#wip: 2083

[delusionisaplace]

wip intro: 2083 Retribution

“Is this the end?” - Yamazaki Akira

Genre(s): Cyberpunk, Sci-fi, Romance, LGBTQ+

Status: First Draft / Planning, started November 6th, 2022

Target: ~50k words

Progress as of 8/06/23: 3.2k words (yes ik it’s pathetic 😭)

Warnings: Violence, crime, sex, explicit language

Synopsis: 2083. The once vibrant city of Tokyo has been plunged into chaos and darkness, its streets ridden with crime and gruesome murders. The law enforcement find themselves powerless against the Gyokuryū gang and the shadow assassin organization, both vying for control amidst the ruined city.

Two young men, one a renowned yakuza boss, running rings around Neo-Tokyo and its internal law enforcement, the other a shadow assassin by night, as silent as he is deadly: Tajima Genji and Yamazaki Akira find themselves on opposing sides of the struggle for power in the city—and they find themselves drawn to each other as they stand helpless in the center of it all.

Note: Honestly, this is just a passion project of mine—nothing too serious. It’s an idea that I’ve had sitting in the back of my mind for about over a year now, and I’ve decided that it’s finally time to start writing it. So this will probably only be about 15-20 chapters long unless I decide to change my mind.

CHARACTERS

Yamazaki Akira: A shadow assassin who roams the night, killing anyone and everyone he is told to in order to achieve his goal of bringing peace and unity to the corrupted city of Neo-Tokyo.

Tajima Genji: A renowned yakuza boss, who is willing to give up everything he has worked for if it means helping the love of his life.

[ruvviks]

// wip day.

tagged by; @adelaidedrubman, @katsigian and @hibernationsuit, thank you so much!! tagging; @reaperkiller, @envergothash, @dickytwister, @shellibisshe, @secondsundering, @devilbrakers, @dekariosgale, @velocitic, @necro-hamster and YOU!

thought i'd do something different for this today :^) i'm working on a powerpoint (inspired by ezra velocitic thank u for the idea ^-^) to hopefully one day be able to explain the cyberpunk extended blorboverse that red reaperkiller and i have been working on for over a year now! it also includes my own story with vincent and his friends since the two stories eventually come together sometime in 2083 and 2084 (yeah i know the game is called 2077 i don't care leve me aloe). here's some slides to give you an idea of what kind of lore to expect :^)

[afterdarkprincess]

Mine

Pairing: Seth Rollins/Dean Ambrose Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2083 AO3 Link Look at that a finished WIP! This one is just pure unadulterated filth, enjoy at your own discretion 18+ only!!

tag squad: @feelschicken @elementaldoughnut12 @jeysbvck @southerngirl41 @harmshake @imabillyami

This fic is Explicit and contains: Rough Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Fingering, Spit as Lube, Hair Pulling, Slut Shaming, Toxic Relationship (full list on AO3)

----

Seth’s lounging in his personal dressing room backstage, scrolling through his twitter feed, eating up the reactions to his appearance at the end of Smackdown tonight.

He’s still in the tight red leather pants, his legs kicked up on the edge of the couch when there comes a loud demanding knock at the door.

“Go away asshole!” He yells distractedly over his shoulder, uncaring for whoever might be trying to disturb his peace at this time of night. Anybody he gives a shit about has already headed out, and he’s not far behind himself.

The knocks stop and Seth thinks he’s in the clear, but the door busts open with a loud bang, and Seth’s on his feet ready for a fight until he gets a good look at the figure standing in the doorway.

Dean Ambrose, eyes wild and angry and staring holes into Seth’s face.

Seth’s heartbeat roars in his ears as a tidal wave of emotion rolls over him. Excitement, relief, guilt, love, anger from all the years of their tumultuous relationship. Seth will never be free of Dean Ambrose and if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really want to be.

“Dean…” Seth barely breathes his name before he’s storming into the room, slamming the door shut before his hands are at Seth’s throat, pushing him back against the wall roughly.

The sound that escapes his throat is breathy and pathetic, Seth would be ashamed of himself if not for the growing pressure against his windpipe that mirrors the swell of his dick in his pants.

“The fuck you think you’ve been doin’ huh pretty boy?” His breath is hot against Seth’s cheek, and lingering smell of cigarette smoke clouds his senses. “You forget who you belong to? You think I wouldn’t notice you’ve been whoring around?”

Seth shakes his head as best he can with Dean’s hands restricting his movement. “N-no, no-“

“Liar,” Dean licks the sweat from Seth’s brow. “Partnering with Cody Rhodes, runnin’ around actin’ like his little bitch, like you won’t turn on him the second it’s convenient for you.”

“Dean, please-“ He’s fully hard and aching and unsure what he’s even begging for at this point.

His free hand grabs at Seth’s face, roughly squeezing his cheeks. “Doesn’t Rhodes know by now that sluts like you are only good for a warm hole to fuck? How many times have you taken his cock princess?”

Seth’s instinct is to lie and deny everything, but no way that Dean wouldn’t know, and the punishment for lying would be brutal. The three small scars on his ribs, perfect circles the size of a Marlboro serve as a reminder of what good it does lying to Dean Ambrose.

“Ahh, Twice…just twice,” His vision is getting fuzzy and it hurts to speak, and he gasps loudly as finally Dean releases his iron hold on Seth’s throat.

His relief does not last long though.

The hand that had been clutching his throat moves south quickly, tearing at the waistband of his leather pants until they’re down around his knees, freeing his achingly hard dick but keeping him from any kind of escape he might attempt. As if he’d even try.

Satisfied with his work, Dean’s fingers find his hole with expert precision and press inside unforgivingly, wringing a pained moan out of Seth.

It’s the kind of pain Dean knows he craves, the same burning ache that settles into his muscles after a 30 minute match, the kind of pain that leaves him sore but satisfied the next day.

“Tight as usual,” Seth can feel the deep growl of Dean’s voice. “Not surprised, I’ve heard all about that pathetic cock of Cody’s. Figures that you’re such a filthy slut you’ll take any dick you can get. He couldn’t satisfy you, could he sweetheart? I bet you couldn’t even feel that tiny cock inside you, but you moaned like a 2 dollar whore anyway to make him feel good about himself.”

The sting of the truth of Dean’s words hurts more than the fingers roughly exploring his ass.

One grazes against his prostate and Seth cries at how dirty wrong good it feels, his cock weeping precum despite being neglected thus far.

“Please,” he weeps, hair falling into his face and sticking to the salty damp tear tracks. “Oh god, please-“

A third finger works its way inside him.

“You wanna hear a little story? I saw your boy on the way in here.” As the fingers in his ass flex and stretch, Dean’s other hand wraps into the hair at the base of his neck. “You may have got between him and the Big Dog earlier, but we both know Roman doesn’t have the imagination that I do. Gonna be a little difficult for him to finish the story now, but we both know you never gave a fuck about that.”

The continued assault on his prostate has him dangerously close to the edge despite himself, his breath coming in harsh pants as his thoughts fill with all the terrible things Dean could have done to his tag partner. He shuts his eyes tightly, banishing the thoughts of Cody covered in blood from his mind and focuses on the sensations wracking through his body, chasing pleasure and release.

With no warning his hole is empty and his hair is pulled. Seth gasps, disoriented and clenching down on nothing.

He’s shoved unceremoniously over the back of the couch he’d been lounging on earlier, bare ass exposed with his pants now fallen around his ankles. Dean’s fingers never leave Seth’s curls as he circles around, loudly unbuckling his belt and freeing his angry red cock. He’s close enough to Seth’s face that the sticky head smacks him in the cheek.

“You like that? Been a while since you’ve seen a real cock.” Dean guides his dick with one hand to smear precum on Seth’s lips like lipgloss. “You know what to do, your spit’s the only lube you're getting so you better do a good job.”

Seth opens his mouth and latches onto the head of Dean’s cock, suckling it for a moment before taking it further onto his tongue. He can’t help but moan at the unique taste of Dean that fills his senses as he moves his tongue along the prominent vein.

He believes Dean that this will be the only lube he’ll get, so he makes an effort to drool all along the thick length. The grip in his hair tightens, pulling Seth further down with no warning, and he has no choice but to take Dean’s dick into his throat, eyes burning with tears.

Just as his throat begins to relax and adjust to the intrusion there’s a knock at the door.

“Ey Uce! You need a ride outta here, or what?” Jey Uso’s voice comes through the door and Dean rolls his eyes before pulling Seth off his dick.

Seth coughs and sputters before answering, “Nah, M’good man. Go- Go on without me.” He tries to keep his voice even and neutral despite the adrenaline running through him.

“You sure?” Of course he won’t let it be. Jey’s too nice for that.

“Yeah, I’ll catch ya later, uce.” Dean makes a face. Seth prays that it’s enough and that Jey won’t pry further.

There’s no sound for a moment, like Jey’s hesitating for some reason, until finally, “Alrigh’, if you sure. M’gonna go find Cody then. Later, Uce.”

Seth breathes a sigh of relief, but it doesn’t last long. Dean steps away from his face, keeping a tight grip in Seth’s hair, tugging painfully as he moves around the couch. His free hand moves down Seth’s waist and rubs at his exposed ass before giving it a sharp smack.

“Excellent job, princess. Shame all your slobber dried up during your performance.” Dean spits on his hole. “Don’t say I never did anythin’ for ya.”

It’s degrading and humiliating, but fuck if Seth doesn’t nearly cum at the wet feeling of Dean’s spit on his already aching hole.

Then he’s split open as Dean shoves his dick inside in one go, his hips smacking the swell of Seth’s cheeks. He howls as Dean grinds against him, rubbing Seth’s prostate in a delicious mix of pleasure and pain.

He’s open and raw, a ripe oyster cracked open for Dean’s pleasure, ready to be slurped up, devoured and savored. All thought leaves his mind as Dean pulls out and thrusts back in sharply, setting a punishing pace.

Dean’s tongue laves at the tattoo on his spine, biting and nipping at the meat of his back, hard enough to hurt but not bleed. He’s still holding onto Seth’s hair, using it as leverage as he pounds into him, while the other hand finds its way to Seth’s chest, pinching and tugging at his nipples.

Seth’s so close already, the tension in his stomach like a hot coil ready to burst. He unclenches his hand from the back of the couch, stiff from the death grip he’s been holding and tries to reach down towards his cock.

SMACK

He jumps from the shock of the stinging pain on his ass, and Dean’s fingers wrap around the hand he was going to use to try and come, yanking and twisting his arm painfully behind his back.

“You’ll come from my cock or not at all,” Dean growls.

Seth feels tears leaking from his eyes in frustration. Dean’s dick is hitting his prostate like a bullseye at each thrust, and it’s so much but not quite enough to send him shattering apart.

Dean yanks harder on his hair, his back bowing even further and his head twisting to one side at the angle, exposing one side of his throat. Then he’s there, his breath hot against the delicate skin of Seth’s throat.

“Is this what you thought about when Cody fucked you? Closed your eyes and pretended it was me filling you up right?”

Seth nods as best he can, whines escaping his lips with each breath in lieu of words.

“Well don’t worry, I’m here now baby. Gonna remind you,” Dean’s lips meet his skin. “Ro,” Another kiss. “Cody,” Another. “The whole locker room.” A quick dart of his tongue. “Fuck, the whole world, who you belong to.”

“Yours, yours, D-dean, fuck please-“ He’s babbling now more than anything else.

“Thats right, you’re mine.” It’s punctuated with a sharp bite to his earlobe at the end of another vicious unforgiving thrust, and Seth can only hold on as he hurtles over the edge.

He shoots his cum all over the back of the couch, shaking as his orgasm wracks through his body. Dean buries his cock inside him a few more times before shooting his own seed deep inside of Seth’s hole, adding to the sensations that wrack his body and marking him further.

Seth breathes hard as Dean finally pulls out, leaving him shaking and empty. Dean chuckles behind him as he tries to stand. “No wonder it was an easy slide,” He gestures to the streaks of blood that stain his softening cock.

His hole clenches painfully, he’s certainly going to be feeling this for days, but at least he’s gotten off easier than Cody. He makes it to standing, but his knees buckle beneath him, and he can’t even bring himself to try to catch his fall.

He’s accepting that he’s about to faceplant when Dean’s arms wrap around him, saving him from the impact and scooping him up. Seth grabs onto Dean’s neck to stabilize himself, but finds himself paralyzed by the way Dean’s looking at him.

Gone is the anger and fury that he saw earlier, that fed his rough treatment of Seth, replaced by a somewhat bashful look, as if he’s embarrassed now of his earlier behavior.

“You uhhh, good there?” Awkward as ever when it comes to communicating outside of the heat of the moment. Seth feels his chest swell with fondness, their bond may be absolutely bat shit crazy, but no one gets him like Dean and no one gets Dean like him.

He nods, grinning. “Yeah, M’good now-I got my big strong guy to keep me going.”

“Damn right! What you say we get outta here? Got a hotel room with a fluffy robe that’s got your name all over it sweetheart.”

Seth rolls his eyes, but doesn’t have any room to argue considering his current predicament. “Yeah, let’s get outta here.”

--- Thank you for reading!!! 💖💖

[breezypunk]

Wip Wednesday/Wip whenever

just cos I am actually doin' some stuff and I felt like sharing : )

been finding my energy to make new photostories, it's a passion of mine and I just love doing it so much, so I've been coming up with ideas for future photostories, but here is a sneak peak of a more smaller one I recently made. I've been loving going back in time to the beginning of vaughn and goro's relationship, and even before they were a couple. So I definitely want to make more VP of them from '77 since my current timeline for them is 2083. (Almost 6 years of them putting up with each other's shenanigans, how do they do it)?!

I also am learning how to make custom poses! As of right now I'm learning via replacer method, I gotta start somewhere, and it's been really fun making poses, and of course I'm gonna start with masc poses cos vaughn ;p I'm thinking smokers pack to start with, since he chain smokes xD

Here's the very first one I made:

I had to be fancy with it haha. I don't know when a full pack will be ready, and I don't even know if I wanna release a replacer, I am planning on getting used to replacers first and than move on to axl poses so they are compatible with nibbles replacer, and than potentially make amm poses, but I loathe amm posing, and I use photomode poses religiously, so only time will tell.

I also wanna get back into writing and I did write a little thing, and I am super hard on myself when it comes to fic, I get very scared to share and end of nuking it like I did a few days ago and I regret it, so I will post it again in a few days. I am trying to become more confident in my art and I just wanna share it with the world.

So this is just a couple little things I'm doing, I also already know which mod I'll be working on soon, so that'll be coming as well :3 So yeah! If you see this, feel free to post about your wips, even tag me if you want <3

[astrophilic-soul]

Omg omg 2 account files > > > 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Oooo my absolute fav WIP!

WIP Asks

Account Files>Alfred F. Jones>Personal Logs>[2083/2/22-2083/2/24]

New York Times: Mars Mission Put on Pause After Crew of 6 Dead After Suspected Sabotage 

…Alfred F. Jones (July 4, 2059 - February 24, 2083) was an American astronaut and naval aviator. In 2079, Alfred F. Jones and his crew of 5 others, Yao Wang, Ivan Braginsky, Francis Bonnefoy, Arthur Kirkland and Kiku Honda, set off into space on a mission called Project Olympus. The goal was to make Mars habitable by humans. On their 4 1/2 anniversary of the mission, after no communication from the crew for 24 hours, NASA sent a probe to Mars. Where they found the crew dead in the mist of a gory crime scene and signs suggesting a struggle. As speculation as to what actually happened grows with no imminent answers, NASA has put all future Mars missions on pause indefinitely …Read more

A Snippet:

A little note, this fic is not written in first person except for the personal log parts. Here's a snippet of the WIP:

[Alfred F. Jones: Personal Log 1643]

[Date: 13:05:07 2083/2/22]

It’s almost been 4 and a half years since we’ve launched from Orlando, so the crew and I got permission from ground control to hold a anniversary party on Wednesday because of the recent streak of successes we’ve had: a live plant grown on Mars without too much care (it even flowered!), raised Mar’s oxygen from 0.16% to 1%, and the first crop house (a greenhouse specialized to grow crops and food on Mars) finally finished printing.

Although it sounds great, I’ve been worried. The isolation from society has gotten to some of us.

[kkysolo]

Stuck On You / Prologue

Pairing: Ben Solo|Kylo Ren/Reader Setting: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, dystopia, modern, gangs. Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, war, gang violence, emotional hurt/angst, codependent relationships (eventual fluff, smut, romance). 

Available here on AO3, and under the cut. 

Summary:  The year is 2084.

Despite its advances, society has collapsed on itself. The world is crooked, damaged, dying. Rezoned into new territories, separating the elite from the unworthy. Civilization is crumbling at your very feet, and in the midst of it all, your best friend, Ben Solo, has been missing for three years.  You desperately cling to what's left of him, hoping that he'll come home, praying that things will fall back into place. 

And then he does. And they don't. Because life is different when you're a scoundrel in the midst of a class war. 

A/N: Please don't mind me, posting another WIP.  I might continue posting this on here as well as AO3. 

This piece (particularly reader's experience of Ben being missing) is heavily inspired (and named after) Stuck On You by Failure. You can find it here if you want to give it a listen. 

This is just the prologue, and won't give much insight into the worldbuilding. That will come in the following chapters. Also, I'm writing this with the assumption that phones will still be a thing in 2084, though they're only still used by the poor.

Then: New Year’s 2083

The way you tore across the dilapidated bar, seething, irate - the force behind your movements astonished your friends as you shoved past them, beelining for the toilets. You hated the holiday season. It was New Years - it was supposed to be a good night, a fun night. But these fights, these senseless, petty arguments and drunken tears, they ruined it. Every single time.

You slammed the ruddy green cubicle door shut behind you, taking your phone out of your purse and sliding down onto the cool tile. It was wet, damp with fluid from the leaking lavatory that stuck to your dress. The tears came, then. Heaving, wretched sobs that ripped from your chest before you could stop them. You clawed at your knees, pulling them close to your chest as you felt that familiar crack in your lungs, that awful lump in your throat. For two years, you’d been numbly pandering through life with a canyon-sized gash in your chest - right between your lungs. A hole you couldn’t fix, a wound that wouldn’t heal. Always open, always weeping, always infected with ruminations of what could have been.  What would have been, if he hadn’t left.  Disappeared. Vanished. Gone. 

Everyone in town had bets down on when you’d get together. You’d been friends since high-school, completely inseparable. You clung to him - your world, your dreams, your future, it all revolved around him. Because to you, nothing was worth doing if he couldn’t come with you. If he couldn’t be a part of it, like he’d been a part of everything else in your life. An ever steady presence, calming and strong throughout the most turbulent of times. No matter the unrest, no matter how society changed and faltered, you always had him. And oh, how you loved him. How you dreamt of him. 

You’d still call him, sometimes. Just to hear his voicemail. Just to hear that casual, “Hey, sorry I missed you”. 

You're sorry, too.

His mother kept up his phone payments, just in case. Just in case he turned his phone back on. Just in case he needed it. Just in case he wanted to call. She couldn’t afford it, not really. No one had enough credits to just throw them at something that wasn’t even being used. But she paid it, all the same. 

You’d text him, too. Just little things, here and there. You’d never get a reply, of course. But you hoped he’d seen them. Hoped he’d seen your birthday wishes, your happy holidays and “do you remember when…?” messages. Whenever your hometown got rezoned, whenever you were swept along to another derelict flat, another house-share in ruins, you’d text him the coordinates. Just in case. Just in case he’d come home. Because where was home, really, to any of you? In a world where land and ownership was reserved for the wealthy, your only home was in each other. In your friends. In your family. In your sense of belonging, wherever it may have been.

And though you called and called and called, you’d never left a voicemail. You almost did, a couple of times. But never knew what to say. You tried, you really did try not to think the worst. You tried not to think of his towering frame withering away in a ditch somewhere, lost among the scrap metal and copper wires. You tried not to think of  his pale skin pulled too-tight over rotting bones, succumbing to maggots. No, you didn’t think like that. You couldn’t.

Your cracked and glitchy phone screen was barely visible through your haze of tears, but you didn’t need to see it. You knew his number off by heart, had done since you were a girl. He never changed it. He worried you’d forget it, if he did, wouldn’t be able to reach him if you needed him. 

The sad irony of that fact made your wails come harder. 

With trembling hands, you held the phone to your ear, shutting your eyes for a moment and relishing in the sounds of his voice as his voicemail greeting played. You sniffled, inhaling shakily in a poor attempt to control your ragged breathing. 

“Hey,” you whispered after the beep. “Hey, it’s um. Me, I guess,” you sniffled again, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. Every breath was laboured, your lungs felt as though they were burning, like you were inhaling smoke. “I just..I wanted to hear your voice. I just…” you sobbed, then, unable to compose yourself. You’d been so good at that, before. Once upon a time, in another life. Or at least, what felt like another life. “Ben, I-I need you, I can’t do this without you, I-I’m so t-tired of trying t-to do this w-w-without you. I can’t, I c-can’t do it,” you took another unsteady breath, hoping, praying, that he’d hear you. That he’d find you. “Just...p-please, Ben. Please come home, I miss you”.

You dropped your phone back into your lap, letting your head fall into your hands as you let yourself fall apart. Your heels slid on the tile, your lungs crackled with effort as they desperately fought to breathe through your howls. You’d learned early on that the only way to manage the pain, the tears, the hurricanes that came tearing out of that trench inside you, was to let it come. Let it pass, let it wash over you in tidal waves. It would dwindle eventually. The storm would subside, leaving behind its wreckage, its carnage. You didn’t bother with damage control. There wasn’t much of a point. The next storm was never far off. 

As you felt yourself begin to settle, you heard a faint knock on the other side of the cubicle door. Your name was called softly, followed by another knock. You took a deep breath, yanking at the discoloured toilet roll to dab at your face and running nose.

“One second,” you called hoarsely, picking yourself up off the floor and straightening your dress. You’d ripped your tights somewhere in your frenzy, and you pinched absently at the ladder you’d created as you collected yourself. You had no idea how long you’d been in there, how long you’d been crying. But if the scratching in your throat and the pounding between your ears was anything to go by, it had been long enough. You took another breath as a poor attempt of maintaining composure before swinging open the door, revealing a concerned Rose. Glowing, ethereal as always, even in the darkest of bars. 

“You look like you need a hug,” she murmured, stepping closer. She held her arms out timidly. Bless her heart, she tried. Always, even when you pushed her away. You felt yourself well up again, blinking the tears away as you stepped into her embrace. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know you miss him.”

She knew, she always knew. 

“I need him, Rose,” you whined, your words muffled as you spoke into her shoulder. “I need him.”

“I know, sweetie,” she hugged you tighter, “I know.”

You sniffled, pulling away as you reached for more tissue. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dabbing at your eyes. “I’m sorry that I’m always such a fucking wreck when I drink.” 

“Hey,” she held your arm softly. “Don’t be sorry. No one can tell you to heal.”

You nodded, chucking the tissue into the toilet. “Christ, what a mess.” 

Rose smiled, tugging at your arm softly. “Y’know, Jon sent me in here,” she said, her tone subdued. “He’s worried.”

You rolled your eyes. Jon was jealous, always had been, of your missing best friend. A man he’d never met, a man who could well be dead, owned more of your heart, more of your soul, more of your attention than he ever could. And that was fair enough, you knew that. You couldn’t argue with his statements, or how he felt. But the way he’d yell, the way he’d cry when he sensed a storm coming, when he knew you missed Ben a little more than usual. The way he’d tell you to get over it, to let go, to accept that he was probably dead. It boiled your blood. He didn’t know Ben, he’d never met him, never saw that cheeky glint in his eye, never heard his airy laughter. He’d never been hugged by him, or sang to. He’d never gotten to know his stupid jokes, or his obstinate, mercurial attitude that could be so fucking frustrating but so inherently Ben. Most importantly, though, he’d never seen how Ben looked at you. How he held you when you fell asleep on the couch, how he’d carry you to your bed before hugging your mother goodbye. How he’d dance with you, how he’d laugh with you, how he’d just be with you. It infuriated you, when Jon would insist that you let all of that go. To accept that he wasn’t coming back. Because you couldn’t accept that. You wouldn’t. 

When you returned to your group, you avoided his gaze, settling in beside Rose on the opposite end of the table. Never one to back down from a potential fight, Jon approached your seat, tapping your shoulder and eyeing you expectantly. He wasn’t a bad person, Jon. He was kind, and he loved you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to love him, you couldn't bring yourself to care for him the way he cared for you. And maybe you deserved this, all of this endless pain, for stringing him along for all these years, using him as a distraction to alleviate your ache. You lived with constant guilt, constant shame for what you were doing. But you couldn’t stop, couldn’t get out. You worried that if you did, you’d crumble completely. You wished you didn’t need a crutch, you wished you felt enough empathy for Jon to leave. But you didn’t. All you ever felt was Ben, remnants of him sticking to your bones like a thirsty parasite, draining you of all emotion.

“I need some time,” you said plainly. “I just...Please. Just leave me alone.” You shook your head, your eyes glued to your half-empty rum and coke. Rum and badly brewed beer was the only alcohol available in the rezoned land. It turned your stomach sometimes, but a drink was a drink, at the end of the day.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t meet his eyes as he left, only saw him slip out of your peripheral vision and into the sea of people around you. 

When you crawled into your damp bed that night, alone and still in your dress, you’d never felt so misplaced, so lost. So hollow. So full of nothing that it terrified you. But when you slipped into a dream, into a world far kinder, far simpler than your own, you swore you could feel him. Swore you felt his arms, his hair, his breath. So you clung to it, anchored yourself to his broad frame and allowed yourself to melt. At least, in your dreams, he still clung to you, too. 

[harringroveficlibrary]

hey hey! how are you? just wondering if you know of any coffee shop fics?? preferably completed because i can never keep track of the events in a fic when it updates but anything is fine!

absolutely! here’s what i found on ao3 (: also on the subject of wip fics, we won’t be posting any that haven’t been updated in at least 3 months, just so people don’t get super interested in a fic and find out it’s been abandoned bc it’s honestly the worst  -Madi

I Only Wanna Be With You by flippyspoon (1/1 | 9345 | explicit)

Billy is absolutely not going to fall for the yuppie kid in the GAP jeans who loves Hootie and the Blowfish and Steve is absolutely not going to fall for the bitchy barista who loves Guns N' Roses. Absolutely not.

Mom-ward Bound by deadlymilkovich (1/1 | 1703 | general)

Steve’s mom jumps at the opportunity to see her son and meet her new daughter-in-law, but it’s not exactly what she expected

peppermint flour by brawlite (1/1 | 2431 | teen)

Billy makes Steve Christmas cookies. They're not perfect, which sucks, because everything Steve does is perfection. It's hard to measure up.

Blonde Roast by XxmerthurcatxX (1/1 | 1932 | teen)

Some jackass with blonde curls and blue eyes keeps stealing Steve's seat at Starbucks.

Coffee Pretty Boy? by claimingtheanonymous (1/1 | 2083 | teen)

“Coffee pretty boy?” He asked and felt the blood drain from his face as he realised what he’d just said…in the short time the boy had been here, he had become pretty boy…now Billy had just told him…he thought he was pretty.

triple mocha frap, don't hold the cream. by Spooks (agonizer) (1/1 | 1864 | teen)

 “She’s not coming, bro,” the barista tells him, like maybe he enjoys rubbing that in, and slides into the seat across from him, unbidden. He rests his elbow on the table, crosses his arms in a way that draws ample attention to the way his uniform struggles to stretch over his biceps, and fixes Steve with a look, a slow grin spreading over his face.

Bittersweet by sparkleeye (1/1 | 4967 | teen)

Steve gets so tired of Nancy scrolling through his possible matches and asking him which famous Chris he finds hottest - they’ve all got different aspects he likes so he doesn’t have a favorite anyway, but that’s not good enough for her - that he matches with the first cute girl he finds on his Tinder feed, just to shut her up.

Or: Steve gets pushed back into dating and things don't turn out the way he planned.

[luffysfakebeard]

I got tagged my cutie @milkofthewildpoppy to do the AO3 writer tag!

AO3 Name: wordsarelifealways Fandoms: Skam, My Hero Academia, and a long time ago Destiel! Number of Fics: 46 posted!

Fic you spent the most time on: hmmm, probably the Universe of Our Own series!

Fic you spent the least time on: probably Red Bird, since it was so short haha

Longest fic: A Universe of Our Own (112,715 words, but A Different Breed isn’t finished yet and it’s already at 110,238 so that’ll probably be the longest once it’s finished haha)

Shortest fic: Red Bird at 817 words (a Destiel oneshot I wrote where they took in a baby whose parents had been killed in a monster attack)

Most hits/kudos: A Universe of Our Own (47,426 hits and 2083 kudos)

Most comment threads: A Universe of Our Own (558, closely followed by A Different Breed at 496)

Fave fic you’ve written: this is such a hard question fuck!!!!!! I think AUO3 and ADB will always have a special place in my heart because so many people seem to have enjoyed them, but the Isak with Asperger’s series had so many people get in touch with me to say that seeing autism represented like that made them so happy so I think I’d have to go with that one!

Fic you want to rewrite or expand on: probably Love Me Deaf-initely, the deaf!Isak AU where he’s Even’s NSL teacher

Share a bit of a WIP or share a story you’re planning: I have planned a Tododeku mpreg fic, and a prequel where Kirikugo have their triplets! I’m super excited with both of them!

[cryptid-creations]

Daily Paint 2083. Coral Snake

Daily Book and Prints available at: http://ForgePublishing.com/shop

For full res WIPs, art, videos and more: https://www.patreon.com/piperdraws

Twitter  •  Facebook  •  Instagram  •  DeviantART​

[delusionisaplace]

10 Songs Tag Game

Rules: Use your WIP playlist and put it on shuffle. Write the first 10 songs that come up and quote your favorite lyrics from each song and/or the lyrics that fit your WIP best (they might be the same lyrics), then tag 10 people.

i was tagged by @athenswrites, and i’ll tag @plutosnotebook @stesierra @starbuds-and-rosedust @ibuprofen-exe @mjparkerwriting @wisteriaxxviolet @harmonydork @junypr-camus @time-to-write-and-suffer @orphicwonders

this is for my wip 2083, which is a blend of sci-fi, cyberpunk, dystopia and romance

just keep in mind that absolutely NONE of this shit will make any damn sense unless we happen to share the same braincell 😅

Dark Red - Steve Lacy

I belong with you and only you

A BOY IS A GUN - Tyler, the Creator

No, don’t shoot me down

Helmet - Steve Lacy

I’d been consumed / I’m not for sale / Man, what the hell?

NEW MAGIC WAND - Tyler, the Creator

I live life with no fear, except for the idea / That one day you won’t be here

Space Song - Beach House

Who will dry your eyes / When it falls apart? / What makes this fragile world go ’round?

HEAL YOUR HEART (Interlude) - Brent Faiyaz

I wish I had all the answers to heal your heart

See You Again - Tyler, the Creator

I said I'm 'bout to go to war / And I don't know if I'ma see you again

Here With You - d4vd

And if it's right, I don't care how long it takes / As long as I'm with you / I've got a smile on my face / Save your tears, it'll be okay / All I know is you're here with me

EARFQUAKE - Tyler, the Creator

Don't leave, it's my fault / Cause when it all comes crashing down I'll need you

As the World Caves In - Matt Maltese

Oh girl, it's you that I lie with / As the atom bomb locks in / Oh girl, it's you I watch TV with / As the world, as the world caves in

[delusionisaplace]

2083: 𝙍𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙇𝙤𝙧𝙚

more info about the story behind this wip :))

Society and Sectors: Part 1

Classing System and Housing:

In Japanese society, a unique classing system has emerged, replacing the conventional divisions of lower, middle and upper-class. This novel societal structure revolves around two primary classes: the Mazushī, and the Kachū.

The Mazushī, comprised of the vast majority of Tokyo’s population, form the backbone of the working class. Due to overpopulation, they are forced to dwell in the cramped and shadowy expanses of “box towns,” where apartments are stacked one atop another in rows with a density that defies imagination. These box towns resemble a maze in some respects. In these warrens of concrete and steel, natural light rarely finds a way through, casting a constant shadow over the lives of the Mazushī. In these box towns, resources are often low, and disease is easily spread.

For those of the Mazushī that are more fortunate, they can afford to occupy the humblest of apartments and houses, often in the neglected corners of the sprawling metropolis.

On the opposite end of this societal spectrum stands the Kachū, the social elites who possess wealth that is unattainable for the average citizen. They reside in opulent penthouses, luxurious condos, and spacious houses that epitomize luxury. In these exclusive abodes, natural and artificial light cascades through expansive windows, contrasting sharply with the dimness of the Mazushī’s box towns.

that’s it for now!! for anyone that’s interested, i might post a part 2 and 3 sometime soon :))

[delusionisaplace]

Last Line Tag Game

thank you for the tag @ember-writer! you can find their post here

So this is what love is. So these are the divine moments that make life worth living—Akira would do anything to keep this feeling.

gently tagging: @wisteriaxxviolet @macabremoons and anyone else who wants to share :))

[delusionisaplace]

2083: 𝙍𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙇𝙤𝙧𝙚

more info about the story behind this wip :))

Society and Sectors: Part 2

Opportunities for income are scare for the Mazushī, forcing them to take on low-end jobs often considered undesirable by the Kachū elites. Such jobs include: convenience store owners, street food vendors, janitors, hairdressers and factory workers. Despite their hard work, these jobs result in income that falls far short of meeting basic needs.

Desperation drives many Mazushī, especially younger generations, to resort to a life of crime as a means of survival. Jobs they must take up include: selling contraband, bounty hunting, carrying out assassinations, stripping and stealing for the upper echelon of society. Even with these risky undertakings, they struggle to make ends meet, and are often haunted by the possibility of eviction, lack of utilities, and in some severe cases, starvation.

There are some individuals of the Mazushī who have managed to ascend the precarious social hierarchy by undertaking the gritty tasks assigned to them by the Kachū. They garner a measure of respect from the social elites, and yet, paradoxically, their lives lack the same stability that the other Mazushī experience. They live in a state of constant fear and vigilance, aware that their positions of favor can easily crumble with the slightest misstep, leading to either dismissal or death.

On the other hand, the Kachū hold more cushy, privileged roles within society. These positions are typically associated with affluence and influence, encompassing roles like: medical affairs, private law practices, head of sales, business development, and even political power. The opulence that the Kachū experience can be largely attributed to the inheritance of wealth, occupations and company shares passed down from generations. Because of this, they possess sway over economic policies, and perpetuate the cycle that prevents most Mazushī from ever achieving some semblance of stability in their lives. The transfer of generational wealth is a key factor in sustaining the Kachū’s dominance over society.

taglist: @kae-luna

[delusionisaplace]

funny story: the whole idea of 2083 was partially inspired by a conversation a friend and i had on a set of flashcards 💀

a few years ago, in like the 8th grade, we were sitting in spanish class. it was the end of the day, and we were all jus tryna get home. but we were stuck in that class for another 30 minutes with a spanish teacher from hell 😭 someone must have done something to rlly piss her off because she was not in the mood: she was hollering over the slightest movement and threatening us with detention.

but my friend was feeling extra bold that day and decided that was the moment he needed to get his chromebook fixed.

when he came back, our spanish teacher had a whole argument with him and told my friend that she didn’t wanna hear him talk until the day was over or else she would send him to the office

so in order to talk to me without getting a demerit, my friend wrote on flashcards and passed them under his chair

we had a whole conversation on them, and i remember one had a question like: “oh for fun, what year is it?” or smth like that

and i answered with some random year. i think it was like 2071. my friend was reasonably confused and asked: “oh? what else??” and he just kinda let me run with it

i think i wrote smth about a world where technology and magic intertwined. and it was a choose your own adventure kind of story, so i wrote a small blurb and prompted my friend to react

this was a long way of me saying thanks to the 8th grade friend who let me go wild with the ideas in my head 😅

i don’t have the doc that we did the story on, but i think i still have the flashcards in one of my old sketchbooks

i might post them later if i do manage to find them because i remember the conversation was rlly chaotic 😭

[delusionisaplace]

2083: 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙠𝙚𝙥𝙩

wrote this a while back ago buttttt i didn't feel too strongly about it?? idk i just feel like sharing it now

words: 1.2k

The moon shone down on them, casting its luminous glow through the sheer curtains, enveloping the room in a soft, ethereal light. Its silver glow enveloped them, creating an ambiance that seemed to exist solely for this shared moment of intimacy—Genji lay beneath Akira, his arm cradling the back of Akira’s head as he relished in the sensation of Akira’s warm breath against his skin, his nose burrowing deep in the curve of Genji’s shoulder, inhaling deeply, breathing in the intoxicating scent that wafted from his skin.

A playful chuckle escaped Genji’s lips, a symphony of amusement and anticipation dancing in his voice, as Akira’s warm breath, like a gentle breeze, caressed the sensitive flesh of his neck. “Do I smell good?” He teased, his voice infused with a mischievous charm.

“Mhm,” Akira murmured in response, his voice barely above a whisper. He snuggled further into Genji’s embrace, his nose finding solace in the gentle curve of Genji’s shoulder. The tantalizing scent that enveloped Genji was like no other, an unique blend of warmth and sweetness that captivated Akira’s senses. It was a fragrance that defied categorization, one that was indescribable—it was a delicate medley of aromas that whispered secrets of love and desire. The scent carried hints of citrus, similar to sun-kissed oranges, yet it was overwhelmingly sweet, like honey dripping from a summer blossom. And beneath it all, there was a subtle hint of dew, a freshness that evoked memories of early morning rain, complimented by wet, budding plants.

“You smell sweet, like… like…” Akira’s voice trailed off, regret and longing mingling in the silence that followed, as if the words eluded his grasp, dancing just beyond his reach.

“Like flowers?” Genji suggested, a gentle grin playing on his lips as his fingers traced circles through Akira’s soft, tangled hair. His voice carried a hint of anticipation, secretly reveling in the idea of being connected to something so beautiful and delicate in Akira’s mind.

Akira fell silent, his expression tinged with disappointment and regret, his features adorned with a subtle frown. “I don’t know what flowers smell like,” he confessed softly, eyes betraying a mix of longing and curiosity.

Genji arched his brow, a look of shock etching itself onto his features. “Really?” He exclaimed, voice laced with disbelief, “you’ve never been to the Gardens before?” His words were colored with astonishment, as if he couldn’t fathom a life in which Akira hadn’t breathed in the scents of nature, hadn’t seen the blossoming flowers.

Akira nodded solemnly, a blush of embarrassment tinting his cheeks. “Tell me…what’s it like?” he said, a flicker of wistfulness in his voice.

“It’s a reserve in Hokkaido, the only place in this country where flowers still grow. It’s a wide field that stretches beyond the horizon, farther than the eye can see, with winding paths that are easy to get lost in. The flowers are bright and vibrant, a sea of colors that can’t be found anywhere else. As soon as you step in, you can feel a combination of delicate fragrances that overwhelm your senses, each and every scent faint but distinct as they blend together to form one. But, it’s not enough to simply describe it. I guess that’s another place,” Genji said with a light chuckle, “I’ll have to take you to see.”

“Do...do you really mean it?”

A tender smile graced Genji’s lips, his eyes sparkling with affection. “With all my heart. I’ll take you there one day,” he vowed, his words heavy with unwavering resolve, “I want to show you all the places I’ve talked about, to travel the world together once this is all over.”

Genji was sincere in everything he said, his devotion coming from the depths of his soul. He longed to give Akira everything his heart desired, even if it meant giving up all that he worked for. He yearned to provide Akira with a life worth living, a life filled with joy and free from the pains and pressures of the outside world—a life where Akira could truly find happiness.

Akira’s eyes lit up, a mix of adoration and hope shining bright within them, and his heart skipping a beat as he extended his pinky finger. “Promise me, Genji. Promise me we’ll see the world together. Promise me,” he implored, his voice brimming with vulnerability, “promise me that we’ll always be together.”

“I promise,” Genji responded without hesitation, his own pinky finger intertwining with Akira’s in a silent vow that echoed through his soul—no matter what, he intended to uphold his end of the promise until it was fulfilled.

Akira offered an innocent smile, the kind that made Genji’s heart flutter, and let out an airy laugh that danced through the air, a sweet song of pure joy.

In moments like these, when joy overflowed and worries dissolved, when Akira’s laughter filled the room and his eyes glittered with unadulterated happiness, Genji couldn’t help but marvel at Akira’s beauty. His laugh, his smile, his bright eyes—they were the embodiment of the serenity and joy that Genji longed to see in Akira’s life, a respite from the hardships and trials that had shaped their past. In these fleeting moments, Akira was truly radiant, a heavenly being capable of captivating Genji’s heart and soul.

Unable to resist the look in his eyes, Genji’s hand found its way to the nape of Akira’s neck, his fingers tangling in the soft strands of Akira’s hair, pulling him closer until their lips met in a tender, warm kiss. Genji’s mouth sloppily explored the contours of Akira’s mouth and chin, an exploration fueled by the need to feel his the warmth in his touch, to feel his smile deepen against Genji’s lips. In turn, Akira eagerly accepted his kiss, gently tugging at Genji’s lips to pull him deeper in, drowning in the sensation of Genji’s mouth, savoring the taste.

As their lips slowly parted, Genji chuckled softly, his breath brushing against Akira’s face as his fingers caressed the softness of Akira’s cheek. “You should smile more,” he murmured, cradling Akira’s head against the warmth of his chest, “you look so pretty when you do.”

Akira’s ears burned crimson, the rush of blood to his cheeks betraying the flustered feelings that Genji’s compliment stirred within him. He buried his head in the comforting embrace of Genji’s chest, trying to hide his bashfulness. “If you ever break your promise,” he playfully threatened, his voice lined with affection and a hint of embarrassment, “I’ll… I’ll kill you.”

Genji let out a laugh. “I know.” He said, his voice coated in a tone of amusement as he ran his hands through Akira’s hair. “I know.”

They lay quietly, the heat of their bare skin melding together in a comforting embrace. Genji’s arms wrapped securely around Akira’s waist, holding him close, their bare bodies pressed against each other as they sought solace in the presence of one other. The world outside seemed to fade away as they succumbed to the peaceful lull of the night, their breathing synchronized, their hearts beating in unison.

“I’ll never break my promise to you, even I lose everything in the process.” Genji whispered lightly in Akira’s ear, “even if kills me.”

Genji thought of that night now, as he teetered between the realms of living and the dead, tightly holding on his remaining shreds of life.

[delusionisaplace]

𝙬𝙞𝙥𝙨:

2083: Retribution | First Draft

The year is 2083, and the metropolitan of Tokyo has descended into decades of darkness and suffering, influenced by drugs and rampant murders. The prefectures have fallen into the control of two main powers, the Gyokuryū syndicate and the assasination organization. Two men, Akira and Genji face each other on opposite sides of the struggle for power in the city, and yet, they find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other in ways they shouldn't be...

Genres: Sci-fi, Dystopia, Cyberpunk, Romance, LGBTQ+

Keywords/Themes: Cyberpunk, revolution, the people vs. the system, romance, bl

Tags: #wip: 2083, #2083 worldbuilding

Notes: this is just a side wip, and probably won't be too long. i go slightly more in depth about it in my wip intro, which i'll link below if you want to read more.

wip intro here

Lovers to Strangers | First Draft | Main WIP

In the heart of Tokyo's bustling metropolis, two men, Ryoji and Kaiyo, find themselves sharing a dorm despite being drastically different from each other. Over time, they grow to form a tight bond, sharing with each parts of their souls--except for the memories that both of them have tucked deep in the recesses of their hearts.

Genres: Slice of Life, College / School Life, Romance, LGBTQ+, Fluff (with a bit of angst here and there)

Keywords/Themes: Slice of life, coming of age, roommates to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, forgotten memories, romance, bl

Tags: #wip: lovers-to-strangers, #lovers-strangers: memories

Notes: im probably going to post a lot more for this wip than i will for 2083 (since this is my main wip) so you can expect a lot of snippets, moodboards, playlists, etc. hopefully y’all like them :)))

wip intro here

character intros

playlists / moodboards

The Taste of Vengeance | Planning

Genres: Dark fantasy, gothic, romance

Keywords/Themes: Vampires, Transylvania, Dracula, revenge, destruction

Tags: #wip: taste-of-vengeance, #nano 2023

Notes: this is a wip i’m working on for nanowrimo loosely based on some ideas i had for a story back in middle school. and yea that’s all for now lol

wip intro here