#i imagine this is one of those times that i make a post and the rest of you think wow there is something fucking wrong with her 🤨

[blueblossomrose]

Pleaseeeee I wanna see more on leona from the parent thing 🥺

Course! Here we go!

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, Leona being a tired dad, fem!afab!mc, fluffy.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Being a father was never something that really crossed his mind. Dealing with Cheka, and his own childhood problems, made him skeptical about the idea.

MC kind of knew about it, but she was ready to tell him anyway.

Leona was surprised and at the same time not. He wouldn't verbalize about it, but after the wedding, his mind turned to children for the first time.

He wouldn't say it was a desire to have children, but more like a concept, imagination.

Well, now he didn't have to imagine anymore.

In the first few months, he's sounds neutral. He doesn't hate it, but he has confused mixed feelings about it.

He doesn't feel the huge appeal, and deep down that makes him angry and sad.

Because he knows he's probably not making you feel safe, because he knows he is behaving exactly like his own parents, ignorants of love.

He refuses to ask Farena anything at first, but it gets to a point where he's so upset that he ends up venting to him.

Farena was straightforward in pointing out that Leona doesn't need to force himself to be something he's not. That he doesn't need to doubt his own emotions because of other people's emotions.

And after this conversation, he goes to talk to MC. She, despite being slightly confused too, didn't crucify him for it. Leona continued to protect her with all his might throughout her pregnancy.

When MC's belly grows and he feels the first kick, his mental confusion worsened, conflicting feelings hitting each other, and even though he still seemed indifferent... there was something between and MC notice.

When he held the babies in his arms for the first time, however... his gaze, which had been different, changed completely.

He loved those children. There was no way he could hate them.

He was: "I'm not going to let anything bad happen to them."

And MC was: "I know 😊"

He is a tired father, as expected of him. Yet, he's doing well there.

One of the common scenes is him lying on your lap while you fold clothes or do some other activity, and your children on top of him, pulling his ears and tail while he sleeps.

When they are babies, Leona is ok to stay up with them while MC sleeps. He understands how tiring it is. Plus, he likes to feel important when he sees that the little ones fall asleep more easily when they are in his arms.

Many times you wake up with the babies on top of you because Leona put them in bed to sleep with you two.

As the babies grow, you notice more clearly how docile Leona is with his daughter.

As if anything Zuri asked for, Leona would give it to her.

He would play with her dolls wearing a pink dress if she asked.

Which honestly wouldn't be impossible for her to ask for. Zuri is very demanding.

Totally different from Zayne and Sekani. Zayne is calmer, really quiet. Sekani is a shy, very sweet boy, and slightly fearful...

Zayne enjoys playing board games even at a young age. Leona doesn't mind playing with him often. It's pretty funny when sometimes he ends up losing and looks at his 6 year old son like this: 🤨

He compliments Zayne anyway.

Sekani is undeniably more attached to his mother, since he is the type of child who likes to be pampered with affection and MC is always holding him in her arms.

But Leona also showers him with affection (in a more discreet way), so he enjoys being with his father as well. Leona makes him feel safe, so whenever he is scared, Sekani runs to his father.

Despite sometimes complaining, Leona spends a lot of time with them. A lot of time. MC soon realizes that it is him giving his children the affection and attention that he did not receive.

Also, Cheka joins his cousins to go and bother his uncle. He loves having someone to play with now!

Leona having his three children and nephew glued to him 24 hours a day. Okay, maybe I exaggerated. 8 hours a day.

MC often joins in on the fun. When playing tag, Leona is usually quick to catch her because he knows where she usually hides. He will jump on you without mercy and probably scare you, but he will quickly make you laugh with involuntary tickles.

Leona finds the kids easily. And the kids can find you easily when it's their turn. Hide and seek with beastmen is no fun.

At the end of the day, Leona watches you sleeping in his arms along with the children... and he thinks that love and being loved like that isn't bad at all.

[bunnwich]

Why Leona Gave Himself The Bad Ending

Leona Kingscholar Analysis

Usual disclaimer to say that these are just my thoughts and you don’t have to feel pressured to agree. This was my thought process as I played through the parts of Chapter 7 Parts 212-226, featuring Leona’s dream triggered by Malleus’s magic.

--

I wanna start off by saying that I believe all the dreams are a mixture of Malleus’s magic and the dreamers themselves. 

Idia theorized that Malleus is sort of “setting up the parameters” in a way, then each of the dreamers' personalities and imaginations affect the dream in different ways. The emphasis of this has been brought by Idia several times that it’s the strength of imagination that determines how complex dreams are. Which is maybe why in the first years dreams seem so basic? They’re young, their magical abilities are still new, and their magic is no match for Malleus’s magic. That and, to be fair, most of the first years don’t have the same amount of angst and turmoil as some of the other second years and third years have.

With that being said, I believe that because of his high intelligence, magical prowess, and his hyper-vigilance, that is the main reason Leona’s dream was so…different than the others.

But let's get into it!

There are a lot of Lion King references in this dream, and it’s very clear the writers wanted to play around and show this off. I feel like they did a good job of integrating the themes of the movie into Leona's dream. It does give me a little validation as I feel Leona’s struggles and personality are closely linked to his great Seven Counterpart, Scar. More so than any of the other overblotters. When I analyze Leona I sometimes I do use Scar as a starting point to understand his intentions.

This is how I came to the conclusion long ago that being king would never make Leona happy because it's not what he truly wants.

We start with the dream back in the Sunset Savanna. It’s VERY interesting to see that there is hyena prejudice right off the bat as a woman flees from Ruggie while he attempts to buy food. 

Right off, everyone can tell something is…off about the city. Especially coming fresh from Ruggie’s dream where everything was idyllic and happy for hyenas BECAUSE of Leona.

Grim hits us with the: “I laugh in the face of danger!” line. We even get the three hyenas referenced and the “love for you to stick around for dinner” line. The once proud lioness-dominated palace guard has been taken over by hyena “ruffians” (interesting choice to portray a disenfranchised group being given jobs as the new guard as a negative thing, but moving on.)

The first interesting thing we get is that the palace is somewhat rundown and empty? The group makes comments of how dark and dreary it is, and how few people are around. Is there an implication that the servants fled at some point after Leona became King or did he replace them? This further shows me that Leona for whatever reason has chosen to isolate himself. To me, it's most likely that he already feels isolated by his country and those in the palace.

From the looks of it “Malleus’s magic” has given Leona the one thing he has always wanted, but has he? Leona seems less than thrilled and genuinely upset by the fact his whole family is...gone. As I mentioned in my Leona relationships post, I think that he holds a complex relationship with his family, and while he resents them, in no way can I see him wanting them to be dead. 

It’s now I started to think that Leona’s magic was overriding the simple “let them eat cake” logic of all of the happier dreams. This dream feels TOO real, dark, dreary, and…sad. Could it be Leona’s intelligence or cynicism, ruining what’s supposed to be an idyllic scenario?

Why is even in his WILDEST dreams Leona is still miserable?

Hmm.

A lot of people have talked about Kifaji and their thoughts on his presence. It’s strange to see people praise him as “a loving parental figure” as if he’s really there trying to help Leona. But, Kifaji is not there. This Kifaji is a manifestation of Leona’s mind and I’ll get to why that’s interesting and what I think he represents. Remember, that often in other dreams we’ve seen of loved ones or rivals and they can act normal, out of character, or even cruel. Vil and Neigie come to mind and Neige turned out to be the blot keeping Vil asleep.

Kifaji is a bit different. He actively tries to help the group wake Leona as opposed to encouraging the twisted dream logic. For this reason, to me, Kifaji represents Leona’s conscious and the Dream!Leona we see represents his shadow self, like the dark side of the moon. AKA, the Leona we meet in Chapter 2. In fact, this whole dream feels like a rehash of Chapter 2.

We get the outdated Leona that dumbs himself down and settles for less, cloaking himself in his pride and believing that everyone is below him. An idle king while he lets others do his dirty work. (Scar basically.)

Leona asks Kifaji to sing (another Lion King reference) and it plays out how you would think. Leona tells Kifaji that he is the only competent person in the kingdom. And he argues that the kingdom is in shambles, not because of his choices as King, but because everyone else sucks basically.

Hmm. 

Kifaji reminds Leona that while he is clever and his plans are grand, that he can not treat people like human chess pieces. (Can I just say I love when chess is brought up to us because I find that when people analyze Leona or his thoughts they often forget how much he uses chess to process his thoughts. We saw that plenty in the Tamashina Mina event!) I think it helps him sort his thoughts and emotions which he can have a hard time doing.

I think Kifaji represents Leona’s mindset post Chapter 2 and because Kifaji in his real life is one of the only people who probably stands up to Leona, he has placed him in this antagonist role in his mind. (but not really) Plus, it’s not far off from Kifaji’s actual treatment of Leona in the Tamashina Mina event.

So yeah, Leona acts more like he does in Chapter 2—he's the player or the king even and everyone else around is just lowly pieces.

Just like the scene from The Lion King, Scar and Leona are not happy. Even though they are supposedly getting their deepest desire, they remain bitter and…alone. 

When I first began to read into Leona it was quite obvious to me that the whole “I’ll never be king" thing was just a front for something else. What I think Leona truly craves is approval and acceptance.

Being king, especially of a broken kingdom that despises him, will never make him happy. But, why do the people not love him? This is supposed to be a fantasy right?

There is this interesting layer of how he became king too. Instead of Cheka or Falena simply not existing, like I thought it might be, they are dead. That is…so much more tragic than it needed to be. As if deep down Leona believes the only way he can become king (his dreams to come true) is if tragedy happens. This reminds me of his bitter view/the symbolism of his unique magic. That he can only bring misery wherever he goes—everything he touches turns to sand. 

I also think that Leona is afraid of failing and much of this dream is his anxieties and insecurities that linger from all his past failures.

Though interestingly enough, I sense that in the dream, as implied later by Idia, Leona has implemented an “over-exaggeration” of his policies and plans for the kingdom. It was almost like he purposely ran his resources dry and gave up trying to compromise with anyone for the sake of “progress.”

Why, though?

It’s very masochistic in a way. It’s almost like he wanted to prove himself right. Everything he touches will turn to sand eventually and his grand plans will fail even if he claims they are “perfect.”

That’s why this dream is probably the most masochistic and self-deprecating we have seen. I think what initially began to draw me to Leona’s character is because of the hidden pain he holds. He is by far one of the most easygoing, and lackadaisical acting of the cast, but…he cares, he cares so, so much about how he is perceived and his haunted by his hopelessness about his future and the failures of his past.

I think the pain of never feeling good enough, causes his mind to be unable to “play nice” with Malleus’s dream magic to even manifest any sort of positive future. One where he holds a position he wants AND is loved and respected. it’s just impossible that he could ever have that, even in his wildest dreams. 

He’s too much of a “realist.”

Side tangent, but a frustrating take is to see was the: “Oh yeah, see? He would have sucked as king.” tinged comments after this came out.

 I think it’s more complicated than that. 

This isn’t me trying to defend him necessarily, but to be fair, all dreams tend to be over exaggerations by the dreamer. Plus, I think the fact that Ruggie HATES Leona in this dream and is suddenly in favor of Falena, is a sign right there we can not trust Leona’s interpretation of the people he knows in his dream. He is sort of an unreliable narrator that way. 

Besides, like in The Lion King, why would all the water dry up, just because the hyenas over-hunted? 

A big theme in Lion King and even The Lion Guard TV show is "the balance of nature." The blight upon the Pridelands when Scar takes over feels more like symbolism of the “unbalance of nature” caused by the tragedy of Mufasa’s death. Which makes me again, connect that Leona feels the only way he can succeed is by inflicting misery on others. Like his magic, perhaps a part of him believes he is a curse. 

I theorized in my Tamashina Mina review, that maybe Leona feels like an outcast himself, and the separation he feels from his country is showcased in how he blames the citizens for the decline of the kingdom, rather than his plans. He feels isolated from them.

By this point, I was having flashbacks to Chapter 2, where he got a whiff of his plan failing and he still pushed through even though he knew it would fail. At first, he may have started doing okay as king, but maybe when he came upon too many obstacles or pushback, He just gave up. Because he was not instantly loved by the people, who probably already feared him, he’d rather not even try. Suddenly, they are “not worth his time”, and he can’t help them because they suck.

Leona’s problem has always been his pride. I think he has to put it aside to genuinely help people reach their potential and learn to collaborate with others more. Part of how this dream plays out, is him realizing that maybe some criticisms Kifaji had about his pride all along may be true. Leona refuses to play nice with others. 

That’s why I think Kifaji represents a more sensible and lucid Leona. He is in a sense, talking to his past self, and trying to shake himself from the dream and his outdated ideals.

Ortho even points out that Ruggie is not really the Ruggie we know but rather a part of Leona’s imagination. Again, which puts emphasis on how the characters in his dream are more indicative of his mindset as opposed to being “in character”. Maybe Ruggie hating him in his dream is his inner anxieties about him and Ruggie post Chapter 2 fallout. He feels like Ruggie could never forgive him for what he did. He let him down. And Leona being bad with people and feelings, doesn’t know the proper way to apologize.

Kifaji (woke Leona) says that the state of the kingdom is a result of him “pursuing efficiency over all things and disregarding other people's feelings.” It really feels like he is calling himself out here. Does he REALLY wanna help people? Or is it just Leona’s selfish pride who wants attention for just being smart?

Dream!Leona complains about the protesters interrupting his nap which is another sign for me of the exaggeration of the scenario of Leona being the king. Like...did he not criticize Falena for having the same carefree and laid-back attitude? And yet here he is...complacent in the same behavior he once criticized Falena of. 

Interesting.

Ortho mentions that Leona’s dream is clearly a more complex situation than the other dreams.

I think there is a key implication we are missing here too, that I haven’t seen many mention. There is a throwaway line that Jack mentions that Leona has not attended school and is king instead. And he doesn't seem to know Dream!Ruggie either. Nor Ruggie him.

There is no doubt his time at NRC has shaped him to be the Leona we know now. Someone who has at least somewhat benefited with the connections he made at school. It does seem like this Dream!Leona is regressed. And because he never attended school, he is a much colder person who has no regard for others' feelings at all. He is even more socially inept.

I feel like this is a common theme to show us that despite the independent nature of most of the students at NRC, that it can still be “the friends we made along the way.” trope.  These connections do matter and especially to Leona. He mentions this in his post-overblot monologue in the light novel. He found his pack at NRC.  This time with his dorm members affected his personality for the better. It's kinda sweet when you think about it!

Ortho mentions Dream!Leona appears DEEPLY absorbed in the delusions of his dream. This means that even though he has the lucid failsafe of Kifaji, Leona’s self-deprecation, despair, and pain are still overtaking his logic. That's what's crafted this nightmare. (And he later references it as such.) 

Everyone acknowledges that he can’t possibly be happy and looks EVEN MORE miserable than at school. It can't be a silly happy fantasy, but a grim dark reality of what he thinks of himself. 

That's why he gave himself the bad ending.

I love the double entendre of Idia saying Leona is building his dream like a “sandbox” game. Lots of Minecraft references. (Leona Minecrafter confirmed? Or hear me out…Leona playing King Crusaders or Civilization V FGHJ)

Anyways, Idia or Ortho, (I forget) suggests that perhaps he has run out of ”simulations” for his dream playthrough. And being an intelligent person his mind tends to overthink naturally and this caused his dream to have a more realistic tone. Plus, I theorize that because Leona is powerful and his intelligent, his magic and imagination was almost able to overwrite Malleus's, a standard happy dream formula.

Ortho suggests Leona chose a more “realistic mode “on purpose.” Perhaps like I theorized earlier, it is almost a masochistic test to see if he could have everything he wanted? Leona is a very analytical person who enjoys games. It makes sense, the way he often plays chess alone to practice “strategies.” But as I mentioned before, I think he just genuinely believes it's not possible. Ortho mentions he thinks Leona’s the type to understand that an “aggressive urban development” would come with risks.

Jack asks “If Leona knew this was a bad plan then why would he make the citizens suffer and be hated?”  (Sheesh, now we know Leona really is the type to play pretend and get a lil too real with it.)

Ruggie adds that Leona may be “doing something he knows he shouldn't be on purpose.” Like maybe he did it to be dastardly and maybe he just wanted to “feel the rush” of being a ruthless and hated king.

When Azul asks Ruggie if he thinks Leona takes pleasure in immoral things he says that he can't say for sure, only that he is a prince that no doubt can take pleasure in “bad things”.

To me, however, it feels like a masochistic move to prove to himself his happiness is unattainable. 

Then Sebek chimes in: “How could he go so far to kill his family only to abandon his responsibilities as a king and become a horrible one?"

No one seems to know for sure. Everyone in the group has their theories but the consensus in the group is that - nobody fuckin’ knows why this guy intricately carved himself such a miserable fantasy for himself. Very masochistic for a guy who appears to be so proud huh?

Idia continues to mention that Leona’s imagination is so vast compared to everyone else's. It fills out a whole “world” completely and the mechanics of this world must make sense. He's playing on hard mode. In Leona’s brain this seemed to manifest as if he is to “get what he wants” it can't be serendipitous or through triumph, IT MUST be through tragedy.

Can we lighten up a little?

Again, he may have started to do “good work” but quickly realized that keeping up with all to create a perfect kingdom was waaaay over his head. Maybe he was afraid to give it his all, because he knew everyone would still hate him anyway.

Another reason I think Leona thrives better as a “big fish in a small pond” so to speak. Like his dorm leader role where he can interact directly with his cute (this man used this word a lot for some reason) froshes, make tangible make things better for a small group or community. 

But as we saw, even with his dorm Leona began to feel overwhelmed with the pretty promises he made to his underclassmen in Chapter 2 about the Spelldrive tournament. He like…wants to be wanted but he’s terrified of people actually relying on him, because trying your best and then failing anyways is the most painful thing to him. His instinct when he gets too frustrated with something is to act like he never cared about it in the first place or anyone. AKA “I did everything right and it's THE REST OF YOU who are incompetent.”

That’s why I personally think that in the future Leona working within a small community might be a better fit for him, using his skills to see potential in others as a way to connect with them and teach them how to thrive. 

So yeah, needless to say the group is stumped on analyzing Leona’s intentions and Azul hilariously notes that Leona is just…a complicated person. 

What an understatement.

The group hatches a silly plan to have Ruggie puppet a Cheka hologram and yeah obviously it didn’t work.

This is where it started to get interesting again.

Dream!Kifaji said he’s been “waiting for the day Leona would wake up from his bad dream” and joins the fight against him to wake him. It’s like Leona telling himself that it's time to let his original dream go.

Ortho is surprised Kifaji is on their side, that he should be the darkness pulling Leona back in, but like I mentioned I think Kifaji is actually a “fail safe” Leona created to stay lucid or...maybe the little bit of hope he has fostered now that he has grown from Chapters 2’s events.

Since Kifaji is the one to normally call him out, maybe he's Leona’s way of processing his relationship with him. And that maybe…sometimes as annoying as Kifaji is, he has a point. Kifaji is the one who is implied to have raised him after all, so it's no surprise Leona sees him in a father-like role more than his own father.

“No one understands me, it's not my fault.”  Leona laments running away, running away from himself.

Reminds me a lot of Chapter 2 Leona where he began to feel sorry for himself instead of actually trying to fix things. It's clear that no matter how smart and mature Leona is…is that he still has a lot of growing to do. And that his relationship with his family and country are complex. There is not a black and white or good and bad with this situation and I feel like this is important when talking about him and his relationships with his family.

He was very much ostracized and probably neglected to some extent by his real parents but at a certain point, Leona decided to give up on improving himself just because he didn't achieve the results he wanted to. It's one of his biggest flaw.

His complacency is what drags him further into the darkness. Not Kifaji.

Sitting and stewing in his despair and how unfair his life has been instead of reaching out. Rehashing all thise chess strategies alone on his chess board until his brain hurts. Making grandiose plans instead of actually working hard toward a realistic goal. 

The idle king. A king with naught. (Nothing.)

I am now realizing that in a way (because Ruggie and Leona are so similar) Jack is Leona’s foil; he is the determined and earnest one who admires Leona at his best. He still holds the innocence and the idealism of working hard.

The group jumped through the darkness with Leona and we are replaying the events of Chapter 2 once again.

Ruggie and Jack watch it go down in dismay. Ruggie addresses that he once did think Leona’s way of thinking/plan was good and it’s cool to see he clearly regrets it now too.

They watch the drama play out as if Leona’s plan in Chapter 2 actually succeeded and see that he craves more. More ways for Savanaclaw to get ahead by unsavory means.

Jack says even if Leona becomes king there will be no end to his dissatisfaction. BOOM, there it is.

That is why Chapter 2 is so mind boggling.  Leona’s whole speech was about being king and second. But it’s clear now, it's not what he truly wants. I think Leona is afraid to admit what he really wants. Because that takes vulnerability and then comes the possibility of being rejected.

Jack also notes that, despite Leona getting “everything he wanted” he seems more grumpier and dissatisfied than usual.

“Leona is not your King, hes’ our Dorm Leader,” Jack growls. They fight and we get a nice callback to Lion King here. “Remember who you are.”

As Leona wakes up from his dreams he straight up says, yeah the scheme from Chapter 2 was…stupid. (Nice.)

Oh and we finally get some acknowledgement that Ruggie feels like Leona abandoned him in Chapter 2 which SHEEEEEEEESH. This is a deep cut for me, considering Ruggie’s real dad abandoned him. And it really confirms the fact he sees Leona as a father/big brother figure.

But, Leona doesn't, he sacrifices himself for Ruggie as the whole group tries to escape the crumbling dream. And while Ruggie cries out for Leona, Leona goes down smirking not knowing what will happen to him.

It’s time for him to face himself, his blot monster.

Blot!Leona wants them dead, all of them. Cheka, Falena, everyone. The real Leona finds it kind of pathetic. Because, in reality, I don't think Leona hates Cheka or Falena and he doesn't want to be alone anymore.

Leona admits to his blot that yeah, no he can’t do the job. He can’t be king. And instead of it being a negative it’s more a relief? Maybe he is incompetent too. He is addressing himself and his previous grandiose illusions. He hasn’t done anything worthy of being king.

However, he will not give up. He’s finally living up to Savanaclaw’s motto of perseverance (which he sorta laughed off in Chapter 2?)

This next part is what struck me the most because. He just lays it out so simply, finally saying it out loud.

Self awareness!! Like he finally said it!! (And I felt very vindicated in this moment, NGL) 

What he desires most is the approval of others.

Ah, and Blot!Leona responds with the fact he can't earnestly try, it's too painful to think of failing. Props for Leona acknowledging his flaws! Just like with the other overblotters. But I'm especially floored here because of how PRIDEFUL he is all the time.

In order to have better relationships with people, he has to leave that whole “they all hated me” shit behind. Because in reality, there are people who care for him despite his flaws. There are those who look up to him and admire him, for him.

But, the idea of that I think is so…crazy to him that he tends to deny its very existence. Then when he is genuinely complimented on his leadership or whatever skills he brushes it off.

He calls himself disgusting which feels kinda sad but it’s proof he has moved on from his previous way of things. What did I say earlier? Leona is afraid of failure. 

Giving being a king a earnest optimistic go is too painful for him because ultimately he is afraid of failing. Like he was happier to play the role of tyrannical king than to bother to build relations with the citizens of his kingdom.

As his blot self withers away it’s almost…sad compared to the previous blot monster showdowns we’ve seen. It mentions something about “his friends” (A reference to Scar’s final words.) like he’s reaching out for Leona so it's not alone anymore. And Leona almost embraces his monster? It’s clear he feels pity for this thing…him. His pain, his depression, his loneliness. Maybe a step in the way of self-love? He acknowledges (almost as to soothe it) that it will always be with him, clawing from inside. Except now, he won’t give up.

He vows that he will get what he wants one day, for both of them. He’ll have his “own throne and pride” instead of wanting for someone else’s. He’ll find his place to belong through his own merit.

It reminds me of that expression “find your own tribe” which is an expression that those who are not close to heirt families understand all too well.  He wants to find satisfaction outside his desire to rule and maybe because we know he prefers NRC to home, this confirms his fondness for his dorm life. (Savanaclaw found a family dorm.)

When he returns to his original dream of being king Kifaji is there as they look on at Pride Rock. The fact that it is raining is telling that hope has returned. (Just like at the end of Lion King) and that by accepting that “being king” is not what he really wants now “all things are balanced again”.

They have a nice moment here. Leona acknowledging that he has been given the tools to do good things by Kifaji’s training is a big mature moment for him. (Especially how they acted toward one another in the Tamashina Mina event)  And Kifaji praising him, since this a dream, could be a testament to what he wishes would happen between them.

AKA Leona finally feels more, “at peace” with himself.

As Leona destroys this false kingdom with his sand he seems reserved, it’s almost bittersweet as it all settles over him, his new found aspirations, letting the old ones go. He's letting the past go. A big theme in Lion King. (I really feel the writers must be fans of the movies.) 

Kifaji says: “Go to the place you really belong.”

This line kinda got me. Because the implication is that Night Raven College and his dorm is where he really belongs. Leona is confirming that his experiences at NRC have shaped who he is SO MUCH. 

For years he accepted his life as it was, a cage, and now he is acknowledging that he has the power to break that cage and do whatever he wants. It’s a great callback to the advice he gave Jamil in Chapter 6.

This is quite refreshing as he mentioned before that it was too “late for him”. Now, he realizes it isn’t.

Back with the gang, Ruggie admits his fear that Leona will abandon him again. Leona denies it, and says somewhat casually that he is in fact a true friend of his. This feels like a clever inversion of the line that Scar says to the hyenas about being his “friends.” 

But, we know now that Leona does mean it now. And this shows Leona’s desire to finally stray from the “path”  of his Great Seven counterpart and actually like…have friends?

The reunion of the Savanaclaw trio is actually really sweet. For a dorm full of cocky jocks with strong personalities they seem to be so genuinely happy to be reunited.

Jack bursting out into tears and crying got me tearing up. Like Ruggie and Leona clearly are bit more reserved in their emotions but we see Savanaclaw really are close, despite their disagreements. They care for one another as a dysfunctional little family. 

As a dorm that doesn't get much mainstream attention compared to others it was so nice to have this little moment. It's hard to tell, but I’m 99% sure there was a group hug based on how the sprites moved and the sound effects. At least a nice back pat from Leona. (Thanks, dad.) 

All in all, I really...enjoyed his dream section. As someone who is pretty hyper-critical, for the most part, it satisfied most of the things I wanted to feel. I even got emotional at a few points! Yes, it would have been nicer to spend more time with “king” Leona and dive into it more. Or get more lore about his family. But, he admitted it FINALLY, everything I have clocked about him all those years ago. It’s very satisfying to see his growth in a tangible straightforward way, instead of just me reading between the lines.

I hope we will continue to see even more growth with his character (Like we did in the Halloween event)  and I’m excited to see the role he will play in the rest of Chapter 7, even if it’s just him being a cranky old man. (What do you expect he was raised by one?)

I'd like to end this with some positivity. As someone who deep dives into character stuff a lot I know it's really comforting to see part of yourself reflected back in your favorite characters.

To anyone reading who feels they have things in common with Leona or his despair, the truth is that you should keep going, even if it's just to spite the world itself.

Your vision and presence in this world are valid all on their own and that failing is not indicative of your value as a person. It never will be.

Keep fighting to find your place, your pack and never forget who you are.💚

--

Thanks for reading!! This one took quite a bit to edit and think through so if you like my Leona analyses, I’d appreciate a reblog or even just if you wanna share it with your friends! Shoutout to the youtuber ガスマスクゲーマー whose video I pulled these screenshots from. Thank you!

[backstage-autorin]

I will never not find it funny that although Zuko is the one I see mentioned the most often in discussions of autistic-coded characters, of the three who set off my "takes one to know one" sense on my first watchthrough of the series, he is also the one I picked up *last.*

I picked up on Iroh first when he firebent his tea while waiting to enter Ba Sing Se. The only way I can make that choice make sense is if he had some kind of sensory processing issue that prevented him from drinking tea at the wrong temperature, or if he was stressed from the trip, needed to stim, and playing around with flavors/scents/temperatures of tea was the only form of stimming he was allowed growing up, making it his default method of stimming as an adult. (If the school he attended as a child was anything like the school where Aang got in trouble for dancing in music class, it's not difficult to imagine autistic students getting in trouble for stimming). Over the years of using different scents/flavors/temperatures of tea as the one form of sensory input he was allowed to be in control of, he developed a special interest in tea. Adding the fact that caffeine is sometimes used to self-medicate ADHD, depending on the caffeine content of his teas it's possible that Iroh has inadvertently been self-medicating for undiagnosed ADHD (as far as I'm aware the vocabulary to get diagnosed doesn't exist in-universe). Overall, I headcannon Iroh as AuDHD.

Azula was the next one I picked up on, during the Beach episode. The moment that made the headcannon click was the "sharp outfit" monologue/flirtation attempt, but she also takes the "party from dusk till dawn" invitation literally and her observation about the volleyball opponent's childhood injury on the left side reminded me of my own (self-described) unhinged pattern recognition. She masks well but unfortunately for her the environment she built her mask for was extremely dysfunctional, which I think played a role in her eventual breakdown. (For a modern-day equivalent, it's not uncommon for autistic women to only get diagnosed after seeking treatment for mental health disorders.) Azula being praised/recognized as a firebending prodigy but struggling in other settings reminds me of the discourse around gifted education, the prevalence of undiagnosed neurodivergence in gifted programs, and the recognition of twice-exceptional students (students who qualify for special education and gifted education at the same time), and I would probably headcannon her as a technically twice-exceptional student whose autism went undiagnosed so on paper she's just considered "gifted" instead of "twice exceptional."

Zuko, on the other hand, flew under my radar until he practiced the "Hello, Zuko here" speech for that frog, vented to that same frog (or maybe the frog was just there while he was talking to himself) while analyzing his social interaction failure after he accidentally reveals that he hired Combustion Man, and then an episode or two later fails to make anyone laugh with the "leaf me alone, I'm bushed" joke. I sometimes rehearse social interactions beforehand, very frequently replay my conversation errors in my head, and have plenty of experience with messing up at telling jokes, so i guess seeing Zuko do the same is what it took for me to figure it out. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the reason it took me so long to pick up on Zuko being autistic is because he was masking to the best of his ability when he was trying to regain and/or maintain his father's approval and then once he switched sides he no longer felt the same need to try to pretend to be neurotypical.

There's probably a lot more I can say if I were to analyze the show through the lens of Iroh, Azula, and Zuko all being autistic but tbh those thoughts should probably be their own post instead of commentary on someone else's meme.

[flwrkid14]

Omg for ur Jason Todd: Dad Mode Activated post, imagine how Jason would react if Tim gets injured during patrol or try to encourage Tim to take an interest in a few hobbies like cooking/ reading or what about how Jason helps Tim with some possible insecurities like a few neck scars

I absolutely love this ask!! I love adding and world-building for literally all of my posts!!!

I can totally picture Jason constantly carrying around a travel med kit for Tim, just in case something goes wrong. He’d try so hard not to go full helicopter-parent mode, but Tim’s always getting himself into trouble since he's so used to not having any kind of supervision!

As for the hobby thing, I think it would be fun if Jason pulled Tim into all sorts of random activities, not necessarily to get him into a hobby, but just to try things together!

Tim shows up at Jason’s safehouse one day, expecting a mission-related problem, only to find Jason sitting on the couch with a basket of colorful yarns and his laptop pulled up to a “Beginner’s Guide to Crocheting.” He'll say something casual like, “C’mon Timbo, Lian’s birthday’s in three months. Let’s see who can make the better stuffy.”

He'll pull Tim into the kitchen to teach him how to cook, or just be an extra pair of hands when he’s preparing something. He'll drag him to the library to pick out a book or just browse the shelves, sitting together while they read. He'll sign them up for a painting class or take Tim rock climbing after work, then convince him to join a cooking workshop where they make their own lunch (Jason only signs up because Tim refuses to go to any of these without him now).

But It’s Jason’s way of trying to teach Tim something new that he can implement into his personal life, without it feeling like a forced obligation. He makes sure to do these things with Tim, so it’s more about sharing the experience than pushing him into anything.

And as for the insecurities… wow, this could get heavy. I can totally imagine Jason slowly realizing that Tim’s insecure about his neck, not because Tim ever said anything, but because Jason’s been watching him more closely lately. He notices how Tim always covers his neck��wearing turtlenecks even in summer, buttoning up shirts all the way, hiding it as much as possible. That’s when it hits Jason: the scars are his. He’s the one who put them there. And suddenly, he feels this wave of guilt and nausea hit him. He doesn't push Tim to talk about it, though. Instead, Jason quietly apologizes. Deeply, mournfully, with a few tears in his eyes. He doesn't beg for forgiveness, but he reassures Tim that those scars don’t define him. They’re proof of how strong Tim is. That he’s endured so much and is still here. And Jason will make sure that no more scars ever mar Tim’s skin—at least, not while Jason’s around.

It doesn’t fix Tim’s insecurity overnight, but it’s a start. Tim might not feel strong all the time, but with Jason’s words in his head, he knows that the scars don’t make him any less of a badass. And as much as he still struggles, he knows Jason will always be there to take care of him, even when he doesn’t feel as strong as Jason makes him out to be.

Tim comes to the conclusion that Bruce and Jack will never come close to what Jason has become in his life.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

AN: What? What's this? A Christmas miracle? Have I come home for the holidays with a classic 2012 Loki's at The Tower post Avengers fic?

Summary: Loki finds himself rather bored at the mandatory Tower holiday party. Lucily someone catches his attention. Once he's been seen at the party enough, he takes her off to the little apartment he has secred for himself for a private party that will leave her decorated, gasping and questioning where her allegiances lie.

CW: 3rd person, female Reader/unnamed female OC, Dub con, Fem receiving oral, M receiving oral, bondage with christmas lights, creampie, vaginal fingering, dom/sub undertones...

Loki couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was just as well. The party was boring and if not for being forced, he’d have left within the first thirty minutes. Attendance was mandatory, however, and it wouldn’t be doing him any favors to buck against this pathetic little order. 

This party could hardly compare to the minor social hours he and Thor had attended in Asgard. The food was subpar; the drink was weak, and the music was not live. That final point offended him the most. The excuse they provided him with when questioned was security- as if there hadn’t been more than adequate time to clear a band. 

At least she was there to entertain his eyes. 

The little red dress she wore could have been painted onto her body. Every stitch of fabric clung to her curves, leaving little work for Loki to imagine what she would look like naked, spread out on his bed. His eyes traced each swell and curve of her body. She would be soft under a man, of that he was sure. 

Heels sparked in the light, making sure his eyes were drawn to her feet only to trace up her legs. The short hem and the sparkling feet accentuated the length of her legs, making them look to go on for miles, though she wasn’t as tall as some. 

She worked for Stark in some capacity. He had gathered that much easily, listening in on conversations. The details beyond that didn’t matter to him. They were as unimportant as the stray sparkles of glitter shed from her shoes as she danced with one man after another, leaving a subtle trail of where she had been. 

The shoes were new, still shedding sparkles and purchased for this event. Between dances, Loki’d catch glimpses of her, running her fingers over red marks on her feet as she tried to soothe the ache. 

She hadn’t known it when she picked out those shoes in the little shop or perhaps in the comfort of her home behind the screen of a computer, but those shoes would lead to doom and salvation for her. 

Loki watched as she excused herself from the party, slipping her foot back into her shoe. She walked, a slight limp in her step from her aching feet and champagne glass in hand. No one looked for her while he waited, watching the door she had exited from. He had expected no one to follow or look for her. She had been mostly alone the whole hour she had been there, but he couldn’t be too sure. 

What no one else would do, he did. 

He set his glass on the table as he passed, walking as if he owned the building. He held his shoulders back and his spine straight. Those who dared to meet his gaze were rewarded with a cold look down his nose as he continued on, slipping through the doors he had watched her exit through. 

The delicate click clack of her heels down the hall lead him to her, though with the trail of glitter flakes he did not need the help. His steps were near silent, the hard sole of his shoes muffled by a cushion of magic, suffocating the sound of each step he took. 

It didn’t take long for him to close the distance. His swiftness was rewarded with the sight of her, leaning against a railing. She looked down at the city lights outside the window. The tower lights were dim, set low to be easy on drunk eyes and to set a more intimate mood, making the sparkling lights outside stand out in the darkness.

There were strands of holiday lights strung all over the hallway, just as there had been in the ballroom. These small bulbs provided most of the light in the spaces, casting a warm glow over everything while allowing for deep, dark shadows to take up residence in corners and under tables. 

“Was the party not to your liking?” Loki’s voice startled her out of her thoughts as he stepped up next to her. The yelp that escaped her throat pleased him, drawing his lips into a charming smile. 

“Oh, you scared me.” She clutched a hand over her pounding heart, flinching back as she realized just how close the stranger had gotten to her. 

“My deepest apologies,” Loki waited for her to answer his original question and, after a few moments, she did.

“I’m kind of new here still,” she shrugged. “When you don’t know anyone, it’s hard to enjoy a party. Not that it’s not a nice party.” She quickly added the last bit after a moment, realizing that he was one of those who, for whatever reason, existed on the upper floors of her boss’ tower. 

It was easy to forget that these people were The Avengers and The Avengers adjacent people. They were important, not just because they were beautiful, rich and, in the case of Tony Stark, her boss. Each one gave such an air of normality around them when she would run into them in the halls. It’s something she couldn’t explain if asked. 

“I care not if you speak ill of Stark’s party.” Loki reassured. “I find it rather dull myself.” 

“Why’s that?” she took a long drink from what was left of her glass, eyes focused on the glittering city lights. He made her nervous. 

Loki looked down at her, taking the moment to admire her breasts in the low cut dress. He could only see a little more from this angle than he could before. The fabric clung close to her skin, protecting what little modesty her dress allowed. What he could see told him her breasts looked natural, not the plastic that woman here insisted on filling themselves with. He could also see that the fabric was thin, a risky move for a work party. 

“Asgardian parties are rather… lustful affairs,” he said after a moment. That caused her eyes to snap to his. “The food is sweet and rich and our wine is as strong and free flowing as our affections.”

“Oh.” was all she could think to say as he plucked her glass from her fingers and swallowed the last of her drink without shame. 

“We revel in all pleasures when we celebrate. We feast on everything, including the body.” Loki’s charming smile seemed so at odds with the words he said. 

“O-oh” She wasn’t sure what she should say to that. Her wide eyes were trained on him, taking in the bluish tint to his slick black curls as the fairy lights twinkled around you. 

That was just the reaction Loki wanted. 

“Your dress and heels say that you had desired to be feasted upon. Have you gotten enough of the attention you craved?”

“Oh, sir, I wasn’t trying to-” She turned to face him, only to find him far closer than she had expected. Once again, as she was lost in the lights, he had closed the distance between them, causing her to back against the railing in surprise. 

“Oh, but you were.” Loki reached out and pulled a few strands of her hair forward, letting the hair flow over his fingers. “Why else would you wear something so short?”

He sent a pointed look down at where the hemline of her dress gave way to her thighs before dragging his eyes up to focus on her breasts. “Or something so low?” 

“I didn’t-” It was a lie. He knew she knew that. While it may not have been intentional at the time, attention was exactly why she dressed the way she did. 

“Shoes to sparkle and draw the eye.” His eyes hungerly followed on the journey over her body his words were taking. “High hem to reward the eye for dragging its way up your legs. Thin fabric to caress your body as if it was but air, or perhaps a bedsheet. A low neckline to highlight your breasts and simple jewelry to make a man think you are bed ready.”

“Excuse me, I should go.” She tried to dart away, but Loki’s arms were quick to cage her in, palms resting against the handrail and fingers wrapping firmly around it.

“Must you?” Loki spoke softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. “I’ve feasted on Midgardian wine. I’ve feasted on Midgardian food. Now, I’d like to feast on a Midgardian woman.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” She struggled to make her voice sound as sure as she felt she needed to be. There was no way sleeping with Loki would be good for her career. But who would know? 

Without warning, the railing behind her gave way. Fear flooded into her as the feeling of falling sent panic through her nervous system. She had no choice but to throw her arms forward and around Loki’s body for safety, squeezing her eyes shut. Everyone always said these insanely tall buildings were safe and yet here she was, getting ready to fall to her death because a stupid railing gave out. 

Loki wrapped his arms around her as her feet left the floor. She felt herself moving backward, held by Loki’s body. They were not falling. He did not fall with her. Opening her eyes, the world shimmered around her in a shower of glowing green sparks.

Then she was in a different room. The railing hadn’t given out. She wasn’t in danger of falling. She was perfectly safe. 

“There, now.” Loki said, not taking his arms from around her. “We can decide in private if we wish to continue the little party.” 

“Where are we?” She tried to ignore the feeling of him pressed against her, battle strong body hidden under a well fitted black suit. 

“Just a little apartment I rented for the weekend.” Loki said as he let her slip from his arms, fingertips trailing down her back and around her waist and greedily taking in the feel of the nearly nonexistent fabric with every lingering touch. 

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, momentarily taken aback by the glittering lights. 

Whereas Stark’s party was flashy and exciting in its decor, there was a quiet calm to the apartment Loki had rented. Loki had no women in mind when he secured the short-term rental, but he had a desire for something more akin to the yuletide times of Asgard. 

Warm woods, twinkling lights, and plenty of candles and fireplaces littered the space. While solstice on this planet was past by a few days, that didn’t stop the desire to let fires burn through the darkest nights of winter. It had been engrained in him as the only right way to spend the cold, dark season. 

With a flick of his fingers, he lit the fireplaces and candles, bringing a living warmth to the space that the warm electric string lights could not give. 

“Do you wish to leave?” Loki said, stepping closer to her. 

“I don’t know.” She couldn’t help but feel at peace in the space. The warmth made her want to be there. “I don’t usually…” 

The sentence hung left unfinished. She didn’t want to put words in his mouth or make assumptions. The reality is she rarely found one-night stands with strangers to be fun. Loki had a way with words, talking in riddles, saying a lot and yet leaving so much insinuated at best. 

“Why not?” Loki asked, trailing a fingertip up her exposed arm. 

“I just- I don’t usually enjoy… it with strangers. Attention is fine, flirting is fun but actually, with strangers,” she tried to make herself step away, feet failing to give you more than an inch. 

“Are they bad lovers?” Loki asked, inching closer to his prey.

“No. Maybe?” She willed herself to shut up, but his cold blue eyes and the warmth of the room worked together to have her under a spell she couldn’t seem to escape. “I just am picky.”

“Than tell me what you like.” Loki circled her, sweeping her hair off the back of her neck. Loki’s breath fanned over her skin as he hovered behind her, touching only with fingertips.

“I can’t. I couldn’t.”

“Do you like your men soft and sweet?” Loki placed a chaste kiss against her shoulder, nuzzling her neck softly with his nose as his fingertips gave way to the palm of his hand wrapping around her, resting softly on her belly as he pulled her back against his chest. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she wanted to answer, but couldn’t. For the whole of her life, she struggled with sexual frustration, unable to ask for what she wanted. It was dangerous. It hurt feelings. Men took it personally or as an attack. It was better to just accept what she was given. 

Was that any different with Loki? Offending him was so much more dangerous.

“No?” he hummed against her skin. “Do you like it hard and demanding?” 

Loki’s grip on her waist turned firm. His smile turned sharp as he littered love bites against her shoulder. Blunt nails dug into her as she weakly tried to pull away from him. 

She shuddered with the change, pathetically trying to keep her reactions under control. In truth, she knew little what she wanted because she had been so scared to voice any interests, to explore anything. 

“Do you like to be taken? Hard and fiercely? Do you wish to have what I can give you thrust upon you?” Loki’s hand dragged itself up from her stomach to cup her breast. He could feel her heart pounding under his fingertips with his words, giving her away.

“Yes,” she squeaked as he squeezed. 

“The fabric is so thin it almost feels as if there is nothing between your breast and my hand.” Loki mused, biting harder on her shoulder. 

She moaned and squirmed into him as his fingers pinched her nipple at the same time. 

“You like that?” He licked where he bit, as if that would somehow soothe the hurt. “I will fuck you just how you like it.” 

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure what she didn’t know.

“Than we will find out together.” Loki promised, determined to feast upon his prize. 

Leaving her breast, Loki pushed up and forward until he was cupping her jaw and pulling her to look back at him over her shoulder. He was ready to meet her, his lips savagely latching upon hers. Teeth grazed along the plump swell of her lower lip.

“Wait.” She pulled back. “I don’t usually kiss unless I’m in a relationsh-”

“You will kiss me,” Loki ordered, his lips cutting her words off. She tried to pull away again and was rewarded with his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of her head. 

She wasn’t sure if she gave in willingly or not, but she kissed him back. His biting lips felt good against hers. The pressure of his fist in her hair, the pull against her scalp, made her tingle in a way she hadn’t been able to explain. 

“Is that what you want?” Loki asked, pulling away. “Do you want my fist in your hair? Do you want me to dominate you and put you exactly where I want you, take you exactly how I want to and to give you orgasms exactly how I want to?”

“I’ve never,”

“I will ruin you for other men,” he promised, pulling her deeper into the rental, toward the bedroom by her hair and his body behind her. “You’ll know exactly what it is you want and no one will give it to you like I can. You’ll pray for me in the darkness while other men leave you unsatisfied.” 

Loki pushed her against the wall and pulled the flimsy cups covering her breasts to the side, exposing both. The tension of the displaced fabric and the straps still on her shoulders presented her naked breasts to him, pebbled nipples begging for his attention. 

He palmed her breasts, taking his time enjoying the way they filled his hands. He rolled and tweaked her nipples periodically, enjoying the way her breath would hitch in her throat and the way her back would arch with each painful pinch. She was ever so responsive. 

“I do love the feeling of natural breasts.” Loki leaned down and ran his tongue over a pink nipple, slathering it with saliva before blowing an unnaturally cold breath on it. She gasped as the frosty cold bit at her sensitive skin. The bud of her nipple responded eagerly, tiny muscles tensing and bunching tp pull the skin tighter. 

“You like the cold,” he told her, as if she hadn’t noticed this about herself at the same time. “You like the pain. You like the loss of control.”

Loki pushed her arms back against the wall when she reached out for him, hands seeking to explore his suit clad body as he was exploring her. 

“Please?” she asked hopefully.

“You’ve not even begun to beg. You’ll touch me when I say.”

Loki pulled her from the wall, not giving her a moment for her legs to steady. Angles tangled together, making it easy for him to push her down on the bed. She bounced, breasts moving freely.

“Sir,” 

He cut her off. “You will say my name while I take you.”

Loki’s hands rested on her knees, strong fingers gripping her. Large hands pushed them apart so that he could step between them. Smoothe, warm skin spread out under his palms as he pushed the hem of her tight little dress higher and higher. 

“Wait,” she said, pushing herself up onto the palms of her hands. “Loki,”

“No,” he said simply. “You’re not wearing a single scrap of fabric under this dress, are you? You want me to stop, so I don’t see how badly you wanted to catch someone’s attention. You want me to stop, so I don’t see how much you’re enjoying this.”

Loki wrapped his hands around the back of her thighs when the dress bunched under her ass and wouldn’t go any higher. He lifted and dragged her toward the edge of the bed, her dress rolling under her lower back and exposing her naked sex to his eyes. 

Greedily, he took in the sight of her with her hair spread out around her head, dress around her waist and breasts framed by the cups. Her knees were on either side of his thighs as he gazed at her. Oh, what a little present she was.

When she again tried to raise up on her hands, Loki pushed her down harshly with a palm to her chest. Tsking her, he fell to his knees as he slapped her pubic mound lightly. 

She had been waxed, giving away the hope for a sexual encounter even though she had denied it. Shoving her thigh up, he opened her sex to him, a delicious fruit he was eager to feast upon. 

“Let me taste you,” Loki demanded. 

“No,” she again rose up but found her elbows struggled to support her weight when the palm of his hand struck her sex softly. 

“I told you, I will have you.” It didn’t go unnoticed by Loki how her thighs twitched at the slight sting of the strike. “You like it when I strike your cunt?” 

“No,” again she was on her elbows looking down at him.

He struck her cunt again, the sound of the contact against her folds echoing through the room with each strike. She flinched with each stinging slap, arched her back and slick built up at her entrance. Though his blows were far from hard, they stung more as his palm spread her wetness. The gasps that sounded more and more like moans were music to his ears. 

Just as she began to really enjoy it, Loki grabbed her thighs in his hands and licked a long stipe up her slit. Her slick gathered on his tongue as he eagerly sampled her arousal. His tongue twisted and caressed her clit, only to disappear as she panted.

“Do you still desire I stop?” Loki asked, only to instantly repeat the action. He waited patiently for her answer as he took her clit between his lips. Harshly, he sucked and teased at it as she pleaded, though neither he nor she was sure exactly what for. 

“Please.” Never had she really enjoyed receiving oral before. It always felt like a tease, almost good than over. 

Loki was skillful with his mouth and well versed in reading the way his partner responded to his touches. When her body seemed to tighten up no more, he knew it was time for a change. 

Reaching out with a fingertip, he marveled at how soft the folds of her cunt were under his touch. It was as if he was caressing the petals of a flower as he ran his finger tips through her folds, coating his digits in her slick. She flinched from his hand, not expecting the change of contact. 

He followed the trail of wetness, finding its source and dipping in. Her body eagerly swallowed his finger as she gasped. Warm, wet muscles clenched and fluttered around his finger as he curled it inside her, stroking her soft walls. 

Dragging the pad of his finger firmly against the top of her canal, he withdrew it. She arched under the pressure, tilting her pelvis forward in a attempt to run from the pressure. 

Loki hummed in satisfaction, adding a second finger as he worked into her again. She was tight around him, body fighting while he pushed his fingers apart from deep inside her. She rewarded him with the sweetest sounds as he pumped his curling fingers into her again and again. Each thrust had her core tightening. 

Fingers and tongue worked together as he played her sopping cunt like an instrument. The sounds of his fingers squelching in and out combined with her ragged breathing and gasping moans to make his favorite music. 

She was embarrassed to fall apart under his touch. Throwing her arm over her mouth, she muffled her moans. Each breath that filled her lungs came slowly. She held her lungs under tight control. The way her walls contracted around him and the twitching of her folds under his tongue told the story of a restrained orgasm. 

Loki knew she didn’t know what she wanted. It was scary for her to take the type of pleasure she wanted, she needed, from him. There was a world of immense pleasure she was too timid to reach out and grab. 

He would thrust that pleasure upon her. Her eyes would be open to the pleasure she hadn’t dared to dream about. No longer would she be able to settle for mediocre love making. She would long for primal sex, for his hands upon her flesh and his direction. 

As he rose from her soaked sex, she reached down and ran her fingers through his hair. For a moment, Loki allowed her to indulge in the affectionate touch. The lovemaking she was used to was soft, caring. He would allow her the moment of what she knew. 

Once that moment was gone, he snatched her wrist up and away from him. He rose quickly and folded over her, snagging her other wrist as well and pushing them up. With her wrists pinned over her head, he hovered above her. The thin dress did little to cover her abdomen as she stretched out below him. 

There was nothing left to Loki’s imagination as he raked his eyes over her exposed breasts. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, desperate attempts to maintain control. Squirming under him, she made a writhing temptation. 

Loki lowered his torso just enough for her breasts to brush against him. Nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt. When he had discarded his jacket, she never knew. Loki had slowly leached the heat from the room and the cooler air had her nipples pulled tight and firm, pleasure sparking with every light touch. 

Loki kissed her neck harshly, leaving a trail of wet kisses and harsh nips down her neck as he worked his way to her breasts. The sensitive bud of her nipple in his mouth had her mewling under him. For as much as she had tried to reject him, she was quickly becoming desperate for him. 

“Remember Darling, I touch you, you do not touch me.” 

The reminder spoken over her wet nipple, cool breath fanning over her, fell on deaf ears. Bare legs ran up his legs, wrapping around his waist. He growled a warning into her breast as she hooked her ankles together and tried to get some friction against her core. 

The disobedience was rewarded with a harsh nip to her nipple. 

“Ow!” She jerked from him. The way she flinched had her legs tighten around him.

“I said no touching.” Loki warned. “And yet you do not listen.”

“Sorry.” She whimpered as his tongue danced over the stinging nipple, yet her legs did not fall away from around him.

“Clearly, you cannot be expected to follow simple directions.” Loki pulled away from her. “I’ll have to do something to solve that.”

“What do you-” The sharp, stinging slap of Loki’s hand against her sopping wet pussy forced her question to end as a yelp. 

“Take the dress off,” Loki ordered, as he looked around the room. 

He could create cords, ropes, ribbons, or straps, but they didn’t seem quite right. This was a festive fuck, and he needed something to embody what the holiday season had become in Midgard. 

Reaching out, he grabbed a string of lights running along the headboard and gave them a yank. The strand of lights fell in a twinkling rope. Another yank had the lights unplugged and they should have gone dark. Loki ensured they continued to twinkle and flash with a twitch of his finger. 

“Stand up.” Loki’s eyes traveled over her body as she climbed to her feet, naked before him. “Turn around.”

“What are you doing?” she timidly asked, though she did as he said. She was a quick learner. 

Loki grabbed her wrists and tied a loop of twinkling wire around them. He wound the wire cord up her arms, ignoring how she jerked and protested, knowing well that she didn’t really mean her protests. The twinkling lights wrapped around her chest, above and below her breasts, framing them in sparking lights. 

He pulled each layer of wire tight around her. Loki spared not a thought about how the bulbs would surely bite into her skin. The way the lights lit up her naked skin mesmerized him. 

“My, don’t you look like a goddess?” He was speaking more to himself than to her. 

He stalked around her, taking in his latest art project in all her glory before reaching out, running his hand over the swells of her breasts. Shadows played over her skin, highlighting over every curve, casting shadows down her stomach. 

He tweaked a nipple just as she relaxed. The gasp she let out told him much of how excited she was. He didn’t need her to voice the excitement, though. The slick running between her thighs as he pushed her to bend over the bed told him more than enough. 

The lights were not long enough for him to use them to secure her legs as well, but that was okay. Loki used a silken black ribbon to tie her ankles to each foot of the bed, holding her legs spread wide as she struggled and failed to put herself in a righted position. 

“Now that you’re all tied up, you won’t be sneaking any little extra touches, will you?” Loki stood behind her as he spoke, hands resting on the round curve of her ass. His thumbs caressed her, smoothing circles into the soft skin.

“It’s not comfortable,” she whined.

Loki slapped her ass in response, the sting pulling a shocked gasp from her. “It’s not intended to be.”

He patted her exposed cunt, the sound of the soft slaps far sharper than the strikes actually were. Her cunt was soaked, slick running from her opening in eager streams. She flinched from the contact, though he rubbed her folds soothingly after finishing the series of slaps. 

Did she flinch from the sting or from the shame? Perhaps from both. 

“You can try to tell me you don’t like this, but your body tells me another story.” Loki dipped three fingers into her opening. He leaned over her, using the leverage to push them deep inside. “You can try to tell yourself that you don’t like this, but you’ll long for this night for the rest of your life.”

“Loki,” she didn’t know what she was begging him for as she twisted and turned her torso on the bed. Each attempt to relive the pain from the lights digging into her skin just resulted in different lights pushing harder into her. 

Loki unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. As his belt buckle clanked in his hands, he watched as she shifted to look behind her. She was very interested in seeing what Loki was working with, even as she pretended to be far too timid to as him to continue. 

He pulled the belt from the loops in one smooth motion. For a moment, he considered just throwing it aside, but changed his mind. Folding the belt, he watched as she watched him, wide eyes looking over her shoulder. Loki swung it softly, enjoying the way she flinched harder from the contact. 

“Did that one sting?” Loki didn’t wait for her to answer before softly striking her ass again with the belt on the other ass cheek. 

The final strike was against her center, slick smearing over the fine leather. She yelped and jerked as far forward as her limited range of motion allowed. Tears gathered in her eyes as pain radiated out from her wet sex. Only when the belt thumped to the floor, did she begin to relax, peeking once again over her shoulder at him timidly. 

He unbuttoned his pants and pushed the zipper down as he watched her watching him. There was no layer of underwear. As soon as the zipper fell far enough, his cock sprang free. The lack of tension sent his pants falling to the ground in a pile. 

A twitch of his fingers had the clothes removed from around his feet. It wouldn’t do to be tripping over it. Walking around, Loki climbed onto the bed in front of her, sitting back on his heels. 

She had to twist her neck awkwardly to see him. Most of what she could comfortably look at were his thighs and how his cock proudly stood up in front of his abdomen, just as Loki had intended. 

“Do you wish to taste me?” Loki asked as she licked her dry lips and nodded her head hesitantly. 

Loki leaned over her, grabbing the wire wrapped around her arms, pulled behind her back and lifted her up. If not for the assistance of his magic, the wires would not have supported her weight. He supported her body with a shelf of magic, a bed that carried just enough of her weight to keep the wires from causing any real damage. 

It was as much a performance as it was an act of control. 

Shuffling forward on his shins, Loki presented his erect member to her. 

“Taste it,” he ordered. “Taste me. Take a God into your mouth and perform an act of worship.”

She did just that, tentatively licking the tip of his cock at first as Loki held it pointed at her mouth. She wrapped her lips around his velvety head as best she could and sucked hard, tongue swirling around him while she did so.

Loki scooted forward, thrusting lightly as he did so. He was careful not to push too far into her too quickly, giving her time to adjust her lips and mouth to his size. Soon he was thrusting into her mouth and she was choking, coughing around his cock as hit the back of her throat. 

Loki watched her as he fucked into her mouth. There was nothing he didn’t see. He watched how her fingers would flex, straighten and curl as her throat contracted around him. He took in the way the lights on the wire dug into her skin, making ever so slight adjustments when they dug too harshly. 

Spit ran down her chin and tears gathered in her eyes as he hit the back of her throat again and again. Mascara ran as wide eyes looked up at him, pleading. 

“You’re such a mess.” Loki said, pulling the shaft of his cock out and leaving his head inside, so she could not speak without doing so around him. “What a beautiful mess. Who’s made you such a mess?”

“You.” The word was muffled and indistinct, only recognizable because he knew what she was trying to say. 

“Say my name.” Loki ordered and she did.

The word was as muffled and fuzzy as he expected; the L being totally lost to the cock in her mouth. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Loki asked, twitching his hips forward in shallow thrusts. 

“Yes,” she tried to answer, the word almost totally a moan. 

“Do you want me to use you?” Loki asked and waited for her to moan around his head again. 

“Do you want me to take my pleasure from you?” Again, he waited for her to moan.

He withdrew his cock and sat back, watching as she gasped for breath. She floated, parted lips panting for breath right in front of his cock, shiny with her saliva. The cushion of magic lowered her back down onto the bed as Loki stood, walking around. 

Long legs shifted her weight from one sparkling heel to the other. It was nothing more than a desperate attempt to gain stimulation. The ribbons around her ankles tightened, the length growing shorter as her heels skipped further apart on the wooden floor. 

It did no good. With how he had her legs spread wide, her folds were pulled open. He could see every part of her. Shifting her weight couldn’t even buy her the friction of her folds sliding and brushing against her pretty little clit. 

“You’re squirming,” Loki teased, running a finger along the twinkling wire, painfully biting into her skin. “And leaking.” 

“Please,” she whimpered as he stepped behind her. 

“I don’t know,” Loki hummed as he grabbed a strand of lights, pulling them from where they had been wrapped around the banister. “You don’t look quite festive enough.” 

“What are you-?” 

Loki ignored her question as he fed the wire under the strands wrapped around her waist. Bulbs dug into your lower back as each passed through the tight space. He hummed as he worked, a festive tune with words in a language she couldn’t understand.

Shame and desire burned inside her as he wrapped the strand of wires down between her legs. Bulbs pinched into the skin where her thighs gave way to the puffy outer lips of her bald folds. He worked the wire through the front of the strands around her waist, making a glittering, twinkling farce of panties that lit up her cunt.

The remaining wire wrapped around her thighs, each loop passing lower and lower before he tied them off at your knees. It hurt how the lights dug into her skin. 

“Oh, how festive!” Loki laughed. “I have half a mind to get some ornament. Would you like that?” He rubbed his fingers up and down her soaked folds as he spoke. “Bend the wires into tight little loops around your nipples?” 

He plunged three fingers hard into her core, body making an obscene squelch as he spread them wide, making room for him. She moaned, no longer able to resist the feel of his control. Shame did not leave her, though it made her desire greater. 

“Perhaps that is a game for another night,” Loki mused. “You will come back to me, after all.” 

Emptiness was all she could feel as he pulled his long fingers from her. She wiggled her ass at him, begging for his attention with her body. All it earned her was a sharp stinging slap to her cunt, fingers dragging over her clit as he repeated the action a second time. 

“Use your words,” Loki demanded, knowing full well that asking for what she wanted would be one of the hardest things she ever did. 

“Please,” she whimpered. The nonspecificity of her request earned her another punishing slap to her folds, slick splattering against her inner thighs with the stinging force. “Please, fuck me.” 

“There you go,” Loki purred. “I knew you could do it, darling!” 

His praise felt mocking and oh, how she liked that. The way her cunt twitched, her hole fluttering and begging for him to fill her, told him more than the timid words she said did. Slick glittered over her folds, sparking in the twinkling lights. It ran down her tights, gathering over the wires biting into the fat of her thighs. 

“You like being tied up, don’t you?” He ran the head of his soft cock along her slick folds. Each pass coated him with her nectar. “You like being at my mercy, under my control. This is what you’ve craved.” 

“Yes,” she moaned your answer as his head nudged her clit, shooting pleasure through her nerves. Each pass, each strike, felt like her body was at risk of becoming little more than a live wire. She realized with a start that this time, perhaps she would actually get to cum. 

“Who do you want to use you?” Loki asked, nudging the head of his cock against her opening, letting her slick seep out around him. 

“You,” you tried to lean back only to have his hand plant on your back, pushing the bulbs digging harsher into your skin. 

“Who?” He asked again, dangerous edge to his voice. 

“Loki.” His name became a moan as he slowly filled her, inching his thick cock into her once inch at a time. 

“Good girl,” he praised, hand running along her sides before he wrapped his fingers around a tight loop of wire. Using that as a handle, he thrust the remaining length into her harshly, his hips slamming into her ass. The bulbs of lights dug into her sensitive skin and bit his hips, though he didn’t mind the pain. 

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpered as he stretched her around him, head seated deep inside her weeping cunt. 

“We’ve only just begin,” Loki laughed, pulling his cock from her slowly before ramming himself back home. 

Each thrust into her brought pain. She struggled with herself, battling against the desire to submit to him, to submit to how much the pain excited her. Harsh thrusts knocked the air from her lungs as she lay on the bed, spread open for him. Fingers flexed and twitched as she tried to each out for him, to touch the man who was so brutally taking her. 

His heavy balls swung, slapping her clit in a soft echo of the pain his hands had brought her. Each thrust drug his heavy cock through her walls, demanding she submit to the pleasure he gave her. 

“Loki,” she gasped out his as he fucked into her faster. Though her mouth hung open, gasping breaths filling her lungs, only to be knocked out as he rammed his cock into her, she couldn’t get enough air. 

Saliva ran from the corners of her mouth, a mess of lipstick already smeared by how he had fucked her mouth smeared further into the wet mess her face was making on his bedspread. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, Loki.” Her body tightened around him as he drug her back, pulling her up by the wires around her arms. Her back arched as she hung by the wires. Spittal hung in ropes from her bottom lip as he thrust into her, the pace harsh and punishing. Her breasts swung, wires cutting more into the tips of the swells and then the undersides as their weight shifted. 

Her orgasm built as he fucked into her, using her. Her foggy mind kept telling her that this was wrong. She never agreed to be tied up. She never agreed to be used. Did she? 

Oh, but his cuck spearing her again and again felt so good. She was powerless against the pleasure he gave her. She couldn’t get away, even if she wanted to. Did she want to? 

“Do you wish to cum?” Loki asked, leaning forward to cup her breast in his hand as he continued his harsh thrusts. 

“Please?” she begged, body tightening around him as he pinched her nipple. 

Loki decided it was a shame he had elected against decorating her like the tree she could have been. She’d look so cute, standing in the room’s corner, lit up, legs spread wide, with a vibrator tied to her cunt. He’d tie bells around her, let and hang her from a wire, let the bells sound as each orgasm ripped from her body as ornaments hung from her nipples. 

Surly Stark wouldn’t notice her missing for a few days, at least while he kept her as his little yule tree. Perhaps he would. She bent so easily to his will. She’d agree just for the promise of the pleasure of being his. 

“Loki,” she moaned as her walls fluttered, twitching and gripping his cock as it ripped through her walls. “Fuck, it’s too much. Too much.” 

“It’s not,” Loki purred in her ear, pulling her back to his chest by the breast in his hand. His other hand ran down her body, soothing her flaming skin until he reached her spread folds. “Until I say it is.” 

Every panting moan that left her lips shifted into a high-pitched whine as he slapped her clit. 

“You’re such a pretty little slut for me. Look at you?” He slapped her clit again and again, stinging pain tightening her cunt around him as he withdrew his cock before plunging forward again.

“Whining as I shape your greedy cunt to my cock. You’re going to cum on me, aren’t you?” He chuckled darkly as he slapped her sensitive bud. “No one will be able to fuck you like you need. No one can take you like I can. You’re going to be my little pet slut, won’t you?” 

“Yes,” she cried out as her body pulled impossibly tight around him. “Fuck, yes. Please.” 

“Who owns your cunt?” Loki whispered, pinching both a nipple and her clit harshly at the same time. His cock twitched inside her. 

“Loki,” she cried out, body clamping down on his cock harshly, orgasm claiming her with violent force. “You. Fuck, Loki! Loki!” 

He came harshly, pushing her down onto the bed as he thrust into her impossibly hard and fast. Her walls convulsed, gripped him as she screamed his name, muffled by the bedsheets. 

He came with a roar, shooting his seed deep inside her quivering cunt as he forced his cock into her again and again. Bulbs pressed into her ass and thighs with such force that she would have bruises come morning. 

His thrusts slowed as she sobbed against the bed, overwhelmed by pleasure as his cock twitched, softening. She was wrecked, just how he wanted her. All it took was one powerful orgasm and the feeling of being unreservedly owned. 

“Be my toy and I’ll ensure you are never left unsatisfied.” He rubbed his hands along her body, fingers tracing the layers of wire wrapped around you. 

“Why?” You gasped as his hand struck your ass. 

“Because if you turn me down, you’ll never get fucked like this again.” Loki laughed as he slipped from her body. His cum ran from her opening as he stepped back. “And you have spent all your life looking for someone to own that little cunt of yours, haven’t you?” 

“I-” Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she fought to be able to think through the haze her orgasm left her. 

“I’ll leave you to think,” Loki said, running his hand down her back. She gasped and leaned forward as he pushed two long fingers into her twitching hole, covering them in her juices. He smeared the mess onto her thigh as he walked away. “Call for me when you decide.” 

“Wait-” you struggled, wanting to sit up, to face him. “You can’t leave me like this?!”

“I can,” Loki laughed as he picked up a book, stretching out on the small loveseat in the living space. “Think of it as a reminder of what only I can give you.” 

[olderthannetfic]

TW Suicide. I talk about suicide from a religious perspective, and religion is not kind with suicide.

I might be reaching but I think religious Asian countries might be more proship-friendly than western countries??

Let's see a few cases. Japan. I'm not sure how religious Japan is, but they have very strict values and traditions. There are so many how-tos and even the language has levels that you can only use to certain people, otherwise it's rude. They can't express queerness so freely that yaoi/yuri is the best outlet they have, and they got called rotten for it.

Japan is notorious for being very proship friendly. There was even a huge "what is proship and why should you block those with 'proship DNI' in their bios" thread over on Twitter and it was so widely shared by Japanese users. At that point, even antis took off the "proship DNI" off their bios (such cowards lol).

The people in my religious (Muslim) country and its neighbor, Malaysia and Indonesia, even the minors, are so proship-oriented that I only ever saw exactly one person with "proship DNI" in their bio. And their posts tell me they're the more "liberal" people of the country. You know, the ones that the older people are using as examples of "Look at that girl. She's been poisoned by the western values, she's showing so much skin. Don't be like her". Now I obviously will just laugh at older people who says such things but hear me out.

The people who are actually practicing religion to the point where nothing sexual is allowed, who WILL screech at sex (both vanilla and kinky) in fanworks should they ever join, won't touch fandom with a ten-foot pole. This leaves us with the absolute freaks who thinks "I'm religious, I believe in God that other people call fiction, but I can't have sex until I'm married and masturbation is haram, so smut fic is actually a great way to let off tension! No one real is having sex so it's a green area. I'm not masturbating, I'm just reading. Sometimes they excite me, most of the time not! Halal mode."

Also, murder and suicide is a sin. A huge sin. If you tell someone to kill themselves and they actually did, the religious guilt would be MASSIVE. I can't imagine an actually correctly-practicing religious sending death threats and not be haunted by the promise of a sin. A sin that involves other people is much harder to forgive (it requires forgiveness from the hurt people, and that's impossible with suicide. They can't forgive you if they're dead) than a sin that involves yourself (masturbation. All you have to do is regret and never do it again. Which is why suicide is seen as unforgiveable. You can't undo it).

So, it sometimes makes me wonder that in the west, MAGA catholic conservatives shares a lot of values with fanpols. But in religious countries, the actually rigid religious ones aren't in fandom, so the fandom is filled with people who aren't evangelical purists.

This incoherent yap might be reaching, but hey, a new perspective to US-Europeans or non-religious people. It's just kinda funny to think about. Since you are very well-spoken and critical (I think so from your replies to the asks!), what do you think?

--

Well... I think there are a lot of specifics here that are hilarious in how you've framed them. (The situation with queer people in Japan has evolved a lot over the last couple of decades. That isn't at all how I'd describe politeness levels in language, and I think your assumptions based on how politeness works in Japanese are ludicrous. Catholicism isn't the big, powerful flavor of Christianity in the US, so it's not where the majority of the nutbars ruining politics come from. Etc. Etc.)

But back in the 90s in US fandom in English, slash was the domain of freaks, and the puritywankers were openly homophobic and did not hang out in the same spaces.

Yes, I do think that part of the rise of the current flavor of antis has to do with somewhat wider acceptance of queerness combined with an overall anxiety-inducing and uncertain situation. They're not secure enough to chill the fuck out, but they wrongly believe that our battles for queer rights here are done and/or that they can be won by throwing the freakier members of the community under the bus.

[katuschka]

His Sugar-Dusted Skin – Part 1

Jake Kiszka x reader 5.639 words (Part 1)

So, After some consideration, I decided to split this one in two, because a) I promised to post it this weekend and it's not finished yet, and b) it might me too long. December's been a bit chaotic and as I said before, I've been struggling a bit with this one. So let me know what you think. Any feedback is much appreciated!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): alcohol consumption and heavy intoxication, mentions of the death of a close person (retrospective), allusions to a potentially promiscuous behaviour, some strong language, the twins being assholes (kind of... they're still cute), Jake's happy trail, I think that's it for now...

Oh, life…

How ordinary and boring it can get when you stick to thinking that there aren’t any other options. As far as I remember, conformity never made sense to me. And as far as I remember, I was being raised and forced to embrace it. My mind surrendered for a while, but my vagrant soul just kept resisting. I never wanted to fit in. I always wanted to fly.

When I left home three years ago, I didn’t take much with me. My parents didn’t approve of my choices and the only person who would’ve supported me in my decisions was already gone. My beloved grandma. She was the disruptive force that kept me on my toes, always challenging me in the most loving way, knowing too well that it was exactly what I needed. She gave me my first guitar, too. Even though sclerosis made her homeward-bound, her dreams and fantasies always kept her wandering. I loved that. She was always there to spark my imagination and in return, I wanted to be her legs and eyes one day. When I was little, my friends used to call her fairy godmother. “Keep your sails up sweetheart, the wind is whimsical.” That’s what she used to say. “All you need is that air in your lungs and love in your heart.” 

“You must never leave me, oma,” I said to her once. “I need that love in my heart forever.”

“Someone else will fill it, darling,” she replied. “I’m only here to make sure it is open. But one day, you won’t need me anymore.”

When she died, I lost my only reason to stay there. The world was slowly getting to its feet again and it was my turn to do the same. I had dreams that simply couldn’t be fulfilled at home. My heart was aching for adventure. So I packed my bags, just like they sing in old songs, slung my guitar over my shoulder and hit the road. A vagabond chick. 

As I came to Tennessee, all I owned could fit in my barely drivable car: literally just a few dresses, my phone, my modest savings, my old six string, my treasured voice and THE recipe. Aaaah, those were the days…

Who am I kidding? It was pretty rough at first. VERY rough, to be honest. I cried many nights. But the one thing my parents had taught me was to save money, and that helped me survive the first months, when I waited tables during the day and sang my ass off after dark. 

Many people never make it. Hell, even though I’m an optimist, I have to admit that most don’t. If you’re not strong willed and immune to shit, you’re most certainly destined to fail. I’ve seen way too many extra talented and broken people on my journey, just because they were too nice or too naive. Well, I’m not naive, but I’m definitely not a cold bitch either. I think I just got lucky, because I had my guardian angel with me the whole time. When she was still walking on earth, she absolutely loved the Beatles, With a Little Help from My Friends being her favorite song. My childhood memories are filled with those songs and how she sang along, and I believe that it was her doing that eventually turned this tune into the soundtrack of my life. I met a lot of fantastic people on my arduous journey towards my goals and dreams, and that’s how I got by. 

As a token of my gratitude, I baked cookies for them. My grandma’s famous linzer cookies. THE recipe. Fast forward a few years, I still keep doing that at Christmas. Apart from the fact that my friends simply demand it, it’s also my way of keeping her alive, to make myself feel like she’s still here with me… in a way. 

Back home, the whole neighborhood loved her art of baking. Me being her only granddaughter, she literally forced me to learn how to bake those linzer cookies – her own recipe, to be precise. Every time I rolled my eyes, while making annoyed noises, blowing raspberries and just being a little asshole about it in general, she simply smiled and said that one day I’ll thank her. Why – I asked – and she responded that one day it would bring me love. “Love goes through the stomach, my dear. Look at your grandpa. See how huge it is?” And then he smiled and kissed her hair and it always made me believe her.

Except it didn’t happen. At least not yet. It – however – gave me a semblance of home that I consciously chose not to have, but sometimes missed. 

Just last year, I decided to continue with the tradition my grandma  started back at home. “Love is a reciprocal game, my dear,” she said. “You get what you give, but do not lose yourself in giving.” 

They want my sweets? Fine! But let them show me how much. They have to “earn” it. At the beginning of December, I give my friends custom-made Christmas greetings, and if they want to receive their own little box of cookies, they have to send back a card of their own making. The first time was a success, and I ended up baking sweets for eleven people. And it didn’t stop there, as it earned me nine bottles of wine, a flacon of my favorite perfume and  a ukulele. All I really wanted was a thank you, but hey! I won’t say no to wine! So I decided to do it again, and this time I received seventeen cards, including three “masterpieces” from the members of the infamous Greta Van Fleet! Yeah, that’s right. While I still feel like I’m barely making it sometimes, I move in high-ish circles. El-oh-el. 

I met Daniel first, through a mutual friend, at one of the music clubs we frequented. He was actually one of the eleven buddies that helped me restart this Christmas tradition. Later I learned that he selflessly shared his portion with the rest of the group during a rehearsal he went to right after he dropped by at my place, and that’s how I got invited to one of their semi-private dinners. Dan kindly introduced me as “Joni”, which earned me two “woos” and one ironic smirk. To be fair, I didn’t like it either. It actually made me cringe, because the woman is an unattainable role model, but it was just Daniel being himself, aka the nice guy. Bless his soul. 

I went from an acquaintance with useful skills to a drinking buddy, because I’m good at that too. One of my less admirable strengths, but there are times when it comes in handy. Especially when a Johnny Depp wannabe from Middle-earth wants to outsmart you…

A year flew by and it was time to extend my offer to Sam and Josh, who made sure I wouldn’t forget them. Don’t ask me how. The video they sent me definitely had the potential to go viral. I wholeheartedly appreciate how much they trust me not to do that. 

They wouldn’t stop there, though. I had to laugh when I received their own precious hand drawn contributions. How sweet. They’re all so sweet actually… well, all except Jake. Aloof, taciturn and arrogant, that’s how he rolls. I’m pretty sure he just can’t stand me, because while he often laughs with others, he only ever laughs at me. His opinion on my baking goes hand in hand with what he thinks about my playing, preferring darker and more spicy shit, as he once put it. Well, whatever. He’s a colossal prick. 

It’s quite unfortunate that I’ve also had a colossal crush on him for quite some time now. As I said, I’m a vagabond chick, and he happens to possess all the right shit to lure me. Like a moth to a flame. And I got burned. 

See, oma? Not working. 

Well, I’m not the one to cry over guys, so I’m not going to lose my sleep over that. He can go fuck himself. (Someone else can do it. I swear he needs it.). 

Seventeen packages meant I was going to spend most of the Friday evening as well as the whole Saturday slaving in my kitchen. Thankfully, I really do enjoy doing this, so it’s simply an essential part of Christmas festivities. A good time spent with me, myself and Ella Fitzgerald. It’s still quite a lot of work though. 

Friday was just about making dough. It might seem easy, but you need to understand that in order to make enough cookies for 17 (!) people, I needed more than 5 lbs of flour, 3 lbs of butter, nearly 24 ounces of sugar, 23 egg yolks and zest from 6 lemons! I will say no more to protect the family secret, but you can see it takes a lot of effort just to put this all together. I take this very seriously. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. 

It had to be perfect. 

But alas! I couldn’t have known that one malicious and horny sprite who wanted me to spoil him with my art of baking was also going to sabotage my efforts in the most peculiar way. 

Once finished, I covered the dough with plastic wrap and put it in the fridge to let it rest overnight before I hopped in the shower to wash off the sweaty sugar crust that seemed to stick to every inch of my exposed skin. It was almost midnight when I finally managed to climb in bed, pleasantly exhausted and happy, only to be woken up by a frantic doorbell noise at around two am. A normal person would just freak out in such a situation, but knowing who that might be, I was already pretty much used to it as I lived nearest to their favorite bar. Our favorite bar, to be precise. 

Over time, they came to an agreement that my tiny apartment was a perfect place for nightcaps, the only problem being that the Kiszkas were usually quite loud about it, completely ignoring the fact that I had neighbors. Thankfully, this part of town is a bit specific in a sense that the said neighbors simply didn’t give a shit, with their own lifestyle not being much different. 

This is what I wanted. Friends, late night laughs, my life filled with music and hugs and kisses and peculiar outcomes of unpredictable events that could only lead to more hugs and kisses. 

There was this one time when Josh fell asleep on my couch while the others simply sneaked away giggling and left him there, spread-eagled and snoring his uvula off. Several hours later, I was woken up by the delicious smell of buttermilk waffles, served with maple syrup and a guilty, puppy dog stare. 

Simply put, they were (almost) always welcome here. Almost…

Sober, sleepy and disoriented, I was definitely in no mood for a late night party (or an early morning one… seriously Josh, wtf!), with all the baking lying ahead of me. I didn’t even have to guess if it was really them; I could already hear them the moment my heart calmed down a bit and I stepped out of my bedroom. Determined to chase them away with a rolling pin, I answered the door angrily and was nearly knocked down by the falling Oliver Reed who obviously decided to lean against it the very moment I yanked it open. 

It’s always intrigued me how the brain works in these situations, working so fast that the time seems to slow down to an almost comical pace. I watched in slow motion how his back slid against the wood, his arms flapping in the air in a futile attempt to regain balance. I could tell at the first fleeting glance that he wasn’t fit to keep his balance standing, let alone falling, so no wonder it was a completely lost cause. Some voice at the back of my skull tried to tell me to jump aside, but I was too mesmerized by the sight. Just when his shoulder hit me clumsily in the chest and I stumbled backwards, Josh finally managed to grab Jake’s arms to keep him from knocking me down completely. My rolling pin fell on the wooden floor with a loud bang that made my neighbor’s dog bark. Jake, now aggressively pinned against the corridor wall by Josh, only added to the ear-piercing nocturnal cacophony with his loud howls: “Whoa whooooa!” 

“Shhh, shut the fuck up, Jake!” Josh hissed through his teeth before he turned his concerned stare back at me. “Y/N, sweetheart, terribly sorry hun! Didn’t mean too…” I could tell that he was tipsy as well, but it paled in comparison with the state Jake was in. I had seen him drunk many times before, with his glossy, beady eyes and unfocused stare that always made him look a bit like a teddy bear. This was new, though. He seemed absolutely plastered. 

Out of the imminent danger, but with my heart still wildly pumping adrenaline-enriched blood into my veins, I grabbed the doorframe first to support myself before I tried to make sense of what was just happening in front of me. 

They weren’t alone. Right behind Josh stood a guy whom I had seen a few times before, but I couldn’t recall his name. He looked slightly uncomfortable. “What the fuck, Josh!?!” I hissed. 

Josh immediately tried to win me over with the most sheepish smile he could muster, but his involuntarily cocked eyebrow betrayed him, which only made me more furious. “Dearest Y/N, we need your help, baby!” 

“With what? I asked incredulously. 

“I need you to take care of my asshole brother, pretty pleeeease.” 

“You what?” I goggled at him, completely taken aback by his impudent request. “Why can’t you just take him home?” Much to Jake’s annoyance, we kept discussing him and his imminent future as if he wasn’t even there, which only resulted in another outburst of his loud and incoherent babbling and our collective attempt to shush him before Josh answered.

“Because, I am not planning on going home, honey,” he whisper-shouted, hoping that I would just get it without him having to be too obvious. Yeah, I got it. It didn’t mean I was willing to help him. I looked at the guy again, who suddenly pretended to be very interested in the hallway lights. At that moment, the owner of the barking dog opened his own door to passionately inform us what we all were. I had no other choice than to hastily usher them all in.

“You can’t leave him here just like that? Are you out of your mind? Is this some kind of retribution for what he did the last time? Because it’s not funny. This is my home, and not a fucking sobering center! Just call him an uber,” I continued to protest once we were all safely inside my apartment, and that’s when Jake chimed in for the first time with something that made at least a bit of sense: “Yeah, ah-don’ wanna…,” he hiccupped before he could finish the sentence, making me even more incensed with the whole situation. He quickly tried to amend it, but it was too late. I was seething, my nostrils flaring. “...bother-er. Ah-don’ wanna bother-er! She’s…fierssshe!” he spat in Josh’s face, making him scrunch his face in disgust. 

“Well, you should have thought about not bothering people before you got so shitfaced,” Josh spat back, completely ignoring what I just said. “This is your doing.”

What? I shot a deadly stare at Josh. No, it was absolutely not Jake’s doing that they were now standing in my living room. And regardless of the fact that I had work to do – and he knew that – he also knew how I felt about Jake, and was now putting me in a very uncomfortable position. “Out! All of you!” 

I’m pretty sure I must have looked like Wrath personified, because Jake whoa’ed again and Josh seemed to finally acknowledge his misconduct. He grabbed my hands in his, suddenly looking like a meek puppy. “I’m sorry, babe. Don’t be mad, hun. I know this is too much to ask, but do this for a friend. I beg you…”

“No, I beg you Josh!” I tried to sound as calm and collected as possible through my gritted teeth, knowing that being just mad would get me nowhere. Josh was too stubborn to ever acknowledge someone else’s anger and boundaries meant nothing to him once you became his friend, which basically meant family. However, he was empathetic. “You know I have a lot of baking to do tomorrow. I’m tired. Just please, take him home.”

Josh bit his lip and he looked like he was trying to say something and NOT say it at the same time. It was late and I felt awfully tired, but the whole thing seemed a bit fishy to me. Just when Josh nodded and finally opened his mouth to respond, Jake grabbed his shoulder. “Ah need to pee, Jawshy boy,” he whined and swayed dangerously, pouting his lips at his twin brother. He was already in his teddy bear phase which meant that he indeed wasn’t fit to be sent home alone in an uber. He’d be knocked out in no time, and even if Josh went with him, he’d have a hard time just getting him out of the car. 

Josh glanced sideways at the guy, who had been pretending to be invisible the whole time, and then looked at me pleadingly again. I capitulated. “OK, take that big baby to the bathroom and I’ll fetch some blankets,” I sighed. 

Together, they helped Jake get comfy on the couch and he fell asleep before his head even touched the pillow. And me? I felt relieved when I finally closed the door behind them and everything became quiet again, disturbed only by Jake’s light snoring.

They were taking their time, so once I fixed the makeshift bed, it was just me and the guy standing in the middle of the room, waiting, and it was getting increasingly awkward with each passing second. “So, you’re Y/N,” he finally spoke.

“Yeah,” I answered curtly, confirming the obvious. “We’ve met.”

“But we weren’t properly introduced yet. I’m Martin.” I shook Martin’s hand politely without really wanting to, because I knew that if they were heading to his place instead of Josh’s, it probably meant that the chances I’d see Martin again were quite low. Yet another reason for me being annoyed. 

I poured him a large glass of water, squeezed some fresh lemon juice into it and placed it carefully on a small table right next to his head before I switched off the light, leaving just a small table lamp on, and went back to my bed, hoping to spend the rest of the night in peace and get some much needed rest. 

However, the fact that there was Jacob Kiszka, Sir, lying unconscious on my couch right outside my bedroom door, made it a bit difficult to fall back to sleep. I had never been in a situation like this and it made me feel unpleasantly agitated. I wasn’t afraid of him. I just didn’t trust my own feelings. 

I should have been angry. 

But I was not. Not exactly. Not anymore. My heart wasn’t beating wildly out of annoyance. Instead, I felt like a schoolgirl, trapped in an elevator with that annoying boy from music class who was also her crush. There were many conflicting feelings inside both my head and chest; and knowing that he probably wouldn’t remember how he ended up on my couch come morning only made it all worse. 

I finally dozed off, but morning came sooner than I wished it would, and with it a headache. It felt like just a brief moment, filled with restless dreams about me and Jake dancing on the rooftop to Golden Slumbers playing out of nowhere, with sugar snowing down at us and our hands sticky with jam. Then he smeared some on my cheek and peppered it with kisses…

When I opened my eyes, the feeling still lingered, like powdered sugar on the top of my tongue. Soft and weightless like snowflakes, yet it lay heavily on my chest. Together with the lack of rest, it made me feel almost hungover-ish. I lied unmoving for a while, listening to the silence that surrounded me and wondering whether he was still there. Maybe he already woke up earlier and quickly sneaked out after realizing where he was. 

It was unlikely, but I could hardly ever control these self-deprecating thoughts. Especially regarding men. I cursed Josh once again and decided to take a quick cold shower to wake up my senses.

It helped only just a bit. Refreshed, I opened my bedroom door carefully and peaked inside the living room. He was still there, and fast asleep. Slowly, I creeped up on him on my tiptoes, and then spent several long seconds just watching him sleep, before I started to feel like a complete lunatic. But… he looked so peaceful and almost angelic in the milky morning light, lying on his side with his hands folded under his chin, his lips parted and brows relaxed. The glass was empty, and I couldn’t help but smile involuntarily. Once there was a way to get back homeward…

Then I remembered that this was no domestic idyl. I just had a drunk rock guitarist on my couch, and – let’s be brutally honest here – once I got past that dreamy visual illusion, a strong olfactory reminder of this much more prosaic reality hit my nostrils. 

I also had several large chunks of dough in the fridge and a debilitating headache that almost made me question all my life choices.

No, it didn’t.

But all those things had to be taken care of and I had no idea how. I tried to be as quiet as a mouse at first, but after realizing that it could take at least a couple more hours before he’d wake up, maybe even half a day – the time that I couldn’t afford to waste – I took Josh’s previous advice and decided to just ignore him. 

I really needed coffee… to get the stupid dream, and the song, and all my delusions out of my head. Did I forget that he was also a big-headed asshole? Yeah, that’s the spirit. 

It turned out that my worries were groundless anyway. I could make as much noise as possible in my adjacent kitchenette and he wouldn’t even stir. The motherfucker really seemed to be losing his hearing from standing in front of those huge amplifiers and the malicious creature inside my chest chuckled at the thought. 

I took the dough out of the fridge and let it soften at room temperature while I made myself some coffee and started to get everything ready. Clanking of baking sheets, coffee grinder, squeaking cabinet doors…nothing seemed to disturb my sleeping beauty. I kept casting wary glances at him every now and then at first, but soon I got accustomed to the unusual situation and just immersed myself in my work. 

I had my very elaborate system. I could fit twenty cut pieces – meaning ten cookies – on one sheet, there was roughly enough dough for approximately thirty sheets, it takes ten minutes to bake AND I had only four sheets. You can see I had to be very systematic. Preparation is the key and every minor disturbance could be disastrous. Thankfully, I’m a master multitasker. Still, I prayed to all the known and yet to be made-up deities that nothing would happen. No more surprises, please and thank you. 

A few hours passed and the delicious aroma of lemon and vanilla started to fill the room. I was also sweating like a pig, rolling and cutting the dough in haste, always making sure I had enough sheets ready so that there would be no idle time. Focused on the task ahead, I didn’t hear him stir, and my heart jumped in my throat when I finally looked up and saw those beady eyes watching me intently. 

I tried to keep my cool, looking down again quickly. “Well, good morning,” I mumbled. It was almost midday. 

“Morning, Y/N…,” he choked out huskily and finally tried to stand up, which only resulted in him groaning in pain and slumping back immediately. Oh yeah, consequences…

“Do you remember how you got here?” I asked tentatively. 

“I wish I could say I do, but to be honest, I’ve no idea,” he breathed out with his eyes closed. “I was just hanging out with Josh and the next thing I know I’m lying on your couch at blue hour, feeling half dead.” He finally opened at least one eye, just enough to be able to see me.

I nodded and continued cutting the dough. I wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. The timer just chimed and I had to switch the sheets anyway. 

“So?” 

Did I just hear annoyance and impatience in his voice? Oh yeah, a hungover asshole is still an asshole. It shouldn’t have surprised me. “What?” I spat back over my shoulder.

“Care to explain what the fuck I’m doing here?” 

I don’t understand how he always managed to just smash all my buttons with one single blow, and once again he made me see red. I literally threw the next sheet in the oven and slammed the door shut with a loud bang before I turned around and lashed out at him. 

“Oh I wish I knew the answer. Be so kind and ask your precious brother who literally just pushed you through my door in the middle of the night, half-conscious and reeking of whisky, because he wanted to get laid. You’re welcome! Fucker…”

He blinked a few times, obviously taken aback. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.” The tone of his voice changed and for a split second I almost regretted my curtness. Almost. “Just let me call an uber and I’ll be out of here in no time,” he mumbled, checking his pocket, while I watched him struggle with secret satisfaction. That headache must have been hellish. Good. At least I wasn’t the only one. 

He suddenly frowned and started rummaging in all his pockets frantically, including the jacket haphazardly thrown over the armrest. “Where the hell is my phone… and my valet… and my fucking keys. Y/N…did you take my stuff?” 

“What? No! The last thing I’d wanna do would be to prevent you from leaving.”

We were watching each other warily, both equally confused. Then it dawned on him. “I’m gonna kill that scrawny little bastard!” Straightening up, he closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath in a futile attempt to fight off his growing nausea as well as the rage that made his nostrils flare. 

My anger dissipated in an instant… or, to be more precise, it was instantly redirected towards his twin. “I don’t understand. Why would he do that? He knows how busy I am today,” I whined. 

Jake didn’t respond. Instead, he asked for my phone. I quickly dialed Josh’s number and handed it to Jake, because the timer chimed again. 

It went straight to voicemail. 

As I was stacking freshly baked pieces on a tray placed on the small kitchen island which also served as my dining table, Jake leaned against it right opposite to me, looking absolutely miserable. “What now?” 

Am I their mother or what? I couldn’t drive him, but even if I did, he still didn’t have his keys. I couldn’t even call him an uber to Josh’s, because I knew that scrawny little bastard wasn’t there. It became obvious that Jake was stuck with me for at least another couple hours. He kept watching, obviously still waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I just sighed and grabbed the rolling pin again, aggravated with both of them and feeling like their hostage, stuck in the middle of their infantile games. The time was ticking, with my perfectly planned schedule already disrupted.

“Let me at least help you,” he looked at me hopefully with those puppy eyes they both shared. Fuckers. Seriously. Quirks of the mischievous nature that at one point decided that one of them wasn’t enough. 

“I think you should take a shower first.”

It was a deliberate jab, and I expected him to retort back just like he always did. I did NOT expect him to widen his eyes in genuine horror. “Is it that bad?” 

I didn’t dare answer that question but my face betrayed me when I looked at him sideways and bit my lip. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and took one tentative whiff. “Oh my god, it is. I think I need more than a shower, actually. I smell as if I slept in a puddle of beer.” 

I immediately regretted that I let him sleep on my couch, but he looked completely bashful and embarrassed and my previous unwillingness to continue helping him was already in shambles.

“Ok,” I sighed and put down the cookie cutter. “Come with me. I have some spare sweatpants. Thankfully, my ass is just as big as yours, but it might be a bit too tight around the waist…”

“Excuse me?” he protested, but otherwise obediently followed me into my bedroom. 

“You’re right. My mistake. Yours is bigger,” I chuckled at my own joke while rummaging in my drawer, before throwing him a pair of my favorite grey sweatpants, an old, oversize flannel shirt and a clean towel. “Everything else you might need is in the bathroom. The washing machine’s down in the basement.” 

“Thank you. Uummm…do you, perhaps, have a spare toothbrush? For friends... and such?” He smiled cheekily, testing my patience once again. But to be fair, he couldn’t have known that there was a shortage of “and such” people ever since I met him, because I just wasn’t interested in anyone else for a while now. 

“Yeah, there’s a couple of them in the purple cabi… oh fuck!” I quickly excused myself, alarmed by the smell of something burning, because I forgot to set the timer…

Too busy trying to stave off the impending disaster in my kitchen, I barely noticed him sneaking around me on his way down to the basement. So, when he knocked on the door a moment later and I answered it, the sight in front of me threw me completely off-guard. Being no stranger to Jake’s exposed chest, there was a strange sense of novelty in seeing him in my own unbuttoned shirt. Paul started singing inside my head again, but only until my eyes involuntarily slid further down, putting the song to an abrupt stop, just like a torn magnetic tape.

I was right about the waist being too tight, which meant he had it pulled down well below his navel, and seeing his happy trail made me scream internally. 

And to top it all off, he still had the towel wrapped around his head. 

I was not prepared for the feral reaction he suddenly elicited deep inside my body, and I’m sure he noticed, judging by the cocky half-smile that followed. I quickly turned away before I would compromise myself further. 

“I made you some coffee,” I nodded towards the steaming cup waiting for him on the counter, while still not daring to look directly at him again. “... and there are some popsicles in the freezer.”

“Thank yo… popsicles?!?” I might as well have suggested cotton candy, judging by the look he gave me, making me feel like an idiot,  so I quickly explained: “Yeah, they’re perfect when you wanna get rid of a hangover. Orange’s my favorite.” I still felt like an idiot. 

“I’m feeling better now.” His tone was kind and friendly, for which I was grateful, and I could hear him smiling, with my eyes still fixed on the small yellow circles in front of me. “I think I’m getting a bit hungry, though.”

“I’m not cooking anything now, Jake!” I placed the last little yellow circle on the sheet with care, before I started kneading another chunk of dough frantically.

“No, I didn’t mea…”

“There’s instant ramen on the top shelf.”

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Yeah, whatever.”

“What are YOU going to eat, Y/N?”

“I don’t have time for such luxuries right now…”

“Y/N!” He was leaning against the counter desk right in front of me again. I hadn’t even noticed him sneaking so close again, so his sudden exclamation made me jump. “You have to eat something. Look, your hands are shaking.” 

Yeah, no shit. But I’m not exactly hungry. There was a huge lump in my stomach, making it quite full. I was getting lost in the sea of my conflicting feelings again when all of the sudden, he put an abrupt stop to it like a fierce wave that sent me crashing on the shore, as he lifted my chin up gently with his index and middle finger. “Look at me, Y/N. I am going to fix us a quick lunch, ok?” 

“Ok…,” I peeped meekly. 

Jake just nodded, bound his damp, uncombed hair in a makeshift low bun with the band he always wore on one his fingers just in case, and started rummaging in my fridge. “Allrighty then! What do we have here…,” he crooned cheerfully.

And just like that, Paul was back… lalalalala.

To be continued...

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep   @takenbythemadness   @edgingthedarkness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @josh-iamyour-mama @lyndz2names @wetkleenex-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickittty @clownstarr @gretasfallingsky @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @psychedelectable @allof--mylove @sacredsparrow @hearts-hunger

[enmstorytime]

The Therapist

I chose the cheap graduate program, the one that I could complete without taking out student loans. I needed the degree to pursue a career as a therapist.

I don't know if my mistake was upsetting my professor, or if my mistake was signing up for the hypnosis course. I haven't asked any of my classmates if they suffer from the same condition. I'm afraid they don't. And if they don't, and they found out the condition that I suffer from, I worry that they could get my license revoked.

I know that whatever is happening to me started in that hypnosis class. There was one class period, where I remember walking into class, making a joke at my professor's expense, and then I don't remember the class. I remember waking up in my bedroom, ten miles from campus. I normally slept naked, so I wasn't concerned when I rolled out of bed naked. What made me realize that something had happened was the fact that my car wasn't in the parking lot. My clothes from the day before were also nowhere to be found. Somehow, I had made my way from campus to my apartment and somewhere along the way my clothes had vanished. I found my car on campus, but I never found my clothing. And I never knew if anyone had seen me naked that day. All the smirks and knowing looks my classmates gave me from that point could have just been my imagination.

That class was ten years ago. Eventually, I pushed that weird morning out of my mind and decided I must have taken the bus, and stripped on my front stoop. Some neighbor probably thought my abandoned clothes were litter and cleaned them up.

At least I allowed myself this thought, until my graduation party, when one of my peers showed me a picture of me sitting completely naked on the city bus, my face blank, my hands behind my head, my legs crossed.

"What the fuck is this?" I asked him.

"You don't remember this day, man?" my classmate asked. "This was the minute I started respecting you man. You just sat there so confident on the bus, your cock out for the world to see."

"That never happened, you sick fuck," I said. "You probably asked AI to make this image."

But I also had to admit that AI had gotten a lot right, if this was in fact AI. There was the mole on my hip. My nipples were the exact right size and in the right place, and my cock was the right size when I was flaccid and the circumcision looked right.

"Dude, I wouldn't spend my time making AI naked pictures of you," my classmate said, getting angry now. "Besides, I asked if I could take your picture, and you told me to go ahead."

"I don't remember that," I said, remembering the day I had mysteriously left my car on campus. Apparently those clothes I never found were somewhere between my hypnosis class and the bus station. But anyone riding the number 7 bus that afternoon got an eye full of me.

I dreaded that as I started my practice other passengers would post those pictures online, and some client would come into my office to confront me with my nudes.

What I didn't expect was to wake up one afternoon two years ago, five years into running my own therapy practice, in the middle of a session with a barrel chested, clean-cut daddy, completely naked.

The daddy was laid out across the couch in leather handcuffs, a collar, and a cock cage, his business suit coat hanging on the back of the office door, the rest of his clothes piled up and rumpled right at the office door.

Searching for my own clothes, I saw that my client's messenger bag was over stuffed, a pant leg and one of my argyle dress socks sticking out of the side.

"What the fuck is going on here," I asked, hurriedly covering my penis with my hands. My client jumped.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sitting up, and covering his caged cock with his own hands.

"I mean, why are we naked?" I asked. "Why the hell are my clothes in your bag?"

"Is this some kind of fucked up exposure therapy?" My client asked, sounding angry. "You were the one who answered your office door butt naked, and told me today we'd try something new. You handed me your clothes and told me that whatever you said, I needed to take them with me at the end of the session."

"Obviously that will not be happening," I said, standing up while still covering myself and crossing to open his bag.

"What the hell is going on here?" My client demanded. "I was actually making breakthroughs before whatever the fuck this is."

"I don't care about your fucking breakthroughs," I said. "I mean, I do, but I'm naked here. This is entirely unacceptable."

"Is this some kind of test," the man asked, his anger soothing. "Yeah, that's what this is," he said, standing up and blocking my path to his bag. "You told me not to let you take your clothes back, no matter what you said. I need to be a man of my word, huh? That's what this is about."

"No, it's not," I said, trying to get past him.

But he took his hands off his cock and started to use his arms to block me from reaching my clothing that he had somehow gotten from me.

"I'm sorry to have reacted so poorly to this test he said, pushing me away, and I fell backward on the rug, catching myself with my hands, my legs flying up to expose pole and hole to my client. "I really didn't expect any therapist to go to these lengths to help me. I can't thank you enough."

He grabbed his clothes, but didn't take the time to get dressed. Instead he pushed my office door open, his clothes bunched in his hands in front of his crotch, his messenger bag with all of my clothes swinging off his shoulder.

I spent too long debating whether or not I should follow him, and by the time I decided I should, as I stepped out of my office door, hands glued to privates, I watched his car backing out of his parking space through the waiting room's front windows.

I also saw my next client sitting waiting, and they certainly saw me.

I ducked back into my office, and shouted to the receptionist to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day because I wasn't feeling well.

The client who saw me standing in my office doorway with nothing but my hands covering me never came back for another session.

My receptionist, a hot young college guy did come back to my office to run some paperwork past me. He didn't knock, just barged in, catching me with my back to the office door, standing at the window, peeking around the curtains.

"You're naked," he said.

I turned around, flushing red, and quickly covering my privates again.

"No need to hide it," he said. "I've seen a cock before."

"But not your boss's cock," I said, walking to my desk where I could hide at least my lower half.

The rug in my office felt soft under my bare heels and toes, but my ass also jiggled obscenely in front of my receptionist, who was grinning stupidly and certainly not looking at my face.

"No, I've never seen my boss's cock," he said, and closed the door behind him. "But I'd certainly like to."

It was the right words, and my body reacted with very little thought. I had hired my receptionist because of his easy boy-next-door grin. I'd spent hours fantasizing about taking the glasses off his face to look him in the eye. I had imagined all the ways my receptionist and I could move our relationship from professional to sexual, but I hadn't imagined this.

And at the simplest encouragement from him, I took my hands off my cock and stepped toward him. He was on his knees before I had fully processed what was happening, and his soft, fat tongues slithered down the head of my cock to the base and back.

I moaned.

He grabbed my ass cheeks and pulled me all the way too him, sliding my cock into his mouth, into his willing, open throat.

It took seconds for me to swell to my full mast in his throat, and he gagged once, before adjusting, before beginning his delicate, trained rhythm. His tongue lapped up and down my penis, his hands pulled my cheeks apart, a few fingers making their way to my hole, to probe and explore.

His hands and mouth maneuvered me, and I became putty in his hands as he slurped and sucked, sliding up and down, until I couldn't handle it anymore, and I pushed out the first shot of cum.

Immediately, he pressed a finger against my prostrate, and I came harder, my knees knocking against each other, the cum coming even more forcefully, the moan bursting uninhibited from my own throat.

I thrust and thrust and thrust sending stream after stream of hot cum down the throat of my sexy receptionist.

When he released me from his mouth, I slid to the floor, completely spent. I laid on my back, one arm behind my head, one arm, holding my scrotum, my deflating cock still on full display.

My receptionist stepped over me, and did the only thing that could make this moment more perfect. He unzipped the front of his slacks, and dropped his slacks and underwear. He stood over me, still wearing his shirt, but naked from the waist down, and began stroking himself over my naked, spent self.

His cum hit my chest and my face, hot and sticky, and he moaned as he continued to milk himself. It was a full minute of moaning and globs of cum falling onto me.

Without a word, he pulled up his slacks and underwear, zipped back up, and left me naked on my office rug, covered in his cum.

This was the best time I ever woke up naked mid-session completely naked. But it certainly wasn't the last.

[thedeskofaltoclef]

Hello to the desk. I write in all good things I promise I'm just nervous. But you make me smile every time you come up on any of my timelines. And me and my sibling share your posts with each other when we find something silly. But all that is to say...

I think you're pretty neat, and lots of other people do too. And if they decide to be mean... I say we make them go kaboomies. (Not actually, this is a joke). Anyways have a good day/night/whatever time it is- you do great things and keep making people smile. :]

I am very glad to hear you say that. Warms the old thumping meat sack in my chest. I think you humans call it a he-art or something lol.

You never, ever have to be nervous with me. Ever. I am just a dude who likes to act a fool. Nothing more and nothing less. If it makes you feel better I promise that I've made much a bigger ass of myself when I first met Author so I promise NOTHING you all can do would pale in comparison to that. But yeah, I'm just a old, fuzzy guy who likes to hang. Never be afraid to speak to me. I am always around and willing to listen if need be.

And we do not need to make those people go kaboomies. That is not what they need. If it were to get out who they are I would personally go after anyone who went to them because I left their names out for a reason. Our job in this community is not to damn others but to uplift others. If these people want redemption they deserve a second chance.

I'll use Clef as an example. Most people follow the 4231 line. Francis/Clef was given a second chance at life. In that story he was a part of one of the worst things imaginable and now is reveared as one of, if not the most popular SCP doctor. (We don't talk about the bad one on the Desk's blog)

If we can look at this character and watch him grow through his tales then we can learn from that and go "You know what, yeah, these people may suck. These people may have done terrible, terrible things... but I do not want to be like them."

I would rather people continue to trash my name than have any of you lower yourselves.

I'll bare the bullets, you all live and be good for me :-D

[23fallencomets]

📓 !!

this one…this one was a lottt lmao

okay so lowkey inspired by that one norgeant frat post you made so long ago and it’s not even frat related, i got stuck on the norgeant aspect of it (again like a dog with a bone because it has not left me alone since)

moving on, basically landoscar are roommates—and in a casual sugar daddy/baby arrangement because lando has a shit ton of money at his disposal and he likes helping his friends, it’s quite literally irrelevant to the main plot but i just need people to know because it’s funny to me—logan needs a place to crash because the apartment he’s moving into isn’t ready yet.

oscar lets lando know and in true british fashion, lando spends like the week before logan gets there talking absolute shit about him and oscar is constantly like 😐🤨🙄

imagine his surprise when he answers the door while oscar is out and mr. all american shows up with his pretty blonde hair and green-blue eyes and light scruff (that one red flag logan video? yeah him) and lando blanks.

anywho, turns out oscar has to go on a work trip for two weeks which works out for logan and lando tries not to murder oscar when he tells them.

it also turns out that logan only moved with a few suitcases and left everything else behind and now had to buy things. logan has a big wtf did i just do moment and has a bit of a crisis.

lando, with his exorbitant amount of money, and logan realizing he needs to settle down spend a week running around london buying home appliances.

they have this strangers-to-friends-to lovers progress because they’re dumb and oscar wants to push them off a cliff whenever he gets caught in between them.

things culminate when logan finally gets to move in and the two spend like three days building everything even though they both suck at building things and give up a million times.

lando has a severe oh fuck moment in the bathroom while logan is making dinner and now he has to figure out wether to say anything or go with the flow which he most certainly does not.

they figure their shit out and live happily ever after or something like that

it’s just a cute fic with little to no angst or miscommunication because both of those concepts make me want to throw myself into the nearest ice hole.

things are also so stupidly domestic from the start with logan making their meals, asking lando to tag along and joining lando on stream sometimes; their existence becomes so intertwined with each other they become the embodiment of the sold together do not separate meme

anyway, norgeant have strangely had me in a chokehold

[moonspirit]

Annie was stuck in the crystal during the time that puberty would hit her the most. How does coming back from the crystal AND losing titan powers affect her? I was wondering what are your thoughts about it. Does her body change afterwards or not? How does she feel about it? Whats her reaction to getting her first period/PMS? How are the girly talks with Pieck? Did Armin notice the change and/or sense Annie's worries related to the lack of it?

Hello anon!

I've spoken about this a few times in the past so in case you haven't seen those posts yet, they're here if you're interested :O~

the whole age discourse

the growth discourse

Annie being malnourished and a HC that she develops agoraphobia.

Tho to put it simply, my thoughts are that she suffers from weakness, tiredness and exhaustion post losing the titan powers and this lasts for quite a while. Something about the strain of carrying the power inside her all this time that makes itself known only once its gone. Imo she probably also suffers from insomnia and *some* binge eating tendencies.

Tho I've always thought that post-canon she's likely to maybe gain a bit of healthy weight and perhaps even grow an inch. The fact that we saw her stunted at the pre-timeskip height means we will never know if Annie's was always destined to be a short person through her genetics or if she's just that way because of the crystal with potential to grow more post-canon, or if the crystal irreversibly damaged the possibility of that ever happening - but it's fun to think about any which way xD I personally like to imagine she does gain an inch!

As for what she feels regarding this, hmmm, not a lot because her skillset has always mattered more to her than physical attributes and this attitude is here to stay, but if we talk about post-canon Annie who's hit by a 10000 tonne truck of new feelings and emotions, then it won't be too wrong if I say it makes her insecure sometimes???

Coming to the whole period thing - I have a very very specific hc about this, and it is that she doesn't get them until her powers are gone haha xD It's just an idea of mine but playing around with some vague titan science and biology ideas, the shifter powers do not prevent her puberty from kicking in, per se, but rather that it "wicks away" the physical aches, pains, and bleeding. So Annie experiences a normal period as we know it, only post-rumbling. (If you're a reader of VBEOW this is actually a major and recurring point of discussion and there's a lot of involvement of Armin and Pieck in this subject!)

As for girly time with Pieck, ahahaha xD Omg post-canon Pikuani is one of my favourite things ever, because I really REALLY love thinking about these two finding comfort and friendship and "sisterhood", shall we say? in each other after all this time being separated. With Annie's aloof personality, it's just my hc that during her training years before being sent off to Paradis, she didn't really get to "bond" with Pieck. But post-canon? So much time to get close and silly and confess some of their deepest feelings to each other, under the reassurance that, here is someone just like me who has all the pains I do and will understand me :>

[salierisregards]

Clothes Make The Man: Paulie Lombardo

Much to my chagrin, I’ve discovered that Mafia DE is maybe one of the best video game remakes of all time. It’s obvious from the designs to the writing to the worldbuilding that someone cared a lot about making something with intent and purpose and quality in mind.

Maybe you disagree, and that’s fine, but I haven’t seen anyone really make the case for DE in a design sense. I’ve seen arguments for gameplay, the graphics, the acting, but not so much the characters. Fortunately, I do this kind of thing for fun. If it falls to me to be the guy that talks about the fashion choices in a game from 5 years ago, so be it. Derek Guy I am not, but I can certainly try. Hello, I’m Ray, and I’m going here to talk at length about something no one cares about!

Fun bonus challenge: Try to guess what my major was by the end of this post.

The first thing I noticed in the jump from Mafia (2002) to Mafia DE was the choice to really shake up the character designs. This makes sense, as Mafia wants to be a cinematic series and the foundation of good cinema is strong characters. Hiring actors is part of that, but so too is the deliberate design of the characters - how they look and what they wear in specific.

Paulie and Sam and Tommy are beloved characters in Mafia Classic, but the fact that the games are so old presents a challenge to the modern designer. Audiences in 2020 need more than a cool badass player character gun guy to carry their interest, and Paulie and Sam as your sidekicks need to charm and engage the player for the game to deliver on its narrative beats.

So how do you take an old, low-fidelity character design and make him memorable? Let’s take a look.

I want to start with Paulie because I think his rework tells us the most about the goals of the designers, and we can use that in the future when we (I, me) talk about the other characters and their design choices.

In Mafia Classic, Paulie is easily described: Grey suit, red tie, no frills. The only reason his suit isn’t black is because that distinction is reserved for Tommy, who’s tie is also red.

This isn’t an indictment or commentary on the original game at all. If you thought keeping the dark-haired, dark-eyed, be-suited cast of guys in a mafia movie was difficult, imagine trying to do it in a video game and all while staying within a certain polygon count. The fact that you can tell - at a glance - the difference between Paulie, Tommy, Sam, Salieri, and Frank and do so while keeping most of them in a similar uniform is a testament to Illusion Softworks’s attention to detail and commitment to making something of a particular caliber. For 2002, Paulie’s is a perfectly functional design, no notes.

Mafia DE, having the flexibility afforded them by time and a budget, makes the (frankly, inspired) choice to change the characters’ wardrobes over the course of the story. Paulie actually gets the fewest amount of wardrobe changes of the main three with only two suits (three, I guess, if you count the one he wears to the funeral), a coat, a hat, and the single appearance of the shirt/suspenders combo we see him in at the end of the story and nowhere else.

For those curious, the funeral fit is just a recolored version of the grey suit, double left-side pockets and all.

This lack of outfits compared to Sam (four suits) and Tommy (I haven’t finished counting, but it’s more than four) is interesting in light of the fact that DE also expanded his character to make Paulie something of a clotheshorse. He’s only got a few suits, but he’s very proud of the ones he does have. As indicated by his dialogue, he hates getting his clothes wet, schemes about stealing classy suits as a way of making money, and at the very least has a passing interest in maintaining his hair. Our boy’s got a bit of a vain streak.

Note Tommy's quick pursed lips expression here. Here's a guy who's used to dealing with this shit.

The brilliant part (and this will become a running theme) is that the character design is doing as much work here as the dialogue.

Taking cues from the Classic design, the outfit we first see DE Paulie in is a grey suit and a red tie. However! The increase in graphical fidelity gives the designers here an opportunity to expand on the details.

As a quirk of what I believe to be the lighting engine, Classic Paulie’s suit often appeared not just grey, but cool grey, almost violet. The DE designers really leaned into that, giving the first suit we see him in a more purple tone, brought out even more by the (now darker) red tie. The second suit he starts wearing after A Trip to the Country leans into this even more heavily, purple windowpane check with a rich purple tie and matching pocket square.

Thank you Nikita Nanako on Artstation for uploading this to his portfolio. Makes my life easier.

Even without knowing the historical significance of purple in fashion, this marks Paulie immediately to the player’s eyes, and certainly in the eyes of the other characters. Purple is a flashy color, historically expensive to manufacture, associated with royalty. By the time Paulie’s wearing it in 1930-whatever, it was an artificial dye and much less expensive to make, but that doesn’t stop it from being a statement. Purple is a color you wear when you want someone to notice what you’re wearing. And as we’ve established already, Paulie very much wants people to notice. There’s also like, literary implications to the color choices here, but I think that’s another post.

The lapels on the DE suits, too, say a lot about the kind of guy Paulie is. Both suits have peaked lapels as opposed to the notched lapels of the Classic design, and indeed, everyone else in DE. Peaked lapels - like the color purple - are a deliberate choice, one that draws attention to itself. They’re sharp-looking, or as Paulie says, “real classy”.

More importantly for our purposes as students of design though, they’re not always appropriate for every situation. A peaked lapel is usually reserved for a highly formal look. To our modern eyes, we see a peaked lapel and think ‘high-powered courtroom drama’, or ‘classy social event’. It’s not exactly out of style, but it’s a bold choice to wear to, say, an illicit moonshine deal at an old abandoned farm. Paulie does not care about the context. Unless the situation demands discretion, this is a guy who is pulling up in his Sunday best no matter what.

And the hat. Oh, we can’t move on without talking about the hat.

Note the windowpane check suit has a hat with a shinier band too!

Paulie is the only character in the game to sport the homburg, again setting him apart from the more classic fedoras the Sam and Tommy usually wear. The homburg is a favorite of online menswear aficionados, but despite years of tireless blogging, this particular hat has yet to come back into fashion the way the fedora has. As a result, to the modern eye, the homburg looks very old-fashioned. It has a tall, broad profile that… Hey, see if you notice a running theme here: draws attention to itself.

Importantly, the homburg (in the American cultural consciousness anyway) is very much a bad guy hat. There’s a few contributing factors to this, but it comes primarily from our genre fiction and the images of the mobsters of the ‘30s and ‘40s. In gangster flicks, the good guy detective wears a fedora. The big, bad, cigar-chomping gangster wears a homburg. If you’re British, you might be able to get away with wearing one as a stuffy upper-crust sort, but if you’re American you are immediately ranked amongst the likes of Michael Corleone and Lucky Luciano.

The urge to add a picture of Diamonds Droog here was a little too strong.

There’s more I could touch on. His ostentatious little peacock pocket square alone has bewitched me.

But really, I want to get to the crux of the thing, which is that like… Despite everything about him saying he pays attention to these things, none of these aesthetic choices he’s making are actually working for him.

The peaked lapels, the big, fat hat, the garish colors. They might command a hefty price tag, but they don’t actually *look good*. This is a guy who has learned what good taste looks like in theory, but has not made himself master of it. The clothes are wearing the man.

Would you trust this man with your money? Your car? Dating advice?

It makes sense when you think about what his background would have been. What does a poor son of immigrants know about expensive suits? Only what he can pick up by observation! He wasn’t raised in a high-society environment, he wouldn’t know the difference between a suit you wear to a warehouse shootout and a suit you wear to a wedding just as he wouldn’t know the difference between a fish fork and a salad fork. To a guy like Paulie, the details don’t matter. He just knows the suits are expensive, and that a younger Paulie would never have been able to afford them.

Many real-life gangsters had this problem as well. Al Capone went from being a poor bootlegger to an extremely rich and powerful gangster, and all the money in the world couldn’t buy him good taste either.

He's swimming in those lapels! And hey, that tie looks familiar...

There were other gangsters who had this problem too, but some were smart enough to look to their peers for cues about what to wear and how to wear it. (We’ll talk more about that when I get around to Sam.)

The fact that Paulie doesn’t do this, however, tells us everything we need to know about the guy just by looking at him. He’s stubborn, stuck in his ways, unable to tell the difference between expensive and tasteful, and wouldn’t know subtlety if it clocked him in the jaw. All from the design decisions the art team made, and without adding a word of dialogue. This is brilliant stuff. I’m in love with him, obviously.

That's all for now! Thanks for reading.

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 8

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Sylus myth mentioned, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1424

Written: 22nd December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Sylus enjoys a karaoke bar, especially if he's got access to you for a duet. You tease him but you'll always join him, hanging onto his arm and letting loose, and he sometimes falters over the words because he's too busy watching your face.

Still, this is good too. You've set up the game system that the doctor bought for his base, presenting it with a sigh. 'You won't know the right one.'

He'd been a little insulted, but he'd acquiesced, in the end the doctor knows gaming better than he does. It's never appealed to him, and he's never had real time to try. A sing-a-long game is loading up, yelling out 'let's sing' loudly from the speaker system.

You'd presented it to him with the doctor, beaming, "You'll like this one, I promise!"

The fish had groaned from the sofa, "Why do we all have to suffer the crow's crooning?"

As much as you've teased him for being out of tune, you've always encouraged him. He can't count how many times you've asked him to hum for you. Lay against his chest, and unable to sleep for nightmares.

The reason for the at-home karaoke session, are the cocktails that Luke has decided he wants to try making. Kieran is his primary test dummy, and if anything doesn't make him spit it straight back out. You're trying them.

It's ill advised… Sylus knows you're not a light weight, but he does know you and the twins can get competitive. It feels like it's only moments before you start doing shots together, and if that happens he's bound to get dragged in, and as quick healing as he is, he doesn't fancy driving anyone anywhere. Nor does he want to get into a taxi with someone he doesn't trust. Not with you and the twins.

He needs you safe.

He also blames you for Luke’s new hobby, you’d showed them some movies, made comments about how stylish a good bartender is, (He hadn’t filed that information away, to practice. At all.), and Luke had taken that as a challenge.

“It can’t be that hard.”

“Yeah! You can do it bro!”

You’d laughed and not thought anything of it. They’d gone out, and returned with… boxes.

Then raided his alcohol supply.

He’d dragged them both back by the scruff of the neck when they went for the very expensive top shelf. In no world were they mixing that with… was that moonshine? Where did they even get moonshine from?

He doesn’t see you drunk often, there are times you’re out in busy places because you feel you have to attend, and he’s seen you drink then to soften the anxiety and stress. You always call someone to be there then, drunk you is far more willing to rely on others. He also has seen you drink when you feel safe, has carried you on his arm more than once in those situations.

You apologise but there’s no need, especially when he gets to see the embarrassed but enamoured look on your face as he holds you in one arm. Your fingers drifting over the veins in his bicep, with a look he can only describe as hungry. He flexes a little more than he needs to on those occasions.

(There was one time you’d made a comment about beef clod, and he had truly not known how to respond.)

He can see you getting to that point now, you’re trying something green that you and Kieran are sipping from the same glass with separate straws. Luke is taking his turn at the microphone, singing something about what he wants for Christmas. Sylus is unsure if the radioactive green drink is good for either of you, but you don’t look sick, still. He’s wary, and flicks your forehead. As you put a hand to the targeted area, pulling away with an offended ‘Oi’, he grabs the glass and sips from your straw.

“Aww, Boss come on.”

It’s… not as bad as he expected, but he can’t imagine drinking it for fun.

Whether his taste buds are ‘broken’ like you’ve claimed before, and its somehow worse than he tastes, he still doesn’t feel good about putting it back in either your’s or Kieran’s hands. So he downs it.

Wrinkling his nose and pushing the glass away.

Before you can grab another concoction, now that Luke is back and shoving something else onto his brother, (He’s going to have to hide the key to the liquor cabinet he thinks, if this becomes a long standing hobby for them.), he pulls you over to the karaoke machine. “It’s our turn kitten, I’m owed a song for saving you from a terrible fate.”

Your tongue is out at him, but you stumble over grabbing his arm to steady yourself, and pick up the controller to find something you both know well enough to get through it with little effort.

His song repertoire has grown substantially since you’ve reentered his life, he feels confident that anything you sing to often he has memorised. Catalogued away to think about on nights you’re not here to sing for him.

When you’re satisfied, lining up a particular choice, you thrust the microphone into his hand, that’s not currently steadying you at the waist.

You look right at him when the song starts, familiar with some things enough to sing them blindfolded, and as tipsy as you are, with your voice wavering a little, he’s as starstruck as he always is.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you, ‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow, You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be, And I don’t want to go home right now.”

There’s moments in his life, where Sylus wonders if he blinks, will you disappear? A fragile illusion on a wishful soul. That someone, somewhere has truly seen into him and seen something worth adoring and loving. He thinks you are easy to love, there can be no doubt that you are worthy without the need to earn it.

“And all I can taste is this moment, And all I can breathe is your life.”

You have reminded him, again and again that you love him, that he does not need to pay for it, or gift for it. That everything that is offered is freely given, and wholehearted. That there is nothing to earn. It is not a transaction, no relationship should be. You do not keep score, and you would rather he did not either.

“And sooner or later it’s over, I just don’t want to miss you tonight.”

It still leaves him with the feeling that in seconds he could wake up, in a cold cave, surrounded by gems he no longer sees beauty in, in a world where he is nothing but broken horns and lost family.

“And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand, When everything’s meant to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.”

He loves you, he loves his life with you, and he is so scared-

Your hands move to his cheeks, his voice halts, wavering and pausing. Blinking at you. The microphone is out of your hands and you stretch up as tall as you can pressing a kiss to his eyelids. He almost drops his own, hand tightening on your waist. You sing just for him, lips at his cheek now, and his breath escapes in a long exhale, shaking.

You are his, you are his, you are his.

When his heart wavers, yours is there, keeping it beating, in time to a song only you can hear.

He is yours, he is yours, he is yours.

“I just want you to know who I am.”

He lifts you into his arms, and he sings with you, game forgotten because it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. If you are happy, he is happy, and he is so very happy with you in his arms.

If he wakes up tomorrow and you are not here, he will find you anywhere. He has done it before, and he will do it for the rest of time, because you are the one who sees him.

And later, when you are laughing and stumbling through his bedroom door, trying to pull away from the uncontrolled kisses he plants on your skin, tickling you and nipping, he will swear into your skin that he will always see you too.

Whoever you choose to be.

[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. 

— 

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K, Love you, Bye!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.

(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)

[juniemunie]

Anyways *blasts yosuke with the genderbend beam*