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#i'm gonna be so pretentious about this for so long
scyllas-revenge · 2 years
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I can watch no longer in silence. I must complain about you by such means as are within my reach. You've ripped out my soul. I am half agony, half hopeless. Tell me not that this is it, that such precious Jane Austen adaptations are gone forever. 
I offer you my screenwriting advice with a heart even more desperate than when you almost broke it with the release of the Persuasion trailer one month ago.
Dare not say that this movie is accurate, that this Anne is a stronger protagonist than her book counterpart. I have loved none but her. Pretentious I may have been, annoying and demanding I have been, but always with the film’s best interests at heart. 
The book alone has brought me to you. For it alone I sat and watched. Have you not realized this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I would not have waited even ten minutes after turning off the TV to write this, could I have mastered my own feelings, as I think you must have guessed mine. 
I can hardly type. I am in every instant recalling something which makes me want to punch a wall. You rewrote Anne as a snarky girlboss, but I can appreciate the nuance of her book counterpart when it would be lost on the Netflix execs. Too horrible, too disgusting adaptation! You do us insult, indeed. You do believe that there is not a single brain cell in your audience. Believe mine to have shriveled up and died while watching this movie, most painfully, in the brain of
-Everyone Watching
I must go, and cleanse my remaining sanity with the 1995 adaptation; but I shall return hither, to laugh at this adaptation with my friends, as soon as I can stomach it. But another sentence of clunky narration, another infuriating wink from this horrible version of Anne to the camera, will be enough to make me cancel my Netflix subscription forever.
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The huge irony in The Little Mermaid (1989) essentially being about a teenage girl who desired to be understood by those around her, so she went to a drastically different society in order to achieve that, and it's one of the most misunderstood movies that Disney has ever released. Disney Princess movies already get a bad rap, but this movie, in particular, gets the worst of it. It's truly amazing.
#disney#the little mermaid#meta#disney meta#txt#the reputation this movie has earned thanks to the pretentious dipshits who tore this movie apart for no good reason led to the stupid#useless changes in the dreadful remake#ariel never left her family or the ocean just for a boy she already longed to be a part of the human world#she had a WHOLE SONG about it well before she even laid eyes on him. jesus christ#eric was the catalyst. he was the final piece that united everything#he was like the bridge in this movie. he is a representation of the beauty (literal and figurative) ariel sees in humanity#but she also views him as someone who can understand her. that was the point of his character and the remake did not understand this#listen i know a lot of you are more into the “spiritual twin” kind of couple and that's fine#but they didn't have to have EVERYTHING in common in order for them to like each other#the point of their relationship is that they were indeed from different worlds (again literal and figurative) but he still seemed so close#to her#that was the purpose of his character. the final push for ariel to say “i'm gonna take the risk and go there”#it was about her wanting to be understood and that is precisely what eric provided#the new version just turned him into the male version of ariel which minimizes the point of his character#that's why their way of showing that he would definitely understand her but considering how ariel viewed the human world#she wouldn't have been as excited then lmao#if anything it'd been more logical for her to take eric away from there lmao#i went off tangent#but yes it wasn't just him tho he became a part of that desire. the piece that was missing. the final push
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sunieepo · 25 days
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tbh i've purposefully avoided posting anything about AI art onto any of my public accounts because i just know my opinions on it wouldn't be popular. and i'm saying this as someone who is really, REALLY passionate about art - creating and critiquing art are literally my lifelong passions. but so much of this AI art debacle has become about people making bizarre declarations about what is or isn't "real art" - defining it using nebulous metrics like "the soul" and such.
the ethical issues with AI art as it currently exists are undeniable, and i wish people would focus on that instead of trying to define what "real art" is. because the thing is, gatekeeping the definition of "real art" has been going on for centuries! there are still people today who think video games aren't real art, even. a few decades ago, there were people who thought movies (cinema, film) couldn't be real art! the definition of art evolves and grows, and i resist and question any effort to suppress that.
some thought exercises for people who think they can define "real art" so simply:
is animal-created art real art? are pufferfish nests real art? are elephant paintings real art? does an animal have to reach a certain threshold of intelligence in order for its creations to be considered art?
is duchamp's fountain real art? for those unaware, this was a mass-manufactured urinal that the artist signed and submitted for an art exhibition as is, with no alterations aside from signing it with a marker.
is digital art real art? remember that digital art comes from machines translating human input into pixels on a screen. is this an acceptable use of machine intervention in art creation because the software performing these actions was not created using machine learning? is it because the human has more perceived control over the output?
is photography real art?
is music real art? is music composed using digital software real art? if a song utilizes a heavy amount of sampling, is it still real art?
many digital artists use software that allows them to create layers with filter options that adjust the colors of the layers beneath them using an algorithm (overlays like multiply, screen, etc). in this case, the colors of their images have been digitally altered by a piece of software in ways that most artists don't fully understand. is the image created as a result of this process still real art? can the artist claim full human ownership of the colors, which were digitally altered using a machine algorithm? would your opinion on this change if the machine algorithms behind overlay layers were created using machine learning?
some digital artists make use of "pen stabilization", a type of software algorithm that manipulates tablet pet inputs into a steadier curve to remove jitter. are lines drawn using heavy amounts of stabilization still the artist's? can the artist claim human ownership of lines drawn using near 100% stabilization?
many digital artists will use stamp brushes to get past having to repeatedly draw a static pattern, such as to fill the leaves in a tree. this is essentially a glorified version of copy and pasting repeatedly, except that a software algorithm introduces semi-random rotations and color jitter to give a more natural appearance. is a tree drawn using this process still real art? does your opinion on this change if the artist created the stamp themself, vs downloading it from another artist? does it change depending on how granular the artist was with making manual adjustments to the stamp outputs?
what proportion of an image is allowed to come from stamps, filters, and software tool usage before it stops being real art? is photobashing real art? what percent of an image has to come from freehand drawing for it be considered real art?
are edits of other people's art real art? does your opinion on this change if the editor had the original artist's consent? what percentage of the pixels has to have been changed by the editor before it is worthy of being considered real art?
one popular usage of "AI art" is to apply an "AI filter" over an existing image, which takes a drawing and then utilizes a machine learning based model to alter the image pixels. is an image created using this process real art?
if a person generates an image using a machine learning model, such as stable diffusion, and then draws over that image, is the resultant drawn-over image real art? what percentage of the pixels has to come from a human hand for it be considered real art? what if it was only 1 or 2 pixels that were manually manipulated? what if the only thing a human adds is an overlay filter?
if a person generates an image using a machine learning model, such as stable diffusion, and has very strong intent and emotion about how they want the resultant image to look, tweaking their prompts and specifically trying many different options before the output is in accordance with their vision, why is this not real art? is it because they did not specifically intend on every single pixel in this image? what percentage of pixels in an image has to have specific human intent for an image to be considered real art?
in 3d animation, physics simulations are used to calculate the positions of moving objects, and then artists manually adjust the outputs in accordance with their desired product. spider-verse, for example, was partially created using a combination of "traditional" software and some in-house created machine learning models. is the animation created using this software real art? does it only become real art once a human has gone in and reviewed it? is an individual frame of animation that hasn't been reviewed by a person and was generated via software and simulations not real art? would your opinion of this change if the machine learning models had not been created in-house? would it change if the training datasets had been acquired unethically?
if a traditional artist closes their eyes and splashes paint at a canvas, is the resultant splash of paint real art? if the artist had no emotion or specific intent when casting the paint across the canvas, is this still real art? are pollock paintings real art?
can a mistake be real art? if an artist tips over a can of paint and creates a beautiful spill, could they present the canvas as is with no further alteration, and that resultant image be considered real art?
can art styles be "stolen"? do artist own their art styles?
do you support copyright law? how much inspiration is allowed to be taken from something before it is considered plagiarism vs derivative, and should derivative works be punished?
what is the precise difference between the way ai art "steals" art styles, vs the way a human being takes inspiration from them? remember that many machine learning models take directions and instructions from humans, and often do not learn in a vacuum devoid of human intervention.
some very popular artists, who i will not name, have been accused of having "soulless" art. these artists "mass-manufacture" their images to look very similar and consistent and have seen a lot of financial success as a result of their repetitive works. is their "soulless" art still real art, even if it was made completely without the use of AI technology?
were you bothered by images generated by dall-e, back before stable diffusion became popular? did you consider images generated by dall-e to be art? did you consider dall-e to be unethical?
what is it about machine learning models that separate any software derived from it from software made without the use of machine learning? why is the usage of an art program that did not come from machine learning seen as ethically superior? what is ethically wrong with machine learning models? is it only if the training dataset was scraped without acquiring explicit consent? is it only if the learning was performed supervised vs unsupervised?
can software itself be art? can you find artistry in the way a program has been written - in the lines of code created by a human? in the intent and emotion of the programmer who crafted a piece of software?
please note i'm not trying to be condescending by asking these, and don't assume you know my answers to these questions, either. these are questions i asked myself when i was chewing through these debates and trying to quantify exactly what i found so objectionable about many of these "what constitutes 'real art'" takes.
reblogs off because i don't want to engage with strangers on this topic. i'm open to debate but only if you're going to be civil about it. please remember that i'm an artist too.
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wyvernest · 6 months
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bright red lust
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pairing: miguel o'hara x f!trophy wife! reader
warnings: smut, car limo sex, misogynistic undertones (reader feels good about being a trophy wife), pda, teasing, dryhumping, unprotected sex, creampie, cowgirl
summary: you attend a gala with miguel and tease him until he finally gets you to himself in his limo
translation: "que rico" = 'how nice'
Any woman’s dream is to be his wife. For his rank, his money, his reputation, his everything. And it feels so good to know that he's so desired.
Because you’re at his side, not them. It’s you whom he spends his money on. It’s you whom he buys all the exquisite dresses and gowns for, all the best things you could ever want or need. It’s you whom he makes love to after a tiring day. Or after you wake up. Or anytime, for that matter.
You’re irreplaceable, but at the same time at his disposal. You don’t see it as a price paid but rather as a bonus. You’ve never been pampered so good before, loved so good, fucked so good.
So that’s why, whenever he has a new gala or special event to attend, you let him pick your dress out of all the various selections you spend so much time on finding. 
“Too long.” he dismisses, vision darting from your mauve-satin covered legs to your face. He’s manspreading on the king size bed of your presidential hotel room, hair dishevelled and half lidded eyes sleepy, relaxed. 
“You’re so picky today. I only got a few more!” You giggle with a faux offended expression. Behind the façade of worry that he won’t be satisfied with any of the looks, you secretly love these little fashion runaway sessions, feeling like his own personal top model, trying out different outfits for him. If you weren’t in a hurry, you wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to sit on his lap and accidentally grind your ass on his crotch when you got up as part of the little show. 
“Mm.” He hums, seemingly unaffected by your playful frustration. He knows you love it when he acts so pretentious and superior, but he loves you, and he loves the enthusiasm with which you show him everything. “Next, bebita. This one’s sombre.”
After a few minutes and struggles, you manage to pull on the pièce de résistance; a bright, blood-red skin tight satin dress. Miguel’s eyes widen at the sight of you, brows raised in silent approval and admiration. The length isn’t a problem this time, your beautiful legs and thighs peeking out with every step through the long slit on the right. The fabric is wrapped so deliciously around your breasts, slightly pushing them up together, plump and tantalising. 
"Maybe this one's a bit too much? I-"
"Do a 360." His eyes lit up, attentive and pleased. You twirl, making sure to slightly stick your ass out, checking yourself out in a full body mirror nearby.
"Me gusta." He gets up from the bed, gripping your waist to place a needy kiss on your cheek, before placing his lips on your own. You take his face in your hands, melting into his embrace. “This is the one.” His deep, low whisper sends shivers up your spine, your brain short circuiting. Who are you to say no to him? To those pretty, dark brown, red-tinted eyes?
"I'm gonna go get ready now. Thank you, papi." You turn around, yelping as he doesn't miss the opportunity to smack your ass as you do, smirking to himself.
When you finally arrive at the gala, you get out of your limo and start flaunting your exquisite dress, proud and flashing. You feel Miguel instantly cling to you, a secure, strong hand on your waist, its touch fervent and possessive. 
He doesn’t fail to notice all the other spiders gawk at you, turning their heads too sharply just to catch a glimpse of his beautiful wife. All the lingering looks, the whispered words of admiration, all for you. The hand on the dip of your waist tenses, both in immeasurable pride and a hint of stinging jealousy. But it felt amazing. 
All the comments, the remarks.
“Can’t believe he pulled such a pretty thing.”
“Imagine coming home at the end of the day to her.”
“Maybe being the leader of Spider-Society has its perks.”
They thought he wouldn’t ever hear them, but his enhanced senses have little to no limits. He feels his pants slightly tighten at the thought that so many other men want you. And yet, it’s his cock that you beg for, late at night. 
And you’re aware of this weakness of his. You know that showing everyone that you’re his gets him hard in no time. And as the brat you are, you can’t help it. Especially not when all eyes are on you two. Not when the paparazzi’s come in.
You run a cursory hand from his chest to his abdomen, arching your back, pretty figure on display for the pictures. Bolder. Your hand finds his cheek, his jaw, your eyes never leaving him. You enjoy feeling like an accessory, something that accentuates him, his masculinity. Something that belongs to him.
No other man has ever made you feel this way.
You gesture to him to lean down, your heels still not enough for you to be able to reach his face without his aid. He does, and you place a tantalising peck on his cheek, light enough so that your bright lipstick doesn’t transfer. 
Feeling him stiffen, unsure of your teasing, you decide to risk it and lean your face down to the crook of his neck. 
Hundreds of photographs flash as you kiss his neck, your soft lips lingering just a second too late, only for a red print to remain plastered on his skin, for everyone to see. 
He turns to you with an expression worth a thousand words. You know that face all too well. 
As soon as you get back in the limo following the after-party, you wave good-bye to all your acquaintances and friends. The driver takes a turn and exits the flash-lit area. 
Turning to look at Miguel, any conversation or small talk on the event you just attended gets smushed into a heated kiss you both longed for, his hands on your hips, pulling you into him on the back seat, your arms thrown over his shoulders.
When he grabs your thigh, you waste no time in lifting your leg over his waist, straddling him without breaking away from the kiss.
His warm hands slide underneath the red satin, grabbing at the globes of your ass greedily. You start grinding on him, your damp panties rubbing onto his erection in his pants.
Your breasts nearly pop out of your dress during the hazy make out session, and he parts from your lips to start kissing down your neck, stealing a glance down at them. Throwing your head back, your body turns into putty in his strong arms. He licks and kisses at the delicate skin of the tops of your tits, slowly and reflexively grinding up into your heat.
You moan his name, your breathing getting heavy.
He knows that having you in risky places only makes you even wetter for him, and he can't get enough.
"Ah! Oh- Miguel!" You whimper as a heavy hand smacks your ass, making you jerk forward into him, your tender body smushed against him so perfectly.
"Here? Are you sur-"
"Here, yes." Hot, shallow breaths fan your neck as he speaks in between kisses and gentle bites. "Can't wait any longer."
Your hands fumble with his belt and he quickly rips your panties at the seam, making a hole over your slit. Panting and rushing, you pull his hard, meaty cock out and align it with your dripping cunt. You feel him slip into you, nice and slow, filling you up with the familiar euphoria you have craved so ardently for the whole night.
He groans as he enters you, wet, warm and tight. Just when you were getting adjusted to his size, the limo goes over a speed bump and his cock thrusts up into you with the turbulence, its bulbous tip kissing your cervix.
You feel him deep in your guts, and as you begin riding him, he starts to buck his hips up into you, making you see stars.
"Que rico", he pants out, whispered, "having a pretty thing like you all over me." He
Keeping the thrusts quick and shallow, so as not to make your shenanigans too obvious, you bounce yourself on his cock; at first for his pleasure alone. Seeing him drowned in ecstasy will eventually being you your own pleasure as well.
All until he brings a hand to your swollen clit, rubbing furiously, throwing you over the edge in mere seconds. You come all over his dick, eyes rolling back, his name falling off you tongue in a strangled moan, sweet music to his ears.
He feels your pussy pulsate oh so deliciously around his cock, and it doesn't take him much longer to also release his load in your velvet walls, painting your insides white, claiming you as his.
As soon as he comes down, catching his breath, he smothers you with another fierce kiss, groaning into your mouth as you stir with his still sensitive cock inside you.
"We should do this again sometime, Mr. O'Hara." You tease, your lips straying away to nibble at his pulse point.
"Oh, we will, bebita."
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divider by @cafekitsune as always
a/n: finally wrote this 7 mesozoic eras after it was requested sorry man
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empyreva · 1 month
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Loser's Spoils
Summary: Luke usually loves treating you like his own little goddess, but after you cost him a game of capture the flag...he wants to change things up.
Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader
Word count: 4.1k
Warnings: Established relationship, Daughter of Aphrodite!Reader (not that important), Mean!Luke Castellan, smut, P in V, PWP, oral sex (m and f), fingering, dom/sub elements, slight dubcon (always check in with your partners!!), kink exploration, slapping, some degradation (and praising)
A/N: Shameless indulgence. I tried to stick to this audio as best as I could but I think that in teen/ya relationships, holding a more serious dom/sub dynamic is a little harder so Luke is super good at making sure you're ok because it's all new to him too...Minors DNI!!
Other campers were quick to dodge out of your and Luke's paths, sensing that he would not hesitate to body-check them if they didn't. A cloud of wrath (with a tinge of humiliation) seemed to engulf your boyfriend--They knew better than to question it at all, scurrying back to do whatever chores and tasks they had been mildly interrupted from before.
Before you knew it, Luke had dragged you into your cabin, looking around for any of your, as he put it, 'overly pretentious' siblings. Aphrodite's cabin was empty, much to his delight, and he dragged you into the bathroom with a loud SLAM of the door. Once inside, he let go of you with a slight push, seeming to not pay you any mind as he fussed about the area.
"Luke, what the fuck?" You hissed, rubbing your now tender arm as Luke propped one of the vanity chairs beneath the door knob to ensure no one would be able to accidentally wander in. It was a good precaution--Three too many of your sisters now can't even look at him without becoming almost visibly upset. "What's your problem today?"
"Don't act like you don't know, baby," Luke turned around with a dark look in his eyes, causing you to gulp back any further questions. "You've hurt my feelings today, y'know? First by not joining my team...and then by winning because you know I couldn't hurt my pretty little girl--acting all brave and jumping in to protect that twerp of an Apollo kid."
"Baby, it's just a game..." You reached up to caress his tense jaw, his facade faltering for a split second as he took in your soft touch, "I mean, they just needed another player--that kid is literally like 11 so-" Luke cut off your sentence by roughly pushing you against the vanity counter behind you--glass bowls and organizers full of various makeup products rattling from the force. His hands planted at either side of you, hips flushed to yours. 
"I. Don't. Care," he growled. A whimper escaped your throat, feeling something hard pressing against you--growing in size with every breath that your boyfriend took. "You were disloyal, you won, you know that drives me crazy."
"'m sorry," you mumbled, trying your best to bat your long lashes at him, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt. This was a common occurrence between the two of you--You 'defeating' the 'best swordsman' just by distracting him enough to let your teammates finish up the game. How could he even raise his sword at a girl like you, batting your lashes and pouting so cutely as a kid scurried off behind you? Even if he seemed mad about losing, losing to you drove him up the wall with desire—I mean, it always ended in Luke making you scream his name until your throat went hoarse, anyway. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"Yeah, you will," there was a glint of something sinister in Luke's eyes that unnerved you. It was like you were a piece of meat dangling before a starved wolf, just waiting to be devoured. "I'm not gonna let you off easy this time, baby. No, no...You need to be taught a proper lesson." He glared down at you, but his hand grasped yours gently, thumbing circles against your knuckles. "Ok? Now on your knees."
Obediently, you lowered yourself to the ground, hands in your lap as Luke discarded his belt and cargos quickly. His cock was already dripping with pearls of precum--and you couldn't help yourself as you eagerly took him in your mouth. Your head bobbed unhurriedly as you savored every inch of his hard cock, taking pleasure in the way his hips thrust forward instinctively. He liked it when you took your time, swallowing him whole and gagging. You moaned deeply, feeling his hand brush lightly against the nape of your neck, urging you to slow down.
"Shhh... Look at me," he commanded sternly. His voice was low and gravelly, making your insides quiver. You hesitated briefly before meeting his gaze fully, watching intently as he gazed intently into your soul. There was a fierceness in his expression that sent chills down your spine, and you knew that he meant business. His fingers traced your hollow cheeks, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears, drinking in this image of you. "You look so cute, so adorable."
That comment flustered you more than the fact his dick was nearly halfway down your throat--and you immediately pulled back, words forming in your throat as the head of his cock brushed against your tongue. A fistful of your hair wrapped around Luke's hand, and he pushed your head until your nose was tickled by the curls of black hair at the base of his dick. "Shut the fuck up and look at me. Let me see my pretty girl."
Nearly, crossed-eyed, you stared up at Luke in a daze, nostrils flaring as you held back your urge to gag around him. He looked so handsome...a certain tortured look marred across his face as he contemplated whether he should cum down your throat while you clawed at his legs or if he should fuck you silly. Tough choice.
"I want to play with you," he finally decided aloud, releasing you from his cock, letting you gasp for air. It didn't last long, though, because Luke was quick to roughly pull you back onto your feet, a strong hand gripping your jaw. You gulped and heaved, daring not to move as Luke pressed up against you, eyes inspecting your flushed and sloppy face. It was just so kissable, his poor little baby. 
His tongue slipped into your mouth before you knew it, and your hands reached up to grab at his curls--pulling him deeper. A collection of quiet moans filled the bathroom, bouncing off the marble floors and pristine white walls. After a few minutes, Luke pulled away cheeks red and burning, staring down at you.
"Take your pants off, just the pants," he commanded, giving you just enough room to fumble with the button of your bottoms. After nervously missing the hole a few times, you were able to slide them off, kicking them to the side. You resisted the urge to rub your thighs together, instead choosing to look haphazardly at the floor. "Good girl, now look at me." 
You faltered, maybe from shyness or maybe from a sudden spark of rebellion, but your gaze remained pointed down at the space between you. Luke was stunned for a moment, tilting his head to the side before letting out a sarcastic chuckle.
"Look. At. Me."
Slap
Your gaze shot up, eyes wide as you began to register the sting radiating in your cheek before it dissipated. His slap wasn't too hard, more of a forceful pat. Eyes locking with yours, Luke seemed to be gauging your reaction, waiting for you to say the words that would have him begging for your forgiveness in a matter of seconds. They never came. 
Slap
"I said look at me when I'm speaking to you." 
Slap
Fuck okay, that one hurt a lot more. You let out a pained yelp, lip quivering as you tried to keep yourself steady. 
Slap
Luke shushed you when you tried to cry out, frowning when you flinched away from his hand--now he was just trying to caress your cheek. A small wave of regret washed over him, and a tightness in his chest pulled tighter. "Come here, it's ok," he beckoned, drawing you into a hug. You buried your face in his chest, biting back whimpers as he reassured you that you were a good girl and you were so brave and so strong for him. 
"Are you ok, baby?" He whispered into your hair, wanting to know before continuing. Nodding slowly, you pulled back to look at him with misty but loving eyes, a small smile stretching across your lips.
"I trust you, you know that." Luke was a man of many curiosities, so you were somewhat acclimated to his sudden changes in wants and needs during sex--even if albeit a bit shocking at first. But deep down, you knew that he would rather stab himself with backbiter a million times rather than force you into anything.
"Love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The two of you stayed quiet for a second, Luke touching you wherever he so pleased as you fell compliant under his touch. His fingers found yours, bringing one hand up to daintily kiss the back of it--a mischievous grin appearing as you met his gaze. In a split second, his hand was in your hair, tugging your head back sharply, earning a hiss in response.
"Shhh...it's ok, it's ok, baby," Luke's lips trailed down your cheek, ghosting over your neck before planting a few rougher kisses. You whimper, feeling his teeth sink into the tense skin, surely leaving a mark as he suckled and nipped. "Shh, we don't want people to hear us. Don't we?" Luke taunted you with his own deep moan, now moving onto his third mark--pulling away to look at you when he was sure your neck was going to be a nasty shade of 'Luke Purple' tomorrow morning.
"Spread your legs," he murmured, watching intently as you complied--shifting your ass and hips so that your soaking wet panties were on full display. You bit your lip shyly as Luke inhaled sharply, studying the way your squished-up belly rose and fell, the way you seemed to tremble just a little more when he took a step closer. "Good girl--You look so cute." 
He grabbed your throat, forcing you to look up at him, shushing you softly, "I know, I know, It's ok, I know, shh--" A smirk danced across his face before he leaned in, kissing you deeply, fingers feeling how wet you really were. "You're so fucking wet, aren't you embarrassed, slut?" In a quick movement, his open palm collided with your clothed pussy--sending shockwaves through your body. "Shhh...Put your hand over your mouth. Be quiet, be quiet for me." 
You shakily raised your hand to your mouth, chewing on the flesh of your middle as another slap morphed into a gentle stroke. "Are you gonna be quiet for me? Tell me. Tell me." 
"Y-Yes, Luke," you mumbled from behind your hand. His nostrils flared as his name bounced off your tongue, such a sweet sound. "I'll be quiet for you." 
"Good girl--now shut the fuck up." Luke continued to shush you as he pulled the thin cloth of your panties to the side, thumbing over your clit and dipping between your slickening folds. "Sit up there, back against the wall. Now. Good Girl. Shhh--Spread your legs for me, good girl. Just a little more, good job." 
Your sizzling hot skin left behind foggy marks on the mirror behind you as you leaned back--the coolness of the glass doing little to ease the fire inside of you. A slick layer of sweat spread across your body, pooling at the small of your back. Luke continued his teasing touches, evading your pussy and instead stroking the tender flesh beside it until you squirmed. You were breathing too loudly.
"Do you want me to touch you, baby? Then be fucking quiet, ok?" The fake sweetness left an uncomfortable pit in your stomach--but it was quickly forgotten as Luke's deft fingers circled your clit, moving in all the right ways. He knew your body too well, like the back of his hand. "This is all mine. My girl, so cute," he purred, pushing up your shirt and bra in one motion, mouthing at one of your tits as he shifted his forearm. Fingers abandoning your clit, two of them slipped between your folds--teasing and brushing over your hole before abruptly plunging inside with a curl.
"You like this, yeah? Shhh--" The pace was inhuman, the sound of your wet pussy squelching around his fingers growing louder. "You look so pretty." 
You threw your head back, trying to swallow back your whimpers and moans, hips rolling into Luke's touch. Gods, you didn't even realize how much stamina he had with how he plunged his fingers inside of you without even a slight change in pace. "Shut the fuck up, let me take care of you, it's ok, I promise. I promise baby," his cooing was mocking, each word dripping with a promise of something even more sinister than the tortured ministrations at hand. "I'm gonna fuck you so fucking hard. Aww, I can see it in your eyes, you want it so badly, yeah?" 
"Please," you couldn't stop the words from coming out of you, and Luke was quick to silence you. At this angle, you could see his biceps flexing, the way his shoulders tensed and released--it was like a daydream. His free fist wrapped around your neck, causing you to choke on air as you struggled to swallow and gasp. 
"Shh, try to be quiet, shh. Gods you're so fucking wet, you look so pretty." Somehow, he managed to up the speed even more--your toes curling and legs clamping down on his forearm as it flexed and strained to keep pleasuring you. "Do you want me to fuck you? Do you? Say it, say it." 
"Y-yes, yesyesyesyes," you cried out, only for Luke to squeeze your neck even tighter. "So close, please--" He shushed you, lips smashing against yours until your teeth clanked together in the frenzy. Tears welled and spilled your eyes from the mounting pressure in your belly, so close but so fucking far--He knew just how to play you. A flicker of concern came and went from Luke's eyes, and he pressed his body closer to yours, the fabric of his old camp shirt tickling your skin.
"Shh, I know, you're freaking out, I know," Luke pressed his lips to your tear-stained cheek, "Calm down, I know, I know. I'm just fingering you, it's ok." You could hear the faintest 'Don't cry' come out with his next breath, but you honestly couldn't be certain. His hand moved up and gripped your jaw tightly, squeezing it until you couldn't help but protest the pain--prompting him to silence you with his mouth. Tongues battling, his fingers slowed their dangerous pace, coming to a gentle stroke against your fluttering walls. A bridge of saliva kept the two of you connected, pulling tight like a tension wire before snapping as Luke took a step back to admire his work. "You're so pretty--Y'want me to pet your pretty clit, yeah?"
You nodded eagerly, trying to form the right words to scream 'Yes please!' but Luke cut you off with a harsh shush as his thumb came in contact with your puffy clit. It felt like a spell was cast over you, the way you couldn't peel your eyes off of Luke's face--his eyebrows furrowed as he worked you closer and closer to your much-needed release. Your gaze was obvious, and Luke gave you a wicked grin, quickening the pace of his deft fingers until you had to choke back your whines with a bite to your knuckle.
"This is my pussy and anyone else who tries to fuck it will never be as good as me. No one will ever measure up to me, understand me?" Luke growled, curling his fingers just right so they brushed and stroked against that special spot deep within you. You couldn't help your reaction, hips bucking and chasing your orgasm that Luke just kept skirting you away from. 
"Fuck, ff-fuck, Luke-"
"Shhh, calm down. I know, baby, I'm the only one who can fuck you like this, I know. Say it,” he taunted, a Cheshire grin beaming up at your half-lidded eyes. A dumb nod came naturally, but he tutted and pursed his lips in a sense of disappointment. “I said 'Say it'." 
"Y-You're nghhh the o-only w'can fuck m'this way," you whimpered, weepy doe eyes looking up at him for approval. It was wholly pathetic; the tears trailing down your cheeks, the way you could barely even breathe, the way you just had so much love and adoration for the boy in front of you—denying you your release and ruining you. "Please Luke, please fuck me."
"Gods, you're such a good girl, d'y'know that?" Luke groaned, slipping his fingers out of you much to your dismay. He shushed your whiney protests, dry fingers wrapping around your throat, his thumb threatening to press down on your windpipe. “Love how you beg for me.” He was so much stronger than you, so much bigger, so fucking powerful. Two slick-covered fingers made their way up to your mouth, and you eagerly accepted them with a low moan. "That's so good, baby. Keep sucking yourself off my fingers like a little slut, yeah?"
Your pink, wet tongue licked at his two digits like one would a popsicle on a hot summer day. Drool mixed with your juices on his fingers as you gagged around them, low moans threatening to spill over. It was sloppy, your soft moans vibrating his fingers as you made eye contact with your boyfriend, needing his approval. He smiled, releasing your throat so he could knead into the flesh of your thigh, his touch hot and needy. Distracted with the show you were giving Luke, it was too late before you realized just how close his cock was to your pussy—
"Ahh—W-wait, Luke," you cried out as he slammed into you, his dick sliding down to the hilt without warning. Your pussy clenched and spasmed as you tried to adjust to the size of him, hips squirming. He didn't even stop for a second, picking up a fast and dizzying pace, fingers still hooked in your mouth. Gods, he was drilling into you so hard and it just felt so good--
"Shut the fuck up, shut up, I don't care," Luke growled, his voice heavy with need. Despite his cruel words, there was an underlying tenderness in his touch, and you could feel the intensity of him growing more fervent and unhinged with each passing second. His moans filled the room, sounds that you were only ever allowed to hear. Squelches and slaps and the sickest, wettest, most depraved noises intoxicated you--And every time he hit a particularly sensitive spot within you, you couldn't help but let out a choked cry, struggling to remain silent.
"Shut your pretty fucking mouth and be fucking quiet," he demanded, his tone laced with desperation. You gave him a weak nod, but his attention was already drawn away as he changed his angle to have a little more leverage. Moans and whines dripped from Luke's tongue like honey, oozing through the room and straight down to your clenching core. His hips swung and snapped against yours, a steady and rough pace keeping you on the tip of your toes. "I'm trying to be quiet but your pussy just feels so goddamn good,” well that was just a flat-out lie at the sheer volume that he even said it. “Does my cock make you forget all your manners?" You nodded without even thinking, lips parted as you tried to catch your breath. 
"Fuck yeah," he muttered roughly, his breath hot against your cheek. You swore you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. "You want me to go faster?" he huffed, his breathing ragged. "Fuck you harder?" His voice was cracking and straining, his teeth clenching as he tried to hold back his whines and whimpers. 
Without waiting for a response, he increased his pace, grinding against you with a fierce intensity. His hands dug tightly into your hips as he pulled you closer to him, moving your body for you like all you were was some fucktoy for him to use and abuse. Choking softly on his own breaths, he fucked you harder and deeper, his rhythm becoming increasingly frantic—face buried in the crook of your neck. You couldn't help but wrap an arm around him, the other keeping you stable on the counter as he rutted and bucked into you, pulling him close to you. "Luke," you breathed out, "calm, baby."
"No no no, it’s ok, shh," his voice was trembling, fighting back a moan at just hearing you say his name so sweetly. It seemed like it was more of a reminder for him less than you, to try and keep his composure for just a few minutes more. He never wanted this to end. You guided his face to look up at you, his eyes lost behind his sweaty black curls, but his lips didn't fail to connect with yours. Nipping at his bottom lip, you moaned into him--a gesture he reciprocated eagerly. He couldn't even pull away, letting out a muffled, "'m so fuckin' close, baby. Wan' you t'cum on me--fuck, cum on my cock, baby."
“Mmmm so close,” you moaned in agreement, rolling your hips to meet his. “Please touch me, Luke.” You didn’t have to ask twice, his fingers shooting down to the junction where the two of you were connected. A rough pad dragged across your clit—rubbing almost as frantically as his hips slammed into you, your head dropping back in pure ecstasy. You were so fucking close, so close, just a little more…
He didn't scold you for how loud you were getting, he didn't even falter when your thighs began to shake and your nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders until the skin broke. And he didn't stop—fucking you right through your orgasm, feeling your walls spasming around his cock, how your legs drew him in closer. Stuttered words of encouragement flooded from his mouth, but most were swallowed up and lost amongst his needy moans and grunts. His pace became erratic, shoving you back hard as one hand braced the wall and the other clawed into your hip. You yelped and shuddered, all of the stimulation crashing down on you at that moment as your pussy twitched, weeping for Luke. 
“Hah-ah, fffuucckk,” Luke whimpered into your ear, hips stuttering for half a second. "'m g'na mmmm...ahh--" He dropped his facade entirely, no longer trying to hide how his voice went 3 octaves whenever he came, eyebrows pinched together to stop himself from just melting away into the floor. The heat of him coated your walls, struggling to fit inside of you with him still taking up most of the tight space. His lips trembled as he tried his best to regain some composure, rutting his hips into you deeply once more--just to feel all of you. You whined in return, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he continued to pump into you slowly.
“Look so fucking pretty right now,” he whispered, slowing his hips to a halt after a long, torturous minute. His lips found yours, muffling your groan as he pulled out of you—the sudden emptiness was always a disappointment. You would keep him inside you all the time if it was up to you. To make matters worse, he freed himself of your iron grip, pulling away from your lips with a heavy panting shaking his chest.
It was like seeing a goddess' true form for the first time--the way your soft tummy rose and fell with each of your breaths, your lips parted and covered in drool and saliva, knees bent, toes curled as you posed there; your abused, cum-filled pretty little pussy spread open like the forbidden fruit that Tantalus could only dream of tasting. You looked like a fucking masterpiece. 
Silent, Luke sank to his knees, lost in the sight of you for only a second before hooking his arms around your thighs--dragging your ass to the end of the vanity. His flat tongue ran from bottom to top, collecting your mixed releases with a certain gentleness. You whimpered as his tongue pressed and swirled around your clit, the sensations of your last orgasm still not fully settled yet. "You are such a good girl," Luke murmured between licks. "You are so pretty, you look so fucking cute, you're adorable." 
His dark eyes looked up to meet yours, locking in as he suckled and lapped at your core. With hesitation, you reached out a hand gingerly, finding a tuft of curls to reside in--earning a purr of approval from your boyfriend. 
"I'm so proud of you," he whispered, suddenly pulling his mouth off of you so he could press a gentle kiss to the junction of your thigh and pelvis. His eyes glanced up to peer at you--seeing your gentle smile made his heart flutter and grow three sizes. A soft trail of kisses made its way to your knee, his arms still supporting you, his nose nuzzling against the soft and damp skin. "You did so good today, I'm so fucking proud of you, baby."
"I know, Luke, I know. I'm proud of you too."
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hoshigray · 11 months
Text
Just thinking about hate sex with Toji and how fucking exhilarating yet unforgiving it would be to experience such a thing with that man.
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A/n: (Reuploaded bc I forgot smthn my bad) A little something for y'all so I can whip up something in my drafts to celebrate 50+ followers and getting 1k notes on my daddy toji drabble!! Tysm again for the love!!! :')))
Cw: mean dom! Toji x fem! reader - spanking (1x) - doggy style then switch to missionary position - degradation (Toji calls you a "lil' girl," "bitch," and "ho") - pet names (dollface, baby, baby cakes, sweetheart) - Toji biting your shoulder - slight bondage; the reader has their hands tied behind them - the reader feels humiliated while Toji is his cocky egotistic self - mention of blood.
Wc: 575
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Toji's so ruthless with you. Your face's kissing the cold floor, hands tied behind your arched back for Toji to do whatever he wants with your ass on full display.
The pace of his hips is so absurdly harsh your legs feel as if they're about to give way, and you can do nothing but receive his irrational treatment. You can feel his dick use your swollen cunt like a toy, his girth stretching your poor southern lips, and it hurts along with the merciless rhythm.
You try not to cry as tears prickle under your eyelids. The fucker of a man already has you in a humiliating position, and his hands leave crescent markings from his fingers on the side of your hips. Seeing your face in tears is the last thing he needs to see.
Toji bends down to your ear, his body weight pressing down on yours, and it has to take you biting your lip hard to suppress a moan from your lips. The taste of blood sits on your taste buds.
"What's wrong, dollface?" The husky voice almost makes you squeeze hard on his cock. God, you hate this man so fucking much. "You were talkin' some high and mighty shit not too long ago, where'd that pretentious bitch go? Wanna — hnngh! Shit, shit… Wanna hear that sweet voice again."
You peer at him through your shoulder. The aggrieved glare isn't taken seriously by the older man. "Hmph, pretentious? Quite a big word, didn't think a brute like you knew i- Iiiyaaaaah!!!"
A hard smack to your ass has you gasping for air, followed by your pussy gripping his manhood, and Toji has to use your shoulders as leverage to not cum in haste. You feel as if you can't breathe with all this pressure and weight on top of you. A tear finally comes down from your face and smears onto the ground.
"I'm not playin' games with you, ho." Toji gnashes his teeth and draws downward to bite your shoulder blade, earning an ear-piercing shriek from you. That outta teach ya a lesson. "Got anythin' else smart to say, lil' girl?"
You can't fight the tears at this point, letting them slide down your pretty face. The pathetic and humiliating atmosphere clouds your senses so much so that crying is the only thing left to do.
"Hic…N-No…" Your sobs come out naturally, and you do what you can to hide your face from Toji.
That didn't seem to be in your favor because he heard the weep, bringing himself up to switch your position. Your front is now facing him as he can see the tear-stricken face, and the glare you give him is through squinted eyes filled with anger and misery, proof that your dignity is broken.
Toji whistles and smirks. "Heh, if you could see the look on your face, baby. I'd love to have a picture of it in my wallet."
"F…Fuck you." Your spat with words that still possess venom, even if you're physically restrained.
"News flash, baby cakes:" An unforeseen thrust has you yelp aloud, so harsh and savage that your back arches towards Toji. He sneers. "Already am."
His pace returns at its relentless tempo, his dick bullying your insides, and you moan in helpless whimpers. Toji leans down to grab your face before he kisses you to shut your cries. "And I'm gonna enjoy every moment of it, sweetheart."
⋆⁺。˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚。⁺⋆
Again, tysm for the support!! It really fills my heart when y'all like my stuff, and I hope to continue writing things I like~~
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miraclewoozi · 8 months
Text
VERSACE ON THE FLOOR. -l.jh
ooh, i love that dress but you won’t need it anymore –
Or, the time you and your homebody boyfriend* decide to just… not go to your dinner plans.
pairing; lee jihoon x fem reader. content; fluff, suggestive (MINORS DNI). established relationship. warnings; relatively warning free (y'all i didn't even swear???) but just in case -- a couple of dorky jokes, reader wears a dress, makeup and heels, making out, undressing. let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c; 2.4k (apparently i am in my shorter fic era? party.) note; if there's one thing i'm gonna do, no matter what day of the week it is, it's be disgustingly delusional about jihoon. get ur dentists on speedial, it's a tooth rotter (/j). note 2.0; i've had this one in the drafts for so long i had forgotten all about it! but then VOTF came on shuffle a few days ago (and i started thinking about light a flame woozi at the same time, which nearly fucking killed me), so. here we are. enjoy.<3
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You don’t go out for dates very often. Not anymore, at least.
When you and Jihoon first got together, he took you out all the time. For dinners, to cocktail bars, to the movies, for walks down the beach, picnics by the river. It didn’t matter where you went as long as it put a smile on your face — all he ever wanted to do was make you feel special. No expense has ever been too great for his favourite girl, after all; he’s always loved to spoil you.
Now several years into your relationship, you’re a real pair of homebodies. Sure, he could take you out for a four course dinner at an expensive restaurant in the middle of the city, or reserve a table at a pretentious cocktail bar that plays slightly too loud music that’s always just to the left of either of your tastes. Then again… He could cook a nice meal for you to have at the apartment you share, where you can make your way through a bottle of bubbles without one of you needing to stay sober to drive home or else risk your lives in a sketchy cab. 
It’s something you’ve talked about several times, and on every occasion, it’s quite apparent that you’re both very happy with the way things are. If anything, it makes it all the more special when he tells you he needs you to keep your weekend free because he’s making plans, and he wants to whisk you away.
Like now, for instance. The hotel suite he’s booked is gorgeous and you’re perched on the edge of the plush bedding, bent over double so that you can properly fasten your shoes while he finishes getting ready in the bathroom. Now and again, you hear a grumble or a click of his tongue float through the ajar door; every time, you feel a smile play at your lips as you shake your head. He never changes. (You’re so glad.)
“Jihoon,” you call to him softly. You can practically see how he’ll be standing – facing the mirror, on his tiptoes to lean over the bathroom counter and get as close to his own reflection as he possibly can. Pouting as his fingers drag through his hair to try and fix the strands in place just a tiny bit better. “Don’t you dare come out here looking like Sonic the Hedgehog. You know the more you play with it, the more annoyed you’re going to get.”
A few seconds later, he emerges, an eyebrow raised in challenge, an amused grin tugging his lips out of their habitual frown. 
(And lo and behold — his hair looks absolutely fine.)
But the second he sees you, whatever witty comeback he was obviously very proud of dies on his lips, and you straighten up with only one of your shoes secured to your foot, the other just slipped on over your toes.
“Wow,” he says, in that soft, deep, quiet way that he does when you’ve really taken his breath away. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows; you see his brow crinkle and his eyes widen, as if he’s trying to see as much of you as he possibly can. “Is that…?”
“Yeah,” you nod proudly, sitting back and smoothing your hands over the dress you’re wearing. “From our first anniversary.”
As his eyes move over you, taking in everything from the way the straps sit on your shoulders to the way the hem lays across your thigh, your own eyes move over him. The top three buttons of his shirt are still unfastened and his tie hangs either side, tucked beneath his collar but not knotted yet. His slacks have been cleanly pressed, a neat, crisp seam running down the front of both legs. Shoes shined to perfection. Expensive watch strapped around his wrist. 
He might just be the most handsome man in the entire world.
“I remember you saying you really liked it, so… I dug it out, special.” 
“You look incredible,” he says. It’s so gentle, so sincere, that you think your heart is about to burst clean out of your chest. Warmth trickles the length of your spine, and it isn’t exactly helped when you realise – only now as he starts to cross the room to get closer to you – that he hadn’t moved an inch since he surfaced from the bathroom almost a full ninety seconds ago.
He shrinks down so he’s rested on both of his knees in front of you, skilful hands moving to help with the shoe you hadn’t managed to lace up yet. every time his fingertips so much as brush against your skin, the electricity in his gentle touches shoots all the way from the point of contact up to your brain and leaves it fogged, impossible to make any sense through the thick clouds of intimacy and adoration. More-so as he smoothly lifts your leg a little and presses his lips once to the inside of your ankle, even foggier still as he trails kisses up the length of your calf towards your knee. 
“Jihoon,” you laugh breathlessly, laying a hand on his shoulder as you feel his tongue press lightly against your skin. He finally sits back on his heels, running his fingers up and down the backs of your legs; he’s successfully managed to hike your dress up a few inches now, too, and he keeps flitting his gaze between your face and your thighs. “We can’t – we’ll be late.”
“We have ages,” he frowns, shuffling closer and trying to bump your knees apart, but you keep your muscles engaged and he doesn’t pull at them that hard, so they don’t budge.
“We have to get there, too,” you remind him. He throws his head back and sighs dramatically. The neckline of his dress shirt seems to open a little more when he looks back at you, drawing your attention down the length of his neck to his bulging chest, and the muscular forearms that he crosses in front of it.
“And this is why we don’t go out.”
“What, because you’re horny all the damn time?” You tease. 
He gently swats at the top of your thigh before soothing it with another small kiss. 
“Because when you look this good, how am I supposed to want to go and eat a steak instead?” 
He grins up at you from the floor, quite clearly delighted with himself for his little gag. You, however, flop back onto the mattress and cover your face with your hands.
“That was so bad,” you chuckle. You’ve been trying for years to not melt to his very specific sense of humour, but it’s all been completely futile. Your reluctant laughs turn to sweet, breathy giggles by the time he lays both his arms across your legs and rests his chin on top of them. You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him; he’s staring up at your face like he thinks he’ll never see anything as beautiful as you for the rest of his life. 
“Maybe… We don’t have to go out for dinner,” he suggests. “Maybe we can stay in tonight, too.”
“Horndog.” You tsk. But you’re not disappointed at the idea of staying in, either, regardless of whether your teasing implies otherwise. “I knew you’d say that.”
“No — really,” he swallows. You aren’t sure if you can feel his heart beating a little faster where his chest is pressed completely against your shins, or if you’re just imagining it. But the tips of his ears are going pink too, so you think it’s safe to trust your intuition on this one. “I mean-… we don’t have to go. I could-…”
He bites the inside of his cheek before he looks down, pressing his forehead against his arms and hiding his face completely.
“I could do it here.”
He says these words quietly. Mumbles them, really. You aren’t sure if you were meant to hear, or if he was just talking to himself. But either way, it has to be worth a shot to find out.
“What do you mean, Ji?”
One, two, three seconds pass. And… Nothing. 
“Hey.”
You bounce your thighs a little so he’s forced to look up at you, and you can see something swimming in his eyes. Something brewing. He sits back from you and pushes a hand through his hair; a few strands lose their stick to the rest of the main body and tumble down over his forehead. Exactly in the way he was trying to prevent. 
“I could just do it here.”
He says this louder. Clearer. With much more finality. You sit up properly, then, both your hands clasped together in your lap. 
“Do what here, baby?”
His eyes find yours and you sit there for a few moments, unwrapping each other's minds with nothing more than a look and a matching pair of gentle — but slightly concerned — smiles. 
He moves one hand down and slips it into the back left pocket of his slacks. You think you can feel the world around you start to slow. 
When he shifts a leg from beneath him so he’s on one knee before you and presents you with a glittering diamond ring, it stops altogether. 
“Jihoon,” you breathe. 
He glances between the ring and you, biting his bottom lip before he speaks. 
“I had it-… I had everything planned.” He laughs, looking away from your face as even more rising heat becomes evident on his own. “Down to the second, even. But just like you always do — just like the first time I saw you, and just like every time since… You threw me a curve ball and… Somehow, you’ve changed everything. But you made it so much better. 
“I think I was supposed to find you, y/n,” Jihoon says. “I don't know what’s up there, what’s in charge of when we meet the people we meet and why we fall in love with the people we fall in love with. but I know that they were really looking out for me the day you came into my life.” 
You can feel your eyes starting to sting at the corners and you will the tears away, desperate not to smudge the makeup you spent so long trying to perfect. You know he’d love you either way — mascara tear tracks and splotchy concealer and all — but… 
“I am so in love with you that sometimes, it really hurts. It hurts because I know that no one’s ever going to come close — about anyone in the world — to feeling the way I feel about you. I feel bad for everyone, a bit. Because you’re not-… you're not with them. You’re with me. But I wouldn’t want any of them to be with you, because-... and… and if you’ll have me, I want you to be with me forever.”
You don't know when you started slowly nodding along to his little monologue, but you definitely are. You’re not sure when you started holding your breath either, but that’s two for two. He looks up at you, expectantly, fluttering his eyelashes and stuttering out a long, deep breath. 
“Y/n, will you marry me?”
Some decisions, you’ve always thought, are made for you at a cosmic level. Your favourite colours. Your favourite foods. Hot and cold weather people. Loving or hating marmite. A predisposition to enjoying scary movies or being the kind of person who hides behind a pillow. 
This is another one of those. You don’t have to think twice about it — you just know. You know because a great unstoppable force managed to squeeze you together at the perfect moment in time; the ever-expanding universe around you has kept you and Jihoon side by side through everything it could possibly throw at you. 
“Yes.”
Of course you want to spend your forever with him. 
The word leaves your mouth in a whisper and everything flies back into motion. The first black droplet rolls down your cheek. His usually so steady hands fumble with yours to slide the ring over your finger. A perfect fit. You’re hurtling through space and time as he gets up off his knees and cups your cheeks, gently pulling you upright and crashing his lips against yours. You stumble into him slightly in your heels; his kiss is more a chaotic clatter of teeth and giddy laughter than perhaps the intense, romantic gesture he was aiming for, but it’s completely, utterly, unequivocally perfect.
Jihoon’s fancy dress shirt creases under your fingers as you ball it into your fists where the top buttons are spread open, pulling him as close as you can, laughter dying down as he loses himself in you and as you lose yourself in him, right back. He swallows all of your gasps and sighs, hands sliding down from your face to the sides of your neck, until he’s resting a palm on each of your shoulders. A single finger slips beneath one of the straps and he pulls it out of the way, down onto your arm, withdrawing from your mouth so that he can press a series of kisses down your cheek and to your jaw instead.
“Ji,” you murmur, tipping your head back and fumbling at the buttons running the length of his torso, trying and failing to get them open. He chuckles, his other hand coming to rest over yours to stop you. You lace your fingers together, feeling him squeeze. Your heart pounds.
“Let's take our time,” he whispers to you, thumb grazing over your collarbone. “Okay?”
All you can do is nod as he kisses lower, and lower, pressing his lips everywhere he can while he’s still standing. Your neck and shoulders feel ablaze, tickling with the heat of the burning stars his mouth paints across your skin. 
“Need-... Ji, you need to-... call… call the restaurant,” you stutter. “Gotta…. we need to cancel…”
The fleeting sting of his teeth against your throat interrupts you and you’re only aware of him reaching behind you to tug the zipper of your dress down when the material falls completely slack..
“In a minute,” he says, helping you walk backwards until your calves collide with the bed behind you once again. He eases you to lie down on the comforter and crawls on top of you, caging you in with both arms, taking hold of your left hand again.
He looks down at the ring on your finger, his entire face breaking into the most brilliant of smiles. Every inch, from the creases at the corners of his eyes to the paling stretch of his beautiful lips. 
“My future wife needs taking care of, first.”
– no you won’t need it no more, let’s just kiss ‘til we’re naked, baby.
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hehe thank u sm for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this bc it was a bit special 2 me. likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all, as always, greatly appreciated.<3
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irisintheafterglow · 6 months
Note
*runs out of my cave* I can not be silenced any longer. So like... best friend biker satoru... the campus heart throb.. wearing jeans, a white T and a black leather jacket, picking you up from class and he's right there leaning on his bike or doing the thing where they sleep/lie down on top of the bike with his legs crossed at the ankles while he waits for you and he hands you a spare helmet, takes you out on an impromptu date cause you've been studying too much (according to him) and after that he takes you back home, parks his bike for a bit and walks you to your door and before you go in he cups your face and he- oh my time's up *gets dragged back into the cave* //this brainworm has been in my head for FAR too long feel free to do what you want with it babes 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️
james dean, daydream look in your eye
wc: 1.5k
cw/tags: best friends to lovers, swearing, mutual pining but reader is in denial, so fluffy you can sleep on it like a pillow
note: *drags you back out from the cave* LET THEM COOK and GUESS WHAT i'm bringing back law student!gojo. hope you enjoy!!
likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated :))
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“Now, what the hell is Greased Lightnin’ doing outside my building?”
“I was going for Rebel Without a Cause, but I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he replies without missing a beat. You roll your eyes and his grin only gets wider as he hands you the spare helmet from the storage box. “What, not digging the look?”
“You look like you’re gonna cut someone with a switchblade. Also, workshop that last line; it’s a little too pretentious.” His jaw hangs open in exaggerated shock at your blunt criticism of his pickup lines. You’re a little shrewder than usual after a group-turned-solo assignment irritated you beyond belief, and it was easier to mess with Satoru than to acknowledge how good he looked in his stupid leather jacket. The leather jacket, you noted, that he bought while thrifting with you last week and the same jacket he’d turned his nose up to thinking it was “not his style.” Though Suguru was practically tackling Satoru to get his hands on it, the latter had ultimately decided to buy it after you made an off-hand comment about how it’d fit nicely with his bike. 
“You wound me. I personally thought it was a great line,” he laments, stuffing your bag in the back container of the bike while you slip on the helmet. When he’s done locking up the box, his legs effortlessly stretch over the motorcycle and you climb on behind him, snaking your arms delicately around his waist. “Just for that, I’m kidnapping you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m starting the bike now, so you better hold on tighter than that if you don’t wanna fall off,” he says and you can hear the smirk in his voice. Begrudgingly, you obey his suggestion and shimmy closer to him until his back is against your chest and your arms are wound tightly around his torso. You thank every deity you can think of for creating your helmet so your best friend can’t see the warmth rising to your face when you feel the pure muscle cut into his abdomen. “We’re getting dinner and you can’t stop me!”
“You’re a menace to society!” 
“And yet, your fine ass is still on the seat!” With a jerk of the key, he starts the bike before you can spit out a retort. It hums beneath your bodies and your feet leave the ground on instinct when Satoru gives the kickstand a firm strike, cutting a dangerously risky turn that has you cursing his name over the sound of the engine. His laugh reverberates against your forearms and you rest your chin on his shoulder, relishing in his natural body heat that helped stave off the chilly wind as you passed car after car. The cacophony of noises are familiar to you by now, finally unbothered by roaring vehicles, sputtering engines, and snippets of blasted radios. 
“I think you need to pick a lane and stay in it, Satoru,” you managed to verbalize after he opened the ginormous doors of his garage, effectively unveiling his newest impulse purchase that was sure to tank his dad’s credit score for the fourteenth time. It was pretty, you had to admit, and very Satoru. He definitely ordered a custom paint job on it for it to be such a deep shade of black and the subtle purple lightning accents running down the hardware were a nice touch. His helmet had the same design scheme and he was very excited to show you your helmet, matching his but with bright blue bolts instead. To match his eyes, you figured. 
“The whole point of this thing is so I can go between lanes, silly.” His fingers lightly flick your forehead as he enters the garage, running his hand over the new leather like it was a prized racehorse. “Haven’t you seen those bikers on the highways? They’re in all the lanes, all the time.”
“You know what I mean,” you say. “I don’t know how many clients are gonna take you seriously if they see their lawyer rolling up on two wheels instead of four. You’re not really helping the ‘rich boy whose dad paid for his entire tuition’ allegations.” 
“That’s why I’m going into entertainment law, so I can kick legal ass and look hot at the same time. Also, I really couldn’t give a shit about my tuition or my dad or school in general. I’m only here because you are.” 
“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” you scoff and he quirked an eyebrow at your blunt dismissal of his reasoning. “Admit it, you’re only going to law school so you can pick up the hot girls in mini skirts.”
“They’re a bonus, yeah,” he admits and you shake your head in disbelief, too exasperated to ask if he’s joking or not. Part of you died a tiny bit every time he talked about a new girl he was talking to or told you about how many people asked him out. You commended them for doing what you never had the courage to do for fear of ruining your friendship with him. For now, you just laughed off his trial attempts at flirting and looked away when he stared at you a little too tenderly for comfort. “Wanna take her on her maiden voyage with me?”
“That’s what you say about ships, Satoru, but sure.”
“Maybe I want this ship to sail, then,” he says suggestively and you resist the urge to hit him in the head with your new helmet. Rides with Satoru became much more frequent after you finally agreed to let him pick you up from class despite only living a few minutes away. Often, he decided to make an unplanned detour at your favorite fast food place or a random grocery store as an excuse to spend more time with you. Maybe it was selfish or maybe it was more, but you didn’t mind his hand finding your thigh when you were stopped at a red light or his lingering gaze when you took off your helmet. You forced yourself not to think anything of it, but found it pretty hard to ignore him this time when he parked his bike on the curb and walked you to your door. 
“I should probably give this back; thank you for letting me borrow it,” you say quietly, attempting to shrug off his jacket from your shoulders when his hands are suddenly there to keep it in place. He wordlessly draped it over your shoulders when he came back from the bathroom at dinner, noting the goosebumps on your exposed skin and the way you crossed your arms to conserve warmth. As if Fate could get any crueler, he looked even better in just his jeans and his white tee-shirt, all charming and tempting and everything that you never could have. 
“Just keep it for now and give it back to me tomorrow, yeah?” He was looking at you in that way again, the one that made your knees turn into putty and had your heart racing as fast as the bike down a straightaway. It was a gentleness that he only reserved for you, or at least you hoped he did. 
“Okay, I’ll give it back after my 9:00 A.M. Is that okay?”
“Keep it however long you need it. It suits you.” His voice was too soft, too fond, too loving. The way his hair reflected the warm glow of your porchlight wasn’t helping, either.
“Thanks, ‘toru, for the jacket and for the impromptu dinner date.”
“Of course, gorgeous. Anything for you.” He turns to leave you alone again and the thought fills you with so much dread that you want to throw up. 
Fuck it. 
Before you have time to think, your hand is on his arm and spinning him around, your other hand grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling his face down to you. He’s kissing you back within a microsecond, as if he was waiting for you to stop him and make a move. It’s as natural as blinking, pulling him close until your back hits the door and feeling him grip your waist. He sighs into your mouth when your fingers find the hair on the back of his neck and you’re barely able to pull away before he’s chasing you down again, kissing you like he���s starving. When you’re both breathing a little heavier and your foreheads rest against each other, his hand gently cups your cheek and he runs his thumb over your skin. 
“You stole my thunder,” he murmurs, your fingers still carding through his hair. “I was gonna spin around and kiss you, but you beat me to it.”
“I got impatient,” you state simply, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Can I still keep your jacket?” He chuckles under his breath, nudging his nose against yours.
“Baby, you can keep all of my jackets.”
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when-november-ends · 1 year
Text
witchcraft things
that didn't work for me
and why
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- kitchen witchcraft
i love cooking and i love working with plants, however incorporating spells into my food didn't work for me. i got way too distracted by the spell part, that i completely forgot to make the food taste good. and as much as i love magic, it took the fun out of cooking for me. because now, cooking wasn't something fun where i could experiment with flavors and textures, it was something i had to put thought into beforehand. and i like to be spontaneous with my cooking.
- protection spells
protection spells seem to be the most important part of the witchcraft community. and i do think it's important to know how protection magic works, but it's also very unnecessary to have protections up 24/7 if you're not famous or have many enemies. i tend to forget about my protection spells, so they just sit on my altar, untouched for months and i forget to make new ones. hasn't hurt me so far tho, so i'll be saving those up for when and if i actually need them.
- casting a circle
not gonna lie, i tried that once and never again. it felt so pretentious to me.. like i was in Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. and not in a good way. i stumbled across that practice on witchtok first, that was when i thought i was wrong for practicing my way and not how other people said i should. i don't think casting a circle is a bad thing to do, but it absolutely is a bad thing to do for me.
- bowl spells
bowl spells are one of my favorite kinds of spells because they're interactive. you put things in, you take things out. the energy doesn't feel stagnant and the spell is always working it's magic as long as you interact with it. ....but unfortunately my adhd made it very clear to me that those kinds of spells aren't something that works for me. i forget about them 5 minutes after i made them and they never get interacted with, so they don't do much of what they're supposed to. i would definitely recommend them to people who remember to take out and put in stuff tho, because the concept is great.
- scrying
gods, did i want that to work. divination is my favorite kind of witchcraft and i'm great at it! so when i learned about scrying, it was something i immediately got interested in and tried. i tried fire and water. fire worked a bit better, because the flames are dancing and water is reflective. that meant for me, i was always seeing things in it that were physically there, and couldn't concentrate on the scrying part. honestly i don't really remember why the fire method didn't work out, but i assume i got distracted really fast or lost in my thoughts.
- veiling
veiling can be done for many reasons. mine was, that i wanted to use it as a way to protect myself from all the different types of energy in public places. every person has their own life, with their own problems and their own current state of being. and since i have social anxiety, i thought veiling would be worth a try so that public places perhaps wouldn't get overwhelming as fast. well, that backfired because before i could try it, i realized i was trans and the head covering made me feel very dysphoric when i put it on at home. i never attempted anything similar again after that.
- ancestor work
i lost someone really close to me in early 2020. she wasn't a blood relative, but she was my dad's best friend, our landlord (who lived in the same house as we did by the way) and she saw me grow up since i was a baby. i was so desperate to try and talk to her. i tried to reach her myself, i asked other witches for help, but it never worked. after a while i decided to let her be, because the constant getting my hopes up and then being disappointed didn't help my mental health. i just wanted to know if she was okay now, but i think i just have to trust that she is. as for my other ancestors, i don't know anything about them and i am not really interested in finding out. i wasn't close with any of my great grandparents because we saw each other about once a year until they died. they didn't do anything wrong, but i don't want to force a connection.
- dragon work
damn. i really love dragons. all my life and with all my heart. and i truly believe that they are out there (not physically, like dinosaurs were, but in a similar way the gods are out there). i've done a lot of research on the topic, but my mental health got in the way. i don't have the concentration to reach out to them, nor will i be able to dedicate a specific amount of time to them regularly, which i feel like they won't like. i will try again when and if i get better, but until then it goes on this list of witchcraft things that didn't work for me and why.
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rayclubs · 10 months
Note
have you talked about which of the mercs you think are most likely to know another language, and which? (some are. more obvious than others but lol)
Ooh, haven't talked about this, let's go!
Scout:
We do know from the comics that he is either dyslexis or illiterate and has trouble reading, and I don't think he would be particularly interested in learning another language.
I do know people headcanon him speaking French but I just don't see it. "Whaddya mean words have gendah? No the fuck they don't" - Scout, probably.
Learned Spanish at school, can say "Hello, my name is Jeremy, my Spanish is very bad!" but that's it.
Soldier:
Very likely knows a moderate amount of Polish. Taught Medic to say "kurwa".
Not interested in learning languages but I think foreign words just stick to him, he has tge easiest time picking them up
Pyro:
Definitely knows ASL like a champ. Tries to teach the mercs, too, with varying degrees of success.
Doesn't learn any new languages but constantly asks people what things are called in their native languages. Remembers about a third of the words he's given. Still worth it.
Demoman:
He could MASTER Russian phonetics but instead he's learning Klingon like the fucking nerd he is. I love him so much.
Probably speaks Gaelic also. I dunno, I don't know enough about Scotland unfortunately, even his speech patterns are hard for me
Heavy:
Fluent in French.
Starts out with zero knowledge of German but is very persistent and goes to great extents to learn it.
His English is piss but he probably had like. A two-week long express course before they shipped him to America. Jeebus Crust.
Engineer:
Picked up some Russian from Heavy, some German from Medic, some ASL from Pyro, some French from Spy. At some point even started saying "kurwa" in that Texan accent of his.
Probably decent in Spanish, too, cause why not.
Medic:
Fluent in Latin.
Knows like a dozen Russian words and none of them are PG-13.
Sniper:
I dunno. He reads upside down. He knows bird calls and stuff. Does that count? Morse code also.
NZSL.
Spy:
Oh, I'm gonna musspell this but. Here goes. Quebecois.
Says he can lip-read but actually can't.
Overpronounces every foreign dish name in restaurants like the pretentious bastard he is.
"Qruasön" I dunno.
Probably forgot something. Cheers!
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demilypyro · 9 months
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It tends to be some throwaway statement I didn't even think about. Everything's fine and then the conversation stops dead and people act like I did something way out of line. Most recently it was because I said I felt someone was being pretentious in how they phrase their arguments. Before that it was that I said someone's work was good enough, when I guess they wanted me to say it was excellent. Some time ago, someone got really upset with me because I didn't think a Fire Emblem game was very good. Another time the same thing happened with a Sonic game. Sonic R, too. Who even likes Sonic R?
From where I'm sitting, people take offense to things totally randomly, and then treat me like a child or some kind of monster because I didn't see it coming. Like there's something wrong with me for not being able to know ahead of time what's gonna set them off. Like most people are mind-readers or something. And I don't get any benefit of the doubt, doesn't matter how long they've known me. Doesn't matter if they should know I'd never cause trouble on purpose. They tell me to be myself, and they know I'm autistic, but when I show any symptoms of autism I might as well be nothing at all. One mistake and I'm just done.
These are all examples that happened around other autistic people, too. "Autism isn't an excuse" they then say. "We can do it, so why cant you." And I don't know the answer to that. I really don't get it. I just... want to get along with people. But it's like the only way to do that is to just... I don't know. There is no way.
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i-am-beckyu · 3 months
Text
One Small Gift
HELLO! I TOLD YOU I'D POST ONE MORE FIC THIS YEAR! And I am very proud of myself for making it a Christmas centered fic! I can't believe it's actually been a year since I last posted a Christmas fic. Like where did the time go and how did this thing spawn?
I'm gonna ramble a bit more at the bottom of this fic about me and the community but lets not hold you up any longer so I give you: The Christmas Fic- One Small Gift :3
cw: fear, death mention (but no actual death), lying, panic and anxiety, fluff- Like, ALOT of Fluff, hidden identity and of course happy endings. You know, the usual angst/fluffy Beckyu fic :3 word count: 8351
Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.
.。❅*⋆⍋*∞*。*∞*⍋⋆*❅。.
Cold
Why did the walls always have to be so damn cold? 
Tommy’s mind couldn’t help but linger on the thought, as the Borrower shivered making his way through the maze that was the inside the house walls.
Human Beans invented heaters AGES ago for the insides of their houses to keep warm, so how was it that the inside of the walls were still always so flippen freezing? 
Would it kill them to think of the little guy freezing their butt off just once?
Well no, maybe not. But it certainly would Tommy. 
As much as the young blonde would love to cuss at the home owner for not giving him a proper source of heat, the Borrowers code quite literally FORBID them from ever telling a Human of their existence. Not to forget the fact that it would mean doom for a borrower if they ever did. All the horror stories of Borrowers being squished or experimented on from the elders to go off being proof enough.
Death by Human Beans?
HA! Absolutely NOT!
That’s exactly the reason why he is trying to get supplies for the Winter to warm himself up, before it gets even colder! 
Tommy grumbled to himself as he ducked and weaved past forgotten cobwebs about how it was such a pain to be in this position in the first place. He’d had a perfectly fine home in a tree nook in the forest that had always remained nice and cosy warm during the colder months. 
Even if that meant he’d been living on his own, Tommy had been happy living as an Outie borrower for as long as he could remember. Well at least he had, before some tall, pretentious brunette freak decided his home would be the perfect tree to cut down and drag all the way back to his stupid freezing cold house. 
But it gets better, because even though the main part of his home was actually still intact under the now stump, the Bean still took the top half of the tree- 
With Tommy still inside it! 
They flippen took HIS house and wrapped it in a net; effectively trapping the poor borrower and then strapped it to the top of their car and drove hours and hours to a Human Town with him hanging on for dear life.
And that’s not even the worst part because not only did the flippen Bean steal part of his house, but then they had the audacity to cover the tree's dying corpse in fancy decorations and shining lights. 
Like seriously WTF?!
A Bean kidnaps him from the only place he’s ever really known and covers his once thriving residence all merrily in ornaments, while he’s forced to flee his only real known place of safety with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the few supplies he did have stored in the upper levels of his now dying home. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but it was the only choice he really had. 
Stay in the tree and get caught, or try and survive in the Beans' walls until Winter passes.
He chose the latter of course- (It’s not like staying would have helped him anyways) 
Getting down from the top of the tree had been, well- less than a fun time for the Borrower. The big purple bruises across his back were a throbbing reminder from his impact on the floor at times, but he managed. 
Instead, Tommy had started to navigate his temporary ‘soon to be home’ in the walls getting an idea of the layout and where the best places were to borrow from. He just had to make it through the Winter and then he could go home. Trying to get back to his nook now would be impossible with all the snow cover on the ground, but he’d get back to the forest even if it killed him.
Which might be the case soon if he doesn’t get some new clothes and heat source quick.
That was the main issue with being kidnapped after all. You only have what’s on your back and well, Tommy hadn’t exactly been expecting to get yoinked away in his scrappy T-Shirt and shorts. He had proudly made them himself with the few scraps of fabric he’d managed to find from some Beans that had been passing through years ago on a camping trip, but the fabric was light, and not made to be worn in such cold conditions. 
He’d only meant to go up and check what the heck the loud thumping outside his tree was like any normal person. He was expecting a deer or maybe a bear using it as a scratching post, not a Bean cutting their house down and taking him along with it. You don’t exactly have time to think about putting on proper clothing when your everything is at stake.
So that was step one: Find some material and make some clothes- a jacket the top priority.
Tommy is very thankful that he had his borrowing bag on him, that he still has his self made needle and some old thread so he at least didn’t have to start from nothing. Finding the material hadn’t been too difficult to locate either. When he first scouted the place, he discovered pretty quickly that the Bean had a habit of leaving stuff all over the place, so borrowing supplies hadn’t been difficult to do without being noticed. It’s how he found the most perfect fluffy woollen red sock to make a coat and blanket from. He would already have it now though if the Bean hadn’t come back before he could swipe it.
The Borrower had tried to come back for it later, but the Bean had decided it was time to clean their room up because he had some guests coming for this thing called ‘Chris-mass’- whatever that was- and the sock was gone.
So instead he grabbed what he could and made his way back to the walls with just enough fabric to make a new pair of pants and some crackers for dinner.
But it still didn’t fix the whole freezing situation.
What Tommy really needed was a candle. 
To a Human Bean it may seem to be an insignificant source of light, but to a Borrower it could literally be the difference between a warm nights sleep and becoming a Borrower popsicle! But that was easier said then done because all the usual spots Beans would normally keep candles, were replaced with flippen electric ones!!!! 
What’s wrong with fire on candles!? Why would you want a fake candle that just flickers and produces less light than a real one?
That or something for a bed. At least that way he’d have a comfortable place to sleep and trap his own body heat.
He really wishes he could have taken those socks…
As if this Bean wasn’t bad enough, not only did they lack the materials Tommy so desperately needed, but they wouldn’t shut up talking into the black box (a fone he thinks it’s called from memory) to other Beans with how excited they were about them coming to stay for the Hole-lid-days and spend time huddled together by the fire or something dumb. 
“Come on Dad! Let me host. If you let me host, I’ve got the coolest surprise planned for you and Techno I swear!! Plus don’t you want to come and see me?” 
Lucky prick. Got a Dad and a brother…
Now don’t get him wrong, Tommy is a big man, if not the biggest man to ever exist and he doesn’t need anyone. But he also couldn’t help but long for someone to share the cold season with like the Beans did. It had been so long since he’d seen another Borrower like himself and though he’d never admit it, living alone did get a little bit lonely sometimes. It would be nice if just once he could share a night cuddled up close to a loved one, and just bask in each other’s company. 
But Tommy didn’t have time to be sentimental about things he’d likely never have.
He needed to find a way to stay warm and get warm now.
But the universe decidedly hated Tommy because, tonight was apparently December 24th-
Chrisymiss Eve.
Tommy had been here about a week or so and in his short stay still wasn’t 100% sure what this whole Khrislermas was, but it appeared to be a BIG deal to the Beans. 
Apparently, all the Beans get together whether it’s family or friends to spend time together and exchange gifts. It’s about being thankful for what you have or whatever and something about showing how much you love someone by giving and receiving presents. 
Tommy thought it was actually quite a nice thing the Beans did and wished that Borrowers had something similar themselves in their culture. However, there was one thing he still didn’t quite understand about this whole holiday thing.
Who the heck is Santa Claus?
He’d been taking some more crackers the Bean had left out from the kitchen while this ‘tv show’ played on the Bean's big Black box that was talking about this Santa guy. Apparently, he was some elusive, big fat man, dressed all in red with a big white bushy beard, who climbed down the Beans chimneys, and left gifts for all the little boys and girls of the world. He had this list too that knew if you’d been naughty or nice and would leave the good children gifts and the bad children coal in their stockings. 
Children could write letters to Santa or he’d visit and children could sit on his knee and ask him for a gift they would like and he would deliver the toys to children all over the world on Christmas eve when everyone was sleeping, only to have disappeared by daybreak.
Tommy hadn’t thought much of this Santa at first- not when it was just another Bean to avoid. That was until he learned two very important details.
1- Santa delivered presents to ALL children of the world. 
And 2- Santa wasn’t meant to be seen by Humans either.
So not only did this Santa guy literally just give out free gifts, but Tommy literally had a way to get exactly what he needed for the winter!
All he needed to do was talk to Santa and he’d be saved! 
Now you might be thinking: But Tommy, you said it yourself. Santa isn’t meant to be seen by anyone so what makes you the exception? 
Simple.
Borrowers aren’t meant to be seen by Beans and neither is Santa.
Which means just like Borrowers, Santa must not want to be caught (which if he thinks too hard about it makes sense since he literally breaks into houses but anyways) and unlike with Beans, there is no rule that says Borrowers can’t see Santa!
All he has to do is wait for Santa to visit Crystamas eve, and then he can ask for his gift! Santa probably even knows what he wants, being made of magic and all! He just never knew Santa existed so he’s never asked for his gift before! 
If he were a more greedy Borrower, he could ask for so much more to make up for all the years he never got a gift, but that would probably put him on Santa’s naughty list. And while coal would be good, Tommy doesn’t exactly want to burn the house down with him inside it. So this was his best shot to get exactly what he needed. 
The hard bit though, was waiting for Santa to arrive. That meant not only having to be out in the living room where the fireplace was, but also meant he had to wait for the Bean to fall asleep. Which really meant that it would be AGES before Santa would come because the Bean of the house was terrible at sleeping at night. 
The man literally had no sleep schedule and would stay up till terrible times in the morning before drifting off. Normally that wasn’t much of an issue for the Borrower having observed this early on, but right now it was very much a hindrance because it could be hours before they went to bed. 
It also seemed that they wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, because the amount of energy and excitement the Bean had displayed the whole day about his family coming home was overwhelming. He’d come home at one stage with this big bag of stuff talking on the black box about how his super cool surprise was coming along and how it would be awesome since they let him host Chrimpmas- whatever that meant. 
Tommy had hoped with the excitement of the holiday they’d have been ready to pass out by now, but he couldn’t be more wrong with the amount of commotion he could hear from down the hall- and that’s through the walls. 
At least he could observe everything going on from his place on the bookshelf. It was right next to a small crack in the wall he could just squeeze through, but it gave him a good view of the living room but also enough cover from prying eyes unless he made his presence known. However, being out of the walls had one difference the blonde hadn’t accounted for.
Heat.
The fire had been lit and was keeping the whole room nice and toasty warm compared to the harsh bite the walls somehow managed to keep. The whole atmosphere made him almost want to curl up and fall asleep. It had been so long since he’d been able to just enjoy the warmth in the air and not be shivering to keep alive.
Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if he had a nap before Santa arrived.
Just a quick one….
.。❅*⋆⍋*∞*。*∞*⍋⋆*❅。.
Tommy was awoken to a rather loud THUNK as the Borrower shot up from where he had fallen asleep atop the shelf. 
It took the blonde a moment to realise where he was and not panic about being out in the open before his eyes settled upon a figure. 
Sprawled out across the floor in a heap of red and white was the jolly big man himself.
Santa Claus.
The one and only.
“Santa!” Tommy yelled excitedly as he hurriedly manoeuvred to stand. “Santa you came!”
Santa’s head snapped up from the floor alarmed, as they pushed themselves to stand and take a defensive stance.
“Who said that?!” they shouted, looking around wildly panicked. “Show yourself!”
Tommy giggled to himself. Santa was so silly. 
“Up here Santa! I’ve been waiting for you.” The blonde waved as the man's head turned and their eyes fell onto his small form. 
Tommy grinned at the magical man taking him all in. 
Just like the figure on the big black box, Santa wore a big red coat with white fluff lining the ends of his sleeves. A big black belt was strapped around their waist, fastened with a fancy golden buckle and sturdy black boots on their feet to keep out the snow. Their head was adorned with an oversized big red hat, with a giant white fluffy pom pom on the end, and they had a long white beard that travelled down their chest. And last but not least was a pair of gold rimmed glasses perched on the tip of their rosy red nose which accentuated their big brown eyes that were staring at him in wonder. 
Huh. 
He could have sworn that Santa's eyes were blue.
“I can’t believe you came! I wasn’t sure if you would since I never sent a letter but you must have known anyway cause here you are!” The little borrower stated excitedly as Santa removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. 
“I’m so glad you’re here! I really need my Crimpmess present.” 
“I’m sorry you’re what?” the man’s eyes furrowed in confusion as they processed what the younger had said.
“My present!.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “You know, the whole reason why you’re here.”
Santa didn’t exactly seem like he knew what was going on. Right now all he was doing was staring and Tommy was getting a bit annoyed. 
Was that not why Santa was here? To deliver his present like the show had said?
Tommy huffed annoyed he had to explain all this. Wasn’t this like his job? He should know!
“I’m sorry,” Santa began slowly as if trying to process. “I didn’t actually know you were here.”
“Why else would you have come then?” Tommy crossed his arms unimpressed. “I’m the only kid here, but don’t tell anyone else I said that. I’m a big man! The biggest ever!”
This finally seemed to warrant a different reaction from the older, as they looked the boy up and down unimpressed by this so-called ‘fact’.
“A big man huh? You look more like a child. What are you- 12?”
Tommy feigned a gasp, grasping his chest offendedly. “I’ll have you know I’m 14 and the biggest man alive! I’m only a child for the purpose of getting my gift tonight and tonight only!”
Santa couldn’t stifle a laugh as he watched as the small child stomped his foot in a mini tantrum at being called 12. It was endearing in a way but he still wasn’t sure how to proceed with a tiny child standing on their bookshelf.
“Well whatever you say I guess, but I still I didn’t know you were here.”
The blonde shrugged before moving closer to the shelfs edge. “Ah well it doesn’t matter. You’re here now so I’d like my gift please! You have it right?” 
“If I didn’t know you were here, then how would I have your present with me?” Santa asked.
Well he did make a good point. It’s not like he sent Santa a letter and he hadn't met him to tell him like other human bean children had until now. 
“Oh right. Guess I better come sit on your knee and tell you what I’d like than.” Tommy stated matter of factly, as the small Borrower moved to the edge of the shelf and stabbed his hook into the wood, quickly jumping off to descend on his rope to the ground.
“Wait, DON’T DO THAT!” 
The blonde yelped in surprise, moving instinctually to protect his ears at the sheer volume the man shouted, in turn losing his grip on his rope, quickly plummeting down to the ground below. Santa lunged forward with an outstretched hand as the boy slipped down the rope at a rapid speed, catching him before any real harm could be done. He semi slammed into the wall, clutching his hand to his chest as they did so before quickly unfurling their hand.
“Oh my prime! Kid- kid are you alright?” Santa said frantically checking over the boy he now held in his palm. 
Tommy shook his head, dizzy from the sudden force that had rammed into him only moments ago. He tried to steady himself grabbing, onto the nearest thing his hand could find as he begun to regain his bearings.
Oh he was going to ache tomorrow…
“As soon as the world stops spinning, yeah.”
Santa sighed in relief as Tommy allowed himself to regain focus. It was then that he really took note of where he was. 
Normally, if a Borrower was sitting in the hand of someone almost 100x his size, he would be kicking and screeching to get away. But this was Santa Claus’s hand and Tommy felt only wonder. 
It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The thing he had grabbed onto was apparently Santa’s thumb and it was almost as big as his head! Even if it was a bit weird sitting on the leathery texture of their skin, the warmth radiating beneath him was heavenly, and the way the man’s fingers curled slightly over him protectively felt nothing but comforting. 
Santa hadn’t moved since he caught Tommy mid air, and was staring at Tommy as if they would disappear. They seemed stuck on what to do next, but also amazed he was sitting there at all.
“You alright there big man?” Tommy raised a brow confused at why the man would act this way. Santa was literally made of magic and had flying reindeer for goodness sake! A borrower existing surely was no cause for such amazement? There were surely way more interesting magical things to see than a lowly Borrower like him. 
(But then again, he was a pretty poggers Borrower if he did so say that himself, so staring could be justified for that reason)
This finally snapped the old man out of their wondrous stupor, as they squinted their eyes open and shut with a quick shake of their head. 
“Uh yep. All good um. Let's- go sit down. Yeah- yeah, let's do that.” Santa said, confirming more to themself than Tommy.
Santa brought the boy protectively to their chest to brace them before they moved away from the book shelf, smoothly walking over to the couch where the old man sat down ever so slowly to not jostle their small passenger. The second they were bending down to sit though, Tommy was launching himself off Santa’s palm for his knee as the bearded man frantically tried to stop them in their escapade.
“Kid, would you stop doing that? You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“Pfft please. This is nothing compared to how I got down from that tree over there.” The boy grinned as they pointed to the far corner of the living room.
The man's head followed to where the boy was pointing, the Christmas tree displayed proudly in a large pot tied with a red bow, small lights flickering on and off in changing patterns.
“Tree? You mean the Christmas tree?”
“Yep!” Tommy stood proudly popping the p. “I had to get down somehow and my hook would have gotten stuck in amongst the branches if I had tried to abseil down. So I did what any logical Borrower would do and jumped.”
“You jumped?!” Santa’s eyes widened, as he looked back and forth between the boy and the top of the brightly decorated tree. He grimaced, imagining the boy throwing themselves from the upper branches like they had done only moments before onto his knee. 
What was with this kid and being so reckless?!
“You jumped from the top of the Christmas tree!? Why were you even there in the first place?”
Tommy rolled his eyes, crossing their arms in front of their chest. 
“It’s all that stupid Beans fault.”He huffed annoyed. “He just came waltzing into MY forest, decided to be very rude and put their grubby hands all over MY house wrapping it up in some ugly net, only to cut it down with me still in it!”
Tommy didn’t notice the way Santa’s brows furrowed and their expression changed to one of horror as he continued to ramble on.
“They literally kidnapped me, Santa! They’re so lucky that the main part of my house is under the tree’s trunk and not the higher branches because I swear I would have murdered that Bean in their sleep by now if they had!”
Tommy was very pleased to have finally gotten to vent some of his frustrations to someone other than his internal self, but now he was finished he had a good chance to register the other’s reaction.
Santa looked horrified.
His eyes seemed glossed over as if he was holding back tears, and one hand slapped over their mouth, the other gripping their wrist tightly in an attempt to ground themselves. 
Uh shit. He hadn’t meant for that to happen…
“Uh but don’t worry Santa!” Tommy was quick to add. “ I wouldn’t actually do that. That would be a bad thing to do and put me on the Naughty list! I promise I won’t actually murder anyone!” 
Phew, that was a close one. He couldn’t jeopardise his only hope with a silly joke!
Santas’ face had yet to change and Tommy subconsciously started to fidget feeling nervous to how the older was reacting. Maybe he had blown it and now he was on the naughty list. Another glance at the old man's face seemed to confirm those fears.
He’d blown it.
His one shot at survival and he practically threw it all away with a vent. No wonder he ended up all alone.
“Please don’t put me on the Naughty list Santa. I need my gift.” Tommy spoke timidly. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I- no. No you’re not on the Naughty list.” Santa dragged his hands over his eyes a few times strained. “I'm just trying to process. It’s more of the whole kidnapping thing. ” 
If Tommy had been paying better attention, he may have noticed the few stray brown curls poking out from under the man's hat, but he was more thrown by their following question as the magical man continued on.
“If you were in the tree, why didn’t you say anything?”
Tommy drew a deep breath, before sighing as the boy shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Because Santa, Beans aren’t supposed to know that Borrowers like me even exist.”
“Beans?”
“Human Beans Santa. You know, big people like you, but not magical and stuff.” The Borrower explained. “There’s no way I could tell the dumb Bean he was cutting my house down! Do you know what Beans do to Borrowers like me?” 
“Um no?” Santa fiddled with his hands as he looked away, eyes downcast to avoid the youngers gaze as they continued.
“They get rid of us. To them we’re just pests or things to be used.”
Tommy hugged himself tightly, anxiety pooling in his chest for the first time that night. He wished it wasn’t true, but Beans just held far too much power for their own good. Their greed often outweighing their need to do good without reward. 
“I’d rather risk jumping out of a tree than ever fall into the clutches of a Bean.” 
“But how do you know that?” Santa suddenly said, muscles tensing as they clenched their hand into fists. 
Tommy flinched at the sight of hands so close. Closed so tightly that he couldn’t help let slip the thought of himself in the mercy of their grasp, begging to be freed like all the stories had said of the Borrowers trapped in agonising pain. The man noticed his discomfort, and immediately loosened their fists, moving their hands away and under their thighs so as to not startle the boy any further than they already had.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Santa said with a sense of guilt.  “But I just- How do you know that though? Who says that they would have hurt you if you had just made your presence known? You wouldn’t have had to jump or gotten hurt.”
Santa turned away sheepishly, whispering sadly. “They could have helped you.” 
Tommy swallowed hard, his shoulders sagging as he observed the sad look Santa had as they stared at the Christmas tree. It was obvious they were blaming themself for what had happened. He was far too kind for that.
“Santa, it’s not your fault.” the boy sighed, “Every borrower is taught this from birth. It’s a known fact that Beans are all cruel, power hungry beings. They always want more and just take, take, take.”  
“But what if this ‘Bean’ didn’t know.” Santa shot back, causing the Borrower to falter. “What if you had said something? They would have stopped and left you and your house alone? How do you know they wouldn’t have helped you?”
“Because Santa,” Tommy turned and faced the man head on. “That’s just how Beans are. To them, we're just another thing to take and control.” 
Tommy wanted to believe Santa, he really did, but it was hard to just ignore years of being brought up to beware Human Beans and their cruelty. He’d seen it even from when Beans had once come into the forest with their fire sticks, and took down a friendly deer. It was unnecessarily cruel and was all the convincing Tommy needed to deem all Humans bad.
Santa nodded sadly in some kind of understanding, but Tommy couldn’t understand why Santa looked so hurt. It wasn’t his fault the Bean took him and his home, but he seemed so convinced that hiding and not asking for help had been the wrong thing to do. 
He thought they were the same, that if Beans caught him on Christmas Eve, then something bad would happen to him like it would for Borrowers. That’s why they had to stay a secret. Why no one could know they were here. 
But Santa wasn’t a Borrower who lived in hiding unknown. The Beans knew about the jolly, present giving man that only appeared in December. 
He could live among the Beans and it would be fine if he asked for help. Everyone liked Santa. He didn’t take things just to survive. He gave toys and gifts so he would have no worries about the repercussions of taking a paperclip just to get around. He wouldn’t have to worry about Beans hurting him if something went wrong. He would just use his magic and be fine.
It was Santa’s choice to stay hidden as an extra precaution to protect that same magic. 
“But you’re different from the Beans Santa.” The boy perked up instantly remembering why he was doing this in the first place. “You only come out of hiding at Christmas and everyone knows who you are! You only hide to keep your magic safe from Beans so they can’t have that too!” 
The man gave a small smile as the boy continued to ramble, pacing back and forth on his thigh as he did so.
“But I don’t understand why you give children presents when they already have so much!” Tommy stopped, his lips pursed together as his voice dropped to a whisper.
“Unlike me.” He confessed quietly, lifting his head to meet Santa’s sympathetic gaze. 
Santa was staring at the young boy again, leaned forward in concern listening as the blonde  continued to share his story.
“It's why I need my gift Santa.” Tommy wringed his hands together with a nervous glance to see Santa’s reaction who nodded in approval, gesturing for him to continue. 
Tommy steadied himself.
Now or never.
“I was brought here with basically nothing. Forced to move into the Beans walls or risk being seen. I’ve barely been able to get anything for basic survival and the walls are freezing!” 
Tommy shivered remembering the way the air had nipped at his nose as he struggled to keep warm. Clutching himself tightly in a poor attempt to retain any kind of body heat. The one time he went up stairs without his coat and of course he gets kidnapped.
He needed this. 
More than anything.
.。❅*⋆⍋*∞*。*∞*⍋⋆*❅。.
Wilbur had just wanted to have the perfect Christmas.
It was his first time hosting and had decided he HAD to go all out.
More decorations than his little house needed both inside and out, homemade hot chocolate from scratch and had promised his Father and brother a very special Christmas surprise if they let him host.
Their first ever living Christmas tree and a surprise visit from the Big man himself- Santa Claus.
He’d done a bunch or research into the best spots to go where he could get a tree and quickly had been recommended from several sites about the fir trees in Logstedshire, and quickly made the trip out to find a tree.
What the websites failed to mention, was that said fir trees might be inhabited and the home of tiny people that are terrified of Human Beings. 
So if you asked: No, Wilbur was not having a good night realising he had kidnapped a child that was deathly afraid of him and only okay right now because he thought he was the real Santa Claus. 
In a way, it was a good thing the kid hadn’t realised yet, because if Wilbur had never dressed up in this silly costume, he probably would have never known about the child freezing to death in his walls.
The child was so cold despite their lively spirit when he’d caught them after they launched themself off the top of the shelf. The fact it wasn’t the first time they’d thrown themself from such a height made Wilbur sick knowing had they not been lucky, could very well not have made the long fall. But the fact the kid had been struggling, terrified and afraid in his walls when he could have helped had the guilt eating him away as the boy rambled on.
They were so sure of themselves with the cruelty of humanity too that they had him so on edge. If the blonde knew he was really the guy that had cut his tree down, he very much doubted they would be this enthusiastic. He was talking about how much he needed his gift- the gift he still had no clue what it was, but just hearing the little blondes tale, and seeing how thin his clothes were had Wilbur making a very long list of things he needed to get to help the kid out. 
A kid which he still doesn’t know the name of.
The boy's eyes had brightened, as he bounded up and down on the balls of his feet eagerly, talking about what this gift would mean for him. He was actually quite endearing despite their seemingly dire situation.
“If I tell you my gift, then you can give it to me now and I’ll actually have a chance to survive the Winter!” He explained excitedly, grining.
Wilbur pushed down his anxiousness for the boys well-being. They had already suffered enough from his mistakes. He didn’t want them to suffer any longer than they had by them accidentally discovering the truth.
“What’s your name kid?” Wilbur mentally slapped himself  that he hadn’t asked sooner.
The tiny boy chuckled to himself as they crossed their arms. “Oh come on Santa, you know my name don’t you? You have a list with every child's name on it.”
Ah- right. Santa did have that Naughty and Nice list didn’t he? Curse Santa for having to live up to magical standards.
“Uh- I came here in such a rush, I um- ah must have left my list back at the North Pole.”
“So?” The boy argued, raising a brow. “You’re magic. Don’t you just know?”
Did he say endearing earlier? How about difficult for making him use his brain at 9pm at night. (Shut up. Don’t judge him for it)
“Well you know there’s like 2 Billion kids in this world and I see them all in one night. You don’t expect me to remember every name without my list do you?”
The kid hadn’t seemed to account for this, and thought it over before shrugging in agreement. 
Oh thank goodness for kids being young and naive. 
“I guess that’s fair. But you’ve got a s*** memory in that case Big Man. Getting old.” 
Actually, make that an annoying gremlin.
“I think if someone wants their present, they should be more careful about insulting their elders.” Wilbur teased with a chuckle. The boy rolled his eyes with a groan. 
Okay, an endearing gremlin then.
“Fiiiiiiiiine.” they drawled letting their arms drop to their sides before extending their hand up in greeting. “The name’s Tommy.”
Wilbur carefully lifted his arm up and slowly extended his pinky finger out for the boy to take in an oversized handshake. 
“Nice to meet you Tommy.” His finger dwarfed the boy entirely, his pinky finger only slightly shorter than the boy's total height, but nevertheless, Tommy took the tip and shook it lightly.
“Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me what it is you’d like for Christmas?”
Wilbur couldn’t help but smile at the little boy excitedly sharing in exact detail what he wanted. What the Borrower wanted wasn’t even that difficult to get, and he knew exactly where to find it. Tommy continued to ramble on for a bit longer about what he had been doing since coming here and Wilbur made mental notes of the few places where Tommy talked about entrances in out of the walls for future reference.
He was going to have to look out for Tommy from now on and if he wanted a shred of hope in getting him to trust him as Wilbur, he was going to need a plan.
“So could I have my gift now? I would really love it now and you still have a lot of other houses to visit tonight right?” Tommy asked innocently.
Wilbur really didn’t want to stop talking to Tommy. Tommy trusted the magical Santa Claus; not regular Human Being Wilbur Soot. He knew that if he let Tommy go now, it was unlikely he would see the kid again, but if he didn’t leave as Santa now, they would most likely get suspicious, realising he was a fake and panic. 
Wilbur sighed as he brushed a stray hair of fake beard from under his cheek.
“I- yeah I guess so. Best get you to bed then too.” 
“Awwww but I’m not sleepy yet!” The blonde pouted. “This is normally when I’m awake so it would be a crime to make me sleep now.”
“Well good little girls and boys go to bed when they’re told if they want to stay on the nice list.”
“You’re not the boss of me!” Tommy stuck his tongue out in defiance and Wilbur had to bite his to stop himself from bursting out loud laughing. 
This kid was going to be the death of him he swears.
Wilbur extended his hand to the Borrower, keeping it steady as he waited for Tommy to climb on. He’s still a little huffy at first realising there was no room for argument, but climbs on anyway, sitting down in the middle of Wilbur’s palm bracing themself before he moves.
The brunette curls his fingers over the boy slightly, bringing his hand to his chest protectively. He tries not to linger too long at how it felt to hold an entire person in one hand for the second time tonight before moving to stand. 
Steadily, Wilbur makes his way over to the book shelf and cautiously raises his hand up for Tommy to climb off of. He sets his hand down on the wooden surface and Tommy takes no time in hoping off to stand, waiting expectantly for his promised present.  
“Okay I need you to close your eyes just for a second.” Wilbur asks the boy who quickly covers his eyes with his hands, only to peak out from behind his fingers seconds later.
“I mean it Tommy. Keep them closed.”
“Ugggghhhhh Fineee!” the boy said huffing, but relented nevertheless. 
Wilbur quickly whirled around and crouched down beneath the Christmas tree, snagging a gift from the floor and hastily tearing the gift tag labelled- Technoblade; from the gift before setting it next to the small borrower child. 
“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” 
Tommy removed his hands and squealed in delight, quickly reaching down to hug the gift. 
“Oh thank you Santa! You really are the most poggers man ever!!!” Tommy spoke rapidly, smiling so much his cheeks hurt. “Well after me of course, but only by a little bit!” 
Wilbur chuckled as he gazed affectionately at the blonde hunched over the brightly wrapped gift. “You’re welcome Tommy. I’m glad you like it.”
The boy quickly stood, and started hauling the gift to the crack in the wall, as they tried to shove the gift through. Unfortunately while the crack had been enough for Tommy to squeeze through, it wasn’t quite wide enough to let the present go in without getting a tad scrunched up and paper torn. 
“Um, Tommy? Is there perhaps a bigger entrance I could take this too?” Wilbur suggested, cringing slightly as the boy gave another hard shove on the gift, intent on getting it through no matter what.
“It’ll fit. Just gotta keep pushing it in.” 
After a few more attempts, the boy did in fact give up and relented their efforts allowing Wilbur to pull the now crumpled present back out from the crack, instructing him to take it to the kitchen and place it behind the toaster, assuring him he would get it before the Bean woke up explaining how the electrical socket actually came off as a secret entrance.
He offered to take Tommy over to it too, but the stubborn boy refused, insisting that he had done enough and needed to hurry up and deliver presents to the other children before the night was over.
Taking one more long look at the boy, Wilbur watched as Tommy disappeared through the crack into the walls, the sound of tiny footsteps pitter pattering away before Wilbur himself quietly crept back to his room before he removed the Santa costume and flopped down onto his bed. 
He’d just met a tiny child.
A tiny child trying to survive in his walls.
That was deathly afraid of him.
Quickly Wilbur shot up from his bed snatching his phone from the night stand; a plan forming in his mind. The screen read 9:31 pm before he hastily unlocked it and dove into his contacts, quickly stopping on a profile of a girl with light pink hair, dialling their number shortly after.
The phone rang twice before a woman answered on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Niki? Hey! How’s the holidays going?” Wilbur asked as he grabbed his coat and gloves from the wardrobe.
“So I need a favour…”
.。❅*⋆⍋*∞*。*∞*⍋⋆*❅。.
Tommy awoke warm for the first time that week.
He opened his eyes blearily, almost willing himself to fall back into dream land before his eyes snapped fully open. Tommy rubbed his eyes a few times, eyes going wide trying to comprehend that this was real and not just a dream as the thoughts of the previous night played through his head.
He was in his Christmas present: A brand new pair of bright red, fluffy woollen socks- the most perfect bed ever and exactly what Tommy had asked for. He had basically run to get his gift as fast as possible, before hauling it back through the walls to a space close by the bookshelf; the space seemingly much more homely after last night's introductions. 
He hugged the woollen fabric tightly, smiling as he remembered the soft smile Santa had as he watched him go and how kind and gentle he had been with him the entire time.
The Borrower was so pleased and grateful that he had been able to meet the Santa Claus, and would cherish the magical night forever.
He stayed snuggled in his new bed for a little while longer before his stomach grumbled in protest that he should go and have something to eat. Albeit a little grumbly, his hunger eventually won out and Tommy made his way through the walls back to the kitchen so he could gather some food before the Bean woke up.
Stealthily, he removed the electrical socket, expecting to make it a quick supply run; stepping out into the open before freezing in surprise.
Laid out in a neat pile behind the toaster was a small stack of brightly wrapped gifts all wrapped in different coloured and patterned paper, and right in the middle, an envelope with his name written in gold cursive. Tommy smiled brightly, as he eagerly ran forward to the awaiting stack of gifts, quickly grabbing a gift reading the label. 
To: Tommy From: Santa
Tommy denies that he cried that day. 
That he took each gift home and opened each one oh so delicately, afraid if he didn’t they might just disappear, happy tears trailing down his cheek as he opened a gift revealing a beautiful, blue knitted sweater- and in just his size. 
His tears didn’t cease as he opened the other gifts revealing several new pairs of warm winter clothes, new rope and hooks for climbing, some tea candles with a tiny piece of flint and steel to light them, and the tiniest iced cookies he had ever seen. He could actually hold this in one hand like humans did and he had a whole bag of them!!! His prayers had been answered and he couldn’t be more thankful.
Soon, the only thing that remained was the envelope.
He dried his face as best he could, doing his best to not smear any tears or snot onto the pristine surface as he opened the envelope, revealing a card with a picture of glitter candy canes decorating the front. 
Settled back into his new bed, Tommy opened the card and read the message inside.
Dear Tommy, It was lovely meeting you and getting to know your story. I figured you might  like some extra gifts as well to help you be more comfortable in Wilbur’s walls. I think you should try talking to him.  You might be surprised. Sincerely, Santa Claus
P.S- He’s not as scary as you think.
Tommy’s smile became puzzled as he reread the last few lines.
Who the heck was Wilbur?
Was that the name of the Bean that lived here?
Oh come on, that's not fair! How come Santa knew Wilbur’s name but not his!
He grumbled a little bit at the thought, but his mind kept drawing back to the last line of the card.
‘He’s not as scary as you think.’
“Hmpf, you keep saying that.” Tommy grumbled. 
What was with Santa’s insistence on this?
As much as he wanted to be annoyed at Santa for putting forward such a ridiculous idea, Tommy decided to drag himself out of bed and to the book shelf crack. The Bean had gotten up not long after Tommy had made it back to his new home, but he’d been a tad too distracted to really care about how slow and heavy they had been trudging about this morning unlike their usually poised self.
Currently, said Bean was sitting on the couch, the exact same spot he and Santa had been last night, absentmindedly staring at his hand.
How could Santa think this guy was any good? They had kidnapped him unknowingly, almost let him die from hypothermia unknowingly, destroyed the top of his home unknowingly and Santa still thinks they won’t hurt him?
Okay so maybe it wasn’t their fault all those things happened just because they didn’t know he was there, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still very capable of hurting him for having to do all those things. But then again, Santa knew who was naughty or nice. And he wouldn’t ask him to do something that would endanger his safety if this ‘Wilbur’ guy wasn’t a good person right?
Tommy observed the Bean a little longer, as they ran their thumb over their palm. Their normally neat curly hair was all over the place and he could have sworn there were black bags under their eyes from lack of sleep. They suddenly turned their head and were staring straight at his crack by the book shelf. The Borrower was certain they couldn’t see him from the couch, but ducked back just slightly in case.
The Bean simply sighed as a small smile graced their features. Tommy was right about the black bags. Bean did not look like they had slept at all. 
He thought back to what Santa had said. 
I think you should try talking to him.
They certainly didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe they really weren’t bad like the Jolly man said?
But was it really worth taking the risk and talking to this guy?
Before he could dwell on it for much longer, the door bell sounded and Wilbur snapped his head to the sound before standing and stretching; their limbs popping and cracking slightly from their limited use. Before he left the living room, the man stopped and stared at his crack once more. Tommy didn’t dare breathe as they simply smiled and shook their head, before exiting and headed towards the front door.
Tommy allowed himself to exhale as the sound of footsteps got further away.
“Weirdo.” Tommy muttered to himself as he pushed himself back from the crack and began to head back to his bed for a well deserved rest.
He’d think about what Santa said, and just maybe he’d talk to this- Wilbur. If not, he hoped he'd meet Santa again so he could thank them in person.
Once he was back in his bed, Tommy quickly slipped in snuggling down, allowing himself to drift off to the chatter of beings much larger than himself from beyond the walls.
“Wil! So good to see you! It’s been ages!”
“Hi Dad, thanks for letting me host. I’m so glad you and Techno could make it!
“So are we, but you look like shit mate. Up late again? Wouldn't be related to that surprise you were telling us about?”
“You could say that…” 
.。❅*⋆⍋*∞*。*∞*⍋⋆*❅。.
Tommy never did meet Santa Claus again.
The card proudly on display in his new home, a secret hope he would one day and a constant reminder of what Santa had asked him to try.
And maybe one day, Tommy would finally take up the old man's advice and go and speak to Wilbur, and discover perhaps they may have been right.
Maybe then he’d finally have a friend to keep him warm during the holiday seasons and to rely on like he had wished. 
One that seemed to always know just what he needed despite never telling them, and was very insistent about never wearing Santa costumes.
No matter how many times a little boy begged….
 ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗   ༺𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂༻༺𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼༻  ˗ ˏ ˋ ★ˎˊ ˗  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That was a lot of words....
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING TO THE END! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it and it means a lot you read all the way through <3
Tag List: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @crazyfoxgirl10
And cue rant: Honestly you guys have no idea just how much you all mean to me an in this community and the impact you've had on me in the last year alone. I could not be more thankful for being apart of this and getting to know you guys. Getting so back into writing has been really good for me and rekindled something I love so I can't thank you enough.
And even though I know I've been a little quieter online, I'm still here lurking about and working on projects. A lot has happened in the last few months alone and I'm quite happy that I'm limiting myself to be a bit more healthier with my online habits.
Anyways thanks so much if you read this far!
Thanks to my Beta readers @a-xyz-s squishy and munchkin for reading this for me, and I wish you all a very safe and wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!
-Beckyu ❤️
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base-and-co · 6 months
Text
i'm basically racing time at this point just to post this before 7th ep of Ahsoka is out because i LOVE my rebel children and want to express this love.
i've shipped SabEzra since i was 13-14, so now when i'm kinda grown, i can finally show it and give it what it deserves.
so here's my little exploration of this ship (and subtle depression/PTSD hints in Ezra's behavior because OF COURSE HE'D HAVE THEM)
it can be interpret both platonicaly and romantically
Can you do something with my hair?
Standing in front of the mirror, Ezra carefully pulled his skin, examining his beard and face. He had done his best maintaining his apperance back in his time out of the galaxy, but there were far more important things to think about.
Ezra sighed, looking in the mirror in front of him, and pointed every detail he could find. What he was not prepared for is how much he reminded himself of his father. It was weird. He had to say "This is me. I am Ezra." for it to sink in, but it was still wrong. It felt like he was looking in the past. The past was long time ago - ten years ago - and today was still new and unfamiliar. Ezra felt like he was stuck in this bizarre limbo between times and the way his face looked didn't really help.
Door slid open. Ezra looked at his guest (or was he a guest in these quarters? he didn't know yet) and was met by Sabine's eyes and smile.
"I brought you clothes to choose from," she said, putting her small cargo on the table. Ezra smiled and thanked her, but Sabine didn't seem like she was going to leave. Ezra was good with it. "Are you not gonna see?"
Ezra shrugged, turning back to the mirror.
"A bit later, I guess."
"Those're new."
"Clothes?"
"No. Scars."
Ezra looked back at Sabine and blinked, confused. She was looking at him closely, and it was this moment Ezra realized he was half-naked.
"Oh," he breathed, looking at his torso and arms like he was seeing them for the first time in his life. "Yeah. They're not really new. Some are ten years old."
"Which ones?" Sabine asked, pushing herself from the table and closer to Ezra. He let out a thoughtful hum, looking for something on his body.
"Oh, there it is." Sabine tilted her head, watching as Ezra rose his left arm up. There was a long thin line from his armpit to his ribs. "This one's from the hyperspace jump. Y'know, glass broke and cut me up a bit."
"When you left Lothal?.. That jump?.." Sabine's fingers traced the scar, making Ezra shiver - it tickled. He smiled, lowering his arm back down.
"Well, I haven't been jumping much since then," he laughed a bit, and Sabine gave him a little smile.
"I've got some new ones too," she said, lifting up her shirt to show her torso too. Ezra looked at her, surprised and a bit bashful, and then she pointed to the round scar on her right side.
All shyness faded away, changed by concern, when Ezra saw it. He lowered a bit, furrowed and touched the scar, and Sabine didn't even flinch.
"A burn?.." he said in low voice, trying to understand what he was looking at. "A blaster?"
"A lightsaber." Ezra's eyes flicked up and Sabine could see horror in his gaze. She shrugged. "Not a big deal."
"It is!" Ezra protested, straightening up. "How did you even..."
"Doctors said I got lucky and it didn't really touch anything important, and the bleeding was stopped almost immediately, 'cause y'know. Those things're hot."
Ezra let out a nervous laugh and shook his head.
"Unbelievable."
"Hey," Sabine smiled and pointed at him. "If you can survive the hyperspace jump and ten years in another galaxy, why can't I take a little lightsaber to the gut?"
Ezra lifted his hands, surrendering to her reasoning.
"It wasn't MY lightsaber, I hope?" he turned back to mirror and the reflection took him aback once more. The only thing he was sure was his were his eyes and scars.
"Nah, some pretentious girl's", Sabine said, and then she furrowed a bit. "You good?"
"Dunno," Ezra answered honestly. He touched his chin and turned his head from side to side. "Don't you think I look a bit too much like my dad?"
"Wow, I wonder where this resemblance came from. Like you're blood related or something," she crossed her arms with a smile. But there was something in Ezra's voice, something a bit too serious, that couldn't let her relax. "Does it bother you?"
Ezra lowered his arms and turned to Sabine, a bit bashful once more.
"Can you..." he hesitated a bit, like he was too embarrassed to ask. Sabine arched her eyebrow. "Can you do something with my hair?"
Sabine blinked in surprise and took a few steps towards him.
"Something?" she echoed, raising her hands up and touching his dark locks. Ezra was surprisingly comfortable with it. He shrugged.
"I trust your artistic vision." Sabine smiled slyly, looking into his eyes.
"Does it mean I can dye it?"
Ezra closed his eyes and raised his hands in surrender once more.
"Do your worst."
It took Sabine about ten minutes to go get what she needed and then she put Ezra down on a chair and started doing her magic. Ezra relaxed, lulled by movement of her hands and the feeling of her focus. His state was close to meditation, like he was sitting there, and could feel Force move and swirl around them, in the room and the building, he could feel so many living creatures it was a bit overwhelming.
"You tensed," Sabine's voice was quiet yet for Ezra it sounded like thunder. It was hard not to flinch, but he managed to keep his peace. Who knows, what would she chop off with those scissors in her hands...
"Meditating," he answered simply.
"Aren't you supposed to be relaxed then?" she asked, pulling his hair slightly to detangle a couple of little knots.
"Ideally, yeah," Ezra smiled. "But it's been a while since I had so many distractions around me."
"Distractions?" Sabine echoed, looking in the mirror to see Ezra's face expression. His eyes were still closed and he looked peaceful, but she could feel that slight tension he bore in his posture and mimics. His lashes quivered for a moment, when he began his explaining.
"It's the Force," he said, flapping his hand on his lap lightly, gesturing around, "It was different out there. Muted, I think. Or just... Distant."
Sabine froze for a moment, but then continued grooming Ezra's hair without saying anything.
"It's way more present here," Ezra continued, tilting his head slightly, following movement of Sabine's hands. "I feel like I can touch every single thread that connects everyone and everything around me. Like I can tap into Force without even thinking about it."
"Thought you could do that before," Sabine said quietly. She could see Ezra chuckle silently.
"Yeah, well... I had to meditate my ass off just to feel someone around me back there," Sabine swallowed a bit. The thought of Ezra spending days straight on meditation out of pure hope to not be alone was very uncomfortable. "I'm a pro now."
"Oh, well I'm very flattered to tend to your holy hair, oh master-jedi," Sabine spoke so dramatically it inevitably made Ezra laugh.
"Come on," he said, choking on laughter, "Right now you have much more power over me than I have over you. It's not me holding the scissors."
She clicked said scissors loudly and Ezra chuckled again.
"What're doing, by the way?" he said, looking at Sabine's face in the mirror.
"Trying to align that wavy bush you got up here," she said calmly. "Then I'm gonna braid or gather it, I think. Not sure yet."
"So, no dye?"
"You said do my worst, not my best," she raised her gaze and met Ezra's eyes in the mirror. He was looking at her, and was so calm and relaxed, Sabine felt a quick pick of guilt in her stomach. He trusted her to do his hair, but she knew it meant so much more. She knew, Ezra would trust her his own life without hesitation. He already did, in fact. And it took her ten years to finally get him home. She should've realized sooner, found him sooner.
"Sabine?"
She shivered, clicking on air. Nervous smile crawled on Ezra's face.
"You good?"
"Yeah, yeah," Sabine quickly shook her head, regaining her composure. "I think we're done with cutting for now."
Ezra blinked slowly, like he was falling back into his meditative state while Sabine was taking care of his hair. She hoped he couldn't feel slight shiver in her hands while she brushed his hair with her fingers, but chances that Ezra didn't notice were slim. He would always point details quickly and now, after so much time spent in hiding and surviving, he must've been even more perceptive.
However, Ezra was silent, lost in motions of Sabine's hands and feel of being cared of. It felt nice and Ezra remembered how a long time ago Kanan would help him with his hair when it got too long, how he would teach him to shave, couple months before Malachor. Memories washed Ezra, like a gentle tide, and he could not help but snort from laughter, making Sabine hum, questioning what was on his mind.
"I used to have a buzzcut," he explained, raising his hand to cover his eyes and dumb smile. Sabine chuckled.
"It suited you," she said, tying his hair in a knot of the back of his nead. "But it doesn't go with your beard."
She lowered from behind him, looking at his face closely. Ezra looked up at her, watching her eyes inspect him.
"Wanna make me shave? 'Cause I haven't done it in, like, ten years," he chuckled nervously, but then Sabine straightened and for some reason Ezra felt in danger.
"I'll do it," she said, rubbing her hands and smiling with such sly Ezra thought she would make some crazy design on his face. Well, he told her to do her worst...
So Ezra just gulped, braced himself up and trusted Sabine's vision. They were silent for a bit, while Sabine lathered his face and beard and started to shave him little by little. She was still behind him, and Ezra was looking in the mirror, watching movement of her hands and the focused expression on her face. It was this moment when he started to recognise himself in the reflection. It took him a good couple of seconds to realize that he was looking at his own face. It was no longer the past, it was something else - it was HIM. Not that boy, who survived in Lothal's sewers, not the kid from Ghost's crew or a young officer of Rebellion, no, this was all a long-long time ago. But it was him, Ezra, he could see it. He could see how his eyes burned a bit brighter upon this realisation.
"Wow," he breathed out, making Sabine stop.
"What is it?" she said, concerned.
"Nothing, I just," he chuckled nervously. "I recognised myself."
Sabine blinked, confused.
"What do you mean?" she asked, looking at him through the mirror. He hesitated a bit, feeling like saying his thoughts out loud would be foolish.
"It's a bit dumb," he confessed, but Sabine only rolled her eyes.
"Go on, stop mushing around," she said, picking up the wet towel to wash lather off of his face.
"It's just," he looked up, raising his chin so Sabine could wipe his neck with the towel, "back then, when I took Thrawn away, I was completely out of the fight. I could not do anything. Literally, I had no ability to help you guys or even to know what was going on."
Sabine's jaw line tensed, but she was silent, still taking care of Ezra's face. His gaze was distant and she was thankful for that.
"I spent ten years, living by hope," he said quietly. "When I thought that I might end up stranded forever or that I might die without ever coming home, I simply assured myself that wasn't the case. I was waiting, and making myself useful in the process. Meditating, helping locals, learning their language and making sure Thrawn would stay there with me."
Sabine put the towel down and put her hands on Ezra's shoulders, watching his face in the mirror. He was speaking quietly, yet for her it was the most important thing in the world, so she listened like her life depended on it.
"I used to entertain myself," he continued, "thinking about what would I do when I get back. I wanted to go fly with Hera, wanted to spar with you, wanted to chill with Zeb and Chopper, as we used to do back in the old days. Wanted to find Ahsoka and finally find out where the heck I was when I pulled her out. Wanted to go back to Lothal and watch it rebuild. But now I feel like..."
Sabine clenched her fingers a bit, watching as Ezra look away and furrow in confusion.
"I feel like I missed so much I don't even know where am I anymore. I know I'm home and I'm happy, I really am," he looked up to the mirror, and Sabine didn't know if he tried to convince her or himself. "But I don't know what to do."
He looked back down.
"I think, I'm scared."
Sabine took a deep breath and moved, sitting down in front of Ezra. He looked at her, still lost, and it felt like guilt and sorrow gripped her heart with its cold claws. She couldn't bear seeing him like this.
"Hey," she whispered, putting her hand on his cheek. "It's okay. It's been a long time, I know. It's okay to feel a bit confused."
Ezra looked her straight in the eyes, like there were answers, and Sabine only smiled. He opened up to her. It was only fair to open up back.
"You know, I was so afraid, that I would be late," she said, brushing her thumb over his face. Tears stung her eyes, but they were still hidden. "But even more so, I was afraid to find you and realise that you were gone."
Ezra blinked, not understanding what she was talking about. Sabine chuckled. Even after all these years, he looked like a silly pup of lotho-wolf, when his eyes had this questioning look in them.
"I was afraid," she gulped, still caressing his cheek. "That the boy I grew up with was gone, but his body would still be alive. I was afraid that all those horrors and unknowns would've done to you."
Ezra furrowed and out his hand on hers, catching her attention.
"I was afraid I would find you and not recognise," she whispered in strangled voice.
"But you did," Ezra whispered back, caressing the back of her hand with his palm. "And I'm so happy you did. I knew you would."
Sabine shook her head slightly and pressed her forehead to Ezra's. It was so important for her to feel him, to know that he was around and to show him she was as well.
"We'll figure it out," she promised, still gripping his face. Ezra watched her, but Sabine's eyes were closed. "We will figure it out, 'cause you're alive and you're here. Everything else will come around. We'll get you fly with Hera and Jacen, we'll spar, we'll get you to Lothal and you'll see the memorial and your home. I'll go catch some lotho-cat for you to talk to, we'll go anywhere you want, do whatever you want."
"Sabine," Ezra called quietly. "I can't make everything about me."
"You should."
"What do you want?" he asked, nugding to her head, gently petting the back of her head with his free hand.
"I want to make sure you're never alone again," she said and her voice was so full of pain and guilt. Ezra smiled gently, letting her snuggle even closer.
"I'm not. I never was." he whispered, touching her nose with his own. "I always felt you. We're connected. Force unites all of us. All of us who cross the galaxy and who stays low. All of us who's breathing and who's not."
"Since when did you become so wise," Sabine smiled, ignorring a tear running down her cheek.
"Dunno," Ezra smiled back. "Somewhen between learning how to ask for water and using woodstick as a weapon to spook howlers."
They laughed quietly, still sitting close, forehead to forehead, hands of back of each others heads. And it felt right.
"Okay," Sabine whispered, pulling back from Ezra. His eyes followed her movement, yet he looked calm and relaxed. She wiped the tear from her face and shiffed, and looked like she was completely okay with the fact of Ezra still holding her hand. "Let's see that you think."
She moved aside and let Ezra look in the mirror. He blinked in surprise, when he realised that she was done.
Turning his head from side to side, Ezra smiled in awe.
"Wait," he squinted, looking back at Sabine. "Did you copy Kanan's goatee?"
Sabine chuckled.
"It looks good!" she protested, taking his chin and making him look back in the mirror. "Looks like you."
Sabine was right. Of course, she was right. Ezra huffed a laugh. He could try to argue, but she would always win. And yeah, the reflection looked like him.
A tapestry, carefully weaved from memories of old and hopes of future. It suited him.
"Thank you, Sabine."
She smiled.
"Anytime. Now, lets get you dressed."
Ezra blinked and looked down, once again realising he had only his pants on.
"Yes, please..."
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cuubism · 1 year
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actor hob, and pretentious asshole film director dream
[ this got so long and so weird and specific i'm so sorry ]
so hob is an everyman actor. a good actor, charismatic, funny, fan favorite, but not the type that gets cast in highbrow art films. mostly he does like romcoms, mid-budget action movies, feel-good family films, etc etc. and he's totally cool with that, he's good at what he does, and people enjoy those films, anyway. he might be getting a bit bored though, a bit stagnant. might be thinking it's time for some reinvention. and there might be a certain director whose ridiculous and nonsensical but dreamy films he's particularly enamored with...
dream makes REALLY pretentious art films. the types that get studied in graduate level film classes and have fifty different academic papers with fifty different theses trying to puzzle them out. dream is a master of themes and images and subtle construction. he is also a COMPLETE asshole and impossible to work with, an auteur in the most stereotypical way possible, he writes and directs, he micromanages all his projects, he asserts his vision and god help anyone who goes against it. nobody can handle him, nobody can STAND him, and the only reason he still gets funding for these projects is because they win awards, so many awards, and the studios want to ride on the coattails of those awards. but it's getting to the point where even his most ride-or-die producers are ready to give up.
right off the back of dream's most recent bafta, a rather naive Big Exec approaches him to direct the next installment of his Big Superhero Franchise. dream is immediately like fuck off with that bullshit but the exec pleads with him that the franchise is flagging and they really need something new to spice it up. plus the pay will be enough for dream to finance like 10 of his own ridiculous art films without having to rely on producers for money. and dream really is about to get cut off for being a complete insufferable asshole so he takes the gig. it kind of feels like prison though.
anyway, he gets to work trying to make this shitty boring film at least marginally less shitty and boring. he doesn't have a lot of leeway -- a lot of the story is locked in, half the cast is set from prior installments etc. dream immediately regrets taking this job, he'd rather die in actual prison than work on this mindnumbing piece of trash. it feels like it's taking an eternity and who could possibly stand an eternity of this???
well. enter hob, whose agent managed to snag him a 2nd-lead sort of role in this thing. it's not QUITE the reinvention he was going for but the pay and exposure are really good -- and even if they weren't, the moment hob saw that dream was attached he was immediately on board.
cue dream tearing his fucking hair out and basically being a complete menace and diva on set -- no that wasn't good, yes we have to do a 57th take, oh my god this dialogue is horrible give me that shitty script i'm writing my own thing, what do you mean the plot is linear???, wait there are how many cgi aliens????? i'm going to kill myself -- and Hob, pretty much Just Happy To Be There as always, takes one look at this beautiful dramatic emo asshole and is like oh. yes. i don't know what i'm saying yes to, but i'm saying yes. just immediately enamored with this bitch against all logic, he's like i've seen all your films i know how your mind works you brilliant nihilistic mess of a person. i'm on board. let's go.
first scene that hob's in dream is once again ranting about the atrocious script, which he did not write and is hardly allowed to change -- or, every change he makes is too weird and the studio keeps nixing it. everyone keeps sighing and being like oh my god can we please just shoot i wanna go home, meanwhile hob's like alright then. let's workshop it. and dream's just like. what. you aren't just gonna tell me to shut up? and hob's like no, youre right, this script is trash, but i know you're just going to write something really weird and psychedelic that they won't let you shoot. and dream's like you dare to speak to me that way??? and hob just puts his hands on his hips and is like listen, i actually know more about this sort of general audience family film thing than you do, mister arthouse, so are you going to work with me or not? and dream's just like what... is happening... because usually people who try to 'handle' him either just cave to his every demand like wimps, or just fight him on everything to 'prove' that they're in control, and hob is just kind of... not doing either of those? anyway dream doesn't know what to do with him.
so they workshop it. turns out hob actually DOES know how these sort of general audience all-follow-the-same-three-act-structure films work and how to improve things within those confines, and also he understands what like, normal people like, you know, casual feel good movies, not everything has to be a mindbender, jesus. so they bounce ideas off each other for like 3 hours until they finally get something that's okay enough that dream no longer wants to fling himself into the sun. meanwhile everyone on set is staring at them like 👀. then dream is like come back to my trailer we are rewriting the other 116 pages of this script right NOW. what else is hob supposed to do but follow.
then hob becomes the designated Dream Handler on set. dream starts using him as his barometer for what 'normal people' would like because he does not understand that at all. ("hob, will 'people' accept this?" "well considering youre spinning the camera around on a string i'm gonna go out on a limb and say no"). dream becomes kind of obsessed with him because his life is so like, normal, and he's okay with it?? he doesn't find existence to be an insufferable prison from which there is no escape?? and hob is like aw i know you're such a tortured artistic soul *pats him on the head*. plus, hob is actually a good actor, and he's able to put a lot of heart into even this mediocre big budget film, and kind of forces dream to confront the idea that there's more than one good type of story. that different stories serve different purposes and a straightforward happy story is okay, actually.
(and that the problem is the corporatization of the storytelling, not the story itself)
anyway the movie ends up being pretty good, dream still kind of hates it because he wasn't given full artistic license but he has to grudgingly admit that it has at least some merit. after the premiere hob is like (cheekily) so you gonna direct the sequel? and dream is like i did not write that to have a sequel. and hob's like it has a cliffhanger? and dream's like so???? and hob's like well theyre definitely gonna make a sequel. and dream's like i hate this planet. also no i'm not going to make the sequel. i'm going to fuck off to the woods and make a movie about teeth. do you want to star in it? and hob's like you're so fucking weird i'm obsessed with you i'm going to kiss you now.
so yeah, that.
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tmblrcolouredpaper · 3 months
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Tumblr media
Hold my hand, I'm nervous.
Minho likes spending time with you and discovering new aspects of this friendship.
Friendship, Mutual Pining, Domestic Fluff, Nervousness, Comfort, Concert, Protectiveness, Holding Hands, Cold Weather, Clumsiness, Cooking together, Napping, Nightmare, First Sleepover, Platonic Cuddling
⚠️: Body Shaming (by stranger) indicated, Fear of Crowds indicated
wc: 3966
'Hold my hand, I'm nervous.'
He wasn't nervous, not at all, but you know, sometimes he was convinced that lying was completely okay as long as it didn't harm anyone. Besides, he was sure you knew when he was telling the truth and when he wasn't anyway. That's something he loved so much, the comfortability in the friendship with you that caused him to be able to goof off and bullshit around as much as he wanted to.
'You're on a chair not a mountain.', you stated and rolled your eyes in annoyance. The concert was about to start and the fact that you arrived too late to get good spots made you already regret going out this evening.
'Still.', Minho insisted and waved his hand in front of your face until you took it to make him stop.
'Man, that's gonna be one awesome show. I've always wanted to see them live, you know.', he smiled and looked over the mass of people, excitement shimmering in his eyes.
'I know.', you grumbled and remembered why you went out, why you were out in the cold surrounded by people, many drunk, some probably on other drugs, holding his hand even though it was completely unnecessary. Him playing his 'fear of heights'- card was so pretentious that you were almost amused by his preference of saying anything but directly what he wants. Involuntarily, you shook your head and couldn't keep yourself from smiling despite your bad mood. It was silly anyways, especially when Minho was right next to you having the time of his life. His happiness was simply contagious after some time.
Was he able to not look down at you and smile? No, not at all. Did he feel like an idiot, standing on a chair to see the stage, yet having his eyes only on you? Yes, for sure. But it didn't surprise him. He stepped down, tightened his grip on your hand while he did, because he was actually worried that he might lose balance for a second. Once he was stable on the ground, he pretended like he would actually fall and not even he would have expected your reaction of pulling him into your arms immediately.
'I was joking.', he clarified with an embarrassed blush that crept over his cheeks up to his ears. He was pushed away harshly, but your low mumbling, the only word he could comprehend was 'idiot', made him smirk.
'Aaaaw, you thought I was actually falling?', he teased and caressed your cheek, his fingers light and warm on your skin. 'Thank you for always being my saviour, babe.'
'Don't touch my face with your unwashed hands.', you grunted and pushed his arm away.
'So, I wash my hands and can touch you?', he asked, eyes widened in excitement.
'No. Never.', you answered monotonously and crossed your arms in front of you. 'Why did you come down? I thought you wanted to see the stage properly.'
'Want to stand next to you, but you can still hold my hand when you miss it.', he explained without looking at you.
When the concert started he was jumping and dancing, singing along the lyrics and laughed from happiness. The crowd was hyped and even you began to show that you were having fun, actually recognizing a few songs that Minho must have shown you before.
A man next to you kept glancing at you from time to time and you thought it was because you probably looked weird in some sense. You kept wondering if it was your hair or your outfit or your makeup. Every bit of your appearance could have been a reason for someone to express their dislike for it, but in the end no one cares about stuff like this, so you tried your best to ignore his temporary stares and convince yourself that he must have had reasons that weren't under your influence.
'This was awesome. Thank you for coming with me.', Minho laughed after the last song was performed and the band left the stage after several rounds of applause. He took your hand and secured you close to him when everyone became busy leaving the hall.
'Can't lose you.', he said and squeezed your hand, inaudibly assuring you that he was planning on keeping you safe with him.
Many people passed by including the man that kept paying attention to you before Minho decided to leave as well. He saw him, he hated him. Not that he knew him, but the way he kept looking at you and turning to his friend to laugh and joke immediately after scanning you, was enough for him to have an opinion. Minho needed to see him walking away.
'Soooooo, should I bring you home or are you up for chilling at mine?', Minho asked during the walk through the streets, enjoying the fresh air after the concert, his hand still holding yours while playfully swaying them back and forth between your bodies.
'Yours?', you asked happily and he responded, 'Mine?!', sounding just as bright and happy and started laughing.
The fresh air slowly became uncomfortable and Minho started to worry that he might catch a cold. You probably felt the same. Unaware of what he was doing, he pulled you closer to him and immediately heard your teeth clashing against eachother in a fast pace.
'You're an idiot for not bringing a jacket.', he announced and laid his arm around your shoulder.
'You brought me with you. Isn't your task to take care of me then?', you questioned and sneaked your arm around his waist, seeking his warmth, wishing you could just stop walking and push your face in the softness of his shirt.
'No? Since when do you rely on people?', he laughed, but secretly wished he would have been more considered. He would have brought a scarf, a jacket, a whole heater if he'd known you wanted that.
'I don't.', you clarified and took a step away from him, his arm falling off your shoulder.
'Well, I didn't bring a jacket either. That makes two idiots here, hm?, he smiled and pulled you back into his embrace, ignoring your protest.
The apartment complex was soon arrived and Minho held the door open, waiting for you to enter first. He gave you the keys to his apartment and nodded upwards. 'I have to get something from the basement, but go and make yourself comfortable already.'
He heard your steps on the stairs echoing from the empty walls and hurried downstairs to get a pile of his old clothes that he picked up from his parents' house a few days ago. He didn't have any use for them, but thought that you might like them.
When he arrived at his apartment door, he was surprised to find you still standing there, fondling with the keys. Your hands were red and stiff and you visibly struggled to pick the right key, dropping the whole chain clumsily.
'Fuck.', you mumbled and picked them up.
'Let's swap.', Minho announced behind you and gave you the pile while you handed him the key chain. He was even more worried now that you must have been freezing more than he did, so the second he entered the apartment, he went straight to his bedroom and carried the thick blanket to you.
'You go and get cozy in the living room.', he demanded and waited for you to take off your shoes before he pushed you in the direction he wanted you to head to, taking the pile of clothes from you at the same time.
Once he was done washing his hands and grabbing two bottles of water, he followed you, sat down on the floor in front of the sofa where you were curled up into a cocoon, the bottles placed on the small desk. His heart started beating so strongly that he could feel it in his throat. He could just move one meter forward and collect you in his arms, all cozy and close. Just one question, just one agreement and a few moves...
'I need to pee.', you announced, freed yourself from the blanket and went to the bathroom.
It was also just one moment, Minho realised.
The evening proceeded to be just as lacking of conversations as the whole day had already been. You didn't talk much on the way to the concert, the concert itself is no event that provides many talking possibilities and afterwards you two were busy processing all new impressions. Now you spent your time watching dramas, you spread on the sofa and Minho chilling on the floor, head resting on an empty spot of the sofa cushion.
His stomach grumbled and without saying a word he made his way to the kitchen area to cook something. He kept glancing over to you from time to time and the later it got the more he wondered if you would be up for sleeping here. He would like that a lot, he realized and began humming happily when he started imagining how your sheer presence might influence the atmosphere in his apartment.
Suddenly, when he turned to grab a spice on his left, he saw you standing next to him. When did you get up? How long was he actually daydreaming? In panic, he stirred the vegetables in the pan, scared he might have let them burn.
'Can I help with something?', you asked and he was caught off guard by the tiredness in your voice.
'Did you fall asleep?', he asked, genuinely curious, but his voice didn't cooperate and his tone made it sound like he was mocking you.
'Yeah.', you whispered dreamily and sighed.
You seemed happy. He wondered why.
'Good nap?', he questioned and filled some rice in two bowls that were already waiting, while he was working on the greens.
'Hmhmm. Can I help?', you repeated and Minho quickly shook his head, before he could think of verbalizing anything.
'I'll wash the dishes later then.', you shrugged. You didn't move. He found it almost awkward how you were standing in the middle of the room, not initiating of going back to the TV.
'May I smell yo-your shirt?', you whispered, and he dropped the spoon in surprise.
It landed in the pan, and he awkwardly fished it out of the sauce. He carefully laid it down and wiped his hand on a small kitchen towel.
'What?', he finally asked, baffled.
'It's just, your blanket. Like, I want to know if it's the smell of your laundry detergent or you.', you explained, fumbling with the hem of your own shirt.
'The smell?', he didn't understand.
'If the smell comes from the detergent, you need to tell me which brand and scent you're using. I swear, I haven't slept this well for months.', you spoke and started stirring the inside of the pan while Minho kept looking at you in a mixture of shock and disbelief.
After your explanation, he smirked. This was way too funny and if he was honest, way too good to be true to him.
'And what if it's my scent?', he asked confidently, taking the spoon out of your hand.
'Then, ahm, I guess, I, I will cherish this wonderful nap I got to take here?', you spoke slowly, sounding like you were unsure if what you should be saying, like you didn't even think this far.
'Go on, I'm all yours to smell.', he consented and put the pan to the side, deactivated the heat and turned towards you, arms spread to his side, him fully presenting you to himself with his eyes closed, because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle looking at you when you'd approach him with the intention of absorbing something as personal as his scent.
'I could also just smell the detergent.', you clarified and reached around him to take the pan, starting to fill the bowls with vegetables and sauce.
Yes, Minho was disappointed. Not in you, he would never be disappointed just because you didn't do something you didn't want to. He was disappointed in the whole situation and especially in himself, for not being genuine with you. If he were, he would have told you right away that the scene's origin didn't matter, that you could always take a nap here whenever you wanted, because he really liked having you here, giving you everything you'd possibly ask for.
'I'll show you later. Let's eat now.', he suggested and let you carry the bowl to the sofa, following you like a sad puppy that lost its favorite treat.
Other than you said, you didn't take care of the dishes alone. Minho was right by your side. He paused the drama you were watching and turned on music, grooving lazily while washing and tidying up. He caught you covering your mouth due to yawns several times and finally ask nonchalantly, 'You're staying here this night, right?'
'I would love to if it's okay for you.'
He smiled. His was sure his ears got all red, because he felt his body warming up comfortably.
After being done with mundane chores, you returned to the loving room, realizing that it was already 1am. Minho, sitting on the sofa, settled back and sighed. It was a great day. He was absolutely happy.
'Was it alright that I dragged you with me to the concert? I know it's not something you originally enjoy, but I'm very happy that you were with me.', Minho spoke lowly, eyes closed, feeling the exhaustion in his body.
'I actually ended up having fun. Maybe your taste in music isn't that bad after all.'
'Didn't know you had doubts. My taste in everything is out of this world.'
'Sure it is. Keep hallucinating.'
'You're mean, you know that?'
'I'm not and you know that.'
'Yeah... I know.'
'I wanna sleep with your blanket this night', you mumbled after a long pause, cuddling the big blanket that you kept with you ever since Minho gave it to you.
'And I thought you wanted to sleep with me.', he blurted out, unconscious of what he was saying, but he realized after a few seconds and cleared his throat in embarrassment.
'If that was the case I would use your trick and say that I'm scared and need to hold your hand.', you responded, ignoring his embarrassment, but you were well aware of his mood.
'I wouldn't fall for that trick. I know when you're lying.', he laughed.
'And you think I don't know when you're being overdramatic?', you questioned, leaning closer to observe his face, but also to play with him a bit. When would he drop his act of false disinterest and confidence?
'The chair was higher than you think.', he whispered and held eye contact. Silence arose, and the only thing he was focusing on were your eyes, and he recognized once again how weak he was for you. You were so close, so calm and just one question, one consent and one move away for him to caress your cheek with all the gentleness he could put into one touch. He hoped if he'd ever did that, you would become just as weak, melting into his touch like he seemed to find himself melting into your presence.
'I would hold your hand every time you'd ask me to. No chair needed.', you whispered back and he observed you blinking more often, realizing that this position was difficult for you too, but your words sank in, and he felt like crying out of happiness. He believed you, because he really wanted your words to be his reality.
'You're so much braver than I am.', he said and ended the starring contest, looking down at his hands.
'I'm the bravest version of myself when I'm with you.', you confessed and he saw you smiling at him in his peripheral vision.
'Can we go to sleep? I'm very tired?', you asked, wrapping the blanket around you a bit tighter and he nodded , in awe of how adorable you looked.
'I bring you some pillows. You can go get ready for sleep in the meantime.', he said and vanished into his bedroom to bring you anything you might need to have a comfortable sleep. He also pulled out another blanket from his drawer, because there was no way he would take the one you recently occupied from you.
He instructed you to rest well in a serious manner before he left to his room and once the door closed behind him, he threw himself onto the mattress, gathering all wonderful moments of the day in an imaginary treasure box, then actual items he needed after the shower.
The hot water washed away the smell of the concert hall and the spices from cooking. The lotion bottle was still wet, because you used it earlier. It wasn't the first time you showered here. In summer you two would always take a break here for you to take a cold shower, because of how easily you were overwhelmed by warm temperatures. However, you never slept over. You two camped together or stayed over at friends' houses, but having you at his own apartment over night was a first.
He returned to his bed after 20 minutes and wondered if he would even be able to fall asleep, to agitated by the day's events, but he laid down and tried.
A knock on the door woke him up. He actually fell into a deep slumber. The door was slowly pushed open and revealed you, still carrying his blanket with you. He wasn't surprised, but he was still in awe.
'Did the blanket power run off of scent energy?', he groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes and then making his way towards you. You didn't say a word, and he got slightly scared.
'Are you okay?', he asked, worried, gently pulling you into his room and switching on the fairy light that was unorganized and forgotten on a shelf until this moment. He didn't want to hurt your eyes by switching on the brighter ceiling light.
When he finally saw you properly, he was immediately worried. Your eyes were teary and your breath shaky.
'Scent energy immune against nightmares, I guess.', you whispered and sounded like you're about to cry every moment.
'It's a lot to ask, I kno-ow, but can I sleep here?', you whispered, voice so quiet and shaky that Minho had trouble understanding, but he instantly agreed, expecting you to walk to his bed. You didn't. You spoke again.
'With you?'
He wanted to. He wanted to sleep with you in the same bed, even holding you, so badly. He wanted to be bold and confident, but at the same time he was so intimidated by the way he felt when it came to you and he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, feeling even unsafe in any sense. He would also give you everything you'd ask for and if you wanted him with you, he would be with you.
'Sure.', he said and added a smile, hoping it was assuring and casual.
He took the fairy light and dropped it on the bedside table, waited for you to settle, and once he thought you were comfortable, he switched the light off and laid down as well. It's not much he wished for right now, yet he felt like it was too much to ask. Maybe that's how he could phrase it, so he tried.
'I want to ask you for something.', he started and heard a small 'okay' from you, quiet and in your consciously gentle tone that made him feel good right away.
'It's a lot.', he continued and paused, waiting for an indication if you’re ready or if he should drop it.
'I conquered your bed and you with your pretty body for a night. This is a lot from my side to ask, you have every right to do the same.'
'You're literally the only one I know who could phrase it this way without making it sound dirty.', he chuckled, amused, because it was true. He heard you laughing as well.
'Okay, I really want to hold you close to me. I, I want to, you know...' , he ended.
'You know.', you repeated and he was sure he could never sound as innocent as you regardless of how innocent he actually were.
'Yes, please, I'd like that a lot.', you said and Minho thought he was already in dreamland.
'Please, can you initiate, I'm way too overwhelmed and shy right now.', he heard you whisper and confidence finally returned to its home.
He scooped closer and lifted the blanket from you to let it drop over him as well. Under one blanket, he felt your warmth and every of your movements and it was new to him, he didn't dislike it though. As much as he knew he liked you, he didn't know to what extent and it was as exciting as it was scary to investigate that aspect of himself and the relationship he had with you.
'Minho.', you whispered and he immediately stopped his breath.
'Can we, kinda, set rules or something?'
'What rules?', he asked, not moving.
'Like, for example... that... we have to say... out loud what we think? And we don't judge that? And we don't act on it or something, just, we, ahm, talk eachother through?'
He slowly exhaled and let out a low chuckle.
'Wow. I take it back. You can make your words sound dirty.'
You laughed and sat up, now looking down at him. It was weird, so he sat up as well.
'No, not in that way. Just, I feel like I need to say what's on my mind here or otherwise it's gonna consume me. I don't want it to become awkward with you when there is no reason for that.'
He understood exactly how you felt and was eager to make this right.
'I really want to caress your cheek.', he announced, well aware of how weird it must sound like said out loud and when he heard you laughing, he knew it was weird.
He also realized that it was completely fine. It doesn't have to be serious, it can just be.
'You can do that. I allow it.', you said, the second sentence only a whisper.
Reluctantly, Minho reached out for you, he was feeling calm, but his hands was slightly shaking. However once his fingers touched your skin, he wanted nothing more to make sure you were confident in how much he liked you, how much you were liked and respected.
He pulled away and huffed in a smile. 'You're good?'
'Yes. You?', your voice sounded drained and he laid back down, indicating you to do the same by patting the mattress next to him.
'Just wanna sleep, holding you. Nothing changes, just like having you with me.', he mumbled and felt you rolling over, hesitantly placing your head on his chest.
'Okay?', you questioned and he laughed feeling you relax against him so easily.
'Yes', he said as if your question was the most ridiculous one ever.
Then he remembered something.
'How do I smell?', he asked teasingly, throwing his arms around you to comfort your embarrassment by rubbing your back.
'You should hold my hand.', he announced and heard you huffing tiredly.
'Is the bed that high?', you asked, sounding like you were about to fall asleep every second.
'No, but I'm high on endorphins.', he explained very seriously and wasn't surprised when you pinned his arm down to grab his hand, acting all annoyed when he knew you actually weren't at all, that you liked his company just as much as he enjoyed yours.
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mewtwoandme · 1 year
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You know. It's incredibly pretentious to make your self insert OC the one who has the biggest positive impact on Mewtwo, not even Ash comes close to it despite turning his world upside down. Especially that your self insert hasn't really shown any single negative trait so far and that you added a tons of emotional problems to Mewtwo that weren't present in the anime or the movies (like his fear of partnership, suicidal thoughts etc...) turning him into an entirely different character so that your self insert will be the one who helps Mewtwo to overcome them. So yes, Lakota is the very definition of a Mary Sue.
I LOVE how some people still think Lakota is a self insert, I laugh my good sir or ma'am, I laugh XD Think what ya want, I guess. If anything, she is the type of person I WISH I was lol. She is entirely her own character. Believe me, if she was truly a self insert of me and what I'm really like, she wouldn't be very likable.
Also, the definition of a Mary Sue, and I quote is "a type of female character who is depicted as unrealistically lacking in flaws or weaknesses." Which for Lakota is false. She has her flaws and weaknesses. One of her major flaws we continue to see is that she tries to be everyone's rock and anchor, and hardly focuses on her own feelings, which may come back and bite her eventually. Just because I don't visually draw out a scenario for every problem she has for you all to see, doesn't mean she doesn't have her own issues :V
Also there's nothing wrong with a character who has a lot of empathy and cares about her family, and is willing to help them if they need it. I guess some people such as yourself have never received such kindness before though.
And as far as Mewtwo's emotional issues, that's just a little thing called 🌈character development/building🌈 sweetie. I touch on topics that most cartoons are hesitant to. And of course he's not gonna have the same personality as he did in the films, do you know how boring that would be? Like yeah, we get it, a cold and emotionally constipated psychic cat who broods and contemplates his purpose and existence all the time....There's only so much you can do with that, I chose to extend his character a little. I try to make Mewtwo feel a little more relatable and real with the emotions I make him experience, realistically based on everything he went through both in the first movie and in Detective Pikachu, trust issues and ptsd/trauma are very understandable and real emotions I think people would experience if they endured what Mewtwo had to go through. But I guess according to you, that's a big no no, well uhhh...ya know? Too bad. :V
I write my story and characters how I want to. I don't need your or anyone's validation or approval. How about YOU make your own version of Mewtwo and YOU come up with a personality that suits him to YOUR liking, rather than wasting your and my time, sending a paragraph long ask, bitching about mine, kay? 😘
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