Shaking And Crying - Blog Posts

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Can anybody hear me

You stand above your brother in his bed, occupied now by more than just pillows and blankets, for the woman at his back is fair and terrifying, even in sleep. You look between them, and you stand above your brother and think -

Is it too late to kill him now?

There are no ships on the horizon - yet - and if you present a body along with the stolen wife when the husband turns up, will that break the omen your mother dreamed?

Is it too late to kill him now?

You drop your hand down - perhaps to close around his throat, another already clutching one of those many, many pillows, and in the dark it'd be easy, wouldn't it? All you do is caress his cheek, your fingers digging stiffly into the pillow. He exhales, a tender shallow ease of breath, and there is this little smile on his lips.

You stand above your brother in his bed, there are ships on the shore, and you have cursed him for a plague, a bane, a cruelty raised by the Olympian to bring your house down, and -

it's too late to kill him now.

It'd be easy to do it, however. You carry a dagger at your belt even now, having left your own bed. Or you could perhaps stir up one of your other brothers, the city, some of your father's council. The baby was almost killed once, after all; what would it matter if it was realized now? Kin-blood believed to have been spilled is surely no less polluting than it being done in reality. The attempt might only have been in the handing over of a fragile infant into another's hands, handed over into the bosom of a mountain, wild and no place for such a tender little being.

But the mountain had been merciful, and nurtured instead of torn asunder, and now you're standing above your brother in his bed.

It's too late to kill him now, but would anyone blame you, blame anyone at all they might suspect, as much as they hate him, a hatred unsaid? Simmering. You don't know how he walks through the palace, the city, his life and not cower from the knowledge; he can't not know.

Your brother - pretty, soft, laughing, shining - doomed and dooming all of you from the start. What does an infant know of causing death? Your father tried to kill an innocent. Some of your brothers attempted it next, an innocent only wishing to reclaim what he thought belonged to him and them not knowing who the slave they felt so insulted by was.

Perhaps it's only fair he will kill you all, merely by existing, by batting those ridiculous lashes to lure the woman still sleeping at his back out of her home, her marriage, her life, and into yours.

You stand above your brother in his bed, and brush your knuckles down his cheek.

It's too late to kill him now, and no matter that you've cursed him and wished him dead - to his face, to your parents' faces, but never to anyone else's - with every angry word to spit at him there's always this echo of the wide, wide eyes, the trembling hand in yours as you help him up from kneeling next to the altar in your head.

Your little brother, that you failed to protect when he was born. And what are you if you don't protect? It's too late to kill him now, anyway. Was always too late.

You meet the gleaming whites of Helen's gaze in the darkness, watching her smooth her grip on your brother's arm into a stroke. Both of you can feel the relief staining the air as you turn away, pretending like she wasn't ready to help you.

You leave your brother in his bed.

I will not apologize for the person I will become when The Last of Us comes out

geto only shows mercy when he's playing the benevolent priest/monk, or when it comes to his old comrades. but even then, he will always prioritize the greater good, meaning that whoever it is he will invoke any curse to get rid of the obstacle, there's a reason he's considered the worst curse user the college has seen. I'd say the only person that could essentially make him falter is gojo, given their history together. he's an open wound, but he always hopes in silence that it'd never come to that, or at least not so soon. I've talked about it before but Geto isn't the type to let disrespect slide, or the sin of being born a non sorcerer. the only reason he's been shown interacting with them is to deceive them, not because he's made exceptions. it's a bit hard to figure out ways in which he could interact with others in a sincere way that doesn't end in someone's death but we'll see.

it didn’t take a strategist to recognize the advantage presented to their forces. 

the thought had been nagging at him since then, since his eyes laid on the digital shape of the ghost he’d chased for so long. kogami hardly notices the abstract sort of anger that drifts from his grip as an afterthought, subdued as it eases through the quiet of the shared space: “it’ll only be makishima’s grave.”

if only that were true.

he’d lament for the lack of action and pursuit, but he knew better than to rush the persecution. makishima is meticulous, clever, has a tendency for the theatrics and whatnot. making a halfhearted attempt at identifying his whereabouts would cost them more than just kogami’s life or an enforcer’s badge. it’s unfair for anyone else involved, for makishima to be the source of many headaches.

“figured i’d let you know, in case you thought this was going anywhere different.” his attempt at a lighthearted joke isn’t well-received, if the glare flashed in his direction is any indicator.

“i thought we weren’t doing this again.” kogami says, though he knew his words couldn’t possibly be convincing with the festering sickness inside of him, forgotten some days while others were so painfully acute he can barely stand it. time and stubbornness are the only things that numbed him to the painful sense of awareness that he’s no more different than a hungry beast and prey dangling on the limits of his territory. kogami hated himself for it. he hated himself now, too, for mercilessly rubbing salt into old wounds.

talk about selfishness.

“guess i don’t listen.”

kogami’s hand retrieve a second cigarette, caging it between sharp teeth. a lover’s kiss. as if nicotine still needed an invitation. “i don’t know what else to say to that. you’ve got me, gino. it might be my own foolishness which drives me right into the wolf’s den, but at the very least i can say that any progress that’s created a window for me to pass through and bring me one step closer to where i want to be couldn’t have been possible solely with my own efforts.”

he’d tried to keep his voice even; to give off a facade of level-headedness and sensibiliity that he’d tried to maintain since the confirmation of makishima’s existence, but as he swallows coarsely and a bitter aftertaste coats his tongue, kogami thinks that perhaps this hunt, makishima, whatever it is that he’s mapping out across the terrain’s of sybil’s jurisdiction might be driving him a little fucking insane. stiffness sets into his knuckles again, fingers clasped around the lighter. it takes him another second to finally ignite the flame, hues clinging to his features like molten gold. without sparing a second thought, and perhaps testing what’s left of his luck, kogami’s shoe taps lightly at ginoza’s side, for old times’ sake.

“liven up. you can start by punching me in the face if you see me derail too far from the path and be done with it.”

his jaw continues to tighten as he listens, the frustration clearly building. despite that, he does his best to mask it. the words don't seem to strike the chord Kogami might have intended. Part of him can appreciate the vulnerability, but there's a much stronger, overwhelming part of him that still only sees and hears utter betrayal.

"You're sorry," his tone biting as he turns to face him, "do you even understand what that means anymore? or is it just something you say when you know you've gone too far?"

there's a pause, his lips pressing into a thin line as if debating whether or not to even bother continuing. was he worth it? the words are already there, bubbling beneath the surface, ready to spill out. clearly, he's worth it. he exhales sharper, trying to regain some sense of control over the emotions tightening in his chest.

"You speak of Sasayama like his ghost is the only one in the story." his tone sharper, more pointed. "Like the rest of us don't have our own burdens to carry." wasn't that the point? Life being a constant cycle of suffering, and continuing to persevere? "But the difference between you and me, Kogami, is that I'm still trying to make something of this life. While you–" he has to refrain, as the emphasis is with a raised tone, "you're stuck in the past, chasing a memory, a history you can't change. You keep telling yourself this is the only way forward."

much like the story, Moby Dick – like Captain Ahab and his obsessive pursuits.. and if tale goes to show... the consequences of obsesion and the fine line between justice and revenge never end well for the martyr. "but, it's not forward, is it?" his voice wavers a moment, a crack once again, he has to contain himself. "I don't need your apologies. Sasayama's death doesn't give you the exclusive tight to a path of self-destruction."

he steps closer, the tension between them palpable now, "You think you're the only one who's lost someone?" he forces his composure back into place. he'd lost his father and thought of it every time he walked through this damned building. lost his best friend, in more ways than one. but he didn't let it consume. or , so he thinks, anyway.

he turns his head away, shaking it, shoulders taut. "I can't make you care about the people who are still here." him, namely. for a moment it seems like he might stop there, but he glances back at him. his features are suffused with a mix of anger, remorse, and resignation. "I'm tired of burying people who matter to me." he pause a beat. "Don't make me bury you, too."

// @einshi

what would a jjk/psycho pass mash up look like?

gojo and geto would probably have similar roles as kogami and makishima with the exception that they'd known each other from before. i can see geto antagonizing the system for the same reasons as makishima: his character is built around revolution, the one-eyed madman in a world of blind people and for that he was led astray and isolated, by choice and by the impossibility of ever being understood and then going radical on the system that tore him apart. it's not too different from makishima's own role in the universe of PP and gojo, well, he'd probably differ in the way that unlike JJK he doesn't have to execute him and there's the option of disappearing from the city but would geto accept it? would he really be able to leave everything behind for a short-lived fantasy? that'd take convincing that depends entirely on gojo's own approach of the situation, if he comes to that point of grasping geto's intentions not too late as he did in jjk but sometime earlier.

now for kogami in a jjk setting i can see him being born with a heavenly restriction in order to oppose to makishima's special grade ability, to balance out the anomaly that is his existence in the sorcerer world. same way that geto was born a short time after gojo, with an ability to stabilize what gojo's birth moved, the only curse that could hinder the six eyes, kogami would likewise be the other end of their dichotomy.

make me a... (hangman x reader)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x fem!reader

synopsis: family planning with jake

warnings: 18+ only, explicit language, explicit sexual content (strictly pwp, p in v, maybe slight degradation? daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, spitting, so sorry for my sins) 

wc: < 500

let’s all give a ranch water toast to may (seasonsbloom) for getting 500 followers and being so phenomenal!

also I promise I'm working on this is me trying lol currently fighting off a cold and honestly that video of glen powell with his niece & nephew really derailed me we love a man who's good with kids

“Fuck, you like that, huh? You want to have my babies? You want me to make you a mommy?” Jake grunts out as his hips slam into yours. He’s using one hand to prop himself up over you, while he presses the other into your stomach and you know he can feel the bulge of his cock plunging inside you and you know it’s driving him crazier. You moan in response to his question, turning your head to the side and squeezing your eyes shut, still reeling from the aftershocks of your previous orgasm. 

The heavy feeling of his hand on your stomach disappears. Suddenly, Jake grasps your chin between his fingers, turning your head to make eye contact with him. “Answer me, sweetheart. You gonna make me a daddy?”

You open your mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. Jake’s eyes are locked in on your fucked out expression and he moans out your name again, forcing your chin up with his hand. His eyes dart towards your open mouth for a microsecond. You feel his thumb drag upwards to hook onto your bottom lip, holding your jaw open. With a grunt, he spits into your waiting mouth, still pumping his cock into you, and releases his hand from your chin, letting your jaw snap shut so you can obediently swallow. 

Jake’s moan is a heavenly sound. “Good girl, I’m so fucking close. Answer me, please. No, no, out loud,” he insists when you start nodding your head like it’s held up by springs, like he’s fucked out every bone in your body and you’re just a bunch of limbs connected by coils and held together by Jake, Jake who wants to put a baby in you, Jake who wants to have a future with you, Jake who’s currently splitting you in half and loving every second of making you lose your mind. 

 “Yes, I wanna make you a daddy, please,” you finally manage out, and you feel it shake Jake to his very core as he shudders, driving his hips one last time into your poor cunt so that they’re flush with yours and you feel the warmth of his release inside of you. He’s gasping into your ear, reaching another hand up to brush away your hair from your face. 

Jake’s whole body slowly relaxes as he comes down from his high, slowly starts lowering his chest until he’s just a couple centimeters away from resting his entire weight down on you, but at the last second he holds you tightly and rolls over so that you’re on top, his cock still buried inside of you. He snakes both hands around your back to pull you into his chest, peppering featherlight kisses across your forehead. 

“Think that one took?” he asks you with a smirk, pressing one more hard kiss to your sweaty forehead.