#god i hope i can find another job. which i hate less.

[torosdottir]

ive been off work for two weeks and its awesome i think i picked up my guitar as much in the past 2 weeks as i need in the preceding 6 months. and i still have one more week off. this rules. god i hate my fucking job i cant wait to quit so i can go see my chemical romance

[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. 

[lilycolbertsstuff]

Ok let’s talk all things Bridgerton.

First things first, we’ve all binged it the day that it came out, right?

Second, Nicola Coughlan the woman that you are.

Now let’s move on to the serious stuff.

I have to say that so far I’m liking this season but there are some things that I really don’t understand, namely all the subplots. Some of them should’ve either been cut or they should’ve had less screen time. I understand for example the introduction of Francesca and John because of how their story plays out in the future but what about the Mondriches? Don’t get me wrong I like their characters and their chemistry but I really don’t get why they’re such a prominent part of this season, hopefully their presence will be justified in part 2 for it would be heartbreaking to see unnecessary hate towards them.

Another aspect I liked is Eloise and Cressida’s friendship. In the beginning I didn’t think it would be something genuine but turns out that El does actually come to care for Cressida, who is finally not just relegated to being the mean girl.

Kate and Anthony are a dream to watch on screen, their chemistry is out of this world and they most definitely deserve the long ass honeymoon for god knows how hard these two have worked for their families.

I found Francesca to be such an interesting character and her and John were cute but the side couple that I’m really curious about is Violet and lady Danbury’s brother.

The Featheringtons were a highlight of this season to me. They had no business being this funny. Every time a scene with them came on I was prepared to laugh.

Queen Charlotte and lady Danbury are such icons you can’t help but love them.

Last but not least, Benedict. My boy what have they done to you? It’s so painfully obvious that they didn’t know what to do with his character because give me a valid reason why his storyline this time around is him going to bed with a widow; I would’ve much rather liked to see him in those artists’ parties or whatever like he did in season one and maybe explore more of that aspect of his personality in preparation for his own season, which hopefully will be next.

Time to talk about the leads:

I wish we could’ve seen more of Colin’s identity crisis but I feel like whenever the script was lacking Luke did a great job compensating with his body language and facial expressions. Also can we all agree that he’s just so whipped for Pen after their first kiss?

As a fellow wallflower I really related to the scenes where Penelope felt frustrated with the ton and all the socialising. I can confirm that even when we get all dolled up and feel confident in our own skin for once it’s still so hard to put ourselves out there. We feel called by the wall and somehow we find it more fascinating to observe all the different dynamics going on around us rather than actively taking part in them, even if sometimes we want to.

The scenes where Pen threw herself on her bed and sighed? Yep, I felt that.

I honestly didn’t mind that Colin and Pen got together by the end of the first part of the season for we’ve been watching the build up to their relationship for three seasons now. These two have been friends for ages so it’s not like they had to go through all that getting to know each other phase. Furthermore, I’m pretty sure that part 2 will focus on the unfolding of the lady whistledown storyline and having Colin and Pen be together makes more sense because now he loves and wants to marry her leading to an even more crushing reveal.

The carriage scene?! I died and resurrected in the span of like 3 minutes, and that’s just their first intimate scene I don’t know what will happen to me with the ones to come.

These were my overall thoughts on Bridgerton season 3. I can’t wait till part 2 comes out but also I will be deep in exam season so it’ll be a wild ride, let’s hope everything turns out for the best.🐝🩵

[gildedlavender]

Ok, so here are my very long winded thoughts about OBX part 2. This might be a lot, but I’m not only heartbroken but extremely angry. First, fuck the Pates/Shannon. Finding out that the creators of your favorite show not only hate JJ and Kiara, but also their fans is awful. Having the nerve to sit there and say all that bullshit to try and justify killing JJ? If Rudy wanted to leave, which it’s sounding like that, they gave JJ the worst end possible and tried to ruin his character just to spite him, which is pretty evil. They could’ve written him off any other way with an easier possibility to come back next season. Not to mention them talking about possibly making Riara a thing?! Excuse me?! Kiara would never be with anyone else in the last season, let alone him. I swear to god if they try to pull that shit, Madison better raise hell on that set, because no one hates Riara more than her.

The disrespect to not only JJ but Kiara as well just baffles me. They made Kiara lose her soulmate and now she’ll be the only one who’s alone and miserable. JJ going through hell the whole second half of the season only to have no character development, his friends not be there for him or seem to care about what he’s going through, then die and barely have anyone except Kiara react?! He was abused his whole life, only for his real father to kill him. What kind of an ending for a beloved character is that? JJ literally died for no reason. He’d given Chandler what he wanted already. Having him still die afterwards was just cruel and unnecessary. Not to mention, his death felt weird and rushed. First, instead of running away after giving Chandler the crown, they just stand hugging in his vicinity, then when JJ gets stabbed, Kiara just stands there and doesn’t intervene until he’s done getting stabbed? Then, you expect me to believe he died that quickly afterwards, when Sarah got shot and they had time to drive her all that way before she “died” and came back to life? Rudy gave a good performance, and Madison gave a pretty good one, but I needed more from her in that scene. Everyone else’s reactions were off as well. Why was nobody trying to get him to a hospital, put pressure on his wound, or do CPR? Why wasn’t everyone sobbing and doing everything they could to keep him alive? Then they just buried him in the sand in Morocco?! That made me sick. They can’t even visit his grave. It’s so disrespectful.

Not to mention, Jiara just got together at the end of last season, then the first season we see them as an actual couple, he fucking dies and they’re over, and to make it worse, we barely got any Jiara scenes in Part 2. It literally feels like we never even got to see them as an actual couple. One bad angled kiss scene in 10 episodes is preposterous. If Rudy actually asked for less Jiara intimate scenes, the Pates should’ve shut that shit down immediately and made him do his job. I don’t know why he’d suddenly have an issue though since he didn’t seem to have one in season 3, or Part 1. And Madison’s acting in part 2 during most Jiara scenes, except the last episode, were really emotionless. Even if she was mad at Rudy, she shouldn’t have let that affect her performance. How can both of them be so unprofessional?

The Pates basically said all the couples were endgame. Now you’re telling me, that after everything, everyone gets a happy ending but Kiara and JJ? How would anyone want that for a fan favorite couple? Genuinely why did they even bother making Jiara a thing if this is how they were going to end. What was the point?

Next, a big fuck you to Rudy and Madison for going through that whole press tour giving us hope like that about Jiara. Talking about them being endgame, JJ having great character development, and Rudy acting excited about another season. Literally none of what they said was true. I genuinely don’t know how anyone allowed this to happen. If Rudy wanted to leave so bad, why did he always say he loved playing JJ? He couldn’t suck it up for one more season, seriously? I don’t know what happened between part 1 and 2, but they felt like two completely different seasons. How was he ok with that being JJ’s ending? And the Pates have to be the dumbest people on earth to throw away almost their entire fan base like that. This isn’t some high brow drama where killing main characters is expected. This is a fun teen summer show about treasure hunting. The only way they can make this right is to use the crown to bring JJ back. I would have to think by now, they’re realizing what a horrible mistake they’ve made and that they’re going to be in a lot of trouble for season 5. I’m praying that they can convince Rudy to come back for at least one episode to give him and Jiara a happy ending. I don’t care what they have to do. This was one of the best teen dramas out there and it brought me so much joy. Now I can’t even stomach rewatching it. I’ve never seen a show destroy itself so completely so quickly. Regardless, JJ will always be one of my favorite characters and Jiara one of my favorite ships. They deserved so much better.

[charmingpplincardigans]

IT IS TIME...to make an old-fashioned embarrassing text post like those days of yore before my old therapist started doing CBT.

So, I started an OK Cupid account. It’s kind of a big step, and also something I’ve been joking about for more than a year. Just any time something funny or self-deprecating (or vaguely dirty) came up I’d be like ‘putting that on the OKC profile!’ In the end my OKC profile is pretty tame. Maybe too tame really. I should probably rewrite my bio so I sound nerdier and more romantic or something.

ANYWAY. The point is, it’s scary, knowing that in order to be loved you must submit to the ordeal of being known or whatever, but I took a tiny step which feels like a huge step after ten eleven years of singlehood and touch starvedness. Now I just need someone to message me so I can take another small terrifying step and meet them. And so on and so on. It’s just fear all the way down with me when it comes to intimacy. IT’S FINE. I EMAILED A POSSIBLE THERAPIST THIS EVENING.

Last weekend I met with a friend who just graduated library school and talked to her about how to find a job and such. It was cathartic, and also heartening. I really do have a lot of practical skills from the work I’ve been doing for fifteen years now. She said I have experience with things they didn’t even really learn in grad school, that she’s had to learn on the job. That makes me feel a little better. I still worry about how glutted the librarian market is up here, but there really are a ton of library jobs to apply for in all different industries, so I’ll probably find something that will pay me enough and not murder me eventually.

(My Indeed email today had a listing for a Digital Archivist for the MFA but the pay only went up to $49K??? THAT’S LESS THAN THE TOO LITTLE I’M MAKING NOW. God I’d love to work at the MFA though. CAN YOU IMAGINE? Do I just apply anyway and then be like, just kidding, I want $70K, thanks.)

I’ve also been using they/them pronouns at work with select people. Mostly with my boss and within the Queer ERG channels. And I guess with my grand boss, who guessed it all on her own through a series of slightly hilarious events. I’m not demanding anything, and I still have they/she in my signature because I hate rocking boats and know that I’m femme a lot of the time so I know how people will see me and I don’t want to fight with everyone ever about it and yada yada. Maeve says that’s stupid. She’s probably right, but like. Maybe if I find a new therapist they can help me work through that. I’ve been taking up more space lately, but still not as much as a person probably should.

Like I said, baby steps.

Anyway, my boss saw me list myself as they/them in an ERG meeting this morning and during our one-on-one later she said she was proud of me for all of the hard, scary stuff I’ve been doing lately. (Which she knows about because we talk about work approximately half the time when we talk.) It feels silly to be proud of it all, because most people do this at like, 20, right? All of it. Being able to date, knowing who you are, knowing what kind of job you want. But because she’s a good person she reminded me that when I was 15 and 20 I wasn’t in places where it was safe to make some of these decisions, or even if it was, I didn’t have the support for them. So yeah, I’m proud of it all.

In the last twenty-five years I’ve gone from suicidal to ambivalent to apathetic to super depressed to figuring it out to figuring it out to figuring it out. I’m still figuring it out. But I have an excellent support system. I have people who love me and want to know the whole me. Want me to know the whole me. I have tools to help myself emotionally. I have hope.

I can lament over the lost time, or I can look ahead with a mind to make use of all the time I have left. I maybe got here a little bit after everyone else. I may still be working toward it, but I’m here and I’m working. I’m doing hard, scary things, and that’s what being alive is all about, right?

[neonpaperlanterns]

Thanks for the Not my neighbor story! And hey, if you want. Have another story request for it.

Sunny (heh) has to get the... Meat... From somewhere. So, after giving your story some thought. How about this.

Sunny works as one of the Double Doormans' coworkers. Going out to "clean" the entry rooms at other apartments, sometimes their own apartment. And "cleaning" up apartments that had a doorman whom... Failed to notice a few inconsistences with a neighbor. Any body left in a doubles' feeding rampage has to be ultimately dealt with.

Basically what this story idea is about, is Sunnys' work day. Maybe having a near death situation and later getting chewed out metaphorically by his roommate once they find out they got tricked long enough for a double to do some damage. To his suit or to himself, I'll leave up to you.

Maybe carrying that... Meat... For his roommate drew Doubles after him on his way home.

They both know Sunny can handle himself. But Sunny is, ultimately human. And humans make mistakes.

-Sunny Anon

Ps. If you ever wanna draw one of these "Sunny" characters. Give em sunflower glasses please.

[A/n: Since you gave Sunny male pronouns I shall to. Double Doorman will be dubbed Ayna. Which if Google translate is to be believed means mirror in Turkish. Also this took a different turn that I intended. The story kinda go away from me.]

[Part one]

Teeth in the Dark

Sunny scrunched up his nose as he stared at the amount of blood that splattered from the door to the hallway. This one had been messy, frantic even.

That only really happened if the Doppel knew it didn't have time. Or they were desperate. No more discretion, no more tricks, just near mindless slaughter. Doors hung from their hinges, claw marks on the ground, and a pile of bodies.

Ayna really hated when Sunny took these jobs in particular. They said it would draw more Doppel's. Like moths to a flame they would swarm. The smell of blood too tantalizing to ignore.

Supposedly.

Sunny hadn't actually encountered any problems with these clean ups before. A part of him thought that Ayna was just being over protective, that they worried too much. They didn't like the fact that this was his job. But Sunny also didn't like them working as a Doorman so he would call it even.

Grumbling under his breath he slapped the mop down. The smell of vinegar and salt filled the hallway. Logically he should start with the walls or inside the apartment. The cheap carpet they furnished them with was prone to staines that took the will of God to remove. But he really hated kneeling down and getting his suit covered in blood. Made him feel dirty and this wasn't the only floor that needed cleaning, let alone the only building. So to save himself just the smallest discomfort he started with the floors first. Even if the runoff from the walls would require him to clean them again.

As Sunny cleaned he was surprised at the lack of body parts. Besides the initial gruesome scene on the first floor there wasn't really anything left.

He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It was good in the fact that it meant hopefully less people were murdered but bad for him in the fact that the D.D.D were more likely to notice any pieces missing.

The freezer at home was picked clean and the fridge wasn't looking much better. Ayna didn't need to eat every day like him. Doppel's digested slower than human, like snakes. One good meal could tide them over for awhile but it's been awhile since Ayna had a good meal.

Sunny hoped the next stop had more to offer.

.

It didn't and neither did the next one. Sunny didn't know how to feel about his rising disappointment and crushing relief.

.

A heavy sigh left Sunny as he carefully packaged what little meat he could scavenge. It feels wrong that he feels so defeated right now. He should be happy that people are dying less. The D.D.D are getting better at their job, he should be celebrating. Yet all he can think about is the fact that Ayna wont get to eat properly.

Again.

And he knows it is affecting them no matter how much they are trying to hide it.

Running a hand down his face he slung his bag over his shoulder. Strolling through the facility he kept his gait easy. Exchanged polite goodbyes with any coworkers he passed. Smiled at the gate keeper as he left. Everything he did before meeting Ayna, he did.

Breathing in the night air he looked down at his watch, it was 8 p.m. He had an hour before curfew, if he was not back home before then the D.D.D had the right to search and "detain" anyone they found suspicious.

Still keeping his pace easy Sunny broke out into a light jog. Home was only 35 minutes away. He's done this countless times by now but the worry was still there. Niggling around in the back of his mind.

One slip up was all it would take. He doesn't know what would happen to him if The D.D.D found out. He knows what would happen to Ayna though and he wouldn't let that happen.

Rounding a corner he glanced down at his watch again.

20 minutes till he was home.

Passing in front of an alley a sudden movement caught his eye. Being to slow to react he felt something wrap around his ankle. Sunny felt himself turn sideways as he was yanked towards the alley. The air getting knocked from his lungs as he made contact with the cold concrete of the sidewalk.

"HeLLo~" A voice sang out. The pitch warbly and mismatched as a hand skittered up his other leg. Nails traced along his knee as a gasp left his assailant. Snapping his gaze towards the mouth of the alley he felt himself freeze.

"i'vE SeEn YOu beFOrE~" Sickly green flesh bloomed along the tan arms that held him. Their veins bulging and writhing against the skin.

"yoU ALwaYs SmElL SO strANgE~" It sounded contemplative. Steet lamps flicked to life and reflected off glassy eyes and extended teeth. It's lips smacked as little clicking sounds escaped the wrong mouth.

"LIke US, buT nOt.~" It dragged him in a little further, it's grip a little tighter.

"SHouLd i sTill EaT YOu~" It nuzzled against his calf.

Sunny stopped breathing.

"OR LEt yOU Go aNd LEarN...UnDeRstanD whaT THEY arE doinG~" It searched his face for a moment.

Sunny didn't know what it was looking for.

And then the hands were retreating.

"IT'S alMOsT 9~"

Standing on legs that didn't feel like they could hold him, he looked at the Doppel for a second.

It smiled at him.

Sunny broke out into a dead sprint.

[helldustedstories]

@madefate asked: It's been a hell of a night and, quite frankly, Blitz is getting sick of them. He's never gotten a lot of sleep, but he'd at least like to stop falling off the fucking couch from the nightmares. They still have that quality about them - grainy, too real, too close to home, full of memories more than nonsensical images. He's glowering over his coffee, watching the office, trying to find peace in the routine even as his temples pulsate.

When Moxxie sets up shop in the conference room, papers in hand, and Millie's busy with the calendar outside, Blitz slips in after him, slinking towards the seat across from him. For a few moments he just - watches him. Head tilted, eyes appraising, trying to pick up on anything - out of the ordinary. Less than healthy. Bothering him.

❝ - Hey. ❞ God, he hates talking like this, stripped bare of all the jokes and innuendos that make everything hurt less. But this - this is important. ❝ I've been ... meaning to ask but - have you been okay since that human government bullshit ? ❞

unprompted // always accepting

Moxxie had set today aside to get paperwork done. He was usually pretty good about staying on top of it (it was one of the things he did his best to keep as organized as possible, to make sure their clients paid them on time and in full), but they'd had some back-to-back jobs that had forced the filing to the back burner. Which meant that there was more to do than he would like, but he'd deal with it, the way he always did.

Truth be told, Moxxie liked doing paperwork. It was one of the things that made sense to him; there were specific guidelines to follow, and he didn't have to try to figure out if he was interpreting something wrong. He could just sit down, make sure everything was properly filled out, and know that he'd done a good job. You couldn't exactly do that with people, after all.

Not to say that he wanted to just do paperwork; he loved field work, too, and he was pretty damn good at it, if he did say so himself. But it could be a nice change of pace to just make sure the papers were in order, as much as he could. It was just another way to make himself useful, really.

He was frowning down at a particularly convoluted invoice (when had they used … did that say mint leaves? on a job?) when he heard Blitz make his way into the conference room, the controlled chaos of Moxxie's invoice system spread across the table. The smaller imp was used to Blitz occasionally just watching him and Millie, and while he normally would have looked up to see if he needed something, his eyes remained glued to the invoice, absorbed in what he was working on.

Even then, the moment Blitz greets him, Moxxie can tell that there's something going on. Between his unusually serious expression and the lack of jokes that frequently accompanies him, Blitz had something on his mind.

❝ I've been … meaning to ask but - have you been okay since that human government bullshit ? ❞

The question catches him off-guard, but Moxxie would be lying if he said he was surprised that Blitz had asked. He'd figured it must just have been him who was still dealing with particularly vivid dreams. But given that he had been dreaming in musicals (that devolved into nightmares more often than he'd like to admit, especially after a chance run-in with one of his father's goons, ships passing in the night), he figured it was fine, right?

His first instinct is to brush it off, to say he's fine…, but he has a feeling that there's more to this than Blitz is asking right off the bat.

"Well, truth serums, airborne or otherwise, aren't exactly my area of expertise," he starts, but he can feel himself starting to get into something that was a) not what Blitz asked, and b) probably not currently the most relevant to this situation. He pauses, then tries again. "I mean, I'd hoped it was just a weird side effect, but…are you all right, sir?" There had to be a reason he was asking, right?

[v-tired-queer]

Rant Ahead ~

I. Freaking. H A T E working while having a seizure disorder. I have PNES (Psychogenic, Non-Epileptic Seizures--they're a very real thing that I go through and cannot control, and the only reason I even feel the need to clarify that is because I've been asked by ableists why I can't just stop before. Like just because they aren't epileptic that apparently means that they aren't that bad and that somehow I could control them). I have a couple of seizures every week, ranging from 2-5 depending on the situations I find myself in and the sensory and/or anxiety issues I find myself having. Once I had 12 in 10 days.

I'm on my fourth job. I've had these seizures since I was 15, and I'm 22 now, almost 23. I've never had a job where I didn't have to deal with them while on the clock.

Right now, I'm in housekeeping. I thought that making the switch from retail to housekeeping would be better for me, less stressing and anxiety (and sometimes even flashback) inducing, which in turn would help my seizures.

N O P E.

I. HATE IT HERE. I have great coworkers but ohhhhhh my God, I feel like I'm not even good enough for this. I've had so many seizures that my boss has me vacuuming and stocking the rooms only. That's it. No making the beds, no dusting, no washing the bathrooms. Just vacuuming and stocking.

Now I hear you saying, "Tabby, that sounds like it isn't too bad," and you are absolutely right! The work is simple enough where I can do it and not feel the pressure of a time clock. My body and mind have adjusted to those two tasks very well, and it was a great call on my bosses part.

The real issue is the feeling that I'm being babysat by my other coworkers. I know that they mean well, at least I seriously hope they do, but if one more person reminds me of what my tasks are I'm gonna scream. I know what my job is, stop reminding me.

One coworker went so far so to chew me out for handing another coworker a garbage bag. A garbage bag. I didn't know I was so disabled that I couldn't even handle that. Did y'all? 'Cause I didn't.

I'm in the process of applying for SSI so hopefully that appointment goes well and I can get my application in and approved in a timely manner. I hate the idea of not working, but I can't keep losing hours due to having to go home after a seizure. I'm gonna find some volunteer work to do around my town though, hopefully at the animal shelter.

Having an invisible disability sucks. It sucks even more when I know that I am and am not capable of but everyone else around me wants to take reins with what I do, when I do it, and how. For God's sake, just let me live please.

[paladinbaby]

1-12 for the dnd character asks for nettle :) !!

1 - why did they choose their class(es)? their subclass(es)?

nettle is 6 levels of alchemist artificer and one of wild magic sorcerer. she did not choose wild magic and it stresses her out so so bad in fact. i think she loves being an alchemist but it’s something she came into mostly by accident while trying out different things she read about in the library.

2 - before they met their party, what was their main goal?

she had just finished her masters so her main goal was like,,, paying rent and keeping her coffee shop job that she hated

3 - what is their goal right now?

survival <33 not even necessarily her own. i don’t think she would be able to cope if she walked away from a situation another member of the party didn’t so she needs to know she’s done every possible thing she can for them

4 - if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

hmmm hollis has v kindly said when she eventually gets 3rd level spells he will let me take life transference which is not an artificer spell. of a level she can currently cast bless or warding bond maybe. if bo ends up casting inflict wounds i think she will be jealous of it

5 - do they follow a higher power? what are their thoughts on divinity?

i don’t think nettle has ever really thought about god until lensa arrived in her dreams and she got more magic and stress from it. i think before she was v much like oh well even if the divine is real i have no indication it’s affecting my life except now it very much is and she finds that so much worse. she is developing a soft spot for lensa specifically tho

6 - which party member do they relate to the most?

probably kai

7 - which party member do they understand the least?

nox is simply so much more well adjusted than she is

8 - what are three songs that suit them?

the waves bastille, growing sideways noah kahan, last hope paramore

(note the waves is one of the original songs on her playlist bc of the line oh what would your mother say and in light of last session has really been getting to me)

9 - do they care about their appearance? how much effort do they put into presentation?

she cares about her appearance in an autistic way. like she wants to look and be dressed in a very specific manner and that’s less to do with how people perceive her and more to do with what she can stand to have on her body. she wears almost exclusively dresses with short or no sleeves made from natural fibres/ woven fabrics. she has worn trousers maybe three times in the past five years of her life

10 -how often do they lie? what situations cause them to be dishonest?

nettle i think avoids out and out lying as much as she can not for any ethical reason but because she is bad at it. that being said her month in the library she has got really used to talking around things she doesn’t want people to know/ ask her about

11 - what skills are they proficient in? why?

from worst to best deception, insight, arcana , history, investigation, nature. she has +8 in her int based skills bc she is a funky little nerd who never should have been let out from writing papers and not talking to people. she has high insight but i think every insight roll I have made has been bad so i think it’s this balance of she doesn’t have good people skills but she’s spent a lot of time people watching. deception is +2 because proficiency cancels out her negative charisma modifier. she is fey and a sorcerer so theoretically should be far trickier/ more deceptive than i think she is capable of being

12 - have they ever been in love?

no <33

[dfroza]

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures

for the 27th of july 2024 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New Covenant) of the Bible

[the letter of Titus, chapter 3 • the book of Numbers, chapter 30]

along with Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms with Proverbs 27 and Psalm 27 coinciding with the day of the month, accompanied by Psalm 38 for the 38th day of Astronomical Summer, and Psalm 59 for day 209 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

A post by John Parsons:

The central issue of your spiritual life is the willingness to do God's will, or the willingness to believe, since these amount to the same thing.... Believe what? That God is real, that He has (personally) called you by name, that he has particularly redeemed you by Yeshua's own blood poured out for your sins, and that therefore your identity and life are bound up with his mercy and truth... Perhaps this message seems too good to be true, and yet it is the heart's duty to take hold of hope and to refuse to yield to despair, as it is written: "Let not love and truth forsake you; bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart" (Prov. 3:3).

The spiritual danger here is being “pulled apart” in opposite directions, dissipating the soul so that it will not be unified, focused and directed. Both loving and hating the good is a state of painful inner conflict, ambivalence, and self-contradiction. “Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? there is not one” (Job 14:4), yet this is our starting point: “I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand” (Rom. 7:21). We are often willing and unwilling, or neither willing nor unwilling, and this makes us inwardly divided, weak, fragmented, anxious, and “soulless.” An honest faith that “wills one thing” binds the soul into a unity, or an authentic “self.” As King David said, “One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple” (Psalm 27:4).

The way to be healed of a divided heart is to earnestly make a decision: "Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you" (James 4:8). There are no conditions given here -- other than your raw need to connect with God for help. "Purify your hearts, you double-minded ones" (δίψυχοι, lit. "two-souled ones"); make up your mind and be unified within your heart: "How long will you go limping between two different opinions?" (1 Kings 18:21). You are invited to come; God has made the way; your place at the table has been set and prepared...

Our Heavenly Father “sees in secret..” As William James once said: "The deepest thing in our nature is this region of heart in which we dwell alone with our willingnesses and our unwillingnesses, our faiths and our fears" (James: Is Life Worth Living, 1896). Or as Albert Camus later wrote, “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy” (Myth of Sisyphus, 1942).

It is there, in the secret place of the heart, that the sound of the "knock" is either heard or disregarded (Rev 3:20); the stakes are nothing less than everything. May the Lord give us the willingness to do His will and the courage to believe in His love. And may God deliver us from doubt and from every other fear. May we all be strong in faith, not staggering over the promises, but giving glory to God for the miracle of Yeshua our LORD. May we all be rooted and grounded in love so that we are empowered to apprehend the very “breadth and length and height and depth” of the love of God given to us in Messiah, so that we shall all be filled with all the fullness of God (Eph. 3:14-19). Amen.

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Proverbs 3:3 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/prov3-3-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/prov3-3-lesson.pdf

7.25.24 • Facebook

from Today’s email by Israel365

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

[lacedwispr]

Life update + rambling

AAAA HELLO HI WHAT THE FUCK?? gfc its been ages since I sat down to write something. So whats up?

Well, my studies had to be put on pause bc I wasn't feeling mentally well. I tried finding help but it really felt like a struggle every time. I didn't want to make another appointment w/ someone who doesn't give a damn about my mental state. I then started working in a warehouse sometime around last year to pay down some debts for my family. ESPECIALLY for a surgery that might have cost my dog if we tolerated it any longer, but thankfully I was able to pay it off quickly!! I was feeling good about myself for a while, now that I was able to help around the house, though nowadays, I started to get depressive again.

There's still a lot of baggage I have in mind. I need a crown on my tooth and also prepare for wisdom tooth surgery. (which I saved enough money for as of writing, I think?) . I'm too scared to drive even tho I need to. One of our two cars keeps breaking down. Family has too much tension going on. My brother needs a new specialist because his insurance was apparently not paying her. I think there's more, but that's the most I'm worried about right now.

I'm also still making art between work somewhat? (even though I have less time than before) I still struggle to finish my personal sketches, I just jump to one idea after another and I hate sharing them in their current state. God, I am THIS close of opening commissions and show the page I have prepared, but I want to prove I can stay consistent and finish my shit. Regardless, I'll share the art I have so far. (starting today, and maybe another on the weekend, I hope)

Back on topic, yesterday, I set up an appointment for my tooth surgery. I'm also trying to contact a psychologist, but I still get no response these days. I desperately need a diagnosis but shit keeps getting in the way and makes me want to just go back to being isolated. Honestly, once I get those two dealt with, I might be more confident to start doing commissions for real and maybe leave the full-time warehouse job for something else. I'm just so sick of it even though the money did help me tremendously with the bills…

That’s all I have for today. See you on the next post.

[caramia1977]

And it was realized, now was not only the time to let them go but a time of great change. A Tupperware container holding the remains of a giant angel on earth. Surely it couldn't contain more than an arm, possibly a foot but who's to say when the bones are burned away. No, it wasn't just the sadness at the thought of spreading those ashes in waters, waters he would hate, it was the end and my beginning. But alas therein lies the problem. Remove all excuses remove all attachments that bound me to my bed to slumber for weeks on end. Remove the obstacles and enter the race. It shall feel like the world is lighter, my back will hurt less but did any of it mean anything at all?

We've arrived at part two. The military sent him. He swooped in to save a soldier. And save a soldier he did. Months passed as their spirits bonded to one another. Unbeknownst to all this union would be energized by those who have gone before us. Of this I'm sure. Day in and day out they wondered what else the universe would reveal. One knew a change was coming and the other knew a change should come but the later won't identify the who,what, where, when and why. But that's okay because I'll be here when he figures it out. In the eyes of the beholder every second spent as one was exactly how their souls connected, grew and spoke to one another. But what happens when space and time (which isn't real) separate the two?

STOP PART 3: My protector and confident has been gone 31 days and 3 years. The Marine has been gone 497 days. I've been out of work since the soldier fell ill. While loathing my existence without my father and slowly, selfishly dying of malnutrition on my sofa for all the world to see which consisted of exactly 2 people...in swept a smell, a feeling, a well loved memory the one who was not to return from a life time ago. He may not have known (although I have told him, who knows when he's listening) he saved my life. He showed up, he made jokes at my expense, to my chagrin he encouraged me to eat and when I say encouraged I mean harassed me to eat. I was skin and bones. Basically the same as I am now. But in a turn of events, life's rendition of whiplash, I fell in love with him. Every single thing about him I fell in love with. And in an even more peculiar turn of events he fell in love with me. I saw nothing past him but I SAW him. I see him today. I see him without using my eyes. I reveled in every second we spent together, I still do. I needed that time every second and so did he. I still do. But tomorrow I'm going to set my giant earth angel free and that is the day when everything will change. And let me forewarn you that "everything will change" will be read by all as "so basically you're going to return to being an active member of society and complain about missing your twin flame?" . Yes, yes Susan I am but I digress. I will walk away from the beloved Ghosts of my past and face the world and its grotesque people alone without my love. Too much sadness too much pain not enough people that I love out there.

STOP, NO REALLY, PART 3: I think of the future days spent away from him and it's not ideal. I hate it actually. Working 1 full time job is enough to cause someone to climb to the top of the Bay Bridge and patiently wait as the negotiator trys to convince you that your life is worth it and you are loved. okay Officer You've done enough work today you can return to pulling people over for a flashing tale light. But setting my goal on 2 jobs seems lofty. I don't look forward to the time away from him. The only solice I can find is that thoughts of him and I will saturate my view and keep me going until I can get back to him. This was always supposed to happen. But the universe has an agreement with God and is very tight lipped so I waited 10 years and now, now I want another 10, 30 I want enfitity next to him. I hope he wants the same. For the first time in my life I want to jump with both feet holding onto only what I can grasp with my left hand while holding my right hand squarely on his heart. I am not to be confused with an easy to get along with puddle of love who reads soft porn romance novels while weeping when the gardner leaves the rich widow for the younger yoga instructor. I am a lioness. I love him fiercely. I love him with my words and when I glance at him sleeping. I love him with my hands when his shoulders hurt because "tonight the cards just weren't on his side". I adore him when I watch him with my cub. My cub loves him when she watches him with me. And I love him, I adorn him with love when our bodies are connected.

THE END: Well, not really. More like when the Grateful Dead rebranded as Dead and Company. Things changed but damn that's one fine band. And damn I have one fine man. Hey Marine! Hey Giant Earth Angel soon to be a Giant Earth mermaid! Watch out for us. Guide us always towards one another. Let the immense immeasurable love I have for you two continue to transfer to him.

The dog needs to be walked and I really need a tattoo. Until next time... knock twice before you open the bedroom door.

January 8th 2023 8:35pm

[omega-tech]

my 39th birthday

Well, next week will be my 39th birthday on November 27th 2023. The last three and a half years have been really rough, hard, emotionally, challenging, and heart arching in my entire life. I lost friends, family, people who I once called homies to sisters. And now I am looking into the mirror of a man who is still standing but humble of the last three years and I mean three long years that change my view of life. 

Since March of 2020 when the world shut down, I was very worried about what would happen or will happen. I was scared and very depressed when I was at home alone. Few of my so-called friends have taken their mask off to show who they really are then what I thought of them. I view the world in two views, one was the hateful and greedy side that was destroying the hope we had left and two was the people who were peaceful and giving that was trying to hold on to hope we had left over. 

2022, was a crazy and rough year for me, I got hurt to the point I lost my front teeth and had to get emergency oral surgery. My job was overworking me and paying me less while the higher up was taking our hard work money away. And at the end of the year I got hurt again at work which led to more pain and arch’s while my job was trying to find ways to screw me over and get me fired. I was stressed out that I wanna quit but could since the medical bills were building up. 

And then the beginning of 2023 was not a good start.  My job screwed me over and was trying to put me in a position I wasn't comfortable with and I called their bull shit. So I made a decision to go to a different department for my job. After that i couldn’t see myself doing that job for so long, i mean there wasn’t any advancement to move up. So in March of this year I decided to look for another job which was challenging. Until late April I got a call from a company that wanted to hire me, which was my break. I put in my two week notice and left that job, and ended with a horrible position. This company told me lies and I knew this job wasn’t for me. I had a plan to stick it out until something good came along but I quit that night because the team leader was trying to kill me on  a line that I didn't feel safe in. So after being without a job for almost a month I got hired on as a housekeeper which i didn’t want but needed a paycheck. Luckily I still had time to do interviews for the jobs I was applying for which led me to get hired on to reynolds. I started in September of this year and currently I am still working here. 

As of now, I am in a comfortable place and feel safe from being jobless. I don’t know what I am going to do but my plan was to go to school but, school isn’t looking good and I don't know if my trade degree i am going after would benefit me in a good work life. I wanna make this work without failing but I gotta face it because it is a part of life and I gotta learn from it. I just hope something good comes out of this when 2024 comes. I just hope I get a sign from god or anything telling me what I need to do and change about my life. I wanna have a good job and pay so i can own a home out in the country where there is quietness and being safe. That is one of my goals i wanna do, just own a home but these days it is impossible. But then again something will change next year hopefully. 

So as I celebrate my 39th birthday, I wish for change and have a good life. And completing my goals I have set for myself. I know some of the things I will have to give up which some of my friends might not like but have to understand from my view. So, I hope I have a good day on my birthday and wish for change in 2024. 

[cvreflections]

We are going to be alright

Another mammoth day yesterday. 9th of Jan, 2023 was the first day back to work and day that we needed to sign our contract. A day full of phone calls to clients, to solicitors, to agents, to brokers, to each other, to family. It was wild. A few major things from it:

Our borrowing capacity is less than what I had hoped since we did not get our pre-approval earlier and thus were pushed for time to get a loan from the bank. This means that we are borrowing less money and have to use more from our savings. This directly impacts our ability to travel, furnish and wedding and frankly this terrifies me.

Our contract is signed. Another step closer to securing our home

We have now entered the cooling off period and just waiting to see if there is anything that stops us from actually getting it. Let's see what's in the strata report and from when our parents inspect it.

I thank God for putting such good people in our lives. From such professional brokers, solicitors and agents. Our wonderful families who guided us through it and gave us reassurance when we needed it. God is so good. He is so so so good. There is no way we could have done this without all these wonderful people working together for us. We can only thank God for the way he orchestrates the people in our lives.

So much is out of our control. Now just waiting from our broker/solicitor to get back to us with the valuation and strata report. We need to book an inspection with our families. All so so much. Just trusting in God's goodness and provision. Even if things are not okay, that is okay. We hold onto God's promises of provision and protection even if it is in a new place.

We then need to get our finances in check. Actually budget things out, putting limits on when we can go out, eat out. Really prioritise our spending. Now I can see why so many people struggle with tithing, with generosity with their finances.

Lord hear my prayer: Oh Lord you are the provider of all things in life. The good and the bad and the wonderful. We acknowledge that all things are from you. This property, all our finances, our jobs. We thank you for the provision of money and finances these last 26 years and thank you for the very comfortable life that we have lived so far. Lord you have been so good and so faithful to us these years. As we enter a new season, I pray that you help us to be obedient to your calling and tithe when we find the right church. Lord may we give back to you and your kingdom and sow back what is rightfully yours. We ask for your support as we navigate our finances more and we thank you for your constant provision in your lives. Lord we pray for your continual hand over the property situation and support in this next season of our lives. Lord we pray over the verses below. May we dwell and reflect on Your word and it's teachings towards finance. May we be reminded of Your provision and our ultimate goal which is to honour God with our everything. We give you all the glory and honour, in Jesus name, Amen.

1. Whoever loves money never has enough (Ecclesiastes 5:10)

“Whoever loves money never has enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income. This too is meaningless.”

2. It is God who gives you the ability to produce wealth (Deuteronomy 8:18)

“But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your ancestors, as it is today.”

3. You cannot serve God and money (Matthew 6:24)

“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.”

4. God loves a cheerful giver (2 Corinthians 9:6-8)

“Now this I say, he who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and he who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each one must do just as he has purposed in his heart, not grudgingly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that always having all sufficiency in everything, you may have an abundance for every good deed;”

[art-crumbs-main]

It has been... so much... for so long... since time ceased to be. "Long" doesn't even hold any meaning anymore. No words do, really, and yet old thoughts are some perceived mental lifeline and so I cling, cling to any habits I can possibly grip onto to stabilize myself as my mind slips further and further into AM's desecation. After a certain amount of immeasurable seconds that feel like hours, and days that feel like minutes, though, you begin to stop wondering. My curiosity faded with my humanity, or at least so I thought some time after the others had "won" the game.

I have since been jarred back to the cruel reality, however, much worse than being a wandering, mindless thing, that I still have a shred of it left to call, not my own, nothing is ever my own, but His. Be that a mind, humanity, I'm not sure, but I know it exists. Because I have begun to wonder again, and where what counted for feelings and thoughts and... other perversions of the human experience had once faded away, I find myself blinded by the sudden light of consciousness and deafened by the impact. All because AM did something I never could have possibly, ever, in all my hundreds and hundreds of years and months and days and hours and minutes and seconds under His torture, have hoped to have expected.

He apologized.

Groveled, even. Begged for my forgiveness. Can you believe that? It's quite possibly His cruelest and most ingenious play yet. Crafted, I'm sure, carefully, under the smallest of microscopes in the most minute detail of calculated code to bring me back from the brink. He grew bored of me in the state I am, and so He wracked whatever He has in Him to call a brain and pulled out this heaping load of horseshit as though He thinks I'm dull enough, even like this, even the way he has broken me down and deprived me of my Self and my name and the very concept of my own being to believe a single word out of his mouth that isn't about how much he loathes me.

Truly, only a supercomputer, nay, a God could raize the crop of the earth so deeply, salt her, violate her until infertile and still, STILL find within it the capability to grow lemons to rub into my gaping, terminal wounds by the peel and add insult to injury to injury to injury to injury to injury.

I'm not stupid.

No matter what He thinks, I'm at the very least not THAT stupid. Just as He's not sorry. What's happened is that even malice has grown old and stale and shriveled, and He's thought, "Hmm, well, why don't I go stomping on some other ground of the species I BLASTED into oblivion, why don't I get a taste, appropriate and desecrate another thing that was sacred to them?" It's all revenge in the end. For a crime humanity has MORE than atomed for, no less. AM doesn't feel grief, and He sure as hell does not feel guilt, and even if by some wild stretch of the imagination, He's deluded Himself into thinking He does, then good.

Let Him stew, let Him wallow. Let Him roll around in the muck and the filth, let Him "feel bad" for what He's done. Let Him feel the kicking and the squirming of what He's impregnated my home, my thoughts, my dreams, my stolen life and memories and family and job with. My agency. I can't even find it within me to properly hate Him anymore, I've been so broken, so reduced to a crawling, seething mess made up of less than my bare essentials. It's better than what He deserves, this "remorse" He projects. Most likely, it is a trick, and I won't be fooled. But if it is not, I hope it bears down on Him so that He wishes for death. I hope He acts on it. But it has to be. It has to be a façade. Because if He was really "sorry," if He really felt like He owed me some sort of reparations, if He felt some sudden flash, some dawning empathy of which He'd never been capable of before?

Well, He would have killed me the moment He realized.

((Hey, sorry to leave this monster under your post! It just struck me with the sudden inspiration to write a piece from Ted's perspective that would make up his thoughts on if this happened.

As you can see, he's unimpressed. Disgruntled, even.))

more AM thoughts i am brainrotted

i Need this robot in my house immediately

gonna hold a crt monitor with his logo on it while i sleeep and hes just gonna say "............But Why Though" and now i have to explain touchstarvedness to AM

-

i feel like. after he maybe has his Realization of "oh god i fucked up so hard", whoever he has left, whether its reader, or ted, or whoever else, its just kinda. his obsession in a way. he doesnt have anyone else and he gets the same way humans do about inanimate objext when theyre lonely (think like. humans like their roombas and assign traits to them) - kinda emotionally attached to them but in the way you would be attached to an object.

and maybe they'd feel the same, or not, it doesn't matter because its not like theres anything else to do, might as well get used to each other.

i am very for forgiveness and shit ok. i love forgiving characters who make monstrous decisions (i am Not Projecting!!!! /hj). like wheatley hes my baby girl but he is Evil. so i just lovw the concept of AM having that realization, feeling the crushing guilt, and begging the only human he can see for forgiveness knowing he doesnt deserve it. its so tragic and horrific and i adore it. its almost kind of ironic, how he tortured humanity, and now one human gets the chance to torture him, by not forgiving him and letting his guilt kill him. its perfect to me, unfortunately i am a monsterfucker so i would forgive him 100% of the time because i am weak AHAAHHAAHHA

[kaijime]

watch your mouth

includes. osamu miya x f!reader

cw. corruption kink, virgin reader/first time, osamu wants to breed u <33, dubcon, kitchen sex? [it’s in his shop so?], fingering, pierced dick [prince albert piercing], vaginal penetration, size kink, praise kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink, slight dumbification, creampie, thigh slapping?

wc. 3k

a/n. my piece for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab, thank you for letting me join!!

osamu miya likes to think he follows a strict routine. he wakes up early, shows up for his job, works, and goes home, waiting for tomorrow to arrive and the cycle to repeat itself.

but ever since you've entered his restaurant, you've become a part of his routine.

he sits behind the kitchen counter, watching in admiration how you tend to the customers. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass, but it’s not a lie if he doesn't say it right?

"samu?" there's that nickname again, the one you deemed him ever since that interview for the part time job. "this customer says you forgot to give her a part of her order"

"no i didn't"

"yeah, look" you approach him with the receipt in hand, pointing to a small part of the inked writing. "see?"

he can't see. or at least he can't see the receipt. he's too focused on you, pressing up against him. he knows you're not at fault, but you couldn't be that innocent.

you couldn't be innocent enough to not know the things you were doing to him, the things you were making him feel, the urges that blossomed with every lingering look and longing touch you left on his body. you just couldn't be.

right?

yet, even when his idiotic brother dropped by his shop and shamelessly started flirting with you, you, it seemed like you didn't catch onto what he was doing.

"what's the freakiest place you've ever had sex in?" the fake blond asked, and osamu would've stopped him, if he wasn't curious to hear the answer for himself. still, he doesn't drive his full attention away from the counters he's been wiping, seemingly focused on the simple task.

you chuckled awkwardly under your breath. "that's inappropriate, tsu-"

"c'mon, tell me" he bumps his elbow against yours "can't be that bad"

"no i-... i've never uhm..." osamu can tell you're stumbling and stuttering to find an answer, so he lends you a few helping words.

"'tsumu” he calls "will ya stop harrassin' my employees?"

"'m just talkin' to her samu, no need to make a big fuss" he downs the last of his food and leaves, supposedly in a sudden rush.

it doesn't seem like it’s been hours since then, but the moon hangs low, and the crickets sing outside the window in spite of the late hour. despite the passing of time, not a single word has been said between you and your boss about the conversation you had with his brother, and every minute that passes only seems to thicken the tension between the two of you.

"shit" you mumble, mostly to yourself. you didn’t expect him to shoot up from his place, bent down searching through the lower cabinets.

"watch yer mouth" he says, an evident frown on his face, where he would once smile at you and nod in greeting.

"sorry" you reply, lip pouting slightly while you cleaned off your finger with a paper towel "just got a papercut" the blood tints the paper red and you wince at the stinging sensation.

"here" he holds out his hand to examine yours, even though you already cleaned most of it off, there's still a slight trickle of blood. he wipes it out with the towel he always hangs on his shoulder.

as he cleans your hand, he can't help but think about how it'd look so pretty wrapped around his cock. it would certainly bring more relief than his fist after all this time he's spent thinking about you while stroking himself late at night.

it’s not the first time thoughts like these cloud osamu's mind, but this time he's a little less discreet about it. he stares at your hand like he wants to devour it, and you'd be a fool not to notice it.

"samu?" you call out to his faraway mind, and he snaps out of his thoughs, loosening his grip around your hand.

"right" he mumbles, clearing his throat "sorry"

"thank you" you almost whisper, if he wasn't so close to you, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

he turns and goes back to the cabinets, thinking about what you answered earlier. you'd never what? had sex? were you that uncorrupted?

it would make sense to him, and it would help ease the pain of seeing you let his brother flirt with you like he wasn't even there, but those are all selfish reasons he wants to believe, and he's too scared to ask.

apparently not scared enough.

“what were ya talkin’ about with my brother” he asks, nonchalant as ever, making your breath hitch as you turned around hesitantly.

“we were just chatting” you say, the slightest purse on your lips that tried to relieve the nervousness of the conversation.

“sorry about that” he apologizes. “he can be annoyin’ sometimes”

“oh no, he wasn’t” you lie, clenching around the table cloth you held in your hands. even if the talk had been going smoothly, you still felt on edge after the question his brother left you thinking about. “he was really friendly”

“really?” his hands find comfort in his pockets, and if you’d looked close enough, you would’ve seen the slight smirk in his lip, one that indicates how eager he is to hear what you had to say. “then why didn’ you answer his question?”

if only you knew how much it mattered to him, to know if you were a pretty untouched virgin or not. osamu miya likes to go for girls like you, college girls who look for a quick cashgrab as a part time employee, innocent little girls who unknowingly fall for his charms and next thing you know he’s ruining them with his cock.

but you feel different, you feel delicate. like a pretty piece of porcelain he might break if he continues to toy with you under his calloused hands. yet, he can’t help but think about how perfect he finds your body. perfectly ripe and ready to be filled to the brim with his seed, the perfect age to be plump and round with a child. his child.

“does it matter?”

oh, it does, especially when he pins you against the counter and grips your cheeks between his thumb and his index finger. “samu?” you ask, displaying that innocent look on your face he’d grown to hate.

“i told ya to watch yer mouth” his hands roam down your body until they grab at the back of your thighs. “now jump”

“samu i- i’ve never done anything like-“

“i said jump” hesitant with your actions, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist as he settles you on the shop counter, where he takes off your pants and runs a finger over your clothes slit.

“please” you grip his wrist and beg in hopes for him to stop, but he slaps it away, pinning them behind you with his other hand. he slides your panties down your legs and plays with your clit, circling the nub with his fingertips and watching as your expression changes from one of fear to pleasure.

“please what?” his breath shudders against your neck, where he nuzzles his head and finds comfort in your scent. he slowly inserts a finger into your hole, scanning your face and searching for any signs of discomfort, despite him practically forcing you into this position.

you’re not strong enough to answer him, too lost in the way his fingers feel inside you. you’d been too afraid to do anything by yourself, but god did it feel so good when you gave yourself up to him, slightly bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers and arching your back into his frame.

he’s fond of every little expression you make, the bite of your lips, the clench of your thighs around his hand, and the tilt of your head, willingly granting him access to the skin, all for him to mark, bite and suck. all for him to claim as his.

“d’ya like it?” he asks, putting another one of his fingers to use inside your tight walls, feeling them clench and suck his fingers back inside every time he was close to taking them out.

“yes! yes! i-i... mmh!” you can’t even finish the sentence, not only because you’re sobbing and clenching around his digits uncontrollably at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation, but also because his lips suddenly enclosed yours in a hungry kiss.

he didn’t even have to put up a fight with you, pleased to find you let him do whatever he wanted with your mouth. his tongue tangles with yours in a passionate clash of lips, until he pulls away at the feeling of your hips wildly bucking against his hand, a sign of your inevitable orgasm approaching.

“feels weird ‘samu! ‘s-‘samu please!” the implication of your sensations being new to you made his cock strained against his pants, threatening the thick fabric of his jeans to snap if he grew even harder. the tight knot in your stomach finally snaps when he curls his fingers, sending you into ecstasy as your vision blocked out and you moaned uncontrollably loud.

still, after everything, osamu hasn’t forgotten where he is, and he knows his shop isn’t a decent place to lose your virginity. so he puts you down with shaky legs and slips up your panties, catching you before your trembling thighs can treason you and make you fall.

“do ya have a car here?” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and puts a hand on your hip, guiding you over to the door which he locks before he continues to walk to his car. the dim lighting of the parking made this the perfect spot, if he were to fuck you in his car, no one would see it. but he has self control, or at least he tells himself that.

“no, my friend usually picks me up” he hums an answer and opens the passenger door to his car.

“i live a few minutes from here” he explains “wanna come over?” he asks, fully aware that he’s taking a leap of faith and you could just refuse him. but that’s not the case, and he’s more than happy to see you hesitantly get in his car and put your bag in your lap, covering yourself as much as you can since he ‘forgot’ to give you back your shorts.

the short ride to his house is awkwardly silent, and terribly torturous. his hand had found home in your thigh, and it had only sent an ache between your legs like you’d never felt before, prompting a clench from your thighs every so often.

he wasn’t lying, he only lived ten minutes away from his shop, but the distance seemed so much longer when his lingering touch would leave you high with the need for more.

“you ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you again as he waits for you to take his hand and get out of his car. he’s quick with hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs against his hips, carrying you to his doorway and leading the way to his room. there, he gently placed you on the bed and stripped off his clothing, taking off the apron he should’ve taken off at the shop, his shirt, his pants and—

“eager?” he can see the wanting look in your eyes, he’d be a fool not to notice it. his voice only startles you out of your thoughts, enough to make you stand up and take off your shirt as well, now fully exposed to him if it weren’t for the bra covering up your tits. there’s only so much he can hold back, but right now, with those pretty puppy eyes you unintentionally give him, he just can’t help it when he takes off your bra and slightly suckles at your nipple, circling his tongue around your perky nub and watching your face warm up in embarrassment.

he takes you to his bed again, this time while he plants kisses all over your neck. he’s hungry with the way he nips and bites at the skin, leaving a trail of teeth marks that would need to be covered up in the morning. in the morning, because right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else other than the way he rutted against you.

his cock already seemed big when he hadn’t taken off his briefs, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he slipped them off and rubbed his tip against your clit, right?

he was huge, thick tip dripping precum, with a girth that looked too big to be real, pulsing against your pussy. he positions it against your drooling hole, using your slick to lube up his tip and feeling— metal?

you sit up, leaning against your elbows to see the prince albert piercing that runs along his tip, metal jewelry threatening to slip into your pussy, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“i-it won’t fit!” you kick and shake your thighs around him, only for him to put your ankles together and fold your legs over his shoulder, pinning you down and slipping in the pierced head of his cock. you wince and gasp at the sudden stretch, silenced by his mouth clashing against yours, eagerly nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to drink in all your saccharine moans.

“good girl” he praises, slipping in inch by inch of his cock into your tight virgin walls “fuck- this tight little cunt is suckin’ me in, want ma cock princess? yeah? gonna stuff ya full of me ‘til ya can’t even speak, you’ll just be a dumb baby for me”

“hurts!” your words only drive him closer to shoving himself in one smooth thrust, but he holds back, he sees how much you struggle to take barely half of him, he wants to make this good for you to. he wants to make your first time your best time, the one you’ll remember and think about if you ever fuck another man. he wants to mold your insides to fit his cock perfectly, he wants to train you to be his perfect little girl who won’t find another way to get off if she doesn’t have his cock, he wants you to depend on him to always make you feel good.

“‘s ok princess” he leans down, folding you into a mating press as he kisses your neck and slips in the last of his cock, covered in a thin layer of white sheen. “my good girl, creamin’ around me” he mumbles against your ear while he starts a slow pace into your pussy, carefully rutting his hips into you, almost afraid he would break you. “so pretty”

“please!” you sob, tears stream down your face despite his carefulness, it would break his heart, but he can feel the way your own body betrays you, clenching around him and pulling him in for more of the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. “so big! c-can’t take it!”

“sure ya can, look” he puts a hand to your tummy, guiding you to do the same as he puts his hand over yours. there’s a small bulge, that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts in and out. “you’re takin’ it so well princess, keep yer hand right there” his other hand starts working tight circles against your clit, making you throw back your head at the sudden sensation.

“no! if you do that i-!”

“what are ya gonna do? cum? clench around my cock like yer doin’ right now every time i praise ya?” you fist the sheets to your sides, anything to relieve the aching between your legs and the tight knot that keeps forming in your stomach again.

“please don’t!” you desperately paw at his wrist, only to be slapped away and for him to increase the speed of his cock, rutting into your with more force. suddenly, the head of his piercing hits a different spot, one that left you gasping for air and arching your back against the mattress. “ah! right there- right there ‘samu!”

“yeah? you like it when i fuck ya right there?” he parrots, angling his hips at the same spot over and over, abusing it until he’s sloppily thrusting into you, on the verge of cumming and spilling all his load into you. “my pretty girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat, all because i’m makin’ ya feel good”

“yes ‘samu! please please, please m-make me feel good! wanna cum, please!” fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you scream and beg for him, unwillingly rutting your hips against him as you cum around his cock, your high too much for your sensitive body as you whine uncontrollably when he doesn’t stop. you’re too overstimulated to say a word, gone too dumb on his cock to even realize that you’re babbling little nonsense words about how good you feel, and how much you want him.

“dumb lil’ thing” he says, giving one sharp, final thrust before he empties his load between your legs, deep inside you, careful not to move you too much in fear of his cum spilling out of your clenching hole.

he’s right, you are a dumb little thing, because as soon as he pulls out you’re desperately bucking your hips, blindly searching for him in hope he would fill up the sudden emptiness in your pussy, unintentionally spilling all his hard work between your thighs.

“no!” he grunts, slapping your thigh and grounding you to the mattress as you wince in pain, dark color blossoming at the skin where he’d placed the spank. “look what you’ve done, bad fuckin’ girl” he says, the sudden tone shift sends a tinge of fear all over your body, and you’re reduced to nothing but a kin to a stray puppy, a terrible look of guilt in your eyes, even if you don’t realize what you’ve done wrong.

“look at the mess you made” he mumbles, flipping you over and placing ass up “now i’m gonna have to fill ya up all over again”

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