Hey! Some beej and a very affectionate s/o would be cool uwu creepy trash man needs love
oh i’m always down to let the juice loose >;) 🪲🧃
beetlejuice 🪲 x affectionate reader 💭
bj's first reaction to so much loveydovey attention is over-the-top exasperation. "What is this, a Hallmark movie? Come on, toots, you're gonna ruin my street cred." but he doesn't push you away. in fact, he leans into it, grinning like the smug undead bastard he is.
he tries to freak you out, to test juuuust how much you're willing to deal with to love up on him. one day, when you hug him, he lets his rib cage pop open to see your reaction. "Oops! Looks like you broke me!" he wheezes through laughter, his bones rattling back into place. when you just poke him in the chest and tell him to behave, he's so baffled he forgets to gloat.
despite his initial yuckitude, he begins to mirror your affection in chaotic ways. if you kiss his forehead, he grabs your hand and kisses every fingertip with exaggerated flair. if you snuggle into him, he'll toss a ghostly blanket over the two of you and crack some kind of painfully stupid joke. "My favorite takeout order, el burrito del amor!"
he treats your kisses and hugs like challenges, trying to outdo your tenderness with absurd, over-the-top gestures. a bouquet of flowers springs to life in your arms, hissing and snapping at you. a serenade involves ghostly backup singers and an impromptu dance number.
ghosts whisper about how beetlejuice, chaos incarnate, is soft for someone alive. a breather, how scandalous! there are bets about how long it'll last. meanwhile, he's busy carving your initials into the peeling wood of a graveyard bench like some schoolgirl with a crush.
he gets jealous in the most obnoxious ways. someone hits on you, and suddenly he's looming behind them, his face splitting into a manic grin. "Nice guy." he says, voice dripping with barely contained irritation. "Real polite. Be a shaaaame if something happened to him." they always run, and bj looks pleased with himself.
eventually, bj starts seeking out your affection in his own way, that way being dramatic as hell and more than a little ridiculous. he'll flop onto your lap with a groan: "Oh no, I'm dying again... only a makeout expert can save me!"
for all his sharp edges, bj starts to show up when it matters. to everyone's shock, it turns out all that sappy crap works on him. he doesn't promise forever; it's not his style (despite the fact that he technically has forever). but there's gotta be something to the fact that he keeps coming back, dragging all his mischief and madness with him, like a stray cat who's decided you're his.
thanks for reading!! 💌
you can find more of my writing here on ao3!
Sorry but not even Quill will play D&D with Rocket? I would adore the chance and I don't even know the first thing about D&D besides rolling some dice. The fact Rocket is so passionate about it is precious beyond belief.
look babes. arguably one of the best parts of worldbuilding is learning, using, and making up believable, immersive curse-words. especially when you're writing for a cranky sentient raccoon.
so, like my Yondu Clan Ravager Directory, this is a glossary of terms that i am pulling together for my own reference, and sharing in case it is useful to you. these are words i have found/read/remembered from various gotg media, but it is certainly NOTexhaustive and there are plenty of things i don't know, so if you have a term you'd like to see added or a definition i don't know of, please feel free to rb or comment. i would be thrilled to edit & credit.
finally, i have also included a few terms i made up at the end of the list, and my "recipe" for creating in-universe curse-words lol
if you are looking for more canonical intergalactic cusswords, @rael-rider pulled together a list of comics-based expletives.
BLUE. primary origin: Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy game (2021) by Eidos-Montréal.
PURPLE. primary origin: various marvel comics.
so far, this glossary only contains terms from these two sources, but more can be added!
AFTBLADDER - definition: unknown in-universe; however, the "aft" is the rear part of a ship. this could be a reference to something like bio-waste storage for a spacecraft. the word is used as a noun/name for someone, like "asshole." Example: "You sons of chogs! Scutbustin' aftbladders!"
CHOG - definition: unknown, but seems similar to calling someone a bitch or an asshole. Example: "I love you too, you selfless son of a chog."
CHUT - origin: eidos-montral game. definition: unknown, but possibly something like fuck or shit. Example: "Quill… Even with all these… Frickin' augmentations and chut knows what else… I just… I need to know that you'll take care of Groot for me."
D'AST - definition: unknown, but used similarly to damn. example: "It'll grow back, ya d'ast idiot. Quit whining." commonly used in other media.
FLARK // FLARKING - definition: a type of intergalactic facial parasite. the word is used similarly to fuck or fucking. in the eidos-montreal game, we also see rocket use the term flarkholes. commonly used in other media [except mcu].
FLARKNARD - definition: unclear, but potentially a variation on the FLARK expletive. i've seen this mostly referenced as a noun but @rael-rider i think also documents it in verb form. the eidos-montreal game also used a variation on this (if i'm remembering correctly): FLAKNARD. Example: "All the blue flaknards know how to do is arrest people trying to make a living and slap them with scutbugging fines."
FRUTACKING - definition: unknown. this word is most often used with the -ing suffix as an adjective/adverb as a common alternative to FLARK/FLARKING.
FUDSCUT - definition: unknown, but seems like a variation on SCUT. similar to shit. Example: "Fudscut! I knew I should've come down earlier."
GLARNACK - definition: unknown, but seems similar to shit.
GLONARDS - definition: unknown, but used similarly to ass(es), or possibly genitals, ie, gonads. example: "Gamora’s stunt back there saved our glonards […]"
GLORNDS - definition: unknown, but probably genitals. Example: "You missed me blow the glornds off that Knowhere gangster guy."
GRABSTACKING - definition: unknown, but used similarly to fucking or damn. Example: "Flarking amazing. Wanna start a grabstackin' museum?"
GRIZMOD - definition: unknown. an insult akin to calling someone a shitbag; a generally distasteful, unlikable person. Example: "[…] you end up with a bunch of power-hungry grizmods who want power so bad they’ll put up with your politics torture chamber to get it.”
GRUDSCUM - definition: unknown in-universe; however, "grud" is an earth-1218 slang term for vile, or vile person. Example: "Filthy grudscum! Badoon-faced scutplugs!"
KRUTACK // KRUTACKING - origin: origin: comics. definition: unknown but used similar to FRUTACK and FLARK/FLARKING; occasionally used as a noun. Example: "K’ythri H Flark in a krutack basket!" also commonly used in the 2015-2019 cartoon.
K'YTHRI H. FLARK - definition: similar to "Jesus H. Christ;" K'ythri is one of the two chief deities of the Shi'ar. See FLARK for the corresponding definition. Example: "K’ythri H Flark in a krutack basket!"
SCUT - similar to shit. Example: "That Terran scut you're always listening to? You ain't helping your case." We also see SCUT used in other terms, like "scutbustin'," "scutting," "scutholes," "scutplugs," "scutstain," "scutknuckles," "piece of scut," and "trail of skrat scut."
*I will often mix-and-match some of these words (using a comic-based word in an mcu-based fic, or an eidos-based word in a comic-based fic, etc). i also implement them in different commonly-known, earth-1218 contexts or common idioms, and use them to extrapolate new swears. for instance, here's some homebrew space-swears:
FOR SHARRA'S SAKE: Sharra is the Shi'ar companion-god to K'ythri
K'YTHRI'S GLORNDS: Common archaic Western curses refer to god's genitals so uhhhh self-explanatory
K'YTHRI'S THIRD NUT: see above. i also sometimes reference an elder of the universe or other in-universe famous-person instead of a god in this type of expletive; for instance, "ebony maw's left tit."
Hi so this is a bit random, but for a while now I've been kinda curious about how you think MCU Rocket would react to losing his partner during the snap for the five years and alternatively what their relationship would be like when they return or how things would develop if they were never snapped to begin with.
i love a random ask (aren't they all random, kinda??) and also bless you for your patience nonnie ♡♡♡ you're so sweet. kinda hard to tell from this ask if “rocket's partner” is you or someone else, but i'm going to assume it's the former, if that's all right?? buckle in because I’ve tackled both of your proposed possibilities here and it gets lengthy. and angsty. do you enjoy angst, nonnie? i can only assume you do, since you asked this fucken question lol. so walk with me, lovely. ♡♡♡
(sidenote ~ if you’re craving snap-based relationships, If Only For Tonight by @shylyobscene is required reading. it is glorious and unparalleled.)
for clarity’s sake, let's start with a sort of ground-zero, which is — what happens in the main timeline?
the mcu canon is conflicted, with some sources saying nebs and rocket are skittering around the galaxy together taking oddjobs and bounties and saving people, and others saying they're pretty much stuck on terra, running earthside errands and letting the avengers use the benatar (but honestly, this second option feels like sacrilege to me).
i am sure, in the main mcu timeline, that there's a storming phase as far as “group development” goes. rocket and nebs are both shit at communication, relationships, and grief — so like, honestly it's a miracle they both survived. early in their new partnership, there's probably a resurgence of unhealthy survival/coping mechanisms (getting intoxicated, breaking shit, threatening to shoot people/each other), and a lot of fighting.
and then someone gets injured, or gets too drunk, or needs a repair done to one of their many prosthetics, and eventually, rocket and nebula begin to move beyond simply trying (and failing) to navigate the shared trauma of the snap. i like to think that while they are in touch with the avengers pretty regularly and willing to help out on terra occasionally, they actually spend most of their time starside. kraglin's still piloting the third quadrant and they often use that as a base of operations, and they're trying to help as many people as they can in the sky while still making some money on the side. not because they feel an intrinsic urge to help — not yet. any impulse to do good for goodness' sake might be present, but both of these two morons like to bury it under layers and layers and layers of cynicism and general assholery.
no, the reason they're doing this is simply because it's what their friends would have wanted. nebs has always identified with rocket in some ways (she did save him on berhert — probably saw herself in his prickly behavior toward the others) and she knows her sister would want her to look out for him. meanwhile rocket thinks he’s the one doing the adopting: taking nebula under his wing because it’s what gams would have wanted — then trying to continue the spotty legacy of the guardians because it’s what she and pete would have thought was important.
however — despite that drive to honor their friends — i think they're both a little listless, a little chaotic in their approach to being guardians/a family. they don't have a whole lotta direction. and they don't really want anything outside of the bubble of the two of them (three, if you count kraglin). sure, maybe they start liking some of the avengers — one or two of 'em, and just a little — but the connection isn't the same.
how could it be?
then scott lang pops outta the quantum realm with some new ideas about how to fix things, and suddenly, both nebula and rocket have a renewed focus. there are goals. there's possibility. there's hope.
and it drives them forward.
now let's say we’re in a timeline where you exist.
i like to imagine you met rocket when he was still the crankiest jackass, just an absolute piece of work. let's say you run into the guardians just after volume two, when he's finally gotten used to the other idiots, and he's feeling very protective of his new little family. he does not frickin’ like interlopers.
and yet here you are: an intruder, fucking up the dynamic. why are you here? what do you want? are you even trustworthy?
he's so fuckin’ resentful of you just showing up and fitting in, of everyone just loving you. meanwhile, he's had to put in all this work to be less of a jackass. to make amends.
for fuckssake, you didn't even have to put up with the gory early days, when there were only two cots on the milano. they’d all had to rotate through those two nasty mattresses, both of which had smelled like quill's rancid spunk. you weren't there for the loss of groot, and you didn't help kill a planet, and you never had to deal with rocket inciting a war with the sovereign.
and what exactly the fuck do you even bring to the table, anyway? sentimentality and sparkly eyes?
useless.
hell, you're still getting your space legs the first time you step foot on the third quadrant.
… all of which is to say that the two of you get off to a challenging start. but at some point, after he stops picking on you and you stop taking it personally (and who knows which happens first, or how), you start to ease into each others' company. maybe… maybe you’d saved his life. maybe you’d saved groot's. maybe you’d done something reckless but brilliant, or maybe you’d made him laugh so hard one night that he’d shot blubber ale out his nose (which had burned with every breath for the next two cycles), or maybe it's a hundred quiet and unassuming kindnesses that had chipped away at his hard-candy coating until you’d managed to get to the sweetness inside.
either way, once you're in, you're in.
still, he has to figure out that you’re not so bad before he can figure out that he likes you. and he has to figure out that he likes you before he can take any action, or welcome any from you. i like to imagine he figures out all his feelings right before the benatar stumbles on the distress call from the statesman. right before you find all those dead asgardians and the grandmaster's slaves, floating loosely amongst the stars.
right before it all goes to hell.
i like to think he realizes that you've actually been flirting with him lately — brashly or bashfully — and that he should respond. that he wants to respond. that he needs to respond. maybe you even get a few rotations together: testing out what this means for each of you, figuring out who's allowed to know, deciding what to call each other and what your relationship will look like.
lots of cuddles — though probably still in the secret darkness of your bunk. or his.
maybe lots of orgasms, too. if you get that far.
then it all falls apart.
if you're snapped—
—well, rocket won't let himself think about it at first. thanos is still out there somewhere and the avengers seem to think that if they can find the mad titan, they can undo all this shit. rocket only half-believes it himself, of course. no amount of wishful thinking ever undid any of the losses he's lived through before.
but for you, he's willing to try.
he focuses in on finding thanos, ignoring the knot in his belly that tells him that it won’t change a goddamn thing. he doesn't eat. he doesn't sleep. the only thing he pays attention to is getting those stones back, getting thanos to undo this, getting you and groot and the others back. rocket’s eyes feel like sakaaran sand and knowhere skulldust, and the only thing he’s consumed in days is shitty terran coffee.
but then they find 0259-S, and he's taking everybody up to outer space under nebula's guidance, and he thinks maybe — maybe—
and then thor fucks it all up.
maybe that's unfair. it seems likely that everything was already fucked up, and that rocket — just like always — didn't let himself believe it until it was too late.
i think there's a different intensity to this rocket, unseen in the main mcu timeline. i think his anger burns brighter than we've seen it before — he's meaner than he's ever been — but i also think it burns out faster. rocket has spent so much of his life in this particular stage of grief, after all. no, i think after — oh, let’s say a quarter or two — he moves firmly into bargaining.
and stays there.
he doesn't realize it, of course. after all, rocket's always been a superstitious guy. in the comics, i'm told he's even sometimes represented as a bit compulsive. so i don't believe he consciously thinks, if we save ten planets every year for ten years, i can get my family back. it's nothing as obvious as that. no. instead, i think he just imagines that he's continuing the guardians’ legacy because it's what you'd want — what you and gamora and pete would want.
and then, at some point, the work becomes all-consuming. he’s constantly scanning the transmissions for distress-calls, sleeping less and less, acting more recklessly with every new mission. the guardians’ account grows fat with units because it’s not like he’s stopped charging people — he just doesn’t turn any jobs down.
some of the less self-involved avengers begin to take notice. cap tries to get rocket to come to one of his support group sessions — even offers to do private circles just for rocket and nebs and krags. rocket refuses, of course, despite that kraglin and nebula are both — worriedly and willingly — receptive to the idea.
meanwhile, kraglin is trying to use the third quadrant as an excuse to slow things down, saying the old ship can't keep up with the benatar so maybe they should take fewer jobs this cycle. nebula gets into yelling matches with rocket: telling him between insults that he's running himself ragged, that he's going to end up getting killed. he only yells back to tell her to stay on terra if she's going to be a big baby about the workload on the benatar.
she ends up drugging him a few times, just to get him to sleep.
then they get into a fight about that, too — the worst fight yet. poor kraglin is hiding in his bunk, scared to come out. and the thing is — they’re not even fighting because of the violation of rocket's bodily autonomy, which would normally have him furious. and they’re not fighting because the four shifts of uninterrupted sleep he got this last time have thrown off their whole saving-people schedule.
no, rocket tells nebula raggedly, once he's calmed down enough to sound broken instead of enraged. he scruffs the inside of one wrist angrily across his eyes, furious at a universe that forces him to cry over the loss of you.
no. he's pissed because when he's drugged, he doesn't dream.
and when he doesn't dream, then you're really gone.
maybe he mellows out eventually. maybe not. maybe it gets worse and worse until scott lang shows up like a frickin' quantum-angel, divinely drenched in subatomic light, bearing glad tidings and great news. but as soon as the snap is undone, finding you is the first fucking order of business. after escaping the flooding wreckage of the compound, anyway. rocket thinks you better still be in wakanda — you better not have wandered through one of those portals and back into a battlezone.
but of course you did, and when he gets his hands on you, he's furious and shouting and running his palms greedily all over you.
because you feel the same. he’d spent that last cycle before the snap memorizing you in all the ways he hadn't permitted himself before, and he’s spent nearly every rotation since calling up that memory in his palms and the pads of his fingers. and now here you are — perfectly unchanged and perfect — and it seems so impossible when he's so much more grizzled and scarred-up and ragged. hell, he’d gotten clipped by an ion-blast in a fight on Arago-7 last circ, so he's down a full quarter-of-an-ear since you saw him last.
but you — you're the same and you're perfect and will you even want him anymore once you realize what he's become?
will you?
he buries that particular insecurity down deep because, he thinks, you don't need to worry your gorgeous head about it now. besides, there's pete to deal with, and his gamora is still — gone. and there's a new gamora now too, and what the fuck is up with that? plus, he and nebs bought knowhere, and there's a lot to do there — a lot that needs to be done so rocket can move you right into his crappy apartment, so he can make it a place worth living with you.
he's — oddly, gruffly, almost-clingy at first. moreso than you ever would have dreamed, and it lasts for a long time. maybe forever. he doesn't want to clip your wings, but he wants to make sure you're flying with him. it's similar in how he treats groot, too — can't take his eyes off his kid, or he starts getting panic attacks. but you're no stranger to those, and you're patient with his grief.
after all, you have your own, too.
some nights on knowhere, you lay on the fresh mattress he'd actually bought from somebody, and you run your thumb back and forth across the crescent punched into the edge of his ear. and you see what the last five years — three-point-six-two circs, you remind yourself — have cost him, all alone in space. sure, he’d had nebs and kraglin, and they matter — you don’t want to diminish that — but he’d lost everything else.
he’d been heartbroken, with no-one who knew how to comfort him the way you do.
tears drip down your cheeks, and later — when rocket wakes up from the recurring nightmare where everyone he loves is gone, again and again and again — you can still taste the ocean on your lips.
but it's okay, you tell him, holding him close and cradling his head, thumbing his whiskers so he can't see you crying too (even though he knows; he always knows). better days are coming, you say.
and it takes a while to get there, but eventually, you're right.
if you stay —
— if you're never snapped at all — things are going to be rough for the first few quarters. all that progress you made with rocket before the snap? gone.
well, okay. not really gone. the lessons are still learned, but rocket can't really see them right now. or at least, he can't feel them, and we all know that feeling makes up the biggest part of a raccoon's sensory cortex.
and what he does feel is guilt and shame, and fury at himself.
as i've said, rocket is a superstitious sort. he had that one blissful fuckin' cycle with you before everything turned terrible, and even if he consciously knows this ain't how the universe works, it still feels like a message. like it's his fault. like how dare he try to have something he never frickin' deserved.
the snap had taken every single one of the guardians — except for you.
as if to tell him that he'd traded all their lives for a few precious moments of happiness.
you stay with him at the avengers compound until nebula shows up — but he won't talk to you. he gives you flat, implacable eyes and bared teeth whenever you try to ask if he's okay. forget trying to approach him with tears in your own eyes or wobbly lips, seeking the comfort of his company. if he says anything at all, it'll be to sneer at you to get a hug from one of the humies.
it's harder still when nebula comes back. he sits with her. he gives her awkward hand-pats at a time when you would do anything for an awkward hand-pat. he listens to her talk about thanos, and the garden — as if he values her thoughts. and even if he doesn't come out and say it, he treats her like a guardian.
and he's treating you like a curse.
when it's time to go back up in the stars, he's surprised to find you already buckled into the benatar, waiting. some wild inexplicable impulse had you making sure to board early — terrified he'd leave you if he got here first. you have nothing on terra worth sticking around for — not even before the snap. your only home now is with him.
you don't need to be here, he sneers at you, and you just want to cry. you're as bruised as anyone by the past few weeks. maybe even more than some, because they'd all had somebody to rely on. but you don't answer him — can't answer him. you just huddle up in your seat and stare dully ahead, till nebula climbs the ramp and freezes, her dark eyes flicking between the two of you like she's already clocked the tension.
she says nothing, though. she's surprisingly polite.
fine, rocket grumps when you make no move to disembark. he slumps in the pilot's seat, and the benatar begins to hum as the lights on the console flicker on.
the trip to the third quadrant is painfully stilted. kraglin's still alive, at least, which is nice. the four of you sit on the flight deck, and you explain as much as you can to kraglin. nebula corrects you from time to time, but rocket only broods and sulks. drinks a little, but not as much as you might have expected. apparently, he doesn't want the anesthetizing quality of the booze right now.
maybe he doesn't think he deserves it.
kraglin mops tears from beneath his eyes and proposes a ravager wake for everyone lost in the snap. nebula cocks her head in interest, but rocket storms off, muttering only, they ain't dead before he disappears for the sleepshift. you try to go after him, hovering in the corridor outside his bunk, wringing your hands as you ask if he needs anything.
he only holds your stare flatly while the door swishes shut in your face.
when you go back to the flight deck, nebula's gone. exploring, probably. you stay up with kraglin for a while, answering his questions and trying to offer comfort, before giving him a brief hug and turning in for the night. it's an awkward hug, but warm, and the closest thing you've had to comfort since everything happened.
you wake up midway through the sleepshift — a dream, maybe, or a sound. certainly it could be the latter. you can hear nebula and rocket in the corridor just outside your bunk. everything echoes in this old ravager ship, and you can't quite make out the words, but you know they're fighting.
they're both gone by the time you rise with the wakeshift. embarrassed — worried, for you — kraglin tells you they left about three hours earlier, and that he's got orders from rocket to drop you off on any planet or space station you might like.
they'd left you.
rocket had left you.
your mouth flattens with the effort of not bursting into tears, but kraglin blurs in your vision anyway.
joke's on rocket, you tell the former ravager shakily.
i'm not going anywhere.
it's not that rocket's trying to be a jerk. and he's not trying to punish you, either (though he's definitely punishing himself). but it's clear to him that he'd had the right of it all the way back on sovereign:
he's bad fuckin' news. he's a dangerous guy to like.
if anything, he reasons to himself furiously — if anything, he's protecting you. keeping you on the quadrant, out of harm's way. out of his way.
yeah. he's an idiot. and he's gonna be so surprised when he comes back to the quadrant to refuel and re-supply, only to realize you're still there: harder-eyed, with a pinch of anger at the corner of your mouth and a mutinous tilt to your chin. it reminds him of something, though he isn't sure what, and it makes him uneasy. with gritted teeth and a narrowed glare, he tells himself that if he just leaves you alone long enough, you'll get the message. you'll have kraglin drop you back on terra, or wherever you want to make a better life. so next time, rocket and nebs stay away a little longer.
and then a little longer.
nebula’s pissy about it — not that she even knows you, so why she’s so bent outta shape on your behalf is beyond rocket. and kraglin keeps almost-expressing concern: darting his eyes around the flightdeck while he whispers into the comms that you’re not eating the way you did before, that you’re burying yourself in unnecessary work around the quadrant, that he doesn’t think you’re sleeping.
that you’re usually so nice to him but now you haven’t spoken in three rotations.
and rocket hears all this. and he remembers your sweet smile and the way you’d felt against his fur, and how vulnerable and soft you’d been under his callused-leather palms. he remembers, and with a tight chest, he flatly says,
leave it alone. take ‘em home when they ask.
it takes a few more times of seeing you — of getting annoyed at how sulky you look the first couple visits, and then worried about the slump in your shoulders the next — and finally terrified by the hollow sorrow in your eyes — before he figures it out with a sickening lurch.
you look like a broken bone that never got properly set.
you look like an open wound.
you look like he left you bleeding somewhere, and never bothered to patch you up.
you look like you're dying, piece-by-piece.
and nebula must see it too, because the cyborg seeks him out after Kraglin goes to bed. she's cursing rocket, hissing at him — furious. there seems to be something about you that just elicits other peoples' care, he realizes distantly, as he lets nebula verbally eviscerate him — yet again. he supposes he should be grateful that she doesn't actually just destroy him.
but then, he's always done a fair job of destroying himself.
enough, rocket thinks, once nebs has stalked off to her own bunk in a fury.
enough feeling sorry for his stupid ass.
the plan had been to leave in the morning, but those intentions have dissolved. he seeks you out instead, finding you settled quietly in the oversized gutter of a starboard viewport, staring out at moondust and glittering spirals of distant galaxies.
hey, he says, his voice low and heavy on the grated catwalks. i thought — look. m'sorry. i thought you'd go back home by now.
you slowly turn your head from the stars — to look at him — and his breath catches behind his prosthetic flexi-rib extensions because now he can really see it.
what he did to you when he left you behind.
his lungs go shallow, the air in them thin. your eyes are glittering with unshed tears but you try to narrow them anyway, hands shaking when you clench them into fists against your knees, lips trembling with rage or brokenness. his heart speeds up in his chest, the thudding muscle loud and painful against his sternum.
you were my home, you tell him, and if your voice is a little hoarse, it might just be because you haven’t spoken to anyone — even kraglin — in well over a cycle.
you were the only home i had left, you tell him. and then you were gone too.
the words carve into him, so much more brutal than your voice itself.
normally, he’d lash out. i was out trying to make money — somethin’ we still need, in case you forgot while you were sitting on your pretty ass, he might have snarled. or, i was tryin’ to be a frickin’ guardian, to honor the rest of our crew — or don’t they matter to you anymore? even, what — you jealous of nebula now? don’t you know she lost her frickin’ sister?
but the place inside him that’s normally reserved for defensive anger is only—
empty.
his head swims. his vision blurs. everything that’s left of him just feels so.
fuckin’.
sorry.
tears pinch at the corners of his eyes. his knees wobble, then give. they crash down into the grated catwalks and you startle, jolting upright as his head hangs low.
m’sorry, he mumbles again, and the words splinter, shot through with starlight. i’m — i didn’t mean to leave you alone. i thought — fuck. i’m sorry.
he can’t say exactly what happens next. you’re already on the catwalk beside him: grates biting into your knees, fingers tangled up in his fur, cuddling his face into the soft skin joining your shoulder to your neck. you’re crying too — he swears he can feel each tear dampening the crown of his head — and he grips fistfuls of your shirt in his claws and hangs on as tight as he fuckin’ can.
i’m sorry, he repeats. the words are broken and he knows he’s pulling too hard on your shirt, knows you’ll have abrasions from the seams — but he can’t stop trying to crawl inside your ribcage and curl up with your heart in his arms like something precious. he’s weeping. so are you.
i’m so sorry, baby, he says again. you’re right. it was fucked up for me to leave you.
it won't be fixed in one rotation. he's gonna have to earn your trust back. he's gonna have to show you he deserves it.
but hey. for better or worse, you've got time.
i won’t ever do it again, he tells you. the words scrape against your collarbone, warm and rough. i won't leave you behind again — not like that.
Do you have any advice on making time for writing and avoiding burnout? I'm impressed by the amount of projects you have and how they're consistently high quality.
oh love. sunshine. you tiny fresh vanilla seed (precious & delightful // it is a luxury to interact with you). so first i’m gonna apologize because there’s a 99% chance this is not the advice you’re looking for and SURPRISE i wrote another novel. (so also jot this down… my being prolific is helped by the fact that i literally cannot shut the fuck up to save my life). anyway here are my rules for writing
1. don’t look at the man behind the curtain (in this case that’s me). I had 70% of window and probably 90% of sweatshirt girl drafted before i even started revising && posting individual chapters/ installments. it gives the illusion of me cranking out a new chapter every week but i do NOT do that. i just try to revise once a week. maybe write a half+ chapter of something new. it’s not an illusion i create on purpose. i just know i need TIME to rest my brain before I come back and revise or it’ll start all looking the same to me. so i def frontload my writing before i start posting.
i also do this because i need at least the ghost of an ending to keep writing
i also never originally intended to post window or sweatshirt girl - i was originally just writing for me. so they were mostly done before i even decided to post
i ALSO work at a school and while i do have hours over the summer, i am doing much less (imo) important things when there aren’t students around, sooooo i end up daydreaming and drafting a lot
my writing is also powered by depression (“write the world as i want it to be”) and frankly i don’t recommend that to anyone ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
so if i look like i’m producing a lot it’s just because of the way this year has unfolded, and once we get through the next few chapters of window i’m sure I’ll hit a lull because I’m still struggling to write those chapters (sorry in advance folksss)
2. i swear to god creativity (like everything in nature) happens in cycles. blah blah no flower blooms all year && no tree bears fruit every season. fallowness is IMPORTANT for growing gardens. if you are in a slow space - let yourself be slow. sink into the quiet season. speed&&quantity are SO overrated and if you overcultivate your soil there will be no nutrients left for your crops. let the snows come in && blanket you on occasion. they are their own kind of blank page (i swear to fuck sometimes i sound like some kind of ai generating bad proverbs but you knew what you were getting when you came to my asks i guess! i am unashamed)
tbh i have a modest art side-hustle and am working on painting a project that WILL take YEARS - and this whole summer, i have neglected that project in lieu of being a rocket fangirl because frankly my brain needed a break. guess what? my followers understand and it has not been a problem. because any fellow creative should know that the process takes time and is always in flux
(3) a lot of people will tell you - write a little every day. write even if it’s bad. you can always come back with fresh eyes later. I support these ideas in theory. i keep my writing && my sketchbooks where i can access them almost anytime, and even if it’s only for ten minutes, i do write something most days. but more than this - listen to your body and your brain and your heart. and for fanfiction especially - ONLY write when it’s fun. if you start writing from obligation instead of love, you will burn out faster, create less, and even resent this thing that should be an escape for you. (and your readers will feel it, even if they don’t know why). (also your readers - if they are good people - will understand this && support you) (and if they’re not good people, they don’t deserve your heart like that). if your body says take time off then TAKE TIME OFF. don’t let capitalism brainwash you into believing all your joys must entail consistent labor, that every good thing comes with a side of drudgery, or that you can’t stop something once you start it. they don’t. it doesn’t. you can. let yourself have a scrap of unfettered && unpressured happiness in this place. you deserve it, i fuckin swear that to you on my goddamn life.
(4) maybe im inadvertently repeating myself but please. be kind to yourself. let your community be kind to you too. we are supposed to take care of each other. give yourself grace && know we are on your side
okay wow i’m so sorry. fuck me that’s not what you were asking for but it is the best && most earnest && most true advice i can give you. “carve some time out every day” is nice and aspirational and maybe give it a try, but life is hard and don’t blame yourself if you can’t. let fanfiction be a force for joy in your days/nights, not a chore. nope im just saying the same shit over and over LOOK. i love you. you are good. life is short. have fun. that’s truly all & the most important things I have inside me, and I’m sorry for my limitations. for whatever that is worth
a wlw roommate situation where you guys are just walking around the house in undies or a sports bra, basically half naked. You both are stuck between a weird area of comfort and... secretly being pervs and just ever so slightly looking any chance you get. Shes looking at your genital/pussy imprint when you're bent over and youre taking glimpses at her chest when she flexes.
The line blurs during late nights, when you both are cuddling, bodies pressed up against each other and hands reaching for each other like its something so familiar. She starts to caress your back, hand wandering below the waistband of your undies, onto your plumb butt. With your head rested on her soft, plush bosom, its hard to ignore how hard and erect her nipples are in comparison.
You start to form naughty thots about how it looks underneath her sports bra, how it would feel to kiss her chest. Your arousal gets hard to ignore as you feel her grip strengthen on your ass. She notices. She notices the way your thighs are pressed together and how youre rocking side to side ever so slightly to lull your pulsating clit. The feeling is mutual, but she is not ready to step over the line. so now, youre both sitting in silence, face red hot from the perverted thots you both have about each other, neither of you willing to take the first step.
Shin and Noi (sep.) with an easily angered partner (headcanons)
Requested - Anonymous on Tumblr
Ngl, I wasn't going to write today, because it's fucking boiling out, and I started to feel a bit sick… But I love Shin and Noi, and I have anger issues, so I was very happy to receive this request. I had to sit and ponder, however. Especially on Shin's </3
I'm sorry if Shin's seems longer than Noi's T^T They both have ten each, I promise
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Shin
The first thing he tries is to notice any pattern on how and why you get angry.
Environment: he tries to get you away from it. If he can't, he'll find something that can cool you down.
External pressure: he will literally drag you or whatever you are on away, and have a silent hang out.
Internal pressure: Pretty much the same thing for external pressure, but he tries to tell you that your best doesn't have to be 100%
So on, and so forth. I hope you get what I'm trying to say
He prefers you yell or take it out on him rather than a stranger, someone you or he works with, or either of your friends.
He just doesn’t won't you yelling at Noi, or the suicide mission that would be doing that to En.
If you do start going off on someone that isn't him, he just waits behind for you to finish.
If you're fine and dandy with being touched, he'll rub your back while you rant about your day.
The rubbing will turn into a killer back massage.
(I'm manifesting)
You're mad at someone or just in general, and something another person does is like the last straw - one of two things:
Shin faces you towards him, or he gets in-between you two (which throws you off, and you either stay silent or go off on him). OR, if that person mirrors your attitude, Shin will defend your honor with his last breath (you have to drag him away).
I feel like Shin picks up the tiniest little quirks and habits from people he likes
With you, he doesn't mirror anything you do, but notices a lot of stuff quicker.
If you tend to hit or throw stuff around, he will be your punching bag.
Unless you ask or introduce an alternative because you don't want to hurt him. Even though his pain tolerance is probably way too high to truly even be considered that of a conscious being.
Dude, if you start crying because of how angry you are, Shin is dead…
He's so clueless when it comes to people crying. Thoughts are running 100 mps. He'd sit there panicking, until you're done and you just sit there next to him.
If there is absolutely anything that calms you down (noise (ex: certain band, music genre, white noise), object, smell, etc.) he will try to have it on his person anytime you two are out.
Or just tries to make sure it's easy access for you - on you, near you, in your home.
He really hates the idea of trying to “fix” you.
Yeah, if you're open to it, he'll suggest some alternative stuff to help you process your anger or outbursts. Just “fixing” means you're broken, and you really aren't, so he gets upset when he hears someone say something like that to/about you.
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Noi
She'd piss you off on purpose so she can have someone to play fight with.
Or just general entertainment…
At times, she goes off on someone with you, or just aggressively nods and agrees with whatever you say about anything.
Like, yes, that dog (idk, lmao) did not need to be that loud when you were walking by!
Speaking of dogs, she lowkey acts like one-
“I have no idea what you're saying to me, but I love you and you're talking to me!!”
She also compares you to a dog when you get mad as a joke…
She's trying to cheer you up, guys, please
Noi is almost always cheery or looking on the bright side of things. For bucks sake, she treats her job like a game.
She does take your emotions seriously, and you decided to hitch a ride with her on life, so she's trying to help you the way she just deals with a lot of things.
Y'know what.. She loves being physically affectionate. She would definitely sit behind you and rub your hips or shoulders while you're (standing or sitting) in front of her.
Please, LORD. I need that. I'd fold so hard.
She would definitely tell you “you look hot/cute when you're mad!”
She loves teasing and flirting so much, and again, you're the one that said "yeah, I want that one," so I don't know what to tell you.
Like Shin, she also tries to steer you away from the cause, if she's around, but in a different way.
“Hey, look over there! Isn't that so cool?” Suddenly you are being dragged away to something neither of you actually have that much interest in. But hey! It's quieter, and there's less people! Nothing to throw either (if you do that).
Again like Shin, she'd let you hit and throw stuff at her.
But unlike Shin, she'd praise you while you're doing it. Something like “Wow! You were really strong with that punch there!” - “Your aim really is getting better!”
She loves being your outlet, so anything you want to do, she's up for being the receiver or being absolutely anything you need.
