#who remembers felicity

[shirks-all-responsibilities]

Characters that are very me-coded but I can’t explain how:

[From: Mad Men, Melancholia, Extras, Bridget Jones's Diary, Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, The Office, Felicity, Office Space]

NP tags: @julesonrecord, @davnittbraes, @imtryingmybeskar, @heythere-mel, @iamskyereads, @the-scandalorian, @love-the-abyss, @trulybetty, @whataperfectwasteoftime

Thanks for the tag @femmefacetious!!

[buglaur]

calloway family reunion ✧

[welcometothevoiddarling]

yr s3 spoliers

specifically thoughts about how Sara spoke about love when she was rejecting August and making up with Felice. Acknowledging her feelings for august importantly, but also putting other feelings she held above those. It might have been just the way the subtitles translated it, but I also loved how they used the word 'love/feelings' for august but also sara and Felice's friendship, and also simon. It just means so much to me when friendship and platonic love is treated as just as meaningful and important, perhaps even more so, than romantic. And then also sibling love. Like that final car had all types of love in it. And they had all been liberated from the forces which tried to restrain them. So at the end of the day, true love won. In all it's different glory. And also they all made a conscious choice to get in that car. They all chose to love, and be the people they became when loving each other.

[kindheartedgummybears]

guys i just woke up and i hada dream where all of the Hidden Agenda characters were werewolves....

I've never played or seen someone play Hidden Agenda..🧍

[rainybraindays]

I don't know who needs to hear this but portia is not a parent where the relationship gets better with age, shes the parent you're low contact with by 20 and no contact with by 30

[catgirlkirigiri]

I need to stop caring about minor aj alphas because I SUCK at feral outfit design and I have to give them all clothes….

[surv1vor]

"shall i call upon you, during your calling hours?" she'd likely intended it innocently, but now benji cannot help but question what might happen, should be truly throw his hat into the ring. would the underlying connection they already possessed have an opportunity to flourish, or would he be robbing her of true opportunity elsewhere? "perhaps we ought consider ourselves lucky your mother would not speak ill of either of us, for i doubt any conversation we might have during such time would be considered typical. we are well beyond the stilted discussion that often greets sitting rooms this time of year." he chuckles. "i, however, would not wish to take from any suitors you might find interest in so if i am not wanted, i implore you to be honest with me."

felicity did love her family, but to think that her father had made bad decisions by resting hope that his daughter would marry well confounded her mother. meaning it added to a stress of her mother to sneak around and try to manipulate situations, (which felicity would need to overlook, meaning different men to dance with, and chat with during calling hours). It was all to much but at the same time expected, she knew what she needed to say, how to act, and always knew this day would come. (she could appreciate his compliment though, to know that someone had thought of her as a diamond did give her confidence. "of course you could take the time to come during calling hour, but then our conversations would be listened to by my mother," she said with a laugh. "it would be a condition of anyone i would wed, to continue contact with you."

[deunmiu-dessie]

1/2 (unedited)

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : in the year 3020, androids of all types are being produced globally. cybernautic technologies (cnt), the leading company in the field, is offering anyone who has bought an android from them the opportunity to be selected as a beta tester for any of their upcoming models at no cost—all you have to do is sign up. while the odds of being chosen are quite low, when cnt has revealed the imminent launch of their latest android, named 'the guard dog.' you arrive home to a large, heavy package bearing the cybernautic technologies logo waiting at your doorstep.

SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— THE PROSPECT RESTAURANT | 10:16 PM.

“hello, welcome to the prospect, i’ll be your server for today.”

“will that be all?”

“thank you for dining here at the prospect!”

“what would you like to drink tonight?”

“would you prefer soup or salad?”

“will you be paying in credits?”

“it seems you're low on mexus currency, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“here at the prospect, everything is cooked and served by humans.”

“enjoy the rest of your stay here in felicity port.”

⸺⸺⸺⸺ ☙ ⸺⸺⸺⸺

everything slipped by in a haze, a blur of muted colors and indistinct sounds, as if the world outside had faded into a dreamlike state; and you don't remember eating at all today. the gnawing emptiness in your belly screaming for attention is testament to that, your body desperately trying to consume itself whole in mutiny. your fingers glide over the soft fat of your stomach, a tender caress meant to placate the piercing pains and the grumbling whale noises. however, it continues its revolt and doubles its efforts.

as a matter of fact, you couldn't remember if you’d even gone home the day prior or stayed to work through your off hours into this shift. because the moment you clocked in, time seemed nonexistent. hours evaporated into mere moments, while seconds stretched into agonizing eternities, voices overlapped and the heat of the kitchen crept underneath skin and charred bones, words pierced hearts and knives nicked flesh. claret hued blood confused with strawberry puree.

 there was no concept of time here at the prospect. you realized that a month into working. after weeks and weeks of grueling work, where each day bled into the next, a nightmarish cycle of labor that left you retching and gasping for air every single time you came home, time seemed to warp and stretch. it felt as if the second you crossed the threshold of your home, you were heading back to work, with barely enough time to brush the smell of puke from your breath. and for the entire bleak month of feburary, you found yourself ensnared in a twisted romance with your bathroom toilet; a tall glass of orange juice- your only companion in this grim affair.

and because there was never a point when the restaurant was empty, there was never a moment when the workers could break. never a moment to catch your breath, to declutter your mind, to steady your heart, never a time to think. thoughts raced like the orders flying out of the kitchen; contemplation was a luxury they could not afford. adapt or face the door—those were the unspoken rules. amy, one of the general managers, often said, “you can rest when you’re six feet under.” ironically, her break arrived just a few months later.

the prospect stood as a rare sanctuary in a world dominated by machines, and was one of the few places that hired humans and humans only. a coveted position here came with a lengthy waiting list, despite the shit wages which barely compensated for the grueling labor. so there was no way you would leave, no way you could quit. besides, it wasn't all bad— it was quite the close-knit family here, and working could be fun most days with the right manager scheduled. and the perks were good enough. you needed the money.

“chica? you leavin’?”

your head swivels tiredly in the direction of the smooth, rich voice of your co-worker nina, her long dark tresses are pulled into a low ponytail, and the familiar piercings that embellish her spheroidal face—tiny silver hoops and delicate studs— have been taken off for the start of her shift, giving her an unexpectedly fresh look. your thoughts scatter the moment you see her, like autumn leaves in a brisk wind, as if attempting to hide from nina's presence despite the woman not being able to hear them.

your hand drops from the hold on your pained stomach, gliding down to the unforgiving chill of the bench beneath you, the shock of the cold metal causes goosebumps to ghost along your skin. when the two of you meet eyes, you can't help but grin teasingly as you respond to her, “mhm, i’m off the next two days as well,” there's a keen lilt to your voice and nina groans, her head teetering back in disbelief, her soft, rounded hands settling defiantly on her curvy hips. nina's gaze resembles deep pools of dark chocolate, rich and indulgent, infused with a small hint of cayenne.

“tell me you're thinkin’ about pickin’ up,” her voice pleads, her curvaceous figure now leaning against the threshold of the changing room. nina’s lips, petite yet full with a pronounced cupid's bow, pull into a soft frown, her chin set and a small dimple forming in the skin.

nina’d been working at the prospect long before you came, but the two of you formed bonds quickly in only a couple of weeks despite the age gap, with her being a few years your senior, the connection felt effortless. “i have a new server comin’ in and i don't want to train him alone, you know how packed we get on saturdays.” she mutters bitterly and your nose scrunches up at the mere idea of having to work on the weekend.

because the prospect was one of the three human ran restaurants in felicity port, that wasn't in the glades, it was bound to be packed and always drew in crowds like moths to a flame. most of the dickheads and drunks came out on the weekends and most workers dreaded being scheduled for it. however, when you and nina were on the clock together, most would leap at the chance to work those nights. you let out a sigh and shake your head, lips pursing and toeing into your beat-up shoes. “i would– you know i would, but cody is on my ass for the amount of overtime i racked up last month, so i can't.”

nina’s forehead gently collides with the door frame as she processes your response, a rhythmic thud echoing in the air. after a few moments, she pivots her head to meet your gaze. “bitch, why do you do these things to me? creo que voy a dejarlo.” the question is filled with exhaustion and slight irritation that has your mouth opening in a boisterous laugh, much to nina's growing irritation. the hispanic woman's hand lifts from its grip on the doorframe, and the middle finger raises slowly, but it only makes you laugh harder as you clutch your weathered tote bag and rise from the cold metal bench. ( i think i'm going to quit. )

you lightly tap the toe of your shoes against the floor before walking towards nina and enveloping her shoulders with your arm, lips pressing to her olive toned cheek as a parting gift, soft chuckles still slipping from your lips. "i'll see you monday, nina." you tell her softly, patting her shoulder, then glide by her, walking to the back door of the restaurant.

SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— THE PROSPECT RESTAURANT | 10:45 PM.

there's a chill in the air the moment you cross the threshold into the open, the warm autumn air from early in the morning feels like a figment of your imagination. and for a heartbeat, you linger, eyes lifted to the synthetic trees that stretch toward the artificial night sky, watching the transformation of leaves from vibrant green to fiery red, cascading down to the metallic earth below. where with each leaf that touches the surface, vanishes in a delicate explosion of shimmering blue motes.

the loud hum of machinery, and the occasional chirp of synthetic birds flitting between the branches makes your stomach churn. there was nothing real here.

despite it being deep into the night, felicity port was as bright and loud as ever. known to outsiders as: the place that never sleeps, andromexus city thrummed with life. the sharp sound of flying cars and the whoosh of hoverboards, the loud thrum of the machinery just beneath the metallic sidewalks and roads, the sound of pleasure androids promoting their workplace, and the sound of rowdy human men that came with it. there was never a moment where felicity port was silent, never a moment where shit wasn't happening.

it was a place where dreams were made and also came to die-- everyone yearned to call andromexus city home, yet only a select few could endure its relentless pace. it stopped for no one and at times, you wondered how you managed to survive.

your eyes flit around the darkened alleyway, well as dark as it could get with the flickering glow of promotional drones flying around, their neon signs casting a sharp light. you search intently until your eyes land on what you're looking for, or perhaps, who, you are looking for. with a steady stride, you approach the homeless man, joel, an older gentleman whose wisdom is etched into the lines of his weathered face. yet, despite the knowledge that comes with age, he has found himself adrift in felicity port, stripped of mexus currency and credits. "joel, i got you something to eat."

his lashes, wispy and white as gossamer, flutter before his eyelids lift revealing soft irises of honey brown and milky white. he was blind in one eye. joel's gaze seems to brighten the moment that they find you, a smile pulling at his thin lips, his crooked, yellow teeth on display to give you a warm smile. "you're here," the man murmurs, his voice raspy yet tender, as he shifts slightly beneath the thick blanket, a gift given to him by you.

you can't help the smile that blooms on your face as you crouch before him, rummaging through your well-worn tote bag to retrieve the food you had pilfered from the restaurant kitchen. "i am," you murmur back softly, grabbing his thin hand, blue veins protruding against his flesh. you gently place the hefty weight of the box in his grasp. "enjoy, joel,"

there's a soft pop of your joints when you stand from your crouched position and you grimace softly, hefting your tote bag over your shoulder once more and taking a few steps back from the man. with a swift turn, you exit the alleyway, a smile curling your lips when you hear the faint voice of joel calling out a, 'thank you', the bustling sounds of the street greeting you.

when you first moved to andromexus city, the sounds and smells of felicity port made you nauseous and dizzy. you could barely be outside for more than ten minutes without swallowing down the burning taste of vomit, without having your hands cushioning the weight of your skull in your palms. the lights were too bright, everything too loud, the smell of oil and smoke filling your lungs and clinging to the walls like an unwelcome guest you had been overwhelmed, with no one to help you become accustomed to it.

despite having resided in felicity port for a few years, there was still a dull ache in the back of your head the moment you stepped outside of your apartment. with a gentle shake of your head and a deep sigh, you deftly maneuver through the packed streets of the entertainment district, narrowly dodging teenagers zipping by on hoverboards and gliding on sonic razorblades. this was the familiar rhythm of your day, the 'dream' you had envisioned while living in nebulon city, where the population was only ten thousand.

"i'll take a corndog."

"that'll be five, in mexus currency."

the prices were cheap in felicity port but then again, the food wasn't real out here in the entertainment district. just crafted to resemble the culinary delights of a bygone era, a time when the world still had the animals and resources to create such dishes. you weren't too sure if this was even the original taste of a corndog, with its sweet, bready exterior and the savory meat hidden within, all generously slathered in ketchup and mustard. nothing was real.

as you turn down the familiar street that your apartment rests on, you observe the small android children frolicking on their porches, undeterred by the late hour. sleep was a concept foreign to them, after all; they weren't bound by human needs. your blunt human teeth bite into the familiar taste of the corndog, a treat you always got yourself the moment you got off of work. a soft sound of contentment escaped your lips, chewing slowly as your eyes took in the activity of felicity port.

"excuse me."

"sorry,"

the softness of your lips part to mutter, hips narrowly missing the patrolling security robot as you continue your way down the street. for a fleeting moment, your gaze lingers on the machine before you turn your attention ahead. andromexus city was no stranger to crime; it was a constant presence. it was inevitable with the number of jewle addicts and homeless that took up more than half the population and each night, countless individuals fell victim to theft, losing their credits and mexus currency. thankfully you had never been targeted before.

the moment your apartment complex comes into view, your eyes land on a huge box stationed in front of your door and your lashes flutter, your stomach clenching painfully from hunger. you instinctively press your fingers against your abdomen, trying to ease the discomfort, while you cautiously ascend the stairs to your floor. eyebrows furrowing and footsteps light. you hadn't ordered anything in months, yet with each step, your address becomes more distinct, and your name emerges clearly on the package.

your fingers glide across the surface of the box, your eyes darting around as you absorb its details, eventually settling on the tiny logo of cybernautic technologies nestled in the bottom right corner. your eyebrows lift in soft question before you slide past the box, placing your thumb on the doorknob. the scanner emits a red blinking light until the mechanical sound of your door unlocking is heard and the scanner flashes green.

as you turn the knob and push the door to your apartment ajar, you let your bag tumble to the floor with a soft thud. standing there, hands on your hips, you tilt your head back to scrutinize the top of the box that looms above you, lips trembling as you let out a sigh, muttering softly to yourself, "what the hell are you?"

SEPTEMBER 11TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— PROXXY STREET | 11:57 PM.

it took more than half an hour for you to drag the box into your apartment and the center of your living room, it was as if it were a leaden weight that clung stubbornly to the ground. you were sure it weighed a ton, and in the process, you had chipped at least two nails.

now, standing before the box with your hip tilted to one side, you were drenched in sweat, your chest rising and falling with exertion. meanwhile, your android dog, who you named willow, was still stationed at its charging station and though the thought of letting her roam free while you tackled the unboxing was tempting, you ultimately decided against it.

walking to the kitchen, your hand instinctively reached for the laser knife nestled in its sheath. with purpose, you returned to the box, carefully slicing along the dotted lines designed for a precise opening of a package from cybernautic technologies. after a few deft cuts, the front of the box fell away, hitting the tiled floor with a resounding thud. your blade followed suit, clattering down just moments later as your gaze finally settled on the imposing figure within the box—a large, burly man, no android, firmly secured within it.

he was naked from his neck to the deep v-line at his hips; from then on he was covered by a pair of cnt boxer briefs that truly left little to the imagination. you swallow thickly, forcing your gaze to remain fixed on his face. he possessed a rugged handsomeness, his dark blonde hair tousled and his lips a delicate shell pink. he looked real, a vividness that made it difficult to believe he was an android. with a trembling hand, you reach up to brush softly against his cheek feeling the chill of his skin—a common trait among androids, especially when they were not connected to their charging stations.

your breath hitches just from the touch of his frigid artificial skin, and your fingertips brush and tap down his flesh until they get to his chest, where you press your palm firmly against him. your eyes remain fixed on his face, tilting your head slightly in a daze, lips slightly parted as your gaze roams over his features, the contours of his jawline, the curve of his lips, and the startling realness of his skin. there was something so different about him compared to the other androids that have been made. your fingers wander over the delicate hairs just below his navel, a soft, almost reverent touch, but then you withdraw your hand abruptly, as if you'd been shocked.

your gaze darts around your living room for a brief moment before it settles on a small envelope glued to the front of the box. in a swift motion, you lower yourself into a crouch, pressing your palm against the sturdy cardboard surface. with your other hand, you carefully peel the letter free, shaky hands, ripping it open, fumbling to get the note out of the envelope before your eyes roam over its contents.

exciting news: you've been selected as a beta user! dear [recipient's name], here at cyberbautic technologies, we’re thrilled to inform you that you have been chosen as a beta user for our latest innovation, the android robot known as "the guard dog." this advanced robot is designed to provide security and companionship in your home. you will have a full week to interact with the guard dog, testing its features and functionalities. we encourage you to explore all its capabilities, which include smart surveillance, voice interaction, personalized security settings and other functions. your feedback is invaluable to us, so please take note of your experiences, any challenges you encounter, and suggestions for improvement. best regards, [your name]

your lips part in a soft movement of disbelief, and your gaze darts back to the android confined within the box, his eyes closed in a serene slumber and framed by long, delicate blonde lashes. everything about him was so big, so masculine, and void of any gentle contours. broad shoulders taper down to a powerful torso, each muscle defined and pronounced and thick, muscular thighs, thick and sturdy.

your eyes travel down to his large hands with blunt fingernails, it reminds you of a life of labor, of toil and effort, as if he wasn't forged from metal and circuitry. each finger is thick and strong, capable of both delicate precision and overwhelming force. a sharp, prominent nose, slightly askew as if it has borne the brunt of countless battles. it was as if he was a greek god sculpted from marble.

letting the letter fall from your hands you walk forward and lean in close, eyes looking for the small power button nestled just beneath and behind his ear. with trembling fingers, slick with sweat, you press it, feeling a bead trickle down your temple. the sound of him powering on reverberates through the confines of your small apartment, and you carefully retreat a step back.

nothing.

no movement, unlike what you’d seen in countless galaxy network videos of android unboxings. your eyebrows twitch as you instinctively move to take a step forward, but then a voice echoes through the air—dark, deep, and tinged with a rough accent. it sent a warm wave of heat unfurling within your stomach, leaving you momentarily breathless. hand pressing to your heart to calm the fierce thumping.

“standby mode: off.”

a gentle hum emanates from his internal mechanisms and as if awakening from a deep slumber, his eyes slowly open, the brown irises glowing a pale blue, while streams of programming code flicker rapidly across their surface. you watch as his chest slowly starts to move, as if he is mimicking the act of breathing. and the moment you step closer, you can feel the heat rolling off his body in waves.

“performing quick self-diagnostic check.”

crouching, you retrieve the laser knife from the floor. you approach the android, your heart racing as you carefully slice through the straps binding his arms; descending back down to also cut the straps from his ankles; making sure to avoid looking anywhere below his waist. once the android is free from his bindings, you swiftly retreat a few paces, creating distance between you and the now-unrestrained figure.

“diagnostics complete.”

the gruff, deep, accented, and almost monotonous sound of his voice sends a chill racing down your spine, and the scent of pine and something akin to smoke invades your nose and lungs. then his brown eyes, so life-like and dark, are on yours, with an intensity that is hard to ignore. your eyes widen when he speaks, trying your hardest to keep your eyes on his face, “id code: #a36h920tr, you have been selected as a beta user for my model, ‘the guard dog,’ set to launch in the fall of next year. i am the only one of my kind and have been named, simon.”

what exactly have you signed up for?

your mouth gapes like a fish out of water, while your eyes blink in a startled manner, akin to an owl's gaze, as a tightness grips your throat, a constricting band that makes it feel as though you are being choked by an unseen force, “y-yes, my name is [your name].” you mutter, heart thudding so hard in your chest, it’s almost painful.

“your heart rate is above the normal range. initiatin’ a complete body scan for owner: [your name].”

hot. your flesh felt like it was peeling from your bones, dissolving into a pile of gore at your feet. you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. he was an android, he wasn’t real, just a mere construct of metal and circuits, yet he appeared so convincingly lifelike, both in appearance and sound, that it was disorienting. you could almost convince yourself he was real, as real as the oppressive warmth surrounding you. with a sharp intake of breath, you cleared your throat and raised your hand, halting his scanning gaze. “no! i’m fine, it’s just…hot.” you mutter sheepishly.

simon’s gaze is an unwavering, dark pit, drawing you in with an intensity that felt almost otherworldly. as if he could ask you to do something and you would, without hesitation. the way he spoke, low and deep, growly and gruff, like distant thunder, set all of your nerves on fire and scorched your bones to the marrow.

the two of you are silent for a moment, and you catch a glimpse of the android's gaze flickering momentarily to your breasts and thighs, see the soft clenching of his large hands, yet, just as quickly, his eyes return to meet yours. your lips part and his eyes follow dutifully, taking in the softness of your mouth, the delicate curve of your lips, the gentle nervous breath that escapes, and the slight peek of your pink human tongue. you wonder what thoughts race through his mind, what algorithms are at play as he watches you. wonder if he's aware of the way your skin tingles under his gaze.

was it even possible to have sexual tension with a damn robot?

you practically jump out of your skin when he shifts, thick powerful legs, connecting to a tapered waist, emerging from the confines of the box. in response, you step back, wide eyes on his. then his whole body is out, and somehow he seems bigger than he was before– it's as if he takes up all the space in your small apartment. you can't help the breath of awe that escapes, or the way your eyes trail down his neck, past the swell of his adams apple, before settling on the impressive contours of his chest.

there's something akin to amusement that seems to swirl in his eyes when you find his gaze again, that and something…dark, in a way. just as you prepare to speak, a subtle flash of red flickers from just behind and beneath his ear.

“my power level ‘s low,” he informs you, and you respond with a nod, feeling somewhat foolish as you remain rooted to the spot. his eyes narrow, like a predator watching prey, prompting you to finally break the silence. you wipe your sweaty palms on the back of your pants. “right, sorry. uh, i have a charging pad, just, um–” you motion towards the corner of the living room where your android dog was stationed on a charging port.

simon’s head cranes to look where you point and he lets out a soft, deep grunt before his dark eyes find yours, and it steals your breath, and causes heat to blossom between the apex of your thighs. you shake your head, attempting to dispel the swirling thoughts, and cautiously maneuver around him, you can’t help but notice the way his gaze follows you, breath hitching when you hear him take in a soft inhale of your scent.

you quickly make your way to the charging pad and gently pick up willow, cradling her plush body to your chest and stepping out of the way. “you can charge now, simon.” you murmur, pivoting to meet his gaze. however, he's already bridged the gap, now merely a foot away. the artificial warmth radiating from him sends a wave of dizziness through you, mingling with the earthy scent of pine and smoke that clings to his frame. he’s a massive android, perhaps the biggest creation cybernautic technologies has made.

a small startled sound escapes your mouth and you instinctively shuffle away, your back pressing against the cool surface of the wall. he looks as if he’s going to eat you whole, ravage your body, and leave you as nothing more than a heap of overstimulated flesh. you swallow thickly and his intense gaze flits down to your throat. there's a stall in his mechanics, you notice the way a vivid purple light flickers from his power button and turn red before his dark eyes finally break away from yours, and he strides toward the charging pad, the 'muscles' in his jaw tightening.

“standby mode: on.”

with a trembling inhale, you observe his eyelids fluttering close, and his chest stopping its movement; almost as if he were no longer alive. the moment simon is charging, you exhale sharply, pressing a hand against your heart, holding willow close.

“i think i’m gonna pass out.”

SEPTEMBER 12TH, 3020 ⸺ ANDROMEXUS CITY, FELICITY PORT— PROXXY STREET | 4:09 AM.

you're not sure what the time is or why you woke up, but your lashes flutter, and the stark white ceiling comes into focus, the shadows of your room slowly receding. despite the warmth from your comforter, you can feel a brush of cool air over your collarbones. your eyes glide around your room, groggily taking in the dark chamber before landing on a massive, bulky figure looming at the foot of your bed.

a scream lodges its way in your throat, attempting to claw its way out, but before it can break free, a deep, gravelly voice cuts through the tension. “your heart rate is elevated, and your stress hormones are off the charts. you’re frightened,” he states, his tone almost indifferent. you swallow hard, the scream lodged deep within you, your heart racing and your skin flushing with heat. “what the hell are you doing in my room?” you murmur, sitting up slowly in bed.

“i am programmed to always be within a certain range of you, sweetheart.” he states gruffly, his voice, while panty-dropping, had a bit of sass to it. “this ‘s a setting that can’t be overridden.” simon finishes, and you can feel his eyes on you, roaming over the exposed skin of your body, it sends a delightful shiver down your spine.

sweetheart? did he just call you sweetheart? why were your nipples getting hard right now?

you swallow thickly, and stretch your hand to flick on the lamp beside your bed, the soft click seemingly loud in your ears and the warm light chasing away shadows. you feel the pressure of your teeth against the inside of your cheek as you steal a glance at him, he’s still only clad in his cnt boxers, all tight to his skin. quickly, you avert your eyes, focusing instead on his face, before you can get anywhere lower.

the two of you stare at one another, his gaze, deep and smoldering, as if he could see straight into your soul, felt like having sex with just a look. it felt like his hands were sliding tantalizingly along your skin, tracing every curve, while his lips and tongue roamed your breasts with a fervor that sent shivers down your spine. you could smell his scent, pine, and smoke, engulfing you, threatening to suffocate you. was it possible to get turned on by just staring at someone? you could almost feel the weight of his hands, the way they would explore, mapping out the contours of your form with a deftness that no human could match.

you shattered the stillness, your gaze lingering a moment longer before you gestured toward the bed, right at your feet. “you can sit here.” you say softly, breath hitching as he swiftly follows your ‘command’, his huge body moving with the grace of a feline, that belied his size as he stalks over to the bed, the mattress dipping heavily and your bed frame creaking and groaning in protest under his weight. the soft glow of the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze.

he’s close, way closer than you’d thought he’d be, so much so that his body heat seeped through the comforter and warmed your bones. you clear your throat and attempt to steel your frazzled nerves. “y-you feel…different, from the other androids cnt has made.” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you shifted beneath the sheets, rising onto your knees on the bed, the fabric rustling softly. you could feel his gaze on you, a steady presence that made your skin tingle. “…more real.” you hesitate, searching for the right words. “it feels like you're not just a collection of algorithms and circuits. you… you have a presence, a warmth that makes me forget you’re not human.”

“recent advancements have led to the development of new formulas that enhance androids with more human-like traits and emotions. we are now modeled after humans who are meticulously chosen through a rigorous selection process and subsequently analyzed across various disciplines to evaluate their characteristics.” simon replies smoothly, his gaze briefly dancing over the soft curves of the exposed plush of your thighs before they’re back on yours. had they not been basing androids off of humans this whole time? what does it mean to be human in a world where androids can evoke such genuine feelings? the warmth of his presence envelops you, and for a fleeting moment, you forget the boundaries that separate flesh from circuitry.

your breath snags in your throat, and heat engulfs the entirety of your body, your lips parting and your gaze stuck on his. he wasn’t flesh and blood; he was an android, a mere machine, yet the desire to reach out and touch him surged within you, stronger than anything you had ever felt, never wanted to be touched the way you wanted him to touch you, it felt almost primal. you blamed it on being a sex-deprived woman. there weren't many choices here in felicity port. in this city, where the neon lights flickered like distant stars and the hum of machinery drowned out the whispers of the heart, you had learned to navigate the loneliness that surrounded you.

"can i touch you?" your lips part, and the words tumble out before you can catch them. you notice the brief pause in his software, and see the vibrant purple glow that dances at his power button before it shifts to a deep crimson. you wonder what that meant, wonder if he's thinking about what type of touch you're talking about. you don't retract your words, hell you don't speak at all; just sit there with a bated breath, eyes flickering over his face.

"yes."

his reply is husky and deep, dark brown eyes glued to yours, and you feel a flutter of fear, afraid that if you look away, you'll wake up and realize that this is all a dream. that simon wasn't really here in your bedroom, clad in only tight boxer briefs, and eye fucking you. his eyes roam over the bare skin of your thighs, lingering as if memorizing every inch, every curve, and his large hand twitches, as if he’s fighting an internal battle, and there's a vivid flash of purple before it ignites red. the room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the space between you shrinks.

you shift your knee forward, inching closer, the fabric of your night dress gliding up to expose more of your skin, more and more until your knees rest against the warmth of his bare thigh. the eye contact makes your entire body thrum with burning heat, his eyes never veering from yours; his large hands pressed to the tops of his thick, muscular thighs. his body swamps yours entirely- and you were nowhere near small—despite your own size, you feel dwarfed by his sheer strength, and the sight sends a rush of heat pooling in your panties. you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be enveloped in his embrace, to have those strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer still. have his tantalizing scent—warm, musky, and undeniably masculine— invading your senses.

simon watches as your human hand comes up to shakily brush against his skin, your fleshy lips parted to take in shallow breaths, your slender throat and face flushed with heat. he can see inside of you, see the thumping of your heart, the speed at which it increases, the surge of testosterone coursing through you. can smell the heat of your skin, the sweet scent of your body wash, his senses study it and he recognizes it as sugared lavender, milk, and honey. every detail becomes magnified—the way your eyelashes flutter, the slight quiver of your lips, the way your breath catches in your throat as you meet his gaze.

the subtle rise of your chest with each breath, the gentle flutter of your heartbeat, and the way your eyes sparkle with emotion—all of it pulls him deeper into a realm he has only observed from a distance. he can feel the real warmth of a human, not his synthetic core that heats his body, and it's starkly different, it overwhelms him for a fleeting instant, causing a momentary short circuit in his system. can see the difference between the soft rise and fall of your chest compared to his fake breathing, the delicate curve of your breasts--

this is what he was based on, a human. and he couldn't compare, not in the slightest. you were the blueprint. he felt himself utterly lacking. simon can't help but lean his cheek into your palm when you shakily press it to his face, feeling the delicate contours of your fingerprints against his skin, each ridge and curve imprinted itself in his mind, and commits this entire moment to memory.

your fingers brush and trail over the expanse of his face, tracing the contours of his forehead, the sturdy line of his chin, the defined angles of his jaw, and his cheekbones. finally, they linger on his lips, a delicate shell pink, inviting, and soft. he watches you, despite your gaze following the soft line of your fingers on his artificial skin, he watches you as if it’s the last thing he’ll be able to do.

out of the corner of your eye, a flicker of purple catches your attention before it ignites into a vivid red, his hands clenching when it happens, as if frustrated. curious, you trail your hand down his cheek and behind his ear, to where it flashes; before you can utter a word, his voice, deep and rough, fills the air. “can i touch you?”

your heart stops and skips all in the same breath and you nod, captivated as he turns his body toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. simon’s large hand rises to cradle your cheek, it’s a confident movement that sends a shiver down your spine, his thumb brushing over the true warmth of skin. his long, sturdy fingers then meander along the curve of your nose, tracing the delicate arch of your brows, and as his fingers glide around your eye, you can’t help but close them for a brief moment, surrendering to the sensation of his touch. his fingers finally rest on your lips, a gentle yet possessive gesture that sends a rush of warmth through your entire being.

he wonders what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his--

your lips are plush and fleshy, and he can’t help but drag your bottom lip down gently with his thumb, revealing the delicate curve of your gums and the soft pink of your tongue. simon releases your lip, his hand gliding down your slender neck, fingers pressed to the rapid thumping of your pulse before his fingers trace the delicate line of your collarbone.

“you’re nervous.” simon states gruffly, his voice rumbling with a hint of authority as he observes, fingers sliding down your neck, a warm, deliberate touch that glides to your side, where they press into the gentle curve of your waist, kneading the soft flesh of your abdomen with a firm yet tender grip. there's a weight to his tone, a certainty that makes you feel seen in a way that both comforts and unnerves you.

“you make me nervous,” you whisper, your breath hitching as your fingers fumble to clutch his shoulders, when his hand trails over the soft, covered underside of your ass, fingers dancing lower until they flit over the back of your bare thigh. the power button just beneath his ear pulses a soft purple, flickering repeatedly before it finally shifts to a deep red.

curious, you press your fingers softly to it, nails pressing gently into his skin. “what does that mean?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, your mind swirling with the intoxicating scent of him, at how close you are to him. a small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that this simon is merely an android, a fleeting creation destined to vanish in a week, not truly yours. but you wanted him all the same.

“the filters installed in my hardware are functioning properly.” simon says gruffly, his fingers brushing against your thigh with a restless energy. “if the thoughts that i have of you or the touches that i attempt t’express conflict with the filter; i’ll recalibrate.”

“w-what kind of thoughts?” you whisper, throat bobbing as you swallow the lump that’s formed. his jaw tightens, and his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “i’ve wanted my coc–.” simon’s power button flickers to life, glowing a deep purple before shifting to a fierce red. he’s silent for only a moment, then his jaw sets even harder. “the filters installed in my hardware are functioning properly.” simon restates and you nod loosely, briefly wondering if there was a way to turn it off that— no, what the hell were you thinking?

yet, before you can rein in your thoughts, your lips part, and the words tumble out in a rush, "is there a way to turn it off?"

a/n : ya'll...why is the smut killing me? like, i enjoyed writing the plot but then i get to the smut and i'm like...meh. is it cause that's all i post? maybe. anyways! i'll write the second part one of these days, but i wanted to post this cause i love it so much. (did i do some clickabit? absolutely)

[mauvecherie-writes]

the morning after: l.hamilton

pairing: lewis hamilton x black!f!reader.

summary: scenes after a wild night.

warning: 18+ mdni, nsfw, no structural plot, sexual scenes, dirty talk.

note: i started this on his birthday, finished this yesterday lol so this is set around his birthday. flashbacks in italics.

w.c: 1.19k

tags: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @hersinsarescarlet @emjayewrites @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @melodicheauxxlovesfood @felicity-x0 @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly

You were sore.

You were so, so sore.

A groan left you as you tried to stretch your limbs. The little light coming into the room caused your eyes to squint as you took in the surroundings.

This wasn’t your hotel room.

The first flash of last night was projected within your mind.

Fuck. Fuuuucccckkkk.

The smell of his cologne wrapped around you - reminding you of whose room you were currently in and who it was you spent the night with. You sat up straight and clasped the sheet close to your naked chest. You were finally able to get a hold of your bearings.

Clothes.

Shoes.

Bottles and glasses.

Furniture.

All disheveled from your feverish tryst.

-

You drunkenly giggled against his lips as you stumbled further into the room. The sounds of the empty champagne bottle rolling on the floor from being kicked by your shuffling feet.

“Sshh.” You placed your finger against his lips as his hands explored the length of your back. “You gotta be quiet.”

“No one is gonna hear you baby, you can be as loud as you want.” He mumbled as he trailed kisses down the curve of your neck as he hooked his fingers beneath the straps of your top.

-

You chewed on your bottom lip as the memories of the previous night beseech you. You could feel the phantom of Lewis’s touch on your body the more you woke up.

One thing was for certain, you needed to leave his room.

The chilly wind drifting into the room from the parted window nipped at your skin as you jumped out of the bed. As you rushed around the room to pick up your belongings, you felt the residing slickness in between your thighs.

-

He stroked your clit faster, pressing onto your bud firmer with each stroke. Your body fell into his, Lewis’s arm secured around your body, pressing your back into his chest with his hand on your chest, rolling your nipple in between his fingers. He enjoyed the way your body shook from the pleasure that he was drawing from it.

Then you tried to grab his hand to stop him. He chuckled against your ear. “Don’t try and fight it baby.” He bit on your earlobe. “Just let it happen.”

-

The first orgasm had rocked your body and he had played you so beautifully. You had tried to give back - it had been his birthday after all - but he wouldn’t allow it. You were his for the night to enjoy.

You zipped up your jeans and haphazardly threw your top back on but your zip was broken. You remember Lewis pushing your top past your hips.

Shit.

And your room was on the other side of the resort too. A good five minute walk - even less if you ran. But you couldn’t walk through the resort like this.

You grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it on and shoved your top into your bag.

The humming of the shower finally stopped.

You halted your actions as you heard Lewis’s movements within the bathroom and soon enough, the door opened. With steam emerging from behind him, he walked out.

You loved the way the towel was wrapped and sitting low on his waist. Skin glistening from the dampness - somehow making his tattoos pop out even more. The marks from your mouth and nails still wore on his skin and the sight made you lick your lips.

“Leaving so soon?” He smirked at you. You were by the door with your braids in a ponytail, bag and shoes in hand with his t-shirt from the previous night on.

“Umm.” You sounded as you tried to recollect your thoughts. “Last night, you told me that you had something planned with your boys. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“They’re plans for me. They can wait until I’m ready.” He walked towards you and you couldn’t help but let your hands fall beside you.

“Oh.” You mumbled, your cheeks warming slightly causing him to chuckle. Lewis’s hands came to your waist and pulled you closer. His touch triggered another memory.

-

Lewis was above you with his hands on your waist as he thrusted into you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your back arched off the bed.

“Fuck you’re so deep.” You gasped as you felt every inch of his thickness slide deep inside and touch parts of yourself that you could never reach. He moved so that your leg was on his shoulder and he was hovering above you. The position shift caused you to lose your breath and immediately tremble as he touched your sweetest spot.

“There it is. That’s the spot huh?” His dark chuckle rang in your ear.

-

Lewis saying your name snapped you back to reality. The way that he was staring down at you made you slightly embarrassed about where your thoughts had been. And from the look in his eyes, it was like he knew it too.

“What are your plans later?” He asked you as his finger traced your jawline. You licked your lips, taking a deep breath as if bracing yourself to gaze into his deep brown eyes.

“Nothing. Me and the girls were just going to chill in the lounge bar by the pool.” You whispered softly as he continued to caress you.

“Good. I’ll meet up with you there then go for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah.” His lip curled to the side. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t take you to dinner?”

“The kind of man who fucks me on every surface of his hotel room until his cum is dripping down my thighs.” The vulgarity of your words caused his breath to hitch in his throat. Lewis briefly closed his eyes as if he was remembering the way that he had bent you over the couch in the living room area.

Because you remembered that.

“Let me be a good man to you and take you to dinner.”

“Fine.” You giggled at the strangled tone in his voice. You reached forward to place a kiss on his cheek but Lewis turned his head so his lips brushed over yours. He brushed his nose against yours and you took that as the go ahead. So you gently pressed your lips against his but the soft kiss turned heated.

You softly whimpered into his mouth when his one hand went to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. The sound of your moan spurred him on, leading him to press you into the door. You felt every inch of his rigged body down to his hardening dick against your abdomen.

Your moment was only interrupted by the loud ringing of an alarm. You pulled away from the kiss with a heavy pant of your chest.

“I have to go.” You whispered. “ I need a shower.”

“You could have taken one here.”

“I can’t be around you. I can’t think straight.” Lewis chuckled before he moved away from you.

“Go, I’ll see you at dinner. We’ll continue with this later.”

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of scenes that need to be remembered.

library scene • episode 1

their expressions softening and smiles growing bigger as soon as their eyes meet. oh the effect of each other’s presence!!!

wille's staring contest and the lip bite while approaching give off so much confidence. he leans in for the kiss like it's all he's been waiting for - everyone is watching and yet he sees and cares about anyone anything but simon.

simon dives into the kiss just as quickly. it starts out as shyyy but you can see the tension easing through his body language.

it’s a second first kiss for them in a way bc it's their first public one: the thrill, the excitement, the butterflies - it's all there. for this huge step to come from wille makes it even more special.

it’s a super tender kiss, with simon’s hand ending up on wille’s chest. background noises fading away to enhance the sound of their lips is so on point: none of that truly matters bc in this moment it's - them.

first they kiss and then greet with a proper hej *giggling*.

lip biting is serious business in this scene. simon's shows a lot of embarrassment tho - he comes out of their own bubble and suddenly becomes very aware of people's chatter.

shoutout to felice and maddie in the background not giving a damn about it ahsjsj.

wille pulling simon by the hand in such a hurry is funny and so him. he literally says 'ok folks you've seen enough, i want him just for myself now'.

ugh i love parallels in this show sooo much. they alone tell the whole story!

same spot but different point in their relationship: so distant in s2 - both physically/emotionally - and couldn't be seen or heard so they were hyper attentive; deeply connected on all levels in s3 instead, the focus is solely on each other, reaching for comfort by holding hands. the coloring tells the same plot too: cold and dull tones first but much warmer ones in s3.

simon side eyeing the hallway but turning to wille is enough to reassure him and ease the discomfort.

hands intertwined with the key chain in such a ‘fuck 'em, this is about us’ way is a genius move.

wille’s whole posture is extremely relaxed - one arm behind his back, the other hand holding simon’s, his legs crossed. it’s a breath of fresh air to finally see him acting this loose and unbothered around people. he's also the one who helps simon feeling much more comfortable here too.

not much to point out, i just needed to gif simon’s bambi eyes and wilhelm being mesmerized by his face.

hela terminen's line delivery is honestly *chef’s kiss*. they care to keep their voices low throughout the scene and then -

i have a thing for height difference so this shot is everything to me. it's peak head over heels boyfriends behavior!

wilhelm is stronger than me bc i would've kissed simon right on the spot if he tilted his head up like that.

shhh they’re cuddling.

the forehead touch with closed eyes and content smiles. this is basically what i've always loved the most about them - the state of pure bliss they're in only when with each other.

simon's eyes on him while wille is still keeping his eyes closed, slowly pulling away, to enjoy the moment a little longer.

simon's attention directed towards wille and the linked hands. it must feel the best kind of weird to experience the freedom of doing couple-things publicly - people's scrutiny no longer being something they have to hide from.

[petermorwood]

Food on St Patrick's Day (in the USA)...

...is usually Corned Beef & Cabbage, which is the Irish-American version of the original Irish boiled bacon & cabbage, but while the celebratory Irishness is still going strong, try something a bit more authentic.

A nice warm coddle. Not cuddle, coddle, though just as comforting in its own way. (Some sources suggest it's a hangover cure, not that such a thing would ever be necessary at this time of year, oh dear me no.)

Coddle is a stew using potatoes, onions, bacon, sausages, stout-if-desired / stock-if-not, pepper, sage, thyme and Time.

You'll often see it called "Dublin Coddle", but my Mum made Lisburn Coddle lots of times, I've made West Wicklow Coddle more than once, and on one occasion in a Belgian holiday apartment I made Brugsekoddel, which is an OK spelling for something that doesn't exist in any cookbook.

*****

I do remember one amendment I made to Mum's recipe, which met with slight resistance at the time and great appreciation thereafter.

Her coddle was originally cooked on the stove-top, not in the oven, and nothing was pre-cooked. Potatoes were quartered, onions were sliced, bacon was cut into chunks and then everything went into the big iron casserole, then onto the slow back ring, and there it simmered Until Done.

However, the bacon was thick-cut back rashers, and the sausages were pork chipolatas.

Raw, they looked like this:

...and the bacon looked like this:

Cooked in the way Mum initially did, they looked pretty much the same afterwards. The sausages didn't change colour. Nor did the bacon.

While everything tasted fine, the meat parts always looked - to me, anyway - somewhat ... less than appealing. "Surgical appliance pink" is the kindest way to put it, and that's all I'm saying. This is apparently "white coddle" and Dubs can get quite defensive about This Is The Way It SHOULD Look.

I'm not a Dub, so I persuaded Mum to fry both the bacon and sausages first, just enough to get a bit of brown on, and wow! Improvement! I remember my Dad nodding in approval but - because he was Wise - not saying anything aloud until Mum gave it the green light as well.

Doing the coddle in the oven, first with lid on then with lid off, came later and met with equal approval. So did using only half of the onion raw and frying the other half lightly golden in the bacon fat.

Nobody quoted from a movie that wouldn't be made for another decade, but there was a definite feeling of...

*****

There are coddle recipes all over the Net: I've made sure that these are from Ireland to avoid the corned-beef-not-boiled-bacon "adjustment" versions which are definitely out there. I've already seen one with Bratwurst. Just wait, it'll be chorizo next.

Oh, hell's teeth, I was right. And from RTE...

Returning to relative normality, here's Donal Skehan's white coddle and his browned coddle with barley (I'm going to try that one).

Here's Dairina Allen's Frenchified with US measurements version. (I feel considerably less heretical now.)

And finally (OK, not Irish, but it references a couple of the previous ones and is a VERY comprehensive write-up, so gets a pass) Felicity Cloake's Perfect Dublin Coddle (perfect according to who, exactly...?) in The Guardian.

*****

Returning to the beginning, and how boiled bacon became corned beef (a question which prompted @dduane to start an entire website...!)

The traditional Irish meat animal for those who could afford it was the pig, but when Irish immigrants (even before the Great Famine) arrived in the USA, they often lived in the same urban districts as Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe.

For fairly obvious reasons pork, bacon and other piggy products were unavailable in those districts, but salt beef was right there and far cheaper than any meat Irish immigrants had ever seen before.

Insist on tradition or eat what was easy to find? There'd have been contest - and do I sometimes wonder a bit if sauerkraut ever came close to replacing cabbage for the same reason.

The pre-Famine Irish palate liked sour tastes: a German (?) visitor to Ireland in the mid-1600s wrote about about what were called "the best-favoured peasantry in Europe", and mentioned that they had "seventy-several sour milks and creams*, and the sourer they be, the better they like them."

* Yogurt? Kefir? Skyr? Gosh...

Corned beef and Kraut as the immigrants' celebratory "Irish" meal for St Patrick's Day? Maybe, maybe not.

Time for "Immigrant Song" (with kittens).

*****

Corned beef got its name from the size of the salt grains with which the beef was prepared. They were usually bigger than kosher salt, like pinhead oats or even as large as grains of wheat, and their name derived originally from "corned (gun)powder", the large coarse grains used in cannon.

BTW, "corn" has been a generic English term for "grain" for centuries, and "but Europe didn't have corn" is an American mistake assuming the word refers to sweetcorn / maize, which it doesn't.

Lindsey Davis, author of the "Falco" series, had a couple of rants about it and other US-requested "corrections". As she points out, mistakes need corrected but "corn" is not a mistake, just a difference in vocabulary.

*****

In Ancient and Medieval Ireland pig would have included wild boar, the hunting of which was a suitable pastime for warriors and heroes, because Mr Boar took a very dim view of the whole proceeding and wasn't shy about showing it (see "wild boar" in my tags and learn more).

Cattle were for milk, butter, cream and little cattle; also wealth, status, and heroic displays in their theft, defence or recovery. It's no accident that THE great Irish epic is "The Cattle-Raid of Cooley" / Táin Bó Cúailnge (tawn / toyn boh cool-nyah).

Killing a cow for meat was ostentation on a level of lighting cigars with 100-, or even 500-, currency-unit notes. Once it had been cooked and eaten there'd be no more milk, butter, cream or little cattle from that source, so eating beef was showing off And Then Some.

Also, loaning a prize bull to run with someone else's heifers was a sign of great friendship or alliance, while refusing it might be an excuse for enmity or even war. IMO that's what Maeve of Connaught intended all along, picking undiplomatic envoys who would get drunk and shoot their mouths off so the loan was refused and she, insulted, would have an excuse to...

But I digress, as usual. Or again. Or still... :->

*****

For the most part, "pig" mean "domestic porker", and in later periods right up to the Famine, these animals were seldom eaten.

Instead, known as "the gentleman who pays the rent", the family pig ate kitchen scraps and rooted about for other foods, none of which the tenant had to grow or buy for them. These fattened pigs would go to market twice a year, and the money from their sale would literally pay that half-year's rent.

For wealthier (less poor?) farmers, pigs had another advantage. Calves arrived singly, lambs might be a pair, but piglets popped out by the dozen. A sow with (some of) her farrow was even commemorated on the old ha'penny coin...

What with bulls, chickens, hares, horses, hounds, pigs, salmon and stags, the pre-decimal Irish coinage is a good inspiration for some sort of fantasy currency.

But that's another post, for another day.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

Not covid specific, but good to remember: Masking and other airborne disease prevention keeps you from getting other diseases like the flu too. Covid's not the only threat to your long-term health out there.

By Felicity Nelson

A study of around 500,000 medical records suggested that severe viral infections like encephalitis and pneumonia increase the risk of neurodegenerative diseases like Parkinson's and Alzheimer's.

Researchers found 22 connections between viral infections and neurodegenerative conditions in the study of around 450,000 people.

People treated for a type of inflammation of the brain called viral encephalitis were 31 times more likely to develop Alzheimer's disease. (For every 406 viral encephalitis cases, 24 went on to develop Alzheimer's disease – around 6 percent.)

Those who were hospitalized with pneumonia after catching the flu seemed to be more susceptible to Alzheimer's disease, dementia, Parkinson's disease, and amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS).

Intestinal infections and meningitis (both often caused by a virus), as well as the varicella-zoster virus, which causes shingles, were also implicated in the development of several neurodegenerative diseases.

The impact of viral infections on the brain persisted for up to 15 years in some cases. And there were no instances where exposure to viruses was protective.

Around 80 percent of the viruses implicated in brain diseases were considered 'neurotrophic', which means they could cross the blood-brain barrier.

"Strikingly, vaccines are currently available for some of these viruses, including influenza, shingles (varicella-zoster), and pneumonia," the researchers wrote in their paper published last year.

"Although vaccines do not prevent all cases of illness, they are known to dramatically reduce hospitalization rates. This evidence suggests that vaccination may mitigate some risk of developing neurodegenerative disease."

In 2022, a study of more than 10 million people linked the Epstein-Barr virus with a 32-fold increased risk of multiple sclerosis.

"After reading [this] study, we realized that for years scientists had been searching – one-by-one – for links between an individual neurodegenerative disorder and a specific virus," said senior author Michael Nalls, a neurogeneticist at the National Institute on Aging in the US.

"That's when we decided to try a different, more data science-based approach," he said. "By using medical records, we were able to systematically search for all possible links in one shot."

First, the researchers analyzed the medical records of around 35,000 Finns with six different types of neurodegenerative diseases and compared this against a group of 310,000 controls who did not have a brain disease.

This analysis yielded 45 links between viral exposure and neurodegenerative diseases, and this was narrowed down to 22 links in a subsequent analysis of 100,000 medical records from the UK Biobank.

While this retrospective observational study cannot demonstrate a causal link, it adds to the pile of research hinting at the role of viruses in Parkinson's and Alzheimer's disease.

"Neurodegenerative disorders are a collection of diseases for which there are very few effective treatments and many risk factors," said co-author Andrew Singleton, a neurogeneticist and Alzheimer's researcher and the director of the Center for Alzheimer's and Related Dementias.

"Our results support the idea that viral infections and related inflammation in the nervous system may be common – and possibly avoidable – risk factors for these types of disorders."

This study was published in Neuron.

Study link: www.cell.com/neuron/fulltext/S0896-6273(22)01147-3?_returnURL=https%3A%2F%2Flinkinghub.elsevier.com%2Fretrieve%2Fpii%2FS0896627322011473%3Fshowall%3Dtrue

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Do you think that the fab five have their own favourite ships between Yuu and the twst boys? I somehow get the feeling that Daisy doesn’t actually have a preference, she just loves the chaos and gossip.

So I'm going to turn the Fab Five into the Sensational Six because I feel Pluto would like to add his own two cents into this:

Mickey Mouse: he just wants a break, you know? He thought that the most stress he'd get from running the club would be Pete's constant sabotage, the odd villain being up to no good, and Professor Von Drake being so irritatingly pompous. Yuu is such a sweet girl and he loves her a lot (he also really wishes Walt could have met her) - he's the founder and chairmouse of the Yuu Protection Club - but ever since she joined the club, his life has gone to both be both better and worse - yes, everyone is so much more better behaved and their solidarity in all things Yuu related is a breath of fresh air but then there's *gestures to everything*! You'd think that being almost a century old could have prepared him for one teenaged girl but he's broken out the wheel more times in a fortnight than he has in the years that club has been running. Between the petty insults, underhanded tactics and full on shouting matches that leads to destruction (and some of it coming from the heroes no less) as well as Yuu's own obliviousness regarding the situation, his fur is going to go grey - not to mention, the constant texts he'd get from Felicity and Oswald over how they want to meet their new niece (as if they haven't already kidnapped her that one day). I feel like he'd prefer a heroic character but he doesn't have anything against the villains at NRC because he knows with absolute certainty that they all do genuinely care for her. But at the end of the day, he just wants Yuu to be happy so who ever she decides would be fine by him - as long as they never hurt her :)

Minnie Mouse: okay so I'm going to say Neige. Here me out: while she is neutral on the shipping war, and is the one to reel everything in when it gets too crazy, she does have some of fondness for the boy that reminds her of her favourite Disney character. Yeah, she and Mickey say they don't play favourites but there's no doubt that they definitely hold a soft spot for the very first Disney princess/character and the main character of the first animated feature film (especially when you consider the history behind that movie and what it meant for Disney/Walt). she wouldn't want to admit it but watching Yuu's lovelife is kind of her guilty pleasure

Pluto: Probably Jack - you know, canine solidarity and all that. To be fair, I think he'd be split between being protective of Yuu and being jealous that Yuu would spend less time with him (I HC that there was a time that he was jealous of Minnie when she and Mickey would go on dates because he thought he was Mickey's number one). Would probably be conspiring with Donald to keep everyone away from her.

Goofy: He just wants her to be happy :D. No seriously, I don't want to make the 'Goofy is dumb' statement because he isn't - he's just a bit oblivious sometimes and we love him for it - but he has absolutely no idea that the shipping war is happening. He's just so happy that Maxy has a new friend and that he could look after Yuu while she works at the club ♡

Donald Duck: Absolutely Not! I get the feeling that after Goofy, Donald is the most dad-like (I haven't seen either of the Ducktales shows so I can't comment on his behaviour there) - like, I remember how sweet he was to Max during that one episode where he wanted a car and how he stood up to Goofy to tell him to stop being so overprotective. Plus, I feel like he's really distrustful of villains so the NRC boys being who they are probably won't earn any pointers from the sailor duck who isn't afraid to use his navy training.

Daisy Duck: is just absolutely loving this - there's more gossip during one night at the club than there is in a week at her salon! Like you said, she doesn't have a preference. She'll just take a seat next to Kuzco and ooh and aah at all of the tea she gets from Tinkerbell.

Thanks for the ask ♡

[a-blog-for-kat]

DRDT CAST ALPHABETICAL ASSOCIATION NUMBERS AND THEIR MEANINGS

IE; Ace (1), Arei (2), Arturo (3), ect.

DRDT SPOILERS AND KAT RAMBLING ABOUT NUMBERS BELOW!! BEWARE!!

1 - Ace is the first name alphabetically in the DRDT cast first name wise because "Ace" means number one, or to be the best at something. Ace is also the first “normal” person on the cast list website, as Teruko is first (protagonist) Xander is second (Support) Charles is third (Antagonist) but Ace is fourth without being extremely tied into the story at this point. It also can signify confidence, something Ace shows in chapter one a little but eventually it got overtaken by just anger and fear.

2 - Arei is number two in the cast, she's the ch2 victim, second person to have her sobbing session before dying (Xander didn’t cry a shocker), or maybe she'll always be second place compared to her sisters, which she has two of? If my memory serves me right (Future Kat here, it does), she’s also the second shortest of the cast after Eden, according to the new biometrics.

3 - In more religious settings, the number three can represent perfection and completeness, which for Arturo is ironic since he doesn’t even have a complete design shown, as we haven’t seen the whole him, only most of him physically (in the sense of we don’t know what his whole face looks like, only the upper part.) Three also represents problem solvers and people who are optimistic in nature and can also be childish. Not like Arturo, but maybe Felicity as she’s three to four years younger than Arturo?

4 - Funnily the first thing that popped up was “earth, wind, water, and fire” so CHARLES IS AN ELEMENT BENDER /j. On a serious note the number four can signify stability and strong foundations. Knowing a little bit into Charles’ backstory (his family spoiled him, he was quite sheltered, he doesn’t remember anything about his brother) he probably had a “stable” homelife until Elliot died, ruining that stability and basically crumbling his foundations, even leading him to gain hemophobia (the fear of blood) and necrophobia (the fear of dead bodies/corpses).

4 cont. - Another meaning to the number four is hard work, which Charles is constantly shown doing. He doesn’t half-ass anything, hell he works as hard as he can to reach his goals. He is the reason the students haven’t absolutely gotten their asses killed yet this trial since he called out Teruko’s wrong.

4 cont part 2. The number four is also a bad omen in East Asia, commonly associated with death. Now, Charles might be Latino, but someone else he's heavily associated with, Whit, is Chinese. Even in the LGI MV, Whit has tetraphobia as a word assigned to him, which is the fear of the number four, possibly hinting to either Charles' or Whits death in the near future.

5 - The number five can symbolize freedom, curiosity, and change. Let's start in order with these three examples, David doesn’t have freedom over his branding and basically his entire public persona. It’s been crafted by his manager to show to the world, the only reason he even was able to escape it was because his secret of being a “manipulator” got revealed and he just had to drop it. There's no point in keeping it up, after all. Curiosity is a bit tricky, but it could mean that he’s curious as to why people do the things they do? Why don't all of them don’t even try to understand Xander’s true intentions with why he stabbed Teruko. Change, well, his entire ideology is “people can’t change.” He believes you’re born either a good person or bad person, and that’s how you’ll stay. If you “changed” you were always a good or bad person to begin with.

5 cont. - One more thing, David’s association with stars, which have 5 points. But all stars burn out eventually, so maybe this symbolizes how David was so burnt out from keeping his public persona that it “died” and the real him is out.

6 - The number six can represent trustworthiness, lovingness, and sympathy. Eden is very trusting, that's actually her entire theme, being very trusting towards others and trying to show Teruko that trust is good. Eden is a very loving person in general, she loves others quite a lot and her secret revolves around kissing a girl, most likely with feelings involved in that. And sympathy. She's a sympathetic person in general. She's basically the glue that holds the cast together.

7 - The number seven usually signifies luck in many modern cultures. It can also signify indecisiveness, which is shown when Hu defends Nico in the class trial but is extremely condescending towards Arturo, even though they have extremely similar situations. (I am not defending either Arturo or Nico, they were both in the wrong for their situations.) It can also be associated with moodiness, which is very much shown in the last two episodes with Hu snapping multiple times.

8 - The number eight can signify being straight-talking and blunt, which we see in J quite a lot. If he doesn’t like something, he’ll state it. When Arturo’s being a creep towards him, he’s justifiably mad and has said multiple times that he wants to be left alone. When he tried to use the remote on MonoTV in episode 4 of Chapter One, he stated that, at the very least, he wanted it to die. He’s also pretty confident, I mean, look at the remote scene. He’s very clearly confident in what he can do.

9 - The number nine can signify humanitarianism and compassion, both things Levi can lack. He’s, at the end of episode 12, revealed to be a remorseless murderer who holds no guilt for his past actions. He is also shown to not know how to feel emotions like grief in situations and even consults Eden about it.

10 - The number ten can mean someone who’s ready to take a new phase in life, this could mean Min was ready to die for Teruko to take a new phase in her life, aka becoming much more untrusting and throwing her into that negative arc. It can also signify order and law, something Min might’ve studied. Also the number ten is a Pythagorean symbol, perfection. Something Min aims to become. Perfect.

11 - The number eleven can symbolize spiritual journeys which….. Unless Nico is going to have some form of spiritual journey, I don’t think this could pertain to them. But it could also be just a journey revolving around their character, becoming someone who’s not afraid to speak their word.

12 - The number twelve is associated with the heavens but can also be cosmic order and perfection, something you strive for as an artist. Being perfect. Which is also a good representative of Rose’s memory, it’s perfect, she won’t forget a detail. But that’s also her downfall, if she sees something awful it won’t leave her memory.

13 - (Has spoken about 13 in the past. Read here.)

14 - The number fourteen can signify new beginnings, a fresh start, and harmony. The last one being ironic as she usually only brings chaos and destruction. New beginnings could mean her using her talent as a new beginning or new outlet instead of hurting herself (if that really is her secret) and a fresh start could mean her starting anew in this killing game? Or even her getting a character arc in the future, though I doubt it.

15 - The number fifteen tends to be associated very sensitive and caring individuals who prioritize the well-being of others over their own. Which can be applied to Whit in a sense, he puts others feelings over others in situations, like trying to make Teruko smile by sacrificing Charles’ dignity. He’s also just a very caring person in general, as it’s shown how he comforted Charles in Chapter One (Sibling Core) or Eden in Chapter Two. Another thing could be how all luxury is in life, Whit seemed to live a relatively normal life before his mother passed, but still tries to make the best of life and make it a luxury.

16 - The number sixteen is a number associated with karma, what goes around comes around. Xander, stabbing Teruko, has done a bad thing, therefore paying with his life. It could also signify pushing others to their life purposes, Xander, after stabbing Teruko, pushed her to her “purpose” of being a cold protagonist. It can also mean a smart mind but Xander isn’t that smart to be honest-

TYSM FOR LISTENING TO MY RAMBLING <3

[hrrtshape]

INTRO TO MY 𝓓ESIRED 𝓡EALITIES.

hi, hi!! i'm emma—your resident russian-lithuanian shifter. basically a little cheerleader, motivational whisperer, and your pinterest board come to life (hopefully??).

i’m (just) a girl who loves anything brushing the sofia coppola spectrum (pastel daydreams and melancholic nights), formula 1 (speed is chic), and, of course, shifting realities. i have borderline personality disorder—i’m normal. pinky promise.

i’m an all kind of girl. i love frothy tulle dresses and dried roses just as much as i love vintage antiques and poetry scribbled in the margins of old textbooks. give me anything rococo-inspired, and i’m weak (marie antoinette vibes forever).

some of my absolute favourites? let me name-drop. the bell jar (I AM indeed sylvia plath—she is me, i am her.) the virgin suicides (the book owns my heart, but the movie’s dreamy haze is perfection). fiona apple, lana del rey, mitski, cocteau twins, kafka ('n' his letters to felice), and david lynch (his whole brain, really).

i also love, love, LOVE coffee. fully obsessed. and croissants???......i’ve been eating them every morning for the past 7 months. fun fact: i’m also a certified yapper and have read 120 books this year (yes, I’m flexing) as well as watched 413 movies (also flexing. especially because most of 'em were b&w!!!)

shifting-wise, i started my journey back in 2020 during quarantine (cue hogwarts script era), and WOW, i’m relieved some of those early drs stayed in imagination. over the years, i’ve fallen in and out of love with shifting—life and people can be discouraging, and i took some much-needed breaks. i’m back, more with an entirely new perspective on it.

✶ SHIFTING CENTRAL.

⋆  things to remember when you're doubting shifting.

⋆  things to remember when you're doubting shifting AKA diving into the concept of souls.

⋆  things to remember when you're doubting shifting AKA reaffirming your mindset.

⋆  reintroducing shifting.

⋆  things i script into every dr...

⋆  things in my cr that reminds me of my dr.

✶ FAME DR — this is my reality of being the ultimate it-girl, a globally adored, award-winning musician, actress, and model, and also nepo royalty from my director-actor father and model-actress mother. my home is a parisian apartment near the opera, where every morning feels like an editorial spread. sundays mean café hopping near the seine, flea market browsing, and smiling for fans who spot me. gliding through nyc, paris, l.a and london. oscar speeches, sold-out miu-miu-clad performances, and paparazzi-worthy airport looks. basically? life, but in cinematic slow motion <3

⋆  moments in which i knew i made it.

⋆  little, weird problems.

⋆  anti-chill day edition.

⋆  chill day edition.

⋆  introduction.

⋆  things i'm doing.

⋆ things i catch myself doing.

⋆  stuff i'm always losin' !

⋆  scandals.

⋆  what's in my bag.

⋆  imperfections in my fame dr.

⋆  things i always have on set.

⋆  day in the life... on set !

⋆  trends i started.

⋆  things i love in my little dr.

✶ SPY DR — a ballerina turned assassin, working for an underground corporation. our secret base is beneath the paris opera house—a labyrinth of rehearsal studios hiding weapon vaults and strategy rooms. by day, i perfect my pliés; by night, carry out covert missions with elegance and deadly precision. and then i proceed to fall in love with a kingsman agent (definitely not tom blyth).

✶ F1 DR — the youngest driver to ever win a world drivers' championship, racing for scuderria ferrari and making history. the talk of the paddock, celebrated for both my skills on track and my glamorous lifestyle off it. from monaco parties to italian brunches to dangerous race tracks and cussing out the cunts of the paddock.

✶ 50's DR — a golden-era hollywood actress, a starlet who oozes both sex appeal and undeniable talent. the big break came with a lead role in gloria, a sultry, critically acclaimed drama that put yours truly on the map. soon after, i captivated audiences (and stole the spotlight) in all about eve, a performance so electrifying it became the talk of the town—and every awards show.

✶ SEX AND THE CITY (SATC) DR — the modern-day carrie bradshaw, writing my “sex and the city” blog about the love lives of my fabulous NYC crew (and my own). my days are filled with cosmopolitans, late-night talks, and walk-in closets full of vintage designer treasures. and shoes. especially shoes. picture rooftop brunches, "i wonder"s, and sassy one-liners.

✶ COWBOY DR — born into aristocracy and traded gowns for cowboy boots and joined the wild west. yeehaw, pals. now i ride alongside billy the kid, sharing in his outlaw adventures while navigating life as a renegade. it’s dusty trails, stolen kisses under starlit skies, and dangerous escapes.

✶ BETTER LIFE (and if you squint, succession ish) DR — rich-girl fantasy. living in a sprawling NYC penthouse, a socialite balancing high society drama and the 'cutthroat' world of dog eat dog. oh ! and dating a modern version of coriolanus snow, a descendant of a family with far too much money. expect to see me in paris, monaco and the rooftops of the upper west side !

✶ SLIGHT VAMPIRE DIARIES DR — turned in 14th-century paris by an ancient 3000 year old vampire, i became the first heretic—half witch, half vampire. eternally powerful and tragically romantic, i fell for the very being who turned me (definitely not coriolanus snow but vampire). cue centuries of passion, blood, and supernatural politics, all with a gothic flair as we walked through life unscathed.

✶ EVER AFTER HIGH DR — as the daughter of sleeping beauty, my destiny is to sleep for 100 years. but plot twist: i’m also the secret child of willy wonka (don’t ask, just observe the red-ish curl locks). bringing an almost whimsical sweetness to my legacy, torn between embracing my fate or rewriting my story entirely. expect enchanted desserts, dreamscapes, and lots of pastel magic.

✶ AUTHOR DR — penned the bell jar, my year of rest and relaxation, the secret history, and countless other literary classics. a generational voice, shaping culture with each page. a life with whirlwinds of book tours, cozy writing retreats, and existential musings over coffee.

✶ PRINCESS DR — a princess in 18th-century versailles, my life is opulence incarnate. betrothed to the prince of great britain (NOT tom blyth.....definitely...), navigating courtly intrigue and forbidden love stories while draped in silks and diamonds. every moment feels like a scene out of marie antoinette, with champagne fountains and masked balls galore.

✶ MARVEL COMICS DR — the daughter of agatha harkness, a force to be reckoned with in the multiverse. with powers that are unparalleled, thanks to a curse from the one-above-all.

✶ MARAUDERS DR — circa 1976, a pureblood gryffindor at hogwarts, cousin to james potter. a fox animagus and a seeker for the gryffindor quidditch team. also, most definitely, nr 1 apologist for history of magic.

[lilac-witch]

Felicity - Rhysand x Reader

masterlist

Summary: Rhysand has recently returned from Under The Mountain and Y/n takes in how the family is whole once again. Meaning: "a state of happiness" Word Count: 500 Warnings: Strong language

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What better way to celebrate her mate's return, than with a family dinner. All of them together again in one room, after fifty years in a broken home.

It was them: Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Amren and Rhys, who now shared the dining room table with her, just like it was before Amarantha. Before it all went to shit.

Y/n was brought back to the present by Rhysand, who squeezed her thigh gently. He didn't need to delve into her mind to know what she was thinking. They'd been together for almost a century. He knew her like the back of his hand.

"Are you alright, darling?"

The question brought tears to Y/n's eyes. Here was a male, her male, her mate, who had undergone a torture none of them would ever truly understand, asking whether she was alright.

Choking down her tears, Y/n forced a smile onto her face.

"Everything is fine, now that you're home."

------------

As a matter of fact, everything was not fine.

The dinner had come and gone, the festivities of Rhys' return extending long into the night. But now, the sun had long retreated, and the moon shone high in the sky, illuminating the contents of their bedroom.

However, Y/n was not asleep. On the contrary, she lay awake, staring at the face of her mate. Afraid that if she closed her eyes, even for just a second, he would disappear.

Y/n turned to lie on her back, eyes deadset on the ceiling above, her mind whirling through everything that Rhysand had told her upon his return. Everything he had to endure, everything Amarantha forced upon him.

"Darling, you're crying."

She hadn't realised that Rhys was now awake, or that tears had been streaming down her face.

Rhys shuffled closer, wrapping her up tightly in his arms.

"It wasn't your fault, darling. I made my choice," he said, pressing soft kisses to her forehead in an attempt to calm her shaken state.

Y/n sniffled, moving impossibly closer to his warm body.

"How did you endure it? How did you endure it all for so long?"

Rhysand brought a hand up and began stroking her hair, his touch as light as a feather.

"I would imagine it was you. Your face, your body, your voice. I imagined what it would've been like if we had never been separated. I saw us, sitting under that old orange tree, watching children, our children, run through the fields."

"That sounds beautiful," she said, a soft smile replacing the frown that had previously occupied her face.

"It was a dream. It brought me so much happiness. To know that when it was all over, I would be able to return to you, to our family, and live out that dream," he said, violet-blue eyes meeting hers.

Y/n placed her palm on his cheek and ran her thumb over his golden skin.

"I'm so happy you're home, Rhys."

"So am I, darling. So am I."

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I wrote this yesterday, but I wanted to keep it to post for today, just so that the content is somewhat regular. Remember, I'm taking requests, so pop one in the Letter Box!