#and i desecrate you and make you less than

[florallylly]

something something there are two wolves inside of you except one wolf is rabid scratching at the walls insane over son of aphrodite camp halfblood steve harrington BUT the second wolf is like that specific steddie fic where eddie keeps calling steve his "apollo"

[kiseiakhun]

You literally already know who I'm gonna ask: GARTH

I have already answered this but I will answer again. I would smash Garth. I would ride his fish dick. I would put on a strap and fuck his fussy (fish pussy). I would fertilize his eggs after he lays them in the communal titans pool. I would take his side in every argument with Arthur, which I would do even if I didn't want to fuck him because Arthur is usually wrong. All it takes is one look from his magical anime eyes and my legs will open by themselves. You KNOW Garth would treat you right.

[charliemwrites]

Part 6 of childhood friend Simon

“You missed a spot.”

“Like hell I did.”

Simon’s eye twitches as you snort, turning back to your phone. “Some sniper you are, blind bastard.”

The silence stretches for one, two, three…..

“Where?” he sighs.

“Left side of your jaw.” You gesture at the spot just near where it curves, a few centimeters from the corner. He runs his thumb over the spot and finds a patch of stubble.

“Fuck.”

“‘Like hell I did’,” you mock.

He narrows his eyes, points threateningly. “Watch it or I’ll shave an eyebrow.”

You snort, unconcerned. “Remember that time I did shave my eyebrows?”

He smirks as he runs the razor over the bit he missed, double checks he got it, then rinses in the sink.

“Wasn’t it because of some stupid YouTube video?”

“Yes, and I still have nightmares about having to draw them in.”

He nearly snorts water everywhere trying not to laugh, quickly wiping his face off with the towel you hand him.

“Didn’t your mum start calling you caterpillar girl?”

Your mouth drops open, scandalized.

“Simon Riley you swore you’d never bring that up again!”

He laughs outright as you chase him from the bathroom, whacking him in the arm. When he puts his hands up in mock surrender, you give him one last swat for good measure.

“Assaulting a military officer is illegal.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re legally dead, aren’t you? So wouldn’t that be desecrating a corpse?”

“I’ll have to ask Laswell.”

“Or we could ask Johnny. I bet he’ll know.”

The implication of Johnny knowing versus having an opinion is not something Simon’s equipped to parse before his first cuppa.

“Johnny’s just gonna side with you.”

You shrug - because it’s true. Johnny may be Simon’s (other) best friend, but he’s also a shithead that takes every opportunity to fuck with Ghost. And with you around “protecting” him, he’s been an absolute bastard.

“Then we’ll ask Gaz and John too,” you offer as you step into your shoes.

You’ve been lining them up next to his boots off to the side. The contrast of big, black leather next to your much smaller trainers would be almost comedic if it didn’t make his chest warm.

A reminder that you’re here with him, in a place he usually spends all his time wishing to see you. He’s called you countless times on the same bed you’ve been sharing for the past week. And now you’re wearing his official SAS hoodie (complete with his name on the back) and invading his wardrobe, about to go with him to breakfast in the mess.

Johnny, in a shocking twist, doesn’t think it’s desecrating a corpse to smack Simon.

“Well, he’s Ghost, aye? So it’d be exorcising him, no?”

Your eyes go all big as you turn to Simon with unholy delight. He makes a mental note to throw Johnny onto the mat once more than usual during their next spar.

That’ll have to wait though, because he’s promised you range time and then the obstacle course. Johnny tags along, interested to see your marksmanship when Simon’s talked it up so much.

He watches on, pride bright and hot in his chest, as you walk through all the steps he’s taught you. It’s even his favorite gun in your steady hands, fingers elegant as you load, chamber. Click the safety off and settle into your preferred stance.

The first two shots hit the target, though off to the side, the second closer to center than the first. You pause, take a breath before he even says anything. Then fire again. And again. And again. Until the mag is empty and he brings the paper target back.

A neat cluster of 15 holes, dead center.

“Atta girl,” he rasps, tugging you into his side and pressing a kiss against your hair.

“I did good?” you ask, beaming.

“Lass, even those first two would have been the end of some poor sod,” Johnny chimes in, patting your shoulder. “Guess the LT isn’t such a bad teacher after all.”

Simon narrows his eyes. “Was that even a question?”

Johnny shoves the ammo box at you. “A pint says you can’t do it again.”

“You’re on!”

—

The obstacle course is slightly less of a success.

“Oh, hey, Si,” you giggle, clinging onto the rope for dear life. “Ya come here often.”

He snorts. “Did you get stuck?”

“No!” You huff, scowling. “Im just… hanging around.”

He’s enjoyed watching you navigate the course - more importantly, he likes that you enjoy climbing around. Even if he’s had a small heart attack every time your foot slips or you wobble.

“Oi, you’re holding up traffic,” Gaz huffs, rapping his knuckles against your foot.

“Do you mind?” you call back. “Im telling Simon bad jokes.”

“Oh, by all means then.”

Simon snorts, jerks his head for you to continue. Johnny laughs as you shimmy along, laughs harder when you almost fall flipping him off.

Once you make it to the other side, Gaz climbs up after you and starts demonstrating how to do the next section. Simon and Johnny follow along, the latter cheering you on.

Movement from the corner of his eye draws his attention; Price, determined set to his shoulders. Simon recognizes the glint in his eye.

“Got ‘em?” Simon asks, hopeful.

Having you spend all day with him on base has been a subconscious fantasy come true. You, close by and safe, under 24/7 guard. But the circumstances have made his skin crawl, made it difficult to enjoy the novelty. Woken him up in the small hours of the night and hug you as close as he can without waking you.

“Fuckin’ got ‘em,” Price confirms. “Laswell’s got the docket prepped. All that’s left it briefing and prep. You can be wheels up in a few hours.”

Simon cracks his neck, anticipation sparking in his veins. His gaze slides to you, to his teammates helping you down from the wall. Price follows your gaze.

“You good for this one, Simon? Got your head on straight?”

Simon flicks him a look. “You know I’m good.”

“I know Ghost is good. What about Simon?”

He blinks, gaze going back to you. You can tell already even from a distance, by the set of his shoulders, that something is going on. You’re still relaxed, but there’s a questioning curve to your mouth as you stop at his side, fingers curling in the sleeve of his shirt.

“Something happened?” you ask.

“We found the group targeting you.”

“Oh!” You arch your eyebrows, eyes bouncing between him and Price. “You’ll be taking care of it, then?”

Simon turns back to Price, a silent “well?”.

“We’ll discuss strategies during the brief.”

You perk up. “Do I get to come?”

“Might as well,” Price sighs. “Let’s go.”

—

In the end, of course Simon is going to go. You’re his girl, always have been. He trusts his team, but when it comes to you, he’ll see this done right. And the only way to be sure, the only way to have peace, is for him to eliminate the threat himself.

Johnny’s coming along, of course. The slightest bit of tension in your shoulders eases when Price decides it. Simon presses his thigh into yours.

When the brief is done, strategies and timelines set, you follow him back to his barrack. He gears up while you sit on the bed, idly inspecting his vest while he straps into everything else.

“Nervous?” he asks.

You tilt your head back and forth considering. “Not more than usual before you leave. It seems like this is pretty standard for you, more or less. Why, should I be nervous?“

He snorts. That’s his girl. “No.”

You hum, picking at the Velcro of his SAS patch. He pauses, watches your face. You’re not anxious, but there’s… something.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he asks, chucking you gently under the chin.

“I…” you pause, hum. Try again. “I don’t like that you’re going out just because of me.”

He frowns, settles on the edge of his bed. You lean with the dip in the mattress, pressing warm and solid against his side.

“I feel like… like I messed up somehow, and now you have to fix it for me.”

He blows out a breath, yanking the mask off. You tilt your head to look at him, eyes soft, the tiniest frown on your face. He peels his glove off too, to cup your cheek. Revels in the warmth and smooth skin against his scars and callouses, always a little surprised when you lean into it.

“I’d get you world peace if you asked for it,” he replies.

“You’d be out of a job,” you half-joke.

“You are my job, daft thing.” He shakes his head, leans in until he can thunk his forehead gently against yours. “You’re what brought me back from the grave. Knew I still had work to do, that you still needed taking care of.”

You sniffle a bit. Always do when he digs up the words to remind you how much you mean to him. Not that he thinks you ever doubt it. How could you? But sometimes, he thinks, it bears repeating.

“You haven’t made a mess, luv. But even if you did, I’m always right here with a mop, yeah?”

He’d burn alive just to keep you warm. Drown to fetch you a glass of water. Anything, everything. Just so long as you’re still here, still his.

“I’ll take care of this and then come home to you. Due for a holiday anyway.”

You close your eyes, a faint little smile tilting your lips. He can’t look away. Never can.

“We can go on that camping trip you’ve been talking about,” you say.

“Yeah, luv. Toast marshmallows like the old days.”

You hum, a proper smile finally blooming across your face.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Promise you’ll come back. Both of you.”

“Promise. Be good for Price while I’m gone.”

You open your eyes, a mischievous sparkle in them. “We’ll see.”

—

You see him off on the tarmac, serene and assured. Stripped of faith and belief, there is one certainty in your life, always and forever. And it’s Simon. He’s going to come home to you, because he promised he would.

“Raise hell, Si.”

“Already raised the dead,” he muses, hell shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Aye, I’ve got just the C-for it.”

You groan at the joke, but don’t deny Johnny a parting hug and peck on the cheek. “Look out for each other.”

“Will do, hen.”

You don’t hug or kiss Simon. Don’t need to, you’ve said your goodbyes. You squeeze his hand and then step back as he heads for the plane with Johnny chattering all the way.

“Alright, little miss?” Price asks when it’s just the two of you.

“Always,” you reply, turning to smile at him.

You have to be, for Simon.

[froody]

It burns me up that they perpetually build roads, lakes, housing developments etc. over historical Black cemeteries in the American south. It really does. The thin excuse of “urban development and progress” doesn’t change the fact that is 9/10 times you hear about a cemetery being relocated or otherwise desecrated, it was a cemetery for POC. It is an act of willful, disgusting racism and targeted disrespect towards their lives and their loved ones and descendants.

In Roanoke, I-581 is built over Big Lick Cemetery, a historical Black cemetery dating back to the 1890s containing the graves of more than 700 Black men, women and children, most of whom moved to Roanoke during The Great Migration when it was a developing railroad town. These are the graves of the people who built the city. These are the graves of people who came to make a better life for themselves and their children. The graves of the formerly enslaved, their children, their children’s children. The cemetery contains a disproportionate amount of children, even for a cemetery dating from a time when childhood mortality was high. Stillborn babies, children who died of marasmus (malnutrition) or diseases like tuberculosis and typhoid due to inhumane and cramped living conditions.

There is a road built on top of them, babies, boys, girls, men and women and no acknowledgment of their lives. Remaining undisturbed graves are visible from the road, it’s surrounded by a chain link fence and marked from the road only by a wooden sign bolted to the fence. Driving by you could not fathom the size of the cemetery or its significance or the stories of the people interred there. It’s notoriously badly kept, grown up, covered in litter, graves that are less than a century old already obscured by plant growth.

Please be mindful of the Black and Indigenous cemeteries in your area, protect historical cemeteries, protest their destruction, volunteer with cleanup and survey efforts and always be conscious that plans to develop over them are not innocuous, not an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice so your town can have a new Sheetz and a 4 lane highway. It is an act of racism.

The next time you drive through Roanoke, think of them.

[catboymoments]

I know I’ve talked about this before, mostly on Twitter, but when people talk about the possibilities of or the allegories in the show of Hunter being a csa victim at the hands of Belos, many peoples responses are somewhere along the lines of “Belos wouldn’t do that! He’s a colonizer but he’s not THAT evil!” And it’s like.

Number one, that’s one of the big things that colonizers DO when it comes to their destruction, number two, it’s evident that people w those responses are coming from a place of thinking colonization is somehow a lesser evil. Something less close to home than SA is- when in fact it still happens, and people alive today are still affected by colonization. They go hand in hand. And not only is he a colonizer, he is a Christianity-adjacent religious figurehead, a group of people notorious for being perpetrators of SA.

Another thing I’ve seen is people responding with “but the Grimwalkers are clones of his brother, he wouldn’t feel that way towards him.”

SA is not about love. It’s about control and violence. It’s about doing harm. He clearly had no qualms about killing his brother or desecrating his corpse to create Grimwalkers, so why would that be “too far?” Belos has shown time and time again that nothing is too far for him, he’s not above anything.

Lastly when people question where the headcanon even came from, it’s mostly with victims seeing themselves in Hunter, seeing patterns, and for me it’s mostly the allegorical implications of the possession. Someone taking control of your body and making you do things you don’t want to do? Rot inside you leaving scars, physical or metaphorical, that last? That violation is all too familiar.

Idk. I just have a lot of thoughts about it and seeing people immediately jump to “oh if you have this headcanon then you’re clearly a weirdo who secretly gets off to it” is such. A disservice? And disrespectful even? Calling this facet of trauma “too much” or “too taboo” does nothing to help real life victims and survivors, and in fact it makes them feel like they can’t talk about it at all. One in five people have been victims of csa in their lifetime, think about that the next time you go to a grocery store. Abuse is abuse, and seeing familiarities in fiction shouldn’t be written off as perverse just because of the nature of it. Idk.

[thewertsearch]

A fifth exile, sleeping for centuries in the belly of the ruins, far beneath the desecrated idol once sharing its visage with the legendary SPEAKER OF THE VAST CROAK.

We’ve got another Vast Thing, to accompany Gl'bgolyb’s Glub and Aradia's Joke.

I'm a little nervous about the parallel being drawn here between Gl'bgolyb and Bilious Slick. If Sburb's Frog God turns out to have been a Horrorterror all along, it would certainly be fitting, but it definitely wouldn't be good.

Soon the WRIT KEEPER will awaken and serve his new queen.

Fair enough. It makes sense that the Queen would want to save her husband if the opportunity were to present itself.

It is a little fucked that he's the only one who was preserved, though. He shared space with Dave’s beta, so the device can clearly accommodate multiple payloads. For all we know, they could have evacuated half of Prospit through here!

The King has become the Writ Keeper, which makes me think that Complacency might be more than just a teen's first novel.

I think it’s time to take another look at Rose's magnum opus.

COTL is a story about twelve wizards, who suspect that their twelve apprentices are responsible for murder.

In contrast, Homestuck is a story about twelve rather murderous trolls, who are following in the footsteps of their twelve ancestors. So, you see, it's different.

Nah, but seriously, I'm fairly confident that these wizards are supposed to represent the ancestors and Players of the troll session. Zazzerpan even refers to the apprentices as the Complacency's 'grand descendence', which is almost comically on the nose.

But what does it mean? I doubt Rose is intentionally weaving these parallels - it's probably just a manifestation of her latent Seer powers.

In the story, Zazzerpan's cohort are horrified by the possibility that their apprentices are killers. Does this imply that the troll ancestors are less violent and dangerous than the modern Alternians? But if the ancestors were peaceful, I don't think Eridan would respect them the way he does. Hmm.

She would like clarification on the nature of the work, which you are happy to provide. You explain that it is very simple. As the new queen, she will be charged with bringing the slayer to justice, and rebuilding her kingdom in a new land.

The latter is standard practice for Sburban Exiles, and should be well within their capabilities. That said, it would be just as achievable if they were being led by WQ, so I’m not sure why PM needs to bear the crown instead.

If PM is 'bringing the Slayer to justice', she'll probably be confronting Jack directly. This means she's going to be travelling back into sessionspace, presumably quipped with the one weapon capable of matching Noir’s.

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

You know, I like you and I've followed you for ages but when I see you posting about how you want ethnic cleansing it kinda grosses me the fuck out

no, actually. i don't know. because i don't know you. you are a complete stranger to me. and i don't care how much you liked me or how disappointed you are. your disapproval means less than nothing to me. what gets your approval is horrific.

you already know that 'from the river to the sea' means 'palestine will be free' you know that it's a call to end the ethnic cleansing of palestinians. you are so drunk on internet juice and brainwashed by the disneyfication of colonialism you think that the ongoing annihilation of innocent people for nearly a century is somehow justifiable and that a slogan representing earnest hope of freedom is an attack on you. you think hoping for people's freedom and safety is threatening to you. you believe that hope is a threat.

you already know all of these things, and you are approaching in bad faith because it's all you know how to do. you want me to post frieren not arguing with a zionist kill yourself image because it will reinforce your victim complex. you want me, someone with absolutely no skin in the game so to speak, to overreact because it's painful subject matter and you'll be able to point to it and say whatever it is you feel like saying that will justify in your heart or to your friends that millions of people should be killed so that some other people can steal their homes, kill their children, desecrate their graves, and piss on their existences.

you want me to tell you to kill yourself so that you can feel better about supporting a genocide. you want me to be toothlessly mean to you online so that you feel better about supporting a genocide.

not that a strangers blog is some important place that you need to seek refuge in, but you will never be welcome here. i will not make you comfortable about your position and i will not allow you to feel peaceful here. you don't get to enter my house and put your feet on my couch and watch my children play and hear me laugh over meals with my loved ones as we share art and tell jokes and talk about our day.

you want me to tell you to kill yourself because you're miserable and cruel and you want to believe you are justified, but you aren't. you never will be. im not going to tell you to kill yourself. i'm telling you, despite your proclivity to the contrary, to get the hell out of my house.

Some Links for Palestine:

One Click to Help

Operation Olive Branch - Google Sheet

UNRWA

eSims for Gaza

[seeingivy]

electric touch

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: the new and improved (not really)... tumblr delete this post again and I will attack you.

--

it’s almost like getting primed for a reward. the tiny little breaks between when satoru got to see you – it functioned like a charging port. 

satoru would get the sweet, soft promise of your presence. and then be robbed of it consequently. and it would leave him a little bit hollow in the days that followed, until it came rushing back – when you had to pick up leo at the end of the week. 

he likened it to him being like a ghost town. and that you would fill him up with light. 

and the sweet promise comes flowing back, an almost instantaneous rush, when he gets a less than pleasant phone call about his son getting into a fight at school – and how both parents would need to be present for the meeting that followed. 

--

one of the greatest strengths in his relationship with you – if he could even call it that anymore – was that the two of you were always able to read each other. it’s how two halves of a whole functioned – adapted to be what the other one needed. 

satoru had never been able to find that in someone else. and sometimes, late at night, he’d wonder if it was because the two of you were soulmates, that you were so connected, that it was the reason you could feel what the other needed. 

or if you had forged yourselves into ones, by having a child together – a little perfect piece of you and him in the world that tied you together. that the secret to it was that when you made leo, there was some part of your souls that were shared forever now. 

the thought dies out on its own, when he’s faced with the harsh reality. 

soulmates would never be separated. on the heels of a divorce. 

so he swallows down the thought. and it comes rushing back to him at times like this – when he’s speeding through the streets and running into the office – only to find the pair of you pressing ice packs into your respective faces, matching steely glares being given to the pair of people across from you. 

leo spares him the glance first. you don’t break. 

“daddy’s here.” 

leo’s voice is uncharacteristically monotone, the usual cheery delight – that satoru claims to take credit for – is gone and it’s chilling. that and the fact that his eye is going to definitely purple up by tomorrow. satoru takes the seat next to you, passing you a halfhearted smile as you meet his eyes, and he gestures for leo with grabby hands to take the place in his lap. 

leo all but obliges and satoru takes the close proximity to inspect the little bruise near his eye. it’s raised and red – the white of his eye tinted a tiny pink. 

one of his favorite things about leo was that his eyes were just like yours. seeing someone desecrate them in the slightest was enough to make him sear with a white hot rage. 

satoru would have every intention to create a living hell for whoever’s kid – and their parents – caused this. but he had a strong inkling telling him that the ice pack pressed to your cheek meant that you had already tried and it was on him to be the mature one here. that he’d have to adapt, for you. 

“hi star boy, sunshine.” satoru murmurs. 

you turn your head to his, glaring at him. this was not the time for stupid nicknames. 

“horrifying. you should try to smile more.” satoru deadpans, giving you a smile so wide you can see his dimples. 

idiot. 

“and you should try to be more mature. someone punched your son in the face.” 

“and it looks like they didn’t stop there. what happened to you? let me look.” 

satoru reaches forward, fingers featherlike as they pull the ice pack away from your face, revealing three identical red lines indented into the softness of your cheek. he cups his fingers around your face – the sensation sending an electric touch down your spine – as you try to wrestle out of his hold. 

satoru frowns. the marks are raised and swelling, just like leo’s, and satoru really curses that he didn’t drive faster. then he wouldn’t have to save face with the people who had raised their hands on his son and his wife. 

soon to be ex-wife. 

“kid’s mom. she started bitching and…and i said stuff back and she slapped me. she was wearing three pairs of stackable silver rings.” you groan, shoving the biting cold ice back into the pulsating warm of your cheek, before turning back to stare at her. 

you’d slap that smug smile off her face if you could. 

“what did she say?” satoru asks. 

“just forget about it, okay? let’s focus on leo.” 

satoru can tell by your posture, your tense shoulders, that there’s no inkling of regret in your actions. that really, you don’t even feel the smallest bit of remorse – that you think you had ever reason to do what you did. 

leo leans his mouth close to satoru’s ear, before failing his attempt at whispering discreetly. 

“i’ll tell you later, daddy. it was about you.” 

“leo.” you scold. 

“mommy.” leo mimics, attempting to copy your scathing tone. 

you can’t stop yourself and your soft smile makes both of your boys break a glimmering, two dimpled smile back in return. you reach forward, running your fingers through leo’s overgrown white hair, as you lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his locks. 

one of your favorite things about leo is how similar he looks to satoru. snow white hair, same cheesy dimple smile, and the sweet sense of humor too. 

and that sickly sweet spot that you have for satoru, that you’d probably always have, simmered. he was always able to make leo smile, even through the pink of his eye. 

after a very unpleasant meeting – and a three day suspension for leo – satoru offers to take him off your hands for the weekend. he can see it, the gratefulness in your eyes and the desperate time you need to process it all, as you press a kiss to leo’s cheek and then his too. 

it almost bites, like an electric touch – your lips on satoru’s skin after months. his ghost town’s essentially a fifty-strobe light show at this point. 

in the close proximity, your sugary perfume and soft hands, satoru’s thankful for two things at the moment. 

the first? leo sitting snug in his arms. and the second? the necklace around your collarbone. 

or more appropriately, the fact that all three charms are still intact. the sun, the star, and the moon. 

you, leo, and him. he watches as you walk away, shooting the two of them a smile over your shoulder, before you climb into your car. 

“leo?” satoru asks. 

“hm.” 

“what did mommy say when she got mad?” satoru asks. 

leo gives him a smile, curling his fist around the collar of his shirt before answering. 

“that lady needed to leave her son and her husband alone or else.” 

satoru smiles, before pressing a kiss to the warmth of leo’s cheek. he can still smell the remnants of the strawberry shampoo you massaged into his hair this morning.

--

you had been priming yourself for sunday, when satoru would return with leo. there was a certain warmth that satoru possessed, that was almost an innate part of his nature, that you always felt yourself gravitating towards. 

every time he walked away from you, it felt like he left you alone in the rain. and all you could feel was the sheer, immense pining. 

the two of you had decided that satoru was just going to take care of leo – that you’d address the fight, and your shitty behavior together at the end of the week. and if need be, satoru would stay the night just to help you out afterwards. 

satoru offered. you hate that he can still read you like a book. that he’ll make your rain cloud dissipate, just to let it reform again every time he walked away. 

at 8:05, the headlights of satoru’s car shine through your kitchen window as you reach for your hair, brushing down the flyaways, before reaching for the little sweets that you had made. they were vanilla glazed doughnuts – the byproduct of the impending doom of the possibility that satoru might share the bed with you and leo tonight. 

and right on cue, you hear two giggly voices opening the door, only to be met by leo running up and wrapping his little arms around your legs. you oblige, crouching down as you eye the purple surrounding his eye, before cradling his head against your shoulder. 

the sight almost makes satoru emotional. he’ll blame it on the longing. 

but watching you nearly moved to tears, leo’s infinitesimal smallness against your frame despite how tall he seems to be getting – it reminds him of the day leo was born. when satoru really wasn’t able to contain his tears, at the sight of you beaming down at your shared piece of starlight. that truly, the stars did align – that there were some types of odds, that each little decision the two of you made had led to him. 

“i missed you, star boy.” you murmur. 

“i missed you too, sunshine.” leo responds. 

you curl your nose, pinching his cheek before you stand up. you eye satoru – the dark green hoodie hanging loose against his frame, hands tucked into his black sweatpants. he gives you a wink as a greeting, to which you respond by sticking your tongue out, before sliding the plate over to the two of them. 

“leo, you’ve been spending too much time with daddy. what happened to calling me, mommy?” 

“you’re making that sound like that’s a bad thing, sunshine.” satoru states, nimble fingers splitting one of the doughnuts in half before handing leo a piece. 

“yeah, sunshine.” leo emphasizes, earning a fit of laughter from the two of you. 

you roll your eyes. satoru lifts leo onto the counter, before pulling a stool to the side for the two of you. he gives you a curt nod – one which you return – before you and satoru turn to face him. 

“okay, star boy. we’ve had fun for a few days but it’s time to talk about what happened tuesday.” satoru states. 

leo’s face immediately droops, and you bite down into the hardness of your cheek. 

you were never good at the reprimanding type of thing. 

“it was nothing, daddy.” leo mumbles. 

satoru sighs. 

“c’mon, kid. we’re not going to be mad at you. just want to talk about what happened, talk about what to do next time.” satoru states. 

“i don’t want you to think that it’s okay to fight with people because of me. that lady in the office, she…she just…” 

satoru’s hand is quick, finding it’s way to your back. the touch is soft, a tiny shock, accompanied by small circles being rubbed into your back. 

“she caught me at a bad time. i called her later and apologized for my mean words.” 

no, you didn’t. you would rather choke. but leo didn’t need to know that. 

leo sighs, before covering his face. you can tell that there’s a red flush creeping up his neck and that it’s going to be followed by a heavy set of tears. 

“i’m sorry.” he chokes out. 

satoru frowns, immediately reaching to hold him snug against his legs in his lap, as you lean your head on satoru’s shoulder. he’s crying into both of your arms softly, the two of you sharing a strained look, before satoru reaches forward and starts wiping his tears. 

“hey buddy. just breathe for me, okay?” satoru murmurs, his voice so soft it makes your hair stand up on it’s ends. 

“just relax, sweetheart. it’s going to be okay. we…we’re here for you.” you add, giving satoru a look. 

satoru understands what it means. there’s no way he’s leaving him tonight. 

leo cries for nearly twenty minutes, your matching pair of soothing voices calming him down until his cheeks are flushed pink, eyes swollen from the tears. satoru instinctively leans his temple against yours, giving him a quiet nod before he starts talking. 

“i hate my teacher.” leo states. 

“what?” 

“she never asks people to raise their hands when she asks a question. she-she just picks a random person out of the crowd. and whenever she does that…i hate it. my throat feels so warm and…and i get scared that she’s going to pick on me and i won’t know the answer.”  

you reach forward, combing his hair back. 

“it’s okay if you get it wrong, honey. you’re still learning.” 

leo shakes his head, so aggressively that it catches you off guard. 

“no. no, i have to get it right. you don’t get it. ” 

you swallow hard. 

“she called on me and i didn’t know the answer. and…and she was staring at me but i couldn’t say anything. daddy, i…i swear i was trying to say something but i couldn’t do it. and…and then the kid next to me told me to just answer and i…i got so mad that i punched him. and then he did it back and i got in trouble.” leo mumbles. 

satoru hums in response, nodding before he leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“okay, kid. it’s okay to be nervous sometimes when you get called on, especially when you’re not expecting it. but just remember, it doesn’t say anything about you if you get the answer wrong. and it’s okay to feel so stressed out and frustrated by what people say, but let’s find another way to deal with that without punching them, okay?” satoru asks. 

“okay.” leo groans, before crossing over his heart twice, the way the two of you had taught him to promise. 

satoru lets him jump off his legs, instructing him to go get ready for the shower, as you can’t help but stand up, busying yourself with placing the dirty dishes in the sink. your hands are nearly shaking, the buttered plates slipping out of your hands and crashing into the metallic sink as the tears start flowing, breaths heavy as your vision blurs.

it’s all your fault.  

the second leo’s footsteps subside, you can feel satoru at your side, hugging you from behind as he rubs up and down your biceps, only making your crying worse. and this time when his soft, soothing voice is whispering in your ears and not leo’s, all you can do is crumble in his arms. 

“that was not your fault.” satoru states. 

you sigh. 

“isn’t it though? he-he gets that from me.” 

satoru places his hands on your shoulders, twisting you around until you’re facing him, his fingers pushing your cheeks up. your watery, pink eyes meet his as he reaches forward to swipe the wetness away and he can tell that one of your worst, most misplaced fears, has come to fruition. 

that your son would inherit your self-proclaimed horrible coping mechanisms from you. satoru always found it frustrating when you said that – because he was always of the belief that you were doing the best with what you were given – not that you would ever agree with him. 

that you weren’t a misplaced perfectionist, it’s just that your parents asked too much of you. that you weren’t a ball of anxiety crumbling at the threads, you were a master of adapting to what was called of you. 

“he does not get that from you. that’s not how it works.” satoru states. 

“satoru. that’s exactly how i sounded as a kid. i had to be the best or i was nothing. and when i got anxious, i-i could barely even stand talking to other people sometimes. going to class. and-and it’s even worse. changing his environment all the time doesn’t help. he misses you. and then he probably misses me when he’s with you. and it’s probably so confusing that he doesn’t even know what’s happening and it’s all my fault because i’m a bad mom-” 

satoru presses his fingers to your lips, hard. 

“you are not a bad mom. leo adores you. i adore you. i wouldn’t want anyone else to be with us other than you.” 

you ignore the implication. it’s underlying – that satoru thinks the reason for your separation, almost divorce – is stupid. and maybe there’s even a small part of him that would resent you for it, letting his family get in your head. 

that you weren’t the suitable wife for the clan. that you couldn’t be his wife because of it. 

you figured it would be better for leo. not having to live with the pressure to live up to their standards. he was already kind of predisposed to that type of thing – that some part of your horrible traits was somehow in his genetics now – and putting him somewhere it could fester into a mess would make it worse. 

and you hated it. watching satoru fight with them, tire himself out just to advocate for him, on your behalf. that most days he would be tired, that you were causing strife in their family, and that he had to put them all aside for you. 

and if it meant that you had to give up your relationship for both of them to be free of that, that was the price you had to will yourself to pay. 

“satoru.” 

he reaches forward, fingers resting against the silver chain. his blue eyes are razor focused on the charms. 

“i’ll stay with you till leo’s a little better. i agree, i don’t like the idea of him moving around so much when he’s clearly overwhelmed and going through something.” 

“yeah?” you whisper. 

“are you really shocked that i want to spend time with my son?” 

“no! but…you have to live here with me. and he’s mostly at school all the time, you know.” 

satoru rolls his eyes, before he leans forward, hands warm on your hips. 

“i used to live with you too, you know? i actually enjoyed it too if you can wrap your big head around the thought.” 

“shut up. you know that’s not what i meant.” 

--

it works well. you can tell that it helps leo – and you too – having satoru around all the time. you wake up later, get started on breakfast a little while satoru tasks himself with getting leo ready for school. you go to bed earlier, only because satoru threatens to destory your laptop if you stay up even a wink past the late hours of the night. 

you eat together in the morning, dinner whenever leo’s back from soccer practice. satoru puts some cheesy family movie marathon together on the weekends, and you make them breakfast for dinner on tuesday nights. 

it almost works too well. 

when leo leaves, satoru always makes sure to brew you a coffee before he runs out for work. you always make him lunch before you leave for your errands. sometimes he joins you at the store. you go to his work dinners with him. 

you’re getting too close to the fire. you’re going to get burned again. 

you had a history of stories ending sadly. the cautionary tale just never seemed to work when it came to you. 

and it comes to a head at the goodbye dinner satoru takes you to for his boss, masamichi. or more appropriately in the car afterwards, as the two of you wait outside nanami’s house for leo to come running out from his play date with yuuji and megumi. 

“masamichi was checking you out. one last time, for good measure.” satoru states. 

you roll your eyes. satoru had a stupid hunch that his boss, had a thing for you since the first time he started bringing you to his work dinners. you just think he’s paranoid. and obsessive – like a little kid with a toy. 

just because he for some reason liked you didn’t mean that everyone else did too. 

“satoru. your geriatric and married boss was not checking me out.” 

“what does him being married have to do with it? that doesn’t stop people.” satoru states. 

you click your tongue in your cheek. 

“did you look at other girls while we were married?” you ask, giving him a grin. 

“fuck off. no, i did not.” 

“and masamichi didn’t either. you’re just trying to find a reason to fight with him.” 

“well, he was leering his eyes at my wife. you try staying calm when he does that.” satoru defends. 

you scoff. 

“grow up, satoru. we’re not married.” you state. 

it was hard to establish the boundaries, especially with someone as pushy as satoru. that and the fact that the real semantics of the matter never seemed to work in your favor. 

“oh, yeah?” satoru teases. 

“yes, satoru.” you deadpan. 

satoru reaches for your hand, sending an electric jolt up your arm, before holding your left out in front of him. and before you can protest, he presses a warm kiss to your knuckles, dead center on your ring finger – right above your engagement ring and your wedding band. it’s enough to leave a burning pit in your stomach, cheeks searing from the touch. 

“satoru. it’s just because we were out at dinner together.” you murmur. 

satoru’s eyes are nearly lidded, the tantalizing look in his eyes nearly making you shuffle in your seat as he leans forward, fingers around the silver chain around your neck. he uses it to pull you forward, noses bumping and lips a few feet apart before he whispers. 

“then why are you still wearing this? i know you remember what i said when i gave it to you.” 

you do remember. 

satoru gifted the necklace to you the day leo was born, after the two of you decided to name him after the constellation. because leo was your star and you were his sun. that by simple rules of elimination, he was going to be the moon and the three of you were going to be together forever. 

it was cheesy at the time. even worse when satoru decided to make the entire nursery space themed. but now, it stings. the cosmic connection that the two of you seem to have, almost pulsating with electricity, it stings. burns. it’s agonizing. 

“i don’t know, satoru. i can’t separate the moon from the sun and the star.” you murmur. 

“so why are you trying so hard to do it right now?” satoru whispers. 

you shake your head, trying to pull back, but his grasp on the necklace has him yanking you forward again, your forehead resting against yours as you feel your chest nearly start heaving. 

“satoru.” 

“why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?” he murmurs. 

because it goes the same every time. and you can’t do it a fifth time. 

you’ve gotten used to him not calling your phone. gotten used to sleeping alone. and the thought of the sliver of goodness this one moment will give you compared to the weeks, months of hurt that will come to pass after…

it simply wasn’t worth it. and it wasn’t something you could bring yourself to stomach. 

and you’re not sure what it is. the cool air coming out of the air vents of the car, the dim green light casting on his soft features, or his alluring voice – why you always abandon the rational thought. 

but you lean forward. only to be interrupted by leo smacking his little fist against the window. 

“can you open the door? it’s cold out here.” he whines. 

the two of you pull apart fast, satoru swallowing hard as he reaches for the lock, and you awkwardly tuck your hair behind your ears. leo climbs into the car as you reach back for one of his hands, shaking one of his, and giving him your peachiest smile. 

good timing, leo. 

“hi star boy. did you say hi to uncle nanami for me?” you ask. 

satoru reverses out of the spot, his cheeks still pink, as he heads out onto the street. 

“yes, i did. he says hi back. what were you guys doing in the car?” 

“i was checking mommy’s teeth for cavities. she’s been laying it a little heavy on the sweets.” satoru states. 

you smack him across the chest. 

--

one month after the fact and you realize that it’s gone too far. that leo’s okay now, that he’s been okay for a while, and there’s no reason for you to be sharing a bed, morning breakfast, a life with satoru gojo anymore. 

and when leo runs out for the bus, blowing the two of you a big kiss to your spot on the porch, you brace yourself for the impact when satoru follows you back inside, lazily leaning his entire weight on you as he maneuvers you to the coffee machine. 

“what are you feeling this morning, sunshine?” 

“caramel. and…and that you could maybe go home now?” 

it’s enough to wake satoru up. he turns to his side, hands still focused on making your coffee, as he glares at you. 

“you have a shit sense of humor.” satoru states. 

“i’m serious. leo’s doing well, thankfully. i think he’ll be okay now to go back to how it was before.” 

satoru rolls his eyes. 

“you don’t know that. for all we know, that was brought on by the fact that he was splitting his time between both of us when we should all be together. changing environments won’t help him, things need to be consistent for his sake.” 

“satoru. we…we can’t go on like this.” 

satoru frowns, leaving your cup of coffee unattended as it brews, the earthy smell filling your nose as he closes the distance, hands on your cheeks. 

“yes, we can.” he whispers. 

“satoru.” 

“yes, we can.” it’s more adamant this time. 

“the problems from before still stand. this-this is almost like a honeymoon period where we don’t have to address that. it…it won’t be like this if we give in.” you state. 

“i am more than happy to cuss out my parents here and there for you. for leo. the only standards he has to live up to ours, that much was apparent from the way we’ve spent the last month. and you’re the woman i’ve always wanted. what’s going to be different if you give in?” 

“leo. they’re going to press-” 

“i’m going to deal with that. they're my beast to handle. do you really think i’d even let them say a word against leo?” 

you frown. 

“no.” you murmur. 

“he’s going to be okay. we’re going to teach him right from wrong, we’re going to help him through whatever it is without pressuring him the same way we did a few weeks ago.” 

you sigh, before giving him a nod. 

“you don’t have to live here to do that, satoru.” 

“i want to live here. with you. you’re my wife. leo’s my son. you’re my family and that’s where i want to be.” 

you look up at him, blue eyes beaming into yours. there’s a twinge of hope in his eyes. 

“what if it crashes and burns like last time?” you ask. 

“all i know is you could either break my heart or bring it back to life. i’m asking you to pick the second one, y/n.” 

you shake your head, before wrapping your arms around his neck, murmuring into the softness of his neck. and you look straight at him, at his pale skin, and really contemplate it. 

and you wonder if he really is right, that this could bring you back to life. 

that just because the previous story ended sadly, doesn’t meant that this one has to as well. that maybe this is what you needed. 

maybe the moment’s just right. 

“the second. i-i want you now. i’m going to need you forever.” you state. 

satoru pulls back, an ear to ear smile when he leans forward – a burning, thrilling, electric kiss being pressed to your lips. 

it’s enough to revive you.

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez  @yihona-san06  @bsenpai  @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome  @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

[antianakin]

Padme: Yeah let's go hide away after you've committed double genocide and destroyed a democratic Republic so you never have to face consequences for anything you've ever done, you're obviously still a good person and I will believe that even if you tried to kill ME because I'm so blinded by my own lust and desire to escape the darkness in the galaxy that I'll protect you and have faith in you even after you have proven yourself violent and unstable!

Ahsoka: I would literally die to ensure you don't feel like I abandoned you even after you genocided my entire people, desecrated my home, and had the men I loved and trusted and who literally created an entire identity around loyalty to me be mind controlled into wanting me dead because I feel so guilty over leaving you behind and cannot fathom that you might ever do evil things despite making me go through a borderline abusive training regimen that involved me being knocked unconscious on a hard surface for over an hour.

Obi-Wan: I will walk away and leave you die when you show no remorse for committing double genocide, destroying a democratic Republic, and enslaving an entire galaxy because while I love you, I will never love you so much that I will pretend you aren't a danger to everyone around you, including myself, your wife, and your own children, and there is no life that is worth less than letting you live just because I used to love you.

Fandom: Obi-Wan is SO ATTACHED to Anakin, he's let his ENTIRE IDENTITY revolve around Anakin, and just CANNOT SEPARATE HIMSELF FROM ANAKIN, and would literally do ANYTHING for Anakin, even if it went against the Jedi code, obviously it's AHSOKA who would actually kill him without hesitation while Obi-Wan would hesitate, because Ahsoka's relationship is the most normal and has the least amount of unhealthy attachment and obsession in it on her end.

[fushiglow]

a short fic for the prompt: satosugu + first time 🔞

I HOPE YOU ENJOY BABY'S FIRST NSFW FIC!! thank you for the prompt, @lmskitty 🫶 sorry for desecrating it with my utter silliness, i simply cannot help myself. i hope the fluff at the end makes up for it?!

(yeah it's even longer than last time, enjoy 1000 words 💀)

content warning: nsfw, bad oral sex lol

‘How does it feel?’ And wasn’t that just the million dollar question? Truthfully, Suguru couldn’t exactly say it felt good. In fact, the way Satoru was suckling at the end of his cock bordered on painful. He assaulted that sensitive bundle of nerves with suction on the wrong side of ‘just right’. Miraculously, Suguru was still hard. Maybe it was because the image of Satoru on his knees left no space for anything else in his brain, or maybe it was because all the blood in his body was being forcibly siphoned to his dick from the force of Satoru’s sucking. He’d already started mentally preparing himself to approach Shōko with the most mortifying request of his life — because there was no way the vacuum of Satoru’s mouth wasn’t going to leave bruises. In fact, ‘Are you using Blue or something?’ Satoru pulled off him with a painful pop, a confused crease between his brows. ‘What?’ Perhaps not then. Suguru wondered how to phrase it without hurting Satoru’s feelings, chewing at his lip and hoping he passed for horny. ‘Maybe… Do you want to try going a little deeper?’ The more Satoru opened his jaw, the less he’d be able to latch on like he was trying to extract Suguru’s cursed energy through his cock. That was Suguru’s logic — and for precisely 0.2 seconds, it seemed like it was sound. But then Suguru bumped against Satoru’s soft palate, and it was over before it had even begun. Satoru wrenched himself away, falling back onto his heels with a heave that shook his entire body. His hand shot to his lips and he mumbled into the back of it. ‘Fuck.’ Really, Suguru should have known better than to open his mouth when Satoru was furiously blinking away tears, but when he looked at the glistening saliva that reached not even a third of the way down his shaft, he couldn’t help himself. ‘Is that it?’ The reaction was instantaneous. Blue eyes flashing like raw electricity, Satoru clambered to his feet, yanked down his boxers and practically shouted, ‘You have a go if you think it’s so easy!’ Idiot. Suguru had no need to feel intimidated by the thick, angry-looking cock bobbing in front of his face because, in case Satoru had forgotten, taking things down his throat was what Suguru did best. ‘Fine,' he said simply, feeling more than a little smug. Holding Satoru steady, Suguru peered up from under his eyelashes as he surged forward, keen to see the exact moment he rocked Satoru’s world by swallowing him whole. He was so confident in the unique skills derived from his technique that he failed to account for one key detail. Satoru was not, in fact, a metaphysical ball of cursed energy that would glide down his throat without lubrication. Inevitably, there was painful resistance. Satoru hissed, jerking his hips away from Suguru to nurse his chafed cock between his fingers. ‘Shit,’ Suguru rasped, cheeks burning as much as his throat. ‘Shit, I’m sorry—’ ‘It’s fine.’

There was a moment of strained silence where they refused to look at each other, both tending to their bruised egos. Surprisingly, it was Satoru who offered an olive branch first. Wearing a little pout on his lips, he dropped into the space next to Suguru with a huff. ‘We really fucking suck at this, huh.’ The unintentionally apt choice of words hovered in the air between them for a moment. It only took a shared look and a twitch of Suguru’s lips to shatter the tension like glass. All at once, Satoru launched himself in Suguru’s direction, tackling him to the bed and holding him tight as they descended into fits of laughter. Suguru wondered why he’d ever felt nervous about being honest with Satoru when it was as easy as breathing now. ‘That’s actually the whole problem, Satoru.’ He shot his boyfriend a wry smile. ‘You fucking suck a little too much.’ Satoru snorted, thumping him in the chest. ‘At least I know you’ve gotta get a dick wet before you try shoving it down your throat, you asshole.’ Suguru conceded the point with a snort of his own. When their giggles died down, they fell into a comfortable silence, their bodies pressed together just so. Finally, a voice piped up from somewhere in the crook of Suguru’s neck. ‘Let me try again.’ Satoru pushed himself up with some urgency. ‘I’ll do better this time.’ His face was open and vulnerable, but the resolve shining in Satoru’s blue, blue eyes spoke of his eagerness to please. It made Suguru’s heart swell with something they hadn’t yet put a word to. When he spoke, his voice was a little rough. ‘You don’t have to.’ ‘But I want to,’ Satoru insisted. And Suguru found that he felt the same. He wanted to please Satoru. ’Me too.’ Suguru would never get sick of seeing that rare, soft smile. It never lasted on Satoru though. ‘You know, Suguru,’ he said, voice taking on a dangerous thoughtful tone. ‘They say it takes 10,000 hours to master a skill.' A wicked grin overtook his lovely features. ‘But I’ve never met one I couldn’t master in less than 30. Wanna put that to the test?’ God, Suguru wanted that very much — and Satoru clearly knew it. ‘You might have the head-start, Suguru,’ he snickered, eyebrows waggling. ‘But by the end of tomorrow?’ Those blue eyes positively gleamed with mischief. ‘I’ll be able to swallow balls even better than you.’ Suguru arched an eyebrow, grin threatening to split his face in two. ‘Better than me?’ ‘Not just you.’ Satoru shimmied down the bed, sliding his hands over Suguru’s body in a way that started all of his blood rushing south. ‘I’m gonna become the best fucking cocksucker this world has ever seen.’ Knowing Satoru, he could probably do it, too. The thought rendered Suguru’s words a little strained. ‘Always so cocky, Satoru.’ Finally settled between Suguru’s thighs, Satoru gripped him by the base of his cock, flashing Suguru the arrogant grin that always made him weak in the knees. ‘Lie back and look pretty, and you’ll find out why.’ That blue gaze was something fierce, like Satoru was starving and Suguru was a five-course meal. When he pressed his tongue to Suguru’s length and licked a long, slow stripe from root to tip, Suguru actually groaned out loud. ‘Watch and learn, Suguru.’

and then they practised and practised until they all sucked and fucked happily ever after 🥰 thanks to gojo blowjo the sloppy tip suckler for the extra inspiration this time loooool

if you wanna submit a prompt or request, head over to my retrospring — make sure to read the guidelines first!

[gravehags]

sundress season

Pairing: Mary Goore x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Rough PinV sex, cum eating, general sweatiness, references to grave desecration

Words: 1,363

Summary: Mary Goore is not immune to the effects of sundress season

a/n: Mary said HOT NONBINARY SUMMER. Someone made a post theorizing that Mary Goore is the songwriter for Ghost and had to include it. If this was you lmk because I’m obsessed and would love to discuss it further. Fic based on a dream I had a couple nights ago which changed me as a person. If you see this and you know me, no you don’t. Tagging @anamelessfool because they encouraged this shit tbh.

divider by @ghuleh-recs!

Mary is silent when he comes up behind you. He’s eerie like that.

You’re leaning halfway over a table deep in the archives hard at work, droplets of sweat rolling down your back in the stifling heat of the underground room. When Mary slips their lean arms around your body you jump comically out of your skin and allow them to turn you to face them. A wolfish grin plays on their lips as Mary brings the back of their hand up to touch your cheek with the barest of knuckle-brushes.

“Mary what the fuck,” you push against his chest as his green eyes dance in the sickly archive lights. “I’m trying to work.”

“Mmm yeah I see that,” he runs a pale hand around the curve of your hip and bunches the fabric of your sundress in his fist. “You wear this for me?”

You roll your eyes. “I wore this because it’s fucking hot as hell down here in the summer.”

Mary has their lips ghosting over the pulse point in your neck, hand dropping low to inch the fabric up your thigh.

“Hotter than hell,” they muse, “and I would know.”

Your relationship with Mary was an interesting one. They had long been a presence at the Ministry, in charge of songwriting for the Ghost Project. But whispers followed them through the vaulted corridors - words of death, necromancy, and deals with the Old One himself. It was long rumored that Mary had in fact been to hell and back, found favor with the unholy father and given new life. You didn’t know Mary in their previous life but some people say they came back…well…different. Cold skin and colder eyes, always smelling of cemetery earth and leather. The siblings were repulsed by them stalking the halls in their bloody imitation of Papa paints, dark forelock masking most of their expressions. You, on the other hand, were fascinated. So much and so obviously so that upon seeing you one evening, alone in the Emeritus crypt, they pulled you into an alcove and pressed their cool lips to your mouth again and again. Their hands were frantic as they unfastened your habit and pushed into you, deep and rough, their breaths desperate as they fucked you against the frigid marble of the tomb. That was the first time you had desecrated a grave with Mary. 

It wasn’t the last.

But now they have you pinned to this solid wooden table, one hand gripping your waist the other teasing along the line of your underwear. You consider, very briefly, pushing them away and making them wait until this evening when you’re less sweaty, less exhausted from hauling around boxes of old Ministry documents, but there’s a pout lingering at the corners of their lips, simultaneously sickly sweet and dark, when they see your hesitation. 

“Wanna make you feel good, baby,” they purr into your ear, pressing their black denim clothed cock against you. “Wanna fill you up.”

Despite your earlier silent protestations, you feel the familiar wetness at the apex of your thighs ever-present when they would whisper filthy nothings to you in the dark of night, in the most silent of Ministry corridors. You reach up and curl your hand around their bicep, bringing them even closer and push your lips against their equally eager mouth. Mary groans, long and low, bringing their fingers to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck as you work your tongue against theirs. Their hand, gripping your bare thigh hard enough to leave delicious marks, moves to the waistband of your underwear and slides them down your legs until they rest around your ankles. You feel them smile against your mouth, both sets of your teeth briefly clacking together, as they spin you around and bend you over the table. They push the hem of your sundress over your hips and lean back to take in the view of you breathless, red-faced, and bare. 

“Fucking love watching you when you wear this,” he coos, hands massaging your ass, “the way your hips move when you walk…makes me wanna fuck you anywhere. Everywhere.”

You look back at him over your shoulder with a crooked smile and his head tilts back as he lets out a laugh before bringing a hand to smack harshly against your bare haunch. You jolt forward and allow yourself to rut slightly against the solid wood of the table beneath you. Mary notices and lets out a growl before reaching down viciously to the buckle and zipper of his pants to free himself. When he takes his cock in hand and brushes against your dripping cunt, you arch onto your tip-toes and let out a pornographic moan. You know he loves it when you’re loud, throwing caution to the wind with the full knowledge that anyone could walk into the archive at any minute and see you spread open for him. 

“Need you, Mary,” you breathe as they continue to tease you with their cockhead. “Please.”

When you beg, oh. It sends them.

They waste no time in sliding into you, deep and rough just like the first time, bringing their hips flush against your ass. You gasp at the sensation, the breath blowing from your lungs as they pull back and push in again. They set a harsh pace, ruthlessly fucking you into the table as they pant and moan into the overheated room. Satan, you adored it when they got like this - desperate and raw as they place a punishing grip on your hips and slam you backwards onto their cock even as they continue to thrust forward. When they bring a hand to your shoulder and cause you to arch your spine as you bow back towards them, you let out a broken moan at the new angle. 

“So fucking tight,” they rasp into your ear, breath hot. “So fucking wet and only for me.”

The hand on your shoulder snakes up to your throat as you nod desperately in agreement, unable to form words as they slam their cock into you over and over. You’re so close, you’re teetering on the edge when they squeeze the hand that until that point had been resting loosely around your neck and with a drawn out, breathy sigh you come undone, hips twitching between their body and the wood, sweaty and spent. Mary, however, was not done with you. A hand slid around to your cunt, slender fingers sliding against your clit. You keened in simultaneous delight and frustration as he worked you over, all the while continuously and noisily sliding his cock in and out of you. 

“Come on baby, I know you got one more in you. Be good for me.”

You could tell he himself was getting close from the sloppy pace of his thrusts even as he continued to rub your clit at a punishing rate. When the moans in your ear became torn and stunted, you let out a shaky exhale and clenched your cunt over and over until his shout echoed in the small room and he came inside of you as he harshly pinched your bud and you joined him, panting and swearing hoarsely. You could feel his sweat-soaked hair and forehead pressing against your shoulder as he eased out of you, making you whine at the loss. Easing your body around so you were once again facing him, he grinned as he registered your fucked-out expression.

“That good, huh?”

Satanas, you were hot and gross and drenched with sweat. And speaking of drenched, you could feel their spend sliding down the inside of your thigh - something Mary also noticed with visible delight. Tongue between their teeth, they reached down and dragged their finger up your leg, gathering their cum in the process. Not once breaking eye contact, they slipped their seed-covered finger into their mouth, lewdly wrapping their tongue around the digit as you watched breathlessly.

“Fuck me, Mary” you croaked while reeling backwards to rest your ass against the table.

“Again? Give me a minute and sure thing, babe.”

You might have laughed if you actually thought they were joking.

They never were.

[homochadensistm]

i'll tell you this. if i hadn't seen amputated children, elders kissing their lifeless babies before shrouding them, people shouting for help from under the rubble, condescending leaflets that mock Palestinians with verses from the Quran, whole graves desecrated by idf, israeli soldiers mocking bombed houses, stationery shops and stealing from Palestinians and flaunting their theft, i'll tell you i absolutely wouldn't have believed Palestinians AT ALL. but this is all i've seen. i haven't seen israeli houses flattened to the ground, i haven't seen israeli hospitals run out of fuel. for 1200 israelis 30000 Palestinians killed and still being killed. this isn't war. rockets with 0 casualties cannot be equaled to

Welcome to war babygirl! Now if I haven't seen GoPro footage of people being massacred and mutilated, of women's vaginas being torn open by 20+ men, of children being tied together and set on fire, of random partygoers being rounded up and shot like dogs, of Jews being paraded in the streets of Gaza and being lynched and spat on by literal thousands of "inoccent civilians" maybe I'd feel somewhat bad for all the destruction! Maybe if my house wasn't bombed consecutively for almost 20yrs by rockets yeeted from Gaza I'd also feel a bit bad. Maybe if Palestinians didn't shout khaybar khaybar ya yahood at me or in general produce the most virulent antisemitic propaganda against me I'd feel a shred of sympathy. What a wonderful world of "if"s and "maybe"s we live in!

Just because my government invests more in my protection than their government doesn't make their cause more just or mine less legitimate. Just because their rockets are produced in the basement of a school or shipped from Iran doesn't make them any less lethal. Just because you like playing corpse jenga with death doesnt mean thats the metric for a "proper war". You're welcome to try standing out in an open field while a barrage of 30 homemade organic uwu inoccent rockets falls all around you and see if you're feeling lucky then!

[itsnothingofinterest]

Yeah, even with the translation out; the language and circumstance used to describe Kurogiri's situation by Aizawa & Mic still does not sit right with me.

I mean Present Mic talking about Kurogiri in a dehumanizing manor isn't new, and one could even argue he's proven wrong for doing so in this chapter. I'm not too sure of that though, because even after stimulating Shirakumo's memories again, even Aizawa still talks about Kurogiri like this:

It still sounds less like they've awakened their old friend to their side, and more like they found a way to control him. It's...maybe...a bit better than my impression from the leaks; which were that he was a machine they working by metaphorically slapping it on its side (by which I mean...staring at him while talking to Mic? Why was this only 4 pages?), but my problem with this plotline persist where they don't see Kurogiri as a real person and they barely see him a Shirakumo; they just see an object made out of Shirakumo's desecrated body that they luckily found out how to use for themselves. Heck, Ectoplasm seems to be talking about Kurogiri more as if he's a person than Aizawa, his supposed best friend, is.

I mean I guess a part of me is glad that that 4 page 'conclusion' didn't really result in a real turnaround where Shirakumo's just back or Kurogiri just joined their side, that feels like it'd be especially rushed when everyone else has been busting their chops off to turn villains around. (And if you ask me, failing.) Plus it just might open the door to the chance that Kurogiri's own personality could make a long overdue return and play a part in things himself to help save Tomura. But it does make me not like Eraserhead & Mic very much right now I'm afraid, and also as of now it looks as though yet another villain story concluded without that villain's personality really factoring in. Still not a fan of that. Especially since I'm rather missing Kurogiri myself by now.

[whetstonefires]

Super big fan of the way the Nie Mingjue severed head Empathy segment of the book opens with a hard cut to his decapitation of Wen Xu, and the description of how Wen Xu's body was immediately thereafter torn limb from limb and systematically desecrated by Nie Mingjue's allies, and the head put up on a spike.

Because I think it really centers one of the key narrative tensions around the characters' life choices, and the question of the very definition of 'crime.' And how it's a contextualized process, rather than a hardcoded binary of actions that are okay and actions that aren't.

It maybe wasn't good to do that to Wen Xu's corpse, but it was war after all, so it's also not a big deal and the cultivators involved don't carry any lasting culpability, even though it wasn't even useful to the war effort to do that.

There's no need to figure out who it was exactly, and attach a stigma to them for vengeful corpse desecration.

But Jin Guangyao having done the very same thing to Nie Mingjue that Nie Mingjue did and allowed to be done to Wen Xu--well that's bad, right? Because it's not war, now. Because it's politics and personal relationships, and the rules for those are different. It's different.

And Jin Guangyao is like, is it though? No. That's bullshit you all tell yourselves. Lines drawn in water, to make sure you're always in the right and anyone else who resorts to violence is wrong.

The rules aren't ever different. Some of us are always at war.

Which is simultaneously the mindset that makes him a dangerous untrustworthy person who makes everyone around him less safe, and He Has A Point Tho.

All of which juxtaposes really interestingly with Wei Wuxian, who in the two phases of his Terrifying Necromancer era did exactly the same things under what were, to him, about the same circumstances (i.e. people he loved had been killed on a pretext that he'd started it, by people who self-professedly weren't going to stop until they'd taken everything he had left) but when it was war he was a hero (albeit controversial), and when it wasn't war anymore he was a criminal, unforgivable, had to be put down.

Still 'killing people and corpse desecration.' By the same person, using the same methods, with almost the same motives. And all it took to take him across the line from 'basically like when Nie Mingjue did it' to 'basically like when Jin Guangyao will do it' is an alteration in the story being told.

[cellarspider]

11/?? Full steam ahead

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We return to Body Desecrator 2093, Prometheus. There were no post this weekend because I felt like it. Now I feel like it even less, because it’s this scene.

The horrors do not end here. The movie hasn’t even got to what it considers horrors, but I’d already screamed quietly at the screen by this point several times, so it’s safe to say that me and the movie were not simpatico.

There are times when a movie will do things that fall entirely outside your personal beliefs or understanding of logic, and you just roll with it. Magical realism does this all the time, as do movies reaching for the psychedelic. 2001: A Space Odyssey eventually dissolves reality itself around the protagonist as he travels through another dimension. On the first sit, you have no way of knowing what you’ll be shown next, but if the movie’s got you, then you go with it.

Then there are movies where everyone is acting according to some sort of logic, but it feels twisted, like things are happening for a reason, but the logic doesn’t connect. Horror movies love this, particularly ones with cultic antagonists–Midsommar being the most notable modern example, and the original Wicker Man being another.

I mean, the Nick Cage movie also has that, but sometimes it has that because Nick Cage is in a bear costume, punching a woman in the face and stealing bicycles at gunpoint like he’s in GTA.

Prometheus, unfortunately, unintentionally places itself somewhere between the two Wicker Men. The characters’ decision making is a shambolic mess. The movie intentionally invokes religious fervor in Shaw especially, and might intentionally invoke that plus megalomania in Holloway, but it doesn’t draw a line around those characters and their bad decisions. Everyone is just going with their bullshit. This suggests to the audience that in the movie’s world all scientists behave like this.

I mean, in our world, scientists sometimes try to fit entire oranges in their mouths (source), but I should like to think that The Orange Incident wouldn’t have happened if that guy had been on board the most important scientific expedition in human history.

Things just kept happening in this movie that made me feel like I was dissociating. The cast is back at the Prometheus, with their stolen artifacts and mortal remains. Cool. They need to be decontaminated. Like, inside and out.

Next, we see Shaw and Holloway in a lab, along with Maybe-Chemist-Lady whose name fell right out of my head as I watched, because she’s never given a character to speak of. They are wearing scrubs, hairnets, and blue surgical masks, which tells me the movie thinks this is appropriate personal protective equipment for handling an alien head. Holloway is sitting on a counter in the corner, getting drunk.

So many things have just hit me here. How long is this since they got back? Apparently no more than a couple hours. These people took their helmets off in an active alien biosphere, with worms in the dirt and an alien corpse on the ground and who knows what else. They should be quarantined forever, or at least for a couple weeks. 

When the Apollo 11 crew got back to Earth, they were quarantined for 21 days. NASA didn’t consider it likely that anything lived on the moon, but they were taking no chances. Here’s Nixon getting a chance to see what good people look like!

But no! No quarantine for Prometheus! The guys who breathed moon dust? Into the quarantine trailer. The people who stuck their faces near an alien corpse? Nah! It’s all good!

What about the head they looted from the structure? These people already got a dramatic reminder that altering the conditions around sensitive artifacts can cause them to degrade. I’ve already rambled at length about how NASA still sterilizes their equipment to not contaminate anywhere probes are sent to. Hell, as a geneticist, I can tell you that there is a very strict hierarchy of sample isolation and biosafety deployed when it’s appropriate–either you work fucking hard to protect the samples from you, or you work hard to protect yourself from the sample. 

But the crew of the Prometheus have scanned the head with a little light and declared “Sample is sterile. No contagion present”, which is an odd thing to declare now, after they already breathed all over it. Trusting their all-knowing (and wrong) computer, they take their surgical masks off. Fully sealed suits? A glovebox? Even movies show people using a glovebox sometimes!

NOPE! HAIRNETS AND A LABCOAT, LET’S GO

Do we kick out Shaw’s boyfriend who’s in his casual clothes? NAH, LET THE MAN BE COMFY. Are we going to pry the bottle away from him, because bringing drinks into a lab breaks basic safety standards? Standards that I’ve only ever seen broken by one place that also allowed open-toe sandals in a lab where boiling hot gel and mutagenic chemicals were regularly mixed? NOPE, LET HIM HAVE HIS BOOZE, HE’S SAD HE DIDN’T GET TO MEET GOD.

Don’t worry, that one lab doesn’t do the sandal thing anymore. And Holloway will pay for his crimes against laboratory safety.

But I can't stress enough how utterly uncanny this scene felt, unintentionally on the part of the movie. Every decision felt wrong. Everything everyone was doing, saying, and wearing was wrong. They’re not even wearing the right kind of gloves! They should at minimum be wearing nitrile gloves! They’re wearing PVC gloves, which have stupid high leakage rates, even if you double-glove! They’re not even more comfortable than nitrile gloves! This is my nittest of picks, I know! I’m doing it anyway!

The movie had lost me, but part of me was still hoping it would come back around, that something in it would be the movie I’d thought it would be.

Next time: the movie will not do that, and I will, paradoxically, find myself in more of the frame of mind the movie seems to want from the audience: not giving a shit about its characters. 

Stay tuned for some bonus workplace hazards below the citations.

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1. https://youtu.be/P1gn06np-7g  2. https://youtu.be/KhRo2WbWnKU?t=35 3. https://youtu.be/JjCh7lTVNwo  4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Airstream#Space_program  5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astronaut_transfer_van  6. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umarell  7. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Upgrade_(film)#Production

Alright, let’s behold some images from my institute’s safety training module on compressed gas cylinders. Please note, these were not taken at my institute, these are probably the result of the team finding cursed images they wanted to inflict on their coworkers and us.

This was how they chose to communicate the idea of “don’t let canisters heat up, or they might explode”. How else might they explode? If the canister becomes old and corroded, develops any other sort of fault, or is stored improperly, especially near cylinders of other kinds. Like so!

This can be caused by improperly storing canisters, including by storing multiple kinds together.

This is the least bombastic of the images, but it exudes a quiet menace and/or the promise that Video Game Physics are imminent.

What do I mean by Video Game Physics? Glad you asked!

Terrifying yet also compelling! Finally, here’s a video from that most terrifying of places, a Russian highway.

Video description, which I realize I haven’t been doing up to this point and now I want to: A GazpromTech company truck carrying unsecured acetylene tanks passes a motorist on a separated highway at high speed. On the side of it, “ОГНЕОПАСНО” (“FLAMMABLE”) is briefly visible as it rockets by. It makes no to minimal attempt to slow down as a bus enters its lane, rear-ending it. The viewpoint car skids to a stop, and what might be the driver can be seen sprinting toward the central barrier of the highway. “Scream & Shout” by will.i.am and Britney Spears can be heard playing on the radio as the viewpoint car tries to back away, complete with an audible “Britney, bitch”. At 0:54 the view cuts to a camera on the other side of the highway, which one commenter estimated as being 200 m away based on the delay between explosions and the sound of the blast reaching the camera. 

There are, in fact, MANY explosions from the fireball that has engulfed the truck. A semi tanker is being guided backward away from the explosion, while a blue box truck does the same. A silver sedan, briefly visible in the first angle, is parked within under 50 feet of the truck. Its apparent owner is dithering on whether to try and reach it, eventually deciding, as they should, that this is not worth it. The cameraperson, on the other hand, apparently thinks this is worth it, as do several others in the other lane. 

One man is filming on a tablet. Multiple times, canisters and truck shrapnel can be seen rocketing off from the wreck to distances that make it clear everybody in shot is well within decapitation range from these things, especially as explosions fling more burning cylinders onto the roadway. At 1:45, Tablet Man gets the fuck out of there, but our self preservation-less cameraperson remains. At 2:14, a flaming canister in blown clear of the wreck and lands with its bottom end pointing directly toward the cameraperson, who still does not take the hint. Starting at 2:37, the body of the truck is blasted apart, a canister goes flying off past the camera, and a piece of the truck flips and lands on a nearby road sign. 

At 3:32 another cut happens and there are more people standing in view of the camera. Are they official emergency crew? Nope! Rubberneckers, although the cop car that’s even closer than them gets a wakeup call when a canister slams into the divider in front of it and tumbles away, still spitting gas. The cop backs up, and the video ends.

End description. Also, end post.

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[thepenultimateword]

Old Bones Part Six

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

CW: Blood, cannibalism, abduction and being trapped, starving, death, undead description

Vampire smelt blood. Not the sweet or savory scents they were accustomed to, but a bland, metallic flavor that simply...existed.

Ah.

Their own.

As soon as they registered that truth, the lacerations on their ankles began to burn, sliced by the sharp edges of the snow as each step shattered the icy top layer.

Didn't matter. Run!

Footsteps crashed behind them.

But where next? They didn't know the way. They had not left Lav's cabin in weeks. And it was earlier in the morning than they'd originally thought. No later than 4 as the sun still hadn't come up. And it had begun to snow again.

"Vampire!"

Didn't matter. Run!

Anywhere. Anytime. Any place safe and lavender-scented and before all this happened.

Something heavy crashed into them from behind. The ice cut their cheek as they fell; a half-second later, their nose was filled with cold, stale powder. The weight lifted slightly as rough hands rolled them onto their back. Vampire blinked against the snow, making out a blur of red, and the weight plopped back on their chest.

“Vampire!"

"No, no, no!" Vampire warded them away with clawing hands, but the villager's beefy fists clasped them tight, drawing them in against their warm breast.

" It’s me! It’s me!" They kissed Vampire's knuckles. "It's Lav."

Vampire's eyes welled. "You don't-- You don't look like Lav. You don't... Your eyes...but not... What are you?"

The villager--Lav-- drew back as if slapped. Their yellow eyes drifted away from Vampire's face, fixing instead just past their shoulder. "Let me explain."

Vampire swallowed. Lav's grip had grown tight, almost painful. Worse because they couldn't seem to stop trembling, though, from the fear or the snow, they didn't know. "W-when you're done...can I go?"

Another slap. This time enough to make them drop Vampire's hands. "Yes. In fact...I've been quite expecting it. Should we go back to the house?"

Vampire shook their head rapidly. It felt like a trap. Walls they could be cornered against and kept behind. They couldn't imagine sitting down in the living room with that face across from them. They couldn't even make sense of what was going on. Was Lav even really their friend?

"Ok..." Lav said, shifting a little in the snow. Their new ruddy face was turning a bright shade of red in the cold, but they didn't even shudder. "You know I'm undead. Not like you though. You're beautiful. I'm... desecrated. You didn't have a choice in your transformation. And mine...well, it's only possible with some degree of choice."

"What are you?" Vampire said firmly, frankly tired of all this beating around the bush.

"I call myself an abomination. You'd call me a ghoul."

"A...ghoul?" Vampire blinked.

Lav thumbed away the cold dribble of blood rolling down their cheek. "You're smart. All those books. You've heard of ghouls."

Not a question, a certainty. And a correct one. Vampire had read about ghouls. They simply couldn't correlate the hideous illustrations from their books with the seeming human in front of them. The face they wore now may appear monstrous after last night, but If it weren't for those predatory eyes and the bone-chilling wrongness of their air, Vampire wouldn't have guessed anything supernatural about them.

Lav must have seen the recognition in their face and the wheels turning behind their eyes because they said, "What do you know?"

"Y-you live in graveyards," Vampire said. "You eat the dead."

"I eat the dead, true. As for the graveyard, it's more a hunting ground than a home. I much prefer my cabin. But I've never acquainted myself with another of my kind, so what do I know of others' habits. Anything else?"

Vampire shook their head. Since ghouls were apparently one of the less common creatures one could run into, the book hadn't dedicated much page space to them. And they weren't about to tell Lav the unflattering details of the entry's description. Especially when it had also offered no defenses.

"Ah." Lav's smile looked more like a grimace. "Then, unfortunately, I must be the one to give you the disturbing history of ghoulish birth."

Vampire grimaced. They weren't sure they wanted to know. There had to be a reason why Lav had kept it veiled for so long.

"I once told you my kind are not quite so simple as a bite. There are several parts to it. One, the moon: the process must last a full cycle, beginning and ending on a new moon. Two, the subject must willingly cannibalize. Three, the subject must die and with that death, make a choice: pass on permanently or return to life."

Vampire shuddered. Their death had been no picnic. Bloody. Nightmarish. Agonizing. But at least it had been quick. "So, y-you wanted to become a ghoul?"

Lav's eyes flashed. Vampire immediately shrank away, but Lav snatched them close again. It seemed meant as a comfort, but their digging grip and cold voice set Vampire's heart pounding.

"When I was 23 years old," Lav hissed in their ear. "I was abducted from my home and locked inside a tomb for thirty days. A sacrifice for a death god rumored to be plaguing our town. They were the cause of all their misfortunes, and my death would surely save them all in time for the next harvest. For four days, I starved in the dark, surrounded by the quiet dead. But, enough time passes, and anything begins looking like food. I survived on corpses' bones and spoiled flesh until the cold and the stomach sick killed me all on their own. But when the death god came for my soul, he gave me a choice. Most people don't know there's a choice. And that there's a reason almost no one chooses to stay.

"I didn't want to die. I had barely lived. I chose life. At first, it seemed like the right choice. I had escaped certain demise without consequences. Yes, something was wrong; anyone could tell that. Any extended amount of time with other people ended with their discomfort and avoidance. But I still looked like me. Sounded like me. Lived like me. And that was enough."

Lav's nails dug unconciously vicious into Vampire's shoulders. Vampire bit back a yelp. They leaned paralyzed on the again-stranger's chest, half frozen in horror, half captivated. Though Lav spoke rapidly, the words obviously came out with some difficulty. Any movement, any sound, seemed likely to send them back into silence.

Lav swallowed hard, throat bobbing against Vampire's resting head. "But I was dead. I couldn't stop the decay. Or the hunger. The craving for the things I had only eaten out of desperation before. My being twisted into something other, something monstrous. And soon enough...I was gone."

Vampire slowly pulled back, and Lav's hands slipped off them, settling in their own lap. They smiled vaguely at their snow-crusted knees, a sort of pasted-on, empty thing without any real feeling behind it. At least, not any of the good ones.

"So you...the real you..." Vampire trailed off, not exactly sure how to finish the question. It seemed insensitive to pry after such a confession. And yet so many questions churned in their head. Did Lav have a body? Were they a spirit that took others' bodies? What did Lav really look like?

Luckily, Lav seemed to understand where the thought was going.

"There's nothing left of me but old bones."

"Ah."

They couldn’t think of another response. This was all happening so fast. A few hours ago they were almost killed. A few hours ago Lav saved their life in a horrifying display. And now all this… Did they care that Lav had changed?

"I can shift my shape into the last human I consumed," Lav continued. "A facade for myself as much as others. I've done it enough times for it to have become commonplace, but each one still takes some getting used to. However, this body...was a less-than-savory choice."

Vampire cocked their head. Did a difference in appearance even count as a real change? They were still the same person. Even with this bulkier body, their mannerisms hadn't changed. The delicate way they folded their hands. The elegant tone of speech, so different from the villager’s harsh voice at the door last night.

Lav mistook their thoughtful look for further inquiry and rushed on. "I mostly survive on animal flesh, but every few months I must eat something human or I fall ill...as you witnessed yourself. I grew too weak on the way to the cemetery, and I needed to return to you...so I did what I must. It made you terribly uncomfortable. For that, I'm sorry."

Yesterday's conversation drifted back to them.

'Should you be getting fevers?'

'Sometimes. I’ve put something off too long, that’s all.'

So that's what they had been referring to. A few months, huh? Vampire had been with them for a few weeks, so they must have had their other form for a while. Had they been refraining for Vampire's sake? But why? They'd never hidden the fact that they ate things outside of Vampire's own comfort zone.

"So the way you looked before...when we met..."

"A traveling noble."

Vampire grimaced involuntarily.

"You don't need to look at me that way; I wasn't the one who killed them. I don't kill any of them if I can help it. From the looks of the carriage and the body, it was bandits. But who was I to waste a fresh body?"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let yourself fall ill?"

Lav's shoulder sank, and they folded their arms tight against their chest. For truly the first time since they'd met, they seemed small. "Because I've been alone so long. And you were the first person who ever chose to stay. Even if it was out of convenience. With you around, I could pretend I was normal, like a real host with a real guest who both really enjoyed each other's company. I knew once the truth was out, you would want to leave, and I... I just wanted to pretend a little longer."

Vampire paused. The immediate denial of Lav's words dying on their tongue. They had run. And they had wanted to leave. And part of that had been because of Lav's choice of body, but the rest... They couldn't deny that a part of them had recognized Lav immediately. And they'd still run. Maybe had even been looking for excuses to do so. Lav was easy to love when they were making tea or dozing on the sofa. It was a whole different story when they were ripping people apart. Or when they looked like something Vampire had decided they shouldn't. It was the wrongness that made them run. The predator part of their friend that their instincts had always told them to flee from.

They could keep ignoring it or...

"Lav...can I see you?"

The ghoul's yellow eyes flicked unblinkingly to their own. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I don't care. I...I want to see you. The real you. I think I have to."

If they didn't, it would keep eating at them. They'd always know they were only pretending to accept what they refused to even see. And the distrust would curdle any remains of their relationship.

Lav wet their lips. For a long while, they were quiet, the only sounds the ghostly whistle of the wind through the naked trees and the creaking of the branches as they became overladen with snow. Vampire expected them to refuse again when they said, "Can I ask one thing?"

Vampire nodded.

"Don't run. I want to say goodbye properly."

Vampire's heart skipped an uncertain beat, but they nodded again. "I won't run."

Lav rose brusquely to their feet, thoroughly patting themselves off and taking a long, deep breath.

Vampire's chest tightened. They only knew they were breathing from the faint cloud puffing in front of their face. They gripped the snow on either side of them in handfuls the icy bite grounding them just enough to keep them still.

Lav gave Vampire one last mournful glance and squeezed their eyes shut. Then their face began to melt.

Freckles and hair and ruddy skin, it all dripped away like candle wax. There was no blood or terrible cracking of bone Vampire had imagined in shapeshifting; it was liquid illusion, wet watercolor running off the page, exposing the pale paper beneath.

Vampire bit back their gasp, but a strangled whimper still escaped through their teeth.

The creature was ghastly. A skeletal thing with only dried sinews holding them together. Their tunic, once pulled taught against a broad chest, now hung like drapes off their bony frame. Exposed teeth trapped their expression in an eerie eternal grin, while their yellow eyes, bigger without lids, seemed to roll in their sockets as they looked to Vampire for a reaction.

Run.

The thought wasn't so much verbal as it was a visceral reaction.

Vampire slowly rose, legs shaking.

The creature shielded their face with a grayed hand, nails discomfortingly long and claw-like

Run.

Their instincts had always been wary around Lav, but now they were screaming.

Run!

Vampire stepped forward.

The snow had deepened since the start of their conversation, and with their legs already unsteady, the drift immediately tripped them. Lav lurched forward, catching them in cadaverous arms. In turn, Vampire slid up their hands to hold their desiccated face.

It was much colder and stiffer than while tending their fever, but Vampire stroked the raw cheekbones and haggard brow. So terrible. So familiar. They knew these bones.

"Vampire--"

"I'll stay with you."

Lav's breath hitched. Immediately, they were fleshy and warm again, buried in Vampire's neck in a fit of stifled sobs. Vampire could have gone longer; they didn't think they'd made any hint for them return to a living guise. Maybe Lav was the one uncomfortable in their own skin.

Vampire ran their fingers through the stolen red hair. "But we can't stay here."

Lav spoke muffled into their shoulder. "I'll keep you safe. If we stay in the cabin--"

Vampire forced Lav's face toward them. "Three villagers gone missing after visiting your house? They'll come investigating. And they'll find the bodies soon enough." They squirmed a little. "...Whatever you've done with them. We can't fight them all. And I don't want to. I don't think you do either."

Lav opened their mouth, eyes roiling with a surge of emotions, but the protest died on their lips.

"You can't travel in the day," they said instead.

"They'll be back before nightfall. I'll...I'll wrap up tight."

Lav frowned.

"Besides, it's winter," Vampire rushed. "The sun doesn't rise for a few more hours. Maybe we can at least get the other edge of the wood before they come looking. Find a tavern or inn to hide out in until nightfall."

"And then?" Lav said.

Vampire's brain stuttered to a stop. What was next? They'd barely survived here, and what they had managed had been mostly from hiding. Not much chance of that on the open road. But there would be more information available. More rumors. More people, maybe the inhuman variety.

"Find a clan," they said more firmly than they felt. "For the both of us.

Lav mouth pulled into a skeptical line, but they simply pulled the collar of Vampire's tunic closer around their throat. "We can talk more inside. You're not going anywhere until you've warmed up."

Vampire was suddenly aware of their aching toes, bare and several feet deep in snow. The wind whipped their cheeks and snuck up their shirt sleeves, prompting a violent shiver.

Lav hoisted them into their arms. "You really are the strangest vampire I've ever met."

"H-hey!"

"Darling, I chased you all the way out here; I'm not chasing you home."

Vampire stuttered incoherently but eventually settled tiredly against their brawny chest. They’d been through too many traumatic things in the last 24 hours, and having Lav so close was steadying, even if their outer packaging still unsettled them. They closed their eyes and concentrated on what they could feel beneath the skin, ribs, sternum, collarbones, shoulders…

They could get used to old bones.

Part Seven

Me after finishing this section:

I know it’s not the typical attractive love interest love story, but I think it’s important for Vampire to love Lav for who and what they truly are even if it’s ugly. And it not like they’re suddenly completely ok with it all either, more they’re comfortable enough with it at the moment to move forward. They’re still going to have to accustom to the idea that the physical attraction they’ve had up to this point has all been fake. And they’re going to have to be ok with an ever changing appearance and be confident in their love for what’s on the inside. Anyway, as I finished up this section I was thinking, “this might come off kinda weird for some people” but I enjoyed writing it so that’s what matters haha

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