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teaboot · 2 months

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I do not have Boy Knowledge to trade, but can I ask for dinner party hosting tips???

Sure!

I grew up broke but the great-grandparents passed on all their old etiquette, so *fart noise* got a lot of old fashioned shit kickin around, this is what we'd do

PREP:

Clean the house in advance. And not just common areas- the whole place. Minimum the kitchen, living room, bathroom, entrance. Take out all the trash, no dirty dishes, scrub out the toilet. (This is less vital with super casual close friends and family.)

Have snacks ready before arrival. Ask in advance about any allergies and accommodate. Same for actual food.

Aim for business-casual clothing. Jeans are okay if they're well-fitted and clean, with no holes, but nothing acid-wash. Sleeveless shirts should be at least three fingers wide, typically women-only but fuck gender conformity I don't give a shit.

Put coffee or the kettle on a minute or two before you expect people to arrive. Coffee should be fresh and kettle should be boiled around the same time folks arrive.

Have a place for people to put their coats and shoes. An area rug works for shoes, ans if you don't have a coat rack or closet for jackets it's handy to have a bedroom cleaned out and a bed made so people can keep coats, scarves, bags, and purses somewhere.

In some cultures cooking doesn't start until guests arrive. The way I was raised, cooking starts much earlier, and things should be coming out of the oven after they've been there a few minutes and had time to chat.

Set the table before guests arrive: Typical setting when I was younger was matching placemats at every seat, plate next. Fork on the left, knife and then spoon on the right. Wine glass on the right, saucer on the right, cup on saucer for hot drinks. Cloth napkin under the spoon and knife on the right, unless rolled with a napkin ring, in which case it could be set at the top of the plate, on the plate, or on the right hand side. Salt, pepper, and a butter dish is to be set out- one of each for every four to six seats is a decent rule of thumb.

DURING:

Guests are expected to announce themselves by knocking or ringing the bell. When this happens, usually a younger member of the family is sent to answer the door and let them in. Hosts follow shortly after, and hugs and greetings take place. The host offers to take people's coats and bags, or otherwise indicates where they can be placed. Shoes come off and are left at the door.

Tour of the house. This doesn't happen every time, but a quick, "let me show you around" may happen if you expect to be there a full day or longer, or if someone needs to politely stall for time, or if the host is especially happy to have you there or to show you something. This usually skips bedrooms, but a nod will usually be given to indicate adult's rooms, and kid's rooms may be peeked at to show off or do introductions with small children.

Offering seats. Usually starts in the living room, where, "can I get you anything?" Is asked. Options usually include wine, beer, water, some kind of juice, coffee, or tea. Possibly ginger ale or cola, but not usually much in the way of sodas.

At this point, a tray of cookies, biscuits, crackers, or other small snacks might be set our to be shared. Here, it's polite to eat a little and join in on smalltalk.

Dinner. When food is ready to come out of the oven, someone in the host's home will announce that dinner is ready, and guests and hosts will relocate to the dinner table and pick seats. (If there is not enough room at the dinner table for everybody, children's plates will be set at a folding table elsewhere, or in the vacated living room area.)

Some hosts will have guests line up in the kitchen and serve their own food one at a time. The way I was taught, hosts bring food and serving utensils to the table and sit once everything is placed. Dishes are then passed in a circle from person to person as people fill their own plates. It is generally assumed that you will take your portion in such volume that everyone else can receive the same amount as you, or more.

Meal usually includes a meat-based dish, a starch like rice or potato, one to three vegetable dishes, and a bread like a bun or roll that may be buttered.

It is here preferred that you ask for something to be passed rather than reach over food. "Could you pass me the..." or "may I borrow the ..." are good ways to ask.

Elbows stay off the table. You may rest your forearms on the edge if you like, depending on how formal we're talking, but no elbows.

Napkin is spread out flat on your lap to catch anything that may drop or spill. Some people may choose to tuck I into their shirt collar to protect their suit or tie, but I've only really ever seen old folks do that, or people doing it to babies and small children.

It is polite to eat everything on your plate, especially if you served yourself. Once everyone has eaten their plate, seconds may be offered or mentioned. It's considered rude to go in for second servings if others haven't finished their firsts yet. This is a good place for conversation to pick up.

Once everyone is finished eating, a member of the hosts' house (usually a kid, sometimes a volunteer guest assisting) will clear the table, gathering empty plates and such from the guests and taking them to the kitchen to be cleaned. Drinks might be refilled now, and dessert forks or spoons might be brought in.

Dessert usually happens. While the meal itself is traditionally homemade, it is perfectly normal for dessert to be store-bought.

The serving of dessert is much less communal than dinner. The person dishing dessert will normally take a stack of plates and send a runner (again, usually a kid) to take stock of who wants dessert and carry theirs to them.

After dessert, dishes will again be gathered and removed, with the exception of cups. Coffee and tea is customary at this point, and alcohol will disappear. This is when conversation comes back in full swing- talking and unwinding is the goal here, and letting any liquor digest so drivers who may have had a sip will be safe to drive afterwards.

END:

Someone will sigh and take note of the time. This is different depending on the group, but a second round of hugs will be in order. Farewells will be made at the door. If there are plenty of leftovers, the host may insist the guest take some. Borrowed dishes and containers will ostensibly be returned at a casual future meeting, possibly as an excuse to meet up and chat over coffee.

It is polite of the guest to offer a hand with cleaning up. It is polite of the host to insist they not. If they are an acquaintance or someone to be impressed, the guest will not be allowed to help clean unless they make it clear that offense will be taken otherwise. If they're a close friend or family member, they may be accepted with some minimal pushback.

The host might start cleaning while the guest is still at the table. This is not intended as an insult.

It is polite to leave around the same time that children begin getting ready for best- usually around 8, 8:30, 9-9:30 on special occasions.

If the weather is especially terrible, or driving conditions are poor, the host might offer the guest a bed for the night. If this is done, it is best to fetch them clean sheets and blankets, a fresh towel, and whatever else they might need. They will be expected to stay no later than breakfast the following morning, unless further plans have been agreed upon. An especially prepared host might have a spare set of pajamas (close friends and family only, usually) and a new toothbrush ready for use.

I think that's everything? A lot of it is weird unspoken shit but yeah lol that's most of what I remember.

I'd love to hear what everyone else grew up with!! Share with me your food culturrrrrrre

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inky-duchess · 11 months

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Fantasy Guide to Royal Children - Heirs and Spares

The lives of Princesses and Princes are of interest to most fantasy writers, it's where many of our heroes, side characters and antagonists hail from. But what is there life like? Is it always ballgrowns and servants? Or something more?

A Strict Order of Precedence

The first thing to know about royal children and siblings is that there's a very strict precedence of importance. Is it fair? No. But this is a system, it doesn't have to be fair. The heir comes first without argument. They are the most important child, they are always greeted first, they are the one to stand next to the monarch or their parents at occasions, they literally go first - and this doesn't change with age, if the heir is the youngest, they still have precedence over their siblings. After the heir, order of predence goes by age and the order effects the life of the children. For example, the older sister will marry begore any of her sisters. This order of deference will be so engrained in your character's life that they will believe it the norm and rarely question it, it probably won't spark any in-fighting.

Accommodation & Staff

Royal children are usually raised one of two ways. Either they are raised at court, in the same Palace as their parents or they are raised away from court under the care of trusted servants. Being raised away from their parents isn't a sign of remoteness or dislike or terrible parenting, it was a way of break a child into the constraints of royal life while giving them freedom of scrunity or danger. Usually these children are raised in the countryside for their health, as cities are usually cesspits for disease. Their parents would come to visit them or allow them to visit them at court. Children raised at court are raised with a higher level of scrunity and attention. They will be in the public eye.

Royal children will always be surrounded by staff. There will be nurses to wash and dress them, nannies to discipline and direct them, guards to protect them and usually, a guardian known as a governess to run their household and care for their needs. Staff are not allowed to hit royal children and must obey their commands. Some royal children were very close to their staff:

Kat Ashley and Elizabeth I

Baroness Lehzen and Queen Victoria

Klementy Grigorievich Nagorny and the Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich

Lala Bill and Prince John

However, some royal children faced neglect from their staff. George VI was abused by his nanny, who would pinch him during important occasions, openly favour his elder brother over him and deny him food, which many have been a cause of his speech impediment. After the Russian Revolution, another of the Tsarevich's nannies proved less loyal than the other. Andrei Yeremeyevich Derevenko abandoned his charge, but not before ordering the boy around and insulting him.

Day to Day Life

Royal children would be educated withing their home by tutors. They would usually take lessons all together (the heir may take other lessons). A royal child would recieve an education in languages, arithmetic, geography, etiquette, dancing, music, sports such as riding and literature. Sometimes they would even share lessons with the children of trusted nobles or their cousins. Only the heir will be taught statecraft and how to reign. There is no rhyme nor reason a spare would learn how to rule.

Some royal children are taught the value of their position. Many royal children will be raised strictly to adhere to their social standing and their place in it. Some children may be raised in isolation, kept from mingling and raised to think of themselves as higher than those around them. Some royal families preferred to raise their children as "normal" as possible. The last Romanov children slept in camp beds, with no pillows and we're expected to tidy their own rooms and help the servants. They didn't even use their proper titles, they were called by their names and given a tight monthly allowance to spend. Alexandra of Denmark and her sisters used to make their own clothes. Some royal children could even be encouraged to play with the children of servants and staff as well as nobility (Kolya Derevenko and Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich, Winifred Thomas and Prince John). Companionship was a great honour for noble and common child alike as sometimes, they would be invited to live or be educated alongside by the royal children.

Royal children will not undertake royal duties until they are of age. Younger children be be present for large scale events such as jubilees but would not be expected to partake in any duties themselves. When they are of age, they will usually be granted an annual allowance, be invited to social events, invited to be patrons of charities and participate in royal duties.

Heir Vs Spare

Heirs have more responsibility, all the prestige, more power but they have less freedom, less room to explore their own lives and be expected to always be the epitome of perfect. Heirs will be given responsibilities in government, sitting in on state meetings or undertaking state duties.

Spares have little in the way of real power but have the ability to live less regimental lives and gave more agency in their personal lives. Spares may act as ambassadors to other nations or undertake state visits on behalf of the monarchy or even take positions in the army. Spares are encouraged to find positions to support themselves outside the family, either in a marriage or undertaking some service to the country. Spares who stay in the country, tend to act as unofficial advisers to their sibling when they become monarch.

All Grown Up

When royal children grow up, there are usually certain expectations and limitations.

Heirs will be married quickly, the lineage must be secure. Heirs will usually marry either as part of a political alliance or marry somebody suitable - from a good family, the right background, and able to fit into a certain mould (i.e malleable, amiable and loyal). They will be expected to focus on the country, it's needs and support the monarch at all times. Their social circles will be scruntised, their every move will be noted and remarked upon. Heirs will never gave to worry about funding their lifestyle, the Crown is their job and it supports them.

Spares can marry or remain single if they choose, (but if the monarch instructs them go marry they must). Spares can travel, they can be idle, they can even persue amusements not permitted for the heir. Spares can win glory on the battlefield and mix with all sorts of people. That isn't to say spares are useless, spares often occupy very important spaces in society and government. Spares will usually take these positions not for just status but also for the pay. This is why spares are granted royal titles such as dukedoms (they can make money off the lands, be able to build a dynasty for themselves and their heirs and gain status).

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aweina · 11 months

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౨ৎ. CHOCOLATE LIPSTICK ( 17﹢) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. enemies to ( ? ). mike is mean + angry. 2-3 year age difference. sexual tension. oral fixation. semi-brat taming + 1k words.

mike was staring at you funny, it made you feel weird — annoyed, actually.

“what?” your voice was harsh, muffled by the sweet frozen yogurt coating your mouth.

he raised a brow at your tone, a little vexed from your sudden attitude. it reminded him of the bratty kid he happened to escort out of a toy store just an hour ago. he’s in a bad mood already, but there was no reason to get mad right now.

“don’t talk with your mouth full.” mike tiredly mumbled. an honest suggestion, but half of what he really wanted to say.

you rolled your eyes at his critiquing words. he always seemed to lecture you about the littlest things. how you’re not as productive during your usual security checks or even that one time he was finding the mall keys during your shared nightly protocols — making sure to make a sly comment and sprinkle in an unneeded suggestion about how untidy your bag was. exactly how an obnoxious parent would.

it was annoying. being treated like a child and especially by someone like mike. so what if he was a few years older? slightly more mature than you, much more responsible, and definitely not hot. just a little bit tho, but you’ll never admit that.

but ninety-percent of the time he pisses you off, and this is one of those times.

you swallowed down the yogurt that melted from your seething irritation, brows furrowed at the snarky comment he had to make about your dining etiquette. it’s a fucking mall food court, not a fine dining restaurant.

“do you always have to be a dick to me?” your words were laced with venom, all the suppressed anger managed to bubble out your throat.

his calloused fingers suddenly stopped twisting on the volume of the two-way radio, usual soft hazel eyes darken to a muted brown, stubbled jaw clenched. mike swallowed back the urge to say a few fighting words at your childish retort.

your tone wasn’t a big deal. well, until now.

his day has already been ruined. parents weren’t so attentive when it came to their bratty children, that meant he had to parent them himself — awkwardly standing until their tantrums fall silent or escorting dozens of children that happen to run off for some ridiculous toy. he didn’t need anymore whining from you, especially about something he’s done without the intention of malice — you were childish, immature.

“i don’t need to hear this right now.” mike was too tired to argue. a heavy sigh escaping his lips, his rough hands brushing away the tired feeling in his eyes. “you’re acting like a kid right now, you know that?”

you swore your blood pressure just went up.

“see that’s what i’m talking about! you treat me like a kid and you have to be a total asshole about it. why?”

passing families and teens curiously looked towards your table, the sudden blast of your agitated voice drawing unneeded attention. just what mike needed.

he turns away from their prying eyes, flustered that he was a victim of your grownup tantrum. mike continues the silent treatment as he listens to your incoherent babbling, colorful words like “old man” and “asshole” passed through his eardrums like a sour tune. the grip of his arm was deadly tight. yet, your pouting made his heart skip a bit. it was adorable, it always has been. but not when it’s accommodated with your high-pitched whines, your brows knitted with all these negative emotions, cheeks redden from breathless insults. the angry look in your face looked so familiar — it was the same look everybody seemed to give him.

all this over a smudge of frozen yogurt on your mouth. he would laugh if he wasn’t at his breaking point.

“fuck, i hate yo – !“ with sudden force, mike grabs you by your chin, the pouring insults latched shut with a firm grip.

the reddish hue on your face that was once from your vexation became brighter from mike’s unusual forcefulness — he has never been this angry with you before. weirdly enough, you don’t hate it.

the chocolate remnants blotched over your cheeks, dribbling from your unwiped mouth, was he pointing this out the whole time?

“watch your mouth.” you didn’t know if he meant the mess you made or your little tantrum session that set him off.

maybe both, you can’t tell anymore.

you both stare at each other for a second, the tension so thick in the air — the invasive looks felt like a blur in the background, or rather, seemingly drawn away by this peculiar exchange. hazy eyes slowly peered down at your mouth, deliciously glazed with chocolate yogurt. it was tooth aching, he could imagine the taste on his tongue. if only he was a little closer, he never had to daydream about this ungodly sight for weeks.

his thumb slowly drags over your pinkish flesh, gathering the sweet residue that coated your quivering lips. he reached over the corners of your mouth, studying every hitch of your breath and the way you nervously fiddle with the plastic spoon. someone so loud, bratty, could be silenced with a single touch.

pushing past your pursed lips and clenched teeth with ease, his sweetened touch swirled all over your taste buds — the subtle hints of sweat somehow tasted sweeter than the chocolate goodness. mike watches you closely, his slacks suddenly feeling tight. you’re letting him do this to you, without a protest or your usual dirty look.

for another second, his fleeting touch brushed against your wet muscle, mesmerized by its softness. the darkness that loomed in his irises vaporized into a soft green, lured by the sight of an obedient mouth. he finally draws away, a string of saliva connecting his cleaned off thumb and your glossy lips. the rigid grip on your chin loosens as mike huffs in mild irritation, mostly out of astonishment from this predicament.

mike stands from his seat, hiding his hard-on with his bunched up security jacket — hand still soaked from your dribbling saliva. awkwardly, he picks up the trash splayed over the table, making sure his car keys were stuffed deep in his pocket.

“i’ll see you tomorrow.” he steadily spoke, seemingly unbothered.

you nodded, mouth still slightly agape.

mike walks off, leaving you with your own muddled thoughts.

out of complete horror, you hover your nimble fingers over your mouth — the taste of his skin still permeates on your tongue. even with how intimate that whole situation was, mike made sure to clean the remnants of frozen yogurt off your face.

the gall to leave you utterly confused, edged by this new side of your usual grumpy coworker. there was a line between guilty attraction and burning hatred towards mike, you were stuck in the middle of it. but your racing mind seemed to linger towards the shadows casting his tired eyes, the focused look on your compiling mouth, the demand in his voice animating your body like a toy. fuck, yeah okay, he was hot.

the ache between your legs seeped arousal through your pants, you thanked your employers that your uniform was black. gosh, it’s been so long since anybody has touched you like that.

you nearly break your skull when your head falls defeatedly on the table — a heavy groan vibrating in your chest.

you don’t know if you could come to work tomorrow.

#.୨୧ ina writes #.purple mark #( ? )#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf movie x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader #josh hutcherson

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sharkenedfangs · 3 months

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— ☆ “WINTER FEVER SURE SUCKS, DOESN’T IT?”

— #. synopsis. this annoyingly repetitive recurrence to delicately tuck light bandages around your wobbly knees, lovingly soothe the purplish bruise away with an affectionate rub of his tender palm. yet, that was precisely it — that it was you, he’d happily do this for without sparing the slightest thought for the numerous times he’s had to expectantly carry out such a gesture.

— #. content warning! surprisingly none, dirty thoughts, yearning and pining, sloppy blowjob, fluff in all its worth, blushy male robin, feverish male reader and just boys helping each other out, is all.

— #. word count? 3.8k words.

— #. extra extra! ashes snippets : “blowjobs cure your fevers and keep the illnesses away. trust me, I’m a professional doctor.”

Carefully tending to your every whims and needs has always been a part of Robin’s unnamed responsibilities, whether verbally spoken so or not. Each and every one of the naive, little orphans instinctively knew who to call upon when faced with another of your clumsy accidents, an accidental slip of your feet — you’d bashfully say, a muttered ‘sorry’ wistfully whispered beneath your huffed breaths and flushing cheeks.

Perhaps, as a poorly-expressed means of a genuine apology for your inborn inattentiveness, that odd, natural skill of yours you unfortunately possessed to repeatedly find shady trouble in every narrow corner of this filthy town. To be Immediately roped into the worst of situations and somehow, come out somewhat unscathed every time.

Maybe if it were to be anyone else, Robin’s cheery mask would’ve eventually slipped past to give forth to the gradual frustration of the instilled obligation he’s readily set upon himself. This annoyingly repetitive recurrence to delicately tuck light bandages around your wobbly knees, lovingly soothe the purplish bruise away with an affectionate rub of his tender palm. Yet, that was precisely it — that it was you, he’d happily do this for without sparing the slightest thought for the numerous times he’s had to expectantly carry out such a gesture. Tirelessly complain? How could he when you’d appear so pitifully before him, the subtlest of pouts adorning your rosy lips whenever you’d tearfully gaze up at him, falsely claiming that it didn’t hurt that much because surely, it really did. God, such a clutz, aren’t you? And honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Every slight stumble and fall would simply be accompanied by his awaiting, helping hand to discreetly soften the landing, cheekily embrace you within his arms.

So, you see — this isn’t any different for him either, not when paired by this lucky opportunity set in place which, he hates to truthfully admit the mere fact that merely gazing at your weakened state sometimes, obtains certain.. reactions from him — from his body, precisely. Listen, he doesn’t mean to subconsciously widen his sat stance atop the wooden chair, make some much needed, accommodating room for his twitching cock noticeably stirring beneath his pants. Really, it’s an instinctual urge like any other man, y’know? And well, despite the known moral etiquette that he should be plainly feeling guilty for secretly getting off to your undeserving suffering here, he can’t possibly help himself, can he? Your fault for being so resistant yet, so weak.

Hence the pathetic position you now currently find yourself in, puffed breaths along with a blazing flush across your cheeks, one that Robin finds to suit you very well. Slicked droplets of sweat steadily trickling down the crook of your neck, softened features normally bright as his, now contorted to a blatant show of pain. Strands of hair attentively brushed out of the way so that he may periodically apply a fresh, new cloth onto your sweaty forehead in hopes of cooling your feverish temperature away. Obscene that he’s grown used to the routine of doting upon you every single, chilly winter cuz’— simply put, you get sick pretty easily.

Namely, he’d like to softly reprimand you for your lack of care for your own self, utter out once more that you should’ve properly bundled yourself up in a thickly knitted scarf or some layered jacket to brace for the pristine white snow and shivering breeze.

Though, of course, as per usual, you hadn’t actually listened to his common advice, so evidently, you’ve come down with a heated fever, rightfully reaping the eventual consequences of your thoughtless actions which he hates to say. Forcing him to— no, truthfully, he consciously chose to faithfully stay by your side till you’d get better. A bit of a slow healer though, that’s the thing. As an entire full week has now officially passed by, a week where he has not gone once to school considering your ailed state. Profusely tumbling out a series of muttered apologies, insistently nudging at him that instead of peering so precariously over you like he is right now, that he should be sat in class instead, intently listening to the teacher’s boring lesson or something.

“Really, you don’t have to. I, uh— ah, am just fine on my own, y’know. You don’t have to worry over me, Robin. It’s just a few hours and anyways, I don’t want you failing school cuz’ of me.” Blatantly uttering out falsehoods when in reality, he’s acutely aware of your quickening breaths, glazed over eyes barely focusing on his blurring figure and, ah.. shit, why’re you so pretty when you’re sick? Not that you normally aren’t, just that— maybe, the feverish haze settled upon you accentuated certain part of your features like your pouty lips sinfully glistening with your own spit, little, tentative swipe of your pink tongue poking out whenever you need to moisten the edges of those chapped lips. Wonder what it’d feel like coyly wrapped around his— ah, cut it out, Robin! Holy thoughts, holy thoughts.. Just like Sydney, right. They’d never think such a thing if faced with a sick, heaving boy. Seriously, he should be composing himself.

“School’s not important right now. You are. I’m not leaving till you fully get better and no matter what you tell me, I’m staying here, ‘kay?” Stubborn as a mule, two people set at opposite sides where one will not relent for the other. Typical argument of yours that involves your unconvincing insistence that you’re indeed okay whereas he will point out otherwise.

“Now, stop worrying about me, silly. Class can wait if it means I get to take care of you.” Hastily choking up at the involuntary confession he may or may not have brazenly unveiled his actual feelings for you— ah, did you notice? ..Yeah, no. So oblivious to your surroundings it sometimes frustrates him, but he can’t truly be upset with you for long, perceiving it more as an endearing trait he can poke fun at than an inherent flaw.

“..Fine. I guess if you say you want to stay then you can.. But I seriously owe you a favour for this.” Smiling gleefully at your reluctant act of conceding with a huffed pout, content in his momentary victory to tenderly dote upon you some more. “Mm? You wanna repay me?” That’s a funny thought, you, actually expressing your gratitude for him when he’s been acting more like a coddling mother excessively worrying over her child than anything else — not that he wouldn’t openly accept the idea of you fulfilling a favour for him. Question is, what exactly?

Subtly scanning over the sight of your curled frame underneath the woollen covers, curled fist loosely held onto the material and god, it makes his heart ache to single-handedly witness you being so cute in front of him. Without you even knowing, too. Instinctually trailing over the outline of your lower body below the blankets, skittishly being brought up once more to intently gaze at your bed riddled self.

Well, he’s got an idea maybe, of what to ask.. That’d be too bold though, wouldn’t it? Just friends or more like foster brothers to each other, even if the heat pooling in the core of his tummy is whispering out tell-tale lies. No friend of such should be secretly viewing theirs in a lewd manner, should be shamefully fisting their weeping cock late at night while their shirt is carelessly held back by their clenching teeth bitten between it. Muffling their stifled moans, desperately pumping their cock stupid, collecting the accumulated drool of pre at the tip to pervertedly slide down to the base with a wet squelch! all the while thinking of their supposed ‘friend’. Yeah, a friend is what you’d so cheerfully call him, ever since childhood, you’ve only had each other amongst the mess of an orphanage you’re miserably forced to live in by your cold-hearted caretaker.

However, would it be so bad if he were to consider you as more? Tentatively steer you in the other direction if you were to collectively see him in the same light as he does— “Robin? Can I have some water? ..Please?” Cutting his spiralling calculations abruptly with the timid lilt in your voice, almost shy of solely relying on another to be given something to drink. How you wholly depend on him sometimes for the simplest of tasks, unable to do anything or so, you frantically claim. Hurriedly interrupting his track of thoughts with a meek request and, how could he not obligate to your every whim? You’re only deserving of it, after all.

“Y-Yeah, of course.” Last of things he should be doing is envisioning stuff like sickeningly taking advantage of your bed riddled position, most definitely helpless in stopping him if he were to try.. anything, at all. Hah, no better than those lustful monsters that reside in this town, sneakily hide themselves amongst the shadows. Endless times he’s routinely walked to and back from school with you as per usual, only to encounter another one of those disgusting creeps that’d shamelessly try to land their filthy paws onto your untouched body, disgustingly slobber all over you as though they were deserving of the slightest sliver inch of skin from you. And yes, there is the slight tremor apparent in his voice when he’s actively telling them off in favour of protecting of you, but that’s precisely it. You’re enough of a reason for him to confidently fight back, take a stand even with the apparent wobble in his knees.

Truly, those hands of yours that find themselves clasping at his once the whole ordeal is fortunately over, beaming face filled with admiration is why he does it. Enough with the constant reminiscing however, dutifully reaching for a bottle of water set onto the oaky dresser, hesitating noticeably in his next actions to curiously gaze back at your awaiting mouth. “Want me to hold it for you?” Isn’t he simply enabling your unprompted, lazy behaviour? Bound to turn you spoiled if this readily keeps up, doesn’t mean he still won’t do it.

A subtle nod of your head to his gentle suggestion is all it takes, swiftly uncapping the bottle cap off before directing it towards your parted lips, palm decisively placed along your jaw, carefully titling your head backwards into the cushioned pillow to ease in on your swallowing. Noisy gulps accompanied by the rhythmic bobbing of your fragile throat, sluggishly drinking it all down with a satisfied sigh. Thing is, he shouldn’t be staring so intently at all these intricate details nor particularly zeroing in on the barely noticeable droplet of water that spilled past those moist lips, really— this is going beyond well-intentioned admiration and more like, borderline obsession.

Still, it’s just.. helping, is it not? It’s not like he’s physically harming you in any shape or form when his eyes lovingly peer upon you for a moment longer, stray hand instinctively coming to wipe away at the wet sweat built up there. Lingering contact, just helping in every sense of the word, that’s all it is! Thumb swiping lower to rest upon the gap between your parted lips, right where the wet warmth he so fervently seeks out is, digit dipping shyly with a shaky inhale at the sheer sensation that greets him— A wet and ready mouth, so easily pliable, mouldable for a fat cock that’d happen to be consequentially slipped inside, by chance. Drooling little baby you’d be, looking so very stupid with a mouthful of cock promptly shoved down the rewarding tightness of your throat.. You wouldn’t mind, would you?

At the end of the day, as so often told by many as a shabby excuse for their unforgiving actions — which he, himself, is no better of, at the moment — he’s nothing, but a man. Horny hormones offset from the mere, close proximity he shares with you, his crush, within this narrow space and time. Cock annoyingly straining against the rough fabric of his pants, hopefully palming at the hot, twitching bulge beneath your field of vision — or perhaps, truthfully he wants you to actually see him. Plainly witness the downright degeneracy of his current actions, heated palm clumsily circling over his red, leaking tip frustratingly covered by the material of his jeans, huffing over your bare form as though he’s solely being restrained by the horrifying idea of cold rejection on your part.

Cmon, won’t you rightfully take responsibility for what you’ve done to him? Having him just as equally heated as you over here, dangerously peering at the edge of his chair to unintentionally tower over your confused, oblivious self. See, the weight of those fluttering eyelashes, how you don’t even try to coldly discard his affectionate touch, borderline inappropriate one too — in fact, welcoming it as you subconsciously lean into the cup of his soft palm?? Surely, that’s shamelessly asking for it, a hidden sign of your reciprocation of his sentiments in return. Or so, his self-deluded mind dumbly convinces himself of such.

It’s the meek “Robin?” that stills him, curious eyes peering up at him with a quizzical cock of your head, veiled worry making its way past your strained features in a subtle questioning of if he’s alright. “Something wrong?” Oh, if only you knew that, yeah— something is indeed very wrong, knee now cautiously placed atop the bed, squeaking mattress dipping lower, distinct creak audibly heard throughout the four corners of the walls surrounding you both. Good, think he locked the wooden door nearby and it’s not like.. any younger orphan might upsettingly interrupt you two nor walk in, lest they actually want to be terrifyingly face to face with an angry Robin for once in their lives. A rare occurrence.

“Huh? O-Oh, well— I was just wondering about what you’ve said before. Y’know, owing me a favour for taking care of you and all..” Idly scratching at the back of his neck in a habitual instinct to soothe the spiking nervousness rendering him dizzy, hitched breath faltering in its smooth flow to ponder, briefly hesitate over his next few words. How exactly should he even go about this..? Discreetly hinting is sure not to successfully work if taking into account your naive innocence, albeit adorable to him — sometimes, is unintentionally setting himself up in the inevitable scenario of being direct. Shy as he might be, at times, specially flustered in the presence of you, Robin still determinedly carries on with a drawn out sigh, hovering over your laid frame ever so slightly to satisfyingly catch that split-second, shift of your incredulous expression.

“Is it fine if I use it now? I mean, what I’d really like for you to do right now, is.. take care of this for me. I-If you want to do that.” Swallowing thickly as your inquisitive eyes intently follow his pointed finger, direction openly set onto the growing bulge instinctually twitching in turn from your gaze heavily set upon it, his evident hard-on humiliatingly on display just for you. “Please. I-I just— ah, fuck..” Look at you, how you decidedly waste no time in readily obeying to his flustered request, seamlessly move onto your side where your head is sweetly nestled between the gap in his willingly spread thighs. “..You’re really doing it— hah.” Huffing, nuzzling and nosing along the visible outline of his bulge jutted against your squished cheek, appearing so goddamn pure despite the undeniable fact that you’re— ah, shit.. pervertedly inhaling the musky scent of his fat cock throbbing insistently underneath the layer of clothing, crudely smelling him in such a dirty place before your cute hands come to rest atop the surface of his hips. Slowly unzipping him free to give way to his drooling cock staining a wet patch of pre below the fabric of his boxers, pink, swiping tongue dampening the stain in shade from your little kitten licks.

Suckling attentively on the flushed tip right below his underwear, thin layer of cloth merely separating your skillful tongue from making actual contact with the pulsing flesh of his cock. Where’d you even learn to do such a thing and how did you even— accept so easily to the stumble of his awkward request? Graciously went along with it as if he were simply asking you to fetch some water from the cooling fridge in the kitchen, eyes reflexively shut in a soft hum of appreciation at the responsive twitch you receive from his cock in response to every careful lick. “I guess, it’s only natural to help each other as boys, right? Whatever you want, Robin, I’ll offer you it.” Whispering out so selflessly, fully handing him the ability to maneuver this entire situation to his liking and if that means having you so lewdly strip him down to his bare form, then so be it.

“Y-You really don’t have to.. ah—“ Promptly interrupted by a sharp hiss as his cock is suddenly freed from the annoyingly tight confines of his underwear, crudely smacking against the tender skin of your cheek with a resounding, wet slap! that it further fuels his fluster at the sheer noise. Pearly pre-cum naturally smeared across your face and, fuck— you’re not the least bit bothered by it, being sinfully tainted by his fluids stained upon your body and here you are, teasingly running your rosy tongue flat along the veiny underside of his throbbing shaft before finally, reaching forward to suck up all the salty, oozing pre accumulated at the head.

“But I wanna, Robin.” Stop calling out his name affectionately like that, he’ll really bust a load before you even get to sucking him off! Muttering out so sweetly, absently stroking the base of his cock with your curled fist tight around the girth, a rhythmic up-and-down motion to meanly draw out more beads of sticky fluid, lazily trickling down his quivering length. “You always take care of me and, hah— I think it’s only fair that I return the favour too. I wanna.. thank you for being so nice to me all the time, even if I’m a handful, huh?” Hand coming to rest atop your soft head at the generous gesture you’ve so nicely offered him now, caressing through the stray strands of hair, lovingly brush it out of the way so that he may obtain a better view of your half-lidded eyes, intent on getting him off. “So, let me. Let me take care of you for once, ‘kay?”

Ah, seriously.. Stubborn as always and he can’t help, but to let himself selfishly indulge deeper in this sweet act, widening thighs accommodating you along with his knees firmly planted at each side of your bobbing head, dizzying squelch! of your translucent spit coming to meld with the thick globs of pre. How is it that someone can appear so dutiful, merely carrying out one’s favour when you’re stupidly slobbering all over his balls? Wet, welcoming heat of your mouth— ah, god— pouty lips snugly wrapped around the pulsing girth of his length, obscenely taking him into the base as you automatically repeat the process. Poking tongue playfully alternating between light drags of it across the tip to then coat it once again in the warm depths of your throat.

Though perhaps what comes second to the sheer, slippery heat engulfing the entirety of his cock are the tell-tale signs, lulled whispers of your shared arousal, mindlessly gettin’ yourself off from sloppily sucking him off. Little, cute cock provokingly poking out, smearing a stained mess against the cotton sheets from the pathetic, adorable act of humping yourself stupid along the cushioned mattress. Ah, does having another man’s cock in your mouth, preferably your best friend too — get you off that much? Sucking in a sharp, held breath, gaze observingly fixated on the subtle bounces of your cock with every gentle movement, curve of your arched back laid on its side. “..You’re hard.” He evidently remarks the obvious, normally clear voice coming out all strangled in a stifled groan as your glistening lips instinctively tighten ‘round him to spare him a brief glance of your own.

“..Shut up.”You huff out, not necessarily meaning it cuz’ yeah— you are hard and it’s clear as day as to why. Resuming on with your actions, suckling on one of his taut balls before ultimately letting go with a wet pop! Thin strings of saliva connected to the flesh of your puffy lips, clumsily stroking the rest that your small mouth cannot pitifully reach. Natural reaction is all it is! Same goes for the embarrassing fact that he’s already so fucking close, so close to shooting a straight load down your tight, little throat. Busting his fat seed and surely, you’ll— you’ll swallow it, right??

A stammered hitch in his speech, stuttering hips jolting in tandem with each and every one of your sucks, savouring the feel of his fat cock deep inside your drooling mouth. “A-Ah— wait— I’m, fuck— I’m cummin’—“ Head thrown back, eyes reflexively rolling to the back of his skull which his fingers can’t help to follow on, entangling themselves in the mess of your hair, cruelly sticking you there as he suddenly busts a whole fucking load right down your throat, white ropes of cum spurting past your lips — messily drip over the clean sheets below. Spilling his cum to coat the insides of your mouth all sticky with his seed and truly, he didn’t mean to! Or maybe, he did. As downright, secretly perverted that he is in wanting to bear witness to your eventual ruin. Pretty sight of your chin all tacky and white, dribbling droplets of his fluids all over your shocked face. Ah, he’s gotta be doin’ this again, one way or another.

No time to waste one baseless apologies and such, for having staining you in the filth of his essence— No, those are all past Robin’s mind as he impulsively throws himself onto you like some wild animal, forcibly pins you down below his heaving figure with that familiar, cheeky smile. Plainly chuckling at the stifled whine of protest that draws out of you, settling his position so that he may instead, comfortably rest between the plush of your spread thighs. “Robin! W-What’re you doin’??”

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll clean you up and make it all up to you later. Promise.” He furtively repeats, not exactly meaning it, but can you blame him when an awaiting cock is being so painfully neglected here? And, he’s consciously certain that you won’t refuse his gesture, not with that drawled out whine as he easily pops your cock between his glossy lips, eyes appreciatively fluttered shut to savour the taste of you. Etch it to memory.

Promise he’ll make it up to you in the way he knows most, tenderly inquiring you with one single question he’s all too keenly aware of the answer to. Bright, doe eyes, ruffled brown hair and that boyish grin you’ve seen him in time and time again. As you know him best. “But.. you haven’t cum yet, have you?”

As you’ve stated before, it’s just boys helping each other out, right?

#surprised no one did the classic fever trope with robin #but hey #if no one will do it #who says I won’t?#dol #degrees of lewdity #robin the orphan #robin dol #dol robin #robin degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity robin #bottom male reader #sub male reader #male reader #x male reader #character x male reader #— ☆ burnt ashes.

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yourheart-inmyhands · 11 months

Note

Ok a weird request 😭

Imagine yan!Zhongli, abyss!Aether and Neuvillette with a darling that loves them back (they don't care they're a yandere (and no it's not Stockholm Syndrome)) but just asks their brother to be with them (bc they imprisoned her) and if they accept, they see that the supposed "brother" is a dog- like- darling considers her dog her own brother.

The reason is that I myself consider the dog my mom has my brother- Please I am normal I swear 😭

- Weird anon ✨ (idk if you do this honestly 😭)

so i actaully don't write for aether anymore (i'm so sorry about that ;v;), but i hope you still like the other two! and don't worry about being weird lol, my cat is my literal son, like i'm 99% sure i gave birth to him and just forgot (it's scary how alike we are) XD

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including obsessive behavior, implied being held against will, that's about it this one is pretty tame, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Zhongli allows it, but that doesn’t mean he entirely understands it. Please don’t expect him to grasp the entire thing right away. He’ll ask if your ‘brother’ sits at the table for dinner and if Zhongli needs to prepare additional servings for him, etc. Despite having lived for many, many years and having seen many strange things, Zhongli still struggles to fully understand the situation. He allows it though, anything to make his beloved happy.

“Does he… does your brother sit at the table with us for dinner?” Zhongli looked at the dog sat by your feet, one eyebrow raised in confusion as he anxiously awaited your response. A dog at the dinner table wasn’t exactly good for sanitary eating but he supposed he could allow it to slide for your sake. You had been compliant with his wishes thus far, who would he be to deny you the one thing you had asked for. He at first thought that your ‘brother’ had once been human and turned animal, but when you explained the situation to him, he seemed to feel even more at odds. Regardless, you are his beloved, and he’d comply to your wishes so long as it was in reason. Not only did he want your love, but he wanted you to be happy, and if this silly wish of yours was what it meant, he’d gladly give in.

Yandere!Neuvillette is perturbed to say the least. He had known already that your family had a dog, but he didn’t think you’d be this attached to it. Nevertheless he does retrieve your ‘brother’ and makes accommodations inside the manor for him. He doesn’t much interact with him though, Neuvillette isn’t really a dog-person, he’s not really an animal person at all. This was your one ask thus far though and you’d been accepting of his love so he wouldn’t argue. The dog will not be allowed to eat dinner with you though, he will eat his food in a separate room, as proper etiquette calls for.

Neuvillette didn’t understand the attachment that humans developed with animals, but he also never really cared for animals. The melusines were different, they behaved much like humans and could converse with Neuvillette, animals could not. When you requested that you be allowed your brother, Neuvillette was skeptical at first. When you then explained that your ‘brother’ was a dog, he relented, retrieving the pet for you. While he makes a room for the dog and even prepares meals for him, do not expect him to love the dog. Neuvillette doesn’t much care for bonds with animals like that, he’ll greatly outlive them and simply isn’t fond of the type of companionship they provide, so your brother is all yours. Of course if you asked, he’d walk him or bathe him or do any other such task, but only if asked will he do it. His rule is that you asked for him to brought here and that he is now your responsibility.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x male reader #yandere zhongli x male reader #yandere zhongli x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x male reader #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette x male reader #yandere genshin #yandere zhongli #yandere neuvillette

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 days

Text

Killing Time 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

The interior of the car is sleek and shiny. You don’t want to touch anything as you strap the seat belt across your torso. You feel bad enough that he insists upon getting your bags in the car. When he’s at last in the driver’s seat, you relax.

You glance out the window at the patch of grass where Jake was moments ago. He slinked away as you hid behind the tinted glass in triumph. One little victory after a year of terror.

“So, shall we?” James asks as he turns the engine. “We’ve some ways to go,” he adjusts the mirror and glances over at you. “I know it isn’t good etiquette but I must say you look beat. It won’t bother me should you doze as I drive.”

“Oh, uh,” you rub your cheek bashfully, “thanks, I... spent all night packing so--”

It’s not a complete lie and you’re sure he can fathom the truth after the morning’s confrontation. Admitting it will only make it worse. You just want to leave it all behind.

“Of course. I apologise for the short notice but thank you very much for being so accommodating,” he says.

He shifts into gear and checks his blind spot before he slowly steers away from the curb.

“Me? Thank you for the drive. I’m sure I’ve could have found a bus--”

“You would assume but as I said, the location is remote and you’d still need to get from the station to the house. I don’t mind at all. I’ve not been to the manor in some time and I’m overdue to check in on it.” He explains, “I’m happy to do so with company, if I’m to be honest.”

“Ah, okay,” you accept. You cup your hand over your mouth as a yawn rises without warning. “Mm, sorry.”

“As I said, please, rest your eyes. We have a long road,” he says. “Oh, you won’t mind some music? Any preference?”

“I’m not picky,” you assure him and lean back against the seat. Despite not wanting to check out, your body is screaming for sleep. Your muscles ease against the firm cushion and you can’t help a groan. “Whatever you like.”

You turn to look out the window, watching the streets and the few pedestrians on the pavement. Your lashes flick, weighed down by the sleepless night and the peak of adrenaline. Your head lolls and you let your eyelids close. Just for a minute and you’ll open them again...

When you stir, the car is still but idling. The engine hums and the AC flows. You look over at the empty driver seat and jolt upright. Huh?

Your panic is curtailed as the door opens and James appears with a tray of cups and a paper bag. He smiles as he lowers himself into the car and balances it all in his lap.

“I didn’t know if I should wake you but I grabbed some coffee. Sugar and cream if you need,” he wiggles free a cup and puts it in the holder. “And they had some lovely looking bagels--”

“Oh,” you wipe your chapped lips with the back of your hand. “You didn’t have to—I'm sorry I fell asleep...”

“I did expect it,” he chuckles as he hands you the paper bag. “It is your choice. I got one sesame seed and a pumpernickel. I hope that’s acceptable.”

“Mm, pumpernickel?” You clasp the top of the bag, “thanks, that’s... that’s so nice.”

“Not at all,” he takes his own cup as he puts the tray behind his seat. He inhales the scent through the slot of the lid. “Ah, not terrible. They had English.” He lifts the cup slightly. “How typical, yes? That I would rather tea.”

“I don’t mind tea,” you shrug and open the bag.

“We will eat then be back on the road. Further on, we will have something more substantial.” He explains.

You check the first bagel; sesame, and hand it to him. You sit and unwrap your own. Before you can have a bite, you gape at the digital clock in the dashboard.

“Holy... two hours?” You utter.

“Oh, yes, the time breezed by,” he remarks.

You hide a frown and bite into the toasted bagel. You feel a bit better but a glaze of dizziness lingers. You need the sleep but you’re embarrassed all the same. You shouldn’t be snoring in the passenger seat on your way to a job. After all, he’s technically your boss.

“Really, don’t worry,” he says as if he can read your mind.

“I’ll try not to,” you swallow.

You finish your food with minimal conversation. You’re still a little groggy but not as tired. You manage to stay awake as he sets off again.

You glance over at him. He’s a stranger but something about his presence is calming. So much so that you lost all wariness. After what you’ve been through with Jake, you should’ve taken a bit more time to think this through. It strikes you then that this man is taking you to some remote location, based on a single conversation...

You shake off your suspicion. It’s Jake. That’s all. He taught you distrust. Someone you thought was your friend, turned out to be a monster. Well, they say you’re more likely to be assaulted by someone you know. Maybe it’s good that you barely know James.

“How long were you in the city?” He asks, piercing through your inner turmoil.

“Oh, uh, about five years,” you answer. “I... you live there or....”

“Closeby,” he answers. “I think you can guess I’ve relocated but I do tend to hop around often. I get restless.”

“Ah, so that’s why you need a caretaker.”

“Essentially, yes,” he agrees. “I’ve not the ability to remain as long as I need. It was a colleague who suggested it. One of his rare good ideas.”

“Right,” you nod.

“Well, I trust you will keep good care of it,” he says over the steering wheel.

The journey unravels before you. It’s further than you thought, but you didn’t really pay much attention to your destination. You’re more concerned with getting away. All the business of thinking this out can wait until you can breathe.

As promised, you stop again to eat and relieve yourself. James girds only a few hours left. It’s taken most of the day to get this far and the road ahead is less a highway and more a rural path. You take your time eating, as much not to make yourself sick as to take a break from sitting in the car.

Back on the road, you feel the exhaustion fall on you again. You struggle to keep your eyes open as the evening deepens. James drives towards a thicket of trees, the moonlight flickering between them. You descend into the darkness as the car thrums through the noise of crickets and swaying leaves.

The fir thins and opens up to reveal a large stone wall and a wrought iron gate that gleams in the moonlight. The peaks of the large manor are painted silver in the night’s hue. You sit up to see it clearer. It looked big in the pictures but you’re blown away by the reality.

“A moment,” he stops and puts the car in park.

He gets out as you watch him through the gloom. He unlocks the gate and pulls it outward, just one side, enough to get through. He comes back and shifts gears, steering through and up the long paved drive. He kills the engine and sighs.

“I’ll just go lock up before we do the grand tour, if you don’t mind,” he says.

You give a noncommittal grumble as you undo your seat belt. You just want to stretch your legs. You get out parallel to him and he hurries off back toward the gate. The hinges creak loudly in the night, and eerie high-pitched noise.

As he returns, the moon hides behind a cloud and drapes his figure in black. “We’ll fetch the bags after. It’s dark out here.”

You’re too tired and uneasy to speak. Now that you’re here, the second thoughts begin. This man is still, at the core, a stranger. And more, you don’t exactly know where he’s taken you. You push back the doubt as another symptom of your year of torment. That was another man, not him.

He leads you towards the front door. You climb the curved stone steps as bats flutter off in the sky. You shiver as he unlocks the door and disappears within. A light beams through on and you shy away. He beckons you inward from behind it.

“Come,” he holds a flashlight. “We’ll need to turn the generator on.”

“Oh, uh, of course,” you agree and step inside.

He shuts the door as you enter and he turns to aim the light around the grand foyer. He slowly moves forward, sure to keep pace with you. You admire what you can in the shadows. The staircase that curls out at the bottom, and the carved posts that sharpen to points at the end of the banisters.

You follow him, huddling close without thinking. It feels as if you might get lost if you stray too far. He takes you along the hallways behind the stairs and to a narrow door at the end. He opens it and shines the light down.

“You first, I’ll keep the torch above you,” he says.

You look down the dark staircase then at him. He angles the light and brightens the way down. You turn and take the first step, and the next. Each groans beneath your weight as you put your hand on the railing. You get to the bottom and his own steps illicit creaks.

He nudges you as points the flashlight across the damp basement. It’s cold down there. You fold your arms as your teeth chatter. You go to the generator and he looks it over.

“You have the most important task,” he says and flips the light in his hand, “holding the torch.”

He offers it and you take it uncertainly. You shine it over the boxy generator and he examines it once more.

“We only need to turn the valve here,” he points, “then the choke,” he moves a rod from left to right, “turn the ignition,” he twists, “and pull the cord.” He grunts as he tugs, “just until you feel resistance and it should--” it rumbles and clanks, then mellows out to a steady hum. “There. Now, let it run for a moment and set the choke to run...” he steps back and dusts his hands off on his pants, “there’s a manual on the shelf over there in case you need to restart it, ever. Thunderstorms are not so kind here.”

“Oh, okay, uh, yeah. I’ll find that.”

“Mm, yes, well, how about tomorrow? If you don’t mind, I think I’ll be in better spirits for a tour then. Then you might see it in the light of day, eh?” He suggests. “For now, we’ll find you a place to sleep and get your bags in.”

“That sounds good,” you agree. “I am beat.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “There’s an old kettle around, I’ve some tea in my bag. If you’re interested.”

“Maybe in the morning,” you turn back to the stairs, steadying the sphere of light across them. “I just want to lay down.”

“Can’t blame you,” he trails behind you. “Given the way the day started, I’m certain you’re merely happy to be away from it all.”

“Oh...” you utter, a tinge of embarrassment nips in your cheeks. “Yeah, well, that was--- it’s over now, right?”

“Yes, a fresh start,” he agrees as you start up the stairs and he follows closely. “I do hope you find peace here.”

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ggomos-maribat · 1 year

Text

1 | in which Tim Drake tries to propose to the PA

Part 1 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

Bruce tried not to flinch as he sat down on his swiveling chair. He had twisted his ankle from pursuing Penguin's goons the previous night but had to cover it up for work. Sure, he was used to hiding injuries and slipping into his CEO persona, but that didn't mean his muscles weren't sore and beat-up.

Just in time, his PA entered the office, carrying a stack of folders and a hot mug of coffee. "Here are the partnership offers I filtered from the initial pile." She placed the papers atop his desk. "I've also noticed that there is a defect in the new prototype of the research department that they are yet to attend to."

Bruce frowned. "But isn't the demo and meeting for it scheduled today?"

"Yes, that's why I've convinced the head supervisor to push it back to next week after they deal with the defect," Marinette reported. "I've also postponed the investors meeting to tomorrow since there was a delay in the materials."

She lowered her voice as if relaying a secret. "I noticed you have difficulty walking today, Mr. Wayne. With your modified schedule, all your work can be done here at your desk. If there's other legwork to do, I'll take care of it."

Somehow, in perfect timing, Marinette always managed to accommodate the times when he was injured. Bruce didn't know if he was getting bad at hiding it because of his old age or if the girl's intuition was just crazy sharp. Maybe it was both. He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Marinette. I appreciate it."

She opened up the first folder in front of him and transferred the mug to an electric warmer. "Another skiing accident?"

"Not as bad this time. Just a twisted ankle."

Next, she lowered the blinds just to allow just a peek of the sunlight and prepared a snack tray on a circular table beside his desk. Bruce never communicated the particulars about his preferences and he wasn't actually picky about his office space (unlike his son-slash-co-CEO). But this PA of his, just somehow knows. Like Alfred-levels of expertise. It creeped him out a little if he were to be honest.

She clasped her hands behind her back. "Anything else, Mr. Wayne?"

"None at the moment, thank you."

She raised an eyebrow.

. . . Which drew out a sigh from him. "Fine. Can you maybe help limit Tim's caffeine intake today? He had too many cups last night and he didn't listen when I told him to take the time off today."

"Of course, I'll do that right away." She nodded in satisfaction.

When she left, Bruce pulled up a tab on his computer to search for the legal documents, wondering if there was etiquette about an employer legally adopting their employee.

***

Marinette entered the office of Tim Drake after receiving a greeting from Tam at her desk beside the door. The young PA kept her hands behind her back as she approached the boy who was glued to his computer screen. Upon closer look, she could see the heaviness under his eyes, accentuated by the dark circles on his pale skin.

"I looked into your request of acquiring a commission piece from M.D.C.," Marinette told him.

There was only a slight shift in his exhausted expression—a downturn of the mouth—before his scratchy voice replied. "I thought they don't accept commissions anymore."

"Yes, but I re-visited our correspondence and apparently they still make pieces for selected clients." She took a deep breath. "And I got you an in."

The clicking of the mouse suddenly paused, followed by the widening of Tim's red-rimmed eyes. He practically crawled out of his seat to kneel before Marinette to take her hand in his. "Please marry me."

Marinette gently pulled away. "Sorry, Mr. Drake, my contract with Mr. Wayne prohibits me from marrying or getting into a relationship with any of his children."

"Why?!" Tim cried out.

"Perhaps he precisely predicted this kind of situation." She smiled apologetically. "And by my guess, I think he wants to adopt me first and not marry into the Wayne family."

Not that she actually wanted to be the newest addition to her boss' family.

With a pout, Tim retreated back to his chair while muttering about Bruce's adoption addiction. But in a second, he brightened up once more as he seemingly remembered the new opportunity he gained with M.D.C. "I have to compile my requests for the clothes!" He furiously tapped at his keyboard.

Marinette's heart went out for Tam. It looked like Tim wasn't getting proper work done that day again.

"I will forward the list to M.D.C. as soon as it's ready," she assured.

And while the co-CEO was immersed in researching designs in his half-conscious state, Marinette brought out the mug from behind her back and exchanged the coffee on his desk with decaf: a custom brew which was guaranteed to help him sleep for the afternoon.

In triumph, she exchanged thumbs-ups with Tam through the glass window of the office.

***

Marinette kept a watchful eye on Bruce's office to keep anyone from entering and disturbing the boss. But when she peeked into the room to deliver more files to him, she saw Bruce facing the open window and talking softly with Superman himself, who was at the other side of the glass.

Fortunately, neither of them seemed to notice her. She closed the door slowly and leaned her back against it, wondering if she should be guarding the door with her life. At the strike of bad luck, one of the company executives was heading straight towards the direction of the office.

He shot her a look as she blocked the way. Head to toe. "Mr. White," she greeted slowly.

"I have some papers Mr. Wayne must sign urgently." He narrowed his eyes.

"Sorry." She forced out a smile. "Mr. Wayne is a little . . . preoccupied at the moment. Why don't I take those papers off your hands and I'll have him sign them later?"

The executive clutched the stack tightly as if it were some precious treasure. "No, I need to have them signed now. If you can let me in, I'm sure Mr. Wayne won't mind a short interruption."

He stepped to the side but she moved in his way just as swiftly. Marinette sighed inwardly. This is beyond my paycheck. And judging by how White went here on his own, it must be some fund-farming project proposal Mr. Wayne would never agree to.

"Get out of my way!" He cried out. "Who do you think you are?!"

"I apologize, but Mr. Wayne is meeting an important guest. Under no circumstances must he be disturbed," she told him firmly. "I'm certain the papers can wait. He's not going anywhere."

"Listen here," Mr. White spat out. "I have more authority over you. You will do as I say right now!"

"Mr. White—"

"I will tell Mr. Wayne how incompetent you are! Rude to company executives! How dare you speak to me like this?!" Marinette stared with disinterest as his neck turned red and his forehead threatened to pop a vessel.

"What is going on here?"

Marinette felt the door open behind her to reveal Bruce, looking at White with clear exasperation. What she didn't expect was a bespectacled man emerging from behind her boss clad in business clothes.

"Mr. Wayne!" The executive squeaked. "I need you to sign these—"

"Did you not hear my PA?" Bruce punished him with a cold look. "I was receiving a guest. And you had the nerve to cause a commotion right outside my office."

"But—"

"Leave. Now."

Mr. White scurried away, tail between his legs, as other passing employees whispered to each other. Marinette stepped aside to give way to the two men.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Thank you for your time, Clark. I'll get back to you soon."

Superman—Clark—responded with a nod and a gentle smile before excusing himself out of the area. Marinette watched his back whilst he left. If anyone looked more attentively, they'd notice that the button-up and slacks Clark was wearing was too tight for his size, pointing to the fact that they were Bruce's and not his.

"Marinette, if you can keep quiet about . . ." Bruce trailed off, face twisting as he tried to pick his words carefully. She, of course, would know that no guest had entered his office despite Clark Kent exiting it only a few moments ago.

"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. I won't tell anyone about your affair with Mr. Kent," she promised before walking back to her desk.

"Thank you . . . Wait, my what?"

#maribat fic #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #dc x miraculous #NMWYCAM #PA!Marinette

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hedonists-den · 5 months

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Feeder Prince and Servant Girl

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Aaron Horthall was renowned—or rather, notorious—for hosting the most extravagant parties and gatherings. Nobles from the entire kingdom would attend, socialize, eat the most delicious foods, indulge in drink, dance, and create a complete revelry in the prince's castle.

But lately, the prince was always left yearning after each gathering. For all the merriment that his parties had, they could never slake one particular appetite of his. All of the women of the court worked hard to maintain their figures and avoid overindulging. Proper etiquette of the land dictated so. None of them had truly appealed to him.

He had almost given up hope until he noticed one of the castle servants during an idle day of boredom. He had always been vaguely aware of her presence around the castle, but today, he saw her. She was beautiful. Her flowing, dark blonde hair was striking, as were her hazel eyes and dimpled smile that nearly made his heart skip a beat when their eyes met. She had curves the likes of which he had never seen on anyone amongst the court, and every ounce of his desire was calling out for her.

"You there," he finally managed to say. "Approach, if you'd please." He made a beckoning gesture with his first two fingers.

Her eyes darted down to the floor, and her hands clasped in front of her as she approached the throne. "Yes, my prince? How might I serve you?" She asked. Her voice was gentle, but not exactly timid. It had a subtle confidence to it.

"What is your name?" Aaron asked, leaning on the arm of his throne. He assumed the most commanding nonchalance that he could without looking ridiculous.

"My name is Lillian, your Highness."

"Lillian. A beautiful name. It suits you," he said with a charming grin. "Tell me, have you ever attended a noble's party, Lillian?"

Lillian waited a moment, seeming to choose her words carefully. "I have not, your Highness. Such occasions are much too prestigious for someone of my station."

Modesty. The prince could recall at least a dozen nobles less worthy than she to attend his parties. "Nonsense, I would have you attend one of mine as my guest. Tomorrow evening, if it would please you."

"You deeply flatter me, my prince, but would that be proper? Others may not take too kindly to a servant girl in their company," Lillian said with a hushed tone.

The prince let out a single chuckle and leaned forward, attempting to look her in the eyes once more as she kept her head down. "If it is viewed as improper for the prince to invite whomever he pleases to his own party, then those that find issue shall be imprisoned immediately."

Lillian giggled, and the prince could swear she was beginning to blush. "It would certainly be a shame if my presence caused such a stir amongst your other attendees. But if you insist-"

"I do," the prince said as he stood and descended the stairs to his throne. His heart was thudding in his chest the closer he got to her. "One of the royal chambers will be prepared as your accommodations until the party, as well as an array of dresses to choose from. Whatever you might need, do not hesitate to make it known, and it shall be attended to. You are, as of now, my personal guest."

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Let me know if you like this idea and want me to continue it!

P.S. It's continued here! -> AO3

#feedism fic #feedism.#feedism fic.#feedist #fa #feeder prince/servant girl fic

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thatbadadvice · 2 years

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Help! Death is inconvenient!

Dear Prudence, Slate, 6 December 2022:

Q. Bothersome Burials: Is it appropriate to hold a funeral on a Saturday? I have recently noticed that funerals are more frequently being held on Saturdays instead of weekdays and I think it is bad etiquette. On most Saturdays, we already have plans for weddings, baby showers, birthday parties, ski trips, softball tournaments, etc. and I am perturbed when we are expected to change those plans to attend funerals. It seems to me that when you lose someone very close to you that you should be taking time off of work anyway rather than waiting until your scheduled day off to have a funeral and grieve. When you lose an acquaintance, or perhaps do not know the deceased but still want to support your friends and family, you should be able to limit it to a few hours during the week and not give up your weekend plans. Also, it seems inconsiderate to make the funeral home and cemetery staff work on a Saturday. I believe that Saturdays should be off-limits, am I mistaken about this?

Dear Bothersome Burials,

Funerals should absolutely never be held on Saturdays, for all of the excellent reasons you describe. It is inconsiderate in the extreme to interrupt people's ski trips even for legitimate reasons (whatever they may be — nothing immediately springs to mind, but the Bad Advisor is sure someone somewhere will be able to drudge up an example). To derail a romp on the slopes for something as inconsequential as a community gathering to grieve the departure of a beloved friend or family member from the plane of existence as we know it frankly defies comprehension. For the snuffing out of one's mortal lamplight to cause scheduling conflicts around more minor commitments such as weddings and baby showers is naturally a lesser infraction — attendees can always simply RSVP to the next one, or the one after that — but nevertheless impolite. Of course, few will share your deep concern for the wellbeing of those death professionals who work on Saturdays despite undoubtedly being, as you are, shocked by and entirely unprepared to accommodate the customs and traditions surrounding the inevitable fate, old as life itself, that awaits all of us. But your selflessness is noted here nonetheless.

If you are mistaken about anything, it is in failing to interrogate the cause of these breaches of etiquette. There was a time when people treated each other with just a little more consideration — when we left our doors unlocked, our unvaccinated children played together barefoot in the streets until dawn, and we dropped dead when and only when it was convenient for people's busy weekend schedules. My mother would have rather died than shuffle off the mortal coil just before Little Maydelayne's big softball tournament! Sadly, people these days think only of themselves, their own needs, and their own petty concerns — to say nothing of their unwillingness to sacrifice a day of fun and fulfilling work to attend the final celebration of life for some douchebag who had the gall to kick the bucket without checking their second cousin's day-off calendar first. Grief is already experienced for only those fleeting moments we spend attending funeral services; it is unseemly to defer our limited 40- to 90-minute mourning periods until such a time as we can gather together in meaningful community.

Alas, that's the world we live in today! We can lay much of the blame on the obvious culprits — video games, reefer, and heavy metal music — but we would be doing ourselves a disservice if we did not admit that we are responsible for making time for what matters. The next time a cherished friend, loved one, or colleague sets off on that long, mysterious journey to the undiscovered country, we must prioritize the apres-ski reservations at the lodge bar.

#advice #bad advice #funerals #death #dying #dear prudence #grief #loss #kids these days #what is the world coming to #the good old days

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itsfairly · 1 year

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A Culture of Our Own // Nanami Kento x Latine! F! Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Summary: Intercultural dating is still pretty difficult. But you make it work with Nanami. Today, you do it through music.

Notes: sfw, fluff, f!reader, established relationship, Latine! reader (though it's more Mexican-leaning), intercultural relationship and all that, self-indulgent, Spanish, no translations, not proofread.

A/N: Please note that this is more from my experience, it is also highly self-indulgent. And that is because Nanami is my man, sorry about that. Anyways, also HAPPY LATINO HERITAGE MONTH. this is for us y'all, i did my best for the community. I wanted it to uploaded it on the 15th, but life happened. But hey, I still uploaded this before the month ended, so it's a win.

Dating becomes interesting when you add culture into the mix. Did you think you would end up dating a Japanese man? Especially after a lifetime of your mother asking you to be with someone who spoke Spanish? No. But life had a way to play with you and a way to be nice to you.

Just look at him. Nanami Kento. Someone who was just as handsome on the outside as sweet as they were on the inside. So respectful, so breathtaking, and so dreamy. No one even came close to how much this man makes your heart jump at the sight of him. No, he might not know your native language. But he certainly made you happy and content at his side.

Of course, eventually, you start to explain your cultures outside of the common knowledge and general facts like holidays and etiquette. You start getting into pop culture and what is normally taken for granted in your culture. It's a slow process considering how spontaneous the conversation can be.

From "What does that mean?" when using slang to an inside joke your culture has, little reoccurrences become opportunities to learn more about each other. Sure, you might not be able to fully explain something or understand it, but it doesn't take away that you two start to weave your cultures into the relationship and mix them into one that becomes intrinsic to your dynamic.

Today, you had one of those occurrences when you were cleaning your place and he just happened to come early. When he knocks on the door, you let him in without missing a beat despite being in your full-on cleaning outfit and playlist. A playlist that consisted of old songs your mom used to play when she cleaned such as Bésame Mucho, La Mentira, Si Una Vez, and such. Real classics obviously.

Classics he's not familiar with.

"You're early." You noted with a smile, walking over to your phone and pausing your music.

He looks down at his watch, seeing that he is actually on time. He remembers how much you joke about your family being late to everything or how time is just really abstract for you after years of being told ahorita. A word that could mean anything between 5 minutes to two hours. He chuckles at your words, agreeing with you that he was early for you. The different perception in time between the two of you could be weird at times, but it never really brought many problems considering that both of you (you mostly) put in the effort to accommodate for it.

"Is there something wrong with wanting to see my partner a little early?" He asks, a small smile coming to his face as he walks closer to you, leaving a small kiss on your forehead.

You smile, happy to feel his lips on you once more. "No, but you're seeing me in the most typical way a Latina looks when cleaning. I don't need that image in your mind.

He looks up and down, trying to see this look you're talking about. Sure, you had baggier clothes and your hair was in a bun with a few hairs sticking out and decorating your face. He hums, brushing those hairs back behind your ears.

"I think you're exaggerating considering that we've dated for a while." He raises an eyebrow at you, smirking when he sees that you really think you look messy or bad for just wearing something more comfortable when cleaning. Nothing wrong with that and definitely not making you look ugly in his eyes.

"Still, what if you caught me mid-performance? This playlist doesn't play around, alright? It's classic after classic."

Nanami laughs softly, seeing how serious your face is with your words telling him that you mean every word. Though, now that he thinks about it, he doesn't recognize the songs from the small snippet he heard through the door to the moment you paused the songs. It makes him curious about them.

"Classics?"

You nod before taking your phone and standing by his side to show him your playlist. It is after a couple of swipes down that you realize he can't even read the titles of the songs since they are in Spanish.

"In Latin America." You clarify, getting an idea. You hand him your phone, tilting your head down as to give him permission. "Choose one, we'll put it on right now while I change my clothes."

He takes the phone and raises a brow as he tries to gauge the unfamiliar songs. "I don't even know what I am reading, dear." He deadpans, making you chuckle.

"Then choose one randomly." You say, guiding him to your bedroom so you can pick your clothes.

He looks at the phone, looking through the album covers of the song. He recognizes some of the artists that are part of mainstream pop culture, Shakira being the easiest to recognize. Yet, his finger presses onto a song that he doesn't recognize at all.

But you do and it's obvious from the way you slowly turn to look at him and instantly melt into a light sway of your hips to match the song's slow and romantic rhythm.

"I always knew you were a romantic at heart but I didn't know it came naturally to you." You tease, taking out a shirt and jeans that were much more suitable to go out than the baggier and frankly unflattering clothes. "Let alone that, but you also chose a classic among classics."

Sabor A Mi. Now that's a real gem across Latin America and generations. Guitar strings fill the air with a romantic and sensual sense that warms up the room while the yearning lyrics are contracted by the singer's soft whispers. More than a classic, it's romance 101 in music.

"I take it I chose a good one then." He hums, placing the phone on your nightstand, turning around to face away from you as you change. To him, even if you dated for quite a while now, that didn't give him a right to look. Even if you insisted there was no problem and that you didn't mind, he still turned around out of respect for you. No matter how many times he has seen you out of those clothes, he still wanted to be the gentleman that you first met.

The pure intention made you smile and the song amplified those butterflies in your stomach.

Quickly changing out and into your clothes, you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and placing your chin on his shoulders. As you begin to sway on the spot with the music, you whisper, "A great one."

He's quick to follow your lead, letting you set the rhythm you have become so used to dancing after a lifetime of hearing boleros like this one. He doesn't have to understand the lyrics to understand how intimate the song is. The guitar strings and soft melodies tell him that enough. Enough to pull you closer to him as you two sway to the song.

He looks down at him, your head now against his shoulder with your eyes closed. He can see how relaxed your face is, the sun sweeping through your window and occasionally hitting your face with its light just enough to decorate your features. If his heart was struck by you once before, this moment served as a reminder of that.

"It's a nice song." He says softly, his hand running down your arm until it finds your hand. He entwines his fingers with yours.

You hum, looking up at him and lifting your head off his shoulder. "You certainly know how to choose them." You tease, stretching your arm as you separate your body from his, your hands connecting the two of you as you hold the other's.

He sees you smile, brightly and softly in a way that tugs his heart. God, you were so pretty. Plucked strings encourage him to pull you closer once more, seeing you spin until his arm is wrapped around you and your back meets his chest with a giggle.

God, he was so lucky to have you.

"I do." He wasn't talking about the song.

The song ends but you two continue to dance. Swaying and spinning in your bedroom without a care in the world. How could a match this heavenly happen against all odds? When neither of you thought you would date someone from a culture so different from your own?

Neither of you thought about that. Not right now when you were dancing so gently and oh so passionately at the same time. No words exchanged, just smiles and hums. Maybe a kiss here and there that either managed to steal. But words? No, just your phone playing songs about love you never thought you would live.

Oh, how wrong were you.

How wrong were you to think that when this moment showed that you were not only loving and being loved, but you were doing so in the way these songs made you feel. It was a dream. It was luck. It was a movie. It was music. It was him. Him.

"Please send me these songs later." He says, breaking the silence.

"You're gonna study these later?" You tease, chuckling at the idea of Nanami listening to songs he doesn't know what they are about.

"Maybe." He chuckles, lifting your hand as he spins you around. "You said they were classics, didn't you? I have to know about them if we're going to keep dancing like this."

You smile at him. After so many people were disinterested and even critical of your culture to the point that you felt like having to keep it private, he wanted it to be included in your relationship. Even celebrate it in a way. Why does it even come as a surprise when he always looked at you in awe whenever you spoke Spanish? Even if he didn't know what you said, he would always have this curiosity towards that part of you that was once criticized.

Nanami knew how to love you, but now it was clear that he knew how to love the culture you were so in love with too.

"You're right. You have quite the content to go over then. So do I. Not only do I have to go over Japanese culture, I also have to study a bit of Danish, don't I?"

He chuckled, pulling you closer to him and letting you two become one with the music once more. The world melting away with just the two of you existing in this very room.

Yeah, there are bumps in the road. Misunderstandings and uncertainties that could sour what you two had. But it never did. Not when he was so patient in sharing and learning. Not when you were so excited to know more and explain what made you you. Culture could be tricky, but for the two of you, it was what made your relationship so enjoyable. You may have had different upbringings but you were still similar enough to work well together.

Though it was something the two of you already knew, it was something that was confirmed to Nanami once he translated the song he just happened to choose by chance earlier today. Our souls have become close enough that I keep your flavor and you keep mine all well. It was funny how a song he just happened to tap on happened to describe why you two worked so well. You had different cultures that entwined together once you became a couple, having pieces of each other's culture embedded into the other.

He thought it was just a wonderful idea that it became one of his favorite songs that you've shown him.

Dating someone from another culture is interesting, scary even. But life was kind to you and let you meet Nanami, someone with whom you could unapologetically share your culture knowing that it would be as cherished as every other part of you. Someone who made it easy to share both cultures until you created your own. A unique culture that was both him and you.

A culture that tasted of both you and him because of how much you loved each other and stayed by your side.

Neither of you would have it another way.

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goobtopia · 8 months

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Oliver being a woman instead is such an interesting concept because I feel like things could have gone way different in that scenario. Anyways, your Farleigh fic was very enjoyable to read :)

thanks so much for reading i’m so glad u liked it! & yes i love the concept. while we’d def lose some elements of story that barry’s character had like how interesting oliver and farleigh’s relationship was, but it would be super interesting to see that pan out differently. like the relationship between venetia and a woman first of all (i may have just wanted to see her kiss a lady) & felix def wouldn’t have been as mad about it i think, honestly i think he’d be more upset abt her hooking up w farleigh. and bc women are sooooo often socialized to be receptive and accommodating to other’s needs/feelings/wants/etc they learn to fit in faster bc it becomes an intuitive skill, one i personally think oliver doesn’t possess and that’s why he’s forced to be so calculated. i’m not saying these things are exclusive to women and men obvi but it’s a lot more prominent so it would’ve been cool to see a character who had moments like ollie where their etiquette was incorrect but who was still able to smooth things over and could fake the family out a little bit better. like not totally fool them (farleigh would def still be able to see right thru it but he’d have a harder time finding ways to embarrass or insult them) and we could’ve seen how ollie’s plan would’ve panned out had felix not found out about the parent lie.

i have a continuation in the works sooo i’ll get to expand on that warning it will be freaky nasty but that’s kinda what my blog’s here for lol.

#farleigh smut #farleigh imagine #oliver x farleigh #farleigh catton #farleigh x reader #farleigh saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh #saltburn #felix catton #venetia catton #oliver quick

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inky-duchess · 9 months

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Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque: Ball

This is a new set of posts focusing on the period of time stretching from the late 19th century to the early 20th Century right up to the start of WWI. I'll be going through different aspects of life. This series can be linked to my Great House series as well as my Season post and Debutant post.

Let's throw a ball, my darling. It is the age of elegance and opera gloves. Etiquette during these events was as intregal as the music. So let's delve in and dance the night away.

Preparing to host a Ball

Balls in this period weren't just little get-together with a little music in the corner. These were large productions and required the entire household to pitch in. The ballroom would have to be cleaned, chandeliers would need polishing. Any large halls would need to be cleared of any furniture to accommodate a large crowd. If throwing a ball, you need to set aside more rooms than just the ballroom. You will need a room to store any cloaks, coats and hats (a valet and lady's maid would have charge of this), a room for refreshments and sometimes a room set up for any other entertainment such as cards. The dining room would also be needed for a supper (yes, suppers are expected). A ball requires the best of the best. Musicians would be hired, the kitchens will be slaving all day, butlers will be decanting the best wines and select the finest liquor, and rooms made up for anybody thinking of staying the night. The kitchens will have to prepare light snacks as well as the late supper, so everything must be cooked at exactly the right time and kept in optimum condition until needed. A red carpet would be laid from the front door right down to the pavement with an awning to keep the worst of the weather off. Invites should be sent out a few weeks prior and should attempt not to clash with any other event, you may compete who has the best ball but you should never force guests to snub another to go to your ball. Servants should be prepared for a long night, so they may dine earlier in the day to sustain them. Footmen would wait outside to open carriage doors and direct guests to the door. The butler would have to greet them, announce their arrival (not by order of rank but simply in the order they arrive) in the hall and then toward the coat rooms to relieve themselves of any coats or hats. These balls were very expensive affairs. Between food, drink, entertainment, their clothes, wages and getting their house up the snuff, a host could expect to fork out thousands if not more. Alva Vanderbilt's great costume ball cost her $6 million in today's valuation ($250,000 in her era).

The Hosts on the Night of the Ball

The hosts of the ball should be ready to recieve guests promptly. The lady of the house should be downstairs an least an hour before kickoff to check the work of the servants and provide last minute commands. The hosts would wait in the hall and greet guests. The butler will announce every guest while valets and lady's maids take charge of any coats. After guests have shed their coats, they would then greet the host, usually exchanging a few words and thanking them for the invitation before being escorted into the ballroom. The hosts would usually begin the ball themselves or if there was a guest of honour, they would allow them to open the ball. Dancing is only meant to begin with the invitation of the hosts. If there's music playing, it's not an invitation to dance. Hosts have a duty to ensure everyone is having a good time. They will be expected to dance and ensure people are partnered.

Guests

Guests are expected to arrive in a certain time frame. Balls usually begin quite late into the night, usually around 10pm. It would do no good to arrive too early and ride to arrive midway without a viable reason. There may have been a previous event, such as a theatre engagement or an opera so if you are coming from there and everybody eksevgas arrived on time and you show up late, you had best apologise. Guests must only attend if they have been invited by the hosts. You can't just rock up to a ball and expect to be admitted. If a guests wishes to have a friend who is a stranger attend the ball, they can request for the host to invite them. Guests will arrive by carriage or on foot if they live nearby. If arriving by carriage, one must allow for appropriate space between coaches and room for them to pull out. Also, it is a good idea to remind your driver when to collect you. Guests are always expected to greet the hosts as soon as they can, thank them for the invitation and be courteous at all times. Guests should not comment negatively on anything the hosts have provided such as the food or music, it's better to reserve opinion until another less public event. Guests are encouraged to mingle but strangers must be introduced by a mutual acquaintance or even the host. Wandering off through any section of the house not designated as part of the ball is prohibited as is sneaking off into the gardens. Also if one expects to stay for the night (say you live far away and have travelled to get there) you must have requested it of the host a few days at least before.

Dancing Etiquette

Dancing is one of those things in this era that isn't just a pastime but a ritual. Men asked women for the privilege of a dance, a waltz perhaps. Women would not ask a man. Women would have dance cards where gentlemen could request to partner them for certain dances. If a woman has turned down a gentleman for any reason but has no designated partner for the dance, she must sit that particular dance out. A lady should limit dances with the same partner lest it be a root of scandal: it is not considered terrible to dance two dances with the same partner but questionable if you were to dance with the same partner for multiple dances in a row. It is frowned upon for a lady to reject a dance partner when it is his honour after accepting him earlier. And also highly insulting for a man to spurn a dance partner he has sworn to dance with. It is usually customary for the man to ask whether his partner would like a refreshment, wherein he can escort her to find it. They may chat until the next dance whereupon he must excuse himself with a bow and relieve her of his company so she may dance with her next partner. When supper is announced, the last partner is ecoected to escort his lady into the dining room.

Timeline of a Ball

As stated above, Balls usually start around 10pm (but can be held earlier). Once all the guests have arrived and the hosts enter the ballroom, the dancing can go on. Around 1am there would be a light supper. Small refreshments such as canapés would be available throughout usually offered by footmen stationed around the house. Servants would stay up around the clock to unsure that everything runs smoothly, fetching drinks and later after the ball studying up. Balls would end about 3-4am, whereupon carriages would return to fetch guests and ferry them home. Guests staying would head upstairs. Anybody staying over would be treated to a breakfast in the morning.

Theme

Many balls were themed. Themed balls were usually announced months in advance to allow costumes to be made. A guest should not arrive without having paid attention to the theme as it not only can show poor time management but may be seen as an insult to the host. All guests were expected to adhere to theme where it be a "servant's ball" where they would dress as servants or even a Costume balls are all about extravagance but it's better to rein yourself in (we're side eyeing you, Kate Strong). The grandest costume ball of all time was of course Alva Vanderbilt's grand affair of March 26, 1883. Costume balls were very expensive affairs, with some guests spending up close to thousands of pounds/dollars on their looks. At one ball in 1893, the infamous Bradley-Martin affair, guests spent nearly $400,000 on their costumes - during a particularly bad financial crisis. The overall party cost $10 million.

Dressing for a Ball

Dressing as you know from the previous post is a large part of etiquette of this era. The right costume for the right event is paramount if one wants to make the right impression. Newspapers often wrote about who wore what so it was important to dress your best.

Men must wear a suit or tailcoat, always black. A ball is white tie so he must dress accordingly. He would arrive with a top hat which he would surrender to a valet. He would keep his gloves on when dancing.

Ladies are encouraged to wear a gown usually of a subtle colour with with a décolleté that leaves the upper arms snf shoulders bare. A woman's gown was important as it not only helped her stand out.

A sensible woman for goes her heels and wears pumps to dance as she will be on her feet all night.

Tiaras are beautiful but when dancing all night, it's perhaps best to pick the lightest or go for a simpler headpiece such as a feather or a broach. Wearing a heavy tiara all night while dancing will give you a migraine (it's painful).

Also it's better not to over accessorize. You don't want to be mid spin and all your pearls go scattering across the floor or catch a bracelet in your partners' jacket. Minimalism is best.

A woman may even chose to decorate her gown with fresh flowers.

How to Behave at a ball

Gloves are to be worn at all times when dancing. You only remove your handling food or playing cards. White gloves are preferred but light shades can be forgiven. Gloves for women are worn to the elbow, men's to the wrist.

No lady should arrive at a ball without an escort, either an older woman or a family member.

Men who come to the dance and are unwillingly to dance despite being able to should stay away (I'm not kidding, this is in several etiquette books)

Married couples are not expected to dance together but it is not barred.

A man should always be careful of his lady's train and that of any other. Do not stand on them.

Outward PDA is not permitted. A kiss on the hand or kiss on the cheek is permitted, as is a hand tucked into the crook of an arm but one must swing out of people.

Don't hurry onto the dancefloor (even if it is your song)

When a gentleman seats a lady at the table, he must offer her thanks for her favour.

If a lady does refuse to partner a gentleman but then dances that dance with another without prior agreement, the gentleman is expected to restrain himself from confronting her. He is permitted to never offer her a dance again if this happens.

No lady should ever be unaccompanied at any time. They should have a companion or an escort to make sure they are kept in the loop at all times.

If dancing a set, your choices must be made swiftly and wisely.

A gentleman is without saying barred from going into the women's coat room. That's a no no, stay out of there.

If a gentleman wishes to partner a woman he doesn't know, he must have a mutual friend to introduce themselves and if they don't have one, the host would be on hand to introduce them.

When attending a ball, it's better to avoid heavy topics of conversation. It's better to stick to neutral smalltalk. No party is enjoyable with people standing on soap boxes.

When dancing, good posture is not only favourable but stops the body from any undue movements.

Try not to join in when the dance is midway or almost over. Be prompt.

If your partner is missing, you should not replace them. You should sit the dance out.

The hostess is in charge of ensuring that her female guests are provided with a partner if they wish to dance and gave not been asked.

If a man accompanies a woman to the ball, he's expected to dance with her on her first and last dances of the evening.

If one invites a lady to a ball, a carriage must be provided to ferry her.

Popular dances of the era

Waltz: The Waltz is seen by many as a reserved dance nowadays but in this era it struck many as a questionable dance because of how close the couple must get. It is a simple dance, requiring 6 steps all with a "box step". It's an elegant and popular dance of the time. A gentleman or whoever is leading should place their hand on the waist of their partner and their partner should rest their hand upon their shoulder.

Cakewalk: The Cakewalk had it's beginnings with enslaved peoples on American plantations. It was a satire poking fun of white plantation owners, mimicking the way they behaved at their own balls. It was later adopted into white society who did not get the joke. It was a group dance where multiple couples set themselves in a square (men on the inside), stepping and strutting to the music. In some instances, a cake was awarded to the most impressive couple which gives the dance it's name (also because it was a piece of cake to perform). The Cakewalk is seen by many as the seed of many of the jazz dances that would dominate the 20s.

Polka: A Polish dance. It requires 3 swift steps followed by a hop. The music is at is 2/4. The couples circle about the dance floor.

Krakowiak: A Polish dance for multiple couples. The leading male dancer (from the first pair) leads the steps for all the couples, and on approach to the band must tap his geeks and sing an improvised verse to his partner, the rhythm the band must match. The couples break up to form a circle. The leading couple will remain before the band. The couples would then dance around the room during the rest of the tune.

Mazurka: This is a lively dance, with it's beginnings in Polish folk dance. Couples gather in circles. The dance requires music with a forceful accent on its second beat, in time at 3/4 or 3/8. This dance has no set figure, relying on the skills of the couple yo improvise. However there are over 50 different steps.

Redowa: A Czech dance. The dance begins with a closed position, their clasped hands pointing the direction they will dance. A leader (the first couple) will take a slight leap around his partner with their left foot tmfollowed by a gliding step with their right. This foot must be pointed, the left leg slightly bent and the back straight. The next set turns the leader about toward the front line again, their left leg is now forward and straight, the right now bent. The left leg is now meant to tuck beneath the right leg with is extended backwards. Another leap to the right leg finishes the pattern. The next couple, the follower, begins movement on the early beats where the leader makes moves on the second set of beats

Castlewalk: The leader moves forward while their partner goes backward. The partner is guided around the room, the leader's arm around their right side under whilst their lest hand rests on the leaders opposite shoulder. Their other arms are clasped, held aloft. The leader begins on their left foot, their partner on their right. They will move with gliding steps, stepping on each beat of the music. They will dance in a circle, moving about the room with other couples, their circle gradually growing smaller and smaller on three very quick turns.

Quadrille: The Quadrille is an older dance but still very popular in Gilded Age America. It is made up with a series of 4-6 contredanses (country dances). The Quadrille is a group dance, made up of sets. The standard Quadrille is five parts, the Viennese contains six. Each section is danced with a combinations of figures. A combination was a set of steps and movements. Examples would be the ladies chain (chaîne des dames) or the two hand turn (tour de deux mains).

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justalittletomato · 11 months

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Dinner Arrangements (Reader x Maul)

just some fluff and taking the suggestion from @gran-maul-seizure

that Maul would get more feral with his eating the more comfortable that he is with a person

Set when Maul rules Mandalore

tag list: @gran-maul-seizure @hannagoldworthy @patchiefrog @storm89 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @apocalypticwafflekitten @pixiestookourstardust @eyecandyeoz @id-rather-be-a-druid @dukeoftheblackstar @stardustbee

He counted the attempts, this would be thier 10th. As the chrono struck for the evening hours, the Archivist arrived from the servant's entrance with a tray.

Upon learning that Maul would pull ration bars out in place of a hot meal, the Archivist stepped in a tray or two ladened with hearty foods.

Mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, stews, filled with meat that had been set to cook for what he assumed was for some time as tender as it was—other times ( most often) meat cuts thick and still red.

“ Your brother mentioned it was better for your health,” a kettle was brought over from the burning hearth of the study. His Archivist measured out water for tea before setting down a plate. “Take what you like”

He had at first scoffed at the action, The Archivist always did such things, carefully watching and making things in a way to accommodate him better.

“Coddling” he had said to Savage, the older Zabrak merely raised a brow, “Brother, you can order them to stop.”

Maul gave him a look, “Then they will fuss” as if that was why he did not consider it. “But they do not need to make such an effort on such matters,” Maul added.

Savage sighed, “Then leave it be”

In the first few attempts Maul just loaded his plate with some of the meat cuts and when the archivist suggested maybe just a bit of roasted carrot, he just left with the plate in hand. The Archivist left with the rest of the full tray and their own plate.

Maul left the emptied plate at the door when he was done.

The day after he took a heapful of the vegetables, again leaving the archivist alone with their own plate.

With the stew? The mouthwatering scent had the Archivist smiling to see the ladlefuls Maul put into the bowl. A frown formed when he left again to eat alone.

The bowl was completely cleaned of any stew when the Archivist collected the dish, returning back and noting that the remainder had also disappeared.

On the 10th day, Maul returned the stew bowl empty and took a loaf of bread from the plentiful tray. The Archivist didn't dare move and watched as Maul took apart the loaf to eat.

The following days were much the same, Maul returning to eat a loaf of bread or filling his cup with more tea.

The absolute silence as the Archivist watched this time around as Maul served himself and sat back at the table. Maul not bothering with the knife and staring at the fork with skepticism. Today was roasted nyduck. Maul began to eat, sharp teeth tearing and pulling apart the food he had picked.

He looked straight at the Archivisit, daring them almost. The Archivist set down the silverware picked up their own piece and ate it without the stifling etiquette drilled in.

Another dinner later and Maul looked up from his plate, today’s meat was rarer than most days. The red dripping down his chin and most certainly staining his teeth. Yet not once did the Archivist shiver or run off or flat out refuse to continue sharing the table with him. If anything the dinners had allowed for maul to devour and freely gorge himself on what was offered.

“The cooks must loathe the change” He finally said.

The Archivist looked confused, “The cooks?” a shake of thier head, “Oh no, I have been the one making your dinners, and I quite enjoy learning what you prefer,” They went back to cutting thier more cooked steak with glee.

Maul wiped at his mouth, the remaining blood staining the sleeve of his tunic, “You? When?”

The Archivist continued to eat, “Before we started working, they were a bit off-put by the blood but I set them straight,”

Not once did they react when he tore and ripped his food, if anything they were pleased to see him eat. Before he could stop himself he felt the corners of his mother raise, a smile if it could be called that. He went back to devouring with gusto. The Archivist was pleased with the sounds of hunger saited.

#star wars #maul #darth maul #maul x reader #darth maul x reader #clouds blurbs

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freewillacquired · 2 months

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PSA: Some important OOC things I need my RP partners to know

{out of mutations} Hello, everyone. I was just made aware by a (now former) friend that I unintentionally hurt them very badly to the point of them ceasing to write with me and to block me. That is absolutely their prerogative, and I don’t blame them at all for doing so, nor do I bear them any ill will for their choice. Everyone needs to cultivate their own safe spaces on this site and to do what is best for their own mental health.

However, the points that they raised in their final message to me were important and very much opened my eyes to how careless I’ve been with how I’ve conducted myself as an rper and a blogger, and as a friend in general. It also made me aware that things that I’ve been trying to handle on my own offline and to not let affect how I run my blogs or manage friendships… are things that I really need to make my friends and rp partners aware of, because they are having clear consequences.

You all deserve to understand how I work as an online person you connect with, so that you can each make individual choices on whether or not you wish to continue writing with me or interacting through messages in the future. I’ll place this below a cut, and if you read all of it, I thank you for your time.

I mean for this simply to be an informative post that will explain a little bit about what I’ve been going through lately and how it is affecting my ability to function online. Life has gotten very crazy for me, I am having memory problems, and I have way too much activity/muses/blogs. All of these things together have created some problems with how I interact with folks on this site, and so I want to explain a little so you all understand. If, after reading this, you decide that I am too high maintenance for you, that I can’t give you the level of writing or messaging interaction that you prefer, or if you have any other issues with what I say, I fully understand and support any decision you make going forward. I hope that by beieng a bit embarrassingly candid that I can prevent what I inadvertently did to my friend from ever happening again, because I feel absolutely horrible about it. Alright, let’s get into this.

I don’t go looking for new people to interact with on any of my blogs anymore. I’ve stopped following new people unless we actually start writing together, I never message new people because of my anxiety, and I don’t want to attract more activity because I’m not managing what I have now well at all. The past few years of my life have been disastrous for many reasons (work, family, health, etc.), and I am looking to downsize muses and blogs, so I don’t reach out to new people anymore. If they reach out to me, I do my best to accommodate them, because I have never been good at saying no or disappointing people as a consequence of my social anxiety. But otherwise, I don’t want to attract more activity when I know I already don’t have enough time and focus to maintain the activity I already have. So if you have followed me because of the rp etiquette of “if I follow I want to interact,” and I don’t follow back, it doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t want to write with you. Sometimes that is true. When I get followed I read the person’s rules. If I can’t find your rules, or if I see a rule that I feel I violate or would easily violate unintentionally, then I don’t look to write with you. However, there are times when someone follows and I think… oh wow, I’d love to write with them. But as I said, I have too many blogs/muses right now, so I feel it’s irresponsible to go looking for new connections when I don’t really properly maintain the ones I have. I don’t want to close my blogs for new interactions, per se, but I don’t go seeking out more activity either.

But the main reason I wanted to write this is to explain some issues I’ve been having with my memory lately. In the past four years, I’ve had Covid twice and I’ve been put on medications for an immunodeficiency illness, and both of those things have very much made my memory and my ability to keep track of things very poor. I am getting people confused on this site that I never did before, I weirdly repeat myself in posts, I am forgetting what I said in one thread vs. another, I’m forgetting to message people back, or I’ll promise to send in asks or whatever and then never do it. I also tend to get very confused between people who write the same characters, since all I have to go on is a url and an icon if I don’t know the person in real life. I’ve gotten rpers mixed up before because it’s all very jumbled in my head. Sometimes that makes people feel like I am being rude, inconsiderate, or that I don’t care about them, but that isn’t true. I genuinely just can’t hold onto thoughts and memories the way I could a few years ago. I’ve even had to leave my career field, for safety reasons because making stupid mistakes or forgetting to do things since my memory has been affected by Covid and my medications.

The issue of my memory is something that I’ve been in denial about because it’s a scary and upsetting thing, and I guess I’ve been trying to chalk it up to stress or whatever, but clearly that’s not the case, and I need to accept that I have a real problem. In recent months, I have not only gotten people mixed up, but I have done things like list the top 5 people of something and leave someone out, or say someone was the best or only person I wrote with when others write the same character, or replied to one person’s thread thinking I was writing to different person. Sometimes they are close friends of mine, or I’ve been writing with them longer than the ones I listed. Why would I not remember them? How could I screw things like this up? I don’t know. It’s disturbing to not be able to trust your memory, it honestly is.

When I don’t know people in person and all I see is a url and an icon, I sometimes get very confused. This has always been true for me, since way back with AIM in the 90s, but in recent years it’s been compounded by my memory issues. Thread plots and things get all jumbled in my head. I just wrote a thread the other day where I replied to someone and I thought I was replying to another person’s same version of that character. It was mortifying and I felt really bad. If this happens to you, or if I get your version confused in an OOC post, or if I compliment someone else’s version but not yours, it doesn’t mean your version is crap or doesn’t mean anything to me, it’s just that I’m having some focus and memory issues that are causing me to forget versions sometimes or to blend them together in my head. I will take greater care not to make such mistakes in the future, but when dealing with something like a buggy memory, it’s really hard.

People frequently change urls too, which is another thing that often throws me off, because then in my mind, it’s a totally different, new person until I have enough repetition to associate the new url with the person behind the old one. The number of blunders I’ve made recently with saying to people, “I’m sorry, who is this again?” has been staggering and very embarrassing for me. Like just having to ask that question is incredibly mortifying, but I need to do it more instead of trying to reply on my memory and then making very hurtful mistakes.

I have not been keeping up with things on this site as well as I should have in recent years, and that is a failing of mine. Personal relationships have suffered. Connections I’ve made here have fallen apart. I feel like it’s very much getting away from me in an overwhelming manner and I’m not sure how to fix it, other than downsizing blogs and muses, which I’m trying to do now. But that won’t fix my memory, so I’ll likely keep making mistakes even if I downsize. I ask that you please be patient with me, and if you think I’ve made a mistake or haven’t remembered something, please let me know. If doing that is too much trouble for you or you feel like you shouldn’t have to, I totally understand, and if you would feel more comfortable not interacting with me anymore, I respect your decision.

A word about how bad I am with messages… I have very bad social anxiety and messaging people sometimes causes me to have panic attacks or to feel very jittery or overwhelmed. For like, no reason. Even with good, close friends. It’s like…. brain, why. Because of this, I will usually not answer messages until and unless I am in a good headspace to do so. Or it could just be that I don’t have the time if it’s something I’m writing a really long reply to that I want to put adequate thought into. Whatever the reason, I frequently won’t answer right away because I need time to think of a response, or something else is making me anxious so I don’t feel up to replying. I fully intend to reply later, but then the poor memory kicks in, and I forget. Before I know it, I’ve sometimes got people angry that I have been ghosting them for months when I completely forgot I even got a message in the first place. I am kindly asking you to not take this personally. I’ve been doing a lot of this lately. Sometimes, to compound issues, this site doesn’t even tell me that I have messages in the first place, which for someone whose memory is screwed up, is seriously frustrating. I never ignore people unless I think they’re a bot, heh. So please, if you messaged me and I seem to just have completely ignored you, it's okay to message again and ask if I saw it. In fact, I encourage you to do that, because between Dumblr and my own memory, I have really been forgetting to message people back a lot lately, and it’s something I do feel badly about.

One thing I want to make very clear, is that I NEVER fault anyone for taking a hiatus, whether it’s three weeks or three years. Real life comes first, this is a hobby not a job, it should be fun, and if it ceases to be fun or feasible to keep up with then everyone needs to do what’s best for them, and I am perfectly fine with that. Hell, I’ve been taking more hiatuses in the past year than I’ve actually been around to write, because of various work, health, and family issues/obligations. I’m on a partial hiatus right now and likely through next week for jury duty, in fact. I never fault anyone for needing to step away. I’ve had people come back after like five years and still want to write and that’s fine. So if you’ve come out of hiatus and I’m “ignoring” you, it might be that I didn’t see your message, that I don’t remember who you were because of a url change or if it’s been many months or years, or that I don’t even know you’re back. Jog my memory as to what we were writing about, some of our plots and things, and I’m sure that I will remember. Unfortunately, my memory is just not great anymore, it’s a reality that I’ve struggled to come to terms with in recent years.

Also, and this is going to sound very rude I know, but it’s again… just my new normal and reality with regard to my memory. I really don’t have the time or focus to keep track of when everyone leaves or comes back from hiatus or for how long. Maybe this is bad rp etiquette on my part, but I don’t frequently read other people’s blogs or even scroll my dash that much anymore. I just don’t have the time. If I think of it for certain people that I haven’t heard from in a while or that I want to check in on, I may pop onto your blog, but most of the time I do tend to miss a lot of everyone’s OOC posts. I come on to write and then I go back to work (my current job is entirely online), or I go about my family obligations (I take care of my grandmother around the clock). Gone are the days when I used to keep in better touch with people or read all their OOC posts. It’s a combination of not having enough free time to do so and that I’ve really gotten crazy with the number of blogs and muses I have, and so I write with a multitude of people that I just can’t all keep track of. This is a problem of mine, I know, and I am in the process of whittling down my schedule and number of muses to help correct it as much as possible. But just because I didn’t know it was your birthday, or I didn’t like your hiatus post, or I didn’t respond to that post you wrote that said you were really sad and needed someone to talk to… doesn’t mean I don’t care. I do care a lot about people. I tend to soak up people’s problems and sadnesses like a sponge, unfortunately. I just don’t have the time to keep up with all the people I write with all the time. If there is something you really want/need me to know, message me. I know I said I often postpone replying for when I feel more up to doing so, but if it’s something very urgent or important, I will respond ASAP.

One last thing I was to address… please don’t let something that is upsetting you fester to the point where you’re seriously hurt by it. I never intentionally mean to hurt anyone. If anything, I am the most nonconfrontational, people-pleasing person you’ll meet. So if it appears that I’ve done or said or not done something that was really rude, or upset you, or that you feel was very wrong of me to do to you, I promise you it was not done with intention to hurt you. Please come talk to me about it. Don’t let it just sit for a long time and make you angry because I’m likely not even aware that you’re upset. I would like the opportunity to look at what happened and to address it, so that you can feel better and I can be made aware of what I did so as to try to avoid doing so in the future. The last thing I ever want to do to someone is make something into a painful thing they’ll carry with them for a long time. Believe me, I’m the kind of person who still remembers things from early childhood that hurt me and have stayed with me forever. Things have happened on this site, some my fault and some not my fault, that have haunted me for years because I end up feeling so terrible about it. I know that’s probably a product of my chronic anxiety, but even so, it doesn’t feel good at all and I would never want to do that to another person. So please bring something to my attention as soon as it happens so that it can be addressed, fixed, or at the very least explained.

Alright, I think that’s everything I wanted to address. I've tried to be as open and honest and I could possibly be. If this post changes your mind about wanting to interact with me, I understand. You all have to do what is best for you. I just wanted to be transparent with people because hurting someone badly really made me realize that this isn’t something that I can just dance over and hope it’ll all be okay. I’m now aware that it’s affecting real things and real people in negative ways, and so I wanted to make everyone aware.

Sorry for all the word vomit, but I thought this was very important to do. Again, if you’ve read to this point, thank you for taking that time to do so. I will continue to try to do as much as I can to conduct myself in a respectful manner with all of you, and I look forward to writing with those who still want to.

#{ out of mutations } ᵒᵒᶜ

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