#original writing tag forthcoming

[kaftan]

through the mountain pass

to begin to collect the what-ifs

and so too does God

#original writing tag forthcoming #visual ​art tag forthcoming? #from a birdcage-amy test page… plotting a collage

[djs-sideblog-for-pog-trains]

so. um. @mean-scarlet-deceiver's post about thomas and henry's relationship has been living in my brain rent free for the past month and i have been turning over a scene for just as long.

so. i tried to write it. i hope you don't mind, jobey. and also you're right. they are Hard to get right. if i had to put an era on this i'd call it BG (Before Gordon).

about 1.5k, full fic under the cut

--- --- ---

Thomas keeps shooting glances at the sheds as he bustles around the yard.

It… the hired help from the other railway, the engines who are slightly too full of themselves for Thomas’ liking (and he’s made sure to let them know as such) have been talking loudly all morning, as they were getting ready to take their trains, about… the new engine.

Henry. Even if he couldn’t have remembered Henry’s name, the other two have been saying it loudly enough to carry around the yard that Thomas certainly has the picture now. And… Thomas’ lip curls as he hears their newest comment as he goes past.

“Hey!” he calls, boiling over, and the two hired engines look at him. “It’s 9am already. Are you going to actually go take your trains, or are you just going to sit and preen all day?”

“What would you know, little Thomas?” one of them calls back, all smarmy and smug. Thomas’ lip curls even more into a full on frown. Eugh. Tender engines.

“About running a railway on time?” Thomas snaps back. “Clearly more than you! Are you waiting for Sir Topham Hatt to personally invite you, or?”

They huff and sneer and pout at him, but they do still steam off one by one. However, they each shoot Henry a knowing and cruel side-eye as they go that makes Thomas bristle, despite himself.

Henry is still in his berth in the sheds. Well, he’s half-in, half-out. He only seemed to have made it so far before he… stopped. And he’s been going all sorts of shades of red as the others’ gossip had gotten louder and louder as he waited for his driver to return with an engineer of some sort.

Henry isn’t looking at Thomas now, but his eyes had snapped to the tank engine when Thomas had spoken up. He’s instead closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and seems to be trying – and trying hard – to… to what? To move?

Thomas tries not to stare, as he moves trucks into the siding they’re expected to be found in. Why is he trying so hard?

Eventually, Henry does actually move – but he… Thomas frowns again. Henry moves backwards, back into the shed. The wheesh Henry lets out as he comes to a halt is limp and weak.

Henry has been here, what, all of a month, maybe two at this point. Thomas hasn’t heard… many kind things, actually, so far, which is weird because look at him. Henry’s huge – Henry’s the biggest engine Thomas has ever seen, and he’s surely powerful to boot.

But Henry… Well, Edward said that Henry is sick, and sick often.

“Why?” Thomas had asked, as they had approached the shed. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Thomas,” Edward had reprimanded, and that’s when Thomas had realised Henry was in earshot, and clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t.

And that had been that.

Thomas had seen Sir Topham Hatt come out of his office at the station to watch Henry’s comings and goings, and more often than not with a stormy expression on his face. And Thomas didn’t get that either. Problems get the stormy expression. Troublemakers get the stormy expressions (Thomas would know). And Henry seems… too…

Thomas biffs his truck ahead of him as he turns his thoughts over.

Too… quiet? Too wallpaper? Too chameleon? Too…?

He snorts to himself. Whatever Henry is, he’s too much of it. And certainly too much of it to be a troublemaker, not like those mainline engines. It’s not like Thomas has gotten to know Henry yet, and it’s not like Henry has given him the opportunity to, either: but Thomas doesn’t get the impression Henry wants to be trouble. But he has to be… there has to be something wrong here, otherwise the Fat Controller wouldn’t be so upset.

Thomas hears a sniff from behind him as he backs down his stretch of track, and realises it’s come from the sheds.

And Thomas sighs quietly. …Then again, if nothing was wrong, Henry wouldn’t be so upset either.

“Those two,” Thomas says, before he can think, and Henry has gone absolutely silent, eyes flicking over to Thomas as Thomas pauses on a nearby siding for just a moment. “Bloody wankers, the pair of them.”

The silence holds for another second or two, before Thomas is rewarded with a shaky laugh.

“…I noticed,” says Henry.

“All those mainline tossers, really,” Thomas continues, and he keeps talking even as his work takes him all around the yard, speaking up so Henry can still hear him. “I almost wish the Fat Controller wouldn’t hire them. Sure, we need more wheels on rails, but they don’t seem to know a blazing thing about this railway.”

Henry – in the shadow of the shed – purses his lips, before he lets out another sigh, another limp wheesh of steam.

“I would hardly say I do, either,” he says miserably.

Thomas frowns, and comes to a halt a little too sharply with a big woosh of steam.

“Of course you do,” he replies, indignant. Henry’s a big engine, he should- why would he say that?  Sure, Henry hasn’t been here long, but he’s a big engine, he should know plenty. “More than them, anyway.”

Henry sighs. He doesn’t argue, but Thomas’ fire flickers in annoyance as he can read of Henry’s face that Henry doesn’t agree either.

“I mean, you wouldn’t have been bought if-”

“Don’t.”

Thomas’ mouth hangs open for a second, before he closes it, blinks, and glances at Henry.

Henry looks even more upset. Great job, Thomas.

“I’m just saying-”

“Well, don’t,” Henry cuts him off again, sounding grumpier. And he’s gone from miserable to grumpy – that’s a win in Thomas’ book. “I’m particularly not in the mood to hear how I’d be more useful as a tin can.”

“The only tin cans around here are those self-important mainland pricks,” Thomas shoots back, and Henry side-eyes him – suspicious. “I’m not convinced they know what a timetable is, let alone how to read one. What kind of engine hangs around in the sheds when there’s work to… be…?”

Thomas trails off, and Henry… actually laughs. It’s tired and it’s bitter, but it’s a real laugh and it’s better than miserable.

“…Well, I want to assume you’re going to go work. When you can.”

“Optimism,” Henry says dryly. “I admire that in an engine.”

Thomas scrunches up his face. “I don’t understand you,” he says bluntly, in a way he’s sure Edward would scold him for if he was with them. “You’re miserable in the sheds, you’re miserable out on the line, you’re miserable doing nothing and you’re miserable pulling trains.”

Henry stares at Thomas for a moment, before his eyes flick away.

“If I could get out of this yard and actually pull trains, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Thomas says, far more dreamily than he’ meant to, and he cringes a little, chuffing out of where he can see Henry’s face, because he doesn’t need to hear an earful about it from another big engine.

“…You’re small,” Henry says, slowly, not accusatorily nor really condescendingly. He sounds more …confused than anything. “…And you’re useful, here.”

“And?” Thomas snaps back, defensive. “I could be useful anywhere.”

Henry’s silent for another moment, like he’s really chewing that statement over.

Then, eventually, he surprises Thomas by saying, “…I suppose you would be better than those two.”

And Thomas lets out a sharp bark of laughter, shooting Henry a grin as he goes by, and punctuating it with a hoot and a whistle – delighted. The enthusiasm makes Henry blink, before slowly, a smile of his own spreads across his face; one that sharpens to match Thomas’.

“You’re most certainly right! And besides. You let them get to you, you let them win,” Thomas agrees. “And they’re far too useless for that.”

Henry laughs again. Thomas lets out another peep-peep and a woosh of steam of his own, pleased to have earnt it. Footsteps crunch over the gravel of the yard, and Thomas spots Henry’s driver returning with a couple of engineers in tow before Henry does, and replies to their hellos as he bustles past.

“Hello, lad,” Henry’s driver says to Henry, patting his side. “We’ll have you right as rain in no-time, alright?"

Henry sighs again, but does actually smile back at his driver.

His driver blinks in fond surprise as the engineers get to work finding the newest problem. “You’re in good spirits, all of a sudden.” Then, he glances at Thomas as the tank engine goes past. “Making friends?”

“More so finding the only engine in this yard with a thought in his smokebox, it seems,” Henry says dryly, loud enough for Thomas to hear, and that makes Thomas snort in amusement.

He does call back, “Hey, now, be nice to Edward!”

And the engineers and Henry’s driver alike seem relieved when the two engines laugh together.

Thomas watches them work to get Henry’s steam up, and Henry’s finally pulling out of the sheds a good half-hour later. Thomas whistles goodbye as Henry chuffs away.

He smiles with the satisfaction of a job well done when Henry, completely of his own volition, whistles a goodbye in return as he disappears off down the line.

Then, Thomas returns to his trucks, and gives them a good biff once more, ignoring how this time, they really shriek. He – and Henry, he imagines – can’t wait for those mainlanders’ contracts to run out.

#ttte #thomas the tank engine #ttte henry #ttte thomas #ttte fic #dj's writing #i never realised how much i rely on nodding as gestural filler in my writing until im writing engines who cant nod #i hope a) you don't mind and b) this is good #i wanted to draw this originally but it eluded me badly #i dont know if Henry would actually be that forthcoming about his self-depricating comments but ALSO he's very miserable #and probably is trying to make Thomas leave him alone via making him uncomfortable. this however does not work #mostly bc thomas doesn't believe in pity parties. unless they're for himself. #excuse the tag ramble. im thinking about them hard

[robotic-rin]

Why Wait For The Best When I Could Have You

(Beetlejuice x Reader)

Summary: In the light of recent notable events, you haven’t been quite sure how to be forthcoming with the family regarding your budding relationship with a certain demon. It doesn’t help that said demon isn’t known for his ability to keep secrets. Also, hopefully your mind isn’t too preoccupied making plans to soft launch your relationship, because Beetlejuice has had something on his mind lately that he’d really like to try out. It may or may not involve indulging his demonic instincts by hunting you for sport as foreplay. He’s lucky that he’s dating a monsterfucker.

Word Count: 24,092

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: even crazier demon sex this time, predator/prey dynamic, somewhat monster-y beetlejuice, temperature play, consensual possession, tentacle sex, copious amounts of biting, overstimulation, just a dash of breeding kink, oh we’re making this one HORNY-horny folks, porn with an unreasonable amount of plot, plot segments range from domestic fluff to hurt/comfort, more of beej’s mood ring hair being used to further my nefarious agendas, afab reader but with no gendered terms, tried to limit my use of (y/n) but it is in there

Author’s Note: ok so i saw the very final showing of beetlejuice on broadway and it did inspire me to write a sequel to my fic that was originally meant to be a one shot. seeing alex brightman in the flesh was absolutely bonkers, there will never be another beetlejuice in my mind (though i’ve since seen justin on tour who is beyond awesome in the role too! alex is just my personal fave). my brain is like a snowglobe and beej is just rattling around in there so i had to write something. this can kinda stand on its own but i’d recommend reading the first fic in the series before this (linking it right here). as usual, check the tags before reading, make sure you’re good with em, and hope y’all enjoy!

“You did WHAT?”

You feel the welcoming presence of immediate regret falling over you as Barbara shoots a glare at Adam following his outburst. Maybe I should’ve told Delia first instead.

Adam seems to recoil in embarrassment at his wife’s disapproving look. “That is to say, that’s just, um…surprising! That you would accept Beetlejuice’s…unique advances. You just didn’t seem the, er, type.” His eyes dart between you and Barbara as he fumbles for words. “Okay, I’m just making it worse. Barbara, please, help.”

Barbara seems more than willing to swoop in and try to save this conversation. “What Adam is trying to say is, we love Beetlejuice, of course, he’s like family! We just didn’t expect that you would take to him so quickly and…enthusiastically! He’s a bit of an acquired taste for most people, like…quinoa salad! I mean, between the constant inappropriate comments, and the way he, to be frank, smells like a lawnmower on the best of days.” She laughs, just a bit too forced to sound natural but you’ll be damned if she isn’t doing her best to keep things polite.

Adam nods fervently. “Exactly, Barbara! Like, we’ve both kissed the guy through strange extenuating circumstances in the past, but it’s not like it was enjoyable!” He earns a swift elbow to the ribs from Barbara after that one. He lets out a soft oof and slumps against the side of the old loveseat where he and Barbara are seated across from you in the attic.

Barbara quickly turns and reaches to gently grasp your hands in hers. “Sweetie, it’s not that we aren’t happy for you, and Beetlejuice too. We just know that he can be a bit…much, after awhile, even for us. That might be a lot to deal with 24/7. I mean, it’s one thing if you didn’t have options, but someone like you? We always imagined you maybe with someone more, say…put together! Literally, when it comes to that guy.”

You shuffle uncomfortably in your chair, absentmindedly picking at the vibrant red stitched cushioning. “What, are you guys trying to tell me I can do better?” Your eyes dart up from your fidgeting hands to scan their faces.

With barely a second’s pause, the two of them begin talking over each other with various overlapping shades of, “No, nono, not at all, no…”

Adam seems to be nervously waving his hands at nothing in an attempt to dispel your accusation as though it were fog. “Hey, you’re a grown up, whatever choices you make, we support you one hundred percent! You just took us off-guard, I’m sorry if we come across as rude. If you’re sure about accepting Beetlejuice’s romantic propositions, then Barbara and I are beyond happy for you!”

“Absolutely stoked, dude!” Barbara puts on her silly deep voice for comedic effect, still fully dedicated to keeping the conversation light despite the deep awkwardness that practically permeates the air around you.

“Um, you guys realize I’m the one who more or less initiated this, right? If anything, he accepted my…romantic gesture.” You hadn’t exactly told them the less-than-family-friendly way that your feelings had been unexpectedly revealed to Beetlejuice due to some lingering sense of dignity and privacy that hadn’t yet left you, but you do have to wonder how long that’ll stay secret considering your new lover’s absolute and utter lack of shame.

“YOU came onto HIM?” This time, it’s Barbara who accidentally lets an exclamation slip out, earning an exasperated facepalm from Adam. You distantly wonder if Lydia’s conversation will go worse than this.

***

“So, how badly did they take the news?”

“They didn’t take it badly.” You resist the urge to look over at the demon who is currently hanging upside down from the ceiling next to your bed in a very relaxed bat-like fashion. Instead, you busy yourself with folding your laundry in neat piles next to you on your sheets. Anything to keep your hands moving.

Beetlejuice lets out a small huff. “You know, you can’t look me in the eye when you’re lying. The laundry isn’t that interesting, and I am literally hanging upside down on nothing. I’m very look-at-able.”

Your eyes dart up to take in his inverted face, one eyebrow raised (or lowered, from your perspective) in challenge. Any intention of snarking back at him dissolves at seeing his cute little expression, clearly proud of his perception. Without answering, you slowly lean forward, take his head in your hands, and softly kiss his lips. It’s an odd sensation to kiss someone upside down, but the two of you make it work. He returns the gesture wholeheartedly and without hesitation, kissing you in a equally gentle manner, yet not forgetting to keep you on your toes by quickly nipping your lip at the end with a sharp fang. He may be sweet with you, but he’s still himself, through and through. Not that you’re complaining.

“That was nice,” he rumbles, from somewhere way in the back of his throat. “But…you can’t kiss me out of this conversation.”

“I mean, it seemed to be working for a minute there.”

He barks out a laugh before twisting his head right side up, the rest of his body following at a delay and landing on the floor below on both feet, like a cat. “It was a valiant effort, babes. But come on, was your conversation really that bad?”

You sigh and toss aside your unfolded clothing to leave a spot on the bed for him to sit, which he readily takes. “I mean, it’s not that it was bad, it’s just…” You struggle for the right words before slumping forwards in defeat. “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” he muses at your words, emotions uncharacteristically imperceptible for a moment. “Babes, you know I won’t be pissed at them for thinking you deserve better than me, right?”

Your eyes snap open in shock and flicker over to Beetlejuice, scanning his neutral expression. Your mouth opens to say something, to assure him, to defend the Maitlands, to say something to make him feel better, but you can’t find any words.

“‘S’okay, you don’t have to say anything. I already expected it.” Beetlejuice moves to put his hand under your chin, thumb coming up to stroke your jawline to cheek. “Honestly, I agree with those two losers. I know you care about me, how could I not when you’re always lovin’ on me and shit? But I still don’t really get why. It wasn’t just to have sex, you’ve stuck around way past getting your rocks off and even willingly gotten into all my emotional fuckery. I don’t understand why. I mean, come on, have you seen yourself? You could easily woo somebody successful who, like, knows how to cook you a meal without explosions, someone who knows how dishwashers actually work, someone who can talk for hours about books, or art, or music, or whatever it is that smart people like you talk about.” He pauses. “…Someone alive. Better than a pathetic demon who just barely got a hold on his emotions after centuries of existence, at least.”

Your heart sinks, and you raise your hand to rest on top of his own hand on your face. “You shouldn’t say such negative things about yourself, for real. I don’t think of you like that, and I’m not leaving you.” You take note of his whole frame subtly tensing at those last words. There’s the sore spot. “I promise.”

His eyes dart to the floor. “…I know.”

You briefly study his reserved features in profile before bringing your hand to his face and turning him to look at you. “I’m not leaving you.”

He meets your gaze shakily. “Okay.” It seems as if he’s holding his breath, despite the fact that he doesn’t have any biological need for air. You’ve noticed that he’ll sometimes make sounds that can only be achieved through intake or outtake of breath, and you wonder if he does it on purpose for dramatic effect or subconsciously to mirror you, like a habit or mannerism picked up from a loved one. But right now, he’s still as a rock.

“Okay,” you repeat back to him, hoping your words were of some comfort. “As for the Maitlands, it’s not like they were against it or anything. They’re just surprised, and they don’t understand yet. But they will over time. Once they see us together.” You squeeze his other hand reassuringly in his lap. “And so will everyone else.”

He quickly jumps back to life after his quiet moment. “Ohhhh fuck, I forgot we have to tell everybody else in this house too. I kinda just wanna rip off the bandaid and tongue kiss you at family movie night and never bring it up so we don’t have to talk about it with all of these dweebs.”

“You absolutely know that Lydia will say something about that.” He’s right that Charles and Delia may be too polite to mention an elephant in the room, but Lydia has certainly never had an issue with being outspoken even if it’s uncomfortable.

Beetlejuice groans, flopping back on the bed. “Yep, you’re totally right. That kid is too blunt for her own good sometimes. Honestly, I’m shocked she hasn’t noticed something going on between us yet, cuz we’d totally know it if she had.”

You flop back onto the bed next to him, ignoring the tower of folded clothes that your head knocks over in the process. “To be fair, it’s only been a little over a week since we…got together.” What a polite way of saying we fucked like rabbits.

“Hm, maybe so, but you can’t deny the rich sexual tension that we’ve had going on for waaayyy longer than that, doll.” He winks at you and sticks out his tongue to punctuate the statement.

You let out a pure belly laugh at his words, playfully nudging his shoulder with your own. “Dumbass.”

Beetlejuice’s grin widens. “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” He nudges you back slightly harder, so of course you have to do the same in return to keep your honor intact. Before you know it, he’s on top of you, leaving you unsure if he teleported or simply moved positions very quickly. Cheeks already flushing at the precarious position, you try your best to fight back against him feebly, attempting to throw or push him off and finding no success. Beetlejuice, on the other hand, is just laughing childishly at your predicament as he easily swats away your hands that attempt to push him away.

“I don’t take it back,” you announce stubbornly, still trying to get any sort of leverage on the demon but finding none. He clearly outclasses you in both weight and strength, but you’re not one to let the odds deter you in this game.

“Oho, you’re gonna regret that.” The next time your hand moves to shove at him, Beetlejuice instead deftly catches and holds it by the wrist, immediately doing the same when you bring up your other hand to fight him off. After capturing both of your hands securely, he easily pushes them onto the bed on either side of your head, his nose inches from your own. With you effectively pinned to the bed, his eyes lock with yours in a half-lidded teasing gaze, smirk only growing wider as you squirm beneath him to no avail. “Aww, aren’t you so cute trying to get away from me?”

“This isn’t helping your case of not being an asshole.” If you can’t fight him off physically, you can at least be satisfied a bit by digging your heels into the dirt with your words. The more time you spend being silly with him, the more you understand the joy that he finds in pushing people’s buttons.

Beetlejuice doesn’t respond, and you know him well enough at this point to recognize this as his tell-tale warning sign of impending mischief. Wordlessly, he breaks the locked gaze that he had going with you to look down at the rest of your trapped form. Before you can think of a witty remark, he moves almost faster than you can perceive to press his lips to your neck and blows a raspberry against your skin. Taken completely off guard by this vicious attack, you let out a shriek and begin wiggling around to try and loosen yourself from his grasp, legs kicking but unable to aid you in your escape. He rewards your efforts with a sickly sweet smile and another attack.

“You-hu-hu dick!” Your insult only spreads his smile wider, which in turn makes you want to get out of his grip and launch a counter-attack even more.

“Wow, what a nasty little breather you are. Maybe if you took back your hurtful words, I’d stop.” He demonstrates his ruthlessness by giving you another raspberry right where your neck meets your collarbone, his scruffy beard tickling horribly against your skin and driving you wild. You’re unable to hide your laughter at this point, both at the sensations and his silly antics.

“F-fine! Fine! I take it back! You are NOT an asshole at all! Happy?”

He brings his head back up to brush noses with you, a self-satisfied and victorious grin plastered to his face. “Was that so hard?”

You wrinkle your nose at him as you struggle to catch your breath, trying not to show on your face the overwhelming fondness that is currently washing over you. He’s unspeakably cute above you, delighting in a silly little game, while simultaneously straddling you in a way that’s making it even harder to settle your racing heart. With nothing witty to say, you crane your head forward to lock lips with him again, savoring the sweetness of his joyful surprise. Kissing you does at least make him let go of your hands, his need to touch you outweighing his dedication to your game. Your hands come up to grab at his hair, their new favorite spot to rest, as your kisses intensify. Beetlejuice makes a low noise and slips his long tongue into your mouth, the still-odd but welcome intrusion making you groan lightly. Part of you hopes you never fully get used to the demon’s otherworldly qualities, hopes that the way your stomach flips in surprise at feeling sharp fangs graze against your lips never dulls. You move your lips back against him with this thought in mind.

Knock, knock, knock. The sound of a rapping at your closed but unlocked door immediately pulls the two of you apart, Beetlejuice wearing a sour face at the interruption.

“(Y/N)? Can I come in or what?” The easily recognizable voice of Lydia causes you to practically throw Beetlejuice off from on top of you, and he ungracefully falls off of the bed and onto his backside with a thump. You find yourself caught between mouthing “sorry”’s and waving him away from your bed and hopefully getting across the message to act natural.

“S-sure Lydia, come on in!” You try to straighten yourself out to look presentable and inconspicuous within the next few seconds, too preoccupied with smoothing over your clothes to even check to see what Beetlejuice is doing. Before you have another moment to prepare, the door swings open and in walks the goth teen that you’ve been sharing a house with for the past few months.

“Hey, Delia just wanted me to ask if you’d help with…what are you doing?” Lydia eyes you up from the doorway as you sit with your hands folded politely on your bed.

“Oh, you know, just folding clothes!” You speak in a tone that feels far too cheery coming out of your mouth, but it’s too late for a do-over.

“Uh-huh.” Lydia crosses her arms, her eyes wandering to the knocked-over tower of once-folded clothes next to you that have since become wildly strewn about during your scrap and ensuing makeout session with Beetlejuice. “You’re doing a pretty bad job at it.”

You mentally facepalm. “Ha, yeah, I guess I am…” Your voice trails off awkwardly and you pray for this conversation to be over.

Lydia raises an eyebrow, clearly picking up the odd atmosphere but hopefully not exactly sure where it’s coming from. “Alright.” Her eyes flit over to where you last saw Beetlejuice heading, and only now do you think to follow her gaze and see what he’s up to, to which you immediately wish you hadn’t. He’s floating multiple feet away from your bed, reclined in the air like he doesn’t have a care in the world, licking his finger and flipping through a book that is clearly upside down.

“Oh, hi Lyds! What’s up?” He does finger guns at her, the book still floating in place without his touch.

Lydia furrows her brow. “Dude, what’s wrong with your hair?” You snap back into reality with this statement as you realize that BJ’s hair is a gradient of light pink to a slightly darker fuchsia starting at his roots, probably not a color that anyone has really seen on him but you.

Beetlejuice’s face falls. “Uh. Well. You know.” He visibly struggles for words. “Romance novel. Heh.” He gestures to the book, which very prominently reads INTRO TO PHYSICS in bold letters across the front, not to mention the fact that it is still very much upside down.

Lydia nods as if that clears it all up. “Ahh, riiiight.” She turns back to you. “Anyways, Delia wanted me to ask if you’d help cut vegetables or whatever for dinner…”

You clasp your hands together as if nothing on this Earth could bring you more joy than slicing up some carrots for Delia. “Oh, of course! Tell her I’ll be right down, thanks for relaying the message!” You also do finger guns at her for no reason.

“Will do, weirdo.” She turns on her heels and shuts the door behind her without another word. You and Beetlejuice both let out a sigh of relief and you practically collapse back on the bed.

Beetlejuice floats over and collapses next to you, his body facing the opposite direction of yours. “Okay, so she definitely knows something is up.”

***

Those carrots never could’ve seen it coming, I chopped them up so well. You take a bite of the steaming hot home-cooked dinner that you lightly contributed to with satisfaction. The rest of the family eats at their usual seats at the table, conversing about whatever random topics to fill the silence between bites of food. Adam and Barbara have plates of food as well, despite not physically needing to eat. You figure it’s more of an etiquette thing with them. Beetlejuice also has his own plate, but it’s one of those children’s paper plates with an animal face on it, which is the only thing he is allowed to use ever since he proved that he cannot be trusted with the nice glass plates. You can feel his eyes on you as you eat. He’s possibly the least subtle person in the world, living or non.

“So yeah, I think I singed my eyebrows mostly off but I did get an A on my chemistry project, so it’s all cool,” Lydia concludes her story for the family, which you realize that you were accidentally zoned out for the majority of.

“Hey, careful, we don’t need any more ghosts around here!” Adam jokes, making a ribbing motion towards Lydia in the most over-the-top dad-like way.

Charles laughs through a bite of mashed potatoes. “Well, that’s certainly one way to pass a class! You’re absolutely your mother’s daughter, Lydia. You know, Emily pulled nearly that same trick when she was still in college. She’d be proud to know you’re carrying on the family legacy!”

Lydia smiles, a genuine smile that she doesn’t try to hide or diminish. “Heh, wow. That’s pretty awesome, dad.” She finishes the last bite of her meal and glances over at Beetlejuice. “Wow BJ, you haven’t even touched your slop yet.”

Beetlejuice jolts as he’s called out, and spares a look down at his plate. “Slop” is the right word for it, considering that he seems to have just poured all of his food into one big mixed-up pile like a nasty lunatic, the carrots indistinguishable from the meat and all of them lost in a sea of gravy together. Without a word, he unhinges his jaw like a snake and tosses the entire concoction down his gullet whole, swallowing everything (yes, including the plate itself) in one bite with an exaggerated gulp sound effect. He gives a thumbs up at Lydia with an unchanged blank expression, which doesn’t exactly do much to make him seem more normal.

Lydia makes a weird face at him. “Okay man, what gives? You’ve been acting weird as hell lately, and not your regular weird. You gonna let us in on what’s up or keep being all cagey?”

In your peripheral vision, you see the Maitlands immediately seem to decide that their plates just magically became the most interesting things in the room, and very worthy of their close scrutiny. You feel stuck between saying something to help out the petrified-looking demon across the table from you and staying silent to avoid further incriminating yourself.

Delia’s singsong voice breaks you from your trance. “Okay! I am uncomfortable with the energy at this dinner table and would like to move on…!” She clasps her hands together whimsically. “Now then, I have a new and exciting plan. Let’s clean up these dishes and all watch a m-“

“I slept with (Y/N).”

…Horror. That’s the only word that you can possibly use to describe your emotions in this exact moment. And from where you assume your soul is now floating outside of your body, you can see that you’re not alone, as Beetlejuice is currently the epicenter of horrified looks from everyone in the room. He slowly turns to look at you, his head seeming as though it should be making a pathetic creaking noise. His eyes are stretched so wide that they look like they could bulge out at any moment, looking dead ahead with his lips pulled tight into a long, flat line. Without a word being uttered from anyone at the table, he begins to sink into the floor. Literally. Beetlejuice slowly phases straight through the chair, into the floor, and out of sight. And just like that, he is gone. You distantly wonder if you should start cursing his name or if you’re just jealous that he has the ability to do that right about now.

Lydia finally pipes up. “Wow, you guys are shit at keeping secrets.”

***

After what you can confidently call the most awkward family conversation of your entire life, you finally make it back to your room and shut the door behind you, slumping against it in defeat. That was NOT how I originally wanted that conversation to go. I’m lucky that Lydia, Charles, and Delia were pretty chill about the whole deal, all things considered.

A rustling from your vintage armoire (perks of a pre-furnished room) snaps you back into reality. You take a tentative step towards the closed brown doors and press a hand to the old wood. The rustling stops abruptly.

“…Beetlejuice?” You call out softly, drumming your fingers against the door in a pseudo-knock. A small rustle answers you, and nothing more.

You move your fingers to lift the latch lock into its unlocked position and slowly creak both doors open. There, under your waterfall of hanging clothes, lies Beetlejuice: curled up in a little ball, hair a deep shade of purple, looking up at you with puffy dark eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, before you can even get a word out. “I’m stupid. Good for nothin’. I ruined your plan to tell everyone about us nicely.” You open your mouth, but he holds up a hand dramatically. “N-no need to say anything. I’ll go be a disappointment in someone else’s boudoir.” He materializes a small bindle over his shoulder and moves his hand up to snap himself somewhere else.

“Hey, wait, don’t go.” You gently grab his hand that he was about use to snap himself away, more of a symbolic gesture to stay than anything. “You’re not any of those things, and I don’t want you to leave.”

“I…” A look of slight surprise graces his forlorn face at both your words and touch. His earnest eyes seem to be searching your own for any sign of lies, and, finding none, he lowers his hand from your touch and disappears the bindle. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I really didn’t.” His voice has such a vulnerable touch to it, like a dog who had grown accustomed to being kicked and couldn’t find it in himself to expect any different. It truly breaks your heart to see, despite the lingering sense of embarrassment from dinner.

You sit outside of the large dresser, crossing your legs and leaning against its frame. “I know, bug. I’m not mad at you. I mean, I would’ve preferred maybe a softer phrasing if we had any control, but Lydia put you on the spot and we hadn’t even talked about how we would say it. It’s okay.” You bring your hand up to gently pet his hair, testing his reception to physical comfort right now. You get your answer when he leans into your hand with his entire head almost immediately.

“No kidding…kid had our number, babes. Or at least mine. But hey, least I didn’t say it like we bumped uglies or anything, I was pretty close and what I did say was all else I could think of right then. Mind couldn’t keep up with my mouth.” He lets out a labored sigh and smushes more of his face up against your hand like a particularly affectionate cat.

You give a small grin at his head bumps of love. “Yeah, well I have firsthand experience with how fast your mouth can be, so that checks out.”

A giggle that Beetlejuice couldn’t quite hold back slips out, a melodic sound to you. “Making sex jokes isn’t fair. You know I’ll always laugh at sex jokes.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I do know it.” You sit up on your haunches and lean in to lightly pepper his face with tiny kisses, only worsening the demon’s grip on his composure. The giggles that start to pour out of him uncontrollably are infectious, and you quickly find yourself unable to hold back your own. You continue your attack, enjoying the view as you watch tips of light pink begin to crawl up a few of his purple hair strands without his knowledge. After a good bit of shared laughter at your unrelenting kisses, Beetlejuice finally catches your mouth with his own. The feeling of his smile against your lips is sweeter than candy, and succeeds at making you forget all of your troubles for as long as it lasts. You suspect that he feels the same, considering that you are always, without fail, the first one to break away from every kiss due to your inconvenient need for oxygen. If it were up to him, you two might not ever come up for air.

When you pull back from him breathlessly, Beetlejuice’s eyes remain fixed on you, soft and almost perplexed as he searches for something unknowable in your expression. “Why do you love me back?” His voice comes out as a whisper despite the two of you being alone, as if he’s frightened what the walls of the home will think upon hearing his weakness.

“Oh, Beetlejuice…” You feel your loving gaze that remains locked onto him become tinged with layers of sadness, pitying the man who just can’t see himself the way you do. You reason that the best you can do is try to paint him a picture of your vision. “Where to even begin…? I can’t even say when or where I first fell in love with you, it’s like, I just realized one day that it had already happened to me without asking my permission. Yeah, I was really physically attracted to you, as we’re both well aware by now, but it’s more than that. I never wanted you to be just a hookup without anything past that.” Your hand finds its way to his own, an anchor to real life as you struggle to put your feelings to words in a way that will help him. “Beetlejuice, I love spending time with you. You’re the funniest person I know, and I’ve never had a dull moment with you. I could spend years watching bad movies and pranking the Maitlands with you and never get tired of your company. And, maybe my favorite thing about you is, try as you might sometimes, you can never actually hide how much you care about the people you love. I mean, you and Lydia squabble, but that kid is so important to you, I can see it. If she ever came home and said a teacher was picking on her, you’d probably go light their house on fire for being mean to your friend. That’s, like, the most attractive thing ever, if we’re being real here.” You’re blushing red hot at the earnest nature of your own words but do your best to keep your eyes from darting away bashfully. “Look, I…I wish I could say it better, so that you wouldn’t have to feel like you’re not good enough ever again. I wish I could fix things for you with pure strength of will, because I would be able to do it in a heartbeat. It kills me to know that you don’t always see yourself as worthwhile and lovable. I know you have stuff to work through, and honestly, so do I, but I wanna be with you to see it through. I’m all in, baby, you’re never getting rid of me. And I really do love you, so, so much.”

When you finally can savor your breath again after talking for so long without much pause and really take Beetlejuice in, you see two dark eyes looking back at you through a stream of tears. While one hand is still holding onto yours, the other is pressed up against his mouth tightly by his palm, as though to keep any sounds locked deep inside of him. Even so, he can’t quite stop a small sob from shaking his body, then another.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you attempt to soothe, craning your head to rest against his side, your chin grazing his lap as you look up at him. A more intimate touch, but not domineering and overwhelming, you hope.

Beetlejuice lets go of your hand to wipe at his eyes frantically, trying to clear away tears as more just keep flowing out of him. Now that he’s let one sob slip through, he seems to have fully lost his control as his body is wracked by more and more against his will. “I-I’m sorry, sorry…”

“Please don’t be.” You keep your head pressed against his side in a way that you hope is comforting to him. For a few moments, the two of you just sit there without speaking. You, praying that what you said was worded correctly, and Beetlejuice, trying and failing to stifle his weeping for so long and so hard that it eventually just dissolves into quiet hiccups.

After a bit of silence, Beetlejuice finally seems to calm down. “Wow, that was really embarrassing.” He speaks still lower than usual, but closer to his normal register.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry, that was supposed to make you feel better,” you sigh, bringing your head back up to be level with him (more like a bit below him, as the armoire’s bottom shelf is slightly above the ground level where you sit).

“No, s’okay. I think that was good for me to hear from you, probably. It was just…a lot. ‘Specially for someone who tries to avoid dealing with emotional crap as much as possible.” He turns to look at you, really look at you, for the first time since he broke down crying. “N-not saying what you said to me was crap! Not at all, don’t get me wrong. Just kinda…overwhelming, getting told so much good stuff about me at one time. Not used to it, kinda freaked me out in the moment. Buncha criticism at once, sure, that’s an average Tuesday, but that’s different.”

You smile lightly at his words, taking note of the purple beginning to fade from his hair and being replaced with his usual green, in addition to streaks of light pink. “I meant everything I said, y’know. Those are just a few of the reasons that you’re stuck with me, I could give you a list triple that size if I had some ample prep time and a better grasp on flowery love language.”

“Heh, you are too cute. C’mere.” Beetlejuice grabs your entire torso clumsily by wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up and into the armoire, crashing your entire body against his lounging form. The two of you go from fully separated to tangled together in a tight space very quickly, leaving you to yelp in surprise as you try to adjust your positioning without much room to do so. The fact that the bottom portion of the armoire has a lip that comes up a few inches in front of where the doors close is all that separates you from losing your balance and falling right out. Kind of a miracle we’re not breaking right through this! Not sure if that’s demon magic or if this old thing is just sturdy as hell.

Try as you might, your legs being all tangled up and too long for the space keeps you from properly lifting yourself off of him for more than a second. “Well, I’m right here now, bug. Better?” As if to punctuate this, you lose your bracing and drop yourself with a thunk back onto his chest, which shakes below you with laughter at your predicament.

“Oh yeah babes, nice to see you still can’t keep yourself off of me.” Beetlejuice snickers, but does help your slippery ass out by pushing your chest backwards a bit, making you sit up more securely and straddle him on your knees.

You look down at him from your improved vantage point, taking in his mischievous little expression and wondering how long that’s been plastered on his face. “And just what are you thinking about right now?”

He meets your questioning eyes, sly smile only growing. “Oh, nothing. Just that I’ve never had sex in a boudoir before.”

“Baby, I can barely fit in here with you, I have no idea how sex could even take place in here.” As you speak, you also become aware of the clothing hanging just above your head, and do giggle to yourself at the idea of repeatedly smacking your head against a pair of pants in this scenario.

“Well that’s ‘cuz you’re not using your imagination, my love.” You feel his hands move down to grope at your ass as he teasingly enunciates your little pet name. “It’s fine though, it is a little shallow for two in here.” With that, he poofs the two of you onto your own bed, and you sprawl out gratefully on top of him, stretching your cramped limbs out.

“Sorry bug, my human body can’t be contorted that way for very long like yours can.” Your joints pop in relief as you go full starfish on top of your demon boyfriend, snuggling your head up against his chest. “I’ll do anything else you want, as long as I’m not smushed into a box to fuck.”

“Anything?” The tone in his voice makes it seem like his ears have perked up at your words in extreme interest.

You lift your head off of his chest to look him in the eye, a playful glint in your own. “Ah, it sounds to me like you might already have an idea here.”

Beetlejuice’s eyes quickly dart away, his cheeks flushed pink. “Ah, I mean- not, y’know, necessarily per se…” His defensive mumbles fade into unintelligible hums as he twiddles his fingers nervously.

“You’re cute when you’re shy.” You bump your forehead against his, forcing him to look at you since your eyes are mere inches from his own. “Y’know, it’s just about the only time you don’t have a clever comeback.” The mumbles that he makes in response only prove your point and make you giggle, pulling your head back and rolling over to lay next to him. “But really, BJ, you can tell me. You know I won’t laugh or think you’re weird….er than usual.”

He fidgets with the fabric of the sheets beneath him. “I know you won’t, I just…” He falls silent, seeming at war with himself over what to do. Being this coy about matters of sex is extremely odd for Beetlejuice, which of course, only piques your interest on what he could be so hesitant about even more.

You place your hand on his bicep, wishing that he’d ditched the classic striped suit before the conversation started so you could feel his cool skin underneath. “Hey, I know I’ve mostly taken the lead the few times we’ve had sex since getting together, but it doesn’t have to be that way every time. You know I’m willing to try different stuff if it’s with you. The real question is, what do you want to do?”

“I mean- I just like whatever you like, you know th-“

“Beetlejuice.” His eyes finally flick back over to make contact with yours, the power of you saying his full name is enough to get his attention on you and his mind out of his own thoughts a little. Your eyes soften at his hesitance. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Your thoughts matter to me. Promise.”

He seems to visibly soothe under your reassurances, though his face is still a bit twisted up. “I just- I mean, I guess I’ve always wanted to…” He drapes an open palm over his red-hot face, ever the drama queen.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe try, like, I dunno…hunting you down like a demon would and fucking you ‘til you forget your own name…” He chances a single glance at you through his fingers. “Something like that?” His words were spoken at about three times his normal speed, but you made sure not to miss a single syllable of that confession.

“Oh? Is that so?” You drag your words out in a sweet tone, relishing the way that he peeks at you from behind his strategically draped hand. “You wanna give me the full haunted house demon treatment before fucking me?”

Beetlejuice sits fully up, no longer able to stay reclined back on the bed or hide his enthusiasm as he talks. “Yes, yes, God yes, please, I h-haven’t thought of anything else in so long…! I wanna use my powers on you too, y’know, only if you’d be okay with that…” The floodgates have opened, and his eyes peer down at you with a vicious mix of lust and approval-seeking.

You meet his gaze with a half-lidded smile, sitting up to mirror his position. “Abso-fucking-lutely. Okay, don’t even say too much now, I’ve just decided I want you to completely surprise me on this.”

Uncertainty shrouds his expression. “You’re really okay with being scared by me, like that?”

You grin at his concern for you, internally cooing over how cute he’s being about such a lewd idea. “Baby, I hope I feel more scared than I’ve ever been before and powerless against such a big, scary demon, too. I know you respect me and wouldn’t cross any boundary that I didn’t want crossed, especially since we just the other day talked about the specifics in that department. We can use the same stoplight safeword setup as we have before, that seemed to work pretty well. So, think you can do that for me? Make me feel like I’m at the mercy of some terrifying ghost haunting my house before making me cum my brains out?”

He suppresses a groan, from far deep down in his chest. “Fuck, y-yeah, I think I can do that. Y’know, as a favor to your horny self, of course. Since you asked and all.”

You let out a giggle at his antics. “What, are you trying to tell me that it doesn’t make you horny to think about? That doesn’t sound like the Beej I know. I’m pretty sure you were at half-mast yesterday when I was just washing a zucchini in the kitchen.”

He grumbles defensively, crossing his arms but leaning in to push his shoulder into yours. “Well, try not to wash it so sluttily next time, I dunno…” His eyes dart away in embarrassment at being called out. “And hey, just a warning, but you might not be able to keep up with me if I go all-out. Remember when I told you that demons have a refractory period of like, 3.5 seconds? I wasn’t exaggerating, for once. So don’t be afraid to tell me when your little mortal body can’t take anymore.”

You have the ill-advised gall to laugh at this. “I’m not too worried about it. I’ve never had trouble keeping up with your needy ass before, so I think I’ll survive.”

Beetlejuice shrugs at your nonchalance. “Hm, if you say so. Just remember that I said it later.” He leans forward to rest his chin on his hands, as though he were preparing to gossip in bed with you. “Now, the real question is, when are we gonna get freak-ay? We do not have the amount of privacy that I’m sure you’ll want for this sorta event very often in this crowded-ass house.”

You lean forward to mirror his pose, both of you now looking like girls sharing secrets at a sleepover. “Well, I happen to know that everyone is planning to go out all day tomorrow. Including the Maitlands for once, since Lydia found out that they can possess objects and tag along for outside adventures Annabelle-style last month. Which I’d say, works out great for a human that will be home alone in the evening with the whole house to themself, eerily quiet and empty. Sure hope nothing happens.” Your demon’s pupils quickly become big round pools of inky blackness that engulf the surrounding brown iris as you say this, his body clearly giving away his interest in this idea. You flash him a knowing smirk, feeling the urge to be mean and tease him just a bit more than you should rear its head. “Think you can be patient enough to wait for it, or do you need me to give you a quick blowjob now to tide you over? I mean, I’m gonna make you wait either way, but I think I’d like to hear you ask nicely for it. Just for fun.”

As you finish speaking, Beetlejuice’s entire posture shifts in a way that you’ve never seen before. You swear that he looks slightly taller after adjusting himself to look directly at you, eyes narrowed but pupils still overtaking all of the surrounding color, fully locked on to your smaller form. “Oh-ho, my sweet, foolish little breather. I’d be more worried about yourself for the time being if I were you.” His self-satisfied smile shows off his fangs, looking even pointier than usual pressed against his bottom lip. “Now, I know you said you wanna be surprised, but I will say just one thing.” He brings a clawed hand to your cheek, stroking the soft skin gently, as though you were made of porcelain. “Make sure that tomorrow night, you’re wearing clothes that you don’t mind being ripped to shreds.” His words, spoken at a deep and salacious growl that is new to you, send a spark from the top of your spine that travels down through your entire lower body. Your visible shiver causes Beetlejuice’s slight smile to become a full grin at your reaction, and you nearly miss the intertwined streak of red and fuchsia swiftly sear its way through his hair.

You struggle to find the words to respond, his ability to turn the tables so quick has left you utterly reeling. “Uh, yeah, I can- I can do that.” And we’ve barely even begun. Maybe I really have bitten off more than I can chew.

“Good,” Beetlejuice purrs, stroking your face with claws that seem to be growing sharper by the second against your cheek. He runs them under your jawline by their tips, little pinpricks that tickle but also threaten to break the skin if he were to apply any pressure. “Oh, and uh, one more thing, my love.”

You can’t help you gulp that escapes you as his thumb and forefinger grab hold of your chin and hold you in place. “Y-yes?”

Anticipation dances behind his pretty brown eyes forebodingly. “If you run and hide from me, you’d better not let me catch you.” And just like that, it’s as though you blinked and he disappeared from your sight in an instant.

***

You adjust yourself on the living room sofa, flipping through TV channels absentmindedly. You have certainly not forgotten what Beetlejuice said to you before disappearing. On top of that, he’s made you a hyper-vigilant mess by not showing up again for the rest of the previous night and into this evening, the longest that you’ve gone without at least a pop-in visit from him since getting together. Everyone else was still gone for the day, having a lovely time out on the town, you assume. They had all said how bad they felt for leaving you behind on a family fun day, but you had fibbed a bit and told them not to worry since you were too busy with work to plan a full day out right now. Work, indeed.

A loud clap of thunder interrupts your thoughts, making you jump in surprise before sighing in relief. Hope the family isn’t getting rained out of their fun, whatever they’re doing out there. The wind is whistling outside as rain whips itself across the house with no signs of stopping. The pounding of the rain against the rooftops was creating a nice dull melody that you would to relax to, that is, if you were capable of relaxing right now. You wonder whether Beetlejuice might have any kind of influence over the weather or if the universe was just on his side for tonight. You’d by lying if you said you weren’t on edge, feeling like you’ve been standing on the edge of a precarious cliff as soon as the family left the house. He must know that you’ve been home alone for hours now, and yet he still hasn’t appeared. Unless, of course, he’s hiding in the house right now, invisible to your human eyes whenever and wherever he wants to be. As far as you know, he could be standing inches away from you, and you would be none the wiser until he chose to make himself known.

You vaguely regret the fact that you’d bent to your impulses and teased at making him wait for sex, for a multitude of reasons. A pent-up and horny Beetlejuice is an unpredictable Beetlejuice, especially when you throw in the fact that you asked him to be as rough and monstrous as possible tonight into the mix. Dread isn’t exactly the right word for what you feel, but it isn’t quite as small and easily explainable an emotion as mere anticipation either. You want him to appear more than anything, and yet all of the hair on your arms stands on end when you imagine what he’ll do when he does show up. You’ve been frustratingly wet for hours at the idea of it, unable to focus on anything else, but you haven’t touched yourself out of fear of him silently watching to see if you succumb to your own desire again, needy and impatient and desperate all because of him. The last thing he needs is such a monumental ego boost. If his goal is to play mind games and get inside my head, it’s working. You bitterly admire the restraint he’s displaying that you never would’ve imagined in a million years that he possessed.

Suddenly, another boom of thunder shakes the house, taking the lights and TV out with it and drenching you in darkness. A power outage. Awesome. Okay, stay calm. You feel around the couch cushions for your phone, but it’s nowhere to be found. Shit, I must’ve left my phone upstairs, so no dice on that flashlight for now… You quickly brainstorm an option that doesn’t feature you having to crawl up a staircase in complete darkness. Oh wait, I think Delia left some candles downstairs the other day after a long terrace meditation session! Standing up and trying to keep your balance as your eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light overtaking the house, you try to remember where the candles were last being stored. I think I saw them last when Delia was putting them in that kitchen drawer by the sink…I think.

Unsteadily, you step away from the couch and proceed in the direction of the kitchen. You’re starting to be able to make out general shapes of items in your path, but the darkness is so all-consuming that it can be hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t. You tiptoe around what could be a chair or just a dark shadow in the shape of one, taking care to reach out and touch the doorway to the kitchen with the delicate tips of your fingers before gently creaking it open. It makes far more sound in the process of opening than you would like, which you proceed to feel silly about worrying over considering that Beetlejuice is most likely not even here if he hasn’t made himself known yet. You feel you can pretty confidently conclude that he wouldn’t have this much patience, not when you’re so clearly right out in the open and defenseless.

With the door full and loudly open, you slip through and into the main kitchen area. Feeling around for the correct cabinet, you finally reach the one you were hunting for and pull the drawer out slowly. Using mostly touch, you feel around inside for the distinct texture of the long wax candle that Delia was holding in your memory, your hand skittering around the menagerie of unseeable items until your fingers finally graze its smooth surface. Your feeling of success is immediately extinguished when you hear a dull thud from the living room through the door, like the sound of something heavy being placed on the floor just a bit too quickly. At this noise, your hair immediately stands on end and you shrink towards the ground on instinct. You can’t quite see through the door at the angle you’re at, but you keep your eyes glued on the doorframe anyway. After a few moments of only utter silence following, you slowly rise back to full height. Maybe I am on edge enough to be imagining things. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard a phantom sound while I’m home alone that turned out to be nothing.

Steeling your nerves, you return your hands to the drawer to feel around for a candle lighter, keeping your body faced towards the doorway and your back facing nothing but an empty corner. The rain continues to pound against the house, lessening your sharp hearing abilities a bit with its unyielding dull roar. It’s taking you longer to find the lighter now, considering how you’re attempting to be careful to not disturb the various items in the drawer so as to make the least amount of sound possible. But the mixture of being unable to find the lighter and being on high alert from the random noise is making your heart race, and making you increasingly sloppy in your work of rustling around the drawer. You’re actually beginning to pant as you try to quicken the speed of your hands, ears ringing as you search fruitlessly for this godforsaken lighter and become only worse and worse at the task. You swear you see something move in the kitchen out of the corner of your eye, but nothing has come through the door and all of the shadows feel as though they’re closing in and grabbing at you, so you ignore your mind’s alarm bells and begin rifling through the drawer with reckless abandon. You feel as though you’re reaching a breaking point of some sort when finally, finally, you feel the cool plastic of the lighter beneath your touch. You let a shaky breath out, grasping the lighter and clicking in the button to produce a small flame.

Just as the flame sparks to life, lighting up your world just that small but significant bit, you feel your stomach drop in a way that tells you something is deeply, deeply wrong. It’s an old gut feeling, one so ancient and instinctual that it feels utterly impossible to ignore. The flame goes out, despite you still holding the button down. Before you have a chance to truly take this emotion in, you feel an unnatural chill that starts at your neck and runs all the way down your spine. You reach up to cover your neck reflexively, only for the same sensation to hit your fingers and the exposed bits of neck around it, closer and more intense. It’s only now that you realize what exactly is causing this chill against you. Breath. Cold, inhuman breath. A flat, unconvincing charade of your own breathing, carving a space for itself in the uncanny valley due to how incorrect it feels. Not only is it cold, but the breaths don’t have proper breaks between them, and they shift from being far too short to far too long to ever pass as natural. You realize upon this consideration that you’ve been frozen for more time than you meant to be, and quickly whip your body around to come face-to-face with the source of this “breathing.” But when you turn around, you’re merely greeted by empty air, same as it was before. Except that now, you feel the same breath on your neck from behind you again, causing you to once again try to turn fast enough to catch the source. And again, you fail.

Suddenly, you see a ripple in the shadows in front of you and feel a pressure push itself against your body. You scream on impulse at the contact and jump backwards, dropping your wax candle and accidentally knocking a bowl that had been left on the kitchen counter to the floor in the process, where it shatters on impact. With no time to react, you feel yourself pushed up against the same wall you had fearfully jumped towards by the same heavy force as before. You’re rendered completely immobile in seconds, some invisible, freezing cold strength holding you in place against the wall. Your arms are pinned up by your head, with most of the presence being on your torso to keep you in place. On top of the otherworldly force, you feel phantom hands begin to travel all over your body, too many to count. Over your throat, your chest, your legs, your ass. Scratching down your arms, you can barely see in the darkness as small red marks appear on them out of thin air. Without any warning, you feel something wet that you cannot see make contact with your exposed collarbone and drag its way up your neck, deliciously slow, as though you were being savored. At the same time, something sharp digs into both of your thighs at once, five little pinpricks of that grace the underside of each leg as they are lifted up and into the air, dangling uselessly. You can’t tell if blood is being drawn, but it hurts enough that you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Hurts so good. Hurts so good.

“B-Beetlejuice…” Your breathy moan pierces the otherwise silent room, and the wet appendage is pulled away from your throat slowly and deliberately. The pinpricks are lifted from your thighs and your feet come back to rest on the ground.

The shadows once again ripple, but this time, you can finally see him there, inches away from your face. His usually soft and pleasant features are so sharp and monstrous upon his self-reveal that it makes you jump a bit just to see him. He’s tall, unmistakably taller than his usual height, and looming over you with the hunched posture of a recently-transformed werewolf, some creature who was all bent out of its natural shape. Everything otherworldly about him is exaggerated, you notice, as your eyes rake over his fangs, which have become long enough to look like they could seriously do some damage in addition to his other usually-normal teeth looking sharp enough to hurt you as well. His claws are filed into sharp points, his tongue appears to have developed a fork at the tip on top of its impressive length, and his pupils have completely shifted into small black slits. A bright lightning strike pours through the large kitchen window and lights up the house for but a second to reveal his changed form more clearly to you, the black and white stripes covering his form reminding you of the hypnotically beautiful warning markings of a venomous creature. In the momentary flash, his eyes, mere inches away from yours, reflect back the light and shine bright white like the eyes of some nocturnal animal. The expression in those eyes is wild and feral, and while you’ve certainly seen Beetlejuice’s expression full of desperation and lust, this is the first time that you’ve felt like he’s ready to pounce and take whatever he wants from you. Not to mention the mixture of red and fuchsia lighting up his hair even in this darkness, a combination that you’ve never seen overtake him before.

“Mmm, I could cum from your delicious screams alone,” his voice rasps next to your ear, having an additional deep growl to his every word that you’re certain only a demon could produce, his usual tone mixing with something darker layered beneath it. It rumbles against your skin and causes another shiver to shoot up your spine, making your entire body shudder under his hold. He gives a look that you can assume is deep satisfaction with himself, pressing his face to your neck and inhaling deeply. “Gimme a color, babes.”

You gulp, not prepared to force words out of your dry throat. “G-green.”

You feel him smile against your skin. “Good. You tell me if that changes.” He pulls his head back to really take you in. You must look like a wreck, eyes clouded over with terror and desire, already clearly a horny mess from hours of waiting. Whatever state you’re in, it must please Beetlejuice to see, as he can’t seem to stop raking his eyes up and down your figure. “Okay, you want monster, how about this…I’m gonna give you ten seconds to decide whether you’re gonna run and hide like prey, or stand here and take it like a champ. Your call, but I will say this: if you can successfully hide from me, I’ll make it worth your while. This night can still become all about you, I can put all my focus into getting you off like a good little demon. But, if you decide to run, and I catch you, I’m gonna use you. I’m gonna make you get me off again and again and again, and I’m gonna keep fucking you like my own little personal toy ‘til I’ve used every last little bit of you up. However long that takes.” There’s no hiding the bulge that rubs up against your thigh as he lays out this last part of the agreement. “So. Deal?”

Your mouth runs dry at his proposal, but not out of distaste, or any true fear. It’s something much more entrancing that holds you in place, warmth pooling between your legs before you finally speak, your voice sounding far less stable than you’d like. “Deal.”

A devilish smirk makes its way across Beetlejuice’s features, and he puts his hand out to shake on it. Even when he’s taking charge, it seems he can’t help but still be at least a little bit of a dork about it. You reach out to take his offered hand and he squeezes your own with more force than necessary before moving both of your hands up and down emphatically. Satisfied, he lets you go for the moment. “Your ten seconds begin now.”

It’s not even a question when you tear off towards the living room, through the kitchen door which swings aimlessly behind you due to the rush of your swift exit. Behind you, you can hear harsh laughter growing distant as you run. Your eyes quickly search your surroundings as you sprint carefully across the length of the dining room (at least, as much as you can safely sprint in this darkness). The house has only so many rooms, but is quite spread out and full of potential objects to conceal yourself behind, or under. The problem is, you have mere seconds to get into place and your brain is currently mixed up in a swirling whirlpool of arousal and pure prey drive that is greatly affecting your ability to locate a proper hiding space. You have no idea if it’s been one second or nine seconds by the time you reach the couch that you had been sitting on not too long ago, and hopelessly try not to lose yourself to panic as you scan the room at light speed. Both the Deetz and Maitland families kept the house fairly free of unnecessary clutter, which on any other day, would be a perk to living in their shared house. Not so much when a demon is hunting you.

Just as you’re starting to get overwhelmed by the feeling that you’ve lost before you’ve even begun, you notice that there’s a small space between one of the living room sofa chairs and the wall that would probably be just big enough for you to squeeze behind. Having no other option readily available, you practically hurl yourself into the crevice. You harshly smack your right forearm on the armrest of the cushioned chair on the way down but pay it no mind, draping a blanket that had been sitting on the lap of the chair to hang slightly over your head so as to better conceal yourself. Just as you finish adjusting your hiding place, you hear the door to the kitchen slam with terrifying power.

“Oho, my little breather, don’t you know that the quickest way to get a predator to chase you is to run?” His voice is ice cold yet tinged with a bit of humor, but whatever the joke is, you’re clearly not in on it. He’s laughed at you plenty before, but it’s usually benign and lightly teasing, not the hissing, cruel laughter that seems to encircle and taunt you now. You hear footsteps begin to fall, loud stomps that seem to echo through the room and make it difficult to pinpoint which direction he’s headed. That is, until they start to head distinctly closer.

You try to calm your breathing, which is still heavy and labored due to your mad dash from the kitchen. Your racing heart certainly isn’t doing you any favors in this regard, only adding to your stifled gasps for air. You put a hand over your own mouth, doing your best to quiet your stupid human noises as the sound of your demon’s footsteps grow closer and closer. Even as you do, you feel your lungs greedily pleading for more air than you can currently offer, and breathing through your nose does little to quiet your body’s demands. As you sit in your makeshift nest like a quail trying not to startle and take flight, the realization dawns on you much too late that you have been fighting a losing battle. This wasn’t a fair deal, it was a game, and this game was clearly stacked in his favor. You should’ve know you can’t hide from a demon in his own house, not when he hadn’t even put a time limit on the deal! You mentally berate yourself for being so foolish, getting tricked into playing a game that could never be won. Or maybe he didn’t really trick you; maybe on some level, you knew you wanted to lose to him, before losing yourself in him. A deal with a devil you were destined to regret from the start. These thoughts buzz around your mind incessantly, feeling louder than your heartbeat and heavy breathing combined.

A feral growl snaps you from your mind’s tangent, so close to your hiding spot and yet not quite on top of it yet. “It’s no use, I can smell you.” You heard him audibly sniff the air. “Hmm, you smell like fear, the fear of someone who knows just how outmatched and, well, how fucked they really are, but it’s all mixed up with the smell of your lust. I’d never mistake that combination in a million human lifetimes. So sweet, so perfect, you’re making me drool here, doll…”

Your treacherous heart quickens at his words, and you pray that he can’t hear it pounding away in your chest. You’re internally pleading for the pouring rain outside to mask any smaller sounds that you make, but you don’t count on any favors from the universe today.

“Hmm…” You can hear the smile in his voice, and the implications of this worry you greatly. “You know, you act like you’re so mature and unknowable compared to me, but I can read you like a book. I can smell how wet you are for me, how much you’ve been absolutely gagging for it since last night. Y’know, I’m kinda shocked you didn’t just fingerblast yourself on the couch like a needy little whore after I made you wait so long. I know you wanted to. Bet you couldn’t think about anything else all night.”

You feel your face completely flush, biting down on the hand that you’ve been using for covering your mouth to keep from making any sound. He thinks he can get me to break by his words alone, but he’s wrong. I’m not going down that easily. After speaking, you notice that his stomping footsteps have halted, as though he’s standing frozen with his ears pricked up to listen for you to falter. You hold steady, difficult as it is. Without warning, a loud CRASH rings out, making you jolt in place. For a moment, your brain registers it as a thunderclap, before quickly realizing that Beetlejuice had in fact violently flipped over some large piece of furniture in the living room, uprooting it in his search for you. Or just to frighten you. Take your pick.

“I’m starting to get impatient with you, little bird,” he snarls, pacing around the large room and forcefully pushing away seemingly anything that finds itself in his path. “The longer you make me wait, the worse it’ll be when I eventually catch you. And I will catch you. You can’t hide from a demon for very long.” As he speaks, you hear another sound ever so faintly, but one that immediately makes you press your thighs together painfully. The unmistakable sound of Beetlejuice roughly pumping his own cock. It’s increasingly evident that he might be getting off on this even more than you are, which is quite a feat.

You suppress a pleasurable shudder, as well as the desire to join him. Your thighs rub together in a sad attempt to find friction, instead just making you feel more like a desperate caged animal. You hear him let out a small moan from across the room, and can’t help the way that your breath hitches in your throat before coming out as the smallest whine, barely crossing the threshold of your parted lips against your will before you hurriedly clamp your mouth down around it. Even so, you hear Beetlejuice’s various noises immediately stop all at once, before he begins stalking in your direction again. Every footstep that falls on the floor feels as though it’s signaling your end, a dark shadow creeping closer that is just barely visible on the ground and wall to your side, outside of the chair and blanket’s cover. In a surprising moment of clarity, you realize that he will find you within seconds and that you, at this very moment alone, have a jumpstart on choosing whether to fight, flight, or freeze your way out of this situation. Freezing won’t do you any good, and there’s no way you can overpower him, so you resolve to flee to a different part of the house the moment that he spots you. You hope that you can take him by surprise and make him pause long enough to make it out of eyesight and into another hiding spot. It’s not much, but it’s really all you can think of right now.

Before you can make any other considerations, it happens. The chair that was protectively in front of you one moment is completely gone in the next, tossed aside recklessly without even being touched. You’re metaphorically naked to the open air, and without so much as sparing a glance at your monster, you leap away from the wall as though you were shot out of a cannon and sprint full force towards the nearby staircase. You hear a sound of surprise behind you but don’t dare to look back, reaching out to grab onto the handrail before you begin bounding up the stairs, taking two at a time. As you reach the first platform and prepare to turn the corner to climb higher, you hear a loud SLAM that shakes the entire house around you. You turn your head towards the sound on instinct, and see in your peripheral vision that Beetlejuice just rammed his entire body sideways and shoulders-first into the wall at the bottom of the stairs due to how fast and recklessly he was pursuing you, like an animal that forgets to control its speed during a hunt and overshoots its leap. Within the blink of an eye, he’s crouched at the bottom of the stairs in a posture that strikes your fleeing brain as odd, before he begins crawling up the stairs on all fours at alarming speeds, bounding upwards and coming right at you. You swiftly round the corner to the higher set of stairs as he scrambles upwards, but you can tell he’s gaining on you at a pace that makes your stomach drop.

You haul yourself up the last few stairs and into the hallway that most of the bedrooms connect to. It’s a long, narrow hall with multiple doors branching off of it and an impressively tall, lovely gothic window at the end of the hall that stretches nearly from floor to ceiling and beautifully frames the rain, which is still pouring down torrentially outside and running down the glass in thick racing streams. You distantly recognize that your plan to get out of his sight and hide will not be panning out, so you quickly pivot to a new, much worse plan: get to your room and lock the door. Certainly, that will keep the monster out.

With no time to lose, you book it towards your closed door at the very end of the hallway, placed just to the right of the large window. You try to ignore the sound of an inbound demon close behind you, your feet carrying you as fast as they’re able. The hallway seems to stretch unnaturally long in front of you, and you wonder if this is one of Beetlejuice’s illusions or if your brain is just playing tricks on you in your escape. You’re trapped running endlessly as the rain in front of you buffets itself against the window, as though it too was trying to come in and attack you, until finally, your outstretched hand makes contact with your doorknob and moves to turn the knob. It jiggles rigidly against your twisting hand. Locked.

In that moment, you feel clawed hands grab your shoulders and force you down to the ground. You land solidly but not painfully, your face being firmly pushed up against the impeccably clean wood flooring. You struggle against Beetlejuice, but he answers by pressing his entire body against your backside forcefully. Your torso fully pinned down, you instinctively kick your legs and try to bend your arms backwards in an attempt to grab or push him off. Your hand finds his own arm that is braced against the floor, fruitlessly grabbing onto and pulling at it to offset his balance, but finding out very quickly just how strong he truly is. After letting you exert yourself trying to push and pull his arms with both hands, he grabs both of your wrists in one swift motion and holds them both behind your back, trapping you fully in place as you feel his hard cock press up against your ass through your clothes. A mean cackle rings out behind you, where you cannot see. You feel his cold breath wrap itself around your ear.

“Aw, aren’t you so cute trying to get away from me? But what’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone in the dark? Aren’t you worried that something in here might eat you alive?” His voice and breath are making your head spin, and Beetlejuice only adds to your dizziness when he decides to flip you over without warning to look at him. The large window looms high above his figure, the low light from the storm giving you just enough natural light to see details in his face now. The gleeful madness in his eyes makes your hips twitch uselessly, pinned under his full weight as he moves to better straddle you. Though he still has his usual clothes on, his cock is out and fully erect against your thigh, already wet with precum from when he was shamelessly touching himself during the hunt. “Although, you might like the thought of a demon eating you alive more than you’d care to admit, hm? You wouldn’t have agreed to my game otherwise.”

You let out a quiet groan as his hands crawl up to the hem of your shirt collar, and before you can register what he’s doing, his claws are shredding the entire shirt from top to bottom in one swift motion. The fabric tears with a salaciously loud ripping sound, revealing your chest underneath, and Beetlejuice responds by quickly bringing his mouth to your newly-exposed skin. He keeps slowly sliding the fabric off of you bit by bit with his claws, until it’s completely off of your body and his teeth begin to bite down on your collarbone. You gasp and writhe against him, shaking as his sharp teeth tease at breaking the skin of your tender flesh. He alternates between soft nibbles at your throat to harsher bites where your neck and shoulders meet, keeping you on your toes as he ravishes your half-naked body. You feel his hand come up to play with your nipples, pinching and rolling them under his clawed fingers in a way that makes your back arch under him. Noticing your reaction, he moves his head down and sticks his forked tongue out to slowly drag it across your other nipple. After all of this buildup, you feel as though you’re already on the edge before he’s even taken your shorts off.

“F-fuck, Beetlejuice…” You reach your hand up to become tangled in his messy hair as usual, until his own hand catches yours by the wrist right before you can touch him.

“Watch it with my name tonight, babes,” he hisses. There’s a darkness shrouding his face right now since he’s facing away from the low light of the stormy window, his hungry expression sparking a hurricane of its own in you. “And don’t think you can try your usual tricks and turn me into your bitch again. You were mean to me and lost my game, so now you’re my bitch tonight.” He leans down to purr his next words into the side of your neck. “How’s that feel?” Before you can answer, he’s biting into the soft flesh, tongue peeking out to get a taste of your skin, and possibly a few drops of blood.

You practically mewl at his ministrations, a deeply humiliating sound that you didn’t even know you could make. If that’s a sign of what’s to come tonight, I don’t know whether to be excited or scared. I feel like I’m learning to do both at the same time really well, though.

Beetlejuice pauses his lapping at your neck to flash you a smug, knowing look. “Already need it that bad, babes? You’re so cute. Want me to go ahead make you cum for me right now?” His voice still has that unearthly quality to it, a low undertone beneath his words that turns you on more than you’d care to admit as it rumbles through your entire body and sends bursts of electricity up your spine.

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?” His eyes glimmer with joyful control. Fast learner.

“Please,” you choke out, grinding your hips upwards to try and find friction against his towering form.

Beetlejuice puts a finger up to his lips in mock thought. “Hmm, lemme think about it…uh, no.” He laughs at whatever expression immediately takes over your face at these words. “I really enjoyed hearing you ask nicely though!” If his cruel laughter isn’t enough, his cock rubbing against your thigh makes it all too obvious how much he’s reveling in being able to turn your own words against you.

“Y-you’re a dick…” You can barely spit the words out without your voice wavering and betraying your true feelings.

His eyes narrow at you, smile unchanged. “Oh-ho, am I now? And what if I left you tied up without touching you for hours on end, just a pent-up, whining mess, stuck here with nothing to fill you up? If I’m a dick now, what would I be then?” He looks up with faux thoughtfulness. “Hm, well, I guess I’d be whatever you are, since that’s basically what you did to me.” His word delivery is sharp enough to cut, but you can read his tone well enough to tell that he’s not genuinely angry about the whole situation, he wouldn’t be so willing to play with you if he was. Definitely sexually frustrated enough to add some fire to his words, though.

“Do you want me to say sorry? Because I’m not sorry.” Pushing your luck with Beetlejuice is like an extreme sport to you at this point.

The demon chuckles darkly. “Give it time.” Moving on quickly, he stands up above you, clothes suddenly vanished from his body in the blink of an eye. “Up, my little marionette.”

With a slight flick of his fingers, your body is pulled up into a kneeling position in front of where he stands. It feels as if your body is being held taut by invisible strings, the position not fully uncomfortable, but not quite how you’d settle yourself if you were in control here. Clearly, you are not.

Beetlejuice coos at you, as much as he’s able to with his warped voice. “Aww, not what you were expecting? Did you think I was just gonna fuck you right away after all that? Somebody forgot about my promises to use them for myself if I caught them.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you had the self control to actually do any- use me…!” If you could slap a hand over your mouth, you would. You settle for snapping your jaw shut immediately, a bewildered expression surely plastered on your face. Your cheeks burn hot as you realize what you just said, or rather, what you were made to say. If the breathy tone that was sorely missing your own personal inflection on the words didn’t tip you off, Beej’s shit-eating grin above you would have. Not only do you not have control of your body, but your voice is his to play with as well.

“What’s that, my little breather? You really want me to use you?” His voice takes on another tone, one of somebody playing pretend, like how someone would pretend to talk to a toy in a game. It doesn’t talk long to realize that you’re essentially reduced to a living, breathing doll for him in this moment. Demeaning as it is, you shamefully clock that you’re weirdly into it, but you wouldn’t share this with him right now even if you could.

Your feel your mouth twist with words that come as a surprise to you upon leaving your lips yet again. “Yes, oh, please use me, BJ…! You’re so sexy, so handsome, such a big, strong demon…I wanna make you cum so many times that I lose count, I wanna be yours to use forever, I don’t even care if I get to cum at all, I don’t deserve to for being so mean to you!” Your hands run down your sides seductively of their own accord as your mouth finishes its speaking. It feels a bit silly to do, but you don’t really have much say in it at the moment, and Beetlejuice doesn’t seem to care if it’s a bit over-the-top from the way drool is currently pooling at the corners of his mouth. None of the words that you moaned out really belonged to you, but you kinda like that you can say such obscene things and just blame it on him later. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t onboard with most of them already, aside from that last statement.

Beetlejuice laughs, licking his lips with a forked tongue. “Aw, aren’t you just a good little toy?” He takes a step towards you, his dick bobbing at eye level in front of you, seemingly a bit larger than usual and…is that ribbing? Yes, you definitely aren’t mistaken, his cock has ridges crawling up all sides, swirling around in mesmerizing patterns that reach up to his swollen head. Some jut out like small, dull spikes, while others are more like closely-placed ribbed lines that remind you of a winding path. Your eyes widen at the discovery as your head leans in expectantly, and this time, you’re not sure if it was you or him that initiated that movement. To test your level of control, you try to roll your shoulders experimentally, and they obey without issue. With this, you can confidently conclude that you at least have a bit of influence over your upper half, though your legs are still forced firmly into a kneeling position.

Before you can do anything yourself with this discovery, his hand reaches out to grab a fistful of your hair and your heart rate immediately quickens in your chest. His grip is forceful but meticulous as he pulls your head forward even more, claws scratching at your scalp in a way that makes you heartbeat drop to the space between your thighs. His impatient guidance makes his neediness apparent, and you grin up at him through your eyelashes. Before he can say anything about how long you’re taking, you open your mouth and lean in to slowly lick his cock from base to tip, selfishly drinking in the shudder that you’re able to pull from him. Even when he’s supposed to be your monster, you can still find your own little ways of asserting dominance. Beetlejuice always runs chilly, but his cock feels even more so than usual, to the point where you would describe it as actively cold, though not enough to be uncomfortable. The ridges feel strange but not unpleasant against your tongue as you go in for another taste, and you shiver to think about how they would feel inside of your wet cunt. You move to mouth and kiss at his length teasingly, purposefully not giving him all of the stimulation he so clearly wants right away.

The grip on your hair tightens to the point of stinging. “If you’re not gonna do it right, I can just do it myself,” he hisses, panting above you with a poisonous glare aimed down at you below. You hardly have time to register how pretty he looks when he’s mad before he’s changed his position and begins fucking into your mouth at an absolutely brutal pace. Your eyes shoot open in shock as his hand holds your head securely in place by a fistful of hair, forcing you to breathe through your nose as he thrusts in and out of your mouth. It’s desperate, and frustrated, and monstrous. It’s exactly what he promised you. The extra size and new textures make his dick feel even more thick than usual in your mouth, and you marvel at the fact that you’re even able to fit as much of it inside as you currently are. Your eyes water as you try to suppress your gag reflex when he hits the back of your throat once, twice, three times. On the fourth time, it’s too much to fight and you gag, causing him to pause mid-thrust and look down at you quizzically. “Too much for you already, babes?” His voice is far too cheery for your taste, and his imposing form leers over you with bemused intrigue.

You tightly shake your head no, mouth too full at the moment to say any words even if your brain was capable of forming them.

Beetlejuice barks out a laugh, lightning pouring through the window to momentarily frame his facial features, all crinkled in amusement. “Ah, this is why I love you, doll. You just don’t know when to quit.” He pulls his cock from your mouth with an emphatic pop and you instead feel the unseeable pull of your limbs by his influence once again. Except, this time, he has a hold on all of you but your mouth and eyes. “But y’know, anything you can do, I can do better.”

Your body lurches forward without your permission, your right hand wrapping itself around the base of Beetlejuice’s cock and beginning to pump up and down his entire length. Meanwhile, your left hand chooses to come up to cup his balls, fondling and massaging at a separate pace. It might’ve been difficult to keep each hand’s motion and pace straight, if not for the fact that you were currently being possessed by a demon to do it. It was not unlike being asked to pat your head and rub your stomach, except that you don’t actually have to put any work into it at all and also you are having sex. Your mental comparisons are interrupted by your head positioning itself over his cock, lips parting to take him in and promptly closing to form a vacuum seal around him. Once your mouth is on him, you feel the pull of your demon’s power begin to bob your head up and down as much of his length as you’re able. Your hands continue their work, but your right hand pumps only the area between the base of his shaft and the lowest point that your lips can reach. Your ministrations continue at a fast and unwavering speed, and if your brain wasn’t completely overtaken by lust, you would be impressed with how efficiently he’s been able to turn you into his perfect little blowjob machine. You can feel that this is a persuasive but breakable possession, and it’s endearing to know that he left you an out so you could break his tether to you if you needed to. But deep down, you know you won’t be testing that ability out right now, not when he’s making such pretty noises above you.

Your eyes, maybe one of the only things still under your easy control, flit up to look at him as your mouth and hands continue their work. Beetlejuice looks down at you through lidded eyes, his concentration obviously torn between possessing you and getting his cock worked so thoroughly. His hair is a messy fire on his head, all red and fuchsia twisted together like a beautiful mixing of watercolors on a soft, shaggy canvas. He lets out an unsteady exhale above you, obviously very close, but trying to hide his usual whines and whimpers that would signal he was approaching the edge. Instead, he opts for a shaky moan from deep within his chest, unable to hold back as he begins to thrust up into your mouth to meet your lips as they come down. Just as it’s all starting to become a bit overwhelming, he shudders above you with a muffled high-pitched sound, and your movements become sloppy and ungraceful all at once as he finishes in your mouth. You could move off of his cock if you wanted to, but instead, you stay in place and greedily catch as much of his cum in your mouth as you can, shivering at how surprisingly cold it feels as you swallow it down your throat. It shouldn’t have been that shocking considering how extra chilly his dick had been, but you’re still taken aback by the temperature as you suck him dry, the slight sweetness still ever-present. Eventually, his dick stops twitching, and the demon above you seems to be quietly coming back down after his orgasm before he erupts into a guttural growl.

“Not enough, not enough,” Beetlejuice snarls, partially to himself and partially at you. “You made me wait so goddamn long, now it’s still not enough.” He squeezes his eyes shut and rakes a clawed hand through his hair, pushing it back from his furrowed brow as he vigorously shakes his head back and forth in frustration, growling and murmuring to himself. You hold yourself very still, watching silently as he seems to argue with himself about something internally. After a moment of thought, his eyelids flutter open again and he slowly turns his gaze onto you. His dark brown eyes look to be on the verge of crazed, the slits of his pupils moving down from meeting your own eyes to leer at your half-naked body. You manage to catch the way his pupils blow out wide as he continues to undress you with his eyes, despite the darkness making him seem very much like a moving shadow whenever the lightning outside pauses. Despite having cum just moments ago, he has the look of a ravenous man staring at a feast.

You sit back on your haunches, looking up at his pretty face with mock innocence. “Not enough, huh? What’re you gonna do about it?”

Beetlejuice can’t hide his grin at your insolence. “Patience, little bird. There’s really no need to goad me on, I’m not nearly done playing with you yet.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at the irony of him telling you to be patient, ignoring the fact that your stomach is currently filled with butterflies at his words. His strings of control now fully dissipated, he steps forward with a renewed power and looks you over with a fanged smirk. He looks for a moment as though he wants to say something, but instead, he moves to crouch down to your level and crashes his lips against yours. The kiss rocks you to your core, all tongue and teeth on his end, which you do your best to imitate. In the end, it’s only more clear how horribly outmatched you currently are, his strength and demonic features easily overpowering your pathetic human body. As he shoves his forked tongue into your mouth roughly, you are struck by the chilling realization that every time you’ve been taking control up until now, it’s only because Beetlejuice has been letting you. The thought is enough to make you clench tightly around nothing, aching with desire.

After he’s satisfied with the kiss, he pulls back from your lips and reaches down to grab your legs by the calves, pulling them out from under you in one swift motion and making you fall backwards onto your butt with an undignified thump. He settles himself between your legs, grabbing the soft skin on the inner sides of your knees and spreading them wide to make room for his larger form. He continues to spread so far that you can feel your hamstrings stretching, a dull but satisfying ache in your muscles as they tighten at their limit. Once he’s carved a space for himself, Beetlejuice slowly begins to crawl his hands upwards from where they rest by your knees along your inner thighs, his claws lightly skating across your sensitive skin. You squirm and giggle lightly at the sensation, simultaneously too much and not enough. He finally reaches the bottom of your shorts and, wasting no time, shreds through the fabric as if it were tissue paper. The pieces of what used to be your shorts fall pathetically from your body, no longer recognizable anything but scraps anymore. As they fall off, you recognize with surprise that your underwear was also fully ripped off of you in the same movement, fluttering down to the floor in tattered pieces and leaving you fully naked.

Beetlejuice’s monstrous persona drops ever so slightly as he can’t quite hide the sheepish expression that finds its way onto his face. “Oh, oops? Overshot that. Hope those weren’t your favorite pair or anything.” He gets over his moment with a devious chuckle and is quickly back to studying your fully exposed body, all spread out in front of him and ready to be devoured. “Gotta make sure you’re ready to take me, strictly business here, y’know. Try not to moan like a bitch in heat too much. ‘S embarrassing for you.” As he’s speaking, you watch Beetlejuice lift his right hand and slowly retract the claws of his index and middle finger until they’re completely gone, only his regular short black nails where the claws once were. Without leaving you any time to make a snarky comment, he’s plunging them into your entrance.

“Ah…!” You keen as you finally receive the stimulation you’ve been craving all night, even if it is so much all at once. When the shock of him pressing into you quickly fades, it’s only immediately replaced by another, even more jarring shock: his fingers are ice cold inside of you. You yelp, unsure whether to pull away or beg him to push them farther inside. His unnaturally chilly fingers are curling against your walls, making your hips stutter and eyes squeeze shut as you try to steady yourself from the sensory overload.

“Aww, what’s the matter?” he coos with a sickly sweet smile, sticking a third finger inside of your pussy. You arch your back and whine desperately in response. “You look kinda conflicted there, babes…too cold for you?”

You wrestle for control of your words. “N-no,” you eventually spit out at him. It’s a sad attempt at lying to a very perceptive demon.

Beetlejuice grins. “You’re a stubborn little breather, aren’t you?” He keeps rubbing against the spot that has you seeing stars like he owns it. “That, or you’re just a freak who gets off on everything I do. Because I honestly did this to be an asshole, but you are definitely liking it way more than I expected. I can see it in your cute little face.” You tighten around his fingers as he speaks. “Heh, and that too.”

“Fuck off…” It’s a new kind of embarrassing to have Beetlejuice call you a freak for getting off on something, but honestly, that just gets you off even more, proving his point. You rock your hips up to meet him, unable to hold back your little gasps as you do. You’re trapped between pleasure and pain, the cold refusing to ebb as he continues fingering you roughly. You squirm helplessly under the seemingly endless barrage of conflicting sensations.

His left hand is suddenly on your lower belly, pressing down to keep you in place. “Quit fuckin’ moving, or I’m gonna tie you down,” he growls, not letting up on his pace as he chastises you.

“Hold me down yourself,” you moan, and the words are out before you even get a chance to think. Those were definitely your own words, though.

The demon’s eyes light up immediately. “Ohh, I see, you want me to hold you down and fingerfuck you ‘til you beg for mercy? Well, if that’s what you want.”

He’s behind you in the blink of an eye, erection fully hard once again if the way it presses up against your naked back is any indication. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and lifts them up and back to wrap around his neck, still bound together tightly. It’s almost a romantic pose, with your body reclined back against his and your arms holding his head close to your body, his nose pressed into your neck and beard prickling against it as well. His free hand snakes around your waist to press your torso even closer against him before returning his fingers to your dripping cunt. The freezing pleasure returns, a feeling you had been dreading and felt so empty without. He’s pumping his fingers into you at the same quick pace, picking up right where he left off. He presses into your clit with his thumb, chuckling darkly at the cry you let out as he starts rubbing teasing circles into it.

“G-gonna cum…” Your humiliating whimpers only seem to encourage him into moving faster.

“Yeah? You close? I bet you are. You’ve been so wet all night…I could smell it, got all mixed up in my head, wanted to pin you down and take you so bad for hours…” Beetlejuice’s chin is resting on your shoulder, and his long tongue slips out to slither down at your neck and to your chest again. It’s like a prehensile appendage with how it moves and wraps itself around your nipples, but with such a light ghost of a touch against your hard buds that it causes goosebumps to spread themselves across your entire chest. You’d be defiantly squirming against him if not for the fact that your body was being held completely immobile by the demon. His wrist and strong forearm press insistently against your stomach and pubic region, keeping you locked in place with his otherworldly strength. Instead, you just allow the needy sounds to pour out of your mouth, unable to focus on anything besides how utterly and deliciously trapped you are and how fast your orgasm is approaching due to his dexterous fingers. You feel yourself cresting that final hill before he sends you crashing over the peak, your body attempting to fuck yourself down onto his fingers even harder despite your trappings. You can’t see him as your orgasm rocks your body, but you hear him hmph approvingly behind you and can easily imagine the smarmy look on his face at how much he can make you come undone with his hands alone.

You’re still shaking with the aftershocks of your orgasm when Beetlejuice swiftly disappears from behind you and reappears with his head between your legs, giving you no time to react before his mouth is between your legs, licking and sucking loudly. You squeal at the pleasure flooding your senses again so soon and squeeze your legs together involuntarily in reaction.

Beetlejuice lifts his head a bit with a hazy smile. “Sorry babes, couldn’t help myself. Just needed a little taste…” You whine as he sucks at your clit forcefully to punctuate his words before pulling his body back up to kneel in front of you. “But I do think you’re just about ready for me after that.”

“Please…” you muster, your head swimming with pleasure. You’re not even completely sure what you’re begging for, but your demon seems to enjoy it.

“Aren’t you so good for me, my little breather? Even when I’m using you for myself, so adorable…” He grabs your chin with his thumb and the forefinger that was pumping inside of you moments ago, appraising whatever expression is plastered on your face and holding your head in place. “It’s not gonna make me be any nicer to you, but it’ll probably make me fill you up faster.” Wasting no time, he pulls back from your face and begins to line his cock up with your entrance.

His words make you realize how quickly Beetlejuice was able to get you to roll over and play nice for him. It’s truthfully embarrassing the speed at which you folded, especially after the multiple times that you’ve teased him now for doing the exact same thing. Maybe he’s right, you’re more like him than you thought. This line of thought passing into your mind reignites your defiant spirit almost instantly.

“Y’know, for all that talk, you kinda suck at being mean to me.” It’s hard to keep the corners of your lips from being pulled upwards when he slowly tilts his head at your words in disbelief. “The meanest thing you could think to do is make me cum my brains out around your somewhat-chilly fingers. Kinda sweet for an evil demon, that’s all. Can’t bring yourself to do any worse?”

Beetlejuice’s cute expression of positive bewilderment begins melting into one of resolve mixed with pure, carnal desire. “You make such terrible decisions sometimes, it’s so fuckin’ hot.” He punctuates this statement by thrusting his cock up into you, stealing the next witty retort from your lips and leaving only a breathy gasp in its absence. It’s an intense stretch over his morphed length, and even after being worked open by his fingers, the sudden penetration is more than enough to shut you up as you adjust. He grabs your neck, firmly enough to tilt your head as he pleases. “I’m gonna eat you alive, little bird.”

You meet his blazing-hot gaze readily. “Promise?”

Beetlejuice grins as he chooses for once to let his actions do the talking, his only response being to start fucking into you at a quick and steady pace. His cock is clearly bigger than usual, but still fits without issue after the first stretch. You note that it’s the texture that makes the experience just as unique and fantastic as you’d hoped, his ridges rubbing against your walls as though they were designed to pleasure you specifically (and for all you know, this could be absolutely true). The cold remains a common factor throughout the encounter, and one that you certainly don’t hate, despite its initial purpose. The cold spreads out from your core to crawl all over your body, reminding you just how much influence he has over you. It’s all so strange and wonderful and it’s having no trouble in making you see stars already.

Your back is pressed firmly against the floor, giving you another beautiful view of Beetlejuice framed in front of the tall window as he sets a rhythm with his motions. Lightning highlights the outline of his frame every few seconds, visibly straining as he tries to give you more without losing himself in you completely. You try to take a second and memorize how pretty his face is in this moment, really commit everything here to memory. The way his eyebrows knit together as he works at opening you up, biting at his lip with sharp fangs that you assume must hurt, but he gives no indication if it does. The hand that was lightly gripping at your throat loses its solid grip as his fingers stretch out and stroke down your neck, his palm spreading wide and coming to rest directly above your heart, claws resting along the length of your collarbone. Every thrust into you, every touch of his hands on your warm skin, it’s all so maddening and cruel and perfect all at once.

His eyes peek open slightly and flit to your face, lids still half-covering the pools of dark brown. “Quit lookin’ at me all sweet like that, you’re the one who said you wanted rough mean monster sex.”

“Sorry,” you breathe, averting your eyes from his lovely visage to get back into character but unable to hide the way the corners of your lips curl up fondly.

“You’d better be.” He huffs with a smirk, before putting the charm back on. “Now, you said you could keep up with a demon, so let’s see if you were right or if I can make a liar outta you tonight.” He practically spits the word “liar,” clearly both something you should be ashamed of being and something that you desperately want him to prove that you were when you said that. He moves both of his hands down to your hips for leverage, grabbing onto the skin so forcefully that you’re certain it’ll leave a bruise. With you secure in his grasp, he’s holding your lower half steady so he can keep you perfectly in place while he fucks you, an anchor to you for your monster.

Still riding off the high of your recent first orgasm, you can feel your second building already at an exponential rate. You gasp as your walls clench around him, tightening around his cock as it keeps brushing against just the right spot inside of you, the ridges doing everything right for you. Before you know it, you’re already cumming around his dick, the squelches of him continuing to fuck you through your orgasm sounding utterly obscene with how wet you are for him. You ride it out with small moans and praises pouring from your lips, until the fountain of your words begins to run dry as he continues to fuck you at the same unwavering pace.

“You just came again? Okay, well, I haven’t cum again yet, so you can just be fuckin’ patient.” You feel that dawning horror that you’ve been waiting so long for wash over you as you realize that he does not in fact plan on giving you any semblance of a break here. Instead, he grabs both of your thighs and pushes them up to fold back on top of your body, removing the obstacle for him and ending with you opening yourself even wider for him.

“B-Beetlejuice,” you gasp, the overstimulation beginning to take hold as the last of your previous orgasm ebbs away, causing you to shudder and twitch involuntarily as he refuses to let up in his motions. “I’m so- FUCK!” Your words are unable to leave your tongue as his mouth begins biting at your neck insistently. His mouth moves with no rhythm compared to his thrusts, all wild instinct with no discernible pattern as he kisses and bites from your collarbone to your jawline, savoring the taste of you and the sounds you make at the overwhelming, overlapping sensations.

“You say something, babes? Couldn’t quite hear ya…” He switches it up by nibbling along your throat before ending his trail with a harsh bite to the side of your neck. “Were you gonna say that I was right and that I’m too much for your little human body to handle?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of his teeth on you. “Shit, I take it back, you really are evil.” He would be the one to make sex into a competition. A game, your mind chimes in to correct you. Always the games with him. You have been quite the fan of his rigged games tonight, why change your tune now when he’s ruining you so well? “Don’t you dare stop.”

Your words make him chuckle and become only rougher in his movements. “Gonna fill you up,” Beetlejuice pants as his teeth graze the tip of your ear, clearly on the edge himself. “Gonna cum inside you ‘til you can’t take anymore. Bet you’d like that. Bet you wanna have my cum dripping out of your needy little cunt for days.” Your answer comes out as nothing more than a strangled, horny sound, but it seems to get your agreement across as the demon grins wildly, his thrusts becoming erratic as his eyes are flooded with pure desire looking down at you. His head falls to rest on your shoulder as he continues, and you can feel him mouthing something into your skin, but it takes a few moments before you can make out what he’s saying, faint as a whispered prayer. “Mine, mine, mine.” He punctuates each word with a forceful thrust, your heart somehow finding a way to race even faster at this realization. His final utterance of the word is choked into a shaky moan halfway through, his predictably yet still shockingly cold cum filling you to the brim in the best way. It’s way more than you expected, pumping inside of you at high speeds and completely filling you with him. If your mind were a bit sharper right now, you’d probably marvel at just how much there is, you can tell just by feel the practically obscene amounts that are leaking out of your entrance and onto the floor. You close your eyes for a moment to try and bring yourself back to Earth. Your muscles burn with exertion, and you can’t stop the full-body tremors that keep wracking your smaller frame. Not that you have enough energy to even attempt to suppress them.

You don’t have more than a moment’s rest before you feel something cool and slightly wet rubbing against your leg, and you crack open your eyes and see a thick, black and white appendage prodding at you. The striped extremity crawls over your body slowly, caressing your outer thigh before stretching itself over you to pet at your inner thigh as well, wrapping you up in its grasp. You can only think to respond with a perplexed gaze at the thing before looking up at Beetlejuice inquisitively.

He looks all too proud of himself above you, the appendage clearly sprouting from him, more specifically, somewhere behind him…his back perhaps, but it’s hard to tell in this lighting. “Hey, I’ve never shown you my tentacles, have I? At least, I haven’t shown you what they can really do…” When your gaze looks back down, two more tentacles have joined the first, stroking and caressing at your slick flesh.

“B-Beetlejuice, it’s too much, I don’t know if I can…” Your body is simultaneously crying out for rest yet also desperately vying for the attention of the tentacles as they rub themselves over your form teasingly.

He actually has the gall to snicker. “Oh come on now, you can take much more than that, don’t be a quitter. Unless…you’re really admitting you can’t keep up with me? That you’re not as unaffected as you might make yourself out to be? That you were wrong and are now in over your little head?” He pokes you in the center of your forehead to emphasize his teasing in the most annoying way possible.

As though immediately possessed by a different sort of force, you feel a second wind rushing into your entire body, filling you with a new, stubborn resolve. “In your dreams, hellspawn.” You meet his eyes obstinately, hoping that your demeanor portrays yourself as less dazed and fucked-out-of-your-mind than you really are right now. In the end, your competitiveness will always win.

He chuckles, looking rather unfazed by your sharp response. “Still got that much of a fighting spirit, huh? Bet I can break that.”

At his command, three more tentacles emerge from behind him and move towards your reclined body. With six of them visible to you now, they move almost hypnotically as they stroke at your skin, all six moving as if of their own free will as they each take to a different task. You feel two wrap around each of your calves, and one more secures your wrists together. They pull you up to sit on your haunches, the cool wood flooring below starting to feel less pleasant than it did when he first caught you and pressed you against it. Your arms are pulled up and over your head, and you simply let them pull your limbs wherever they see fit without fight. You’re perched as though about to ride an invisible dick, and the position makes you very aware of how gravity is causing more of his cum to slowly drip out of you, mixed with your own wetness. The remaining three tentacles prod at your stretched torso, two settling to rub your nipples gently while the other one crawls down toward your hips. You keen at the contact, watching the slick appendages delicately rub over your chest and wondering exactly how much direct control Beetlejuice has over them versus how much they’re piloted by just subconscious desire without direction. Your eyes flicker up to take him in for the first time since being restrained, and his expression is one of a man watching a most riveting show, cartoonish tongue lolling slightly out of his involuntary smile at your current predicament. He’s crouched across from you in a similar yet freer position, mirroring your body but leaning forward to really take it all in. You feel the free tentacle begin to snake its way to your stomach, sending a thrill up your spine as it strokes down, down, down, until it’s right where you need it. You whimper wordlessly at the contact, mind swirling with sensation.

“God, I’m so happy you’re the kind of sick degenerate that’s into this,” Beetlejuice breathes, making you shivers as he tugs at his half-hard cock shamelessly. Despite being well-aware of what BJ told you about demon sex drives, it’s sort of blowing your mind to see him so immediately ready to go like this, again and again, acting as though everything before was nothing more than warm-up. Damn. No wonder he is the way that he is.

Taking you out of your thoughts is the tentacle giving attention to the space between your thighs, its stark black-and-white surface contrasting with your skin beneath it even in the window’s dim light. The tentacles holding your legs spread them wider to make room, and the appendage responds by bringing its tip up to your clit, pressing in gently but with enough pressure to have your body at full attention. Just when you think you’re spent, he’s got you bucking your hips under his touch again, desperate for more of his attention. Beetlejuice seems more than pleased with your reaction.

“I-I can’t believe you’ve held out on me so long,” you gasp, the tentacle dragging itself torturously slow as it traces up and down from your clit to your opening. “I mean, it’s only been like, a week, but that’s practically 1000 years in terms of your patience.” The tentacles stroking your nipples instead tug at them abruptly, swiftly putting you back in your place with a shaky whimper.

Beetlejuice looks at you with half-lidded eyes and a dumb smile. “Aww, I’m so glad to hear ya like ‘em. I didn’t wanna freak you out too soon, but I should’ve known you’d be enough of a whore to just bend over and let me take you however I wanted to.” You keen as you feel the tentacle on your clit move to your entrance, all wet with some nondescript substance that might’ve grossed you out if he showed it to you in any other context. There’s hardly even a stretch compared to his cock as it pushes into you, but it still reaches exactly where it needs to with how dextrous and long it is. “You wanted to be chased. You wanted to be caught. And yeah, I know you wanted to be used. How could you not, when you take it sooooo well?” His lovely purring words rattle around in your head as the tentacle inside of you pumps itself into your clenched core, rubbing exactly where it knows you want it to and making you grit your teeth as though about to go mad. “God, you’re so perfect. Look so fuckin’ pretty right now, don’t know what I did to deserve you. I won’t let you down, I’m gonna milk every orgasm you have out of you and not gonna stop ‘til you’re absolutely ruined, babes. You’re gonna regret asking me to be meaner to you.”

You whine miserably at his words, his own excitement and arousal only amplifying yours. You hump against the tentacle as it keeps up its regular pace, riding it like a cock as much as you can with your arms and legs restrained. Taking another glance at Beetlejuice, you notice that another tentacle had sprouted from his back when you were lost in his words and came down to rest on his own dick, curling itself around the length from base to tip and moving itself up and down rapidly, getting him off as he leans back and watches you intently. You grind yourself down onto the tentacle inside of you harder at this, getting off to the image of him being caressed by his own tentacles just as much as he is for you. He notices you reacting in this way and flashes you a grin, the unmistakable grin of someone who’s all too happy to be ogled. Damn exhibitionist. He then lets out a very familiar whimper, sharply contrasting his dominant front from a moment ago. You could recognize that specific sound anywhere.

“Are you fucking yourself in the ass with your own tentacles?” Your voice is strained, but the tone is somewhere between incredulous and amused.

His whimper melts into a breathy moan, his teeth snapping off the end of the sound by clicking together into a satisfied grin. “You know me so well, doll.” Sure enough, Beetlejuice leans forward and arches his back from where he had been resting on his haunches in front of you, and you can see another tentacle placed behind him that is thrusting up into his ass at a steady speed, the first tentacle continuing to pump his cock at a breakneck pace.

The mere sight of Beetlejuice getting so thoroughly worked by his own tentacles as your own stimulation refuses to let up is pleasurable enough to make you clench tightly around the appendage, your legs shaking as you cum around it and get roughly fucked through your orgasm. You feel your ears ringing as this one rolls out of you in waves, feeling so good and yet so, so much. It takes its time running through your entire body, but as it begins to ebb, you whine as you realize that the tentacles aren’t letting up. They continue to perform their motions like a dutiful machine, rubbing at your nipples, fucking up into your thoroughly used pussy, holding you perfectly in place despite your squirming. You’re still completely open to the appendages, no way to even curl up and hide yourself from their touches.

“Beetlejuice…” you practically sob, overstimulation causing your entire body to shake as the tentacle rubs itself against your g-spot, prodding at you for more as if it doesn’t understand why you’re so spent.

From your position, you can see the demon laugh at your predicament. “Aw, poor little thing. You’ve got about one more in you before you totally break, I bet.” You choke out an anguished sound at his cooing words, plus the fact that the pace of the tentacles hasn’t let up in the slightest, and he regards you with a raised brow. “Color?”

You take in a shuddering breath, knowing that you could easily end things here with a single word. But goddamnit, you are not giving him the satisfaction. You’ll go until exhaustion forcibly takes you if you must, your pride demands it. “Green.”

The unbearably overwhelming sensations are immediately made worth it by the utterly flabbergasted look that crosses your demon’s face, eyes widening as he receives an answer that he clearly didn’t expect. It’s quickly replaced by an impressed little smirk, all lust and pride and amusement wrapped into one sharp smile. “Heh, yep, that’s the breather I fell for. You’re too much of a stubborn little glutton for punishment to quit, just like me. Well, lucky for you, that’s in no short supply right now.” He moves toward you from where he had been leaned back on his haunches, and it’s immediately clear by the spattering of glowing green on his stomach that he himself has cum at least once under the tentacle that continues rubbing at his cock, and you feel a slight twinge of regret that you didn’t get to see his debauched expression as he came. To lift your spirits, you silently file away the idea of having him tied up and forced to cum over and over by his own tentacles while you get to watch as a fun idea for later. For now, Beetlejuice moves up to watch you closer, bringing his body right in front of your trapped form as the tentacles keep working the both of you.

You squirm as much as the restraints and your energy levels allow under his gaze. He’s watching your face intently, as though trying to see something in your slack-jawed expression. Then, you’re tilting backwards, as if doing a trust fall that you have no choice but to trust in as your body leans backwards, knees spread apart but still firmly on the floor as your back stretches tightly. Another tentacle comes to support your neck and back as you continue to be coaxed backwards by your restraints, until your knees lift ever so slightly off of the ground and you’re practically being cradled in a tentacle hammock with your limbs still restrained, but as comfortable as they can be in this situation.

“What a perfect little present all wrapped up for me after that long chase…” Beetlejuice briefly surveys the situation, his patience clearly maxed out by now but perception still sharp as ever as he scans you for any reaction. He must find whatever he’s looking for, because you see only a joyful flash of teeth before he’s biting your inner thigh and ripping more pitiful sounds from your tired throat against your will.

You flinch and whimper a bit at the sudden piercing pain, but you couldn’t move away if you wanted to. In all honesty, you probably couldn’t bring yourself to move even if you weren’t being restrained, not at this point. Another bite to your thigh, slightly gentler and closer to where you need his mouth. You dare a glance down at him and immediately find yourself trying to stifle your tremors and trembling, his firm grasp on you as intoxicating as the image of a demon looking so absolutely possessive between your thighs, in every sense of the word.

His smile is as all-consuming as ever. “And I think I’ll get a better taste of my prey now, heh.” His tongue is pressed against your clit within the second, the entire length of it slipping out of his mouth for nothing more than to rile you up. He knows it will; it did so well the first time, and every time after, and it unsurprisingly works like a charm today too. He laps at you hungrily, his long tongue having already proven itself to be perfect for eating you out. The fact that it now has a perfect little fork at the end only adds to the experience. You’ve simply had to make peace with the fact that his demonic features have completely ruined you for anyone else, and you can’t bring yourself to be upset about that at all. Not right now, when his forked tongue is stroking up and down your clit at the perfect pace, your trapped hands grabbing at the tentacles beneath them for stability as though they were bedsheets. They only tremble and continue to ooze even more as you grip them, a strange but clear sign of pleasure if Beetlejuice’s rumbling groans weren’t obvious enough.

He allows his tongue to wander between your clit and your entrance, and it’s so long that it can reach both spots at once when pressed up against you. He lets a whiny moan slip out as he keeps up the pace. “Fuck…I can taste myself in you…hey, you’re welcome for being so delicious…” Of course he’s still finding a way to brag, even with his mouth busy. You wouldn’t be shocked if he figured out a way to continue working your clit while also tongue fucking you, and then gloat how talented he is at getting you off without changing his pace at all. He’s a talented multitasker, clearly.

You’d normally have a much more eloquent comeback to his boasting comments, but you’re honestly shocked at how much Beetlejuice has absolutely fucked you out of your mind by now. You can barely string together a complete thought, let alone speak a coherent sentence. You feel like you’ve been thoroughly used up, in the best way. From the moment he offered you that deal, you wanted to be defiled by a monster until you’re nothing but a fucked-out little plaything for him to use as he pleases, and he has more than honored that wish. The combination of this thought and the maddening feeling of him lapping at your overstimulated clit is enough to somehow bring you back to the edge again, whining as your muscles tense one final time.

Your body language does not go unnoticed by your monster. “Aw, you gonna cum?” You let out a pathetic whine in response, and he snorts. “Yeah, you would be cumming again. Slut.” He pauses his ministrations to look you in the eye from below, intense lust clouding his pretty eyes. “Say my name, beautiful.”

You practically keen at the sudden denial of stimulation, but do your best to abide. “Beetlejuice…” Your voice is a sinful moan, more shameless and explicit than you’ve ever heard from within yourself. You can’t even bring yourself to feel ashamed or self-conscious about it with how fast Beetlejuice grabs your hips with his sharp claws and thrusts his cock back into you, clearly on the precipice again himself. A few quick, deep thrusts is all it takes for him to be once again filling you up with his load, shaking as he pumps you full of it as though afraid you’d lost too much after the first time he thoroughly bred your cunt. The combination of being so perfectly full of his cum again, the image of the demon holding onto you with both hands and tentacles from above as he finds release, and the feeling of being so completely claimed by the feral monster inside of you is enough to push you over the edge. Your final orgasm tears through you recklessly, just as wild and destructive as the last to your exhausted human body. Waves of tingly pleasure rush through every nerve in your body, clenching and relaxing your muscles as the feeling ebbs and flows throughout your form. Time stands still for you, and you can barely register Beetlejuice pulling out beyond the sensations still rolling through you. As it starts to dissipate, your ears are ringing again and- oh, you can’t see. That’s probably not good. You blink harshly, feeling as though you’re in the aftermath of some kind of explosion to throw off your senses this majorly.

After a few moments of muffled blackness and awful ringing sound, you see bright rays of reality begin to peek through as your body adjusts back to normal. You see a fuzzy image above you, towering over your frame in a way that feels more concerned than menacing, and as the picture begins to clear, you notice the figure’s mouth moving. Your mind returning, you attempt to focus in on what he could be trying to say to you with such a worried little face. Luckily, the world’s sound begins to fade back in as he continues to speak quickly.

“-ey? Hey? C’mon babes, you with me? You’re freakin’ me the fuck out right now, talk to me so I know you’re not heading into the light, please.”

“I’m good,” you murmur, still feeling a bit overwhelmed in coming back to Earth after everything. The tentacles have disappeared in however long it took for your vision to return, and Beetlejuice looks decidedly less monster-y than he did moments ago. The red has all but vanished from his hair, leaving a dusting of dark pink fading into a lighter gradient, with slight yellow streaks of nervousness, and he looks significantly less big and sharp overall as his nervous eyes flicker over your form that sits on the floor below.

Beetlejuice leans down to hold your head to his chest. “Oh, Jesus fuckin’ Christ (Y/N)! You were supposed to say something if it got to be too much!” He pulls back to swiftly look you over. “Gonna give me a heart attack when I’m already dead over here. Jeez.”

You giggle, too exhausted to fully laugh at his antics. “I’m fine, wasn’t too much. A little overwhelming near the end maybe, but I really liked it.”

He snorts. “Well, yeah, that much I could tell. You freaked me out though, I thought I might’ve accidentally factory reset you from fuckin’ ya too rough or something.”

You wave your hand dramatically in a dismissive fashion as you move to sit up, your stomach and thighs shaking with the effort as though you had just finished a particularly brutal set of sit-ups. Well, that’s one way to get in a core workout. “I mean, I’m the one who wanted to try and hold my own against a supernatural being at full power so bad. Dumb mortal physical limitations getting in my way.” You hmph at the idea of human limits, before leaning forward to place your hand on Beetlejuice’s own. “But you did great baby, that was everything I could’ve wanted when you first pitched that idea. I hope it was everything you wanted, too.”

Beetlejuice’s expression softens as he looks at your hand on his own. “Yeah, I had a great time too. Clearly.” His eyes dart down to your utterly spent body almost sheepishly before returning to your own eyes, a shine of strong affection behind his gaze as he speaks in a much more delicate tone. “I really love you a lot. Thanks for bein’ the way you are.” With that, he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, a far cry from the roughness that he embodied minutes ago. It’s so tender that his lips only end up lightly grazing your own, and the feeling of his soft lips moving like a whisper on you is the sweetest of kind thank you’s.

“Anything for my sweet little demon,” you breathe, reveling in the mere closeness of him in this ultra-affectionate state.

Beetlejuice shoots you a cute smile before leaning down to pick up your exhausted body as though it weighs nothing to him. “Oh, and if it’s any consolation, you totally earned bragging rights for lasting that long in the sack. I honestly thought you’d tap out after, like, two rounds, and then we’d cuddle.” He tosses and hoists you up into a more secure position in his arms before he starts walking toward your door.

You grab onto the flesh of his shoulders to steady yourself. “What can I stay? l have a strong force of will when I’m with you.” With just a look from the demon, your previously locked door swings open without a care, and he carries you right into your dark room. You whip around and shoot him an inquisitive look. “Wait, was that you before? The lock?”

“Oh, is it that surprising that I outwitted you?” He moves to bite your shoulder teasingly, now more playful than menacing but still with enough teeth to command your attention.

“Ah…a little.”

One of the hands currently wrapped under your legs slides up to pinch your ass, causing you to yelp and Beetlejuice to laugh. “You may be hot shit in your own mind, but never forget that you’re easy prey to a demon like me, babes.”

***

“Delia-uhhhhhh, when’s the popcorn gonna be ready?” Beetlejuice languishes about on the sofa in front of the TV with no shame, flopping his arms over the side to look towards the kitchen.

You roll your eyes from where you stand behind the couch, then move to swat at his dangling arms playfully. “Don’t be a nuisance unless you’re gonna help, hellspawn.”

A somewhat-frazzled redheaded figure appears in the open doorway to the kitchen. “Now, Beetlejuice, if life is a bank, then patience is a virtue that’s worth investing some of your spare change into!”

He slumps. “You should know metaphors and me don’t mix by now. Oh, and could you please horrifically burn the next bag for me? I like it crispy crunchy.”

“Ugh, and make the whole house stink again? I don’t think so,” Lydia retorts, finding her place on the adjacent single-seater couch and getting cozy, her gothy PJs still keeping her aesthetic together even before bed.

“I don’t expect you to understand fine cuisine, Lyds,” he huffs, crossing his arms petulantly and slouching down into his seat further, making his legs reach all the way to the other end of the couch.

You laugh and lace your finger through his hair from above gently. “Quit taking up a whole sofa by yourself and come help me put snacks into cute little bowls for everyone.”

Like a switch flipped, he’s immediately on his feet and following behind you obediently, his previous body language evaporated. “Coming, dear…!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a bewildered expression from Lydia and could swear you hear her mutter, “Demon whisperer…” to herself in a tone that reads as half-accusatory and half-awestruck as you walk into the kitchen.

As you enter the room, you see Delia at the far side of the long counter furiously stirring a bowl filled with some snack that she must’ve quickly whipped up. “Oh, if you two could just put the popcorn and chips into some of the big sharing bowls while I finish this vegan cheese dip, that would help!”

“Sure can do, Delia,” you respond, opening the high cabinet closest to the door to grab the giant cartoon print snack bowls that everyone likes to use. You hand one off to Beetlejuice and keep one for yourself. “You handle the chips, bug.”

“I wanted to do the popcorn,” he argues back, putting on his brattiest tone.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near the popcorn. I know you.” You shoot him a faux mean look, and he doesn’t even try to hide the smile that spreads across his face. You ignore your desire to give him a kiss and instead, as you hear the popping slowing down on the popcorn within the microwave, open the door and trade it out for another bag. After pressing start, you open the top of the finished bag and pour it into your bowl, which is bright fuchsia and decorated with little cherries. You find your eyes strangely glued to it as you pour.

“It’s better when it’s blackened. That’s how you truly unlock the…complex flavor profile. See, I told you, I really have been watching those cooking shows on TV and learning valuable new things about the art of le chef.” The bag of chips on the counter lift up and begin pouring themselves into his bowl without Beetlejuice so much as looking back at them. Instead, he’s looking right at you as you pour the hot snack in the bowl, the tantalizing smell filling up the whole room. “Something really awesome about your bowl there that I’m not seeing?”

You manage to tear your eyes away from the bowl to look at him, suddenly realizing with mild embarrassment what it had been subconsciously reminding you of that had you so enraptured. “Uh, well, I can’t ever look at this pretty shade of fuchsia in a normal context the same way ever again, so I guess you kinda Pavlov’s dog’d me.” It’s hard to hide the laughter bubbling up in your lowered voice, having to hear yourself admit to something so…ridiculous.

Beetlejuice, on the other hand, seems to view this as much more of a personal victory than a weird observation on your part. He snickers to himself before leaning in close to you flirtatiously. “Oh, babes, I really am living rent-free in that head of yours, huh? I knew I was good, but I didn’t know I was ‘make you think of getting dicked down when you’re making snacks’ good…”

“Behave.” You shoot daggers at him with your sharp gaze, and can’t help but feel like you’re giving him exactly the reaction he wants out of you. Dating Beetlejuice openly hasn’t changed too much of the dynamic, aside from you having to keep him and his lack of a filter on a short leash if you wanted to maintain your remaining shred of dignity.

The demon returns your gaze with his own unconvincingly innocent look. “I’m behaving, I’m a good boy, see? I poured the chips nicely and everything.” The whininess in his voice is going to make you insane, you know it. He then looks over your shoulder at the counter. “Oh hey, I think your popcorn’s done now.”

You whip your head around and are smacked in the face with the horrible smell of burning popcorn. “Oh shit!” You pull the microwave door open as fast as you can, but when you grab the bag and pull it open by the corners, the little puffs are burnt to a completely unsalvageable degree.

Beetlejuice gasps. “Babes, did you make this one just for me…?” He dramatically places a hand over where his heart would be. “Thank you!” He plants a quick but rough kiss on your lips before grabbing the bag and pouring it into his own personal striped bowl that appeared out of seemingly nowhere. You, on the other hand, are left reeling from the kiss and only able to wonder if he had been distracting you on purpose.

Delia makes a sound of disgust from the other end of the kitchen, and you look over to see her taking the dip out of the oven with a scrunched-up face. “Oh God, it smells awful in here! Tell me you didn’t put Beetlejuice in charge of the popcorn.”

Beetlejuice practically cackles. “Nope, my sweet little meatsack did this allllllll on their own.” With that, he proudly takes his personal bowl out with him to the living room, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces.

Feeling utterly duped, you grab the half-full bowl of popcorn and follow him out of the kitchen. By now, though Charles has gone past you to the kitchen to help Delia, Adam and Barbara have joined Lydia in finding a comfy spot on one of the many chairs (the family reached a point where they really had to invest in more seating after getting such a full house). Their attention is on the TV mounted above the fireplace as Adam swipes through a variety of potential movies to watch, at least, until the two of you arrive.

Lydia plugs her nose. “Gross, why’d you let him burn it, dude?”

Beetlejuice laughs and pipes in for you. “Hey, nobody can resist the power of the B-Man! Not even this one.” He tosses a piece of charcoal-colored popcorn into his mouth for emphasis.

You roll your eyes and offer Lydia a defeated shrug before settling onto the nearby loveseat, placing the big popcorn bowl on the coffee table in front of the TV. “I tried, kid. Unfortunately, he is still an absolute pest even if you happen to be in a relationship.”

Beetlejuice crosses his arms proudly, his bowl hanging in midair where he left it. “Oh, you want pest? Good, I needed a seat anyway.” He immediately plops down in your lap, laying his entire form on top of your reclined body.

“Crushing…me….!” You try to push back against his back unsuccessfully, finding him firmly planted on top of you. “There’s an empty seat right next to me you dummy!” It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be, but ghost or not, he is certainly a big boy.

He slides around to sit in your lap sideways, his legs resting on the empty loveseat space but all of his weight still perfectly balanced on your lap. “Is this better, schnookums? Honeybunny? Light of my death?” He bats his eyelashes at you sweetly. He is not being sweet.

“You two need to get a room,” Lydia says, looking even more disgusted than she was with the burnt popcorn smell.

“We have one, it’s upstairs,” Beetlejuice counters.

“I have one,” you correct him.

“Babes, what’s yours is mine, remember?”

You promptly shift your lap and dump him onto the seat next to you unceremoniously. He lands with the amount of grace that you’d expect.

“Alright everyone, the dip is ready!” Delia’s singsong voice rings out as she and Charles bring in the rest of the food from the kitchen, and Delia plops the dip onto the coffee table by the chips. “I got the recipe online!” She says this fact like it’s a fun little surprise for everyone, as she likes to do.

“That’s great, and I think we got the movie all ready too,” Barbara says, and receives a thumbs up of confirmation from Adam.

With this, everybody finds a comfortable spot to sit as the movie begins playing, the studio logos rolling on the screen first. Charles and Delia on one couch, Lydia sitting in a strange lounging position on her soft chair, Adam and Barbara snuggling close on one loveseat, and you and Beetlejuice together on the other. You’re lucky that the television is so large, everyone’s already packed in enough as it is.

Beetlejuice scoots closer to you, and this time, he genuinely is being sweet. He looks up at you with those big brown eyes before snuggling his head against your shoulder affectionately. You reach your arm around his body to hold him closer, bringing your hand up to run your fingers through his hair, always its favorite place to be. He sighs contentedly next to you, his eyes closing in bliss for a moment before they reopen to watch what’s happening on the TV, unwilling to miss a thing. His light but comforting weight pressing against you is like your own personal weighted blanket, immediately making you relax all of the muscles in your body with his mere close presence. Your own gaze lingers on his pretty features for a moment longer, before getting the distinct feeling that someone is watching you. Looking up, you see everyone watching the movie, aside from Adam and Barbara, who are cuddled together and subtly peeking over at you two of you. At getting caught, they shoot you identical sheepish grins, all endearing and full of fondness in the way their eyes crinkle at you and your demon. You can’t help but give them a coy smile back before you all return your attention to the screen, holding the ones that you love close in your heart and arms.

Author’s Note: WOW. HOW DID THIS END UP SO LONG. this absolutely CLEARS my longest fic record by a fuckton of words. i have no idea, this started as a little blurb when i saw beetlejuice in nyc and then i saw it again on tour and my bff inspired me to continue it and helped with some beta reading (shout-out! go read his fics of beej & others at wretched-devil, they’re absolutely lovely) and things just kinda spiraled outta control. this fic had my studious ass on bad dragon looking up monster cock references, it was so serious to me. welp, hope it was fun for y’all too, thanks for reading!!

#beetlejuice x reader #musical!beetlejuice x reader #musical beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x you #beetlejuice x gn!reader #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice #reader insert #smut #i’m back in the fucking building again ?!? #fun fact i had to go thru and manually italicize everything in both the ao3 and tumblr text editor #bc i couldn’t figure out how to make the formatting carry over #so. this fic was hand stitched with love basically #my fics

[darklyndivinely]

For The Rest of My Life

Fandom - Obey Me!

Pairing - Lucifer x gn!reader

Summary - Lucifer proposes to you.

Warnings - Fluff, Suggestive content, marriage proposal, kissing.

Wordcount - 580+

A/N - Happy belated birthday to my favourite boi. The original plan was to write something angsty, it turned out fluffy instead. Just wanted to say that I really appreciate everyone who interacts with my posts, especially all the reblogs and tags. Y'all keep me sane, y'know. Hope you like this!

OM!Masterlist • Leave a tip! • Taglist Form

The door clicks shut with a relieving finality. You discard your jacket and shoes, sighing at the lessened weight and stretch your tired body. Lucifer encircles your figure from behind, familiar and imposing, and nuzzles into your neck with a deep inhale. A smile pulls at your lips. You entangle a hand in his hair, resting your head back against his shoulder.

“This might be my favourite part of today,” he breathes, beginning to pepper kisses on your skin.

You release a shuddering breath when he teases the sharp of his canine against your collarbone, and turn, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. His hand presses against your waist, sending a flutter through your stomach as he draws your body closer.

You fist the collar of his shirt, still trying to capture the full taste of the Demonus on his tongue and shift your weight on the balls of your feet. Take me to bed, the action means. But Lucifer pulls away, satiating your chasing lips with a chaste peck, and rests his forehead against yours. You gulp in deep breaths to calm your breathing, and cup his face, tilting his head to gaze at him, and tenderly swipe at his cheekbone. Everything ok?

Lucifer’s eyes flick between yours, searching, thinking; twice, thrice. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

He pulls away, straightens his collar, and smoothes his shirt. His hands are shaking, you notice. As he slowly digs into his pockets, anxiety coalesces in your throat. What is he doing?

Lucifer pulls out a small red box and your heart lurches to your stomach. Gently, he lowers to a knee, eyes fixated on your face and flicks the box open. It’s an elegant ring, simple and sober, crafted richly and thoughtfully. You stare at it, thoughts slowing as if immersed in quicksand.

“I know that I am not always very forthcoming with my feelings,” he starts. “Since you’ve arrived at Devildom I have only let you down, hurt you and underestimated you. I have been the worst version of myself to you. But these years that we’ve spent together, they’ve changed me. You’ve changed me. You have become an integral part of my life, of my family, of me. You have come to mean to me more than I had ever thought possible. I can’t imagine a universe where we don’t belong together... I love you. If you’d let me, I would like to love you for the rest of my life... Marry me, please.”

“Lucifer...” 

You stare into his eyes, looking at you with such hope and love. How many people had Lucifer knelt for? How many had he professed his love for?

“I love you too,” you say, feeling your heart lighting up with the words. “Yes. Yes. I’d love to marry you.”

Lucifer smiles, bright and wide, the shine of a thousand suns in his joy. The most beautiful creature to exist, indeed. He extracts the ring and slides it on your finger, snug and perfect. You stare at it, overjoyed, and meet Lucifer’s kiss halfway.

“I love you,” he says, kissing you so fervently. “I love you, I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

This time there’s no need for you to indicate anything to him. He leads your figures backwards and onto the bed himself to make do on his vow to love you for the rest of his life.

You laugh against his lips, electricity in your veins. “I love you too, Lucifer.”

Taglist: @w01f2 @lilactaro

#lucifer x you #lucifer fluff #lucifer x reader #lucifer x gn!reader #lucifer avatar of pride #lucifer #omswd lucifer #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me! #obey me #obey me lucifer #om! lucifer #shall we date lucifer #darkly and divinely written

[angelasscribbles]

Writing Support Group

A few weeks ago I put out a post to gauge interest in a writing support group. If you're being tagged here, then you have expressed an interest in joining. Here is the original post:

People who expressed interest:

@karahalloway @aussiegurl1234 @harleybeaumont @alj4890 @peonierose @petiteboheme @ryns-ramblings @tate-lin @twinkleallnight @nestledonthaveone

@aallotarenunelma @kristinamae093 @coffeeheartaddict2 @thedistantshoresproject @lizzybeth1986  @memorias-depresivas

@noesapphic @jerzwriter

We are going to go with Discord as our forum because that was the unanimous vote. Here is the link:

Please DM me if you are good enough with Discord to run a server, I might need a little help!

Meeting times and a schedule of topics will be forthcoming.

Compiling everyone's answers, it's looking like Friday or Saturday might be best for live discussions.

My vision is to have live discussions once per month with a set topic and articles/resources supplied ahead of time. Perhaps a follow up writing exercise.

AND to have the server be a place you can interact, get advice, post snippets for feedback in between the live discussions as well.

Please give feedback. I want this to be your group, not mine. I want this to be a place everyone feels comfortable and welcome!!

#writers peer support group #discord group

[griseldabanks]

I've been seriously considering participating in SlowMoWriNo, a variation on NaNoWriMo where, instead of writing 50k of a story in a single month, the goal is to write for approximately 15 minutes a day for a year, starting this November, and hopefully have a novel done in a year's time. It's a challenge for those who are busy and/or burnt out, which perfectly describes me right now. I'm getting pretty close to finishing the first draft of my current WIP, and while I should probably just take a break from any sort of organized writing for the rest of the year to avoid a complete burnout, I also really like the idea of SlowMoWriNo.

So I think I'm going to do it. I can push myself for fifteen minutes a day, right? In order to still be giving myself a break from the hefty fanfic project I've been focusing on for the past four years or so, I'd like to use SlowMoWriNo to work on one of my woefully neglected original stories. Even if all I have to show for my work after a year is an outline or notes rather than 50k of readable story, it will be more than I've got right now!

I've got quite a few story ideas that have been gathering dust in my mind for years now, so which one should I dust off and take a poke at? I'll describe each one below the poll. Basically, you're voting for which story you'd like to hear updates on and potentially get excerpts from, because I'll be doing that for accountability purposes in the year ahead.

The Ambassadors - Sean is scrubbing the floor of his village's chapel when the village is attacked by a rampaging dragon. Before he knows what's happening, the dragon smashes through the chapel and dies. With her last breath, she places a dragon egg at his feet. The egg hatches in his hands, revealing a baby dragon with black scales. Though he has heard all his life about how evil and dangerous dragons are, Sean just can't bring himself to let any harm come to the baby dragon. So, changing his name to Shard, he runs away to find a place where he and his new dragon friend can live in peace. Medieval fantasy, dragon rider story, lots of angst and lots of fluff, no romance but lots of friendship with an emphasis on brotherly love between the main character and his dragon, strong Christian themes (complete with my own barely-disguised fantasy Christian religion :P). The first draft is written, but I need to completely rewrite it because I've reworked and refined a lot of the plot and worldbuilding.

The Arcblade - Aiden Averrod, captain of the airship Robin, is just about broke and looking for work for his crew when a mysterious noblewoman hires him to give her transport on her quest for the fabled Arcblade, a mystical weapon said to bring peace to their war-torn land when it is unsheathed. Reluctantly, because he has no other choice and because the young lady has a fat purse with promise of another one forthcoming when the quest is achieved, Aiden agrees and sets off on a quest that will completely upend his life. Eighteenth century-ish fantasy, steampunk (crystalpunk? is that a thing?), serious laced with humor, swashbuckling, includes a romance between major characters. So far, I've written a grand total of two scenes and then realized I needed to revisit the worldbuilding -_-

bartender story (unnamed) - Bob is the friendly, rotund third-generation owner of the town's tavern. All is going well in his life until a band of heroes comes through and...well, one thing leads to another, and in the end, Bob's tavern is just a pile of ashes. Demanding repayment for damages, Bob tags along with the band of misfits as they continue their quest to save the world from the Dark Lord. Medieval fantasy, satire with a heart, tongue-in-cheek poking fun at fantasy cliches, probably no romance but we'll see. Nothing written for this so far.

broken heart story (unnamed) - Annie has had a crush on [unnamed heartthrob] for years, but would never dare tell him. After all, she's ugly. She's fat. She has terrible acne. She's cripplingly shy, and she's been picked on and bullied her whole life. There's nothing he would ever find attractive about her. But one day she happens to witness [unnamed girl] cast a spell on him that turns his heart into an origami heart made of many separate pieces of paper folded in on each other, which she pulls apart and scatters to the winds. Without his heart, [unnamed heartthrob] has no emotions, no personality, and his so-called friends start avoiding him because he's acting so weird. Taking pity on him, Annie decides to get his heart back. Even if it might break her own heart in the process. Modern-day urban fantasy, probably some kind of magical school setting (maybe university-level?), angsty drama, romance, basically a reverse Beauty and the Beast about true love looking past the surface. Nothing written for this so far.

clone sister story (unnamed) - [Older sister] is struggling to accept the clone of her deceased younger sister, who has just been completed and come home from the lab. The decision to clone [younger sister] was a snap decision her mother made in the throes of her grief after the accident, but since then the whole family has come to grips with the knowledge that [younger sister] is gone forever. But the cloning process was already started, and her mother was unwilling to pull the plug, because she believed that clone was a real person, a real little girl who needed a mommy. Now that little girl is coming home, and they all have to remember that, just because she looks exactly like [younger sister], she is a different person. [Older sister] isn't sure what to think. Near-future sci-fi, family drama, angst and grief, family relationships with a focus on the sisters, strong Christian and pro-life themes. Nothing written for this so far.

The Family - The Shiwaga family is a wealthy, well-respected clan that has been a pillar of the town of Avalanche for generations. What no one realizes is that they're also secretly a mafia-like organization working to sabotage the government, believing it was usurped from the rightful ruler - someone Shiwaga hopes to be able to influence once they have been returned to power. (This story is actually kind of hard to summarize, both because it's currently a mess and because there's at least a dozen main characters who are all supposed to be equally important.) Meiji Japan-inspired epic fantasy, huge cast of characters with opposing motivations, family drama as well as world-threatening crises, romances as well as friendship/familial relationships are front-and-center, currently the ending is more bitter than sweet but I want to reevaluate that. This was the story I worked on the two times I've done NaNoWriMo before, so two of three parts are written, but in a very slapdash fashion that's basically just a fleshed-out outline that will probably have to be completely rewritten anyway. The original thought was to make this a trilogy.

The Four - Timor was found as a small child, abandoned in the forest and somehow managing to eke out an animal-like survival. Since then, he has been raised in the home of Avadris, a one-time counselor to the High King, who has been dead for years. As Timor grows older, Avadris slowly puts two and two together and begins to suspect Timor is actually the High King's son that everyone thought was killed the same night the king and queen were. In the hopes of restoring the order and prosperity they enjoyed under the High King's reign, Avadris announces Timor as the heir to the throne when he turns twelve. Though he asked for none of this, Timor suddenly finds himself running for his life from those who want nothing to do with a new High King, accompanied by strangers who may become friends - or may end up killing him. Medieval epic fantasy, adventure/quest, non-traditional fantasy races/peoples, no romance but various platonic relationships among the impromptu band of companions. This is what I consider to be my first "real" story idea, but even though I came up with it when I was twelve and still believe in its potential, I've never finished a draft and don't really know how it ends anymore ^^' Probably needs to be started over from scratch for the...fourth or fifth time.

four siblings story (unnamed) - Jack, Sophie, Rebecca, and Grace are recently orphaned siblings who know they have to stick together to survive. The good news is, they all have superpowers that have manifested as they struggle with their grief over their parents. As they try to gain control over their powers and figure out how to balance them with the serious side effects those powers bring, they are taken in by the wealthy Dr. Clementine, a jovial old philanthropist who promises to be like a grandfather to them while also giving them opportunities and resources to hone their supernatural skills to the fullest. But it's not long before the four siblings begin to suspect his motives are more sinister than they seemed at first. Modern-day urban fantasy, children's/YA fiction, adventure, no romance but a heck-ton of positive sibling relationships and eventually found family, standalone with possible sequel potential. Meant to evoke some combination of Escape to Witch Mountain, The Girl Who Could Fly, and E. Nesbit (Five Children and It)/Edward Eager (Half Magic) books.

#slowmowrino #i reserve the right to not write the story that wins the poll :P #just wanted to gauge the interest levels

[willshipanything-blog]

Breaking the Rules- Chapter 12

If you're a fan of Max Shaw, I have some good news...

Omg this chapter was just so fun to write, it's a complete ball of fluff and cute family moments. If that ain't your thing, there's smut and angst just around the corner next chapter!

As always, minors DNI, full tags on AO3 where the fic is also posted here

Full Chapter Index here

Enjoy lovelies! 💜✨✌️

Chapter 12- Past Lives

In your enervated state, your mind could barely process a single intelligible thought, a blurred montage of the previous night. A movie reel projecting into your mind, fleeting images and memories and sensations. Just remnants, scraps of recollections now, but each frame that illuminated behind closed eyelids transmitted something so vivid and visceral. A hint of cedar and sweat pervading your nostrils. A sudden remembrance of a bolt burning through you- the memory of every goddamn nerve ending in your body being zapped. A rush of sounds: a breathy grunt; a keening whimper, a low chuckle. A flash of cerulean blue as he brought you back into the light, back to the comforting ocean of his eyes before you drowned in the pleasure.

Blinking awake, you packed away those hazy film reels in your mind. You could rewatch those moments of pleasure anytime, the way Al had run laps around your spent body, the way his tongue had run laps…. no, Y/N. You needed to focus on a different aspect of your devilish rogue right now. Address your Al problem before it became a neverending carousel of distraction to cloud doubt, distraction and doubt, distraction and doubt.

Al had his trained evasiveness, his pretty words meant to misdirect, his sleight of hand that played convincing tricks on your body, but you saw beyond the backdrop now. Last night’s distraction hadn’t been totally unwanted, but as much as you enjoyed playing magician’s assistant in his carnal production, it was time for the curtain to drop. No more encores. 

The smoke had dissipated, the mirrors smashed, and you surfaced the morning after with fresh lucidity, a plan already half-forming in your mind. Rebuilding those structures which had crumbled to forgotten ruins under Al’s magic hands last night. You needed to compartmentalize your feelings; sequester those lustful desires and bring those almost-certain doubts and burning questions to the forefront of your mind. It wouldn’t be so hard, stowing away one set of feelings to allow another to come into sole focus. It was, after all, a skill you’d had plenty of practice at- your own parlor trick originating from your time in the Grabber’s captivity. 

And once those questions were on your tongue, you’d spill them, come right out and just ask about that fucking house. You needed a straight answer. The beckoning tree, wrapped in brittle deadwood, practically begging you to question what lay behind those four walls. The grime-encrusted windows daring you to wipe away the filth to peek inside. The potential of accusing him of a lie- well, to hell with delicacy. Al had hardly been subtle with his amorous diversions last night, so why should you skirt around the issue? If he wasn’t forthcoming with any lies he was still holding close to his chest, you’d just have to wheedle them out of him. You expected honesty these days. You deserved it. Al had partly delivered on that promise, too- recounting the harrowing aspects of his childhood, facing what he’d done as the Grabber instead of denying those actions. A little more honesty might not be so big a push. 

The only real difficulty might be finding a free moment alone: with Max still at the house, you couldn’t dare mention anything for fear of being overheard, and you didn’t want to cause any more tension with Max there, not after you’d already caused an uncomfortable friction at the dinner table the other night. Mentioning the house at all had only led to some obvious feelings of resentment (on Al’s part), regret (coming from Max) and disappointment, for both the Shaw brothers. 

But it might not be long til Max moved out, you supposed- he was looking at apartments after all. You figured you could carry the weight of it on your shoulders a little while- the worry about what Al was hiding, the guilt of falsely accusing him, the heavy peach pit in your stomach at the thought of another combative confrontation that could end up hurting the both of you. It would only be a little while longer. As pervading and intrusive as those swirling doubts in your head were, you wondered how much of a mental toil they’d take on you. It might amount to Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for eternity- because to you, Al was your universe entirely. 

You’d slept in, your sated body needing the recuperation, so had missed Al leaving by an hour or so. When you finally trundled out of bed around nine and shuffled into the kitchen, you found Max hunched over the kitchen table. He looked disheveled but energetic as he simultaneously shoveled down scrambled eggs and pored over a pile of papers beside him. His creased Hawaiian shirt he’d worn yesterday (with the buttons now fastened one notch off), and the purple crescents under his eyes suggested Max hadn’t yet been to bed. You discerned you might have been partaking in similar activities last night, though Max hadn’t yet benefited from a good night’s sleep.

“Morning Max.”

“Shit! You scared me, Scout,” Max gasped through a mouthful of eggs. 

“I was hardly creeping. Besides, I thought you were staying with a friend last night?” you teased. Max rolled his eyes at your emphasis on friend, clearly ignoring the knowing smirk creeping across your face at the implication of what ‘staying over’ meant. 

“Ah, I’m not really the staying type now, am I?” he gave a sideways half-smile, though the spirited glint in his brown eyes wasn’t quite there when he spoke. You wondered whether his comment was pertinent to just last night, or his erratic behavior as a whole, resistant (or unable) to stay in one place too long, whether that be a place- or a relationship. Before you’d had a chance to begin unraveling that thread, Max had reverted to his usual ebullient self, slamming his hands on the table with fervor.

“Anyway! I got back so late it was practically early, and the mail had come! And guess what?” he asked, his voice not dissimilar from Al’s singsong warble. He waved around one of the sheets of paper he’d been studying in hint, exhaling a playful scoff as you smiled and shrugged, as if you should have been able to predict what it said. “The paperwork all came through. I’m moving this weekend!”

And just like that, in that one fortuitous sentence, your timeline shifted. You only had to wait a few days until you were able to ask those questions that were pressing against your mind, a splitting headache of confusion and doubt. That worry would only fester beneath the surface for a little while longer. Once Max was gone, you could peel back the dressing on that wound and attend to it in the privacy you and Al were soon to share. Yes, just a few short days to enjoy the familial warmth of a full house before it would just be a home for you and Al again (and a time, you thought, when confrontation and questions would be more apt). Al had been the cause of your last distraction, and now it was Max’s turn to take your attention away from your anxieties. After that? You’d have to see your plan through, take the plunge and ask. But for now, you privately welcomed the distraction Max had unknowingly created.

The sudden domestic development, and everything that needed doing, would allow you to forget those troubles. There’d be packing, cleaning, making lists for the brothers to buy furniture and household items for Max’s new place, scouring thrift stores and outlets for things Max would need. You couldn’t go yourself to help, but you could oversee plans from the living room couch easily enough. Although, the thought of what garish furniture Max might buy without supervision did worry you somewhat. In any case, you would allow the excitement and bustle which would occupy the next couple days to overtake the worry.

As predicted, the days rushed by, a blitz of cardboard boxes and packing tape, final signatures on paperwork and, through all the excited anticipation, just a hint of something coming to an end. It wasn’t like Max was saying his final goodbyes- he was leaving the house, not your lives, after all. But you made sure to cook all of Max’s favorite foods in those last few days: pork chops, mac and cheese, peach cobbler. If he was reminded of what he’d be missing out on, he’d be sure to come back for dinner often, which he promised without hesitation. 

On Saturday morning, Max got back from picking up his new keys, his precious cherry-red vintage Firesweep pulling up with a shrill screech outside the house just as Al was loading the last of his brother’s belongings into his van. Al had insisted he didn’t need help with the boxes and pieces of furniture, perhaps sensing your hesitancy around the van. You had only been in it once, and the memory of that day- you being taken, that rancid taste in your mouth, being beaten into unconsciousness by the Grabber- were not triggers you needed today. Not any day at all, really. Instead, you busied yourself trying to tire Samson out, playing tug of war with his favorite rope toy- only to realize how outmatched by the dog’s strength you were. You’d ended up aching and sweaty before you’d even started helping with the move.

“As always, Max, your timing is impeccable. Just missed out on the heavy lifting.” Al said dryly, slamming shut the double doors of the van as Max came bounding up the driveway. 

“Aww, I did? That’s a damn shame,” Max retorted, doing a downright terrible job of hiding his mirth. “Well, if we’re all packed and ready, shall we head out? Scout, you wanna ride with me and Sammy? You know I got better music!” Too excited to wait for an answer, he sprang back down to his car, Samson barking at his heels. 

You looked to Al, your eyes involuntarily flashing to the van for the briefest moment, drawn towards the bright blue and green insignia emblazoned on matte black. Abracadabra- Entertainment and Supplies. The memory of that first day threatened to emerge. Al distanced himself from the vehicle, his quick strides towards you bringing your eyes back to pinpoint on him.

“Hey, dove, you go ahead, hm? I’ll see you both at the house.” His voice was husky yet tender, those soothing tones you knew were reserved only for you. That black-clad magician, the top-hatted monster who had taken you that day, lured you in with a false trick, dragged you into the back of that van- he was as long-forgotten as those basement depths in which you no longer dwelled. You smiled softly at his earnest intentions and Al gave an assenting nod along with a final, teasing warning to try not to get killed going too fast, or pulled over by the cops. Turning to head to the car, you (only half-seriously) wondered which would be the worse of those two outcomes. Your smile dimmed just a little at the thought.

You ran the last few yards down the driveway, Max honking his horn with childish impatience to get to his new place. Even Samsom looked excited, already panting and drooling in the backseat, his giant head poking out of a window Max had half-rolled down. You’d barely slid onto the front bench seat beside Max before a riotous cacophony of sound and smell began. A sputtering engine, revving tires, a blast of thick smoke from the tailpipe and a resounding bark from the backseat, and the car peeled away from the curb, leaving Al and the van in the rearview mirror. You relaxed into the worn leather. Or at least, you relaxed as well as you could, considering Max had never installed seatbelts in the old model sedan. The blasting riffs of Led Zeppelin allowed your final few disquieting thoughts to fade away, as if you’d left them at the curb outside Al’s house. 

You looked towards Max, where he was trying to sing along whilst also humming the guitar parts and playing an invisible drum set on the steering wheel (all while driving, of course!), noting how his loose bowling shirt matched his precious Firesweep. Bright red, with a wide black collar. It reminded you of Al’s magician get-up, though the scarlet and black were inverted. Like how similar yet at odds the Shaw brothers often seemed to be- either very much alike or the others’ antithesis, never in the middle. Al the more quiet, gruff of the two, with an outwardly jaded personality at odds with the zealous energy that emerged when he was comfortable. And Max with his vibrant, warm extraversion, which shrouded a darkness underneath that most people would never suspect. It recalled the unease at the dinner table the other night, about the strain on the brothers’ relationship after Max had left, the younger brother’s guilt for those actions. But those regrets were long forgotten in this perfect moment, the wind whipping your hair with wild abandon and the sun beating down on your bare skin, the pounding music reverberating through your blood. The next song started, blasting Free’s ‘All Right Now’ on the radio- it felt like things really were. 

As Max pulled up outside his new house, Al was already waiting, leaned against the side of the van with his arms crossed against his chest. You discerned his mild annoyance even beneath those thick, red-brick colored sunglasses, although instead of greasepaint, an unimpressed expression was painted across his face. He’d not started unpacking the boxes, but the rear van doors were open, an invitation for Max to hopefully help a little more than he had earlier that morning. You figured the huff he gave was more from the heat than irritation, confirmed to you when Al blew air from the corner of his mouth to try and cool himself and wiped the back of his palm against his glistening brow. 

“And I thought speeding got people places quicker.” he said sardonically as he strolled along the sidewalk to the car as it pulled up with a final splutter of smoke.

“We stopped for gas!” Max explained, stepping out and leaning over the top of the car roof to speak to his brother. 

“And we got sodas too!” you chimed in as Al opened the passenger side door for you. You peeled yourself away from the hot leather seat, your ice-cold cola almost empty. 

“Here,” Max said, reaching to pass Al a cold bottle over the top of the car before guzzling down a glug of his own grape soda. “Scout said Sprite was your favorite.” You gave a sly smile as Al’s head snapped your way. You slunk away to let Samson out of the hot car, hearing Al chuckle softly before he popped the cap.

It was a small house, consisting of a living and kitchen area, bisected by an elevated breakfast bar that almost served to split the open plan space into two areas. A door from the living room led to the bedroom and attached bath, and another small back room with a washer dryer led out into a decent backyard- no flowers or trees, but plenty of grass and dirt for the dog to dig up (one thing Al definitely wouldn’t miss about his brother’s departure). Samson sniffed out each corner of the house with a judgemental nose, and once satisfied, busied himself digging in the small lawn out back, making his own personal renovations to the house. Whilst Al and Max began assembling the bed and wardrobe (not very successfully if the bickering was anything to go by), you took charge of unpacking the half dozen cardboard boxes in the main room. 

The first box you opened contained clothes, a flurry of garish colors- Max’s bold Hawaiian shirts. You set it aside ready to hang up later, if the wardrobe ever got assembled. You weren’t sure how to feel about the sudden whirr of an electric drill in the adjoining room. Grateful if Al was speeding things up; worried if Max was wielding power tools. The next box had a few kitchen items Max had bought in the week. You quickly put away the mismatched crockery, cutlery, pots and pans in the buttercup-yellow kitchen cupboards. Another box had soft furnishings and smaller furniture items: a cheerful afghan blanket you threw over the worn, second hand leather couch; a hideous ochre glass lamp you half-wished had smashed during the move; a few avocado-green couch cushions that clashed wonderfully with the orange shag carpet. You had to admit, the hodgepodge aesthetic of the decor had a certain Maxly charm about it, and you beamed at the eclectic space as you began flattening the now-empty cardboard boxes.

Or almost empty. You nearly missed it entirely, but a rustle as you picked up a seemingly empty box had you reaching in for a wadded envelope you hadn’t spotted earlier. You couldn’t help but open the yellowed envelope, your curiosity piqued at the possible contents. Lifting back the flap, you found a pile of photographs, perhaps a dozen or so. Different sizes and saturations (a mix of black and white, sepia and vivid color) suggested Max had collected and kept a select few over the years.  

They seemed to be ordered chronologically, a whole lifetime encapsulated in just a few sheets of paper and ink. Kneeling on the floor, you began to flick through them. 

A family portrait in shades of black and gray. On the right hand side of the image sat Max’s mother, holding her youngest son and smiling softly at the camera. Standing beside her, though still a head shorter than her, was Al. His hand reached out beside him to sit atop his mother’s, which itself was laid on Max’s pudgy leg. You might have convinced yourself the three of them were happy, though Al wore no smile and his large eyes of lightest gray looked solemn, boring into the lens as if in a silent plea. It grieved you to think that this boy, not even ten years old, had already known pains others could never comprehend. From whom that pain originated was clear: Max had torn the left hand side of the photo, ripping away any trace of who had stood there, as if attempting to cleave that demon from his life. No guesses for who used to occupy the nonexistent space, where only a ripped line now stood beside the family of three. You shuffled the picture to the back of the stack.

The next photo was familiar to you, Al having a larger copy of it on a side table in his own living room. It was the monochrome picture of the two brothers, Al still unsmiling (what had changed for him, except more years of abuse?) and Max, whose wide grin showed a kid still full of hope and innocence. A kid whose older brother played protector, affording Max a smile where Al couldn’t muster the same. You quickly shoved that to the back of the stack, happy to find there were no more photographs from Max’s childhood in his collection. 

You were lurched forward in time as more recent photos appeared, saturating your eyes with bright, bold colors as the decades ticked along. Max in his 20s, clean shaven and almost unrecognizable without his signature mustache, but that impossibly wide grin difficult to miss. Sitting amidst a group of people crowded round a small table in some dive bar. Long hair framed his face, like Al’s but jet-black, with a leather jacket to match. 

A little older now, a decade on you supposed. A small, square polaroid that someone had taken inside an old RV, somewhat bleached of color. Max was wearing a pastel shirt and wide flared jeans- not quite the vivid wardrobe he’d yet to adopt. He’d started to grow in his mustache though, the peach fuzz sitting just above his lips which clamped around a joint. His closed smile still broadcast a deep dimple on one of his cheeks, easy to spot even on the small, sun-flecked photo. He looked vivacious, happy- probably thanks in no small part to the pretty blond in heart shaped sunglasses sat beside him, slinging her long legs over Max’s lap, his hand roaming casually up her bare thigh. You smiled and shook your head in amusement before flicking again through the stack of photos.

Max looked close to his current age in the last in the stack. Probably only a few years old. This was corroborated by the state of the photo: unmarked by sun damage or tearing, though you discerned several smudged thumb marks along its border, like it had been handled frequently. It was a dark image, snapped around a campfire that seemed to crackle and spit as you held the paper in your hand, so vivid the oranges and golds that flecked from it. The two figures in the photo were illuminated by the flames, Max and another man of a similar lanky build, though the stranger was a little taller as they sat beside one another. Like Max, the unknown man also had a thick caterpillar mustache and dark sideburns, though his crinkled white shirt was at odds with Max’s tropical print. He was playing the guitar, but his lips stayed in a strange, lopsided smile- either humming along or playing a wordless song to the stars that dotted the backdrop of the photograph. Max was looking at the other man like an adoring fan, his chocolate-brown eyes shining in the firelight. Not smiling for a camera, but his teeth were bared in a candid smile. The picture emanated a serene, joyous aura. 

Snapshots from a dozen different cameras, each lens transmitting a dozen different lives. It was like you hardly knew Max at all, only glimpsing a small fragment of the whole. But you knew him now, in the current life he was creating. He had wanted to come back, to see his brother- and you too. It was a commitment he’d never braved before- he’d even gotten himself clean to make a real second go of Denver. And for his efforts, he’d been rewarded with a renewed relationship with Al, and a whole new friendship with you. A job too- and his own place! He was happy, you were positive- though it was hard to tell when Max was ever unhappy. He rarely wasn’t  smiling, always ready to showcase his pearly whites and impressive dimples, for a photograph or otherwise. And yet, a small voice inside you relentlessly questioned whether Max missed any of those previous lives. 

You knew Max had been traveling, on the move constantly with no fixed address. From what Al had suggested, you thought Max had been lonely and lost- yet some of those photos belied that narrative. Each photograph seemed like an alternate reality of what might have been had Max made different choices. Questions led to different possibilities, winding through labyrinthine tunnels, each question leading to a dozen new answers. What if Max hadn’t left? What if he’d have fallen in love and never come back? Had he ever been in love? What if he’d gotten cleaner sooner, or never fallen into that awful habit? You realized the futility of this logic- these were questions that only he could answer, a maze that only he could traverse. Right now, this life was the center of the maze, his final destination. Unless he decided to leave again, find a new path, whether it led somewhere new entirely or a complete dead end…

No, Max had decided to stay. Like you. Sticking close to Al, and now to you, which felt important- he was your best friend, after all. By default, technically (because who else but Al could you really trust to keep your dark secrets?), but that didn’t lessen the bond between you both. Still, a small part of you wondered whether you were both settling, staying put from some unuttered duty to Al. You, because you loved him. Because you wanted to protect him, even if that meant a life of secrecy: closed doors; drawn curtains; shuttered minds. And Max? You hoped he wasn’t merely staying out of some warped sense of repayment, some belated compensation given to Al for the years spent away from their hometown. His leaving was just a response to his own childhood- not a malicious act against his brother. It felt so much like he truly wanted this. So then why did you picture Max like a butterfly with its wings affixed to a spreading board? Pinned down, its sheen dimming day by day as it remained trapped in the same spot forever. 

Not wholly convinced one way or the other, you collated the pictures into a neat pile and placed them conspicuously on the kitchen counter, hoping Max might at least frame some of those memories. A reminder of the past. Or at least, the better parts of his past he’d cherished, cataloged through those dozen precious photographs. Even if he could never capture those moments again, they’d be forever printed in his mind. 

“Did ya look through those, Scout?” You gasped as you swiveled towards the sound, startled by the sudden interruption of your inner thoughts. Max merely sniggered. “Hey, I was hardly creeping.” he chuckled, echoing back your words from the other morning. His breeziness suggested the photos weren’t some shameful secret, and it eased your mind, having been worried he wanted to keep that envelope sealed and private. 

“Yeah, I had a peek. Hope that’s alright?”

“Oh, sure! Really oughta get some of those framed now I actually have walls of my own, huh?”

“That’d look lovely, Max. I can tell these are special to you.”

“Yeah. They are.” A truly sincere tone. Perhaps even a little melancholy. 

Max sauntered over to the breakfast bar, sitting in one of the second hand diner-style stools to look at the pictures. You hopped up onto the leather-padded stool beside him. The Shaw family portrait (minus one piece of shit father) lay on top of the pile, and Max fingered the ripped, jagged edge and smiled, seemingly happy to have cleaved that evil from the young family that sat beside it. With his soft smile and big brown eyes looking wistfully at the black and gray picture, he mirrored his mother in the photograph. He riffled through the rest, his expression fluctuating between shades of happiness and yearning, his rich brown eyes aglow as he thumbed his way down memory lane. He paused at the final picture in the pile, rubbing a thumb along the edge, adding another smudge to the fingerprint border of the campfire photo. 

“I think you’re missing something Max.”

He bristled, a flurry of murmurs tripping over his tongue as he tried to answer too quickly. “Whah- missing? No, it’s not like-” 

“Oh! No, I mean you have a picture missing. You haven’t got one with me!”

Max’s ears reddened at the confusion and he let out an embarrassed laugh. “Heh, of course. Knew what you meant! You’re right though, would be nice to have another family photo,” A family photo. You swallowed the sudden knot that had bloomed in your throat, eyes widening to try and stem the tears you felt bubbling behind them. “But I don’t have a camera right now.”

“We do! Al brought his in the van- it should be on the front seat if you wanna-”

Before you could say ‘grab it’, Max had leaped up from the stool with a clatter, heading out the front door just as Al emerged from the bedroom. Al gave an incredulous laugh. 

“At least one of us is breakin’ a sweat.” he huffed.

“C’mere,” You beckoned him with a finger and he obeyed, coming to stand between your thighs. “We’re getting a photo taken and you need to look your best, Mr Shaw.” On the stool, you sat high enough to straighten Al’s collar and tousle his ashy locks. He just smiled down at you with that wolfish sideways grin, hands resting on your thighs as you neatened him up. Once he thought you’d fussed enough over him, he hoisted you off the stool with a dramatic lift, eliciting a startled whoop from you. 

Max raced back into the house in a frenzy, and it took several minutes of him trying his best to organize how the photo was to be taken. Al stood around rolling his eyes with his arms crossed until you gave him an admonishing glare, after which he at least pretended to look more enthused. In the end, you knelt down beside Samson (he was family too!), with Al squatting behind you, his hand curling around your waist instinctively. Max dipped beside his brother as you took the photo. 

“Ok, we’ve got one shot so please don’t blink!” At least wasting reams of film previously had made you pretty handy with angling the camera just so. Max counted down from three, and as you snapped the button, a wetness along your cheek told you Samson picked the worst possible time to lick you, right as the flash went off. Not that Max minded- as he shook the developing photo, urging it to saturate quicker, he squealed as the picture slowly crept into life on the paper. Samson pouncing on you, your expression frozen between joy and alarm, half-wincing as his rough tongue daubed your cheek. Max, to nobody’s surprise, wore his wide grin, his dimples digging deep in his cheeks. Al had a smaller, more content smile, though he wasn’t looking at the camera. Those blue eyes were centered solely on you. You hadn’t noticed as you were taking the snapshot that Al and Max both had an arm around the other’s shoulder, and you wondered whether that brotherly gesture was as instinctive for Al as the arm resting on your hip in the photograph. You thought so. 

It seemed to you, as you looked down at the picture cupped in Max’s hand, this perfect, preserved memory, that all of you were happy. 

Al was happy. His life had been so short of moments like this, relationships this strong. But those around him weren’t going to hurt him, and because of that, he could shed that icy exterior, that hard shell created from hurt and hatred. He had bloomed into a man so far removed from the evil that had previously possessed him. You were happy- since you’d been taken, you’d never felt this full, this loved, in so many ways. You had someone you loved deeply, more deeply than you could almost bear at times, after you thought that an impossibility. You had gained a family when your other one had been torn asunder, forever lost to you. You were content too, even with those tragic separations and the still-present questions eddying around your head. 

Max was happy- you thought. You just prayed, out of all of the lives he’d lived, he was happy with this one. 

Max had found it strange to say goodbye to his brother and Y/N. Not because he and Scout had hugged tightly, which was pretty standard these days. Not because even Al had shared a brief hug with a farewell of ‘See ya, Maxie’ as they closed the door behind them. 

No, Max felt strange just saying goodbye at all. It’s not like he wasn’t going to see them again (even as he’d waved them off, he’d been invited over for dinner tomorrow, and he wasn’t about to pass up free lasagna), but the words felt strange in his mouth, like the rancid taste of orange juice after brushing your teeth.  

Goodbyes were an unfamiliar exchange; he’d normally hit the road without all the finality of that. To him, leaving wasn’t some important life decision. When you’d left places as much as Max had, it didn’t feel like such a big deal. Except for the first time, of course. He’d left on that fateful day, his brother already at work, his mother giving a small wave from her armchair as he slipped out the door with his duffel bag- going to a friend’s, he’d said. He never saw his mom again. That had torn at his insides for years, the first fuck-up of thousands in the decades that followed. 

He wondered if that’s why he was staying now. The guilt of leaving when he was young, which he almost didn’t dare to imagine a second time around. He was still a kid back then, but a kid who should have known better than to break his mom’s heart when everyone in that house was still reeling from the fallout of their father’s actions. Only the other night had Al talked about how sick she’d gotten, reminding Max of how he’d found out all too late. No forwarding address or telephone line could be freeing, but the loss of that tether had shattered him entirely when he turned up on the doorstep months after her passing. A belated eulogy to an empty armchair felt too pathetic, and he couldn’t bring himself to summon up a goodbye before slamming closed the door again. 

Max grimaced, hating the dark places that those thoughts could take him, and tried to focus on the present. Looking through the dusty front window, he saw his brother and Scout still on the sidewalk, pressed close together and seemingly talking besides the van door. He turned and flopped onto the couch, Samson jumping up before curling beside him. He could barely believe what he’d achieved since moving back to Denver: a real job that he liked well enough, furniture that was his own, food in the refrigerator. Hell, a whole fucking house! Even if right now it felt strange to have so much space, like some crazy reverse claustrophobia or something, he figured. Jesus. What was wrong with him, that he couldn’t simply be grateful for all of this?

Here, Max wouldn’t have to scrounge together dollar bills for another hit, wouldn’t wonder if he’d be able to afford a dingy hotel room for a couple of nights. He’d vowed never to get so desperate again to rent some company for the night. With his own place, he even had the ability to make a real connection with someone again, and not have it ripped to shreds by his own inadequacies and reckless habits. The few of those he’d had in his life….

That thought got Max rising, walking to the counter where the pile of photographs lay. He looked longingly at a couple in particular, almost drifting away to the warm memory of a few of those snapshots (backseat hickeys and campfire kisses came to mind), before he picked up the newest print in the pile. This was his present, his now. Here, with Al, with Scout, and Samson too. 

There was still something noticeably ‘off’ about their situation, but they’d been through shit same as him, and neither of them had done things as dangerous, stupid and illegal as Max had in the years since his shitty trauma had forced him to flee. They were good for him- and he hoped he could be good for them too, that they could come to him if they ever needed help or advice or just someone who would listen to their worries. 

But right now, things were good. Just fine. Peachy. So then why, as soon as they both left through the front door, had the smile on his face faded like an aged photograph?

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #black phone fanfic #albert shaw x reader #albert shaw #the grabber x you

[tirralirralirra]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

Tagged by @togaki-kun and @pancake-surprise! Thank you for the tag, apologies that I'm so behind, lol.

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My first public fic and something I ruminated on for many, many months. I particularly love some of the side character interactions. Sequel forthcoming, but when...don't ask...

People Will Say We're in Love (haikyuu!!, skts, meta on fandom, love and other twitter disasters)

Is this my most read/liked/kudos/bookmarked fic. Yes. Is it silly meta about twitter and fandom? Yes. Do I still love it anyways? Yes. You might not know this about me but I'm a sucker for good meta, especially about fandom, especially when it was crack inspired by a musical. Fun fact: I originally intended to write this fic for the Merlin fandom over a decade ago, but never worked up the courage to write fic then.

dearly beloved (haikyuu!! skts, travel fic, sappy af)

This probably borders on purple prose for some people but idc, it has a piece of my soul in it. It's a love letter to sakuatsu, atsumu, and loving someone through the old and the new. (Also I really tried to balance the prose so I think it's pretty banger anyways)

love me, love my dog (haikyuu!! skts, dog sitting fluff)

If I told you how many dog-centric fics I have written or still plan to write, well, let's not get into it. I love dogs. I love dogs as a device for getting together in weird, wonderful, fluffy ways, hairballs and all. This one is not based on any media that I know of (original to me—a fair number of my fics are inspired by other things or references to something) so I'm particularly fond of it.

TWO BOYS ON A SHIP (to say nothing of the cat) (dgs/tgaa, asoryuu, fix-it fic, sort of)

Besides the absolute banger title (that, yes, is based on a real book title), this fic is near and dear to me because I had a blast writing it and it was a rare time when pieces of the plot fell into place neatly as I wrote it. Anyways, it's my favorite characterization of Ryuunosuke and Kazuma's relationship, and answers a lot of questions for me that I didn't know I had until I was writing them. I still intend to write the continuation, but that's an entire dgs rewrite, so it's low on the docket for now.

Sorry I don't think I have any other writers I know on here that weren't already tagged (?) or I'm perhaps not mutuals with (excuse my poor memory if otherwise). So go ahead and do it yourself if you want!

#my fics #writing #writer esque #haikyuu!! #skts #sakuatsu #asry #asoryuu #dgs #tgaa

[chimcess]

Nosey Neighbors {K.T.H}

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader Other tags: Dom!Tae, Sub!Reader Genre: FWB, Dom-Sub Relationship, PWP (sort of), Smut (ig?) (18+) Word Count: 1.25k Synopsis: When you and Taehyung decide to have a bit of fun his elderly neighbors almost ruin it. Warnings: Implied sexual activities, tongue kissing, spanking (one time), Reader is tied up, Kidnapping kink, mentions of dub-con, dom/sub relationship, Exhibitionism, Mentions of public sex, Mentions of outdoor sex, Mentions of Dungeons, Reader is tied up, Reader is in Tae’s trunk, Tae is way too forthcoming, Poor Neighbors, They meant well  A/N: So, this is me dabbling into writing a bit of smut. I’m currently in the middle of writing a one-shot that I plan on writing smut for but am clueless. I’ve never done it before so bare with me and let me know what I can improve on. Everything I’ve tried sounds cringe and forced (or maybe that’s just me). This drabble is based on THIS TikTok and Tae seemed like the type. I could make a part two? Unedited.

It was hot in the middle of June, so hot that I could feel the sweat pooling in the pits of my knees slowly begin to drip down my legs. The sunlight flashed into my eyes for a second causing me to flinch and quickly close them. I heard Taehyung chuckle. The rope he was currently tying around my ankles got tighter.

“We picked the wrong day for this,” I complained, blowing a stray piece of hair out of my face.

The sweat on my forehead prevented it from moving and I groaned as it fell right back where it had been. Noticing my frustration, Taehyung took a break from the rope and slicked back all the hairs on my head. I kissed his hand as he caressed my face. He smiled before going back to my ankles.

“I’m having a great time,” He teased, tying the first knot.

Taehyung and I had been in a dom-sub relationship for over a year now. We had met at a dungeon in Seoul. At the time, he had a sub named Jiho and I was just there for a good time. I had gone with a switch friend of mine, Yoongi, and I had originally seen Tae when he was performing a scene. While Yoongi was busying chatting up a femme dom at the bar, Taehyung and his sub approached me. I joined one of their scenes and we stayed in contact for a while after that. When their arrangement ended, that is when Taehyung and I entered an agreement, and unlike Jiho, I did not share. He did not seem to mind.

While I had done many things in my life, Taehyung was the freakiest man I had ever been with. This is why I was currently being tied up in the trunk of his car in broad daylight. Two months ago, I had confided in my dom that I had watched a porno of a girl being kidnapped. We talked about how it made me feel and that I was open to trying something similar out if he was interested in it as well. After testing the waters with some dubious consent scenes, Taehyung had finally brought up the idea of a day trip. We both agreed that doing it during the day might ease my nerves and we would take things slow. A typical scene with him was nothing like this. Taehyung was a hard dom who would never dream of smiling while we played but I knew he was being casual to help calm my nerves.

“Is it wrong that I’m more concerned about melting than the neighbors?” I asked, a smile playing on my lips.

“Dirty girl,” Taehyung leaned over and gave me a quick kiss.

I sighed into his mouth and haphazardly struggled against my restraints. Taehyung chuckled against my mouth before roughly grabbing my face and roughly shoving my head into the foot of the trunk. His tongue licked at my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth without hesitation. I wiggled and felt myself becoming wet. This is what I loved. Being tied up and helpless underneath Taehyung was perfect, his slim figure meaning nothing in the wake of his strength. He was skinny but strong and could easily hold me down. He pulled away and shoved my body further into the trunk. I was now on my stomach

“Safeword if you need to, okay?” He said, voice rough.

“Yes, sir,” I obediently replied, relaxing and preparing myself for subspace.

“That’s a good girl,” He praised before a sharp, painful smack was delivered to my backside. “Now shut the fuck up.”

My panties were soaked, and I desperately rubbed my thighs together for some sort of friction. It was pointless. Taehyung had tied my restraints so tightly that it was almost impossible to move my legs individually. Still, I wiggled in hopes that something would give. I needed release.

Taehyung grabbed my ankles, and I heard another piece of rope sliding in between the knots he had created. He then took my wrists, which were bound behind my back, and looped the rope through them as well. After successfully hogtying me, Taehyung hummed n satisfaction. I could not wait until we were in the clearing.

We had planned on going off a hiking trail by a camp nearby and having sex in a flower field that Taehyung had taken me to when we were still getting to know one another. While it was his favorite meditation spot, he had decided that it was a perfect place to go to get away from people and still have it open as he wanted it. We both knew I was not ready for something very public, and Taehyung was not fond of getting the police called on him. Just as he was making finishing knots to make sure I secured, a car honking snapped us both out of the scene. I could not move to see what was happening, but Taehyung was gone very quickly after.

“What’s going on here?” A woman asked.

“Everything okay?” A man asked immediately after.

I recognized the voices as his elderly neighbors. Shamefully, I felt myself getting impossibly wetter. I loved the idea of getting caught and doing it felt euphoric. I blushed in embarrassment. Taehyung would know how excited I had gotten as well.

“Oh, yeah, everything is fine,” Taehyung laughed it off.

“We thought we saw someone in your trunk,” The woman continued.

She sounded concerned. I bit my lip to hold in my laughter. I had no idea where Tae would take this.

“Oh, that’s just my girlfriend,” He said.

I heard the woman gasp and I snorted. The laughter was unavoidable, and I fought to keep quiet. These poor old people. Whatever arousal I had dried up. My body shook from how hard I laughed but I managed to keep my voice down. I could not tell what was funnier, Taehyung calling me his girlfriend or the face I had imagined them making.

“Oh, well, okay,” The man replied, and I could hear the awkward way he spoke.

“We were just making sure everything was fine,” The woman laughed, the sound forced and oddly high-pitched.

“We’re great, Mrs.Lee,” Taehyung replied, bright and bubbly.

I heard rather than saw the car pulling off. The hum of the car faded away and I could no longer hold my laughter back. Taehyung broke soon after. He climbed back into the trunk and lay his head down on my ass. The car shook with both of us.

“That was so embarrassing,” He complained. “My neighbors think I’m a serial killer.”

I laughed harder.

“Well, that ruined the mood,” I said, sighing.

Taehyung sat up and slowly ran his hands from my toes to my inner thighs. I let out an embarrassing sound and the mood from before was back. My breath quickened.

“Are you sure?” He whispered, kissing my neck.

I shook my head.

“No, sir.”

Taehyung smiled at me and got out of the trunk. He winked and asked me if I was okay again. After I reaffirmed that I was indeed fine, he nodded before his features became cold. My heart rate sped up and I knew how wet I had become all over again. With the neighbors out of my mind, I allowed myself to relax and sink back into our scene. This should be fun.

Then, Tae slammed the trunk shut and our test was on.

#kim taehyung #taehyung #bts taehyung #bts kim taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfiction #v #bts v #v fanfic #v fanfiction #bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fics #bts ff #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #dom taehyung #bts smut #taehyung smut

[kaftan]

amyfic in the works who’s surprised (click through for a teaser)

Born bad.

The DNA agrees. The nucleus hosting the DNA agrees. The moment of impact between the two gametes: huge, serene, silent mother, beckoning the union like a harbor or a lighthouse; rocketing, no-control father piercing and merging and creating creation, this anti-miracle, this dread upon Earth; every dizzy step down the double-helix staircase; all three billion rotten nucleotide twins; every damning cellular division — all agree, all concurring, all coming together for the whole disgusting picture.

Born bad.

#wormblogging #original writing tag forthcoming #this is younger amy fic so it’s not going to fully take shape until I get more of the scoop on her childhood #but in the meantime here’s one of her scorchingly bad and deeply unscientific Biology Takes

[whetstonefires]

Hi, I like your mdzs meta (and am interested in the hopefully forthcoming yzy meta) but even that of fandoms I’m not in (your final fantasy meta about the differences in canonical vs fanonical sartorial choices due to coding was enlightening, and I didn’t even know it was dark.) For the ask game: 🦷🐇 🦴 P.S. if you haven’t found it the eldest sibling cinematic universe is all tagged naruto?

thank you! :DDD i do meta posts primarily because i Have Thought that wants to be heard, but it's delightful for it to actually be wanted lmao.

i have filtered my blog for 'naruto' through three different methods without finding the ask where i was asked to crosscast mdzs and naruto. it is a Hidden Value for some reason. if someone finds it, please send me the link through dm or something.

haha only white things! three white items! tooth-bunny-bone.

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

So when you own a lot of stuff it is so so important to store it in the most organized way you can manage, because the [task burden] of finding the desired item needs to be low enough to keep you from giving up on finding your own things when you want them, because that makes them useless to you.

This is especially important for things like craft supplies and hardware. Put the same kinds of things together, in a closed, clearly labeled container, with some kind of internal partitioning by sub-category, as much as you possibly can.

Take as much of the burden of locating your possessions off Future You as you can; I know it feels like a tiresome outlay of effort in the present keeping you from dedicating the time to actual [activity], but once you make a habit of it it's very much a stitch-in-time-saves-nine that will make [activity] more accessible to you.

This doesn't mean you need to Buy Product, although some of the stuff that's sold for organizing can be very useful. I keep all my embroidery floss in a small wooden chest I bought at a tag sale, sorted by color family into little plastic baggies. So it's fairly trivial now to go in and see 'what reds do I have?' choose one.

Then I transfer the hanks I'm using for my current project into the transparent plastic box with a snap-on lid I got for one dollar from Michaels Crafts, where the embroidery needles live fulltime, and bundle just that into a basket or bag with the hoop and fabric, while the rest of the chest can go back in the closet until it's time to put the remainder away again. Maneuvering the box physically in and out of the closet becomes the hardest part of accessing the materials.

The ability to pick up and move a whole project at once is also very valuable for anyone without like, a whole designated Crafting Area in their space. And for people who do have that, but are always being impeded by their own clutter.

If you have a basket or tray or something you can stack all of a given project onto and whisk away to clear your worksurface at need, you'll be much more likely to actually commit to working on that project when you want to, without feeling burdened by the future opportunity cost of having to completely finish and/or abort progress on it if something else comes up.

Probably not everyone gets stuck on that, especially people who only work on one thing at a time, but I think there are enough people like me that giving yourself permission to use the 'sewing basket hack' is valuable. There are big downsides to burying yourself in stuff in the effort to keep it all near to hand and accessible, but there are also definite, meaningful costs to having to put everything away in its Own Place every time you're interrupted, especially if you have trouble with any part of executive function.

🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both?

Egad I have never attempted a reader-insert in the contemporary style. Honestly, I can't stand them.

Writing in the second person is all well and good for textural reasons, but as a way to 1) compensate for the evidently dreadful imagination skills of the audience and 2) shield the writer from responsibility for their own writing choices, I consider the 'reader insert' to be an overall cowardly and limiting construct.

I would much rather see a fic that instructs me to understand myself as a four-foot-tall electric blue parrot than one that attempts to narrate a 'me' generic enough to be plausible to any potential reader; when the 'you' is a giant parrot with discernible preferences and goals it is, of course, an original character.

In fact, so is every reader insert, they're just usually terrible ones. Attempting to write an OC with no traits is so sad.

Anyway I'm fully capable of projecting myself onto a parrot if I want. Otoh I'm not shameless enough to publish old-fashioned self-insert fic, which is a different less craven stylistic approach to the same goal, which is only partly because I was trained on anti-OC backlash and mostly because my standards are such that the few attempts are either 1) plotless exercises in self-gratification which aren't worth finishing once the fun part of drafting the entertaining scene is done or 2) agonizingly honest. I don't feel like being quite that honest with the internet, ty.

I love character creation though so OCs good yes.

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?

Like. Besides the obvious, given this is a fanfic ask game afaik? Uhm. Diana Wynne Jones' body of work; the way she structured the narratives of her children's novels so the inherent unreliability of any narrator was maximized and played a vital role in mediating between the story and the reader.

I am not naturally good at playing keep-away with information, but I recognize it as a vital writing skill because context is so vital to the experience of media, so I pay close attention to how this sort of sleight of hand is accomplished. I also really appreciated Jones' relative lack of talking down to her child audience.

#ask #hoc est meum #glitterypenguintyphoon #ask game #organization #oc versus reader insert #dwj #people say nice things

[wackywriterwhowriteswhenever]

Hey y'all!

Back in 2017, I wrote a Star Wars fanfic that I called Redemption. This story focused on Vader's thoughts during the events of Return of the Jedi from the time he collects Luke on Endor through the end of the film.

Recently, I've been planning an anthology of Star Wars fanfics that I'm calling Star Wars Stories. I'll be writing a series of stories throughout the Star Wars timeline, following various characters at different points during the saga. These stories will be in the same vein as this story, where I will take the current Star Wars canon and delve deeper into a moment or character with my own headcanons.

So, in the spirit of that forthcoming anthology, I've republished Redemption with some minor edits from the original manuscript for my readers to enjoy.

May the Force be with you!

Tagging my few Star Wars mutuals on here (one of whom has already read this story and enjoyed it immensley): @byliever @seizetheedays @kitsebastianconnor

#Star Wars #Star Wars fic #Star Wars fanfic #Star Wars fanfiction #Darth Vader #Anakin Skywalker #Luke Skywalker #Emperor Palpatine #Darth Sidious #Return of the Jedi #Star Wars: Return of the Jedi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Yoda #Padme Amidala

[duckprintspress]

“Aim For The Heart” Creator Spotlight: Author J. D. Harlock and Artist Amy Fincher

It’s the first day that Duck Prints Press is sharing two teasers for our forthcoming anthology Aim For The Heart: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Alexandre Dumas’s “The Three Musketeers”! Note that us combining the two teasers absolutely does not mean that these works are linked (they’re not!) – just that we have a 30-day campaign and 35 contributors, so there’s no way we can do one a day!

King by Amy Fincher

About the Artist: Amy Fincher (she/her) is a producer and artist with over a dozen years of experience in the video game and animation industries. She has contributed to various AAA and indie titles, including the Civilization, XCOM, and Skylanders series. Amy is currently working on Open Roads as Executive Producer. When the mood strikes and time allows, she teaches art classes and takes on art commissions on the side. Her hobbies include learning aerial silks, collecting aesthetically pleasing empty containers, looking at shiny rocks, and taking very long naps.

Sword Dancer by J. D. Harlock

About the Author: J. D. Harlock is a Syrian-Lebanese-Palestinian writer and editor based in Beirut. In addition to his posts at Wasifiri, as an editor-at-large, and at Solarpunk Magazine, as a poetry editor, his writing has been featured in Strange Horizons, Star*Line, and the SFWA Blog. You can always find him on Twitter and Instagram posting updates on his latest projects.

Links: Instagram | Twitter

Story Teaser:

Her sneer of cold command pricked me, letting the blood from my veins. In the midst of all this pomp and circumstance, here in the haven that once housed my family, in the temple that once venerated our Goddesses, in the monument that once celebrated my people, I could strangle her.

“Why would you do this to me?” I cried, but she just scoffed.

“Laudable words coming from the woman who abandoned me and left me to die.”

Tags: break-up (past), duels, fantasy, f/f, non-fanfiction story inspired by source material, past tense, politics, pov first person, religion (original), royalty

You can learn more about the whole project, and our other contributors, by visiting our Kickstarter campaign page!

#duck prints press #aim for the heart #kickstarter #story teaser #art teaser #j. d. harlock #the three musketeers #amy fincher

[beautyofsorrow]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @ceruleanphoenix7. tagging @zannolin (u can skip the stats questions <3)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

91 visible to the public, which will go up to 92 in a couple weeks. 100 counting the ones i've perm-anoned

2. What's your total A03 word count?

317,174

3. What fandoms do you write for?

various star treks, some original work, and a lone yellowjackets and murderbot diaries fic each. plus some fringe, tho most of those have been perm-anoned

oh yeah and a barbie fairytopia: mermaidia fic that i wrote for a forthcoming zine. y'all aren't ready for that one

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

lol. seeds of order, how shall i touch you unless it is everywhere?, what i have shaped into a kind of life, do you love the colour of the sky?, and bruised hips and salt-stained cheeks

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

if i have something to say, yes. i like it when readers really engage with what's on the page, because so often i have loads of meta or research or lore-building or background info that never made it into the fic but which i'm really excited about and enjoy info-dumping. comments that invite that kind of response are my favorite. i also really like it when they tell me how they felt reading it, or -- if the fic mentions a book -- that they went and read that book. i LOVE that shit and will talk books with people for days.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

discounting all my high school fic, which thankfully is no longer accessible to the public, we do what we do in the dark. love a good fucked up seven/jay fic

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

they pretty much all end happily? but the "happy" that feels most "me" is the end of the way old friends do, where seven leaves to go heal from bjayzl and icheb in her own way, alone, and tom and b'elanna send her off with the assurance they're there when she needs them. that felt very happy and healthy and aromantic to write. and aromantic endings are extremely important to me.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i have been vagued about, sure. a few flames back in the day

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yes <3 femslash, always. it's pretty much just friends with benefits and/or angsty alterously attracted grief!sex now. no more romance for me <3 feels good feels organic

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i write trek crossovers all the time. i'd say my jadzia/raffi fic was pretty gutsy. as was pioneering the b'elanna torres/ro laren/kira nerys tag with a 3k post-canon oneshot on religious doubt and belief.

the weirdest like, true crossover (and only true crossover) i've written was a star trek: voyager/murderbot diaries fusion that i wrote in order to be matchable in a gift exchange. stupidly fun. i did not expect anyone to read that fic but people really really liked it, and i am so thankful for all the kind commenters, because that fic held a lot of personally important elements to me.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

nottt that i know of, and i don't go looking, because that's just a lot of work i don't need in my life

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

i don't think so

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yeah, i think about 3 times?

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

b'elanna/seven

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

probably the b7 griddlehark au i'm APPARENTLY writing now. it takes two 500+ page books as inspiration. yes. it's a multichap. i swore them off. i know.

16. What are your writing strengths?

oneshots, nailing the character voices (or knowing when i didn't), pretty sentences, rhythm, lore, sensory details, queering the narrative, smut

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

finishing shit. also plot. who the hell has the attention span for plot? not me [stares in despair at WIPs]

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i'm monolingual, so i don't

19. First fandom you wrote for?

lord of the rings

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

probably come on and prove it. i reread it weekly. no one wants to admit they like it on main but i see ur private bookmark count and your 50% guest kudos rate lol. i knocked it out of the park with that one.

honorable mention to of warm limbs hooking your heart to the world and it's not the weight you carry but how you carry it. my beloveds.

#that fanfic lyfe

[destinysbounty]

Tell the people of your blorbitos¹, bountyboss²!

1 - blorbitos (noun): smaller blorbos, that originate from one's own brain;

2 - [n]boss (noun): a term equal to girlboss, often using a certain part of the interlocutor's identity or aesthetic as the replacement for "girl".

Aye aye, captain!

So i have. Many. Many many blorbitos from my brain. Ignoring all the ocs that come from various unused fics, here are my two main brain blorbos:

418 -- Red Visor oc

418 is a Red Visor who formerly worked for Unagmi but eventually developed self-awareness, passed through the Manifestation Gate, and is just kinda chilling in the real world now. He's become very intrigued by philosphy and sociology and existentialism and is a total nerd who reads long, dry academic papers just for fun. Hes also probably the closest thing to a well-adjusted individual in all of Ninjago. Red Visors dont originally have individual names iirc, but he named himself after a particular HTTP error code bc that's just his sense of humor. His friends call him 'Four' for short. Ive also been considering putting him in a post-ns12 fic that ive actually been working on for several weeks now, but that depends on whether or not i actually write the darn thing

Avery - elemental master oc!

Now i went a bit overboard with her backstory, but if youll indulge me for a bit of a rant! So, in the distant future, long after the original ninja are gone with only Lloyd left bc immortality, a kid named Avery befriends the current master of amber, named Kiara. Anywho, a new threat has been wrecking Ninjago and an old, wisened Lloyd has been recruiting elemental masters to help him protect the world once more. And since Kiara is the new master of amber, she gets recruited - and because Avery is her bestie, she insists on tagging along.

Avery isnt initially an elemental master, tho! She starts out in a support role that is functionally similar to Samurai X. But over time she gets a bit jealous of everyone's cool powers and adventures, and all the attention they get from saving the world all the time. So when a new villain manages to find the Teapot of Tyrahn and releases Nadakhan...well, Avery gets duped into wishing for elemental power. And thus the element of acid is created! The drawback? Using her power physically hurts her! And she doesnt have a lot of control over it! Isnt that fun.

Anyway even after they defeat Nadakhan (for good this time), Avery is still stuck with her broken element, and old!Lloyd trains her to control it. And JUST when she is finally getting the hang of things, guess who shows up - the Time Twins! Remember how they yoinked off to the future at the end of HoT? Yeah this is that future. And remember the Obsidian Glaive from Shadow of Ronin? The relic capable of manipulating peoples memories? Yeah they manage to piece that thing back together, and use it on Kiara to coerce her into turning traitor and siding with the Hands of Time (by twisting her memories to make her think Avery isnt her friend but rather her enemy). So in a big confrontation between Avery and the Time Twins/Kiara, Kiara shoves Avery into a time vortex.

Eventually, Avery lands in the past. Several centuries in the past. Roughly circa season 3 of the canon era, to be specific. And. Uh. Shes not having a great time, lets just say that. Especially since old!Lloyd's teachings were the only thing that helped Avery control her broken element, but now she has to deal with a version of Lloyd that is actually less experienced than her and its...complicated. So Avery has some messy baggage regarding Lloyd, and also its just generally weird to have her old man mentor be so young and spry and silly.

In an AU where Avery exists, shed have met the ninja during Chen's tournament (due to future knowledge she knows Chen is evil, but old!Lloyd has never been especially forthcoming about the more traumatic details of his past and also she has terrible memory, so she while she knows Chen is evil she doesnt exactly know the nature of his schemes. Shes just here bc she wants to steal Clouse's spellbook in case it has any time travel spells that can send her home.) From then on she would be a recurring ally, using her vague-at-best knowledge of world history to aid them in their various quests, until officially joining the team to help search for Master Wu.

Anyway, im not much of an artist but here's a drawing of Avery! Dont ask me to draw 418 tho, i dont think my limited art skills reach that far

I have some more ocs, but these are the most well-developed, fleshed-out characters i have so far.

#ninjago #ninjago oc #destiny post

[tales-from-nocturnaliss]

Often, I write.

Sometimes, I draw.

At least, I'm trying to get back into the habit. And among artist friends, sometimes, magic happens. Like deciding to 'meme' a referenced pose. I was tagged in. And figured: why not.

Hours later, here is my homicidal Kassy in all her terrible beauty. I'm 99% happy with this pic.

Original pose:

No idea who the artist is and google isn't forthcoming. If you know, do tell me! Thanks.

#oc #vampire #art #smug face #Tales from Aeyuu #Kassandra