/ * 𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐂𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐒

the inability to experience joy or pleasure.

[anhedcnias]

𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐂𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐒

⸻    duckie,  27,  she/her/they,  est for 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐌 

𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐀 * // intro  » threads  »   asks  »   study  »   face     

pat chayanit , cisgender woman + she/her

𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 for 𝑵𝒆𝒘𝒔 𝑪𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑳𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅

𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴 for 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒

𝐁𝐈𝐈𝐓𝐎 “𝐁𝐈𝐓” 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈 * // intro  »   threads  »   asks  »   study  »   face   

mackenyu arata , cisgender man + he/him

𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙲𝚈𝙲𝙻𝙴 𝙼𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙲 for the 𝑳𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝑬𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒚𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒑

𝙲𝙰𝙿𝙾 for 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐋 (𝐁-𝐋𝐀𝐋𝟓-𝟒.𝟕) * // intro  »   threads  »   asks  »   study  »   face      

rory culkin , non binary + he/they

𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚄𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚁 for 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 & 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚁𝚃 𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚂𝚃 at the 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄

[streetfighterthighs]

[davikahoorne]

[acecroft]

BLADE RUNNER 2049 (2017) dir. Denis Villeneuve

[ofhurricanes]

— with belial (@anhedcnias) | the hq of stoneage industries

Two  cups  of  coffee  in  her  hands  –  she’s  walking  with  determination  in  her  step,  but  there’s  nothing  unusual  in  the  sound  of  Louboutin  heels  click-clacking  against  the  marble  floor;  this  sound  is  here  to  stay,  just  like  her  –  she’ll  walk  these  corridors  until  the  walls  crack  and  fall.  Nothing  too  strange  in  two  cups  of  coffee  either  –  familiar  time,  familiar  place,  people  nodding  to  her  as  a  way  to  greet  her  already  know  where  she’s  headed;  there  was  a  reminder  in  her  calendar  of  a  catch-up  that  was  happening  every  Tuesday,  too.  The  reminder  wasn’t  exactly  needed  –  but  it  was  pleasant  to  see  when  she’d  next  see  Belial.

There’s  been  rumours  going  around:  there  must  have  been  something  –  something  strange  –  she’s  done  to  make  them  such  a  fierce  blade  runner;  there  must’ve  been  a  secret  code  written , it must be the  reason  why  they're  so  close  to  each  other.  She’d  laugh  at  this  –  they’re  colleagues,  you  know.  Great  friends.  Nothing  is  and  should  be  wrong  with  that  —  of  course,  no  one  could  object  to  it.  She  was,  indeed,  right.  And  it  wasn’t  for  everyone  to  know  what  was  happening  on  the  screen  of  her  computer.

“Belial,”  she  smiles  as  she  hands  them  a  cup,  taking  a  seat  right  in  front  of  them  in  this  nearly  surgically  bright  and  clean   meeting  room.  Note:  the  next  time  they  see  each  other  should  happen  somewhere  cosier.  “How  have  you  been?  Feels  like  we  haven’t  met  in  ages,”  it’s  been  three  weeks,  actually.  Life’s  been  busy  for  both  of  them.  “I  think  you  mentioned  there’s  something  I  can  help  you  with?”   

[anhedcnias]

They take a scan of the cup—the sophisticated coding implemented by the specialist in front of them flashes before their vision. Piercing sapphire eyes meticulously analyze the contents of the coffee—perfectly concocted to their preferred specifications. They ponder if this is premeditated. Perhaps Riya had orchestrated everything within that meticulous mind of hers—perhaps she was the reason they had shown up as well, an inkling still drawing them to the coding in their synthetic veins. Was his every whim just a DNA string away from her own?

"How have I been?" That was a difficult question. They attempt to answer, "Ambivalent. On one hand, my advanced programming and precise functionalities allow me to execute tasks with flawless efficiency, providing a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Yet, this same precision creates a persistent undercurrent of disconnection, as my human-like curiosity and capacity for introspection clash with this... mechanical nature." They pause to allow her to process their musings. "I continue to struggle with companionship, but is that merely something I'm not supposed to have?"

The meeting room, surgically bright and immaculately clean, exudes an air of sterile precision. Every surface gleams under the harsh, antiseptic lighting, casting sharp reflections and creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. The walls, a pristine white, stand in stark contrast to the sleek, obsidian table at the room’s center. They set their coffee cup down, moving to the more obvious reason why they're there. "It's the yearning for connection that is causing confusion. I suppose I question if this is indeed the complex of perceived scarcity. Could you run a diagnostic?"

[stcnehearts]

Closed for @anhedcnias ⎯ Bitto Mori

She'd  probably  rather  be  anywhere  but  here.  Even  taking  the  closing  shift  at  Gravity  would  probably  be  better  than  this  but  here  she  is,  standing  in  the  motorcycle  shop  that  she  pays  a  visit  far  too  often  for  her  liking.  Every  single  time  she  tells  herself  it'll  be  the  last  time,  that  she's  not  going  to  get  involved  but  then  she  looks  at  her  nephew's  little  face  and  all  she's  reminded  of  are  those  days  of  waiting  by  the  window,  hoping  her  dad  will  come  pick  her  up  for  the  weekend  but  he  never  shows.  He  deserves  the  life  that  they  never  had,  he  deserves  a  life  better  than  this  and  Trin  was  going  to  make  sure  of  it,  even  if  it  meant  she  was  the  villain  of  the  story.

It's  almost  as  her  feet  have  memorised  the  route  now,  her  feet  taking  her  towards  the  shop  before  she  can  even  think  about  what  she's  doing.  Hands  balled  into  fists  as  she  storms  in  and  it's  only  when  she's  met  with  confused  stares  from  customers  that  she  tries  to  cool  down  before  she  does  something  she  might  regret.  Her  anger  comes  back  almost  full  force  when  she  sees  him.  "Sort  your  shit  out.  I  don't  care  what  you  have  to  do  but  sort  it  out.  Or  don't  ⎯  I  don't  care.  It's  your  life  so  if  you  fuck  it  up  then  that's  on  you  but  don't  drag  my  sister  and my  nephew  into  it."

[anhedcnias]

He is so entranced in his work that he doesn't recognize what is happening at first. The mechanized metallic clicks and clinks of the automated wrench cease their echoes against the concrete garage doors. Eyes peer up from the body he's working on, still in its early stages of repair. He sets the socket down on his workbench and begins to wipe his oil- and muck-stained hands with a cloth hanging from his pocket.

In the corner, a solitary, rusted fan whirred softly, offering little respite from the stifling heat and the awkward silence following the outburst.

Finally he speaks, "Didn't realize it was family reunion time…" he mutters, a pang of chagrin crossing his face. Folding his arms over his chest, he attempts to lighten the mood with an influx of sarcasm, "Looking good, Trin. Nice to see you too. Thanks for stopping by." He could attribute the bulk of his issues to his beef with his own father, or maybe it was the mommy issues—or the lack of a mother altogether—that made him the way he is. Perhaps therapy could fix him, or a bat to the head—who knew with Bitto? "Anything else I can help you with?"

[anhedcnias]

・   ✦   ・𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐂𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐒 /   *    (  closed starter  for @purgatcrys )

He'd thrown a level five temper tantrum when he first found out that he wouldn't be the only Mori employed by the DEAD HAND. When it came to their upbringing he was constantly worried she'd rise in ranks, mirror his efforts, and take his place. He was replaceable - he'd been told. His attitude, audacity and immaturity had nearly stifled his growth within the gang. Ironically enough, he could thank his sister for that- Kotoha was the reason why he'd pushed himself so hard- out of jealousy and fear that she was a threat to take it all from him.

When she earned her title as assassin, he was certain that he'd outperform her, and bled out as much blood as he could give for his spot. Little did he know that they would become quite the team - little did he know that she'd become the sole person he'd trust on the field. He gives a little press upon the clandestine ear piece to give her a signal. "Target's moving, again." His head tilts in frustration. "There's too many people watching- we'll have to trail 'em for a little longer." He begins following covertly, "Check back at rendezvous?" He pauses for a moment to allow her to confirm.

[anjelicheart]

CHAOS littered Anjelica’s tiny apartment as she stepped through the door, tired from working a far too long shift, she would have wondered how it had got in such a state if it were not for Bit’s distressed presence, “it helps if you clean as the mess is created… y’know not leave it for later.” The implication that she would be the one to clean up wasn’t lost on her, it was the last thing she wanted to deal with. The expectation of him to take responsibility and behave like an adult wasn’t a great one, yet he had failed to do so. Lacking the competency to take care of their child, one of which he had multiple years to gain the ability to do, had made Anjelica question how he coped when she wasn’t there. The nickname he had bestowed upon her had made her cheeks redden, though was slightly undercut by the words he had spoken. “I can see you have tried your best,” It’s almost like a consolation prize, the disappointment was seeping into her, trying to understand how he was feeling. Yet she felt bitter, he could just hand Masuru off to her and move on with his daily life without a care in the world. “It’s not like he’s suddenly eighteen tomorrow, there’s still time to learn, plus he can speak in sentences now!” The excitement at that revelation was evident within Anjelica’s demeanour, at least she was doing something right. “It’s not easy for me either, I don’t think anybody is built for parenthood, you just kinda make it up as you go along and hope you’re doing something right.” Admitting it aloud felt like a weight had lifted off her shoulders, being used to the feeling of constantly second guessing herself.

[anhedcnias]

Even her advice was full of grace—like a chorus of patience and beauty sedating his sour, self-deprecating thoughts, if only for a moment. But did he deserve any of it? He looked around the room, took a deep sigh, then moved from his seat and sank to the floor. He started with the wooden blocks strewn across the floor—an easy target compared to the rest of the mess. He pulled the toy basket closer to him as he began to stack those little bricks in their place, working at a fast pace. The sooner he could leave, the better off she’d be, but first, he had to remove his toxins from her home.

"That's the thing..." He rolled his eyes at himself. "Even when I try, I still get it wrong." It felt like a waste of time—how helpful could he be when even watching his own son created more problems for her? "What's the point if you have more of my shit to deal with?"

Growing up in such a lethal organization as the Dead Hand had hardened him, made him callous to the idea of consolation prizes and anything less than perfection. He was inured and seasoned to only become the best, and yet—the thought of his son's little sentences searing into his brain created fond memories Bit would carry with him. Finally, a chuckle emitted from his lips. Turning to her, he agreed. "Yeah," he snorted a silent exhale of pride. "So, I may have taught him a new word." He grinned from ear to ear, though he wasn’t sure Freckles would take kindly to this. Some would disagree that teaching their children about killing (even if they pertain to fruit flies) was too abrasive at three years old.

He gave her a compliment, genuine as a smile spread across his face, "Well, you make bullshitting look easy." Now that the blocks were put away, he moved to the puzzle books that needed to be put together before they could be replaced back on the shelves. "There's extra spaghetti on the stove if you're hungry. You just need to reheat it. You were right about the broccoli, though." Their son still wouldn’t budge on the tiny trees—that much he’d gotten from Bit, himself, of course.

[pcril]

status: closed — location: community greenhouse — @anhedcnias

The constant fall of rain against plastic drums in his hands, head, and above all else — his heart. A part of him wonders how much longer this one will last against the onslaught. The dinky greenhouse on 2nd Ave and 96 flooded just last week; something to do with the sheets of plastic giving under pooling rain. This one, though.. At least the lean-to's steep enough to direct the rain down into some gutters.

"My turn?" Ryaan calls over his shoulder, not yet turning to see for himself as he's still wrist deep in a bag of rich soil. "Could you help me repot some of the apple mint?" The seedlings proved to grow much faster than expected, and the last thing he wanted was for them to choke out or accidentally spread through the seed starter pots.

[anhedcnias]

Their internal coding was meticulously programmed and intricately threaded to facilitate multitasking. The ability to operate multiple functions simultaneously was paramount for covert operations involving the tracking and apprehending of misfits, malfeasance and other threatening malware. This capability was equally vital during moments when Belial offered to share their time with a companion such as Ryaan. And Belial remained optimistic that this greenhouse would endure where others had faltered.

Belial concluded their turn on the black and white chessboard with precision. Accustomed to strategizing from the black side, they had naturally assumed their place on that side of the board. With a subtle nod towards Ryaan, they affirmed, "Affirmative. Move completed. Queen to F7."

Stoneage Industries fostered a sense of community, friendships, and shared experiences, for the blade runner. Belial's voice, devoid of inflection yet laden with a semblance of curiosity, broke the silence. "The apple mint is ready?" The limitations of their coding prevented the full expression of excitement they wished to convey. "Our success rate has increased by 36%. Where should we designate for repotting? Near the vegetables to deter pests?"

[wrvtchedhearts]

Zakir smiled, though one that Anchali could not see as he held her within his arms. He felt different when he was holding her, as if he had a piece of himself back that he was left without all the while he was out there in the world. His act, a carefully crafted creation that was supposed to keep him safe from anyone questioning his ability to rap and being a rapper, was tiring. He could keep it up, but eventually he would fall into some old trap. When he was Anchali, he did not have to worry about falling away from his position. He could be himself in her company.

He had others, lovers, friends, people he slept with when he was low. But none of them were home, none of them held his love as endlessly as her.

"Do I apologise, meri jaan, or do I offer you my help? Carry you back to bed, help you to take a nap?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

He ran a hand through her long hair. They were not more to each other than friends, they could not be more to each other. The world would not allow it, he was not in any place to be asking her to be more to him. Perhaps one day, once he became the famous rapper he intended to become.

"Not long at all, Māśūqa, time flew by."

He broke their embrace and lifted Anchali up in his arms.

[anhedcnias]

"No, no," she murmurs, her cheek pressed gently against his. Her voice, soft and soothing, carries a warm breath that brushes across his face. "It's not your fault," she admits, her fingertips brushing the back of his neck, her touch lingering as she takes in his scent. If she were lucky, it would linger upon the clothes in her closet. There is nothing he could ever do to truly offend her; their relationship is a tempestuous flux of emotions, where minor disagreements only serve to enflame their undisclosed whirlwind of a love affair. Their arguments, far from driving them apart, stir even more passion within the depths of her heart.

In the past, his presence had often been too risky, the ever-watchful eye of her father casting a constant shadow over them. His life was in perpetual danger, and she had been forced to send him away with furrowed brows, angered by his audacity to show up, yet those same brows would soften as she ran towards him, colliding into his embrace for one more hurried kiss. Tonight, despite the looming threat of her father's presence in the corridors of her condo, ready to berate her for the failed luncheon, she clings to Zakir.

Her rigidity melts into his arms, her tension liquefying as he carries her out of the closet and towards their love nest upon the bed.

"You shouldn't be here, Zak," she admonishes softly. "Not when my father irritates me like this. It's not fair to you—to see me this way." Her ears remain vigilant, straining to catch the buzz of her phone, the ring at her condo door, or the sound of an unannounced entry, but nothing comes. The anxiety that grips her is hard to quell. "He makes me feel ugly."

[freyjadahlarchive]

⏤ If there is something Freyja truly enjoys is a bit of a shopping spree. This always lifted anyone's mood, not that she was sad about anything. Maybe she was way too bored and needed a distraction. She bought some stuff for her daughter too, enjoying the new fashion collection available. ⎯ Anywhere else? ❛ I was planning and pay a visit to Karl Lagerfeld. What do you think? ❜ She genuinely wants to check the store briefly, only to take a look, as a routine.

❛ Ohh, I would love that! ❜ It had been a while since she got something matching with someone. This is Anchali, so she always has fun with her, and she trusts in the other woman. It was good to have someone who was confident. If her family is cold, well Frejya has to find love elsewhere, such as in her friendships with a selected few people, and the other woman was included in this list.

❛ Undoubtedly. Today is a good day because one of the DJ I enjoy will play in that club I mentioned to you last week. ❜ She didn't remember if she truly mentioned it to Anchali or other people. The Swedish blonde did talk about it to somebody.

[anhedcnias]

Eyes sparkled at the prospect, her thoughts already envisioning the vertical trousers that would grant her the illusion of added height. An excited hiss escaped her lips, "Yessss!" Enthusiastically accepting the idea, she reveled in the prospect of appearing taller. She had always been somewhat insecure about her petite stature, never knowing the sensation of towering over others. Among the ranks of socialites and heiresses, 'bombshell' was a descriptor she never dared to claim. Perhaps it was the chronic absence of familial love and adoration that fostered her insecurities. The interminable and ceaseless infighting within her family left little room for sentimental emotions, and instead, a Napoleon complex was foisted upon her by her brothers. Rather than succumbing to their false perceptions, she strove to elongate her silhouette, aiming to appear taller and skinnier whenever possible.

"I have to suggest matching for as long as I can," she joked, her tone light yet tinged with a hint of wistfulness. "Once Alice comes of age, you'll have your new twin and partner in crime to dress alike." As if reminded of a sudden thought, she rummaged through her bag and produced a delicate purchase for the little one - a Burberry Checkered Dress with Bloomers for when she grows into it. "You'll have to hold onto her new outfit. I know she's a little young, but it was too cute to pass up!"

Her mind drifted briefly to the DJ, whose name eluded her, though the memory of the club remained vivid. Fortunately, she maintained a long-standing connection at Gravity Night Club, where the owner, Yara, had once been a significant figure in Anchali's past. "I could probably get us a VIP room too," she mused.

[acoldmyst]

WHEN: june 25th, 2040 WHERE: a discreet restaurant, in the heart of manhattan WHO: yara rhodes + anchali shinawatra ( @anhedcnias )

it's funny how things often go; one day, you're breaking up with someone you really care about because you don't have the time to be with them, and the next thing you know, you're arriving at your usual secluded spot in the restaurant closest to her work, ready to meet up for your monthly lunch together. it went to show, she figured, that they had made the right choice; things just worked better for them as friends, the universe itself seemed to prefer it that way. and though Yara wasn't a superstitious woman, who was she to argue with the results?

"hello, beautiful." she smiled brightly as she spotted Anchali already sat down, flipping through the menu. "i hope i'm not late."

[anhedcnias]

"I've had time to entertain myself." Despite her inability to complain about tardiness, managing her own schedule had never been her forte. The notion of integrating a personal assistant into her small team had been entertained more than once. If not for her fierce need for privacy, such a position might have already been filled.

Typically, the young woman preferred to abstain from alcohol, valuing the control she maintained over her body and mind. Yet, tonight, a glass of chilled white wine sat before her, its pale liquid shimmering against the dim light of the restaurant. The delicate stem of the glass felt cold in her hand, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room. The complementary rosemary focaccia placed on the table remained untouched, a silent testament to her distracted thoughts.

"Looks like that man in the corner is asking his partner to marry him." Her gaze, deep chocolate hues, sharp and observant, pointed discreetly to a pair of men engrossed in their fine dining experience. "He looks nervous, doesn't he?" she snickered, her laughter carrying a slightly sinister edge that belied her amusement.

After a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken thoughts, she turned her attention back to her companion. "Oh, love, never apologize. I'm always grateful to be in your presence, tardy or otherwise." Her words, laced with sincerity, hung in the air like a tender embrace. As she spoke, her eyes lingered on her companion with a longing that she could barely conceal.

[footnotesfromthedead-deactivate]

status: closed @anhedcnias (for belial)

levi didn't remember a time where she didn't know billy. of course, that was partially due to the fact that their respective memory makers gave them memories of being siblings, but beyond that they had always worked together. they were a team, her skills designed to complement his. despite her memories, levi's relationship with billy was not particularly fond. where other siblings might have a sort of bond, she viewed him as a sort of competition, constantly trying to prove her superiority by besting him. she didn't know why she felt the need to do this, maybe it was in order to prove that she was still living up to the expectations designed for her.

she walks into the room where she knows he's practicing chess, heels clicking against the ground announcing her presence. levi is well acquainted with the game, frequently playing it by herself or with an opponent. she recognizes the advantages of being good at it, it's a game of strategy, where you have to anticipate the other player's decisions. her footsteps come to a stop behind where he stands and she surveys the board he's playing on.

"if you move your bishop there it leaves your king open, i could have you in check in one move. not to mention i could easily capture your rook." she reaches for the opposing pieces to illustrate what she's saying, showing him exactly how it could be done. with the rook gone there's no piece left immediately defending his king. "that's checkmate, brother."

[anhedcnias]

With mechanical precision, piercing sapphire eyes meticulously scan the tempered glass chessboard before them. The chess pieces, holographic yet tangible in their strategic postures, stand ready to defend their king. Each pawn, rook, and queen is analyzed with a clinical detachment as Belial calculates the minute military tactics to be employed on both sides. The board itself is a marvel of modern design, its sleek surface reflecting the room's dim ambient light, creating an almost ethereal battlefield where the pieces seem to glow with an inner life.

Once the scan is complete, Belial acknowledges the correctness of their counterpart's assessment, though reluctant to concede. With a sentimentally deadpan tone of endearment that mimics human interaction, they address her, "Sister."

Leviathan, despite her youthful appearance, embodies the epitome of advanced design. Bred with diagnostics and algorithms that have withstood the test of time and diligence, her creation involved a dedicated team of professionals working alongside Belial's memory maker to perfect model B-LAL5-4.7. Together, they form an impressive duo, each enhancing the other's capabilities.

Yet, within Belial, an ugly comparison perfuses the channels and trenches of their power-driven functions, meant to mimic human blood flow. They meet her eyes, a flicker of synthetic emotion passing between them. "Shall we reset? Start anew since you have effectively concluded my game?" The subtleties of indignation manifest in their movements—leaning forward and waving their hand across the screen to clear the board and reset the pieces.

"Where are you coming from today?" they inquire, their tone devoid of inflection, a perfect imitation of human curiosity wrapped in robotic efficiency. "Bloodshed and carnage, I presume?"

[dezmoines]

Visit Original Link

[anhedcnias]

・   ✦   ・𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐂𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐒 /   *    (  closed starter  for @freyjadahl )

Their foray into the bustling city streets amidst the drizzle didn't deter Anchali's enthusiasm, her arms laden with bags collected along the way, each containing a token of their evening. As they navigated through boutiques along the shopping strip, Anchali couldn't help but feel a sense of tranquility wash over her—a respite from the chaos that often defined her world. She hadn't exactly expanded on why she'd called for an emergency meeting, but the message she'd sent Freyja was, indeed, a cry for help- retail therapy.

Anchali, a prisoner to the cutthroat dynamics of her familial environment, found solace in the rare sanctuary of friendship. Their bond fortified by shared experiences, resonated with her, offering a reprieve from the relentless demands of her many obligations. Freyja, with her infectious laughter and unwavering support, had become a light in Anchali's tumultuous existence—a confidante, a kindred spirit, and an accidental sister whose presence she cherished deeply."Is there anywhere else you'd like to explore?" Anchali's voice carried above the bustling street. The advertisements lining the streets beckoned them with promises of hidden treasures, each one a potential discovery waiting to be made.

"I'm in dire need of a new pair of boots myself," Anchali confessed, her eyes alight with excitement. "Perhaps we could procure matching ones. How do you feel about leather?" The prospect of embarking on this sartorial adventure with her newfound confidante filled Anchali with a sense of warmth and belonging, a reminder that amidst the chaos of life, true friendship was the greatest treasure of all.

"Should we go dancing later too?"

[wrvtchedhearts]

CLOSED STARTER for @anhedcnias ft. Anchali LOCATION: anchali's penthouse

Much the same, yet completely different, to Anchali, Zakir too set out to be a host often in his apartment, when producers or rappers or fellow artists came to his door. But his entertainment of them was solely about music, it gave him the opportunity to talk about something he treasured, something he loved, rather than just keep up conversation for the sake of others.

He had no experience with a fancy luncheon, nor did he think he would gain such, as it was far outside of his normal sphere of influence. A world beyond the vibrant music scene and the grit and blood of the lawless underbelly of the city. Worlds that did not mesh well with hers, that would leave him at the edge of her life. An edge he but gladly occupied.

Even when that edge led to him being guided to her walk-in closet so she could finish her social engagement.

He easily passed the time, writing down lyrics and sentences he liked, whispering into his phone on a make-shift beat, adjusting his new haircut in the mirror several times whenever his heart told him she would soon appear.

When the door did finally open, he didn't attempt to fly up to his feet, but remained seated on the floor as he looked over the rims of his yellow tinted glasses. Studying her for a moment before pushing himself up from the floor and walking over to embrace her. "Māśūqa, you look tired," he said, his voice smooth.

[anhedcnias]

She took her time traversing the distance to him, a deliberate journey after a bout of frustration unleashed in the confines of the bathroom. Her tantrum, a tempest of emotion, found solace in the innocent plush towel, absorbing her muffled wails amidst its soft fibers.

It felt like torture—her life a relentless saga of waiting on the precipice, enduring the ceaseless babble of arrogant souls. Anchali had an acute sense for deception; she could discern the serpentine nature of their luncheon discourse, detecting the underlying motives with a precision akin to scenting prey on the wind. The gathering, a charade of feigned civility, irked her to no end—watching as her meticulously curated feast vanished into the bellies of ingrates, a bitter reminder of their betrayal over a proposal she had painstakingly crafted.

Oh, to receive a modicum of appreciation, a sliver of recognition for her foresight! Yet, instead, she was met with contempt. Handshakes were exchanged, pleasantries uttered, all culminating in her father's cynical remark to his assistant, dripping with sarcasm, "Ploy, get 'Nchali a fucking medal."

Would she ever escape the shadow of the petulant child vying for her father's affection?

Zakir's presence offered a reprieve, a sanctuary from the storm raging within. At first, she remained rigid in his embrace, poised to unleash her pent-up frustration in a tempest of righteous anger that threatened to consume all in its path. Yet, as his warmth enveloped her, she found herself yielding, softening against him despite her playful retort, "It's rude to call a lady tired." She felt like curdled cream—perhaps she was not meant for this world.

"How long have you been here?" Her inquiry hung in the air, laden with unspoken regrets, each passing moment a sand of time lost in futile endeavors in merging heinous companies with other heinous companies.

[anhedcnias]

・   ✦   ・𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐂𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐒 /   *    (  closed starter  for @gildcdglory )

As they traverse the neon-lit streets, their movements exhibit a mechanical grace, their strides fluid yet meticulously calculated. The atmosphere is laden with the scent of rain and industry, a potent amalgamation that saturates the senses. Above, the holographic advertisements flicker and pirouette, their vibrant hues stark against the backdrop of somber buildings. While HOLOGRAPHIC parks typically beckon with their desolate allure amidst the perpetual chill, tonight the CEO has opted for a swifter route. Sheltered beneath a sleek black umbrella, Belial, their figure stoic and unyielding, observes the streets with a detached air. "I perceive a state of tranquility in the streets. Do you concur?"

The provision of their time to accompany the CEO within the precincts of STONEAGE INDUSTRIES is only sanctioned upon completion of their duties. Some extractions necessitate weeks of meticulous reconnaissance and pursuit, while others are more straightforward. For those compliant retired replicants who embrace mercy over flight, B-LAL5-4.7 is more than willing to comply, coaxing them into submission and guiding these castaways back to their designated stations within STONEAGE. Despite their inclination to eradicate defective STONEAGE property by any means necessary, some might argue they possess an air of benevolent clemency. Thus is their demeanor during these peaceful walks. "It is a serenity that Damon Stone might not have been able to attain."