#also i went back and read my own initial tags and its just

[ulteri0rm0tives]

Oh brother. Who said I live in a fantasy world? You genuinely think I'm a person who doesn't know how relationships have the potential to function? You don't know me, I'm a stranger on the Internet. Believe me. I'm well aware you can love a person you have fights with. And It just.. seems to me that you're making a lot of assumptions about me here. And honestly? I find it disrespectful. Try to address the content of what someone's saying without making rash and petty statements or conclusions about them.

You can disagree with me and directly respond to my posts without the need to make it personal. I get it. Everyone has their interpretations. Never said people CANT find them to be soulmates, just that I didn't agree with the sentiment personally.

Now.. I'm not doubting Johnny somewhat (?) loved Alt in his own convoluted and severely misguided ways but uh.. to call them soulmates? Did we uh.. did we not play the same game? Watch the same scenes? Because it's crazy y'all r saying that when we literally play as his actual soulmate

[bitchlessdino]

demon's play 2: devil's intervention (m)

Original - Demon's play Pairing: devil!wonwoo x demon!seungcheol x demon!chan x afab human!reader Genre: smut Word count: 10k tags: plot heavy, some fluffish moments, perpetual fear, ikea employee!reader, dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, verse!chan, verse!seungcheol, cum drunk!demons, violent graphic imagery (death, lashing, sacrifices), mentions of blood, Voyeurism, biting to the point of blood, MLM themes that is not based off of any implications of reality, hair pulling, choking, spitting, double fem head, biting, mentions of holes (referencing anal play), mentions forked tongue and sharp tail (and it being used for some kind of hitting), oral (giving and recieving), handjobs, degradation, multiple orgasms bc girls its possible i swear, cum swallowing, nipple play, unprotected sex Summary: it's been some time since Chan and Seungcheol abandoned the underworld for you, a simple human. The ruler of the underworld does not too kindly to distractions, even ones so prettily packaged such as yourself. It was time he took matters into his own hands. author note: yall remember this? I just wanna give my utmost gratitude to @multi-kpop-fanfics for reading my fic front to back, beginning to end, rough to final, the whole nine yards and boosting up my self-esteem like no other. I am so excited for this bc i think this is the dirtiest yet (with room to improve) so thank you so much my lovely demon babe zeta.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @cottoncheol @embrace-themagic @kaiser211 @pantumin @unlikelysublimekryptonite @channiesliquor @i4kt

The world has made most people believe that the devil was born out of evil and hate. By word of mouth, the devil has become the most vile most disgustingly despicable spirit imaginable and that’s why they were cast as ruler of the underworld, that only he could conjure up the world’s most cruelest and grueling punishments for the above-ground world’s sinners.

The one thing Wonwoo despised the most was that assumption. The true history of its origins was that he and his predecessors were chosen ones. Not so much made to be the devil but rather he had been nurtured to exist as one, much like how humans grow up on the Earth’s crust. Wonwoo, following the footsteps before him, was no fallen angel. 

He was god’s favorite—that was at most correct—but for being the most impartial and like-minded to them. The only other person to rule a world such as the light land, heaven according to humans; or the underworld, also known as hell. His status was a gift but over time became a curse, a burden by god who bestowed it upon him.

A truly dedicated and impartial person would understand the severity of sinners and their stories. Particularly, the proper punishments. A lifetime of ruling the underworld had made him numb. Only power and order kept him sane.

The moment those two things decline, so does his patience.

Not one, but two, of his dutiful service demons disappear in a matter of 4 Earthly months. Had it been in the initial era of his ruling, he would not pay it a single second where they went, but after a millennium of the sickening sights he’s swallowed, he would not stand for this inconsistency. The one thing that he looked forward to was the company, no matter how annoying and clingy they can be. 

Wonwoo hadn’t stepped onto Earth in an indiscernible expanse of time and it was unlike what he remembered, one thing was clear, the underworld was infamous for its inferno weather, but Earth weather was another kind of disgusting. The vessel he took on made it intolerable, perspiration beading revoltingly on the back of his neck. He adjusted his glasses, slipping his hands into his pockets, and sought to discern an energy unlike any he had encountered among the feeble humans thus far.

He succeeded in isolating a unique energy signature, yet the absence of his demons momentarily cast doubts upon his intuition. Then, he found you, standing in what he determines to be a reliquary of transcribed lore, the incubus scent growing stronger as he drew closer. You seemed no different from any other human, vulnerable and defenseless against his indomitable power, and utterly ordinary.

So why had he started crying?

In the recesses of his consciousness, fleeting images of a countenance reflecting yours danced like ethereal flames. The memory of your smile–or one like yours–gentle yet insistent, reached out and seized at the very core of his being, unfurling layers he never fathomed existed. It had been eons since he last experienced such human-like tethering since he too was bound to Earth by the fragile ties of blood and flesh.

However, your presence was the catalyst for their absence, a glaring aberration in his otherwise solitary existence. And that singular realization meant only one course of action: the inexorable termination of your existence.

Wonwoo observed you from afar, studying your every movement, your predictable patterns of behavior, and the places you frequented like clockwork. Everything from your favorite place of consumption to the branding of hygienic production you purchase at a typical brick and mortar were all meticulously cataloged in his mind. The striking similarity between you and this entity from a bygone era stirred an unsettling disquiet within him, sending shivers down his spine with each passing moment. The longer he observed, the more his curiosity swelled, growing into an insatiable hunger for understanding you beyond what you present on the outside.

By now, Wonwoo had deduced just one aspect of your culinary predilections: a fondness for toasted bagels generously adorned with a creamy spread of a concoction called cream cheese and sprinkled with chopped chives. After a series of meticulous trials, he affirmed that this particular combination was not only pleasing but also a sensory delight to his refined palate.

However, your brewed coffee, fused with thickened dairy and doused in sugary syrup, was an entirely different story. Its sickening sweetness overwhelmed his taste buds, rendering it utterly unpalatable—a mere shadow compared to the gods’ divine ambrosia.

Humans truly were deserving of hell, you were no exception.

Wonwoo persisted in his quest to unravel the complex layers of your being, methodically tracing each footstep until they guided you back to the comforting confines of your earthly sanctuary. Veiled within the shadows, he seamlessly merged with the enigmatic darkness surrounding him, his gaze fixated on you with an intensity that pierced through the veil of mundane reality. With unwavering focus, his eyes followed the subtle movements of your fingers as they danced across the surface of a seemingly ordinary sentinel interface, a portal to the realm of security and protection.

‘0717.’ A rather simple yet familiar sequence of numbers in a form of security. 

With a precision honed through meticulous observation, he deftly navigated the labyrinthine corridors of your mortal dwelling. Transfusing effortlessly with the darkness, he moved through with a silent grace, his spectral presence a mysterious entity amidst the Earthly realm, devoid of any physical embodiment to shroud himself. With each passing moment, he attuned himself to the subtle rhythms of your routine, mastering the delicate interplay of light and dark until he could foresee your every movement with unmatched accuracy.

Finally, he discerned their voices, those traitorous whispers that pierced the silence.

“You’re home, pet.”

Wonwoo's gaze bore into the flesh embodiment of the young demon, seething at their shameless behavior before arms snaked around your mortal form. "I've missed you dearly," Chan cooed, his fingers delicately parting your hair from your face.

"I'm sorry for making you wait," you apologized, the sincerity evident in the softness of your voice. Your eyes held a glint of warmth as they met Chan's, a mixture of affection and contrition swirling within their depths. With gentle fingers, you reached out to adjust the folds of his human attire, intimacy amidst the sensual warmth that polluted the entraped space.

"Today was a longer day than usual, too many distractions. Please don’t be mad," your words laced with earnest.

"Oh, darling. I could never be mad at you," Chan responded tenderly, his gaze softening as he drew you closer. His touch is a comforting anchor amidst the hidden chaos swirling in the corner of the room, undetectable by the human and demon.

Seungcheol emerged from the kitchen, his form draped in a simple mortal garment that seemed unfit for his eternal significance. The cotton apron, stained and worn, clung to him like a tattered shroud, its once vibrant colors faded into a dreary mortality. As he approached you, a wave of revulsion washed over the Devil beneath his hiding space, his senses assaulted by the sight of such lowly attire adorning one who should command awe and reverence with his masculine presence alone.

With an unsettling blend of kindness and audacity in his gaze, Seungcheol dared to step into the embrace, his very presence a direct challenge to Wonwoo's finely honed sensibilities. The devil recoiled inwardly, a wave of repulsion washing over him at the proximity of this figure seemingly draped in the mundane fabrics of ordinary existence. Meanwhile, you found yourself ensnared within the comforting embrace of Seungcheol, willingly inviting him into your sphere despite the tension radiating from Wonwoo's silent disapproval.

"Supper awaits you," Seungcheol declared, his voice nauseating and unsettling to Wonwoo's refined ears, reminiscent of the sound of nails scraping across a chalkboard. Each saccharine syllable felt like a direct challenge to Wonwoo's perception of the demon he thought he knew. He observed, with a mixture of surprise and disdain, how Seungcheol appeared to have embraced the mundanity of domesticity and the mortal realm, embodied in the form of you, a mere lowly human.

For the first time in a millennium, Wonwoo felt sick to his stomach, as if it were possible with his immortal being.

He resigned himself to endure the ordeal for the sake of continued observation, silently watching from their concealed vantage point as the scene unfolded.

"You smell..." Chan's words trailed off as he inhaled deeply, allowing the complex tapestry of your scent to envelop him. "Delectable. Far more enticing than that banal perfume the servitude coerces you to wear."  With each breath, he discerned the delicate interplay of notes that bespoke your essence, a symphony of subtleties far richer than any artificial fragrance. As he drew you closer, he marveled at the intoxicating allure that emanated from your pores.

Wonwoo, too, found himself captivated by the depths of your natural aroma. Beneath the manufactured layers and demon essence, he detected the faint traces of your natural aroma—an intoxicating blend that beckoned with a magnetic allure, stirring a primal fascination within him. The embodiment of your rich humanity. It was a scent that spoke volumes, weaving a narrative vulnerability that resonated with him in an unexplainable way.

"No one's forcing me to wear anything," you reassured. "It's simply to smell pleasant during 12-hour workdays."

"You already smell pleasant without it! Even better, in fact!"

"Keep your voice down, Chan," Seungcheol cautioned.

“I apologize, pet, but at least only we get the pleasure of having you to ourselves.” The demon’s hand trailed deviously over your figure, a smile dancing against his features. "The supper wouldn't satisfy me the way you could, my darling.”

Wonwoo swallowed, keenly observing your reaction. The pebbling of your skin, your internal temperature rising beneath Chan’s fingertips, the moan hitched in your breath. Wonwoo clenched his fists, gaze hardening as the young demon’s filthy hands traveled further down your body, only watching as his hands cupped your heat hidden underneath layers of articles of clothing. Beneath the demon’s grip was thick arousal, soaking through your undergarments, drawing both demons–as well as the Devil–into a simple, yet powerful, spell.

"Allow the poor mortal to eat, you insatiable boy,” Seungcheol interjected, against his better judgment. “If you're insistent on nourishment, ensure they are in good health for feeding. Otherwise, their stamina would dwindle away as if it was nothing."

Chan scoffs, gently unhanding you but bridging the gap between his lips and your cheek, undoubtedly blistering the skin of your face from his heat of a thousand suns. “Fine, after you’ve eaten then. Then there’s no stopping my ravishing.”

The unlikely trio committed what seemed unfathomable to Wonwoo: they shared a meal and engaged in proper communication. The sight was bewildering; never in his wildest imaginings could he have conceived of two of his most loyal eternal servants obeying the commands of someone of your ilk. To Wonwoo, it felt like a humiliation, an erosion of the boundaries he had meticulously established. Yet, neither Chan nor Seungcheol appeared to share his concerns. As he watched them interact with you, he was taken aback by the unexpected humanity in their eyes, the warmth and devotion that seemed out of place in their demonic existence.

All Wonwoo desired was for them to consume the human and resume their demonic duties. The fact that the human remained alive contradicted all expectations; by all rights, they should have perished by now. Yet here they were, challenging his understanding of their loyalty to him, the lord of the underworld.

Seungcheol, renowned for his icy demeanor and unswerving commitment, had long served as Wonwoo's steadfast right-hand man. Like an unyielding pillar of iron, he stood unmoved amidst the ceaseless torments endured by countless unfortunate souls. His stoic resolve had been a constant in the chaos of their realm. 

Seungcheol was now in a role entirely unfamiliar to him. Gone was the facade of impassivity; instead, he delicately spoon-fed you soup, his normally unyielding countenance softened by a rare display of tenderness. It was a startling departure from the sternness that had characterized his every action until now, leaving Wonwoo to ponder the stark change unfolding before him.

As for Chan, laughter was reserved for the aftermath of whoever was his next meal or the spectacle of sinners being skinned alive in the fiery depths of the inferno, his favorite daytime event. There was a time when Wonwoo harbored an intense disdain for Chan and all that he represented. Every fiber of his being recoiled at the mere thought of Chan's existence, a visceral reaction fueled by a deep-seated revulsion.

He was once nothing but a vile, loathsome creature, radiating an aura of wretchedness and abhorrence in every aspect of his being. However, that was common for a demon. Wonwoo has not only grown used to the young demon’s cruelty, but he found the passion admirable. Now, Chan found himself utterly entranced by your...simplicity, his typically impish demeanor cushioned with the gentle stroke that swept your hair away from your face, careful not to disrupt your meal with any discomfort.

Wonwoo was perturbed. The devil waited for no one. He knew he must take them back at once. He could not stand for this no longer. The world was standing on the edge of crisis if these two lowly demons do not dare come back to the underworld, they would face his wrath. He had to force he hand until they were begging him to take them back. 

Yet, he stood still as he watched them enter the bedroom. Immersed in his silent fury, it dissipates in the unraveling of your clothing, each article falling to the ground like blossom petals in the spring or leaves in the fall. Seungcheol had managed to find the column of your neck in an abrasive squeeze between meeting your lips in a wet and ravenous liplock. Your moan was trapped down your throat, mumbles of submission in its stead, and your hands roamed over him at a hungry pace, tracing over every muscle pulsing under your palms.

Chan wasted no opportunity to cease your defenseless behind, his throbbing erection prodding against you as he reclaimed your heat now melting against his fingers. His teeth gnawed against the back of your neck, breaking skin, and exposing blood into the thick air. His tongue, catches its taste of iron, humming in delight as his fingers plunge inside you with conviction.

Wonwoo was not new to sexual acts, clearly. Nor, was he a man of celibacy in the slightest. Yet, the moment your voice broke into the charged air, he felt something enter his immortal body and churned stomach, then he was clutching his metaphorical pearls of chaste as he swallowed a lump of regret. Despite his egregious power, the scene made him frozen where he stood, feet plastered to the ground. 

He didn’t find a second where he could intervene, thinking study was necessary before he could deliver his final strike. Of course, that’s all this was. Nothing else.

“You’re starving aren't you,” Seungcheol growled. “I could smell your arousal for me before you even entered the apartment.”

“Tell me about it,” Chan joined, immersed in the air around you wafting in his nose. “There’s lust in these veins of yours,” his tongue swiped over the blood on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve been thinking about this all day…We fuck you every waking day of your life, and that’s still not enough. Isn’t that right?”

A “No,” barely made it past your lips before they were crushed under the weight of Seungcheol’s, and then you were the one starting to taste iron. Its aroma was as strong as they claimed, and Wonwoo fell under the same impression.

Chan tucked your hair behind your head, tugging you in his direction as his teeth skins into the base of your neck, his cock exposed in an instant and hugged between the plush felt of your ass. Your eyes retreated to your skull, trembling as Seungcheol’s cock pressed against your stomach. A shatter sigh broke out from your throat and you let them take over control of your feeble body.

They folded you forward, your lips mere inches away from the head of Seungcheol’s cock–teasing you in its glistening glory–as Chan’s precious weapon was ready to take the plunge. “Take it,” the young demon demanded with an underlying of a growl. “Then you will feel enlightened once again, pet.”

It didn't take you much longer to oblige, allowing Seungcheol’s size to be swallowed between and past your lips, hitting the back of your throat. Seungcheol’s fingers flossed through your locks, gripping at the root, and buried himself inside you as his eyes glowed at the glisten of yours. He could taste the power coursing through him, gently bobbing you up and down as you strained to fit all of him.

“That’s it, beautiful,” he softly encouraged, “does it hurt?”

You muffled an answer, one of confirmation.

“But you’re gonna try taking it all, aren’t you?”

To which, you mimiciked the sound before, twice as gingerly.

Your legs parted wide for Chan to make himself known in your sopping cunt and not a moment too soon, his slamming of his hips commenced, watching the cushion of your ass recoil against him. Your whimpers were muffled around Seungcheol as your arms were torn from control and roughly pinned behind your back in a vicious grip. Your eyes shot back Seungcheol in impulse, vibrating up his skin as Chan pounded your body back like dough, eyes and cheeks burning helpless yet complying tears.

The elder demon sent you no look of pity, only a smile of arrogance as he thrust faster, savoring how every inch of your body reacted in a delicious symphony. He has marveled at the tenderness and sensitivity of human skin before, but your flesh; it moldable like clay, looking almost edible, a fitting meal for one who craves the most tender of meat. Both demons groaned of ecstasy, letting you take the lashes of their hips at either of your welcoming ends. Even Wonwoo had to admit it was a sight to behold.

The back and forth of pampering and degrading ultimately led you to what happened every night since the three have been acquainted, blood curdling screams that could be mistaken for cold murder. In most cases for Wonwoo, the assumption wasn’t off, but tonight it was reserved for another sinful act. One that Wonwoo particularly was inexplicably intrigued with.

There seemed no end to your thirst for physical and sensual sanctity—no matter how rough and humiliating—and before any of them knew it, it had been hours since it’s been initiated. The devil stared at your body, glowing in your human perspiration, bare chest rising as falling to the pattern of your breaths, and cunt dripping in every fluid imaginable. 

Alive and well. Elated even.

Impressed wouldn’t be the word coating the tip of the devilish intruder’s tongue, yet he can’t help but applaud you and your endurance. It made him wonder what it was that’s in you that made you this way. 

Wonwoo decided an investigation was in order, and no, that did not mean another scandalous showcase of how deep one’s mortal throat and taking two demonic phallic pieces at once.

“Can I help you find anything you’re looking for?”

Your voice, like velvet, strokeed his eardrums, allowing him to inconspicuously and gently avert his feigned attention from mortal furniture that could not compare to the material in the existence of the depths of the underworld, let alone from of the light land it so obnoxiously claims when exclaiming ‘like Heaven’s clouds’. The corner of his lips quipped upwards curiously as he briefly absorbed your features upclose, seeing the overwhelming facade of hospitality dance its somehow subtle waltz. From the soften of your brow and gentle pucker of your parted lips, he could sense how your poised demeanor melted under his presence now towering over you. 

“I’m actually looking for, um, things in my new apartment.” He imposed a chuckle, something lighthearted that emulated a false sense of security. “New place, new furniture. Not sure where to start. I’m used to people making that decision for me.”

Wonwoo hadn’t lied, it was true the underworld had been built in a way he couldn’t touch or alter, he just would have anything from this furniture store—let alone its air—in the residence that he’s long occupied in.

Afterall, the store was chaos embodied. The humans ran havoc with their tedious wonder and overzealous catalogs of boisterous furnishing as their spawnlings running up and down long corridors, jumping on fortresses of slumber with their filthy footware, and making a mockery of wreck of a merchant shop. No amount of coffee bitters and undercooked fruit pastries from its cafeteria would change that.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo was playing his part of lowly human, looking for a change in his sanctity, parting way for a furniture store in his aid.

“Of course.” You grinned tightly, eyes creasing as your cheekbones rose to the surface, bitten by the crisp ventilated air. “Well, we have an amazing selection of couches from leather to tweed, bookshelves made of the finest wood or strongest steel, anything you can possibly imagine. Where would you want to start first?”

Wonwoo honestly could not fathom such extensive assortment of furnishing, experiencing what buyer’s fatigue for the first time in his immortal life. He had trailed behind you and your guidance incessantly, playing on the charade of interested clientele, hoping at some point it’s come to an farewell and he could end his pursuit already. 

God, were humans tediously boring.

“And that about does it. Any that pique your interest?” You asked, rather hopefully. “I do remember your attention lingering on the antique wooden desk with secret compartments.”

That faired the most interest of his out of any of the pieces here. Like made of magic, it held more than an entity could handle and store, perfectly adorn and crafted with the most intricate carvings that would take day–no, weeks–to perfectly master. Standing on a wooden easel, the light perfectly captured graining, almost enchanting in its own simple way. It was…acceptable for mortal furniture.

“It looked alright,” he managed to muster. “I may have to come back sometime again to get a better look. I’m just looking around for now.”

“No problem. If you change your mind, I can just take you to some of our kiosks and ring you and have it shipped to you in one to three business days.” 

Your radiant smile illuminated even the most mundane tasks, leaving Wonwoo to ponder if your vitality extended beyond mere physical prowess. Such boundless energy and brilliance seemed incongruous within the confines of your modest frame. Perhaps there were depths to your character that he had yet to fathom.

"Um," he faltered, his voice wavering like the uncertain breeze in the depths of darkness in the darkest corner of his realm. Unlike the practiced guile he had wielded before to ensnare your confidence, this hesitation was genuine, born of a deep-seated unease. "Do you visit this cafe often?" he inquired, gesturing with a trembling thumb toward the dimly lit alcove nestled within the labyrinthine market, its air redolent with the tantalizing aroma of spiced venison and frothy elixirs.

You softly chuckled, clearing taking his soft tone as friendly conversation. “On occasion. Their dessert are a hit or miss, but the meatballs. Some say its overhyped, but its meat in my mouth, I’m not complaining.”

Your choice of words rendered you motionless, frozen in a sudden onset of shock, a hand instinctively leaping to cover your mouth. “I–that sounds so…”

Wonwoo interrupted you with a sincere smile and subtle ripple of mirth. I’m sure you very much welcome it. “I think I get what you mean.”

“Please don’t—just forget about the words that came out of my mouth.”

“Hard to forget to but,” Wonwoo pretended seal his lips with a zipper, invisible to the naked eye, while grinning impossibly hard, “as you wish.”

“I’m so embarrassed. My mind hasn’t been in the most…nevermind, but yes, the food is good. Drinks are worth a try. Avoid the cherry danish and substitute it for the cheese.” You attempt an escape, hoping to conjure a locker room out of thin air to hide in, knowing very well it across the other side of the building.

“Maybe, you could give a more indepth review,” He offered, his footsteps lightly treading towards you. “You seem to know the menu very well, and I have to say, I’m getting a bit hungry.”

You gazed upon the devil, unknowingly drawn by curiosity, your feet rooted to the ground in a mingling of shame and intrigue. The handsome stranger's invitation beckoned you. Eating on the job was a big no-no, with the only exception being the attempt to make a sale. Yet, beneath the weight of quotas and obligations, lingered the prospect of forging a new acquaintance—one that had captured your attention the moment you laid eyes on him.

“I could help you out with that.”

By no means was it a feast fit for the gods, but it stirred a ravenous hunger within the devil. Hearty, yet unassuming. A blend of ground meat, breadcrumbs, and spices, molded into spherical perfection and coated in a rich, savory sauce. It was the epitome of culinary simplicity—a revelation that Wonwoo had long forgotten food could possess such goodness.

“Wow.”

“Right? How do they do it? Some people even just come by for lunch.”

He continued to devour every inch of his plate. The meat. The gravy. The peas. The potatoes. He was in another world at the moment. 

“Why is it so cheap?” He pondered out loud.

“So the customers would feel more compelled to buy furniture. A little reward for all your stalking of the right furnishing.”

“The marketing is genius,” he exclaimed softly,  as he scarfed down more, ready to order a plate of 18.

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve met someone as into them as I am.”

He faltered in his movement, now forking over them curiously. “They are good. Like you said.”

You sighed, your gaze drifting over the glossy sheen of the brown coating on your chosen morsel. "Yeah, but I guess, I like this because it reminds me of home. My mom always made me a plate after I got home from school. It’s kind of nostalgic. I mean, sure, I can make some of my own, maybe even better than this, but having it made in a building with fake rooms that look like parts of a house reminds me of home. Weird, huh?"

Wonwoo remains silent. The only home he has ever known was the underworld, and any memory before that has dissipated as if it never existed. The closest semblance to it was you, a figure from his fleeting recollections of a past life. Someone who had begun to resurface in his once vacant vessel.

“Maybe that just amplifies their goodness,” he finally quipped, taking another mouthful.

You smiled, strangely comforted by his words. You didn’t think you’d enjoy having lunch with a stranger this much, but your surprise, there was more that meets the eye. And you had yet even learned his name. “If it's that good, you wouldn’t mind lunch here again? Maybe I’ll finally convince you to get that antique desk and-or even a sofa?”

A soft chuckle slipped from Wonwoo's lips. "Maybe.”

His ‘maybe’s turned into more when he started visiting every day with very little prospect of purchase and gradually the familiar musk of his demons no longer clouded your actual scent, etched into the depths of his weathered mind. You sat together, sipping drinks and discussing imaginary furniture as if you were lifelong companions, sharing laughter as if it were the most ordinary and natural thing in the world.

Occasionally, Wonwoo would let his eyes travel, slowly dropping to the bareness of your exposed clavical, lingering over a shirt that seemed to have mysteriously unbuttoned one or two buttons too many, guiding his eyes to the gentle slopes of your breasts cradled beneath the weight of your crossed forearms. For some inexplicable reason, he found himself mesmerized, your beauty increasingly captivating, stealing away minutes and hours in your presence without him even noticing. And yet, he didn't mind one bit.

"You're gonna have to buy something eventually," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Then who's going to come to work and make your job a little easier every day?"

You softly scoffed, tearing yet another meatball but now dipping it in the bitter sweetness of the jam provided. "I don't need my job to be easier, I need to make money.”

He softly quirked up a corner of his lips in an impish smile, "Then stop having lunch with me then.”

"Not until you buy a couch.” You sternly refuted, failing to subdue the smile on your face.

You always would use that excuse, excusing work as purpose, and drawing the line between the two. Salesperson and customer. 

Before Wonwoo knew it, it had been a week since the first encounter, and strangely enough meeting you in a prompt sales pitch was something he was starting to look forward to.

“Maybe today’s the day. Maybe the couch of my dreams is in this store.”

You gazed at him with a straw between your lips, smiling knowingly at how untrue his proclamation was. He had never come close to making a purchase, yet you entertained him every time he walked past those double doors. The question is, why? Why does he insist on teasing you with the temptation of business and humiliate you by going against your expectations? What does he have to achieve by this?

“You’re breaking my heart here, Mr. Wonwoo.”

He chuckled at your nickname, growing rather fond of his name making past of your lips. How delicate you made him sound to be. 

“I think you rather enjoy my company.”

“That has nothing to do with our little…arrangment.”

He leaned forward, mesmerizing eyes piercing back at you in a way that made your heart chase. His bottom lips softly dropped to speak before he gently observed your features, convincing you he could notice from the shift of your throat to the halt in your breath. He met your eyes once again. “What is our…arrangement?”

You exhaled, sipping your drinking and hearing the obnoxious slurp of your now empty cup, and somehow your throat was still dry. “I think its pretty obvious.”

“Obvious? You give me too much credit.”

“Well, you’re here for furniture but have yet bought any.”

“Does that culminate a dispute between you and I?”

“Not exactly, but–”

“And aren’t you paid regardless if you spend time with me?”

“Yes, but–”

His laughter was light, a hint of mischief lingering. “Then I don’t see the issue. You enjoy my company, you get paid to do your job. Win-win.”

He had a point. You had no reason to complain, he made your work days rather easy in comparison to other days he isn't present. Not to mention, shortens the day drastically because you could talk to him all day without a fuss. Nonetheless, this was a job. Not high school.

Plus, how would they thought if they knew of this?

“Tell me, Wonwoo. What is it you here for? If not to help me earn commission?”

“Perhaps…I’m simply drawn to you. I want to know your name, what you eat, and what takes up most of your day. Maybe I have stopped thinking about you since I first laid my eyes on you and I can’t help but make it a routine to see you on a certain amount of days during the week so I don’t miss you.”

You didn't expect this, at least not a proclamation this powerful, yet jarring. 

“Then, maybe we should stop while we’re ahead, especially considering we know it’s going nowhere.”

“Is that really how you think? Or are you scared you don’t know what to expect from me?”

“...I–”

A deep chuckle escaped him, rising and dropping his chest as it tried suppress his laughter from becoming something more. “I’m kidding.”

“Not very funny, Mr. Jeon.”

“I apologize. My humor is not understood by most, but they laugh anyway. Probably scared if I’m serious.”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, I think for the hard work you’ve done you do deserve a sale, so…I will be buying a couch today.”

Your eyes jumped in size.  “Seriously?”

“There’s some things I take lightly but not people’s livelihoods.” It was natural the devil had boundaries, although, he wasn’t sure if he was truthful about the pretainment to jokes.

“Wow, um. Let me take you to a payment kiosk, we can ring you up.”

Wonwoo ran through the catalog, seeking a specific name amongst the millions of others until his eyes landed on it. The Amelia sectional couch with soft high-density foam seating, a rolled arm on either end, built on top of the sturdiest hardwood, and crafted in the most luxurious cream leather. A stand-out piece for any home. You raved about it, dreaming of one day owning a piece like it yourself one day. Then you would have truly made it.

“That’s an excellent choice. I’m seeing you’re taking my advice after all. Although, I am surprised with this choice since you eyed the Selzar in maroon more. I thought it rather suited you compared to the Amelia.”

“You’re right, it doesn't suit me.” He swiped the credit card he foraged from his pocket, before turning the screen away from him, facing it toward you. “Your address.”

“W-what?”

“Well, the store will need it for the couch to be sent to your home.”

“Wonwoo, I cant let you do that.”

“Why not? It’s a gift. For all your hard work.”

“It’s too much.”

“I’m making the purchase, you get your commission, a new couch, and all the more reason for me to visit.”

“Why would you do this?”

He didn’t say anything, only smiling just a hint before turning the screen back toward him when you dont respond, making you wonder how did he ever figure out your address. However, that was the least of your worries.

The couch arrived the next day: your day off, and familiar faces of your coworkers grinned at you as they installed the pieces of the furniture in the middle of your apartment, playfully jabbing at you about the grand gesture of Wonwoo, the infamous customer that always seemed to have your attention. No matter how much you dismissed the matter, they persisted until the very second they were done, now leaving your apartment as a new owner of the most beautiful piece of furniture you ever thought about owning. 

You thought were still dreaming ever so as you ran your hand over the buttery smooth leather and feeling how cool and malleable it felt under your body. You softly moaned as the fabric grazed your cheek, buzzing at the fulfillment of your new furniture, falling in love with it like a new lover.

“Careful now, pet. Jealousy should not be extended towards inanimate objects.”

You softly giggled before Chan decided to join you to embrace your sides as he also grew into the comfort that was the new mysterious gift. A crackle of a moan escaped his lungs and he held you tighter, as if this single piece of furniture was somehow magic, enchanted to trap you both in a sealment of comfort. “Fine, I concede. This is amazing.”

“You’re so silly,” you teased before hugging your chest to his, eyes lifting up to stare at his brewing in a storm of stars and darkness. “Isn’t it the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on?”

“Well, no.” His fingers went on to trace your jaw, lips parting and he imagined himself biting down, marking your skin with his canines. “That title is reserved for you. Would've thought you learned that by now.”

“Sure, but isn’t it fantastic? It’s beautiful.”

He chuckled at your awe, a soft sigh drawing through his nose, his hunger intensely garnering the longer he stared. “Where did you get such a grand, boisterous thing, darling?”

Your breath ceased for a moment, mustering up a proper answer, “Oh, just someone from work gifted it to me.” You weren’t lying. It did come from work and you did meet Wonwoo at work and he did gift it to you. It was harmless.

“Working hard, I see? Mmh,” His hand combed through your hair, eyes full of mirth twisting into burning fire as he didn't drop his gaze. “Maybe I should reward you as well. Perhaps by—how you say—‘break in’ your new gift?”

You softly let his name resonate on your tongue, feeling his passing hand cup over the spill of the flesh of your ass as he squeezed. You tensed, drawing yourself closer in wary caution. “You won't actually break my new couch, will you?”

His lip quirked up in a grin. “Well, I guess that’d make the furnishing rather short lived, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try breaking you.”

Chan devoured the quiver of your lips–tasting their feverish want–just as quickly as he tossed you on top of him, the friction of your clothes causing the muffled sounds of aches vibrating against his lips. In a flash, he ripped off your cotton shirt, his supernatural strength ruining another mundane piece of clothing just as he was ready to ruin you into oblivion.

Your tight peaks brushed against his chest before he held your valleys in his hands, kneading them ravenously, and curling the tension in your gut. You twitched into his touch, riding high against his thigh as he took control, burying yourself in the plush of his lips, and feeling his primal, ravenous instincts be what’s only left of his immortal body.

Seungcheol did not come up short at the sight. Coming from the neighborly laundromat after offering to wash your clothes of its filth, he equaled his footing as he engaged against your backside, slipping his hands through your pants as his nails, now sharp as daggers, scrapped against your thighs. “Having fun without me, I see.”

You barely placed his name until he stole you from the younger demon, rolling you to his side as his nails plunged into your flesh and struck an agonizing groan from your throat.

He chuckled lowly. “I’ll make sure to make up from lost time, my sweet.”

You heard Chan scoff from behind you, branding your lower back with his cock burning against you as his thighs held your ass to his crotch in an iron grip. “About time you caught up, old man.”

“Just wait till my name is the one that they’re screaming tonight, boy.”

You could never remember how you lose your clothes so quickly, rather you were much more intrigued by the passage each demon would take. There has always to be a not-so-friendly competition when it came to these two, no matter how long they’ve managed to coexist in this place. They seemed to have found a perfect medium in self-gratification and your pleasure, as long as either one had their turn and you were a willing prey. 

“Come on. You can do it. Just slide on top of me, pet.”

You took Chan’s gentle hand before climbing into his lap and hovering over his tip, swollen in impatience. A shattered breath took wind as you remained cautious as you always have, readily adjusting to the supernatural size as it invaded your vulnerable heat. His teeth collided with the back of your neck, his hands coming up from behind you and palming your tender breasts and caressing them as if they belonged to him, and perhaps in a way they did.

“That’s it,” he ushered, a hand lowering to pad over your clit, feeling the tender squeeze of your heat wrap about his shaft. 

Your hips moved naturally, arms stabilizing over the couch and Chan’s shoulders, while you let your desires take course as he thrust inside you. Your breasts swayed and bounced with the weight of gravity, having your lover’s lips then wrapping around a hard nipple, lapping the texture in heat. 

You felt weightless. Euphoric. You’ve lost count of the times sex had took place in this apartment with these two immortal beings alone, but you could never recount it the same way. It was always promisingly rhapsodical.

As Chan pierced you with every inch–grunting in your ear softly, but not struggling at all–Seungcheol took between your legs. His wide eyes were enflamed with the fire to destroy acres of land, while a smile graced his lips. His hand on either of Chan’s thighs, he leveraged up from the ground, eyes feasting on the force of the younger demon’s hips plunging in your cunt while your arousal dribbled down his peer’s thighs.

“Look at you, precious.” His hand glided between your thighs, mouth aching to gnaw on your plush flesh. His cock was a being of its own with how much it throbbed to be inside you. “It never cease to make me how you look…sound…smell with lust shooting up through your veins.”

He held your thighs against his hands, billowing you up and down towards Chan, and he glimpsed at the pulsating walls, locating your heartbeat and how it resided in your cunt just as much as it did in your chest. “Fucking brilliant.”

Seungcheol inched closer, devouring you with his other senses before then came his mouth, then came the flicker of his tongue, and finally his lower lips finding home in your pussy, not minding the cock already resided inside. His tongue traveled however it deemed fit and Chan didn’t mind, he rather relished in it.

Your curses melted into whimpers, pleasure masquerading as pleads, and your body molding to them like wet clay. Your mind seemed to wander with their heavy gaze as you expected to stare into space but instead, met eyes fiery just as either demon before you standing in the corner of the room. Curiously, you gazed at their stillness, slowly processing the familiar body it came with. 

Instead of frightening you or involuntarily tearing a scream from your throat, they somehow soothed you. It enthralled you that someone dared to watch and without a word leaving their lips.

Suddenly, the younger demon’s pace hasted. A sigh turned to a moan and you felt Chan buck his hips harder into you as his impish chuckles tickled your cheeks. “I love this pussy so fucking much.” His fingers spread your lips apart, feeling the viscous arousal form on his fingerprints and between crevices. “Aren’t I lucky?”

Your torso would’ve fallen over if not for Chan’s steady grip. Your eyes would not stray from the intruder—no matter how tense—realizing without his usual spectacles his eyes burned louder than you’ve ever seen. His smile was devastating, posture domineering. It was then you realized, you weren’t just a show. You were a showcase.

You almost whispered his name, drifting towards his silent beckon, but the demons held you down, bringing you to completion and your eyes forced shut. You tugged from the root of Seungcheol’s head and you lost yourself in the explosion that was your release. Chan’s lips broke from your skin reluctantly, easing his pace to the rhythms of your breaths. “Fuck, I can feel your cum. Try to warn a demon, will you?”

Seungcheol further buried himself between your legs, striking your inner thighs, and moaning into your heat, “Don’t you stop, boy. I need to tap more of their syrup.”

“Fuck,” Chan whimpered feeling the older demon tongue glide against his shaft while inside you, brushing harsh stripes along his pulsating thick veins, and for once he doesn’t argue, thrusting in you at top speed as Seungcheol’s full muscle collected your release.

Now Chan felt as if he’s the one to break lose out of control. His teeth plunge in your neck, canines breaking skin, and your voice gave out as you feel billions of his droplets shoot into you like a rapid stream. Your eyes fluttered as you twitched in his clutch, tears pouring out of your eye sockets, your cum mixing with Chan’s, and you’re stripped from signs of life besides a beating heart.

“Now it’s time to join your brethren, young demon.”

His voice boomed, bouncing off every wall and stunning both Chan and Seuncheol in spots. Fear reigned Seungcheol’s features as it did Chan’s and if you were mentally well enough, you’d notice the sweat pilling their skin not from fatigue, but from horror.

“M-my lord.” Seungcheol stammered, dropping your body against Chan and turning to the sound of the devil, recognizing him immediately as the devil’s eyes pierced and burned through his entire body. “How…” He swallowed as if doing away with his betrayal, but knowing its ineffectiveness. “We didn’t mean to–”

“Silence,” Wonwoo commanded.

Chan’s lips quivered, tears running down his cheeks, paralyzed as you laid limp on his body. “We were going to come back.” 

“As you were instructed to months prior to your quest on the Earth’s crust? Don’t filth your mouth of lies any more than you already have, vile creature.”

“What’s happening?” You breached while in recovery. 

Seungcheol then kneeled at Wonwoo’s feet, his naked body taut in respect, forcing his gaze to the ground. “We accept your punishment in all forms. We are ashamed of our actions and deserve the utmost repercussions, but please, do not harm the human.”

The devil slowly approached, foot placed on the crown on the demon’s head before he displaced his weight, “Do not descend your face to the ground or I shall show you no mercy…This human. They mean a great deal to you both, yes?”

“Yes, my lord,” Seungcheol answered without hesitation, struggling under the weight of Wonwoo’s foot.

“Y-yes, lord,” Chan softly cried.

Wonwoo’s smile curled, an arrogant breath expelling through his nose at his laughed curtly. He took his booted foot off of the demon’s head and instead claimed his hair, pulling up his features into view and seeing determination and defiance wrinkle his skin. “You’re foolish. You don’t deserve any ounce of immortality that you were gifted.”

Seungcheol’s head was shoved away, and relief bellowed in his chest from coming out unscathed, huffing air as if it was scarce before his chest tightened. “Does that mean the human will be left free?”

“...No,” Wonwoo strode until facing you in Chan’s arm, the younger demon softly grasped your body, unwilling to let go. “I have a…peculiar matter I would rather tend to. Now, young demon. Join your brethren.”

Chan shook his head furiously. “Promise they’ll be safe from your wrath, lord. I will follow you until the depths of the Earth, suffer every lashing, and scar you may dealt me. Please, let the human be free from your cruelty.”

“Let me finish. Join your brethren on the ground and place the human back delicately on this new furnishing you’ve already defiled.”

Chan shut his eyes with remorse and did as the devil asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his body followed to the space occupying his fellow demon, awaiting punishment.

Wonwoo huffed, feeling his power surging through him. “Now feast.”

Both demons gazed upon their lord of the underworld in confusion, but he only repeated himself. “Feast. Do as Seungcheol has done together. My judgment will be halted until then.”

“Feast on the human?” Chan blinked. “In order to…sacrifice them?”

“No. To enjoy them. I’m letting you both finish what was started. Do not disappoint me. Do I make myself clear?”

Their heads bowed in gratitude, mouths dropped slack in disbelief and hunger. They nodded their heads, muttering gratitude before reuniting with you at your feet. Seungcheol propped you tenderly against the couch and carefully parted your legs. “Let’s cherish these moments, precious. We don’t know if it’ll be the last.”

Your eyes fluttered softly. Having observed everything, you’re still confused, but your brain has melted from the intimacy. You didn’t think about properly processing his words, simply living in the moment. 

Seungcheol took your left side as Chan took your right. The demon’s eyes met in comraderie, nodding before inhaling your scent for what they believed is the final time. Their tongues tangled with one another, both either plunging inside you or running against you. You bucked up your hips at the sensation, lips parting in ache as you felt their warmth stimulate you and you feel the tension in your stomach coiling tighter as one sucked against your clit.

“So, mmh…good.”

“Fuck, I really do love this pussy so much,” Chan whined sucking against your sopping folds.

Seungcheol moaned around your clit, the vibrations running up your body and pebbling your skin. “I don’t ever want to stop…”

Caught in the highs, Seungcheol's fingers ran through Chan’s hair and pressed him deeper between your legs, hoping to find gratification in a form of your voice regaining power. He tenderly massaged Chan’s scalp, gently stroking his locks, thinking to himself, if he were to share you, it had to be done right, and his tongue darted lower to double pierce through your cunt.

“Oh, god…” You clawed against the leather. “Don’t…stop…”

Their arms wrapped around your thighs tightly, fueled by your unquenchable arousal, their tongues collaborating in you to taste every warm inch inside and out. All the sweat, moisture–all the cum either yours or Chan’s–the demon enslaved on it, worshiped it, cherished it with every fiber of their dark empty pits that replaced their souls. There was never enough and they weren’t for a second complaining.

“Spit on it, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo said, “Spit on their wet cunt.”

The demons paused and Seungcheol did just as told, spitting a fat load of saliva on the center of your core, to which you winced in surprise despite the warning.

“Push it in them, Chan.” And Chan obeyed, his tongue targeting the fluid and pushing inside you in practiced thrusts, glistening eyes staring back at you with tear-stained flushed cheeks.

“Repeat.”

They started alternating, Seungcheol spitting inside you to allow Chan to fuck it back in you. It was unreal, more reward than divine punishment and you clenched around the tongue. Then there were both tongues in your holes again as your thighs parted like two unhappy lovers, their mouths made love to them over and over, fingers pounding in you as perfect tools before you spilled cum in their mouths for more than the nth time. There seemed to be no end.

If one demon were more selfish, they’d collect more than the other, and if one were to fight back, they’d collect directly from the other's mouth. Chan often found himself to be the former, being caught fueding with Seungcheol in fits of passionate lip lock for fair distribution. They were so cum drunk neither cared who won because they always went back for more: your cunt and each other.

“Selfish demons. Neither one of you has taken a moment to breathe. Just how insatiable, are you?” 

Wonwoo stood closely behind the males, taking a more observant authoritative approach, knowing his words don’t hold the power they’re used to when incubi feed on their perfect prey. Still, he grinned smugly at the sight. His eyes met yours, finding you staring back at him, seeing more questions in your eyes than answers, massively clouded by the raging ache of your body being undone at the hands of the demons. “I hope you’re enjoying the gift, darling, you look pretty getting eaten up.”

“Wonwoo…how—oh…” 

Seungcheol’s free hand instinctively reached for your breasts, teasing your nipples and rolling them between the pads of his fingers. “Be careful speaking, sweet…he’s not not an average human or demon.”

“Demon?”

“He’s right,” Wonwoo say, knees dipping into the couch next to you.Your eyes followed his movement, seeing how his shirt was slowly cascading off his body with every button unlatched. “I am not something you simply speak in a passing moment. I hold more power than anyone in this room, but you’re getting to know that. I have forgiven you.”

He parted your hair from over your face and cupped your cheek, red eyes burning back at you as they ran over your face. Although he’s almighty and powerful, his touches were gentle and smile deceivingly kind, calling you toward him like ships to a lighthouse.

“I always wonder what this face would look ruined inside and out.” Wonwoo gripped your chin and forced you to face him, “It’s fascinating seeing a face like this construe into something so sinful, yet satisfying.”

His lips claimed yours hungrily and you could taste rage, power, and a tongue shaped like no other. It had girth, abnormal length, and was split at the center, each end slithering through the inside of either of your cheeks. 

It was then you realized it was a forked tongue. One unlike any done artificially. The pieces finally came together. You were tongue wrestling with the devil and you enjoyed it. He moaned against your mouth, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “You’re so damn sweet, it’s infuriating. It’s no wonder these demons are weak to you, so weak to this pussy and these lips.”

He reunited with your lips, exploring you deeper as his hand wrapped around the stands of your hair and gripped, and you swallowed his grunts, while his tongue flickered at the back of your throat. “How many times have you released in their presence? A hundred? A thousand? A million? It’s never enough for you either, is it?”

You shook your head weakly, eyes begging for more as you were already addicted, feeling him awaken something in you that can’t be sated.

“I’m an all immortal being, so I know. Just like I know you wonder what I look like beneath my clothes…what I taste like…how I’d fuck you.”

“Fuck,” Chan breathed into your pussy listening in, reaching down for his cock that’s doubled in size, stroking himself to the sounds of Wonwoo’s vulgar language. Seungcheol joined him, but he didn't stroke his own cock, he held Chan’s, and their gazes were brought together as their tongues shared residence inside your heat.

“You’re tantalizing, darling little human, and as you see it doesn’t go unnoticed. I say I see for myself the issue, learn ways to…Manage  it. Satisfy it. To put back in order the underworld.” He grinned. “You’ll do me honor? Yes?”

You had no reason to say no, physically unable to, fighting waves of an incoming orgasm, but you made a feeble attempt of a nod as he kissed you deeper, the forked tongue prying your mouth and intruding at the back of your throat once more, if not deeper. Your shaky hands went to claim him, your mind so willing to submit to whatever his desires are, and not caring of the consequences. This was your everest.

It took a snap of Wonwoo’s fingers to divert the situation and he’s the one between your legs now as either demon appeared on your left and right of the couch. Their parted lips glistened from the mess, clear signs of moisture trailing down their chins and Adam’s apples, awaiting the instruction of the devil, but eyes locked with you who gifted them such an exhilarating experience.

“Return these insatiable demons the favor and I see to it that I…study your inner workings, mortal. Do I make myself clear, boys?”

“Yes, lord,” they answered, sitting up on their knees and presenting their throbbing erections to your face. You grasped at their shafts, tongue darting out of your mouth and rub the tips of their cocks along your mouth before switching off from one another.

Seungcheol’s hips gently thrusted towards you at his turn, a hand running towards your chest to tease your breasts as the other teased his nipples, pinching them to feed his arousal. “Oh precious, don’t you look darling?”

Taking your other breast, Chan softly whimpered, feeling his cock slide against Seungcheol’s, watching your face contort trying to fill up on both. “Fuck, rub our cocks together like that. You dirty little thing.”

The demons moved closer towards each other, staring down at you in astonishment and you inhaled them both with pleasure. Meanwhile, Wonwoo made himself comfortable, revealing the devil body with muscles, spade tail, and thick horns to match. You caught a glimpse of the view between the crack of sandwiched men, reveling in his positively delicious full form, and ached to know how he planned to use you. 

“You look just as pretty eating as you are being eaten,” The devil kindly praised.

The tip of his tail feathered over your thighs before it flickered over your clit, seeing you respond weakly with twitching hips. He grabbed the base of his cock, growing in his palm before lining up to your slit, rubbing it against your swollen folds. The spade of his tail then slapped your clit, jerking your hips forward, and mouth sampling only just a sliver of his size. That’s when you thought to yourself you could cum right then and there, without hesitation as if you had been untouched for centuries. “So sensitive,” Wonwoo cooed, condensation on his tone.

He finally pushed inside you, stretching your walls unforgivingly, and hearing your moans muffled against the cocks in your mouth. Wonwoo bared his teeth, thrusting his cock and massaging your walls before his tail snapped at you again as it does every passing moment. And he absolutely melted at the effortless way your body responded.

You expelled a shallow breath before sucking the demon duo’s cocks harder–pushing them deeper–and fisting them in either hand, as Wonwoo’s presence grew inside you, pumping into you like an object meant to be used. And yet, it left a permanent smile of your face. 

“Shit, come over here, old man.” Chan retrieved Seungcheol by the hair before shoving his tongue down his throat, passionately exploring him and ensuring he did the same. You stared up at them. Their moans were uncontainable, their lip moving in sloppily in raw, primal need—only bourgeoning your intense fixation—and your hips flicked back at Wonwoo as they continued to worship you all the while they started worshiping each other.

Chan teased Seungcheol’s nipples and Seungchcheol traced over Chan’s abdomen, both thrusting deeper in your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. They reeked of hunger and bliss, tongues buzzing against one another, and the only thing between them was you and their inseverable heat.

You winched as they stretched your mouth before you winched at Wonwoo’s size, having never felt so full in your life. It’s a symphony of sin and desire with no end, just as Wonwoo anticipated and he showed you no mercy as he took advantage. His hips snapped back at you like a whip, finding the spot burning the most fire and abusing the sensitivity over and over. Your legs were practically handlebars for his rage, taking out on you his frustration and impatience, plummeting his thrusts slick and thorough, practically jewels deep inside you.

If your mouth was free you’d ask for more but you didn’t need to as Wonwoo jackhammered into you, sensing your cum about to erupt around him. He scoffed, tightening his grip on your thighs. “That’s it, cum, you wretched little mortal.”

His eyes shut in pleasure, feeling you cum around to him in bursts while he was close. It was until he felt your dam burst in final flood reaching from your thighs to the vinyl floor that he pulled out without his climax, a layer of your cum coating his entire shaft and dripping off the head. His gaze ascended to the demons in passionate exchange, halting them with a single word. “Chan.”

The demon broke their bond, separating in a translucent string of saliva. His gaze averted to Wonwoo, noticing the shifting eyes of his superior and he bent over, taking his cock in his mouth. His mouth runs over Wonwoo’s explicitly loud, slurping necessary as he inhaled his entire shaft in one gulp and tasting you on him. “Tastes…perfect…lord.”

Wonwoo gently guided Chan by the back of his hair, brimming in delight as the demon boy vibrated around him, sucking and licking him clean Wonwoo of both your cum and lingerance of his. The young demon’s interest was palpable as he gazed at the devil with not only a sense of respect and fear, but a wordless lust untold in his round, glistening eyes. His hips–full and strong–gave into his aches, jerking into nothing but the ground as his cock swelled.

“S-shit,” Your voice gave out, marveling at Chan’s obscenity and growing envious as you desired to fit Wonwoo’s cock in your mouth. You fell to your knees, crawling over in a primal state to occupy the space beside Chan and taking a closer look, leaning into the demon’s vulnerable touch as you laid your hand on his waist.

“Don’t be shy, little one. Take it. Take my cock in your mouth.”

Chan aided you. Resting his hand on your cool shoulders, he raked through your hair, guiding your mouth over Wonwoo’s cock, and watched as your lips wrapped around him, engulfing as much length as you can take. “That’s it. Seek his forgiveness and you’ll taste his cum, pet.”

Chan’s lips brushed against your neck, exploring your skin and he tugged Seungcheol’s arm to do the same. You were at the mercy of the devil as the demons were at the mercy of you, kneading your flesh and memorizing the lines and curves of your body, tightly holding you in place. 

You could feel the tension build running your tongue flat up his shaft and his tail’s tip tenderly brushed over the curve of your cheek. His eyes shifted dramatically as he gritted his teeth, hips taking your mouth at anxiously fast pace, and he threw back his head before his tail wrapped around your neck and tugged you closer. You winced when you realized the spade was as sharp as a blade, feeling it slice a sliver of skin against your neck. Neither you or Wonwoo paid it mind as Chan has already gone and licked the wound too, serving this whole ordeal more delicious than painful.

Wonwoo may have been the devil, but he was starting to explode like any other human or demon when it came to his climax and you took him deeper in your efforts, cheeks hurting and eyes watering from the pain knowing that the pleasure would outweigh it. Yet, there was more surface area you haven’t covered, and with that you can’t help but feel a bit of shame. You were still human yourself.

“Take his cum, precious…”

“Let him ruin your mouth, pet.”

“He’ll fuck his cum back in your mouth and it all be better.”

“You won’t have to worry about anything else ever again.”

Finally, Wonwoo could control his strength no longer and his hot load pushed in your mouth and down your throat, seeping past your lips as it streamed down your chin. Chan’s tongue licked the cum’s trail: off your lips, your chin, your neck, while Seungcheol stole it from your mouth, scrapping Wonwoo’s reminisce in every crevice of your mouth with his tongue, even what’s down your throat.

“Wasn’t that pleasurable? Very well. Now. The punishment.”

[cheriewoo]

Sweet Like A Cherry| Kim Hongjoong ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

☆☆ NOTE : I want to take a moment to apologize for any confusion caused by the overlapping scenes in my fic with @ja3hwa's dilf series. It was never my intention to cause any misunderstandings or plagerise her beautiful works. She has been a huge inspiration to me, and having read her fics in the past, I realize that some ideas may have stuck in my mind while writing this one.

I've worked hard to change those scenes completely and take the story in a more mysterious and mafia direction, which I had initially planned.

Also, a big thank you to @whatudowhennooneseesyou for helping me recognize the similarities and pointing me in the right direction. I truly appreciate it.

I hope you can overlook this minor mistake and continue to support me as I move forward. Your love for my work means the world to me!

Thank you and sorry again @ja3hwa

☆ Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 11 : Age Gap, Dilf

↬ [ Synopsis ] : A birthday fling with Hongjoong takes a shocking turn when you realize he's your dad's best friend and he's hiding some dangerous secrets. Now, trapped on a family yacht, your growing desire for him becomes impossible to resist, unaware that someone has been watching both of you closely.

☆ Word Count : 2.4k ☆ Genre : Smut. Some Plot. ☆ Pairing : Dilf!Hongjoong x F.Reader [ Park Y/N, Seonghwa’s daughter ]

☆ ☆ ☆ WARNINGS : Dad’s best freind Joong. Joong is on the run from someone. Stalker-ish, someone is watching you both closely. Mutual Masturbation, but reader is unaware of him watching her. Cum play.Mentions of alcohol.Nipple play.Dirty thoughts and fantasies. Pet names (honey, baby). Sir kink. Hongjoong is in his late 30s and he is nasty while reader is only 23 (Oopsie, but enjoy). Mildly Noncon (no permissions were asked).

Tag list OPEN! - let me know if you want to be tagged for this Kinktober list

“Cheers to 23!!!” all your friends screamed as tequila shot glasses clunked together, celebrating you. You had just turned 23, and what better way to celebrate than throwing a huge party at Havana, the finest club with the best cocktails and liquor in town?

Your dad, Seonghwa, had suggested a birthday yatch trip, butyatches you can do anytime, your dad owning a big private one. You can’t celebrate your 23rd with all your friends in town just whenever, so you politely declined, asking to postpone it for another day. But there was one more reason as well.

Your friend group has a tradition, kinda stupid, but spicy. The birthday girl has three tasks for the evening:

First, drink the Havana exclusive, El Fuego del Caribe, a signature cocktail known for its fiery blend of rum, chili-infused tequila, and a splash of tropical juices.

Second, engage a stranger in conversation and buy them a drink.

Third, get a picture clicked while having some kind of fun together, the kind of fun you can decide.

Being the least experienced with relationships in the friend group, this turned out to be a daunting task for you, especially the third one.

Anyhow, this birthday girl pulled them all off.

The intense yet exciting task list started with you approaching the bartender, plopping yourself at the bar, and winking at him. That’s how you ask for Havana’s exclusive, and when he winks back, consider your order taken. That was easy, first task, done!.You downed the drink at once, your friends watching from their table. The alcohol burned your throat as it went down, sweet and spicy with a sour aftertaste.

Now, time to catch a stranger for a fun night. As your eyes wandered around the club, checking out some sexy guys, you spotted this man eyeing you from the other end of the bar. You threw him an alluring smile as you studied him. He looked to be in his late 30s, well-built, with a left brow slit, tattooed arms, and to seal the deal, a very inviting devilish smirk. An overall yummy demeanor.

Let’s go with him.

He came and sat down next to you, and a very engaging, flirty conversation swooned you both into a small bubble of your own. You learned his name was Hongjoong, and that he had just come back into town after almost a decade in the States.

Hongjoong was captivated by you the moment he took a sip of the drink you bought him. Your charm, the way you carried the conversation, and just how beautiful you were, it all aligned perfectly with what he desired in a woman.

After hours of talking and throwing back shot after shot, things were a bit hazy for him, but one thing was crystal clear: he was hooked. He flirted shamelessly, and you only encouraged it, turning playful teasing into something more when you grabbed his arm and led him to the private room, ready to check off the last item on your list.

Ahhh… the fun you both had.

—

Waking up with a throbbing headache, you vaguely remembered being dropped off at home by your friends, Hongjoong’s face flashing across your mind as a smile crept up.

He was perfect. But there was a teeny tiny problem, you couldn’t remember what exactly you both did, or if you actually took the picture.

Feeling a little sad that you might not see him again, you walked into the living room where breakfast was being served, only to see a familiar face. Hongjoong, sitting right there with your dad in the living room, deeply engrossed in conversation.

Why is he here? Did I drag him back home? Why are he and Dad talking like they're best friends?

As you nervously approached them, their eyes landed on you. Hongjoong’s face paled, the blood rushing from his face as his eyes widened, mirroring your nervous expression. He recovered himself quickly.

“Ahh, Y/n! You’re up. Hongjoong, meet my daughter. Y/N, this is my best friend Hongjoong, he's finally back from the States after almost a decade,” Seonghwa introduced, oblivious to the fact that you two had already met.

“Hello, Y/n.” Hongjoong said, his voice firm, almost neutral, but with a tiny smirk on his lips as he extended his hand for you to shake.

“Hi, nice to meet you...umm...” you took his hand, unsure of what to call him.

“You can call me Hongjoong.” he assured you, his grip firm, sending jolts of electricity through your body. Pulling your hand back slightly, you went to sit at the breakfast table, sneaking glances at Hongjoong from time to time, his gaze reciprocating with equal... intensity?

Wow... I slept with Dad's best friend? Why the hell can’t I remember what we did last night?

“Y/n, about the yatch trip. Why not turn it into a little get-together?” Seonghwa asked, to which you slightly nodded. “Hongjoong, you should join us too. My princess is 23 now, and you're back after so long. We should catch up with all the boys, and you need to meet their kids as well.” he announced excitedly.

Damn. This is going to be the end of me. The thought crossed both your and Hongjoong’s minds.

—

The yacht was big enough to fit everyone who showed up, which was a relief. There were plenty of activities and services, so the trip seemed like it would be fun. Luckily, even with the crowd, you managed to get a room for yourself. After the chaos of your birthday night, some alone time was exactly what you needed. Now, settled in one of the small but cozy rooms at the back of the yacht, you finally had the privacy you wanted.

The only problem? It was right next to Hongjoong’s.

Night fell, and everyone retired to their rooms. Hongjoong stood on the deck, the memories of that night still fresh in his mind as he glanced at the photo you had taken on his phone during the heat of the moment. When he met Seonghwa the next day, he had no clue you were his daughter, he didn’t even know Seonghwa had a daughter, let alone a beautiful twenty-three-year-old one.

But what will they do about this? Will they try to harm you for being associated with him? Are they here, watching him and you?

~ your birthday night ~

The music was in sync with your heartbeat as your eyes locked with Hongjoong, his devilish smirk igniting desire and not helping with the wetness building down south. Leaning in close, your breath hot against his ear, you whispered, "Let's go somewhere private."

Making your way through the sweaty mush of drunk people on the dance floor, you led him to a secluded room. The door clicked shut as you turned to him, slowly unbuttoning your top, letting the fabric fall from your shoulders. This was your kind of fun.

Hongjoong’s gaze darkened as you grabbed his drink, took a sip, and spilled it down your chest. The liquid covered your skin, trailing down your boobs, giving them a glistening look that made Hongjoong’s mouth water.

"Clean me up, sir." you teased, watching his eyes burn with desire. That “sir” in your angelic sweet voice had him down bad for you.

Without hesitation, he pulled you by the waist, your body crashing into his, sending sparks through you. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking over the trail of alcohol on your skin, his large hands busy squeezing your ass. You gasped softly, your hands tangling in his hair as he licked and sucked your nipples, and Hongjoong sucked hard, releasing the nipple with a pop sound.

"Tastes so sweet, like a cherry, baby." he said, continuing his licks.

The sensation, his words sent sparks through your body, as he was busy cleaning the remnants of liquor off. His mouth was hot, his tongue teasing, tasting you in a way that left you craving more, needing more. You gasped, tugging at his hair, the heat between you rising.

Adding to the moment, you reached for your phone, accidentally grabbing his and snapping a picture, interrupting the moment. "Oops, wrong phone," you smiled at him innocently. "Will you keep it for me, sir?" Your innocent request earned an amused smirk from him.

"Only if you promise to see me again." Hongjoong teased, smirking, the tension between you far from over and only left you both craving for more.

~~

Was he regretting that night? No.

He definitely felt a connection, an intense one, the first time he laid eyes on you in Havana. Your playful, banter-ish conversation was a gentle push toward those unannounced feelings his heart was welcoming, and the night in that private room definitely sealed the deal.

He was more curious about what was going on in your mind.

But knowing your feelings might open a can of worms that he wasn’t ready for.

And if they found out about your associations with him... What would they do to you?

As he walked back to his tiny room, almost as if his prayers were answered, soft moans caught his ears, halting him in his tracks.

"Joong... aa... I need you," you moaned, your fingers rubbing against your dripping cunt, trying to relieve some of the ache, your back to the door. The whole evening had been tense with Hongjoong in your vicinity, and it took everything in you not to jump his bones. But...

Why has he been distant? Is he avoiding me? Does he not want this? What’s his deal?

Pushing those questions aside, you focused on the pleasure, recalling the night of your birthday. The way his tongue moved on your chest, the way he sucked your tits—it all felt so vivid. Suddenly, everything felt hotter, thick drops of sweat coating your forehead despite the air conditioning set to its coldest.

Hongjoong, watching you pleasuring yourself through the glass door of the cabin, curtains slightly pushed aside, was torn with dilemma, as he’d definitely felt someone watching him the whole evening.

Should I go in? She definitely wants this... She does feel something, right? But what if they find out?

What if they come to this town looking for me? Will Y/N’s life be in danger? Will they come after her too?

"Joong, please... touch me, sir..." you whimpered, your fingers rubbing harder against your cunt, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your left hand squeezed your tits, the same ones Hongjoong had once covered with sweet kisses, unaware that you were being watched.

Hongjoong’s dick hardened at the mouthwatering sight, forming a tent in his pants. Shit, he needed release, and he needed it now. His hands automatically went to his clothed member, touching and rubbing, trying to soothe himself.

Checking to see if the hallway was clear, he pulled his throbbing cock out, hoping to relieve that ache, even just a tiny bit, as your moans provided music to his ears. His mind took him down the rabbit hole where his dirty fantasies lived, away from the world. Your taste still fresh in his mind, his pace quickened. The idea of bending you over and fucking deep inside, with his girthy dick exploring your insides, was something he desperately needed to happen.

He covered his mouth as dangerous groans threatened to escape his lips while his hand worked on his throbbing cock, rubbing ferociously. His eyes flicked to you—the sight of your lips between your teeth, eyes tightly shut, sweat dripping off your face—pushed him closer to the edge.

Your fingers quickened against your cunt as you rubbed harder and faster, breathless moans leaving your lips, traveling to Hongjoong outside the door, pushing him over the edge as he came hard in his hand, slick dripping down his legs. Your fast movements also pushed you off the edge as you came undone on the fluffy sheets.

Hongjoong and you both breathed deeply, trying to recover from the intense high, and just when the timing couldn’t have been worse, he heard footsteps approaching, heading toward your rooms at the back of the ship.

To save both you and himself from getting caught, he entered your room, causing you to freeze at his sudden entrance, all your actions coming to a painful stop. Your face turned cherry red. Embarrassed.

Was he watching me this whole time? Fuck! Fuck! I even called his name out loud. He definitely heard that... Fuck my life! Your mind was a mess, embarrassment taking the best of you as the older male stood in front of you, wet stains in his pants showing that he had cum.

"Y/N, stop... someone’s coming," Hongjoong said, warning you about someone approaching the back of the ship. "Pretend you’re sleeping," he added as he gently laid you on the bed, tucking you under the covers. He quickly hid behind the door, the room dark enough that no one outside would see him there.

The footsteps came to a halt in front of your door, lingered for a few moments, then walked away.

Who could be up at this time of night? Hongjoong thought to himself. Ah, probably one of the kids. He decided to check to make sure the path was clear, and to his surprise, no one was there. Hmm... was my mind playing games with me?

“All clear,” he announced as he turned towards you, hand still holding the door knob, ready to leave. He took one final glance at your sleeping figure, about to step out.

“Are you gonna leave me already, sir?” your voice dripped with innocence as you sat up on the bed, propped on your knees, looking almost like an angel fallen from heaven. A request Hongjoong so desperately wanted to fulfill but couldn’t, as his eyes flicked to the window behind you, a red cross plastered on it.

Shit! Are they here already? Is this them telling me they’re watching me?

I need to get out of here, and fast. And I need to make sure they don’t harm her, he thought to himself.

“Sorry, angel,” he said, gripping your cheeks and pecking your lips. “I can’t put your life in danger.” He lingered there for a second before backing off and leaving the room, disappearing into the darkness.

What did he mean by he can’t put my life in danger? Is someone after him? Why the fuck did he have to kiss me... if he has no intention of being with me?

What is going on, Joong? What are you hiding?

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[creamyavocadosoup]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞

a/n: lowercase intended! been in an anime binge lately and am currently watching horimiya. its great honestly, it makes me feel so mushy bc me when !! but also i can kinda relate. sorry this wasnt proofread! if there are any mistakes lmk ;-;

characters: rtte!hiccup x fem!reader

tags: kinda angsty, unrequited (?) pining, intimate touches and moment (nothing nsfw)

word count: 1.5k

if you missed it, here's part one: can i be her?

the road to recovery was slow, and the mending of hiccup and i's relationship even slower. although i had forgiven him, there was an undeniable shift in how i acted towards him, whether it was intentional or not.

i had felt guilty about it, of course, but i couldn't force myself to go back to the way things were and pretend nothing had happened. even more so when i could tell that hiccup and the other riders picked up on it too.

after that incident however, something else had also changed. as subtle as it was (or tried to be), hiccup had begun doing things out of his own volition. small things like the soil in my garden being damp when i wake up, my medicine cabinets tidied and arranged how i liked it after a nap, or even my hut being spick and span, a still-hot plate of food awaiting me on my bedside table when i wake up.

it was strange to be on the receiving end of such actions. i had gotten used to helping the riders more than i had received it in return. so having hiccup do so much for me just because, induced emotions in me that i'm still quite unsure in how to handle.

today was spent patching up the riders after a grueling training session and a few accidents (mostly snotlout) and we make conversation as they tell me the new things they've discovered when they went adventuring a few days ago.

my huge cut had - thankfully - been steadily healing, the riders taking turns in making sure i wasn't doing tasks i wasn't supposed to. a few weeks since the incident and i could finally start walking around my hut with much, much caution.

taking this opportune moment of reprieve, i'm currently sat at my front porch, admiring the view of the sea and horizon off in the distance. i sipped quietly on my drink while wrapped in a blanket, the birds chirping and soft swaying of the trees my only company.

...that is until strong gusts of wind caused by a familiar midnight black dragon landed on my front yard, along with his ever-familiar rider in tow.

"[name]! i come bearing new entries to my journal, along with snacks of course."

right. ever since my injury, hiccup had made it some sort of tradition to come and talk to me about things he discovered while out on adventures or simply reading up and researching on subjects he thinks would interest me.

he reasoned it as him hoping i wouldn't feel too lonely even though the other riders visiting routinely (which i soon figured out was coordinated by hiccup thanks to a slip of the tongue from tuffnut) had given me plenty of company since then.

hiccup took his seat beside me on the porch swing, making himself comfortable. offering the other half of my blanket and he takes it with a smile, scooting closer to me.

initially, i seemingly wasn't quite receptive of this tradition he had started; lack of responses, barely any indication that i was interested in whatever he was talking about. but the dragon rider hadn't exactly let it affect him whatsoever. he continued coming regularly, and talking enough for the both of us.

"hiccup." i spoke, softly and quite mellow, but it had stopped his rant completely as he turned to look at me.

i raised my head to look back at him, my eyes slowly dragging over his features. sweat beaded faintly across his brows as he also searched my face of any indication of emotion. he gulped, the action quite apparent, "yes?"

"are you doing all this because you feel guilty?" i questioned, my voice devoid of any accusatory tone, yet it made him flinch slightly in his seat. "if you are, then you shouldn't be, because i already forgive you."

he pursed his lips and brows furrowed as he continued to keep his eyes on me, clearly displeased despite my words. i felt a warmth slowly settle on my hand, looking down to find his hand grabbing onto mine.

my heart beat quickened, a soft yet steady heat creeping up onto my cheeks. for a moment, it had felt like we were suspended in time, the universe letting us have this moment that we've needed.

"even if you have forgiven me," he paused, his body turning to me and gripping my hand tighter, "i can't." he whispered, a soft tremble in his voice as i watched his eyes gloss over.

"i'm sorry. i'm so sorry." he almost weeps, his voice crackly and tears turning his eyes glossy. "i shouldn't have talked to you like that. been so - so caught up in my emotion that i just had zero regard for how you were feeling to how i was saying it." his voice shakes slightly, and my heart crumpled at the emotion.

gently setting aside my drink, i reached to hold his hands with both of mine, softly rubbing my thumb along the natural contours of the back of it. my throat felt tight, that same burning feeling in my eyes coming back, but i steeled myself and my voice to be able to say what i needed to.

"hiccup.. i understand, i really do." my voice had felt so fragile, like glass, about to break if more pressure is applied to it. "in the time i've spent by myself these past few weeks, i've come to a certain understanding and acceptance to the situation. and it's okay," i squeezed his hands, "i'm okay."

he subtly shakes his head no, one of his hands breaking free from mine and drifting to my wounded abdomen, past the hem and underneath my shirt. hiccup was quiet but his touch spoke more than his words tried to convey. my breath hitched at the action as he continued with his ministrations, yet his expression more spaced-out. i'm not sure what it was exactly, but i could tell he was heavily contemplating something in his head.

despite the gauze barrier, i could feel the heat of him emanating through it. it allowed that familiar warmth to bloom in my chest once again, the same warmth that only he seems to be the cause of. it had felt entirely too intimate to consider it as something friends do which only raised so many more questions and confusion in my head.

this wasn't normal for friends, right? is this something he normally does with the others?

i gulped down the lump in my throat, the thought of him doing the same thing to a certain blonde-haired viking setting an uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

before i could voice out any of my thoughts however, my eyes widened and cheeks warmed considerably once i felt his touch travel to my cheek. it was soft, almost feather-like, and comforting. his eyes glowed beautifully, the orange sunset reflecting onto his green eyes, effectively enchanting me with how beautiful it looked.

he kept his eyes on me, seemingly waiting on a sign on how i felt about the current predicament. seeing no protests from me, he continued on, now essentially cupping my face with both of his hands, his piercing eyes never leaving my face, flitting between my eyes and lips.

"hiccup..."

"hiccup!" a familiar voice cut through the silence and the trees, dispelling the intimate moment in an instant. i hurriedly moved away from his clutches, picking up my forgotten drink, as hiccup nervously fixes his hair and clothes.

astrid appears on the path in front of my hut, lax features and usual demeanor indicating that she didn't see whatever just happened between hiccup and i. "there you are. figured you would be here." she spoke, walking closer towards my porch.

hiccup laughed, notably a little more breathless than when he normally is, yet astrid doesn't bat an eye or pick up on it. admittedly, i spaced out as she rambled on, the scene before still playing over and over in my head.

hiccup's soft touches was still practically branded onto my skin, with how i could still feel the heat of his touch despite him being on the other side of the seat we were on. his actions had only made me more confused, swirling thoughts trying to reason why he did what he did yet none of them made sense.

what was that? was he...

i shook away the thoughts as i come back to consciousness back in time. "[name], i hope you don't mind that i'll be taking this guy with me for a little bit. i need his help on a few things regarding training." she spoke.

i nodded, plastering a small smile on my face but i turn to look at hiccup, silently torn on wanting him to go or letting him leave. his gaze was on me, searching my face but perhaps my features weren't translating my desire well, because he turns to astrid and smiles, "we can go, we were just finishing up anyways."

my heart cracks just a tiny bit, that same feeling that i felt a few weeks ago leaking through the cracks of my resolve little by little. but i force the smile back on my face, standing up to bring my drink back inside, the atmosphere now leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

they gather their things and leave side-by-side, and i also turn and huddle back into my hut, missing the longing look hiccup held to my disappearing figure.

DO NOT REPOST MY CONTENT ANYWHERE! i would love to hear any and all thoughts. mwah! have a great day!

quick access to my library.

[lightdancingwords]

Breaking The Wall - Part One of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 6,355

Tags/Warnings: Cop procedures, police work, angst (so much), tension, violence

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: This is my first foray into The Rookie universe! I'm still playing catch up on the series itself, but I was too excited about this idea to wait! So take it as an Alternate Universe where not everything will be to precise detail of the series! Enjoy!

Also: Posting schedule will be 1 to 2 times a week for this series. We'll see how it goes!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter One: Breaking Regulation

The briefing room was its usual controlled chaos—officers filtering in with coffee in hand, the quiet shuffle of gear, the occasional bark of laughter as partners caught up from the weekend. Tim Bradford leaned against the wall near the back, arms folded, his face a calm mask of readiness. He’d already read over the assignment roster posted outside, and his name hadn’t moved. As far as he knew, it was another standard patrol cycle.

Until the back door opened.

Every head in the room turned.

Rachel Grace stepped inside like she owned the air around her. Her dark uniform was crisp, her auburn hair tightly knotted at the nape of her neck. Her expression was neutral—no smirk, no warmth, no apology for the shift in the room’s temperature. She made no move to introduce herself or even look around. She simply took a seat in the far corner, spine straight, eyes ahead.

The murmurs started almost immediately. Quiet, but not quiet enough.

“Is that her?” “From South Bureau?” “I heard she ran an op in Boyle Heights alone…” “Wasn’t she the one whose partner—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sergeant Grey said sharply, stepping up to the front. The room went silent at once.

Tim shifted his weight slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch. He didn’t like rumors. He liked facts.

Grey’s gaze swept the room. “We’ve got a few reassigned patrol pairings for the next two weeks as part of a precinct integration initiative. First up—Officer Grace.”

Rachel stood, hands behind her back. The move was practiced, almost military. She faced forward, composed but distant.

“Officer Rachel Grace is transferring in from the 77th Division,” Grey said, his tone brisk. “Fifteen years on the job, fluent in multiple languages, tactical certification, and an extensive history in gang intervention and undercover work. She’ll be partnering with Sergeant Bradford for the duration of her integration period.”

That sparked a new wave of glances—this time aimed at Tim.

Tim didn’t blink. “Understood.”

Rachel gave a single nod. “Sergeant.”

No handshake. No small smile. Just clipped professionalism.

Grey gave the room a hard look. “I don’t expect chatter or games. Officer Grace has earned her place here. That’s all there is to say about it. Now—assignments.”

As the roster went up on the screen, Rachel resumed her seat. Tim didn’t move until the end of the briefing, when he stepped over to where she stood collecting her notes. He stopped just short of her personal space.

“You don’t like small talk,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him. “No.”

“Good. Neither do I.”

For the first time, the slightest twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth—but it never fully formed.

“Then we’ll get along just fine.”

Tim didn’t wait for Rachel as he exited the briefing room, just assumed she’d follow—and she did. Her boots echoed evenly behind him, no hesitation in her pace, no need for directions. When they reached the cruiser, she slid into the passenger seat without a word, pulling the seatbelt across her chest with a practiced snap.

Silence settled like fog. Not awkward, but heavy.

Tim started the engine. Checked the mirrors. Glanced at her once.

“Radio’s yours,” he said.

Rachel nodded, adjusting the dial and responding with calm precision when dispatch called in their unit number. Her voice over the radio was crisp, almost detached. Everything about her screamed control.

They pulled away from the precinct, both staring ahead, the city of Los Angeles unfolding in its usual blur of movement and noise.

Still no small talk.

Tim didn’t mind the quiet—he was used to rookies who filled the air with nerves or questions. Rachel wasn’t that. She was a wall. Cold. Impenetrable. But efficient. He could respect that.

A call crackled through the radio.

“7-Adam-07, we’ve got a disturbance reported at 4172 West Melrose. Caller says there’s shouting, glass breaking—possible DV situation. No weapons mentioned at this time.”

Rachel leaned forward, voice steady. “7-Adam-07, en route.”

Tim flicked on the lights, taking a hard turn onto Melrose. “DV call first thing. Welcome to Mid-Wilshire.”

Rachel didn’t respond. She didn’t smile. Just watched the road with that unreadable expression.

When they pulled up in front of a narrow apartment building, the sound of shouting was immediately evident—even from the street. A male voice. Loud. Agitated. Something crashing.

Tim stepped out first, scanning the windows above. “Second floor, looks like.”

Rachel was already moving, her hand near her weapon but not on it. Controlled. Professional. They reached the building’s main entrance in sync, then climbed the narrow staircase side by side, neither needing to coordinate. Both used to the rhythm of the job.

Outside apartment 2B, the yelling intensified.

Tim glanced at her. “You take lead?”

She gave a single nod.

Rachel knocked hard. “LAPD. Open the door.”

No response.

Another crash.

Rachel didn’t wait. She stepped back, motioned to Tim. One nod.

He kicked in the door.

Inside, a man in his forties whirled around from the shattered coffee table, chest heaving, face flushed. A woman stood behind him, trembling but uninjured, hands raised in surrender.

“Get the hell out of my house!” the man shouted.

Rachel didn’t flinch. “Step away from her. Now.”

He took one step forward. Aggressive. Stupid.

Tim moved to her right, just behind her, ready.

The man lunged.

Rachel reacted fast—faster than Tim expected. She twisted around him, grabbed his wrist, and sent him to the floor with a clean, practiced move that was all muscle and training. She had a knee in his back before he could even curse, cuffing him with efficient, brutal calm.

The woman sobbed. Tim moved to her quickly, voice soft. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No. He just… he lost it. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You did the right thing.”

Behind them, Rachel hauled the man to his feet like he weighed nothing. Her expression hadn’t changed. No flicker of emotion. Not even anger. Just cold, detached precision.

Tim watched her a moment too long.

Later, after they handed the man off and wrote the report in silence, Tim finally said something.

“Where’d you learn that takedown?”

Rachel didn’t look up from her paperwork. “Jake taught me.”

That was all she said. No elaboration.

Tim didn’t press. Just nodded.

Enemies might’ve talked more by now. But this? This was something else. A quiet storm brewing—contained. For now.

The doors of the cruiser shut with the familiar weight of habit. Tim glanced at Rachel as she settled in beside him, already jotting down notes from the domestic call. Her handwriting was neat, almost surgical in its precision—no hesitation, no wasted movement.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

Rachel didn’t offer anything either. The silence between them wasn’t cold—it was clinical. Efficient.

Finally, he said, “You handled that call like you’d seen it before.”

She didn’t look up. “I have.”

“Didn’t hesitate on the door.”

“There was no time to.”

His eyes stayed on her for a beat. “Some would say you moved in too soon.”

Her pen paused briefly. “Some don’t know what happens when you wait.”

Tim didn’t argue. Just nodded once, a simple acknowledgment. She didn’t flinch from criticism—but she didn’t explain herself, either. She didn’t need to. It was clear she’d made peace with how she did things.

The radio buzzed to life.

“7-Adam-07, possible 211 silent alarm. Gas-N-Go on Western and 3rd. Clerk pressed the panic button. No call-in. No visuals from outside.”

Rachel reached for the mic. “7-Adam-07, en route.”

Tim turned on the lights and sirens, guiding them through traffic.

“Silent alarm could be a glitch,” he offered.

Rachel’s response was calm. “Or someone’s bleeding behind the register.”

They rolled into the lot three minutes later. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. One car idled at a pump. The front door of the convenience store stood slightly ajar.

Rachel was out of the car before Tim fully braked.

He followed quickly, scanning the windows. “We wait for backup—”

She held up one hand without turning. Not a dismissal. Just a signal. Trust me.

Her sidearm came out, held tight and low as she approached the entrance from the side, body close to the wall, head angling toward the interior. She didn’t move recklessly—she moved like she’d already mapped the entire store in her mind. Calculated. Clean.

Tim circled wide, covering her blind side.

Inside was quiet.

Too quiet.

Rachel gave him a quick glance, barely a nod, then slipped inside.

Her eyes scanned, noting the open register drawer, the half-empty chip rack tipped over, and the clerk—barely visible—curled on the floor behind the counter.

A figure ducked behind an aisle.

Rachel was moving before the suspect even realized they’d been seen.

“LAPD!” she called, not shouting—just enough authority to freeze the wrong kind of panic.

The suspect—a teenage male—spun halfway, raising what looked like a pistol with unsteady hands.

Rachel didn’t hesitate.

She surged forward with precision, deflecting the weapon with a controlled strike, guiding the kid to the floor with a practiced twist. Her knee landed between his shoulder blades, just enough pressure to keep him still but not enough to damage.

Cuffs were out in seconds. Efficient. No excess.

Tim came in just behind her, covering the space, sweeping for any other threats—but there were none.

The kid was hyperventilating.

Rachel wasn’t even breathing hard.

She radioed it in. “One suspect in custody. No injuries. Scene secured.”

Only once the clerk was safe and the weapon—a cheap plastic replica—was secured, did Rachel stand and brush her sleeves clean.

Later, back in the cruiser, Tim finally spoke.

“You move like someone who knows the script before it’s written.”

Rachel didn’t look over. “I don’t believe in waiting for the third act.”

“You also don’t believe in backup, apparently.”

“I believe in minimizing casualties.”

“Even if it means pushing the edge of protocol?”

She paused, then turned to meet his gaze, her expression unreadable.

“If you’re asking whether I’ll do it again,” she said, “the answer is yes. If it saves someone.”

Tim studied her a moment longer.

“You don’t flinch.”

“Neither do you.”

He gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, but I’m not trying to set the tone on day one.”

“I’m not trying,” she said evenly. “I just am.”

The silence returned, but it felt different this time. Not cold. Not clinical.

It was a standoff of mutual calculation—two officers learning the shape of each other’s boundaries.

And Tim realized something.

She wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t emotional.

She was control, weaponized.

And she was going to be a challenge.

He wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing.

Back at the precinct, the air inside the bullpen buzzed with low conversations, the way it always did after a tense call. Tim typed out the incident report at his desk with steady hands. Rachel stood a few feet away, delivering her account to Sergeant Grey, her posture rigid, tone clipped and professional.

“Suspect was a teenager. Weapon was a replica. Clerk confirmed the panic button was hit when the kid flashed the gun and ordered him to empty the register. No injuries on scene. I moved in once visual was confirmed.”

Grey nodded slowly, scrutinizing her. “You didn’t wait for backup.”

“I didn’t need backup.”

Tim watched the exchange from his desk, silent.

Grey didn’t press it—not now. He just nodded. “Write it up. I want the report on my desk by end of shift.”

Rachel turned, already pulling up the notes on her tablet.

Around the bullpen, voices started to stir.

“She still moves like she’s got something to prove.” “You’d think after two years she’d slow down.” “It’s O’Hare. That messed her up more than she lets on.” “Not surprised she acted like that. She’s never waited for backup—not once.” “I heard she walked out of a hostage standoff once because command wouldn’t let her breach.” “Is she even trying to be part of this team, or…?”

Rachel ignored them.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look around. She just typed.

The eyes that followed her weren’t hostile—but they weren’t welcoming either. They were watchful. Curious. A little wary.

Rachel Grace didn’t smile. Didn’t make conversation. Didn’t pause to ask about anyone’s weekend.

She was here to work. That was all.

Tim watched her across the room, noticing how the space around her remained clear. No one asked to grab coffee. No one joked around her desk. No one pulled up a chair.

It wasn’t fear—it was distance. A wall she built without ever laying a single brick.

Lucy slid up beside Tim, sipping from a paper cup. She kept her voice low.

“So that’s your new partner.”

Tim didn’t look away. “For now.”

“She’s… intense.”

“She’s disciplined.”

“Right,” Lucy said carefully. “But, like, in a ‘one wrong look and she’ll break your arm’ kind of way.”

Tim smirked faintly. “She’s not reckless.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “She’s not friendly either.”

“She doesn’t have to be.”

Lucy tilted her head. “You’re defending her?”

“I’m not judging her on gossip.”

Lucy leaned in a little. “You know the story, right? About her partner?”

“O’Hare. Yeah.”

“Some people say she still acts like it happened last week.”

Tim finally turned to look at Lucy. “You ever lost a partner?”

Lucy hesitated, caught off guard. “No.”

“Then don’t assume you know what that feels like.”

Lucy held his gaze for a moment, then backed off. “Okay. Fair.”

She left him alone, but Tim’s eyes drifted back to Rachel.

She didn’t look like someone grieving. She looked like someone who couldn’t afford to.

Someone who’d built her entire survival around staying sharp, staying fast, staying in control.

He respected it. He also knew it couldn’t last forever.

But that was her wall to maintain—or tear down.

He wasn’t there to fix her.

Still… he couldn’t help watching.

And wondering what it would take to see even one crack.

Rachel stood at the printer, retrieving the hard copy of her report, when Grey approached her from the side. He didn’t say anything at first—just waited until she was finished. That alone said enough: this wasn’t going to be casual.

She turned, report in hand, already anticipating what was coming.

“Sergeant.”

Grey gave a slight nod. “Grace. Walk with me.”

She followed him toward his office, but he didn’t go in. Instead, he stopped just outside, arms folded, voice low enough not to carry.

“I read your report. Watched the body cam footage too.”

Rachel said nothing. She didn’t offer justification. She didn’t need to—yet.

Grey continued, “You executed the takedown clean. No unnecessary force. Clerk’s alive, suspect’s in cuffs, no one’s bleeding. That’s what we like to see.”

“But,” Rachel prompted, neutral as ever.

Grey met her eyes. “But this isn’t South Bureau. What might’ve passed for standard operating procedure over there… doesn’t automatically fly here.”

Rachel’s jaw didn’t tighten, but her eyes sharpened just slightly. “I adapt to the field.”

“I don’t doubt that. You’ve got instincts. Control. You move like you’ve got ten seconds to save a life, every single time.” He paused. “Problem is, that edge? It cuts both ways.”

She said nothing.

Grey continued, tone quieter. “You’ve got a reputation, Grace. One earned, not given. People respect it. They also talk about it.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow, faint but pointed. “Let them.”

Grey’s expression didn’t shift. “I’m not asking you to make friends. I don’t care if you never set foot in the break room. But I do care about the way you carry that badge in my precinct.”

He let the words land.

Rachel nodded once. “Understood.”

Grey leaned in just a fraction, his voice low enough only she could hear. “You’re not still out there trying to prove something to a ghost, are you?”

Silence.

Rachel didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just met his gaze, level and unblinking.

“No, sir,” she said.

Grey watched her for another beat, reading her like only a seasoned cop could. Finally, he gave her a nod and stepped back.

“That’s all.”

Rachel turned and walked away, her movements fluid, unbothered.

But as she passed the bullpen, she felt the eyes.

Still watching.

Still whispering.

And she didn’t care.

She never had.

The apartment was dark when Rachel stepped inside, the only light a muted glow spilling in from the city beyond her high-rise window. She didn’t flip a switch. Didn’t need to. She moved through the space like a shadow, setting her keys and badge on the small dish by the door, shrugging off her jacket with practiced indifference.

The place was immaculate. Uncluttered. Everything in its place. Sleek, modern furniture. Cool tones. No signs of life save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of sirens drifting up from the streets below.

She walked straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and twisted the cap. No wine. No takeout. No signs of comfort or indulgence.

Just control.

The kind of control that extended beyond the job and into the silence she lived with when the uniform came off.

Rachel moved to the small living room and lowered herself onto the edge of the couch, not sinking into it so much as perching there. Still upright. Still alert. Even here, her posture never relaxed.

On the shelf beside her, tucked just behind a few well-worn books and a polished box of old case files, sat a framed photo.

A man with tousled blond hair and a warm, mischievous grin had one arm looped tightly around her waist. Rachel stood beside him, not in uniform, but in jeans and a soft, cream-colored sweater, her hair down and catching sunlight.

She was laughing in the photo. Fully, freely. Her head tilted just slightly against his. Her arm draped casually around his back.

Jake O’Hare.

Not just her partner.

The kind of man you didn’t just lose on the job—you lost him from every part of your life.

Rachel stared at the photo, unmoving. No change in expression. No outward reaction. But her hand reached for the frame. She picked it up gently, thumb brushing the edge. Not the glass. Not his face. Just the frame.

She didn’t sigh. Didn’t speak.

She simply stared.

And after a moment, she set the photo back in its place with quiet precision, as if anything more would feel… indulgent.

Then she stood, unscrewed the water bottle cap again, and drank half of it in one go. Her eyes drifted to the clock.

0500 wasn’t that far off.

Sleep couldn't wait.

Rachel moved to the bedroom. Folded clothes sat in a neat stack. The bed was made—tightly, like a habit. She stripped off her shirt and pants with military efficiency and pulled on an old department-issued t-shirt. No pajamas. No softness.

She lay down, arms crossed over her stomach, staring at the ceiling.

And when her eyes finally closed, her breathing stayed even.

Disciplined.

Guarded.

Even in dreams, Rachel Grace gave nothing away.

The second week began much like the first: silent mornings, reports filed with precision, the occasional clipped exchange in the cruiser. Rachel remained as unreadable as ever, her walls unbroken, her posture immaculate. But the calls were different this week. More unpredictable. More charged.

And so was she.

**

Tuesday: Suspect with a knife, cornered in an alley behind a pawn shop. Tim had been halfway through calling it in when Rachel moved, cutting a wide angle through the back route and taking the guy down with a hard slam against the dumpster before backup had even arrived.

When Tim got there, breath caught mid-sentence, she was already cuffing the guy with clinical efficiency. No injuries. No mess.

“You didn’t clear it with me,” he said afterward.

“I had eyes. I had opportunity.”

“You didn’t have confirmation.”

She didn’t even blink. “Didn’t need it.”

**

Thursday: Stolen car, suspect fleeing on foot through a crowded market. Tim went high, using the patrol vehicle to cut the guy off at the end of the alley.

Rachel didn’t wait for the block—she vaulted a vendor’s stand, cornered the suspect mid-run, and brought him down with a shoulder tackle that was borderline excessive.

The suspect howled about brutality.

Rachel didn’t flinch.

Tim pulled her aside as they waited for the transport unit.

“You could’ve let him run two more feet. I had it.”

Rachel stared at him. “He could’ve grabbed a civilian in two more feet.”

“Or you could’ve ended up in a misconduct hearing.”

“Then they’ll have to spell ‘restraint’ differently in my file.”

Tim exhaled through his nose. “That supposed to be funny?”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

**

Friday: Armed robbery, three suspects fleeing on foot. Rachel pursued one through a construction site, moving fast, weaving between scaffolding. Tim had barely finished coordinating units when her voice came through the radio, calm and cool.

“Suspect detained.”

By the time he got there, she had the guy face-down in the gravel, weapon secured, blood on his lip from where he’d resisted.

Too much force?

Maybe.

Borderline?

Absolutely.

Tim didn’t say anything in the moment.

Later, back at the precinct, he dropped the door shut to the report room a little harder than usual.

Rachel looked up from her tablet. “Problem?”

“You ever think that maybe the rules are there for a reason?”

She blinked slowly. “I follow procedure.”

“You skirt it. Constantly.”

“If the results are clean—”

“Then it’s luck,” he cut in, voice low, firm. “And one day, luck’s gonna run out, and it won’t be your record on the line. It’ll be mine too.”

That stopped her—not completely, but enough for her to set her tablet down.

She looked at him then. Really looked.

Still calm. Still composed. But something sharper behind her eyes.

“If you can’t handle the way I work,” she said evenly, “you can ask for reassignment.”

“I can handle it,” Tim replied, tone clipped. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Neither of them moved. The silence thickened, heavy with unspoken tension. Not quite enemies. Not quite partners.

Yet.

Finally, Rachel picked her tablet back up.

“We’re done here.”

Tim watched her go, jaw tight, chest full of frustration that had nowhere to go.

She was good. Too good, maybe.

But that edge she danced on? It was getting thinner by the day.

And he was starting to realize… he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to pull her back from it—or follow her straight to the drop.

The hum of the bullpen was steady, officers returning from weekend calls, typing up reports, sipping lukewarm coffee. Tim stood at the threshold of Sergeant Grey’s office, one hand lightly knocking on the open door.

Grey didn’t look up right away.

“That bad?” he asked, flipping a page on the file in front of him.

Tim stepped in. “Depends on what you define as bad.”

Now Grey looked up.

“You and Grace,” he said. “Trouble?”

Tim hesitated. That pause was answer enough.

“She’s a solid cop,” Tim admitted. “But she’s not a partner. Not in the way this job needs.”

Grey folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Define that.”

“She makes the call before there’s time to make a call. No communication, no coordination. I’m there to react, not work with her. That’s not a partnership—it’s damage control.”

Grey watched him for a moment, expression unreadable.

“And yet,” he said slowly, “in the last ten days, you’ve brought in four suspects, recovered two weapons, deescalated one active DV, and stopped a gas station robbery before it escalated. No injuries. No civilian complaints. No IA red flags.”

“Yet,” Tim said pointedly.

Grey didn’t argue. “So what are you asking me for?”

“Reassignment. Let her ride solo for a while, or pair her with someone who doesn’t care how many lines she toe-dances around.”

Grey shook his head. “Not happening.”

Tim’s jaw flexed. “She’s not going to change.”

“I’m not asking her to,” Grey said. “And I’m not asking you to like her, Bradford. I’m asking you to keep doing what you’ve already been doing—balancing her. Holding the line when she pushes it. You’re one of the few people who can.”

Tim let the words hang there. He didn’t argue, not out loud. But it simmered in his expression—contained, barely.

“She doesn’t talk,” he said after a beat. “Not about the job. Not about the calls. Not even about the debriefs unless she’s asked. She’s a wall.”

Grey nodded. “And you’ve built a career on knowing how to get through those. Figure it out.”

Tim huffed out a breath, half a laugh, but without humor. “This isn’t Chen.”

“No,” Grey agreed. “It’s not. Chen needed shaping. Grace is already forged. That’s harder to work with—but not impossible.”

Tim gave one slow nod. “Anything else?”

“Just this—” Grey leaned forward. “You think she’s ice now? Try giving her exactly what she wants: distance. Let her operate in a vacuum, and one day, it won’t be just a bad call—it’ll be a headline. She needs a partner, Tim. Even if she won’t admit it.”

Tim didn’t answer. He just turned and walked out.

He didn’t like it.

But Grey was right.

She wasn’t going to change.

Which meant if anything was going to shift—if the line was going to hold—it’d be up to him.

And right now, Tim Bradford wasn’t sure whether he was holding her back… or getting pulled into her gravity.

The patrol cruiser sat in its usual spot outside the precinct, gleaming under the sharp California sun. Tim leaned against the hood, arms crossed, watching the front entrance. He’d already checked their assignments, already clocked the usual suspects on the board. He wasn’t waiting for Rachel—he was waiting for the moment.

She walked out exactly on time, not a minute early, not a second late.

Her uniform was perfect. Hair tied back, clean lines, no visible tension in her stride. Just the same measured presence that had defined every day of the last two weeks.

She approached without hesitation.

“Ready?” she asked, unlocking the passenger door.

“Hold up.”

Rachel paused, not impatient, just still. Her gaze met his—cool, unreadable.

Tim straightened off the hood. “We need to talk about how we’re working.”

She blinked once. “We’re not.”

“That’s the problem.”

A beat of silence.

He kept going. “You make decisions without input. You push boundaries. And if something goes wrong out there, it’s both of us answering for it.”

She nodded once. “I’m aware.”

“That’s not the same as changing it.”

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to.”

Tim’s jaw clenched. “That’s how partnerships work. Communication. Coordination. Trust.”

Rachel stared at him for a long moment, then said, “Do you not trust me?”

He hesitated—not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he didn’t like how easily she’d pinned him to the wall with that one question.

“I trust your training,” he said. “Your instincts. Your control. But that’s not enough if you’re acting like I’m not even there.”

Rachel tilted her head slightly. “So what do you want, Sergeant? A conversation every time a suspect twitches wrong? A committee vote before I move in?”

“I want a partner who doesn’t treat me like I’m just backup.”

That landed, but not in the way he wanted. Rachel didn’t flinch. Didn’t bristle. She just… accepted the statement and filed it away like data.

“Noted,” she said simply.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Then she opened the passenger door, slid in, and pulled the seatbelt across her chest.

Tim stood there for a second, frustrated—not by her dismissal, but by how effective it was.

She wasn’t arguing. She wasn’t defensive.

She was just… unshakeable.

And it made him want to shake her.

He got in the driver’s side and started the engine. The radio crackled.

“7-Adam-07, respond to a 459 in progress—possible break-in at a residence near Fairfax and 8th. Caller reports movement in the backyard. Suspect may still be on scene.”

Rachel grabbed the mic. “7-Adam-07, responding.”

Tim didn’t say a word as he pulled away from the curb.

Neither did she.

But the silence between them wasn’t neutral anymore.

It was full.

Of questions.

Of lines still being drawn.

And of one slow-burning fuse just waiting to find a spark.

The cruiser turned onto Fairfax with its lights off, engine low. The street was quiet, lined with narrow hedges and stucco houses, the kind of neighborhood where break-ins weren’t supposed to happen.

Tim parked two houses down from the address. The sun had dipped just enough to cast long shadows across the sidewalk.

“Backyard entry,” Rachel said, already unbuckling. “North side’s got more cover.”

Tim checked the radio. “Units are five minutes out. We wait. Contain the perimeter.”

Rachel didn’t respond.

He glanced over.

Her jaw was set, eyes focused on the alley running along the side of the house. Her hand hovered near her vest—waiting. Thinking.

“Grace,” he said firmly. “We wait. That’s a direct—”

She was already moving.

Tim swore under his breath and jumped out of the cruiser, tracking her through the shadows. She moved fast but silent, her footing practiced on uneven gravel. The back gate creaked slightly as she slipped through, weapon drawn, body low.

Tim followed—less to support her now than to keep the fallout from getting worse.

By the time he rounded the back corner, Rachel had already swept the yard and spotted the suspect—a man crouched under the patio table, crowbar in hand, eyes wide with panic.

“LAPD!” she barked, leveling her weapon. “Drop it now.”

The man bolted.

Rachel lunged.

Tim was two seconds too far behind to stop her.

She intercepted him before he reached the back fence, knocking the crowbar loose with a precise strike to the wrist and slamming him to the ground with a force that was almost too clean to criticize. Her knee pressed into his back as she cuffed him, calm and without excess.

Tim caught up just as the guy groaned beneath her weight.

Rachel didn’t look up. “Suspect secured. No injuries.”

Tim didn’t say a word.

Not until they walked the guy back out to the front and handed him off to the responding unit. Then, as she turned back toward the cruiser, he stepped in front of her.

“You ignored a direct order.”

Rachel gave him a look—not cold, not defiant. Just steady.

“And I stopped a suspect mid-felony without injury or escalation. Would you rather we’d stood around until he hopped a fence and disappeared?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s not?”

Tim took a breath, forced his voice lower. “You can’t keep doing this—making calls without me. If something had gone sideways—”

“But it didn’t.”

“That’s not a justification.”

Rachel stepped closer, her voice level but unyielding. “Then write it up. File a complaint. Grey already expects it from me, doesn’t he?”

Tim stared at her, frustration churning. “This isn’t about Grey. This is about me. About trust.”

Rachel’s jaw tightened for the first time. Just slightly.

“You’re right,” she said. “You don’t trust me.”

He opened his mouth—then closed it.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

And yet… every time she made a move, it worked. Every suspect down. Every call resolved. She hadn’t once crossed the line—but she danced on the very edge of it, daring gravity to pull her under.

Tim wanted to call her reckless.

But he couldn’t.

Because she wasn’t.

She was methodical. Controlled. Smart.

And that made her more dangerous than if she were just sloppy.

Rachel turned to head back to the car.

Tim didn’t follow right away.

He stood in the yard, hands on his hips, staring at the worn space where the suspect had fallen.

He didn’t know if she was going to get someone hurt one day—or if she was the only one who could prevent it.

And he hated that he couldn’t decide which scared him more.

Tim Bradford – Cruiser, 9:42 PM

He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, staring out at the city lights through the windshield. The suspect was gone. The report was clean. No injuries, no use of force complaint, no body cam footage that would raise flags with IA. By all measurable accounts, it was a win.

So why did it feel like a loss?

Rachel sat next to him in silence, typing the incident report on her tablet. Like nothing had happened. Like ignoring a direct order was just another calculated choice in a long string of acceptable deviations. Her face was unreadable, her body language calm.

Tim clenched his jaw.

She didn’t just ignore him—she overrode him. Made the decision without a glance, without a question. Like she didn’t need a partner. Like he was just there for paperwork and protocol.

And the worst part?

She was right. The takedown was textbook. Controlled. Clean. No one got hurt.

That’s what kept throwing him. If she were reckless, it’d be easy. If she were emotional, careless, erratic—he could point to it, call it out, shut it down. But Rachel wasn’t any of those things. She was deliberate. Efficient. Scary-good. Every call they took ended the same way: suspect down, scene cleared, Rachel walking away like it cost her nothing.

But he knew better.

Nobody carries that much control without bleeding for it somewhere.

He’d seen that kind of tightrope before—in the mirror, in Isabel, in the soldiers he used to lead who held it together right up until the exact moment they didn’t.

He stole a glance at her.

She was focused, methodical, probably halfway done with her report. Not a trace of emotion on her face. Not anger, not smugness. Just business.

And maybe that was what pissed him off the most.

Because it made him question himself.

He was the one following orders now. The one playing it safe, holding the line, protecting careers and reputations and department policy. The same guy who used to clear rooms before backup arrived, who once ran toward a chemical weapon because no one else could recognize what it was.

She was doing what he used to do.

And part of him hated her for it.

Part of him envied her.

And part of him—God help him—respected the hell out of her for it.

Tim turned his eyes back to the street, took a deep breath, and forced the tension out through his hands, one slow exhale at a time.

She was a walking violation of everything he preached.

And somehow… she still made him feel like maybe he was the one on the wrong side of the line.

LAPD Parking Lot – Late Evening

Tim leaned against the hood of his truck, arms crossed, staring out at the night like it had personally offended him. His gear bag sat by the bumper, untouched. The shift was over. Reports were filed. Calls cleared. But something about today was still sitting heavy on his chest, like body armor he hadn’t taken off.

Footsteps approached from behind.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” Lucy said gently.

He didn’t turn, but his shoulders dropped a little. Familiar voice. Familiar presence. Like a weight lifting without ever being named.

“Just needed a minute.”

Lucy came to stand beside him, close but not crowding. She didn’t say anything at first—just let the silence breathe between them.

After a beat, she said, “You do that thing when you’re spinning.”

He shot her a sidelong glance. “What thing?”

She gave him a wry smile. “You stare at the middle distance like it owes you an apology. And you flex your jaw every four seconds.”

Tim exhaled through his nose, a small, dry laugh escaping. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me? Always.”

She waited, giving him space to fill the silence if he wanted. And he did.

Eventually.

“It’s Grace,” he said.

Lucy nodded slowly. “Trouble?”

“Depends who you ask.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand. “She ignored a direct order today. Just blew right past it. And it worked. It always works.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I hate it,” he admitted. “Not because it’s reckless—because it’s not. It’s calculated. Controlled. She knows exactly what she’s doing. And that’s the problem.”

Lucy tilted her head. “You think she’s dangerous?”

“No.” He paused. “I think she’s me. Ten years ago. Before I learned what it costs to live like that.”

Lucy studied him for a moment, then spoke softly. “So what are you really afraid of? That she’s gonna get someone hurt? Or that she won’t?”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

And for a second, he didn’t have an answer.

Lucy’s voice stayed quiet. “You’ve spent so long trying to do it right—by the book, by the badge, by the code. And she shows up doing it her way, making it work, and it’s making you question all of it.”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Lucy bumped his arm gently with her elbow. “That’s okay, you know. Being rattled. You’re human, Tim. You’re allowed to wrestle with it.”

“Even when I don’t want to?”

“Especially when you don’t want to.”

A long pause stretched between them. Not uncomfortable—just honest.

Finally, she added, “You trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Then trust me when I say this: you’ll figure her out. Might take time. Might take a few more violations of protocol. But you’ll get there. You always do.”

Tim nodded slowly. “I’m not trying to save her, Lucy.”

“I know.” She smiled faintly. “That’s why you might actually reach her.”

They stood there a few moments longer in the quiet.

And for the first time all night, the weight on his chest didn’t feel so heavy.

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[ru5t]

🐇 / Run Bunny Run (I'm so curious? I'm unfamiliar with the album, so everything I know is contained to your carrd/blog)

If you drop a 🐇 in my inbox I’ll give you some starter ideas for how your muse might fit into the Dustverse!

That's fine I killed canon in cold blood and it's my city now anyway! Blog canon bears only a passing resemblance to 'real' canon, and technically everything on the blog started with this music video and this music video and everything since has been invention with the Squid (@/hvndredbattles @/hvndredzones) so that's the only 'canon' you need if you don't... feel like reading the excessive number of lore essays in the world building tag. However there is lots of information in the world building tag, if you want it. The album other than the videos is more of a tone indicator than anything and I have a whole playlist for that and I don't really acknowledge the comics because they're mostly not very good but hi yes onto the part you actually asked about:

Cherry as someone who wandered too close to zone 07. Zone 07 is a weird wibbly wobbly thing in the west, where the old coast used to be, that encapsulates some kind of phenomenon that nobody's really sure what it is; the city investigated it for awhile and came up short, the zones calls it a thinning place between the living and the dead, anyone who isn't superstitious just calls it Really Fucking Weird if they've encountered anything about it. Even I can't really tell you what it is, half because I don't rightly know and half because it's more fun that I don't. Anyone brave (or dumb, or unlucky) enough to go in dies, one way or the other. Either never seen again or something else that looks like them walks back out. I'm proposing Cherry got a little closer than most, but didn't actually walk in to zone 07 proper, meaning she got to keep her own thoughts but well. Now there's something else, too. Ghost, demon, prolonged hallucination or other psychotic break - well. We'll just never know. — And this would lend to either side of the conflict. Personally I feel more like she's killjoy coded if only out of boredom and the desire to not have to follow so many rules, but having gotten close to 07 could be a city character thing too, albeit she'd have to work for the company in some capacity. Which would be an area like the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Unit or some science-y field, to have come into contact with it. But also also her name is already Cherry that's so killjoy she very much seems like someone who grew up in the city initially and then went 'fuck this' as a teen and hopped the wall and then either was just particularly susceptible to its draw (it does in fact draw people in, that is part of its weirdness. moths to flame, etc.) or just happened to end up somewhere near 07 and. got reeled dangerously close to disappearing.

Yuna on the verge of becoming one of Better Living's new poster-children after cultivating a little following of her own (perhaps replacing their escaped dove, @lcfthaunted 👀) but it's a big step to sign the rights to your face and body and life away to Better Living literally and not just because they control so much of the infrastructure. Her father may be trying to persuade her away from it without actually saying the quiet part (that it will destroy her, eat her up bit by bit with no remorse and barely even a thank you) out loud, for fear of what might happen to both of them if he does(?). Anyway, she'd really have to get the crassness under wraps for it. And the city has ways of getting rid of it by force, if she signs her life away and doesn't quite manage it on her own. Image is everything, after all.

Hansel goes in here somewhere I know he does but my brain is returning error noises. something something european transfers something something Better Living's "progress without concerns for ethical boundaries". I don't know how I feel re: giving them the ability to revive the dead but to be frank there's precedence in some parts of the fandom over the years and if it's still highly experimental and not something that can just be Done to anyone at any time..... He's just mild and yet unflinching enough to end up somewhere deep in a lab doing things he should absolutely not be doing with BLi money and resources, because it's Science, and the company is taking advantage of it. Encouraging the worst parts of it. Show us how to raise the dead Hansel it is a worthwhile pursuit and there will be no negative long term consequences for this :)

This is who I can figure things out for right away but if I keep sitting on it I might be able to point the others in Dustverse directions too(!)

[midethefangirl]

i’m weak, so what’s wrong with that (reworked)

🏷️: fade to black, bireena, reference to toxic masculinity, and there was only one bed, touch starved bi han, author wrote this instead of sleeping 🤪💀💀

a/n: as noted in the previous version, this is inspired by @ladybug023 spy!Sareena headcanons. gotta give honour to whom it is due.

I know I said I’d upload this a few weeks back and I apologize for the delay. I was wrapping up my finals and I’ll be graduating this week, thank God! 🥰

enough of me rambling about my life, lol, I found myself rereading the previous version and I found myself cringing and I wanted to rework this. I just hope this turns out to be better than its predecessor.

again, I apologize for the delay and yeah, that is it from me.

tagging: @livingdeadgirly

word count: ~3.5k words

also on AO3 (if you’re like me and you despise reading long text on Tumblr)

“Stay still,” she said firmly, lightly pressing the warm wet cloth on his arm, cleaning up the slight gash on his upper arm.

A slight wince left Bi-Han’s lips, a glare on his face as he stared back at the woman before him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her - her black hair with the white streak tied back to avoid them getting in the way and her face fixed in concentration. She was the reason why they were both here, in the first place - in this little shack in the mountains, hiding from the Tengu.

“You do not command me, woman,” he sneered and her head snapped up to meet him. Her eyes narrowed back at him before she rolled them.

“Maybe you should tend your injuries yourself then,” she gave him a sarcastic smile and almost then he was about to snatch the cloth away from her until she sent him a stare that read ‘are you serious?’

With a huff, he gave in, staying rooted. How can a woman be so infuriating and yet so intriguing? Even more so, how could he be so weak to fall for his protégée?

“We would not be in this situation if you had not chosen to defy me,” he changed the subject and she stared back up at him again.

She looked like she was about to say something but she bit on her full lower lip before turning back her attention to his arm. Almost then, Bi-Han wanted to reach for her head and feel her lower lip with his thumb.

So fucking pathetic and weak.

“We’d have been dead by now if we went with your plans, Bi-Han,” Sareena finally replied. “The Tengu are more advanced than what we had believed and they could have killed us both.”

He quelled the urge to protest even though he knew she was right. They were severely underprepared and lucky to have escaped with only a few injuries.

“We barely escaped with a few wounds, your plans would have our heads on a pike, Grandmaster,” her eyes rolled at his title. Okay, maybe not his title as his father, Zhāofēi still ruled the Lin Kuei.

Yet, he despised how his protégée held his soon-to-be title with contempt. It was a shame he could not punish her for that or even get rid of her - a doing of his father’s meddling. That she was his student was a headache on its own and another machination of his father.

Sareena had walked into the Lin Kuei, defeated a few initiates and managed to win over the hearts of everyone, including his father. For as long as Bi-Han could remember, Zhāofēi was not a man easily swayed by gimmicks and he would know that being the oldest son of the grandmaster.

And yet, all it took was her stepping in to take down her opponents for Zhāofēi to recruit her and place her under his tutelage.

“All done,” she announced finally and he snatched his arm away from her before turning away. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”

He did not need to maintain eye contact to know exactly what her facial expression was right now. He could imagine her supple lips pouting and her eyes narrowing at him as she carried that questioning look on her face.

How can anyone be this infuriating and yet pleasing to the eyes?

He could not lie to himself as much as he wanted to deny it, no matter how much. Those feelings he had kept hidden for the past two years of being her master threatened to break through the walls he had carefully built for years.

Bringing her along with him on this mission was a bad idea. Yet, he could not defy the grandmaster, not even if said grandmaster was his own father.

The relationship with his father has always been tense even before Sareena walked her way into the clan but the tension grew even worse the moment his father insisted on him taking her under his tutelage.

It seemed to be that despite the passage of years, the old man would keep on prioritizing outsiders over his own son.

First, it had been that orphan, the guilt of being partly responsible for the deaths of his family had clouded the judgment of an old man. That same guilt had led to him opening his home to Tomas, not just making him a member of the clan responsible for him being an orphan, but also adopting him as one of his sons.

Even a younger Bi-Han in his teenage years could see how fucked up that decision was on Zhāofēi’s part but he knew better than to question his father. Instead, he had distanced himself from Tomas.

Zhāofēi may have brought him in, made him wear the Lin Kuei insignia but Bi-Han had sworn to never acknowledge him as one of them.

It was so laughable how history repeats itself with Zhāofēi forcing another outsider on him and unlike Tomas whom he could keep his distance from, there was no way he could do that with Sareena.

He had tried every method in the book, from being not just literally but also metaphorically cold. He had even made sure his training was as tough as it could be, after all, he was infamous on the Lin Kuei for not holding back.

To his chagrin, Sareena could hold her own against him, although with a few bruises on her body as evidenced by her visits to the medical room.

To make it worse was this tight feeling in his chest that almost had him breathless each time she stepped into the trading room. That and that feeling which threatened to choke him each time he saw Tomas around her.

Tomas might believe he was hiding his feelings but to anyone who had eyes to see, they were so glaringly obvious that a blind man could see them.

As much as he hated to acknowledge the existence of the gray-cladded assassin, Bi-Han knew when to give the honor where it was due and Tomas was a formidable warrior in his own right. The man had been born without powers of his own and came into this clan a whimpering weakling after the old man had brought him in.

That had not stopped Tomas from training extra hard to prove himself, even to the point of using the ancient books and consulting the clan’s elders to acquire his own powers. If that was not dedication in itself.

But hell, was Tomas too obvious with his attraction towards Sareena. At best, Bi-Han could describe him as a pathetic puppy pining after its owner for a grain of attention. It was just annoying and pitiful to see. Like it is pitiful seeing you pant after her as well.

At least, he knew how to keep those feelings buried deep inside. Until now…

It had to do something with this stupid cramped up shack they found themselves in as a temporary source of shelter. He could only pray to some god out there, probably Liu Kang, that he made it out without succumbing to his weakness.

“Bi-Han.”

And there was his kryptonite at the foot of the door, her hand on the handle. She had an eyebrow raised at his earlier distraction. He could already tell that she had some witty remark in her arsenal by the twitch at the corner of her lips.

“Being distracted is not a good look for the future grandmaster.”

And there it was.

He scoffed, looking away from her. The door creaked slightly, immediately alerting him as he turned his attention towards the source of the sound.

“And where do you think you are going?”

“To patrol. I thought it would be best if-.”

“The Tengu would not find us here,” he cut in before looking up at her.

“You are so unbelievable, Bi-Han. Way too confident that the Tengu would not sniff out our location faster than a bloodhound,” she countered, defiant as usual and it grated on his already frayed nerves.

He was already on his feet faster than he could process it, his frame right in front of her.

“Must you always defy me, Sareena? Do you get a kick from this drivel?”

His stance coupled with his gravelly voice would have intimidated a clan member of a less position. But the woman before him did not seem phased by him and had quite the audacity for someone who was supposed to be his protegee.

“I may be your ‘disciple’ but that does not make me a blind follower of yours, Bi-Han. You cannot just assume we are out of the Tengu’s radar because we are in the middle of nowhere,” she shot back and he let out a huff of annoyance.

As much as he hated to admit it, she was right and it made him turn away as he muttered under his breath, “I will keep patrol and you stay here for the meantime.”

“But your injuries-,” she protested but Bi-Han could already see that from afar as he cut in.

“Will be fine, Sareena. Do not waste your time arguing with me,” he added with a warning tone and he watched her features relax as she pushed lightly at him.

He stepped aside, his eyes tracking her movement from where she was to the bed.

“Since you insisted, grandmaster,” she shrugged, taking her seat on the bed which was weirdly comfortable for one in a little cabin in the middle of nowhere. “Wake me up when it is my turn to take over patrolling.”

He said nothing, letting out a grunt as he made his way outside. It was the least he could do for now.

What was the mission again? Sareena found herself sighing as she melted into the comfort of the bed she laid on.

As much as she wanted to indulge in its comforting embrace and fall asleep, her mind kept on reminding her of how limited her time was. Quan Chi had to be growing impatient, given the kind of man he was.

Aside from the constant reminder of a certain Outworld sorcerer, there was the fact that this day also had to mark five Earthrealm years of Ashrah leaving the Netherrealm.

Being the closest to Ashrah, Sareena had been the first person the former had revealed her plan of leaving to, even extending the offer for her to escape the Netherrealm with her.

“Do you not want to see realms beyond the fiery skies?”

There were occasions when Sareena pondered on why she had declined. Maybe it was the fear of the unknown that held her back, after all, the Netherrealm was what she knew her whole life.

And there was Quan Chi ruling over the Netherrealm like the tyrant he was. The moment Ashrah had left, he had sent out fellow sisters to assassinate her. Given that none of them returned, it was safe to say that they had met their ends at Ashrah’s Datusha.

It had gotten to the part where the Sisterhood of Shadows dreaded being the ones called on to assassinate Ashrah. Aside from the likelihood of being killed in self-defense, Ashrah was still a sister regardless.

Even if she had made the conscious decision to turn her back on the Sisterhood, even if Kia forbade the rest of them from uttering her name, even if Ashrah was forced to have her sisters die by Datusha’s blade.

Five years had passed and now, Sareena found herself in the same position as she believed Ashrah had been those years ago. It had started so slowly like a seed planted in the ground of her heart and allowed to take root before germinating.

Yet, a lot of things hung in the balance, one of them being that she was a spy. She had infiltrated the Lin Kuei under Quan Chi’s commands, the sorcerer forcing her to choose between this or being ordered to assassinate Ashrah instead.

The sadistic smile that floated on the bastard’s smug face was enough to send chills down her spine. It was no secret that she and Ashrah were the closest and for Quan Chi to use that to blackmail her was a low blow.

Despite that, Sareena valued her life more than anything and had made the choice to infiltrate the Lin Kuei without second thoughts. If it mean not being killed by her own sister, then she had no qualms.

Yet, her conscience kicked right at her heart as the years went by. Initially, she had believed that her mission would be a flight through the Netherrealm but it turned out she had not considered the fact that she would get attached to the newfound family she had come to love in the Lin Kuei.

Despite it being her first day after getting initiated into the clan, Tomas had been the first to reach out to her. Then, Cyrax who was also known as Bontle Mohutsiwa had extended a hand of friendship towards her.

Coming from a dog-eat-dog world where the only person she had trusted on an intimate level was Ashrah, encountering these people posed a whiplash to her - a cultural shock.

She had found a new home which she knew would not last long. Not when they would eventually find out the truth of why she was in this clan. She dreaded just the thought of it, the thought of betraying them and the thought of proving Bi-Han’s suspicions right.

It was no secret that he looked down at her with disdain, the way he manhandled her like she was some obstacle to be eliminated.

Sareena had believed that it was understandable why he hated her. Tomas was also in the same boat as she was - they were both outsiders but in comparison, Tomas seemed to fare better as the worst he could get from Bi-Han was a cold silent treatment.

Maybe his disdain for her was not unfounded, she was a spy after all, although he did not know it yet. The truth always had its way of coming out.

The sound of light footsteps was enough to snap her out of reverie, her back almost against the wall as soon as Bi-Han walked in. The scowl on his face almost melted off as he shut the door behind him.

Wasting no time, Sareena’s feet were on the floor as she got down the bed when his raspy voice drew her attention.

“Just where do you think you are going?”

She paused, her eyes staring back at him in confusion.

“It is my turn to patrol, I believe so?” Her tone dropped with a hint of sarcasm as she asked, goosebumps forming on her arm as the temperature of the room dropped down a few degrees Celsius, her sign that that had not gone unnoticed.

“You’d be wasting your time, the coast is clear,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“Still, I-.”

“Were you destined to be a pain in my ass?” He argued, his pointer pointing straight at her and Sareena could feel her blood boiling as she fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Were you destined to always be…this?!” She shot back at him.

No doubt, he had taken an offence to that as his nostrils flared in fury, “And what is that supposed to mean, Sareena?”

Deciding that this was now or never, she squared her shoulders, also taking a dominant stance as she stared right back at him.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

All the fight in him seemed to have left his body at that question, his brows furrowed at that question. He had expected any kind of question but that.

Why did he hate her? Did he even hate her anymore at this point? He scoffed, turning away from her. Maybe he did hate her.

He hated her for how weak she made him; he hated her for how she drove him to the point of insanity. He hated her for how she dominated his every sleeping and waking thoughts.

There’s a thin line between love and hate, someone had once said and Bi-Han had sneered at that quote, pondering on the nonsensical drivel of it all. Yet, he found himself an embodiment of that very quote.

This was a bad idea. Every part of this, from his father placing Sareena under his tutelage to the old man asking that he took her with him on this mission.

One, she had openly defied him in front of an enemy clan - the Tengu and fair enough, she was right to do so but that had bruised his ego in a way. His healing injuries throbbed as a reminder of that.

Two, he had made the error of thinking he could control himself around her and not succumb to his weakness. The fact that they were both in this shack with tensions running high and thickening the air just drove his point home.

“You know what I think of you?” Her voice broke through his thoughts and he slightly turned his head towards her. He wanted to shut her up, telling her he couldn’t care less what she thought of him but he stayed rooted anyway. “I think you are a coward.”

And there it was, his fists clenching in fury.

“You like me,” she continued and his heart rate accelerated like that of a man on adrenaline rush. “You think you hate me so you can push me away.”

She knew.

“Don’t resort to those delusional thoughts to make yourself feel better,” he sneered, turning to fully face her.

“I’ve seen weaker men fight for their love, grandmaster. Men who would burn the world for the ones they love. You, on the other hand, not even the Tengu-,” she pressed on and that was it from him as the last bit of control snapped like a delicate thread holding the two parts of a rope together.

She let out a yelp as his hand gripped her by the neck, tilting her head back as his lips met hers in an aggressive kiss.

For the first time, Bi-Han felt the tension flee his body, his hand leaving her neck now as the initial aggression was toned down for something else.

A groan escaped him the moment he felt Sareena’s hand roaming his chest and the other moving to let his dark hair down. She had taken over, her lips moving against his until he felt himself pushed down on the bed.

That was new and his clouded mind was the reason why he stared in confusion, his body feeling strangely warm despite the cryomancy that ran through his veins.

His eyes made contact with Sareena’s, her face looking more serene than his with a smirk on her lips. The only thing betraying her seemingly calm composure was the slight heaving of her chest as she straddled him.

“Lost for words, grandmaster?” She cooed, her use of his title not posing a source of aggravation to him for the first time.

He was indeed lost for words, panting like he had just ran a thousand miles. He definitely looked pathetic in her eyes yet that did not bother him a bit.

Her hand crept up to his neck and the irony was almost laughable at this point considering he had first kissed her with a neck grip in a kind of power move.

Her lips met his again, her hips grinding against his and he could already feel his length hardening just from that.

She pulled away from him, a short chuckle bubbling from her throat.

“I have barely touched you, Bi-Han,” she whispered, her hand now moving down to his crotch and his breath hitched as his body shuddered. She hesitated, staring at him, “Do you want this?”

He wanted to growl out in frustration, why was she asking him? He had kissed her first, the fact that she was touching him should be enough proof of his consent. Besides, he could not trust his words.

“Just- fuck, yes,” he groaned. It was his first time doing something like this, another side effect of him focusing on his being the next-in-line.

At least, his inexperience did not seem to drive Sareena away as her hand was back where he needed it to be.

“First time?”

There was a teasing glint in her dark eyes and if not for the heady lust which clouded his mind, he’d have glared at her. Maybe he did because she teased him even more with a gentle squeeze which made his breath hitch.

“I’ll be gentle, if that is assuring,” Sareena stared down at him, her hands leaving him momentarily as she reached to pull off her clothes.

At that moment, Bi-Han felt like a teenager all over again. The thrill of the mission always had the blood rushing through his vessels but this was an odd but not unwelcome feeling that had him going through what might as well be an adrenaline rush.

Maybe he could give in to his weakness for this one time.

a/n: ...so, how did that go? I hope to also rework out of control soon, hopefully, that will not take three weeks for me to do that (let us just hope) and if you want to be on my tagging list, please, let me know. and as usual, constructive criticism is welcome and thanks again for reading. 😄❤️

[ntls-24722]

I was thinking about @/artastic-friend's tags on my Comet post, and, first off thank you it was really sweet, but I had also realized that I wasn't even on tumblr to show the REEEAAALLY early designs of Comet, so here they are!

Comet had gone through a lot of changes, the most important one being... not looking exactly like DJMM! Comet originally looked exactly like DJMM since a good 80% of her body used to actually be mechanical, and her organism part was... very minimal and degenerate. But I very quickly found that lame - what's the pizzazz in being ~secretly a manmade organism~ if most of you is still mechanical anyway? I found an old picture of her transition from this (i apologize for the low quality, but much of the old sketches are super smudged n junk.) She still had motors and but much more of her internals filled up the plastic exoskeleton's empty space.

A detail i had actually forgotten now that I read back through old messages and pictures is that she used to be compatible with eating/drinking gasoline AND actual food? She had microbes that could eat it in her stomach and then she'd eat THOSE microbes like a cow??? that was kinda sick, past me, good job.

Comet's actual face being striped originated from her bony skeleton being full of bigbig holes (shown below, left) - they were meant to just be the frame for the plastic cover, but when the mechanical parts were taken out the holes condensed into stripes (shown below, right), partially being inspired from this Clownsuu post (AUGH ITS SO COOOOOL)

The 10 eyes thing stuck because it was like... representative of her kids' souls being infused with hers after she unknowingly ingested them after brain surgery?

She didn't like, pick them up and start chowing on her own children like you would with a bunch of dry cereal - in order to make the Comets less resource-needy the Oort Cloud would give some of the remnant they produced back to them? When Comet found out where it came from and where one of her missing kids went, she refused to eat or sleep at all until she almost died of exhaustion and finally went unconcious. The Oort Cloud took advantage of the fact she was finally not resisting and did the surgery as she slept. She didn't remember anything when she woke up and... ate for the first time in awhile not knowing what was in it, or that she even had kids in the first place.

Making the surgery easier is actually why the side of her head in this picture is exposed and Boneless (in some pictures there's actually huge stitches on there, too) but i realized that any behavioral disruptions would be directed to the frontal lobe, and that's why Modern comet actually has this little plate right between her eyes - that plate of exoskeleton is actually slightly loose and you can take it off n put it right back on for the least amount of scarring. It's also why Luz and Zoey don't have it.

For some reason I chose a marching band theme for her, maybe to cover up her skeleton-y Beneathness, and that is what made her into the star-spangled DJMM we know today. I chose a space-y theme since the Plex is.... somewhat space themed? Not entirely sure why but I'm glad I did it. She was intially accented with minty blue rather than the bold one she is now. This is where she also got her name, though it was initially "Comet Music Man."

She used to, temporarily, also have a 4 pairs of antennae coming from her wrists. I took it out cuz i couldn't find a reason for them

Comet wasn't based on any particular spider BUT there was the initial concept of having her be based off of the mirror spider and have a.... disco ball butt (you can kinda see it in the skeleton face pic) But in another universe, She could've been a spiny orb weaver, or a scorpion-tailed spider.

I did sometimes COMPLETELY go south with how her Beneath would look like in favor of a soft, fleshy interior, and I made...this! I hated it and I'm forever glad I didn't decide to go with this! jesus christ!

There were also the origins of the little harpoons - I had a headcanon that DJMM has little pedipalps on the inside of his mouth that looked like little STAFFbot hands and that got integrated with Comet, too

Alsoalso: the Neck

Couldn't figure out how to do it for a long time, since it's long and dragon-y and flexible and curvy, which is why half of it was exposed skin for awhile. In this outdated organ diagram i actually made the neck a bunch of layered "bowls" like one of those rainbow slug toys (not that you can.... see much of it lol) (also old sona jumpscare HOOH)

There's probably more considering Comet is now a year old and also her entire universe and story got REALLY derailed from a oneshot self-insert fic that i never even finished (the contents of which actually are why Comet and Fritz live where they are, in some abandoned factory - it was Fritz and DJMM's hideout) (also, Fritz predates Comet by a lot) because i thought WAYYYYY tooo hard about the implications of DJ Music Man, the giant spider, being alive

("what are you? are you a species or were you created? for what? By who? why are you pretending to be a robot? Are you pretending? What do you eat, and what's feeding you? Do you need to? Why do you have to be alive, and not an animatronic like everything else?) (also technically Bighand is just the alternate and anticlimatic version where he's just like "yeah I'm alive and I just work here") (both leave bc it sucks)

bonus patch notes that I couldn't cover:

neck became attached further up the head instead of below the jaw because keeping it the way it was was... not good

ALL of her became metallic-looking

She went from being a mirror spider to a sparklemuffin spider because of the coincidence that those spiders had the same yellow stripes from their eyes as she does.

The antennae became just 1 pair because the fact she had 2 pairs was also unnecessary

She used to have 2 little flesh strands from her top jaw and bottom jaw. They served no purpose only to get in the way of things so I got rid of them.

Her dewlap used to have music notes, stars, and lines

The tongue went from being thick n long to being flat and rounded. Fits in the mouth better

[sunshine-lollipops-and-maples]

Chapters: 1/3 • Rating: T • Chapter word count: 2222

Relationships: Park Jongseong | Jay/Yang Jungwon

Additional Tags: Fluff, Soulmate AU, is it really au if theyre soulmates irl?, jk theres magical skin sharing in this of course its au, Idol Park Jongseong | Jay, Non-Famous Yang Jungwon, Fan Yang Jungwon, Getting Together, Rating May Change, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Summary:

It happened one fateful day as Jungwon attended the fansign of his favourite idol, Jay.

His soulmate never wrote back to him. The doodles on his skin went unanswered every time he tried.

But, as he sat across Jay, a horrifying realisation came over him—their doodles looked identical.

Read Chapter 1 under the cut:

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It seemed like all everyone wanted to talk about was soulmates, and quite frankly Jungwon was tired of it.

When he was five his grandma told him how everyone in this world had their other half, who would understand you with a single look, who loved you unconditionally. The one person whose destiny is linked to yours. And the best part was your skin was linked to their skin – every ink smear or paint smudge appeared on the others, so did every paper cut, or bruise. In the same place they had put or left theirs.

"But wouldn't that hurt?"

"No, they would only appear like an image, it wouldn’t be a real bruise. You also can't wash it away, the other would have to wash theirs or it would disappear with time."

"When will I get my soulmate?"

"That depends. Usually, you can start writing to your soulmate when you start going to school."

‘Start going to school’ his ass, Jungwon's soulmate looks to be the most loner kid ever. Heck, even Sooha, one of his terribly bullied classmates who sits by herself in the corner in every class frequently doodles to her soulmate. Jungwon's soulmate just doesn't want to decorate their skin apparently. Not in their style , or whatever.

He knows they're capable to draw and write, he's found a couple doodles on his skin over the years, ones he knows he didn't draw himself, but in the grand scheme of things he might as well haven't gotten anything for how big of a craze the soulmate stuff seems to be in the middle schooler life and just how empty his arms look most of the time.

And yeah, sure, Jungwon could initiate some communication with his soulmate more, but he’s tried that. Multiple times. And at some point it became blatantly obvious that his soulmate just simply wanted nothing to do with him.

Which is how he's found himself a mutual. Kim Sunoo last communicated with his soulmate in second grade, four years before he transferred to Jungwon's school when they found themselves in a bare-armed pact. While Jungwon's soulmate seemed to just ignore him, Sunoo was in a completely different boat. After a couple doodles he had done on his hand in second grade, his soulmate had responded with "don't write, it hurts. sorry" and Sunoo's mum had to explain that his soulmate appeared to have a rare genetic condition known as soulmate allergy.

So there they were, two friends who would rather discuss the morning cartoons than what their weddings with soulmates will be like. And quite frankly that seemed more fun.

Cartoons turned to comics, comics turned to K-pop. Jungwon was sure if he had become friends with any other boy, he wouldn’t have a shelf dedicated to very handsome idols’ albums at the ripe age of 20, but here he was. It’s not like he was dragged into this either. He knew very well that following Sunoo’s interests to spend more time with him likely entailed becoming just as much interested in the hobby as the other.

At first, K-pop seemed so interesting Jungwon did consider the idol life himself. Being on stage, traveling the world, seeing fans— it seemed so nice. On paper anyway. After a couple of years and a company change, he decided it was more fun to watch from the sidelines than be the player. So, he left. 

Being in K-pop or even just a fan of it might’ve not been his life calling or plan, but it has been amazing so far. Jungwon was not as crazy about idols as Sunoo was, or really, as crazy as the average fan seemed to be. For the most part, he was just a casual listener, accompanying his friends to concerts and buying a couple of albums every now and then. He'd been a listener for years but there was only one person he'd consider himself an actual fan of.

Soloist Jay.

Which is who, on this rather cool April afternoon, he was attending a fansign of. Somehow the stars aligned perfectly and Jungwon won a fansign for the only idol he really cared about.

His first fansign. He couldn’t be more thrilled. Just a couple of people in the line before him and then he will get his chance to finally talk to his idol. He didn't consider himself a fanboy, to be fair, he just enjoyed Jay's songs more than other groups or soloists. Still—being here, a few meters away from him, was exciting.

Just as he thought there was nothing to ruin this perfect day, Jungwon felt a tickling feeling on the back of his left palm. As he looked down, a small grey star appeared next to a heart that had appeared a few minutes prior. Nice , he thought, although it was very, very not nice. It's doodling hour.

Every now and then Jungwon's soulmate would have what he called ‘The Doodling Hour’, when Jungwon’s hands would get decorated with the simplest little drawings. They'd appear periodically for around an hour and then be washed away. The doodling hours started only a few years ago but other than that development there were still no other attempts made to communicate with Jungwon.

Ignoring Jungwon’s doodles for all these years only to adorn his skin now in his twenties. It seemed like all the times his soulmate didn’t answer to him had been piled up and sent at once like the album group orders international fans organised.

As much as the whole soulmate thing annoyed Jungwon, he still found his heart warm up seeing the drawings appear at last, kind of like a small reassurance that his soulmate was still alive and well, even though he wasn't interested in meeting them.

But now was simply not the time. He was about to meet Jay for God's sake .

Now he was just third in line and another doodle appeared on the skin. A star, a heart and now a small four-petal flower mapped on his hand, and Jungwon wished he had worn one of his oversized hoodies that could hide them. For some reason it felt intimate to have his soulmate's doings presented for the world to see. For Jay to see. Somehow that seemed inappropriate.

With worry all over his mind he didn't realise the two people before him had left and it was his turn to finally meet Jay. He sat down, clearing his thoughts to focus on what he pictured as the highlight of his year, probably.

A shaky greeting escaped his mouth, and he mentally cursed himself. There goes all his cool and collected "not a fanboy" image.

"Hello," Jay casually greeted back, which took some nerves off Jungwon. "Are you okay? You looked like you had something on your mind."

Oh, there really was something on his mind. Not that he would vent this to his ult, but all his thoughts occupied at that moment was his soulmate. His stupid soulmate with their stupid doodles .

"Don't worry about it it's-" Jungwon suddenly stopped as his glace landed on Jay's hand. His question, though very sweet of him to check in on him, made Jungwon subconsciously look at Jay's hand. There, in an eerily similar arrangement laid a star, a heart and a simple flower and his mind turned even hazier. How did his stupid soulmate manage to print the same doodles on Jay’s hand too? "Wha- what's that?"

"Huh?" Jay looked down to where Jungwon was staring. "Oh, that's a common role-play thing people like to do with idols on fansigns when they ask to do the same doodle in the same place as theirs, so it looks like we're soulmates."

Jay’s voice made his mind calm down a little. Well as little as realising Park Jongseong, his favourite artist, had the same soulmate doodles in the same places as his did. The textbook soulmate test.

Truly no big deal at all.

Jungwon didn't know what to do in this situation. Surely this means what he thinks it means; Jay was his soulmate. How else would he have the same doodles in the same places?

Jungwon was usually quick to find a solution, but this time was far from a normal situation. So, he did the only thing he could think of - pushing his arm a little forward so Jay could see it and make the decision himself.

That seemed to work. Jay looked down to Jungwon's hand, and immediately glanced back up to Jungwon as the realisation settled in. The moment of shock in his eyes quickly disappeared however and Jay went back to what sounded like a rehearsed line.

"Here, I can show you."

Jungwon was glad at least one of them had thought about this possibility. On second thought, it made perfect sense, however. As an artist, your soulmate is either someone who knows you or who doesn't know you, and either in the industry or not, so you need to know how to act and what to do if you meet them and they're a fan. Honestly the company probably teaches them how to deal with this when they are trainees.

Jay takes the marker next to him and starts drawing a simple cat face on the inside of his own palm. Jungwon slightly opens his own palm and feels his cheeks heat up as he sees grey lines magically appear on his own skin, in real time in the same way Jay moves the marker in his hand, and now he's one hundred percent sure this is real; Jay is his soulmate. He looks back at Jay’s drawing. For such a simple doodle he manages to move the marker so elegantly and efficiently, like he's practiced this before, although Jungwon can't seem to remember ever seeing a cat doodle on his skin.

When Jay is done, he asks Jungwon for his hand and when he opens and sees the same kitty design just slightly greyer, he watches Jay inhale as the conformation settles in his mind too. Jay takes the marker and starts drawing but Jungwon never feels the cool wet marker touch his skin. Instead, Jay traces over the drawing in the air, and the lack of reaction makes Jungwon understand it's Jay's way of saying do not say it out loud, act like you are a fan just like the rest of them.

Jay closes the marker, leans back and smiles at Jungwon. "There, now we are soulmates."

"Yeah, thanks," Jungwon answers back, trying to follow Jay's ‘act normal’ request. Surprisingly that helps him remember what he initially wanted to do during his fansign. He takes out his copy of Jay's latest album and slides it forward. "Can you sign my album, please?"

"Sure thing." Jay takes the album and opens it, looking back at Jungwon. "Any favourite photos in the photobook I can write a special message on?"

Jungwon takes the sign. He might not have a favourite photo, but this might be one of the only ways the two of them can communicate truly privately at least at this time. So he makes one up on the spot. "The motorbike one." 

"Good choice, good choice." Jay says and flips the booklet open on said page where he scribbles something. "What's your favourite song?"

Jay then closed the book and as he signed the front cover, he continued to ask Jungwon questions surrounding him being a fan. In turn Jungwon told him how big of a comfort Jay and his music have been to him and they fell into a conversation similar to what he has seen on other fansign videos. Minus the constant glances he gives to the doodles on Jay's hand.

Soon—too soon—the time is up and Jungwon is rushed to finish up. He stands up from the chair and waves a goodbye with the doodled hand. Jay returns the wave, a cat face on his palm meeting his own mirrored. He hopes their cats get to meet again soon.

When he walks out of the building he stops and takes it in. He was too dizzy back there and now with the cool spring air breezing through the busy street, his no less busy thoughts finally slow down and he notes the most important revelations.

One, singer Park Jongseong, also known as Jay, is the sweetest person on this planet, and also happens to be super professional. (Well, to be fair, Jungwon already knew that but it's good to have it confirmed in real life with a great example of handling a life-changing moment in public.)

Two, the very sweet and professional singer Park Jongseong, also known as Jay, is his soulmate. Jungwon's skin is linked with his favourite artist's skin. And for the first time in his life he thinks, maybe the whole soulmate thing wasn't so bad.

He walks to his motorcycle he parked a block away. Placing his backpack on it he took out the freshly signed album, caressing over the marker lines before flipping the photobook to the special message Jay left on the motorcycle pic he was yet to see.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

Three, the very sweet and professional singer Park Jongseong, also known as Jay, who was apparently his soulmate, had left his phone number.

[fandom-space-princess]

An Audacious Undertaking, Even to God

Fandom: The Murderbot Diaries

Rating: Gen

Relationships: SecUnit 1 & SecUnit 2 & SecUnit 3

Additional tags: Book 5: Network Effect, Book 7: System Collapse, Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Queerplatonic Relationships, 1 & 2 do still die but not for very long, 3 needs its friends back :( , studies in construct relations

Chapter: 3/?

Read chapter below, or on AO3.

——————————

In the CR-standard hour it has taken Perihelion to return to the space dock, the clients have been brought out of the shuttle and relocated into quarantine. The transport’s humans have returned to their personal quarters, which are at present disconnected from the ship feed and insulated from its passive and active scanning functions. My own clients are in a room which appears to serve as a temporary dormitory on a recurring basis, and which is similarly isolated from connectivity.

I am not able to contribute meaningfully to this effort. Humans often seem to move slowly in comparison to the speed with which I process my surroundings, but at the moment, my performance is still suffering. Arada and Ratthi each individually advised that I remain as far from the explorer’s retrieved crew as possible.

(Ratthi: “If they ask, it’ll be easier to convince them we don’t know what happened to you if you haven’t been helping us move them bodily around the ship.”

Arada: “We can hope. You think they’ll remember who rescued them?”

Amena: “They might not. Eletra’s memory is still pretty messed up. We can play it off like one of us pulled them out, maybe, if it comes up? Say we went over ourselves, had to bring their shuttle back with us.”

Arada: “Believability concerns aside, encouraging someone to question their own mind is deeply unethical.”

Ratthi: “We can’t just let them take it back, either.”)

The gurney carrying 001’s body has vanished deeper into the ship. I do not know where it has gone, or what has been done with it. The thought of asking inspires contradictory sensations deep within my organic components. I want to ask. I do not, perhaps, want to know.

And so I do not ask.

I have new responsibilities to focus on, and this eases the feeling somewhat. We have come back to the space dock to complete the recovery of Perihelion’s crew. The tenor of its interactions both in the public feed and with myself privately has become perceptibly different since we arrived. It is still very angry. But that anger is now pointed in a direction that does not appear to include me, and when it does speak to me it is with an air of calculated consideration.

We have a plan for the retrieval of Murderbot 1.0—this is incorrect. We have a plan for the retrieval of the being which its clients (and Perihelion, when speaking aloud) refer to as “SecUnit.” I only partially understand why they do this. The memories shared with me by 2.0 included the practice, but did not explain its source; I know only that it prefers this state of affairs to the actionable alternatives. This explains the indirect phrasing of Amena’s initial query regarding my own name.

(“Three” does and does not feel like a name that might belong to me. When I attempt to imagine what I might like to be called that is more appropriate, however, my internal processes return a pointer variable. I already know what files I will find stored at that location, so I have been trying not to think about it.)

Our other retrieval mission is also set to commence shortly. After Perihelion revealed that it had refitted its pathfinders with explosive ordnance, Ratthi expressed a desire to inspect the one he is to escort planetside. As he has no specific training in such matters, he is consulting over the comm with one of Perihelion’s humans (feedID(“Tarik”), gender(male/masc)) from his position onboard the currently-ascending drop box. Arada is preparing the other shuttle. Neither of them have requested my help with these processes.

As of 3.77 minutes ago, Amena has cycled back through the transport’s main airlock and re-entered the space dock. According to our earlier conversation with the crew, those who are returning to the ship are in need of medical care, and so Amena has accompanied a drone gurney across to the drop box foyer with emergency supplies in the event they are deemed necessary. She stated that my presence would be welcome, should I care to accompany her.

It was not a command, and also not a question. I am no longer required to respond to either commands or questions. But in the absence of compulsion and protocol I find I have little guidance for what constitutes an acceptable response to many of the things that have been said to me. After the not-command-and-not-question, there passed a prolonged delay during which Amena stood patiently, looking past my left shoulder. My buffer eventually produced, “I’m sorry, I don’t have that information.” She shrugged one shoulder, smiled, nodded, and continued on to the airlock.

And now I am standing outside the main shuttle dock, staring at the wall. I do not have time to assist Amena before we depart for the planet. I tell myself this, once.

But…

No. It would compromise my ability to participate in this retrieval.

But.

The transport is watching me, silently, in the feed. Then it says: I can ask her to get it for you. She would agree without reservation.

I have already proven myself unable to perform my function once. The probability of repeating this outcome feels unacceptably high, given my current goals.

I send: Query: you examined it?

Perihelion: I reviewed SecUnit’s findings and performed my own additional scans, yes.

My first failure nearly cost me personal functionality, which I am willing to risk, and file integrity, which I am not. Do you believe it is serviceable?

Perihelion: Doubtful, but I would require more data to be certain.

I no longer know what responsibilities I owe to this situation, or… to them. 001’s body is somewhere nearby, damaged more comprehensively that I have ever seen. And 002’s body is on the other side of these walls, via a door which I am currently choosing not to pass through. When I had no ability to decide where I went or why, they were always nearby. Now that I have the power to make such a choice, I cannot go to them, because—at least for the moment—they exist only in me.

If I do not bring 002’s platform aboard, what will happen to it? Will the transport’s crew salvage it? Will the hostile humans take it?

If it is within mission bounds… please. And… I hesitate. This is difficult to ask. Resource allocation request: local mirror personal storage.

Perihelion’s presence withdraws almost entirely. For a moment I wonder if I have caused offense, but then it returns. It has granted me administrative access to a small partition of its onboard memory. The allocated space is a fraction of a sliver of its resources, but it is enough—more than enough. It has given me a place to copy my files.

The duplication process runs, and I examine the backups for imperfections or data loss. Perihelion watches me work. When they are in place a heaviness lifts from my organic components. The muscles in my chest and back loosen. I tell it: Thank you.

If 002’s platform is brought aboard, I do not know if it will be repairable. I do not know if I will be able to restore it. When I consider this my performance reliability begins to drop, and so I am trying not to consider it. I need to maintain optimal functionality for the task ahead of me.

2.0 sent me here to help. I do not believe it anticipated that I would do so in exactly this way, but I do not think it would be disappointed. Its desire for the secure retrieval of its original iteration and platform is obvious. And it offered me governance of myself when it had no need to do so—when it might in fact have been less of a risk not to do so. I am not unaware of the fact that it could have chosen to hack me. It did not. What it offered instead has amounted to an overture of trust, of friendship.

I see no reason the gesture should not be reciprocal.

I may not be able to restore 001 and 002, and this thought causes me more pain than any other. But I still have my function. For these humans who offer their kindness so freely, for the unknowable and terrifying transport, for 2.0—I will try to save what can still be saved.

——————————

[Before]

SecUnit-003: Alert, priority designation: URGENT. System acknowledge.

SecSystem: …

SecUnit-003: Shipwide alert. Priority designation: URGENT. System acknowledge.

SecSystem: …

I don’t think it can hear me.

SecUnit-003: Request command belay. Request command reissue. System acknowledge.

SecSystem: …

The bot pilot has been deleted. HubSystem is unresponsive. I do not know who or what is piloting the ship. My messages are pinging… something. I am receiving an echo from the remnants of SecSystem, but it is as though I am shouting into a cavern, hoping to receive a response from my own voice.

And I cannot move.

SecUnit-003: Initiate buffer purge.

SecUnit-003: Request command reissue.

SecUnit-003: Request command belay.

SecUnit-003: System acknowledge.

Nothing.

Some portion of the bridge crew remains alive in the lounge behind me—my continued compliance with my governance protocols is proof of this. What state they may be in is currently unknown. I was not able to aid in their defense. Before I even reached the bridge, SecSystem had been remotely instructed to cycle its command codes, and I was ordered into stand-down mode. From my position in the hallway, I watched the hostile boarding party overtake the bridge in coordination with the tactical team. As 001 had reported, they appeared compromised, operating under a compulsion that I could neither interpret nor offer assistance with.

The intruders spent several minutes out of my line of sight. SecSystem’s access to the bridge cameras was cut off. There was an exchange of energy weapons fire, then silence. When next one of the compromised tactical team emerged into the hallway, it was to order me to follow them back to the bridge and collect the bodies of the crew. They had been rendered physically immobile via mechanisms crudely spliced into their musculature, and two of them had sustained burns and contusions, but they were otherwise unharmed. I was instructed to deposit them in the lounge nearby, and then return to standby mode.

In the interim the situation has further deteriorated. At one point contact with a network-external ship was made. This resulted in some number of the hostiles departing the explorer, but they have been replaced by humans who are now in a situation identical to that of my own clients. I have tracked our movements through this system to the best of my ability, but with a hostile control system in place and SecSystem all but stripped of functionality, my inputs have shrunk to only my physical sensor arrays. The feeling is claustrophobic.

Eventually, I cease my attempts to ping SecSystem. More than a day has passed since the initial incursion, and I have disabled my olfactory sensors entirely. Between the unnatural cloying organic scent given off by the intruders and the onset of decay of the still-unattended corpses, the ship smells unpleasantly of death. There is no indication that either the remaining crew or the hostiles are likely to organize themselves well enough to find a use for me anytime soon. I cannot raise any of the supply team on broad-range comms. I have attempted many times to reinitialize 001, to contact 002, each time without success. I can do nothing but wait, and so I do.

But then—

It is unremarkable, at first. A maintenance program within SecSystem claims a fragment of its processing space, and it vanishes from my view. Ordinarily this would be so routine as to be unworthy of notice, but nothing about these circumstances is ordinary. I watch intently in the ship feed. Tiny eddies disturb what has been, until now, placid code. The hostileControlSystem that has installed itself in the ship could be responsible, but thus far it has not been successful in making use of what remains of SecSystem, and nothing it has otherwise done has been subtle.

Then, out of nowhere: System System: Unit Acknowledge.

And the reconfiguration of my existence begins.

——————————

[howlingmoonrise]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

thank you so much for thinking of me anon! <3 <3 <3

(i also got tagged on this on my main blog, so if it looks familiar to anyone that's why!)

okay, this is a hard one. let's see!

cinq d'epées (the princess and the frog, charlotte la bouff/dr facilier)

in which charlotte needs to turn to the shadowman to save big daddy, and then finds herself coming back. again and again and again.

honestly this one is like. a HUGE underdog, and yet possibly my fave. people always go for the barbie/dracula due to powerhouse popularity and sleep on this one. the first couple scenes or so are a bit awkward but then it really hits its stride.

--

2. a spun sugar night's dream (the nutcracker & the mouse king, nutcracker/marie stahlbaum)

Sometimes, her prince is too perfect.Godfather Drosselmeier's single dark eye is not unlike those of his nephew. But in the right light, in the right mood, her beloved’s could have been perfect black circles painted over wood, glossed over in a steady toymaker’s hand.

*throws vibes around like glitter* a fest of candy-related words with an undertone of fae creepiness, just the way i like it. post-fairytale exploration my beloved.

--

3. beloved, beloved (hold on to the world) (petshop of horrors, leon orcot/count d)

D's kind is not easy to hold on to.

*banging pots and pans* tam lin au!!! tam lin au!!! also an underappreciated fic, even in the midst of all my petshop of horrors works. it reads very poetically and, well. it is a tam lin au. it was bound to be a winner.

--

this is where is starts getting hard. i'm VERY picky and i turn my nose at most of my own writing, especially older stuff, so these last two are less faves in terms of enjoying them as a written piece and more "i had a lot of fun writing them way back when" sort of self-recs.

4. In the Woods Somewhere (ever after high, daring charming/cerise hood)

AU where Milton Grimm discovered Red and Badwolf's affair and went to great lengths to silence it. Years later, Daring Charming finds a girl in the woods. Or, Daring Charming accidentally becomes the next Red Riding Hood.

basically a role reversal, but if their initial roles were more or less the same? i wrote the first 12k of it non-stop in a fugue state after watching thronecoming, that's how many brainworms it gave me. i feel like the writing is a bit dated (this is from... 2016? oh wow) but i'm still pretty proud of the work i did regarding daring's characterization here!

--

5. hearteater (howl's moving castle, howl jenkins/sophie hatter)

It was a joke, at first. A quip thrown this way and that when they call him a rake, a rogue, a ravisher. You just go around stealing hearts, they say, sometimes accusing, sometimes sad, and he can’t stomach any sort of seriousness so he replies with a winking and I eat them, too. But this is the land of Ingary, where things such as giants and fire demons and seven-league boots exist. And so, it becomes true.

in which the whole heart-eating thing becomes a loooooot more literal. written originally as a gift for sandmancircus, my beloved

thank you so much for the ask!!! <3

[texasdreamer01]

End of year fic asks: 14, 25

14.) a fic you didn’t expect to write

Of published fics… about any of them, actually, since I haven't done a gift exchange this year and I find writing at all a generally difficult task. Of unpublished fics, definitely all of them, though I'm happy to write for the SGA fandom because of all the new things to play with.

25.) a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

Many reams of reading later, I've managed to find the fics I've read from this year that I'd recommend the most:

Pilgrim's Progress by sardonicsmiley

Stargate Atlantis, Teyla & Rodney, Teen, 43k, Whump, Religion, Artificial Intelligence, Mind Control, Action/Adventure

Summary: ""You're not God, Sheppard's not your messiah, and I'm not the anti-Christ. But I am going to kill you.""

Mad respect for the author making an enormous fic just to use one line, and also an exceptionally strong argument for why Rodney and Teyla are such well-bonded friends (also a strong argument for Teyla/Rodney, as some other readers have commented, even if not an intended focus of the fic), because canon does not... articulate that. It does a great job on the particularities of living in a different galaxy, and how one thing on the "what problem are we having this week" scale can snowball and have a very narrow possibility of being fixed. In that respect, it's a very Stargate fic, and worth settling in for a long read.

Immanence by orphan_account

SGA, Rodney McKay/John Sheppard, Mature, 3.5k

Summary: "For a time there were two of them: a blood-and-bone Rodney and one made of data and light."

This fic is so sad. Gotta read it, though. This follows the Last Man!Rodney through his entire decision-making process to get John back home, and the author has done such an excellent job at following and developing Rodney's thought process - and even how it differs when he becomes a hologram - that it stuck with me to the point that I started writing Theorems of a Ghost and, a little bit, also Interface.

The Idiot's Array by @ashcroft-writes

Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), Cad Bane/Obi-Wan Kenobi, mentioned Obi Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Explicit, 161k, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, a lot of other tags I'm too lazy to write out but played a major factor in me deciding to read this fic

Summary: "Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi with countless regrets. However, forging a shameful secret with the notorious Cad Bane while undercover… it actually wasn’t one of them.

He wishes it was. What sort of man does that make him now?

After all, something inside has started to crack. Perhaps that’s why he isn’t even surprised when a certain bounty hunter surges back into his life, dead set on turning his calamitous fall into fortune… and on making the Jedi suffer that did him wrong."

Part 1 of Gunslinger's Paean (and how cool is that name for a series??), I think I was initially intrigued by this one because of some fanart? Or maybe I just saw it in so many bookmarks that I went "fuck it" and clicked the link. Either way, great decision on my part - if I hadn't already liked Bane/Kenobi, this would have convinced me. It's always been a bit of a what-if question in the SW fandom of "what if Obi-Wan was a bounty hunter?", and this answers the question with its own interpretation very, very well. I haven't read the other two fics in the series but I should probably get on that whenever my fandom brain swings back to Star Wars.

To the gloaming and the dusk by fictional_hr_department

The Hobbit, Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Teen, 11k, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Compliant Battle of Five Armies, Pre-Relationship, other tags that also made me click the link

Summary: "“It is because of love that I have spent centuries, millennia even, fighting against the evils of this world.” Thranduil could hear the hints of tremor in his voice but found that he could not steady himself. “Love for my people, love for the forest that is our home, love for Arda herself. Just because it is not the love you have read about in your storybooks does not make it any less real and it, like the Greenwood, like our kingdom, like our people, will endure. Now. Get out of my way.”

Or, how the events leading up through the Battle of Five Armies might have gone differently."

#i just shoved book canon and movie canon in a blender to see what came out <- tag that made me click on the link. This is probably a cornerstone fic in how I headcanon Thranduil, and the author does a fantastic job of taking the tatters of canon Tolkien left in the book(s) and propped up the inconsistencies in movie canon to make Thranduil a solid character. Load-bearing work in the fandom, really. I love the fact that it both does and does not happen in Thranduil's point of view, and that the author does a great job a differentiating how the differences in lifespan and experiences shape a character's perspective on the same events.

safer places to wander by pomgore

The Hobbit, Thranduil & Tilda, Bard the Bowman & the Bardlings, Pre-Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Gen, 5k, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Fluff without Plot, Aftermath of Violence, Being Lost, thranduil has to relearn how to interact with children, Digital Art

Summary: "Of course, Thranduil is not on high alert for children when the battle in Erebor rages because battlefields are no place for children. Indeed, even a lofty being like a Doriath elf feels faint among all the death - darkness is dwelling strong here, and Thranduil feels dim and alone as he walks the war-torn streets of Dale.He is untethered as he drifts among his fallen soldiers like a ghost. So, when a child turns a corner and runs directly into his leg, Thranduil almost doesn’t notice. ~~~ Bard's youngest, a talkative creature named Tilda, is separated from her family. Thranduil knows something must be done, but it is a challenge to figure out exactly what."

I quibbled on whether to include this, but, genuinely, aww. This is a Thranduil who's not great at something, knows it, and does his best anyway. I love how the author convey humor with their verbiage and pacing, and Thranduil's sincerity come across very clearly. He's a little awkward, means well, and can admit to himself when - and that! - he likes Bard. Short, sweet, worth reading.

[kieuecaprie]

KieueCaprie's List of Games Finished in 2023: Entry 10

tfw Tumblr still doesn't have spoiler tags because there's a bunch of games in this entry that I want to talk about in full.

#26: Etrian Odyssey 1 HD

Finished When? 11/7/23

What's Finished? Main Story

Platform? PC

I didn't get into the Etrian Odyssey franchise until the 3DS era with Etrian Odyssey 4, which was pretty good by the way. I enjoyed creating my own party of adventurers and going out into the world to slay monsters and solve the mysteries of Yggdrasil (or whatever World Tree they explore through).

Then I moved onto Etrian Odyssey Untold, which was a remake of EO1 with a more story-focused cast of characters but with an option to play the game in Classic Mode. I also liked the it.

And then I fell off. Not because I hated the series but because other things took my attention and it fell by the wayside.

Then cue Atlus saying they're porting Etrain Odyssey 1, 2, and 3 to PC and now it caught my interest again, especially due to the fact that there's a potential for modding in there! So I picked up the bundle and started playing with EO1HD.

I will say that it was fine, I was treading old ground so nothing was really new to me and while I still like it, I feel like it has parts where it overstays its welcome, especially towards the end, and, of course, the music was just the classic music, not Untold, which kinda sucks but whatever.

It's fine for what it is and I can now say I've completed a version of classic EO1.

Now, I just wish Picnic mode wasn't super heavy-handed in its changes to enemies because taking 20% damage from them seems too much. Atlus REALLY loves making their beginner modes SUPER easy for some reason and I don't know why they do this.

#27: My Friendly Neighborhood

Finished When? 19/7/23

What's Finished? Story

Platform? PC, Steam

This game was on my radar for quite a while ever since that one Steam Next Fest (I think?) had a demo for it, on top of seeing tweets (sorry, X-cretes) of it on my feed of the developer working on bits and pieces of it.

When it finally came out, I went to go pick it up and while the price was a little higher than I initially expected, I'm glad to have paid the price of admission for it! The characters are memorable (I mean, they are when you have to listen to them prattle on about the mail for the entire playthrough), the gameplay feels like I'm playing a Resident Evil (not the super action-packed ones) except with puppets and the fact that there are cheats in a game in 2023 is something that I never thought I'd see.

On top of that, I enjoyed how it essentially deconstructs the whole mascot horror formula and makes its own where the mascots in question aren't out to kill you, at least, it seems that way, and aren't trying to eat your pancreas or whatever.

This game is great and would definitely sit on my list of favorite games this year.

#28: Pikmin 4

Finished When? 22/7/23 (First completion), 24/7/23 (True 100%)

What's Finished? Game complete, True 100%

Pikmin is one of my favorite Nintendo franchises that I wished did not get shot in the head by a game that just feels tedious. Fortunately, Nintendo finally dug up the grave and brought it back to life (Now do it for Chibi-Robo, PLEASE.) for Pikmin 4, something that took 10 years to add a dog.

I played the demo and loved it, even went out of my way to not meet the 1500 sparklium limit just so I could experience all the caves, the controls feel great, Oatchi is baby and I love himb, and the levels you have to go through are quite beautiful to see on the Switch, all of this running on Unreal Engine too.

I have quite a bit more to say about this game so I'm gonna have to say that there's a Read More below that will spoil Pikmin 4 for you if you click on it. (EDIT: lmao nevermind, clicking expand on the post in the feed also expands the read more so now I have to make a separate post)

#29: Ratchet & Clank: Rift Apart

Finished When? 1/8/23

What's Finished? Normal Mode Story

Platform? PC, Steam

When I first heard this game was only coming to PS5, I unanimously decided to just.. not. Just not. This was because I could not get my hands on a PS5 and that it was terribly expensive and getting a console for one singular game these days feels like a waste, so I decided to just not talk about this game so as to avoid the algorithm.

This was so I wouldn't get spoiled on anything beyond what was shown in trailers and also so I wouldn't get an ALL BOSSES & ENDING (NO DAMAGE) video on my Youtube feed by some jerk who decided to plaster the face of the final boss in the middle circle and call it a day. Surprisingly, this actually worked and I never heard about this game again.

Then Sony decided to port it to PC and I jumped on it because now I can actually play it. Of course, I decided to wait until I was done with Pikmin 4 first before I moved on and I'm glad I did.

I'm really glad that I was lucky enough to have a PC that could just power through some of the issues the game had, although it still had a few issues such as geometry not loading in and the occasional time where I would clip through the ground and die for no good reason, but I was able to play through the game from start to finish.

Was it worth not spoiling myself for however many years? Probably. It was a short game but I got my money's worth. Rivet is cute, Ratchet is great as ever, and the fact that the game completely ignores the remaster of the first game is also great, mostly because that game kind of ruins Ratchet's character development that he went through.

Also, on my birthday, I was given a Dualsense controller (Lemme say that I didn't know what I wanted for my birthday, it's hard to do so these days...) and I must say the adaptive triggers did change up the gameplay quite a bit, priming a shot with a half-press and clicking it all the way in to fire. I initially thought it'd be overhyped as all hell but no, it felt pretty good to use, add to the fact that it has touchpads much like the Dualshock 4, which means that it'd be the perfect companion to my Steam Deck as well as enabling a much easier time of gyro gaming on PC (one of my issues with gyro gaming was simply not having an easy way to toggle the gyro on and off and I was not about to give up one of the face buttons for gyro-ratcheting).

All in all, game's great, was worth the wait, and I'm surprised at how well it ran and looked on the Steam Deck running at 30 FPS @ 800p. Perhaps I judged 30 FPS too harshly.

#30: Nerf Arena Blast

Finished When? 5/8/23

What's Finished? Single-player campaign

What prompted me to play this? Why did I choose to play this? Simple. Nostalgia, among other things.

This is probably one of the times where nostalgia really screwed me over.

The feel of the game is great, I loved the 90's aesthetic of there being some sort of nerf arena and playing as an up-and-coming team, the first few levels were pretty nice to play through too, but that's where everything kind of stops.

Also, this game is... well.. it's a game filled with slow-moving projectiles and bots that are dumb as bricks one minute and ultra try-hards the next is not my idea of fun. Not to mention that the game began to feel tedious as I kept pushing through the campaign.

Sure, I'm probably asking for a lot from a licensed kids game from the 90's/00's but Unreal Tournament had a lot more to offer than just deathmatch, ballhoopmatch, and speedrun, I wish they had done more than just those modes.

Speaking of the modes, I've found Ballblast to be extremely tedious to play through. It felt like it'd drag on and on and on and on and on and on until someone FINALLY finds the six dragon balls, shoots them through a hoop, and then collects the seventh one and shoots it through a hoop to FINALLY end the game. I have to ask, who the hell decided it would be a good idea to make it UNTIMED? There's a VERY good reason why objective gamemodes with the ability to disrupt those capturing has a timer, it's so that, at the end, the game can end and the winner be found.

But these games could drag on for ages, compounded by the fact that the bots, despite being masterful gods of leading projectiles, are stupid, somehow even dumber than Unreal Tournament's bots, and will take forever to go to the hoop and shoot balls into a hole.

BUT, I will give credit where credit is due, Pointblast, which is deathmatch but points, is a neat idea where you go around slaying people like normal BUT they drop points that you have to pick up BUT it can also be stolen meaning that you could get 1st place killed and steal the 1000 point drop from someone else. I like this idea, I like how it essentially changes the pace from sitting around camping to a more frantic slugfest, which I appreciate because when I played through Unreal Tournament, most of my problems could be solved with either a Flak Cannon to the face or pulling out the sniper rifle and just headshotting everyone from a safe place.

Speedblast is... interesting. I like the idea of running through the map, shooting others to stop them from capturing checkpoints, and finishing before everyone else. Maybe it's just me, really, because while I do like the idea of it, the execution was often less than stellar and the maps that had ways to disrupt without having to kill people were very few and that kind of makes me sad. Is it a stupid gamemode? Yes but I applaud the devs of the time for trying to make something new for a change.

All in all, this game is very flawed and somewhat poorly aged but it has some decent points to it and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy my time with it at all. I really did have at least a bit of fun with it, even though I did not appreciate the game quitting on me after I finished the final level and it blasting my ears off with the ultra-loud video that plays.

And it also has a niche cult following that helpfully has a community patch that allows it to be played on modern systems, so clearly it has something going for it that I may not have found for myself. And that's okay, you know?

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[ageless-aislynn]

Last line tag game

Tagged by @thephaeronsforge aka @sarnakhwritesthings Thanks so much! ❤

Kai smiled.

"Recreation" chapter 3, allllmost done but not quite there. 🤞😣🤞

Since that was so small, literally almost not able to even be much smaller, lol, I thought I'd turn to its sibling fic "15 Minutes" chapter 7 also in progress and

"There's no such thing," you muttered.

Yep, also pretty short sooooo how do you feel about the opening to the original fic that's also part of my Camp NaNo? Yeah, hardly a last line, I know, but well... It's never going to see the light of day in any form so I thought it would be fun to share it here. 👀🤷‍♀️

It began as an idle idea for a very AU Mass Effect: Andromeda reader fic that I knew I'd never actually write and post because it was simply pulling waaaaay too far away from the source, dumping all of the lore and such, so what was the point? Then I realized, hey, that's means it's FREE REAL ESTATE for making it my own thing, right? 😛

However, for this purpose, I put the ME:A names, references, etc. back in and made it a reader fic again. It also seems to read kinda like a Halo hybrid because that's what ya girl's been writing over in Fanficville so...? 🤷‍♀️😉

Under a read more because of the length. I'll also mention here so it's not necessary to click through that I'm tagging anybody who'd like to do this. *boops your nose politely* 😉 Definitely let me know if you do, though, 'cause I'd love to read it! 🤗

The first thing you noticed was Alec Ryder standing ramrod-stiff at attention, awaiting your arrival as if you were a five-star general and he was a cadet worried he hadn't shined his boots properly enough. "Ma'am," he said, his tone stern but polite. He offered his arm as if he really didn't want to. Interesting. Had you read his file wrong? He'd been out here alone far longer than he should've been allowed to be. The prospect of bare fingertips brushing the back of his hand should've had him quivering in anticipation. You'd heard of others having to actually stun-stop their Pathfinders at their initial meeting. It had never happened to you but… It was part of your training to know it could. But clearly not here, not today. You'd worn your gloves, just in case. You stepped out of the shuttle with your lone rucksack in one hand and put the other on the sleeve of his forearm, letting him assist you down as if you were royalty. Your dead implant flared in the back of your brain despite the double barrier of fabric between you. He was shielding hard but this was what you did, what you were, and wisps of emotions were leaking through. He was… anxious. "Welcome to Heleus," he said, adding your title and last name. You thought about correcting him with your first name but sensed he preferred the formality so merely said, "Thank you." He broke contact as soon as politeness allowed, folding his hands behind his back. "I'm afraid I can't give you a tour right now, I have duties to attend to. But Sam can guide you to your room, give you the lay of the land. Most of the station is still in shutdown but he'll turn the lights on for you if you'd like to look around." "Ah, all right then," you said but you were saying it to the crisp, neatly-pressed back of his black and red uniform as he gave a quick nod and strode away. You were supposed to be ready for anything but you decided to allow yourself a short but heartfelt thought of What in the actual hell? Then you tucked it away and went looking for Sam. Maybe he would be glad to see you? It would be nice if someone was.

Alec Ryder for visual reference. 😎 Andromeda has a LOT of character types that I love but this particular idea felt like it paired SO nicely with Mr. Emotionally Repressed Pathfinder Sr. so I, um, yoinked him out of canon and, you know, repurposed him. As one does. 😐😂

[slashmagpie]

just bingeread llau over a few days and oh my god. your writing is genuinely incredible and i'm absolutely going to check out your other works, but i think the entire fic series (more specifically empty oceans or lost boys) is one of, if not my absolute, favorite fic(s)? just. wow. your characterization is some of the best i've seen in a hermitcraft fic (especially your ren and false) and its the blueprint for writing the hermits now. i aspire to get to your level of in-characterness. i love impulse-in-a-situation fics (genre of fic ive named where impulse is some guy from arizona and things happen to him. and sometimes hes not even just some guy from arizona.) and this is an absolutely perfect representation of that genre. you put him in the torment nexus /ref. i think my favorite character was etho, bdubs, jev, cleo, (their dynamic was one of my favorites though) or tango but i most consistently was hoping for more impulse chapters because i wanted to know more about his backstory or just kinda see him suffer!!!! special shoutout to wels though. i loved him so much. (and GEM! insert that one post about characters that died before the story starts but haunt the narrative) just an absolutely phenomenal fic and ive recommended (forced) everyone i know to read it 👍👍👍

i'm curious, how long did you have the story outlined for? did you know what you'd be doing with the time travel and etho/bdubs' worldbuilding from when you wrote empty oceans or did you only start more concrete planning during my blood or even lost boys? everything is so complex yet well orchestrated (i think i had an audible reaction when tango went back for the key because it was all coming together) ESPECIALLY with making time travel make sense throughout the story (a genuinely phenomenal task, i was freaking out with my friend in dms about how its so confusing but also makes perfect sense which is SO rare in scifi stuff), so id love to know how long you knew what was happening. what was outlining even LIKE? did you have anything initially outlined that didn't end up happening?

also, i've never heard of/played the lifeline games, how much of the au is based on the games and how much is your own extrapolation (for example, the creation of the universe lore or how the hivemind functioned)?

ok one more silly question, but do you want to be tagged in fanart or will you just see it if its tagged with lifeline au/llau?

Hello!! Thank you so so much for all your lovely words, they really mean the world to me <3 LLAU is a story that has a very special place in my heart and I'm glad it could find space in yours too.

I'm so bad at answering asks so congrats for hitting on one of the few things that will bypass my executive dysfunction to actually let me hit the answer button: asking about the writing process. I've talked about this before with LLAU specifically, but I am more than happy to talk about it again, because I really do love the process and thinking about storytelling and the ways in which we structure stories. The whole topic's very fascinating to me.

(Under a cut, because this response got Long.)

So, for most of my longfics I have what I call a "working outline." Generally, in that document, I have all of my worldbuilding info, a general outline of the major plot beats I want to hit, and then a chapter-by-chapter breakdown of events. The reason why this is a working outline is that I very rarely sit down and write out what happens in each chapter before I begin writing; I usually write out the first 1-5 chapters, and then after I've written a few of them I will come back, revisit what I wrote, change things around, and plot out the next few chapters. I find that this works really well for me as it allows me to structure my thoughts and problem-solve, but doesn't require me to have the entire thing figured out from the get-go, because I really do benefit from the creative process and generate some of my best ideas on the fly. (Fun fact, this is known in writing communities as being a "plantser", someone who likes to plan but also likes to write by the seat of their pants.)

As an example, here's the beginning of my outline for my fic A Call to the Void:

We have the chapter titles, the POV characters, and then very brief bullet-point summaries of beats I want to hit in each chapter. Nice, simple, easy to work from, easy to throw together.

And now, a confession to make: I did not do this for LLAU at all.

I came up with the concept for LLAU whilst making jokes with my friends in a discord server, rushed to the writing channel to throw around ideas (mostly along the lines of 'which Hermit should replace which Lifeline character?'), and then redownloaded the game and wrote along as I played it. The first two fics in LLAU (Empty Oceans and My Blood) are pretty much beat-for-beat the same as the first three Lifeline games (Lifeline, Bloodline, and Silent Night), with a lot of the dialogue in EO being directly from the game. (Sometimes people compliment me on Tango's characterisation in that fic and it makes me laugh because wow I can't believe my assessment that "Tango Tek and Cadet Taylor are the exact same person somehow" was that accurate.) Tangent aside, I didn't have much of an outline for the first two fics for that reason, because the games themselves acted as an outline in their own right. Most of the choices I had to make here were about pacing and chapter breaks, which is something I really enjoy and find relatively intuitive, so I didn't need an outline for those things necessarily.

However, the fact that I didn't outline these fics does not mean that I wasn't planning anything. Between writing ch1 and ch2 of Empty Oceans, I went and had a brainstorming session with Luna @/lunarblazes, who I'd worked with on my previous longfic, The Fair and the Brave and the Good. This was when I hashed out a lot of the big picture stuff, including the Impulse twist in Lost Boys (I've posted screenshots of this conversation previously!). However, I never had anything like a place where I sat down and hashed out my worldbuilding--it just kind of came to me over the months that I was writing and daydreaming and brainstorming this story.

Then we come to Asking for a Miracle, the first fic in the series where I didn't have a game to follow! Everything from AfaM onwards is fully original content, though I do take inspiration from other aspects of the Lifeline games (Impulse's arc is inspired by Wynn's in Flatline, and the clone stuff is inspired by Whiteout). I actually did have a working outline for AfaM:

As you can see, it's not super detailed, it doesn't fully have the details worked out, and it's missing chapter 6, but I don't think there are any major differences between this and the fic in its final form.

The same cannot be said for Lost Boys, which I started an outline for and then promptly abandoned in favour of just winging it.

As you can see here, a lot of the bare bones of LB are there! But some pieces are slightly different, whether in where they take place in the story, or the characters involved, or how they happen. I hadn't even decided whether Joe or Ren was going to be the clockwork armageddon when I wrote this--I don't think anyone reading even knew that I'd ever been considering Ren as an option!

Not having an outline doesn't mean that I didn't think a lot about the structure of the story I was telling and the threads I was weaving together--I did a lot of that on my bus ride to work, and I would brainstorm some things in discord servers (pacing and pov were things that I would mull over a lot!) or in my friend Doc's DMs (for cool spoiler-y plot things I was thinking of. Doc is a fantastic writer and a very close friend of mine and we plot out a lot of our stories together. Highly recommend getting yourself a Doc, having another writer who Gets It and can help you when you're struggling is so invaluable).

Writing LLAU was actually a really interesting process because like I said, the first two fics in the series were almost already written for me, I just had to take the games, replace the characters, and add in prose to support the dialogue. (There are, of course, parts of those two fics that are wholly original--anything to do with Impulse, for example. I wanted him to be more than a player character stand-in, I wanted him to have his own arc and life and feel real and believable as a character, which is where I started pulling in stuff from Flatline and building his arc. And Bdubs was a massive part of the LLAU puzzle, because I had decided that he had to be the Varia's Captain, but he also had to be the Architect of Time, and pulling together those two disparate characters together informed his entire arc and a lot of the series' deep lore. I also added in the time travel scene at the end of EO, and changed up parts of MB to better fit the flow/characters.) Then everything from that point on was me taking what was already built in the games that I'd adapted, and taking the extra things I'd thrown in, and pulling it all together into a coherent world and story. Honestly, it was a super fun problem-solving exercise, I'd highly recommend trying to mash together two very different pieces of media in this way and seeing what comes out the other side. LLAU would not be what it is if it were not both a fic of Lifeline and Hermitcraft.

I think that's pretty much most of the things I can say about this off the top of my head, but if you want to ask any follow-up questions, please go ahead, I love this silly little AU and I love writing fanfiction and I could talk about them for hours. I've been typing this up for like 40 minutes.

And please do tag me in fanart!! I don't follow any tags, so I won't see it unless you tag me or if one of my friends see it and sends it my way.

I have in fact listened to this album! ...Actually, I think I first listened to it like a decade ago, which is making me feel way too old. Anyway, I think Fire in the Sky/Where Are All the Scientists Now/A Matter of Time would make a banger HC8/Moon's Big animatic. Someone with more artistic skills and free time than I should really get on that (/lh).

And I don't know if you checked it out already, but I do have an official Lifeline AU Playlist and I'm super proud of it. I tried to use music to capture the story and themes and vibes and while it's a little messy and a-chronological (I'm giving myself the excuse that it's a time travel story and it's allowed to be lmao) I think I nailed the assignment.

[cosmic-corporation]

AFJAGAJJHA I LOVE THE YAPPING OK (<- avid tag reader) IM EATING THIS LORE UP LIKE A DELICIOUS GOURMET MEAL /ref YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND🔥🔥 ITS SO FUN TO READ!!! CREATIVITY CREATIVITY!!!! (also reading lore just motivates me to do stuff idk why) (ough… platonic marriage /silly)

what about cassian? hehehehe (laying on my bed, on my stomach, reading lore and kicking my feet like a little girl)

- ducky anon

ooh when I catch you ducky, ducky when I catch you-/j

Cassian is... One of the BIGGEST characters I have they live in my brain all the time as we as their partner in crime, Archie ( @gl0wsticko 's character I lob archie am <3)

suicide mention after the 'read more'

That's the newest rendition of Cassian that I've got :]]

and since they're the character I have built the most, I'm gonna section things up a bit!!!

Family

THE WHOLE IRVINE FAMILY IN AGE ORDER SOVANNA - MOM - 59 HANNES - DAD - 57 ATTICUS - OLDEST BROTHER - 36 CASSIAN - MIDDLE BROTHER - 28 CECIL - MIDDLE SISTER - 16-17-18 IONE - YOUNGEST SISTER - 13-14 DOYLE - DOG - 3

Cassian is currently trying to avoid their own family due to their mission. Cecil pursues Cassian, trying to convince them to come back home. Ione has no memories of Cassian, only the stories Cecil and Atticus tell her.

Mission

At a fairly young age, Cassian was taken to a cult and some sort of curse was put upon them. idk how to really explain it, BUT, their mission is to take out any humanoid creature that *isn't* human. (themself INCLUDED!!!) they're a hypocrite SHIT. But, due to this mission they left their family to keep them safe. They moved around constantly trying to avoid enemies they've made and to avoid being found by Cecil. Along this, they found Archie who became their partner in crime. archie uses xe/xim for whoever is wondering. Once Cassian is no longer able to go on with their mission, they are supposed to end their own life due to the hypocricy mostly. They don't remember being cursed, they only know they get strong, painful headaches at the thought of purposfully sparing someone they shouldn't or at the thought of keeping themself alive in the end.

Relationships

Despite having left, their relationship with their family is still decently intact!!! They love and miss their family every day, having a framed family photo always hidden wherever they're staying. Cassian and Cecil were also quite close, with Cassian still sending Cecil letters and voice mails some days. The lanterns and candles on their antlers are from Cecil. see here's where it all goes so fucking KABAMBAM

ARCHIE AND CASSIAN'S RELATIONSHIP!!!!

they're gay for eachother. 100%. no denying it. in so many AUs if things went right they'd be together. The two pine for eachother in secret, but neither confesses. Archie fears rejection and Cassian is scared to love someone, worried about the enemies they've made and mostly worried about xir safety. If Archie were to confess, Cassian would reject xim and initially be cold and harsh, but later come around to apologize to xim for being mean. (THEY ARE THE DEFENITION OF 'Somethin' Stupid' BY FRANK SINATRA KILL ME) But regardless, Cassian would do anything and everything to keep xim safe from harm. their love languages if ur curious; feels loved with acts of service and physical touch, but expresses love with words of affirmation for the most part they're also a cuddly and koala kinda guy.

Fears

They don't have a lot of fears, honestly. They mostly just fear killing their family and Archie, seeing as those are the only people they have left that still care about them. They're also violently insecure about their deer traits (antlers, ears, nose, and tail) :]

Hobbies

They're a BIIIIIIIIIG reader. and word man, so many fancy word,,,, They also enjoy cooking a lot :]

Misc

THEY'RE FUCKING BRITISH !!! They/them but prefers masculine terms like "boyfriend" and stuff like that They have a weighted spider plushie they cuddle with silk pjs, skincare routine, very hygiene oriented. you would not expect them to be a murderer/hj

also here's their playlist :] helps explain personality or wants and stuff.

the family excluding cassian ^

AND THE SPECIAL XE, ARCHIE !!!!!!! <3333 i love archie sm archie cassian all day all night all that's in my brain GET THE TWO OF THEM OUT/j

anyways there's your extra large lore session i love cassian sm <3

ARCHIE IS @gl0wsticko 'S CHARACTER BTW