they wake up late, tangled in the sheets, and Annabelle leaves the bed before Julian has the chance to roll over and ask her to stay. he lies on his back until he hears the coffee machine start up, and then he rolls out of the bed. his clothes are strewn on the floor - minus the shirt, he notes, which he finds on Annabelle in the kitchen. her backâs to him so itâs really too easy to sneak up on her and kiss her neck. she sighs, his name on her tongue, and he slides his hand down her stomach.
i love you so much for this holy shit!!! aaa i saw the scene playing in my head whilst reading it i love it so much!!â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸ you made my whole year
after itâs all over, Nadia takes Cyon to the beach, like they talked. itâs secluded and tranquil, the sand is white and the sea is turquoise, and they leave their clothes in a pile on the beach and fall into the saltwater. Nadiaâs hair fans out among the light waves, and Cyon runs their fingers through it. her lips taste salty when they kiss, water and sunlight rippling around them, at least until a strand of seaweed curls around Nadiaâs ankle and she screams and makes Cyon laugh and laugh.
This is too cute! Thank you for this little story of my apprentice and their wonderful wife<3
in the morning Emilaâs making coffee when Julian stumbles into the kitchen. heâs missing his shirt, and Emila spots two lovebites on either sides of his neck. âgood morning,â Julian says almost shyly as she passes him his coffee mug, the one with kittens on it. âindeedâ, she replies; sheâs well aware of her own marks. Asraâs still sleeping so they settle quietly on the worn livingroom sofa and Emila says, âwe should do this again sometime.â Julian smiles. âI was hoping youâd say that.â
youâre too amazing thank you i will cherish these forever <3
the bedroom is bathed in the warm glow of the street lamp streaming through the blinds. Emila half wishes theyâd have more light. she can tell Asraâs and Julianâs figures in the dim light apart with ease, but itâs harder when her eyes keep fluttering closed. shapes become feelings; someoneâs hand grabbing her thigh, someoneâs chest against hers, someone breathing the same air as she does in quick gasps. someone kisses her and she tastes Asra on her tongue, and then Julian a moment after.
âhow did you imagine our first threesome then?â Asra asks nonchalantly a week later, and Emila doesnât even bother trying to hide her smile. âwhy do you ask?â she replies, and Asra smiles at her over his teacup. Emila thinks about their bed, white sheets and way too many pillows, and Asraâs smile turns knowing. sheâd love to be adored by two people, and sheâd love him to be, too; sometimes she feels like her body alone canât hold all her love. âwhat do you think about Julian?â she asks instead.
they start out as roommates, but three months in theyâre already sleeping in the same bed. Asra keeps his tarot deck under his pillows and Emilaâs learned not to mind, even though one time she ended up with The Empress under her back when Asra kissed his way down her stomach. the poor Empress never quite recovered from that, but sometimes Emila catches Asra smiling at the card as he smoothes out the crumpled corners. âitâs not how I imagined our first threesome,â she says, and Asra laughs.
Julian meant to take off his pants. hell, he meant to take off all of his clothes and all of hers, too, but he got distracted by the mere friction. she has her legs wrapped around his hips, her teeth on his neck, and heâs already losing his mind. she whispers his name and his hips keep thrusting against hers harder and harder, and he can feel her warmth through his pants and he swears, half out loud, that sheâll be the end of him. with a drag of her nails across his back he comes, undignified.
nNNGHHH FUCK IâM DROOLING RN THANK YOU FOR MAKING MY DAY @iwillplaythefool
Preview: âI guess it would be a shame to waste such a marvel of design and technology on an old man with an attitude,â Carl admits one afternoon, scratching his chin with the pen heâs been sketching something with for the past 48 minutes 32 seconds.
Markus nods. Heâs spent enough time studying Carlâs behavior to know heâs expected to answer but heâs yet to determine which of the possible answers wonât offend him. âIf you say so.â
Carl looks at him. âWhat do you think, Markus?â
[arrives in your inbox to whisper about the taz college au] Taako in the dorm kitchen making an improvised cheesecake out of cheap cream cheese and oreos and other stuff he's managed to dig up from the backs of the cupboards, and Magnus sits at the table just watching, kinda mesmerized, because that's gotta be magic, dude. Merle's sitting next to him, proofreading his essay and wearing these giant ancient-looking headphones, but even he lifts his head when it starts to smell really delicious.
Hell yeah, I love this! College au returns!
Speaking of Merle in giant headphones, I can so picture Merle being an old-school vinyl man, has a record player on his tiny-ass dorm dresser, and likes to open the windows and put on a record when the weather is nice.
[cont. because I have no control] Taako has to tell them thrice that the cake is for Kravitz who's gonna drop by in like four minutes, and he's just worked like 12 hours straight and is gonna be real tired and surely in need of some snacks, but Magnus' stomach is growling rly loudly and Taako sighs dramatically and whips up two mug brownies. "just this once, fellas," he says when he leaves, but he's definitely smiling. he says that every time.
imagine Taako walking into his dorm room and finding Lup just lounging on his bed and eating vinegar chips (eww), and Taako's like "why are you on my bed" because he was looking forward to slumping onto that bed (it's been a long day, okay?). Lup shrugs and sticks a handful of chips in her mouth. "your sheets match my outfit. I'm all about aesthetic." Taako sighs and flops down next to Lup; she moves to make him room and passes him a Twix because of course she raided the vending machine again.
I love that vending-machine-fiend twins is a thing now. Also Lupâs Instagram is All Aestheticâ˘.
imagine the middle of summer break and thb meeting up for the first time in a month because Magnus was super busy with his summer job and Merle took his kids on a nice vacation and Taako's been doing god knows what. they all have such nice tans although Magnus has tan lines on his arms from wearing a T-shirt and Merle has tan lines on his feet from wearing flip flops and Taako has no tan lines at all. he's just perfectly tanned all over. they all get smoothies and go sit in the park.
Farmerâs Tan Magnus and Sandal Tan Merle is so perfect.
A young marine, name unknown, face unknown, presses the pause button, and the vid freezes. The quality of the recording leaves a lot to be desired, but she can just make out the small figure standing tall in the middle of the screen. She brushes her thumb over the shape of the humanityâs first spectre.
(I should go.)
A kid, barely ten years old, tells his dad that one day heâs going to be a spectre, too. His dad ruffles his hair absently. Thereâs a holopatch in the shape of SSV Normandy on the kidâs backpack that reflects the blue lighting of the Citadel.
(I should go.)
An old soldier, limping because after all these years the prosthetic leg still doesnât feel quite right, stops at the statue erected in the center of the city. He studies its upturned face, determination and eyes that look further than anyone can see, and salutes.
(I should go.)
Above Hagalaz in a cloud of storm and thunder an asari still in her maiden years examines a simple artifact she made not too long ago, turning it over and over in her hands. She still knows every nook and cranny of it, just like she knows every waver in the recording it plays.
â... and it was a privilege to know her,â her own voice says for the hundredth time, and she doesnât have any tears left to spill.
Iâm alive!! and despite not having written anything in MONTHS I'm back in business and super eager to start writing a lot again and decided to start with trying my hand on something about Fallout 4
so hereâs @thevulturesquadronâs sole survivor Zaraza (codename Whisper) and Deacon
i.
Deacon doesn't know how, but Whisper can always tell what he's looking at, even when he's got his sunglasses on.
Especially if he's looking at her.
âDon't look at me like that,â she sometimes says.
âLook at you like what?â Deacon asks.
âThat,â she says, and Deacon isn't sure how he was looking at her, but she's laughing and he knows it can't be anything bad.
Used to be that he could hide his emotions behind the glasses easily, but with her he can't be bothered anymore.
What good would it be when she can see through him so easily?
ii.
She's licking a lollipop seemingly innocently while she deals with Arturo. Deacon loiters at the noodle shop, trying to keep his eyes at the menu (noodles, noodles and more noodles) and definitely not on her backside.
It's hard though, what with the way she leans on Arturo's counter, the heel of her left foot absently grinding the ground. Her hair is up, and Deacon can't blame his eyes for giving up on noodles and following the curve of her bare neck, down between her shoulder blades and the dip of her waist.
For what must be the millionth time he's thankful for his sunglasses.
iii.
Her mouth tastes of sugar and artificial raspberries when he kisses her later in her Diamond City flat.
Then again, he's never tasted real raspberries.
Instead, he tastes the freckles in the dip between her collarbones, just above the cross tattoo on her chest. Her fingers skitter down his neck, lightly as the wind.
He pauses to grab his sunglasses, fold them maybe too carefully and set them on the workbench. He blinks, feeling naked in a way that he somewhat dislikes, but the soft way she looks straight into his eyes makes it easier.
iv.
She's wearing his sunglasses when she wanders back to bed, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other, gloriously naked. He's lounging there, in a pile of mismatched sheets, limbs too heavy to move just yet.
She tilts her chin and peeks at him over the edge of the glasses, eyelashes leaving barely visible shadows on her cheeks. Her lipstick is smudged across her mouth.
Probably across his mouth, too, now that he thinks. And neck. And right shoulder.
He lights a cigarette, and the flicker of the lighter reflects on the sunglasses.
âsomething dark about Frisk and Charaâ was the prompt and well I guess this is what I can do. Hope yâall like it!
i.
Chara stirs.
Thereâs a twitch in the nothing theyâve been enveloped in for god knows how long before it turns into darkness, then into flowers.
Someone else shakes their head, gets on their knees, confused and hurt, but the pain is dull and distant to Chara, like a memory. Theyâve dealt with pain before. This is nothing.
After all, it feels far better than death.
ii.
Frisk hasnât even reached the end of the Ruins before they start hearing it.
Well, maybe hear isnât the right way to say it. There are words that they feel crawling down their neck like insects, whispers written in their head, nonexistent fingers wrapping around the handle of the knife Frisk picked up. A precaution, they told themselves.
You keep telling that to yourself, the words say.
The blade makes them feel powerful and it makes Frisk sick.
iii.
Toriel walks away from them, brokenhearted but alive, and Chara wants to scream.
Theyâre pulling at Friskâs mind, teeth and nails and long scratches along the edges of their awareness, because this is not how itâs supposed to go, this is not how to survive this. Donât they understand that the only way to not get hurt is to hurt them first because itâs only fair after all and besides, thereâs a kind of peace in death, Chara knows that better than anyone, so it really is just a blessing to die if your death serves a greater purpose, isnât it, and sometimes someone, anyone, everyone just deserves to be turned to dust dust dust â
Why donât you get it? Charaâs voice is like razors, too sharp, too loud and yet strangely quiet.
Frisk is crying.
iv.
Frisk canât really say whether theyâre trying the knife out for self-preservation, humoring the words in their head or just for the sake of trying.
They donât know which option disgusts them the most.
Snowdrake blinks at them, just on the verge of suspicion, and Friskâs hand gets sweaty against the handle of the knife.
(I canât I canât I canât I canât)
It would be so easy.
(I canât)
Frisk hides the knife behind their back, the blade cutting their knuckles, and lets Snowdrake go.
v.
Chara watches as Frisk throws the knife into the river.
It makes a satisfying plop as it hits the water and sinks to the bottom. Frisk smiles to themselves. Their hands are shaking.
No matter, Chara whispers.
There are other ways.
vi.
It gets pretty dark in the Waterfalls.
Frisk likes the echo flowers. Their whispers at least are real because they can be heard, and they whisper meaningless little secrets, not murder and destruction and blood and dust.
âYou look tired, kid,â Sans remarks when they run into each other outside Gersonâs shop. Frisk canât say yes or no so they just shrug. Sansâ smile doesnât falter, but the lights in the bottoms of his eye sockets twinkle.
âWell, âtiredâ might be the wrong word. Frankly, you look downright haunted.â
Frisk laughs, but it sounds hollow.
vii.
âGo away.â
Chara recoils in surprise. Frisk is lying on their side, face covered by their hair, but itâs obvious theyâre not asleep. Chara was so sure they were.
âI donât like you.â
Thatâs not a very nice thing to say, Chara replies sweetly. Somehow it sounds like a threat.
Frisk presses their hands on their ears. Their breathing is uneven.
âI donât want to hurt anyone,â they whisper.
Chara scoffs. Itâs not about you.
âNo.â Frisk draws their knees closer to their chest. âItâs about them.â
They donât talk after that, even if Chara tries to get them to.
viii.
Frisk dies twice tangled in spider nets, sliced and clawed until thereâs nothing left. Muffet giggles every time, twisting its many hands.
Donât you wish you had the knife? Chara croons in the back of their mind, louder and louder every time. It scares Frisk how long it takes for them to deny it.
Their knees get weak when Muffet finally releases them, and they stumble away before falling down, breath coming in short painful gasps that sound too sharp in their ears. The ground feels like itâs heaving from side to side like waves, like river that swallowed their blade, and Frisk wonders what might have happened if theyâd never thrown the weapon away.
Inside their head, Chara is laughing too loudly.
ix.
Sans sees too much.
He doesnât say anything, but Chara knows. Thereâs something forced about his nonchalance, and Chara knows how a smile can be a mask. Still, they donât say anything.
Frisk looks exhausted. Their fingers are curling around something thatâs not there, knuckles whitening as they sway on their feet. Sans is silent for a moment.
âI believe you can do the right thing,â he says finally.
Frisk lets out a small, miserable sound thatâs something between a sob and a laugh.
Their hand is subconsciously grasping for the missing knife.
x.
See? Chara asks cheerfully when Frisk picks up the real knife. Their hands are shaking, but then again they do so constantly now.
Frisk bites the inside of their cheek. âI will cut you out. I swear.â
What? Charaâs voice is sweet as syrup, and it fills Friskâs head until they feel like there will never be anything else but that word, sugar on top and poison underneath.
I was requested something about Alphys and Undyne and I figured that this is a good chance to try my hand in writing those two (8
and look, I even came up with a name for this mess
Spill
i.
The garbage dump seems darker than usual.
Itâs not like Alphys has been planning on it, but looking down at the darkness that swirls somewhere beneath her, it feels like⌠an idea. Not a good idea nor a bad idea, just an idea. A thought. A hypothesis, if sheâs being scientific.
Or nerdy.
But she isnât brave. She just keeps staring at the bits and pieces of trash that float past her before plunging down into whateverâs waiting down below and thinking and also trying not to think.
Itâs easier when she doesnât think.
âLooks like it drops down forever, huh?â
She startles because suddenly thereâs someone standing next to her, someone tall and blue in colour but not in spirit smiling at her, and for a second Alphys forgets what she was (or wasnât) thinking of.
There are so many ways to fall
(in love.)
ii.
Undyne knows sheâs in it for real when she finds herself visiting Alphys to ask about the weather.
Seriously.
As if weather existed underground.
Alphys doesnât seem to care, though, she talks about temperatures and humidity in the waterfalls and offers her chips and soda, and Undyne notices that she doesnât stutter as much as she usually does. She wonders if itâs because sheâs comfortable with the subject or because sheâs comfortable with her.
Alphysâ hands start trailing invisible charts and schematics in the air and Undyne has to stop herself from saying something stupid and sugary.
Something like âI like it when you talk science.â
Well, there it is.
Alphysâ hands stop in the mid-air and she actually blushes and Undyne canât stop herself from smiling, even if it is a little awkward.
Well, at least she didnât end the sentence with a âto meâ.
That wouldâve been too much.
(For now.)
iii.
âUm, Undyne?â
âYeah?â
Alphys draws her knees closer to her chest, and Undyne has to adjust her arm thatâs draped along the back rest of the sofa and over Alphysâ shoulders.
âD-did you⌠No, this is silly, forget it.â She pretends to focus her attention back on the animated characters on the TV screen.
âHuh? No, Alphys, what is it?â Undyne cranes her neck but to her surprise Alphys avoids her eyes. She clears her throat, obviously biding her time just to think it through one more time.
âBack in the underground, did you c-come by to ask me about weather and all that becauseâŚâ She changes her mind about it again. âB-because of what?â
Undyne snorts unceremoniously, and Alphys steals a look at her face. âI came by to ask you about stuff because I like you.â
Alphys is still looking down at her knees, but Undyne can tell sheâs holding back a smile. âR-really?â
She bows her head to rub her nose against Alphysâ cheek. Her scales are smaller and softer there and it feels nice. âOf course. Why else would I ask about the weather of all things?â
âWellâŚâ Alphys obviously canât think of any argument, and Undyne knows she finds it kind of hard to think when someoneâs rubbing their face against hers. Especially if itâs Undyne.
âAnd for the record,â she says, unable to keep her smile out of her voice, âI still like it when you talk science to me.â
Sans knows, has known since he saw the kidâs face for the first time.
(For the first time in this life anyway.)
He knows that certain sort of numbness, the way they keep clenching and unclenching their hands, their knife still covered in fine dust.
He just doesnât want to think of it.
ii.
The door to the Ruins is open when he goes back.
He knocks but doesnât dare to go inside.
iii.
Papyrus dies and Undyne dies and Alphys leaves and Sans feels freezing cold and then scalding hot rage and then he feels nothing.
He feels nothing and it feels dangerous.
iv.
Sans barely gets the words out when the kid finally reaches him, covered in dust from head to toe, something almost predatory in the bottom of their eyes.
(burn in hell burn in hell burn in hell burn in hell)
He thinks of all the things he shouldâve said to her through that door, thinks of all the other lives where all those words existed and made him happy, made her happy. He remembers all the previous timelines, previous lives, all the sunsets and sunrises and holding hands and feeling things that heâs starting to forget and hell, heâd rather forget than feel this.
Heâs made of regrets and doesnât even notice the tears rolling down his face.
