#-directly earlier in element

[seishun-emergency]

violence maiming killing biting etc

[000marie198]

When you have a very strong one-sided grudge against a specific videogame franchise both your brothers are big fans of because it won't stop copying everything from different folklores and cultures and mythologies and history and stories of specific places

[poguelandiarafe]

red carpet reveal | drew starkey

pairing - drew starkey x gf!reader

warnings - none

summary - drew brings you to the outer banks season four premiere even though you're relationship is still under wraps. well, until it isn't thanks to a pushy reporter.

--------

the 'outer banks' premiere is in full swing and you're so grateful you get to experience it with drew for the first time. you're buzzing with excitement, the flashing of cameras and excited fans screaming as the cast makes their way onto the red carpet feels surreal.

"you doing okay?" drew asks, gently squeezing your hand.

you nod, looking up at him with a smile, "more than. go shine you superstar."

he chuckles and his hand gives you another comforting squeeze before letting it go and opting to rest it on your back. the way he looks in that suit, flashing his signature smile to the cameras, makes you wonder how the hell you even let him out of the hotel room.

as drew is ushered into many different interviews, you keep to yourself, staying mostly in the background and out of shot. you don't mind this, always having preferred to watch him in his element. he talks with so much passion and excitement that you could, and do, listen to him for hours on end.

the night seems to be going perfectly until it's not. the problem? a leggy blonde who's seemed to make it her life's mission to interview your boyfriend. you claim to not be the jealous type, but you can already tell the type of questions she's going to ask by the way she stalks over to him, eyes not so subtly looking him up and down with an exaggerated smile on her face.

"so, drew," she begins, her voice already annoying you, "you're looking very handsome tonight. outer banks season four! what's it like to still be playing the hottest character on the show? you are literally the internet's boyfriend right now."

he's here with you, don't let it get to you are the words that keep repeating in your head as drew politely answers the question, but you know she's attempting to flirt with him.

"what does your family think of the show? i'm assuming they're very proud," her eyes briefly flicker over to you and she turns her attention to you, "you must be such a proud sister, right?"

you scoff, not only at the question but at the condescending way she's talking to you, like you're a child.

"uh... she's not my sister actually." drew chuckles awkwardly, his free hand coming up to scratch at his neck.

her eyebrows raise in surprise before her shrill voice cuts through the air, "oh sorry! well, it's so thoughtful of you to bring your friend to the event."

yes, you've both agreed to not directly make your relationship public, but god did you want to set the record straight. the way her hand kept grabbing his arm throughout the whole interview is making your blood boil.

before you can say anything, the interview continues and she pays you no more attention. drew's patience for this is wearing thin, but he's determined to remain professional, not wanting to go viral for lashing out at someone for doing their job.

"coming back to my earlier point about being the internet's boyfriend, how's the love life? tell us, do you have your own sofia yet or are you still available?" the interviewer asks, playful flirtation coating the words as they leave her lips.

drew's arm unloops from yours and slides around your waist to pull you slightly closer to him. he's not trying to out your relationship, just reminding you he's there.

his eyes narrow slightly in annoyance at the question, "i... uh, well it's my personal life. wanna keep it personal."

"come on, not even an inkling of an answer?" she insists.

you've had enough of this woman and, quite frankly, drew has to. he's ready to walk off but you don't let him, instead moving to face him with your back to her.

"what are you doing?" drew leans down, whispering in your ear.

before you let yourself overthink what you're doing, you grab the back of his head and pull him into a kiss. everyone around you is in shock. cameras are all turning toward the two of you, and the fans are screaming even louder now. the kiss isn't a subtle peck or quick goodbye kiss. no, it's a kiss that is telling the world he's yours and no amount of bad flirting will take him away from you.

when you pull back, your cheeks are flushed and drew has a stunned smile on his face. your eyes suddenly widen as the realisation hits you like a train of what you just did, and he can tell that a million thoughts are going through your head.

"hey, stop overthinking it. i'm glad you did it," he starts before whispering, "meant she finally shut up and stopped trying to flirt with me."

relief washes over you and your tense shoulders drop as you let yourself relax. you don't even want to think about the social media reaction right now.

"umm," the interviewer clears her throat, "i guess that answers the question."

you grab drew's hand before looking back at the woman, "i think we're done here."

[ayakashibackstreet]

Working your ass off on your thesis for like 3 hours, only to realise that the work you were doing, while useful, also didn't exactly contribute to your word count.......

[zvaigzdelasas]

Speaking to reporters, Netanyahu insisted that there was no alternative to “complete victory” over Hamas in Gaza.

Netanyahu’s hawkish response came hours after he met with US Secretary of State Antony Blinken[...] Blinken said later that there was still a path to a deal.

The Hamas proposal envisaged a three-stage process over four-and-a-half months, during which Israeli troops would gradually withdraw from the enclave, hostages would be released and Palestinian prisoners in Israel would be freed, according to a copy of the group’s counteroffer obtained by CNN.[...]

Israel’s aim was “complete victory” in Gaza, Netanyahu said. “The victory is achievable; it’s not a matter of years or decades, it’s a matter of months.”

In a late-night press conference in Tel Aviv, Blinken suggested negotiations could still move forward, saying he believed Netanyahu’s “delusional” remark referred to specific elements of the Hamas proposals that were unacceptable.[...]

Hamas had proposed a three-phase deal, each lasting 45 days, that would also see the gradual release of hostages held in the enclave in exchange for Palestinian prisoners in Israel – including those serving life sentences – as well as the start of a massive humanitarian and rebuilding effort.

Contrary to earlier demands, Hamas did not call for an immediate end to the war. Negotiations for a permanent ceasefire would take place during the truce and the remaining hostages would only be released once a final deal to end the war was agreed, the document said.[...]

Netanyahu has pledged not to stop the campaign until Israel destroys Hamas once and for all.[...]

The Israeli former hostage Adina Moshe criticized Netanyahu, saying there “won’t be any hostages to release” if his government continued its plan to completely eliminate Hamas.[...]

The Hostages and Missing Families Forum Headquarters also delivered a message directly to Netanyahu and the Israeli War Cabinet in a press release on Wednesday. “If the hostages are not returned home: the citizens of Israel should know they live in a state that is not committed to their security, that the mutual responsibility in it has died,” the families forum said. “They who do not protect their citizens will find that their citizens lose faith in them and their leadership.”

7 Feb 24

[ovaryacted]

Rookie Mistakes

Pairing: RE2!Leon x Sergeant fem!Reader

Summary: When Leon seems distracted and makes a mistake during a call, you ensure your rookie gets his head together as his sergeant.

Content/Warnings: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Porn with plot. Dom/sub elements. Femdom/msub. Praise kink. Slight degradation. Needy/subby Leon. Oral sex. Fingering. Handjob. Office Sex. Slight age gap (reader is older at around 25, Leon is 21).

WC: 4.7k

Notes: Finally this is out. I know I know, I'm a liar! But, I had fun with this one, so I hope you like it. Shoutout to the babe @cinnarette for beta reading this and giving me her approval lolz. Anyways, reblogs & comments are always appreciated!

Leon had always been one to find the good in a shitty situation. Someone with a warm heart that matched the moral compass he developed despite the constant bullshit he experienced daily.

From his hectic childhood to his experiences in the police academy, he had to overcome many trials and tribulations on his own with nobody in his corner. All of those struggles to get the pure sense of relief once he felt his diploma in his hand made all the stress worth it.

When he first arrived at the R.P.D., he didn’t know what to expect. The anxiety of starting fresh in a new city with a new career clouded his mind with a paranoia he seemed to carry in his youth. Walking into the police department he’d call his new home, Leon was fairly surprised to be greeted with a welcome party.

Balloons and confetti filled the common room as he moved around the crowd, bombarded with introductions and greetings as he tried to memorize the names that were thrown his way. Still, the small games and blue cake he indulged in brought a smile to his face, topped off with the polka-dotted party hat he was forced to wear and the words Welcome Leon hung up on the ceiling for him to see.

What Leon didn’t expect was to be assigned to your personal detail the next day. A police sergeant on the force, a bit older, no more than 25 he first assumed, more refined and seasoned with one hell of a glare. First impressions? He was terrified, nervous as hell to fuck anything up seeing how you ran a tight ship, taking your job too seriously for comfort. Of course, you had to. You were working in a male-dominated field, forcing yourself into a mold so you could be taken seriously by those around you.

He took his hand out when being introduced to you, unstable grip and a nervous smile to match as he looked directly into your intimidating gaze. You shook his hand firmly, the strength of your grasp parallel with the small grin you offered him almost made a shiver roll down his spine.

“So you’re the new rookie huh? Well, it’s nice to see a fresh face in here. We have some serious work to do. Let’s get started.”

-

You were particular about how you wanted things done, very precise in your words and your delivery. A harsh leader, one who easily reprimanded the other rookie officers but was particularly picky with Leon. In a way, he started to feel like you were targeting him, pressuring him so he would crack and leave the force. He knew he couldn’t leave, that this was the career path he chose, and he was too anxious to say anything so he’d let it slide.

You didn’t let up on his training either, always making sure your rookie was on top of what was expected of him. The slight fear Leon had when first meeting you quickly turned into admiration. His stress-induced feelings morphed into respect, now wanting to learn everything you had to show him.

That was when it started. Leon now tried any little thing to get in your good graces, to see even the slightest sign of a smile or to hear you laugh. He started coming to work earlier to help with the case filings you had piled on your desk, organizing them the way you taught him whenever you assigned him grunt work. He wanted you to take a breather and start your day with a clear head, maybe even enjoy your coffee for a bit longer.

When you saw how tidy your work environment was, you went up to Leon who you saw was typing away at his desk diligently. His head lifted up to look at you, blue eyes glancing over your face to read your expression.

“Morning. By any chance, did you fix all the files on my desk?”, you asked curiously, making the blonde rub the back of his neck shyly.

“Yeah, I did. Wanted to help you out a bit and give you an early start to the day” he responded, silently hoping you wouldn’t be upset at him for entering your workspace. Instead, he was met with your look of genuine surprise, followed by a twinkle of gratitude.

“Thank you for that, I appreciate it. Keep up the good work Leon”, you praised him, offering a small smile, one that he made sure to burn into his memory.

“Yes ma’am”, his face was practically beaming at your words as he watched you walk back towards your office, trying to hide the sudden warmth flooding his cheeks.

Your words kept repeating in his head nonstop throughout the entire day. Not only did you acknowledge him in a positive light, you also addressed him by name, which was rare. He was more present at work, his posture straighter, and more eager to help. From that point on, he made it his mission to make sure his sergeant was stress-free, doing anything to see you smile at him again.

Working with Leon, you quickly learned that he was perceptive. A smart cookie, and probably the smartest one out of the current bunch of recruits. Despite the tough love you gave him, especially because he was your professional responsibility, he was the only one truly receptive to your teachings. Like a sponge, he took in everything you gave with a certain wonder you hadn’t seen in anyone else. It was cute really, how he was so ambitious and doing his best to get your approval.

What you liked the most about working with Leon was how he addressed you. He took your authority seriously, seeing someone in charge instead of your appearance. He didn’t say your name, not your first or last out of respect, but rather he always addressed you as Ma’am. You never had someone say that to you directly, thinking it makes you sound older than you actually are. But with the way his eyes warmed up when he’d say it with full confidence, you didn’t have it in you to tell him to stop.

-

Over the next few weeks, Leon became part of your daily routine, integral to the start of your day. He’d walk in a few minutes early as expected, with two coffee cups in his hands as he waited for you outside your office. Spotting the top of your head coming from speaking to the chief, you were heading his way. You had the same soft smile reserved just for him, one that he always looked forward to seeing when you worked together.

“Got you your usual”, he offered one of the cups to you, your fingers lightly grazing his when taking the warm concoction into your hand.

“Extra caramel?”

“With oat milk, vanilla and cinnamon. I triple checked”, he said enthusiastically, observing you as you sipped the drink. A soft hum escaped you while you closed your eyes in satisfaction.

“You know how to spoil me”, you gave him a wider smile now, seeing how his cheeks blushed the slightest bit at your expression. His reaction made you chuckle, a sound he’s come to enjoy the more time you two spent together. 

“Now come on, we need to work on this case before we patrol at 12. The chief’s on my ass again so let’s get this over with before lunch yeah?”, and without fail, he’d give you the same ending response every time.

“Yes ma’am”

The more you invested in Leon’s skills, the more you realized small things about him that were fairly telling. You weren’t stupid. Anyone with a brain could see that the respect and admiration he had for you was turning into something else entirely. You could tell with every passing moment you had with him, noticing how the tension between the two of you would get thicker after every interaction. You didn’t comment on it. Instead, you enjoyed toying with him, a part of your ego feeding off on how he’d say yes ma’am in such a way that would make you want to hear it more often.

The faint touches between the two of you got more frequent. Your fingers would brush his during the exchange of files, you saw how he’d always be within a hair’s distance when standing near you. Moments spent training in the shooting range were where the intimacy seemed to skyrocket, putting your hands on Leon’s arms to keep his form up as he shot towards his target.

You didn’t need to do that. Leon was a good shot, accurate too. But you enjoyed the way he released a shaky breath whenever you were close to him or touched him, how the tips of his ears reddened when you praised him for hitting the bullseye.

In one certain instance when the R.P.D. was extra busy, you were being hammered with files and administrative work. The coffee sitting on your desk was no longer doing its job of waking you up, and the constant bombardment of having to organize new information was starting to make your head pulse. You stood up from your seat to give your back a break, bending backward until you felt a satisfying crack in your spine. Hearing a knock at your door that brought your attention, you noticed Leon on the opposite end.

“Hey, my bad if I caught you at a bad time. The investigators wanted to review those files on that drug bust we did yesterday, something about missing information”

“Oh yeah yeah, it’s right behind me. Hell, I don’t even know where I put it”, you turned to face the mess behind you, lamenting at the stack of files you have yet to sort through today.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll look for it. You stay focused on what you’re doing”

Just like that, Leon came over behind you, going through the files while you stayed reading over the papers in your hand. The both of you made quick conversation, commenting on how busy it became. The increase of instances flooding the department only added more to your workload. Leon kept digging through the pile, turning his body to go to the other side of you.

In the process, he put a hand on your hip and muttered an apology, slightly making you jump and walking behind you to go to your left side. You tried to pay no mind to the gentle touch, going back to refocusing on the case at hand. He found the document folders he needed, suddenly too close to your body when the second he turned, you moved backward into him. Leon’s hips pressed against your rear, his hands reaching toward your hips instinctively despite the hitch in his breath at the contact.

“S-shit, I’m sorry…”, he mumbled, cheeks flushed red as he walked out of your office. You didn’t get a word in, but his reaction was enough to tell you about what you already knew.

The ghost of his touch filled your mind for the rest of the day, and it was worse for Leon. He tried so hard not to think about it. Not to fantasize about how your hips would feel bouncing against his with force, what you’d sound like when you’re aroused. It was practically impossible for him. His imagination went haywire the second he got home, jerking himself off to relieve the hard-on he’s been managing since earlier this afternoon.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head. He thought about how you’d praise him, call him a good boy for making you feel good. Deep down, he wondered if you were equally as authoritative in the bedroom as you were outside of it. As he released all over his hands with a whine, he sighed to himself, fully aware that he had reached the point of no return with his own thoughts about you. 

-

It was a Tuesday afternoon when both of you were assigned to handle two suspects committing a robbery. Called to the scene, you trailed them down to a nearby commercial street. They were careless too, throwing their guns halfway into the chase and the items they stole slipping from their grasp onto the concrete floor. Catching them felt easy, handcuffing one to the ground and throwing him to the backseat of your cop car. Leon seemed to be distracted, with what you didn’t know. When the second thief seemed to slip from his grasp and started to make a run for it, you knew he needed to get his act together.

“Get your head out of your ass Kennedy! Before I put my foot up there instead. Now move!”, you ordered him to get back into the patrol car. Turning on the police siren, you drove to track down the next suspect and apprehended them with quickness.

The drive to the station was quiet besides the two handcuffed men grumbling behind you. Leon kept his mouth shut, refusing to look your way, and focused on listening to the chatter on the radio. He knew you were pissed, and he didn’t know what had gotten into him today but he couldn’t focus for the life of him. The nagging voice in the back of his mind was telling him to be prepared for the worst, because he fucked up, and worse yet, he fucked up with you.

After bringing the two robbers down to the precinct, you couldn’t erase the irritation from your face. You couldn’t even look at Leon, upset that someone like him after so much training made such a rookie mistake. You only offered a glare, knowing for a fact you’d have to talk to him later on when your temper wasn’t so flared up. For now, you made Leon sit at his desk to do filing work, deciding not to berate him in front of the other officers and saving him the embarrassment.

Knowing you were giving him the silent treatment, he avoided you for the rest of the day, staying late at the R.P.D. in hopes of being able to talk to you. Leon drummed his fingers on his desk absentmindedly, until you came up behind him and got his attention.

“Kennedy, to my office. Now”, your tone of voice was harsh, making the hairs on Leon’s neck rise as he got up to follow you back to your workspace.

You locked the door once the both of you were inside, leaning back against your desk with your tactical belt off so your hips pressed against the wooden edge. Arms crossed over your chest, your head raised at the cop before you, watching his feet anxiously moving as he looked at the floor with slight shame.

“I want to know what happened out there. You messed up, and that’s not like you. You don’t make rookie mistakes anymore, we’re passed that”, you started to speak. Leon’s gaze was pinned on you, trying to hide his humiliation but it was clear as day.

“I know. I know I fucked up, it was a stupid mistake. I’m sorry”

“Yeah, it was. I didn’t invest all this time in training you personally for you to let things like this slip. You’re better than this, you know that”, your tone changed from irritation to concern, trying to get him to see the bigger picture.

“You’re my responsibility, Leon. I’m this harsh and this strict for a reason, and it’s because I care. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a shit what happened to you, but I do. This reflects back on me, so just get your head together alright?”, you saw how his brows furrowed a bit in slight confusion at your confession.

You cared about him.

“Yes ma'am. It won’t happen again, I really am sorry”, his hands started to fumble with his tactical belt.

“I know you are, but sorry’s not gonna cut it. I can’t have you distracted like this. Not on my watch”, you said, now walking from the desk until you stood in front of him. He didn’t move a muscle, not knowing what else to do besides stand there.

“If you’re really sorry you’re going to have to prove it. You’re not getting off that easy. You got that rookie?”, your eyes held that intimidating stare that made Leon tense, you could practically hear him gulp. 

“I-I understand ma’am. Whatever it takes I’ll do it.”, he was still oblivious, having no idea what he just got himself into but he wasn’t complaining, not when you were this close to him. Your hand went up towards his belt, a singular finger curving into one of the loops to yank his body forward. Now standing chest to chest he shivered at the close contact, holding his breath and waiting for your next words.

“You’re gonna use your pretty mouth to prove that you won’t mess up like that again. Maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll think about being nice and rewarding you. That okay?”, your words were laced with pure temptation, making Leon nod, too scared to speak up. He didn’t know what to expect, but lord if he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t enjoying it. 

“Use your words baby”

“Yeah, f-fuck it’s okay”, he was shaking in front of you, a blush on his cheeks so intense you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin.

“Can I kiss you?”, you tilted your head up towards him, his warm breath against your lips as the ends of your noses touched.

“Please do…”

You didn’t waste another second, lips colliding against his as Leon finally released the breath he was holding. He let you take control, his mind turning to complete mush at just the feel of your mouth against his. Tongues dancing together, you ran your fingers through his hair, his own hands going to paw at your hips. He released needy faint moans, holding on to you as if you were going to leave him any second now. When you pulled away from him and bit his bottom lip he whimpered, a sound you didn’t expect him to make. You fucking loved it.

You walked backward while he followed you on jittery legs. With your back now pressed against the desk again, Leon’s face dug into your neck, leaving a path of kisses in a way that made you chuckle. His hands were everywhere, overwhelmed with what to do or where to touch. You brought your fingers into his hair again, giving him a soft yank as he groaned out from the action. Pupils already dilated, you eyed him closely, how he seemed so far gone when you haven’t even started.

“You want to be good for me Leon?”, your voice was soft, almost patronizing and it only made Leon’s dick pulse in his pants.

“Yes, I wanna be good for you. Don’t want you mad at me”, Leon pouted, and you fought the urge to kiss him again.

“Then get on your knees and start working on your apology”, you commanded, watching how he bit his lip and nodded.

“Yes ma’am”, he was already shifting down to the ground, diligent fingers on the button of your cargos and undoing them, while you threw your shoes off.

Pulling the zipper down, he started to drag the fabric to your knees until it hit your ankles, pants discarded to the side and leaving you in your panties. Sitting on top of the desk, his eyes looked up at yours, coming face to face with where you wanted him most.

His large hands moved from your shin to your knee, then towards your thigh and hip to hook his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, noting the wet patch that was already staining the cotton material. He dragged them down with ease until they hung at your ankle, lifting one of your thighs onto his shoulders to admire all of you with a soft moan.

“Can I taste you? Please?”, he mumbled against your thigh with a soft kiss. He was already playing the part so well, offering him a smirk as you drank in the way he begged you for more. You didn’t even have you train him.

“Yeah baby, you can”

Without hesitation, his mouth made contact with your body, the taste of your wetness filling his tongue and making his chest rumble. It was better than he imagined, moving his tongue up and down against your slit to collect the developing slick. You released a low hum from your lips, already pent up from the stress of your job and your day, now having your favorite rookie tending to you on your orders.

Leon was anything if not keen, tongue lavishing against your throbbing clit and his lips circling around it as he began to suck. You threw your head back at that, hand holding his head in place and hips moving towards him shamelessly. He was grunting under his breath, growing obsessed with the way your body twitched anytime he touched you just right. 

“You’re doing so good Leon, so damn good for me”, you praised him again, feeling the sounds he’d release when you did talk to him. It was debauched, how his senses were filled with just you with no end in sight.

This was how you wanted to see him. On his knees and eager to please.

His attention went back to your opening, feeling it flex around nothing with every flick he gave you. Inserting his tongue into your cunt, your hips arched towards him again, moaning louder than you anticipated.

You were silently thankful your office was a bit farther away from the rest of the department, and being it was later at night, you didn’t have to hide much of anything. You moved Leon’s face closer to your body with a pull of his head, clit pressed against his nose as he sucked at your essence greedily, taking in everything he could get. 

A warmth started to develop in your gut, pleasure like liquid fire making your body twitch. The high you so desperately craved was in near sight, grinding yourself against Leon’s face and using him to get off. He didn’t object, moving his mouth to suck at your clit again, two fingers teasing your entrance before inserting them inside. You cursed under your breath, the dual sensation of Leon’s fingers curling against your g-spot and his consistent sucking brought you closer to your much-needed climax.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum”, you could almost taste your release right at the edge of your tongue, could imagine the way it would feel to finally let go.

You looked down to watch Leon at work, how he’d pump his fingers at just the right pace, how his eyes grew hazy with pleasure when they looked up at you.

With one soft nip at your clit your release hit you full force, a small squeal leaving your lips as your gummy walls clenched around his fingers. Your grip on the desk and his hair were both tight, knuckles turned white as stars filled your vision. Leon kept moving his fingers and mouth the whole way through your orgasm, groaning loudly against you and refusing to stop. He couldn’t get enough of you or your taste, forcing you to pull his head away before the overstimulation made it too much to handle.

The both of you were panting, eyes widening when Leon pulled his digits away and inserted them into his mouth to lick off what remained of you. You pulled him up towards his feet, dragging him down to kiss you again and chasing your own taste that flooded his tongue. If you weren’t on a time crunch, you would’ve gladly let him go down on you again.

“Did I do good ma'am? Do you feel good?”, Leon asked, thumbs rubbing your trembling thighs as you came down from your high, flushed face waiting for your approval.

“Yes, you were so fucking good for me. You ate my pussy so well”, your words made him smile then, a dopey lopsided grin that seemed to ease his doubts from earlier.

“I think you deserve a little reward now. You want some help with that pretty boy?”, your eyes gestured to the tent in Leon’s pants, looking up at him from your long lashes.

“God, please touch me”, he begged then, blue eyes engulfed in pure lust.

You didn’t want to tease him any longer, undoing his pants and slipping your hand inside. With a gasp he felt your fingers wrapping around his cock that pulsated with need, knowing it wouldn’t take him long to cum either. He had been on the edge for too long, imagining you like this for what seemed like months. You pumped him, twisting your wrist and pressing your thumb against his slit, feeling the precum that was already making a mess in his briefs. 

“You get hard when you have your superior’s pussy in your face huh? You like being used like that baby?”

“Y-yes, yes I do. God I fucking love it”, he nodded dumbly. “Love the way you taste, the way you feel…”, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, mind so blurred with just you that he was losing track of time and himself.

You smirked, kissing his neck and pressing your lips against the mole on his throat. Leon swallowed, hands pressing into your thighs for stability but he was so close to losing it. He thrusts his hips up into your hand, chasing his own high and you gladly let him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and biting at the lobe. The sounds Leon released were downright pornographic, whines and lewd wet sounds filling your office. 

“S-shit I’m gonna cum. Can I cum? Please ma'am, I’m so close”, he begged again, his cock throbbing and hot in your hand as he spoke. He bucked his hips more into your squeezing fingers, your pace picking up as you jerked him off more persistently. He felt like he could barely breathe, the prickly feeling in his lower spine getting more prominent the closer he got to his orgasm.

“Be a good boy and cum for me Leon. I want to see you cum baby”, it was your final order, and those words alone were his undoing.

His body shook above you when he fell over the edge, his lower stomach flexing hard as he came all over your fingers. He cursed and whimpered, an array of thank yous were said against your neck, hands pressed into your thighs hard enough to bruise your skin. His cum dribbled out of him as his body jerked, still pumping him to the point of sensitivity. He clutched your wrist to signal you to stop, half-lidded eyes looking at yours that filled with mischief.

You took your hand off of him and licked the remaining fluids, purring at the taste of him filling your mouth. Leon bit his lip when watching you, already starting to feel his dick twitch again for more.

He leaned down towards you, kissing you hard and chasing his taste, just like how you did with him. The eroticness of it all overwhelmed him, rasping against you as you pulled away. You looked over his face, cheeks flushed pink and lips plump from their usage. You burn that image into your mind, saving it for later when it would be more helpful. 

“No more distractions or mistakes from here on out Leon. You come to me if you need to clear your head. Understood?”, he released a dry chuckle, placing another kiss against your lips, much softer than before. The intimacy made your chest warm, your smile matching his own.

“Yes ma’am”

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[evertomorrowart]

Best of YouTube 2023

Yes, I did spend the first week and change of January on this. I wish I could have had it done for New Years, but too many people came out with incredible work in December, so waiting turned out for the best.

What these creators do are a huge influence on my life, I would honestly have difficulty doing what I do without them. That isn't to say that my favorites of the year are *only* on this image--It was almost impossible to narrow down my favorites. Many creators I wanted to include couldn't fit on a single page, and too many of them made more than one video I wished I could draw too!

But, to all of you, thank you for what you do. You're an inspiration.

For those who don't know, further is an explanation.

At the bottom center is an artistic masterpiece by Defunctland: "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History." Over the last several years, Defunctland has risen from delightfully-entertaining commentary on decommissioned theme park attractions to occasionally dropping profound statements on the creation of art itself. "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History" is worth treating like the cinematic experience it is: No second screen, you sit your ass down in front of a TV, set down the phone, and then you *watch it.* Any Disney, theme park, or independent film fan needs to pay attention to this one.

Bottom left is Caelan Conrad with their piece "Drop the T - The Deadly Consequences of Gay Respectability Politics." While I do think they've done more visually or artistically-daring pieces before, "Drop the T" is one of the most important videos released on YouTube in today's current climate of hate. We as queer folk (and our allies) need to understand how integral every identity of the queer experience has been since the start of the Civil Rights movement (and before!). While we are not identical, we *are* inseparable, and we deserve having our real history easily accessible.

TERFs and other conservative mouthpieces need not reply. Your opinions are trash. 😘

I cannot stop watching and rewatching this video by @patricia-taxxon, "On the Ethics of Boinking Animal People." It's not just a defense of furry fandom and its eccentricities, it's a thoughtful and passionate analysis of what the artform achieves that purely human representation can't. Patricia goes outside of her usual essay format to directly speak to the viewer about the elements that define furry media (the most succinct definition I've ever heard) and just how *human* an act loving animal cartoons really is.

As an artist who can draw furry characters, but never really got into erotic furry art, this video is a treasure. Why did I choose to have her drawn as a Ghibli character, hanging out with one of the tanukis from "Pom Poko?" Guess you'll have to watch, bruh.

Philosophy Tube continuously puts out videos that I would put on this list--I'm not even sure that "A Man Plagiarised my Work: Women, Money, and the Nation" is the best work she released in 2023. However, this video got many conversations going between myself and my partner, and the twist on the tail end of the video shocked us both to such a degree that I had no choice.

At the very tail end of the year, Big Joel released "Fear of Death." On his Little Joel channel, he described it as the singularly best video he's ever done, and I'm inclined to agree. However, for this illustration, I ended up repeatedly going back to a mini-series he did earlier in the year: "Three Stories at the End of the World." All three videos are deeply moving and haunting, and I was brought to tears by "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot." While it may be relatively-common knowledge that the original Gojira (Godzilla) film is horror grappling with the devastation America's rush to atomic dominance inflicted on Japan, Big Joel still manages to bring new words to the discussion. Please watch all three of the videos, but if, for some reason, you must have only one, let it be "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot."

Y'all. Let me confess something. I hate football. I hate watching it, I associate seeing it from the stadiums with some of my worst childhood experiences, I despise collegiate and professional football (as institutions that destroy bodies and offer up children at the feet of its alter as a pillar of American culture)--

I. L o a t h e. Football.

But.

F.D. Signifier could get me to watch an entire hour-plus essay on why I should at least give a passing care. AND HE DID IT. I might think "F*ck the Police," the two-parter on Black conservatism, or his essay on Black men's connection to anime might be "better" videos, but this writer did the impossible and held my limited attention span towards football long enough to make a sincere case for NFL players--and reminds us that millionaires can *in fact* be workers. That alone is testament to his skill.

Sit down and watch "The REAL Reason NFL Running Backs Aren't Getting Paid." Any good anti-capitalist owes it to themselves.

CJ the X continuously puts out stunning, emotional videos, and can do it with the most seemingly-inconsequential starting points. A 30 second song? An incestuous commercial? Five minutes of Tangled? Sure, why not. Go destroy yourself emotionally by watching them. I'm serious. Do it.

Their video Stranger Things and the Meaning of Life manages to to remind us all why the way we react to media does, in fact, matter. Yes, even nostalgia-driven, mass-media schlock. Yes, how we interact with media matters, what it says about us matters, and we all deserve to seek out the whys.

Folding Ideas has spent the last few years articulating exactly why so much of our modern world feels broken, and because of that his voice continuously lives rent-free in my brain. While the tricks that scam artists and grifters use to try to swindle us are never new, the advancement of technology changes the aesthetics of their performances. Portions of Folding Ideas' explanations might seem dry when going into detail of how stocks work in This is Financial Advice, but every bit of it is necessary to peel back the layers of techno-babble and jargon and make sense of the results of "Meme Stocks."

Jessie Gender puts out nothing but bangers, her absolute unit of a video about Star Wars might be my new favorite thing ever, but none of her work hit so profoundly in 2023 than the two-parter "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'" and "The Trauma of Masculinity." There's so much about modern life that isolates and traumatizes us, and so much of it is just shrugged off as "normal." We owe it to ourselves to see the world in more vivid a color palette than we're initially given.

Panels drawn after Kate Beaton and "Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands."

"This is Not a Video Essay" is one of the most intense and beautiful pieces of art I've ever put into my eyeballs. Why do we create? What drives us to connect?

I don't even know what else to say about the Leftist Cooks' work, it repeatedly transcends the medium and platform. Watch every single one of their videos, but especially this one.

The likelihood you are terminally online and yet haven't heard of Hbomberguy's yearly forrays into destroying the careers of awful people is pretty slim. Just because it has millions of views doesn't mean that Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" isn't worth the hype. Too long? Shut up, it has chapters and YouTube holds your place, anyway. You think a deep dive into a handful of creators is only meaningless drama? Well, you're wrong, you wrong-opinion-haver. Plagiarism is an *everyone* problem because of the actual harm it creates--the history it erases, the labor it devalues, the art it marginalizes--which you would know if you watched "Plagiarism and You(Tube)".

Watch. The damn. Video.

In fact, watch all of them!

Thanks for reading this if you did.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

I harp a lot on how I don't think the current episodic release structure for Arknights does it many favors in how it wants to tell its stories, and how it's story manifests for us, but there are some benefits to this type of long form structure, and it's moments that get better with hindsight. It's not impossible to do this in a more contained medium, as this is often a staple of the mystery genre of literature and film, but it is uncommonly employed in video games to great effect, with their contained stories often being played much more straight.

One of the benefits of releasing longer-form content is the ability to both make callbacks and to give additional details that change the meaning in earlier scenes. The most famous in Arknights, at least for me, is the scene in Wei's office in Chapter 2.

In it's original context, this is Wei Yenwu being aloof to the threat of Reunion, not even bothering to properly remember their leader's name. Once you learn though that Talulah is not just Reunion's leader but Wei Yenwu's niece, and suddenly the scene has new context. This is the scene I point to when I want to talk about how much of a slimeball Wei Yenwu is at this point in the story. This isn't him being aloof, this is Wei deliberately holding back information in order to manipulate for himself a better position. By not revealing his stakes, he wants to hold more power at the negotiation tables with Rhodes Island for Lungmen.

Of course he knows the name of the leader of Reunion, how could he not? How could he not remember letting Kaschey go and take her away, prioritizing Lungmen over the safety of his dead brother's daughter? But he's not going to show that to Rhodes Island, a bunch of strangers he intends to use in poor faith.

Now let's talk about a conversation in Chapter 10 you likely haven't thought about in quite some time!

That's right! We're here to talk about Nezzsalem's confrontation with Kal'tsit when she docks with Londinium. This is a really interesting scene that primarily serves initially to offer even more mystique to Kal'tsit and Theresa's assassination. After all, Kal'tsit and Nezzsalem knew each other, they even fought together at least once. The King of the Nachzehrer! He was there when Theresa was assassinated, and here he is now, inquiring about the death of the last pure Wendigo. None of this seems out of the question, but with some more time, it's possible to find this scene strange.

How did he know? Sure, the Nachzehrer thrives off of life and death, but they're more focused on war. The passing of lives to the Myriad Souls is the concern of the Banshees, not the Nachzehrer. Patriot is also not a Sarkaz hero, at least not directly, since he was a Patriot for Ursus, not Kazdel, and he was a supporter of Theresa at that. Given everything we know now, it's pretty unlikely that Patriot would have followed Theresis to Londinium. But it's still not completely out of the question. Babel reveals that the Military Council in its fledgling state knew about where he was.

This is a pretty small aside after Nezzsalem defeats Logos, but it managed to hit me like a brick, because the first thing I remembered was Nezzsalem confronting Kal'tsit about the death of Patriot. Patriot was not just a Wendigo to Nezzsalem, he was something of a son to him. Sure, he might not have been Nezzsalem's only student, but the Nachzehrer are not shown to be a particularly sentimental bunch pretty much ever, so the Sudaram going "Yeah. Your kid" is impactful here. Nezzsalem stands, having beaten Laqueramaline's son in combat, after Aefanyl had proven himself worthy of respect, as an old man thinking about his own son.

This reframes the conversation in Chapter 10. Nezzsalem knows Kal'tsit, it's implied he's known her for a very long time, and it's likely he's seen the different lives of Kal'tsit and likely knew of her involvement in the invasion of Kazdel a couple hundred years ago. So it's now also got that added element of the King of the Nachzehrer coming up to the landship and shaking Kal'tsit by the shoulders going "WHAT DID YOU DO". It provides new context for his anger. Kal'tsit was directly involved in the death of his foster son, just as she was directly involved previously in the destruction of Kazdel and one of the figures behind Babel.

It also adds some depth to Nezzsalem's acceptance. He died a warrior, maybe against one of the most fitting opponents upon all of Terra, and knowing that Patriot chose Kal'tsit quells that anger.

It's all neat. There's more that can be extrapolated from this, such as this providing something of an explanation for Patriot's military ability and potentially even his witchcraft, but those aren't as important or interesting to me. Chapter 14 is a story in a number of ways about the burden and threads of individuals who have lived an immensely long period of time, individuals who have found immortality in one way or another, and the ways that these lives ultimately intersect and weave with one another, and Patriot is another one of those patterns weaved through time.

[nchlsdmn]

Full Plot of the Cancelled Kashyyyk arc from Star Wars The Clone Wars: Season 7

Planet Kashyyyk is still neutral at this point in the war. Yoda travels to Kashyyyk, and his personal battalion is there waiting for him (they had been sent a couple of days earlier before the arrival of Master Yoda himself) and they inform Yoda that the Trandoshans have been doing deforestation in order to drive the Wookiees away to establish Separatists bases there.

The other reason is to intimidate the Wookiees into joining the Separatists or die off. Yoda senses Count Dooku behind this attack. It was the Wookiees themselves who called on the Republic for help, but being a neutral system – only Yoda and Clone Force 99 alongside Yoda’s personal battalion were sent there, with no additional clone reinforcements. Yodas battalion consists of 41st Scout Troopers and regular white clones with Yoda’s face slapped on their helmet.

As far as Chewbacca's role in this arc, we would have been shown his wife and family. Otherwise, the main Wookie Character is Tarfful. Other Wookies such as different tribes, elders, and children would have been shown as well.

Yoda wants to help the Wookiees so they get in contact with the few remaining villages that still live near a part of the forest which hasn’t been destroyed yet but that is about to be destroyed. Yoda advises them to leave their homes, but the Wookiees don’t want to. 

The Trandoshans come with a massive force and they drive the Wookiees out forcibly alongside Yoda, who are thus forced to retreat deeper into the forest and up a river which leads them to a water stream. Yoda and the clones then suggest to bait the enemies following them into an area of the forest so they can drive them away from the Wookiee villages.

Echo, new to Clone Force 99, would have become a sort of super-soldier due to all of his bionic enhancements. He would fit right in with the Bad Batch, and his demeanor changed, since he was now more cold-blooded and composed, as opposed to the indecisiveness that he showed in previous seasons. He serves as a foreshadowing of what Anakin would become.

His lobot-attachment would have been used for communications since he has a communicator close to his forehead, which shows him interfaces that were directly projected into his mind, so he would see them with his eyes but no one else around him would see them.

As for The Bad Batch, they were more accustomed to relating with the Wookiees than the regs. Hunter suggests bold strategies throughout the arc which the other clones weren’t really ok with since the followed more strict protocol. The Bad Batch also had their own hover boat, with their "clone force 99" symbol on it.

In Season 8, it was planned for The Bad Batch to execute Order 66, and they would have been treated as cold blooded assassins, a bane to Jedi. Though it likely wouldn’t have been shown on-screen. However, this arc is mostly to show the Bad Batch working with Yoda and the Wookies.

The clones suggest to burn all the trees down in that area of the forest in order to trap the enemy into their own nest. The Wookiees are against it but they then reluctantly agree that this is the best course of action and their only chance at success. They ask for forgiveness from the trees before doing this, and they then give the clones permission to do so.

Similar to the Bad Batch episode in Season 2, there are Kinrath and Maylyas deeper in the forest, and the elements of Wookies being one with nature is similar to how Yoda, a Jedi, believes in the force. The Bad Batch don't understand it, but they go along with it.

As for the Trandoshans, their leader, Babwa Venomor, was working with the Separatists, for Count Dooku. Some Trandoshans would have had night-vision goggles and snail tanks that they could use to tear through the forest.

The fires manage to slow the Trandoshans down for a bit, but it turns out not to be a definitive solution. After escaping the enemy, Yoda and the Wookiees prepare for war. The Wookiees ask for the help of tree spirits. They venture deep into the jungle in order to go warn the other Wookiee clans that the Trandoshans are coming and to sway them not to join the Separatists.

They use what happened to the Wookiees following Yoda as a motivating factor to tell the others that if the Trandoshans were not stopped, they would soon be coming for them too. In the meantime, the Trandoshans are preparing for battle and they are shown to be very tribal with trophies of dead Wookiee heads nailed to the walls. 

In the fourth episode, an all out war rages near the river because the Wookiees wanted to get far away from the trees in order not to harm their environment any further; and the battle ends up on a shore similar the one displayed in Revenge of the Sith.

Separatist craft land with Droid reinforcements, but the Trandoshans are the main enemy forces. One of the Wookies would have ripped off a Trandoshan's arms. Commander Gree and his forces would join the action with Yoda and the Bad Batch.

At the end of the battle, Babwa Venomor gets decapitated by Yoda in the same way Yoda kills Gree in ROTS, and he falls into the river along with his tank. When the battle is over, Kashyyyk agrees to allow the Republic to establish clone bases there, and became an ally of the Wookies, as they foresee a larger Droid Invasion coming in the future.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Summer Breeze 12

Warnings: age gap (reader is 22, Andrew is mid 40s), dad’s friend, Andy being Andrew, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You wake up shivering. The AC blasts over your bare legs and speckles across your skin. You roll over as your skull rattles. Your left eye twitches as you sit up and hug the pillow against your middle for warmth. 

For a second, you’re at your dad’s house; the next you’re in the cabin; and at last, you come back to the present. 

Andy’s voice rolls in a low timbre but you can’t make out his words. His tone is dire and has you stumbling to your feet. Something’s wrong. Your dad! 

You follow it to the kitchen and find him with his hand to his ear. He’s on the phone with someone. Your phone. You blink as you stare at your pearl case. He nods in recognition and wraps up the call. He comes around the square island and offers you the cell. 

“It kept going off.” He explains. 

“Was it the hospital? Is dad okay?” You nearly snatch it away. 

“No, no. I called earlier. He’s going through some tests and exercises.” He crosses his arms and leans on the counter. “That was the insurance company.” 

“Insurance?” You cringe and lower your hand to your side. You squeeze the phone tight. 

“I know, shouldn’t have touched it but you were out and I was concerned. You got enough on your plate.” 

“What-- what did they say? Why did they call?” You demand. 

Did they change their mind? What there something else you can do? Andy purses his lips and rubs along the angle of his jaw, his other hand still folded over his chest. 

“Claim denied. You’ll have to deal directly with the hospital for payment.” He exhales and frowns. “Those kinda bills are never easy. I know it well. A lot to deal with on top of everything else.” 

“Yeah, I... I spoke with them before but... I haven’t had time to figure out—I could get a credit card? Or a loan? Maybe. I don’t have anything on my credit so...” You shrug and shake your head. “It’s not your problem.” 

“But I can help.” 

You flinch at his offer. You scoff and wave the phone at him. “No, no. You’ve done so much. More than enough. I couldn’t... couldn’t ask that. No. No.” You’re arguing with yourself as much as him. “I can do this. I’m an adult and it’s my responsibility. I’ll... I’ll drop out. Dad has my tuition in savings. I’ll have to look over his accounts and--” 

“What about the nurse? The physio? The counseling?” Andy asks. 

You freeze and stare at him. You shiver again but not because you’re cold. You grimace and move your lips wordlessly. 

“This isn’t just a hospital stay, sweetheart. This is going to be a long recovery. It could even be the rest of his life.” 

His grim tone sinks into your stomach and you feel sick. You press a hand to your cheek and nod. You roll your eyes up in an effort to bid back the tears. 

“I know. I’ll... I’ll figure it out. I will. I can... I have to.” You turn way to hide your mounting distress.

You don’t think you can do all of this. You didn’t think about tomorrow or the next day or next month or next year. What do you do when the savings run out? You don’t even know how much your dad has? 

“You don’t have to do it alone. I could--” 

“Why would you help?” You spin to face him. “I’m young and scared but I’m not naive. No one just helps someone like that. Someone they barely know. Even my mom--” You choke back a sob and steady yourself. 

“Your dad’s my friend.” 

“Yeah, for what? A couple of years?” You put the heel of your hand and the butt of your phone to your temples. 

“You’re a nice girl. I wanna help.” 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Because you shouldn’t have to do this alone.” 

“No, why did you answer the phone?” Tendrils creep up your back and wrap around your neck. You drop your arms. “Why... why did you rent this house? Why are you doing all of this?” 

“You need it--” 

“Answer my question. I can’t-- I can’t handle anything else.” You snap. “I’ve been so distracted, so swept up in it all that I didn’t stop to think why a fifty-year old man is doing all of this?” 

He’s quiet as your heart thumps and you look him in the face. He stares back and a line forms in his forehead as his cheek dimples. The silver at his temples is more obvious and the speckle in his beard as well. This man is your father’s age. He might be a neighbour and a friend but your dad isn’t exactly the nicest guy. 

“I do want to help.” He speaks at last. The lilt in his voice says it all. All your suspicions coil tightly in your chest. “I could help. I could take care of you and your dad. I would--” 

“Jesus. Are you serious?” You warble through the swell in your throat. “It’s... no, no, not that. How—you could be my father?! Your son--” 

“I’m not your father.” He insists tersely. “And I’m not too old.” 

“Oh god!” You hit your head in frustration. “I’m so stupid. I’m so goddamn stupid. How could I—but why would I ever--” You rant wildly as you pace around frantically. You spin and face the walls and examine every inch. “I-- I’m already fucked. I’m--” 

Your legs shake and you wobble around. You stagger into the door frame and cling to it. You heave, a sharp whistle rising from your throat with each crushing breath. Your tears roll down your cheeks and you slide down to your knees. You claw at your neck as the air snags in your throat. 

“Sweetheart,” Andy nears and kneels. He touches your back and you flinch. “You gotta breathe. You’re having a panic attack.” 

“Y-yeah. I—ammmmm.” You squeak as your vision swims and you grip the door frame tightly. 

“It’s okay.” He coaxes and rubs between your shoulders. 

“No-” 

“I’m not asking for much--” 

Your head pulses and you sit back on your heels. Your look at him in a flume of rage and horror. You slap his shoulder. Once, twice, again. Then you shove him away from you. You sob and fall forward onto your hands and shake in a storm of grief. 

This can’t be real. You just need your dad. You need him to hug you and tell you it’s going to be okay. 

[kimberleyjean]

Good Omens S1 Parallels - 1/?

Saturday Morning Funtime is a particularly interesting episode for me, because it suggests something about the structure of parallels Season One. Also, it's easier to start with a single episode than trying to cover the whole show at once. I'm going to show you six different scenes from Saturday Morning Funtime and how they link together.

Let's start with the pun pointed out by Danny Motta in his video (link here to relevant timestamp if you haven't seen it). Danny made the link between this scene near the start of E4, where Aziraphale gets exercise:

And this scene at the end, where Aziraphale was exorcised (according to Shadwell, at least):

Cool, seems like a funny pun. But there's no way to know it was intentional right? Well, I think I can argue it was. Let's look at another scene.

We have this scene where Hastur destroys 3 Erics on the plains of Megiddo. Since each demon has a corresponding animal, I'm going to go ahead and place bets on the Eric's being rabbits, and Hastur destroys 2/3 of them.

And then later we have this scene where Hastur again destroys 2/3 rabbits, but this time they're cartoon bunnies - the first one he beheads like a costume, the second he rips out it's throat.

Ok, but again, why am I linking these two scenes? No deep character insights, or thematic elements are being displayed here... Except that's a key reason I'm pointing them out - they're seemingly pretty pointless, so why bother to make them? Well, maybe the sum is bigger than the parts. One more example and then I'll show you how this comes together.

Here's a scene which I think is pretty good foreshadowing of something that will happen later in the episode - Hastur and Ligur talking about the dripping pipes down in Hell. Hastur has a little bucket he's collecting water in, which he uses in a toast:

And later, we have this particularly gruesome scene of Ligur becoming toast at the hands of a bucket full of (holy)water:

Ok, so six scenes, three sets of parallels... now's where the magic happens... I take E4 as a whole... loop it over on itself like a piece of trick rope from Goldstein's magic shop and....

Tada! Here's the episode laid out in 2 minute increments.

Some pretty interesting places to have parallels, no? That two minute block at the start is a lead in before the opening credits, so the Exercise and Exorcism scenes are coming directly before and directly after the open and close sequence (shown above in blue).

I'd be lying if I said it didn't remind me of the overall chiastic structure that some people have worked on, such as this one by @drconstellation, just on a smaller scale.

It's also interesting to note that each of these parallel pairs relates to someone getting discorporated - Eric, Ligur and then Aziraphale.

What's the point?

So, I promised that I would share a little on why this might be important. In my opinion? It appears like there is some detailed structure to Good Omens, at least in S1.

It should also be noted that these scenes were added only for the show in order to produce this effect - Aziraphale exercising with Gabriel, Hastur and Ligur talking about the pipes, the three cartoon rabbits in the theatre - they were all newly created for the show.

Why go to the bother of creating these little parallel moments at corresponding points along a mirrored structure? Especially when these don't necessarily have ramifications for characters or plot? Is it just good story telling or is it something more? These are all questions worth asking in my opinion. I think it relates to how this show treats words and language in a very Pratchetty fashion. The whole show is a dedication to Terry, after all.

Of course, if things were so simple, I think we would have figured it all out long ago. Parallels, puns, wordplay... they're all quite slippery things. There are things I would consider to be parallels which don't line up with this same structure. For example, the scene from earlier with Gabriel and Aziraphale exercising? The "lose the gut" gut-punch foreshadows this other gut punch scene in E4 too:

Despite examples to the contrary, the presence of parallels and wordplay that do line up along a mirrored structure makes me want to explore this further. If you're also interested in this and want to collaborate, please let me know.

This will be a continuing series, as and when time allows, because parallels seem to be absolutely everywhere. Future posts will look at parallels at different levels (within scenes, across episodes, and across seasons).

Let me know if you spot any others - I'd love to hear about them. They might be hidden in the visuals, wordplay, puns and more...

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

With thanks to all the detectives for keeping me clue hunting @embracing-the-ineffable, @theastrophysicistnextdoor, @noneorother, @somehow-a-human, @komorezuki, @maufungi, @lookingatacupoftea, @havemyheartaziraphale, @251-dmr, @dunkthebiscuit, and @ghstptats <3

[cerastes]

Something I’ve been thinking thanks to Babel is that you could make a banging game about the Babel period up until the end of the Reunion Arc in the style of Nobunaga’s Ambition, specifically more in the style of Ghiren’s Ambition, the Gundam spin-off.

Besides the obvious Grand Strategy element of managing your greater territory through a mix of generic squadrons and hero squadrons — Babel having Scout, Ascalon, Ace, and the other Elites, while the Military Commission has Ulsulah, Manfred, Scareye, and other such individuals — and the protection and seizing of supply lines and settlements, it’d also open the possibility for one of the signature features of the games: Alternate histories.

In Ghiren’s Ambition, you can try and replicate the canon events of the story perfectly, but you can also heavily derail the established canon for incredibly interesting alternate takes and outcomes. For example, in our hypothetical Theresis’s Ambition, assuming the scope is from the beginnings of Babel right up until the end of the Reunion Arc, we could explore possibilities such as:

The Sarkaz Royal Courts being spurred into action for either side. This instability, in turn, could spur foreign powers into action and taking a vested interest and side in the civil war, greatly expanding its scope.

The Leithanien invasion of Kazdel being a lot more successful, resulting in a far, far more unified Babel and Military Commission. This may in turn result in a far earlier, unified invasion of Victoria, or a far more emotionally charged civil war once the siblings’ differences become irreconcilable.

Amiya’s condition being a lot more stable, leading to Doctor, Amiya and Savage to actually push through with their plans to venture into Yan next. This could happen through either a lot of earlier medical advances, or by outright preventing the accident that gave Amiya oripathy in the first place, this obviously having major implications in the rest of the story.

Theresis early killing Doc when he has the chance. Likewise, lots of implications here.

Doctor not going through with their betrayal and keeping the Shipwide Defense Systems operational. This would have immense implications in the future of Kazdel as well. Furthermore, this could lead into an early Theresis kill.

Rhodes Island failing the operation to retrieve Doctor, and instead, they fall into Reunion hands. As they are a clean slate here, this could very well mean a Reunion-aligned Doctor.

Ursus seizing the Doctor, thus resulting in an Ursus-aligned Doctor. Probably one of the most nightmarish scenarios. Possibly as a result of Kal’tsit successfully pushing back against the notion to retrieve them from Chernobog in the first place.

Ch’en’s leaving Rhodes Island to dry in the Lungmen operation actually costing them that entire battle and Operator lives, subsequently breaking relations between the two factions.

The Chernobog operation in general having a different outcome depending on the level of preparedness and development you come into it with, such as an early Faust kill (Ascalon comes along and hard counters him, maybe?), the possibility to have Ace and Scout survive, the possibility of other R.I. Operators dying instead, the possibility of Reunion personnel/mercenaries dying or going a different route altogether (Ines legitimately dies, W caught early and thus needing to go back to R.I early).

FrostNova’s fateful death being averted, and successfully recruiting her into Rhodes Island.

Reunion!Doctor somehow resulting in events that successfully removes Kaschey from Talulah very early, wildly changing the direction Reunion takes and averting Mudrock and Big Bob’s defection as a consequence; this directly opens a route where Reunion and Rhodes Island can become allies, but it’d also be very difficult as these two reasonably sized powers joining forces might spur Lungmen/Yan or Ursus into deploying against them with absolute force.

The possibilities are so ample, I’d love this game.

[dandelions-143]

Fear Play - Minho

Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 3600

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, sexual content, elements of fear and psychological tension, mild (implied) violence), consensual fear play/ knife play

Authors Note: I’ve had this one in my drafts for a while now. It’s much more detailed than the others. Maybe a little too detailed and wordy but you can be the judge of that! Enjoy babies!

No summary just smut under the cut

The mansion loomed before you, a dark silhouette etched against the inky night sky. Its gothic spires and ornate turrets seemed to claw at the heavens, casting long, ominous shadows across the overgrown lawn. Minho had texted earlier, his message a cryptic plea for your presence, claiming he missed you desperately. As you approached the wrought-iron gates, an unsettling feeling crept over you, raising goosebumps on your skin.

The windows of the mansion were pitch black, not even a flicker of light visible within their dusty panes. It was as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for your arrival. Your hand trembled as you input the passcode, the electronic keypad's soft beep sounding unnaturally loud in the eerie silence. The ancient key turned with a rusty groan, the lock's mechanisms protesting as if warning you to turn back.

Minho's house had always unnerved you. It was a relic of a bygone era, its weathered stone facade telling tales of centuries past. The sheer size of it was overwhelming - countless rooms and winding corridors that seemed to shift and change with each visit. The air around it felt heavy, charged with an energy that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It wasn't just old and huge; it was a place that seemed to exist outside of time, unwelcoming and filled with secrets that whispered from every shadowy corner.

The door creaked open with an ominous groan, revealing a void of darkness so thick it seemed to have physical form. As you hesitantly stepped inside, the oppressive silence engulfed you, broken only by the thunderous pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. The floorboards beneath your feet protested loudly, each step eliciting a series of creaks and groans that reverberated through the empty halls like ghostly whispers.

"Minho?" you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. His name hung in the air, unanswered, swallowed by the suffocating darkness. Instead of a response, you were met with an eerie whisper of wind, its soft susurration seeming to emanate from the very walls themselves, carrying with it the musty scent of age and secrets long forgotten.

A bone-deep chill crept up your spine as you ventured deeper into the bowels of the house, each step feeling like a descent into some nightmarish realm. Pale slivers of moonlight filtered through grimy windows, casting elongated shadows that danced and writhed across the walls, their movements seeming to defy the laws of nature. The darkness grew more intense with each passing moment, as if actively resisting your intrusion.

"Minho, please," you pleaded, your voice now quivering with unmistakable fear, "this isn't funny anymore." The words echoed back at you, mockingly, from the unseen corners of the house. As you began to ascend the stairs, each step felt like a monumental effort, as if the very air around you was thickening, becoming more resistant. The staircase seemed to stretch endlessly before you, a twisted path leading into the unknown depths of the house's upper floors.

Suddenly, a sharp crack pierced the silence - a floorboard creaking directly behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you whirled around, eyes wide with terror. But instead of finding Minho or any other presence, you were confronted with an impenetrable wall of blackness. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, alive with malevolent intent. You stood frozen, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps, as the shadows around you seemed to close in, threatening to swallow you whole.

Without warning, a hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your scream. An arm like iron wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a solid form. The sudden contact sent a jolt of adrenaline through your body, your heart racing wildly in your chest. A voice, low and menacing, whispered in your ear, "I've been waiting for you." The hot breath against your skin made you shudder involuntarily. Your blood ran cold as you realized this voice, though familiar, held none of Minho's usual warmth. It was colder, darker, almost predatory. As you struggled against the grip, your fingers clawing at the arm holding you, a chilling thought gripped you: what if this wasn't Minho at all? The possibility sent a wave of terror through you, your mind racing with horrifying scenarios.

Suddenly, you felt Minho's grip loosen ever so slightly. It was barely perceptible, but in your heightened state of awareness, you sensed the opportunity. Taking advantage of this moment, you summoned all your strength and wrenched yourself free, your elbow connecting with something solid behind you. You didn't wait to see the result. You bolted down the dark hallway, your feet pounding against the wooden floor. The darkness seemed to press in on you from all sides, making each step feel like a leap into the unknown. Your heart pounded in your ears as you ran, a deafening rhythm that almost drowned out the sound of pursuit behind you. A potent cocktail of excitement and fear coursed through your veins, making every nerve ending in your body sing with tension. You could hear Minho's footsteps behind you, steady and unhurried, a stark contrast to your frantic pace. His low chuckle echoed off the walls, the sound seeming to come from everywhere at once, disorienting you further. The playful menace in that laugh sent shivers down your spine, a reminder that in this game of cat and mouse, you were very much the prey.

"Where are you going, baby?" His voice called out, a mixture of playfulness and menace that sent shivers down your spine. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing off the walls and making it impossible to pinpoint his location. You darted around a corner, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Your eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, frantically scanned the shadowy corridor for any sign of movement.

The house seemed to come alive around you, creaking and groaning as if it was conspiring with Minho to trap you. You don't know why, but a part of you loved these random menacing games he would play. The thrill of being hunted, the adrenaline coursing through your veins - it was intoxicating. He never actually hurt you... yet. But the possibility, the danger, made every nerve in your body sing with anticipation.

You stumbled into what felt like a study, the musty smell of old books filling your nostrils. Your hands frantically searched for a lock on the door, fingers trembling as they traced the smooth wood. Finding none, you ducked behind a large, ornate desk, its polished surface cool against your heated skin. You tried to quiet your ragged breathing, pressing a hand to your mouth to muffle the sound. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the thunderous beating of your heart.

The sound of Minho's footsteps grew closer, slow and deliberate. Each step seemed to echo in the empty room, a countdown to your inevitable discovery. "I can hear your heart racing," he called out, his voice closer than you expected, rich with dark amusement. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you realized he was in the room with you. "You can't hide from me forever," he purred, the predatory tone in his voice making your stomach flip with a mixture of fear and excitement. You held your breath, pressing yourself further into the shadows, wondering how long you could prolong this exquisite torture before he finally caught you.

Suddenly, a strong hand grasped your shoulder, yanking you up with unexpected force. You found yourself face to face with Minho, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and something darker in the dim light. The moonlight filtering through the dusty windows cast eerie shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his features. Before you could fully process what was happening, he pulled you close, his body heat radiating through your clothes.

Minho's lips crashed against yours in a passionate, almost desperate kiss that left you breathless. At first, you melted into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath your palms. As the kiss deepened, Minho's hunger seemed to grow. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, the slight pain sending a shiver down your spine. His kisses became more demanding, more intense, bordering on bruising. The taste of him - a mixture of mint and something uniquely Minho - filled your senses, making your head spin.

Overwhelmed by the intensity, you shoved your hands hard against his chest, breaking the kiss with an audible smack. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kisses. Minho stumbled back a step, but quickly regained his composure. His eyes, now dark with desire, roamed over your form, taking in your disheveled appearance and flushed cheeks. A soft smirk played on his lips as he murmured, his voice low and husky, "So fucking pretty when you're scared."

Before you could fully recover, Minho closed the distance between you again. His strong hands found your waist, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you flush against him. You could feel every hard plane of his body pressed against yours, the heat of him seeping through your clothes. His breath was hot against your neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Did I scare you, baby?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent vibrations through your body.

You shivered involuntarily, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The lingering adrenaline from your fear mixed with the undeniable desire his touch ignited in you. Your heart raced, but whether from fear or excitement, you couldn't tell anymore. "You're terrible," you whispered, but there was no real anger in your voice. Instead, it came out breathy and weak, betraying the effect he had on you. Your words held a mixture of reproach and anticipation, your body trembling slightly in his arms as you waited, with bated breath, for what was to come next.

He chuckled, a low, menacing sound that sent your heart into overdrive. "You know I can be way worse," he purred, his voice dripping with dark promise. Your eyes widened as you turned around, heart pounding in your chest. His words sent an electric jolt straight to your core, your clit throbbing with arousal. As you finally got a good look at your boyfriend, your breath caught in your throat. Minho was holding a knife - a large, wicked-looking blade with a matte black finish that seemed to absorb the dim light. He gripped it tightly in his right hand, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the motion.

"What the hell are you doing with that thing?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, a tremor of fear evident in your tone. Minho stayed silent, his only response a slight tilt of his head to the side. His eyes, usually warm and inviting, now held a predatory gleam as they raked over your form. You felt exposed, vulnerable under his intense gaze, as if he was assessing his prey before making his move.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, goosebumps erupting across your skin. Minho's eerie silence and posture only heightened your anxiety, yet you couldn't deny the growing wetness between your thighs. The playful atmosphere from moments ago had evaporated, replaced by a tension so thick you could almost taste it. It was thrilling and unsettling in equal measure, your body caught in a paradox of wanting to flee and yearning to stay.

"I smell you," his melodious voice suddenly pierced through the silence, startling you. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Minho's nostrils flared slightly as he took a deep breath, his eyes darkening with desire. "You're wet for me, aren't you, baby?" he continued, his voice low and husky. "It turns you on that I scare you so much." The amusement in his tone was evident, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Your cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassment warring with arousal as you realized he could sense your body's betrayal. The knife glinted in the dim light as Minho took a step closer, the anticipation of what might come next making your breath catch in your throat.

Suddenly, Minho's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist. With a swift, forceful tug, he pulled you closer, the sudden movement causing you to stumble slightly. His handsome face was mere inches from yours, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, dark eyes glittering with a mixture of mischief and something more sinister. You could see the muscles in his jaw working, as if he was barely restraining himself.

"Let's play a game," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, spreading goosebumps all over your skin. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and threat. Your breath caught in your throat, a potent cocktail of fear and excitement coursing through your veins. Despite the alarm bells ringing in your head, you found yourself nodding, utterly captivated by Minho's dark charisma.

Without warning, Minho tugged you forward again, his grip on your wrist unyielding as he led you deeper into the shadowy hallway. Gone was the gentle touch you were accustomed to; this Minho was all rough edges and barely contained aggression. Your heart raced wildly in your chest as you stumbled after him, your free hand reaching out to steady yourself against the wall. The darkness seemed to press in around you, making each step feel like a plunge into the unknown.

As Minho led you through the luxurious house, your pulse quickened with each step. The floorboards creaked ominously beneath your feet, and you could have sworn you heard whispers echoing from the shadows. "What are you doing?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of uncertainty and fear. The words came out as barely more than a whisper, almost swallowed by the oppressive silence of the house.

Minho remained eerily silent, his only response a slight tightening of his grip on your wrist. You winced at the pressure but didn't dare pull away. His face was a mask of indifference, any hint of emotion carefully concealed behind those dark eyes. You found yourself wondering what thoughts were swirling in the depths of his mind, what plans he had in store for you.

As you rounded a corner, a faint red glow caught your attention. Your eyes widened as you spotted a door slightly ajar, the crimson light spilling out into the hallway like a river of blood. The sight sent a fresh wave of trepidation through you, your imagination running wild with possibilities of what lay beyond that threshold.

Minho pushed the door open wider, revealing a room bathed in a soft crimson light. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight before you: black candles flickered on every surface, casting dancing shadows across the walls. In the center of the room stood a large, ornate bed, its dark sheets a stark contrast to the red glow surrounding it. Your breath caught in your throat as Minho's hand slid from your wrist to the small of your back, gently guiding you into the room, the knife held in his hand still unused but very much in the forefront of your mind.

At first you thought this looked romantic until you took another look noticing that the bed had black steel handcuffs at each corner. Your eyes darted between the bed and Minho, uncertainty, excitement, and fear evident in your face. The sight of those cuffs made your clit throb with anticipation. As he guided you further into the room, the door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both in this crimson-lit sanctuary of desire and fear.

You didn’t dare speak At first, your eyes fixed on Minho's steely face. The tension in the air was palpable, the warring mix of fear and excitement making your skin tingle as if you were vibrating. You watched, heart racing, as Minho slowly approached the bed, his fingers trailing along the silk sheets. “Minho…what is this?” You whispered, your voice trembling slightly. Minho's head tilted, the expressionless mask he made sure to keep up hiding any feelings behind his dark eyes as he turned to face you. His silence was unnerving, but there was an undeniable electricity in the air. Slowly, he reached out, the tip of the knife gently tracing your jawline. It was a gentle steely caress by the blade, not enough to cut you but enough to make you shiver.

The cold metal against your skin made you bite your bottom lip to suppress a whimper, your teeth digging into the soft flesh. Your eyes, wide and filled with a mixture of fear and desire, remained locked on Minho's intense gaze. His eyes, dark as obsidian and just as hard, held a promise of both danger and pleasure that sent a shiver to your core. You felt your breath quicken, coming in short, shallow gasps as he traced the knife down your neck. The sharp edge of the blade barely grazed your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The cool metal contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from your flushed skin, heightening every sensation.

Without warning, Minho's free hand lifted, gripping the collar of your white shirt. With a sudden, forceful tug, he ripped it in two, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the room. You gasped, the mixture of shock and excitement evident in your face as your chest heaved with each rapid breath. "Minho!" His name escaped your lips in a breathless yelp, a mixture of protest and arousal. His response was a dark, rumbling chuckle that reverberated through his chest and into yours. The amusement dancing in his eyes nearly infuriated you, but the heat pooling in your core betrayed your true feelings.

The cool air of the room hit your newly exposed skin, sending a violent shiver down your spine. Your nipples hardened instantly, the sensitive peaks straining against the fabric of your bra. Minho's hands, calloused and warm, found their way to your bare waist. His touch was electric, leaving trails of fire in its wake as he pulled you closer. The heat of his body contrasted sharply with the chill of the room, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

Just as you thought he was going to pull you in for a kiss, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours, he surprised you once again. With a swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your back firmly against his chest. His face found the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin. Each exhale sent a new wave of shivers through your body, your pulse quickening with every passing second. You could feel the solid planes of his chest against your back, the strength in his arms as they encircled your waist.

His hands began to roam your exposed torso, fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you trembling. Every so often, the cool metal of the knife would graze your skin, a sharp reminder of the danger that lurked beneath the passion. The juxtaposition of the warm, rough skin of his hands and the cold, smooth metal of the blade had your senses in overdrive. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your body caught between the instinct to flee and the desire to press closer.

As Minho's exploration continued, your eyes darted to the bed once more. The sight of the cuffs, gleaming ominously in the crimson light, sent a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through you. Your mind raced with possibilities, each more thrilling and terrifying than the last. What did Minho have planned for you in this crimson-lit room? The uncertainty only added to the intoxicating mix of fear and desire that consumed you, leaving you dizzy with want and trembling with anticipation.

He pulled your pants down slowly, leaving you standing in just your underwear. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps on your exposed skin, making you shiver involuntarily. Minho's eyes raked over your body, dark with desire, as he twirled the knife between his fingers. Without warning, he hooked the blade under the elastic of your panties, the cold metal a stark contrast to your heated skin. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sliced through the fabric, letting it fall to the floor in tatters. Your breath hitched as he repeated the process with your bra, the sharp edge of the knife barely grazing your skin as he cut away the last barriers between his gaze and your naked form.

You couldn't deny the thrill that ran through you at the sight of Minho wielding the knife with such precision and control. Your body betrayed your arousal, your pussy clenching as you felt your juices coating the apex of your thighs. Minho's nostrils flared slightly, as if he could smell your excitement, a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands ghosted over your hips, fingers splaying wide as they traced up your torso. The calluses on his palms created a delicious friction against your soft skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. As his fingers traced the curve of your breasts, you couldn't help but arch into his touch, silently begging for more.

You shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, but loving the way he gave all of his attention to your body. Every touch, every glance felt like it was setting your skin on fire. Minho's grip returned to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he tightened his hold on your waist. With a forceful tug, he guided you towards the bed, the metal cuffs gleaming ominously in the dim light, seeming to beckon you closer.

"Babe... why won't you speak? This is scary and-" The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement. Before you could finish your sentence, Minho's hand shot out, gripping your throat firmly. His long fingers pressed against your skin, not enough to cut off your air supply completely, but enough to make you gasp. The sudden assertiveness in his actions sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your pussy throbbing in response. You could feel his face close, his hot breath fanning over your ear, causing you to shudder. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous, barely above a whisper, "No more talking. It's time to play."

With those words, Minho firmly pushed you onto the bed, your back hitting the soft sheets with a soft thud. His face remained an impassive mask, but his intentions were clear in every touch, every movement. The weight of his body pressed you into the mattress, his muscular form a cage of flesh and bone that both thrilled and terrified you.

As you lay there, bound and exposed, a potent cocktail of anticipation and vulnerability coursed through your veins. Minho's fingers trailed down your body with exquisite slowness, his touch a paradoxical blend of gentle caresses and possessive grazes. Each brush of his fingertips sent electric shivers rippling across your skin, causing you to arch your back involuntarily, pressing into his touch, silently begging for more.

Your eyes darted frantically between Minho's handsome face, etched with intense concentration, and the menacing knife still clutched in his hand. The blade ghosted over your skin, following the path of his fingers, its cool metal a stark contrast to your feverish flesh. Your heart hammered in your chest, a primal fear of being cut warring with an overwhelming desire for his touch. You wanted to scream, to beg him to put the knife away, but your voice seemed trapped in your throat. Instead, only pleading whimpers and desperate gasps escaped your lips.

"Minho... please..." you finally managed to whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. In an instant, his hand moved, gripping your jaw with bruising force. He yanked your face towards him, forcing you to meet his smoldering gaze. "Didn't I say no more talking?" His voice was low and dangerous, each word dripping with stern authority. Your mouth snapped shut immediately, teeth sinking into your lower lip to stifle any further sounds. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of fear and arousal making them glisten in the dim light.

Minho's hands resumed their torturous exploration, alternating between feather-light touches and firm, almost painful grips. The unpredictability kept you teetering on the edge, your body taut with tension, never knowing what sensation to expect next. Suddenly, his fingers found your nipples, pinching them tightly between his thumb and forefinger. The sharp pain lanced through your body, but it quickly transmuted into a jolt of intense pleasure. A strangled gasp tore from your throat as you arched your back, pushing your breasts further into his merciless grasp.

His fingers continued their relentless assault on your sensitive flesh, twisting, pulling, and flicking your hardened peaks. Each touch sent waves of sensation coursing through your body, the mixture of pain and pleasure so intoxicating that you felt dizzy. Your breath came in short, ragged pants, chest heaving as you struggled against your restraints, desperate for more contact yet simultaneously overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

With deliberate slowness, Minho reached up and grasped your hand, guiding it towards the headboard. The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into your wrist as he locked it in place, the click of the mechanism echoing ominously in the room. He repeated the process with your other hand, effectively immobilizing your arms. The vulnerability of your position sent a fresh wave of both fear and excitement coursing through you.

Minho's strong hands then moved to your legs, gripping your thighs firmly. With a swift, powerful motion, he spread them wide, exposing your most intimate area to the cool air of the room and his hungry gaze. You felt utterly exposed, completely at his mercy. Minho's face tilted as he observed you in this compromising position, his dark, devious eyes roaming over your glistening folds. The intensity of his stare made you feel as if you were being devoured visually, your pussy throbbing under his scrutiny.

"Fucking delicious," he groaned, his voice husky with desire. The knife in his hand glinted as he slowly dragged it up your inner thigh. Your breath hitched, a mixture of fear and anticipation causing your body to tremble uncontrollably. The cool metal of the blade traced a path dangerously close to your aching core, but Minho kept his touch light and teasing, never quite making contact where you desperately wanted it.

Your chest heaved with each ragged breath as Minho leaned down, his face hovering mere inches from your engorged clit. You could feel his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves, the warmth a stark contrast to the cool air on your exposed skin. The combination of your complete vulnerability and the mounting excitement had your heart racing at a frantic pace. Your body trembled with desire, every nerve ending alive and singing with anticipation of what was to come. In this moment, suspended between fear and ecstasy, you had never felt more alive, more aware of every sensation, every breath, every beat of your wildly pounding heart.

You watch, transfixed, as Minho slides off the bed with feline grace. His heated dark honey eyes never leave yours as he begins to undress, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch in your throat. Your eyes hungrily follow every deliberate movement as he slowly peels away each layer of clothing, revealing his sculpted form inch by tantalizing inch.

The dim red light bathes his body in an otherworldly glow, casting deep shadows that accentuate every curve and plane of his muscular physique. His golden skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat, emphasizing the definition of his abs, the sharp cut of his hipbones, and the powerful lines of his thighs. A small scar on his abdomen catches your eye, appearing darker than the rest of his skin in the crimson lighting. The sight of it awakens a primal urge within you - you desperately want to trace it with your tongue, to taste the salt of his skin and feel the slight ridge of healed tissue.

As Minho steps out of his last piece of clothing, you can't help but suck your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes widening at the sight of his fully aroused state. His cock stands proud and thick, so hard that it curves slightly towards his stomach. The veins along its length pulse visibly with need, and a bead of precum glistens at the tip, catching the red light. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, and you feel an answering throb between your legs. Involuntarily, your thighs fall open wider, your body's silent plea for his touch.

Minho stands at the foot of the bed, his head tilted as he surveys your bound form. His eyes rake over you with predatory intent, drinking in the sight of your naked, vulnerable body. The anticipation builds to an almost unbearable level as he slowly approaches, like a panther stalking its prey. One hand ghosts over your ankles, leaving goosebumps in its wake as it trails up your calves and along your inner thighs. The other hand, still clutching that damned knife, follows a parallel path up your body. The flat of the blade glides over your skin, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your core.

Without warning, Minho presses the knife to your throat, the razor-sharp edge biting into your flesh but never quite breaking the skin. Your pulse races beneath the blade, each heartbeat a reminder of your complete surrender to him. "That's my good girl... so tame for me," he coos, his voice a low, dangerous purr that sends shivers down your spine.

Minho's free hand brushes against your drenched core, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. You bite back a moan, too scared of the blade at your throat to make a sound. He explores your folds with agonizing slowness, his touch a maddening combination of gentle caresses and purposeful strokes. His fingers dance lightly over your throbbing clit, barely ghosting over the sensitive bundle of nerves before dragging down the length of your folds. They circle your creamy entrance with painful slowness, gathering your arousal but never dipping inside where you need him most.

You struggle against your restraints, desperate for more contact, for anything to relieve the aching need building within you. But Minho keeps his movements measured and controlled, a stark contrast to the wild, frantic energy thrumming through your body. His eyes, dark with desire, watch your every reaction - the flutter of your eyelashes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your hips cant upwards seeking more pressure. He drinks in your desperation, savoring every moment of exquisite torture he inflicts upon you.

"So wet for me already," he murmurs, his voice low and husky behind the mask. His fingers circle your most sensitive areas again, building the tension in your body with each passing moment. You whimper, biting your lip to keep from begging as he'd instructed earlier. Your hips involuntarily buck upwards, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of him. The ache between your legs intensifies, a throbbing need that consumes your every thought.

Suddenly, Minho withdraws his hand, leaving you trembling and desperate. A small, needy sound escapes your throat as you begin to open your mouth, but he silences you by pressing the cold blade more firmly against your skin. "No," he growls, the single word filled with dark promise. You feel the sharp edge of the knife trailing down your neck, leaving a path of goosebumps in its wake. Minho shifts, positioning himself between your spread legs. His face looms over you as he leans in, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. "Remember," he whispers, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin, "no talking. But I want to hear every other sound you make. Cry for me, little one... let me hear how scared you are." His words send a shiver down your spine, a potent mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

With agonizing slowness, Minho slides his smooth, hard cock through your slick folds. The feeling of him gliding over your aching clit is so exquisite that a loud, uncontrolled moan escapes your lips. Your eyes flutter closed at the overwhelming sensation, your body arching off the bed, seeking more contact. You can feel every ridge, every vein of his length as he teases you, the pressure both too much and not enough. "Jesus..." you hear Minho bite out, his usual composure cracking. The sexual tension in the air is palpable, crackling between you like electricity. You can feel the desire radiating off him in waves, his muscles taut and hard against your soft curves. His breathing becomes more ragged, matching the frantic pace of your own. The anticipation builds to an almost unbearable level as you wait, trembling, for his next move.

Then, with no warning at all, Minho enters you in one swift, powerful thrust. You gasp sharply, the sensation overwhelming every nerve in your body. His thick length stretches you wide, the delicious burn of the initial penetration mingling with waves of intense pleasure. Your eyes roll back in your head as he fills you completely, the feeling so exquisite it borders on painful.

Minho shows no mercy, no gentleness. His hips snap back, almost withdrawing entirely before slamming forward again with bruising force. Each thrust is deep and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. You cry out loudly, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain as he sets a punishing rhythm.

The handcuffs bite into your wrists as you instinctively pull against them, your body arching off the bed with each powerful thrust. The metal restraints hold you firmly in place, leaving you completely at Minho's mercy as he takes you with animalistic intensity. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him impossibly deeper.

Pleasure builds rapidly within you, your body responding eagerly to Minho's rough treatment. Each thrust sends jolts of ecstasy coursing through your veins, the pain only serving to heighten your arousal. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your inner walls clenching around him as he drives into you relentlessly.

Through it all, Minho's grip on the knife never wavers. The cold, sharp edge remains pressed against your throat, a constant reminder of the danger, the fear, the exhilarating thrill of surrendering control. The blade moves with each of your frantic breaths, the threat of it cutting into your skin adding an extra layer of intensity to the overwhelming sensations assaulting your body.

Minho's carefully placed expressionless mask finally cracks as his plump lips part and a guttural groan escapes them. The sound sends shivers down your spine, raw and primal. Your heart races, pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat, right where the cold blade still presses against your skin. The biting pain of the knife's edge and the overwhelming desire coursing through your veins create an intoxicating cocktail of sensations, each amplifying the other.

Despite the fear - or perhaps because of it - you find yourself arching into his touch, your body betraying your desperate need for more. Every nerve ending feels electrified, hyper-aware of Minho's presence above you, the heat radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his muscles as he fights for control. The tension between you is palpable, thick enough to cut with the very knife he wields.

"More..." you whine, the word escaping your lips before you can stop it. You tug hard at the handcuffs, the metal chafing your soft skin, leaving angry red marks that only fuel your arousal. The pain blends seamlessly with pleasure, until you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins. "Let me touch you, please!" you nearly cry out, your voice a broken, pleading whisper. The desperation in your tone surprises even you, but you're too far gone to care. All you know is that you need to feel him, to run your hands over his sweat-slicked skin, to pull him closer until there's no space left between you.

Minho silences you with a searing kiss, his teeth grazing your lower lip with just enough pressure to elicit a gasp of mingled pain and pleasure. The metallic tang of blood mingles with the taste of his tongue as it invades your mouth, dominating and possessive. His free hand releases the knife, the clatter of metal on wood barely registering as it hits the floor. Both hands now tangle in your hair, fingers twisting in the strands until your scalp tingles with the exquisite pain.

With a sharp tug, he wrenches your head back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. You can't suppress the yelp that escapes you, the sound a mix of surprise and arousal. Minho's lips ghost over your pulse point, his hot breath fanning across your hypersensitive skin. "You know I love you," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous growl that sends shivers down your spine, "but I'm going to fuck you like I hate you."

True to his word, Minho begins to drive into you with relentless force. Each thrust is deep and punishing, the angle allowing him to hit that spot deep inside you that makes your vision blur. Your cries echo off the walls, a symphony of pleasure and pain that only seems to spur him on. His grip on your hair never wavers, keeping you pinned in place as he takes you with animalistic intensity.

The pleasure builds rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your lower abdomen. Your body trembles uncontrollably, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Minho's hands finally release your hair, only to grip your hips with bruising force. He pulls you closer, somehow managing to drive even deeper. "Fuck," he growls, his usually controlled voice rough with desire. You can hear the strain in his tone, feel the tremor in his muscles as he fights for control.

The intensity of the moment is overwhelming. Your body is slick with sweat, the crimson light casting an otherworldly glow on your skin. Tears burn in your eyes, threatening to spill over as Minho fucks you with an intensity that borders on too much. You're teetering on the edge of begging him to stop, yet craving more at the same time. Every nerve in your body is singing, alive with sensation in a way you've never experienced before.

Minho's presence looms over you, his powerful body caging you in. His own grunts and moans of pleasure mix with your desperate cries, creating a primal chorus that fills the room. You can feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment. Minho's thrusts become more erratic, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own release. The air between you is electric, charged with the intensity of your shared pleasure as you both hurtle towards the precipice of ecstasy.

Suddenly, Minho's movements become more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully as he nears his own climax. The tension in your body reaches its peak, and with a final, powerful thrust, you're both sent over the edge. Waves of intense pleasure crash over you as you nearly scream, your body arching off the bed despite the restraints. Your inner walls clench rhythmically around him, milking every last drop as he spills himself deep inside you.

As the intense waves of pleasure subside, you lie there panting, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Tears of overwhelming emotion slip from your eyes, trailing down your flushed cheeks. Minho collapses beside you, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. His body glistens with a sheen of sweat, the crimson light accentuating the defined muscles of his torso. His cock, still semi-hard, shines with the mix of your combined juices.

With a gentle touch, Minho reaches into the nightstand and retrieves a small key. He carefully unlocks both of your restraints, his fingers lingering on the reddened marks left behind. Your arms, limp with exhaustion, fall to the mattress. Despite your fatigue, you manage to languidly reach over and caress his handsome, sweat-dampened face. His eyes meet yours, dark pools filled with a mixture of love, lingering desire, and a hint of concern.

A small, tender smile plays on his lips as he leans in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. His fingers, now impossibly soft compared to their earlier roughness, wipe at the tears on your skin as he moves closer. "Are you okay?" He murmurs, his voice a low, affectionate rumble. His hands gently grasp yours, bringing them to his lips to place feather-light kisses on the raw spots encircling your wrists.

You don't answer right away, mesmerized by his gentle ministrations. You watch as he kisses up your arm, his lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. He moves to your shoulder, then up your neck, his touch now reverent and soothing. He lingers on the small red mark the knife left behind, licking over it with his soft tongue as if trying to erase any trace of harm.

"Yes..." you finally say, your voice slightly hoarse from your earlier cries of passion. A mischievous glint enters your eyes as you add, "But next time you're going in these fucking cuffs." Your fingers trace the metal restraints still attached to the headboard, emphasizing your point.

Minho's laughter bubbles up, a rich, warm sound that fills the room. His eyes crinkle at the corners, softening his features as he gazes at you with unbridled affection. The tension from earlier melts away, replaced by a tender intimacy that wraps around you both like a cocoon.

With deliberate slowness, he leans in, his breath ghosting over your lips. The first brush of his mouth against yours is feather-light, a stark contrast to the passionate frenzy of before. His lips move languidly, savoring every moment of connection. One hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin, while the other arm snakes around your waist, drawing you impossibly closer.

As he deepens the kiss, you can taste the lingering sweetness of his earlier laughter. His embrace tightens, strong arms enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and security. The solid planes of his chest press against you, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your own. In this moment, wrapped in Minho's loving embrace, you feel utterly safe and cherished, the fear and intensity of earlier giving way to a profound sense of belonging.

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[respectthepetty]

As a petty person, I'm proud that Yuan is going to play it as if he isn't still desperately in love with Qian and didn't pack his bags the second Qian told him that he could come home, but it would be far more convincing if Yuan took off that damn black bracelet.

It's like another character, haunting every scene and every interaction

staring me in my face and hurting my feelings because it's a constant reminder that Yuan is still connected to Qian even though they are separated.

So I felt it's absence in the scene where Yuan finally got to speak to Qian after three (four?) years of silence.

Yuan's left hand was never shown which is the wrist he wears the bracelet on. He held the phone with his right just like Qian who holds the phone with his right and wears a watch on the left.

But what's important is the red stairs on Qian's left.

I'm a color demon, but this is about the black bracelet on Yuan's left wrist missing from this scene when it was in the previous one of Yuan talking on the phone earlier in the episode.

In some countries, wedding rings are worn on the right hand. In other countries, wedding rings are worn on the left hand because it was believed that there was a vein that went directly from the left hand to the heart (awwww).

So perhaps Yuan didn't need the bracelet in this moment because the line that connected him to his heart (Qian) was present in another way.

But in Taiwan, wedding rings are worn on hands based on gender. Men wear theirs on the left and women wear theirs on the right. Beyond the gender element of it though is the simple notion that married couples wear their rings on opposite hands.

Yuan has been wearing this bracelet as if it was a silent commitment to Qian for all these years, and he continues to wear it upon his return.

But Qian gave him that bracelet!

Yuan wanted to be tied to Qian. He made that clear when Qian was tying his left hand in the red wrap.

So I loved that when Yuan returned and went to pick up Qian, he grabbed Qian with his left hand rather than his right which was the closer hand.

And when Yuan finally decides to walk away from Qian because he thinks Qian pities him, Qian will grab Yuan's left wrist to stop him.

As if he reinforcing that silent reminder, but not the one of Yuan always carrying Qian with him.

The silent reminder is the one that Qian gave Yuan his heart first.

That black bracelet is just as much about how Yuan still loves Qian as much as it is about how Qian has always loved Yuan.

Qian has always been committed to Yuan, silently.

And there were reminders throughout the entire episode.

Qian read every single message.

Qian didn't want to mess up Yuan's education.

Qian is never not thinking about Yuan because everything is a constant silent reminder of Yuan. His gift to Yuan was meant to serve as a reminder to Yuan that someone out there was thinking of him because Qian is always thinking of Yuan. That bracelet is a tangible artifact of what resides in Qian's heart.

And Yuan wants to remind him of that.

[crescent-blades]

Michikatsu Tsugikuni in a Sengoku Era Battlefield || Part 1: Formations

As we know, the Sengoku era was a period of chaos and bloodshed; lords turning against one another and vassals turning their backs on their lords. In my last post, we attempted to figure out 'What Michikatsu's distinction would be as a samurai.' This did not provide clarity into his specific role within a military context—his position and responsibilities during warfare. Therefore, in this article, we will examine his placement within a battle formation and clarify his role in combat.

A brief overview of the earlier post just in case: I proposed that Michikatsu must have served as an ashigaru kumigashira, likely leading either a spear or archer unit [since his men depicted in the manga panels did not possess any significant weapons during the demon attack]. With this out of the way, let us proceed.

⚠ SPOILERS AHEAD ⚠ | Masterlist

⨳ How Foot Soldiers used to be Deployed

Of course, the organisation of soldiers in an army during the sengoku era varied clan by clan, although many elements remained consistent across. The illustration provided [credits to Emmanuel Valerio] depicts the Takeda clan.   

× Starting off, let's examine the illustration above. This gives us a basic understanding of how the foot soldiers used to be deployed. At the bottom left, we can see the Taishou (大将) the General, who used to lead an entire tactical unit consisting of about 300-800 men; as well as an Uma-jirushi (馬標), which served to mark his location.

× To the left, there is a lengthy formation of samurai, with ashigaru positioned directly behind each samurai to provide support. Behind them consists a group of similar size and structure. All of these men are armed with yari [spears] and and these are the troops that will take the fight to the enemy.

× Each unit is led by a mounted samurai with foot soldiers, all positioned behind them. The foot samurai are organised into groups, each overseen by a mounted ashigaru/samurai Kumigashira (組頭) the luitenant who is accompanied by two foot soldiers, as well as a mounted troop Kumigashira, the captain having a larger supporting foot soldier. 

• The Archer squad:  

I couldn't find any illustrations that exclusively feature archery, as firearms were likely not in use during Michikatsu's era. However, I do believe the formation would have been the same, if not similar, considering that the archers were initially few in number and belonged to the same infantry as the yumi ashigaru (archers). 

The image above depicts a complete gun/archer squad positioned at the forefront. All five of them are organised under the leadership of a single troop kashira. In total, 10 squads with two captains will be commanding them.  

▪︎The Spear squad: I couldn't find anything for the spear group; however, based on my research, it is likely to resemble the archer squad mentioned earlier. Positioned at the front lines, they would be arranged shoulder to shoulder in a long formation, numbering approximately 60–70, with their mounted commanders stationed behind them.      

⨳ The Battle Formations

The image above gives us a condensed form of the archer unit [a spear unit would have the same formation], where:  

A. Yumi Bugyo (Archer Manager/Commissioner) B. Yumi Gumi Gashira (Archer Group Foreman) C. Samurai Yumi Gashira (Samurai Archer Foreman) D. Samurai Yumi Gumi (Samurai Archer Group) E. Yumi Ashigaru Gashira (Ashigaru Archer Foreman) F. Yumi Ashigaru Gumi (Ashigaru Archer Group) G. Yumi Ashigaru Ko-Gashira (Ashigaru Archer Sub-Foreman)

 [Names by EValerio; full credits to him]  

× Yumi Samurai are depicted in a more dispersed formation compared to the ashigaru, who maintained a tight and disciplined line at the front. While the samurai engaged in combat as a collective unit, the ashigaru adhered to a more structured arrangement. The ashigaru and the samurai Kumigashiras for both the troops were well equipped for battle and would join their men in combat when necessary.   

For instance, Michikatsu above could be represented as 'E' [as mentioned in my previous post; this is supported by the canon manga panels where he leads a small troop of ashigaru. I don't see any evidence to suggest he would be classified as 'B', unless someone can provide additional insights that I may have overlooked.]            

⨳ Conclusion

A follow-up of my previous post where we attempted to find out his distinction as a samurai. However, this one goes into much more detail about where he would actually stand in a Battlefield. There are many things that i have skipped over, as to keep this post focused and concise, ensuring it remains dedicated solely to Michikatsu.

[seramilla]

So how would Vaggie react to learning she’s now wrapped up in an arranged marriage? And since this is before she falls…does that mean Charlie is in her emo phase still??

Vaggie is really intimidated at being betrothed to the literal princess of Hell. Of course, she knows who Charlie is -- there isn't a person in Heaven or Hell who doesn't. Some years past, however, in her late teens, Charlotte Morningstar had gained somewhat of a reputation for being a rebel. Before she graduated from Hell High School, the Heaven tabloids used to publish stories of Charlie with a lot of unflattering photos of the young demon, wearing her hair and wardrobe black, reporting that she'd been running around with some wild characters, going to raves and parties, getting in trouble, and generally causing a lot of debauchery, even by Hell's standards.

Charlie has managed to stay out of the public eye for the last few years since she's come of age. Honestly, it's anyone's guess what the princess is really like these days. Only Sera, the High Seraphim of Heaven, and the one primarily responsible for finding Charlie's betrothed, assures Vaggie that the princess is nothing like what the media says. She doesn't do anything so rebellious now, and a lot of those tales were highly exaggerated anyway. Charlie is a perfectly delightful, upstanding citizen, and she assures Vaggie she will love her to pieces!

They ultimately meet at a party. One of those swanky, posh soirées that the nobility of both realms like to hold at the Heaven embassy in Hell. Sera is in attendance with her own wife, Carmilla, and they are off doing their own thing. Vaggie stands there in her white gown and fancy shoes that Sera bought her for the occasion, with her hair tied up in an elaborate bun. She stands next to some other highbrow angels, feeling completely awkward and out of her element. No one is talking to her.

She stays near the punch bowl and snack table, nibbling on things throughout the night to curb her own anxiety. She feels so out of place. She hasn't even been introduced to anyone, let alone Charlie! She's starting to wonder why she's even here at all.

It's not until a very beautiful, very coquettish woman in a red gown comes up to stand beside her, holding out her hand to be shaken. Vaggie looks down at her hand, and then up at her. She's tall. Very tall. Maybe around Carmilla's height, or a little less. The woman looks nervous, and she's blushing slightly, unable to meet Vaggie's gaze directly. Her other hand moves up to push stray locks of hair from falling in her face.

"H-hi!" the woman says, with a genuine smile. "I'm Charlie! You must be Vaggie! Carmilla has told me so much about you. I wanted to come say hello earlier, but I don't get to meet many angels. And you're just so... so pretty. Oh, shit, did I say that out loud? Forgive me! I admit, I was a little intimidated at meeting you. But I didn't want to be rude."

Vaggie looks at Charlie again. The princess is still holding out her hand, now biting her bottom lip in anticipation of Vaggie shaking it. Vaggie does. Charlie's fingers grip hers tightly, manicured red nails grazing lightly against Vaggie's hand. Vaggie maybe shakes Charlie's hand a little too hard, and takes a little too long to pull away.

"Va-vaggie. Yes, my name is Vaggie. Please! The pleasure is all mine, princess, I assure you."

That gets a laugh out of Charlie. She's beaming brightly now, like a light illuminating the otherwise dull illumination of the room. Like a morning star. Now Vaggie is the one blushing, as she listens to her talk about nothing in particular.

Oh, this! This...Vaggie thinks she could get used to this. She could get used to this very well!