#but i might have been holding myself to too high of a standard

[scribbling-dragon]

writing shorter oneshots has actually been so much fun recently. like, seriously, i love doing them. it’s great! im having fun, and being able to sit down and write something short n sweet has been super nice

[101maverick]

Damian Wayne Ah Ghul with a reader who is super shy? Like she meets his family and she's practically hiding behind Damian? No pressure, but I'm just a naturally shy person myself.

A/n: I've been thinking of a meeting like this for a while now! tho in my daydreams the reader is a lot more bubbly and stuff, but this one is super fun too! I think I might write them both out :) When it comes to Damian I tend to envision him around his canon age (12ish I think?) because it gives me agency to explore puppy love and I find it so cute! Plus I'm a sucker for school shenanigans hehe🤭 Here Damian is around 15-16 :) Hope you enjoy!! If you like my work, please consider reblogging and checking out my other works through the master list in my pinned post<3

Word count: 1642

Meeting the Family

Your hands are clammy.

Not even overtly so, just enough to make you uncomfortable, to get that unbearable out-of-place sensation one always gets when something's slightly wrong and it feels like life has decided to point a spotlight to it.

You nervously adjust your dress' skirt, fiddling with the hem to make sure it sat at just the right height. You had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking it out, having Damian come by your house earlier than necessary to make sure your choice was appropriate for this occasion, along with your hair and what little makeup you had decided to put on.

He had assured you countless times that you 'could never be anything less than far above standard' , and while that did put you at ease you still have to do your best to relax as you build up the courage to enter the house, Damian waiting by your side.

You and Damian had started 'dating' around three months ago now, and this was your first time meeting his family.

Whenever you think back to how he proposed to you a chuckle curls your lips upward, remembering how out of your depth you felt as he announced his intent of 'courting' you while he held a baby kitten out to you.

The memory loosens you up a bit, and you nod to Damian, who rings the doorbell. He's been holding your hand the whole time, something you find extremely sweet. He gives your hand a squeeze.

Sooner than you'd like, the door opens and you are greeted by the Wayne family's butler, who your boyfriend had informed you is basically like a grandfather figure for them.

He’s an older man, standing tall in a prim and creaseless suit despite his age. His eyes crinkle as the corners of his mouth uptick just the slightest bit, remaining composed as he greets you two.

“Ah, Master Damian, you have finally returned with our guest I see.” He says, looking at your boyfriend. He then turns to you. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, miss…” he trails off.

You can feel your cheeks burn up, and your tongue tangles up as you haste to give him your name. You try to downplay the stutter as much as you can, and rush through the rest of greetings and pleasantries. “It is very nice to meet you as well, mr. Pennyworth.”

Mr. Pennyworth just nods curtly and opens the door wider, making space for you and Damian to enter. "I am glad, miss. Please, follow me to the sitting room." After a nod from Damian, he turns around and starts walking down the hallway to the left of the grand staircase the Manor's foyer opens up to.

The ceiling is extremely tall in this part of the house, two stories high at the very least. The ancient mahogany of the staircase is intricately carved, and the deep, rich blue-green carpet covering the steps gives the entire ensemble a much more regal look, with the way it matches the curtains that are pulled apart to let in all the midday light from the six-feet tall arch windows. It feels way too regal for someone like you.

Damian, on the other hand, looks completely in his element. Not only is this his house, he just fits in with this sort of environment, this regal, sophisticated, high-class one. The blue-green of the curtains and carpets makes the emerald of his eyes pop, and the dark mahogany compliments his tanned skin, reflecting the golden glow of the sun.

Looking at him, you feel a bit surer of yourself, and you straighten your shoulders to match his stance. You're just meeting his family. You can do this.

Mr. Pennyworth leads you to the sitting room. Damian's entire family is lounging there, the majority sitting up while a few rest on the plush couches and chairs. The moment you step foot in the doorway, all conversation stops and all eyes turn toward you.

You can't do this.

————————————

Each of the Wayne family members are here, it seems, and the more you stand there the more you want to crawl out of your skin.

All of these people have been gathered here today for a family lunch because you have come over, and dang if that doesn't make you feel like the inconvenience of the year.

Only a fool doesn't know about how important each of them is, and you certainly aren't one.

Richard "Dick" Grayson, world-class acrobat and notorious heartthrob since his teens, and he surely has better places to be today than here. Keeping up with all of his connections is basically a full-time job, with how Gotham socialites are.

Jason Todd, recently come back from his years-long trip around the world, could be playing golf with the Prince of England right now instead of meeting his youngest brother's high-school girlfriend.

Timothy Drake, at nineteen is C.E.O. of Drake Industries and Bruce Wayne's representative for Wayne Enterprises, right now he could be closing billion-dollar business deals.

Duke Thomas, had graduated from high school at sixteen and at eighteen is in the most prestigious chemistry program in the Continent, he could be studying for the cure of cancer right now.

Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne's only daughter and an extremely elusive person for the media, you're sure she'd much rather a virtual stranger wasn't snooping around in her family's home.

There are also two other people, a red-haired woman that looks to be around Dick Grayson's age and a blonde girl around nineteen.

And, of course, there's Bruce Wayne in the flesh. Billionaire, philanthrope, C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises, arguably the most important person in Gotham and certainly the richest person in New Jersey. One of his charities is always in sight every time you turn a corner on the street in Gotham Proper, his company's name is plastered on almost every single electronically device you can find, and his name is always in the mouth of the press, making headlines day in-day out.

Oh Gosh, you can already imagine it. 'Lowly peasants thinks she can date his son, Brucie Wayne obliterates her and her dynasty'.

Before you know it, your breathing has become laboured and you're standing pressed to Damian's side, trying to fuse with his shadow.

You have no idea how you're gonna hold a conversation with all of these people.

Damian, bless him, saves you. "If you all could quit ogling my beloved like imbeciles, we could go on with introductions." His chin is held up high, and he takes turns staring into each of his family members' eyes, as if daring them to object. With the way he's standing, his body almost covers you, giving you a blanket of security that allows you to relax.

The rest of the room's occupants regain their composure, and Mr. Wayne breaks out into a blinding smile, coming up to you.

"Pardon me! We just hadn't heard you coming down the hallway is all. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Mr. Wayne holds out his hand, and you shake it. His grip is gentle. "Come in, please, make yourself comfortable."

Damian guides you to a couch next to which is a window. The rays of sun catch in his dark hair, reflecting almost-blue. He looks at you, and as he does so you relax. Damian may rarely show it but he has an extremely expressive face, and you have learned to read it.

Right now you read sureness in his jaw, calmness in the set of his brow and something warm and reassuring in the slightest widening of his eyes, the one that happens specifically when e tilts his head downwards to fix his gaze better in yours.

"I must admit I've been waiting for this moment for a good while, I was very curious. Damian has talked a lot about you."

Your eyebrows raise. You start fidgeting with Damian's hand in your lap. "Oh, he-he has?" It comes out as a mumble. You'd beat yourself up over it in normal circumstances but as it stands, you're just glad you are talking at all.

This thought is overshadowed by an eruption of laughter from further inside the room.

"Oh yes he has, the brat has been talking our ears off all day for months! By how he talks, he thinks you've hung the moon and the stars in the night sky." A cackle follows the sentence. You're pretty sure your cheeks are on fire.

Next to you, you notice the tips of Damian's ears turn darker. "Quit your complaining, Todd. It is not my fault if everything you do is subpar compared to her every action."

"Da-Damian!" You whisper-yell next to him, "You can't just say that!"

"Oh, don't worry," Pipes up someone from a chair. You recognise him as Timothy Drake. "Seeing as you've put up with him for months, I think we all believe it. It takes the patience of a saint to do that." He says, a slight smirk on his face.

The rising of cackles in the air and the indignant squawk from Damian pull a little giggle from you, and you squeeze Damian's hand while Dick Grayson placates him.

Mr. Pennyworth, who had disappeared down the hallway after you had reached the sitting room, reappears at the entrance. 1679

“Masters, Misses, the lunch is ready. If you may follow me to the dining room…”

“Thank you Alfred.” Says Mr. Wayne, and after a curt nod from the butler everyone files out of the sitting room.

As you take your place next to Damian at the dining table, listening to Damian and Timothy bicker, you feel more at ease than you ever hoped of feeling while waiting on the front steps.

Your hand is warm in Damian’s still.

————————————

A/n: I wish I had been able to put more Damian/Reader interaction in this but in order for it to work in my vision of their eventual relationship I need them to be alone so unfortunately it couldn't happen for this pic :( I do have more Damian x Reader requests in my inbox tho so there's a high chance I'll be able to expand on it! Plus I'm considering making a list of head canons for Damian and Reader's relationship >:)

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

All Kinds of Trouble

Alfie Solomons x Reader, Fluff, 1.2k words

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: Hi guys!! Ok so maybe hiatus is over? I'm trying to be gentle with myself and not hold myself to high standards in posting schedules. Again, therapy and Bar prep are a lot to handle rn, but I was able to do this little piece! This is based of a request sent in by my sweet friend @jassiefayee !!!! I hope you enjoy this angel!! Anyway, love you all so much! Have an amazing day!

Alfie didn’t find peace in many things. The business and all. Made him toss and turn at night, and in the daylight caused him to explode from the pure idiocy of people around him.

But walks in the park with Cyril? Now that gave him peace. With Cyril by his side, anyone who may have wanted to cause trouble stayed far away. Cyril’s imposing stature and mean looking face kept many men looking to scrap at bay, but little did they know that Cyril was by far the sweetest dog in Camden. And the fresh air did Alfie good. Being out in the park, feeling the breeze, hearing children and birds milling about created a sort of temple for him. A quiet place for him to let his mind rest, talk to himself (or God if he had a particular question), or just hum to the beat of Cyril's paws on the ground. This was his rest. This was his peace.

Now it should be noted, that one of the reasons that Alfie loved this particular park was that it was free of distractions for both him and Cyril. While Cyril was a very sweet and good natured dog who hardly ever caused an unnecessary ruckus, he was still a dog. And dogs have this strange habit, if not fantastic ability, to completely change the course of their owner's life.

So it was during a brisk walk on a fine November day where Alfie was suddenly pulled with all the force of heaven’s angels by Cyril’s lead through the park. And just as quick as he was yanked he was halted, nearly tripping over his boots and coat, and falling into Cyril and what might possibly be one of those treacherous angels.

It had become a relatively new habit for you to take a few moments of your day to sit in the park. Whether strolling, reading, or simply listening to the music of the city, you found the meditative state you entered in the park particularly divine. Spending all day cooped up in the house was not doing anyone any favors, and your mother insisted that you look at the sky, breathe in fresh air, or do something to get your energy out. And you enjoyed the respite from your family’s eyes and ears, and the view you caught of other people’s comings and goings. Often making up stories for the familiar faces that passed your eyes.

You had seen Mr. Solomons and his a dog before. It was hard to miss them. Both imposing. Even if Mr. Solomons wasn’t physically too tall, the air in which he carried himself made him seem absolutely monstrous. And the dog he walked along with came with a silent stature to match. When you mentioned to your mother that Mr. Solomons frequented your park, she all but forbid you to go to the park again. He was dangerous. A brute. Nothing good was associated with him. He was an animal. Damned.

Everyone in Camden had a story about Mr. Solomons. Even if they personally had never met him, they knew someone who knew someone who had crossed his path and suffered greatly. Fewer than those who crossed his path, were the women who had the pleasure of spending an evening with him. Demanding. Particular. Incredibly cross with hardly a smile crossing his firm mouth and creased brow. You had heard them all, many a time. And each time you heard the stories more fantastical and gory and outrageous they became. From the way the neighbors spoke of him, he might has well been an ogre who ate good men for supper. A confidant of the devil himself.

Yet those stories never deterred you from letting your eyes wander over to him when he made his way to the park. Surely observing doesn’t damn one’s soul right? And wondering if stories are true surely cannot condemn. Besides, he was never close enough to truly make a difference. A glance and gaze and thought were all that you experienced with the fearsome King of Camden. Until this afternoon, when that monstrous dog came charging at you with a gleeful and slobbery smile. And for whatever reason you never moved from your seat. You stayed planted on your spot on the bench, waiting for whatever was to come. And your supposed attack was merely a disgusting kiss to the neck and chin from the dog, and happy pants from it as well. It’s master, cursing and bellowing at hundred pound puppy who was uninterested in the threats of its flustered master.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the reddened face of Mr. Solomons, clearly out of breathe from the exertion of the sudden chase. “Mr. Solomons are you quite alright? Do you need to sit?”

“Hmm? No, no don’t worry about me angel, m’fine. This damn dog knows better than to run full force in a park. You alright love? Hope Cyril didn’t scare ya.”

You smiled warmly at him, and he was convinced he must have died in the chase and gone to Heaven. Your sweet eyes and tempting lips all too pretty to be here in Camden. You scratched Cyril’s ears before answering, "Oh no Mr. Solomons, I'm fine. Cyril here is very very sweet."

"Now treacle, I think I'm at a disadvantage. Don't like that at all me. Now how is it yeah, that you know my name and now my dog's name... but I don't get to know your name sweetness?"

With a quirked brow you answer, "Oh Mr. Solomons, everyone knows your name. The ferocious King of Camden, and his demon dog. Lots of tales about you Mr. Solomons.”

Alfie allowed himself a smile at your cheek, “Lots of stories eh? Which one is your favorite?”

“The one where you bested the devil himself in a game of chess and won the keys to hell.”

Alfie made himself comfortable next to you on the bench, making sure that his thigh touched yours, “Is that so? Your mum tell you that little one?”

You shook your head, “No sir. She told me I wasn’t to go near you.”

“And yet here you are, talking to bad men. Tsk tsk tsk. Naughty ain’t you?”

“It’s fun to be naughty sometimes. Don’t you agree Mr. Solomons?”

Alfie couldn’t help but bring his shiny rings to your cheek, taking stock of your face. You never flinched away, keeping fiery eyes locked on his. He hummed a tune you didn’t know, and stated, “There’s an opera tonight at 8. You’ll come with me. Wear something nice.”

“I don’t go to operas with strange men.”

“I don’t go to operas with strange women. Yet here we are sweet. I thought you liked being naughty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his brazenness. In truth, you couldn’t believe you allowed yourself to get this far. But it was too delicious to let go now. “You’ll pick me up on the corner of 10th and Victoria? At 6pm.”

“Now what will I do with you for two hours before the play treacle?”

You shrugged, “Show me how the King of Camden has a good night.”

Alfie laughed heartily, “Fuck me you really are a bad little thing aren’t you. Alright sweetness, I’ll pick you up there at 6. And let’s see what we can get up to.”

[pookietv]

the not-so-useless hotline | george clarke

this has been rotting in my drafts for a while but it was a req so i hope you enjoy! may be a little sucky, sorry about that :)

dedicated to both the nonnie who requested and the nonnie who was adorable to me in dms so!!!!

to be honest, you didn't even really know what you had become well known for.

you started on youtube, ended up singing and modelling and vlogging and god knows what else, and you were a little bit of a mystery to the world.

but, nonetheless you had become adored by the internet, and eventually dragged on a podcast by max, who you had met on a brand trip and had grown to quite like, even if you had only seen him a handful of times.

so when you showed up to a little office with worn out computers and a smile on max's face, it did make you giggle to be on the set that you had seen him, and george, who even though you had seen him a lot online, you admittedly knew next to nothing about.

"y/n! hello, welcome!" you were invited in by who you assumed was a manager, who helped you get microphoned up, staying quiet whilst you listened to max and george speak and introduce the podcast whilst you waited on the sidelines for being introduced.

so when you heard the, "okay, send her up for the interview!" and you sat opposite them, your cheeks were a little red from laughing as it felt strange to be sat opposite them in such a corporate setting, even if was all a big joke.

"welcome y/n to your interview at the useless hotline! i'm max, this is george, very important interview today," max joked, and you nodded a little more, laughing and repeating, "very important, yes."

"yeah, i'm so glad to be here, i really need this job!" you joked back, allowing yourself to have a moment looking at george, being your first proper time meeting him. he was quite attractive, put together nicely.

"well, we have very high standards here, although max doesn't reflect that too well," george joked back, and you nodded in a teasingly solemn look.

"well, every company has it's stinker, and i suppose here it's max," you smiled, and max rolled his eyes.

"you bitch! haven't even introduced yourself and you're already mocking me," max grinned.

"oh, sorry, i introduce myself and then mock you?" you teased back.

after being made to make max and george extremely potent alcoholic drinks, and introducing yourself, with a little gossip about music and max's social life, eventually you get questions thrown your way.

"well, we figured we need to talk to you about your dating life, 'cause that's where our clickbait will be," george joked.

"literally! everyone knows you as some maneating mysterious woman going on dates all the time, and we're nosy," max teased, and you rolled your eyes in response.

"i'm not a maneater! jesus, you leave a bad impression max! i would just say i am very picky, that's all. y'know, high standards." you hummed a little as you drank your drink with a small grin.

"oh, come on, you know yourself there has been a cast of rotating rumours of people that the internet thought you might be dating," max urged, and you shrugged a little. "plus, when we went on that bar thing on the latest brand trip you told me about a few of them, so there must be some drama there!" he joked a little more.

"men are just very disappointing creatures, you know? there just hasn't really been one where i've been like, yeah, this person is fun to be around and i would like to be around them a lot of the time, so i'm still single!" i explained with a giggle.

"george is literally always saying something of a similar tune, he is kind of just a picky man," max joked a little, and i grinned and raised my eyebrows at george.

"picky, hm? i suppose i'm a little picky, but i don't think that's necessarily bad, i just think i would love to hold out for someone who is really for me, you know?" i asked him curiously.

"i wouldn't even say i'm picky, i just think... there's a kind of thing, where i'll, you know, find someone where i'm just like, yeah, this feels right," george explained, and i nodded.

"so do you have like.. a type?" max asked me, "george's type always seems to be women who don't like him back." max teased.

"there have definitely been some stinkers in the past but... i mean, i wouldn't even say i have a type, really. i like funny people, and i'd like someone that's taller then me... um, i guess i like facial hair but that's not a dealbreaker if not," i laughed a little awkwardly with a shrug of my shoulders.

"well, i'd say you'd like george but he is exceptionally not funny," max grinned to himself and i rolled my eyes in a giggly way, watching george turn to max.

"because you're just so witty yourself, max,"

the podcast continued, with topics only getting more intrusive and unhinged as we continued, before we got to the point where we were answering asks, and one came up asking george on a date as a plus one to a wedding.

"fuck you! see, everyone comes on the podcast and thirsts over george, but what if you had asked me? i would actually have shown up, how about that!" max huffed whilst george tried not to laugh.

"what, people try and hit on george through the podcast?" you asked, laughing myself.

"yeah, they do, his name is max balegde," george joked.

"they're really scraping the bottom of the barrel if they want george," max grinned, before looking at me, "do you get a lot of the whole randomers asking you out thing? seeing as you're so thirsted over on the internet?"

"i mean, i suppose so, but i don't read too many of them, they just stay in the requests bit of my messages so i don't pay them too much attention," you giggled slightly, shrugging, "though, i do appreciate the compliments, sometimes if i'm just having a really crap day i'll just look through edits of myself. is that narcissistic? maybe it is, but it does make you feel good,"

"max was begging people to make edits of him on one of the podcast episodes so i'm sure you're not too bad," george grinned to you, and you tittered a little at his answer, grinning back at him.

george was pretty attractive, actually.

it had been about a week since the episode of you on the useless hotline had come out: and to say you had been bombarded would be an understatement.

from shipping fan edits to insane tweets, there seemed to be a common theme, the theory that you were dating george.

he had texted you a little, talking about when the podcast was going to come out, and asking you if you had any plans over the weekend, mainly casual talk as he told you funny stories about his roommates, arthur and chris, and occasionally sending you photos of himself pulling faces.

liked by max_balegde, georgeclarkeey and 12,039 others

yourusername: my roommate tried to push me out of a window (but i made her take cute pictures so)

miaxmon: shut up i did not push you!

↳ yourusername: @/miaxmon whatever you say PUSHER

userone: since WHEN did she live with mia ???

↳ yourusername: since she begged me to live with her bc im awesome and sexy and she couldn't live without me (but actually for about six months!)

georgeclarkeey: she should have finished the job

↳ yourusername: smh silly george if she pushed me out the window then who else would the internet ship you with???

↳ georgeclarkeey: someone tolerable hopefully

↳ yourusername: i can see why you got stood up now

you have a new message from @/georgeclarkeey!

georgeclarkeey: now that was just cruel and uncalled for

yourusername: it was honesty which girl would show up for a date with you ???

georgeclarkeey: you hopefully

yourusername: you what???

georgeclarkeey: would you show up on a date with me?

yourusername: only if you said sorry for wanting mia to finish me off and that i am the best :)

georgeclarkeey: i just audibly sighed

georgeclarkeey: you are the best and i am sorry for saying i wanted mia to finish the job

georgeclarkeey: happy?

yourusername: absolutely

yourusername: so, a date?

georgeclarkeey: i was thinking a really tall building with loads of open windows. thoughts?

yourusername: you're sooooo funny george

georgeclarkeey: i know i know i'm hilarious

georgeclarkeey: i was actually thinking we could go to flight club and play darts

yourusername: i will beat you SO bad

georgeclarkeey: can't wait :)

yourusername: anyway, i thought you were really picky about who you go on dates with?

georgeclarkeey: i usually am

georgeclarkeey: i guess you just feel right

yourusername: are you this soppy with all your dates?

georgeclarkeey: well they usually don't show up so you'll be the first, obviously

georgeclarkeey: anyway i thought you were picky as well?

yourusername: okay shut up now george :)

[jlcardenas]

A Single Word Written is Better Than None

I took a few months off from writing. Not voluntarily. I just couldn’t seem to write a single word. Whenever I would open up a new document, I would simply shut down and freeze up.

I’m a writer who hasn’t written anything in months.

Even writing in my journal became difficult. If someone were to unbury my journal after the apocalypse, they might think I took a four-month hibernation. I was shut off from the world, adding nothing to the world. Not even a single word.

For the past couple of weeks, however, it feels like I’ve gotten a little bit of that writing bug back. Nothing like Stephen King’s two thousand words a day. About five to seven hundred words on a good day.

Even though I’m writing, it feels more like a slow crawl. I look at these low word counts and put myself down for not doing more. I know I’m not the only writer who focuses too much on their word counts and feels bad when we can’t reach the professional levels.

So to you out there who are in the same position, telling yourself you’re not a real writer because you’re not writing a full novel each month. I have a message for you that I need to do a better job of remembering myself.

You Are a Writer Even if You’re Not Published

This holds back a lot of writers. I write mainly short stories, but the fact that none of them have been chosen for a publication journal does weigh heavily on my head.

Still, just because they haven’t been published doesn’t mean they haven’t been written. I wrote those stories, and I am still a writer because of it.

If you’ve finished a story or a whole novel but it hasn’t been published, don’t beat yourself up! You are a writer! Write another one and another one till the world finally acknowledges you!

Having Moments of Writer’s Block Doesn’t Mean You Are Failing

I struggle with this a lot. The idea that if my writer’s block lasts more than a few days, I have somehow failed as a writer and the title should be stripped from me.

Just because I had a few bad months doesn’t mean I’m no longer a writer. And if you’ve had a few bad months too, or even a few bad years of writing, that doesn’t mean you’re not a writer anymore either!

When a pitcher strains his wrist and has to take a hiatus while it heals, is he no longer a pitcher?

A Single Word Written is Better Than None

Don’t feel bad if you’re coming out of a writing slump and it feels like you’re coming out of it very slowly. The pitcher who returns from his injury won’t be throwing shutouts the minute he steps onto the mound. He eases into it.

And so should you!

If you’re only writing a few words a day and you’re feeling disappointed that it’s not at the high word count standard that most professionals hold themselves to, just remind yourself that progress is progress! Whether you’ve written one, two, or a thousand words. It is still more than the absolute zero you wrote during your slump.

Feel proud of your progress!

And remember, no matter what, you are still a writer.

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 04)

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

THE SAME DAY

Pidge offered to let you shower and change in her room so that you could be warm again and in clean clothes. You took her up on it, eager to feel the hot water and steam heat your skin.

Roger was already snoring, dead asleep on the sofa in the living room, and Johnny - or Soap, as Bekah had named him - disappeared into his room for a bit, looking for his own shower. He was absent while you and Pidge tried the cake samples from the Stiff Peaks bakery. She gushed about the flavors and the use of spices in the cake and its icing. You even got a few moans of culinary approval from Hamish whose high standards were impossible to reach. All in all, it felt like a success.

So why did you feel so empty? It was more than just the text from Bekah. There was some piece missing, something you got wrong and needed to fix. But, what could it be?

Johnny had confessed his feelings to you, and his kiss had felt… well, it had felt like a kiss should feel. It was the kiss that every young person imagined they might experience one day when the softness of someone else’s mouth finally found their own, their tongue icing the flesh of the other’s like a knife through a creamy, sugary glaze. The heat of their wet lips burning their edges, locked into a primal embrace of ownership and consumption, eating without feeling full. Devouring and yet becoming hungrier, increasing your appetite, gorging on the sweetness, until finally…

Johnny’s door popped open and he came to join you in the kitchen. His eyes went to you before eventually settling on Brigette,

“So? What’s the verdict, then? Dinnae meet the mark?”

“Sure,” Pidge smiled at him, “Right on target, you wee nugget. Good thing I sent you then.”

Johnny nodded to you, sitting in the bar stool next to yours at the kitchen counter. He gestured to you,

“She kept me in line, so she did. Would’ve gone for the chocolate myself.”

Pidge nudged you,

“Aye, what’d I tell you.”

You offered the other half of the cake to him, passing him your fork. He took it, cocking his smile into a mischievous grin,

“You’d have been proud of your wee hen here, Pidge. She made a pretty convincing bride. Might have to recruit her for our next mission. Be needin’ some espionage.”

Pidge laughed without even glancing up at him, her voice full of bitterness,

“So, havin’ you and da’ throw away your life on spyin’ wasnae enough. Should be my best friend, too?”

The whole room went cold. Johnny was mid-chew when he heard his sister’s comment, and he spat out the cake into a napkin in disgust. Pidge cut him off before he could say anything,

“Don’t forget to give little miss James Bond here a ride to her fitting tomorrow. I’m off for my shower,” she squeezed her brother’s forearm, seeming to understand that she had hit a nerve. He did not respond to her words nor her touch.

Johnny turned inward, closing off from conversation. You tried to coax him back out,

“Hey, here’s your phone. I think you missed a call.”

Without saying anything, he took the phone from you. He flipped through the message, and his expression remained unchanged.

“Gonna steal some of tha’ stew Hamish has been hidin’. You want in, thief?” He asked you, reaching for the pots and spoons before cracking open the freezer.

“Aren’t you gonna go to the pub?” You asked, trying to be as unbothered as possible.

He froze in place, holding the pot by its handle, locking eyes with you,

“No, not unless you wanted to do dinner with me, lass. Cravin’ samosas?”

It was a test. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t, but here you were, playing games. Could the party boy resist a party? You were about to find out.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Maybe a little. We could get take away.”

“Brilliant,” he grabbed his keys and followed you to the door.

Now that night had settled in, it was too cold in the Jeep. You held your arms right to your body and tried to shield yourself from the wind. Johnny dug around in the back and dragged out a camo jacket with his name tacked onto the chest.

You put it on and it swallowed you, warming you up from the inside out. The fold of the collar flapped just under your nose, letting you smell his orange, woody scent. There was something else, too. Gunpowder. You smelled like fireworks and winter citrus.

“Thanks,” you said, wrapping it tighter around you.

“You make it look good,” his smile was bright and full of innocent praise, “Warm enough?”

You nodded, suddenly shy. You regretted your decision to drag him out of the house again. You should’ve kept him all to yourself, covetous and selfish like a hoarder, locking him in like a shorn Repunzel, playing like Circe with her pigs. But, you didn’t want to be Circe. You wanted to be Penelope. Permanent, as impossible though it may have been.

Was he Odysseus? Or Narcissus?

The car park was packed. He dropped you off at the door and you waited for him to find a spot in the back. He pulled the keys out of the Jeep and did a bit of a jog to catch up to you.

He commented on the crowd,

“Match is on. Rangers and Aberdeen. Whole town should be out tonight.”

You made a quiet noise in assent, not knowing enough about football to comment.

He held the gate open for you, and you walked through the smoky, crowded courtyard. Ettrick’s had tons of outdoor space, and the tall heat lamps made it cozy despite the nip in the air.

Inside, the noise hit you like a punch. It was a small space and the din was overwhelming. Warmth and bodies and smells tumbled over you like a wave. Johnny pulled a menu from the host stand, positioning himself as a barrier between you and the chaos.

He had to lean in close to you for you to hear him,

“Samosas, yeah? And we gotta do the chicken khorma. It’s top notch here, lass. Trust me.”

“Sure. Sounds good,” you smiled and watched him look around for the host.

Just as he rounded the corner, you heard a loud shout,

“MacTavish! You made it,” Lachlan’s voice carried through the crowded bar and you watched Johnny’s face light up in recognition.

He shook Lachlan’s hand and Bekah came up behind him, wrapping her arms in a tight hug, which he returned, just as tightly. They chatted together for a moment until you saw Lachlan look over Johnny’s big shoulder right into your eyes. He waved you over, and you tried to control your face. So much regret. But, you made your bed and now you had to lie in it.

“Hey, babes,” Lachlan and Bekah hugged you as well. The tall, handsome man made a point to leave his arm around your shoulder when you pulled away, “You can’t miss the game. We told Johnny you’re eating in, no complaints!”

“Yeah,” Bekah clung to Johnny’s heavy arm, “We’ve got plenty of room. Come have a seat.”

“Well…” Johnny started to make an excuse, giving you an out, but the look on his face was so earnestly disappointed that you interrupted him,

“Okay, thanks.”

You followed her to the table, and Johnny fell in behind. The waitress took your order. You watched the game, and you fell into a quiet lull. The room was bursting with energy, and you watched as Johnny slipped into the excitement. He fed off of the highs and the lows of the match. He barely touched his food, and you ate alone. He was right about the khorma. It was delicious. You wrapped up your leftover samosa and put it near his plate. He’d find it eventually.

You pushed your chair out and stood to leave. He turned to you and caught your hand. You stared at his hand and he stared down at it too, dropping it after a breath, forgetting himself for a moment,

“Where you off to, bonnie?”

“Ladies’ room. See you in a bit,” you ducked out of the crowd and into the bathroom for a moment, trying to get your thoughts together in the silence.

You washed your hands and avoided the mirror until you had to look. Then, there it was, the embroidered “MacTavish” across your chest, a little too ironic.

You took a deep breath and went back out into the fray. The Rangers scored, and Ettrick’s went wild. Bekah and Johnny held each other by the arms and screamed with joy into each other’s faces, nearly leaping over the table in celebration.

Johnny’s focus on her was so intense, the look in his eyes so full of fiery admiration, you could barely look at them. He could have Bekah. There were no rules against her like there were for you. You shouldn’t have had the nerve to even consider that he might choose you. How could he go against the wishes of his own sister? How could you?

You were right next to the back door, so you made your exit. It was a long walk back to his room, and you were nearly frozen by the time you got there. Rodger was still snoring away, and Pidge’s door was closed. So, you stripped down to just your shorts and a tank, and you crawled into bed, defeated.

TWO HOURS LATER

“There you are, mhèirleach! You had me worried sick,” the deep rumble of Johnny’s voice and his heavy weight shifting onto the mattress pulled you from your sleep.

You groaned, trying to deter his attention. He smelled like the bar, and himself, but mostly the bar. All you felt was guilt and shame and you wanted it to stop.

“Are you alright, lass? Why’d you go? I would’ve taken you back.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled.

He didn’t reply. You fell back to sleep, starving for something you couldn’t eat.

…BEFORE MORNING

You awoke to a strong nose and jaw nuzzling your hair and neck, taking long deep inhales of your scent and breathing heavy. Johnny had his arm snaked up through the bottom of your shirt, his huge hand sticking out of the crew collar, holding you firmly against the base of your clavicle. His thumb was feeling the crescent curve where your throat met your body, over and over like he needed to memorize it. Like he wanted to find it again in the dark and know it was one and the same.

Was he awake? You couldn’t tell. You could tell, however, that his cock was pressing hard between your thighs, the fabric of your shorts shoved out of place by the fabric of his boxer briefs, straining against the thin cloth.

“A bheil thu milis, a mhèirleach?” Are you sweet, thief?

You decided that no, he wasn’t awake. He knew you didn’t speak Gaelic, and you had no idea what he was asking. Yet, your body seemed to. It recognized his aching timbre, its dark dulcet layers folding over your senses like silky caramel.

His hand retraced its path, sliding back through the valley of your breasts, exploring southward, finding the gaping waistband of your shorts and your lack of knickers under them. Upon discovery, his big body rocked into you, his thick rod riding into your thigh, begging for relief. A ragged, shuddering sigh left his lips and you felt it race across your skin.

“Feumaidh fios a bhith agam.” I need to know.

His words all slurred together. You were too busy melting under his hand to care for a translation. His wrist finally dipped low enough for him to slip one thick finger into your wet heat, soaking itself there like a wick in wax, coated and milky.

Your breath stalled. You couldn’t breathe in, nor out, and you felt your pussy clench around his knuckles, kissing his fingertip as he slipped it back out. Then, you watched as he slowly brought it to his lips, right next to your face, and you saw him feed himself with your slick, sucking it off of his skin, licking the knuckles of his fingers, eager for any missed drops.

Wild, crazed pleasure mixed with cold guilt in your chest. So, you called for help,

“Johnny?” Your voice was just above a whisper.

He breathed into your neck again, and then his tone changed. His language changed. He changed.

“Mm,” he whispered, “Sorry, thief. You stole my covers.”

With that excuse, he took some of the blanket from you and turned back over, breathing deeply again, leaving you there in a million little pieces.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Chapter 05

[strwbmei]

Matchup Event

Matchup for: @schendsal

Matchups: Yukong, Bronya, Eula

Contains: fluff, smut, male reader, breeding (Yukong), creampie mentions (Yukong), mentions of lactation (Yukong), breast play (Yukong and Bronya), marking (Bronya), semi-public sex (Eula), implied masturbation (Eula), blowjob (Eula)

A/N: Sorry for taking so long! Honestly, it was Yukong's part that took the longest because there was a bunch of stuff I had to confirm with the lore and then I ended up changing most of it by the time I was almost finished. Hope you like it, though!

Ask:

Congratulations on reaching 1,000 followers, I hope you continue to grow more and more!

Personality-wise I tend to be an ambivert.

Around close friends I'm the one in the group who's always cracking jokes or saying the most mind-numbingly stupid things. I do this to make them laugh and keep their spirits high, since I know that life can be pretty stressful for everyone. If that stress gets to be too much, then I'm happy to hear out their troubles and lend them a shoulder for support. I might not be able to solve their problems, but I want to be a source of strength for them at the least.

Outside my friend group I become a lot more closed off. Instead of goofing off, I'm told I become diligent and considerate of others. I like to make sure school assignments are completed ahead of time so my group can review it and help other groups if they become stuck. Though I usually end up as the group lead, I don't like to lead by force. Instead I prefer to let my team play to their strengths, and I'll make up the weaknesses as we go along. A happy team is a good team after all!

This doesn't mean I'm not without my flaws. I can be really immature at times, and I get depressed if I feel like I'm holding others back or can't perform at the high standard I set for myself. When this happens I usually close myself off from others and listen to music until I feel better. I can get competitive when it comes to things I'm passionate about, but not to the point of lashing out at others.

In terms of hobbies I have a few outside of games. I like reading, cooking for others, listening to music, and cheesy romance novels. I sketch a bit too, but I'm not very good at it, haha. I'm the type to take a lot of interest in my partners hobbies, and I'd probably bug them a bunch about it.

For the ask, I'd like a mix of SFW and NSFW with whomever I'm paired with. Sadly the only fandoms I'm familiar with are Honkai: Star Rail and Genshin Impact. Grinding for those two eats up most of my spare time, so I haven't gotten to try the others. The scenario could be a festival date or comforting one another after a long day of work. But if inspiration strikes you, feel free to write what you please!

I'm a heterosexual dominant, so I suppose I wouldn't want to be paired up with any of the men. (Fine as they may be). Intimacy for me is more about the connection than being extreme with it, and I take pride in providing my partner with pleasure. For my own tastes, I am into breeding, sleepy sex, semi-public sex, oral (giving & receiving), and breast play.

Yukong

╰┈➤ SFW ;

: ̗̀➛ No one would've guessed that you two were in a relationship, especially with how you two act in the workplace. In fact, everyone thought Yukong disliked you due to the high standard she always held you to when that was only because she knew she could count on you.

: ̗̀➛ That said, your relationship wasn't a secret. Yukong wasn't exactly the type to be all clingy and affectionate in public, much less while on the job, so everyone dismissed it as a joke whenever you called her your wife. They just thought you were one of those guys who liked getting treated harshly. Safe to say they were floored when they saw Yukong giving you a kiss on the cheek before heading into the building.

: ̗̀➛ She may have been an ace pilot who could calmly conquer the battlefield in any situation, but she couldn't help but feel nervous introducing you to Qingni. Yukong was extremely relieved that the two of you got along. Though, much to her detriment, you bonded over pulling silly pranks on her when she least expected them.

: ̗̀➛ Domestic life with Yukong couldn't be any better. She's responsible for her share of chores and helps you out whenever she can. Both her and Qingni are also a joy to cook for because you can easily see the way their eyes light up once they take the first bite.

: ̗̀➛ Once a month, without fail, the three of you clear your schedule to have a picnic trip together. Most of the time, you're the one who cooks all of the food while Yukong is the one who sets everything up. Once you're done eating, the three of you often opt to fly kites or catch up with each other. Both activities give Yukong a lot of comfort.

: ̗̀➛ Your relationship with her feels like home. In a future full of uncertainties and doubt, you find respite within each other. You might have disagreements every now and then, but they only make your bond and trust in the other person even stronger.

"Dear, could you pass me the salt, please?"

"Mm. Here you go."

"..."

"..." It's been a little bit longer than an hour since you first got home. You and Yukong didn't fight or anything, but the awkwardness is killing you. It's obvious that both of you have had a tiring day, even more so than usual.

The dining room is filled with soft, yet sharp sounds of tableware, and you're the first to actually try to break this uncomfortable silence. "You know you can talk to me about anything, Yukong." She nods and sighs. "I know, it's just... I've never been good with words."

Annnnnd it's back to that same soundlessness again. Not another word from either of you until you're in bed together. "I apologize for always treating you so harshly at work." She suddenly speaks up, turning to face you.

"It's nothing personal. Besides, I wouldn't want to get special treatment just because I'm your partner. What brought this on?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing in particular. I've just been really stressed with work lately, and I don't wish to cause any for you."

"Not at all. I know you only do that because you trust me." You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

"Because you're one of the few I can depend on. You're always doing your best, and I'm proud of you for it."

"Yeah. Thank you, Yukong."

"I just want you to know that you can depend on me too. You don't have to shoulder everything on your own."

"..."

"..."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

╰┈➤ NSFW ;

: ̗̀➛ Breeding. Breeding. Breeding. It's quite literally all that's on her mind whenever the two of you make love. You could say that it's because of her genes or heat cycles, but Yukong can't deny that she's always wanted to have little pups to care for.

: ̗̀➛ She doesn't even care if she cums as long as you promise to stuff her full by the end of it. Of course, you'd never be so cruel, but it just goes to show how she'll gladly do anything to get you to breed her thoroughly.

: ̗̀➛ To Yukong, it doesn't matter whether she's on top or bottom. While she'd be grateful if you did most of the work, she's also perfectly willing to put in effort to get what she wants. Whether it be in her career or in bed, it's a whole different feeling of satisfaction to get what you've worked so hard for.

: ̗̀➛ Yukong isn't very vocal in bed, but that doesn't mean she isn't feeling good. It's quite the opposite, actually. You know you've got her good when she's biting her lip, nails digging into whatever part of you she can reach as her cunt clamps down hard on you.

: ̗̀➛ Despite never actually have given birth before, Yukong has the ability to lactate. You don't even have to play with her breasts to get her to— she'll lactate a good bit just from having an orgasm. Playing with her nipples certainly helps, though.

: ̗̀➛ Call her vanilla, but Yukong dislikes using toys in bed. She thinks they're a waste of time and prefers to get straight into the action. She won't mind using them on you if you want her to, but when it comes to herself, she'd much rather you pound her silly instead of wasting your energy on vibrators and the like.

You're in the kitchen, on your way to start making breakfast. You woke up early, and what better use of your time to make Yukong a nice meal? Currently, she's in your shared room, getting some much needed rest.

Or so you thought until you saw her standing by the doorframe wearing nothing but one of your dress shirts. "Good morning, Yukong. What do you think of pancakes for breakfast?" You smile at her, on your way to grab your apron.

You're quickly stopped in your tracks when Yukong suddenly stumbles, almost falling to the ground. "Yukong! Are you alright?" She shakes her head. "My love... I need your help."

You're worried and confused for a moment before you look down to see her thighs sticky with her fluids.

Oh.

You gulp. "I understand. Don't worry, I'll take care of you." Your hands make their way to the buttons of her shirt, and you're able to feel just how hot her body is beneath it. Even more so than during her usual heat cycles.

You leave kisses along her neck, collarbones, and her now exposed chest, but it seems Yukong doesn't want that. Her mind is hazy, and her lust for you only worsens by the second.

She takes your hand, guiding it to her dripping cunt,and you can feel just how much she needs you. Yukong looks at you with dazed eyes, "There's no need for you to be such a gentleman. I'm... really not in the mood for teasing right now."

Bronya

╰┈➤ SFW ;

: ̗̀➛ Bronya loved being the Supreme Guardian. Truly, she did—but loving something doesn't mean she's always happy to do it. She was glad to help her people and take on their burdens, but the dark circles under her eyes spoke for themselves as did her obvious fatigue.

: ̗̀➛ Every day felt like an endless cycle of document after document until you came into her life. Everybody else felt it wasn't their place to try to assist Bronya with her duties, and you were the only one who made an effort to help.

: ̗̀➛ Seeing the cup of coffee on her desk with a small note always gives Bronya the strength she needs to push through the day because she immediately knows who it's from. The coffee is made just how she likes it, at just the right temperature. It's a secret that she won't tell even you, but she keeps all of those post-its you leave in a drawer and looks through them whenever she misses you.

: ̗̀➛ Even with a busy lifestyle, she tries to make as much time for you as she can and comes home into your arms as early as possible. Sure, fancy dates might not always be feasible, but can it really get better than cuddling with each other as you fall asleep?

: ̗̀➛ She doesn't want to reveal your relationship to the public until you're married, but everyone can clearly see that the two of you have something going on. The way she smiles when she's with you is completely different.

: ̗̀➛ Overall, they're just glad that their Supreme Guardian isn't overworking herself as much. Everyone tells her to rest, but you're the only one that she isn't as stubborn with.

Cocolia Rand, her mother. Cocolia Rand, the Supreme Guardian.

Since when did the line start to blur? Perhaps such a "line" did not exist in the first place. Perhaps she deliberately chose to ignore the undeniable signs of impending catastrophe. And yet, what did that lead to?

It's already been a year, but her nightmares repeat like clockwork all the same. Just when she thinks she's come to accept what happened, memories much too vivid come back to haunt her.

Bronya jolts awake in a cold sweat. She tries to draw breath, but air fails to enter her lungs. It feels as if they've closed themselves; as if this were punishment for her ignorance.

"Bronya... Bronya!" You call out to her. Seeing you has eased the aching in her heart ever so slightly, and finally, she can breathe.

Bronya hadn't shed a single tear since that day; she vowed to herself and to her mother that she wouldn't. Yet, without realizing it, a stream of them makes their way down her cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me so suddenly..." Bronya sniffles, wiping her tears. You pull her into a tight hug, and she gladly takes the opportunity to hide her face in your neck. She doesn't want you to see her like this.

"It's okay. It'll all be alright. I'm here for you."

Just like that, something inside of Bronya shatters. All of the anger and sadness she's felt for so long, all at once. She bursts into tears and sobs into your shirt. "You've been so brave, haven't you?"

Almost an hour passes as you comfort her, and she finally starts to calm down. She pulls away, looking up at you with puffy, tear-stained eyes. "There's nothing left. I've lost everything." You muster up the warmest smile you can manage and bring a hand up to caress her cheek. "You're wrong, Bronya. There is still something left." "A chance to take everything back."

╰┈➤ NSFW ;

: ̗̀➛ Bronya is the most submissive person to walk this universe EVER. The human embodiment of the phrase "you tell me to jump, I ask how high." She'll do whatever you want as soon as you say the word because making you feel good makes her feel good.

: ̗̀➛ Considering the type of person you are, sex with Bronya is almost like a competition of pleasuring the other person more. She's very good at turning you on, but she's way too tired to do much most of the time. Bronya still tries, of course, but you always end up winning this little "competition" of yours.

: ̗̀➛ She's such a big baby in a way that just makes you want to spoil her rotten. Holding hands, hugging, kissing, you name it— she'll cling onto you every chance she gets. The sweet thing just has to touch you, and you could never bring yourself to deny her.

: ̗̀➛ Her moans are so pretty, too! They're drawn-out and breathy, growing louder as she nears her orgasm. She tries not to be too loud, but it just feels too good sometimes. One side of you wants to make her scream your name loud enough for everyone else to hear, while the other wants to keep her cute sounds all to yourself.

: ̗̀➛ Scratches a lot, but the marks aren't too deep thanks to her nails always being perfectly filed. She doesn't leave hickeys (much) as she's more of the type to leave soft, quick kisses wherever she can reach. Bronya can't help feeling guilty seeing the red lines she made on your back, though. There are many other ways she can mark you as hers, after all. She doesn't want to hurt you.

"My love..." Bronya sighs dreamily, feeling your hands trail up her body. Your warmth provided her comfort to get through the night, and truly, that was the only thing she sought from you before all of this began.

A kiss. That was all it took for lust to plant itself in your hearts.

She tilted her head, and you gladly took the chance to leave soft kisses along her neck. Your fingers traced her body; down to her her hips, back up to her breasts, and finally, they found themselves playing with her nipples.

"Mmh..." Bronya groaned, leaning into your touch. You hum in response, rolling the buds on your fingers. "Beautiful girl." A soft, yet sudden pinch makes her gasp and arch her back. "Love you so much..."

Your warmth was no longer enough. Bronya wanted more; wanted you. You made her feel like the greediest woman in Belobog, and for some reason, she loved it. "Please, I want you."

Halting your movements, you gently flip her over so that you're on top of her. You take the hand covering her mouth and kiss the inside of her wrist. "Then, you will have me. I'm all yours."

Is lust just another fragment of love or an impurity that taints it? Is Bronya your adored muse, or your most beloved sin?

Eula

╰┈➤ SFW ;

: ̗̀➛ Honestly, the two of you didn't quite get along at first. She wasn't outright uncooperative when the two of you went on missions, but you could feel how strangely distant she was being for seemingly no reason. You only broke the ice once you invited her to a drink to celebrate finishing a particularly difficult mission together.

: ̗̀➛ She's never had someone willingly accompany her, much less invite her to a bar, so she ended up talking your ear off as she vented her frustrations about the discrimination she faced just for her last name. While her family has done some messed up stuff, that isn't necessarily her fault. She's just a normal girl.

: ̗̀➛ No one could've expected it, but the first thing you discovered you had in common with the infamous Spindrift Knight was your love for cheesy romance novels. How you found out? You were both drunk. You started reciting the cringiest dialogue you could remember from them, and Eula continued the lines after you.

: ̗̀➛ Even though you first got to really know her while drinking with her, Eula only really shows her true self once she's alone with you. She's the gentlest, kindest, most compassionate woman you've ever met. You wonder if the rest of Mondstadt were blind to not see Eula beyond her being a Lawrence, but really, she's only this vulnerable when she's with you.

: ̗̀➛ Marriage in particular is one of her biggest fantasies. There's just something really romantic to her about being so... deeply connected to each other. Eula always thought it'd be impossible for someone like her, yet, here you are. You accept her and all her flaws with open arms. She's so used to blazing flames to the point that your gentle warmth feels so alien. It's not a feeling she's used to, but that doesn't mean that she won't cherish it.

: ̗̀➛ Speaking of marriage, Eula would prefer to take your last name. She's not running away from her family's actions; much less is she trying to clear their name. Eula knows that what they've done is unforgivable. A name is what makes up a good part of your identity. It's what people will remember you as and it's who you are to them. Bearing your last name makes her feel like she's taking a part of you with her wherever she goes no matter how much time passes, and that gives her indescribable comfort.

Eula never liked the Windblume festival. No, Eula hated the Windblume festival.

Why wouldn't she? Everything was so noisy. Even during the day, taverns were filled with drunks merrily getting wasted. There were fewer commissioners, which left more work for her to do.

It didn't help that the Windblume Festival also symbolized the downfall of the Lawrence clan.

Festivity filled Mondstadt's winds, and any form of participation from her earned nothing but more scorn from the townspeople she works so hard to protect.

Although Eula had you this time around, she didn't want to keep you from enjoying the festival just because she couldn't participate.

Alas, she forgot to consider one thing: It's you who knows her best. You know that she wants to celebrate just like everybody else. So if she can't go to the festival, why not bring the festival to her instead?

Maybe you can't exactly replicate the festive atmosphere and the little games, but that wasn't going to stop you. The essence of the Windblume Festival doesn't lie in high-quality wine and fancy ceremonies, but in showing your loved ones that you care.

Eula had her suspicions when you suddenly took her on a date saying you "knew a spot," but she didn't expect to see a secluded place in the forest filled to the brim with dandelions.

"So? What do you think?" You smile at her, pride filling you once you see how awestruck she is. It's not often she's so surprised. "It's... beautiful." Eula replies. The softness of her voice as she says this is one she shows only to you.

After a moment passes, you take a deep breath. "You're everything to me," you pick a dandelion, presenting it to her with a confident smile on your face. "more precious than the very air I breathe..."

It's her favorite line from her favorite novel. To other people, it might not make sense, but she remembers it vividly and she's glad that you do, too. She can't help but chuckle as she takes the flower from your hand.

"Or the chocolates I love." She continues. Honestly, it sounds more cheesy rather than romantic in real life, but she can't stop herself from smiling like an idiot. After all, she always viewed those books as nothing more than a mere fantasy.

"You'll always be my treasure."

╰┈➤ NSFW ;

: ̗̀➛ Great would be an understatement to describe your sex life with Eula. She's flexible, has seemingly endless stamina, and her hips work wonders. Not to mention she has the most attractive body you've seen and an even more attractive face to go along with it.

: ̗̀➛ Eula is neither dominant nor submissive. She does things her own way, based on whatever she feels like doing at a given moment. If Eula wants to ride you, she'll ride you. If she wants to give you head, she'll give you head and vice versa. Eula is just focused on making the both of you feel good.

: ̗̀➛ She's fine with mostly anything as long as she can see your face during sex. If not that, then at least to feel your hands somewhere on her. Eula might not look like the type, but she's inexperienced with all of this and she just needs to see that you're the one making her feel so good.

: ̗̀➛ Eula denies it, but she loves the risk of semi-public sex. It gets her heartbeat rising and adrenaline pumping. Everything about it from having to keep quiet to the chance of being caught in such an explicit act turns her on.

: ̗̀➛ She's surprisingly shy in bed though, especially during your first time. She becomes all cute and focused, trying her best not to mess anything up. Eula becomes more daring and bold as time passes, but hearing reassurance and praise from you is always appreciated.

: ̗̀➛ Riding you is her favorite thing to do. The position you're in gives both of you just the right amount of control. She doesn't have to move much for it to feel good either, just feeling your cock grind against her walls has her biting her moans back.

"I understand that I'm attractive, but do you always have to be so... easily roused?" Eula looks up at you, a shade of pink spotting her cheeks and eyes full of annoyance.

Okay, maybe this was partly her fault since she's been putting herself in provocative positions in front of you, but she only expected a bit of fun once you got home.

She certainly wasn't expecting to suck you off in a random alleyway where you could easily be caught.

"Eula, you really don't have to..." You sigh. Admittedly, this whole situation was really turning you on, but you didn't want to force her into doing anything she didn't want to do nonetheless.

"You really think I'd let you walk home with such an obvious boner?" She glares. She did have a point— ignoring it would just bring both of you embarrassment. "Just... make sure to finish quickly. This place reeks..."

Nimble hands work to quickly undo your pants and free your aching cock. Eula would much rather take her time in the comforts of your home, but the situation just doesn't allow for that.

Not even a second later, you can feel her lips wrapped around the tip, working its way down your length eagerly. Every inch that isn't in her mouth is being carefully handled by her hands.

It takes all of your strength to keep quiet as she moves her tongue exactly how you like it. "Fuck... Eula..." You groan. When you start softly tugging at her hair and bucking your hips, she knows you're near your orgasm.

What really brought you over the edge was the sight of Eula grinding on her own hand as she sucked you off. Warm cum fills her mouth, and she swallows all of it. "Geez, you're gonna make a mess..." She complains.

Seeing the wet patch on her shorts, you know that you'll have to finish what you started.

[whimsiwitchy]

wip/life update <3

hi everyone,

srry for being mia for a few days (lol). I'm gonna start this update with saying that I have no idea when i'll have updates out for any of my series/short series (cyg, ihtstyk, we broke up pt2). I've been working on them slowly but i'm in a huge writers funk. I'm not fully in a block but I just can't get the words to sound the way I want them to.

I think longer stories are harder for me to continue. I always have this super good idea that I get excited for but halfway through I fall off of it. I felt it with my Pedro series and i'm starting to feel it with cyg. I definitely think any future series will be fully written before releasing it bc lord have mercy...writing 5k+ plus updates weekly is exhausting and I praise anyone who does it consistently, y'all are insane fr (but in a good way). I wish that I didn't hold my work at such a high standard for myself. by no means is my writing beyond stellar but i always try to make it better and better, which really fucks with my head lmao.

speaking of my head, this ho is going through it. I have been so mentally drained and it's leading to me being physically drained as well. I've had a tough week and I took a little break from writing. I think i've mentioned it before but my mood always affects my writing and it sucks!! I'm trying to figure out how to separate the two.

anyways, nothing too crazy going on. I might drop a few one shots here and there coming up, as well as a introduction/teaser to a new series that i'm working on (y'all i know i have no business starting something new butttt it's such a good idea, ik y'all are gonna love it!)

I'm placing both of my series on hold until further notice but that doesn't mean i'm not working on it! I just don't want you guys to be expecting something when i'm not sure when it's coming.

I love y'all <33

[666writingcafe]

Lust (Part One)

Barbatos

During MC's extended break from their duties at the House of Lamentation, I have been stopping through a couple times a week to check in and make sure the brothers haven't destroyed the place due to a lack of supervision. Ideally, I'd come more often, but my role as Diavolo's head butler necessitates most of my time being spent at the castle. After all, I don't trust the other servants to perform up to my standards on a consistent basis.

Yesterday happened to be laundry day, so I went ahead and mixed the brothers' clothes in with everyone else's. One might think that out of a group of seven, at least one individual could figure out how to operate a washer and dryer. Then again, they've been under a great deal of stress lately with The Change, so perhaps learning how to use Devildom appliances isn't high on their to-do list.

I approach the front door of the House and gently knock. No answer, which isn't overly surprising. They tend to be too preoccupied to answer right away. I give it a moment before trying again.

Still nothing.

Odd. Usually someone would have acknowledged me by now.

One more knock.

Silence.

Out of curiosity, I push on the door, causing it to squeak as it begins moving.

Something's wrong. The House is way too quiet. Furthermore, if the brothers were away, Lucifer would have made sure everything was locked before their departure.

It would be irresponsible of me to return to the castle without investigating. Diavolo wouldn't have the information necessary to make an informed decision that would help the brothers out of whatever trouble they've gotten themselves into.

And so I open the door wide enough for me to step inside. I'm barely in the foyer when it magically slams behind me, putting me more on edge. However, before I can do anything to prepare for a potential confrontation, a pungent floral scent assaults my nose, nearly knocking me off my feet as I lose my grip on the basket I was holding.

It must be Asmo's turn.

Hello, Barbatos. So glad you could join us.

His voice bounces off the walls, but he's nowhere to be seen.

"What have you done, Asmodeus?" I sternly ask, trying to keep my wits about me. He responds with cruel laughter.

Whatever do you mean?

"Where are your brothers?"

Oh, them! They're merely resting.

"Don't lie to me."

I'm not. They were running around like a bunch of madmen, and so I've made them take a nice little break from all their troubles.

"By charming them into submission."

They wouldn't listen otherwise. I just wanted them to relax.

A shudder runs through my spine. I need to get out of here before I fall under the same fate as the others.

But I can't move. No matter how much I try, my body insists on remaining still.

You look tired. You should stay here for a little while. Let me take your mind off things.

I don't remember the House being overly hot, and yet I'm beginning to burn up. It's making me feel increasingly light-headed.

Maybe I do need to lie down--

No.

That is what he wants me to do. I can't give in to him.

I knew you'd be hesitant. Perhaps this will convince you to listen.

A single step causes me to collapse to the ground as visions begin dancing around the room, my mind becoming incredibly foggy.

This is what he's done, hasn't he? Looked inside his brothers' souls and used their deepest desires against them?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. At least, that's the way I've always seen it. What's the point of doing it multiple times with someone that will never be yours? Not just because they belong to another person, but a whole other timeline?

And yet I can't help myself. There have been nights where I've allowed my mind to wander. Unlike most demons, my daydreams can become rather vivid, almost as though they're happening in real time. Lucid dreaming on steroids, you might say.

We didn't do anything overly daring that night, but what if we did? What if I was able to properly explore their body? Figure out every single way to turn them on? How would I make them unravel quickly, and how would I make them beg for it?

My control is beginning to slip. At this rate, I only have about a minute or two before I lose it completely.

As much as I hate the idea of reaching out to him for help, I don't have much of a choice. I can ensure the quickest arrival from him. At least this version of him is a lot kinder than mine.

Using the last bit of my strength, I silently will the pact to bring him to me. The mark faintly glowing is the last thing I see before I pass out completely.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @budbuddnbuddy

[realhumanithink]

coming back online to share to the world my list of evan things. if you relate to most these things i title you Evan Rosier Kin

note: all of these are headcanons and may not align with how you perceive evan. most of these are inspired by like tiktoks and stuff, but otherwise its mostly things based on me because i literally remind myself of evan so much

another note: phrasing of these may be harsh!! im not targetting anyone fyi, and i dont mean harm, but i wrote most of these in a fit of self-hatred and when i reread them, i realised "hey, this sounds like evan lol" so i brushed it up a bit, but there might still be harsh wording and accusations

last note!!!: i have no fucking personality and im using this to self-reflect so my fault lmao

wants to be an overachiever, a hard worker, but in reality is just a gifted kid who hasn't fully burned out and is too lazy to actually work hard.

30000 different genres of songs on spotify. wonders if that means you have no personality.

sometimes wonders if people would miss you when you’re gone. doesn't think so.

knows 6 different languages, not good at any.

can't take criticism.

ambiverted. wonders if this means you have no personality.

likes a style, but isn't sure you would look good in it.

supposed ‘smart and nice’ kid, but that's who you were 4 years ago. people still hold the same view of you. 

high standards. you've been brainwashed into thinking u can meet them but sometimes, u aren't so sure.

covers the parts of your face u dont like with hair. bonus points if it's a regular ass haircut like a fringe and your parents hate it.

gets overly clingy in friendships. not like physically clingy but mentally?? if you get me

wanna be insomniac. thing is, it just takes you a bit longer to fall asleep.

fluctuating confidence levels

feels like a second choice, always.

cringe culture holds you back from enjoying what you want to enjoy.

the people around you don't seem to care as much as you do. whenever you succeed, you look back and no one is cheering like you always do. sometimes, it feels like you are average or lower, but the people you are compared to are simply even lower and that's why you are supposedly ‘good’.

*does well* “duh, *** is always so good. they don't deserve praise” *doesn't do well or actually just does average* “*** DIDNT DO WELL OHHHH”.

when someone compliments you, you feel pressured to uphold their standard and wonder how long it'll take till they realise you arent so good.

EXAMPLE because my wording is shit: someone told me i was funny and since then ive been scared to text him because i was like 'oh fuk what if when i talk to him next im not funny enough'

deathly afraid of being cheesy/cliche. this holds you back from showing much affection, especially romantic.

shoes are worn half to death.

your answer to theoretical questions is always ‘depends’. wonders if that means-

everyone thinks your friends ‘influence’ you, but really you’re as whack as them, just not as obvious.

a group of people you hate significantly less than everyone else, and one person you love

[sflow-er]

Sunday snippet

I haven't done these in a while, so to kick myself back into gear, I'm sharing with you the start of an aged-up Henry oneshot that grew out of my QP Walty writing practice...

It's a long one, so I'm putting it under a cut.

[Title TBR]

If there was one thing about today that Henry did not expect to struggle with, it was his necktie.

After all, he’s got enough experience to tie it on muscle memory alone. Three whole decades’ worth. From the tedious lessons with his father since before he started primary school, to the uniformed school celebrations and secret Society meetings at Hillerska, to the summer balls of Riddarskapet och Adelns Ungdomsklubb and an assortment of high society events that have dappled his life since early adulthood. A tie was not necessarily required on all those occasions, but he always found it harder to meet the standards without one.

That’s not even to mention the last few years and the campaign he started after his father’s untimely death. Sometimes, it feels as if he’s been armoured in a silk tie and a Windsor knot every other day since the funeral, to meet with some old baron or former Society brother. Rationally, he knows that’s not true; there was plenty of tieless time in between, and the last six months have been almost entirely tie-free. It’s just hard to see that when the tie days get on top of his mind.

Which makes today’s fumbling all the more frustrating.

Even with Henry drawing on his vast experience – and standing in front of the massive bathroom mirror that should remove all margin for error – the knot keeps coming out untidy. Whether it’s one or both shoulders peeking out, or the blade being too short and the tail too long, or the end result being too tight or loose by look or feel.

It doesn’t take much effort to imagine what the late Carl Emil Silfverfeldt would make of this travesty his sole heir has just inched up to his collar. Henry can see it when he holds his own gaze in the mirror; the blue of their eyes is exactly the same, as is the critical look. The longer he stays like that, the easier it is to feel a hand on his shoulder and the words ‘we agreed that you would give it your best, and we are men of our word, aren’t we?’ in his gut.

This, he thinks grimly, is most definitely not his best. He would not settle for it even on an average day, let alone an occasion. Regardless of everything else, today is an occasion, and he cannot – will not – turn up in this mess when he’s perfectly capable of making it look right –

He breaks eye contact with a sigh and catches his head with his fingertips. Careful not to mess up his hair, he kneads his forehead from brow to temples, trying to disperse the thought that’s been popping up all morning.

Maybe a break is in order. He isn’t sure if he can still afford one when he’s already wasted so much time, but it’s not like the party can start without him.

He slinks back to the bedroom, removing the tie along the way. He should probably hang it with his jacket and waistcoat, but he can’t be bothered to circle around the king-size bed to get to them. On top of the dresser will do.

Both his phone and his smartwatch keep blinking at him as he adds the tie to the items already laid out next to the charging station – signet ring, cufflinks, antique pocket watch, little square box. No doubt he’s missed a ton of messages. Figuring he might as well catch up now, he grabs the phone and takes a seat at the foot end of the bed.

He could have guessed that the first batch would be from his mother, Mikaela. She’s been freaking out about Säpo at the manor house all morning, as if there was any risk of the agents suddenly ruling the venue unsafe and calling the whole thing off.

Then again, that would be a pretty smooth way out of this tie slump. Is it too late to call August or Wilhelm and ask them to fix a last-minute security threat? Surely at least one of them must have done it before.

The thought coaxes a laugh out of him, but alas. Mikaela’s texts about the Security Police hassle end with someone having reassured her that the event can proceed with both former crown princes in attendance.

She has moved on to requesting his input on something else, apparently explained in a long voice message. There’s also a random picture of stylised yellow roses.

‘Darling, I know you’re busy getting ready, but if it’s not too much trouble,’ Mikaela starts in a tone that strongly implies it will be. ‘I’m getting a lot of questions about what is and isn’t appropriate. Five separate people – for example, Cecilia showed me her card this morning, and there were roses on it. I said you said no flowers, but she insisted, so I promised to send you a picture. Let me know what you think, okay?’

Henry sighs and enlarges the photo. He doesn’t know much about flowers or what they’re supposed to represent, but his aunt probably does. He doesn’t hate the card – but that’s about as far as he gets in forming an opinion before his mother overwhelms him with the rest of her query.

.-.-.

Cutting it off here for now (and also reserving the right to edit further). I'm fairly excited for this one so hopefully I can continue working on it to finish it soon-ish!

[breebirds]

OKAY I have more Gotham Knights opinions. So like first, I played exclusively as Red Hood cause my plan is to play as each character all the way through and then go back and play it a 5th time were I interchange

Also I played on PS so it might be different to when you play on PC but here are my thoughts

1. The controls? Whack. There’s no actual jump button, you hold X when you’re near a ledge to climb or vault but there’s no actual designated jump button

(I learned the hard way if you run and hit crouch you slide… I had to restart a mission cause I slid in when I was supposed to not get caught and immediately got caught…)

2. The first Mr Freeze boss fight is stupid and I hate it. I never finished the Mr Freeze story because I just could not get past that stupid fucking boss fight. His health is too high, he has too many fucking lazer types, there’s no cover after round one, it’s dumb, I hate it, fuck whoever designed it I hope you pillow is always warm and your bananas are always rotten!

3. A lot of the time you have to stay undetected but it’s hard if you don’t know what you’re doing. So like, when you first have to break into GCPD, you just have to fucking book it while crouching for the door otherwise you will get caught. Didn’t know that the first time, hid for ages and got caught. It’s also really hard to tell if you run a certain way, if you’ll be seen or not. Inside the GCPD bull pen, I alerted all the guards to yellow cause I tried to run for the fence and vault but again, vaulting in this game SUCKS

The combat is like… fine I guess? I’m dyspraxic as fuck so I’ve always struggled with like button mashing and shit like that but sometimes you’re fighting someone and it’s like, impossible. The bog standard talons were harder to fight than the upgraded with knives or the big brute dudes cause you cannot hit them you have to shoot and it’s awkward trying to get the angle to line up, especially if there’s like 4 of them.

Also the final fight with Talia, right at the end she dodges waaay too much and you cannot hit her, it’s so annoying.

It was a good game, I enjoyed myself, I will be replaying it at least four times (currently started my Nightwing play through) but also… there’s issues that really should have been considered. I had to google how to do levels and seen others complaining so it’s not just a me thing but yeah… also, I love Jason’s build in the game but he looks a little old (he genuinely looks older than Bruce in some scenes) and man needs hair. Just give my boy a mop of black with white hair PLEASE

[jujumin-translates]

Sakuya Sakuma | [R] Keeping Your Love All to Myself | Sakuya-kun’s Love Life!?

Sakuya: Hmm… What should I get the Director for White Day?

Sakuya: (I want to give her something she’ll be happy with, but there’s so many things to choose from.)

Sakuya: (Huh, is that Kasumi-san over there?)

Sakuya: Kasumi-san, hello!

Kasumi: Hello, Sakuya-kun! Never thought I’d run into you here.

Sakuya: Same here! Are you out shopping too, Kasumi-san?

Kasumi: No. I just finished doing an interview and I’m on my way back to the publisher.

Sakuya: Ah, I see…! I’m so sorry to hold you up like this while you’re working!

Kasumi: Fufu, don’t worry about it. I was planning on taking a break and taking my time getting back.

Kasumi: Anyway, about what you just said… you’re in the middle of doing some shopping right now, Sakuya-kun?

Sakuya: Yeah, I am, but…

Kasumi: …But something is troubling you?

Sakuya: Huh, how’d you know!?

Kasumi: I could tell just by looking at your face. Feel free to confide in me, I’m always willing to talk things out with you, okay?

Sakuya: …Thank you so much! Well then, is it okay if I talk to you about it a bit now?

Kasumi: Yes, of course!

Sakuya: Actually, I’m worried about getting a gift for someone dear to me for White Day.

Kasumi: I see, White Day is coming up, isn’t it?

Kasumi: …Wait, someone dear to you!?

Sakuya: (Huh? The Director has always looked out for me, so she’s someone dear to me, right?)

Sakuya: Yeah. But I’ve looked at so many different stores, but I still don’t know what to get…

Kasumi: Your face is so serious, Sakuya-kun… That person must be really important to you.

Sakuya: Of course!

Kasumi: So in other words, this is about your love life…!

*Wind blows*

Sakuya: Huh? What was that? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that because of the wind…

Kasumi: No, it’s nothing! Anyway, this means you have to put all your heart into picking something out.

Sakuya: Yeah!

Kasumi: Right… I think it’s pretty standard to give sweets in return, but I think something like a handkerchief would also be nice to get…

Kasumi: If they’re a busy person, something like bath salts or hand cream could be a good idea around this time of year.

Sakuya: Ah…! That reminds me, she did mention that her skin has been feeling a little dry lately!

Kasumi: Then I think hand cream would be just the thing! It looks gorgeous and I think it’d be the perfect thing to give in return.

Kasumi: Right, right, there’s a new hand cream that just released that smells like sakura and it’s really popular with women right now…

· ❀ —– ٠ ❀ ٠ —– ❀ ·

Sakuya: Thanks to you, I was able to decide on something to give her! And thank you so much for telling me about the store that sells the hand cream, Kasumi-san!

Kasumi: Fufu, you’re welcome. I’m glad I was able to help you, Sakuya-kun.

Sakuya: Well then, I think I’m gonna head off right away!

Kasumi: Head off… to the store that I told you about?

Sakuya: Yeah! If it’s a popular hand cream, then I need to get there as soon as I can or it might sell out.

Kasumi: But will you be okay on your own? Do you want me to come with you?

Sakuya: Thank you for your concern. But I’ll be fine!

Kasumi: I see. Well then, take care, okay?

Sakuya: I will! Thank you so much for your help today, Kasumi-san!

*Footsteps*

Kasumi: …

Kasumi: (I’m still worried though, since it’s a little complicated to buy high-end cosmetics. I’ve still got some time before my break is over…)

Kasumi: Alright, I’ll go and check in on him just a little bit!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sakuya: I’m here…

Sakuya: (I don’t come to places like this very much, so I’m a little nervous, but…)

Sakuya: (I think this is the store that sells the hand cream Kasumi-san told me about.)

Sakuya: Excuse me. I came here to buy a hand cream that smells like sakura…

Store Worker: The new product that was released last week, correct? Excuse me for asking, but did you make an online reservation, sir?

Sakuya: Huh, reservation?

Store Worker: Yes. That item has become very popular, so most people come here after making a reservation…

Sakuya: I-I see!

Sakuya: I’m sorry, I didn’t make a reservation… Do you have to make one in order to buy it?

Store Worker: No, if there are any left in stock in the store, we’ll be able to give one to you.

Store Worker: Would you please wait here a moment while I go check?

Sakuya: Yes! Of course!

Kasumi: (Way to go, Sakuya-kun! Please let there be some in stock…!)

Azami: Hm? Is that Kasumi-san?

Yuki: What are you doing sneaking around like that?

Kasumi: Azami-kun and Yuki-kun!? Umm, well, about that…

Sakuya: Huh? That voice… Kasumi-san?

Kasumi: S-Sakuya-kun!

Sakuya: And Azami-kun and Yuki-kun too… Are you three shopping together?

Yuki: I don’t know what Kasumi’s doing, but Azami and I came to check out the new high-end cosmetics.

Kasumi: Right, right, I just bumped into them by chance. I just… had something important to attend to.

Sakuya: I see! Ah. Kasumi-san, I was able to get the hand cream!

Kasumi: Really? I’m glad!

Sakuya: Me too. It seems like it’s really popular, but the store worker told me they had just one left in stock…

Sakuya: Now I’ll be able to properly give her a gift in return for White Day. Thank you so much, Kasumi-san!

Kasumi: (Aaah, Sakuya-kun’s shining smile…! It seems like he’s really happy to have gotten the hand cream.)

Kasumi: …So precious.

Azami: Okay, seriously, what the hell’s going on?

Yuki: Right? I don’t know either, but I think we should just stay out of it…

[ice-block]

Idk if anyone is interested but I thought I’d put it out there because the other day I was talking w my therapist and she said when people have a negative experience with something they’re WAY more likely to tell everyone they know and when they have a good or neutral experience they don’t think much of it SO I’d like to put something positive out there for anyone who might be in the position I was in.

So anyway here’s my experience getting my first pap smear, as someone with an INSANE amount of anxiety about it:

I try to keep some less than pleasant personal stuff off this blog but I’ve got a decently sized medical phobia, general mistrust of gynecology after reading too many horror stories, and some weirdness about gender/sexuality/body (???) I don’t entirely understand myself. I also understand that maintaining personal health is important even if it’s scary so when my doctor told me it was time to make an appointment with a gynecologist, I did it, then spent the next 3 weeks having nightmares, anxiety attacks, and experiencing a general sense of impending doom as the appointment approached.

Things my therapist and I talked about before hand included:

1.) save your stress for the future, if it goes good, great! If it goes poorly, you’re allowed to be stressed then . Don’t make yourself suffer unless you need to.

2.) know what accommodations you want and be prepared to ask for them confidently and clearly. I wanted the smallest speculum, a warning BEFORE any and all touching, and to be able to stop at any moment.

The appointment eventually did arrive and while I was still a ball of nerves I got myself there and obediently went through the steps of registering as a patient and remaining sane in the waiting room, I was called to the back (if you have a support person you want to bring with you you can but I went alone) and chatted with the nurse about health history etc, this pretty much resembled your standard doctors appointment, they take your heart rate, BP, etc. the nurse wrapped up and told me the doctor would be in in a minute, I should undress from the waist down, and showed me a cloth (which was basically a really big napkin) I could cover my lap with. I definitely went pale at this and if my high blood pressure didn’t tip her off she definitely knew I was internally freaking out. She offered to have the doctor come in first if that would make me more comfortable and I declined.

I was left alone to undress, it feels really weird to take off your pants in an office with fluorescent lighting, after a minute the doctor knocked then came in (there’s also a curtain in front of the door so nobody walking past can just see you pants-less) she was a very kind woman who asked me some questions about it being my first time, at this point I was prepared to say my demands but I was very shocked when she beat me to it! She outright offered the smallest speculum and said “I’m going to show you the tools, we’ll talk through the procedure, and we’ll decide if a Pap smear is something we want to do today” which made me instantly feel so much better. My other surprise was how SMALL the smallest speculum was! It was about the size of my pointer finger. If it had been larger I honestly don’t know if I could have done the procedure but once I realized it was tiny I knew it’d be ok. (Also side note: it feels really weird to talk with someone while pants-less and holding a big napkin over your crotch)

I was instructed to lay on the exam table, which was really low to the ground when I got on it then raised up like a dentists chair, the little foot holds popped out from underneath it and I was instructed to put my feet in the holds and scoot all the way to the edge, I kept looking at the doctor through this and was told that during the exam I would have to look up at the ceiling. She warned me before even the slightest touch (“I’m going to put my hand on your thigh now”) asked if I was ready, when I said yes she inserted the speculum, which felt weird but not painful, it didn’t even feel painful when it opened. Just strange. Then the doctor took a cell scraping which felt REALLY weird for a part of the body not used to that sensation at all. It felt scratchy and then for a brief second their was a bit of pain (I’d rate like a 3 out of 10) and I thought “if this lasts any longer I can’t do this” but it was really only a split second and the worst moment was also the end. The speculum was quickly removed making the Pap smear a total of like 30 seconds max. Then the doctor told me she would check my uterus and ovaries and (still maintaining consent and giving warning) inserted a finger and pressed with her other hand hard on my stomach, this didn’t hurt either and the pressure/rubbing on my stomach made it so I wasn’t thinking about her other hand at all! Then I was allowed to sit up again, close my legs, the doctor asked if I had any questions and I was out of there!

Anyway hopefully this can help someone out there I tried to include all the details I had wanted while doing frantic research before hand, if you’re in the same boat, you can do this!

[pinkest-nekomata]

As a “figurative language is my special interest” flavored auDHDer, I wanted to share some things I have taken too literally that were not immediately obvious:

The phrase “taking things too literally,” which DOES NOT apparently only mean in the context of figurative language or sarcasm, but which also means “expecting an allistic said what they meant even when they weren’t joking and just used vague language instead of making an actual effort at communicating”, see also:

“They worked tirelessly” is just a thing people say to mean “they worked hard”

“They never complained” means they didn’t complain enough to seem like a complainer, but they might have complained quite a bit, just not in an “annoying” way

“They’re always there for me” apparently can apply after only one instance of support, and certainly doesn’t always mean they’re answering calls in the middle of the night

“She always has a smile on her face” means she smiles like 20% more than typical but she has also probably been sad or upset around them multiple times

“Write a couple of sentences” means anything from two short sentences to, like, paragraphs

“Friend” can mean just like, a vague acquaintance

So yeah do you see a trend of me holding myself to impossibly high standards because I sure do 🙃

If these resonated with you, tell me in the notes and I will write more!

[pseudowho]

Genuine question, how do you manage to balance work and answering questions and writing and ur home life?

-someone struggling with time management as a student

First, please remember these things.

I am likely a good amount older than you, at 31.

I'm on maternity leave at the moment...but as in a previous Ask, I'd say that full time motherhood is arguably just as busy, if not busier, than working, and I do a very busy job (Midwifery).

I am high-functioning anxious, and it makes me wildly productive.

I have been a student and a mother and a full-time team leader simultaneously since the age of 24.

I have no down-time that I don't spend writing, or occasionally reading.

I write very fast-- for example, my drabbles generally take me 30 minutes, I give them a quick skim read for accuracy, and then post.

I have an awful lot of experience as a student studying more subjects than I strictly should have (think Hermione and the Time Turner), while working at the same time (during my University course, we worked 37.5 hours a week utterly unpaid, and had to do more than the standard amount of lectures and essays/dissertations as everyone else, too).

Then I did a lot of continued professional development, on top of being a full-time Midwife. Then I started coordinating full large staff teams.

Then, I have three small children and that requires military precision to take care of them all, and love them, and play with them to a high standard, alone.

The only reason I say all this? Because fuck, since I was 11/12 years old, my life has been time management.

The downside? I'm always stressed. Like, always. I always have something else to do, and I hold myself to insanely high standards, and honestly, I'll probably die of an aneurysm aged 50.

My recommendation? Focus on your studies and self-care first, and write if and when you want to.

Honestly. Please don't ruthlessly bully yourself like I do to myself. Yes, I am time efficient (I often write while I'm bopping a baby on my hip, and intermittently one handed chopping/stirring/cooking dinner), but it's a lot of experience and very demanding.

Sorry...this might be unhelpful.

You're doing brilliantly. You need downtime for your brain to function. Your hobby (if writing is your hobby) shouldn't feel like a job.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx