#I fully expect this to make zero numbers

[lewdcookies]

First Platoon (Red), Bravo Company, 4th Tank Battalion, Osean Ground Defense Force (OGDF).

***

Something different for a change, this time a platoon of 15mm scale tanks from Flames of War WW3: Team Yankee. Was getting tired of painting just warhammer and bought an M1 Abrams box earlier this year as a present to myself. All of them are built as M1A1 variants.

A real treat to paint due to the small scale. Wanted to do NATO 3-color camouflage but after two failed attempts at it I went with a basic dark green hull. I looked up a bunch of images from the old REFORGER exercises and went with that instead.

Would've wanted them to be more loaded with gear, but the kit only came with a few boxes and jerry cans when I wanted some rucksacks and tarps too. But I couldn't find any stowage kits that I wouldn't have to pay a whole bunch for in either shipping or import taxes. Wouldn't have minded some Ace Combat decals too, but those are also only available outside of the EU. Whoopee. :v

Because I had goofed up the assembly a little with the first tank it turned into a painting test bed just so see how things would pan out.

Most important lessons I learned was that while dry brushing the hull looks good, it's also not that fun to do and you go through a ton of paint too in the process. Secondly, any pintle mounts and antennas go on last.

Want to paint more, considering getting M109 Paladins in the future. But then there's also have Strv 103s in the game, and only fools would say no to those.

[clovermoters]

Slim Pickin’s

☕️ ln4 x bestfriend!reader

☕️ where your childhood wish becomes a reality

☕️ warnings - none !! just some fluff and kisses

☕️ word count 1.5k

☕️ a/n : so i heard sabrina carpenters song that’s gonna be on short n’ sweet and then this was born two days later !! enjoy <33

“Maybe I'm gay.”

your best friend, lando, looks at you, confused. “what?” he asks through a chuckle.

you were fed up. The number of douchebag men that you have in your phone and not one of them has ever made it to a second date. That fact makes you want to rip your eyeballs out.

“maybe god just forgot my gay awakening and that’s why i can’t find a boyfriend! maybe i just don’t like men.” you throw your head back on the couch in lando’s living room in monaco.

“i doubt that he just forgot,” lando giggles

you knew this wasn't true. you knew you liked men and only men. because you definitely liked the man sitting at your feet, and you have since you were both 15. you’ve just never ever told him.

And you planned to keep it that way.

you groaned. “No, Lando, you don’t get it! it’s slim pickings around here. half the men in my phone don’t even know the difference between there, their and they’re!” quiet giggles from the man sitting across the couch from you filled the room.

Lando knew you were only joking, yet he can’t help but feel bad at your lack of dating life when he has models flocking toward him at all hours of the day. granted, the girl he wants isn’t even a model. In fact, she’s sitting right in front of him, sprawled out on his couch, complaining about boys. but she didn’t know that.

And he planned on keeping it that way.

—

Throughout your week-long stay in Monaco, you decided to set yourself on a mission to meet a guy and go on a date. On the fourth day, you were successful!

During a coffee run while lando streamed, you met a guy who asked you out to dinner the following night. You were so excited since given your history, the chance of a guy asking you out was close to zero. When he asked you even scanned your surroundings to make sure he was talking to you specifically.

you were getting ready in the guest room of lando’s apartment, since you were staying there during your visit.

while applying your lip liner and gloss, you heard a knock on the door. “Hey, what are you thinking we do for din- woah.”

the curly haired brunette stared at you in awe. you were always beautiful in his eyes, yet right now he was looking at you like you were the only girl in the world. it then clicks in lando’s head that you’re not dressed for him. “Why are you all dressed up?!” he teases, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“oh i have a date!” you hum with a smile.

he looks at you confused, like he doesn’t believe you fully. leaning against the doorway “what happened to slim pickings?” he pokes, crossing his arms atop his chest.

“can’t a girl meet a guy and go on a date? gosh.” you scoff, slightly annoyed that he’s teasing you over this. you’d hoped he would be happy you’re crawling your way out of this slump of being single. it was one of the things you loved about him — how he always treated you with nothing but kindness and support.

“Fine, fine, whatever. have fun, i guess” he turns around and ducks into his office, closing the door harsher than you expected. Just as you make a mental reminder to have a talk with him about it, your phone chimes — your date is waiting in the lobby.

lando watches you from the cracked doorway of his office, as you do a final check of your makeup in the mirror of the mud room. he thought you looked beautiful and was silently raging at the fact he isn’t the man you’ve dressed up for tonight. he’s liked you since you both were young kids running through the suburban bristol streets while your parents sat on the patio of his childhood home socializing over cocktails.

You were always there to support him through his racing career and you were the first person he called after McLaren chose to extend his contract. While he doubted himself and everyone told him to leave, you told him to follow his heart and do what felt right to him. Now, he’s a race winner with the team he calls home. To him, it’s always been you. You have always been the girl he pictured his life with.

But his gut always told him you’d never return these feelings back to him.

—

your date went horrible. All the guy did was talk about himself. and once he found out you were friends with some celebrities, the date had ended there for you. although you got some free drinks and a meal out of it. it only made you fall further into this loneliness.

the elevator dings, signaling you’ve arrived at the floor of lando’s apartment. you stumble to lando’s door. the alcohol takes effect and makes you trip into the door, startling Lando who’s standing just on the other side, waiting for you. He throws the door open, finding you standing there with slightly messed up hair and a frown on your face.

“c’mere,” he says quietly, taking you to the couch. sat on the coffee table in front of you, he gently took your foot into his lap. you feel his soft touch as he gently removes your heels from your feet. sending shivers down your spine.

“It was horrible. all he did was talk about himself,” you say frustrated. “I also accidentally let it slip that I knew you, oh, and don’t even get me started on his horrible taste in just about everything.”

He helps you up, taking you to the bathroom and sitting you down on the counter. He rummages through your toiletries bag, before taking out your makeup remover. As he starts removing your makeup, you study every inch of his face, counting every freckle and watching the way his jaw muscles clench as he focuses.

god he was beautiful.

you feel a lump in your throat as tears begin to fill your eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Lando asks, halting his movements.

“it’s just- i'm pretty sure every good man in this world is either taken or dead and its not fair.” you say letting a stray tear fall. in your head you knew you were being dramatic, but the three glasses of wine you had to get through that date have taken full control of your emotions.

Lando chuckles lightly, folding with the used makeup wipe in his hands, he looks to you “well, i’m neither of those things.” he says softly, almost as if he’s upset.

fuck. shit.

“no, no, wait, lando- i didn’t mean it like that, you're a great guy. an amazing guy actually.” you say quickly. he smiles at you as you continue to ramble “i mean, shit, i’d date you in a heartbeat-“

“what?”

you slap your hand over your mouth. holy fuck, did you really just say that? and Lando not saying anything just solidifies that he doesn’t return your feelings. Lando is staring at you like you’ve got three heads coming out of both of your ears.

you start to panic “i’m sorry, i don’t know why i said that, forget i said any-“ you’re cut off with the feeling of lando’s lips crashing into yours. his hands gently cup your face as he kisses you. you instantly return the kiss. The world slowly falls away leaving just the two of you. your hands moving to find home in his curl, slightly pulling on them. Lando releases a quiet groan. His hands work their way down your body to rest on your hips, gently pulling you closer to him.

Lando pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. “I have literally loved you since we were 16.”

you smile at him, “i love you, too.”

The two of you find yourself in Lando's bed watching your favorite movie, wrapped up in eachother. Lando turns his head to look down at you resting on his chest. Admiring your sleepy state as you attempt to stay focused on the movie he gave up on watching. How can he focus on anything else when you were sitting next to him?

the girl he's wanted since the two of you sat on his porch on a late summer night, eating the ice cream his mother tried to hide. giggles filling the air while you pointed out constellations to lando, chatting about where you wanted to be in 5 years.

“Well I hope to be in formula 1” Lando admitted. “You'll be there, I'm sure of it.” you added giving lando a smile he swore was brighter than the stars sat above.

He gasps slightly “don't move”

you freeze as he reaches a hand to your cheek, softly swiping a fallen eyelash holding it in front you.

“Make a wish” he breathed.

You shut your eyes tight, emphasizing the wish you were making before taking a big breath and sending the eyelash into the air. Followed by the sound of giggles coming from the brunette, he asks what you wished for. “If i tell you it won't come true!” you gasp faking offense.

who knew that after 8 years, your wish would finally came true.

🤍☕️.

AYAYAYAYAY ALL DONE !!

big thank u too my lovely friend who edited this and helped me <33

[ivysangel]

expanding on this post except it's where dick, roy, jason, and wally fall in the frat ranking and why (this is just for fun, don't take it too seriously)

DICK

is ranked number one every year until he graduates (duh) because he's a borderline nympho and can't go a single night without getting his dick wet

pledges aspire to be him but he's seriously contemplated attending a sex addicts anonymous meeting because he skipped half his classes last semester to fuck girls on greek row and his grades suffered

has a collection of underwear he steals from girls to keep as trophies and had to change the spot where he keeps them because one of his frat brothers found them and went around the house telling everyone that dick wore women's panties

fucked that guys ex to spite him and got away with it because he's super hot and also the frat president (defintely a legacy pledge too)

has told girls "i love you" and "you're the only one for me" to get in their pants and has either ghosted or messaged them "it's not you, it's me" immediately after leaving their dorm

there are multiple hate posts about him in the gotham university subreddit and all of the upvotes are from girls he’s fucked

ROY

ranked in the lower half of the top 10 but is on a mission to break top 5

gets a lot of play just from being hot but also keeps a list of girls dick rejects so he can be the first to console them and subsequently get in their pants, has "i can make you feel better"ed his way into many hook ups

has a thing for girls with dark hair who play hard to get and has unironically sent to the frat group chat "i need a goth bitch in my life"

scared away multiple girls by wanting to fuck them in the ass and always follows it up with "aw come on??? it was a joke!" even though it's not a joke

came too fast once as a freshman and got nicknamed speedy

is still bitter about it and sometimes sends to the gc "lasted 2 hours, who's speedy now?" and everyone's like "still you."

JASON

isn't ranked at all and not because he doesn't get any play, just because he doesn't kiss and tell

fully thinks the ranking is corny but also takes pride in knowing that if his bodycount was made public he wouldn't be at the absolute bottom

hasn't slept with that many girls but has had so many blowjobs that he's sometimes wondered if his dick will start pruning like wet fingers

felt dumb wondering that so he doubled up on his bio classes the next semester and then hooked up with his ta because she was hot and smart

is like the only guy in the frat that cares about safe sex and has had to let his brothers know on multiple occasions that their junk isn't supposed to be red or itchy, and has had the pleasure of accompanying more than a few of them on trips to the std clinic

never tells anyone that he's dick's adoptive brother, so every time they go home together over break and he decides to text a girl, she always responds with, "you're not gay?"

WALLY

would be ranked low because he's a loser and has zero game/cannot function normally around hot girls and will make a fool of himself 97% of the time but his oral skills cancel it out so he's somewhere in the middle

is one of the first places girls go after breaking up with their shitty bf's because he's sweet and will go down on them for hours without expecting anything in return

once had a conversation with jason where he reffered to his girls as clients and jason said he "made it sound like prostitution"

once had a conversation with jason where he said his jaw was getting tired and he was thinking about charging for his “service” and jason said, "that would be actual prostitution"

has cum too quick on multiple occasions but didn't get a nickname because nobody was surprised

once hooked up with another ginger, and roy had to sit him down to tell him that it was fundamentally wrong and that he was never allowed to do it again or else he'd be kicked out of the frat

[sykesandskittles]

“ZERO”

Warnings: warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, spanking, marking, implied dom!Noah, BOYFRIEND!noe <3, sir kink, pain kink (reader), reader is called ‘good girl’ and ‘baby’, brat tamer!noah, brat!reader, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, , thigh fucking, Noah spanks reader’s ass edging / orgasm denial, oral (f receiving), dry humping, fingering, Noah does eventually let reader cum <3

WC: 3.7k

Notes) Ngl, I wrote this at like 2am while listening to DAYSEEKER. That being said. Noah will give you whiplash (just like dayseekers songs) he goes from Mean Noah to tease Noah! Hope y’all enjoy 😉

Noah’s patience was about as thin as a strand of hair at this point. When he invited you to his company’s banquet dinner as his plus one, he was happy to have you on his arm all night. He always talked very highly of you at work, so it was only natural that he wanted to show you off to all his coworkers. He had taken you shopping for a new dress specifically for the occasion, and the both of you were looking forward to it. That was until you made your first mistake.

Now, you were a brat. Plain and simple. But the fun part about your relationship with Noah was that he didn’t mind it. He enjoyed the playfulness. He enjoyed the challenge. He enjoyed putting you in your place. What he didn’t enjoy, though, was the roles reversing. He was the one that did the teasing in your relationship, but usually only in situations that he found appropriate. And his company’s banquet dinner was not the appropriate situation for you to be teasing him.

Your boyfriend’s method of warnings for you was a countdown system, and he was generous with it, too. Three strikes? No. He started at five, telling you a number as a warning, and each time you acted up he went down until he reached zero. Then you were in for it.

When you two had arrived to the dinner, Noah was introducing you to the guys from his department. They complimented you abundantly, making your face warm from the attention. Noah’s eyes held sparkles in them, pride blooming in his chest. But when he pulled you into his side and your hand discreetly squeezed his ass, his smile faltered. His eyes connected with yours and then he was leaning in close to your ear. “Five,” he whispered.

Still, you persisted. Not even ten minutes later, you were finding your seats at a round table that held eight people. Noah was the only one at his table that had a plus one, so all of his (single) coworkers were sat around the table. One of them, named Nicholas, had seemed to take a particular liking to you despite Noah’s presence. He joked that the “princess should sit next to him” and you took him up on the offer, knowing very well that it would have your boyfriend fuming. This time you were fully expecting it when he roughly spoke into your ear, “Four.”

After that you had mellowed down, but not for too long. You had started complaining that your feet hurt from your heels. Noah assured you that it would only be about thirty more minutes until you two left. But you continued to pester him, practically begging him to bring you home earlier. Your fingers tugged at his coat pocket, trying to get his attention, but he was busy downing the rest of his champagne. When the flute hit the table top, his hand reached over to your lap and gripped your upper thigh. The action had your eyes locking with his, and he saw the flare of excitement in your orbs. He was already planning what he was going to do to you. “Three.”

Finally, once Noah decided it was time to go, he helped you into the passenger seat of his car. The ride home was quiet for the most part; you knew he was in a mood from your behavior at the banquet, and yet you still felt like pushing his buttons. You feigned an innocent look and set your fingers delicately on the bicep of his arm that rested on the center console.

“Noe, will you take a shower with me when we get home?”

He scoffed. That was it. That was all he gave you.

“Well?” your voice dripped with entitlement. With audacity. You watched his jaw tighten at your question. His knuckles grew pale as he gripped the gear shift harder.

“Two.”

You shut up after that. A wise decision. But you weren’t done yet. Not even close.

Once you were home, Noah did his usual night routine of checking the house. Checking the alarm system and the door locks. While he did that, you went to the bathroom to take off your clothes and start on your own night routine of self care. When he got to your bedroom, you were in only your undergarments, makeup still on your face. You were taking off your jewelry and putting it back into your jewelry box. He stopped in the doorway between your bathroom and bedroom, arms crossed over his chest as he simply watched you. Your eyes met his briefly, and his gaze sent a chill down your spine. Oh, you were definitely in for it.

“Had your fun tonight, didn’t you? Grabbing my ass in front of my friends? Acting like a whiny child?”

You shrugged, “Had to keep myself entertained somehow. No offense, babe, but your coworkers are kind of boring.”

He scoffed again, and once again, there was no humor behind it. He peeled off his coat, tossing it into the hamper beside the door. Then he loosened his tie, leaving it half-tied as he undid every button of his shirt. The two garments were pulled over his head and joined the coat. Then the silver of his belt buckle was clacking together as he unfastened it. The sound had you growing wet between your legs. The strap was swiftly yanked from the loops on his waist and sat, folded in half in his palm.

“Yeah? Need I remind you that you were so excited to go tonight that you had me take you dress shopping? Huh? You should be grateful.”

He had no idea how far you could go. How far you wanted to go. But it was far.

“I am. It will look really cute in my closet. Looks better on the floor though,” you smirked to yourself, knowing he was watching your every move, your every expression, in the mirror. You turned around to face him, and he walked closer to you.

“One.”

This was it. The moment where you decided your fate. It was the last thing you would be able to decide until he was done with you. Until he decided that you had enough. That you learned your lesson.

“Wanna keep talking? You should thank me for taking you out tonight. I could’ve left your sorry ass at home all alone,” he said, his hardened gaze never leaving your own, impish one.

“I probably would’ve been better off. At least then I could’ve gotten off by myself. I’ve wanted you to fuck me all night, and that clearly hasn’t happened.”

In a moment too quick to register, he had you caged against the bathroom counter. His hands held each end of his folded belt, the black leather strap digging into your back as he pressed you against him. You couldn’t escape if you wanted to, but let’s be honest, you didn’t want to. You had him right where you wanted him.

Well, he had you right where he wanted you.

“Zero,” his voice was scarily stern when he commanded you, “Get on the bed. Now.”

That’s how you ended up flat on your stomach, your cheek pressed into the sheets of your bed, his lingering cologne filling your nose. Thoughts were barely forming in your mind as he fucked into you ruggedly from behind. He had straddled the back of your thighs and fed his thick cock between your folds. He didn’t bother asking you how you wanted it like he normally did; he didn’t care. Whatever you wanted, you didn’t deserve it. It was all about him and what he wanted. And right now he just wanted to use you as his personal toy. He wanted to fuck you so good that he finally shut you up, and it seemed to be working so far.

The only words that were (barely) leaving your mouth as he drilled your hips into the mattress was moans of his name plus a few expletives. Though, he couldn’t really make out what you were saying because the sheets muffled you. He smirked as he slapped your ass cheek, and you responded with a whine.

“All bark and no fucking bite. You real quiet when you’ve got my dick in you. I should fuck you more often, then maybe you’ll finally act right,” he spoke breathlessly as he continued to thrust between your thighs with conviction, “But you would like that too much. And brats like you don’t get what you want.”

“Noe-“ you groaned, “Wanna-“

“Don’t,” he cut you off, “I don’t care what you want. And you better not cum until I tell you to.”

“Please,” you wailed, tears welling up in your desperate eyes. He rolled his eyes. He could feel you tightening around his cock, so your orgasm was only a minute or so from happening. He couldn’t have that.

He pulled out suddenly, causing you to protest and push your hips up for friction. His hands held your hips down firmly, and all you could do was squirm in his grip.

“Cut it out, or you won’t cum at all.”

You instantly fell still, sniffling innocently. He knew you too well, though, and saw right through your pathetic act.

He was growing even more impatient, his raging boner making him irritable. He decided you wouldn’t be cumming any time soon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t. You made a startled noise when he pulled your hips up just enough for him to feed his tip through your thighs again. But that’s all he did. You were waiting to feel full again, but the sensation never came to fruition. You moaned his name, peeking over your shoulder at him. But he just watched himself sinking between the flesh of your thighs. He got himself off like that, bucking between your legs. He fed off of the disgruntled noises you made. The way you begged him to put it back in. The way you begged him to fuck you. The shameless desperation in your voice. This is what he lived for. Sure, you were a brat—and a mouthy one—but it was worth it dealing with you when he got you like this at the end of it all.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this, baby,” he grunted, feeling his orgasm brewing.

“My pussy feels better though,” you practically mewled.

“Yeah, you would want me to say that, huh?” he mocked you, knowing it was true. Your pussy was better, and you knew that. He knew it. But he didn’t need to say it.

He came shortly after that, hips stuttering against yours. The sheets underneath you grew wet and uncomfortable, and you were upset that he came on them instead of inside you. You wondered if that was really all he was going to do to you tonight. Use your thighs, and pathetically leave you to your own devices.

You lay there on the bed, a frown settled on your lips as you started to accept your fate.

“You’re lucky I’m in a decent mood today. You’ll only get ten.”

Instantly you felt relief flood into your entire being. Ten spanks; you could handle that. The last time you had gotten punished was for sending nudes to him while he was at work, and he gave you a good thirty smacks (fifteen on each ass cheek). Your skin was marked for days and the subtle sting lasted even longer. You enjoyed a good spanking, but sometimes they could be more pain than pleasure. Ten would be perfect.

You tried not to seem to happy, in case he decided to up the number. You waited patiently and quietly, just like he always wanted you to be. When he sat beside you and patted his thigh, you climbed into the usual position.

Your knees dug into the mattress on one side of him while your hands secured your upper half on the other side of his lap. If you were to lower yourself, your stomach would be lying on top of his thighs. But he wanted you to use your strength to hold yourself up—this was a punishment after all.

“You’re gonna keep count like a good girl, right?” he asked.

“Yes sir.”

He hummed in approval, his hands already kneading your ass. Your cunt felt a cool breeze from the A/C circulating in the room; you shivered.

“And you’re already wet? I barely even did anything yet,” Noah commented, shaking his head, “Let’s add another one.”

You whine “Eleven?” you asked incredulously.

“Yep. Count ‘em.”

Slap.

You gasped, not expecting the first one so soon. After a second you said, “One.”

Nine slaps against your cheek later, that familiar, searing sting was permeating throughout your lower half. It didn’t help that he left his wedding ring on, which only hurt even more. You were almost certain there would be an outline of his hand as he did every single smack on your left ass cheek.

“How many is that again, baby?”

“Ten.”

“Make this lucky number eleven,” he smirked to himself as he landed one, last, good slap on top of the same spot he had been going at. Your body flinched at the impact, and your cunt clenched around nothing, oozing a little more arousal out. This wasn’t unnoticed by your oh-so-observant husband who then spread your cheeks apart to get a good look at it, “You really like this shit, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, secretly praying for him to touch you, lick you, fuck you, anything.

“You don’t really deserve to be treated nicely after your bratty behavior today, though, huh?”

“I’m sorry, baby, really. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. We can go to your favorite lunch place, my treat! I’ll even get dessert.”

He scoffed out a laugh, “So desperate”.

You let out a small sigh of relief as you felt his fingertips rub over your wet cunt.

———

Three times, your boyfriend had basically taken you by the hand, leading you to the very brink, the precipice, of an orgasm just to rip it away from you right before you could have it. Each time a whine would tear through your throat and escape through your lips before he would hush you with a kiss, telling you that would be the last one. But it wasn’t, it never was. He was in one of those moods again.

Noah would often get into these sadistic moods where he would thrive off of edging you, denying your release over and over and over again until he finally felt some sympathy for you. He luxuriated in the way your brows scrunched together and your mouth parted to let out a noise of unfathomable pleasure before it turned into squeaks of disappointment and frustration. With the little stunts you pulled at the banquet, you deserved the pain-pleasure of being denied. A smile would spread across his rosy lips when your knuckles would tighten then unfurl after being played for the nth time. It was all a game to him, and he only scored points when you looked disheveled, disheartened, and dissatisfied.

“Noe- Noah, please,” your voice came out in cracked breaths, desperation dripping off of your words.

“Yes, baby?” he was so patronizing in the way he addressed you, like he was so innocent.

“I need to cum,” you whimpered like a wounded animal, begging for mercy, “Please.”

“You need to?” he repeated, “Or you want to?”

“I-,” you had to be careful, because however you answered next would determine your fate in the next few minutes, “I need to.”

“That's so?” he asked after a moment of consideration.

You nodded, hissing when his fingertips touched the bruises he left from gripping your thigh while fucking them. The corners of his lips twitched, wanting to form a wicked smile. He continued to trail his fingers along your skin, over your hips and waist, past your navel, creating goosebumps in their wake. Up the center of your chest and the column of your throat, finally the digits came to a halt at your chin. They tilted your face towards his own as he now hovered close to you on your shared bed. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, before he spoke.

“Then I shouldn’t make my love wait any longer, huh?”

A venomous undertone was latent in the way he spoke. Your eyes began to tear up as you realized this will either be the finale of your torment or just another round of his cruel little game. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take, but you wanted to cum so bad you couldn’t think straight anymore.

You breathed deeply in and out of your nose, gritting your teeth behind tight lips as Noah’s fingers went back between your thighs, drawing meaningless lines and curves with the lightest touch possible. The skin between your thighs was sticky from the amount of arousal that had built up over the past thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of amusing Punishment turned into agony.

The first time, he had you pressed against the wall, your clothes still on. His knee was pressed against your cunt, expertly bucking up between your thighs until you were crying out his name and gripping onto his shirt for dear life. Then he was pulling away, tossing you onto the bed unceremoniously.

The second time, he was eating you out, relentlessly lapping at your clit like a piece of candy. And he didn’t stop until you were squeezing your legs around his head, moans spilling from your pretty lips. The same lips that whined out when he came up with a wet smirk on his own lips, mischief prominent in the way he moved up to kiss you.

The third time, he had been making out with you fervently, the two of you a mess of tangled limbs and mashed lips and teeth. He couldn’t hold back his grunts as he slotted his hips between yours and humped you. Both of you were still in your clothes, but only undergarments. You could practically feel his erection against your pelvis, the tip moistening his boxers as it bumped against your folds with every thrust of his hips. You were so close that third time, the closest you had gotten, only for him to pull away with a laugh when he noticed how pathetic you looked.

But now was the fourth time, and it seemed he was going to finger you. Usually your boyfriend liked to cum inside of you, so your chances of cumming soon were looking slim to none. Your chest deflated when you came to the realization, and Noah noticed the shift in your expressions. A crack formed in his sadistic, playful demeanor.

“Want you to cum on my fingers. You can do that, can’t you, baby?” he kissed your cheek lovingly as his fingers finally slipped between the cushions of your thighs. The sides of his hands accumulated the arousal from your skin while his fingertips collected it from the depths of your slit. A chill went down your spine as you finally got him to touch you, like, actually touch you. Not with his knee or his tongue, “ Y/N?”

“Yes,” you panted, already having forgotten the question. All you could think about was the pads of his middle and ring fingers teasing the slick skin around your clit. Your hips were bucking into his, yearning for more of him. He found it amusing, a cocky smile showing as he finally moved his fingers to your hole, dipping them in. His eyes watched your face contort with pleasure as he slowly sunk his fingers deeper, knuckle by knuckle, until he couldn’t go any more.

He slowly pulled his fingers out before thrusting them back in, repeating those fluid movements again and again. He created a pace that had your head digging into the pillows and your back arching. Your hands were clutching at his arm and the bed sheets, your fingernails denting his skin and your fingers twisting the sheets in their grip.

You were painfully aware of the wet sounds coming from between your legs. The squelching caused your ears and cheeks to burn with embarrassment, but it only turned Noah on more than he already was. He loved knowing that he could make you this wet. That with a little foreplay and teasing, he could turn you into the biggest mess, and all without you cumming. If his pride could be measured it would’ve broken a scale by now.

“Cum on my fingers,” he said, gaze intense as he watched you get closer and closer to release. He knew your tells so well by now. The way you clenched around him was a dead giveaway, but your thighs also twitched and shifted, like you wanted to run but had nowhere to go. Your chest moved sporadically with your uneven, rugged breaths. Your moans became unbridled and carnal.

“Can I?” you whimpered, praying this wasn’t just some cruel joke he was making before he ripped the rug out from under your feet again.

“Yeah, baby, come on. Make a mess on my fingers, I want you to.”

Before he could even finish talking, you were already letting out a moan-like sigh, your hips pressing up against his soaked fingers. As soon as you finished, they fell back against the bed, and you were now aware of just how wet the sheets had gotten. But you didn’t care in that moment, and you wouldn’t for a while longer. You only cared about the buzzing sensation riding throughout your lower half, like electricity running through an electric fence. It crackled in your abdomen, your thighs, your toes, your clit. You forgot how good it felt to actually cum. Maybe now you were starting to understand why Noah got off on doing this to you

Ending notes) just a quick thanks for this request!

[youreirrelevant]

Sundog

pairing: Kendall Roy/Reader summary: Then, he's slotting his chin between your breasts, sighing so heavily you can feel the warmth and moisture of his breath ooze through the fabric of your shirt. His thumbs hook into the waistband of your pajama shorts, soft with age. “I’ve had a long fucking day.” words: 2865 tags: EXPLICIT, porn with some plot (Kendall is ceo, but-), a hint of angst, light dom/sub, mutual masturbation, thigh riding a/n: I started writing this back in February of 2023...

Long days. Clicking a pen, faster than the seconds could pass. Some days he’d lose track of time, the sun would have been fully set before he’d notice there was no more light streaming into his office. Today seemed to be never-ending. Words on the screen would pixelate, the ones on paper, smudging. The numbers meant nothing, and he felt quite the business school cliché, only really able to focus on the color of the candlesticks. Seconds, minutes, hours, too many seemed red, like the heat of the day crawling by. Kendall would hold a few slugged-through pages between his index and middle fingers up to reveal a new one, eyes moving over the words as many times as it took to actually read. Felt the rough paper against the sensitive skin of his fingers, to not think of harder things. Softer things.

---

Sometimes he’d look to his dad’s suite still expecting to see him sitting there. Five o’clock was out of the question, but he didn’t know if he had it in him to wait until whatever time his brain felt would have, hypothetically, satisfied his father. (There was no such time.) Another hour, but it was essentially time theft. And perfunctory, performative- he could leave whenever the hell he wanted. (Still under his watchful eye.)

For the short walk from the building to the back of his chauffeured car, Kendall felt ten pounds heavier. Slipping his sunglasses on as soon as he stepped outside to shield himself from the penetrative rays. Sweltering, heat distorted, the air is coming up from the asphalt, off the hoods of cars, in waves. He sighs. The air is thick with humidity and makes him think of things he always tries not to. He slides into the backseat, the leather mercifully cool from where the air conditioning had been allowed to run in preparation for him.

Summer seems to have crept into him, past his skin and into the meat and bones. His stomach. Thoughts of water trickling, pouring, trying to chill people who continued to warm themselves. You could generate steam off the friction and body temperatures alone.

He felt so hard it was almost juvenile.

—

Dogs and cats will sunbathe in the sunlight that comes in through those stain-glass windows in front doors. The AC will chill the air, but anything the light touches is warmed. Through fur, and through clothes.

It’s all fucking windows. Bedroom and great room and dining room. Inescapable, infrared. You long for paper-thin white sheets, a rattling box fan to tuck it around. Colder than laying in snow. Absolute zero. The setting of the sun was more attainable. Just three hours away.

By the time he’s in the elevator, he’s itchy and aching from irritation. Wants to shed himself of his blazer at the very least. Is tired of the abrasive, stiffened nature that he’s always surrounded with, standing sturdy against the loosening of every other molecule and bond. Somehow.

He knows where he can get pliancy, though.

When he steps foot into the penthouse it’s not exactly hot, but it's stagnant. Even here there are little specks of dust floating and visible in the beams of sunlight. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t really know how to prevent dust, or what even causes it. Skin? Dirt brought in from outside?

You round the corner from the kitchen- hardly its own, enclosed room- find Kendall rolling his sleeves up. His shirt is so white its almost blue; the tan of his skin, brown of his moles, darker against it. The glass water bottle you carry is perspiring, the heat of your body penetrating, evaporating. You want to watch him, biting your lip at the flex of his fingers, tendons in his hands, muscles in his forearm. He’s watching himself do it, making the folds neat and even. The angle of his face highlights the bumps in the bridge of his nose, the thickness of his lashes, and you have to close the gap.

“You’re home kind of early,” its sweet, affectionate. The way you sound when you thank him. Gracious; soft. He straightens. Glances at you.

“Yeah, well-“evasive. Not thinking of you at all.

Two ways- when your hand wraps around his bicep he wants to bring you closer, push you away. He manages to stay still.

“Did you guys ever put cold drinks against your necks to cool down?”

Before he can even answer you’re doing just that for him, the frosty glass pressing against his carotid quickening his pulse and seeming to chill everything inside his chest. The sweat is wetting his skin, dampening his collar. It's so quintessentially summer; some fleeting relief.

“No. We had servants to fan us with those, uh, big fucking leaves.” So deadpan one could think he was serious. Your cheeks are pinched with a restrained smile, eyes glittering. Sometimes he wishes you’d just kiss him instead of hesitating -admiring- and creating this tension.

“Mhmm. Naturally.”

When he pulls away you don’t try to stop him. He tugs the fold of his collar away, then pulls it back against himself. Trying to be subtle, like he’s just straightening it, not depriving himself of the now warm, damp spot for a moment so he can enjoy it more when it's returned.

He flattens his lips. There’s an endless itch he needs scratched.

He sits on the couch, ridged and on the edge of the cushion, like he’s trying to level with you, implore to you. His body strains against his shirt- the buttons strain a little, tufts of chest hair are visible where the top ones are undone.

Kendall beckons you over casually- “Come here.” The ease of it always made you feel a little hotter, a little giddy. When you get close enough, he takes the bottle of water from you, sets it aside before leaning forward. Eyes on yours as he grabs your waist, pulls you to stand between his parted thighs, lean and toned against yours. He smiles up at you and it’s downright sweet- you want to tell him he’s pretty, full lips pulled back in a wide v. Your hands rest easily on his shoulders, cheeks pink with affection as you return his smile.

The kiss is only natural, slow and tender, but just as you go to readjust the way your lips slot against his, he’s yanking you even closer, thumbs digging into your hip bones so deep you gasp, his nose pressing into your cheek so tightly it bends. Then his chin is slotted between your breasts. He lets out a sigh so heavy you can feel the warmth and moisture of his breath ooze through the fabric of your shirt.

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your pajama shorts, soft with age.

“I’ve had a long fucking day.”

Kendall does it quick, undresses you from the waist down without much fanfare. Tipping his chin down to watch as he pulls the shorts- and your underwear- down your thighs, moving his head away from you just enough to make it easier when he slips it over your knees, his hands fisting themselves into the clothes to tug more forcefully. There would usually be some easing into this, more kissing and touching, (not that there were never rushes, but, well, this wasn’t rushed.) He runs his palms back up your legs, up the sides, your knees buckling a little as his thumbs swipe over them broadly. They move up and around your thighs, cupping your ass as he looks up at you again.

Your legs shift. You wonder what he’s going to do. What he’s got planned. Suddenly it’s not hot enough.

“Um-?”

“I want you to ride my thigh.”

You scoff incredulously. He’s deadpan again so, surely, he’s joking.

“Do people actually do that?”

“You will.”

Of course you will. He’s smiling up at you, digging his fingers into your hips. There’s a firmness to his expression. He nudges the side of your leg with his knee and it feels real. Whole torso seeming to bubble with nerves and excitement.

You look at him and huff out a single, weak little laugh, but there is no bluff to be called. His forehead wrinkles when he raises his brows. Impatient.

Moving to straddle him feels awkward. It's not exactly unfamiliar- lots of people get off like this, when they’re young and learning about their bodies, and maybe you had, too. And maybe there was fabric involved then, too, but certainly no leg beneath. No person around at all.

He feels your hands trembling as they slide down to his biceps- somehow you both feel more solid to each other than you ever have. He’s thankful you aren’t looking, because any commanding facade he had has slipped away with your gaze. Working too hard to school his breathing; you give in to him, and he’s enraptured.

When you finally press against him, it aches. Not unfamiliar. Your chest heaves. He’s slim, but sturdy. Your face tingles with warmth- embarrassment- and you try not to get ahead of yourself, thinking-

“Do you need help?”

As if you’d been just sitting there, like minutes had passed or something.

“N-no.”

You shift your hips, take in a staggered breath. Maybe you had been sitting here for minutes. Shame and desire are symbiotic, show in the way you tremble from restraint. His hands slip under your shirt, running up your back and nudging you forward.

“There’s a- I feel rushed.”

“Don’t feel rushed. There’s no rush. Just, fuckin, get yourself off on my leg. Now.”

It’s the kind of command that shows he knows he’ll always get what he wants, cushioned in excitement and eagerness. Infectious; if you see how much he wants it, wants you to do it, you’ll want it, too.

And you do.

The first pass is slow and tentative. The hood of your clit is tugged upward as you angle your pelvis back, and you exhale noisily. You can feel every thread of his slacks, finely woven and stiff, all the way down into your toes. There’s an instinctive urge to keep yourself quiet, to get yourself off as quickly as you can, so you don’t get caught. Fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, hips wiggling to get a better angle. If drool spilled out of Kendall’s open mouth, pooling, dribbling over the plumpness of his bottom lip, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He’s trying to keep his cool. This was supposed to be mean to you. Degrading, a little show for him. A reward for -a distraction from- the tedium and sterility of the job he gave almost everything up for. But his face is so flushed it hurts, ears and sinuses aching, and he kind of wonders where that blood even comes from, because he’s throbbing against his leg. You look so demure. Pretty, sweat gathering in the crooks of your elbows, along the base of your neck already, from the strain of perching, rutting against his leg. Glittering in the light from the sun. His pants are tailored too slim. He swallows, shifts on the couch to try and give himself some space, and you gasp as his thigh presses firmly against your vulva.

“Don’t—“

Wobbly and strained. It’s clear, from the minute trembling of your thighs, the slackening of your jaw, that you liked it. His hands glide over your hips, down your thighs, long fingers sticking to your dewy skin.

“Sorry.”

Licking his teeth. A big grin on his face. He’s not fucking sorry; he does it again. The heel of your hand digs into his shoulder, but the moan you let out undermines any attempt at really putting your foot down.

“Fucking— stop,” giggly and spineless, but this time, he does obey, pleased that the jolt of his thigh has knocked loose your inhibitions. You widen your stance, reach a hand down to his hip to get more leverage. The leather of his belt is cool and smooth against your heated palm. He’s pushed you onto the right track.

Emboldened, determined, messy. Really going for it, now, hips rolling, bearing down on him to get that perfect scratch. He tugs your shirt up to see, to catch a peak of the streak of wetness left behind, darkening the fabric of his slacks. In the center of his chest, this tightening, cloying need to touch it. Rub it in, bring it to his mouth and taste it, but he doesn’t want to interrupt. Doesn’t want to break the spell and make you remember that he’s there, so that the embarrassment might wash over you anew. No, he wants you to cum like this, desperate and animalistic. Redirecting that energy, that need to grab and touch, he presses his palm against his cock, grunting at the pressure, loosely curling his fingers around himself and tugging to get some sort of relief.

Both of you moan. That’s—plenty. Way too fucking hot. Your minds run, sprint, parallel to each other’s with the same desires. Watching each other, wanting the other to make a mess of his nice, expensive clothes. Cascading. A feedback loop. Your fingers open and curl to get a better hold, to ride a little faster. The clinking, the buzzing of metal. He unbuckles his belt, opens his fly. The air between you is muggy, rapidly exchanged. The head of his cock flushed pink and swollen, skin pulled shiny-taut. You’re staring, as he wraps his hand around himself. Your eyebrows pinch. You want him so fucking bad. In your hand. On your tongue. Heavy and smooth.

Another pass. The pleat of his slacks catches on you, rigid and perfect and just what you need. He sees you try to chase it, squirming but unable to hit it the same way. So he flattens his palm on his upper thigh, just tight enough to keep it in place, without smoothing out the fold. Blood rushes, tingly and hot, all the way to the top of your head.

“Yes, Kendall,” gasped and dripping with gratitude, like it’s the texture of his fingertips that’s rubbing against you.

One of your thumbs tucks up under his hand, so you can rest yours on his leg, too. Grabbing, pulling yourself over him. The touch is so tender and intimate it makes his heart clench. He really isn’t there, now, as you get closer and closer. As you grind, rough and frantic against his leg. He jerks himself rhythmically, mechanically, trying to time it with each desperate jerk of your body. Both of your hands wrap around his thigh, your eyes closed, each movement and moan and whimper shorter and harsher and his mouth drops open at the sight of it. He grips his thigh, pinching your thumb between it and his hand, but neither of you mind. His other leg swings wider, knee almost bumping against the firm edge of the couch as he feels his balls pull tight against his body. He can smell you, your sweat, maybe even the tang of your arousal. See the strain this puts on your body, to balance and rut and try to get yourself off like this. Chest heaving, eyes glued to where your shirt drapes between your thighs, like it’s this mystical, magical, unattainable place— though he tries to keep himself quiet, hidden, he moans, as that first rope of cum falls, splats dully on the hardwood floor. You look up, to his face, find long lashes fanned across his cheeks, face pinched as he works himself through it, his leg bouncing, just a little.

“Mm, fuck,” you look, sound, surprised, almost agonized, watching as it pools milky white and thick between his knuckles. He watches you, the webbing between his thumb and index finger nestled at the base at the base of his cock, holding it upright as you tilt your hips and move them raggedly, harshly, to get that kind of orgasm that feels gooey and wet and endless. Your face goes slack. You drag yourself through it, barely making a sound, wanting it to last as long as possible.

You want it to go on forever because, once it’s over, embarrassment starts to creep in. It creeps into you both. The pace and the roughness of your movements. The specificities of the way you liked to get yourselves off. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that neither of you expected. That you rarely ever were with each other. Your legs are shaking. Each crevice in your body is slick with sweat, and it makes you feel gross.

“That was— ha.”

You wet your lips. Your mouth is dry.

“I don’t know how you can do that for so long,” it’s sheepish, but there’s also a hint of appreciation. Moving like that, for even that brief of a period of time, makes your whole body hurt. Core and upper arms and calves. Top to bottom. You go to stand, and he has to catch you, steady you with a still sticky hand on your waist. You grimace, but the mess is also kind of— hot.

“You just need to work on your stamina.”

[janmisali]

Number Tournament: Final Results

congratulations to zero!

and a huge thank you to everyone who participated in the Number Tournament! full disclosure, I fully expected 69-420 to be the final match, so I'm very proud of everyone for showing a preference near-universally for more interesting numbers, allowing some of the strangest numbers in the tournament to make it much farther than expected.

as much as it saddens me to see the imaginary unit defeated after coming so far, zero's performance throughout the tournament was so consistently outclassing every number it went up against, this really couldn't have turned out any other way.

anyway, that's the end of the Number Tournament. I'll be posting some analysis soon, and I'll definitely get back to posting my usual fun one-off poll ideas, but I don't think I'll be doing another big bracket like this any time soon.

[not-poignant]

Hey! It is so interesting to me when people hate on things created by the people they hate (not bashing here just wondering, for each their own). It is just for me it always was the same thing as - my country is run by terrible people, but there woudn't be the place where I can feel more at home than this room I am in. Same always was with HP. I will hate Rowling for every shitty thing she said/did, but hp fanfics/books will always be my safe haven. It's not hers anymore, it's mine.

Anonymously coming into a trans person's private messages to tell them that hating on the creations of the most famous transphobic creator in the world is 'interesting' to you as though this is merely a thought experiment and not something with tangible stakes is a choice, anon.

Here's the thing. JKR isn't dead, she's not a philosophical concept (like a nation), she's not a government. She's a living person still using the profits of her creations to hate on and harm trans people and actively influence trans dehumanising laws.

Anyone who gives her money via buying her books or merch actively and explicitly contributes to these actions and this hate. I don't think your analogy is comparable, so I'll give you another: It would be like if you were a domestic violence victim, and I was a huge fan of Chris Brown (a very famous domestic violence abuser) and went into your personal space to anonymously tell you how 'interesting' it is that I can separate the art from the artist. That his music is 'mine now' while fully knowing that a domestic abuser is benefitting from my listening to his music and spreading this rhetoric about him. I'll tack on a 'but he's bad' to cover my bases, but that's it.

Just...why.

Our lives are not thought experiments. It's not 'interesting' that many trans people can't and won't separate the art from the artist while the artist actively uses the money from the art to harm us and increase hate crimes against us. It's devastating that more people don't understand why this is such an issue.

HP is not yours, anon. Not in the same way it's JKR's. You don't own the IP. You can't use the profits from it to help marginalised people. You can enjoy it in your mind, and privately, and among folks who feel the same way as you, but speaking about it favourably in public with zero caveats allies you with the most public and infamous transphobic mascot and influential figure in the world whether you like it or not. Even with caveats, it still harms more trans people than it helps.

Being reminded of the person actively working to increase the number of draconian laws around our rights, who has the endorsement of Putin and has empowered trans haters in the US, is not an 'interesting' little experiment for me, it's actively painful and hurtful. I'd rather you just bashed outright so I could delete the anon message rather than explain why our lives are interesting philosophical think pieces.

If this is what you're choosing to do with the part of HP that belongs to you and is now yours, by anonymously coming here to tell a trans person these things as though you expect any answer than the one I'm giving you now? Well, that sucks too.

Enjoy the IP and make it yours if you must. Stop telling trans people about it anonymously. And if you can't stop telling people how much you like HP, for god's sake, warn them first so they can decide if you're safe enough to keep interacting with.

[cl0wncakez]

Say whatever you want about the black and white anime, but the one thing i will always stand by is that IRIS AND CILAN WERE NEVER PART OF THE PROBLEM!!!!

i did a full watch of the bw series a few weeks back, and the main 2 complaints i had about it were ash’s pokemon (he caught too many and most of them didn’t get enough screentime as a result) and team rocket (they were like barely there and didn’t even do the blasting off gag until the last season i think)

but for me the best parts of it were iris and cilan!!! i was kinda expecting them to be annoying cuz of all the hate they got, but i was pleasantly surprised at how enjoyable they were.

first off, i am the number 1 iris defender. all the posts i see that complain about her say the same thing everytime: “all iris does is say that ash is a little kid!”

well, as someone who’s binged the entire unova anime in like a week and a half, i can say that there is so much more to her. but for one, she doesn’t even say that ash is a kid as often as you might think. she mostly says it in the first few episodes when she first met ash. for the rest of the series, she’ll occasionally say it in passing, but it is not her one defining trait. while there are a few instances where i thought that it wasn’t warranted, there are plenty more times where ash was being big dummy and deserved it.

what people seem to forget about iris is that at the start of ash’s unova journey, iris is practically a new trainer. her axew is at most only a few weeks old, and her excadrill, while strong, hasn’t battled for who knows how long after being brutally defeated by drayden’s haxorous, leaving it in a state of shock. so obviously, she isn’t going to be the most experienced trainer out there.

iris grew up in the village of dragons, which as the name suggests, is a village inhabited by various dragon type pokemon. having spent her whole life surrounded by dragon types, iris has made it her dream to become a dragon type master. while at the beginning of her journey, she’s just with her axew, she over time has several encounters with dragon type pokemon, all of which help her better understand how to communicate with dragon types.

in one episode, she helped a druddigon out from a trap set by team rocket, while everyone else assumed it was rampaging out of anger. in another, the gang were helping out at a pokemon daycare, and in it was a deino, who was extremely shy. it’s trainer hadn’t returned for days after they said they would (the trainer ended up getting lost in a cave) and it was beginning to refuse to eat due to its anxiety. and what did iris do? she stayed with the deino the whole night, helping it relax in a place it wasn’t familiar with. it’s episodes like these that show that she’s not a one dimensional character, and like the rest of ash’s companions, she has character development.

but what helped fully flesh out her arc was when she caught her dragonite.

unlike axew, who was by her side from the beginning, she and dragonite did not get along immediately. dragonite was stubborn, wouldn’t listen to iris, and had its own way of battling. in order to become a dragon master, she would first have to understand dragonite. the trust that was built happened really slowly, but she did get there. by understanding a pokemon as troubled as her dragonite, iris would then be able to reach out and soothe her excadrill, making it confident enough to battle again, and help axew evolve after her journey with ash ended. and i think that was a solid way to end her arc until pokemon journeys, where offscreen, she fulfilled her dream as a dragon master and became the champion of unova.

now onto cilan.

cilan doesn’t get hated on nearly as much as iris, he’s more or less just forgotten about. so while i was expecting to hate iris when i first started watching, i had zero expectations on cilan. and tbh, i think he’s my favorite traveling companion?? if not than at least top 3.

cilan is the oldest of three siblings, and he first met ash and iris when ash came to battle at the triplet’s restaurant/gym. usually, the challenger only battles one of them, but ash was the first person to want to challenge all 3 brothers. when it was cilan’s turn to battle, he assumed that he would win due to him having the type advantage (ash choosing to battle with oshawott against cilan’s pansage)

well, ash won. and a few episodes later, cilan asked if he could join ash on his journey. the reason cilan wanted to come along was because he saw a new side to pokemon battling that he wanted to better understand.

something about cilan is that while he is a gym leader, he doubles as a pokemon connoisseur. a connoisseur is someone who makes critical judgements in fine arts or matters of taste. for cilan, he analyzes the bond between trainer and pokemon. and during his battle with ash, he evaluated his and oshawotts bond based on their battle. and he dug INTO ash, almost outright insulting his capabilities as a trainer, due to his assumptions from ash using a water type against a pansage.

but the thing is, cilan was wrong. in the end, oshawott ended up winning with ash’s strategy and support.

he fully expected to win, and was given an entirely new perspective of battling after seeing ash pull through. like cooking, pokemon battles aren’t just about type advantage and throwing moves out. it’s about thinking outside the box and trusting your pokemon, which ash accomplished by having oshawott use its scallchop to deflect a bullet seed attack. wanting to become a better trainer and connoisseur, cilan tagged along to gain a new understanding between trainer and pokemon.

and outside of his arc, cilan is just a genuinely fun character!!! did you know that along with being a pokemon connoisseur, this man is also a fishing, cooking, detective, judge, and film connoisseur??? and he can cook!! (EDIT: people are mentioning that he is also a train connoisseur!!! sorry :( i forgor)

cilan is shown to be more composed with his emotions than the previous traveling partners ash had. he also plays a mediator role whenever ash and iris bicker. and remember, cilan is the oldest sibling of 3 triplets, so he’s likely had to play mediator countless times if his brothers ever argued. ash and iris also seem to have a sibling-like bond, so their clashing was probably similar to what cilan faced before with cress and chili.

as i said, cilan is much more patient and gentleman-like. so the few moments where he genuinely loses his shit leaves a stronger impact.

the most notable example was with skyla, who instead of fulfilling her gym duties, played out battles in her head, and made her own judgements on if she could win a battle or not. this lead to challengers either being pushed away without a chance to battle, or given a gym badge without deserving it.

now cilan, who is a gym leader, sees this as a disgrace. it goes against everything a gym leader is supposed to do. skyla was lazy, arrogant, and wouldn’t do her job, which set him off. while he did lose against skyla, it was a big character moment to try and defend his honor as a gym leader.

overall, cilan is soooooo cool you guys don’t get him the way i do!!! i am the number 1 cilan fan!!!!

i think the reason people complain about iris and cilan more than any other companions ash had is because they were different.

iris had a completely different goal than everyone before her, it was a complete 180. she had zero interest in contests or performing, her dragon master dream was brand new in the anime. additionally, her relationship with ash was more like siblings than best friends, which likely made some viewers think their bickering was annoying.

and cilan. poor guy didn’t even have a chance from the start. not after brock was around for like a billion seasons.

overall, the black and white anime does have its problems, as does every pokemon anime. but leave iris and cilan out of it THEY ARE INNOCENT PARTIES :(

[sasaranurude]

Okay. I've been playing Tokyo Debunker today, since the release happened to catch me on a day when all I'd planned to do was write fanfiction. I just finished reading the game story prologue (it was longer than expected!), so here's a review type post. If you're reading this post not having seen a single thing about this game: it's a story-based joseimuke gacha mobile game that just released globally today. It's about a girl who suddenly finds herself attending a magic school and mingling with elite, superhuman students known as ghouls. If you look in the tumblr tag for the game you'll see what appears to be a completely different game from 2019 or so: they retooled it completely midway through development, changing just about everything about it due to "escalating competition within the gaming industry."

I'll talk about how this looks like a blatant twst clone at the end.

Starting with the positive: The story is charming. I enjoyed it thoroughly the entire time and am excited to read more. The mix between visual novel segments and motion comics was really nice--it broke things up and added a lot of oomph to the action or atmospheric scenes that visual novels generally lack. I like the art in the comic parts a lot. the live2d in the visual novel parts is... passable. Tone-wise, I think the story was a little bit all over the place and would like to see more of the horror that it opened on, but I didn't mind the comedic direction it went in either. The translation is completely seamless. The characters so far all have unique voices and are just super fun and cute. Of the ones who've had larger roles in the story so far, there's not a single one I dislike. It's all fully voiced in Japanese and the acting is solid. (I don't recognize any voices, and can't seem to find any seiyuu credits, so it seems they're not big names, but they deliver nonetheless.) Kaito in particular I found I was laughing at his lines a ton, both the voicing and the writing.

He's looking for a girlfriend btw. Spreading the word.

The problem is like. The gameplay is the worst dark-pattern microtransaction-riddled bullshit I've ever seen. Hundred passive timers going at all times. Fifty different item-currencies. Trying to get you to spend absurd amounts of real world money at every turn. There's like five different indicators that take you to various real-money shop items that I don't know how to dismiss the indicator, I guess you just have to spend money, wtaf. Bajillion different interlocking systems mean you have zero sense of relative value of all the different item-currencies. I did over the course of the day get enough diamonds for one ten-pull, which I haven't used yet. Buying enough diamonds for a ten-pull costs a bit under $60 (presumably USD, but there's a chance the interface is automatically making that CAD for me--not gonna spend the money to check lmfao), with an SSR rate of 1%. BULLSHIIIIIT.

There's like a goddamn thousand-word essay explaining the dozen different types of character upgrades and equippables and equippables for the equippables!! Bad! Bad game design! That's just overcomplicating bullshit to trick people into thinking they're doing something other than clicking button to make number go up! That is not gameplay!

In terms of the actual gameplay, there is none. The battle system is full auto. There might be teambuilding, but from what I've seen so far, most of that consists of hoping you pull good cards from gacha and then clicking button to make number go up. There's occasional rhythm segments but there's no original music, it's just remixes of public domain classical music lmao. I'd describe the rhythm gameplay as "at least more engaging than twisted wonderland's," which is not a high bar

At least there's a cat in the rhythm bit.

And like, ok, I gotta remark on how derivative it is. Like I mentioned in my post earlier, this game is unabashedly aping twisted wonderland's setting and aesthetic. (That said, most of the stuff it steals from twst is magic school stuff that twst also basically stole from Harry Potter, so...?) However, it isn't exactly like twst: in this one, the characters say fuck a lot and bleed all over the place and do violence. Basically, the tone is a fair bit more adult than twst's kid-friendly vibe. (Not, like, adult adult, and I probably wouldn't even call it dark--it's still rated Teen lol. Just more adult than twst.)

Rather than just being students at magic school, the ghouls also go out into the mundane world to go on missions where they fight and investigate monsters and cryptids. Honestly, the magic school setting feels pretty tacked-on. The things that are enjoyable about this would've been just as enjoyable in about any other setting--you can tell this whole aspect was a late trend-chasing addition, lmao. So, yeah, it's blatantly copying twst to try to steal some players, but... Eh, I found myself not caring that much. Someone more (or less) into twst than me may find it grating.

Character-wise, eh, sure, yeah, they're a bit derivative in that aspect too, but it's a joseimuke game, the characters are always derivative. Thus far the writing & execution has been solid enough that I didn't care if they were tropey. If I were to compare it to something else, I'd say the relationship between the protagonist and the ghouls feels more like that of the sage and wizards in mahoyaku than anything from twst. There's some mystery in exactly what "ghouls" are and their place in this world that has me intrigued and wanting to know more about this setting and how each of the characters feels about it. I have a bad habit of getting my hopes up for stories that put big ideas on the table and then being disappointed when they don't follow through in a way that lives up to my expectations, though.

So, my final verdict: I kind of just hope someone uploads all the story segments right onto youtube so nobody has to deal with the dogshit predatory game to get the genuinely decent story lol. Give it a play just for the story if you have faith in your ability to resist dark patterns. Avoid at all costs if you know you're vulnerable to gacha, microtransactions, or timesinks.

[holdingachilles]

i think the number one thing people tend to get wrong with Circe is like. no, she is not an UwU poor helpless victim of Odysseus or whatever. But also she is not some seductive temptress.

She does not want to have sex with Odysseus and Odysseus does not want to have sex with her. The amount of sex either of them actually want to be having is zero. Negative zero even, perhaps.

The only reason Circe asked Odysseus to sleep with her is because she was fully intending to cut his dick and balls off. She doesn't want to have sex she's just trying to stab him in the crotch zone when he least expects it so he'll leave. Hermes explicitly warns Odysseus "she will ask you to sleep with her and if you do she will not have sex with you she will just cut your dick and balls off so don't let her do that."

Circe isn't using wily womanly charms or anything. she's basically just going "Hm. Well this sure has gone pear-shaped. Ahem. Oh uhh. Oh noooo. Don't kill me, i am a woman with tits and men usually like that. Wanna go get very vulnerable and stab-able in a convenient secondary location? I'll definitely let your men go or whatever after that. :)" cause when the magic thing doesn't work "stabbing men in the crotch" is her go-to. The point is to contrast Odysseus with all the men Circe has faced before by emphasizing how Odysseus thinks with his head, not his Odyussy.

Odysseus is just calling her bluff. Because host rules. He's basically saying "Oh, you're inviting me to lay with you to free my men? That's the deal you're making? With DEFINITELY NO ULTERIOR STABBING-RELATED MOTIVES? Well so long as you absolutely PROMISE to not stab me and/or cut off my dick and/or balls (for no reason in particular), I will accept your deal for the sake of my men. Because that's what you meant, RIGHT? Unless you.... lied?!? Unless you were just trying to get me vulnerable so you could stab me in the dick and/or balls?!"

So Circe either has to say yes, she lied, she only wanted to stab him in the groin so he'd leave and she didn't intend to fulfill her end of the bargain (and thus is a bad host who intends to do him harm, so he is then validated in attacking her), or make good on her word and just go "(Shit! Now i can't stab him in the dick and/or balls!)" Neither of them want to fuck! It's literally just 4D chess mindgames! And that's honestly the funniest possible route and it's an absolute goddamn shame nobody is going with that!

[crow-hoards-things]

The Bad Batch Series Finale

FULL DISCLOSURE: This is a vent post. I’m angry and hurt. After I get this out of my system I’ll be more open to discussing the positives of the episode.

Warnings: Ranting, Spoilers

Hooo boy. Okay. I am… less than satisfied?

Quick rundown since I haven’t posted much of anything Bad Batch related: Tech is my favorite Batch member, immediately followed by Crosshair. I’m also a HUGE Republic Commando Nerd (read all the books, played the game, despised Bad Batch as a whole initially because I felt the commandos were being unfairly ignored, can sing + translate Vode An, etc.) and Scorch was my favorite Delta. The Bad Batch grew on me shortly after Season 1 finished up, and I immediately latched onto Tech when I began watching. He’s the reason I watched the first two seasons. (Crosshair + delusions about Tech were the combined force behind watching the final season)

NOW, onto my actual thoughts on the episode, in no semblance of order because my brain is still trying to process, Ft. Cry count:

• Wish Tech was here. He would’ve loved the Zillo being freed.

• “‘Cause I’d do the same thing” no you wouldn’t. Fives would’ve. The you I fell in love with would’ve yelled at Fives about it being a terrible idea and then promptly gone along with it anyway. That said it was a really cute moment and I loved his nonchalant little “come on” afterwards.

• C: “Echo or Omega?” W&H: “Omega” THEY KNOW THEIR GIRL SO WELL

• When Hemlock went to get the operatives I got excited thinking maybe, just maybe we’d get Tech back.

• CROSSHAIR LOST HIS FREAKING HAND!?!? WHAT THE HECK!?! I will never stop being salty about this. He’s been through enough. [Near Tears]

• Rampart sucks

• Nala Se got to blow stuff up and I appreciate that even if I don’t really like her

• I’m glad Wrecker’s okay. He had me scared for a bit. Hunter, conversely, never really did? He’s Omega’s Dad, he had to survive.

• Did anybody else see that one operative whose helmet seemingly had goggles built into it? We had a lingering shot on his helmet for a few seconds and they looked like a red version of Tech’s goggles.

• SCORCH IS DEAD AND YOU’D BETTER BELIEVE I’M MAD ABOUT IT! [First shedding of tears]

• HECK YEAH, HEMLOCK IS DEAD!!! [Tears of relief combined with grief over Scorch]

• I’m so glad Omega hugged Crosshair first. I fully expected her to just run to Hunter, and Crosshair needed that hug.

• Echo’s goodbye was disrespectful. 0/10. He’s family and they don’t even care that he’s leaving???

• SOMEONE IS MISSING FROM OUR NICE LITTLE GROUP SHOT!

• I never really got super invested in the dynamic between Omega and Hunter, but the ending between them was cute I guess.

• We were robbed. We could’ve gotten Crosshair and Wrecker as old men and we were robbed.

• Tech is dead. Like, seriously, really and truly, dead. As a delusional “Tech’s alive guys, trust me” fan, it feels like he just died all over again. I’ll talk more about this later because I’m not over it. [Que sob-fest]

alright, circling back around to my main gripes, in order of appearance:

#1. Scorch.

I hate how they handled him. At first when he showed up I got super excited. That was my boy! In the Bad Batch show!! He’s making an appearance!!! Maybe they’ll do something with the Delta boys!!

Even as the episodes went on and I started to suspect where his path was leading, I consistently would go “Scorch!!! <3” every episode, because that is my boy and I love him dearly.

The levels of offended I am on Scorch’s behalf are not within my ability to express with words. The complete and utter disrespect he was shown over his time on the show is appalling. Why bring him in if you’re going to drain him of all his personality, make him have zero plot relevance, and then murder him?! They could easily have made a new clone for that, as seen by the number of operatives who exist and got 0.5 minutes of screen time.

But no. They brought in a beloved character with 10 seconds of canonical screen time prior, stripped him of everything that made him lovable, didn’t even have him DO ANYTHING, and then murdered him. It feels like a spit in the face and a kick to the gut all at once.

I will mourn. I’ve already cried and I’ll probably cry again. But right now I’m angry and I think Scorch deserves to have people be angry about how he was treated.

#2. Tech

Yes. I admit to having been a “trust me guys, Tech’s alive” person. I will also admit that at the end of episode 13 I wanted him to stay dead because I had zero faith they could satisfactorily bring him back.

My gripe is not with him staying dead. Yes, it feels like losing him all over again. Yes, I will mourn him again. Yes. That sucks. It’s not what’s making me mad.

What makes me mad is how his death was handled.

• It served ZERO purpose narratively other than to up the stakes and make us worry about whether anyone else would die (Spoiler alert: They didn’t. Tech was the only one who died) • Nobody mourned him. No one seemed affected by his death at all. No one cared. I don’t care what anyone says, that will NEVER be okay. • The first actual mention of Tech *dying* was in the finale. Sure, we’ve had name drops and goggle appearances, but actually talking about what happened? One line. One. Freaking. Line.

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face, you know? He deserved better and so did we. He was a part of that family and they couldn’t even be bothered to address the responses to his death. He was beloved by many of us and they couldn’t even respect him or his fans enough to treat his death like something to be mourned.

That’s wrong, no matter how you look at it.

[vermillioncrown]

This is going to be a huge post because you've picked up so much of what we put down I'm just 🥰🥹

@sunshinerotting replied to your post “(@rozaceous) dpnf ch 11: housebroken”:

will be rereading immediately but i love your guys’ characters very much and the way you write the canon characters makes so much sense. the way the people in that house interact with each other is so interesting to me because if tim was actually the normal boy he thinks he is the entire balance would be thrown off. no one else could’ve done what he does in that dynamic. they’re like a jigsaw puzzle to me. i have more thoughts give me a sec

thank you so much! roz and i keep joking that this fic is now an au of an au of an au of an au... and on and on, and then it's like. what makes this still a fic and not a fully original setting and work? we had to sell readers on a lot, that these characters (outside of our SIs) were still some flavor of canon. especially, "who is the core of tim drake?" and yeah, he's so not fucking normal. but he's not obviously wacky, either.

​out of order now i don’t remember chapter numbers: when jason showed up like a huge asshole i texted my friend about it. very much “he WOULD fucking do that but by god is it PISSING ME OFF” and it was!! love that genuinely. might not be what was intended but i do think he IS odd and sad and unable to move through the cycle of grief fully enough to show back up like a haunting and not expect it to get to allie like that. zero ability to understand how loved he is. 10/10 more...

GAH to know you texted abt our fic!!!! 🥹🥹🥹 best praise tbh. and the second sell: how is jason an asshole but worth rooting for later? or at least, allowed into the enclosure lol. we might not have had it summarized as neatly as you did, but roz and i are in full agreement you Read jason here. that's exactly what we wanted, that's so much of what we take from his character in various canons.

allie reminds me of a bobcat which feels weird to say but she’s so nonthreatening outwardly and she minds her business but the second someone steps in on her people it’s like Oh. oh right. teeth and claws. when jason showed back up i felt so much for her. there was no way for her to move. korvin acts in ways similar to me, which i will examine on my own time and not in your comments. i do love how everyone in this house has their own preferred flavor of Avoidance

you also have such a read on allie, i love it. i'll leave her to roz but i'll say my piece that i sometimes get bummed that korvin's so obviously wacky + a lot of gender stuff at play (the audience/demographic of ff readers, we live in a society and all that) that make more ppl focus on korvin over allie whereas they're both equally wack. and korvin's behavior makes the most sense when taken as a convoluted male re-socialization of someone initially female-socialized but rewarded in a male-dominated space. AND both of them are AuDHD, word of god putting that out there. add on the isekai brainworms, and yeah, isekai is just an extended analogy for masking → hence the different flavors of avoidance

tim is somehow the most well-adjusted in this regard, before jason shows up maybe, and thats so crazy. tim drake. Tim Drake ????comparatively well-adjusted to anyone ??? i know i’m forgetting something so i’ll come back but writing that down genuinely through me off a little bit. lol

you also recognize that jason ranks above tim in "well-adjusted" here, god, how does it feel to be so correct. and tim is well-adjusted here! he's never had to be a vigilante! but he's also much lonelier than in canon. something that made retrospective sense while we were writing is that he fell out of liking ball sports (despite not being a desk nerd) is that...who does he have to enjoy them with in this au?

threw not through. anyway I FORGOT ABOUT RUTABAGA. I AM SO SORRY RUTABAGA. the amount of love between the characters is so important to me bc it’s always there no matter how fucked the bats are about showing it normally. the brownstone does end up feeling like a safe space like it somehow feels so easy most of the time and then when tangential forces (sorry dick) show up it’s like the air changes. but allie and korvin and tim all have such Personalities its insane it works out like that.

RUTIE BEST GIRL, forgiven lol. YES YES YES there is so much love and it's like, the love doesn't stop you from doing the work. the bats are so fucked up, and we only get a glimpse of dick and korvin's relationship where you can see the maladapted consequences on both of their parts, dick not being fully equipped to "raise" korvin and korvin wanting to be easy/convenient for dick. and korvin's deep-seated not-abandonment issues tied with family and cultural trauma/burden.

(i still stand by the "good older brother dick grayson" tag, he's just. oh there's a lot. if you read between the lines there's so much being implied for TPAC)

but having allie in this 'verse, allie and korvin together ground each other. that's why they're so co-dependent in the beginning (it's healthier at the end), that's why they still had the wherewithal to seek an outside friend, and yes, that is why the brownstone is like that. their place that they made with their own hands.

obviously jason was an issue initially (it felt redundant to write that sentence) but he’s such a necessary part of them by being 1) necessary to allie and 2) the catalyst allie and korvin needed to end up where they are. i do think ppl that important to each other need one big unavoidable conflict to avoid stagnation like obviously he was a necessary part of the story but he was a Necessary Part Of The Story. does this make sense?? four strand braid.

AND YES DUDE you literally. we were writing this and we had the vibe, but we literally did not articulate it to each other until the very end that jason's actually necessary to make all of them normal. i love everything you're saying about needing one unavoidable conflict to resolve. he is part of a four strand braid. it's so strong. it's critical. korvin still finds jason annoying and vice versa. and yet they'd both say the household contains all of them by the end.

i just like that they start off alone and end up together. that’s my thing. jigsaw puzzle. polycule of all time. i can’t think of a way in which another person would ever get that close to them the dynamics are so perfect to me. every need is accounted for. its like a perfect little box in my mind. i think thats it for now lol i’m happy you guys write together. not just bc i love it but also bc it’s so clear u guys have fun doing it and that makes me happy <3

WE MADE IT. it's one thing to prescribe "hey guys this is a polycule" but selling it? the logistics of a polycule? not so easy, and it has to be tailored to the situation and characters. not all of them are romantically/sexually involved, nor do they have straight-forward relationships (hence, qpr), so having you say it fits and they seem seamless is like. top tier praise. coherence, it's everything we've aimed for.

thank you for all of your thoughts! we do have tons of fun and that's why we love sharing what we have! and we hope to keep doing projects like this, or we'll just be at each other's side while we work on our individual fics.

[scuttling]

Frayed Ends

Fandom: Supernatural Pairings: Dean Winchester/Female Reader Word Count: 1,527 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected sex, Mentions of impending death Summary: It's the end of the world again; where better to find comfort than Dean Winchester's arms? A/N: Sometimes Dean's just too pretty to ignore.

Keep reading below or link to AO3!

Staring out the window of the battered old motel, looking into the darkening sky, you try to count the number of life-or-death situations you’ve been in in the last year. You’ve been mortally wounded in battle, only to be healed by angelic figures that don’t quite live up to expectations; possessed by demons who are surprisingly more forthcoming than their winged counterparts; ripped to shreds by creatures with claws and fangs, things that are both as terrifying as the stories say and so much more complicated than most people know. 

A loud crack of thunder booms, lightning splits the sky, and a warm hand presses firmly against the middle of your back. None of those things make you jump, not anymore.

“So,” Dean begins, reaching out to hand you a tumbler of whiskey—the good stuff, a high-dollar, top-shelf single malt. “Last night on Earth.” 

You take the glass from him and peer into into it, through the rich brown liquid, before sipping the liquor, letting it burn smoothly, slowly; it seems like an oxymoron, but precisely what you need now, in the eleventh hour, when it feels like the world is about to fall to ashes at your feet. Again.

“That line work for you often?” you ask, half-teasing, and you down the rest of the alcohol. A shrug of his shoulders and a cocked half-smile tells you all you need to know. "Right, of course. Apocalyptic situation plus a rugged, handsome man who did his very best to prevent our impending doom... I imagine it isn't ever hard for you to get laid, but it's gotta be damn near impossible to be turned down under conditions like these." 

He empties his own glass with a smack of his lips, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside you, and smiles gently. It’s different from his usual grin, because it changes the look of his eyes, touching only the corners and making it appear as though it would physically hurt him to keep it up much longer.

He’s not being a creep, hitting on you when you’re vulnerable—you know because you know him, have been traveling the road off and on with him and Sam and occasionally Cas for over a year now. This is about desperation, a vain attempt to cling to something as your doomsday clock ticks down to zero, to connect with another person one more time before you reach the proverbial end of the road.

"You tell me,” he finally says, voice as rough and broken as you’d expect. You look away from his face abruptly, this open, emotional version of the man you’ve been kicking ass and trading sarcastic quips with making your stomach turn. He’s a good guy, no doubt about that, and he doesn’t deserve the life he’s been saddled with, or all the pain and misery that comes with it. He lived for his family, Sam, and now they are apart—no more angel teleportation, no more gas stations, no more cell service—and the end is so near you can see it in the darkening swirl of his green eyes, the tightness of his jaw.  

Apparently the booze hasn’t slowed down your motor functions any, because you’re turning to press a hand to his chest before the thought has fully formed in your mind. 

"I'd be honored, Dean Winchester," you breathe, pushing a hand softly through his hair; he inhales, lips parted and eyes flicking curiously over your face, before leaning down for a careful, gentle kiss. 

Both of his arms wrap around you, embracing you warmly, and you slip your tongue into his mouth, giving yourself over to his strong arms and stubble without a second thought. It isn’t exactly a hardship, sleeping with the brave, honorable, beautiful hunter, and if it makes him feel even a fraction better about the whole dying bloody thing, how can you refuse? 

"Thank you." It’s a sandpaper whisper pressed lightly against your lips, and one of his hands moves to cradle your head as the kiss deepens. He tastes bittersweet, a blend of mint and whiskey, and is far more tender than you would have imagined, taking soft sips of your bottom lip between toe-curling, passionate kisses. You push the light-colored flannel off of his shoulders, pleased with the muted groan he expels against your neck, and wrap your arms around his back like you can’t get close enough, can’t get enough of him. 

He lifts you easily, of course, like you’re as weightless as you’re starting to feel, brings you to the bed and covers your body with his, hands ghosting over your throat and your face, down your arms, over your chest, your sides. The kisses grow rougher, needier, deeper on both your parts, and when you pull the soft, worn t-shirt over his head you press your fingertips into his skin, drag him closer, body begging for more. 

“Dean… yes,” you sigh as he nips at your neck, your earlobe, his teeth sharp but careful. You move your hands over his stomach, his chest, the back of his head, pulling him to your mouth for more slow, wet kisses like you’ll find the solution to all of your problems inside him—or maybe that you want him to find it inside you. It’s a heady, dizzy feeling, and he feels it too, moaning into the kiss when you shift up to your knees, pulling your own t-shirt over your head. 

“I need you,” he rasps, looking over your body, with all of its scars and bruises, like it’s a map of all the places you’ve been together. You unhook your bra, let it fall away, and then unbuckle his belt, help him strip down before removing the rest of your clothes too. 

You feel a flush of heat when you’re both bare, not nervousness or shyness, but something you don’t have a name for, not yet; you probably never will, now so close to the end, so you just bask in the feeling that he’s all yours, that in your last moments you will be as connected as two people can be. That even if you die in vain, you won’t be dying alone. 

You’d ask about protection right about now, but don’t see the point, considering the circumstances; instead, you climb into his lap and weave your fingers into his hair, kiss him so thoroughly he has to know you’re doing this because you want to and not just because he’d asked. Your nails graze over his shoulders, into his hair, murmur his name, and his soft lips become hard and unyielding as he kisses you breathless, like he wants it to mean something.

He lays you back against the bed, still made up from the day, and you let him, pulling your knees up so he can settle in close to you, so you can feel his body tense beneath your hands and he presses into you, fills you completely. “Fuck,” he grinds out, and his mouth finds yours again, his kisses softer, sweeter as he starts to move. 

For the first time, you’re glad it’s pretty much just the two of you left in this desolate town; neither of you are quiet as you fuck, gasping and moaning and whining puffs of breath into the air between you. The sounds of your sex echo in the room—the groan of the bed frame, the sticky wetness soaking your thighs, Dean’s mouth as it runs about your beauty and your pussy and how heavenly you feel. 

The room is so hot, your skin slick with sweat, his too, and he takes your hands in his and presses them up over your head, against the bed, holding you down with the force of his body as you both chase the feeling that you’re close to something big.

“Oh god, more, Dean, please,” you plead, hitching your legs up higher, tightening them around him as he thrusts quicker, deep and smooth. “You’re so good, so good, Dean.” 

“You have to come for me. You have–” He lifts one of his hands away from your pinned wrists and strokes your cheek with it, brushing his thumb over your lips. His eyes are lighter now, honeyed, but still flooded with emotion as he combines tenderness with roughness and brings you so close to climax you can feel it pulsing beneath your skin. “You’re glowing,” he chokes out before his orgasm rips through him, strong enough to make him shake above you, and he leans in for a kiss that turns into your own climax, something powerful that makes you ache down to your bones. 

You whimper against his shoulder as he slows, and he releases your arms, pulls them around him so you embrace as you pant through it together. You feel both completely spent and filled with buzzing energy, and when he looks down at you his expression is… awed. There’s no way to mistake that face for anything else. 

“Holy shit. I think that worked,” he says, almost astonished, and then his phone vibrates on the bedside table and you turn simultaneously to look over at the glowing screen.

Sam.

A/N: Didn't mean for this fic to mean anything or to lead to anything more, but it kind of did, so who knows?

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #61

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 4, The Hitchhiker, breach

...

Sideburns Check

The sideburns are long. I think the long sideburns are the "human" reading during the minisode as a reversal compared to the present day.

This minisode does not really clarify if zombies would qualify as human or supernatural. The sideburns are usually long around them but short during that one walk from the bookshop to the magic shop. That walk had plenty of humans around, just as there were plenty of humans around in the auditorium of the theater earlier.

Regardless, Crowley is still in the overall broader human space that is the theater and still gets the long sideburns, even if the zombies would qualify as supernatural beings.

Everyone in the scene knows Crowley is a demon, but he still gets the long sideburns in this human space. It's not the bookshop, and it's not the church.

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

Crowley has his hat on for most of the scene. The few times it is off his head, the streak is obscured or, for me, too difficult to find.

...

Hairstyle Changes

In the little bit that can be seen with the hat fully off, Crowley's top hair is not going up as high. The hair tilting toward his right from his part has a notable separation into segments above his left side of his right eye.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects)

Aziraphale touches his white handkerchief and black top hat.

Crowley sits on chaise lounge for much of the scene, before eventually reclining. This chaise lounge also has a piece of clothing on it that Crowley is touching.

Aziraphale touches and temporarily wears a feather boa.

As Furfur enters, his touch on the door is obscured. He's already holding his booklet about angels. The Bullet Catch instructions are visible in his pocket.

Furfur pulls out that pamphlet during the scene.

One of the zombies touches a post near a mirror after the three of them enter.

Furfur users another pocket to bring out the envelope with the picture in it.

Crowley touches the envelope and pulls out the picture.

Aziraphale also touches the envelope and picture.

Crowley touches his own hat when he refuses to go. He also both folds his arms and crosses his legs.

One of the zombies touches the other's arm that dropped.

Crowley touches his hat again to remove it.

There are various questions.

Furfur says Crowley's name twice.

Furfur says the number "17".

...

For paying attention to the pockets...

Furfur used pockets twice.

When Crowley folds his arms and crosses his legs, each set makes pockets as these actions take place. The crossing and folding is some kind of advanced mechanic in Earthly Objects. I don't know fully what it means, but it shows up at some notable moments in the next two episodes.

...

(For reference: The Rainbow Connection Part 4: The Door Trick and The Door Catch)

I said this minisode had clues for The Door Catch, so let's look for clues about The Door Catch.

As has often been the case during this minisode, there are shoes to be found. Furfur's shoes, Greta's shoes, and Crowley's shoes are visible. Shoes for the Ladies of Camelot can be found as part of the background. Even Aziraphale's shoes sneak into a cut when Crowley opens the envelope to look at the picture.

All this shoe stuff is a collection of clues for The Door Catch's special Ground Zero cut with its hidden message of, "Here goes nothing."

Aziraphale's reflection can be found in a nearby mirror. His reflection is significant during The Door Catch with helping to catch the Metatron's reflection a certain way.

...

Story Commentary

Aziraphale asks if Crowley thought it went well, and Crowley assures him it did.

It went well in that the audience applauded and the show went on and Aziraphale didn't get shot, and technically Mrs. didn't get shot either but still...Mrs. H. nearly got shot!

...

Furfur expects Crowley to know him, and Crowley claims he doesn't.

Has Crowley truly forgotten? Does Furfur have a false memory of Crowley?

Well, I don't know. Crowley bluffs as a self-preservation tactic, and that looks plausible here. He doesn't look as unsettled as he did in episode 2 when he hissed at Gabriel and got an unexpected reaction. While he himself wasn't struggling to remember anything in that moment, it left me with the impression that's an experience he's had.

Furfur is played by the same actor who played Shakespeare in season 1. With so many returning actors and the weirdness of the story, false memories also look plausible.

Between Crowley bluffing, and Furfur having false memories, I think Crowley bluffing is more likely.

...

The zombies are stuck as zombies. One loses an arm, and they just wander off. Good riddance and all, but what happened to them after the events of this minisode?

...

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

[thescrumblingmidwife]

Hi! I know other people have sent similar asks before but I thought I'd send my own just to be sure. I can't fit more than a finger... up there. And even then its a tight fit. That's enough for me but I'm worried about if I go for a pap smear (I think that's what its called, I have a bad memory): something has to go up there right? Will it fit? What happens if it doesn't? Is it going to be a hassle to request a woman? How much do I need to "clean up"? No pressure to respond right away, I get that you're busy. I just wanna know what to expect. Thank you! 😊❤

Hi Anon!

How old are you? You don't need a pap smear until 21, and you don't need a pelvic exam at all before then unless you've got some kind of complaint or you want to get fitted for an IUD. If you are 21+ and have had zero sexual contact, you can discuss a modified schedule with your provider.

PELVIC EXAMS

Reminder - pelvic exam is when the doctor/midwife examines your pelvic area and vagina. This can include the use of a speculum or not, and be done for a number of reasons. Pap smear is a screening test where we take a cell sample (like a cheek swab) from your cervix to check for HPV/precancerous lesions. A pap smear is usually conducted in conjunction with a pelvic exam, but not all pelvic exams include a pap smear, as you don't usually need one every year.

Let's go through your questions one by one. But first I want to start by saying that medical consent is the same as regular consent - you have a right to refuse or defer any procedure or examination, or to stop one at any time. You have the right to fully understand everything you're consenting to, and ask as many questions as you need to feel comfortable. If you make an initial appointment with an OBGYN or midwife, and she doesn't pass the vibe check, you are not obligated to go through with the exam. It can be scary to stand up to someone who seems like they're in a position of power, but you should know that you can.

"Something has to go up there, right?"

At your first GYN appointment, nothing has to go anywhere. You'll meet with a provider, she'll take your full medical history, your menstrual and sexual history, your family history, ask if there are any concerns you want to discuss. At this point, you should talk to her about your issues with insertion and your anxiety about it. She may want to have a look (literally just eyeballs) to ensure there's nothing going on, but she will ask permission before doing any touching, and explain everything she's doing. If she thinks it's worth attempting a pelvic exam, she would start very slowly and only with your full buy-in. It may be necessary to try to figure out if you've got an underlying problem.

When a pelvic exam is warranted (like when you need a pap), the provider may first insert fingers while pressing on your belly (called a bimanual exam) to assess your anatomy, and then use a device called a speculum, which allows us to actually see the inside of the vagina (speculum exam). The speculum will be lubricated, and the provider will coach you through the insertion process. You can also ask about inserting it yourself. Usually, you lie back and put your legs up in stirrups, and are coached to let your knees fall out and give a deep breath out, so as to relax your pelvic floor muscles, while the speculum is inserted down and back (towards your tailbone) in a smooth motion. You'll then feel a bit of pressure as the blades of the speculum are slowly opened so the provider can peek through. It shouldn't hurt, but it can be uncomfortable. I don't know anyone who actively enjoys speculum exams, but most people would say they're not too bad. The whole thing is over in a matter of seconds.

"Will it fit?"

Speculums come in a wide range of sizes, in plastic or metal (if metal, it will be warmed). You can ask for the smallest speculum they have (they make pediatric-sized speculums, so there are definitely small ones - see middle device in the image below, about the size of a finger). The provider will use one that should fit based on your history, anxiety/preferences, and her visual inspection of you - but don't be afraid to speak up.

"What happens if it doesn't?"

If you have an anatomical variation that means even a pediatric speculum could not fit, the provider will likely catch this before you get to the speculum stage. If you've got something going on like vaginismus, this will help her diagnose you. The most likely scenario is that you just need a competent and compassionate provider you trust and some good coaching. But what will NOT happen is the provider trying to jam something into you that doesn't fit!

"Is it going to be a hassle to request a woman?"

Absolutely not. It's very normal to have gender preferences with medical providers, especially for something so sensitive. Just ask for a female provider when you're requesting your appointment. You can also ask to see a midwife -- we're something like 96-99% female-identified, with most of the rest being AFAB trans/GNC/NB. (There ARE a few male midwives, but they're really rare).

"How much do I need to 'clean up'?"

If you've got time and it would make you feel better, take a shower before you come, wash with soap and water like normal. But if you can only get in on your lunch break or something, that's fine. Otherwise, you don't need to do anything! I promise your pubic hair is not so forest-like that we will not be able to examine you. Don't douche, or use any fragrances or lotions unless you would like some patient education about how you should not use "feminine products."

Okay Anon, that's an initial GYN visit in a nutshell!

[tobereadindiapers-again]

AI Art Story Experiment

Hey everyone. I'm going to try something new, but it requires your help to work. Using AI, I was able to make three images of a woman that I am now writing a short story around. Part of this is in an attempt to avoid using actual women in my captions, something I have always not felt great about, and part of it is in order to possibly expand the ability do do more creative short stories. Using AI art software you can put this woman in any number of scenarios and send them back to me, and I will attempt to advance the story around the images.

This is where I need your help. I am not the best at AI art. So once I post the first three parts of this story, those of you out there more talented than I, please feel free to send me other photos of this AI woman, and I will then write them into the story to continue the long form caption.

I fully expect to receive zero replies on this, but I wanted to throw the idea out there. See if folks like it, and see what sort of back and forth interaction the community creates.

Regardless of the response, a three part short story is imminent.

thanks in advance for humoring me everyone!