#thank you for sending this my way!

[ghostoffuturespast]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Cyberpunk 2077 possessed me to start my first fan fic ever back in Feb/Mar 2022. And, yeah, sure it's a lot of words, but I'm more impressed with the fact that I pushed the publish button and so far have managed to stick with such a long-term creative project. It's a WIP and it's far from perfect but it's the first piece of art that I've sunk this much time into.

Writing can be challenging even at the best of times and it might be hard to tell, but I used to hate writing. I only ever did it for school or work and never got much joy out of it until recently. As a medium, I've fallen for it hard.

I honestly wasn't sure if anyone was going to read this when I started either. I didn't know anyone else in the fandom when I joined, I have no beta, and as far as fics go, it's a little odd. It's heavy on the plot. It's a lot of exploration of platonic relationships. (The first ten chapters is literally V hanging out with Jackie. And Misty. And Vik.) I've got some very major heavy themes that I'm exploring. There's a main pairing but I barely even touch the ship until like Ch. 18, a good chunk of the way in.

It is a fix-it, but not in the ways that people might be expecting. I wanted more time with Jackie, Misty, Vik, and Mama Welles. I wanted to fix River in the sense that as a character he got absolutely shorted. (He had the potential to be such a rich complex character but the game just glosses over all of those facets. Plus he's Indigenous, and as someone who is POC, representation in media is a topic that is personal to me and near and dear to my heart. River deserves more justice.) And I wanted to make something dark, and moody, and gritty, and noir.

Something with teeth.

There's a happy ending eventually but it's a long ways off and I want it to feel earned. Full circle. And this whole thing got kick started because I'm obsessed with tinfoil and I'm really hoping the only pitchforks that get busted out at the end of this are figurative.

Here's the opening lines:

August 2072

Valerie shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  Sweat dripped down her spine and her tactical vest stuck to the small of her back.  The air in the van was stifling in the desert heat.  Adjusting the assault rifle in her lap, she looked at the man sitting in front of her.  With arms crossed and eyes closed, his head bobbed with the motion of the van.  He looked weirdly relaxed, seeing as he was crammed in the back of a vehicle with four Arasaka security agents armed to the teeth.

Kirkpatrick nudged Valerie with his elbow. “Can’t believe he’s taking a fucking nap.  Where’d Hensley even get this guy anyway?”

“Who the hell knows.  He’s just some Valentino street merc, not like it really matters.”  Valerie responded.  She looked at the man in question to make sure he was still asleep.  No movement. “Christ. Nguyen! Can’t you turn the AC up?”

“That’s as high as it goes Li.”  Nguyen's eyes flashed toward the back of the van from the rearview mirror.

I know not everyone is going to read this, writing isn't nearly as shiny as images, and I know it won't be everyone's cup of tea. But I'm really grateful for the people who are along for the ride. And I'm also really grateful for all the creative awesome friends I've made in this little community.

Rest of the fic here!

[forlornmelody]

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 ❤

Aww, thank you for the ask! You are literally the sweetest.

Spare Parts. My magnum opus. Started as a character development exercise for Double The Trouble and became its own thing. I'm immensely proud of it.

Three Robins Rose Has Kissed And The One Who Kissed Back. Probably my best Jayrose fic to date. The pacing, the characterization...the prose...I love all of it.

About That Uniform. Arguably my most popular fic. Started out as meme, and it snowballed from there. Enemies to lovers with Artemis Shepard and Miranda Lawson.

Trust Exercise. I think this one is the best smut I've written. All the feels. And it's uh...pretty hot if I say so myself. *cough*

[allylikethecat]

https://x.com/1989healy/status/1778570687277343006?s=46 made me think of fictional dad!matty AU 🥰

AHHH Thank you so much for sending this! I am SCREAMING OMG Is this Fictional!Matty with Ava? Or is this Ducklings Fictional!Matty with his child after he gets it together?! Idk but I feel like this man needs a cat AND a baby omg. He is such a girl dad (and I will probably only write him as a girl dad lol) Thank you so much for sending this my way!! I tweet is HERE if anyone wondering! I hope you are having a great Friday and a wonderful weekend!

❤️Ally

[barghest-land]

drawings from paleo expedition to dagestan, done right on the trip. sometimes messy when it was cold and rainy, but i won't correct it. i think it's cool to leave it just the way it was done, and not retouch it after. there will be more drawings later, but those will be done from home

[inkskinned]

i got my isbn today for the book. 8 months to go. my mom and i were talking about what the next steps are. i was eating trail mix, standing on one foot, phone tucked into my ear.

"yeah," i said. "the problem is that tumblr as a market is like, not something that can be studied." there's this weird wave of nostalgia and affection for this place that came up over me: how lovely we avoid consumerism. okay, it sucks as a creator. but also? keep stickin' it to 'em.

my mother made the sound at the back of her throat that i also make, the one that means i've got an idea. "you should figure out some kind of reward for presale amounts. maybe you give out poems or a mug or a signed book or something. would your followers like that?" my mother is sweet, and kind, and i have no idea how to explain on this website you can buy someone crabs.

i put more m&ms down the hatch. i had to speak through peanuts and almonds. "if it passes 25 thousand i will print the book out in its entirety and eat it live on camera."

"oh god. no, you don't have to do that." she was anguished. "just tell them that you'd love them to read it, and that they've inspired you to write. you got started on that site, and they helped you keep going. raquel, you love these people. the community? you talk all the time about the other writers and artists and whatever else. tell them that you're hoping for their support, they'll come through."

"no," i assured her. i discovered i had dropped an m&m, but an ant had already found it, so it belonged to him now. i will let his little life have a surprise blue treasure in it, too. "i'm gonna fuckin' eat the book."

[blorbocedes]

taken july 13, 2013, by nigel elsegood

something so dreamy and wistful about the whole shot and caption. vivian bathed in sunlight, angelic in white, nico visor up to look at her, quick glance at his future wife, the red birkin resting on a haystack stuffed to the brim like jane birkin used them.

[my-name-is-apollo]

Guys

Have you seen Apollo with his cool swan-lyre??

Well now you have 🦢

[circusballoon]

runs back onto the scene with an actual birthday picture for @insertdisc5!! I hope you have a great day!

[groovyace]

oh oh oh about the doodle ask maybe Red Hood Jason interacting with Robin jason who he (maybe just) rescued? ( Feel free to ignore this if it's weird )

Here it is!! Not at all as poetic as one would hope 😭

[ Little Jason: "Why do you look like that?" (What the fuck does B FEED me in the future?) <- terrified) ]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

So I was scrolling along and accidentally clicked on a tag of some post. But it opened with this as the banner and I thought it was perfect. 🧡

SUCK IS DICK SUNDAY

[jkvjimin]

TAEHYUNG, NAMJOON & JUNGKOOK + memories (2014-2021) (cr. dwellingsouls, 0613data, namuspromised)

happy birthday, sky! @jung-koook 💟

[blindmagdalena]

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

[hanafubukki]

I'm a sucker for the "kissing scars" scenario and I just saw your tag about Lilia having them and now I can't stop thinking about it!!! aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAA

[about this post]

YOU AND ME BOTH ANONIE YOU AND ME BOTH AHHHH 🫂🫂💞💞

I headcanon that Lilia has scars. I mean how can he not? He fought in war. He was shocked by thunder. There is no way he doesn’t have scars. Inflicted on him or through training, he has them.

Look at his outfit? Love the outfit. Chef kiss. Sexy sexy fae. But you can’t tell me that armor will protect him from everything (unless it’s magicked?? Or something?? 🤔)

His general outfit is more speed and brunt force attack than defense (from what I can tell) so he has to have had some injuries.

I can see Lilia hide his scars with magic. He didn’t want his boys to worry. Even now, centuries later, he can feel them.

The pain has dulled but it’s still there, some days it hurts more than others. But he sees the smiles in front of him and he’s know each one was worth it. For this moment right in front of him.

When he attends NRC, the diasomnia uniform covers them without issue, and the moments they aren’t? A little magic will do the trick. Beside, he looks cuter this way, wouldn’t you say?

Can you imagine then? The vulnerability of him revealing these scars to you? You running your hands over them? Feeling the uneven skin.

Some scarred red as if new; some darkened with time. All of different sizes. Some too close to places that, for anyone else, would have been fatal.

Can you imagine then? Taking those hands and kissing them? Each and every scar? Can you imagine kissing the scars on his back. Those over his heart? The one by his neck, any deeper it would have spelled his end.

Imagine running ointments over his scars. Him blissfully sleeping. Lilia waking up refreshed for once in many years.

Aches nearly gone. All these years he had kept them hidden, managed the pain on his own, but with you; he has finally been able to rest and recover in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He finally allowed himself to be vulnerable.

I can see Lilia, after book 7, not hide it anymore. There’s no point. The truth is known and he would rather reserve his magic than waste it.

He might not show it out in the open but in the dorm? In his room? When he’s with family and you? He doesn’t hide it anymore.

His scars are a part of him. They spoke of his past. It spoke of his sacrifices. A constant reminder of what led to his present.

It’s something he doesn’t need to hide anymore.

Not now and not ever again.

He is Lilia Vanrouge, the one who loves his family.

[canisalbus]

I really appriciate how often Machete is depicted struggling and feeling like a burden, while still being loved and supported by Vasco. It gives the top tier angst of "i'm not good enough, I'm not worth it" but you frame it in such a way where it's clear that's just how he *feels* and is not how things really are, but also it's so nice to see someone who struggles quite often in a loving and unique relationship that suits them. The narrative of not being able to love or be loved unless you're consistently healthy is really tiring lol.

.

[naffeclipse]

Talk about your monster husband ocs coward (affectionate❤️)

Everyone, the tumblr user themeeplord is bullying me (affectionate <3)!!

You have no idea how normal I am about my monster OCs. They're so lovely just let me—ahhh!

Hawthorn is a Mothman monster. His wings are based on the garden tiger moth and he is so fluffy! He has a thick fuzz on his neck and chest and is a warm, cuddlebug. He also possesses bright orange eyes that pierce the darkness and startle the unfortunate late-night hikers or anyone piercing into the woods after midnight.

He has a thing for hanging out in the thick woods near where the MC lives. Wherever he goes, bad omens follow. He really shouldn't be near MC—he knows he'll be the death of his precious little human, but he can't help it. He's drawn to the MC like a moth to a flame (heheh). He's delightful and gentlemanly, but don't let that fool you. He's got a possessive stretch a mile wide and does not take kindly to anyone giving the MC looks or reaching out for a too-familiar touch. He will bristle and buzz, and fly swift and silent through the darkness to chase after anyone to ensure the MC stays all to himself. He is a bad omen, after all.

Grease is an oil demon! He feeds off of fear, literally, and delights in terrifying people in the night. His body is slick and iridescent, and he is constantly dripping black goo from his person. He is capable of shifting his form to hide in a puddle, slink underneath doors, or bubble through a crack in a broken window. He's got wicked sharp teeth, and eyes like a tiger but with a pale, unsettling blue color. He possesses tendrils on his head that constantly drip and a long, slick tail that he can use to grab MC by the ankle. He's terribly seductive and charming, terrifying but mischievous. He likes to say 'boo' just to watch MC jump. Of course, he's not all tang and salt. He's got a sweet side that rouses in a protectiveness over MC. He's possessive, sure, and he's marked his claim with the oil stains on MC's work apron, but he's got an ooey-gooey center of sweetness that MC occasionally finds when he blushes at a stray touch or a nice comment about him.

Calmo 91, otherwise just called Calmo, is a robot. Constructed in the 90s with a box TV screen head to match, he has bright yellow optics in the screen face along with thick wires falling behind his head in a ponytail-like fashion. He is cool and difficult to read but wickedly intelligent and learning much about humans and affections. His body is a thin endoskeleton with plastic matt gray coverings that give peeks of blue, red, and yellow wires at his metallic joints. He's got a mysterious past the MC is attempting to unravel that he truly wishes the MC would leave be. He's got much to learn about technology but he quickly figures out how to connect to the MC's phone for texting, phone calls, and other useful things of course, like keeping tags on where MC is and monitoring MC's heart rate. Useful tools. Modern technology. Living in the MC's house, he gets to spend more domestic time with the human he decided is kind and generous, but the MC occasionally finds him at the foot of the bed in the darkness, his yellow optics strangely switched to red until the MC says his name and his optics revert back to yellow again.

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱