#and you know. I know I'm not using any of that shit

[sourkiki]

niki during sexxx!! like fav positions, how he would sound, what he would call his gf like pet names or dirty and what phrases would he use the most during it!! can’t stop thinking definitely hard thoughts 💥💥💥🤯

ALBUM'S CONTENT: explicit mature content, headcanon+drabble format, established relationship, dom! 西村力 x fem! reader, unprotected sex (wrap it up) ❀ 843... ᧔♡᧓ catalogue.

FROM PRODUCER: this is more of a headcanon rather than a drabble because uh, i'm too lazy whoops

Favorite position: missionary.

As much as Riki likes having sex with you, he prefers to have you in positions where he can see your face. Why? Simple. It’s so he can see how good he’s making you feel. It’s a common thing for him to have you in a missionary position. This allows him to have a clear, undisturbed view of seeing your face filled with nothing but pleasure. This also gives him an ego boost as he knows he’s the first and last to have you like this. If you try to cover your face, Riki will move your hands away, pinning them above your head, leaving you helpless as he fucks into you. 

“Ngh, R-Riki, fuck,” you whined, back arching off the bed at heavenly it feels with his cock hitting the same spot, again and again. Your boyfriend grits his teeth, tightening his grip around your wrists while the other holds onto your hips for support. Your legs were loosely wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slide in deeper. You swore you could feel his cock kissing the entrance to your cervix, making your mouth form a silent ‘O’ shape. 

Favorite position: cowgirl.

Sometimes, Riki likes letting you take charge. He doesn’t mind putting in the work but the mere thought of you leading turns him on. He likes it the most when you’re seated on his lap, like he’s your throne and you’re the queen. He won’t do anything, other than having his hands on your waist, letting you ride him, use him to your hearts’ content. 

“Shit, baby, you feel so good,” he groaned, unable to look away from the stunning, arousing sight of you bouncing on his lap. To add fuel to the fire, you were even wearing one of his shirts that completely engulfed you with your collarbones covered in hickeys exposed as it hangs off your left shoulder. Riki had pushed the shirt up, giving him a crystal clear view of your pussy lips stretched as wide as possible as you sucked him in. 

Sounds.

Maybe this is just me but Riki isn’t the type to be shy of making sounds. He’s not very loud but he isn’t quiet, either. So he’s somewhere in between. The most common sounds he’ll make is probably either a moan or a groan. He does this whenever he has you seated on his face or when he’s fucking you, mind spinning with how tight and warm you feel around his cock or mouth. 

No drabble because I’m too lazy for this shit. 

Speeches.

As discussed with my fellow freaki, we believe Riki will switch between degrading and praising. But it heavily depends on his mood. Sometimes he’s in the mood to take things slow, be a tease and edge you into oblivion until you’re a trembling, sobbing mess beneath him. 

“Riki, please..” You pleaded, a tear droplet trickling down your face when your boyfriend pulled his fingers out.

Your pussy was practically pulusing, begging for its much-needed release but Riki wasn’t satisfied yet. He smirked, eyes darkening at how desperate and needy you’ve become. And it’s all because of him. He didn’t give any warning, pushing his fingers back in, eliciting a startled gasp from you. You whined, hips jerking forward to take more of him inside, wanting to feel more—

But he pulled out again. 

Riki coos, faux sweetness in his voice. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You can be good for me, can’t you? Only good girls get a reward, so don’t cum, or you’re not cumming at all. Not until I say so.” 

But whenever he’s going through rough times in his life, Riki’s demeanor does a switch. Screw the slow, soft sex. Now, he just wants to get rid of his pent-up stress and what other way to do it other than by releasing his stress onto you? 

“W-Wait, too much,” you weakly protested, still feeling the aftereffects of your unknown climax but your boyfriend didn’t listen. In fact, he wasn’t already listening the moment he laid his hands on you. His bangs fell forward, hovering over his dark, lust-filled eyes as he continued thrusting into you with newfound determination. At this point, you could only lay there helplessly, letting him fucked into your dripping, loose pussy. Some of your body fluids trickled down your inner thighs and seeing this, Riki scoops them up and pushes them back into your cunt, making your legs twitch. You weren’t even aware that your hips had jerked forward, meeting him in the middle. 

“Fuck, look at you, dripping wet for me. You kept saying no but your pussy still lets me in,” he sneers, reaching down to give a light smack on where you’re connected with one another, drawing a high-pitched whimper. You tightened around him and that didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“Maybe I should make you sit on my cock everyday, split you open to keep this needy little thing full. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He continues, drawing breathless whimpers and mewls from your bruised lips. 

taglist: @minjunis, @byshens, @emisluvr. @riqomi, @rikisoup

[venriliz]

if you casually and regularily download sims 4 cc or anything else from curseforge while blissfully ignoring all the people telling you why it's wrong and why curseforge sucks ➤ all the info is out there and if it isn't enough to convince you to stop i don't know what else to tell you but to eat dirt.

if you are a cc creator who uploads cc on curseforge exclusively ➤ patreon, sfs and so many other file sharing websites exist that don't actively fund a genocide and/or are based in a genocidal country. if you 'can't' do the bare minimum of changing platforms because you favor that sweet curseforge revenue so much i don't know what else to tell you but to eat dirt.

if you are a cc creator (especially one with a huge following) who already has a patreon, sfs account or uploads cc on any other file sharing website BUT also puts their stuff on curseforge and aren't mentioning this on your other platforms ➤ i don't know what else to tell you but that you're a callous coward who should eat dirt.

if you are a cc creator who tries to get us to download your stuff on curseforge by directing us to your patreon first only for us to find a curseforge link to be the only option to download ➤ stop trying to trick people and at least have the balls to be upfront about the trash website you chose to upload your cc to. i don't know what else to tell you but to eat dirt.

visit @verycursedstuff for curseforge exclusive cc, there's no need to visit the curseforge website at all. avoid it like the plague. i know that boycotting absolutely everything is next to impossible but leaving curseforge in the dust to rot isn't. again the info is there and if it isn't enough to convince you to steer clear of this awful website i'm not sure what will tbfh.

it's genuinely horrific how many cc creators are still on curseforge and i'm not giving them the benefit of the doubt anymore that they somehow still don't know how morally fucked up it is to continue to utilize this website. they very likely know and simply don't give a shit in favor of monetization or are supportive of genocide.

obviously curseforge is a comparatively small part of the problem but that only makes it that much easier to avoid.

[oscpstri]

but you like it | piastri

piastri x motogp!reader, 3.5k

oscar piastri was a force to be reckoned with, and you found that true when he made your heart go 250 miles per hour. it didn't make it any better that you always somehow found your way back to each other.

INCLUDES: use of y/n, reader and osc are the same, reader is a badass though, quad lock being the enabler, lando being the number 1 shipper, inaccurate timeline, fictional events, they're literally flirting man like just KISS ALREADY UGHHHHH, literally doing everything BUT making it official so annoying

NOTE: came to be when someone requested for a oneshot so why not! TWIN FLAMES acts as a prologue to this but it's not necessary to read that in order to understand this (but still do teehee its cute)

( masterlist | more OP81 )

Oscar wasn't supposed to stay this long.

Not in Austria, not at the track, and definitely not in your garage. But somehow he found himself leaning against a wall in the back, hand in his hoodie pocket, pretending to scroll through his phone like he wasn't stealing glances at you.

You were crouched by your bike, deep in conversation with your engineer, hands moving as you spoke. There was something about the way you talked— firm but relaxed, all fire with an ice-cold edge. Oscar watches as you cross your arms and tilt your head as you listen, nodding every once in a while in agreement.

You hadn't noticed him. Or maybe you did but acted like you didn't.

"You're back," one of your mechanics teases him, passing with a sly grin.

Oscar raises his eyebrows, playing it cool. "Here for work."

"Right. Want me to get you an autograph?"

Oscar smirks but doesn't answer, gaze already lingering back to you.

That's when you feel it. The distinct buzz of someone watching.

You glance over your shoulder, just in time to lock eyes with the Formula 1 driver. He gives you a small nod as your eyes meet, to which you narrow your eyes back. It was like a secret language by now.

You walk towards him, passing your helmet to a mechanic who offered.

"Can't get enough of me, huh?"

Oscar shrugs. "Just making sure you don't fly off your bike again."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Weren't you the one that crashed last weekend?"

Oscar raises a brow, a small smirk on his face. "Almost crashed. I still won."

A smile threatens to grow on your face. Your eyes flicker to the logo on the hoodie he was wearing, looking back at him with furrowed eyebrows and a small smile. "You used Quad Lock as your excuse to be here?"

He glances down at his hoodie before looking back at you with a cheeky grin. "Can't have people knowing I'm here voluntarily."

You tilt your head in disbelief. "You're annoying."

"Yeah, but you like it."

You shake your head at his antics, turning on your heel and walking off. Oscar watches you go, lips twitching. God, he couldn't get enough of you.

The thing about you and Oscar was that you two were practically the same. Not just in the paralleling careers in different motorsports, but also in personality.

You were both calm under pressure, stoic even in high-tension moments. You were both precise and calculated with every move you pull out in races, nothing was done without reason. You two also had quiet confidence— you didn't need to trash talk another driver because the results you put in did all the talking for you. If they were giving shit, you wouldn't notice. You'd have to read between the lines in order to catch what they meant— shade with style. You two also were a media mystery. Never saying more than you had to, never giving more than what interviewers asked for, never revealing anything unless asked.

You two were mysterious, and it got the whole world talking. So much so that the moment you magically appeared in the McLaren hospitality in casual clothes and sunglasses, the entire paddock started whispering. Because you not hiding behind Quad Lock gear made everyone think that you were there, not for content, but because you wanted to be— which was true but no one needed to know that.

"Fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice says, plopping down onto the chair beside you. You look up to see McLaren's more experienced driver, clad in papaya.

"And not against your own will." Lando quirks an eyebrow, catching the absence of anything Quad Lock on your body. Your silence makes his face light up, a knowing smile forming on his lips.

"Oh my—"

"Don't," you snap. The Brit only grins more, a cheeky smile on his face like he was a toddler that was just told a secret.

"Y/N," he starts. "Do you like my teammate?"

Silence falls between the both of you, Lando patiently waiting for the answer. You only scoff, a smile growing on your face as you leaned back into the chair— that was enough to give him an answer.

"Oh my god," he whispers excitedly, shaking your knee like he couldn't believe it.

It wasn't until then when he noticed the familiar hat sitting on your lap. It was black so he didn't pay much mind to it, but when he finally got a close-up of the design, he gasped so loud the entire hospitality thought he was dying.

You catch what he was looking at, covering the hat like you didn't just expose yourself even more in that moment. You didn't care that Lando knew, but you did care if anyone else did.

"That's from when he won in Baku," Lando says under his breath, staring at the 1st place Pirelli hat like it was a pot of gold.

"Was hard to wash out the champagne but," you inspect the hat, "I got it clean eventually."

Lando continues to sit there like his brain just went into overdrive. "You two are gonna be the death of me."

You giggle at his words, eyes locked onto the hat like it was the key that uncovered every interaction you had with its owner behind closed doors.

You and Oscar weren't dating— not yet. But you two had an unspoken connection that no matter how far you two were from each other, did not go away. That's why you two texted everyday, that's why you two bickered through call, that's why you exchange reels on Instagram that reminded you of each other, that's why you would stay up until past midnight to talk to him, that's why he would set an alarm for 4 in the morning just to talk to you.

That's why you were in the McLaren garage, Oscar's Pirelli hat on, leant against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the man in papaya who was heaving like he would explode any moment now.

The media’s swarming, the team’s whispering, the cameras are zoomed in a little too close. But Oscar? He’s stone-faced.

No slammed steering wheel, no screaming into the radio. Just a tight jaw, a clipped 'I’m okay' to his engineer, and a quiet walk back to the garage.

But you know better.

His suit’s still half-zipped down, fireproofs around his waist, gloves stripped off with more force than necessary. His expression is blank — almost too blank. Like a dam holding back something sharp.

He doesn’t see you until he rounds the corner.

"Didn’t think you’d be back here," he says, voice dry.

"Didn’t think you’d throw the car into the wall," you counter, light enough to make it a joke— not a jab. He doesn’t smile.

That’s how you know he’s really mad.

You push yourself off the wall, taking a step closer. "How bad?"

He shrugs. "It happens."

"Not what I asked."

He's silent for a while, trying to distract himself from looking at you. Putting his helmet on the table, gloves somewhere else, tossing the balaclava wherever. When he realizes that there was nothing he could do anymore, he sighs, turning to look at you.

"I had the pace— I had it. Then I lost it because I pushed too hard. That's it. It was stupid."

You pause. He looks at you. Sharp but not angry. You reach up and tug at the collar of his suit— gentle, grounding. "Don't talk about my favorite driver like that."

He blinks. Something flickers in his eyes and eventually Oscar swears he could hear his heart in his ears.

"I'm your favorite?"

You let go of him, stepping back and shrugging. "By default. You're easy to beat."

A beat passes. A small smile etched onto Oscar's face.

"You're annoying," he says softly.

"You like it," you shoot back, already walking back to the front of the garage. "Now go fix your ego before I start sending helmet designs for when I switch sports and replace you."

He watches you go in awe. He lets out a long breath and forgets all about the rage he felt mere minutes ago.

It was late. The kind of late where the world was quiet, the air hung heavy, and the only thing louder than the silence was your own heartbeat. You were curled up on the hotel couch, hair still damp from a rushed shower, scrolling through race footage on your laptop when a knock echoed through the door.

You didn't need to check who it was. When you opened it, Oscar stood there— hoodie wrinkled, hair tousled, and a tired kind of weight behind his eyes. Not sad, not dramatic, just… worn.

"Couldn't sleep?" you asked softly.

He shook his head. "You?"

"Not really."

A pause.

"You wanna come in?"

He hesitated. Then nodded once, stepping inside.

The room was dim, just the warm glow of the TV playing on mute and the faint light from your laptop screen. Oscar took a seat on the edge of the bed like he wasn’t sure where to put himself.

"I keep replaying it," he said eventually. "That corner. That one mistake. It's pathetic."

You looked over from your spot on the couch. "It’s not."

"I had the pace," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "The tires were warm. I knew the entry line. And still, I turned in too early and… gone. Just like that."

You closed the laptop. Set it aside.

"I've seen that look before," you admit. "Usually in the mirror."

Oscar glanced at you, brows furrowed.

"That blank one you wear when you're pissed at yourself but don’t want to let anyone know. You were holding it all in like it wasn’t already written across your shoulders."

He didn't answer. Just looked at you like you had peeled something open without trying to.

"I get it," you added. "Everyone talks about how you're calm, collected. But no one ever asks what it's like to keep it all in when you want to scream."

Oscar's jaw flexed, but he didn't speak. You could tell he was still chasing the perfect words— still trying to frame his frustration into something he could take in.

You walked over and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. Not too close— just enough.

"If it helps," you said lightly, "you're still the best driver on four wheels I've ever met."

He snorted softly. "That's a low bar coming from someone who lives on two."

You nudged his shoulder with yours. "Careful. I might take that personally."

A beat.

He turned his head slightly, eyes meeting yours— calmer now. Less clouded.

"You're the only person I've ever met who makes me feel like I'm not already one step ahead," he said quietly.

The words settled in your chest like thunder after a flash. You tried to smile, but it came out smaller than usual. "That supposed to scare me?"

Oscar's gaze dropped to your lips for half a second too long.

"No," he said, voice rough. "It's supposed to scare me."

You didn't say anything after that. You didn't have to.

He stayed for a while. Just sitting there— side by side. No more racing, no more pressure. Just a quiet understanding between two people who had finally met their match and couldn't look away.

It started innocent enough. A quiet cafe somewhere tucked in Barcelona's backstreets. The walls covered in polaroids, espresso strong enough to fuel an entire grid.

You had found the place first. Hidden, warm, local. The kind of spot not even MotoGP fans would think to look.

Oscar showed up ten minutes late, hoodie over his head, sunglasses on like it wasn't painfully obvious who he was.

"You look suspicious," you said as he slid into the booth across from you.

"I look anonymous."

"You look like someone about to rob the counter."

He cracked a smile, fingers wrapping around the drink you'd already ordered for him. He blinked once, looking back at you with his mouth slightly agape.

"I don't drink coffee," he mutters, watching as you take a sip from your cup.

"I know," you start, "that's why that's a smoothie."

He blinks even more. “You remembered,” he muttered.

You shrugged, putting your cup down. "Was tempting, though. Figured the caffeine might help your cornering next time."

That earned a light kick to your shin under the table. You grinned.

The conversation wandered easily— racing, Netflix edits, who had the worse simulator setup. He leaned in closer when you teased him about still using traction control, and you found yourself tugging his sunglasses off just to prove a point.

You didn't notice the phone— not right away. It was only after you'd laughed— head thrown back and eyes scrunching— that Oscar paused, eyes flicking briefly over your shoulder.

Too late. Someone had already taken the photo. A fan. Smart enough to stay quiet about it— for now.

It wasn't until the both of you got back to the hotel when you noticed the amount of messages you were getting from fellow drivers and riders.

"I told you to sit facing the wall," Oscar muttered, scrolling through the chaos on his phone.

You flopped down on the bed beside him, snatching the device from his hands. "You also told me the disguise was foolproof."

He gave you a flat look. "I didn't think me wearing sunglasses would trigger a media meltdown."

"Please. You smiled. That's enough to spark a scandal."

He laughed. Quiet, barely there, but real. Then, softly:

"They think we're dating."

You looked at him, curious. "Does that bother you?"

Oscar hesitated. Then met your gaze.

"No," he said. "Does it bother you that it doesn't bother me?"

You stared at him, heart stalling for one stupid second.

"No," you said back, voice just above a whisper. "It really doesn't."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was charged— full of all the things you both weren't ready to say.

But maybe, just maybe, you were starting to feel ready.

The aftermath of it all was entertaining.

It starts with a Quad Lock conference, a sit-down with reporters and a new brand ambassador. The beginning to the crossover event where all the brand's ambassadors try out each other's sports.

They made you sit next to each other, you knew Quad Lock planned this all from the very beginning.

Your name is called first. You lean into the mic, perfectly composed— at least from the waist up. Oscar leans back in his seat beside you, arms crossed, face unreadable except for the faint twitch of his mouth.

A reporter raises their hand, grinning like they already know the answer. "So... that cafe in Barcelona. Cozy, wasn't it?"

You hum, chin tilted enough just to be smug, an eyebrow raised. "Should I be asking for your coffee order?"

Oscar's already smirking, mic lifted casually. "She rated it an 8. Don't think we'll be going back, though. What with the... unexpected company and all."

The room loses it. Laughter erupts, a dozen camera flashes, some even gasp at the subtle confirmation. You shake your head, trying to bite back the smile. Oscar doesn't even blink.

Then comes the real question:

"Are you two together?"

You and Oscar both pause.

"No."

"Not yet."

It comes from him and it silences the room. You turn your head so fast you almost pull a muscle. "Excuse me?"

He clears his throat. "That was supposed to be a thought."

You bite your cheek to keep from laughing. You whisper into your mic, "You're making this worse."

He glances sideways. "Am I lying?"

Another pause.

You look straight into the camera. "No comment."

Twitter dies, fan pages erupt, and you don't even bother checking your phone this time.

Then comes the inevitable team meeting. You're told to report to your team principal's office after the press conference.

You had expected a scolding, not Oscar already sitting there, arms folded, sipping from a water bottle like this was a casual debrief.

You stop at the door. "Is this… couples therapy?"

"I prefer public image management," he says.

Your managers stare at you like you've both just announced a pregnancy.

"Are you dating?"

You both glance at each other. Oscar sighs, adjusting himself in his seat. "I like her. I'm not gonna hide that."

You freeze. He's not looking at the managers, he's looking at you.

You swallow. Shrug a little. "I'd consider signing a multi-year race contract."

There's a beat of silence.

Your manager scribbles something furiously into their notes. Probably 'chaos imminent'. They finally look up at you and mutter: "Do we need to start printing shirts?"

Then it's the first race since the scandal. Your name is on every tabloid. Oscar's too. You figured he'd stay far away.

But there he is. Leaning casually against the garage, team pass hanging from his lanyard, sunglasses back on like that's going to stop anyone from recognizing him.

Your mechanics whistle when you walk into the garage and see him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You lost?"

Oscar just grins. "You'll crash if you keep staring."

You throw your towel at him. "You wish."

You win that race, obviously. Fastest lap, pole to podium, champagne in your hair, and gold on your collar.

When you walk back to the garage, Oscar is still there— a new team cap in his hand.

He tosses it to you without a word. You catch it. Thumb running over the '81' embroidered on the brim.

"Figured I owed you one," he says, a little breathless, like he ran to make sure he didn't miss you.

You tilt your head, playful. "You came all the way here just to even the score?"

He shrugs. "No. I came for you."

Your smile is slow, wide, unstoppable. And suddenly, it's not about press photos, or rumors, or what the media thinks anymore.

It's just him. It's just you. It's just the quiet, terrifying, electric realization that you've finally found someone who matches you beat for beat and it's the best thing that's ever happened to either of you.

Oscar was on pole. The McLaren garage was buzzing with the electric sort of tension that only came with race day. Tire warmers humming, radios crackling, mechanics pacing with tightly wound nerves. But the real reason everyone kept sneaking glances over their shoulders?

You.

Sitting confidently on the orange garage stool with a headset resting around your neck and the most deliberate papaya jacket zipped halfway over your MotoGP uniform. You weren't hiding. You hadn't even tried.

People stared, whispered, took photos. And you met every look with a raised brow and a smirk that said, yes, I'm here, and yes, I'm staying.

"Thought you said papaya wasn't your color," Oscar said as he passed you, helmet in hand, voice low enough just for you to hear.

You leaned back and smiled up at him. "It isn't. But you are."

He blinked. Almost stumbled. And for the first time in years, Oscar Piastri— calm, cool, unshakably composed— looked like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"You're going to ruin my race focus," he muttered, voice slightly higher than usual.

"I hope so," you teased. "Win anyway."

You watched every lap from the garage, headset finally over your ears, half-listening to strategy while keeping your eyes locked on that papaya blur carving through every sector.

He was perfect— composed, ruthless in defense, smooth on exits.

And when he crossed the finish line first, fists pumping in the cockpit, the entire garage exploded around you.

You didn't move.

Not until he pulled into parc fermé. Not until the camera caught him looking straight toward the garage before he even unbuckled. Not until he jogged in, helmet off, curls messy with sweat already on his suit.

And then you were moving.

He spotted you before anyone else did. Didn't wait, didn't ask, just walked toward you with that exhausted, elated kind of grin.

"I won," he said breathlessly.

"I saw."

"You wore orange."

"I know."

Oscar stepped closer. Close enough that the noise fell away. Close enough that his team was watching with barely-disguised grins and held breath.

You looked up at him. "Still want to pretend it's not a thing?"

He shook his head once. Firm. "No. I’m done pretending."

You smiled. "Good. Because I don't feel like hiding anymore."

He didn't say anything else. He just kissed you.

Soft at first. Gentle, almost unsure— like even now, he couldn't believe it was happening. But you kissed him back like you'd been waiting your whole damn life for it, and the paddock lost its mind.

Applause, camera flashes, mechanics howling, drivers wolf-whistling as they passed.

But none of it mattered. Because it was just you and Oscar. Two champions. One race at a time. Exactly the same. And finally, together.

[luminalunii97]

I'm back after 4 days of almost no internet connection. The islamic republic first impulse during any crisis is to limit iranians access to internet, since they are afraid people are going to organize a riot against them. This is what happens when you make an enemy of your own people. For the past 4 decades, the regime of iran has oppressed and brutalized our people to the point that during war they feel the necessity to put anti riot forces in every main square around the city and disrupt people's connections and flow of information to prevent people from taking the opportunity to overthrow them. In case you don't know how much I hate the IR regime, I'm almost ok with this war because it means they suffer!

I live in tehran but my family and I were away from the city for a few days to wait out the worst of it. But I'm back now. Many people left last week but are coming back in small numbers. You can't really leave your house, job and life for too long after all, not in this economy. Israel airforce is still targeting different sites all over iran. Mostly military bases and ammunition storages. They've also targeted governmental facilities, in tehran especially. It's all very concerning since these bases and institutions are mostly inside city perimiters and the neighboring houses get affected. Iran is also hitting israel but unlike the Israeli government, they don't even pretend that they care about civilian casualties!

To be fully honest here, most people in iran are torn between fear of war and celebration of regime loss. That very first night when israel killed some of the high rank IRGC commanders, most tehrani residents woke up with fear, felt sad that innocent neighbors were killed but happy that those prominent faces were hit. Salami, IRGC commander in chief, and Hajizadeh, commander of aerospace force, were directly responsible for striking the Iran-Ukrain flight 752 around 6 years ago, killing 176 innocent people, but instead of taking accountability they cracked down on the aggrieved families to keep them quite. Tehranchi was the rector of Islamic Azad University branches in tehran and a few years ago when 10 students died in a bus accident inside the university campus due to neglect, he said "accident happens!"

These people have been responsible for all the murders and violent crackdown during woman,life,freedom uprising and 2020 protests and more. Imagine the glee people felt at their deaths. When Israel hit the IRIB building (islamic republic broadcasting), my friend called me to give me "the good news". Iran's regime television is so full of lies and vile bs that people congratulate each other every time their broadcasting building gets hit.

As I said, amidst war, the IR regime is focused on people's movements. They are arresting people left and right for doing so much as tweeting "Khamenei is incompetent!" They have already executed two opposing civilians as israeli spies. They really want us to believe that two regular citizens who shit tweeted the government a few times somehow had access to regime's confidential military information and sold them to israel! While isreal has stated repeatedly that they have spies among high ranking IRGC officials which makes more sense.

Last but not least, USA involvement is very scary to a lot of us. We know our regime is no match to US military power and right now the US president is an unpredictable mad man, considering khamenei is also crazy, god knows what happens if direct war escalate between iran and USA. The three nuclear sites US already hit didn't cause a chemical leak thankfully, iran was smart enough to evacuate them. But there's a nuclear facility in Bushehr with working nuclear reactors that produce electricity. It would cause a humanitarian crisis if bombed, not just inside iran, but in the region. So we're praying mad men in power won't bomb it.

We all know that Netanyahu and Trump are no philanthropists, but they've been singing iranian's praises and making promises of freedom and better future from the start of the war. Rumors are that they are backing Reza Pahlavi, son of overthrown king of iran, to replace the current regime. I'm not a monarchist and I don't like to replace one dictatorship with reinstallation of an overthrown one, to go from russian unofficial colony to USA milking cow (because that's what US is after, oil and other resources benefits). Pahlavi certainly have some fans in iran, specially among the upper class families. I don't think that's ideal and I'm not happy foreign governments are meddling in iran inner affairs once again but I have to admit that I'd take anything over the islamic republic. Even though Trump saying "make iran great again" makes my skin crawl (we all saw what maga did to USA), I'm not heartbroken over the possibility of overthrowing the current regime.

I think I've said everything I wanted to say. I wasn't around for days and wanted to drop a quick update before going back to tapping up the windows in case of blast nearby.

[iamacebookworm]

This 30 second clip explains House & Wilson's entire relationship, in this essay I will -

This one 30 second clip summarises House and Wilson's entire relationship/dynamic; let me explain.

House is doing something both immoral and illegal. Smoking indoors is illegal enough, let alone smoking INSIDE A DAMN HOSPITAL! Which is also immoral and unethical. It's also unprofessional, considering House is on duty. Seeing a patient/visitor lighting up could be put down to either ignorance of how bad that is, or them not caring. Seeing a doctor do it is something else! Not to mention the doubly immorality (and irony) or smoking in an ONCOLOGISTS office - ya know, with smoking being a major risk factor for developing cancer, and all that. (Also; ya know who knows that more then anybody? Wilson, the head oncologist. Just saying) Not to mention, burning money, which House is doing here, is also illegal. All these laws stand in New Jersey, where 'House M.D' is set, (yes I googled it. I'm English. I dunno much about the states).

So James, "head oncologist, known goody-two-shoes, Never Done A Thing Wrong In His Life" Wilson, sees his bestie breaking at least three laws, crossing several ethical and moral boundaries, and gives a feeble, "we can't smoke in here."

Notice: WE can't smoke. Not "you." Not "House you maniac, YOU can't smoke in here, put that out!" WE can't smoke. Even as Wilson says this, he KNOWS he's going to smoke with House. He's just giving this fake protest so that he can tell others, and, most importantly, himself, that he said something, that he TRIED to stop the loose canon that is House, but House is gonna House. Nobody is going to blame poor, innocent, easily-manipulated Wilson for being swept away and 'controlled' by the evil, dominating, controlling House. This is all bullshit and we know it, but that's what people THINK of Wilson. They think he's this sweet innocent little cutie pie who's caught up in the human tornado that is Gregory House. Wilson is an actor; he pretends to be this picture perfect person. He's the ultimate people pleaser who does what he thinks everybody wants him to do and be. He's got a golden reputation and the world's highest high horse that he refuses to climb down from. However, he and House both know that Wilson's little act is all bullshit. Wilson is often MORE of a freak then House himself. Wilson LIVES for the chaos, the rule breaking, the going-against the grain. House is like the humanised form of all of Wilson's inner desires. House says what he wants and does what he wants. Deep down, Wilson wants to be as wild as House, but he can't/won't let himself, so he's Silently Wild while House is Loudly Wild. They're both wild, adrenaline junkies who match each others freak SO damn hard. So Wilson's little 'we can't smoke in here' is equivalent to this:

Willy Wonka, famously, gives negative 10 billion shits right here, and that's obvious. He wants Mike TV to go use his equipment. But, to be able to say "he tried" to stop Mike, Wonka gives this deadpan yell. That's literally what Wilson is doing. If House was genuinely like, "oh damn, you right," and put the cigar out, Wilson would malfunction windows-shut-down-noise style and we all know it. He wants to join in, and he can't join in without House. Wilson would never start the cigar smoking or any other rule-breaking, because he doesn't want to be seen as the bad one, so he uses House as an scapegoat, an excuse to do whatever the fucks he wants.

Ya know, who knows all this better then anyone? House. Notice how House doesn't even react to Wilson's little fake protest. Anybody else would react in some way, a 'do you really want me to stop?' or 'we can go outside?' or 'you know you wanna join in.' Something. He just points out that they also can't get people into the clinic based on a petty bet, which is something Wilson did in this very episode. Wilson put a patient through the clinic to try to prove House wrong about something, with a £100 on the line. He's pointing out that Wilson is just as much of a rule breaker as he is. Also notice: before House says this, Wilson has already sat himself down beside House, and before House has even finished his point, Wilson has already stuck out his cigar for House to light on that same burning £100 bill. House doesn't even need to finish pointing out Wilson's fake hypocrisy before Wilson has started doing what he wanted to do all along; join in!

Then, in perfect synch, they cock their feet up on the table, kick back, relax, and take synchronised pleasurable puffs. House says, "well?" Well, is it good? Well, was it worth it? Well, how's your acting job tasting? And Wilson says, "disgustingly satisfying." It's disgustingly satisfying to break the rules, to indulge in this pure pleasure without worrying about anybody or anything else, the way House does. To say 'fuck it' to all laws, morality, ethics, reputation and rules. To just be, here, in this moment, having fun with his best friend/soulmate/husband.

This sums up their entire relationship. They're Loudly A Bastard (House) and Quietly A Bastard (Wilson), and this clip proves it. To anyone who says/believes that Wilson is this doe-eyed little Bambi, controlled by the big bad wolf that is House, I hope this proves that he's Hell On Wheels too!

Full clip: https://youtu.be/gfb3axuDtvk?list=PLVpMeJVI2LHul8_M2KfDifDobawxpakaP

Note/ SPOILER FOR EPISODE/clip:

Season 8 Episode 9 ''Better Half''

*

*

*

As an Asexual, I don't approve of the implications this episode makes about Asexuality, but I can overlook that because House & Wilson are being hella gay. Plus, I just think of this as a Specific Case. Ok, so This Specific Patient isn't actually Ace, so what? I choose to not take that as a bash against actual Asexuals :) House hates everybody equally, after all 🤷‍♂😁

[solarstranger]

Hello! Bakugo anon back!

Omg I've got SO many ideas. My brain is just always turning and cooking him like a rotisserie chicken

One that's had me giggling here recently is crush Bakugo. I love when he's yearning and pining for us, you know?

Just him finding out you've got the hots for a fictional character, hearing you refer to them as your husband lmao. Would he get jealous? (He wants to be your husband...)

- 🍡

nonie!!!! the rotisserie chicken imagery is a stroke of genius because honestly, same. 😭 i ended up writing a little something based on your ask, although i kind of made the fictional character come from a game with a certain storyline. anyway, he's still pining in this, so i hope you enjoy it!

c.w. pining bakugou. the bakusquad makes a comeback. secondhand embarrassment lmfao.

navigation. (you are here), part 2

bakugou stiffens.

sure, he doesn’t have the world’s best hearing—he has his loud ass quirk to thank for that—but surely you didn’t just refer to someone as your husband?

across the table from him, mina barks out a laugh, punching you by the arm, to which you react by sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck.

…almost like she was teasing you about a special someone.

shit.

before he knows it, the words are out of his mouth.

“what husband?”

at his sudden interruption, the booth falls silent, the chattering kaminari and sero beside him pausing to glance in his direction, just as you two and kirishima’s gazes drift towards him.

suddenly aware of the attention he just voluntarily drew to himself, bakugou flames.

still, he needed to know.

“you said something about a husband,” he clears his throat, staring at you and only you, although he can sense everyone else staring at him.

“uh, yeah,” you answer, eyeing the rest unsurely. “mina was asking me about it.”

a beat.

“i thought you were single,” bakugou finds himself croaking—voice cracking embarrassingly midway—despite himself. at his statement, your eyes widen in surprise, but before you can open your mouth to say something, mina’s already leaning in, partially obscuring his view of you.

“why?” mina smirks, the same way that always indicates trouble, “does hearing her talk about a husband bother you?”

“mina,” you chastise the acid hero, elbowing her this time, just as bakugou shoots her a warning look, one that she immediately catches, and the pink-haired girl nods, miming the act of zipping her lips closed, a gesture you thankfully don’t see—gaze downcast in what looks like embarrassment.

“i am,” you clarify, struggling to meet his eyes—evidently flustered. “i was just—uh—referring to a game i’m playing.”

“…where you have a husband,” bakugou finishes skeptically, brows furrowed in confusion.

somehow, that doesn’t make him feel any better.

“yeah,” you squawk, much to his chagrin. “it’s part of the storyline,” you explain.

to that, bakugou only nods stiffly—not knowing what else to say—and the conversation shifts to something else.

the minute he gets home, though, the topic’s back in an instant in the form of a gajillion text messages from a whopping four different people—namely: mina, kirishima, kaminari, and sero—all varied, but united by the same central message.

and it’s how the ash-blonde should change his hero name to ‘captain obvious’.

a/n. i'm currently playing story of seasons: pioneers of olive town so the whole thing about having a fictional husband can't be any truer lmfaoooo. i got married to ralph yesterday, in fact. definitely adds to the delusions but hey, as long as we're having fun?

[fuck-customers]

Yes, everyone hates their job but if youre coming in at 6 am and immediately screaming “fuck this i hate this im so miserable fuck fuck fuck” for over an hour after that, just know literally everyone in the office hates you and wants you to quit. Stop bringing down office morale and ruining everyones day because you cant complain silently like the rest of us. Plus its 6 am ur lucky i havent thrown you out the window yet

I am not a morning person and when I was scheduled to come in at 5am (for bakery) or 6am (for cash office) or really any morning shift I do my job but I'm not 100% awake so I am not my happy self. I am very quiet and keep to myself until I fully wake up.

You do not even know how many people take that personally and get so fucking mad at me and then start pouting and even throwing shit because I am not talking at them moment. Just leave me alone till I wake up for fucks sake.

-Rodney

[alarajrogers]

My experience is similar to this. I'm experienced with a lot of lo-code/no-code technologies, but my Javascript skills are... somewhat lacking. I've found that when I clearly explain my problem to ChatGPT, it can give me code that doesn't work, but gets me a lot closer to my goal. I make my modifications, I change my code, it still doesn't work, I ask ChatGPT why it doesn't work, and it can often identify the problem and set me on the right track.

I don't see any evidence of sycophancy or "this is the best idea ever"; it bluntly but politely tells me "You're on the right track, but here are some issues that might be why your code doesn't work." I also don't think it's affecting my brainpower any -- the contrary, in fact, because I'm learning a lot about Javascript by working with it on the real world problems I have to solve, with ChatGPT's help. Sometimes I can even write one from scratch without its help, now.

I believe computer code is kind of unique about this, though. Well, or maybe math too. While coding is semi-creative in that there are multiple ways to code the same result... it's finite, unlike essay writing. There are a limited number of ways to code that will get you the result you want. And without ChatGPT, I'd be spending hours googling and trying to synthesize the results I get, but a lot of it would be over my head.

Should I learn Javascript? Absolutely, now that I have a job where I can do 85% of the assignments without trouble but then there's that 15% that's over my head, and that includes the Javascript. Improving all the skills this job requires is one of the reasons I was so excited to get it, because it's a job doing nothing but the only shit I like to do in IT. But learning a new skill while working full time doesn't go super fast.

Code isn't creative enough to have a plagiarism issue, or a "this was plainly machine output" issue, and if you approach it from the perspective of trying to understand why the machine told you to do this thing, it improves your skills rather than degrading them. All computer systems nowadays, but especially the lo-code/no-code sector, are either created by corporations who like to randomly change everything for shits and giggles, or are created open source by a giant base of developers, and either way, no one human has enough time in their life to learn everything about a technology before that technology changes completely. And because it will never give you perfect cookie-cutter answers that work every time, it does not empower people who know absolutely nothing to leave out the IT worker entirely; you still have to know what you're doing to use the tool. It's a perfect use case.

This is not the same case as having it write your college essays, because until you go through the process of crafting essays, you will not understand why the essay it created works (or doesn't work, and then you won't be able to fix it.) It's not even the same thing as having it do your programming homework -- I've been doing lo-code scripting languages for 25 years now. Just, not Javascript specifically. But I know how scripting languages work, so I can figure out why the code ChatGPT gives me works (or doesn't, and I can often then figure out how to fix it.)

Once you learn how to do something and you're reasonably adept at it, ChatGPT can help you do it faster. If that thing is "write articles", then we run into the fact that it learned by reading all kinds of shit its creators did not pay for and that the authors did not give it permission for, but if that thing is "write code"... exposed code is all over the Internet, the people who create the code we use want us to use it and usually have extensive documentation about how we should use it to make what we want happen, and nothing in a scripting language should ever be construed to be under copyright protection, because you can't compile a scripting language. Anyone who can see the site it runs on can see it, or enough of it to figure out how it was written. And developers know this. If you want something to be proprietary and secret, you write it in code that compiles, not scripting language.

I feel like using a computer to write better computer code is kind of the ideal use case for using a computer assistant. I'm still very much against having ChatGPT write your essay or do your analysis, though.

Why are you using chatgpt to get through college. Why are you spending so much time and money on something just to be functionally illiterate and have zero new skills at the end of it all. Literally shooting yourself in the foot. If you want to waste thirty grand you can always just buy a sportscar.

[mischievousmoony]

I'm loving your summer event! I'd like to request a poly!jegulus blurb with the prompt “come on, we can cuddle up and watch from afar while everyone else tries to drown one another in the shallows.” Please and thank you!

as much as i like jegulus, i don’t think i have their dynamic down as a writer, so this was a fun challenge! ty for the request

jolie's summer kickoff a 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐫 fresh off the grill ⋮ aka a short blurb contains: poly!jegulus x reader, himbo!james, sirius being a little shit

You and Regulus slide your sunglasses down your noses in unison as James jogs up the sand to your beach chairs. His chiseled chest glistens with saltwater as he tosses his head, flipping his soaked curls back effortlessly.

“He’s showing off,” Regulus mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Who cares?” you respond, eyes fixed shamelessly on the view, a satisfied smirk playing at your lips.

“Hey!” James says, breathless and beaming, water trickling from his body and splashing on your knees.

“What have you got for us this time, lover boy?” you ask, pushing your sunglasses back up your nose so you can ogle at his bare chest inconspicuously. He knows exactly what you’re doing, his ego swelling as he subtly puffs out his chest.

James crouches to your eye level, holding his palms flat in front of himself to present what he’s brought from the shore (for the fifth time). He points at various shells, telling you both what he likes about each one, letting you hold any in your hand that piques your interest.

“I’ve saved the best for last,” James says, fishing for something in the pocket of his swim trunks. He proudly displays a sand dollar in his palm, presenting it to each of you in turn so you can admire it properly.

As James holds the poor sand dollar in front of you, your lips curve into a pout. “Jamie, go put that back.”

His eyebrows furrow, tilting his head in confusion when you’re not oohing and ahhing like he expected. “Why?” he murmurs, a flicker of disappointment in his eye.

Regulus takes pity on him, nudging his ankle with his flip-flopped foot. “That one’s still alive, mon soleil.”

James looks perplexed, staring down at the little urchin in his palm. “What do you mean?”

You and Regulus shoot each other a sideways glance.

“Sand dollars are living creatures, Jamie,” you explain gently.

“What!?” James yelps, shoulders going tense, and he’s suddenly unsure of how to hold the thing in his hand. “I thought they were made out of sand!”

Regulus does nothing to suppress his laughter. You do try, but Regulus’ are contagious, and soon you too get caught up in a fit of giggles.

You scoop the sand dollar into your hand, laughter still bubbling from your throat as you say, “Come on, we’ll release the little guy together.”

You look over your shoulder at your other boyfriend.

“Coming, Reg?” you hum.

He’s been fending James off all day, refusing every attempt to drag him into the water. But with both of you watching him expectantly, he knows he no longer has a choice in the matter (and he might have a tad harder time saying no to you).

When you reunite with the rest of your group in the water, James is eager to share this newfound piece of information with his friends.

“Did you know that sand dollars are alive!?”

“Yes, James,” Remus sighs as if he expected better.

You let James do the honors of releasing the sand dollar, guiding him to a still, sandy stretch of ocean, well away from the kicking feet and splashing limbs of the clusters of swimmers scattered nearby.

“Sorry for kidnapping you, buddy,” James whispers to the little creature as he watches it drift down to the ocean floor.

Distracted by watching the sand dollar, none of you notice Sirius’s slow approach from behind, a brightly colored beach bucket in each hand. Carefully, he crouches to scoop up as much water as they’ll hold. Then, in one swift motion, dumps them over James and Regulus’s heads.

You jump back, away from the salty splash.

“Oi!” James shouts, throwing the plastic bucket at Sirius, who swats it out of the way. James has a lopsided grin on his face as he dives for his best friend in retaliation.

Regulus, on the other hand, is not amused in the slightest, looking murderous as he rips the bucket off his head. Before he can start spewing expletives or attempting to seriously maim his brother, you place a hand on his chest and gently push him away from the scene.

“Come on,” you say, using your free hand to brush his sopping hair out of his face. “James has it covered. Come. Come on, we can cuddle up and watch from afar while they try to drown each other in the shallows.”

Regulus grumbles something in French under his breath—a rather nasty insult aimed at his brother, no doubt. But he lets you whisk him away to the shoreline, where you sit between his legs in the sand and watch as James holds Sirius’ head under the water, all in Regulus’ name.

[irsfjin]

what he should have and could have (part 1)

part 2

she's come as suddenly as the change in your relationship, caused by her, but of course satoru won't say so

"babe, she's haru's sis, we can't just leave her out" he says exasperatedly

"and i'm telling you, that's not what i want. what i want... no what i need from you is to show me that my doubts are wrong. that she's no getting in the way of us" you beg

"and i've told you that you have nothing to worry about-"

"nothing to worry about?" you cut him off

"my lover's started walking another girl to her classes, they've started having inside jokes, and everytime she's there, all of the sudden i'm not even though i'm sitting right fucking next to you. not that my place beside you's there anymore because all of the sudden she's always sitting beside you, all of the fucking time. and i have nothing to worry about?" you spill with the dread that has been building up for the last 2 months

"what don't you get? she's just a friend, i do that to everyone. what's different with her? because she's a girl?" satoru argues, tired and annoyed

"you know damn well it's not because of that. is there a single friend of yours that i've ever told you not to be with? in the two years we're been together, has there been a single time i've asked you to do this? do you maybe, maybe think it's because she literally has feelings for you?" anger starts to bubble up in your chest

"and you can't even say you didn't know, you have nothing fucking right. specially with her always asking if you think she looks pretty" your voice hardens

"i've never reciprocated, you know that" his voice grows softer, weaker

"right, but do you genuinely think she would have disrespected me so blatantly if you hadn't given her the chance to think it was ok? shit, you've never even tried to defend me" helpless, your tears begin to fall

"and to think i was gonna give you another chance" you whisper

"what? no, baby. you can't just-" panic sets in

"i'll fix this honey, hm? i'll tell her to fuck off, i'm sorry baby, i didn't know you felt this way" he tries, moving closer, his arms stretched out, reaching for you

you move back, avoiding his touch, he flinches, hurt shadowing his eyes

"you did know, we've been together for two years, i know you saw i was uncomfortable, hurt but you ignored it. clearly it wasn't worth the trouble for you, and this-" you motion between the two of you

"- is not worth it to me"

"no, no you can't leave me. please. i'll fix this, please baby, you're always worth it"

"right, then what was different this time?"

"i- i don't know, she- it- it just felt easier to" he sighs

"i just thought you'd eventually get over it"

you laugh, bitter, with a hint of humour, realising just how miserable the whole situation was

"we're done. i'm not going to get used to my lover accepting another person's advances. i'm not gonna sit there and take any kind of disrespect. and you know that, so don't be surprised, this is your fault, and if you really are as devastated about our end, then i hope you carry it to your grave." you spit

satoru falla to his knees, sobbing

"please, my love. i can't live without you, please let me fix this. i'll do better, i fucked up i'm so sorry. please don't leave me" he catches your hands in his, his eyes finding yours

it was a pitiful sight, like an injured puppy on the side of the road, begging for help and warmth

"do you remember what i told you when i agreed to be your lover gojo?"

he stiffens, you're not sure if it's because he does, or because you'd called him gojo, you've only called him gojo before you started dating. 2 months into your relationship, it was always toru or a pet name

and it sounded so cold and sharp, his heart was bleeding out, crying, mourning

"i told you, i will never take any disrespect. the second you make me beg for your participation in this relationship, the second you dismiss my doubts, i will leave you"

his head hangs, whole body sobbing with constant pleas leaving his lips

"let me go. before i hate you"

he starts shaking his head vehemently

"please, please, please..."

you try to fight out of his grip, and he can only continue pleading, tightening his grip

"you're hurting me, let me go" mentally and physically, the sight of him was nothing pleasant for your heart that still aches for him and his grip was beginning to bruise

he lightens his grip and you take this chance to wrench put of his grip

you head to your keys and hear him behind you

before he could reach you, your voice rings out first

"touch me again and i'll make sure you never see nor hear from me again, follow me out and it'll be the same thing"

he halts immediately

"can we at least talk more about this, please, my love" his voice is hoarse, still wrapped in tears

"we had the chance to do that tonight, i don't think we need another one, i'll drop by to grab my things one day, i'll send you a message then" opening the door, the cold wind bites you, but you're too warm with emotions to feel it

you do feel a warmth draped over you

"it's cold outside" a voice whispers above you

"don't need it" your voice chokes, emotions welling up again

as you move to remove it, his voice begs behind you

"please, at least accept this. give me the peace of mind that you'll at least be warm"

"goodbye" you accept the jacket and head out

getting into your car, you immediately start it and drive off, not wanting satoru to see what you will let yourself become once your alone

he, on the other hand, stands at the doorway, eyes stuck where you'd disappeared from his line of sight

he could only wallow in regret, he knew who you were

he knew you wouldn't take bullshit from anyone, including him, that's part of why he loves you, it's you

and now he's lost you, he can only blame himself like you said

he wanted to give you the best, you were his life, his world, his everything

he didn't think some useless person, who he'd just thought of as a joke would hurt his relationship like this

but then again, it wasn't the other woman, it was him for deciding to be ignorant because it was easier

he only realises now it would've been easier to just tighten his boundaries instead of being compliant

he would take any drama, hell he would take on the world as long as you stayed beside him

so why didn't he?

an:

not proofread, i'm contemplating doing my assessment so i did this rq

[a-steroid-induced-bear]

Fucking THANK YOU.

I was gonna put this in the tags, but fuck it.

Before I say anything else: I should not have to justify a fucking medical condition to be respected. Anyway, I'm now going to justify that medical condition.

While type 2 can go into remission with lifestyle changes, those changes are damn near impossible for many people to sustain and usually need to be fairly big changes for remission. Not only that, but sometimes those changes alone just aren't enough to effectively manage the disorder. A lot of type 2 diabetics will need the help of medications such as metformin or GLP-1 agonists.

There's also a HUGE genetic component and we still don't completely understand the cause. We've got a vague idea from correlations, but not a definitive "[x] causes type 2 diabetes" beyond insulin resistance being a cause. (But what causes insulin resistance? We don't know.) There's a strong correlation with weight gain and type 2, but the weight gain is not causing the diabetes. (Sidenote: PCOS very frequently correlates with developing type 2 diabetes since it's an endocrine disorder that fucks with how your body processes stuff.)

If you're type 2 diabetic, it means your body doesn't use the insulin your pancreas is pumping out effectively, meaning your body is insulin resistant. (Insulin is the hormone that lets your body process sugars.) Compared to a non-insulin resistant individual, insulin resistance slows your metabolism to a crawl. That slow metabolism can cause weight gain.

Weight gain is a symptom, not the cause of insulin resistance and type 2 diabetes. It is one indicator of potential insulin resistance or diabetes.

Regarding type 2 being "curable," we're very careful to say it can go into remission instead. There is currently no cure for type 2, just like there is no cure for type 1. However, unlike type 1, type 2 can go into remission. In remission, you still have type 2 diabetes in the sense that your body still has the factors that actually caused type 2. (Being insulin resistant, genes that made you more predisposed, etc.) The only difference is that now there's medications and/or lifestyle changes taking those factors into account, which prevents it from fucking killing you.

Oh. Yeah. This shit can kill slowly and painfully just like type 1 if left unaddressed.

Lastly, even if type 2 WAS 100% the fault of someone who has it, they still deserve respect and dignity like any other person. You guys are just assholes.

That said, it just isn't a moral failing. Period. It's a medical condition that we are only just starting to understand.

damn people rly hate type 2 diabetics don't they

[chromecore]

⊹˚݁₊⚝ִ˖ִ ݁ introducing vivienne ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚

[ character playlist — major wip ] [ template by @fiangrey ]

hello! :3 i plan to update this post regularly as i figure out more about her. i have a lot of brain worms rn and i definitely want to disect her some more but first i need to form coherent thoughts. for now, i've just re-typed and slightly expanded on everything above in case it's difficult to read for some. under the cut :)

Name: Vivienne [???] Alias: V, Viv, Vivi DOB: April 10, 2049 Sex: Female, she/her Height: 178cm, 5'8" Place of Birth: [Somewhere in] Night City Affiliation: Afterlife Mercs Sexuality: Bisexual Ethnicity/Nationality: Mixed [???] American Vehicle: ARCH Nazaré "Racer" Weapons: Katanas, throwing knives, silenced pistols Cyberware: Kiroshi "Sentry" Optics, Militech "Apogee," Mantis Blades

notes

Vivienne knows nothing about her birth parents- just that her mother was a joytoy that fell victim to some Tyger Claw goon, in more ways than one. She vaguely remembers being a child and being dragged from motel room to motel room by her mom. The memories of her mom are fuzzy, fading with age- but the memory of finding her body in a motel in Watson never really fades.

She stays in the Watson area after her mom is murdered, not that she has much of a choice. Viv stole a lot to get by as a child, pick-pocketing civilians and nabbing goods from food stands when vendors had their backs turned. She learns to defend herself through trial and error. Sometimes she wasn't as sneaky as she thought.

Vivienne has a preference for katanas as they were the first weapons she actually learns to wield. Her first blade was a souvenir from the first Claw she ever flat-lined. It's worth next to nothing but it's a prized possession.

She spends most of her life on the streets until she meets Jackie at 17, shortly after he leaves the Valentinos. [trust me this will be expanded on it hurts to think about now. they were friends for almost ten years before the heist, a bit longer than canon street kid v. they were also more than friends at some point.]

Vivienne and Jackie decide to start working together after they decide they're better off as friends. Jackie is under the impression that the idea to be friends is mutual (spoiler alert: it was not). He's just too important to her for those feelings to get in the way. She gets over it eventually. It just takes two years.

That being said, she's definitely not crazy about the idea of that shit happening again, so she becomes pretty closed off afterwards. She hooks up with mercs here and there, and although one in particular catches her eye, she often reminds herself that there are no good endings in Night City. [ehehehehe]

She loses herself in merc work after Jackie's passing, avoiding any real, meaningful relationships until she meets Panam. Her and the Aldecados help Viv realize (again) that she doesn’t have to do everything alone. [will be getting into this in the future also :3]

She's a huuuuge stoner. Prefers rolling up and keeping them in Evelyn's cigarette case for convenience. After the heist, she rolls up with tobacco leaves to shut Johnny the hell up. He bitches about it not being the same but she knows he loves the high. ("you're also less of a bitch when you're high." "i'm gonna kill us both if you don't shut up.") Post-chip, she does it to remember him.

if you go to the end thank you! <3 i will update this soon with more information on her past and her developing relationships. this is all i had time for this weekend! qwq

[ghastly-artist]

People on the internet (especially the younger generations) are so ENTITLED these days???? I won't ever get over how shocking that is?? THE AUDACITY OF SOME OF YA'LL!!??

That shit's crazy ! And sorry, yes I'm gonna go there, but ever since younger generations, and what Fandom "elders" call the "normies" have joined Fandom spaces, I feel like they're just thinking we, as artists/content creators OWE THEM our Art 🎨 or something??? They're ruining things and spoiling all the fun out of being in a Fandom!

Just let people be!

HOW AND WHY DO YOU THINK Fandom spaces were created in the first place??

It's because people who got a little freaky needed a place to be left in peace, and find other people who had the same interests; because of that, there were forums that were created, then websites, and that's how Fandoms started.

So I'm gonna say this AS MANY TIMES AS IT TAKES!

Just let people ship WHAT THEY WANT???!!!

IT'S NOT HARMING YOU - or anybody else for that matter - IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER!

And don't give me that "PROTECCCC THEM CHiLDREnnn bull!" We aren't RESPONSIBLE for their safety on the internet!

LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK:

WE 👏🏻 AREN'T 👏🏻 RESPONSIBLE 👏🏻 FOR 👏🏻OTHER 👏🏻PEOPLE'S 👏🏻CHILDREN'S SAFETY 👏🏻ON 👏🏻THE👏🏻 INTERNET !!!!

THEY HAVE parents, who DECIDED to have kids, THEY'RE the ones who are responsible for THEIR OWN CHILDREN'S safety.

And if unfortunately some of them don't have good parents, we'll it's sad, yes but that doesn't mean they're gonna automatically find Fandom spaces, and THEN become unhinged or whatnot, because of what they saw - on the off chance that they might find some things that YOU, or others consider controversial ??-

And if they do, well not my circus , not my monkeys! 🤡

If they can't differentiate between fiction and reality, I'm sorry but Darwin didn't do his job very well, and they're doomed from the start 😂 🤷🏻‍♀️..

AND LIKE, if I follow your skewed logic, then we should ban true crime documentaries because that MIGHT turn some people into murderers, video-games because it MIGHT turn some people violent, crime TV shows because it might give bad ideas to the wrong people?? Reality TV because it makes people DUMB AS HELL??

Like… this is RIDICULOUS and illogical as hell!!?? Your arguments aren’t even real, solid arguments — you’re just using them to serve your own little quest for… whatever the fuck it is you’re looking to prove.

The internet — and especially other people’s blogs — ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE TAILORED TO PLEASE YOU!! It’s someone else’s space, and they can do whatever they want with it!!!

If you don't like it, just fucking block them!

I have blocked people whose content I LIKED, because some of their content made me uncomfortable; and I didn't send them weird entitled messages, or tell them "imma block you because you POST PiCtUrEs Of BuNnieS and IT MAKES Me uncomfortableeeee".

Like what the actual fuck?? The world doesn't revolve around you, and nobody NEEDS to know that you've been inconvenienced (in Fandoms) and why - you immature little shit?!!

(And I'm not saying you can't vent about something happening in your life or whatever. It's YOUR blog - BUT DON'T pollute Fandom spaces with your bull !!!)

Just MOVE ON, that's it.

Acting like the Fandom police, pretending it is to "save the children" while we ALL KNOW you only harass people because you think you're entitled to other people's fanfictions, art and other content being tailored to YOUR own tastes, and - GOD FORBID an artist that you thought was talented, starts to draw something that upsets you!-

Because yeah, "THAT'S NOT RIGHT, THEY CAN'T SHIP THAT THING - THAT YOU HATE - THEY'RE ONLY ALLOWED TO MAKE ART THAT YOU WANT THEM TO MAKE!! AND THEY CAN'T DO THINGS JUST BECAUSE THEY LIKE THEM" Yeah, yeah...

GOD FORBID SOMEBODY JUST WANTS TO HAVE FUN ON THE INTERNET - AND DO THEIR OWN LITTLE THING IN THEIR OWN LITTLE CORNER OF THE WORLD - RIGHT??

Right...?

Well. NO! It doesn't work like that!

You need to get your fragile little ego in check! THE WORLD ISN'T FAIR, it's NOT made to PLEASE YOU, it DOESN'T revolve around YOU and only you, and you GOTTA LEARN that this entitlement, this AUDACITY, isn't gonna get you far in life if you keep going about things that way (and hiding behind anon messages makes you feel powerful, I know, I know) but try that shit in real life and see where it takes you... 🤡

If an Artist , or fic Writer, or content Creator wants to suddenly change Fandoms, they CAN, and they WILL.

Is it sad? - Yes - Should you say anything about it? FUCK NO, should you keep supporting them through their newest hyperfixation? Yes, but do you have to? Absolutely NOT. You can move on, un-follow or even block them!

I have had my favorite artist follow the same hyperfixations as me for like ten years and then suddenly get into something that I ABSOLUTELY HATED! And you know what I did? I kept supporting them when I could. That's it! And I'm not saying YOU should absolutely do that despite hating someone's content, because YOUR internet experience should feel safe to you, so I'm just saying that's just ONE WAY to go about things. You can just mute /block.

If they change Fandoms, just let them, if they want to ship something you hate? Same thing.

If they say something you don't agree with?? JUST. LET. THEM. It's THEIR blog, THEIR own life and choices, and it's not because someone has a kink you deem weird or ships two brothers, or siblings or whatever, as strange as it may be to you, or has, idk a pee kink, a blood kink, or WHATEVER, that you're supposed to bother them about it????

And, come on guys, let's be real for a minute, life is HARD enough as it is, we don't need our safe spaces, where we feel welcome and free to be our freaky little selves, and have fun and SHARE our creative works for FREE, to be polluted by people like you who have no concept of free will, and decided that they should ONLY be doing things you want them to do, and be policed by assholes on their safe spaces!

JUST LET THEM BE!! DON'T INTERACT!

I have gotten SO MUCH HATE in the past couple of months, JUST for speaking my mind and defending other artists - and apparently liking some of their posts too? Which is FUCKING RIDICULOUS!?? -

But you know what?? I WILL CONTINUE TO DEFEND THEM for -FUCKING- EVER!!!

I don’t CARE what you ship, what kink you’re into, or if you ship yourself with a fictional character — and, yeah!!

Let’s go there too 😏 since apparently some of y’all need a taste of your own medicine!??

(IMPORTANT NOTE: I have STRICTLY NOTHING against self shippers, I'm just addressing the issue that A HUGE CHUNK of the people attacking other fans in Fandom spaces think the only way to enjoy a character is self-shipping and that these characters BELONG to them somehow??)

Some of ya'll self-shippers keep ANNOYING others for doing exactly that — shipping, enjoying their own thing — and for what???

(Not talking about all self-shippers, because you opened minded peeps are AMAZING and lovely and I'm SO grateful for your presence in Fandoms!)

And I'm just gonna leave this HERE BUT,

I HAVE SEEN SOME OF YOU, be HELLAAAAA into Daddy kink, but then, when other people ship two brothers or siblings, or half brothers or cousins or - whatever - YOU ACT ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY?? THERE'S LITERALLY NO DIFFERENCE??!! 😂

LIKE, double standards, much???

Back in the good old fandom days, (yeah, yeah, granny ghastly's back at it with the good old days) this kind of shipping wasn’t even that common, it was actually the odd one out, and people would think it was weird and cringe as HELL, but you know what??? Nobody BOTHERED THEM!!! And NOBODY BOTHERS YOU now!? YOU DO YOU.

Meanwhile, here we are, NORMAL(ish 😂) people, who actually get what it’s like to just want to ship something and be left alone to enjoy our own little corner of the fandom in peace. AND we don't BOTHER YOU! We just LEAVE YOU ALONE to enjoy your weird little corner of the internet! BUT YOU ATTACK US /THEM for liking something you don't?? (including myself in there because apparently supporting other's free will to do what they want gets you as much hate as actually doing the thing).

JUST SHOW THE SAME COURTESY.

The internet is big enough for EVERYBODY.

To me, truly if you ship SIBLINGS TOGETHER OR ANYTHING ! IF IT IS FICTION, ANYTHING GOES! HAVE FUN, who am I — WHO IS ANYBODY — to stop you or decide you can't ?!!

Do I like everything I see on the internet?? CERTAINLY NOT, do I go out of my way to just go and bother people because I'm an entitled little Bitch???? NOPE, I DO NOT!

And you know what, it doesn't kill me, I'm still okay decades later. Everything's fine. Fanfiction sites have functions for blocking tags that revolt you, and LEARN TO USE THEM G-dammit.

AND Tumblr has a mute function AND A BLOCK FUNCTION, HOW COOL IS THAT???? ✨

JUST FUCKING use them and shut your cakehole. And go eat some cookies if you're into that, who am I to stop you!?

Now imma go back to supporting EVERYONE in the Fandoms that I'm into, and enjoy their art, and fanfictions, no matter if it's my cup of tea, or not.

Because THAT'S what you're supposed to do in Fandom spaces, SUPPORT EACH OTHER ✨ (or just BLOCK THEM).

Have a NICE DAY! 🩷

(Ps : Sorry I didn't check for mistakes or reread myself!)

[writeonwhiskey]

summer in seoul: ch 10

a/n: dun dun dunnnnn the truth finally comes to light! forgive any typos, its 3:30am and i'm tired lol word count: 1.9k [ fic master list ]

(CHAN POV)

Downstairs, Seungmin and Felix are still locked in the game, trash talk flying back and forth. Han’s still passed out on the couch and Jeongin has curled up like a sleeping fox in the beanbag chair. They could have easily gone back to their place since they don’t live too far, but to be honest it’s nice having so many of us under one roof again. It brings back the memories from our trainee days.

I head into the kitchen and fill my arms with enough water bottles for everyone. I place one next to Han and Jeongin before handing Felix and Seungmin theirs.

“Ya. Don’t stay up all night.” I say.  

 “Okay, Daddy.” Felix calls after me in a high-pitched voice. 

“Arrasseo, Appa.” Seungmin echoes at the same time. 

Children. Literal children.

I can only shake my head as I continue back upstairs. I stop in Han’s room, which Minho has commandeered, and leave a water bottle on the nightstand, then do the same for Changbin. 

When I open the door to my room, you’re sitting on the bed, legs crossed and wearing one of my t-shirts. Forgive me, but my initial thought is if you’re wearing anything beneath it until I notice the magazine in your lap.

Shit.

Where was that? Which is it?

Your head snaps up; eyes locked on mine as you slowly arch a brow.  

As I approach the bed, I see it’s the Nylon Japan magazine we did a cover shoot for. It must have been buried beneath the shirts in my drawer. Odd place to keep it, I know, but I don’t want it (or any of our magazine covers, for that matter) on display in my room…but it also feels wrong and rude to just throw away.

I hand you a water bottle and you accept it without saying a word.

This is not the way I envisioned telling you the truth about what I do. Well, I hadn’t exactly been thinking of ideal ways to tell you the full scope of everything at all, actually. But still, this way would have been at the very bottom of the list.

Perhaps I was naïve to think it could stay a secret until you had to leave.

Regardless, I am pleased that your phone is not in sight. That you waited for me to come back rather than punching in our group name on Google. This tells me you want to hear about this revelation directly from me rather than reading about it on the internet.

I sit next to you, my gaze on the magazine while yours is still on me. I know you’re waiting for me to say something—but where do I even start? I’m backed into a corner here. You’ve already met the boys. I can’t dodge my way out of this discovery or tell another white lie about what we are all doing photographed on the cover.

“Snooping through my stuff, miss?” I say to light-heartedly break the silence. 

“Guilty as charged,” you shrug. “But you. Just a music producer, huh?”

I let out a nervous, awkward as fuck chuckle. “Well…about that.”

You smack me on the arm with the magazine.

“Aish!” I flinch as you pull your hand holding the magazine back again, a silent threat in your eyes. “I mean…I do produce our music.” 

“Nah, nah, nah,” you shake your head. And for the first time I hear a bit of your New York accent come out. “I don’t want your beating around the bush answers this time, okay?”

“Okay.” I agree, bringing my legs on the bed fully and turning my body to face you. “Wait…first—are you upset?”

You chew on your lip.

“I don’t want to think of this as lying,” you start, “…but I get that if you’re on a magazine cover you clearly have reasons to. It’s just a bit of a shock more than anything, I guess.”

“That’s fair. I can own up to purposefully misleading you,” I say, cautiously reaching up to lower your hand holding the magazine. “I didn’t expect this to last beyond that first night and the more time I spent with you I could tell you genuinely didn’t know who I was. You had no ulterior motives in getting to know me—I could just be Chris, not Chan. So, although I’m not happy I skewed the truth, I don’t regret it.”

You nod in understanding, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I grab your waist and turn you to face me before resting my hand on your thighs, giving them a squeeze.

“Okay. Ask me anything.” I prompt.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a Korean music artist. Sometimes referred to as a K-Pop idol.”

“Idol?” You repeat, the word sounding foreign on your tongue. “Like with dedicated fans and concerts?”

I nod. 

The term idol can feel a little cringeworthy at times, but the definition of it is not something I take lightly. It bears a huge weight of responsibility, and the boys and I have worked our asses off for the credibility that comes with it. 

“What is a Stray Kid?” you ask next.

“Stray Kids is our group name. Or SKZ. S-K-Z for short.”

“SKZ,” you repeat again. “And every single guy down there is in the group with you, right?”

“Yes, and Hyunjin.” I point to him on the cover. “He’s in Milan for a Versace fashion show.”

You bring the magazine up to cover your face as you laugh incredulously, leaning back and shaking your head.

“He’s in Milan for a Versace fashion show, mate,” you mock my casual tone with a horrendous Australian accent. “That’s not a big deal to you?”

“It is. It’s huge. I actually still can’t really wrap my head around it, but…we’re all very proud of him.”

You cock your head to the side, studying my face.

“I’m trying to understand the scope here,” you say, setting the magazine aside. “You’ve landed a magazine cover, one of your members has a gig with Versace…what’s the biggest venue you guys have ever played?”

“Well, we’ve done a few stadiums and we’re getting ready for a dome tour in Korea and Japan next month.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Do you only perform in Japan and Korea?”

Now it’s my turn to study you carefully. And I hate that I have to do it. To gauge your reaction—is this going to change things? Deep down I feel like it won’t, but I can never be certain and it fucking sucks.

“We’ve toured the states, too, and we’ll be headlining at Lollapalooza in Paris at the end of this month.”

“Holy shit…that’s not something any average artist just gets to do, right?”

I shake my head and then you fall silent.

We’re both studying each other now. Me still wanting to know how this is going to rock the delicate boat we’re in, and you possibly trying to associate me with the magnitude of everything I’ve just told you.

“Chris…why didn’t you just tell me?”

The sincerity in your tone makes me squeeze your thighs again, pulling you closer until our knees are touching.

“It was kinda nice spending time with someone that doesn’t know that side of me…that isn’t expecting some other version of me or something, you know?”

“No…I don’t know,” you say with a wry laugh. “But I get it, I think. I don’t know that we would have made it to this point if you’d been up front about it, to be honest. I’d probably have been scared off.”

“And you’re not right now?” 

“No. I got to experience normalcy with you…if you told me from the beginning I would have assumed your life is chaos with paparazzi chasing you around or something.”

“It can be like that sometimes.” 

You scrunch up your face. “I wouldn’t survive that.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” I say. “But…I do still want to spend time with you while you’re here, though. If that’s okay?”

“You think I still want to spend time with you?” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

My stomach plummets. Your expression is hardened—but then I see it. Your lip quirks up ever so slightly, breaking the façade.

“After you just fucked me in front of the Stray Kids?”

And just like that, sassy y/n is back, and a weight is lifted off my shoulders.

I feel like I can trust my gut instincts with you, like I don’t need to second guess how you’ll react to anything. You handle everything with a calm, thoughtful level of maturity that honestly reminds me of myself. I’m confident that you understand the gravity of the situation and that there’s no need to stress that this must be kept secret.

I trust you.

“Technically we were behind them,” I say, grabbing your arms to pull you to me as I lay back.

When you’re fully resting on top of me, I slide my hands up your back, then down as far as the edge of the shirt, and repeat. I’m tempted to pull it up and expose your ass, to caress that too, but I refrain.

It’s harder than I would have imagined, because lately, my hands feel useless when they’re not touching you. And I won’t have you near me for much longer.

Fuck.

“You and your technicalities.” You roll your eyes, lowering your head to kiss me. “Can I hear one of your songs?”

I purse my lips. I never know how to respond when someone asks that. Of our entire catalog, I’m supposed to choose one song that sums up or defines us as a group? And, because it’s you, I’m left feeling a little shy at the idea of you hearing me sing or rap since you don’t know that side of me. 

What if you don’t like it?

So, instead, I force a yawn, covering my mouth with my hand.

“I’m tired…you tired? It’s been a long day.”

“Ohhh, okay. That’s what we’re doing now?” You roll off me and climb under the blankets, pulling it all the way up to your chin. “Goodnight, then.”

I stand to turn off the lights before climbing in next to you. You make a repulsed face and inch away from me. I catch you in my arms, pulling you back.

“Stop it,” I murmur, rubbing my nose against your cheek. 

You turn around and cuddle up to me, nestling yourself against my chest. My eyes flutter shut as I embrace the warmth of your body.

“You know what would be nice right now?” you ask.

“Hmmm?”

“A nice relaxing song to fall asleep to by Stray Kids.”

“First thing tomorrow morning,” I let out a real yawn this time. “I promise.”

You lift a leg over my hip, and I slip mine between yours, so we’re intertwined. I like being tangled up with you. The boys would probably call me a simp for thinking this, but you fit perfectly in my arms.

We leave for the tour soon, and honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again after that. I sigh and squeeze you a little tighter, pushing away the unwanted feelings accompanying those thoughts. You’re here right now, so I’m gonna stay in this moment.

a/n: thank you for reading! i appreciate the likes, comments and reblogs so much 💜 let me know what song you thing y/n is gonna hear first 😁

[ read chapter eleven here ] (coming soon)

@hanniesbubuwife / @valworld17 / @luckyroll3 / @fancybarbii / @mlink64 / @ehstay / @gncbnahc / @no1likeneo / @beppybeesnuggets / @lattyjiji

[thequeenreaders]

treat.

➵ james buchanan "bucky" barnes/f!reader

after another day of work, you decided to treat bucky a dinner, a massage, and your special dessert.

realm: fluff, smut, established relationship, 18+

caution: my old writing was ass (still is), fluff, suggestive, smut, small mentions of sex, massage, oral (both), profanity

length: 1,9k

notations: hello guys! i have nothing much to say but i wanted to let you know that school is about to start next month and i'm a bit nervous, so i don't want to focus on writing too much. i will try to find time to write and i hope you enjoy my shits! 😁❤

index

You yawned as you stretched your arms and looked at the clock, your lips curling into a pout and sat back down on the couch. Bucky was supposed to be home at this time around, guessed work didn't allow him.

It's been a year and a half since you and Bucky started dating, there are a couple of bumps along the way but you kept it all together and stay strong. When Bucky took interest in you, he swore that he won't ever do stupid things again like sleeping with random girls or go on dates and never call them back, just so he could gain your trust. It took time to convince you and eventually gave in, taking you to your first date and he was such a romantic dork.

You couldn't blame Bucky and his job, you knew the second you said 'Yes' to be his girlfriend that it's gonna be quite complicated, yet you found ways for Bucky in order to spend time together and made sure not to lose any connection, and he appreciated that.

An idea popped in your head, your head perking up and quickly head to the kitchen to prepare ingredients and tools, a grin creeping up to your lips at your sinful intentions.

"Booki!" You teased and wrapped your arms around his neck, his scent filling your nose and he tiredly hugged back, his face resting on the crook of your neck. His shirt is wrinkled and his hair is a bit messy but you still find him handsome and sexy.

You felt his lips softly planted small kisses and quietly whined, "Doll, I told you not to call me that..."

Giggling, you gently pulled Bucky inside and closed the door, him taking off his coat and hanging it on a hook, "Sorry if I was late, had to- mph..." I cut him off with a kiss and he chuckled, placing his hands on my waist and deepened the kiss.

You slowly pull away and kissed his nose, caressing his face and your thumb rubbing against his cheek, "Don't worry, I understand." You gave him a reassuring smile as you grabbed his hand and dragged him to the dinner table where there are his favorite food and sunset-colored lights brightened around the room.

Taking the delightful sight, he sighed and kissed your temple, "You don't have to do this, doll. I'm supposed to be making up all of the things I missed."

"But you've been working very hard for the both of us while I'm mostly taking care of our home, so it's unfair." You approached the table and before you can sit down, Bucky pulled your chair back and pushed it gently, making you giggle and shifted a bit to make yourself comfortable, "You're such a gentleman, Buck."

A cheeky smirk can be seen on his face and took his seat, "That's why you fell in love with me, darling."

After taking a quick shower and brushing teeth, you asked Bucky to wait for him in the bedroom so you could change and he was about to ask why when you shut the door closed and excitedly started undressing.

Bucky was first confused but eventually followed along, not wanting to ruin any plans you had for tonight. He was sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for you and when he heard the bathroom door opened, he glanced up and his jaw dropped.

"Hi, Bucky~" There was a tint of seduction in your voice and looking into your eyes, it was full of lust and it sent shivers down to his spine. You like to tease Bucky a bit, especially in the bedroom and he's not complaining about it.

As you slowly approached him, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realized that you weren't wearing any undergarments under the nightgown, your hardened nipples are seen through the clothing.

His face was flushed and couldn't stop gazing at your figure, a small tent slowly started to form on his pants and tried your best not to look, "W-Wow..."

You hummed and placed your hands on your hips, "Buck, take your shirt off." He happily followed and threw it across the room, making you giggle at his anticipation and gently pushed him to the bed, his head landing on the pillows.

"I'm going to give you a massage, so get on your belly." You gave him a peck on the lips before he turns and rests his hands above his head. You grabbed the coconut oil from the nightstand and applied a proper amount of it on his back, putting the oil back and started massaging, Bucky sighing in relief.

You put pressure as you slowly slide your hands up and down, the muscles on his back tensed and Bucky letting out small groans, the sounds he makes tickled your core.

Straddling his hips, you lowered yourself down and started to grind on his pants, stifling a moan at the feeling of the fabric. Bucky not knowing what's happening down there, he opened one eye and looked over his shoulder, seeing his lover grinding on his clothed ass.

He chuckled, causing you to stop and your eyes widened, "What do you think you're doing, babydoll?" Buck slowly rolled onto his back and gripped your hips.

Gulping, you leaned down and kissed him hungrily, your moist folds resting on top of his raging erection, "I'm preparing Sargeant Barnes's dessert~" You said in between kisses and he growled, gripping your hips tighter and suddenly brought your lower body close to his face.

"Dessert, huh?" His voice was husky and his Brooklyn accent turning you on even more, eager for him to taste you. You just nodded and bit your bottom lip when he gently blew warm breath on your clit, "You're so wet, doll."

"God Bucky, just please do someth‐ Aahhh!" He dragged the tip of his tongue from your entrance to your bundle of nerves and began sucking, lapping up all of your juices and you couldn't help but grind on his face, your hands on his muscular chest to balance yourself and your moans and slurping sounds can be heard around the room. Oral sex is quite a taboo but you and Bucky like to try new things and don't give a damn about what other people think.

He wrapped his arm around your thigh to keep you from squirming too much and inserted two fingers without warning, taking you by surprise and continued to moan in pleasure when he attached his mouth to your clit, feeling his tongue swirl around and his thick fingers going in and out of your wet slick in a quick pace.

You felt a knot starting to form on your abdomen and you cried his name over and over, tangling your fingers in his locks as he repeatedly hit your g-spot, "Yes, yes, yes, yes! Oh, James, I-I'm gonna cum!" Then he went faster and sucked harshly, your mouth opened in a silent scream and more juices came out of your pussy, doesn't stop fingering you until your high decreased.

Bucky hummed as he kissed your petals one last time and licked the remaining cum on his lips, looking at you with pure lust before he sat up and stared at your soaking pussy, rubbing his cloth cock, "Do you want to taste mine, doll?"

Just as he said that, you eagerly went down and unbuckle his belt, Bucky lifting his hips up and removed his pants along with his boxers, his cock springing up, "Mmm... You're so big, Bucky~" Hungrily licking your lips at his angry red tip that is leaking precum and you grabbed his shaft, gently stroking it and he whimpered at your touch.

You opened your mouth and began sucking his length, rubbing the parts that won't fit inside and bob your head up and down, "J-Just like that, doll... Just like that!" Bucky let out a loud groan as you massaged his balls and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, "Your mouth feel so damn good, babydoll. You like that, huh?" You couldn't talk so you just sent him a wink and he smirked, panting and his grip on your hair tightened.

Immediately knowing what he's trying to say, you stopped your movements and he suddenly got up from the bed, holding your head in a comfortable position and began fucking your mouth, your moans sent vibrations through his cock and you felt him twitch, swirling your tongue around to get him closer to his climax, "Nggh... I-I'm close!" He began thrusting his hips faster as you sneak a hand under you and rub your clit, your eyes begging him to cum.

He took his shaft out of your mouth and made you sit up on your knees, his other hand sliding the straps off your shoulders and pulled it down to your waist, revealing your breasts while he's pumping his cock. When he looked at your breasts, he instantly came and shoots ribbons of cum on your chest and collarbone, growling in pleasure and he slowed down, trying to catch his breath, "D-Damn, doll... You planned all of this, didn't ya?" He said as he grabbed a couple of tissues from the nightstand and wiped the mess he made.

You smiled and patted the space beside you, gesturing him to lay down and he did, closing his eyes with a cheeky grin on his face, "Did you like it?" You asked and straddled him, your hands tracing the lines of his biceps.

Bucky chuckled and gave you a chaste kiss, "I freakin' love it, that is the best dessert you ever gave me."

You faked a gasp, "So you're saying that you don't like the desserts I made for you?" You pouted and he chuckled, gently pulling you down to his chest and rested your head on it, hearing his heartbeat, "No, no. What I meant is that the "dessert" you gave me today is at the very top among the others you made, but they all tasted delicious." He kissed the top of your head and stared at the ceiling, reflecting about all of the things you did together and it brought a smile to his face.

You raised your head to look at him and tugged a hair behind your ear, "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to prepare breakfast but before that, I want you to take care of me first."

He raised a brow, "What do you me- Oooh..." The realization came, judging by his expression and a tint of blush appeared on his cheeks, "O-Okay then."

You giggled and about to kiss him when both of you heard faint knocks on the front door, turning your heads to the direction and Bucky spoke, "That's probably Steve, I forgot that he's coming over here with Peggy."

"WHAT?!" You gently hit him on the chest and quickly got up to change into something more appropriate, "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I said I forgot!" He replied and also put on some clean clothes, "I'll just settle them in the living room, okay babydoll?" You felt his arms around your waist and kissed your neck.

You huffed when he gave a squeeze to your bum and went to the bathroom to quickly fix himself, making sure that nothing sexual happened between the two of you.

[ourdramaqueen]

Tell me you didn't understand the assignment without telling me you didn't understand the assignment. 🙄

Flooded with Wenclairs demanding Wenclair, when this is meant to be a little fun roleplay. I bet it's the same few hundred Wenclairs who keep posting and liking each other's comments. Probably each with several sock accounts. They obviously don't give a shit about anything in the show that is not their ship.

Are we passionate about Wyler? Sure. But overall, I believe the majority of us also want Wednesday to be a great show with strong character arcs for everyone. I'm so sorry for the sensible Wenclair shippers who get lumped in with this lot.

(And if any of the Tyler/Wyler hating Wenclairs should find their way here and think they can intimidate or harrass me - don't bother. I've probably been in fandoms longer than you've been alive. I know where the block and report buttons are.)