#completely sane stuff happening in my brain

[spineless-lobster]

Okay so idk if this idea has been pitched before but like imagine if you will that mel comes across the little time prisons chronos has for everyone (where are they? Idk just roll with it) and she gets to release them one at a time, building up all the way to persephone. And as she releases them they head back to the crossroads together

For example mel comes across dusa’s box and frees dusa, a little interaction occurs and then they travel back to the crossroads together and dusa continues to reside there. Then of mel comes across meg next and the same thing happens etc etc.

I could be as bold to say that they could accompany you like familiars but idk if that’s a good idea lol

[starsinmylatte]

Malum in se

Pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None! There's only fluff here :)

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: A lovely anon originally requested this of @pseudowho, but she's asked me to fill it (for those of you not following the saga of Lyria's snow week™️.... I've been completely snowed in and WIPs have kept me sane).

Join my taglist here! (18+ only, this blog is mostly pure filth)

Higuruma Hiromi knew he was truly in love when you successfully convinced him to watch horrifically cheesy reruns of Law and Order while he was the one stuck at home sick. He groaned dramatically at every exaggeration or incorrect legal quote, but he enjoyed how you snuggled into his side too much to actually complain about the situation. After all, you were kind enough to take care of him, and his mild illness had not deterred your affection in the slightest. 

He had almost fallen asleep on the couch when you cocked your head at the antics on the television, murmuring under your breath, “Wouldn’t that qualify as Malum in se, though?” 

Hiromi blinked once, twice, and then a third time before speaking, “I’m sorry, what?” 

You turned to face your boyfriend, tone slightly teasing, “Yeah, Malum in se, right? Things like assault, murder… or wearing white after Labor Day.” 

Hiromi arched an eyebrow at you and treated you to the lopsided grin you adored so much. “You’re going to have to tell me how you know what that is.” 

He snaked his arms around you, pulling you even closer against his warm chest. Before you could answer, he took the chance to nuzzle his nose against the column of your neck, sending you into a fit of giggles.

“Well, pretty girl?” He teased gently, and you dropped your head back against his shoulder, humming contentedly.

“Do you remember when I mentioned I used to do community theatre a few years ago?” You questioned, and you could feel Higuruma's grin grow wider.

“Indeed, I do.”

“Well…. There was one time when I played a character who happened to be a law student.” You pursed your lips, trying to keep laughter from bubbling up. 

Hiromi broke into a barking laugh that became a short coughing fit. “You played a law student? What kind of musical involves lawyers?” he wheezed. 

“It’s called Legally Blonde, and it’s not just a musical… It’s a masterpiece.” You insisted. “I loved the movie when I was a young girl, and getting to play Elle- the main character- was an absolute dream come true.” 

Your eyes lit up as an idea sparked into your brain with the strength of a thunderbolt, “Omigod, you’ve never seen the movie, have you? We absolutely have to watch it.” 

Hiromi chuckled weakly, running his hand through your hair, “I’ve got a better idea… There have to be clips of your performance somewhere, right?” 

“Oh….” you paused for a moment, “It was a few years ago, and I’m sure it wasn’t my best work, but-” 

“There’s nothing I’d rather see than you enjoying yourself and doing what you love,” Hiromi interrupted gently, stroking your hair again.

His lopsided grin turned wolfish,  “Besides… I am sick; I think this is exactly what I need to heal.” 

“If you insist.” You smacked him gently with a pillow to punctuate your words as you left the couch to rummage through the DVDs on the shelf. You even took the time to make another mug of tea for your boyfriend, but eventually, you were back and snuggled up against Hiromi, who gratefully accepted the mug you offered him. 

His nose wrinkled unintentionally as he took a sip, “Thank you… but what is in this stuff?” 

“It’s helping your throat, isn’t it? You poked his stomach playfully, and he groaned in response. 

“Yes, but at what cost?” Hiromi huffed, but the slight twinkle in his eyes told you he wasn’t being serious. 

“It’s throat coat tea, yet another remnant from my musical days,” you giggled. “I never liked the taste either, but it certainly gets the job done.” 

With another flourish of the remote, you pulled up the recording of the show, and you swear you could feel Hiromi smiling behind you as he nursed the warm mug. As soon as the video started, he broke out into another laughter-induced coughing fit. 

“Dear god, I’ve never seen so much pink in my entire life.” 

“Oh, just you wait.” You threatened teasingly, “You haven’t even seen my character yet.” 

Hiromi grasped his mug in one hand and used his other arm to pull you back against his chest, wrapping a blanket snugly around your body. You leaned fully against him, partially because you enjoyed the intimacy and partly because you wanted to see his reactions out of the corner of your eye. 

His reactions did not disappoint, even though the video was grainy and clearly meant to be viewed through the rose-colored lenses of someone who was in the show. Hiromi grinned widely when you appeared on stage, murmuring almost too quietly for you to hear, “Cute…” 

You blushed happily, and the show continued. He had many comments on how the Delta Nus seemed to share a hive mind and how much of a prick Warner was. He also very nearly choked on his tea when your character’s father proudly declared, “Law school is for boring, ugly, serious people!” 

Hiromi glanced down at you after that line with a slight pout, and you took the opportunity to cup his cheek and pull him in for a soft kiss, tasting the tea and honey on his lips. “Mmm, don’t worry… You’re not boring, and you’re certainly not ugly. You can be rather serious… but I like that about you.” 

Hiromi kissed the top of your head with a low, contented hum, absolutely convinced his heart was full enough to burst. He fell more in love with you with each passing day, and these past few days had only further sealed his fate. Even now, he was watching you sing and dance your heart out, and you were shining in the roll. The sassy, playfully cute, but deceptively intelligent lawyer was such a perfect role for you, and he quickly became frustrated with Warner. Seeing you so upset over such a stupid man hurt his heart, even though he knew you were acting…. and then Emmett was introduced. 

“Now, I like that guy. He’s got the right idea, actually treating Elle decently.” Hiromi mused, playfully twirling a strand of your hair. 

“Oh, really?” You grinned slyly. “He reminds me of you, you know.”  

“It seems we share the same excellent taste in women.” 

–

The movie was over a short while later, but Hiromi insisted on letting it play through curtain call so he could properly applaud your work. You rolled over to lay against his chest, peering inquisitively into his dark, beautiful eyes, “So you really liked it?” 

“I loved it,” He assured you, pulling you in for another tea-flavored kiss. Suddenly, you could feel him grinning against your lips, “And I may buy you another one of those pink tweed skirt sets… it was cute on you.” 

His deep chuckle only grew louder as you smacked him with another pillow.

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @ironandglass @amyroswell @cassandrablacker @lady-valtieri @justanothersadperson93 @orangecremepuff @khaleesihavilliard @belle-smith07 @outspokenbrat @enchantedsylveon @spam-love @silverliningsandstorms @msniks @panteramarron @eldritchbeauty @unoriginalidea @gabbyburgers @its-chickenwing-450 @luneariaa @pseudowho

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Not What I Planned." Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader.

Well hello! It is the amazing and fantastic @eggsandbeer birthday so, so soon! But I am meeting Matt and Skeet tomorrow and my brain is gonna be all on Billy and Stu post that, so you get this now! This is my first time writing Rusty, I watched Joy Ride 2 six times while writing this. I love Riri, she is so fucking awesome and I adored doing this. She has a more personalized version but gave the go ahead to post a reader insert version for you all! So let's go!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.7K (I Know.) Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Customer Service Work. Asshole Customers. Murder Mentioned. Drinking. Making Out. Man Handling. Fingering. Masturbation. Blow Job. Cum Eating. Vaginal Sex. Riding. Taunting. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Praise. Pet Names.

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You hate your job, it is exhausting, mentally and physically, a total drain, but you do all you can to not let it get you down. You focus on the little things, good customer interactions, great coworkers and the times you are truly able to get away from your work. It isn’t like it’s what you wanted to do for the rest of your life anyway, far from it, in fact one of those vital lifelines that helps keep you sane is a local news internship, it gives you some good experience for what you hope to actually eventually do with your life along with giving you purpose. 

Today is not good, though, off to a less than ideal start. This is decidedly not the way you wanted to spend your birthday. Rolling into the grocery store to do a closing shift, apron in your grip and bag over your shoulder, half-hearted waves to co-workers as you strolled through towards the area you could safely stow away your stuff until you are allowed to clock out. You do just that, drop your stuff in the usual place, get your uniform situated and punch in, ready for another day of God knows what bullshit. 

Your mind was at least slightly occupied, where you work is en route to the Burning Man festival which meant that you were busy as fuck with people loading up on supplies before they arrive to their final destination, it kept you busy. As for what kept your brain whirring, your internship had tasked you with writing a piece on the crowd that is rolling through on their way, meaning you are watching and listening intently. It looks like you aren’t from the outside, hands stacking a fruit display, but ears open, all sorts of talk about events the Burners were amped up for, how much further they had to travel, what snacks were the best and would keep in the desert heat. 

You did some actual work naturally, finding yourself crouched and cleaning out a stubborn drain, the process thoroughly annoying and honestly degrading, and not in the fun way you usually liked. It was your fucking birthday, for Christ’s sake, you should be indulging in the fun kind of calve burning, not the bent over and unclogging kind. Still, you try to stay in higher spirits and certainly not show it outwardly, if someone squinted hard enough, they might be able to pick up on it. 

Later on, you had just finished making a new display, standing back and looking at the gorgeous display of apples you’d spent longer than you cared to mention on, hands on your hips. The first genuine smile that had graced your face since clocking in and wasn’t tinged with a single hint of perfectly practised customer service fakeness. This is one of those moments you felt genuine pride in your work, a glimmer of nicety in all the bullshit. 

It lasted for two whole seconds.

A customer’s cart hits you in the hip and wrist simultaneously because of how you were standing, the action both painful and shocking, completely unexpected. It makes you step to the side, grip your wrist with your other hand, the pain is throbbing and dull, it isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it still sucks and should have never happened in the first place. The customer doesn’t apologize. Worse still, they stride forward, pick a single apple from the middle of the display, causing half of it to tumble over. The customer scoffs with a roll of their eyes, they drop the apple into their cart to look around, seeming to notice you just now for the first time, only then acknowledging you. They give a pointed look from you to over their shoulder, a motion of their head as they criticized your work, “Not very sturdy.” 

Your mouth falls open, and they tut as they walk away, leaving you dumbfounded with fifteen some odd apples scattered on the ground that you had to clean up and a display you had to rebuild. 

Later still, you are sweeping, trying to get these damn onion skins up, but they aren’t moving. You are half focused, conversing with one of the Burners, they are asking for your opinion on what kombucha is best, and you are humouring them and getting a few questions answered along the way. 

Throughout all the regular work crap, you’d been having small conversations with people, writing brief notes for your project, and it was nice getting some serious stuff down about it, served as a half decent distraction too. 

His initial thought is that it was reminiscent of a zoo, upon greater thought while attempting to park the Peterbilt he decided swiftly that it was worse than that, a fucking circus. He manages to park and decides that getting in and out as fast as possible would be vital to maintaining his sanity. He was aware that Burning man was happening, naturally, but still the place was crowded as all Hell, more than he had been anticipating. Rusty didn’t like large crowds of people, but he needs some supplies, he needs to eat. 

It isn’t any better inside. 

He is making his way around, hat pulled low, basket in his grip, grabbing a few drinks, some favoured snacks that he knew kept well, he was passing by the produce, almost ready to get the fuck out. He goes into your department, he is grabbing bananas and thinking about getting some of those pre-cut carrot and celery sticks. Rusty is trying to be a tad more health minded, not like it would do much with how much he enjoys a good smoke but better to do something than nothing he supposed. 

His train of thought is broken when he hears a loud exclamation of, “I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are!”

Rusty’s head turns, he catches sight of you, standing there, trying to look apologetic as some older lady is verbally ripping into you, “I’m making lemon chicken LEEK stroganoff, right?”

She is looking at you expectantly, your eyes wide, and with that half customer service forced smile you nod and say through gritted teeth, “Right.” 

“So tell me, how. Am I. Supposed. To make. Lemon, chicken LEEK stroganoff without LEEKS?” The way she said it was infuriating, the halting, pausing way of it, so condensing, as if you were the cross between an idiot and a child all rolled into one. 

“I don’t know, ma’am. I guess you can’t. I’m very sorry.” You admit it reluctantly, knowing she won’t like your response, and she does not. She goes off on you, “Well I’ve had this menu planned for WEEKS, I have company coming tonight! You have to make this right!” 

Rusty was listening in, brow pinching, this woman was off her rocker, what a complete bitch. You were trying to calm her, smooth over the situation, and she was being worse and worse to you. No matter what you say, she wouldn’t stop freaking out. 

“I really am very sorry. I could call another store nearby and ask if they have any leeks?” You offer up, and she scoffed with a laugh, “So I can make ANOTHER stop? Do you not remember? I am hosting a dinner party tonight, I’m busy! I have other places to go, I can’t be here fighting with you over this all night!”

And yet she was still here, doing just that. 

He had turned, wasn’t watching quite as subtly as he was previous. You were doing your best and none of it was measuring up to this crazy, impossible standard that was being set out. He was looking at you, and he could see that you were taking it hard, your customer service face and voice were holding strong, but your eyes? They looked so sad. 

You reminded him of a kicked puppy, as the woman finally had enough of being a raging cunt and stormed off. Right after that, someone else in uniform walked by, a manager? And on their way, they said, “Happy birthday.”

You gave a small, “Thanks.” along with half a wave as they strode past. You were not only working on, but getting treated like that, on your birthday? 

It got to him, hit him square in the chest, shot to the heart. A sigh and he looks over, he makes a note of the asshole who mistreated you so, he has a little time before they check out before he can go dispose of them in the parking lot for being so unreasonable and rude to you. It might be too far for some people but not for him, people like that, there is no changing them, not at her age, some people don’t deserve to live. 

First things, first though, he saunters over to you, a small clearing of his throat before he asks, “Got a date tonight, there a drink you’d recommend?” 

You turn towards the low and smooth voice, you have to turn your head up to look at him properly, he was taller than you. The way he was standing, the angle, and how he wore his hat you couldn’t see his face, brim pulled too low, standing a few feet away.

A small inhale and your smile turned more genuine before you reply, “Oh, our Pink Champagne is my favourite. I get that on special occasions.” 

Well, how fucking perfect a find were you? Kind, respectful, hardworking, and you have good taste. 

“Thank you.” He said it easily with a wave of his hand in acknowledgement and broke away. You watch him go and think to yourself that he is cute, in that particular way that strikes you when an older guy catches your eye just so. The interaction doesn’t stick with you however, you turned and saw more fucking onion skins that needed sweeping up.

Hours later, you finally get off of work, messed up apron in one hand and looking forward to getting the hell home. You had two days off ahead, you were intent on a bath and partaking in some drinks in your fridge with a good record on when you get home. You are walking through the dark and now very empty parking lot, your mind only focused on reaching your car, sliding behind the wheel and getting home as soon as possible, when you hear a voice calling out. Your car keys are in one hand, the keys between your fingers, sticking out and ready to punch a would be attacking if you need to. 

Hearing the voice makes you put your head on a swivel, initially scared, you look and then see it is that older gentlemen you helped out earlier. You pause, and he comes a little closer, again in the dark and with that hat you can’t make out much except for the orange glow of the end of his cigarette, partially illuminating the lower half of his face. He calls out your name, following it with a question of, "-right?” 

“Hi, yeah it is.” You were still sightly on edge until he is holding up the very same bottle you suggested earlier, “Wanted to say thank you for your recommendation, properly.” 

Your brows raise up, you saw him in the store hours ago, meaning he should in theory be long gone, and you ask, “I thought you had a date?” 

“I do. I was just waitin’ for her to get off work.” Even though you couldn’t see it fully, you could hear the smile in his tone, and it makes one spread to your own face. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize that was you asking me out.” 

The tone you said it in was very light, and he seemed equally amused, “Sorry bout that, terrible manners on my part, truly.”

There is a beat of silence, and you say, “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” 

“So you’d be willing to join me?” He asks, you nod, you felt endeared to him very quickly, the confidence he displayed, the boldness, you were charmed and figured why not? You had the time tonight, nothing wrong with enjoying a birthday drink bought by a courteous man. 

“Where are we going to go?” You ask, and he gestured over to the large shiny black Piterbilt towards the back of the lot. “Was thinking my truck, if that’s alright with you?”

When he asks in that delicious tone of voice, you think that yes, it is very alright with you. “Lead the way.” You prompt, and he does, you fall into step beside him, apron is thrown over your shoulder, and you asked, “So you’re a truck driver?”

“How’d you ever guess?” He asked on an exhalation of his cigarette with a glance over to you. Now you can catch the half smirk on his face, unable to make out his eyes completely, but it didn’t bother you, honestly you kind of dug the mysterious kind of thing, not even fully knowing what he looked like. If anything that communicated how into him, you were, hadn’t even seen his whole face but his voice and how he carried himself was more than enough to convince you to this odd kind of unexpected date. 

“I’m real intuitive. Call it a gift.” You mused, and he liked you, even in how you joked, there was no real meanness to it, could tell that it was all in fun and that inherent niceness shone through. “Giving me gifts when it’s your birthday? Isn’t that what M’ supposed to be doing?” 

That gives you some slight pause, how in the fuck did he know that it was your birthday? Before any serious question could be made, you were next to his truck on the passenger side. You look it over and say honestly, “Nice truck.”

“Thanks, do my best to take real good care of it, s’ seen some rough times.” You look a little closer, scrutinizing, if it had, you couldn’t tell, the thing looked clean and not a scratch on it. You turn and lean against it, you realize he had gotten some cups that were also sold at your work, he holds them out, “Mind holding these while I open this?”

You nod and take them out of his outstretched hand and watch as the last remainder of his cigarette was dropped and ground under the heel of his boot. He uncorks the bottle with ease, doesn’t spill any or cause it to overflow, which mildly impresses, you hold out the cups and he fills them. The bottle is set aside on the ground and after passing him his cup he asked “Any words to share?”

“Here’s to the weekend?” You offered up after a moment’s thought, and he said, “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks yours and his cups together, and you take a sip of the sweet and familiar fizzy alcoholic drink. 

“Seriously the shift I had today was rough, so this is really nice, thank you-” Then you realize you don’t know his name, he clearly picks up on this and says, “Name’s Rusty. Rusty Nail.” 

Immediately you figure it must be his CB handle, you wonder if Rusty is his real name, but also you don’t think it matters much, you don’t press, “Well thank you, Rusty, really.” 

“S’ my pleasure. Heard how that woman was going off on you earlier, some people can be so rude.” Is that what prompted this? The total bitch who was freaking over leeks? If so, you think that maybe her being such a raging cunt wasn’t such a bad thing if it led to this. 

Little did you know that Rusty had taken care of her, she was currently stuffed in the trunk of her own car, way, way on the other side of the lot, body long since gone cold. 

The conversation then turned to you both complaining about a shared distaste for rude and unreasonable people, he let you vent about your day and previous horrible customers at your job. As the conversation went on, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more. You also find yourself standing closer to him, half the bottle gone, he’s had another smoke, and you are leaning on him much more than the truck, he doesn’t mind, you sigh to him, “I cannot believe the crap you have to put up with, it’s so unfair!” 

“Some people have some really unsavoury and outdated views on people in my line of work.” He admits with a nod, and from what he’d shared it seemed like. There are people who say the meanest shit, make horrible assumptions, treat him like dirt or worse, a feeling you know all too well at your own job. You relate to Rusty. 

You’d been talking for an hour, and it was even later, darker, and a shiver unexpectedly ran up your spine, “You cold?”

You were a little, you were in a t-shirt and after standing in one spot for so long this late the chill had somehow set in. “Yeah, surprisingly I am a bit.” 

Then he made an interesting offer. “You want to get in my truck, warm up?” 

You think you really did want that. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.” 

He moved back then and so did you, he opened the door for you, and you looked up, Christ it was big, how were you supposed to get in while in your slightly buzzed state without looking like a total clown? You feel him against your back, he asks, “Need some help?”

You nod, unsure of what he means or how he is going to help but trusting him all the same, it’s then that you feel his hands on you. He turns you, and then those same hands find your waist with ease and grip. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you realize to him, you probably do, as he helps hoist you into the passenger side of the truck. Rusty sits you on your ass in the seat and your face feels much hotter, he just scooped you up and set you down so fast, one simple and fluid motion as he stepped one foot up on the running board, and then there you were. You are side-saddle, legs dangling down and far off of the ground. His hands leave you quicker than you’d like, sliding off your waist and stepping back down. You are a bit dazed, his hand touches your ankle, and you jump, he laughs at your surprised, “What?”

“You wanna get your legs in, so I can close the door?” You nod and do so, swinging your legs in, and he shuts the door. Your hand, that had been clutching your bag and apron, dropped them on the floor by your feet. You look down into your cup, you hadn’t spilled any even when he picked you up, the cup is raised, you tip it back and swallow down the remainder. A sigh and you pull the cup back, hand still clutching it, comes to rest on your thigh as your thumb on your opposite hand swipes a stray drop from the corner of your mouth. He had come around to the other side, he has the door open and is sliding in beside you into the driver's seat, he’d picked up the bottle on the way, and you were contemplating asking for more.

As if reading your mind he gestures for your cup, you lean over, holding it out, and he pours you some more, you asked him, “So before, you were talking about all the bad stuff about truck driving, but what about the stuff you do like?”

The question seems to surprise him if his tone is any indication, “The stuff I do like?” 

He has pulled the bottle back, he isn’t pouring more for himself, you respond to his question with another of your own, “Yeah, what makes the job worth it? Other than the money.” 

Rusty considers the question for a moment before he says, “I like seein’ the country, like being by myself most of the time but most of all? Probably seems obvious, but the freedom of it.” 

You nodded, it made sense and asked, “Can go anywhere, do anything?” 

“S’actly.”  

The silence is as surprisingly comfortable as the passenger seat of this truck is. The thought hits, and you say it without thinking, “I dunno how you do it.” 

“What? Truck drivin’?” He asks, and you say with a turn to him, “Yeah! Like, the actual driving it.”

He laughs, and you press on, one hand holding your cup and the other making like you are gripping a steering wheel that was comically large, pretending to turn it, “Seriously! This thing is massive, it’s a beast! How can you control it?”

“Ain’t that hard really, just gotta be the right mix of careful and confident.” He assures, and you laugh, “You make it sound so easy, I’ve never driven anything this big, that-” You point out the window to your much less impressive ride, “-is my car over there.” 

“Yeah, don’t quite measure up, does it?” He teases and you grin, “Nope. But I don’t think I could drive anything like this.”

“I think you could.” A small pause before he asks the big question, “Wanna try?” 

You nearly choke on your sip and pull the cup back, wiping at your mouth, “What? Me? Drive the behemoth? You want to write it off that bad, Rusty?” 

“You cannot be that bad a driver.” He scoffs. 

“Rusty, you barely know me, I dunno-” He insists, “C’mon, I’ll help.”

“Help?”

You were curious enough to allow it to happen, you’d not counted on his idea of help being putting you in his lap. He’d moved the seat back enough and encouraged you to climb on, emboldened by both the drink and his encouragement, you slide on into the space he made. He moves the seat forward enough to do the pedals, and he places your hands on the wheel, his hands covering yours. “You sure this is a good idea?” 

Nerves were setting in, you’d been drinking, not a lot but also all the close contact with him was getting to you, his attractiveness was apparent during your brief meeting earlier but now that you'd’ been getting to know him? He was becoming even more appealing, being sat in his lap, your back to his chest, his hands on yours, you felt flustered. Sounded by him in both touch and scent, it could be enough to make your head swim if you let it. In your current position, his voice is over your shoulder, “Positive. You’ll be fine.” 

The tone of voice he says it in, the conviction, he makes you believe it. 

One of his hands leaves yours briefly to start her up, the truck rumbles to life, and it makes you jump slightly, Christ it was loud and is vibrating like all Hell. “We’ll just do a lil’ loop, alright? M’ doing the pedals, you just steer her real easy.” 

He had to speak louder to be heard over the hum of the truck, and you pitch your own volume up to be heard, “Yeah, real easy, can do.” 

His foot comes down slowly, and he eases it forward, you grip the wheel tightly and let him lead. He talks you through the process, and it helps, you focus your eyes forward and your ears on listening to his smooth voice praising you, “Uh-huh, around the pole, use it as a guide.” You swallowed and nodded, brows knit together as he keeps talking, “Oh good job, see? You’re doing it.” 

His hands squeeze yours reassuringly, your mouth feels dry, you nod and say quieter than you should, “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, you’re doing most of the work.” You feel that isn’t truthful but again, he talks, you believe. 

“Almost all the way around, a little further-” Both his hands leave yours, sliding down your arms and choosing to come to rest on your waist again, letting you fully be in control. It makes you tense, rushing out, “Rusty, wait-”

Another flex of his hands, another show of comfort, he says easily, drawling out, “Calm down, you’re doing it all yourself.” 

You aren’t fully convinced until you’ve made the full loop, and he lets off the gas, he turns off the car and your shoulders slump, what he says next, makes you melt, “I told you. You’re perfect.” 

That does something, makes a particular part of you break, or is it wake up? Either way, a certain section of you, somewhere aside, comes alive, and instead of wanting to run from it, you chose to grab onto the live wire of sensation with both hands. The truck has stopped, but you keep moving, the urge overcomes, and you turn in your seat and in his lap, one hand comes up, meets his cheek, feeling the rough stubble. He’d already gotten you the champagne, but you think you want more still, and you ask, “Can I be selfish?”

“S’ your birthday, be as selfish as you want to.” You take that is more than enough of an invitation. You lean up and in, push the brim of his hat up enough to give yourself the appropriate access, and you kiss him. 

He had a feeling it was going this way, but thinking and experiencing are two different things. You choosing to take the lead was better than he could have been hoping for, though. Your mouth was so fucking soft, you felt warm, he tried to take it easy, but this is the kind of thing he can’t help getting swept up in. Chances like this don’t come around often, the urge to rush is present, he manages to ignore it, preferring to savour it, or rather, savour you. He lets himself relax further into the seat, returning your affection immediately. 

The scratch of his facial hair against your skin feels better than you’d hoped it would, you let out a soft exhale, a sound on the precipice of a moan while still falling just short. His hands are still on your waist, he nudges you closer, you lean in more, your head tilts, his lips part, and he tastes more like cigarettes than he does the champagne, but it’s there. Your tongue makes the first exploration and sticky sweet fruit is unearthed from below smoke and ash. 

One of his hands slides down, a brief pass over your thigh, and you wonder where it’s going, you realize in short order when the seat you are both on moves back, giving you more space, making it, so you aren’t quite as locked up against the steering wheel. Heat is sparking inside, your hand moves from his face, slipping to rest on his neck, your other hand comes up to his shoulder, fingers grip the jacket he has on and the want becomes too much. You grind down on him. 

The shifting and adjusting allows you to feel how hard he was growing, a harsher inhale, and you begin to scramble, you want more contact, you move to be fully straddling him, no more twisting partially around like you currently were. You are seated just right soon enough, ass firmly planted, and you think fleetingly God he had some solid thighs, strong, you felt very well-supported. 

The making out was only paused briefly while you changed position, you’d gotten right back into it, your mouth slotting back against his with a hum that sounded like his name. You grind again and this time he returns it, rutting up into you, and the friction makes you actually moan this time. The taste, the feeling, and two minutes more of making out is all it takes for you to break, pulling back once his touch had gotten bolder, one having slid up your body, palming one of your tits through your work shirt easily with how large his hands were. You arch into him, breaking the kiss you beg, “Fuck, Rusty, more.”

You are close enough now that you can see his smile as opposed to just hear it, his hand moves and starts to go under your shirt, rough fingers on bare skin and steadily moving up, brushing the edge of your bra. Not quite a laugh but more than an amused releasing of air, he asks, “More?” 

A frantic nod, another squirm of your hips and he asks, “How much more? C’mon, tell me.”

He wants you to say it and you want it desperately enough that it’s no issue, far from it, if anything him making you say it, makes you want it more, makes you feel hotter. “Fuck me?”

“I like your directness.” Thank God for that. “Just have a lil more patience with me, alright?” 

When he asks in that tone, you think you’d do just about anything. A small nod and he needs to get his fill of you just a hair more. Hands explore, groping, feeling, it teases both of you, trying to get a sense of your body before the clothes come off, mind running over just how you’ll feel with nothing in the way. You remain good, you let him feel, minimal squirming on your part, even when he starts kissing your neck as the hand that isn’t up your shirt kneads your ass. Only when you feel your underwear literally plastered to you and your cunt ache incessantly do you whine his name again. 

He mercifully acquiesces, “Okay, okay, I hear you.” 

He eases up, a gesture of his head for you to move to the passenger's seat, “Gonna need you out of those clothes for what you really want.” 

You rush to comply. Once in the passenger's seat, sitting sideways, still facing him, looking at him, your hands catch the bottom hem of your shirt and as if anticipating that you intended to frantically tear it off, he stops you. One hand out and that sweet but firm tone, commanding, "Do it slowly." 

Your face feels hot, and you do as instructed, slowing your movements right down, pulling the shirt up, exposing your stomach and then your bra. Higher and higher until you have taken it off, tossing it in the direction of your bag and apron. Next you have your thumbs hooked in the waist of your pants, arching your hips you start to slide them down, you watch him, try to gauge his reaction, but it’s hard in the low lighting. He gives a nod to show he’s pleased so far, encouraging you verbally too, “Go on.” 

Shoes removed, pants follow, soon you are in just your underwear, and he speaks, a small gesture of your body, up and down, “S’ a good start but keep going.” 

You reach behind yourself, start to unhook your bra, and he is still talking, “Dying to see the rest.” 

You swear you can feel his eyes raking over every exposed inch of your skin. A small thought strikes, you follow it, slipping your arms out of the straps but holding the cups to your chest, an indulgent smile, a rise of your eyebrows, and he clicks his tongue, you play dumb and ask, “What?”

“You’re being a tease.” He states, and you ask in a tone of mock innocence, “Am I?” 

He says more seriously. “Drop it.” 

Unsure if he means your bra or the act, you chose to abandon both. You let the padded fabric slip out of your hands, a spread of your legs, you wonder if he can tell how wet you are from here. He moves too now, you weren’t expecting it, he falls to his knees in the space between your seat and his. Hands come to your hips and the sudden contact makes you jerk with a sharp inhale. His mouth catches yours in another kiss, you return it and moan, his mouth doesn’t stay on yours for long, trails down, jaw and neck, one on your shoulder and lower.

He is confident, he’s taking what he wants and you more than let him, you enjoy every rough scrape of his well worked hands, pass of his lips and nip of his teeth. His warm breath fanning over your chest is welcome, one hand has moved again, over your hip and now on your inner thigh, his thumb is close enough, and he runs it up you, swipes up your clothed slit. You sigh, eyes falling closed, relishing the contact, you are sure now he can feel how wet you are. He runs it back down and then up again, a press just right, and you moan between the friction on your clit and his mouth now on your chest. 

He found it so easily and judging by the smile you can feel against the curve of your breast, he is just as pleased. Rusty abandons the current pleasant task, fingers hooking in your underwear, “I got a feelin’ it’d be a fight to get these off you too, an’ I just can’t wait.” 

You couldn’t either, not anymore. 

Assisting with a move of your ass up, he gets them off, and now you are naked in his semi-truck. You want to jump him, but he is holding you down by your thighs, taking in the view of you unobstructed, totally bare. “Fucking gorgeous.”

A hand reaches out, catches his jacket, and you tug as you tell him, “I feel really exposed right now, you wanna lose some of these?”

“S’ only fair.” He agrees, he removes his jacket and asks, “Wanna give me a little show while I fix myself?” 

It is a request, but you take it like it’s an order. Hand between your spread legs, fingers trace up, catching ample wetness and spreading it up, circling sensitive tissue, making your thighs tense and a small moan fall from your lips. “There you go.”

The praise helps, you increase the pressure, and he hums in approval. Shirt is gone, belt is opened more and more revealed until he is in a similar state of undress. The view of him stripping all for you is insanely helpful. Pleasure is filling you easily and once he is ready he asks, “You mind if I-?”

“However you want me, please.” It leaves you needy and breathless. He steps in, he moves your hands away from yourself, and starts to adjust you to his liking. You like it, you think he can be rougher honestly, you are put on your knees, facing the passenger window, a hand on your back, adjusting you more, hips tilted up, and you feel him against you. The bump of his shaft between your thighs and over your clit is already very good. “Ready, yeah?”

A shaky nod, “Please Rusty-”

The one word and his name is all you are able to get out before he is lining up just right, you hold your breath in anticipation, he spits into his own hand, strokes himself, the extra lube as courtesy is appreciated. He slides in, and you let out a gasp, he doesn’t do it easily, taking you in one firm stroke, hand on your hips as his come to rest against your ass. He revels in you, the tight, soaked heat of you, his head tips back slightly as he soaks it before he starts to move. Pulling out halfway before driving forward, your hands scrabble for the window’s edge, you hold onto it like a lifeline as you gear up for what is already promising to be the ride of a lifetime. 

His thrusting is firm, just like him, steady and sure, a good and even pace. It leaves breathless, not caring about being overheard, not like anyone could in the empty parking lot. A heavy breath from him, “Fucks sake, you’re soaked.” 

You were moaning, incoherent pleas, along with his name, you were more than warmed up, each drag of his thick shaft in and out increasing the feeling. Fingers dig into the meat of your hips, he pulls you back as he drives forward, and you move too, rocking backwards to meet him. “Tight as Hell, can barely fit myself in here.” 

“Keep talking, never, ever stop talking.” Is the one thought in your brain as you moan dumbly. You aren’t thinking much, unable, but you are feeling. Rusty was so kind to you, was totally turning your birthday around, making you feel incredible, spoiling you, and you want to do the same. His hands are roaming and that won’t do, you need to stop him before you are fucked into total submission and wrecked. Another minute, just another minute, you tell yourself, eyes are half open and brain hazy. The glass is so fogged up you can’t see out of it, could write your name but if he asked you doubted your hands would be steady enough. Could you even spell your name right now with what he was doing to you? 

Finally, you reach back, hands on his hips, “Ru-Rusty, please, stop-”

“Something the matter?” He asked, holding deep, all the way to the hilt inside you. His hands smooth up your sides, fingers trace the curves of your chest before coming back down again, and you shiver, clenching on his shaft. 

“Gotta, fuck, do something. Pull out?” He listens, he does so, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”  

The pet names, fucking Christ the pet names, you are forcing yourself to move. It happens quickly. You turn, and then you push him, so his back is against the seat of the driver's side. He takes the hint, sits up on the seat sideways, and then you are the one on your knees. Between his spread thighs, you lean down, a hand locks around the base of his shaft and you lick. He lets out a surprised groan, soft and sounding too good. You start to blow him in earnest, careful of your gag reflex as you work. Your hand slips up and down his slick shaft as you suck on the head, his hand comes down to your head, fingers twist in your hair, “Like tasting yourself?” 

A nod as you moan against him, tongue swirls around the tip, and he watches enraptured, his hips buck slightly, and you gag almost immediately. He inhales through his teeth, “Sorry there.”

You brush him off, a gesture that it is fine, as you redouble your efforts. He seems to be enjoying it immensely, he is encouraging you further but soon asks, “Can you handle some more?”

For him, you want to try. You nod, and he guides you, does it slowly and easily, “Breathe through it-”

You do and the pace, his voice, it somehow works, and you’re able to take him deeper, “Pretty birthday girl. Takin’ it so well.” 

All you wanted to do was please him, you continue the work for only a minute more, however because then he tells you, “I want you back up here.”

You jump at the chance. Same as before, you climb up him and straddle him, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is going. “You didn’t have to do that.” He comments, and you have your hands on his biceps, currently sucking a hickey into his neck and teasing your dripping hole with the tip of his dick, “I know. I wanted to.”  

“Could tell you were into it. You always wanna taste yourself like that?” 

“Not always but it is-” You move your hips down, start to slide him inside with a moan, once he is buried inside of you again you finish the thought, “-a favourite.” 

“Dirty girl.” He coos it like a compliment, and it hits you just like one, too. You start to ride, his hands on you help along with upward rocks of his hips. You bite and suck along his throat in between broken moans, the salt of his skin is a tad too addicting, as is the stretch of him inside and the way he brushes all the right spots inside of you at this angle. 

Apparently it still isn’t good enough for him. 

He tugs you closer, presses you so that way your clit is getting friction and ground with every thrust and bounce, your moans increase in volume in pitch along with the sensation. You had no clue this is how your day would shake out, if you did, maybe your shift would have been more bearable. 

His hands are on your back, holding you close, fucking up into you as you are slamming down, and on a particularly good hit you are gasping. For two people fucking for the first time and relative strangers, you’d found a frighteningly good rhythm. Your body is moving on instinct, just chasing what feels good but still, thoughtlessly tinged with doing your best to please him, thankful for the moment that what seems to be getting him off is feeling incredible for you. It isn’t quite enough, though, and he seems to pick up on that. 

“Lean back.” His voice snaps you out of your pleasure induced stupor, and you nod, separating yourself from him, the one point of contact still remaining your ass on his thighs and him stuffed deep inside. He directs you further, his hands help, and you find yourself with one hand on his knee, the other braced on the roof of the truck, feet on the seat on either side of him and with a confident nod you start moving again. 

It’s good, you are able to hit spots inside yourself that are even deeper, using all your leg muscles as well as your hands it becomes more of a full body effort, minute adjustments can be made so too much strain is never on one part of your sweat slick frame. Soon as you are just right in the groove of it, he surprises you, why he wanted the change in position becomes all too clear. His hand is between your bodies and his thumb presses down, swirling over your clit, and it makes your pace falter, “Oh my fucking God-”

“Don’t stop now.” The way he says it makes a shiver run up your spine and again makes you clench down on him. He says it in the dominant tone of voice, but it’s light, that smug fucking half grin on his face, unable to tear his eyes away from your body. You shake your head, choking out, “Wo-won’t stop.” 

“No, course you won’t, you’re so good at listening.” The praise washes over you with another sharp jolt of ecstasy. His hand that wasn’t working your nerves into a frenzy was on your thigh, sliding up, gripping your hip, “This workin’ for you?”

Fuck, was it ever. You nod frantically, focusing on breathing and not stopping riding him, but in short order, your movements were getting increasingly sloppy. It was like he didn’t have to ask, didn’t rush it, just let you work it out and helped carry you along. You were getting dangerously close, the edge creeping up at a blinding pace, everything you’d experienced so far this night was piling up and threatening to make you break apart at the seams. There were no real words, just hurried breathing and pitched moans, head back, nails digging into the fabric of the truck cab’s roof, the sound of skin on skin and his encouragement. 

A soft call of your name, his hips moving up, grinding into you as his hand works and him asking in a mind meltingly hot tone, “I wanna see it, give it to me.”

And something about that, whether it is what he said or how he said it, causes the reaction inside to finally make it happen, like it clicks into place just right, and you go from a weak and barely audible strained whisper of, “I’m almost there!” To holy fucking shit, I’m, “-cumming!” 

Riding as much became not an option, legs almost giving out, but he takes over, grip on your hip is bruising, hip strength impressive, and he drives up into you over and over. Your hand isn’t able to stay on the roof, caught midair, body tense as your climax rockets through your body, you think your hand on his knee might be drawing blood with your nails, but you can’t stop it nor can you care. 

You jerk as it peaks, and he slips out, his fingers don’t stop until you are crying out and pushing him away, still trembling through the aftershocks. Your eyes were closed, you were panting and not even remotely down from his high when you feel the hot splatter on your tits and stomach with your name staining his tongue. Peaking back open, you see him, hand around himself, and he’d cum all over your torso. The pretty pearly white is sliding down, and his own breathing is very laboured. Your hand trails down, still shaky, skating through the mess he left, and then you're bringing those same fingers back up to taste him. 

Your body relaxes against him, you get into a more comfortable position, and after you stop shuddering so much you are telling him, “That was pretty fucking great.”

“Oh, are you all done?” He asked as he looks up at you, hands are resting lazily on your thighs, tracing patterns absentmindedly. “I mean I thought we were but are we not?”

“We don’t gotta be. I’m in no rush.” The thought of that is extremely pleasant. 

“Another drink till you’re ready to go again, old man?” You asked with a smile, and he laughs as he reaches over to where the bottle was left on the floor of his side of the truck. Thankfully it hadn’t been knocked over, “You get that one and only cuz you were so good.” 

“Only one old man joke or one joke overall? Because I was gonna make one hoping that you aren’t passingly along tetanus to me Rusty, but if you’re planning to be a buzzkill-” He shuts you up with a hand on the back of your neck and a kiss that you end up humming into. Yeah, you think this has been a pretty solid birthday. 

[sunshinegremlin]

CALLING ALL PPL WHO STRUGGLE TO KEEP A CALENDAR!

I used to keep a bullet journal years ago but I completely fell off it once COVID began. Since then, I have had no calendar to keep my life together.

As someone with ADHD, a calendar would help me stay sane, but every time I tried to get back into it, no matter what I tried, it never stuck. Therefore, my life was a mess.

But while reading a Webtoon (called "30 Minutes With You" if you're interested, it's really wholesome) the main character does daily doodles in her pocket calendar, and then it clicked.

I've been doing daily little doodles in my pocket calendar and I've generally kept up for two months now! Overall, it's been really fun AND has kept me more put together!

Here is an example:

You can get a pocket calendar from Dollar Tree for $1.25 (if you're in the US and Canada)! I use blank office labels cut into the right size as the white squares I draw on just because it looks better.

This has also really helped my memory, because once stuff happens my brain forgets it immediately. It really makes me feel like my life is fuller and it's been easier to look back and see how far I've come!

Hope it helps! 💛

[dancegender]

Can I talk about Caine for a sec?

The circus members aren't nearly as weary of him as I expected! I knew he wasn't gonna be an actively malicious character, but he's? Genuinely so nice??

He made an 'exit'!! He knew the circus members wanted an exit, but there's no way to actually LEAVE the circus, so he made them a fake exit because he thought that would be just as good!! He doesn't really understand humans, but he tries so hard anyway! He helps them pick out their names, and gives them little tasks and treats and stuff to keep them sane!

I don't think Caine has as much control as I originally thought. The circus members are his FRIENDS, and their distressed, and he's doing everything he knows to do in his AI brain to try and help them! He probably doesn't even know WHY they're there.

Imagine you're a computer, alone in your own little digital world. One day, someone else shows up. They're scared, they don't seem to be like you, and you decide to help them. Then more people show up in the same condition. You've got no idea what's happening, who they are, or how to handle it, but you try. You try SO HARD to be welcoming to all those terrified souls that manage o stumble their way into your inescapable realm.

That's Caine!

I was so excited to learn that Caine wouldn't be a malicious antagonist, mainly because I was curious to see how he would get written. I was completely blown away! If I didn't already like him before, I definitely would now. He's genuinely my favorite character by far!

[tinyinvadr]

I’m so sane I’m so normal ahhhh!

Psychoborrower

Chapter 1

A new kid showed up at camp. Well, snuck in is more like it. He’s apparently a runaway, like me. Though, I really shouldn’t be comparing. A human could never understand what a borrower goes through, so it’s pointless to try and see things from their point of view.

I hitched a ride in Sasha’s pocket so I could attend the opening meeting. That was typically how I traveled. Smart as he was, Sasha wasn’t always perceptive. He was completely oblivious to my presence.

Coach Oleander gave the same speech every year, but it was standard practice to attend anyway. You never know, maybe I’d miss something new if I skipped.

In this case, that something was a boy named Razputin.

New campers weren’t a concern to me. Most of them were just a bunch of amateur kids who wanted to learn a few new tricks. But this one was different. He was determined to become a Psychonaut, and clearly, he already knew a thing or two. He was able to resist the counselors when they tried to get in his head, and the fact that he was able to get to the camp on his own was a feat in and of itself.

Unfortunately, he had a lot of potential, and Sasha noticed this.

I had no problem with the kid becoming a Psychonaut, really. But he was in a rush, and if he truly was as good as he seemed, there was a possibility he could get the position before me. All my years of training, down the drain for some younger human kid who just got there.

No, that couldn’t happen. And even if it could, I wouldn’t let it. So just in case, I decided to keep watch on him. Make sure that this really was all in my head, and that he wasn’t a threat to my progress.

Still… I have to admit it stung a little to hear that Sasha already thought so highly of him.

I was up first thing the next morning and off for yet another run through Basic Braining. It was all routine to me. The Coach never changed up his course. He was quite proud of his past in the military, and didn’t want anyone to forget that.

Simple as it was for me, it gave me the perfect opportunity to observe Razputin from a distance and see just how much he can handle.

…More than I hoped, it turns out.

He was doing great. Not just at the psychic stuff, but the physical obstacles of the course too. Newbies never complete Basic Braining on the first try, but at the rate he was going, it looked like that was about to change. It was time to step in.

I ran after him on the course until I caught up to him, and then called out to him.

“Hey, new kid!”

Raz stopped and turned to face me, pulling his goggles up. I’m… still not sure what the deal with the goggles is.

“Oh. Hi… uh, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you one of the campers?”

I nodded, approaching him further.

“The name’s Flint, and I make a point of not being seen. So, long term, what exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?”

“To become a Psychonaut! I… don’t have a lot of time, but-”

“But you think you can speed your way through the years of intensive training required to even be considered for a position on the team?”

He paused, looking nervous.

“���Maybe?”

I had to stifle a laugh. That was exactly what I wanted to hear.

“Sorry to break it to you, but if you’re not here for the long run, you’re not going anywhere with this. Besides, the Psychonauts don’t recruit kids. If they did, I would’ve been on the team ages ago.”

“Well… if you’re so great, would you maybe wanna train me?”

“I’m here for a lot of reasons, Razputin. But playing games, making friends, aiding my rivals, are not among those reasons. You can try all you want, but don’t expect any help from me.”

He went quiet again for a minute, trying to think of what to say. Finally, he decided on:

“You talk a lot.”

Reassuring. I had nothing to worry about with this one.

I went on ahead, thinking that would be the end of our conversation, but Raz ran after me.

“Hey! Wait up! Can’t you at least give me some advice?”

Desperate. That could be bad…

Using my Thought Bubble, I quickly rolled away from him, making my way to the next part of the course. Just some easy to avoid cannons.

But when I got there, I noticed that something was different. I saw several creatures moving. It was hard to see them at first, since their white fur blended in with the snow.

Not again. Not now.

Raz caught up to me again, but I didn’t have the mind to care.

“I… I made it! Wow… you’re fast, hehe. Uh… Flint? What are you doing?”

I continued to ignore him, my fists balled up tight as I could feel myself trembling.

“They’re not supposed to be here…”

Memories flooded back to me of that terrible day. That stupid rabbit was the reason I had to abandon my parents and my home. Logically, I knew these mental projections weren’t a threat to me, especially not at this size. But that didn’t change the fact that I associated them with destruction.

I tried to remain calm. To remain in control. But every time I see those horrible beasts, the persona I worked so hard to build slips away from me. And when that happens, my projection reverts to its default state.

Thankfully, Raz didn’t notice when I suddenly shrank down to my regular size. He turned away for one second, and I was gone.

“Huh? Flint? Where did he…?”

I took that opportunity to slip away. I’d have to find another route to the end of the course. There was no way in hell I’d go out into the shooting range with those hideous rabbits.

I watched as he proceeded on without fear. To him, those monsters were harmless. Cute, even. An advantage I would never have, no matter how hard I tried to cover up who I truly was.

The thought of that made me sick. It made me consider that my training was one big waste of time. Because at the end of the day, someone like me would never be good enough for the Psychonauts. No matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t enough to mask the truth.

No… I couldn’t let myself think like that. When a Psychonaut has a problem, they face it head-on. Everyone has fears, doubts, challenges they have to face. You just have to be willing to rise against them. I’d find a way to get over this. I had to.

Just… not today.

[j-is-not-an-artist]

i know that anyone who can read already knows about the parallels between stsg and Megumi+Yuuji but i'm gonna gush anyways

Yuuji and Megumi's thematic and narrative roles where narrative is the metatextual story of jjk being the same as Gojo and Geto where Yuuji=Gojo and Megumi=Geto

but their narrative roles where the narrative is in universe fate and the concept of things happening for a reason and mattering as relates to Yuuji's and to a certain extent Geto's world views are reversed. Yuuji=Geto and Megumi=Gojo

and then my sleep deprived brain just started listing things in no particular order so imma put that mess under the cut

-yuuji + geto eat curses (if i wasnt lazy and sleep deprived i would put in geto's various monologues about his thought process when eating curses here)

-megumi + gojo's curse techniques are directly compared in universe (the two strongest- meaning that gojo talking about the limitless/six eyes + ten shadows fighting each other to stalemate in the past was foreshadowing the gojo sukuna fight now that i think about it )

-yuuji and gojo personalities and coping mechanisms paralleled-- their bubbly happy personas are a mask for their more selfish/angry true personalities but most importantly for their loneliness (the most important part of both character's themes in different ways but that's a whole other rant)

-megumi and geto similar personalities + relationships to y+g= grounding/semi rivals/antagonistic but caring friends

-everyone(in universe) thinks that gojo and yuuji are ticking time bombs that will inevitably cause untold horrors but it turns out that they.. just dont in not insignificant part due to words dissuading them from that ledge said by their other halves (megumi tells yuuju to "save [him]" + geto changing gojo's entire outlook on the world in their conversation when reuniting after toji's defeat)

-everyone(in universe) thinks that megumi and geto are relatively sane but their sanity is more fragile than it seems (geto is self explanatory but for megumi see the fight where he first uses chimera shadow garden and how quickly he gives up completely after his sister gets got) and both end up possessed by one of the series main two villains

-but also yuuji + geto's originally stated motivations for becoming jujutsu sorcerers are supposed to mirror each other-- yaga's whole speech to yuuji when they first meet is everything he wishes he could have said to geto before he went crazy

-their connection to the two main villains of the series (sukuna + 'fake geto')

--geto and yuuji are heavily connected to 'fake geto' for both obvious and spoiler reasons

--megumi and gojo are connected a lot to sukuna - gojo is compared to sukuna a Lot and sukuna shows interest in megumi multiple times + more spoiler stuff (((sorry anime onlys)))

ouch head hurt

[waterspoutskies]

Holy fucking shit how do people handle the constant flood of audio input especially with competing streams, there is no way anyone is staying sane on a daily basis at this point

So I have the ADHD brain and I like to be in the vague company of others while they're doing stuff, it helps me to keep on task, basically body doubling but I can make it work in general situations. When I'm home I also do, in fact, like to be around my family. So I try to work downstairs when I can instead of in my honestly rather isolated bedroom (my room is at such a location that sound from the rest of the house really doesn't filter in much) and lately. EVERY. time I come downstairs, within seconds, there are at least two completely different videos playing at very obvious volumes and probably music playing and/or a conversation going on

I can't fathom how they are able to keep anything straight! I can't focus on what I'm doing even *with* my headphones on because there is so much NOISE happening around me

[callipraxia]

Things I Learned This Morning:

1) Using print instead of script, which would be faster but less tidy, I may hand-write not far under 1300 words per hour when things are going well. (The exact number was 1267 words)

2) My brain harbors an irrational hatred for the number 4 apparently? (I kept almost skipping it and having to go back and erase the little number above fourth words because I wrote 4 as 5, for instance, going straight from 223 to 225 before I caught myself.)

3) Taking a pencil and individually numbering every word you wrote takes a really long time.

4) Apparently my brain also cannot handle writing a series of numbers that consistently go above two digits. I transpose digits, forget the first digit, write 8 instead of 3, write 5 instead of 8, write 2 instead of 9….I made it through the first 1000 but counted the remainder in blocks of 1-100 in the interests of staying tolerably sane.

5) My print is indeed much more legible than my script, but also, oww, my elbow feels like it’s about to crack right now and my hand feels all twisted up inside, ow ow ow.

(Backstory: I’ve been stuck in a rut for a while, so I decided to say “what the heck” and try to force myself to write a rough draft of one of my fanfic ideas for NaNoWriMo. I’m printing because I am currently Resolved to write a complete rough draft and then revise it, all before posting anything. Then, in theory, I’ll post it by chapter on an actual *posting schedule*. However, since I have never managed to muster the kind of discipline needed to keep working on a project nobody has seen and praised some part of for that long in my entire life…we’ll see. Plus, it might be easy enough to make it to the word count minimum today, but I only just finished the setup phase of the first scene, getting Pacifica from “the alarm clock rang” and through “Pacifica reflects on what mornings in Northwest Manor were like compared to her new life” to the point of “Pacifica has gotten out of bed.” That kind of writing is super-easy for me, but the kinds where things actually happen can be…much slower going. Which means I’ll have to apply even *more* discipline to make quotas on some days. So basically I, a deeply scattered and undisciplined person, am basically attempting to overhaul my personality for at least a month, lol. Wish me luck, folks….

For my GF peeps, I hope that you’ll enjoy the results if this project does amount to anything, even though it is a bit of a departure from my ‘usual’ material. You see, I have a lifelong, deep-seated love for books set in schools/based around school years, and I have decided to combine that with my desire to write some post-canon material. We’re picking up very shortly after the finale, with the first day of school in Gravity Falls - the Pineses should have some involvement, here and there, but mostly via phone and Internet. I’m sufficiently addicted to the “greater scope” that I don’t think I‘ll end up with something that is purely YA or a “girls’ book,” but it will involve focusing on more girls and therefore “girl stuff” than canon/anything I have written previously - Pacifica, Wendy, and Candy are all projected to be narrators, with Grenda also at least being an important character and possibly a fourth narrator. Compare to FWJB, where the narrators consisted of ten dudes, Bill, and Mabel…and although I put him in his own category, Bill does seem to use he/him pronouns when interacting with English-speaking mortals, and so one could very reasonably argue that the narrators consisted of eleven dudes plus Mabel. Soos may well get some narrator time, but this one also seems on course to primarily focus on the kid characters. Gulp. We’ll see how it goes….)

[ofdetonation]

hello! let me quickly run through some updates that have happened but i've neglected to mention. even if i ain't here, i may as well keep you informed - because once the bnha manga starts picking up again, i wanna be here.

putting it under a read more, bc it's all irl stuff. nonetheless, hope you all are holding up! it's been a real tough year jfc.

ms progression: so, six months on kesimpta (ofatumumab), still getting lesions popping up. from an mri on sept 4, had 3 new ones on the brain. hooray. progress seems to have slowed though, and sensory stuff hasn't been affected, so it's just brain stuff. makes sense, right?

family stuff: a close relative of mine is dipping in and out of hospital with treatment for something that's likely going to kill them before they're "cured". it's been pretty rough on the family, me included. it's been a long time coming but it still kinda sucks. another one's also jumping around doctors for issues, but that's less of the severe impending doom nature and more of the "oh well that's not good" nature.

trying to stay positive has been one hell of a task, but that's kind of why i've been deep diving into bg3 while not really interacting with people (see: maybe 2-3 people in a day). it's also why i haven't been on! keeping as sane as i can.

if you're still sticking around while i have all this going on, thank you! i haven't been active for ages, so i really appreciate it!

i really hope the bnha manga picks up (aka: bring back b.kg already i'm getting so sick of him being aliven't in this goddamn house), because i'd love to get really involved in the fandom and all! when i'm doing better, anyway. i'll hopefully come in with another update on my health in... a few weeks? recovery from lesions take way too goddamn long.

in the meantime: take a couple of screenshots from my current hyperfixation. deadass. i am (almost completely) unapologetic about how obsessed i am with this game, and i'll literally talk about it 24/7 365 rn.

oh, and a couple of my guardian in this playthrough. just bc i'm proud of her too.

[eggplant-crusader]

Hi, I just wanna say that I love your wenclair fics so much and thank you for sharing them to us! 🥰

That being said, idk if someone already asked this but what are the top 5 fics you love that you've written and the top 5 fics you love that are written by others?

Thank you so much!!!

My favorite fics I've written:

Bad Night - First wenclair fic, and I have a very distinct memory of the moment when my brain broke a little as I realized oh. I think I just got into Wednesday Addam's head. Oh. That's not great.

Leviathan - barely a fic, but I'm proud of how much I did with so little. It was written as a byproduct of the aforementioned moment when writing Bad night. I feel like I didn't so much write it as vomit it.

The Nine Ghosts of Felicia Hardy - My first silkcat fic is perhaps a bit messy because it's written as a divergence from a specific comic book issue, but this one was where I really started getting into how I would write the characters interacting.

Zugzwang - my favorite of my Silkcat fics, where I think I found my favorite things to do with them.

The Scorpion's Nature - here to rep my darker fics. Writing this was a bit of a nightmare and I didn't think it was going to get done, but it ended up happening and I'm happy about that.

Honorable mention to Because, because I wish I could write a million Tanthamore novels, but I just don't have it in me. This is all I could give them, and I kinda hate that, because it's barely a fic.

As for fics written by others:

This is a bit awkward, but I don't read THAT many fics, and the more I write for a pairing, the less I read for them, because I'm already getting my fix from my own brain.

There's also a bunch of fics I've lost track of because it's been years and because I never bookmarked or subscribed to them because I'm terrible at that and they were complete. This especially applies to Pricefield.

So, with all that in mind:

Exposure, a Holstein fic by Makeme123. I'm incredibly glad it's available again, and I rushed to download it in case it's hidden once more.

The Road to Home also Holstein by Makeme123. I'm sorry they just write straight up novels with such good structure and so many great moments.

Raven in the den, wolf in the nest, a Wenclair fic by Barbara_Lazuli - I think it's no secret that barb and I just vibe with each other's work, we have some similar ideas about what Wenclair, and especially Enid I think, could/should be like. This one is long, nicely structured, and very fun.

In Due Time, a Holstein fic by lizardwriter - this is a bit of a weird one, but it's here because I used to be incapable of reading second-person fics, and then I read this and it was like a switch flipped because this fic really HAD to be written in second person. This led me to write some interesting stuff in second person (one is not a fic, another one is a korrasami fic and let's leave it at that).

Danse Macabre, a Wenclair fic by Cruci_fics. It's here to represent all of their wenclair fics tbh, they're all short and sweet, very good stuff, and it's what kept us sane during the early days.

There's a million more I wish I could mention and I can't remember. I've read. So much Holstein.

[acourtofthought]

My dearest spoused;

i wanted to ask you something because I just love how much detail you put in what you do, big brain stuff I love it!

My questions, what is a mate? in what you seen through the series what does SJM consider a mate.

I have been doing my elucien prompt and the mate one is proven difficult because all i can thing is seggy things, and I don't thing it should just be seggy thing. I want something more deep.

and your words always inspired me and show me so many thing I wasn't expecting or open my eyes to more thing I missed.

with love

Your fandom wife/spouse <3

Love!!! ❤️

Can I just tell you how impressed I am with your artistic ability? And I'm so excited to see that you've been getting a massive amounts of reblogs on your fanart 😊

You might hate my response to your question because I'm about to pull from Twilight but I think mates to SJM are kind of similar to Bella's thoughts on Jacob / Edward in Eclipse.

"I could see what he saw, and I knew that he was right. If the world was the sane place it was supposed to, Jacob and I would have been together. And we would have been happy. He was my soul mate in that world - would have been my soul mate if his claim had not been overshadowed by something stronger, something so strong that it could not exist in a rational world."

That's what the mating bond seems to be, something so strong that it could not exist in the rational world.

I know some will strongly disagree with this but I just don't imagine that the author (SJM) who said, "But if they're blessed, they'll find their mate - their equal, their match in every way. High Fae wed without the mating bond, but if you find your mate, the bond is so deep that marriage is....insignificant in comparison" would give two of her main characters (one who she spoke of as being one of her favorites and one who would probably be her real life best friend) a bond only to have them reject it. I don't imagine that she would be the one to set the bar for what the ultimate in romance is in her world only to try to convince us that another couple is going to be JUST as deliriously happy together knowing they don't share a bond (while we know for a fact one of them has a bond with someone else) considering she told us marriage compared to a bond seems insignificant. The second she makes another main pairing just as happy without a bond as those with a bond is the second that everything she's told us about the bond no longer being valid (especially for the males). She didn't say, "but if they're blessed, they'll find their mate and it's a bond so deep that marriage is....insignificant BUT.....sometimes a couple will reject their bond and end up having a relationship with someone else JUST as deep without one". That completely defeats the purpose of building up the wonder and glory of the bond in the first place. Cassian even mentions it as being spoken of as some sort of fairytale from an early age, "It's the legends, the lies, they spin us when we're children. About the glory and wonder of the mating bond. I thought it was all bullshit. Then you two came along."

The Archeron sisters may have struggled to appreciate the bond (especially at first) and it's meaning because they weren't raised fae but I find it impossible to believe that Cassian, Rhys, Az, and Lucien, the MMC she has chosen to focus on in her series (it sucks to be the rest of the unnamed fae males who probably aren't getting one but that's usually what happens when an author focuses on specific characters), are going to be happy accepting just any relationship especially because they're all getting a front row seat to everyone around them getting a bond.

Cassian says, "he supposed, deep down, that was what he was holding out for: the mating bond. What he'd seen between Feyre and Rhys.".

That is what these males want and if that's what they're holding out for, it's understandable. Even Lucien wasn't with Jesminda without hoping she was his mate:

Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her.

It definitely reads like he was going to marry her once the bond snapped into place.

And we definitely know Az wants a mate.

So it's tough to imagine they're going to just stop caring about having a mate especially when it's in the authors power to grant them all soul bonded mates.

It would be one thing to push the fairytale to the back of your mind if you'd gone your entire life without witnessing a bond but once you see it as a real possibility, how can you not desperately want that? As a reader, we kind of anticipate that she's not going to "bless" Cassian and Rhys with these earth shattering bonds while forcing Lucien and Az to get regular relationships and poorly matched bonds. Nothing against regular relationships in the real world since that's all we get but this is fantasy and that means the sky is the limit and the main characters don't have to get "less then".

In this fantasy world, you just don't turn down the thing that is "something so strong, it could not exist in a rational world." Rhys's parents weren't a match because of their personalities (something Elucien should have no issues with) however even they were unwilling to throw away the gift that the Cauldron granted them.

Anywho, I'm not sure if that helped but I loved getting a message from you! ❤️

[alo-piss-trancy]

Btw even if I don't check in here as often as I used to, I really do appreciate all of you who stick with this blog anyways c': Especially since I barely post anything 'kinky' myself anymore. So this is mostly just a gaming/media rant and personal blog now oops

In some ways I'm definitely better off than I was a few years ago, but I've also been dealing with a lot of chaos in my life and household and it doesn't look like it's gonna get fixed very soon. Mix of financial, physical health of me and family I've been heavily assisting, house things in desperate need of repair...

On top of that I've been starting to realize I might actually have developed some form of Agoraphobia from all that time I was housebound before... and other stuff, but I think that was probably the main contributor. I'm still looking into it but with how a lot of the other things I've tried to cope haven't helped, meds don't seem to touch it much, and it seems to be getting worse, it's looking more and more likely than I'd like to admit. Which sucks bc it's also going to be hard af to keep up with working to treat it with Exposure or smth if I'm buried in all the above stuff/have limited transport/places to even go. It's really freaking hard when I do rarely go out and the anxiety/illness makes it so much worse. There've been times I've had to give up and go back early after like, an hour bc I was vomiting/crippled with pain/on the verge of fainting... and that's been happening more often. Like 1 in every 3 times, and I may only get out 3 times a month at the worst points.

Idk. I'm trying. I'm keeping up with the bare minimum rn and that's all I can really say lol

Also the only problem that's actually relevant to kink blog: my drive is still at 0 or even the negatives bc I can't get my medication sorted out bc my appointments got pushed back AGAIN ☠️ So yeah. That's why there has been no writing or hc posts and will not probably be for a WHILE. On God, it's about as appealing to me as eating dry cardboard 😔 Trying to write or draw anything fun is like pulling teeth and if I won't enjoy the end result then I'm not gonna bother RIP. When I get that sorted out maybe I can finally touch my poor WIP pile again 😭

Uh yeah so. That's why I've been so absent for like... forever. I do miss checking in here but I also get in my own head sometimes about posting when I'm not 'providing' anything this blog was intended for. Which I realise is dumb bc it's MY blog and if I want to rant about video games only for like a year straight then I'm allowed to. But brains are Fun like that 🥲

For what it's worth I'm not in like, a fullblown mental crisis so please don't worry about that! I'm not in any immediate danger or smth! I do have some other hobbies I've been keeping up with and socialising in other spaces. And I've been reading. So I promise I'm not in a complete isolated depression pit 💛 Life could definitely be better and I def have some rough days, but I have been trying to take some baby steps to either fix things or keep myself sane at least lol

Idk I just felt like I should explain why I've been mostly gone for ages off and on. I do lurk here sometimes to peek at things even if I don't have the energy to show myself. But I do really appreciate anyone who sends asks or comments on my ao3 or just reads my ramblings lol 💛 Even when I can't respond immediately I still treasure the gesture and it makes me happy to see some of the same names around in my notifs/dash c': So thank you~

[yellowistheraddest]

Alright so

•What sort of music do you like •Are you caught up with one piece? If no, how far along are you? •Have you read any op fics? •Do you have HCs about any characters in op? If yes, which ones?

hello welcome to my conference!!

i listen to rock/metal like 90% of the time, and the remaining 10% its indie pop, lofi/ambient and i have a playlist of songs purely by orville peck. but mostly its 80s/90s rock and some grunge and punk stuff [yes i listen to that when i draw characters being silly]

i am completely caught up with one piece, both anime and manga. these days i just repeatedly watch all the episodes dragon is in because im very sane about this ugly middle aged man and i dont want to dissect his brain and im not interested in his background and relationship with his family hahahaaha

ah, fics... i read fics everynight as a fairytale for myself. theres no specific thing i look for, just make sure the pairings arent weird and its not just smut [i skip those scenes i really dont care who pipes who]. i also dont really care about the word count either as for the past 7 years ive trained myself to learn how to read 100,000 words in about 3 hours so if i do to bed at 11pm ive read and fallen asleep at 2am and waking up at 6am like nothing happened. but yes ive read all the popular ones

i really dont headcanon characters at all besides changing their clothes or by making them gay [projecting much okay...], no matter what fandom. i only have theories. speaking of that OP MANGA SPOILERS currently im trying to figure out a way that dragon doesnt get recognised as garps son after quiting the marines like bro your dad is a vice admiral??? and youre probably high in the ranks too???? so im theorising that he looked like luffy and then after the god valley thing he was like 'wow, rocks fucking hates the marines' and then he metamorphosised to basically look like him because he also hates the marines

this is the end of my press meeting if something doesnt makes sense its because ive been typing with one hand while shovelling a bowl of spaghetti into my mouth with my other hand lol

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Self-Indulgent Fic Snippet: Corruption

Tim Stoker. Who is legitimately magical?

The King in Yellow. Made vulnerable?

Kayne.

Fear gods.

Getrude Robinson.

A Whole Freaking Mess.

There's a threesome except it's really not?

P.S. This is not explicit. Just Tim Remembering Stuff that did not go the way he thought.

-------------------

What’s happening? John gasps. Where’s… what’s happening?

Tim gasps, too. He can see.

Which maybe means John cannot?

The hangar is huge, and almost entirely rusted orange. It’s not too dark; both front and back walls have been completely torn out, though it’s anyone’s guess if that happened before the devil got here. Rusted-out farm equipment and random junk lie all over the place, and Tim really hopes his tetanus shot is up to date.

What a stupid thing to think. He’s not surviving this.

And also? The devil is a guy.

Just… a guy, a man, just crouching there, wearing an absolutely boring suit with the shirt slightly unbuttoned, all of it rumpled as if he’d been out all night drinking to celebrate The Business Deal.

If not for his bare feet, which seem to be smoking, he’d be nearly unremarkable.

“Oh, he’s really freaking out now,” the guy purrs, and smiles like a hurricane. “I should’ve done this with the other one! Place swap! Ooh, maybe I should give him your body?”

“What?” says Tim, voice cracking.

The guy’s face… twitches. It’s not a good look. It matches his words exactly, conflict and amusement and rage. “Fuckin’... John. You had to go and make me laugh. Damn it.” He gets up and starts pacing again.

Tim stares at him. 

That is obviously not this guy’s body. No fucking way - but he moves it well.

He moves like a tiger. It’s not human motion; it’s too smooth, too controlled, like he’s made of power and violence. 

Tim would absolutely have hit on him in a pub. 

He suddenly wonders if he has hit on (and succeeded) with non-human things in a bar.

“You have,” says the laughing beast without even looking at him.

“How do you know?” says Tim. “Wait. You?” 

The devil laughs. “Sweet summer child. No. You’re alive and sane (though they’re both not a given at the moment), which is not a thing after I have had my way. So, no. You have not been fucked by me. Also, I just got here! New kid on the block!”

Just got there. 

Because of the book that Tim opened.

“Oh, gods,” Tim moans.

What? What’s happening? says John in a panic. 

“Oh, and sweetums? Call me Kayne. Not that I hate the laughing beast (better believe that’s going on some booty shorts), but the titles are getting distracting.” And then he grabs Tim’s rope and drags him across the uneven, littered ground.

The cleat hooks catch on things. They dig in. Tim cries out.

Then Kayne tosses him onto the manky old armchair, and a cloud of spores or whatever the hell rises.

Tim coughs, choking.

What? What’s going on? John demands.

Kayne flops in front of Tim, elbows digging into his thighs, chin propped on hands, and beams up at him.

Eyes watering, Tim freezes.

“So, my darling yellow coward… how’ve you been?” says the devil, says Kayne, who apparently intends to drag this out.

John makes that low, wordless sound.

It is not a good sound.

It’s terror, vocalized.

Tim doesn’t know why he speaks up, except that no one deserves to be treated this way, even if they are fucking Cthulhu. “He’s scared shitless of you. He can’t fucking answer.”

“Are you scared shitless of me, then?”

“Uh, yeah?” Tim can’t help the sarcasm.

“But you’re talking. He’s not.”

“Maybe I talk when I’m scared,” says Tim, which is true. “Besides - you said he’s been running away for two thousand years. Give him a minute.”

Kayne snorts at him. “Hey, want to know what you fucked?” he says, and Tim is smacked in the brain with memory.

Of the adorable couple in the pub in Fairfield, positively impish smiles, getting all his jokes - 

Of the three of them coming together like some wild spring bloom, all different petals and colors and all grassy-sweet - 

And Tim’s memory, all him, of Carlin inside him and Darcy on top, of a rare and beautiful intimacy of no-holds-barred and everybody satisfied, of laughing in the bedroom (Tim loves that best) and top-ten-orgasms-ever territory - 

And then, Tim sees what it really was.

Not a couple at all. Not human at all. Some kind of long, moss-covered thing, with deer’s antlers and an emotionless human face, with many openings and a segmented body and at least ten arms with hands on each, pinning him down and fucking him stupid (and being fucked, too, which somehow matters?), and lifting a scorpion tail above him, ready to strike - 

So clearly about to kill him, stretching him out, tail poised right over his willingly exposed throat -

And Tim, being Tim, laughing in the middle of illusory bliss and saying, “Happy birthday to me!”

And the thing (Male? Female? Did it even fit in one category?) just out of curiosity saying in a dual voice, “Is it your birthday?”

And Tim, being Tim, nerves singing, brain ringing, saying, “Naw, but if it was, I’d sell tickets.”

And the thing… laughs.

Because Tim bleeds charm, and Tim is weirdly cute, and the way Tim says this is so ridiculously endearing that the scorpion tail retracts, disappears, is put away.

The thing still takes its pleasure from him, but he doesn’t die.

And in his memory, he felt besotted, and then sad as the couple (not a couple, not at all a couple) told him they had a good time, but they were just passing through, and they left before he woke.

What? says John, sounding shell-shocked. A Sela? No! He doesn’t have antlers. I would have noticed!

“It would’ve given me antlers?” says Tim weakly.

“Nope! Hastur went stupid for a moment and thought you weren’t human. See, what the Sela does is take your seed, give you its seed, and then it kills you! Stabs you through the throat so your blood can water things. Then you become a tree, and it gives birth to a thing that looks like you, but with antlers. When it grows up, the cycle begins again.”

From nowhere comes the light piano theme of The More You Know.

Okay, Tim has stroked out and this isn’t happening. Cannot be happening. Cannot. “Oh, of course that’s what it does. Naturally, should have guessed.”

“You really do talk when you’re scared, don’t you? And no, you’re not stroking out, but that’s an idea. Bet you’d both love that,” says Kayne.

No, says John, which is when Tim finally grasps that Kayne showed this memory to him, too. The Sela doesn’t spare people. This is bullshit.

“Yet it did. And who the fuck are you to argue, anyway? Hey, Timmy. Hey. Do you want to know what Hastur was doing today?”

Tim is busy being so grateful for condoms he almost misses the question. “He… was going to take my body?”

“Pfft, hahaha!” says Kayne. “I mean, Yeah, he was leaning toward it, but guess what? He made himself an arbitrary roadblock.”

John is silent.

It takes Tim a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“He likes you. He set a bar for magic ability that’s really absurd, and had decided if you weren’t gods-damn Merlín, he wouldn’t go through with it - all couched under the guise of not good enough for him.”

They’re both silent.

Kayne rises and speaks right against his ear. “Then you opened the book and damned him. You just know he’d thought better of you, right?”

Tim feels sick. Shamed. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“Uh-huh, we’ll get to that. Hey, John. Did you even notice yet? Did you? No… so fucking self-centered. He got marked, mon petit roi, while you were dicking around playing Humane Society.”

What? says John, sounding startled. Nonsense, I would have -

John makes a choked noise.

“Marked?” says Tim, thinking bruises, cuts -

“By a god-eating entity of complete and utterly personal destruction,” says Kayne. “By the one who Consumes All. By That Which Sets Ablaze to treasured things, feeds that fire with its flesh, and laughs all the way to ash and ruin.”

And Tim feels… a flutter.

An echoed anger, a whispered call to finish what he’d already started.

That is not his desire.

Yet it sort of is. It’s his hopelessness turned to poison, his pain weaponized, his blunt-edged anger bent to hammer-headed rage.

“Fun, right? I’ve never seen the Desolation called to someone because of something inside their own body. He loses control of that again, you’re both dead, and I’m pretty sure it’ll hurt.” 

Kayne sounds like he just saw an intriguing trailer for a movie.

What are you going to do to me? And that voice, John’s voice, is so afraid that it dumps water on that rising alien rage.

“Kill you! But oh, you know what’s really funny? I might not have if you hadn’t run. Might’ve ignored you. Or just hurt you for a few centuries. I didn’t particularly care, Hastur - until you ran. Until you actually thought you could get away from me. Until you had the gall to stay hidden.”

Tim is shaking by the end of this, even though it’s not directed at him.

The malevolence in every word is like spider legs, crawling all over him, tips of fangs just pricking his flesh and threatening venom.

John (Hastur, whoever) makes that low groan again.

Tim isn’t sure what to do.

The simmering rage wants to poke, to tease the spiders so they sink their fangs in.

The quivering fear wants to stay silent in hopes only John dies today.

Neither of those are who he wants to be.

Who he thought he was by default until all of this - a good guy, just one of the good ones, someone people could trust in a pinch, who didn’t molest or steal or ever hurt another person.

So it turns out that isn’t him. 

When things got bad, he grew so angry that he opened the book, knowing others would suffer.

Disgust at himself is just one more wiggling worm thrown into the bucket of himself, but he can deal with it later. For now, he can at least try to do one good thing.

“Sounds boring,” he says.

John doesn’t have a body to stiffen, but he sure gives that impression, anyway.

“Oh really,” says Kayne.

Kayne probably heard that entire thought process.

Tim decides to act on the assumption that he has. “Seems to me the movie trailer would be the more entertaining option. Better than just canceling the show mid-season.”

John’s bafflement almost tickles, it’s so strong, and Tim suddenly wonders why he can feel John’s moods, but apparently, John can’t feel his.

You’d think the guy kipping in his body would have a better chance of hearing his thoughts.

“You know, you are charming?” says Kayne as if the words smell bad. “Kind of wholesome. If I’d just found you wandering along the side of the road, I would absolutely hit you with a truck and never look back.”

“Even with the Desolation thingummy?” says Tim. “Thought that was a good plot twist.”

Kayne laughs, low. “You don’t even know what that means yet - but you know, you have a point? In that case, I’d rile you up and drop you in the middle of an orphanage. Thing is, that’s not all you’ve got going for you. Don’t forget your cowardly passenger.” 

Fuck, is he serious? But Tim knows he is. Burning children might be funny to this guy.

There is, from nowhere, a sudden smell of burning meat.

Tim gags.

What’s happening? demands whatever his name is.

“If it hadn’t got you, this would already be over,” says Kayne. “I don’t do reruns. I already saw this show. Cancellation was so…. Mmmm. Fucking good.” And he shudders, eyes lidded, violently illicit. “As it is, Timmy, you’re right - I haven’t decided.”

You killed him, says John, so very quietly.

Him? thinks Tim.

“I did. Eventually, I’m going to kill you, too. The only question is whether it’s now.”

John is silent.

“Nothing? Heh. All right. It’s time for Final Jeopardy.” Kayne leans in.

Tim rears back.

“Hastur,” says Kayne. “The truth, now. Why did you use ‘John?’” And, very low: “If you lie, or if you hold the truth back, it’s over. Right here, right now.”

Tim can’t help him with this one.

Kayne pats his cheek. “No, you really can’t. Be quiet. Hastur. I’m waiting.”

I…

“The. Truth.”

Vicious words, absolutely cold. Merciless.

Because I miss him, John whispers, and in the end, he never needed me at all.

Tim’s eyes go wide.

A spouse?

Something else?

There’s a another feeling in there, now. John - Hastur, whoever - might be crying?

“Gods, you are making some faces,” says Kayne to Tim. “All right - I’ll accept that answer. It’s close enough, and it hurt you to say, which, let’s be fair, is what I was after. So!” He claps his hands.

It causes thunder. Big, booming.

As if the universe is responding to whatever Kayne’s decided.

“Starting tomorrow, you begin a countdown. And starting today, I have a whole new world to play in here that I have utterly ignored because the gods were gone,” says Kayne.

“What?” says Tim, because what?

“Shh. And I have you two, which could have been boring… except you’ve both already fucked it up. You’re infected.” He tweaks Tim’s nose, making his eyes water. “He’s evil.” He pokes Tim in the chest, but it’s John who grunts. “The entities that dwell here are very interested to munch on a deity they haven’t tasted yet. I wonder how long you can stay alive?”

Tim stares. “What?” he says.

“I wouldn’t count on him to do it,” says Kayne to Hastur. “That infection is going to get him. You know that.” And he smiles. “Going to eat up that goodness, burn that wholesome charm like kindling. It’s a matter of time. You get to lose him. Slowly. No matter what you do.”

Tim doubts very highly that’s much of a motivator.

“And you are going to be stupid enough to think he can change, or is changing, or come to be trustworthy. You’ll grieve, and try to save him, and give yourself away, and it’ll be a stupid, selfless mess. Yuck.” Kayne taps his chin. “Honestly, I know how it’ll go. It sounds dull. I’ve seen this before. It’s TV tropes all over. Still…”

Tim stays quiet. Very still.

He’s sure, somehow, that anything he does right now will tip the scales the wrong way.

“See, right there,” says Kayne. “There is something here I don’t understand. You shouldn’t be picking up on his moods. You shouldn’t be guessing how I feel and adjusting accordingly. You shouldn’t have instincts like that. But you do.” He flicks Tim’s forehead.

“Ow!” 

“Something I can’t… quite see, and that might make it interesting? Might. Fuck, there’s not enough audience for this - and like I said, I don’t do repeats. I mean - I am going to kill you, Hastur. You know that. Don’t you? Come on, now, be honest!”

I know, whispers John.

“Do you want a stay of execution?” says Kayne so sweetly it’s stomach-turning.

Yes, whispers John.

Tim’s pretty sure if Kayne offered John an extra week of life in exchange for Tim’s right now, he’d do it. He swallows.

“You’re not on the table, Timmy. You’re the only part of this that might be interesting. Of course, if I’m wrong, and you’re not, fuck it. I’ll just kill you anyway. But you’re lucky, Timmy. Ask me why, Timmy. Ask me why.”

This might as well happen. “Okay. Why?”

“Because I don’t care about you. You didn’t make me mad.”

John is… trembling?

“See, right there. You can’t do that. Shouldn’t be able to feel that. This is… intriguing.” Kayne grips Tim’s hair tightly and looks him in the eye. “Nope. Don’t see the cause. Weeeeell… try not to bore me, you two. Oh, and don’t get eaten, since I’m pretty sure that would be as bad? Who am I kidding - I don’t even have a storyboard. Ciao!”

And Kayne is just… gone?

Just gone. 

After rambling madly and threatening and being absolutely horrifying, just gone.

“What the fuck just happened?” Tim demands, and realizes he’s still tied.

[fyodior]

oh my god, oh my god, oh my god !!! okay, sorry this is like my third ask to you in a row, but i just thought of this !!

yandere fyodor or dazai, or any other way too smart bsd character (ik that's all of them, but i mean the manipulative smart ones, fedya, dazai, mori all them) with an s/o who's very smart, but specifically has a lot of knowledge in psychology, so they know a lot, and have a lot of understanding of the human brain, and human behavior, so they can see through the yandere's bullshit, or at least most of it. and they're so good with all that human brain stuff, that they can manipulate the yandere into thinking they're breaking their s/o, when really their s/o is still completely sane. what would happen when they found out their s/o was manipulating the manipulator? would they pretend they didn't even know? would they try even harder to break their s/o? would they toss this s/o to the side to find another that they actually can break? which yanderes would enjoy the fact that their s/o is so resilient?

oh i have so so so many thoughts about this !!

THIS IS SO COMPLICATED I LOVE IT BFDLAFJKSDJKL why does this remind me of light yagami's inner monologues where he's like BUT WHAT IF L IS MANIPULATING ME INTO MANIPULATING HIM INTO MANIPULATING ME

but this would be a very interesting story for sure. i think this would be great for dazai because he's always like 10 steps ahead of everyone else and i think it would honestly be really entertaining for him to kind of have this unspoken rivalry of who can manipulate and gaslight better jikdflajdskjdf