Love Yourself

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**Pridefest 2025 Entry** - Love Yourself
**Author:** [[*user local lesbian commie]]
**Theme by:** [[*user stormbreath]]
**CSS by:** [[*user HaydenSaintPascal]]
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local-lesbian-commie-s-secret-hideout local lesbian commie's author page]
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//Even though I've had enough, I still demand.//
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Not being able to die each day by those hands was the only pain she couldn’t bear. 

Her entire world ceased to exist the moment she wasn't being touched anymore. But this time, the scars were itching even more than usual. The day before felt like their first time all over again. 

Those blood vermin inside her relived, nonstop, her punishment. And only God knew when Arya would be back home to make her angel fall once more.

Her wife had been a busy woman since the first time they met; places to go, people to kill. At last, June woke up early to prepare her lunch box for the long work trip: both her ring fingers, crispy and sautéed, accompanied by a bottle of whiskey. 

It was then that a superficial scratch on her cheek greeted her. It didn't bleed, yet burned for hours. A distant whisper, like a promise of pain. Suddenly, the lunch box was gone; and the door, closed. She hadn't managed to look back and say goodbye.

June needed no dagger to have fun by herself. In fact, her brittle bones put on quite the entertaining show of resistance against her own incapacity. After all, a sheaf of paper might struggle to tear itself apart — but each millimeter would stretch into eternity.

Laid out on the bed, June wrapped her arms around herself, her body trembling from the crown of her shoulders to the base of her hips.

She didn't need to speak, so why keep it?

A smile. Then a bite. 

Her jaw trembled, tightened. The assault on her lacrimal glands broke through at once.

Her back arched, and metallic taste began to flourish: bitter, alleviating, a crude kiss pressed to a cadaver. The sheer prevalence of silence after so much restraint.

The teeth tore further into her tongue's flesh, slow and rough, while she brought both trembling hands together, as if in prayer. The blood wouldn’t stop. It could //never// stop. 

A chunk of her tongue had come loose, sliding down her throat. How she wished she could be forever unfixable; how she craved for an eternity in all its intensity. No eyes, no nose, no body hair, not even a cage in the likings of a skin. 

Just flesh and torn tissue, intimacy exposed to the currents of air and staggering toward the nearest and most violent flow. 

Blood dropped ceaselessly from between her legs, and her stomach began to itch, gastric acid escaping little by little in a vapor that warmed the bubbling her tongue had become: an unrecognizable fetus of her own anatomy. 

The scraps of tissue gathered in her throat’s cavity, piled on top of one another, still pulsing. Her hands clutched the sheets, and her vision grew increasingly blurred.

June smiled in pain.

All that shattered flesh swelled, clogging her throat completely and crushing the trachea like an insect underfoot. The tissue began to reconstitute from each single fragment, individually — as if life stitched itself back together in a Frankenstein.

It didn’t take long for June’s chest to erupt in fire. The pale tone of her skin gave way to purple, and she thrashed violently against her bed. Her feet struck the wood, splinters piercing her skin as she slumped sideways and crashed onto the floor.

And at last, a snap. An unmatched heat began to descend from the nape of her neck, slithering across the shoulders and down the arms. 

Her neck had broke under the pressure.

June’s hands went limp as her eyes rolled back, and her wish was now fulfilled: all she could do was //feel//.

Her jaw hung open while the tangled tongues were spilled out in a silent torrent of bile and blood. Everything began to spin and dampen. The vivid iron was replaced by rotting wood, with chains of fungus blooming through every crack. Finally, reality slowed down until it froze to the hilt. 

Forever. 

Forever for anyone but June Levine. 

Her eyes opened. 

Her breath returned in a rushing storm.

June lifted a trembling hand to the nape of her neck. No sign of rupture. It was intact.

Calmly, she rose and walked through the house's gelid corridors. That wasn’t the first time she had died — nor anywhere near the worst. Arya’s methods were far, far beyond than anything poor her could ever think of.

Bathroom lights flicked on, and she faced herself in the mirror. Despite everything, she was still there, as unbreakable as ever.

She stuck out her tongue and studied it briefly. Perfectly fine, untouched. Then, from within, the tissue began to fragment, only to coagulate and weave itself into a fresh, intricate network of scars in a few seconds.

Such a good experience couldn’t help but leave its mark, right?

With a faint smile on her face, June sighed and mer her own gaze before turning away.

"I hate you."

**<<** **__[[[The Gospel of Flesh]]]__** **|** Love Yourself **|**

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