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#there are so many people this can apply to

curiositysavesthecat · 1 day

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*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 2 days

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Genshin Gorls waking up the night after with S/O!

(Obvious NSFT Implications)

(Genshin Impact) The morning after with Amber, Ayaka, Arlecchino, Beidou, Candace, Chiori, Furina, Kokomi, Lisa, Lumine, Navia, Rosaria, Shenhe, Xianyun and Yae

Very mild NSF-W Implications

Not too big of a NSF-W warning this time around, gonna be 99% fluff for this one because SWEET LIBERTY do we need more fluff for the girls on this site! Also, I don't normally include THIS many gals in a single ask but this shall be a very rare exception!

Amber yawns loudly as she stretches out her arm, accidentally squishing her hand against S/O's face.

(Amber) "O-Oh! Sorry!"

She can't help but laugh at their expression, before giving a playful kiss on their nose.

(Amber) "At least you're up now!"

(S/O) "Amber...It's six in the morning..."

If anything, it looked like Amber was eager to get out of bed.

Even after last night, she was still bustling with energy.

The sun had yet to rise, but Amber still adored S/O in this lighting, giving them one last kiss on the lips before getting up and dressed.

(Amber) "See you at breakfast, S/O!"

She puts a Baron Bunny in their arms and a blanket over S/O, finally departing.

When S/O's eyes flutter open, the first thing they see besides the light coming into the room is Ayaka gently smiling at them, with a similarly tired expression.

Her hand gently cups S/O's face, making them relax into her hold.

(Ayaka) "Good morning, my love."

(S/O) "Sleep well?"

Ayaka giggles and moves closer, her forehead resting on theirs as her eyes close.

(Ayaka) "Very."

Her cheeks begin to flush when their bare skin touch, but it doesn't stop the love she feels growing in her chest.

(Ayaka) "...If only I could stay like this forever with you. But, would one more hour suffice for now?"

(S/O) "For now..."

Ayaka smiles before feeling S/O's arms wrap around her, not saying anything else and simply enjoying the mutual silence.

S/O is woken up by Arlecchino already moving out of bed and dressed. Her eyes glance over to them and finishes putting her gloves on.

(Arlecchino) "Good morning."

(S/O) "Already going?"

Arlecchino hums in reply, one hand going over S/O's and giving it a gentle squeeze before finally rising from the bed.

(Arlecchino) "There is always much to be done. The same applies for you."

S/O couldn't argue with that point, as much as they would like to lay in bed with her for the next few hours doing nothing.

Many people assumed Arlecchino was stone-hearted, especially since she didn't look that affectionate during mornings like these.

But S/O knew better. With just the grip of her hand, and the way she turned back a final time to look at S/O before departing:

Arlecchino cared.

Beidou feels a heavy weight on her chest when she opens her eyes, seeing S/O's head gently resting near her shoulders.

With a smile, she ruffles their hair just gently enough to wake them up.

(Beidou) "Mornin' sleepyhead. I see you made yourself comfortable."

(S/O) "Heh, who wouldn't be? Better than any pillow I've ever used."

Beidou gently pushes S/O off so she can sit up, the blanket resting on her lap as it fell off their shoulders.

She didn't mind the cold air on her skin, since the only thing she was focusing on was S/O.

(Beidou) "Come on, let's go grab something to eat."

(S/O) "Can't admire you like this for a little longer?"

(Beidou) "Psh, there's always tonight."

She gives them a light kiss before finally getting up to get dressed with S/O following behind.

Candace's arms still have S/O locked in a tight embrace, just as she had them last night.

Feeling her hands gently raise up and down made Candace feel at ease.

Though it was still quite early, she did have to begin her usual rounds soon.

Very slowly and carefully, Candace gently lets go of S/O, giving them a kiss on their forehead before putting her gear on.

(Candace) I will see you later today, S/O.

Candace makes sure not to wake them up as she says goodbye in her head.

With a final smile, she covers them with a blanket and leaves.

Chiori's eyes reluctantly open, with a yawn and foreign warmth enveloping her.

She's about ready to shove it off before realizing what it was.

...Oh, right. S/O.

(S/O) "Mmnn...Mornin', Chiori."

(Chiori) "Morning. Do you plan on moving your hands anytime soon?"

Laughing at her response, S/O just gently squeezes her.

(S/O) "I dunno. Plan to move out of it?"

Directly after that, she rolls her eyes and moves closer.

(Chiori) "Maybe in a little bit. If you get coffee for me when I open up."

(S/O) "Deal."

Furina is slightly drooling with her arms and hair sprawled out wildly, her hand on S/O's face.

S/O moves her hand off, slightly irritated at being woken up by being slapped.

Meanwhile, Furina is quietly snoring, all the while hogging the blanket.

Annoyed as S/O was, they couldn't deny that Furina was a little cute.

...Even in such a unflattering state.

(S/O) "You're lucky you're so cute..."

(Furina) "...mneh..." snore

(S/O) "...Most of the time."

Kokomi stifles a yawn as she stretches in bed, feeling S/O's arms around her.

She giggles as tries her best to move without waking them up, getting to stare at their sleeping expression.

Just being this close enough to them was enough to power Kokomi for the entire day.

Especially since they'd be back by her side like this during the morning and nights.

(Kokomi) "S/O~!"

She gently taps their nose with a single finger, and sees their eyes slowly open.

Their eyes staring at her with such love made her heart race.

(S/O) "What a beautiful sight in the morning..."

(Kokomi) "Hm, I could say the same thing...!"

She knows that she has to get up eventually, but she would spend every second she can with them.

Lisa does not want to move at all.

She holds onto S/O tighter before attempting to go back to sleep, but she felt them stir awake.

(S/O) "Lisa...?"

(Lisa) "Ssshhh...Too early still."

One eye glanced over to the wall.

Ten-o-clock? WAY too early for her.

With one hand, Lisa idly traces their shoulder before hugging them.

(Lisa) "We'll get up in an hour. We don't have to be anywhere today..."

(S/O) "Hah, will you be awake when an hour passes?"

(Lisa) yawn "I guess we'll see..."

Lumine breathes a sigh of relief, seeing S/O still by her side.

She didn't have any nightmares, at least not when she knew they were sleeping next to her.

One of her hand gently brushes the hair out of their eyes, seeing their face move from her touch.

(Lumine) "Oh, sorry! Didn't mean to wake you."

(S/O) "Hm...It's okay..."

Both of their hands reach for hers, gently holding them.

(S/O) "I always wanna wake up from you, anyway."

She can't contain the embarassed laugh that escapes her lips, embracing them with her strength.

(Lumine) "...Same here."

Lumine sits up in the bed, not really caring that either of them were wearing anything.

(Lumine) "I can cook us up something, what do you want?"

Navia's hair is tickling S/O's nose, making their face slightly shake it off as they see her beautiful smile in the sunlight.

Even when she looked a bit unkempt in the morning, Navia still looked absolutely gorgeous.

Doubly so when she wakes up with that infectious smile of hers.

She lays on her stomach as she gives S/O a wink.

(Navia) "Heya, S/O.~"

(S/O) "Morning, Navia..."

She immediately begins to pepper their face with kisses, making the both of them giggle.

(Navia) "Now, what shall we do for breakfast? Should we get it in bed?"

(S/O) "Hah, if I don't get up, then I'll want to be with you here forever."

(Navia) "And that's a bad thing how, exactly?"

She asks them with a toothy grin.

Rosaria knows its about the afternoon when she finally wakes up, but notices the bed isn't empty.

(S/O) "Finally awake?"

(Rosaria) "Ugh, unfortunately."

She freezes up when S/O's hands ruffles her hair, but she doesn't move to shove it off.

Instead, she sits there and sees that S/O was reading a book in bed.

Notably, they have yet to put on a shirt.

(Rosaria) "Were you waiting for me to wake up this entire time?"

(S/O) "Yeah, but don't worry, I don't mind!"

Rosaria hums a little before she sits up with them, a small smile growing.

(Rosaria) "You didn't have to but...it's nice to wake up with you."

Shenhe has already been awake for quite some time, but she did not want to wake up S/O.

Instead, she waits for them to do so before greeting them in her usual cool voice.

(Shenhe) "Good morning."

(S/O) "Hey, Shnehe-"

As they try to move, they notice that her arm's iron grip has not budged a single inch.

S/O shivered from Shenhe's cooler temperature due to her Cryo vision, but that didn't stop them from quickly heating up.

(S/O) "How long were you waiting?"

(Shenhe) "An hour or so, but it doesn't matter. I just wanted to be here when you woke up."

She feels their arms wrap around her waist, making her embrace them tighter.

It was almost to the point S/O's back was beginning to get sore, but that was a small price to pay.

Xianyun finally feels S/O stir awake, her meditation finally coming to an end.

(Xianyun) "Ah, finally awake. One has noted that mortals tend to sleep in quite an extraordinary amount."

(S/O) "Well, when you did as much as we did last night...!"

Xianyun reaches for her glasses before turning to S/O with a smile.

(Xianyun) "One should develop something to help with your energy...Perhaps a cuisine of some kind?"

S/O couldn't help but feel curious.

(S/O) "What would even help with that?"

(Xianyun) "Dress yourself and come along now, we shall find the answer together."

Yae's usual smug expression is more subdued this early in the morning, especially next to someone she loved.

Much to the surprise of S/O.

(Yae) "My, you can sleep for quite a while. Were you truly that tired?"

S/O yawned before turning to see Yae at them staring with a mischievous smile.

(S/O) "I wonder why..."

Their tone sounded a bit dry, making Yae laugh.

(Yae) "I suppose you'll just have to get better stamina."

Her finger traced down their waist before quickly bopping them on the nose, her ears slightly going up as she did so.

(Yae) "Do you plan on getting up, or keep staring at my beautiful face all day? Not that I would mind being lavished with praise."

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sinofwriting · 3 days

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Homecoming - Oscar Piastri/Reader/Logan Sargeant

Words: 3,290 Summary: She hasn’t seen them since April and she can only hope that they aren’t mad that she lied to them. Note(s): Thank you @casperlikej for this commission! Had a lot of fun writing it! NSFW. Takes place in 2023. Reader is in the military. Reader is an American, who also somewhat grew up in the UK, but it’s all very vague. Also, don’t surprise people in showers, injuries can and will happen.

Taglist | Masterlist | Emergency Dental Fund | Part of Sin's 5k & B-Day Celebration

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes. “It’s okay, baby.” Logan says. Oscar nods, but there’s worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?” She nods, “yeah, they just gave me the wrong date. It wasn’t until I was talking to my CO about leaving that they realized. I should’ve said something sooner.” “It happens.” Oscar tells her and she can see through the computer screen the way his fingers twitch, obviously wanting to reach out, and her heart aches.

She misses them so much, both her boys. Hasn’t seen them since April when China got canceled and they both managed to get away from their teams to see her. But she hasn’t really seen them since last year, since 2022, when Oscar was just a reserve and Logan was in F2 with their weird spotty schedule. They didn’t have as many race dates or things to attend. They had spent so much time with her then.

“Do they have your next date for leave?” She shakes her head. “Not yet. I think they’re trying to figure out how they gave me the wrong date.” She shrugs. “But it could mean I get some extra time.” Oscar snorts but Logan nods. “You’ll let us know as soon as you can?” “Of course, Lo. As soon as they tell me, I’ll text you. Have a good day, though, both of you.” Both their noses wrinkle but they nod.

And with I love you’s exchanged, she hangs up, looking at the packed suitcase next to her. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too mad that she lied.

—

Being in the military wasn’t exactly something she planned on. Not as a little girl, not as a preteen and not at fifteen when she discovered she liked both her best friends.

But then she was seventeen wanting to apply to different colleges and programs and her parents had to sit down and tell her that while they had this nice house and the family home in Florida and cars and she hadn’t really wanted for anything, that was all they had. They didn’t have enough money for her to apply to three colleges, let alone the near twenty she wanted to.

It had been a fight instantly. Because she didn’t know what she wanted to do. And for the past year they had been telling her that it was okay and that she’d have college to figure that out and it had been a lie. She remembers throwing things in a bag and going to Oscar’s brand-new place, because he was already eighteen and his parents wanted him to be comfortable.

She remembers throwing herself in his arms and then Logan’s because of course Logan was also there. Remembers crying because it kind of felt like her world was ending. She remembers the way they both had soothed her, held her, let her rage and sob. She remembers the way after when she was more calmed down, the shock gone from her system, they presented a bunch of options for her.

Working with them, working for Oscar’s dad, working for Logan’s uncle, doing this in college and that, just something, anything that sounded appealing and she can remember how she shook her head after every option and how despite that they didn’t get frustrated or angry, they just said okay before offering another until they ran out of things to offer.

It was her uncle, though he wasn’t really her uncle, that told her she should think about the military. She laughed at first thinking he was joking, but he hadn’t laughed with her, instead looked at her seriously.

“You know that I served.” And she had nodded, she had faint memories of being in elementary school or even younger back in Florida and seeing him in uniform, medals and ribbons on his chest. “And you know I’ve said a lot about it. Never kept quiet.” “Rock and a hard place.” He smiled for a second at her words before looking all serious again. “Exactly. What I’m saying is, it’s an option. And nowadays, your contracts aren’t as long depending on the branch like when I enlisted and I’ve got friends.” “I don’t think I’ll like it.” He laughed at her words. “No one knows if they’ll like it until they are in it. Just think about it. It’s something and it will give you time, paid time, to figure out what you really want to do.”

And she had thought about it. She thought about the pros and the cons, how the cons outweigh the pros for her and she nearly didn’t go through with it because of Logan and Oscar. Because they just had to confess to her, tell her that they liked her, wanted to be with her and how could she not tell them the same when it was true? She couldn’t. She had nearly called it good, happy to bounce between them playing personal assistant or social media admin or something, they didn’t really know what she’d do going back and forth, but then she saw her uncle again, a week before she turned eighteen.

He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t brought it up, hadn’t even mentioned the military. But just seeing him reminded her of their conversation, of the way she spent hours upon hours after considering it.

Seeing him made her realize she had to go through with it.

She doesn’t really remember telling Logan and Oscar her decision. She remembers how they reacted, both surprised, unaware she had been considering it. Logan had been understanding, but he was from America just like her, he had family in the service. Oscar didn’t understand, couldn’t understand why. It hadn’t been a fight, not that she remembered, but she knew that her decision had nearly broken them that day.

—

“You reenlisting?” Her uncle's voice is gruff. “No, sir.” He grumbles, lips twitching into a smile. “Good. And don’t call me sir. You in reserves now?” She nods. “As of last week.” “Logan and Oscar know?” She throws him a look. “Why would you be driving me to Vegas if they knew?” He laughs. “Fair. They’re doing good, right? In their Formula One thing?” She smiles, “Yeah, they’re doing alright. Did you like COTA?” He shrugs, merging onto the freeway. “Didn’t understand it, but it was alright. Beer was overpriced.” “Always is at events.” “I remember when you could get a six-pack,” he starts and she mouths along with him, having heard this since she was ten, unable to not smile as she does so. “What?” He asks, seeing her smile. “Nothing.” She tells him. “Just happy to see you haven’t changed.”

—

Vegas is annoying, she decides as she waves her uncle off, the older man having decided to stick around and try his luck at one of the casinos. Or rather the traffic currently in Vegas is annoying.

Pulling out her phone she texts Benny letting him know that she’s at the hotel. Looking around she smiles at all the lights and people milling around. She’d give Vegas this, it was pretty cool to look at.

“Y/N!” She turns her head, smiling at Logan’s trainer. “You got here early!” He chuckles, pulling her into a hug that she returns with one arm, still having a hand on her suitcase. “We made good time. Switched off driving, so saved us a bit from having to stop really.” He pats her on the back before letting her go. “But it was good.” She nods. “All good. How are you? How are the kids?” He grins. “They’re good, amazing, really. Excited that the season is ending and I’ll be home.” “Logan was telling me that you aren’t going to be his trainer next season.” Benny sighs, looking sad as they step foot into the hotel. “The kids are getting older, I want to be there more. If there was a way I could stay on, but not have to go to all the races I would. I love the kid, he’s like one of mine.”

She looks at him considering. She’d been around Logan and Oscar for ten years now, had been around their trainers for over five years, seeing what they did had made it easy for her to choose her degree that the military paid for while she served a year after she joined.

“Maybe you could.” His eyebrow raises. “I have a degree in sports medicine.” “But you have a year left.” She shakes her head. “That last year is reserves, unless we are going to war and all the active reserves have been called, I’m not going back in.” “Logan didn’t say.” “They don’t know.” Benny makes a weird huff sound, shaking his head. “You're going to knock them off their feet this weekend.” She laughs. “Maybe. Just talk to Sarah about it first, I’ll follow you around this weekend and next and we can talk about it with Logan.” “I don’t have to talk about it with Sarah, she’d be thrilled, she wasn’t fond of the idea in the first place. And Logan…” He shakes his head. “If you think Logan won’t be jumping at the idea of having you around twenty-four seven, you’ve lost it.” “Still! Talk about it with Sarah first, just in case.”

He shakes his head, but agrees, handing her a key card as they stop in front of a hotel room door. “This is their room. Gentle with them.” “Kim ask you to relay that message as well?” “Yes.” She laughs, nodding. “I will. Promise.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a grin on his face. “Go. I’ll see at least two of you tomorrow.” “Bye Benny. Thank you again for helping me.” “Of course.”

She watches as he walks down the hallway before taking out his own key card and entering his hotel room, just a few rooms down. Turning back to face the hotel room door, excitement starts to fill her. She was finally going to see them, be with them.

Pressing the key to the reader, she holds her breath as she waits for the door to unlock, breathes again when it does and she twists the door knob, letting herself in.

The door swings open quietly and her feet and suitcase make no noise against the carpet as she steps inside. There’s the faint sound of the shower running and music playing, and a large smile spreads across her lips. This was the routine she was used to, that hadn’t changed. Them coming back to their hotel room or when finally checking in, getting what they needed put away if they were staying long enough and then putting on some music and hopping in the shower.

The door closes with a small click as she shuts it, kicking off her shoes next to Oscar’s and Logan’s as she does. She hopes as she puts her suitcase next to Logan’s, that the shower is big enough for the three of them, but they’ve made do with some fairly small showers before.

Stepping further into the hotel room, she nearly giggles at the song playing, able to hear it clearly now with the way the bathroom door isn’t completely closed. She loves them so much.

Spotting the dirty clothes bag she bought Oscar for Christmas last year as a stock stuffer, right by the bathroom door, propped against the wall and already filled with a pair of jeans, shorts, shirts and socks, she adds her own pants, shirt, underwear and socks. A quiet sigh leaving her when she takes her bra off, which she carefully places on the back of an armchair.

The bathroom tiles are warm underneath her feet and she lets out a little oh, having expected them to be cold.

Her eyes dart to the sink where the large mirror behind is covered in steam, but her eyes quickly leave it to settle on the shower.

It’s big, maybe just big enough for the three to fit in, but she can’t focus on that because Oscar and Logan are there. She can’t see much, the glass of the shower just as covered in steam as the mirror, but she can see the shapes of their bodies, close together, holding each other as the water hits them.

Taking a deep breath, she steps towards the shower door. She shivers as her fingertips press against the glass before fingers move to open it and poking her head in, voice soft as she looks at them. “Room for one more?” She watches as they separate, Oscar turning to look at her, and they both look at her with confusion and shock, before wide smiles take over their entire faces, eyes shining with happiness.

Oscar the closer of the two reaches forward and she quickly steps in, nearly slipping in her hurry, but Oscar has an arm around her before she can, tucking her into his chest, as Logan shuffles around. The door to the shower closes with a slight noise before his arms are around her as well.

Tension immediately leaves her body at the feeling of them both, and tears start to slip from her eyes. “I missed you guys so much.” “We missed you too, baby.” “So much.” Oscar echoes, arms tightening around her before loosening and she’s being pulled away slightly. She wants to protest, but then his lips are on hers and she moans, sinking into his kiss.

“Lo,” she whines when Oscar stops kissing her, lips tingling. Oscar chuckles, the sound rich and so familiar it wants to make her cry again, but she’s being turned around and Logan is kissing her, his palms cupping her cheeks. “I missed this so much.” Logan breathes against her lips. “Missed the three of us so much.” “Never again.” She tells him, tells Oscar, tells them. “Never again. I don’t have to go back, I’m in inactive reserves and I’m not reenlisting. I’m yours, both of yours.” The words come out in a rush, nearly tripping over each other, but she can’t wait, can’t have them thinking that this will just be a short reunion before she has to leave them again. “Thank god.” Logan breathes before pressing their lips together. “Thank god.” He murmurs again when they separate before she’s turned around to face Oscar again, who practically swallows her whole.

His lips are insistent on hers as his hands clutch at her hips, fingers digging painfully and she hopes that he leaves bruises, wishes that he’d make his grip even tighter, knows he can. She tries to pull away, to ask him to, but he keeps following her lips. Like if he isn’t kissing her, she’ll disappear, so she stops trying. Lets him kiss her, moans when Logan’s lips land on her shoulder, pressing kisses that trail up to the top of it and along the shell of her ear before trailing back down.

“We,” she gasps when Oscar finally stops kissing her, though his lips instead fall to her breasts going between the two, unable to decide which one he wants to give attention to more. “We can’t do this in here.”

The next moments are a blur as they scramble out of the shower, out of the bathroom and tumble into bed, soaking the duvet, pillows, and sheets with their wet naked bodies. It’s a blur of lips on hers, on her body, of fingers pressing and pulling. She remembers clearly the first press of fingers into her body, of Oscar’s tongue laving at her, of the kiss Logan and Oscar shared between her thighs. It blurs with her first and second orgasm.

She remembers clearly as well, the first sink of Oscar’s cock into her, her back to his chest as he laid down, the way he pressed all the way into her, not letting her adjust. She doesn’t remember the apparent fumble for lube or the first two fingers that Logan had carefully sunk into her alongside Oscar’s cock. She remembers the stretch of his three fingers and Oscar’s cock, and finally the stretch of him sinking into her as well. The near painful stretch of having both of them inside her at the same time, in the same hole.

Her mind is still blurry, still coming down from pleasure when they finally break the silence of just trying to catch their breaths and music still playing from the bathroom.

“That was so good.” She makes a small noise in agreement. “You felt so good.” Oscar says, kissing her shoulder and she shudders at the feeling. “You both did.” And she can hear the sound of Oscar kissing Logan. “Logan’s gonna hold you now, okay.” Oscar tells her as she still lays somewhat on top of him. “Both of your legs are shaking.” That makes her blink and look down, swallowing hard because she hadn’t even realized hers were shaking. “And I need to clean you up and get some water for all us, okay?” She nods.

Despite him telling her that, she still nearly whines when he moves out from under her, but he quickly pushes her into Logan’s arms who eagerly holds her close. She hadn’t seen if his legs were shaking as well like Oscar said, but she doubts it with the way Logan manages to turn her around in his arms and pull her so she’s on top of him, her breasts pressed against his chest just the way he likes.

“Love you so much, baby.” Logan murmurs into her hair. “You were so good for us. Just fell apart over and over again. Gave us five orgasms.” She makes a surprised sound. That didn’t sound right. “A whole five, baby. It was fucking amazing.” She nuzzles into his neck and he continues speaking, knowing the sound and feeling is soothing.

He stops when Oscar comes back, making a tutting noise at how they are positioned which makes her mumble Logan’s name and Oscar runs a hand down her calf.

“I know, darling. You’re alright. You though,” and she can picture the way Oscar is looking at Logan, pointing a finger at him. “How am I supposed to clean you up?” She feels Logan shrugs as best as he can with her on top of him. “The way you usually do.” The younger makes a huffing sound but is quiet. She can feel his breath against her leg as he most likely bends.

Logan makes a small noise and she kisses his neck. “Cold?” “No, it’s warm.” He reassures her. She hums and when it’s her turn she doesn't even jolt at the feeling of the washcloth running over her most sensitive parts and her thighs. “Alright, you two, you both got to sit up to drink some water.” Oscar says, as he climbs back into bed with them. Logan grumbles and she turns her head to watch as Oscar gets comfy with his back against the headboard, three water bottles on his nightstand.

He’s still naked, probably not even thinking of pulling on underwear or sweats on and it makes her want to curl up in his lap. He seems to feel her eyes on him because he smiles, all soft, sweet, fond and he’s opening his arms and she carefully moves off Logan to do what she thought about it.

Her head rests on his shoulder, as she sits sideways on his lap, facing Logan, who watches them both with that awestruck look of his as he sits up and scoots closer until him and Oscar are sitting side by side and he can draw her feet into his lap, stilling letting her stay curled up in Oscar’s lap, but getting some contact with her.

“Love you both.” “We love you too.”

@darleneslane @copper-boom @eutrizbea @kimmib13 @elliegrey2803 @stopeatread @hiireadstuff @tallrock35

#loscar x reader #oscar piastri x reader x logan sargeant #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 smut #formula 1 smut #sins 5k bday bash fics

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matan4il · 2 days

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Hearing people, including Ivy League university presidents, citing freedom of speech to justify allowing genocidal calls is beyond crazy.

I can't believe this has to be said, but under democracy, no freedom is sacred unto itself. EVERY freedom we have is limited based on our choices regarding how to use it. If we're willing to abuse it in the service of harming others, we can and should lose it.

We have the right to property, but if we'll use our money to kill people (for example, if we're a terrorist organization, or helping to fund one), our money can and should be confiscated. We have the freedom of movement, but if we use it to stalk someone, we can and should be limited by a restraining order, or even by being arrested.

So yes, we have the freedom of speech. But if we use it to incite hate against Jews, to spread demonizing lies about the Jewish state, to call for the ethnic cleansing or even genocide of Jewish people, we can and SHOULD lose that freedom.

This is not a debate. This is how democracy works.

And if this principle had been applied properly and justly, as it would be to any hate speech against any other marginalized group, then we wouldn't get to where the violence against Jews at these protests had long ago stopped being just verbal. The vid below is one of MANY examples from campuses around the world.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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starfinss · 2 days

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ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴀᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇʟᴜꜱɪɴᴇꜱ — ᴡʀɪᴏᴛʜᴇꜱʟᴇʏ

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Wriothesley + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 12,925

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: After beginning work as a doctor at the Fortress of Meropide, Siegwinne decides you and the Duke are a good match, and will do anything in her power to get you to together, even if she has to take drastic measures.

Or, alternatively, Siegwinne adds a little something extra to the Duke's tea. Chaos ensues.

As soon as the suture needle so much as touched the man sitting before you, he was already flinching away.

“That hurts!” He cried, “please, doctor, be gentle with me.”

It was almost laughable, really. Monsieur Phillip was a hardened criminal, or so you’d been told. He was a career criminal, you remembered the Duke remarking, and he’d been sentenced to serve time in the Fortress of Meropide for a myriad of things, such as assault, and even attempted murder, but here he was, a hulking mass of a man, whimpering in pain at the slightest prick of a needle.

“Hush,” you said, tutting gently, “the quicker I start, the quicker it’s over. Now hold still.”

He flinched back again, eyeing the needle like it was out to get him. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Please try and relax. I can assure you, I did go to medical school.”

Before he could say anything else, you made the first stitch, carefully, but quickly enough so as not to cause him too much pain. Even with the numbing gel you’d applied, it seemed that the patient’s pain threshold was quite low. It usually removed enough sensation that any leftover pain would be no more than a pinch, but even with that, you could see tears beading at his lash line.

A hardened criminal, indeed.

You finished the sutures quickly before bandaging the injured shoulder and giving Phillip some care instructions.

“And,” you said, “no more getting into altercations about work times, okay?”

Phillip sighed, casting his eyes away from you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled, kindly. “That’s doctor to you.”

It wasn’t wholly unexpected. Men tended to have lower pain tolerances than women did. You’d given stitches to many people before, and when it came to whining, the men tended to be the most common offenders.

After Phillip left, you checked up on a woman who was resting in one of the infirmary beds, and after taking her temperature and walking away with your clipboard, you nearly tripped over Siegwinne, who had somehow snuck into your path without you noticing.

“Archons,” you exclaimed, a hand flying over your heart, “I need to put a bell on you.”

Siegwinne ignored your remark. “May I see the patient’s chart?”

You handed it to her. “The patient shows signs of improvement. Her fever has broken, and her delirium has started to clear up. She should make a full recovery.”

Siegwinne hummed meaningfully. “Very good. I was worried about that one. I am glad to hear she is healing well.”

You nodded, then turned, starting towards your desk, but before you could make it, Siegwinne called your name, making you pause.

“Yes?”

Her expression remained impassive, eyes curious, unsuspecting, and she tucked the clipboard under her arm as she closed the distance between you.

“Have you seen the Duke today?”

There it was. You didn’t know what you’d been expecting aside from this. Ever since Siegwinne had caught onto the fact that you’d developed a crush on the Duke, she’d tried to do everything in her power to set you up with him. In the beginning, that was all it was. A crush. It was a crush in the same way one would develop an infatuation with a colleague or schoolmate, based on their appearance or the limited positive interactions they had with them. It was no secret that Wriothesley was an attractive man. He was tall, and handsome, anyone with eyes could see that. You’d heard the whispers among female inmates and guards alike. You were not unique in feeling some form of attraction to him.

But to Siegwinne, your silly crush was an opportunity.

“You’re a good woman,” she told you, “and His Grace is always stressed. I fear for his health. I think you would be the right person to keep him company. You are a good match. Your influence and affection would do him much good.”

Siegwinne came to you with this a few months after you’d started work at the Fortress, completely out of nowhere, stunning you to silence. You had no idea how she’d caught on to your feelings, and when you expressed as much, she went into a rambling tangent about human behavior, something about the dilation of pupils, and how she’d been taking notes, and that was when you cut her off.

“Absolutely not.”

But nevertheless, she persisted.

Siegweinne’s matchmaking attempts rarely ended conclusively, since she tended to see things as a logical cause and effect, and did not at all fit the way any normal human would attempt to court another. They mostly involved putting you and Wriothesley into situations that forced you to speak or interact with one another, with little to no regard to how much said situations were an inconvenience to you. Her first attempt, as such, embarrassingly enough, involved telling the Duke you’d had some kind of accident with an inmate, and when he came to the infirmary to check in, finding you unharmed and working at your desk, all that ensued was a lot of confusion. You wondered why he’d come all that way to see you, and he was surprised to find you not laying on one of the infirmary beds.

But, what her attempts did do, was make the way you felt about Wriothesley, which was no more than a passing fancy at first, grow into something more.

And despite your best efforts, that only made Siegwinne latch on even harder.

“Hello?” Siegwinne said, shaking you from your thoughts, “I believe it is polite to answer a question when asked one, or have human customs changed?”

You brushed off her unintentional rudeness, instead answering what she’d asked you.

“No,” you said, “I have not seen His Grace today. He’s a busy man, Siegwinne. You know that.”

“Well, you should go see him.”

You sighed, leaning down to take your clipboard from under her arm, then crossing to your desk.

“I don’t have a reason to go see him,” you said, sitting down, “and like I said, His Grace is a busy man.”

She didn’t push after that, simply going back to work as you did yours, and you tried to put it out of your mind. You and Wriothesley were friends, you’d say. Even though you usually found yourselves meeting in less than normal circumstances, you were still fond of him. You enjoyed his frank, matter-of-fact personality, and dry sense of humor, and he seemed to enjoy your company as well. Your relationship was as casual as it could be between you and a man who was technically your boss, and friendly enough that you had conversations outside of work related matters. You’d never let Siegwinne know this, but her repeated and clumsy attempts at setting you up were not without some benefits.

That was fine, you supposed. You’d bonded over Siegwinne and her antics, and built a friendship over a shared love of tea, as well as an author you both enjoyed, among other common interests. But that was it. As much as Siegwinne, and, begrudgingly, you, would like to say otherwise, you and The Duke were only friends.

And, it seemed, as you settled into that fact quite comfortably, Siegwinne only grew more brazen in her attempts at Melusine style matchmaking.

Her latest attempt involved trying to shut you in a locked room with The Duke, which failed when Wriothesley produced the master key in order to open the door. It happened a little over a week ago, which made you nervous, because Siegwinne didn’t like letting too much time pass between her less than gentle shoves. You were almost completely certain that Wriothesley knew what was happening, he’d have to be stupid not to, though he hadn’t said anything about it. This was probably to spare you from any further embarrassment, which you appreciated.

The situation was hopeless. You knew that well. But Siegwinne didn’t, and that was beginning to become a problem. You didn’t know why you’d let her get away with this for the handful of months that you had, but maybe, deep down, you hoped that something would actually come from all her meddling.

And apart from that, you had a certain degree of professionalism to uphold. Wriothesley was your boss, and you were both his employee and his doctor. As much as you found yourself wishing otherwise, pursuing your feelings, even if that was an option, just wasn’t ethical.

But still, you could dream, you supposed. Dreaming was harmless.

“I need you to run an errand for me.”

You turned in your chair, raising an eyebrow at Siegwinne, who was staring over at you innocently, a thermos in her hands. You looked at it, then back at her, puzzled.

“Siegwinne, I’m not in the mood.”

She frowned. “To do your job? How unbecoming. I’m simply asking you to deliver this tea to the Duke. His Grace is suffering from a headache. I delivered some to him this morning, but the problem still persists.”

You glanced at the thermos again. “Tea? What’s in it?”

She immediately became defensive, and for a moment, you almost felt guilty for doubting her.

“Medicine!” She cried, “what do you take me for? I’ve brewed a painkiller into the tea. It should help with His Grace’s headache. If you don’t trust me, you can take a sip yourself.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why can’t you do it?”

Her brows pinched together in annoyance, and maybe a little indignance. “I have to go see a patient, thank you. A young man is complaining of nausea, and finds it hard to stand because of it, so I am going to see him in his cell. Now, will you bring His Grace the tea, or not?”

You sighed. In your own mind, your hesitance was completely justified. Siegwinne had tried to trick you into being alone with Wriothesley many times before this, but then again, if the Duke was actually feeling unwell, and you refused to bring him medicine, what kind of doctor would you be?

And so, you relented. With another sigh, you stood, snatching the thermos from Siegwinne’s outstretched hand.

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll be back as soon as I drop it off.”

If Siegwinne was disappointed by this, she hid it well. She simply nodded, then crossed over to her desk to busy herself with her medical bag. You glanced over a few more things at your own desk before scooping up the thermos and leaving the infirmary after calling a quick few words of parting to Siegwinne, who only nodded.

You shivered a little as you left the infirmary. Siegwinne tended to keep it warmer there, with a space heater sitting in the corner to combat the cold dampness of the rest of the Fortress of Meropide. It was better for the patients, she said, if they had somewhere nice and warm to rest and recover. You were fairly certain she also said something about humans and their preference for warmth, but that wasn’t important at present.

The clang of your boots against the metal floors rang out as you walked, head held high, thermos in your grip. The air smelled of iron and brine, a scent you’d grown used to in the time you’d been working in the Fortress. Artificial light cast everything in a sort of ominous hue, and the low strength of it left everything in partial shadow. It used to make you nervous, not knowing what hid behind them, using them like masks. Now you knew that whatever was waiting for you was something you could handle.

You glanced down at the thermos in your hands. It was warm, likely just brewed. There was no way Siegwinne would have you serve the Duke cold tea. The thermos was plain; unassuming. It was slate gray, probably stainless steel. You turned it over in your hands, studying it. It was just tea. You had no reason to think it was anything other than that. But with Siegwinne, you’d learned to expect the unexpected.

Absently, you stepped into the elevator to take you down to the administrative floor. The car jerked, and with a mechanical clank, began to move. You turned the thermos over in your hands again. It’s just tea. For the Duke. Your poor, ailing boss. You twisted your mouth. It was fine. There was no way Siegwinne would ever do anything to actually harm Wriothesley. You tapped your nails against the surface of the thermos, almost jumping from your skin when the elevator came to an abrupt stop as it reached its destination, jostling you where you stood and ejecting you from your tangled thoughts.

You sighed as you left the elevator, tucking the thermos into your arms and against your chest. Everything was fine. If Siegwinne took anything seriously, it was health. You’d caught her staring intently at you on many occasions, and when you asked her about it, she told you she was making sure you were healthy, in a very matter-of-fact tone, like it was obvious. She may be odd, but she wasn’t going to try and harm anyone.

As you reached the doors to the Duke’s office, you reached into the pocket of your skirt, digging out the key to the lock. Because of the Fortress’s status as a prison, it was only natural that important areas such as the office of the warden would remain locked. The only way to get in was if you had a key or if you were invited by Wriothesley himself. There was also the off chance that the Duke left the doors unlocked, but that was uncommon. Regardless, before you put the key in the lock, you raised your hand, knocking on the door with a great clang.

“Your Grace?” you called, though it was unlikely he heard you through the thick steel, “I’ll be coming in now. I have some tea for you.”

And with that, you pushed the key into place, twisting. With a grunt of effort, you pushed the doors open.

It was as you were opening the door that you heard him, calling to you. It was muffled under the mechanical clank of the doors, making you only vaguely aware of his call of your name, and you hurried to close the door to answer him. The lock clicked as you did, signifying that the mechanism had reset to its previous locked state.

You expected Wriothesley to call out to you again after your lack of response, or even possibly to come see you. It was unlikely that Siegwinne would send you on an errand without previously announcing your arrival. But instead, you were met with silence. You gripped the thermos more tightly, hesitating.

“Your Grace?”

You heard something else then. A soft intake of breath, only able to be heard because of the complete lack of noise, save for the quiet hum of machinery from beyond the doors. Then, you could hear him clearing his throat.

“Yes,” you heard Wriothsley say, from up the stairs, “up here.”

You sighed, relieved, as you made your way up the curving staircase and into the main office.

And as for things you expected to see, this was not among them.

Wriothesley was sitting at his desk, but he looked more than a little disheveled. His coat had been discarded, draped over the back of his chair, and his tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of the dress shirt he wore underneath the garment. His gloves had also been removed, laying out on his desk beside an empty teacup. His hair was tousled, more than usual, and his face…

You furrowed your brows, suddenly concerned. His face was flushed, a deep pink settled in the apples of his cheeks, very evident against his usually pale skin. Breath, feather soft, expelled itself through parted lips, almost too quickly, as he looked over at you, brows pinching together, as if pained or troubled before the expression calmed. Wriothesley straightened, clearing his throat again, and he was hurriedly fixing his clothing, deft fingers doing up the buttons of his shirt, smoothing back over his hair.

His eyes fell to the thermos in your hands, lingering, before sliding up to your face.

You stared at him, your concern growing more by the second, and after a beat, you crossed to the desk, setting the thermos down.

“Your Grace,” you said, “I’ve brought you painkillers for your headache, but you look… May I examine you? You do not look like you’re feeling well.”

“Examine me,” he repeated, then took a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut before shaking his head, as if clearing away a fog. He swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, and it was then that you spotted sweat beading on his forehead.

“Yes,” you said, gently, already in doctor mode, “please, let me help.”

He cleared his throat, for what was probably the third time, and you narrowed your eyes. You were rapidly beginning to get suspicious in addition to concerned. There was something he wasn’t telling you. Absently, you found yourself mentally scolding yourself for neglecting to bring your medical bag.

“I’m fine,” he said, though he certainly didn’t look fine, “please, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve come all this way for me, so would you at least sit with me for a cup of tea?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. It was fine, though, you supposed. Staying around wasn’t a terrible idea. It would give you a chance to more closely study the Duke’s behavior, and try and figure out what the problem might be. And so, you stepped to the table off to the side, picking a clean tea cup from the collection displayed there.

“I don’t need any, really,” you said as you leaned over to take the thermos from the desk, “Siegwinne made this for you, for your head. I am happy to sit and talk with you, though, if you want me to.”

Wriothesley smiled easily. “If you like, I can brew you a cup from my personal collection of teas. What do you like?”

You flushed, feeling special, and you turned to busy yourself with arranging his cup of tea to hide the pink in your cheeks.

“You already know my preferences, Your Grace,” you said, over your shoulder, “just a cup of earl gray is fine.”

You heard shuffling, then the sound of a drawer being pulled open, and you knew the Duke was rifling through the collection of teas he kept stored in his desk. Shifting your focus, you removed the small travel cup attached to the top of the thermos, then unscrewed the lid. Immediately, you were hit with the scent of the tea. It was unexpectedly sweet, and sort of floral. It certainly wasn’t the Duke’s usual style, that was for sure. You took another lungful of it, and could make out notes of various medicinal herbs, including rosemary and feverfew, both known to help with headaches. You could also smell a hint of lavender. But there was still that floral, sort of rosy scent, undercut by the bitter, citrus aroma of the feverfew. It smelled a bit like rainbow roses; of petrichor and morning dew and sweet fresh petals. It certainly had herbs in it, some of which were known to help with what the Duke needed, but the combination of them that you were able to discern was puzzling to say the least.

You put it out of your mind, chalking up the roses to being there to help with the bitterness of the feverfew. With a sigh, you poured the steaming liquid into the teacup. It was sort of a deep rouge color, bordering on purple. A nice color, you decided, and not entirely unexpected with what was contained in the tea. You placed the cup on a saucer, then carried it, alongside the still half filled thermos over to the desk, setting them before the Duke. In exchange, he handed you the tea bag you’d requested, which you accepted gladly.

After you’d filled a cup with boiling water, which the Duke always seemed to have on hand in any nearby kettle, ready for a quick cup. You added the tea bag, as well as a few spoonfuls of sugar, then took your seat on the couch by the tea table.

Wriothesley’s face twisted as he took the first sip from his cup, seemingly troubled.

“It’s very sweet.”

You tilted your head. “Is it not to your liking? I’ll be sure to tell Siegwinne to tweak the recipe.”

Wriothesley waved a dismissive hand. “No,” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not my usual style, but I don’t dislike it.”

You nodded meaningfully, blowing over your tea once more.

“How are things over in the infirmary?” He asked, and you sat up straighter, engaged.

“Fine. The usual. I had a man who was scared of needles just before I came over,” you said, “I’d barely touched him before he was telling me to stop.”

Wriothesley laughed, amused. He took another swallow of tea.

“Oh, really?” He said, “Monsieur Phillip, I suspect? That man always gets into brawls, but is terrified of medical treatment. And he never wins those brawls. The gardes always have to pull the other guy off of him.”

You hid your smile behind your teacup. “I know,” you said, “Siegwinne is always scolding him when he comes in for being reckless.”

Wriothesley rested his head on a closed fist, thoughtful, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Maybe a few rounds in the Pankration Ring would do him some good,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t go putting any ideas in his head,” you said, “he might become a permanent resident of the infirmary if he starts entering into any matches.”

Wriothesley made a face, pale blue eyes moving to rest somewhere in the depths of his teacup. “Maybe he’d pick up a few things about proper combat, though.”

It was your turn to laugh. “Maybe, but at the cost of his health.”

You enjoyed this. It was hardly the first time you’d been invited to stay for tea, in addition to being personally invited to tea a handful of times before. Wriothesley’s presence was pleasant and inviting, despite his intimidating stature and appearance. His height dwarfed many other people, and you’d seen few as tall as he was, save for the Iudex, who was far more slim than the Duke was. Where Monsieur Neuvillette was tall and lithe, Wriothesley was broad and powerfully built. His sheer size alone, made only more prominent by the bulky coat he wore around his shoulders, was enough to intimidate anyone.

But despite that, he was an amicable and good-humored man, earnest and straightforward. He made you feel at ease, and your growing affection for him settled low and warm in the spot behind your heart.

His face was getting more pink, you noticed, with a start. You took another sip of tea, watching him closely. His brow furrowed, just briefly, and he was fiddling with the bands of leather around his throat, as if they were suddenly too tight. He shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Your Grace?” You said, and he seemed to snap out of whatever had overtaken him, regarding you with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression.

“Sorry,” he said, “what were you saying?”

You studied him, eyes narrowed, and he laughed, a little awkwardly.

“You’re doing that thing Siegwinne does,” he said, “the thing she does with her eyes. I don’t know how you replicated it so perfectly. There’s nothing wrong, I promise. It’s just suddenly kind of hot in here. Do you feel that?”

You shook your head. In fact, to you, the room was cold. Just as cold as the rest of the Fortress, save for the infirmary. It was the reason for the thermal lining in the pale blue overcoat of your uniform, the color that marked you as medical staff, as well as the reason for the thicker uniform fabric worn by the majority of the other general staff.

“No,” you said, and Wriothesley looked puzzled.

“Oh,” he muttered, puzzled, “I was warm earlier, but I’m starting to get… hot now. I don’t suppose that’s normal?”

You cracked a smile at that. “No, I don’t think so.”

A spell of silence passed before your mind snapped back to what he’d just said.

“You were feeling overly warm earlier? When did that start?”

Wriothesley furrowed his brows, considering your question before answering. He took another sip from his cup, then poured more of the contents of the thermos into it.

“This morning,” he said, “I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it was maybe shortly after I had a cup of tea.”

You snorted, amused. “You realize how little that narrows it down, don’t you? You drink more tea than anyone I know, Your Grace. I need a measure of time, not cups of tea.”

He chuckled at that. “I apologize. I believe it was after Siegwinne delivered the tea she made for my head. Which is feeling much better, by the way. I think what I’ve been drinking while we’ve been chatting has helped kick the rest of it. I’m almost finished with the thermos.”

Suddenly, you made the connection.

Almost robotically, and with learned efficiency, you went over the contents that you’d smelled in the tea, along with their uses. Feverfew, maybe some lavender, and rosemary. All of those had various uses, though they all had one thing in common, which was pain relief. Finally, there was the rainbow rose. The petals and buds were used for medicinal purposes, and could be used as such, similarly to common red roses, for anything ranging from headaches to a sore throat.

Something was missing. Something was wrong. The scent itself had been off.

“The tea,” you said, “from before. Was it sweet?”

Wriothesley nodded, taking another gulp, and finally, pouring the last of the contents of the thermos into the cup. “This brew is sweeter, though.”

You stood, then reached for his teacup, bringing it to your nose and inhaling. You caught the same things as before, but as you mulled them over, something else clicked.

Siegwinne wouldn’t. Would she?

“It’s really hot,” Wriothesley said, and you could see the sweat beaded at his hairline, sticking the hair at his temples to his skin, cresting down his cheekbone.

You reached out, and when the back of your hand made contact with his burning forehead, he flinched, making a soft sound in surprise and alarm.

“Why is your skin so much colder than mine?”

Your skin wasn’t cold. In fact, your body was at an average temperature, kept warm by the layers of clothing you were wearing. By your own assessment, your hands were probably relatively warm. You frowned, reaching into your pocket and withdrawing your penlight, circling the desk to situate yourself closer to the Duke.

The way he was looking at you when you drew closer was strange. Almost hungry. Famished, ice blue hues swept over your form, and you watched as his hands, previously resting on the desk, folded in front of him, over his lap.

You moved closer, leaning halfway over to him, hand making contact with his face to tilt it towards you. He flinched at your touch, breath shuddering, and you studied his eyes closely before muttering a warning and shining your light into his face, instructing him to follow the light with his gaze.

“This isn’t… necessary,” he protested, weakly, and you ignored him. His pupils were blown wide, dark pits in the center of the sky blue of his irises.

“Mydriasis,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you switched off your light and pocketed it.

Your hand dropped from his face to just under where his jaw met his throat. You pushed aside the leather straps, just enough to access his pulse point, pressing two fingers to the spot. His heart was racing, quick and erratic, and you felt him shudder, breath heavy, his jaw setting tightly as your hands drifted across his skin, probing and searching. His skin was burning with heat, feverishly so, and coupled with the elevated heart rate, the blown pupils, and the way he seemed to flinch whenever you made contact with his skin directly, you could only make one conclusion.

“So,” you said, backing up to stand up straight, “this started after you had the first brew Siegwinne dropped off, yes?”

Wriothesley nodded. “It did.”

His voice. It had dropped several octaves in the time you’d been examining him, and you cursed the effect it had on you, coursing hot through your bloodstream. It felt so deeply unprofessional for a doctor to even think of her patient in the way the brief thoughts that fluttered through your mind suggested you do.

“Is it worse after this second batch?” You forced yourself to say.

He huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”

And it was then when you noticed, from where you were standing, that Wriothesley’s belt was undone. Rosy hues colored your cheeks as you yanked your gaze away.

“You need to tell me all of your symptoms,” you said, “spare no detail.”

Panic briefly flashed across his face as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

“Hot,” he said, “I feel far too warm. Do I have a fever?”

You narrowed your eyes. He was purposely hiding the truth, but nonetheless, you answered.

“Yes,” you said, “but I believe it’s because your body is overheated and not because you're fighting an infection. I just said not to leave anything out, Your Grace, please tell me everything. As your doctor, I–”

“I’m… Archons, I don’t want to say it,” he paused, searching, almost frantically for something else to focus on. “What was in that tea?”

You swallowed, leaning back to rest against the desk.

“Herbs,” you said, “rosemary, feverfew, and lavender. All meant to help with pain and headaches. But I could also smell rainbow roses.”

Wriothesley brightened. “Yes, I thought that was what I tasted. It brings such a unique flavor to the table, don’t you agree?”

You fought a smile, endeared by him, but now was hardly the time. You needed to figure out what was wrong with him, not to discuss tea.

“Yes,” you said, “but it was strange. Too sweet. It only gets to that level when the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose are included alongside the powdered roots of a rainbow rose, in which case the combination can make–”

Oh. Oh.

As you were talking, it clicked into place. The scent, which you’d thought was much too sweet before, suddenly made sense. Sumeru rose must have been the final ingredient. It was flavorless when consumed, but smelled quite sweet. When combined with rainbow roses, the scent of the two grew overpoweringly saccharine. Unless diluted, it would almost resemble a syrup. If the rainbow rose petals were boiled alongside the powdered roots of the Sumeru rose, it could become a powerful medicine able to soothe a bad cough. But if the roots of both plants were powdered, the results were…

You cursed yourself for being so stupid. Of course, Siegwinne would see nothing wrong with this. Medicine was medicine, regardless of what the outcome of its ingestion spelled, so long as it got the desired result. To her, the suggestion of something unbecoming would be taken with great offense.

“‘Can make?’” Wriothesley supplied, and were already imagining the ways in which you were going to rip Siegwinne a new one.

“I need your symptoms. Now. I am a doctor, Your Grace, I promise I will be as non judgemental as possible, just please–”

“Damn it,” he interjected, face hidden in his hands, “I’m aroused.”

Anything you’d just been about to say left your mind, swept away by dread, because you knew what was happening.

Siegwinne was evil. You could already picture her expectant, innocent face, asking just how her little ‘experiment’ had gone, and it filled you with boiling rage.

Though, there was also the fact that she could simply be misinformed. Melusines had different reactions to some medicines than humans did, and it was equally possible that she simply thought that, if dosed with the tea, the Duke’s feelings for you, if he had any, would just be made more prominent. For her sake, you hoped it was the latter.

“Aroused,” you parroted, trying hard to stay professional and failing miserably, because this was unethical on so many levels, “tell me more about that.”

He made a strangled, startled sound. “You want to know more?”

You wanted to melt into the floor. “I need to know how strong the dose you’ve been given is.”

“Dose?!” He said, “of what?”

You refused to look at him. “When mixed together, the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose and a rainbow rose create a powerful aphrodisiac. I believe the first dose you received was a weaker version, and this one is much stronger.”

Silence followed as Wriothesley took in the information, then cleared his throat.

“Do you have an antidote?”

You raised your head to look at him properly. He looked almost haggard, the flush from his face creeping down his neck.

“There… kind of isn’t one.”

Wriothesley made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat, hands raising to card through his hand, and it was then that you noticed it. Now that his hands were no longer hiding it, you could see it, there, outlined against the dark fabric of his slacks.

He was hard.

A wave of suffocating, shameful arousal washed over you, and you forced yourself to look away, to ignore it.

You could only begin to imagine how he was feeling. The way you were feeling was nothing compared to him, his condition undoubtedly much more intense than your own physical reaction in response to his arousal, and you could feel his eyes on you as you scrambled to find a solution.

“What am I going to do then?” He asked, “it’s getting… I’m sorry, It’s getting rather unbearable. I tried everything. It’s impossible to ignore, and I know I can’t use my hands.”

You spared him a glance. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, “I was already trying that. It wasn’t enough.”

Oh. The unbuckled belt. His disheveled state when you’d walked in. He’d already been dealing with the effects of the first dose, or at least attempting to. The call of your name, as you were entering the office. The silence before he summoned you up to the second floor.

Fuck. He’d been thinking of you.

That had to be one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, professionalism be damned. Arousal rolled over you like a breaking wave, making you bite into your lower lip.

You knew what needed to happen. You knew the effects of this particular drug would take, and you knew that the only way to relieve his symptoms was either to very painfully wait it out or to… find relief. In this case, that entailed another person.

“You need to have sexual intercourse,” you said, “or you can wait it out.”

Wriothesley cleared his throat. “Wait it out,” he said, “right, I can do that. How long will that take?”

You twisted your hands together. “It… depends. You were likely given a pretty strong dose, even for someone your size. By my estimate, it would probably take several hours for it to work its way out of your system.”

He chuckled dryly, humorlessly. “Great.”

You cleared your throat. “Do you have someone I could… call? A girlfriend?”

He snorted, as if amused by the idea. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

That would make sense, you supposed, if he was calling out your name, and not the name of another woman.

“We both know what Siegwinne is doing,” Wriothesley said, “not just with this, but for the past few months. I can’t pretend I’m not fond of you, and neither of us can pretend there isn’t something between us.”

It was like the ground dropped out from under you at the sheer brazenness of his admission. You stared at him, thunderstruck.

“You… what?”

A cavalcade of thoughts crashed together as you rapidly attempted to process what he meant by that, but he barely gave you any time before he started speaking again.

“Look,” he said, “if you don’t feel the same, I can accept that. I’ll wait it out, and we can pretend this never even happened. But if you do, are you even… slightly interested in um… helping me? Because honestly, I feel like I’m about to explode.”

Heat coiled low in your stomach, threatening to overtake you as the lovely rasp of his voice made any of your logical thoughts close to meaningless. This was so vastly unprofessional. He was your boss, and you were his doctor. But something dangerously close to want was settling neatly over that space you usually reserved, that you looked to for reassurance about your professional standing with the Duke, to tell you that your feelings for him, ever growing, were improper.

And when you turned, watching his face, the way his hungry gaze traced your body through your uniform, something in you snapped, and you threw caution to the wind.

Head lowered, face flushed, you swallowed your rationality and any remaining hesitance you had left.

“I suppose,” you said, “I could use my hands.”

Wriothesley’s body jolted in anticipation, and his eyes betrayed his hesitance, darkened to steel blue with lust as he nodded once, then once more.

“Hands,” he repeated, “yes, hands are good. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

You found it touching that he was at least trying to take your comfort into account, even when he was drowning in desire, and you took a slow step forward as he shifted, pulling his chair out enough to allow you room to situate yourself on the floor in front of him. As you took another step, he took his coat from the back of his chair and laid it at his feet, another gesture you appreciated.

Once you reached him, you knelt down between his thighs, and he watched you with burning eyes, flinching when your palms smoothed over his clothed thighs, jaw tightening. Medical curiosity echoed briefly in the back of your mind, taking note of just how sensitive the drug had made him to the simplest of touches, how he shivered as your nails grazed against the insides of his strong thighs.

Fuck, he was radiating heat. So much so that it was beginning to affect you, and you shifted back on your knees to remove the overcoat layer of your uniform, leaving you in the blouse and underskirt beneath it. Wriothesley’s eyes followed your motions with rapt attention, and when you moved forward again, settling, you felt him jolt when your palm met his leg once again.

This close up, you could see it, just how much he was straining against his trousers, his erection pressed against his zipper, and hesitantly, you cupped it in your hand.

The Duke gasped at your touch, fingers twitching where he’d curled them around the armrests of his chair, then tightening in a white-knuckled grip as you ever-so-gently squeezed. He twitched against your palm, and you removed his belt entirely, dropping it to the floor with a clatter before you were unfastening his button and zipper.

You palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, and you could already feel how big he was just from that. A sort of eagerness threaded its way into the burn of your arousal as you pushed away any remaining layers, pulling him free.

Fuck. He was so thick, and when you slowly wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely met. He was long, too, though you supposed it made sense for a man of his size. He was flushed red, painfully hard, and when you squeezed, you felt him twitch once more, his body tightening like a coiled spring. His hands tightened their grip on the armrests, flexing, and you felt his hips shift forward, unconsciously.

The first stroke made his head roll back, the sound he let out one of relief, just from that simple touch alone. It made you squirm in place, the sound of his voice and the stricken hitch of his breath causing the desperation of his arousal to bleed into your own building need. Precum was beaded at his tip, and you almost wanted to lean forward to lap it up, especially as more leaked out in response to the way you were stroking him in slow, even movements.

Heavy breath expelled through clenched teeth, followed by a low, low groan as your thumb found his tip, rubbing in slow circles, and it was then that you leaned forward, giving into temptation as your tongue pressed to the underside of the head of his cock in a slow lick.

“Oh,” he gasped, “oh, you don’t have to– oh, fuck.”

He cut himself off as you lapped at his slit, groaning through his teeth. He was already completely lost to pleasure as you pumped the base of him, and when you took him into your mouth, sucking on the tip, you heard him curse, a sound drawn out with a low, decadent groan.

“You said your hands– oh!”

Arousal was settling low and smoldering hot in the pit of your stomach, pooling between your thighs, and you whined as he whispered your name. You released him from your mouth, hands moving to rest on his thighs, and you dragged your tongue up and along the underside of his dick, gathering up any precum that had dribbled down. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks, lips grazing the side of his shaft, and he repeated your name, louder, voice twisted with an urgency that made your blood sing.

It was embarrassing, just how quick you’d gotten like this, punch drunk on the reactions he gave you, the way his body reacted to your touch. It filled you with an addicting sort of power, one that threatened to overtake you if you weren’t careful. But right then, all you wanted was to add fuel to the ever growing fire. And, with the way he was breathing, rough and ragged and broken, you doubted he’d be opposed to that.

Your tongue flicked out, against the fold of skin just below his tip, and he tensed, crying out helplessly. When you finally took him in your mouth, fully, his head fell back against his chair, a feral groan tearing itself from his throat as your tongue pressed firm against him. Your hand moved from his leg to encircle the base of him again, squeezing and stroking in tandem with the slow bob of your head, and making the Duke gasp at the sensations.

When you sucked, just a little, Wriothesley babbled a string of curses, hips twitching up towards your mouth, and when you ducked down, bobbing your head, one of his hands flew from the armrest to the back of your head. You thought he’d push, or maybe take control, but all he did was lace his fingers into your hair, unmoving. His body shuddered under the roll of your tongue, under the press of your free hand to his stomach, creeping under the layers of clothing covering him, his skin fever hot against your own.

You took him deeper, and he twitched, hips jumping as you hollowed out your cheeks, drawing back before surging forward once again. You relaxed your jaw further as his hips bucked, and he muttered an apology, breathless and feverish. His head pitched back as you rubbed your thumb against his base, and he twitched again, sharply. When you looked up at him, through your lashes, he was gazing down at you with hooded, burning eyes. There was desperation in his cool blue hues, a wordless plea for anything, everything you could give him.

And with everything you had, you delivered.

You dropped your jaw, swallowing as much of him as you can, drinking in the sound of his breath shuddering, tapering off into a low moan. You sped up, gradually, and the sounds he made were so madly erotic that you found yourself aching to reach between your thighs and take care of your own growing need, but you could hardly focus on anything apart from taking him as deep as possible without choking. The sheer girth of him was enough to make your jaw sore, and when you moved forward again, he hit the back of your throat, making tears catch in your lashes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, drawing the word out with the sound, long and low and you kneened around him, making him curse and buck.

The hand not tangled in your hair raised to his face, balling tight, and he bit down on his fist, stifling his uncontrolled cries of ecstasy, eyes squeezing shut, brows pinching in concentration. He was trembling beneath your touches, twitching against your tongue, and when you moved back to suck on the tip, slow and indolent, the noise that left his mouth was nothing short of pornographic.

“Yeah,” he seethed, voice breathy, needy, “fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”

Not a chance in hell you were doing that. You clamped your thighs together, squeezing around nothing, and you knew you were soaked, evident in the way your panties were sticking to your skin, your thighs tacky with sweat and the soak of your own arousal. Your hand curled into a fist where it rested on his stomach, then flattening once more and flexing, searching for anything to anchor yourself. When you took him into your mouth once more, fully, he bucked his hips, groaning with no regard for volume. He was close, teetering on that edge, evident from the way his grip on your hair grew tighter, the way you could feel the muscles in his stomach tensing, and when you took him deep and sucked, he moaned, long and low, the sound almost forced from his fraying lungs. The sensitivity had to be maddening, you decided, and you’d use that to your full advantage.

Slowly, you pulled back, lapping at the leaking tip, hand working tirelessly at the base of him, and you barely had any warning before he tipped over the edge, back arching, breath all but leaving him. You shifted back in surprise, reflexively, and cum painted itself across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the seam of your lips. You closed your eyes in an attempt to keep anything from getting into them before you were hurrying to take him in your mouth, sealing your lips around him. His hand was fisting in your hair, and the sound he made, a low, breathless groan, was one of sheer, debauched relief.

You sucked, and he let out an obscene moan as you swallowed down his cum, hips jerking, the hand previously fisted between his teeth flattening against the desk, palm slamming down, just once, and you heard the rasp of wood under fingernails as he moved to grip the edge.

You slowed, working him through the intensity of his orgasm, as he twitched and throbbed under your touch, the sheer volume of cum surprising you. It leaked from your mouth, down your chin, and you did your best to swallow as much of it as you could. He slumped, boneless, against his chair, and when you moved to clean him with your tongue, you got to listen to the delightful sound of him gasping from oversensitivity.

“Fuck,” you heard him say, dazed and utterly breathless, “fuck.”

Slowly, you drew back, and his eyes followed you, breath hitching and gaze darkening as he took in your appearance. The sight of you, knelt before him, covered in his cum, was enough to make him groan aloud, cheeks flaring pink.

“Archons,” he said, “that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a short, breathless chuckle.

“Do you have a rag or something?”

He nodded, once, and you stood on shaking legs before leaning sideways against the desk, and he pulled you closer, gently wiping your face clean with a tissue before depositing it in the trash situated under his desk.

“How do you feel?” You asked, and he huffed what may have been a laugh, nearly disbelieving.

“That was… Incredible. But I’m still, um…”

You crooked an eyebrow, watching him, expectantly.

He looked almost guilty. “I’m still hard.”

Oh. Oh.

You weren’t completely surprised. You didn’t know if a blowjob alone would be enough to work the drug from his system, and clearly, it wasn’t. Not that you minded. Your own arousal was a steady pulse below your skin, working like a second heartbeat. Desire coursed through you, and you pressed your thighs together once more. You wanted it. You already knew that. You wanted him.

“Alright,” you said, and what was left of any phantom of resolve, or the shreds of your until recently professional relationship with him all but vaporized, “sit back.”

“You don’t have to,” he started, the protest as fragile as glass, but you cut him off.

“I want to. I’ve… wanted this– you– for a while. So please, Your Grace– Wriothesley. I want it all. If you’ll have me.”

That was all it took. With a low, shuddering breath, a signal of his rapidly fraying restraint, he was yanking you forward and into his lap, his fingers working the buttons of your blouse open, hurriedly shucking it down your shoulders once undone. He made quick work of the ties fastening your skirt to your body, and you briefly shuffled off of him to drop it to the floor, along with your stockings, before resituating yourself on his lap.

“If I’ll have you?” He rumbled, the low, rough ombre of his voice sending prongs of lightning down your spine, and he yanked you closer, mouth dragging along the curve of your jaw.

“How could I possibly refuse?”

And then, for the first time, he was kissing you.

His lips were burning hot against yours, and your fingers found his hair, threading into messy locks, nails dragging against his scalp. He huffed a sigh into your lips as he nudged his tongue between them, tilting his head to slot his mouth more firmly against yours, and when his tongue dragged against yours, you moaned, low and soft, into his mouth. He kissed you slow and deep, almost a juxtaposition to the way he was feverishly running his hands, large and calloused, down your body, and when his fingers grazed over the patch of nerves just where your lowest rib met the curve of your waist, you shuddered in his hold.

You could taste the tea he’d been drinking on his tongue, cloyingly sweet, and it was almost too much when mixed with the heady, spiced smell of his cologne. Everything about him was overwhelming you in the best way possible, rendering you pliable and soft in his hands. Fuck, Wriothesley needed his own warning label. It was almost funny, really, just how riled up you were when he was the one who had been drugged with an aphrodisiac.

His teeth caught your lower lip as he drew back, tugging, before he was diving back in, hands planted firmly on your hips, and you let out a stuttering gasp as he pulled you forward, his bare cock pressing against your stomach.

The way he shuddered at the contact was enough to make your head spin with arousal, and when you shifted forward once more, just to see what he’d do, the grip on your hips grew to nearly bruising.

“You have no idea,” he husked, low and rough, the very threads of his sanity slipping from between his fingers, “how hard you’re making it to hold back.”

His words shot straight between your thighs, and you rolled your hips again, loving the way he stiffened. You felt his palm, dragging slowly up your body, then finally moving to cup your breast through the fabric of your bra, squeezing. You arched your chest into his touch, his name whisper soft on your lips.

He unfastened your bra after some fumbling, his coordination clearly beginning to become impacted by the drug. Once the garment was discarded, he barely gave you time to breathe, and you gasped when his head dipped down, mouth dragging across the valley of your breasts, skating along the side of one before his lips found one of your nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.

He groaned at the taste of you, indulgent, as he laved his tongue over your flesh, hands sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place, allowing him to explore the newly exposed skin with his mouth as much as he pleased. He was strong, his grip like iron, but it didn’t prevent you from slowly rocking your hips, rubbing your clothed cunt against his bare cock, and the way he groaned into your skin was a sound of delirious pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, almost disbelieving, “fuck, I’m a lucky man.”

His tender words made your heartbeat quicken, and you squeezed him closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt, and you quickly unfastened them, pushing the cloth away to smooth your palms over his bare skin. Gently, you pushed him back against the chair you were both situated in to look at him, and the sight before you was almost too much.

You already knew he was muscular, that much was obvious by just looking at him. But beneath his clothing, among thickly corded muscle was a patchwork of scarred flesh. You’d known about some scars; three of them crept up over the collar of his shirt, partially hidden by the straps he wore around his throat. There was also a collection of them on his arms, and of course, the one under his right eye. The ones that were hidden wove their way across his chest like a roadmap, some of them faint, and others more prominent, pale threads across his already pale skin. You laid your palm against him, tracing the one closest, and he shuddered, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers skimmed down his chest, to his trim waist, and when your thumb caught in the deep v at his waist, he let out a soft grunt.

One of his hands moved from your waist to your hip, squeezing the plush flesh, then migrated to the apex of your thighs, and when his middle finger rubbed you through the sodden fabric of your panties, a high, breathy whine tore itself from your throat. He pressed harder, and your back arched, eyes falling half-lidded when he circled your clit through the fabric.

Then, without warning, he was pushing the cloth aside, and the feel of his calloused finger dragging across your entrance was enough to make you jerk in his hold.

He dipped his head, forehead making contact with your shoulder, and it took you a moment to realize he was watching himself, observing the sight of his hand between your legs. When your hips twitched, he used his opposite hand to hold you steady, effectively forcing you to stay in place as he did what he pleased with your body.

“Please,” you whispered, and that was all it took for him to tire of his teasing, sinking his finger inside you with a slow, indulgent movement.

You gasped, the sound bleeding into a moan when his finger curled inside of you, and he pushed you down, forcing you to take him to the knuckle. You whispered his name as he curled his finger again, and when he added a second finger, you squeezed your eyes shut. He groaned at the sound it made when he thrust his fingers into you, the lewd, embarrassing schlick of you around him, and you had to take a moment for your jumbled thoughts to catch up with you. His fingers were so much thicker than your own, not to mention longer, and he was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. He thrust again, and you cried out, hips twitching, causing him to tighten his grip.

The curl of his fingers hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars, and when he felt the way it made you tighten around him, he began to abuse it with everything he had.

“Oh, Gods,” he groaned, “you’re so wet.”

You could do no more than gasp as his palm ground against your clit, and he held you there, forcing you to take it as he pressed in slow, maddening twists of his wrist before replacing his palm with his thumb.

It was arousing how easily he could manhandle you, and you had absolutely no desire to fight against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were getting close, embarrassingly quickly, and you could do nothing to stop yourself from hurtling towards that end, walls throbbing and contracting around his fingers.

One of your hands shot between you, encircling his thick wrist, and you weren’t sure what the purpose of that was, either to push him deeper or simply to find purchase, but you did know that your desperation made his dick twitch where it was pressed between you, forcing him to stifle a groan.

You convulsed in his hold, hips jerking in his iron grip, his name on your lips, and with a final press of his thumb against your clit, you came hard around his fingers, biting down into his shoulder, and he worked you through it with slow thrusts that made stars and celestial bodies dance across your closed eyelids. You called his name, urgent and drawn out, yet high and needy, and he replied with a groan of his own, his free hand flying from where he was holding you in place to wrap around his own cock, palming it, thumbing the head, forcing a moan from between his teeth.

You slumped heavily against him as you fell from your high, and when he withdrew his fingers, you let out a shuddering breath, the sensitivity sending your thoughts into nonsense. Your head was spinning, thoughts in a daze, and all you could feel was him as he panted for breath.

Seconds of silence, only interrupted by heavy breathing, passed before you rose on unsteady legs to discard your panties before you were settling over him once more, and he watched with hazy eyes as you shifted forward, pressing your bare cunt against the underside of his shaft in a slow grind. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, brows pinching upwards, the sensitivity clearly unbearable. Suffocating, maddening lust worked its way through your bloodstream like a toxin, and you knew he needed more, from the way his hips rutted up in halfway thrusts as you rubbed against him.

“Fuck,” he choked, head falling back as the tip of his cock caught against you, “I wanna–”

You rocked forward, and his entire body jolted, tearing a groan from deep in his chest.

“What do you want?” You asked, breathless, and he lifted his head to look at you, the fog of desire in his eyes downright sinful.

He yanked you close, trapping his cock between your bodies, and into a frenzied kiss, his restraint all but gone as he unabashedly moaned at the feel of your skin.

“I want,” he husked, mouth pressing open kisses against your jaw, and he stopped, breath hot against your ear, “to be inside you.”

Your breath left you in a rush, and you drew him into a deep kiss, one he returned with vigor, hands smoothing down your body to grab at your hips, pressing you forward and against him once more, and when you pulled back, his eyes were wild with desperation and maddening lust.

“I don’t have protection,” he said, and you shook your head, dismissing him.

“I’m on birth control,” you said. Siegwinne made the tonic you took, something she supplied even to female inmates to help with lightening periods. But right now, it would be used for its intended purpose. Wriothesley nodded as he took this information in, seemingly relaxing a little.

“Please,” he mumbled, and you blinked, surprised to hear him beg for anything, but you were hardly going to deny him, “I’m going insane. I need you.”

You took a shuddering breath as you shifted up, using one hand to brace yourself as you took his cock in your hand, pressing him against you. You both cried out in unison at the feeling, even the slightest whisper of much needed friction enough to make you feel lightheaded, and you felt his hands grasp your hips, urging you downwards.

You sank down, slowly, and even the tip of him was a stretch, a dull ache blossoming as you pressed closer. Both hands landed on his shoulders, breath heavy, and he groaned lowly at the sensation.

“Slow,” he said, fighting for control, “c’mon, you can take me. Relax, deep breaths.”

You nodded, once, as you did as he instructed. Your knees shuffled as you pressed yourself down, met with more resistance, and forcing you to stop, gasping for air. He was only halfway in and you already felt full, stretched to accommodate him. It was unfamiliar and new, and you weren’t used to this, but his grip was tightening, and with a deep breath, you thrust down, taking the rest of him in one quick motion.

The sting of the stretch danced across your frayed nerves like a livewire, and you grit your teeth, head slumping forward as Wriothesley let out a long, low groan, both of his hands rushing to your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place.

A string of curses left his lips as his head fell back, and you could feel him throb inside of you, so deep you could hardly believe it, stuffed full to the brim.

“Just– oh, or you could just take it all. Fuck,” he quieted, breathing heavily, before speaking again, “are you– did that hurt you? Are you okay?”

The pain wasn’t horrible, and you hesitated to even call it pain. It was just an ache, dull and unpleasant, but you’d been wet enough that taking him hadn’t caused you any actual damage. You sat still as you adjusted, the aching burn of the stretch rapidly fading into something maddening, replaced by a desperate need.

“I’m fine,” you said, voice strained, “I’m okay.”

He nodded, once, before drawing you close, linking your mouth to his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d expected. You felt him throb, and when you squeezed, you got the pleasure of hearing him groan your name.

“You’re so tight. Please, please– yeah–”

His head fell back as you rocked your hips, lifting yourself up, only to sink back down, and when you repeated the action, he groaned helplessly, a string of almost nonsensical praises spilling past his lips, only serving to make you want to wreck him even further.

Sheer, uncontained relief was tangled inextricably with every sound he made, his hands squeezing your hips as you took him again, and again, and again, and oh fuck, you felt like you were being split open, impaling yourself repeatedly on his fat cock. The burn from before turned into pure ecstasy, the stretch of him inside of you intoxicating, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck as you moaned out his name. He wasn’t even bothering to stay quiet, not that it mattered, nobody could hear from outside the heavy office doors, which was an advantage right then.

You keened as his hips rose to meet you, the base of his dick rubbing against your clit. You sank down, taking him fully, ejecting any rational or sensical thought from your head, grinding in deep, easy circles, and you could feel blunt nails digging into your hips as he held you in place, totally drunk on pleasure.

His grip eased as you slid back up before taking him again, and he was kissing you frantically, one of his hands flattening against your breast, rolling the nipple under the rough pad of his thumb, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Faster,” he hissed, pulling back to meet your eyes, “faster, ride me faster.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, using them as leverage to move yourself faster, arching your back as the new speed made you see stars, and you whined, burning pleasure shooting through you at the grind of his cock against your clit.

“Good girl,” he groaned, dizzy with pleasure, “yeah, just like that.”

You could feel yourself getting close again, and you groaned his name as you swiveled your hips. Your thighs were beginning to burn with the exertion, even with just the short time you’d been moving at this pace, and when he felt you shudder, his hands found your waist, helping you along.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wriothesley panted, “that’s it, fuck me just like that.”

He was moving you with his own hands, easily, and you tried your best to move along with him, swiveling your hips whenever he bottomed out, and his head fell back in rapture, gasping for air.

Your orgasm was approaching fast, and you were helpless to its pull as you sped up, chasing after it frantically, the sound that filtered through your clenched teeth one of desperation. You felt like you were losing yourself, and when you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his throat, an unrestrained groan fell past his lips, his hips bucking up with enough force to make you see stars. When his thumb pressed against your clit, you tipped over the edge hard, stilling as you clung to him, sobbing his name into the curve of his shoulder.

You tightened to a vice grip around him, throbbing as your climax crashed over you, and you heard him growl at the sensation, hips bucking, still working his cock up into your messy cunt. Before you could even start to come down from your high, you were moving, and the frigid steel of the floor met your back, rapidly heating from contact with your skin. One of his hands gripped at your leg, tucking beneath your knee and holding it up, and then he was driving forwards, hips slapping against yours as he filled you once more.

He paused, shaken by the intensity of the sensation, before his head pitched forward, breath heavy, and he was thrusting again with a renewed vigor, nails digging into your flesh.

His name was the only thing on your tongue as he fucked you, so good it made you feel like your head was emptying itself out. His mouth found yours as he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his forearm, laid beside your head, giving him more freedom to do what he pleased with his hips. The base of his dick was rubbing against your clit once again, and you whined, squirming beneath him, but he wasn’t letting up.

“Wriothesley,” you gasped, head fuzzy, completely cock drunk as he broke the kiss to mouth at your neck, “deeper.”

He groaned, low and indulgent, and when his hips snapped forward, filling you completely, your back arched against his chest.

“Deeper?” he repeated, the baritone timbre of his voice lowered to an uneven bass, “you want it deeper? That what you want, gorgeous?”

“Please,” you sobbed, “please, give it to me.”

A low, rough chuckle was the only warning you got before he was thrusting forward, hips flush against yours, and he repeated the action, again, and again, and again, making you bite your lip to keep from wailing at the intensity of it all.

“Oh, fuck,” you heard him gasp, stricken, indulgent, “fuck, yeah, that’s it.”

It felt so good you could hardly think, and when you babbled his name, lust drunk and fucked dumb, he pressed soft kisses along the column of your throat, almost like a reward, a thank you for letting him do this to you.

His pace was growing sloppy, but he showed no signs of letting up, and in the back of your mind, you figured was probably just going to keep on going, even if he came. It was rapidly beginning to become far too much for you, and you moaned, high and breathy, when he rammed himself all the way in, grinding his hips before pulling out less than a quarter of the way, then thrusting back in. He was so deep, and you writhed under him, fingernails scraping against the floor before you were clinging to him. He was moaning, low and breathless, the way he was moving causing you to helplessly spasm around him, forcing you violently over the edge when the base of him rubbed just right against your aching clit.

You could feel tears, beading at your lashline as the sensitivity became maddening, but he wasn’t letting up, even as you arched and bucked and wailed beneath him, the intensity of your climax rendering you incoherent. He knew exactly what he was doing, just how to push every button he needed to, and you were halfway between deliriously begging for more or sobbing at the sensitivity.

A string of curses left his lips as he came, gushing hot and thick inside of you, but he wasn’t even pausing, even as his groans tapered into breathy moans from the way he was overstimulating himself. You could feel him, throbbing, pulsing inside of you as he filled you, uncaring of the way his cum dripped out of you. The sound of it, combined with the slap of skin against skin, was unbelievably lewd, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even think, let alone be any kind of embarrassed. If anything, it only drove you higher.

“Fuck,” Wrothesley cursed, low and broken, “I need it again, please, again– fuck!”

He shifted back, grabbing at your legs and pressing them down beside you, and you thanked the Archons you were flexible as he continued, leaning forward once he had you in the position he liked and taking your body with abandon. He was hardly bothering to hold back his strength as he hammered into you, and your head fell back against the floor with a soft thud, eyes rolling back.

You’d never felt like this before in your life. Your legs were growing sore, and your back was going to be stiff from the way he was fucking you into the floor, but you didn’t care, not as you got to listen to the way he was saying your name like a prayer, how he was caressing and kissing your body like it was sacred. Exhaustion was a heavy weight against the blurred edges of your mind, and all you could do was lay there and take it as he chased after what he so desperately needed.

It didn’t take long for him to grow close again, and he whispered your name as his end quickly approached. You yanked him into a kiss, which he returned with a groan of ecstasy, and then, with a final, deep, shuddering thrust, he was cumming. The force of it made his entire body tremble, and the sound he made was one of satiated, relieved bliss as he emptied himself out inside of you, the heat of him almost suffocating, burning you from the inside out.

His hips jerked with unconscious movements and spasms as he drifted down from the staggering height of his climax, his breath heavy, and he slumped, weakened, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His mouth pressed lazy kisses against your skin, and you lifted a hand to run it through his hair as he finally, finally began to grow soft inside of you.

The two of you lay there, still joined, for what felt like hours, bathing in each other’s warmth and the afterglow of it all. His breath fanned across your skin, feather soft as he lifted his head to join your lips together, before he slowly pulled out, rolling off of you, dazed.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice hoarse, and you arched your back, flexing your body. You winced at the soreness. You were undoubtedly going to have bruises from how hard he had been gripping you.

“I’m fine,” you said, “are you–”

He snorted.

“Yeah,” he said, “that uh… that did the trick.”

You laughed, a little breathlessly. You didn’t know how you’d be able to stand after that, genuinely. Your legs felt like jelly, and a deep, all consuming exhaustion was settling over your senses.

“You think it’s gone?” You asked, “the drug, I mean.”

He looked at you sidelong. “I don’t feel uncontrollably horny anymore, so I’d say so.”

Wriothesley sat up, flexing his shoulders. He tucked himself back into his pants, and then he was gathering you into his arms, rising to his feet.

“What are you doing?” You asked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Taking you to the bath,” he said, “I have a bathtub, in my living quarters.”

You relaxed, settling into his arms. “Oh.”

His living quarters were attached to the office, through a door you’d somehow never noticed before. You were far too tired to take in any of the details of it, instead opting to close your eyes and rest your head on the nearest comfortable spot on Wriothesley’s chest, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.

He set you in the tub, and after the water was run, you were surprised to see him climbing in along with you. It wasn’t unwelcome, and seeing him completely bare was hardly a bad thing, and you were pleasantly happy when he began to gently wash you, and once he was finished, he tugged you back, settling you against his chest.

The bathroom was silent, save for the musical sound of running water, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes, settling into the comfortable atmosphere.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Wriothesley said, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“About being fond of you,” he said, “you’re… an amazing woman. I want–”

You leaned up, kissing him, and effectively giving him an answer to his thoughts. He sighed into the kiss, content, one large hand rising to cup your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

“I guess Siegwinne succeeded,” you said, and Wriothesley smiled, amused.

“I guess she did.”

You stayed in the bath much longer than you expected, until the water became cold, and once that happened, Wriothesley whisked you off to the bed, tucking you under the covers after supplying you with one of his shirts to wear. You smiled when he joined you, now dressed in a pair of sweats, chest left bare, and curled up beside you, tucking you close to his chest.

Sleep came quickly after the lights were switched off, the exhaustion from before spreading over you like wildfire.

And, when he thought you were asleep, you felt him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his body relaxing against yours.

BONUS:

You were agonizingly sore. Your stiff muscles had stiff muscles, and while Wriothesley was sheepish, and apologetic, and promised he’d treat you to dinner to make it up (which you would be taking him up on), it made walking back to the infirmary the next morning a little difficult.

What was even worse was the look on Siegwinne’s face when you entered, ruby red eyes knowing as she watched you approach.

“How’s the duke?” She asked, and you handed her the accursed thermos without saying anything.

“Fine,” you said, slumping down into your chair with a sigh.

She smiled. “Good. Are you seeing him again tonight?”

You turned, brows furrowed. “How did you know about that?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Someone saw you leaving his office this morning. I suppose what I put in the tea worked a little too well.”

You stared at her. “Siegwinne, you put an aphrodisiac in his tea.”

She paused, concerned. “No I didn’t. I put a supplement to further enhance his desire for you. If we’re being frank, it’s closer to a love potion. Just to get rid of any inhibitions. It’s medicine. But it isn’t meant to cause anything like–”

You rolled back your sore shoulders. “Yeah, well, it did.”

Her face went pale, but she briefly covered it up. “I… suppose I miscalculated.”

You laughed, then. Really laughed. It startled Siegwinne, who stared at you with growing concern.

“It’s fine,” you said, “whatever, Siegwinne. At least you don’t have to keep going with trying to set us up. Focus your energy on making ‘love potions’ that aren’t aphrodisiacs in humans, okay?”

She flushed, quiet, then nodded, once, her eyes taking on a determined look. You were beginning to regret saying anything.

With a smile, and a good natured nod, she put her hands on her hips, ever the dutiful nurse.

“I’ll get right on that.”

Fin.

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y-rhywbeth2 · 2 days

Text

Hey kids, want to learn about drugs in Toril?

(OK, so some of them actually have medicinal properties, if your character happens to have medical knowledge in their background.)

Local laws usually have restrictions regarding drugs. As ever, Waterdeep sets the standards for trading cities that want to market themselves as tolerant: the production and selling of drugs outside of medicine is fully illegal in the city, though it's not a crime to be found personally taking drugs. It is not technically a crime to be found in possession of drugs, however that only really applies to nobles, wealthy merchants and others of similar rank. Lower ranks will be assumed to be carrying the drugs with intent to sell, and be arrested unless they can provide evidence of their employment by a Guild of Apothecaries & Physicians, clergy or similar legitimate medical employment.

Drugs that can have fatal side effects may be treated as poisons, which can get you arrested and charged with "murder with justification" if law enforcement and/or the courts do desire. (You don't have to have actually killed anyone, tried to, or shown any inclination whatsoever for this).

The illegal drug trade works a lot as it does in reality, although unlike in reality they also have magic so portals, illusions and other "cheats" are pretty common. The grunt work of trafficking and selling is done by the lower ranking, more disposable members. Often the "runners" who deliver the contraband to the client are young children.

In Baldur's Gate I'd assume most of the drug trade and production occurs in the Undercellar and the Outer City.

Many substances are magical in nature and their effects can be unusual. Some came with more information than others.

Tekkil Painkiller. Ingested. Typically used by people dealing with severe chronic pain, taken by chewing leaves that release a milky substance. As well as its analgesic properties, tekkil causes lethargy which can render imbibers insensate in an overdose. Some people use it to completely numb their senses and escape reality, and the drug is moderately addictive.

Alindluth Painkiller, ingested. "Deadens all pain and prevents shock and nausea for a few minutes. No known side effects [but may cause comas in higher doses]"

Haunspeir Stimulant. Paste. Sometimes dried into pill form. Carrying a low risk of addiction it's usually used by wizards, students and such looking for a study boost, though it does cause physical harm to the body while it's in the system and seems to thin the skin, causing more damage when something breaks through (try not to get a papercut).

Tansabra Anaesthetic. Intravenous. A form of venom that places mammalian bodies into magical stasis, keeping their body temperature, oxygen levels and so forth stable as the subject's metabolic processes literally stop: blood flow and breathing ceases. (The text does not tell me what provides the venom.)

Kammarth Beige powder or jelly. An addictive and potent magical stimulant combining Underdark fungi and a rare forest root. Users start bouncing off the walls with endless energy and gain a boost to their speed and reaction times. Overdose will overload the nervous system and cause paralysis and physical damage.

Sezarad Root Ingestion. Chewing the root boosts health, healing and vitality, though it also causes minor confusion as a side effect. It carries a low risk of addiction.

"Battlewine" Or Rhul. A spicy red fluid with a bitter aftertaste. It's basically an anabolic steroid, misused it boosts muscle growth and physical performance but causes aggression. It's also addictive.

Vornduir Powder. Inhaled. Causes the user to feel warm and prevents them from registering cold. It prevents shivering and loss of mobility, however the drug does not actually raise body temperature and won't prevent hypothermia or frostbite. It also has a host of effects that occur totally randomly by individual. In some people it causes alertness and euphoria that lasts for days (during which they can't sleep). Some are totally unaffected, and some have allergic reactions. In some it causes the pain and pleasure response to temporarily switch (stabbing them with a knife would be ecstasy; a normally welcome caress is distressing). On some people it even acts as an antidote to some poisons.

Chaunsel Dermal absorption. Rubbing the drug into your skin causes it to become extremely sensitive to tactile stimuli. While I imagine it has some very predictable uses not mentioned in the text, in practical day-to-day adventuring thieves and other criminals apply it to their finger tips when working in darkness to heighten their awareness of what they're doing with their hands (if they don't have dark vision, anyway). Overdosing causes days of numbness.

"Thrallwine" Ingested. An herbal red wine, more fancifully known as Jhuild, often used by slavers: the imbiber becomes fearful and confused, and their thoughts are sluggish, making them easy to manipulate and control. It also has a steroidal effect, boosting physical strength for a time. It's not addictive.

Katakuda Brown paste. Dermal absorption. Imported from Kara-Tur (Kozakura, specifically, I think). It's traditionally used by a monastic order, and causes the skin to harden when applied, making it harder to damage and less sensitive to pain. If overused it will cause nerve damage, inflicting wracking pain and spasms.

"Dreammist" Inhaled. Properly called mordayn vapor, it's used by brewing a tea using ground leaves and inhaling the vapours. The drug is too potent to be ingested, and consuming the powder or drinking the tea will kill you. Induces visions of incredible beauty that enrapture the user and make reality unbearable in comparison. The drug is extremely addictive and slowly destroys both the mind and body (causing Wisdom and Constitution damage, respectively).

"Bloodfast" Tablet. Ingested A drug created by the drow - known as ziran, in dark elven - the drug causes confusion in mild doses and disassociation and out-of-body experiences in higher doses. It's extremely addictive.

#I think I spotted the Torilian equivalent to Ritalin and co.#lore stuff #edgelord hours

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prof-peach · 1 day

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It's me again, I'm throwing my two cents in and asking. What are your thoughts on the competitive side of Pokémon caring. or more accurately, Pokémon battles? Especially the gym challenge and the champions themselves? Have you ever tried the gym challange before prof?

While in my youth I did the gym challenges, it all seemed rather staged for me, and i quickly figured out that the gym circuit is built for children, by adults to instil some form of confidence and independance in the youngsters who partake. I swiftly lost interest before completing any of them, but I think my old badges are somewhere, probably rusty by now. The whole organised gym system region to region is a well funded training scheme. Youngsters travel around with pokemon to get to grips with their teams, their independence, and their skills. Gyms offer a challenge to those who never much dipped their toes into the battling world, and many don't partake or bother with it for a whole host of reasons that are all equally valid. It is not a necessity to be a great trainer, nor is it required if you simply dont wish to do it. For most, its a fun challenge, but it does hold relative weight when applying for some job types as an adult, as it proves you can independently shift around and complete a set of tasks of your own volition, using critical problem solving skills on the fly. It has a whole host of benefits, and if you enjoy it and your pokemon enjoy it, then its a great way to earn some cash and blow off some steam!

BUT, that being said, the gym circuit is a tame version of reality. It is a low level set of tasks built to help those not as confident or well versed in battles. Even the more difficult leaders and gyms are playing a role, and while they may have their pokemon trained to a skilled, practiced adults capacity, for the most part they dumb down the fights and make sure they arent impossible for opponents to face. It is meant to be a challenge, not a slaughter, so to speak.

In the real world, people dont always get this safe space to learn how to handle a battle, there is blood, there are injuries, there can be deaths, but in a gym trial, that is harshly reduced, and fatalities are rarely encountered thankfully. With this in mind, I do believe the gym trials are a vital part of some peoples journey, but once you get past them and interact with the real world, where bad guys arent pulling punches like gym leaders do, you realise that you partook in a system that was all soft edges.

the champions and various elietes you encounter are HEAVILY trained guides for peoples journeys, and while some have been dubious, perhaps they slipped through the net, or paid their way into the position, most do the job of training new generations well, and with great precision. It takes a lot to train pokemon to the level they do, and teach with every move. It's a good job, much like any educator, and provides ample reward to see trainers come and go all the more confident and prepared for the real world. The skills it takes to be a gym leader are quite high, as your pokemon have to know when to stop, and how to hit hard, but not TOO hard that you injure opponents. Its a fine line and they walk it well for the most part.

As for the higher tiers of the gym circuits, well, they prove somewhat challenging to anyone on this path, but they too are simply adults hired to do a job, should they show the right aptitude. they get paid, they go home, and most of the time it is simply another form of the education sector.

I personally dont care for it much, but i have a bias others do not, and if i step away from it, its very clear to see that the gyms and the challenges they pose have great benefits for many people and pokemon, and often they offer help and support during times of disaster, such as fires or influx of pests on crops, and the likes. It goes to show they teach people more than how to fight, Alola in particular has a very harmonious balance within its practices, encouraging trainers to do what they can to help the community, without harming too many mons in the process, and to think outside the box when problem solving. Some of the finest trainers come from alola, thanks to their highly adaptive teaching methods.

overall i'd say if you want to partake, go for it! its certainly a safe way to train, but it does not mean you wont be great with pokemon or in a battle if you dont. I certainly never finished them, i know many who never did a single one, and are fantastic trainers. It's a great aid, but not the only way to succeed. So long as you treat your team with care, you research before you get new partners, and you take into consideration their wants FIRST, as their guardians, then youre on the right track. I could go on, but overall everythin gi ever preach comes back to mutual consent and being honest and open with pokemon. They put their faith in us to help them and be their trainers, so we can only try to do our best. If they dont want to fight, pushing them is immoral.

#prof.peach #pokemon #peach talks

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goodluckclove · 3 days

Text

On Not Writing

Hi! I'm back. i had a fun two days of doing absolutely nothing writing related, including scrolling this blog. Wife and I played a lot of Valheim. Took a lot of bike rides. Watched Interstellar for the first time - pretty good, kind of silly at the end. It was my first two-day weekend in probably three months, so it was much-needed, hard as it was.

And it got me thinking of some things I wanted to say to the community here. It's especially targeted towards younger writers, of which I used to be one, but I think it can apply to anyone who finds themselves despairing over how much they aren't writing.

Let's imagine you're sitting with me in this coffee shop. It's an overcast Portland morning and I just inadvertently vivisected a croissant. And as we sip our drinks (I ordered a lavender latte), you lament to me. I don't know what to do, Clove. I just haven't been writing!

You know what I say to that?

Good.

This is a new hot take of mine that I, once again, worry about upsetting people with. Because I see a lot of guides here about how to write, or how to write consistently, or how to write through writers block. But I haven't seen a single person talking about the inverse - how to not write. Or - perhaps more accurately - how to exist as a human being separate from your identity as a writer.

This is a problem for me.

Listen - I started young. I was 12 when I wrote my first novella, and 13 when I completed my first novel the next year. Adults in my life were impressed by the big-eyed child writing so many words. They encouraged me. I wrote two more novels, and they continued to encourage me. Because of the potential, right? I could be successful. I could be famous.

People stopped pushing me to try other things. I saw I was getting validation as a writer, so that only pushed me to continue fixating over something I was already enjoying and getting pretty good at. Dad had me writing two thousand words every day, because that's what Stephen King did. At 16 I finished four full-length novels, which everyone thought was really cool and interesting. I was also sporting dual hand braces every day throughout the winter to cope with the carpal tunnel I still struggle with to this day.

There is encouraging a person in their passion. There is also poisoning them with the belief that their self-worth comes from pursuing that passion. This is entirely, absolutely, even more true for younger writers and artists.

I am enraged for the young writer in my heart and in my head. Because they worried about a lot of the same things I see people worry about on here. Oh, if I don't write I'm not a writer! And to an extent they're right, as to be a writer you need to at some point write some stuff.

But here's the fucking thing, Young Clover - a child should not strive for the work ethic of a professional adult. You did not need to write 2k words a day to be a writer. You were a writer as soon as you updated that terrible Invader Zim fanfiction you wrote when you were 10.

And more than that, though, the most important thing to a person should not be their job and aspirations. If you don't write every day, you're still a writer. If you've never written anything, you aren't - and that's fine. You might write something later down the line, or you might not. Either way you are still entitled to exist on the planet and capable of living a full and passionate and wonderful life.

Hear my words: being a writer is not more important than being a human being.

If you aren't writing right now, maybe you're not supposed to be. Maybe you're meant to be nurturing your relationships, or nurturing yourself. Maybe you're supposed to be volunteering. Or meeting new people. Or gaining a new field of knowledge. Or getting really good at making focaccia bread. Or watching every Mark Wahlberg movie.

I don't like to hear this any more than you do. If I was told that I, for some reason, was not allowed to write for the rest of my life, I would be miserable for maybe a long time. After that passed it's my hope that I would move on and do other things, because my worth is not dependent on being a writer. I like doing it. I like being it, and I hope to be one for the rest of my life. But I never want it to be the first thing people see when they look at me. I don't even like bringing it up in conversation with people I don't already know.

So yeah, if you have "writer's block", maybe consider putting down the pickaxe and getting some rest. Step away entirely from the large boulder that stands between you being the next Stephen King or Brandon Sanderson or Teen Dystopia Writer no. 2321. Take a break, and I mean an ACTUAL break, not the kind where you spend the whole time sulking about work.

I am legitimately begging the writers on here to have developed lives and interests outside of writing. I am begging because I do not have that and it has consistently been one of the hardest things of my life.

You prioritize living outside your writing and it will improve the quality of your writing when you get back to it, as it'll allow you a frame of reference that extends beyond our niche industry. Or it might make you realize that, while you enjoy writing, what you really love is ceramics. Or game developing. Or mutual-aid activism. Or the movies of Mark Wahlberg.

It is not your job to treat yourself like you already have a dozen deadlines and an audience teetering on the edge of disappointment. That's ultimately not going to help you. Your job on this earth is to exist fully, for the sake of the universe that wants so desperately to live vicariously through you.

So breathe. Breathe and calm down. You aren't a failure and there's nothing you have to prove. All you have to do today is drink some water and have a nice snack while you look at a cloud.

Please be kind. All of us need to be kinder to each other and to ourselves.

That's all I want to say. I love you dearly. Please let me know if you need anything.

#writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #on writing #authors of tumblr #writing #queer writers #actually writing #writing inspiration #writing inspo #writing resources #young writer #creative writing

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wickjump · 3 days

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Can I ask ur thoughts on Paper Jam? You’ve mentioned them briefly in posts about Ink and/or Error as parents, and I’m wondering how u view them as a character individually ^^

PAPERJAM, PJ, THE SILLIEST EVER. pj was the first ship kid i was ever really into, unfortunately the credit to that does have to go to rouge’s highly infamous pj’s daycare. liking pj was the singular good thing i ever got out of that, and i forever grieve the fact that his name will always be associated with that mess.

i like paperjam a lot. their canon, their fanon, how many interpretations the fandom has for them, it’s great!!!! similar to ink, paperjam is a hugely flexible character in how the fandom treats them, in plenty interpretations not even being a kid to ink in error, either being a fusion or just having no familial connection to ink and error. canonically, pj was created from the remnants of their battles in a world where ink and error aren’t the sole ink and error, having thousands of other versions, which is such a cool concept on its own. yet i’m also a huge huge fan of ink and error having deliberately created him as their child because i love happy families, even though paperjam’s canon family is a bit more messy. there are so many creative interpretations of PJ out there, because she’s a creative character, and i’m a fan of all of them.

btw, kudos to 7goodangel (pj’s creator) for not making ink and/or error entirely villainous in pj’s story btw. it’s a lot better than many characterizations of ink and error i’ve seen (cough cough people who make ink abusive for no reason cough cough), they’re imperfect and flawed characters, not simply pure evil or good. i also like the fact pj is canonically genderfluid, all pronoun user right there!! i love that so so much and everyone ignores that!!!

paperjam is an awesome ship kid concept that im a really big fan of, plus i love sassy characters. pj can have so many different interpretations applied to them, which i absolutely adore, and his interactions with other ship kids are always so utterly pj in how they play out. her appeal is because she’s kind of a dick sometimes, but she’s a traumatized dick. approval seeking characters have always been my weak spot…. i also love the fact that paperjam not only has two designs, similar to dream, for before big life event and after big life event, in his case being his self discovery journey. which is an AWESOME THEME MIGHT I ADD. trying to become his own person, separate from his parents and where he was created, trying to find himself??? such a good theme, such a good trope, i love that.

ALSO THEYRE CANONICALLT MARRIED AND HAVE A KID????? didn’t know that till very recently. nobody ever really talks about that part, i guess,,, maybe i once knew that a few years ago but i sure as hell forgot it now. i need to look more into pj’s relationship with omni and monochrome (his partner and child respectively) because that seems cool, theres not a ton of ship kids with their own canon children.

#paperjam #error sans #ink sans #utmv #undertale

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stereax · 3 days

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why do people hate vegas so much?

Do you want the Stereanalysis version or the short one?

The short answer is basically this: The Vegas Golden Knights entered the league and were expected to be hot garbage. Despite this, they had what many assumed was a "miracle" run in the 2018 playoffs, making it all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals, and have since established themselves as a consistent contender. Many haters of the Knights claim that Vegas was "gifted" a championship team from the onset (revisionist history at best), that Vegas didn't "go through years of pain" like most expansion teams (which, it's not their fault they're good?), and that the refs and Bettman want Vegas to win (which is said about 32 out of 32 teams in this league). Additionally, it's believed that a lot of Vegas fans are "fair-weather" and that they'll abandon the team when it doesn't do well, which ties into the theory that the NHL is "rigging" it for Vegas. Winning the Cup last year, over the undercat Florida Panthers to boot, angered many, especially due to Vegas's owner's bold prediction of "Cup in six [years]" made before their first season.

Additionally, Vegas's front office has a history of big deals. From trading fan favorite Fleury with no prior warning, leaving him to find out online; to the story of Haula, who literally showed up to practice and his keycard didn't work and that's how he learned he got traded three days before his wedding (but we don't talk about that one because Fleury is Fleury); to every single Vegas trade and trade deadline where they seem to acquire every big free agent and give up fairly little in return (Hertl, Hanifin, Quick, Barbashev, Eichel, Stone, Pacioretty, the list goes on). Many people can't divorce the front office from the team itself and get very upset when Vegas "poaches" the players they want.

On top of this, you have the "cap circumvention" narrative, claiming that players such as Stone are "faking" injuries so Vegas can do cap magic and add more players than they should be "allowed" to. First of all, the idea that players like Stone are faking injury is bullshit, especially in a league where players like Stutzle and J Hughes have outright stated that they played injured for long stretches of the season. Fun fact, the NHL does have doctors that run checks on LTIRed players and verify that they're truly injured. (The Leafs got into some hot water last offseason when they were LTIRing Murray and then later with Klingberg as well, as the NHL was suspicious that they had moved Murray's surgery date and recovery time to allow themselves to "bury" Murray's contract on LTIR for the season.) If anything, Stone was probably still hurt in the playoffs. The man is seemingly incapable of playing an 82-game season and yet people are screaming that he's faking injuries when he does get hurt. (Also, on cap circumvention: Nobody remembers Kucherov anymore but that was so much more blatant. Additionally, the league has considered closing LTIR "loopholes" several times now and several times has decided against it. Your team doesn't do it? Okay. It doesn't give you a moral high ground, though, as it is patently legal in the NHL rules to do so.)

Plus, there's definitely some disdain for the glitz and glamor of Vegas. Sparkly gold uniforms, City of Sin, pink flamingos, shiny golden helmets, elaborate pre-game shows where knights slay dragons, slot machines, glitter, all of that. I'm not going to bring up my personal theories here, but I'd advance the question to Vegas haters why they dislike the spectacle of Vegas, and whether that dislike also may apply to other areas where men may be associated with glitter, pink, sin, sparkles, and all that, such as, y'know, drag queens, or gay men more generally.

But hey, that's just a theory... a stereax theory.

#stereanswers #vegas golden knights #vgk #stereanalysis #I guess

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wildpeachfarm · 3 days

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(context was about "normal people who are lowkey bullies joining fandom spaces during lock down)

Yeah I do think that there has been a HUGE change in fandom culture post-covid and a lot of it is for the worse. As someone who has been in fandom spaces since I was 12-ish, I think senseless cruelty towards people was FAR less normalized and people had a way better gauge of fandom etiquette. It's such a shame that some of these younger kids who got into fandom during covid only have negative experiences of the culture because when everyone comes together, it can be an amazing experience!

And I've said this before but I think a LOTTTT of people have forgotten the "don't like, don't read/comment/interact" especially on twitter where people need to feel morally superior to everyone else so they make up these weird arguments to justify why _____ is bad and why you need to unfollow ____ for something that personally makes them uncomfortable, not an actually bad person. Or people start making large generalizations for groups in fandom that make everyone upset (ex: ALL multishippers are bad or ALL dnfers are bad, etc.) those generalizations hurt everyone involved in one way or another.

I think something that really helps with that for people is going to college or some equivalent of being forced to interact with so many people of different backgrounds and have different morals and whatever. It makes you realize all of this stupid fandom shit means nothing and getting riled up about the little stuff just isn't worth it or representative of how the real world works. Sometimes if you think someone is weird, it's better to just leave them in their weird corner of the internet and live your life and curate your online experiences. Not try to publicly humiliate them and drag everyone into it. Obligatory disclaimer that this doesn't apply to /all/ situations, but in most cases this is a good way to deal with your own fandom experiences online.

I've gotten more harassment from people who have joined internet fandoms during covid than old veterans on the internet by a LONG SHOT mostly because they just don't understand how to control their own experience so they think everyone must cater to their own comforts. It's a lesson that most of us learned when we were teens, but these people are only learning it now.

#ask

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docholligay · 2 days

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Doc if you were in charge of the skills high schoolers needed to have under their belt by the time they graduated, what would you pick?

Oh there are so many choices.

If I opened my own school, it would have a class that was just called, 'LIfe Skills" and it would not be an elective and you would take it every semester, every year. It would act like you are a fuckin moron. All the kids would hate it, and they would all thank me later.

A selection:

Here's how to apply for a mortgage loan/credit card/student loan and here is how interest and credit scores work.

How to create and use a budget

Basic car maintenance and theory

Basic desktop computer use and troubleshooting. (No student of mine is not gonna know where the fucking documents folder is)

Basic home repair issues.

Basic cooking and nutrition, including menu planning.

Every year in various components: Reading comprehension and media literacy. Including reading legal and technical English. You don't need to know how to do your taxes, which changes every year, if you can comprehend legal and technical English*

De-escalation and gun safety.

Household skills: How to do laundry, how to do dishes, how to sew a button and mend clothing, iron, how to sweep and mop, shit I have had to genuinely teach people.

Dining and social manners. You can act like a jackass, but you can't say I didn't teach you.

Conflict. How to disagree with someone and stay listening, how not to take disagreement on every issue personally, how to approach conflicts.

This is not exhaustive, but I think it's something people should know to be a reasonable adult in the world.

*As someone who does her taxes by hand every year, and is self-employed which adds an extra layer of difficulty, filing is actually totally doable. Not only is it reading comprehension, but the IRS has so so so many articles to further explain rules to you. They want you to do it correctly.

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chezzabellesworld · 1 day

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Some my fave Scorpio moon singers artist s

The Weeknd

of my favourites will moon artist Scorpio moon is the weekend he’s able to do that Lana Del Rey thing where you really feel the depth of everything in a man perspective. I may not like what he gets personally but such a deep cord,,,, he may Aquarius son and a cancer rising if he’s cancer rising his wall by his will be which makes you sound so relatable and unexpected of everything and most people can feel the deep connection with his music

Miley Cyrus

Another great Scorpio moon artist he’s an amazing voice as well not just the deep perspective performing and making it feel very connection and all of them as I keep saying it’s deep it really is the voices of wildly and that would be the tourist placements which I think is rising which then becomes a physical appearance in between in the lungs. You have long if you have strong tourist advise these placements makes a good singer for the school, inside a deep aspect of life of many forms . Dolly Parton Billy Idol and poison I think as well well I know her mother had something with him meaning Brett Michael.

George Harrison

George Harrison will always hold my heart is my favourite beetle everything that he say was the best of me the way he say it with motion and just his voice in general he’s got a lot of like religious believes as well and he’s also applied to they’ve got that very deep connection with Neptune and Pluto he was in a band with Paul and John me he is the one that stands at the Mo and his voice is something else for me, he had a life with and Eric Clapton fell in love with his wife. Just to dance with you as my favourite Beatles song.

Accused of being a witch Beyoncé is very Scorpio mean to me

You can say she’s racist tonic and that because they think she was groomed Virgo by Jay-Z because she was very young when she got with him, He has amazing talent and the Virgo cider in that dedication to work kind of like Michael Jackson but this will give me intense dramatic field for example lemonade that intense feeling of anger towards Jay when he cheated there is no doubt that she is the most popular female in the world. She has a enigmatic power and she just makes people come to her and she has been accused of being a witch, which makes perfect sense but I feel like Beyoncé been very young when she was still in Destiny’s Child and she was very Christian but then I think it’s since meeting Jay-Z and joining the proper industry.

Alex Turner and the Arctic Monkeys

His voice to me, he’s like a male Lana Del Rey to some degree, especially with his album why do you only call me and you’re high and I want to be yours all that period?, Nothing like when the Sun goes down and I bet that you look good on the floor good. His voice is perfect and he gives when his own version of ultraviolence he gave off a very 1950s Elvis look with his Paul guitar as well.. I love being a Scorpio moon when I see the other creatives

Bob Marley

As a Aquarius sun , he definitely brings the vibe of the collective and the whole and brings his music brings people together the reggae the sunshine the music the summer specially with the scorpion moon being in the that represents, he believes in a power beyond himself with his Rastafarianism , a lot of Scorpio moon or 12 house placements as well have the power to be religious to a great extent him being ruled by Jupiter as well would make that make sense being a Sagittarius rising.

#astro observations #astro placements #astro community #astrology observations #astrology #astro notes #astroblr #fypage #pluto in scorpio #scorpio moon #moon sign #alex turner #beyonce #miley cyrus #george harrison #eric clapton #bob marley

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just-antithings · 2 days

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so apparently a YouTuber named meatcanyon made a the typical “lolicon bad” post which is whatever but many people are bringing into light about certain animations he’s done in the past which includes edgy/dark humor which is one thing but Mainly people are bringing up one where he animated about an actual father and very young son kissing each other mouth to mouth.

And correct me if I’m wrong, if we are too apply said logic to his work wouldn’t that very said animation be csa material or some sorts? I really don’t understand how people can have double standards

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #image #incest mention #lolicon mention #csa mention

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annwrites · 3 days

Text

— pairing: shane walsh x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: you & shane (mostly you) try to talk hershel into letting you take care of the walkers in the barn

— tags: talking

— tw: discussions of loss of loved ones

— word count: 1,009

— a/n: find my other posts concerning shane, which take place before & after this, here

It'd taken a good bit of convincing on your part to talk Shane down from going full-steam-ahead and using the walkers in Hershel's barn for target practice.

Numerous soft words, touches, looks, and kisses later—and right in his lap, at that—he'd finally calmed enough to let you go inside and try and talk to Hershel yourself, instead of risking Shane, once again, acting first and thinking later, if at all.

At present, you and Hershel are seated at his dining room table, Shane leaning back against the wall, eyes intently upon you.

You lay your arms upon the tabletop, hands clasped in front of you. You do your utmost to maintain a calm, sympathetic demeanor, in every manor, as you talk with him. Shane had already done enough damage. So much so that when you'd initially come to Hershel to talk, Shane right on your heels, he'd initially told the both of you to get out.

He'd only acquiesced due to you and your genteel femininity.

"How do you know? How can you look at me and tell me you don't believe there's a chance? For a cure? Something? Rick insisted the same thing, and my answer is the same now as it was then: we've been fighting plague after plague since the world began. And we've always survived, just as we will now. Just as...as they might." Hershel asks, voice full of doubt.

"You've been sheltered here. I can appreciate that. But you've still seen them. Their skin is rotting from their bones. Entire limbs...missing. Their organs have decayed. There's...there's no coming back from what they've become. And I hate to say it, because it's still so awful to even try and accept, to even grasp, but they're walking corpses. Who they once were? Your neighbors and friends, your family—people you loved and cared for? They passed away a long, long time ago.

“I think that, even if by some miracle, a cure or vaccine—treatment—one day becomes available…it won’t apply to them. They’re too far gone for any amount of saving. And I’m so sorry to say that. Truly.”

He’s quiet for a long while, staring at the window across the room, his breathing steady. You know he’s thinking; considering.

He doesn’t look at you when he replies. “You’ve lost people you love. By your age, I assume your parents?”

He glances to you then and you nod.

“Would you see things this way if they were in there?”

“I would.” And you mean it.

Shane sighs. “Man, let me tell you somethin’-”

You turn abruptly toward him. “Shane, stop.” You say it firmly.

He shuts his mouth.

Hershel then looks at him. “If you speak again, this meeting is over. You’re not the one I agreed to listen to. I let you in my house as a courtesy. Same with my farm, which you and your people were supposed to have been gone from some time ago after Carl recovered. But I’ve allowed you to stay longer out of good Christian charity, which runs lowers with every word you speak. Don’t you forget that.”

Shane shakes his head, looking away, thumbs threaded behind his belt.

Finally, Hershel looks back to you. “How would you do it?”

“I’d really prefer—if you do agree to this—that you and your family not be here when we…put them down,” you say it as kindly—as softly—as you can manage. “I don’t want all of you bearing witness to it—in any form. I don’t want to risk any of you seeing it, or even hearing the gunshots.

“I know it’s dangerous: asking all of you to leave. But it would be, at most, for perhaps an hour. We can get started on digging the graves now…if you have an estimate of how many may need created? And then, when it’s time, a couple of our people can go with you, maybe to the training area we set up, since it’s already cleared out.

“And when you come back, and they’ve been laid in their graves, you tell us their names—what you want put on their markers—and we’ll help you do that, too. You’ll finally have a place where you all can go to see them. To talk to them. To mourn them and grieve. They can finally be put to rest.”

You reach across the table, resting your palm atop his clasped hands.

Hershel stares at the table and he’s quiet again for a long time. Then, “I need time to consider this. This isn’t a decision I can make on my own. They’re not just my family and friends.”

You nod, bringing your hand back. “I understand that. Take all the time you need.”

“And if I tell you, once I’ve decided, that my decision is no? If I tell you all to get off my land once and for all?”

You glance to Shane and you see his jaw feather and then he shakes his head.

You look back to Hershel. “Then we would leave. But you need to understand that…if you leave them in there…it may only be a matter of time. A matter of time before they get through the doors. Or break through the sides of the barn. And if—when—that happens… We won’t be here to help you if they begin to overrun the house, or your farm. So, I guess it’s a good thing Patricia, Jimmy, and Beth went through training.”

He stands then, as do you. “I’ll consider this.”

You smile. “Thank you for being willing to. For taking the time to listen to me.”

You all three head toward the front door, until Hershel stops Shane with a hand to his chest, which he then drops. “She’s an extraordinary young woman. You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve her. Perhaps you should take that into consideration,” he nods his head toward you. “For her sake, when you think about what’s truly best for her.”

Shane doesn’t deign to give him a reply. He simply takes your hand firmly in his, leading you outside.

#fic: twd (shane walsh x reader)#shane walsh x y/n #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh imagine #twd x reader #twd x y/n #twd x you

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nycbaby21 · 14 hours

Text

going live

Cole Caufield Imagine

prompt: influencer reader doing a get ready with me live and Cole interrupting

word count: 717 short and sweet

“Uhm… that’s a good question username. I would say my favorite holiday would be Halloween. I love spooky season,” I say reading the comments flooding in while I apply a layer of foundation to my face. Every once in a while I glance up to the mirror in front of me. The background of the video is Cole’s bathroom, but no one watching knows that. We have been dating for a little over six months and we still hasn’t announced our relationship.

I smile reading the comments about how happy and glowing I look. I hear the little pitter patter of feet on the floor and find our sweet baby come into the room sitting at my feet. I bend down and love all over our dog, well Cole’s originally but now our baby. As I show my fur baby some love, my human baby leans against the door frame watching us. “Hi baby,” I smile sliding just our of frame to give him a kiss. He just smiles and whispers a small hey back.

As I get back into frame the comments are going so fast I can hardly read them. All of them saying around the same thing, oh my god the secret boyfriend, i wonder who he is, c’mon guys it’s obviously so-and-so, or as long as she is happy we should all be happy. “Thank you y/nismyworld. I am in fact very very happy,” I say looking over to Cole who has now moved to sitting on the lid of the toilet watching me continue to get ready. As I finish my routine I answer as many questions as I can and sing along to the music playing.

The beginning chords of Enchanted start to play and my smile widens looking over at Cole. “Why am I smiling so much? Well I’ll tell you, so we actually had our first date at The Eras Tour. So during the song apparently while I was freaking out over Taylor, he was just looking at me with such adoration and the cutest older couple behind us recorded the whole thing. It has become like our song basically as cheesy and cliche as that may sound,” I say thinking back to the night of our first date. I thought Cole was insane for buying us tickets when he had just met me.

As the song plays I can’t help but think how tiring it is hiding our relationship. “Can I have this dance,” Cole asks walking my way holding his hand out. I can’t help but laugh and him and reach out for his hand. I can only imagine how we must look, my hair still in rollers and makeup half done is a huge messy shirt and shorts and Cole in his sweat and compression shirt. “You trust me,” he says leaning down into my ear. I look up and smile nodding my head. “Of course,” I smile wondering what he was going on about. “I think it’s time,” he says glanicng behind us towards my phone. I follow his eyes and nod.

I step away from him and back into the frame and hold my hand out to him now. He laughs and places his larger hands in mine. I pull him forward and the two of us spin around and dance like absolute dorks. It felt like only the two of us existed . When the song ended we stopped and his back was towards the camera. I switched our positions and Cole was now standing behind me resting his head in the crook of my neck.

“Everyone I would like to officially introduce you to my loving boyfriend Mr. Cole Caufield. Number 22 on the Montreal Canadiens in the NHL,” I smile reading over all of the comments about people saying that they knew it or how he looked just as happy as I did. We even had a couple of hockey fans in the chat freaking out. “Okay now that that is all over and done with, I really do need to get ready for this red carpet,” I smile into the camera. I turn and look over at Cole and raise my eyebrows,” Now that everyone knows, wanna be my plus one?” He laughs and immediately says yes.

#nycbaby21works #nhl imagine #cole caufield imagine #montreal canadiens

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