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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

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“You’re not going.”

Keith picks his head up from the table. “Huh?”

“To the Blades,” Lance clarifies, chopping up something that looks like a bright pink potato and throwing it in a rapidly boiling pot in what Keith would call an aggressive manner. “You’re not going.”

“…I didn’t say I was.”

He didn’t. He didn’t mention anything about the Blades to any living soul. Like, yeah, he had made the decision and was going to, but.

There’s no reason Lance should know that.

“Good, then, because I took your uniform — which looks like a slutty catsuit, by the way, just so you’re aware — to the incinerator last night. It’s ash now.”

Keith stares at his best friend, jaw dropped, hands resting limply on the edge of the dining table, because — huh? pardon? what happened?

“Whatever identity crisis you’re having can happen here,” Lance adds, shaking some spices into the boiling pot and stirring it a couple times. He dips in a spoon, brings it up to his lips, then makes a face. “Here, try this.”

He marches over to where Keith has been moping as he makes dinner and shoves a spoon into his gaping mouth. Keith chokes, hot stew making its merry way down his trachea, eyes watering and chest heaving.

“A little too salty,” he rasps.

Lance scowls. “Fuck. I knew it. Gotta add more barbie potatoes.” He turns down the heat, grabbing more potatoes from the sack and busying himself with peeling them. Slowly, as he recovers from the fear of his actual lungs collapsing in on themselves, Keith stands, hesitantly approaching Lance and reaching for a knife to chop what he peels.

“So,” he starts.

Lance ignores him.

But Keith is used to this dynamic. It’s either this or flipped. Friends or not, if there’s one thing they can’t do it’s use their big boy words. So he carries on.

“I take it you…don’t want me to go, then.”

Lance grunts. “Oh, look, the caveman has room in his skull for a brain after all.”

“Uncalled for,” Keith says, scowling. “I am not the one who’s refusing to communicate right now.”

The corner of Lance’s mouth twitches upwards.

Score. Point to Keith.

“Obviously I don’t want you to leave, you stupid dumbass,” Lance admits finally. He wrestles the chopped roots out of Keith’s hands and practically dunks them in the pot, turning the heat back up. Keith smears his starch covered hands on his shirt in revenge (and then wisely takes three quick and giant steps back, well out of backhanding range).

“But there are too many paladins,” Keith points out. “You said it yourself.”

Lance grabs a dishtowel, twisting it menacingly in his hands. Keith tries not to think about the scar he knows Hunk has from when Lance snapped a towel at him when they were kids, wrestling in the McClains’ kitchen. He fails.

“Do you actually have any braincells left in your head at all?”

“Yes, jackass. That’s why I did the math. I leave and the numbers add back up. Problem solved.”

“You leave and Voltron falls apart,” Lance snaps. “So maybe crunch those numbers again.”

Keith stills. Lance steps towards him, still glaring, still menacing, but he doesn’t move — he holds Lance’s gaze, searching his dark eyes, looking for the words he isn’t saying. Because Keith…Keith isn’t the one holding Voltron together. There was a reason his heart caught in his throat when Lance came to him downtrodden and talked about being a seventh wheel. There’s a reason his duffel is packed, a reason he’s talked to Kolivan. He knows who needs to step aside.

“You just don’t get it,” Lance says, frustrated. He takes another step.

“You talk to us about teamwork all the time.”

Another step.

“You’re favourite thing to whine about is the bonding moment.”

Another step, this time as he pitches his voice high and mocking, flapping his hands.

“You never shut up about training as a group.”

One final step and he’s toe to toe, shoes to boots, nose to nose. Keith realises, startlingly, that they’re the exact same height, now.

“We are a crew, imbécil. Team, group, boyband. Whatever you wanna call it. All for one and one for all. The whole nine yards, all that cheesy bullshit.” He pokes Keith hard in the chest. “You don’t get to ditch.”

“But it makes more sense,” Keith argues, weakly and half-desperately. “We only have so many resources. If I can be useful at the Blades —”

“Fuck the fucking Blades.”

Keith deflates. His hand comes up to stop Lance’s jabbing finger, curling around his knuckles. Lance softens, slightly.

“I just want to be as useful as I can be.”

“And if you’re enough as you are?” Lance asks quietly.

Keith opens his mouth, but stops, automatic I’m not dying in his throat. For the first time in his life, it doesn’t seem like the truth, with the determined set to Lance’s jaw and the sliding of their fingers together, gripping tightly.

“Then I guess I’m staying,” Keith breathes.

Lance nods. “Good.”

Keith notices his hands are kind of clammy. His forehead, too, is a little sweaty. The air between them feels hot. Keith swallows.

“Your stew is on fire,” he croaks, voice rough.

Lance drops his hand, cursing.

“Oh — por amor de dios, hablas en fucking serio —”

———

At dinner, Keith eats his burnt stew without a word of complaint. When Lance drags him to the sink to help clean up, after, even though it’s not his turn, he goes, and he lingers too close and too long, and he’s grateful that the duffel he packed to leave home for good is laid emptied on his bed when he turns in for the night.

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sigmoon · 9 months

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𓇢𓆸 Wildflowers under the summer rain

Chapter one: Orange Lilies

An introduction, a prologue to the actual story. Reader realizes that she’s developing feelings for Fyodor and thinks back to how their time together started. This chapter contains the essentials of y/n‘s backstory and what led to her and Fyodor working together. // The first five or six paragraphs take place a bit further into the story, then there’s a small time skip to the past and the story starts from there on.

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoyevsky x reader

cw: Mentions of PTSD, s*ic*dal thoughts, violence, abuse, a teeny tiny mention of smut if you squint.

You hated him.

Every fiber of your being shook with fury when your mind started to wander again, decorating the corners of your mind with pictures of him. If you lost your focus for a mere second, his familiar voice rang in your ears and his face was everywhere, even when you closed your eyes. That damn face; the almost sickly pale visage, with unflattering dark circles and that never-ending smug expression, that you’ve wanted to wipe off of his face ever since the day you first met him. Everything about Fyodor was infuriating, from his tiring preaching about God to the way he carried himself with a sense of superiority over you, no, even all of humankind. His presence made you sick, yet you craved it and felt even more on the edge than usual when he wasn’t near. Mindless gnawing on your fingernails, tapping your foot under your desk while you were working, a tightness in your chest that made you fear you’d suffocate; you felt restless, your brain foggy until he was somewhere, anywhere near you again.

And you hated how much you needed him, hated how you caught yourself staring at him when he didn't notice, hated how good his praise felt when you finished a task successfully. You hated how your words came out less harsh than intended when you wanted to snap at him, hated how you suddenly blushed when your hand grazed against his, your entire attitude softening like a boiled potato.

You internally scolded yourself when, after he walked past you, you inhaled his scent as deeply as you could and enjoyed it. Or, even worse, when your hands slipped between your thighs or under your shirt when you lay in bed at night, a slideshow of images of him playing behind your closed eyes. And when the ecstasy subsided and the clarity of what you’ve just done set in, a cocktail of shame, humiliation, and denial of your feelings rushed through your body and kept you awake for hours.

However, your confusing need for his presence was completely involuntary, of course, nothing you had any sense of control over. Because despite feeling a little less fidgety and under the weather, you found yourself to be no less irritated by him when he was near. After all, you still found him insufferable, right?

His tirades about creating a better world, when he made an effort to hold a conversation with you, have always made you want to vomit. Besides the fact that he was a textbook hypocrite, you had experienced the cruelty of the world you lived in first-hand, and hearing a man as pretentious and vile as Fyodor blabber about being the chosen one to rid the world of its sin and atrocity, caused you to shake with the urge to jump up from your seat and strangle him.

Because how could he even remotely understand the agonies of your existence? How could a person as wicked and indifferent as him comprehend what you’ve been through, let alone be the one to rid the world of such horrors? But in one regard, he was right. The world was a hideous place, a place where common sense, sincerity, and empathy were more rarely found than diamonds, and that realization has accompanied you since your childhood days.

You've been under Fyodor’s wing for months now, but the events before your time with him in the cold, poorly lit underground facility where the background work of his schemes took place, felt like they had happened just yesterday. Long before Fyodor, that merciful saint, managed to free you, an inmate of the high facility prison for ability users, called Meursault, you had met one bad decision after another and catapulted yourself deeper into the pits of misery than that monster, an abuser you didn’t even bother to view as a fellow human being, ever could. When you, even years after it happened, still felt his hands on your body, smelled his scent, and saw his face in every man that walked your direction, you made a choice that you prayed would finally bring you peace, even if it would only be for a single night. One night during which you didn’t wake up in a cold sweat, wanting to peel your skin off and hyperventilating until you fainted. One night during which you didn’t stare at your bedroom ceiling, wondering how many people would miss you if you were gone. You were willing to do anything to achieve that feeling of justice that the law failed to give you, a system that did everything to protect a man from the consequences of his actions, even if it was at the cost of a girl’s will to live.

That urge to get revenge was your last straw, that spark that kept you going. After years of being tormented by your bloodthirsty fantasies in which you returned all the suffering and came up with the most vile and unspeakable things, you finally managed to make them reality.

Your ability, a fickle one, hard to tame and a mystery even to yourself, came in handy. Your relationship with your ability was complicated, to put it mildly. You always knew that something about you was different, a little off, and you knew that it scared those around you who were aware of it. The ability itself was subtle but still harbored such force and intensity that you seemed to have an aura around you that made most people avoid you. This isolation, which was familiar to you all your life, left you no choice but to discover and explore your ability all by yourself, and although it always remained hard to grasp and even harder to tame, you soon figured out that it enabled you to not only make people feel weird about you but also to inflict tremendous agony upon others. Bitter and vengeful as you were at this point in your life, this realization caused you to feel almost blissful with excitement.

You figured out a suitable punishment for your abuser, and once your deed was done, he was nothing but an empty, broken shell of a human, a pile of flesh and bones that longed for nothing else but the sweet relief of death. But you were not going to grant him this, no, he needed to live with this indescribable pain and not be freed of its shackles.

As enjoyable as this unspeakable act was for you, you still felt unsatisfied. Breaking the monster wasn’t enough, no, there were many other people out there, even in your own life, who never got what they truly deserved. Drunk on that feeling of your newfound power, one victim became two, then three, then so many that you lost count. Wherever you looked, you saw injustice that you urged to do something about. However, it was naive of you to think that you’d get away with this purging. Since your ability left no signs of physical violence on the victims, and they all seemed to have been tortured with the same method, all traces soon led to the only possible culprit. You knew what reputation you already had, thanks to your ability, so it was no surprise that those who were aware of it were quick to snitch on you.

One thing led to another, and before you properly realized it, you sat in a ridiculous-looking, transparent, floating cube, imprisoned and surrounded by countless identical cells, in each one an inmate, one more despicable than another. As if receiving a life sentence for being an ”individual too dangerous and unstable to remain among civilians“, as they so eloquently put it, wasn’t bad enough, being in a place like Meursault was beyond humiliating.

Deindividualization by being given a number, constantly on display for guards and your fellow inmates to watch, even having your vitals monitored, made you almost lose your mind after less than a week. To the great amusement of the guards, who harbored nothing but contempt for the prisoners, you threw almost childlike hysterical tantrums after only a few days, you even stooped so low as to beg them for mercy, to free you. You didn’t belong in this place, you screeched, you did what was right, what the executive forces of the state failed to do.

Your misery only worsened from there, and after being mocked and ridiculed by the other inmates, who were delighted by your pathetic display of despair, finally being entertained a bit in this dull place, you even pleaded for the guards to just finally execute you, to end everything because you couldn’t take it anymore. But your wish wasn’t granted, of course, and you soon gave up trying to find ways to end it yourself, in your cell, as the damn cube offered no suitable solution.

You lost track of the number of days you spent in Meursault by the time Fyodor, or rather, a few of his subordinates, carried out their superior’s plan to get you, that infamous ability user, out of Meursault. Your doings didn’t go unnoticed by Fyodor, who seemed to have his eyes all over the world, and he was quite intrigued by your ability, curious how he could utilize it for himself, mold and shape you to become a perfect new pawn for his own shady schemes...

Next chapter

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee ♡

Hio’s note: Thank you for reading the first chapter of „Wildflowers under the summer rain“, I hope you enjoyed it :) I’m very excited to share many more chapters with you, and finally get the ideas that have been brewing inside my mind for a while out now. If you think a content warning is missing, don’t hesitate to let me know.

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sadisticyouko · 1 year

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— ❝ GRUDGE MATCH ❞ ft. HIEI

Warning: hiei x reader, smut, hate sex, coercion, penetrative sex no protection, slight exhibitionism, minors dni 18+ only

Summary: you’re the healer at hiei’s training gym and don’t take too kindly to how aggressively he treats his students. he decides to take out all his aggression on you instead.

Link to the Masterlist

“IF YOU HAD any hopes of me going soft on you, then I’d encourage you to give up now.”

The crowd already gathered around at the front of the gym kept silent, only passing uneasy stares and shuffling awkwardly as hiei continued.

“I don’t care if you’re vomiting blood, crying, or on the brink of death. You’re better off just dying if you think that means the training is done.”

The aura of fear around the newbies was palpable. You had been busying yourself at the back of the gym. Tidying up the emergency aid kits and taking stock of the medical supplies. Normally you wouldn’t be paying much attention to the pep talks coaches and trainers give their new students, but this had you off the counter and on your feet before you could even resist the instinct.

“Uh, surely you don’t mean that,” your voice rang through the atmosphere like a silver bell. A sound of sweet clarity against the harsh and gritty tone of their trainer.

Hiei glared daggers at you, but you kept your attention on the small group huddled around him, now turning to face you.

With a soft and reassuring smile, you continued. “Hey everyone, I’m the healer here and I just wanted to let you all know that you’ll be safe while training and if anything bad happens, I’ll be here to take care of you, okay?”

A few of the demons shuffled their feet, uneasy but giving small nods.

Hiei cut through the crowd, roughly shoving someone off their feet as he confronted you face to face.

It was a harsh, hot gust of wind that followed him. A powerful heated aura magnifying the area, stifling the air in your lungs and drying your throat.

His eyes are brighter in person, you thought to yourself. Red. Thick and syrupy like the blood in your veins. You bit your tongue, and the copper taste flooded your mouth.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m…” your voice came out soft, hoarse. You tried to clear it, breathe a little, but the weight of his intimidating gaze held you down. “N-not gonna watch someone die…”

You gasped as he grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, bending you so his face hovered just over yours. You had sewed your eyes shut before even realizing.

“Shut the fuck up, and stand in the back until I say so. Got it?”

A little squeak escaped your mouth as you nodded. He let you go and stormed back to his spot at the front of the crowd.

“Train like your life depends on it, because I’ll make sure it does. Everyone understand?”

Their affirmations were firm and loudly echoed their fear off the walls of the room. Though you had only meant to comfort them, you now found yourself equally intimidated by your new boss.

⋘ ──────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────── ⋙

The thick slices of pork sizzled behind the counter as Kurama and Hiei waited for their order. Kuwabara would be running late today, and Yusuke was the one busying himself behind the counter of the food stall.

The delinquent turned hero yelled something at the man farther in the kitchen, laughing to himself as he got a reply.

Kurama smiled wistfully before turning to Hiei. “I heard yesterday didn’t go so well.”

Hiei grimaced at the tap water in front of him. “Hiring a healer was a bad idea.”

“Do I have to explain the concept of lawsuits to you again?”

“No,” hiei grunted before raising a hand to rub his temple, “maybe, ugh…they’re all so weak! What’s the point in even training fighters if it’s not to make them strong?”

“There are other ways to make strong fighters. Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘the same boiling water that hardens the egg softens the potato?”

“I say we boil them all and let that sort them out. We’ll see who has weakened and eliminate them swiftly.”

Kurama chuckled before taking a sip of his water. “That’s not the point.”

“Once again your meaningless human euphemisms fail to communicate a direct meaning. I don’t see a problem with boiling them alive.”

“…please don’t do that.”

“It’s not your gym, what do you care?”

“I recommended the healer to you, so I feel some responsibility for her well being.”

Hiei huffed, one strong finger tracing a line down the condensation of his glass. “If she doesn’t like the job, then she should just quit.”

“Hot plate ! Coming up !” Yusuke announced as he brought the sizzling plate to the counter between his two friends. Kuwabara came rushing up from around the corner, announcing his arrival in the form of shouting at them to wait until he’s seated. The gang of misfits enjoyed their meal without bringing up the healer again.

⋘ ──────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────── ⋙

The next few weeks, hiei was accompanied by an assistant trainer you knew quite well. While you were grateful for kurama’s calming presence, you hoped he hadn’t felt forced to show up due to your barrage of complaints you texted him the day after.

It became peaceful, for the most part. Hiei was still harsh and aggressive, leading the class as best he could while Kurama weaved in and out with tactful tips and words of reassurance.

And under Kurama’s protective eye, you had free reign over the gym.

“This is a hairline fracture. Do you know what that means?” You growled at the blue demon seated on the bench in the back of the gym. One hand on his leg as you looked up at him with an anger not entirely directed at him.

“It hurts,” he winced again.

You couldn’t help the growl of exasperation that slipped through your lips, eyes immediately darting across the gym looking for the asshole responsible.

“Hiei!” Storming up from beside the demon, you stalked your way to the center of the room where the fiery instructor was sparring with another injured client.

Fists still raised and wrapped, his eyes darted to the side to lock with yours in that same bright red intensity.

“What?”

With a dry throat, you hesitated. Quickly searching for kurama somewhere in the room with the corner of your eyes, and upon finding him watching, you regained your confidence and continued.

“You said no more broken bones !”

He lowered his fists and approached you slowly.

“What does it matter if I break their bones? Your job is to heal. Stop complaining that I’m giving you work.”

You let out another frustrated growl, clenching your fists at your side. “That’s not the point ! Even with my healing, you’re still leaving permanent damage !”

“Then you’re not as good a healer as you claimed to be.”

“I never said—!” In the middle of your squabbling you two had gravitated closer, almost chest to chest so you could glare and point your anger directly at him. He only leaned in more, huffing and arguing until one of your stray hands accidentally brushed his shoulder.

“So you want to fight? Is that it?” He snapped, trapping your wrist in the air with an iron grip.

“I want you—” you tugged at your wrist. No motion. Like trying to shove a wall. “—to go easier on your students!” You yanked again to no avail. Throwing your other hand against to chest to try to pull your arm free.

Hiei couldn’t help but smirk. Your little attempts to set yourself free juvenile at best.

“That’s enough.” Kurama came up with a steady expression, both hands in the air as he addressed the two of you.

“We’re not done talking.”

“Then take it outside. Get some fresh air. It’ll be good for the two of you to make peace.”

“What?!” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Kurama was gonna let you be alone with this sadistic monster? “I don’t wanna—”

“Let’s go.” With your wrist still in his hand, hiei dragged you through the back doors of the gym.

It was a small alleyway that led to the parking lot around the corner. A tall cement wall kept it isolated. The dusty area mostly went unused. Hiei dragged you to the dead end away from the glass doors and away from the parking lot.

Once you finally snatched your hand free, he turned to glare at you.

“What’s your problem with me?!” You snapped at him. “I’m only trying to keep people safe!”

“Are you trying to keep them safe or are you trying to piss me off?”

“I’m trying—” you two had gravitated again. Almost chest to chest as you glared at his bright red eyes, desperately trying to avoid bumping into his sculpted chest. At some point the building wall had made its way behind you, and you found yourself unknowingly backing into it as you continued your argument with hiei.

“Just shut up before I—!”

“Before you what? Blow up the whole building or—”

His arms came down on either side of you, caging you in. Your eyes caught sight of the large vein of his bicep before falling back on the torn edge of his dark shirt. Gaze trailing back up the dip of his collar bone, the smoothness of his neck, his angled jaw. Meeting his eyes was humiliating, heat flooding your face. You couldn’t help but curl into yourself, leaning back slightly so that he hovered over you. Controlling the small space with his body entirely.

“Done mouthing off?”

Lips pressed into a hard line, you forced yourself to meet his eyes. A shaky “no” escaping your lips.

“No?” He repeated. Bringing his face closer to yours. So that your eyes could only focus on his lips. So that you could only see the plush curve of his mouth and feel the gentle breath of his exhale. “What if I take it out on you then?”

Your shaky hands touched his chest. Hard and warm. Gently pushing. Softly resisting.

“Think you can take their place?”

“…and you’ll go easy on them…?” You could barely breathe. Heart hammering as you waited for his reply.

It was a curt nod. A small motion before he rasped, “but I won’t on you…”

It was the softest sound. The smallest whimper… and you nodded. Just before he pushed his lips against yours. Pushing you back so roughly against the wall. Working his mouth over yours. Hands gripping and squeezing your waist, your hips, your neck.

With a hand around your throat, he broke the kiss to bite down harshly on your lip. You gasped, quickly turned to moan as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Exploring your taste as his other hand traveled to your chest.

Roughly squeezing the fat of your breast, rolling your hardened nipple through your shirt.

You knew you hated him. At least, a part of you did. You had to. Not that you could tell from the way you moaned from his kiss. Body heating and giving in to his every touch. Pawing at the shirt on his chest, desperate to feel the skin of the thick, corded muscle on his back.

Just as your fingers gripped at the collar around his neck, his arms flew up to pin yours over your head.

“You see enough of me at the gym,” his lips ghosted over yours, “we’ll make this quick.” Switching both your wrists to one sturdy hand, he slipped his other down the front of your pants. Fingers going past the waist of your panties, slipping right between your messy folds as you gasped from the contact.

A growl rumbled from his chest and his eyebrows knitted at the feeling of your arousal, prodding at your entrance with one thick finger. “You’re soaked….”

“I-i….” you fumbled for an excuse, hips grinding against his hand without your control.

“You’ve thought about this then?”

“N-no….” You lied as you struggled against his hand pinning your wrists. You hate him. You so clearly hate him that you would never fantasize about his overworked, sweaty body leaving the showers at night.

Slowly, with an agonizing patience you didn’t know he possessed, he pushed one finger inside you. Inch by inch until he was down to the knuckle, curling the digit and enticing an embarrassing wetness from you.

You threw your head back, knocking it against the brick wall with a dull thud as you writhed against hiei’s ministrations.

The sound of his deep chuckle barely made its way through your consciousness past the sounds of his fingers squelching.

And then he stopped.

Pulled his hand from your pants and released your wrists to spin you around and push you up against the wall. He took your arms back to pin them behind you, and this time you could hear the clicking of his belts as he quickly undid them with a practiced hand.

“Last chance to bow out. And I very seldom give last chances,” he breathed into your ear as his chest pressed up against your back. His hand squeezed around your forearm, and much to your own dismay, you felt yourself pushing your hips back up against him. Arching with what little freedom you had to press up against his hardened erection.

“Just fuck me alrea—!” you gasped as he ripped a massive hole in your leggings, pushing your panties aside and exploring your lips with the head of his cock. Collecting your juices before he finally stretched you out, filling you slowly and stretching you full of his thick cock as his grip on you tightened.

“oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moaned just under your breath. your hips grinding slowly back against him as he let his cock rest nestled deep inside you. letting you adjust to his girth.

“Mmmm…” the sound reverberated deep in his throat. With a fist and forearm against the wall, he adjusted his grip on you to squeeze at your waist instead. “You’re not gonna run off, are you?” His voice several octaves deeper with lust since he pushed inside you.

“No, ahh. No. I’d never…” it felt too good. It felt too good for you to think about anything other than the stretch. The reach of pleasure that his cock might give you.

With another wry chuckle, he teased “good girl,” and slowly began to pull out.

Stopping half way to push back in, beginning a slow, deep pace. each thrust forward going deeper than the last. stretching you more. picking up the pace as your breathy moans quickly became loud. begging. desperate as he pummeled into you. suddenly fucking you hard, fast, grabbing the back of your hair and tugging harshly as you begged.

“oh my god ! oh my god !”

You pushed yourself back into him each time, hands splayed on the brick wall and willing him deeper with each slap of his hips against your ass.

It crept up on you. As inevitable and as big as a tsunami creeps up on a city. The overwhelming tension, the singular chord in your body holding back an immense wave of pleasure. “god, I think I’m gonna…m’ so close…”

“Gonna cum already? I don’t remember you asking.”

“pleasepleaseplease hiei, I can’t….I can’t—!”

His hand slid from your hip to your cunt, rubbing hard, fast circles on your clit until your knees trembled. Moans heightened. Pleasure dizzying, until his lips brushed up the curve of your neck, teeth tenderly wrapping around the flesh, and biting roughly. Sucking the curve of your neck in a swirl of delicious pain and pleasure that finally snapped your senses and plunged you into an aggressive orgasm.

The wave took over. Whole body shuddering as your vision blacked out in a moment of pure ecstasy. And you squeezed him so tightly, so deliciously that before he even anticipated his own release, you dragged him straight down. A quick gasp of surprise as he suddenly spilled ropes of pure heated pleasure straight into your cunt. Hips moving on their own as he kept his brutal pace to his ultimate enjoyment. Shuddering from the heat, shuddering from how wet and tightly and sweetly your body took all that his had to give.

Hiei shuddered from the aftershocks of his orgasm, hips still unconsciously, slowly dragging in and out of your walls. He was quickly approaching sensitivity, but he couldn’t stop himself just yet from how good you felt.

Your breathing slowly started to level, still gasping and clenching at an occasional thrust that just felt too good. Slowly coming back to your senses, your vision cleared enough to recognize the brick wall in front of you.

You turned to glare at Hiei’s blown out eyes behind you. His gaze still fixed on where you were both connected, eyebrows drawn in concentration. You almost regretted not being able to see his handsome face while you fucked.

“You owe me new tights, y’know.”

A small smirk crept over his face before he met your eyes with his own. “Just don’t wear any when you come in for work tomorrow.”

©️sadisticyouko | please do not plagiarize, repost, or redistribute in any way without permission.

#hiei x reader #hiei x you #hiei fanfic #yyh fanfiction #hiei smut #[ 🔥 ] — sadisticyouko writing #yyh x reader

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gurggggleburgle · 8 months

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throwing my hat into the should bingqiu be parents ring to say No. Neither of these adults should be parents but for wildly different reasons until they've had like 10 years post cannon to work shit out.

This is because these idiots have so much shit to work out between them and if you threw a kid in there any point before the story ends and well after I can't see this going well.

Reason 1) Have you ever met someone in their early 20s who has been in an on and off again mess of a relationship that clearly needs couples therapy? I have. Don't

reason 2) Everyone keeps being all Luo Binghe would be absolutely jealous of whatever baby ends up in their acquisition and I would like to say FALSE. Binghe's hatred of any babies is tangential to age and adoption vs weird mpreg vs where in the timeline. For example if Shen Qingqui acquires a baby pre abyss at 17ish and said child is in an age range of 7-15ish he's gonna be jealous because that's an age range where this kid could potentially compete with him any younger and you're bordering toddler territory which is about in the same range as literal baby. Where this kid could get his room. If it's a baby tho he doesn't hate the baby. It poses no threat. It's a bonding experience.

If anything he's absolutely more worried about the kid being a secret love child with Liu Qingge or some other threat.

The same applies also minus that last caveat if he ends up teen pregnant. This version of child snatching is weirdly the one I think they'd be the best with even tho they absolutely should not be doing that.

Meanwhile if Shen Qingqiu acquires or has Luo Binghe's kid while their in the abyss then Qingqiu is gonna be a mess of a parent if it is full straight up baby. The man has the domestic skills of a boiled potato. He probably is leaving most of this baby's care to Ning YingYing and Ming Fan by virtue of having to actually do his own paperwork now and other tasks. Like he loves the kid but.... like let's be real liking children and being nice to them does not a good parent make. He's probably panicking and demanding help every five minutes driving them all insane. Meanwhile if Binghe finds out about this kid and it's not his specifically he's gonna lose his shit because it means Shizun's got himself another malewife and he bets it's that whore Liu Qingge. And if Cucumber man let's it slip then Lou Binghe is never letting that child leave his sight. He is acquiescing that kid. And if that child is not a baby he will go into panic mode because that's his REPLACEMENT. Shizun got a new fluffy child to dote on.

Again if Luo Binghe somehow ends up pregers when he falls into the abyss I will say he will become the most disturbingly devoted parent possible and both cherish and resent the child and be absolutely feral about it. If he finds one down there he probably takes care of them and is kind because like Luo Binghe is a fucking orphan. He knows what it means to suffer without parents. If he sees a small demon kid named 4 balls (the long lost brother of 6 balls) or something he's not gonna abandon them to die.

Meanwhile if it's like new item obtained: small child! about water prison and after or one is found out to be mpreg.... I mean Luo Binghe would triple on his imprison Shen Qingqiu for the sake of the baby if it's him. For himself I think he would either tragically walk away and say the baby is all he gets as a piece of Shizun's love or it's like more desperately clinging and waiting for SQQ to cave. Any adopted child at this point is a threat. Our boy's brain is too far gone for that. Child's must be acquired before this point or risk softlocking your game. Also side note depending on where in the timeline Yuan gets pregnanté you can make an incredibly angsty but also comedic argument about abortion as that is certainly one way to take care of it.

Post cannon children can be acquired and this will not make Luo Binghe jealous. Man will see any kid as an extension of his and Shizun's love immediately post cannon. He's not jealous of the baby. If anything they're vetting the baby's playmates. He insists on breast milk long past it being required. You have to get a daypass to even look at this child. The baby has nappies worth more than your house. Man would be a disturbingly protective parent. He would be the one to spoil the kid rotten.

Our trust fund protagonist would have to be the moral compass on this and that is funny and terrifying

Reason number 3) they would be those hoa and pta parents. their kid would be the asshole child in the school who everyone knows they can't bully.

#svsss #scumbag system #svsss shitpost #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #sqq #bingqiu #luo binghe #long post #scum villain self saving system

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tenderjock · 4 months

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mr & mr kenobi?? 👀 -- @smoosey

mr and mr kenobi is a modern au very, very loosely inspired by mr and mrs smith. i've actually been working on this au almost since i got into codywan as a ship because i keep fucking adding details to it or rewriting things or tweaking bits. someday, she will be complete.

: :

Obi-Wan meets him in the produce aisle, examining rutabagas dubiously.

The man is handsome, frowning down at the root vegetable in his hand, with dark eyes and a five-o-clock shadow running across his square jaw. There’s a scar cutting down the side of his face, by his eye, which gives him a – dashing sort of air.

But it’s the motorcycle helmet tucked firmly under one arm that interests Obi-Wan. It matches the Harley Davidson he had seen parked outside.

“You boil them and mash them,” Obi-Wan tells the man. He turns his frown on Obi-Wan. “Like potatoes. My friend makes them for American Thanksgiving. According to her, they’re traditional.”

“Traditional for American Thanksgiving,” the man repeats, glancing back down at the rutabaga. He turns it over in his hand casually. His voice is low and steady and even and just the slightest bit skeptical. He’s also a Kiwi, which Obi-Wan can quite firmly say he wasn’t expecting.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, suddenly glad he didn’t wear his glasses when he rode. Not that he looked bad with glasses on, obviously, but the absent professor look usually wasn’t appealing to bikers. Well, men in general were only appealing to a certain subset of bikers, but Obi-Wan has a good feeling about this.

He’s debating pickup lines when the man says, without looking up, “Yours is the electric bike outside. The LiveWire.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him, then smiles. “Yes,” he says again. “You’ve got the regular Harley.”

“Heard the riding range on that thing is shit,” the man says, then offers a hand. “Cody.”

He takes the hand, although he bristles a little at the comment. “Ben. It’s got about one-forty city miles at full charge. I don’t take her on road trips very often.” Cody’s got warm fingers and a firm grip. Obi-Wan feels – charmed.

Cody’s mouth twitches. “Oh, sure,” he says. He gives Obi-Wan a contemplative look, a nice slow contemplative look that Obi-Wan fucking revels in. Cody really is very handsome.

#smoosey #answered #myfic #mr and mr kenobi au

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feelin-lo · 1 year

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The one who holds the Quill.

I did my best with Chaoxiang's personality, so apologies if it's off.

You'll also notice the "Q" in quill is capitalised. No, it's not a mistake

Chaoxiang belongs to @boiling-potato

"When Trickster said she was bringing a pet over, this was the last thing I was expecting."

"Well, she's gone off somewhere, so perhaps we can... talk."

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

That's how it started, now, many hours later, these two large men are comparing books as the writer crafts another tale, and the reader criticises the choice of language.

"No matter what you say, poetry is beautiful. It takes a great mind to understand it." The one in red said, his feathered quill gliding across the page like a hot knife though butter.

"I never expressed a misunderstanding. It's too emotional and lacks any depth" The one in blue snapped back, watching the quill as it weaved his tales. "Depth? Well, you surely don't mean that. Besides, none of your compositions hold any depth" The writer bit back.

That made the other angry.

They looked into each others respective gazes, a blue eye to a pair of emerald ones. Lo turned away, hunching over so he had a better writing angle "Stubborn boy. How disrespectful. I ought to put you in your place." Chaoxiang said, standing up and approaching the red adorned man, with long hair and a star to his eye, covering what Chaoxiang could only imagine was a wound.

"Pathetic, a good word that comes to mind"

Lo ignored that, taking a deep breath, taking his time with his craft.

"A man of your Caliber shouldn't be wasting energy on romance novels or poetry. You've never once been In a relationship, have you? It shows itself in the way your words come together." The writer looked up at that, an offended look greeting the cold emerald of the other. "You write women so poorly. Have you ever been with a woman? Perhaps you'd do better with a man?" Chaoxiang asked, Lo shuffled back, his arm hitting Chaoxiang's desk "W-whats it to you? Eh? Why do you care how I write?!" Lo bit back, feeling vulnerable in the position he was in.

"I believe it offensive, offensive that you call yourself a writer if you've never experienced or seen what it is you're trying to re-create with words. It's a Lie, making readers believe that's how something truly is. When in actual fact, the writer has no clue what they're talking about" Chaoxiang spoke, kneeling down and looking deep into the blue pool that Lo's eye was.

"Ever heard of personal space?!" Lo grumbled, shuffling back further "I put to feed you to the Twins." "And I put to give you a swift left hook" Lo said, though it sounded more like a whimper, his back hit the wall and he could no longer back away from the other man in the room as he knelt down, placing his skilled hands on Lo's thighs, leaning close to his face to admire his features.

"How about we practice our word use now? How would you describe the situation you're currently in? Against the wall, pinned by someone who's 10 steps ahead of you and you have no means of escape" he punctuated every word, slowly and carefully so Lo could listen to every vowel and trust and believe, it rang in his ears like heavenly chimes, or hellish drums.

"omnipotent, standing Infront of me, hands in places that make me freeze. Impossible to move my gaze incase the man who sets himself at my legs does something so unpredictable..." Lo recited, his heart quivering and writhing, threatening to stop at any moment, the air was thick, only one word could be used here. Scared.

"My turn" Chaoxiang smirked, taking his hand and stealing away the star that took up some of Lo's face, letting his scar breathe the air of the Mansion.

"Quivering yet Content. Though pain cries endless echoes in his eyes, there's a hint of need, sprinkled with loneliness and longing with a dash of desperation. To please. Desire evident in the adrenaline that rushes though veins that are so close to bursting, seen though pale and crystalline skin, so fragile that if you were to blink too hard, he would bleed"

Delicate? Lo, Delicate? Absolutely not.

"i-im not fragile-!" Lo said, though again, it sounded desperate, he wanted something to happen, he didn't know what, he didn't understand what his body was itching for, be it a mild contact if fingertips to perhaps a brush of the lips, he didn't know but all he did know is that Chaoxiang was enjoying tormenting the writer.

"Yes you are. So fragile that you're cracking under my gaze, my hands haven't moved from your thigh but yet you tremble. Is it out of desperation I wonder? You should put this in your next book, my little quill"

"I ain't your property."

Chaoxiang put a finger to Lo's Adam's apple and trailed down to his chest "Firstly it's "I am not", you'd do well to remember that, and two, you belonged to me the second you stepped though that door." He giggled, Breaking this boy apart piece by individual piece was going to be satisfying.

Not as satisfying as it's going to be, to rearrange those broken pieces into something even more perfect.

#Lo x chaoxiang #how do i tag this #BP help-

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inlocusmads · 3 months

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for the get to know you asks! 🍑, 🍓, and 🍍 Thank you! 🌺

🍑 Would you get along well with your first ever OC? (If they didn't know you had created them, just really in a scenario where you could befriend them)

my very first oc was actually three ocs lol, they were a friend group who get into this horrific battle with an evil warlock. I don't think I'd get along w/ them very well, because they're like insanely good at their character traits (literally the epitome of mary sue - you had the jock character who can brawl like fifty people at once despite being an average-sized middle schooler; you had the smart one who could plan ahead, make effective strategies etc; then you had the Morale Guy/Healer dude who knew like fifteen different medicinal plants and herbs but also a good joke to drop in at the right moment)

I think they'd be those middle schoolers who'd bully me lmao, even though I'm older than them - just hurl insults and give me a hard time at family gatherings and cheat at monopoly and plan this really strategic coup to prove that "being older doesn't make you wiser".

I do think I'd get along with the healer oc. he might appreciate the jokes.

🍓 What is something you swore you would never, ever do/watch/read/write, but have now done it?

watch horror movies.

Okay I was the kid growing up who could not handle horror, ever. one time i came down with a fever after watching a scary movie. now I feel like my handling of the 'supernatural oooh scary scary' elements has kind of become easier. I'm not easily scared by movie gore, i can attempt at writing gore as well. I thought i'd never watch scary movies - or movies at all growing up, but now I've grown a certain liking to the 'grim horror' genre.

i know 'time heals' is such a cliched expression, but time does heal your unhealthy perception of horror movies as this 'fever-inducing, terrible nightmare'. Some are actually good! You'd just have to figure out where your comfort lies. for me, i'd say the gore (on a familiar choices scale) would be on a range from that one skeleton dude in the haunting of braidwood manor to a level below that one scene in It where pennywise snares his teeth.

I can't handle teeth, I'm sorry.

🍍 What do you love to eat to feel better when sick?

okay so my ultra comfort meal at any given point of time includes: potatoes - smash em, mash em, cut em up and fry them - literally anything goes; can even be any kind of potatoes even - heck, I'll take sugar beet as well. A ton of spice, can't go wrong with the good old turmeric, chilli powder and so on. Then you're going to take your fried-up thing and toss it in boiled rice, pour in a hefty amount of curd on top of it and boom, literally one of the best things I've eaten.

you know how people go, "in college, i tend to eat the same thing every day" well that's legit, it isn't a hollywood thing! i spent one week eating this concoction for lunch and dinner and it's the best thing that's ever happened to me.

thank you so so much for the ask! i had a fun time answering them!

Link to game

#choicesmc #askboxed #get to know me asks

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a-non-ymouswriter · 1 year

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Out of all your stories, what's the one that you're most proud of for its worldbuilding? And, relatedly, are there any details in your settings or characters that you think are so heckin' rad but can't seem to find a way to work into the actual fic? Or even just fun/interesting ones. Like, do Theo and Toby have a really low bar for what they'd consider edible, because of how dire/limited things could get with food? Or what about in Wishes & Family, what excuse magicals (other than the bench trio) gave to outsiders about why they suddenly had a silver bracelet and always had a mark on their fingernail?

i suppose the most proud worldbuilding i had for my stories would be rewind- mostly because i finished it and was improvising the worldbuilding and it somehow kinda just meshed together mostly. though i do see flaws don't get me wrong but the fact rewind is my first ever fic i finished and had worldbuilding that i liked, yeah i'm proud of it :)

oh there are plenty of details that i can't get into for all of my fics, not yet or probably not ever. and yes, theo and toby do have a low bar for edible food- not beyond bedrock though. they did have farms and good food occasionally but most of the time during their scoutings and trips to the overworld, when food ran out, they had to eat what they could and essentially could eat almost anything with a straight face at this point. toby has (off story) once made rotten flesh soup with steamed potatoes for himself and ate it in front of everyone else and said it tasted better before the crimson apocalypse.

theo has also made rotten flesh soup, but instead of potatoes, he put boiled carrots instead (before he used it to secretly to spite techno and toby during the apocalypse)

in wishes and family, the mark on the fingernail was invisible to everyone but the mags before the reveal of magic. it was easy to wave off the silver bracelet as just a normal bracelet like that, could be just 'trying it out and ended up liking it' to 'it's part of this group i'm part of, it's a small thing but i like it' etc etc. the excuses ranges far and between. also i don't think most people would care that much about the bracelet aside from asking once or twice before leaving it alone and forgetting it.

tho of course, after the reveal of magic the fingernail mark was suddenly seen by everyone and the silver bracelet is now a distinct symbol that everyone now knows :)

#ask #fanfic asks #non answers

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unpeeled-shrimp · 2 years

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Bishop Acheron, The Pink Crown

The Harbinger of Sorrow

aka an AU where Acheron is a bishop

some info under, ig

As the other bishops, Acheron has the ability to bring curses, his is inflicting sorrow and misery. (His name means river of sorrow) They say that those who worship him or sacrifice in his name will have happy and meaningful lifes.

He rules over an area called Vulcanic Lakes. It's an area up in the mountains where large bodies of water have formed over dormant volcanos and most of the ground is coated by ash. The water in these lakes can range from lukewarm to boiling hot, and range in size from a couple to hundreds of square meters. The Vulcanic Lakes are mostly occupied by lizards and snakes and similar species. Sweet potatoes grow on patches of soil that has not yet been buried by ash, but most of it is grown on farms.

#cotl au #cotl oc #cult of the lamb oc #cult of the lamb #cotl #also no ships attached to this one in this au

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manwalksintobar · 1 year

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One Day // Philip Levine

Everyone knows that the trees will go one day and nothing will take their place. Everyone has wakened alone in a room of fresh light and risen to meet the morning as I did before I came upon this name and this sad nature by which others know me. How long have we waited quietly by the side of the road for someone to slow and ask why? The light is going, first from between the long rows of dark firs and then from our eyes, and when it is gone we will be gone. No one will be left to say, "'He took that stick and marked off the place where the door would be," or "She held the child in both hands and sang the same few tunes over and over." Before dinner we stood in line to wash the grease from our faces and scrub our hands with a hard brush, and the pan of water thickened and grayed, a white scum frothed on top, and the last one flung it all in the yard. Boiled potatoes, buttered and salted, onions, thick slices of bread, cold milk, the smell of coffee from the kitchen. I felt my eyes slowly closing, you smoked in silence. What life were we expecting? Ships sailed from distant harbors without us, the telephone rang and no one answered, someone came home alone and stood 66for hours in the dark hallway. A woman bowed to a candle and spoke as though it could hear, as though it could answer. My aunt went to the back window and called her small son, gone now for 17 years into the closed wards of the state, called his name again and again, and her tears fell into nothing. What could I do? Answer for him who'd forgotten his name? Take my father's shoes and go into the streets? Yes, the sun has risen again, I can see the windows change and hear a dog barking. The wind buckles the slender top of the alder, the conversation of night birds hushes, and I can hear my heart regular and strong. I will live to see the day end, as I lived to see this hand grow long and spotted. As I lived to see the earth turn molten and white, then to metal, then to whatever shape we stamped into it as we laughed the long night hours away or sang how the eagle flies on Friday. When Friday came, the early hours perfect and cold, we cursed our only lives and passed the bottle back and forth. Some died. I turned and he was gone, my friend with the great laugh who walked cautiously and ate with his head down, like a bear, his coarse hair almost touching the plate. The tall one with arms no thicker than a girl's, who cursed his own swollen face as though he could have another. 67The one whose voice lilted softly when he raised a finger and spoke. Gone in pain and fear. I sat beside him, helpless, trying to describe the sea as I had seen it, but it was lost, distant and unseen, perhaps no longer there under a low sky. I wanted to tell him how the waves darkened and left only the sound of their breaking, and after a silence we learned to bear, it all came back. He turned away to the wall and slept, and I went out into the city. It was I who'd held his wife and felt the small bones of her back rising and falling as she did not cry. Later I would see my son from a distance and not call out. I would waken that night beside a sleeping woman and count each breath. Soon it was summer, afternoon, the city hid indoors in the great heat, the hot wind shrivelled our faces. I said, ''They're gone." The light turned from red to green, and we went on. "If they're not here," you said, "Where are they?" We both looked into the sky as though it were our only home. We drove on. Nothing moved, nothing stirred in the oven of this valley. What was there left to say? The sky was on fire, the air streamed in the open windows. We broke free beyond the car lots, the painted windows, the all-night bars, the places where the children gathered, and we just went on and on, as far as we could into a day that would never end.

#poetry #Philip Levine #American poetry #nostalgia #love #mortality #sky #endless #day #one fine day #light

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theretirementstory · 7 months

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Bonjour à tous, it’s 10c and we are due 16c it’s going to be cloudy but who cares as long as it stays dry.

It has been a week of ups and downs , not only for me but the weather has changed so much from dry warm days to rain and winds, autumn has arrived!

The cleaning lady has been and worked her magic, I am so pleased to have her as it means that I can do washing, ironing, shopping and cooking plus spend time knitting, reading or just relaxing. Talking of knitting, I have finished the babies hat, have finished two pairs of fingerless gloves (they still need stitching up) and am back to working on the baby blanket.

The plumber made his visit but it wasn’t to do a full service of the boiler 😩 instead he had noticed the reduced flow of water and brought his “special equipment” which descaled the pipes meaning I now have fast flowing hot water everywhere in the house. I really must ring him to ask if he can service the boiler for me.

Maud (my podiatrist) visited last Sunday afternoon and just before she left she booked me in for an appointment. So Tuesday evening I went to have my feet pampered. It really is a great feeling going in feeling you have weights on your feet and coming out walking on air.

I arranged for my friend Sarah to visit me this week. I said lunch would just comprise of sandwiches but she was happy with that. I prepared the sandwiches so that they just had to be assembled in the plate for serving (memories of being a cricket tea lady came flooding back). We spent a lovely few hours chatting and eating.

I was buzzing along just fine, I even ordered my new printer and when it arrives I need to install it on my laptop, I am praying this can be done via USB rather than with a CD. Then like a bolt out of the blue I had a telephone call from the oncologist. Now as if that didn’t knock the wind out of my sails he told me I had to attend hospital the following day, I misunderstood and thought I was going for a scan. I didn’t hear him mention a time for the appointment so I waited for a phone call. About two thirty I rang the secretary, no it wasn’t a scan it was an appointment in radiotherapy at 9a.m.!!!!! Well I rang my usual taxi company, oh no taxi available, rang another company and the same reply. By this time I was on the ceiling, could I drive there, where was the radiotherapy department???? So much was going through my head so I messaged Anie, Maud and Monique. Monique finally got me fixed up with a taxi but I told her I didn’t have a transport voucher, she laughed and said don’t worry the driver will get one from the hospital. So I came down from the ceiling and relaxed. Next morning I was up bright and early, shutters were opened before sunrise, and the taxi arrived prompt at 8a.m. Now it was a little bit strange, the taxi driver’s face was familiar even though I haven’t used that taxi firm before. I think I have seen him in the bar but it could have been his doppelgänger 😂😂. Anyway, we got to the hospital where the appointment was for a consultation with the “head honcho” of radiotherapy who informed me that in order to “eradicate” (his word) this last bit of cancer I would need radiotherapy. I was buzzing again, I asked if I was having the scan that day, he told me to slow down there were other things to discuss. Anyway I am going for the CT scan next week and will then be given my appointments and transport voucher. As this node is in my intestine I have to have a special diet (not another one), yes indeed and all the food I eat whole meal bread, cereal, vegetables and nuts are all on my forbidden list 😩😩. I am hoping that this will only be my diet for about 4 weeks as I know I cannot stomach poached fish with plain boiled potatoes, rice or pasta. My breakfast will be biscottes aargh I detest those things but needs must I suppose. Anything will be preferable to carrying this “little blighter” around with me.

I have taken to wearing a hat, not just to keep my head warm but also to hide my receding hairline. Anyway, I am sick of waking up and finding myself looking so disheveled, I called into the hairdressers yesterday to make an appointment for her to cut the remaining hair short. I didn’t expect the reception I got, the hairdresser gave me the biggest smile, asked if I was OK and made the appointment for 5pm on Tuesday when there would be no-one else in the salon. I came out feeling wonderful, people are so kind going out of their way to accommodate me (and people like me I suspect too).

When I arrived in this town over 6 years ago there was a public swimming pool which I think had seen better days. It was demolished and a new aquatic centre has replaced it. There is also a new sports complex (see photo above) with football pitches, tennis courts, running track and other activities, the town is thriving.

So it’s time for the records that mean something to me, the first one this week is from 1984, Against All Odds (Take A Look At Me Now) by Phil Collins. Think it has a lot to do with the video, which features Tulum in Mexico which brings back memories of my holiday in Mexico and visit to Tulum.

The next song is from 1998 it’s Bryan Adams featuring Mel C and the song is When You’re Gone. There is just something about this song that appeals to me.

“The Trainee Solicitor” has been unwell this week and I got an idea of how much my son’s have worried about me being ill, when I have worried about him. I hope that you are feeling better today.

During the heavy winds and rain from Storm Babet on Friday, “The Daddy” had a run in with a kerb on a roundabout. He is taking his car to get new tyres put on today as one tyre was really badly damaged. I hope it’s not as windy/rainy for you this morning.

“The Ex-Graduate” felt unwell one day but since then has been playing nurse to “The Trainee Solicitor”. We are all into reading books and she has finished a book which had a twist in the ending so she found that rather enjoyable.

My grandchildren are with “The Daddy” this weekend and my amazing granddaughter, a mere 5 years old, attends after school club where they have been drawing pictures for a competition. The competition was entitled “Perfect Pets” and after school clubs from all over the UK who have signed up for this will have the opportunity for the children’s pictures to be judged and some chosen to be entered in books of the same title. Well my granddaughter is only going to have her picture of her “Perfect Pet” entered in one of the books. How wonderful, what an achievement! Well done that young lady 😊.

Now I am used to acorns and their little “cups” but when I parked in town yesterday (under a tree) something bounced on the roof and closer investigation I spotted this “giant” acorn. I then inspected the tree and found it’s “cup” (see photos below) nothing like our English oak.

I wish you all a good week until next week.

#barsuraube #troyes #nature #trees #photography #knitting #friends #80’s music #90’s music #livingthedream #family

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openingnightposts · 8 months

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#FrenchRestaurant #Manhattan #NYC #RestaurantReview #SoraVernikoff

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xtruss · 1 year

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Potatoes and Diabetes Risk: Cooking Method Matters

— By Robby Berman, December 12, 2022 — Fact checked by Alexandra Sanfins, Ph.D. | Diabetes Type 2 | Nutrition/Diet

What do potatoes mean for diabetes risk, and why does the cooking method matter? Image credit: Crissy Mitchell/Stocksy.

Previous research has not conclusively shown that eating a diet rich in vegetables reduced the risk of type 2 diabetes, as one might expect.

A new study suggest that this may be the result of including potatoes as vegetables in studies. It confirms that vegetables without spuds do help a person avoid diabetes.

Plain, unadorned potatoes, says the study, have little effect on the risk of diabetes. Fried potatoes, potato chips, and mashed potatoes increase the risk.

While it makes sense that a healthy diet including plenty of vegetables would help a person avoid type 2 diabetes, the research has been unexpectedly inconclusive.

A new study from researchers at Edith Cowan University (ECU) in Perth, Australia, whose findings appear in Diabetes Care may have figured out why: potatoes.

The study found that vegetables in general do reduce the risk of diabetes, except for potatoes, which are often counted among vegetables in research.

In the study, participants who consumed the most vegetables — minus potatoes — had a 21% reduced risk of diabetes than those without substantial amounts of vegetables in their diet.

There was no additional benefit for those eating more than 150 to 250 grams of vegetables daily.

Preparation Method Matters

Depending on how potatoes are prepared, the study says, they can either have no effect on diabetes risk or actually increase it.

Plain, boiled potatoes — and presumably plain baked potatoes, though they were not considered in the study — neither reduce nor increase the risk of diabetes, according to the study. However, potatoes such as fries, mashed potatoes cooked with butter and other ingredients, and potato chips increase the risk of diabetes.

The vegetable most closely associated with a reduction in diabetes risk were green leafy vegetables and cruciferous vegetables.

The authors of the study derived their conclusions from a cross-sectional analysis of 54,793 participants in the Danish Diet, Cancer and Health study that collected individuals’ health data from 1993 to 1997.

All were residents of the Copenhagen and Aarhus regions of Denmark, and their ages at the start of the study ranged from 50 to 64 years. Participants filled out extensive food questionnaires, and researchers recorded their weight, waist measurements, and height.

Of these people, 7,695 had developed type 2 diabetes by the time of a follow-up, an average of 16.3 years later.

Why Cooking Method Counts

Lead study author Dr. Nicola P. Bondonno, postdoctoral research fellow at ECU’s School of Medical Health Sciences, recalled for Medical News Today how she and her colleagues were puzzled that vegetables had not been more definitively linked to lowering the risk of diabetes.

“We delved deeper into the methods used in each individual study and saw that many studies included potatoes in their estimation of vegetable intake, and did not take into consideration the preparation method of the potatoes,” she told us.

Other studies also did not always consider “the background diet of the people eating large quantities of potatoes, which typically included large amounts of red meat, a risk factor for type 2 diabetes.”

Dr. Jason Ng, clinical associate professor of medicine at the University of Pittsburgh, PA, not involved in this study explained that “French fries and potato chips are high starchy foods with a higher carb count.”

“These types of foods,” he said, “make your body produce more insulin to control blood sugars, and if eaten in higher quantities, may cause you to gain weight in the abdomen, which can cause insulin resistance, which can lead to type 2 diabetes.”

The new study assessed the effects of both vegetables and potatoes separately. They concluded that potatoes’ neutral — or even negative effect — on diabetes had masked the true benefit of vegetable consumption.

How Vegetables May Reduce Risk

The authors of the study acknowledge that it is not clear how vegetables might be reducing the risk of diabetes.

“Vegetables,” said Dr. Bondonno, “contain nutrients and bioactive compounds, for example, fiber, polyphenols, vitamin K, and nitrate.” Such nutrients may foster metabolic health. “But,” she noted, “they are also relatively low in calories.”

It may simply be that a diet incorporating plenty of vegetables leads to a reduction in BMI and weight loss. These are both protective measures against developing diabetes

The Trouble with Potatoes

Dr. Bondonno speculated that “[a]lthough potatoes contain nutrients and fiber, they are not as rich a source as other vegetables, and they have a comparatively higher energy density.”

In the study, when including all the forms in which people eat potatoes — excluding fries and chips — the risk of diabetes rose by 9%.

This is not to say potatoes have no place in a healthy diet, said Dr. Ng:

“Certainly, an appropriate amount of a potato in the setting of a well-balanced meal of proteins and vegetables can get you all the nutrients you need while also making you feel healthier, which can reduce your risk of diabetes. Moderation and balance between foods is the key in any good diet.”

The Role of Diet

The American Diabetes Association (ADA) recommends maintaining a healthy weight to help reduce the chance of developing diabetes, and offers a tool for measuring BMI.

The United Kingdom’s National Health Service says that a BMI of 18.5 to 24.9 is ideal, though a person should talk to their physician to identify the most appropriate BMI for them.

A healthy diet, along with exercise, is obviously a key component of living at a healthy weight. The ADA also offers the Diabetes Plate Method, a tool that can help plan diabetes preventive meals.

— Robby Berman: While attempting to establish himself as a recording artist, Robby inadvertently launched himself instead into a career as a technical writer for companies that make musical instruments and recording equipment. Several years ago, he transitioned into writing for a variety of popular digital media companies, where his interest in demystifying complex subject matter for readers found a welcome new outlet. The career shift also allowed Robby to spend more time pursuing his wide-ranging interests, including medical research. He has been writing for Medical News Today since the winter of 2020. Robby lives in Central New York with his wife and two daughters, as well as one dog, two cats, and 20 goldfish. He’s still recording.

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