#drowning in stardust

[finnthenorthsheep]

Artfight 2024 (Team seafoam)

Attack for @alleesaur Memories of drowning flowers!

First year, first drawing! I think It's really cute

[lithi]

Andersen’s The Little mermaid Seiusa AU…. Woah… My brain….

[theliterarymess]

The full spredges collection as of October 2023

[n0va-daamnn]

Japan woman :0

//not such a new art, I just remembered this game and decided to post it

[moxie-girl]

friendly fire attack on @snowyeclipse!

(filterless ver under the cut)

[rev3rb]

Last I checked, the river that Kakyoin was standing in for foreshadowing in the Last Train Home ED was Denial

[amaryllisthegheist]

Stardust in Her Eyes - Snippet 2

Previous

| | | |

Riot lifted her head coolly, keeping her chin just out of reach of the hands gripping furiously at her upper arms and clawing at her wrists. If there was one benefit to having four arms, it was that those with only two tended to struggle against a superior grip. She watched the fury burning in Ms. Power’s eyes steadily growing fainter by the second as salty ocean water flooded her lungs, bubbles streaming from her nose as she struggled. Frankly, Riot was impressed by the tenacity the woman was showing, determined to the very end to kill another member of her species. How typical of a kaladorian.

Finally, her struggles grew weaker, her super strength seeming to fade into the normal powers she would possess on any other planet. Riot’s lips curved into a dangerous smile, happily showing her fangs to the rapidly fading woman. She wants this bitch’s last memory to be of her fucking smiling while her vision grew darker and darker.

The winged woman made sure to keep her underwater for another minute after her struggles back, trying to ensure the drowning was as thorough as possible. Her skin may have been unblemished, the flesh unable to be torn because of the enhancements earth gave the waste of space, but her lungs were as vulnerable as any other gas breathing species in the galaxy.

Serves her right for laying a fucking finger on Namielle.

She gave the corpse one last, fierce and sharp little shake to startle her awake if she was faking. Satisfied that she was dead, she left the body floating for a brief moment in time to pop back onto the shore to retrieve a pair of large, fairly heavy rocks and thick-braided ropes. She made quick work of wrapping it around Ms. Power’s body, releasing it in the center of the ocean. She watched it slowly begin sinking to the bottom of the ocean where it would rot and decay and, crucially, Becky wouldn’t find out until she was grown up enough to understand the situation. Riot cocked her head as it finally vanished from sight.

“Hmph,” she grunted, and promptly buzzed up higher into the air. She kind of wished that she had the same strange, levitation style flight that Wordgirl and Ms. Power did – her wings were so loud when she moved. Especially so when she was moving quickly – she was just lucky that Hairiel sending her off on various missions over the years had primed Becky to hear her buzzing around the edges of the city, which kept her from investigating.

Riot touched down lightly on the sand, her antennae waving around in the air, picking up even the faintest scents in the area. She kind of wants to do a study of the effects that the strange radiation from earth has on various aliens – kaladorians seemed to gain immense super strength, flight and breath abilities but lexiconians got that, laser eyes and super hearing. Then there was Riot – her natural flight had been boosted and though she hadn’t gotten any breath powers or eye lasers (how come Becky got all of the coolest stuff?) but her second stomach usually reserved for honey had begun producing other honey with… interesting qualities. One was essentially a form of acid, another was mostly just glue.

Another feature had been her sense of smell.

Hearing had never been very important to her people – the sensitivity of their wings often alerted them to those approaching them, the force of their steps vibrating them while allowing the scales of their wings to tremble in time to their movement and their antennae typically picked up on any of the scents released by a potential predator. Between the two, hearing just wasn’t the greatest necessity for them – and she figures that’s why the planet chose to enhance her sense of smell.

She was thankful.

Because when Cuddlesworth sprung from his hiding place, shrieking and screeching in – what she was willing to admit was justified anger for her cold eyed murder of its caretaker – she was able to grab it by the throat with her upper arms, watching it with a slightly tilted head.

“Loyalty is an admirable trait,” she told the creature, watching it steadily become alarmed. A pang of sadness resonated throughout her chest, a soft sigh leaving her chest at the creature’s angry beady eyes. This creature was the same species as Hairiel. This was another hakuchan. One totally and completely brainwashed, fully dependent on the same species that drove theirs to functional extinction. She lifted a palm from her lower set of arms, stroking his face gently. “I hope you’re rewarded endlessly for it wherever it is you go when your kind moves on.”

Then she walked it to the shore and repeated the process.

Maybe Power has an execution-blaster in her ship, Riot mused to herself thoughtfully. She almost hoped so – it wouldn’t bode well if she did, given what it would mean for a kaladorian with executioner’s equipment to be on earth, but it would help them out in situations like this. If there was a proper-advanced blaster, she could give it to Hairiel to reverse-engineer and perhaps modify to work regardless of any superhuman resistance the field around the earth granted them. It would make her feel better about executing hakuchanians, whose only true crime was that they’d fallen for the lies and revisionist history fed to them in the carcass of their ruined planet.

At the very least, their lung capacity was nothing compared to a kaladorian’s. Riot had held Power beneath the salty shores for what felt like an eon before she finally weakened and was counting passing clouds waiting for her to finally succumb to drowning. And Gigglecheeks’ arms weren’t long enough to get in her way, no matter how much he clawed.

When the life finally left the creature, she dug up a shallow grave and dumped the corpse inside. As much as Power deserved to die alone, Riot would at least begrudgingly respect the concept that Gigglecheeks would probably like to be dumped into the same part of the sea as she was. So the rhalochyrril would – reluctantly – toss him out to be with her later, once he’d rifled through the ship.

Stepping away from the buried creature, she made her way back towards the ship – the true reason Hairiel had sent her out to search through it for signs. Signs that Power wasn’t the only kaladorian in the area, signs that she and her colleagues had been watching the earth for a while – signs that there was trouble brewing. She did her best to ignore most of the junk scattered throughout the ship, various bits and bobs from her conquests pinned to the walls and displayed proudly upon the shelves in a vile mockery of the various species whose worlds they destroyed.

“Bastards,” she snarled, scowling as she ran her palm across a silken-cocoon. The suffering that poor nymph must’ve gone through, boiled alive in their own chrysalises because some self-centered jackasses wanted their cocoon and refused to just use the cocoons of already pupated nymphs. Still, might as well not waste it – as an imago herself, Riot could no longer spin silk, and she’d been wanting to give Nami- Becky, something nice for her up-coming fifteenth birthday.

She tucked the bundle of unused fabric beneath her lower left arm, as she crouched below the mainframe. Kaladorians prided themselves on advanced technology, but experimental ships like the one Power was apparently piloting were often sloppily put together, meant to be private models used to design even better ones. So it was nymph’s play to remove the bottom panel and simply rip out the cords associated with the ship’s broadcasting system, preventing it from sharing its location. She fiddled around in the wire mess for a bit longer, checking for anything suspicious - black boxes weren't common on test ships like this one, but they weren't rare either.

“Nothing,” she murmured to herself, sitting up. No blaster, no black box, not even a miscellaneous inventory tracking chip from what she could tell. It was like Power had fished the machine out of a dumpster somewhere far on the ends of the galaxy. She used her secondary arms to push herself back into standing, “Power must not have been as high ranking as we thought…”

If anything, the picture the rhalochyrril was beginning to get was that Power was an exile. The small test ship, no back up swooping in when Wordgirl fought back, no frantic message from Hairiel that he'd found other marks - it seemed Power was alone. And her irritating desperation for awe and worship were the hallmarks of an exiled kaladorian. The idea should've soothed her, but instead it made her worry - the presence of exiles tended to draw the attention of full status kaladorians looking to swoop in and steal what little glory could be obtained by those removed from the hierarchy. Sometimes they even placed inconspicuous looking bugs within the ships so they could track them across the galaxy.

“Fuck,” Riot said, running her fingers between her antennae. Ship mechanics were far above her know-how. She only knew the basics of repairs, like any regular spacer would, but tiny, unnoticeable tracking chips? She barely knew what was standard on a kaladorian ship given she spent most of her life around lexiconians.

Which meant she had to turn to the expert.

It was time to bring Hairiel into it.

[shea-like-the-butter]

Thursday, March 23rd 2023

Stuck on a little hot mess

[vendettavalor]

@tacticalvalor said: That slight nod you give before their lips are pressing against yours -> ghost and mari

⚔️ Those Seconds Before The Kiss Prompts // CLOSED ⚔️

There's a sweetness to the moment. A secret understanding that only they share. It's without words or explanation - the story behind the small gap between them is much too long and much too painful to think too deeply on, much less talk about. So they don't. He answered what she needed him to anyway.

She asked his name and he told her, and her whispered voice made his knees weak. She asked about the mask, and he said he wasn't willing to talk about it. So she didn't press. She asked if someone had hurt him and he answered. So she didn't ask for details. She asked him to come closer, and he did. She asked him to lean down, and he did. She asked if she could touch him, and he said yes. So she did. She ghosted her fingers over the cheeks of his mask. Her gentle fingers bled warmth though the fabric and heated his cheeks until they blushed with such fervor. His breath hitched and trembled, a familiar anxiety creeping in his chest as she touched him. Contact always made him nervous. Even with her, that deep-rooted reflex to push her away, to fight back against the contact, no matter how much he wanted to accept it. It took all of his willpower not to go on the defensive and immediately shove her away.

When it finally waned, he felt himself relax just the smallest fraction. Increment by increment, his shoulders slumped. Coiled muscles unwound and slumped, his frame sagging just the smallest bit as he leaned into her. So warm. Her hands were so warm. The scent of the sea and sweet blooms clung to her and melted his senses. Her touch was so gentle and so kind, it made his eyes burn. Then she whispered and he felt his heart melt too.

"Simon... can I kiss you?"

He looked at her for a moment, the prospect of jumping right into a kiss making that creeping anxiety flare up again. He was scared but... God he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her so badly. He'd been in love with her for so long, and now she was here. So close. She was touching him and she was so close and she looked so beautiful. He couldn't help the nod he gave and the way he reached up to roll up the bottom portion of his mask until it was just past his lips. He felt almost giddy, shushing her as she mumbled that they could go slower if he needed it. But he insisted that he could handle a kiss from her.

When his hands fell, hers returned to his cheeks. Still slow. Still ginger. A little hesitant, but so was he. For a moment, they lingered there. Just a few inches apart, separated only by hesitation.

Then, they meet each other halfway. They let their hearts melt together as their lips meet. It's gentle and cautious; a silent question being asked. But soon it is warm and kind. Two lovers getting to know each other for the first time and getting swept up in their quiet excitement.

There's a sweetness to the moment. A secret understanding that only they share. It's without words or explanation. But they don't need to say anything. Not when they've come this close.

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 08: That Tickles!

Canon-compliant (queerplatonic/romantic)

CWs: Tickling?

Alastor and his shadow are one and the same, or so the Radio Demon claims. Angel Dust wants to see how true that is.

Word count: 1005

•••

Alastor’s shadow was widely known, throughout the Pride Ring, to be something of a creepy fuck. Frequently seen alongside its master, the shadow most always wore a grin even more sinister than Alastor’s own and had a level of independence that meant it could wander on its own. It was both a means of surveillance and a threat that the Radio Demon might be anywhere at any given moment, and while it wasn’t exactly typical to see it around Pentagram City, the people who lived there knew its shape and, more immediately, knew to be wary of it.

When Angel Dust and Alastor had first begun growing closer as friends than as simple casual acquaintances who saw each other around the hotel sometimes, Angel had asked about his shadow. Alastor hadn’t been shy at all, telling him that they were technically one entity, if capable of occupying two completely different spaces at a time. “I may not always be directing its actions, but it obeys me. I can see through its eyes; I can hear through its ears; I can summon it to my side at any moment, and if I choose, I can move through it like any other shadow.”

For the first several months, Angel thought of the shadow as a threatening omen that warned the Radio Demon might be watching him. Soon after that conversation, however, Angel started noticing certain oddities where the shadow was concerned. It, like Alastor, was infinitely curious about the world and seemed to get inordinately excited if it was addressed in a positive manner. Once Angel started greeting it in passing like he would any other member of the hotel, it went from confused to intrigued to simply following him around if it didn’t have anything more important to be doing.

Alastor was the one who made the mistake of mentioning this new development to Angel one evening. It got Angel thinking: if Alastor and his shadow were connected through sight and hearing, what other senses might they share?

Pretty early on in his befriending of Alastor’s shadow, Angel had discovered that he could touch it, kind of; it seemed to exist in a space where all shadows were tangible things, and if Angel’s own shadow made contact with it, it was as though it could feel his touch through that.

In Angel’s defense, he hadn’t thought it would actually be that bad when he finally decided to conduct his experiment. (He later stated, when pressed, that it was Alastor’s fault for never giving him an opportunity earlier.) he had a very specific plan in mind, and that plan required Alastor’s shadow to be somewhere it rarely was: namely, attached to Alastor himself. His first opportunity just happened to come in the hotel lobby, while Alastor was going over business matters with Charlie. Angel didn’t have any interest in their conversation—the details of the day-to-day business of a struggling redemption hotel was far from engaging to him—but that wasn’t why he stayed in the lobby. No, he stayed because Alastor’s shadow was cast up on the wall, looking bored, the blackness at its base running across the floor and attaching to Alastor’s feet.

“Could we reschedule for Monday?” Charlie was asking as Angel waved to the shadow. It perked up, smile spreading and curling at the corner, and raised its own hand to wiggle long, spindly fingers at him.

“No, my dear, you already have quite the full schedule for Monday,” Alastor answered. Angel moved closer and raised his hand, crooking his finger a couple of times to beckon the shadow closer.

“I do?” Charlie asked, put out. “Okay, what about— oh, no, it has to be before Tuesday…” The shadow looked towards Alastor, seemed to determine it wasn’t needed, and swooped along the wall to hover near where Angel stood.

“Friday will be your best opportunity,” Alastor said. Angel raised his hand and watched as his own shadow did the same, fingers extending to trail over the shadow’s pointed ear, making its grin widen and its entire body shiver. “But if you’re that reluctant, I could BE—!!!!” Alastor’s voice pitched up into a squeal, and Angel snapped his head around just in time to see the Radio Demon suddenly slam both of his hands down over his ears, his eyes wide and his grin strained as he looked around sharply.

Charlie’s own eyes were wide, her hair poofed out a bit like a startled cat. “What the fuck, Alastor?!”

Alastor didn’t answer. His eyes briefly landed on Angel, but they were twenty feet apart, so he appeared to decide the spider was innocent and kept looking around. “Did you see something… touch me?” he asked, his voice deeply layered with radio static and suspicion.

“…no…?” Charlie’s expression morphed to one of concern as Angel reached out again, fingers extending for the shadow’s side this time. “Alastor, are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, of course, I’m FINE FUCK!!” It was hard to tell if the words were a giggle or a shriek, or perhaps both, as Alastor bent to protect his side from an unseen enemy. He spun around, his microphone staff appearing in his hand as he did so.

Angel bit down on his lip so he didn’t start laughing himself. It was only a matter of time before he was caught out, so… he reached out once more, this time going for a full-on, four-handed tickle of Alastor’s shadow. It looked like it was laughing, flailing and distorting but not making any effort to get away.

Almost immediately, Alastor started cackling, the sound definitely unhinged; Angel knew he had been caught out when Alastor’s shadow was suddenly gone, like it had been sucked away. Angel looked at Alastor as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes wide and his sclera black. “Angel…” he hissed warningly.

“Uh-oh.” Angel turned and started running, shrieking as he heard the sounds of Alastor chasing him down.

“Don’t get blood on the carpet, please!” was all Charlie yelled after them.

•••

[samwisethewitch]

Homemaking, gardening, and self-sufficiency resources that won't radicalize you into a hate group

It seems like self-sufficiency and homemaking skills are blowing up right now. With the COVID-19 pandemic and the current economic crisis, a lot of folks, especially young people, are looking to develop skills that will help them be a little bit less dependent on our consumerist economy. And I think that's generally a good thing. I think more of us should know how to cook a meal from scratch, grow our own vegetables, and mend our own clothes. Those are good skills to have.

Unfortunately, these "self-sufficiency" skills are often used as a recruiting tactic by white supremacists, TERFs, and other hate groups. They become a way to reconnect to or relive the "good old days," a romanticized (false) past before modern society and civil rights. And for a lot of people, these skills are inseparably connected to their politics and may even be used as a tool to indoctrinate new people.

In the spirit of building safe communities, here's a complete list of the safe resources I've found for learning homemaking, gardening, and related skills. Safe for me means queer- and trans-friendly, inclusive of different races and cultures, does not contain Christian preaching, and does not contain white supremacist or TERF dog whistles.

Homemaking/Housekeeping/Caring for your home:

Making It by Kelly Coyne and Erik Knutzen [book] (The big crunchy household DIY book; includes every level of self-sufficiency from making your own toothpaste and laundry soap to setting up raised beds to butchering a chicken. Authors are explicitly left-leaning.)

Safe and Sound: A Renter-Friendly Guide to Home Repair by Mercury Stardust [book] (A guide to simple home repair tasks, written with rentals in mind; very compassionate and accessible language.)

How To Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis [book] (The book about cleaning and housework for people who get overwhelmed by cleaning and housework, based on the premise that messiness is not a moral failing; disability and neurodivergence friendly; genuinely changed how I approach cleaning tasks.)

Gardening

Rebel Gardening by Alessandro Vitale [book] (Really great introduction to urban gardening; explicitly discusses renter-friendly garden designs in small spaces; lots of DIY solutions using recycled materials; note that the author lives in England, so check if plants are invasive in your area before putting them in the ground.)

Country/Rural Living:

Woodsqueer by Gretchen Legler [book] (Memoir of a lesbian who lives and works on a rural farm in Maine with her wife; does a good job of showing what it's like to be queer in a rural space; CW for mentions of domestic violence, infidelity/cheating, and internalized homophobia)

"Debunking the Off-Grid Fantasy" by Maggie Mae Fish [video essay] (Deconstructs the off-grid lifestyle and the myth of self-reliance)

Sewing/Mending:

Annika Victoria [YouTube channel] (No longer active, but their videos are still a great resource for anyone learning to sew; check out the beginner project playlist to start. This is where I learned a lot of what I know about sewing.)

Make, Sew, and Mend by Bernadette Banner [book] (A very thorough written introduction to hand-sewing, written by a clothing historian; lots of fun garment history facts; explicitly inclusive of BIPOC, queer, and trans sewists.)

Sustainability/Land Stewardship

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer [book] (Most of you have probably already read this one or had it recommended to you, but it really is that good; excellent example of how traditional animist beliefs -- in this case, indigenous American beliefs -- can exist in healthy symbiosis with science; more philosophy than how-to, but a great foundational resource.)

Wild Witchcraft by Rebecca Beyer [book] (This one is for my fellow witches; one of my favorite witchcraft books, and an excellent example of a place-based practice deeply rooted in the land.)

Avoiding the "Crunchy to Alt Right Pipeline"

Note: the "crunchy to alt-right pipeline" is a term used to describe how white supremacists and other far right groups use "crunchy" spaces (i.e., spaces dedicated to farming, homemaking, alternative medicine, simple living/slow living, etc.) to recruit and indoctrinate people into their movements. Knowing how this recruitment works can help you recognize it when you do encounter it and avoid being influenced by it.

"The Crunchy-to-Alt-Right Pipeline" by Kathleen Belew [magazine article] (Good, short introduction to this issue and its history.)

Sisters in Hate by Seyward Darby (I feel like I need to give a content warning: this book contains explicit descriptions of racism, white supremacy, and Neo Nazis, and it's a very difficult read, but it really is a great, in-depth breakdown of the role women play in the alt-right; also explicitly addresses the crunchy to alt-right pipeline.)

These are just the resources I've personally found helpful, so if anyone else has any they want to add, please, please do!

[myths-of-fantasy]

Again y'all - here me out

First Snip

| | | |

Riot lifted her head coolly, keeping her chin just out of reach of the hands gripping furiously at her upper arms and clawing at her wrists. If there was one benefit to having four arms, it was that those with only two tended to struggle against a superior grip. She watched the fury burning in Ms. Power’s eyes steadily growing fainter by the second as salty ocean water flooded her lungs, bubbles streaming from her nose as she struggled. Frankly, Riot was impressed by the tenacity the woman was showing, determined to the very end to kill another member of her species. How typical of a kaladorian.

Finally,ally her struggles grew weaker, her super strength seeming to fade into the normal powers she would possess on any other planet. Riot’s lips curved into a dangerous smile, happily showing her fangs to the rapidly fading woman. She wants this bitch’s last memory to be of her fucking smiling while her vision grew darker and darker.

The winged woman made sure to keep her underwater for another minute after her struggles back, trying to ensure the drowning was as thorough as possible. Her skin may have been unblemished, the flesh unable to be torn because of the enhancements earth gave the waste of space, but her lungs were as vulnerable as any other gas breathing species in the galaxy.

Serves her right for laying a fucking finger on Namielle.

She gave the corpse one last, fierce and sharp little shake to startle her awake if she was faking. Satisfied that she was dead, she left the body floating for a brief moment in time to pop back onto the shore to retrieve a pair of large, fairly heavy rocks and thick-braided ropes. She made quick work of wrapping it around Ms. Power’s body, releasing it in the center of the ocean. She watched it slowly begin sinking to the bottom of the ocean where it would rot and decay and, crucially, Becky wouldn’t find out until she was grown up enough to understand the situation. Riot cocked her head as it finally vanished from sight.

“Hmph,” she grunted, and promptly buzzed up higher into the air. She kind of wished that she had the same strange, levitation style flight that Wordgirl and Ms. Power did – her wings were so loud when she moved. Especially so when she was moving quickly – she was just lucky that Hairiel sending her off on various missions over the years had primed Becky to hear her buzzing around the edges of the city, which kept her from investigating.

Riot touched down lightly on the sand, her antennae waving around in the air, picking up even the faintest scents in the area. She kind of wants to do a study of the effects that the strange radiation from earth has on various aliens – kaladorians seemed to gain immense super strength, flight and breath abilities but lexiconians got that, laser eyes and super hearing. Then there was Riot – her natural flight had been boosted and though she hadn’t gotten any breath powers or eye lasers (how come Becky got all of the coolest stuff?) but her second stomach usually reserved for honey had begun producing other honey with… interesting qualities. One was essentially a form of acid, another was mostly just glue.

Another feature had been her sense of smell.

Hearing had never been very important to her people – the sensitivity of their wings often alerted them to those approaching them, the force of their steps vibrating them while allowing the scales of their wings to tremble in time to their movement and their antennae typically picked up on any of the scents released by a potential predator. Between the two, hearing just wasn’t the greatest necessity for them – and she figures that’s why the planet chose to enhance her sense of smell.

She was thankful.

Because when Cuddlesworth sprung from his hiding place, shrieking and screeching in – what she was willing to admit was justified anger for her cold eyed murder of its caretaker – she was able to grab it by the throat with her upper arms, watching it with a slightly tilted head.

“Loyalty is an admirable trait,” she told the creature, watching it steadily become alarmed. A pang of sadness resonated throughout her chest, a soft sigh leaving her chest at the creature’s angry beady eyes. This creature was the same species as Hairiel. This was another hakuchan. One totally and completely brainwashed, fully dependent on the same species that drove theirs to functional extinction. She lifted a palm from her lower set of arms, stroking his face gently. “I hope you’re rewarded endlessly for it wherever it is you go when your kind moves on.”

Then she walked it to the shore and repeated the process.

Maybe Power has an execution-blaster in her ship, Riot mused to herself thoughtfully. She almost hoped so – it wouldn’t bode well if she did, given what it would mean for a kaladorian with executioner’s equipment to be on earth, but it would help them out in situations like this. If there was a proper-advanced blaster, she could give it to Hairiel to reverse-engineer and perhaps modify to work regardless of any superhuman resistance the field around the earth granted them. It would make her feel better about executing hakuchanians, whose only true crime was that they’d fallen for the lies and revisionist history fed to them in the carcass of their ruined planet.

At the very least, their lung capacity was nothing compared to a kaladorian’s. Riot had held Power beneath the salty shores for what felt like an eon before she finally weakened and was counting passing clouds waiting for her to finally succumb to drowning. And Gigglecheeks’ arms weren’t long enough to get in her way, no matter how much he clawed.

When the life finally left the creature, she dug up a shallow grave and dumped the corpse inside. As much as Power deserved to die alone, Riot would at least begrudgingly respect the concept that Gigglecheeks would probably like to be dumped into the same part of the sea as she was. So the rhalochyrril would – reluctantly – toss him out to be with her later, once he’d rifled through the ship.

Stepping away from the buried creature, she made her way back towards the ship – the true reason Hairiel had sent her out to search through it for signs. Signs that Power wasn’t the only kaladorian in the area, signs that she and her colleagues had been watching the earth for a while – signs that there was trouble brewing. She did her best to ignore most of the junk scattered throughout the ship, various bits and bobs from her conquests pinned to the walls and displayed proudly upon the shelves in a vile mockery of the various species whose worlds they destroyed.

“Bastards,” she snarled, scowling as she ran her palm across a silken-cocoon. The suffering that poor nymph must’ve gone through, boiled alive in their own chrysalises because some self-centered jackasses wanted their cocoon and refused to just use the cocoons of already pupated nymphs. Still, might as well not waste it – as an imago herself, Riot could no longer spin silk, and she’d been wanting to give Nami- Becky, something nice for her up-coming fifteenth birthday.

She tucked the bundle of unused fabric beneath her lower left arm, as she crouched below the mainframe. Kaladorians prided themselves on advanced technology, but experimental ships like the one Power was apparently piloting were often sloppily put together, meant to be private models used to design even better ones. So it was nymph’s play to remove the bottom panel and simply rip out the cords associated with the ship’s broadcasting system, preventing it from sharing its location. She fiddled around in the wire mess for a bit longer, checking for anything suspicious - black boxes weren't common on test ships like this one, but they weren't rare either.

“Nothing,” she murmured to herself, sitting up. No blaster, no black box, not even a miscellaneous inventory tracking chip from what she could tell. It was like Power had fished the machine out of a dumpster somewhere far on the ends of the galaxy. She used her secondary arms to push herself back into standing, “Power must not have been as high ranking as we thought…”

If anything, the picture the rhalochyrril was beginning to get was that Power was an exile. The small test ship, no back up swooping in when Wordgirl fought back, no frantic message from Hairiel that he'd found other marks - it seemed Power was alone. And her irritating desperation for awe and worship were the hallmarks of an exiled kaladorian. The idea should've soothed her, but instead it made her worry - the presence of exiles tended to draw the attention of full status kaladorians looking to swoop in and steal what little glory could be obtained by those removed from the hierarchy. Sometimes they even placed inconspicuous looking bugs within the ships so they could track them across the galaxy.

“Fuck,” Riot said, running her fingers between her antennae. Ship mechanics were far above her know-how. She only knew the basics of repairs, like any regular spacer would, but tiny, unnoticeable tracking chips? She barely knew what was standard on a kaladorian ship given she spent most of her life around lexiconians.

Which meant she had to turn to the expert.

It was time to bring Hairiel into it.

[stardusted-hearts]

Anonymous asked: Never have I ever nearly drowned, Stardust and Shadow ---

Never Have I Ever - No longer accepting for Stardust [he's WASTED]

"..." They're lucky that Sonic is already drunk. But he's suddenly oddly quiet. He takes his sixth shot silently.

"Let's lay off the death related ones, shall we?" Shadow does not take a shot.

[yanderenightmare]

ooooh what kinda mythic creatures are the jjk boys?

Gojo, Sukuna, Toji

TW: implied noncon, yandere, the supernatural?

gn reader

Gojo Satoru Hybrid between angel and human

His hair is pearlescent and so are his wings—soft feathers, sharper than blades when he wants them to be. His halo can only be spotted when the sun shines extra bright—like a ring of stardust slowly orbiting his crown.

He doesn’t know his parents, nor which one of them was the angel. But it’s not something he cares much about. People call him Icarus, and he tries to live up to it the way he drowns himself in another’s embrace every new night—never the same one.

Never the same one until you. Another hybrid. No part of Angel, though…

He falls in love with it—all of it—the points of your teeth, the tiny horns that protrude from your hairline, the slim tail adorned with that pretty arrowhead, and the equally sharp look in your eyes as you glare at him with disgust.

He wants to know more. Do have markings in unseen places? How far does your tongue stretch, and is it split down the middle like with a snake? Is it venomous? Is it sweet? Does your skin burn to the touch like the sun does when he flies too close? Or will it be warm and soft and pliable?

He and his angel eyes freak you out. You advise him to leave you alone, the point of your tail threatening to slice his throat open. You’ve been shunned enough by humans—you don’t need to add a snooty angel boy to the fray. 

But then he calls you beautiful. And no one’s called you beautiful before.

Ryomen Sukuna Hellhound

The few times humans have dared try to tame him have all been devasting days of fire and death. Silly humans, thinking they can make him do his bidding like another mutt on a leash—he’ll make them all burn.

But then there’s you. You’re not like the other humans. You don’t come to him with any intention of collaring him. Instead, you have your hands folded together in prayer—sweet scripture leaves your lips, soothing his singed skin until it stops burning.

You wear holy robes and a kind smile on your face, you don’t avert your eyes even as he glares at you with the embers in his own, even as he growls and bares teeth. You don’t ignore him when he speaks, either, even when his tongue comes out split through the middle and all his words reek of smoke. You bathe him in holy water and rinse the soot out of his fur—telling him he’s a good boy.

He feels no desire to bite your hand as you pet his head and stroke his ears—he just ends up wagging his tail. But then again… he is still a hellhound. And you should know better than to feed monsters in the dark…

He leaves his room in the chapel and sniffs yours out—nothing, not even so much as a seal on your door to keep him out. You have too much faith. Your door creaks open, but you remain peacefully asleep—all soft snores as he mounts you with drool dripping down his canines…

Fushiguro Toji Hunter

Rumor has it that something far worse than ogres and trolls travel the forest. Beware of the hunter—all you little nymphs, fauns, and fairies. Some say he’ll stuff you in a bag and sell you, while others argue it’s his appetite that makes him hunt—some even mean it’s just for sport, that he’ll kill and stuff you and mount your head on the wall.

You, a poor forest nymph, are unfortunate enough to get yourself caught in one of his nets. You’re a crying little mess by the time he comes around—begging him not to sell or eat or skin or harvest your wings, barely breathing between the words.

He chuckles and promises you he won’t do any of that stuff, but the smile on his face is enough to convince you he’s possessed by some sort of demon. And as he hauls you up on his shoulder and starts carrying you further into those places you’ve never dared venture, into the thicker parts of the forest where the trees all seem riddled with some type of disease—you can’t help but believe all those rumors you’d heard.

He tells you that his snares and nets are meant for rodents and that he didn’t think fae-folk were dumb enough to get themselves caught by them as he starts cutting into the net to free you—only, he doesn’t stop at the net—but goes for your slik garb next. Whistling as he bares your pretty skin while pinning your small wrists above you in one meaty hand.

His grin is sharper than his knife when he advises you not to struggle, saying he would feel awful if he were to accidentally cut you.

♡ Nanami, Fushiguro, Naoya ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[kyrios-i]

Dreams

They say our dreams will take us far [Eyes fixed on the ground] So I tread carefully To not suffocate or drown

Our dreams will carry us far, they say [Eyes fixed on the

g r o u n d] So I am not another dove shot To crash and burn

Up! Up! I say my dreams are made of stardust and silk [EYES FIXED ON THE BEYOND] A never-ending light Guiding those on the never-ending road Surrounded by bright flashes and dull sparks Of things that never will or be

I walk.

created on 03/18/2023

last edit on 11/27/2023 @ 12:47AM

Inspired by "Eyes Fixed on the Ground" by EDEN

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: SHOKO feat. The BOYS (PART II)

A/N: This is so…I am so…CLEARLY I was in a mood when I wrote this 😅 there is 100% going to be a third and final part. Please use the visual below to envision the…biomechanics of positioning and such, height differences and all.

C/W: ….the trio is their own content warning LOL, Mature 18+

Shoko is drowning.

She is suffocating.

And it’s your little hand that’s holding the back of her head under water.

…rather, she wishes your little hand would just grip the back of her head already and drown her face in your—

“Do you like the pink or the black dress better?”

Your eyes are wide and gorgeous. Finding Shoko’s in the floor length mirror, expecting an answer. An opinion.

But the problem is, Shoko has only one opinion.

And it’s that you’re fucking hot.

And beautiful. And pretty. And perfect.

And her jaw is so sore from how much she clenches it to keep herself from begging to eat your pussy like a woman starved.

Because she IS starved.

“Baby?”

Your girly giggle knocks Shoko back to Earth, just long enough for you to rip her breath away.

You glide over to the bed, where Shoko is seated. Thighs mashed together. As if it’ll keep her from leaking all coherent thought onto her panties.

“Y-you look pretty in…” Shoko’s voice is high and weak, before it shatters to stardust.

Seductive little grin tugs on your lips before you flick your tongue over Shoko’s bottom lip. She’s immediately cross-eyed.

Panting, with mouth parted.

Shoko’s heart is rattling in the back of her throat, how it always does before you kiss her.

Then you kiss her.

Your tongue dances with hers. Feather light pulls along the roof of her mouth. Shoko whines. She always whines when you makeout with her. Her entire body is loose and limp. The only stiff thing about her is her hot, sticky bud. Begging to be touched and rubbed while you fuck her mouth like this.

And she would touch herself while you did this to her, if she could. But she never can.

Because you’re a succubus.

You taste and suck and roll Shoko’s soul over your tongue like a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

And right when you have her pathetic. Whimpering “oh god” and “please” into your mouth, you pull away. Planting one last chaste kiss on her lips or cheek before going about the conversation or task.

Leaving Shoko paralyzed.

“Pink it is!” You glide into Shoko’s bathroom, the boys will be over in a few.

“P-pink is perfect.” Words bubble out of Shoko’s lips a day late and dollar short.

But who cares? She can’t think right now.

Like clockwork, Shoko’s two fingers snake between her drenched panties and her leaky cunt.

She just…she just needs to take the edge off.

Because you’ve been doing this to her.

Kissing her until she’s soaking wet every day. Since that night. It’s a sick little routine you two have and it’s driving Shoko insane.

You’re always sighing into her mouth and calling her baby and holding her face in a way that makes her cunt twitch. And clench. And pulsate around nothing.

The second you leave the room or turn away. Shoko’s fingers fly to her core. Petting herself slack jawed and dumb.

Because even small touches keep her grounded.

And she’s NOT going to ruin this by trying to talk about it. And muddle your obvious chemistry with labels and feelings.

A sliver of you is enough.

Even though she is pining for the moment you fuck her mouth with something else.

“Girls?” Satoru’s voice thunders in your foyer.

For once you’re grateful for his utter lack of boundaries. He jingles keys for dramatic effect.

“Car’s here! The tequila isn’t going to drink itself.”

—

It’s going to take act of God to stop Suguru from cumming in his pants.

All night.

He has been physically restraining the steel fucking pipe between his legs all night.

And maybe he would survive if it was just the way you winded your hips on him the last 5 songs.

Maybe he would be okay if it was just the way you grazed your lips over his ear whenever you whispered something to him.

It was definitely the way you batted your eyelashes up at him. Holding eye contact while taking the kamikaze shots.

That are white and opaque, like his cum.

And being the sick, perverted shell of a human that he is. He pictured you swallowing his arousal. The same way you throated that shot.

Not to mention the “You have to hold eye contact with me, Suguru. Or seven years of bad sex.”

Sex?

Sex?

You are sex.

The way you’re lapping him in the taxi home is sex.

With your dress splayed across him. Heat radiating from your precious little cunt held back only by gossamer thin lace.

Suguru can feel every tiny bump in the road. Because your pussy grinds and bounces and rubs the length of his shaft.

And he’s shameless.

Every time you lean forward to talk to Shoko, Suguru’s hand traces down your spine. His mind’s eye can only picture steadying the small of your waist while he fucks into you until you forget your name.

His cock is raging against his thigh.

He and Satoru have been exchanging dubious glances all night.

Especially when you pulled them both to the dance floor. You were a lock-and-key fit between them.

Like you were made to take them both.

“God.”

Suguru accidentally mumbles out loud. And he’s thanking/cursing out the gods as soon as he does

Because when you turn to look back at him, your hips grind in a small circle on his cock. And the friction nearly short circuits his brain.

“You okay? Am I too heavy?” Cotton candy on your voice and Suguru needs you to melt on his tongue.

Suguru purposefully bucks his hips upward - causing you to bounce fully off his lap. And he would impale you on the landing if he could.

He could suspend you with one hand. And rail the daylight out of you while standing up.

“You’re a featherweight, princess.” It’s a miracle he’s able to keep his tone steady.

“Oh, he speaks?” Shoko teases.

“Only because the love of his—“ Both you and Suguru land friendly fire onto Satoru’s chest.

Effectively cutting him off.

Satoru settles back into his seat. Riding his eyes along every soft curve and dip in your body.

Everyone.

And he means everyone (driver included) in this car except for you is fucking struggling. Keeping it together by a string of floss.

And he didn’t need his Six Eyes to see that.

Shoko hasn’t stopped panting since the night started. Every time you lean into her ear to giggle about god knows what, she moans.

It’s soft. Below the decibels of normal human perception.

But Satoru can perceive it.

The driver has had his left hand buried in his crotch the whole time. Goddamn revolting.

But Satoru gets it.

And Suguru.

Poor, tortured Suguru.

Satoru has never seen his best friend this blue balled in his entire life.

He has seen Suguru take swords to the chest. Satoru has seen him swallow shit curses as big as the Burj Khalifa. He’s seen Suguru suffer. 


And yet, he has never suffered like this.

There’s a light sheen of sweat draped on his forehead. His jaw is so tightly clenched his molars could vaporize into thin air. His hand drunkenly runs up and down your back when you bend over and dangle your fucking prize in Suguru’s face.

In Satoru’s face.

You are a tease.

And Satoru has every intention of getting you back for this.

There will be hell to pay for how irresistible you are. It’s maddening.

You could ask for the world and Satoru would bring you the Milky Way. You pout your lips and bat your eyelashes and somehow, somehow the batteries in Satoru’s brain die.

Every. Fucking. Time.

The whole car comes to a proverbial halt. Because you lean over to Shoko once more. Your dress bunched a little too high around your hips. Plump, perky ass cheeks in near full view in Suguru’s lap.

“Baby?” A snowflake hitting the ground in that car might as well be a raging hurricane. With how silent it is.

Satoru swallows the sharpest, driest rocks known to man.

Suguru rolls his bottom lip under his teeth. He’ll draw blood in a minute.

“Y-yes?” Shoko answers your call.

Starless skies fill the car but Satoru can see Shoko’s high crimson blush from the backseat.

Baby? Holy shit, Ieiri.

“Kiss me,” Melody on your lips is strong enough to sink a Navy fleet.

What Satoru sees next will be burned into his psyche for the rest of his life.

His overgrown cock throbs against his thigh. Beating more aggressively with each passing second.

He can’t remember when he pulled his glasses off. To watch your tongue wire into Shoko’s accepting, desperate mouth. You thread both of your hands into her hair while your mouth molests hers.

All in plain view of Satoru and Suguru.

And Shoko has no idea what to do with herself. Satoru can’t blame her. She’s full of high pitched moans and pants, drunk off of your love elixir.

God. Fucking. Damn.

“Oh, oh it’s that kind of night?”

Satoru is fully aware of the slur to his words. And the flecks of blood now currently under his finger nails from digging into his palms the way he is.

And you laugh in the way wind chimes sing in the breeze. How Satoru imagines the angels in heaven strum harps. Your voice is so…disarming.

“What, you jealous pretty boy?”

You flash him a smile that Satoru is sure doubles as the cure for any and all communicable diseases. A smile that could get answers out of the CIA or KGB.

“Maybe. A little bit.” Satoru is all rasp. His hand palms his length on its own accord.

He has no control here.

Your eyes flicker down to Satoru’s mouth for a millisecond. And in a flash his lips are on yours.

He grips a handful of hair like it’s his life-force. Your kiss is sweet. And dizzying. And toxic. Nothing like this can be pure, it can’t be good. Satoru is convinced his heart will stop beating after taking a bite out the apple in your Garden of Eden.

But he could die on your lips. Right here. Right now.

“Oh Satoru…” you purr into his mouth and he shamelessly squeezes his cock.

You are unfair.

'I’m jealous too, pretty girl.” Suguru’s voice slices through the thick lusty silence.

You say nothing before you pull off of Satoru’s wanting lips and take in Suguru.

Satoru and Shoko watch you nestle deeper into Suguru’s lap.

His hands drift from your waist, to your hips, around to your ass. The way your flesh dimples when he squeezes sends electric currents through Satoru’s cock.

He watches you deepen your kiss with Suguru, who is so clearly tantalized. So clearly about to split you in half.

His fingers twitch along his zipper for a second.

Then time stops.

And so does the taxi.

You take a second to pull away from Suguru’s lips but Satoru doesn’t miss how puffy and flushed your mouth is.

Your eyes dart between the three of them. Then out the window.

“Oh! We’re home!”

FINALE