angel from above!

Dreams Come True

Very first living Toon,

my little devil darlin’,

the dancing demon,

beast of many names.

Doesn’t matter which you call

when summoning him.

Made of dripping ink,

ready for a show.

Bendy’s good old days.


Boris and his sheep,

plays his clarinet for you.

A soft lullaby,

that brings a smile 

to all the children’s faces.

No more “big, bad wolf”.


The crowd cheers her name.

Shiny halo, pointed horns,

spreading her white wings,

Alice takes the stage.

Sings her angel song for them,

fallen from above.

…gained legit 75 more followers and still can’t get any requests -_-;;

Oh well, here’s another poem. Bendy and the Ink Machine this time, in case you couldn’t tell. I’ll just keep going until I run out of ideas.

season 9☕️☕️☕️

hold onto your padded asses, babies bc im about to spill some serious oolong

- alexis has another misstep and blames rupaul, argues w his hologram for five (5) minutes
- farrah is still there bc she’s actually the child of a family friend that ru owes a favor
- production hides nina’s construction paper, breast plate, and hip pads from her for one runway, she cries
- peppermint reveals to the girls that she is a literal angel sent from heaven above (no one is surprised but they thank her for gracing them w her presence)
- michelle visage tells sasha she doesn’t ~understand~ her drag, sasha dumbs it down for michelle visage which lands her in the bottom 2 WITH michelle visage
- in an upcoming episode, the show is completely rebranded as “shea’s drag race”
- trinity avenges her performance in ep 4 by turning untucked into her own recap talk show called “untucked with the tuck”, it is later nominated for an emmy
- a random teen crashes production and tries to fist fight everyone while singing “asi fue”, made zero sense to everyone in the moment, but the person has since been identified as a time-traveling valentina stan

they’re running through the institute, laughter on their tongues and grins on their faces as they sprint down the corridors, hands intertwined. they make a game of it; trying to find the best spot in the institute to be alone, and whenever they see anyone walking towards them or if anyone sees them, they turn and run the other way. as there are a lot of people in the institute, they are running for a very long time, but the youthfulness of it, the thrill of getting caught, is intoxicating. sometimes one is leading the other, other times they are running side by side, but their hands are clasped the entire time. sometimes they stop for a few seconds, exchanging quick kisses that are more smiles and laughter than actual pecks.

it’s uncoordinated and reckless, limbs going haywire as they stumble along, occasionally one of them bumping against the wall, causing the other to be pulled in and encircle them in some sort of embrace, enveloping them against the flat surface. but this only makes the moment more breathtaking, more like an adventure, something as fresh and warm and lovely as a meadow, and magnus bane’s laughter is as scrumptious as strawberries, like the wind whipping through your hair as you look out at the ocean, like the smell of dew in the morning and the feel of the cool grass in between your toes. the back of his head is against the wall and he’s laughing, a hand over his mouth and one hand on alec’s chest to steady himself, the color of his nails contrasting beautifully with the deep sea blue of alec’s shirt. alec’s hands are on magnus’ arms to steady him and the other man and he’s smiling breathlessly, like someone caught him by surprise, like he was walking outside on a hot day, praying for rain, and suddenly he was in the middle of a thunderstorm. his hair is ruffled and his face devoid of any cares. His eyes seem to twinkle, flicker lovingly with promises and pure happiness and he’s laughing too, a deep chuckle that feels unfamiliar in his mouth but so right as he stares at magnus’ face. magnus leans in and kisses alec soundly, his lips like the missing piece of a puzzle, the beginning and the end of a journey, that one note in every song that sends shivers down your spine and makes your heart sing and it’s so simple, them standing in the corridor, alec’s hands trailing under magnus’ shirt to the bare skin of his waist, magnus cupping the back of alec’s neck and his face, but at the same time it’s not. it’s explosive, it’s like waves crashing against rocks, forming a symphony,  it’s like a supernova that flashes brilliant colors across the sky, it’s like like reaching for something, someone, and feeling a hand grab onto yours, signifying hope, love, a future.

their noses brush and magnus giggles when he feels alec’s eyelashes against his skin and it’s almost too good to be true, so perfect that it seems a choir of angels would descend from above any second and start singing sweet melodies and playing harps as the two men kissed, writing their own composition through their lips moving, their heads turning, their snickering, their clothing rustling, their joy, and their smiles.

“alec?!” alec pulls away suddenly, his lips red and swollen from kissing and a dazed look in his eyes and him and magnus both turn to see a horrified maryse, who has just turned the corner of the empty corridor.

“go, go, go!” alec chortles, taking magnus by the hand and running with him the other way, maryse’s positively ugly shrieks being drowned out by their tittering. magnus feels like a child again, looking at alec’s face as they seek out a new place, alive and in awe of the world, in awe of alec. and alec feels the same, thanking every power above for blessing him with magnus bane, this beautiful, kind, smart, powerful, lovely man who could make the rest of the world go away with a smile, a flirtatious comment, a touch of his hand on alec’s, a look of love and affection in his warm and gorgeous eyes.

and when alec almost trips when they round a corner and magnus bursts out laughing, hauling the other man up and asking him through his mirth if alec is alright, it feels like and truly is the epitome of true bliss.

the equation of love (pt. 1)

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9

→scenario: When you met Yoongi in a club, you thought it was fate that brought the two of you together. But after you walked into your college math class for the very first time, you weren’t so sure anymore.

→genre: smut | fluff | angst

→word count: 5,702

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Inherit the Stars

“Creativity has been banned for years.” He points out, “They won’t understand the message behind our art.”

You let out an airy laugh in disbelief, “Who’s ‘they?’”

“Anybody who isn’t us.”

Synopsis: It isn’t a natural feeling, it never will be; and you refuse to accept it — the fact that art and creativity has been frowned upon society for ages. To be an artist in a society where imaginative thought is banned is risky, but to invoke creative thinking among others is a death wish. Though despite all of this, you meet a man whose eyes you have opened to the true beauty of the world, one who defends you with white lies that only turn to black in the end.

Originally posted by jjks

Pairing: police!Jungkook x artist!Reader (dystopianSociety!AU)

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 19.1k

Includes: character death, smoking mentions, use of guns

A/N: :))) semi-suggestive stuff included

re-upload from my old writing blog!


Curiosity leads to creativity; and curious, you were. You had always been an eager child despite the education system and adult peers nagging every being about the “dangers” of art and imagination. You doodled your first picture at age six, picked up your first paint brush at seven, then fell in love with the world of art at age thirteen. Though, your talents were worth not even a penny in your society- the society where art and creativity was banned because the new leader felt as if it threatened the original set of laws.

It was during your fourth summer when society took a sharp turn, the transfer of power towards the next ruler was the most memorable yet devastating event to take place. The bright world filled with many gates of colorful opportunities that people once knew closed and faded to grey. Words of the people were no longer weapons used by the government, their power was and oh, how they abused it. With that, you learned something while growing up. By watching those around you- those you love- get battered by the enforcers of the strict set of new laws, you learned that the lesser people talk- the lesser they will hurt.

Those who challenge or has inventive thought by doing any form of art are killed, sent to jail, or booted from the city and sent beyond the walls; luckily for you, you live in the wide attic of your aunt’s passe diner, free to create anything and everything you want without much suspicion.

“Y/N!” Calls your aunt from the busy diner kitchen below, “Can you take care of the incoming customers? We’re starting to get packed.”

“Okay,” you attempt to reply, but it comes out incomprehensible due to a paintbrush resting between your teeth.

Your aunt exerts a grunt, already tired from the flood of customers, and throws her rag on the metal counter, “Y/N!”

You roll your eyes and spear your paintbrush in hand through the dirty water filling up the glass that holds all of the others. “Coming!”

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