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#touch count
vickyvicarious · 7 months
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About all the touching between Dracula and Jonathan... it all culimates on June 30, doesn't it. In case you want to talk about the climax of that saga
It seems there's now two instances.
The heavily implied feeding in Jonathan's room/bed. In his Old Man form, Dracula doesn't turn into mist or bat, so one way or another, he had to touch Jonathan to feed on him.
Jonathan again touching Dracula in his room/"bed". Pretty much immediately after. But this time he emphasizes how very repulsed he's feeling at the contact. "I shuddered as I bent over to touch him, and every sense in me revolted at the contact". Last time he had searched his body he didn't feel this way, but now he sees him as fully monstrous.
But also there's a potential different mirroring contact... Dracula's teeth on Jonathan's skin, Jonathan's shovel on Dracula's skin.
I've actually been meaning to make a post about this for ages. (Obviously. It's been months now.) And I think the final consideration has to include 25 June as well. Because that is when the reversals start to majorly kick in, and those reversals are a huge aspect of any touches going forward.
First, Jonathan's act of climbing the walls like Dracula proceeds right on the heels of Dracula first acting like Jonathan by wearing his clothes. And similarly to how Jonathan was unable to act while Dracula killed a child, Dracula becomes unable to act while Jonathan searches him for the key. I mentioned all of this in more detail in the post I linked above, so I won't rehash it all. But there's another comparison too: Jonathan bending over Dracula in his 'bed' while he is unconscious is a mirror at that time of when Dracula returned him to his own bed (16 May). Jonathan tried to search Dracula's clothes for the key, while Dracula undressed Jonathan. The first time Jonathan is touching Dracula instead, it's a reversal/echo in a lot of ways.
And that's relevant too for this final instance, culminating the castle's progression of invasive touch. While it's possible Dracula put a hand on Jonathan's shoulder or something while walking him back to his room on 29 June, if so it's another unmentioned touch. But, while I could absolutely see that happening, that particular scene might almost be worse if it doesn't have any touch at all, because then we bring back a horrible anticipation (fearful, on Jonathan's part; eager, on Dracula's) which is reflected in Jonathan hearing that he is 'Dracula's' tonight and praying while he waits to see what will happen.
Then we get to 30 June. We hear nothing at all about Dracula biting Jonathan, though I am convinced it did happen. And yes, he would be doing so in his human/old man form. Jonathan moves from the floor to his bed, so there's a strong chance that particular scene repeated itself once more... either before or after Dracula bit him. For reversal/mirroring purposes, I suspect that Dracula hypnotized Jonathan and helped/ordered him to bed first before biting him in his bed. And we don't know exactly what went down. We don't know how Jonathan felt about it. But I think it is likely a fairly direct contrast to the shovel scene... meaning, I think just as Jonathan emphasizes disgust in the morning, while being bitten I suspect there was at least some degree of pleasure. Similar to the "languorous ecstasy" with which he waited for the vampire ladies to bite him on 16 May. Of course, it would be mingled with disgust and fear, but if Dracula had control of his mind enough to ensure he didn't remember anything in the morning, then it's possible those emotions would have been somewhat suppressed or muted.
In the morning, while free of the direct hypnotic influence of a vampire feeding, Jonathan still is unable to remember what happened to him. And yet, as you said, he is absolutely repulsed by having to touch Dracula. Maybe this reflects a sense-memory even if he can't consciously recall what's been done to him. And he hates having to touch him... yet at the same time, he feels a "wild desire" to search for the key at any cost, and when he can't find it, a "terrible desire" to destroy Dracula. The only other time Jonathan uses that word in the castle is when he's describing his "burning desire" to be 'kissed' by the vampire ladies. Dracula says it several times though. Jonathan's desire to touch Dracula, first to take the key (which previously I've compared to Dracula wanting to bite Jonathan) and then to harm him when he can't find it, I think is indicative of another sort of reversal going on with Dracula's own desire/touching him to bite him that night. At the very least, even if you ascribe no relevance to that wording, Jonathan's shovel attack absolutely still echoes Dracula biting him. They both loom over the other one and pierce their skin/draw blood. The anticipation/building invasiveness is over with a final act of violence.
And while Dracula succeeds in biting Jonathan, he fails to turn him (technically the vampire ladies are the ones who don't do that, but I tend to assume it's something he wanted/ordered based on his line about hoping to see Jonathan in the castle again). Jonathan fails to find the key or kill Dracula, but does succeed in harming Dracula and escaping. Both strike a blow here but it's not quite the final one they wanted to happen.
So in the end, the touching culminates there with Jonathan echoing Dracula's touches, just as he did the other times he touched Dracula. But, and I think this is also really significant... while Dracula does far more touching overall, the whole saga concludes with Jonathan making the final touch. The reversal is completed. The dynamic at the beginning, where Dracula invaded Jonathan's space more and more while Jonathan was unable to stop him, is switched around. Jonathan is the one hunting Dracula, and he's the one who has to escape. If Dracula wanted to have Jonathan become a vampire, become a predator, then in a way it has come true here... except Jonathan is only interested in hunting Dracula himself. And since they both got out of the castle alive, that may become relevant later.
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lover-of-mine · 6 days
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rochenn · 23 days
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Eye Level, pt. I
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Getting into the comic groove by making Dooku (loneliest most pathetic man in the galaxy) develop a Thing for his tailor. Part two in progress!
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bigshotautos · 8 months
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XxXEMO_LUV_4EVERXxX (for a collaboration with @jumblejunction!!!!!!!!!!!! )
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dathen · 9 months
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One little detail that sends Jonathan reeling but is easy to overlook is how Dracula opens the front door without a key. Jonathan’s been taking potentially fatal risks to try to get through those locked doors, and it’s the only thing keeping him from just fleeing into the forest and taking his chances there.
Then lo and behold! All he has to do is ask, and the door was never locked at all! Why would I need to lock you in, friend Jonathan? I’d never dream of keeping you here against your will, you could have left at any time!
Of course, Jonathan had examined the doors before and knew they were locked. It’s a massive gutpunch of gaslighting that seems to hit harder than all of Dracula’s other manipulations. Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure that Dracula just unlocked the door at a touch, just so he could twist the knife deeper.
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i’ll relearn love at our kitchen table ; satoru gojo
synopsis; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.
word count; 4.9k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, satoru gojo vs. the mortifying ordeal of being loved, fluff fluff fluff!!, a hint of angst if you reeeaallyyy squint, gojo’s pov, the babygirlification of satoru gojo, i just think being babied would fix him <33
a/n; i wanted to write something for suguru or shoko but this man is genuinely holding my brain hostage atp so more satoru fluff it is!! physically i could write gojo angst yes but emotionally? imagine the toll…
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when satoru steps over the threshold to your apartment, he’s downright exhausted.
it’s a heavy kind of fatigue, a little sickening. the kind that seems to sneak its way into his bones, crawl its way under his skin. dragging him down, down, down.
a yawn slips from his lips.
the mission itself wasn’t too tough — anything is a breeze for satoru gojo, that fact needs no elaboration. this one was just a little more taxing than usual, slightly more important, which meant he had to deal with the technicalities of it all. had to listen to the elders go on and on about the importance of discretion, about finishing things swiftly and efficiently, and something else he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.
and the curse? a small fry, really. nothing worth fussing over. but it was annoying, with that irritatingly effective barrier technique. how long did he have to stay inside that goddamn veil before it let him get close enough to land a hit? 
satoru doesn’t want to think about it, can’t be bothered to figure it out when all he wants is to collapse into the warm comfort of a soft mattress. all he knows is that when it finally lifted, the night sky was the only thing he could see. a vacuum of stars — taunting in its perpetuity.
so, with all that being said; to say satoru feels a little worn out might be a bit of an understatement. 
hair slightly tousled, eyelids heavy with sleep-deprivation, he slumps against the wall and allows himself to simply breathe. a soft groan flows from his parted lips as he stretches idly, a small respite for his stiff and achy joints, his tired muscles. 
it’s been a long day. but satoru still finds it in him to exhale a relieved breath, to drag his blindfold down to his neck and kick off his shoes.
because it’s been a long, long day — but now he’s finally home.
(not just a house, not just an apartment, but a home. a place of comfort and belonging. satoru didn’t think that was a luxury he would ever be able to afford.)
the moment he lets the door close behind him, a particular scent greets him. soothing in its familiarity, the only thing in his life that never seems to change; a blend between fresh laundry, and watered houseplants, and something that smells a bit like honey. maybe even sweeter than usual, though satoru chalks that up to his mind playing tricks on him. 
it’s nice. so nice. coming back to something warm and real, a respite from his hectic work. a safe haven, of sorts, one that hasn’t been taken from him just yet.
satoru likes to think of your front door as a threshold between realms, a gap between within and without. one is dark in its saturation, plagued by that never-fading smell of iron, while the other is simply warm. sacred in its normalcy. 
everything looks just as it should, the same as when he rushed out this morning; a fluffy blanket draped over the couch haphazardly, that soft golden light streaming out from the kitchen, your shoes by the front door.
satoru blinks, drowsily.
wait.
why is the kitchen light still on?
as if his eyes could ever deceive him, satoru rubs the skin under them groggily — blinking once, then twice. 
yep, it’s still there — that soft fluorescent glow. a sight he’s come to associate with breakfast and dinner and a mellow kind of love, laughter shared over warm meals made by human hands. food tastes better, satoru has come to realize, when you have someone to eat it with. 
ah, but it’s odd. did you forget to turn the lights off? that’s not very like you. 
as if possessed by a strange, irresistible longing, his feet carry him to the kitchen in question. undeniably groggy, his uncoordinated steps are riddled with fatigue, but the yearning in his chest compels him to move forward anyway — a kind of yearning he only fully understands when he enters the space, and sees you slumped over the table, a familiar flicker of cursed energy capturing his attention.
you’re asleep.
satoru stills, where he stands by the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.
everything looks the same as always — cookie jars placed on the highest shelf to give him an excuse to help you reach them, origami made from newspapers he never bothers to read anyway, a vase standing proudly on the kitchen counter, stuffed with fresh flowers he bought for you two days ago. 
the red roses still haven’t wilted, shining in the blue of the moonlight flickering in. good. they’re pretty, but maybe next time he should get you something more original. maybe some sunflowers, something that could rival the brightness of your smile. do they even sell sunflowers this time of year? if you were awake, satoru would ask you, even though you always tell him to just google it —
but you're not awake. you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against the kitchen table, snoring softly.
satoru feels his mood lift at the sight alone, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as tired anymore. something soft and almost otherworldly sprouts in his chest, as he takes you in, stepping closer. almost giddy, just to see you up close.
you look so peaceful and relaxed, so content. elbows resting on the table as soft little breaths fall from your parted lips; he spots a bit of drool on the corner of your bottom lip, gaze fond as he wipes it away with his thumb. he can’t resist the urge to poke your cheek, and it makes you stir ever so slightly — lips curling up into something akin to a sleepy smile.
satoru grins.
(you’re so cute.)
despite his fatigue, he hears himself chuckle, all soft and amused and a little bit lovesick. it comes to him so easily, when he’s with you; that upturn of his lips, the butterflies in his stomach.
satoru is still getting used to it. this cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love. the kind that always feels like spring. but with every day that passes, the life he has with you becomes a little easier to digest. his future with you becomes a little easier to visualize.
yeah, he thinks. he could get used to this. coming home to you.
a soft smile, as he exhales a somewhat exasperated breath. you really shouldn’t be sleeping out here, though. silly.
satoru leans forward, inching closer to your pretty, sleeping face — he almost feels bad, waking you up like this. but he wants to hear your voice so badly.
so he cups your cheek, cold skin meeting warm, his hands still lingering with the bite of the midnight air. his fingertips tingle, buzzing with the body heat that trickles from your veins to his — one single touch is all it takes for him to soften.
the word that falls from his lips breaks the peaceful silence of the kitchen, breathing life into the moment. whispered into your ear, causing your brows to furrow as you gently slip from sleep’s embrace.
“baby…” 
satoru is smiling, when your eyelids flutter open. a sincere smile, reserved for you and his students. bathed in the mellow hue of the kitchen lamp’s illumination, a soft glow curls around the strands of his white hair, creating a halo of artificial light.
blinking sleepily, you gaze at him in silence. something shines in your eyes, something satoru tentatively recognizes as adoration. and he gazes right back at you, with heavy-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. teasing, lighthearted. thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.
then he grins, hopelessly endeared. ”hey there, sleeping beauty.”
a yawn tumbles from your lips, and you lift yourself up. leaning into his touch. “toru…” you mumble, voice a little raspy but still oh so sweet.
satoru doesn’t say anything. he simply takes you into his arms, gently, touch so very delicate — as if you’re made of porcelain. and you just let yourself fall into his embrace, while he tucks you under his chin, safe and secure. 
it’s warm, he thinks. it feels right. complete, somehow.
and satoru thinks to himself that this must be what love feels like. what it’s supposed to feel like, anyhow, all sweet and light. all good and normal, something you never have to question. a cornerstone.
“you’re back…” you drawl, muffled into his uniform as your arms sneak around his thin waist. bringing him closer.
stroking the back of your head softly, satoru’s chest rumbles as he speaks, voice deep and a little raspy. soothing, a lullaby just for you. “yeah,” he hums. ”were you waiting?”
all you do is nuzzle further into his chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart; breathing out a sleepy little mhm that has him going weak at the knees, lips curling up helplessly.
“i wanted to…” you continue, stretching your arms a little to shrug away the remnants of sleep still clinging to your joints. “but i fell asleep.” 
satoru feels you move in his arms, until your jaw settles on top of his shoulder and you press a chaste kiss to his neck. an exhale leaves his lips, something tender in the way his breath wavers.
“welcome home,” is whispered, muffled against his skin. a sentence he never wants to go a single day without hearing. “did the mission go okay?”
he plants a kiss on top of your head, speaking in a low tilt, reassuring. “it did. just took a little longer than i thought.” a soft inhale, as he basks in the scent of your shampoo. “i wanted to text you, but the veil blocked my signal. sorry, sweetie.”
another soft yawn, and a shake of your head. “s’ fine, don’t worry,” you murmur. ”i’m just glad you’re okay.”
satoru chuckles. there’s a fondness to it, light. and then something else, something more heavy — it rumbles through his chest, almost like a purr, or a soothing thunderstorm. he can only hope it’s enough to comfort you.
“of course.” he says the words like they’re indisputable, like they’re written down in scriptures old and worn. cradling you in his strong arms, he pulls you closer to his chest. hoping you’ll feel his heartbeat against you, feel that he’s there. “i always am, aren’t i?”
no answer. only a tiny hum, absentminded.
and satoru knows, deep down, that his words don’t mean much. that a part of you is always going to worry over him, no matter how many times he tells you that there’s no need. that he’ll be fine.
the thought makes him feel a bit guilty. a little sick to his stomach, at the thought of being a source of your anxiety, the reason you can’t fall asleep at night — but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also make him feel somewhat giddy. the thought tastes sweet, on his tongue, even though it probably shouldn’t.
having someone who worries for you is a luxury, satoru has come to realize. a luxury he has, now, one he hasn’t had since —
well. that’s neither here nor there.
(“be careful, satoru,” he recalls a kind boy saying.
but that was many, many springs ago.)
“oh, right.”
at the sound of your voice, satoru pulls away ever so slightly, gazing down at you. “hm?”
with a single step back, you look up at him. tilting your head. hands still resting securely on his waist, fingertips squeezing at his hips. lightly, affectionately. barely restrained fondness. ”have you had anything to eat yet?”
“yeah. got some takeout on my way back.”
satoru expects you to sigh in relief, at his instantaneous answer. you don’t like it when he skips meals, so these days he’s been trying not to do it as much. even though he doesn’t always have the time to eat properly, and even though the sweets he chews on between missions make him lose his appetite. but he makes an honest attempt, for you.
someone worries for him. someone wants him to eat well. that’s more than enough motivation for satoru gojo.
but you don’t exhale, and you don’t look very relieved, either. you look… disappointed. eyes suddenly glancing down at the floor, lips curled down into a barely noticeable frown. 
“oh,” you breathe. “okay. good.”
one second. then two. satoru tilts his head.
“why?” he stops to think. maybe… “did you make something?”
a certain recognition flickers in the depths of your eyes, and satoru thinks he must be right on the money. chewing at your bottom lip a little, you wait a moment before curling your fingers around his wrist — tugging him away from the kitchen table.
satoru follows, pliantly, until you’re standing in front of the fridge.
“well, um… here,” you mumble, somewhat sheepishly. fingers tapping at the handle before pulling it open. “take a look.”
satoru watches as the fridge door opens, slowly.
he blinks.
the first thing he sees is a single slice of strawberry shortcake. the strawberry looks fresh, glittering like a ruby on top of the softly whisked cream — and layers of sponge cake, that look like they’d melt in his mouth.
and that’s not all. there are a wide array of baked treats stuffed into the cramped space, protected by plastic wrapping and containers. everything from cupcakes with too much frosting — just the way he likes them — to chocolate chip cookies that crumble at the corners, satoru never seems to run out of things to look at. colourful treats, lovingly made and sitting right in front of him. it’s like he’s standing in a patisserie. they almost seem to sparkle, in the peripheral of his vision; glimmering softly, tantalizingly, like something out of a dream.
childish. that’s what nanami and shoko always call him, and he always protests, but —
maybe they have a point, after all. satoru certainly feels a little childish, when he realizes his eyes must be wide and bursting with child-like giddiness. a simple kind of joy, at seeing the ample selection in front of him. especially after that tedious mission prevented him from getting any sugar into his system.
”i did my best,” you mutter, sharing the sight with him as your eyes trail over a pretty bag of pink and green macarons. ”dunno if they turned out any good, but… i hope you’ll like them.”
satoru’s gaze flits over to you. 
he opens his mouth, and then closes it again.
”did you… make these?” a beat. ”for me?”
a blink. ”.. yeah?” who else would they be for?, your eyes seem to say. a little confused.
for a second, satoru can only stare at you. in complete silence, the tired cogs inside his head turning sluggishly as he thinks about the implications of that answer. and with a soft flutter, he feels his heartbeat pick up, warming him up from the inside out. 
you made them. with your own hands. you made all of these and you did it for him.
for some reason, satoru finds it oddly hard to speak, like someone stuffed a bunch of cupcakes down his throat. it’s weird — usually he can’t seem to stop talking, especially not when he’s with you, but… 
(something about this is just too tender.)
you must have been baking all day. no wonder the apartment smelled sweeter than usual, when he walked in.
as if itching to curl around one of the macarons, his fingers twitch, but satoru gulps and keeps them still. he wants to say something, anything, wants to thank you or ask why you’d spend so much of yourself on him, but satoru only stays silent.
and maybe it’s because he’s tired. maybe he’s just a little caught off guard. usually this wouldn’t be that hard to handle — he could just throw himself on you and shower you in kisses, show his appreciation with a flurry of dramatics and declarations of love. 
but right now there seems to be a disconnect, between satoru’s mind and body. maybe the mission drained him more than he realized. or maybe it’s more than that, maybe there’s nothing he can say or do; what words could he even begin to use to properly verbalize the emotions he’s feeling right now? how could his touch ever begin to measure up to the sweet sensation unfurling in his chest?
the silence doesn’t last long. as satoru stands there and spirals, you speak up, most likely chalking it up to him being too sleepy to react. 
”this mission was especially rough, right?” you begin, with a soft tilt of your head. a smile curls its way onto your lips, proud and sweet. sweeter than everything in the fridge combined.
one step, then two. you inch closer to him, until there’s almost no space between you — standing on your tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for his head. smoothing down his tousled hair, fingers tangling themselves between the soft white strands and getting lost in them. and it’s gentle, the way you begin to pat his head, doting. 
then you speak. ”you did well.”
and it’s such a simple thing to say. three words, three syllables, but the words just tumble out from your mouth so earnestly that satoru can’t help but still. his breath hitches in his throat, softly, barely noticeable, but it’s there. that surprise.
he never knows how to act, when you get like this. patting his head and ruffling his hair like he’s something warm and sweet and worthy of love. something delicate, and not the strongest man on the planet. 
it’s so weird. you’re so weird.
(satoru leans into your touch without thinking, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.)
it’s perplexing, this feeling, and the fact that he can’t pinpoint why frustrates him to no end. isn’t this wrong? shouldn’t he be the one ruffling your hair, coddling you?
what formula is he supposed to follow here, exactly? should he tease you? pull away from your touch?
satoru wishes his six eyes could tell him the answer, but they don’t. they’ve never been very good with emotions, with things that aren’t directly tied to his suffering or imminent death.
(so ironic. all these eyes and nothing to see. they failed to see suguru’s silence, back then, and now they fail to see what reaction would please you the most. 
really, such a worthless ability to love people with.)
no answer comes to him. so satoru doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t pull away.
it does feel slightly wrong, though. like this feeling isn’t something he’s supposed to have, there must be some mistake, he can’t possibly be allowed to feel so loved — can he? having you bake him all his favorite treats, run your fingers through his hair. praise him for working hard.
really. isn’t he being too coddled?
(… but it feels so nice.)
satoru suspects that there’s a lot to love he might not fully understand, just yet.
maybe tomorrow, when he’s a little less tired, he can try once again to give you the impression that he’s perfect. that he doesn’t need affection, that he doesn’t crave your support or your touch. that he’s above all that, the strongest, someone for you to depend on.
depend on him, while he depends on no one. that’s the kind of existence satoru gojo is. that’s how it should be, that’s all he knows, but…
— ah. it feels really nice when your nails scratch his scalp like that.
and suddenly, that’s all satoru can think. no more pesky what-ifs, or second guessing every good thing he gets. right now, it’s just you and him. your fingers in his hair, his footprints in your life.
satoru allows himself to melt under your touch, almost meekly. leaning down just a little further, to make it easier for you to smooth your hand over his head. he nuzzles into your palm with a happy little exhale, and for some reason he feels sort of bashful.
try as he might, he doesn’t manage to successfully shoo the emotion away, so all he can do is hope you don’t take note of it.
and you just continue your onslaught of affection, now ruffling his hair with both your hands, like he’s a big puppy getting cooed over. satoru has a nagging suspicion that you might be getting a little carried away, but he doesn’t stop you. greedy, in the way he wishes your hands would never leave his hair. the way he hopes you’ll never be too far away from him to reach.
”such a hard worker,” you coo, and he feels himself grow flustered. ”my baby deserves so much love.”
”woah there,” satoru chokes out, grinning, desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint to his ears. ”are you flirting with me? i have a partner, you know.”
a giggle slips from your lips, sleepy and amused. ”oh, do you?” one of your hands goes to cup his cheek,  thumb caressing the edge of his jaw as you gaze at him fondly. ”lucky them.”
the grin you’re wearing is awfully bright. soft around the edges in a way that has him speechless, brain malfunctioning ever so slightly. satoru makes a mental note to scrap the sunflower idea — there has to be some brighter flower out there, one that can actually compete with your smile. sunflowers just won’t cut it.
but then you let go, and satoru gets broken out of his lovesick stupor.
when your hands leave his skin, his lips curl down into a soft pout. one he rushes to smooth away, before you can notice it.
you step back, failing to stifle a soft bout of laughter, but satoru knows it’s not because you saw it — he knows because your gaze is glued to his hair, and he internally winces when he thinks about how messy it must look, after your little bout of cuteness aggression. 
(you really are weird, finding him cute of all things.)
he expects you to tease him a little more, but you don’t, turning away and tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. ”if i’d known you’d be home this late,” you speak, stealing one last glance at the pastries before closing the fridge. ”then i would’ve waited until tomorrow. so you could eat them fresh.”
an apology rests on satoru’s tongue, but as if sensing it, you rush to reassure him.
”ah, but this is fine too! they should still taste good!” you turn away, muttering. ”… hopefully.”
then you nod to yourself, crossing your arms absentmindedly. 
satoru looks at you for a second. 
then he steps forward, unable to resist the temptation — tapping at your wrist with the pads of his fingers, before gently curling them around it, coaxing you into turning your head towards him.
the kiss he presses to your lips is soft, delicate. his fingers trace along your jaw, cupping your cheek and tilting your face up slightly, just letting his warm lips rest against yours. sweet and chaste. he sighs into the kiss, content, and feels your pulse pick up.
then he moves down to your jaw, slow and methodical — lazy kisses, sleepy but so full of affection. and little pecks, scattered all over your lips, your cheek, the tip of your nose.
you seem to melt a little, against him, and satoru relishes in it; his ability to make you relax. far more valuable than the six eyes, he would argue.
when he pulls away from you, with what takes tremendous self-restraint, he’s smiling. his gaze meets yours, layered over with pure adoration, blue eyes crinkling as he looks at you. as if you’re his entire world. the kitchen light embraces him, cascading down the contours of his face; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his barely noticeable dimples.
and there it is, again — that flicker of love in your eyes, that adoration. as if you’re looking at a painting, something too beautiful for words.
(satoru hopes you can see that very same adoration, reflected in his eyes as he looks at you.)
after a moment, he leans forward, to rest his jaw on the curve of your shoulder. you stumble a little under the weight, caged in as his arms hug your midriff.
”god,” he sighs, breathless, heavy with giddy disbelief. almost whining when he continues, nuzzling into your neck as if to hide. ”why are you so perfect, huh? i don’t get it.”
at that, you huff out a laugh, an amused little breath. wrapping your arms around his neck and scratching softly at his nape. satoru shudders just a little, arms tightening around you.
”stealing my line…” you mutter, accusatory, smile laced over with a honeyed affection. 
another amused breath, this time from him. this is one battle he won’t let you win. ”nah,” he grins, tugging you closer. ”’s mine.”
this is warm, he thinks. this feels right. complete, in a way that satoru never understood before you.
he could probably stand there forever, just basking in it. soaking up your body heat and the smell of your shampoo. until your warmth is all he knows, until he can never get your scent off his skin.
and satoru thinks that he could get used to this. a cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love, one that smells like spring and tastes like strawberry shortcakes and feels like tight hugs shared in kitchens.
your love makes him feel so human. and it’s scary, terrifying even, but it's also too good to pass up. it’s worth the risk. so worth everything.
a yawn leaves your lips, suddenly. satoru feels you soften in his embrace, nuzzling closer to him, stumbling just a tad; he doesn’t think it’s fair, for such a simple gesture to make him as happy as it does.
”sleepy?” he coos, smile giddy and fond. ”let’s go to bed, okay? no more sleeping on the kitchen table, silly.”
a disgruntled little huff resounds throughout the air, as you let your arms fall to your sides. ”that’s on you,” you declare, poking the plush of his chest with your finger. ”i only fell asleep because you took so long.”
a teasing glint flickers in satoru’s eyes.
”wanted to see me that badly, huh?” he coos. you roll your eyes, and he pulls your cheek. ”that’s cute.”
”so what if i did?”
satoru stills. you’re smiling, a little mischievous, but mostly sincere. and it really is very unfair of you, he thinks — to do this to him while his guard is down. 
but he manages to pull himself together, raising an amused eyebrow and booping your nose in a way that catches you off guard. blinking up at him, eyelashes fluttering. 
satoru clears his throat. ”well, that’s sweet.”
then he turns on his heel, suddenly, and strolls over to the fridge. ”but you know what’s even sweeter?” he chirps, fingers curling around the handle as he swiftly pulls it open. 
licking his lips, absentmindedly, his eyes trail over all the different pastries. so close yet so far, just out of reach; his fingers move forward, towards that mesmerizing slice of strawberry shortcake —
”— no.”
a hand settles on satoru’s waist, and tugs him away from his well-deserved prize. taking advantage of his momentary surprise, you close the fridge decisively, and give him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.
satoru whines, loud and grating. pouting sweetly, trying to make you feel bad. ”c’mon, just one bite —”
”no.”
”but they’re for me!”
”they’re for you to eat tomorrow. i was only gonna let you eat them tonight if you were on the brink of starvation, or something.”
”i am!”
”so the takeout was a lie?” you narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious. ”have you been skipping meals, again?”
satoru pauses. weighing his options. ”well, no, but…”
”— then no.”
another soft whine. you turn away from him, when he tilts his head and gives you his best set of puppy dog eyes. in fear of giving in to them, satoru knows, as you have so many times before. ”please?” he tries, to no avail.
”you’re not eating sweets before bed, satoru,” you deadpan, and his smile falls further, exaggerated. ”and no, we are not having that conversation again.”
he can tell you’re trying to sound stern, but a giggle tumbles from your lips nonetheless, at the ridiculousness of the situation. keeping a grown man away from your fridge, knowing that he’ll wolf down every pastry he sees and get himself sick if you don’t. all while the man in question whines at you in protest, frowing so deeply, disappointment evident on his features.
(except satoru really isn’t very disappointed at all. like this, he gets to stare at your smile all he wants, after all; knowing you won’t notice it, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to his pleas.)
he tries again, one last time. just because he knows it’ll make you laugh. you do, a little exasperated, and satoru couldn’t be happier. 
and he thinks to himself that if this is what love is, if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, then it can’t possibly be that much of a curse. 
maybe he should revise the hypothesis, get a second opinion. he’ll have to ask you tomorrow, over pastries and coffee, and hear what you have to say.
as you both stumble to the bedroom, sleepy and a little delirious, satoru thinks that maybe this is enough; the lighthearted banter, the fond laughter. everything good and real and normal, within the space of your apartment, a home he never thought he’d have.
(and maybe, a second opinion isn’t necessary, after all. maybe it doesn’t really matter if love is a curse or not, as long as he gets to share it with you, like this.)
that night, satoru dreams. curled up with you beneath the blankets, limbs tangled together, as if he could never be close enough.
he dreams of kitchen lights, of sweet treats and warm hands. of spring breezes, and a love he’s finally beginning to accept for what it is:
good. wholly and thoroughly.
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ghouljams · 7 months
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PLEAAAASEEEEE just a lil knight smooch on the hand, even just a light kiss to her lock of her hair
EVEN JUST LOVE FILLED GLANCES PLEAAAAASEEEEEEE
or maybe medivel konig romance i am so lovesick i wamt to hear fluff aND UR DENYING US WITH GHOST KNIGHT YEARNING
OK but only because I'm really beating this poor princess down in two other asks.
You spend most of your day with Ghost, he's your escort for every outing, your companion for every event. You'd think you'd get tired of seeing him all the time but you never do. You love seeing him, and you think he likes seeing you too.
"Good morning," you smile up at Ghost as he comes near, your favorite part of your mornings.
"Morning," he pulls out the chair next to you, grabbing a thick slice of bread as he sits. You don't even need to ask your maids to set a place for him anymore, don't need to coax Ghost into joining you for breakfast. He leans his elbows against the table and breaks the bread apart between his hands, as he watches you.
"How'd you sleep?" You ask, too casual, he nudges you with his knee. "Did you sleep well?" You try again. He's worse than your old etiquette tutor sometimes.
"Same as usual, were you alright after the-" he pauses, clicks his tongue, like he's annoyed he doesn't have a polite word for it. He doesn't want to say "tantrum" but you know he's thinking it.
"I- yes. Thank you." You stare down at your hands, embarrassed. You're too old to be acting like that. Ghost stares at you a long moment before setting his bread on his plate. He reaches across the table to grab meat and fruit, filling your plate before you can stop him.
"Eat, you'll feel better." He plucks another slice of bread free of its warm basket and butters it. You watch him slide the little silver knife against the crumb and he stops, pointing the utensil at your plate. "Eat," he's not asking you.
You pick up your fork and knife to do as he says. You really don't know why you bother listening to him, you're in charge, not him. It's just that, you sort of like doing what he says, he always looks so pleased when you do. He doesn't even look at you when you take your first bite, but his eyes still smile and you know it's for you. His smiles are only ever for you.
"Good girl," He mumbles, sliding his bread onto your plate, neatly jam and buttered just the way you like it.
"You're free to leave," you tell your maids, glancing at them over your shoulder. You know they're hovering, waiting to refill your tea or bring another plate of food. You also know they're waiting for more information on last night's... fit. Gossips the lot of them. "You've left the pot, if I need more tea Ghost will serve me. Go."
The maids exchange a glance and drop to curtsy before scurrying out. You go back to eating. Ghost waits a beat before removing his mask and serving himself breakfast. You don't bother with glances or peaking at his face, you look. It's your right to look, he's yours after all.
"You're staring," he grumbles. Astute observation, you think with a smile. You know what he means, you spear a strawberry with your fork and pop it in your mouth.
"I'm eating."
"Don't talk with your mouth full," he hums, ignoring you in favor of his own meal. Does he know that you only breach etiquette to hear him correct you? Does he see you behave as a perfect princess for others and think he did that? No, you think he must know you're teasing him.
You set your fork down and reach to wipe away the crumbs that stick to his lip. Ghost catches your hand before you can touch him, his tongue darting out to do what your finger would have. His eyes hold yours, each of you waiting for the other to pull back. You don’t want to.
His lips are so much warmer than in your dream, softer, more substantial as Ghost bows his head to press them against your knuckles. You tilt your head, watching him turn your hand to kiss your palm and the delicate skin of your wrist. He looks at you with every promise in his eyes, and you love him for it.
"Good morning, my lady," he murmurs, holding your hand to his cheek. Your heart clenches, fingers curling against the stubble on his jaw.
"Good morning, my knight." You whisper back. The breath he lets out is almost pained, far too heavy for breakfast. He kisses your palm again, and you almost understand why before he drops it. I love you, you both seem to think at each other, I love you.
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intermundia · 9 months
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i think the reason that i find the tragedy of the prequels so compelling is that anakin is such a good tragic hero. he's shown to be an intelligent man with a mature understanding of the world, who made catastrophic choices on purpose because they were easier and more personally satisfying to him. when fans deny him that agency, i believe they misunderstand the story in important ways. one can say that he was manipulated and deceived, one can diagnose him with every mental illness in the DSM (and people in my notes often do), but one cannot say that he wasn't fast to toss aside his moral values to lash out and to get what he wanted.
the fact of the narrative is that anakin knew better, and he chose the easy option (with full knowledge that it was 'wrong'), because he refused to accept core limitations of reality, namely the inevitability of death. he thought that having special powers meant the rules didn't apply to him and those he loved, and that's how he ended up killing kids and serving as a fascist enforcer for decades. one can contort themselves into knots to try to excuse that, and there were indeed many contextual forces that gave him so much power in the first place, but there is no real excuse for what he chose to do with that power.
without anakin being that kind of moral agent, there is no tragedy. tragedy in an aristotelean sense is a narrative designed to elicit feelings of pity and fear, because we the audience know that we too are doomed to suffer and all too readily make easy, bad choices to avoid pain. none of us want to accept that some parts of life include losing, and require sacrifice. anakin's greed was his undoing, as it is all to often our own. refusing to accept that the tragedy of the prequels, explaining away and excusing the fall of the hero, means protecting ourselves from accepting the painful truth that we are just like him, and can and do make the same kind of mistakes.
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owlsie-hoot · 2 months
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Touching - Audrey ❤︎ Siegfried
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amiracleilluminated · 6 months
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Omar Sy as Assane Diop in Lupin (2021- )
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stinkrascal · 3 months
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standstill ; a story by stinkrascal
after stumbling upon the world of supernaturals and befriending a powerful and enigmatic vampire, she realizes the choice is simple. she could abandon her humanity, or she could go back home. and breanna realizes, more than anything, that she can never go back home.
31/01/2024
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vickyvicarious · 10 months
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When I got to the doorway at the top of the stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered.
Jonathan seeing this and knowing it means that the strength he always feared Dracula had is confirmed to be tremendous. Maybe even worse than he thought. And it points to such violence and anger in the motion of forcing this door so tightly shut as to break things. Dracula is that angry, his hated hands have that strength.
Jonathan seeing this and knowing that those hands touched him, again. Held him, carried him, undressed him, tucked him in to bed. Touched his belongings and himself as they pleased. At any moment this kind of strength could have been used to hurt him. (At any moment it still can.) And yet it wasn't. Dracula was... seemingly gentle. A trick, yes, an attempt to fool him, but also - terrifying in all its implications.
...by the way, this is only our second entry since meeting him (the other being May 15) that Jonathan hasn't mentioned Dracula touching him that day.
Dracula Touching Jonathan Count: 8
May 5: ‘helping him’ from the coach, then from the caleche, shaking his hand at the door, touching his hand during dinner.
May 7: took his arm to bring him to dinner.
May 8: came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder while he was shaving, lunged to grab his throat (not officially counting this one but it deserves a mention)
May 12: hand on his shoulder when telling him to write about staying longer
May 16: carrying him to bed and undressing him
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pizzpizzapizzo · 9 months
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how would peppino react if i gave him a little kiss on the cheek u3u
how do you think, anon
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likegoldintheair · 1 month
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i'm like if someone who hated being touched was also deeply touchstarved
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captain-kermit · 1 year
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THE COUNT IS DONE. WE HAVE THE FINAL TOTALS AND YALL. I AM SPEECHLESS
the spreadsheet has all the data by episode then by person, along with each of their totals BUT! what yall have been waiting for:
SERIES (including movies) TOTAL: 1015 SERIES AVERAGE PER EPISOODE: 11.94
SPOCK TOTAL: 575 SPOCK AVERAGE PER EPISODE: 7.01
JIM TOTAL: 440 JIM AVERAGE PER EPISODE: 5.71
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chloecherrysip · 11 months
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Mario's (nearly) successful training run
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