tugging at him, pulling at him to keep an attention unlike any other, broken down to the finest nuances of pitiful clashing desires that he could have laughed at in the ringing tones of unfiltered scorn, enough to unravel whatever had been hidden away for an odd amount of years rolled all into a small little discardable silver ball. 

" You're an idiot. " It's a whisper worth, if at all. He wonders, for a moment, why Satoru plays and abides by rules he could have just shrugged off, told him to go to hell for and leave this wretched, messed-up togetherness, a muddled and molten little thing, moulded out of wishes and dreams that aren't theirs anymore, like nothing has ever happened. Telling him to rot in the depths of everlasting hellfire shouldn't be too far off, with words he had spouted their whole union together, one more seething and hurtful than the other. He wonders - and comes to no conclusion about it. 

That's a lie. He knows why. Would always know why. That's the most painful thing about it. 

" Trying to get a rise out of me for nothing. Could always just tell me what you want but you are trying to figure out how much is still there from the Suguru you want. It's fine Satoru, it's alright, I know. " ---It's not me who you want, it's alright, I will deal with that.  Alone what had transpired, seen and felt and so seriously and openly taken in, yet his eyes had never moved from Satoru's, as if stuck in place by some force, glued together at the very edges, tearing them apart like this would have been impossible, ripping slowly and excruciatingly, would have felt like nipping at unkempt seams of their messed up little projection. Admiration, adoration, love, whatever this stain-filled remainder of their former selves could be called, all not perfect, not as ...what, exactly? He couldn't look away. All the time Suguru had waited for however long it had taken Satoru to be done with this dare he had muttered about in the non-existent heat of the moment, he hadn't looked away. From these eyes as clear blue and drowning, feeling like being sucked up into the ocean, ready to have his lungs filled with salted water and slowly, but surely suffocate within them and by them and still, he hadn't looked away. Gaze had taken something far away, when no matter what he could have uttered in apologies that felt like tacked together and would be the same way hated by his Honored One as his whole self-serving surrounding was, all would have fallen flat in this ridiculousness of broken breaths and pants and jolted heat. Infinity; come and gone. He wouldn't wonder if Satoru wanted him not close anymore.

" Could have just stopped it all, you know--- " Ridiculous words. Ridiculous thoughts. Nothing worthwhile after what just happened, but he had come close, too close perhaps, if Satoru wanted him gone he could just push him away, turn on that coveted power of his and launch him all the way away from him, get up and walk out, perhaps, but just perhaps. If not? Whatever he had spoken in these nearly imperceptible murmurs of some stupid knowledge they both had had [ of course, he could always stop anything he wanted, no? ] all the time from the beginning till now, would be sealed by that kiss he had wanted [ they had wanted? ]. Something about it must have felt nearly innocent. As if this was just a test of the waters, muddied and brown, soaking into shoes, dirtying up socks, like a pure little spot having been left untouched, something might have felt nearly too naive. Expecting Satoru to even accept it and not curse him out at the very same moment. Suguru had barely moved, the leverage of his position making it easier to just lean forward for that desired little touch, honesty given within that heartbreakingly soft closeness, hands still off - not touching him if not wanted past just this. This was what he should have given him from the beginning, what he could have given him the moment he was aware of it, but games were just that, meant to leave all these broken little shattered toys, left somewhere behind in that blue spring of theirs. 

What'd I ever do to you? - selfish things, little things, discardable things. Things that made no sense past in his mind and his perception alone. Things that if he were to say out loud, he would feel foolish to have them rummage around scratching at the inside of his skull like rats scavenging for leftovers. It was so many tiny, ridiculous things, that he could feel sick and angry and so hurt over it - but it's not important. " I'm sorry, Satoru... " Would it even matter? Blameless, faultless, all claims that were like the aching pain in his chest, twisting and turning his stomach into a knot for this stupid feeling - I don't want to hurt you, I never wanted to, I'm sorry  - didn't matter anymore. Too late of thought, too honest of an apology to turn and twist it, couldn't still fault him if he were, if this neverending spewing of burning word strung together into a lashing would be spun continue. Easy like that, wasn't it? To follow up anything given with a line of hate-filled mirth, as if to not try and find the good in something you want to demonize. Maybe it was that, he couldn't even tell anymore. Ridiculous. Above all else, he couldn't do anything but apologize, no matter how late it was. " I'm sorry, do you want a change of clothes? I will give you some of mine. " Buzzing sound in the back of his mind, whirring somewhere behind his eyes he had closed since only begun talking in bequeathed thoughts of discardable pacification. Whispers all the way, even when kissing that sign of frustration, that tear, away. An ocean indeed tasted - after all - like one too. 

[godsbox]

OUR LOVE IS AN OPEN WOUND

sierra demulder // haruki murakami // nikolay tolmachev // hieu minh nguyen // sierra demulder // osamu dazai.

[godsbox]

infinity

[godsbox]

transit by rachel cusk

[godsbox]

his face flattens out a little, lashes dropped over the lights in his eyes like blinds on a window. the idealization of a scenario was never gonna be a 50 / 50 dice roll against suguru, a chronic obsessive strategist, and information had its way of overriding other things. sensitive things. stuff he in his youth could've leaned his weight into suguru for, knowing he'd pick up the slack, clean up the mess. keep him clear of earned word lashings that'd send him into a self-pitying slump. like they'd been made that way, molded to round out the serrated edges of one others' faults. ❝ so you're unavailable and i'm, just free samples ? ❞ angry chemicals mixed up into the blood flow, it was there, still, in his face and his voice and the suspended grip he'd had on satoru's wrist where he watched his own fingers curl and wiggle and flex by the wet tickle of teeth : so much information and suguru'd always shown him something he'd missed. like holding the world and turning it around in different hands, in the one satoru'd rolled his head around to peer down at, parting his fingers at the zipper, wishing his own could've just melted into sweat and vapor and have it be suguru's hold on him alone - like he'd wanted to do that, like he'd woken up that morning and chosen this for any array of reasons outside of their old pissing contests. outside the hold of what looked like a dare, walked like dare, burned in his gut like a dare. ❝ figures you're a real perv, ❞ satoru breathes out, puffed, flashing teeth while he worked his hand in less of a flat weighted plane starting to earn a button imprint and a sore wrist, more of a proper slipping grip through the fabric to push up into, an anchor in his restlessness still sunken into ugly cushions that'd pressed like a brick against his head, embroidery that'd pulled at his hair ( was it just that suguru liked his partners down like this ? a clean hollywood movie position ? ) ❝ watching me sleep and all, probably already felt me up. i guess you're entitled to your hospitality tax. and . . . to that point, you see with your eyes - ❞

that ideal scenario'd gone something like this : suguru, incensed by all his squirming, would give in to feelings. didn't matter so much which type, or that satoru hadn't fully baked the idea long enough to decide where base information was cresting over intuitive thought ( the pressure, heat, signals crossing wires to and fro in the bulk of the brain ) but by now satoru would've felt himself held and embraced in the very least. instead he's clambering up off his back to sit up straight, wrist snatched back and his eyes a garish glowing blue - infinity delivering that coveted caress, yet somehow still it was suguru who felt out of reach. forward options weren't exactly staggering, and a contemplative hand fixing to pop his button fell away to grip onto the cushion instead, feeling the firm give between his fingers and bringing it close to brace between his thighs. a heavy straddle, fabric through fabric grinding rough enough to feel it, probably making him out hardly any better than the types of guys that'd got off on getting their junk stepped on, but     ❝ d'you look at the guys in dirty movies ? they all get this stupid look, like they think this, ❞ and satoru pauses on a deep forward rock down, forward, illustrating the point with a clumsy crude gesture down past the harsher rise of fall of expanded breath. ❝ doesn't come off looking like a tortoise sticking its head out of its shell when you got a camera pointed head on. hundred plus year old tortoise, too. gakuganji's distant uncle. you'd see it if i had a pack of googly eyes, or a marker. i'd make you laugh. ❞ make it a show, yeah, he'd show him then.

whatever'd come after, it would've felt like there was some point to make, some thing to prove. a proposition he couldn't wuss out of or let suguru win in what'd probably been acidic run-off from their days balancing friendship with the undercurrent of the type of rivalry made inevitable in lives that'd been so messily braided in a numerical system     it would've been satisfying, wouldn't it ? for now and for those days back then, for suguru to watch him make some sort of fool of himself. knocked down a peg. but shame was just some other hot-blooded chemical stirred to the amalgamated mess of melted information, and a shattered hole punched into the cavity of his chest wouldn't have felt any worse than the grind of his jaw, teeth splitting the skin of his lip in an effort that'd taken like a gradual buffer with the burn in his knees, the up-down motion and the squeaky springs starting to protest the uptick in tempo. ❝ this, ❞ and satoru's breath jolts, a rattle in his ribcage, catching dry in the cavern of a throat glittering sweat-dotted and bite bruised. a kiss would've worked wonders, would've been nice, would've done a miraculous share of labor compensated in the sweep of his tongue and the salted burn of his own lip bitten to a thin bloody line : frustration just to get there, to balance there, to feel the tip at the top of the line. satoru puts a hand to his mouth instead, parts his lips, shudders breath wet against the skin with eyes hard and hazy meeting suguru's from over the tops of his shaky knuckles. if you want a job done right . . . ( but he didn't want to do it himself. didn't. never did. never would. why else come here . . . ? ) ❝ would've been good with, with audience participation. you could picture it, couldn't you     this, your lap. but you . . . you wouldn't spit on me if i were on fire, and i don't want you fucking me anyway if you weren't gonna be sweet about it. what'd i ever do to you ? we used to- hah, ah, used to be friends. now we're just - ❞ just an asshole that hated suguru's interior decorating so much he'd pseudo fuck it, just a bastard who hadn't in the very least laid satoru out on a proper bed.

they should've had a bed. it's a strange chord to strike, to feel like a crater in the core of satoru's chest once he'd gone painfully still. jackknifed. stuttered spine tightened up like a bow string tugged out with the excess air pressed from his lungs up through his larynx in fragmented pants, in a gasp like it'd hurt - they should've had a bed. should've had whatever this was buried somewhere warm and clean and left to suffocate between bedsheets and hands that hadn't meant any harm, words that'd never aimed down the barrel. the heat turns cold fast. sticky, wet and soaking up the cotton beneath that untouched zipper. wet in the beads from a tear built up from frustrated effort clumping at his lashes, clinging to the white like glued-on plastic gems from some corner store and soaking in that blurry blue glow before belatedly turning it off     infinity leaving his limbs with a noise like an electric current finally gone dead, a squirming toy with the batteries run dry. satoru'd moved knee by knee then, letting his legs stretch off the buzz of pins and needles from off the side of the lounge, socked flats of his feet back to balancing against the cool of the floor. anchored.

" Heh, you really need to learn when to shut the hell up. " Always speaking out of line, always speaking out of tune, voice so grating he had half a mind to close fingertips around his throat and pull out his vocal cords, seeing how the inside of his pretty neck was carved out, created, to be able to utter this absurd nonsense and what, if truly thought out and set in motion, would make him sing to him instead if he tugged on the right strings like discordant piano wire, ready to be pulled out of place, bit by bit. But these thoughts were disturbed when he felt him move, stretch, limber, the comfort of their closeness broken in those mere pulses it took for Satoru to demand more where he should not, already having been given salvation of someone so god-revered in means of adoration undeserved. He could have laughed about the lunacy of it all, somewhere stretched and moulded into nothing but an unseen smile; so what should he do? 

Maybe he really should just kick him out. Kick him off his property, out of the backdoor in irritation, tell him to crawl back into whatever hole he came out of and perhaps think about treating those he wanted to put so damn much beyond the both of them with a bit more respect - respect they both probably did not deserve right now. What a lie--- Feeling Satoru holding himself so painfully, so bitterly human. Small and palpable, forcing their distance blown out apart without truly doing so. Urging and pushing him to give way, so Suguru adjusts for whatever second pulse worth he felt beating between them in that self-punishing rush of blood and makes to sit up again between his legs. Admiring whatever art he had left behind on his pale throat and even paler collarbone, thinks to himself that the spread of blood and colour pushed into him does make him appear a bit more lively--- " What now? Want me to get you one? Any wishes? Preferences? They would pay highly to see you like this, losing all of yourself just for the edge of being unable to tell me to fuck you. "

It was now just about how much he wanted to get out of this exhibitionistic show of self-punishment, so beautifully torn open and spread apart in front of him - of course. He would never deny how beautiful Satoru was, even at his lowest just like this. Would never deny how much his arrogant teetering on a knife's edge with deliberately picked words and phrases crafted strung-together that he means little to not at all, would want to make him use said knife and find each line of that fine pulse. Not right now, he had hands to use and would do so. Brushing along the wrist of the hand on his crotch, as if to invite himself in to be the guide for this little display that it was in swallowed breaths interlinked with slowly, so slowly, covering his hand with his own. Then reaching for the one where fingertips burry, tear, pull and were meant to so direly hold on. It's perhaps a good thing that he doesn't follow the invitation of skin against skin so openly as it was presented to him, rocking his hips against Satoru's own, getting a rise out of nothing but this exuberantly disgusting display of someone he truly should have kicked out about fifteen minutes ago. Too soft, maybe. Think and play pretend that this was normal when it never would be. 

" Would feel better if you got to pay me? Don't worry, even you wouldn't be able to afford me for this sort of service. " Pointed articulation for an easy feeling of fleeting self-serving reassurance: Shut up already, I usually do this for no one; and in that heated sensation of intoxication, might go over one's head immediately. Didn't matter, he didn't want to comfort and soothe him. Pulls his hand away from the the anchor used to hold on tugging softly, nearly gently, to follow whatever the Cultist would issue as an unspoken demand. The voice was such a calculated edge, he wanted to use it solely when he knew their Honored One was beyond holding onto any graces while pulling his wrist to his lips, mirroring broken shards, jagged edges to grace his teeth over vividly singing pulse and drag his tongue over it shortly after. Hot and giving. Suguru had mellowed out in his knowledge of control reigning over the strongest of them all. Had found the highest esteem of his selfish egotism, breathing in the inside of his palm, hot nearly heavy but not yet quite there yet, confrontations leading to half thoughts, half gestures, not enough. It was only so far till there was no going back anymore and tilting his hand enough in his hold to bite down on his thumb was not only the beginning of an answer not searched for; while not even a pulse later to speak what they both wanted to hear. 

" Come on. Get yourself off. Make it a show. I want to see it. "

Kiss him back, eh? He had yet to earn and deserve that. 

[godsbox]

i love you, i do, but i cannot fucking stomach you

1. richard siken | 2. david foster wallace | 3. slavoj žižek | 4. x? | 5. succession, jesse armstrong. gif by @lesbiankendall | 6. orla gartland | 7. trista mateer | 8. ilya repin | 9. iain thomas | 10. thoroughbreds, cory finley | 11. yrsa daley-ward |

text id below

1. sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them

2. [in red highlight] everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

3. [white text on a background of a field] A FRIEND HAS TO BE OUTSIDE MY REACH, BEYOND MY GRASP. AND THERE CAN BE NO FRIENDSHIP WITH SOMEONE WHOM I AM NOT READY TO BETRAY: A FRIEND IS SOMEONE I CAN BETRAY WITH LOVE.

4. Long before Caesar and Brutus were lessons, they were friends. // They played with stick swords in their kingdom of trees // and dressed up in crowns of flowers // and painted mud on each other's faces. // The pair was often found walking down dirt roads, // Caesar stomping proud and tall, // and Brutus- step by step- placing his feet into the footprints left behind. // Caesar grew into a strong Roman man. // Brutus grew into Caesar's shoes. // They walked to a wishing well and they threw in their weapons // and Caesar whispered a prophecy: // "We live and die together." // The day before the slaughter, Brutus took pause. // He turned to Caesar and thought // "I'll love you twice as hard today to make up // for tomorrow," // and they stayed up and played cards on the kitchen floor. // It wasn't until the next morning that Brutus realized how cold the tile was. // Life and death are not mutually exclusive. // When Caesar died, so did Brutus, in the sense that he never really lived again. // In the present, when someone mentions one of them, // they seldom exclude mention of the other.

5. a scene from succession. the characters kendall and stewy are in a dimly lit alley, one walks away from the other while saying “you’re my third oldest friend. you fucked me like a tied goat. we’re great.”

6. I'm not happy if you're not happy // And swear that you're always sad // You're pathetic, I resent it // When you're down, it hurts so bad

7. I've gotten so good about not flinching at the sound of your name that people don't know I'd still throw myself mouth-open into the ocean for the chance to drown somewhere you might see it.

8. the painting ‘Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivana’. it depicts a man holding another man who is bleeding profusely from his head.

9. there are a million ways to bleed, but you are by far my favorite.

10. scene from the movie thoroughbreds. a character lays crying wrapped around her friend, she is covered in blood, her friend is unconscious.

11. [in pink highlight] and be wary of friends, yeah? they are the ones who kill you, in the end.

[godsbox]

"His hand"

The Japanese version is here.