#I’ve been waiting to have time to post this for days

[knavesflames]

Arlecchino’s Christmas Gift

Hello omg sorry for not posting I’ve been crashing out in terms of physical health (yes yes, I’m sick again, yay me!!)

Anyway, a little Christmas present for you all. Apologies if the standard is not Normal, but it will be soon.

Word count: 1497

Contents: soft Arlecchino, bottom!Arlecchino, fingering

Nsft utc<3

Christmas is a busy time for the House of the Hearth. With God knows how many children, Arlecchino works hard to make sure they all have a lovely day. Barbecues are out of the question, the snowflakes sticking to the ground a definite rejection of yet another barbecue. Instead, she opts for cooking a huge feast (or rather, you cook, she tells you to stop adding seasoning).

Watching the children eat and open the gifts she’s spent too much mora on, you can see that her eyes have softened significantly, even if her smile is small and barely there. “I don’t want gifts,” she’ll mutter when you ask her what she wants, she does it every year. “Gifts are unnecessary and superficial. The children receive them because they are children.”

You think she says this because she doesn’t know how to receive gifts. The House of the Hearth before was.. unkind, to say the least. The poor woman has been so busy, she’s barely had time to think about herself (you wonder if that’s the point), you know very well that the children are her priority, always. You, too. She’s made it abundantly clear multiple times to multiple times that it’s you and the children who come first.

When you see her sigh and wipe her forehead in slight frustration, you start to get an idea of what you can give her. Something she wouldn’t deem superficial, something she looks like she needs. And of course, when you excuse yourself early with the claim that you’re ’so tired’ and ‘the day has been exhausting’, she lets you leave with a soft kiss on your forehead and a murmur of affection. You don’t go to sleep, though, no. You wait until you hear the children leave the main dining hall and shuffle to their rooms to sleep before you start putting your plan in motion. You know she won’t go to bed for a little bit, she never does.

You waste no time in making yourself her gift. Putting on the lingerie you know she adores, dimming the lights and putting the small box of.. objects, by the bed, you position yourself comfortably. With clumsy movements, you manage to tie the ribbon around your wrists the way she’s done to you so many times. You admit it’s difficult, doing it with one working hand, but you get it done well enough. Then, what else is there to do but wait? The whole idea is for her to feel better and have whatever relief she desires, but you can’t help but feel excitement bubbling inside of you with every second that passes. She doesn’t feel good unless you feel good. That became obvious when she couldn’t cum until you were just as desperate as she was.

You let out a small breath when you finally hear her soft footsteps, and you’re trying to picture her reaction in your head. For some reason, you suddenly become nervous— what if she just wants to go to bed, or what if she just hates the idea? The ideas run through your head until—

“My dear?”

Your thoughts are cut short when your eyes snap to her. She looks a little shocked, her lips parted slightly, and her eyes scanning you, but she doesn’t seem repulsed or uninterested.

“Merry Christmas. You dislike gifts because they’re superficial, but I’m not, am I?”

Arlecchino swallows, her throat suddenly dry. You’ve always been the thing that gets her to react the most, both of you know that. Her words falter for a second before she manages to murmur.

“No, no you are not,” taking a step forward, then another, her hand reaching out to graze your skin gently. “Archons, look at you. You’re beautiful. All wrapped up, too.”

You smile sweetly at her, all worries dissipating at the look on her face. For someone as ruthless as her, she certainly softens up when you’re around, her touch gentle and her words quiet.

“How long did that take you? Wrapping oneself with one hand is a difficult task, no?”

“It took a while. Worth it to see your face. You can undo it if you want, or you can keep them like this.”

“Stay like that.”

“Okay.” Your own words are a whisper, and you continue to smile softly up at her. Her hands are delicate when they move over your skin, nails gently scratching in the places she knows makes you shiver.

“You wore my favourite.”

“For you.”

“You’re too good to me.” A breath, barely a whisper, but it’s heard nonetheless. It was only for you to hear anyway. She leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips until you return the kiss, letting her tongue meet yours with a soft sigh. You go to wrap your arms around her, before remembering that you have, in fact, tied yourself up. You think you feel her smile slightly into the kiss before her hand wraps firmly around your binded wrists.

Her kisses move downwards, sucking gently at the pulse point of your neck to feel you shiver. She seems to enjoy doing that, working you up only to make you wait. But, as promised, it’s her turn tonight, so you don’t complain. When she’s satisfied that your hands will stay in place and won’t struggle to get out of the ribbon restraints, her hand moves, fingers ghosting the hem of your underwear before slowly pulling it down. You help her, lifting your hips and stretching your legs so they’ll come off as quickly as possible. When they do come off, landing on the floor with a quiet noise, she leans on the bed, knee parting your legs.

Arlecchino grumbles when she realises she’s still fully clothed, and you think you see her hands trembling as she quickly fumbles to unbutton every single button she has and shed the fabric. She returns to her place soon after, her bare skin warmer than flames against yours. Her knee resumes its actions, pushing your legs apart until it meets your core, already aching. You gasp, and she relishes in the sound. She does the movement again before stopping. Digits move swiftly in finally unwrapping the ribbon around your wrists, tossing it to the side.

“I need you,” Arlecchino mutters, almost like she’s embarrassed. “I need you. Please.”

“How?” Although you enjoy occasionally being dominant, you can’t bring yourself to tonight. The poor woman has been so stressed, and this is her gift, after all.

“You know how.”

“Fingers or tongue, Peruere?”

She gasps at the usage of her actual name, her movements of her hands caressing each part of your body she can reach before she manages to speak.

“Fingers. Please.”

So, you waste no time in letting your own hand slip between her legs, moving until you find her clit. You give it a few experimental rubs, finding a rhythm she seems to enjoy before letting your lips land on her neck. You’d tease her for the quiet gasps she lets out, or for the way your fingers slide so easily into her, but you don’t think you have it in you, especially not when her hips start rocking into your hand with a rhythm so messy it’s almost pathetic, in an affectionate way. But she’s getting impatient and frustrated, and she can’t chase what she wants so badly with the rhythm she has.

You let her try for a bit longer, but the small whine that escapes her usually quiet mouth almost makes you feel bad. So, your free hand moves to her hip, gently stopping her before guiding her into a rhythm that causes all sounds to cease— only out of pure pleasure, her mouth hanging open and her eyes, usually so piercing, squeezed shut.

“It’s good?” You hum, struggling to contain the small giggle at the sight of her as needy as she is now.

“Quite.” Comes the only strained reply before her head buries back into your neck. She’s close, you can tell that much by the way she clenches around your curling fingers again and again.

“Are you going to cum for me, Peruere?”

“Yes, for you, yes.” She rasps out. It’s a struggle for her to get out any words at all by this point, and anything she does get out is less than coherent. Then her body tenses, she lets out a sound you know all too well— a mix of a grunt, groan and a whimper all in one, before she collapses onto you, her legs shaking.

You mumble sweet praises into her ear, stroking her now tousled hair until she regains her breath and stops trembling.

“Merry Christmas.” You chuckle, kissing her shoulder.

“That.. may have been the best gift I have ever had. My birthday is in August, if you’re curious.”

She’s being silly, you know that much, but you have one too many ideas to let them fizzle out now.

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #217

1. I'm looking for a Fic where Aziraphale's wings were taken as punishment and was promised they would be returned after he proves himself. So he's sent back to earth with no wings and when he meets Crowley, Crowley misunderstands and thinks Aziraphale is a human cursed by angels with immortality and making Aziraphale do their dirty work. - @cherrymaypie

2. Hello lovely people. I'm looking for a fanfic I've read I think 3 years ago. I hope you can help me. It kinda goes like this: Aziraphale got killed by Lucifer. Crowley killed Lucifer. Aziraphale got saved by Her and is waiting in the Garden of Eden, trying to reach Crowley. He finds a "reincarnated" human Aziraphale who isn't Aziraphale. He only has his traits because Aziraphale tries to kinda reach Crowley from Eden. There's something with a church, the Archangels and in the End Crowley finds him in Eden. Thank you so much ❤️ - @silber-schleier

3. So i remember reading this one where ms sandwhich takes Crowley into the brothel to help him(he was drunk. post divorce.) and someone thinks he started working there, and then Crowley starts magic-ing people into thinking theyve had sex with him when he really just vents abt Aziraphale and takes their money. Aziraphale actually checks in on him and they fight, then comes back later having left heaven and they actually have sex. somehow i remember everything but the title!!!! - anon

4. Hello! I have a tiny request, and I apologize if this is a lot to ask for. There’s this fic I’ve been searching for all night and I’m starting to think it’s disappeared! I was hoping that maybe someone here would remember. The fanfic centers around Crowley getting sick, and because Aziraphale reacts negatively the first time- he convinces himself he should never be sick in front of him again. So any time he’s feeling ill, he leaves or doesn’t let himself be near Aziraphale (although I can’t remember how many times this actually happens). At the end of the fic, Crowley discovers angels can get sick too- and of course this miscommunication is cleared up. At first Aziraphale accused him of demonic tricks and that’s why Crowley is insecure. Again, I apologize for troubling you- and I thank you in advance! This blog is so wonderful! - anon

5. hello! i was wondering if you could find a fic for me, no pressure if not! i dont really remember alot of it, i just remember that it was a post armageddon fic and aziraphale wasnt used to the freedom, so he writes reports to crowley because he enjoys the structure it gives him. crowley always gives him 10/10 gold stars, but he cant help but worry. it was very fluffy and only a little angsty. its ok if you cant find it, i havent been able to find it either, but if you did i would greatly appreciate it! (sorry for the vague description, thats truly all i can remember) tysm again, and have a great day! - anon

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 84 

Oh what a wonderful day! Why? BECAUSE I FINALLY GET TO SAY THE LAST OF MY STUPID ARBITRARY RULES! The Final Arbitrary Rule is: No Crossing Over with Other Franchises! Which I very clearly fuckin’ broke here!

I wanted to do my best to only make pieces working with just the base of Junkan itself, and AU’s I made had to be original and not just “What if Junkan but it’s in X series.” That way when I finished the project a bunch of new doors would open up for me to have fun with! I know last time we had Alice in Wonderland, but given the public domain nature of that story I don’t find it to be an infraction of the rule. There’s a future day coming up that also kiiiind of breaks it? But also i feel like it’s a slightly different case, not sure how to explain it while you can’t see it. None of that matters because today we have a blunt, no fucking around breaking of that rule, and why?

Listen I’ve seen some of ya’ll draw/write Junko and Mikan as Pokemon Trainers while waiting for this day to get posted, surely you understand. I’ve been wanting to draw a pic of these two with full teams for months at this point in the projects making, I couldn’t wait any longer, it was a moment of weakness!!!

Designing the outfits for these two was super fun. Once again I’ve fucking put Mikan in a Sweater, and this time it doubles as a dress! Will I ever be stopped? 

That does generally bring me to the thoughts I’m having in hindsight months after this pic, I think Junko’s side is on the weaker side. I like her fit though I might make small edits to it whenever the next time I draw her is. But the main thing is I think the team I put together is kind of lacking??

Mikan’s? I’m perfectly happy with, Frillish is just there because she vibes aesthetically with Mikan, Blissey is obvious, Lampent because it’s associated with hospitals due to floatin around them to steal life energy, Clefable I can explain in a second but it’s probably obvious, Spinda because she needs a cute buddy to be clumsy with, but my favorite was giving her an Applin.

Like the whole thing with Applin is that giving one to someone as a gift is a declaration of Love. So of course Junko would do that, she’s all about that shit (in my brain at least). I think it’s cute!

Junko’s half of things though, if I’m gonna be real a few months later I’d probably only keep two of them and just try to remake the rest of the team. Gengar (who is also the reason Mikan has a Clefable, I love that old fan theory), because he’s my favorite pokemon and I think he just vibes really well with Junko. And Hydreigon, because Junko deserves a giant nightmare dragon. 

This is another instance of me concocting something for this project and then not being able to draw any more of it because I have to wait for it to be posted. So now, assuming I have time, I can finally draw the Pokemon AU!~ Like I said i’ll probably do some minor reworks, and then some major reworks on Junko’s end. No idea when it’ll be but look forward to it I suppose!~ 

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[littlemessyjessi]

"To Woo A Warrior": A Holiday Hobbit Imagine: Dwalin Fundinson

….

A Holiday Hobbit Imagine

Dwalin Fundinson x Reader, Plus Size Reader, PS Reader, Human Reader

Warnings: Middle Earth in and of itself?  This is post BOTFA .   HOWEVER, we’re rewriting it in which I’ve chosen to keep the line of Durin alive because I don’t want to bawl my eyes out this holiday season.  That’s the joy of fanfiction and writing it myself.  I can do what I want. 

Use of Y/N because we’ll all be lucky to see this if I stop to figure out a character.  For those of you who are still waiting for Thorin and Fawn’s story… I’m sorry.  It’s coming.  I just… got stuck in world building mode.   *cowers in writer’s shame*.  Back to Dwalin and this fic though.  

TBH… this is loosely based on a story I’ve written for Dwalin but I just haven’t had the confidence to post.   

Fem Identifying Reader just cause I wanted to.   If that causes gender dysphoria for you, hey, please take care of yourself.  No hard feelings if you scroll on.   Totally fine.   I just like writing a fem Y/N a lot of the time because I love writing women because women are awesome.   

Disclaimer:  I don’t own the works of Tolkien or his characters.   I just own my own characters, my writing and such.   

Additionals:  If you are under 18, listen.   I love you.  I wish you well.  A very Happy Holidays.  However, this would be the time for you to leave.  My page is not for you until you reach a certain age.  Sorry but it’s not.  Love you but shoo.  But also be kind to yourself, remember to drink water and do something nice for you today.   Tootles, though.  

……

The markets of Dale were bustling and busy as ever. 

The morning was crisp and a certain cheer seemed to saturate the very air itself. 

Winter Solstice drew closer and closer every day, urging the citizens of Erebor and Dale to leave the cozy warmth of their homes and venture to the markets. 

Delightful trinkets and trades laid out just waiting to catch your eye and make you think of the perfect recipient. 

This morning was no different but the buttery sweet scent of star bread cut through that crisp cool mountain air that morning and a certain Captain of the Guard was all but paralyzed in fear. 

Dwalin knew that no one else made star bread that smelled like that. 

Y/N.

A very talented baker who lived in the city of Dale… though she frequented the halls of Erebor so much that she might as well have lived there.  

This was, in part, because of Thorin. 

He sought out her services on a fairly regular basis because, frankly, Bilbo Baggins had a remarkably large appetite for such a small creature. 

It had nothing to do with those little blackberry and brie swirls of bread, fruit and cheese that danced on his taste buds as if his very ancestors came to bless him.   

Most certainly not. 

It was just because the hobbit had an insatiable appetite and a seemingly endless cavernous void for a stomach. 

Bilbo was very much aware of Thorin and his pride. 

And he let him keep it because Thorin’s borderline obsession with blackberries actually served to further his matchmaking tendencies. 

You see, the baker, Y/N was a lovely woman who Bilbo had spent many an afternoon tea with at this point.  

A delightfully charming creature with a wonderfully surprising duality. 

The woman could throw together a handful of anything and turn it into something scrumptious…. and that was high praise coming from a hobbit. 

However, she also seemed to have a penchant for weapons. 

He’d seen the impressive set of kitchen knives … and the endless array of weapons that seemed to produce from seemingly no where.

Bilbo swore that she and Fili would have a grand old time speaking of weapon concealment if he could ever get her out of the kitchen and Fili out of council meetings.  

But back to how Y/N came to Dale.  

After Smaug the slughead had been slain a relative had sent word. 

Her ancestors who had lived there previously had long since passed many years ago. 

However, it was a great surprise to her when she received word from her cousin, Bard. 

She’d been to Dale only once before and it was directly after the passing of his wife.

Dale was struggling as were all its inhabitants. 

Suddenly, Bard had lost the love of his life, his partner and was left to care for their little ones alone…. and unable to do so because he could not leave them. 

Sigrid and Bain were still quite small and Tilda was just a newborn.   

It was an impossible situation. 

He couldn’t leave them alone to care for themselves but if he didn’t leave for work they would all starve.  

He’d sent word to his nearest kin… all of which rejected him by claiming they had their own problems. 

Y/N, who’d barely been out of adolescence herself at the time, wrote back and told him that she’d only just turned sixteen but that she’d had plenty of experience in caring for children, keeping house and plenty of other things. 

And most importantly, she said she’d come and help. 

He’d been a bit hesitant because it seemed she was still a child herself and that seemed like another mouth to feed and care for. 

However, he was desperate and sixteen was old enough to be in charge and look after the others. 

He’d wrote her back in thanks and acceptance. 

Imagine his surprise, when she showed up by the next full moon with a wagon of supplies. 

He learned that she was a highly resourceful creature and given the right equipment and ingredients… could make delicacies that brought many a man to his knees. 

What had surprised him was how she managed to evade the shake down upon entering. 

He learned just exactly why the next time Alfrid saw her in public. 

The man had apologized profusely and ran the other way. 

When Bard had asked her about it, she’d given him a vague answer involving a frying pan and a battle axe. 

He hadn’t questioned her about it since. 

She stayed with the family for a few years and when Tilda, who’d been a baby when she came, reached five years of age… another family member wrote to her asking for help. 

A cousin of her father’s had lost a child and succumbed to the darkness of it herself. 

The father had followed after her in heartbreak. 

Understandable, but it had left the twins without anyone to look after them. 

And they were only seven. 

It had broken her heart to leave the family she’d come to know in Dale.  

Bard’s as well. 

She’d come to be like a younger sister to him rather than a cousin.

He hated to see her go but understood that the twins had needed her more than they did now and so she left. 

It had been many, many moons since they’d seen her. 

They’d received the occasional letter from their Y/N but had not seen her in years. 

However, when Smaug had been slain and Erebor restored… Dale had flourished and her cousin, Bard, was now the King. 

Of course, all those family members he’d reached out to before came in droves then but they mattered not. 

He hadn’t been heartless about it but they hadn’t been the ones he had missed. 

When his duties as King only increased, he found himself with less and less time for his children. 

They understood, of course, and they were well looked after… but he knew what was missing. 

So he finally wrote to his cousin, Y/N, asking for her help once again. 

She was there once again by the next full moon. 

Though this time, it hadn’t been needed; she arrived again with a wagon of supplies. 

She had been embraced by Bard and the children once again.  

Auntie Y/N had returned to them.  

Upon remembering how wonderful her baking had been, he’d immediately offered her a job as the royal baker. 

She’d accepted the frilly title but in reality she much preferred her old apron that had been worn soft with age. 

Bard had provided her with a room and kitchen of her own and that’s where she really created her magic. 

Sure, she worked in the kitchens where she was in charge of the feasts and delicacies and every other ridiculous thing one could think of when it came to food. 

But where she found her joy was on the days of the market where she sat up a little stall with her wonderfully charming little treats. 

They weren’t over the top in design. 

Simple but pretty and the taste always felt like a warm hug. 

Her prices were fair and she always gave samples. 

Bard had assured her that she didn’t need to, as he’d buy her whatever she wanted. 

She had thanked him but informed him that she enjoyed it and to let her be for she was far more pleasant to be around when she was happy than not. 

Bard, who had been married to a woman for years, understood that that roughly translated to, “Bard, thank you but mind your own business.   I need a project to keep me from overthinking everything.  Either this can be my project or annoying the ever living hell out of you can be my project.  Take your pick.” 

He chose wisely and didn’t question her again. 

Fortunate that he didn’t because it was for this very reason that led her to Dwalin Fundinson. 

Or rather, led him to her. 

You see, Dwalin had a sweet tooth about as big as his arm and when word spread about the new royal baker and her amazing creations… he’d been intrigued. 

When Bilbo returned to the castle with two guards carrying boxes upon boxes of them… it got his attention. 

When Thorin nearly had a stroke over a blackberry pastry and suddenly had to place an order from the woman every few days… Well honestly he hadn’t been surprised by that one. 

His cousin had a serious problem with blackberries that he really thought he might need to see someone about. 

Gold sickness looked like a jealous pouty child compared to what Thorin Oakenshield looked like when there were blackberries to be had. 

However, one day Bilbo decided that he was going to the market and Dwalin, having had enough of listening to stuffy council meetings all day, volunteered to be his personal escort. 

Bilbo was happy to have the company of his dear friend and they set out to the city of Dale. 

Bilbo drug Dwalin all over the market looking for this vegetable or that fruit or that jam or those herbs but he didn’t mind. 

The fresh air did him well. 

Dwalin did not miss hardship in the slightest but occasionally he did miss the freedom of his old life. 

The simplicity of it. 

For example, a lot of peace can come to the mind when doing something as simple but useful as sharpening your blades. 

‘Maybe a new whetstone…’ he thought to himself as he caught sight of a stall ahead. 

Bilbo, having already followed his gaze in that incredibly observant way of his, simply waved him off and told him that he would be right here looking at honey for quite some time. 

Dwalin had laughed for he knew just how long the hobbit could spend deciding on honey. 

He’d nearly watched Kili explode out of impatience once when Thorin set the young dwarrowman to be Bilbo’s guard as a punishment for falling asleep during a council meeting. 

Bilbo, the mischievous little creature that he was, actually took the opportunity to ask about every. single. honey infusion available.    

It had taken hours and Kili nearly lost his mind. 

So he felt assured that the hobbit would be just fine for him to peruse the stall and check out the new wares. 

Dwalin spent some time looking at the stones as well as a bit of time eyeing some new polishing cloths. 

However, his mind was clouded in a haze as the scent of buttery, sugary sweetness filled his nose. 

“Hello, Mr. Kaznia.  How are you today?” 

“Quite well, Miss Y/N.  And yourself?” 

“Lovely actually.  I love it when the air is a bit crisp like this.” “Oh aye.   It’s coming strong off the mountain today.  Probably a fair bit of wind coming.” 

“I hope so.” she giggled. 

“You hope for wind?” the dwarrowman asked with a laugh. 

“Oh definitely!” she said.  “I sleep best with a bit of cool air.  I’m no fun when I’m too warm.  A bit too stuffy and I become right unpleasant.” 

“Oh, Miss Y/N.  I’ve never seen you be unpleasant a day in your life.” 

“Well, Mr. Kaznia, you haven’t known me my whole life either… nor have you been round when I’ve just woken in the morning.” she said. “Let me tell you.  Perhaps, the lot of you should have loosed me into the mountain on the great slug when I’ve just woken and there’s no tea to be had.  According to Bard, I am quite the fire breathing beast when there’s no tea.” 

Dwalin couldn’t help it and he laughed a bit. 

However, he’d gotten a first hand account of Smaug and was well aware of Bard and his … Bardness. 

“You must be tha’ cousin then.” Dwalin said.  “The wee fancy baker that's the cause o’ me cousin’s blackberry addiction.” 

She turned to face him fully and his breath caught in his chest as he looked at her. 

She was a beauty absolutely ridden with a soft fullness that had him absolutely enchanted. 

“You must be a cousin of King Thorin then.” she smiled.  

“Aye.  Dwalin.” he said with a bow.  “At your service.” 

She gave him a kind smile, “Y/N.  At yours.  Charmed to meet you, Master Dwalin.” 

It was there that began the very long and drawn out game of cat and mouse between Dwalin and Y/N. 

And subsequently the testing of every last nerve that Bilbo Baggins had in his possession. 

For months, the two of them did this song and dance.  

  Sometimes they met at the market at the stall where they first met. 

Sometimes Dwalin hand delivered Thorin’s latest order. 

Sometimes she slipped a tiny star bread into his hands as she passed him while she hand delivered the order to Erebor.  

Over time the both of them just kept making excuses to see one another … and yet neither would make a move. 

Bilbo was about to lose his patience. 

But that day, on yet another cool crisp market day… with Winter Solstice drawing near… the pair of them set out to find one another again. 

Bilbo had had just about enough and he was about ready to take matters into his own hands. 

It had been months, nearly a year, and no progress had been made. 

He knew and if neither one of them would make a move… he was going to make it for him. 

He was so sick of dwarvish courting customs and human wooing. 

Hobbits had their own ways of course but this was simply ridiculous. 

He set off to grab Dwalin by that mangled ear of his and drag him to Y/N if he had to. 

However, upon nearing that little stall… the hobbit halted in place. 

There they were strolling through the market. 

Dwalin happily munching away on a massive star bread in his hand. 

Y/N gleefully clutching a shiny new axe in hers. 

And their free hands entwined together swinging between them. 

The hobbit tilted his head, a funny little smile on his face. 

It seemed that Miss Y/N knew exactly the way to woo a warrior.  

It wasn’t how he thought this would go but he was happy nonetheless. 

He nodded to himself, thumbs tucked under his suspenders in contentment until…

“Miss Y/N!” 

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin when Thorin lumbered past him towards the pair of them. 

“I heard you had blackberry bread today at your stall.  How many more do you have?  I will buy them all.” 

Bilbo sighed and turned his face to the heavens. 

“Yavanna, help me.” he said in exasperation, “Thorin, come back here!” 

Thorin did not, in fact, come back there. 

Bilbo did have to chase him down. 

Dwalin never stopped eating his star bread and Y/N simply laughed at scene before here. 

This blackberry obsessed dwarf being chased by a tiny meddlesome hobbit. 

She turned her gaze to her own dwarf, “Dwalin, love?” 

“Hmm?” he asked, licking his fingers along with the last of his treat. 

“On a scale of one to ten-” 

“Ten.” 

“What?” 

“Tha’ was a ten, lass.  Best one yet.” 

“Well, thank you, sweetheart but that wasn’t what I was going to ask you.” 

“Ok, ten again.” 

“What this time?” she giggled. 

“Yer definitely a ten in mah book, love.” he said with a bit of a smirk. 

“Smooth.” she said, hand reaching to smooth over the top of his head.  “But not that either.” 

“Alright.  What is it then?” 

“On a scale of one to ten, what would I have to do to get you to help me make a certain dwarf king and a certain hobbit to admit their very obvious feelings to one another?” she said.  

“Ah, lass.  Let them be in their own time.” he groaned. 

“I will make you a yule log cake, cranberry creme puffs and star bread.” she said.  “As well as kisses and canoodling.” 

Dwalin chuckled, “Ye had me at cake, lass, but I’ll definitely be taking everything from cake to canoodling.” 

“Good.” she said with a nod before pulling him into the bushes.  “Let’s have dessert first then.” 

His eyes lit up, “Oh? Ye got more treats you been keeping from me, lass?  Where are these secret treasures?” 

She gave him a smirk of her own, “The cakes come later, love.  They’ll take time to make.  However, I can make good on my offer of kisses and canoodling right now.” 

The two of them shared a massive grin before the sweetest of kisses... a lots of canoodling.

Miss Y/N certainly knew how to woo a warrior.

……

…….  

Hello, loves!  I hope you enjoy this holiday content! 

Hope ya’ll are having a great day! 

Love you. 

— 

Permanent Taglist:

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K, Love you, Bye!

[gay-little-axolotl]

despite being interviewed individually, all four gave the exact same response

[heartstopperthoughts]

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Expect clip posting to slow down due to irl nonsense.

Also from the 11th to the 18th I won’t have any computer access and very little internet access but I’ll schedule a couple clips beforehand for that week 🫡

[theonlyqualitytrash]

No need to thank me, Berry—honestly, you should be thanking yourself! (Really, everyone should thank you for requesting more fics like this!) When I saw your post asking for more Fyodor winter fics, I just knew I had to do something about it. I couldn’t resist! :>

I’ll try not to ramble too much:

Honestly, I haven't seen many Fyodor x Reader stories set in cozy winter settings either, and I wanted to make sure this one felt original. ;-; I was a bit uncertain about the flour battle scene at first, because I know not everyone has read the manga, and they might find it a little out of character for Fyodor. But this is the same guy who threw eggs at a wall while in prison. If he can be a bit silly in those moments, why can’t he be that way here? (I can't even remember the chapter—it’s been so long)

And yes—yes, I am totally stealing that idea for next Christmas. I am already planning a mountain retreat, cozy vacation-type fic with Fyodor and the reader. You’ve made me so excited that I’m already impatient for next year! I’m like, “Wait, I have to wait 365 days for this?!” You need to stop giving me ideas. >:( (please don't stop giving me ideas)

But really, really, don't mind me while I sob over how sweet your message was. It honestly fills my heart to know that it made you feel so warm and happy. Because that's exactly what I wanted—to give you a bit of cozy, heartwarming joy. If a fluff fic doesn’t have you rolling around on your bed, screaming and crying happy tears, then I haven’t done my job properly. :> I’m so hopeful that our friendship will bloom into the next year. Here’s a huge, comforting virtual hug from me to you ^^ hug

---

Gosh, what a deeply hurtful thing for them to say about you. I really hope they realize the impact of their words and properly apologize because that kind of comment isn’t something anyone should have to endure. I’ve been in a similar position before, where people that were close to me said things that just didn’t sit right, and it can really take a toll on your spirit.

I completely understand the fear of letting someone in, especially when you’ve never had experience with dating and love. It’s terrifying to open up and risk being hurt. But I want you to know that people like us—those who crave love in a very specific way, who want something deep and true—are not naive or foolish. If anything, it makes us stronger, more aware of what we deserve. We’re not settling for less, and that’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of.

I believe in love coming to us in all sorts of forms and at different times. So, as much as it can feel daunting, don’t ever doubt that love can find you, and it will come in a way that honors your heart. You deserve a love that meets you where you are, that sees you fully and unconditionally.

I’m so glad to hear that you’re not letting their words shake you. Your spirit, your kindness, your willingness to believe in something better—those are beautiful qualities. Keep holding onto that hope and trust that the right people will see and appreciate that in you.

🤍🌻

P.S. Yes, the title does translate to Blessed Winter, and I’m so glad you caught that! ^^ Every Fyodor fic I will ever write will have a Latin title, mostly because they’re just cool, but also because I headcanon him as someone who knows Latin. Plus, it’s a little homage to his timeless nature. He’s been around so long that Latin feels fitting.

Beata hiems - Fyodor x Reader

Synopsys: Holiday special—On a chilly winter morning, you and Fyodor set out together for a festive task, finding warmth in each other's company as you navigate the day.

No warnings, just fluff

A/N: Happy holidays, everyone! The most important thing during times like these is spending quality moments with the people you love. I realized I’ve written a lot of angst lately (and not ideal situations) that I almost forgot I can write pleasant things too :> Also, I ate way too much zacusca while writing this...

Word count: 3,300

Both you and Fyodor woke early, a habit born of necessity, yet today carried a rare air of anticipation. The quiet of the morning felt different—not the product of lingering work or duty, but a purposeful calm you both had sought together. The shared goal ahead of you—choosing the perfect yolka for the season—lent an unspoken warmth to the air, even as winter’s chill lingered outside. 

The sun had barely risen, painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange as you and Fyodor prepared to set out. You wrapped your scarf hastily against the cold, eager to step outside but not prepared for the bite of the crisp winter air. The moment you crossed the threshold, the frost nipped at your cheeks, and you tugged the scarf higher, but it was no match for Fyodor’s keen eye. 

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the soft crunch of snow underfoot. His gloved hand reached for the scarf you had wrapped hurriedly around yourself. He adjusted it, deftly tucking the fabric snugly against your neck. His touch lingered—more delicate than necessary—and his sharp violet eyes softened in the golden light of the sunrise. 

“You’re always so particular,” you said softly, your voice carrying more fondness than teasing. 

A faint smile ghosted across his lips, one only you were privileged to see. “It’s merely practical. Keeping you warm spares me the concern.” Though his tone remained calm, the undercurrent of care made your chest tighten pleasantly. 

“Practical, yes,” you said with a smile, a playful impulse to tease him flickering in your mind but quickly fading as you gently brushed your fingers against his hand. “But thank you.”

His raised eyebrow and the slight curve of his lips suggested he’d noticed your reaction, but he said nothing, instead gesturing toward the road ahead. “Let’s go. The trees won’t choose themselves.” 

--- 

The tree market was alive with the bustling energy of the season. Vendors called out their wares, offering everything from firs and pines to handmade garlands and wooden ornaments. The scent of mulled wine and roasted nuts mixed with the sharp, earthy tang of pine, creating an atmosphere that was as festive as it was chaotic. 

You walked alongside Fyodor, arm in arm, his quiet presence shielding you from the full bite of the winter cold. His long coat and composed demeanor made him seem almost impervious to the freezing air, while you found yourself fiddling with your gloves and scarf for warmth. Yet his close proximity—so steady and reassuring—seemed to cast a blanket of warmth around you. 

“Look at this one,” you said, pointing to a tall, lush pine with branches that stretched wide like welcoming arms. You tilted your head, imagining it standing proudly in the corner of your living room, adorned with sparkling lights and delicate ornaments. 

Fyodor’s gaze swept over the tree with a critical eye, his gloved hands tucked neatly behind his back as he stepped closer. “It’s sturdy enough,” he remarked, reaching out briefly to test the firmness of the trunk. “But do we truly need something so ostentatious?” 

You chuckled, the sound warm despite the chill. “It’s not ostentatious; it’s festive. And it’ll look perfect with the handmade ornaments we’re about to pick out.” 

His lips quirked into a subtle smirk, the faintest flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Handmade ornaments? Are you assembling an art gallery in our living room?” 

“No,” you replied with a laugh, nudging his arm gently. “Just something unique for our tree. Help me find the perfect one.” 

The two of you wandered through the aisles, debating over height, fullness, and symmetry. Fyodor’s meticulous approach—inspecting every detail, pointing out subtle flaws in the trees you favored—somehow complemented your more intuitive choices. Where he saw imperfections, you saw character; where he sought balance, you admired the charm. 

Eventually, his resolve softened, and he let out a soft sigh, gesturing toward the very tree you’d first pointed out. “This one, then,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of indulgence. “If only to avoid spending the entire morning debating in the snow.” 

You grinned, stepping forward to examine the tree one last time, your fingers brushing against the soft needles. “I knew you’d come around.” 

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and though he said nothing, the faint upward tilt of his lips betrayed a rare contentment. Together, you flagged down a worker to help carry the tree, already envisioning the warmth it would bring to your home. 

--- 

The shelves at the decoration stall were a flood of color: glass baubles, painted wooden ornaments, strings of beads, and garlands in every shade imaginable. The scent of pine mingled with that of beeswax candles, adding a rustic charm to the lively atmosphere. Your fingers lingered on a set of painted ornaments shaped like matryoshka dolls, their intricate floral patterns catching the light as you turned them over. 

“These are beautiful,” you said, holding one up for Fyodor to inspect, the delicate ornament resting gently in your palm. 

He took it from your hand with care, his long fingers brushing yours as he did so. He examined the ornament thoughtfully, tilting it slightly to catch the light. “I do like them,” he admitted. “But do we plan for the tree to carry only traditional designs?” 

“Not at all,” you replied, already picturing a mix of old-world charm and contemporary elegance. “I thought we’d pair them with something simpler, like gold and white baubles, to balance it out. What do you think?” 

Fyodor’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his violet eyes reflecting a softness that contrasted with his usual guarded expression. “Elegant, yet practical. A perfect mix, really.” 

Pleased, you placed the ornaments into your basket and continued to wander through the stalls together, occasionally pausing to admire other unique finds. Your eyes lit up at a garland of shimmering beads hanging high above, just out of your reach. Before you could even try, Fyodor stepped forward, his movements fluid and precise, and plucked it effortlessly. He draped it lightly over his arm before turning to you, his expression unreadable but somehow fond. 

“Teamwork,” he commented dryly, earning a quiet laugh from you. 

As you browsed further, a bright red ornament shaped like a cheerful bear caught your attention. Without hesitation, you slipped it into the basket with a mischievous grin. When Fyodor noticed it moments later, he plucked it out and held it up between two fingers, his expression hovering between disapproval and amusement. 

“This one will disrupt your balance,” he remarked, the faintest trace of dry humor in his voice. 

“But it sparks joy,” you countered with a soft laugh, tilting your head as if daring him to disagree. 

He regarded the ornament for a moment longer before sighing, his faint smirk returning. “Unnecessary distractions,” he muttered, though he placed it back in the basket without further comment. “Still, it’s not without charm.” 

His quiet concession made your smile widen as you linked your arm with his again. “Thank you, Fyodor.” 

He glanced at you briefly, his eyes softening before he turned his attention back to the rows of decorations. “I simply indulge your whims,” he said, though the subtle warmth in his tone betrayed him. 

--- 

Back home, the tree stood proudly in the corner of the living room, its presence filling the space with the earthy scent of pine. You began unpacking the decorations while Fyodor set up the stand with the quiet precision you had come to expect from him. Even the simple act of adjusting the tree seemed graceful in his hands. 

“Before we start decorating, why don’t we drink some eggnog?” you suggested, stepping back to admire the tree’s placement. 

Fyodor glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It will keep you warm after being in the cold. I’ll prepare it.” 

In the kitchen, the two of you worked in quiet harmony. Fyodor took charge of whisking egg yolks and sugar until they turned pale and creamy, his movements deliberate and exact. Meanwhile, you heated milk and spices on the stove, the warm aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the air. The rhythmic sounds of his whisking and the occasional soft crackle from the stove added to the serene atmosphere. 

Unable to resist the tranquility of the moment, you stepped behind him and wrapped your arms lightly around his waist, leaning your head against his back. His steady movements didn’t falter, but his voice softened as he acknowledged your presence. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. 

“Very,” you murmured, letting the warmth of the scene seep into you. You lingered there, feeling the quiet strength in his posture, before he turned slightly, nudging you gently to take the mug he had prepared. Reluctantly, you let go, accepting the drink with a soft smile. 

As he handed you the mug with a faint smirk, his violet eyes glinted with quiet satisfaction. You sipped the warm drink, savoring the rich, spiced flavor. 

“It’s truly perfect,” you said, meeting his gaze over the rim of your mug. “You have a talent for making even simple things feel special.” 

His expression softened, and he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Perhaps it’s the company that elevates the experience, my dear.” 

Your smile widened as you set your mug down and began gathering ingredients for cookies. “Ready for the next round of teamwork?” 

Fyodor raised an eyebrow as you tossed an apron in his direction. “You expect me to assist with this?” 

“Yes,” you said, tying your own apron and flashing him a playful grin. “You’re a fast learner.” 

The two of you began mixing ingredients, your approaches naturally complementing each other, creating a rhythm that felt both efficient and effortless. As you sifted flour into a bowl, another mischievous idea struck. Without warning, you flicked a pinch of flour at him, leaving a pale dusting on his sleeve. 

He paused, slowly turning his head to regard you with an expression of calm menace. “You’re playing a dangerous game, lyubov’...” 

Laughing, you grabbed another pinch. “Am I?” 

With a swift motion, Fyodor dipped his fingers into the flour and smudged a streak across your cheek. You gasped, your eyes wide with mock indignation. As you reached for a small handful in retaliation, his hand closed lightly over yours, stopping you mid-motion. His violet eyes gleamed with a quiet gaiety. 

“Dear...” He spoke slowly, as if daring you to continue. “Do you really wish to escalate this?”  his voice calm, though the faintest trace of a smirk betrayed him. 

Of course, mischief took the better of you, and in the blink of an eye, the kitchen erupted into chaos. Flour flew through the air in soft, white clouds, settling like snow on the countertops, the floor, and both of you. Laughter spilled from your lips, a sweet, carefree sound that danced in the space between you.

The aprons did little to catch the fallout, now more a futile shield than anything useful. It didn’t matter. The room was filled with the rhythm of playful war—dashes of flour as ammunition, mischievous glances exchanged between you both, and the occasional breathless chuckle escaping your lips as one of you narrowly avoided a flour bomb.  

When you finally waved the white flag, Fyodor stepped closer, his voice calm but laced with quiet authority. “Do not start a war you cannot win,” he murmured, brushing a bit of flour from your hair. Despite his stern words, the glimmer of mirth in his eyes betrayed his amusement. 

“Then let's declare a truce,” you said, smiling up at him. His gaze softened as he nodded, and together, you returned to baking with a newfound warmth between you. 

--- 

After dinner and tidying up, the two of you finally began decorating the tree. The room was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the fire in the hearth, casting a soft, golden light over everything. The air smelled faintly of pine and the lingering scent of the meal, creating an intimate, peaceful atmosphere as you carefully unpacked the ornaments and strings of lights. 

“The gold garland should go first,” Fyodor suggested, his fingers brushing over the shimmering strands before he draped them with precision along the branches. 

“Quite the expert on this decorating business,” you teased with a smile, stepping closer to adjust a section he’d already placed, your fingers brushing his as you did.

“I simply prefer a bit of order over chaos,” he replied with his usual calm, though a hint of amusement flickered at the corner of his lips, betraying his composed demeanor.

As you both worked together, the sounds of soft laughter and the faint rustle of ornaments filled the air. You held up a small ornament shaped like a bell, turning it in your hand with a questioning look. “Where should this go?” 

Fyodor stepped closer, his presence quiet but commanding. His hand brushed yours as he gently took the bell from you, his fingers warm against your skin. “Here,” he said, his voice softer than usual, placing it with deliberate care near the center of the tree. 

You hummed in satisfaction, stepping back to admire the spot he had chosen, feeling a small, unexpected warmth at how he treated each ornament with such attention. Reaching into the box again, you pulled out a bear ornament—one you’d picked up earlier that day. The little bear was a reminder of your shared experiences, and it felt like a quiet piece of your heart woven into the holiday. 

Without a word, Fyodor took it from you with a reverence that spoke volumes. His gaze lingered on the ornament for a moment, his fingers caressing it gently before he placed it with quiet care on the tree, the gesture speaking more than any words could. 

You reached into the box again, this time pulling out a sprig of mistletoe. Holding it playfully above your head, you couldn’t resist the chance to tease him once more. “And where does this go?” 

Fyodor’s eyes flicked to the mistletoe, and then back to you. The air between you shifted subtly, the playful tension between you both thickening. “A kiss?” he murmured, his voice laced with something deeper, something unspoken. 

“It’s bad luck if we don’t,” you replied, your voice teasing yet holding a hint of sincerity, knowing he wouldn’t let something so trivial go unacknowledged. 

Fyodor’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. He leaned in slowly, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as his lips brushed against yours in a kiss that was both tender and featherlight. His kiss—how can one explain it? It felt like he had nothing to lose. Like his heartbeat was yours. Like someone who has just learned a foreign language and can only speak in the present tense, with you as the subject. Only now, only you.

The moment seemed to stretch, the world outside of the two of you fading away as he pulled back just enough to murmur softly against your lips, his voice low and warm. 

“We wouldn’t want that kind of luck,” he whispered, his smile lingering as his eyes met yours, holding you in a quiet moment of shared connection. 

--- 

The tree stood proudly in the corner of the living room, its soft, twinkling lights casting a warm glow throughout the space. The fire crackled in the hearth, its flames flickering and stretching across the walls, filling the room with a comforting, intimate atmosphere. You and Fyodor were curled up on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, the heat from the fire adding a quiet coziness to the evening. 

Mugs of warm eggnog rested in your hands, the rich, spiced aroma filling the air as you took a slow sip, savoring the creamy warmth. Fyodor sat beside you, his hand wrapped around his own mug, a soft, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. There was a sense of peacefulness between you, the quiet sound of the fire and your soft laughter making everything feel still and right. 

You shifted a little, the anticipation bubbling in your chest as you leaned toward him, holding out a small gift. “I got you something,” you said quietly, your voice carrying a hint of excitement despite the calm of the evening. 

Fyodor’s violet eyes glinted as he glanced at you, eyebrow raised slightly in that characteristic way of his. “For me?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and glee. 

You nodded and passed him the neatly wrapped box. He took it with that ever-so-gentle touch of his, unwrapping the gift with careful precision, his eyes flicking between the paper and your face. When the box was open, he held up the fountain pen you had chosen for him—sleek, elegant, with intricate golden details that caught the firelight just right. 

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the pen’s smooth surface. “I’ll put it to good use,” he added, his usual stoicism softening further. 

“I know you enjoy writing,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “I thought it might be something you’d appreciate.” 

Fyodor looked at the pen for a long moment, his eyes dark with thought, before meeting your gaze. “It is perfect,” he said, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he added, “Thank you.” 

You grinned, feeling a warm rush of happiness at his words. “I’m glad you like it.” 

He cradled your cheek, his fingers tracing the soft skin with a tenderness born of awe. Then, his expression shifting to one of quiet amusement. He reached for a box of his own, setting his mug down beside him. You watched with curiosity as he gave you your gift.

When you opened it, you froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sight. Inside was a small, simple folder containing a series of documents. You blinked in confusion, slowly reaching for them as Fyodor’s eyes held your gaze with a steady, almost amused calm. 

“It’s a bit unconventional,” Fyodor said, his voice low and steady, “but you mentioned once that you would like to escape the city.” 

You unfolded the papers slowly, eyes widening as you realized what they were—legal documents, papers that transferred ownership of an entire mountain to you. A piece of land. A whole mountain. He had given you a literal escape from the city, just as you had hinted at so long ago. 

“A mountain?” you whispered, your voice almost incredulous. 

Fyodor’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You said you wanted to get away. I thought this might be a... fitting solution. Perhaps you’ll find it more peaceful.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity and thoughtfulness of the gift almost too much to comprehend. “A whole mountain…” you echoed, still in shock. “Well, I’ll have to plan my next vacation carefully now.” 

Fyodor’s smile deepened, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “I suspect you will.” 

You leaned into him, shaking your head in disbelief but also deeply touched by the enormity of his gift. “It’s… incredible,” you said, your voice soft and full of wonder. “I never imagined you’d actually go so far.” 

“I’ve always been one for unconventional gestures,” Fyodor remarked smoothly, his tone laced with that familiar calm but with a subtle warmth. He leaned in slightly, his lips grazing your temple as he placed a gentle kiss there. 

As you sat together, the warmth of the fire and the quiet serenity of the evening enveloping you, you realized that no material gift could compare to this moment. The mountain—while impressive—was just a symbol of the depth of his consideration, of how well he knew you, how carefully he listened to the quietest of your desires. 

You pulled the blanket around you both, sipping your eggnog as you let the peaceful atmosphere settle around you. Fyodor rested his arm around you, pulling you a little closer, and for a while, you just sat in contented silence, letting the fire and the quiet of the room fill the space between you. 

It was, without question, the kind of day dreams are made out of.

[simgerale]

me after attempting to get back into sims and realizing i had a lot more to do than play the game

[flitterywings]

lost an hour of grinding in my gacha game because I got distracted by the tumblr boopening

[iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning]

i broke down sobbing when i read through his post, partly out of sadness for matt but also because it brought back everything i felt when i lost my boy.

we got him when i was 9 and we pretty much grew up together. i was the only person he let hold him, or even cuddle him for longer than 30 seconds. he used to put his paw on my hand when he fell asleep. if i was away for a few days visiting friends or family, he would alternate between sitting in my room meowing and sitting front and center staring at the front door waiting for me; if my parents said my name at all, he’d perk up and go running to my room. we even had a routine every single night where when it got to the time i would normally go to bed, he would eat and then go to the bathroom and then come into my room bc he knew he was going to sleep with me for the entire night

he got sick really suddenly (took him to the vet the day he started developing symptoms) and within a week, he died in my arms. that cat was the only constant in my life for over 13 years until the day he died. and although it will be two years of him being gone in january, and while it might not completely sit at the forefront of my mind all day every day anymore, it still hurts just as much when i do think about him. he got me through a lot of really really awful times and quite frankly, i’m not sure i would still be here if he hadn’t been around bc even though he was a cat, there’s such a great comfort in having a living being love you so much without any judgement when you’re can’t even find an ounce of love for yourself or from anyone else

i’m not confident that it will ever hurt less because he was my best friend in the entire world and he loved me when i felt like no one else did. and as irrational as it might be, losing him was a harder hit to me than losing most of the people in my life would be (aside from close family and best friend) and its a pain i wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. it truly is the most gut wrenching pain i’ve ever experienced and it fucks me up all over again when i see someone else having to go through it as well

i know some people think its unreasonable to get so upset over losing a pet but how do you not grieve something that was such an integral part of your life for such a long time? that’s a concept i don’t understand bc when you choose to adopt an animal, you’re doing it knowing that its going to become a part of your family and your life, and you’re going to love it as you do a member of your family.

and as someone who struggled then and currently still struggles with severe bipolar depression, having the peace, comfort, and warmth that i got from his presence ripped away from me with no warning sent me into the worst downward spiral i’ve ever been in and i almost didn’t come back from it.

my heart breaks for matt and everyone else who has ever had to experience this type of loss

sorry for the rant guys. matt’s post just really sent me back and i’ve never really vocalized how much pain i was in to anyone in my real life

Boo passed away, I'm sobbing right now. I can't believe this.

[wildsaltair]

thinking about how wonderful it would be to have a son with Maximus. like imagine having a little boy who looks like the man you love 🥹

[gregmarriage]

editing, my beloathed 😫

[floral-hex]

So this chick has been on-and-off again stalking me since high school. I could go into paragraphs of detail (I was about to), but no one wants to read all of that. Suffice to say, I guess she’s had some kind of crush on me for about 15-20 years or so (why??), and every few years it seems she pops up somewhere contacting me to try to persuade me to give her a chance. I should mention we never talked in high school, I actively avoided her, told her I didn’t like her, etc. nothing doing.

Anyway, somehow she’s been on one of my social media pages and saw I was having a hard time lately, so she found my phone number (what?? I hate that you can just find that online) and texted me out of the blue yesterday. Usual protocol is ignore and block so I don’t piss off an unstable person, but they decided to be gross, so

I wasn’t planning on posting anything about this before. If they were creeping around on my pages, mentioning it would only feed into them. Maybe. I don’t know. But this just kind of made me really uncomfortable and their response was shitty. I could have been a lot meaner. I wanted to be. But whatever, that wouldn’t have helped. So I just blocked them and hope that this time it sticks. If they see this, then hey… not cool.

[sualne]

been looking for jobs for three years and in the past two months ish I’ve gotten for the first time my first job interview and for a different job my first job essay.

(I did have an actual job as a comic colorist for like six months but nobody around me considered it a Real Job so I feel like I just never have a job even though I very much did.)

and each time, during the interview where I know realise I was kind of being explained the whole time why I wouldn’t get the job and at the end of the essay(which might not be the right word, like a day we’re your try out the job to see if you can do it) one of the reasons given why I wouldn’t be taken it was ‘we need people who can smile’.

(there were actual argument like being ‘too introverted’ and ‘not dynamic enough’. That last one is funny because i had another ‘almost pass out for no reasons’ moment right for break time (genuinely perfect timing) during the essay and while I was cold sweating and going blind on the bathroom floor I realised, if anyone ever know I have health issues I will never get a job. So being told I wasn’t dynamic enough a fourty something minutes later was straight up comedic).

Back to the smiling, my entire life since I was a literal baby I’ve been told I wasn’t expressing the Right Way. ‘If you feel a specific way you Have to emote this specific way, act this specific way and not do anything else otherwise you’re not actually feeling what you say you’re feeling, it means you’re actually lying, faking it or don’t know what you’re actually feeling because your not showing it the Right Way’ and obviously I’ve dismissed this my entire life because I was sure it was obvious and everyone knew that everyone exist differently and people don’t act the same. I kind of assume everyone that ever bothered me about it was some flavor of 1 having a day and decided to being weird about it to me or anyone else that was also not existing the correct way. 2 just kind of an asshole and therefor they’re opinion didn’t matter. 3 just kind of strange about thing and so be it, ´not my problem tho’ I thought.

But seeing how it’s an actual argument people have use twice now to refuse me a job I’m kind of being thinking, it might actually, for real, be a thing people actually are worried about, actually. Which is wild, but also make sense because people have very much for my whole life, to me and to a ton of strangers, made comments on folks not existing the proper way. Like how in horror someone being slightly off, slightly wrong, a little bit not how it usual should be is the trope of all time. And I love this trope, someone who’s voice is in differed from how they mouth work, someone who seems to not walk directly on the floor but just slightly above it. It’s fun and interesting.

Anyway, real life stuff, being told I’m not smiling enough is wild, like yeah I don’t smile much at all that’s a fact, and both job were about interacting with people and every time you go to a restaurant you’ll ear someone saying out of nowhere mean thing about people who work there. Insane things like ‘I don’t like the way they’re standing’ and over analysing someone expression and body languages when they’re literally just doing their job.

This post is kind of a mess but I had a point which was, I don’t understand people and why are so many mean for no reasons but I wanted it to sound less like a kid complaining and be more verbose about it.

And (this isn’t over yet) I did force myself to smile, like I very much did, I tried my best to be as pleasant and polite as possible. And being told again, this isn’t enough, just suck. Like I have to mask and hide and deal with so much I kind of expected that of all thing I was allowed to keep my face. Like people have bothered me about it my entire life and I’ve dismissed it my entire life because it just did not make sense and I couldn’t make it make sense(still can’t). But I’m genuinely at lost at what to do about it, if apparently I also have to change my face to get a job, that I need to exist the correct way in order to have the damn job in order to exist at all is all so, Not Good.

[yourlocalgremlin96024]

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Happy Valentines Day from Lovey Dovey!💘

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