#and one of them is an active pest about it

[the-one-and-only-taffie]

AHHHHHHHHHHH

Yeah, the two endlessly go back and forth about the advice White tries to give and Sentinel ignoring them because he's the King of Iacon. Why of all bots should he listen to someone who isn't even a bot? She ruled an empire once but gave it up for (what he believes to be) dumb reasons. Why bother?

Of course, White Diamond would feel out of place in Cybertron. The cultural and social practices are different. The language is completely foreign to her. She already struggles enough to relate to her own people, so trying to connect to sentient transforming car robots is practically impossible. Although the bots are kind and patient with White, she knows its only out of respect for their beloved leader. She feels very out of place and isolated even when she's by Sentinel's side, and he tries to make her feel more comfortable for the sake of her literally not being blue all the time. She has tried striking conversation with Airachnid, but she either doesn't acknowledge her or outright says she's under no obligation to speak with her. Airachnid straight up doesn't like White. This'll be elaborated upon in a future post.

For the rules thing, I imagine one of them is not interacting with the miners unless it's for an event or something. White suggests holding a party just for them to show their appreciation for their hard work, and Sentinel laughs. He doesn't see the point and jokingly remarks they'd drag dirt and grime everywhere and ruin all the beautifully polished banquet halls. White simply says they could wash the miners, and Sentinel says that wasn't his point. White argued that in the past, she did not see the point in celebrating the accomplishments of or showing appreciation towards the laboring gems because that was their job. What they were expected to do. They were not owed anything for doing the purpose they were literally made to perform. But she's learned that anyone, regardless of their social standing, deserves to be given their dues. If not, they'll feel unappreciated and then forget to appreciate themselves. White giving voice to the little gem strikes again! Sentinel looks at her like she said a Unicronic incantation and tells her that isn't happening. He doesn't like the idea that White would become more popular among the miners if she were to actively spend time with them. He also doesn't want her to witness or hear about how they're treated by the Transformers and upperclasses.

But yeah. Everything White suggests would go in one audial and out the other when it comes to Sentinel. He believes he knows what's best for Iacon compared to a literal alien, so he never takes her seriously and makes that very clear. White despises being ignored like this. Then she's has an epiphany. Was this was how she treated Pink? Of course, it was significantly more cruel and abusive, but progress is progress.

White making little crystal friends. Please. My heart. I remember how Steven brought a pebble to life with his own diamond essence/sweat in the episode Familiar. I wonder if that could work for White, maybe she accidentally created them out of loneliness. I'll have to do more research regarding that. Sentinel would hate them and view them as little pests. He can't release them either. That'd cause a stir. So he let's her keep them until she has to leave for one reason or another. He insists on her taking them all with her. White obliges, but she does miss a few which Sentinel tasks Airachnid to, uh, deal with them. Luckily, they're a lot more slippery than she thought, and White briefly returns to pick them up. Sentinel and his right servo femme pretend they didn't just try to shatter them 10 seconds ago.

Is a headcanon of a headcanon any less canon? Lmao good ending Prime Diamond is cursed to me cause niether of the goobers deserve it, in my humble opinion. But it is cute. Sentinel being the one to put his pride aside for the sake of maintaining the peace instead of White having to do that 24/7 (at least the best she can). He listens to her advice cause he's that curious to see how it'd pan out, mostly to prove her wrong if it doesn't. Then he realizes wait... listening to gf is??? Good??? Lo and behold, he begins to genuinely respect her. Imagining White and Sentinel growing to genuinely love each other and treat each other better despite their flaws... only to have it literally torn away from them. MUAH HA HA HA HA. Hilarious.

Anyway, White fighting the Quintessons hmmmm.... Idk how White would do in a fight cause she isn't a warrior. That's more Yellow Diamond's forte. Her weapon of choice is her words, but chances are the Quintessons aren't the most open to diplomacy unless its tons of energon neatly wrapped with a bow. I don't even know how her diamond powers could affect beings that aren't gems. It would be cool seeing her beat their asses though, and Sentinel definitely would not complain.

And Sentinel and White calling each other "My Prime" and "My Diamond" respectively... I'm using that. Thanks for the idea!

Back with more White Diamond x Sentinel Prime crackship nonsense baby!!!

Ever since I first thought about these goobers, I haven't known a single day of peace (mostly cause the ideas are just racking around in my brain)

So here's a list of headcanons I came up with for Prime Diamond! If you have any questions regarding this ship, my ask box is open. Double if you have any thoughts or anything to add, go on ahead! I hope y'all enjoy!

I may make a part 2 when I come up with more lol

For this relationship to even be possible (as possible as a crackship between two characters from completely different franchises can be), it will have to take place Post-Steven Universe Finale/Future when White Diamond is in her therapy, self-help guru era. And when Sentinel Prime is... alive.

Also, I have been trying to do research regarding this but since the results are so inconsistent, I'm gonna assume White Diamond is around 80 to 90 ft tall and Sentinel is around 60 (based on how he's double Orion Pax's height and apparently TF One Orion is around 33 ft tall). If you know their actual canonical heights or anything close to that, please lemme know!

As mentioned in a reblog, White Diamond would take an interest in Sentinel Prime as a sort of little DIY project. Though he tries to hide it, White with her supernatural intuitiveness can tell there's more to him than meets the eye (he's an asshole). Having been inspired by Steven to see the worth and beauty in imperfections, she wants to give someone like Sentinel a chance like Steven did for her. Though she is making genuine strides to improve upon her previous controlling and obsessive behavior regarding perfection, this aspect of her will resurface in her attempts "fix" Sentinel while in a relationship with him. She adores and finds much interest in his "positive imperfections," but helping him improve on his more negative ones wouldn't hurt, right?

Other reasons she developed an attraction to him is for the same reason all the Sentinel fangirls did: he's just so... pathetic. When he tries to impress her with stories of battles he's never fought in and gives her a tour of his treasure room full of artifacts he didn't discover, she can tell he's trying way too hard to impress her. She finds this cute and charming rather than douchey and desperate.

Sentinel Prime pursued her because, as stated in a previous reblog, "his diva ass was always going to try and seek out a gem fit for a king." He laid his eyes on an 80-90 ft giant alien rock woman and thought,"I need her." As any sane person would. She was supposed to be nothing more than another symbol of wealth for him to show off to the other elites and officials of Iacon City to further cement the royal image he works so hard to maintain. He definitely underestimated how overwhelming White Diamond can be, and I am not just referring to her height.

Sentinel would rather have his spark be extinguished than admit to this, but his stabilizing servos get wobbly at the idea of his alien girlfriend being so much taller than he is. His pride would never admit to this, nor would it accept someone taller than him accompanying him. He believes that as a "Prime," he is supposed to be much taller, bigger, and more imposing than those around them.

Whenever they make a public appearance, Sentinel insists that White shrink herself to a height more tolerable for his fragile ego. He bullshits an excuse about their buildings not being designed for a being as tall as she is. White obliges, but given how Iacon was built when the previous actual Primes were all gigantic and alive, she quickly figures his lie and confronts him about it. He'd just lie again and say he didn't want the other Cybertronians to be intimidated... by her beauty. Clearly, it's not because of some Napolean complex or something. Still, White in her patience era takes the compliment for what it is.

The "guy who doesn't like speeches" vs. "professional yapper" isn't a joke. Sentinel can't stand how much White Diamond loves to yap. She's the kind of person to have thoughts and opinions about anything and everything. Given that she doesn't breathe, she doesn't even need to catch her breath in the middle of speaking, so she can go on and on and on, much to Sentinel's annoyance.

He tries to get her to quiet down at times, but as White tends to do, she either doesn't hear him or straight up ignores him. Her monologuing, along with her height and just how shiny she is, is very overwhelming for Sentinel at times. The only good thing he finds about this aspect of his sweetspark is when she dotes on him and showers him with compliments and attention. As if a attention hungry fame whore needed any more of it.

Sentinel even allows White to indulge in her psychoanalysis, playing up the whole "tragic hero whose brothers and sisters perished in battle and now has to face the pain and weight of protecting his people alone" that she eats up. White does sometimes hit dangerously close to home, so Sentinel shuts her down before she could dig straight to bedrock and uncover the more unfavorable parts of himself he wants to stay hidden.

Speaking of staying hidden, the way White carries herself in public makes Sentinel was to keep her locked away in a jewelry box. White is excellent when it comes to using her words to inflict psychic damage or to build someone up. When it comes to social situations where charisma, relatability, and poise are needed, this is when White is at her most alien. She is not the most socially adjusted given that prior to the finale, she spent thousands of years hidden away in a world of her own delusions. She doesn't have much of a filter, something she has been working on to avoid upsetting offending others.

She has the habit of pointing out any interesting thing that catches her eye, especially about people, whether or not it's positive or negative. This has led to her unsettling the bots at best or offending them at worst. Sentinel then has to come in and use his charisma to difuse the situation and paint her behavior in a more positive light. Only for White to turn around and ask everyone if they ever noticed how Sentinel's wings move in accordance to his mood and how adorable it is. Everyone laughs. Sentinel is thoroughly pissed.

Sentinel definitely has more relationship experience than White Diamond. All of her knowledge comes from what she's heard from the gems that come to her for her advice or from that human show the little green Crystal Gem recommended (she can't remember her name). In her attempts to emulate the behavior of what she's heard of and observed, she ends up coming off as cringe at best or detached from reality. At certain points of the relationship, she even imposes certain "deadlines" on courtship behaviors she expects from Sentinel. All his previous relationships were private, casual flings. He only made this one public because bagging a bad bitch like White Diamond is an accomplishment he felt he had to show off.

This may come to bite him in the aft when her radiance catches the attention of other bots. On these occasions, he acts possessive and showers her with attention, gifts, and affection. He tells himself and Airachnid it's because he doesn't want her to outshine him in the eyes of the public. In reality, he gets jealous and doesn't want to lose her interest and, most importantly, her attention. As overwhelming and embarrassing as she can get, a twisted part of him really craves her attention.

In private, Sentinel can flip flop greatly in how he treats White. On some days he leans on her for support and wants her to pet his wings while he vents about all the dumb, annoying bots he has to fraternize with and all the boring meetings he has to attend. White occasionally interrupts him with advice or her own views on the situation, which frustrates Sentinel. On other days, he's completely detached, not even bothering to give her the time of day. He is at his most consistently sweet and romantic when they're both in the public eye, performing grand gestures of love. This intensifies when they're on camera.

They present themselves as THE Iacon couple, but Sentinel and White argue a lot about pretty much anything. More often than not, White is trying to advise him on how to improve himself and his city, and Sentinel kindly tells her to shut up and mind her own business.

They are both very prideful people who can't accept when they are wrong. White is more willing than Sentinel to admit to it and compromise. If she believes she is 100% in the right, she won't go down without a verbal fight. She has yet to figure out how to properly counter Sentinel's "NUH UH!" though. She believes this is normal and healthy as she hears time and time again how arguments are a sign of a functional relationship. White knows how in the past she never allowed anyone to express their grievances or criticize her. If they did, she'd twist their words to further force her own viewpoint or take control over their mind and body. Seeing Sentinel passionately argue back while White practices her listening skills and only sometimes speaks over him gives her hope that she isn't regressing back to her previous toxicity. No one has told her that disagreements are healthy and normal, but frequent fights and arguments are not. And the kind of hellish circles these two go in just ain't it

[mik-arts]

Fanaedar can’t steal glances at Flora very often because he’s got some strange magic stuff that’s triggered by eye contact and he doesn’t want to risk it, but one of the moments he can is when she’s in the zone working on a project

[timeisacephalopod]

I've seen, repeatedly, that every accusation is a confession from the political right and honestly nothing rings more true to that than the claim that university is liberal indoctrination and this is a problem for right wingers for reasons I can't identify when they have the Joshua Generation.

At least libs only indoctrinate adults who are paying thousands of dollars for it instead of literally breeding a billion kids they all homeschool and abuse the fuck out of with the hopes they'll all become Clarence Thomas and fuck America 18 different ways to Sunday. What an odd thing to even bitch about if they're ok with literally doing what they falsely accuse universities of except to literal children from birth to, if they had their way, death while also flailing around about "false accusations" like they aren't throwing them out as fast as they're having kids they force their other kids to raise while treating that abuse like a Funny Little Organization System. Kids are such blessings you know, that's why they don't even bother raising half of them and force their daughters to do all that work for them.

I'm actually surprised I don't see more people who left this lifestyle as adults who were raised into it speaking up about this stuff. There's more of it now, half these things were mentioned in the Shiney Happy People doc and I found out about the Joshua Generation from a podcast called Kitchen Table Cult that is hosted by 2 people who left similar beliefs to the Duggars but I'm honestly surprised it's not like. A huge thing in news everywhere but that's probably because this type of shit isn't even a blip on the map of all the fucked up things the political right does so often it's exhausting to keep up with let alone hold anyone accountable for. Too busy bitching that trans people shit and do so in public bathrooms sometimes. Priorities, you know. Think of the children, but not the ones being bred and abused to further their parents political ends.

[solarpunkani]

oh right one final note of the house pest saga.

I would like to emphasize that my family isn't currently having problems with spiders and roaches invading the house. Genuinely haven't seen a roach in the house in at least two months, and a spider... think last time I saw a spider large enough to be scary was like a year ago, maybe? Though I rarely see tiny ones, even.

My house isn't infested with anything. HOWEVER. The mosquitoes and house flies are getting real goddamn annoying and seem to have a knack of flying into the house whenever we open the door to let my dog out into the backyard. Even then, I'm not living in a mosquitoey haze as I type this out.

"Ani why are you clarifying this" I dunno just felt the need to.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Antiblackness Isn't Sexy!

As #Kinktober is upon us, I want to take this time to remind everyone that certain things may not carry the same "sexy" connotation for everyone! This isn't just a "your yuck is my yum" situation, this is a "hey, you're being racist" situation. Now if that's what you enjoy, I can't tell you otherwise. But if you'd like to be considerate towards your Black readers and peers, here are *some* (not all!) things to keep in mind:

1) Objectification is not respect. You can think Black people are sexy- I certainly do! That does not mean treating us like sex toys. An example: if your first thought when you look at a Black male character, is "This'll be good smut, I bet his dick is gigantic"- if your first thought is about their genitals and that they're a good fuck... That is weird. Abeg. Nothing else stood out to you? Just ye olde "Black men have big dicks?"

There's a racist and dehumanizing history behind the oversexualization of Black men, Black bodies in general. Sure, big penises are not insulting or bad, but just as you don't want to be brought down to your bits... Don't do it to us. We can be sexy without being objectified. You can think we're sexy without objectifying us!

2) Making your Black character more sexually aggressive (if fic: -than their canon counterpart). Your Black character having a high libido is fine, but if you've essentially written a sex pest, especially in comparison to a nonblack counterpart... Why? Why do you think that they're automatically the one that would be like that? One example of that is the whole "step on me mommy" thing with confidently sexy Black women. What makes you deem she's the "aggressive" one? She could be a gentle pillow princess.

3) Making your Black character more physically hulking (if fic: -than their canon counterpart). They don't look like that, you know they don't look like that, and you need to consider why you felt the need. Especially in comparison to their nonblack counterparts.

4) Chains and whips, Specifically the large, hulking Black or Brown character in chains held by a skinny white character. Especially if they're like a werewolf. You know why these visuals can be questionable! I know the intended symbolism is supposed to be steamy and animalistic, a bodice ripper deal. But think about it- how often have you seen the opposite- with a skinny Black person holding a hulking, animalistic white person in chains? What imagery are we evoking when we draw this, constantly? We are not animals, we are not raging, uncontrollable sex beasts.

Consensual sex and kink are supposed to involve respect between all parties. Respect, communication, vulnerability, and trust. You can have an interesting, sexually active, high libido, kinky Black character without morphing them a stereotype to be used for the sexual satisfaction of white viewers. Just as white people that do kink are humans with inner lives, so are we. Do better by your Black characters, and your Black readers, by showing us that respect. 👍🏾

[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.

[maxwellatoms]

In one of your last answers, you said “series reboots are usually pretty gross and sad”, and I was wondering if you could expand on that? Assuming “reboot” covers any kind of continuation of a currently cancelled or finished show (and maybe that’s the wrong assumption!), from the outside looking in it feels like a pretty mixed bag. On one hand, if I love XYZ Show, it’s cool that I get more stories with these characters and another chance to support XYZ Show and its creators. On the other, it definitely feels like a lot of ideas can only get funding if they’re tied to something already, meaning creatives are having to now tie whatever cool idea they have to some reboot/relaunch/retread, which can feel pretty disheartening if you don’t want to do a reboot/relaunch/retread. Is that a similar feeling from your side of the industry?

Thank you so much for all your answers and insight!

Usually reboots and spin-offs are just cash grabs. It happens a lot in animation. In fact, I would argue that the entire industry is just one big cash grab now. In the 80s, everyone complained that cartoons were just half-hour commercials for toys. And they were right. And we're right back there, but now that you can't legally push toys all day, it's just general "IP". Mugs, posters, more spinoffs, whatever.

I was offered three show running gigs over the pandemic. All reboots that I would consider unwise to pursue because they were "of a different time" and didn't (in my opinion) have anything more to say. Two of them were properties created by notorious sex pests, so there's also that. The animation industry loves to prop up its sex pests.

I turned all of them down, partially because I didn't respect the original creators but also because none of them had anything going for them except just being "more of the same".

I don't think any of those projects survived the intervening years, so in retrospect I maybe should've taken the job. I'd probably feel a bit gross, but at least I'd have floors in my house.

The entertainment industry is in a bad spot. The whole thing. I've had I don't know how many pitch meetings in the last few years, and they all start the same way:

"Hey! Before we start, we just want to let you know that we're not actively producing anything right now. We think maybe soon, but we won't be picking anything up today..."

And then later:

"The little we are doing is IP, so if you have a new take on our IP or a new IP you're connected to that you can bring in, that'd be great."

I always wanted to make original stuff. There came a time when I'd had my fill of Billy & Mandy and wanted to do something else new and original. That never manifested, and I was constantly being offered IP to produce. I turned too many of those down, maybe, before deciding that it was probably better that I run the IPs that mean something to me rather than having some hack do it.

But now those jobs have all gone to celebrities and fallen live-action writers, who are also slowly being eaten by the system. WB was hot for Scooby stuff a few years back, so I pitched some ideas. A few of them were turned down for being "off-brand" in a variety of ways. WB has now made (I think) all of those off-brand shows (or something close) with celebrity show runners.

I was going through a whole Midlife Impostor Syndrome thing recently where I was wondering if maybe I don't just suck. Like, it's weird that for a couple of decades I'd have people calling me trying to get me to run shows, and now nobody will call me back about the possibility of a design job.

Talking to some friends and realizing that they were in a similar situation helped me feel like I wasn't alone. That was nice. Talking to some of the most talented colleagues in my industry made me made me realize that those people weren't getting jobs either. That was unnerving. Talking to complete strangers in other parts of the entertainment industry now has me thinking that the whole house of cards is coming down. That's real concerning, yo.

It's hard not to think it's purposeful, when deranged billionaires own the entirety of our media and want to shape a society where they can't be criticized. We're letting wealthy tech bros firebomb the very heart of our culture, and it's weird that no one is talking about it. Because (for now) we still have that capability.

[chaotic-toasters]

Immature

Leah Williamson x Teen!Gunner!R

“Oi! What’re you doin’ up there? Get down!”

You glanced down at your vice captain distastefully. “Why?”

“It’s dangerous!” Leah cried, standing at the base of the tree just outside the Arsenal training facility. “You could fall and break your arm or something!”

“So?”

“Uh—what d’you mean ‘so’?! You’re okay with getting a broken arm?”

You shrugged, gazing at the training pitches from your spot in the tall oak tree. “I can still play with a broken arm, eh?”

Leah’s mouth was agape. “No, you can’t!”

“Yes, I can!” you protested, climbing higher. “Katie scored a hat trick on international duty with a torn bicep! I’ll be fine.”

“Fucking Katie… you’re benched if you climb any higher!” Leah yelled.

You frowned. “Why?”

Leah scowled. “Because! You’re gonna get hurt!”

“Why?”

“Because! Those branches could break!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re heavy!”

“Why?”

“Becau—because! Get down from there!”

You stuck out your tongue, starting your descent. “Fine! You’re no fun.”

“Yes, I am! Just because I care about your well-being doesn’t make me boring!” the defender glared, taking a drink from her water bottle.

“Yeah, right! Steph cares about my well-being, but she’s loads more fun than you!”

Leah spit out her water, chasing after you as you sprinted into the building. “You take that back!”

-

“Who on the Arsenal squad is the best trash-talker?”

You glanced at the camera, then back at the BBC interviewer as you pondered the question. “Other than me? Maybe… maybe Caitlin.”

“Interesting,” he nodded thoughtfully. “And who would you say is the worst trash-talker?”

“Oh, easy. Leah Williamson.”

Kyra laughed as she walked past. “Oi, Lord Farquaad! Your kid just said you’re the worst trash-talker on the team!”

The England captain gasped indignantly, momentarily turning away from her media day activity set up nearby. “I’m great at trash-talking, what are you on about?”

You scoffed. “Oh, please. Your trash-talking skills are as bad as your bike riding skills.”

“OI!”

-

“Kyra,” you whispered, poking the Aussie that looked just as bored as you did at the seemingly unnecessary meeting. “Psst.”

She glanced over to make sure Jonas wasn’t paying attention, then looked over at you, lowering her voice. “Yeah?”

“When we get out of here… the sprinklers are on, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

The two of you went silent as Jonas glanced over, pretending to pay attention. “—have a better squad than them. If we go by the book, they will not be able to score…”

You smirked conspiratorially, voice even lower than before to avoid detection from some of your older teammates. “I’m gonna push Leah into them.”

Kyra grinned. “I’ll tell the admin.”

-

“Admin’s recording,” Kyra whispered to you as she jogged past, going to bug Steph. “Good luck.”

You grinned, waving to the camera discreetly before walking up to Leah. “Hi, cappy.”

She gave you a suspicious look, but kept walking. “What d’you want?”You shrugged as the two of you stepped onto the training pitch. “Just wanted to ask you what I should make for dinner.”

Leah raised her eyebrows, but nodded anyway. “Pasta’s always goo—OOF!”

“SURPRISE ATTACK!” You screeched, tackling her right into the nearest sprinkler’s line of fire.

“Get off me, you cheeky devil!” Leah protested, laughing. “I don’t wanna get wet! It’s cold out here!”

You snickered, wrestling her to the ground. “Womp womp!”

Nearby, Steph was shaking her head in amusement. “I swear, Y/N is like Leah’s Kyr—OI!”

Kyra gleefully shoved Steph into another sprinkler set up a few feet away, cackling like a witch. “SURPRISE ATTACK!”

“HEY!” Steph cried, chasing after her. “You’re such a pest! Get back here!”

You laughed at the two aussies, then gave Leah a rough noogie with one hand and the camera a thumbs up with the other. “Love you, cappy!”

Leah stuck out her tongue, giving you a slight push. “You and Kyra are so bad.”

“Not nearly as bad as your culinary taste.”

“OI!”

[bogleech]

I am thinking once again about plausible speculative mammals that would weaponize their parasites, and in my mind, one of them would live in North America alongside skunks and porcupines, completing a long overdue trifecta of funny woodland critter with a deeply unpleasant defensive strategy. CLOCKWISE: 1) A very large rodent that has its own alarmingly large fleas, like the real life fleas of mountain beavers. Most of its body is hairless with thick, wrinkled skin that discourages flea activity, so they're left with no choice but to concentrate in its big, bushy tail. A high concentration of blood vessels in the tail keep the fleas fed, and a low concentration of nerves keep them from being too irritating. When this animal gets upset it curls the tail over itself, spreading its fur so wide that the fleas feel exposed. Parting the fur of a wild animal is incidentally a surefire way to get a bunch of fleas jumping ship to you and immediately biting you. Now look at this mountain beaver flea next to a more normal size flea and imagine the pain:

2) A big ground-dwelling cousin of the silky anteater. A combination of long, course, tightly interwoven hairs and a thick underlying layer of fluff are impenetrable to most pests, but a bald patch of thick leathery skin on its back is an ideal attachment point for its specialized ticks, kind of like right whale callosities and whale lice. The anteater can sweat a thick, suffocating grease from this area that forces ticks to let go and scatter in search of another attachment point (LIKE YOU!!!! Leave wildlife alone!!!). Maybe It has pouchlike hairless underarms to serve as refuges for even more ticks, or ticks in their juvenile stage? If they co-evolved closely enough, the ticks could have developed an instinct to migrate up to the back only with their final molt. Maybe they're even as neurotoxic (to other animals) as Australia's paralysis tick? Maybe the ticks are also brightly colored, so predators can tell at a glance to stay away. 3) A desman-like animal, but maybe it's a marsupial or even a monotreme? I feel this one would have an unconventional symbiote; like how beavers have the only fur-dwelling beetles, sloths have their own moths and hairless bats have their own skin-dwelling earwigs. None of those examples, however, are parasites! As far as we know, all three of those insects just chill on those animals and possibly clean them. So what if this one had fur dwelling blister beetles? Blister beetles are a huge diverse group of beetles whose defensive secretions can severely burn skin, and accidentally ingesting a blister beetle can be deadly to even large mammals like horses. This guy's matted wool would be thick enough near the skin to shield it from its own insects, keeping them in the matted outer fluff, where they would maybe feed on whatever sustains beaver beetles (we actually aren't 100% sure! We just know it isn't blood!). If you make this thingy angry, it curls up like a pangolin, and anything that keeps messing around with the big hairball is probably going to keep pissing off, damaging or accidentally eating the worst beetles to ever do anything of those things to.

I also want to say I didn't think of names, but if one or all of these existed I wouldn't want them to get names like "tickbacked antsloth" or anything like that. They'd deserve their own original words like squirrel or fox or bear. But I think it should sound as nasty as they are to mess with. Like a vlykus or a thobb or a snentch. Probably any of these could be a snentch maybe. Nobody tell me if that's already an urbandictionary word for something worse, let me have snentch.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“My darling.” // CelticSlave!Aemond Targaryen x VestalVirgin!Reader

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

MDNI.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

Summary: Fetching water a little later than usual shouldn't really affect much of your life right? You're wrong, and you wouldn't find out until you found a celtic slave in a bad condition named Aemond.

WARNINGS: extreme noncon to dubcon, unprotected p in v sex, blood kink, degradation, breeding kink, violence, blood, murder, slight angst, stockholm syndrome(?), reader basically falls in love with Aemond even though he nonconned her, manipulation. not exactly historically accurate, this is just fiction so do not take it heart, hoping it isn't offensive, + not proofread // requested by @slytherincursebreaker !!

WC: 3.5k

You were an illegitimate daughter of a politician in your country, taken away from your mother to keep the scandal underground, you never had an easy life and your father only did the bare minimum, and to say your step mother and half siblings did not like you at all, they saw you as a pest more than anything, when the pontifex maximus was choosing vestal virgins to serve the goddess vesta, he had eyes for your family, specifically your sister but she did not want to go, and so they sent you instead, seizing the opportunity to get rid of you.

It did not mean you were fully free from their clutches however, as you grew in the monastery you were always slightly discriminated against but the other 5 priestess, having heard the rumours about your bastardised birth. But you still managed to get by, you remember how earlier this morning your half sister came to visit you, telling you that she is to be married soon, she came to rub it in your face because you were sworn to celibacy, and you could not engage in activities like such. She even bought her suitor along, who you swore looked at you with such lust, and you felt very creeped out.

This is why you deliberately didn't go and fetch water from the spring earlier today, he often came to visit the temple and watched you perform your duties to the goddess vesta.

Choosing to fetch water at such a late time shouldn't have any repercussions right? I mean, you did not do it earlier because you had a reason not to, not wanting to entertain the eyes of your half sister's suitor, so you're doing it now.

Wrong.

You didn't realise the threat back then, when you found Aemond being beaten up by a bunch of other men, kindness was something that came to you naturally, seeing him in such a state made your heart wrench, you shooed off the other men, reprimanding them for their behaviour and used your status as a vestal virgin to scare them off before looking down at the man who was covered in mud, and seemed to bleeding.

He had silver blonde hair, with only one eye as the other socket seemed empty, you wondered what had happened to him.

“Are you alright?” you ask and you he groans, turning over unto his back, you should leave, you shouldn't help him, but here you are picking him up, leaning his body weight against you and bringing him through one of the secret tunnels in underneath the infrastructure of the building, it was connected directly to another country, was made to use it in order to escape from war or to invade other lands, none of the common folk knew about this, and the people who knew didn't come here often either, as there was no such need for it anymore.

You sit him down in one of the 'rooms' which is just a big spacious squared tunnel, he plops down unto the ground weak and tired, breathing heavily, you quickly went back outside and fetched the water you forgot about and gave some of it for him to drink, you watched as he whimpered, swallowing in pain before he finally looked at you.

“T-thank you.” his voice was so weak, he was barely able to get any words out.

You gave him a gentle smile, and you realised that it was probably late, you had many questions for him but you kept it to yourself for now because you didn't want to bother him anymore, so left back to the temple where you resided.

“Why are you up so late?” you heard the head vestal ask, raising an eyebrow as she took in your appearance, mud covering your prestigious clothing, “I went to fetch the water head priestess, but I fell down on the way back.” you lie looking down, hoping she believes it, and to your surprise, she does believe it, she tells you to go to your quarters after putting the water down, so you do just that.

You visit the badly hurt person from yesterday once again, you knew you were not supposed to have any type of contact with a man, to remain pure as they will taint you, but you really could care less when its about helping others, you found him lying on the ground, likely sleeping, but your footsteps woke him up and he looked at you curiously, you gave him a small smile before giving him the bread you managed to sneak out without anyone noticing, along with water, you gave it to them and sat down, he reluctantly ate it before drinking the water. “Why are you doing this?” he asked you and you shrugged, “Is it so wrong to help a fellow human out?” you question back and he goes quiet, “You i never really got your name, or how you ended up in that situation.” you tilt your head as you watch him purse his lips.

“I am a celtic sex slave.”

You froze, he was a slave.

“My mistress threw me out, and I ended up on the streets without any shelter, and those men just wanted someone to mess with.” he sighs, swallowing the bread. You felt pity for him.

“Till you found me of course, I am extremely indebted to you my lady.” he says and you shake your head no, “I’m no lady, I am a vestal virgin that title is not of my belonging.” You said, and he tilted his head, not understanding what you had meant, he nodded but then his eyes widened “This is such an honour to be in the presence of such a being, sorry you must see me in this state, and… You had to touch me as well.” he apologises and you look down, you shake your head and tell him that it's okay and you did not mind.

You and Aemond had grown closer, he would tell you about his life before he became a sex slave, how he was treated, how you felt extremely bad, how your people treated the Celtics. And so you shared your problems in return as well, he provided you comfort which you lacked all of your life, for the first time you felt wanted, and you could not ignore the feeling that was starting to bloom inside you.

But you pushed it down, you are a celibate, you should not be feeling such things.

Aemond had taken a liking to you, you had a pretty soul as well as a pretty face, the way you looked in your white clothing, and whenever you would fix your scarf over the head afraid that your hair or skin would show made him more curious to see what is underneath the thick robes of clothing even more. He knows damn well that he isn't the first man to ever lust for a vestal virgin, there were many depraved others.

After Aemond recovered, you had showed him around the tunnels and dungeons, various routes that if something happens he can use them to escape, and you also showed the route which led to his country, and he noted it, telling you that he can use this to go back to his own people again and you gave him a small smile.

Though the thought of him leaving makes your heart wrench.

“Aemond, I have to go and attend to my duties now, I will meet you later okay?” you say quickly before leaving.

Though the later never came.

“She was caught sneaking around with a slave apparently, she kept him hidden, surely she committed adultery as well.” you heard the voice of the chief priestess tell the priest.

“That is utmost dishonourable, as a vestal virgin you are sworn to celibacy, how can you do this?!” He yells at you and you flinch, tears streaming down your face.

“I promise! I promise on the flame of vesta that nothing happened between us! I was just helping him out.” you plead on your knees.

“How can I believe you? That you are not ruined? You were helping a sex slave out? you want me to believe that?” he questions and you shake your head.

“Order her death by live burial, she will be buried underground with no food or water.” he commands, tone final.

You watched as one of the virgins who snitched on you, she smiled cruelly and your face turned into a scowl. She was the one who wasn't a virgin, yet you kept her secret knowing what would happen if others found out, but the moment she discovered something about you? She had gone straight to the chief priestess and told her, even fed her lies.

“No! No! Please listen to me! Nothing happened between us! You can check for my virginity if you want! Please.” you cried, at the priest and he simply dismissed you.

You were grabbed by his guards and were being led to your doom, dragged out of the temple forcefully and then the trial was processing when you heard a commotion, accompanied by panicked screams.

“There has been a rebellion! The celtics have rebelled against us!” You hear someone yell, and everyone panics, the guards that were holding you quickly let go before rushing off to fight, you run after them and go to the temple as well, eyes widening in horror as you saw the blood and how few of priestesses were being violated brutally by the rebels, their clothes were being torn by the celtic soldiers and you were spotted by two men who came over to you, grabbing you by your hands and shoving you onto the ground.

“This one's pretty, let me have her cunt first.” you screamed at them to let go and they fought against them, kicking one of them in the shins cause the man to stumble and fall, “This bitch–”

“Stop.”

They both immediately froze up and turned around, and you froze as well, recognizing the voice. “This one is mine, unless you want your heads fucking cut off, fuck off.” he spits harshly at them, and they bow their head before scurrying off and you furrow your eyebrows, Aemond looks at you with a smirk, the empty eye socket from before now held a blue sapphire in its place snuggly.

“This would not have been possible without you, I shall spare you for this.” he begins, pulling you up on your legs by the hair.

“W-why are you doing this?!” you asked in fear and Aemond shrugged before explaining, “For the benefit of my people of course, you Romans have treated us as nothing but barbarians, however I do not blame you for that, you are a kind soul.”

“I threw my life away for this, let myself get touched by filthy hands for this moment, and finally, it was all worth it in the end.” he chuckles cruelly, and you scrunch your face in a scowl, “The emperor—” you begun but you are quickly cut off by him yanking your hair and making you face where a body was laying, head detached from the body, he tuts, “This one?” he pulls out a head and shoves it right up into your face and you push it away, screaming, he lets gos of the head and it falls to the ground rolling away.

“He was nothing but a coward, running off in the secret tunnels, letting his people die, unworthy of ruling over the people, so instead, I became the new emperor.” he clarifies.

“If you are going to kill me, just do it already.” you spit, and he looks surprised at this.

“Doll, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it long ago, besides I said that I would already spare you, since you were a kind soul, and once again, without you, I would not be here.” he smiles cruelly and you feel your stomach twist.

His grip on your hair leaves before it's attached to your forearm, hand gripping the skin cruelly as he drags you somewhere, and you noticed that it was the head priestess room, the nearest one in the temple. You quickly realised what he wanted to do, so you started struggling, annoyed by this, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, before carrying and entering the room inside, securing the curtain shut before he threw you on the bed.

You try to get up and run away but he pushes you on the bed, gets on top of you, and yanks your clothes away, tearing at your robes harshly, revealing your body to him, you quickly hide yourself but he pins your hands to your side and takes in your body, he groans at the sight of your chest heaving up and down, you wriggle underneath him, trying to kick him off but he captures your legs and pushes them apart before planting himself in between them.

“No! Please! No!” you cry out but he shuts you up with one of his hands, the other one quickly undoes his breeches, revealing his hard cock, he gives himself a few pumps and lines it up against your entrance. His tip prods at your entrance, he doesn't wait a second before shoving his cock inside of you, ripping your walls apart, making you scream in pain as you struggled beneath him, he watches as your blood leaks onto his cock, and his smiles at that before he looks at you, watching tears stream down your face as he takes what he wants, he immediately sets his pace at a brutal one, ramming his cock in and out of you.

Each movement was painful for you, your cries and screams muffled by his hand, your body jolting up the bed as he brutally thrusts inside, traumatising your walls, the free hand grips your breasts cruelly before he pinches your nipple harshly, causing you to arch your back, and whine loudly.

Using the least amount of strength you have you push him heavily off, and to your luck it works cause he is caught off guard making him fall next to you, and before you could get up and run, he grabs your waist and pushes you back onto the bed again, getting on top of you and choking your neck with both his hands.

“I was going to spare you, but it seems you do not want that, take it or fucking die.” he spits on your face and you wince, crying out once again as he enters inside you.

Your body betrays you, you know it when it suddenly starts to feel good, his tip hitting a certain spot inside of you, and soon you're moaning as well, unable to process this foreign sensation. “Yeah, that's more like it, my brave girl.” he coos and bends down to kiss your neck and you whimper when he bites down at your sensitive area.

You grab onto his shoulders for support, and he hums in satisfaction, one of his hands travel down to your clit before rubbing fast circles it, and you felt your stomach tighten at that, before something snapped and you were moaning extremely loudly, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure hit you like a huge wave.

You cried out his name, and he hushed you and continued to thrust inside of you, grunting, you felt his thrusts become more sloppy before he halted, pushing himself into you as far as he could go, and moaned as his seed spurted out of him, he slowly rode it out, painting more of your walls white.

“I want to see you pregnant.” his hand rests on the lower part of your abdomen, as he caresses it gently with his thumb, before pulling out and leaning down to pepper kisses on the area, as if a kiss will ensure your pregnancy.

His hands fondle with your boobs, thumbs flicking the nipples as he massages the flesh, “they will be filled with milk..” he says in a daze.

You saw him getting hard again and your eyes widened, before you could get up on your elbows, he pushed you down once again again, holding your legs apart and pushing them up, making the knees bend, touching your chest.

He lines his cock before shoving it brutally inside again, he trapped you in a mating press while he thrusted above, your walls drummed with pain at the overstimulation, you were whimpering.

“Fucking it take it you slut, look at how your expression matches that of a whore.” he degrades you, hips snapping at each words, you felt a sting in your heart at his mean behavior.

“This is what you were made for, to be a fucking whore that men can use, not a vestal virgin, having this much of a perfect cunt and wasting it is unbelievable.” he groans and you feel tears start to fall down at his insults.

He pulled back and groaned at the sight of how there was still blood covered on his cock, your blood which coated him so perfectly, and he felt him nearing his edge, his hand gripped your cheeks before forcing your mouth open and then he spit into it, “Swallow, you whore.” he commands and you obey scared.

“Fuck, you're my whore aren't you? my pretty little whore who will let me fuck my children into.” he moans. “I can't wait to make you mine, my empress who will rule along with me, give me children, my darling- oh fuck—”

You felt the familiar feeling of heat arise in your stomach again, as he hits the same spot again and again, and soon enough, you're once again reaching your peak, arching your back at the intensity, he then finishes inside of you again.

That night was a nightmare, he took you multiple times, he made you take him in your mouth, and he did the same, lapping at your cunt for hours on end as he relished in your taste.

You remember passing out, unable to take anymore as exhaustion weighed upon you.

You woke up groaning, you slept like a baby, that's until you moved a little bit and your body aches like hell itself, and you get up, stretching to relieve the pain, you looked over to your side and spotted Aemond fast asleep, completely bare and then you remembered the events of the night prior.

You saw the sheets which were now covered in your blood, your virgin blood, and you were pure no more. You felt doom settle in your core but you felt relieved in a weird sense of way.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside, you gathered whatever was left of your robes before covering yourself with it, hiding your intimate parts and exiting the room.

You gasped as the scent of blood hit your nostrils, and almost threw up, but then what caught your eye made you surprised, you noticed how the head priestess, and all the people who have wronged you in the middle, tied up as the guards lazily kept them in check.

When they spotted you, they screamed insults at you and you winced, anger coursing through your veins at such an intense rate.

“My empress, look at them, look at the people who wronged you.” you heard Aemond whisper in your ear from behind you, and you got startled, you turned to look at him and you watched as he was almost naked except the sheets which were loosely held together by him on his lower body, hiding his intimate part, the same sheets which were covered in your blood.

“Look at them, see how they are still blaming you? What do you want to do huh? Does it not make you mad?” he asks and you turn your attention back to them again, it frankly does make you mad. “I would never treat you like that, I love you. My queen.”

“What do you want, my little empress?” he asks and you make up your mind.

You collect the water in a small dish and Aemond watches you in confusion, but then you make your way towards the flame of vesta, and pour water over it, putting it out and the head priestess' eyes widen in horror.

“Kill them all.” your voice was more clear than ever.

“Spare the head priestess, and that one, for they shall be buried alive.” you say coldly before you walk back to Aemond, who welcomes you in his arms.

“You heard your queen, do as she commands.” he orders his men before he escorts you away from the scene and into the room once again.

He pushes you on the bed and crawls atop of you, “I wasn't joking when I said I want you pregnant, doll.” he coos and you gulp.

“Impregnate me, my king, I want to carry your heirs.”

And that was enough to make Aemond go insane, before he took you once again.

And soon, you fell pregnant.

Giving birth to a girl, who Aemond adored.

Life seemed to be well and perfect.

Maybe you don't really regret this at all.

———

GENERAL TAGLIST ;

@watercolorskyy @cl-0-vr @chompchompluke @namelesslosers @snowystark @spookyaemond @sweethoneyblossom1 @this-isnt-madness @persephonerinyes @eltherevir @sidni3003 @aleidag1rly @cryingforlife @fan-goddess @hannaeditzs @grungegrrrl @thekinslayersswordhand @aemondsbabygirl

Bold is who I cannot tag, DM to be removed!

[muzansfangs]

How they eat you out.

Starring: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x f!reader; Shinji Hirako x f!reader; Isshin Kurosaki x f!reader;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: nsfw, language, dirty talk, overstimulation, shibari, vaginal fingering, oral sex (reader!receiving), daddy kink, marking the partner, hair pulling, praise kink, possessiviness, pussy slapping, edging, orgasm denial, dom!Grimmjow, dom!Shinji, dom!Isshin, small age gap between Isshin and the reader, sub!reader;

Plot: they love you, they love you so much that giving you oral has become an art for them. But they all have a different style, their own unique way of doing it. How do they eat you out? What do they do to make you melt under their skilful tongue?

PART ONE| PART TWO| PART THREE.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

This man is a menace. A predator, he is keen to devour you messily, obviously. When he eats you out, Grimmjow makes you feel like a hapless antelope chased down the savanna by a leopard, caged in his chokehold, quite literally. His nails felt like claws digging onto your thighs to keep you in place at his mercy. In his shimmering piercing blue eyes, you did not fail to recognize the panther living inside of him. Grimmjow was a wild animal, you had to deal with it.

When he feasted on you, he always did it as if he was a starving man. He lapped, groaned, manhandled you to accomodate you in a position he enjoyed the most in that very moment and he even slapped your pussy, if you dared to protest.

Albeit he could be rough, though, he would have never hurt you.

Grimmjow was not a man prone to pour his heart out in tear-jerker love confessions. After telling you he liked you, he meant it and confined himself to territorial gestures and passionate nights of lust and love. His ownership over you was already established, yet he loved to remind you of how deeply he cared about you and your ultimate pleasure by spending hours with his face buried between your legs.

He could never get enough of you, of your taste, of the way you writhed beneath the licks he gave you. His tongue lapped at your core non-stop, his feline eyes scrutinizing in delight the way your face scrunched up, as he made you navigate the different seas of lust and pleasure.

As you laid on your back, his hands keeping your legs spread in front of his face, his mouth worked on your pussy to make sure not a single inch of your flesh was left untouched. You could swear you had even heard him growl as you bucked your hips up erratically. As a reflex, your knees spasmed and you attempted to close your legs. Wrong choice. Terrible accident.

“Keep your fucking legs like that, woman” he rasped out, forcing them back down as he shot you a resentful glare through his lashes.

You whimpered, hands covering your face in dispair as you panted “G–Grimmjow, baby, I’m sorry! It’s too much…” you gingerly whined, only to hear him snort and flick his tongue over your sensitive clit as a delectable form of punishment.

“You better be sorry. Look at you, soaking wet, and trying to rob me of my meal. Stop bitching around” he chided you, making you gawk as your hand reached out to grasp a pillow and you playfully hit him with it over his head.

This was such a natural course of events for you two. Moments of domestic tenderness and play time paired up with steamy activities. Maybe, deep down, you had truly tamed him!

Grimmjow groaned and slapped your folds as a payback, making you regret having chuckled at him and his dumbfounded expression the moment the fluffy pillow had landed on his face. Had you, by any chance, forgotten who was in charge? The audacity of acting like an alpha, when he was supposed to be the one, at least in bed, was surely going too far.

“You little pest, you know what? I’m done tongue-fucking you. On your hands and knees, now” the blue-haired former Espada ordered you, standing back up and unbuckling his belt right before your now rounded eyes.

Oh, well, your little stunts always led to him sheathing himself deep into you and hours spent in sitting down with a certain discomfort. Little did he know you always tried to piss him off to get pinned down like that and, honestly, he did not feel like complaining.

Not when he could mark you down over and over again.

Shinji Hirako.

Your boyfriend and his unhealthy, enervating, obnoxious obsession for doing things in unconventional ways had repercussions on sex too at times. While it was always an enjoyable experience, there were days it could lead you to insanity. Shinji loved to vary. You surely could not say sex with him was static, basic. On the contrary, it was appallingly turbolent. Along with loving to give you oral, Shinji literally put you in every possible position humanly practicable.

Upside down, preferably.

Dangling from the ceiling, ropes meticulously tying your limbs, you whimpered at the feeling of Shinji’s pierced tongue flicking your bundle of nerves. Your body shrieked, jaw going slack as your eyes fluttered closed to enjoy the sensation to its fullest. His sarcastic and infuriatingly childish attitude were reflected by his actions. He was born to tease you, to break you down piece by piece, until you were nothing but a whining mass of sweat and pleas.

“Your hole clenching around nothing is calling me, babe. Can you hear it whisper to me? Atta girl, you’re doing so fuckin’ good for me” your boyfriend crooned, his lips still hovering over your dripping sex, amber eyes drifting down your body until he made eye-contact with you.

Arching your back, a breathy moan ripped from your throat, your movements restricted by the ropes amplifying your perception to the maximum level “Shinji! Baby, please, just … Just add a finger, I can’t do this anymore” you begged him, teary eyes meeting his cunning ones, through your eyelashes.

Honestly, you had lost count of how many times he had brought you close to the edge only to let you down on the verge of your orgasm. He loved watching you bewailing, wiggling around, when all you could do was begging him to just finish you off. It was satisfying, amusing even.

“Damn, this greedy pussy’s so hungry for me. Have you heard her, babe? She wants a finger to fill her up! Fine, fine, I think it’s time to feed her. Brace yourself” Shinji casually chimed them, eyeing you amusedly with his characteristic shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

He was overly sassy, when it came down to you and your presumably pathetic antics. Testing your endurance, your patience, your self-control were delectable activities he loved to involve in your intercourses. His divious ways of unraveling you piece by piece, watching you unfold before his sharp eyes radiated a very much unparalleled sadistic aura you had never seen in anyone else before him.

The moment he glided his finger down your slit, temporizing for a little longer around your opening, before finally burying his finger into you, made you almost sob in need. Eyes squeezed shut, you shrieked, foreteeth sinking onto your lower lip almost causing it to bleed. It was still not enough, you needed more, you needed him.

Your feeble protests did not go unnoticed, though, and your partner was kind of feeling guilty for having edged you for so long. He sighed, ducking his face back down to your heat, darting his tongue out to swirl it over your clitoris. Adding a second finger, he began to scissor them into you at a fast tempo, the silver sphere on his tongue stimulating you in the right spots.

“Shinji! Babe, I’m— Shit!” you cried out in ecstasy, the pleasure coiling on your lower abdomen making it hard for you to stammer out a sensible speech.

Out of your head, breathless, knackered, you arched your spine and the sound of your strained moan eachoed through the walls of your empty flat. Finally, he had let you reach your pined climax. Chin glistening, coated by your juices, Shinji took a step back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

That smug smile of his never ceased to make butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Your pussy has such ‘a foul mouth’, when I eat her out. Yer should tell her to behave, damn it” he jested, earning a tired eye-roll from your behalf. Asking him to keep his attitude on check was the equivalent of talking to a wall.

“Untie me now, Hikaro Shinji. Or I will be delighted to show you how foul my mouth can really be” you countered back, only for him to snicker and begin to loosen up the ropes restraining your limbs.

After all, you were both far from being done and you were sure as hell not going to let his tantrum slide that easily.

Isshin Kurosaki.

The things this man would do for you go beyond your fervid imagination. He is not a boy, he is a man, husband material to be precise. Isshin knows how to please a woman and, according to him, the best part about giving you pleasure and incommensurable bliss is watching you unfold before his adoring eyes. One thing about him: you are his queen and priority. He would literally neglect his own urges and needs to take care or yours.

“I think I will skip the dessert tonight” Isshin announced, wiping his mouth with a napkin, eying you through his dark eyelashes from the other side of the table.

You knew exactly what he meant by that and you unconsciously found yourself pressing your thighs together under the table.

“You skip the dessert, but maybe you have had too much wine” you teased him back, albeit you played along his goofy game of seduction and shot a coquettish gaze towards him.

Isshin grinned and stood up, stretching his arms over his head, before he circled the table and stopped right next to you. His eyes devoured you, as he dragged your chair along the floor, parting you from the table with ease. He always made you feel as light as a feather, his strength something he was so proud of.

Cocking your head to the side questioningly, you flicked your gaze up to him “What are you up to now?” you inquired, watching the way he dropped to his knees right in front of you. He had insisted for you to wear that dress all day long and now you could finally see why he had been a literal pest.

His hands carefully hiked up the flowy skirt of your dress, his smile widening as you did not hesitate to be collaborative and hold it up in your hands while be settled his hands on each of your rotula, cupping it and pushing your legs apart for him. When he went down on you, Isshin never put you through too much trouble. He specifically asked you to simply enjoy the experience and pull at his hair. He spoiled you, he lavished you.

His hot breath fanning your clothed sex made you suck in a breath and he leisurely tugged the hem of your panties to the side to expose your folds to his longing eyes.

“Hush, baby, let daddy enjoy his well-deserved dessert, alright? I need it so badly, baby. It’s been so long since I did it” he dramatized the situation, eliciting a chuckle from you as his tongue tickled your clit.

“But, daddy, you did it yesterday morning on your desk! – you pointed out, lolling your head back as you securely tangled your fingers between his hair, tugging at them gently – Was it not enough?” you asked him, hips bucking up unintentionally and pulling a husky grunt out of him.

Enough? Of course it was not enough. This man loved nipping, lapping and sucking your pussy dry. He needed to do it, at least, twice a day.

Before his tongue could finally dive into your wet cavern, he knitted his eyebrows together, scoffing “That’s offensive. You left me starving, darling. Let daddy be happy, please, be a good girl” he pleaded you, his mouth leaving a sloppy kiss over your pubes before his tongue made you see stars.

Keeping it low with him was impossible. Either you laughed out loud, or you let out pornographic screams of pleasure hard not to hear down the streets.

Especially, when he left the window open for letting people covet what was rightfully his.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I’m so glad I have finally completed this series! Maybe, one day, when my requests will be opened again, I will add other characters too but as for now let’s just enjoy these ones. As per usual, your support means a lot! Thanks for having read this piece and I hope you’ve drawn enough enjoyment to simp for those folks. Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated! Also, writing for Isshin has been hell on Earth, help🥹

Until next,

x o x o

TAGS: @stygianoir @electronicwitchcollection @brittscafe @kr0wu @kryptoniteforsale

[mariacallous]

Rhetoric has a history. The words democracy and tyranny were debated in ancient Greece; the phrase separation of powers became important in the 17th and 18th centuries. The word vermin, as a political term, dates from the 1930s and ’40s, when both fascists and communists liked to describe their political enemies as vermin, parasites, and blood infections, as well as insects, weeds, dirt, and animals. The term has been revived and reanimated, in an American presidential campaign, with Donald Trump’s description of his opponents as “radical-left thugs” who “live like vermin.”

This language isn’t merely ugly or repellant: These words belong to a particular tradition. Adolf Hitler used these kinds of terms often. In 1938, he praised his compatriots who had helped “cleanse Germany of all those parasites who drank at the well of the despair of the Fatherland and the People.” In occupied Warsaw, a 1941 poster displayed a drawing of a louse with a caricature of a Jewish face. The slogan: “Jews are lice: they cause typhus.” Germans, by contrast, were clean, pure, healthy, and vermin-free. Hitler once described the Nazi flag as “the victorious sign of freedom and the purity of our blood.”

Stalin used the same kind of language at about the same time. He called his opponents the “enemies of the people,” implying that they were not citizens and that they enjoyed no rights. He portrayed them as vermin, pollution, filth that had to be “subjected to ongoing purification,” and he inspired his fellow communists to employ similar rhetoric. In my files, I have the notes from a 1955 meeting of the leaders of the Stasi, the East German secret police, during which one of them called for a struggle against “vermin activities” (there is, inevitably, a German word for this: Schädlingstätigkeiten), by which he meant the purge and arrest of the regime’s critics. In this same era, the Stasi forcibly moved suspicious people away from the border with West Germany, a project nicknamed “Operation Vermin.”

This kind of language was not limited to Europe. Mao Zedong also described his political opponents as “poisonous weeds.” Pol Pot spoke of “cleansing” hundreds of thousands of his compatriots so that Cambodia would be “purified.”

In each of these very different societies, the purpose of this kind of rhetoric was the same. If you connect your opponents with disease, illness, and poisoned blood, if you dehumanize them as insects or animals, if you speak of squashing them or cleansing them as if they were pests or bacteria, then you can much more easily arrest them, deprive them of rights, exclude them, or even kill them. If they are parasites, they aren’t human. If they are vermin, they don’t get to enjoy freedom of speech, or freedoms of any kind. And if you squash them, you won’t be held accountable.

Until recently, this kind of language was not a normal part of American presidential politics. Even George Wallace’s notorious, racist, neo-Confederate 1963 speech, his inaugural speech as Alabama governor and the prelude to his first presidential campaign, avoided such language. Wallace called for “segregation today, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.” But he did not speak of his political opponents as “vermin” or talk about them poisoning the nation’s blood. Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066, which ordered Japanese Americans into internment camps following the outbreak of World War II, spoke of “alien enemies” but not parasites.

In the 2024 campaign, that line has been crossed. Trump blurs the distinction between illegal immigrants and legal immigrants—the latter including his wife, his late ex-wife, the in-laws of his running mate, and many others. He has said of immigrants, “They’re poisoning the blood of our country” and “They’re destroying the blood of our country.” He has claimed that many have “bad genes.” He has also been more explicit: “They’re not humans; they’re animals”; they are “cold-blooded killers.” He refers more broadly to his opponents—American citizens, some of whom are elected officials—as “the enemy from within … sick people, radical-left lunatics.” Not only do they have no rights; they should be “handled by,” he has said, “if necessary, National Guard, or if really necessary, by the military.”

In using this language, Trump knows exactly what he is doing. He understands which era and what kind of politics this language evokes. “I haven’t read Mein Kampf,” he declared, unprovoked, during one rally—an admission that he knows what Hitler’s manifesto contains, whether or not he has actually read it. “If you don’t use certain rhetoric,” he told an interviewer, “if you don’t use certain words, and maybe they’re not very nice words, nothing will happen.”

His talk of mass deportation is equally calculating. When he suggests that he would target both legal and illegal immigrants, or use the military arbitrarily against U.S. citizens, he does so knowing that past dictatorships have used public displays of violence to build popular support. By calling for mass violence, he hints at his admiration for these dictatorships but also demonstrates disdain for the rule of law and prepares his followers to accept the idea that his regime could, like its predecessors, break the law with impunity.

These are not jokes, and Trump is not laughing. Nor are the people around him. Delegates at the Republican National Convention held up prefabricated signs: Mass Deportation Now. Just this week, when Trump was swaying to music at a surreal rally, he did so in front of a huge slogan: Trump Was Right About Everything. This is language borrowed directly from Benito Mussolini, the Italian fascist. Soon after the rally, the scholar Ruth Ben-Ghiat posted a photograph of a building in Mussolini’s Italy displaying his slogan: Mussolini Is Always Right.

These phrases have not been put on posters and banners at random in the final weeks of an American election season. With less than three weeks left to go, most candidates would be fighting for the middle ground, for the swing voters. Trump is doing the exact opposite. Why? There can be only one answer: because he and his campaign team believe that by using the tactics of the 1930s, they can win. The deliberate dehumanization of whole groups of people; the references to police, to violence, to the “bloodbath” that Trump has said will unfold if he doesn’t win; the cultivation of hatred not only against immigrants but also against political opponents—none of this has been used successfully in modern American politics.

But neither has this rhetoric been tried in modern American politics. Several generations of American politicians have assumed that American voters, most of whom learned to pledge allegiance to the flag in school, grew up with the rule of law, and have never experienced occupation or invasion, would be resistant to this kind of language and imagery. Trump is gambling—knowingly and cynically—that we are not.

[monimccoythings]

Cursed Cat! Alastor x Child!Reader (Platonic)

This fucker has consumed my entire mind. Everywhere I go, I see him. I need posters, keychains and a plushie of this entity of evil. Since the Sacabambapsis, I never laughed at anything as hard as I did with this little freak of nature (affectionate). Going to be a short one because I'm still laughing as I'm writing this.

This is not proof read, so sorry for any grammar and/or vocabulary mistakes.

All credit goes to @coma_0423 on twitter for simultaneously ruining and saving my life.

Tw: mentions of death

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog

Nobody really knows how he ended up as a cat. One day he just woke up like that.

The first time you see him your mind goes entirely blank. And then you laugh. Like, really loud. You don't remember the last time you laughed as hard as you were laughing now. You were rolling on the floor, tears running down your face and holding your tummy in pain.

You can see smoke coming out of his ears and static getting louder. But oh boy was it funny, he looks like he hasn't had a single thought in his entire life. He doesn't find it the slightest bit amusing, but you are truly laughing for the first time in years so he will let it slide.

He follows you around, being the protective cat-father he is. At some point your strides are too much for him to follow up with, so you have to carry him. And given your short stature he is just dangling in your arms with that stupid looking face, which, no matter how much you try to resist, makes you burst into laughing fits.

Won't allow any doors between you two. If you have to leave him out, he will serenade you with the song of his people until you let him in.

Can't stand seeing you spending time with anybody else, specially Lucifer. If he catches you two together in some bonding activity, he will dart across the room and jump him. You had to practically beg Vaggie to not use her spear as a baseball bat whenever he tried to pull that one on the King of Hell.

When you are sitting, he likes to loaf on your lap. Just keeping you pinned to your seat so you'll be forced to pay attention to him and only him. He won't admit it ever, but he absolutely adores being scratched behind the ears.

Satan fobid if you get a hold of a laser pointer. You can see him literally vibrate, eye twitching, trying to resist the siren call of the light. (He eventually gives in)

Any pests? He will take care of them, you can find him casually munching on the carcass of some dead animal in the middle of the hall, talk about being classy. And then he'll have the nerve to call you out for chewing too loud.

Get ready to wake up to him staring at you unblinkingly, with his snout mere centimeters from your nose. The first time he did it, you screamed and fell out of bed. He checked to make sure you were okay, but still found the situation very amusing, given the way his smile widened.

It is impossible to take a pic of Alastor in that form. He is always hypervigilant since he knows the damage it could cause to his reputation as a feared overlord. All pics of him are either blurry or distorted. You don't have the heart to tell him that it just makes them more hilarious.

You don't know how to turn him back, Lucifer seems to not know how to do it (or maybe he does and is having way too much fun with this), but maybe you'll keep him like that for a little while; as a cat, you dad is practically harmless, or at least less dangerous than he was as a demon. Also, it feels nice going to sleep with him curled into a fluffy ball by your head, his static filled purrs lulling you to sleep.

[serpentface]

Just dropping some illustrations of animals that I've only mentioned in passing (mostly in regional food posts), found within claimed Imperial Wardi territory.

Left to right (all to scale):

Grynaig, crested eagle, taarn, unkata, piispiispi, anara, nechoi.

Descriptions below:

The grynaig, a type of pigeon found primarily in the highlands. They come in a few local color morphs, ranging from this brown-white to a chestnut color (mostly dependent on the types of rocks they nest upon). They nest on the tops and sides of boulders and cliffs, out of reach from most ground-based predators and camouflaged from predatory birds above. They are commonly hunted for food, and are regarded as having beautiful calls.

The crested eagle, found widely across the region. They are specialized predators of snakes and will readily attack highly venomous species, having thick-skinned, pebbly textured legs as defense against bites. They will also take other reptiles, and occasionally prey on small birds and mammals. Among the peoples of the highlands, widespread belief holds these to be (one of many) birds that ancestors will send or take the form of in order to provide guidance and give omens to the living. Crested eagles are often an omen of hidden danger, be it a figurative or literal snake in the grass.

The taarn, a pheasant native to the highlands and domesticated for meat and eggs. The domestic stock has several color morphs and a few distinct breeds, a wild male taarn is pictured here. Wild taarn can be found in high altitudes in the warm dry season, and migrate down to the river valleys in the cold wet season. Taarn form the vast majority of captive fowl in the highlands, being the most tolerant of cooler, high altitude conditions. Males possess sharp spurs, and are used regionally for cockfighting. Cockfighting is also popular in parts of the Imperial Wardi cultural sphere and taarn may be exported largely for this purpose, being imagined as uniquely fierce, having been shaped by their hostile environment (in reality, they don't tend to fare well against the common rooster).

The unkata, a genus of large flightless birds. Several species can be found in the region, all of which are flightless and relatively large. The one here is a male savannah unkata in breeding plumage (about the size of a cassowary). Male unkata often have colorful wings, and all possess long, unfeathered quills. The wings are shaken as a part of courtship displays, creating a rattling sound and dazzling visual effect. These birds are herbivores and feed on grass, leaves, tender shoots, and fruit, but will consume insects and small mammals/reptiles when the opportunity presents itself. Most unkata are commonly hunted as wild game, and their large eggs are often prized as food and used for carving.

The piispiispi, named for its devastatingly silly warning cries (the sound is a shrill PeEEESSsss-PeEEESSsss-PIPIPIPIPI!). This is a fairly large and stocky lagomorph that lives only in the highlands and almost exclusively at high altitudes (with rabbits filling their niches in the river valleys). They subsist primarily on grasses, and are known agricultural pests. They pack on substantial weight prior to the winters (which is the best time to hunt them for rich, fatty meat), but do not truly hibernate, instead alternating between periods of low activity in their burrows and emerging to graze (the winters here are relatively warm, and snow cover is often patchy or impermanent at all but the highest altitudes).

The anara, a genus of large semi-aquatic rodent. Two species can be found in the region (the larger of which is shown here, both look very similar) and can be found throughout in most rivers, lakes, ponds, and wetlands. Their tail is flattened vertically and used to propel them through water, though they retain (relatively) long legs, as they spend much of their time foraging on land, usually staying within a couple hundred feet of water. They are considered agricultural pests, and are commonly hunted for pest control and their meat (particularly the tail, which is uniquely rich and fatty).

They construct small lodges along banks for shelter in a similar capacity to beavers. They do not build dams, but dig canals to connect bodies of water (for ease of movement and to flee from predators). These canals are often expanded by the comings and goings of an-nechoi, and together the two species are of key ecological significance to their environments, vastly expanding the size of wetlands and the reach of seasonal floods. The two species also seem to get along quite well (especially given the notoriously bad temper of an-nechoi, and the bite-sized nature of anara), often peacefully sharing the same habitats in close quarters. Young anara are sometimes even seen resting on the backs of submerged an-nechoi. This connection is widely noted, and a subject of many regional animal folktales.

Nechoi, a family of pig-like opportunistic omnivores. The one pictured here is a scrub nechoi, one of the larger in the region (though dwarved by their somewhat distant, semi-aquatic an-nechoi relatives). These are the most widespread and generalized, and fare well in dry environments (mostly being found in the grasslands and savannahs). The skin of this species is exposed (though they bear a dense mane and thick, wiry hairs throughout), and they will coat themselves in mud and dust to protect against the sun and parasites. This particular species bears impressive tusks in the boars, and smaller tusks in the sows (shown here), and they are often hunted for their ivory.

Most nechoi bear very powerful jaws with a wide gape, and boars will fight over territory and mates by yawning and slashing at each other with their sharp teeth. These conflicts result in a scarred appearance in most older boars, and can sometimes be fatal. As with most nechoi, these animals feed primarily as browsers, but will readily scavenge and may opportunistically take live prey, mostly arthropods and small vertebrates. Predatory attacks on animals bigger than they can fit into their mouths are rare, but larger nechoi such as these are considered dangerous, and may readily eat humans injured or killed in territorial or defensive aggression. These more dangerous nechoi are sometimes subjects to taboos against eating the flesh of man-eaters, though smaller nechoi are common game animals.

[schmergo]

Today I learned a fact that kinda blew my mind, and I'm almost astonished I didn't know this before as someone whose chief interests include zoo animals, the U.S. Presidency, true crime, and D.C. history. What an opener, right? How could those topics possibly combine?

Well, buckle up and get ready to hear how negligent National Zoo leadership potentially could have killed a US President or started a local epidemic. Spoiler alert: They didn't. But only because luck was in their favor.

First, the part that I DID already know. In 2004, Lucy Spelman stepped down as the director of the National Zoo after a spate of controversial zoo incidents, including a string of unfortunate (and often preventable) animal deaths, misleading and missing zoo records, and other signs of negligence. The AZA even "tabled" renewing the National Zoo's accreditation for a year until they made some significant improvements. Spelman was also a vet and some of the cases she was accused of bungling happened at her own hands, not just under her supervision. It was a major disgrace for a zoo that was meant to represent the nation's capital.

I was in elementary school during these fraught years and I remember devouring articles about this in the newspaper, riveted with shock and dismay. Some of the deaths were just bad luck, but others were obviously negligent. The most infamous case was two red pandas killed by rat poison shallowly buried in their enclosures as a slapdash solution to the zoo's pest problem. A young zebra died of starvation and hypothermia after Spelman ordered the zebras' feed be cut in half, an orangutan was euthanized due to a recurrence of cancer that didn't exist (she actually had salmonella), a lion died after being administered over twice the usual amount of anesthetic, and more. I remember the names and details of these animals from when I first read these cases 20 years ago. But the one I'm talking about today is that of Nancy the elephant.

Nancy was a 46-year-old African elephant whose health had been steadily declining for several years. She suffered from a bone infection in her foot that seriously affected her mobility and quality of life. She had lost a lot of weight, she was fatigued, she even lay down at times. Nobody could be blamed for deciding to euthanize the obviously ill animal.

But they could be blamed for what was discovered in the necropsy after she was euthanized. While she did indeed have a diseased foot, the bone infection was only "moderate." Why, then, was she so obviously unwell? Her lungs had been destroyed by the effects of untreated tuberculosis. It was the tuberculosis, not the sore foot, that most contributed to her decline in health.

Here’s the scary part: nobody knows how long she'd had it because she hadn't been tested for tuberculosis, a known concern for zoo elephants, in TWO YEARS. All this despite the fact that it's MANDATORY for all zoo elephants to receive a tuberculosis test once per year-- and in fact, it was a National Zoo staff member who pushed for that reform in the first place. And the elephant was on Prednisone for her foot issues, which zoo staff noted in her records made her more vulnerable to illnesses like TB. In fact, none of the zoo's elephants had been tested recently, which meant any of them, including one who was pregnant, may have had tuberculosis, too.

There are documented cases of humans catching tuberculosis from elephants. Now, Nancy the elephant had bovine tuberculosis, which seems to be less contagious to humans and which elephants haven't so far spread to humans... BUT it has spread to humans from black rhinos, a fairly close relative, so it seems likely that elephants COULD spread it. It can also take a while for TB for incubate (and can also be latent without symptoms), especially for elephants, so the elephants OR keepers who were around Nancy were at serious risk for TB.

NOW HERE IS THE PART THAT I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT UNTIL TODAY:

Spelman actively tried to COVER UP the situation, potentially putting many more people at risk. The elephant house was closed to zoo guests, but they were only told it was for "renovations." (The actual renovations, incidentally, were to improve ventilation so that illness would be less likely to spread.)

A BBC news crew that came to film the elephants was asked to keep a healthy distance from the elephants for their emotional health and the crew's safety-- the explanation given was that the elephants' group dynamics had been thrown off by Nancy's death. Spelman instructed zoo staff not to mention the TB situation to the BBC crew and, if asked why Nancy died, they were to respond that it was for multiple reasons and that the official test results weren't all back yet.

And here's the most shocking part of all, the part that made me GASP out loud. Spelman still personally gave some special VIP behind-the-scenes tours of the elephant house during the months that the elephant house was closed, a time when the remaining elephant inhabitants could potentially still develop active TB.

One VIP who received an elephant house tour was PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON and five family members!!!!

BILL. CLINTON. THE GOSHDARN PRESIDENT.

While zoo staff says that the tour was deliberately distanced and nobody got close to an elephant, there are photos of Bill Clinton's nephew about a foot away from an elephant's trunk. You know, their nose. The part they can spread disease with. So, uh, definitely in the danger zone there.

Hillary Clinton's brother, Tony Rodham, was on the tour and he said that nobody in the party was warned about TB risk or asked if they had any medical conditions that might (a. make them susceptible to communicable disease, or (b. be contagious to the elephants. This is especially egregious because according to zoo guidelines, all behind-the-scenes tour participants MUST be asked these questions-- not just when there's a very real possibility of a TB outbreak at the zoo.

Fortunately, none of the zoo's other elephants OR keepers ever tested positive for tuberculosis. But it was certainly a close call! And imagine what would have happened if a US President caught TB from a close encounter with an elephant thanks to poorly managed zoo staff.

Presidents meet a lot of people. In fact, this zoo visit happened only 2 weeks before the inauguration of President George W. Bush, which Clinton attended. He very well could have started a TB outbreak there. Heck, TWO US Presidents could have been infected!

Now THAT is something I will be thinking about for a long time!

[miiyochi]

୨୧ # LIVING WITH SOLOMON IN COCYTUS HALL  2 | SOLOMON

feat. [nightbringer] solomon x gn!mc contents. fluff  ── physical touch, mentions of the mc being sad lol, comfort ^_^, solomc being silly genre. headcanons / drabble words.  1896 note. im so sleepy... enjoy my solomon posting.

read part 1 here

solomon. 

▸ if you could describe what it was like living with solomon the best way you could put it was, “the first week of what it’s like being married.” or at least, what you think it’d be like.

▸ at first it was weird getting used to living there with just one person. after living with seven demons, getting used to quiet was…weird. honestly if you didn’t know any better you’d think you were in cocytus hall by yourself. solomon’s so quiet it’s freaky. the man doesn’t even make noise when he walks…his footsteps are so silent you wonder if he learned that from barbatos.

▸ solomon knows this and likes to sneak up behind you when you’re lounging around or actively doing chores. little bastard gets a kick when you jolt or drop whatever was in your hand. you’re this close to punching him

▸ regardless on if you like insects or not, solomon has given himself the role of getting rid of any pest that might be hidden away in the crevices of cocytus hall. why? he just likes doing little things for you! though… he’s such an ass about it on occasion.

peeking over from the door way of your room, you see solomon hunched over on the ground with a napkin in his hand. you spotted what seemed to be like the devildoms version of a centipede on the ground. 

it looked.. weird and you didn’t want to really touch it, who knows what could’ve happened? so, you sought after your personal exterminator to do the job for you. is it a little wrong for you to put solomon in the front lines in case something happened? maybe. 

“did you get it?” you speak up, getting his attention. solomon turns around waves the wriggling creature sandwiched between the folds of the napkin in his hand. 

“hm? yea, want to see?” he grins mischievously, walking over and bringing it closer to you. god, that thing looked like a elongated maggot. you faked gagged and held your hands up, pushing him away from you.

“get that thing away from me before I throw both you and…it out the door.” 

solomon stuck his tongue out at you before tossing the thing out the window, (didn’t even kill it lol)

 “got rid of it for you, don’t i deserve a kiss?” he teases half heartedly 

you sit in silence for a moment before beckoning him closer with your hand. he didn’t really expect you to follow through with it, beaming he walks closer to you and leans forward expectantly. you smile, kissing the tips of your index and middle finger, pressing them against his lips. 

“in your dreams, old man.” 

▸ after like a week solomon gained this habit that became routine for the both of you. when you’re spending your day busy attending to the brothers, solomon will wait for you to come back <3. 

▸ the man doesn’t sleep… so it’s not like he’ll get tired if you come back late. still, you still don’t want to be back late because sometimes it’ll be like fuck ass o’clock and solomon’s sitting on the couch like,

“welcome back, mc. i’ve missed you.”

“you missed me?”

“very much. i made you dinner <3”

“wow…gee, im sooooo sleepy right now. i think i might die if i dont fall asleep right now.” 

▸ casually cuddling with each other became a thing between the two of you after the first few nights you two shared a bed. laying in each others arms at night while recounting the events that happened that day. solomon gently stroking your cheek while listening to you talk about the brother’s recent misadventures. sometimes he’d interrupt your train of thought by kissing your knuckles, chuckling when he hears you trail off into complete silence.

“what’s wrong mc?” solomon muses, your hand pressed against his lips.

solomon presses another kiss to your hand before letting you pull it away, moving to brush his hair away from his face. “your lips… they’re soft.” you mumble half distracted. 

“you sound surprised.”

▸ i talked about it before but i’ll go more in depth about these “sleepovers” that happen between you and solomon. the first time it happened, you slept in solomon’s bed without really meaning to.

it was the first day of being sent back centuries, you were completely overwhelmed. how cold the brothers were, treating you as if you were something at the bottom of their shoe. being unable to go back to the present, YOUR timeline where you had found yourself becoming family with the demon brothers. it became too much for you. if it weren’t for solomon tracking you down, you’d be completely alone in such an unfamiliar world. 

you laid your head on solomon’s lap, clinging onto his clothes while you sobbed your little heart out. you felt pathetic honestly, feeling so small and alone. you couldn’t exactly help it. for the first time in a long time you felt so... helpless. 

it was a similar feeling you had back when you first arrived into the devildom, the longing to just want to be back home where it was safe. solomon must’ve picked up on it, he offered you comfort without any hesitation.

solomon could only imagine what must’ve been stirring in your head. complicated feelings of your current situation, grateful you’re not entirely alone but fearful you’ll never be back “home”. 

you were surrounded by so many familiar faces and yet, you couldn’t even recognize any of them. the demons that stood before you just hours prior were not the ones you had grown to love and care for, they weren't “family” to you just as you weren’t anything to them. your grip on solomon’s pants tighten as a sob ripped out from your throat. “i want to go home” were the only thoughts swirling in your head. 

you’re not entirely sure as to how long you stayed like that. face buried in the lap of your teacher who held you as you cried on him. no words were ever exchanged between the two of you and yet there was a deep understanding between you both. 

solomon knew what the brothers meant to you and had silently promised himself to get you back home safely by any means necessary. 

you ended up falling asleep just like that. clinging onto solomon as if he’d disappear and forget you too. not that the sorcerer minded of course. solomon would gently move you to a more comfortable position on his bed, letting you lay there peacefully as he pulled up a chair beside the bed.

 he wasn’t entirely sure if you’d be comfortable sleeping in the same bed with him just yet, so he opted to simply hold your hand throughout the night. 

when “morning” had finally arrived, you woke up confused as you took in your surroundings. memories from the previous day had flooded back in and filled the blank spaces in your mind. ‘I’m still here…’ you thought, closing your eyes hoping that when you opened them back up you’d be back in your bed at the house of lamentation. 

▸ ever since that night, it seems that the soft spot that solomon harbored for you had grown tenfold. likewise, you find yourself seeking his comfort more and more. there’s something about solomon’s presence that comforts you… it has similar affects on you like what being around simeon does. 

▸ solomon lets you come to his room in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep. he never minds it when you climb into the sheets and lay next to him, he finds the hushed apologies that leave your lips quite adorable. 

▸ he’ll pretend that he doesn’t notice you clutch onto his shirt or how you hold onto his hands. if this makes you feel safe, if he makes you feel this way then who is he to deny you. 

▸ mornings are an entire ordeal with him… solomon isn’t much of a morning person (imo). he’s the type of person you’ll never see before 12pm. i swear, mornings are the few times his age catches up to him lmaoooooo. 

▸ it’s like 10 am and solomon still isn’t out of his room. on any other day you wouldn’t pay any attention to it and would’ve left cocytus hall by now. but today’s different. why? because you miss him :p. 

▸ waking him up usually goes like;

you walking over to his bed and flopping over ontop of him, “wake up, old man.”

“ghn-” he groans (weirdly) and sits up groggily. “mc? do you need something?”

“you.”

solomon sits in silence processing what you just said to him. once it finally clicks he laughs tiredly, “you woke me up just for my attention???” 

“if i said yes would you give it to me?”

“i’ll think about it.” he sticks his tongue out. you grumble, “mammon would gladly give me attention…” solomon suddenly wraps his arms around you into an uncomfortably tight embrace.

“but he’d never love you as much as i love you” he says playfully, ignoring how you smack his back in attempts of trying to get him to let go. 

“you love me?” solomon loosens his embrace and lets you pull away, he then puts a finger to his chin and pretends to think for a moment. 

“sometimes” 

▸ running errands together has become routine. sometimes you’d go on a grocery run not just for yourself but for restocking the kitchen back at the house of lamentation for…obvious…reasons. 

▸ everytime you have to do that you call up solomon. “the bags are heavy.” you reason. solomon agrees to it because who wouldn't want an excuse to hang out with their favorite person ^_^. 

▸ though…going shopping with solomon always ends up with you getting side tracked. he’ll end up buying you something that “reminds him of you” but it’s always something odd. you try not to think of what exactly it is he thinks of you when he sees a wooden figure of a headless chicken but i digress. 

▸ honestly speaking, you don’t get to see much of solomon throughout your day. you spend a lot of your time attending to the brothers that any moments with him is cherished <3

▸ being launched back into time unwillingly has been hard for you. emotionally and mentally draining, having to somewhat relive your past with the demons hasn’t been easy.. and yet, just having one familiar face by your side has been enough for you to get by.

▸ you catch yourself wanting to spend more time with solomon. more and more you find yourself saying “sorry, i have to get back home” when politely rejecting the brothers’ requests at staying over just a little longer. it’s not that you want to disappoint them, there’s just…something about cocytus hall that you gravitate towards.

▸ maybe it’s not cocytus hall itself. you don’t exactly consider cocytus hall your home, it’s too grand and too unfamiliar for you. not even the purgatory hall was all that familiar to you. 

▸ in your mind, it felt as though you were more so attached to solomon himself rather than the building. wherever he was, that’s where “home” would be.

thank you for reading, rbs appreciated<3   m.list