#it was 11am what are you on about

[pinolitas]

i love talking to older people bc theyve lived here long enough to FINALLY understand where it is that i live and dont live in a bubble of their yuppie neighborhoods

[viric-dreams]

Trying to sleep whilst simultaneously letting some potential lore scenes for future writing/art run in the back of my mind produces some truly unsettling results.

Under no circumstances would Roberts be court martialed for treason. Officer Beverley seems to understand this, but his logic is entirely backwards. Framed by the glow of the fireplace, Beverley leans back against the sole chair in his spartan lodgings and explains what he’s so sure is going to happen. If Roberts does not comply he intends to go to the London admiralty, to let them in on his missing time, the new player making waves in Anarchist circles, the lies at the foundation of his very existence. He seems to think that the Dark-Spectacled Admiral has the power to land him in political scandal.

His letters will never reach the Admiral. Roberts knows this with the same certainty that he knows the Dawn Machine burns in the Southwest. Beverley’s contact is the Voracious Diplomat. He’s trying to be cagey about it, but Roberts has seen the letterhead, shoved quickly into a drawer whenever they need the space on the desk to work. And the Diplomat would never let such a tidbit go to the Admiral, not when it’s worth so much more on Grand Geode.

Roberts was there for the Luminous Plot of ‘69. In fact, he had been the one to ensure that its perpetrators would never find a way to return from the slow boat, no trial, sham or otherwise. As he and the Commodore stood against the gunwhale and watched their cement-laden bodies sink into the Zee, the Commodore turned to him.

“You wouldn’t betray me, would you, Elias?”

The expression on his face is clouded, as if already playing through and wounded by the possibility in his mind. It feels like being thrown into ice water.

“Of course not, sir!”

The very idea is appalling. Surely the Commodore doesn’t truly believe it’s in the realm of the possible—not when the very idea makes his skin prickle. He’s the Commodore’s man, through and through, dedicated to both him and the Work.

The Commodore smiles, his golden eyes suddenly kind.

“I thought not. You wouldn’t do such a thing,” his hand reaches out to pat his shoulder, “Not from my most loyal midshipman.”

He can’t help but flush at the praise. Hopefully, the deck’s dim lighting covers it. But it hardly matters, for the Commodore turns away, gazing into the waves where they’d thrown the traitors not minutes ago. Roberts thinks the conversation is at its end when the Commodore starts again, eyes never leaving that fixed point on the Zee’s surface.

“If you did betray me, of course, I wouldn’t kill and feed you to the dawn flukes. That would be too easy of an end. Instead, I’d weld you into our smallest zub and ship you to Anthe. Who knows,” he shrugs, “you might just even have enough supplies to make it.”

He can’t breathe, his lungs are frozen in his chest. The image is all too real—trapped in that metal coffin, hardly able to move. Through the icy panic, all he can feel is the frantic hammering of his heart and the sharp twinge of the muscle of his left thigh, where the scarred skin puckers above it. The Commodore wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. Right? He has to take a breath. He needs to respond. It’s been too long. His silence might be taken for suspicious.

“There’s no need for that, I assure you.” The words come out whole, though his voice is frailer than he’d like. The Commodore is studying him now. Roberts isn’t sure whether or not he can meet his gaze, what the Commodore might see on his face. After a moment the Commodore nods.

“I didn’t think so. But you never know.” With that, his mouth slides into a grin, demeanour changing like night and day. “We’d best get back soon. There’s work to be done back on base. I’ll alert the navigator.”

Roberts sees the hand coming soon enough to not flinch when it lands on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring shake, before the Commodore is off, already descending the ladder.

He takes a deep breath and steadies himself, chasing the claustrophobic phantasm from his mind. The Commodore is right—there’s work to be done.

Truth be told, he’s not entirely paying attention to the details of Beverley’s demands. He doesn’t have to, when he already knows he’ll agree to whatever he says. It’s clear as dawnlight what he must do. The Officer seems almost surprised by how easily Roberts acquiesces, but that surprise soon turns to barely-concealed delight as the scientific possibilities unfold before him. He’s already turned away from Roberts and back to the schematics, searching for a pen to record the newest thoughts.

It’s truly a shame, Roberts thinks, hand reaching behind him for the fireplace poker, to have to lose such a promising engineer. But treachery is something that the New Sequence cannot tolerate.

Beverley doesn’t even see it coming until the instant he brings the iron poker down across his skull.

[lupismaris]

Happy Baltimore Pride, the parade starts in 3 and a half hours and I'm already exhausted

[artemis-pendragon]

N I G H T M A R E (an Imodna one-shot)

At first, there is Imogen, and there is the storm.

When Laudna falls, there is nothing. Condensed, horrible nothing, a hole in the universe that is the universe because the thing that made it is gone.

"Is she your favorite?"

Imogen screams in her mind, tearing through the aether, claws through wet paper.

"Is she your favorite?"

Of course Laudna is her favorite. Laudna is her favorite thing about the world. Laudna is...

"Is she your favorite?"

Otohan sees into Imogen. In her head, pulling, testing. Imogen weathers it. She grits her teeth and braces. Otohan sees into Imogen's head and--

"Is she your favorite?"

Laudna rises, held up on a blade like a martyr. Her lips hold the shape of Imogen's name. There's confusion in her eyes, pain cloaked in adrenaline.

Then she's out, and Imogen breaks. The storm writhes and shrieks as it melds with her flesh and mind in a shattered spill of atoms woven so closely together they fuse. Sand struck by lightning, glass and grit. She screams and it sounds like wind, like a thunderclap. And then everything is white, a flash, a moment of surprise on Otohan's face as Imogen does her level best to blast their face off.

The dust clears, and the world is changed. Physically there is a ring of destruction around Imogen, ripples spreading from a pebble dropped in a pond. But she is not a pebble. She is not a stone.

Imogen is a storm.

Imogen is the storm, and the storm killed Laudna.

She knows before she knows. She always thought, in the cracks between consciousness where she dared think about such things, that if Laudna ever died left then Imogen would know.

Laudna is gone before Imogen reaches her.

That doesn't stop her from begging. From pleading. From rounding on the bitch that lives in Laudna's head like a rabid beast, furious and violent with pain, psychic blade honed and red, steel tempered with blood.

"Bring her back! I know you still want her." Pleas that are threats, and Imogen knows that Delilah feels it. Laudna's mind was music; now it's a beat without a song. The faint fuzz of Delilah clinging to nothing. To a spark. To a fading star.

The rest is a blur. Imogen freezes up, zones out, goes still and cold as the party argues over what to do, who they will choose. She feels unreal, like a ghost in someone else's dream.

Nightmare.

This is worse than the storm.

Imogen knows now what it means when Laudna says "the worst thing that's ever happened to me has already happened". But she's not happy. She's not cheerful, vibrant even through death.

Laudna dies, and Imogen goes with her.

Laudna dies, and in the end, there is only the storm.

[aroaceofthesea]

Always super weird to me when people from other countries are like yeah we eat dinner at 7. What do you mean at 7 (seven???)???

Like here the time for kids to have dinner and go to sleep early is 8. For little kids. How do you have a day if you eat so early. How do you get anything done

[milflewis]

going to go lie in some grass and scream into the dirt or smth and see if things are a little better after that

[yumichikah]

Morning coffee time.

[deityofhearts]

I have anxiety that I’m gonna get like anon hate and it’s gonna be like “one of your mutuals secretly really hates you”

[cottoncandyrhythmqueen]

Fighting temptation to make SS public demo move video bc I’ve played it too much…

[theinconveniencing]

not to be dramatic but I literally feel like I’m going insane lol

[ringneckedpheasant]

listening to this with the bass fully boosted

[mashkaroom]

ok in other news i need to finish what i’ve estimates to be abt 15 hours of work more or less by the end of the day today and i even took an adderall and i even slept, for no apparent reason, 16 hours today??? despite sleeping a normal amount the previous several days??? but despite being well-slept, even obscenely so, and being medicated, both of which do help a lot, the mind still resists focusing on these tasks, instead visciously desiring to learn more and more about singer’s translation process and come up with cool new dictionary features and to share this with as many people as possible. please could this wait until tomorrow

[unluckystreak]

there's little things in life worth living for even if right now it feels like everything is meaningless. a beautiful leaf, a shiny bug, seeing a sunset, a perfect cookie, the warmth of your favourite sweater, etc. etc. etc.

I agree that life in general is worth living. But i do not think that MY life is worth living. I appreciate your kind message! And i agree with you. It is the little things.

[anaalnathrakhs]

i WILL show up to the trial day for the preparatory class tomorrow no matter how much i dont want to and after that i guarantee NOTHING

[fingertipsmp3]

Is anyone else sleeping an abnormal amount at night but still getting tired in the day

[jeon-ify]

take a picture - c.s. || 18+

warnings: dom!reader x sub!san,

“fuck, that feels so good. please don’t stop,” he cries. you feel him throb inside of your sopping cunt, your lips reaching down to his neck to suck a generous amount of skin.

“you can’t mark me up baby, i have a shoot tomorrow~”

you ignore the entirety of what he says, riding out your high, and trying to focus on marking up your boyfriend for the entire world to see.

“yeah? who’s stopping me, sannie? i think the way you’re about to cum inside of me is telling me otherwise, hm?”

“yes, fuuckkkk,” you lick a stripe up his neck, biting down on the area and sucking almost a little too hard, your tongue turning sore and burning from how hard you’re sucking him in. your pussy convulses around him, and the feeling becomes too overpowering for san to bare.

“asked you a question, sannie. i expect you to answer.”

“baby, slow do— fuck! fucking vampire.” his hips stutter as he attempts to fuck up into you, pulling his hair and licking up from between his collarbones and up his addams apple, all the way up to his lips. you grab his jaw, squeezing his cheeks so his lips pout to you. your lips ghost over his as he squeezes his eyes shut in desperation to cum.

you stop all movement, tightening your grip on his length as he winces out in a cocktail of pain and pleasure. “its like you want me to stop, no?”

“no, no, no, no, no. please just let me cum. ‘can mark me up all you want, mami.”

your orgasm threatens to reach you due to the nickname san just threw at you. you feel yourself weakening in the knees— unsure if it’s from bouncing on his cock, or if its from what he just called you for the first time.

“when i’m done with you, take a picture and post it for everyone to see.”

| choi.san im all yours.

Today at 4:11am

| y/n.stagram my pretty boy

| atinyforever SAN????!?!?!? 🤨 whats this

| thattallmfinateez YOOOOOOOO

| fixonthis.d YUNHO U SEEN THIS SHIT

Load 1,117 comments