#Boxed and wide layout

[orphicsun]

neighbor!vi headcannons. mostly fluff but some suggestive content. playful enemies to lovers trope.

neighbor!vi who only mows her side of the front lawn. you can't complain because technically it's fair and vi doesn't hate you. in fact, you two get along perfectly fine. she just refuses to mow your lawn. you're annoyed every time she takes cautions to ensure she doesn't trim a single blade of grass past the halfway point. still, you find yourself watching her every time she rigs up her little red push mower, not taking your eyes off of the way her muscles strain as sweat beads drip down her biceps.

neighbor!vi who you consider a whore. she is actually the most accurate depiction of a whore, actually. you'd understand if it were once a month perhaps, but instead you peek from your bedroom window to see a new girl at her door almost every night. you tell yourself the jealousy is because you're single, not because you want to fuck vi.

neighbor!vi who has a back tattoo you haven't seen the entirety of, just the areas that leave her some modesty. there isn't much modesty in vi, anyway. her wardrobe consists of wife-pleasers and crop-tops with button-ups that show off her navel piercing. nearly all of her jeans are tight and ripped dangerously close to her ass. it’s not like she cares.

neighbor!vi whose family you've searched up on facebook. you swear up and down she annoys you, but you were curious about her hair—was it natural? you wanted to know what ‘the most irritating person in the world’ looked like when she was a kid. all you discovered was that vi was a massive teenage dirtbag.

neighbor!vi whose little sister exploded something in the microwave so loudly you thought you heard gunshots. you and her sister don't get along anymore.

neighbor!vi who is like an annoying stray dog when it comes to food. when she had initially moved in next door, your roommate insisted that you bring her a welcome dish. you weren't opposed. when you knocked on her door with a container of pot roast, you swore she had big floppy ears and a golden retriever's tail wagging back and forth. but no, she only had an insatiable appetite. she doesn't mind knocking on your door and literally paying you for your cooking (mainly because hers is only appealing to the fire department).

neighbor!vi who has a shitty rock band in her garage. along with a few scary-looking men you've never seen in your life, she makes music that gets insanely hateful comments in her instagram comment section. her fingers look nice strumming her metal guitar, though.

neighbor!vi who still uses plastic kids bandaids. you didn't realize how loud you broke your glass vase until you heard a pounding at your door and a worried vi holding a colorful box of hello kitty bandaids in punch-bruised hands.

neighbor!vi who gives the best hugs. she looks intimidating with muscle and piercings, a noticeable scar on her upper lip, but is really a huge softie. she isn't afraid of being outwardly affectionate anytime she needs to be. like a stray dog, she has given quite a few hugs for your meals.

neighbor!vi whose bedroom window is across from yours. she never peeks at inappropriate times, but has your bedroom layout memorized in the back of her mind. and yes, she knows about the family facebook thing. your macbook is on full brightness and wide open on your desk.

neighbor!vi who gently knocks on your window one night, only in black and white plaid pajamas and a baggy white t-shirt..

"do you need something, pinky?" you raise your window sill.

vi snorts. "seriously? that's a stupid name, you know." there is no offense in her tone, though; only the same playfulness she always exudes.

you step aside as vi climbs through your window. "well, yeah. a stupid name for a stupid person," you retort, though you don't mean it. not one bit.

you watch as vi plops down on your bed next to your pile of stuffed animals, and she pats the space next to her. "come sit. it's kind of important."

you raise your eyebrows, but don't question. you simply move to lay beside her. you didn't notice it before, but vi has a slightly faraway look in her eyes as she stares up at your glow-in-the-dark star covered ceiling.

"what is it?" you ask, your voice more serious, almost soft.

vi sighs and glances at you. it's not a sparing glance, but something that borders a feeling neither of you want to really name. "i'm moving."

you stare at her for a moment. vi is moving. she is moving away from you and she won't be your neighbor anymore. no more kid bandaids, no more spending your free time cooking for her, no more staring at her do yard work from your window, no more pretending to dislike her—

"why are you telling me this?"

vi doesn't answer you for a moment, and she isn't looking at you anymore. "do you ever want to do something, but you're afraid it'll end up really shitty? like, you'll ruin something already fragile type of shitty."

she doesn't give you time to answer.

"i wanna kiss you. i've wanted to kiss you for a while now, and i can't leave without knowing if you want me to."

you're at a loss for words, but that's okay. vi turns back to you, cupping your face. her eyes are soft and you know she isn't messing around with you. you know just by the way her thumb feels over your cheek, the way she leans in hesitantly. she wants you to want it, too.

she doesn't make you chase it, though. she asks. "can i kiss you?"

you're closing the distance as soon as your brain registers her sentence. her lips are warm and soft against yours, and one of her capable hands pulls you against her by the waist, molding your bodies together like a sculpture that was meant to be created.

she doesn't push her tongue past your lips or try for anything more like you'd imagine this moment to be, like how you picture yourself as one of 'her girls.' instead, she gives you love and sweetness. you can't get enough of her.

neighbor!vi who still visits frequently. she takes the now two-hour drive each weekend to see you, and hopefully, eventually will become roommate!vi.

taglist: @elliescoochieeater, @moodient, @leguitarsxxr, @eradicatedbythenightmare, @mytaping, @pryncess123, @therealhexstrap, @violetszn, @saturnhas82moons, @myfabulousnesshasarrived, @sawaagyapong, @vixxxen, @usuck, @s7nburn, @aceywaycy, @hellokittyfeenie, @ruevu, @ruelezz, @abbysbutch, @deluxism, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @evoscancelled, @human-cacti, @lonelysapphic, @fruitit00tie, @x0x0xkimara, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @abbysmeatrider, @aviixol, @ferxanda, @vahnilla, @frillynpinkprincess, @g4ys0n, @mitskimisfit, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs want to be tagged? click here

[newobsessionweekly]

Aftershock

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You���re a bold, confident civil engineering student, used to taking control on construction sites. But when an earthquake hits while you're in charge of your father’s site, you meet LAPD Sergeant Tim Bradford. You clash, you work together, and slowly, something deeper begins to spark.

A/N: I have the second part almost ready so it'll be here soon!! Also is you have some ideas for this mini series, feel free to drop it in my box! Feedback is always appreciated!! I hope you like it! Lots of love, bubs! Stay safe! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: Earthquake/emergency scenario, mild injury, panic attack (comfort follows), age gap, not proofread

Word Count: 4k+

It starts like a whisper—barely-there tremors under your steel-toes as you walk the perimeter of the new mixed-use high-rise downtown. You've spent the last half-hour barking into your phone, coordinating crane placement and checking load-bearing support numbers. You’re dusty, focused, and completely in your element.

Until the earth moves for real.

You don’t hear it before you feel it. The tremor roars upward through your boots like a live wire. The scaffolding groans. A metallic shriek pierces the air. Then it happens.

The world shudders. A cacophony of screams. Cement rains down. You drop to your knees and roll, instincts kicking in, sheltering beneath a shipping container propped on steel beams.

Earthquake.

It only lasts seconds—long ones—but the aftermath feels like a war zone. You crawl out coughing, your lungs filling with grit and fear, but your brain is firing on pure adrenaline. You're not just some student or supervisor. You’re the boss’s daughter. And he’s out of town, which makes this your site.

Your chest heaves, but your eyes are already scanning. Where's the crew? Who’s accounted for?

“Luis!” you shout, dodging fallen equipment. “Jen! Mateo!”

Two workers emerge from a cloud of dust, one limping, another coughing blood into his glove. You guide them to the open lot beyond the scaffolding, mentally mapping the layout. Six missing. Maybe more.

And then, over the scream of sirens, two figures cut through the dust—uniformed.

The man in front moves like he was born in boots. Tall, broad shoulders, determined jaw. There’s something sharp and no-nonsense about him, like he’s the human equivalent of a battering ram. Behind him, a quick-footed brunette surveys the site with wide, alert eyes.

“LAPD!” the man shouts. “Is anyone hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you yell back over the noise. “There are still people inside!”

He reaches you in seconds. “You need to move—this whole site could still collapse.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you snap. “This is my father’s project. He’s out of town. I’m responsible for everyone here.”

“Name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n. Civil engineering student. Site lead for the day.”

“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” he grunts, scanning you. “This is Officer Lucy Chen.”

Chen gives a small nod and immediately moves to triage the injured worker. Bradford, however, keeps his full attention on you.

You don’t miss the way his eyes rake over you—not in a creepy way. He’s taking stock. Assessing damage. Dirt on your face, small gash on your arm. His brows tighten.

“You were inside?”

“Under that scaffolding.”

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

You fold your arms. “Well, I am.”

“You need to let us handle this.”

“No. I know this site better than anyone. I helped design the layout. There’s a crawlspace beneath the west scaffolding that no one else knows about. If anyone’s still in there—”

“You’re not trained for rescue ops.”

“I’m trained to know what’s safe and what’s about to fall on your head.”

His jaw ticks. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“Then don’t. Keep up.”

You step past him, and for a beat, he just stares.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re like if a Barbie Doll had a death wish.”

You toss him a grin over your shoulder. “Grumpy and unoriginal. Cute.”

He follows, grumbling something under his breath about stubborn civilians and lawsuits.

The two of you reach the compromised scaffold, and you crouch beside the twisted beams. Bradford stops behind you, way closer than necessary.

“Let me go first,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning overhead.

“I’ll fit through easier. You’re built like a linebacker.”

You feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leans down.

“And you think I’m letting you crawl into a death trap alone?”

You glance at him, only inches away. “So you do care.”

He doesn’t move.

“Protocol,” he says stiffly. “And… you’re bleeding.”

You look down at the gash on your forearm—dirt-caked but shallow.

“Didn’t notice.”

“I did.”

He steps forward and gently takes your wrist. His touch is unexpectedly careful—rough hands, but soft grip. He pulls a cloth from his vest and dabs at the wound. You watch his face as he works. He’s so serious. So guarded.

“I’m going in first,” he says, not giving you a chance to argue.

You don’t push it this time. He’s trying. In his own way.

You both drop into the crawlspace, the air thick with dust and heat. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you squeeze through. Close. Too close.

You hear it before you see it—a cough. Faint, raspy.

“There,” you whisper. “Under that beam.”

Bradford nods. “Stay low.”

The man’s pinned, conscious but trapped under a slab of drywall and steel piping. You approach carefully, testing for weight, and give Tim a look.

“If we shift the load here, I can drag him out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

His hand grazes your back as he shifts to position. Again, he’s close. Protective. Your skin sparks where his fingers press.

He moves the slab, and you reach under, tugging the worker free with all your strength. It takes effort. You grunt, digging your heels into the ground. Bradford leans forward, adds his strength behind yours. The worker slides out.

You sit back, panting.

“You okay?” Tim asks, wiping sweat from his temple.

You nod, heart pounding—not just from the rescue. From him. From the way his hand didn’t quite leave your lower back.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks.”

He meets your eyes. For a second, everything around you disappears.

And then his radio crackles. “Bradford, update?”

“We got one out,” he replies. “Sending location for medical. Continuing sweep.”

As you crawl back out, he places a steadying hand at your waist, guiding you up the incline. You feel the heat of it even through your shirt. It lingers. He doesn’t rush the touch. Neither do you.

Once you’re out, the EMTs swarm. The worker is taken. Chen updates the map with accounted-for crew.

You press your hands to your thighs, catching your breath.

“How many are left?” Tim asks.

You scan your clipboard. “Two. Maybe three. Could be hiding in the south exit shaft.”

“Is it stable?”

You pause. “Barely. But I can get us in.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not invincible, Barbie.”

“And you’re not my boss, Grinch.”

He exhales hard. “Fine. But I go first this time. You stay on my six.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look. You wink.

You both make your way through the wreckage, ducking twisted rebar and beams. At one point, you trip on a loose plank. His arm shoots out, wraps around your waist.

You freeze.

So does he.

You’re chest to chest, his hand splayed across your back, your fingers gripping his vest.

“You okay?” he asks, voice a touch lower now.

Your throat’s dry. “Yeah. You?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches you for a moment, then slowly lets you go.

You keep moving, but now every time your fingers graze or your arms brush, it feels intentional. Loaded.

You find the last two workers behind a jammed gate. Tim breaks the lock with a metal pipe, and you help the shaken men out. One thanks you. The other looks at you like you’re a superhero.

But the adrenaline has started to fade.

The full weight of it all—the noise, the near-deaths, the responsibility—presses down.

When you step away from the others, your legs buckle just a little. Bradford is there instantly.

“Sit,” he says, catching you by the arm.

You nod slowly, dropping onto a low wall.

He crouches beside you, reading your face. “It’s catching up to you.”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“You held it together. You did everything right.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t… I didn’t think. I just moved. But what if I missed someone? What if—”

“Stop.”

His voice is gentle but firm. He places his hand on your knee. You flinch—but not from fear. From how it grounds you.

“Look at me.”

You do.

“You saved people. You helped us. You didn’t hide. You ran toward the danger.”

Your lip quivers.

His hand slides to your shoulder. His thumb strokes your collarbone, just once.

“You’re allowed to feel it now.”

And that’s all it takes. The panic hits like a wave—hard and fast. Your chest clenches, eyes burning.

Tim doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, fists curling in his vest.

“It’s over,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

His hand slides into your hair, combing gently through it. The motion is soothing. Familiar. Like he’s done it before. Or maybe just dreamed of it.

“You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You tremble in his hold. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve got you,” he adds. “Okay?”

You nod against him. When you finally look up, his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Didn’t think you’d be the nurturing type." you say, voice hoarse.

He chuckles, voice rumbling in his chest. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my brand.”

You lean back just enough to see his face.

And something shifts between you.

A quiet moment in the eye of the storm.

“I still think ‘Grinch’ suits you,” you whisper.

“And I still think you’re high-maintenance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Only a Barbie Doll would coordinate a rescue effort and sass a cop in the same breath.”

You smirk. “Maybe I’m both.”

The moment stretches. You’re both still, holding onto something neither of you fully understands yet.

Then a shout breaks the spell.

“Y/n!”

You turn. “Dad!”

Your father is running across the rubble-strewn pavement, suit jacket flapping, eyes wild.

You stand, and he pulls you into a crushing hug.

“I’m fine,” you gasp. “We’re all fine.”

He cups your face. “I got the alert mid-meeting and left immediately.”

You hug him tighter. “I had to take charge.”

“And you did,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you.”

You feel a shift behind you. Turning, you find Tim standing quietly, watching the scene with a measured expression. Your dad notices him too.

“You,” he says, crossing over. “You pulled her out.”

“Sergeant Bradford,” Tim replies, shaking his hand firmly. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Bradford looks at you. And he gets it.

You’re not just another young woman on-site. You’re his daughter. His pride. His heart. And you’re damn good at what you do.

Daddy’s princess—with steel in your spine.

He watches you hug your dad again, whisper something that makes the older man smile. And Tim’s jaw tightens, just slightly.

Lucy appears beside him, sipping water.

“She’s a powerhouse,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tim replies, watching you like he can’t look away. “She is.”

“You gonna ask for her number?”

He snorts. “She’d probably write it on an OSHA citation and tell me to lighten up.”

“You could use someone who challenges you.” his rookie shrugs.

Tim glances back at you—still in that vest, still a little scraped up, but glowing with that post-adrenaline shine.

Maybe he could.

[tbaluver]

Santa Baby- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader genre: smut + drabble summary: santa gives you the gift of pleasure the night before christmas a/n: hihi lovelies ! i'm trying out this new layout but literally just for the holidays bc i dunno if i can do this for each post lols ive seen so many of my fav writers do this on every fandom so this is inspo from them !! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ rest of my a/n will be down below (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

‘twas the night before christmas, fruitcake, peppermint candy canes or any holiday food could never compare to the taste of your cunt debunked by santa xavier.

the warm glow of the fireplace casted both your shadows on the walls, yet the room was ridiculously hot. both of your bodies were sweating in a tangled mess. xavier situates your legs around his head, trapping him to the spot he thirsted so much for.

your limbs trembled as he rubs soothing circles on your thigh as he admires your leaking cunt. you felt like a mess under him, yet he wouldn’t have it any other way.

one arm pressed down on your hips while the other was used to pump his fingers into you. your mind was dizzy, not knowing which to focus on. his mouth and fingers were doing wonders that created butterflies in your stomach.

you tug against his hair, earning a soft groan that sends vibrations over your cunt. he licks a wide stripe from your entrance and up to your clit, collecting your sweet juices on his tongue while keeping his eyes on you.

he pushes his tongue inside of you, groaning from your taste. you buck your hips up into the air but his arm around your hip gently pushes you back down on the carpet. his thumb rubs on your clit, making sure to apply the right amount of pleasure that causes you to moan in pleasure.

there is nothing xavier wants more for the holidays other than giving you pleasure. he knows exactly what to do to get that reaction out of you.

his tongue consistently draws patterns on your wet slick while occasionally sucking on your clit. you yelp out a moan when he inserts two fingers inside of you, groaning softly when he feels how tight you are as you clench around his fingers.

his fingers pump in and out of you, curling to reach your favorite spot before his tongue dives back in, sucking on your clit. you were a moaning mess below him, tugging onto his hair as you kept bucking your hips up. you felt that familiar coil building up on your stomach, your walls squeezing around his fingers.

he watches you with half lidded eyes as you release your load around his fingers. after you ride out your high, he removes his fingers out, sucking the juices of your cunt.

nothing comes close to you all year long

Zayne:

‘twas the night before christmas, the mugs of hot cocoa were left abandoned, growing cold. the plate of cookies was surprisingly left half eaten. stockings that you wore were found on the floor along with zayne’s and the rest of your clothing trailing up to the floor of the fireplace. santa zayne has arrived but he is not finished just yet.

zayne swears he saw the most beautiful angel ever. no, not the one on top of the tree but the one on top of him. tits bounced joyfully that made him feel like he was dizzy. your pussy clenched around him, milking every drop of him and yet he couldn't get enough. his cock rock hard as you slide up and down his length, taking every inch inside of him in your belly like the good girl you are. 

he swears the way you were dripping for him and the countless orgasms you’ve given each other, he might as well just keep you on the good list for your entire life if you kept doing this. his mind completely forgot that the reason this all started was that you were a naughty girl for trying to shake around the boxes under the tree. 

a small lazy smirk curled on the corner of his lips as he held you, helping you bounce on his cock. his eyes half lidded as he admires the markings that littered all over your body, each and every one of them illuminating from the lights of the tree.

he isn’t that far behind from you. he watches your eyes roll back and your mouth open wide. with a breathless moan of his name, signals him that you reached your orgasm which makes him do so as well. the clenching and pulsing of your walls around him sends another bucket loads of his cum painting your insides milk white.

you looked absolutely breathtaking. your movements were slow as you continue to bring yourself down from your high as you both catch your breaths. he gently pulls you down to rest comfortably in the crook of his neck, keeping himself plugged in you.

you both were lost in your own world until the chime of the clock struck midnight, breaking the silence between you both. you tilt your head slightly, your cheek still resting on his broad chest as he tenderly brushes your hair. with a small smile, zayne whispers, “merry christmas my love.”

Rafayel:

‘twas the night before christmas, the tree was decked out and full of presents, big and small but one particular present caught your eye. a present that was too big to gift wrap.

there stood your boyfriend with a christmas hat and nothing on but wrapping paper wrapped around his sculpted body, specifically wrapped around his cock.

“well aren’t ya gonna unwrap me cutie?” he winks, tilting his head.

wrapping paper scattered across the floor and it didn’t take long for your present to be up and running. effortlessly, it didn’t take him long for him to peel off your clothes.

you sank to your knees on his carpet, positioning yourself in front of the tree where he laid out pillows for you to be comfortable. before you point your ass up to the sky, you take one last look at the ornament in front of you that reflects rafayel pumping his cock behind you.

he admires the sight laid out before him, a smirk curling on the corner of his lips. grabbing the base of his dick, he rubs himself between your ass cheeks, his pre-cum dripping on your skin. he spreads you slowly, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips when he sees you arch yourself more to press yourself onto him.

rafayel sinks slowly into you, letting you feel every inch of his length and vein going inside of you. he lets out a soft groan as he looks down at the way his cock disappears into your tight cunt as he pushes himself deeper, earning a whiney moan from you.

he starts off with a slow tempo, letting you get used to his length before his hips start slamming against yours. his hands roam around your back while occasionally squeezing the plush of your ass. he knows he’s fucking you good from the way your moans sound.

“yeah just keeping takin’ all of me cutie, just like that,”

the mix of your words slur together, “‘s good raf- so good!”, along with every sound that escapes your pretty mouth as he watches your ass bounce back rhythmically against his pelvis was sending him to overdrive.

your moans were muffled from the way you were face down into the pillow, drools spilling out of the corners of your mouth as each thrust sent you closer to climax.

he held you firmly in pace, his hands gripped on your hips, feeling your gushy walls constrict his massive cock. the familiar coil was winding in your stomach as you chased your high, rafayel wasn’t that far behind you either.

with a few hard thrusts in your walls you came around his length, rutting your hips more to milk out his cock before your legs buckled out. his pace slows as thick ropes of cum release into you, his hips roll against your ass to make sure no drop goes to waste. he keeps himself plugged into you as he plants a trail of soft kisses down your face and neck.

luckily for you, santa made sure you get an extra present that following night. a two for one if you will.

Sylus:

‘twas the night before christmas, and santa sylus’s little helper has been so good to him that she deserved her special treat early.

he removes himself in between your thighs, your arousal dripping down to his chin as he admires you. your pussy glistened in the warm glow of the christmas lights and from the flickering fire of the fireplace, your folds slick with arousal.

christmas was around the corner and this early present was meant for you but it seems like his also came a little too early as well. but it wasn’t finished just yet. santa sylus had planned a few more rides down.

once you were ready, you felt his swollen tip nudge at your pretty pussy, slipping in nice and slowly just for you. your back arched on his soft, fluffy luxurious carpet, pressing your chest against his firmer. inch by inch you felt his thick length enter deeper and deeper earning soft grunts fall from his lips.

you rock your hips under his, signalling him that you were ready for him to move more. you wrap your legs around his hips as he gently holds the back of your thigh to keep you in place and the other on the rug.

slowly, he rocks his hips with yours, keeping a steady pace. he captures his lips. picking up the pace slightly. sloppy thrusts and hungry lips, attempting to devour you, made your brain go dumb. between his heavy strokes and sweet kisses, you managed to catch your breath

his lips met your against, melting into your touch. the sounds of lip and skin smacking fill the room along with the fire crackling in the fireplace.

his hand tightens on your thigh while the other grips the carpet as he fastens his pace. grunts and small whispers that are cut off in pants, invade your ear. “so..so good..”

your velvety walls were so welcoming and warm. every inch and every vein of his length can be felt inside of you as it drags along your tight walls. beads of sweat drop down his skin as he focuses on making you finish first but the belly bulge he was watching go in and out of you was not helping him.

butterflies swarm in your stomach as pure ecstasy reaches deep down within you. your back arched when the constant thrusts of his cock became too much. sylus joins you, thick white ropes of cum spurted deep inside your walls.

he keeps you close, your foreheads connecting as you both catch your breath. his hips eventually come to a halt but he makes sure to keep his hips locked with yours so his seed wouldn’t leak out of you.

that’s one present off your christmas list and many more surprises he has for you.

a/n: hihi again lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i moved it down here bc my entire yap is gonna cover the post ( • ᴖ • ｡) and before ANYONE mentions that this isn't giving santa baby from the song that's bc some parts are and some parts are not (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i referenced a lot of songs like nonesense christmas by sabrina, rocking around the christmas tree and just tried to use things from the holidays to make it smut related <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> i wanted to get this in before christmas bc i know some of you guys are going into christmas eve rn ! i hope you guys have a merry christmas and a happy holidays !! ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )✧*｡

special thanks to my beta readers again @ilovemitsuya @deusfoundry ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ !! mwah mwah ily all !!

[starset21]

Plot Twist |IH6|

Pairing: Isack Hadjar x reader

Summery: You’ve been dating Isack for well over a year, and he knows you write fanfiction. What he doesn’t know is that you write fanfiction about him. Using his real name. And one night he finds out.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

A/N: I've seen a few others do this and thought maybe I'd jump on the train here's my first Isack fic <3

You’d always told yourself it wasn’t really lying.

Yes, you were dating Isack Hadjar. And yes, you wrote fanfiction. But it wasn’t like you lied to him about it. You just... never exactly told him what — or who — you were writing about.

It started innocently, before you ever even met. Just a silly crush on a talented, scrappy young driver with a sharp tongue and kind eyes. You wrote a few soft imagines on Tumblr under a fake name, and somehow, it took off.

Then, against all odds, you met. You hit it off. You started dating.

And the fanfic?

Well… it never stopped.

Even after things got serious. Even after you moved in. Even after you started borrowing his hoodies and waking up in his hotel beds, you still wrote your silly little stories about Isack Hadjar and the girl he’d do anything for.

You just didn’t think he’d ever read them.

It happened one quiet Tuesday night. You were back in France between races, curled up on the couch in one of Isack’s oversized Red Bull hoodies, eating cereal straight from the box while he sat beside you, scrolling through his phone. He was quiet — half-watching something on TV, half-dozing off — when a low sound escaped him.

“…Huh.”

You glanced over. “What?”

He tilted his phone toward you, brow raised.

“I just saw a tweet about fanfiction. Someone tagged me in it. Thought it was another thirst edit or something, but…”

Your blood turned to ice.

He tapped the link.

No. No. NO.

There it was. The blog post. Your blog post. A fic you’d published just days earlier — one that had already gained hundreds of reblogs — with the title:

“Stay the Night (Again)” — Isack Hadjar x Reader

He stared at it. Then at you.

You tried to play dumb.

“Huh. People write a lot of fanfiction, right?”

But it was too late.

He opened it. He scrolled.

And when he hit the line where you (well, technically, “reader”) whispered “You’re the only place I feel safe,” in his arms on a Monaco hotel balcony — which you had actually said, in real life, six months ago — he paused.

“Okay,” Isack said slowly. “So this is… incredibly specific.”

You stared ahead, wide-eyed, silently begging for the earth to open up and swallow you.

He turned to face you fully, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Chérie,” he said, voice calm but clearly amused, “you use my real name?”

Your voice came out a full octave higher. “...Define ‘real.’”

“Not like… ‘Zack.’ Or ‘an F2 driver who’s definitely not me.’ You wrote ‘Isack Hadjar,’ full name, and then described my hotel room layout and the exact way I kiss you when I’m tired.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands.

“Are you mad?”

He blinked. “I’m… not sure yet.”

“Okay. Valid.”

He kept reading. “Did you write this one before or after we went to Monaco for our anniversary?”

“…After.”

He put the phone down and gave you the flattest look you’d ever seen.

You cringed. “In my defense, it got over 20,000 notes.”

He just stared.

“I said in my defense!”

“You wrote a scene where I give you a back massage after Quali and then say ‘I could win or crash out and you’d still be my favorite feeling in the world.’ I don’t even talk like that.”

“You said something close once!”

He looked absolutely betrayed. “I was half-asleep!”

You groaned again and sank deeper into the couch.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled into the throw pillow. “It started before we got together, and I didn’t want to stop. People liked it. It felt like mine. No one knew it was me — or you — not really.”

Isack watched you, expression softening. A beat passed.

“Wait,” he said slowly, voice full of dawning realization. “That NSFW Alphabet one… was that—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

His mouth curled into the most devilish grin you’d ever seen.

“Oh, you wrote that.”

“I hate this timeline,” you muttered, dragging the pillow over your face.

He was already pulling the blog back up.

“‘K is for Kitchen: where he makes you beg quietly because the wall’s too thin.’ That’s literally my apartment!”

You flailed an arm out and smacked his leg. “Stop reading it out loud!”

Isack cackled, holding the phone just out of reach.

“You’re unbelievable,” you groaned.

“I’m flattered, actually,” he said, nudging your knee. “I mean, who needs PR when I’ve got my girlfriend anonymously publishing erotica about me on the internet?”

You peeked out from under the pillow. “So… you’re really not mad?”

He smiled, a little softer this time.

“No. Not mad.”

You bit your lip. “Embarrassed?”

He grinned. “No”

You tilted your head. “Then what?”

“I’m a little… intrigued.”

You blinked. “Intrigued?”

He leaned in. “So let me get this straight: while I’m out here giving interviews and prepping for quali, you’re writing little scenarios about me — using my real name — where I kiss you like we’re in a movie and whisper things in French?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes?”

He smirked. “And these have, what, thousands of readers?”

“...Tens of thousands,” you admitted.

He whistled. “So I’m basically F1’s main character.”

“In the fic world? Kind of, yeah.”

He hummed. “It’s weird. But mostly just because I had no idea. You’re so quiet about it in real life. Meanwhile, online you’ve got me reciting French poetry in the rain and undoing bra straps like I’ve got a degree in it.”

You laughed, cheeks flushed.

“I take creative liberties.”

“You give me main character energy, chérie.”

He paused. Then, eyes twinkling:

“…Can I request a fic where I win in Monaco and we make out behind the podium?”

You gaped at him.

“Are you seriously making fic requests right now?”

He leaned over, resting his forehead against yours.

“Seriously. I want bonus points if I say something emotionally repressed and French.”

You smiled, your heart still pounding.

“Okay. But only if you stop reading the NSFW Alphabet out loud.”

“No promises.”

Later that night, as you curled up in bed together, he scrolled through more of your blog while you tried — and failed — to take his phone away.

“I knew I recognized this dialogue,” he said smugly, showing you a screenshot. “This is word-for-word what I said when I kissed you after that sprint race in Spa.”

“God, you remembered?”

“Of course I did. I just didn’t think you were going to immortalize it on Tumblr.com.”

You buried your face in his chest and groaned.

“You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He kissed the top of your head, laughing softly.

“I guess this makes me your muse now.”

You sighed dramatically.

“You always were.”

Isack looked down at you, one brow raised.

"Say that again," he murmured.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Say what?”

He leaned in, voice lower now. “That I’m your muse.”

You swallowed. “...You’re my muse.”

He smirked. “And all those scenes — the ones where I can’t keep my hands off you, where I make you forget your own name — those were based on real stuff too, yeah?”

You hesitated. “Some were... inspired.”

You felt his fingers trail along your waist, under the hoodie. Your hoodie. His hoodie.

He dipped his head, brushing a kiss against your collarbone.

“Then let’s make sure your next fic is even more accurate.”

Your heart practically stopped.

“Isack—”

He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Think you can remember the details, chérie?”

You swallowed, heat pooling under your skin. “Vividly.”

He smiled against your jawline, then lifted you effortlessly into his lap, his hands splayed across your thighs like he already knew the next scene.

And you thought to yourself:

Well. There’s your next chapter.

[lawko-sama]

Walls and Whispers

Summary: Basically, it's a description of slowly getting together with Daryl.

Warnings: Blood, injuries, Merle is an asshole (XD)

Era: Prison

Word count: 2.7k

Something from me: Hello, hello. I apologize in advance for any mistakes with the appearance, layout of the post (first post on the platform). I will gladly accept any feedback. This beginning is part of the whole story I have in my head, I think there will be further parts. English is not my first language, but I think I write in it quite okay. And what.. I wish you a pleasant reading <3

It was a beautiful summer day. Or at least, it looked like one. But the moment you stepped beyond the cold prison walls, the scorching, suffocating heat hit you like a truck. The sun blazed mercilessly at its highest point in the sky, and the air had thickened, shimmering under the hellish temperature.

You stood by the entrance gate, watching as the approaching vehicle kicked up dust along the road. Since you had some free time, you figured you'd help unload whatever they had brought back. You opened the gate for them, wrestling with the locks and chains. Luckily, it didn't take you too long.

The old van rolled through the wire gate, and you quickly shut it behind them. The first person to jump out was Rick. The second the vehicle came to a stop, he was already hauling supplies out. Right behind him was Merle, a wide, shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he laughed at something—probably his own joke. Daryl was the last to get out, barely paying attention to anyone as he made his way straight to the front of the vehicle. He lifted the hood, immediately getting to work as thick, gray smoke billowed from the engine.

"Where is the Korean starboy? I have his order!" Merle yelled toward Hershel, who was making his way over.

Beth peeked out from behind her father, automatically glancing up at the watchtower. Merle caught on quickly, following her gaze with an amused smirk.

"Starboy!" he hollered, even louder this time. "Ya comin'?!"

Rick shook his head in mild exasperation but said nothing. A moment later, Glenn leaned out from the doorway of the guard tower.

"What?!"

He was still fastening his belt, his bare chest saying more than enough about what he had been up to. In the window behind him, a very flustered Maggie was visible, which only made Merle's grin widen.

"Ya cummin'?!" he shouted again, this time emphasizing a different syllable before bursting into laughter.

Glenn squinted at him, clearly confused, then turned to Maggie with a shrug, saying something to her you couldn't hear.

You exchanged an amused look with Rick and continued hauling boxes of food inside. You couldn't help but notice that Merle was in an unusually high-spirited mood today. He was always loud, always a presence impossible to ignore, but today he was practically bouncing with energy. For a fleeting moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—he'd be more of a funny asshole rather than just an asshole. That would be an improvement, at least.

"What 'bout ya, Darylina?"

Merle had somehow ended up right behind Daryl. But the younger Dixon didn't even flinch, still focused on the busted engine. Every now and then, he flicked his hand back as if he was touching something way too hot to be messing with.

"Do ya even know what I'm talkin' bout, baby brotha?" Merle prodded, leaning against the van with that ever-present smirk.

The van rocked slightly, and Daryl finally looked up at him, irritation clear in his expression.

"I am doin' somethin'. Can't ya see?" he snapped, voice edged with frustration.

"Ya can talk and still do yar thing," Merle shot back smoothly. "So?"

They stared at each other for a second. You found yourself eavesdropping more than you probably should, but curiosity had the best of you. You even slowed your pace, carrying one of the bigger boxes extra carefully just so you could keep listening.

"M' not five anymore. 'Course I know what yar talkin' bout," Daryl muttered, turning back to the engine.

For the briefest second, his eyes flicked to yours. Caught. You quickly looked away, pretending to focus on your task, but you knew he had seen you listening. And you had seen something too. A flicker of something in his gaze—something close to panic.

"But ya know it's different when ya alone n' when ya not, right?" Merle pushed.

Daryl didn't answer. He just went back to work, which only made Merle roll his eyes. The smug look on his face said he already knew the answer, anyway.

Then Daryl bent lower, reaching deep into the engine, his entire arm disappearing under the hood. From where you stood, you couldn't quite see what Merle was doing, but there was a glint of mischief on his face—a look you had come to recognize as trouble.

And then—

A loud bang.

You nearly dropped the food in your arms as you saw the hood of the van slam down, trapping Daryl between the metal and the vehicle. Worse still, something inside the engine must have been knocked loose, because the hissing sound grew louder, and more smoke poured out than before.

Merle's laughter rang through the air.

You ran over without thinking, pulling the hood up as fast as you could. Daryl immediately staggered back, coughing violently, his chest heaving as thick smoke spilled from his lungs. One side of his face was bright red—burned. And a thin trickle of blood ran down from his temple.

"Merle! Are you insane?!" you shouted, still steadying Daryl as he fought to breathe. "That's your brother!"

"Oh, come on," Merle scoffed, still chuckling. "Ya don't understand, so don't interfere, would ya?"

"This is too much, even for you, Merle," Rick cut in, his disapproval plain.

"M' tryin' to teach him a lesson 'ere," Merle said, holding his hands up like he was being accused of something unreasonable. For the first time, he actually looked somewhat serious.

"Look at him," he gestured toward Daryl. "Havin' this pretty angel face n' all that n' not usin' it? That is a true crime, baby brotha. So he gotta learn to use it by losin' it first. Simple as tha'."

Ignoring Merle's bullshit, you turned to Daryl. His hand was covering the burned side of his face, and when he tried to touch it, his fingers flinched away instantly. The skin was too raw, too hot.

"Are you okay?" you asked, immediately regretting how stupid the question sounded.

Daryl stiffened slightly, like he hadn't expected you to be this close. He looked at you—just with one eye, since the other was probably swollen. And then, predictably, he nodded.

Behind you, chaos was unfolding. Rick and Glenn were trying to talk some sense into Merle, but it was quickly turning into an actual fight. You saw something flash in Daryl's expression. His whole posture screamed exhaustion, but you already knew—he was about to jump in.

"Leave it," you said, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. "Please."

"Nah."

That was the only warning you got before he turned on his heel.

"Have ya lost yar mind, you psychopath?!" Daryl roared, effectively shutting everyone up—except Merle, who only grinned wider at the sight of him.

"That's what I'm talkin' bout! That's ma baby brotha—!"

"Shut da hell up! Ya wanna kill me or somethin'? Then fight me like a man would!"

"Stop that," you stepped between them, ignoring their protests. "Daryl, we need to take care of your wound. This isn't helping."

"She's right," Maggie chimed in, gripping Glenn's arm instinctively as both brothers turned to look at her.

"Look at that, Darlina! A little help from yar big brotha n' girls already love ya!"

"Zip it, ya punk!"

"Come on, Daryl," you urged, stepping closer.

Meanwhile, Rick had finally managed to drag Merle a safe distance away.

Daryl still couldn't tear his furious gaze away from his brother. You grabbed his arm and tried to gently pull him along, but he didn't budge an inch. You had nothing to convince him with, so you pulled a little harder. Finally, the younger Dixon gave in. He followed you, but his eyes stayed locked on Merle, who was still arguing heatedly with Rick.

Your eyes were practically devouring the archer. Especially after what just happened, you could finally be honest with yourself. Damn, you like him. From the start, he was way more interesting to you than the others. Visually, even with that brutal burn on his face, he made your knees weak. And once again today, Daryl caught you staring a little too long. And once again, you quickly looked away.

"We unpacked all the med kits in the prison recently," you said suddenly. "I saw some burn gel bandages in there. They should help."

"A'right," he muttered, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What was that about?" you finally asked, unable to accept Merle's behavior—especially his excuses for it.

You instantly realized you shouldn't have asked when Daryl's face twisted into a scowl.

"Quit bein' nosey. You heard what it was about."

So you shut up. You scolded yourself internally for your behavior around him. Silence was probably better for both of you anyway.

In perfect quiet, you reached the small room that now served as a makeshift medical office. Everything related to medicine was in here, including the burn dressings you were looking for. First, you took care of the wound that had been bleeding earlier, but it wasn't anything serious—no stitches needed.

You could feel Daryl's blue eyes on you. He sat on the examination table, leaning back against the wall. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the first signs of pain were starting to show on his face.

You didn't even know why you were so nervous. Your hands were shaking as you rummaged through the bins. Even though you had organized them yourself not that long ago, your mind was completely blank. Finally—miraculously—you wrapped your fingers around the package you needed.

You turned around quickly, trying to shake off the nerves and get rid of the million other things in your hands. You were clumsy, unable to fully control your movements, and Daryl definitely noticed. He just watched, silent and unreadable, but not exactly subtle about it.

"It might sting a little," you warned him.

He just nodded. The first bandage only covered about half the burned area. Daryl didn't even flinch when it touched his skin. If anything, he let out a small breath of relief. You immediately started searching for another one.

"...M'sorry," he muttered suddenly. "Ya know... for earlier."

His deep voice, though quiet, seemed to bounce off the small room's walls. You froze for a second, then gave him a sad little smile.

"Don't be. I shouldn't have asked."

"S'just..." he started, then stopped, like he couldn't get the words out. "It's okay. M'used to it. To him."

"It's not okay," you shot back, maybe a little too fast, too direct. "Being used to something like that—to someone like your brother—is messed up. But yeah, do whatever you think is best. I won't interfere if you don't want me to."

"Why do ya care?" he asked.

And this—this was the moment you knew you were screwed. Because you didn't have any explanation except the truth. And neither of you were ready for that.

"Oh—" you blurted out, seizing the excuse to change the subject. You turned to him with a smile. "I found it."

You waved the bandage in front of his face, and he seemed momentarily thrown off. At least he didn't push the topic.

You unwrapped the dressing and leaned in closer. Carefully, you covered the upper part of the burn, including his eyelid, with the cool, transparent bandage, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Once it was fully in place, you looked him over. It still looked painful, but at least he didn't seem to be in unbearable agony. Thankfully, the injury wasn't as dangerous as it had appeared—but it was still unacceptable.

Then, you caught yourself staring again. This time, you were way too close, still leaning over him like when you had applied the bandage. Your fingers had absentmindedly brushed his jawline. His blue eyes locked onto yours, piercing straight through you, and suddenly, you felt a deep pull in your stomach. Your heart pounded faster than it should've, and heat rose to your face.

"Tell me," he murmured, quieter this time, calmer. "Am I readin' this wrong?"

You looked at him with something between sadness and concern, avoiding his gaze like fire avoids water. You adjusted a piece of the bandage that had slipped when he moved his mouth and stayed quiet. 

"Are you pityin' me?" he asked, his tone strange, suspicious.

And just like that, your entire idea of how this conversation would go went straight to hell. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out—not even a broken one.

"I don't need that. Don't deserve it," he said, leaning back slightly. "So quit it."

"It's not—" you started quickly, then hesitated, realizing what he had just said. "...But why wouldn't you deserve it?"

"I just don't. And it's pathetic."

What scared you the most was that he said it while looking right at you, with an empty, emotionless stare. Like he truly believed it.

"I like you," you finally admitted, barely swallowing the weight of his words. "A lot."

For once, you let yourself shamelessly watch his reaction. His brows furrowed—both of them—so you reached up again to hold the bandage in place. Something flickered in his eye, but you couldn't read what it was. Then, a smile appeared on his cracked lips, but it wasn't a happy one. More crooked, almost mocking.

"Yer funny," he muttered, leaning back against the wall again.

You blinked, once, then again, confused. Daryl didn't seem to notice your frustration—didn't realize he had completely misread the situation.

"I mean it," you insisted, emotions starting to spill across your face. "I do. And I'll understand if you don't feel the same way."

The silence stretched endlessly. You knew Daryl needed time, but you also felt like you were about to explode. The smirk had disappeared from his face, so you let yourself hope—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he had actually heard you this time.

"I don't deserve that either," he finally said, completely unaware of how much those words hurt. "Why?" he asked then, carefully, like he was walking on the thinnest ice imaginable.

"That's... it's unconditional..." you began, but he didn't look convinced. "I mean, I could list things—traits—but it's just... you. In general."

"M'a mess. Ya deserve better."

You saw it. The movement. He wanted to stand up. He wanted to leave. But you weren't about to let him.

"What's your deal with this 'deserving' thing?" you fired back, stopping him in his tracks.

"S'some people dese—"

"Say something like that again, and I'm leaving," you interrupted, finally getting some kind of reaction out of him. "Do you like me back?"

"It's not about that."

"Oh, but it is."

Daryl clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tensing so much that he looked like he was fighting with himself. He didn't respond right away. You could see his breath becoming shallower, his fists clenching slightly—not out of anger, but in a desperate attempt to keep his distance.

You took a step closer.

"Daryl" you said, softer now, but firmly. "Tell me."

He hesitated, then dropped his gaze.

"I like ya, alright?" he muttered finally, but almost immediately shook his head, as if trying to reject his own words. "But that don't mean nothin'."

Your heart pounded harder. There was something heartbreaking about him. This man, who could fight so brutally for others, completely refused to believe that he could be enough for someone.

"It does mean something," you didn't back down, even though you could feel his walls rising higher.

Daryl let out a quiet scoff and scratched the back of his neck, visibly tense.

"Listen, ya think ya want this, but ya don't. 'M too fucked up."

You sighed heavily and shook your head.

"You don't get to decide that for me."

He looked at you, surprised, as if no one had ever said that to him before.

"You think I'm blind?" you continued, holding his gaze. "The way you protect people, the way you care even when you act like you don't. You push people away 'cause you think they're better off without you, but that's not your choice to make."

Daryl remained silent, the tension between you thickening. Finally, he let out a deep breath and ran a hand over his face.

"I don't know how to do this."

You gave him a sad smile.

"Then let's figure it out together."

He didn't answer right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. It wasn't a grand confession or a sudden dramatic shift. But it was a first step. And that was enough for you.

[fatehbaz]

In just eight blocks of sidewalk in quiet neighborhood, walking through the not-quite-rain of a sunshower, today I encountered four missing shoe soles. Little pieces of plastic and rubber, detached from pedestrians' shoes, now lonely on the concrete, with the weeds.

No such thing, really, as a "weed", though. "Weed" is not a botanical term. Instead, describes perceived pests, at the discretion of the observer. At the discretion of the authority. Designated as weed by the one with power over that land. The agronomist, the rancher, the plantation manager. The weed wastes space that could otherwise be given to a monoculture cash crop, an "economically significant" plant. The weed interferes with the productivity of the plot of land. The weed interrupts the extraction. The weed diminishes the value. The weed doesn't belong in this place.

People are made to be weeds, too.

Some cities will designate you as a weed, and then they'll take action to pull you out. They'll uproot you. But it's not always explicit, like "we're outlawing loitering" or "we're outlawing taking a nap in the park" or "we're defunding the library". Sometimes it's quite clever, it's written into the physical landscape. Self-congratulatory "progressive" cities learn to co-opt language, to obscure the violence, to use and abuse space.

Thinking about things you might encounter, you might perceive, after you've been destitute, broken, lived at a homeless shelter, for years. Little signs of other peoples' misery. Indicators of desperation that some might overlook. And the way that environment shapes, and is shaped by, these miseries.

A friend asks "why is there always an unusual amount of scuffed detached missing shoe soles on this particular stretch of sidewalk? There are hardly any homes around here, it's all asphalt and empty lots, so where are all these be-shoed people coming from?" Because even though this is a wide expanse without either home residences or any kind of commercial or recreation space someone would want to visit, these blocks are the straight-line direct path between a low-income apartment complex and the cluster of corporate big box stores, and there's no bus line that runs between the two areas. "But don't the vast majority of customers of shopping malls and box stores drive vehicles, hence the obscenely massive parking lots?" Sure, customers drive, but guess who actually has to work at those places? An underclass of people living at that apartment complex with harsh restrictions and cheap amenities, who can't afford car insurance or who might be too physically disabled to bike. And so that apartment complex is a de facto "company town", the residents are essentially in confinement. It is written into that landscape. It can be read. "Why is there always debris, wrappers, coins, etc. in this particular quiet couple of blocks of the boulevard?" Because these blocks are between a thrift store and a same-day drop-in clinic, so many impoverished people will routinely be walking between these two locations. They attend their appointment, and then have forty-five minutes to kill before the bus comes back around, so why not check out the thrift store? The city and county collaborated and placed all the low-income assistance offices on the far side of town, which conveniently forces the poor and disabled to both stay away from the luxurious downtown district and also to waste their time making a four-hour commute, catching various connecting buses or else riding the bikepath, across the city just to attend a ten-minute-long appointment.

Then this spatial layout, this city's physical environment, will shape the physical body. This violence writes itself into the flesh. The way the denim is chafed and discolored on the left shoulder of someone's jacket from carrying a small backpack around by foot, day after day after day. The way someone's heart rate increases when they see a white and black vehicle in the periphery of their vision, subconsciously recollecting institutionalization and institutional abuse, or fearing what a ticket fee would mean for their budget (they might not be able to afford rent). The way someone develops a painful limp, maybe occasionally depends on a cane, because they had to walk great distances every day to get to work and their shoe sole fell off on the sidewalk, but they can't replace the shoes because their employer is underpaying them, and they're forced to stand all day at work anyway, and they already had some modest nerve damage in their foot because they've been rationing their insulin and can't afford their prescriptions, and federal medical insurance keeps denying them because their physical letters in the mail always show up too late or not at all, and groceries are too expensive so it's hard to get good nutrition to heal, but the diabetic nerve damage has by now damaged their digestive tract too so they have a strictly limited bland diet and can't enjoy the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal (if they can even afford a home, at this point), and all those "little" miseries add up, and now they're hungry, and in pain, because they were forced to walk kinda funny for a long time over all those decaying sidewalks with all those other weeds.

[churipu]

hii i hope ur midterms r going well !! ive binge read so many of ur work n js wanted to say theyre so amazing (´꒳`) i wanted a request for toji + any other character of ur choice x reader who stays up late n has difficulty sleeping (fluff),, thank u !! 🤍

𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗔𝗠 !

────── 𝕴 . featuring. toji fushiguro x reader

────── 𝕴 . warnings. cursing, and mentions of toji being soft, i love him.

note. hi nonnie! thank you so much, you're too nice to me, and yes, my midterms went well! it's been so long since i've done the requests in my inbox, which is the sole reason to why i have closed my ask box so i could finish them all! although, the next time i open them, i won't accept requests for a bit. sorry for those who have visited my inbox and have waited for a long time for your piece to be done. // anyways, new theme = new layout!

"why aren't you in bed?"

toji's voice came out hoarse — he cleared his throat and approached you, sitting himself on the couch despite his heart caressing his ears, pleading for him to go back inside the bedroom and just lay back down on the bed.

the cotton surface of the couch dipped just as he practically threw himself down on it, holding back a loud yawn. you raised a brow, shoving the spoonful of cereal you mixed with milk five minutes ago, just before toji emerged from your shared room.

small yellow chips of cereal that had grown soggy, seeping in the white tasteless liquid dispersed into a mush inside your mouth. they weren't even solid as they're supposed to be, "can't sleep, you?"

"you weren't there."

old habits die hard. that's how the saying goes, and you undeniably agreed to that. the night is an old friend to you, never did your eyelids felt heavy when you were supposed to be in bed, asleep. it's not healthy, you're killing yourself doing this.

"you're such a baby," you mutter out, staring into space, feeling your eyes slowly dissociate — jaw moving in a slow motion, biting into wet and mush before you swallow them.

"y/n, it's three am, y' can't keep doing this stuff," toji scratches his nape, leaning his head back onto the couch rest.

despite your eyes staring into nothing, you could hear his words pretty well. in fact, toji had repeated the same words countless of times that you found yourself engraving it into your mind, "i know, i can't sleep. i know it's not healthy, if i could stop it, i would."

"you're scooping nothing, y/n."

this time, his statement pulled you back into reality. looking down to see that you were indeed scooping no soggy cereal chip, nor a drop of milk onto your spoon. chuckling out lightly, you stood up and sauntered over to the kitchen, dumping what was left of your cereal pieces into the sink.

"you should go to bed," you tell him, wiping your wet hands onto your shirt — crumpling up the fabric to soak them in the access waterdrops lacing your fingers, "'ts late."

toji scoffs lightly, "shouldn't i be saying that shit to you?"

no mistakes there. you emitted out a soft sigh, "i'm fine, i'll be back in bed in a few . . ." toji raises a brow skeptically. he never forgot the last time you said that, he woke up alone on the bed — and you were wide awake on the couch, watching the morning news.

"hell no. it's two of us or nobody goes back to bed, 'm not kidding." he mutters out, not realizing how harsh his voice came out as.

brows furrowed deeply, he looks at you. your disheveled (h/c) hair going all point in a compass points, the visible dark shade of exhaustion coloring under your eyes — and the light creases on the corner of your beautiful, tired eyes.

"can you not?" you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose; honestly, you can't blame him at all, he's just a worried boyfriend and you were being stubborn.

"can i not what? worry about my own—" he stops mid sentence and shakes his head. toji was never a man of words, he doesn't express his affection to you through words. he's had moments, not a lot, but he's had them.

toji's a man of actions. he thinks that words mean nothing, which you knew, "'m tired, but i can't sleep, okay? i'll just hang out here a few more minutes and i'll come back to bed. you don't have to stay awake just because 'm awake."

"just shut up."

you stare at him, surprised. parting your lips, you try to speak again but toji beats you to it.

"can't i worry about you or something? you're my partner," he said, his then exhausted eyes now fully refreshed. a tinge of frustration coloring his greenish iris.

your eyes darted around for a bit, searching for words to spout out as a reply, "you don't have to worry about me, 'm fine. i promise. so, can you please just go to bed and stop worrying about me?"

"fuck that," he stands up, with heavy footsteps he darted towards you.

his figure grew in your view as he closes the distance between you and him. with a quick motion, he threw you over his shoulder, letting you dangle over his shoulder. at this point, you were too exhausted to even move a limb so you just laid there, not having the cell to even open your mouth.

toji walks over to the bedroom and he sat you down gently on the bed. on most occasions, he would throw you onto the bed playfully — but this was serious. he's pissed, and you're pissed.

"sleep."

you crane your neck upwards, face scrunching into one of annoyance, "i just told you that i can't—"

"try."

shaking your head, you said, "i can't, i've tried."

his finger brushed over your hair, smoothing them back down. he didn't reply to you. frankly, he finds it hard to be in the current position — as a kid, he was taught to never show his weakness. he grew up in a household full of so much hate that he forgot what love is.

here you were. vulnerable, in a weak state that toji has seen a lot before throughout your relationship. if this was anyone else, toji swore he'd tell them to suck it up because life isn't always what they think it ought to be.

but this isn't anyone else, it's you. y/n. the only person toji has showed his own vulnerable sides to — it's like a punch to his gut when he saw a bit of his younger self in you. he had nobody, and nobody had him.

it's different this time, it's not about him anymore. it's about you. you had him, and he had you.

toji inhaled sharply, his large hands slipping underneath your pits as he gently pushes you up. your feet dangled as he then pulled you into him, his right hand traveled onto the hollow of your back — and his left hand prepped your legs around his torso.

you felt like a child, "what're you doing?"

"shut up," he mutters out into the crook of your neck, "just try to get some sleep."

he pressed his lips onto your skin tenderly, making you shudder at the sudden contact — but you liked it. toji didn't stop, with an arm around your waist, and another under your thighs, he held you close to him.

warm and shallow breaths blew onto your skin like warm lights, it didn't tickle, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. copying his actions, "'m sorry."

toji grunted, "for?"

"just . . . everything," you murmur out.

his grip around your waist tightened, "'ts not somethin' to be sorry of, you can't control it. so just try and get some sleep," he muttered out, rocking side to side gently.

a faint smile appeared on your lips as you pulled your head back slightly, "you're too nice to me."

"don't get used to it," toji rolled his eyes.

"i love you too," you planted a kiss onto his lips briefly before returning your head into the crook of his neck, letting him lull you to sleep for the night.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE.

[queenofmorningstar]

See You in Hell

Lucifer x Overlord f! Reader

Summary: You and Lucifer get close, but your Overlord business gets serious

CW: Slowburn & Eventual Smut

Word Count: 3.9K

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8

CHAPTER FOUR

You sat among the noise and laughter, your fork idle on your plate as the others chattered and bickered with reckless joy.

Angel Dust was narrating another of his porn films that won an award, Niffty was scrubbing, as usual. Husk grumbled through sips of his drink, gruff as always but never truly mad.

Vaggie was trying to keep order, failing, and dear Charlie was just laughing, cheeks pink with joy as she tried to pass around more mashed potatoes.

You had every reason to leave—your territory needed you. You had responsibilities, dangers to manage, a reputation to uphold. And yet, the longer you stayed, the heavier the idea of going back felt in your chest.

“You okay?” Charlie’s voice pulled you gently from your thoughts.

You turned to her, blinking. “Yeah.”

She hesitated, then leaned in a little. “I was wondering… Dad hasn’t come down from his room since yesterday. I know he’s probably just in one of his moods, but—” she smiled sheepishly “—he does tend to listen to you.”

You raised a brow, dry. “I think you overestimate me.”

Charlie gave you that hopeful, gentle grin. “Maybe. But could you… check on him? Ask him to come join us?”

You sighed and gave a small shrug, pushing yourself up from the table. “Alright. I’ll try.”

Charlie’s smile widened. “Thanks.”

You turned and walked away from the dinner table, the laughter still ringing behind you, warm and loud. You climbed the staircase, your steps soft against the ornate. 

Lucifer’s door stood slightly ajar, a warm sliver of golden light spilling into the hallway.

You hesitated, but then knocked. “…Lucifer?”

No response.

You nudged the door gently open. The room beyond unfolded in soft amber tones, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the stained glass of an enormous apple-shaped window.

It was not what you expected. The room was a beautiful mess.

Blueprints were spread across a long table in careful disorder — layered sketches of odd devices, intricate machinery, inventions, even what looked like theater stage layouts. Strange tools littered the surface. Notes were scrawled along the margins — neat, looping handwriting filled with enthusiasm, second guesses, and bursts of creativity.

Your fingers brushed over one blueprint in particular , this one a music box with glowing constellations inside and felt something in your chest tighten. A quiet ache.

You felt your breath catch. It was brilliant. A little chaotic, but undeniably full of thought, joy, and ambition.

You moved slowly around the room, your eyes drinking it all in. Stacks of half-completed ideas lined the corners. On one wall stood a tall glass cabinet and inside it, shelves and shelves of small rubber ducks.

Each one was different. Some wore little top hats. Some had tiny angel wings.  Another wore a cape. You couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at your lips as your gaze lingered on them. 

You were still admiring the sketches, quietly tracing one of the designs with your fingertips, when a sharp squeak echoed from behind a smaller door nestled in the corner of the room.

You turned your head, frowning slightly. Another door? Cautiously, you walked over and nudged it open. Bad idea. A tsunami of rubber ducks exploded outward.

Bright yellow, winged, pirate-hat-wearing, glow-in-the-dark ducks cascaded out like a tide, spilling across the floor and tumbling onto your boots. You barely had a second to step back before the entire mountain rolled forward… with Lucifer tangled at the centre of it all.

His legs stuck out at odd angles. “Ah,” he said, voice muffled and far too casual for someone half-buried. “I might’ve… been reorganizing the Duck Vault.”

You blinked. He grinned sheepishly, eyes wide and hopelessly endearing. “Little help?”

You stared at him for a beat. Then let out a soft, surprised laugh. “How exactly did this happen?”

“I was trying to find my limited-edition, disco duck,” he said with far too much dignity for someone lying in a duck avalanche. “Turns out... they were all precariously balanced on hope and poor decisions.”

You reached down and offered your hand. He took it with a dramatic sigh of relief as if you were saving him from the depths of the underworld, not a hoard of squeaky toys. As you pulled him up, a chorus of honks sounded from below.

“You should come down and eat with the rest of us,” you said, brushing some lingering dust from Lucifer’s sleeve.

Lucifer chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Ah, I already ate, actually. Had this brilliant idea pop into my head mid-afternoon and couldn’t possibly stop myself.”

You tilted your head, half-smiling. “Another invention?”

He brightened immediately, then hesitated. “Well… yes. But it’s probably nothing. You know how it is… these things come and go. Most of it never quite works.”

You took a step toward his desk, where a fresh set of blueprints had been hastily rolled out. “May I see?”

Lucifer blinked. “You want to see it?”

“I already looked at your other ones,” you said casually, eyes scanning the lines. “They were brilliant, by the way.”

Lucifer laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh come on—those old things? Half of them don’t even function. I was going to toss them.”

You stepped forward before he could ramble himself into a spiral, your gaze falling onto one particular schematic — a spyglass with small winged attachments.

“No, don’t throw them away,” you said, your tone suddenly firm. “This one — right here — it’s clever. It’s just the power relay. If you shift the rotation timing by half a second, the whole mechanism would stabilize.”

Lucifer was still frozen, a stunned look growing behind his eyes, the kind that slowly blossomed into joy like the sun peeking over the horizon. “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE A GENIUS–You actually fixed it!”

Without thinking, he surged forward and wrapped his arms around you. You stiffened slightly from the surprise, but his warmth settled against you like a blanket, his laugh bubbling against your shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. “Seriously.”

You blinked, caught off guard again. “It wasn’t much—”

“It was everything,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His face was lit up with awe. “You really think they’re good?”

You nodded, your voice softer now. “I’d love to see more.”

Lucifer swallowed, golden blush faintly dusting his cheeks. You watched him for a long moment, something fluttering behind your ribs. Then he pulled back abruptly, flustered. “Sorry! I just—uh—get very excited about gears.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Clearly.”

Just as you were about to turn toward the door, Lucifer’s voice piped up—gentle, unsure, but with a note of excitement underneath.

“Wait! Before we go down… I want to show you something. The idea I had earlier.”

You paused mid-step, curiosity piqued. “Oh?”

He scrambled to the corner of the room, ducking behind one of the larger desks where scattered cogs and glittering bits of machinery covered nearly every inch. With some careful manoeuvring and a little triumphant “Aha!”, he returned, cradling something in his hands.

“Well…” he slowly brought his hands forward, revealing a delicate object cradled carefully in his palms. It shimmered faintly in the soft light, a crystal sphere set on a silver pedestal. A snowglobe.

Inside the globe, gentle snow flurries spiralled around two tiny figures — unmistakably modelled after you and him. The two were dancing in a slow, endless circle. 

You were silent. He panicked. “It’s stupid, I know. I just…I sort of, uh, spent the afternoon cobbling it together instead of, you know, eating food on time, which is completely fine, because I eat weirdly anyway and time is fake—”

You gently turned the crank. A soft, tinkling melody began to play…slow, dreamy, and faintly familiar. 

You looked up at him. “You made this?”

Lucifer stopped breathing. “...Yeah.”

You blinked, slowly turning the snowglobe in your hands, watching the tiny snowflakes spin around the dancing figures. “It’s beautiful.”

Lucifer let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging slightly in quiet relief…then straightened again, too quickly, trying to appear casual. “I mean, obviously it could use some improvements, and I wasn’t actually trying to model the figures after us, it just sort of happened—anyway, it’s enchanted. When you shake it, the snow falls and it plays a tune I composed myself. It’s rough, but—”

You smiled, and he stopped talking. “I love it,” you said.

Lucifer flushed golden, his mouth opening slightly like he had something else to say… but then just nodded, very, very quickly.

You held the snowglobe closer to your chest, your thumb gently brushing the glass. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

You took it carefully in your hands, turning it slowly. It sparkled, the tiny figures dancing with an effortless grace as the soft sound of a music box filled the air. You were speechless for a moment.

Then he pointed at his nightstand. “You gave me an ice rose. So… I wanted to give you something back.”

Your gaze followed where he gestured. Sure enough, on the edge of the nightstand sat a perfectly preserved ice rose, crystalline petals catching the fading light, shimmering with soft hues of blue and silver.

Your heart gave a strange little lurch. “I did…?”

Lucifer smiled, scratching behind his ear sheepishly. “You conjured it into my hand, during the snowball fight yesterday.”

Your mouth opened to explain because you hadn’t meant to, hadn’t even realized it but then you saw the way he was looking at it. With wonder and joy. The careful way it had been placed like it was something sacred. 

So you just… nodded. “Right. I remember now.”

Lucifer beamed. “I know it’s silly. But the globe… it just felt right.”

You looked down at the snowglobe again, heart full in your chest, the little dancing figures forever circling each other in quiet harmony. “It’s not silly,” you murmured. “It’s… perfect.”

You were still admiring the snowglobe, heart caught somewhere between disbelief and fragile awe, when Lucifer shifted beside you. His fingers twitched nervously at his side before he cleared his throat.

“Would you…” His voice faltered, then steadied with the weight of a hopeful grin. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

Your gaze flicked to him. “A dance?”

He smiled. “On the ice. Just one. I thought it might… go well with the gift.”

You didn’t reply at first. Just smiled slowly. Then you lifted your hand and snapped your fingers.

With a snap of your fingers, frost kissed the floor and spread outward in sweeping spirals. Ice settled across the ground like glass, smooth and shimmering. A curl of silver magic laced around both your feet, conjuring ice skates that laced themselves tightly with snowy white ribbons.

Lucifer looked down at his feet and wobbled, but seemed delighted. “Oh—goodness—uh, I haven’t done this since 1914…”

You laughed softly, stepping onto the ice with practiced ease, gently taking his hand. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

From the little shelf behind him, the snowglobe activated, the figures dancing as a quiet melody drifted through the air.

‘And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?’

You began to move.

It wasn’t perfect at first — he was awkward, you were trying not to smile too much, and the turns were slow, cautious. But then he steadied. His hand slid to your waist, the other tightening around yours. His touch was gentle, not performative. 

You glided together in slow circles. The ice shimmered beneath your feet and above you, snowflakes spun lazily from the magic.

The music swelled. You twirled, the magic flowing through your limbs like a second heartbeat, and he caught you again… spinning you in, then pressing you closer. Both of you smiled, breathless.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand…’

Your hand rested against his shoulder, fingers curled in the fabric of his vest. 

You turned with him again, and the snow globe music wound down slowly in the background. As the song came to an end, another followed soon enough…

“Can I go where you go?”

“Can we always be this close forever and ever?”

*

Charlie padded down the corridor, wearing a fluffy strawberry-printed pajama set. Vaggie walked beside her, yawning. They were nearly to their room when Charlie paused. “Do you hear that?” she asked softly, stopping mid-step.

Vaggie squinted down the hallway, then tilted her head. “What—music?”

Charlie nodded slowly, her brows furrowing.

It was faint, but unmistakable — a gentle tune floating through the air like a dream half-remembered. A soft piano melody, the same one she vaguely recalled from when she was a little girl, when her dad used to hum under his breath while working on something.

But he hadn’t played music in a long, long time.

Charlie crept forward, tiptoeing toward the slightly ajar door of Lucifer’s suite. She hesitated only briefly before peeking in through the narrow crack.

Her breath caught in her throat.

There, in the middle of a gently frosted floor, your figure moved gracefully with her dad, and his face… his face was lit up. Smiling, his eyes soft and open in a way Charlie hadn’t seen much.

You were laughing, skating backward and holding one of his hands, your cheeks glowing with happiness. When Lucifer caught you with a dramatic little dip and you laughed harder — the sound unguarded and real.

Charlie stepped back, heart full, her eyes slightly misty. She hadn’t seen him smile like that in a while.

She turned to Vaggie and grabbed her hand with a gentle squeeze, then made a soft, excited noise in her throat. “Do you think they’re dating?!”

“No,” Vaggie said flatly.

Charlie pouted. “Why not?”

“Because they’re both emotionally repressed and catastrophically in denial.”

Charlie stuck her tongue out at her girlfriend and tugged her away gently. “Come on, let’s leave them alone. Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll finally figure it out.”

As the two walked off toward their room, Charlie looked over her shoulder one last time with a fond smile. Her dad deserved to be happy, and maybe he was starting to remember how.

______________________

You woke up with a groan. Meeting with Vox was displayed on your calendar. Ugh.

With a slow breath, you sat up and tugged on your jacket over a loose black top, adjusting the collar with sharp fingers. 

You made your way down the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The hazy orange light of Hell’s sky filtered through the stained glass, bathing the hotel lobby in a strangely warm glow. But your expression was anything but warm.

Angel Dust was draped over the bar like a cat in the sun, sipping something pink and bubbly. Husk sat behind the counter, quietly sipping his own drink.

Angel spotted you first. “Ooooh, well, well, look who’s up bright and broody,” he called with a smirk, turning on his stool. “Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

You arched a brow, adjusting the cuffs of your coat. “Meeting.”

“With who?”

You glanced toward the lobby doors. “Vox.”

Angel’s smirk widened into something devious. “Vox, huh? Now that’s a name I haven’t heard from your mouth. Weren’t you two—”, Angel made an obscene gesture, “once upon a time?”

You shot him a calm, deadpan look. “It’s all in the past.”

Angel put a hand to his chest in mock drama. “Oof. Cold as ice.”

You gave him a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

Husk snorted behind the bar. “I’d pay to watch you freeze his smug ass.”

“No promises,” you muttered, tugging your coat tighter.

Lucifer floated down the stairs, still humming a soft melody. He’d prepared a tray of breakfast delicately arranged with his signature flair: rich coffee, golden croissants, and a bowl of duck-shaped fruit slices back in his room.

Last night had been… different.

For the first time in what felt like centuries, someone had looked at his blueprints…not with mockery or impatience—but with wonder. You had listened, studied, even improved them. He had found someone who didn’t call him eccentric or absurd.

“There you are,” he said, breathless but bright. “I—I thought perhaps we could eat in my room? Together, that is. Just breakfast. I made coffee. And we could go over those wind-turbines again, or maybe—”

You barely spared him a glance. “Can’t. Meeting.”

The chill in your tone froze him mid-step. “Oh,” he blinked. “Is everything—”

“I’ll be back later.”

And with that, you were gone.

Angel Dust and Husk had both watched the exchange with raised brows. Angel let out a long, low whistle. “Yikes. Why the sudden cold shoulder?”

Lucifer tried to laugh it off, running a hand through his hair. “She must be busy. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Angel patted the stool next to him. Lucifer sat down slowly. Husk, without a word, slid a glass toward him—amber liquid sloshing gently inside. Something bitter, just like this morning.

Lucifer sat hunched at the bar, cradling the untouched drink in his hands. His usually dazzling demeanor was dulled by confusion, disappointment, and something else he didn’t quite want to name.

Angel Dust twirled a bar straw between his fingers, watching him with a gleam in his eye. "Sooo… you really like her, huh?"

Lucifer cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the swirling liquid. "I… respect her. Admire her, even. She's—she's quite remarkable, don’t you think?"

Angel leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar with a smirk. “Yeah, sure. Remarkable. I mean, I’m just saying, maybe you should’ve asked her before she went off to meet with Vox.”

Lucifer blinked, finally looking up. “Vox?”

Angel gave a faux-innocent shrug. “Mhm. You know, Mr. Tall, Handsome, CEO? Yeah. Apparently, she’s meeting him this morning. Said it was important business. Used to date him too, from what I hear.”

Lucifer paled, literally. His already-fair complexion washed out to something ghostly.

“They were… lovers?” he asked, voice cracking slightly.

Angel held back a laugh. “You didn’t know?”

Lucifer stiffened, visibly flustered. “Well, I—she never mentioned him. And that’s—fine, of course! She’s free to meet with whomever she pleases. Even that… parasite.”

He mumbled the last line.

*

The air was thick with heat and the buzz of demonic traffic, but you walked with purpose, your coat fluttering behind you with each step. 

You tugged at your gloves absently, mind clouded by thoughts of Vox and the cryptic message he’d sent. You didn’t trust him. You never had. But information was power and right now, you needed every sliver of it.

“Ma’am,” your assistant spoke from behind, slightly breathless from keeping pace. “A call came through. I think you’ll want to take it.” She handed you your phone, already connected.

You pressed it to your ear. “Who is this?”

“Heyyyy, my favourite Elsa!”

You blinked. “You’ve an un-favourite Elsa?”

“Yeah, a real asshole.” Blitzo huffed. “Anyway! You got Striker’s location?”

You smirked. “Yes. He’s wounded but slippery. I want you to take care of him, permanently. I figured you’d want in.”

“Oh fucking yes!” Blitzo drawled. “He’ll get what’s coming for him. But…ya know, my business is killing people on the surface…”

You raised a brow. “I’ll pay 10 times the usual amount.”

“Oh yeah! Consider that bitch dead.”

The call clicked off. You tucked the phone away just as you reached the entrance of the neutral meeting place—a café.

This day was going to be exhausting. You stepped inside. Your assistant lingered outside. “Sweetheart,” came his voice. You turned and saw Vox, sitting casually, a grin already stretched across his screen of a face. “You look tense. Let me guess—you missed me?”

“Let’s skip the bullshit, Vox,” you replied, cool and sharp. “I didn’t come here to discuss our history.”

He clutched his heart with mock-wounded flair. “You’re breaking my heart, doll. Always so serious. But alright, straight to business.”

He turned with a dramatic flick of his hand, pulling up a flickering projection in the air—his feed. It was the same footage you had seen before: an exterminator handing out angelic weapons to imps. But this time, it was clearer, sharper. You could even make out the markings on the weapons.

“Tsk, tsk. Your little intel centre's cute,” Vox drawled, scrolling through the footage with practiced ease, “but mine’s the best in the biz. HD 400 max.”

You folded your arms, staring at the screen. “I didn’t come for your flexing, Vox. Just the truth.”

“Which I am so generously giving,” he purred. “See here?”

He zoomed in, and his database filtered through. “My system ran a match through old archives,” Vox said. “Turns out, this ain’t just any exterminator. It’s Lute.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Lute. One of the high-rankers. They’re not supposed to meddle in Hell unless it’s Extermination Day.”

“Exactly what I thought,” Vox said, his tone taking a rare serious edge. “But this? And helping imps? That ain’t heavenly protocol.”

“Why are you showing me this?” you asked. “You don’t give anything away for free.”

Vox gave you a half-smirk, stepping closer. “Because if this gets serious this will not be just your mess anymore. And if the angels are going rogue?” He leaned in slightly. “You’ll need all the allies you can get.”

You stared at him, lips pressed into a line. “And you’re offering yourself?”

“I’m offering info, and let’s just say I want to see what you’ll do next. And maybe,” he added, voice dropping into something more intimate, “a reminder of what we were capable of together.”

You didn’t respond to that last bit. You just held his gaze for a long, loaded moment.

Vox leaned back, his voice turned honey-smooth, laced with mockery. “So,” he said, with a sly grin, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with a certain Morningstar.”

You didn’t flinch. He took that as a cue to press on.

“I mean, no judgment, babe. If you’re aiming for an upgrade, I get it. King of Hell, fallen angel—real sexy package.” He paused, then leaned in, grin widening. “But let’s not pretend. You and I both know… he’s not what will keep you satisfied.”

You slowly turned your head toward him, eyes cool and unreadable.

Vox’s voice lowered, smug and insinuating. “He has no real power over Hell. Whereas me? I’ve got an empire. Eyes and ears in every place. Networks, weapons, influence. I’m your equal, darling. Always was.”

You took a quiet breath, holding back the dozens of sharp things you could have said. You didn’t rise to the bait. You’d played his games once before. Not again.

Instead, you turned away, making for the exit. You weren’t stupid to realize that he was an important ally. “I’m happy with our alliance,” you said over your shoulder, voice steady. “But this could’ve been an email.” The door shut behind you.

The smug grin lingered. But this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Your boots crunched against the gravel as you stepped out of the neutral zone. Your assistant caught up to your pace. “Where to now?” she asked, already flicking open a digital map in her palm.

You didn’t stop walking. “South Docks.”

She blinked. “That’s where Lute’s drop is today, isn’t it?”

You gave a small nod, eyes forward, focused.

“Striker?” she asked next, already guessing.

“Handled,” you replied coolly. “Blitzo’s keeping him occupied. He’ll either slow him down or finish the job.” 

You stopped at the edge of a cliffside overlook, scanning the smoky horizon where rusted metal spires clawed at the blood-red sky. The sulfuric winds picked up, tugging at your coat. “Let’s see what heaven is up to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next>>>

Notes: heyy guys, from how the story is unfolding there may be an increase in chapters maybe to 10, and I'll make changes with the flow if needed.

I chose this song from Viv's playlist of Lucifer 🩷☺️

Taglist: @atlantis-just-drowned @uniquecutie-puffs @elegancefr @petalsrdead @jazztato @fangthesandwing @rfox1998 @ravensdecent36 @qardasngan @lunas-couch @hunt3r0 @david-tennant-obsessed @n3bula-glitter

[dreamykira]

One Way or Another Pt. 4 I IN-HO x reader

˗ˏˋSUMMARY ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ After discovering a secret passageway in In-ho’s suite, the reader makes a daring escape, navigating through hidden corridors and nearly making it out. Will she succeed or will she be dragged back to captivity?

˗ˏˋWARNINGS ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ in-ho is mean in this one, physical violence against reader, reader gets injured. if i missed any then pls let me know!!!

˗ˏˋAUTHOR'S NOTE ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ long time no see😅 im sorry guys for just disappearing. im trying to manage school, work and family drama all at once rn. anyways im back (i think). i'll try to write pt. 5 and pt. 6 tonight so i have at least something to post during the week (i don't have any hw for tmrw and im feeling inspired rn). ALSOOOOO big big thank you to @androgynous-lady because she gave me so many good ideas for this part. i could literally call her my co-writer at this point!!!!

word count: 1876

The moment In-ho left, you moved.

Every second alone was a gift, a chance to search, to plot, to find a way out of this gilded cage. You had traced every inch of the suite, memorizing its layout, studying its weaknesses. And yet, until now, there had been no clear exit.

But that music box…

It had always struck you as odd—the way it sat on the same cabinet, untouched yet ever-present, playing that eerie melody whenever In-ho watched the games. You had seen him linger by it, fingers brushing against the wood before turning away, as if it held some secret only he understood.

And maybe it did.

Your heart pounded as you approached the cabinet, running your hands along the edges. It seemed solid at first, but then— A subtle indentation, a shift in the wood where it shouldn’t be.

You pressed against it.

Click.

A panel slid open, revealing a dark, narrow passageway beyond.

Your breath caught.

This was it.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, closing the panel behind you. The air was thick, stale, the space barely wide enough for you to move comfortably. A faint red emergency light glowed along the floor, leading deeper into the unknown.

You had no idea where this led, but that didn’t matter. Forward was your only option.

✧˚ · .

The tunnel twisted and turned, forcing you to move carefully. Pipes lined the walls, humming with energy, carrying water or air to unseen places. You had to crouch in some areas, the ceiling pressing low, making every breath feel shallow, every movement tense.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard the faint echo of voices—guards, most likely, stationed in the hidden spaces between the walls. You pressed forward, silent as a ghost, ears straining to pick up anything useful.

Then, a metal grate came into view ahead of you.

Cautiously, you knelt and peered through the slats.

Below was a control room, smaller than the one In-ho usually occupied but still filled with monitors, screens flickering with live footage of the games. A single guard sat at a console, his back to you, oblivious to your presence.

Your fingers curled around the grate, an idea forming. If you could drop down, maybe you could take him out, steal his uniform, his keycard—

No. Too risky.

You kept moving.

✧˚ · .

Meanwhile, In-ho returned to the suite.

The moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong. The air felt… empty. Still.

His gaze flickered to the couch, where you usually sat. Nothing. The bedroom door—open, untouched.

A slow, cold realization settled in his chest.

You were gone.

In-ho exhaled through his nose, setting his mask down with precise care. Then, he turned sharply, striding toward the nearest intercom panel. His voice was measured, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

“Pull up the security footages. Now.”

The guards hesitated. “Sir?”

“You heard me,” he said, sharper this time. “Find her.”

A few tense moments passed. Then, one of the guards responded.

“Sir, we have a location.”

In-ho’s jaw clenched. “Where?”

“She’s in the hidden passageways.”

His fingers tightened against the desk. “Don’t intercept her yet. Tell me where she’s headed.”

“Understood.”

He wasn’t going to let them drag you back like some runaway prisoner.

No.

He was going to find you himself.

✧˚ · .

You had no idea how much time had passed before you found the second door. After pushing it open, you were met with a dimly lit hallway.

Heart hammering, you stepped over the threshold, feeling cool tile beneath your socked feet. This wasn’t part of the main complex, at least not the part you had seen before. The walls were industrial, metal panels replacing the pristine luxury of the suite. You had made it somewhere deeper, somewhere real.

And yet, you didn’t have time to marvel. You needed to move.

You hurried down the hall, scanning for signs, exits, anything to tell you where you were. Doors lined the corridor, some marked with cryptic symbols, others left unmarked entirely. You paused near one and pressed your ear against it.

Silence.

Carefully, you pushed it open.

Inside was a storage room—rows of neatly folded staff uniforms, stacks of weapons locked behind glass cases. Your pulse quickened. If you could get a disguise—

A sudden noise made you freeze.

Footsteps.

Someone was coming.

Quickly, you ducked behind a shelving unit, pressing yourself into the shadows. The door swung open, and a pair of guards stepped inside, talking in low voices.

“…Check the west hall. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

Your stomach twisted.

They knew.

You held your breath, heart pounding as they rummaged through supplies, oblivious to your presence just feet away.

Then, a radio crackled to life.

“Sir, we have a situation.”

Your hands clenched into fists.

A pause.

Then—In-ho’s voice, low and calm.

“Stay back. I’ll handle this myself.”

The guards hesitated. “Sir, are you sure—”

“Did I stutter?”

Silence.

Then—“Understood.”

Your blood ran cold.

He was coming for you.

You slipped from your hiding place and ran, no real directions in your mind.

✧˚ · .

You made it farther than you ever thought possible. Past another hallway. Past another set of doors. You were close to at least some kind of an exit—you could feel it.

You turned a corner, breath coming in ragged gasps, your legs burning from the relentless sprint. You had made it so far. Just a little more, and maybe—

A shadow moved in front of you.

Too late.

A gloved hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a vice grip. Before you could react, a second hand caught your shoulder, twisting you around with brutal force. A gasp tore from your lips as you stumbled, slamming against the cold metal wall.

Your body froze.

It was him.

In-ho.

His mask was gone, revealing his face—dark eyes locked onto yours, his expression unreadable. But something simmered beneath the surface. Something dangerous.

“You really thought you could get away?”

His voice was calm, almost eerily so.

Your heart pounded as you struggled in his grip. “Let me go!”

His fingers dug into your wrist, unrelenting. “No.”

You twisted, trying to wrench yourself free, but his hold only tightened. Panic bubbled in your chest. “You’re hurting me,” you gasped, wincing as his grip turned almost bruising.

In-ho’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing. “Good.”

Your stomach dropped.

This wasn’t the usual In-ho, the one who tried to reason with you, the one who softened just enough to make you question everything. This was something else entirely.

“You disobeyed me,” he continued, voice still infuriatingly calm, but his grip told a different story. “I told you not to test my patience. And yet, here we are.”

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of frustration and real pain. “Please—you’re hurting me.”

For a moment, just a second, something flickered in his gaze. But it was gone just as fast, replaced by cold indifference.

“And what did you think would happen?” he muttered. “That I’d let you go? That I’d just let you disappear?” He scoffed, yanking you forward, his strength undeniable.

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You shook your head, your voice breaking. “I didn't—”

“Shut it,” he cut you off, voice sharp now. "I don't want to hear another word from your mouth."

You let out a choked sob as he dragged you back the way you came. Every tug of his grip sent pain shooting up your arm, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t slow down. If anything, your resistance only made him rougher.

“In-ho, please,” you whimpered, barely able to keep up with his pace.

Nothing.

He wasn’t listening.

No—he was listening. He just didn’t care.

Not right now.

By the time you reached the suite, you were gasping, your wrist throbbing, your legs weak. He shoved open the door, hauling you inside with enough force that you tripped face first onto the polished floor.

You turned to him, tears streaming down your face. “Why are you doing this?”

In-ho didn’t answer.

Instead, he dragged you down the hallway, not waiting for you to get up, past the bedroom, past the sitting area, toward a door you had never seen open before.

He unlocked it, shoved it open, and without hesitation, threw you inside.

You crashed forward, rolling over the floor until you heard the door slam behind you. A sharp click followed.

Locked.

Your breath hitched as you turned back, banging your fists against the door. “In-ho! Open the door!”

Silence.

You could hear his breathing on the other side, could imagine him standing there, unmoving, unmoved.

“You don’t get to run from me,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Not anymore.”

Your throat tightened. “I hate you,” you whispered.

A pause.

Then, just before his footsteps faded—

“That’s fine. As long as you’re still here.”

And then, he was gone.

✧˚ · .

The room was cold.

Not just in temperature, but in its very essence—empty, lifeless, void of anything except the dull ache radiating from your wrist. You sat curled in the corner, knees pulled to your chest, your good hand clutching your throbbing wrist, the one that In-ho had so forcefully gripped, against your body. Every pulse of pain sent a fresh wave of nausea through you.

It felt broken. Or at the very least, badly sprained.

You had tried to ignore it at first, tried to breathe through the sharp stabs of discomfort. But the longer you sat there, the more unbearable it became. The cold didn’t help either. The floor was like ice beneath you, and without a blanket or anything to shield yourself, the chill seeped into your bones, making your entire body feel stiff.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when the door finally opened.

A guard stepped in, face unreadable beneath the black mask. He carried a tray of food—if you could even call it that. The same stale, tasteless meal they fed the players during the games. A slab of dry bread, some watery soup, and a plastic fork.

The guard placed the tray down in front of you without a word.

Your stomach clenched. You hadn’t eaten in hours, maybe longer. Hunger gnawed at you, but as you reached out, a sharp pain shot through your wrist. You hissed, drawing your arm back instinctively.

The guard said nothing. Just stood there, watching.

You tried again, using your good hand to grab the fork, but it was awkward, unsteady. The fork slipped from your fingers, clattering against the tray. You clenched your jaw, frustration bubbling in your chest.

The guard didn’t react. Didn’t offer help. Just turned and left, locking the door behind him.

Outside, in the dimly lit hall, he found In-ho waiting. The Front Man stood still, hands clasped behind his back, his mask now back in place.

“How is she?”

The guard hesitated before answering. “She didn’t eat, sir.”

In-ho’s head tilted slightly. “Why?”

“She… struggled to pick up the fork. I believe her wrist may be injured.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, after a long pause, In-ho spoke.

“Leave it to me.”

tag list: @androgynous-lady @avsarchivez @squidgame-lover001 @plague-cure @skibidirizzzlerrrr @slytherinbackintomyroom @lazybum0

[harleehazbinfics]

Love eat?

Alastor x cannibal servant!reader

Original Concept | Additional Concept

Word count: 1764

A/N: sup im back with more crack, jk. but yeahhh i did a oneshot of that imagine and now we're here. i've channeled my inner crazy and that led me to this oneshot lmao, sorry if it's not up to par but pls enjoooooyyyy!

ps I can't find the artist pls help. chainsaw man falling devil spoiler sorry

“Yuta!” you called your boyfriend from where you sat waiting for him.

“Sorry, I'm late,” he says with an apologetic smile, placing his bag to his side while he sat in front of me.

“No, it's ok! You're doing your best in school. I was the one who asked you to eat with me anyway,” you responded clapping your hands together, appealing cutely to your boyfriend.

“But you're busy with your culinary classes too. I'm sure you're working harder than I am!” He replied, making you smile at how genuine he sounded.

You reached inside your bag and presented 2 lunch boxes in front of him. His eyes widen in anticipation while you opened them, revealing a well plated pork cutlet and a healthy salad in the other lunch box.

“I have! I learnt a few new things during class, and I wanted you to be the first to eat my cooking. I hope you like them!” He smiles at you, flattered that he was the first thing on your mind when you made the meal. He always loved your cooking.

The both of you met when you were first years, he was just roaming the halls familiarizing himself with the school layout when he heard you squealing inside a room and helped you put out a small fire that you accidentally created while you stayed behind in the Economics Room to relearn the basics taught to you that day. So, he stayed with you until the end so that you won't set the whole room on fire this time, and as thanks you gave the meal you completed to him afterwards. As he tasted it, threw it back up when he tasted how salty it was, so you resolved yourself that you'd make a decent meal for him, and that's where your friendship to relationship started.

“Wow! You've really outdone yourself this time!” He yells with stars in his eyes, savoring each bite.

You laughed at him and pushed the salad closer to him, and said, “You can eat all of it. It's all for you!”

“Really? Thanks a lot! It's so great to have you as my girlfriend!”

-=-=-=-

“Yuta?” you asked with wide eyes as you eyed the knife in his hand that was pointed at you.

“I-I can't take it anymore. I don't want to eat any food you make for me anymore, it’s disgusting. I don’t want to eat humans! I hate it, I hate it, I HATE YOU!” He screamed lunging at you.

He pushes the knife to your stomach, a few moments later you feel the metallic taste in your throat, letting the liquid drop from your tongue as you took has face that held great remorse for you. You smiled at the pretty expression on his face and rubbed your thumb on his cheeks, smearing it with your own blood.

"How pretty. I love all the expressions you make. Do it more," you coughed out.

His expression changes from fear to disgust and anger. Vengefully, he takes your wrists binding them together in his forceful grip and continues to stab you until you died from the pain and blood loss. However, despite your body tensing and losing color on you face, he never stopped. After his knife slipped out of his hands from your blood, he threw himself at you and bit into your neck.

Devouring you. Bit by bit.

---

You've been aimlessly roaming around hell and chopping sinners with your cleaver that were dumb enough to pick a fight with you. At the moment, you sat on top of a building waiting for something to happen while eating an beefy arm starting from the shoulder.

While you were gnawing at it with a blank expression on your face. You were surprised when a massive green explosion appeared out of nowhere, inducing a few screams of terror.

Just a couple blocks in front of you, you see a giant red deer demon with black tentacles coming out his back as he crushed sinners in his hands and consuming them.

You immediately dropped the arm you were holding and watched as the overlord showed off his power against you, sinners. Unable to hold yourself, you followed his parade of chaos and squeaked when he appears behind you wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"How rude of you to follow me around, while I was playing with my meal," he remarks with a snarky tone.

You got distracted with his voice. How could someone be so seductive with a radio filter on, you ask yourself.

"It's also rude to stare, you know?" He adds, starting to get pissed off by how unresponsive you were as you just kept gawking at him.

"I was just admiring how powerful you were, sir! I've never seen a demon turn into that kind of form. I-I was enchanted!" You yelled at him, hands clasped together while fan-girling at his abilities with hearts in your eyes.

"My, I've never seen such behavior from a person such as you. Are you eager to be eaten?" He laughs before his eyes turning black leaving his red pupils and radio dial iris.

"Yes! I would be happy to!" You answered almost immediately, making him revert to his normal self, getting caught off guard with your reply.

He hums turning his head in confusion and irritation, “Well, that just won’t do. I only like it when my prey gets scared rather than having a sacrifice like you.”

He tries to ride away in his shadow but before he could do so, he halts in his steps when you step in front of him. “Please! I’ll act scared! I’ll do anything! I just want to be with you!” you cried dropping to the floor pathetically making him deadpan to the sight.

He huffs, and turns his back at you, “Hmm. Do what you wish.”

With that, you stayed and served Alastor for years. You’ve arranged deals for him, did his bidding on some occasions and even represented him a few times in meetings. However, your main occupation was his personal chef.

Sure, one could argue that he likes his meats raw and cooks for himself sometimes. But do you expect that man to cook every meal for himself for a nearly a century? Overlords don’t have that much free time, you know? (or at least that what Sir Alastor says) and you happily take on this task when he discovers that you were an excellent chef, living up to his own impossible standards.

However, you find yourself in a very peculiar situation.

“(y/n)? Is it really you?”

You’ve come face to face with your first love and your killer. You couldn’t help but leap up from you position and hug him while he did his best to get away from you.

“Yuta! You’re finally in here! I knew you’d come to find me, hehe,” you cried still hugging him while he struggled in your mighty grip. “I’ve been waiting for you, y’know?” you said to him with your eyes darkening at him giving him the familiar dangerous look in your eye making him tense up and unconsciously threw you across the room with his strength.

You didn’t hit the impact when Alastor raised his arms and caught you before placing you on your feet, ignoring your heart-eyes as usual.

“And who is this with you?” he asks the group, almost sneering at the new man.

“This is Yuta! He’s our new guest! We found him in Cannibal Town, and he asked us where we were, he’s now he's here!” Charlie introduces excitedly holding Yuta by the shoulder.

“Ooh, is he a bad boy?” Nifty asks looking flirtatiously.

“Why, of course! He’s the one that killed me after all!” I announced with a smile. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

He rolls his eyes and says to Charlie, “I’ll be fine anywhere as long as I don’t get involved with her. I’ll find a room myself.”

You all watch as he shows himself to one of the rooms while Charlie replies, “Uhh, ookayyy?”

“So, what’s with you and that guy?” Angel first asks, “There’s a lot of sexual and… psychological tension there.”

“Yeah, and what do you mean he killed you?” Vaggie continues, while all of them looked at you.

“Oh, you know, couple fights. One thing led to another and poof, I was gone,” you explained simply with a laugh, making Nifty laugh as well.

“So, you two dated?” Angel asked in surprise.

“Exactly, why?” I smiled at him.

“Uhh, sure. He just looks like a boy failure to me. How the fuck could he bag a hottie like you!” Angel laughs throwing his head back.

"What a crazy bitch," Husk comments blankly looking at you before peeking at Alastor's annoyed face making him raise his long brow.

You tilt you head to the side confused, before Charlie would come in and say that she’d explain it to you.

A few weeks gone by, and you didn’t stop pestering your ex with things he hated when you couldn’t get enough of the expressions on his face. You loved seeing him get so angry with you, you just loved getting on his nerve. Or it could be some fucked up enjoyment of how you remembered being eaten by him half dead that sent chills to your body every time.

“That’s it! I’ve had enough of your shit!” he yells bursting in flames.

“Oh, what? Cat got your tongue baby boy?” you teased him hands behind your back trying to annoy him.

“Oh, fuck you!” he screams as he runs forward at you trying to land a punch which you jump away from effortlessly.

He eventually tires himself out and sees you giving the deer demon googly eyes that ticks him off. He loads up a fire blast and shoots it at Alastor. You intercepted it in between not noticing him following behind it and takes hold of you neck choking you.

“Not bad,” you wheeze out with a wicked grin, setting him off and squeezing your neck tighter.

He fails to notice the black portal underneath him where a black tentacle reaches out to his ankle and wraps around his body, making him let go off you.

“I’d rather you not mess with my property if I were you,” Alastor announces menacingly as he had you in his arms. You feel starstruck as you were being princess carried and being defended by the one you admired. “I don’t like sharing, so this is my last warning for both of you to not get involved with each other.”

“Yes, sir! Anything for you!” you scream your heart out that felt like it was beginning to burst out of your chest and leap in your throat, while you give him heart eyes that he ignored, while he brought both of you to his chambers.

"Are you finally going to eat me, Sir Alastor?"

"Shut your mouth before I stitch it up for you."

"Yes, sir! I love you! 💕"

[cal-kestis]

HOW TO: Make an iPhone Layout + Downloadable Template

Hi! I've gotten a few messages asking for a tutorial on my iPhone gifsets — but instead of only doing a tutorial (that would probably be triple the length this one already is), I decided to turn my layout into a template with all the bits and bobs! In the "tutorial" under the cut, I'll share everything you'll need, a free template download, and quickly go over how to use this template. :)

Disclaimer: This template uses Video Timeline and this tutorial assumes you have a basic to intermediate understanding of Photoshop.

PHASE 1: THE ASSETS

1.1 – Download fonts. These are the fonts used for all assets I've included in my template: – SF Pro or SF Pro Display (Regular, Medium, Bold): Either version works, they look nearly identical. You can download directly from https://developer.apple.com/fonts/ or easily find it via Google – Bebas Neue: Free on Google Fonts, Adobe Fonts, and dafont – Times New Roman (Bold): Should be a default font in Photoshop

Make sure to download and install any of the fonts you don't already have before opening my template. That way, once you open the template file, all the settings (font size, weight, spacing, color, opacity, etc.) are as intended.

1.2 – Download my template. Before you use my template, all I ask is that you don't claim or redistribute it as your own and that you give me proper credit in the caption of your post. Making these iPhone gifsets takes me a longgg time and turning this layout into a template took several hours too.

DOWNLOAD TEMPLATE VIA KO-FI ← This template is completely free to download (just enter $0), but if you feel inclined to tip me, I appreciate you! 💖

BTW this template also includes some of my frequently used icons!

NOTE: If, for some reason, you open the template and see the pop-up shown below, click "NO" — otherwise, the fonts will be all messed up:

And if you see this triangle with an exclamation point by a text layer, don't double-click it — it'll mess up the font as well:

PHASE 2: THE GIFS

I'm just going to briefly go over gif sizes and my recommendations. Also, keep in mind when grabbing your scenes, you'll want all of these gifs to be the same amount of frames.

2.1 – Background Gif: 540 x 540 px. I recommend this size so you have a good amount of visibility for the gif behind the iPhone wallpaper. I also recommend making this black and white (or in my case, black and white with a slight blue tint — idk I just like the way it looks) so the wallpaper coloring can stand out.

2.2 – Wallpaper Gif: 230 (w) x 500 (h) px. Keep in mind the very narrow dimensions of the wallpaper! And also keep in mind that you'll have a bunch of apps and widgets covering the image. I try to use wide shots (or layer my clips into looking like wide shots). Also, keep in mind your color scheme for your set and your character's aesthetic! I tend to focus on one or two colors for the wallpaper.

I usually position the wallpaper to the side with 20px bumpers, so there's lots of space to see the background:

2.3 – Large Photo Widget Gif: 201 (w) x 96 (h) px.

2.4 – Small Photo Widget Gif: 94 x 94 px.

PHASE 3: THE TEMPLATE – "IPHONE" FOLDER

In this section, I'll try to quickly walk you through how to use this template and some bits that may require extra instructions. I'll be going through each folder from top to bottom.

3.1 – Status Bar. Time, Service, and WiFi are pretty self-explanatory. In the Battery folder, you can use the shape tool to adjust the shape layers labeled "Fill (Adjustable Shape!)" to customize the battery level.

3.2 – Message Notification. Again, these are pretty self-explanatory. I've already masked the circle for the contact photo, so you can simply import any photo and use the transform tool to shrink it down. The circle is 24x24 px. If you don't want to use a photo, there's another folder called Default Initials.

If your message text can't fit the text box, the message should end with ellipses which is how iOS caps off long texts.

3.3 – Blurred Banner (IMPORTANT) This folder is easy to miss because there's only one placeholder layer in there. On iPhones, the area behind a banner notification and the dock get blurred (including the wallpaper and any apps).

What to do: Make a duplicate of the apps in Row 1 and/or widgets that intersect the message banner, convert them all into one smart object, apply a Gaussian Blur filter (Radius: 3.0 pixels) on the smart object, and move the smart object into this masked folder!

(There's another masked folder in the Wallpaper folder for the dock which I'll go over in that section.)

3.4 – Apps Turn off the yellow guide if you don't need it to keep things aligned and turn off layers you don't need by clicking the eye icon. Replace the "App" placeholder text with your app name, change the color or gradient of the square to compliment your color scheme, and add your custom app icon overlay!

If you can't find an app icon you need from the ones I provided, flaticon.com is a great resource. Also, if you can only find the filled version of an icon, check out this tutorial for how to make any text or shape into an outline.

Also, each app folder has 4 notification bubble options (1-4 digits). Again, you can toggle these on and off as you need!

3.5 – Big Widgets I like using these when my wallpaper has A LOT of negative space to fill. I included the Photos and Books widgets in my template, but there are lots of widgets available on iPhones. You can check some of the other ones I've done here, or if you have an iPhone, simply try adding some widgets to your phone!

There are also widgets bigger than these, but they would take up half of the phone screen which is why I don't use them for these edits.

3.6 – Small Widgets The only thing I'll say about these — because they're pretty straight forward — is there are a lot more weather themes than I included in my template. Also, if you set your character's phone to evening, the weather widget will show a dark background (sometimes with stars), so keep that in mind.

Speaking of, I've included Light Modes and Dark Modes for, I think, every applicable widget.

3.7 – Page Dots These barely perceptible dots indicate that your character has more pages of apps than shown in your gifset (so if an anon tries to come at you, you can just say "it's on the next page of apps" /j /lh)

3.8 – Dock Again, the dock has notification bubble options and I've included the default app designs, custom filled designs, and custom outlined designs for iMessage, Phone, Email, and Safari (there's also a FaceTime alternative if that's how your character rolls). These are usually the apps people keep in their Dock, but this is fully customizable too. So, if your character is, like, super obsessed with Candy Crush or something and needs it in thumb's reach — you can put it in the dock.

3.9 – Wallpaper This whole folder is masked already to a 230x500 px rounded rectangle.

Inside, you'll find another "Blurred Portion" folder for the area behind the message banner notification and the dock.

What to do: Duplicate your gif layer and place it in this folder, remove any sharpening filters, and apply a Gaussian Blur filter (Radius: 3.0 px). Be sure to add any coloring/adjustment layers ABOVE this folder and your original sharpened gif layer.

PHASE 4: EXPORT

We made it!

I hope this template makes it super easy for you to recreate this layout! If you decide to try it out, feel free to tag me with #usernik.

If you notice anything wonky about the template, kindly let me know so I can fix it! And if you have any questions about how to use this template, please don't hesitate to send me a message! I just ask that you try to be specific in your question so I'm able to answer you the best I can!

[bybobbysbeard]

Changes to the Layout

Day 9 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: moving in together read on ao3 read other days here

Tommy straightens up from his lean, rolling his neck until it cracks with a satisfying pop. He looks down at the graph paper in front of him. Another line sketched here, a shelf added there, one more cabinet drawn in. The scritch-scratch of graphite on paper is the only sound in the kitchen. 

If he gets bench seating for the far side of the dining table, he can move the whole thing closer to the wall. That will give him the square footage he needs to fit a pair of bar stools under the island overhang. He eyeballs the rough layout, thinking about egress routes, the existing water lines and junction boxes. He adds those to the drawing too. There’s still a lot of details to be determined, but that’s kind of the point of this whole exercise. 

He puts his pencil down as he hears the garage rumble open.

A few minutes later, Evan enters the house through the man door, toeing off his sneakers, and already talking a mile a minute. His overnight bag lands in the foyer with a thud. Evan fills the previously quiet house with chatter, spilling every thought that crosses his big, beautiful brain. Tommy lets that beloved voice wrap around him like a security blanket. He’s so open and welcoming, inviting Tommy to experience life with him without a second thought.

Tommy’s never met anyone like him.

He gets a rundown of today's calls, the incomprehensible memes Chris sent, and Evan’s thoughts on a Smithsonian article about one of the lost Lewis Chessmen he read over lunch. It’s a data dump of the best variety. Tommy knows he’s probably got a dumb smile on his face. 

“—and it’s the first of the missing pieces to show up, so that means there’s a chance the other four are out there! Isn’t that cool?”

“Very cool, sweetheart.”

Evan finally steps close, pressing a quick kiss to his lips and plastering himself along Tommy’s side. One of his arms wraps around Tommy’s waist, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. He looks down at the papers on the counter. “What’s this? Got a new project?”

Tommy takes a controlled breath. He rests a hand casually on his own thigh, over his pocket. He can feel the little metal shape through the denim. “Sort of.” He slides the sketch over to Evan. “What do you think?”

Evan flips through the pages, humming thoughtfully. “You want to renovate the kitchen? Wow. Would be a big job, but you've got the space. This layout looks great.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“It’s been a while since I did construction work, but I could help with the tear out if you need.” Evan looks up and down from the sketch to the existing cabinets, already imagining the new setup. 

“I was hoping you’d be interested in doing a little more than just demolition.” 

Evan tilts his head, adorably confused. “What do you mean?”

Tommy’s fingers clench on his leg. “Well this is just the basics. There’s a lot of decisions to be made. Materials, styles, colors. I’m hoping you’ll choose them.”

“M-me? Why would I make the decisions?”

“Because. I want this to be your kitchen, Evan.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls the key out, and sets it down on the counter with a quiet sound. “Move in with me.”

Evan jerks back in shock. Tommy’s waist feels cold without his arm. Wide blue eyes dart down to the key and Tommy sees his hand clench, like he wants to reach out and grab it. Maybe throw it across the room. 

Tommy knows the damage he did to their relationship the last time this conversation came up. But it’s been five months since they reconciled, and they’re different. Better. More authentic with each other. He wanted to talk about this before they hit half a year again, when there was less pressure for a repeat of last time. He’s been more honest with Evan than he’s ever been in his entire life. About his fears, his guilt, his shame. Evan loves him anyway; so Tommy is learning how to stay. In turn, Evan is learning how to slow down, and how to talk about the things that send him spiraling. 

It’s been good. Great, even. The best relationship he’s ever had, even when it’s difficult. 

“I love you. I want you here all the time. I want to make a home with you. And before the voice in your head tries to convince you otherwise: you’re never too much for me, I won’t get sick of you, and if you want to say no, or you need time to think, that’s fine and I won’t be mad.”

“I… I’m not…” He’s still staring at the key. 

Tommy nudges it towards him. “I know you already have the garage code, but I want you to have this too. No matter what you decide.” A shaky hand reaches out and lays on top of the key.

Evan finally looks up. His eyes are big and shiny. Tommy holds the eye contact. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He smiles helplessly. “Also, I’m tired of tripping over your overnight bag every morning.”

“Rude.” Evan snorts. “You’re the one who told me to keep it by the closet.” His hand curls around the key.

Tommy reaches out, reeling Evan in and tucking him close. “It’s okay if you’re not ready. We’re going at our pace now. Or we can talk about it some more. But I figured it was my turn to ask.” 

“Yes.”

Tommy lifts a quizzical eyebrow. “Yes, it was my turn to ask, or yes, you’ll move in with me?” 

Evan chortles, a sweet little sound, and presses into Tommy's side. “Both! But mostly the second one. Why be apart when we can be together, right?” His hand lands on Tommy’s jaw, and then they’re kissing, sweet and hot. Tommy pivots, pulling Evan in front, pinning him against the countertop, and kissing the breath out of lungs. His hands find bare skin and he’s busy tracing the waistband of Evan’s jeans when his boyfriend pulls away. 

“Hold on, just for a minute. There is something I want to talk about. And before your brain gremlins get involved: I’m not changing my mind, I don’t need more time to think about it, and I love you more than anything. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now, onto the thing we actually need to discuss. If this is going to be my kitchen, I have a few proposed changes to your layout. For starters, I can’t go back to a single oven, so double wall ovens are a necessity. I think it could go here.” He scribbles two rough squares where Tommy had the pantry going. “And have you seen those ceiling mounted exhaust fans? I think there would be space on your island but I’d have to do some research on different models. That would free up this section for the coffee bar.”

“Coffee bar?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve always wanted one.”

[scotianostra]

Happy birthday to former formula one racing champion Jackie Stewart who turns 86 today.

Born John Young Stewart in Milton, Dunbartonshire in 1939, Jackie, as he became known, attended Hartfield primary school in the nearby town of Dumbarton going on to the local academy in the town.

Jackie experienced learning difficulties owing to undiagnosed dyslexia, and due to the condition not being understood or even widely known about at the time, he was regularly berated and humiliated by teachers and peers alike for being “dumb” and “thick". Stewart was unable to continue his secondary education past the age of 16, and began working in his father’s garage as an apprentice mechanic. He was not actually diagnosed with dyslexia until 1980, when his oldest son Mark was diagnosed with the condition. On learning that dyslexia can be genetically passed on, and seeing very similar symptoms with his son that he had experienced himself as a child, Stewart asked if he could be tested, and was diagnosed with the disorder, by which time he was 41 years old. He has said: “When you’ve got dyslexia and you find something you’re good at, you put more into it than anyone else; you can’t think the way of the clever folk, so you’re always thinking out of the box.“

Jackie began testing race cars in 1961. Showing his skill and raw pace, Stewart quickly worked his way up the ranks before grabbing s drive in the 1964 Formula Three Championship for Tyrell. In his debut race at Snetterton, Jackie pulled out a 25 second lead within two laps and went on to win the race comfortably, 44 seconds in front of his closest rival. Becoming a Formula Three Champion on his debut season, the offers from Formula One came thick and fast. Discussing how he maximised success at every opportunity in the early stages of his career, Jackie delivers thought provoking ideas as an after dinner speaker that are relatable to sporting and business environments alike.

Jackie’s first race in an F1 car was for Lotus in December 1964 in South Africa, by the end of his first season, Stewart had finished his rookie season third in the World Drivers’ Championship, proving his potential as a future World Champion.

1966 triggered Jackie’s lifelong fight for better safety in his sport. Following a crash at the 1966 Belgian Grand Prix, Jackie was left trapped in his overturned BRM soaking in fuel. With no tools to help him, stewards had to wait for other drivers Hill and Bondurant to help after borrowing a spanner from a spectator. From now on, Jackie would tape a spanner to his steering wheel, travel to races with his own doctors whilst his team supplied a medical truck for the benefit of all. A hugely passionate subject for Jackie, driver safety can feature heavily in his talks as a motorsport speaker. The harsh reality of danger in his day makes for a compelling insight into the sport and how far things have come since then.

Stewart became Formula One World Champion in 1969 in a Matra MS80 before going on to win the 1971 and 1973 World Championships for Tyrell. A hugely talented racing driver, Jackie left a legacy of increased in-car safety as well as drastic improvements to the layout and design of tracks, all in the name of limiting risk to drivers.

Jackie’s crash helmet was white, with the red, green, blue, white and yellow Stewart Royal Tartan surrounding the top.

In 2021 Jackie set up the charity Race Against Dementia, his wife Helen had been diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia, he believes that the application of Formula1’s technology and out of the box thinking could bring about earlier solutions to society coping with dementia. The couple are childhood sweethearts and have been married since 1962. Jackie recently spoke about his friend, Sean Connery, revealing that he had been ravaged with dementia during his final two years of his life.

The 27-time Grand Prix winner remains a regular visitor to the F1 paddock, and also to Goodwood’s annual events that commemorate the history of the sport and which give the F1 legend a change to savour once again the thrills of racing onboard one of his period cars.

[logicbutton]

Hey guys what's up I learned bookbinding to make @cindthia a physical copy of Synchronized Cardioversion for our anniversary :3

Pics and process documentation below!

I used the following resources:

How to Make a Book by ArmoredSuperHeavy

Bookbinding Resources Master List by Renegade Bindery

r/Fanbinding

the fanbinding tag on AO3 - shoutout to r3zuri's fanbinding of a FFVII fic for their extremely informative cliff's notes version of the process

the Intro to Hand Bookbinding class at the Minnesota Center for Book Arts, an incredible resource for anyone in or near Minneapolis interested in learning how to bind their own books.

First, I typeset the fanfic. I did this by downloading it from AO3, trying to figure it out myself, checking How to Make a Book for help with a problem I was having, and realizing that I should have just used it from the beginning in the first place. I used Microsoft Word 2013.

Fonts: Palatino Linotype, Helvetica (for the characters' text messages), Beatline (for titles) Margins: .88" top, 1" bottom, .75" inside, .75" outside, .25" gutter Front matter: - Title page with only the title - "Praise for Synchronized Cardioversion" with comments from the fic - Title page with title, author name, and a colophon I made - Copyright page with fic copyright, fic URL, TLT series copyright, disclaimer, AO3 fic summary, first chapter author's notes, copyright for in-text art, book design credit, font info Back matter: - Acknowledgments (from the fic) - "Also by CindFourth" with all their TLT fic separated into Synchronized Cardioversion Extended Universe (might make another book of this at some point); Other Camgideon, Campal, and Team 69; and Other Locked Tomb

I set the page layout to "book fold" with 16-page signatures. As for the art, one of Cind's requests in last year's TLT Holiday Exchange was for art of this fic and they got not only a fantastic one-page comic from their assigned creator, our friend @anaeolist (who also did a sketch of Cam and Gideon kissing - we'll come back to that later), but also a lovely piece as a treat from our friend @kat-hikari. I got permission from both artists to include their work in the book.

The finished file was 408 pages, so I added four blank pages (two sheets) to the beginning and the end to make 26 signatures even.

Next, I printed the pages. I used my Brother DCP-L2550DW and Hammermill 11x8.5 24/60 lb. cream bookbinding paper from Church Paper. I'd read that sometimes using short-grain paper in a regular printer could cause it to jam, but it went fine. The cream color made the pages look so professional.

I folded the pages into signatures and then pressed them overnight. Since I don't have a book press, I sandwiched them between two sheets of bookboard and put a heavy box on top, and that worked well.

The next step, punching holes and sewing, was my favorite. I'd made a punching cradle using instructions I got in my bookbinding class. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be, and it only used bookboard and PVA glue, so I didn't even need to buy anything I hadn't already bought for the project.

I used three pieces of tape and sewed them on using a kettle stitch.

Then I went to MCBA to use their guillotine on the text block and their board shear to cut boards for the cover.

I chose orange cardstock for the endpaper, and because I am a novice making novice mistakes I unfortunately forgot to get a size of cardstock that would let me fold it on the grain, but anyway. I trimmed it to the exact size of the pages and glued it to the text block. Next I glued the spine of the text block, rounded it a bit (not the way an expert would; you learn that in Intermediate Hand Bookbinding), added a strip of super mull and headbands at either end, and sat it under a weight to dry while I made the cover.

The Bristol board I cut for the spine was probably 1/8" too wide, which makes a bigger difference than you would think. Next time I'm going to err on the side of slightly too narrow when I'm already giving myself three board widths of a buffer on either side.

Aside from that, the cover turned out great! I could have done a better job lining up the endpaper when I glued it in, but that's the kind of thing you practice I guess.

I love the way the navy blue bookcloth looks with the cream paper, the orange endpaper, and the red and white headbands.

Now that I had the exact dimensions of the book, I could finally design the dust jacket. Remember that sketch of Cam and Gideon kissing that anaeolist did for the holiday exchange? I commissioned them to turn it into a finished piece for the cover, and boy did they ever deliver. I also asked some of our other friends who had read the fic to give me blurbs for the back cover, and they delivered too. Cind's and my relationship wouldn't have been possible without the wonderful community we met in and I wanted this gift to reflect that.

I created the jacket in GIMP at a print resolution of 300ppi and saved it as a pdf. The final step was to get it printed, which I was nervous about because it was the only part of the process that I had no control over at all. Long story short, I ended up with something I was very happy with done by a small chain print shop where I had to go in and talk to a human about what I needed.

I also posted this to AO3!

[trainsinanime]

ASF!

That's not a short key smash, but my newest model railroad locomotive. Well, sort of.

ASF stands for "Akkuschleppfahrzeug", "Battery tractor vehicle". More than 500 of these little guys were built in the GDR as shunting tools between 1966 and 1990, both for the railroads there and industry, plus quite a few got sold to other eastern bloc countries (in particular Poland) as well. Nowadays they've spread around more, with some even appearing in Italy and Sweden.

The ASF is designed to push and pull single rail cars or sometimes entire locomotives within workshops and industrial sites, a job that it has been doing well for decades now. The diminutive size (about 3 meters long, wide and tall) means it'll fit anywhere, and in places where daily journeys are often measured in hundreds of meters at most, its 6 kilometres per hour top speed (4 mph) is not really an issue.

Technically, it's not a locomotive but a "device", which means it's subject to far less strict requirements for maintenance and for operator training. With all of that, it should be no surprise that it will never be seen on the mainline; even shunting in stations is an extreme rarity. The job is more to pull something into or out of a workshop. Modern devices for that are typically all remote controlled, but plenty of places also just use an old ASF.

And now it's also available in N scale. And it's just incomprehensibly tiny.

This is produced by Arnold, a brand name of Hornby's, and it actually came with DCC preinstalled. It's adorable and I love it.

But how does it run? Actually way better than you'd think.

The loop of track is a "JokeTrack", hand-made from Japan, that I want to use for something eventually one of these days. As you can see, minimum radius is not really a concern for this locomotive.

Two axles really close together and almost no weight means that electricity pickup isn't great; it'll basically only run on freshly cleaned tracks. But it's way better than it has any right to be, since the decoder comes with two relatively beefy buffer capacitors that are stored in the top of the cab. Still, it's really great at finding whatever particles you have on your tracks and stopping for them.

The top with factory decoder settings is really, really low. Probably exactly the 6 km/h walking pace translated to 1:160 scale. I may bump that up, because realism is one thing, but it takes forever to get anywhere.

The weird hooks are the end are what Arnold has given it instead of normal N scale couplings. They look horrible against a white background, but visually disappear entirely once you're on the actual layout.

If you don't like them, purely decorative replacements that look like the original weird coupler thingies are included in the tiny box. I suppose you could install one of them on one end, and have the other end to haul a car if you want. For me that's too much planning.

Speaking of, it can haul more cars than you'd think in a straight line, but once you get to a curve, it quickly drops down to just one, if at all (also heavily dependent on the car). Sadly the tiny coreless motor in it can and will stall at times, which can damage it if you keep it going for too long, so it's better to keep an eye on it while in motion.

There is no sound, the only function is the marker light. Historically locomotives engaged in shunting were supposed to only turn on the right headlight in every direction as a marker. Nowadays mainline locomotives will turn on all three lights on both ends while shunting, but the ASF was built before that, and since all it can do is shunt, it just received the marker light. F0 turns it on in the direction travel, F1 turns on the opposite end.

Anyway, a really great fun little toy that makes me happy whenever I see it, because it just looks so goofy, and it runs way better than it has any right to.

[ryuhour]

(part 1?) stay is a four letter word | cho hyunju x kim-youngmi

sum: in which youngmi lives, but almost did she not

warnings: none?? angst??

gen: angst, but hurtcomfort ^.^

a/n: trying my hand at this … this would be the first time i write any existing characters alone, so bear with me .. im definitely not the best at this (also never posted on tumblr before … expect awful layouts)

.ᐟ

If Hyunju could decipher anything, it’d be the blood rushing to her head - a pulse thudded in her temples, unrelenting and loud. For a moment, her world swayed and oscillated, and she would’ve rubbed her eyes had she been in any better state of mind, had her hand been anywhere but in Youngmi’s hand.

She gripped and she squeezed and she pulled. The skin where her fingers met Youngmi’s was warm (albeit sweaty) — until it wasn’t. As Hyunju stumbled into the room and pushed everyone else in, her palm was empty and her fingers searched for something that wasn’t there but should’ve been there.

The clock ticking down to their possible death was loud, a fitting addition to the pound, pound, pounding in her head. “ .. Youngmi? “ She dared to rasp when she searched for the girl’s face, for those big, brown doe eyes only to be met with the horrified expressions of the rest of her team.

And so, she swung her head around to the door. There were people running and screaming and pushing, desperate to see another day.

(She’d comment on their greed, on how if they’d simply chosen the better choice, they wouldn’t be sobbing for life - but she’d be hypocritical, a blue Velcro circle stuck to the side of her chest like a trophy. It sat where her heart should be, and she thought it fit - her heart must be rather cold to draw her fingers to that button, to direct her eyes to meet Youngmi’s from the other side of the room. The wrong side of the room. Her heart must be far, far from warm to betray her promises. )

Hunched on the floor was her missing girl. Her hair was messy, bordering on matted. Sweaty bangs stuck to her forehead (on which Hyunju’s lips fit perfectly against) and her eyes were wide. Hyunju had always loved Youngmi’s eyes - but not like this. Youngmi’s eyes were big and bright, holding galaxies in the tawny of her irises. Right now, they harbored something more akin to a dying star.

“ Youngmi!!— “ Hyunju nothing but screamed. 3. She lurched forward for the fallen girl, who staggered up only to fall again. 2. There was a hand around her arm. 1. She was in the room again, a man that didn’t belong replacing Youngmi. Her Youngmi. Her Youngmi that was supposed to be in here with them, but she wasn’t. By the time Hyunju had processed it all, there were gunshots. They were piercing and loud and scary and cruel, and Hyunju forced herself up and to the square slot in the center of the door, pushing her face against it, looking for any sign of Youngmi.

All she could see was blood, red pooling on the floor as the guards stored away corpses into boxes and heaved them off like they were nothing. She couldn’t see Youngmi.

She must be in another room. (Realistically, there was no way she was alive. Hyunju’s stomach sunk as it settled in.)

AGHH im so sorry that’s it for now ,,, it’s WAY too late at night and I wanted to get in something just in case this ended up an unfinished project. I have more of this saved in my notes so if this does well and people want more then the second part should be up soon.^_^ gootnite