A side blog where I can rant into the void/post about mixed up random stuff, currently fixated on Satosugu
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Tattoos
Dead. David reminds himself as he stares at the picture, knuckles bone-white around the neck of a whiskey bottle. Dead.
He drags his gaze over the image making short mental notes, cropped, brown hair. Whiskey sears the back of his throat, brown eyes. His teeth sink into his tongue, huge, he swallows the taste of copper as his eyes catch on the markings that wrap up the man’s arms. Thick, black lines marked with sharp, inked spikes coil endlessly up corded muscle. Dangerous.
David’s seen the damage the real stuff can do. Remembers, years ago, stumbling across the body of a young doe. Its leg had got caught in the wire, it had fought tirelessly but its struggle had only pressed the barbs deeper, hooking them further into its flesh, scraping sharp points against bone, until it had become inextricably trapped. It must have hung there for hours, bloody, panting and broken, until its life had finally slipped away.
Andrew.
He swallows the acid clawing at his throat. Reaches out to chase it back down with his favourite poison, freezes as his eyes catch black flames. They lick up his skin, twisting and twining. Just like the wire on the dead man. The bottle falls to the floor with a thunk, curling fumes burn his nose.
A memory, sharp and clear, forces its way through his whiskey haze. Andrew’s hazel eyes slightly widening, his breath barely catching, as David reaches toward him. It’s almost nothing, but it’s enough for David to freeze. It’s silent until Andrew’s gaze shutters, then he lets his eyes trail up David’s bare arms and in a cold, bored voice he says ‘your tattoos are fucking ugly,’ before pushing himself off the counter, with the bottle David had been reaching to confiscate, and slamming the front door on his way out.
David had brushed it off as nothing. Now there’s a physical twisting in his gut that’s agonising. The memory replays, black flames, eyes widen, doors slam again and again and again. David presses his fingertips in hard as he grips his head, hoping the pain will help counter his building rage.
David stares at the dead man on the page and wishes he could kill him.
#main blog#my writing#foxhole court is a new obsession#give Andrew minyard adults that give a shit club
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just a little unedited snippet 🩵
#just re-read this snipett and my god your dialogue is just amazing#the chemistry leaps off the page#satosugu#fic
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Why doesn’t anyone talk about this?
This panel is so so painful. Aki is often the voice of reason in the manga/the one pulling the dumb faces making jokes.
This panel shows a completely different and painful side of his life.
‘Any means necessary’
‘Almost everyone asked for something in return’
‘I did things I can’t even joke about’
These words coupled with him shirtless and curled in on himself, I just want to protect him. I think this glimpse into his hidden life explains (but in no way excuses) his actions with Haruki.
I think he sees sex as something people take, something they want, something he has to do. I think aki himself has been in situations where he felt like he had to do it regardless of his own feelings.
He’s so ashamed of himself in this panel and all I want to do is tell him he’s not worthless and those people that ‘wanted something in return’ for giving a bed to a teenager desperate for a place to shelter are the worthless ones.
Anyway sorry for ranting, we are always saying protect haruki/mafuyu but aki needs protecting too!
#posted this ages ago but someone reblogged#this still stands#aki was clearly forced to sleep with adults in exchange for a bed#it does not excuse his behaviour but it does give us insight into his unhealthy relationship with sex#akihiko kaji#given
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just a little unedited snippet 🩵
#jjk sgst#go and read every fic by this author#you will not be disappointed#beautiful writing#satosugu
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He Can’t…
There’s a corpse at his back. She’s humming in his ear. She’ll be ok.
He can’t breathe.
He’s shoved against a wall, a man’s hand trails his chest, a knee is shoved between his thighs, he tries to push back. Stop, god please.
He can’t move.
He reaches for the ball, the saccharine scent hits his throat. Thick fingers tighten around his wrist and pull, whose? Mama, Papa? Too late. Help.
He can’t think.
But…
He can hear?
‘Xiaoshi, hey, Xiaoshi,’ Guang?
He can feel. Knees press to cool concrete. Fingertips dig into his skull, bone cracks at each pressure point, fault lines spread, cracked earth? cracked bone? Am I dying? She’s still humming, he’s still touching, they’re still dragging. Shit. It won’t stop. It won’t.
‘STOP,’ it’s wrecked and ragged, his throat is raw. Hands around his wrists lift to pull his own from his head, wait his wrists…no, too late, help.
‘Xiaoshi,’ louder this time.
‘Guang?’
A sigh. ‘Yes, are you with me?’
He knows this, ‘yes,’ a partial lie, he’s still pressed against a wall, the man’s humming? Is that right or? No, no, a child’s crying? No, someone’s crying? I’m crying? His vision’s swimming.
Guang loosens his grip on another sigh, he catches it, he always does, ‘Xiaoshi?’ silver eyebrow slightly raised, ‘ok, ok, not fully but it’s fading,’ he mumbles slumping forward trusting Guang to catch him.
The man envelopes him, holds him loosely against his chest and breathes, deep and slow. Xiaoshi mimics, he can do this, it’s routine. ‘Do we need to take a break?’ Guang whispers, hand soothing at his back.
Xiaoshi knows what he’ll say, it’s always the same, but sometimes, his voice cracks a little on the answer.
‘No I have to help them, I’m fine,’ another sigh ruffles his hair ‘no you’re not,’ is the muffled reply, as Guang tilts his head, and presses his lips to his forehead for a moment.
As his pulse slows Guang helps him to the couch, tucks him into his corner, and then, as per their morbid ritual, asks ‘tea?’ and in less than a heartbeat, Xiaoshi recites, ‘yea, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome,’ the man turns and pads towards the kitchen.
Xiaoshi curls further into the couch, eyes trained on the ceiling.
He can breathe.
He can move.
He can think.
He can…still hear her humming.

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Lu Guang’s phone passcode being Cheng Xiaoshi’s death date will never not fuck me up
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its the fucking signature dead wife scene
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Haven’t managed to watch yet but so excited to see these two again - can’t escape the doomed white haired x dark haired duos

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So in love with Link Click's season 2 opening ❤️
If you haven't seen this donghua yet, I highly recommend it!
It's SO GOOD and it will break your heart!

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GOOD SHIGUANG MORNING ON THIS FINE DAY THEY'RE HUSBANDS!!!
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WAITER!!! pass me another round of white/dark hair doomed yaoi






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―I used to know two people, and your eyes reminded me of theirs. What happened to them? They disappeared.
Link Click: Bridon Arc · S3EP1
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Am I the only one that thought that Lu Guang’s and Cheng Xiaoshi‘s cosplay looked like Wei Wuxian’s and lan wangji from mdzs ? Just look at it.



You can’t tell me that this isn’t made on purpose.


Look at that!?!
And even this.
Google lens is also telling me this is mdzs.
You can’t change my mind, with that shiguang is officially canon and married.
(For the people that don’t know mdzs: it’s a show with a canon gay married couple, the red one dies, comes back through a ritual and the white one is all like: „I stand with my cancelled wife“ and rebels against his own clan) and tries to save him from any harm
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Cheng Xiaoshi's expression shift when Lu Guang starts to tear up. He doesn’t make fun of him or gets uncomfortable, he instantly empathizes with LG and offers to get the nurse.


I’m deceased and shiguang is my cause of death.
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