#without the mouse extension

[ask-terraria-bosses]

Empress are you a lesbian... Cuz ur a hottie. Get it. Heh. Cuz lesbians are hot. Wow i love women ⚢

i dont blame you

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Happy Public Domain Day 2025 to all who celebrate

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/17/dastar-dly-deeds/#roast-in-piss-sonny-bono

In 1976, Congress set fire to the country's libraries; in 1998, they did it again. Today, in 2024, the flames have died down, and out of the ashes a new public domain is growing. Happy Public Domain Day 2025 to all who celebrate!

For most of US history, copyright was something you had to ask for. To copyright a work, you'd send a copy to the Library of Congress and they'd issue you a copyright. Not only did that let you display a copyright mark on your work – so people would know they weren't allowed to copy it without your permission – but if anyone wanted to figure out who to ask in order to get permission to copy or adapt a work, they could just go look up the paperwork at the LoC.

In 1976, Congress amended the Copyright Act to eliminate the "formality" of copyright registration. Now, all creative works of human authorship were copyrighted "at the moment of fixation" – the instant you drew, typed, wrote, filmed, or recorded them. From a toddler's nursery-school finger-painting to a graffiti mural on a subway car, every creative act suddenly became an article of property.

But whose property? That was on you to figure out, before you could copy, publish, perform, or preserve the work, because without registration, permissions had to start with a scavenger hunt for the person who could grant it. Congress simultaneously enacted a massive expansion of property rights, while abolishing the title registry that spelled out who owned what. As though this wasn't enough, Congress reached back in time and plopped an extra 20 years' onto the copyrights of existing works, even ones whose authors were unknown and unlocatable.

For the next 20 years, creative workers, archivists, educators and fans struggled in the face of this regime of unknowable property rights. After decades of well-documented problems, Congress acted again: they made it worse.

In 1998, Congress passed the Sonny Bono Copyright Act, AKA the Mickey Mouse Preservation Act, AKA the Copyright Term Extension Act. The 1998 Act tacked another 20 years onto copyright terms, but not just for works that were still in copyright. At the insistence of Disney, Congress actually yanked works out of the public domain – works that had been anthologized, adapted and re-issued – and put them back into copyright for two more decades. Copyright stretched to the century-plus "life plus 70 years" term. Nothing entered the public domain for the next 20 years.

So many of my comrades in the fight for the public domain were certain that this would happen again in 2018. In 2010, e-book inventor and Project Gutenberg founder Michael S Hart and I got into a friendly email argument because he was positive that in 2018, Congress would set fire to the public domain again. When I insisted that there was no way this could happen given the public bitterness over the 1998 Act, he told me I was being naive, but said he hoped that I was right.

Michael didn't live to see it, but in 2019, the public domain opened again. It was an incredible day:

https://archive.org/details/ClosingKeynoteForGrandReopeningOfThePublicDomainCoryDoctorowAtInternetArchive

No one has done a better job of chronicling the fortunes of our fragile, beautiful, bounteous public domain than Jennifer Jenkins and James Boyle of Duke University's Center for the Study of the Public Domain. Every year from 2010-2019, Boyle and Jenkins chronicled the works that weren't entering the public domain because of the 1998 Act, making sure we knew what had been stolen from our cultural commons. In so many cases, these works disappeared before their copyrights expired, for example, the majority of silent films are lost forever.

Then, in 2019, Jenkins and Boyle got to start cataloging the works that were entering the public domain, most of them from 1923 (copyright is complicated, so not everything that entered the public domain in 2019 was from that year):

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/publicdomainday/2019/

Every year since, they've celebrated a new bumper crop. Last year, we got Mickey Mouse!

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/15/mouse-liberation-front/#free-mickey

In addition to numerous other works – by Woolf, Hemingway, Doyle, Christie, Proust, Hesse, Milne, DuBois, Frost, Chaplin, Escher, and more:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/20/em-oh-you-ess-ee/#sexytimes

Now, 2024 was a fantastic year for the public domain, but – as you'll see in the 2025 edition of the Public Domain Day post – 2025 is even better:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/publicdomainday/2025/

So what's entering the public domain this year? Well, for one thing, there's more of the stuff from last year, which makes sense: if Hemingway's first books entered the PD last year, then this year, we'll the books he wrote next (and this will continue every year until we catch up with Hemingway's tragic death).

There are some big hits from our returning champions, like Woolf's To the Lighthouse and A Farewell to Arms from Hemingway. Jenkins and Boyle call particular attention to one book: Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, its title taken from a public domain work by Shakespeare. As they write, Faulkner spoke eloquently about the nature of posterity and culture:

[Humanity] is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance…The poet’s voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

The main attraction on last year's Public Domain Day was the entry of Steamboat Willie – the first Mickey Mouse cartoon – into the public domain. This year, we're getting a dozen new Mickey cartoons, including the first Mickey talkie:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mickey_Mouse_(film_series)#1929

Those 12 shorts represent a kind of creative explosion for the Disney Studios. Those early Mickey cartoons were, each and every one, a hybrid of new copyrighted works and the public domain. The backbone of each Mickey short was a beloved, public domain song, with Mickey's motion synched to the beat (animators came to call this "mickey mousing"). In 1929, there was a huge crop of public domain music that anyone could use this way:

Blue Danube, Pop Goes the Weasel, Yankee Doodle, Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush, Ach Du Lieber Augustin, Listen to the Mocking Bird, A-Hunting We Will Go, Dixie, The Girl I Left Behind Me, a tune known as the snake charmer song, Coming Thru the Rye, Mary Had a Little Lamb, Auld Lang Syne, Aloha ‘Oe, Turkey in the Straw, My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, Habanera and Toreador Song from Carmen, Lizst’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, and Goodnight, Ladies.

These were recent compositions, songs that were written and popularized in the lifetimes of the parents and grandparents who took their kids to the movies to see Mickey shorts like "The Barn Dance," "The Opry House" and "The Jazz Fool." The ability to plunder this music at will was key to the success of Mickey Mouse and Disney. Think of all the Mickeys and Disneys we've lost by locking up the public domain for the past half-century!

This year, we're getting some outstanding new old music for our public domain. The complexities of copyright terms mean that compositions from 1929 are entering the public domain, but we're only getting recordings from 1924. 1924's outstanding recordings include:

George Gershwin performing Rhapsody in Blue, Jelly Roll Morton playing Shreveport Stomp, and an early recording from contralto and civil rights icon Marian Anderson, who is famous for her 1939 performance to an integrated audience of over 75,000 people at the Lincoln Memorial. Anderson’s 1924 recording is of the spiritual Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.

While the compositions include Singin' in the Rain, Ain't Misbehavin', An American in Paris, Bolero, (What Did I Do to Be So) Black and Blue, Tiptoe Through the Tulips, Happy Days Are Here Again, What Is This Thing Called, Love?, Am I Blue? and many, many more.

On the art front, we're getting Salvador Dali's earliest surrealist masterpieces, like Illumined Pleasures, The Accommodations of Desire, and The Great Masturbator. Dali's contemporaries are not so lucky: after a century, the early history of the works of Magritte are so muddy that it's impossible to say whether they are in or out of copyright.

But there's plenty of art with clearer provenance that we can welcome into the public domain this year, most notably, Popeye and Tintin. As the first Popeye and Tintin comics go PD, so too do those characters.

The idea that a fictional character can have a copyright separate from the stories they appear in is relatively new, and it's weird and very stupid. Courts have found that the Batmobile is a copyrightable character (Batman won't enter the public domain until 2035).

Copyright for characters is such a muddy, gross, weird idea. The clearest example of how stupid this gets comes from Sherlock Holmes, whose canon spans many years. The Doyle estate – a rent-seeking copyright troll – claimed that Holmes wouldn't enter the public domain until every Holmes story was in the public domain (that's this year, incidentally!).

This didn't fly, so their next gambit was to claim copyright over those aspects of Holmes's character that were developed later in the stories. For example, they claimed that Holmes didn't show compassion until the later stories, and, on that basis, sued the creators of the Enola Holmes TV show for depicting a gender-swapped Sherlock who wasn't a total dick:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/dec/22/lawsuit-copyright-warmer-sherlock-holmes-dismissed-enola-holmes

As the Enola lawyers pointed out in their briefs, this was tantamount to a copyright over emotions: "Copyright law does not allow the ownership of generic concepts like warmth, kindness, empathy, or respect, even as expressed by a public domain character – which, of course, belongs to the public, not plaintiff."

When Mickey entered the public domain last year, Jenkins did an excellent deep dive into which aspects of Mickey's character and design emerged when:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/mickey/

Jenkins uses this year's entry of Tintin and Popeye into the public domain to further explore the subject of proprietary characters.

Even though copyright extends to characters, it only covers the "copyrightable" parts of those characters. As the Enola lawyers wrote, the generic character traits (their age, emotional vibe, etc) are not protected. Neither is anything "trivial" or "minuscule" – for example, if a cartoonist makes a minor alteration to the way a character's pupils or eyes are drawn, that's a minor detail, not a copyrightable element.

The biggest impediment to using public domain characters isn't copyright, it's trademark. Trademark is very different from copyright: foundationally, trademark is the right to protect your customers from being deceived by your competitors. Coke can use trademark to stop Pepsi from selling its sugary drinks in Coke cans – not because it owns the word "Coke" or the Coke logo, but because it has been deputized to protect Coke drinkers from being tricked into buying not-Coke, thinking that they're getting the true Black Waters of American Imperialism.

Companies claim trademarks over cartoon characters all the time, and license those trademarks on food, clothing, toys, and more (remember Popeye candy cigarettes?).

Indeed, Hearst Holdings claims a trademark over Popeye in many traditional categories, like cartoons, amusement parks, ads and clothes. They're also in the midst of applying for a Popeye NFT trademark (lol).

Does that mean you can't use Popeye in any of those ways? Nope! All you need to do is prominently mention that your use of Popeye is unofficial, not associated with Hearst, and dispel any chance of confusion. A unanimous Supreme Court decision (in Dastar) affirm your right to do so. You can also use Popeye in the title of your unauthorized Popeye comic, thanks to a case called Rogers v Grimaldi.

This all applies to Tintin, too – a big deal, given that Tintin is managed by a notorious copyright bully who delights in cruelly terrorizing fan artists. Tintin is joined in the public domain by Buck Rogers, another old-timey character whose owners are scumbag rent-seekers.

Congress buried the public domain alive in 1976, and dumped a load of gravel over its grave in 1998, but miraculously, we've managed to exhume the PD, and it has been revived and is showing signs of rude health.

2024 saw the blockbuster film adaptation of Wicked, based on the public domain Oz books. It also saw the publication of James, a celebrated retelling of Twain's Huck Finn from the perspective of Huck's enslaved sidekick.

This is completely normal. It's how art was made since time immemorial. The 40 year experiment in life without a public domain is at an end, and not a minute too soon.

You can piece together a complete-as-possible list of 2025's public domain (including the Marx Brothers' Cocoanuts, Disney's Skeleton Dance, and Del Ruth's Gold Diggers of Broadway) here:

https://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/cce/

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 04

Masky x Gender Neutral Reader - In the Car/Road Head

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Blowjob, road head, praise, car sex, pleasing, codependency, obsessive traits, clinginess, trauma responses, brief mentions of abuse, soft sex, kinda fluffy

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Made Masky kind of soft in this… I like it.

The two of you had been riding out this empty interstate for miles, another thirty or so left to go. Thick night air rushed through the cracked windows, the heavy thud of music sounding through the old speakers of the beat up truck.

Masky had been driving the whole time, left hand gripped tightly onto the wheel as you nudged uncomfortably close to his side, his arm wrapped around your back. It was an older model truck without the console, perfect for you to get close to him.

You couldn’t help that you had grown codependent. Every proxy had their bad traits, yours was just slightly more annoying than others.

When The Operator first introduced you to the others, you were stiff, fresh out of whatever hell-hole mental destruction the others had also experienced. It was only normal you resisted the rest of the group at first, they knew you’d come around.

What no one really expected was just how closely you did come around.

It was near obsessive now. You always needed to be touching or holding onto Toby’s clothing, the boy quickly becoming flustered and uncomfortable and moving you onto someone else. Hoodie and Kate didn’t take it well either, grumbling when you asked to hold their sleeves or shoving you off when you crawled too close.

The only one who could really tolerate it was Masky, taking the brunt of your clinginess out of understanding from his own messed-up tendencies. Trauma was no stranger to the man, so if he could offer you some relief from yours when no one did him, he wouldn’t mind it too much.

He was always willing to scoot over in bed to let you crawl in, or wrap yourself in his heavy jacket to ride out a panic attack. The others teased him for being soft, but you knew it was because he understood better than they ever could.

Knees pressed to your chest, you clung to his warmth, the chilly night air blowing your hair due to a lack of available A/C. Masky kept his gaze straight, tired eyes scanning the empty asphalt.

The mission the two of you were coming back from was less than enjoyable, a murder job for a group of college kids writing a report about paranormal activities linked to murders in the area. Just their luck, The Operator didn’t quite appreciate being called ‘paranormal’. They were just unlucky, a bunch of kids too brave and vulnerable deep in the woods. It wasn’t a reach to say both you and Masky didn’t enjoy being tasked with this.

You especially, still coming down from a mild panic attack that the man beside you had to ease you through. You sniffled, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

“Doin’ alright?” He glanced down at you, tired gaze meeting your puffy eyes before resuming back on the headlights out front. The engine rumbled, tires rattling against the potholes littered on the road. You were getting closer to the backroad leading to the mansion, the treeline becoming familiar.

Your chest still hurt, and panic still rattled in your mind, but you nodded anyway. Masky still rubbed your arm, your head resting on his shoulder as you took long, labored breaths.

“Sorry…”

“Never had a problem before, why would I start now, mouse?”

That nickname always did it for you too, bringing you back down from whatever hysterics you found yourself in. Masky was just accustomed to taking care of you along with himself now, the extension a second nature to him.

Despite how often you fed into it, you really did feel bad for being so pitiful.

You reached your hand across his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him closer. He adjusted, letting his hand rest on the small of your hip and holding you closer. Your nose nudged into the crook of his neck, his smell flooding your senses with that familiar comfort you’d grown to love.

Your interactions had never been sexual, always a comfort for the two of you. But now in the solitude and emotional stir of the night, you couldn’t help the flutters that grew in your gut when Masky’s hand reached further to rub the side of your thigh. His scent was just so nice too, with dried sweat from his overextension earlier thick on his skin. You couldn’t help but push a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw.

You just wanted to thank him for always being so kind.

“Hey, now-” You felt him tense for a moment, glancing down at you as your hands clung to his shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“Sorry…” You kissed his neck again, taking deep breaths each time to fill your senses with him. Maybe it was toxic, maybe it was codependent, or even obsessive- but you couldn’t help how safe he made you feel. Was it so bad to want him to feel that way too?

He didn’t resist when you let your hand slide down his chest, fisting against the fabric of his shirt as your lips cling to the side of his neck, leaving sickly sweet kisses. He shuddered when your hand dipped to the waistline of his jeans, shifting as his foot settled a little heavier on the accelerator. His hand gripped your waist tight, the knuckles on his other fist turning white while wrapped on the steering wheel.

“Mouse.” He huffed when you let off of his neck, laying your head back on his shoulder. Despite his warning, he watched eagerly when you began to undo his belt, shifting his hips up to give you easier access.

“Let me thank you…”

“For what?”

“Being so nice to me…”

His grasp hugged your hips closer, your fingers fiddling with his zipper and tugging it down. You pushed a hand past the band of his boxers, a quiet gasp leaving his lips when you wrap it around his limp cock.

Your cheeks are flushed, the warmth of your bodies pressed close as you slowly stroke him to life, his length slowly growing in your grasp. You could feel Masky loosen up, his body relaxing into your touch as his gaze constantly flickered from the road to your hand.

“You don’t need to do this, mouse.” He groaned when you rubbed your thumb across his tip, his thigh jerking and stuttering the speed of the truck. The cool air had goosebumps rising across his skin, his now-hard cock pulsing under your fingers.

“I want to.” You whispered, a quiet excitement rushing through you at his willingness. Masky huffed, rubbing against your hip as he tried his best to focus on the road.

Pushing your legs out, you scooted over, his eyes following you as you leaned down to rest against his leg. Pushing his boxers down, you tugged his cock out, the sight making you gasp quietly. You were nervous, but Masky’s hand reaching to push your hair from your face eased you.

You leaned in, hand fisted tight onto the base of his length as you pressed your lips to the divot of his cockhead, letting spit dribble from your lips onto the tip. He groaned above you, right hand collecting your hair and fisting it out of the way.

Giving a gentle kiss against his slick tip, you let your lips part, his head pushing into the warmth of your mouth. You try to take all of him too quickly, pushing your jaw wider to nudge his twitching cock against your tongue.

“Shit.” His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle nudge pushing you down further and making you choke quietly. He’s immediately tugging you back up, your fingers clinging against the fabric of his jeans as you come up for air.

“Easy, would ‘ya? You ever even done this before?” It didn’t matter, all you knew was you wanted to make him feel good, and that little curse he let out earlier was exactly what you were looking for. You pushed your head back down, taking a deep breath as you wrapped your lips back around his tip.

Masky groaned, letting his hand off the wheel to push his hair back, glancing down at you with heavy eyes. You bob your head lightly, swiping your tongue across the divot of his tip to tug little huffs from the man above you. Eyes fluttering shut, you try to take more each time, relaxing your jaw to push more of his thick cock into the warm wetness of your throat.

You choked a little each time, straining when you felt his tip shove against the roof of your mouth in a way that made Masky twitch inside you. Good, he was enjoying it, it felt good. Slobber builds around your lips, sucking your cheeks in to make his hips stutter and twinge up into your mouth. Tears well on your waterline, little droplets slipping down your cheeks each time.

“Easy. You’re doin’ good. Doin’ real good…”

Your gut fluttered with excitement, pressing your head down all the way till your nose is flush against his pelvis, his pubes tickling the side of your face. You held your eyes closed, trying your best to stay relaxed as you gagged around him, his tip pressed against the tightness of your throat. Even still, he smelled so good.

Masky was moaning, taking shaky breaths as his hips jerked lightly up into you, cock bobbing against the back of your throat. You wanted to be good for him, to make him feel as good as possible, so you stayed, grunting and choking as quietly as you could while bobbing in rhythm with him.

“Fuck, ah- Good, mouse, just like that-”

His cock gleams with your slobber as you slide back up to his tip, running your tongue across his slit to collect the stout taste of his pre. You push back down, taking all of him quickly to pull right back up again, sucking his entire length.

Masky groans loudly, hand fisted tight into your hair and tugging you up and down, taking deep breaths every chance you can get. His praises ring in your ear, keeping you eager to please him as you rub your tongue across the bulging veins running up his length.

It’s so hard for Masky not to look at you, pre and spit collecting sloppily at the corners of your mouth just out of his view, eyes flickering between the beautiful view and the boring road ahead. He huffs, jerking the steering wheel to the side and running the truck onto the edge of the road, pressing the breaks quickly to bring the truck to a stop. You’re jostled, keeping a tight grip on his leg as you keep on with your pace.

Throwing the gear in park, he can finally wrap both of his hands into your hair, leaning back to get a good view of your flushed and teary face swallowing his cock down willingly. He moans through parted lips, shifting his hips to fuck up into your mouth and groaning every time your throat tightened around his tip.

“Oh fuck. Gonna cum, hah- Gonna-”

You let your jaw completely relax, taking restraint away from your neck to let him have control, to let him fuck you how he wants. It’s so sloppy the way your spit glistens down his length, using your swollen mouth as he pleases. And you’re so eager, so willing and pliable for him.

Masky’s moaning out, your eyes rolling back as he pushes your head all the way down, gagging you down onto the entirety of his length.

“Yeah-”

When he cums, you’re trying your best to swallow every drop, puffy lips wrapping tight to drink him up. He hunches over your head, stuttering his hips to milk every drop into your throat as your tears and spit dribble onto the fabric of his jeans.

He’s finally pulling you up when you reach a hand to grip his shirt, hitting your fist against his thigh when you begin to choke for air. Masky tugs you up, wrapping his hands around your cheeks to take a look at you.

You’re flushed, his fingers wiping away your tear soaked cheeks and brushing his thumb over your lips. You lean into his touch, tired eyes fluttering closed as he’s pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours.

You gasp, cupping your hands over his as you just breathe in the moment. It feels like forever when he’s finally pulling away, your tired body taking its comfortable place back against his side as he zips his jeans back up, buckling his belt.

When you start back on the road, Masky’s arm wraps around your back, tugging you closer than before. You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder and breathing him in again. The thud of the music and the familiar bumpy ride ease you both back in.

Maybe you were obsessive, and annoying, and clingy, and even just a little codependent. But Masky had gladly taken you and all of those traits along with him. It was only right that you thank him.

And he’d gladly take that, too.

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[cosycafune]

LOVE MAKING

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝ corruption runs deeply within sylus, in the eyes of you -- his prey. you’re always beneath sylus, fucked deliriously until your sanity is splattered. however, it's time for you to finally corrupt the estranged ruler. you yearn for, onychinus, to beg for you for the first time. until he’s a broken mess, corrupted for a sweet, addictive you. if you are not careful, things could get rough; sylus is an insatiable beast.

acts: breeding kink, rough sex, smut without plot, creampies, hickeys, corruption kink, spanking, unprotected sex, bondage, power dynamics, orgasms, riding, degrading, mentions of wet dreams and potentially more. mdni 18+. masterlist.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

STRADDLING a tied-down Sylus, you sadistically grin. Inevitably, the Onychinus leader remains beneath you – contradicting his strength. Currently, you’d do anything for his vulnerable state to be flaunted, for others to see the twinkle in his crimson eyes – waiting for you to make him plead for you. Plead for a nude, goddess-like you to pulverise a hickey-stained, reddened him.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Grinning, Sylus admires your plump breasts above him – his question filled with mesmerisation.

“Seeing you beneath me is hot,” Smitten, you sultry speak, “You’re covered in hickeys, desperate, covered in your cum, and not a drop is in me.” Chuckling, you softly shift back – allowing Sylus’ cock to be teased by your slick folds.

“So, my sweet Sylus, what do you want?” Harshly grinding against his monstrous cock, you taunt him – filled with a bursting fever of lust.

“I want all of you,” Sylus whimpers out, completely compelled by your siren-influenced cunt – grinding against his cock so beautifully.

“Beg for it, baby,” Enthralled by Sylus’ compliance, you softly moan – poking at his loose restraint.

At any moment, he’s capable of breaking out – fulfilling your cruel game of cat and mouse.

“Sweetie, please,” With his features scrunched up, Sylus’ tone comes out lightly – murky at the feeling of your tempting cunt.

“Say it again…Sy’,” Purring, you continue to grind against him — gaining satisfaction from his compliance.

“Please,” Growing impatient, Sylus simply smirks. 

Subconsciously, he pleaded with you as his swollen lips helplessly parted — lust and deep-rooted yearning coating him. Sylus longed for so much more, no matter the destructive price that lingered before his eyes.

“Tell me why I should give you all of me?” 

Mocking Sylus, you moan and harshly groan — trembling at Sylus impulsively spanking your ass.

A loud echo thuds through his bedroom.

“Please—”

“You’re being bad, Sy’,” Close to losing authority, you roughly murmur — mewling at Sylus grasping your ass cheeks.

Impossibly close, Sylus whimpers extensively — gathering a slither of pleasure. Pleasure from the fat tip of his cock coddling your entrance, prodding against the warmth. Warmth Sylus desperately craves, but you wickedly deprived him of something he wants the most.

He’s a feral beast, desperate for all of you.

“Please, just this,” At his wit’s end, Sylus releases a straggled moan — subtle anger tinting his voice.

“How can the leader of the N109 zone be so whiny?” Teasing Sylus, your glassy eyes widen at Sylus’ intimidating aura seeping into his firm touch.

“You’re in control now, but don’t push your limits,” Sneering, Sylus frustratingly warns you — burrowing his fingers within your bubble butt.

“I’m in control,” Solidifying your authority, you grasp onto Sylus’ thick cock — allowing it to kiss upon your entrance.

“Just a little more,” Sylus evolves whiny beneath you, pleading for you to sink down onto his throbbing cock.

“You’ve earned it,” Thrilled by Sylus’ obedience, you gently mutter — beginning to swallow the tip of Sylus’ cock.

Regardless, you knew your robes of control would be reformed by an eager Sylus. The delirious look in his crimson eyes confirmed your thoughts, particularly with his eyes beginning to flutter. Flutter as you handle more than just his large tip, being expanded by his unethical cock.

“‘Need me… to take over?” Groaning, Sylus’ eyes roll back — slowing the pacing of his inquiry.

“Ngh! I…got this!” Struggling, you almost topple over — attempting to reassure Sylus.

“Do…you?” Relishing your struggle, Sylus buries himself further within a gasping you — aware that you always struggle with riding him.

“Ah! Yes!” Feeling Sylus’ cock so deeply inside of your cunt, you instinctively cry out with delight — itching to finally conquer all of him.

“Feel… all of me,” Attempting to take control, Sylus begins to softly thrust within you — his strained statement consuming you.

“N-No, ‘m in…control,” Sluggishly countering Sylus, you begin to gently bounce upon his perfectly-crafted cock — riddled with worship.

“Mhm, t-take… me like that, s-sweetie,” Mindlessly encouraging you, Sylus begins to shudder beneath you.

Confused, Sylus only lowly grunts at you reaching for his hands upon your toned hips. Idolising a riding you, Sylus’ consciousness disregards you using your disregarded underwear to tie his hands together. Naturally, you wanted him to feel helpless — mentally destroying himself to gather all of your celestial cunt.

“Look…at you,” Faintly grinning, your eyes roll back with your distorted taunting.

Reigning over a flustered Sylus, you succumb to his thick cock hungrily ramming into you. Ramming into you at a pace that completely swallows your sanity, leaving your rationality in the powerful arms of Sylus. Even with his hands tied up, Sylus couldn’t help but eradicate your gushy cunt with each thrust — indirectly claiming his ownership of you.

“Sweetie,” Proud of your dominant streak, voicing it, Sylus allows you to entwine with his momentum.

“‘Can’t…Ah! handle…Sy’,” Crying, you push yourself past your sexual limits — moments away from finishing.

“Hm, s-same,” Purring, Sylus mewls loudly — suffocated by your cunt pulverising his throbbing cock.

“‘Deep…” Falling silent, you subconsciously finish harshly on Sylus’ cock — distorted by how warm you feel.

“T-Tight, sweetie,” Sylus murmurs, physically buzzing with pleasure. 

Unable to handle himself, Sylus begins to plug your pouring cunt with more of his cock. More of his cock in an attempt to swell you with his seed, sacrificing everything with how good you pulverise him. Longing, lust, and devotion writhe so deeply within Sylus — stripping him of his restraint.

Harshness adorns every aspect of Sylus’ pounding. Not a hint of mercy paints his ravenous cock, driving him into stuffing himself impossibly further into your squelchy cunt. Each sound, each struggle moan from you, stirred a gluttonous Sylus on — leaving him to finally have his way with you.

“Hope…you get pregnant,” Sylus recklessly blurts out, thrusting his deepest within you before spilling every spurt of his seed inside of you.

“Ah!” Trembling, your sleepy eyes widen at Sylus’ impossible harsh shots of cum beating against your cunt.

Guess who’s begging now?

—

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. small banners credit: cafekitsune <3

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Hello! I was wondering if I could maybe as for Malleus, Azul, Idia, Vil, and maybe Leona with an S/o who tests the Orange peel theory on them?

The orange peel theory being the theory in which someone requests their significant other to peel an orange for them. If they say yes, then it means they are willing to do small tasks for their lover. If they say no, it may suggest they are less willing to offer support.

If you can’t then that’s good I just wanted to ask.

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul sighed, looking at the orange in your hand and then back to you with raised eyebrows. Were you serious? You couldn’t peel your own orange? He let out another sigh, mumbling that you were truly hopeless without him before taking the orange from your hands. He removed his gloves (as cleaning them was more of a hassle than cleaning his bare hands) and expertly peeled away the skin, giving a beautiful presentation on your plate before sliding it back over to you. He quickly went back to his work but you did note that he completely stopped what he was doing in the middle of it to attend to your silly request.

Idia Shroud:

In the middle of a raid?! These relationship QTE’s continued to get harder the longer you were together, but he feared the consequences of failing one. He quickly typed in the chat to his teammates before setting his character on auto, fumbling with the orange and trying to peel it as quickly as he could while making sure he didn’t go down in flames in the virtual world. He handed it back to you wordlessly when he was done as he was locked back in again, letting out an agonized cry when he realized he forgot to wipe his hands so now his keyboard and mouse were hopelessly sticky.

Leona Kingscholar:

There’s something that Leona picked up in your tone that indicated this was a test of some sort, and while not knowing exactly what you were up to, he wasn’t about to fail. He did complain that you married into royalty and therefore had access to some of the perks, including servants who’d be more than happy to peel an orange for you. He was peeling it for you as he complained at least, and he retracted the orange before you could grab it and asked if he’d get a proper reward for listening so closely.  

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus it not used to being asked to do such domestic tasks. It seemed natural that everyone around him just attended to his needs and, by extension, your needs as well. Seeing as you were asking him directly to do something for you he couldn’t help but be excited about the prospect, feeling a sense of pride that you’d trust in him even if it was a simple task. He peeled the orange with a smile on his face, peeling off a piece of the actual fruit and holding it up as he asked if you’d like him to feed you as well.

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil was curious about what you were doing that was so important you couldn’t peel your own orange, weighing the options of asking and deciding it’s easier to just acquiesce. You didn’t ask him for things often while you often wordlessly retrieved things for him during his intricate skincare routines, so he didn’t see the harm in repaying your kindness. He’s also happy that you’re eating something healthy, although he doesn’t know the exact benefits oranges might have on your skin—he’ll have to look it up once he’s done his careful work, handing over the most beautifully peeled orange you’d ever seen in your life.

[wendichester]

𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ crtl + alt + us,

summary. your computer keeps glitching. thankfully, sam is working and has no issue with helping you.

pairing. sam wesson x reader

wordcount. 902

Your computer screen flickers for the third time in ten minutes, the cursor spinning endlessly like it’s mocking you. You groan, leaning back in your chair and glaring at the monitor like it’s personally responsible for ruining your day.

“Come on,” you mutter, jabbing at the keyboard. “Work, you stupid thing.”

It doesn’t.

With a sigh, you pick up the phone and dial the IT extension. It rings twice before a deep, slightly hesitant voice answers.

“Tech support, this is Sam.”

“Hi, Sam,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. “It’s me again. My computer’s freaking out.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and you can almost hear him smiling. “Let me guess—spinning wheel of death?”

“Bingo.”

“I’ll be right over,” he says, and the line goes dead before you can respond.

You sit back, tapping your fingers on the desk, and try not to think about how often you’ve called Sam this week. Or how he always seems to show up within minutes, even though the IT office is on the other side of the building. Or how he always smells like coffee and something faintly woodsy, like he just stepped out of a forest instead of a cubicle.

The door to your office opens, and there he is—Sam Wesson, tech support extraordinaire, with his flannel shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a lanyard dangling from his neck. His hair’s a little messy like he’s been running his hands through it. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, and it’s unfairly endearing.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.

“Hey,” you reply, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is.

He pulls up a chair and sits next to you, his long legs bumping against yours under the desk. You move to give him space, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he doesn’t care.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” he says, leaning forward to peer at your screen. His fingers hover over the keyboard, and you notice how big his hands are, how careful he is not to touch anything without asking.

“It just keeps freezing,” you explain, gesturing to the screen. “I was in the middle of a report, and now I can’t even save it.”

Sam nods, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Okay, let’s try restarting it first. Sometimes it’s the simplest fix.”

He reaches for the mouse, his hand brushing against yours, and you both freeze. His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then he clears his throat and pulls his hand back, his cheeks tinged with pink.

“Sorry,” he mutters, focusing on the screen like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice a little breathier than you’d like.

He restarts the computer, his fingers moving quickly over the keyboard, and you can’t help but watch him. There’s something about the way he works—so focused, so meticulous—that’s oddly captivating.

“So,” he says after a moment, breaking the silence. “You’ve been having a lot of issues with this thing lately.”

“Yeah,” you reply, leaning back in your chair. “I think it’s possessed.”

Sam chuckles, and the sound sends a warm shiver down your spine. “I’ll have to call in an exorcist.”

“You’re the expert,” you say, smiling.

He glances at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a second, you forget how to breathe. Then he looks back at the screen, his expression turning serious again.

“Okay, it’s back up,” he says, clicking through a few menus. “Let’s make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

He leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. His fingers hover over the mouse again, and this time, you don’t move your hand.

“Here,” he says, his voice low. “Let me show you something.”

He guides your hand to the mouse, his fingers covering yours, and you’re pretty sure your heart stops. His touch is warm, gentle, and you can’t help but notice how close he is, how his breath tickles your ear when he speaks.

“See?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just like that.”

You nod, but you’re not really paying attention to the screen. All you can think about is the way his hand feels on yours, the way his presence fills the room, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“Sam,” you say, your voice trembling slightly.

He pulls back, his hand lingering on yours for a moment before he lets go. “Yeah?”

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you just smile, hoping he can see everything you’re not saying.

He smiles back, his cheeks still pink, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning.

“I should, uh, get back to my desk,” he says, standing up and adjusting his lanyard. “But if you need anything else, just call.”

“I will,” you say, watching as he walks to the door.

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, and looks back at you. “Oh, and… maybe save your work more often. Just in case.”

You laugh, and the sound seems to surprise him. “I’ll try.”

He nods, his smile softening, and then he’s gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and a computer that’s finally working.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr

[rikkahonyaku]

Japan Housing Websites (part one)

Want to move to Japan? Me too! Lately I’ve seen a lot of Instagram pages dedicated to showing off cheap homes in Japan. These pages usually just link back to a Japanese real estate website, so I’d like to list some handy vocabulary to help you navigate the sites and find some houses on your own!

Note: This post was made with intermediate level Japanese learners in mind. It's meant to be a vocabulary list with visual examples, not an all-inclusive house buying guide. A complete list of vocab words can be found at the end of the post. For general website navigation, I’d recommend the RikaiChan / RikaiKun extensions which will display a translation of each word you mouse over.

What Websites?

I really like SUUMO, so that will be the site I use for the example pictures. But any website will have more or less the same words!

Navigating the Website

[ 1 ]　Creating an Account会員（かいいん）登録（とうろく）：Member Registration

[ 2 ]　Search探す（さがす）：Search / Find This word will come up a lot! The search function may also appear as... 検索（けんさく）：Search 物件（ぶっけん）検索：Property Search

Suumo has a nifty map on the front page. If you know the region you'd like to search in, you can choose it here.

[ 3 ]　Renting 借りる（かりる）：Rent (Borrow) 賃貸（ちんたい）：Lease / Rent

[ 4 ]　Purchasing買う（かう）：Buy

[ 5 ]　House Terminology If you've taken a Japanese class, you may have learned that the Japanese word for house is 家 or いえ. Unfortunately, this short and simple word isn't used much on real estate websites. The following terms are typically used instead.

一戸建て（いっこだて）：Detached Building A standalone house, as opposed to an apartment or condo.

新築（しんちく）一戸建て：New Buildings

中古（ちゅうこ）一戸建て：Old Buildings 中古 can mean "old", "used", or “secondhand”, none of which sound ideal, but all it means is that the house that has been lived in previously. This is where you find the cheap ones!

Finding Houses

Once you have the region and building type selected, you’ll see a new map you can use to select the prefecture. I'll highlight a few key search methods on this screen.

[ 1 ]　Search by Area（エリア）

Click on a prefecture to bring up a checklist of cities and districts. At the bottom of the list, you'll see two options: refining the search further or proceeding with the checked options.

「チェックした市区郡の町名を絞り込む」 "Narrow by town names of checked cities/wards/districts"

市区郡（しくぐん）："City Ward District" 町名（ちょうめい）：Town Name 絞り込む（しぼりこむ）：Narrow / Refine

「この条件で検索する」 "Search with these conditions"

条件（じょうけん）：Condition / Term

The orange number shows how many total properties were found with the checked selections. Click the blue search button if you want to jump straight to the houses without refining the search.

[ 2 ]　Search by Railway（沿線）or Station（駅）

Click on a prefecture to bring up a checklist of railways. At the bottom of the list, you'll see two options: refining the search further or proceeding with the checked options.

「チェックした沿線の駅を絞り込む」 "Narrow by stations of checked railways"

沿線（えんせん）：Railway / Track 駅（えき）：Station 絞り込む（しぼりこむ）：Narrow / Refine

「この条件で検索する」 "Search with these conditions"

条件（じょうけん）：Condition / Term

Once again, the orange number shows how many total properties were found with the checked selections. Click the blue search button if you want to jump straight to the houses without refining the search.

[ 3 ]　Search by Map（地図、ちず） Clicking here will open up a much more detailed map that you can scroll through! Definitely the easiest option, which is why I put it last. :)

The End.

Here's the complete vocab list for ease of viewing:

会員（かいいん）：Member 登録（とうろく）：Registration 探す（さがす）：Search / Find 検索（けんさく）：Search 物件（ぶっけん）検索：Property Search 借りる（かりる）：Rent (Borrow) 賃貸（ちんたい）：Lease / Rent 買う（かう）：Buy 一戸建て（いっこだて）：Detached Building 新築（しんちく）一戸建て：New Buildings 中古（ちゅうこ）一戸建て：Old Buildings 市区郡（しくぐん）："City Ward District" 町名（ちょうめい）：Town Name 沿線（えんせん）：Railway / Track 駅（えき）：Station 絞り込む（しぼりこむ）：Narrow / Refine 条件（じょうけん）：Condition / Term

[saeun]

এ absolute failure ᪲ ﹕ changing the tides ! ᪲ jujutsu kaisen ᧔ female reader.

࣪⊹ he always wanted to hold you in a “sheep in a lion's den” (or something like that) situation, but how can he get past the barrier of a beating heart and sweaty palms?!

+ love, ‘un: featuring (gamer) megumi ⸝ (neighbour) yuta!

megumi fushiguro’s mission: make you nervous (FAILED)

usually megumi rarely invites guests. if there are guests, they invite themselves (example: gojo satoru). it’s the main reason why his housemates were jaw-dropped when they saw a girl following behind their friend.

megumi? with a girl? money might as well grow from trees next week.

it was simply unbelievable. not that they’re calling their friend a loser—hardly, but he’s not the most sociable… in person. megumi's more than comfortable yelling into his headset’s microphone, but he never shares that energy elsewhere.

once megumi entered, he immediately gestured a “don’t say anything” to his housemates. they listened and obeyed; doing nothing more than greeting and telling you the classic: “make yourself comfortable!”

now, megumi meticulously planned the entire session with the help of his group chat. he’d invite you over, keep a cool persona, and use video games as a way to bond with you. what megumi didn’t know was that you were already familiar with video games—you’re just more of a mobile player than a pc player (his main forte).

“do you play games?” he’d softly ask, mentally ticking off the checkbox in his mind.

once you confirmed that you did, he offered you his gaming chair. at first, you denied, saying that it’s his chair and you’d be fine with just standing. what you didn’t know was that’s exactly his plan. he’d have you on the chair while he stood behind you.

he’d guide you through his pc set up, pointing at different games, chrome extensions, doing his best to distract you so you won’t pay any mind to him. when you settled on a game, megumi would smoothly lean over you, putting his hand over yours to control the mouse.

he’d do it all under the disguise of “i’ve played it before. let me show you the tricks.” slowly moving his fingers to sit between yours, stretching his other arm to hold the other side of the chair, leaning in closer til he can feel the heat from your body, talking more than he usually does.

megumi would pretend to be immersed in walking you through the game, but he’s secretly glancing to see whether you’re showing any signs of being flustered.

an hour into the session and he’s the one who’s fighting heartbeat. you weren’t nervous at all. you were calm, sometimes biting your lip to focus on the game. whenever you did something to gain an achievement, you’d smile at him brightly, cheering with an “i did it!” while he responded with his own “yeah, you did.”

you were acting as if this was a normal, friendly hang out. he hid his true intentions. you didn’t know that staring at him until he answered made his heart race. ultimately megumi’s crush you deepened meanwhile you’re excited for another gaming session.

yuta okkotsu’s mission: shojo moment while walking together (FAILED)

yuta fell victim to the unskippable event of falling for his neighbour’s daughter. can you blame him? you’re the same age (bonus number one) and you never get bored of him turning the conversation into a marathon of his interests (bonus number two).

not only do you frequently talk, you also walk together every day. whether it’s to school, to the convenience store, or just taking a stroll around the neighborhood. your parents never allow you to walk without a guardian and yuta’s more than happy to spend time with you.

today it’s walking to the convenience store, though you hold a grudge against it. you’ve ranted multiple times about the irony of it being a convenience when its prices are anything but convenient.

while yuta’s doing his usual rap about his new obsession, you felt a few drops of rain. at first you shrugged it off, thinking you’re imagining things. the sun hid behind the clouds, yes, but the sky’s relatively bright! not a grey cloud insight.

again, you felt more drops of rain. you stopped walking, opening your palm and tilting your head towards the sky.

“hey, is it just me or is it raining?”

upon hearing your words, yuta stops. he was a few steps ahead of you, unable to notice that you had stopped due to being immersed in talking. he walks to you, eyebrows raised as he’s ready to answer your question. unfortunately, the sudden burst of rain cuts him off.

taking advantage of you being in a tank top, yuta quickly slid his jacket off, ready to swing it on your shoulders.

however, you had other plans. it’s raining and you were told to get what your mother needed with haste. with time clearly being a villain today, you grabbed his jacket with one hand and held onto his wrist with the next.

“no time for that!” you shouted, pulling him behind you as you sprinted towards the convenience store.

the sudden contact caused him to be flustered; running through the rain is dangerous yet he’s allowing himself to be dragged along. he would’ve covered you with the jacket and found somewhere to shelter but you took the initiative.

so close, yet so far. the romantic moment he always dreamed of being replaced with whatever’s going on. a moment that could’ve been filled with romantic tension forever mourned. maybe next time he can take the initiative anywhere else but conversations.

[crimsondinnerparty]

Hannibal, the Cannibal, and the Man Who Made Him Starve

Hannibal Lecter’s entire identity is built on the concept of consumption—of others, of experiences, of power. He devours not just bodies, but lives, souls, and control. It’s what makes him so terrifying: he doesn’t just kill, he consumes his victims in the most profound and intimate way possible. They become part of him, swallowed whole, stripped of their humanity and reformed into his idea of *art*. Hannibal is the **ultimate predator**, and his hunger is insatiable.

But then, Will Graham enters his life, and Hannibal finds himself faced with something he cannot consume. Will Graham isn’t a regular target. He isn’t a piece of art, nor is he someone easily twisted into Hannibal’s vision of humanity. Will is the **mirror**, the one person who sees through Hannibal completely, who resists his manipulation. Will is the exception, and he refuses to be devoured.

The Hunger Begins:-

In Season 1, Hannibal’s interest in Will is almost clinical. He observes Will’s brilliant mind, his sensitivity, his vulnerability, but never truly considers Will as a human being—he sees him more like a **specimen**, someone who could potentially be shaped, remade, or “eaten” in a different sense. He begins to teach Will, **grooming him to be his equal**, but without ever understanding that in doing so, he’s planting the seeds of his own undoing.

Hannibal, used to controlling everything around him, begins to lose that control with Will. He sees Will’s intellect, but more importantly, he sees Will’s ability to feel—to empathize, to understand emotions. Hannibal, who is all about mastering emotions, finds this fascinating, but it’s also something he can’t control. This fascination is the beginning of his hunger, and it’s a hunger that doesn’t easily satiate.

The First Taste of Loss:-

In Season 2, Hannibal’s obsession with Will grows deeper, more personal. It’s no longer just about seeing Will as an extension of his artistic project—Hannibal starts to care. He starts to want Will not just as an intellectual equal, but as someone who can understand him, someone who can *see him* for who he truly is.

But as much as Hannibal desires Will, he also underestimates him. He assumes that he can bend Will to his will—that through manipulation, gaslighting, and a constant game of cat-and-mouse, he can force Will to accept what he’s offering. This plan, however, begins to unravel when Will starts to question his own emotions, his own identity, and his connection to Hannibal. The reversal of roles becomes clear—Will begins to mirror Hannibal’s behavior, pulling Hannibal into his own psychological game.

Hannibal’s first taste of loss comes when Will betrays him. It’s not just an intellectual defeat—it’s personal. The idea that someone he loves could actively turn against him hits Hannibal in a place he’s never acknowledged: his own vulnerability. Will has not only rejected him, but he’s also gone behind his back, actively working against him. For someone like Hannibal, this is a blow to his ego, and the consequences of this loss are more profound than just losing Will.

Self-Denial: The Starvation:-

By the time we reach *Mizumono*, Hannibal is in agony—not just because of Will’s betrayal, but because of the profound emptiness that betrayal leaves behind. He has Will physically within his grasp, but he can’t consume him. Will has already betrayed him, and Hannibal has lost the one person who could have truly understood him.

In this moment, Hannibal chooses to starve.

He doesn’t eat.

He doesn’t kill Will.

And it’s not because he doesn’t want to—Hannibal has never avoided a kill. He’s never been afraid to

The Paradox of Hunger: Control vs. Surrender:-

Hannibal’s relationship with hunger and consumption in relation to Will becomes a paradox. On one hand, he wants to devour Will, to make him his own —to consume him wholly, both mentally and physically. But on the other hand, he wants Will to choose him. He wants Will to surrender, to fall into his arms, to see the world through Hannibal's eyes. He needs Will’s choice, not his subjugation.

This is the starvation that plagues Hannibal—he doesn’t just need to eat Will, he needs Will to give himself freely. Without that, Hannibal is left wanting, unsure of himself for the first time. For someone who prides himself on total control, Will’s rejection and betrayal leaves him in a state of hunger that can’t be easily filled by anything else. He isn’t just starving for Will’s body; he’s starving for Will’s soul, for the deep connection that he thought was within his grasp, but ultimately, Will has pulled away from him.

Final Thoughts: The Longing Never Ends:-

By the end of Mizumono, Hannibal's choice not to kill Will—or, even more telling, to let Will survive his betrayal—marks the culmination of his hunger. He doesn’t just want Will because he’s interesting or because he’s a challenge. No, Will becomes the one thing Hannibal cannot control, the one person who has the power to reject him completely. And that in itself becomes Hannibal’s addiction.

Hannibal doesn’t just eat people—he remakes them. But with Will, he finds himself starved, powerless, and completely consumed by his desire to have Will choose him.

The man who devours lives finds himself starving for the one person who refuses to be consumed—and for Hannibal, that’s the most excruciating fate of all.

[seaslugfanclub]

Heyyy !!! Love your writtings and drawings !! You Rock !! And I was really curious about your thoughts on Y/N and Ratigan's relationship! Like how Ratigan grew to like them and all- I have a funny headbanging that the park Attendant managed to save him from Lucifer the cat one time XD

Ratigan and (Y/N)’s First Introduction

————————————————————————

Being in the Disney parks is overwhelming enough, but try being less than a foot tall.

Oh sure, Disney can bring all of these fictional characters to reality, but guess it was too much work for them to size up the smaller characters!

Ratigan is not having a good time. Just like his entire life, he’s had to fight tooth and nail for even a modicum of respect. Now he has to fight even harder to get a room to himself.

Disney didn’t think that far ahead about having a rodent sized villain living amongst the others. For the first few weeks of Ratigan new existence, he had to rely on his extensive talents in order to carve out a small space for himself in the villains breakout room

Oh, how humiliating it was to sleep behind a wall socket like some common vermin!!

And the food situation! It’s nearly impossible to get access to the fridge, and the cabinets have nothing that could even begin to match his expensive tastes.

Not to mention the other villains less than stellar reactions to seeing a ra- ahem- a mouse in their living area

Most of the female villains would screech at the sight of him, jumping onto chairs and demanding for the male villains to kill him.

Yes… it certainly hasn’t been all champagne and caviar…

Ratigans new life only began to improve after his less than respectable meeting with the park attendant (Y/N)

————————————————————————

“(Y/N).”

The park attendant wiped off their brow, setting down a box full of spare costumes to turn towards the intimidating woman in the doorway.

“Oh, good afternoon Lady Tremaine. How’re you doing?”

Tremaine didn’t bother with the pleasantries,

“I have not seen Lucifer since breakfast. Would you have any idea where the little creature is?”

(Y/N) shook their head, “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Well I have matters to attend to soon, and I need Lucifer with me. Find him.”

With nothing but a small grimace, Lady Tremaine left, her shoes tapping sharply against the linoleum tiles of the hallway.

“…..ok…”

(Y/N) shuffled in place for a moment, beginning to think of the cats usual whereabouts.

————————————————————————

“Luci!! C’mon baby! *pst pst pst*

(Y/N) shook a bag of Lucifer’s dry food, hoping the sound would lure the chunky cat out of hiding.

They had been searching for a good 15 minutes without any sign of the feline, and (Y/N) was beginning to feel an anxious flutter in their chest.

Turning up empty handed to Lady Tremaine was not an option.

(Y/N)’s search had lead them to a quieter wing of the villains building, this area mainly being used for storage and management meetings. The park attendant stopped for a moment, hoping to hear the sound of little paws, before going back to shaking the dry food.

“*pst pst pst pst pst* C’mon Luci, your mama’s looking for—” (Y/N) paused, faint scuffling could be heard further down the hall.

Finally!

(Y/N) followed the sound, approaching one of the storage rooms at the end of the hallway, but the closer they got to the scuffling, something else could be heard.

….Yelling?

The door was already slightly ajar when (Y/N) fully pushed their way into the room, causing two pairs of eyes to meet them.

In the back of the room, amongst filing cabinets and schedules of years past was Lady Tremaine’s cat, Lucifer, who’s claws were primed and at the ready… and the heaving body of Professor Ratigan pressed into a corner.

From the look on both of their faces, (Y/N) walked in on something intense, although Lucifer’s expression was one of disappointment while the professors was one of quiet relief.

“LUCIFER—The hell are you doing!?!!! Go, your mama’s been looking for you!” (Y/N) yelled at the cat, who seemed physically pained to leave the rodent alone. Reluctantly, Lucifer trudged pass the park attendant, who was still admonishing him.

“Like you’re not fed enough! What, Where you dropped as a kitten!?”

Once (Y/N) saw Lucifer’s tail disappear around the corner, they immediately turned their attention towards the still cornered Ratigan.

“Professor, are you alright!? I am so. sorry.”

They dropped the bag of cat food to rush towards the rodent, slamming down onto their knees as their eyes flitted over Ratigans form.

His chest was rapidly going up and down, Ratigan obviously still trying to catch his breath. His usually slicked back hair was now falling in front of his face as he stared up at (Y/N).

He seems frazzled, but thankfully free of any scratches or missing appendages.

“…alright?” Ratigan heaved after a few moments of silence, “You asked if I’m alright? OH YOU MENTALLY DEFECTIVE WRETCH, HOW ON EARTH COULD I EVER BE A L R I G H T???”

(Y/N) flinched at the sudden increase of volume, staring down at the now manic looking rodent in shock.

“Ever since I’ve been brought to this demented park, I’ve been nothing but humiliated and scorned! Forced to fend for myself like the common vermin because YOU PEOPLE didn’t have an iota of sense that taking me from the grave would cause me to live amongst GIANTS”

Ratigan began pacing, his eyes wild as he continued,

“I have had to scrounge and scrap to continue this miserable existence, reduced to living off of stale crackers and tap water, to lay my head beneath electrical wires. I’ve been forced to scavenge in these back rooms for supplies since every employee runs off at the sight of me before I can even open my mouth for the simplest of requests. Oh! And let’s not forget me being preyed upon by that devil in feline form! I’ve been hunted by that beast for the past few hours, nearly meeting my second demise! Left alone to die like a cretin, like I’m NOTHING. DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO I USED TO BE? I HAVE NOTHING NOW. NOTHING.”

Finally his tiny body gave out, Ratigan collapsing to the carpet dramatically, arm covering his eyes.

“Oh…I’d have been better off a bloated corpse in the Thames.”

(Y/N) couldn’t find any words, watching helplessly as Ratigan sprawled across the floor. Their throat felt tight.

They’d only been hired several months ago, and they’ve only just begun getting along with a few Villains. (Y/N) rarely saw Professor Ratigan, and when they did they reasoned that he had the same provisions that the other smaller Disney rodents had.

When (Y/N) first arrived, they got to meet Ms. Bianca and Mr. Bernard in front of their tiny apartment styled home, which was built into one of the walls of the Disney Protagonist’s building. During the quick introduction, it seemed that the company had thought of everything the couple could’ve needed.

Guess the same quality of service didn’t apply to villains…

(Y/N) sat in silence for a few minutes, allowing Ratigans words to fully sink in, before finally speaking up.

“I didn’t— …..I’m sorry.”

Ratigan didn’t lift his arm from his eyes, “Please. Spare me your pity, human.”

“Oh please, don’t start with that— I’m sorry that you’ve been screwed over, I wasn’t aware that the company’s been this irresponsible.”

Slowly, (Y/N) reached out their hand, palm open in offering,

“I’m still pretty new here, but I think I’ve got a way to pull a few strings…”

Finally lifting his arm, Ratigan looked up at the park attendant. The scent of their sincerity almost nauseating, but what else did he have to lose?

Taking (Y/N)s palm as an invitation, he lifted himself off the carpet and onto (Y/N)s hand.

Oh, how low he’s stooped.

————————————————————————

Turns out (Y/N)’s “few strings” was the one of the villains that they had managed to befriend. With Ratigan in hand, (Y/N) went all the way to the other side of the building to the villains lounge, where they explained the professors dilemma to a very confused Hades, asking for his help.

As distrustful as Ratigan was around humans, he could appreciate this park attendants persuasiveness through subtle manipulation and use of accumulated favors.

Hades, who’s always been a fan of things creepy and crawly, (and also wanted to earn some brownie points with (Y/N) ) agreed to help their little charity case

Half an hour later Ratigan still sat in (Y/N)’s hands, looking up at the now nervous park attendant as they fidgeted in place, staring at the door of their managers office.

After a few minutes and some smoke leaking from underneath the doorway, a very pleased Hades opened the door. The god strolled up to (Y/N), patting them on the back and commenting how “he warmed him up for you” and was about to leave before acknowledging Ratigan in their palm.

“Ya’ better be grateful, tiny. You’ve found the only person in this park who gives a shit about you.”

Just as Ratigan was about to demand an explanation on what (Y/N) was planning, the park attendant strode into the office. Where the pair met eyes with a very pale manager.

The previous anxiousness on (Y/N)s face instantly melted into professionalism, introducing themselves, then placed Ratigan on the managers desk and asking him to share his current quality of life with the sweating man before him.

One slightly confused but melodramatic explanation later, (Y/N) went on to say how “disturbing” it was to see this type of mistreatment in a company who had bragged about the quality of their intellectual properties well being, and that it would be “unfortunate if word about Disneys beloved characters being mistreated got out to the general public, especially those protesting Disneys new holographic AI.”

(Y/N) went on to virtually demand that the company recorrect this oversight, and give Ratigan a fully furnished living space and amenity’s just like the other mice in the park.

The office was dead silent once (Y/N) had finished speaking.

The manager dabbed the sweat from his forehead, cleared his throat, and nodded. The pasty man tried to come up with excuses for the company before conceding, agreeing with (Y/N)s “request” and apologizing to Ratigan, who for once in his life was speechless.

(Y/N) and Ratigan left the managers office with the promise of Ratigans new home being fully constructed within two months, and full permission to take any food/ rodent sized items from the protagonists building.

Ratigan, who was still dazed with the sudden change of luck, was dropped off in the Villains lounge. (Y/N) promising to pick up some fresh food and maybe a rodents sized bed from the “good guys place” before running out of the room.

It wouldn’t be until months later that he’d fully express his gratitude…. But for now, he admitted , he is lucky that he found the one person in this park who gave a shit him.

———————————————————————

Hope this answers your request! I thought it’s be nice to learn how Ratigan and (Y/N) first met!

I’ll definitely make another post about their friendship and more fluff, but how could I resist writing some angst? 😭

[seonghrtz]

𝑛ew 𝑠cenario. 𐙚 両面宿儺 ( streamer!au ) fluff 849 words + warnings. ooc sukuna | sukuna helps you set up a new scenario for your streams.

As Sukuna opened the door to your apartment, he felt a wave of comfort sweep over his chest. He secretly (maybe not so secretly) loved it when you invited him over ⸻ not that he needed an invitation to visit you. Spending time with you, in the comfort of your apartment (which was more like an extension of yours), was all Sukuna needed to feel the tension in his muscles melt away and a good feeling rise in his chest.

Still at the entrance, he took off his sneakers, put on the Kuromi slippers you had bought especially for him, and left his backpack and coat on the rack.

But any peace he felt was gone when he heard a scream from the back of the apartment.

With hurried steps, Sukuna reached the bedroom and was surprised to see so many boxes scattered around the room and you sitting in the middle of the mess.

"What the hell happened here?" he asked, getting your attention.

"‘Kuna! You arrived at just the right moment." You got up from the floor and went to hug your boyfriend, who returned the hug without a second thought. "I was trying to tidy up the new room, but I slipped," you laughed, embarrassed at how clumsy you were, and the boy just stared at you, getting drunk on every feature of your face.

And then a light appeared in the back of Sukuna's mind. You had recently told Sukuna that you wanted to change the location of your streams. You wanted to move your computer out of your bedroom and use the empty room in your apartment.

"Why didn't you call me? I could have helped you move things around." He said, looking at the mess in the room.

"You were at work, 'Kuna." You replied, "But since you're here, you could help me, couldn't you?"

"Just tell me what you need." Sukuna held your face and kissed your lips.

You smiled excitedly and hugged Sukuna once more before starting to tell him what to do.

While Sukuna was busy putting a shelf on the wall (following the sketch you had made of how you wanted the room to look) and then a perforated panel, you were trying to understand the instructions on how to assemble the bookshelf you had bought to put your stuffed animals, DVDs, and books in to decorate the room.

"Sweetheart, why don't you finish arranging your stuffed animals and decorations and let me do the rest?" Sukuna walked up to you, grabbed you by the waist, and took the manual from your hand.

"It's not fair; you get to do all the hard work!"

"Let me do it for you, huh?" He reached for your lips and stole a kiss.

"All right..." You sighed in defeat, "Are you already done?" You asked in surprise as you looked at the shelf on the wall, the perforated panel hanging, and the table set up in the exact position you had placed it on the sketch.

Sukuna just smiled sideways and stole another kiss before starting to read the instructions on how to assemble the bookshelf.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to sweep the room and clean the newly installed desk and shelf. Carefully, you set up your ultrawide monitor, keyboard, and mouse, a DSLR camera on a tripod above the monitor, and your pink microphone on an articulated arm. On the small shelf above the desk, you placed a heart-shaped clock and a picture frame containing a photo of you and Sukuna, and placed a My Melody stuffed animal between the clock and the picture frame. On the perforated panel hanging on the wall next to it, you placed your headphones and hung some Polaroids for decoration.

When it got dark, Sukuna had already finished assembling the bookshelf, and you started decorating it, putting up some stuffed animals, CDs, DVDs, books, etc.

"Do you think I should buy a big puff to put here?" You asked as soon as you'd finished decorating.

"It's easier to buy a two-seater sofa."

"I think I'll make a list of things to buy to decorate the room; I think it's still a bit empty." You looked around. "I think a cabinet would be nice too, to store my Xbox and PS."

"We'll think about it later. I think I deserve a reward now, don't you?" He pulled you by your waist.

"Reward?" You tilted your head to the side in doubt.

"Uh huh," he murmured in affirmation as he moved his face closer to yours, brushing his lips gently against yours. "Maybe watch a movie," he suggested.

"I don't know; the last time you suggested it, we didn't finish the movie."

"As far as I remember, you didn't complain," Sukuna smiled mischievously.

"'KUNA!" You said it in a suppressed tone, making your boyfriend just laugh at your reaction.

"I promise we'll just watch the movie this time." He kissed you calmly.

"You don't seem to have any intention of keeping that promise…" You murmured against his lips, and Sukuna smiled, confirming your words.

"Maybe…”

© seonghrtz, 2024. all rights reserved, please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works !

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons. 

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think. 

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV. 

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball. 

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?" 

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails. 

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes. 

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room. 

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly. 

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft. 

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you. 

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video. 

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly. 

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder. 

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–" 

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts. 

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick. 

And that's the second thing: it works . He's  more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame. 

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then. 

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it. 

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo. 

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll. 

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask? 

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier. 

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one. 

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen. 

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives. 

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls. 

"Miguel,"  You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–" 

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate. 

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that. 

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure. 

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock. 

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials. 

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind. 

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?" 

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion. 

"...what does that even mean?" 

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day." 

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?" 

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting." 

"Seriously?" 

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused. 

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz. 

"Lyla? Could you let us up?" 

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back. 

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel. 

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–" 

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out. 

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–" 

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–" 

[Let it go, that's enough now–] 

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –" 

"Can you just fucking open the–" 

"What's the magic word?" 

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–" 

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please." 

"Please what?" 

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open. 

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost. 

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer. 

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose. 

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room. 

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye. 

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug. 

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused. 

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–" 

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up. 

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how." 

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas. 

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said. 

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking." 

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding. 

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?" 

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally. 

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure. 

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back. 

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita." 

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl. 

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular. 

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around. 

"I don't sound- " 

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker] 

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have. 

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes. 

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food. 

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!" 

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-" 

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away. 

"Um, we should… we should go." 

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question. 

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?" 

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically. 

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations. 

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? " 

"That's not–" 

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working. 

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile. 

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours. 

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!" 

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair. 

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders. 

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit? 

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around. 

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood. 

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined. 

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate. 

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time. 

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated. 

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session. 

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist. 

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does. 

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to. 

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night. 

"Miguel?" 

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile. 

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?" 

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny? 

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–" 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything. 

"Are you even listening to me?" 

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly. 

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? " 

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering your name like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone."

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue. 

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed. 

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter. 

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you. 

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag. 

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut. 

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs. 

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused. 

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them. 

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his. 

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall . 

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –" 

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt. 

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?" 

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off. 

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff. 

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago. 

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips. 

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that. 

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care. 

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty. 

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours… 

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit. 

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest. 

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same. 

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another. 

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch. 

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest. 

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats. 

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed. 

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck. 

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut. 

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy. 

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–] 

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.  

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–" 

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–] 

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach. 

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt. 

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts. 

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans . 

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly. 

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits. 

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat, 

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears. 

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air. 

_

_

_

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[none-ofthisnonsense]

How to have your own blog page on Tumblr

Hey, tumblr users!

This post is specifically for users who joined in 2023 or later. Because I'm realising there's a very important feature older blogs have that you don't.

More recent blogs don't have their own URL.

What this means is, where I am findable on tumblr.com/none-ofthisnonsense like any other tumblr user, I also have a URL - my own page assigned to me, which is none-ofthisnonsense.tumblr.com. (I invite you to click on those links if you're on a computer and see the difference. It's very obvious.)

So what features are in this own page? (And how can you get it?)

You can search things that are tagged and see them on your own page! You can enter your URL and type [URL]/tagged/pride and all the posts that you have tagged with #pride will appear. Here's how the link looks: https://none-ofthisnonsense.tumblr.com/tagged/pride ^ This works even if your blog search is turned off! If you know this shortcut you can search for anything anyone has ever tagged, as long as you know the tag and their URL.

You can see things in chronological order! Tumblr by default is in reverse chronological order, which means you see newest things first. But if you want to see the FIRST thing I tagged with #pride, you just type the link you would to search my #pride tag - so https://none-ofthisnonsense.tumblr.com/tagged/pride - and then add /chrono at the end. And this is a link to show you what it looks like: https://none-ofthisnonsense.tumblr.com/tagged/pride/chrono

By having your own page, you can also customise it! That's why many blogs have themes. I don't really have a theme, but if you're on your computer and you move your mouse pointer around, little sparkles will follow you*. Other blogs have way fancier themes that look great! For example, Diane Duane (dduane) and Peter Morwood (petermorwood) do. And these are relatively simple themes! You can fully customise your theme. There are loads of resources out there on how to do that!

Perhaps most importantly: you can access your blog archive.

Your blog archive is one of the Tumblr features that makes Tumblr great. You can every post you've ever made without scrolling through every single post. You can filter posts by type and by tag. It's awesome. Here's what my archive looks like right now:

You can filter by date! By post type! By tag! This is really useful if you're looking for one specific post but you've got a solid tonne that are tagged with that tag. It's an amazing and I don't even know just how useful it is because it can be used for other stuff too!

Having a blog archive like this is useful for you and for other people. You can see what you've posted per month, every year, and it's just a very pleasant and useful thing to have.

But... not everyone has it now. Because Tumblr removed every blog having a URL, not every blog has an archive anymore. But I have GOOD NEWS! You can have your own URL!

If you go into Tumblr settings:

Go to the settings for your blog. (This is for each individual blog. You can have this turned on for one blog and off for your sideblog. You need to enable this for every blog you have if you want this on every single blog, which I recommend.)

It should be a page like this: https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/[USERNAME].

(I very strongly recommend being on desktop for the rest of this because I'm not sure how it works on mobile.)

Enable the custom theme. Do NOT do the "address" thing because that's different and that is NOT what you want and you need to pay. Custom theme is free. Enable custom theme.

Once you do that, it'll create the address for your blog at [username].tumblr.com! And you can customise your theme and see your archive!

It's really easy, and it makes for a more pleasant experience :)

*That is with this extension: https://www.snazzyspace.com/tumblr/mouse-sparkles.php. And guess how I found it? By looking through my blog through my own page and looking at my posts tagged #tumblr in chronological order!

[flowercrowncrip]

Inaccessible tech is such a vicious cycle it’s beyond frustrating. My computer knowledge is dreadful for someone my age, and I know it’s dreadful but it’s incredibly hard for me to do anything about it.

Dragon, the software I use to control my computer with my voice costs £679.99. I have access to it through a scheme to help disabled people in work – without a job I’d have to pay for it myself or find another source of funding (without access to a laptop/ PC).

The software is great in many ways, but limiting in others. It’s mainly targeted at able bodied professionals as a way of dictating quickly, so while it’s absolutely brilliant for dictating into a word document, it’s a bit more tricky to control your computer with it.

One of the biggest problems though is that I can’t easily try out different software and browsers. Google docs aren’t as compatible with my software as word is. I can’t learn about alternatives because it’s a lot of time invested in something that probably won’t work well.

Each different browser requires me to download a different extension so that Dragon can interact properly with the pages. Until that’s all set up, rather than just being able to click on things I have to guide the curser through a series of increasingly small numbered grids to the right point on the screen like this: “mouse grid [pause] 3 [pause] nine [Pause] one [pause] two [pause] Mouse left click”).

But Firefox, the browser I’m most often recommended to use, I can’t use. From what I can tell there used to be an extension but Firefox now considers the Dragon extension to be a security risk and won’t allow it to be installed. I’ve looked into finding alternative ways to download the extension, but it gets really complicated really quickly – especially when each and every mouse click takes so long. After failing several times I gave up.

And it’s frustrating because if using a computer wasn’t so difficult l me, I would probably be better at finding my way around these kinds of obstacles better.

And if technology wasn’t so expensive and difficult to access more disabled people would be creating better software and hardware for disabled people.

Similarly if adaptive controllers were less expensive I might know more than I do about gaming. And more game producers might be disabled, or might create games with disabled people in mind.

But we’re stuck trying to make do with technology that’s either financially out of reach, incredibly limited or both and it means it’s incredibly hard to learn enough to come anywhere close to solving those issues (or being able to properly describe them in the first place)

[sukimas]

it's funny how people are like "i can't believe disney let mickey mouse into the public domain i was sure they were gonna do another extension" look at me. look me directly in the eyes. the united states congress cannot pass a fucking bill on daylight savings time, despite it being unanimous in the senate, without it being connected to a budget. the government has shut down like once a year for the past four years. you think that they're going to pass any legislation? any legislation at all? they don't do that any more

[i-am-beckyu]

Patience is a Virtue and Trust is Earned

A continuation of my Christmas fic One Small Gift

AYOOOOO! 3RD YEAR IN A ROW I'VE WRITTEN A CHRISTMAS FIC! LETS GO! I've been writing this fic on and off for almost a year ever since posting the first fic and got a few people wanting a sequel so congratulations!! You got your wish!!!

I recommend reading the first fic if you haven't already as this fic references plot that may not make sense without context so please consider reading it first before reading on. I'm gonna ramble on at the end of this fic but without further ado, MERRY CHRISTMAS AND ENJOY!!!

cw: fear, lying, panic and anxiety, hidden identity, magic and a TONNE of fluff and whimsey!

word count: 9180

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.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Borrowers.

Tiny scavengers that take human things for survival.

Well, that’s what all the articles say.

Wilbur leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. His back popped from the unhealthy way he’d been hunched over his computer for the last few hours, but he hardly noticed as he scrolled the internet.

“Yet another useless article that tells me nothing about how to actually coax one out.” He sighed dejectedly.

Now you are absolutely right, he should be studying right now while at University and not googling Borrowers again for the millionth time, but it’s not like he wanted to risk doing it at home. No way was he going to jeopardise having Tommy leave.

It had been a few weeks since Wilbur had met the young boy that fateful Christmas Eve and he was positive they hadn’t left. Not when he was now able to recognise the tell tale signs of a scavenger living in his walls. But the man was getting a tad testy about not being able to speak to them in person. 

Over and over Wilbur had to tell himself that Tommy trusted Santa Claus, not him. If they ever got a tiny hint that he knew of their existence, then that would be it and the boy would be gone. If a Borrower was seen, the rule they set for themselves was they had to leave no matter the circumstances. Staying after being seen was an absolute no no and never worth the risk. The articles had been very extensive on that point.

His other option to try and unknowingly lure the boy out wasn’t going very well either. Every idea seemed either too obvious, or too dangerous to attempt. (No he definitely did not consider using a mouse trap…)

Tommy was smart enough to avoid those anyway.

But he couldn’t ignore the growing urge to speak to them despite how foolish it would be to do so. It’s not like he could just walk straight up to Tommy’s wall and be like: “Hi I’m Wilbur but you already know that and I know you’re living in my walls. Sorry for ruining your house and kidnapping you haha.”

…

Yeah that would definitely send Tommy packing.

So like anyone does when they’ve run out of ideas, Wilbur rushed to the internet and started doing his research.

Borrowers- who are they, and how to befriend one.

Surprisingly, it seemed there were definitely people who knew about them. The few articles proof enough; but no one seemed to know anything further or wanted to speak up about how they knew what they did. The few authors or bloggers he’d emailed ended up ghosting him when asked to elaborate or rudely shut him down (looking at you PandasCanPVP) and though it did make sense they didn’t answer his questions; protect the borrowers and their code etc, it was still damn frustrating that no one was open to helping him. 

He’d at least done a few things to aid Tommy a bit more. He left more food out for longer than required and on the lower shelves so the blonde didn’t have to go to such lengths for a meal, and he’d creatively turned an unused draw into a junk draw and filled it with a bunch of mismatched items with multiples of each so that Tommy didn’t have to worry about him getting suspicious. (He definitely did not smile when he counted 6 paper clips instead of 7)

But there wasn’t really anything more he could do in terms of coaxing Tommy out. Wilbur just had to hope that either his message as Santa got through to him, or that he’d catch sight of Tommy one day and have an opportunity to acknowledge his existence. He hoped for the first of the two, but he’d take either to just make progress with the boy at all.

At least he had peace of mind they were doing better now then they had been before Christmas Eve. Niki was an absolute legend for helping him make all those tiny gifts. So yes he owed Nicki a massive favour when he absolutely bamboozled her for showing up outside her front door in the middle of the night and begged her for help to make tiny clothes for Tommy without explaining what for and why he needed them done that night. And yes he’d had to suck it up Christmas Day when he was tired as hell from working through the night to do it, but not for a second did Wilbur regret it when he knew how happy those gifts would have made the Borrower child.

It took everything in him not to tell his family about the encounter too, not wanting to risk the blonde hearing him, but it was for the best. One day it was going to pay off and then he could properly apologise for what he had done and get Tommy home.

Even if it meant he’d never really get to know the little guy, he would do it!

And that was a promise.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

This Wilbur guy was weird.

Did he have any reasons to back that statement up? 

NOPE! 

Wilbur was just decidedly a wrong-un and that was a good enough reason for him to accept.

Tommy had been finding his time in Wilbur’s walls a lot more pleasant now that he had some proper supplies. Santa really did spoil him rotten with all the extra gifts and was making getting by so much more achievable than what he had been previously. Even before his kidnapping, living in the forest certainly did not come with quite the same number of luxuries that living in a Human Beans house did.

For one: Constant food source. 

Wilbur was one sloppy guy. 

Bean did not seem very keen on putting things away properly before he left the house for hours at a time for this ‘You-knee-verse-it-tea’ thingy he went to for school. Anyone normal would probably think he was a slob, but for Tommy it was the golden ticket to trying foods he’d never even dreamed of! Did you know bread could actually taste good when it wasn’t mouldy? 

Wilbur’s house was just a treasure trove of things to borrow from and Tommy had pretty much anything and everything he could ever want here. He still had plans to get back to his nook home, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stay for awhile longer while he figured out where home actually was.

There wasn’t really a rush to leave with all the snow still about anyways. He couldn’t be the bestest Borrower ever if he was frozen solid before he got home, but he couldn’t help but think about what Santa had said. 

‘He’s not as scary as you think’

After the whole meeting with the REAL Santa, Tommy hadn’t felt the same. After being so used to the isolation of the forest, physically talking to someone that wasn’t an animal or a tree had left the Borrower a tad empty. He’d spoken to someone, and they had spoken and listened back. The candy cane card sat in front of his bed and every day Tommy would wake up and reread the message and reminisce about that fateful night. 

It seemed bonkers to the boy, the idea of actually speaking to another Human Bean, but Santa’s kindness and words seemed to ring loud in his head. He’d been longing to talk to someone again for so long, and after observing Wilbur all this time; the Bean hadn’t done anything to suggest that they were a bad person. Believing that Santa was telling the truth wasn’t hard, but the thought of willingly revealing himself? Well it was easier said than done.

Because what if Santa was wrong? 

What if Wilbur was kind to other Beans but looked at him and decided he was more of a ‘Tommy shaped pet’ instead of an actual person? Just what would he do when he held all power over him? He would be powerless to stop them and could quite easily end off worse than where he started.

Tommy tried to shake the thoughts away before he thought too hard about it. 

Wilbur would never catch him.

That wasn’t going to happen if he could help it.

Speak of the devil and they shall appear, as the sound of faint keys being slid into a lock as it clicked, signalled the return of said Bean. The man gently opened and shut the door as they sighed before walking into the kitchen, as Tommy listened intently to their routine.

Put their bag down on the table. Open and close the fridge Shuffle through the cupboards for something to eat. Take out a box of half eaten crackers. Eat one and toss the rest on the bench for later.

Move into the bedroom to relax and close the door with a soft-

‘Click’

Tommy grinned mischievously to himself.

Now was his time to shine.

It might be foolish to any other Borrower to take food while a Bean was actively awake and home, but Tommy had seen Wilbur do this enough times to know now that that man was not going anywhere for at least another 20 to 40 minutes while they de-stressed their day away watching Tikky Toks on their phone, and there was no way he was wasting the opportunity to get food while it was easy access on the bench right now.

Silently, Tommy grabbed his hook and borrowing bag as he made his way through the maze of walls to the kitchen outlet. Just a quick trip and Dinner would be acquired. 

Easy.

With little effort, Tommy slipped the electrical cover off the outlet to the kitchen, double checking the coast was clear before making a move straight for the crackers. 

“Ugh, Seaweed again?” Tommy scrunched his nose up at the obnoxious packaging. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining about the easy borrow, but the blonde knew there were BBQ flavoured ones up on the high shelf he couldn’t reach. Stupid Wilbur gatekeeping his favourite snacks. Okay, unknowingly sure, but come on; Seaweed? The same stuff fish eat? Yuck.

Secretly the boy actually didn’t mind them too much but it does get a bit much eating the same thing 5 nights in a row. Better plan a supply trip to the high shelves next time Wilbur’s out to get stocked up with a bit more variety Tommy decided, as he opened his bag and stored a broken up cracker. 

As he gathered up his borrowings, the unusual pangs of an instrument in pain sounded down the hall. Tommy gasped as he sped up his movements before grabbing his hook and hastily making his way down to the ground. Another few pangs of an off note sounded through the walls as Wilbur messed with his guitar strings.

Looked like it was dinner and a show tonight!

Lady Life’s music of the Forest was good and all, but Tommy never knew music like Wilbur’s even existed till he got to experience it one night. It was just like tonight, Wilbur in the other room with Tommy borrowing before the man started doing what was called ‘tuning the guitar’ to get the instrument in the right key. 

Tommy thought he’d been destroying the poor instrument until they started playing a song he didn’t know. The brunette had talent and listening to them play felt like a private concert just for him. It wasn’t long before Tommy had crossed the kitchen and was back in the walls to Wilbur’s bedroom, nestled atop the Bean’s shelf out of sight in a discarded Beanie.

The soft strum of the guitar filled the room and Tommy found himself relaxing to the constant rhythm. It was easy to just let himself drift and sway with the melody. The way it put him at ease was almost hypnotic, but the boy found he didn’t care if it meant he could indulge in it forever. 

Wilbur had been working on this song for awhile and it had quickly become one of his favourites. There were many times he had wanted nothing more than to cheer and clap whenever the Human Bean had finished playing, but the lingering fear of being caught was ever present in the boy's mind. This however didn’t seem to defer his ever growing loneliness. 

‘Would it be so bad if he were to talk to Wilbur?’

‘What if he was one of the so-called good Beans?’

‘What if he had a chance to make a friend?’

Tommy peaked over the edge of the shelf down to where Wilbur was busy absorbed in his playing. How would he even approach them? It’s not like he could just walk out into the open and be like: ‘Hi I’m Tommy and I’ve been living in your walls ever since you kidnapped me and using all your stuff. Want to be friends?’

…

Yeah that’s definitely going to result in him winding up in a jar or something.

If only Santa Claus was still here. It was his suggestion to befriend them in the first place so he’d probably know exactly what to say and do. 

Wait, THAT WAS IT!!!

Why didn’t he think of this sooner? Why not just ask Santa what to do! It made perfect sense! He’s a Bean and talks to them all the time so obviously he would know exactly how he could approach them! 

Tommy crept back into the walls and quickly ran off in the direction of the house's study. 

He had a letter to write.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“Okay, Dear Santa…” Tommy said out loud as he began to write in his best handwriting. 

As soon as he’d found an unused marker in the study, Tommy had been quick to fashion it into one his size from the red tip. His hands had been stained red, but red was the poggest colour ever so he didn’t mind. He had gone to start writing a letter with some borrowed paper back in his home that night, but quickly realised Santa probably wouldn’t be able to read his letter if the letter was written in his regular handwriting- AKA too small to read with Santa’s bad eyesight from being old. This would require a bigger piece of paper and writing with his Big Man writing skills!

That also meant needing a bigger piece of paper and room to write it which meant waiting for Wilbur to leave and that took far too long with it being a Sunday. Tommy had had to wait HOURS for Wilbur to leave to do the grocery shopping, but at least it meant he’d be out for awhile and the Bean had left the kitchen window open, so it was a good day to enjoy some fresh air, albeit if it was a bit cold still and windy.

So with his new marker in hand and a few sheets of Wilbur's scrap pieces of paper from the Kitchen, Tommy now had everything he could possibly need to write his letter.

“Dear Santa.”

…

“---Dear Santa?”

…  …   …

“Dear Santaaaaaaaa UGHHH WHY IS THIS SO HARD!?”

Well, everything but the right words…

“It shouldn’t be this difficult!” The boy complained, as he crossed out another attempt at writing. 

“Dear Santa, so you know how you said to talk to Wilbitch? How exactly do I do that?” 

Tommy groaned as he furiously scribbled over the dear santa line before flopping himself on top of the stack of papers. He had been trying to write this letter for 15 minutes and he was getting frustrated. He just didn’t know how to start the letter. 

Get straight to the point or ease into? 

Is there even a way to write a letter correctly? 

6 year old Beans do this for goodness sake!

He just wanted to ask for the best way to approach Wilbur without the worst occurring. He knew the Beans schedule so he could probably work out a good time to talk to them based on their mood but he also still had to get over the idea of willingly exposing himself and that he definitely needed Santa’s help with. Not to forget to mention he still had to thank Santa for all his gifts too! He honestly couldn’t thank him enough for what he had done and the Borrower wanted the old man to know that.

Perhaps just being honest would be the best way to write this? Get it all down in one go and out in the open so he and Santa were completely on the same page. It was at least worth a shot. Wilbur would be back soon and he needed to get something written before that. With a little more internal deliberation, Tommy took a deep breath, and began to write.

Line after line the Borrower wrote his letter- as well as stopping to rest his aching hand as the letter grew longer letting the words flow as best he could. It wasn’t perfect, but then again he added pictures and doodles to make it better so he’s pretty sure that evens it out.

The last thing he needed to do was address the letter to Santa and get it to the letterbox. With his best precision skills, Tommy folded the letter in half and wrote on the front in his best writing.

TO: SANTA

NORTH POLE

Once he was done, Tommy stepped back to admire his handy work.

It was a bit wonky and anything but fancy, but for the first letter he’s ever written, it wasn’t too bad for a giant letter written by a Borrower.

Now all that was left was to deliver it. The boy quickly put his marker away into his borrowing bag and cleaned up the stack of papers back into a neat pile like how he found it, discarding any of his first bad attempts in the bottom of the bin where Wilbur wouldn’t find it, before moving to the window with the letter in tow. 

Now the best way to get the letter to Santa would be to post it and Tommy had seen some Human Beans put letters in their letter box before on the big black box, and then they were taken to be delivered like magic, so that made the most logical sense to him. He’d have to go outside to send it, but if he went now and waited till the sun went down, he would be able to scale the letterbox under the cover of darkness and do it with less risk. 

Tommy set the letter down beside him as he prepared to descend from the window sill to the outside world. The wind had picked up a little bit, but the Borrower was confident in his abilities to scale down the wall without any issues. Just like climbing up and down the trees back in the forest. Hook in, and descend down. Piece of cake.

Once he was sure his hook was secure, Tommy gathered up the letter in one arm before raising his other to shield his eyes from the setting sun, basking in the serenity of the afternoon as a chilly breeze blew through his golden curls.

Tommy exhaled a content sigh. He missed watching the sunset through the trees of the forest, the soft music of trees swaying and birds chirping as they did their birdie things. Hopefully he’d be reunited with his old nook and could enjoy them like he once did again soon. His letter was sure to fix everything. 

Santa would fix everything.

Tommy gently closed his eyes to savour the feeling one last time, but the boy lingered for just a moment too long as a strong gust of wind was all it took to throw the Borrower off balance and snatch his letter from his grasp, sending it flying off with the wind.

“NO!” The blonde shouted, watching as his letter drifted left and right off into the distance. 

It was almost magical in a sense, as he watched how it danced through the air and Tommy had to wonder, what if that was intentional. Santa had managed to do things he didn’t think possible with his magic, so perhaps he knew when letters were addressed to him and sent a magic wind to collect it for him?

Yeah that made sense! Good old Santa Claus looking out for his favourite Borrower! Prime he should have thanked Santa more in his letter.

Satisfied with coming to this conclusion, Tommy packed up his gear before heading back to the walls for a well deserved rest; blissfully unaware of the true whereabouts of his letter as it drifted through the wind over buildings and roads, before finally flying straight into a certain brunettes face on his way back from the shops.

“What on Earth?!” Wilbur grabbed at the piece of paper from his face prepared to throw it away before abruptly coming to a stop to read the bright, red scrawl across the front.

“Okay, interesting spelling.” Wilbur examined the poorly addressed letter. 

It was obviously a lost Christmas letter written on what looked like sheet music from some kid judging by the spelling and array of doodles. Little faces in the O’s to make it look like Santa, but obnoxiously written in capital letters to make it stand out. It made him think of Tommy and how he went into all the finer details of his life that he couldn’t help but opt to read the childish letter and pique his growing curiosity. 

Dear Santa

Hi, it's Tommy! TommyInnit the Borrower you spoke to on Christinimass Eve. I’m sure I don’t need to explain which Tommy to you being the most amazing Tommy to exist ever but anyways I’m writing this letter to ask for your help.

Firstly, thank you for all the pogger gifts. They’re all so AWESOME so thank you! (Like seriously, you are the Greatest Man alive- After me of course >:3 )

Anyways, the reason I sent you this letter. You know Wilbitch Wilbur? The Human Bean that kidnapped me? Well I’ve decided to be the bigger man and befriend him despite him kidnapping me and destroying my home (You know it’s still in his living room slowly dying? Weirdo).

Thing is, I don’t really know how to do that. I know you said I can trust him, but I’m still scared of what he might do to me if he finds out I’ve been using and taking his stuff. I know his schedule by heart at this point and wait till he leaves to get anything done outside the walls, but ever since talking to you I’ve felt so lonely. I loved talking to you but I know I can’t do that with you all the time so I’m willing to give the Bean a chance. 

Do you have any ideas for how I can talk to him?

Thank you for your help and if you do this I won’t even ask for a Christmas present this year!!! Seriously I won’t!!!  I would just like a friend.

From the coolest Borrower ever,

-Tommy

P.S. You’re the best.

Wilbur couldn’t believe his eyes.

It- It was a letter to Santa, from Tommy.

His Tommy.

This was it! This was his in, his chance!!!

Wilbur carefully folded the letter back in half and slipped it into his trench coat pocket before hurrying home, formulating a plan of action the whole way. Finally he had a shot to befriend Tommy and there was no way he was going to waste it.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Waiting.

Waiting..

More waiting…

Great. Just great.

Wilbur couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to the clock on the class room wall. His leg bounced in anticipation as the minutes ticked by to the end of the day. He should really be listening to his lecturer, but it was almost impossible to do so when all the uni student could think of was getting home as quickly as possible.

The only way to catch Tommy would be by surprise, and to do that would be to break his schedule. 

Wilbur couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love a well structured schedule. It was the only way he found he really ever got anything done and if sticking to his timed out plan was the way to do that, then so be it. Sometimes that meant postponing other things like hangouts and was a pain, but right now it was his ticket to meeting one Borrower. 

His Plan- Get home an hour earlier than normal by skipping study and hope to catch Tommy in the open.

Okay, so yes the whole plan was just one big gamble. It’s not like he got home at exactly the same time every day so he doubted Tommy was going to be out borrowing still even if he was home early, but it’s the best idea he’s got. The letter said Tommy knew his schedule so being early was rarity for him. It’s not going to hurt to give it a try. 

He’ll either see Tommy, or he won’t. 

Wilbur idly traced the words of Tommy's letter as he sat and waited for his lecturer to signal the end of class. So much energy and bright smiles were hidden beneath the red writing and he wanted to know it all. 

After what felt like an eternity, his lecture finally ended and the brunette wasted no time in gathering up his things and racing out the door. He didn’t really need to sprint home, especially given that the roads were still a bit icy, but there was no time to waste. 

It only took a matter of minutes for him to reach the end of his street, huffing and panting. He took his time walking down to his house allowing himself to catch his breath and recompose himself for the task at hand. 

This was a stealth operation. No loud noises allowed.

Wilbur treaded lightly up to his front door, taking out his keys holding the key chains tight to prevent any jingling sounds before slipping the key in the lock. He turned the key as slowly as he dared, opening the door in a similar manner, before poking his head inside the door frame, eyes immediately looking to spots he thought the small borrower child might be hiding. 

No signs of Tommy.

Wilbur crept into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a loud click. “Shoot.” he muttered before slapping a hand over his mouth sharply, before realising his mistake as he cringed at the slight stinging pain now blooming across his jaw. 

‘Don’t talk, you idiot!’ Wilbur internally chastised himself. 

Ignoring his first blunder, Wilbur quietly shuffled across the carpet to peek into the living room. Nothing appeared out of place, and Tommy’s spot on the book shelf remained as empty as ever. 

‘Not here,’  Wilbur thought as he turned and tiptoed across the hallway. ‘Try the kitchen. Just slow and steady, keep quiet, move slow and steady and- ‘CREAKKKKKKK’  An old floorboard groaned loudly as it took the man’s weight. 

‘So much for stealth.’

Holding onto a sliver of hope he hadn’t messed up, Wilbur peered into the kitchen. Just like the living room, everything remained untouched and just the same as ever. Wilbur sighed heavily, dropping his bag loudly in defeat. If Tommy had been here, there was no way he hadn’t heard that floorboard move.

Resigning himself to his failed efforts, Wilbur didn’t bother to stay quiet as he trudged into the kitchen defeated. He flung the kitchen cupboard open, grabbing the BBQ crackers from the top shelf cracking the package open. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and his bag from the floor before moving off to his room. 

So his one and only plan didn’t work, now what was he going to do? Guess he’d have to try and think of another time to break his schedule that wouldn’t compromise his study life a different way. 

The brunette sighed as he grabbed his phone, chucking on one of his favourite playlists and booting up his Bluetooth speaker. Might as well do some study since he skipped his study block back at the campus. It was as he sat down his stomach suddenly grumbled. 

Oh, right- the crackers.

Wilbur rose from his chair and moved through the halls before abruptly coming to a stop and hiding behind the kitchen door. There was movement from the BBQ Crackers packet. The man’s breath got stuck in his throat as he watched a tiny blonde boy emerge from the packaging with a cracker looking extremely pleased with themself, as they set it down next to a little blue bag. 

Tommy.

Wilbur couldn’t help but stare as he watched the boy work. He should have known that Tommy would come out for food. It never occurred to him that he would try and get the discarded crackers when they were left out on the bench. It was dangerous for the Borrower considering he was home and could be seen, but it was easy access for the boy so of course the risk would be worth it.

With careful precision to avoid the creaky floorboards, Wilbur crept forward. Said blonde had crawled back into the Crackers packet and was distracted. He didn’t want to scare Tommy away, but the boy was far too close to the electrical socket and he’d determined it was a wall entry/exit a while ago. The last thing he wanted was for Tommy to bolt.

It wasn’t till he was about a step or two away that the Borrower popped back out of the bag with another cracker in tow.

It was now or never.

“Ahem,” Wilbur cleared his throat and tried not to feel guilty, as he watched the Borrower on the bench flinch, stumbling back in surprise. “Hi there.”

Wilbur remained completely still as he watched in anticipation for what the blonde would do next. Tommy’s face seemed to morph 100 different ways all at once before stopping at terrified as they processed the situation. The pure terror on the Borrowers face showed he knew there was no escaping this, as their eyes darted around trying to formulate the next best course of action despite their seemingly ‘dire’ situation, but Wilbur continued to remain calm. 

He needed Tommy to understand he wasn’t in danger. 

The silence stretched on for a few more moments, only broken by the sound of the cracker Tommy had been clutching to his chest, snapping into several pieces. The borrower was so frightened for being caught, he’d subconsciously been clutching the cracker tighter and tighter till it snapped. 

“Can I help with that?” Wilbur asked, pointing to the broken cracker in the boy's lap as he stepped closer. 

Tommy was fast to react. The blonde sprung to his feet, cracker and equipment forgotten as they bolted for the electrical socket.

“No wait, STOP!” Wilbur cried as lunged forward to stop the boy. Before he even realised what he’d done, he’d swept the Borrower up in his hand, the boy now kicking and screaming in his grasp. 

“LET ME GO!!!” he shrieked as they dug and scratched their nails into Wilbur's skin. 

Tommy felt the way the hand flexed as he did so, but his attempts weren’t enough to get the man to budge. This was only the second time he’d ever been picked up by a human, and it was nothing like the way Santa had treated him. It felt far too tight and confining and Tommy wanted nothing more than to be free of it. Tommy always knew that Human Beans could be fast, but he never realised just how fast they actually might be.

His futile attempt to make it back to the walls had been wishful thinking at best. Now the very real threat of his head being popped off for being caught stealing the Bean's food had his heart hammering out of his chest. He was going to continue his plans of bloody murder, but as his stomach lurched and he was lifted up and away from the counter, all attempts died off as he was brought closer to his impending doom's face. He couldn’t suppress the small whimper that slipped as his body shook as the Bean seemingly studied every inch of him, before their eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hey, hey it’s alright.” Wilbur reassured. “I’m not going to hurt you Tommy.”

Tommy’s blood ran cold. 

How did he know his name?

No, no he couldn’t have. He’d been careful. Never seen, not once. There was no way Wilbur could have known he was here let alone his name right? Right???

“How the heck do you know my name?” he spat. 

Did this mean they knew he was here? Had the Bean been trying to lure him out this entire time just so they could trap him and punish him for taking their stuff?

“Ahhh so about that..” Wilbur began before quickly adjusting his grip and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, thin piece of paper with red scribbled all over it. “I got your letter. It didn’t quite make it to the North Pole I’m afraid.”

Tommy couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was his letter to Santa.

All his worst fears were confirmed in the Beans grasp. If Wilbur had his letter then that meant he DEFINITELY had read it and would know everything!! As if magic wind was a real thing! Prime, why did he think writing to Santa when it was no longer Christmas would be a good idea? 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you Tommy, I just want to talk honestly.” Wilbur tried to reassure as he placed the letter down. The boy only shook his head in response, trembling as they squeezed their eyes shut expecting the worst.

“Okay, I know you’re scared Tommy, but I’ve read your letter, and I just want to help you. You can trust me I-” 

“WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?!” The boy shrieked. “YOU SNATCHED ME OFF THE TABLE AND ARE HOLDING ME AGAINST MY WILL!”

“Well yes I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you, I just didn’t want you to run away!” 

“If you’re really sorry then you’ll let me go!” Tommy pleaded, tears starting to well up in his eyes. “Please just let me go.”

Wilbur sighed, realising his terrific plan to speak to Tommy wouldn’t get very far with their current circumstances. If the roles were reversed, he’d be rightly terrified out of his mind too. You’d think after all his research on Borrowers, this is something he’d be aware of. Looking around the kitchen, he knew he couldn’t just put them down on the bench and risk the boy making another run for it, and instead turned and headed for the dining room table, despite the boy's sniffling cries.

“Tommy, I’m going to put you down now.” Wilbur explained, trying to be gentle as he sat down on one of the wooden chairs.  “I promise I won’t hurt you and you can leave straight after, I just want to talk.”

The boy didn’t speak as he brought his hands down to the wooden surface and slowly released his grip. The blonde immediately wriggled out from his fingers and dropped to the table with a slight thud, but was just as quickly scooting away from his hands now he was free. Wilbur brought his hands away and slipped them under the table into his lap to be less intimidating, but could see Tommy was still highly on edge as they tried to gain distance. He was breathing heavily, eyes fixated on him with a terrified expression, seemingly knowing that he had no hope of getting away in the Beans presence. 

He felt bad for putting them in such a vulnerable position, but if he wanted any hope to get him home, then they needed to talk properly- face to face. 

“There,” Wilbur said, retracting his hands placatingly. “See, you’re fine.”

Tommy didn’t look particularly convinced, his eyes red from crying and snot running down his nose. Like seriously, who did this guy think he was? After the way he just behaved, why should he trust him?

“Define fine.” The boy snapped hugging himself as he turned away so he didn’t have to face the brunette's constant staring.

Wilbur sighed. Why did he have to be so stubborn? He’s the one that wanted to make friends in the first place.

Wilbur glanced at the letter he’d placed on the edge of the table. Tommy was the one that wanted to talk to him but was just unsure of how to approach him. But instead here he’d come waltzing in and frantically grabbed him without any consideration for how this would make him look. The boy believed Santa when he told him he was a good guy, but any truth in that was gone and rightfully so. In Tommy’s eyes, Wilbur didn’t deserve to be trusted. 

How could you trust someone that held your life in their hands?

Wilbur sighed as he knew how to fix this, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, but if he wanted Tommy to trust him then his actions had to match his words.

“Okay so I know I didn’t make the best first impression so how about we start over?” Wilbur tried even slinking down to be a bit lower so he wasn’t looming over him so much. “My names Wilbur and if you need anything you can just ask okay?” 

Tommy didn’t reply, even going as far to give him the finger which had the man having to suppress a laugh despite it being fair. He waited for the blonde to speak up a little longer but it didn’t seem the Borrower would be talking any time soon.

Sighing realising this wasn’t going to work, Wilbur stood from the table and walked back to the kitchen. Tommy remained still only glancing a little bit to the side when he heard crackling of plastic, before the heavy foot falls of Wilbur's return signaled he was back before something was put down behind him, and a chair was dragged out and around from the table facing backwards.

“So I don’t blame you for not trusting me. I should have realised how my actions would have affected you so I won’t keep you any longer.” Wilbur stepped back from the table and around to the other side where Tommy could see him and towards the hallway back to his room.

“I’ve uh- left the chair next to the table so you can get down with your hook and things, and I promise I won’t go looking for you, but if you ever need anything- please don’t hesitate to ask.” Wilbur took a deep breath and exhaled as he rubbed the back of his head. “I hope in time, maybe we could be friends.”

After waiting for a reply and receiving none, Wilbur turned and walked into his room, closing the door with a soft click before walking over and flopping onto his bed. He couldn’t force Tommy to trust him. He just had to hope giving them space might change the kids' mind.

The second the Bean was gone, Tommy didn’t hesitate to grab his things and descend down the chair with his hook. He then booked it for the nearest wall entrance he could find and didn’t stop running until he was back in his little room in the walls. 

His heart pounded realising how close that had all been and now there was no time to waste.

Hastily he began to load his clothes into his bag and supplies for the journey he had ahead. He couldn’t stay now Wilbur actively knew of his existence. He’d been at the complete mercy of the Bean and that was never going to happen ever again. He kept doing this until he had completely stuffed his pack. As he prepared to leave he made his way to the door and had one final look around at his home for anything he missed. 

He couldn't pick up on anything specific, not until his eyes landed on the card from Santa. All those happy days he had gotten from just waking up to a pretty card. His encounter with Santa the best day of his life and the reason he was so comfortable here now at all. The memory felt bitter sweet now though, as he trudged over to the card, picking it up harshly flipping it over for one last read.

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.

“Not as scary as you think my ass.” Tommy spat bitterly as he set it back in place. 

So what if he’d apologised a bunch of times? That didn’t change the fact he almost hadn’t been freed at all. Sure he’d escaped now, but Wilbur might have just made it look like he was free to go as an act to trick him into feeling guilty enough to stay to catch him later. 

But then again, he did apologise a lot and gave him a quick way back down the table. If he really thought about it, he hadn’t looked like he was going to hurt him or anything, just guilty he’d grabbed him in the first place. In fact he hadn’t really done anything besides scare the living daylights out of him by snatching him up.

It was perfectly logical for him to be scared of being grabbed, but apart from that, had the Bean actually done anything wrong? He was just reacting to the situation, and if he had read his letter, then maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought. 

But no that can’t be right? He can’t seriously be considering Wilbur not a threat after all that?

“Ughhhh my head hurts!” He groaned frustratedly before dropping his pack to the floor and flopping head first into his bed. Why do Human Beans never make sense? Tommy curled himself into the fabric squeezing the sock blanket tightly in his grasp. This was all far too much for him to think about right now. 

The events of the day finally seemed to catch up to him as he laid there, adrenaline wearing off, replaced with a heavy fatigue. Perhaps sleeping would be better than trying to leave right this second? Who knew when he’d have another chance once he started the move. 

Rather than fight it, Tommy soon fell asleep, snuggled in his bed, his thoughts dreaming of what ifs and Wilbur.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The next day, Tommy had yet to leave.

He’d spent most of the morning mulling over his options and what the best course of action was and was having a hard time making up his mind.

On the one hand, leaving meant he was 100% safe from Wilbur and whatever his plans might be, whether they be good intentions or not. But on the other hand, that meant giving up the space he’d spent so long getting right and traversing the winter terrain without a guarantee of finding a place that was safe to stay in. While the Bean knew of his presence, at least he had a warm bed and didn’t have to worry about frostbite. But of course that still left one problem: 

Wilbur.

The more he replayed yesterday's events over in his mind the more he wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe Wilbur was one of the good Beans. It’s not like he’d ever met or interacted with one before he came here. Everything he knew of them came from stories and warnings from his parents about Borrowers getting trapped in Jars and what not, but there was always some truth in stories one way or another. 

Still though, he had one thing going for him that no other Bean did. Santa trusted him. And while Tommy may not trust him, (not completely anyways) perhaps there was a way he could test them.

Tommy had his borrowing bag strapped to his back and his hook and rope at his side as he sat perched atop the bookshelf in the living room, watching and waiting for Wilbur to enter. He’d test the Bean. See if he stayed true to his word and be in plain sight of the man and see if he was worthy of his presence. If he tried to catch him or hurt him in any way, all he had to do was get back through the crack in the wall and grab the rest of his things and book it out of there.

The blonde's knee bounced in anticipation. It was one thing trying not to be seen by a being 100x your size, but another to willingly just be waiting in the open for your maybe/maybe not demise to show up. Strange how the last time he stood out here, he did so waiting for Santa happily, but now it felt like he half wanted to throw up as he waited for the brunette to show.

His thoughts must have summoned him, because entered an exhausted Wilbur with a cup of coffee in hand before they plonked themself down on the couch. He took a long sip and sighed before putting the cup down and threw their head back against the couch. 

He looked sad. Big dark bags under his eyes and he was frowning as he stared up at the ceiling. Tommy couldn’t help but think that was probably his fault. Seems yesterday's events had affected Wilbur just as much as it had him and he did feel a bit guilty for that. Did he really care that much he’d lose sleep over him? 

Only one way to find out.

“Ahem.” Tommy cleared his throat and the Bean jolted up almost immediately, head looking around wildly for the source. 

“Hey, up here big man.” The boy called with a wave to down below and clenched his hook tightly with the other hand as the brunette's sweeping gaze snapped up onto him.  “Sorry if I- uh startled you.”

“No, no it’s fine, I just- I thought you left.” Wilbur said as he turned himself to be better facing the Borrower without leaving the couch. 

“Why would I do that?” Tommy asked even though he knew the answer. 

“Well, I don’t know I just thought- I’d scared you away.” Wilbur looked away, staring at his coffee as if it was far more interesting than the boy on his shelf. “I figured you’d have left because of how I- how I um..”

“Grabbed me?” Tommy asked, raising a brow as he did so.

“Yeah… I truly am sorry about that. I never should have reacted like that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I promise I never planned to do anything to you when I did, I just- my hand moved without thinking and yeah. I’m sorry Tommy.” 

“It wasn’t particularly nice of you.” Tommy tried to ignore the tingly sensation of phantom hands wrapping around him as he stood up. “I just felt so helpless when you did.” 

Wilbur nodded sadly in agreement. “Yeah I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you. Based on what I read in your letter, it must be really hard living at your size when everything is so big.”

“Well I was born this way. I learned to live cautiously to protect myself. You Beans are just too busy thinking of yourselves than about who else might be living out of sight.” Tommy glanced down to Wilbur and noticed how the Bean twiddled their thumbs in their lap, gaze now resting on the table and a familiar piece of paper. His Letter.

“Hey I’ve got to ask,” Tommy started as Wilbur brought his head back up to the shelf. “How did you get your hands on my letter? Last I saw it, it was flying out in the wind randomly to who knows where.”

Wilbur chuckled as he leaned over and picked up the letter carefully to admire the craftsmanship of it once more. “Well, I was walking home from grocery shopping the other day and it kind of just flew into my face. It was by chance that I decided to open it and read it that I noticed the paper was one of my discarded music sheets I use for scrap paper. Kind of connected the dots from there since it was my work and here we are.”

Tommy nodded as he listened. He supposed that made more sense than magic wind, even if the chances of it flying into Wilbur's face were bizarrely low. 

“Still a shame it didn’t make it to Santa. I wanted to thank him properly for what he did for me.”

“You could always write him another letter if you want.” Wilbur suggested. “I don’t mind helping you if you like.” 

Tommy nodded considering the idea before speaking up. “I think you might have to write to Santa for yourself though. You’ll probably be on his naughty list for a while when I tell him about everything that’s happened.” 

Wilbur smiled as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah I deserve that. I’ll have to really work hard to get back on the nice list then won’t I?”

“You sure will. Gonna take a lot to get back in his good books though.” 

Wilbur smiled as he set the letter back down and leaned back into the couch. “Do you have any ideas on how I could do that?”

Tommy scratched his head for a moment in thought.

“Well for starters you’d have to be extra nice and always use proper manners like asking before you do something.” 

Wilbur nodded as the boy continued. “And you’d have to always announce your presence coming in and out of rooms cause if you don’t that’s just rude.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but chuckle as Tommy kept listing nice specific things off. “Anything else?”

“Annnnd always leave extra food out on the counters- specifically the BBQ crackers and chocolate because that’s how you show you're being extra nice.”

“Right, well it sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me then.” Wilbur replied as he looked back up to where Tommy stood upon the shelf. The boy seemed rather pleased with himself before he realised he was in sight and timidly stepped back from view. 

“I’ve got to ask though, why are you still here? I assumed the last place you’d want to be is anywhere near me and well, yeah.” It was a question that was starting to eat at him as why the Borrower would go against the code and all the other things he had read about not making sense.

“Well initially, I was going to leave straight away, yes. But with all the snow on the ground and not knowing the area, it made the decision of leaving more complicated so I’m giving talking one last shot and then deciding.” 

Wilbur smiled as he felt warm that the blonde was at least giving him a chance, even if they had their hesitations. He didn’t blame Tommy for being wary after everything that had transpired but maybe there was still hope to salvage things.

“Hey Tommy, do you think maybe we could start over?” the brunette asked. “I think we got off on the wrong foot and I’d really like to show I mean you know harm.” 

Tommy stood back from the shelf edge where he couldn’t see the Bean. This was exactly what he wanted. A chance for the Bean to prove himself and he hadn’t even had to ask. 

Wilbur watched the bookshelf nervously waiting for a response. What if he’d over stepped? He didn’t have to wait long for an answer as the blonde came back into view with his arms behind his back, before breaking into a smile.

“Yeah, that would be nice. But don’t even think about putting me in a jar cause I know Santa and Santa will absolutely beat your ass if you do.” 

“And why would he do that?” Wilbur smirked teasingly.

“Because,” Tommy stated. “I’m his favourite.”

Wilbur’s heart melted as the boy blew a raspberry at him before pulling a bunch of different faces. In a way, he guessed it was true. 

Tommy was his favourite.

And he wasn’t going to mess this opportunity up a second time.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

In the days to come, Wilbur and Tommy began to slowly get to know each other. 

Albeit at a distance with Tommy still hiding on shelves and behind items that he was sort of a discombobulated voice, but it was a start and made the Borrower feel safer.

Wilbur didn’t mind in the slightest as they were actually talking and making progress! If Wilbur thought Tommy had talked a lot on their Santa encounter, well the kid had certainly been holding back as they chatted away about anything and everything they could speak on.

In fact, soon the two were bantering back and forth like they’d been life long friends and it didn’t take long for Tommy to start showing himself on the shelves. 

Wilbur was always super cautious around the boy and made sure to give him space, and even gave him extra warning about what he was doing to ease the boy more around his presence. While Tommy initially had his reservations, he was quickly beginning to see what Santa had meant in his card. 

Wilbur truly was doing everything he possibly could to show he wanted to help him and be friends and that gave Tommy the confidence to take the next step and actually be in close proximity with the man rather than the safety of shelves. 

Eventually, Tommy would tell Wilbur of how he came to be in his apartment and Wilbur would offer to take Tommy back to his home. It didn’t take long for the boy to realise how close he’d actually grown to the Bean and when the time came to actually go, the Borrower would decide that maybe the Forest wasn’t necessarily his home any more. 

From there, the two continued to grow closer and eventually table talks turned to movie nights on the couch, to hand cuddles on chilly days. And whenever things got too much, Wilbur gave Tommy the space he needed and one day Tommy realised that Santa was right.

Wilbur wasn’t as scary as he once believed. 

In fact, he finally had a friend he could depend on.

Just like he had always wanted.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Epilogue

Annnnnnnnnnnnd that's a wrap!!!

Thank you so much if you read the whole thing through. It was a lot of fun to write as it's not the kind of topic I see written about very often and especially not in a gt sense so I loved exploring what Santa is to a Borrower that lived outside most of their life never knowing about these things.

HUGE Thank you to @quotemenevervore for beta reading and helping me get unstuck to write the ending!!! Always very thankful for your input and so glad I got this done before Christmas like I planned <3

Thanks again to everyone who's stuck around and continues to enjoy my writing despite all the circumstances of previous creators constantly changing. As times gone on, while I still really enjoy writing these characters, new ideas to use them in the future have certainly been becoming less, so I still fully intend to finish JORNOS but after that's done, I have one more chapter fic I want to post and then I think I might explore some new characters. Dunno yet tbh. Work is being a pain and will probably continue to delay new stuff, but I'm certainly not done yet :3

Anyways that's my last fic for this year so Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and I'll see you all on the next fic <3

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