#Starburst's fics

[cokoweee]

My cringe got the starburst duo 😔

When Mikey found himself unable sleep he was confused for lack of better word. Sleep had never been an issue for him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. So when the clock ticked from 3:15 to 3:16 he bravely committed to his first ever sleepless night and got up to go to the bathroom.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to somehow glue his eyes shut as he walked. If it worked he’d have to sleep in the hallway, but sleeping the hallway, although no doubt uncomfortable, seemed infinitely better than not sleeping at all.

It didn’t work.

So he trudged his way to the bathroom. Filling his hands with water he drank. Water dribbled down his neck as he absently rubbed at his tattoos.

Maybe something was wrong with them? The magic was too strong perhaps, or the spell had been miscast? Cali had just touched up the spell, it was possible he had made a mistake. He trusted Cali of course, but everyone made mistakes.

Panic creeped into his mind as he turned to go back to his room. He sat back down on his bed and tried to steady his breathing. There was no way he’d be able to sleep is he was freaking out. His mind raced as he imagined the sleepless night ahead of him. Great now he’s freaked himself out even more. He grabbed his phone and googled “how to fall asleep quick”.

Yoga breathing

Relax your muscles

Meditation

Read a book

Put away electronics before bed

Melatonin

The list went on and on as he scrolled. He’d already tried to breathe, his muscles were relaxed enough, he’d meditated earlier in the night and that hadn’t helped. He didn’t like to read all that much, he was literally on his phone meaning he’d failed there, and no one else in the family had trouble sleeping so they didn’t have any melatonin. So basically he was screwed.

Pressure built in his throat as he forced tears to stay down. Hiccuping softly he grabbed a pillow and pulled it close to his chest and burst into tears. There was nothing to cry about really, and he knew that, but he was so overwhelmed with the idea of not getting sleep that he couldn’t hold them back.

After a few minutes of pointless crying he wiped his eyes and sat back up. Sucking in a huge breath he grabbed his phone and marched out of his room.

~

At four in the morning Cali preferred to be sleeping thank you very much. So when he was awoken by a phone flashlight he was not happy. The culprit? A red eyed, sniffling turtle mumbling something about tattoos and mystics. Hissing softly he pulled the blanket over his head and flopped back down.

“Mari please just check my arms really quick.” Mikey whispered, his voice shaking as he sniffled again.

Cali sat up that time, albeit grudgingly. He wrapped the blanket like a shawl around his shoulders and held out his hand pointedly. Immediately the light turned off and Mikey’s hand were in his. He turned them around and poked at them, looking for anything amiss before dropping the turtles arm.

“I for one, do not see any thing wrong with them.” He grumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Ok. Good good.” Mikey breathed, rubbing his hand through his hair. “Then why am I awake?”

Cali stared at him unimpressed and flopped back down on his mattress. There was no way he was serious. A hand poked at his shoulder.

Apparently he was serious.

Rolling his eyes Cali sat back up again and leveled Mikey’s gaze with a half lidded stare. “ I don’t know. Maybe insomnia or something?” His words slurred slightly as he leaned back down to his pillow.

“Ok great. So I’m fine then?”

“Happens to everyone every once in a while. Annoying, but just a part of life I guess.” Cali was really not in the mood to deal with this, but for Mikey he would make an exception. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“I can’t see in the dark” Mikey countered quickly.

“You literally just had your phone a second ago!”

“It died”

Cali hesitated for a moment before reaching for Mikey’s hand. “ Just follow me.”

~

“Have you seriously never had a sleepless night?” Cali questioned as he filled an old beat up teapot.

Mikey shook his head. “I uh- usually sleep pretty well.” He laughed awkwardly. “Good to know nothings wrong though.”

Cali hummed in disapproval, “I’m having my dad check tomorrow to make sure everything is actually fine.”

“That’s- that’s probably a good idea,” he said nodding his head slowly.

The tea kettle screamed and Cali quickly poured the steaming water into a mug to steep the tea. Cali looked over to the other side of the counter where Mikey was sitting. He was staring off into the hallway, likely looking for one of his brothers. He looked so serene sitting there, almost like a painting.

It was such a simple scene. Two boys in the kitchen late at night. Keeping each other company in the middle of night. A comfortable silence as they sat together. It was perfect. Almost like they were a couple. Cali’s chest tightened as he focused on his task again. His fingers curled around the spoon and he stirred the blob of honey. He had to stop doing this. Mikey wouldn’t feel the same way. Taking a breath to compose himself, he set the spoon in the sink and handed the mug to Mikey.

“Thanks!” Mikey said brightly taking a long sip, “A dash of honey. Just the way I like it!” He smiled wide as he looked over at Cali.

Cali turned pink enough to match his markings and was silently thankful for the dim kitchen light. “Shut up and drink your tea so I can go back to bed.” He didn’t want to say anything right now. He didn’t trust his sleepy brain not to slip up and say something stupid.

They didn’t say anything after that. The tea drained from the mug as Mikey drank it. Cali quickly regretted his words as he watched Mikey. Words bubbled up in his chest. Confessions of love and affection. They were dammed up in his mouth, begging to break free. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

Mikey set the mug on the table and got up to head back to his own room. He paused when Cali didn’t get up with him and turned back to look at him.

“I’m coming. Just need a sec.” He mumbled, “ I’m so tired my limbs aren’t listening” he joked, pushing himself off the kitchen stool.

Mikey frowned and stood right in front of Cali. “Want me to carry you?” He asked head tiled in concern.

The thought of being carried to his room made his heart flutter. He leaned further into his sleepy act and mumbled something unintelligibly and let his head droop. Mikey was swift to grab him. Cali was placed bridal style in his arms and held close to Mikey’s chest.

He leaned his head against Mikey’s carapace and tried to keep his eyes open. The gentle sway of his walk and the steady thrum of the heartbeat of the boy he silently loved was lulling him to sleep. His eyelids were too heavy to keep open as they made his way to his bedroom. He had barely shut his eyes when he was placed back down.

He decided to keep his eyes shut as he felt his blanked be placed gently over him. He wanted so badly to ask him to stay. Their earlier embrace hadn’t been nearly long enough. There was a moment of hesitation before the turtle sank down beside Cali.

~

“I know you’re asleep. Thats why I’m saying this now.” He whispered barely audible, “ But I’m so so tired of acting like I’m just your friend. I want to hold you and love you and give you everything I have. You probably don’t feel the same way, but.” His voice got impossibly softer as he laid his head down next to Cali’s. “Who am I kidding. You don’t want to date a guy who’s cursed. I don’t know why I’m even saying this. You’re asleep. Probably for the better that you don’t hear this.”

It was killing him to be so close. His heart beat rapidly as he pulled the blanket to cover himself before sinking into the mattress, stiffer than a metal rod. Cali moved and he froze further. He would probably leave soon. He didn’t think he couldn’t handle being so close and yet so far. But Cali pressed his body against Mikey’s and sighed. He melted in the embrace and wrapped an arm over Cali’s sleeping form. Time seemed to slow as he touched his lips to Cali’s temple. Feather light, barely there.

Cali curled closer as Mikey felt the tea start to work through his system. His eyes dropped and he smiled softly against Cali’s spikes. Sleep finally made her way to Mikey as he laid in blissful silence. Maybe sleepless nights weren’t so bad when you had someone to share them with.

This little guy has been sitting unfinished in my notes forever so I figured it was time to finish him up and send him over because I can’t get it to work right. (I gave up.) Welp, enough of my complaining. I’m gonna go back to my cave. Until next time

YOU SHOW UP JUST TO GET MY HEAD FILLED WITH DOODLE IDEAS WHEN I CANT DRAW

[stars-n-spice]

Buir be Ner - (Father of Mine)

Happy Father's day! Here's a little fic I wrote about the day Wrecker found out he's suddenly a father :)

Summary: Khea's been keeping her Foundling a secret from Wrecker for quite some time now. However, she can't keep her hidden forever so she decides that today is the day she'll finally introduce them to each other. She can only hope it goes well.

Word Count: 6.7K

Warnings: N/A

Khea didn’t know what the hell she was going to do. 

As she paced back and forth in the Jade Rabbit she thought of all the possible scenarios that could and might happen until her head hurt from the onslaught of overwhelming feelings and emotions that brewed inside of her like a storm. That drowning feeling–she despised it–feeling like she was sinking in her own thoughts, but she couldn’t help herself. 

What would he say? What would he do? Would he even want to be with her anymore? 

Every thought pulled her further and further in until it felt like she was suffocating inside her own ship. Until it felt like she was drowning underneath the waves of the Living Waters where the mythosaur was awaiting to bring her back home. Sinking…falling…frozen in place with no sign or hope for help as black dots took over her vision and the water filled her lungs as the light from the surface got dimmer and dimmer…

“Buir?”

Khea was snapped out of her dark thoughts when the soft sound of a little girl’s voice calling for her pulled her from the waves.

A voice that belonged to Itri, the young Zabrak she’d found on her travels several months ago, alone, abandoned, and afraid on Nar Shaddaa. A place no youngling should ever have to be in, especially not as young as her. Unable to leave her there, Khea decided that she would take Itri in. She would raise her as a Foundling. As her own.

And now that she was reunited with Wrecker once more on Pabu, she had no idea how to tell him about Itri. 

“Ad’ika,” Khea greeted softly, frowning at the worried look on Itri’s face as she slowly approached the young Zabrak. “Me’bana? What’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head with a small, concerned frown as she knelt down to get to Itri’s height. 

Itri’s breath hitched a little when Khea got close and she shifted on her feet, lowering her head as she glanced down and fiddled with the end of her braid nervously. 

“W-why can’t I come out of the ship yet…?” she asked in a whisper, almost as if she was ashamed to ask such a question. 

At this, Khea’s heart sank and her frown deepened as a pang of guilt hit her square in the chest like a blaster bolt. They had landed on Pabu nearly three rotations ago, but Khea hadn’t let Itri off the ship to meet the others just yet. Instead, she had her long awaited reunion with Wrecker and his brothers, met Crosshair for the first time, and explored their new home of Pabu with them and Phee. All the while she kept Itri in her ship, staying with her at night and throughout the day with the excuse that she needed time to rest and recover from her travels while also adjusting to being back so nobody bothered her in the Jade Rabbit. 

She wasn’t going to let Itri out. Not until she figured out how to drop the news on them that she was suddenly a mother, more so specifically to Wrecker. It was a big reveal and she didn’t want to mess things up, but after hearing Itri’s soft and almost pleading voice, she feared that she’d already messed up. 

“I”m sorry, ad’ika,” Khea apologized as she slowly reached out to cup Itri’s cheek. At first the young girl flinched at her touch, but when she realized it was a comforting action over anything, she leaned into the touch and finally tilted her head up to meet Khea’s eyes.

“I…I needed to make sure it was safe for you,” she explained, gently caressing Itri’s cheek in a soothing manner, not entirely lying to her since Khea did in fact want to make sure that Pabu was a safe enough place for her. 

 “But…” she drew a breath, deciding to rip the bandage off and jump into it head first like she tended to do with things. “But you can come out now…” 

At this, Itri’s eyes lit up and a small smile tugged at her lips–a look and a reaction that made Khea’s heart swell with adoration.

“R-really?” She whispered, sounding eager now. 

Khea chuckled softly and nodded, pulling her hand away as she stood back up. “Yes, ner ad’ika, it’s safe and you can come out now,” she assured, holding her hand out for Itri to take it. 

Itri stared for a moment or two before she took Khea’s hand and looked up at her expectedly, the small smile still on her orange and black features. 

Khea nearly melted at the sight, at those big, wide brown eyes staring back at her with such hope and trust. She had to take a moment to compose herself, looking away and clearing her throat as she did her best not to let her mind race like before. 

She could do this. 

READ THE REST ON AO3!

[koreanbibliophilegirl]

Me trying my best not to let another oneshot expand into a series like😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

(This is about Lucky Star)

[landfilloftrash]

A bunch of aggie doodles ft. a couple of my partners joining in with contributions

[burry-penguin]

BROO I JUST FOUND THIS AND ITS SO GOOD, this is my official recommendation for a long one shot about MKs declining mental state after, ya know, everything. Filled with laughs, drama, and tension. If you love MK & Mei and/or MK & Sun Wukong, this will be an early christmas present for u. Also including a shorter but very good snippet of MK & Macaque. Overall it’s great and the symbolism is very neat.

[hal-1500]

Another very silly interaction between everyone’s favourite technopagan and Iowa’s answer to G.I. Joe:

Jenny and Riley have got some time to kill in the waiting room at Sunnydale General while their respective sweethearts are getting patched up.

Bonding may or may not occur. 

So do some other shenanigans courtesy of their single shared braincell.

[queen-raven-imp]

Starlight wakes up in a flowery field, but has no memory of being there. Sunburst is there as well, but he is not acting like himself. In fact, everything except for his voice is unfamiliar. Starlight is determined to figure out what is happening and who is behind it.

[obsessedwhyyes]

Chasing Lightning

Summary: You've spent all day teasing, tempting, taunting - you've really tested Astarion's patience this time. But pushing his boundaries is your favourite past time. Now, here you are, over his knee, about to receive the punishment you longed for, all according to your devious plan. Not that you'd ever admit it, of course.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2003 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader Content: Shameless smut, bratty reader, Dom!Astarion, spanking, light BDSM elements, rough sex, PiV.

Gif by silverformymonsters on Tumblr!

A/N: This, uh... Yeah, no, this is just shameless smut. I am so sorry. Behold, my spanking fic, written in a moment of madness.

You lay over his knee, eager, anticipating - a willing sacrifice on the altar of his desires. Each trail of his fingertips across the bare skin of your backside is a promise of what is to come.

You deserve this, you think to yourself. All your teasing, all your temptations. The way you pressed yourself against him when no one was looking, your face a pretty picture of faux innocence; the way you swayed your hips as you sauntered ahead of him, glancing back to meet his eyes, knowing they would be heavy with that predatorial hunger which ignites the flames of arousal deep in your belly. All part of your plan, which he is more than willing to oblige.

You hear Astarion’s voice, dark and dripping with honey.

“I propose a game, darling. A test of your intuition, shall we say?” You hear the wicked smile in his voice and it sends shivers of sweet anticipation coursing through your body. “I'll think of a number, one through ten, and you'll have to guess it based on how hard I spank you. Guess wrong, and I'll spank you again - the same strength - until you guess correctly. Understand?”

“Yes,” you breathe, wilfully yielding to him . There’s an intoxicating power in surrender. Your submission is a choice, freely given, and that makes it all the more potent.

In yielding, you become more. More alive, more aware, more you than you've ever been. The world narrows to the point of contact where his hand meets your skin. You are the ocean, and Astarion the moon, pulling you into new shapes with the inexorable force of the tide.

“Very good,” he purrs. His thumb rubs the gentlest of circles on your wrists as he binds them behind you with his spare hand. “Of course, if it becomes too much, just say the word. I can be merciful… on occasion.”

The game begins, a dance of unseen touches and breathless anticipations. Astarion’s hand hovers above you, its presence like the charge before a lightning strike.

“Let’s start with a simple one, shall we?”

His touch against your bare arse is a whisper at first, cool fingertips ghosting across your skin. More caress than slap. You shiver, every nerve alight with anticipation.

“One,” you murmur, more exhale than voice.

Astarion’s chuckle vibrates through you, a low rumble that you feel more than hear as you bury your face into the fabric of his shirt. “Oh, my dear. We’re barely getting started.”

The next strike lands with purpose - a sharp, precise sensation that blooms across your skin. It’s not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but something exquisitely in between that draws a gasp from your lips.

“Four?” you venture.

“Warm, but not quite.”

He strikes - the same strength once more, as promised.

“Three!” you gasp, revelation and pleasure mingling in your voice.

“Good girl,” Astarion praises and gods, how those words affect you. They sink into your skin, sweeter than honey, headier than wine. You crave his approval like air, each word of praise stoking the flames of your arousal higher.

The dance continues, each strike a new verse in this poem written on your skin.

Smack.

Five is a starburst of sensation. You feel this once, twice, three times until you finally guess correctly.

Smack.

Seven lands with the force of a thunderclap, reverberating through your body and leaving you trembling in its wake.

Smack.

Nine leaves you gasping, teetering on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain. The sting melts into a deep, throbbing warmth that pulses in time with your racing heart.

With each strike, each caress, the heat builds, a delicious tension coiling tighter in your core.

Four. Two. Six. Six again. Eight.

You find yourself arching slightly into his touch, eager for more, your body's reactions beyond your control.

Then, finally, comes ten.

It cracks across your flesh like lightning splitting the night sky, a white-hot streak of sensation that sears itself into your very soul. For a moment, the world whites out, every nerve ending alight with electric sensation. You cry out as the sensations overwhelm you, the number torn from your lips. The pain is exquisite, pushing you to the very limits of your endurance.

In the aftermath, you float in a sea of endorphins, your body humming with the echoes of Astarion's touch. Each point of contact throbs in time with your racing heart, a map of exquisite sensation etched onto your inflamed skin.

His cool hand soothes over the heated skin. The contrast sends fresh shivers through you, and you moan gently in response, despite yourself. Your skin is hypersensitive, your mind a mess of exhilaration and desire, eager for more, more, more.

Through the haze of lust, Astarion's voice chimes clear. “My, my. Such enthusiasm,” he purrs. “Tell me, darling, did you spend all day dreaming of this? Because I certainly did… in excruciating detail.”

You turn on his lap to look up into his eyes, suppressing a smile. “Who, me? I would never!”

Astarion's eyebrow arches, smirking at your obvious lie. “Is that so? So the way you rubbed yourself against me all morning like a worg in heat was just a coincidence, was it?”

You can't help but giggle at his accusation, which only seems to fuel his amusement.

“Do you have any idea how long you left me aching today?”

“I'm sorry,” you pout.

“Sorry who?”

“I’m sorry, Astarion.”

You don't mean it. And he knows it.

You could be good - a sweet, obedient little thing. But to be bad - to challenge him, to tease him, to test his patience until he finally brings you to heel - why, that's just so much more fun.

“That’s better,” he coos, his voice and his praise caressing you like silk along your skin as he gazes back at you, expression equal parts warmth and something much darker - hungrier - beneath. “Cheeky little pup."

He pauses, and the air becomes heavy with anticipation.

“But I'm not done with you yet.”

He rises and shifts you in a blur of motion, bending you over the edge of the bed, leaving your face buried in the soft sheets. Suddenly, you're exposed to him, your arousal on full display, and you feel the air against your hypersensitive flesh. Yet, in this moment, there is no place you would rather be than at his mercy. You are eager, dripping with expectation.

In the midst of your lustful haze, you hear the rustling of clothes - the familiar sound of his trousers unlaced. It sends your imagination soaring. Your core aches with what is to come.

But Astarion, the cruel man he is, doesn't enter you. Not yet.

Instead, you feel the head of his cock slide maddeningly, agonisingly slowly up the slit of you. You feel him become slick with your arousal as he slides down, and back up your slit once more, just barely skimming your clit, which throbs desperately with need. Such delicate, teasing touches - enough to drive you to madness.

“Do you want it?” He purrs.

“Mmhm,” you mumble pathetically into the fabric.

“Tell me, love.”

“I want–”

He inserts himself before you finish, colliding with you with the force of planets, stealing the breath from your lungs. The union is electric, a completion so intense that it borders on painful.

His desperation is evident, at odds with the image of restraint he was attempting to conjure as he ruts into you with wild abandon. His hands are everywhere at once, desperate and searching. Your own fingers claw at the fabric of the bedsheets, mindlessly, drunk on the sensation of him.

Astarion’s hands soon settle on your hips, pulling you to him as you collide again, again, again. You aid him, pushing yourself against his hips with each thrust, needing to be closer, always closer. You move together in a frenzy, chasing that elusive peak with single-minded determination. The world beyond ceases to exist; there is only this moment, this need, this all-consuming desire.

Breaths come in ragged gasps and are punctuated by moans and whispered pleas. “More,” you beg; “please,” you exclaim, though you're not sure how he could possibly get any closer, any deeper within you.

You feel his hand slide beneath you, and you lift your hips to greet him. Your throbbing clit welcomes his expert touch as he begins to unravel you as easily as he picks locks. He rubs circles around the bud, gently, in stark contrast to his wild rutting - indicative of the tiniest threads of self-restraint which remain within him, spared only to bring you to your peak. But gods, in the heat of the moment, you are especially sensitive, and his touch quickly brings forth rippling waves of sensation which threaten to overwhelm you. Your body twitches of its own accord and you know your climax fast approaches.

Your own voice surprises you, high and desperate. Soft whimpers escape your lips, growing in intensity and frequency as the tension builds.

Behind you, Astarion's sounds are a primal counterpoint to your own. His usual smooth tones are roughened by desire, a gravelly undertone that sends shivers down your spine. Low growls rumble from his chest - they speak of a hunger barely contained.

As you both near the edge, your voices mingle and intertwine. The sounds blur together - gasps and moans, growls and whimpers. The volume rises, unchecked and unashamed. You care not who hears you now.

It is you who first reaches the point of no return. A cry escapes your lips, raw and primal. Your body quakes, and pleasure crashes over you, a torrent of sensation that drenches every nerve ending. You're swept away in the deluge, currents of bliss pulling you under, spinning you in their depths.

His release soon follows and, although you don't see him, you feel the intensity in the air, in his increasingly erratic pounding, in his breaths. A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating through your bodies like rolling thunder. His grip on you tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he releases into you, claiming you as part of his tempest.

He collapses against your back. His weight is solid and grounding like the calm after the storm. He pants slightly, aftershocks rippling through you both like distant thunder.

Slowly, the world comes back into focus.

Astarion's weight shifts behind you as his arm drapes lazily over your wrist. You feel his cool lips brush against your ear, and he nips it gently.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he muses, “I would say you enjoy being punished.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound still slightly breathless. “If that’s what I get for misbehaving, I might have to do it more often.”

"Careful what you wish for, darling," he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I have a whole arsenal of 'punishments' at my disposal. This was merely a taste."

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Why not both?” he replies, his tone rich with suggestion. “I do so enjoy keeping you on your toes.”

As he rises to his feet and helps you to yours, he kisses you, his gentleness a stark contrast from your earlier activities. Where there was an inferno, now there is now the warming comfort of the hearth. Where there was urgency, now there is patience. Eventually, you find yourselves settled once more, cocooned in the soft comfort of the bed. The lingering scent of your encounter mingles with the fresh smell of clean linens, a heady reminder of the night's activities.

“Alright?” Astarion’s voice is soft.

You nod, words unnecessary in this moment.

As you nestle closer to him, a contented sigh escapes your lips. Being bad certainly has its thrills. But these moments, wrapped in Astarion’s arms - these are treasures in their own right. The mischievous spark in you knows you'll seek out more opportunities to 'misbehave', but for now, you revel in this gentle aftermath, every bit as intoxicating as the storm that preceded it.

No Pressure Tags: @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @sparrowbard @chonkercatto

Masterlist can be found here.

[miguelhugger2099]

To be Known is to be Loved

Summary: It’s so easy to forget the little things. But Miguel loves you so he remembers. A/N: I’m on writers block so please forgive me for the lack of fics. I hope some fluff with suffice. Art: nellwhre17 on instagram No warnings, Fluffy

You hated being on your feet all day. Your soles were sore, your toes scrunched together in your shoes and you were pretty sure your laces were cutting off your circulation. You wanted nothing more than to take everything off and lie in bed.

So, once you opened the door to your home, tossing the keys to the couch, you crouched down to shove your shoes off. You were too impatient to slip off your shoelaces, settling for a fight of just ripping your shoes off your feet. Once the pair had flopped away from you, you wiggled your toes and sighed in relief.

“Mig?” You call out, searching for your boyfriend’s comfort after a long day. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot your fuzzy slippers right beside the couch where you had thrown your keys. It wouldn’t have been unusual since you often left your slippers by the door before you leave for work, but you were in a hurry today–Miguel must’ve moved them for you.

With a tired smile, you wobble over to them and slide them on. Its warm softness were heaven on your sore feet and you heard the pats of Miguel’s heavy footsteps. You look up to see Miguel give you a soft smile.

“Hi.” He whispers, a dry towel in hand. By the smell coming off of it, it seemed it was freshly washed and dried. He looks off to the side and sees your shoes discarded in opposite directions. He makes the move to collect the pair and set it on the shoe rack neatly. Miguel looks down at you on the floor and hands the towel to you. “I already showered so here.”

You take the towel with a bright grin. You were already feeling better.

When you had woken up from your nap, you instinctively crawl out of bed to search for Miguel. You found him in the living room, TV volume as low as possible with all the lights turned off. You could never sleep if even the smallest of light peeked in your room. Miguel’s jaw moved and his mouth opened to pop something in his mouth and you realized he was snacking on something.

You take a step forward on the wooden floor and it creaks, signaling your appearance. Miguel raises his eyebrows and turns his head to face you. He relaxes.

“Finally up?” He asks. The TV continues to play a random novela–something from the 2000s based on the camera quality.

“Yeah,” You croak out, voice hoarse from the long nap you took. Miguel pats the seat next to him and urges you closer with his hand. You follow his command, plopping beside him and instantly, you two fall in place. His hand around you protectively and your body smushed to his side.

Your eyes glance at the snack in his hand and you realize it’s actually candy. A rectangular packet of Starbursts. You look back up at Miguel, your vision seeing his side profile and you speak up, “Can I have some?”

Miguel takes his arm up and off you. He then takes the packet and rips it open and reveals the different colored cubes of flavor. He carefully plucks out the pink ones—sweet strawberry flavor—and places it in your outstretched palm. Then, he places the red ones—cherry flavored— with the pinks ones.

You smile to yourself, already unwrapping the candy and chewing on the taffy. You watch as Miguel keeps the yellows away from you, instead taking it upon himself to eat those.

He didn’t understand your need to be picky about the flavor and color, but usually you’d want it so he’d give it to you no questions asked. No reminders either.

Miguel settled his arm around you again, gnawing on the taffy and plucking the pieces that got stuck on his teeth. You snuggled back up to him happily, while you ate the strawberry and cherry Starburst.

If there was anything you shamelessly loved to do, it was kissing Miguel. He didn’t mind at all. Despite his introverted nature, he couldn’t help but smile with each extra kiss you’d give him. 

He was sure you never noticed this one thing about yourself. Maybe you did but he doesn’t think so. It was his favorite quirk of yours.

Sometimes, if he’s lucky, you’ll be so smitten when he initiates a kiss first that you’ll keep your eyes closed just to give him another chance to kiss you. A opportunity he's always willing to grab.

He liked pulling away and seeing you still, small smile playing on your lips and awaiting another smooch. And like a routine, he lifts your chin higher up and your lips quirk up higher. The tip of his thumb grazes your bottom lip and he leans down just enough to where your lips are brushing against each other. He watches your mouth twitch and your eyebrows scrunch when you could only barely feel him. Miguel finally leans down and kisses you again and he places a hand on your waist to feel you melt in his embrace. 

[thedoodlebuggo]

malevolent art dump here we go-- first up we got oscar

human john!! yes the blond/gray hair idea was inspired by this fic

and fractured kayne! blue one is the equivalent to John, orange = Yellow. dunno what to name the blue one but i have decided that the orange half is to be dubbed Starburst or Sunny. i love starburst dearly

[beansprean]

A mini comic for "Your Biggest Fan" by @phasmama (part 1 of ?)

I just love comic-fying fics idk!! why dont u commission me about it

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Knees up of Guillermo, wearing brown chinos and a short sleeved peach shirt unbuttoned to his chest, sitting down heavily at the edge of his cot beneath the stairs. He looks flushed, sweaty, and tired, elbows planted on his knees as he slumps forward with a heavy sigh, holding something in his dangling hands. His phone is laying face up on the bed nearby. A small icon in the top left corner reads '82 degrees Fahrenheit', which is about 28 degrees Celsius. 1b. Close up of Guillermo's hands as they shift to reveal what he's holding: a vintage folding fan with a brassy silver-tipped guard inlaid with pink rose patterns. He holds it closed, one hand on either end, a riot of colors on the folded leaf suggesting an intricate pattern within. 1c. Repeat. Guillermo flips the fan open with the rivet in his right hand to reveal the design within: an intricate painting of people in robes and dresses standing in front of a series of columns and statues. 1c. Zoom out to wide shot; waist up. Guillermo tips his head back, eyes closed, and smiles in bliss as he fans himself, little swirls of blue snowflakes indicating the cooling effect. 1d. Repeat. The phone sitting on the bed beside him suddenly lights up, a red alarm-clock-shaped icon springing up with a loud ring, reading 'back to work!' Guillermo opens his eyes and frowns, irritated. In a swift motion, he snaps the fan closed and swings it around to tap at the screen, turning the alarm off without looking.

2a. Chest up of Guillermo at 3/4 angle as he slumps over with another heavy sigh, eyes closing as he begins to sweat and flush again from the heat. His right hand holds the closed fan up idly near his face. 2b. Extreme close up of Guillermo's mouth as he absently touches the tip of the fan to his lower lip, pressing into the pink flesh. 2c. Reverse shot, wide, Guillermo in profile in the foreground and the curtain to his room beyond. It is yanked open suddenly to reveal Nandor standing beyond, wearing a brass colored tunic and sleeveless fur overcoat and posed with one hand on his hip. He shouts imperiously, "Guillermo!" and prepares to give orders. Guillermo doesn't even flinch at the intrusion, just blearily opens his eyes halfway with the fan still pressed to his mouth.

3a. Waist up of Guillermo at 3/4 angle as he rolls his head up to look at Nandor with an expectant frown, closed fan held up in his right hand. 3b. Waist up of Nandor at a diagonal angle, background all black with a white starburst of shock as Nandor stares down at Guillermo, frozen and gray, with wide eyes and a slack jaw. 3c. Wide shot, shoulders up of Guillermo in profile in the foreground, Nandor knees up in the background. Guillermo looks at him with half-open eyes, closed fan poised in front of his face and a question mark drifting around his head. Nandor continues to stare with the largest eyes possible, frozen in place with one arm still outstretched to hold the curtain aside. 3d. Repeat. Nandor finally snaps out of it and swings his free arm up to point accusingly at Guillermo, shouting angrily, "What are you doing with that, Guillermo? That is not a toy for naughty familiars to be playing with!" Guillermo opens his eyes fully and looks down at the fan in surprise.

4a. Shoulders up of Guillermo staring in surprise at his open hand as Nandor quickly snatches the fan from him. 4b. Waist up of Nandor from Guillermo's POV as he leans away, holding the closed fan in his right hand and hiding it protectively behind his left cheek. He stares wide eyed and flustered down at Guillermo and whines, "This is very special, given to me by the Queen of Laszlo's homeland! 4c. Waist up of them both in profile as Guillermo stands from his bed, rubbing sweat from his cheek with a forearm. Nandor takes a step back in alarm, still holding the fan protectively out of reach. Guillermo says, "I'm sorry, Master. I shouldn't have touched it. What did you need my help with?" 4d. Repeat. Nandor calms and straightens up, looking away nervously as he replies, "Oh! Yes. I would like to have a cooling bath. Come attend me. Guillermo slumps again and sighs, obediently responding "Of course, Master." 4e. Later; full body of Nandor lounging in an old fashioned brass tub filled with ice water on a hazy green background. The tub seems much too small for him; he is sitting up with his elbows perched on the far end and his left leg bunched up in front of him, knee poking out from the water. His right leg is fully extended and hanging over the edge of the tub. Nandor's hair is gathered up in a messy bun and he is holding the fan in his right hand, staring at it thoughtfully as he opens and closes it with a thumb. /end ID

[slightecho]

Goldenrod and Aster

commission by the lovely and amazing @turquoisespace35 of a very familiar scene from my Owl House fic, Ashes!!

Then, the clearing in the trees came into full view, and Willow let out a soft gasp. The sun shone through in bright rays, lighting up everything in a warm golden yellow. No leaves touched the ground here. Instead, the clearing was filled in a blanket of yellow, purples and green! The brushing she’d felt along her legs had been lush spikes of yellow flowers, strong and healthy as she passed by them. And where there were gaps amongst the fluffy-looking tufts of yellow, bunches of small, purple flowers like starbursts grew in between. “Goldenrod,” she giggled, reaching out to lightly touch a dusty branch. As she eased forward into the clearing, she was careful not to step on any big stems. Her fingertips drifted easily to the purple next, and she crouched down with a smile on her face. “And Aster…” These were often mistaken for daisies in her dad’s shop. It was getting more common to see these two plants growing together in the wild—their colors contrasted, and that meant they would attract different pollinators. Because of this, growing together would give them each benefit from the pollinators from the other. A whole new set of ones they would have never attracted on their own. They were able to grow more flowers together, than apart, that way. A wonderfully symbiotic relationship. Willow smiled up at Hunter, and snickered. “I’m guessing you probably also found all the major beehives on this side of Gravesfield, but don’t look for them now,” she remarked. The bees were likely starting to go dormant with the days growing colder. It was best not to disturb them. Hunter blanched, his eyes going wide and his proud grin falling from his face. “Wait, what?”

Working with @turquoisespace35 on this commission was an absolute pleasure! I’ve been such a fan of her work for a long time and I knew if I ever commissioned a Huntlow piece from Ashes, it would have to be from her! Thank you again, Turquoise!!

I can’t believe how perfectly she captured the vibe and the ambience of the scene without ever having read a single word of Ashes, just my own TL;DR description of the scene. 🥰

If anyone’s looking to commission Huntlow artwork, please check @turquoisespace35 out!

If you’re interested in checking out Ashes, you can do so here:

[stars-n-spice]

Trying something new!

I'm going to attempt to post something Silly Squad related - be it headcanons, one shots/fics, or art - every Saturday! Because Silly Squad Saturday has a nice ring to it and it eases into OC Sunday pretty nicely :)

That and I want to try and motivate myself to do more with these guys because I post about like,, 10% of the collective lore I have about them while the rest of the 90% stays up in my brain.

So welcome and hello to the first-ever Silly Squad Saturday!

We're kicking off with some excerpts from the first chapter of fics I have planned for them and the Bad Batch (plus the headers for the fics)!

Each fic is dedicated to either Jung, Viram, Khea, or Tay and goes into detail about their lives before meeting the Bad Batch, their families, and what lead them to finding a home with our boys :)

Enjoy!

A forgotten relic of a fallen religion.

Jung can remember the fire. 

The blinding lights of red and gold. Of blue fury. Of an indescribable heat that could only be described as pure and utter hatred; burning hotter than the brightest stars.

He remembers the smell of smoke that followed from that fire. That sickly haze that still haunts him like a ghost and suffocates him in the silence of the night and his mind.

He remembers the weight of his saber in his hands. How the once familiar cool of metal felt heavier than any burden he’d once carried, suddenly foreign during a time he so desperately needed it to protect like it was designed to do. 

But worse than the sight of the flames, the smell of the smoke, and the weight so heavy in his hands were the sounds of screams. 

Of cries that pierced the night. Calls of confusion. Of desperations, betrayal, and fury. Sounds that should have never echoed against the Temple walls. Sounds that would now forever echo inside Jung’s head. 

Jung could remember it all. 

The sound of sudden blaster fire. The relentless pursuit of a blue blade radiating pure anger and fear. The sight of dozens of familiar helmets hiding what had once been men behind visors that only reflected the terrified faces of children and the desperation in those called upon to protect them. 

Those like Jung. 

In robes of hold and white, with intricate masks to hide his face. White to surrender his identity. Gold for knowledge and commitment to the Order. And a mask–like the rest of them–to conceal what had once been a person. 

Jung had served his Order well. After all, he knew of no other life. No other path. No other name. Nothing but white and gold robes, a mask, and a pike in his hands. He’d done his part, but nothing could have prepared him for the day that the Order fell. 

Everything he had known–everything he once was–fell away to fire and smoke from a blade wielded by one of their own and blaster bolts from their own army. 

A religion, millenniums in the making, nearly completely destroyed overnight.

A medic who helps everyone but herself.

Since Viram could remember, she wanted to help people. 

As the oldest of four, she’d always been in charge and had the responsibilities of looking after her siblings and taking care of them. She cooked, she cleaned, she made sure they did their academy work and stayed out of trouble. With her parents out more often than not, Viram assumed the role of ‘mom’ and ‘dad;’ growing up much faster than those her age. But it was okay, at least to Viram it was, because she understood it was something that had to be done. 

And while some would crumble under the weight of expectations, Viram thrived. There wasn’t anything the Mikkian couldn’t tackle and everything she did–she did it to honor her parents. 

Her father was a well-renowned doctor while her mother was an inspiring teacher, and Viram respected and admired them from the very start. They were the perfect picture of an Inner and Mid Rim family. Well off and respected, her parents were shining lights in their communities that were constantly helping those in need with their skills and talents. Viram so desperately wanted to be like them. 

So, she did what she could to follow in their footsteps. She excelled in school and at home she looked after her siblings when her parents worked late. Some might’ve pitied her and thought she was forced into her duties and dreams by her parents, but Viram didn’t care or listen to them. It was her life, and she wanted it to be just like her parents’: 

Perfect. 

Well at least, Viram thought that was how it was and would forever remain. 

For a good part of her life though, that’s how life was. She graduated with honors, watched her siblings grow up and follow their own dreams, and she started to work under her father and learn his practice. She had studied to become a medic at the academy on Coruscant and as soon as she had graduated, she took everything she had learned to her father and started to learn even more from him out on the field. 

She could finally help people in the way that she forever had wished that she could, with every wound treated, every assessment diagnosed, every bandage so delicately placed, Viram was achieving her dreams. Everything was perfect. 

And then the war started.

A little starbird with no way back home.

Khea wished she couldn’t remember her roots. 

She wished the beskar she wore wasn’t her own, that her tongue didn’t speak foreign words and her mind didn’t know ancient legends and myths. Khea wished that the blood in her veins didn’t burn bright like the fires in the Great Forge and that the last name she carried wasn’t shared with any clan. She wished that everything she ever was and everything that came before her would fade to stardust and leave her with a blank slate.  

Because to be a Nultez was to be a wanderer. To be a Nultez was to be cursed to forever be…

Lost. 

Her father started the curse, when he left Chandrila to escape an ancient tradition, only to find himself as a lowly performer in a traveling circus until he met her mother. Her mother then shared the curse when she decided to marry him and take his last name–leaving her clan to start her own and finding love and life outside of Mandalore. Then they gave it to their children–Jovaz, Khea, and Mitcan. 

Jovaz Nultez, the zealot. Khea Nultez, the wander. And Mitcan Nultez, the dreamer.

Siblings bound together by a last name, but not bound to stay together.

A destiny that was decided before they were even born, fate woven into the stars; something so out of Khea’s control yet something she felt at fault for every waking day and every sleepless night. Because she had made promises to her brothers: To Jovaz, she promised that she would always stick with him–no matter what. To Mitcan, she promised she wouldn’t leave him–that she wouldn’t let him down. 

But when Jovaz came to her, speaking of honor and ancient ways, asking her to join him and run away from all they’d ever known–she couldn’t bring herself to go with him. What he spoke of was something she couldn’t stomach and like a coward she refused and let him go down a dark path, leaving her with guilt and the new burden of being the oldest child. 

It was a guilt that was haunting, one that pushed her to try and bring him back, only for her to break her promise to Mitcan in the meantime. 

She hadn’t planned on it, but Mitcan wanted to go with her to bring their brother back. For a few years they searched for him and when they finally found him–Khea broke her promise to Mitcan. She couldn’t protect him. Couldn’t save Jovaz from himself. Couldn’t be the big sister Mitcan saw her as. She let Mitcan down–and it led him to his death. 

Khea wishes she never made those promises, but they weren’t the only promises she had made.

A merciless merc all caught up in strings.

Tay doesn’t remember much from his past–and that was probably a good thing. 

He didn’t know exactly how he ended up in The Cauldron–a colosseum that had always felt so giant and grand to him when it should’ve been seen for what it was; a cage. He couldn’t remember how he–a chagrian with nothing to his name– found his only home to be one of cages and chains. 

However, as he got older, he had his theories. Theories that all boiled down to one obvious claim: his parents–whoever they were–didn’t care about him enough to keep him. Instead, all he was to them was a quick paycheck, sold to slavers who took him away to the colosseum to train and fight until the inevitable day he died a gruesome death in the name of entertainment and credits. 

And maybe he should’ve died a gruesome death the first time he was put into a match once he was old enough, but he was determined to prove something. He was determined to prove he was more than what was assumed of him. To prove to his bastard parents he was more than a paycheck–wherever they were. To prove he deserved every right to exist in the galaxy like the rest of them. 

So he fought. He fought and he won. Again and again.

And the cheers and praise that came once he’d won his debut match? They were addicting. 

It didn’t take Tay long to thrive off the attention and acknowledgement that came with winning matches. Suddenly he was more. He had a purpose. And to the young, cocky chagrian, it felt an awful lot like respect. But most importantly, it felt like love. 

The people loved him. They couldn’t get enough of him. Every fight. Every opponent. Every win. Tay was addicted to the crowds and they were addicted to him. 

Tay brought crowds. He brought in money. He was more than anyone who had bought him could’ve imagined. That’s because more than a fighter, Tay was a performer. He could put on a show. He had learned how to capture the audiences with his natural charm and it wasn’t long before his ‘holders’ began to see use for him in areas outside of the ring. After all, there were a lot who would pay a pretty credit or two to be up close and personal with Tay’kaa, the reigning champ Chagrian...

If you enjoyed what you read and would like to be notified when the chapters are officially published - feel free to join the tag list! Just let me know in this post, dms, or fill out this form!

If you're new to the squad; check out these links to learn more about them: 💫 Silly Squad Masterlist 💫 Baddies Batch Masterlist 

Thank you so much for reading!! 🩵💫

[sunburstxstarlightblog]

Might as well throw in the link so you guys have no excuse!

Make an account and go crazy go wild!

Real talk for one sec

If you're active in the MLP community and you're looking for fic / wanting to get into fic writing, I am on my knees BEGGING for you to make a fimfiction account. It's been the hub for MLP fic since 2011 and it's been dying a slow weird death. Like any other site, it takes some curating, but there's a lot of amazing, wonderful people on there and some truly incredible sub-communities that are well worth joining.

If anyone following me is curious about the site, please feel free to ask! I've been a member since 2013 and I know the ins and outs. I'm more than happy to help some new blood get involved!!

[4ranghaes]

hii!! idk if ur taking reqs but if not feel free to ignore this 🫡

can u do another song fic for sungho? i love how u write for him 😵‍💫😵‍💫 ty and take care!!

song fic!💋

now playing… starburster by fontaines d.c.

park sungho x reader [smut, fem!reader, mdni!!]

warnings: fingering, overstimulation

a/n - this song is actually about having a panic attack but i didnt want a repeat of taesan’s one so i’m applying it to orgasming😁 enjoy!

18:16 - “s-sungho, o-oh my god!” you groaned, voice deep, eyes rolling back in your head as you gripped the sheets beside you.

a cocky smile was plastered on sungho’s face as he sat behind you. his head was resting on your shoulder, his finger knuckle-deep in your pussy as they worked in and out, feeling the spongy spot as well as massaging your clit.

just 20 minutes ago, you’d told sungho you had been able to make yourself squirt a couple times before, when you were both really horny and multiple orgasms down. now, he’d made it his personal mission to see the skill for real.

you were out of breath, your body slumped against your boyfriends. you could hear his wild breathing in your ear, he himself grunting at the effort he was putting in. you began whining again, approaching your second orgasm.

“s-su-sungho! i’m gonna– god! i-it’s coming!”

“do it, baby,” he commanded, “is this it? do you feel it?”

you shook your head tightly, not feeling the usually build up, then needing to piss sensation. “n-not yet… b-but i can’t—”

you cut yourself off with a loud whine, your body slinging forward before sungho reached out to you with a harsh grip, dragging you back to his body as you rode out your orgasm on his fingers.

he tutted in disappointment, as you were left panting against his chest, your heart rate slowing as you came down from bliss.

“again.”

“sungho, please,” you begged, as he started kissing along the side of your neck, down on your shoulders. his fingers started circling your clit again, your hips bucking up into his hand, your hole clenching around nothing.

“please what, baby?” he muttered, “you know your safe word?”

you nodded quickly, not feeling unsafe, just overstimulated beyond belief, as though your heart could burst at any time from the differences in pace it was being put through.

“good girl,” he murmured, his fingers once again entering your hole, two fingers going in immediately now he knew how loose you were.

his hair was flopping onto your chest, rising and falling rapidly as you - quicker than ever - felt your orgasm already approaching.

“sung-sungho!” you gasped, your voice high as you grabbed ahold of his wrist with one of your hands, the other gripping onto his hair, “t-th– ah! this is it!”

“this is it?” he repeated, a perverted smile spreading across his face as he sped up his thumb on your clit, his fingers inside you pressing hard against your walls.

your nails dug into his wrist, feeling the build up just beyond your walls as your heart sped up to a momentarily-concerning pace, your body hurtling towards orgasm.

“my good girl,” sungho smirked, nibbling on your shoulder, his figure a picture of calm as yours thrashed around, trying to run towards pleasure but yank away from the overstimulation that went with your third orgasm in a row.

you finally came with a high-pitched moan, whimpers leaving your mouth as you felt a gush of liquid cover sungho’s hand and the bed below you. sungho moaned, his cock grinding into you from below. he lifted up your lifeless body, throwing you on the bed so he was staring at your soaked, swollen pussy.

his mouth dropped open at the state of the bedsheets below you. he left soft kisses on your lips, hovering over your body.

“you with me, baby?” he whispered between kisses.

you blinked heavily, nodding slowly.

“good girl,” he hummed, lifting you into his arms to hold you to his chest.

[notbecauseofvictories]

I've now received four (four!!!) different copies of my fic, bound and illustrated by different artists---and there's still a deep, almost reverential feeling I get when I hold them in my hands, lay them out. Ironically for the subject matter, they feel decidedly holy. After all, where else am I going to get proof that I did this---even if "tell a story about music and the devil" is one of the sillier things you can do to occupy your time.

But to be less vague, this is the kind gift of @fleabitebooks / @kettle-bird! They reached out to me a few months ago, saying they wanted to bind my Devil Went Down to Georgia fic, and would I like a copy too? As I would never say no to a gift like that, I gleefully accepted.

If you've been following me long enough, you've seen their art in my Cornstalk Fiddle tag, and I am pleased to say that the images lose none of their power. I think the choice to stick to a limited color palette works beautifully here---the golden-yellow of the title pages and the larger art almost seeps through the paper. With the crisp lineart and shading, it ends up being both lovely and vaguely ominous, a sign of the eldritch things moving around/beneath the story.

(Also, I realize this is not a major aspect, but....I love how truly awkward-looking the Devil is. He looks like a Southern Gentleman, and I love that touch of weakness in his jaw.)

I also deeply adore some of the design choices---chapter 3 starting with the cornstalk fiddle and the triumphant starburst of golden-yellow? The white snakeskin-threaded-with-gold pattern used to bind the book? The way the paragraph breaks and endsheets are music? Amazing. Just amazing.

Maybe I should revise what I said above. Yes, having your silly fic about a country song turned into a physical book is proof that you did it, finished it---but it's also proof that someone else did too. In this case, @kettle-bird sat down with my fic and carefully copied it, played with fonts (oh, those are fantastic too by the way!) and spacings and margins; they drew art, colored it; laced the book together, made and bound the cover, then shipped it off to me.

Which means....if I did this, then I was hardly the only one.