#the-swapped-central

[charmac]

Identity doesn't have to factor into absolutely every decision you make.

[chaanv]

Girl what do u mean its a mahabharat au? (Genuinely curious)

lmaooo I better not be killed, but this is a story featuring:

Loving, extremely powerful, chaotic, deeply mysterious fluteboi

His quiet, highly skilled, dressed-in-white, internally conflicted soulmate

His smart, badass fire-queen bestie (who is very important to the plot)

His “so done” brother (… the snake! symbolism)

His soulmate’s peaceful older brother who just wants a break

His intellectual, manipulative rival

His copycat, chaotic evil rival

His temperamental but cute nephew

An initial power-hungry dictator; he’s overthrown halfway through… but his sons/allies cause fluteboi grief first

Two villainous besties who take over after the overthrowing,, first one has major daddy issues and second very much loathes the soulmate

Fire-queen’s brother who is fluteboi’s General

Highly respected warrior whose dead body plays an equal role

A regretful former female clan leader

Societal critiques

The suffering of women

Moral grey areas

Which story is it?

Of course I have simplified, of course I’m forgetting things.

BUT I can’t be the only one who sees it?

[seagullcharmer]

hm. working on my map of lorule. need to figure out some things......

[expatesque]

Incredibly excited for your Italy trip, as someone who studied in Rome I would like to politely request photos from your time there 💛 in exchange I can tell you that the Gelateria Regusto in Trastevere is the best gelato shop, and that a little hike up Janiculum Hill at sunrise is truly unforgettable

Lovely recommendations, thank you! I promise photos will be coming!

[cantsayidont]

MY NAME (2021): Pulpy, violent, derivative Korean crime drama about a young woman named Yoon Ji-woo (Han So-hee) who sets out to avenge the murder of her gangster father by joining the gang of which he was a member and then, at the behest of the organization's crafty boss, Choi Mu-jin (Park Hee-soon), infiltrating the Inchang Metropolitan Police under an assumed name to find her father's supposed killer, a senior narcotics cop (the avuncular Kim Sang-ho).

The plot (whose major beats you'll likely anticipate just based on the preceding synopsis) is kind of a gender-swapped riff on the Hong Kong film INFERNAL AFFAIRS (remade in the U.S. as THE DEPARTED), with some echoes of John Woo's Hong Kong classics (in particular HARD-BOILED), albeit executed with far less thematic unity. There are some stylish moments, but MY NAME never finds a consistent groove, and it only occasionally goes hard enough to compensate for its awkward pacing, clunky structure, and numerous lapses in plausibility and plot logic. Only in the finale does the show serve up the emotional grandiosity needed to give the bloodshed some real juice, and it's still let down somewhat by a weak coda.

Park's cool charisma is a major load-bearing element throughout, but Han, curiously, is more convincing in the action scenes than the quieter moments, perhaps because the scripts struggle to give Ji-woo (or any of the show's very few female characters) any meaningful interiority. An ill-advised early time-skip also undermines the clarity of her motivations and priorities, which too often leaves her seeming like a supporting character in her own story. CONTAINS LESBIANS? There are barely any women other than Ji-woo. VERDICT: Moderately diverting if you can stomach the brutal violence, but even its strongest moments feel recycled from earlier, better examples of this genre. CWs apply for attempted sexual violence in the first two episodes, and episodes six and seven include some scenes of graphic self-harm.

[brokenhardies]

Foolsuke AU - The Hamburgulars

made in this dollmaker

Yusuke Kitagawa - The Fool

Makoto Niijima - The Chariot

Futaba Isshiki - The Lovers

Akira Kurusu - The Emperor

Goro Yoshida - The High Priestess

Ryuji Ohya - The Hermit

Ann Takamaki - The Empress

Haru Okumura - The Justice

Satoru Yoshizawa - The Faith

(not featured; Violet - The Magician)

@latenitewaffles, @inkwell1013, @mushroomfusion245 @rollthedice-playthecards @thehedgehogat221b @sterling-writes @wonderguards

[gaysheep]

oh yea i made this awhile ago lemme know if you have any fun overlaps

[publicdomainbooksdevotee]

People who only hear about ComicCon for TV and movie reasons:

"No writers? No actors? There is NOTHING LEFT. ComicCon is DEAD."

Locals who don't even have tickets and go downtown for the Vibe:

[ttimekeepsrollingby]

Inserción internacional

China obliga a Milei a arrastrarse para renovar el swap. Y el arrastrado hace lo suyo. El Papa manda un mensaje al país a través de Axel Kicillof. Tortura china Axel con Francisco Imagen: El Ciudadano Web.

[sexypinkon]

Sexypink - Next Thursday.

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[oakgreenoak]

Something I've always found kinda interesting about Red and Green in gameverse is how they turn some of the Stock Shōnen Protagonist/Rival tropes on their heads.

This is really long character analysis of these two and various media counterparts of theirs, so I'm gonna stick it under a cut.

In some ways they fit their roles quite well - aside from the obvious colour associations, you have Red as the hero whose sense of justice is stronger than his sense of self-preservation, and you have Green as the privileged rival who cares about beating Red above all else.

But, if you look at it another way - Green's got the light spiky hair, the hot-headed and boisterous personality, the drive to Get Better And Win. He's designed to read as really open and chipper, yet snarky. Sure, he isn't dumb, but he's arrogant, and he's got something of a one-track mind; the guy finds himself in the middle of a hostage situation because he's just that hellbent on fighting his rival, and does not seem to be thinking about anything else. He's also got a motivation - given how the Professor talks to him in the championship room and supplementary material like his Generations appearance, it's not a stretch to think the reason he's so driven to Get Better And Win is to prove himself to his grandfather. It's shown in later games and supplementary works that he's become somewhat of a mentor as he got older and wiser.

Red, on the other hand, is a quiet loner whose only motivation seems to be to get stronger for the sake of getting stronger. He's level-headed and dark haired, his cap rounding off his edges and obscuring his face. He's heroic, but not really sociable, as evidenced by the fact he spends the Johto games alone on a mountain without having told anyone where he went. He seems isolated in a way that later games' protagonists really don't. He may have always been a step behind Green, but he's always better.

Equally fascinating to me is how other adaptations have changed the base designs around and rewritten personalities to suit different purposes, while still being visually recognisable as counterparts to their game-selves.

For example: Red and Green's counterparts in Special slot WAY more neatly into their stock shōnen roles, with Red as the boisterous hero and Green as the broody rival, and it's reflected in their new designs.

Red's hair becomes spiky to reflect his more excitable nature. His hat, in turn, never obscures his face; it's always either tilted back to accommodate his fringe or turned backwards. Green's hair, on the other hand, is not quite as spiked upwards and instead falls into his face, frequently obscuring his far eye in the same way game!Red's hat does.

And then, of course, the anime balanced them in a totally different direction.

Instead of scrapping Green's personality wholecloth, it's become exaggerated in Gary. He's not the broody antihero rival, he's the arrogant, privileged, better-than-you rival. He's always ten steps ahead of Ash, always pisses him off, and is ALWAYS better until the end of his run. The anime also emphasises his intelligence far more, with him doing things like rattling off dex info and the speed of light in mph off the top of his head, to further contrast him with Ash.

Ash, who is of course THE shōnen protagonist. He's dumb, but determined, and always ready to help people in need. Unlike game!Red, the power of friendship (with more than just pokémon) is central to him; any given season of the show is defined as much if not moreso by his travelling companions and interpersonal relationships as it is by whatever he's actually doing.

It's funny to me, though, how most adaptations seem to find the fact that gameverse Red and Green have swapped some stock roles as something to fix. Even Origins, which is probably the closest a high-profile adaption has come to game-accurate, made its version of Red louder and more standard-hero-esque.

I'm not knocking any of these things, of course, just observing. I adore both Special and anipoke. I just think that the way the game characters are written could lead to some interesting dynamics were it to be explored more.

[yizmiu]

SITUATIONSHIP 〻ᯇ # lee heeseung

IN WHICH ✶ y/n loved the idea of love, simply because she hadn’t experienced it yet. She hoped and prayed that love would come to her at the perfect time of her life where she’s mentally stable and ready for it. So when she suddenly gets attention from Lee Heeseung—she can’t tell if she likes this or not? This sudden attention, he was extremely sweet to her, way too sweet that it was suspicious. Given his reputation, Heeseung wasn’t the type to settle. So why was he all up on Y/n? and just why was Y/n enjoying it? She was confused with herself and her new situationship, maybe she’s just overstimulated by everything and scared to commit.

genre ୨୧ ꙳ smau, strangers2lovers, light angst, fluff, college / university au, lee heeseung x female reader, twitch streamer / youtuber heeseung.

warnings ; swearing , kms/kys jokes , suggestive/nsfw jokes (no smut), mentions of being high, drinking, playboy heeseung but like in the nicest way possible, soobin likes to swap spit with randoms at parties, ningning as faceclaim.

featuring ୨୧ ꙳ RIIZE - seunghan + sohee + sungchan. AESPA - winter + karina. TXT - soobin. NMIXX - lily. + more

release date ; 02/27/24

status ୨୧ ꙳ ongoing

disclaimer ; this is all fictional, how i write and portray idols in this are fake.

jayjay note ୨୧ ꙳ AYYY first smau on the new account🙏

taglist ( close, can’t tag bold ) ; @lilacnini@haechology @heegyuwrld @wonyoungsvirus @enhaz1 @sparklingsjy @skzeyeu @euncsace @hotsforikeu @simjyunnie @yenqa @eleanorheartschishiya @ahnneyong @teddywonss @parkwonbinluvr @k1ttylvr @wonifullove @woninluv @doulcie @ilyjxdz @dimplewonie @grah127 @missychief1404 @eclipse-777 @heelee-01 @aerivrs @amesification @txtbrainrot @haechansbbg @jaem4eva @rikizm @oldjws @aishigrey @jiawji @kgneptun @rikibun @arunabrak @riksaes @river-demon-slayer @soobs-things @saranghaohoshi @heelariously @blooqz @nxzz-skz @icepshrince @i-yeseo @soobhns @heeseungswifefr

SITUATIONSHIP SOUNDTRACK

ᯇ ೀ MEET THE CAST¿ READ THE PROFILES¡

001. skatergirl133 | group one

002. KittyDestroyer.com | group two

✶ MY FIRST SITUATIONSHIP! ੭

001. BOMBOCLAAT | smau + written (760 wrds)

002. stanky feet | smau

003. off the clock | smau + written (519 wrds)

004. love | smau + written (606 wrds)

005. on the blox | smau

006. motives | smau

007. thank you zhang y/n | smau

008. mogged | smau

009. smoking on that y/n pack | smau

010. champion | smau + written (928 wrds)

011. real with me | smau

012. bambi | smau

013. jittleyang | smau + written (1007 wrds)

014. serious | smau

015. grindr | smau

016. kiss cam | smau + written (464 wrds)

017. my mind | smau

018. cunt central | smau

019. i miss her | smau

020. EWUGH | smau

021. stole ur man | smau + (312 words)

022. embarrassing | smau

023. whimper audio | smau + written (252 words)

024. chat… | smau

[diarioelcentinela]

Argentina tiene disponible US$10.000 millones para trabajar en mercado único y libre cambio

Argentina tiene disponible US$10.000 millones para trabajar en mercado único y libre cambio

Massa destacó los avances en materia financiera alcanzados durante las reuniones del G20 en Indonesia. El ministro de Economía, Sergio Massa, destacó los avances en materia financiera alcanzados durante las reuniones del G20 en Indonesia que incluyeron, entre otros, la ampliación del swap de monedas con China que permitirá al Banco Central duplicar sus reservas de libre disponibilidad y, así,…

[cavegirlpoems]

People really need to get better at distinguishing between a games core ideas, and additional flair.

Let us suppose I make a character for OD&D, Bertha the Cleric. I decide that Bertha - along with having black hair and green eyes and poverty-stricken parents - is gay. I then go on to play OD&D with Bertha, and she goes and explores various horrible trap-filled holes in the ground with some other adventurers, and they walk away with big sacks of gold and level up.

Does this make OD&D gay? Is OD&D now queer media? No. Bertha's gayness wasn't actually important to the gameplay, anymore than her eye colour was. That gayness - while potentially neat - was flair.

OD&D didn't prevent me from playing a gay character, not because it's a game with queer themes, but because it's entirely disinterested in if my character was gay.

Hell, my decision to make Bertha's parents poor was a more meaningful choice; wealth is a central concern of OD&D and the pursuit of wealth is a motivation for most player characters.

The same is true for many more modern games, such as D&D 5e, Pathfinder and shadowrun. While you are able to make your PC gay - and the book might even helpfully state that you can do this (as if you ever needed the book's permission) - that decision remains flair. Your PC being gay will not, if you play as the book expects, meaningfully affect events.

This is even true if the books include canon gay characters. If the princess in your module has a girlfriend rather than a boyfriend, that's probably also flair. The trick is to see if swapping it out so the girlfriend becomes a boyfriend; if this doesn't meaningfully alter events, then that gayness was, again, flair rather than something the game cares about.

[empresa-journal]

Federal Reserve tests Digital Dollar

Federal Reserve tests Digital Dollar

The Federal Reserve is testing a Central Bank Digital Currency (CBDC) in the Forex markets. The New York Federal Reserve revealed Project Cedar on 4 November 2022. Project Cedar is the Fed’s New York Innovation Center’s (NYIC) test of a CBDC in the foreign exchange (FOREX) markets. Project Cedar is the Fed’s first test of a wholesale CBDC (wCBDC) A wCBDC is a digital reserve financial…