#How to Do Corpse Pose

[maisha-online]

Shavasana: The Art of Complete Relaxation

Shavasana, also known as Corpse Pose, is a restorative yoga posture that provides deep relaxation and rest for the body and mind. Often practiced towards the end of a yoga class, Shavasana has surprising benefits that go beyond simply lying down. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the depths of Shavasana and unlock its hidden benefits for your mind, body, and spirit. 1. Introduction…

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

You used to be my rival!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[crumbleclub]

Another doodle for the Family Business AU.

Version with dead Will below the cut; ye asked and ye shall receive. (yo ho ho)

I can sense my past art teachers telling me to fill the space above William but consider: I don't feel like it. Pretend it's a stage play lmao

[basslinegrave]

i show this to yall and you boo me off the stage

[queer-crusader]

On today's to-do list:

Maybe sort my room out a bit more

Yoga (my back is fucked and I've missed doing it tbh)

Art!!!

Renew subscriptions (goodbye end-of-year salary bonus but if I don't pay my choir fee I am Very Rude esp considering I somehow got convinced to be on the concert committee help)

[delusinaldreamer19]

I was today years old when I was reminded that Sebastian held up rCiel’s still warm corpse before oCiel in a fucking crucifix pose.

…Oh no. This wasn’t gonna be analytical but I feel it bubbling up within me. Damn it.

The context of this scene was that Sebastian had just told oCiel / oCiel had just realized that he’d summoned a demon through sacrificing his brothers soul. He is immediately in denial of this, understandably, that was not his intention.

So what does Sebastian do? Forces him to gaze upon the dead body of the very soul he was summoned with. Putting him into that very specific pose.

He could have just held him up limply as we see in this part of the panel, but no. He raises rCiel’s arms to make a pose that quite literally symbolizes sacrifice.

Urrrgg make it stop.

I bet that Sebastian, having been summoned into a room full of English speaking white people, could easily deduce that he was in a country where the main religion is Christianity. And that, therefore, this (soon to be) new little master of his practiced that faith prior to the whole denouncing god thing.

I’d like to think that Sebastian, given that knowledge/assumption, chose to put rCiel in that pose very specifically. To take advantage of oCiel’s subconscious knowledge of its symbolism in order to emphasize that he was responsible for him being there. He was the one who sacrificed his brother, not the cult (In a sense).

Why? Cus he’s a fucking dick.

Now, if this scene had taken place BEFORE the reveal of rCiels bazar doll. I would be going on about how it was foreshadowing his resurrection. Cus, you know, rebirth of Christ. Maybe it still is? Alas…

[luvendiary]

3 times hiccup asked you to marry him + the time you realized he meant it

hello! this was an early draft for this request: Hello!!! Imagine hiccup telling reader "I'm in love with you" / "Marry me" out of blue after a stare down (can be established relationship or not muahahaha) I like how this turned out, except for the ending. it's sort of shitty in my opinion. also, this isn't proofread. and sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. feel free to point them out. also, there’s a slight corpse bride reference with the vows!! as always, thank you for reading. let me know what you think and if you'd like more of this. requests are always open!

1.

Snoggletog was one of your favorite festivities. The beautiful coat of snow that hugged the soil, and the way the sunlight softly reflected on it was perfect to you. You loved to see how vikings busied themselves by hanging up ornaments and mistletoe on the doors. You loved hearing the out-of-tune carols that echoed across Berk. And you loved the late cold nights as you and the dragon riders sat around a warm fire and talked about the day’s happenings.

One thing you did not love though, was the Snoggletog play, specially because it had been assigned to you all this year. It was the dragon riders’ responsibility to plan, organize and act it out the day of Snoggletog.

“What about the start of dragon races?” Snoutlout suggested.

“They did that two years ago,” Astrid replied as she sharpened her axe.

“We could do Loki-”

“We’re not doing Loki day Tuffnut,” Hiccup interrupted him.

A moment of silence passed amongst all of you.

“What if, we make a reenactment of Odin and Freya’s marriage? How they stopped the Aesir and Vanir war,” you said while nibbling on your thumb.

“That could work,” Fishlegs said.

“I like it, we could even get the dragons in on this,” Astrid suggested.

“Of course, brilliant idea (Y/N),” Snotlout said as he stood up with a cocky attitude. “Specially because I would make the perfect Odin.” He flexed his muscles and stroke a victorious pose.

You chuckled and pushed him away, “Sit down Snotlout. I was actually thinking that Astrid and Fishlegs could be Freya and Odin.”

“Oh no,” Astrid said immediately. “I’m not good at performing. Plus, you gave the idea, you should be Freya.”

“Alright,” you said. “If no one else is up for it, I’ll be Freya. Fishlegs, are you ok with being Odin?”

“Ye-” his reply was interrupted by Astrid elbowing him. “I mean, I wish I could but…I-I don’t like performing.”

“What but you love perfor-?”

“Hiccup! Why aren’t you Odin?!” Astrid chimed in as she placed her arm around your shoulder while the other went around the brunette-boy’s shoulders.

“Uh…I-I guess,” Hiccup said.

Astrid grinned while looking at you, “Great! It’s settled then!”

“Why would you do that?!” you shrieked as you pressed the palm of your hands to your eyes.

Astrid, who sat next to you overlooking Berk from a nearby cliff, shrugged, “Oh I don’t know. Maybe because I’m tired of you two beating around the bush. Why don’t you kiss already? It’s obvious you want to.”

“Shut up Astrid,” you said while sitting up. You rubbed your hands together to provide some heat to your body. “I’m not even sure if he likes me.”

“You’re as blind as Gothi is mute,” she replied.

“How can you be so sure? Has he said anything about me?”

“You’re hopeless Y/N.”

The days went by, and Snoggletog drew closer and closer. Right after training, you went to rehearsals, and while most of it went by in fits of laughter and jokes, you all managed to build a production. You often tended to practice with Hiccup, since you had the most line together, and it gave you an excuse to spend more time with him. During this period, you had managed to gain some small victories in the love department, holding his hand, dancing with him, and hearing him laugh while you acted out some of your scenes being some. However, there was something you both had been avoiding: the marriage kiss. It made your heart flutter and your stomach swarm with butterflies every time you though about the possibility of kissing him; on the other hand, it also felt like Gronkle iron swishing around your intestines. What if he didn’t want to kiss you? What if he just did it out of pity?

Your mind was plagued with questions up until the big day.

“Good luck,” Astrid said while she gave you a knowing look. She was looking forward to the kiss, and if what she had told you was true, all of the dragon riders were too.

The play started out good, Snotlout and Tuffnut played the Aesir family, while Ruffnut and Fishlegs played the Vanir.

The scene changed and the Aesir were complaining with Hiccup about how Freya’s magic and her help towards the Vanir was the reason for their shortcomings.

I was then your time to appear. After several attempts from the Aesir to try to kill Freya, you and Odin came to an agreement: you were to marry each other.

“Marry me,” said Hiccup. And as you looked into his eyes your breath hitched. He had a smile plastered on his face, and his eyes gleamed.

“I will marry you,” you replied as you offered him your hand and he put the ring on your nuptial finger.

The scene was supposed to end there, you were about to take a step backwards so that the actual marriage scene could take place, however you felt a hand wrap around your wrist, and before you knew it you were being kissed. You were being kissed by Hiccup Haddock.

Your shock was palpable, however you dissolved into the kiss once the initial incredulity had passed. Once Hiccup felt the kiss was reciprocal, he wrapped his arms around your waist and drew you closer.

2 .

Dragon racing was a hefty sport. Ever since it was created, it became a fan favorite amongst Berkians. Once every full moon, a match was held that was sure to be the talk of the town for at least a week. On summer and winter solstice, you held the dragon riding tournament, that usually lasted for about a week; except for that one time when the black sheep had wondered deep into the woods, and you weren’t able to find it for two days.

Point of the matter is, dragon racing was a serious issue for vikings. And that’s why victories where celebrated so grandly. You never particularly cared for the celebrations, however wining was important to you; your usually carefree nature was irrecognizable when it came to the sport as you became a furiously competitive rider. This change, spared no one. Not even your boyfriend.

“Incoming!” you called out before snatching the black sheep from Hiccup’s arms, as you held on with your legs to (Y/D)’s saddle while she flew in an upside down position.

“Hey!” he shouted in response with a light chuckle.

“I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not!” you replied with a shit-eating grin directed his way. With the black sheep secure in your arms, you flew away, not a hint of remorse visible on your face.

You returned to your upright position and quickly flew up to your basket and threw in the black sheep. As soon as you do so, you hear the crowds cheers and applause mixed with the blow of the horn, signaling that the match has ended.

Astrid joined you on the platform, followed by Ruff, as they cheered you on and celebrated your team victory.

Hiccup watched you, still mounted on Toothless with a lovesick smile present in his features, “I’m going to marry her,” he said as he took in your beautiful smile.

“I don’t think you’re her type,” said a voice next to him. Tuffnutt flew next to him with a pissed expression -probably because of their defeat- “but go for it. I’m sure my sister would be flattered.”

3 .

“Do you think there are other people out there?” you asked as you stared blankly at the stars. “I mean, besides us dragon riders and dragon hunters. Do you think that maybe there’s another civilization that has been familiar with dragons long before us?”

You heard Hiccup chuckle, “Possibly, maybe they even know of species we have yet to discover.”

“I wonder if they maybe think the same of us. Maybe we’re some strange advanced civilization to them”, you said with a light giggle as your thoughts went wild with the idea of the unknown. “Or maybe, we’re cavemen in comparison to their civilization. Maybe…they know about our existence, and they have just decided to leave us alone because we’re not worth their time.”

“That’s a bit depressing isn’t it?” Hiccup asked, humored by your rambling.

“I don’t think so. I think it’s exciting…” you said slightly breathless as you stared at the vast abyss of twinkling lights that spread above you and beyond. “Just imagine everything we’ve yet to discover.”

You faintly heard the huffs and growls of your dragons, who were entertained by Hiccup’s prosthetic leg as they fought each other for it.

Hiccup allowed himself to steal a glance at you for a fraction of a second. He thought that the view in front of you was beautiful, but to him, the real wonder was sitting right next to him. You looked breathtaking with the starry abyss reflected in your eyes. Yet, you were so unaware of it.

“Marry me.”

He didn’t mean to actually say it. But he just couldn’t control himself when he was with you.

Your trance was broken and you stared at him wide eyed, in disbelief at what he had just said. However as soon as you saw his expression mirroring yours, you burst out laughing. You couldn’t say truthfully that you had never though about marriage, especially with Hiccup.

Hiccup’s startled expression morphed into confusion.”W-What? Why are you laughing?”

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” you asked in between giggles. “You don’t seem very sure.”

“What? Y-Yes! Of course I’m sure! Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?” his eyebrows furrowed in the way you loved. The way that told you you had successfully managed to get in his head. He had turned his body so that it was now mirroring yours, and his shoulders were raising up and down as they usually did when he was trying to explain something or defend a point.

“Fine then. I’ll marry you.”

His rambling stopped immediately. “What? Y-You will?”

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “Sure. Why not?”

You stood up then as you walked around the small island you had stumbled upon earlier that day. Leaving a very flustered and confused Hiccup behind.

“Wait! Where are you going?” he called after you as he struggled to get up. He rambled on as he chased you, asking about arrangements and other things.

“Aha!” you said victoriously as you crouched down over a patch of grass with some wildflowers sprouting out.

Hiccup peered over your shoulder, trying to see what you were doing.

Eventually you stood up and extended your hand towards him. He stared at you blankly for a moment, and muttered to himself, tryin to understand your actions. Still, an amused smile was present on his face.

“Well?” you said after a bit. “Give me your hand.”

He did as you instructed, and then you took out your other hand from behind, which gently held a blade of grass along with some small wildflowers intertwined with each other, forming a ring.

“I know it’s not the best craftsmanship, but I figured we couldn’t get married without rings,” you explained with a soft giggle.

Hiccup grinned down at you, and laughed incredulously. He wondered how he ever got you to agree to be his. “I’m afraid to tell you dearest, but I don’t have a ring for you.”

You sighed mockingly and rolled your eyes. “I know that. I assumed you would be too in your head about your future duty as chief and the dragons to think about me.”

“Hey!” he protested immediately. “I’m always thinking about you-”

“But worry not!” you said as you giggled playfully. “Since I know you well enough to be married, I know you well enough to be prepared for our wedding.” You reached into one of your pockets and puled out and identical ring, which he gently grabbed.

He stared down at you, with a skeptical expression.

“Well, go on with it. Do you want to marry me or not?” you asked as you tilted your head slightly to the side.

Hiccup sighed and then locked his eyes with yours. “I, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, the Third, make this oath. With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

Once the traditional vows were finished he gently took your hand and slid the delicate ring onto your nuptial finger.

You watched with a smile as he carefully placed it, and once he was done, you repeated the vows and slid his ring onto his own finger.

With your ceremony done, your lips met in a gentle and warm dance. You felt as his hands slid down your back and rested on your hips, holding your body closer to his.

“This is the second time we’ve been married now,” he whispered as he broke apart form the kiss,

“How scandalous,” you whispered back with a soft laugh, as you remembered the Snoggletog performance and how it ended up with your first kiss.

“Maybe the next time we get to do it, you’ll actually be wearing white.”

You stared up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so? Does that mean you’d like to bed me next time?” you teased.

“I’d love to bed you now,” he said with a slight chuckle. “But I’m aware you’d rather follow the traditional path.”

You laughed and patted his chest. “Well, you’ll better get me that white dress quickly then.”

4.

Hiccup had been acting weird all day. Evading you and whenever you managed to track him down he responded any question you had in a dismissive manner. You had figured you should let him alone for a while, at least until he was ready to talk about whatever was bothering him.

He did tend to get too into his own head whenever he was worried, and it took you telling him about it for him to realize he could share his burden with you. But this time it was different.

When you had asked what was bothering him he dismissed you as soon as he could and continued what he was doing.

It had hurt you. It made you think if you had done anything wrong, but you couldn’t think of anything. It was scary thinking about what this could mean for the both of you.

“And you’re sure he hasn’t ever acted like this before?” Astrid asked as she tried to make sense of the situation with you.

You where both sat in the Great Hall, as the rest of the vikings ate their dinner. You however, couldn’t seem to make anything go down past your throat, as worry consumed you.

“Yes Astrid, I am sure,” you replied rather harshly. “I don’t even know where the hell he is right now. For all I know he’s probably off in another girl’s house. Maybe he got tired of waiting for me. Maybe he realized he doesn’t want this sort of commitment…”

You knew that this was irrational thinking. Hiccup had never given you signs that he didn’t want to be with you anymore, on the contrary, he was always very reassuring on how much he liked being with you. Up until now you had never had any reason to doubt your relationship; but up until now, Hiccup had never behaved like this either.

“Don’t say that! That boy is crazy for you. He has been since we where thirteen.”

You sighed and buried your hands in your hair. “Then why is he acting like this?!”

“I think you should ask him yourself,” Astrid said as she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s back.

“I’ve already tried that…” you groaned out. Your voice muffled by your arms, on which you were resting your head.

“Give it one more try. Maybe he’ll snap out of it.”

Reluctantly, you agreed and made your way up to the watch tower. It was Hiccup’s turn to keep watch tonight, so you knew he wouldn’t be able to escape this time.

You felt the heat of the fire before you saw it, and you knew he was there.

“You need to cut the crap Haddock,” you started as you saw the faint outline of his shadow as you were nearing the end of the stairs. “If I did something wrong, just tell me right now because I can’t keep doing this. We’re not teenagers anymo-”

Your throat closed up as soon as you saw him. A gasp escaped your mouth and your hands flew to your face.

In front of you, Hiccup was down on one knee and a small wooden box sat comfortably on the palm of his hand.

“You bastard,” you whispered just to yourself.

He chuckled at that and smiled as he saw your reaction. He then opened the box to reveal a small silver ring in the shape of some intricate patterns.

“My dearest Y/N…” he started, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him go any further.

“Oh Hiccup…” you breathed out as you approached him slowly.

“Please marry me,” he said finally.

You crouched in front of him with tears in your eyes and held his face in your hands.

“Of course I will marry you,” you replied as a teary laugh escaped your throat.

To him, it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He laughed then, as he slid the ring in, and looked up at you. He cupped your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulled you closer until your lips met. He tasted tears and relief in that kiss.

You eventually separated and you hit his chest lightly.

“Don’t ever do that to me again you bastard!” you said as the tears flowed, and you whipped them off as nervous laughter escaped your lips.

“I swear this is the last time love,” he chuckled as he crouched his head slightly to help you whipe your tears.

“Not that! Don’t ever avoid me like that again Hiccup! I was starting to think that maybe you didn’t want me anymore…”

Hiccup grabbed your chin gently and made you look up at him. “Theres no one else I’d rather want.”

You laughed nervously once again and offered him a teary smile.

“I’m sorry I scarred you love. I just…I was so nervous.”

“It’s ok…” you reassured him. “I understand.”

He smiled down at you and whipped another tear. You didn’t mean to keep doing it, but you had been so worried all day long that it was finally coming out. You didn’t want to ruin your moment like this. It was supposed to be a moment for celebration and happiness. You tried to make it stop.

“You can cry. I will lift your sorrows,” Hiccup said with a soft laugh as he whipped another tear.

You smiled then, tears still flowing out. But you knew it would be alright. He would make you feel alright. He always did.

[funnelcakesandinfinitesuffering]

Things I loved about the Murder Drones Finale: Part 3

Spoilers, obviously

The secret handshake during the boss fight was great, (V did not want to be a part of that.)

Uzi predicting Cyn’s teleport was genius.

The way she created a black hole like you’d detonate a grenade.

She blasted a hole through the whole planet and used the sunlight to melt Cyn’s heart. Incredible.

Cyn’s face when Uzi swallowed the solver core.

Thad’s skateboarding move and Lizzy taking a selfie after almost dying. What a duo.

Nori definitely passed down her awkward tsundere energy to Uzi.

Khan’s kinda freaky, and the teacher just climbed back down instead of dealing with it.

A sentinel driving a bus wasn’t on my bingo card, but okay.

Not my personal ship, but Envuzi shippers ate well with this. “Weirdly hot robots”, and this reunion scene. Perfect.

Uzi absorbed an Eldritch entity, and her first instinct is “oh this makes me so much edgier now” is hilarious.

Callback to the pilot episode.

“Get tunnel vision on spooky robot corpse reveal and work backwards from there.” An accurate description of the writing process.

That teacher’s gonna lose it.

“That’s my girlfriend!” WE FUCKING WON!

Also Lizzy and V might be a thing? If so, good for them.

N knows how to draw manga now.

J’s rebuilding her ship. Maybe she’s running away to the dog planet, IDK.

Doll’s funeral was so funny. “Babe-a-tron Queenthousand?” Lizzy please. But at least we got to see them in their prom outfits again.

“It should have been Rachel.” TF did Rachel do?

Also Thad’s pose, lol.

Khan and Nori did properly reunite, and N finally got to play that game of Gin Rummy.

Finally, it seems the solver’s consciousness is still alive in Uzi, but she’s got it under control at least. So good for her.

[narumi-gens]

heading north gojo satoru x f!reader

minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, pregnancy, major jjk manga spoilers, some angst (angst-adjacent?)

"your students are worried about you."

the heaviness of your words is undercut by your flippant tone. you wonder if satoru is surprised that you're waiting to greet him moments after he's finished slaughtering the higher-ups or if he was expecting you to be nearby.

"they tell you about their plan?" he asks, casually tossing his arm over your shoulders as he begins to lead you away from the carnage.

"you mean the plan for after you die? where yuuta cuts open your skull, takes out your brain, and swaps it for his?" you reply dryly as you wrap your own arm around his waist, instinctively holding him close for warmth as you both exit the dark corridor to be confronted with the early winter chill. you sigh softly and shake your head. "no, shoko did. I think they were too scared of my reaction."

"I don't blame them. those pregnancy hormones are no joke!" he teases, only to immediately hiss in pain when you give his side a harsh pinch. neither of you comment on how it only hurt because he let it.

silence settles over you and part of you thinks that he's going to let the conversation end there. after all, satoru has always been happy to let a serious discussion end prematurely with an annoyingly playful comment.

"you want them to leave my corpse alone?" it's as much a question posed out of curiosity as it is an offer. it's so unexpected that your feet come to a stop on their own.

he turns to face you and you can only look up at him thoughtfully, mulling over what he's asking you.

"no," you finally say with a shrug. "as long as it's disposed of properly after everything's over and done with, I don't care what they do with it. besides, you won't lose so it doesn't matter anyway."

a cheeky grin slowly tugs at the corner of his lips before he drops down to crouch in front of you. he slips his hands – the same hands that just wiped out the higher-ups in one fell swoop – beneath your coat to press a palm on either side of your protruding belly.

"you hear that? your mom's my number one fan!" he says in a stage whisper, speaking directly to your unborn child, his unborn child. you can only roll your eyes as you suppress the urge to flick his forehead.

you can feel his thumb rubbing circles through the fabric of your sweater and as he continues to gaze at your baby bump, something passes over his expression that you can't quite read.

"hm, maybe the jujutsu world won't have to wait another 400 years before there's another limitless user with the six eyes," he muses and your mouth suddenly feels dry.

the statement is weighted by the implication of his death, but it's something you look past to focus instead on what inheriting both the limitless and the six eyes would mean for your child's future.

"you'd curse our child with that?" you manage to finally ask with a small frown, your voice slightly rough.

it's not only the target that would be painted on their back that concerns you, but also the weight and expectations that would be placed on their shoulders from the moment they were born.

"if it meant their safety," he answers, his tone and demeanor both uncharacteristically serious.

you want to argue with him, to tell him that being given such great power would be the thing that puts them at risk. but instead, you ask him something else.

"you'd curse me with that?" there's something fragile in your question and your voice that has him lifting those cursed eyes to look up at you. you both know what you're really asking.

would he trust you to raise his child alone? would he trust you to keep them safe, until they were strong enough to protect themselves? would he curse you with doing what he might be unable to?

"with this?" he raises an eyebrow and glances down at your bump meaningfully. "who else would I curse but you?"

your eyes feel wet and you can only nod, unable to find the right words. instead, you lift your hands and cup his where they're still holding your belly.

despite the chaos and danger hanging over your heads and on the horizon, you take the opportunity to savor this moment – you and satoru together, your future, your legacy, held in your shared embrace.

a small thought comes to you and a faint smile forms on your lips.

"maybe they won't be born with the limitless and they'll get something different. or maybe even nothing at all and they'll have to find their own strength." your words seem to strike something in him because he gently rests his forehead on your bump. "maybe they won't have to be chained down with the burden of being the gojo heir."

he softly snorts, but you know him well enough by this point to tell that he's smiling.

"maybe they can start anew, huh?" he asks, amusement lacing his tone.

he stays where he is for another moment, his head bowed reverently to you and his child, and when he looks back up at you, he immediately takes note of the way your eyes are shining. a wide grin lights up his annoyingly handsome face.

"you cryin'? I told you those pregnancy hormones are wild!"

you're quick to shove his hands off of you and give his shoulders a hard push so that he falls over, relishing the way he cries out. as you begin to walk away from him, you're grateful that with him at your back, he can't see the grin on your lips that matches his perfectly.

[mercymornsimpathizer]

per request of (checks notes) two people….the premises of my interpretation of the plot of gideon the ninth vis a vis cytherea and john are as follows:

i. the actions taken by cytherea and john are not consistent with their stated motivations

ii. this is on purpose

iii. we can work backwards from these characters' actions to determine their real motivations

because i am a funny poster and because i love my followers i will explain further under a readmore. abandon all sanity ye who enter here etc.

why canaan house: john and john's motivations

while john does not appear "on screen" in gideon the ninth, his actions set the plot into motion and shape the conflicts the arise. (1)he sends letters to the scions of each house, requesting that they come to canaan house with their cavaliers and no one else. he does not request the leaders of each house, or the best necromancers of each house, or the most experienced. (2)he does not provide information of what the lyctorhood trials will entail, either in the initial letters or upon arrival at canaan house. (3)during the creation of the first lyctors, he did not inform anyone that the death of the cavalier is not necessary, and (4)he interfered in the ascension of anastasia/samael, (5) the pair who spent the longest studying the lyctorhood process and (6)who we can presume were closest to achieving "true lyctorhood," which we can presume is (7)more powerful than "normal lyctorhood" and (8)does not kill the cavalier.

(9)the stated purpose of the events at canaan house is to create new lyctors to replace those that have (really or apparently) died to the resurrection beasts. (10)john further states that he did not intend for any unwanted deaths; (11)that he intended for the necromancers and cavaliers to enter into lyctorhood willingly; and (12)that, if the necromancers and cavaliers decided not to enter into lyctorhood, he intended that they should have been allowed to leave peacefully. (13)we can presume he also intends that any new lyctors created would be loyal to him, or at least not a threat to him.

are these actions consistent for these motivations? in my correct opinion, they are not. the secrecy of what the lyctorhood trials entail and the choice of very young, competitive people as postulants do not lend themselves well to the postulants making wise, well-informed choices. if john wanted the postulants to enter into lyctorhood willingly, and leave peacefully if not, he could have informed them of what the trials and lyctorhood entail, encouraged cooperation between the houses, and stated explicitly that they could leave at any time.

one way to interpret this mismatch is that john was careless or negligent in how he set up the trials, which is possible but not consistent with his characterization otherwise. another interpretation is that john was not sincere in stated motivations 10-12, and that he rather set things up as he did to create uniquely easy to manipulate per 13, which both makes sense and is in character but is not consistent with his other actions.

why canaan house 2: cytherea and cytherea's motivations

while john shapes much of the plot of gideon the ninth, cytherea as the primary antagonist drives the plot more directly. (14)she kills dulcinea and adopts her identity to pose as a postulant in the lyctor trials, and she poorly reanimated protesilaus's corpse. (15)she presumably is responsible for disposing of the transports, stranding the postulants at canaan house.  (16)she kills first the fifth house and the fourth house. (17) she prompts the ninth to complete the avulsion trial. (18)she attacks gideon, harrow, and camilla after being confronted by palamedes, but (19)repeatedly offers to spare gideon. (20)throughout her murder spree, she writes on the walls, questioning or criticizing  john for the events of her own ascension. (21)she did not participate in dios apate and is not mentioned by mercymorn or augustine as being party to their conspiracy to kill john (i think...correct me if this is wrong!). (22) her identity is not revealed by teacher or the other constructs at canaan house, despite the fact that they presumably would recognize her. (23)she does not contact or encourage the other postulants to contact john or anyone else for help.

(24)cytherea states that her motivation is to sabotage the creation of new lyctors and (25)to draw john to the nine houses, putting himself and the nine house in danger from the resurrection beasts. (26)she strongly implies that this is in revenge for her cavalier or possibly all of the original cavaliers. (27)presumably, she also wants both to survive long enough to accomplish these aims, though (28)she does not seem to intend to survive for very long beyond the events at canaan house.

are these actions consistent with these motivations? again, in my correct opinion, they are not. she does not send a distress call to draw john to canaan house, and she does not encourage anyone else to do so. she kills jeannemary and magnus, even though killing isaac and abigail would prevent the fourth and fifth from ascending; while it could be argued that she would have had to kill magnus to protect her plan, but this isn't true of jeannemary's murder. she further lets other necro-cav pairs live, despite the fact this allows for the opportunity for them to ascend. her stated goals (24 and 25) could be well achieved by (a, for 25) killing (simply or gruesomely) all or most of the necromancers, while allowing the cavaliers to live, and/or (b, for 24) calling or encouraging someone else to call for help or otherwise alert someone that things have gone wrong; neither of these actions would contradict her other stated or implied motivations.

(as an aside: i think many people believe that cytherea killed the fifth first because she suspected they were likeliest to figure out her plan, which is possible but doesn't explain why she would kill the fourth next or why she wouldn't kill the sixth or third.)

one interpretation of this mismatch is that she planned sloppily or haphazardly. while this doesn't directly contradict anything we know about her, it doesn't make much sense to me -- i don't think anyone, let alone a very powerful and reasonably intelligent person, would half-ass a revenge/justice plot as their last hurrah, even if she did not have long to plan or if her plan changed upon realizing that gideon is john's daughter. another interpretation i've seen is that cytherea is simply sadistic and/or dramatic, and that her actions are motivated by a desire to make the postulants paranoid and afraid. i think this is on the right track, but doesn't itself explain everything she does (and the things she does not do).

why be perfect when you could be normal: the original lyctors and perfect lyctorhood

what is "perfect lyctorhood" and under what conditions does it occur? when i use the term "perfect lyctorhood," i'm referring to a situation where both the necromancer and the cavalier ascend to lyctorhood and share their newfound power; this is in contrast to what i'm calling "normal lyctorhood," wherein the necromancer kills and consumes the cavalier and uses them as a power source. in text, john and alecto are the only example we see of "true lyctorhood," while the other original lyctors (and ianthe) are "normal."

while the creation of the original lyctors is not thoroughly described in the text, we do know some details. it is strongly implied that (29)mercymorn and augustine, the first two lyctors, ascended under duress after their cavaliers forced their hands, presumably by killing themselves. much later, (30) anastasia and samael attempted to ascend after (5)spending a long time studying the process, but are (4)interrupted by john, who kills samael. (31)john states this he interfered because anastasia and samael had made a mistake. (32)at no point does john inform anyone that perfect lyctorhood is possible or that the cavaliers do not need to die.

i think it's reasonable to conclude that (33)very skilled necromancers, with strong bonds of mutual respect with their cavaliers, given the right resources (i.e. the trials at canaan house, or something equivalent, and sufficient time) could achieve perfect lyctorhood, or at least come close to it. (34)fear, pressure, and devaluation of the lives of cavaliers, on the other hand, push necromancers towards normal lyctorhood.

i think it's also reasonable to conclude that, in line with (13)his motivation to maintain power over the lyctors, john does not want perfect lyctors to be created, and that (4)his interference in the ascension of anastasia and samael was not because (31)they made a mistake but rather (35)to prevent them from achieving power that would rival his own.

connecting the red string

if john and cytherea's actions are not sufficiently explained by their stated motivations (or of them the motivations commonly attributed to them by fans), what motivations would explain their actions? because john (by asking for young people as postulants, and by being secretive about the lyctoral process, and by not stating that postulants could leave) and cytherea (by killing people, and by preventing people from leaving, and by generally encouraging competition and paranoia among the postulants) both created an environment of fear and pressure at canaan house, and because cytherea (by letting both necromancers and cavaliers live in other cases) john (by not providing a deadline, and by not forbidding or obscuring parts of the trials, and by not directly or indirectly supervising the trials) otherwise do nothing to prevent to an outcome that they does not want, i think we can draw the following conclusion: john and cytherea are both attempting to ensure that normal lyctors, and only normal lyctors, are created at canaan house.

in other words, i think john tasked cytherea with going to canaan house to put pressure on the postulants to ascend quickly and to prevent them from leaving alive if they were likely to not ascend. i think he did this because he did not want the postulants to become perfect lyctors, and because he did not want the secrets of lyctorhood to be known to the nine houses in general, and because he did not want to take responsibility for the deaths. i think cytherea likely did want revenge against john, and likely did not want to live beyond canaan house, but did not want to kill john; rather i think she wanted to be killed by john or by one of the new lyctors.

i think that tamsyn muir is a talented writer who has demonstrated an ability to create twisty, multi-layered plots where characters are often working on incorrect or incomplete information and where characters are often not forthcoming or are dishonest about their actions and motivations, and that therefore the mismatch between characters' actions and stated motivations are intentional. i think my conclusion sufficiently explains the actions taken (and not taken) by both cytherea and john in the gideon the ninth, and while it contradicts their stated motivations, i do not think it contradicts any of their actions or any of their demonstrated motivations. moreover i think it is consistent with their characterization in general: cytherea is dramatic and emotionally distraught over her own ascension, but she is not part of the plot against john, and she encourages gideon in her role as cavalier; john is very smart, and has few compunctions about doing horrible things to children (especially to maintain his own power), but does not want to be blamed for the things he does, and so often outsources the dirty work to his followers.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Can I make a request for an S/O who has a pet that is extremely gruesome and scary, but is very cuddly and protective when interacting with its owner? Like, like the animal was something similar to the Demongorgon or something.

If you can, do it for Sarah, Shenhen, Dehya, Candance and Navia.

(Genshin Impact) Sara, Shenhe, Dehya, Candace, and Navia's S/O with a terrifying pet

I was bouncing between a Tyranid from 40k or a terrifying bug from a user created horror story called Mystery Flesh Pit National Park, but I'll just settle on some non particular bug abomination.

Sara was barely able to hold back from immediately drawing her bow when she walked into S/O's house the first time and saw a massive insect inside.

It nearly stood up to the ceiling as it straightened its back, before relaxing from seeing its owner.

(Sara) "What is that?!"

(S/O) "OH! S-Sorry, I forgot to mention it to you beforehand! This is my pet!"

Sara stared at S/O before her eyes slowly glanced over to the "pet" they kept.

It resembled some kind of centipede with massive antennas, but had arms resembling a...human?!

Sara still kept her battle stance, wearily looking at it before turning to S/O, noticing their relatively happy expression.

(Sara) "...And, this will pose no threat to the people of Inazuma?"

(S/O) "Of course not, he doesn't eat people!"

(Sara) sigh "Thank the Almighty Sho-"

(S/O) "He eats corpses! It's a scavenger bug, not a predator!"

(Sara) "..."

Sara is uneasy around S/O's pet, putting it mildly.

The only place she doesn't allow S/O to cuddle her is at their house.

The one time she allowed them to rest their head on her shoulder, the romantic mood was immediately halted by S/O's pet resting its head on their lap.

Despite how much it unsettled her, she could at least complement its intelligence and loyalty.

When S/O was threatened, it would immediately attack whenever they commanded it to.

It even enjoyed getting pet, though Sara politely declined from doing so herself.

As long as it didn't cause a public disturbance, it was fine to remain.

But Archons help S/O if she gets a report of that...thing threatening a citizen, not even its terrifying and gross legs would skitter away from her wrath.

Shenhe reached for her polearm before realizing the bug was relaxing near S/O.

She had seen all kinds of fantastical sights thanks to her Master, so it didn't really take long for her to adjust.

(Shenhe) "...Is that a pet, S/O?"

(S/O) "Sure is! This little guy has been with me for a long time!"

(Shenhe) "I see. It is good you have a companion."

The bug's head, or at least what she assumed was the head, seemed to lean into S/O's hand as they scratched under the chin.

...Neat.

Shenhe is used to nature, but she had never seen a creature like this before.

But then again, being with S/O taught her all kinds of new things, maybe this was another she should take heed of.

Seeing other people react to the bug, she moves to protect it like she would S/O.

Something that even it recognized, and protected Shenhe like its owner.

The only thing Shenhe dislikes about the bug is how clingy it got whenever she was wanting to spend time with S/O.

Other than that, the bug and Shenhe have a strange silent respect for each other.

(Dehya) "S/O, GET BACK!-"

Dehya suddenly leaps into action when a giant bug-like creature emerged from the sand behind S/O.

Before S/O got in the way, trying (and failing) to keep her arm down.

(S/O) "WAIT, DEHYA! I-It's with me!"

Dehya's expression was something between confusion and anger, quickly looking back at S/O and the bug.

Just as they said, it was just staring at her before turning its attention to its owner.

(Dehya) "Jeez, ya never thought to bring this up to me before?! It looks like it could eat us!"

(S/O) "I-If it makes you feel any better, it's like a vulture! A scavenger eater, only corpses!"

(Dehya) "It really doesn't..."

Dehya is honestly creeped the hell out by S/O's pet.

She's seen a lot of desert fauna, but nothing like what S/O had.

It especially didn't help matters that it liked to hide under the sand until S/O spent time with it.

She especially didn't like that it butted its head in whenever she wanted to hold S/O.

More than one occasion she was ready to tell it off before S/O did so gently, letting it gently comply.

The other mercs are completely freaked out by it, which she doesn't blame them for in the slightest.

But, it did help during their contracts by scaring the hell out of rival clients, other eremites, and animals in general.

Begrudgingly, she let S/O keep it, but then again maybe it's best it remains with them and doesn't wander off in the desert to potentially reproduce.

Candace notices something shifting in the sands near S/O, which she immediately raises her spear to throw at-

Before S/O frantically waved their hands, signaling to her not to attack.

Candace sees the bug emerge from the sand as it gives S/O a lift, riding towards her.

She takes a step back from unease, sizing the bug up and down before turning to S/O.

(Candace) "Have you...tamed this creature?"

(S/O) "K-Kinda? I didn't really tame it per se, more like we became friends!"

Candace did acknowledge it had some kind of intelligence in its eyes, as it responded perfectly to S/O's commands.

Being reassured by S/O that it would not attack the people of Aaru village, or eat the children, she allowed it to stay.

It took a bit for her to get used to it, but she no longer flinches seeing the bug.

It helped that it didn't seem to be naturally part of the desert, since she had never seen anything like it before.

Eventually, it became as much of a guardian of the town as Candace, much to her shock.

When S/O was threatened, the bug leapt from the sands and dragged them under, and the same went for any of the townsfolk.

The only thing she asks is that it sleeps outside, mostly just cause it'd drag sand all over the floor.

(S/O) "HOLY CRAP, GIANT BUG!-"

S/O immediately aims her umbrella-shotgun before S/O stopped her from pulling the trigger.

(S/O) "W-WAIT! NAVIA, IT'S MY PET!"

(Navia) "Your pet?! That thing could eat one of the Clockwork Meka whole!"

She shuddered in terror as it skittered towards S/O, seemingly lax by their mere presence.

This sure as hell wasn't a man's best friend situation, and every cell in her body wanted to shoot it.

But seeing as it was with S/O, she very reluctantly let S/O keep it.

The only thing is that it HAD to stay outside the city and only in S/O's home.

Every single Meka and Guard would be trying to kill it, not that she wouldn't blame them either.

Navia screams in terror everytime she opens the door to find it turn its head towards her.

Why couldn't S/O just have a cat or something...?

Her urge to stomp the bug grows bigger when she moves to hug or kiss S/O, only to watch it approach from seeming jealousy.

[marsupials-of-mars]

I have a theory. It's a lot of speculation, but an interesting thought:

Euclidea was a hivemind. Or, at least part of it.

This is my main "evidence." The line "One of the few conciousnesses" and referring to the lonely humans as "you" somewhat implies that he himself is or was part of a hivemind consciousness. Like, for example, a fungal spore network.

With what we know of Euclidea (strict adherence to rules, valuing uniformity, fearing non-uniformity), it wouldn't be a surprise.

What constitutes as a "hivemind" here is vague, and if it is the case with Euclidea, it doesn't mean that all of the Euclideans were the same person with the same shared knowledge.

It may be more of an extrasensory connectedness, uniform patterns of thought, a general understanding of what others are experiencing/feeling, physically or mentally. This aligns with some of Bills powers: reading minds, possessing multiple corpses all using his own voice, seeing through many eyes (not necessarily simultaneously, but as "peepholes")

If we follow this idea, it makes the Euclideans seem less like fascists and more like people looking out for their community. So averse to a reality-breaking mutation because it posed a threat to the minds of anyone connected to bill.

Maybe, rather than forcing baby bill to be medicated just to make him normal, his parents were doing what they thought was best not just for their child, but for their people.

(^ I'll admit some of these screenshots are more "thematic" than "evidence")

Maybe it was so easy for Bill to destroy his whole dimension much by accident because all he had to do was stop taking his meds, and let this mutation which nobody else was physiologically able to handle into the minds of those people.

He felt so stifled that he made the conscious decision to endanger people; it wasn't fully an accident, nor was it fully violent in intent. But his choices directly resulted in the massacre.

All this to say, this concept is mostly just more fuel for angst. Bill not only destroyed friends and family, but pieces of himself. His blue flames and red anger aren't just influences or genetics from his parents, because his parents weren't just parents; They were pieces of himself.

He was alone in the universe, but it was worse than that. He was alone, truly alone with his thoughts, without knowing how to even process what "his" thoughts were, or what "alone" really meant.

He blacks out when he recalls the day he tried to fuse everyone into his own individual perspective, because the memories missing are the memories of countless dying people.

He's an idea. Not a soul, not a conciousness, because the soul was shared among his whole race of people.

Maybe this could be why he's so desperate for attention, belonging, friends, and family: He's desperately trying to fill in the gaps of his own consciousness.

And, it could explain why he's so, so very bad at it: Because he can't conceptualize the desires of individuals. They should all want what he wants, think like he does, that's how it's supposed to be when you love someone!

Your family is an extension of yourself, so why wouldn't they want to make you happy? If you're happy, everyone is happy!

He's a handful of selfish thoughts that persisted after the soul they belonged to was destroyed.

Now don't come at me with your conspiracy pants on and tell me how little evidence I have and how unsubstantiated and speculative all this is, I KNOOOWW but I'm having fun and playiiingg!!

[pileofmush]

you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood. 

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”  

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares. 

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold. 

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed. 

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him. 

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?” 

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.” 

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows. 

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?” 

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it. 

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first. 

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.” 

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin. 

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,” he interrupts. 

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly. 

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?” 

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something. 

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen. 

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it. 

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple. 

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” 

Yeaaaah. It’s true.  

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used. 

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again. 

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.  

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor. 

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open. 

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway. 

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you. 

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?” 

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”  

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you. 

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.  

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his. 

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard. 

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen. 

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods. 

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe. 

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life. 

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return. 

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again. 

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes. 

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. 

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you. 

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask. 

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—” 

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out." 

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean. 

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones. 

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu. 

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs. 

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear. 

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart. 

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly. 

…You don’t know if you want to. 

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close. 

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.  

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh. 

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."  

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?” 

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement. 

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it. 

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done. 

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment. 

You scrub, and scrub. 

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command. 

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body. 

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting. 

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.” 

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night. 

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together. 

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on. 

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?” 

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—” 

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—” 

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him. 

You look at him.  

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you. 

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish. 

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?” 

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach. 

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams. 

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

[withered-tears]

One of the things that make Cyn so scary is that despite doing the whole "annoyed expression" thing, which usually means she cant express herself properly, its the fucking opposite. Shes an open book. You can clearly see how much FUN shes having at all times.

Shes fucking THRIVING on causing the most psychological damage possible.

When shes slowly, PURPOSEFULLY slowly about to eat N's core, all the while staring V in the eyes, laughing.

The fact that shes 100% able to mimic a more normal walk and voice but as soon as she doesnt need to hide anymore she goes FULL puppeted broken corpse.

"You wont talk to me cuz i hurt. Your feelings" WHILE DOING THAT CHEEKY POSE AND KYDKYDKYDKYD

THERES NOT A SMIDGE OF REGRET OR COMPASSION. SHES HAVING THE TIME OF HER LIFE. EVERYONE IS TERRIFIED AND ITS HILARIOUS.

[brayneworms]

gouge away (if you want to) | johnny joestar

kinktober day ten: kissing

word count. 2.4k

content. disabled johnny, but like his prostate works, anal fingering, prostate orgasm, kissing, johnny cries after sex it's canon, gender-neutral reader, fluff, mentions of ableism, established relationship, this is sappy

♪ gouge away - pixies

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

For a while—a long while—after his accident, Johnny thought he'd never be with someone again.

A part of it was the paralysis. Okay, a big part of it was. He learns after using the chair for a bit that he sorta stops becoming a real person to most people, that their eyes just sorta slide past him. Oh no, how sad, that guy in the chair must have it so bad. Don't be rude and stare, now. Sometimes he wishes they would stare at him, like he knows they wanna. He almost finds their determination to ignore him totally more jarring.

And that's only half the problem. The other part is that even if he could find someone, his goddamn dick doesn't work anymore. Which would for sure pose a problem. So Johnny resigns himself miserably to a sexless and potentially loveless life, and pretends it doesn't make him want to die.

Still. Anyways. It all seems kinda redundant now, 'cause he's lying under the sky in the dirt with his pants halfway off, and you're—you're doing something, or you're tryin' something that Johnny is extremely skeptical about. A bit of time travelling with Gyro had taught him many times that there was a lot of things about the human body he was ignorant of, but he still can't help but be dubious of the claim you made to him a few minutes ago.

I'm gonna make you cum.

At once, a protest had risen to his lips. You can't. Almost a reflex. You'd cocked your head in inquiry, and Johnny had gone redder, down to the tips of his ears hidden by his hat. It's my—it doesn't work. Down there doesn't...

You seem to consider this for a few moments. Then you say, there's something else we can try.

You disappear inside the tent and come out with the bottle of aloe vera they'd been using to treat the burns that had blistered as a result of the unforgiving desert sun. He had red peeling skin all up his shoulders and the bridge of his nose.

He watches dubiously as you squeeze a clear, cold glob onto your fingers. "Wh—where are those goin'?"

He's pretty sure he has an idea.

"You know what a prostate is, Johnny dear?" You always call him that. Johnny dear, like it's all one word. Johnnydear. He always gripes and groans about it and then has to turn away extremely quickly to hide his flush. He's going to examine the reaction he gets when you baby him sometime, he promises himself, just not right now. He's got a lotta shit on his plate, okay? Corpses to find and such.

"N-no," he answers, stammering when you kneel between his legs and spread his thighs gently apart. He sucks in a breath; one of your fingers leaves a cool trail of aloe along the skin there.

"A prostate," you tell him patiently, like you're not situated between his naked thighs, "is a gland that people with your particular reproductory set are born with."

"You sound like Gyro," he mutters. "Kinda killing the mood a little."

"I just want to make sure you're fully informed." You roll your eyes. "It's just that you're leaking precum, see?" To his mortification, you swipe your fingers over the tip of the dick he can't feel and hold them up; under the starlight, they gleam, and he burns with embarrassment. "Means you might be able to feel it. Means I might be able to make you cum."

Johnny swallows hard. He wants—it sounds good. Sounds great. But with the hope comes that fear, an ever-present shadow. What if it doesn't work?

"Hey." You lean over him, and before Johnny can protest you've captured his lips, a slow, deliberate cling. Johnny loves kissing you. He thinks it might be his favourite thing to do, other than jockeying and he can't do that anymore, so this takes an automatic first place. He sighs and melts against you like softened butter, his hands winding themselves over your shoulder and jaw. He loves everything about it. The closeness, the slow gentle intimacy, the way you smell. That last part is probably weird, 'cause you mostly smell like sweat and leather, but Johnny likes it all the same.

You kiss for a while; one of your hand strokes soothing shapes into his ribcage. When you pull back, the panic that had been rearing up inside him has faded to a dull murmur.

"Don't get in your head about it," you whisper. "If you can't feel it, then that's that. You know I won't think less of you."

A lump rises in Johnny's throat, and he shields his eyes from the burning sun of you seein' right through him. "I know," he says, almost petulantly.

"So? Wanna give it a try?"

A part of him doesn't. A part of him is so, so scared. But a bigger part of him, the one that likes kissing you and likes the way you smell and the way you touch him and look at him and everything, really, is nodding before that first part can protest. You kiss him again with a smile, a little faster, a little dirtier this time. This is another thing Johnny likes about kissing—it can take so many different forms. Even if he did find the corpse pieces and get the use of his legs back, Johnny reckons he'd still like kissing more than real sex.

Your mouth starts moving down, sweeping the sensitive skin of his neck and collarbones, the valleys of his pectorals, a nipple. The last one makes Johnny gasp and you giggle, and he splays a palm over his face in embarrassment. You coax such stupid noises outta him. But you seem to enjoy it, so whatever.

Down, down, down. Somewhere between his navel and his pubic bone he stops feeling it. But it still somehow feels sorta nice, which doesn't make a whole lotta sense but it does to him, so. He watches you between his fingers as you reach between his legs, he thinks prodding.

You look up at him. "I'm going to put a finger in, okay?"

Johnny nods eagerly. "Don't gotta tell me. I won't feel it."

You roll your eyes. "I'm still gonna tell you. We can stop whenever, okay?"

"Okay," Johnny says impatiently, and wiggles his hips. You smack his hipbone playfully, which does nothing to temper his brattiness on account of him not feelin' a fuckin' thing. Then you get a quiet, serious, concentrated look on your face that Johnny usually only sees when you're fighting. Or when he's making you cum. That expression, more than any of your words or hesitation, it what makes him quiet down and take it serious.

There's a silence that stretches on. Johnny supposes you must be doin' something, considering the slight furrow he can see between your brows and the achingly careful, gradual movement of your wrist. Finally, after about a minute, you look up at him.

"My finger's in," you tell him, and Johnny bites his lip.

"Can't feel it," he says. He's starting to think this was a really bad idea.

"Just lemme—hold on," you say, and your wrist moves a little, and then—

Johnny keens. He feels, he fuckin' feels so much that it lights him up from the inside and sets his nerves alight, some part deep inside him that he didn't even know existed 'till five minutes ago and it's so good it immediately brings tears to his eyes.

"Oh," he says like he's surprised, and he is, apparently so much so that it's all he can say. "O-oh, oh, oh—"

Your finger retracts back into nothingness, and Johnny bites back a sob. "Johnny?" you ask worriedly. "Did you—is it too much?"

"No, no," he babbles, feeling incoherent already. You brush his hair back from his face with your free hand, the one that ain't inside him, your thumb stroking over his cheek. "It was—fuck, felt so weird. But good. Really, really good. Can you—are you gonna do it again?"

"Will if you want me to," you answer lovingly, and Johnny is biting back another sob for a whole different reason. "Might be a bit intense, Johnny dear. You sure you wanna?"

"Yes, yeah." He stares up at you beseechingly, feeling a bit pathetic but also too far gone to give a shit. "Please, I wanna—I wanna feel it again."

You nod, leaning over to kiss him again. Johnny relaxes into the embrace, losing himself in the familiar touch of your lips, the smell of you, taking the bite out of his surge of panic—and then with no warning you're brushing against that spot inside him again and he's moaning into your mouth, loud and unrestrained. It's pitchy and startled, and your free hand cups the back of his head as he pulls away in shock.

"Fuck, Jesus Christ," he swears, slamming his head back against the dirt. "O-oh, oh god, ohgodohgod—"

"Still good?" you ask, and your fingers made a weird sort of curling motion and it occurs to Johnny that you're movin' them in and out, sort of like you would if you were actually fucking him, and the thought makes him flush so hard he feels feverish. You're fucking him. You're fucking him.

He nods deliriously. "Mhm, yeah," he gasps out, feeling breathless, feeling giddy. "Don't stop, feels so fuckin' good, oh my god."

Your fingers press into him over and over like you're ringin' a bell, and all the while you kiss him and for the first time in ages Johnny feels that both parts of his body are equal. The bottom half has come alive under your jackhammering fingers, the top half consumed by you and your kiss. The kissing makes it so much better, 'cause Johnny reckons if anyone else had their fingers in his ass he'd probably hate it even if they were touching his whatdidyoucallit like that and making him feel amazing. He'd hate it 'cause they wouldn't be you.

The kissing reminds him it's you. The chaps on your lips, the smell of you, the feel of your face and skin, your body pressing into his. It's so all consuming it makes him wanna cry, in a good way, in a weird way. Your fingers move faster and weirder, and Johnny starts making those stupid oh! oh! noises again, stifling them against your mouth, and your tongue presses in and you swallow them whole.

All too soon, Johnny feels a weird tightening, one he hasn't felt since before the incident. He feels a constriction of panic, his fingers clutching at your clothing. "I—hah!—I f-feel weird."

"Bad weird?" Your fingers slow down, nearly stop, and Johnny whines.

"No, no, good weird, good," he pants. "Move again, fuck."

You pick up the pace; Johnny shudders, tensing in your hold all over again. He feels like he's burning, like he's sweating out everything bad he's ever felt.

"Do you mean you're gonna cum?" you ask, your voice lower this time, so close to Johnny's ear it makes him shiver. The harsh brush of your chapped lips against the soft skin there makes his body feel electric.

"I think," he whispers, eyes screwing shut. "Sorry—oh—I think, yeah."

"Don't feel sorry," you tell him almost sternly. "I want to see you cum, Johnny. Wanna see you cum so hard your pretty little head goes blank. You deserve it, yeah?"

"Yeah," he gasps out. "I deserve it."

What you do next with your fingers is almost brutal in the wracks of shivering pleasure it sends simmering through Johnny's body; every curl of them has him writhing and gasping and moaning, he must sound so stupid but you seem to be liking it and fuck, he's liking it, he likes feeling a little stupid and helpless while you take care of him and he's definitely gonna have to unpack that, but later, 'cause—

"I'm gonna cum," he gasps, hands flying out to curl in your clothing. "Baby, baby, I'm gonna cum, I—kiss me? Kiss me, okay, I wanna, oh, oh oh oh—"

You crash your lips together, and your fingers curl up one last lingering time and Johnny shatters. White stars explode over his vision, shatter inside his head, and for a split second it feels like every cell in his body freezes up and screams and dies. He's vaguely aware of some long, drawn-out, breathless noise he's making and the way you swallow it with your mouth.

It takes several seconds for him to come back down to earth. When he does it's to the sensation of you running your fingers through his hair and pressing soft, feathery kisses to his cheeks.

He pants like a dog. When you see his blue eyes on you, you sit up, seem to retract your fingers from between his legs. Your image starts to blur, and Johnny sees your expression crease in concern. He realises he's crying. Not like, actually, not like he's got something to be upset about. He's just... tearing up. Like someone's turned a faucet on behind his eyes and just left it there. He pushes the heels of his hands into the sockets and presses down, willing it to stop, willing the overwhelming feeling blooming in his chest to deflate.

"Hey, hey." Your voice, low and soothing, pressed into his hair, your arms holding him tightly. "You okay?"

"Yes," he says almost angrily. "I'm fine. Dunno why I'm—fuck. Sorry. I'm good, I promise I'm good. That was... so, so good."

Your expression of concern gives way slightly. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Johnny sucks in a shaky, wet breath. "Thanks. Thank you. I didn't even... I didn't even know I could feel like that anymore. Not just 'cause of—you know." He gestures vaguely to the lower half of his body. "All of it. Like, I didn't think anyone would wanna—while I'm still like this. And I—I figured I didn't deserve it, or something. But... it was really good."

Your smile is a little sad. "I'm glad, Johnny dear. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now that we know it works, we can do it again. And again, and again." He flushes, and you laugh sweetly, and Johnny could just die to the sound of it. "Still, we should get some rest for tonight. Gyro will skin us alive if we oversleep again."

You're right, of course. Johnny lets you maneuvre him onto his sleeping skin, and you unroll yours right next to him. When you do, Johnny reaches for you, clinging like a damn insect. But you don't seem to mind, 'cause you wrap your arms around his waist and bring him in even closer. He tucks his head into your shoulder.

He thinks that he'll get to kiss you tomorrow, too.

His sleep is dreamless and deep.

[world0fmadness]

I BURN FOR YOU

oscar piastri x black metal vocalist! reader

♡ general dating headcanons for oscar with a black metal vocalist partner!

୨୧ my first f1 headcanons in a little tiny while, i hope they’re okay lol, my birthday is coming up on the 21st and i feel like i’m having a midlife crisis right now so it might not be my best work </3

♡ related smau available here and related hc available here | view my formula 1 masterlist here

reading music recommendations: upon frigid winds by hulder - the oracle by mythic - angel ripper by aura noir

♡ this relationship is literally sunshine x sunshine protector and you are NOT the sunshine…

୨୧ oscar is the sunshine, obviously! and you’re just the taller, more intimidating, partner who evil eyes anyone looking at your sunshine weird

♡ fans make a LOT of memes and jokes due to just how vastly different you guys are, in both style and personality…

୨୧ a lot of these jokes consist of people insisting he must be paying you to be a form of protection or something due to how uneasy some opposing drivers looks when they see you

♡ he doesn’t at all understand how your throat isn’t ripped to shreds and constantly in pain from the vocals you do! he has a serious amount of respect for you because of it, he thinks you’re SO fucking cool

୨୧ after a concert, he’ll always whisk you off to a local convenience store to buy some slushes for soothing your raw throat <3

♡ if your voice ever sounds majorly scratchy and just kind of weird after a show ( which it usually always does ) he really babies you…

“ love… listen to your voice! it sounds like it hurts to speak, christ… what will i do with you? ” ( you always jokingly roll your eyes as he frets, telling him he’s worse than your mother / father )

୨୧ oscar calls you “ magpie ” due to all of the shiny accessories you collect and wear over time!

♡ he absolutely loves coming with you to do metal magazine photoshoots! whenever he can, he accompanies you and the photographer to some woodland or a historic cemetery to take pictures

୨୧ for once, he doesn’t feel like the celebrity… the photographer never has an interest in taking his picture and he loves it! he just gets to admire you from the sidelines, speaking up to tell you a pose looks nice

♡ and speaking of metal magazines, oscar has ALL of the magazine issues you’ve ever featured in, he has some of the ones you’re covering on in little frames

୨୧ somehow he even has the first magazine you were EVER featured in… you don’t know how the hell he got that because it was years before you guys even knew each other existed, it was out of circulation and super hard to find being resold but he simply tells you he has his ways

♡ oscar is one of the few drivers on the grid i can see actually listening to and liking some black metal bands!

୨୧ he didn’t listen to them before you guys got together but since it’s pretty much all you listen to in the house and car, he found himself getting into it and bobbing his head to the music…

♡ you were SO happy when you noticed this, always nodding at him with a small smile as he gave a slightly shy smile back

“ i like this one, this is darkthrone, right? yeah… this one is good ” ( when he started really remembering and recognising bands, you knew he was the one )

୨୧ he thinks you look so good with corpse paint on!

♡ absolutely loves when you try out different designs for it and ask for his opinion, thinks the grumpy cat type one is so damn cute

୨୧ he’s not a huge fan of how your corpse paint is after a concert though, half melted down your face as you press a sloppy kiss on his lips, transferring most of the paint onto his face as he slightly grimaces at the stickiness

“ you were amazing, love! eugh… right, let’s get this washed off then, yeah? ” ( you usually smirk at him before grabbing his face and smushing it against yours, transferring even more paint as he yells )

♡ you did his corpse paint once, going with a pretty simple design for his first time! he kept smiling as you moved the brush, he was just so happy you were including him in something so special

୨୧ when it was done and he looked in the mirror, he was so awestruck… he swore on everything that is holy ( or unholy, really ) that it’s the coolest he’s ever looked and felt in his entire life <3 and you just think he looks really hot… his corpse paint doesn’t last long as you really can’t hold back the urge to make out with him which leads to his paint smudging all over your face

♡ y’know how someone in a relationship will often “ steal ” their partners clothes?

୨୧ yeah, oscar does this with you… he’s stolen SO many of your band t-shirts :( he just thinks the designs are so good and they smell like you which is a huge plus! you never get mad when he walks by you wearing one though, they suit him

♡ he can’t get enough of watching you get ready for a concert too!

୨୧ he’ll sit on the small couch in your dressing room, eyes shining with admiration and a small smile on his face as he gazes at you, watching you pull on your gauntlets and bullet belt

♡ speaking of gauntlets and bullet belts, he thinks black metal fashion in general is insanely fucking sweet

୨୧ you’re telling him you damn near dress up as a knight? with leather? a sword on your hip? and chain mail? literally the most awesome thing ever to him

“ more leather? you sure, love? it’s quite humid tonight! maybe go for your jeans instead… ” ( you know he’s right but leather is just so much more brutal than jeans )

♡ it fulfils an almost childlike wonder inside of him, you remind him of a fantasy character he would see in a video game and aspire to be like when he was a kid

୨୧ oscar does not like when he hears people stereotype metalheads as greasy, dirty goat fuckers because he knows more than anyone you and your friends are actually super hygienic when it comes to your hair, your hair is always so glossy and soft! he’s always been jealous of yours and your friends hair…

♡ of course you do stuff with pigs blood and stuff but you don’t slaughter the animal yourself! you just get it from a butcher, he hates when people try to paint you and your friends to be cruel and horrible

୨୧ some other drivers on the grid find you to be slightly intimidating… even when you’re not in your full stage outfit you’re usually still pretty dressed up in leather, combat boots, small gauntlets and at least one bullet belt… not to mention you very rarely have a smile on your face!

♡ though when oscar assures them you’re really a super nice person, they start to approach you more!

୨୧ i think lewis would be the most talkative with you, i can just see him having a massive amount of interest and respect for the metal scene <3 he likes asking about your lyric writing process and such, he finds your presence to be calming!

♡ oscar is a VERY good listener, he absolutely loves listening to you talk about the history of black metal and read new lyrics to him

୨୧ y’know books like lords of chaos, the swedish metal story and the death archives? yeah he takes them from your collection to read in his drivers room! his jaw gaping open and numbing “ jesus christ ” under his breath at some of the things written in said books

♡ but he seriously loves to come home to you and talk about what he read! asking you if you’ve ever met some of the people mentioned and what you think of them

୨୧ you showed him varg vikernes’ twitter one time and now it’s kind of routine for you guys to browse it and laugh at it every couple of days… seriously varg, take your meds and put the phone down

♡ when you guys first started dating, you got him to watch until the ligh takes us and oh my god did that documentary change this man’s life

୨୧ he was SO interested in it and wanted to have a in depth conversation about it with you when the credits rolled, he is a chatter box when he finds something interesting!

♡ he recommends the documentary to literally everyone he knows now, he thought it was just amazing <3 he kind of has a major man crush on fenriz now, woah! who said that? not me…