#Primary Ridge

[victim9d]

flyin home and once im home boy do i wanna work on the revamp

[sw5w]

Queen Amidala Outside the Window

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:55:13

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[healwellprimarycare]

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[takami-takami]

Keigo Takami — Nsfw Alphabet

6k. Hawks x Reader. Minors dni.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Oh, Keigo is sickly sweet.

All that post-orgasmic fuzziness is getting funneled directly back towards you: the object of his affections. Every chemical that bursts and pops in his brain when he comes inside you is getting channeled right back into plentiful doting, post-sex. 

Keigo's aftercare… It's riddled with indulgent pampering. You know how some dogs bring you their favorite toy to make you happy? Yeah. It's kinda like that. If you had feathers, he'd preen them between his fingertips.

Keigo's the kind of dom who's primary form of aftercare is giving aftercare. He needs to see his hands soothe and treat you like royalty in order to be normal. At his core, Keigo is quite the sensory, visual creature. When he sees your eyes slit shut like a purring cat beneath his touch, that's when he finally allows himself to breathe.

The hero who is so desperate to help and wants to see people smile more than anything, to the point that it disintegrates him, finally being given a healthy outlet for all those urges to protect and provide and keep you safe? Yet it's still a kind of "work" that satisfies his workaholic nature without feeling like work at all? And it simultaneously serves as the purest, most soothing indulgence he's ever had the pleasure to sink his teeth into? 

Oh my god. It makes him normal.

Physical touch is a big one. He's a bit handsy and gets in your personal space, but you don't mind one bit, so it bodes well for the both of you. If you let him pull you into the bath with him after, he likes to wash and run his palms along your body even though you're perfectly capable of doing something like that yourself. His little "let me, babe" is an instruction and a beg all at once. Expect him to get a bit playful with the bubbles, though. 

Part of why Keigo loves baths with you is because of the part where you turn him over, gently preening and pinching the bristles of each feather until his brain melts to goo once more.

You're going straight to bed after. No buts. You deserve some well-earned rest after you did so good for him. Keigo made sure to start buying the softest blankets and pillows he could find after you started getting intimate together. Don't ask him why.

Keigo doesn't shy away from verbal affirmations, either: "Oh, baby, you did so good for me", "you're perfect", "I'm so proud of you." He never did like holding back his true feelings on things, and speaking to you is no different. He is going to let it spill and that's that.

For aftercare that he needs personally, be sure to reflect how much his aftercare helps you and be honest about what you need! Whether they're verbal or not, he's quite skilled at understanding cues. It's good for him to be shown the fruits of his actions for a change, even if he doesn't think he needs it. 

It's good for him as much as you.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Keigo never stopped to think about his favorite part of his body. If you asked him, he'd likely cock his head to one side like a doberman puppy given a command they can't exactly interpret on the spot.

He supposes everyone expects him to answer with the word "wings"— even though those closest to his inner circle would balk at such a notion, knowing how complicated that whole situation is. Yes, and no. 

The answer comes easily, after he meets you. Keigo likes the way you look into his eyes. In that way, he learns to love them.

He abhors his hands, but he worships yours. Every bump and ridge, the sharp roundness of each knuckle, the length of each finger. The way you hold him, the way you touch him. He'd shudder in recounting this, if you were to ask him what parts of you he likes best.

He also adores chests. That skin-to-skin contact is soothing; and although he can hear your heartbeat through his feathers well enough already, pressing his ear directly against the source grounds him deeply. It makes him feel ablaze and at peace all at once, the bareness of your skin.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This boy cums a lot. Like… Genetically. He's blessed. Whatever god is out there gave him the right equipment for his breeding kink in a stroke (ha) of good luck.

Keigo cums sticky, excessive, fat ropes— his backshots are insane, his facials outrageous, his creampies coating the sides of his cock white and spilling out of you before he even can pull out because there's just not enough room for all his cum inside you.

Keigo is a gentleman, so he will ask your input respectfully beforehand without letting his desires slip through the cracks when he pants the question, "where do you want me?"

But you both know the truth.

You're perfectly aware there is nowhere else his poor, sad, pathetically needy dick would rather burst and throb than stuffed deep inside you. Balls deep, as flush as your bodies can practically go, subtly grinding against your ass rather than thrusting because he would rather die than pull out even a fraction while he's in the midst of an orgasm this good.

The orgasms he experiences when he's inside you are the closest Keigo will get to religion.

How else is his cock supposed to get milked? Not inside of you? Fuck out of here.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He, uh… Likes to be humiliated and talked down to. And stepped on... A lot. More than a lot. It makes his brain go fuzzy with the lack of control. Don't ask him where that kink comes from. Really, don't worry about it!

Keigo is also the type of guy to swear he's not into feet (he's into feet). No, really, he just thinks your boots suit you and he swallows a lot around them because he's just so fascinated with the, uh… The style. Yeah. You can prop your feet up on him like a footrest, if you want. It's intimate, or something— whatever, just do it.

Can he kiss them? Can he unlace your boots? Do you want a foot massage tonight, babe? It's no inconvenience, really, don't worry about it, he insists… Please? Fuck, please, would you let him touch you, your skin is so soft, he promises he's been so good please god just let him feel your soles against his hot, throbbing cock— I mean his hands. When he massages them. As a favor to you. 

Fuck, his dick is hard now. That's your fault. This is all your fault for wearing sleek leather and not ordering him to rut against it like a fucking dog. Leather boots as a "fashion choice" his ass, you're torturing him. You have to be doing this on purpose. That's your fault, not his, but he's sorry anyway if that means you'll punish him by stepping on his dick so gently with your—

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Virgin loser.

But no, seriously, Keigo has had neither the time nor the cognitive space to stop and consider his own sexuality, let alone experiment with it. It's not like he would have trusted anyone enough to do so with, anyway. Fat fucking chance.

As far as whether he knows what he's doing, he starts off tentative and curious, absorbing the information of your body and voice like a damn sponge. When he tests the waters, so to speak, he starts slowly and observes any miniscule quirk of your muscles, every hitched breath in response to the stimuli he offers.

Keigo is a quick learner and a perfectionist. Don't expect him to take the backseat for long.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary.

Undoubtedly, missionary. He's romantic, like that.

What more could a man want? Your ankles hooked across the small of his back, his right hand entwined with yours while his left kneads every inch of your body, focusing on petting your sex whenever he wants to hear your voice whine for him. 

Keigo gets the perfect view like this. He can absorb all you have and breathe it into his lungs and swallow it while he gulps down your image like a sacreligious idol. Like an angel. Like worship.

The connection of it all maddens him. He adores the way he can press your thighs up and into a mating press if he so pleases, deep enough to stuff your guts full of him and make you sob gooey tears with how good it feels. It allows him unbridled access to your thighs, your chest, your hands, your mouth (which he plays with unashamedly like his favorite toy. Fingers, tongue, lips.)

God help him, Keigo loves missionary.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

As serious as Keigo wants to take the love you share, for every intimate night you make love and absolutely nothing else, there's another day he makes you laugh so hard your chest aches like a bruise in bed.

Keigo can be a brat. A little shit, a pain in the ass. This is no secret. Still, every joke and nibble and tackle and moan is utterly saturated. It's sticky. It's lovesick.

He likes to banter in battle, and that switch doesn't turn off when the conflict is between the sheets. There are nights he simply allows himself to be your pillow princess, laid back and spoiled in the fluff of your bed like it's made of heated cashmere; and there are other nights you grant Keigo the holy sacrament of servicing you while you simply lounge and watch him do what he does best. 

Those nights, not many words are exchanged. There's no need to say them.

You get each other.

Even so, you cannot count the amount of times you've choked "shut the fuck up" through laughter over the years, when sex looks more like tussling than worship. It's stress relief as much as it is bonding, play as much as it is intimacy. Still, Keigo keeps a good balance of humor and seriousness.

Can't have all work and no play, can he? He never was a dull boy.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Keigo has trimmed hair that is still blonde, but slightly darker than the hair on his head. It's well-kept. 

He keeps his chest bare, unfortunately, to look photogenic for his modeling gigs and such. But after many nights spent begging and pleading on your knees, Keigo sort of considers keeping the happy trail. After the night you traced your tongue down the trail toward his cock, promising he'll get this kind of treatment if he keeps it, Keigo never shaves it again.

Oh, Keigo's happy trail… It crawls up his navel and stops just short of his belly button; dark and noticeable, but a little sparse, kind of like the scruff on his chin. It makes him look more rugged while simultaneously making him appear prettier somehow, because Keigo is nothing if not unfairly contradictory and magnificent in everything. Asshole. 

You suppose anything would look good with those abs as a backdrop, though.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect?

Keigo never knew intimacy before he met you. It sounds like hyperbole, the word never; but whether people believe him or not, it doesn't erase the decades of longing for no one and nothing in particular, a parasocial ghost that both plagued him and kept him trudging forward. 

Keigo builds community for others, working to connect their hearts… Why wasn't he invited, again? Oh well, that doesn't matter to him. That's not why he does the work he does. His own happiness is never why Keigo does fucking anything. 

It's for the greater good. And Keigo is worse than everyone else, isn't he? It makes sense why he wouldn't be invited. He never stopped to question that.

You don't touch him like he's dirty, though. The first time your palm slid up his throat, he stiffened and trembled like a twig that might have snapped beneath your boot; but when you hush him this softly, he's a stray kitten in your maws, plucked and wrapped for the first time in fleece and warmth and love. For as feral as the world made him, Keigo is at his core quite a domestic thing. You put him back in place when you make love to him.

In turn, Keigo offers himself to you. It's not much, but it's yours if you'll have it, he says. The louder he gets when you fuck him, the more you realize he's opening up his lungs like buds awake from frost. 

You know from experience what that's like. He opens you up, too.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Keigo had to go through a bit of a journey to arrive where he's at. 

Namely, over the course of his sad little life, he underwent three categorical phases. Do not mind the tiered nature of the following sections. This shift was, in actuality, torturously gradual; like having one's body dragged forward by its ankles, finally accepting you have no say in where it's headed after a few desperate claws at denial.

Jerking off was a chore, a half-assed attempt at wringing the frustration of a long day out of his body and letting it wash down the drain on Sunday nights— every other time of the week was booked to the nines with hero work. Ten minutes for yanking it, tops. If Keigo timed his sessions with a stopwatch, he'd fall just short of the millisecond every time. Score. Efficiency. Plop down in bed and go straight to sleep after so you don't have to think about how lonely that whole experience just made you feel.

Enter, scene: you. After meeting you, masturbation just wasn't the same. It frustrated him that he even had to use the same word to describe it, because as far as Keigo was concerned, this was not the same activity in the slightest. Those were the golden years, when jerking off felt less like "rubbing one out" and more like "this is how it feels to drown in liquid gold. This is how it feels to have your cause of death be every neuron in your brain spontaneously combusting in a fit of pleasure. This is how it feels to be in love." The first time he allowed himself to touch his cock to the thought of you, Keigo swore he saw god; and when he finished an hour later, the back of his hand was chewed to whimpering bits. Yeah, those were the golden years.

And here we are, back to square one. After you finally get together, Keigo is back to square one. What do you mean he has to use his own hand when he's on missions away from you? What do you mean he can't cum inside you? This sucks. This blows. It's not the same, and for all his patience and respectability, the lack of passion when he touches himself kills Keigo with sexual frustration. The only thing it accomplishes is planting a pathetic whimper of "fuck, I miss them" in his head while he pants post-orgasm in a shitty motel bed alone at two in the damn morning. You do get a really cute text message after every time; something chaste like "missing you tonight <3." It's so obvious. You simply have to laugh.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding, obviously. 

Dumbification, both ways. Thinking is overrated! And honestly, he deserves a bit of a break from all the whirring that goes on in his overheated, overworked, cognitive machine of a brain. Something about the responsibility for guiding his partner through it when he's the one who doms is special to him, too.

Oral fixation, because he's the cutest little biter. He chews. Keigo also gets lost with his mouth latched onto your chest, flicking his eyes upward periodically when he has the mental faculties to think for half a second (which is not all that often, when his mouth is full, his lips are pursed, and his tongue is lapping its fill.) He also adores giving head!

Subspace, too— Keigo is a fiend for subspace, either guiding you through it or getting lost in it, himself.

Huge fan of edging and overstim. Keigo is not a physical sadist at all, he never wants to make you cry out of pain; but tears of frustration are not just "on the table," they're a goddamn feature. He is such a pain in the ass. You can't blame him for being insufferable, for stopping just short of your orgasm when you want to cum and forcing more out of you when you think it's too much. He's just having so much fun!

Keigo is the kind of guy to edge you when you say you're close and click his teeth dramatically before he goes, "ahhh, shucks, baby. What was that? Did you ask for something? I didn't hear you that time. Ask nicer." 

He tilts his chin to the side and taps his ear with two stiff fingers when he leans in, invading your space as he mockingly orders: "Say it louder for me." 

And after you throw your little fit about how mean he's being, how he’s such a bully, Keigo finally feels emboldened to move onto the next phase. He makes you feel good until you're sobbing, expertly dragging climax after climax out of your body until you're so overstimulated you can barely speak and are lacking more than a few electrolytes. In which case, Keigo will make a point to laugh at your complaints. He'll say, "aww, I thought you liked coming? Aren't I being nice? Don't pout, I'm just giving you what you asked for!"

This is not so much a kink, but he likes the title daddy because of the trust, affection, and protective responsibility being 'daddy' implies. Assuming responsibility during sex feels like home to him; because for the first time in his life, he has a healthy outlet for those urges and instincts that have caused him so much trouble. He admits in canon to being desperate to be of use and help, after all— oh, and along that same vein, he loves to service top.

Keigo thinks the title "sir" is really cute too! But mostly, he treasures the nicknames and pet names you come up with for him. His names of "Keigo Takami" or "Hawks" have never felt stable for him growing up. So nicknames are nice, for a change.

And he has a mommy kink because of his mommy issues. You'll actually have to be very gentle about this because he absolutely does not recognize where it comes from at all.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed. Anywhere in his home, really— surfaces, the floor, cabinets somehow— but he especially prefers to take you in bed. It's not a nest thing, trust me (it totally is).

The way Keigo's quirk works isn't an actual animal quirk, so he's not literally a bird and his bed is not literally a nest. But he does possess a number of birdlike oddities, and this is one of them! 

He also just feels safe, secure, and at ease in his home (not the one from the commission, his actual home). Given his whole thing about his little roosting place in canon, it makes sense that the bedroom holds special significance to Keigo in particular.

Keigo bought you some blankets. He really, really hopes you like them. 

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Service. Pleasure and sensation is fantastic for him, he thrives in it, but eroticism is cognitive for him as well (or, ya know, lack of cognitive during dumbification). Don't get him wrong, a simple "woah!" and a popped half-chub from seeing you shirtless is still something that definitely happens, but he can be a complex man, too. He promises.

Most of all, Keigo is an observant sponge. He likes to watch, to study, to learn, to analyze, to perfect— like a cat confined in an enclosure given toys and apt time to chase and solve as a form of enrichment.

Sex is special and a bonding activity, but as much as he's a sucker for the plain old basics— the romantic part of it all— it's no surprise that Keigo gains a great deal of satisfaction from gently mapping the parts of your psyche that make you tick. And obviously, as Keigo is one for outcomes, just mapping you out isn't enough for him. 

He should be able to play with the fruits of his labor, too, no? The satisfying pop of your last brain cell has something of a Pavlovian effect for him. That's when the real fun of it begins. 

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any heavy impact play. This is an absolute no from him. He doesn't want to do it with tools like flogs, whips, etc; but it's especially worse when it's his own hands. He can't exactly pinpoint why, though (poor birdie has a thing about his hands being dirty). For that matter, he dodges anything that would bring you more physical pain than, say, a firm tap. Keigo does enough of that at his job, he doesn't want to hurt his baby, too. 

A couple love taps on the cheek or thigh are the most you'll get, but the way he does it is more than enough to get your brain fuzzy. He's a biter and scratches a bit, though! So if you're into pain, this is where you'll find common ground.

Never call him filthy or dirty, or ever imply he is either of those things, even as a joke or to tease him. 

He's not a fan of choking, but specifically when he's the one doing it. Again, it reminds him of his job. He's okay being choked himself, though, since he believes he's perfectly capable of handling himself (and he's used to putting his life on the line, anyways).

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Most are familiar with the "Keigo-drowns-between-your-thighs-and-dies-happy" headcanon at this point, but the classics are classics for a reason. 

He prefers giving over receiving. It's not even close, honestly. Your orgasms against his tongue satisfy him more than his own— not that he won't be touching himself while he goes down on you. Because he absolutely will.

Rough day? He'll eat it from the back to cheer himself up. 

Good day? He tops it off with you on top of his face, of course.

Mediocre day? Fuck it, he's on his knees and his mouth is on you before his keys hit the table, anyways.

One of your fondest memories you recount to him endlessly (to his embarrassed chagrin) is a night you two were roleplaying in bed. The slippery fucker thought he was slick, tied to the bedpost as he attempted to— in character and in scene— subtly propose you sit on his face as a "punishment" in that pathetic little oh no, whatever will I do type of voice. 

His face flushed scarlet when you burst into laughter over him, breaking character and nearly busting a lung in the process. 

Oral? As punishment? For Keigo? Did he actually think you were going to buy that? Oh my god. You never let him live it down.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on his mood and yours. Oftentimes, you find yourselves synced and on similar wavelengths; but other times, as all couples inevitably see, there's a bit of a mismatch between sharp and smooth desires. On those nights, Keigo takes the liberty of defaulting to softness. 

He easily slows his pace when you tell him you want it syrupy and molten, regardless of how pent up he is. But more interestingly, Keigo is able to see when your "give it to me rough" doesn't reach your eyes. 

When you ask for rough sex with your hands clutching his tee shirt and a shaky look in your eye, that's when Keigo rolls up his sleeve and kisses you softly. If you pitch a fit, he'll shush it away. Both wrists are kissed, and both thighs are placed reverently on his shoulders. 

"Why are you doing that," you ask.

"Because I like you a whole lot, dummy," he answers, pecking a kiss on your tummy. "Let me show you how much?"

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

When it comes down to it, Keigo is a hero. His career comes first, so quickies are a delightful inevitability in this line of work. Given his particular gift for espionage and the equipment he carries to boot (feathers, baby), the chances of anyone catching him in the act are slim enough to slide under the door to the broom closet he's fucking your brains out in.

But make no mistake, just because Keigo can break you down quickly doesn't mean he prefers it. He'd much rather take you in his bed achingly, ironically slow for a man so beloved for his speed. He'd rather be meticulous with you, but he can't always get what he wants exactly when he wants it. Self control is unfortunately a thing he has to consider, he'd sigh.

He's still going down on you during quickies, though. No way in hell he'd deny himself that.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Keigo is quite careful with you. He cradles you in his maws like fresh fruit fit to burst— sinking his canines just enough to pierce your skin and sample your juices, but never using enough pressure to cause you any tangible damage. He wouldn't want to hurt his baby, even if part of him does want to deconstruct you a little; just not in a destructive sense. His preferred method of breaking down is to coax out your moans the way a gardener coaxes the sprout of his very own harvest.

That being said, once Keigo becomes comfortable enough with you to let the guard dog in his heart rest in your lap, he is open to a surprising amount, sexually speaking. Whatever it is, he's clever enough to find a way to make it sexy— and if a certain kink or position doesn't work out as planned, he's grounded enough to remain confident you can both get a laugh out of it together, at least. 

You just get each other like that, you and him; and fuck, if that isn't the hottest thing in the world to him. 

He feels safe enough with you to treat your bed like a playground and a temple all at once. Keigo stops and considers his new life one night as he takes the BDSM test with you, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a mouth still spilling crumbs from that night's takeout. His chest hurts from laughing, his heart is fuller than his stomach; and for the first time in his life, another person feels like home to him.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Multiple. Many. Numerous.

This is Keigo's forte, his wheelhouse, his territory. You're out of your mind if you think you can outlast this man, but it's cute of you to try.

Your attempts to keep your sorry little mind held together by willpower and duct tape for just a little while longer are absolutely adorable to him. He'll use that against you, too.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Keigo doesn't own any toys— well, he didn't, before he met you. A few painful months after he realized it was actually you that made his heart beat, he buys a fleshlight to kind of, sort of, maybe pretend it's you. 

Disrespectful, yeah. He knows. But it's better than the alternative. He can't afford to get you mixed up into his life; and if fucking a chunk of silicone every couple of nights to unscramble the plague of you from his head and make it normal (it makes it worse) is the sacrifice Keigo has to make, then call him Japan's number one martyr, because he's going to wring his money's worth out of the damn thing (and his cock).

Once Keigo gets over that thinly-veiled form of self-sabotage, he buys a couple of toys to use on you, instead.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Life's unfair, sweetheart.

That's what Keigo tells you, smile wide and gloved hands clasped behind his back as he encircles your bed.

He adores his handiwork, tied up, gagged, and stuffed in every orifice. He's not a sadist, he swears! He just wants to… Overwhelm you a little. It's fun! And it's not Keigo's fault, really, that he likes to play with his food.

Honestly, he's doing you a favor by teasing you to bits! You like it, don't you? All pouts and "please"s, but the moment he takes away that stimulation you nearly throw a fit (how adorable. Keigo adores his little brat.)

The only comfort granted to you is the sound of his voice, all buttery rich and familiar; but even that notion carries a caveat. The words he decides to spill aren't exactly fair. Condescending bits of praise he knows will get you to whimper for him just right, questions he knows you can't answer properly in this state…

Point is, Keigo will use every resource available to be unfair to you because he's the worst combination of perfectionist and pain in the fucking ass. If he doesn't edge you up to the damn millisecond before an orgasm, Keigo won't consider it a job well done; and a job insufficiently done is not a job done at all. He'll have to give it another go until he does it right. 

… And another, and another, for good measure.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Keigo is loud. 

He's embarrassingly, heart-wrenchingly loud. The oh-god-did-I-leave-the-window-open kind of loud, especially when he subs. He's such a fucking baby about it; like he's crying for attention, for you. Poor thing. Whimpering, moaning, sniffling for attention like a puppy with its tail between its legs peeking from between a dog crate's bars.

Keigo never was one to hold himself back or keep his mouth shut— he's not the shy type, exactly— and you look like the type of person to be into that kind of shit, anyway, he'd attest later with an infuriating smile. 

Is he wrong? He rarely is. Bastard.

But regardless, Keigo tends to run his mouth. His voice is his most precious weapon to use against you when he's on top, too— sharper than any feather he's ever grown, that's for damn sure. His dirty talk reveals his silver tongue and charisma more than anything.

Keigo is a switch, but he enjoys the luxury of changing your mood quite quickly with his voice alone. He doesn't have to try hard at all to get you into subspace or domspace, really. All it takes is a "make me" to get you to be mean to him, a "please" to get you to pamper him, a "watch it" to get you to shrink, a "poor baby" to get you to melt.

He's not the only one that's well-trained, it seems.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

His wings puff up a little when he cums. Like a Ghibli character, yeah.

When he's babbling while he gets a good lay, dick wet and balls deep into a real good fuck, Keigo's wings shudder from the shoulderblades to the wingtips. They flap a few times for good measure, uncontrolled with arousal. It's not like he couldn't suppress the instinct to do so. It's just that he knows it drives you wild to see him as authentic and raw as he wishes he could be. 

It's a little unconscious, but moving his wings during sex also entices your hands to play with them a little. You always did like to fidget, and what better way to peacock in front of his precious partner than to flap their favorite fidget toy within arm's reach? 

It's mutually beneficial, thank you very much. You get a little something to grip on to while he blows your back out, and Keigo gets to blow his load while you tug at an erogenous zone arguably more sensitive than his cock. 

It's a win-win.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The wishful thinking answer is that he is big but not like, ouch big, about 6 inches or so. HOWEVER, realistically, this is not the case. There is evidence to consider.

His pants are very baggy. This raises questions. Nobody wears pants that baggy at the crotch all the fucking time unless they are packing. He also carries a certain energy with him. BDE or whatever. So this bumps him up to about 6.5-7 inches as an estimate. But honestly, it's difficult to say! Because Keigo is also not particularly tall or anything.

It curves a bit upward when he's rock hard and it slaps against his stomach when he's on his back. Mostly smooth save for a few prominent veins. Nothing crazy, but enough to be visually appealing or trace if you want to. His dick is ever so slightly darker than the rest of him and a bit flushed, especially at the tip. The head is proportional/average and swells darker when he's hard or edged.

Huge breeder balls. They're sensitive, too. And he gives insane cumshots. Like, he cums a lot. A lot. His backshots are out of this world. Fat, sticky ropes. A gift for his breeding kink, truly. 

He has a very, very pretty dick. Like the kind you'd look at and go "wow, congrats man" and give him a firm handshake. The kind of dick you stick a little blue award ribbon that says "best in show" on and pop a confetti popper.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not very high at all, interestingly. It's pretty par for the course, for a man his age; if not a bit dampered at times by his constant business and overworked nature.

When Keigo gets into it, he gets into it, sure, but his drive isn't really on the higher side. It's more of an "on" and "off" switch that he has a pretty solid handle on. His cool head up top tends to trump the hot one between his legs. 

Well. You kind of throw a monkey wrench in that whole system, but that's okay. No, really, it's cool. He still is able to begrudgingly do the same old routine, this time through gritted teeth and with a head nearly thunked against the wall in agonized frustration.

When you send him racy pics before his afternoon patrol, it technically is possible for him to will his boner down and think of something else. And that is what he ultimately decides to do— just with a little footnote tucked away for later. 

He'll get you back. He always does.

- ̗۪۪̥̀৩ु˖❥ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Eepy. Falls asleep on top of you, cradled like a teddy bear. Zzzzz.

[ominous-potato96]

Tiefling Physiology Headcanons that nobody asked for!

I've been thinking a lot about tiefling Physiology and body language, but have found precision few resources on the subject. So I wrote my own! My fellow fanfic writers, please feel free to use this!

Includes physical traits of Tieflings and some body language (and by that I mean the tail)

Claws: Modified nails that are thicker, stronger, and sharper than human nails. They grow rapidly, typically ending in points.

Teeth: Rather than having four canines (two upper, two lower), Tieflings have 6 to 8 (double canines on the upper jaw and either single or double on the lower jaw). Canines are elongated and much sharper than those of most other races.

Horns: The horns of a Tiefling are made primarily of bone, with a protective keratin layer. Their inner structure is not solid, but resembles a honeycomb, with blood vessels and nerves (I based this off of a cow's horn structure). Breaking a horn is excruciating and results in significant bleeding. Eventually the broken horn will develop a boney callous or cap to protect the inner structure from damage or infection. Horns DO have sensation, similar to that of fingernails in humans. Their primary function is dissipating excessive heat from the body and maintaining body temperature.

Ridges: Each Tiefling's pattern of ridges is subtly unique, though most follow a similar pattern: cartilaginous and bony bumps and/or ridges adorn the body. Ridges are most common on the elbows, upper arms, shoulders, chest, shoulder blades, along the spine and into the tail, hips, and thighs. Some (typically males) also have facial ridges along the brow, cheekbones, and chin. On the shoulder blades the vestigial remnants of wings can be found, including a claw-like spur.

Body Temperature: Tiefling body temperature can range from 99°F to 102°F (37.2°C to 38.8°C), making them noticeably warmer than other humanoids.

Eyes: Tiefling eyes can have either black or white sclera (some say that this is connected to parentage, white being human parents and black being from tiefling parents, but these claims have not been substantiated) and irises of almost any color with glowing, dancing flames framing the pupil. Pupils can be rounded or vertical slits (cat-like).

Tongue: A tiefling can have either a single pointed tongue or a forked tongue. In either case, the tongue is usually slightly longer on average than a human's.

Ears: Tieflings, like elves, have pointed ears which can be highly sensitive to stimulation.

Vocalizations: Obviously, Tieflings can talk, but they also have a range of other vocalizations. Growling, snarling, and even purring have been observed.

Tail: The tail is prehensile, usable to pick up and grip objects, assist in balance, express emotion (usually unconsciously), and can be used as an improvised weapon (not for stabbing, but it makes an excellent whip.) Some tails have a barb or spade-like structure at the tip, which is made of flexible cartilage. Sensitivity varies for each individual, but commonly the tail is not overly sensitive at the tip, but the base and underside can be.

Tail posture and movement can be very informative on a tiefling's emotions:

Happy/Excited: Tail is upright with the tip flicking or waving forward and back.

Angry/Agitated: Tail is low and whipping from side to side.

Nervous/Anxious: Tail is either tucked or wrapped around the tiefling's own leg.

Affectionate: To express affection (typically romantic) a tiefling will wind their tail around another person's ankle or wrist. If the other person also has a tail, they may link or intertwine tails. This is usually done as a romantic (but polite) gesture but is also seen with parents and children. It's equivalent to holding hands.

Possessive/Protective: A tiefling may wrap their tail around their partners thigh or waist if they feel possessive or protective. This is typically frowned upon in public as it is fairly intimate.

Presenting: When a tiefling is interested in someone sexually, their tail will be held up in an "S" shape. This is done by both males and females, and usually subconscious...which can lead to some very awkward situations...

[benevolenterrancy]

Hi I have caught up to you on having feelings about Zhuzhi-Lang. He's a good boy! 🥺 Good snake boy! 🥺 I had the thought, after Zhuzhi let SQQ leave after SQQ yelled at him... what if they Stole Him. What if.

(Also have you read/been recommended anything by corduroyserpent yet? Big writer of Zhuzhi-Lang fics, including a very cute de-aged Zhuzhi-Lang and some zhushen)

Justifications of bride-stealing!

(AND HE'S THE BEST BOY 😭 I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, SO MUCH!! have some further au thoughts because this has contaminated my brain...)

What I think would actually happen if they stole SQQ? Absolutely nothing good for anyone, LBH would Lose His Fucking Mind xD as a more interesting answer though, I like the idea that Shen "Pedantic Nitpicky Asshole" Qingqiu's primary point of argument is that he is not a bride so he cannot be "bridenapped" regardless of demonic tradition or intention!

This eventually leads to them all completely avoiding the Maigu Ridge incident because TLJ realizes that, somehow, SQQ doesn't realize the depths of his son's feelings for him and decides to put all his efforts into being a wingman for his nephew instead because he finds the entire thing absolutely hilarious and rather satisfying after his own sad romance. Obviously someone like SQQ would do much better with his good, loyal nephew than the disappointing offspring of that disastrous relationship!

As for ZZL he just has to assume that LBH must not be treating SQQ anywhere near the way he should be (and like... he isn't wrong at this point, there is a non-zero amount of torture and terror going on here) if SQQ doesn't see himself as being tied to LBH in any way. And if he's not attached to LBH then there's absolutely no reason he shouldn't make his own efforts to seduce SQQ! After all, if LBH isn't valuing SQQ properly then obviously ZZL has to step up because someone as kind as SQQ deserves the best!!!

[thesiltverses]

what was the creative process behind making a crab-man the primary deity for the protagonists was, like

did you consider lanternfish-man? jellyfish-man? cuckoo-man? squid-man? how did you decide I want to knowwwwwww

He's not solely a crab-man, there's prawns and things in the show as well!

Uhh, but to answer your question. I used to go crabbing as a child in Porlock, a coastal village in Somerset which has a fascinatingly weird geography that speaks to cycles of destruction, invasion, and rebirth - the water and land are separated along the bay by a vast shingle ridge and then a flat salt-marsh with bone-white dead trees (while beneath the sea itself, a submerged forest waits to be revealed at low tide). Coleridge is heavily associated with Porlock, so it's got some strangeness under its skin. Its river, the Horner, is small, but flows through some beautiful and eerie oak woodland and I used to walk its course a lot.

The crabbing was always catch-and-release but there's inevitably a cruelty and uneasy dominance involved in catching anything; the sight of a bucketful of frightened animals, scrabbling to either hide under one another or escape over another. As a kid I think you feel both the giddiness at your own god-like power over something smaller than yourself but also the unhappiness and guilt in what you're doing.

So either it's that, or it's just because I liked the scary fish on spider-legs from Junji Ito's Gyo and I wanted to carve out some space for another water-dwelling creature in the eldritch realm.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I had no idea that such a quirky house existed in Glen Ridge, NJ, like this 1906 rotunda style home. It has 5bds, 3ba, 2,751 sqft, $859k. It's already under contract, too.

Look at this entrance that surrounds the inner entrance to the house.

There's a wood beamed ceiling, brick walls w/square windows, and some built-in benches surrounding this brick structure. (Who designed this?) Wow.

Enter a red-carpeted rustic formal living room.

Gray stone fireplace straight ahead.

A wide opening separates a matching stone wall and stairs.

Beyond is another sitting room that has a fireplace with a flatscreen above and some built-in cabinets, plus some stone walls.

The realtor helpfully Photoshopped some furniture in the room and removed the carpet. This is how it really looks empty. The house is worn and wasn't well-maintained.

The kitchen is very large and dated. It's quite an interesting kitchen, too. It's an eat-in kitchen with plenty of room for a casual dining set.

Off to the side there's a formal carpeted dining room.

This is a porch b/c the lattice wall is open.

Now, here we are upstairs, and the walls are lined in nice light wood paneling.

Very large primary bedroom.

Interesting fireplace.

Here it is with some Photoshopped furniture and the removal of the built-in bench and carpet. It looks pretty nice, doesn't it?

Standard 3pc. bath. Depends if the new owners like the retro blue tub and tile.

More bedrooms down the hall.

Oh, my, they tried to paint this room yellow. It's going to need some more coats to cover the wood they ruined.

In this bedroom they painted the paneling white. The new owner is just going to have to go with it.

This room has 70s blue paneling, but the blue trim and art make it look nice. The wood floor is much nicer than the dirty carpet.

Down these stairs is either another bedroom or a flex space.

This is a shower room. Looks like some mold or something happening in the shower. All the baths are dated.

This unique home could be very cool if it's fixed up properly. It's been so neglected.

It has a nice little rock garden that may have been a water feature, and there's a garage. I think that the Photoshopper gave the grass some extra green.

Glen Ridge is a lovely town and this home is on a 0.41 acre corner lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1-Hamilton-Rd-Glen-Ridge-NJ-07028/38655145_zpid/

[lethesbeastie]

I showed a few parts of this larger ref while responding to asks yesterday, so might as well post the whole thing akfhskfhskf

Version without texture overlay + character design thoughts and lore under the cut!

I'm gonna start this off by saying that I am not a biologist and that my attempts at speculative biology are operating by "rule of cool" in some parts of this design.

Wraith's design is largely based on cephalopods, with mimic octopus, bobtail squid, and cuttlefish playing a key role as design inspirations. My goal for their design in this form was to keep their anatomy and physiology as close to the typical structure of cephalopods as possible without sacrificing the necessary physical features that would allow them to adapt to life outside of the water. I wanted them to look alien, but still endearing, and to emphasize the fact that they are very much still a child despite their size and strangeness.

A quick note on some terms from the flavor text on the image:

Buccal mass: mouthparts of a cephalopod, including the beak and the musculature that allows it to open and close

Mantle: the main body of a cephalopod that protects and contains all of its major organs

Flavor text:

Arms Vs. Tentacles: on cephalopods, Arms refer to appendages which have suckers along the entire length of the limbs underside, while Tentalces only have suckers at the club-like end

1. Blue of blood shows through in membranes/thinner areas of flesh

2. Primary mouth/buccal mass

3. External gills

4. Siphon

5. Ridges flare when threatened

6. Tentacles and rear arm merge, acts as counterweight to aid in bipedal locomotion

7. Lower anterior arms merge to form legs; lack of proper bones means bipedal locomotion is unsteady

8. Upper arms adapted hands to better manipulate objects

9. The two rear-most appendages are proper tentacles, and are capable of manipulating objects almost as effectively as main hands

10. Two mouths, one form consumption, one for speech*

- 10A. Secondary mouth hidden by barbles, chitin** structure within resembles a fused set of teeth. This mouth can be used to eat, but there's a high risk of choking

- 10B. Resting position of beak in primary mouth, retracted into buccal mass

- 10C. Extended position of beak in primary mouth; capable of breaking down mollusk shells and biting through bone

11. Natural posture when unfurled

12. Defensive stance

13. The skin covering the mantel forms a cavity into which the head can partially withdraw

14. Capable of spitting ink from secondary mouth when in distress

15. Eyes are large with highly reflective pupils; excellent dark vision

16. Nictitating membrane rises to protect the eye when biting, may also rise when distressed

17. Retractable claws inside suckers

Extra design lore and speculative biology:

18. Blood is a deep blue, appears black under water, and turns clear as it dries. Texture is thick and viscous

** in the image I wrote keratin, but research has shown me that a squids beak is actually made of chitin rather than keratin! Keratin may still be present, but it's not the main polymer in the makeup of the beak structure. I know this is a silly fun character design, but I try to remain somewhat accurate with how I engage the biological aspects, so I wanted to correct my mistake

At the current moment of this design, Wraith is 11 years old, and stands at 5 ft 4 in [168 cm] when using their legs. They measure 6 ft [183 cm] long from head to tail when unfurled/in the water. Their height and size relative to their age is above average compared to humans, but is more or less in line with the normal growth rate for deep sea tritons, which are the largest of the triton variants. Their height out of the water is limited by their physiology; Wraith lacks proper bones, so maintaining an upright form requires a lot more effort and energy. They rely heavily on mobility aids (rollator, cane, wheelchair) if they'll be walking or standing for long periods of time in their true form.

The changeling magic that enables their shape-shifting provides a level of structural stability to their body when in disguise that makes life outside of the water easier, but they still require more rest and breaks from standing than other able-bodied children of their own age. The form that provides the most stability is their "default" triton disguise, which they've carefully tailored to be as comfortable as possible so they can have a more active lifestyle. Smaller disguise forms are easier to manage, as the compression of their body makes those forms more stable to hold. Their triton disguise form measures out to only 3 ft 5 in [103 cm] tall which is much easier for them to maintain out of the water.

[cyclogenesis]

hugh jackman/ryan reynolds/blake lively throuple post here we go

So, as a disclaimer, I've never known a single thing in my entire life and I'm not about to start now. That said, here are a bunch of reasons why, if like thirty years from now some tell-all comes out about how they were all in a relationship with each other, I'll be like, "Yes, that is what I suspected. They were not all that subtle about it, tbh."

I just want to start you off with this because it's so, so fucking cute. They're all at the It Ends With Us premiere and Blake and Ryan are getting their pictures taken together, you know, as they do, and then you can see Ryan say "Where's Hugh?" and Blake grabs him to pull him into the shot and then they giggle at each other and it's just, man, they all so obviously adore each other. Look, watch the video!

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Adorable. Alright, I'm choosing a random place to jump in because if I try to do this chronologically I'll get too intense about timelines. Bear with me.

So, Hugh spent a lot of time with Blake and Ryan after his divorce was finalized in 2023. A lot.

Here are Ryan and Hugh three days after the split was announced in late September. (x)

They all went to a football game with Taylor Swift shortly after that. (x)

Then they were all together for Hugh's 55th birthday on October 12th. (x)

Through late October they were all spending time with each other still, including at a little house party they all attended with Taylor Swift at Bradley Cooper's place. No pictures of them together but just saying. (x)

Just Hugh's birthday post for Ryan around then...the heart. So true king, couldn't agree more.

Well, people go on social outings with their friends during tough times. Okay. No, totally. I'd just like you to sit with this, from Blake's September 2024 Vogue cover story:

“They are megawatt stars,” Hugh Jackman tells me over the phone from London, talking about Blake and her husband. “These are like old-school megawatt stars…and of course I’ve spent many hours with them, like in pajamas just hanging out in their house with their nine hundred children and dogs and it is just as normal as can be, and Blake will be baking and cooking and saying, ‘Let’s make pizza,’ and then the next thing you turn around,” he says, describing her changing for an event, “and there she is, this incredible star. It’s…it’s astonishing to me.”

Many hours with them, like in pajamas just hanging out in their house...

It's that they're having fucking sleepovers for me. Hugh is a recently single man in his mid-fifties. Do you know a lot of men that age who have sleepovers with their married friends? No, not because he needs a couch to sleep on after the divorce. He has houses. The three of them live in the same fucking city. If Hugh wanted to go home at night it's a...ten minute drive, maybe? (Blake and Ryan are in Tribeca and Hugh's in Chelsea. Yes I looked this up.) Even if he's not staying at their apartment, but at their house in Pound Ridge an hour outside the city (Yes, I looked this up!!), it's not like that's their summer place upstate where friends and fam come to stay for like, a weekend vacation. That's just their fucking house, that's their primary residence. Furthermore, although there is a guest house on that estate (rich people. jesus), I'd like to put forth that you're not going to step out the guest house in your jammies and scamper across the grounds at bedtime. I posit that he just stays in the main house with them for reasons of maximum domesticity.

And just like, again, going off his own words, the scenario here is Hugh in his pajamas seeing Blake get ready to go to an event, presumably not with Ryan, because why would he be lounging watching them both get glammed--so he and Ryan in their comfy clothes observing as she heads out and they stay there together with the kids. (Also supposition here but it would make sense for them to be in the city apartment if there are events to go to...so just once again, in his pajamas because he stayed over even though his own place is ten minutes away. Like.)

Man. Stars...are they just like us?

(Also from that article where Blake talks about 'her love of Jackman': “He’s a guy who will show up for you anytime or place. Whether it’s public or private, that man shows up!” Girl, I bet he does. Also can a man show up if he never leaves in the first place.)

Did I even fucking mention that in the Vogue article in question they called in Hugh to star in a photoshoot with Blake inspired by To Catch A Thief?

Man I fucking guess! With the vision of them playing love interests fresh in your mind, let's just close out this section with more of Hugh enthusing about how gorgeous Blake is:

And she’s, as I said, walking around in pajamas and then five minutes later—it’s Elizabeth Taylor! At the height of her beauty. And you’re like, What? How? And it’s totally…it’s miraculous. It’s a beautiful thing to watch.

Normal way to talk about your best friend's wife. And god we get it, you're all hanging out in your pajamas after sleeping together, in the same house I mean! They're the first people you want to see in the morning and the last people you want to see at night and that's great for you!

But staying with them, okay, I fully accept that like, maybe this is just a thing I don't get as a person who's never had a break-up the recovery from which I felt necessitated spending weeks with my married couple best friends and their multitude of children. I ran across this LaineyGossip post about this time period that I'll excerpt here: In my experience, this is what happens often when someone goes through a breakup – you basically hunker down with your friends. (...) So when I see this scene, of Hugh, Ryan, and Blake, I get it, I know what this is. Or at least I presume I know what this is. For the next little while, Hugh is going to be hunkered down with his boy and Blake.

That is, btw, LaineyGossip of "which could mean nothing" fame. So there's a gift of phrasing here, which must be why "Or at least I presume I know what this is" keeps marquee-ing through my head followed by the neon flashing lights of "his boy".

I don't know, it's interesting. It's just interesting! Aren't you all like "Hmm!"

But maybe you're still like, dude they are just friends. Grown-up married friends can have frequent pajama parties with their newly single best friend. Okay, you're right, maybe they're not all fucking. You know, fine. But it's an indisputable fact that they have thought about it to the point that it's, I think, a running joke between them that they all, you know, could be fucking in some combination. A running joke for at least nine years, because this is from 2016:

Congratulations to the three of them and their jokes about Ryan getting cucked! I think that's really fun. This is also the interview where Ryan tells Hugh that he's "fucking gorgeous" so, whatever in the absolute fuck the three of them are doing I'm just happy to be subjected to their little psychosexual games while they're at it. I for one think their kink is okay and consider it an honor to be non-consensually witnessing it. (gifset link!)

Just, interestingly, Hugh's 55th birthday is not the only one he spent with Ryan. They were also together for his 49th birthday in 2017:

Chatting to Triple J Grill Team, Hugh told the radio panel that his good friend Ryan Reynolds flew all the way to Atlanta just to celebrate his 49th birthday with him. “[I'm] working in Atlanta doing a movie here, and then I’ll go out tonight to a nice steak restaurant with my buddy, with my best mate out here - Ryan Reynolds. He flew in especially," the Wolverine star told the breakfast show. When asked whether or not Ryan was in the area, Hugh told the team: "No he’s just flew in, you know because he’s my best mate and he said I want to be there on your big day."

Listen, all respect to Hugh's marriage. I literally have no idea what the fuck was going on there, I hope he was just happily married for a long time and it was great and it ended amicably and everyone's doing fine. I'm just pointing out that it's low-key crazy work that, from what it sounds like, Hugh was going to be working and wife-less and alone on his birthday, and Ryan was like no, I am going to get on a plane and fly two and a half hours to come and take you out on a nice dinner date for your birthday. And Blake presumably kissed the father of her (at the time) two children and said yes of course you are. Don't let him be wife-less in Atlanta, go get your man.

You know, which isn't to say that there's not from time to time a gentle tug of war between Ryan's wife and husband. Here's a random little post from 2018 where Blake jokes about Ryan loving Hugh more than her. Oh you crazy kids. (Hugh posted that they were all three at the coffee shop later that year!)

Okay here's one that just absolutely kills me. So it's known that Ryan was on set for It Ends With Us a fair bit because, you know...Justin Baldoni is a fucking predator. But I've seen rumors (sorry, it's a pain in the ass to find sources) that Hugh stepped in to be around as well and be there for her when Ryan couldn't. This is from a DM article about Blake filming the movie in New Jersey one morning in January 2024, which includes this lone shot captioned "Later on that day she was seen hanging out with pal Hugh Jackman". That's it, no further info, just Hugh and Blake and baby Olin.

Here's Blake in July 2024 wearing a shirt from Hugh's clothing line and calling him her other man. (x)

God, so...I haven't even gotten to the Deadpool and Wolverine press tour. Christ alive, you guys. I'm going to pick a small selection of things that made me feel the most like howling at the moon and you're going to have to take my word for it or get clicking, this post is already so long.

Ryan made a video for Blake while she was out promoting It Ends With Us about how he misses her and wants her to come home, this starts at 6:25 during this interview. Hugh pops into the video and says to her, "Please come back. I can't kiss him anymore. I can't keep pretending to be you."

I don't normally go in for like, analyzing facial expressions and all that, but this post theorizing the throuple from last September features a video where Hugh's talking about eating a lot of pastries and says, "It's just a lot, it's like a threesome, there's too much information," and my god, the look on Ryan's face as he processes this and then he's like, "Who put a nickel in you today??" like, I don't know man! It sure is a reaction to have! I'm just leaving this here as a slice of salami in the context sandwich of this whole post!

And then there's Blake calling Ryan while they're doing an interview and she's like "I didn't think you were actually on a press tour. I thought you were just honeymooning," and Ryan goes "No we're not! We're not actually just on vacation together," and again, just again, it's at the very least a running joke between them about how doesn't it seem like they are all fucking!

What else did they do in 2024 after spending all this time with each other? Well, Ryan and Hugh had a joint birthday party in October with the family, obviously. I think it's nice that they both wore pretty shades of blue and let the grey hair grow in so they could look even more like husbands who are in love and growing old together. I am going to have a meltdown, thanks for checking in.

I just wanted this in here, it's a little flashback to Hugh and Ryan taking a walk with each other on Christmas Eve in 2019. I think it's cute that they all spend birthdays and holidays with each other.

And as a follow-up to that, this post points out that a photo Hugh posted on Christmas Eve 2023 was taken in the lobby of Blake and Ryan's apartment building. Fine.

Now we're going to talk about relationship dynamics. Are you good? Do you need to get up and get a glass of water? I have more stuff to tell you about. Stay hydrated. So, if you do enough Googling you will eventually run across various listicles that are like "Ten times Blake and Ryan adorably trolled each other" and "A timeline of Ryan and Hugh's hilarious fake feud" and eventually you'll be like, can we call it something other than trolling. I am tired of that word. But then after you try to think of another way to put it and come up blank, and read some of these stupid listicles that reference allegedly cute Instagram comments they didn't screenshot and that Meta will never, ever let you find, what you will eventually realize is that they're all describing the exact same type of relationship.

In fact, here's Hugh calling it the same thing: 'There's no doubt it's a lot of fun because let's face it, it's one of the great – it should be an Olympic sport – trolling Ryan Reynolds,' Hugh joked. (x) Yes, you and his wife are co-gold medalists.

So, with that in mind, here's Hugh and Ryan talking about each other in People magazine (sidebar: this is excerpted from the accompanying video of them interviewing each other, which is absolutely worth your 22 minutes, they are very sincere and adorable in it and also it ends with Ryan talking about what they rely on each other for, and Hugh goes, "Your apartment 😁" and Ryan laughs and goes "Ah, the roommate that keeps on giving" and then they exchange I love yous, GOD, they're so!!! Anyway writing this fucking doorstop fantasy novel of a post has sent me on a quest watching more stuff from summer '24 and my god they do joke constantly about how Hugh basically lives with Blake and Ryan, but there is no punchline to that joke so it comes off sounding like Hugh just...lived with them for awhile, and they're both like tee-hee about it. Fuck me, oh my god, okay, onto the quotes):

“And ever since I've known you, and I would say in particular in like the last five, 10 years, we've had more time where we go for our walks because you're an unbelievable listener," adds Jackman. "So you can tell me anything and I can tell you anything, and I don't feel like you're going to be judging or necessarily giving me the answer: ‘Do this.’ And I think that has been the key.” The feeling is mutual. “I think the secret sauce to a long-lasting Hollywood friendship is not too dissimilar to having a partner or a marriage,” says Reynolds, speaking to Jackman. “I am genuinely rooting for you, all the time. I want you to win. It’s the same way I feel about Blake. As I'm rooting for her, I know she's rooting for me, and it's why we're so connected.”

I just think it's interesting. I think it's interesting when you see that Ryan and Hugh became friends pretty quickly with this cute little teasing/bantery relationship from the jump where they fondly rib each other all the time, and they made an effort to stay friends and then became really good friends over the years, and then Ryan and Blake start going together, and got married within a year (after buying a house with each other after six months together. lunatic behavior, god bless), and it was pretty immediately apparent after that that they also have this adorable teasing/bantery relationship where they fondly rib each other all the time...

And just when you're like damn, it's kinda like Ryan married the girl version of Hugh, and his best friend Hugh is the boy version of Blake, Ryan's like no that's tea. Having a long-lasting friendship is like being married to that person. I feel the same about Hugh as I do about Blake.

And then you're like oh well those are certainly...words...that have meanings...

I'm sorry to put a fucking TikTok in here but we use what we have. And I need you to hear Ryan say, "My wife Blake calls Hugh my other wife."

Yeah, that makes sense. I've seen references to Blake also calling Hugh her other husband, but I can't find the source for that because Google would rather laugh openly at me as I beg it to function. Also, here are various things about them all...just like, co-parenting Blake and Ryan's kids.

'They’re all kind of in love with Uncle Hughey over here, so that worked out pretty well,' Ryan told Extra on Monday. 'My kids prefer everything Hugh to me,' he quipped as The Greatest Showman actor chimed in, 'Mainly just as a parent.' The father-of-four revealed that the 55-year-old actor's films are watched on repeat in his household. 'They watched The Greatest Showman more than the editor for The Greatest Showman,' Ryan said.  'And sometimes I come home, and this guy’s actually acting it out with them and that’s kind of amazing,' he added of Jackman's relationship to their kids. (x)

Sometimes Ryan comes home to his house, because he wasn't there, but Hugh is there already, I guess just being at Blake and Ryan's house entertaining their children, which makes sense because he's at their house all the time, "ha ha" (?). Uncle Hughey...also, I noted down the following exchange between them from some fucking thing related to this subject that I watched and then accidentally closed bc I have so many tabs open that my laptop fan is wailing like it's being tortured. You and me both, buddy.

Ryan: Get out of my house every once in awhile. Hugh: I would if you turned up and parented.

Feisty! It's a funny joke because Hugh lives with them and co-parents their children. Don't you find that funny. Don't you feel so normal about that.

Here's a photo of Hugh talking to one of their kids on the DP&W set while Ryan looks on fondly. (x) There has been much talk about how their third daughter Betty is obsessed with him. She gets a shoutout in the DP&W credits as the "Hugh Jackman Wrangler".

Bonus: Hugh's multiple photo IG feed post wishing a happy birthday to RYAN'S MOM last year. God. Family! Just, you know, in-law things!!

So, to summarize: Ryan sure fucking has a type, personality-wise. (Aesthetically I think his type is: Hot.) He feels the same way about Hugh as he does about Blake, his words! They have been joking with each other about their throuple dynamic for like, at least ten years. They all frequently go out of their way to spend birthdays and holidays with each other. Hugh is basically a third parent to Blake and Ryan's children (honestly there's a lot more to back this one up, this just already took me fucking forever). I think it's safe to conclude that Hugh lived with them for a pretty significant amount of time. I also didn't mention it above, but what got me on this track in the first place was the announcement last November that Ryan was working on a non-Marvel project to star himself and Hugh. When I read that I was like wow, you couldn't wait two entire seconds after finishing a long summer of promo with him to find a way to get back to working with him again, huh? At the time I was not aware of most of this. Now I'm still saying the same thing, but crying.

I put this whole thing together and that means I get to promote my Hugh/Ryan(/Blake) fanfic The Co-Stars: A Romantic Comedy by Ryan Reynolds, which I wrote after that news in a frenzy of very intense feeling. Given that I unearthed the majority of the information above after posting that fic I can now report that the only thing I think I really fucked up was the timeline. The fic starts in 2024 and they clearly were already all three romantically involved with each other by then. That one's my bad, guys. Big canon fail on my part.

Disclaimer 2.0: Just kidding! I'm sure they're all just very good heterosexual friends who have spent the last decade being platonically weird about each other in public where we can see them because it's all a big laugh and also three people living with each other while co-parenting children is something with no implications that may require review. I know nothing except what they've said about each other, and what words mean, and how to interpret human behavior on a basic level. Don't ask me.

(But if someday in the future it all comes out that there was something going on, I want you to think of this post. And I want you to mentally high-five me from wherever you are in the big wide world. I'll feel it. We all will.)

[uncharismatic-fauna]

The Smouldering Smoky Jungle Frog

The smoky jungle frog (Leptodactylus pentadactylus), or huwa in the native Brazilian Kwaza language, is a species of frog found throughout the Amazon rainforest, and as far north as the cloud forests of Costa Rica. They are found primarily in tropical rainforests, as well as marshes, artificial ponds, and near rivers. Despite their penchant for moisture, they spend most of their time hiding among leaf litter on the forest floor.

The huwa frog's shape and coloration allows them to blend seamlessly into the leaf litter of their natural habitat. Adults are mottled brown, grey, black, red, and orange, mimicking the coloration of fallen leaves, while the underside is white. Adults also have two ridges extending down either side of the back which imitates the shape of a discarded leaf. Males are slightly larger than females, with a maximum length of 18.0 cm (7.1 in) compared to 17.6 cm (6.9 in); adults can weigh anywhere from 60-70 grams (0.15 lbs).

L. pentacactylus is active mainly at night, when they emerge to feed on insects, small birds, frogs, snakes, lizards and mammals such as bats and rodents. Their camouflage allows them to blend in with the leaf litter and wait to ambush passing prey. They can also effectively hide from predators such as larger snakes, caimans, and coatis. In addition to their invisibility, adults also secrete a mild toxin from their skin which can irritate the eyes and cause an itchy rash.

Outside the breeding season, smoky jungle frogs are largely solitary. Males defend their territories by loudly calling throughout the night; from May to November these calls also serve to attract females. After mating, females dig a shallow depression in the ground and construct a nest from foam made of discarded sperm, water, and air. Up to 1,000 eggs are deposited in the nest. Eggs hatch only 2-3 days after being laid, and the frequent rains wash the tadpoles into a near by pond or slow-moving stream. The tadpoles feed voraciously on vegetation, algae, and insects, and within four weeks metamorphose into adults. Once fully grown, individuals can live up to 15 years in the wild.

Conservation status: Smoky jungle frogs are considered Least Concern by the IUCN. Their primary threat is habitat loss.

Photos

Marco Aurelio de Sena

Geoff Gallice

David Torres

[sw5w]

Captain Panaka Outside the Window

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:55:11

[molter-writes]

little grey ridge interlude (as a treat)

originally a bare-bones cut snippet from ch. 8, pls enjoy this little nugget of hurt/comfort for your viewing pleasure—

for more of this, check out grey ridge (ríl liatroma).

and for something saucier—the very messy public divorce au (lies, sex, videotape, 2x03-coded) bodhrán beat .

*******

Rhaenyra cannot physically handle the sound of it.

It reminds her a bit of Alicent in the early years, maybe—that very slight panic she feels at the thought of it, and that look—allergic as ever still to her daughter’s tears; half-rushing in with arms open and that noise in her head like a drumbeat: fix it, fix it, fix it—

And she’s such a hypocrite, to boot. Used to always be the one always preaching self-sufficiency, self-confidence, let her try. Holding Alicent’s hand in folding chairs sat beneath a little primary school stage—watching her staring out at the audience in her little costume with apprehensive eyes almost but not filling with tears—putting a hand on Alicent’s knee going no, don’t get up, she’s got it—and with a pride she could never even express, with a triumph she couldn’t help but feel, how she’d been loud and clear, emotionless though it was, declaring (like a Targaryen, really) her one, her only, perfect line.

(And she’d scurried back to them, after; wings and facepaint and all—smiling small and wide, reaching for Rhaenyra to lift her proud and possessive (my very own girl) into her arms, wresting messy hands in the silk of her jacket going Mummy I said it perfect and smiling that secret smile as Rhaenyra rocked her soft back and forth amid the noise and said you did, you did indeed, my little princess.)

Later, when she’d been asleep under Rhaenyra’s suit jacket in the car—

(Alicent, with that small smile, that fond one. Your little princess?

Rhaenyra at the stoplight, braking slow. That’s absolutely right.)

But gods above, if Alicent couldn’t have travelled literally any other week—

(She’d know, Rhaenyra knows; she’d know what to do.)

“Sweetling?” She knocks again at the bathroom, tries to set that panic aside. “Sweetling, I need you to tell Mummy what’s wrong.”

We never lock doors. It was something Alicent insisted upon, when they were small—we never lock doors, we always knock, your space is your own, your space is safe—gods alive if she doesn’t want to jimmy the lock now.

(The sound of those tears, intolerable as always.)

Jace is at football practice, so no one would see her hammer the handle off its screws, at least—

“Blood.”

“What? Helaena, what?” Rhaenyra presses her ear up against the door, tries the knob again—knocks uselessly. “What blood, love?”

“There’s blood.”

And then fucking absolutely not—pushing off and making for the utility closet and right it’s coming off the hinges—

The lock unclicks.

Helaena’s seated on the toilet, lid closed, when she tears in; tear tracks down her face and blood on her hands, and on the front of her little blue nightgown, and the inside of her knee.

(And Rhaenyra’s rushing rushing rushing—kneeling and wiping her tears and show me, show me—putting her hand on her little knee, okay, my love, just gentle, to move it—)

And then she sees the colour.

Oh.

(Sweet seven above, this week of all weeks you’ve gone.)

“Right.” She leans up, kisses her little brow; lets Helaena knot her fingers in the shoulders of her sweater, brackets her knees with her arms, focuses her. “Helaena.” She murmurs; waits for her eyes. “This is your moonblood. Do you remember what that means?”

Helaena nods. And then wet eyes are somewhere else. “Mummy told about it.”

When did that happen? (Of course she did.)

(Thank the gods for you, my love, and curse them all for this timing—)

Helaena’s hands are blood-stained; she places them away from herself, like she no longer wants them. Rhaenyra takes them in her own. “It’s perfectly alright, my love, yes? Nothing’s wrong.”

Helaena doesn’t reply.

“Mummy has it, too. And me.”

But Helaena’s still off somewhere else. Rhaenyra wipes a fresh round of tears from her cheeks; watches her hands fidget and her fingers splay, terribly disgusted, terribly uncomfortable, sticky—right, of course, sticky—stamps another kiss to her forehead and retrieves the wet cloth by the basin and crouches again—takes her hands, one by one, and rubs.

Wipes the speck off her knee, then; moves them apart, just gentle, to rid that smear inside of her knee, her thigh, and Helaena bites her lip.

“Mummy is home tonight,” she whispers.

(Rhaenyra knows it’s a question—they’d had to get conservative about travel estimates, eventually, especially when she was little, back when she’d been up and down from Scotland—Friday is an expectation, not a rule, remember—her daughter had never particularly appreciated that particular flexibility.)

“Yes, my love.” And she turns the cloth over to the clean side; reaches, deposits it in the linens bin by the sink. “She should be—” She checks her watch. “Well, she’d ought to be coming off the airplane just now, I expect.” Thumbs her little cheek. “Does your tummy hurt?”

Helaena nods.

Rhaenyra raises her brows; thumbs her chin. “Would you like to know a very special secret?”

Helaena seems to consider, for a moment; she watches her lower lip worry again, those eyebrows ever slightly raise. Gods you’re adorable. My little egg. “Yes please.”

“When my tummy’s hurting, this way, I’ve got to have a very nice, very hot lavender bubble bath. And that always makes it feel better.” She adjusts Helaena’s nightgown, then, wrinkled and stained. “And we’ll give your nightie a wash, too, shall we?”

Helaena fixes her fingers along the hem. Her voice is thick. “It’s ruined.”

“No, my love,” she says, even though yes, almost certainly, and gods I’m not sure I remember how to run the wash, actually. “Nothing’s ruined.” She smooths her hair; leaves her eventually, only ten minutes later, with her novel, and her tea on the tray table, and silver hair half-wet against a little bath pillow, and her tears dry. “It’s going to be right as rain.”

***

Some nights when her wife comes home she’d like nothing more than to push her onto the counter with their vibrator in hand—

(Unfortunately for that, they’ve had babies, and those babies have become something of a priority, in fact.)

Rhaenyra watches, almost simply, as Alicent murmurs hello, my heart, presses a kiss to her lips and sets a paper bag of a boatload of something from the pharmacy onto the countertop and heads immediately, calmly and surely, toward the bath.

“Helaena?” It’s only a couple knocks before she goes, slowly—Rhaenyra watches in the open door, only silently, as Helaena rockets her arms out of the water and mumbles Mummy and reaches—clings as Alicent presses a kiss to her forehead and smooths back wet strands, and Rhaenyra can hear it, soft.

You’re having a nice bath time, are you? Yeah? Does your tummy feel better? Another kiss to her brow. You gave your mummy quite a scare, there, didn’t you, love.

“Let me see these, then.” Alicent’s lifting her hand up, gentle; examining little fingers. “You’re going to be our little prune, soon, I think.” Squeezes them gently. “Is your towel rail on?”

Helaena nods. “Mummy turned it on.”

“She did, did she?” Stamps a kiss to her head. “Right. Go on and finish your bath, love, and come and sit with me, please? In Mummy’s room? And you’ll let your mummy speak with you for a minute?” Helaena nods, then; loosens her fingers from Alicent’s sweater, just slow. “Good girl.”

And then when she stands and passes—with her sleeves wet with bathwater, and her eyes tired—shuts the door and nudges Rhaenyra’s hip, just a little, to follow her into the hall.

Looks up under long lashes, half-smile. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take this one.”

Rhaenyra dimples her chin; exhales through the mouth. “Not my area of expertise, really.”

Her wife’s smile grows wider. “Haven’t had your moonblood, have you?” Raises a brow. “Is that why I’ve got the pleasure of the episiotomy, then?”

“Right, yeah—no, I just.” She drums her fingers along her waist; sighs. “I got mine at—well it was late. Like, late. Fifteen.”

“I well remember. Alicent, call me, it’s everywhere—”

“Thanks.”

“Please please it’s obscene—”

“Right, thank you—"

“You know my father got to that voicemail first.”

Rhaenyra shuts her eyes, inhales through the nose. “I’d like a divorce.”

“I told you I didn’t have a phone.”

“I am not hearing this evil.”

“Right.” And Alicent leans up; presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I’ll start, then.” Takes her hands, just easy; rubs a little into her palms. “And maybe you could give us a few minutes? And then come join us?” Softer, then, with her eyes on their fingers. “You make her feel safe, you know.”

(Rhaenyra only nods.)

It’s when she pushes the door open, slow—to the lamplight, and the soft king bed, how it casts yellow on the silk.

Helaena’s tucked into her side, when she finds them; and Alicent, sitting with her legs folded. The paper bag’s on the ground.

(And before them, perhaps every single menstrual product invented by mankind—)

“And this one,” Alicent murmurs, gentle, hands something to her—Helaena takes it, ginger and gentle—“You use more than once. But you’ve got to clean it each time, and it’s got a special soap.”

Rhaenyra watches, for a moment, how methodically and easily and gently she moves through each one—and it’s got a sticky side, and you press it down, just like this—the way she tears plastic silent, the way she painstakingly never crinkles the paper—and this pushes just outward, just push right there—and this is just a little disc, love; it’s quite the same as the other—

And then it hits her, sort of from nowhere, sort of at once.

(You had to do this alone, didn’t you?)

She smooths Helaena’s hair, damp at the ends; adjusts her pyjama sleeve where it’s catching. “Does that all make sense, my love?”

And kisses her crown, again, gentle, before her eyes flicker upward—and that warmth, in sherry brown, same as always.

And that smile. “Ah, look who’s here.”

Helaena looks up—

And reaches, when Rhaenyra rests on the edge of the bed; captures two of her fingers, like she did when she was young.

Rhaenyra smiles, soft, as the owl hoos outside. “My little princess. You’ve been very brave today.” And looks up again; that brown, that auburn glow. “Got that from your mother, I think.”

***

When Helaena’s gone to sleep—when Rhaenyra’s hair’s wet and it’s the midnight hour, and the sky’s deep blue, and the moon amber—

Alicent’s bare in her arms; bare and smooth and silent—tracing circles on her chest.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, slow. “That you made it different.”

Alicent nods, again; almost as silent as the breeze.

“I’m never travelling again.”

(And Rhaenyra laughs, then, despite herself; there, together in the dark.)

[veryconnoisseurcherryblossom]

Predaking x Reader - Breeding.

(First time writing valveplug ever, please let me know if I got anything wrong/where I can improve. I also cross-posted on Ao3. Thanks!)

--------

“Mnngah… Pr-Predaking…” You moaned helplessly beneath the behemoth that was your Conjunx, your mate. You hear him growl into your audials, but you can barely focus on anything but his large, primary spike thrusting into you, all but piercing your gestational forge. His smaller, secondary spike rubs against your anterior node and belly with each thrust, the combined feeling of both drawing out desperate, whiny gasps.

“M-more, please more…!”

He chuckles above you, a warm ex-vent washing over your back. The room is almost unbearably hot, each vent you take barely doing anything to cool down your frame. In your internal HUD you see a warning about overheating, but you ignore it, turning off the warning system.

“Such a greedy little mate you are… Who am I to deny you?” Predaking begins to pick up speed, his thrusts becoming harder. You gasp and groan into the pillow, your tears soaking the plush cushion. Groans turn into squeals as your royal lover shifts your hips, changing your position ever so slightly, yet the ridges of his spike rub against your valve sensors in such a way that the renewed stimulation brings you closer to crashing, falling into euphoria.

“Predaking! Oh, oh Primus I’m- I’m going to-”

“Overload for me, my queen.”

Your scream reverberates around the cave, your frame shaking as you feel your calipers work feverishly on Predaking’s spike, all but trying to milk him of his transfluid. Not a moment later does he overload, spilling his seed deep inside of you and coating your chassis from his secondary spike. You shake in the berth, tired, sore, but oh so full.

Whimpering as he pulls himself out of you, you hear and feel him hum in approval, satisfied at the sight of your overfilled, puffy valve spilling his transfluid onto your berth. You can feel it leak down your tibulem, burning hot against your overheated frame.

“You will make a fine carrier, my queen.”

You sigh, content as you fall onto your side and roll onto your back. You tiredly bring your arms up, welcoming him for a hug with a near-delirious smile. He obliges without a word, wrapping his monstrously large arms around you and capturing your lips with his own, drawing you into a slow, lazy, loving kiss.

Pulling away, you look at Predaking with a bashful smile.

“One more time…? Just to make sure I’m sparked…” Predaking smirks, a rumbling chuckle emerging from him. His golden optics glow as he lines his spike up against your valve, drawing a mewl out of your vocal components as you feel his claw circle your over-stimmed anterior node.

“What a greedy little mate you are...”

[dozydawn]

“A large number of these cultured pearls exhibit circling on their surface, typically with one or two main rings and sometimes additional ones. Examination of sliced samples by optical microscopy highlights the primary origin of the circling and the predominant role of predrilling the nucleus. As the cultured pearl rotates during its formation, each orifice on the drilled bead induces a groove on its surface with a spot defect right over the opening.

When this drill hole is perpendicular to the rotational axis of the cultured pearl, only one ‘equatorial’ ring is generated. When there is a fairly large tilt angle between the bead’s drill hole and the rotational axis, two grooves appear symmetrically relative to the equatorial plane, diametrically opposite with respect to the nucleus centre. With only a slight tilt angle between the drill hole and the rotational axis, the circles nearly overlap and a narrow ridge might eventually develop between the grooves.

The disturbance created by the drill hole is generally more pronounced on the side where the graft was inserted. Round-, drop- and baroque-shaped non-circled Ming cultured pearls were also investigated to clearly understand the influence of the nucleus drill hole. This research raises awareness of one of the major causes of defects that result from grafting techniques using drilled nuclei.”