#dogwatching

[rollo-o-rollo]

The boys are being watchful together 👀👌

Weathers so nice out we gotta open all them windows

[squeakoid]

who left pancake here

[motherfucker-somewhat-limited]

I am at a dog surfing contest rn this is the best

[probably-a-plant-thing]

Given he's quite the observer, would Skulk notice when Red starts acting.... Weird? foreshadowing

He notices pretty quick. Though he's not really able to place what exactly the vibe is he's getting off Red, he does get much clingier. Partly because he doesn't want to bother Red by asking what's wrong in case he's being paranoid.

He can't exactly put his finger on why, but the feeling he's picking up on Red is familiar, to say the least.

[pigspeetsandhooflikefeets]

pass the parcel was invented by Big Wrapping Paper to sell more wrapping paper

[artfulhorizons-studio]

(via Muddy dog needs a bath Clock by ArtfulHorizons)

Bath time!

[bakem07]

This man's best friend was watching the 💩out of me‼️😭🤣🤣🤣 🐕👀 #dogwatcher #thewatcher #manbestfriend #iseeyou #iseeyoutoo #lol #antirobbery #dogalert #shook #nothingpersonal #nottoday #pleasedonthurtme #youbigashell #fido #lassie #lmao #bearalert #alldogsgotoheaven #scaryass #cantcatchabreak #dog #dogsofinstagram #doglover #guarddog #guarddogsonduty #doggoviral #dogstagram #dogonduty https://www.instagram.com/p/CnViDvjOyug/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pillowspace]

I don't know, I haven't seen season 4 in a year and a half

--

[ID: The Magnus Archives edits of tweets styled to be between Martin (Martin Kartin @/teahee, "tea" spelled like the drink) and Basira (Basira Hussain @/dogwatcher, stylized with a 0). Martin's profile picture is a close-up digital drawing of his face. He's a pale smiling man with short, wavy ginger hair, round glasses, brown eyes, and a blue sweater. Behind him is a blue sky, and he has a hand curled near his chin. Basira's profile picture is a purple digital drawing of her standing beside Daisy. Behind them both is the vague outlines of other people as if at a party. Daisy is in a tanktop with short hair, mouth open towards the camera point as if speaking. Basira is in a hijab and looking blankly at the camera point. There is a cup at the bottom of the profile picture, but it's ambiguous who's holding it.

Martin: Hold up, did Jon really take out the bottom 2 ribs so that he could risk entering the Buried? Please tell me this bullshit...

Basira: it's for real

Martin: I'm gonna go outside and light myself on fire. What are we doing to our beautiful queens

The original exchange was between Kevin Durant (@/KDTrey5) and Kaylana Reese (@/KaylanaReese). The original tweet said "Hold up, do women really take out the bottom 2 ribs so that they can have a skinny waist? Please tell me this is bullsh*t..." End ID]

Thank you for the ID, @princess-of-purple-prose <3 edit: I edited the ID to describe their profile pictures

The original:

[bougiebutchbinch]

horrid little brainworm

Frenchie is still green at the start of the Kraken era.

He isn't, by the end.

But back then, when it all begins - when he isn't used to the sting of kohl-mixed sweat dripping into his eyes - he makes mistakes. Lots of them. Simple little things - fluffing a knot in the rigging that has their sail unfurling midway through the dogwatch, goods left unstowed to roll with the list of their ship.

Most of the time, Izzy yells himself hoarse for five minutes, then shows Frenchie how to fix it, interspersing his lecture with expletives. Whatever. That's fine. Let the little man scream - he's not the scariest thing aboard anymore.

Never was, really.

But then Blackbeard (Ed? The Kraken?) stomps out of his cabin, hair a black thundercloud, and snarls 'which one of you men is responsible for that fucking mop', pointing to some cleaning equipment Frenchie forgot to pack away.

And everything goes still, as if they're becalmed.

[CW: whipping, abuse, non-explicit mentions of Frenchie's past locked-box traumas]

No one says Frenchie's name - not even Izzy. He just ducks his chin and refuses to look his captain in the eye. But the eyes of every other crewmember jump guiltily to Frenchie, at least once - and Blackbeard is too smart to miss such a tell.

"A ship needs discipline," he says. "Isn't that what you always tell me, Iz?"

"I'll attend to it," says Izzy, voice scratchier than ever. Frenchie knows this is a bad fucking situation - memories battering against the inside of his locked box, trying to get out - but somehow he can't feel fear. Can't really feel anything.

"With the cat," says Blackbeard. "Give the culprit fifteen. Really make the lesson stick."

Ah. There's the fear.

Frenchie's breath stifles itself halfway up his throat, as screams sneak through the keyhole of his box, along with the crack of a whip -

No. No, no, no. He can't. Not again, he can't -

Izzy glances up. Frenchie expects him to grin, all vindictive sadism - but whatever he sees on Frenchie's face has his mouth pulling into a tight line.

"Yes, sir," he says, though Frenchie barely hears over the dull roar of his heart.

He casts his gaze about, looking for an escape. Over the side? They're too far from land, but fuck, if it isn't tempting -

Jim fondles their knives, glaring mutinously at Blackbeard's back as he returns to his cabin. They don't spring after him (though Frenchie selfishly wishes they would). They're well aware - as is everyone - that right now, with Blackbeard black-eyed and bloodthirsty, they'd lose.

Izzy swallows. Shuts his eyes. Then calls for Fang to fetch the cat.

Frenchie loses time then. Scarcely a blink passes before Fang reappears above the deck, the strings of the knotted whip scraping the floor like the tentacles of a shrunken sea-monster.

They're flaky with rusty residue. Old, dried blood.

Frenchie's fingers twitch in the chords of the first song his Ma taught him. No rituals or superstitions will save him. Nothing will. Because his old crew are marooned, almost certainly dead, and his new crew are - with the exception of Fang and Jim and Ivan - fucking monsters.

He's going to be whipped (again). He's going to shred open all those old scars. The box is going to open, and -

Oh, God. Oh God. Fifteen lashes is survivable (Frenchie knows, he knows) but he's still not sure if anything of himself will emerge from the other side.

He's still frozen, staring at the whip held in Fang's big hands, flat out like he's presenting it to Izzy. Only... Izzy doesn't take it.

No, Izzy moves to stand in front of the mast. Walking stiff, with a bit of a limp. While Frenchie's reeling, struggling to process what's happening, he yanks off his shirt. And - fuck, his back is almost as ugly a sight as Frenchie knows his own would be, if he could bear to study it in a mirror.

A few of the crew draw shocked inhales. Most don't look surprised.

Frenchie is one of the latter group. Sound travels, on a ship.

"Um," says Fang, cat dangling limp. "Boss?"

Izzy grabs the hawsers wrapped around the mainmast. Heaves a deep breath. Rests his forehead against the wood.

"You heard the captain," he croaks. "Fifteen lashes."

Fang's eyes are moist - though they are more often than not, nowadays. "Boss - "

"The captain wants the culprit disciplined," Izzy says. His muscles flex beneath their coating of scars. Bracing himself, Frenchie's mind supplies. For the oncoming pain. Not that any amount of tensing is ever enough. "First mate's responsible for maintaining a tidy deck."

This turn of events finally settles into Frenchie's bones. The whip's not for him, thank everything. His key slides gratefully into the lock of his box and turns, ensuring it's shut tight.

Still, sickness churns in his guts. Last week, sleep eluded him. He'd intended to skulk above decks and breathe the sea air to clear his head. He never made it - because who should stagger out of the captain's cabin, so dead-eyed he didn't even notice Frenchie lurking in the shadows of the galley door, but the Revenge's thrice-cursed angry gremlin of a first mate?

Izzy hadn't looked much like a gremlin then, though. Doesn't now, either. Just looks. Tired. And old. And bruised to shit beneath his shirt, and not all of those lash marks are old, weathered scars, and -

Frenchie's fingers twitch more rapidly, pressing through their imaginary chord sequence.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit -

"Fifteen lashes," Izzy reminds Fang. "If you can't do it, anyone else is free to step up. I'm sure there'll be fucking volunteers."

Frenchie eyes Jim. They and Izzy aren't exactly friends - not when Frenchie has heard them mumble a word that sounds horrifically close to 'Oluwande' in their sleep.

But Jim stays right where they are. Hand on the hilt of a knife. Ivan emulates, and, well, Frenchie's feet have damn near put down roots. He couldn't move from this spot if he was ordered to.

Fang's tears well over, and his hand shakes on the whip handle to the point where Frenchie thinks he might drop it.

A clash from the great cabin has them all jumping - all but Izzy, who rests his cheek on the mast like it's a particularly splintery pillow, eyes drifting shut. Blackbeard barges back out, sousing the air with body odour and smoke and self-hatred and whatever the fuck else he's been marinating in.

"What's the fucking wait?" he demands. "I expected way more screams by now." He halts, frowning at the sight of Izzy, stood where Frenchie ought to be (because fuck, he shouldn't have left that mop and bucket out; how many times has Izzy told him - ). For a moment, the harsh line of his brows crumples on itself in something that could be mistaken for regret. But then that dark sneer crawls onto his lips, the one with which the whole crew is becoming familiar. "Can't pick who gets the privilege, eh? Well, lucky for the lot of you, that's what a captain's for."

He stalks forwards, feline-graceful. Frenchie scuttles from his path. When Blackbeard snatches the whip from Fang (not seeming to notice his whimper, his flinch) Frenchie fully anticipates that he'll turn on Izzy, not him.

He certainly doesn't expect Blackbeard to smile, cold and white as a toenail moon, and thrust the whip towards him, hilt first.

"Oh, no." Frenchie raises both hands in surrender. "No, no, no. I couldn't. Awful with a whip, me. Wouldn't, um..." There's the noise of it again, slithering out through the keyhole of his box. The swish. The crack. The scream. "Wouldn't be able to strike hard enough," he stutters. "No upper body strength, yeah."

Blackbeard doesn't approach Frenchie. Just keeps the whip held out towards him, like the accusative finger of a god.

"You give him fifteen," he says, gently. "And make each one count. Or I give him fifty."

Against the mast, Izzy makes a sound - not quite a whimper. Worse; it's far too much like relief. His hands don't shake, but only because they grip the hawser tight as rigor mortis.

Fifty can kill. Has killed before. Frenchie's seen it.

But Blackbeard doesn't want Izzy dead, right? Who would he torture then?

Blackbeard's blank, lifeless eyes pour into Frenchie's.

Who indeed?

Fuck. Frenchie swallows dry. He tells himself it's for self-preservation that he unsticks his boots from the deck and shuffles forth to take the whip. Not for Izzy. Not like he likes the angry little prick. Man's vicious as a cat and thrice as cursed.

Maybe, if Frenchie tells himself that, it'll make this memory easier to lock away with all the rest.

"Ready?" he asks Izzy, softer than he intends. Izzy twists over his scarred shoulder. He looks at Frenchie - really looks at him - for what feels like the first time. Not even glancing to his left, where the Kraken lurks.

Frenchie can't decipher his expression. Pity, for whatever made him offer himself up in Frenchie's place? Frustration, that Frenchie prevented Blackbeard from whipping him into the grave? Misery and fear - no, that's far too sane for a guy like Izzy.

Izzy turns back to the mast.

"Give me your worst," he says.

Frenchie breathes in, breathes out, and obeys.

[soapflavoredtea]

Dogwatch | Denji

Pairing: Denji x Black Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Denji sees a black person for the first time

Content/Warnings: Denji being an absolute idiot, Not beta read so some typos

"[Name], could you be a dear and cover my shift?"

There they were. The words you had been waiting–anticipating even, to come out of your coworker's mouth the moment she strode in.

"Hard pass."

Your coworker tightly grasped her hands into a prayer as she gave you puppy eyes. A tactic that would’ve been a million percent more effective had it not been for the small fact that she was a grown woman approaching her thirties. "This'll be the last time, I promise!"

"That's what you said last time, Hanami."

“I actually mean it this time!”

She had also said that last time.

Shrugging on your thin jacket you rolled your eyes at her woman before heading towards the door. It was a quarter until ten on a Sunday. You had school first thing in the morning, and to say that you were a little behind on work would be the understatement of the century. 

Hanami quickly moved in front of you, arms spread wide with zero intention of letting you leave. "Please [Name], my feet are extra swollen today and--and the doctor told me it isn't good for me to be working late shifts like this. Me and the baby need rest!”

Usually, you posed zero complaints to the prospect of covering her shifts. Doing so always gave you somewhat of a valid excuse for turning in assignments late and the additional pay was never something to complain about. Also because she was pregnant. That too was very important.

But today, you couldn't find any reason to say yes. Even if for some reason you did agree, you wouldn't be getting home until at least 5:30 in the morning. Leaving you with an hour, if lucky two, to sleep and another to get ready before you had to start booking it to your homeroom. 

Yeah, definitely a hard pass.

Sidestepping her with ease, you resumed your way to the door, pushing it open to be met with the nice feeling of the late summer breeze against your face. The familiar chime of the convenience store rang through your ears leaving you deaf to her continued pleas. 

"I'll talk with the boss about that raise you always wanted!"

At her words, you slammed the brake in your steps. Hanami and the boss had always been close. Perhaps a little too close. (Because for all you knew, the baby was probably his.) But at the end of the day, a raise was a raise and you were never one to stick your nose where it had no business being.

"I'm listening."

Her eyes widened in surprise at your sudden change in attitude. "Yeah...yeah! Tomorrow I'll make sure to talk about it with him and–uh we can go from there."

And though reluctant, in the end, you decided to do it.

______

Working the night shift was a lot less adrenaline-inducing than you had initially thought, and after two hours of working it, you could quickly tell it was going to be nothing like the many horror stories you'd spent your nights reading.

No attempted robbery. No mass murderer. No spooky paranormal experience. Nothing,

A small, small fucked up part of you was wishing for something to happen so you could guilt Hanami into never throwing another shift on you again. 

For a brief moment, you thought the moment was coming when a creepy man. He had an odd, faraway look in his eyes and kept staggering around the store. Mumbling to nobody in particular but himself. However, after closer inspection, it was very apparent he was just a tired guy trying to go home and not some random pervert. 

As much as you were grateful for it, the lack of shoppers left you with nothing else to do but drown in your boredom. You silently cursed yourself for not bringing any of your schoolwork. You'd rather be doing that than rearrange soup cans again. 

The store’s bell, for the second time that evening, finally rang again. You shot up to straighten your posture so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull anything. Looking to the door you saw a familiar top knot and a not-so-familiar messy head of blond. The former's look of surprise was evident on his face as he, and who you could only assume was his comrade, made their way to the counter.

"Since when have you worked the night shift?" Aki asked.

"Since today, or tonight or…this morning, I guess.” You were tired. Oh so very tired.

"Tell them to move you back. It isn't safe for kids your age to be working this late."

A devil hunter trying to lecture you about safety? You almost laughed at the irony.

You gave him a swift, half-assed salute, "Will do. So the usual?"

He responded with a curt nod.

Grabbing the small pack of cigarettes you moved it up to the scanner ready to recite the price listed on the screen before he interrupted you.

"Actually, add another pack, please."

"Long day?"

His dark blue eyes narrowed at his partner, "You have no idea."

“That makes two of us then,” you replied, repeating the action of scanning once more before telling him the total.

As the young adult fished down into his pocket you finally got a chance to look at the boy who accompanied him, and at that, your brows furrowed in worry. 

You knew what Aki's job was and the many risks that came with it. Over the past three months of working here, he had come in with quite several recruits before they eventually stopped coming. And by the way, the look in his eyes became more diminished–well it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

The boy who accompanied him was the same age as you, if not a bit older. Kids had no business being anywhere near an industry like that but you knew it was out of your control and for that you pitied him.

Or you would have if not for his staring problem.

His head was tilted with eyes that were boring into your soul. You recognized the look on his face easily. It was the same one you would have when you’d be in the middle of taking a test and seeing a question you knew for a fact was never taught. Even if the teacher claimed up and down that it was on the study guide. None of this was cute or flattering. Just deeply, deeply unsettling.

In an attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt, you glanced behind you. Because surely with an expression like that he had to be looking at something else. But just as you suspected there was nothing. You briefly brought your hand up to your chin to make sure there wasn’t any drool on your chin that you had unknowingly let slip. But again, nothing.

"Aki,” you started, “would your friend want anything?"

He looked offended at the statement but let out a sigh turning around to speak with the boy, whose face was still contorted in deep thought. "Oi, Devil, do you want anything?"

"Why..." he pondered for a moment, "why is yer skin like that?"

"Like what?" you responded warily as you slid the cigarettes across the counter.

"So dark."

The packs of nicotine hitting the ground was the only sound that filled the store, safe from the flickering lights.

Aki's face was completely mortified.

Yours’s in utter astonishment.

While the teenage boy just stood there. His eyes darted between the two of you before shrugging his shoulders and turning to the magazine section.

He hadn't even got one step in before Aki was dragging him out by the collar, throwing a large wad of cash onto the counter before doing so.

That night you'd been left with the biggest tip of your life. And the afternoon following, as promised, you received the raise.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for arguing with my mom over cameras?

For context, my (19F) mother (40sF) lives alone a majority of the time. She divorced my father (40sM) years ago and so she has split custody with him of me and my brother (15M).

Recently I arrived home from work to find a home-security camera facing towards the entryway to the house. I thought this was weird. I went upstairs to the living room and there was another camera in there, this one facing the couch. Uncomfortable, I turned it around so it faced the wall. When my mother came upstairs, I asked her about the cameras, and she said the one downstairs is for security- she lives alone, she wants to see who comes in and out of the house. The one upstairs, she said, was so she can watch our dog (12M) when she's not home.

I took issue with the cameras because I think they're a major invasion of privacy. At my dad's house, he also has lots of cameras and motion-activated lights set up around all corners of the outside of the house, because he's paranoid about intruders. I hate his cameras and lights, as it makes the house feel like a prison, and I can't leave or arrive without him seeing. I've tried talking to him about his cameras, but he won't listen, even when I tell him he's way overstepping in his guarding against "intruders".

My mom also thinks my dad is ridiculous with his cameras, but now I feel she's doing something similar with hers, except worse since they're inside the house. I told her the cameras (especially the one in the living room facing the couch) made me feel like my privacy was being invaded. I asked her, if she was so worried about intruders, why she doesn't lock her door (that's another thing- a majority of the time my mom leaves her front door unlocked). She told me she does lock her door, and that she's more worried about people breaking in at night while she's sleeping, or during the day while she's away (even though we live in a safe area where this hardly ever happens and her apartment is pretty hidden from the road). She also told me it's so she can check to see if my grandparents are entering the house without her permission since they have a set of keys, but that's another can of worms entirely. Basically, she has the camera because it gives her peace of mind.

I asked her why have one in the living room, since the dog has been fine all day by himself for years. She said because he's getting older she's worried about him. She also said she's worried about having people she doesn't know in the house to watch him-apparently she thinks the dogwatchers we hire when we go on trips are going to hurt the dog? I'm really not sure. She said she wants to be able to check on the dog to make sure he's not anxious during the day, but I asked her even if he was anxious, what could she do about it if she's not home? She works 8 hour days 5 days a week. If she sees the dog is anxious, she can't just drop everything and run home to check on him. I think the camera would make her anxiety over the dog worse. My philosophy is what she doesn't see, she can't worry about.

I told her she sounded super paranoid, and that I thought the cameras were an invasion of my privacy, since I know that home-security cameras can get hacked by bad actors, and also I didn't want her watching me enter the house and hang out in the living room. She told me I could just unplug the camera in the living room when I got home, which yeah, I can do, but still. It's a camera in the house. I don't like that. I'm already watched on cameras at work, I don't want to be watched by cameras at home.

Anyway, this whole thing devolved into a big argument that led to her saying me and my brother make her feel bad about herself as a parent because we "always argue with her about things she wants instead of being supportive" and just generally making me feel bad for even saying anything.

Maybe I'm the asshole here. I understand her point of view- it is scary living alone, but I hate cameras and I don't want to live in a surveillance state in my own home. I don't feel like I'm being unreasonable here, but maybe I am. I want her to feel safe in her own home, and if this is how she feels safe I suppose I should just accept it... idk.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[amisalami03]

cave mommy headcanons :D [this is my first time doing this help]

i'm gonna flip the script a little with this one, I think shes way more chill BUT will troll at any time >:)

she walked past pickle and sprayed him for no reason which resulted in a mini brawl , it was swiftly ended when cave shawty picks pickle up and suplexes him, so in celebration she beats her chest then goes to sleep in a nearby tree

she's definitely omnivorous in my book but she will eat meat and acts like a leopard by hiding her game in trees and pissing on those who walk to close to her territory this isn't a piss-kink thing I swear she's literally feral and piss is her prehistoric version of pocket sand

ironically enough though she and pickle are mated but he can not stand her ass sometimes, but she literally doesn't gaf and will lay on top of him (because she can.) and pickle does not seem to mind his woman using him as a mattress he will growl lowly but eventually puts himself to sleep since her warmth, scent and breathing patterns make it impossible to keep him awake lol (also its a sense of familiarity and comfort of her being the only thing he left of the past, so he willingly tolerates it)

because of her retsu's hair has been let down to its full glory and she even gave him a beautiful restyle :3 (lots of stick and shiny rock so cool |:) <- cave mommymoji) pickle didnt like it and wanted to fight retsu but a swift kick upside his head thwarted that act of petty conflict

she has no clue whats going on but is happy to see such small little guys doing complex things

she fucking LOVES pinwheels and windchimes hell yes little trinkets for her pretty please, even pickle is entertained when she shoves a pinwheel in his hair and shows him her stolen hardware store collection of chimes and shiny glass lawn ornaments used to water flowers -> |:) [her proud face]

she scratches her head like a dog and prefers to stay quadraped, which threw the boys off when she finally decided to stand on her two legs

katsumi told retsu he saw her walking on two legs before everyone else did and retsu called him a liar stating that she simply hadn't "evolved" to do that yet, as soon as he was done saying that she walked right passed them with various lawn ornaments in her arms, farted and continued walking without breaking a stride. retsu was stunned and katsumi just put his hand on his shoulder to console him.

I like to think she has a fighting style similar to dogwatch man from one punch man, which makes her a very hard opponent to defeat since her speed and agility far surpass her bipedal descendants

baki used her as a shield until she force-fed him a handful of grubs and ever since then shes been wondering where he's been |:( his ass ran away from her for about a week

she found him eventually and frantically fussed over him while holding him in a tight embrace, she thought she lost her baby again

Please keep her away from vending machines and claw games, to her they are like giant see through crustaceans she can crack open and benefit from, her and pickle will leave a wake of litter and shards of glass to get whats inside

Loves fountains, they are like vertical waterfalls to her and she’s mesmerized by how the magic water goes up 24/7

She draws cave paintings and is very proud of her work

Absolutely blown away by crayons, completely opened pandoras box for her wait until she learns about paint and markers

Keep scented/colorful soaps and chemicals away from her…she will try to drink them and get sick…no she probably wont die, but she will shit and vomit alot, pickle didnt wanna take the risk to drink fabuloso after that

She has an underbite snaggle tooth that sticks out

This is all I can come up with

This is all I can give you…for now

[squeakoid]

new naked man statue for norma’s yard. to overlook marshal’s yard

[motherfucker-somewhat-limited]

cruelly deprived of chicken

[ltwilliammowett]

Ship's Dog Boreas doing the dogwatch aboard Bark Europa

[lasudio]

VeronaHills, Round Nine: Traveller

The puppies were beyond the squirming and squealing stage. Tina was honoured to be trusted by Danny and Sarah to look after them.

They will be guardians themselves one day. Tina heard the voice and saw the solemn look in Danny's puppy dog eyes and realised what he meant. These silly little bundles of brindle and cream were destined to join other families as protectors and companions - of course they were! Two large dogs for one small cottage was already a balancing act, let alone five. Yet, Tina couldn't help grumbling to herself about these future families; she was naturally green-eyed. Alfred, Brady and Dora's new humans wouldn't know how lucky they were.

Very few could coax Tina away from playing with the Crittur puppies - handsome Sebastian Monty was one of them. They met at Owlberry Lake on a clear afternoon and wound up in a passionate kiss. She hoped it wouldn't be the last, in spite of his imminent move to Mission University. Then again, sometimes she wondered if the universe was taking her Traveller surname a bit too literally. Too bad she wasn't born Tina Stops-To-Smell-The-Flowers instead.

Trisha was on dogwatch duty that same afternoon, although she used it to invite her own Monty lad over for some fun. He was slicked in a layer of dirt and sweat from football practise and she'd been sprayed by a skunk earlier that day, so they opted for a shared shower to cover all bases.

The added element of Romeo dumping tomato soup over Trisha's head somehow made the encounter even more arousing.