(cw: yan gojo, horror elements, obsession, divinity)
gojo satoru as a god with many eyes and only one face, who hasn't been human in a long time (maybe ever, he can't quite recall.) he doesn't need to exist here, or there, or anywhere, but he must at the same time. poor old god.
imagine his surprise when a little human looks up at him-- sees him, like he sees things. poor little creature.
little things like you aren't meant to see big things like him. as you cry and wretch on the floor of your bedroom, overwhelmed, he steals the memory from you. it would be cruel to burden you with Sight like that.
he watches you, stays close to earth, and keeps it in the palm of his hand as you go about your days. he learns about you. how you take you coffee, the type of nightmares you have, the exact speed blood shoots through your veins. he learns the sound of air entering your lungs, and leaving. how cute of you, needing so much matter to keep your little flesh and body moving? he finds you charming, entrancing even.
there's many gods though, ones like him that are big and endless, and one hurts him. hurts him. how odd. and perhaps, in his pain, he descends to your little place in the world. he crafts bones and ribs and blood for himself. he lets it soak your garden, fertilizes your flower beds with him.
and oh, the sweet thing you are, you see this almost-not-quite human sprawled in your fields, bleeding gold, and help him. you press a cold glass to his lips (cold, glass-- new sensations for him. he loves it. he thinks he already loves you, and he hardly knows what love is) and have him drink. you feed him mushy human food, but it taste (taste, oh, what a sense he never realize he lacked. he wants to tastes you) warm and homey.
you tell him you'll look after him, clean his wound, and take him elsewhere if its his injury worsens (it won't, he could heal himself, and snatch you into the immaterial if he wanted, but he doesn't.)
"Is there anything else you need? I can fetch you another blanket--" you move to leave his side (oh, he's material, you can leave, he's not everywhere anymore, the feeling stabs him in the chest and chills him.)
he drags you back, first by your wrists, then by a tight grip on your jaw. he takes you nose to nose, close as atoms and little particles will allow. he laughs, his first material laugh, and says, "I only need you."
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A lil Mothman Horror Floof
The storm raged outside, rain hammering the house but inside it was safe, warm relatively quiet.
Horror rumbled contently as he held you closer in his arms; one set to cradle you to his upper chest, the second set loosely wrapped around your back, one of the hand’s phalange gently playing with your hair. The skeleton mothman shivered involuntarily as your breath puffed over his cervical vertebrae as you shifted to nuzzle closer to his neck.
This was delightful, to have you so close to him.
Horror’s purring ramped up when he felt your nose press against bone, your breaths closer to him; your heartbeat nearer. He would stay with you forever like this in a makeshift nest of bedding in your living room. He would dote on you and keep you safe.
One of your hands gripped some of his fur; Horror’s rumbling became so loud he feared he’d wake you but you remained asleep in his arms.
The storm continued on, but neither you nor Horror moved from your spots as it raged for some time.
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I love how I made that post about Phantom choosing a random well to pretend to be attached to and the phandom collectively went “no…no, he is connected to that well and there are corpses down there, and Vlad Masters absolutely murdered someone and stuffed their body down that well, but the corpses they found are unconnected to that one”
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