#IDK where to go from here...

[saturnsorbits]

The Storm: A Saturnari Story

WC: 2.6k,

A/N: A little more lore for last nights post. Thank you to BTP, you asked the question and this was kind of cathartic to put together.

It’s a Friday and we’re at a bar. Usual stuff, y’know. Drinks, the gang, there’s laughter bouncing off the walls, blending with the music and bleeding into our veins. Everything is good… Until it isn’t. 

I’m at the bar? Or in the toilet? Kaminari can’t remember, but when Sero is dragged up by an excitable Mina for a dance, it’s only the two of them left alone in the booth. Jirou turns to him with apple red cheeks and rum on her lips and sighs. He tries to convince himself it’s a trick of the light when he catches it, his own lust reflected back at him through the opals of her eyes, but it’s not. The truth is, they just kind of missed each other back in school, back when she never took him seriously and he matured too slowly. The air is thick, the thrum of his heart loud. He can feel it. His being calls for her, reaches out wanting to touch, to taste, to feel: just once. 

Just to get her out of his system. 

He knows I worry about her. He knows I’ve seen the looks. The thoughts of another life that flicker through his mind, the life where it’s her on his arm and not me. 

The alcohol in his veins loosens his tongue, brings impulse to the surface of his skin and dares him to indulge it. Words stick behind his Adam’s apple and bob there, the whispers of ‘I think I could have loved you’ that swim in his mind when she raises her eyebrows at him… An unspoken question: a sin. 

It’s Bakugo who gets to him. It always is. The hand he has wrapped around Kaminari’s neck is too tight to be friendly, bordering on crushing and leaves him pinned like a bug. He’s smiling when I return to the booth, they both are. Bakugo shoves his catch towards me, says ‘Take him home’ in the same way he says ‘he careful’ and retreats, watching with predatory eyes as we slip through the crowd and head home. 

Kaminari glances over his shoulder, looks for Jirou in the crowd, frowning when he can’t find her. Across the room Bakugo scowls. He slips his hand into Kiri’s and squeezes, remembering just how lucky he is to have a love like he has at home. 

Still, despite the intervention,  it’s already begun. 

Neither of them remember who suggests it, but the details don’t really matter. It’s almost 8:45pm the following Sunday when Kaminari’s knuckles are rattling against her door and she’s opening it with only a old t-shirt hanging from her shoulders. 

He calls me on the way to her place. Just once. His hand shakes around his phone, his heart a humming bird that feeds on his own destruction. He whispers, voice cracking down the phone: ‘Just once, I promise. I just…’ 

He’s crying. I can hear it. Each hollow, hiccuping sob echos in the cavern of my skull, but I keep quiet, let him finish. 

‘I need this. I - fuck. I just need to get it out of my system. I -.’ He bites his tongue hard enough to bleed. There’s no way he can explain, expose the rotten center of him that knows this will break you, not when he’s only two minutes from her apartment. So he doesn’t. ‘Fuck. I’m so… I’m so sorry. I just - I know it’s fucked up. It’s fucked. It’s - I just… I love y-.’ 

The line goes dead after that. 

I’m not there when he gets home, but Kirishima is. He returns with a duffel bag and an offer of sanctuary - a place in his and Bakugo’s spare room so I can piece myself back together. The next week is… Odd. There’s the heartbreak, obviously, the rift that opens up within the friend group and a notable, angrier version of Kirishima that shows off an almost Bakugo-level colour in language, but on a whole it’s just the same. The sun still rises, the birds still sing outside of the window, Bakugo still cooks as well as he always has and work is the usual 9-5 drone. 

It’s enough, for a while, my new normal… That is until I see her again. 

There’s still a bruise on her neck when I see her. It’s small; a faded purple that seems to perfectly match her hair and it turns my stomach knowing that there are probably more that I can’t see; little reminders of him scattered all over her body. She pulls her collar up when she notices me staring and I don’t blame her. I’m not trying to hide it and her discomfort makes something proud and angry squirm in my chest. 

We’re in some coffee shop. It’s one I don’t frequent, one I don’t even like - just so I won’t have to spend the next few weeks dragging Bakugo and Kirishima out to re-write the memories of this conversation. 

She sips at the edge of a coffee I paid for and bites her cheek. ‘It’s always been you, hasn’t it?’ 

My eyebrows raise. ‘What?’ 

‘You know what I mean.’ 

I assure her that I absolutely fucking do not. 

‘He only thinks he wants me. It’s not… I don’t think he’s ever really…’ She swallows, hiccups a sob and burns his tongue. ‘He doesn’t love me, he never has. I - fuck…’ She rubs her eyes. ‘I used to wish I was you, y’know. When you first got together and he changed, stopped doing all that gear, being so… So.’ 

‘He got better, Jirou - You can’t begrudge him that.’ 

‘No… No, but it was all for you.’ 

You snort. ‘Obviously not.’ 

We sit in silence for a while after that. I look out of the window, watch couples pass by and try not to vomit. ‘He told me, y’know.’ 

Jirou’s head snaps up from the table, a small furrow between her eyebrows. 

I smile, shake my head, blow air out of my nose like that will stop the tears. It doesn’t. ‘He rang me before he went over, told me he had to get you out of his system. That he needed it. He needed you.’

She’s floundering as it dawns on her, but the moment my words slot together in her head, her eyes blow wide. ‘He told you?’ 

I nod. 

‘So I was just… He was…’ She can’t spit it out because that will make it true, so she locks it behind her teeth instead. 

‘He fucked both of us over.’ I offer. 

She counters. ‘I fucked you over too.’ 

I smile, look at the table. I’m already too tired to get into the semantic and with every passing second I’m running out of steam. ‘Yeah.’ My phone buzzes on the table - a text from Bakugo lighting up the screen when I flip it over to check. 

Katsuki: ‘Want me to come get you?’ 

I text back a quick ‘Yes, please’ knowing that he’s probably half-way here anyway and down the rest of my drink with two clean gulps. ‘For what it's worth i think he loves you… In his own way. You and him, it’s… It’s unfinished.’ 

Jirou smiles, catches herself and squashes it. ‘He loves you more.’ 

‘It’s not a competition. ‘I snap. ‘Have you spoken to him?’ 

She shakes her head. ‘He, he won’t.’ Tears spill over her cheeks, tiny diamonds that shatter when they hit her fingers. ‘And Kiri, Kiri told me it’s probably best if…’ 

‘I’m not going to stop you talking to him.’ The words shake when they come out of my mouth, but it’s stronger than I could have hoped. ‘I mean it. I won’t. I can’t.’ 

She’s about to say something more when Bakugo walks in, but it falls dead on her tongue at the sight of him. He buys a coffee to go and waits as I awkwardly trade goodbye’s with Jirou and we leave. 

Seeing him again is… Something. 

Kaminari looks like he hasn’t slept. Fuck. It looks like he hasn’t eaten or showered either, but the first thing he does is offer me a cup of tea. The kitchen is bare, like he hasn’t been shopping since I’ve been gone, but the box of tea he pulls out is new. It’s my favourite brand, the one he thinks tastes like dirt. 

We drift back into the living room and sit on the couch in an uneasy silence. My cup is half empty before he breaks it. 

‘I’m… Fuck, I’m so.’ 

I swallow my mouthful and cut him off before he can apologize. ‘I spoke to Jirou.’ 

His eyes blow wide, a trapped fox with no escape. 

But this time, there are no dogs to run from. Just me, a sheep in wolf’s clothing. ‘She’s been texting you.’

‘I - I haven’t responded, I -.’ 

‘I know.’ I take a breath.

This moment right here has plagued me for two weeks. It’s kept me awake. It’s burrowed so deeply inside of me that I’ve spent every waking moment picturing all the different ways this could go…

I’ve imagined screaming at him, calling him out and cursing him - tearing him to shreds and making him bleed in a poor attempt to pay him back for the hole he’s created in my chest.

I’ve imagined ghosting him, moving on and pretending he doesn’t exist; leaving me to limp alone into a future where another happy ending may never find me.

I’ve imagined taking him back.

Imagined him doing it again.

I’ve imagined him leaving me for her, properly this time - a forever conclusion to this transgression.

I’ve imagined all of it, played it out on the back of my eyelids in the early hours. 

Still… What I hadn’t equated for is the heat that bubbles under my skin when I see him. It’s painful. The force of the emotion crushes my lungs and pins down my tongue. It cages me, refuses to let me go even as I fight it; even as I beg it to and eventually… Eventually, I’m forced to admit it.

‘I still love you... But, I need time.’ There’s tears in my tea. I can see them. They dive from the tip of my chin and splash, sorrow filled raindrops that salt the brew. 

‘I - I can give you time. As much as you need, anything. I’ll give you anything, even…’ He swallows, chokes. ‘Even if you need me to go away.’ 

‘Do you want to?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘Okay.’

‘I understand… If, if you don’t want to see me again, I -.’ 

I bite the inside of my cheek. ‘I said okay, Denki.’

I want to tell him that I need to find myself again. That I need to piece back together the parts of me that ask ‘why her?’ and ‘why wasn’t I enough?’ when I lie awake at night, but I don’t… Those are my burdens to bare now. Instead, I tell him to get some sleep, to eat for gods sake and take a damn shower. 

‘Can I see you again?’ 

‘Not for a while.’ 

The light dulls in his eyes, but he nods. ‘I…’ Coughing the film from his voice, he offers a smile. ‘I’ve signed back onto the programme, Aizawa’s paired me up with another sponsor. Just a precaution, y’know, the self destruction is obviously back - don’t want the rest of it coming back too.’ 

‘I’m glad.’ 

‘And you’ll call?’ He’s hopeful, a little boy who’s been promised a puppy for Christmas if he’s good. ‘When… If… If you’re ready. I’ll wait. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll… I’ll always wait for you.’ 

I reach out and touch his cheek, fall back into him easily, just like I did for the first time all those years ago. I press a singular, soft kiss to his lips before I leave.

‘I love you.’ He whispers it, stuffing a million more words into it as he breathes them on my skin. 

I don’t say it back. 

As soon as the air outside hits me I all, but collapse into Bakugo. He’s solid and warm as I press my cheek against his chest, my fists balled in the flimsy material of his windbreaker as the material of the t-shirt underneath darkens with tears. I’m numb, stranded in an endless desert of heart shards… 

‘I didn’t want to feel like this again…’ A sob wrecks my chest as the well deepens, opening up to swallow me whole. It all comes flooding back. Heartbreart nestles back into my ribcage and burrows there, promising to make me it’s home. I choke on a sob. ‘I don’t want - I can’t. I can’t do this again.’

Bakugo feels it too. The prickle of my heartbreak infests him. It’s been a while since he last saw me like this, but it’s still far too soon for his liking.

I was supposed to be happy.

It makes him sick to the stomach, but it’s the memories that really do a number on him. It’s hard to forget the last time he’d seen me reduced to a shadow, struggling against the tide of numbness that threatens to engulf me. He remembers it all too well. He remembers because he was the cause of it. ‘I know.’ He coos, consoles himself with the thought that at least this time he can be here  - this time he can help. Kissing my crown, he holds me like he’s keeping me together, because he is. ‘I know sweetheart, I know.’

A month down and it’s Friday again. We’re at a bar. Usual stuff, y’know. Drinks, the gang, minus a few, there’s laughter bouncing off the walls, blending with the music and bleeding into our veins. Everything isn’t good… But, it’s better. 

I’m in a booth with Sero chattering about the latest hero numbers when he huffs out a laugh and leans in close. His pupils have blown, the brown of his iris vanquished. He’s more drunk than usual, but he’s just stopped seeing the latest in a long string off on/off again partners, so it’s to be expected. None of us chastise him for it. 

Still, he’s grinning and frowning all at once when he mumbles into my ear: ‘Wanna know a secret?’ 

‘Sure.’ 

‘Me and Denks used to fool around y’know… Way back, like college, way back.’ He swallows, then snarls and clenches his jaw: hard. ‘Thought it was going somewhere until I walked in on him and someone else… Said he didn’t think we where serious, but he fucking knew.’ He hiccups. ‘He knew I liked him.’ 

I wait, letting the alcohol slow the shock.

‘He’s got no fucking impulse control, and that was before… Before all that. It was nice to see it bite him in the ass.’ 

‘I didn’t…’ I frown, wrapping a hand around Sero’s wrist. ‘I didn’t know.’ 

He shrugs, signature grin back in place as he sips from his beer. ‘Doesn’t matter now. He fucked it with the best thing that ever happened to him, that’s enough karma for a lifetime.’ 

‘I -.’ It’s a lot of information to take in, but before I can catastrophize and think too deeply about Kaminari’s apparent pattern of behaviour, Sero is downing his drink and yanking on my hand. He flashes a sad, tired smile and I can see my own heartbreak reflected in his eyes. 

He flexes his palm. ‘Fuck him. Dance with me.’ 

[moskeetees]

Forget shipping wars, I came up with an absolutely deranged ship chart that is unreadable to anyone who isn’t me. I allow constructive criticism, but that doesn’t mean I’ll listen.

[sixpennydame]

“What the actual fuck, y/n.”

You’d never heard Levi sound so angry. Almost disgusted.

“I can explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. It’s apparent what’s happened here.”

Enraged, Levi barges through the room, inspecting every corner. “You really didn’t think I’d notice? You must think I’m some kind of idiot.”

You follow him as he continues his tirade. “I’m sorry. It’s doesn’t mean anything…”

At that, he turns, his brow furrowed.

“Am I not good enough for you?”

“No! You are!” you argue. “It’s just —“

“Then why the hell would you hire a house cleaner??”

You should have known he’d notice.

“We’ve just been so busy lately, and I thought you’d appreciate the help. You know I’m terrible at cleaning.”

“That’s true. You really are shit at it. And I guess I have been busy lately.” With a sigh Levi moves toward you. He grabs your waist and pulls you against him, your arms immediately going around his neck. “But don’t do that again, unless you really want to piss me off.”

You gently kiss his lips and then pull back with a smirk. “I don’t know, I kinda like it when you get riled up.”

“Don’t push your luck..” He returns your kiss with another.

“Umm…excuse me…”

A voice in the corner breaks the two of you from your intimate moment.

“Should I keep cleaning this room, or…” the housecleaner asks.

Silvery blue eyes flash at the little old lady, who stands with broom in hand.

“You’re dismissed,” he says. “And shut the door behind you.”

[puppppppppy]

(guy who has never played cotl) haha au time

[arminsumi]

just absolutely love dumb, nervous wreck, antsy-pants satoru who cannot chill around you. he has to go to suguru for reassurance that his hair looks good, that his breath smells good, that his outfit isn't lame, etc. this earns him a snicker from his best friend, and a pat on the back, and a "satoru. you're good. stop overthinking. you're just saying hello."

but just saying hello takes all his composure. the stars have to be aligned. when he reaches you, he's a stuttering dorky awkward nonsensical chaotic MESS of a person.

"hey! hi. hello. how are you? YEAH. i'm... good. haha. yes. ok. well... i've gotta goooooooo......."

and he leaves because his heart is panging so hard it feels like he's about to have a heart attack. that's just how you got him. and you have no idea. you're just happily going about your life while this poor boy is falling to pieces for you.

he's so love dumb that he can't focus on studying for too long, thoughts always leading back to you.

oh god you complimented him? he will remember that compliment for YEARS.

[crystallizsch]

okay hi so listen hear me out

sea snake is a bit too obvious (and too boring)

so i made him based on some kind of lionfish??? (bc something something venomous marine animal) also with a LOT of creative liberties i made with how the fish looks like

let’s also give his fins some rips and tears here and there bc what are the implications of that??? that’s for you ��� to decide

anyways chat i lowkey dont know what i was doing

i had no other thoughts but haha funny snake man i turn into fish

[harryzroze]

Corrupted Macaque based off @/Crooked_Bullet ‘s design on X!!

It’s inspired by Void Fiends in RoR2 >:)

Extra doodles + their character sheet under the cut!

I loved their design,,,a lot

[viminoo]

misc baberoe doodles + renee

[katabay]

listen. I know that thee ac2 ship is ezio/leonardo but please…consider…….ezio/machiavelli

the Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood novelization, Oliver Bowden

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[oreo-creampie]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 💭 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Satoru who breaks up with you cause he doesn't wanna settle down for long. But then a year later he finds himself thinkng about you still. He misses living with you, waking up next to you, taking showers with you, softly kissing you.

Then it hits him that you'll do all these things with someone else. You'll tell someone else you love them. And he hates it, he misses you so damn much.

Eventually he buys a perfume you used to have. And some underwear, he sprays the panties in perfume puts it on his face and jerks off thinking of you

One day after not speaking to you for three years he runs into you again.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Something that’s always missing whenever people talk about Lyanna and the Kingsguard at the Tower of Joy is that these things should always circle back to Jon Snow. He’s our main character here. Rhaegar and Lyanna, as well as the Kingsguard, are all dead. They were dead before this story began. This tiny section of text is meant to give color to Jon — who is alive, and whose story is currently unfolding. The events at the Tower of Joy, told entirely through Ned’s fever dream for a reason, essentially serve as one thing: fantasy protagonist myth building 101. Three wise men, a legendary magical sword, some of the greatest knights of an era, a dying queen lady, the end of an age, a dead prince, a dead king, and then here comes a soon to be completely orphaned prince whose life hangs on the balance and whose survival depends on the compassion of one lord and his wizard friend. GRRM is literally retelling King Arthur’s backstory through Jon. This whole thing is one giant literary allusion to Uther and Igraine and the boy king Arthur, to Lancelot and his Joyous Guard, to Guinevere, and to tragic romances. It reads as an ode to Arthurian fantasy and is meant to backdrop the main protagonist’s fantastical origins. The Kingsguard are there to play into that. Their presence at the Tower, in that moment, was never about Lyanna; not solely, anyway. Their presence is tied to Rhaegar’s last surviving male child, and the language used suggests that they had chosen their king, for better or worse. Any discussion surrounding the Kingsguard’s presence at the Tower that focuses on anyone but Jon completely misses the point imo.

[dunmer-dovahkiin]

if TES6 ever comes out I hope they introduce the fame/infamy system again

in skyrim I found it so annoying that when you literally just started some questlines, people across the country mentioned it to you, and equally, when you are level 50 mega boss, saved the world, ended the war, became head of every guild, are thane of every hold, own an insane amout of realestate and wear a boss babe outfit thay costs more than all of dawnstar, and some rando guard still calls you a milkdrinker

[freakartack]

"...Hello? Ma! I told you not to call me today, I'm making a movie!" -Wario, Mario Power Tennis

The most important lesson from Ma that Wario took to heart was the endless pursuit of cold, hard cash. Unfortunately, the one lesson she could never teach him was the importance of hard work to get it.  It wasn't for lack of trying; Wario's Ma is the hardest worker this side of the Mushroom Kingdom.  Raising Baby Wario was a herculean enough task on its own, but ever the enterprising spirit, she had also set out to grow one of the most profitable crops: garlic.

Her backyard business quickly expanded into a veritable garlic empire. Wario's mother toiled away tirelessly each day from sunrise to sunset to grow and harvest as much garlic as she could possibly achieve.  Much of Wario's current strength and endurance can be attributed to helping his mom on the farm as a child, although the teeth-pulling task of getting him to actually work was almost as difficult as preventing him from eating all the garlic straight out of the ground.  Wario's nose for instant gratification has always been a thorn in his mother's side, but try as she might to instill a solid work ethic into the boy, her "get-rich-slow" schemes could never appeal to him.  Still, Wario enjoyed his surprisingly agrarian upbringing. Along with garlic, his mother also raised chickens for eggs, inspiring in Wario a lifelong soft spot for poultry.  (He also had a pet hamster named Fluffy, who sadly passed away in 1986.)

Today, Wario is still on good terms with his mother despite their physical distance, and frequent phone calls keep her updated on all of Wario's business successes.  Of course, being Wario, he heavily embellishes the amount of work he actually does at his company.  If she only knew...

[shalomniscient]

jingliu angst where she only tolerates you cus u remind her of baiheng sjjahagsab im dead

[nsft utc]

tw. mentions of vomiting (?), unhealthy/toxic dynamic, identity loss

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps.

it began back on your home planet, ravaged and carved by interastral powers of all its resources, leaving behind a gnawing, gaping hole in the ground and the hearts and bellies of its people. you once mourned your more normal childhood—but the hunger in your stomach and in your soul consumed that too. your meals were few and far between, snatched from the hands of other starving husks, and it was the only joy you ever had as a child. the trickery and the thrill. it’s the only joy you get to keep into adulthood, a twisted elation that grants you a place in the cosmic court of jesters; the masked fools.

it’s—predictably—fun. trickery and thrill are the bread and butter of the fools. your mask affords you many, many opportunities for both, and though you have never had your belly achingly empty since, that hunger in your soul is not so easily sated. now, what you crave is the rush, the adrenaline, the oxytocin. and so you dance on marble floors with a different face each time, with partners who either wish you dead or in their beds, the space between you measured in an unfathomable amount of risk which you exchange for an unfathomable amount of thrill. you scamper along the length of this cosmic ballroom like a starving, feral fox in tall grass, the red of your fur as inviting as the white of your teeth are sharp. you hunt and you haunt, seeking something to fit between your aching teeth, something that will burst on the sharp point of your canines and smear your lips with pure elation and maybe satisfy that abyssal hunger in your psyche.

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps.

and you have never seen more tantalizing a meal than a devil with a coffin and a woman who seeks to kill a god. she holds the tip of a ice-hewn blade beneath your chin the first time you meet, nicking the delicate skin of your neck, just above your pulse. you swallow. let out a laugh that sounds like a barking fox, and the woman’s sword falters. surprisingly, it doesn’t take much for you to convince her to let you tag along on her fool’s errand. it’s almost poetic. you learn of her name—jingliu. it’s pretty. rolls off your tongue. jingliu doesn’t bother to learn yours, but she calls you fox. you don’t mind the scrap of attention. after all, you’ve spent your whole life living off scraps.

travelling with jingliu (and by extension, luocha) does not lack for excitement. the road to deicide is paved with elation, even if your blue-haired companion refuses to see it. through battle and through the long travel between star systems in pursuit of the great fleet, you get somewhat closer to jingliu. it doesn’t take very long for you to slip into her bedroll (or cot, depending where you are). mara, you find, though cannot be cured can certainly be sated; much like the permanent hunger that curls in your belly. jingliu fucks you until neither of you are coherent enough to feel much of anything, madness or hunger. it’s an arrangement you find yourself enjoying. and as a by-product of such intimacy, you learn more about jingliu. her mannerisms, her illness—her past. she doesn’t tell you any of this, of course, but you can put two and two together from the things she lets slip deep in the throes of some nightmare after fucking you senseless. she gets many of those. the pattern is always the same. at first, she’ll sleep relatively soundly. but then, her brow creases, and her lip curls, and she angrily mutters a few names under her breath; a certain dan feng and yingxing. she curses them, then almost makes a noise like a sob, and something else leaves her lips— another name, but this time spoken with heartache and longing.

baiheng.

it doesn’t take much to infer that this baiheng was someone jingliu cared very much about. though when you ask luocha more about her, he reveals a little detail that makes her moderately more interesting—baiheng was a foxian. in some ways, that makes you similar to her, even though foxian you are not. the thought amused you once, as you looked back upon jingliu’s restless, sleeping form. perhaps jingliu saw her lost lover in you. how… quaint. the assumption never bother you, not really—until she starts to call for baiheng while she’s fucking you.

you’re no stranger to casual sex. even before jingliu, you never lacked for partners eager to share a bed with you. no, the fucking itself isn’t the problem—it’s how she’s fucking you. it isn’t with the detachment and pure lust like you’re used to. instead it’s almost like she cares, hands gentle on your hips as she drives her cock in and out of your greedy cunt. she fills you like she never wants for you to want for anything anymore, and even though you know it isn’t you this affection is for, that jingliu is barely even aware that you’re you and not baiheng, you can’t help but devour it feverishly every time.

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps. and like this, with jingliu’s cock filling your pussy as she deliriously presses the shape of a dead woman’s name against your neck, you finally feel full.

and it makes you sick.

you crawl out of her embrace and spill your guts every time she falls asleep. your body utterly rejects the feeling—you’ve been so used to starving that the sensation of being full turns you ill. and yet, you can’t seem to push her away. you always come back, always relax under her touch, always pliant for her just to chase that brief, beautiful high you’ve never been able to find anywhere else only to bleed it once she’s done. your heart’s a pythagorean cup; a little too much and you’re spilling over. but you’re so greedy for it, still greedy for her. of all things it is affection that’s the most potent drug you’ve ever tasted, beyond the cheap thrill of oxytocin and adrenaline—even if none of it is meant for you, even if it’s just scraps. but that’s fine.

after all—you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps. and if that means wearing the face of a dead woman and letting the hunger finally devour you whole, then so be it.

[redwitchrune]

something about comfort, blue and orange, and new perspectives