#when we talk about art in any form

[beesinspades]

i'm very :3 because the dark urge being fully customizable might be thanks to my very enthusiastic suggestion as a playtester.....I mean maybe other playtesters who came after me (my group was apparently the first to try the dark urge out, at least in gent, because the group before us didn't even know that origin existed) suggested it too, I don't know, but :3 even if I'm just one of the people who suggested it, I'm :3 because HELL YEAAAAH!!!!

I loved the dark urge so much (even though I couldn't finish my playthrough with them, since they were my second playthrough of the playtest) that i was like "this is too good, since they're not a companion origin story u guys need to make it possible to play them as any race not just the dragonborn variations"

AND THEY DIIIIID i'm so happy!!!!

[comradecowplant]

LMAO after all the backlash, the Pretty Little Liars reboot retconned Imogen giving her baby to Aria & Groomer 🤣 #bullyingworks

[modernmutiny]

I'm only on ep one of the live action atla and all I have to say so far is that all the fighters need more martial arts training. Or any, really.

[theamazingannie]

Saw someone on Twitter complaining that tv shows and books and such made during modern times often don’t depict anything having to do with the pandemic and how it’s some big conspiracy about pandemic denial and I can understand why someone would think that considering all the denial irl but personally I don’t want to depict Covid in my work because the pandemic completely affected so many aspects of our lives and by depicting it in my work I’d have to completely change so many parts of my stories because there’s no way the events would go as planned if there was a pandemic happening and I’ve been writing these stories for YEARS, since before the pandemic, and I don’t want to change anything and even if the work was new, how do you incorporate this huge life event into your story without it taking away all the focus?

[paragonrobits]

some important calvin and hobbes facts in case you haven't read the original comic strip in a long time or only absorbed stuff on it from memes and out of context bits on here:

Calvin's last name has never been given, and neither has any of his parent's names. This was actually why his uncle Max only showed up for a brief storyline; the creator of the comic, Bill Watterson, ultimately felt that while it was fine to have him as someone for his parents to talk to, it felt far too awkward to never have Max refer to them by name and he never made a return appearance.

The general tone of the comic is fairly light-hearted, with a big emphasis on goofy slapstick comedy contrasted by clever wordplay and often surprising adult-centered jokes that'll hit you like a slap. A big part of the comedy is, as Watterson put it (paraphrased) "It's really funny to me when people express deeply stupid ideas with really fancy terminology." One notable example you might have seen is that one bit where Calvin asks his mom for money to buy a Satan-worshiping rock album and his mom replies that there's nothing genuine about them and they're just putting on the attitude for shock value, and comisserates with Calvin as he deplores that mainstream nihilism can't be trusted. He concludes that childhood is disillusioning.

There is a LOT of criticism of the extreme materialism and selfish mentality of the late 80s, when the comic was initially written. This may go a long way to explain how its aged so well; much of what it criticizes resonates well with people today.

Bill Watterson views comic strips a legitimate form of artwork, and repeatedly fought to have more space to draw more beautiful and artistic backgrounds, which was a very hard fight and unpopular even with other comic strip artists. He eventually did win some compromises and a lot of Calvin And Hobbes' artwork shows it, with the use of space to indicate time as well as a sharp contrast between the often plain environments of mundane life contrasted by the wildly beautiful imagery of Calvin's imagination (which often sports realistic depictions in an art shift of sorts).

Hobbes is explicitly not an imaginary friend, by word of Watterson himself. We don't know WHAT he is exactly, and Hobbes is apparently unaware of the strange nature of his reality; people look at him and only see an ordinary stuffed tiger plushie, but he has a tangible effect on the world that would be physically impossible for Calvin to do on his own. He's apparently been around for a while, and was apparently around when Calvin was a young baby.

On that note; Hobbes has implicitly killed (notably treated as both a gag and also with the vibe of 'he's a tiger, duh') and while he doesn't do it again on-screen, he doesn't have any moral issues about it. Calvin claims that he's never had trouble bringing Hobbes to school because the last time he did, Hobbes killed and ate a bully named Tommy Chestnut and simply comments that it was gross and he needed a bath. Calvin's tried to repeat this again, but Hobbes was grossed out at the thought having to eat a kid raw and not being allowed to use an oven first, or complaining that children are too fattening.

Hobbes became gradually less human-like in body language and more like an actual cat in both body language and behavior; this was due to Watterson drawing more inspiration from his cat, who also inspired a lot of Hobbes' running gags, such as pouncing on Calvin when he got home. Several years into the syndication of the strip, Watterson's cat passed away, and he did a tribute to her with a comic strip of the two of them agreeing to try to dream together so they can keep playing when they have to sleep; Watterson's commentary (if I recall right), remarks on his cat: "We can see each other again in dreams."

[ayyy-pee]

ℍ𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕗𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕤

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Female Reader

Summary: But you can see - in those deep violet eyes of his - three little words swimming behind them that he's been itching to say to you for quite some time now. You want to say them too, have for as long as you can remember. 

But you're both Hashira. It's already enough that you both keep towing this dangerous line, finding yourselves in this exact predicament more often than not.

or

Sanemi is just so down bad for reader.

Story Warning: Smut, Alley Sex, P in V sex, Profanity bc c'mon...it's me, Vaginal Sex, Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Sanemi being bad at feelings, Secret Flings, Secretly in Love, Sneaking Around, Some canon Giyuu hate from Sanemi, Reader is a Hashira too!

Art by: krit961 (Twitter)

A/N: This is my first time writing for this fandom ever, but the Sanemi brainrot has been so INSANELY strong I just had to write SOMETHING up. It's nothing crazy and I'm rusty because it's been awhile for me but ugh. THIS ONE IS FOR YOU SANEMI!!!! Also shoutout to @lemonlover1110 for helping me with the title!

“We should head back…” You sigh, breaths coming rapidly. “Before…” A quiet gasp interrupts your words when you feel the sting of teeth sinking into your neck. “Before the others notice…”

”Fuck the others,” a gravelly voice growls into the juncture of your neck. Large hands grasp your thighs hard, holding them wide open as a hard form sits between them. “Don’t give a fuck if they notice, either. Maybe Tomioka will stop staring like a lovesick puppy if he figures it out.”

He buries his face further into your neck, grumbling against your skin. Something along the lines of “I hate that guy” and “I should gouge his eyes out”.

Your fingers slip into the snowy white tresses at the nape of his neck, gripping hard and pulling so that you can see his face. Pretty, long lashes cover hooded purple eyes that soften the moment they catch sight of you. The softness is such a contrast to the deep, pitted scars scattered along his face. But he’s beautiful all the same.

“Sanemi…”

At the sound of his name on your lips, he rolls his eyes. “If you’re gonna defend him–”

“Sanemi –”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Your lips set into a deep frown, and Sanemi matches your expression, stubborn as ever. “What is your issue with Giyuu anyway?”

Sanemi scoffs, “Giyuuuuuu,” he mocks with a nasally tone. “Stop talking about him.”

“You brought him up!”

His mouth finds yours, rough and hungry, all consuming. It’s all teeth and tongue, nipping at your lips because he knows they’ll still be just swollen enough by the time you both get back. He’s marking his territory in his own way, as much as he can. Possessive and jealous, even when he knows he has no reason to be, no right to be. But he can’t help it.

You don’t belong to him, you don’t belong to anyone. Because you know it wouldn’t be smart to commit to any one person. Not in this line of work.

Sanemi has you pressed against the bamboo fencing in the darkest part of an alleyway, just outside of the Ubuyashiki Mansion with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. It’s your usual meeting spot when you’ve been separated for some time, both of you too impatient to wait until the early morning hours when the Hashira meeting has finally ended to see each other.

“Fuck me,” Sanemi groans against your lips. He places an arm beneath your ass, holding you up as his other hand hikes your uniform skirt up to your waist. “Swear this gets shorter every time I see you.”

A giggle slips past your lips, because it absolutely gets shorter every time he sees you. You do it on purpose because you know it drives Sanemi up the wall to see little peeks of your ass and not be able to do anything about it. Makes him even crazier that he knows others can see it, too, and he can’t do anything but shoot death glares at anyone who dares to let their gazes roam. 

But you can’t let Sanemi know that. So you pout, laying your palms against his exposed chest and tracing his scars with your fingertips. You watch as his eyes flutter, sensitive to the touch. “You don’t like it? I can always request a change in uniform…”

Sanemi groans, leaning forward and kissing you hard. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” He presses his groin into your, evidence of his arousal against your soaking core. “You look so good in it.” His hand slinks between your bodies, thumb going straight to your clit, where he presses down, a shit eating grin spreading across his face when your back arches off the wall and you moan. “Look even better in it when you’re making that face.”

Your nails dig into his scars and Sanemi’s reaction is automatic, hips rocking forward roughly and now you’re both whining into each other’s mouths. You’re sure if anyone came across the two of you, you’d appear as this horny couple who couldn’t bother to wait until they got home to dry hump each other. And outside of the couple part, they’d be correct. Sanemi ruts against you, his erection running deliciously along your clothed cunt. Your lips slot together, tongues deep in each other’s mouths as Sanemi grunts into yours, and you keen into his.

There’s not much time to waste, you’re meant to be at the mansion soon. It would be suspicious if one Hashira, let alone two were missing when the Master arrived and if asked, the crows would spill your secrets in a heartbeat. You need to hurry. And Sanemi feels the pressure too. Even though he loves to annoy you pretending he doesn’t care about being late or cluing in the others on what’s going on, he would never disrespect the Master. 

Pausing his movements and leaning back to peer down at you, Sanemi sighs. He’s so painfully hard, his length throbbing within the confines of his uniform as he drinks in the sight of your kiss swollen lips, just the way he wanted them. And your face flushed, pupils blown wide as all hell with arousal. He’s sure he looks much the same, knowing you’re just as possessive as he is, though you hardly show it. It’s simply easier to hide your little territorial marks, the scratches you leave on him when they blend in so well among the rest of his scars.

Your fingers ghost along his chest, finding his nipples and you pinch the hardening buds, smirking when you see the way Sanemi’s eyes almost roll back. He can’t take another fucking second of this teasing. Not after he hasn’t seen you in who knows how long. He wants you badly that even your voice is enough to make him ruin his pants right now. It’s the semi-annual Hashira meeting tonight and he’s not willing to wait until Himejima is done yapping to have you.

Sanemi tugs at his uniform, getting his pants down just barely enough to pull his cock out. The tip is angry, red, just as desperate to be inside you as Sanemi. It glistens with his desire for you and you only.

“Gonna fuck you now, okay?” He tells you, hooking a finger into your undergarments and pulling them to the side. He runs his digits through your folds, hissing when he feels how drenched you are. It helps when he slips two fingers into you, mouth falling open when you throw your head back with a cry, your walls clamping around him. This Sanemi’s favorite part. Watching the way your brows knit together, how your pretty teeth dig into your plush bottom lip to bite back your moans, how your pussy makes the most lewd noises as he pumps his fingers into you.

You are glorious.

Always have been. It’s why he can never get enough of you. You’re insanely strong, clearly. You’re a Hashira, standing alongside him and some of the strongest in the corps. But you’re also blessed with a beauty that rivals every woman Sanemi has ever laid eyes on. He’s drawn to you in ways he cannot explain, ways he doesn’t need an explanation for. It’s why he hates catching the little glances from a certain other Hashira. Not that anyone knows what you two have going on, but all Sanemi knows is that he –

“Sanemi…” you whimper, eyes gazing softly at him. “Please. I need you.”

And he doesn’t need to hear more. His lips crash against yours as he swiftly pulls his fingers from you, gripping his length tightly and pumping himself. “How bad do you need me?” He asks. Because he needs you so fucking bad right now he can’t think straight. His mind is foggy, his body burns with his lust for you. 

“So, so bad, Sanemi,” you loop your arms around his neck, kissing him just as eagerly as he kisses you. “I need you more than anything.”

Sanemi groans, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance. But his eyes never leave your face, even as the tip breaches your walls and makes him want to shut his eyes and focus on not cumming embarrassingly fast. He wants to see you, watch the way you lose yourself when he splits you open. The thought of it has him pulsing painfully in his hand. He rolls his hips forward, slowly, gritting his teeth when your wet warmth envelops him. “Still so goddamn tight for me,” he grunts. “Your greedy cunt is sucking me right in, fuck.”

Your nails dig into the fabric of Sanemi’s shirt, hanging on for dear life as Sanemi pushes deeper and deeper into you. As many times as you’ve been in this position with Sanemi, it always feels like the first time. He’s so long and thick, you have to adjust every time he slips into you.

“Oh my god,” you whine, and Sanemi pauses.

“You okay?”

“Yes…just…fuck me, please, Sanemi…”

He grips your thighs, pushing you back against the bamboo fencing to hold you in place. And then he thrusts forward, bottoming out in one swift motion and you both cry out in unison, the overwhelming pleasure making you both shudder.

“Fucking hell,” Sanemi sighs. He places his hands beneath your ass, keeping you still while he rears his hips back, only to slam back into you over and over. He pounds into your pussy at a relentless pace. Half because you’re on one hell of a time crunch, and half because he can’t help it. He feels animalistic when it comes to you, fucking into you mindlessly because it just feels so goddamn incredible. Every thrust feels better than the last, your warm walls clenching around him with each snap of his hips.

“I can’t go that long without you again…” Sanemi croaks, catching himself because he feels he’s getting too sentimental. “...without your pretty little pussy.”

“God, just say you missed me, you asshole.” You tell him, moving your own hips to meet his strokes. Though your words come out as more of this pathetic whimper than an actual demand and it makes Sanemi’s hips stutter. Just briefly. His hands on your ass lift you up before pulling you to sink back down on him.

Sanemi chuckles, leaning back just enough so that he can look between your bodies, watch the sticky strings of your slick connecting you, watch how his dick disappears. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes!” You cry when Sanemi hits a particularly tender spot. “Shit, I missed you so much, Sanemi.”

His brows rise, a little surprised by the confession, and a loud one at that. “Oh?” He kisses you hard, keeping his pace. Your confession turns him on more than he’s willing to admit. He missed you, too, though it’s harder for him to say so. Instead he fucks all of his feelings into you. 

How he misses you when you’re apart, because his thoughts are dangerously distracted wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with, if you’re alive.

How he wishes you’d be assigned missions together, so he could watch you tear a demon's head straight from their shoulders. Then find somewhere to stay the night so he can fuck you on every surface possible (He’s done this with you before. He wants to do it with you again).

How he wishes he could open his mouth and tell you how he truly feels.

But those feelings have always been foreign to him. Sanemi is lucky you understand his silence, that you accept his actions for what they are and let them speak for him. You accept everything he gives you happily. And as you tighten your legs around his waist, as you quietly let your pleasure be heard by him and him alone, as your walls clamp down around him with your release, convulsing and pulling him into you, Sanemi can only thank the Gods for every shitty circumstance that led him to you.

Does he deserve you? Probably not. Does he care? Absolutely not.

Because you chose him. This secret…whatever this is. Out of anyone in this world, you chose Sanemi.

And it’s enough to send him over the edge with you, gasping desperately for air as he tries to find your lips again. He closes his eyes, pushing himself as deep as he can as his release floods your walls. It’s so much, a build up over time and he knows his seed will be dripping out of your core before he’s even had a chance to pull out. It’s always this way. Because Sanemi doesn’t bother entertaining other women when he’s away. He only wants you. So the second he’s within the same vicinity as you, he has literally so much to give.

You never seem to mind.

Sanemi breaks the messy kiss, placing gentle, sweet pecks to your cheek before he leans back to stare down at you. That fucked out look on your face almost has him getting hard again. But you don’t have time for that, so he just watches you and you watch him. And he’s glad for the fact that you can’t see the way his mind is racing with only thoughts of you, thoughts of this feeling he’s buried so deep trying to claw its way up Sanemi’s throat.

But you can see - in those deep violet eyes of his - three little words swimming behind them that he's been itching to say to you for quite some time now. You want to say them too, have for as long as you can remember. 

But you're both Hashira. It's already enough that you both keep towing this dangerous line, finding yourselves in this exact predicament more often than not.

It's a little more than ridiculous actually, the way neither of you can resist sneaking glances, hiding touches, making excuses to leave on missions together. You and Sanemi…you're drawn to each other, your strings of fate knotted tightly together. It’s become impossible to leave each other alone. You don't think you'd be able to resist what you're doing even if you met as two civilians on the street. Hell, you couldn't resist each other all those years ago when you were low ranked corps members. 

Training was a confusing hell back then, every session filled to the brim with fury and a strange and thick tension neither of you could put your finger on until way down the line. It wasn't until one particular training session when Sanemi had you pinned to the ground, his strong hips pressing into yours, that you then understood what that tension was. The evidence was apparent in the way Sanemi's hard stare bore into yours, how the heat between your legs began to ignite when you felt Sanemi’s thick length pulse against you, how something akin to a whimper fell from his lips when his gaze snapped down quickly just in time to watch the hem of your uniform skirt slip further, enough for him to see the way your bodies seemed to just…fit.

Then his eyes were back on your face, your lips, now parted as harsh breaths escaped you. Your eyes, wide and wanting, peered up at him from beneath your lashes and Sanemi remembers this being the very moment he stopped denying what he had always known. You are breathtakingly beautiful. He also recalls this being the moment he knew he was done for. 

So when your hands found themselves placed against his not yet scarred chest, balling the sweaty fabric of his shirt in your fists…when he leaned closer and curiously rolled his hips against your clothed core and heard you let out the most captivating sound he'd ever heard, a sound he's been obsessed with since he's heard it…when he pressed his lips lightly to yours and you whispered into his mouth “I've never done this before”.

Yeah, Sanemi knew then that he was fucked. 

And though that night was not the night you'd given your virginity to Sanemi - that would happen years later - it was the night Sanemi tasted you for the first time. And he devoured you time and time again like a man starved. He would have you any way and any time that he could, if you allowed him. 

That was only the beginning.

Not much has changed in the years that you have been keeping up this arrangement with Sanemi. It's the only thing that you both keep coming back to, the only thing that feels solid. Though you both know it's stupid to feel as if anything in this line of work is not at risk. 

Every night that you lie awake, together or not, is a reminder. Every semi-annual meeting with the Hashira, mentally taking a headcount of everyone is a reminder. Every Hashira meeting without Rengoku, without Tengen is a reminder. 

Death is always standing just outside your door.

You can't afford to delude yourselves into thinking you can freely love and care for each other. Not until this thousand year war is over. Not until you are free to roam beneath the stars together without the scent of blood, the cries of pain and loss tainting the night. 

So, as you and Sanemi slip into the gates of the Ubuyashiki Mansion, your fingers brush together just briefly - a silent display of those words you dare not mutter aloud. You make your way to your respective places amongst the strongest of the Demon Slayer corps; you, next to Tomioka and Sanemi beside the Serpent Hashira. And while you quietly mingle with those around you before the Master appears, you miss the hushed conversation further down the line. 

“You reek of her,” Obanai remarks. Resting around his shoulders, his snake whips his tongue out at Sanemi in almost an agreement. 

“Shut up.”

“You're more tense than normal. Did you finally confess? Did she reject your advances?”

“I said shut up,” Sanemi growls. The chatter of everyone is already grinding on his nerves and your voice is not helping. He wants to look at you. See what - or who - has you giggling and speaking so sweetly that it's making him sick. It shouldn't matter. You can talk to whoever you want.

‘Except Tomioka,’ Sanemi thinks. But it's only because he's so clearly in love with you! He can't understand how you don't see it.

“Looks like Tomioka is making his move,” Obanai notes quietly, like he read Sanemi’s mind.

Sanemi can hear the teasing tone in his voice. The asshole is really getting a kick out of this. Even still, it's enough to have Sanemi’s gaze snapping over to you just in time to see Tomioka and you smiling sweetly at each other, nodding and whispering amongst yourselves. 

It shouldn't make Sanemi as upset as it does, just seeing you enjoy yourself with him, seeing him enjoy himself with you. Your smiles, your laughs, your kindness. It should only be for Sanemi. But you're a kind person…too kind. So kind you'd allow a monster like himself to fall in love with you.

Tomioka is much kinder, more understanding, better for you than Sanemi could ever be. 

And so, seeing you and him bond…Well, it fills Sanemi with a rage so hot he finds himself standing, eyes locked on the back of your head. You must feel it, his gaze beating down on you like rays of heat from the sun itself, because you fall silent and your head snaps around. Your eyes find Sanemi's immediately, gaze wide and questioning. 

Tomioka looks confused as well. ‘Good,’ Sanemi thinks. He can't wait to see the look on the Water Hashira's face when Sanemi does what he's been wanting to, but admittedly too scared to do for so long – claim you as his in front of everyone.

He lets the fumes of his anger fuel him, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. And then he's opening his mouth to speak, tongue on the roof of his mouth as all other chatter dies and the eyes of the other Hashira land on him. 

“I lo-”

“The Master has arrived!” Twin voices call in unison. 

And it's like muscle memory for every single Hashira, falling in line on one knee with their heads bowed as the Master approaches. His arrival extinguishes the fire that burned hazardously within Sanemi just seconds before, soothes the scorching left behind. His head is clear now, the reminder of why you both choose to keep your meetings between just you two evident.

You have a job to do. Defeating this evil comes before all things, even you. Though with the way Sanemi almost blew the lid off of your secret, he's not sure how much longer can go on without openly being with you. 

But it sparks something within him - a new fire. One that burns solely for one purpose. 

To defeat Kibutsuji Muzan…so that he can finally, and fully have you. 

[staff]

We Asked an Expert...in Herpetology!

People on Tumblr come from all walks of life and all areas of expertise to grace our dashboards with paragraphs and photographs of the things they want to share with the world. Whether it's an artist uploading their speed art, a fanfic writer posting their WIPs, a language expert expounding on the origin of a specific word, or a historian ready to lay down the secrets of Ea-nasir, the hallways of Tumblr are filled with specialists sharing their knowledge with the world. We Asked an Expert is a deep dive into those expert brains on tumblr dot com. Today, we’re talking to Dr. Mark D. Scherz (@markscherz), an expert in Herpetology. Read on for some ribbeting frog facts, including what kind of frog the viral frog bread may be based on.

Reptiles v Amphibians. You have to choose one.

In a battle for my heart, I think amphibians beat out the reptiles. There is just something incredibly good about beholding a nice plump frog.

In a battle to the death, I have to give it to the reptiles—the number of reptiles that eat amphibians far, far outstrips the number of amphibians that eat reptiles.

In terms of ecological importance, I would give it to the amphibians again, though. Okay, reptiles may keep some insects and rodents in check, but many amphibians live a dual life, starting as herbivores and graduating to carnivory after metamorphosis, and as adults they are critical for keeping mosquitos and other pest insects in check.

What is the most recent exciting fact you discovered about herps?

This doesn’t really answer your question, but did you know that tadpole arms usually develop inside the body and later burst through the body wall fully formed? I learned about this as a Master’s student many years ago, but it still blows my mind. What’s curious is that this apparently does not happen in some of the species of frogs that don’t have tadpoles—oh yeah, like a third of all frogs or something don’t have free-living tadpoles; crazy, right? They just develop forelimbs on the outside of the body like all other four-legged beasties. But this has only really been examined in a couple species, so there is just so much we don’t know about development, especially in direct-developing frogs. Like, how the hell does it just… swap from chest-burster to ‘normal’ limb development? Is that the recovery of the ancestral programming, or is it newly generated? When in frog evolution did the chest-burster mode even evolve?

How can people contribute to conservation efforts for their local herps?

You can get involved with your local herpetological societies if they exist—and they probably do, as herpetologists are everywhere. You can upload observations of animals to iNaturalist, where you can get them identified while also contributing to datasets on species distribution and annual activity used by research scientists.

You can see if there are local conservation organizations that are doing any work locally, and if you find they are not, then you can get involved to try to get them started. For example, if you notice areas of particularly frequent roadkill, talking to your local council or national or local conservation organizations can get things like rescue programs or road protectors set up. You should also make sure you travel carefully and responsibly. Carefully wash and disinfect your hiking boots, especially between locations, as you do not want to be carrying chytrid or other nasty infectious diseases across the world, where they can cause population collapses and extinctions.

Here are some recent headlines. Quick question, what the frog is going on in the frog world? 

Click through for Mark’s response to these absolutely wild headlines, more about his day-to-day job, his opinion on frog bread, and his favorite Tumblr.

✨D I S C O V E R Y✨

There are more people on Earth than ever before, with the most incredible technology that advances daily at their disposal, and they disperse that knowledge instantly. That means more eyes and ears observing, recording, and sharing than ever before. And so we are making big new discoveries all the time, and are able to document them and reach huge audiences with them.

That being said, these headlines also showcase how bad some media reporting has gotten. The frogs that scream actually scream mostly in the audible range—they just have harmonics that stretch up into ultrasound. So, we can hear them scream, we just can’t hear all of it. Because the harmonics are just multiples of the fundamental, they would anyway only add to the overall ‘quality’ of the sound, not anything different. The mushroom was sprouting from the flank of the frog, and scientists are not really worried about it because this is not how parasitic fungi work, and this is probably a very weird fluke. And finally, the Cuban tree frogs (Osteocephalus septentrionalis) are not really cannibals per se; they are just generalist predators who will just as happily eat a frog as they will a grasshopper, but the frogs they are eating are usually other species. People seem to forget that cannibalism is, by definition, within a species. The fact that they are generalist predators makes them a much bigger problem than if they were cannibals—a cannibal would actually kind of keep itself in check, which would be useful. The press just uses this to get people’s hackles up because Westerners are often equal parts disgusted and fascinated by cannibalism. 

What does an average day look like for the curator of herpetology at the Natural History Museum of Denmark?

No two days are the same, and that is one of the joys of the job. I could spend a whole day in meetings, where we might be discussing anything from which budget is going to pay for 1000 magnets to how we could attract big research funding, to what a label is going to say in our new museum exhibits (we are in the process of building a new museum). Equally, I might spend a day accompanying or facilitating a visitor dissecting a crocodile or photographing a hundred snakes. Or it might be divided into one-hour segments that cover a full spectrum: working with one of my students on a project, training volunteers in the collection, hunting down a lizard that someone wants to borrow from the museum, working on one of a dozen research projects of my own, writing funding proposals, or teaching classes. It is a job with a great deal of freedom, which really suits my work style and brain.

Oh yeah, and then every now and then, I get to go to the field and spend anywhere from a couple of weeks to several months tracking down reptiles and amphibians, usually in the rainforest. These are also work days—with work conditions you couldn’t sell to anyone: 18-hour work days, no weekends, no real rest, uncomfortable living conditions, sometimes dangerous locations or working conditions, field kitchen with limited options, and more leeches and other biting beasties than most health and welfare officers would tolerate—but the reward is the opportunity to make new discoveries and observations, collect critical data, and the privilege of getting to be in some of the most beautiful and biodiverse places left on the planet. So, I am humbled by the fact that I have the privilege and opportunity to undertake such expeditions, and grateful for the incredible teams I collaborate with that make all of this work—from the museum to the field—possible.

The Tibetan Blackbird is also known as Turdus maximus. What’s your favorite chortle-inducing scientific name in the world of herpetology?

Among reptiles and amphibians, there aren’t actually that many to choose from, but I must give great credit to my friend Oliver Hawlitschek and his team, who named the snake Lycodryas cococola, which actually means ‘Coco dweller’ in Latin, referring to its occurrence in coconut trees. When we were naming Mini mum, Mini scule, and Mini ature, I was inspired by the incredible list that Mark Isaac has compiled of punning species names, particularly by the extinct parrot Vini vidivici, and the beetles Gelae baen, Gelae belae, Gelae donut, Gelae fish, and Gelae rol. I have known about these since high school, and it has always been my ambition to get a species on this list.

If you were a frog, what frog would you be and why?

I think I would be a Phasmahyla because they’re weird and awkward, long-limbed, and look like they’re wearing glasses. As a 186 cm (6’3) glasses-wearing human with no coordination, they quite resonate with me.

Please rate this frog bread from 1/10. Can you tell us what frog it represents?

With the arms inside the body cavity like that, it can basically only be a brevicipitid rain frog. The roundness of the body fits, too. I’d say probably Breviceps macrops (or should I say Breadviceps?) based on those big eyes. 7/10, a little on the bumpy side and missing a finger and at least one toe.

Please follow Dr. Mark Scherz at @markscherz for even more incredibly educational, entertaining, and meaningful resources in the world of reptiles and amphibians.

[rhaenyratargcryen]

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

[ceilidhtransing]

I've cropped out the username because I have absolutely no desire to start drama or make a personal “callout” or have people go harass someone or anything like that (and if you take this kind of thing as an opportunity to go and be horrible to another Tumblr user then that is terrible and you should stop), but wow, I have never seen such a clanging example of amatonormativity. I don't think OP necessarily meant it this way, I don't think they meant any harm, I don't think they're consciously arophobic or something - it's far more likely that they're simply unfamiliar with aspec issues, and I always prefer to assume good faith - but I want to talk about this post anyway because it provides a really good and explicit example of the way society just sort of... asserts the centrality of romantic attraction and entirely forgets aromantic people exist.

I do want to first say that I actually agree with the initial point this post is making. Romance as a genre is unfairly derided as some kind of “lesser” form of art, and this derision very frequently comes with generous helpings of misogyny. I totally agree that romance is not at all an unintellectual or superficial thing to write about, and it's bad that it gets treated that way and that readers and writers of romance get so often mocked and condemned. Romance is a totally valid genre and enjoying it doesn't make you vain or stupid or superficial.

HOWEVER. As an aromantic person I find the rest of the post just... I don't know, it's just so perfect as a probably unwitting expression of baked-in cultural amatonormativity. It's brilliant. It's so funny to me. I can almost do a line-by-line breakdown of the way it so completely forgets the existence of aromantic people. In fact, let's do that.

It is so fundamental to us. The issue here should be pretty obvious. The assumption that romance is some integral part of The Human Experience and that it's fundamental to All People is pretty much amatonormativity 101. It reinforces the idea that people who don't experience romantic attraction are “lacking”, forever sitting apart from The Human Experience, and possibly in some way not quite fully human, since we don't experience the thing that is apparently so fundamental to humans.

To want to love and be loved. The post seems to be incorrectly equating “romance” with “loving and being loved”, when in fact there are many people who don't experience romantic attraction yet absolutely love and want to be loved. (And of course loveless aros, aplatonic people, various folks who don't “want to love and be loved” also exist, and it's important to emphasise that this desire, just like romantic attraction, is also not necessarily integral to all people.) “Love” is not automatically “romantic love”, but this post seems to imply that romance is the only, or default, form in which love can exist.

If you don't think every great work of literature. philosophy. metaphysics. was ultimately about romance. I don't think you were paying enough attention. OK this is the line that elevated this post from “sigh, more casual amatonormativity to scroll past” to “I just have to respond to this”. Where to even begin with this assertion. This is a level of “assuming romance is central to everything humans ever do and ever create” that I've almost never encountered before. It feels like a manifestation of the tendency for alloromantic people to declare that, because romance is very central for them, it is thus central to Everything. And I'm homing in on “romance” because the post doesn't say “ultimately about love” - which would still be a reach, but less of a reach - it specifically says “ultimately about romance”. As an aromantic person who is an academic at heart and highly educated in the humanities and social sciences, the idea that my ability to understand literature and philosophy and metaphysics is somehow greatly hampered by the fact that I don't experience or relate to romantic attraction is just... what??? This idea is really very funny to me but also genuinely pretty insulting, even though I'm sure it wasn't meant that way. Not only does it feel like the summation of every patronising “oh, you couldn't possibly understand” directed to aromantic adults who are, in fact, entirely capable of understanding, but it also flattens the incredible breadth of human intellectual experience into “being about romance”. I sometimes find myself wishing that alloromantic people would peak outside the bubble of amatonormativity and realise that actually, there is an enormous swathe of human experience and intellect and creativity and expression that has nothing at all to do with romantic attraction and romantic relationships. And no, stating that, I don't know, the Book of Job is not actually about romance has nothing to do with our society's misogynistic denigration of romance as a genre; it has everything to do with the fact that the Book of Job is not actually about romance. (And if you aren't familiar with Job or for some reason don't consider it a “great work of literature”, replace with whatever other example you can think of; there are many.) It's insulting to imply that aro-spec and/or ace-spec people are somehow less able to participate in art and literature and philosophy etc because we might bring a perspective that doesn't include romance or sex at all and we're just not capable of understanding that Actually Romance And/Or Sex Is Central To Everything. It's genuinely absurd to argue that all the pinnacles of human intellectual achievement really, at their core, come back to romance, and it speaks to our very blinkered society's tendency to declare things like “everything is really about sex” or “everything is really about romance” or “everything is really about breakups” or whatever and then look at aro-spec and ace-spec people like we're aliens and go “but like... how do you even live?” Newsflash, there is so much more to life than romance and love and sex. You can live an entire, very fulfilling, very meaningful, very thoughtful life without these things being at all relevant to you. That's not to dismiss those things as minor or unimportant - they are indeed very central to a lot of people's lives, and they're not “dumb” or “shallow” or whatever - but they're not central to everyone's lives, and they're hardly The Only Things In The World.

And if your response is something along the lines of “well OK there's a tiny minority of people who don't engage with romance and/or sex, or relate to it in the same way most people do, but that doesn't mean that romance isn't still at the core of humanity, or that all the most important things don't still have romance at their heart”, imagine telling a woman that “well, you can focus on a career if you want, but what's really fundamental to being a woman is being a wife and mother - in fact, motherhood is the most important thing in the world, it's fundamental to women, it's what all women's literature is about”. Or, hell, telling a person of any gender that “parenthood” is the central pillar of all of humanity and that every great work of art ever produced is ultimately about parenthood and obviously parenthood is fundamental to everyone's being - forgetting that actually some people will never be parents, and implying that their childlessness makes them less able to understand The Human Experience. That might give you some small idea of what it's like to be an aspec person and be repeatedly told that feelings you don't experience and relationships you don't have and attractions you don't relate to and acts you don't engage in are somehow Fundamental To Humanity and are what lie at The Core Of Everything: how excluding that is, how alienating that is, how oppressively stifling that is.

Feeling that love and/or romance and/or sex are very important to your own life is totally valid, but I wish alloromantics and allosexuals could be more capable of opening their minds and imagining and empathising with an existence for which these things aren't central. Our lives aren't lesser, or emptier, or sadder, or shallower for lack of romance or sex. Our experiences are part of The Human Experience. Our perspectives on art and life and relationships and philosophy and humanity and everything else are just as valid. We are just as capable of profundity, of creativity, of insight - because romance and sex aren't “at the core” of any of these things. We are here, and we're tired of being forgotten, ignored, sidelined, dismissed, erased, talked over, talked past. It would be great if society at large actually remembered we exist once in a while, and that our lives are just as beautiful and important as anyone else's.

[dogtoling]

OK. . . seems i missed the whole 'chickens are controversial in splatoon' thing. . . why?

To put it short there's evidence both for and against them existing, and this is without me actually looking anything up so i might be missing something.

cases for chickens being extant: there's been chickens present in SOME form in several splatfests, they're not mammals so they're not NECESSARILY extinct, despite being domesticated animals and thus being unlikely to survive it doesn't mean it'd be IMPOSSIBLE because pigeons and other relatively human-dependent birds still survive in Splatoon, and of course there are many instances of Eggs being a staple in inkling culinary culture. egg is everywhere

cases for chickens being extinct: we only actually See chickens (or chicken, as in food) in splatfest art and splatfest dialogue which isn't (or at least definitely wasn't until Splatoon 3) canon-compliant at all. We havent actually seen chickens in-universe to my knowledge, nor had them mentioned outside splatfest. probably the biggest nail in the coffin is that there IS a chicken statue in Splatsville, and typically when there are big animal statues in the cities those are statues depicting extinct animals. this is something from an interview that touched on the crane and tortoise statues in Inkopolis Square; which also confirms that it wasn't JUST MAMMALS that suffered and went extinct, it was also other miscellaneous land animals and even random birds which I think me and initially a lot of other people thought were just. Fine and safe. But if a random bird like a crane can be extinct now then chickens are absolutely not safe just because they're not mammals. although eggs are in like every food it's not really been confirmed in any way that those are CHICKEN eggs (although that is the most likely), they could as well be farming domesticated pigeons or something

So really it's a big case of no real confirmation they DO exist, but also no real confirmation they DON'T exist, but also the only context we see them in-universe is in a context where every other animal depicted there IS extinct and it's like a lore thing. So the existence of eggs is a big hint TOWARDS them existing but could easily mean nothing whereas the other one is more in line with proving they do not exist. it is a very uncertain situation for the chicken

HOWEVER!!!!!! there is hope for the chicken. splatfests in Splatoon 3 have had more in-universe accurate themes and dialogue so far (meaning they dont randomly make up shit like "marina's landlord is a narwhal" and "inklings eat red meat" or whatever the fuck in that sea food vs mountain food one we didnt even have that one it was regional). SO THIS MEANS! in the next splatfest we Could get a somewhat stable answer to if chickens exist or not. of course the other 2 options are extinct animals whereas the chicken is 50/50. i'm HOPING the dialogue touches upon this fact and doesn't just talk about all of those like they just Exist. basically we are very close to some kind of progress on this issue that would be Somewhat credible because while splatfest dialogue has never been a credible source in the past, it has been WAY better in S3

TL;DR we just don't know. Chickens are a mystery

[slushycoookie]

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt.1

Relationship: Symbiote! Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Content: Smut, definitely smut, p in v, oral sex, overstimulation, belly bulge, breeding kink in FULL display, fertility issues, Minors DNI!!

Summary: You find out Miguel has a symbiote for the most unexpected reason.

A/N: I kept thinking about Symbiote! Miguel and I just had to do it. If yall saw that recent concept art of him, he looks fucking huge. So as a birthday present to myself, I wrote this. Something to get us by while I continue writing the Valentine's Day one.

Miguel had a symbiote.

You knew the first day he got it. He was acting strange. More aggressive, energetic, and driven to his Spider Society cause. Also rough. You knew it when he pulled you in for a passionate goodbye kiss.

Plus, he was huge. You didn't think it was possible for your husband to get a bigger size in his suit. It oozed a foreign entity. He was rougher with his enemies. Causing them to be bruised and bloody at the end of the battle. Your Miguel showed some restraint. You weren't sure what this Miguel was.

Jess told you at the end of the day, confirming your suspicions. “He has a symbiote.”

“I figured…” You played with the necklace that had your wedding band between your fingers. “How did he get it?”

“No clue. One day, he was his grouchy self. Next day, he was extra grouchy.”

“What can we do? We have ways to get rid of it.”

Jess gave you a knowing look, “You know it's not easy with symbiotes. The wearer has to get rid of it on their own. Part of the-”

“Canon event. I know…” You sighed. You weren't going to get scared. Be afraid for your husband's life. You would take the knowledge you knew now in stride, even if that meant dealing with the fact that your partner had an alien on his body.

You didn't confront him about the symbiote. You saw no need to. Ben and Jess were informed. You wanted them to watch him so he wouldn't go too far. But you didn’t like how he was acting. He never took it out on you, but everyone else was a different story. It was hard for you to sleep, knowing your husband was in control of an alien.

One night, he came home late. You were still awake, watching his hulking form linger throughout the house. If you were normal, you'd be terrified.

“Miguel?” You called from the hallway. He turned towards you. His mask was still up. The eyes were sharp, filled with an unknown emotion you couldn't grasp.

“Our wife.” His voice was deep, rumbling to your core. Sharp teeth and a long tongue caught your eye. He inched to you like a predator. You backed up, mind playing out hundreds of backup plans you had once you found out about his new form. You jumped when hitting a wall. Cornered as Miguel hovered above you. His head trailed up and down in fascination. “So pretty. To eat.”

“I said we're not eating her.” Half of Miguel's face appeared, causing you to relax a little. He was still in there. To a certain extent.

“Not the type of eating we were talking about.” The symbiote sized you up even more. You didn't know how to take that. Miguel entirely took over, his face in view.

“I'm sorry. I'm still getting the hang of this.”

“Why did you do this?” You motioned to all of him, “For a man who doesn't play when it comes to canon events, you go ahead and play around with an alien.”

Miguel sucked his teeth, “I had a good reason, baby.” You blinked, waiting for him to come up with a good explanation. He shifted, his large form shaking the photos on the wall. You couldn't see any reason for him to form with a symbiote.

“I thought…it would help in our process of trying to have a baby.”

You froze. The extensive trials you and Miguel went through in trying for a baby were unsuccessful. He knew about your fertility issues. He knew before you got married. You didn’t expect him to go and fuse with a symbiote to boost the rate of being able to have a baby.

“The symbiote enhances my body.” Miguel explained, “Maybe we could try to use it to help us conceive.”

“Won’t the symbiotes…genes get in…?” You placed a hand on your stomach, not believing that you were considering it.

“No. It won’t affect any of our genes. It just increases the output.”

You scoffed, “So you would have super sperm?”

“In a way.” Miguel shrugged, hovering over you. You noticed how small you were compared to him. Your thighs squeezed together at the sight. “We should try it. See what happens.”

Common sense was starting to leave the window. Just having Miguel’s hulking frame above you, his eyes lowered in lust, was not helping. You were curious yourself. Would the symbiote help you finally be able to conceive? So your family can get bigger?

“You want me to have sex with the symbiote?”

Miguel chuckled, face down to your neck, taking in your delicate scent. “It’s still me. I promise.”

You placed your hands on his shoulders. His suit was sticky and you felt restraint when tried to remove your hands. You had no idea what you were doing. But it was your husband. You trusted him, knowing he wouldn’t harm you. So you had to take a leap. Literally. Miguel was so large you had to jump to even kiss him.

Your body flushed against his own as his tongue dove into your mouth. You were so caught up in kissing him, absorbed in how his hands groped and felt you, to realize you were in your bedroom.

You yelped when landing on the bed. Miguel's form hit the ceiling, standing at the edge. Waiting.

“Strip.” The voice was back again. Low, deep, and commanding. You blushed at how much that turned you on. Even with the monstrous teeth and all. You weren't wearing much besides a t-shirt and shorts, tossing them into darkness. Only remaining in your panties.

Miguel cupped himself, eyes trained on the prize between your legs. “All of it.”

You slid down your underwear at a slow pace. Even if you were about to get bred by a symbiote, you knew Miguel would still go crazy over your teasing. Pride swelled in your chest as his breathing became ragged. Every ounce of resistance he had in fucking you into the ground was waning. It wasn't until your panties were thrown aside that he pounced on you.

The bed creaked at the extra size. Miguel's symbiote used its long tongue over your neck, tasting the slight sweat. Your breasts, twirling at one nipple while his fingers pinched the other. Before going down to your stomach and over what he wanted most.

“We deserve to know how you taste…”

If you could squeeze your thighs together right now, you would. But your partner kept them separated. Spread wide enough for him to get a full view of your dripping sex. The tongue was back as it was his turn to tease you. Gliding along your inner thighs, not touching an inch of your cunt. You whined at how close he was. You tried to move your thighs to get him where you wanted but to no avail.

“Please…” You swallowed, heaving at the lack of touch. “Don’t tease…”

A guttural growl resonated in the room, which made you quiver even more. “You're so pretty when you beg.”

His tongue was heaven. Taking turns licking at your sensitive bud, thrusting in and out of your hole. Slurping sounds letting you know how much he loved tasting your cunt. You weren't sure if digging your hands into his covered head was a good idea so your hands fisted the pillows. Head back and unable to control your sounds of pleasure.

“Miguel…oh my…” You felt that familiar sensation rise in your stomach. Not stopping as he continued to please you. And you accepted it, climaxing for him. This was different from your normal Miguel. While he did make you see stars, this one was determined to make you see God. The way he didn’t stop after you came for him, eating your pussy like a starved man. When you tried to have the strength to pull away, his hand placed flat on your stomach. Overstimulation crept in as you shook under his hold. Thank goodness he pulled away, showing you his mouth glistening in the moonlight.

“We need you. Now.”

Your eyes widened when seeing his cock on full display. Miguel was big. Very big. Cock enlarged, veiny, pre cum beading around the tip. He was going to kill you if he put that thing inside.

“Where?” You gulped, pushing back your rising fear.

Miguel sat back against the headboard and settled you into his lap. Your back lay against his chest, staring at the gigantic cock. He grabbed a hold of your thighs, lifting and spreading you as wide as he could. You bit your lip as his dick slid against your sex, coating himself in your arousal. You couldn't do much in this position. Besides lie back and take it.

You shook as he entered you. Arms around his neck and digging into them as you sank down. Your mouth gaped, but nothing came out.

“Come on.” Miguel pushed, his own voice coming out a little tense. “You can take more…”

You clawed at his neck, sinking down further. It was to the point where there was a slight bulge in your belly. Which has never happened before. Once he bottomed out, he gave you time to adjust. You knew Miguel was being gentle, his arm muscles tense as he didn’t want to hurt you. You nodded when you were ready and he took control. He slid you all the way up, only leaving the tip of his cock inside before thrusting up into you.

He was massive. Easily filling you up while he pumped inside. Tears brimmed in your eyes. There was no coherent thought in your mind. With each intoxicating thrust, you couldn’t think. All you wanted was for him to keep going. To use you like this as long as he wanted.

Your eyes rolled back when his cock hit a perfect spot. Not feeling any of your lower body. “M-Mig…”

“We have you. Pretty little thing…” His face snuggled against your head, still maintaining the hard and sharp thrusts. Miguel’s suit made a tendril, slithering over to you to give more attention to your aching clit. You gasped at the sudden sensation. The familiar burning of your release was quickly rising again into something more. You struggled in Miguel’s hold, wanting to move away and escape your impending doom.

“Don’t…You’re gonna make me…” You whined, frantic breaths escaping.

“We want you to do it.”

There was no room for negotiation. Between the exhilarating way his cock stretched you and the advance on your clit, you were going to explode. You cried for your husband while soaking his cock with your fluids. Tightening around him for his seed. Aching to have him breed you. Miguel’s grunts turned into growls. Grating noises that shook the entire room. His thrusts were rough as now he was chasing his original goal. To pump his cum into you.

You didn’t move, watching your husband desperately paint you inside. There were one, two, three more thrusts before he let out a roar. His seed filled you up perfectly. It was so much that it was leaking out, even as Miguel tried to thrust more in. You didn't know what else to do if you didn’t get pregnant by this.

Once Miguel had his fill, he slipped out, placing you to the side. His face was back as he peppered your own with soft kisses.

“You okay?” You hummed, your throat a little sore. He held you close in a protective way, not wanting to let go for a moment. “Hopefully this works.”

“If it doesn’t…” You struggled to say with your raspy voice, “you’re getting rid of that thing.”

[muchosbesitos]

BODY PAINT

the plan for your birthday had been to just go get a tattoo. so how’d you end up getting eaten out too?

pairing: tattoo artist! geto suguru x fem reader

contents: modern au/no curses, pierced/tattoed geto, cunnilingus, pulling his hair, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it 🫵🏼), doggy, pet names (pretty girl, cutie, etc.), sucking his fingers, spanking (once), creampie, sorta kinda public sex?

author’s note: basically just a big self indulgence fic

word count: 5.8k

Portraits and portraits of art pieces covering the walls welcomed you as you stepped inside, the jingle of the bell perched on the front announcing your entrance. From dragons to variations of skulls—some with roses, lightning, and a couple of the grim reaper. You could easily lose yourself looking at all the different works, staring at how all the different lines came together and how the colors melded into one another.

“What're you looking for today?" A low baritone voice interrupted your brief exploration of the parlor. You turned to see a man standing at the counter with pigtails, a black line going across his nose and a couple piercings scattered across his pale face. How was it that you'd missed him upon walking inside?

"I was thinking about getting a tattoo, do you guys happen to accept walk-ins?" You responded, coming up to the counter where the man was standing. Choso, from what his name tag read. "We do, our current tattoo artist's busy though. You mind waiting about.. twenty minutes?"

You supposed it wasn't too bad after showing up without an appointment so you just simply nodded, going over to take a seat in the lobby. There was only one other person sitting on the end of the black sofa, their attention purely on the show playing on the TV mounted on the wall. You went from playing with your fingers to looking over at the TV, attempting to do anything that would make these twenty minutes pass by.

"Hey, go ahead and fill this out. And let me see your ID," Choso came back with a sheet of paper, a consent form. You fished for your ID in the back pocket of your jeans before handing it over to him, starting out with the task of filling out the paper. Signing your initials where it asked you to, reading through the different medical conditions that the paper explicitly listed out.

Your foot bounced against the floor as you waited, sudden nerves starting to hit you all at once now that you were in here. You knew that you wanted a tattoo, you'd been looking forward towards getting it for a few months now. But the little nagging voice inside your head told you that you could barely tolerate a needle at the doctor's office, and that was only for a couple seconds in of itself. How would you tolerate almost an hour of it?

A woman walked out from the back of the parlor, a tattoo of what seemed to be her birth year wrapped up in cling wrap. But your attention was quickly diverted to the man coming out after her—though, you supposed it would be hard not to stare at him. He was absolutely.. gorgeous. Long dark black hair that practically seemed to shine underneath the harsh lights tied back in a half bun, eyebrow and snake bites piercings accentuating the features of his face, and dark ink adorning his forearms.

"Here's the aftercare sheet, just shoot me a text or something if you have any concerns or anything," the man told the woman before she stepped away from the counter, handing her a white paper. The jingle of the bell echoed behind her as she left, leaving only the four of you alone in the lobby. Maybe this wasn't who Choso was talking about? You couldn't picture yourself or your panties for that matter lasting hours in a room with him.

Though, you probably should've expected as much with your luck.

"You got time for a walk-in?" Choso spoke up, nudging his head towards you when the other man was finished pocketing his tip. The man glanced over at you before pulling his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through it for a couple seconds. "Yeah, I got time," the other man walked over, standing in front of you before extending a hand out, "Geto Suguru." The coldness from the silver rings adorning each of his fingers was a stark difference from how warm his hand seemed to be. You gave him your name, stopping the handshake before it prolonged more than it should've.

More than it already did.

"So, what type of tattoo were you looking for?" Geto pushed his hands in his pockets, standing back to allow for you to get up from the spot. "I'm not too sure how to describe it, but I have a reference photo, if that's okay?" You told him, getting your phone out to go back to your camera roll. "Yeah, that's fine. Just airdrop to me when you find it."

The smell of antibacterial spray filled your nose as you stepped in, the room somehow been more decorated than the one outside. Geto had a couple of his designs up on the wall along with a couple band posters—Nirvana, Iron Maiden, and Led Zeppelin being some of the more prominent ones. A couple figures placed on a shelf, photos decorating them as well.  "Go on and take a seat. I'll be right there," he told you, opening up one of his drawers.

You took a seat on the leather chair in the middle of the chair, leaning against it before looking over to see what he was doing. "So.. how bad is it supposed to hurt?" You decided to ask, bracing yourself for the worst answer that he could give you. Despite the fact that you knew arm tattoos weren't all that painful from the two hours of research you'd done. "I can't give you a straightforward answer since not everyone has the same pain tolerance. But I'll walk you through the process before I start."

"The first thing I'm gonna do is shave your arm," Geto started off, opening up a pack of razors in front of you. Almost like he wanted to reassure you that everything he was using was new. "Around what area do you want the tattoo?" You opened your arm, gesturing around your inner forearm. Geto shaved the hair around the middle, wiping the residue away with a tissue.

"Next thing I'm gonna do is rub some alcohol on there and put on this cream," he brought up a small container into your line of vision, "It's not numbing cream before you get any ideas. Just so the stencil sticks." The rest of the process had gone relatively fast, the smell of rubbing alcohol filling up the space between the two of you. Geto placed the stencil on your arm, looking over at you to gauge your reaction. "Is this placement okay or do you want me to change it? Don't hesitate to ask, since y'know.. it is kinda permanent."

After a couple minutes of deliberation, Suguru placed the stencil where you’d decided. "So I'm gonna go ahead and put the needle on your arm just to go ahead and see if you can tolerate it," the machine whirred to life with the press of a button, "If you don't think you can tolerate it, just let me know and I'll wipe off the stencil." Geto turned around to face you, the buzzing of the tattoo gun getting louder the closer it got to your arm. All the nerves that you'd felt earlier seemed so silly now. While you felt the pressure of the needle , it was nothing like the excruciating pain you'd heard others have.

You cleared your throat before looking back over at him again, "Yeah, I can handle it." Suguru simply nodded, uncapping the bottle of black ink before almost filling up the small container in front of him. He arranged the small containers almost perfectly aligned to each other, the small work space that he'd set in front of him looking meticulous. Even the napkin that he'd grabbed was neatly folded up in three squares.

You'd almost wished that it was Choso doing the tattoo instead. Because, this, well this simply just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how he managed to look so goddamn pretty just doing the most menial of tasks. The almost intoxicating scent of amber from his cologne filling up your senses with how close he was. You weren't sure if was better or worse for you that he didn't notice just how affected you were, of how much his presence alone was making you want to ditch the whole idea of getting a tattoo.

"You need something to help you relax? I got a couple stress balls hanging around or I could play something on the TV if you want," Suguru sat down on the rolling chair next to you, already grabbing the TV remote next to you. "Can you just play something, please?" Geto flickered through a couple of the channels available, settling on what was on the TV mounted outside. Not particularly your first choice, but enough to get your mind off the tattoo, at least.

And to get your mind off the very attractive man next to you trying to do his job.

"So, any meaning behind this tattoo or you just decided you wanted to get it?" Suguru broke the silence, though his focus was purely on tracing the piece of work in front of him. "Just saw it on Pinterest and I related to it a bit. Well, that and the design itself seemed pretty to me," you offered, staying still and keeping your attention on the TV. "I can follow the design that you showed me or I could try to improve on it. That is, if you have trust in my abilities," he spoke up after a couple seconds, purple eyes almost seeming to bore into you.

"Can I see some of your abilities in place?" As hot as the man was—you didn't want to risk the tattoo coming out like complete dog shit. Suguru let out a short laugh, getting up from his spot before flipping through a couple drawers. He came back with a leather bound sketchbook, placing it on your lap. "I'm not much to show my works to others, but feel free to flip around if that helps you decide," you opened up the sketchbook with your available arm, immediately being greeted with a plethora of colors.

Not only were the pieces themselves better than what you could've expected, but they were so realistic. The shading of each drawing accentuating it perfectly against the lighting of the room, almost like he'd focused on that more than the actual drawing. You shut the sketchbook after flipping through a couple pages of different flowers, animals, and whatever else his brain could conjure up—handing it back to an expectant Geto. "It'd be wrong not to have faith in you after seeing that," you mused, watching him set the sketchbook aside before he went back to tracing.

"Don't worry, I'm still gonna follow the whole outline and shit. Just wanna make it look a little bit better is all," he responded, dipping the needle onto the container of black ink before bringing it back to your arm. You turned to look at much progress he'd done after the forty minute episode had ended only to realize he was just finishing up with the tip of the design. An incredibly detailed tip, though. "You okay? Don't want you passing out on me or anything."

"No, I'm fine," you reassured, going back to watching the TV in the comfortable silence that had built in the room. The only sounds emanating from the room were the soft whirring of the tattoo gun and the screaming of a couple characters on screen. "Have you watched this before?" You decided to break the silence after a while, turning to look over at him. "Something like that. Haven't watched much after the fourth season. Don't really have a buncha time available to watch TV."

The rest of the session had gone moderately well, the two of you sitting in silence for a majority of the time albeit for a couple questions that either he or you asked. He was, oddly enough, easy to talk to. "Okay, I'm gonna go in with a white paint. It's gonna hurt more than the other one so just tell me if it gets to be too much," he told you, pouring white paint into one of those small containers. And you felt the difference between the two, looking over to see him adding small marks with the white paint. Small marks that were starting to hurt like a motherfucker.

"Easy, you did so well for me throughout the session. This is nothing compared to that," Suguru spoke up, raising the tattoo gun to give you a small break. One of his gloved hands went to the furrow settled in your brow, gently easing it over before changing out the gloves for a fresh pair. You weren't even sure when you'd even started to grimace so badly. "Easy for you to say," you grumbled underneath your breath, certain that he wouldn't have caught it. But if the way his eyes shot up to look at you with a slightly amused smile was anything to go by, he did.

"You make it so hard to be nice to you," Geto muttered, turning the tattoo gun back on and going back to adding the fine white strokes. Maybe it'd been the fact that he'd offered that small bit of reassurance or maybe it was the fact that you could feel the session was starting to come to an end, but the pain didn't quite feel as bad as the first go. "Alright, we're all done," he spoke up after a couple minutes, turning the tattoo gun off and placing it on the table next to him.

"You mind if I get a couple pictures?" He waited for you to nod before setting up the ring light next to you, pulling his phone out. You extended your arm out to where he had the camera pointed, the tattoo on display. "Mm, hold on," Suguru muttered to himself, one of his hands wrapping around your wrist to adjust the angle. His touch almost seeming to linger more than necessary. Surely, all of this wasn't necessary just for a single photo, right? Especially when you weren't even the subject of said photo.

"You're gonna want to avoid shaving or waxing the area while it's still healing, some peeling's normal but just come to me if you have any concerns," he continued to explain the process of the aftercare involved, wrapping the tattoo up in cling wrap. "Try not to fuck it up," Geto led you over to the front desk, ringing you up for the price. "Wasn't it $120 and not $100?" You questioned, grabbing your wallet from your pocket.

"Consider it a birthday discount of sorts, pretty girl," the nickname spilled out so easily that you might've almost missed it. As if you needed more things to overthink about from this encounter. You handed him a hundred dollar bill with a ten dollar tip, giving him a short thanks before leaving the parlor. You looked over at the aftercare sheet that he'd given you at the counter, seeing his Instagram scrawled out in pretty decent penmanship. Well, at least you had plans for when you got back to your apartment tonight.

You knew that the tattoo was healing nicely—that you'd put the expensive ass ointment that Geto had recommended the designated three times a day. So why exactly did you find yourself standing outside the tattoo parlor once more? Out of concern for the new ink or just wanting to see Suguru once more? It couldn't be the latter, right? Not like you'd spent hours scrolling through his Instagram these last couple days to see what he'd thought about the tattoo. Definitely not the latter.

After all, he did say come to him if you had any concerns.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Choso to greet you at the counter this time around. Suguru was standing there, rearranging a couple pieces of body jewelry onto the glass display before he lifted his head to see who'd walked in the door. "You didn't let it get infected, did you? I spent hours on that thing," he didn't even bother with a greeting as Choso had done, already looking annoyed at the prospect. "Your concern for my health's endearing too."

"Yeah, yeah, what're you here for?"

"I just wanted to check up with you to see if the tattoo was healing nicely," the practiced lie slipped out of your tongue without any effort, plenty of rehearsals in your head allowing for it to slip out with any second thought.

"Alright, I have a couple minutes before my next appointment gets here," Suguru gestured for you to join him, opening the door for you. The space looked pretty much the same as the day you'd come in—which you should've expected, since it was only a week ago—albeit for a couple pencils scattered on top of a sketchbook in the middle of his desk. You took a seat on the leather chair, waiting for him to finish cleaning up his space.

Suguru grabbed a white box of gloves, grabbing a pair before placing them on. "So, what're you concerned about?" He questioned, long fingers running through your skin as he looked at how the tattoo was healing. "Well, it's been peeling a bit. I just wanted to know if that was normal or if I'm fucking something up somehow. I've been putting on the ointment you recommended three times a day."

Geto let out a small hum before leaning back on the rolling chair, folding his arms across his chest. His very muscular arms, the material of his black button down practically straining against them with the motion. "Your tattoo seems to healing well. Bit of peeling's normal as a new layer of skin comes in, nothing to worry about too much. Usually the area starts to get red if it's starting to get infected."

And maybe you should've taken that as a cue to leave. But you found yourself wanting to bask in whatever couple seconds that he would give you, unable to think about any other opportunities where you'd see him. Well, any other opportunities that didn't involve you spending upwards of a hundred dollars. You made no effort to move just yet, folding your hands over your lap. Trying to think of anything else to prolong this visit.

A couple moments of silence pass between the two of you before Suguru opens his mouth up to speak, only to get interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. "Yo, someone named Larue's here for their appointment," Choso called out from the other side, his foot tapping against the hardwood floor. Suguru gives you a glance before answering back, "Ask him to reschedule. Tell him that I'm sorry and I'll give him a discount or something."

Choso's heavy boots echoed against the floor as he walked away, leaving you alone with Geto once more. "So, tell me, what exactly is it that you're doing here again? And don't lie to me, talking about some 'I wanna see if my tattoo's healing properly,'" And you almost rolled your eyes at the way he raised his voice in pitch, mocking you with a short chuckle. Almost.

"First of all, I don't sound like that. Second, I really did just come to see if it was healing properly," And despite your words, you couldn't bring yourself to move from the chair just yet. "So maybe I should go tell Larue to come back for his appointment. Since we determined your tattoo's healing nicely, our time's done," You would've thought that he was bluffing but he moved to get up from his chair, walking over to the door.

"Wait," you called out before he managed to turn the doorknob, looking over to see him already staring at you with an expectant look on his face. Like he was about five seconds away from telling you to get off the leather chair. "So maybe, there's a slight chance that I didn't just come here just because I was concerned about my tattoo," you muttered almost reluctantly, avoiding looking at him directly.

"And why don't you try telling me why you came here instead?" Suguru stepped away from the door, returning to his spot in the seat next to you. Where you couldn't avoid looking at him even if you wanted to. How would you even begin telling him that he's been clouding your mind since last week just from that three hour interaction? That you've refreshed his Instagram page more times than you could count to see what he'd say about the piece?

You gulped, willing for the words to come out before he got the chance to go back to the door again. But you couldn't. Couldn't bring yourself to the potential humiliation that would inevitably come if you had just been delusional about this all along.

"You here because you want me to fuck you?" And the words that you'd struggled to spit out, he'd just said them so bluntly. You were expecting for him to look at you with that same mocking smile from earlier, but he seemed to be genuinely analyzing you. Waiting. "No, no, of course, I was just here to.." You hadn't quite rehearsed for this part in your mind.

"Because if you were, then I'd say that I was thinking about you too, cutie," and before you had the chance to respond, he was already speaking again, "So I'm just gonna ask you again. Are you here because you want me to fuck you?"

Now that there was little chance of your advances getting rejected, the word slipped out so easily, "Yes."

"Go on and lay back for me. Wanna taste you," and by how quick he was to get on his knees in front of you, you'd guess that he was doing this for his pleasure more than yours. "Lift up your hips," you followed his words without hesitation, letting him slide your jeans off and place them to the side. Large tattooed hands spread your thighs apart, presenting you like a feast to the man before you.

And you would've felt some ounce of embarrassment for the wet spot that quickly built up in the middle of your panties in just the five minutes of being here—if it weren't for the fact that Geto's cock was already straining against the material of his jeans. "Mph, fuck!" Geto quickly pulled your attention back to the issue at hand, his tongue prodding against your clothed cunt. "Not so loud, you don't want Choso to hear us," he clicked his tongue, giving you somewhat of a relief when he pulled away.

A very short lived relief. His tongue traced the outline of your slick folds through the material of your thin panties, his eyes closed. The tip of his tongue swirled against your clit, your cunt leaking out onto your underwear. You'd be lucky at this rate, if you could wear them back home. And almost like he'd read your mind, his fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties before sliding them down to your ankles.

You waited to feel his tongue on your cunt again—but nothing came. You looked over at him, watching as he just observed your weeping pussy. "Thought you were eager to taste," you muttered, a scoff leaving from his lips. A gust of wind blowing to your cunt, your walls clenching all the much more. Eager to receive whatever he could give. "Let me admire for a bit. We got enough time," Suguru let out a small tsk after, his face in front of your cunt. And before you had the chance to say anything more—his tongue was already on your labia.

Your syrupy slick dripped onto his expecting tongue, his eyes almost rolling back at the taste. The small silver ball at the end of his tongue piercing flicked against your folds with every lick, each touch serving to have you clenching around pure air. Your hips bucked up to meet his movements, his large hands holding you down in mere seconds. "What'd I say? Let me enjoy this, pretty girl. Told you we got enough time."

"Such a tease," your grumbled words came out more breathless than you would've liked. "And you're so impatient," he retorted without missing a beat. A hushed whine escaped from your lips when you felt him pull away, his mouth moving to your inner thighs. Pressing open mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin, nibbling down just hard enough for it to leave a mark behind. "Promise I'll take care of you, sweet girl. Have some trust in my abilities."

“You say that but your abilities have been less than stellar lately."

A couple dark locks fell out of place, framing his face almost perfectly. You'd almost expected Suguru to look offended at the implication of your words—but all he did was seem to find some kind of amusement. "Guess I'll have to repair that then," he murmured, more so to your cunt than to you, his tongue prodding in and out of your entrance. "You're not doing a g-Oh fuck!" He immediately made you swallow whatever retort you were planning, his tongue penetrating inside of you.

Suguru swiped his tongue up and down your cunt, the lower half of his face covered in a mixture of your slick and his own spit. Your eyes fluttered shut, the tip of his nose prodding against your clit with every swipe that he made. "Keep looking at me, pretty. Keep those pretty eyes on me," you opened your eyes to see purple eyes already looking back at you, resuming his actions all too greedily. He was so messy when it came to eating you out—spitting into your cunt, watching almost all too eagerly as you clenched around the liquid.

"Please," a whine left your lips, your fingers tugging on his hair. Whatever act of defiance you'd tried to put on earlier had quickly faded away, all you were feeling was need. An almost slutty moan left his lips at the sudden tug, one of his hands grabbing on to yours. "Come on, you can pull harder, can't you?" An even louder groan escaped his lips at the harder tug you gave this time around—the tips of your fingers digging into his scalp. "Now, what were you saying please for?" His words came out muffled, his face buried in between your legs. "Your fingers, please."

"Since you asked so nicely," Suguru took to that almost immediately, two long fingers pushing past the ring of muscle before curling to hit your g-spot. His mouth instantly attached itself to your throbbing clit, pushing through your clitoral hood to get to the bundle of nerves. "F-Fuck, don't stop, don't stop," you sounded like a broken record, your thighs pressing tightly against the sides of his face while his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Gonna cum, gonna cum," any other thought that you had apart from cumming had been quickly fucked out of you, your grip on his hair tightening even further. Not that Suguru minded by any means, moaning against your cunt with every tug. The vibrations only added to the dual stimulation, your back arching off the chair. Needing to get more. Pushing your hips against his face, bucking up to meet every swipe of his tongue. "Cum for me, princess, come on. You can do it, right?"

All you could do was nod, not wanting to be any louder than you already had been. Part of you had been surprised that Choso hadn't come by knocking earlier. Suguru continued flicking his tongue around your clit, working in synchrony with his fingers to pull your orgasm out of you. "Fuck fuck, gonna cum!" You weren't sure if your muffled moan made it's way into Suguru's ears, watching as he eagerly lapped up your release. Running his tongue across his lips, your slick making them glisten under the lights.

"Get on all fours," Suguru told you after you'd managed to regain your breath, deft fingers working to unzip his jeans. You got on your stomach, resting it against the cold leather while getting on your hands and knees. And if Choso were to come into the room to be quiet now, he'd get a spectacular view of your ass perched up in the air. Suguru ran his cock against your folds, your slick lubricating it with ease after your previous orgasm.

Ridges running down his shaft brushed up against your tight walls, your slick coating his tip like second nature the further that he pushed it in. Your walls clenched and unclenched rapidly in a futile attempt to get used to the pure stretch of his cock. "You can take it, right? This isn't anything," But the sheer girth of his cock was just enough to dispute that statement, the position making him feel much deeper than he was. "Yeah, yeah, I can take it," your voice came out as a mewl, your grip on the leather getting tighter the more he pushed his cock in.

The rhythm that he started up was fairly slow at first, allowing you to get used to the feeling. Whatever he was lacking in length, he certainly compensated for it with the sheer size of his girth. Just a couple inches inside of you and he'd already stuffed you full. "Doin' so good, gonna speed up, okay?" He waited for you to nod, retracting his cock before pushing the full length inside of you with one sharp thrust. Your mouth went agape, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head upon the impact. "So good, so so good," even after a couple thrusts, he already sounded so obsessed.

"That's ittt, that's my girl. Fuck that ass back into me," A strangled groan left his throat at the sight of your ass cheeks jiggling underneath him with every thrust, the two of you moving in tandem. One of the hands that'd been on your waist went to cup whatever he could of the flesh, all too entranced with the vision presented in front of him. "Mm, fuck!" A moan left your lips as you felt the palm of his hand strike against the flesh, your ass stinging from the impact. Not to say that you necessarily hated it, by any means.

And Suguru caught it—the way your slick ran down his shaft at the sudden impact. "Should've fucking guessed you would've liked it," his tone practically dripped in condescension as he spoke, his hand going to cup your other ass cheek. Holding the flesh in his hands before giving you another harsh slap, almost rivaling the harsh smack of his hips against your own. "Shit shit, Geto, don't stop," you whined, pushing your ass back into him. "Think it's okay for you to call me Suguru after bein’ inside you and all."

"Suck," a simple command, two of his fingers in front of your face. Your tongue swirled around his fingers, tasting the remnants of your cum on them before letting it fall flat. Simply sucking on his fingers as his cock pushed in and out of you with such fervor. "Get 'em all nice and wet for me, just like that," Suguru pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth the second you started to get too loud again, tears building up at your waterline when you gagged on them. "Aw, don't cry, cutie. Y'know I had to."

And while his words were meant to be reassuring, the mocking tone of his voice was anything but. Spit dribbled down from the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the chair beneath you. "Sugu-Sugu, fuck, right there!" He'd adjusted the angle of his hips, his shaft brushing up against your g-spot with every thrust. "So. Fucking. Tight," each of his words was accentuated with a deep thrust of his hips, filling you up impossibly so. Like he wanted to show you just how much he'd been thinking about it, like he claimed he did.

If the moans coming out of you weren't evidence enough as to what was happening in the room, then you were pretty much certain that the plap! plap! echoing through the walls was evidence enough. Geto's heavy balls smacked against your ass with every harsh thrust of his hips. He brought his hand down to your clit, rubbing at the nub just in time for it to match his pace. You clamped around his cock like a vice, a strangled moan leaving out of his lips. "Just had to tell- shit me that you wanted my cum, ma."

"Mph, cumm- I'm cumm-" Muffled babbles left your mouth, your cunt clenching around him yet again. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, his thrusts getting sloppier and faster. Whatever small bits of concern about being too loud had been disregarded—loud squelches and skin clapping filling up the room as Suguru rutted inside of you. You turned your head to look over at him, the sight before you almost like something out of a painting. His hair had completely been released from the half-bun, cascading down his back perfectly and his eyes were closed in pure bliss.

Spurts and spurts of cum shot deep inside of you, his cock twitching as you milked him for whatever he could offer. Suguru pulled his softening cock out of your cunt, his cum starting to dribble out of you and down your thighs. With the same fingers he'd had inside your mouth, he pushed his cum back inside of you. Scooping the substance up with relative ease. Your body slumped against the chair, willing that Geto would give you a couple seconds to catch your breath.

You'd expected him to grab a wipe or a paper towel to clean you up with, but he simply got up from his spot behind you. Grabbing his pants off the floor and fastening up his fly. You looked over at him through half lidded eyes, seeing him pop the fingers that had previously been in your cunt into his mouth. Slurping at them in a similar fashion that you'd done just a couple minutes prior. "Wanna taste yourself, pretty girl? 'S so fucking good."

Geto didn't give you a chance to respond before he was leaning down to your level, one of his fingers underneath your chin to raise your head. He leaned in, his lips pressing against yours in a messy exchange. More of spit getting intertwined than an actual kiss, not that you minded in your state. His tongue flicked against yours, the bittersweet taste of both you and him combined filling your tastebuds. Geto pulled away after a couple seconds, a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

You hadn't even finished putting on your pants yet when Suguru spoke up yet again,

"You mind giving me a five star review when you get home?"

[mewtwoandme]

I was hoping this would all blow over, but since it's continuing to happen, now with people attacking other artists of the commewnity. I'm putting out my two fucking cents! Cause this whole art/character theft and pointing fingers, who stole what from who bullshit it driving me up the fucking wall!!

Long story short, it started with me and one other blog whose name I won't mention publicly. Despite the horrible light they tried to paint me in, I don't want anyone going to this person and ganging up on them. This person had some serious bitterness towards more "popular" artists and claimed that I've made characters similar to theirs and once used a pose they apparently used before (which was a very common pose, considering it was a reference from the game version of mega Y). Since then, they had desperately tried to conjure up evidence, narrowing down to the most miniscule detail how I've been stealing from them when I hadn't even known their blog existed until I was forcefully thrown into that unnecessary drama with the unhinged call-out posts they've made. With this being said, I'd like to point out that they never came to me or addressed this concern with me in the first place. They had every opportunity to privately DM me if they had suspected I was "stealing," but no, simply because they already made up their mind that I was a thief, that was a good enough reason to lack common fucking sense and decency, making what should have been a private issue public, going on to villainize and dehumanize me. And apparently, it hasn't stopped with me either, cause recently I've been seeing other artists in the community having to deal with this where people are being white knights on high horses, pointing fingers on how one artist's mewtwo looks "the same" if not "totally identical" as another artist's mewtwo. I refuse to believe it's a coincidence. But what makes me disgusted is that since TC's post, apparently it's had the opposite effect on some people and they're hopping on this blame bandwagon like it's some damn media trend!!!

This is NOT okay! Nothing about this kind of behavior is funny! It's upsetting to all of us. We dont need you causing problems where there isn't any, thinking you're doing us a favor! The majority of us are adults for gods sake! We are old enough where we don't need other people coming to us being tattle tails saying this person did this and that. That's what little children do! If you suspect any form of theft, I think I speak for ALL creators in this commewnity that we'd prefer you DM us privately saying something like "Hey, I think this person is copying you, might wanna look into it." And if possible, provide a link to the art in question, for which we would kindly thank you for making us aware and we'll handle it ourselves from there. Just a brief, yet SIMPLE interaction...that's all we ask!!! Don't even come at me with "Well, it's scary attempting to talk to an artist that's well known." Or dare I say ~pOpUlAr~ If you claim that taking the first step to send me a quick DM makes you nervous, yet you have no problem making public call outs in posts or asks, belittling and degrading what could actually be innocent artists doing nothing wrong, literally leaving yourself open to all kinds of comments and opinions from all kinds of people....I'm sorry but your anxiety isn't as bad as you say it is then, if being rude and ignorant in a public post/ask is easier for you. If you come to us, shaming someone else who 9/10 probably isn't doing anything wrong, thinking you'll be in our good graces for doing so, sorry, you're not going to be told, "Good job!" with a pat on the back and given a lollipop! You're just being an asshole.

Quick reality check for everyone who's made it this far before I end this train wreck of a rant:

People can have similar ideas that coincide with one another! There's only so much you can do when a whole community is focused around drawing the same character! We mainly draw mewtwos and mews, you're bound to find a plethora of similar colors, patterns, and designs because of it! Creativity only goes so far when trying to stay true to a character and not stray too far. It's not a crime to take inspiration from other artists' characters, we actually encourage this! It makes us feel good that you liked something we've done and you want to incorporate it into your own designs! It makes us happy that we inspired you! The line is crossed when someone does a literal copy/paste of a character down to the exact detail, and they call it their own original creation. That my friends is what stealing actually is!

[thicctails]

I need more info on the get better children au, especially about when Bill shows up.

*rubs hands together* I finally got some extra time to draw up some new art for this AU, so let's give it some substance >:3 Long post below the read more with extra art :D

Before Euclydia was destroyed, Euclid and Scalene Cipher were some of its most powerful members. Bill saying that everyone loved him as a baby was true for a time; children aren't born very often, and the Ciphers are considered to almost be royalty. It wasn't until Bill's mutation became apparent that people began to shun him. If he had been born to any other family, he likely would have been abandoned.

Though neither Euclid nor Scalene could really comprehend the concept of something being "up", let alone what "stars" could possibly be, both of them used their status to try and find any scrap of forbidden information, hoping that they could find an answer, could find some confirmation that their son wasn't crazy, and didn't need to be blinded by his "medicine."

It was this research that eventually saved their lives. Having the knowledge that it was possible for things to, hypothetically, exist in a three dimensional plane allowed them to pool their powers and create 3D forms for themselves when Euclydia began to burn, pulling themselves off the 2D plane like a sticker being peeled off a page. It wasn't a smooth transition in the slightest, and the flames managed to damage parts of their bodies before they managed to fully free themselves. The rest of their power went into escaping their collapsing reality, and when all was said and done, they were left near catatonic and floating in the space between time and space for many, many years.

They don't really start to recover until a certain frilly guy upstairs nudges them into a new, stable dimension. This one is almost entirely 3D, and inhabited by creatures that look completely alien to the Euclydians. Creatures called humans.

They meet Dipper and Mabel not long after, and the two triangles attach themselves to the babies, doing their best to care for them in their weakened states when their young, unprepared parents fail to be adequate caretakers. Being 2D is far easier for them, so they stick to the walls like shadows and find ways to speak to the twins, slipping into videos and pictures, music and books, their forms changing slightly to match whatever media they slipped into. They teach Dipper and Mabel their colours, shapes, ABC's, ect, comfort them when they get sad or scared, and once they're old enough, how to do basic things like getting themselves food and water when they get left alone too long.

Neither Pines parent really notices their children making grabby hands and babbling at open air at first, though they do become a bit concerned when years pass and they still stare at walls and empty corners like there's something there.

Eventually, as we all know, the Pines twins get shipped off to a sleepy town in Oregon, and Euclid and Scalene are, of course, coming along to watch over their little stars. However, they become deeply uncomfortable when they start to see visages of their son carved into every room of the twin's temporary home.

It doesn't take long for the show's antics to start, but Grunkle Stan gets involved in the twins adventures far earlier because during The Inconveniecing, Euclid uses his ability to manipulate televisions to play one of those old PSA's on loop until he gets spooked enough to actually check on the twins, only to find them missing.

Eventually, through the help of Scalene using a radio to drag up an old advert for the Dusk 2 Dawn, he figures out where they are and arrives just in time to see the tail end of their ghostly encounter. Unable to deny his knowledge of Gravity Falls' weirdness, he and the twins have their Season 1 finale talk that night, and Dipper shows Stan Journal 3, which leads to all three of them searching for Journal 2 (Stan doesn't reveal the portal yet)

Bill gets summoned by Gideon like in Canon, but things veer wildly off course when, upon entering Stan's mind, Mabel asks him if he knows Euclid or Scalene. He freezes up upon hearing the names of his parents, and he immediately calls off the deal with Gideon, ripping himself out of Stan's Dreamscape. Before he can process what happened, he comes face to face with someone he's only seen in daymares for the past trillion years

Bill dips the fuck out once he realizes he's not hallucinating, disappearing to Axolotl knows where to do fun, productive things such as: scream, cry, break shit, sob on the floor, drink until the teeth in his eye ache, stare at the space between stars for days on end, and interrogate every single one of his henchmaniacs to see if they spiked his drink.

Mans has absolutely zero clue on how to navigate this situation, eventually settling on stalking the Pines because he genuinely cannot think of any possible way to approach his (apparently alive????) parents. How do you go about atoning for the extinction of your entire species?

Bill Cipher has never been one to do things for others for any other reason than to get something back, but he figures the best place to start is by protecting these fleshy human young that his parents seem so attached to.

Wait, would that make them siblings? Axolotl, he sure hopes not.

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

How I Envision "Intimate Time" with the LaDS Boys be like.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Zayne

The Sensual Partner.

I feel like Zayne is a very sensitive and emotionally attached person so being able to connect with him through mind and soul is the best way to get him stimulated.

I never see him as the one who will inflict pain in his partner in any way. He is to gentle for that.

He will always tends to your needs first before his own. We have seen this on Hidden Motive. He did lose control of himself and become "intense" as M/C describe him. But in the end, even if he is clearly still in need, he asks M/C if what he is allowed to do.

He is the type to enjoy the goosebumps forming in your skin whenever he touch or kisses you.

He always listen to you. No plea or request will make it pass his ears and he would always deliver what you ask

He would always whisper his thank you (Zayne's Translation: I Love You) (F.U. Astra!!!!) when you both finish.

Sylus

The Intense Partner

This guy is rough. We all know that. The manhandling and almost stalker-ish behavior he have when it comes to you is all the proof we need.

He also is the type of partner who will make you experience different and new type of high.

He is confident and know what will make your body tremble for him.

He is also type of partner to takes pleasure from your pleasure. Don't get me wrong, all the boys are like this. But unlike Zayne, who takes pleasure from your equal needs for each other, Sylus on the other hand, take it from your pleasure alone. The more happy you are the more satisfied he gets.

He is the type of partner, who will leave marks on you on visible area of your skin.

He is also a type of partner to whisper "lewd" things to your ears and not be ashamed of it.

But no matter how rough he is, he will always cuddle you after you both finish.

Xavier

The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing.

We can all agree that the soft-spoken Xavier is a predator in bed. To say I am shocked on his No Restraint card is an understatement. That sweet thigh-nuzzling to unexpectedly throwing you to bed is shocking yet so hot.

Xavier longs for you and that's why I think he jumps to every opportunity to touch you and go so feral about it.

He is the king of roleplay. I bet with the right coaxing, he will do whatever you want or be whatever you like him to be. We have seen this in several occasion and the most recent is on Mystic Adventures in Misty Invasion Event.

I bet that he is a very passionate lover and will definitely takes his time on getting you prepared and worship your body especially your legs.

Since Xavier doesn't talk much, he most likely show his affection by cuddling and touching. Teasing you with his soft feather like touches that leaves you breathless.

Rafayel

The Pure Partner

He is so pure hearted I could cry. Somebody pointed this out and my big shoutout to you because I can't remember where I read it. We have to remember that Rafayel is a Lemurian. What maybe something that is normal for us in the art of intimacy, may something new for him and this made him unsure or shy about being intimate.

I feel like it will be your duty to give him in the art of intimacy. We know how much he can blush and even that kiss on tub gives me a feeling that he really wants it to happen but is unsure how to do it.

I feel bad for him that we've been so intense with him during the Misty Invasion event. If my understanding is correct, he is quite sad because of his old friend. That guy must be important for him and although we are oblivious of his significance to Rafayel, we should have been more sensitive.

And speaking of sensitive, I feel like Raf is a hyper-sensitive one. Every touch we give, every emotion we pour on him magnifies 10 fold if not a thousands.

He really wants us for him to wait 800 years and during that time, i bet he's not been with anyone and then suddenly we are going feral on him (well who can't be? hehehe)

But imagine this, you taking the lead for him and guiding him to what makes you both reach that pleasure. Slowly slides your hands from his shoulders, torso, and pelvis while whispering to him "you're doing great" and he will moan for you.

Full disclosure: I am a Zayne Girlie but Rafayel's bedroom voice can make me sweat. He knows how to use his voice (A true merman!!!!) to lure you in. (Kudos to his wonderful duber!!!!)

And lastly and the most important thing that I love about Rafayel, is how he is always available and ready for you no matter how unsure he is.

[traceybrakes]

Let's Talk About Un-ironicizing Art!

In light of a lot of the conversations i've seen surrounding Death Grips and recent events concerning them, I want to take the time to point out that this is a good time to start thinking about how we engage with art on the whole!

For a long time, the irony poisoned method of consumption went unchecked in all facets of internet culture. As an internet musician in current day, I have noticed a sharp disconnect between artists and enthusiasts/casual listeners when it comes to attitudes surrounding music specifically, though I've witnessed it permeate all forms of art in some way.

I see people who have grown scared to engage on deeper levels, intentionally severing any resonant connections or knowledge learned from a piece of media before it has the chance to take root. In short, dare to be vulnerable! Dare to enjoy something on the basis that you yourself resonate with it, and not for any other nebulous reasoning. When masses of people relegate art to a spectacle, not only do artists become more likely to be disenchanted with the passions that fuel their work, but the consumer base ultimately suffers as well. All art at that point becomes less an extension of ourselves, less a vehicle to explore our identities, and is rendered a meaningless hulking sludge, or worse, the opponent to an already shrinking and narrow worldview.

Be not afraid to be unabashedly in love with the work that inspires you. Be not afraid to have the things you love misunderstood by by some. When you engage with work new and old, make sure to do it for yourself. Making and consuming art is inherently selfish, but being selfish is not inherently misguided. Allow yourself to learn, grow, discover, and repeat that cycle until the day you die.

To speak more candidly about my own experience, throughout the course of my life, there has been art that I've held near and dear to my identity, and own journey of self discovery that I seldom find others who hold the same sentiments to. I've always found this exciting. Exciting to hold something close to my chest as something so personal, and even more exciting when I can ease up on that grip when I find someone who I can share that with. However, I've also been through the throws of how the internet tends to chew up and spit out art that generally isn't understood by the many. I've fallen victim myself to the hive mind mentality that circles some artists and the cult of non-identity around them. This off-color ouroboros of knowing all about an artist's work and simultaneously upholding this facade of vapid complacency. I've come to the conclusion that if being openly supportive and connected to an artist's work or a particular piece of work automatically renders a person uninteresting and unambiguous at the very least, then I will live happily as an uninteresting open book. At the worst times, we see this line of thinking contribute to Death Grips being mocked and belittled en masse by people who are unwilling to engage with their art before they even get that far. It's heartbreaking, to me at least to see people put so much effort, emotion, and passion into transforming culture for the better to be rewarded with a crowd that's plugging their ears.

I realize I run the risk of sounding pretentious, self indulgent, or even patronizing to an extent; I apologize because that isn't my intention, I'm hoping to see gears shift at least on a micro level surrounding attitudes towards art appreciation. Remember to dare to be in love holistically with the art you engage with! Speak of the things you love in a way that makes that clear to others, and consider your peers to do the same! You and the people around you can only be better off for it.