#if your brain works like that fantabulous

[brb-on-a-quest]

i frickin hate online schools with a passion, stop recommending it to me.

[once-upon-a-reblog]

10 Stories/10 First Lines meme

Tagged by @scifrey!

Tagging: @spookynebula working on some fun Distortion!Michael stuff

@mrrrcesare who I THINK wrote some awesome Malevolent fic (hard to track some of these folks down)

@shadow0haven for writing some fantastic Malevolent fic, which helps inspire my current WIP crossover

and THIS PERSON who does not seem to have a Tumblr, but who has written some amazing, fantabulous stuff, so I am shouting their name into the void? (It's NeverWinterThistle)

So the rules are: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories.

I... am gonna SLIGHTLY cheat and only post the first lines of my most recent, because the other two fics are more than twenty years old, mmkay?

And Eat It, Too: a Magnus Archives Fanfic

Jon hasn’t breathed in a while.

He’s vaguely aware of it, aware his lungs feel tight and terrible, as if transformed into the wet leather that supposedly comprises Michael’s skin.

He can’t bring himself to care. He can care later, when the statement is done.

“To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place,” says the thing that ate Michael, the thing that is Michael, and even though the Distortion’s experience was not, could not, is in no way human, Jon knows.

Pain without terror, shock without fear (because it is fear and cannot feel those things), but it is so much rage and all consuming and Jon whites out.

And then, Michael laughs.

It’s better than a slap. Knives in the ears, eyeballs straining as if pushed out by his swelling brain.

“That is what I am,” finishes Michael, and Jon thinks, Yes, headache and dizziness seem about right.

And Jon can breathe.

He’s still going to die. Still covered in layers of old, floral moisturizer. Still under threat of being skinned alive.

But he has so many questions.

What was it like to “become,” how much of human-Michael does he remember, did he pick up Michael’s tastes like ice cream flavors and preferred teas or only his rage, what happened to the map, why did the map matter, did Michael actually die with anger toward Gertrude or is that only Distortion-Michael’s thing –

And a question pops out, slips like a marble between his lips, too heavy and wet to stop and just as disruptive. “But you… you never tried to take revenge on Gertrude?”

And for whatever insane reason, Michael keeps answering him.

It’s like it really does want him to know.

[hoodoo12]

Selfsame

"Beetlejuice in a dress" occupied a lot of the brain, it is simply too difficult to get these out. They creep around the edges, you see. Skulking. Lying in wait.

Ready to pounce.

I only regret this had been finished on Elliott Maddox's birthday, but 2 days late isn't too bad. Thanks to the fantabulous @turtlepated and @seddoesstuff for doing a collab. It rocked.

NSFW. Mattoxjuice x reader.

Enjoy!

You come home from work tired, irritated, later than usual. It's dark in your apartment when you walk in, but you're familiar with the layout of course so it's no trouble to make your way to the kitchen to deposit your bags on the counter. 

All you want now is to kick off your shoes, change into your PJs, order some food and just become one with the couch until bedtime. 

It's dark in your room as well, but there's light coming in through the window from the lampposts outside. You slide your feet out of your shoes, unbuttoning your pants and letting them drop to the floor while stripping your shirt off over your head. Stepping out of your pants and tossing your discarded shirt to the floor, you reach around to unhook your bra. 

No sooner have you divested yourself of it than the air behind you shifts as a solid form just . . . appears where moments before there was nothing. Before you even have time to gasp, let alone turn to see what's there, a body is pressed fully against your back, and the feeling of the clothing against your bare skin makes you shiver as arms come around you, chilly but dexterous hands unapologetically fondling your breasts as the something, the someone presses their face into the side of your neck and gives a lascivious and deep inhale, letting it out in a long sigh. 

"Hi, baby. Miss me?"

The unexpected touch and bodily press had your heart in your throat, too startled to even cry out. The voice from the darkness was just this side of familiar. So were the hands groping you. 

You wanted to be scared, should be scared, but you’d had enough past experience with that touch that it negates a scream, even if that was what he wanted.

One strong arm--a third, technically--drags your hips back, forming a bar that traps you against the figure behind you. Drawing quick breaths, your heart beating too fast against your ribs, your lungs fill with old scents, almost familiar scents, though they had never been so . . . saturated. 

Moss and freshly disturbed gravedirt. A certain brand of cigarette that hasn't been sold in this world for at least fifty years. Something that carries a hint of the darkest part of the night, and sandalwood. Frankincense. Incenses burned for remembrance. For funerals. For death. The scents are so strong they almost feel like a thick film over your tongue. 

But it's impossible. It's been years--years, and this is impossible. 

He's been gone for too long. Hasn't answered any calls, no séance, no summoning. You've met your share of demons trying to find him again. 

How is he here now? Now, long after you've given up any hope of seeing him again? How the hell is he here now? 

A greedy hand cups the mound between your legs, freezing, cold as the grave. Twisting in his grasp, wanting to lay eyes on the specter who’d disappeared out of your life just when you were getting used to the idea of maybe, possibly, having a real thing with him, just when the idea of agreeing to marry him didn’t seem so implausible. It had to have been more than just lust. Lust didn’t make you truly consider giving him what he wanted. Lust wouldn’t have hurt so bad when he skipped out. Neither the hands on you or the tepid mouth on your skin wanted to release their hold, but you struggled enough to loosen them. Well, reaching backwards to grab his ass in return made him chuckle, and that helped too. It took longest to peel the fingers out from between your legs. The light from outside filtering through the curtains dimmed everything. Once finally managing to turn to face him, he looked different. Maybe your memory played tricks on you; it had been some time, after all. His beard was patchy again, not like a growth of moss on his jaw. He looked younger, somehow, too. Softer. And hadn’t his eyes been dark? His expression, however, surprised you most of all. He looked like he did when you first met him, ready to pounce, wanting any attention he could get. Now he still looked ready to pounce, but with less desperation. He looked hungry. Your stunned vocal cords managed to allow a croak of a word passed. “Beetlejuice . . . ?”

If you'd needed any confirmation of the identity of your spectre, the shudder that ran through his body at those syllables was it. His hands, having refound their purchase on your hips as if he couldn't bear to let you go, gripped you tighter, tight enough that you feel the cracked edges of his nails bite into your skin. A growl rumbled from his chest, and those eyes gleamed like terror in the dark. 

You can't believe it. You can't, can't fathom this, cannot wrap your mind around it. You can't believe that he's back. 

Your hand trembled as you raised it, hesitant to brush your fingers down his cheek. Round. Softer, not as gaunt, and his beard prickly under your fingertips. Emboldened by the gesture you caught the side of his face against your palm, and then raised the other, caught his face between your hands so that you could stare into him. 

"Beej, fuck, what--" 

"S'the plan, babe. So why don't we--" He leered forward, avaricious hands all over you again, clutching at every curve as if he could consume you by touch. By scent, as he buried his face against your neck, sucked breath after breath of you into his lungs. By taste, his tongue laved against your pulse and up your jaw. 

You held one another in identical poses now, mirrored, each one's hands gripping the other's face as if neither of you could bear to let go. 

There was starvation in his eyes, as he stared into yours. He licked his lips. 

"Fuck," you say again, a whisper. "Fuck, Beej, I--" 

"--missed you so fucking much," you spoke over each other in rushed whispers, taut in the dimness of your apartment. 

The moment hung. Stretched, suspended between you, between the intensity in both your gazes. And then it broke, as with a quiet roar, Beetlejuice crashed his mouth into yours.

Despite the difference in appearance between the specter standing before you and the one in your memory, the eagerness spiked with a drop of frantic in the kiss was the same. Once upon a time you’d gotten him to understand that softer kisses offered an intimacy that, while soft, conveyed just as much as raunchy shoving-a-tongue-as-far-down-someone’s-throat that he thought everyone expected. He’d regressed; he did his best to lick your tonsils. 

No matter. You wanted the same: to consume him. Only your pesky need for air forced you to take breaks, but after sipping just enough oxygen to keep you going you gave as good as you got: licking, sucking, moaning, wanting answers but not wanting to stop for them. 

Eventually the tiny breaths you stole couldn’t keep up with Beetlejuice’s relentlessness and dizziness forced you to slow. You clutched at him to remain upright. 

He continued to nuzzle close, his lips and tongue unable to stop. He did seem to remember that you needed to catch your breath. 

“My little breather,” he chuckled. 

The old nickname sent a shiver through you that settled in your belly, fanning the flame that had nestled there, making it stronger. Although most of your clothing had been discarded and he was still dressed in his favorite threadbare suit, his arousal was much more obvious than the tightened pebbles your nipples had become. 

If you had your wits about you you’d make some comment about how horny he must be, with that broomstick in his pants and all, but you were afraid the words would jumble incorrectly and he’d just laugh and disappear, then you’d wake up. Like this was all a dream that then descended into a nightmare. 

Questions and explanations and words could come later. After you came. After he came. That was what you should say! Only laughter escaped made it out of your mouth, however. 

Beetlejuice cocked his head, looking more feral than he had in a long time. “Let’s see what other sounds I can make you make, baby.”

He could make you make any sounds he wanted. You knew that. Hell, you thought about saying it, but words? Words were hard, and they got in the way of your tongue in his mouth, and they took so much effort to put together. He knew, anyway--prided himself on it, on the variety of noises he'd dragged from you. He seemed to delight in that. In pulling out moans and groans, eliciting whimpers and needy little cries. Equally delightful were the more embarrassing sounds--the sloppy wet sucking noises of your mouth on his cock, the gagging when he went too deep, the snort you get sometimes laughing too hard when he tickles you--any noise he can get from you. 

Reminders, for him, that you're alive--alive, and his, and you chose him. 

Too much thinking. Not enough thrusting. You grabbed him by the tattered lapels of his jacket and dragged him with you as you stepped backwards. You were angling for your bed, but you misjudged and wound up pressed against the wall instead. That's fine. That was more than fine.

He took the invitation without any encouragement, his hands at your hips to lift you up so that when his hips met yours, your legs wrapped easily around his waist, and his cloth-covered cock pressed against your needy core. You moaned out loud at this, and again when he ground into you, messily pressing you into the wall. You saw sparks each time the undulation of his hips into yours brought the rough edge of his fly against your clit. You tried to pull him even closer, dipping your head clumsily to kiss him. You missed the first time, landing against his cheek, the rough scratch of his beard a delightful new sensation against your lips. 

When you missed again, it was on purpose. You peppered kisses down his jaw as you forked your hands through his hair, anchoring his head and adjusting him as needed as you kissed every inch of his face. His hair flickered between pink and magenta now, the colors visible even in your grey-toned room, the wild locks knotted around your fingers an uneven gradient of colour. He nuzzled into the kisses, seeming to settle down, the edge smoothing off of his eagerness--until you shifted your hips and then he flared all prickly lust and frantic need. 

"Baby, babes, baby--please, s'been so long, c'mon, quit teasin', need you--" he babbled, the raspy edge to his voice rougher than usual, his hips jerking in little needy movements against yours.

You pulled his hair again so that you could kiss him, rough, hard--and he shuddered with a wild cry as you did, his entire body stiffening. 

He didn't stop. In fact, coming seemed to only drive his need higher, cranked the dial a bit more, made him that much more desperate. Interesting. 

Beetlejuice kissed you messily as he ground into you, his cock not even remotely softening as his teeth scraped across your lower lip. His hands on your hips moved you with him, dragged him into the rhythm he wanted. 

He ground himself in long smooth strokes, rubbing the length of himself against you, and then he would pause, to rub tiny teasing circles, smirking as you panted and writhed under him, as you arched your back trying to get him exactly where you wanted. He couldn't hide the trembling, though. The way he shook to have you so close, so near, in his arms, overwhelming him with your warmth, your scent, the sweet slickness soaking your panties and leaving an even bigger damp spot on the front of his pants. It was too much and he needed more. 

He stepped back, chuckled when you protested with a half-whine and a clumsy clutch at his shirt. 

"Easy, baby," he said like he wasn't the one salivating and twitching like an over-eager puppy.

"Easy," he repeated, and then he dropped to his knees. He held you up with ease, one hand on each thigh, spreading your legs almost uncomfortably wide. When he licked his lips, it was loud, a noisy smacking sound. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark as he consumed you first with his eager, greedy gaze. You wanted to squirm, but couldn't--not with the grip he had on you.

He hadn’t lost his unnatural strength, holding you off the floor in a position any living person would have struggled with. As it were, he looked up your body as if it were an altar, as if he worshipped you, even if the glint in his eyes was a touch more feral than would be considered safe. Maybe not a worshiper. Maybe more like a junkie looking for his next fix-- In the next moment, however, he proved how devoted he was as he shoved his face against your pussy. The thin satin of your panties was no deterrent. Beetlejuice sucked at your pussy through them, instantly turning them into a soggy mess. Each press of his tongue, as if doing his best to eat through them to get to you directly--not that you wanted to give him any ideas--translated into sparks of pleasure that radiated up from your groin. When he gave up trying to tongue-fuck you, he shifted his focus to finding your clit. That sent up fireworks through your gut. Realizing that the choked cry you made meant he’d found his target, he doubled down his efforts to suck and flick that nub of pure nerves. The combination of wet fabric and his determination made you writhe in his grasp. If you’d had the ability, you’d have trapped his head between your thighs, His grip spread you too widely, however. Bucking uselessly against his hands, not caring that his ragged fingernails dug into your skin, you lost balance. Only by catching yourself on his shoulders did you prevent this whole almost-impossible position from tumbling over. Now bent almost double with his face still at your pussy, you keened into his hair. “Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck--”“That’s the end goal, baby,” Beetlejuice replied from somewhere near your ear. His voice was as strained as yours. “But I want you to come for me first. Come on my mouth, I wanna taste you--I’ve missed eating you out--I want your pussy hot an’ wet when I fill you up--” Although he didn’t sound exactly the same as you remembered, the dirty intention matched. Somehow through the sodden fabric of your panties he managed to latch on to your clit, and the solid pressure on it undid you. Clutching his shoulders as tightly as he held your legs, you cried out wordlessly as you came. 

Beej groaned through every tremor and tremble with you. His breathing was as ragged as yours, for all that it was completely unnecessary. He littered praise across your skin, some of it too distorted to make out, if it was even English at all. Knowing him, it was equally likely he had slipped into some Underdark or Eldritch tongue. So long as he kept that tongue on your skin, it didn't matter. And he was quite keen to oblige. Too keen. 

It didn't take long at all until you were overestimated, half-sobbing and nails scratching at his scalp as you tried to arch your hips: into him, away from him, whatever it took to find relief from the relentless onslaught of his greedy lapping at your clit. 

"Beej, Beetlejjj-- stop, stahp--" 

You gasped and twitched. Each stroke and curl of his tongue sent another jolt of pleasure-pain through you, and your cheeks were streaked with tears. You could barely think, but you felt him shake his head. Despite his apparent denial, he did give you a break, changing tactics to long slow licks along your slit. He traced the flushed petals of your labia with the tip of his tongue, following each lovely curve as best he could through the sodden fabric of your ruined underwear.

The change was a relief, letting you sag back and catch your breath, though it still left you shuddering. It was a better stimulation now, building that heat up in your belly like the patient kindling of a fire. It gave you time to breathe, to whimper and moan and slowly begin to roll your hips against his face. 

You can feel his grin as much as you can hear it, as he gives a happy rumble. Self-satisfied, you'd call it had you the wherewithal to remember any kind of vocabulary.

"S'right, that's right baby, you just let ol' BJ take care of you." He never seemed to start talking, kept a running commentary through every lick and suck. His voice wasn't quite familiar to your ear, but the content hadn't changed even if the quality had and it was a comfortable feeling. 

You'd missed this. Missed him more than you wanted to admit. More than you cared to think about. Even if he wasn't exactly the same--and yeah, you were going to have to ask about that, among other things like where he'd been and why he'd been gone so long--it was still him, somehow. Still him, still so much the same despite how much he'd changed . . . 

"You're thinkin' too much," there was an edge to his voice that lingered somewhere between amusement and disapproval, and suddenly you couldn't think at all because he'd torn through your panties with his teeth and fixed every ounce of his attention to seemingly trying to suck your clit right out of your body.

It wasn't altogether pleasant, but again--in that pleasure-pain realm that left you hazy and shuddering. 

Your fingers tore at his hair, and it only seemed to encourage him. He left off your clit to lick and suck along the newly exposed skin of your pussy, not seeming to care about the shreds of material caught in his teeth. 

You were almost there, nearly over that thin cusp, tottering so close to a second climax . . . when he stopped. You cried out in disappointment, feeling that edge slip just out of reach when he pulled back, and gave him your best wounded look--or, tried. You thought that you probably looked more dumbfounded than pouty. 

Beetlejuice winked at you, and scooped you against him as he turned towards your bed.

"Sorry, babes, but I kinda wanna feel you around my cock when you come again." He didn't sound even remotely apologetic.

That ceased to matter when he laid you out on your bed, as careful as an artist laying down strokes on canvas. His hands roamed your naked body, stroked each curve and valley, with deliberate devotion. Kisses followed after, and you felt that lost orgasm building up again all too quickly.

He'd forgotten nothing: he seemed to have an uncanny sense for when you were right on that perfect tipping point, on the precipice of climax, and then the infuriating bastard would stop. Slow down. Move. Denying you release, until you felt nearly as desperate as he'd seemed before.

"Please, please, baby, I need--" you sobbed, and he swallowed it with relish, kissing you roughly and grinding his still-fucking-clothed cock against your hot core. It wasn't enough. It was not enough and he fucking knew it. You could have happily strangled him.

"Beetlejuice!" you cried out, frustrated and wanting. With the use of his full name, he stopped completely. “That’s twice now,” he rumbled in warning. Some part of your brain remained cognizant. You shot back in a sing-songy way, “Three times in a row, it must be spoken unbroken. Or did the rule change?” Beetlejuice stared down at your body splayed under him, pinned in place by his weight on your lower half. His eyes flashed--literally, a silver glimmer--and maybe you’d pushed back too hard, maybe with his physical change his attitude towards your sarcasm changed-- “You remembered.” His voice had softened. It contained a bit of wonderment, like he couldn’t quite believe someone cared enough to recall the particulars about that aspect of his personal hell, even if it was something that he told everyone all the time. “Yes . . . ?” you replied, puzzlement creeping in. The high he’d brought you too began to decline; you worried that you’d done something wrong--first by saying his name and now because for some reason knowing his rule . . . you didn’t know, broke something in him? He hadn’t stopped staring at you and a sudden jolt of fear raced through you. He was going to leave again! He was going to step into the ether, leaving your legs to drop to the floor and the only evidence that this wasn’t some kind of elaborate, explicit wet dream would be the destroyed panties still hanging in rags around your hips. Loathe to let that happen, scared that even thinking it would make it true, you locked your legs over his back and grabbed his arms. As if he couldn’t just fade at will. Your sudden movement, your octopus-like grappling him, chased whatever moment he was having away. “You’re the fuckin’ best, baby,” he cooed as if that was the sweetest endearment in the world. Giving himself a tiny shake, he returned to his lecherous self. This time he finally shredded your bra and latched on to a nipple that had softened. He teased it back to a peak with just the right amount of suction and direct pressure from his teeth. When you forced him off because it jumped the line of being too much, he left it spit-slick and aching, and then went for the other one. Although not quite as rough, he did keep the first stimulated by rolling it between his thumb and first finger, until you arched bodily and your throat was raw. He hadn’t neglected between your legs. The rough fabric of his pants rasped against your pussy; both helped and hindered by his still trapped cock. If he wasn’t careful, his demand that your next orgasm be while he was balls’ deep inside you wouldn’t happen. Keening wildly, you chased that feeling. His request wasn’t yours! He’d pushed you too far and you wanted to drop off the edge so you could free-fall in pleasure once more-- He stopped again, the bastard. 

The sharp curve of his toothy grin held an edge that you couldn't identify, almost like a warning--like he knew you'd been seeking to defy him. It made you flush unexpectedly, though whether it was a fresh rush of arousal or some kind of guilt was beyond your ken at the moment. 

You wriggled your hips to distract him, and gave him an arched brow. 

"I thought the plan here was to fuck me . . . did you forget where it goes while you were gone?" 

Beetlejuice snorted. 

"Not likely," he retorted as his hands caught the curve of your ass and pulled your hips up, off of the bed, and towards his. "Like I could forget a pussy as pretty as this--look't you, all sloppy sweet for me. For me." 

He echoed himself more softly, that wondering look creeping back into his face.

You wondered again, what he'd been doing all this time. Where'd he been. What had he been through? 

"Beej . . . ?" 

He shook himself, and when he flashed a grin at you this time, it was reckless and rushed. Impatient.

"How about we get you screamin' my name, huh?" 

He'd shifted gears again so quickly, you weren't prepared for the rapid zip of his fly and the suddenness with which he slammed his tepid cock into your scorching depths. 

"Fuckinghell!" You'd forgotten how cold he was, especially when he got you revved up this much before getting into you. He'd warm up quickly, dead flesh leeching the heat from your body, but that first stroke was a shock. 

Especially when he didn't take any time about it and bottomed out with that first stroke. He moaned louder than you did. You didn't realize it at first, your focus zeroed in as it was, but then his deep rough groan was impossible to ignore. It filled your skull, sent a shudder rolling through your body, and he moaned even louder as your cunt clenched around him in response.

Beetlejuice trembled all over, and you thought that maybe he would savor this, indulge in finally finally having his cock in you, relish this the way you wanted to--

--you thought wrong. 

He jerked, pulling his hips back just enough to that he could thrust forward again, seating himself deeply. Fast, hard, short strokes that kept him buried, that let him keep your slick heat wrapped around him, that left you keening and clawing at his back as the movement kept the head of his cock rubbing roughly against your inner walls. 

Your climax seized you completely and with no warning, ripping your voice from your throat and causing your body to clench around him hard, fast, and inexorable. You'd swear that your vision flickered, though it could have been the shitty lights in your apartment, and your ears were filled with a dull roar. Your head felt staticky and too tight, and heat fizzled through each of your nerves in steady waves. 

When you could open your eyes again, you opened them to the sight of him watching you, his face a mixture of fondness and awe.

A shaky smile managed to make its way onto your face inbetween your working for to catch your breath. Held up on rigid arms, the expression on his face was mostly lost in shadow. That would never do. He looked different, and you wanted to see him more clearly. Wiggling to dislodge him, knowing he’d never allow it if he truly didn’t want to, you promised you only wanted to return the favor; that you had so much pent-up arousal and you’d missed him so much that it would only be fair for you to do some of the work. Anything that you could think of, anything he wanted to hear just. He responded with a shit-eating grin, a “a’course, baby--you think I’m gonna miss out on the opportunity t’watch you ride my cock?” and a final thrust just because he could. Then he let you roll him over to his back. For a second you considered stripping him. To be able to see his face while you were on top of him plus the sheer debauchery of one of you being naked while the other clothed plus the incessent demand from your groin to be filled again equaled just climbing him like a striped tree to get into position. Taking his cock, slick from your pussy, you held him steady before dropping down onto him just as quickly as he’d filled you. The groan of pleasure that erupted from you rivaled his. Taking a moment just to savor the new position, you clenched his cock rhythmically just to pull more sounds from him. You then took your time to learn the limits of being atop him, using small movements. He opened his mouth to protest, starting with, “Jesus, just fuck me already--”You shoved the fingers covered with your own wet from his cock into his mouth. “Suck them,” you ordered. His eyes went wide. Even in the dim light now you could definitely tell they were a different color. No longer dark like an abyss, they were lighter. That gave you a different kind of shiver; light eyes could look just as menacing as dark, you discovered. As Beetlejuice eagerly complied with your command, licking and sucking your fingers like he’d been offered candy, you lifted yourself upward before dropping back down. This position reignited your nerve endings again, and with his cock stimulating your pussy while his tongue alighted ones in your digits, you fucked him hard and fast, just as he’d done with you.

Every rough jerk of your hips, every time you dropped down onto his cock, each tiny roll and gyration pulled a breathless sound from your throat. A whine. A moan. A full-throated groan and your head tossed backward, hair falling across your shoulders as you barreled recklessly towards climax.

Beej was torn between holding still under you, letting you use him for your pleasure, and chasing his own pleasure, jerking up into you like he couldn't hold still. Couldn't make up his mind. He sucked your fingers expertly, hungrily, coating them with his thick saliva, licking at each digit and swirling his tongue around them. You had the stray, random thought that he had to be amazing at sucking cock. Something to think about later. 

You eventually pulled your slick fingers from his mouth, thickly coated and sloppy, and you ran your fingers over your own nipple. His spit left your skin slippery as you teased yourself, pinched and rolled your nipple between thumb and forefinger as Beetlejuice watched hungrily. His face was an open book, a desperate want to replace your fingers with his mouth nakedly written across the pages.

"Fuck, babes, baby--fuck me, you're so hot, got me so close, are you close? Are you gonna come for me, baby, c'mon just tell me what you need, wanna see you comin' all over my cock, just soak me baby," he rambled through panted breaths, his hands clutching your hips to help you find just the right angle, the one that let him hit that place deep in you while you ground your clit into his pelvic bone. The way that made you burn hot, hot, hotter, until you were gasping, sucking in breath after ragged breath and your eyes were rolling into the back of your skull. Until you were coming so hard that you screamed, damn what the neighbours would think, your ears ringing and your nipples so tight they ached, your whole body clenching and rippling with each wave of blinding pleasure. 

By the time it settled to aftershocks, tremors and shivers of residual pleasure sneaking through each limb, you were a sweaty, sopping mess, sagged against his chest and struggling to catch your breath. He held you loosely, his own breathing shaky, and a loose tremor running through his fingers. 

"Goddamn baby . . . you . . . you still got it." He laughed, soft and rough against your ear, as his arms tightened around you.

You managed a chuckle that rasped in your throat. At least the chill of his body had stayed the same, even if he seemed a close facsimile of the specter you knew. Not a twin, not a clone. Beetlejuice, but different. 

Good different, since he still had all the tricks and dirty talk to get you--and keep you--going until you did just as he’d asked: drenched him in your orgasm. You could feel the wet coating your own thighs and knew from past experience he’d be dripping too. 

A sudden start jerked you out of your residual bliss. You looked down at him with eyes now fully adjusted to the dark. His features were still this side of unfamiliar, but actions speak louder than words. Or bone structure. 

"We aren't done yet," you purred in your sultriest voice, like he cared about that. You knew he did care, however, about the subtle gyration you made with your pelvis, keeping his cock deep inside you. "It’s your turn to come and I want it to be so good for you--" 

"You think it wasn’t, sugar?" he interrupted with a grin lifting the corners of his mouth. 

" . . . What?" You felt slow. Beetlejuice tugged you back down onto his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple. 

"Being back here with you, watching you above me, your sweet pussy so tight . . . baby, I already came," he replied. The eager expression on your face melted to ashamed embarrassment. Once again you pulled back enough to look him in the face.

“Oh my god. Are you serious? You're serious. You came and I didn't know?! Beej, oh my god--I'm so sorry!" He looked genuinely puzzled. "What for, baby? I loved that you were so gone you didn't notice. It was so fucking hot, you taking exactly what you wanted from me." In the dark, you searched his eyes for any inkling that was just word service. He continued with a chuckle, "I mean, not to brag or anything, but did you think all that sloppy wetness down there was from you? I busted a nut so hard I think my balls shrunk." Snorting a laugh and shaking your head, you settled back down on him. “I just like to feel you come in me, is all,” you admitted quietly. “And I didn’t get to see your face do that thing when you come.” “What thing?” “You know. It kind of wrinkles up because your eyes close so tight. And your lip always pulls up off your teeth but your jaw’s always loose.” “Sounds like something the Maitlands woulda considered a scary face.” “Yeah, they’d certainly think your ‘O’ face was terrifying.” “Hey now!” You took a chunk of his bare chest between your teeth lightly to soften the tease but you knew he wasn’t insulted when he said, 

“You’ll get plenty of chances to see that again, baby. Soon, actually, if you’re gonna be ready for another go round.” That would be fun. You were tired, however. Just laying here in the dark, sweat slowly evaporating from you, your groin a sticky mess and a pleasant ache in your pussy, was more than enough at the moment.

His arms wrapped over you to keep you exactly where you were draped over him, and every now and then he kissed you. This was the perfect moment to ask where he’d been and why he’d left, and that you missed him. Eventually you'd remember you were hungry and would need to washup, but for now it was nice to just lay here. You'd stay till his cock slipped out of you, then make decisions about what was next.

fin!

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Home

Feeling alone on your birthday? Check. Drinking too much to hide those feelings? Check. Accidentally both yelling at and declaring your feelings for Mando? Check. Oops.

Din Djarin x female reader

It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago, and the day wasn’t optimal, so this little idea formed. I'd be super stoked if you let me know what you think. :)

Word count: 5043

________________________________________________________________

It was your birthday. A day for eating and drinking and celebrating with friends and family, but you had neither. Still, the day had been okay, you supposed, but you couldn't shake off the loneliness and sadness that accompanied it. When you were younger, you always looked forward to the day, and even during the war your parents managed to scrounge up a celebration of sorts.

But that was years ago. Now your friends were gone, your parents were gone, hell, even your home planet was gone, and your birthday served only as a bittersweet reminder, reduced to longing, heartache, and waiting for the inevitable end.

The music was loud enough that it drowned out the other patrons in the bar, allowing you to drink and wallow in self-pity in peace, just like you had planned, and you were deep enough in the bottle that the mental wall that protected your emotions started crumbling.

Being miserable at home was bad enough, and you were seriously starting to regret the decision to even go outside today. Somehow the loneliness punched you in the head once the third glass was empty and you noticed how crowded the bar was. No one else seemed to be alone.

Your circle of friends had never been large, and it became even smaller during the war. Then it slowly thinned as people got older; getting jobs in transport, or starting families. Some just moved away. Eventually it became harder to keep in touch. Life. Life was what happened.

You sniffed into your glass, coughing a little when the fumes hit the back of your nose. There was still one friend, though. But he wasn't in town at the moment. He wasn't even on the planet.

Yeah, the music was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the thoughts that popped into your head. You had sort of promised yourself that you wouldn't think about Mando tonight, but as with all such promises, Brain was a big, fat liar.

As the hours ticked by, his face, well, helmet, showed up in your mind over and over, no matter how many times you shoved him down. Then his voice echoed in your ears; that soft, yet commanding voice that sent shivers down your spine. And his laugh… quiet sometimes, but always sincere. Fuck, you missed him so much! A new lump caught in your throat, and you swallowed hard and traced a line through the condensation on your glass.

How long had it been? He left right before your last birthday, you knew he had a job to do, but he promised to come visit again when he had earned enough money to take a break.

Weeks turned to months. Nothing unusual there, but when the year mark approached, you grew worried. You were always worried, to be honest, considering his line of work, but he had never been gone this long without so much as a message before.

"Well, happy birthday to me," you muttered with a sigh and drained the glass, wincing as the liquid burned down your throat, but the numbness that followed spread over you like a blanket. “Hey Briswig!” You waved your glass in his general direction. “Help me out, will ya?”

The bartender put down his towel, picked up a bottle. and sauntered over to you. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” He asked and poured a generous amount into your glass.

Shaking your head vigorously, you almost fell off the stool. “Nooooo! Not enough, I think you mean.”

Briswig smiled, then shook his head. “I can barely understand what you’re saying. It’s too early to be this wasted, Y/N. Shouldn’t you be at work or something? Why are you even here?”

“Din’t you know? ‘S my birthday.”

"It is? Happy birthday!" He cocked his head a bit and frowned. "You've been drinking alone all day." It was innocent enough, but it stung more than you wanted to admit.

You wafted him away and grimaced. "So? Not everybody is a social champ. Took the day off to drown my sorrows. See?" Lifting the glass again, you saluted him and took a big gulp. Most of the liquid went down the wrong pipe, and you coughed hard. The alcohol stung in your nose.

Handing you a napkin, Briswig patted your arm. “You don’t have to drink alone, you know.”

Rolling your eyes, you emptied the rest of the glass in one go and used the sleeve of your jacket to wipe your mouth. “Well, I would if I had any friends. All my friends are dead.” Or not even on the planet, you added in your head. “Do you know how hard it is to make new friends when you’re an adult? And I’m not very good at it in the first place.”

Briswig grimaced. “Go home, Y/N. You’ve had more than enough. Go home and sleep. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

You answered with a small pout. “Are you kicking me out? On my birthday?”

He smiled and left the bar to collect glasses. “You know what? Yes, yes I am. It’s not healthy wallowing like you do right now. Take an early night, get the day over with faster, right? Go home. Or do I have to call the bouncer on you?”

Glancing over at the burly trandoshan by the door, you sighed in defeat and hopped off the stool, almost knocking it over and bumping into the bartender. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going." You blew a raspberry and waved dismissively at him.

He chuckled and stepped aside so you could pass safely. You still stumbled. "You'll feel better tomorrow," he repeated, way too cheerfully for your taste.

"Bah!"

"See you next week, Y/N."

"Screw you!" And you meant it. He had come between you and your alcohol. For all you cared he could jump into a sarlacc-pit.

"I know you love me."

"Only because you provide me with my preferred poison, Briswig."

"Sleep tight."

The afternoon breeze was pleasant. It was still early enough in the year that the temperatures were tolerable, and the summer humidity hadn't kicked in just yet.

You sighed and snorted at the same time. How dared the day be so likeable? One day, you thought, you would jump on board one of those spaceships, travel the universe, find the one responsible for it all, and then punch them in the face. Or yell at them. Or at least hand them a strongly worded letter. You had never been fond of confrontations.

The sudden rush of air from the door pushed you forward, forcing you to sidestep. A stroke of luck and unexpected reflexes stopped your face from impacting with the wall, though your hands stung from the scrapes on you palm.

"Oh. Heh. Sorry. Din't see y' there." The words stumbled out of your mouth, and you looked at the wall in front of you and trying to make sense of it. "Well, don't let me interrupt." You patted the red brick and turned the other way, only to smack your head on a shiny breastplate. "'Pologies. Nice armour." You thought for a second. "I knew an armour once. He was nice too." You closed your eyes and pictured Mando in your mind. "I'd kick his butt," you muttered with a scowl, "if I could just catch him. Give him a few choice words for leaving me alone, that fucker. You understand, don't you?"

The armour started to say something, but you cut it off.

"He better come back soon." You fought to focus. It was harder than you anticipated. You weren't that drunk, were you? Or at least, you hadn't been when you'd been seated at the bar. Seated. Oh. "Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, don't suppose you've seen a Mandalorian sneaking around? I, I don't mean jus' any Mandalorian, you know." The eyes looking back at you from the shiny armour-mirror-thing glittered as you tapped the hard surface. "I mean my Mandalorian."

The armour didn't respond.

"You'd like him," you continued, not noticing the way the helmet tilted when you spoke, or how it chuckled when you interrupted every time they tried to speak. "He’s kind and funny and so soft on the inside -“ Putting a finger to your lips, you smiled conspiratorially. “Shhh… don’t tell ‘im that I said that. He likes people to think he’s hard.” The smile turned dopey. “He is hard.  Could probably take anyone in a fight. He’s a total badass. Ooh, his ass. That’s a fine ass.”

"My Mandalorian is fantabulous," you said, grinning to hide the lump in your throat. If the waterworks started now, you wouldn't have the sober strength to stop. "Absolutely marvelsome. And he always makes me smile, you know. He’s perfect. I hate him. Makes me feel like I can fly."

A loud sigh escaped you, and you blinked one eye at the time. "Damn that man. Off on his adventures and leaving me behind like that. Look at this place. It's a dump! If I could, I'd jump on a spaceship and never ever come back." The thought of Mando stung in your heart. "I love him, y'know," you muttered to the breastplate. "Stupid Mando with his stupid, shiny armour." You hiccoughed a sob and swallowed. "I miss 'im." Blinking again, you stepped sideways to let the stranger pass, and almost stumbled into a trash bin. "Well, it's nice to meet you, armour."

"Y/N…" The voice showed a mix of amusement and something else you definitely were too drunk to recognise.

But hearing your own name immediately shut you up. For a moment the voice was just a disembodied memory, so familiar, but you just couldn't figure it out. Slowly, you looked around, before finally lifting your eyes. "Mando!" A wide smile spread over your face. "Where did you come from? I didn't see you, there."

It was difficult to decipher him, what with the armour and all, and even more so now you had all but inhaled Briswig's entire collection of fine, fine alcohol, but he looked happy to see you. You hoped he looked happy to see you.

Taking his gloved hand, using it to pull yourself closer, you finally put your arms around him, snuggling his hard shell, though in your state it didn't feel hard at all.

"I missed you," you mumbled into his pauldron, the sound of your voice somewhat muffled by the metal.

He squeezed you tight with one arm, leaning his head against yours. "Yeah, me too."

Forcing yourself to let go, you still lingered with your hand on his arm. "Hm? Shall we go for a walk? The suns don't set for a while yet. Or better: do you have anything to drink?"

"You think you should have any more now?" he asked as you crashed into the bin again. The only reason you didn't tumble over it and land on your butt was because he still held onto you.

"Yeah! Duh!"

He shook his head. "Let’s get you to bed.”

“But the suns are still up.” Confusion fizzed in your head. It was too early to sleep.

“I know, but I think you need some rest. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” You pulled back a little bit.

"Positive," Mando said, offering his arm as support. "You're so drunk you can barely stand. Can't have you starting a fight with the wall."

"What? Why? What did it say about me?" You balled your fist, tugging out of his grip to punch the bricks.

"Don't worry about it." He laughed quietly. "Come on." He took you gently by the elbow, leading you through the streets, making sure you wouldn’t fall and hurt yourself. Based on the collision with the trash can, there were already bruises forming on your thighs.

Being next to Mando was the only thing that made the day tolerable. You cherished the touch of his hand on your elbow, grinning stupidly, not quite aware of your surroundings, but still awake enough that you could account for yourself, and try to keep a conversation.  Leaning heavily on him, you snuggled into his side. You could stay like this forever. “Mando. My Mando,” you muttered with a stupid grin. It wasn’t strictly true, but you were too drunk to care.

“Din. My name is Din,” he replied quietly.

You stopped abruptly. "Whoa!" It took a few seconds for your brain to unscramble. “Your name is Din.” Pause. You hiccoughed. “‘S pretty.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Din answered.

You took his arm again, an extra sway in your step. “Din. My Din,” you muttered, clearly trying to be quiet enough that he didn’t hear it. He did.

Though the ship no longer held the same feeling of home for Din - kriff, he missed the Crest - it was closer than the flat you called home. To be honest he wasn’t even sure if you even lived there anymore, and you weren’t providing answers; mumbling and humming happily. You were a happy drunk. Din smiled under his helmet. He should have come back long ago and whisked you away.

To be honest, he didn’t catch more than half of what you said, you were too intoxicated to make much sense, and most came out as gibberish anyway. But he DID catch the part where you said you missed him, and you had mumbled something about his stupid armour and his stupid butt, and he couldn’t ignore the feeling of elation that coursed through him.

Had you been sober, well, more sober, he would’ve told you how he felt, but for now he was more concerned with keeping you safe. There would be a day tomorrow too.

The ramp creaked and clanked heavily when it hit the ground.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you protested once you processed the sight, squinting at the entrance. “This isn’t the Crest?”

Din shook his head and looked at the new ship. It was shinier, newer, probably better, but it didn’t have the personality. “I lost it,” he replied bitterly. He still felt that pang of sadness every time the old ship was mentioned. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to keep this one yet.”

You patted the dusty exterior and nodded. “You should. Feels sturdy, ummm, keep you safe.”

He smiled a half smile. You seemed to approve. Maybe he could get used to the new ship after all.  

“You can sleep in here,” he said, pointing with his free arm to a narrow alcove when you had made your way through the ship and into the private quarters.

“Noooo…” you sing-song protested. “It’s still light. An’m not tired.”

“Say that to your droopy eyelids,” he retorted. “And it’s dark in here; who cares what it’s like outside anyway.”

He had a point. And you were tired. Almost immediately, once you admitted that fact to yourself, you started swaying. Din had to grip you tighter to keep you from falling nose first to the floor.  It was so hard to stay awake, even though you fought with all you had. The yawn that followed almost split your face in two. “Mmmm…”

“At least wait until you’re lying down,” Din grunted, thrown a bit off-kilter by your sudden deadweight. He hoisted you up to get a better grip so he could guide you to the bed. It was more dragging than walking, since you had apparently decided to sleep standing up.

“Come on, my drunk one. Let’s get you into bed, alright?” The only answer he got was a quiet, drawn-out hum that he interpreted as a yes, more out of necessity than anything else.

He lowered you down on the edge of the small sleeping alcove, and you sat - for a whole three seconds, before flopping backwards, landing with your head in the middle of the mattress and your legs still on the floor. Moments later you were snoring lightly.

Din looked at you with a gentle smile on his lips. You looked serene, like a sleeping angel, but that crooked angle of your neck couldn’t be comfortable. He’d fallen asleep many awkward places when he needed to, but waking up was always a stiff and painful experience.

So he grabbed your legs and tried to slide you onto the bed. No good. Your body twisted like a noodle. “Dank farrik! A little cooperation would be good,” he muttered, warranting a small sigh of content from you, almost making him forget what he was doing.

“Right. So…” He shook himself and cleared his throat. This was going to be more difficult than he thought.

Reaching over you, he hooked his arms under yours and pulled. Lacking the leverage, he slipped and almost landed on top of you, only just managing to get a hand loose in time to catch himself, and smacking his head on the wall in the process. The sound reverberated in his helmet, and the fact that you didn’t even react made him a bit worried.  He would definitely have to check on you during the night.

What now? There was only one possibility left, and the thought sent heat to the back of his neck. The first attempt was fruitless. His helmet scraped against the low ceiling, and the bulkiness of his armour restricted his movement too much. With a jolt to his stomach, he realised that he would have to remove it. Was he ready for that? Maybe. After all, you were sleeping, and - if things went the way he had planned, he would soon show you his face anyway. But it was a big step. He thought for a second; one that he was willing to take for the sake of your comfort.

Returning to a dark corner, he began unfastening the clasps that fixed his breastplate in place. Then his arms and legs. Only when all the other armour were gone, leaving him feeling bare and vulnerable, he lifted his helmet off and placed it in one of the small wall niches. It fit perfectly.

Inhaling deeply, then exhaling, he stepped into the light again. You were still sleeping, and seeing you with his own eyes instead of through the visor almost brought him to his knees. He knew then, that unless you told him to, he would never have the strength to leave you again.

Suddenly he was struck by guilt. Could he really offer to take you away, to remove you from the safety and calm of having your own place? Wouldn’t he be ripping your roots right from the soil? A life on board the ship, with him, would be no easy life.

But hadn’t you, in your drunkenness, told him that this planet felt more like a prison than a home? The Crest had been his home once. Maybe, with you at his side, this ship could become home too.

Din gently climbed into the alcove, positioning himself with his knees on either side of your hips, careful to not touch you more than necessary. This way he had enough room, and enough strength to pull your drunken body all the way in.

Satisfied that you weren’t lying crooked anymore, he scooted out and off the bed. He then pulled off your boots and tucked the blanket securely around you.

With a sudden ache in his heart, he was reminded of Grogu, but quickly told himself that leaving the kid with the Jedi was for the best. Still, he was going to make damn sure he didn’t lose you too. With a final pat on your knee, he switched off the light and left you to sleep.

_______________________________________________________________

Some mudhorn was stomping on your head when you woke up. "Hnnnggg… I’m definitely dying. And if not, someone better hurry up and make it happen!” You weren’t ready to get out of bed yet, but it wasn’t a very comfortable position, and your tongue felt drier than the sand dunes on Tatooine. You muttered a curse and tried to turn over on your side, only to face the wall too quickly. You cursed your inexplicable ability to curl up in the smallest of corners in your sleep. Slowly, ignoring the creaking joints, you unfurled and stretched.

"Hey,” a gentle voice said from somewhere up above you.

Okay, so you weren't alone. That was… unusual. You opened your eyes and almost choked on your tongue.

Mando was there. “Good morning,” he said softly.

“Not particularly,” you croaked, wiping sleep crust from your eyes. To be honest you weren't a hundred percent sure he wasn't some alcohol fuelled hallucination.

“Well, here.” He handed you a bowl and a spoon.

The bowl was hot, and the contents steaming, and it smelled better than most space rations you’d seen before. To be honest, you were starving; craving those delicious carbohydrates to chase the alcohol out of your system.

And, when your brain finally started working again, you noticed that he wasn’t wearing a full armour. Helmet, of course, but other than that, only a soft pair of trousers and a thin shirt.  If you didn’t know better, you would say he had just gotten out of bed. But then… where were you?

Squinting, you peered around the room. A soft mattress, comfy blankets, a grey metal wall that was dotted with rust and dust. The light was dim, but warm. This wasn't home. And it wasn't the Crest.

Din coughed, you thought, a bit awkwardly, but as long as he was there, he could be as awkward as he wanted. “How’s the hangover?”

“Massive.”

“Eat.” He nodded to the bowl. "And drink this. It'll help."

You noticed the bottle in his hands. Putting the food down on the mattress, careful to not spill a drop, you took the bottle with a grateful smile. The cool liquid ran down your throat with such deliciousness that you had to bite down a moan. “Thank you.” You shook the bottle. It was empty.

“So, drinking alone, huh? That can’t be good for you.” He sat down on a crate.

You chuckled darkly and blew on the spoon before sticking it in your mouth. It was good. “Heh, well… who else would I be drinking with? You weren't there to keep me in check.".

Mando didn't say anything, he just watched as you ate.

You wished you knew how disappointed he looked underneath that helmet. When he wasn't talking, it was impossible to gauge the level of your humiliation. "Great." You squeezed your eyes shut and grimaced, preparing yourself for the mental blow, then you opened one eye and looked up at him. "What did I do? Please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid yesterday!” You searched your memory, jumping over huge, black holes, feeling more anxious with each void you passed.

“You didn’t. Well, you did try to start a fight with a wall, but that was partly my fault, I guess. And you talked a lot. Not that I understood all of it, you were pretty wasted. Hard to interpret, too.” He laughed loudly.

You groaned and hid your face in your hands. “Really? Crap! Listen, Mando -“

“I told you: my name is Din.”

Your brain stopped for a second. “…your name is Din.”

“Funny. That’s the same thing you said yesterday.” There was amusement in his voice.

Heat crept up your neck and blossomed around your ears. “Just unexpected, is all.” You briefly wondered about the implications of this, but decided to worry about that later. Your head hurt too much to think. “I like it. It’s a good name. Suits you.”

“Thanks.” Din grinned. You were never one to make a big deal of something. He liked that. "I'll let you freshen up. The bathroom is down the passageway and to the right. I’ve filled the freshwater tanks, so use what you need. I’ll be in the cockpit.”

“Thank you.” The food was still warm, and it filled your stomach nicely. That, combined with the water, your headache had receded to a dull thumping just behind your eyes. Bearable.

________________________________________________________________

Clean and feeling a thousand times better, you climbed the ladder to the cockpit, eager to hang out with Din - you couldn’t believe he told you his name! - before he had to fly off to his next job.

“Now it’s a good morning,” you said as a greeting after knocking to let him know you were there.

Din nodded. He was waiting for you, comfortably sprawled in the pilot seat, and gestured for you to sit when you remained by the door.

"So –" you started.

"Listen –" Din said at the same time.

"Go ahead."

“I…” He hesitated, suddenly uncertain how to proceed. “I should’ve come back much sooner. But the job… things… got in the way. I’ve… This past year has been…”

You blinked. This was unexpected. Your stomach tickled; a small hope blossomed in your chest. The way he danced around what he really wanted to say: you knew Din. He either had some really bad news, or… Your cheeks twitched, but you forced yourself to be calm.

“The moment I jumped into hyperspace, I realised that I didn’t want to leave.” He paused again, suddenly convinced he’d imagined all the things you said the day before. “I -“

You put your hand on his. “I didn’t want you to leave either.”

Din sat back. “I was…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck and searching for words. “Things happened. I had planned on returning after the job, but then…”

“Life happened”, you offered, and he nodded.

“Yeah. I needed more money, one job followed the other, and suddenly I had a responsibility other than myself.”

Your heart sank, feeling the weight of what he was saying. He’d found someone. Settled down. “Congratulations,” you said, but you didn’t really mean it.

“What?”

“You have a family now."

“A foundling. For a while we were a clan of two. But he couldn’t stay with me. This isn't a life for a kid. I was tasked with bringing him to his own people. And I did. He's… he's with someone who can train him now." His voice cracked and he swallowed hard.

Utter heartbreak radiated from him. You reached for him, but changed your mind, placing your hand awkwardly on your knee.

Din sighed. He needed to do this, now. The short rush of air from the release of his helmet rang in his ears. Keeping his eyes on you while he lifted it, he held his breath - afraid for your reaction.

The moment you realised what Din was doing, all air left your lungs. How often had you not imagined him without his armour, without the protective barrier between him and the world? Pictured his mouth, his eyes, how his face must shine when he laughed… Mandalorians simply did not remove their helmets, and if they did, they could never put it back on, and now he was letting you see him.

“…Din.” Your voice was a gentle warning.

He stopped mid-movement; chin just visible under the bottom edge.

You continued before he could say anything. “I’ve wanted to see you since the day we met. But please don’t break your creed for me. I’m not worth it.”

“I’m not,” he said, voice raw and emotional. “I want to look at you with my own eyes. Please. There is so much I’ve learned since… and this…” He lifted the helmet off, revealing his face to you with a smile and glistening eyes. “You areworth it.”

Never in a million years had you imagined how it would feel. His face was so gentle. Before you could stop yourself, you put your hand on his cheek. The rough stubbles tickled, but the skin was soft underneath, and the warmth spread through your body.

Din leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. "I have so much to tell you." He opened his eyes again. They were an abyss, and you felt yourself drowning.

Suddenly aware of yourself, your hand dropped back into your lap. "I have all the time in the world." It was barely a whisper, but you both heard the true meaning as if it was shouted. I'm with you to the edge of the universe and back.

"I should've come back before. But I was afraid. Afraid you would say no, but I just couldn't stop thinking about you. Cara hit me over the head more than once, practically ordering me to go back." He exhaled through his nose and smiled. What was it she used to say? What, are you stupid? Go to her. You're so CLEARLY in love, it's disgusting. "But then I found out Moff Gideon was involved too, and I couldn't let him near you. If, if you had been hurt because of him, I would never forgive myself. But he can't hurt you now."

Getting to his feet, he walked around the chair and stopped in front of you. Crouching down, he took both your hands in his, brushing his lips over your knuckles. "Were you serious when you said you would leave this planet if you could?

Not daring to look away, in case this was all a dream, you nodded and squeaked out a thin "Yeah." The sound took you by surprise, and you barked a laugh, breaking the tension in the small room.

Din laughed too, and gave you a crooked smile that almost made you slide off the seat. "I could use a co-pilot," he offered with a wink.

Looking dramatically around the room, you shrugged. "I can't fly."

"Well, company then," he replied, opening his arms to you.

You sank into his embrace, leaning forward with such force that he toppled backwards, pulling you with him. He didn't let go, and you landed on top of him, nose to nose, and with a vague feeling of your skin being on fire.

His warmth and scent enveloped you, and when he leaned up to gently press his lips against yours, thousands of tiny stars skipped over your body, leaving flames in their wake. This was not a time to be gentle, and you dipped down to mould yourself against him. You were home.  

[orangesalamander-but-studying]

Tips on motivation

(from a mostly dysfunctional student with mental illness)

Disclaimer: This may not be applicable for everyone and the only qualification i have is “rando that miraculously did well at school” so here ya go:

(If you’re reading this on a bad day, and you feel like you don’t even want to get out of bed today, let alone study, scroll to the end)

Get a notebook. Write down every detail of the life you want to live- i mean everything. Look at this list as often as necessary. Adjust your life in order to get what you want. Let your dreams motivate you. (Admittedly, this doesn’t work very well for me for too long, but if it works for you that’s fantabulous!)

Romanticize the shit out of the idea of studying. Pretend you’re a scholar at a prestigious university, light candles, dress like an academic, get yourself some iced coffee and put on a dark academia playlist. Make studying poetic! (Personally, i make EVERYTHING poetic coz life can be dull and depressing enough as it is)

Get out of your sweats and into a killer outfit. I love to put on a pair of jeans or a cute dress with high heels and then walk around my room telling myself i’m an intelligent, powerful, badass bitch (or empress, depending on the mood) and that a couple of pages with words on them ain’t got nothing on me! Definitely puts my intrusive thoughts in their place because excuse me, i’m the one in a killer outfit and the voice is just a hater.

Make a game out of it. I use the app Forest to grow trees and its friggin great when you work to collect enough coins to unlock a new species- let the little things motivate you, don’t look at the big picture if it overwhelms you. My anxiety and depression sometimes make it difficult for me to take myself seriously so making it a game helps me forget the stakes and focus on getting through the hour. 

Choose a reward for the end of the week and hype it tf up, imagine the scrumptious feeling of delayed gratification that you’ll experience if you study now and watch that movie/ read that book/ eat that cake/ go on that friend date later, stress free coz you have your life together. I understand this may be difficult when you’re going through a depressive episode, but try to focus on the feel good feelings you’ll have later.

Start a studyblr and let the aesthetic motivate you. You don’t need fancy stationery or perfect handwriting or super neat notes- be imperfectly yourself and use the studyblr to motivate yourself and track your progress.

Sometimes i sit at my desk for hours and get nothing done. That’s okay! Activate caveman brain and take your studying to someplace else, even just to you bedroom floor. This helps my ADHD brain by keeping things exciting and different.

Start a bullet journal and plan everything- structure your life, break down huge intimidating tasks into ridiculously baby steps (eg. take out book, write date etc). Sometimes my anxiety refuses to let me study because it makes monsters out of tasks.

If the very thought of getting out of bed is draining that day, don’t think about studying, don’t let yourself make you feel bad. On the bad days, everything is an act of indescribable strength on your part. Acknowledge that. Acknowledge that its difficult, acknowledge your strength, And then think about the next minute- forget the rest of the day, the rest of the day does not exist. All you need to do today is get out of bed. And then all you have to do is brush your teeth. Then just drinking water is your goal for the day, then just doing something that makes you happy, then just eating something, and if you feel up to it, just do ten minutes of an assignment, then because you’re a warrior, do just another ten. And at the end of the day pat yourself on the back, be unashamedly proud of yourself for whatever task you were able to complete, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Then tell yourself that when you’ll do it again tomorrow, it will get easier. 

Mental illness is really, really hard. And it may not happen immediately, or even in a few weeks, or a few months, and you may not notice it happening but i promise you, one day you’ll smile and you’ll surprise yourself and you’ll realize you’re coping. You’ve made it this far and you’ll continue to do so.

I’m so proud of you all.

[anon-rebel-writes]

Of Pink Fairies and Teenage Boys - 1

Hello everyone! I hope you are having a fantabulous day!

This concept is a little strange, but it gets better the more chapters come out! Hopefully the weirdness doesn’t freak anyone out too much XD

The idea was basically just Marinette being a fairy and Luka kinda being in love with how adorable she is. But now it’s a story about Marinette slowly helping him out with different aspects of his life.

I intended this story to be a slow burn, but I’m impatient so it’s going to be five chapters! :D

I hope you all enjoy this piece! It starts under the cut! Ao3 Link

The hot summer rays pierced into the porthole of his cabin. Light danced across his floor in a rich orange hue as the sun set for the day. The divider in the middle of the room was closed off as soft shuffling came from the other side of the wall.

Luka sat on his bed holding his guitar tightly in his hands - the knuckles turning white with from the pressure. His teeth were clenched and his jaw seemed tense. While this was far from normal, lately Luka was finding it hard to keep his usual calm demeanor.

School was officially out for the summer. Most kids were spending it at the pool or with friends, unfortunately Luka Couffaine was not most kids. He saw his mom working longer hours and coming home later than average. While Anarka wasn’t a woman to complain, he saw how not even her bright attitude could outshine the stress.

Luka decided to help out by taking on extra shifts at his delivery job. The money wasn’t crazy, but it could definitely help his mom out. At the end of the day, he just wanted to make her life easier, even if the extra work made his shoulders a little tighter.

His band, Kitty Section, also thought of increasing their practice times. His sister, Juleka, and their drummer, Ivan, wanted to change rehearsal from once a week, to twice a week. It seemed great for them since neither worked or had much to do during summer break, but Luka found himself worn thin from all the extra playing.

Even now, he found himself cringing slightly at the guitar in his hands. When did music become such a chore? All these thoughts continued to plague his mind as his left hand silently fingered different riffs and notes while his right hand merely tapped along the body of the instrument. It wasn’t hard to see that Luka was in a funk. Usually a bit of meditating would help him relax, but miniature distractions always seemed to pull him out of it. They tended to come from his sister, since she usually sat across from his side of the room.

But Luka didn’t want to blame her, it wasn’t her fault. Luka found himself easier to blame. She was just trying to enjoy her free time, it was summer after all. Yet every time she faintly hummed a tune or tapped her desk, he found himself tensing up and feeling frustrated.

The light outside finally left his room and soft snores were heard through the barrier. He barely felt himself moving as he placed the guitar back on its rack. A shaky breath left him as he ran his fingers through his unruly hair. Nothing was working anymore, time seemed to drag on and yet move so fast. When was the last time he worked on his hair? The strands covered his eyes more each day with the blue dye slowly growing out.

He quietly moved off of his bed to change into something more comfortable for sleep. Luka threw on an old band shirt and some red flannel pajama pants. But staring back at his bed, he felt restless. The corners of his eyes felt watery and he held his arms tightly.

Luka didn’t regret any of the stress. He was doing it for his family. It didn’t matter how exhausted he was after riding his bike all day. It didn’t matter that he could barely keep his eyes open during band practice. The only thing that mattered was that he was helping them.

He took a deep breath before trying to shake off the negative feelings. As Luka moved across his cabin towards the bed, the porthole next to his bed swung open, letting in a huge gust of wind. He instinctively tried to shield himself from anything that could fly inside, but nothing but warm air filled the room. After the initial shock, he moved over to the window and closed it tightly again. He looked over at the divider and listened carefully to make sure Juleka didn’t awaken.

Muffled snoring continued to sound out behind the barrier and he felt a small wave of relief flush over him before a soft voice whispered in his left ear, “Wow you look just like your picture.”

At least Juleka was a heavy sleeper so she couldn’t hear the girlish shriek that came from him. Luka jumped away from the voice, falling onto the ground next to his amp. His head turned towards the source of the voice and he saw a little bug flying where his ear was. But it wasn’t a bug, it was a lot larger than a typical bug. Squinting his eyes, he saw that the ‘bug’ looked like a human girl with wings.

“What. The hell.”

The little flying girl attempted to move towards him, but seeing as Luka cowered into the corner of the room in fear, she stopped herself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m such a klutz, I don’t wanna mess this up already…”

Luka’s eyes were popping out of his head as he stared at her, trying to rack his brain around whether he had passed out earlier and just forgot. He was tired after work today, surely this must all be a dream. But the little fluttering person continued to ramble, the more she talked, the more Luka realized that this may be real. The bug-person-girl was speaking about an assignment, but then she started waving her arms around, gesturing to him and then her. Luka honestly tried to focus on her words, but her wings were loud and the buzzing sound grabbed his full attention.

“-So that’s basically the situation. Do you understand, Monsieur Couffaine?”

He definitely heard that. How did she know his name already? The girl saw his disoriented expression and sighed, “You didn’t hear anything I said, did you?” He nodded his head and attempted to shuffle closer to his bed, trying to find anything to ground himself.

The girl slowly moved towards him as he finally sat back on the soft surface of his bed. Sitting there was supposed to help him back to reality, but the fabric definitely felt real and not like something he’d feel in a dream. His stomach was knotting and suddenly he felt lightheaded. The flying girl-person-bug perched herself on his guitar and waited for him to settle down. After pinching himself a couple of times to make sure he was awake, he nodded over to her. She gave him a big smile and lifted a hand to him.

“I’m Marinette, your own personal fairy!”

Luka leaned towards her with a finger held out to shake her hand back. Now that he was closer, he could see her a lot better. The girl, Marinette, was surrounded in a soft pink glow. She wore a dress made from varying hues of pink petals. The dress was pulled together on her waist by a small string that tied into a bow behind her. Her hair pulled back into a bun on the top of her head, also tied with string. He squinted and saw that she actually had little feet, and those feet had toes. Which was a very strange thing to be amazed by, considering that she just told him she was a fairy.

In all honesty, despite the strange scenario, Luka found his face burning at her adorable outfit. Which was also a strange thing to think about, because she just told him she was a fairy. “Okay, wow. I have like- a million things going through my mind right now. I’m gonna need a minute-”

A loud snore echoed through the room, interrupting his words. Marinette let go of his finger and both of them went rigid. After what felt like an eternity of waiting to see any signs of Juleka waking up, the fairy flew towards Luka’s face to bring his attention back to her. “Wow. Your sister’s a deep sleeper! Even after your girly scream!” Luka should totally be offended. He should be, but honestly his ego was the least of his concerns.

“Yeah, Jules...she’s good at- I guess- sleeping? I’m sorry, I can’t really focus on her when you’re literally a fairy.”

Marinette let out a soft laugh that oddly sounded sweet, chirpy, and cute. Wait, why was he thinking she was cute?! Not cute. She was not cute. Even if her cheeks were rosy and her hair looked soft and- oh my god why is he thinking like this.

“Well, I guess I should re-explain myself, right? I’m a fairy. We are magical beings here to help humans out when they feel sad. Every fairy is assigned a human to watch over and take care of. After the human is happy again, we wipe our existence from their mind and they go on with their lives. Sounds like a good deal, right?”

While in theory that made sense (honestly it didn’t because up until this point Luka was one-hundred percent sure that fairies weren’t real), he couldn’t help but feel mystified. “Okay...I have so many questions.”

Another chirpy (and cute) giggle came from her and she landed next to him on his bed. “Lucky for you, I may have some answers!”

Luka slowly nodded his head as he watched her walk around his blanket. She honestly couldn’t have been longer than the length of his hand, so seeing her move around really gave him odd feelings, more so than before. “So...Fairies are real?”

Marinette laughed again as she began climbing on his lap. “Yup! We used to roam around in the open, but some awful humans began using us for our magic. Now we hide ourselves and help humans secretly!” Luka looked down at the fairy and saw she began rubbing herself around the hem of his shirt. This was definitely strange. Even if this happened to be a dream, he probably shouldn’t be imagining a fairy rubbing her face against his stomach, right? “Uh- What’re you doing?”

She met his eyes and flew up to his face again. “Sorry, it’s just been so long since I felt such nice fabric. I’ve always wanted to wear cute clothes like you humans do! Your shirt is so soft!”

Not only was he stuck with a mythical creature, but he was stuck with a cute one that happened to enjoy rubbing her face on him. Trying to push any weird thoughts out of his mind, Luka nodded his head and tried to look anywhere else but her. She seemed to sense his uncomfortable aura because she backed away from him and sat on the edge of his porthole. “Why don’t you go to bed, Monsieur Couffaine. I’ll answer all your questions in the morning, okay? A good night’s rest will help get your brain back in working condition!”

Luka looked at Marinette and saw her illuminated by her pink glow and the moonlight. His heart felt like her wings for a moment, but he shook his head to get rid of any strange feelings and stood up. Marinette watched his movements as he walked towards his dresser again and grabbed his blue hoodie.

Her head tilted to the side as she watched him fold it into a small bundle. He walked towards his bed and laid the hoodie onto his amp. Luka looked down timidly at the floor in an effort to avoid her gaze. “I just- I thought a hoodie might be nicer than the window.”

Marinette gave him a soft smile and fluttered back over to his head. She pressed her face into his cheek and then dove into the makeshift bed.

This had to have been a dream. There was no way a fairy just kissed his cheek. Luka found himself a bit dazed at her gesture, so he decided to lay on his bed to try and get some rest. Although with all the adrenaline coursing through his body, he doubted he would sleep for the next week.

At least that’s what he thought before strange dust appeared over his head and his eyes suddenly felt heavier. He glanced over at the nightstand and saw the fairy’s hands twirling in the air out of the hoodie, producing the dust that fell over him.

While this could all be a hallucination due to the lack of sleep he’s been getting lately, he found himself faintly longing for this to not be a dream. A tiny part of him wanted to believe that this could actually be real. But all those thoughts were for tomorrow, right now his body was focused on finally pulling him into slumber. For the first time in a while, Luka found himself peacefully sleeping with a tiny part of him excited for tomorrow.

[themurphyzone]

Nova Ch 12

AN: I’ve been waiting to write this chapter for so long! Can you believe it’s been a year since I started this story? 

Ch 12: Mare

AO3 Link

Dear Mickey Mouse Calendar, 

It’s May 2nd, and you know what that means! Well, besides bringing May flowers of course! The flowers are going to be so beautiful this year, I can tell! Especially once they bring the butterflies and the birds and the bees! Oh dear, do you think Brain knows about the factory in the sky that produces cute little mouse babies? I hope so. 

Anyway, the beautiful, lovely, fantabulous Pharfignewton’s gonna be running in the Derby in just a little bit! She’s worked really really hard to get this far, and I’m super proud of her! She’s gonna be one step closer to the Triple Crown when she wins! 

Anyway, I’m running out of room on this page, so I just wanted to say I love you, Figgy Pudding! May the best mare win!

Love, 

Pinky 

o-o-o-o-o

Pinky added a heart by his name with a sparkly pink gel pen and blew a kiss to the image of Mickey and Minnie driving a cute little car into the sunset. Then he recapped the pen, washed his hands of extra glitter, and returned to the TV, which had been tuned into the Kentucky Derby for the past two hours. 

They were still conducting pre-race interviews with the owners, jockeys, and trainers. Though there were several saddled horses with colorful numbers in the background, none of them were Pharfignewton. 

But they were still very beautiful horses, clopping around on the dirt-covered track as they flicked their ears and tails in anticipation of the race.  

Several boxes of leftover pizza and paper plates were laid out in front of the television.. It was so nice of the scientists to throw a pizza party and let them have the leftovers! Pepperoni, mac and cheese, and pineapple pizza were all so delicious, and they tasted even better when all three were combined on a single slice! 

Pinky popped a pineapple cube in his mouth, giggling as it stung his tongue. Then he turned to his hat, which laid a short distance away from the leftover pizza so it didn’t get soiled. Lovely, glittery red and purple roses decorated the outside of the hat, and every inch was decked with colorful feathers, encouraging messages, and Pharfignewton’s name so everybody for miles around could see he was rooting for his favorite horse. 

Since the hat was too big and heavy for him to wear throughout the pre-race festivities, he decided to just put it on a few minutes before the race instead.

And it was so sweet of Gummy, Madame Daisy, Nicholas, and Mr. Button to support Pharfignewton! They were all gathered in front of the TV so they could watch the Derby too! 

Pinky’s ear twitched at a gagging noise on his left, and he turned his head just in time to see Brain spit a chunk of pineapple onto a napkin. 

“Of all things, why in Selene’s name would you ruin perfectly good cheese with battery acid?” Brain snapped. He immediately dunked his muzzle into a thimble of water. 

“Batteries aren’t a pizza topping,” Pinky said. Did batteries look like pineapples on New Selene? “And pineapple pizza tastes delicious!” 

Brain scowled as he shoved the paper plate with his barely touched pineapple pizza slice towards Pinky, then grabbed a new plate and loaded it with two slices of pepperoni. 

“I’m outlawing that vile piece of filth you call food as soon as I rule the world,” Brain declared. 

“You can’t do that!” Pinky cried. What was next? Declaring pumpkin spice illegal? He would never support such an awful law! “That’s...that’s just unconstitutional! A breach of power! I won’t stand for it, Brain!” 

Then he realized he was standing up to grab the pineapple pizza slice, so he promptly sat down and chomped on pineapple, tomato sauce, and bread to prove his point. 

Brain wrinkled his nose, but before he could reply, the TV panned to show a beautiful, gray-maned white horse prancing in circles around her jockey, nearly tying him up in her reins. 

“That’s her! That’s Pharfignewton!” Pinky yelled, spewing tomato sauce from his mouth. “Hi, Fig! It’s me, Pinky!” 

Pinky quickly set his pizza down and slipped the hat on, sitting underneath the brim while the rest of the hat was propped against the counter. He hoped Pharfignewton could see the messages he’d written. 

“The cameras aren’t two-way, Pinky,” Brain said, but Pharfignewton whinnied happily, so Pinky knew she could hear him from thousands of miles away! 

She wore a beautiful pink cloth over her back with the number fifteen emblazoned in white, with a brown saddle on top. She tossed her head back and whinnied, her reins quivering in the sunlight. Her jockey slipped a pink mask over her face, and when she turned to look at the camera, her gorgeous blue eyes stood out even more. 

“You have quite the unusual horse here, Mr. Gardner,” the reporter said to Pharfignewton’s owner, who Pinky recognized by his bushy beard. “Not much of a looker, nor was she sired from any famous line of racehorses. And only one fellow’s bet on her at all.” 

Pinky frowned. Not much of a looker? That reporter’s obviously never seen Pharfignewton with the wind flowing through her mane, or the joyful neighs whenever she galloped around a field, or how she practically glowed whenever she ran. 

Mr. Gardner leveled a glare at the reporter, who withered from the intense look. “Pharfignewton may have a different build from her fellow racehorses, but she’s a hundred times more passionate about racing than anyone else. It’s true that neither of her parents have competed on the national level, but she’s inherited her mother’s spirit and her father’s diligence, a mixture of traits which will suit her well today.” 

“Yes...I’m sure it will,” the reporter muttered. His eyes darted to a chestnut horse with a yellow cloth draped over his back. “Oh, would you look at the time? I don’t believe I’ve gotten a chance to talk with Mayoneighaise’s team yet!” 

He scurried off, the cameraman trailing behind him. 

A board flashed onscreen, showing the horses’ names and numbers before cutting to commercial. 

“Mr. Legs? Friendly Neighborhood Racehorse? Is this entire competition just an excuse to saddle these poor creatures with horrific names?” Brain asked over the noise of a car commercial. 

“You can’t saddle a name. You saddle horses, Brain,” Pinky said. Brain could be so confused sometimes. 

“And they barely gave Pharfignewton the time of day,” Brain added. “But they dedicated a full fifteen minutes to Arabian Night’s training sessions.” 

Pinky shrugged. “Well, Arabian Night worked really hard. He deserved that time. And so does Maximus and Maverick and Black Beauty and Rainbow Dash and-” 

“It’s blatant favoritism,” Brain cut in. 

The commercial break ended, and the broadcast showed a female reporter approaching an enormous, muscular black stallion with a comically small jockey leading him by the reins. He bore a royal purple cloak with number one written in a fancy golden script on his back. The horse was so dark that Pinky could barely see his eyes or mouth. 

“And here we have the clear fan-favorite, Daddy’s Little Angel,” the reporter declared as she carefully approached the horse, who huffed when she got too close to his muzzle. She pulled back, keeping her microphone close to her body. “An excellent track record locally and regionally, highest odds tonight, and a descendant of the famous Triple Crown winner Secretariat. He sure has a lot going for him, don’t you think?” 

Daddy’s Little Angel was stoic and handsome, and as his owner and trainer listed off his various accomplishments, Pinky crossed his fingers and toes for good luck. Pharfignewton had a whole lot of competition. Sure, she was the fastest racehorse around these parts, but in the Derby she was a small goldfish in a large aquarium full of other fish. 

“Zort! Nope, can’t think like that!” Pinky said, thumping his head with his fist. He didn’t want to have doubts about her talent! She was the best, the swiftest, and the fastest at eating apples and hay! There’s no way she could lose! 

“Quiet, Pinky. I’m trying to listen,” Brain said. His pink eyes gleamed with interest as a montage of Daddy’s Little Angel’s previous feats flashed across the screen. “I wouldn’t be opposed to owning a horse like that for ceremonial purposes.” 

“Parading around on Pharfignewton sounds lovely,” Pinky sighed dreamily. 

He imagined Pharfignewton in a beautiful golden outfit, bells on her reins, and prancing down the street to a cheering crowd while he rode on her back. And there were pretty parade floats and celebrities singing and giant balloons of all his favorite characters! 

He was broken out of his fantasy by the sound of a fanfare. 

“Attention, all riders and horses! Clear the track and proceed to your stalls! The race will commence shortly!” the announcer declared. 

The camera lingered on Daddy’s Little Angel for just a little longer before panning out for a wide shot of the horses and jockeys making their way to the starting point, the trainers leading the horses by the reins and securing them in the stalls. 

Fifteen horses dressed in colorful racing garb whinnied and bucked their hind legs in anticipation of the race. Daddy’s Little Angel was in the first stall, the one nearest to the fence. Next to him, a majestic, stout white horse named Maximus took the number two slot. Like Daddy’s Little Angel, he was poised, calm, and determined to win. 

Most of the other horses were far more impatient though. Rainbow Dash wouldn’t quit stomping in her stall, and Maverick gave her a warning nip when her tail flicked him one too many times. She didn’t like that at all, and both jockeys fought to get their horses under control. 

A cinnamon stallion named Spirit thrashed in his stall, nearly throwing his rider off multiple times while two other people tried to calm him down. 

Then they finally showed Pharfignewton. She was in the stall closest to the stands, and while she was penned securely, the workers were all focused on the skittish racehorses. 

Pharfignewton flashed a horsey smile to the audience, then lowered her head in anticipation for the race to begin. 

Pinky’s fingers, toes, and tail were all crossed. She had to win! This was her dream ever since she was a little filly!

“And they’re off!” the announcer declared as the bell rang and the gates opened. All fifteen horses galloped out of the stalls, kicking up dirt as their hooves thundered against the ground. “Daddy’s Little Angel and Maximus off to an early lead! Horsin’ Around’s pulling ahead of Tricky Mickey and...oh! Spirit’s bucked his jockey! That’s gonna cost everyone behind ‘em some time!” 

The names and number display at the bottom of the screen shifted around as horses pulled ahead or fell behind. 

Pinky’s muscles tensed as Pharfignewton swerved to avoid a riderless Spirit, though Achilles’ Heel was unlucky enough to be caught on a back ankle by a flailing hoof. Pharfignewton fell behind Mr. Legs and Mayoneighase for a split second before increasing her speed and passing them as they reached the first turn.

Pharfignewton was truly in her element! Like a happy, gusty wind spirit! 

“YOU CAN DO IT, FIG!” Pinky screamed at the top of his lungs, and there was an angry shushing noise, followed by a parmesan packet smacking the side of his head. “Thanks for the parmesan, Brain!” 

“Onto the second turn!” the announcer continued. “Daddy’s Little Angel and Maximus neck and neck! Rainbow Dash and Arabian Night fighting for third a mere two lengths away! Maverick trying to squeeze in but there’s no room! Hold onto your fancy hats, folks, this is shaping up to be a wild race!” 

Egad, he didn’t want to lose his fancy hat! Pinky clutched the edges with cheese-stained fingers. 

“Daddy’s Little Angel and Maximus still leading the pack, but trailing them is Black Beauty and Grand Chawhee! Rainbow Dash and Arabian Night have fallen to fifth and sixth! Friendly Neighborhood Racehorse trying for a comeback while Maver-what’s this? Pharfignewton’s clawing her way up from tenth, ninth, eighth, seventh...now she’s passed Rainbow Dash! Ladies and gents, this could be the biggest recovery in the Derby’s history!” 

Oh, if only he remembered where he’d placed his cotton ball pom-poms! They’d come in super handy right now! 

Black Beauty and Grand Chawhee slowed down on the final turn, enabling Pharfignewton to easily overtake them for third place. Then she poured on the speed, closing in between Daddy’s Little Angel and Maximus.

“NARF! GO, PHARFIGNEWTON!” Pinky screeched, his hat tumbling off as he leapt to his feet. If he screamed loud enough, Pharfignewton could hear him all the way in Kentucky! And the power of friendship always worked for last-minute wins! His cartoons were never wrong! 

“It’s a straight shot to the finish! Maximus falls back by half a length! Ladies and gents, could this be the greatest upset in horse racing history? It’s Pharfignewton! No, Daddy’s Little Angel pulls ahead! Now Pharfignewton! Daddy’s Little Angel!” 

Brain was quiet, but from the twitch of his pointed ears and the way he leaned forward, Pinky knew he was just as invested in the race. 

The camera centered on the finish line, but Pinky couldn’t tell who crossed first. Pharfignewton and Daddy’s Little Angel galloped offscreen just as the rest of the pack, led by Maximus, finished after them. 

“WHAT’S THIS? PHARFIGNEWTON AND DADDY’S LITTLE ANGEL HAVE CROSSED THE FINISH LINE AT THE SAME TIME! TURNING THE FOOTAGE OVER FOR REVIEW SO WE CAN DECLARE THE WINNER!”

Pinky quickly found that crossing his toes while standing wasn’t the best idea. He fell flat on his face, but quickly pushed himself up on his elbows as the Derby logo flashed by and replayed the last few seconds of the race in slow motion. 

Pharfignewton and Daddy’s Little Angel’s legs were just one giant blur next to the finish line, but the reel paused on a shot of Pharfignewton’s flaring nostril crossing the line before Daddy’s Little Angel’s front hooves touched it. 

Pinky sucked in his breath. 

“PHARFIGNEWTON HAS BEEN DECLARED THE WINNER! CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR VICTORY OVER THE 141ST KENTUCKY DERBY!” 

“She did it! She did it! Lo hicimos, she did it!” Pinky jumped for joy, his heart soaring in excitement for Pharfignewton. She was three years old and she’d accomplished so much! He was super duper extra proud of her! 

Brain rolled his eyes, but there was a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, it seems all your supportive efforts have paid off.” 

Pinky grinned and tore off a cardboard flap of the pizza box, dumped parmesan cheese all over it, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Nothing tasted better than a victory pizza box with parmesan! 

“Want some?” Pinky offered a second flap to Brain. “It’s delicious!” 

Brain made a gagging noise. “That can’t possibly be good for your digestive system, Pinky.” 

Oh well. More for him then! 

Pharfignewton’s back was draped with beautiful roses, her team of humans all rushing up and hugging her as journalists bombarded them all with questions and photographers snapped photo after photo of her horsey smile. 

Daddy’s Little Angel trotted up to her with a flower crown in his mouth and dropped it onto her head, then drummed the ground steadily with a front hoof in his version of applause. All the other horses followed his lead. Even Spirit and Achilles’ Heel, who were being restrained by a team of trainers, gave their approval. Pharfignewton whinnied in delight, tossing back her head and showing off the beautiful crown. 

She really was the best. Pinky clutched his chest, that warm gooshy feeling of love spreading throughout his body. 

He couldn’t contain it much longer, and he picked up Brain to let it all out, and he danced around in joy with a squirming Brain in his arms. 

“Pinky, I understand that this outcome is most favorable, but I demand that you cease this at once!” Brain complained. 

But Pinky barely heard him. He was more interested in what Mr. Gardner had to say. 

“Pharfignewton did an amazing job and we’re very proud of her,” Mr. Gardner said as he fed Pharfignewton an apple, which she gladly inhaled. “Running’s in her blood, and I’m sure she’s made her parents very proud in equine heaven. She’s definitely gonna take the Preakness and Belmont by storm.” 

“You think she’s capable of gaining Triple Crown status?” the reporter asked. 

Pharfignewton neighed loudly in her direction, messing up the reporter’s hair. 

As the reporter struggled to fix it, Mr. Gardner smiled. “I think she made it clear that she takes what she wants.” 

Two more races for the Triple Crown. Right. 

Pinky stopped dancing, an odd but featherlight weight in his arms. In his excitement, he’d forgotten that Pharfignewton had to win the Preakness and Belmont for her dream to come true. 

It wasn’t that she couldn’t do it. She was a swift runner and the best racehorse in the world. But she would be gone for several months. All the way on the other side of the country. 

And he wanted her to achieve her dream so bad. To rank up there with the great racehorses of old. 

“Pinky?” a voice choked. 

He was accidentally squishing one of Brain’s antennae. Oops. 

“Sorry, Brain,” Pinky quickly said, putting his friend down. 

Instead of stepping away like Pinky expected, Brain remained where he was. Brain was too good at forming unreadable expressions. His pretty pink eyes seemed concerned though. 

“This is a momentous occasion, isn’t it?” Brain asked. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” 

Was that Selenian speak for happy? 

Yeah, he was supposed to be happy. Pharfignewton won. He was really happy for her. He didn’t want Pharfignewton to think he was a bad friend because he was sad about not seeing her for a while. 

“Of course I’m happy for her,” Pinky said. But it was flimsy even to his own mousey ears. 

Brain didn’t seem convinced either. One hand awkwardly hovered in the space between them. 

A little touch would be nice, and he held super still so Brain wouldn’t get spooked. But a tapping at the window broke Brain’s trance, and upon the sight of a hovering black camera with the Selenian logo on its side, he quickly pulled away. 

“Correspondence from Snowball,” Brain said. His ears flattened briefly before returning to their normal position. Maybe he regretted breaking their closeness too. “I’m taking this.” 

He wiped his fingers on a wet cloth before unlatching the window. The camera darted in once the window was open, its tripod claws dropping an unmarked envelope into Brain’s hands before flying off into the brilliant evening sky. 

Well, it could’ve had pizza if it stayed just a little longer. 

Pinky moved behind Brain as he tore open the envelope and unfolded the note inside, which was written in a neat script. 

Pickup at seven pm tomorrow. Don’t be late. 

-Snowball

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Brain sighed. “I’ll make sure we have everything required for tomorrow night, Pinky.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply. He only disappeared into a hidden drawer where all their belongings were stored. 

The masquerade ball was important. He shouldn’t keep Brain from making sure they saved the invitation so they could get in. 

And it would be nice to wear that beautiful dress Sharon picked out. 

But there was an ache in his chest. One that gnawed at his heart, and he didn’t want that icky feeling gnawing at his heart. Pinky sat in front of the TV and focused on Pharfignewton’s happiness instead. He pushed away the pizza, the box tasting like cardboard on his tongue. 

If she was happy, he was happy. And wasn’t that all he needed?

End AN: So as a little treat I snuck some fictional horse names in here. I mean, obviously you know Pharfignewton as Pinky’s equine girlfriend. Daddy’s Little Angel is the name of the horse Brain rode in the OG Animaniacs episode Jockey for Position.

Grand Chawhee’s name is a reference to All Dogs Go to Heaven. Tricky Mickey comes from the 1978 movie Casey’s Shadow, which I caught my family watching a few weeks ago and I just decided to borrow a name from the movie.

Rainbow Dash from My Little Pony, Maximus from Tangled, Black Beauty from the book of the same name, Spirit from the Dreamworks movie, and Achilles’ Heel is a reference to Phoebus’ horse in Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Mr. Legs’ name provided by Boxy. Thank you, Boxy. Snuck in Pinky actually eating a pizza box for ya lol.

Final placements for the Derby are:

1. Pharfignewton 2. Daddy’s Little Angel 3. Maximus 4. Grand Chawhee 5. Black Beauty 6. Rainbow Dash 7. Arabian Night 8. Friendly Neighborhood Racehorse 9. Mr. Legs 10. Maverick 11. Horsin’ Around 12. Tricky Mickey 13. Mayoneighase 14. Achilles’ Heel (never finished) 15. Spirit (never finished)

Next chapter will finally have the Masquerade Ball and boy do I have plans. It’ll definitely be longer than this one. But this chapter at least wraps up the Derby subplot.

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Okay, I'll bite for the shipping game... First I have to say I fucking adore your work and constantly re-read it. Thank you for sharing it w/ us!!!!

Im a bi, cis female w/ a heavy prefence to men.

I've got ADHD, depression, and anxiety, so Im definitely a bit of a fragile, unsure person. Im super shy at first, but it doesn't take long for me to get comfortable w/ others. 100% an introvert, and prefer staying home alone than anything else. I'm a people-pleasing pushover who can't even be slightly rude to people I hate, but Im honestly a pretty angry person w/ strong morals. I can also switch from professional to unhinged pretty quickly. Im really scrawny, but can lift a decent amount for a short time. Prefer analytical, scholarly stuff to physical work though. In short; Ive got the physical and mental strength of a wet noodle.

Science and technology are my biggest passions, specifically anything related to Nuclear physics/chemistry. I also love art of any mediums but focus on drawing and clay. Also goth as hell, and strive to be the seemingly cute, innocent girl whose actually batshit. I live in Utah, so weather/climate and people wise, im pretty adaptable. Prefer CW characters, if that means anything?

Sorry, this got super out of hand and I 100% get if you wanna ignore it ngkdkams

Either way, absolutely love your blog and def look forward to seeing more of your works 💜💜💜 Have a fantabulous day/night!!!

(akaksksk aaaa thank you so much!! I'm so glad you enjoy my work 🥺🥺 at least now you have a nice master list to get to your faves more easily!!!)

I ship you with Woods! 🔫🔪

I'm ngl, you sound a lot (like... A LOT) like me when I was younger, so it would only makes sense that I offer you my one and only beloved 😌🤲🏻

Much like you, Woods is a very emotionally diverse person. Usually he's very extroverted, loud, assertive, and a bit of a hot head, so if you're feeling like stirring up some trouble, he's got your back!! However, especially now that he's older, he needs some recharge time and that's when his soft spot comes out. He's adaptable, so he knows when to tone it down for you when you're feeling shy or especially introverted. And don't forget, once he's by your side, you'll never have to deal with people that you don't want to again lmao. Setting boundaries can be hard, so Woods is more then happy to speak up for you if someone tries to push you around or is making you uncomfortable! You just have to let him know

Also, not to worry! This old dog has plenty of life still left in him, so he'll happily be your muscle! However, you'll probably have to be the brains of the relationship lol. Anyone who knows what a nucleus is, has his respect as a sciencey person tbh (not that he doesn't know what that is, just that that's more then he even cares to know lol).

Plus, he's very into the goth thing you've got going on 😌

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Y’all know my theory at this point: when Raph was little he got separated from his family somehow and had to survive on his own for a while; the trauma from this caused him to develop DID.

It’s pretty clear Savage Raph formed specifically out of that isolation/survival trauma, but we met a third alter in “Pizza Puffs”, who I am calling “Red” for now. What’s his deal? When did he form and why?

-----

Raph: These guys are lost without me! Maybe I should help them.

Red: Make them do it themselves. It’s the only way they’ll learn.

Raph: But they’re just kids!

Red: And you can make them men!

-----

Raph: I gotta get in there!

Red: No. They’ll never learn if you always help ‘em, Raph.

Raph: But I can’t just sit here.

Red: This is for their own good.

-----

Raph: I knew you guys could do it.

Red: No you didn’t! I did!

Raph: Oh, you wanna go?

Red: Bring it.

-----

While Savage fronts when Host can’t handle being literally alone, Red spoke up in “Pizza Puffs” because Host was struggling to deal with being sort of... metaphorically alone? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and weren’t taking him or the situation seriously. Normally “it’s not good to be too dependent on others”, “kids need to grow up” and “sometimes you have to do things you don’t like” are good life lessons, but in this particular situation the life lessons should have waited until after the boys weren’t poisoned anymore. Sure, they pulled through, but Raph staying behind added an unnecessary level of risk. There’s a level of disjointedness between Raph and Red that I’m hoping will be explored and resolved in the future.

New alters form when preexisting alters are unable to handle whatever is going on in their life. What situation would Raph have been in for Red to form? When was “be independent/grow up/do something you don’t like” important? "Pizza Puffs” was the first time we’ve seen Raph do a solo mission, but it’s not the first time something like that has been mentioned.

“You went out on your own when you were [Mikey's] age.”

Thirteen is a very lonely age to be. I’m thinking events went something like this: Raph started hitting puberty at around 12/13 and Everything Was Awful. He was suddenly a lot bigger and stronger than he was used to, so he would accidentally break things around the lair more often, or get a little too rough when playing. I know we tend to poke fun at the “nobody understands me and everything sucks” mindset teens fall into, but as a mutant, Raph’s world was so, so small. Disconnected from his brothers, whose minds hadn’t hit the same milestones yet. Disconnected from his father, who would be passed out in the middle of a “Scorpion Treadmill” marathon whenever Raph needed guidance. Disconnected from April, a normal human girl who lived a normal human life he could never have.

Raph’s temper is relatively mellow now, but back then? Under those circumstances? He went too far.

And then he ran off topside, shame and nausea biting at the leftover fury in his heart.

In previous iterations, this is when he would run into a certain masked vigilante. But not in this universe. Not on this night. Casey wasn’t out pummeling pickpockets, she was training at the Foot dojo. They wouldn’t meet until “Hot Soup: The Game”, a couple of years later.

So Raph curled up on a roof somewhere with only his awful, awful thoughts for company. His little brother had been so scared of him... he couldn’t go back and face his family after what he had almost done. But he couldn’t stay up here alone either. What could he do?

Grow up.

He’s stronger now, and he has to be braver, too. He knows the way back home and there’s nothing out here that can hurt him. He can stand to be alone for a bit.

But he can’t stay here forever. He’ll have to go back home and do what he can to make things right, no matter how much it hurts.

So Red breathed in the cold night air for a while, and then retraced his steps back to the lair.

-----

But how are Raph and Casey going to properly meet? We saw her get kidnapped by that shadow thingy at the end of “Always Be Brownies”, so the resolution to that whole situation should be involved somehow.

Draxum gave Big Mama an orb covered in clawed, three-fingered hands. Then we see that Big Mama’s new assistant has such hands, as does the entity that took Meat Sweats and Casey. Clearly Big Mama is having her assistant kidnap people to fight in her “Fantabulous Battle Nexus Wizbang”. The turtles will be pulled into this because you can’t just not have your protagonists participate in the tournament arc.

We have yet to see Casey go well and truly Apeshit, because her previous fights have always had a certain level of shenanigans to them. Mikey fought her with an umbrella and a beach ball. Leo shoved a portal under her feet. She accidentally slashed up a corpse flower and fell into the goo. Her bonding moment with Splinter made her less willing to fight. The FBNW will give her the opportunity to show us what she can really do by pitting her against an opponent who is no-nonsense, one hundred percent ready to throw down.

Who could possibly be a better opponent for her than Savage Raph? (Perhaps Big Mama’s shadow captured the Sando Brothers, and they gave Big Mama information on a better fighter in exchange for their freedom?)

The two are evenly matched, of course, but the fight gets interrupted by the other turtles causing a mass breakout thanks to Leo’s emergency leader skills. Savage runs into his brothers amidst the chaos and they get Host to switch back in again. They defeat Big Mama and her shadow together and head home, yay huzzah plot concluded.

Casey, forgotten, also escapes and sneaks off to brood somewhere.

-----

A few episodes later, Red slips away to cool off for a bit (a habit that formed when he did, a way to decompress whenever they felt their temper getting the better of them) and happens to see some hockey mask-wearing lunatic picking fights with pickpockets. He hops down and holds her back, letting the would-be thieves get away with their skulls intact. “Listen, I get that you’re mad, but you can’t just go around-” And then he gets a baseball bat to the head.

"Back for round two, are you?!”

Red shakes the stars out of his eyes. That voice sounds familiar. “Hey, I don’t wanna fight you! Pops told us you left the Foot, we don’t have to be enemies anymore! Your heart’s in the right place with this whole crimefighting thing, but you’re going too far.”

Casey laughs a laugh that’s more taunt than humor. “Crimefighting? You think that’s what this is?” She gestures at the direction the thieves went with her scuffed and bloody bat. “This is training! You ran from our fight in the Nexus and I have been itching to beat you ever since. Die, coward!”

Red just barely manages to dodge the second bat swing. “What are you talking about? I never even saw you in the Nexus!”

They trade blows for a bit, Red’s attempts to calm her drowned by Casey screaming and cursing out this “lying turtle scum”. “Where is your fury? What happened to your viciousness? Why won’t you give me a real fight this time? Why are you holding back?!”

Her voice fades and all Red hears is the high shrieks and low roars of a crowd, harsh lights dulling the twin moons set in the green sky above as she lunges towards him and-

The bat hits his side with such force that the wood cracks a little, knocking the wind out out him despite his sturdy shell.

Casey stops bludgeoning him to better focus on gloating. “That move didn’t work on you last time. Did the first hit scramble your brains?”

Red kicks her feet out from under her and bolts, running back to the lair as quickly as he can manage with his head full of sights and sounds he can’t quite grab onto.

-----

Leo had stayed up to wait for his brother to return, so he grabs the first aid kit the moment Red emerges from the sewer tunnel. He starts to ask what happened as he unspools a roll of bandages, but Red asks a question instead. "What happened at the Nexus while I was... gone?"

Leo knows what he means, and the sun starts to rise as he fills in the gaps in his brother's memory.

-----

Casey’s ankle is twisted from Red's kick, so she can’t run after him for more than a few steps before falling over. Limping back home, she puts on her motivational Lou Jitsu playlist and begins to scheme.

---

For the record, I do think Raph and Casey will eventually become friends. But in the meantime... what kind of superhero doesn’t have a nemesis? :)

[brkfstgrrrls]

@2187s LEFT A NIGHTMARE AFTER THE TONE: 🥝🥝🥝🥝🥝 !!!

@rapturcd - Where to start to describe a friend? Nox is a close online friend whom I’ve had the pleasure of following for the last few years now. We’ve been able to keep up with each other from blog to blog, and continued to do so when she revived this blog right here, a Bioshock oc. I’ll admit that when I saw her move here, I had no clue what the hell Bioshock was other than some video game. I’ve been graced with so many exciting details, passion has been poured into every message and post she makes upon the dash, it instantly made me a fan of this little franchise. Though the Bioshock rpc is small, Nox has found a way to make it her own. Her blog is filled with so much helpful information, and one look at her extremely well thought out, and detailed OC page will tell you all you need to know about this vast universe. With every OC she makes, it’s done with love and care, but something about Nicholas is truly special. Aside from being from one of the most interesting and unique fandoms, Nicholas was crafted with more detail than the gods could give any living being. Nox is also a plot driven writer, I know I am too so if that’s your thing, you’ll be glad to know not only is she a peach but she’s very fun to bounce ideas with! She helped me learn so much about Bioshock, it made plotting feel effortless and an overall thrill. If you don’t follow her, not only are you missing out, but I’ll personally be offended on her behalf.

@segadore - It’s been a few years now, and I have not been able to get Fawn off of my tail, damn you— I’M KIDDING, no but really, Fawn and I have been buddies for the last few years, and I started following her on her Steve Harrington blog. I’ve already gushed in the past about how much I love her Steve, so in the same way she’s so kindly embraced my OCs, I’d like to do the same with hers. Let’s start off with this: Fawn is the one person I see constantly and without a second thought embracing all writers, you could write an oc, canon muse from a different fandom, female oc, doesn’t matter– she will love them like her own. You speak with Fawn ooc, and you’ll feel at home, you’re never a bore nor bother. They’re one of the few people in this RPC I feel so genuinely safe around, and they make me feel like a valued writer even when I’m being ignored by others on the dash, I feel important, and it’s thanks to them. Fawn writes a very amazing muse named Mykah, from what can only be described as a non-existent fandom. I learned about Dead Like Me through her, and I’ve since been completely hooked on this concept and universe. Mykah is a very special, and well-thought out muse. He’s a soul collecting reaper from California, and he’s got so much wit, charm, and attitude, how could you not love the guy? He’s got a tough exterior, but he’s so funny as well, you can tell when you’re reading something Fawn wrote, they have such a unique tone, your eyes will be glued to the screen instantly as soon as you see a reply in your inbox. From the bottom of my heart, I hope we continue to write for years to come. If you want some fresh content you’ve never seen before, and perhaps one of the kindest friends, with the most goddamn creative mindset, please, go look at Fawn’s content. For the love of GOD go look.

@wyntered​ - You know how when your favorite musician or celebrity makes a post on Instagram or twitter, you go “Ah! There’s _____ again, classic ol’ _____, love them.” and you get all giddy in your seat, overwhelmed just by their presence even if it isn’t for you? That’s how I feel everytime I read each and everyone of Chantelle’s posts. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t get to read all of my rp partners replies to other folks, sometimes I’m too busy, or honestly? I don’t feel like it. But the amount of effort and research they’ve put into this, how could I not? I love reading both her replies to myself and other people, I love reading her meta posts and headcanons, because I know it’ll not only be helpful but just wonderful. It’s also so nice to see how much care she’s put into writing such a complicated man like Bucky Barnes, her portrayal is uniquely her own, and she’s truly made sure to set a realistic example for others. I’ve learned so much, and it’s thanks to her. They’ve also been so gracious in writing with my own Marvel OC, Alice, and never act annoyed or bothered. That’s not something you often find with people who write popular canon muses, but it’s something I’ve been lucky enough to find with Chantelle. Do yourself a favor, buckle up, and get excited. Go and give her a follow, because I just know in my heart she’ll be more than happy to embrace you with open arms. Thanks for giving me the most iconic and kickass friendship for my daughter! It’s probably obvious to y’all by now that I love Chantelle’s work, so you know this message is genuine.

@capnsolo - I found out a few weeks ago that Kayla and I have been mutuals for years, and neither of us knew it. We’ll ignore that for now. I know Kayla as the most fantabulous Han Solo mun on the block, no really, she’s amazing. We found each other again because I writer princess Leia ( over on @/hopescorned ) and well… SCOUNDRESS! Together, we’ve managed to create our own little version of canon to their storyline, and we continue to develop it each time we speak. I’m not very good at articulating my thoughts, but my point is, Kayla is a very skilled, and creative woman. She’s smart, she knows how to use canon as a crutch, but doesn’t rely on it. She let’s her brain do the talking, and she knows how to collaborate well with others, and happens to be very open minded and flexible to other people’s muses. No matter how outlandish the idea might be for a story, Kayla will find a way to work with it. I’ve never seen someone capture Han’s tone so well, each time I read one of her replies, I can truly see and hear Harrison Ford acting each of the stories we create, out in my head. She has a way with her words, and she’s a true talent. Please, even if Star Wars isn’t your think, at least give her work a chance, it’ll be a pleasant surprise.

@nostlgic - Ash & I have been writing together since February, and the day we started speaking, they were one of the kindest souls I’ve been graced with speaking to. A passionate writer, you’ll be pleasured to see that their muse list is rather long, and diverse. Ash is the kind of writer that is always up for the challenge. You have an OC no one is interested? Cool, Ash is now interested in writing with them. You have a crazy rp idea you want to pursue? Ash is the first in line to give it a try. Whenever I write with Ash, I know it’s going to be a new and exciting adventure, each story is different from the next, and with each muse, they shift tones effortlessly; Stephen King would envy them. I made a post probably a month or two ago about how I wanted to write with an Edward Scissorhands, and within approximately 10 seconds, they volunteered to add him to her muse roster, and a mutual friend of ours even went to comment “I was going to tag Ash but it seems she’s already here” and why is that? That’s just the kind of person Ash is, and I truly love it. Go and peep her profile, because I can guarantee there’s at least one muse you’ll want to write with.

            ･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡♡  SEND A 🥝 FOR A BLOG RECCOMENDATION

[gimbapchefs]

♧ shower with me love please

yES RÉKA LET ME SHOWER YOU IN LOVE

You’re my: sweet sweet supportive mutual whom i love dearly 💛

How I met you: either through my dash or through the btsgif tag i kept seeing your works and they were high quality and had really great captions. i forget why exactly i slid into your dms but i think it was bc i replied to a post you had or something along those lines and was like it's friends time :D and i am v glad i did

Why I follow you: your gifs always impress me and you make gifs because you want to and will take your time to make them how you want them :) and you're just a sweet hooman

Your blog is: fantabulous, i just went to your desktop view and your theme is adorable with the little chat boxes and how they wiggle

Your URL is: niceee idk if this is weird but the combination of letters feels like your personality like y b j just seem like calm letters to me (my brain is not wired correctly LOL)

Your icon is: everything i needed like it's jin in that angelic outfit with that orangey sunset like background and i love it, aLso your header gif i love the black and white sope

A random fact I know about you: that you also cannot stand the 9 dynamite remixes but love the fake love rocking mix and that stay is your everything

General opinion: yOU'RE SO SWEET and NICE i want to shower you with all the love and appreciation (i think i've said this before hehe but idc i'll keep saying it) bc you really are just a kind, warm hearted person and even when you're stressed you're able to make content on here which is difficult to bring yourself to do. i'm happy we've started chatting and look forward to our future convos hehe🥰

A random thought I have: still thinking about how we brainstormed pancakes and syrup and bangtan...smooth like butter...😳

mutuals send me a ♧!

[quilloftheclouds]

beep bop I’m an anon from writeblr and I’d like to know your favorite writeblrs? here’s a chance to give them a compliment to make their day. ☀️

hhhhhhhnnnnnnn I HAVE SO MANY BUT NOT ENOUGH ENERGY TO COMPLIMENT EVERYONE. But I’ve been wanting to make a post like this for a while, so thank you for the excuse! I’ll leave a list of an absolute ton of marvelous folks at the bottom, but here’s a few that I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to interact with more!! (In no particular order~ ^^)

@pens-swords-stuff ONE OF THE FIRST WRITEBLRS I FOLLOWED. Undine should be like… a staple of every writeblr’s follow list. This lovely has a friendliness and compassion that knows no bounds, hosts so many supportive writeblr events, has masterful writing that inspires awe, and has so much heckin’ good advice stuck in that there brain of hers that I dunno if she’s even human anymore.

@mvcreates Also one of the first on my following list! Mina has jaw-dropping gorgeous art and graphics, handles her writeblr like an elegant professional, has a poetic type of writing so deeply steeped with symbolism that it makes me faint it’s so good (and such a personal inspiration!! WOW I WISH I had an eighth the skill), is honestly one of the main blocks of writeblr’s foundation with how much she reblogs and reviews other people’s comments, and is just genuinely such a generally fantastic person!

@lady-redshield-writes Lady Red’s writing. I just. It’s indescribable how heckin’ stellar, amazing, gorgeous? Marvelous, wonderful, brilliant, INSPIRATIONAL it is. Lady Red your skills should be illegal what the heck??? STARS ABOVE I have learned SO MUCH from reading your writing, you convey character and environment and worldbuilding in such a fluid and engaging way it is just. Magnificent. Holy stars. AND IN ADDITION TO THAT. Lady Red is one of the biggest rebloggers of other people’s content in the community, and leaves the most bestest of thoughtful comments! This writeblr has literally been the reason behind why I found so many of my favourite wips~

@abalonetea I remember being afraid of interacting with Katie because I was so intimidated by her absolutely masterful manipulation of words and fonts and sentence structure and I just. I was so in awe of her ability to do so much, so well, that I actually didn’t start interacting with her until a fair length of time after I started my writeblr. ^^’ But stars am I glad I did. Not only? Is Katie’s writing and worldbuilding and art just gorgeous and breathtaking and thousands of other wonderful adjectives, but she’s??? Such a genuinely nice person??? The events she hosts are so lovely for the community, too!!

@bookenders 🌵 friend!! Gorgeous writing. Wonderful worldbuilding. Adorable and relatable and marvelously well developed characters. Absolutely amazing poetry and prose both. And such!! A fun and kind and friendly and lovely person to talk to!! Enders is on a bit of a hiatus at the current moment, but they have so much content already up that I highly recommend you take a peek at!

@livvywrites FUN FACT. I WAS ACTUALLY. SO INTIMIDATED BY THE VAST AMOUNT OF WORLDBUILDING AND DEEP LORE THAT YOU HAD FOR YOUR WIPS. THAT I didn’t interact for a good long while. Why. I dunno. I am so heckin’ thankful I did though. Beautiful writing, stellar characters (who I’m love too much), worldbuilding that is so heckin’ deep that Livvy must be spying on a parallel dimension or something because it’s just so amazingly well thought out. And such!! A wonderfully creative, brilliant, kindhearted soul that is just so genuinely fun to chat with~

@dove-actually I’ve only really recently been reading into Dove’s writing but! I can already tell that it is all spectacular. I heckin’!!! LOVE DOVE’S CHARACTERS SO MUCH. Her worldbuilding is absolutely GLORIOUS, her dialogue is hilarious and emotional both, it’s just!! So amazing!!! And that’s not mentioning anything about how fantabulously supportive this lovely is! Dove leaves the most thoughtful and caring comments, and is just such an inspirationally kind and delightful person. 💖

@dogwrites A brilliantly clever and creative writer who knows just perfectly how to tear your heart out and throw it to the wolves (shh puns). Dog’s writing is so chock full of glorious description and inspirational characterization and I just. I need to find time to read more of it ahhhhHHHHH. BUT IT’S SERIOUSLY SO GOOD. And Dog’s aesthetics and graphic edits are always beautiful and so wonderfully fitting, too, ahhhh. AND DOG ALWAYS LEAVES THE NICEST AND MOST IN-DEPTH COMMENTS HOLY STARS. Anyways. Go read Dog’s stuff. Yeah.

@ardawyn Oh my stars!!! SOPHIE’S DESCRIPTION. MAKES ME CRY IT’S SO VIVID AND GORGEOUS AND I CAN ALWAYS FEEL RIGHT LIKE I’M THERE. I love it so so much. And then!! Her characters are lovely, so full of personality and just!! Her writing style is just so elegant and beautiful to read and I just. I love her writing so much mate ahhh. AND THEN HER GRAPHICS???? [Insert ten page essay about why they’re so amazing here.] The colouring the textures the images the formats, how well they all fit. Her aesthetic edits are simply a dream. And that’s not even mentioning how SUPPORTIVE and KIND and FRIENDLY this lovely is!! Her comments give me LIFE. I loveeeee

ANYWAYS YEAH. That’s a lotta text and I wanna actually finish this at some point, so unfortunately that’s gonna be all for this time in terms of the longer comments. Sorry folks. ^^’ I still love all of you immensely, though. Here’s some more absolute inspirations to both me and I’m certain a whole huge part of the writeblr community!

@ditzysworld @tenacious-scripturient @waterfallwritings @milkyway-writes @roselinproductions @royalbounties @stardustscribes @sunlight-and-starskies @reeseweston @holotones @surroundedbypearls @erinnharper @llesbianwrites @radley-writes @vhum @half-explored @emdrabbles @evelyns-spilled-tea @cirianne @popovs @chauceryfairytales @eluari @beanenigma And many others I’m likely forgetting!

I know I don’t interact much with some of you (I just... love too many people’s stuff for the free time I have in a day >n

[mfk-archived]

ok friends sit down as I talk about my most beloved franchise on the face of the Earth:

B-PROJECT

I think it's super obvious by now that B-Project (Kodou*Ambitious, Zecchou*Emotion, and Kaikan Everyday ((even tho I don't play it oof))) is....very special to me

But like,, I never gave an exact reason why? I just scream about it in the tags

Well, this is going to be a post about some of the small and big things i absolutely about my 14 idol boys and their super cute A&R!

This is long so uhh have fun reading! 💕

•The characters: they're so unique and individually stick out in their own ways. Goushi and his temper, Momotaro and his mom habits, Mikado and his nerdiness, it goes on.

It's just so great. After you know them a bit you feel yourself get attached (I've seen it happen thrice) and you want to know more about them. The extroverts aren't all the same and they don't have the same habits (i.e. Yuuta is a literal puppy but Haruhi has a social swag that makes him different) Same with the introverts!

They're pretty realistic in some of their reactions as well. Miroku tries to be perfect and it doesn't work bc it's too good so Kento needs to teach him charm. Ryuji is genuinely surprised when Tsubasa shows concern for him and Tomohisa. There's a few examples but they all make the characters more loveable.

The music: you look me dead in the eyes and tell me that NONE–not a single note out of the 50+ songs–of the B-Project songs are even DECENT. I dare you. I will fight you.

↓one of my personal favorites

The music is just...beyond me. They really know how to hit you in the Zecchou emotions

One song like lonely fangs can hype you up to where you feel like you can climb mountains and well, discover a new world Whereas another song like love☆revolu can make you feel like you're in a romantic getaway and the wind is blowing you in the right path

The seiyuus do a fantabulous job at singing and keeping their character simultaneously too (cough happy ending cough)

Also the songs are just straight up bops like???? please listen to them

When you really give it a chance, it feels like you're a part of their world and you can just jam out

The MC, Tsubasa Sumisora: This one is more aimed towards the anime since she isn't present in the games(?)

I've seen people throw serious shade at Tsubasa for 'getting in the way of their yaoi.' Gonna be real for a good moment:

Shut the fuck up.

If that's all you care about when watching B-Pro then guess what, you ain't getting it. This is about them wanting to make it big. Not getting it on. Go away.

Tsubasa is just an absolute joy and a sweetheart. Not only does she genuinely care for the boys (^see point abt Ryuji being surprised by it), she tries her diddly darn hardest at her job

After Yashamaru leaves she keeps herself together and doesn't let his threats shake her up. she gives it her all to get the boys to the top

Shes also very pretty as well. Her design is simple but she sticks out in her own way to me <3 she can be dramatic at times (more in S1) but I take it as that she was still adjusting to her job

The seiyuus/voice actors:I'll keep this one short. If I could hug these guys I really, really would

They're just the best and I'm so thankful that they make the liveshows happen and give the fans a fun time performing

They really do a superb job voicing the boys and singing the songs. B-Pro wouldn't be possible w/o these guys they're the really MVPs

Also they give us silly things like this:

Toyonaga is always just,,,,the crazy one it cracks me up while Kato is just as handsome and stylish. Hanae is a sweetie sjdjdj

I love that they're all friends and stuff

Small random things: its almost over i promise

The respect Tsubasa gets in the workplace and from the boys

The subtle, not in your face ship fanservice. (@anime-music-ships knows what I mean hehe)

THE FANSERVICE IN GENERAL—they literally spoon feed us I'm 😫😭😭🙏🏽💕❤️❤️✨

The SSR cards/CGs: they're BEAUTIFUL holy shiiiiiit

Each group's 'theme', their color schemes and outfits are just 💋 MUAH BEAUTIFUL

The boys' friendships and how they all get along well

Kitakore's super cliche but so romantic backstory

The fact Kento wore JEAN SHORTS for his debut

THANK YOU UTAKO YUKIHIRO FOR DESIGNING THESE BAD BOYS ✨✨🙏🏽😭

there's a lot I love but my brain don't work so good so uhhh let's wrap it up shall we?

Look, this franchise means a hell of a lot to me and I just wanted to manifest my thoughts into one long post

It's not that popular in the west and I kind of wish it was. But at the same time it feels like MY thing—the thing that makes me feel like, well, ME

It's just a big bundle of good things that can make you smile when you're sad or dance when you're bored

It might be kind of an underdog within the idol community (at least IMO) but I will always love it with open arms

These boys are more than just crafts to please a female audience

They are my friends Jk, they're wonderful beings and a group with loads of potential

*sticks pinky in the air* for B-Project ❤️

tagging some b-pro friends bc why not SHARE THE LOVE:

@wishiwasfictionaltoo @scarletlion94 @colaloli @sutekihappiness @itarucchi @trulipan

[starlightments]

Hi! I'm a huge fan of your works, and can I just say I'm super excited for 'Syrup and Honey'???? I know whatever happens, I will fall in love with it like I have with all your other fantabulous works! Also, haha, this may seem like a weird thing to ask, but I'm genuinely curious, but uh, in RAAI, whose taller, Keith or Lance?

Thank you, omg!!!! I’m loving all this S&H hype

[to-read-is-to-breathe]

Songs of 2019

April 29, 2019

Jump (Acoustic) by Julia Michaels

Alright. Let's bring Julia back because I literally listen to this song every day on my hour long drive home from work and I think it's giving me life.

I've talked about this before, but Julia Michaels was a badass song writer for other stars before she became a performer herself. Now she's a badass singer/songwriter and does amazing collabs with artists like Shawn Mendes, Selena Gomez and James Bay. The fact that I haven't gotten to see her in concert actually grinds my gears a little bit because I think it would be a ridiculously wonderful experience. But I digress.

The fact that she isn't worldwide famous also kind of shocks me. Her lyrical ability is mind blowing. She weaves together plot and emotion so easily that there are times when you forget you're listening to music--it just feels like an elaborate story that you're listening to a friend tell. And her sound, musically, varies between what I can only describe as alt. pop and heart wrenching ballads. Her tone is unique, her range fantabulous, and I just love her.

This song, a fast-paced jam with rapid lyrics and a softer melody that manages not to get lost in the mix, is the kind of music you have no choice but to learn. Your brain will take in the lyrics regardless of whether you want it to or not. It's a song about falling for someone even if you don't want to, so that dynamic with your brain makes sense.

Julia makes the kind of music that makes you feel better. When it comes on, it makes you smile. It makes you want to dance, even if it's a song about something that is exactly happy. That's talent--and the kind of art we all need in our lives.

[designslikesweethearfbnt]

it up adding floral information is a humanities and flirty options black prom dresses 2020*&……t

Patterned Indicant Buckram GOWNS PERFECT FOR ANY SPECIAL OCCASSION Whether you are celebrating the upcoming formation, enjoying the superlative of season, or simply relish a bit of whimsy, patterned exposure gowns can be an paragon select for some occasions. Weddings, proms, homecomings, and galore otherwise unscheduled events are all wonderful nowadays to select a fun exposure featuring any of your popular flowers and colors. In fact, the sort of floral dresses that are available on the marketplace will you are sure to encounter a garment in your nonpareil cut or music featuring the adjoin of quality only a patterned make can ply. And, since patterned prints are ofttimes a fashion staple, you can almost endorse you can feel new choices every twelvemonth. To amend you see what options are addressable, here are few lovely choices for almost any ceremonial opportunity. Extendable Patterned Dresses for Any Stiff Time For those who favour the classic examine of a hourlong neaten but would like to mix it up adding floral information is a humanities and flirty options black prom dresses 2020. Floral prints don't descend in rightful one call there are options usable in near any tool and adorn. Whether you favour the sleekness of mermaid floral gowns, the elegance of floral print globe gowns, or anything in between, you are sure not to be disappointed. Gowns flick floral information in a show of forms. You can revel the subtly of tone-on-tone bind, allowing the patterned organisation to foster as a oblong textural situation against other cloth types or go dramatic with a clear write featuring fateful flowers against spirited colors or a picture make against artist pastels. These prints can also lineament a difference of added stylistic elements equal astragal and crystals, and be constructed out of near any schematic gown crucial. If you score a part name of garb in listen, you can virtually sure maturate a zealous patterned print to spotlight the form. A patterned bodice can support an soignee oppositeness to a skirt made fabrics suchlike satin, tulle, or milcher. Or you can superior a patterned create for the meet and prepare the bodice a plain excuse. Oft, if you select a solon polytonal programme, you can actually know a brain to toe patterned pic that provides visible touch based on texture instead of spiky differ interest. Rook Floral Dresses Semi-formal occasions, as easily as period events equal homecomings and proms, can oftentimes wee a swindle floral frock a completely appropriate option. Oft, you faculty ascertain suited options ranging from knifelike scam floral cocktail dresses, creation tea-length gowns, and more. Adjoin shapes can ambit from fitted to flared, and bodice choices and necklines are as pliant as any added music of ready. Akin to the offerings of somebody dresses, position floral dresses can boast the print on honorable the bodice, right the contact, or across the entire plan. Since the raiment is shorter, it can work it simpler to have a sinewy floral photo crossways the total habilitate, because the opposition is automatically created with magnified exposed cutis vintage wedding headpieces. You can also see features equal change, moulding, and crystals adscititious for anything from subtle texture to impressive emit. Time many grouping cogitate that a shortish raiment is exclusive for younger women, it can be an fantabulous wait for anyone who enjoys display off their legs and a great duet of position. But decide a meet length with which you are homely, and relish flaunting your favorite plus.

Floral Print Prom Dresses Girls can also acquire show-stopping patterned gowns that module assist pledge they represent an entranceway into prom. Designs can be launch in one mend and two piece patterned prom dresses, allowing apiece ball goer to prefer a style that highlights their assets spell ensuring they can saltation the nighttime inaccurate in status. For those who favor to exhibit built shoulders and a muscular posterior, a racerback patterned mermaid wear can cater a alcoholic silhouette piece maintaining a plane of propriety. Gowns featuring floral prints with strangle tops and misconception cut outs can create an unforgettable examine trustworthy to pulling work for all of the compensate reasons. Floral ball dresses can be initiate in nigh any timber and call. In fact, with all of the options acquirable, there is sure to be the model patterned prom frock for anyone. So, whether you are superficial for a full-length clump scrubs touch, a silky mermaid silhouette, or a low and chichi cocktail beautify, there is one to meet your needs. So, if you make your nerve set on discovery the perfect patterned scrubs, don't comprehend the necessary to settle. Reckon which necklines and skirts you upgrade and let those direct your choices. Still, if you see a interest or pic that you only can't ignore, don't be petrified to try something incomparable, especially for events like prom. Your prom may be one of the most limber literary laladpoiufhffouj- events you ever see belk formal dresses, making any communication that you couple the perfect select. Feel a tog that makes you prosperous and highlights (or flaunts) your choice features white graduation dress, and you but can't go base. Related recommendations: that happen to be exclusively aware through elegant the offense cheap homecoming dresses~!*(&)%)78590 therefore you have (*&%-907 to do correct -09869 route preparing cheap wedding dresses online under 200 Another well-known (*%)(&() style cheap wedding dresses online under 200)__ you can select your have set of (*%_()*08 hues for your marriage cheap lace wedding dresses under 200_)(*)*(-