#jesus fucking christ there’s something wrong with me

[drdemonprince]

So I had to fire my therapist because she gave me a panic attack telling my transmasc partner and I we need to flee the country. It started with me talking about coping with executive orders by reading, making art, generally dissociating and feeling a lil numb about it all. She then said now is not the time to be doing that and I need to focus on planning/preparing for the worst. She got into it, including giving me the nitty gritty details of which Mexican cities have the lowest crime rates (!!) and the best peeing device to buy on Amazon so my partner doesn’t have to use public restrooms on our tentative refugee road trip?? When I mentioned not wanting to leave our community behind and fearing survivors guilt if we left and something bad happened to our loved ones, she then said that my fear of that should serve as further evidence that we should leave! She also mentioned how US money goes a long way in Thailand and we could live like rich people there, which really rubbed me the wrong way. It was especially odd because my partner and I are both white and not in a bad spot financially - like I totally understand why some people need to leave but I feel we can best help by staying put and assisting our community. I just had to share this with you, it’s so wild. Thank you again for being a source of calm and reason, as this interaction with my now ex-therapist left me really scared and panicked

jesus christ how fucking inappropriate. no therapist should be this fucking pushy and disregulating nor should they place their own anxiety onto you that way. theyre not a fucking geopolitics or legal expert theyre an lscw with an upset tummy, jesus christ. glad you were able to see through the fear and decide what is best for you anon. it IS a scary time but if they think it's categorically easier to try and be stealth trans abroad theyve flipped their shit

[practicalsuccubus]

Incorrect Quotes Pt. 5

Deacon: How did you read the ancient writing so easily!? Chase: I don’t know! I just let my mind go blank. Deacon: Well, do it again! Nox: You should have a lot of practice with that. - Deacon: So uh. Chase. What's it like dating Buddy? Chase: Well once I was sick and I asked him for some water. But he was pissed off of at me for not takin better care of myself. Chase: So he got me a cup of ice, brought it back to the room, set it down on the nightstand and told me to wait. - Nox: Sometimes a bitch just needs a hug. Chase: Buddy, are you the, um, bitch in this- Nox, ugly crying: Yes, please hold me. - Deacon: If you found out you had one day left, what would you do with it? Silver: Say goodbye and mend my relationships. Prunella: Something illegal. Chase: Accept my fate. Nox: I would message ten people and say if they didn't forward the text to ten more people, I would die tomorrow. Deacon: Jesus Christ, Buddy… Chase: That's fucking AWESOME, can I change my answer?! - Chase, jokingly in Episode 1: You’re not allowed to fall in love with me. Nox, seriously: Won’t be a problem. Nox, after the beach episodes: T H E R E 'S A P R O B L E M - Nox: When you've been a part of Ex Libris for as long as I have, you develop thick skin. Deacon: Yellow is not your color. Nox, as Chase holds him back: Yellow…reMINDS ME OF CHASE, YOU PRICK! - Nox in 'Still Waters': I have calculated our odds of survival and have decided not to share the data. - Medic: You’re losing a lot of blood! Quick, what’s your type? Chase: Oh uh, seductive smile, tall, sweet, Cancer… Medic: I mean your blood type. Chase: Oh… Chase: Squints at wound Chase: Red. - Deacon: What the hell is wrong with you?! Nox: I will try to be brief (1/425) - Deacon: Yesterday, I overheard Prunella saying “Are you sure this is a good idea?” and Chase replying “Trust me,” and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life. - Chase, staring upwards after the Vampire Book: So, Buddy's mad with me over the Keys… haha… Deacon: Why are you looking up? Chase: I need to cry, but my foundation was 48 dollars! - -after rescuing Buddy/Nox- Deacon: Where’s Buddy? Chase: Around. Deacon: Around? Deacon: You don’t have any idea, do you? Nox: Did you know there’s a space above the ceiling?! - Silver: Chase, I know you snuck into a book to see Buddy last night. Chase: If you tell Deacon or Prunella, I swear I’ll melt you down Silver: Potato Chips? Chase: Fine.

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 18: VACILLATOR

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader

You wonder briefly if this is what it’s like to be an imploding star. A supernova collapsing in on itself from the gravity of heaven incarnate.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: mentions of depression, angst, sex, oral sex, fingering

ੈ✩ wc: 6k

ੈ✩ a/n: jesus christ

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

November, 2010

It’s been almost two months since Suguru defected. You and Satoru aren’t exactly coping well. 

You find yourself following in Suguru’s footsteps regarding spouts of depression, which weren’t uncommon to you, but Satoru finds that you snap at him more when he tries to get you out of bed. It’s a Herculean effort to do anything, especially when the winter was coming so soon and your behavior towards Satoru was becoming more hostile.

In the back of your mind, you still blamed him, in between blaming yourself for not intervening sooner. Blaming yourself because if you had been different, maybe Suguru would’ve let you in. Wallowing in pity because you could never reach him the way you wanted to, there must be something wrong with you.

You find comfort with Shoko. Since Suguru’s absence, it feels wrong to enjoy yourselves, just the three of you. Satoru had been on a mission during Shoko’s birthday and she didn’t think about having a party anyway. 

So you take her out to dinner and share a bottle of expensive and highly alcoholic sake along with a new pack of Seven Stars. You’d been smoking more too, thanks to Shoko. Satoru hates it. He won’t admit that something is exciting about tasting the nicotine on your tongue. 

(It reminds him of kissing Suguru. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.)

You’re on the rooftop of one of Jujutsu Tech’s buildings. It’s half past midnight when you suddenly look up at the sky full of stars and gaze at Shoko in slurred elation. You grab her arm and smile.

“Ieiri-san! Happy birthday!”

She laughs. “I told you you don’t need to call me that. It’s been years.”

“I know. But I know you find it funny.”

Shoko shakes her head, but her smile remains. "You're fucking wasted."

You lean against her, feeling the world spin slightly. "Maybe. But at least I'm not as bad as Satoru."

The mention of his name brings a momentary silence between you. Shoko takes a long drag of her cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the darkness.

"How are things with him?" she asks, her voice low and careful.

You shrug, reaching for the sake bottle. "Same as always. He tries too hard. I push him away. Rinse and repeat."

Shoko gently takes the bottle from your grasp before you can pour another glass. "Maybe you should ease up on him a bit. He's hurting too, you know."

You inhale sharply. “Yeah. I know. I just — feel suffocated by him lately. It’s weird.”

“Because he loves you too much?”

You blink at her. Love. You think of the times Satoru has used that word. The warmth and tenderness of it in his mouth. The image of him saying it feels so foreign. You can only think of his face when he flashes you a heated gaze, that word falling from his tongue against yours while he’s deep inside you.

You shiver, grimacing. “Sure. I guess. Things are still tense after… you know.”

“I miss Suguru, too,” she sighs. You wince inwardly at the sound of his name.

Shoko looks at you knowingly and holds you close, her fingers gently combing through your hair. "It's okay," she murmurs. "It's okay to not be okay."

Something about how she reassures you forces something fragile inside you to break, just the slightest bit. You look up at the stars again, their cold light seeming to mock your pain. 

"Do you think he's looking at the same sky right now?" you whisper.

Shoko doesn't answer immediately. When she does, her voice is thick with emotion. "I don't know. I hope so."

You nod, feeling a hollow ache in your chest. "Me too."

As you sit there, leaning against each other under the vast expanse of the night sky, you can't help but wonder if things will ever be the same again. If the wounds left by Suguru's betrayal will ever truly heal. In the depths of your alcohol-hazed mind, a small, traitorous voice whispers that selfishly, maybe you don't want them to.

It’s annoying to talk about it. It’s even more annoying to talk about yourself in general, like pulling teeth to say anything really honest around anyone. Especially around Satoru.

It seems that he’s desperate to pry it out of you. All that sadness. He does it the way he always does, the only way he knows how. 

When he returns from missions, he’s desperate for you but teases you enough to make you beg for it. It’s a fucked up way to keep you close, reigning you by the fraying thread binding you together.

It’s fine – a mantra the two of you separately repeat even when it’s not. Satoru is glad enough that you still let him take you apart despite being so distant in every other interaction. You’re quiet during meals, you hole yourself up and throw yourself into your work.

But in the oasis of your bed, he still has you. It’s enough for him, he tries to convince himself. He is so different from Suguru, a direct contrast to him, and it helps you distract yourself. Ironic, considering Satoru was never a distraction for you. He was always at the forefront of everything, the blinding sun in your orbit. Too bright to look away from.

His touch was your constant for the past two years and still is. It’s why you let yourself expect him in the darkness of your room, his oversized sweater drowning you while you wear nothing else. 

Satoru is brutish when he touches you, just the way you like it. Sometimes it makes him feel guilty but the look you give him while his hand is wrapped around your throat is too compelling. 

For days after Suguru left, he had felt like a monster for complying with your requests to be rough. He’d leave bruises that would stay for days, had even made you bleed because you asked for it. 

What surprised him was how willing you would be. He would feel awful, like he had fucked you up in some irrevocable way, but you would calm him with small hands to his cheeks and a kiss on his forehead. You liked the intensity. You needed to feel. 

You would push him away in your day-to-day and then tease him in the night, provoke him like he was a stray dog. You needed him angry because you were also angry – at him, at yourself, at the broken world that made Suguru do what he did. 

It was odd, the way you and Satoru would lash out at each other. You were always on opposite sides of the same spectrum, always rotating your roles. Distant to suffocating, depending on the day. It would end in you goading him until he bullied his cock inside you, your cunt wet from the frustration of it all. 

But even when he would be so harsh in his movements, his cock an impossible force into the tightness of your pussy, he could never fully reach you. Blind with lust, he’d fuck you, crazed by the need to tear you apart as much as you were tearing him apart. 

And still, you were disembodied while being entangled with him. No matter how hard he fucked you. He could feel you slipping away so easily, like water through the gaps between his fingers. 

Even when he was drunk off of you (he always was), stupidly confessing his love through moans and hurried exclamations of affection, the ebbing of your shared intimacy would shift the two of you away from each other. 

He wanted to cradle you but couldn’t break through your shell. 

Instead, he would make you cry out, ride the waves of blindingly hot pleasure, the current of it taking you farther and farther from him until you were floating on the nonsense of your preoccupations.

__

May, 2012

Satoru has to remind himself that he can’t get clingy with you. Not like he’d been before, at least. He also has to remind himself that he can’t keep his distance and pretend you don’t exist. You are a constant in his life.

Unfortunately, you’re maintaining that distance for him.

He’s only going a little insane. He’s gone without sex for longer, but it bothers him more than he can admit when your presence is everywhere and nowhere all at once. It’s been weeks since he’s been able to touch you and it seems that the universe is trying to punish him further.

You’re naturally a workaholic — your final year at Jujutsu Tech has you on more hands-on missions and mentoring younger students. You’re the yin to Shoko’s yang in that way — where she works in her mortuary, you’re studying the fundamentals of cell regeneration and healing in your greenhouse.

Satoru isn’t bitter as you spend more time with her than you do with him, lately. He isn’t, he swears. But when you do end up in his orbit, it’s to spend time with Megumi and Tsumiki more than has anything to do with wanting quality time with him.

You’ve been picking them up from school on days when Satoru is scheduled with missions or training on campus.

Today, he’s delighted to see them at the school, but his mood sours slightly when he sees the three of you interacting with Nanami. Satoru has been trying to calm his possessive streak, but it flares up when you’re around other men. It’s also quite easy to dogpile on his junior anyway.

“Twigs!” Satoru bellows, his tone overly friendly as he comes over to ruffle the kids’ hair. He puts an arm around your waist.

“Uh, hey, Satoru,” you nod, noticing his possessiveness. “I thought you were training?”

“Just taking a break. Nanami should be training, too, hmmmm?” He grins pointedly at Nanami, who in return narrows his eyes.

“I was actually just at the library,” Nanami says. “Doing research on the Heian era.”

“Oh, I did a paper on that last year,” you chime in. “If you’d like, I can—”

“You kids eat yet?” Satoru interrupts, looking down at Megumi and Tsumiki. You frown, noticing his efforts at dismissing Nanami completely.

Megumi and Tsumiki simultaneously say yes, which leads to a frenzied overlap of them bickering about what to get for dinner. You sigh, step off to the side and offer Nanami an apologetic smile.

“I can dig through my stuff and probably find that paper for you.”

“No need,” Nanami smiles. “But thank you.”

“Let’s have a big hot pot dinner!” Satoru claps his hands together. His boisterous behavior is already starting to give you a headache. “Then everyone can get what they want, yeah?”

Without so much as a proper goodbye, Satoru waves to Nanami and ushers the rest of you towards his car. You hated being in it, given that it was far too flashy. Satoru told you he’d gotten it “secondhand” the month before. The vanity plate “6EYEZ” made you beg to differ.

“You’re in a rush for dinner,” you mutter, sliding into the passenger seat. “It’s barely 6 pm.”

“Perfect for dinner time,” Satoru chirps.

You lick your teeth, eyeing him with half annoyance, half amusement. “You were a bit rude to Nanami, don’t you think?”

“Hm?” His voice is innocently nonchalant. “Was I?”

You narrow your eyes, not buying his act for a second. "Come on, Satoru. You practically steamrolled over our conversation."

He shrugs, a lazy smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I was just excited about dinner. Can't a guy be enthusiastic about hot pot?"

"Uh-huh," you say, unconvinced. "And it had nothing to do with the fact that I was talking to Nanami?"

In the backseat, Megumi and Tsumiki exchange a knowing look. They've witnessed enough of these exchanges to sense the underlying tension.

“Why would I care?”

“I don’t know. But you should still be nicer to him. He’s your kohai.”

“And? He can hold his own. He doesn’t need Y/N-senpai to hold his hand through the history of the Heian period,” he mutters.

You scoff.

His jaw ticks. He turns up the radio just a bit so he can speak low enough for you to hear. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

You laugh bitterly. He pouts, his eyes flickering under his sunglasses to peer between you and the road.

You’d gathered that he was bothered about Nanami’s presence, but it was nice for him to admit it. You should be annoyed but you’re oddly proud of Satoru for being able to confess when he’s jealous. Unfortunately, you also find it a bit satisfying.

“And how does he look at me?” you murmur.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. "Like he's trying to figure you out. Or something.”

You can't help but smirk. "Is that so bad? Maybe I like being a mystery."

"You're not a mystery to me," he says, his voice holding an edge.

"No?" you challenge, enjoying the way his composure starts to crack. "You think you have me all figured out, then?"

He narrows his eyes at you. "I know you better than anyone, Twigs. Always have, always will."

__

“Digimon.”

“Pokemon.”

“Digimon.”

“Pokemon!”

“Digi– ow!”

Satoru pouts at you when you hit him with the book in your hand. “What the hell was that for?”

“Stop fighting.” You give a warning look to Satoru while Megumi tries to hide a self-satisfied smirk. 

Even at his big age, Satoru still acted like a child. Exhibit A: Defending his obsession with Digimon and debating with a nine-year-old. Despite this, Satoru appeases Megumi by putting on Pokemon instead. 

“Dessert, anyone?” you offer.

“Me!” Tsumiki shoots her hand up and flashes a toothy grin. Megumi hums in agreement. 

“I am craving something sweet,” Satoru murmurs, smirking at you in a way that gets him a flick to the head in response. 

“Sheesh! You’re violent today –”

“I’ll make a pot of yuzu tea,” you interrupt, scurrying to the kitchen. Satoru undoubtedly follows you. You feel a hand on your waist.

“Trying to run away from me so fast?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You mean insatiable?”

“Nope. I do mean incorrigible. Don’t even get me started on your behavior today.”

“Oooh,” Satoru’s breath tickles the skin underneath your ear, “Was I a bad boy? You gonna punish me?”

You frown, though your face is turned away from him so you can hide the corners of your mouth quirking up. You didn’t have it in you to be truly pissed off at him. Instead, you turn on the kettle and reach for the new jar of yuzu marmalade from the top shelf of the cupboard.

Satoru, the giant that he is, covers your hand with his and intertwines your fingers. His other hand reaches past you to grab the jar and hands it to you.

“Thanks,” you mutter. 

You busy yourself with preparing the tea, trying to ignore the warmth of Satoru's body behind you. His presence is overwhelming, filling the small kitchen with an electric tension. You can feel his eyes on you as you measure the marmalade and hot water.

"You know," Satoru murmurs, his voice low and intimate, "we haven't had much time alone lately."

You swallow hard, focusing on stirring the tea. "We've both been busy."

"Too busy for me?"

You turn to face him, finding yourself trapped between his body and the counter. His blue eyes are intense, searching your face for something. You're not sure what.

You’re about to reply but he cuts you off.

"I miss you," he says simply. 

You want to reach out and touch him. It wouldn’t take much. Only a few inches. You can feel his breath on you anyway. He’s so close that you can’t tell if the vulnerable expression on his face is true yearning or the trick of the light. Something holds you back from leaning in further.

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” you say, smiling weakly.

He rolls his eyes and smirks teasingly. “You know what I mean.”

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

“I know. You’re overworking yourself, you know. I haven’t been able to touch you in weeks.” His tone is almost serious.

“You’re touching me now, aren’t you?” you mumble, looking down to see where his fingers meet your hip.

“Ugh. Yeah, but you’ve been so timid lately. It’s like you’re avoiding me,” he pouts.

“I’m not,” you frown.

“Are too.”

You clear your throat, looking away. Trying to hide the flush in your cheeks.

“The kids are waiting for their tea," you say lamely.

Satoru nods, running a hand through his hair. "Right. We should..."

"Yeah."

You pour the tea. As you arrange the cups on a tray, you feel his hand brush against yours.

"I got it," he murmurs.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You let him carry the tray to the living room as you hang back and rummage through the drawers for the box of assorted box of mochi you’d bought earlier.

You exhale when Satoru exits the kitchen and gives you a reprieve. The tension between you is starting to make your skin crawl. It’s not entirely unwelcome — you know as much as he does that you haven’t been intimate in a little while. He must know it’s on purpose that you’ve been evading time spent alone with him.

It started as an act of spite from the last time he’d fucked you. You were half-asleep and stained with the scent of Suguru’s cursed energy. It wasn’t a violent affair — it hadn’t been so rough since you and Satoru were teenagers.

But there was a semblance of the emotionally volatile Satoru that could easily ignore you at the drop of a pin or suffocate you with tenderness. It was always whiplash with him.

Overwhelmed, you’d withdrawn into yourself in the past month, taking on more missions without him or choosing to spend your free time honing your craft in the greenhouse. When you had breaks or days off, you would spend time with the kids, ignoring Satoru’s playful but slightly targeted jabs about you enjoying the Fushiguros’ company more than his.

You did miss him. It just felt better to get your shit together, especially with the confusing feelings that your last encounter with Suguru had left you. You were perturbed with nostalgia, dreaming of his hands and his mouth all over you. Your brain would simulate his touch during your dreams and you would be transported to years prior, when you were nineteen and in love with two boys.

In love with two boys. The thought even now makes you laugh bitterly to yourself. You knew how they felt about you, how fervent and obsessive they could be. 

You were also so often lost in your head that you couldn’t differentiate your romanticism from the intensity of your little love triangle. Or love… thing. Whatever it was, it was convoluted and paralyzing. Messy.

You thought you’d recovered, given your time in Kyoto. Regardless, Satoru and Suguru had left permanent marks on your heart. You weren’t sure how you’d cope with the brevity of it all, the ghost of passion taunting you even when your daily life was so oddly normal and domestic.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when Tsumiki calls for you from the living room: “I call dibs on the strawberry matcha!”

Shit. Right. You were in the middle of arranging the daifuku on a plate. You quickly finish what you’re doing and walk towards the living room.

The kids greet you with eager smiles, oblivious to the tension in your shoulders and the way Satoru stares at you.

As you settle back onto the couch, Satoru sits closer than before. His thigh presses against yours, a constant reminder of his presence. You try to focus on the anime playing on the screen, but your mind keeps drifting to the man beside you and the remnants of an unfinished conversation.

The evening wears on, and soon it's time for the kids to go to bed. As you help Tsumiki brush her teeth, you catch sight of Satoru in the hallway mirror. He's leaning against the doorframe, watching you with a soft expression.

You’re on the way to the door when you hear his voice.

“You should stay over.”

You turn to look at him sheepishly, your fingers tightening over the strap of your bag.

“Ah, I have some studying to do —”

“You know it’s a Friday night, right?” Satoru narrows his eyes. “And you haven’t stayed over in a minute. And the kids reaaaally miss your pancakes…”

You huff at the insinuation that this is enough reason to stay. You weren’t his wife, weren’t their mother. Despite the responsibility you felt in taking care of the Fushiguro children (out of your best interest), it would still irk you that the notion would be tied to Satoru.

Satoru, who had dictated far too much of your life without trying. Satoru, who you would drop everything for if he simply asked. Then again, when did he ever truly need you? He was invincible.

But you’re in love with him, the annoying voice in your head reminds you.

“I have some reading to do,” you state in the most neutral voice you can muster. You can feel your eye about to twitch.

“Okay. You can do it here instead of downstairs. My bathroom has all the skincare stuff you like anyway, so that’s not an excuse,” he teases.

An hour later, you end up in Satoru’s king-sized bed reading a book about medicinal plants. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts shadows across the pages as you try to focus on the intricate descriptions of herb properties. 

Your mind keeps wandering, noting Satoru's presence just a few feet away. He's sprawled in an armchair, scrolling through his phone with an air of nonchalance that you know is entirely feigned.

You can feel his gaze flicking to you every few moments, like a gentle caress across your skin. The tension in the room is palpable. You want to jump out of your skin.

"You know," Satoru's voice breaks the silence, startling you, "I can hear you thinking from over here."

You look up, meeting his piercing blue eyes. There's a hint of amusement in them, but also something deeper, more intense.

"I'm just... reading," you mutter, gesturing weakly at the book in your lap.

Satoru raises an eyebrow. "Really? Because you haven't turned a page in about ten minutes."

Heat rises to your cheeks as you realize he's right. You've been staring blankly at the same paragraph, lost in your thoughts.

He stands, moving towards the bed with fluid grace. The mattress dips as he sits on the edge, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“You can afford to take a little break, hm?”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m trying to focus.”

“You’re not.” He smirks and the look on his face makes you scowl.

He moves to rest his head on your stomach, listening intently to the biorhythms of your belly. If only he could lift himself to kiss you higher on your body. Press his face into your chest so he could feel your pulse beating erratically. But your stubbornness acts enough as a barrier — not to mention the book you’re holding with an iron grip.

“Let me in, Twigs,” he mumbles. “I’ve missed you.”

“I see you all the time, Satoru.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Surely you’re not about to beg me for sex,” you scoff.

“I’m begging for you.”

You’re about to snap at him but the earnestness in his voice makes you pause.

Your fingers twitch, itching to run through his soft white hair. But you resist, keeping your hands firmly on the book.

“I’m comfy here,” he hums, sighing and stretching out like a cat. “You really don’t wanna give me more attention? After tonight’s nice dinner?”

You snort. “Is everything so transactional with you?”

“Of course not,” he mutters. “Just want affection.”

“You’re clingy.”

I know, he almost says. He almost wants to be pitiful about it, but he knows that won’t work on you. Not anymore. So he tries something else.

“Can you read your book to me?” he asks.

“It’s nonfiction. You’ll think it’s boring.”

“So? There’s so much to learn. Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Uh.” You bite your lip, your expression shifting as he rubs small circles on your thigh. “Okay.”

You start reading out loud, though your brain is barely connecting to your mouth. You merely run on autopilot, too distracted by Satoru’s touch to fully focus on the words on the page.

As you read, Satoru's fingers continue their lazy circles on your thigh, occasionally dipping to trace patterns on the sensitive skin of your inner leg. His touch is light, almost teasing, and you find yourself stumbling over words as your concentration wavers.

"You okay there?" he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You seem distracted."

You clear your throat, determined not to let him win this little game. "I'm fine," you insist, though your voice comes out slightly strained. "Just... the next part is complex."

"Mhmm," he hums, clearly unconvinced. His hand slides higher, ghosting over your hip. "Please, continue. I'm fascinated."

You take a deep breath and forge ahead, your voice growing steadier as you force yourself to focus on the text. But Satoru is relentless. His fingers dance along your skin. He nuzzles against your stomach, his breath warm even through the fabric of your shirt.

Your words falter again as he presses a soft kiss to your hipbone. "Satoru," you warn, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

He looks up at you, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "Yeah?"

You want to be annoyed, to push him away and assert your need for space. But the affection in his gaze, mixed with that familiar intensity, makes your resolve weaken.

"You're impossible," you sigh, finally lowering the book.

A smile spreads across his face. "What? I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re distracting me.”

“I’m not. Just keep reading. I wanna listen.”

You roll your eyes but pick up the book again, determined to at least try to finish the chapter. As you resume reading, Satoru's hand continues its teasing exploration, tracing patterns up and down your thigh.

Your voice quivers as his fingers trace the curve of your hip, dipping teasingly beneath the hem of your shirt. You stumble over a particularly long sentence, heat rising to your cheeks as Satoru chuckles softly against your stomach.

"Having trouble?" he murmurs, his breath hot on your skin.

"N-no," you stutter, trying to regain your composure. "Don’t interrupt."

But your body betrays you, a small shiver running through you as Satoru's hand slides up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast. Your breath catches, the words on the page blurring before your eyes.

“Satoru," you breathe, your stubbornness crumbling.

“I said, keep reading.”

You continue to read, though your voice is low and mumbling as you lose concentration. He rubs in between your thighs, making you shiver. You’re about to protest but he gives you a sharp look with a hint of a smirk.

You struggle, stammering over the words as he slowly slides down your shorts. Your breath hitches as Satoru's fingers ghost along the edge of your underwear. 

The book trembles in your hands, your voice faltering as you try to focus on the words on the page. You’re wound up so tight, he thinks it’s adorable. He can’t help but be a little mean about it.

He bites the fat of your inner thigh. You gasp, your hips involuntarily arching into his touch.

He looks up at you, his blue eyes dark with desire. "Keep going," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to hear every word."

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue reading even as Satoru's fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear. Your voice wavers, breaking on certain words as he teases you with feather-light touches. 

You’re wet enough for him to slip his fingers in easily. He whistles at the squelch, making you blush miserably. You’re stubborn enough to keep reading.

"Good," he praises softly, his breath hot against the apex of your thighs. "You're doing so well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, and you struggle to maintain your composure. The words blur together, your voice trailing off into a soft moan as he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

He looks up at you, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

You want to be frustrated with him, to push him away and regain some semblance of control. But the heat pooling in your core and the intensity of his gaze make it impossible to resist.

“Y-You’re being unfair,” you mumble.

“Hm? I’m just listening.”

You stumble over your words until you taper off into a whimper.

“You’re soaked here,” he hums. “Do plants turn you on that much?”

With a defeated groan, you let the book fall to the side, your fingers tangling in Satoru's white hair.

“No. You’re the one touching me.”

“Mm. I’m multitasking.”

“You’re being a —ahh —”

He presses a kiss to your clothed clit before he hooks his fingers under the edge of your underwear, slowly dragging them down your legs. The cool air hits your heated skin, making you shiver.

Your breath comes in short gasps, anticipation coiling tightly in your belly. When his mouth finally reaches your center, you cry out, arching off the bed. His tongue is all warm and wet muscle prodding your folds.

It isn’t the first time he’s done this, but the time it’s been since you last let him touch you makes it all feel new. Almost humiliating as your back curls upward, the need in your core yearning for his worship.

Satoru works you with practiced skill, groaning into your pussy as he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes. Easily, he slips his fingers inside you once more. You moan out and close your mouth with your palm.

It’s been so long — he can’t help but want to ruin you.

He loves you like this. Slack-jawed, eyes glistening. He uses three fingers pushed to the knuckle, chuckling at the lewd sounds of your wetness.

"Satoru," you moan, your voice breathy and desperate. "Please..."

The butterflies in your stomach swarm in a hectic frenzy. He hums against you when you pull his hair, the vibration adding more stimulation to your sensitive cunt. You're teetering on the edge, so close to falling apart. You’d forgotten how easy it was for him to get you there.

You whimper his name and the sound of your voice is foreign to you. It’s like you’re outside yourself — a mirage of the two of you playing like a fuzzy scene from a movie. Your mind is blank and heavy and hazy. Your senses are only filled with Satoru.

“You stopped reading,” he sighs. “Thought I told you to keep going?”

“I– hnnng – I c-can’t–”

“You sure?”

“Y-you–”

“What is it? Want something?”

He doubles his efforts with his mouth, his fingers continuing their relentless motions. His cock twitches when he hears the choked moan you let out.

The ecstasy that bursts from your core is so much. You shatter and he laps up every drop of the honey flowing from you. It’s too indulgent, all Dionysian pleasure.

You cry out his name and Satoru works you through it, drawing out your pleasure until you're a trembling, oversensitive mess. You almost want to pry him off of you. His mouth is latched onto your clit as he continues to bully his long fingers along your g-spot.

You wonder briefly if this is what it’s like to be an imploding star. A supernova collapsing in on itself from the gravity of heaven incarnate.

“S-Satoru,” you whimper.

He finally lets go of you but continues to pepper kisses along your thighs, soothing his palms over your trembling legs.

“S’okay, baby. Did so good for me,” he muses.

Despite your orgasm, you’re not feeling entirely satiated.

He looks almost amused as he rises and smiles at you softly. You exhale shakily and look down to see the bulge in his pants. It makes your mouth water.

“Good job. Very informative.”

“Wh-what?”

“Your book,” he grins.

“Oh.” You’d nearly forgotten what you were doing in the first place.

“You’ve been working so hard, yeah?” he says sweetly. “You should get some sleep.”

You look at him, bewildered. “What?”

“You should get some rest, baby.”

You eye him carefully, trying not to flicker your point of vision down to his dick. Was he… serious? Or teasing you?

You blink at him. Your body still tingles from your orgasm, but a new kind of tension coils in your core. You expected him to pounce, to claim you fully after weeks of distance. Instead, he's looking at you with an enigmatic smile, his blue eyes twinkling with something you can't quite decipher.

"But..." you start, then stop, unsure how to voice your thoughts without sounding desperate.

Satoru chuckles softly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "What's wrong, Twigs? You look confused."

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your body responds to his proximity. He gets closer to you. It’s hard to think straight.

"I just thought..." you trail off, heat rising to your cheeks.

"Thought what?" he prompts, his voice low and teasing. His fingers rub your arm softly. You almost whimper at the contact. You need more.

You glance down at the obvious bulge in his pants, then back up to his face. "Don't you want to...?"

Satoru tilts his head. "Want to what?"

You huff in frustration, torn between embarrassment and arousal. "You know what I mean."

He leans back, stretching languidly. The movement causes his shirt to ride up, revealing a tantalizing strip of porcelain skin. You find your eyes drawn to it.

"I don’t," he says nonchalantly. "Besides, you need your rest, remember? Good weekend for studying, y’know?"

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to discern his game. This isn't like Satoru at all. Normally, he'd be all over you by now, his passion bordering on obsessive.

"Satoru," you start, your voice coming out needier than you intended.

He turns to you, his expression softening. "Yes, baby?"

“You’re not…?”

“Not what?” he asks innocently, yawning.

He almost laughs at the incredulous look on your face. 

He’s being cruel, he knows this. But he’s been so good after all, especially after unraveling you when you had protested at first. He won’t disturb your peace anymore, not asking for anything in return.

But your body feels so fucking hot. 

This alone makes you want to scream. It’s been weeks since he’s fucked you and he’s made it well-known how much he wants you. You know this, too. It’s why he’s been in the back of your mind even when you try to avoid him.

There would be guilt sometimes amongst other confusing feelings, but since your encounter with Suguru, you were trying not to revert to your past self and have frequent, reckless sex with Satoru just to numb the chaos in your head.

But fuck. You’re only human. He’d made you cum so hard just now and your pussy was still throbbing, needing him to fill you. And here he was, being considerate for once. Not pushing.

You won’t play this game with him, so you shake your head as you clear your throat.

“Never mind,” you mutter.

He kisses your cheek. “Still wanna sleep here?”

Your body feels sluggish, but the idea of sleeping next to his warm body and not being able to do anything about your overflowing lust seemed torturous.

“I have errands. Need to wake up early tomorrow,” you lie. “Tomorrow night, maybe.”

“Mmkay. Night, Twigs,” he hums sweetly.

You grit your teeth. “Night, Satoru.”

[alice--pallas]

Alice understood what Blue was trying to say, though she still didn't believe that they were to blame. The shooter and whomever had sent them after her--because she had to believe that that's what it was, a job that someone was sent to do--were who was to blame. And while of course she couldn't no for sure, she got the feeling that Blue was here out of concern for Alice and not because of some guilty conscience for wrong-doing. It was hard to trust people now and who knows, maybe she wasn't as perceptive as she liked to believe--but she trusted Blue. "Blue, look at me," Alice said, her voice tired but strong. "This was not your fault. Don't blame yourself. I know there's crazy shit going on that we don't have control over, but... The people that should feel guilty are whoever did this to me. I don't know what you could've done. But I appreciate the sentiment."

There's got to be a way to find out. Giving a small shrug, feeling a little helpless just then, the blonde took a breath and said "I... Don't even know where to start. I don't know, it's weird... I keep trying to think about how I would approach this if this were a case that I was looking into instead of it...being me. But I'm finding it rather difficult to...see the forest through the trees, I guess." Ideally, she should be good at this sort of thing--but it was hard to think back to that night without her heart racing and her stomach getting all tight inside. It was terrifying and she knew she was bound to have nightmares about it for god knows how long. Fuck.

If we learnt one thing, it's that Anchorage cleans up nothing properly. "I don't know if that's entirely true," she said. "I mean, I agree with some things, but... Look, the reason that I voted not guilty on that jury was because I believe that they were framed--and I don't know how and the most important thing is that we found them not guilty--" she started, though she stopped when she remembered that Mindy was now dead. Jesus Christ. "I think the town cleans up what they want to. Some things, they're sloppy--but not everything. I'm hoping there's still something from the scene, but... I have no idea. And honestly, even once I'm out of the hospital, I don't..." Her eyes darted to Blue's, hesitant to be vulnerable but then taking the plunge. "I don't know if I can go back there, to where it happened... I want to, but... I don't know if I can."

Do you think it was someone who could've known you? That's not a narrow list. She thought for a moment, trying against her better judgement to picture that person standing over her, pointing a gun at her. Shaking her head, she said "I don't think so, no. I mean, to be fair, they were masked so they certainly could've been but they didn't...feel familiar. But... I think the person that sent them, if they were sent, might know me."

"No, I didn't," admitted the professor. They took their seat in the chairs on the side of the room regardless, folding their hands into their lap. But in their mind, it was part of the problem. Doing nothing, missing the signs. Could there be signs to this? Their literary brain professed: yes. Meaning they simply hadn't been paying attention. Hearing Alice's name amongst those who had been injured had their guilt all over the place. The trial and the jury and the phone call. Genuinely, it was all just too much. "I didn't do anything and I hate that. These things have been building up and it's like. I don't know. I ended up being one of those people who threw up their hands like, what can we do? That's what it feels like to me." They pressed their nail to their inner palm, searching around for a pressure point. That's how you get rid of headaches, but what about when the headache continued coming from outside?

They scrubbed at their throat, yanking the sweater around. "There's got to be a way to find out," came the factual feeling. Focus on the facts. Not the feelings. Then it might be easier to navigate this, to not break down and make this about them. They also hated that: when something happened, and it became all about the people in the room, and not the person who was actually going through it. They might be in a state of stress due to Alice being shot, but at the end of the day, Blue themself wasn't the one who was shot. So they weren't going to act like it. "Right, like clues. Or something left at the scene of the crimes. They're going to be taking down the tents and all that, but that doesn't mean it'll get cleaned up properly. If we learnt one thing, it's that Anchorage cleans up nothing properly."

Their voice dropped droll at that. The sewers were evidence enough, and there was plenty of other shit floating around in the water that made it the truth. They just didn't want it to keep getting swept under the rug. "Do you think it was someone who could've known you? That's not a narrow list," they observed. It wouldn't even be a narrow list for them, and they thought to themself that they must know a lot less people, considering the differences in Blue and Alice's lines of work.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

have i told anyone about my bizarre headcanon that the nightmare realm is alive, is represented by a giant serpent-esque thing, and ‘recycles’ fords when it deems it needs to?

[casualavocados]

Chen Yi + gentle hands in Ai Di's hair KISEKI: DEAR TO ME (2023)

[silvermoon424]

Y'all I've been feeling like I was dying the past few days and it literally just occurred to me that I'm badly dehydrated. My mental health also hasn't been the best so I kept forgetting to drink water. I was badly neglecting myself and I'm just lucky it didn't get any worse. I've been drinking a bunch of water + liquid iv to rehydrate and I actually feel okay now.

THIS IS YOUR REMINDER TO DRINK WATER!!!!! DO NOT NEGLECT YOURSELF!!!! TAKE CARE OF YOUR PHYSICAL NEEDS!!!!

[whitenoise-telepath]

{Guys I promise I get where all of hms are coming from it's just......some more than others}

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[crumpet-doodles]

[emotoangel]

not dnp related but after 4 years of trying to get an assessment (and 25 years of having it) I finally got an adhd diagnosis today gang 😭😭

[a-chaotic-dumbass]

fascinated by how the asoiaf fandom refuses to have any nuance in the books that r entirely based on different perspectives

[silverhalla]

neve came back and I IMMEDIATELY started crying

[readingwriter92]

Okay sure maybe getting very tipsy. Sobering up and then programming for three hours straight (ish) at 2 in the morning isn’t the best idea but also I feel like I’m going fucking BONKERS RN

I DIDNT TOUCH. the fucking GUI for this project. AT. ALL.

And YET.

Somehow?!?

One list. That is, and until about five mins ago, has ALWAYS. Shown up in one drop down. Is now showing up IN A FUCKING OTHER ONE

[widevibratobitch]

omw to play emotional support for my mom disguised as ✨fun family bonding time✨ for the rest of the week <3333 there's something so deeply wrong with me uwu teehee

[justablah56]

hmm I think instead of feeling bad I will simply project this bad onto The Character . for funsies .