#deep down in the backlog though

[echoproject]

just downloaded remember the flowers because i saw this guy on twitter and immediately knew i had to

#.txt #i'm betting he's gonna be a jackass but the design is so casbait #deep down in the backlog though

[daycourtofficial]

Secret exchanges

Summary: a few weeks after the aftermath of Rhys’s banishment, your mate, the new High Lord of the Autumn Court, has a secret meeting with someone from your family.

Author’s note: this is set pretty soon after I am ash from your fire ☺️

Warnings: furthering my sexy Eris agenda by letting him be a smidge cunty

Word count: ~1k

“Shadowsinger.”

“High Lord.”

The titles were exchanged with tense tones as both males look each other over in hopes of finding a nearly fatal wound they could exploit. Coming up short of that, the two watch each other with uncertain gazes, this meeting marking something new.

The Illyrian steps closer, holding out a box in his scarred hands. The new high lord accepts the parcel, looking inside to ensure everything is accounted for. Underneath the lid, the box contains six beautifully decorated mint chocolate cupcakes from the bakery you adore that’s nestled in the heart of Velaris.

“Are condolences in order?”

Eris sneers at Azriel’s taunting tone, snapping the lid to the cupcakes, “only to the foolish noblemen my father made rich. It feels as if everyone in Autumn can breathe properly now that a foul stench has dissipated.”

Males of lesser intelligence could have pieced together the timeline between Rhys banishing you from Night and Eris assassinating Beron within a 24 hour span. Despite his feelings for the red head before him, Azriel was impressed at how swiftly he took the reins.

Azriel inspects the male before him, somehow standing taller than he had previously seen, as if the weight of the world were lifted from his shoulders. His pale skin glowed in the sunlight passing through the trees, and he looked as if the Earth had molded him herself. He almost glowed beneath his skin, as if his veins crackled with pure fire.

Azriel knew Rhys was blowing things out of proportion by banishing you, and Azriel, along with the rest of the inner circle, had no idea how to help you or to let you know that they didn’t care.

Well, they did care. They cared a lot. He and Cassian alone spent several hours sparring trying to work through their rage at the Cauldron’s choice of mate for you.

They weren’t thrilled by this situation, but ultimately they understood that this wasn’t your choice, and while it is your choice now, Azriel of all people couldn’t hate you for trying to make your mating bond work.

He wanted to hate you, though. When he was first told of your banishment, he wanted to destroy your room, destroy any and all memories of this betrayal. He spent days in a fog, running through his meticulous backlog of scheduling to figure out when and how such a ‘relationship’ had occurred.

He had finally left his room in a rage and was on his way to your room when he ran into Nesta, where she practically dragged Azriel by his ear to the training ring. She forced Azriel to spar with her, forcing him to talk about why it hurt so badly.

It would be easy for him to write off your banishment as the right thing to do under the guise of his hatred for Eris. But the real truth, settled deep, deep down in his bones, was that you were the only other member of the family who wasn’t paired off.

He felt less alone when you were around. Not that he had any inclinations towards you. It just didn't feel as crushing with someone else to share the burden. Now with you being gone, albeit not of your own accord, he felt that loneliness seep back in, that deep desire for someone to love him wholly.

But now you’re off, banished not only from your court, but from your family. Rhys had commanded all of them to cease any contact with you directly.

Technically Eris was a workaround.

Azriel could never deny you, especially not when it came to your obsession with the cupcakes he just handed to Eris, the two of you sneaking off on several occasions to satisfy the sweet tooth you shared.

Despite every part of screaming to do so, he couldn’t deny your mate when he came to the shadowsinger, asking for an olive branch.

Azriel cleared his throat, not wanting to spend anymore time with the newly appointed High Lord, but still needing some update on you, “how is she?”

Eris sighed, mulling over how to answer the shadowsinger. His thoughts went to you, and how you always spoke fondly of Azriel. You’d never keep the truth from Azriel, despite keeping the mating bond from him. You hated not telling anyone in your family, a topic of conversation you and Eris constantly circled back to.

“Coping as you would expect,” the new high lords words making Azriel feel worse than he did before. The shadowsinger’s eyes move to the ground, and in a rare move, decides to extend an olive branch of his own.

For you. He would do this for you.

“I don’t agree with Rhys’s actions.”

Eris raises his eyebrows, “ah, so the dogs can disagree with their master.”

Azriel’s snarl causes Eris’s lip to curl in a smirk, but he holds his hands up in surrendor.

“I never expected you or the other one to ever disagree with him, at least never admitting it to me.”

Hazel eyes meet amber, a mask over his features as he slits his eyes in warning.

“Don’t make me regret disagreeing with Rhys.”

Eris’s expression softens at the Illyrian despite the obvious threat lacing his words. He looks down at his fingers, inspecting his nails as if he can't be bothered to look at Azriel anymore.

“If I ever do anything that would make you regret it, you and the other brutes may come and dispose of me yourselves. The honor would belong to you, if she doesn’t wish to collect.”

Azriel turned to leave, but was stopped by Eris’s voice.

“Before you go,” Azriel turned as Eris procured several sealed envelopes with your handwriting on the front.

“I was instructed to leave these with you.”

Azriel grabs the letters from Eris’s hands, as if he would burn them in front of the Shadowsinger, taunting him further with any contact to you.

In his hands lay several letters, each one addressed to a member of your family except for Rhysand.

Eris’s voice chimes back in, “she wanted to write to him. Couldn’t find the words.”

He shrugs, turning his back on the Shadowsinger as he starts walking back through the orchard, flowers blooming all around them.

“Or perhaps she knew he would skin you alive if you delivered it to him before he was ready.”

#eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris x reader #acotar fanfiction #forgot to tag when I posted this smh

[littlenightma]

Warm Hands | Rusty Nail x Female!Reader | Part 1

Author’s Note: This man has me giggling and kicking my feet. Thank you @peyton-peyton for the recommendation because I am obsessed. By the way, I know my requests are closed (I have quite the backlog) but if anyone wants to send me any headcanon requests regarding Rusty, feel free to. I can’t get enough of this man 💕

Warning Tags: Older man/younger woman, size difference, possessive behavior, dubious consent, smitten at first sight, Rusty is doting on reader, and a lot of smut (in part 2).

Winter had finally settled in your small town. A fine layer of frosty snow blanketed the ground, keeping most off the roads and inside their homes, tucked safe and sound in their beds.

The convenience store parking lot was vacant besides a few stray cars, most likely belonging to the store workers, and a black Peterbilt truck. With the exception of a light post flickering noisily above you, the world was quiet.

The door ringed when you entered, announcing to the cashier, who was currently reading a magazine, that a customer was here. You politely nodded as you quickly pass, skimming past a man idling by the lighter display.

Knowing the store by heart, you had gathered what you wanted in less than a minute. You took your place behind the man where you realized just how tall he was because you barely came up past the middle of his back.

Geez, dude, what the hell did your mother feed you when you were a kid?

Must have been the owner of the Peterbilt. His attire screamed trucker with his thick, brown coat, worn jeans, and work boots. Curling just beneath his dirty baseball cap was dark, graying hair.

“Pack of Malborros too.”

The deep baritone caused a chill to go down your spine. You hummed it out, shaking your head to keep your thoughts from straying. He pulled out a black wallet attached to a long, silver chain that hung from his hips. Grabbing his lighter and smokes, he gruffly thanked the worker and headed for the door.

Beneath the glow of the store’s fluorescent lights his ruggedly handsome features weren’t able to hide the strong jaw covered in stubble, plush lips set in a grim frown, or baby blue eyes that reflected just how tired he was.

He walked by you to the front door and you sucked in a breath when his hand lightly brushed yours, sending an electric shock to your heart that felt like it had stopped beating. So subtle, the contact, yet it left your mind reeling. Both you and the cashier watched him walk to his truck. While she couldn’t tear her eyes off his ass, you couldn’t keep your eyes off his hand.

She made a noise. “He sure was a tall drink of water.”

You blinked. “Oh, yeah, I guess.”

She inclined her head. “You know he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

Even though you rolled your eyes, your heart skipped a beat. “Stop it.”

She scanned your drink, eyes bulging. “I’m serious!”

“I was only up here for two seconds.”

“Baby, he had his eyes locked on you the moment you stepped through the door. You’ll be lucky to make it out of the parking lot without him nippin’ at your heels.”

He’ll be long gone.

You glanced out the display window. His truck was still there.

Or not.

She finished scanning the rest of your things. “Fine, don’t believe me. But I’ve been around the block a few times. I know when a man wants a woman.” She slipped the receipt into the bag and slid it across the counter.

“Prepare to be disappointed.”

She smirked and winked. “Have a nice night, sweetheart.”

The wintry air nipped at your nose. You shivered and stuffed your hands in the pockets of your jacket. The truck camouflaged perfectly against the black night. The light post that still flickered illuminated just enough where you could see inside. The trucker sat hunched over in the driver’s seat with a lit cigarette dangling loosely out his mouth.

You had to pass the truck to get to your car. Sucking in a long breath to calm your nerves, you slowly walked to your car. As you came closer, the driver’s side window slowly winded down.

His deep voice pierced the silence like a freshly sharpened knife, “It isn’t safe for a young woman to be out here by herself.”

Your heart thumped loudly in your ears. “Why do you think I’m alone?”

“I’d hate to think any man would allow their lady to walk themselves to their car in the middle of the night.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth, cushioning it between two fingers. “I know I wouldn’t allow mine to.”

The way he elongated the word mine was not missed and neither did was the way he peered down at you from beneath his hat, watching your reaction. Your cheeks felt warmer than the rest of your body and you knew you must have been blushing from the attention he was giving you.

“Maybe I have a shitty boyfriend?”

“Would be quite the shame. Pretty thing like you deserves someone who will treat her right.”

It was a good thing you weren’t made of snow because you were melting beneath his scorching stare and flirtatious words.

Stop it. Tell him you have a boyfriend.

Your mouth betrayed your thoughts, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He took a long drag, inhaling deeply, the corner of his lips curling. “Good, means I don’t have to teach the boy a lesson about respecting his woman.”

He tapped the end of the cigarette out the window. Ash fell onto the ground causing small, random holes to form, ruining the undisturbed beauty of the freshly fallen snow.

“I don’t often do this, but it would be nice to have some company for the night.”

And there it was. Part of you knew this is where the conversation was heading. Truckers stayed on the road for days, even weeks at a time, usually without anyone to talk to except for other haulers. It wasn’t unheard of for them to pick up a woman along the way, but you weren’t looking for a one night stand.

“I’m sorry but I need to get home before the storm gets worse. Have a nice night.”

The cigarette bounced between his pink lips, lips that looked so kissable that it was a crime that the next words that came out of them froze you worse than the chilly night. He blew out a puff of smoke before dousing out what was left of the tobacco end. He flicked it off somewhere in the distance and his gaze then settled back on you.

“That wasn’t exactly a suggestion, little one.”

“What?” You stepped back. “Look, whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it with me. Like I said, I need to get home.”

He chuckled low. “You won’t make it far, believe me.”

You shook your head, not believing this was happening. “There are plenty of women who will happily make your night.”

He sighed heavily and hopped out of the truck. “Don’t make me have to ask again. I hate repeatin’ myself.”

The ice made it difficult to move quickly without skidding and he grabbed you before you could move out of his reach. Not hard, not roughly, just enough to keep a hold of you. He pulled you around and opened the cab’s passenger door, waiting for you to climb the steps.

“I ain’t going to hurt ya, darlin’. Get on up there.”

Even though his words were reassuring like the large hands resting on your shoulders, he had you caged between the truck cab and his body. He nudged you up the steps, following closely behind until you were settled in the passenger seat. The cab rattled and so did your nerves when he slammed the door shut. As he walked around the front, you pulled the door handle.

It was locked.

#rusty nail #rusty nail x reader #slasher community #slasher x reader #mark gibbon #joy ride 2 #joy ride 2: dead ahead (2008) #rusty nail the trucker

[gravid-transluna]

The Solitary Woods

words: 993

content: birth, fpreg

The spell was potent and irreversible. August knew this for certain; she had tried every counter-charm, backlog hex, nullification ingredient she could uncover, attempting to undo what she’d done. No, there was only one way to reverse an accidental pregnancy spell, and it required nine months of waiting and a dark, solitary forest where no one would hear your screams. 

August stood over a pile of black leaves, thighs spread. She pressed her hands into the small of her back, aching and impatient. She wore only a string-drawn leather tunic and a long ankle skirt. Her bare abdomen was a massive pale moon, distended navel an angry crater in the middle, blemishing the smooth, taut surface. The belly was alive, violently rippling, loaded with babies, and August moved her hands from her back to her swollen front, cradling. She gazed at the marvelous arching mound with a kind of horror and stupefaction. She could feel the positioning of the first baby, deep in her hips, splitting with pressure and fullness and weight. Runes of black ink wrapped its circumference, drawn in hopes that they would incite labor.

“Gods,” August sighed. “I need to get these out of me.”

She suffered the first slow contractions, pacing the clearing in the woods as her low hanging moon-belly seized and constricted, visibly shrinking around her crowded womb. Her pacing grew slower, heavier, and soon she could barely walk, cupping her belly as it swung, stance bowlegged, gait dragging.

She felt obscene, horrifically swollen and stretched out of proportion, belly like a foreign object on her middle. Divine femininity—bah. She had rejected all that when she’d joined the coven. Now though. Now, she looked like a breeding cow.

Another contraction. The pressure reached a peak. She pulled her head back and pressed her lips together, positioned above the patch of black leaves.

Suddenly she opened her mouth and dropped into a squat, bottom thrust out. “Ohhhh—OH.”

Fluid burst from between her legs and puddled the leaves beneath her. She looked down in shock.

“Gods, this is it. O-o-okay, this is it, okay.”

A heat flash left her sweating, and she suddenly felt the need to remove her clothing. Her body was telling her it was time for her baby to come out, and as the next contraction ripped through her belly it was accompanied this time by a strong urge to push, like nothing she’d ever felt before.

She hurriedly pulled up her skirt, exposing her auburn bush, squatted, and pushed. The baby moved down quickly, thrust between her hips by her internal muscles.

“Oh gods,” she bellowed, bending her knees and pushing again. Her belly continued to contract, forcing her into a long push that felt endless. Her face reddened, teeth gritted. Barely any air escaped. She was pushing too hard.

Thrall to her body, the need to give birth was like a spell cast over her. She let her knees sink to the forest floor, unrelenting in her groaning birthing efforts. Instinctively, she sensed that hands and knees would allow for a more continuous pushing effort. All she wanted to do was push. No, not a want. A need. She needed to push.

She thrust her hips in the air, back bowed with the weight of her curving belly. It felt as though an entire melon was being forced through her birth canal and into her bottom. The pressure was even more intense than before, an immense weight now filling her entire lower half, soon to emerge. She moved her hips in smooth circles, trying to relieve the pressure between them. Her belly scraped the forest floor.

“C’mooonn.” Her voice was tight and deep with pushing.

The contraction ended, leaving her panting on all fours, animalistic. She sweated bullets.

Reaching behind her, she groped behind the hair between her legs for a head, and only felt her swollen, aching pussy. She growled in frustration, and tried pushing again, but without a contraction it was like forcing a stone through her.

So big, she thought. Too big. She had never wanted to get pregnant, much less give birth. Now she had to push out a whole load of babies, all because they were in her body, uterus swelling relentlessly against her own will.

Her belly went hard again. She immediately dove into a long push, and felt the baby slide thoroughly into her birth canal. She clutched her compressed belly, not even recognizing the sounds she was making anymore, and soon her skirt began to tent outwards.

“Yessss. Get OUT of me—!”

She cupped her bulging pussy under her skirt. It was a horror, feeling her lips beginning to part, so misshapen with the massive head. Fluids ran between her fingers. She howled as the head reached a full crown, lips stretched in a tight circle. She didn’t want to push any more. A hot iron burned her delicate lips. She tried to breathe, but her body wanted this baby out, now. She was enveloped in another push. Her lips widened impossibly, close to snapping, the forehead, ears, nose slipping under her thin flesh, and she could feel everything, unable to stop pushing.

“Ugh!” The head burst free in a spray of fluids. 

The shoulders pushed, straining at her inner walls, and she painstakingly climbed to her feet. The dripping head brushed between her thighs, her pussy full with the baby, dangling out of her now. She ripped down her skirt and pushed again.

“GET OUUUUTTT!!” she screamed.

The shoulders popped through her pussy and more fluids gushed from her as the baby slipped into her waiting hands. She gasped, falling to her knees. It stirred something inside her, something she dreaded could be motherhood.

The woods were still echoing with her screams and the squalling of her baby when her belly grew stony again.

“Oh…” August said, remembering the two other babies now sliding into position, body readying her for birth again. “Hecate, help me.”

#fpreg #giving birth #labor kink #birth kink #pregnant kink

[razorblade180]

Aether:*drinking coffee*

Ayaka:*walks by* Ah, here you are.

Aether:Something the matter?

Ayaka:Not at all. I was just wondering where you went after we finished filming for today. *sits by him* Fontaine is truly beautiful at night. Yoimiya has so much energy she’s currently taking Paimon around so she can find call the good restaurant.

Aether: *sips calmly*

Ayaka:As for Ayato, he’s somehow found himself knee deep if official affairs. He said getting them all done now will probably free him up to relax in a couple days. That’s okay though. This place is far too big and wonderful for me to be bored.

Aether: *maintains poker face and sips*

Ayaka:I never would’ve imagined a moment like this. You and I in a far off land, alone. *sways* No prying eyes of clan members or a backlog of my responsibilities. Quite the rare occasion.

Aether:….

Ayaka:….

Ayaka:*flustered* Please don’t make me come out and say it. I beg of you.

Aether:Hmm, say what? Is there an implication I’m missing? *smiles*

The girls face grew red. With the absence of her fan, Ayaka tried hiding behind her hat as the young man chuckled. Aether downed his coffee and stood up, taking her hand. This entire situation felt like a case of déjà vu back in Bottle Land. No doubt a certain strategist was sharing her methods.

Aether:We better make we’re ready to film bright and early tomorrow. I don’t mind helping you run some lines.

Ayaka:*perks up* What a wonderful idea!

The next day

Ayaka:*basically glowing* Ready to film!

Chiori and Yoi: *looks at Aether*

Aether:*downs his third coffee*

Furina:Anymore caffeine and your hands won’t be steady for the Kamera! I’m cutting you off.

Aether:It’s fine! I’m awake! Let’s do this! *stretches arms*

Chiori:Ayaka, I implore you to not kill our only Kamera Man.

Ayaka:Hmm? *looks* Ah…*nods politely* Understood.

Chiori:And what do you think you’re doing enabling her!?

Yoimiya:What can I say? I’m a girls girl. *stands proudly*

Chiori:(This is going to be a long shoot.)

#genshin impact #kamisato ayaka #gi chiori #naganohara yoimiya #gi aether #ayaka x aether #ayather #gi furina

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

13 Days

You rubbed your temples, taking deep breaths. Devi, help you from the sheer stupidity of demons. Slowly, you raised your head to look at the current idiots seated before you.

Trying your best not to strangle anyone. Honestly... it was like dealing with toddlers! "So, let me see if I understand this correctly." Your tone was stern and indicating you didn't want to be interrupted.

"You want me." Pointing at yourself to make sure that you got your point across. "To be the new Demon King." You gestured to the empty chair that had been vacated for what seemed like eternity.

You watched as several members of the 13 crowns nodded. Some though glared poisonously at you. How the hell had it come to this? You glared at Baal, who glared back just as angrily with a clenched jaw.

This was all his fault. You just knew it deep down in your core. It all happened because he just had to mention replacing the demon kind at the party. Although you could tell it wasn't his expected outcome.

Henri stood up from his seat. "You are probably the most capable for the position outside of the 3 greats who have made their disinterest clear." You offered a blank stare in return. You certainly didn't want it. You were a parent to 13 children, and you didn't have time to goof off.

"Your strength has made you very appealing as a candidate as well." Amaymon agreed. You looked at the wolf in horror. No! They can't agree on this! This is betrayal of the highest order!

Amarylilis purred in excitement. "Your charisma is off the charts. You are very popular amount of all the clans." Oh devi, this wasn't happening. "All that mischief you cause in your wake to is most amusing." Belial commented, adding to your internal panick. How dare he!

"You've also shown that you are through in all your work as well. There is a lot of backlog due to the absence of a demon king." You shuddered at Astaroh's remark. Just how much abandoned paperwork was there with that title.

Oh... wait a minute. No, no, no. "Some would claim that you being rankless automatically disqualifies you." Levi said calmly you nodded hopefully, yes! Can't do it.

"But..." Why the hell was there a 'but'????!!! "Your disregard for such a system is precisely how previous kings have acted. I'd say it practically makes you king already!" Why! Just why devi did she have to look so happy about it???

You counted in your head '3, 4, 5, 6....6????' You couldn't have another yes that meant majority vote. You glanced at Sullivan trying to convey the 'this is insane' & 'don't you dare do this to me!' At the same time.

Sullivan stood up and made his way to you. "In the end, the choice is yours. But I'd like to offer a solution that could satisfy everyone. How about a trial period? That way, you can say with certainty whether or not this is something you want."

You looked at him warily. "13 days, and if I don't like it, I'm stopping effective immediately." Sullivan smiled and patted your shoulder. "Of course, my dear. That being said," he knelt down before you and took your hand gently resting his temple to it.

"I will support you in any matter no matter what." He had sealed your fate. You let out an annoyed huff. He looked far too satisfied for your liking. "13 Days," you reminded. "Papa will make sure of it." He confirms.

**Day one**

Opera had far too much fun dressing you up for your first day as Demon King. You couldn't find it in yourself to scold them, though. You looked devine. You had seen paintings and pictures before of what was assumed to be images of deities. And you looked like you could walk among them.

Tight leather that clung to your figure in such flattering ways, dark eyeliner that made you look bold and fierce. Nails and hair made to perfection. Boots that reached mid calf and had thick steel toes, good for delivering heavy kicks.

Of course, Sullivan made a big deal about it and took a billion pictures of you throughout the day. First and foremost, you plowed through all that freaking paperwork that had been forgotten.

It took you hours! Of course, you weren't gonna just sign or stamp something without reading it. You were no puppet. By the time all 13 crowns had arrived, they found you in your chair finishing up a mountain sized pile.

You glanced up. "My time is precious to me, and you think you can just come and go as you please?" You gestured to the piles of paperwork that laid at each chair. "Nobody is leaving this damn room until we're all caught up." Several crowns paled at the workload. It was rather large.

"How efficient!" Henri praised as he stared his own pile. "No efficient is that I have gone through, stacked, sorted, edited, and presented all of this and the other papers currently waiting in my office before you got here." Annoyance clear in your tone.

"There's more!" Yelped Amaymon, earning him a quick smack from one of the other crowns. You shifted so that you were lounging sideways in your chair. "Papa, what time did I arrive here?" You asked sweetly.

"Why you walked through the doors precisely at midnight, my dear not a second more or less!" His response quick and egar to please. "And the current time?" You asked while eyeing the 13 crowns. "It's a half past six, my dear!"

You nodded while setting another paper neatly in your ongoing pile. "And who was here to greet me the new Demon King when I arrived?" This question makes several of the crowns flinch.

"Why that was me, Belial, Levi and Belzebuth!" He cheered. You nodded again before sitting straight back against the large throne and drumming your fingers on one of the arm rests.

"So would anyone care to state why, most that supported me accepting this title were not there for my first moments as Demon King?" Again, another flinch. "No? Fine then, Bezlzebuth, tell me why you arrived?"

The older demon looked up from his paperwork. "Regardless of whether I supported your coming to power or not, you are my king now, are you not? I should be available to you at all times as your assistant." You hummed in response.

"Yes, and you have been worthy of your position. Your assistance is most appropriate." You eyed the others who remained standing. "What are you all standing around for? Get to work. I'm gonna make every one of you work till the moment this trial ends. By day 13, you'll be begging me to quit."

**Day two**

Well, you had accomplished catching up with all the paperwork. Most of the crowns looked like zombies at this point, but that didn't matter. Not when you were meeting with all the heads of clans in an hour.

You quickly brushed through your hair. Sent reminder texts to all the kids and put on more perfume because there was no time for a shower at this point. Guests were already arriving, and you had to change.

Away went the leathers now you draped yourself in warm pelts and furs. Adorning yourself with jewelry made up of bone. This wasn't about looking good. It was about sending a warning not to touch you or yours. This image was about intimidation.

Sullivan helped you paint runes on your arms and neck and even drew a few on your bare back in case. A more barbaric look. Yet, it suited you in a strange and disturbing way.

Making your way down the hall your feet quick and confident as the doors swung open for you. Many leaders eyed you. Instead of seating yourself on the thrown, placing yourself above them, you grabbed a cushion and placed it on the floor. Their eyes watching your every move.

"I am not stupid, I will not be looking down on you from on high while I hold a temporary position." You sat and waited. A buzzed filled the room. You seemed to have pleased many of them just by doing this.

Negotiations lasted 3 days. But many disputes had been settled. A large amount of trade had been discussed, and you seemed to gain favor with many demons in regard to how you handled everything. You were their king.

Clever with words, patient when hearing. You simplified many problems and narrowed down options. You also weren't a fool. Tired, though you may have been, you did not allow anyone to try and strong arm you or to make strange dealings.

**Day five**

Not gonna lie. You spent most of the day sleeping with the 13 crowns. Not your usual source of sleep cuddles, but after 4 days straight of no sleep, you couldn't complain.

**Day six**

You examined the borders. Dressed casually and wearing a veil to prevent anyone from recognizing you. It almost felt relaxing that you were outside again, but you really missed the kids.

This took 4 days to complete, and after almost getting eaten by various plants or stabbed by stray weapons coming from nearby battlefields, you were done. You waved off any concerns with a-. "I have no time to worry about death." Assaination attempts were possible, but you just knew that Sullivan wouldn't let anything harm you.

If you had so much as a scratch, you'd worry he would destroy an entire clan. You really didn't want that to happen. Too much paperwork afterwards.

Arriving back to the tower on day 10, you were met with a surprise. Poro-chan. Standing in the middle of the room, looking ready to kill you.

**Day ten**

You eyed the demon with ire. You really couldn't understand their reasoning at all. They had such a warped personality. Especially when it came to the former Demon King.

"HOW DARE YOU TRY AND TAKE HIS PLACE!" They roared. Fury blazed in their eyes as you looked at them. Truly, Poro looked ready to eat you and spit you back out.

"How dare you be such a hypocrite." You snapped back. Startling the musical genius. "Oh, you love him, but then you leave him alone for who knows how long while he is bound here by responsibilities! Then, you come back practically waving your freedom in his face as you go on and on about all you've seen. Only to leave him again!"

You advanced slowly, watching as Poro backed up, looking at you, heartbroken. "But you already knew that, didn't you? You knew how much he wanted to explore and break free, and that terrified you." They gasped and stumbled falling backwards.

"You were scared of never seeing him, so you wished for him to be bound to a single place so that you would always know where he was!" Pointing your finger in his face as you hissed out words of conspiracy and resentment.

"N-no i -" He tried to gasp out shock, covering his features now. "But he loved you!" You said lowly, lowering your hand. "What?" The question is small and hesitant as if unsure what had been said.

"I SAID HE LOVED YOU! YOU FREAKING IDIOT!" You shrieked tears now forming in your own eyes. "He loved you so much, and he knew that tying you down wouldn't make you happy. He knew you were the loveliest when you were free. Coming and going like the wind. And time after time, he let you go."

Poro was now a sobbing mess before you. You offered no comfort. "You say I am taking his place? Fine then. I'm taking it. I'm taking it, so stop it, Poro-Chan. Enough already. Set him free. The one you seek is no longer here.... move on from this place." You walked past the mourning demon.

His sobs filling your soul with dispare. If he saw you as the villain, then so be it, but he needed to move on. A love like his was toxic, ruining him from the inside out.

Your back was facing the once proud demon. You would allow them to have the smallest amount of privacy you could offer. You weren't sure if what you said had been true. But he needed some kind of closure at this point. He had been holding on for too long. Even by demonic standards.

"We'll speak again after we've both composed ourselves." You stated bluntly before exiting the room. You spent several hours on the phone with your kids after that.

**Day 11**

Sullivan and Opera covered you in silks and satans of various colors. The breezy feeling you got reminded you so much of walking on air. Your hair had pearls woven in, and you walked barefoot about the tower.

It was a look that screamed innocence, and it was the armor you would wear when facing Poro a second time. You opted to not met in the tower itself but in a meadow just outside of tower. It was peaceful and less intimidating than the inner walls.

You sat calmly by the pond and waited. It did not take long. The tall demon lowered himself besides you. Both of you are sitting in silence.

"Are you gonna tell me what they want with Iruma?" You eventually asked. The former 13 crown member flinched. You looked at him.

"I'm not stupid, and neither are you. But you are desperate and desperate ones believe anything." You kept your voice calm and measured.

"They want his mana. It's Del-chans mana." The musician sounded so broken as he admits his betrayal. "And what you believe that just by having it, he'll be brought back?" You questioned.

"I j- I just want to see him again." The miserable sound coming from his throat was raw and guttural. "Do you believe he would be happy? Do you think he'd like being forced back?" You were cautious knowing that the demon you were questioning was close to an evil cycle.

"Stop that! Stop acting like you know him! I know him!" Even as he started throwing his fit, you remained. Unmoved. "That's why I'm asking you." Your words floating on the breeze.

Somehow, for the rest of the day, you had a large crying demon in your lap as you continued your work and messaged your kids. Making you miss them even more than you had already. 'Just two more days.' You thought trying to vanish your stress with that.

**Day twelve**

Party planning. You were setting up a party for tomorrow to celebrate your last day as Demon King. It seemed like the whole netherworld was invited.

You happily tasted sweets and allowed Poro to be as picky as he'd like with the music. Your father happily helped you pick and plan everything as you went. While the others excluding a few.

*cough* Baal *Cough*

We're actually trying to convince you to stay. Absolutely not. You had done more than enough. You had done more in a few days than most of them had in the years they had this position.

You had 13 kids you couldn't wait to go home and cuddle with. You might not leave the house for several days after this. Sounded sooo lovely.

**Day thirteen**

You practically flew through the day. Paperwork? Done, Decorations? All set up and on display. Your outfit? You looked like part of the Milky Way, considering how many gems are attached to you.

You shone throughout the entire night. Spinning around on the floor, excited to actually see all your children. You hugged, you cried, you laughed, and you cheered.

You happily escorted Clara around her first fancy party. You kept up with all of Lied and Goemon's exciting news that you missed. All while ensuring that Kamui didn't harass any of the ladies tonight.

Alice and Sabro danced with you a few times while you watched Iruma. Trying everything on the tables like the hungry little demon he was turning out to be. Kerori and Elizabetta chatted about all the designs they had seen tonight, and Jazz would teasingly swipe your accessories throughout the event.

You rested from time to time with Picero on his comfy cloud. While Allocer and Soi seemed more content with being wallflower and watching as the chaos went on through the night. Overall a great night.

But as soon as the clock struck midnight, you kicked off your shoes. Picked up both Soi and Iruma, who happened to be the two children closest to you and ran out the door screaming.

"Frrrrreeeeeeeeedddddoooommmmm" With your other children laughing and racing to catch up. Yes, you definitely hated every moment you missed.

#welcome to demon school iruma kun #mairimashita! iruma kun #reader #iruma suzuki #lord sullivan #opera #clara valac #asmodeus alice #sabnock baal #sabnock sabro #shax lied #gaap goemon #caim kamui #crocell kerori #ix elizabetta #jazz andro #allocer schneider #soi purson #agares picero #amaymon #astaroth #amaryllis #henri azazel #levi #belial #belzebuth #derkila #demon king #poro-chan #amduscias

[challengeanon]

Tamaki Amajiki

2028 backlog part 3. love love

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

You weren't a morning person and you probably never will be. You drowsily walked the crowded halls of your school heading to your class. You saw your three best friends talking outside of your classroom as you drew closer. The ray of sunshine, Mirio, Nejire, and the shy Tamaki. You'd never tell Tamaki but you had a huge crush on him and you have since first year. Mirio and Nejire on the other hand had found out one way or the other.

You walked up to them with a smile giving them friendly hugs and placing your hand on Tamaki's shoulder to avoid embarrassing him. With good mornings you all decide to head into the classroom and get ready for class. You were so busy talking and laughing to them that you didn't notice the small folded paper set on your desk. Your name sprawled across the top confirmed that it was in fact meant for you. Nejire urged you to open and read it and she wouldn't let up so you did.

(Y/N),

I think you're really cute and nice and funny and I've liked you for a while. I could never tell you to your face no matter how hard I want you to be mine. You're the best. I admire you from afar your beauty is like that of a rose from the garden of eden. Perfect.

                                      Dearly,

                             Your Secret Admirer

You smiled happily as you read the note aloud a blush creeping onto your face unknowingly. It was from the same person who had given you flowers and chocolates. Your gifts had never had any notes aside from the words "from your secret admirer" so this was new but not unwelcome. As much as you wanted it to be from Tamaki you doubt he'd feel that way about you you had to admit though whoever it was was really cute.

"Oh my god that was so cute!" You said smiling like a fool as Nejire squealed. You heard something gentle hit the wall and Mirio's deep chuckle. Looking over you saw the elf eared boy with his head on the wall; you knew how embarrassment affected him even second hand embarrassment. You hated seeing him like this though so you got up and walked over putting your hand gently on his back.

"Tamaki are you alright?" You asked him softly. He was thankful you couldn't see his face cause then you'd see his fierce blush. He nodded his head slowly signalling you that he's fine you let your hand linger on his warm back before sitting back down. After a little while he rejoined the living and sat down with you guys talking until your teacher came in and told you it was time for class.

Class went by quickly, well it did for you since you were in your head the entire time thinking about who could be your secret admirer. A ring of the bell signalled that it was time for lunch, no complaint from you though. You could feel a slim hand on your shoulder, looking up you saw the face of the one and only Nejire.

"Ok lover girl let's go to lunch we are hungry." She teased playfully causing the four of you to chuckle and head down to the lunch room. In the three years the bustling lunch room has never changed; but that made it easy for you maneuver without issue. After getting your food you head over to your usual table and sit down with your friends.

The second you sit down you can smell the ever so potent takoyaki Tamaki eats every day. It's honestly gotten to the point it doesn't bother you that much anymore which is good you guess?

"So (Y/N)-" Mirio's voice grabbed your attention "-any idea who your secret admirer is? I know how much you like their gifts and how much you want to know." You understood why he was wondering you were all so curious. Something about this conversation made Tamaki uncomfortable though, he looking down his eyes hidden by the black bangs and you could see his face was dusted pink. You couldn't help but smile before averting your attention back to Mirio's question.

"No I really have no idea as much as I want to. You said with a sigh receiving nods from the from him and Nejire. Your conversation continued as you talked about who it could be but none of them made any sense. You conversation was cut relatively short though when an unfamiliar male hesitantly approached your table. The four of you all looked at him questioningly, his eyes scanned each of you taking a shaky breath he calms himself down.

"H-Hado-chan I was uhmm wondering if you'd maybe like to.. Be my V-Valentine tomorrow?" The boy asked nervously. It looked like he was already ready to be rejected. You had completely forgot about tomorrow being Valentine's Day though so you mentally thanked the random boy. He was fidgeting he kind of reminded you of Tamaki at the moment it wa kind of endearing but you had no idea what Nejire would say.

"I would love to be your Valentine!" She said sweetly and excitedly. The nervous boy quickly relaxed with a breathe and smiled thanking her and running off you a group of guys who very supportively cheered and gave him pats in his back. The friendship they were showing warmed your heart making you smile. She turned back to the three of you with a bright smile on her face. Come to find out he was another one of her friends that she'd known for a while.

"So Mirio do you have a Valentine yet?" Nejire questioned the blond boy who's smile was honestly as bright as the sun. You were happy for Nejire getting asked by someone even if the guy like probably wouldn't ask you.

"Yeah, actually I asked her yesterday. I asked the girl I like and she thankfully said yes." He said excitedly and honestly you were happy to know he has a Valentine too. You knew the girl he's talking about she's in one of the general studies classes of your year and she's honestly a sweetheart easy to say you approve. You felt a little silly forgetting about the holiday of love though. Haha oopsies. You weren't in your head long when the question you had been dreading was asked.

"So (Y/N) do you have a Valentine?" Nejire asked leaning her shoulder against yours knowing about your hopeless crush on Tamaki. You couldn't help but groan slightly at the playful smirk that was spread across her lips. You couldn't tell but Tamaki was biting the inside of his cheek he didn't want you to be someone else's Valentine but he wanted you to be happy.

"Eh well no I don't. I actually kinda.. ya know.. forgot tomorrow is Valentine's Day.." You felt your face heat up an embarrassment the confession earning chuckles from your more extroverted friends but a sigh from the oh so introverted Tamaki. He wouldn't admit it but no only was he relieved but he found it cute. You couldn't help but laugh with them though.

"H-hey guys.. I uhh I have to uhh go and we'll do something. So I'll meet you b-back at the classroom o-ok?" He asked gaining confused nods from us reassuring him that we understood. It was odd for him to go off on his own like this but we respected him enough to not press him for answers.

After the three of you finished you all got up and headed back to the classroom. The halls seemed a little more empty with there only being three of you but you know Tamaki had something he had to do. The walk was fun the three of you joking and talking about their valentines on your way to the classroom the closer you got you saw a figure just walk in. You guys sped up your pace hoping it was Tamaki. Turning the corner into the room you saw that there were multiple people in the room, Tamaki included, so you didn't know exactly who it was but once you noticed it you didn't care as much.

You saw something on your desk. Walking up to it your three best friends trailing closely behind you you notice it's a flower on a piece of paper. All the paper says is 'from your secret admirer'. You couldn't help but smile as the delicate flower cradled in your hands. Your eyes scanned the room but no one was looking at you aside from your friends. You couldn't help but feel a little sad still not knowing who was flattering you so.

Your slight disappointment must have been noticeable because when you looked back at your friends they had concerned expressions on their faces.

"Hey (Y/N) is everything alright?" You heard a concerned Mirio ask you quietly. You didn't mean to look so sad you absolutely loved the delicate pink flower you just really wanted to know who it was. You smiled again.

"Yeah of course! I love the flower it's beautiful I was just.. hoping to see the person who gave it me ya know?" You felt bad for worrying them but you felt better when you saw the three of them smile and nod understandingly. Each of them looked relieved and smiling happily. We talked for a while until the teacher came in and they say in their seats. All through the rest of class the flower never left your desk your mind never wandering from from your secret admirer or the hope you felt that it was actually Tamaki. Once class was over the four of you walked to the dorms together you and Nejire having plans to study and just hang out and talk, not much different than usual.

"So, do you think your secret admirer will ask you to be their valentine tomorrow?" Nejire asked cheekily. You threw a pillow at her in response a nonverbal 'no shut up' if you will. The two of you just laughed and laughed even though you both knew you wanted the answer to be yes. Then she said it. The dreaded sentence. You'd never know it but Mirio asked a similar question to a certain shy boy.

"What would you do if your secret admirer was Tamaki?" She asked smiling only a little. She was serious and you hated to admit it you had no idea what you'd do. You knew he was shy and terrified of that kind of thing so if you did find out it actually was him you couldn't tell him.

"I don't know what I'd do but let's be real he doesn't like me Nejire-chan." You stated sadly you really wanted him to be it but he's not that good with that kind of emotion. Not to mention you guys were such close friends that's all he sees you as and you accepted that. Going back to studying you two studied hero laws for another ten minutes before getting tired and the left to go to her dorm. It wasn't long until you went bed yourself a happy sigh escaping your throat as your eyes slowly closed.

The next morning you woke up to your alarm. Rolling out of bed you sleepily took a shower. After getting dressed in your school uniform you looked in the mirror wishing yourself a happy Valentine's Day and left grabbing your phone, bag, and a granola bar on your way out. You had finished your granola bar before you got out of the dorms thankfully you threw it away in one of the many trash bins on your way. You decided to head straight to your classroom even though you were a little earlier than usual. Through the hallways you saw both couples being lovey dovey and the single friends watching them annoyed alike. Nodding to those you know as you walk past.

The door to your classroom was open meaning someone is in there, or was and they forgot to close it behind them. You walked up to the door slowly hoping to not see a couple making out. As you peak in you see Tamaki smiling you're about to say something until you notice what he's doing. He's putting something on your desk. Walking closer you notice its a thing of chocolates and a note. You smile blushing dark noticing he's not looking at the note out of curiosity he's writing the note.

"T-Tamaki?" You asked softly trying your best not to startle him too much but that didn't work. You heard the pencil drop onto the desk as he froze completely. You quickly slif the door making sure there was no audience so you could talk to him without him freezing even more. He turned around a mortified look on his red face.

"Oh no. I-I uhh I can ex-explain! I-I'm so sorry... You-You weren't supposed to-to... " he stuttered before walking over and placing his forehead against the wall. He couldn't help but think about how disappointed you are to find out its him. You probably hate him now. He couldn't go near you ever again. You were probably mad at him for this. He could never show his face around you again. He could feel a few tears slip out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He messed up and he knew it. He hated himself for it.

You slowly and carefully walked towards him the smile not leaving your face. You put your hands gently on his back being sure to go as slow as possible. He's like a cat at this moment you have to go slow or there may be less than savory consequences.

"Tamaki... Are you my secret admirer?" You asked him your voice softer than your touch. Hoping he said yes. He nodded barely noticeable and you could hear your heart speed up. Slowly you slide your hands from his back to his shoulders. You can feel him tense up even more his breathing hitching oddly. Is he... crying? You slowly turned him around to face you instead of the wall. He was in fact crying softly and you could feel your heart ache. You can't stop yourself and you pulled him into a hug burying your head into the space just beneath his shoulder.

He didn't hug back at first his brain needed a moment to comprehend what was happening. After a moment he wrap his arms around you holding you close resting his head on yours. You stood like that for what felt like an eternity before you both pull away his hands never leaving your body longing for your warmth. Your touch. You looked at him his face beet red a couple tears still wet on his face. Slowly you lift your hands and wipe away his tears smiling softly the entire time before placing your hands around his neck you bodies still pressed against each other. You could see a smile peak through his fear and embarrassment. You leaned up placing a tender hips on his lips. It was too long until he began kissing back completely in sync.

Pulling away you smiled at him and walked over to your desk grabbing a small chocolate.

"Tamaki. Will you be my Valentine and my boyfriend?" You said gently and he walked up to you hesitantly his brain going 30,000 miles a minute. With a shy nod he smiled and you could feel your heart flutter as you popped the small chocolate into your mouth. Mmmm. It was so good. Letting the chocolate melt slowly you kisses him again. He could taste the chocolate in your kiss and he couldn't complain at all about what was going on. Neither of you could. That was until you both heard cheers coming from your classmates who walked in on you two kissing. You both quickly pulled away embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck as everyone came up to two and started asking questions. It was embarrassing no doubt but you felt better the second you felt his strong arm wrap around your waist. Best Valentine's Day ever.

#amajiki x reader #tamaki amajiki #tamaki x reader #my writing

[authormeat]

Teeth Guy (Or Poncho Boy dubbed by my friends)!!!

Info about Teeth Guy is listed below <3 Also, Candy Gore is under the cut but it's just a boarder framing this picture above ^

THE DOCUMENTER (AKA Teeth Guy)

His full name is Naran Valentina Murillo and he's a first gen American. (His mother migrated from Mexico into Texas)

He often dyes his hair when he's feeling strong emotions or having a break down. But he'd NEVER cut his hair. He loves it long.

Wears ponchos that his mother had made when he was growing up. He modified them slightly by adding teeth lining the bottom of the cloth.

He collects teeth of all kinds of animals and has an extensive collections, but he will also collect bones and eyes as well.

Naran documents those who enter contracts with Slenderman and keeps them all neatly in several cabinets.

He is also called the Documenter because he is able to extract any information for those he needed to.

How?

He tortures them.

(Warning talk of torture)

Using an extensive backlog of tools and weapons he will use them in the most painful way possible.

Pulling teeth is his favorite form, but he will also yank nails and eyelashes until the person has none left.

He has put superglue in someone's eye once.

(Warning over)

Naran however is soft outside of business

He enjoys cooking, baking, tea drinking, and playing board games for the most part (Scrabble is his favorite)

Teeth Guy also has a deep connection to The Trapper, Ghost Boy, and Mask Girl and would absolutely be sad if any of them died.

It's his family to him after all and he must protect his family.

He still deeply loves his mom even though he can't ever see her again. His mother is still alive for the safety of his mental stability as well.

He is the only one out of the main four with a still living parent.

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #teeth guy #candy gore

[drivinmeinsane]

Birthday Boy

※ Officer K x Joi ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: Officer K does not often find himself surprised. He was made to be clearheaded and adaptable, able to get a read on most situations at a glance. Joi is a true wildcard in his life. She elicits feelings from him that he never could have predicted. As a result, he finds himself floundering in the wake of an unexpected gesture.

※ Rating: T for canon typical themes and implied violence. 

※ Content/Tags: Emotional Hurt, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Pre-Canon, Identity Issues

※ Word count: 3,838

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: Happy 43rd birthday to the man whose acting performances have resulted in characters that have bewitched me. I'd be living a very different, arguably less enjoyable, life if it were not for them.

A lingering chill permeates the room. No sunlight could ever dream of reaching down into the bowels of the LAPD headquarters to cast its rays inside the timeworn host. She devours her supplicants into her gullet each shift, only letting them free once they’ve completed their mandated labors for the greater good. Every cell has its function in the body. Officer KD6-3.7 supposes that his usage inside of the closest thing he’s ever had to a mother is done under buzzing, sterile lights and in out of the way corners, not amongst the rest of the cells that make up the innards. He is not interlinked with them. Will never be interlinked. His reward for his service is to be examined like a biopsy slide following the times he is sent outside of the internal workings to act as a neutralizer to infection. He is left undisturbed if the findings are benign, fully exorcised from the body if determined cancerous

The glare from the light on the desk is challenging the screen in front of him for which of them is going to give him the bigger headache. When he presses his forehead against his knuckles to try to elevate the building pressure, he is only reminded of how tired he is. His eyes are strained and feel as though they have been filled with sand. The replicant has been holed up in this subterranean room for hour after hour while he sifts through the backlog of evidence that had been allowed to pile up from other officers. Processing and cataloging are not amongst his favorite activities, but the monotonous tasks are a welcome alternative to chasing down a wanted fugitive in the outskirts of the city. It would have been especially brutal in this unseasonably cold weather. The mixture of snow and acid rain plaguing the city was ankle deep in many places, aggressively hungry and not reacting to the rock salt. This morning, it had piled back up again and he was left to fight every step of the way to the parking garage where he kept his work provided spinner. His boots were nearly sucked off his feet more than once during the predawn trek. His socks have been uncomfortably soaked through ever since. 

Sliding another piece of evidence under the desk mounted camera to be scanned into the database, he questions exactly what it is that his madam was hoping he would find down here by assigning him this duty. When he had stood in her office this morning, eyes more intent on watching the sun rising over the city’s horizon through the window than on her, he had acknowledged her remarks about the likely possibility of finding a new lead amongst the undocumented items. With no older models on the docket to retire, K was put to work processing information faster than any organic could ever have any hope of doing. There has been nothing out of the ordinary as far as he has been able to tell. He is beginning to be sure that she put him down here in order to save herself the hassle of paperwork. Keeping him from being underfoot in the bullpen is a wise strategy to cut costs. The presence of skinners reduces the quality and efficacy of work performance in non-replicant employees. It is also easy to extract your pound of flesh from someone who has been ordered not to engage in retaliation against fellow LAPD employees. All in all, it is better if he goes unnoticed and forgotten while on duty. 

Eyes up and to the left, he casts a glance at the clock. Just under half an hour left until he can leave the precinct. That is unless his madam makes him stay late. The replicant allows himself a groan as he rises to his feet in order to put away the evidence cluttering the desk. The muscles in his back are stiff from inactivity, He was not made to sit for long stretches of time. Once he is finished tidying the workspace and powers down the electronics, he pulls his coat from its position over the back of the chair that has been bearing the weight of his body since he settled into a routine hours ago. He folds the bundle of laminated cloth over his arm for safekeeping. The building is heated on the more trafficked levels and does not necessitate more layers than his thick, long sleeved shirt. He does not bother to turn off the lights when he exits the room. They will shut off on their own if they do not sense movement. Convenient.

He needs to brief Lieutenant Joshi on his findings, or lack thereof. Failure to report to his madam leads to unwanted results if she feels snubbed by his lack of consideration. The last time that he made her feel that way, she had made her displeasure clear by arriving at his apartment and drinking herself into believing that he was attractive. She had started drunkenly groping at his stomach and thighs while he had to sit beside her on the narrow couch and take it like a good dog. He had been spared from anything more invasive by the sound of an empty bottle shattering against his graffitied front door. Joshi had remembered herself, realized what it was that she was coming onto, and sobered up enough to put a halt to her attentions. She had cracked a joke about the replicant leading her on before she excused herself. He had been fortunate that time and took her leering interpretation of the situation with an impassive face. He had learned very early on to turn Joi off when he heard the lieutenant at the door. He did not enjoy her questions about why he silently let his madam use him as she wished. 

There is no baseline test today, and K is grateful that he does not need to sit through the interrogation. His job is laced with enough hazards without worrying that it will not be a rogue replicant that retires him, but his own employer. In the depths of himself where he shoves down everything that he does not wish to acknowledge, he envies the older models for having the free will to run and seek their own fates. He despises being sent to drag their dreams crashing back down to Earth. 

He does not take the elevator. It does not offer easy escape from hateful hands should he be cornered by someone with an active vendetta against what he is. Instead, he makes the arduous climb up the flights of stairs between the general evidence storage room and the floor that harbors his madam’s office. One small comfort lies in that the roof will be just overhead, his spinner easily accessible.

K knocks after reaching Joshi’s office. He stands, patiently waiting for the woman to look up from the screens in front of her. While he waits, he thinks about how he, as on most mornings, had not wanted to get out of bed. Joi seems more real when he is lost in the space between dreaming and waking. It is easier to convince himself that her presence in the bed beside him is tangible, that the layer of padding serving as the mattress for his fold-down cot is indented and contoured to the curves of her body.

After several long moments, Lieutenant Joshi finally registers his presence and beckons him into the room. He does not close the door behind him. Subconsciously, he is trying to leave himself an exit, even if he will never take the out. He is a good dog. Loyal to the bitter end.

“What did you find?” She asks him, irritation lacing unwittingly through her voice. She is still upset over the other night and it is casting a shadow over each of their shared interactions.

“Nandez turned in some old photo scans. Might be worth looking into ID’ing the individuals in them. They could be part of the resistance movement.”

Her expression tightens and she waves a dismissive hand at him. “Go on home.”

"Yes, madam,” he tells her, ducking his head in a subservient goodbye.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Keeping his stare low and focused on the slurry of snow and runoff prohibits him from locking eyes on the brilliantly projected advertisements that try to entice passing pedestrians into shallow interactions. He does not like to think about the DiJi units. It draws his relationship with Joi into the daylight, the playacting at domesticity exposed for being just that. K would rather not contemplate what she is and what he is. What they are. It makes his existence less palatable. 

The conditions on the streets have the stairwell teeming with more than just the building’s residents. He wades through the jostling mass of bodies as he ascends the eighty stories to the floor that contains his unit. They do not let him pass undisturbed. Grasping hands reach out and take hold wherever they can. He lets them paw at his body, ignores the venom being spat at him in a dozen languages. Word spreads faster than any disease. The crowd is aware of what he is and what he represents. He is too numbed by it all to care. There is no point in resisting.

The broken glass outside his door crunches underneath his boots. It will stay there until someone other than the replicant clears it away. The shards serve as a deterrent to the artists that like to decorate the door and the wall that it is set in. He stopped scrubbing away the graffiti months ago. More would just appear in its place, and maybe he can pretend that it helps Joshi remember what he is when she graces him with her company outside of work hours. The disgust might keep her hands off of him.

K finds the right angle for his hand on the sensor lock and wastes no time in letting himself into the apartment once the latch clicks free. He does not turn his back on the hallway as he shuts the door. Learning from that error had been a hard lesson. He does not believe any of his newer neighbors would be so bold as to try teaching him another, but it never pays to neglect precautions. As his madam was fond of reminding him, he had not been a cheap acquisition.

Once inside, he begins his after work routine. He turns on Joi’s in-home emanator so that he can start pretending. No music today. K retraces his steps back to the entryway and shrugs off his coat. He hangs it up on the peg by the door. His eyes catch on the old model number stamped down the back of the green cloth. Not his. From another replicant.

“K? Is that you? I didn’t hear you come in.” Joi’s artificial voice is a soothing balm on a burn. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be louder next time.” He forces himself to sound happy, slipping into the role of the old fashioned husband arriving home from a hard day in the office.

Joi laughs and starts clattering around in the kitchen. He hears what sounds like the oven opening and shutting. “It’s an important day, you know.“

“What’s the occasion?” He unzips his sodden boots and puts them under his coat by the door. He peels his socks off too for good measure. They should have been removed and replaced with dry ones hours ago.

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll tell you when you’re out.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says amicably and retreats to the bathroom.

He undresses himself with steady hands, not letting himself hiss when his still chilled skin comes in contact with the air of the unheated apartment. The bureau was magnanimous enough by providing housing for something like him. That magnanimity, however, did not guarantee safety or warmth. He is merely grateful to not be shoved into a storage closet at the end of each shift. 

The movement of pulling his shirt over his head causes pain to bite into his senses. In trying to get ready for his shower, he had strained the glued laceration across his chest. It cut through a bed of mottled bruising from an accident he had earlier in the week. A replicant on his retirement list had punched him hard enough in the sternum that his skin had split open from the force. He still couldn’t draw in a full breath without it catching in his lungs. He had not informed his madam. He had not wanted his paycheck docked, not when he was on the cusp of being able to afford Joi’s anniversary present

He folds his clothes and puts them on the concrete shelf placed in the wall. K will be putting them back on shortly once he is dry. A second day’s use can be wrung out of them before they need to be cleaned. He does not want to wear out the fabric prematurely. His woven shirt is real cotton. 

Scrubbing a toothbrush over his teeth once he is fully stripped down, he avoids himself in the mirror. He does not want to be reminded that other replicants wear his face. He has not yet come across another Nexus 9 of the same make but he knows that he will someday. 

“How was your work?” Joi calls from the other room. She is setting a timer. He can hear it clicking as she adjusts it. He wonders what she is making for dinner.

“It was easy. Just desk duty. How was your day?”

“I’ve been busy. I’ve been waiting for you,” she tells him warmly.

The replicant smiles around his toothbrush before taking it out of his mouth. He spits into the sink, does not bother to rinse. He crosses the few feet to the shower and braces himself for the torrent once he is situated under the metal halo. He tries to not flinch when the water hits him. It stings for the five seconds it runs. His platelet jelly survives the downpour, his injury does not reopen. It is a small mercy.

He dries off and redresses before retrieving his boots from the front door. The tile is cold against the bottoms of his feet even though his socks. He hates the feeling of it about as much as he allows himself to hate anything. There are bad memories associated with the sensation. Real ones. Not implants.

The dinner he makes himself is the same as always when he eats in. Prefab noodles with powdered grubs as a protein source. It is nothing special, only meant to keep him functional. Joi is a much better cook than he is. She is mostly silent while he prepares the meal, though he can still hear the sounds of her moving around in the main room, heels clicking against the floor. She does not often go barefoot either. 

He almost asks her if she wants a drink but refrains. He wants to save it for the hard days. The ones where he comes back to his apartment with the unacknowledged wish that he had been the one retired at the hands of someone not all that different than him. Replicant snuffing out replicant. He fills his whiskey glass with water from a bottle instead before taking his meal to the table. He sits down facing the window as he does every night. Across the street, his more distant neighbors, a couple, are dancing together. The taller of the two women lifts her companion into a raised twirl. He muses if Joi has picked her spontaneous urges to dance from observing them.

“Here’s your dinner. I’m sorry it’s a little late, babysweet,” she apologizes as she comes from the kitchen to set the bowl she’s carrying over his. It clips though, steam rising off of it. It looks like a pre-blackout recipe. Something fresh he would never be able to acquire outside of a fantasy.

“You didn’t need to fuss,” he reassures, pausing, “What is it, darling?”

The telltale static tingle of her projected form is the first clue that she is wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. His spine almost itches from where she presses into him. He is almost relieved that she does not have a physical form. The weight of her arm across his wounded chest would be difficult to bear without giving away traces of discomfort.

“Potato soup with freshly picked herbs.”

“Well, honey. It looks wonderful. Thank you,” he tells her. He feels the ghost of her mouth brush against his cheek before she flits away, more wishful thinking on his part than actual sensation.

He eats his protein noodles and tries to imagine what the soup would taste like if it were real. He has no real frame of reference. He had read about cream once. The book had described it as thickly coating the tongue in a wealth of rich tasting fats, almost pillowy in the mouth. All together, it would be earthy and fragrant. Decadent.

Once he is done eating, he stands and takes his dishes to the kitchen. He puts them into the refresher where they get restored to usable status in seconds. The projection of the now empty soup bowl fades away the moment his back is to the table. His chores done for the day, he embarks on the rest of his post-work routine. 

Joi is on the couch, enthralled in some sort of textile project when he passes by her to stand at the table housing some of his possessions. He picks out a cigarette from the box and is putting it between his lips when his wife flickers to his side, hand already raised towards his face.

“Do you want your surprise now?”

He had forgotten about their fleeting small talk that had taken place a while ago. Joi had neglected to follow up after his shower to explain exactly what was so special about today. K does not recall any occasion that would prompt the extra hints of attention she has been trying to bestow on him since he came home, but he indulges her all the same. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He allows her to light his cigarette with a fingertip. The concentration of light generates a spark on the end and he takes a slow, even pull to encourage it to catch. It does. He savors the lungful of tobacco, ignoring the pinching in his chest. Smoking is a part of his small collection of vices. It makes him feel more human.

Relaxed, he turns around and comes to an abrupt halt. Briefly frozen as he takes in the sight in front of him. Joi is standing by the table, a smile on her face. She is holding a small cake in her hands. Chocolate with candied dots sprinkled over the top. It reads ‘Happy Birthday K’ in neat lettering, blue on brown. Lit candles are casting a wavering glow over her face. The cake looks homemade, messy. Real.

“What’s this?” he asks. He’s hoarse, blindsided. The cigarette in his mouth nearly slips free as he tries to process the surprise. 

“It’s a birthday cake for your birthday.” Joi sounds proud of herself.

He remembers having to input a date when he set her up for the first time. He should have known something like this would occur. He supplied the date carved on the underside of the wooden horse in his memories. October 6th, It was not his wakening date. That would be November 12th, but it had felt… right to have that nod to his nonexistent childhood. It better sold the dream his false memories hinted at.

“I was never born.” It slips out intentionally, but it is the truth all the same. He does not possess a soul. He was never drawn from the warmth of a mother’s body.

The DiJi's face falls for a moment, processing the bitterness in his voice. She had miscalculated and upset him. He feels regret at her reaction. She looks back up at him. A smile spreads earnestly across her face.

“Let’s pretend,” she says hopefully. She is echoing something back that he has said to her before. He swallows hard. He has to hold onto this. He has to maintain the idea that he has something approaching a baseline of normality in his existence. Humans have birthdays and if he wants to be treated as a human within the confines of his home, then he needs to accept this moment.

“Alright, honey, let’s pretend.” 

He tries to not think about sliding free of the bag that he had been grown in. Like a baby bird hatched from an egg, he had been left, dazed and trembling, to make sense of the world on an impersonal tile floor. The drainage grates had cut into his newly exposed flesh. He remembers the sensation of his pseudo placental fluids drying on his skin. He thought his bones would shatter into pieces from how hard he was shivering.

Loneliness and biting cold were his first real sensations in the world. He wonders if they will be his last. Would that not be poetic? Wet, frozen, and afraid all on his own. Beginning and end like the boards encasing the pages of a book. The first warmth he received was a towel thrown impatiently on top of him. Joshi’s eyes were not fond. They did not yet contain the clouded heat they would eventually come to hold in the dark hours of the day.

With burdened steps, he follows Joi to the table and sits back down in the purple chair. He braces himself in his seat. He feels weak in a way he has never felt before. She places the cake in front of him, breezing her hand over his arm before she withdraws from his space. 

“Make a wish,” she encourages, launching into a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. It is an uncomfortable experience, sitting there while trying to look content for her. He does not want to see that disappointed look on her face again.

Silent, the replicant leans forward and ‘blows’ out the candles. They extinguish, smoke trailing towards the ceiling. Even in his artificial memories, he did not experience any birthday celebrations. The orphanage in which he grew up did not provide them. He and the other children were used in place of sophisticated machinery. You do not celebrate the aging of tools. The countless hours spent sorting scrap in the outbuildings come to mind. Their hands had been chilled to stiff, waxy things, almost too cold to bleed when nicked by a sharp edge. Their breath had turned to frost in the air. Their eyes had clicked like marbles rattling in their skulls. None of them knew their ages. 

“What did you wish for?” Joi’s voice breaks into his reminiscing.

“You know I can't tell you that or it won’t come true.”

#blade runner 2049 #br 2049 #blade runner 2049 fanfic #officer k #officer kd6-3.7 #officer k fanfic #joi #officer k x joi #my posts #my work #blade runner 2049 fanfiction #ryan gosling

[andr0nap]

just dropping in to say I absolute ADORE your art, your colors and backgrounds and everything is absolutely gorgeous and I was losing my mind a little at your entire "ice planet au". Like, the backgrounds?!?!?! The environments?!! I need to sit down with those for a few hours and study how you did them because !!!! its amazing?! Also the ptarmigan inspired Tomas are adorable and I wish to hug them. And!! Diversity in Tomas?!! YES! My biology heart is singing with joy

also. Also. Sea Slug Vash. The Design. Is. Impeccable. Deep sea inspirations are absolutely perfect for the whole multidimensional kind of eldritch thing and vibe he + the plants have going on and it is stupendous. I absolutely love it

Aaaand the centaur au, is just delightful and I love the designs and the details to their forms, from Vash and Knives having different biology that's distinctly different when you look at details but close enough that Vash can mimic being horse-ish. (The coat patterns are so pretty!)

And (mostly last thing) this piece: https://www.tumblr.com/andr0nap/723041602792210432/turn-your-gaze-upon-this-wretched-holy-thing?source=share

I am in awe. The lighting, the detail work?! It has the feathers of trimax but the plant patterning of stampede (and oh gods, the patterning, the detail, the glow--) and then Vash's damned hand?! You've got all the pieces plus the texture and I'm just staring. AND the symbolism! Like, you've got Wolfwood staring at Vash, though Vash himself is hidden from view, and I'm just ajkghdkghjkd

Thank you very much for sharing your art!!

BWAAA THANK YOU SM!!! youre so sweet aaaa 🥺🥺🥺💕

im so happy people like my little ice planet au!! im no storyteller but i love worldbuilding and biology and putting my faves in new environments!! i definitely want to get back to this au when i get past the fandom burnout bc i put a lot of thought into this and id hate for it to end up gathering dust

YEAHH!! you get me!! i love feathery angel vash with all my heart but theres something so charming about the naked slimy chicken slug (more of that coming soon in the backlog dump)

designing the unicorn twins was an interesting little challenge, trying to make them look horse enough to be able to blend in with the masses but also predatory enough to make you go hey wait Thats Not A Horse. vash needs to put more effort into making himself look harmless because A. he moves differently from an equine when he isnt putting up an act with his exaggerated gait and B. the prey part in my centaurs brains is alive and well and theyre a suspicious bunch by nature so seeing vash stalk towards them in his normal gait would set off a lot of alarm bells

and im happy you like that piece!! it was my proper full render for the fandom and im still very proud of it!!! (esp the prosthetic.. and the fact that i remembered to turn on the timelapse yippee)

thank you again for the sweet ask!!!

#ask #aaa this is so nice #shakes your biology hand 🤝

[nexuschampion]

//I think this is the scariest thing we've seen from Monkey King, a peek into his past self. The wild, prideful, violent and impulsive one. He actually lets his anger control him for a moment.

He is PISSED at Macaque for f*ing with his 'plan', risking Mei in the process and in inadvertently messing up his opportunity to make up for his mistake. He has no problem owning up to his mistake, but Macaque pulled the ULTIMATE sin of putting someone in danger because of something Wukong did (though Macaque didn't know that). Wukong would have gladly taken the fire, sacrificed himself to save everyone, and maybe somewhere deep down he was hoping Mei could control it so he wouldn't have to, but he CANNOT abide by the possibility that Macaque messed up his one chance at fixing what he broke and put Mei and therefore MK in massive danger. Makes me wonder why he went after the fire in the first place.

Wukong simultaneously has no plan and drives forward with brute strength, luck and instinct and also has enough of everything thought through to be FURIOUS if anyone throws a wrench in his carefully thought out non-planning.

Poor Macaque doesn't know why or what happened at all but he knows he is about to get leveled. The realization that he FUCKED UP as badly as he possibly could have SHOWS on his face because he knows when the Monkey King means real business.

@brain-thoughts-backlog

#monkie kid #lmk #spoilers #season 3

[holy3cake]

A long overdue casualty review

HI ALL! Happy new year everyone! Oh my gosh I'm sorry this took so long to post but I am writing my first casualty review of 2024 (even though I watched it like 3 or 4 days ago?) Okay so first thoughts:

It's good to see everyone again after so long but holy crap that opening. Seeing all the ambulances and backlogs etc, just goes to show how much strain is put on the NHS. Kudos to nurses and doctors that work so hard every day.

As soon as Irene started talking about her son's temper I was like oooooh shit. Could deffo see that guy kicking off.

Rash's dad being transferred without word was sad, but seriously Rash you need to look after yourself. He tried before, and I hope he doesn't get overworked with looking after him.

RYAN. Okay I need a longer thing for this. I always had some hope deep down for Ryan to flourish as a nurse, and that violent scene killed me. I could barely watch it. But shit like that does happen, so good on the BBC for actually depicting that.

I also see Ryan potentially having an Al storyline (for those of you that watch doctors) and for those that don't, Al was attacked and hasn't really recovered from it. He's become isolated and terrified, so I hope we see some big support for Ryan's recovery.

I'm just holding out love for Rida, Jodie and of course Cam to be there for their friend.

Would anyone actually read a sick fic of Cam taking care of Ryan? No? Okay yeah, that's just me lmao.

#casualty opinions #bbc casualty #casualty #casualty spoilers #casualty review #cam #jodie #rida #ryan #bbc doctors #doctors #Al haskey

[kingmaker-a]

For Your Eyes Only | Yoohyeon x Reader

Content/Warning: Mostly fluff, though as is inevitable when I write there is some angst and extremely brief mentions of bad previous relationships.

Requested: Yes

Cast: Yoohyeon, Ryujin and Jiu, Yeji is mentioned

Genre: Soulmate AU

Word Count: 3780

Average Read Time: 15 minutes

English. Unknown letters and syllables, a smile tickles its way across her face.  Her fingers linger and trace over words. A tender, soft, delicate touch. A seedling finds root in her chest. A small dim light twinkling in her chest, hope

Your fingers crest ivory keys, smooth butter-like chords trickle into your studio. One word echoes through your mind.

Safe.

Living in a new country was a difficult experience dotted with language barriers. But new and difficult was good, to fail was to get better after all.

You grasp your water bottle, a quick sip is all you need before you switch to drums. Part of you missed the sweet sour tang of energy drink.

Even with your headphones on you notice someone peer into your studio. A smile blooms on to your lips, an almost silent knock on the wall next to the door.

Your fingers and thoughts are almost too lost in the process, too focused on kicks, snares and 808s. You feel familiar fingers jolt across your shoulders.

An attempt at a surprise.

You slide the cuffs of your headphones off your ears turning to meet Ryujin. "Hm?"

A sour frown greets you, a pointed roll of her eyes. 

A chuckle threatens to spill past your lips.

"You know the album is done right?" A teasing smirk licks at her lips. "You can go home and relax."

The thought did cross your mind, "it's a personal project."

"Right, right…" her chuckle tickles your ear. You hadn't realised how close she clung to you. "Where have I heard that one before? How many projects is it now?" 

You can't help but roll your eyes slightly, she meant well. 

"This one is different," you quickly point out. 

You watch as her eyes scan over yours, looking for any hint of a lie, like a focused beam of light. In another universe she'd make a good detective or hunter. 

"... Fine fine," a groan passes through her lips as she pulls back. "Well let me know if you finish with your little project. Me and Yeji are going out for drinks, but I have a sneaking suspicion she's gonna bail."

You give her a nod, fingers focused on the bass line. Your mind humming along to your escape, a skill you picked up during a bad relationship. 

Back when you just needed to express yourself. 

Yet with no pain in your system, your thoughts drift like wood in the ocean. Early nascent thoughts of hope and yearning. 

Days filled with poetry as you avoided backlogged assignments in high-school. When you truly believed in having a soul mate.

Your brain fumbles through song ideas, your ears admire your finished rhythm, though it was only an instrumental if you had no lyrics. 

You wanted to express the earnest love and hope that was seated deep in your heart like a nestled pearl. Perhaps Seoul was a good place for your heart and soul. 

Soul. 

Seoul. 

Seoul mates? 

…a shiver runs down your spine from pure cringe. Maybe you should leave it to the professionals?

Memories twist and pull at your brain despite the overwhelming cringe. Strands of twine form a rope to pull up the past. 

A desk, far too dissimilar from the present. 

High school, a mixing ground for creativity and negative vibes, a mist of anxiety, stress and energy drinks. An idle hobby, a coping mechanism... at least at first.

Words, ink, like splashes of paint dot your art. Amateurish in origin but good practice nonetheless. Across your skin, the ink makes it mark, words describing wishful aspirations of love.

You'd heard stories, rumours. Your soulmate would see anything you wrote on your skin and vice versa. However, you saw it as nothing but a myth, despite claims to the contrary.

It was easier to accept that than the possible alternatives. Years had gone by and you hadn't seen anything appear on your skin. A discouraging thing in such an earnest time in your life. The thought of your soulmate wanting nothing to do with you crossed your mind in more than one instance.

Yet, as the words you wrote dot your skin, you almost pretend for your own sake. 

They're words from a distant soul, words meant for your eyes only. A sweet smile crosses your face. 

Beautiful what-ifs

The sweet release of sour memories sweeps through your mind’s palate– you feel a different spark take a hold.

You had always struggled with lyrics, the only thing that was worse than your korean.Too enshrouded with your attempts to avoid the past. You can’t outrun a storm forever.

Rain has its own beauty.

Your stomach grumbles, snapping you back to your very real physical needs. Your hunger reaches for your phone, delivery would be good.

If your phone was charged.

A scowl threatens your lips. You needed a plan, not an easy feat while hunger wracked your brain. Your charger was at home, too far to sail in a sea of hunger. 

Your memory blesses you, Ryujin had mentioned a new cafe about a block away. You grab a nearby marker, your handwriting a terrible mess as you attempt to write an alien—to your brain—script onto your skin.

Heartstrings.

Even despite the profound hunger gnawing at you, you load your project onto an old discarded mp3 player. A joke gift in the modern age, a source of relief in the early days of high school.

Highschool was an entire country and several years away. 

Your mind is its own siren call, taught with weathered old grip, yet vice-like like a steel cage. 

You're pulled ashore onto the beach of old memories. 

Yoohyeon hadn't thought too much about the whole soulmate thing, something that was spoken about only in preschool. The rush as all the kids clambered for any sort of marker. 

She was one of the unlucky few unable to write a message because one kid was a little too eager. Profanities littered every surface of his skin that he could find.

A funny incident before life became serious.

Her life filled with the pursuit of study left little room for thoughts about soulmates. Instead, she was filled to the brim with calculus, her calculator clattered onto her desk, a stressed sigh escaped her lips.

A groan follows suit, her textbook, a mush of letters, numbers and formulas. Indecipherable to her tired brain, a frown crosses her face.

Yet, she catches something odd on the surface of her wrist, illuminated by the soft amber glow of her lamp. A strip of black, a bruise?

No, words. Foreign in origin, but even she could make out what language.

English.

Unknown letters and syllables, a smile tickles its way across her face. 

Her fingers linger and trace over words. A tender, soft, delicate touch.

A seedling finds root in her chest.

A small dim light twinkling in her chest, hope. 

There was something to look forward to outside of her monotonous day to day. Her hand quickly grasps her pen, her fingers strain with the rushed strained desperation of a storm after a drought.

A flood to nourish.

A seed sown by her soulmate.

Your words would reach her every day forth, a comforting constant as she battled the sweltering Korean summer heat. Your words would evolve from roses are red parodies, not that she could quite grasp it at the point. 

She treasured your messages, your words, your feelings regardless. A smile adorned her face as you scrawled new creations onto your skin, her skin. Your skill evolving with each passage. 

It wasn't until the Korean winter that someone else noticed the words on her skin. 

Her eyes, too busy dazzled by the magical appearance that brightened her day. Her mind spinning tales about her would-be soulmate. 

"What's that on your wrist Yooh?" an inquisitive glance from her brother, her heart quickens from the suddenness. Panic melts through her as she quickly shifts the treasured words out of view. 

Too little, too late. 

"Was that English?" 

Her heart leaps into her throat, her mind scrambles for some sort of explanation. Her brother wouldn't approve of her head lost in an endless mist of idealisation, dancing in the clouds of fantasy. 

It was best to tell the truth regardless. 

Wounds heal quicker that way. 

"It's poetry," a small pout blooms across her lips, anxiety tickling at frayed nerves. 

"Poetry?" Less of a question and more of a surprised thought. His words linger for several aching long moments, his fingers trace his chin "Notes?"

"Uh..." A hesitant pause, a frown nearly slips through a counterfeit smile. "You caught me."

Her chest aches, a web of lies spun with the silk of her heart.

The first strand of many.

Eventually the lies lose meaning, studying English becomes a passion of its own. 

Deciphering your words a sugary sweet bonus, a preserver in the storm of life.

Her soulmate.

Yet, as the days and months go by, it’s a rare warm winter’s night where things change. Despite the extra warmth that hangs in the air, winter still has a bite in the air.

But that’s not what stings her heart.

Thorns had grown on the flower nestled deep within her heart, piercing deeper with each day. 

Your words whispered across her skin no longer, her fingers chase after ghosts, hoping to coax more words to form. 

They never do. 

Her hands claw desperately through scattered notebooks, any semblance of you she holds dear.

She cradles your words tight in her silk bed of lies, her sheets were only half as comfortable. 

An ice cold clutch withered at heart, tearing at her soul, choking her heart. 

Had you given up? 

A flaming passion reduced to nothing but smouldering ashes. 

Had you fallen ill? Deathly so? 

Another thorn digs deep at the thought. 

Or perhaps you’d given up on love? A fruit so far out of reach that you refuse its lustre.

She had been silent for such a long time, only now do the cracks become obvious. 

Your romantic words, nothing but offerings to the void, a guilty pleasure she did nothing but partake in.

Years trail past like leaves on the wind, memories dance delicately into dust.

Or so she thought, her brow quivers and her muscles ache, sweat trickles past her temple. 

Just one more run through, a thought that echoes and claws desperately through her mind.

It’s a single comforting palm pressed into the small of her back that soothes her, her eyes shift focusing on a familiar face.

“You’re still practising?” a familiar, sweet smile hangs on her lips, yet she knew better. 

Concern lingers overhead like a dark cloud.

Her own lips twist into a soft, faint smile, she feigns a glance at the time. “I thought you’d be cuddled up to Cherry by now.”

Her smile blooms ever sweet, like ripe cherries on the eve of harvest. 

A delicate flame that melts with its beauty. A thought trails across her eyes like a shooting star on a hallowed night. 

Yet, all she offers is a slight nod before her eyes focus back onto Yoohyeon, the same dreary clouds drift temptuously in her gaze. 

"How come you're so good at English?" A peculiar sudden question.

Yoohyeon’s eyebrows knot together before a grin twists over her lips.

“Because I studied it?” There’s a quizzical tilt to her voice, as if the answer was fairly straight forward.

A sharp giggle leaves her lips.

There’s the slightest cradle of a frown hidden in Jiu’s lip. Her head lists to the side as her eyes focus down onto Yoohyeon’s. Her lips roll with turmoil, unspoken words linger behind her gaze.

Finally a sigh escapes.

“...I notice you look at your wrist whenever you write in English."

Her heart sinks into deep forgotten depths, an anchor dragging across distantly familiar sand. 

How long had it been since she last visited those depths? The frosted echoes of love kindled and lost, traded over heartfelt and self worn words?

Years, the distance echoes like the glimmer of stars long parted.

It’s her own turn to inhale a deep burdenful sigh. It claws slightly against the floor of her throat, a desperation to ignore the past.

Yet it’s the release that feels bitter sweet, weight long held releases itself, drifting in a long forgotten river.

“My soulmate,” is all she can muster, her voice wavers at the crinkle of memories held under the dust of hard work and self focus. 

She can feel the itch in her throat, a crack waiting to appear.

Jiu’s hand on her shoulder holds her together. 

She always was a bunker in a storm, her soft wistful smile warms her soul.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” her eyes linger off to the side for the briefest of moments. “But you should at least talk to someone about it.”

A soft smile forces it’s way across Yoohyeon’s lips, a strange wistful thing. 

The older girl’s reassurance is a key to a hidden reserve held within the depths of her soul.

Maybe today was a good day to talk about it? To release the grip held tight by the past.

Yet Jiu’s head tilts to the side, eyes lingering on Yoohyeon’s wrist. 

“Heartstrings?” 

“Isn’t that where Siyeon gets her hot choco mocha?” Yoohyeon points out, a sprinkle of confusion.

“I mean I guess?” Her eyes linger on Yoohyeon’s wrist. “You’re the one who wrote it.”

Her fingers gesture to the crudely written words.

Korean.

A deep hopeful siren rings deep in her heart, her head is a cluster of messy thoughts and feelings. 

She feels the release of thorns aged in her heart, replaced with the blossoms of flowers long hoped for. 

You were here.

Blankets of brimstone dark clouds choke the embers of the sun, neon signs the only guiding light.

The glare through your window seat is oddly comforting, it was certainly an aesthetic. Your eyes catch on the sweet, soft drizzle of rain.

A storm wasn’t on the cards.

Soft chords wash through your ears.

Refreshing.

Almost like the soft drizzle of rain outside.

Of course they had no napkins… That or they didn’t understand your question.

Wouldn’t be the first time with your spotty korean.

You slump as deep as you can into your seat, a sigh extraditing itself.

Difficult was good, a thought you constantly needed to remind yourself.

Self-improvement and all that.

A far cry from younger days,even if the gnaw of anxiety is ever familiar. 

You should write. 

Your heart trembles through your hand through hitched breaths, old wounds creep and nudge your anxiety.

What if your words were wasted? Whispers spoken with only the love of hatred.

Bad relationships had stained your heart, what if you were never clean again?

My love etched across your skin

The feeling of marker against your skin is foreign yet familiar, nostalgic yet novel.

Uncannily different.

Light peaks through dim clouds for only a second, a cascade of light scatters delicately pooling across your table.

Nylon blue lingers by the edge of your table, a rain soaked hoodie. 

A tentative smile as fingers trail under lips. Her eyes linger with smouldering warmth, hot chocolate on a winter’s night.

…She was beautiful.

“Can I help you?” you barely blunder out, your tongue struggling against foreign wording.

You didn’t even want to think about sentence structure.

She smiles softly, a small comforting reassurance. Her hand crests over the table, taking a seat opposite you.

Did you say something you hadn’t intended to?

Her features roil with a similar turbulence before she offers her hand.

“Kim Yoohyeon.”

Her voice is soft, pleasant. An awkward grin spreads under your lingering gaze.

Her eyes shift over her hand towards you and then back again.

…Right, you should probably shake her hand.

“Y/n.”

Her hand is soft and welcoming akin to the caress of a cloud.

“Y/n,” She repeats, her eyes soften with almost a deep seated happiness. A small flicker of a genuine smile licks at the edge of her lips. Her gaze warms your heart. “That’s a beautiful name.”

The words linger in your ears in a messy jumble as your head lists to the side. Your brain tries to untangle each Korean syllable into any semblance of understanding.

But each syllable is more foreign than the last.

A slow realisation dawns on you like the first sunrise. 

A smug smile haunts her lips.

English.

There’s a twist in your heart, almost like that of a knot.

Except in reverse, a breeze of fresh air in your lungs.

A blooming warmth, even against the tranquil mist of rain shielded barely by glass.

A small twitch of a smile ghosts your lips, questions linger on the tip of your tongue like ghosts.

Her eyes gloss over you, a sincere patience whispered on the edges.

There’s a weird almost serene comfort in her presence.

Slowly a question tugs at your lips, “...Your english is pretty good,” even if the brain fails to articulate.

There’s a small surprise when her hand reaches for yours, a soft squeeze. “I had a good teacher,” a small soft dulcet whisper.

There’s the small marking of a tremble of her hand.

A small squeeze from your hand silences any dissident. 

Even amongst the comfort, there’s a tension… an elephant in the room, that you’re almost hesitant to acknowledge.

Her words move first. Her fingers gesture towards your earphones. 

“What are you listening to?”

Suddenly a turbulent wave washes over you like violent waves washing ashore during a storm, knives from earlier scars a grim reminder.

You don’t miss the sudden twitch of sullen melancholy grip her soft gaze as a small lick of a frown crosses your lips.

Almost like the twist of a knife in her gut.

She brings your hand to the soft edges of her face, it’s almost supernatural how comfortable you feel against her skin.

A gentle ember stoked by her warmth. 

“Just…” a song you should lie. Yet as your tongue tries to carve word into fact. “Something I’m working on.”

She follows every syllable like they’re heaven, her smile grows pulling your hand tighter against her as you speak true.

Her free hand gestures for an ear bud, a side of yourself typically held hidden outside of work.

Even then you weren’t baring your own soul.

You expect a tremble in your own hand as you pass your soul into her grasp. 

But there isn’t… it’s almost natural to bare your heart to her.

You could never get sick of her sugar swept smile.

A hum flows through her as a smile grips her lips, the sweetest melody to grace your ears.

You’re hesitant to admit you’re in love with a total stranger. There’s no small sense of cringe at the thought as a grown adult.

Yet your mind still wrestles with the warmth nestled in your heart despite the scars and stains from ill-fated love. 

Her eyes glisten like stardust, there’s a lavish happiness that dances in her eyes. A sweet tender smile tugs at her lips 

It’s effervescent, fleeting almost but you feel it, a twinkle of warmth centred in your chest. 

You swear you feel an invisible tug on your pinky.

The grip of something more. 

"You always were creative," a smile that strikes like lightning, yet it flows through you like a trembling warmth. 

The small twinkle of hopeless romance blooms into a wildfire, a confirmation of the thoughts you didn’t entertain. 

Yet… there's a small whisper, a ghost of a frown. You spy corners of mist slowly settle at the fringes of her eyes. 

Soft, delicate. 

There's a slight tremble in her voice, a weakening creak moments before ice shatters. 

"Why'd you stop?" Despite her best intentions, it twists like a knife, deadly so. 

Her words trace old scars, trigger old reflexes, your tongue poised to wipe clean the slate. 

Feared retribution. 

Yet even in the hazed flurry of your mind, you catch the soft quiver of her lip. 

Your own worry and anxiety itched desperately over old scars. To open old wounds would be fatal. 

Words trail at the edge of her lips, "Was it because of me?" her voice cracks like melting, dying ice before cataclysm. 

A mirror of your own anxiety. 

Your hand wrenches away from her, sadness singed deep into features like burned whispers around a bonfire.

Crystalline, sapphire embers dance in the corner of her eyes, a snowstorm cascades over the flowerbed of her heart.

Led astray with counterfeit love

I found myself and I found you

She’s beautiful even when a star falls from her eye, like a comet in the night sky. A trailing whisper of her heart’s own wants.

Yet there’s a crest of a smile as she tugs at her own sleeve revealing your hand writing. 

More tears boil to the surface, this time tender and bittersweet as she traces your words.

A cascade of heartfelt warmth.

The storm rages on outside the cafe, wind and rain batters against the window as the lights flicker overhead.

Her damp jacket wipes away the cascade of starry-eyed tears, soft sniffles bubble past her lips as a smile wrest control.

You offer your hand as you scoot past the table, even as she peers up at you through flickering lights.

You’re beautiful.

Each finger against hers plays a delicate, beautiful melody in her heart nursing a flower to bloom.

You’re surprised when she tugs at your jacket sleeve.

Fear, heartbreak stops me no longer

The flower in my heart blooms

For your eyes only.

Encircled in a heart.

She tugs, pulls you closer as the lights falter above you with a crackling sizzle.

Yet all you can think of, all you can feel is the brush of her lips as you’re pulled deep into her. 

A soft delicate warmth blooms deep within you, a true blessing. Even if the world went dark permanently, she’d be your morning star, your guiding light in a world forever dark.

Even as her arms crest around your body as she slowly pulls away, your soul begs for more.

Her forehead rests against you as a smile trickles between the two of you, even in the darkness you can pick out each radiant feature. 

The way her eyes shift away from you almost embarrassingly so, the crinkle of her nose as she tries to contain herself.

She practically vibrates as she holds back an excited scream.

A fear of wrecking the moment no doubt.

Her lips curl into a smug smile as her eyes trail over yours almost innocently so.

“Does that make us Seoulmates?”

You fight through gritted teeth, to laugh would be to admit defeat.

Even so, she takes revelry in your discomfort as she practically dances in place.

A laugh tumbling past her lips.

A moment ruined, yet still loved.

For your eyes only.  

#kim yoohyeon #yoohyeon x reader #yoohyeon #yoohyeon imagines #dreamcatcher imagine #dreamcatcher au #dreamcatcher x reader #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher #girl group scenarios #girl group imagines #dreamcatcher fluff #dreamcatcher oneshot #kpop imagines #yoohyeon fluff #soulmate au

[apprenticestanheight]

I've seen some fics of these, but I'll never turn down a coffinshipping fic where Strahm has to patch up Hoffman from when Jill uses the Reverse Bear-Trap on him. It's just sweet to me that although they hate each other, they love each other or are rather obsessed with each other, and yet Strahm would stitch up Hoffman's face... even though Hoffman put Strahm through two deadly traps 😆

Cat and Mouse- Hoffstrahm

Hi!! I am so sorry that this took as long as it did--I swear I meant to do it but stuff gets buried really quickly in my inbox and my track record with object permanence is kind of terrible, which definitely applies to requests as a lot of the time they're left to sit until I work through a backlog.

HOWEVER, this is my second coffinshipping fic and in my saw rewatch I am barely halfway into the second movie so I apologize if their characterizations are at all off, I like to think I've nailed my characterization of Hoffman but I haven't written for Strahm very much so my characterization of him might not be perfect and the same goes for how I've written their interactions.

Fic type- this is some light angst

Warnings- mentions of canon-typical saw violence, murder, and this has been edited but not very well--be wary of spelling and grammatical errors, I wrote this while tired and edited it while also tired.

Peter should probably be putting a gun to Mark Hoffmans head, if he's being honest with himself. He should be holding a gun to Marks head and demanding a confession or some kind of acknowledgement of the crimes he'd committed under the Jigsaw alias, but he's not.

He's not because Mark showed up at his house and gestured to a very gruesome looking wound on the side of his face, and when Mark wordlessly asked Peter to stitch him up, before he could think through his response, Peter was agreeing and grabbing a towel and a first aid kit with a needle and thread inside while instructing Mark to sit on the couch.

And then he was wetting the towel with antiseptic to clean the wound, telling Mark he was getting what he deserved when he flinched away or shouted with his discomfort. And then he was actively helping a serial killer.

He recalls the words that Perez had told him once, just before he'd interviewed Jill Tuck that first time.

"You should be careful," she said. "Especially with mostly unsolved cases like this one, that work ethic of yours can turn into obsession real quick. Hatred for someone might as well be able to turn into obsession with the drop of a hat, Peter, so I'd watch myself. Make sure it wasn't an obsession before I kept on with the case."

At the time, Peter had scoffed at the notion. "I'm not becoming obsessed," he'd told her, even pairing it with a smirk, like a smirk could've been convincing. "And if I am, hatred and obsession will prove to be so dangerous a line to walk that I step away anyway. I know that much--I know when to step away from my work."

But, Peter supposes he should've known that he would know when to step away from his work in all aspects except for whichever one concerned Mark Hoffman, who he felt a deep disdain for and yet wanted to know everything about all at once.

Of course the line blurred whenever Mark looked at him, had been particularly blurry as he stitched up a wound caused by one of Hoffmans so-called enemies, Jill fucking Tuck herself.

"She put a trap on me," Mark explains as Peter finishes the stitches. "That fucking bitch put a goddamned trap on me, claiming it was Johns will and all that other shit."

"I really don't want specifics, Hoffman," Peter says dryly. "You put me into two deadly fucking traps, yeah? I don't need to hear about whichever woman you've made an enemy out of, even if I hate her as much as the next person."

Mark smiles at him. Peter doesn't know if he wants to punch him square in the lips or pull him into a kiss so intense it shocks the air out of their lungs.

"You do realize what I have to do if you let me leave this house not in handcuffs, yeah?"

Peter runs his tongue over his teeth, stands up from the crouching position he'd taken while stitching up Hoffmans wound.

"I do," he says. "You're going to go kill a relatively innocent woman because she followed what I am presuming to be the will of John fuckin' Kramer, who was her murderous ex husband who willingly put innocent people to death. Yeah, I think that's easy enough to follow, Hoffman."

Mark stands, grins at Peter.

"You realize that letting me go means the chase continues?"

Peter shrugs. "You'll slow down one of these days, Hoffman. You serial killers always do. When you do get slow I'll catch you and be the one to put your ass behind bars."

Mark looks to his feet, "I really do wish this could've been different," he says.

Peter forces himself to look at the brown color he'd chosen for his curtains.

"You have fifteen seconds to be down the street and turning the corner before I start chasing you and eventually arrest your ass," he says, feeling conflicted as he speaks.

The simple truth is that Mark Hoffman is a serial killer. The simple truth is the fact that Peter should be putting him into handcuffs and bringing him to the station while he declares the Jigsaw killer caught once and for all.

But, when has their relationship ever been simple, really? Peter cannot pinpoint a moment of simplicity from it's beginning.

So, when Mark nods, bolts out the front door, Peter lets him go. He falls into the couch with a monumentally tired sigh and presses his face into the palm of his hand. A few minutes pass, and he laughs to himself.

He and Mark are in a cat and mouse scenario, and while Peter hates it, he also knows that he wouldn't have it any other way.

#mark hoffman #peter strahm #mark hoffman x peter strahm #hoffstrahm #coffinshipping #saw franchise #sawposting

[juuheizou]

what makes mutsuki genuinely angry/upset? how does he act and how to make amends?/also how does he like phisical affection ir affection in general seriously i love this pookie so muchh i just want to drown him in love and softness and gentleness🥹

SAME SAME SAME.

He is deeply upset by injustice and suffering of others, canonically to the point of doing reckless shit just to try helping. We know seeing his teammate in turmoil or even a stranger possibly walking into peril clouds his judgment and I can see him needing to break down after working a particularly tragic or gruesome case because how can something so terrible happen to someone?

I can also see him denying within an inch of his life that he is ever angry on his own behalf, but he does have smaller, more personal things that make him angry, or hurt, which it can be hard to tell the difference when you're in the thick of either one. He truly likes to help others and doesn't mind going out of his way for those he cares about, but it hurts when his efforts are taken for granted without so much as a 'thank you,' especially if he's met with criticism or mockery for that effort. I could also see some anger making its way through his bleeding heart if someone messed up something he had spent a lot of time and effort on, or the one thing in forever that was supposed to just be for him.

When he's angry or something in that vein, he tries so, so hard to calm down, breathe through it, bottle it up, whatever it takes to keep being calm and patient with everything. He's the type to keep saying that he's fine even when his voice is breaking while he says it. But the more upset he gets, the harder it is to calm down, so he gets snappy and passive-aggressive at small things that he normally tolerates, like 'a dirty dish or two in the sink' small. Then it evolves into similar short, moody behavior over nothing. Someone can simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time. When he finally explodes, he can be prone to yelling at people, even if what they actually did in the moment doesn't in any way warrant being yelled at.

As far as making amends with him for something, he is a pretty forgiving guy. To a fault, even. True, like anyone, he appreciates changed behavior more than anything and as he grows and achieves a relatively healthy adult level of assertiveness, he is better at drawing the line when that doesn't ever happen. However, a lot of the time he will still accept the most basic bitch apology and it takes mistakes and consequences on his part for him to stop accepting amends that aren't really amends.

This poor boy so seldom thinks he deserves affection, and will deflect, deflect, deflect no matter how much he wants or likes what another person is doing for him. When we first meet him, he has a hard time even knowing, let alone articulating, how he likes to be shown affection, because it's just a far-off idea he doesn't deserve and has no idea how to accept. Deep down, though, all this deflecting leads to him having a backlog of things he likes the idea of and thinks might be nice. It's another as-he-gets-more-confident thing for him to even realize it himself, but he likes it when people thank him for all he does for the people he cares about, when they compliment him or something he did, or just tell him he can do something he's nervous about or he's helpful or he's handsome. He also loves it when his friends and loved ones carve out something special to do together, even if it's just coffee or watching a movie.

Physical affection is especially hard for him, but once he makes it past the first, biggest barrier he has up from all he's been through, he's in the deep end and I can see him having a bit of a needy phase when he first realizes that it's safe to allow someone he really trusts to touch him, though it would probably temper itself on its own with time to get used to that safety and trust. Just like all types of affection and attention, he has that same backlog of untried fantasies that he just cocoons himself in, which also contributes to that initial needy phase. I think he likes kisses, cuddling, even a simple hug, as the cherry on top of a special, sweet moment, whether it be an honest-to-goodness date or just a few seconds alone together. When it comes to SFW stuff, he likes soft, gentle touches and protective cuddling that makes him feel safe and cherished.

#listen i can talk about suzuya all night long but i just need to say the mutsuki asks i've gotten make me so happy #idk if you can tell but i also want to drown him in affection #mutsuki tooru #answers #anon

[tarmac-rat]

WIP W/E but we're doing Sunday today

I've got a tag backlog of like 5 of these lmao so @ghostoffuturespast thank you for tagging me and waiting like 3 months before I had time lol 💜

Extra long one because hell I haven't shared anything in like 3 months and I wanted to assure everyone that I am in fact not dead.

From Rain in the Desert chapter 18. Mikoshi Chapter. Top 10 Conversations Held Right Before Disaster:

Whether she expected that to be met with laughter or annoyance, it hardly matters, because all Johnny gives her is one sagely nod. “Like I said, got all the time in the world now. Should think about what I told you last night, if you want a place to start, at least.” “Find my mom?” “Leave the city. Not just because you should and you’re too stubborn to see it yet— lotta heat’s gonna fall on you once this is all over. They’ll swarm your apartment, knock on some of your friends’ doors and give ‘em a shakedown, all the works. Sometimes, the best way to keep the people who care about you safe is to smash your holo with a hammer and fuck off into the desert for a couple years.” “Even without you in my head, I’m still finding ways to run through all your greatest hits.” “Say it like that’s a bad thing.” “No comment. And you, though? You come up with a plan yet?”

“Workin’ on it. Think it over for a bit, weigh some pros and cons, see if I like what I come up with. I'll burn that bridge when I get there.” “Just be careful.” “Always am, kid, but thanks for the pep talk.” “Will I ever see you again?” The words slip from her without thought. It’s like the one she asked on that overlook behind Westbrook, or in that booth inside the Afterlife, or shin-deep in the waves of the Pacific. A question born of pure, pathetic desperation— of a need for him to verify something in herself that she can’t even begin to explain. Because when the wall between them came crumbling down, there was no going back, all of her awful thoughts became his and all of his terrible dreams became hers. But now it’s been built back up and she’s left pounding on the bricks, screaming out for an answer that will never ever come. It doesn’t have to be loud, or resolute, or even honest. If she can just hear his voice join her own through all the miles between them, then could be she can find it in herself to live with that. Just something, a single word. Anything to prove that she isn’t on her own in this. But rather than give her that, the corners of Johnny’s mouth slowly draw up into a toothy smile. “Is that fondness I hear in your voice, princess?” he teases. It’s right around there V learns that code can, in no uncertain terms, flush, “Shut up.” “Sayin’ you’re actually gonna miss havin’ my shitty little thoughts ringin’ ‘round up in your head?”  “Shut up. Johnny.” The look he throws her at that almost makes V wish that Alt would come back and Soulkill her all over again, “Always thought you wore sentimentality like a pair of shackles and a straitjacket, but this is somethin’ else. You mean I might actually see you shed a few tears when Alt starts cartin’ me off?” “Jesus, forget I said anything. Ask a genuine question and I end up getting grilled for it like I’m on some shitty daytime talk show,” V grits out, hand against her brow in an effort to shield her burning face, “Wanna toss jokes about me being ‘sentimental’, y’know, but here you are not even taking a lick of this seriously when I’m trying to be on the level. You want to know what you’ll actually see when you go, Johnny? How about me flipping you one last bird for the road, since apparently your gonk ass can’t bear to not make light about this shit for five fucking minutes.” “...I’ll miss your shitty little thoughts too, if it means anythin’.” V glances up. Johnny hadn’t been looking at her anymore but as if sensing it return, his gaze does rise to tangle up in hers again. His body betrays nothing, almost; she doesn’t miss the way his fingers have curled in tight around his latest cigarette, metal knuckles rasping some discordant song against the tabletop. And maybe that’s the thing she’d forgotten about being human. That words are incoherent things, and so rarely do they mean what we want them to. Well, when you’re stuck there pounding on a wall, what better way to say that you’re not alone in this than to pound back? “This won’t be the end, though, right?” the chain around V’s neck tightens; she’s got the pendant and dog tags locked in a visegrip again, “I mean, if I manage to find my way back to the Blackwall again, maybe Alt can…I don’t know, carry a message over? Let me through from time to time?” Johnny’s smile is small, and restrained, and probably speaks to something they both know can never really be, but for a moment, maybe pretending that it could can somehow be enough; “We’ll work somethin’ out, princess.” 

If or when I have a new WIP to share, I'll probably do a WIP share tag then! But thank you again to everyone who's tagged me over the past couple of months!

#Cyberpunk 2077 #Rain in the Desert #Aldi speaks #Aldi Writes #I have workshopped so much of this chapter in particular lol and I have SO MUCH WORK TO DO ON IT #RIP me this is what I get for deciding that 30k chapters can be a new standard