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@shedontsmelltoogooddarious
-Master list-
Hello I'm Potato, and I write slasher fics primarily involving fluff and some edgier themes. I write mostly for John Ryder from The Hitcher, Asa Emory and recently Chromeskull in a self indulgent OC x Cannon fic.
A list of all of my current fics/series so they're easier to find. My fics here are all slasher fics, so be warned of gore, blood and violence.
I LIKE THE RAIN. KEEPS EVERYBODY INSIDE, WASHES EVERYTHING CLEAN...
vincent rares.
source : https://archive.org/details/american-cinematographer-vol.-86-no.-5-may-2005
rusty nail for @cowboytaxidermy 🚬
Shout out to fanfic writers that don’t get put on rec lists.
Shout out to fanfic writers who write short fanfics.
Shout out to fanfic writers who don’t write often.
Your fics are just as much a labor of love.
He’s so fine omg
RUSTY NAIL
new hyperfixation??? idk??? Pls guys watch the movie it's so cool
Broken Wings: Its just a cigarette. (Joyride fice)
I've in a huge block lately with everything, so forgive me if this isn't the best.
Robin gets caught with cigarettes, lol.
His pack of cigarettes laid unattended on the dash, half full and open- as if offering an invitation to be plucked out of. She looked around, searching for any sight of Rusty- before quickly swiping the pack off the dash and into her pockets. It should take at least half an hour for her father to shower and take care of his needs within the truck stop they were at. Of course, there was the rule of staying in the truck and keeping it locked- at least Robin obeyed one rule, locking up his truck before hurrying off towards a more desolate part of the station.
Still searching for a Rusty Nail/Joyride rp.
Hey, I'm a 25 year old non-binary person looking for an 18+ roleplay partner to write Rusty Nail from the horror series Joy Ride.
I am particularly interested in a father/daughter plot and fleshing my oc out more for a fic I'm writing. If you're interested in that, then please either like or dm me on my blog. I rp mostly on discord.
I am.also a semi lit to literate rper and expecting the same from my partner.
Still searching for a Rusty Nail/Joyride rp.
Hey, I'm a 25 year old non-binary person looking for an 18+ roleplay partner to write Rusty Nail from the horror series Joy Ride.
I am particularly interested in a father/daughter plot and fleshing my oc out more for a fic I'm writing. If you're interested in that, then please either like or dm me on my blog. I rp mostly on discord.
I am.also a semi lit to literate rper and expecting the same from my partner.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
Heck of a joy ride, isn’t it?
Because I've gotten back into writing again, would anyone like to do a Joy ride/Rusty Nail rp? Especially someone to muse Rusty Nail 😭 so I can develop an OC further-
Broken wings: Not a monster.
Cross over fic with my other series, Blood and Asphalt. Also a The Hitcher and Joyride fic.
“You’re not human…”
Their voice was barely above a whisper, frozen behind the thin layer of a shower curtain. They didn’t dare to move, not until they were certain they were alone within the dimly lit motel bathroom. John stood before the mirror, his icy blue eyes staring back at him- his pupils a pair of slits. Gingerly, he reached behind his ears- gently pulling a layer of skin that hid his scales. Blood and what appeared to be a clear slime oozed down and pooled around at his feet, along with his skin draping around his ankles.
Can you do a fic where Rusty is comforting crying reader and cuddling them
Warning: This oneshot has suggestions of intentions, specifically Rusty’s original intent with the reader. They are not directly mentioned, but if you are familiar with this kind of topic, it will click for you. So if you aren't comfortable with that, I highly suggest that you do not read this one.
He'd be a bloody fool to not admit that he had noticed her dejected demeanour a few days ago, no matter how much the girl attempted to sculpt her expression to state otherwise. Looking ahead on the dead of night, alone with only his thoughts as company, as he every so often payed attention to the sounds of ten wheels moving in circle motions. He hasn't checked his flip phone like a paranoid father would have. After all that has occurred between them both, he has enough knowledge to know that his darling wouldn't do anything stupid. Maybe hurt herself unintentionally. Nonetheless, though, she was a logically accepting woman when she needed to be.
The lass had been his unwilling partner for two years, a woman that has her own morals that reflected reality and thus adapted to it as she grew. The first time he saw her, he did not expect her to be any different from the women he would occasionally see on his journeys throughout the highways of the west. What made her stand out wasn't the way she dressed or the way her her beauty shined through. It was how she acted when dire situations happened. The way she recognised her friends' mistakes, taking charge when the others lost their rationality, in addition to attempting a peaceful negotiation with him. That day, he could tell that the woman was frightened. She didn't even attempt to hide the fact that she was. She still, however, stood tall for the sake of everybody's survival. And for that, he knew he needed her to be alive a little bit longer.
Originally, he was planning on keeping her for funsies. As a lone man, having some company at times would be pleasant. It didn't matter in what sense since he needed one for any scenario possible. It wouldn't be easy at first, but since when was it? He was pleased to learn that she reacted differently than he had hoped, even when he was uncertain if it was something positive or not. She didn't question his motives and begged him to let her go. Instead, she attempted to be level-headed with him. There were so many moments which he noticed where she was reluctant, not once though did she ever fight back. Naturally, he assumed the reluctance came from her belief that anything bad would come about, so he never rushed her with her decisions. He isn't the most patient man in the world, and if she had been the type of female he usually encountered, he would have dragged her, as well as given her a lecture that she had no choice in the matter. But in that short period of time he began to learn about her, he realised that he wanted to have the girl at least like him to some accord.
His s/o liked her drinks in a natural, plant-based stimulant beverage containing caffeine, and L-theanine—an americano coffe was fine. That isn't what she enjoys to swallow though—and he learned that the easy way. By asking about it after reading her expression when she had sipped it. He thought it was interesting that she didn't deny the beverage when he gave it to her, the first conclusion he thought about the situation must have been that she didn't want to anger him because he wasted money on something she was picky about. The truth wasn't it. It was an easier answer. She simply did not mind it. Unless it actually disgusted her, she could consume anything. Which somehow relived him to hear, not that he really cared about her preferences, nonetheless, he didn't have to think about forcing her to eat anything for health reasons anymore.
At the end of the day, he did still care about making her happy, and in those moments, he knew, almost instinctively, how to please a woman. He could fix a leaky faucet, and he could carry her in the pouring rain if she ever was worried about her chlothes getting wet. Yet there were other kinds of intimacy he knew nothing about, the kind that required words instead of labour, hugs instead of headpats, and a patience that went beyond the quick fixes he was used to offering.
His own upbringing had never required him to be the comforter. He’d grown up in a household where emotions were practical, and thinking was done in old ways. When his mother fell ill, that's when the form of love he was used to started to fade away, and the only thing left was the masculine distant kind. Rusty Nail internalized that model; he learned to solve issues with solid steps, not with open hearts. The idea of sitting with someone’s tears felt as foreign to him as a city street without traffic.
Rusty nail could see the billboard to the town where his s/o was staying at, making him turn the wheel, including the blinker on so that he could be at the right lane. She’d taken a short break from the road, told him she wanted to stay and do some shopping, as well as having the excuse to desire being alone for a while. As much as he despised the idea of basically giving her the opportunity to escape, he understood the need to have her mental battery recharged. So he properly let her go for the seventh time since he met her.
The motel's neon sign flickered irregularly, and the parking lot was cluttered with travellers' waste, including empty Coke cans, newspapers, and an abandoned pram. He drew up to the curb, and the tires crunched against the pavement. The weight of the day rested on his shoulders like a thick blanket. He went outside, his boots thudding on the cracked concrete. He proceeded to approach the building, the hallway lights creating a pale glow that made everything appear clearer and more defined. The hallway was quiet, the railway is stained in places, and muffled footsteps could be heard from a few rooms, in addition to cicadas letting out their rhythmic high-pitched whine. He paused outside a door that had the number faded to a near‑invisibility. He took out the key he had gotten from the owner and raised his hand to turn the item, including the lock to open it.
The man barely stepped a foot in before he saw the woman that has been on his mind the whole day, with her eyes slightly red around the corners, she had no make-up on, indicating she hadn't perhaps gone out today. She had one of those nightgowns he had bought for her on his few stops. With how damp her hair was, she had probably slipped into the shower not that many hours ago. The sight of her vulnerability made his chest tighten in a way that wasn't exactly new. It was familiar, and he had experienced this a couple of times. It still didn't cease the fact that it was uncomfortable each case, and honestly, a little bit frightening. If he saw himself in a different perspective, he would have acted in various ways that was definitely not this. Cause he knows he could have handled it better. Nevertheless, it is what it is. With a beat of hesitation, Rusty nail stepped in, closing the door behind him softly.
“Hey,” his voice was more hoarse than he intended. “You okay?” A small upturn of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes appeared. “Not too bad,” she said, yet her voice cracked like a glass, making her gently cough to have her throat smoothern more. “Just a little tired, that’s all.” He moved a foot closer, not bothering taking off his shoes, unsure whether to sit beside her on the bed or to stay at a distance. He hummed in acknowledgement for a second, an awkward attempt to fill the silence. “You looked… upset earlier.” He tried to keep his tone neutral, fearing his own discomfort might spill over. “Is there something—” "Rusty, I—” she stopped, a breath hitching. Her eyes glanced away, searching the dimness of the room corner, then returning to him. “I didn’t want to worry you. I know you’ve been working hard. I just—” He unintentionally swallowed a bit of his saliva. “Don’t worry about me,” the words felt strange on his tongue. “You… you’re the one I worry about.”
The uprightness of that statement made his voice moderately fade. He could see the surprise flicker across her face; it was as if he had taken a package of cigarettes and threw it away somewhere in an area it wasn't supposed to go. He moved a step forward, his right hand—still uncertain—reaching out to gently touch her backhand. It was faint in the beginning, yet the more time moved on, it came to a point where he was squeezing it in a 'I'm here' manner. To say that the girl was confused must have been an understatement because she had no idea what to say to the crazed man.
“I… I didn’t think you’d care,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than a sigh. “You’re always such a… stonewaller. I thought I could handle it on my own.” He momentarily wiped the columella section with the back of his wrist in thought. Letting out a silent mumble despite his internal turmoil. “I’m not good at… the talking part,” he admitted, his tone earnest yet embarrassed. “But I can listen.” He looked down to his worn-out shoes, how the dirt had touched the carpet, as he then had his eyesight on her once more. “Talk to me? We can… we can just be.”
The sign of hesitation was there. The reason behind it was unknown. He wasn't that good of a mind reader. He was lucky enough that the female even had the bravery at times to tell him almost everything. Patience was all that was required. It was the biggest thing this woman needed. She was fortunate enough that Rusty put his quick temper aside to give her just that. He observed how she pulled her knees close to her chest. In an odd way, it reminded him that this woman had some amount of her inner child still within her. That was most likely why she spoke to him in such an open, guiltless way.
“I don’t mind being with you Rusty, it's just that...” She pondered a way to phrase it accurately, her voice steadier. “Sometimes, I tend to think a lot about the future, multiple scenarios. And with how negative my brain can be…” She trailed off, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand. “I feel like I’m stuck in quicksand, and no matter how positive I try to be, I can’t get out of it.”
He only stared at her in response, trying to render his own experiences with his actions into something that could make sense of her emotional state. He dosen’t want to talk about himself. He only wants to give her good results. Maybe it wasn't right for her specifically, but it's the motto he has lived for all this long, and it worked great for him so far. So why wouldn't it be for her? “I… I suggest you stop doing that,” he said slowly, surprising himself. “Whenever I do something, uuhh... unethical, I try to focus on the present. If anybody keeps on with that sort of mindset, they'll drive themselves crazy. Maybe… maybe even go to the authorities to reveal their crimes. I've done so many messed up things that I can't afford to have regrets anymore. I know I'm going to hell. There's no doubt about that. Besides, if there does come a day where I do get caught. Just tell them that you're a victim, that's the truth, and that's how it's supposed to be. Keep moving, even when we’re not sure what’s ahead. I'm selfish like that, selfish enough to want my woman to survive a different future where nobody harms her for my choices.”
If he kept on stunning her like this, she might become a gapping fish. She wanted to say anything impactful as well, but what could she say other than the obvious? Nothing that wouldn't strain Rusty’s patience even more. So, instead, she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, the gesture both tender and fragile. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re… thank you for being here.”
Rusty's arm reflexively curled around her waist; in that moment, the rusted metal of his moniker seemed less important than the tenderness of his endeavour to be present. He reflected on the innumerable rest stops he'd made, the meals where he'd exchanged tired nods with strangers. He reflected about his woman, how she had become his unexpected destination, a location he had no idea how to traverse but was determined to find his way through. When the rain stopped and the first signs of the stars broke through the clouded sky, the female lifted her head, her eyes clearer than they had been in days.
“I think I can make it through this,” she said, her voice firmer. “Maybe not alone, though.” An unpolished grin reached his eyes. “We’ll get through it together,” he replied, his tone more confident than he felt. “I’ll keep my eyes on the road, and you… you keep me from driving into the ditch.” She weakly chuckled, a sound that understood exactly what he meant, in addition to accepting her fate even more because of the discussion. “Deal,” she muttered in a simple agreement that sounded bittersweet.
Rusty nail realised that he could be more than a man who knew how to please physically; he could be a man who learned, in the slow, uneasy way of a truck driver making a wrong turn and then correcting it, how to offer comfort—not with grand speeches or perfect timing, yes he may have done it this time. But he can't garauntee he will every single occasion. So he'll attempt with a simple, steady presence that told her, without saying anything, that she was not alone. Perhaps that was enough to begin polishing away the rust that had accumulated on his own heart for far too long.
Author’s note: I feel like this oneshot got more British as I wrote, which is actually a good thing, because then I'm not accidentally mixing up words from different regions. For anybody who's wondering, I do speak with a British accent because that's how I was taught in school. So if you think I spelt a word wrong, that's not it, I'm using the UK writing style.
Broken wings (Joy Ride fic)
I've been in a serious writer's block, and after seeing all three movies so many ideas came flooding in my head, so I wrote a blirb or two on a vague idea I was talking to a friend about.
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“Look at your wings lil’ bird, they’re all broken to hell.”
A deep, growling voice mused, its owner crouching down to get a better look at the slumped over body at the side of the road- lying in a pool of their own blood. Rusty tsked, shaking his head; “Such a young lil’ thing, now don’t you worry-”
He carefully lifted them into his arms, watching their eyes flicker for a moment. “Ol’ Rusty got you now, and you’re gonna have to pay for bein’ stupid and runnin’ in front of my truck like that.”
Just watched Joyride for the first time and all i thought about was how Rusty would definetly wolf down those shitty gas station burgers spiderman style.
