#relay logic

[commodorez]

Usagi Electric's relay logic adding machine

[yvesaintbratz]

just know anyone on here who doesn't like yuji has beef with me and my mother btw

[mousemannation]

i am being divinely punished for not learning to drive

[ushas42]

#cosmo sheldrake #my partner just blew my tiny mind with the news that cosmo 'the moss' sheldrake #has a mushroom brother called merlin #and also that their father is a parapsychologist called rupert sheldrake #....irl wizards

Yeah, Rupert Sheldrake is the guy who came up with the "morphogenetic field" theory used to explain the psychic powers in the Zero Escape series.

when i was reading the book entangled life which is about fungi and the author merlin sheldrake said that once he got his first author copies he was going to dampen the pages and use them to grow oyster mushrooms and yeast and then use the yeast to brew beer and then drink the beer with the mushrooms to complete the cycle of fungal knowledge. i was like really and truly this guy gets it

[forgottenbones]

Old pinball machines are amazingly complex

[sillyabtmusic]

do i gaslight myself into liking the new version of ikyk

[nok-joke]

mcr needs to stop being a band I keep seeing mcr and going "what. Why are people talking about main control relays in my dash"

[ruins-of-gods]

Something that I think Warhammer 40,000 storytellers miss sometimes is the sheer scale of their setting. I mean, don't get me wrong - I love the big, dramatic clashes, the characters you can buy in mini form and their convoluted, interwoven lore, the dramatic combats against unstoppable foes across a thousand ruined worlds. But that's the top of the setting, as it were - the most powerful beings in the universe, all fighting for supremacy. And at ground level, the level of the ordinary person, are so many other stories.

Did you know that a Lunar-class void cruiser has a crew of 95,000? Nearly a hundred thousand people, aboard a spaceship five kilometers long. A city, flying through outer space to wage war. Many of those people are proper trained soldiers, fresh from some academy or veterans of long, grueling campaigns, and many more are pressed into service, begrudgingly laying their lives at their Emperor's feet. But, unless the ship is currently actively involved in a really bloody campaign, most of those people were born aboard that ship. Most of their parents were born aboard it. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. Lineages stretching back centuries, so far that the original soldier who came aboard has been forgotten. A lot of those people probably know, on some level, that they're aboard a ship flying through space - but a lot of them probably don't, and I guarantee you almost none of them understand what that means. This ship is their world. To look out the window means madness so often that they avoid it - not that windows are readily available anyway. Most of them probably barely even understand that they're fighting. All they know is that when the readouts on their analog instruments display like so, when they hurry to obey the blared orders through the klaxon, the Emperor is pleased with them. They were born into that world. When they were children they did smaller tasks the adults couldn't. Their entire existence was winding metal corridors, laid out according to some archaic design, any logic that might dictate their layout long since degraded after millennia of ignorant maintenance, lit only by emergency lights that have long since become the default. They learned how to read an angle readout or how to relay an order perfectly the way another child might learn history or math. When they grew up, their service was flawless, born of pride and ignorance, and when they grew old and died, their legacy was remembered until it was forgotten. Many were killed in battle, but who cares? They gave their lives to the Emperor - a name whose meaning they don't understand, but whose importance they believe in wholeheartedly, all but synonymous with the commanding officers up above.

Sometimes, the klaxons sound a specific command, and every person on board who understands what it means feels a deep, awful dread as they run to their battle stations. They don't know what a warp jump is. They don't understand they're going from one place to another by the fastest way available. All they know is that, for a time, the ship dips into hell. The corridors go wrong. Things and people might not be where or what they were before. Daemons stalk the halls, and must be killed by any who can hold a lasgun. The overcrowded berths, the little nooks that families find for themselves - they are not private anymore. They are not safe. Things drift through the shift that do not care about the laws of physics, but that delight in killing and torturing human beings. Vast energies shake the ship and tear parts of it away - their home, their world, their existence, the biggest thing they can imagine, assaulted by something bigger. Is it the Emperor's punishment for failure? Is this what battle is? What's going on? They don't know, and no one who does can be bothered to tell them. The dread of those who have seen this before is even worse, because they don't know how long it will be. It might be just a few hours. It might be days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades. It might be centuries, as the captain of the ship goes hunting daemons deep in the warp - the officers live that long, after all, and have little care for those who don't. There will be people born in hell, who spend their entire lives fighting from the day they can stand, and who die in hell, as old age and need catch up to them and they curl up in a corner to perish. To them, it isn't even hell. It's just the world. The world is death and pain and cruelty, an infinite metal box through which monsters stalk, and sometimes you must run to a battle station and do as you're ordered to do. And sometimes, as they reach forty or fifty or even a ripe old sixty, the ship drops out of the Warp, and, for the final years of their life, they are granted a life of relatively safe service better than anything they ever hoped to dream of.

Those are the kinds of stories I want to see more of. Super-soldiers fighting each other is cool, yes, but I want to see this universe explored. I want stories from the perspective of those that keep the Imperium going, or the aeldar, or the tyranids, or anyone, really. There's just so much potential in this setting. It deserves it.

[techhardwares]

Ajitek Tech Solutions Pvt Ltd

[vroomvroomwee]

Yes, yes, the "i forgive you," the "no nightingales," and the "nothing lasts forever" are all great lines. But to me, the most heartbreaking was this one

And not enough people are talking about it.

This is the moment where Aziraphale breaks. This is the moment he realises the severity of their conversation. The horrible consequences that could follow.

This is the moment where Aziraphale, for the first time in probably all 2 seasons, spoke from his feelings instead of his logic.

Accompanied by Michael's breathtaking acting, where in just 2 seconds, he managed to convey all the excruciating and tragic feelings that Aziraphale has been going through all this time. His eyes, relaying the utter pain Aziraphale is, and has been, feeling for a long time, that he's finally unable to control anymore.

This is the moment where we and Crowley understand that Aziraphale has been lying this whole time.

"He's not my friend. We've never met before we dont know each other." Yes, he is. Yes, we have. Yes, we do.

"Were not friends." Yes, we are.

"We have nothing whatsoever in common, I don't even like you." Yes, we do. Yes, I do.

This is the moment he admits that every time he's called Crowley a fiend, an enemy, evil, not his friend, he has been lying through and through in an attempt to hide what he really feels, what he really thinks, should by chance Heaven or Hell get a word of it. He has been lying every single time.

This is the moment where he lets his true feelings out. Prompted by sheer desperation and panic, he finally said what he's been denying for millennia.

"I need you"

[zyafics]

SHOTGUN WEDDING | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing – Rival!Rafe x Biker!Maybank!Female Reader

Summary — You and Rafe are nothing but casual. But when he suddenly has the idea to get married, you agree after some convincing.

Content — 18+, smut, fluff, fingering, blowjob, and banter.

Word Count — 2.2K

"Let's get married."

"What?" You say breathlessly, lifting yourself by the elbows and turning to face Rafe. You don't know if you heard him correctly.

"I said let's get married," Rafe repeats in a lower octave, pushing away the prickling feeling beneath his skin—a consequence of your reaction to his vulnerable declaration.

There it is again. Clear as day. You hadn't misheard him the first time, and the dawning strike of realization causes your heart to skip several beats. But you still don't acknowledge it. Blinking, you're trying to decipher whether this is some cruel trick. "You're not serious."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Annoyance flickers through his hard features and you purse your lips, not wanting to provoke him further by providing a sharp-witted comment. Your mind is spinning—partially from all the orgasms Rafe pulled from you, but also from the proposition.

Marriage. Does he understand the absoluteness of that proposal?

You suspect he doesn't. "You're delirious," you brush it off with a casual laugh, wanting to admonish any potential embarrassment that may arise in him and to move forward. "Let's just forget about it."

"I don't want to forget about it." Rafe grits through clenched teeth. Your reaction is the complete opposite of what he'd imagined to happen. Sure, you weren't the type to jump for joy, but goddamn, you couldn't give him something? "You still haven't given me an answer."

"You don't want a real answer."

"I'm clearly asking for one."

"It's just the post-sex haze."

"It's called post-nut clarity," he rectifies, "And my mind is perfectly clear."

You're giving him exits, to pretend to forget about it and act as if it never happened, but Rafe takes none of them. He doesn't want to drop it, so, finally, you ask. "Why?"

A heavy beat passes before Rafe shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant when all he can hear is the thrumming of his own heart. "I like being inside of you," he reasons, before meeting the unimpressed look on your face, and adds. "You make me laugh."

You scoff. "Yeah, so do small children falling over. Get off of me," you shove him off, pulling to the ledge of the bed where your wobbly legs find balance on Rafe's hardwood floor. Not knowing how to process this change in affairs, you go search for your clothes instead.

Rafe watches as you scramble around the room, a reflexive habit of yours whenever you feel uncomfortable. His agitation flares, his jaw locks, and with a narrowed gaze that follows your every move, he pulls to a sitting position and rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

"Goddammit. Stop looking for your shit and look at me," Rafe commands, his voice bleeds with a tinge of desperation, forcing you to halt your recovery search to face him. Exposed. Utterly naked. But instead of Rafe making some sexual innuendo about your body, his eyes remain on your face. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Because we've only been fucking," you list, using your manicured fingers to count out all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. "You call me whenever you want a hookup. We're never not arguing, and I swear, sometimes, you don't even like me."

"I like you just fine," Rafe shrugs a careless shoulder, but the conviction behind his tone wavers. "And all the other reasons are bullshit. So, what? If we get married, we can fuck and fight anytime we want."

"That's faulty logic," you retort and he rolls his eyes. "Plus, it's not the basis for a strong marriage. I'm giving you an out; you're not thinking straight, Cameron."

"I'm thinking just fine."

"You sure?" You take a step closer, about to raise three fingers in the air, and ask him to relay the count, when Rafe inclines forward to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling you in. You let out a little yelp of surprise, slotting between his spread legs.

He lifts his chin to meet your gaze, his thumb running absent patterns across your sensitive skin. With a low voice, Rafe asks solemnly, "Why don't you want to get married?"

"Have you not been listening?"

"Those aren't good reasons," he affirms, causing you to huff.

"Only you would tell a woman their reasons aren't good enough," you muse, drifting your hand to the nape of his neck. You tilt your head to the side. "What classifies as a bad reason?"

A beat passes before he answers. "You don't like me."

After he says that, Rafe holds his breath, his eyes searching your face to see any minuscule change in your features only to discover none. Your hand locates his chin, caressing the hard definition of his jaw. "That's not true."

Rafe exhales. "Then, it's settled."

"No, it's not settled."

He groans, tipping his head back, enough for you to see the grand column of his throat. His Adam's apple bobs over your infuriating buffers. It's amusing, and for a brief moment, you envision a future where you get to do this forever. "Do you not want to get married?"

"I never said that."

"So, you don't want to get married to me?"

"Rafe," you sigh, and he returns his gaze. You're referring to him by his first name, instead of the adorned Cameron, and his skin tightens at whatever you plan to say next. "You're a Kook. I'm a Pogue. We're barely in a relationship, and I doubt your parents would approve of this."

"Fuck what they'd say," he admits, with the relentless urgency behind his voice. He means it. "I want to. Since when do you care about what other people think?"

"Since I'm going to be entering into said family."

You say it with such dolefulness, that it sounds like you already accepted his proposal. Already imagined a future with him. The corner of Rafe's mouth lifts; he just needs to do one more thing to convince you.

Rafe hoists you onto his lap to straddle him, your ankles on either side of his waist, as your naked core rubs against the side of his cock, the sensation quickly hardening his erection.

Expecting him to lift you onto his tip, Rafe surprises you by swiping his fingers through your wet folds, causing a small whimper to rise from the back of your throat. "Listen to me," Rafe rasps, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone before lowering to your breasts, while the tip of his fingers toys with your entrance. "You've given me your reasons why it won't work, I'm going to give you my reasons why it will."

"I'm not going to change my mind,"

"You sure?" Rafe grins, teasing your slit. Your walls clench around the nothingness, desperately needing to be filled, and it causes you to bounce up and down, rubbing yourself against Rafe's hardened cock. Your hands land on his shoulders for steadiness, and that's when he begins to pump you.

"I think we look good together," Rafe lists with a grunt, feeling your pussy rub against his length. Desire pools inside of Rafe, his cock throbbing, but he concentrates on the task at hand, adding another digit. "You're the only person that keeps me on my toes—fuck," he groans, and you smirk.

Your slickness covers Rafe's cock, but you don't sink down on it. "Are you sure you're going to win this?" You murmur against the shell of Rafe's ear, planting feather-light kisses along the edge of his jaw. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, needing to gather himself before he slides in his ringed finger—the cold singlet grazing your heat, making you gasp and stop your movements.

Rafe holds your hips, while his fingers fully thrust inside of you with such vigor and performance, that a rich moan rips from your lips. He concludes his final reason: "And I get to fuck this every single night."

His darkened eyes lift to meet your hooded ones. His fingers work a steady but increasing rhythm inside of you, the coil of familiar pleasure twisting your gut. "Look at how pretty you are coming undone by me. Don't you want this forever?"

"Shut–shut up, Rafe," you whimper, your hands reaching for his arm between your legs, attempting to slow down the pace as your sensitivity is plowed into overdrive. Rafe snatches your wrists into one hand, dragging them away. "Too much."

Your legs attempt to close around him, but his large frame prevents such a thing. Rafe grins at the look of pleasure blooming on your face, the unsteadiness of your breaths alongside your lashes fluttering against your cheeks, and he fastens his strokes.

Whimpers and moans escape you in rising increments, and Rafe kisses your mouth, swallowing all that noise and desperation and need. "Say yes," he murmurs against your tingly lips.

"N–no," you refuse, still holding an ounce of restraint.

But Rafe simply laughs. His fingers slow its assault, leaving your mind a completely boggled mess. Nothing but the sensation of your orgasm on the near horizon resides, hooked completely on fulfilling your own pleasure, that you can't think of anything else to do but whine.

He looks back at you, sincerity capturing his face. " I like you, Maybank. It'll be fun to make it official."

"I—" You can barely comprehend a single word he's saying, the fizzling of your orgasm dissipating as you desperately try to wield it back in. "I can't think right now," you whimper, lowering yourself to give him a needy kiss, "Make me come first."

He doesn't need another reason before he reenters you, his thumb circling your clit and massaging it as his fingers thrusts in and out. Sounds of wetness echo throughout the quiet room, and when Rafe leans forward to add another mark—biting a sensitive spot on your neck—you unravel with a loud cry, tipping your head onto Rafe's shoulder.

Rafe guides you through your intense orgasm, your walls clenching around him so hard, they barely can move. Slowing his thrusts until it completely fade away, when Rafe pulls out, he presses his slick-covered fingers on the dip of your bottom lip, forcing them apart to lick clean. And when you do, he pulls you back in to seal it with a kiss.

Your chest rises and falls heavily as your eyes close for a moment of respite. Rafe's gaze, however, never strays from your face—patient and waiting.

This is such a bad idea. The whole premise of a Cameron-Maybank marriage could potentially knock the earth off its axis. You're from two different worlds and carry different viewpoints, but there's something fun, exciting, and fulfilling in being with Rafe. It can't be just because he gives you one of the best orgasms of your life.

You know JJ would hate this. He barely tolerates the idea of your hookup with Rafe as it is, and out of everyone, you value most of your brother's opinion. But, for once, you can't seem to find it in yourself to care.

"Fuck," you announce, reopening your eyes and meeting his stare. "Fuck it. Let's do it."

Rafe's lips pull to a genuine smile. "Yeah?"

You nod. "It'll be fun."

He grabs your hand, "Let's go."

"Right now?"

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet already?"

"You think I back down from a challenge?"

"It isn't the first time."

You slap his shoulder and Rafe laughs. He moves his hand to your hips again, lifting you off when you stop him. "Wait," you say, looking between you, at the red and swollen cock that hasn't gotten its release. "I have to do something before we leave."

You sink to the floor on your knees, still between his legs, as your thumb rubs the pearly beads of precum over the tip, causing Rafe to groan. He was so focused on your pleasure and making you agree to his outrageous proposal, that he didn't get a chance to relieve himself. You want to help.

After all, isn't that the first step to marriage?

Taking him into your mouth and tasting your slick rub all over him, you hollow your cheeks as you begin to suck. Rafe moans from the contact your lips made with his length, your hand wrapping around the base to steadily pump him alongside the suction.

It feels like absolute heaven. His hands thread through your hair, pushing you deeper onto his cock, and making you gag on the girth. This made you retreat, just slightly, to glare up at him. "Don't do that."

Wanting desperate release, Rafe's willing to listen to about anything. "Yes, ma'am."

When you return to sucking him off, Rafe makes sure not to push you further on his dick without prior approval, so you can take him appropriately. At least that means he'll listen to you in the marriage. As you steadily increase your pumps, and your jaw aches from the stretch, you feel Rafe's cock twitch.

"Come on, baby, come for me," you command, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Not even a moment later, he comes inside your mouth, spilling to the back of your throat, and you swallow up every lick of his hot cum.

You wipe the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb, and Rafe assists in pulling you back to your feet. Giving him a kiss, you grin. "Good boy. Now, let's go."

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[germiyahu]

I just think it's telling. When my BIL explained to me that Hinduism is not polytheistic I was like "Whoa that's a perspective I've never considered." Since then I've relayed this tidbit to several mutuals online. Jewish mutuals generally had the response "That's neat, good for them," even if they weren't really intrigued. Christian (including cultural Christian atheists) and Muslim mutuals generally had the response "Um that's not true."

And I explained that from Hinduism's own perspective and self identification and theology and whatever else you want to include, it is not a polytheistic religion. It's just not. And these mutuals again said "But according to Christianity/Islam/Logic™, they are polytheistic." And I simply had to throw myself out of my window at that point.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Late Date

Summary: It’s your birthday and Tyler’s going to do some wrangling to make sure no tornado can ruin your day. Unfortunately, that also makes him and the Wranglers a bit late to your party. 

Notes/Warnings: Fluff. It’s not angsty at all, despite how the summary may sound. Inaccurate meteorology/tornado stuff. Slight jealousy. This is based on a lyrics request: “you’ve got long hair slicked back white t shirt and I’ve got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt.” It’s just meant to be kinda cute, and I did my best, so hopefully you guys like it. Comments make my entire world, so if you do like it, let me know :)

Words: 1650

Tyler Owens Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

It happens often. You and Tyler are enjoying your time together when Disaster suddenly puts you in her path. A picnic in the park, a late-evening rodeo, a dinner date for him to meet your mother—all ruined. And yes, you believe Disaster does this intentionally. Disaster, in the form of a funnel of warm air and moisture, is as much in love with your boyfriend as you are, and she’s a jealous bitch, always calling him away when he’s in the throes of life with you. 

Luckily for Tyler, you’re not as jealous as his tornado. You’re not as greedy. When he leaves you to meet her, you let him go because he’s the town hero, and you don’t let your emotions get in the way of his job. After all, he does what he does to save the things he loves—this town, his family, you. And regardless of the time he spends with her, you know you’re his number one. 

Today, however, you could do without his job. The jealousy that you have rarely felt up to this point seeps through as he throws your favorite white t-shirt of his over his sculpted chest before buckling the belt wrapped around his jean-clad hips. He stomps one foot down into his boot and then the other before rifling through the dresser chest at the base of the bed.

“You have to do this on my birthday?” you ask, trying not to pout from your seated position on the mattress. The silk sleeve of your robe falls down your shoulder, exposing bare skin, and despite the chill, you don’t pull the garment back up your arm. Anything to keep him in this bed, you think, and for a moment, you you’re satisfied that it might be working. Tyler pauses on his hunt for a clean flannel as his eyes glue to your chest, your pebbled nipples just barely hidden by the rest of the smooth, thin material. 

You sit up on your knees and wrap your arms around his neck, but it’s from your touch that Tyler finally blinks, shakes his head, and says, “Darlin’, wouldn’t you rather feel reassured that your evening tonight will go tornado-free? I’m just going to go with the guys, disrupt anything that’s already formed, and observe the conditions as best I can so we don’t get any coming our way when we’re supposed to be celebrating another year of your life.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he hits you with logic, but it’s made harder by the pout on his face. That is supposed to be your pout. He’s the one leaving you on your birthday—decent reason or not—not the other way around. 

“Fine,” you say.

Tyler grins from ear to ear. He leans in and captures your lips in a long kiss before pulling back and brushing your unkempt hair out of your face. “We’ll meet you at the bar, ok?”

Nodding, you say, “Yea,” and untangle your arms from his neck. He gives you one last kiss. 

“Happy Birthday, darlin’” glides to your ear in his smooth, low voice, and then he’s out the door. 

—

“He’ll be here,” your cousin tells you. You’ve been staring at the bar door for a half-hour, disappointed with each new blond cowboy who walks into the crowded space. “When has he ever let you down?”

You sigh. “I know. But why did the bitchy tornadoes have to run wild today of all days? He said they chased four between here and the next town over, and two of them put up a real fight,” you say, relaying the information of Tyler’s earlier texts. “Plus, it’s raining now. That’ll only make it more difficult for them to get back.”

The bartender offers you and your cousin the drinks she ordered. She winks at him and downs the entire glass in one gulp—which he seems to find very impressive—before nudging your glass closer to your folded hands atop the counter. 

“Well, the only thing to do is drink up,” she orders. “Might as well have fun while we wait.”

—

You’re two drinks in. Your cousin has knocked back four, and while she’s no lightweight, the effects show in the uptick of her flirtiness with the bartender. She’s agreed to wait around until his shift is over, which was quickly retracted when she remembered that it’s your birthday and the fun she is meant to be having is with you, not the hot guy who stopped charging her for drinks an hour ago. But you assuage her guilt, knowing you have no intention of hanging around a crowded bar until two in the morning unless your boyfriend is going to be with you, birthday or not. 

With the acceptance of your third drink, you hope to easier ignore the appreciative glances from the blond cowboys on the other side of the mass of dancers in the center of the room. You must be a sunny-haired, country boy’s type, but they aren’t your man, and to be honest, you’re surprised they’re daring enough to look so long. The town is small enough that you figured by now everyone knows you’re Tyler’s girl, but clearly, that’s not the case. Either that or they just don’t care. 

When you start to feel it—the slight high, the looser inhibitions—you decide the best course of action is to simply ignore them, and so you hop down from the stool and make your way to the dance floor to do exactly that, planting yourself in the middle of a group of like-minded women swaying their hips to the tune. Like that, you let yourself go, alcohol allowing you to surrender to the flow of the feminine voice coming through the speakers. Your mind drifts, your eyes close, and when you feel a hand on your waist, you think of Tyler. When hips grind against yours, you think of Tyler. When lips touch your neck, you think of Tyler. And when your eyes open, you see Tyler.

He steps into the bar with the Wranglers in tow, his soaked white t-shirt clinging to his torso that every woman—even those invested in men of their own—notices, his hands slicking back his damp locks. With a grin on his handsome face, he glances around the space in search of you, but when he finds you, that grin drops faster than a rock can hit the ground. 

It’s then that you realize the paws on your body are not his. The breath hitting behind your ear is that of a stranger. Tyler’s stomping his way over to you, but you don’t need him to release his building rage because you have plenty of your own. 

Flipping around, your palm meets the cheek of one of the knock-off Tylers. He yelps and rubs his face. His irises turn red, and he looks ready to give you a scolding or call you some sort of vile name, but his eyes widen at the shadow that suddenly looms over you and he shrinks where he stands. 

“Y-Your girlfriend?” he eeks out. 

It’s fascinating to see the demeanor shift. Tyler must have more of a reputation than you realized. You haven’t lived in town long—you moved in with him three weeks ago after a year of long-distance dating—but you’ve known for a while that he is well-loved and anyone who crosses him crosses the town. What you didn’t know was that the people’s devotion to their tornado-wrangling hero could incite such fear. And honestly, you’re a little impressed; a little turned on. 

Tilting your chin up, the back of your head lands against your boyfriend’s chest. His arm comes around your waist, hand flattening over your stomach. “You think?” he spits. 

When knock-off Tyler skitters back to the gaggle of knock-off Tylers, your Tyler turns you around to face him. With a cocked brow, he says, “Now, darlin’, what was that?”

You shrug. “Thought he was you.”

Tyler looks over your shoulder to the group of blonds. His eyes narrow. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve had a bit to drink,” you chuckle.

His mouth parts, an ahh sound leaving his throat as if to say, ‘That explains it.’ “Where’s your cousin?” His gaze follows yours to the familiar woman whose body is half thrown over the countertop, her lips connected to the guy whose neglect of other patrons is about to cause a riot. But you don’t care about a likely-to-be-fired bartender; you care that your boyfriend was absent for so much of your birthday.

“What took you so long?”

You’ve started to gently sway with the music again, this time taking the correct Tyler with you. Your hands clasp behind his neck as his link around your waist, pulling you in close. 

“Sorry, darlin’. It was rougher than we anticipated,” he says, and though you expected to be much more put out, you feel settled with that explanation. You’re just happy he’s with you now and not standing you up for a date with his unpredictable weather. “You look pretty,” he tells you as his palms slide down over the skirt that’s snuggly fitted around your hips. “I haven’t seen this one before.”

“Bought it today.”

“For me?”

“For me.” You roll your eyes. “But I might have guessed you’d like it.”

He hums, gaze raking appreciate up your body to your mouth. “I do,” he says, then he presses his lips to yours. However, remembering the scarlet hue coating your lips, you quickly pull back. 

“Your whole mouth is going to be red if you keep kissing me.”

Tyler’s brow pinches. One hand’s fingers glide up your body and slip between the strands of your hair. “Good,” he says. “Then people will know we’re a matching set.”

[seoulmatez]

𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉

being a bad influence can have its benefits. . .

• dan heng x f!reader ﾉ 1.5k wc ﾉ NSFW minors do not interact ﾉ college au ﾉ public sex ﾉ unprotected sex ﾉ creampie

A hazy fog fills Dan Heng's head as he breathes in your moans and the familiar taste of mint lingering on your tongue. Your kiss is hypnotizing, so much so that the little focus he is able to muster up is on the way your finger twirls around the dark tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck rather than the precarious situation the two of you are in. Because while Dan Heng can admit that the feel of your clothed pussy grinding into his thigh is heavenly, he knows that this isn’t an activity you should be getting up to in the library.

The spell you seem to have cast on him is strong though, his cock already half-hard, twitching and leaking precum thanks to your ministrations. Regardless of his effort to keep quiet, a broken moan drifts through the otherwise silent air with a particularly strong tug of his hair. A string of spit connects the two of you even after your lips have parted and only breaks when you lustfully lick your lips.

“I have to get back to work,” Dan Heng pants, a hand coming up to push the hair back from his forehead. He hadn’t meant to get so sidetracked, especially on the clock, but he didn’t think you’d be so bold as to drag him away under the ruse of needing help finding a book for class. The logical part of his brain was urging him to turn you down when your pillowy soft lips pressed against his, although the taste of your tongue was too sweet, tempting, for him to even consider pulling away. He thinks this short moment of clearheadedness might be his best bet for regaining his resolve.

You poke your puffy lip out in a petulant pout, fingers dancing over the fabric covering his abdomen. Despite the barrier, you can feel the muscles of his abdomen nervously jump at your contact. “Aww, but I’m already so worked up.”

“We can’t—not now,” he chokes out, taking your wandering hands in his. They’re soft and even though the touch is meant to restrain, it’s more enticing than anything. Still, Dan Heng knows that if he lets you go, you’ll be all over him again in a second. “Baby, I really have to go.”

The words he utters send you one message, though his body relays another. His hold intended to deter is much more comforting than he realizes—thumbs brushing over the hills and valleys of your knuckles. A pink hue resembling cotton candy colors the tips of his ears and paints the apples of his cheeks. and, as much as he’s trying to overlook it, you just can’t ignore the growing bulge in his pants that’s practically begging for your attention. Seeing him, feeling him, in such a state only fuels your arousal. “We’ll be quick… pretty please?”

Your plea is sickeningly sweet, the desperate words dripping with honey that makes it impossible for Dan Heng to do anything but give in. He bends at your will, like putty in your hands, spinning so that your positions are switched. Your back meets the bookshelf with a soft thud before Dan Heng sandwiches you between him and the surface. A surprised gasp escapes your lips as his arm hooks the back of your knees over his elbow, his other hand making work of bunching up your skirt and pulling your dampened panties to the side.

The cool rush of air over your cunt is enough to make you suck in a breath as Dan Heng swiftly pulls out his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. He can’t hide the shaky, satisfied sigh that stumbles past his lips while he spreads the beads of pre up and down his member. You let out another noise upon feeling the tip tapping against your clit.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” Dan Heng asks, though desire is thick in his own voice.

“Look who’s—” your retort is cut short when the length of his cock slips between your soaking folds, the head teasing your entrance. Any imaginable words die in your throat as he inches into you. Slowly, excruciatingly so, his hips rock back and forth, each rut sending him a little deeper into the warmth of your walls until his hips kiss yours. 

Every inch of Dan Heng's skin burns with the lewd squelches that waft through the quiet air of the library. Your position, him caging you against the bookcase and shielding you from the view of any lingering patrons, is nothing shy of indecent and the little noises bubbling up from your throat, pitchy whines and shattered breaths, are only making the man feel all the more wicked for indulging in such an obscene fantasy.

Heat pools in your tummy as you stretch to accommodate the girth of him, and it spreads beneath your skin, setting your nerves on fire, with each of Dan Heng's tender thrusts. He never fails to draw a reaction out of you, this one presenting itself in the form of a choked-out curse that rings through the air.

“Shh,” Dan Heng hushes you, the demand unstable as though he’s having trouble holding back his own moans. “Y-you have to be quiet.”

The vibrations of his voice only excite you more, make you arch your back and let out another noise of content, one that, although not entirely intentional, is even louder than the last. It’s rare for students to stay so late on this floor, much less the anthropology section, but the last thing Dan Heng wants is for either of you to be caught in such an inappropriate situation. There’s only one thing he can do to ensure that the two of you stay unnoticed.

The hand that’s been resting on your waist swiftly lifts from its position in favor of making its way to your mouth. Lithe fingers slip between your lips, pressing down on the wet muscle in a hurried attempt to keep you quiet.

It works for the most part, your moans and whimpers muffled. Though, for both you and Dan Heng, the new sensation acts as fuel for the fire that is your lust. Because when you suck at his fingers—drool around the digits—Dan Heng’s waning patience fades into nothing and his easy pace is traded in for something more frenzied, desperate.

You’re a bad influence.

You’re the one thing in this world that Dan Heng can’t deny, the one person in the universe who’s capable of turning him into someone he barely recognizes. But the truth is, all it takes is a whisper from you, the temptress, to convert Dan Heng into a man who wants nothing more than to please. Right now, all he wants is to bring you to that sweet release that you so fiercely desire.

Skin meets skin when Dan Heng's forehead bumps against yours, when his hips grind against yours in his effort to bring you pleasure. The change of pace comes without warning and you babble around his fingers as he continues with his merciless rhythm, the seeping head of his cock abusing the spongy spot that always makes you come undone.

Cock throbbing and your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, Dan Heng snatches his fingers from your mouth to replace them with his lips, hungrily swallowing your wanton moans as he rolls his crotch into your clit that he’s been overlooking. Your eyes gloss over at the contact and just one look into them is all it takes for Dan Heng to tell that your head is clouded with pleasure and that the only thing on your mind is how drunk you are on his cock.

It’s a delicious sight that draws a heavy groan from Dan Heng's chest while he continues to rut up into you. The noisy slaps of skin on skin filling your ears has you tightening your hold on your lover, chasing his swollen lips to silence the cries threatening to spill from yours.

And he can feel your walls clench around him, feel your thighs uncontrollably tremble as pleasure overcomes you. The warmth of your breath tickles his mouth, dances over his tongue and lips as his thrusts lose their rhythm and turn sloppy. Following your lead, he plunges into you entirely, ropes of his creamy white essence filling your messy cunt.

His seed oozes from you, drips down your plush thighs and the length of his cock. Dan Heng cringes at the scene before him but you don’t reflect his apprehension. With a carefree smile, you tuck your finger beneath his chin, tipping his head up so that glacier eyes meet yours. Almost immediately, his expression softens.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

No, it wasn’t, Dan Heng wants to agree, but he keeps it to himself as he shakes his head and carefully returns you to a standing position. Like the gentleman he is, he adjusts your underwear and skirt in a way that makes it seem like you never stopped for this naughty escapade. As he rights himself and ties the string of his sweatpants into a neat bow, Dan Heng comments, “We could have waited until the end of my shift.”

You breathe out a laugh, placing a surprisingly chaste kiss on his jaw. “Where’s the fun in that?”

manon here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[floating--goblin]

On Jutty Taylor and the new era

It's been roughly five months since an alleged victim of Jutty Taylor has come out accusing him of inappropriate conduct. With the dawn of a new era for Ghost and Taylor seemingly having been kept in the band, let us refresh our memory on the story.

This is not going to be an essay in defense of Taylor; I have no stake in this game and win nothing by sheltering a possible predator. I simply want to present the facts, as they are, as logically as possible, giving both sides the benefit of the doubt required, as in a court of law. The decision on where to stand is ultimately yours.

I will preface this with a disclaimer: the alleged victim is fifteen years old. I realize children aren't the most apt at relaying important details about complicated subjects such as a legal case or police investigation, so I will be extra lenient on their relaying of said details because it's entirely possible for a frightened child to constantly misspeak.

That being said, it does unfortunately make the case even more murky. The account should have been handled by the victim's parents, especially after backlash against the victim swept through social media. The fact no legal guardian has stepped in at best paints a disheartening picture of the victim's home life, and at worst weakens the case against Taylor.

As for me, I'm admittedly no scholar and this is a different justice system than my country's own, but I am a law student and know a thing or two which, I believe, would help offer a more in-depth view of the situation.

Finally, I cannot stress this enough: believe victims first. Yes, I fully stand by that statement. I do not however stand for "believe victims always, without or against proof", and while I am again not here to prove one point or another, some details about the case do not add up and it important to get the full picture, all the facts, as they are. That is my entire goal here, I cannot stress enough how little I want to get into a spat about this. This is meant to be a full report and only that.

Moving along-

On October 10th of 2024, the victim, named Grace, made this thread to Twitter, alleging that on March 8th of that year she attended a Drag Talk show, where she met Taylor. While taking pictures with him, she claims that Taylor's hand "fell on her backside", that when she tried pulling away his hand moved to her waist and that he pulled her closer, and that finally he put his hand under her jacket and groped her chest.

This is the only picture of the incident that Grace has provided, and according to her the only one that was taken that night. She also clarified later that behind them is a mirror, not the rest of the room.

Grace's friend Kuro has also posted these threads providing additional text conversations from after the incident, between them and Grace as well as Grace and another friend, where Grace recounted "feeling violated" and obviously distressed:

Thread one

Thread two

After this, several other accounts have come out making various allegations, none of which are of the same severity but which are of course equally important to take into consideration. These are as follows:

A thread by user olliesoleil alleging predatory intent in messages exchanged with Taylor. It should be noted that as of 2024, Ollie was 19.

A thread from another 19 year old named Logan, in which he claims that Taylor made flirty comments toward him.

An alleged message exchange from Taylor's ex girlfriend, aged 23 in 2024, no date or context given for the messages provided. Of note however is that they seemed to have been in a relationship around the time she turned 20.

Of note is also that no conversations with any ex-girlfriends were ever shown.

On November 24, Grace followed up by informing people following the story that the police were informed.

As of writing this post in March of 2025, there have been no more updates on this case. Grace has also urged any other possible victims to speak up and to reach out to LAPD or their local police force, but no one else seems to have stepped up since.

That is the last update we got from Grace.

Moving on to the other party involved, Taylor himself posted this one day after the allegations were publicized, following it with a more in-depth post and apology the next day.

On March 5th of 2025, Ghost has also posted a music video for their first release of the new album Skeletá, which features Taylor, implying his continued involvement with the band. The actual date of filming for the video is uncertain, as is whether or not Taylor's contract with Ghost has been renewed for the upcoming tour, as we all know the Ghouls are tour-only members and not officially a part of Ghost.

Taylor has not posted on his Twitter or Instagram since, and has not had a public presence online. None of his friends/bandmates have spoken about this either.

And now comes the difficult part: dissecting and putting everything in context fairly and coherently.

From the evidence shown, one thing we can reasonably agree on is that Jutty Taylor has a penchant for dating younger women, or is at least not put off by being involved with them. From videos of him and his stage demeanor it is also clear that he skews on the flirtier side, and is infamous for being very physically close with his bandmates regardless of gender.

That being said, all of the people involved here, save for Grace, are of age. Morality of age gaps aside, none of this falls into the sphere of illegality.

Furthermore, Ollie and Logan's claims are based on subjective interpretations of conversations. Logan has not provided as much as a paraphrasing of the "flirty comments" said to him by Taylor, and Ollie's conversation (link 1, link 2) shows them matching Taylor's level of enthusiasm, and in their thread they state that they thought nothing of the interactions at the time, only revising their stance in light of Grace's story coming out. All of which is, of course, valid. However, they were of age, thus nothing in the text exchange is illegal, nor can stand as evidence of predatory intent; it is purely a subjective view.

Similarly, Ferlizee's claims are offered without context or proof, and she was also of age throughout the relationship. Any assertion in the thread surrounding her that Taylor knew her before she was of age are unsubstantiated, as there is simply no source for them. She has since also deleted her accounts, which makes investigating the matter more difficult.

All this is to say, the only conclusion we can extract from these three accounts is that Taylor is perhaps overly friendly, that his sense of humor is perhaps easily misconstrued, and that his preference in partners skews on the younger side- although it should be noted that the only actual confirmed partner of his that we know of is Ferlizee, who was again of age. Any claims that he was or is currently dating Olivia Morreale are pure speculation and have never been proven, and she, too, is of age.

This is important, and I will make an aside about it, because it is a problem running rampant in the fanbase: we don't know anything about the ghouls' private lives. Nothing is black and white, and even the things they share with us may have more layers than initially apparent. Regardless of how close Jutty and Liv seem, we have never received confirmation that they are involved in any way besides being friends, and implying otherwise simply because of said closeness is a narrow-minded, puritanical way of viewing relationships between men and women. It is also massively invasive to dig into their personal lives.

Putting this through a human lens however, yes, it does not build up a case in his favor. If I may be subjective for a moment, it's not exactly the most moral thing to date 20 year olds in your 40s; but it also does not prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are a child predator. Twenty year olds are also capable of making informed decisions, and while protecting a demographic who has historically been victimized (ie young women) is important, it is also important not to infantilize grown adults. Determining whether or not Ferlizee or Liv are mature enough to be dating a 43 year old would require knowing them personally; in the same vein, determining how mature Jutty is and the kind of power he holds is also impossible, as despite his seniority he does not have the same base level of leverage over a person in their twenties that he would over a child.

So, alright. We've established the other alleged victims' cases are perhaps a bit shaky. What about Grace?

To start, she recounts that the picture offered was taken before the show, which, while uncommon for musicians to do and contradicting with Jutty's own statement, is still possible as either party's memory of the event may be poor. She also claims that there was a mirror behind her and Taylor's backs as they took the picture, in which you can see several people, at least one of them facing the incident. Now, this is important because it gives us witnesses: the friend taking the picture, and at least one person poised to see the event. At the time the picture was taken, Grace recounts that Taylor's hand was on her backside, which is credible as the mirror doesn't fall that far down, making it so the perpetrator could act unseen.

It should be noted that Taylor's arm doesn't appear to be angled toward the victim in a way that would suggest he was touching her, but it is still possible his forearm was bent toward her backside. That is important!

Next, as recounted, Taylor grabbed the victim by the waist, then put his hands underneath her jacket to grab her by the chest. The duration of this sequence of events is not specified, so it's unclear whether this could be passed off as an accident as Taylor claims, or if it was definitively an intentional case of groping. In the latter's case though, this was (once again) happening in the middle of a venue, with witnesses around and the victim's friend either holding or having just held a camera pointed at the scene. The fact no more pictures were taken is of course believable, but the fact no one else- not even the friend that was present- have come out is cause for doubt. A majority of Drag Talk fans have come from Ghost and travel from other states to see the band; they may not be a huge sensation, but they've gained some traction lately that would ensure at least one witness present would have taken to the internet to expose Jutty as a predator.

Messages between Grace and said friend were also very limited and the friend's response was offered incomplete, and it would appear that they remained somewhat lukewarm to Grace's feelings, which is a questionable attitude for someone who witnessed a full on sexual assault. That can however be written off as shock, we're talking about young teenagers here.

In terms of Taylor's own statement on the matter, if we assume these were fleeting gestures and that the part where he allegedly put his hands into Grace's jacket didn't happen, one can make the argument that he was attempting to initiate some friendly physical affection with a fan, which backfired purely by accident with his hands falling where they shouldn't have, a gesture which was misunderstood. This doesn't change the fact Grace felt violated, but it would also not make Taylor the perpetrator of a crime, only irresponsible.

Moving on to the legal case. As mentioned above, Grace claims to have reported this to the police, who have filed a case against Taylor. However given the evidence presented, the police would not have been able to do much beyond filing a report and possibly questioning Taylor about it. The evidence given is not strong enough to build a case on, especially for the LAPD, which is notoriously terrible with sexual assault cases.

To put it simply, the likelihood of Jutty having been investigated at any point is minimal. Even if the complaint fell in the hands of a serious officer, there is nothing to build a case on. It is possible Grace has more evidence that wasn't posted to Twitter, though it is doubtful as she is only fifteen, handling this on her own, and facing major backlash- all of which would have pushed her to offer everything she had, or to at least specify there was evidence she would only give to the authorities. Otherwise this would be a "he-said-she-said" situation, which would go nowhere with the police.

It is also possible however that she misspoke or misunderstood what was happening, and that police were involved, despite charges never being formally filed. In that case, a cursory investigation is the most that could have happened.

The lack of updates over the past five months offers some credence to this theory, as despite the legal system working slowly, if an investigation were to happen and charges filed, Jutty would risk being placed on the sex offender registry, which, while by itself doesn't ban him from travel altogether, would make him unable to enter certain countries- which of course would be detrimental to a world tour with Ghost, leading Tobias to terminate his contract. He has done so with Chris Catalyst over (as far as speculation goes) administrative issues with employing a UK citizen after Brexit, so he's not averse to firing ghouls for purely fiscal matters, should the morality of working with a predator not be enough of a motivator.

It must be reiterated that we don't know whether the music video for Satanized was filmed before or after the allegations, and whether Taylor has been hired for the upcoming tour; but it does stand to reason that, should these charges be credible and should there be a legal case against Taylor, that Tobias would have at least had his cameo in the video edited out or the video re-shot. Again, even if you don't believe Tobias would have done so because of the grisly nature of this crime itself, he would have surely done it to protect the band's image and profits. It stands to reason then that Taylor's presence does not pose a risk as Tobias himself has no reason to consider the allegations credible.

Now yes, being put on the registry happens after a conviction- but again, should there be credibility to this case, Tobias would have fired Jutty before a conviction happened so as to spare himself the financial and legal troubles, as Jutty would not have been able to reliably attend work due to court dates and a potential conviction looming over his head. In short, he would have been a liability that Tobias would simply not take, had this actually gone to the police. So why would Grace make this claim?

A minor additional point is that this case has not been publicized anywhere in any capacity, and that any attorney's first course of action would have been to advise Grace to scrub her account clean as, should justice rule in favor of Taylor, he could then use her posts to sue for libel. This advice is pretty much industry standard.

On the other hand this of course does not change the reality of whether or not he is guilty, as the legal system is massively fallible, especially in cases of sexual assault. I'm certainly not putting my faith in either the police or other men, because we know they tend to protect one another at any cost. Taylor's friends continuing to stay by his side and work with him aren't the strongest judge of his character, as bias exists.

In conclusion, what do we have? What's the TL;DR?

In truth, not much. This came out of left field and rocked the fanbase because it is obviously a horrifying possibility, and I command each and every one of you for the dedication to call potential criminals in our midst out. It takes a lot to demand accountability from someone you admire.

What is my opinion? I am no judge, I can't rule in either direction, and I am not interested in airing out my subjective views. This report has been composed as impartially as possible, using the circumstantial evidence available and doing as little speculation as possible, in order to offer people a full overview of the story. If you only knew of this from hearsay, now you have all the evidence arranged in one post for easy consumption. If you think you may have been influenced in one direction or the other by someone, now you may form an opinion of your own.

Moving forward I think the right course of action would be to stop idolizing celebrities, and to indeed stop viewing them as anything but ambiguous strangers from a moral standpoint. Even working under the assumption that Jutty is completely innocent, he still seems to be someone of more questionable morals than fans initially thought; which, while not a crime, is understandably disappointing. To prevent such disappointment in the future, I think we ought to remember we will never know these people personally, and that people are fallible and complex and that mistakes can happen, and that it's always important to take a critical eye to everything you see or hear.

That's all I had to say, goodbye and goodnight and hail our new Papa V.

[moonsaver]

How do you think Ratio would feel if someone else at the college in a position of power yelled at student reader and made them cry? Like when he scolds you, it's tough love and he means well, but when other people do it they're bullies?

Ohhhhohohoboooooooohhh...

Okay, if we're talking about veritas normally as a professor, he's not having it. I mean, he won't regardless of his station, but still.

He views his own scolding as simply relaying the absolute truth to his students – he believes no one else can lay the bare truth to his students more than himself, and it's his duty to do so as your educator. His scolding is harsh but never cruel – it always pinpoints your weaknesses, and when you actually listen and do as he says, you realise just how right he was. He's not the type to use his students as a punching bag for his own ego.

He's also a bit understanding of other educators scolding their students – truthfully, they see you most often as a student than anyone else, and are the only ones who can possibly help you with your weaknesses. However, he can't help but feel like it's brutish whenever another educator scolds their students as harshly as he does.

He already has semi-strong opinions on other professors or authorities scolding their students normally. So when he sees you being yelled at and used as a punching bag for an authority who wants to tend to their bruised ego? Oh please.

He doesn't fear immediately stepping in and teaching them their own lesson. He asks them what their problem is in a monotone, unimpressed voice, but if looks could kill the person would be mauled. His eyebrows are nastily furrowed as he glares them down. Veritas is not fearful of positions of power nor authority. He seeks for the truth and practicality, and from his perspective, they lost all credibility and any ounce of respect he had for them the moment they decided yelling at a student was logical in order to convey their grievances.

He gives them a good dressing down with their own words. You're probably standing behind him while he deals with them. It's not too soon before some or the other disciplinary action is taken about them. As for you.. Veritas isn't exactly sure, but he's compassionate when you really need it. Pulls you along to somewhere more secluded and hands you his handkerchief, advising you to take your time but to also collect yourself soon and head home if it's the end of the day.

Even if he's also just a professor, he won't be sitting back and staying idle about such behavior. Especially if it's his students they seem to have a problem with. He hopes you'll be fine until tomorrow for the lecture. Pats your head and assures you it will be taken care of and that you may further relay any other issues you have about them to him.

Until then.. he makes sure to clean up every nook and cranny of that authority figure. Anonymously collects any other complaints about them from other students who might have faced the same experience as you did, and practically drops the bomb when there's a feedback meeting of some sort. Makes sure they're fired or some or the other disciplinary action is taken regarding their behavior.