#[[Dark Nebula sucks.]]

[gethoce]

They made me work overtime, now I'm too tired to draw. Instead I'm dumping abandoned projects and doodles once again.

This was supposed to be for Meta Knight's birthday, but I forgor.

Some Blood Knights and Meta Knights

Adult Kirby, Adult Kirby, Tata, Tata, Dark Nebula

This is Melem concept art. I was playing with the idea of attaching the floaty arms to some funny strings and it didn't work that well.

Elfilis and Nonsurat that I cut from that one ask

This was titled "terrible doodles"

My evil comic idea I scrapped

This was supposed to explain the different types of possession. Dark, Heart, Dream and Soul.

Tata concept I didn't end up liking

I'll probably have to redo a lot of the Gala-Marx-Magolor timeline stuff URGH

[wonderful-magician]

Rat

[yandere-wishes]

⋆⭒˚．⋆ Ｄｉｄｎ＇ｔ Ｍｅａｎ Ｔｏ Ｓａｙ Ｉ Ｌｏｖｅ Ｙｏｕ ⋆⭒˚．⋆

⋆｡‧˚˚ Yandere!Acolyte Men x Reader ˚˚‧｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡♡ 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐿𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝐿𝓎𝓇𝒾𝒸𝓈 ♡ ˚｡⋆

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽☀︎☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

✩彡 Master Sol - Bittersuite | استاد سول

I can't fall in love with you.

He's choking on his guilt again. Scorching memories reciting hymns of fire and black smoke. He can not love, he can not pine, his romances always end in doom. End in bitter blood drenching stars and ghosts scattered across solar systems. Sol can not love you, he must not love you. You're safer out of his reach.

L'amour de ma vie.

He wants to be the one, etching galaxies across your heart and spilling stars into your bones with every kiss. Your smile dips his world in midday pink, all roses and sun blooms. Your voice trails after him, haunting halls and abandoned training rooms. Your name sticks inside his throat, sticky caramel abrading his tongue to be let loose. Love of his life.

Love so bittersweet.

There are other universes, he likes to think, where his mistakes are little and he has the right to hold you in his arms. You call out to him during missions, all epithets and formality, he longs to hear to say 'Sol'. just 'Sol'.

Longs to kiss you in the dark where his memories can't reach him. You're so bittersweet…

"(Y/n)…"

⭒⭒✮ Yord Fandar - Halley’s Comet | یورد فندار

I don't want it.

He chews on the thought of you, sour under his tongue. He watches you parry under the stars, saber humming orthodox hymns. He can spill lies from his lips like coronal rain. But the confession never sticks, he shouldn't want this, want you.

And I don't want to want you.

In his dreams he's more honest, leaving a galaxy of love bites across the vast expansion of your essence. Kissing the dark corners of your eyes and sucking tenderly on the pearls of your spine, open-mouthed when he reaches your nape. Curling fingers in the nebula of your hair. You sing his name so freely it has him seeing stars.

But you're all it takes to break a promise.

He kisses you, against the temple wall, drinking in your devotion like elysian ichor. The stars in your eyes explode, whispering tenets between each breath. He feels the force reverberating between your bones, holy, ethereal. This is wrong, fundamentally, spiritual, he doesn't want to want you…But he has to.

"I, I need you."

༻｡｡☾ Qimir - Bossa Nova | قیمیر

Love when it makes you lose your bearings.

His love is an asteroid field, cataclysmic and labyrinthine, always dodging bullets aimed point blank at tattered hearts. He's always caught wondering who's truly lost. You or him. Swimming through wandering stars and pretending it's just a force-willed romance. But love doesn't lie to keep one compliant. Caging you between quasars and stella novae.

Some information is not for sharing.

"Eyes down, you've not yet earned to see my face"

You obey, little lamb that you are. Eyes tracing the ebony of his boots. He wonders if he should tell you, grasp your chin, and force his mask off. Shatter your world with his eyes. But you're too cute like this, pining after your master and playing little lovers with Qimir. It's torture most sweetly, he traces the crown of your hair with metal instead of lips, whispering sabbath shibboleths into your head. His love is red in every way.

A lot can change in twenty seconds. A lot can happen in the dark.

The cave is pitch dark, hidden from prying moonlight. It's in the dark that Sith revel in the dark that they renew. Qimir knows some things can only be confessed in blood. That's why he pushes the jagged edges of stars between your lips. Apex of your throat in hand forcing you beneath him. You giggle stardust as he marrs your bones, kissing cuts and open wounds. He lets his mask slide off, to the tune of your heartbeat. Savoring its clank and all it entails. Your shock and fear taste delicious on his tongue as does your fruitless struggle. He kisses you again all passion and possession. He likes you better when you taste of horror and shattered realities.

"You belong to me..."

✧࿐ Torbin - Birds of a Feather | توربین

We should stick together.

You pull him through the temple, laughing as you run away from another angry master. Torbin follows lovestruck, he sees peace in your eyes, in your smile. Hears it in the candance of your voice. He kisses your knuckles when you beat him at saber practice and passes you heart-shaped sticky notes during lessons. He wants to be here with you forever. Together in an eternal blush.

 I'd never think I wasn't better alone.

He whispers your name between breaths, kissing each syllable. He traces your face in the stars, cursing the remote planets he's been sent to. He misses you, but the phrase is never quite worded right, his master can never know, never understand the rhyme behind his eagerness.

Home, home, home. He repeats the words with frantic reverence. Home is where the lights paint you in their heavenly glow. Where you hold his hand and kiss fireflies across his cheek. Home is you, it's always been you…

I'll love you 'til the day that I die.

You trace the scar across his eye, dejected. Torbin kisses the hollow of your palm, basking in your presence. He made it back to you, that's all that matters. Not the witches or the massacred planet. Not the disappointment of his master or Sol's new apprentice. You're the only thing that matters to him, the only thing that has ever mattered.

"Stay with me forever my love."

Happy final week of the Acolyte!! It's been a great 7 weeks ~💜

[cuubism]

The thing is.

Hob understands that Dream cannot be hurt easily. He is an ancient, powerful, nonhuman being. Hob has, in fact, heard a story from Matthew about when some foolish human wannabe-magician had attempted to stab him when Dream had gone to retrieve a spell book that had slipped from the Dreaming library. According to Matthew, the knife had simply gone through his chest like he was made of smoke and left no mark at all.

(Hob still wishes he had been there. He’d have snapped the guy’s arm. Or worse.)

Barring luck and a magical binding, like what happened with Roderick Burgess, Dream can’t be hurt by mortal means. Hob understands this. Hell, he can hardly be hurt by supernatural means either. Only a few very powerful beings would be able to manage it, or else the very laws that govern his existence, coming down upon his head.

The thing also is.

Dream bruises so easily.

Sometimes.

Like now, when Dream is actually limping across the floor of the Inn. Long coat, which usually does not come with him to the waking world, wrapped tight around him. A dark bruise blooms along his cheekbone. Hob doesn’t understand how it’s possible. It shouldn’t be, not when Dream can take a knife to the heart like it’s a gust of wind, but the fact of the matter is that it is possible, apparently. And so Hob’s got to do something about it.

He meets Dream halfway across the room, braces him by the arms. “Jesus, Dream. Are you hurt?” Well, evidently he is. “How badly?”

“I told him he should stay home and rest,” grumbles Matthew from where he’s hopping along the floor at Dream’s side. Hob hadn’t even seen him there, he’d been so focused on Dream. The fact that Matthew’s not even riding on Dream’s shoulder is not a good sign.

“I did not want to miss our meeting,” Dream says. Which is a hell of a thing.

“Come upstairs, then,” Hob says, and doesn’t quite realize he’s grabbed Dream’s arm and is right pulling him along until he’s already done it. But Dream just follows him. Matthew follows, too, which, again, is not making Hob feel confident about Dream not being too badly injured.

“What happened?” Hob asks, as he sits Dream down on the couch, perching carefully at his side.

“A minor altercation,” says Dream.

“He was thrown into a wall,” says Matthew. “The wall cracked, by the way.”

Hob winces in sympathy. “Thrown by who? Or… what?”

Dream says, “It’s of no consequence.”

Matthew says, “I don’t know, but it had a lot of limbs.”

Hob’s kind of glad Matthew’s here as bullshit translator right now.

“How badly were you hurt?” he asks again. Not badly enough to keep him from traveling, evidently, but badly enough that he is limping. As a measly little human, Hob might find himself limping for a while just by twisting his ankle going down the stairs— but he does not like that intersection of facts when it’s someone like Dream.

“I am fine,” says Dream, and then winces as he shifts his weight on the couch.

“Bullshit,” say Hob and Matthew simultaneously, after which Matthew adds, “Uh, I mean, bullshit, your lordship.”

Dream slants a reproving glance over at him, then back to Hob. “Can I see?” Hob asks, more gently. “I’d like to help. If I can.”

Gingerly, Dream shrugs his long robe off his shoulders. Underneath, he’s wearing his usual black t-shirt, and at Hob’s urging he pulls that off over his head, too, though evidently with some pain. His chest and stomach seem uninjured, the unnaturally pale and smooth skin is still just that, unnaturally pale and smooth— so Hob tugs on his shoulder. “Can I see your back?”

Dream turns, and Hob tries not to think too hard about Dream doing his bidding like that—it’s tender and troubling and arousing all at once, and he’s definitely not going to think about that last bit—and sucks in a breath.

His back is a map of bruises, nebulae arcing over his shoulders and the nape of his neck, curling down over his spine like a coiled dragon. Dream bruises prettily, even like this, periwinkle and dusk blue, the purple of sunset clouds. Another reminder of how Night, too, lives within him.

“I told you,” Matthew says, hopping up onto the back of the couch by Hob’s shoulder.

Dream makes a grumbling sound, but doesn’t deny him this time.

Hob traces a light hand along his shoulder blade and the deep, spilled-watercolor of the bruise there. Thrown into a wall, Matthew had said. Ouch.

Dream shivers at the touch, and Hob says, tentative, “Do you usually bruise like that, love?”

He’s seen it before, though not this bad. Lines of strain on Dream’s hands. A red, banded mark on his arm on one of the few occasions he’d taken his coat off in Hob’s presence. He wants to hear it from Dream, though.

Dream says, tentative now, hunched on the couch like a wounded physical thing rather than what he is, “I… suppose.”

Sitting only in his tight jeans and boots, hair a mess, the mark on his cheek makes him look hunted. Hob touches that too, with light fingertips. Dream leans into his hand with a little sigh, and… oh. That’s something.

“Hey, he got the shit kicked out of him like a few days ago and just walked away like it was nothing,” Matthew complains, as if Dream’s I suppose answer is ridiculous. “And then obliterated the other guy, too.”

“Sorry, when was this?” Hob is still holding Dream’s cheek, but Dream doesn’t turn further to meet his eyes. “Why are you getting beaten up all the time, exactly?”

He’s not Dream’s minder. He’s not. He’s not. Hob forces himself to remember that fact.

“In my absence many have forgotten the might and sanctity of the Dreaming,” says Dream, and if Hob’s not mistaken there’s a little whining petulance in his tone which is… endearing, almost. “Other realms have become… impudent. Entitled. I am simply. Reminding them to show respect. Sometimes physical conflict is necessary.”

Hob sighs. “Well, Your Majesty, maybe it’s time to take a break from the ritual dueling, yeah?”

“…Perhaps,” Dream says, which is as much of an agreement as Hob ever gets.

He supposes he’ll take perhaps. Though the more he thinks about it, the more distressing it is to imagine Dream going around getting hurt. Even if he thinks he’s doing it for some important cause.

“Well, there’s not much I can do for these right now,” Hob says, and can’t keep the concern out of his voice. “Other than letting them heal on their own.”

“I see,” says Dream, and if Hob’s not mistaken his voice is small. And he reaches for his shirt, and—

“Hey.” Hob grabs his wrist. Dream freezes. “That doesn’t mean you have to leave?” He hates that it comes out as a question.

Dream wavers. Then he says, “Matthew.”

It’s loaded with more than just Matthew’s name. An order. Matthew squawks indignantly. “Boss! Come on. You’re really gonna send me back like that? When you’re like this?”

Dream just looks at him.

Matthew sighs, fluttering his wings. “Fine. Have your special private time, then.”

Special private time, Hob mouths to himself.

Matthew lifts his wings for takeoff. “You better not send him back with more bruises, Hobert.”

“Excuse me?”

Then he’s gone, winging out a window that Hob hadn’t realized was open. Maybe it wasn’t a moment ago. Who knows.

Dream looks after him, and sighs with real fatigue. “His insolence only grows.”

“Special private time?” Hob says, and Dream glances at him, and then away.

“He is under the impression that you are my…” he says, and trails off.

Oh. Well.

They’re not like that. But.

But?

Dream looks despondent now, staring off into the corner of the flat, back still turned to Hob’s chest. Hob’s become certain that he wants something, he came here for something, not just to make their usual meeting time… but he still doesn’t know what.

Probably he should ask. Not that that ever works with Dream. Probably he should anyway.

Instead he presses his lips to the curve of Dream’s shoulder, where the bruise is deepest blue.

Dream shudders, and then goes slack in his grip, his shoulders caving. “Hob…”

“Is that what you wanted?” Hob says against his skin. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He can’t believe Dream is letting him. “Does it hurt very badly? Is that helping?”

“It…” Dream muses, and sighs. “Is. Helping.”

Hob takes Dream’s chin between his fingers and turns his face enough that he can kiss his cheek, over the horrible sprawled mark of the bruise. Dream’s eyes flutter shut. He braces a hand on Hob’s thigh as he twists back to lean into Hob’s touch. Hob could use his grip to turn his head further and kiss him properly, he thinks, with a trip in his chest. Dream’s lips are right there, soft and open.

Instead, he leans his head on the back of Dream’s neck. Lets his hands fall to Dream’s bare waist, lips brushing his skin as he says, “You don’t… really bruise, do you?”

Dream still has his head tipped back; Hob’s hair brushes his cheek. “It affects you to see it,” he says quietly.

“Of course it does,” Hob says, equally hushed now. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

“Even,” says Dream, almost tentative, “if I am not truly hurt?”

“You are hurt,” Hob says, and finally draws the strength to lift his head from Dream’s neck. Dream is still looking at him, over his shoulder. His eyes are very dark in the dim light, rimmed red, he looks soft and fragile as a flower petal and Hob would do anything for him. “You were thrown into a wall by ‘something with a lot of limbs’, after all.”

Dream huffs. “Matthew exaggerates.”

“It’s okay if you want it to matter,” Hob tells him. That’s what it is, isn’t it? “To… be seen.” He slides his hand over Dream’s where it still rests on his thigh, twines their fingers together. A flicker of stillness runs through Dream’s body, the way a human’s breath might catch. Hob thinks he might pull away.

Instead he yields, and Hob exhales hard, a breath that had coiled far too tight in his lungs unwinding. Dream caves into him, and Hob wraps his arms around him, pulls him close, kisses the curve of his shoulder and watches a bruise disappear in the echo of that touch.

“Just wanted a hug after a rough day, in the end?” Hob says, and Dream huffs again as if such a desire is offending even to imply. He doesn’t move away though.

“Is it that easy for you?” Dream’s face is close enough that his hair brushes Hob’s temple as he speaks.

“And what if it is?” What if Hob had wanted to hug him when he first spoke of his imprisonment, and held back, and still regrets it? And what if it’s so easy to fall into it now? To slip into a world, this world where he can pull Dream into his arms, like he’s wading into the ocean for the first time, into foreign currents powerful beyond imagining but primordially known. Resonant as a familiar dream.

In some sense it would be accurate to say that Hob has known Dream all his life—he is, after all, dreams. But Hob doesn’t think of his friend as dreams. Maybe it’s a limitation of his human mind not to see the endless scale of the picture. But when he thinks of Dream, he doesn’t think of all of life or anything like that.

Instead, he goes back to their meeting in 1689. When Dream had thought he might no longer want to live, and Hob swore he saw a tear nearly break that usually stern countenance. Hob had always been fascinated by him, but he thinks that was the first moment he really saw him, beyond the cloak of distance and fantasy Dream liked to wrap around himself.

He’d like to think that Dream saw him then, too.

That’s the Dream he thinks of. The Dream he’d like to say he knows. The person, not the incomprehensible entity that Dream sees himself as. An incomprehensible entity can take a knife through the chest and dissipate around it like smoke, but not a person.

“If it is,” says Dream, pulling back to properly look at him, “then perhaps I might… impose.”

He looks so… cautiously hopeful. How can he not know already? “You think it’s possible for you to impose?”

“Imposition is easy,” says Dream, quietly. Hob lifts a hand to cup his cheek, and at the same time, as if of the same mind, Dream leans in and fits his face to Hob’s palm, eyes falling shut again.

He looks so gaunt now, with his bruised cheek and shadowed eyes, sharp collarbones and the swooping curves of his ribs. Hob had thought it had gotten better since his imprisonment, but now he’s not so sure. Maybe it’s just that without the shielding of his shirt, and his robe, he looks smaller than Hob’s used to thinking of him, and angular and fragile. He’s still so impossibly beautiful, delicate like a tree glazed in post-storm ice.

It makes Hob feel unexpectedly bold. His heart trips over, but he leans in and kisses the corner of Dream’s mouth.

Dream makes a quiet, surprised sound. Turns his head, blind, seeking, and then their lips connect properly.

When Hob had let himself imagine the possibility of kissing Dream, he had seen a force of nature. His friend would kiss with the chill of the rain that night he’d left Hob standing behind the White Horse. With the encompassing darkness of the night sky. The full experience of him would be overpowering and that was okay, because even a taste of him had already turned the course of Hob’s life.

But this Dream caves. Tips his head back in Hob’s hand, opens his mouth under Hob’s. Stiffness bleeds from him, regality flees him, and what Hob has left in his hands is a soft, horribly bruised thing leaning in for a deeper kiss.

So he kisses Dream deeper. Swipes his tongue into Dream’s mouth. He tastes slightly metallic, like he might have bitten his tongue and bled, were he human, and he makes a soft sound as Hob breaks the kiss for an unfortunate but necessary breath.

He keeps Dream close, hand to his cheek. Dream, eyes still closed, says, “A kiss just to comfort me, Hob?”

It hurts, just a little, that he thinks so. “How about a kiss just because I wanted to kiss you? You really think I’m more selfless than I am.”

Dream chuckles. “I see.”

Finally, he opens his eyes to look at Hob again properly. He looks tentatively happy now, it’s there in the slight crease at the corners of his eyes, the little spark that’s returned to them. Hob’s heart swells to see it, to think that he could do that.

“What then,” says Dream, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “would you do… selfishly?”

“Same thing,” says Hob, and kisses him again. Dream hums into it this time, pleased. “And tell you to bring me with you next time you’re asserting your dominance around the galaxy or whatever.”

“Why?”

“There’s some guys I want to throw into walls,” Hob says.

Dream huffs, but Hob thinks he looks secretly pleased. “I am not certain ‘guys’ is an accurate description.”

“You think just because the fifteen-armed thing is a lady that I won’t—”

And Dream actually laughs, a startled choking laugh. “Your definition of chivalry is—” he gathers himself— “appalling.”

“Take it or leave it, Your Majesty,” Hob says, grinning. Nothing feels better than getting a rare laugh out of Dream.

Mirth sparkles in Dream’s eyes. “I will take it,” he says, turning his head to kiss Hob’s palm, “of course. When you offer me haven and defense both, how can I not?”

Hob presses his kissed palm back to Dream’s cheek, over the dark bruise there, watching it start to fade. “Bring me your bruises, darling,” he says, “and I’ll protect you.”

Dream leans back in, and rests his forehead against Hob’s. He doesn’t need to ask for another hug. Hob just wraps his arms around him, and lets Dream’s contented sigh be its own question, and answer, at once.

[elryuse]

Fuck It, You're Ours Now

Yandere Bae & Lily X Male Reader

I was a mere speck in the cosmic expanse that was K-pop, a solitary planet adrift in a galaxy of stars. Then came Bae and Lily, twin suns igniting my celestial existence. Their performances were a supernova, a cataclysmic event that consumed me entirely.

Their Seoul concert was the Big Bang that created my universe. As the stage transformed into a cosmic canvas, their eyes, twin black holes, pulled me inexorably into their orbit. In that moment, I became a satellite, forever bound to their gravitational pull.

After that night, I became a cosmic stalker, charting their every move with obsessive precision. Their concerts, their public appearances, became my pilgrimage, a desperate attempt to satiate the insatiable hunger they had ignited within me. I studied their laughter, memorized the timbre of their voices, and their smiles were the constellations by which I navigated my nights. I was a ghost in their world, a silent specter haunting their dreams.

Unbeknownst to me, I was far from invisible. Backstage, in the twilight zone of their dressing room, Bae and Lily whispered about me, their voices a cosmic symphony of desire. Their eyes, twin quasars, held galaxies of obsession as they dissected my every reaction, my body language a map they were desperate to explore.

“He watches us with such hunger,” Bae breathed, her voice a nebula of longing, a cosmic ache.

Lily, her eyes twin black holes, replied, “He is ours,” her voice a low, possessive growl.

I was their black hole, a cosmic anomaly that consumed them entirely. With each concert, their desire for me grew, a supernova of obsession building within them, a force of nature that threatened to consume them both. They began to anticipate my presence with a desperation that bordered on madness, dressing to impress, hoping to ensnare me in their gravitational field.

One night, after a performance that shook the very foundations of reality, I found myself backstage, pulled by an invisible force, a cosmic tether that bound me to them. The dressing room door creaked open, revealing two goddesses, their cuteness amplified a thousandfold by the soft backstage lights.

“You,” Bae breathed, her voice a cosmic whisper, filled with a desperation that chilled me to the core.

Lily's eyes were twin black holes, sucking me in with an intensity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. “Ours,” she corrected, her voice a low, possessive growl.

The room contracted into a singularity, the outside world a distant memory. I was trapped in their event horizon, a cosmic prisoner in their celestial cage.

“You’re cuter than we imagined,” Bae purred, her voice a velvet caress, laced with a hint of madness.

Lily stepped closer, her hand a comet brushing mine, her touch sending shivers down my spine. “Ours,” she repeated, her voice a low, insistent demand.

The room crackled with static electricity, a supernova about to erupt. Desire, a black hole of its own, consumed me, a cosmic tempest raging within me.

“You’re both incredibly cute,” I managed, my voice a distant echo, a feeble attempt to assert my own reality.

Bae's lips curved into a cosmic smile, but her eyes held a predatory glint. “Ours,” she corrected again, her voice a low, menacing growl.

Lily moved closer, her eyes twin pulsars, boring into my soul. “Closer,” she demanded, her voice a hypnotic command.

I hesitated, a cosmic battle raging within me. Fear, excitement, and an undeniable pull warred for dominance.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bae assured me, her voice a soothing nebula, but her eyes held a predatory gleam.

With trembling hands, I reached out and touched Lily’s face. Her skin was like stardust, warm and inviting, but her eyes held a possessive fire.

“You’re so cute,” I whispered, a satellite lost in her orbit, but my voice held a tremor of fear.

Lily’s eyes flashed triumph, but there was a darkness lurking within them, a cosmic void that terrified me. “Ours,” she repeated, her voice a final, irrevocable claim.

Before I could react, Bae’s lips met mine. Her kiss was a supernova, consuming me in a celestial explosion, but there was a desperation in her kiss, a hunger that went beyond mere desire. I responded instinctively, lost in the cosmic dance, but a cold dread crept into my heart.

Lily’s kiss followed, deeper, more demanding. Her tongue explored my mouth with a cosmic hunger, but there was a possessiveness in her kiss, a mark of ownership that chilled me to the bone.

We kissed for what felt like eternity, our bodies entangled in a cosmic embrace, but a growing sense of entrapment consumed me. When we finally broke apart, we were breathless, our eyes locked in a gravitational pull, but the darkness in their eyes had deepened.

“Ours,” Bae whispered, her voice a possessive echo, filled with a chilling intensity.

“Forever,” Lily added, her voice a deadly serious cosmic promise, but her eyes held a promise of something far more sinister.

I looked into their eyes, galaxies of obsession and possessiveness swirling within them, but there was a darkness at the core, a cosmic void that terrified me. I knew in that moment that my life would never be the same. I was a planet captured by two black holes, and I was theirs to consume, to possess, and ultimately, to destroy.

Time warped into a surreal dimension. Days bled into nights, and reality blurred at the edges. Bae, Lily, and I existed in a secret universe, a hidden constellation amidst the glittering chaos of our public lives. Our rendezvous were clandestine, stolen moments in ordinary places - a cozy café, a dimly lit restaurant, any space that offered a semblance of privacy.

These were our sanctuaries, our cosmic refuges. We’d slip into these worlds, shedding our public personas like discarded skins. In these moments, we were raw, vulnerable, and utterly consumed by each other. Their eyes, twin black holes, held galaxies of obsession, a cosmic hunger that never seemed to satiate.

Their touch was an electric current, a shock to my system that both terrified and exhilarated me. Their kisses were supernovae, consuming me in a celestial inferno. And yet, amidst the passion and the obsession, there was a fragile tenderness, a vulnerability that surprised me. They would confess their deepest fears, their wildest dreams, their darkest secrets.

"I can’t stop thinking about you," Bae would whisper, her voice a trembling nebula. Her eyes, usually filled with a predatory glint, would soften, revealing a vulnerability that was both heartbreaking and intoxicating.

Lily would nod, her eyes filled with a silent storm of emotion. "Every moment without you is an eternity," she would say, her voice a low, mournful melody.

My heart would ache with a bittersweet longing. I loved them both, a love that was as vast and complex as the universe itself. But their obsession, their possessive nature, cast a long shadow over our paradise.

Our nights were a continuation of our days, a descent into a world of shadows and desires. In the hushed intimacy of our shared spaces, our inhibitions melted away, revealing the depths of our obsession. We were a cosmic triangle, a dangerous and intoxicating equation.

Their bodies were constellations I longed to explore, maps I was eager to memorize. And yet, amidst the physical ecstasy, there was a growing sense of unease. The lines between love, obsession, and possession were blurring, and I was losing my grip on reality.

One night, as we lay entwined, the weight of our secret world pressed down upon me. I looked at them, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the nightlight. They were beautiful, terrifying, and utterly consuming.

“I love you both,” I whispered, my voice a mere echo in the vastness of our shared universe.

Their eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and vulnerability crossing their faces. And then, as if in unison, they leaned in, their lips meeting mine in a passionate, possessive kiss.

In that moment, I was lost, a planet adrift in a sea of desire, fear, and obsession. Our love was a cosmic anomaly, a beautiful and terrifying force that threatened to consume us all.

[wingedog]

Are you still there or have you moved away?

Back to the old house-The Smiths 🏚️

[image 1: exterior and then of the Pines Household followed by stan being thrown out of the pines household laying scared on the concrete. All scenes are at night.

image 2: A closeup of the twins’ childhood bedroom showing their hands in paint, Ford’s six fingered handprint is cast in shadow. The second panel shows Stanley’s hands holding Ford’s glasses and the journal after Ford disappeared into the portal. The last panel shows their hands reaching for each other as Ford is sucked into the portal.

Image 3: Exterior and then interior of the mystery shack when it was just Stanford’s home. Both are very green and sunny. Last panel shows Ford facing away standing in a dark green nebula, he is older with grey hair and wearing all black. End. ]

[nomstellations]

Voretober D1- Space

Stargazing was your unfortunate hobby, as you lived in a place with lots of light pollution and cloud cover. You never did let that stop you- on a good night you could make out a few stars in the sky, and that was enough for you. You couldn't help but yearn for more, though....in certain places you could behold the whole Milky Way. If only that could be you...

Yet here you were sitting on your roof as you did every night before bed.

The stars above were sparse. Only a small handful of the brightest ones in the sky were visible beneath the moonlight's glow, faintly twinkling. It was the same view as always....but you swore you could see two new bright ones up there in the sky. They definitely weren't planes....but there wasn't any way you could've simply missed them on your countless nights stargazing. Though come to think of it...the sky was darker than usual. All the clouds were gone, and...

The two stars blinked. Slowly and in sync, like a pair of eyes.

You had just enough time to register that those might not be stars at all when the whole sky moved. An unfathomably large head craned to look at you, and then...in an instant it was gone. Instead of a giant figure you registered that before you was something well over 10 feet tall, gazing down at you with those white starry eyes. It was wearing an astronaut suit- though it looked worn and damaged in some places, with holes leaking blacker-than-black goop. Its head was round a with a bright orange ring around it, and you swore you could hear a faint whistling coming from it....like it was sucking the very air around it into itself.

"You..." It spoke; its voice was a deep baritone that sounded as if it was trying words for the first time. "You...look? At stars?"

Needless to say you were hesitant- some weird dark alien showed up out of nowhere and offered to show you the stars. Would you be abducted...? You DID want to see, truth be told. And who knows, maybe this could be a fantastical adventure away from your boring life. Deciding to go against your gut instinct, you nodded.

While you were hesitant, it nodded. It tilted its head to the side for a moment, in deep thought. You could swear you heard some sort of growling sound from it...but it didn't look hostile at all.

"I am....Sygnus. Of the stars, I am born. I can show you...what they really look like, if you would like."

Sygnus shifted, moving closer to you. He really towered over you- his hands were big enough to eclipse your head! He was pretty gentle with lifting you up, and his featureless blob of a head suddenly split at a hair-thin seam...revealing a slowly opening maw full of glittering stars. It twinkled and shimmered with a rainbow of colors from nebulae and stars alike. You could even swear you saw miniature planets in there! It was like he had a whole universe inside him, and you were entranced.

So entranced....that you didn't notice the pull on your body that started the moment they opened their mouth. You also didn't notice you were being placed inside until the cool and gooey texture of their body was apparent. Before you could move or protest, a VERY powerful gulp sent you straight down their starry gullet. In an instant, you found yourself floating in a galaxy. The stars twinkled around you, nebulae swirled around your body, the planets danced and shimmered...it was like you were transported to the center of the universe. You could still breathe, and while you were floating...reaching out to touch a planet resulted in you touching something slimy and cold. Was this the stomach of that alien? You didn't feel hurt or anything...

Maybe you could stay for this light show, for a while. This was better than any planetarium you've seen!

[raz-writes-the-thing]

hey raz💘

i'm having a terrible headache and i've been having it since i woke up (it was like 6 hours ago), so i thought maybe i could get some quick sketch about how some of the doctors hEaL me... just thinking...

- 🛐

I really hope you feel better soon. I’ve been on the receiving end of some lasting headaches myself. They’re very nasty. Hopefully these help comfort you a little

Okay, so Ten definitely just pulls some gummy worm that tastes like… a nebula star or something out of his never ending pockets and hands it to you like- “Headache? Oh no, no, no. Can’t have that. Here, eat this.” And when you do your headache just disappears. If you notice the purple swirls for a minute, don’t worry- that’s totally and completely normal. He thinks.

Eleven would force you to sit down in a chair and drink a big, tall glass of water. He’s also going to keep refilling it and arguing with the TARDIS every time you turn away. He makes an effort to do this quietly but it doesn’t really work.

Twelve tells you to suck it up and stop complaining. He had a headache the size of Jupiter once. But then he also brings you a cup of tea like it’s something he does all the time. He also turns his amps way down so it’s not too loud for you. If you notice the TARDIS lights dimming its just because he wanted mood lighting okay, that’s all. Nothing to do with you and your very human, very annoying headache.

Thirteen babies you almost to the point of you having to tell her to go away and do something useful. She brings you blankets, several teas from several planets, jugs of water and a cold compress. She coos and frets and checks your temperature with a concerned frown on her face. It’s very cute, but can also feel a little overstimulating at times. Especially because she’s such a talker, too.

Fourteen tuts and takes you by the hand, telling you he knows just the place. He also tells you how he knows he’s incapable of shutting his mouth and so will leave you alone for a few hours to get some peace. Then he leads you into this dark room in the TARDIS that just has a soft lounge and a dimmable window so you can watch the stars in the dark. The TARDIS puts on a low frequency hum that helps ease your headache away. He kisses your forehead, rubs your cheek and tells you to feel better soon and he’ll be back to check on you in a bit before he closes the door behind him.

Fifteen gives you a lopsided play-mocking expression and tells you that you need to be taking better care of yourself if you want to stick around to see all he has to show you. But he also turns the music way down in the console room and ushers you towards your bedroom. “Uh, uh, babes- no arguing. You, my dear, are going to lay down and not come out until your pesky little headache is gone. I’ll bring you some water, eh? Uh-uh, down. That’s it. Doctor’s orders.”

[trojanteapot]

FIONNA AND CAKE SPOILERS: Thoughts on Marceline being "The Star"

I rewatched The Stakes Miniseries after last week's Fionna and Cake episodes, and maybe to some of you who have thought about Adventure Time more than I have, this is old news, but they had always telegraphed Marceline being "The Star".

In the last episode of the miniseries, The Dark Cloud, when Marceline activates her full demon soul-sucking powers, she glows pink and becomes kind of like a starry nebula.

The whole plot of the stakes miniseries is about Marceline coming to terms with the trauma in her past, growing up, and feeling more sure of herself. This is in fact all themes that align with the Upright tarot card The Star.

[image ID: The Star/Meaning When the Star card appears, you are likely to find yourself feeling inspired. It brings renewed hope and faith and a sense that you are truly blessed by the universe at this time. The Star represents: New hopes and splendid revelations of the future, insight, inspiration, courage and enlightenment of the spiritual self. Body and mind and converging towards the light at the end of a dark time(s).]

The Star is number 17, following The Tower number 16. It's supposed to represent the light at the end of the tunnel, the glimmer of hope. It's positivity and aspirations after many trials and tribulations. This tarot card perfectly encapsulates the character arc of Main Universe Marceline.

Now what about the other universe? This brings me to what The Star means when it's drawn Reversed:

[image ID: Hopelessness The Star Tarot Card Meaning. Key Meanings (Upright): Hope, inspiration, creativity, calm, contentment, renewal, serenity, spirituality, healing, positivity. Key Meanings (Reversed): Hopelessness, despair, focusing on the negative, lack of faith, lack of inspiration, lack of creativity, boredom, monotony.]

In the universe where the vampires have taken over the post-mushroom wars Earth, they were so effective at killing humans, and all manner of living creatures that life on Earth is on the brink of collapse. The Vampire King has used the Ice Crown to cover the sky in perpetual clouds, which must have also sped up ecosystem collapse for life that doesn't have blood for the vampires to drink. The Princess Bubblegum of that world even spells it out that their world is pretty much nearing its end. In that sense, the Marceline of that world represents hopelessness and despair. However, not for herself, but for the three protagonists of Fionna and Cake.

Fionna is beginning to realize that no matter how much she tries to help, nothing is working out. Adventuring wasn't how she thought it was, and she just wants to go home.

Simon is already deep in his pit of despair from the very beginning of the series, because he is depressed and sees no place for himself in the land of Ooo, and no way to contact Betty after she ascended to godhood. And Fionna is realizing that if Simon becomes Ice King again, he will have to give up his mind, and pretty much annihilate himself in order to give magic back to her world.

Cake doesn't seem to be in despair at first, but we learn by the end of the episode that Cake absolutely does not want to go back to being a normal cat. She would do anything to stay the way she is, but this is at odds with what Fionna is realizing that she wants.

And if all of that hopelessness isn't enough, after the vampire universe, the trio are teleported to an even worse universe where the Lich had already succeeded in wiping out all life! Not to mention when BMO tried to help them fix their universe-hopping remote, he also destroyed himself in the process ):

So yeah, the writers were very smart to insert both meanings of the Star (both upright and reversed) into the wider narrative of Adventure Time!!!

[actual-changeling]

Before heaven, hell, or earth, the universe was an infinite stretch of light, and its absence housed God and her children.

It is hard to tell when exactly angels stopped conceptualising themselves as hers and started preferring empty white halls over whirls of energy and colourful nebulas, but we are way before that time, too.

Before time itself.

She can be anywhere and everywhere, yet for simplicity's sake, she travels in a blinding white cloud of energy, particles vibrating and changing into waves and changing back again, undecided between two states of being. Most of the time, she silently watches her children at work, content with their creativity and tasting their love for herself and her creations, but for once, she has a destination in mind.

An angel with gentle hands and fire-red hair is blowing stars into a previously empty part of the universe, a smile on their face that is brighter than their nebulae could ever hope to be.

She settles next to them, taking in their joyfully fluttering wings and the excitement radiating off of them. When they turn, there is no surprise or shock marking their face, only pleasant recognition.

"God! I'm almost done with this quadrant."

"My Starmaker," she greets softly, smiling, "wonderful work as always."

Tender pride ripples through them, starting in the middle of their chest and ending in a quick flick of their outer primary feathers.

"Thank you. Just give it a few millennia and there will be even more stars; I cannot wait to watch them bloom."

There is no reason to hold back affection, and so God doesn't, reaching out a slender hand to cup their face, caressing their cheekbone when they press into the touch.

"I am certain they will be just as perfect as their creator."

"They're wonderful to watch," they whisper back, their vision blurring. God's palm is warm, comfortably so at first but quickly gaining heat. Despite pain not having been invented yet, a stinging ache travels from the point of contact into their jaw, burrowing into the bones and invading their veins, spreading and spreading and spreading.

They suck in a sharp gasp of air (there is no air in the cosmos), their wings uselessly fluttering against the flames threatening to engulf them (their feathers cannot burn).

"My little Starmaker."

God's voice is distant, drowning in the rush of blood pounding in their ears as they begin to fall, attempting and failing to hold onto the hand brushing over their temples. Stars rush by, a colourful fog of light and love fading as the universe turns as dark as their wings, falling and falling and falling with no end in sight.

They close their eyes as tears are ripped from them, glistening, perfect pearls of grace leaving a glowing trail they will never be able to reach again. One last formation, a final spatter of stars painting their pain onto the night sky, and the Starmaker takes one last breath free of fire and brimstone and names it as God would want them to.

The Fallen Angel.

-

Crowley wakes in the middle of the night, unbreathing, unblinking, swallowing the scream stuck in his throat as the memory of pain begins to fade. If he stretches out a hand towards his ceiling and allows hellfire to prickle in his fingertips, it almost feels like it did back then when stars sprang from them, gentle and loving.

He curls his hands into fists and sits up, urging dawn to come and take away the night, averting his gaze from the stars breathing light above him.

[beybladefanboy]

Metal Fury Has The Weakest Villains

After thinking about it, I have to admit that as much as I love Fury and still consider it my favorite season of Beyblade, one thing Fusion and Masters have over it (besides a better written Kyoya, still the only problem I have with Fury that majorly affects my enjoyment) are the villains. Aside from Johannes, who is very memorable and honestly does way too much of the heavy-lifting for a henchman, Fury's villains are really forgettable.

Starting with Fusion:

Its main villains are definitely Ryuga and Doji but I'll throw Reiji in as well since despite being in fewer episodes than some of Fury's villains, he's far more memorable than them.

Reiji, along with Doji and Ryuga are very memorable villains. I remember their goals, their beys, how they battle, how they look and sound, and just who they are in general even when it's been a long time since I've seen the series. Destructive purple dragon, giant torture snake, and wolf that drags people into darkness are just very distinct. These characters' goals are very simple. However, I will always remember the way Doji and Ryuga go about those goals by manipulating notable characters like Yu, Testuya, Tobio, and Ryutaro into the Dark Nebula to ultimately just use them and all the ripple effects that causes. Not to mention the way Reiji is merely Doji's sadistic puppet, the way he gleefully and viciously tortures children, his breakdowns that they never properly utilized, all of that sticks in my mind and creates a set of very memorable villains.

Masters, while less iconic, also does its main villains really well.

Ziggurat is probably the most realistic villain in the entire series. Slight goofiness and generic design aside, a mad scientist who's so concerned with whether or not he can do something that he didn't stop to think if he should is very rooted in reality and quite frankly, that's terrifying. And like Doji, Ziggurat also manipulates Bladers into his cause like Damian, Jack, and Zeo, the last of which causes so much interesting conflict for Masamune and Toby. Damian and Jack as well, while technically "henchmen" too, are very memorable thanks to how they look and how they fight. Like the Fusion villains, Peacock the Ripper and dog who drags people into hell are memorable and interesting. Plus the way Ziggurat swayed characters from earlier in the series to join his cause like the Garcias and Julian, and the ripple effect that especially the latter caused was very engaging to watch, and similar to Fusion with the Dark Nebula, makes even the henchmen interesting.

And then there's Fury.

Johannes, I think, is actually done well. He's, despite fandom perception, actually competent as a henchman, knowing when it would be most optimal for his plans to flee or fight and cleverly swaying both Aguma and Chris to his side with just his words. He's also got a distinct look and way of acting in and out of battle. "Cat boy thingy" is memorable, if on the silly side.

The other Fury villains though...

While it's cool that Pluto works in the shadows and wears a mask most of the season, he doesn't have anything besides that to make him stand out like these other villains do. Often when I rewatch Fury, I only remember he's the masked man after he takes his mask off and when he does, he just becomes some guy to me. He doesn't do much outside of the big semi-final battle when he uses his special move to separate the legendary bladers and prevent them from making Zeus's Barrier, which is cool and engaging in the moment but easy to forget about when I'm not actively watching those episodes. It's more memorable because of how Kenta breaks through it and saves the day rather than anything Pluto does.

And then Rago...

Rago just sucks. I'm sorry. He's again just some guy who showed up out of nowhere when the villains literally brought in to control Nemesis. Yeah, I know Reiji was also kind of just "some guy who showed up" but him never being seen before (even by others in the Dark Nebula) was something that was used to add to his creepiness and intimidation factor, and build up the feeling of uneasiness throughout his battle with Hyoma. Plus, Reiji was basically kept in the Dark Nebula's basement prior to "showing up", not off some undisclosed somewhere in the world like Rago was.

What else is there to Rago? Well, he killed Ryuga... rest in peace, legend.

That and the whole "copied bey spirits" thing (which admittedly is a really cool visual) are the most memorable things Rago does honestly. He's also, I think, descended from the original controller of Nemesis. Or maybe that's Pluto. I don't know. They blend together in my mind so I can never remember which is his descendant when I'm not actively watching Fury.

Hell, for that matter, I can't remember anything about either of these characters when I'm not actively watching Fury. Who are they? Why do they want to destroy the world? Who are they outside of that goal? How do their actions (not Johannes's) affect the main cast?

For Fusion and Masters' villains, I, and probably you reading this, can answer all these questions easily.

For two random examples from each:

-Doji likes orange juice, uses a Dark Wolf, hates cacti and childrens' happiness and is a manipulative sociopath who wants to use the dark power to take over the world.

-Damian is a brainwashed germaphobic child who uses a Kerbecs bey and believes using the arrangement system is the best and only way to become a powerful blader.

Hell, I can even do this for Johannes in Fury: He likes cats, using a Lynx bey with different spin track lengths, is a bit of a weirdo and a coward, and believes in Nemesis's cause to destroy the world and bring about a newer better world.

Pluto and Rago don't have any traits like these that make them stand out. I'm not saying they need to be silly but my god give them something. Or at least consolidate them into one character. Why couldn't Pluto just be the one to control Nemesis and maybe be unmasked earlier? That alone would've made him at least a little more memorable than what we got.

Tldr: I love Fury but compared to Fusion and Masters, its villains are lacking.

[the-gateway-to-madness]

As I talked about in this post, I think Wish's plot would have been more emotionally engaging and complete with the inclusion of the star as a shapeshifter boyo, and Asha becoming a star like him to remain with him. SO here's her design!

I wanted a natural hairstyle rather than her braids to try and get a look like a nebula, and also because I suck at drawing braids and I didn't want to butcher them. I did my best to research Amazigh dress and went for a design I found pretty, though I'm not sure how accurate it actually is. The reference I found had tassels, and I thought to replace them with little star-shaped ornamentation. Maybe they're still tassels and just funky, idk.

The notes in the piece, transcribed:

Based on blue stars, rather than yellow stars like the OG star

Her freckles glow

Her brown eyes have an added golden gradient, and possibly glow in the dark?

Genesius/Starboy, for comparison:

[dranna]

Character study, writing exercise, mentions of recurring nightmares, hinting at traumas

a/n: just trying to study his character. I think it was due, since I’m in this fandom for 3 years now?? - Tagging: @giosnape , let me know if you would like to be tagged

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Severus woke with an aching body again. We can’t really say he slept, even though he dreamt.

They were all similar, his dreams, continuing each other as chapters do in a book. In this written piece, he appeared as the main character trapped in a prison of the past, doomed to welcome these melancholic guests. Echoes of past lives and died minutes hunted him as he ran down the only corridor of that eerie place. It didn’t matter where he turned or what gate he opened, at one time a living fragment appeared in front him, sucking him in, not letting his lungs fill with air. These ghosts of his past haunted the corridor like the dementors tormented the broken souls in Azkaban.

Other times he saw stand alone memories grasped from sunk time, forcing him to relive recollections when he was a student in the castle, hiding from the golden stag and his puppets.

As he climbed out of the bed, he looked at the long cold candle on his only desk, thinking: what’s the point? His whole body was heavy and stiff as if made of iron, balls attached to his arms and legs, pulling him further down into the deep deep darkness. He was sinking in this ink chillyness feeling the pressure of hundreds of meters of water above his head crushing him. His buried soul was crying and begging to no avail, while his dressed body climbed the stars, hiding that merciless torture behind icy nebulas.

[yandere-wishes]

HAPPY ACOLYTE DAY!! To those who celebrate!!

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.°˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.

Imagine...

Play fighting over food with Qimir. Yes, he's a big scary Sith lord...but he's also just a dude.

Him lying on top of you on the couch trying to bite your cookie as you keep it out of reach. Sure he can use the force...but then the moment will be over. And he wants to keep you like this, smiling and under him, for as long as possible.

You writhe beneath him, fragile giggle caught in your throat. "Master~" you whine. Still trying to guard your precious snack. Your voice always holds such a gentle, melodic lilt. Sweet,docile maliable.

He reaches for the cookie again, teeth grasping the baked dough, chipping off a piece before it's pulled away once more. "No Qimir, No" Force why did he have to choose you as his acolyte? Why did you have to chew his heart with star-sharp teeth?

It doesn't matter that he loves you. That he'd burn star systems for your love. The two of you are star crossed in they your ancestors always have been.

doomed doomed doomed.

For now, he'll dub it a privilege to be killed at your hand. 'Kiss me before my final breath'. He prays ferociously. A will he intrusts to the force.

You turn suddenly, hair sprawled across the velvet cushions. You kiss the bulge of his biceps, tracing your lips across the nebula of veins. Kissing your captivation, like it's salvation. He sings out a low moan.

Childish little girl.

He wonders if he means every word as an insult or praise.

Qimir can't help himself. He freckles your chubby cheeks with empyrean kisses. Inhaling your sweet perfume.

Nuclear novas and roses before rain.

Good, he thinks. He's molded you just right.

There is childlike persistence in your gaze. Calculating the stars between his soul. You finally lower the cookie, holding it between taut lips. "Oh, I see". He leans down once more, chewing on sharp edges, munching through soft chocolate chips until...

Until you break it off down the middle. Stuffing the larger, broken crater into your mouth." Well then..." he laughs, feigning annoyance.

His lips on yours. Sweet, sweet, sweet. conquer, that is the way of the sith. To ravage and consume. Longing for a world were they can be free once more. "Take and consume. That is our way. We must conquer that which we desire." His lesson falls only partially on deaf ears. You're too enraptured with the way your master's lips move against yours. The sweet citrus and herb taste of his tongue gliding sinfully inside your mouth.

You look up at him with eyes that harbor galaxies and he'd do anything to pluck each star from your eyes and consume it's ichore. Sucking until they turn dark, on the brink of explosion. As much as he'd love for you to be decile. You are, first and foremost, his pupil. The one he must raise into sith ways, preparing the next piece in a grand scheme.

But for now, in this chocolate chip and red velvet moment. You are simply his little doll. Kissing pretty against his lips as he traces constellations across your hips. His. His. His

His precious little acolyte.

[fredwkong]

Hey man , I’m your typical good guy , with a good engineering job etc . I’m so tired of it . Can you help me live more of a dangerous thug life ??

"I wish I lived a more dangerous life."

You’re heading out the front door to go to work when the genie walks by. He’s a thuggish guy with a sneer on his face, covered in tattoos. With a flick of his hand, the spell is cast. You feel a sharp pain on your lower belly, and when you pull up your shirt to see, there’s a tattoo there, faded like you got it months ago.

Well, you think to yourself, you never specified how much more dangerous your life would become. You tuck your shirt back in, a bit disappointed.

As you sit down on the bus, you feel another stinging sensation rise up to the base of your pecs. As it does, the fabric of your shirt seems to dissolve until you’re wearing a high crop top. It reveals a tattoo of butterfly wings growing over your chest. As it rises higher, the fabric of your shirt parts and eventually dissolves into nothing.

Some young guy in a suit sitting next to you frowns at your shirtlessness, and you bare your teeth at him. He backs down immediately. Yeah, you can be fucking threatening when you wanna be. Still, he’s kinda cute…

As tattoos of a nebula stretch down your arm, you slowly reach out and put your arm around the guy’s shoulders. At first, he seems confused and disturbed, but he calms at your touch, giving you a goofy grin as his suit dissolves. Tats bloom across his body, and his hair frizzes up with streaks of bright pink through the dark locks. His tongue piercing looks so hot as he lolls his tongue out at you, you just gotta kiss him.

When you step off the bus with your new buddy, the two of you have complementary sets of tattoos and matching shorts. He follows you into the nearest alley and gets on his knees. Like your tattoo says, it won’t suck itself. After you drop a load, the two of you step onto your skateboards and head off to find some more members for the gayest new gang in town.

Another wish fulfilled.

Got a wish you need twisted? Send an ask! Remember to say “I wish” so the genie hears exactly what you’re wishing for.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks to @illarian-rambling here, @diabolical-blue here, and @winterandwords here!

My words: loan, contract, camp, command, moon, brilliant, find, ache, cold, hold, fold, and sold

Your words: repeat, blue, shoot, fire

Tagging @aziz-reads @leahnardo-da-veggie @writernopal @sunset-a-story @dyrewrites

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites

Keep reading for:

Warriors jumpscare! Sparrowpaw sucks!

Robbie uses his powers

Akash asks Gwen out

Lexi is getting anxious

Ash needs ibuprofen

Creepy telepathic scene

Dylan touches the portal

Vocabulary with Lexi

Maddie, Kelsey, and the candy corn jar

Loan - N/A

Camp - from Warriors: Night and Day: The New Clans

Contract - N/A

Once he was outside, Sparrowpaw looked around the camp for a place to sneak out. He had never tried to go to the river at night before, and he realized that this is probably what Daisypaw did every night when she went to visit Limepaw. Sparrowpaw’s stomach twisted. If Daisypaw caught him she’d be angry at him. He was doing the exact same thing he told her not to do.

Command(ed)- from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

Robbie stood, closing his eyes. The darkness now inside him turned into a bright maroon. “Shut your eyes!” he commanded. I obeyed, and through my eyelids, I could still see a sharp white light blaring. I squeezed my eyes tighter, though water still seeped out the edges. The light faded.

Moon - from The Secret Portal Part One

“Oh. Okay.” Akash took a deep breath. “I… just thought you were gonna say date.” Gwen felt her cheeks burn up. “Only if you want it to be.” “I would want that,” Akash said, smiling shyer than usual. “Cool.” Gwen wasn't sure if she was nervous or over the moon, but she looked around, trying to find a distraction. “Hey, look, is that Gills under that sheet?”

Brilliant - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

I reached the forest’s edge, frantically looking around. The brilliant colors that captured my aesthetic attention upon my arrival were now nauseous and overstimulating. I closed my eyes, reaching my hand up to pull and twist my braids. I took a deep breath before opening my eyes.

Find - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

“What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Ash murmured, blinking a couple of times. “Just a headache.” “You need ibuprofen?” “Where are you gonna find ibuprofen here?” Ash asked. I shrugged. “They have granola bars, so why not?” “That’s fair.” Ash stood. “Come on.”

(head)Ache - from The Secret Portal Part Two (Jedi POV)

I groaned, pressing my hand to my temple. At the noise, Xiang, whose family was still on, looked up. “You alright, Jedi?” they asked. “Yeah,” I said. “Headache, that’s it.” Xiang nodded and returned to their tablet. I felt the tiniest pinprick pop a hole in Eomma’s barrier. She sealed it immediately, but I then heard the man’s voice: I know what you are.

Cold - from The Secret Portal Part One

Dylan took his wife’s hand and knelt back on the ground, though Kwasiyaa remained standing. He raised his free hand and took a deep breath as he rested the palm of his hand flat against the portal’s cold, solid surface.

Hold - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

I chewed on a chunk of my hair, trying to hold back the anxiety building inside me. My mind raced. The stale air against my skin, the tickle of the grass, and the sheer uncertainty I felt gave the whole situation a verisimilitude appearance.

Fold(ed) - from The Secret Portal Part One

“Are you actually trying to count—” “Shh!” Maddie said to Kelsey, who had come up to her. Kelsey sighed. Maddie wrote the number 293, folded the paper, and dropped it in the second jar. “I wasn't counting. I was concentrating.” Kelsey grabbed a pen and paper, wrote down the number 400, sure she overshot the actual number, and dropped it in. “Honestly, who likes candy corn?”

Sold - N/A