#what is test coverage

[likesplatterpaint]

I’ve taken more days off than usual this year between getting covid and honestly just. Stress. Not usually sick but. I think I need it.

Yeah.

Still feel guilty af.

Never regretted taking one though. Someone else can be compelled to proctor the SAT on their planning. Im feeling super fucking under-appreciated lately.

[coldhands-sunkeneyes]

I am being so real when I say this but the ziwe george santos interview is my frost nixon

[vanilla-voyeur]

I knew moving from a FAANG to a midsized company outside of the software field would be an adjustment. But I was not prepared for the sheer number of things that are just baffling design decisions.

The stuff that everyone recognizes needs to be fixed but haven't had the time to knock out is understandable. It's the stuff that people are like "and what about it?" for the absolute wildest design choices that perplex me the most.

[tkbrokkoli]

😬

[sidras-tak]

Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.

My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.

We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.

We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.

He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.

We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.

[reasonsforhope]

Article | Paywall Free

"The Food and Drug Administration approved new mRNA coronavirus vaccines Thursday [August 22, 2024], clearing the way for shots manufactured by Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna to start hitting pharmacy shelves and doctor’s offices within a week.

Health officials encourage annual vaccination against the coronavirus, similar to yearly flu shots. Everyone 6 months and older should receive a new vaccine, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends.

The FDA has yet to approve an updated vaccine from Novavax, which uses a more conventional vaccine development method but has faced financial challenges.

Our scientific understanding of coronavirus vaccines has evolved since they debuted in late 2020. Here’s what to know about the new vaccines.

Why are there new vaccines?

The coronavirus keeps evolving to overcome our immune defenses, and the shield offered by vaccines weakens over time. That’s why federal health officials want people to get an annual updated coronavirus vaccine designed to target the latest variants. They approve them for release in late summer or early fall to coincide with flu shots that Americans are already used to getting.

The underlying vaccine technology and manufacturing process are the same, but components change to account for how the virus morphs. The new vaccines target the KP.2 variant because most recent covid cases are caused by that strain or closely related ones...

Do the vaccines prevent infection?

You probably know by now that vaccinated people can still get covid. But the shots do offer some protection against infection, just not the kind of protection you get from highly effective vaccines for other diseases such as measles.

The 2023-2024 vaccine provided 54 percent increased protection against symptomatic covid infections, according to a CDC study of people who tested for the coronavirus at pharmacies during the first four months after that year’s shot was released...

A nasal vaccine could be better at stopping infections outright by increasing immunity where they take hold, and one is being studied in a trial sponsored by the National Institutes of Health.

If you really want to dodge covid, don’t rely on the vaccine alone and take other precautions such as masking or avoiding crowds...

Do the vaccines help prevent transmission?

You may remember from early coverage of coronavirus vaccines that it was unclear whether shots would reduce transmission. Now, scientists say the answer is yes — even if you’re actively shedding virus.

That’s because the vaccine creates antibodies that reduce the amount of virus entering your cells, limiting how much the virus can replicate and make you even sicker. When vaccination prevents symptoms such as coughing and sneezing, people expel fewer respiratory droplets carrying the virus. When it reduces the viral load in an infected person, people become less contagious.

That’s why Peter Hotez, a physician and co-director of the Texas Children’s Hospital Center for Vaccine Development, said he feels more comfortable in a crowded medical conference, where attendees are probably up to date on their vaccines, than in a crowded airport.

“By having so many vaccinated people, it’s decreasing the number of days you are shedding virus if you get a breakthrough infection, and it decreases the amount of virus you are shedding,” Hotez said.

Do vaccines prevent long covid?

While the threat of acute serious respiratory covid disease has faded, developing the lingering symptoms of “long covid” remains a concern for people who have had even mild cases. The CDC says vaccination is the “best available tool” to reduce the risk of long covid in children and adults. The exact mechanism is unclear, but experts theorize that vaccines help by reducing the severity of illness, which is a major risk factor for long covid.

When is the best time to get a new coronavirus vaccine?

It depends on your circumstances, including risk factors for severe disease, when you were last infected or vaccinated, and plans for the months ahead. It’s best to talk these issues through with a doctor.

If you are at high risk and have not recently been vaccinated or infected, you may want to get a shot as soon as possible while cases remain high. The summer wave has shown signs of peaking, but cases can still be elevated and take weeks to return to low levels. It’s hard to predict when a winter wave will begin....

Where do I find vaccines?

CVS said its expects to start administering them within days, and Walgreens said that it would start scheduling appointments to receive shots after Sept. 6 and that customers can walk in before then.

Availability at doctor’s offices might take longer. Finding shots for infants and toddlers could be more difficult because many pharmacies do not administer them and not every pediatrician’s office will stock them given low demand and limited storage space.

This year’s updated coronavirus vaccines are supposed to have a longer shelf life, which eases the financial pressures of stocking them.

The CDC plans to relaunch its vaccine locator when the new vaccines are widely available, and similar services are offered by Moderna and Pfizer."

-via The Washington Post, August 22, 2024

[brucedefender4eva]

Bruce is very good at taking care of his own problems. He’s always been very good at it. Adults praise him for it all the time.

But then his parents died, and Bruce feels like he can’t do anything right. He knows he can’t. After all, if he was as good as adults said he was, then he could’ve saved his parents.

He should’ve been able to save his parents.

There is a darkness growing within him. Bruce doesn’t know what to do.

——

Alfred is grieving. Alfred is grieving, and he is also very angry.

He was just a butler; why is he now taking care of his deceased employer’s child? It’s not like the Waynes don’t have any other alive family branches, like the Kanes. But no, Thomas and Martha’s will clearly stated that if anything happened to them, Bruce would stay with Alfred in the Wayne Manor.

Now he’s forced to take care of a child he never wanted. How is that fair?

——

Alfred is angry all the time now but not in the way he used to be. Bruce knows it’s because of him. Every time the older man looks at him, he gets this strange look in his eyes.

Bruce can feel that it’s a bad look.

Maybe it’s because he’s even more useless now? It’s hard to get out of bed, but it’s even harder to fall asleep.

Loud noises make him jump, and the only thing he can think about is Mommy and Daddy hitting the floor, over and over and over and over and—

Alfred accidentally dropped something in the kitchen. Bruce doesn’t really remember what happened; it gets blurry and makes his head hurt to think about it, but the next thing he knows he hears screaming.

Bruce is pretty sure it’s coming from him. It sounds like Mommy’s.

——

The kid has a hair trigger. Alfred feels like walking on eggshells. Every small thing sends him into a raging meltdown.

Several times he has to stop himself from packing a bag and escaping in the middle of the night, fleeing back to England just so things could be normal.

Bruce doesn’t even talk anymore. Before the Waynes died, little Bruce talked almost nonstop in the manor.

Now an eerie quiet fills the space unless the small boy decides to have nightmares or another breakdown.

His silence is unnerving and creepy.

——

Bruce misses hugs.

Alfred doesn’t like being touched, not one bit. Mommy and Daddy loved hugging him and kissing him and just picking him up for funsies. But now no one will touch him.

Maybe it’s because they know he killed his parents. Maybe they think that if they touch Bruce, they’ll die too?

Bruce wouldn’t be too surprised…

It’s been months. Bruce doesn’t know why he isn’t better yet, why he keeps making problems for Alfred, why he’s so different now…

——

Alfred had calmed down a lot. He partially understands why the Waynes have left Bruce in his care; that doesn’t make it any easier.

Bruce has always been a particular child. Alfred would get him tested, but high society talks, and he doesn’t want to subject the young boy to even more press coverage.

Besides, what can a shrink do for the young master? Nothing hard work can’t teach him. Alfred worked through all his problems like that, and he turned out perfectly fine.

——

Bruce doesn’t want to start going to galas again…

Mr. Mauter always gives him strange looks, and now that Daddy isn’t here to give an excuse to pull him away, he’s even more afraid.

But Bruce is supposed to be fixing his own problems now. Alfred already does too much for him; he can see how exhausted he’s making him.

He’s the man of the house now. He has to be strong.

——

Master Bruce is talking again, even if it looks like it visibly pains him. Alfred is taking it slowly. Each day he finds he has more and more patience.

He allows the small child to follow him around as he completes his daily chores; he’s yet to acknowledge it yet. The first time he said something, Bruce scampered away quickly, and it took a week for him to start doing it again.

He’s taking it slow. He doesn’t want Bruce to be afraid to ask him for help anymore.

No hugs yet, but Alfred allows himself to pat Master Bruce on the shoulder.

——

Bruce can make cookies now! Alfred taught him the most perfect way ever!

They were Daddy’s most favorite cookies. Bruce feels a painful pang in his chest as he thinks about it, something that has happened very often in the past year.

Instead of crying, because Bruce is a big boy now, he walks up the hill at the back of the manor where Mommy and Daddy now rest peacefully.

Bruce lays down two of his best cookies on a nice napkin on Daddy’s grave.

He knows Mommy wouldn’t let Daddy get hungry in heaven, but it’s always a good idea to have a nice snack just in case.

——

Alfred distances himself.

He’s getting too attached. He’s now constantly reminding himself, Master Bruce, that he is nothing more than a butler.

——

Bruce had a fever.

He was delirious, and he accidentally called Alfred Dad.

Alfred no longer looks him in the eyes.

The darkness creeps in; it is all-consuming.

——

Alfred feels bad.

He catches Master Bruce practicing his smiles in the mirror, doing his best to look normal.

It’s fine. He needs to work him harder, make him understand that he can’t show weakness. Bruce will thank him when he’s older, when he is stronger, when he is better.

Alfred turns around and pretends not to see. The next time Bruce gives him that smile, he looks like Martha and tells him that he’s fine; Alfred does not argue.

——

Bruce can see that Alfred has stopped trying with him. It hurts, but he also wonders why it didn’t happen sooner.

He drops out of school.

He can’t be a doctor, not like his father was. He’s not worthy.

Gotham is his home. It’s always been his home. But right now? It feels more suffocating than ever.

——

Alfred finds them tucked away neatly in Bruce’s desk, right next to a half empty box of razors.

He reads each and every letter, his heart growing heavier when he realizes how many years ago it started.

Each letter starts the same, always addressing Alfred and saying it’s not his fault.

He holds two identical letters in his hands.

One, only a week after the incident. The second one, dated yesterday.

Alfred puts them back and never speaks about it. He can feel the guilt crawling up his throat and trying to choke him.

He knows Bruce knows.

They never speak about it.

——

Bruce knows he is evil. There is only darkness within him. He is destined to hurt and destroy the people around him.

He has to figure out a way to contain it, to keep it deep inside before he ruins everything.

Bruce only leaves a note when he goes. It is barely two sentences. Where is he going? He doesn’t know.

The entire world is open to him.

[fellthemarvelous]

Deny. Defend. Depose.

It is clear to those of us that live in America, the only people we truly have on our side are ourselves. The ruling class has made it clear we don't matter to them.

Luigi Mangione was arrested and happened to have every single piece of evidence on him that law enforcement was looking for, including the parts for the ghost gun, inside his backpack (that he also got rid of in Central Park containing the Monopoly money???). Either he was trying to get caught or that evidence was planted. And when he was being forcefully pushed into the jail, he hollered back to the press about "injustice" and "being an insult to the intelligence of American citizens and our lived experiences."

The people have now turned against corporate America and the CEOs and billionaires are fucking terrified. Nothing the news stations are saying to us are changing our minds. The American people have finally united over this issue and there is no going back for us. Whoever did kill Brian Thompson (and theories abound on the game The Adjuster is playing because no one plays Monopoly alone) exposed the very real divide that exists between every day citizens and the extremely wealthy. Things were easier for them to control when they were able to divide us, but now that we are aware of how uncertain our future is in America and seeing just how little we matter to the people who take our money, we have realized that we have more in common with each other than the people who control every aspect of our lives. We are waking up.

There isn't one person in this country who hasn't been a victim to the predatory scam that is private health insurance. Medical debt is the leading cause of bankruptcy in America, and many of us are one ambulance ride or hospital stay away from homelessness. We all know people who have died because the insurance company denied them the treatment they needed or waited until it was too late for an approval of a medical claim to matter anymore.

Recently, I decided to be tested for autism and ADHD. Not life-threatening or anything, but my life is still in shambles and I want to know if I'm going untreated for something else. Before being tested though, I was informed that the insurance company (Aetna) has said that they were going to cover the full cost of the testing I was having (which was six hours of testing by the way). She even made sure several times that they were, in fact, going to cover it in full and they said yes.

The same day that Brian Thompson, CEO of another horrible healthcare company, was murdered in broad daylight, I received a call from that doctor's office with the woman telling me that Aetna was now telling her they never agreed to cover my testing and that they are going to bill me for $1600 (where the hell am I supposed to get that?) and she is fighting them, but considering our lives don't matter to the people who tell us what healthcare we are and are not allowed to receive, I don't think they will feel compelled to change their minds because they are bloodsucking parasites who only care about lining their pockets while I don't even have $6 lying around, let alone $1600!!

Corporate America leeches off our taxes. They take and take and take and we see nothing in return. They raise prices on insurance coverage and then deny us the very coverage that we pay for. They poison our food, price gouge our poisoned food, and then force us to pay for the treatment we get when the food makes us sick. Corporate America profits off of our hard work, our taxes, our health, our lives, our deaths.

I don't know if this will reach a larger audience or not, but I wanted to talk about it on Tumblr because this platform seems to be a crossroads for every type of creative soul. I initially brought up this idea on TikTok earlier, but I want to see if it can get traction in other places as well since I have fewer than 3,000 followers on TikTok (and I have seen a small few express interest in my idea in the hours since I posted the video.)

We're busy being lectured by politicians and the news media because while they are clutching their pearls at what happened to Brian Thompson, the rest of us do not give one single flying fuck about what happened to him. As CEO of a for-profit health insurance company, he signed off on denied claims and death for those of us who struggle to make it from one day to the next. The sicker you are, the poorer you are, the more they force you to struggle and pay. The love to deny coverage because regardless of whether we live or die, they already have the money we are forced to pay them.

I don't condone murder at all, but I also don't care that he was murdered because he was guilty of murdering so many more people in this country through legal means because it's profitable. The CEOs are scared and there are wanted posters with their names and faces popping up in places. Every CEO of every healthcare company is guilty of murdering Americans and they continue to go unpunished for it because "it's just business".

So (if you've read this far) all of this previous rambling is to say that I keep thinking about how I want to make an impression. I want to continue upsetting the billionaires and the CEOs because corporate America is full of murderers who are legally allowed to decide whether we live or die based on which outcome will give them more money.

I have thought about the idea of creating a wall/constructing a wall somewhere as an art piece or something (making a statement) that will somehow honor the memory of people who died because insurance denied them care.

I know I definitely want it to say something along the lines of "In memory of those murdered by for-profit healthcare systems in corporate America". Something blatant. Loud. Something they are forced to look at every single day. Somehow. The wall could have images of those who are gone, or names of the person who died with the name of the insurance company responsible for their death underneath. Just something to make it clear that we see them for what they are. Something to avenge those who were sacrificed so billionaires and CEOS and shareholders could brag about record profits. Something that shows the whole world that American citizens are waking up to who the real monsters are.

The Adjuster (whoever he is or is not) has fanned the flames of revolution in America. He managed to unite us in a way I can't even recall before. It's not over. We know what happened to Brian Thompson was just the beginning, and corporate America only just now realized how much we actually hate them. A single shooter has sparked an awakening in America that is starting to snowball into something much bigger.

So if there is anyone out there who might be interested in collaborating on something like this, please let me know. I know we are all tired and demoralized and we have no money. I want to make a statement though, and I love doing that through art or writing. Collaborating with other people who have been through this same shit will also probably help us unite even more.

This is a watershed moment in American history.

In the words of Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight,

"There is a future for us. One where we're all free. But it's up to us to make it happen."

[ms-demeanor]

I've been following what's been going on with Belphie the kitten and his person, Greer Stothers, has just mentioned pet insurance in a tag on a post and I wanted to give an example from my life backing up why pet insurance can be a good idea and why I think it is worthwhile.

Two years ago my sister's dog had bloat while she was on vacation. The kennel he was staying at recognized symptoms and called my sister to clear them to take him to the emergency vet. My sister is very financially secure and this dog is an enormous part of her life, so she said yes with barely a moment of hesitation. That ended up being about twelve thousand dollars of emergency surgery.

Large Bastard and I got pet insurance for Tiny Bastard the same week because we realized that if someone had presented that option to us, we would have had no choice but to have Tiny Bastard put down, and we didn't want to be put in that position.

I did a lot of research about different kinds of pet insurance and different levels of coverage and annual maximums and deductibles and so on and so forth. Tiny Bastard is a senior dog, so this was going to be expensive no matter what options we went with, so I chose a moderately priced plan with a $500 annual deductible, unlimited annual coverage, that pays 80% of the bills incurred annually below the maximum. What that means is that we pay the first $500 of care totally out of pocket, after which point we are reimbursed 80% of any vet bills for care covered by the plan.

The first year we had this plan I was kind of iffy about it. It's a noticeable monthly expense and we didn't even spend the deductible in vet bills the first year. Except that a month before the policy was set to renew, Tiny Bastard got diagnosed with diabetes. We now have monthly insulin costs and syringe costs; there are tests she has to have regularly to monitor her overall condition and we need to do more frequent vet visits to track symptoms.

Suddenly the insulin alone means that the insurance is break-even within six months and the additional visits and tests are something we can afford instead of something we'd have to put on credit.

Our plan (through ManyPets) covers medication, surgery, diagnostics, medical equipment, and euthanasia and cremation. It doesn't cover pre-existing conditions, joint conditions for dogs who were signed up over a certain age, dental care, spay/neuter, vaccinations, or prescription food but honestly all of that makes me just kind of wish we'd signed her up earlier - her knee problems *would* be covered if we'd had her signed up as a puppy, and the monthly cost would have been lower if we'd signed her up then. And there are at least a few emergency vet bills that I wouldn't still be paying off on my credit card. Hell, I've probably paid more in interest on some bruising she got in a fight three years ago than I have for this policy as a whole.

I am glad that Greer is able to take care of Belphie. I am glad that my sister was able to take care of her dog. But I'm also really, really glad that for a relatively low cost, I would be able to take care of Tiny Bastard if she were catastrophically injured, or if she needed emergency surgery. I'm glad that I'm able to take care of her now with her medications and her additional vet visits.

There are a lot of people who say that pet insurance isn't worth it, especially not for young animals. But if your young animal gets very sick, or gets badly injured, or eats a hairband and needs an emergency endoscopy, then it will probably be VERY worth it. It's a risk/reward question. You feel like you're wasting money if you're paying for a policy that you never use, but honestly that just means you're lucky to have a healthy pet.

I'm lucky that Tiny Bastard was relatively healthy before I got the insurance; I'm also lucky that she was insured when she was diagnosed with a chronic illness that will need lifelong care. This enables me to provide care for her that would otherwise be financially unmanageable, and that makes the insurance *extremely worth it* from my perspective.

And Belphie is a good example of why it's a good idea to get coverage even for very young pets. Greer is recommending it because this kitten has required a tremendous amount of care during a period in his life when it's generally taken for granted that a cat will be healthy. (And Greer is not stupid for forgoing pet insurance - pet insurance is still a relatively new concept and there are lots of people who are leery of it for a number of good reasons)

So I'd say that if you've got a pet or are getting a pet it is very worthwhile to find a pet insurance plan that fits in your budget. There are a variety of plans out there and some are very inexpensive. Check coverage levels (you can even get some with wellness plans that include dental care and vaccinations) and see if there's something that works for you.

I personally don't think I'm ever going to own another pet without having pet insurance. It's ridiculous how much easier it is for me to say yes to diagnostic tests or different treatments than it was before because I know I'm going to be able to fit Tiny Bastard's care into our budget.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: Oh, Mr. Barnes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s not exactly the promised casserole, but it’s what you can manage. You’re a simple woman. You wish more people appreciated that.  

The shepherd’s pie is much better in your opinion. A hardy full meal. A couple of dinners in a single pan at least. Even if he asks you to join him for dinner. 

Most of your night was spent on the feat. After your shifts, you don’t often have much energy, but you’re committed. You’re finally going to prove Angelique wrong. You’re going to rub it in her face, too. 

You change out of your gravy spattered sweats and change into something cuter. Sexier.

The halter dress doesn’t offer much in the way of coverage or support. Your chest tests the strength of the bodice, your cleavage squished together in the deep vee, and the skirt ends just low enough to hide your panties. 

You cover the pie and slide into a pair of wedged sandals. You use your elbow to open the screen door and push out with your hip, spinning onto the front porch. It’s quiet outside. The sky slowly dims as the streetlights flick on one by one. 

You clomp down the steps dangerously, balancing yourself with the ceramic dish. You bought it just for this very purpose. You want everything to be perfect. 

You have a fresh coat of nail polish on your fingers and toes alike, sparkly and perfectly sealed. You dab on a little lip gloss before you left your side of the duplex and touched up your mascara. Just enough but not too much effort. 

You stop at the bottom of his steps. You stare up at the door. You glance over at the black motorcycle. You saw him ride up on it earlier. He looked even sexier. He had his long hair pulled back, a few strands blown free by the wind, and he wore a pair of dark black sunglasses. He really has the whole dangerous aesthetic down. 

You climb stair by stair and ease open the outer door. You rap on the thicker wood door and wait. You arrange yourself and the pan. The screen door rests against your elbow. 

When the locks twists, you push your shoulders up and chest out. You smile big. He pulls inward and greets you with a grunt and raised brow. His eyes drift back and forth as if looking for something, or someone. 

“Hi, Bucky, remember I promised you a casserole?” You chime. 

He’s in his usual all black attire. Black jeans, black tank, his left arm swathed in tattoos. His silver-streaked hair hangs around his chin and his beard adds to the sharpness of his jawline. His forehead lines deeper as he looks you over. 

His eyes come back to you and flick down. You hold the dish before your chest so his eyes snag first on your cleavage. You see the way they dart in between the two then back to your face. You extend your arms to offer the pan. He reaches to catch the screen door so it doesn’t hit you, stepping closer as he does. He’s made even bigger as the porch is slightly lower than inside the house. 

“It’s a shepherd’s pie. I know it’s not exactly what I promised--” 

“I told ya not to bother, girl,” he grits. 

You bat your eyes and pout. His voice is silky but gritty. You could drown in it as easily as his eyes. 

“It’s no bother,” you insist. “Really. Secret family recipe. I make my own gravy. Oh and I use sweet potato. You get the sweet and the savoury together.” 

He hums darkly and inhales. You watch his chest rise and fall. His cheeks dimple. He reaches for the dish. 

“Be worse to waste your effort,” he utters dully. 

“It was easy,” you assure him and hand it over. “I just know when you’re settling in, there’s so much to be done. I didn’t eat a real meal for two weeks when I got my place.” 

He holds the pan in his hand and looks at your again. His eyes seem to strain as he meets yours. As if fighting not to look somewhere else. 

“Thanks,” he growls. Oof, he’s like those romanticized bad boys in a novella. 

“No problem!” You wiggle. “I really hope you enjoy it.” 

He nods and stands there awkwardly. He sighs again and taps his fingers on the screen door. He clucks before he speaks again. 

“Guess I shouldn’t... just send you off. You went to all this trouble,” he begins. Your heart picks up. Yessssss. “You eat?” 

Your smile can’t get any bigger, “oh not yet, I was cooking but I got a Michelena’s in my freezer--” 

“Wouldn’t be right if you didn’t try some,” he insists, though hesitation plucks in his timbre. 

“Oh, you are too nice, Bucky. I’ll have a little, but I made it for you.” 

“Mm,” he goes to back up and you shuffle forward. He stops again. 

“Wait out here,” he commands. 

Yes, daddy, you nearly blurt out, even if you are disappointed not to be let in. 

“I’ll bring it out to you. Place is... unpacked.” 

“Right, okay, I’ll be here. Waiting,” you twirl away and flutter over to the small table against the siding. You watched him set it up the other day. With two matching chairs. It’s that discount set you saw outside the hardware store. 

You sit and put your elbows on the table. Then you make yourself sit up. You look down and fix your tits in the dress. The dress keeps riding up as your chest is heavy enough to bunch up the fabric under it. The cut of the bodice ends a bit short of your actual proportions. 

Angelique, you bitch. She has those perfect, high c-cups. She can wear anything without a bra and no one really knows, unless it’s cold. But you, it’s oh so obvious, not that you mind at the moment. Still, it kills the back. 

You cross one leg over the other as the screen door whines on its hinges. Bucky comes around and places two plates on the small table. He shuffles the cutlery in his hands and offers you a fork and knife. He approaches the other chair, a short pause before he sits. 

He’s quiet. That’s okay. Your job is mostly talking. You can be a real yapper when you want to be. You thank him as you hover the fork and knife on either side of the plate. 

“Nice night,” you say. 

He slices through the layers of beef and potato, scooping up the veg with it. He shrugs. 

“The oven heated up my place so much though, I’ll have to keep the windows open,” you press the tines into the top layer of potato. “I wish I had AC, it gets so hot.” 

He looks at you to show he’s listening but still has no response as he chews. You don’t mind a bit of silence. It’s kind of like a sexy mystery. You just have to solve his riddle. 

“Oh, I had a question. About your bike.” You brighten up, jolting so your chest bounces with you. His eyes sink for a split second. 

“Are you going to try it?” He gestures with his fork. 

“Oh, uh, of course.” You stop and scoop up some pie. You smile then lean in to slide it into your mouth. You drag your lips down the fork as you stare at him. Your chest is as good as one the table. “Mmmm.” 

You quickly swallow and run your tongue over your teeth, “about your bike.” 

“The motorcycle?” He rasps. 

“Sure, um, well, you know, I’ve been saving up for a car but I was thinking a bike might be cooler. Faster. I looked up some lessons but thought you might know some stuff too.” You twirl your fork in your fingers. 

“Dangerous,” he says. “And you can’t drive around in dresses.” 

You look down and lean back. You giggle, “do you like it? It’s new. I got it on sale.” 

He sounds like he’s choking as he swallows. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “pretty colour.” 

“You think? I don’t know. I was looking at the purple one too.” 

“Wouldn’t know the difference,” he mutters. 

“Well...” you grin at him and lean forward. “I like your necklace.” 

He brings his hand up to his neck, “dog tags.” 

“Oh, you’re a soldier? Or, were? A veteran?” 

“Was,” he answers curtly and takes another bite. You have more as well, feeling a bit awkward. 

“So how about it? I could pay for lessons, I don’t mind. Or... maybe other things. Make ya more dinners?” 

“Dunno. Got work,” he says. 

“Right, me too. What do you do?” You ask. 

His cheek ticks, “nothing exciting.” 

“Ah, me neither. I work at this call center in the bank. Sit in the basement and try to sell credit cards. Pays pretty good though and you get commission if you sell a diamond.” You explain, “boring, I know.” 

“Gotta start somewhere,” he remarks. 

“Yeah, I guess,” you agree. “So, are you from around here?” 

“I’m here now. Doesn’t matter,” he answers. He’s stubborn, you’ll give him that. 

You watch his hands. His knuckles are tattooed with little wolf heads. His fingers are deft and thick. You think about them doing other things.

“I grew up here. Not in this house but in this town. I guess it’s alright.” You preen and fix your dress. He’s looking again. “But I only really got friends from around here too. I love learning about new people. New places.” 

His plate is clear already. You don’t realise until that moment how quick he was eating. Almost mechanically. 

“You gonna finish that?” He asks. “You girls peck like birds.” 

You giggle again, “that’s funny. My mom always said I chatter like one. Called me Chickadee when she got annoyed, which was like always.” 

“Mm,” he drones.��

“I’ll finish,” you push your fork into the pie, “like a good girl.” 

His eyes flash. You got him. He shifts and puts down his cutlery. He sits back and crosses his arms. His knees are set wide as he heaves another deep breath. 

You suck another bite off the fork. You lick your lips. You set down your knife on the rim of the plate and touch your chest, just below your throat. 

“I’m so sorry, could I get something to drink? Please?” 

He twitches, “shoulda offered before.” 

He gets up. You smile, “thanks, Bucky.” 

He gets up and takes his empty plate. He walks past you with a gristly breath. You catch how he tugs at the loop of his belt, adjusting his pants just slightly. You’re not trying to be too into yourself but you think you know why. 

You continue to eat. The pie turned out pretty good. And you are starving. He returns with a tall glass of water for you, a beer for himself. He doesn’t sit. 

“Thank you so much,” you smile and reach for the glass. You rinse out your mouth and watch him as he puts his back to you and looks out at the lawn. “Did you like it?” 

“Hm?” He turns his head so you can see his profile in the streetlight’s glow. 

“The pie?” 

“Oh, yeah, good cooking. Been a while.” 

You smile. You’re proud of that. You’re no Gordon Ramsay, you can cook simple things, but they do the trick. 

You finish as he watches the neighbourhood. A few passerbys have his posture changing. You set the cutlery neatly on the plate and stand. You come up next to him and put your hands on the rail. You sense him flinch. 

“I hate this humidity, makes me so sticky,” you fan yourself. He must be dying in those jeans. 

He grunts but offers no other reply. 

“I like your tattoos. I was thinking of getting one,” you turn to look at him, keeping one hand on the rail, as the other frames your hip. “Maybe like a little heart?” 

“Mm, if you want to. Just ink.” 

“Sure. Do you have any recommendations for an artist? I don’t even know where to start.” You giggle again. 

“Didn’t get any here. Make sure you don’t cheap out,” he shrugs and tucks his thumbs into his jeans pockets. He won’t look at you. 

You search for something else. Anything. 

“Dinner was good. Thanks. I don’t wanna keep you,” he gets there first. Fuck. 

“Oh, I don’t mind.” 

“Got an early morning,” he sniffs. 

“Alright, uh, sure. I’ll see ya around?” He nods. You try not to show your disappointment. You tremble then squeeze his arm, “I like talking to you, neighbour.” 

You drag your touch down his forearm then turn away. You sway your hips as you head for the stairs. You get to the top and look over at him, “good night, Bucky.” 

“Night,” he growls. 

You take the first step down but on the second, your wedge sandal slips off and bounces down the steps. You trip and find yourself stumbling forward. It all happens so fast, you yelp as you find yourself just a few inches off the ground, staring down at your fate but not meeting it. 

Bucky has you by your arms. He holds you almost horizontal as your feet remain on the third step. He pulls you up to your feet and you lean back against him with a gasp. You feel him tense. 

“Oh my, I’m so clumsy,” you fan yourself. “Bucky, you saved me.” 

His fingers curl into your bare arms before he lets go. He steps around you and stomps down to grab your shoe. You tug at the top of your dress as he looks up, your left boob is almost out. Your cup it and guide it beneath the fabric. 

His throat bobs as he stares up at you. He puts the shoe flat at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn’t say a word as he offers his hand. You take it and hobble down in your single wedge. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you step into your shoe at the bottom and cling to him, “you’re such a gentleman.” 

He shudders and gently wiggles his hand free, “get outta here, girl.” 

He backs away and turns to take the stairs two at a time. You grimace at his suddenness. You turn as the door swings shut behind him and the inside one closes in quick succession. Your plate and the drinks are still on the table. 

You’re only disappointed your night was cut short. You let the agitation slake away and sighs. You laugh to yourself and slowly strut away. Oh, you did something. 

[jobean12-blog]

A Stolen Moment

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: The General has been busy as of late and you miss him.

Author's Note: I can't exist without being horny over this man...they post a new picture of him sitting down and I'm like OH WELL- now I need to sit in his lap, kneel between his legs and do all these other filthy things because his legs and hands and thighs exist. UGH. I mean how am I supposed to survive this, he can't even sit in a chair without me losing my mind...guess I have to write out the horny. LOL anyway, thanks for listening to my rants and thanks so much for reading, much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy! 🥰

Warnigns: soft sweetness, tension, teasing, semi-public sex (I mean it is the Colosseum), Marcus is perfection.

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

The rare quiet of the arena is almost unsettling, the usual raucous crowd nonexistent and the commanding power it exudes masked under the veil of darkness that slowly settles with the descending sun.

The imperial box is empty and the gilded seat on which you sit grows cold as you wait. The fabric you wear is different from anything you’ve ever worn before and perhaps different from anything that’s been created yet.

Due to tradition, you’ve been trained in the art of sewing and because of this you were able to make the silk garment that’s currently draped seductively over your body. You know your husband will approve, however, how he will react to you wearing it in such a public place, is an entirely different story.

The silk is layered, giving the illusion of coverage, but even in the dimness of the setting sun, you can see the outline of what teases beneath.

Heavy footsteps echo behind you, and you recognize the steady pace of his feet.

He walks slowly up the steps, dressed in his more formal toga, outlined in gold that glints as it catches the dying light.

His eyes find you and he stops.

“My gods wife.”

A heated smile starts at the corner of his mouth and lazily stretches across the other as he peruses you from head to toe.

“I’m not forgetting some celebration today am I?”

You shake your head and stand, walking over to him.

“No, nothing to celebrate today. Just you.”

He stills, his eyes lowering to sweep down your body. “Me?”

“Yes,” you say. “You’ve been too stressed lately. I want to help.”

“I see,” he says with sparkling eyes. “And you thought displaying yourself…so… temptingly… in one of the most coveted seats of the Colosseum was going to help?”

You run your hands up his chest to the buckle near his left shoulder. Loosening it, you continue, “I know how to best help you relax General and I knew this would get your attention.”

“You always have my full attention,” he whispers.

You smile, knowing the truth his words hold.

He looks you over again then reaches up to drag the calloused pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

Normally you might kiss it. Tonight, you bite down. He pulls back with a little gasp.

“You’re irresistible.”         

His hands slide forward and frame your hips, and he pulls you into his chest, running his nose along your neck with an inhale.

“What do you plan to do with me?” he whispers into your skin.

You push his hands away and slide off his cloak.

“I’m glad you asked.”

Your fingers fall to his belt, and you start to loosen it, remaining silent.

“Well?” he asks with an amused smile.

“Whatever I want,” you say simply, your hands deftly pulling the belt from his waist.

“I suppose I’m at your mercy then.”

With a tilt of your head, you step back. “Take off your tunic.”

He holds your gaze, testing your restraint, before he relents and gives you what you want.

Slowly, he pulls the fabric off, and you struggle to keep your attention on his face, knowing that every inch of the skin he’s revealing will distract you.

When he begins to loosen the fabric at his hips you’re unable to resist reaching forward and running your hands lightly down his chest. His breath hitches and you love it, skin tightening beneath your fingertips.

He toys with the material again, and you can tell he’s teasing you, waiting for you to meet his eyes.

“Keep going,” you tell him.

The undergarment falls to his feet and it’s all you can do to not slide down to your knees and take him into your mouth.

But somehow, you manage to resist, even as he reaches down, circles his large hand around his cock and holds it out as an offering.

When he starts to remove the first of his wrist cuffs, you still his hand. He raises a questioning brow, and you demurely smile.

“Leave those.”

You push lightly on his chest, toward the ornate chair he found you in. “Sit.”

He does as you say, and you follow him, straddling his thick thighs.

“I miss my husband,” you say with a pout. “You’ve been busy, and your attention has been elsewhere lately.”

You see his expression soften at your words before the corners of his mouth turn down.

“You know you’re all that matters…”

You press a finger to his lips to silence him.

“I’m not blaming you General. I’m just taking matters into my own hands…taking what I want.”  

You rest your ass on his thighs and then slide forward, giving his cock the briefest bit of friction against you before you move away again.

Beneath your palms, his shoulders bunch and he lifts his hands to touch you.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Or I’ll bind you.”

“Does it make you wet to take control like this my beloved?” he whispers.

You answer with the slide of your hand between your legs, the slip of your fingers under the silk. Your eyes close and you moan quietly as you touch yourself, rolling your hips.

You can hear his breath hitch and feel the muscles of his thighs flex and strain. Pulling your fingers away, you capture his chin with your free hand and paint a wet line along his upper lip.

He groans, pained and gravelly and you look down to see his cock hard and arching up toward his belly button.

Your mouth waters. “Marcus.”

He hums but doesn’t move and you look up to see him lick his lips, tasting you on his skin. Staring intently at you, he pushes his hips up, his cock a heavy presence between you as you gaze at his face.

“Are you feeling more relaxed?” you ask him as you lean forward and kiss his jaw.

“Tortured, might be a better word my love.”

You can see it in the way his pulse flutters in his throat and you press a steady hand to his chest.

He relaxes in pieces: his legs beneath you first, then his abdomen, shoulders and finally his expression.

“That’s better,” you murmur.

With a deep exhale he lifts his hands, the gesture tentative as he slowly reaches for your shoulder and traces the soft curve with his fingertips.

“I think it’s time I take what I want,” you remind him.

You lean forward and kiss along his neck all the way up to his ear and he huffs out an impatient breath. Every muscle grows tight and urgent beneath your roaming hands as you tease him once more.

Faster than you expect, he grabs you by the hips and jerks you forward, sliding the wetness between your legs over his cock and griding up into you with a groan.

Without thinking, you move with him, rocking on top and feeling the hard press of him against your clit.

“I can feel your need for me soaked through the silk,” he hisses.

You tug the silk fabric from your body and let it drape over the large and elaborate seat. In a blur, he pulls you closer and pushes inside you with a steady, hard thrust.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, then stops, his breath choppy so close to your ear as he kisses your neck and sucks gently. “I can’t control myself.”

You open your mouth to speak but all the comes out is a moan when his large hand cups your breast, thumb passing back and forth over the peak.

His tongue slides over your collarbone, his breath, his fingertips across your skin and he begins to move inside you.

“You tease and taunt me wife…it’s impossible for me to let you play out this fantasy of control.”

A curl falls over his forehead and he looks almost boyish, but his words are coarse, and his movements are powerful.

“Next time I will bind you then,” you say, the words breathless.

He growls out your name, digging his fingers into your skin with his barely controlled restraint.

You feel the rush of blood to your legs and the heavy ache between your thighs build and he grows more and more frantic. He uses your hips for leverage, his grip bruising as he slams up and into you over and over.

One large, rough hand ghosts along your stomach and teases the base of your neck before his fingers close around your throat.

This new sensation brings you to the edge until you’re begging for it. His groan vibrates along your skin, his whispered words of love pushing you over until you tighten around his cock and cry out his name.

Your face falls to the crook of his neck, and he wraps his arms around you, cradling you to his chest. Your heavy breathing is in sync, your sweaty skin pressed close while he gently runs his fingers along the curve of your spine.

“I am sorry,” he whispers into your skin. “I know there has been much that keeps me away from you as of late.”

You lift your face and place your palm against his cheek. Your fingertips trace the lines around his eyes before you dip your head and softly kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“I know Marcus. I know.”

He reaches his hands between your arms and frames your face, holding your gaze intently with the soft brush of his fingers.

“My love for you remains and always will be as infinite as the stars.”

[wol-fica]

LET US FUCK TARA ON THE COUNTER

ask and you shall definitely receive

summary - tara has been over worked with studying and testing, so you decide to help her out a little bit

————————

“Tara, baby, why don’t you let me cook?” You asked from your seated position at the table, watching your girlfriend carefully.

It’s testing time for her in college, and it’s been kicking her butt. Almost every night she is up late studying some sort of film or useless assignment, which has been causing her to gain at most 3 hours of sleep.

You’ve tried your hardest to get her to take some sort of break, but Tara is one of the most stubborn people you know so your efforts make no dent.

“I’m basically done, don’t worry.” She reassured you, stirring the bubbling soup with the ladle before closing the lid on it, “Just needs to simmer.”

“If you say so…” You muttered, watching her pick up her phone and lean herself against the counter.

Her body bent over the counter, her ass sticking back out while her back arched slightly as she scrolled on her phone. Your eyes bore into her, a blush coating your cheeks from the lack of coverage her thin sleep shorts provided.

“Are you studying tonight?” You asked, slowly standing up as to stay undetected.

“Yeah, I have a slasher film final in a couple days.” Tara replied, not paying you any attention.

“You don’t even need to study for that.” You mumbled, sliding up behind her while undoing the tie on your sweats.

“Yes I do, if I don’t then i’ll most definitely NOT make a 100.” She quipped back, leaning her weight onto one leg.

You hummed, kicking your discarded pants behind you before taking her hips in your hands. She was warm under your touch, and even warmer when you pressed your hard bulge into her ass.

She froze at the feeling, her eyes locked in on a cup in front of her. Her phone long forgotten, she pushed herself up on her hands and let you invade her space. Your face immediately went for her neck, burying there and leaving little love bites everywhere you could reach.

Your hands roamed her body, squeezing her hips, rubbing her sides, ghosting over her breasts, slipping under her shirt to feel the soft skin of her stomach. You were soon humping against her, huffing and whining in her ear all while you did.

“Y/N.” Tara whispered, inhaling sharply when you cupped her breasts under her shirt, “T-the soup.”

“Fuck the soup.” You grumbled, squeezing her soft breasts while grinding your hips against her ass, “I want you for dinner.”

She whimpered at your words, blushing heavily from the noises you were producing. You were panting in her ear, whispering her name like it was the last thing you would ever say, and it was making her knees weak.

Wordlessly, you placed one hand on her back to bend her over the counter, keeping your other hand on her hip to guide her however you pleased. She seemed to vibrate in your hold, unsure of what you wanted her to do and choosing to carefully follow along instead.

“You’ve been overworking yourself.” You said breathlessly, pathetically humping into her, “You need a break.”

Your thumbs hooked into the waistband of her sleep shorts, pulling them off and letting them fall around her ankles. You then removed your boxers, kicking them behind you before kneeling on the ground.

You nudged her legs apart, giving her thigh a little nibble before leaning in to run your tongue through her folds. She jumped, letting out a vocal gasp at the feeling. You licked up her slick, moaning at the taste of her before finding her entrance and pushing your tongue inside.

“Shit, Y/N!” Tara cried out, letting her hips push back against your tongue, “Ah~!”

You hummed, making her moan pleasantly, and buried your face closer into her heat. Your teeth caught her clit each time your jaw opened wider, which caused her knees to begin to shake. Out of fear of her potentially collapsing, you removed your face from between her thighs while she whined in protest.

“Wha-.” Tara started to say, before stopping when she felt your cock run though her folds, “Y/N.”

“Hm.” You replied, smiling as you watched her arousal leak around the head of your penis.

“I swear to god,” She breathed, turning her head to the side to acknowledge you, “If you don’t stop teaSING!”

Her statement ended in a shrill scream when you swiftly pushed into her, your thick shaft stretching her far apart. Your hand went around to cup her mouth, leaning over her to whisper next to her ear.

“Stay quiet, or the neighbors will kill us.” You purred, before standing back up with her hips in your hands.

You didn’t give her a chance to protest, letting your hips pull back and slam back into hers in a rhythmic motion. You squeezed the fat of her ass, thrusting your cock deep inside of her. She whimpered from each trust, the painful feeling of you splitting her apart mixed with the awareness that you were hitting her g-spot each time, made her see stars in her eyes.

You kept your focus on your cock appearing and disappearing inside of her, biting your lips at her puffy and soaked folds. Her ass jiggled with each pound you gave her, bouncing back and forth from the force you produced. It was an attractive sight, a hot one.

“Damn babe, you’re so thicc.” You mumble to her, a moan tumbling from her mouth in response, “I could fuck this pussy all day.”

One of your hands slid up to her back, pressing down so her back would go into a pretty arch. Your other hand went down to find her clit, pressing and rolling it to the rhythm of your thrusts. She let out a cry, her head dropping onto the counter from the different stimulation.

You felt a sudden gush of wetness on your cock, and looked back down to see a new layer of cum on your abdomen. A smirk graced your face, and you turned your attention back to Tara’s moans and cries of your name. Your hips stilled, cock stuffed deep inside of her cunt.

“Did I say you could cum?” You asked her, reaching under to press on the large bulge in her stomach, “Or did you just decide to disobey me?”

“F-fuck.” She sobbed, reaching back to attempt to push your hand away from her, but you didn’t move, “Y/N please.”

“Please what? You have a mouth, you can use it.”

“I…I can’t…” She cut herself off with a cry when you added more pressure to the bulge, “Ah~!”

“If you wanna act like a slut, I’ll treat you like one.” You growled, rocking your palm into her stomach while your hips started to pick up pace.

Tara let out a wail of pleasure, her eyes squeezing shut when you gyrated your hips into hers. The head of your cock pressed against her g-spot with each thrust you produced, making her chant your name like a church prayer. You let your hand slid up from her clit and back to her hip, giving yourself leverage to search for her sweet spot while you fucked her.

You drilled your hips into her, still pressing on the bulge while pushing her hips left and right to find the sensitive spot that would make her cry for you to stop and beg for more at the same time. With a aggressive pound, you felt the spongy texture of her sweet spot and focused your attention there.

It was too much for Tara, with the pressure on her stomach and the repeated thrusts against her sensitive spot, she all but collapsed onto the counter with a weak mewl. Pitiful whimpers exited through her mouth each time you railed into that spongy spot, white spots appearing in her sight.

You leaned over her, your other hand coming up and threading into her hair. You pulled her head back, arching her back more for you while you fucked her dumb. Her knee’s threatened to buckle under your weight, but before she could she felt a soft ‘pop’ inside of her.

Suddenly, an abundant amount of pleasure shot through her, causing her to grip the counter and scream your name from the feeling. You nuzzled your face into her neck, using the last of your energy to push you both over the edge of your orgasms.

Tara went first, her body tensing and a pathetically broken cry of your name leaving her mouth before she went limp. You followed suit, pulling her hips tight against yours and letting the hot knot snap. Your cum pumped deep into her pussy, soothing her walls with the warm liquid.

“Jesus.” You mumbled, hips still humping, “I wish i could stay in your cunt forever.”

Tara whined, unable to form a sentence let alone words at all. You got the hint though, taking your hand away from her belly to place on her hips so you could pull out. She groaned when you did, the release of pressure making it feel like her stomach was dropping. You responded with kisses on her spine, slowly dragging your cock out of her.

As soon as you were out, she slipped down to her knees, letting her forehead rest against the cold wood of the cabinet door. She exhaled softly, letting out a quiet ‘mmmm’ when your hand ran up her back. You had already cleaned yourself up and put your clothes back on, now you just needed to help your girlfriend do the same.

“Baby.” You said to her, rubbing in between her shoulder blades, “Can I pick you up?”

Tara nodded weakly, groaning slightly when you hooked your arms under her to pick her up. Once she was settled in your arms, you left the kitchen and went to your bedroom, wordlessly heading towards the bathroom.

You set her on her feet, letting her lean her full weight into you while you got her out of her loose shirt. You then had her lean against the wall so you could start a bath for her. Once the tub was filled, you helped her into the warm water, her body shaking slightly from the lack of energy she had.

You pressed a kiss to her temple, telling her you would be back after you turned the stove off. She replied with a hum and a nod, weakly waving you away. Hurriedly, you went to the kitchen to turn the burner off and move the pot over before jogging back to your bathroom.

“The soup smells good.” You said, grabbing her shampoo and conditioner so you could wash her hair, “I bet it will taste even better.”

“If you’re still trying to distract me from studying, it ain’t happening.” Tara mumbled, sighing when you began to massage the shampoo into her wet hair, “I can’t fail this test.”

“You wouldn’t even if you didn’t study Tar.” You replied, tilting her head back to rinse the suds out with a cup of water, “You need to relax.”

“Is breaking my back considered relaxing?” She teased, reaching up to run her fingers along your bicep, “Cause that was just an energy drainer.”

“I thought it was quite good.” You retorted, massaging the conditioner into her scalp before adding quietly, “But i’m sorry if it wasn’t enjoyable for you.”

Tara snorted, slapping your hand away before reaching up and grabbing your face to pull your lips to hers. She kissed you lovingly, smiling into it while rubbing your cheeks with her thumbs.

“You were fantastic love.” She praised, kissing your nose a few times before letting you go, “It was very enjoyable for me.”

“Phew, I thought you didn’t like any of it and then I was gonna feel like a dick for the rest of my life.” You said, wiping imaginary sweat off of your forehead.

“Awww baby.” Tara cooed, poking your chin with a wet finger, “I would’ve let you know if I didn’t like it.”

You nodded, leaning your head into the palm of her hand. She giggled and leaned up to kiss you again, letting your hearts intertwine in the peaceful bathroom glow.

—————————

happy bday @tonyspank

[invisibleicewands]

Please come and see me because I’ll be dead soon’: how Michael Sheen got sucked into a forever chemicals exposé

An opera-loving member of high society turned eco-activist who was forced into police protection with a panic button round his neck. A Hollywood actor who recorded said activist’s life story as he was dying from exposure to the very chemicals he was investigating. Throw in two investigative journalists who realise not everything is as it seems, then uncover some startling truths, and you have “podcasting’s strangest team” on Buried: The Last Witness.

On their award-winning 2023 podcast Buried, the husband and wife duo Dan Ashby and Lucy Taylor dug into illegal toxic waste dumping in the UK and its links to organised crime. This time, they focus on “forever chemicals”, specifically polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs) and set out to discover whether one whistleblower may have been decades ahead of his time in reporting on their harmful impact.

“It’s amazing how big the scale of this story is,” says Ashby, as we sit backstage at the Crucible theatre, where they are doing a live discussion as part of Sheffield DocFest. “With this series, we don’t just want it to make your blood turn cold, we want it to make you question your own blood itself.”

It all started when Taylor and Ashby were sent a lead about the work of former farmer’s representative Douglas Gowan. In 1967, he discovered a deformed calf in a field and began to investigate strange goings on with animals close to the Brofiscin and Maendy quarries in south Wales. He linked them to the dumping of waste by companies including the nearby Monsanto chemical plant, which was producing PCBs.

PCBs were used in products such as paint and paper to act as a fire retardant, but they were discovered to be harmful and have been banned since 1981 in the UK. However, due to their inability to break down – hence the term forever chemical – Gowan predicted their legacy would be a troubling one. “I expect there to be a raft of chronic illness,” he said. He even claimed that his own exposure to PCBs (a result of years of testing polluted grounds) led his pancreas and immune system to stop working. “I’m a mess and I think it can all be attributed to PCBs,” he said.

However, Gowan wasn’t a typical environmentalist. “A blue-blood high-society Tory and a trained lawyer who could out-Mozart anyone,” is how Taylor describes him in the series. He would even borrow helicopters from friends in high places to travel to investigate farmers’ fields. Gowan died in 2018 but the pair managed to get hold of his life’s work – confidential reports, testing and years of evidence. “I’m interested in environmental heroes that aren’t cliche,” says Ashby. “So I was fascinated by him. But then we started to see his flaws and really had to weigh them up. My goodness it’s a murky world we went into.”

The reason they were able to delve even deeper into this murky world is because of the award-winning actor Michael Sheen who, in 2017, came across Gowan’s work in a story he read. He was so blown away by it, and the lack of broader coverage, that he tracked him down. “I got a message back from him saying: ‘Please come and see me because I’ll be dead soon,’” says Sheen. “I took a camera with me and spent a couple of days with him and just heard this extraordinary story.”

What Gowan had been trying to prove for years gained some traction in 2007, with pieces in the Ecologist and a Guardian article exploring how “Monsanto helped to create one of the most contaminated sites in Britain”. One was described as smelling “of sick when it rains and the small brook that flows from it gushes a vivid orange.” But then momentum stalled.

Years later, in 2023, Ashby and Taylor stumbled on a recording of Sheen giving the 2017 Raymond Williams memorial lecture, which referenced Gowan and his work. Before they knew it, they were in the actor’s kitchen drinking tea and learning he had conducted a life-spanning seven-hour interview with Gowan before his death. So they joined forces. Sheen isn’t just a token celebrity name added for clout on this podcast; he is invested. For him, it’s personal as well as political. “Once you dig into it, you realise there’s a pattern,” he says. “All the places where this seems to have happened are poor working-class areas. There’s a sense that areas like the one I come from are being exploited.”

Sheen even goes to visit some contaminated sites in the series, coming away from one feeling sick. “That made it very real,” he says. “To be looking into a field and going: ‘Well, I’m pretty sure that’s toxic waste.’” Sheen was living a double life of sorts. “I went to rehearsals for a play on Monday and people were like, ‘What did you do this weekend?’” he says. “‘Oh, I went to the most contaminated area in the UK and I think I may be poisoned.’ People thought I was joking.” Sheen ended up being OK, but did have some temporary headaches and nausea, which was a worry. “We literally had to work out if we had poisoned Michael Sheen,” says Ashby, who also ponders in the series: “Have I just killed a national treasure?”

The story gets even knottier. Gowan’s findings turn out to be accurate and prescient, but the narrative around his journey gets muddy. As a character with a flair for drama, he turned his investigation into a juicy, riveting story filled with action, which could not always be corroborated. “If he hadn’t done that, and if he’d been a nerdy, analytical, detail-oriented person who just presented the scientific reports and kept them neatly filed, would we have made this podcast?” asks Taylor, which is a fascinating question that runs through this excellent and gripping series.

Ashby feels that Gowan understood how vital storytelling is when it comes to cutting through the noise. “We have so much science proving the scale of these problems we face and yet we don’t seem to have the stories,” he says. “I think Douglas got that. Fundamentally, he understood that stories motivate human beings to act. But then he went too far.”

However, this is not purely about Gowan’s story – it’s about evidence. The Last Witness doubles up as a groundbreaking investigation into the long-lasting impact of PCBs. “We threw the kitchen sink at this,” says Ashby. “The breakthrough for us is that the Royal Society of Chemistry came on board and funded incredibly expensive testing. So we have this commitment to go after the truth in a way that is hardly ever done.”

From shop-bought fish so toxic that it breaches official health advice to off-the-scale levels of banned chemicals found in British soil, the results are staggering. “The scientist almost fell off his chair,” says Ashby. “That reading is the highest he has ever recorded in soil – in the world. That was the moment we knew Douglas was right and we are now realising the scale of this problem. The public doesn’t realise that even a chemical that has been banned for 40 years is still really present in our environment.”

To go even deeper into just how far PCBs have got into our environment and food chain, Ashby and Taylor had their own blood tested. When Taylor found 80 different types of toxic PCB chemicals in her blood it was a sobering moment. “I was genuinely emotional because it’s so personal,” she says. “It was the thought of this thing being in me that was banned before I was even born and the thought of passing that on to my children.” Ashby adds: “We’ve managed physical risk in our life as journalists in Tanzania and with organised crime, but more scary than a gangster is this invisible threat to our health.”

In order to gauge the magnitude of what overexposure to PCBs can do, they headed to Anniston, Alabama, once home to a Monsanto factory. “As a journalist, you have an inbuilt scepticism and think it can’t be that bad,” says Ashby. “But when I got there I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I hate to use words like dystopian, but it was. There is a whole massive school that can’t be used. There’s illnesses in children and cancers. It truly was the most powerful vignette of the worst-case example of these chemicals.”

It’s bleak stuff but instilling fear and panic is not the intention. “Obviously, we’re really concerned about it,” says Ashby. “And although the environmental crises we face do feel overwhelming, it is incredible how a movement has formed and how individuals are taking action in communities. The lesson to take from Douglas is that the response doesn’t have to be resignation. It can be agency.”

[wilwheaton]

Major outlets have siloed their coverage of Trump’s lies in their fact-checking verticals, seeing it as their role only to offer correctives to Trump’s deceptions. That’s convenient for other media professionals like me, but not to the news-consuming masses trying to understand what’s happening in the election. They have not treated the lies themselves as a political scandal: One of two presidential candidates intentionally misleading hurricane victims, and hampering relief efforts, for entirely selfish reasons. They have not applied the simple test of asking themselves how they’d cover it if Kamala Harris did anything remotely similar. The writer David Simon expressed disgust on behalf of many of us: “For the chance to gain some political advantage, the Republican nominee for U.S. president is willing to lie, and in doing so, actually impair the ongoing efforts to help the Americans made vulnerable by this hurricane,” he wrote. “That level of sociopathy simply astonishes.”

MAGA's Hurricane Helene Lies Are A Trial Run For The Election

[xazse]

HEYY GOING FERAL OVER LOSER GOJO❤❤❤❤❤❤ can you write more loser gojo pookie? Where reader is like ignoring him cuz she needs to focus on her studies and didn't have time for toru to give him that sweet relief and when he can't take it anymore he comes to her whiny and all needy. So reader stops her studying and rides gojo out?? And he's a total mess underneath, moaning, whimpering, and him digging his nails on readers back and reader is like disgusted and starts to regret riding him but keeps riding him anyways?? Lol idk. Just loser toru makes me go feral.

(Feel free to ignore this z!❤ ily n ur writings especially loser toru you inspire me to also write smut but i suck at writing lol and fear that if I do it would be so shitty n I don't want ppl to judge me lol. I love you, take care of urself z!

♡´･ᴗ��`♡)

(P.s. I'm actually obsessed with ur writings 😍)

More loser!gojo x female!reader

Notes: I know you submitted this awhile ago but omg this was tew hot to let go, thank you for your sweet words I love that you love my writing.

Don’t be afraid to start writing I was as well but I simply threw something out and it got love and that made me want to continue writing, you might not get a lot of love the first few posts but eventually you’ll have dedicated fans who’ll love anything you post!!

Annoying… that’s all that filters through your head as Satoru rambles about whatever the hell he’s been talking about for the past hour, you zoned out the minute Digimon came out of his mouth and that was within the first minute!

Everytime you attempted to let him know that you had a pretty big test coming up and needed the silence and solitude he would promptly shut up for a good ten minutes then start up his motor mouth, how was someone who was top of all his classes not pick up on simple social cues!?! It drove you insane when he did things like this.

Drowning out his voice was nearly impossible with the loud boom that came from his vocal cords when he’d get excited about a certain something. Regardless you know Suguru is too busy to keep him occupied so you’re the next best thing. You press your pen to your paper and focus… focus and even more focusing.

But Satoru is needy, extremely needy.

He doesn’t like being ignored so he does his next tactic by being in your space, he pulls up a stool next to you and hovers over your shoulder, leaning down to look at what you were writing, he even goes as far as to correct a mistake you had made during his endless torture of a mouth.

You’re about to light him on fire but notice his fingers trailing lightly up and down your side, fingers sticking and popping your tank-top, he’s obviously not even looking at the paper anymore but instead down at the flimsy material you call coverage, oh…

You hadn’t even realized how long it had been since that last time you had sex with Toru, he looks so lost with those hazy blue eyes that require attention, he’s probably been touching his poor cock just off pure flashbacks, you feel bad for the man: but not really, you’re curious as to how long it’ll take him to finally break and ask you.

You wanted to play and mess with him for a little longer but not even five minutes pass before he’s guiding your hand to his erect cock, it doesn’t take much to get him aroused so you’d bet he’s been like this for a while. He leans his head down to rest in the crook of your neck, hiding his reddened face.

“You’ve been… ignoring me.” He whispers more to himself than you, the way he drags it out makes it come out as desperation on his tongue.

“I’ve been busy Toru, you know that.” You bring yourself to your feet, sliding your chair into your desk and making your way to the bed. His eyes follow your figure and they land on you roughly patting the bed prompting him to slip in front of you, seated nice and pretty.

“Well? Take it off, all of it.” Snapping at him gets him to start undoing his belt but of course he’s clumsy and unorganized so it takes him a while.

He’s completely nude and sitting at the top of your bed, relaxing against your lush fluffy pillows. His cock hasn’t calmed down at all, still an angry red crying for your soft hands around it, you give him the gift of jerking him a few times, his sensitive dick reacting quickly along with his body thrusting forward.

Within a few seconds precum has started leaking and pooling inbetween your fingers, it’s gross really. You’re thinking about just getting him off, washing your hands and going back to your studies but something sinister grows in your belly, it’s been a while since you’ve had some so why not jump at this opportunity.

First before you even think of connecting with Satoru for the first time in a while you have him beg for it, beg for your cunt around his nasty cock. Just the pathetic excuse of a man he is, the pleas roll off his tongue with ease, he starts cruising low on his tongue, even telling you how much he loves you and how pretty you are.

You think you’ve collected enough of his juices, the loud squelches every drag of his cock is more than enough proof.

Riding his cock is an entirely different story, he’s sat up, face drowned in your chest as he cries out even more pleas.

“Feel’s so goodd” he slurs out as best as he can but the clench of your pussy doesn’t help at all, it’s wet and obscene the way your juices mix with his, a nasty concoction being made. You bury your fingers in his hair pulling him out of your chest every now and then to stare at his ruined snotty face, he’s crying just like the baby he is. The things your pussy does to him make him not himself, the way your walls fit so snuggly around him, or the way you press your hips against his drives him mad.

You bounce on his cock purely without his help, his stamina clearly not being all there he’s practically being used as a sex toy, and you make sure to tell him that, that’s all he is to you, something for your pussy to get off with. Of course he nods along and confirms everything that comes out your mouth, yes he’s a disgusting loser, yes he doesn’t deserve pussy this good, and yes he’ll buy you whatever bag is trending right now.

His sharp untrimmed nails dig into your back, Satoru is so clearly a bitch in heat, what kind of man is the one leaving marks in the woman’s back?

You’re not able to think about the nails not when you feel something leaking down your chest: his drool, you’re about to get off him and leave him high and dry but the way he whines for you, cries out your name has you second guessing.

So you continue riding and chasing your own high, he can cum as many times as he wants but you aren’t through yet, not even when hes flopping on the bed, spent and exhausted are you stopping, you chase that spark that sits and festers up.

[reasonsforhope]

Scientists have developed a new solar-powered system to convert saltwater into fresh drinking water which they say could help reduce dangerous the risk of waterborne diseases like cholera.

Via tests in rural communities, they showed that the process is more than 20% cheaper than traditional methods and can be deployed in rural locations around the globe.

Building on existing processes that convert saline groundwater to freshwater, the researchers from King’s College London, in collaboration with MIT and the Helmholtz Institute for Renewable Energy Systems, created a new system that produced consistent levels of water using solar power, and reported it in a paper published recently in Nature Water.

It works through a process called electrodialysis which separates the salt using a set of specialized membranes that channel salt ions into a stream of brine, leaving the water fresh and drinkable. By flexibly adjusting the voltage and the rate at which salt water flowed through the system, the researchers developed a system that adjusts to variable sunshine while not compromising on the amount of fresh drinking water produced.

Using data first gathered in the village of Chelleru near Hyderabad in India, and then recreating these conditions of the village in New Mexico, the team successfully converted up to 10 cubic meters, or several bathtubs worth of fresh drinking water. This was enough for 3,000 people a day with the process continuing to run regardless of variable solar power caused by cloud coverage and rain.

[Note: Not sure what metric they're using to calculate daily water needs here. Presumably this is drinking water only.]

Dr. Wei He from the Department of Engineering at King’s College London believes the new technology could bring massive benefits to rural communities, not only increasing the supply of drinking water but also bringing health benefits.

“By offering a cheap, eco-friendly alternative that can be operated off the grid, our technology enables communities to tap into alternative water sources (such as deep aquifers or saline water) to address water scarcity and contamination in traditional water supplies,” said He.

“This technology can expand water sources available to communities beyond traditional ones and by providing water from uncontaminated saline sources, may help combat water scarcity or unexpected emergencies when conventional water supplies are disrupted, for example like the recent cholera outbreaks in Zambia.”

In the global rural population, 1.6 billion people face water scarcity, many of whom are reliant on stressed reserves of groundwater lying beneath the Earth’s surface.

However, worldwide 56% of groundwater is saline and unsuitable for consumption. This issue is particularly prevalent in India, where 60% of the land harbors undrinkable saline water. Consequently, there is a pressing need for efficient desalination methods to create fresh drinking water cheaply, and at scale.

Traditional desalination technology has relied either on costly batteries in off-grid systems or a grid system to supply the energy necessary to remove salt from the water. In developing countries’ rural areas, however, grid infrastructure can be unreliable and is largely reliant on fossil fuels...

“By removing the need for a grid system entirely and cutting reliance on battery tech by 92%, our system can provide reliable access to safe drinking water, entirely emission-free, onsite, and at a discount of roughly 22% to the people who need it compared to traditional methods,” He said.

The system also has the potential to be used outside of developing areas, particularly in agriculture where climate change is leading to unstable reserves of fresh water for irrigation.

The team plans to scale up the availability of the technology across India through collaboration with local partners. Beyond this, a team from MIT also plans to create a start-up to commercialize and fund the technology.

“While the US and UK have more stable, diversified grids than most countries, they still rely on fossil fuels. By removing fossil fuels from the equation for energy-hungry sectors like agriculture, we can help accelerate the transition to Net Zero,” He said.

-via Good News Network, April 2, 2024