#Easy and Quick Recipie

[rashid92786]

Chana Dal Fry Recipe: ढाबे जैसी चना दाल फ्राई बनाने के आसान टिप्स😵

Chana Dal Fry Recipe: ‘Simmo Kitchenwali’ की विशेष चना दाल फ्राई रेसिपी, जो आपको ढाबा जैसे स्वाद का आनंद घर पर ही प्रदान करेगी। इस आसान और विस्तृत गाइड के साथ, आप अपने परिवार और दोस्तों के लिए स्वादिष्ट और स्वास्थ्यपूर्ण चना दाल बना सकते हैं। आज ही ट्राय करें और घर का बना ढाबा स्टाइल खाना एंजॉय करें! मुख्य बिंदु आसान और सरल विधि: इस रेसिपी में चना दाल को बनाने की आसान और सरल विधि बताई गई है, जो…

[ja3yun]

Can’t stop thinking about brothers!best friend hoon who you accidentally send a spicy pic to and he ends up getting super jealous like who did u mean to send this to and you shouldn’t be doing this kind of thing but instead of telling ur brother he shows you that you should be sending them to him instead 🤭

okaay, so i went a bit ott w this and wrote 1.2k words but please enjoy!

brother's best friend!sunghoon x fem!reader

warnings: smut (mdni), nudes, masturbation, cumming and moaning, recording lewd acts, anything else lmk!

-----

you mean to send it to a fwb or situationship and accidently click sunghoon’s name. it would be a tit pic or one of you in your underwear holding your tits as you snap a pic in the mirror.

the message comes through and sunghoon is with your brother either playing video games or watching a movie. when your name pops up, he eyes it oddly, wondering why on earth you would text him so late or even at all. usually, the only reason you do is to get a ride but as far as he knows, you’re staying in tonight.

he opens it, catches a glimpse, and quickly locks it again. placing it face down for good measure. part of him doesn’t believe it because why are you send him such a picture like that, you hardly speak to him - much to his disdain - so a spicy picture is the last thing he expects.

sunghoon looks over to your brother, assessing if he caught his unfamiliar reaction. when he concludes that he hasn’t, he picks his phone back up and unlock it again, this time a little more prepared.

he studies the picture closely, every curve and bump of your body look so delicious that it sends his heart rampent and in consequence, his cock twitches uncomfortably as it strains the zipper of his jeans. sunghoon knows it’s wrong to be looking but you sent him at, if anything it would be rude not to ogle.

the message attached to it reads “a little gift for you”, not your best sexting but men are easy to get riled up, they don’t need shakespear level captions to nudes; sunghoon is the perfect example.

smirking, he types out a reply “my birthday isn’t until december, so what’s the occasion?”

and that is the moment you see the name park sunghoon printed loud and clear at the top of the screen and you halt all your actions, that sick feeling in your stomach. of course, you have had a crush on your brother’s best friend for as long as you can remember, who wouldn’t be attracted to the park sunghoon?

you search every way to erase the message but it's there now, in his grasp forever. he probably thinks you’re some pervert, sending unsolicited nudes to men who never asked but you really thought you were spending it to the man who requested it.

shakily, you type out a quick, feeble “sorry! please delete that, it wasn’t for you.”

well, that makes his eyebrow quirk and a scoff form in his throat because who the fuck are you sending spicy pictures to if not him? how many have you already sent to perverted men who don’t deserve to see you in such beauty.

your brother turns around at the sound of sunghoon’s disgruntled snarl and sees him typing back.angrily, asking his friend if he is alright. sunghoon can’t exactly tell him that he’s scolding you for sending smut pics to men that aren’t him, so he brushes it off and says it’s someone from work asking him to cover a shift.

“and who was it meant for? you shouldn’t be sending pictures like this to losers.” he wants to say more but he leaves it at that and adjusts his pleading cock in his trousers. well, until you send him a response.

“i can send them to whoever i like.” its snappy, rude, and not want sunghoon wants to read. now that he’s saw your body scantily-clad, he wants to be the only one that ever sees it, meaning, he needs to give you a reason to never think about taking pictures like this to anyone else.

“no you fucking can’t.” he hurriedly types out the message, just in case you decide to send this particular picture to the correct recipient. standing up, he excuses himself from your brother's presence, knowing what he is about to do would constitute a break in their friendship.

you are off limits, you have been since they became friends, each lingering glance he stole, each excuse he gave to touch you, all of it went against the number one rule in their friendship; don’t get with my sister.

so as he locks himself in the bedroom, setting up his camera on the bedside table, he situates himself on the bed and frees his aching cock. the best way to stop you sending any nudes to other men is by making sure you don’t want any of the other men saved in your phone, and he is going to do that by sending you a little gift of his own.

pumping his cock lazily, he hits record before leaning back, squeezing and releasing just under his bell. the tip turns pink as he focuses his brain on the picture you sent, he can only imagine how your tits bounce when riding him.

he strokes himself faster and harder. “fuck, y/n, so tight,” he moans out, loud enough for the microphone to pick it up but quiet enough not to alert your brother of his wrong doings.

his thumb washes over the slit of his dick, rubbing it harshly as he imagines how snug he would fit inside your tight cunt, your walls enclosing on each protruding vein that decorates his thick and long cock. “wish i was inside you right now, fucking you to filth in your bed,” he grits out through his teeth, his balls tightening as his imagination grows wilder, thinking about how the tip of him would be ramming into you so fast that you eould be crying, begging him for more. there would be a bulge forming in your stomach due to his size and he would press down on it, adding to both of your pleasure.

“y/n…fuck i wanna fill you up so good that you don’t think about another man again.” the confession comes out strangled as he reaches his climax. “i’m gonna cum so deep inside you, are you ready, baby?”

the camera catches him spurting his seed over his stomach as he moans your name over and over again, a fountain of his cum coating him with each thought of you comijg undone above him; oh how he wishes his cum wasn’t wasted in his hand and instead painting your pretty cunt.

stopping the recording, he sends it before he changes his mind. he washes up and changes into a set of pyjamas to elude to your brother that his absence was innocent.

he plonks back on the couch just as his phone pings with a message from you: “get rid of him, i’m coming over.”

safe to say you won't be sending pictures to anyone but him ever again.

[harmonysanreads]

Thinking about Yandere!Sumeru Boys and the sweet, lovely bartender who's become the talk of Sumeru recently.

After receiving the news of the Sage's downfall and Lesser Lord Kusanali's rescue, you, who'd been out venturing Teyvat to learn about its global gastronomy and arts, decide to return to your homeland and help your father's busy Tavern. The knowledge you've gained from your travels prove to be fruitful as Lambad's Tavern reaches a new peak of popularity. Though, not everyone's point of interest is the menu — no no, in fact, many have become frequent patrons simply to get a glimpse of the new face behind the counter.

You and Kaveh click almost immediately. Your shared views on arts and beauty is one thing checked off, but the way your actually understand him? Unlike most people when they hear his story, you're not quick to put a lable on him ; instead, you make him feel heard and normal for the very first time. Listen patiently and don't throw factual advice on how to fix his life. No wonder he poured out his entire life story to you, all on his first conversation. He's left wondering where you've been all his life as you share a portion of your own struggles, views on life and snippets of your adventures. To this day, Kaveh recalls the conversation along with your benign smile and feels his heart thump as if he's become a teenager again.

Every ensuing visit to the Tavern has his belief strengthen as well : you two must be soulmates. He's even started (half) jokingly calling you one as well, which never seems to move you the way he wants though as, all you do is adorably giggle and ask him to pay for his order. Oh well, he supposes that's an indication that you do not pity him solely because of his financial status. Kaveh's life had gotten a lot better with your presence ; he no longer drinks himself to oblivion, sleeps better than before and doesn't even pay heed to his roommate's sharp comments that'd otherwise end in a massive argument, thoughts preoccupied with what kind of trinket he could bring to impress you. For a brief period, Kaveh had felt like he'd finally found his light, his reason to keep living. He'd only wish he hadn't introduced his friends to you.

You first ‘officially’ met the dusty-rock-of-a-roommate of Kaveh (his words) when you took the responsibility of dropping him to his place of residence after the architect had passed out from taking a sip of the Sneznayan Fire-Water. You weren't sure what you were expecting from Alhaitham, but a talk over books that spiralled a little too late into the night and ended with him walking you back home certainly wasn't it. You can see where Kaveh came from, The Acting Grand Sage did not have the countenance that invited friendships. You'll have to thank your profound interest in all genres of books and an equal ease to share your opinions to not be at the recipient of that attitude. It takes you a little too much time to notice that since that night, the Scribe has found himself a second home in your radar. You see him at Puspa Cafe, the Grand Bazar, the streets and after a little while, even at your father's Tavern almost frequently. So much so, that calling him something of a friend might not be as far-fetched now.

In Alhaitham's defense, he's simply intrigued, it's not everyday he meets someone who can keep up with him. It took him only a glance at you to realize you're the person who has Kaveh blushing and giggling like a madman at random times. The architect's creepy behavior aside, at least, it seemed as though some of your sense of responsibility had rubbed off on him so, less headache for Alhaitham. You're easy to talk to ; granted, you don't always have agreements but that doesn't pose as an impediment from keeping the conversation flowing. In fact, you treat him no different ; neither his status nor his prolonged disappearances that'd no doubt affect anyone else can change your easygoing persona as he approaches you, the coffee and dishes you make are rather good too and— ah. Alhaitham understands now why Kaveh is so smitten with you.

Lambad's Tavern is a prominent destination for fans of Genius Invocation TCG, you like the game, too. But because of your duty, you can only resign yourself to watching from the counter as some rejoiced in victory and others had their heads in their hands from loss. It's entertaining to a degree, frustrating to another as you have to remain silent while the players make dumb choices. You digress, whatever they do is none of your business. But if you had to pick one group that produced the most entertaining show out of this game ; it'd be the friends Kaveh brought along with him. Most of the times, they'd just be reduced to Kaveh's ranting pillows and really, only one of them—and by that you mean the General Mahamatra who seemed to truly care for the game. You're curious about him, actually. He seemed so different from the rumours that were floating around. And thanks to Kaveh's impulsive announcement that you'd be dueling Cyno one night, you had the opportunity to satiate that curiousity — and flex a win against the master of TCG altogether.

To say Cyno was flabbergasted would be the understatement of the century. He'd repeatedly demanded for a second match that time (all the while Kaveh looked like he could die of pride) but you'd shut it off with the (not really) threat of charging extra for your lost time. Since then, he'd been hot on your tail, too. Trying to coax you into a second match with every strategy he can think of : bribing, bargaining, cracking awful jokes to befriend you — his hard work paid off, but the sight of a win against you still seemed to be far. At one point, those concerns were lost as you both simply found fun in each other's presence. Cyno, in the meantime, had noticed that your amiable personality was both a blessing and a curse. Do you not see the corrupt glints in their eyes? The wanton touches and disgusting saccharine lacing their words? No can do, they do not deserve your courtesy. Do not blame him for taking matters into his own accounts or show any semblance of concern after the personnel mysteriously disappear the next day ; its just a little favor for his TCG buddy.

Out of all of them, Tighnari took you the longest to get to know properly. Given his usually passive personality in the presence of others, no wonder he'd strayed a little from your attention. The forest ranger wasn't behind in knowing you, though. In fact, it seemed as though he had been picking up on clues his other friends were missing. Tighnari had been the first to take notice of your ennui, which he had surmised to be a result of all the people you have to deal with everyday. Turns out even you have your moments. One evening as Kaveh, Cyno and Alhaitham were preoccupied with debating over who-knows-what, Tighnari took the opportunity to approach you about it. He couldn't ignore the darkening circles under your eyes or the brightness in your optics dimming any longer — he's glad he did ; in truth, your life had gotten crazier than it was back when you were traveling, you'd confessed. You no longer felt truly...alone, even in moments that you're sure is securely private. Tighnari listened intently, for once the roles being switched. He sent hand-made remedies to help with your stress, frequently wrote to you to check your well being when he couldn't visit personally, anything within his power.

He felt sympathy for your state, such a precious person like you doesn't deserve this, you should be treated better, he could treat you better — now if only you're at arms reach to the forest ranger. Alas, for now he'd have to be content with this development. Tighnari has an inkling about who is, or are, responsible for your building misery. Does he intent to do anything with that knowledge though? Yes, coaxing you to his side, preferably.

The innocent, nameless wandering boy you'd taken with you on your return to Sumeru, suddenly returned home with a glowing anemo vision in the span of a few hours one fine afternoon. Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary though, he was still as glued to your person (though nowadays he seemed to venture out more than usual), he was still the harmless boy you'd grown accustomed to. So then, why did it feel like something was amiss? Was it how often he'd find himself at the brink of an angry customer's fist? Or was it because that only occurs when you leave the counter to get something and that same customer just so happened to have been pushing you for a date beforehand? Your suspicions always end up fleeting though, you can never even raise an eyebrow at the boy, not when he looks at you with those glossy puppy eyes. In the end, it's always the other man that's handed over to the guards, it's always the others, in general at the face of your displeasure — not Wanderer, never Wanderer. If only you could see the same grin he directs at the retreating men behind your unassuming back.

You never did regret letting him trail behind your person (except maybe the bombarding allegations from your family of him being your significant other, it took one whole week to convince them otherwise, after all.) ; he was sweet and so.. clueless, as if he were but a newborn child. Your heart couldn't resist the poor thing and that's what brought you to this situation. Wanderer revels in the others' jealousy at the sight of you two's closeness (who could guess this same man had tried to take over Sumeru). He can do many of the things your other admirers can only dream of ; lean on your shoulder, fall asleep on your lap, play with your hair as you prepare a drink, whisper things in your ear with a purposefully lowered voice and get away with anything. All is well with the lost boy you'd picked up from the last turn of your travels, it's just that, you can't quite shake off the feeling of a strange familiarity everytime you look at his otherwordly eyes.

what do you call this? a love hexagon? 🤔

[ au masterlist ]

[onegirlatelier]

April, 2024 | Shetland lace shawl

Hi there! It’s been a while. I’ve been kept busy by all my university work…and this shawl.

The shawl is knitted to celebrate the wedding of my friend (now friends, I should say). A wedding is really the perfect excuse for all the heritage crafts and heirloom projects that might seem too serious to gift in other occasions. I did ask the recipient beforehand if she would like it, though, and I was so, so honoured that I got an enthusiastic ‘yes’. I’m sure this sentiment is shared by many makers, whatever gift they are making.

Shetland fine openwork, a knitted lace, seems to have emerged with the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria, who championed and popularised the craft. It was probably spread from the Isle of Unst to other parts of Shetland. What surprised me the most when I first read about it was that Shetland shawls and other lace pieces were largely exported as luxury items and rarely worn by islanders themselves. Women bought yarn from spinners and knitted mostly in their homes. They then took them to local merchants and exchange the finished objects for goods or (commonly after the 1880s) money to supplement the household income. The ‘supplement’ nature of this work probably means it was not compensated as much as a job outside the home would be for the same hours and skills. Besides, it was not always easy to spin an even 1-ply yarn at 1600 metres per 100 grams. For a piece of knitting with a large ‘plain’ area (i.e. only knit stitches), the unevenness was impossible to hide but could only be discovered after the area was worked. Then the maker had to either frog (unravel) the area or continue with the risk of the whole piece not being able to sell.

Whilst it is very reasonable to point out that Shetland ladies did not usually wear this type of lace (I’ve been to the Scottish Highlands once, in summer, and it was not fine lace weather), I imagine that at least for some, it wasn’t just about making money. Some sort of fulfilment must have been from the satisfaction of having a piece ‘properly done’ by continuing and adapting a traditional pattern, technique or material. I think this sort of satisfaction is also why many modern knitters are willing to spend hundreds of hours on lacework.

Intricate handknitted lace items can still be bought today (a quick search on Etsy would show many are form eastern European countries with a long and prominent craft tradition), but many are knitted for friends or family members. It always makes me so happy to see people share the gifts they have made, whether big or small, simple or complex. I joke with my online craft friends that no handmade fibre project can claim to be so unless they have a hair or two woven into it. It is the proof of existence for the maker, who tries to go against the irregular nature of handicrafts and, at the same time, accepts it. It is about wrapping up hours, weeks or months in one’s life, along with the songs they have listened to and the perfume they have worn and the memories they have made, and putting it squarely in someone else’s hands and saying: ‘All this, for you.’

A Wedding Shawl

I have not read anything about there being a standard form of ‘wedding shawl’ in the Shetland tradition. However, there is definitely a category of square shawls with similar sizes and a few construction methods. The samples I’ve seen mostly measure 1.5-2m on one side and have three parts: a central panel, four borders and a strip of edging. It is worked flat in garter lace from centre out.

Neither is there a standardised yarn weight. A widely available yarn is the Shetland Supreme Lace Weight 1-ply by Jamieson and Smith, which weighs at 400m/25g. The Queen Ring Shawl examined by Sharon Miller used a yarn at 700m/25g. From my experience, if you want the shawl to be a true ring shawl (i.e. you want to be able to pull the shawl through a ring) at the size of the Queen Ring Shawl (210cm on the side), go for 700m/25g or finer.

I chose a rectangular shawl because I had very limited time, but I did enlarge it because for me, an abundance of fabric does mean an abundance of cozy happiness.

Pattern

Shell Grid and Spider Webs Puzzle, pattern No.19 in the book Shetland Knitting Lace by Toshiyuki Shimada.

The names of the motifs are confusing. One motif (or two highly similar motifs) might just have two different names if they are produced in two different regions. Names do not mean everything, but I’ve had fun trying to match the motifs with names according to this article by Carol Christiansen at the Shetland Museum.

The double yarnovers (YO's) in the diamonds were called Cat's Eye, but perhaps the 'Spider Web' in the pattern name is referring to the three rows of double YO's in the centre panel. It has a really simple but effective edging.

Yarn

Mermaid Lace, in colourway #naturel, sold by Great British Wool in the Netherlands. This yarn is 75% merino and 25% sea algae silk. ‘Sea algae silk’ seems to be a semi-synthetic plant fibre like viscose, with algae involved as part of the raw material. (At this price point I don’t think it has anything to do with sea silk, which is fibre produced by actual shells.) The brand name for the most popular product of its type is probably Seacell.

I bought the yarn, because I had never worked with this fibre before and was curious. What I like: it was a little cheaper than a wool/silk blend and has blocked very well. The whole skein was continuous so I didn’t have to deal with a single yarn joint. What I do not like: it lacks the sheen and smoothness of real silk and doesn’t feel as strong, although it doesn’t shed. In conclusion, I’d rather use a traditional Shetland 1-ply or another natural fibre yarn.

It's also worth mentioning that whilst I prefer to support small businesses, it was disappointing to have received a 93-gram skein when I had ordered 100 grams. It was one of those days between Christmas and the New Year and I somehow did not contact the customer service, but I really should have.

Needle

2.5mm 80cm circular needles. See modification below.

Modification

This Japanese knitting book follows Japanese sizing for knitting needles. The suggested size was no. 1=2.4mm. I figured that I could use a 2.5mm since I knitted on the tighter side, and in any case it was probably okay to make the lacework a little more open by going up a needle size.

I am not going to give out the pattern, but it is probably necessary to explain the structure of this shawl. The centre is knitted first, and then an edging is knitted onto it by picking up either live stitches or the vertical edge of the centre as you go (see schematic below). The four ‘corners’ of the edging have short-row shaping to help it lay flat. I know that traditionally people can achieve this by other methods, but I haven’t tried any of those yet.

I enlarged the pattern by increasing both the width and the length. I casted on 133 stitches instead of 101 for the centre panel and knitted Part B 8.5 times instead of 5.5. The spider web pattern in Part B requires the stitch count to be (something dividable by four) plus two, so I made one central increase before the spider web to get 134 and a central decrease after it to get it back to 133. Due to the openness of the lace, the change of one stitch is not visible.

The enlargement meant I had to recalculate the edging as well, because the number of stitches available for pick-up changed. Originally, at each corner you do two repeats with four short-row shaping each. I did 1.5 repeats following the original placement of short-row shaping in order to make the total number of repeats fit the number of edge stitches on the centre panel.

The pattern says to Kitchener-stitch the last row of the edging to the provisional cast-on. It just didn’t make sense because that would be two rows too much (the Kitchener stitch row plus the provisional cast-on row). To make the number perfectly fit, I knitted only ten rows of the last repeat (there were usually twelve in each repeat). Then I Kitchener-stitched the end to the provisional cast-on, following the lace pattern. I am quite proud of this solution because it is completely invisible.

Somewhere in the pattern it said to purl (looking from the right side). It seemed strange because the rest of the lace was entirely garter. I knitted those stitches and so far I haven’t sensed a ‘mistake’.

The pattern originally calls for 45 grams of yarn. I estimated (based on the increase of stitches in the centre panel) to need about 80 grams. I ended up using 86 grams. Besides the inaccuracies in my estimation, it was probably also because I knitted much more loosely than expected as it was difficult to tension the yarn tightly at such a weight. Like I've point out in the Yarn section above, I was lucky not to have needed more than 93 grams.

The original finished size is 53*118cm. I ended up with approximately 70*170cm.

Conclusion

This shawl took about three months of my craft time i.e. one full day every week for three months and many mornings before I had to leave for university. Knitting outside my room just didn’t work because I was a) engaged in some other activities that made it difficult to steady my hands, and b) worried about putting a white shawl on any public surface.

The pattern itself is relatively straightforward. The first difficulty was, of course, to understand the instruction written in Japanese. Google translate was horrible so I had to rely on my knitting experience. Fortunately, much of the text description was also found in graphs and charts. Then I had to get my hands used to the tiny yarn. After that, it was only fiddly when I did the edging, because I had to turn about every twelve stitches, and by that time I was handling a giant cloud of stitches on my lap. It did give me a lot of time to go over my favourite documentaries and films, and the last bit of edging was surprisingly quick!

Traditionally, Shetland shawls could be sent back to the maker for maintenance. I think it only fair for me to offer that too because I don’t want a gift to become a trouble (same as how you do not use non-machine-washable yarn for baby knits).

In general, I am very pleased with this shawl. It does pass the ring test, despite not being a traditional wedding shawl size or thickness. I do have a whole lot of actual Shetland 1-ply in my stash, so I am really looking forward to taking my Queen Ring Shawl project out of hibernation in the near future.

Reference list for Introduction

Christiansen, Carol. Shetland fine lace knitting: Recreating patterns from the past. Marlborough: Crowood, 2024.

Mann, Joanna. 'Knitting the Archive: Shetland Lace and Ecologies of Skilled Practice'. Cultural Geographies 25, no. 1 (January 28, 2017): 91–106. https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474016688911.

[chaoticloving]

Yacht

Harry styles x actress!reader

Summary: Harry worries something is wrong during a family trip to Italy, turns out your just horny

Warning: sex to get pregnant lol

Italy, it was always Italy.

As two high profile A-listers, Harry Styles and Y/n Y/L/N-Styles could never go anywhere without being caught. Once in the car, another in the street, and of course at concerts and premieres.

Vacation was another highly intense time for the couple, but it was only amped up to the max because of the Love on Tour's ending.

The night of the final show, Harry had his wife, mum, and sister in his dressing room. As the tour has lasted literal years, he figured he owed everyone some sort of gift: gift giving was his love language. He got the lovely couple of the band, Sarah and Mitch, and the little love-bug, a couple of odd-ball things he knew they would all like. He got similar items for the rest of the crew, personalizing them for the recipient.

His wife though, along with his mum and sister, he believed were owed some time with him. Call him selfish but Harry really did miss being with his family, and it was clear from the thousands of messages and voicemails that they all missed him deeply too. So he figured, why not Italy?

Italy is his go to place for relaxing, despite the constant paparazzi, it was quite peaceful when out in the water or in his shared home. Not only that, but his mother truly adores the country and the history; he feels he owes it to her for putting up with all of his shenanigans when he was younger, he knows he wasn't as easy as Gemma was, and stardom really did exacerbate it. But he's better now--Y/n has whipped him into shape--and he's wealthy enough to go to Italy as much as Anne wants.

Gemma just loves the opportunity to gossip with Y/n, along with the chance to sun bathe on the yacht. She was a simple person to please, and would be appreciative for a coffee and croissant.

Y/n, though, his love, isn't one that can be shown love to through gifts, at least expensive gifts. Her net worth is the same as his, but beside all of that, she is extermly picky about what she wants. All of her brithday gifts are something she specifically told Harry, from brand to color, nothing was left for interpretation.

He thought the vaction would be good though. Y/n likes the quality time between them, how they could just be themselves with nothing stopping them.

The yacht was a perfect hit though. Anne and Gemma both loved the salty breeze of the mederterain sea, but he didn't think it was enough for Y/n. He needed something that was more of a wow factor.

Harry was nervous, biting his nails as he took Y/n down to the docks for a midnight boat outing. He planned this a bit ago, but now was second guessing the whole ordeal.

"I love the smell of Italy." Harry said, holding his hand with his wife. "Something about it...just isn’t it perfect?"

"Is it the cigarette smoke?" Y/n joked, sneaking a quick peak at the corner of Harry's mouth. "Why are you taking me to the docks?"

Harry cleared his throat. "A midnight trip since I wanted some one on one time with you."

They had reached the docks by now, and were slowly getting on. He felt Y/n's hands get tighter around his hand, squeezing every now and then while the life guard was untying the rope connecting the yacht.

Harry looked over to his wife, watching her to make sure she was enjoying herself. She was looking beautiful, hair down while her face was pointed up, looking at the night sky's stars. Her outfit was loose, a simple dress that she threw on after showering to get the sea off of her. It was one he picked out long ago, around their 6 month anniversary, and it was still beautiful.

Her wedding ring completed the look though.

A beautiful antique ring, one that looked as though it was carefully preserved throughout history, looked ethereal on her.

"Hey H?"

Her voice was beautiful too. It was no kidding she was a movie star, her voice draws you in and cages you so you could never leave--not that Harry would want to.

"Yes, Love?"

"You're staring."

Harry blinked, not what he was hoping she would say. He hates to be called out.

"Just wanting to make sure you're happy." He shrugged. "I love you s'much, and I want to give you the perfect gift."

Y/n smiled, a warming one that made Harry's legs feel like jelly. She could never get over the love she felt from Harry, his passtion ratiating from him at all times was truly sickening to the loveless.

"Harry, I love this trip." She brushed her hand through his hair. "Everything you do makes me happy."

"But, earlier, on the yacht you seemed...off."

Y/n bit her lip, looking down to the sea beside them. She didn't mean for Harry to feel disappointed in himself, but she knew exactly what caused it.

"I just had a lot on my mind..." She said, not giving much up which Harry was not happy with.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"I ran out of my birth control about a couple weeks ago, and my hormones are really messing with me." She said, hoping he would get the hint.

"So you're horny?" Harry laughed, a boy-ish grin forming on his face. "I can deal with that."

Y/n laughed and pushed his kissing face away from her neck. "Yes, but since I haven't been on birth control in a few weeks, my doctor thinks I could get pregnant."

Harry's jaw dropped, which then formed into another smile, this time one of excitement and hornieness. "So, you mean...we could start trying for a baby?"

Y/n just nodded. Harry put his hands on her face and kissed her. Her hands moved from his hair down his arms then under his shirt. Harry, bless his soul, was a little nervous to move his hand down, but when Y/n broke apart this kiss so she could strip out of her dress he had no problems.

Harry followed and took off the white shirt he was wearing before, alog with his pants. He got pushed down to a long cooler seat. Y/n strattled his hips and startedkissing him more. Harry started to trickle down to her neck, leaving a hicky closer to her boobs so no one could see. He loved the moans coming out of his love, the way he knew she was feeling good was getting himjust as turned on.

"You were horny." Harry snickered, getting back to work soon after. “Sitting on the yacht; you knew I’d fuck you if you asked.”

"I would've done something about it if my in laws weren't in the vicinity."

"My bad." Harry said, but it was half hearted as now he just really didn’t care.

The conversation didn't last long, soon enough Harry's boxers were off and Y/n bra and panties were somewhere else on the boat. "You sure? I got a condom somewhere."

"If I wasn't sure I wouldn't be off the pill." She reminded him. "What about you?"

"I've wanted a kid ever since you said 'I do'." They kissed, softly now, but Y/n soon sat on Harry's hard cock and they both moaned in ecstasy.

Harry was a little shocked to be honest, rarly they have sex without any foreplay or lube, and he doesn't think he's ever felt her so wet--he had to make sure not to cum too prematurely.

Y/n was focused on Harry and her breathing. Sex felt different now knowing they are activly trying for a child, she knows Harry's dick is the same, but something about it just made it better.

She begain to bounce, Harry's arms coming up to squeeze her boob while the other grabbed her ass. He positioned his legs and pushed up into her, again, again, and again. The repative motion was made all the diffference by one of his hands coming down to her clit to make her feelmore pleasure. She gapsed when he pintched her clit, mouth then forming a smile as he looked down to Harry's.

"Babe, I think-I think I'm gonna come." Harry groaned. "I wanna get you pregnant and it so fuckin' hot--come with me. Are you close?"

His voice was fast passed, he rushed through his words as he tried to hold off from coming. Y/n was feeling the same way though; the love, the passtion, and the idea of being pregnant was too much.

"Har, I'm about to." She groaned as Harry's hips shot up in a more paniced order. He felt crazy, moaning and looking just at her made him want to exploed. "Come with me."

Her voice trailed off and turned into a moan as Harry came inside her, no protection. It felt like heaven to the both of them, forgetting the sweat that clang to their bodies.

"I love you." Harry whispered. She was still on his dick, just collasped over him now, but she knew he said it out of love. Sex changed after marriage or after any new step within a marriage; after marriage was so loving, and they had a sense of understanding that truly could be sourced from empaths.

"I love you too." She whispered back. Giving one small kiss to his lips.

"If you get pregnant, I don't know how I'm going to top that gift." Harry jokingly sighed.

"Hm, you could give me another one." She chided. "I want a bunch of Styles babies."

"I'll love any amount of kids you want." Harry decided. "Even if its twenty."

She laughed. "No way am I going to carry twenty, maybe we'll just get some pets."

"What happened to a whole bunch?"

"Only if they're just like their daddy."

"Damn, I only wanted them if they're just like their mummy." Harry joked being distrought, groaing with faux aggrivation.

"Maybe they'll have the best of us."

"My beauty, and your personality." Harry joked, which Y/n didn't like so she jokingly shuved him. "Maybe not your personality."

[la-petite-lapin]

Unlikely Friendships | Part Two

Unlikely Friendships masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x single mum!reader Word Count: 3.4k Series warnings (may update between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, single mother reader, mentions of violence, cannon-typical violence, injury description, shitty parenting (not by reader), swearing

He knew that it was pathetic. That the one and only thought on his mind as the field medics battled to patch up the gunshot wound in his shoulder was of you and Sunnie.

The 141 had been deployed to some far-flung corner of the globe, scouting for information on their upcoming, larger mission. Easy, they'd said. In and out, quiet - light work, really. But, that had gone down quicker than a lead balloon when one of the back-up guys had been discovered rooting around in the mainframes.

Thanks to Simon's quick thinking, the bullet had found a home in his shoulder as opposed to the middle of Gaz's forehead.

It was minor damage - by Simon's standards, anyway - and he begrudged the fact that they were all fussing over him. That he was likely going to have to take it easy for the next couple of weeks, at least. Then there was the fact that their op was definitely going to have to be postponed, especially now their targets had their hackles up.

So that was why he was still holed up in his quarters at the late hour of 10am, laid up under the sheets of his double bed with his good arm tucked under his head. Glancing across at his barren desk, devoid of any personal effects - much like the rest of his room - a glint of sunshine-yellow fur snagged his attention. He gazed at Mr Rabbit with a kind of reverence, a calm film passing in front of his thoughts, shutting out all of the usual, violent background noise.

He missed that kid; bold and chatty in the face of a monster such as himself.

He also missed you.

He wasn't too proud to admit it either; that he'd thoughts about Sunnie's cute mum almost every day since you'd met in the hallway. It wasn't even anything purely physical that had stood out to him at first. He'd been drawn to you like a man in the desert to water; lured in by the fiery passion in your eyes when you thought that your precious baby had gone missing - lost by her careless twat of a father,

He turned your name over again and again in his head. Thought about your perfect, plush lips moving as you said it. The way that you'd held yourself, tall and proud, hand on your hip - full of fire and...

It was that thought that finally dragged Simon out of bed, into the shower, and into some clean clothes. Once he was decent, he hauled himself into the rec room, greeted by post-workout Johnny and Gaz lounging on the overstuffed sofas.

It was no secret around the barracks that Gaz felt like shit for what had happened. He'd never been the lucky recipient of Simon's suicidal heroics before but, apparently, it was "fucking dreadful". All of the guilt and terror, and none of the actual, physical damage to boot.

Simon offered them a cheery wave but ducked straight past them before they could stop him, making a beeline for the second, much rowdier group occupying what was meant to be the 141's private room.

The secondary taskforce they'd thrown together to support on their upcoming op was gathered around the pool table at the back. That included Daniel Harper; just the man that Simon happened to be looking for.

As if sensing Simon's approach, the sergeant looked up from the game he was spectating on. "Oh hey, Ghost. How's the arm holding up, buddy?"

Simon stood, deathly still and stone-faced under the thick cotton fabric of his mask. He knew that he was intimidating - could see that familiar flash of fear in Sgt Harper's eyes. It was widely known by then that the guy who'd screwed up the op - a personal friend of Harper's - had been given the finest, public dressing down of his career by Price after they'd returned to base. Fortunately, he'd been removed from base by the time Ghost was up and prowling again. Though, the fear that he or another of the 141 might retaliate for the royal fuck-up still seemed to hang heavy amongst the secondary squad.

Sgt Harper gulped.

"Would be better if I hadn't been shot," Simon said emotionlessly.

The men playing at the pool table slowly lowered their ques. It was as if they were all holding their breath; waiting for him to do something.

Waiting to see a glimpse of the notorious Ghost come out to play.

"When's that daughter and ex of yours coming back to base?" Simon asked, tone giving away nothing of his intentions or mood.

The sergeant's expression switched to a confused one. One eyebrow raised, he cocked his head to the side. "I'm not too sure. Missus isn't too happy that I let the kid wander off."

He said it like it was an annoyance - like you were daft for not trusting him alone with your child. If anything, Simon thought you were damn right.

"Why'd you want to know anyway, Lt?" he continued, casting a glance back to his buddies with a smirk like he was about to say something tremendously funny. The look of a man who needed validation from others to feel secure in himself. "No offence, but you don't seem like the wife and kids type."

Simon damn-near snarled.

There the sergeant stood - some second-rate, low-rank tool - with no idea whatsoever about Simon's personal life or background. None of them did. He could be a family man for all they knew. He wasn't, but he could be. And - quite frankly - the dig at you, however subtle, was something he found disgusting. You were the mother of that idiot's child, separated or not, and that afforded you a certain level of respect, regardless.

The look of complete and utter calm in Simon's dead eyes shut off any murmurings before they could truly begin. "I have something of theirs. Need to return it."

Sgt Harper frowned, eyes still glittering with amusement at his own shitty attempt at humour. "Like what?"

"Mr Rabbit."

The sergeant's expression turned sour, not escaping Simon's notice. "Oh, that tatty old rag. She won't miss it." The gleam in his eyes turned to an irritated one as he added, "I keep telling the missus to stop buying her all that crap, but she never listens."

What a charmer you are, Simon thought with a sneer.

"I'd rather return it to the little one, if that's all the same to you," Simon replied coolly, letting just a hint of a threat creep into his voice.

Sgt Harper's face paled slightly and a deeply buried alpha-male part of Simon's brain purred with satisfaction. He couldn't stop the train of thought that followed; that if he were Sunnie's father, he'd buy her all the stuffed animals she could ever want. Not a helpful thought to have.

Growing impatient, Simon tapped his foot against the floor and grumbled, "So when are they back on base, Sergeant?"

He gulped, the column of his throat working with the effort. Gingerly, he said, "I could call the missus and ask her to swing by this weekend. Does that work for you?"

Simon nodded, satisfied. "That's fine by me."

Without a thank you or goodbye, Simon sauntered away from the pool table. Instead of heading back to the comfortable isolation of his quarters, however, he dropped down onto the sofa beside Johnny. Both lads were leaning forward, grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats. They'd both quite clearly been listening in on Simon's conversation.

"So... wha' was all tha' about?"

It had been weeks since Daniel lost Sunnie on base when he finally decided to man up and call you.

You'd made it clear to him that he wasn't going to see her without supervision for a while, especially not on the army base. Not that he'd seemed at all bothered by that; he didn't seem fussed at all. In fact, he'd made no effort to reach out and apologise, nor to check up on Sunnie and see if there'd been any lasting effects on her.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said as soon as the call connected. It was the same soothing, placating tone that he used to use when he wanted something from you. Recognising it set you on edge.

"What do you want, Daniel?" you replied coolly, immediately cutting through the bullshit. The sooner he got to the point, the sooner you could get on with your night.

"I was wondering... could you come to base with Sunnie this weekend?"

You glanced across to your right. Sunnie was curled up into your side on the sofa, a rerun of old Friends episodes playing on the TV as background noise. You'd been reading a book, now left forgotten, pages-down on the arm of the sofa in favour of scrolling through Tiktok on your phone.

Thankfully, your daughter had been okay since her adventure in the army barracks. In fact, she seemed to have almost forgotten about it, apart from talking incessantly about her new friend - Simon. She'd even started telling the other kids in her reception class about how Mr Rabbit was on holiday with the "big army man", as she called him.

But, most importantly, she didn't even seem aware that she'd gone missing for any period of time that day.

You exhaled a deep sigh. "Yes. But she's not staying there overnight."

"Okay, that's fine." There was a pause, and you could hear Daniel tapping his foot against something on the other end of the line. "Did you, uh... did you know that Ghost has been asking after you?"

Your brow furrowed. Who the fuck was Ghost?

"Who?"

"The 141 guy who found Sunnie," he grumbled, getting audibly pissy. "He kept asking me when you'd be back on base. Wants to give some stupid stuffed toy back to my daughter."

Anger seethed in your chest. The hand that wasn't holding your phone clenched into a fist at your side. Burning hot rage lanced through you, soothed only by running your fingers through Sunnie's hair. She stirred softly, reaching out a tiny hand to grab your leg - as though she were making sure that you were still there.

In her other hand, she clutched a rose-pink stuffed dragon - the ears, wings, and spines along its back glittering softly in the light of the living room lamp. Her chosen replacement in Mr Rabbit's absence.

Your heart ached as you watched her. That was another reason why you dreaded Sunnie having overnights with her father; his attitude towards childhood in general.

His parents had never let him have a proper one of his own - that much had been evident from the day you'd met them. Despite all of the reassurances that he'd given you when you'd gotten pregnant - placations of being better, of reading up on soft-parenting techniques and the like - he'd done nothing but mirror his parents' shitty attitudes since the day Sunnie was born.

He didn't believe in giving her toys that weren't educational ones, or letting her babble; constantly snapping at her to speak properly, even though she rarely babbled unless she was excited or tired. It had been one of the many reasons why you'd split up. Though there hadn't been a shortage of those.

"Daniel, I will say this one last time: our four-year-old daughter's toys aren't stupid," you said through gritted teeth.

He muttered something under his breath, clearly in the mood to argue. Before you could ask him to repeat himself, he said, "Oh, I see how it is. Any excuse to get back at me, huh? Think you'll get there by fucking the Lt? Go ahead - he won't go for it."

You blinked, stunned. Where the fuck did that come from?

"The guy's a fucking sadist," Daniel spat, saying your name to emphasise his point before jumping straight back into his unsolicited rant. "Don't want your or my daughter anywhere near him. I mean it. I won't stand for it."

Instead of dignifying any of what he'd just said with a response, you hung up. That was one bonus of being separated - you didn't have to listen to his rambling bullshit anymore. By the time you'd carried Sunnie to her room down the hallway, changed her into her favourite PJs and settled her into bed, you'd missed five calls from Daniel.

Padding back into the living room, you sat back down in your spot and closed your book. Not in the mood to fight with him, you opened up your messaging app.

You: Daniel, leave me alone. You: I don't want to talk to you right now.

Not even a minute later, your phone pinged with a reply.

Your fingers itched to open the app and have a look but, instead, you rolled your eyes and slid it across to the far side of the sofa. Whatever he had to say could wait for the weekend.

"Sunnie, come on!" you yelled, standing at the foot of the stairs with your hands braced on your hips.

Several loud thuds on the ceiling marked Sunnie's path upstairs as she bolted across her playroom.

"Sunnie! Hurry up or I'll leave without you!"

And that kicked her into action.

Within a matter of moments, Sunnie was bounding down the stairs - wearing her favourite dress with little bees stitched into the fabric, and a pair of bright pink trainers. She looked adorable, dead-set on looking good for what she deemed to be a playdate with her newest friend.

It had been all she'd talked about since you told her the other morning.

It had been Simon this, Simon that ever since.

Before long, she was strapped up into her car seat, ready for the journey to the base. Her chosen stuffed toy of the day - Mr Rabbit's mint green twin - was clutched in one little fist as she sat in the back, babbling away to herself. You couldn't help but smile; egged on by her excitement.

You weren't too proud to admit to yourself that you'd been more than a little excited to go to base too.

You'd been thinking about the tall, muscular giant of a man who'd found your daughter more and more recently - especially when you were alone at night. You found yourself drawn to the memory of that deep, baritone voice, those bright hazel eyes, and his odd choice to hide behind a balaclava; something that you could only assume was a safety or privacy thing. The taskforce was meant to be top-secret - perhaps that was how he maintained his anonymity.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

"Mummyyyyyy," Sunnie's drawn-out whine came about fifteen minutes from the entrance gate.

You rolled your shoulders back, glancing up at the rearview mirror to check that she was okay. Content that she was fine, you flashed her a smile. "You okay, baby?"

She nodded and you quickly turned your focus back to the road. "Mummy, Simon said he looks funny."

You hummed softly under your breath.

"Did he, princess?" you asked absentmindedly.

A frown formed on your lips. Sunnie always had very big emotions. She felt everything; hid nothing. All of her emotions were worn on her face as and when she felt them and - while it made her an open book - it also meant that sometimes things ate at her. Like watching you and her dad argue, or when another child in her class felt upset about something.

She was the most caring, sweetest soul you'd ever known, and you were proud to call her your daughter.

"Maybe... maybe he just needs to be reminded that he'd beautiful," you suggested softly, not wanting to upset her any further. That maybe he'd never been made to feel pretty before, as a gruff, giant soldier.

You glanced in the mirror to watch Sunnie's face light up, her smile luminous. "Okay, mummy."

And that made you smile too.

"Ghost, you've got someone here to see you!" Price's gruff voice announced from the other side of his locked door.

Simon startled.

He was standing shirtless in front of his bathroom mirror, mask chucked on the side of the sink as he examined the healing bullet wound in his shoulder. He'd started going to the gym for morning training sessions with the boys again, and he'd managed to strain it a little. Nothing serious - the stitches had held - but the skin around the entry wound was a little red and tender to touch.

"Uh... coming!" he yelled back.

As quickly as he could with his injured arm, he tugged his black t-shirt back on and pulled his balaclava down over his head. Leaving the bathroom, he made a beeline for the door, stopping only to grab Mr Rabbit from his perch on the desk.

Simon undid the lock, swinging the door open to be greeted by...

A small, compact weight hurled itself at his knees, almost taking his legs out from under him.

"Sunnie!" a soft, feminine voice said admonishingly. He didn't even have to look to know that it belonged to you.

With a deep, throaty chuckle, Simon lowered himself down to his knees and pulled Sunnie in for a slightly awkward, one-armed hug on his good side. To his delight, she wrapped her arms around his waist and tightened her grip as much as her little body could manage.

"Mister Simon!" she squeaked.

"Hello again, princess," he said, running a fingernail along the seam of the stuffed rabbit's ear with his free hand. When she finally pulled away, he handed the toy back to the little girl. "I think this belongs to you."

Sunnie squealed with glee, pulling the sunshine-yellow rabbit into her arms for another bone-crushing hug.

"Hey, darling," Price said, his voice reminding Simon that there were, in fact, other people in the hallway around them. A gaggle of new recruits were staring at them, wide-eyed and awestruck, watching the feared Ghost interact so wholesomely with a small child. Price's eyes were focused on said child as he held out a scar-flecked hand. "How about we go and find you some ice cream?"

John looked to you for approval and you nodded, smiling kindly.

Dropping down to press a kiss to Sunnie's forehead, you told her to behave herself for the captain then watched as he led her off in the direction of the rec room. Only when they'd left your sight, did you finally turn your attention to Simon.

He could've sworn that his heart stopped beating in his chest as you fixed him with your warm gaze, lips curving up into the most beautiful, genuine smile he'd ever seen. The feeling didn't ease as your rose back up to your full height - still comically small beside him - and extended a hand for him to shake. He took it, wincing slightly at the feeling of his callouses scraping against your baby-soft skin.

"Hey, Simon," you said, still having yet to break eye contact. "It's nice to see you again."

He released your hand, easing back a half-step. He didn't know what to do; what to say now that you were right in front of him. He just stood awkwardly, trying not to stare at your mouth as he grumbled, "Nice to see you too. I, uh... I didn't know you'd be coming to see me."

His throat worked as he swallowed, the scent of your perfume lingering pleasantly in the air. It was nerves - honest to God nerves - that he was feeling.

Pitiful. Weak. Pathetic...

"I wanted to properly thank you for what you did last month," you explained.

Everything in your expression was open. He wondered if you knew just how similar you were to your daughter in that regard.

"We didn't get much chance to talk last time, and Sunnie talks very highly of you," you continued, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. "You might be on your way to becoming her favourite person."

Simon could feel himself blushing under the mask. "Well... that's a first."

You chuckled. "Befriending a lost little girl who's wise beyond her years?"

He shook his head. "Being someone's favourite."

He'd meant it in a self-depreciating jokey kind of way, but the look on your face made him regret it. You looked fucking horrified.

"I- sorry. Didn't mean to make it depressing," he said with a grimace.

A long moment passed before you shook your head, that beautiful smile gracing your lips once again. Looping an arm through his uninjured one, you nudged him in the ribs.

"I think we should go and find somewhere in this place that does some decent coffee," you said cheerfully. "Something tells me we've both got a lot of stories to tell before Price brings Sunnie back for her playdate."

Preening at the sight of you so close to him, Simon grinned under the mask - the mention of this playdate completely sailing past his comprehension. "Sounds like a plan, sweetheart."

a/n: I'm a simple woman with simple tastes: I just want to see Simon in a tiara, playing tea parties with Sunnie :) Maybe I might make that happen in part 3... - lapetitelapin :)

[probablyasocialecologist]

Vance did not grow up in poverty or in Appalachia. He grew up middle class in the Rust Belt, in Middletown, Ohio. His grandparents were from eastern Kentucky, in Appalachia, and he visited their old homestead during holidays. His experience with Appalachian poverty is the equivalent of a student writing about their summer vacations. Vance is quick to qualify his success with faux-humility: “I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve accomplished nothing great in my life, certainly nothing that would justify a complete stranger paying to read about it.” Still, he claims the book is a representation of “the American Dream as my family and I encountered it.” He is playing off the belief, widespread in Appalachia, in my experience, that folks who are suffering from addiction, in need of social welfare, or otherwise down on their luck are to blame because they didn’t work hard enough. Vance boldly generalizes his family as “hardworking, except of course for the many food stamp recipients who show little interest in honest work.”

[...]

I don’t have the money and power that Vance does, but here’s what I’ve learned: Appalachia is a distinct place. It is easy to spin false narratives about it because not many people know much about it outside the region. Addiction is a public health crisis here, as are mental health and heart disease. Queer people, women, and non-white people live here. Its relative lack of monetary and educational resources exists alongside its wealth of natural beauty. Growing up in a place of natural beauty reminds you that the earth is alive, and it’s sick. Growing up with few resources amid addiction teaches you to make much of little, to use imagination as refuge, to be attentive to those around you, and to care for those who are not always well enough to care for you back. It reminds you that community extends past your biological family and that family is a responsibility and gift. It reminds you that salary is not the measure of a person.

27 August 2024

[1randomweirdo]

Forgot to share this yesterday!

Hey my fellow Americans, remember Net Neutrality? (Remember the douche with the comically oversized 'reese's pieces' coffee mug, Ajit Pai?) Quick rehash: Pai repealed it, and lacking Net Neutrality means Big Tech/Phone companies can hinder, slow, or block access to any sites they want for any reason (perhaps some of you recall Verizon throttling service of firefighters out west *while they were battling wildfires* - or how ads now just say internet speeds may decrease during peak hours? Net Neutrality makes it so that can't happen)

Well now that the aforementioned douche is not there, the FCC is considering restoring it! This is *huge*, and there's an easy way to submit comments to both the FCC *and* your members of Congress, below.

It's a pre-made form letter; all you have to do is enter your info (though I recommend adding something to the letter, just to prove to the recipients that they're not getting bot comments. Even just adding your name and saying "I agree with the comments below" or something is fine)

An action we can all take, that just takes a few moments (just be sure to uncheck the boxes at the bottom if you don't want to be added to email lists)

Link to send comments to FCC:

[cheeriecherrymain]

Your Room [Viktor x fem!Reader][Part 1/2]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: E (18+) Chapter Content: fingering | Viktor has a filthy mouth | he calls you a whore (affectionately) | sexy stuff in a semi-public setting (but you guys are alone) | dirty talk (kind of) Proofread: not a chance in hell

---

---

You’ve known Viktor for a couple of months now: almost an entire year, if you were to be specific. And in that period of time, you’ve learned three main things about him.

Firstly, his intelligence isn’t just limited to the subjects of science and machinery. His entire thought process is as quick as a whip, in every aspect of his life. At times it almost seemed like his mind was on fast forward, moving at a pace that the rest of the physical world couldn’t keep up with.

As such, his sense of humour is startling. As proper and calm as he appeared on the outside, he was often capable of making deadpan quips that would have your sides aching in seconds.

No one could make you laugh the way he did.

Secondly, you’ve learned that despite his ability to logic his way out of any situation, Viktor was a deeply emotional man. You’d had your doubts at first - never being able to get him to emote beyond a slight frown or smile, in the beginning.

But the more you’d gotten to know him, the more you’d realized that yes, he really did have feelings. And a lot of them, at that.

He was just guarded when it came to matters of his heart, and for good reason. Growing up as a lonesome boy in the Undercity couldn’t have been easy for him, so you’re not really surprised that he’d come up with all kinds of ways to protect himself.

But you’ve always been a patient woman.

You’d taken your time getting to know him, listening intently when he spoke to you and asking questions all throughout. You’d opened up to him about your own life, about your desires and fears - showing him that not only did you enjoy the things he had to say, but you also trusted him with your own issues.

And, like you had desperately hoped, he’d eventually begun to trust you in return.

Which leads to the third thing you’ve learned about Viktor.

For all his skills and capabilities, and his attention to detail when he works, he is…not a subtle man. 

He knows his way around technology better than anyone you’ve ever met, and he’s an above average partner for conversation. He’s insightful and clever, and kind, and funny, and…

…and he lacks so much tact, that at first you’d thought he was doing it on purpose.

Perhaps the shirt you’d been wearing that day had been too low cut, and he’d been to awkward to say anything about it. Maybe he’d liked the colour you’d chosen, and hadn’t known how to compliment you. But whatever the reason, you’d noticed him, on multiple occasions now, unabashedly staring at your chest.

The first time it had happened, you thought maybe he was trying to make some kind of point to you. Something about dressing appropriately for the lab, yadda yadda. But he’d never made any kind of silent acknowledgement to you - as if he wasn’t even aware of the fact that you’d caught him ogling you.

As if he wasn’t even aware of the fact that he was doing it.

And you…aren’t sure what to feel about it.

On one hand, if you pulled him aside and spoke to him about it, you’re fairly certain he’d combust in some aspect. At the very least, he’d be embarrassed about his actions, and would avoid you to an extent: at the worst, he’d end up having some kind of internal crisis which would undoubtedly lead to your entire friendship falling apart.

Neither of which you wanted.

On the other hand, you’re not sure you mind the way his attention always seems to fall to you.

You’d never seen him act in such a way with anyone else, even with the people you yourself would consider pretty. He’s professional, and keeps most others at a distance, and…honestly, it makes you feel special. It makes you feel desirable.

Which has raised the question: what do you want from him?

Were you happy to be the apparent recipient of his attraction?

Or did you want more?

Did you want to go on dates with him? Did you want to fall asleep next to him, and wake up with his hair in your face and his arms around your waist? Did you want to traipse into the lab without so much as a warning, and kiss him good morning? Did you want to hold his hand as you wandered around together? Relax with him in the bath after a long day, tenderly soaping him up as you dig your thumbs into the many knots all over his back, letting your hands wander across his skin-

You take a deep breath, and pull yourself away from the thought before you get too carried away. It’s strikingly obvious what you want, now that you think about it.

Now you just needed to figure out how to approach him.

—

You wander into the lab the next morning with your bag slung over your shoulders, and a tray of coffee in your hands. It’s later than you’d usually show up to work, but given the fact that you’d brought some much needed treats, your friends let it slide.

Jayce wastes no time in fixing himself a cup, briefly squeezing your shoulder in thanks before heading back to his desk.

Viktor, on the other hand, remains seated. Engrossed in whatever he’s working on, you’re fairly certain he hasn’t even noticed your entrance. It would sting a little, were you not already used to such a behaviour.

It also means he hasn’t noticed the clothing you’d decided to wear that day.

You bite back a smirk as you prepare a cup for him, dropping in an obscene amount of sugar and a dash of cream. You’d decided to go with the blouse he’d first ogled you in - it’s gotten a little tight over the past couple months, but that, in your opinion, only serves as better bait.

It hugs your form better than it had before, and had made it so you’d had to leave the top couple buttons undone. Paired with the fitted skirt you’d chosen, and the gartered stockings that peeked out from beneath, your entire ensemble was perfect for showing off your figure.

Entirely unprofessional, you’re aware, but necessary.

“You should take a break,” you say sweetly, as you set the cup of coffee down on Viktor’s desk. You make sure to lean well into his field of vision, with the excuse of making sure the beverage is away from the edge of the table, but you can feel the effects of your actions immediately.

His gaze, darting up from his work to look at what you’ve gifted him, only to trail over your body in the most obliviously lecherous way possible. 

“I- hm?” he replies smartly, blinking out of his momentary stupor.

You bite back a laugh.

“I said you should take a break,” you reiterate. “You’re so focused, I don’t doubt you’ve already been sitting here for a couple hours. You should give your eyes a rest, and have something to eat.”

He makes a noncommittal noise, and slouches back in his seat.

“I’m almost finished,” he tells you, though you hardly believe him.

You carefully set your hands on the arms of his chair, leaning forward so that you’re at eye level with him and can fix him with a disapproving pout. He swallows hard, and at such a proximity, you can see the way his pupils widen - hear the way his breath comes in short draws, as you lock your gaze with his.

“Take a break,” you say again, and this time, he nods in agreement.

—

You continue like that throughout the day. Touching and teasing him in ways that would seem innocent to any onlookers - a hand on the shoulder, your lips by his ear, or your chin on his shoulder while you watch him explain something to you. 

But each time you find yourself in his personal space, you can feel his resolve slipping. He’s realized by now what you’re doing, and he knows that you know. But he’s yet to say anything about it.

It’s maybe a little bit selfish of you, but you want to see him crumble, and you mean it in the kindest and most loving way possible. You want his stubbornness to be washed away by desperation - you want him to be incapable of resisting you.

It takes most of the day, but eventually you make it to that point.

Eventually, after Jayce bids goodnight to the two of you and the room is cast into silence.

You lean quietly against the edge of his desk, affectionately watching him while he tries in vain to ignore your eyes on him, attempting to finish his work.

“Viktor,” you murmur.

His hands tighten around the tools he’s holding.

“What are you doing?” he sighs. Finally addressing the tension.

Slowly, oh so slowly, you reach towards him. Sliding your fingers tenderly along his jaw, reveling in the way his pulse thumps quicker the moment your skin makes contact. You carefully tilt his face towards you, drawing his attention away from the trinket laying in front of him.

And guilt immediately flickers in your stomach, the moment you see how he’s looking at you.

Wholeheartedly, entirely, and terribly frustrated.

You stroke your thumb over the curve of his cheek, watching as the prettiest shade of pink begins to rise in your wake.

“I’m trying to get your attention,” you gently tell him. “You’ve been staring at me for weeks, and you haven’t done anything about it.”

Worry rises up in your throat, the longer the silence lasts between you. Fear. You’d been absolutely certain that he’d been showing an interest in you, in a way he did with no one else. But what if you’d been wrong? What if you’d completely misinterpreted his actions, and had now made a complete and utter fool out of yourself-

The soft press of lips against your palm draws you out of your spiral.

Viktor’s lips, specifically, his breath warm on the hand you’d laid upon him.

“I had hoped you wouldn’t notice,” he mumbles, swiveling in his chair to face you. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or make myself appear rude or…unsafe. I had hoped that admiring you from a distance would work well enough, and that our friendship would be able to continue unchanged.”

You scoot closer to him, until you’re all but sitting in his lap.

“Why would things change?” you wonder, letting your cheek come to rest against his shoulder. “We’ll still always be friends - just now with the added benefit of…you know. Romance.”

You lay a kiss to the pulse point on his throat, smirking at the way it jumps beneath your touch.

“Among other things,” you tack on.

Slender arms snake around your waist, then, pulling you impossibly closer. Until you’re pressed firmly against his body, with your legs spread and hooked over the armrests of the chair. You can feel the way your skirt has ridden up, revealing more skin than you’d intended, though Viktor hardly seems to mind.

Once you’re resting comfortably against him, his hands begin to wander. Slowly walking his fingers down your body - pressing into the curve of your hips, and dipping over the exposed meat of your ass.

You know he can feel the way you shiver when he touches you, if the self-satisfied smirk he wears is anything to go by.

“Other things,” he huffs, sliding a single finger beneath the band of one stocking. He keeps it there for a couple seconds, sliding around to the back of your thigh, where he pulls away and draws the elastic taut. 

“Is that what you came here for, today?” he asks, feigning innocence. “Did you dress up all pretty, hoping I’d bend you over my desk and have my way with you?”

His breath is hot on the soft skin of your neck, until he digs his teeth in.

And lets your stocking snap sharply back into place.

“Viktor,” you whine, squirming in his lap.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, as he dips a hand between your legs, stroking the pad of one finger along the obvious damp spot on your panties. “You’ve been throwing yourself at me all afternoon, like some kind of common whore.”

You whimper, when he pushes the wet fabric to the side and immediately starts drawing lazy circles on your clit, already slick with desire.

“Even now, spreading yourself open for me, in a place where anyone could walk in. I bet you’d let me fuck you like this, wouldn’t you? You’d let me use your slutty little cunt however I pleased, and you wouldn’t even care if you made a mess - you’d let me stretch you open and fill you until I’m satisfied.”

You’re humiliated by how quickly he manages to bring you to the edge. Sliding two slender fingers into your dripping hole, he curls them and spreads them so perfectly within you, grinding the heel of his palm against your puffy clit all the while.

“Would you like that?” he wonders, though it’s hardly a question. “Ridiculous - of course you would. You’re already dripping all over my hand, and clenching around my fingers. Are you really about to come? Even though I’ve barely touched you?”

You nearly sob as he continues to work you closer and closer to the edge, crying out in desperation when he slides another digit in with the first two. You don’t think you’ve ever been spread so wide by someone’s fingers before, the stretch burning in the most delicious way.

Closer and closer, your orgasm approaches, your breath coming in short gasps as you tremble bonelessly against him.

“Please,” you whine, nearly begging. The obscene squelch of your dripping pussy echoing through the room.

“Please what?” he teases. “Please take my fingers out? Is three too much for your poor little cunt? Or please give you another one?”

You wail when he stills his hand.

“Please let me come,” you sob, your voice catching in your throat. “Viktor- I want to come- please-”

Blessedly, deliciously, he slips a fourth finger in, and begins his ministrations anew.

“Look at you,” he sighs, almost dreamily. “You’d look so perfect split open on my cock. I know you’d be able to take it - you can take most of my hand, after all. But it would be tight.”

You nod along with him, barely able to form a coherent thought, orgasm so close you can practically taste it.

And then, like a monster, he stops.

“No- no no no don’t stop-” you cry, rolling your hips in an attempt to grind down on his fingers, only for him to pull them out of you completely, leaving your hole empty and clenching around nothing.

“I’m not fucking you in here. And I’m not letting you come until I’ve filled you up,” he says plainly, and the statement alone makes you want to start weeping. However, he tilts his face down towards yours, nudging his nose against you until you find the will to stare sadly up at him.

Your eyes meet, and you’re entirely started by the sheer desire that shines within his pretty, honeyed gaze.

“Unless you want this to be a one-time thing,” he says, his words catching briefly, as if the thought itself pains him. “If you don’t want…more…then I’ll let you come now, on my fingers, and there will be no hard feelings. Our friendship will remain unchanged, and we’ll never speak of this again.”

You frown slightly at the idea.

“But if you do want more from this,” he continues, “If you do want a relationship, if you want to be mine…then come back to my room with me. Let me take my time with you, let me feel you, let me bring you pleasure in every way I know how - my fingers, my mouth. Let me love you.”

You don’t bother with a verbal answer, choosing to instead bring your lips to his in a hurried frenzy. Your breath mixing, his tongue sliding tentatively against yours, until your chest is so full you’re gasping for air, knitting your hand in his hair to briefly pull him away from you.

Even so, he tries to chase you.

You stare at each other for a couple seconds, chests rising and falling as you calm yourselves and gather your wits.

And then, sweetly, you ask your question.

“Where’s your room?”

[rashid92786]

Crispy Chicken Pakoda: घर पर बनाने की सरल रेसिपी 👶

Crispy Chicken Pakoda: Simmo Kitchenwali की विशेष क्रिस्पी चिकन पकोड़ा रेसिपी से जानें कैसे आप अपने घर में ही बना सकते हैं बाजार जैसे स्वादिष्ट और कुरकुरे चिकन पकोड़े। इस सरल और विस्तृत गाइड के साथ तैयार करें एक आदर्श स्नैक, जो है बिलकुल सही चाय के समय के लिए। मुख्य बिंदु सामग्री की सूची: चिकन पकोड़ा बनाने के लिए आवश्यक सभी सामग्रियों की विस्तृत सूची। चरण-दर-चरण निर्देश: पकोड़े बनाने की…

[rallamajoop]

Some statistics on Lucy and the odds of surviving (non-vampiric) blood transfusions

Because it’s Dracula-season again, and because I am absolutely that kind of nerd, I spent some time calculating the actual odds of Lucy surviving all those blood transfusions from unrelated donors. To summarise what I found up front: Lucy's odds aren't great, but they're still a lot higher than you might think.

Now, I’m not the first person ever to tackle this question, and having no medical qualifications whatsoever, I'm not the best person either. But figuring out the answer to my own satisfaction was a great excuse to learn a whole lot of fascinating stuff that took some digging to figure out, so (with the caveat that I am entirely open to corrections from real professionals) naturally now I want to share it.

The complete world history of attempted blood transfusions is way beyond scope for us here (you can find plenty of sources on it online if you’re curious). But as Stoker’s text aptly demonstrates, the science of blood transfusion had come a long way by the Victorian era – just not the means for doctors to reliably predict which transfusions would be successful, and which would simply kill the patient. The principle behind the basic A, B and O blood types wouldn’t be discovered until 1900 – 4 years after Dracula was published, and wouldn't become part of general medical practice for much longer – and the additional Rh-factors wouldn’t be discovered until 1939. In Stoker's day, doctors were still so far behind the ball some of them thought transfusing milk into people suffering blood loss was a good idea (yes, really). And though I'm focusing on blood groups here, it goes without saying there are plenty of other risks that come from letting any Victorian-era doctor open your veins.

That said, what the average person knows about how blood types work may not be all that much advanced today from what doctors knew in the 1890s. It’s easy to come out of Dracula thinking, “Wow, they gave Lucy blood from four different people? The odds all their blood types would matched hers must be minuscule!” (and a quick search of the web for this topic will find people asking exactly that). But there are several factors which make Lucy’s chances a whole lot better than they might look on paper.

(Image source)

For one thing, even though there are many different blood groups to worry about, some are much more common than others. If just one blood group accounts for half the population (which is actually true of some countries), then Lucy’s odds of hitting four donors with the same group just by chance would go way up.

But far more important is the fact that blood groups don’t have to be a 'match' to be compatible. If Lucy is one of the 2% of the British population with the blood group AB+, she’d be a universal recipient – theoretically capable of receiving blood from anyone without adverse reactions. Similarly, if any of her donors were O-, she’s in luck again, because that makes them a universal donor. If Lucy herself is O-, however, she’s in trouble: universal donors can donate to any other group, but they can only receive from other O-negs.

Confused? Time to get a bit more technical.

When receiving blood, your greatest enemy is your own immune system. Vital as all those immune cells are, they are not smart, and have no way of knowing that all this foreign blood suddenly flooding your system is friendly. If the don’t recognise those blood cells, they’ll attack them, bonding to their surface and causing cells to clump together and form clots which can clog up your arteries and kill you. Transfusing the wrong blood type can and likely will kill you.

The immune system identifies blood cells as intruders via specific antigens found on the cell’s surface. The most important antigens in blood matching systems are the A and B antigens, and secondarily the Rhesus antigens (marked + or -). Some people have all of these antigens (AB+), some have none (O- with the ‘O’ more literally indicating a ‘0’ or a null) and many have some but not all (A+, B-, O+, etc). Meanwhile, the immune system of the recipient body, much like your racist uncle, will attack most anything with distinguishing features it hasn't seen before (like I said, it’s not smart). A blood cell which is missing a familiar antigen will slip through, but a blood cell sporting an unfamiliar antigen will trigger a reaction. So the immune system of someone with B-type blood will have issues with any A-type blood you try and transfuse in, but will be just fine with B or O, since O lacks any antigens to mark it as an intruder.

Once you know what you’re looking for, A, B, AB and O type blood can be identified fairly easily, just by mixing blood or antibodies and watching the reaction. I’ve seen some suggestions that this may have been understood even to some of the better-informed doctors in Victorian times: when unsure if a transfusion would be safe, they could try transfusing just a small amount of blood, watch for a bad reaction, and continue only if things look good. If you absolutely have to do a blood transfusion without any testing though, an immediate family member is your best bet: blood types can still differ among a family, but there’s a strong genetic component. (Sadly, this wouldn’t have been an option for Lucy, as her mother was already unwell, and would not have been considered a good transfusion candidate.)

Things get more complicated when you add in the Rhesus factor, which wasn’t discovered until some decades later, and for good reason: bad reactions to Rh+ blood develop in Rh- people only after that first transfusion. While A and B types might be like your racist uncle, the Rh factor is more like putting a dog on your basketball team: you’ll get away with it once, because you’ve brought in something so unexpected no-one’s made a rule about it yet (let alone bothered to come up with anti-dog basketball tactics). Unlike the standard A and B antigens, the immune system has to have 1) seen Rh+ blood, and 2) spent some time thinking about a good plan of attack before it’s ready to do anything about it – by which point the donor blood should be out of your system anyway. It's only the next transfusion after that where you can hit problems.

In practice, the Rh factor is of most concern to Rh- mothers carrying Rh+ babies. The first baby should be fine, but the delivery process can result in some mixing of the mother and baby's blood ‒ and that can leave her immune system primed to take offense at any future passengers of the Rh+ persuasion (why this apparently doesn’t also apply to A and B type babies in A or B negative mothers I’m not sure, but obviously the Rh-immune response works differently). With all today’s modern medical technology, this is something doctors can identify in expectant parents and manage with medication, but obviously they're still going to want to avoid transfusing Rh+ blood into an Rh- patient (especially if they’ve already got Rh+ kids).

Regardless, for our purposes, it’s only from the second transfusion that the Rh factor could trip you up. So could that be an issue for Lucy, if she’s getting so many transfusions? It's harder to find good info on exactly how long the Rh immune reaction takes to develop after the first transfusion, but most of what I could find suggests we’re looking at a period of weeks to months at least. So that’s good news for Lucy: we can ignore Rh factors when we’re calculating her odds of survival.

As a minor aside here, the standard eight blood types you can get by combining A, B and the Rhesus factor aren’t technically the only blood types out there. These three antigens matter most because people both with and without them are common in the broader human population, but a small minority of people are missing other antigens that the rest of us get as standard. European blood banks apparently also classify blood by a Kell factor, and people with anaemia and other conditions likely to require regular transfusions may be checked for several other potential Rh-like issues. A handful of people worldwide have blood classified as neither Rh+ or Rh-, but Rh-null – missing antigens common to 99.9% of the human population, and being in that class is a very mixed blessing. Blood donations from someone Rh-null can be used in recipients with rare blood types that would make them incompatible with almost any other donor. But if someone Rh-null ever needs a blood donation themselves, they’re in big trouble.

So, enough theory. What’s all this mean for Lucy’s odds of making it through 4 blood transfusions from unrelated donors?

Unsurprisingly, ratios of different blood groups vary a lot country to country and population to population, so I looked up ratios in modern Britain (Van Helsing is Dutch, of course, but blood groups in the Netherlands are similar enough to those in the UK that we’ll ignore that, just for simplicity). It’s possible these ratios have drifted since Victorian times, but figuring out how is so far beyond scope here we’re not going to worry about it. As discussed above, we’ll also ignore Rh factors – Lucy’s almost certainly never had a blood transfusion or a baby before, and everything happens far too fast for an Rh-immune response to kick in.

Alright. It’s statistics time!

We don't know Lucy's blood group, so any are possible. For each potential Lucy-blood-group, we can generate a list of blood groups which will be compatible donors (we'll call that list C(x)), and from that, we can calculate the probability that she'll be compatible with any randomly-selected donor. For Lucy to survive, we need her to survive 4 successive blood transfusions, so we’re raising that survival probability to the power of 4. Then to calculate her overall probability of survival, we multiply the survival rate by the odds she’s in that blood group, and add them together (no need to divide by the total population, that’s an easy 100%). So if we let n = number of transfusions and P(x) = probability a person is in blood group x, we get the following lovely equation:

(Yes, I know, I'm sorry ‒ someone out there is going to want to check my working, and I like to be transparent.)

And with that, (assuming I’m not just talking out of my arse with all those calculations), that suggests Lucy’s overall chances of surviving 4 different blood transfusions is about: (drum roll)... 27%. So, roughly 1 in 4.

The really savvy reader might notice that Lucy does not, technically, survive all four transfusions – she dies shortly after the fourth, so it’s conceivable that last transfusion was a mismatch. If we take the requirements down to where Lucy only needs to survive 3 transfusions, her odds go up to 34%, or closer to 1 in 3. Still not great, but given the sorts of crazy one-in-a-million coincidences all fiction is built on, that’s actually pretty reasonable. Even if you do factor in Rh compatibilities, we're still looking at around 21% survival rate after 4 transfusions, which are pretty decent odds in the world of Victorian medicine.

Do those odds sound a little high to you? Here’s something to keep in mind. On paper, Lucy’s odds of surviving even a single random-donor transfusion are only 65%. But given she survived that first transfusion, the odds go up that she’s in one of those near-universal blood groups, and they keep going up. Sure, every new transfusion has a new chance to kill you, but statistically speaking, every transfusion you survive marks you as someone who’s a little more likely to survive the next. So someone who's already survived 2 transfusions has a 76% chance of surviving a 3rd ‒ and if they do survive that 3rd, an 80% chance of surviving a 4th.

As another aside though, even after surviving four successive transfusions, the odds Lucy’s in that lucky AB universal-recipient category are still only about 10% (compared to 3% of the base population). Statistically, it’s still far more likely she’s in the A-group ‒ the second largest group in the UK, and who can receive blood from the other largest group (O), letting them receive blood from a whooping 86% of the population without issue. Aren’t statistics wonderful?

Oh, all right – I’ll stop with the maths. We’ve made our point here.

Now, we could still point out that, for a supposedly-experienced physician, Stoker's Van Helsing seems pretty blase about the possibility his blood transfusions could backfire horribly ‒ but then, Lucy's already on death's door each time he resorts to asking for volunteers. He's doing the only thing that might save her life (and it does, until it doesn't).

To conclude, no-one is going to tell you Dracula makes sense. This is a book which offers no explanation for why Dracula should just happen land in England on the same town where his solicitor’s fiancée just is taking a holiday, let alone the rest of it. And Stoker had no way of knowing Lucy’s actual odds of surviving such a very Victorian procedure. But that whole blood transfusion sequence is far from being the least probable thing in the book. 

[homosociallyyours]

This is a post for one of my best friends who's been going through a lot for the past few years. I'll go into more details below, but here's the heart of the matter: My friend has a serious auto-immune condition resulting from the long term after effects of cancer treatments (worsened now by the addition of long COVID to her long list of diagnoses). Over the past few years, she's gotten sicker and sicker and has been forced to change her diet from a vegetarian anti-cancer diet (she's a breast cancer survivor, and fought HARD for her health) to one that's become more and more limited as her body becomes allergic to every food one by one. She's now reached a point where one of the last 2 foods that she was able to eat safely, chicken, is causing an allergic reaction; she has to eat it anyway to survive, so is now very sick all the time.

What can you do?

One of the last hopes that she has to turn things around is something called a fecal microbiome transplant, which has worked miracles for other people with similar issues, but cannot currently be accessed through medical channels in the US for any but one (unrelated) condition. It's really easy to do as a DIY treatment though, it's just hard to find a donor: so we are putting it out there to see if one of you might be able and willing to be that person, or know someone who could do it.

Here is what she has to say about the ask:

Finding the right person to do this is difficult, but actually doing the helping is extremely easy and quick if someone was that person! If you live in the continental US and are fortunate enough to have both physical and mental good health (or know someone or have a child who fit the criteria) and are willing, you might be able to change my life! Please consider clicking through to read more and maybe even come aboard...  (For clarity: this isn't a medical procedure or anything, it is literally just donating poop, there are a few specifics but it is very much from the comfort of your home on your own time.)

You can click here to fill out a google form to see if you might be able to be a donor. The questionaire is detailed: fecal transplant is a bizarre and magical thing in which the patient sometimes can even end up acquiring personal preferences from the donor- the gut microbiome (sometimes called the second brain) is incredible! But this means that any illness, chronic issues, or risk factors you carry may also be transferred to the recipient so while it may feel invasive, getting detailed info in very necessary; I am just too sick already to take on any more problems.

A note- yes, it is possible to buy screened and processed treatments even in the US: unfortunately the cost (~$2k per round of treatment) is way outside my reach, particularly given that it isn't really any better than just getting poop directly from a good candidate (proven via studies), and that often it takes trying a couple donors/ rounds to find a match that gets results. If anyone wants to just buy me that stuff, I sure wouldn't say no to that, but given the severity of my situation (medical and financial; I cannot work due to disability) it is likely I will need to do medical fundraising at some point and I am trying to save that for an even worse point. Also if you have that kind of money to help out honestly it would be better spent on specialists or my astronomical food costs. I will cover all costs associated with this process if I find someone though, of course!

Thank you for reading/boosting/etc, please consider sending the link to possible healthy friends or family who might be a fit, or consider whether you have a child fitting the bill you might be willing to enlist- young microbiomes are the best ones, as children's systems have had less time to be ravaged by the effects of the modern world or the simple deterioration of age.

[keffirinne]

You KNOW I need some more of your Roman/Reader insert stuff, dealers choice my love!

Ahh, I always have something for you!

Actually, it's a warm-up I did for our Roman birthday prompt and the final story went in a slightly different direction, restriced by the characters number, so I didn't plan to post it. But it suits this challenge perfectly I think!

Here you have it!

* btw I love your headcanon about Roman’s big appreciation of morning blowjobs, so I stole/ borrowed it from you!

#smut #NSFW

Learn some patience, Sionis

Roman Sionis x YN

Roman woke up alone in his bed and today this fact bothered him. His body, especially the lower part, was craving for the touch of a woman’s hands and their undivided attention. The king size bed could easily fit three people, he tested that before, and laying here now alone, under the cold sheets, was only escalating the feeling of annoying lonesome. Roman was rich and good looking, he shouldn't have to deal with such common discomforts, reserved only for the poor or hideous. He deserved to be woken up by a blowjob, followed by an amazing orgasm that would put him in a good mood for the day. This annoying state, its undeniable presence in his chest was fueling the frustration. 

Roman reached for his phone laying on the night table, opened the message app and typed a quick text. Its content was short and left no uncertainties.

“Come over. I want to see you.”

As soon as he sent the message, he started staring at the little icon indicating if the recipient has read it yet. Impatiently drumming his fingers against his chest, Roman waited. He hated waiting. 

Normally, all he needed was a phone call and he wouldn’t have to wait. He could have a bunch of girls in his bed in less than 30 mins, all ready for him and willing to fulfill all his whims. They would keep him company for the whole morning, for the whole day even, if he wanted, begging on their knees for more. But he wasn't in the mood for easy pleasure today. 

Roman had everything, so what he couldn’t have, was the thing he wanted the most.

The three moving dots finally started moving on his screen, announcing that his recipient was replying.

“I can't, busy.”

Roman’s lips curved into a small grimace after he read the answer. He didn’t like it. It didn’t stop him though from pursuing his plans. He typed back.

“Cancel it.”

The next message from YN came back quickly. 

“I just said I can't. Use your hands.”

“I don’t want to. Come over.”

“Scroll up - I’m busy.”

“Whatever it is, it's not as important as me.” he typed back. It wasn't a suggestion, it was a clear statement.

Three dots reappeared again and Roman could swear this time they were moving faster and more aggressive than before. 

“I won't cancel it. Why do I have to always reschedule? My plans are equally important as yours, Sionis. I’m not canceling anything.” Roman smirked with the corner of his mouth imaging YN frowning, angrily typing down the words. She definitely huffed at the screen and called him names in her mind. 

He wondered, where was she now? It was early, maybe she didn’t get up from bed yet. Maybe she was still laying in it, naked, the sheets softly tucking her curves. Her nipples hard, maybe she was touching herself just a moment ago, definitely thinking about him. Yes, she was teasing her pussy with her fingers or a vibrator, wanting it to be him. So wet, warm and tight. So easy to please. She always closed her eyes and clenched her toes when she came. Roman liked this fantasy, he decided to stick to it. His cock started to pulse, aroused by the stimulating images. He grabbed it and started stroking it, letting his mind help him pass the time. 

After a while, YN texted again.

“Learn some patience, Sionis.”

She was a tease, she knew how to keep him on his toes. And he liked a good challenge. But he also knew how to handle her. 

He typed again, choosing carefully his next words. 

“I want to see you.”

YN took some time before she replied this time. In the meantime Roman continued to unfold the fantasy he just created in his mind, not sparing any details of its wicked details. He was imagining YN coming through his door any moment now, wearing nothing but a skimpy dress that she would quickly get rid off. Then, she would take good care of him, just the way he wanted. He could almost feel her lips tightly wrapped around his cock, sucking it, milking him till the last drop. As soon as he would come into her mouth, she would asked him to fuck her. Oh, she was so eager. And he would, he would pound that tight pussy till she would cry and scream his name. The grip of his hand on his penis increased, sending pleasant impulses of excitement to his body.

The hot vision got interrupted by the buzz of his phone.

“You'll see me tonight. Now, be a good boy and be patient. Unless you don't want to get your birthday present?”

He smirked at the playful tone of the message but still he wasn’t pleased with “tonight” . He wanted her now. The erotic vision would quickly go past the pleasant, teasing point and would quickly start making him frustrated.

“Come on, doll. I know you miss me. I'll make you feel good.”

“See you at the party :*”

His smile immediately faded when he got her reply.

The irritation mixed with impatience was a bad combination for Roman. Without hesitating, he dialed her number. She didn't answer the first call. He chose her number again. After the second one, he was greeted by a hushed, obviously irritated voice. 

“What are you doing!? I can't talk right now!” she hissed while trying to speak quietly. IN the background could be heard other, muffled voices. It didn't sound like YN was in her bed right now, which spoiled Roman's fantasy a bit. 

“Cancel it. Come here.” he said, not hiding his impatience. 

A heavy sigh on the other side answered him.

“I swear to god, you’re impossible. I said I CAN'T. We'll meet tonight at the party.”

“Where are you now?”

“Tonight, Sionis. Learn patience.”

She hung up after that. Roman let out a low growl, not managing to hold his frustration. 

Who the fuck did she think she was to hang up on him? And telling him what to do?

If he only didn't want to fuck her so much. 

He pondered for a moment whether to make that one call and get back at YN, but it was too late. His mind, like a broken record, had set its sights on one particular target and any attempt to find a substitute would leave him unsatisfied. 

Frustrated even more than before, he tossed his phone away and got up from bed. 

“Tonight”. So what, he was supposed to wait? Roman Sionis didn't wait. He made others wait. 

Oh, she's gonna regret that. He will make sure she'll regret that she didn't come here right away as he asked her.

@supernatural-lover @daenerys-skywalker @hereticpriest

[tj-crochets]

Hi! Hope your flare calms down soon.

Making a sewing pattern question (i have no exeprience with this): you know soot sprites from studio ghibli? I want to make the sprinkles into cat toys filled with catnip. Link to pic for reference https://rhubarbandwren.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/soot-sprites-spirited-away-stars.jpg

Would just doing a 6 pointed star with 2 pieces of fabric be sufficient? Would that puff out too weird so it is unrecognizable? The sprinkles look vaguely 3D now that i look more closely...bonus follow up q, what would be an easy way to make it 3D in making a pattern?

I did a cursory search online and only find patterns for the soot sprite itself. My sibling's black long hair cat *is* the soot sprite and intended gift recipient.

Wishing you well!

Hi! I am doing much better, just tired I know exactly the things you are talking about, but I have no idea what they are called; looking at that picture, they do look more 3D? I mean, you can do flat stars with two identical pieces sewn together, and as long as you use fabric with stretch (I'd recommend fleece or minky) it'll puff out I'm going to have to think about this one, the easiest way to make a pattern for it would be to make a ball and then hand sew the spikes on individually, but I feel like there has to be an easier way from the sewing perspective If anyone reading this knows what those stars/sprinkles/whatever they are are called, please let me know! Edit: I think I figured out how to make this, it's basically a stellated dodecahedron and the individual pieces are hexagons with a wedge missing (plus seam allowance). I have a hexagon ruler, so I think this evening or possibly tomorrow I'm going to see if I can make a quick proof of concept test! I think I won't even have to cut out the missing hexagon wedge, I can just align the points and sew it like a dart