#but it’s nice when I see something distressing

[chaifootsteps]

Hiya! If you don't mind a little bit of Hazbin-themed venting, I've got something I'd like to get of my chest, if that's alright!

I'll start this by saying that I'm...uh, well, a decently competent artist. The sort that can land some goofy roles here and there, those entirely irrelevant to this ask. Saying this not to brag, of course, but just to illustrate that I have spent years on my craft and take it very, very seriously!

My art has always generally leaned a certain direction, and that direction has overlap with VivziePop's art style, incidentally. I've never taken inspiration from her—my inspirations can be sourced elsewhere—and my artistic journey has not involved her whatsoever. Regardless, in real life, in the past recent years, people have repeatedly compared my art to Hazbin Hotel. Over, and over, and over. When the show came out, those comparisons ramped up, and I feel like by pure misfortune I have this shadow casted on me, as if I owe all that I've worked for to a coincidence.

I don't know. There's no real way for me to prove that I 100% did not take after Vivzie since I don't really have the Internet footprint for it. My friends and loved ones can attest to my work being my own, but...there's nothing I can do. People look at me and see someone else now. I've had comparisons before, but nothing like this. I consider art ultimately as an expression of the self, and to know that others hear a voice that's not my own is nothing short of distressing.

I would like to post my work online, and I'm itching to (if the dice rolls well on it) make my own cartoon, but I kinda sorta fear that those Hazbin comments'll end up dominating the space and, uh, I admit I don't trust the Hazbin Hotel fandom to be nice about it.

I'm considering the idea of changing my art to escape all the comparisons, but I also hate the idea of changing myself over something vain and, really, so, so dumb. I like my art. I think it's different, and I think it's me. It works for what it's meant to do! I just...wish other people could see that, y'know?

I've developed a sort of embarrassment over work that I've been chipping away at for over a decade because of this, and I find myself demoralized over making and showing art knowing exactly how other people are going to percieve it. I'll for sure still do what I do, but I find myself at a low point, and I felt the need to yell it out there. I'd be more than happy to welcome any advice on how to tackle this issue!

Trust me, Anon, you're far from the only artist who's run into this problem. You'd be surprised how often it comes up.

I think you've got to just do your own thing, even if some of the comments make you develop an eye twitch. There will always be people who see your hard work and unique style for what it is, and you can't hold back your talents just because Vivienne Medrano happens to be dooking up the Earth. The world needs more artists and more stories!

[squatch-and-stretch]

Chapter 4

After eating, sleeping arrangements for the time are sorted out— Stanford and Fiddleford share the couch, heads on opposite armrests. Luckily, Stanford has always been the type to curl up, and the couch is long enough that Fiddleford’s feet only reach his chest even when he sprawls. Stanley sleeps on the floor, an arrangement Fiddleford only agreed to after he gathered up enough pillows and blankets to make a decent little nest for him.

The twins fall asleep quickly enough, but Fiddleford struggles to settle down against the noises of other living creatures in his space. Stanley snorts and mumbles softly in his sleep. He's curled up against the wall, near Stanford’s head. Fiddleford can hear him, but if there’s any words in his sleepy rambles, he can’t make them out.

He used to like it, falling asleep to Stanford mumbling equations at his desk, or to Emma-May’s quiet breathing. The sounds of Stanford pacing and ranting and bumping into the walls kept him up once, but in a way, his current restfulness unnerves him all the more. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Stanford to wake up with a wide grin and bright yellow eyes, to grab him and finish in Stanford’s body what he started in his own.

It’s quiet outside. It often is. The beasts here are dangerous, but not numerous. Occasionally Fiddleford will be roused from his sleep by some nocturnal monster, but more often than not, it’s just quiet. He misses crickets. He misses coyotes.

Suddenly, Stanford shifts, one leg kicking out at the backrest as he curls up tighter. Fiddleford sits up immediately, drawing his legs away from Stanford and staring at the hunched form of him in the dark. He’s shaking, little noises of distress spilling from his pursed lips.

Thoughts of Bill’s possession and the danger he might pose are discarded immediately. Stanford, for all that he’s always been bulkier than Fiddleford, looks impossibly small where he’s curled, twitching on the couch.

“Stanford,” Fiddleford whisper-shouts, leaning a bit closer. “Wake up, hun, come on.”

Stanford doesn’t react. His hand clenches against the back of the couch, pushing at it weakly.

“Hey, come on, up you get,” Fiddleford insists, reaching out to take Stanford’s shoulder.

Before he can reach, Stanford’s eye shoots open and a six-fingered grip takes his wrist firmly and twists. Fiddleford yelps, bracing a foot against Stanford’s leg as he scrambles to get away from his iron grip. Stanford follows his movement, sitting up like he’s being tugged along rather than consciously moving his own body.

He’s grinning, and even if it’s hard to make out the details of his eyes in the dim light, he knows they’re yellow, pupils slitted. From his eye, something dark runs down his cheek.

“Heya Specs! Good to see you again! Honestly, I’m surprised you’re alive!”

Fiddleford wants to retort back, say anything that would get that sickening grin off of Stanford’s face, but the words catch in his throat. He can’t say a thing.

“Nice talk, but you’re not the one I want to torment right now!” Bill says from Stanford’s mouth, and he gives Fiddleford’s wrist one final, painful squeeze before shoving him away and off the couch. “Where’s my inferior clone?”

Fiddleford hits the ground hard, unable to catch himself with his other hand. Instantly he turns towards where Stanley was resting. The terms of Bill’s possession are unclear, Fiddleford has no idea how to expel that demon from Stanford’s body without hurting him, or even with hurting him if it came to that.

What is clear, however, is the danger Bill’s occupation poses to both him and Stanley.

Fiddleford rolls onto his hand and knees to make his way towards Stanley— he doesn’t know what to do, but it’s bound to be easier if Stanley’s awake for it— but Bill reaches him first. He tumbles Stanford’s body over the arm of the couch, landing directly on top of Stanley.

“What the hell?” Stanley grunts, “get offa me, Ford!”

“Aw, why? Don’t you miss me, brother?” Bill teases. “Don’t you want a hug?”

Whatever Stanford does, it has Stanley crying out in pain. Fiddleford scrambles to his feet.

“Oh, he got you good didn’t he! Bet it really hurts! I’m jealous!” Bill continues, and Stanley’s shout trails off into the loud, shaky breaths of someone trying very hard not to agitate an injury.

“Ford— what—“ Stanley wheezes.

“It’s Bill!” Fiddleford corrects, looping an arm around Stanford’s neck in an attempt to pull him off of Stanley.

Bill lets out a choked laugh, one hand clawing at Stanley’s shoulder while the other scrambles against Fiddleford’s arm. His nails are short— Stanford always had a bad habit of chewing at them— but there’s enough there to dig into his skin.

“This is all your fault!” Bill wheezes. “As usual, you ruined everything, Mackerel! I tried to tell Sixer here that this would happen, but he trusted you! And look where it’s gotten us! You, branded like a cow, him, stuck in another world, and me without my portal!”

Branded. Stanley’s cry of pain, the way he’d been favoring one arm all day, his wince when Fiddleford mentioned burning himself—

“Let go, you damnable triangle!” Fiddleford snaps, and Stanley scrambles to get Stanford’s hand off of his shoulder just as Fiddleford throws his full weight backwards. It’s hard to keep him in place without support from his other arm, but it’s enough to pull him free.

“You worthless sack of rotting meat!” Bill snarls, wrenching himself free of Fiddleford’s grip now that he’s no longer wasting a hand on tormenting Stanley. “I will get what I want, and Palo Alto will be my first stop once I wipe Gravity Falls off the map! You’re about to miss a lot of birthdays, hick, but I’ll show Tater how to party!”

“You keep his name out of your mouth!” Fiddleford shouts, and before he can think better of it, he throws his full weight into a punch to Stanford’s jaw.

He doesn’t have a lot of weight, even less now than ever before, but it’s enough that Stanford stumbles, falls, and slams his temple into the break room countertop.

Fiddleford freezes, locked in the follow through. Stanley stares from where he’s sitting on the ground, a hand covering his shoulder, wide eyes flicking between Fiddleford and Stanford.

“… Hell of a left hook,” Stanley says faintly.

“Oh my lord,” Fiddleford breathes, and both of them scramble towards the unconscious form of Stanford at once.

“Hey, wake up, Poindexter,” Stanley demands, tapping Stanford’s cheek with an open palm.

Fiddleford grabs Stanford’s wrist, reminds himself that he's never been able to feel someone’s pulse there, and leans forward to rest his head on his chest instead, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling the way it rises and falls with each breath.

He didn’t kill him, thank the lord. Still, a potential brain injury is a potential brain injury and Stanley is right to try to wake him. Still, last time Fiddleford had tried to wake him…

“Stay here, be careful,” Fiddleford says, waiting for Stanley to acknowledge him— a confused glance, good enough— before he darts out of the break room.

Somewhere around here, in some pile of crap Fiddleford never got around to sorting through— ah, there it is. Fiddleford fishes a length of rope from a pile of scrap fabric, then retrieves the reading light from his desk.

Supplies successfully gathered, he returns to the break room. Stanley has moved Stanford so his head is resting in his lap, and keeps poking at him in an attempt to rouse him.

“Gonna need you to tie the knots,” Fiddleford says, handing over the rope as he settles down beside Stanford.

“What?” Stanley holds the rope limply, apparently baffled by its sudden presence in his hands.

“Tie his wrists, Stanley, I know he hurt you and I wanna make sure he doesn’t do it again.”

“Whaddya mean, I’m fine,” Stanley says quickly. “He was pushing you around too, wasn’t he? Are you fine?”

“Don’t even start with me,” Fiddleford sighs, “once we get Stanford sorted out, you’d best believe I’m checkin’ in on your shoulder.”

“What shoulder?” Stanley says, and then immediately winces.

“Just tie your brother's arms, will you?”

Stanley grumbles unhappily, but does so with unnerving ease. It’s not the first time he’s done something like this, Fiddleford reckons.

Once he’s bound, Fiddleford lets out a soft sigh of relief, letting himself rest his hand against Stanford’s chest, comforted by the feeling of his heart beating beneath his palm.

“Come on hun,” Fiddleford gently requests. “Why don’t ya wake up?”

“So, is calling your lab partner ‘hun’ a nerd thing or a southern thing?” Stanley says, absently continuing to poke at Stanford’s cheek even as he looks up at Fiddleford with a shit-eating grin.

“Is now really the time?” Fiddleford hisses.

“Hey, I find my fun where I can,” Stanley says with a tight shrug. He pinches either side of Stanford’s lips, parting them as he talks in a mocking voice. “I’m Stanford Pines, I want to make out with Nikola Tesla, polynomial equations, and maybe my lab assistant!”

“Will you hush up?” Fiddleford snaps, feeling his cheeks go red. Still, there’s something to be said for the redirection of the tension in the room.

Then, Stanford groans softly, and all that tension returns. Stanley pulls his hand away as if burnt. Fiddleford moves his hand down to Stanford’s bound wrists, checking the knots there.

“Nnn… wha…” Stanford‘s eyes open slowly.

As soon as they do, Fiddleford is flicking the reading light on and shining it into his eyes. He immediately hisses and squeezes them shut, but Fiddleford catches a glimpse of his round pupils before he does.

“Wh—“ Stanford grumbles, before he suddenly bolts upright. “Stanley!”

“Right here, Six,” Stanley says calmly, leaning away just in time to avoid getting headbutted.

“He— Bill, he wanted to— he blamed you for ruining the portal, stranding me on this side where I couldn’t help him, he wanted to— and he wasn’t even the one—“

Stanford trails off, looking at Stanley with wide, desperate eyes before he leans his head forward, resting it on Stanley’s uninjured shoulder. After a moment of hesitation, Stanley unties his brother’s wrists and wraps his arm around him, sighing into his hair as he leans his cheek against the top of his head.

“Stanley…” Stanford whines, like a child seeking comfort.

“I got you,” Stanley says carefully. Fiddleford meets his eyes, and sees the uncertainty there. “We’re gonna figure this out, Ford.”

“We’d better,” Fiddleford agrees, and Stanford curls tighter into Stanley’s arms at the sound of his voice. He tries not to take it personally. “We did most of the hard work, if that equilateral bastard can find some other schmuck to break in and finish it off, it’s over.”

Stanford peels himself away from Stanley, turning to look at Fiddleford. His eyes are wet, cheeks ruddy. There's blood smeared down one of them, the few tears he allowed to slip doing little to dilute it.

“I’m— I’m so sorry, Fiddleford,” Stanford says, half reaching for him as well.

Fiddleford sighs helplessly, and catches Stanford’s hand before it can retreat. Despite the bruise Bill had pressed into his wrist with these same hands, the six fingers fitting comfortably between his own are as soothing as they’ve ever been.

It’s not like Stanford never apologizes, but it’s a rare occurrence. He’ll apologize for little things, like waking Fiddleford up at some ungodly hour, but never for the larger strokes, like almost getting Fiddleford killed again and again. If Stanford was actually invested in his actions, getting him to apologize for them was like pulling teeth.

And in the time since their reunion, there was nothing he was more invested in than that portal.

“You— you were right about everything. I should have listened to you, I can’t believe I was so foolish!”

“Dumbest genius I’ve ever met,” Fiddleford agrees, and the resigned hurt on Stanford’s face has him squeezing his hand in an attempt at comfort. “But you’re still a genius. If anyone can figure out how to stop him, I reckon it’s us.”

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 3,143 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

I love the block button

[boxwinebaddie]

this just in: uncle nina started writing again ( please clap; i thought i was going to sustain permanent brain damage and only be able to read and write at a third grade level like rav--someone we know! <3 )

welcome to my favorite past time ( aka me writing something nonsensical that nobody asked for ) which is hotshot raven of crimson dawn displaying anxious normal stan boy mannerisms and vile kyle ( aka jersey ) experiencing human emotions about it and being both disgusted and frightened animal curious about it.

( idk where this goes? in the #hate chapter i deleted idk )

hyh and enjoy the worst part of your day <3,

no longer metal but still #hardcore uncle nina xx ;)

[rapidhighway]

Hnngg

[strangerhands]

ohmygodddddd i am a fucking genius...👁️ the fic idea i just came up with. the Specific Line i thought up. its such a random idea but its so so cute and sweet and ugh its gonna plague me forever. kinda proud of myself to be honest so lets just hope i can Actually write it soon🧎

[snekdood]

if words are not enough to get a manipulative person to leave you tf alone and hit the road, wtf are ya supposed to do? maybe throw a small toy at them to send a message

[phagodyke]

.

[kaijutegu]

Alligator Body Language and You, or: How To Know When An Alligator On Social Media is Being Stressed for Views

Alligators are wild animals. Despite the idiotic claims of animal abusers like Jay Brewer, they cannot be domesticated, which means they are always going to react on the same natural instincts they've had for millions of years. Habituated, yes. Tamed, yes. Trained, definitely. Crocodilians can form bonds with people- they're social and quite intelligent. They can solve problems, use tools, and they're actually quite playful. Alligators are also really good at communicating how they're feeling, but to somebody who doesn't spend much time around them, their body language can be a bit mystifying. And it doesn't help when social media influencers are saying shit like this:

That is not what a happy gator looks like.

That's a terrified, furious gator who isn't attacking because the ogre handling her has her in a chokehold. She's doing everything she can to express her displeasure, and he's lying about it because he knows his audience doesn't even know how to think critically about what he's doing. He knows that because his audience doesn't know anything about these animals, he can get away with it. This I think is why I hate him so much- he deliberately miseducates his audience. He knows what he's doing is factually inaccurate, he just doesn't care because attention means more to him than anything else in the world.

Let's change that! Here are two really important lessons for understanding alligator body language on social media.

Lesson 1: Alligators Don't Smile (in fact, most animals don't)

So what's going on in this video? Jay Brewer is aggressively choking his white alligator Coconut while scrubbing algae off of her with a toothbrush. And make no mistake, he is digging into the creature's throat while she is visibly distressed. He claims she's happy- but she's not. He is willfully misrepresenting what this animal is feeling. That's a problem, because people... well, we actually kind of suck at reading other species' body language. The reason for this is that we tend to overlay our own responses on their physical cues, and that's a problem. For example, let's look at an animal with a really similar face to ours, the chimpanzee. Check out Ama's toothy grin!

Wait, no. That's not a happy smile. That's a threat display. When a chimpanzee "smiles," it's either terrified and doing a fear grimace, or it's showing you its teeth because it intends on using them in your face.

How about a dog? Look at my smiling, happy puppy!

Oh wait no, this is a picture of Ryder when he was super overwhelmed by noise and people during a holiday party. He'd hopped up in my sister's lap to get away from stuff that was happening on the floor and was panting quite heavily. See the tension in the corners of his mouth and his eyes? A lot of the time when a dog "smiles," the smile isn't happy. It's stress! Why Animals Do The Thing has a nice writeup about that, but the point is, our body language is not the same as other species. And for reptiles, body language is wildly different.

For instance, look at these two alligators. Pretty cute, right? Look at 'em, they're posing for a Christmas card or something! How do you think they're feeling?

Well, I'll tell you how the normal one is feeling. He's annoyed! Why is he annoyed? Because the albino just rolled up, pushed another gator off the platform, and is trying to push this guy, too. I know this because I actually saw it happen. It was pretty funny, not gonna lie. He's not gaping all the way, but he was hissing- you can actually see him getting annoyed in the sequence I took right before this shot. Look at him in this first shot here- he's just relaxing, and you can see he isn't gaping even a little bit.

By the end, he's expressing displeasure, but not enough to actually do anything about it. He's annoyed, but he's comfy and that's where one of the best basking areas is, so he'll put up with it.

Reptiles open their mouths wide for a lot of reasons, but never because they are actively enjoying a sensation. Unless they're eating. No reptile smiles- they can't. They don't even have moveable lips. If a reptile is gaping, it's doing so because:

It is doing a threat display.

It is making certain vocalizations, all of which are threats. Alligators are one of the rare reptiles that do regularly vocalize, but most of their calls aren't made with a wide open mouth.

It is about to bite something delicious or somebody stupid. Check out this video- virtually all of the gaping here is anticipatory because these trained gators know darn well that the bowl is full of delicious snacks. (I have some issues with Florida's Wildest, but the man knows how to train a gator AND he is honest about explaining what they're doing and why, and all of his animals are healthy and well-cared for, and he doesn't put the public or his staff at risk- just himself.)

It's too hot and it has opened its mouth to vent some of that heat and thermoregulate. This is the main reason why alligators will often have their mouths part of the way open, but sometimes they'll open all the way for thermoregulation. This is what a thermoregulatory gape looks like- usually it's not all the way open, kinda more like < rather than V, but you can't say that 100% of the time. Additionally, a thermoregulatory gape... typically happens when it's hot out. If they're inside, maybe they've been under their basking light for too long. Heat's the dominant factor, is what I'm getting at.

There is another reason that a captive crocodilian might be gaping, and that's because it's doing so on command. Some places have their gators trained to gape on cue, like St. Augustine Alligator Farm and other good zoos. They have the animals do this in presentations that are genuinely educational. They ask the animals to open their mouths so that they can show off their teeth and demonstrate how their tongues seal off the back of their mouth. They'll also do it as part of routine healthcare, because looking at their teeth is important.

In this case, the animals aren't gaping because they're stressed, they're gaping because they know they're gonna get a piece of chicken or fish if they do it. And what's more, they're doing it on cue. They have a specific command or signal that tells them to open wide. It's not an instinctive response to a situation. It's trained. If the animal provides the behavior after a cue, the situation is much less likely to be negatively impactful.

It's also important to remember that there's a difference between a partially open mouth and a gape! As discussed above, alligators will often have their mouths a little bit open just to maintain temperature homeostasis. It helps them stay comfy, temperature-wise. These guys are all doing thermoregulatory open-mouthed behavior- that slight open and relaxed body posture is a dead giveaway. (That and it's the hottest spot in the enclosure.)

Lesson 2: A Happy Gator Is A Chill Gator

So if alligators don't smile or have facial expressions other than the :V that typically signifies distress, how else can you tell how they're feeling? One way is stillness. See, alligators subscribe to the philosophy of if it sucks... hit da bricks.

Basically, if they hate it, they'll leave. Unless, y'know, somebody has their meaty claws digging into their throat or is otherwise restraining them. (Restraint isn't always bad, btw. Sometimes the animal is going through a medical thing or needs to be restrained for their safety- which a responsible educator will explain.)

Let's look at a very similar scenario, in which a captive alligator is getting his back scrubbed.

As you can see, it's quite different. First, he's not being restrained at all. Second, look at how relaxed he is! He's just chilling there vibing! He could simply get up and leave if he wanted to, because he's not being held. Towards the end of the video, as he lifts his head, you can see that his respiratory rate is very even as his throat flutters a bit. I'm not sure what this facility is, so I can't comment on care/general ethics, but like. In this specific case, this is an alligator enjoying being scrubbed! And you can tell because he's not doing anything. A happy gator is content to be doing what they're doing.

Why Should I Listen To You?

Now, you should ask yourself, why should you listen to me? Why should you trust me, who does not own an alligator, versus Jay Brewer, who owns several?

Well, first off, there's no profit for me in telling you that what you're seeing on social media is in fact not what you're being told you're seeing. I'm not getting paid to do this. That's the thing with people who make social media content. The big names aren't doing it just for fun. They're doing it for money. Whether that's profit through partnerships or sponsorships, or getting more people to visit their facilities, or ad revenue, you can't ignore the factor of money. And this is NOT a bad thing, because it allows educators to do what they're passionate about! People deserve to be paid for the work that they do!

But the problem starts when you chase the algorithm instead of actually educating. A "smiling" alligator gets the views, and if people don't know enough to know better, it keeps getting the views. People love unconventional animal stories and they want those animals to be happy- but the inability to even know where to start with critically evaluating these posts really hinders the ability to spread real information. Like, this post will probably get a couple hundred notes, but that video of Coconut being scrubbed had almost 400,000 likes when I took that screenshot. Think about how many eyeballs that's reached by now. What I'm saying here is that it's just... really important to think critically about who you're getting your information from. What do dissenters say in the comments? What do other professionals say? You won't find a single herpetologist that has anything good to say about Prehistoric Pets, I can tell you that right now.

Another reason you can trust me is that my sources are not "just trust me bro," or "years of experience pretending my pet shop where animals come to die is a real zoo." Instead, here are my primary sources for my information on alligator behavior:

Dragon Songs: Love and Adventure among Crocodiles, Alligators, and Other Dinosaur Relations- Vladimir Dinets

The Secret Social Lives of Reptiles- J. Sean Doody, Vladimir Dinets, Gordon M. Burghardt

Social Behavior Deficiencies in Captive American Alligators (Alligator mississippiensis)- Z Walsh, H Olson, M Clendening, A Rycyk

Social Displays of the American Alligator (Alligator mississippiensis)- Kent Vliet

Social Signals and Behaviors of Adult Alligators and Crocodiles- Leslie Garrick, Jeffery Lang

Never smile at a crocodile: Gaping behaviour in the Nile crocodile at Ndumo Game Reserve, South Africa- Cormac Price, Mohamed Ezat, Céline Hanzen, Colleen Downs (this one's Nile crocs, not American alligators, but it's really useful for modeling an understanding of gape behaviors and proximity)

Thermoregulatory Behavior of Captive American Alligators (Alligator mississippiensis)- Cheryl S. Asa, Gary D. London, Ronald R. Goellner, Norman Haskell, Glenn Roberts, Crispen Wilson

Unprovoked Mouth Gaping Behavior in Extant Crocodylia- Noah J. Carl, Heather A. Stewart, Jenny S. Paul

Thank you for reading! Here's a very happy wild alligator from Sanibel for your trouble.

[alittlebitofrainbyyourside]

every now and then I am reminded that jesus christ my attachment style is extremely disordered. I'm like if anxious attachment was being hidden by avoidant attachment. It's not even like... normal avoidant attachment? despite that being what I largely identify with. Because I talk to other people with avoidant attachment styles and I'm like ??? bruh what the fuck are you talking about 'I don't need other people' everyone needs other people.

[hopeintryingtimes]

Feeling kind of suicidal today. I don't know what to do with this. This is new for me.

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc: A nice moment with a sleep demon.

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Dead On Main.

---

Danny accidentally absorbed some of Nocturn's powers (like in the Vortex episode), and now, with these new temporary abilities, why not take advantage of them? Like a kid with a new toy, Danny (or should I say Phantom: with a new design) has fun every night going from dream to dream.

The dream world is so strange! Without the constant threat of a dream entity trying to take over the world and all that. Now he has fun exploring the most unusual parts of his classmates' subconscious, or anyone's in general.

Even though he knows he shouldn't be doing this (after all, he's a responsible adult now), spying on other people's dreams isn't exactly something a mature person would do.

On the other hand, Danny is the responsible adult; Phantom is the one who uses his new powers recklessly. Plus, no one in Gotham knows who Phantom is, and at the end of the day, he's not hurting anyone. Point in his favor!

It was all fun and games… until he felt it: the unpleasant taste of a nightmare, distressing and desperate. Phantom knows he has to intervene, because, unlike Nocturn, he does not delight in the suffering of others.

So he goes. And what he sees shocks him.

Resonant laughter of a psychopath, the constant pain of flesh being beaten, and the devastating reminder that no one came to help. Phantom doesn't just see it, he feels it. Gross. What is this? Why would anyone be hurting a child? Then he understands: this is not just a nightmare, it's a memory, and someone is suffering from reliving it.

He absolutely will not allow this nightmare to continue.

...

Jason hasn't been having good days lately, mostly because instead of going to therapy, he's chosen to sweep his trauma under the rug and aggressively throw himself into crime-fighting. He's not good at dealing with his emotions, especially when he's been tormented by the same damn nightmare over and over again.

He knows the script by heart, he knows how it will end, but he still feels the same fear as the first time.

His head hurts.

"No, not again," he thinks in terror. Once again, he's tied up, unable to move or call for help. It's colder than he remembers. The walls have a grotesque tint, with laughter written in every corner. But the worst thing is the silence… until the sound of clashing metal begins to resonate.

Everything is a thousand times worse. He's sure the original scenario wasn't like this, but his terrified mind refuses to accept it.

The metallic sound resonates louder, each crash rumbling in Jason's chest. His breathing quickens, and then he hears it: that laugh.

A deep, distorted echo of laughter that seems to come from every direction. The laughter snakes around the grotesque walls, filled with the same letters that repeat his agony. “Ha… ha… ha…” fills the air, louder with each invisible step that approaches.

Then, he appears.

It’s not the Joker he remembers from that fateful night. This one is worse. Bigger, more deformed, with a smile that seems to tear at his own face. The colors of his suit are darker, more twisted. It’s as if his mind has amplified him, made him more monstrous.

“My, my, how little Robin has grown? But… something remains the same, doesn’t it? No matter how many times you live it, it always ends the same way. And to think that you were my greatest work of art!”

His voice is mocking, but behind the mockery is pure cruelty, a wicked amusement that lights up in those crazy eyes.

The Joker leans towards Jason, his face invading the small distance between them. The sound of metal continues to echo, and Jason knows what's coming next.

"Oh, I almost forgot…" he says, pulling out of nowhere an iron crowbar that gleams in the dim light of the nightmare. "It wouldn't be a good memory without this, would it?"

That's when the pain begins. Jason doesn't want to scream, and he won't. Even though that abominable creature is just a representation of his killer, he won't give him the luxury of listening to him suffer. The blows continue, and Jason bites his tongue. It's just a nightmare, it's not real… it's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not-

"Hey… Are you okay?" he hears him ask. His shocked gaze turns to where the clown should be and discovers that he's gone. In his place, there's a handsome young man: short, slightly messy black hair, expressive purple eyes, and a body almost completely shrouded in dark shadows.

The mysterious man had a cosmic air about him, surrounded by a mix of special effects of stars and galaxies. Something magical.

And new.

Jason honestly doesn't know what he's seeing, or why he's seeing it. "What?" he says, unable to find another word to describe his situation.

The entity laughs at his stunned state, a reassuring echo very different from the joker's laughter. Then he snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's no longer in that ugly room. He's now in a field of flowers, beautiful and vibrant, looking out at a starry sky.

Okay, this is the part where he asks his brain how he went from being in a nightmare to being with a handsome guy under the stars, hands free and untethered.

"Relax, you're not crazy," the being says as he lies back in the grass. “You were in pain, and I didn’t like it, so I got you out of there. Don’t worry, that abomination won’t bother you again.”

Jason blinks twice, bewildered, not understanding anything. “You… saved me?”

“You could say yes.”

“Why?” He shakes his head. “No, wait, that’s not the question. Who…?” Looking back at the being, he decides to change his question: “What are you?”

He seems to have taken the being by surprise.

It clasps its hands together as it looks up at the sky, trying to act normal. Jason narrows his eyes. “You can call me Void.”

“Did you just make up that name?”

The being looks away, seemingly embarrassed at being found out. “Yeah…” And suddenly exclaims, “Ah, ancients! I'm not supposed to be doing this, much less with one of the bats."

That last sentence had given away more than it should have.

"Hey, how about we admire the night view and then pretend this never happened?" Void suggested with a hopeful smile, turning to Jason.

Maybe it was the soft scent of the flowers, the calm atmosphere, or just the tiredness after so many nights of endless nightmares, but Jason, without thinking too much about it, walked over, lay down next to Void on the grass, and said, "No."

He needed a break.

...

And that's how Jason befriended a dream demon. And how Danny pretended to be a dream demon until Nocturn's powers wore off. He couldn't let the bats find out his identity.

After that, they spent more time together, fell in love, there was drama and there was closure. In the middle of all that, Danny started having tea with Alfred in the dream world, and at other times, he had fun bothering the other bats in their dreams.

But that's another story.

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Part 2

[hischokehold]

Pretty Please?

older!könig with a pretty girl who won't leave him alone.

"Hello, mister officer." Pretty doe eyes nearly melt in his, tilted up so sweetly just so you could meet his gaze. Arms locked around his, clinging so gently to his biceps like you have been for the past two weeks.

König grumbled, barely taking a glance at you and your provocative outfit, teasing him. "Back for more, little girl? What did I tell you?" He tsks, baby blues barely evading your exposed cleavage pressed up against him.

"To focus on my studies. I am. Swear I am. Aced my exams, don't I deserve a reward?" You hummed, though he found your words rather hard to believe when you were so obviously checking him out.

You've been getting bold recently, haven't you, liebling?

It all started with a simple encounter, really; with König saving your drunken state from a group of men in his local bar. The perfect damsel in distress. He had pulled you by his hip, dragging you to the nearest bench to slip your glittery high heels right back into your feet. It was one of the rare moments where the colonel wasn't in the front lines. Still, he found himself a little pastime, using his influence to do some shady deals in the city's biggest club.

He didn't exactly expect to have such a cute thing clinging to him.

After a few minutes of listening to your rambling, cooing at you, König finally called you a cab and sent you off. A nice encounter, that's all it was.

Until he found you and your little self began throwing yourself at him almost every night, practically begging for his attention. "Just wanted to thank you for last time," You pout, batting your lashes at him. "Can't I do that?"

You could still see the remnants of blues in his knuckles from beating those bastards to a pulp. His big hands pat the small of your back in a reprimanding manner, shamefully reminding you that you were smitten by a man who you met barely a week ago.

"A thank you would suffice, darling."

König stood his ground. He had morals— what little he has left anyways. You're pretty, no doubt about that. He knew he shouldn't be taking advantage of such a fragile girl. But at the end of the day, he's just a man. Surely, you knew what would happen if you provoked him too much with your womanly charms?

"Y'shouldn't be playing around with men like me, little girl." He drawls, accent thick as he lightly taps your soft cheeks. Something clicked in you at the mention of the rather degrading pet name, pupils fully blown as you nodded at his every word, unable to register anything anymore.

An "I like you." comes from your plump, glossed up lips before you could even control it. Your 100th confession this week alone. Many would call you shameless and maybe you'd feel an ounce of it if you weren't so busy eyeing up his bulging biceps through his tight-fitted polo shirt.

He's intense, you think. And he makes you painfully shy.

"Hm?" He tilts his head, and he's so handsome, and gruff, and big that he has your mind spinning around in circles and doing backflips. Soft brows furrow as brutish hands cup your cheeks, lips puckering up into a small 'o'.

The tip of his tongue swipes down his lips while he indulges in the sight. A pretty girl, a young thing looking up at him all stupid and dazed out. Begging for an older man's attention. "How naughty." He tugs you closer, puffing cigarette smoke all over your pretty face, leaving coughing from the sudden intrusion in your nostrils.

He chuckles darkly, lightly patting the small of your back. "Be a good girl and run along, ja?" He flicks his cig to the side, putting its flame out with a stomp.

"N-No! please," you breathe, manicured fingertips finding your way to his belt, slithering along the lines. His eyes never leave yours, darkening as you inch closer to his manhood, leaving you dizzied.

There's hurried chattering in the background, a scantily clad group of three wore worried expressions on their faces, calling out your name.

"Ah, your friends are here, darling." You don't even have time to respond before he's nudging you out the dark alley, sending you off your merry wya but not before giving your rear a little slap.

"And keep that backside lookin' pretty for me."

[logansdoll]

heat

part two of "cottontail"

CW: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, heavily suggestive, profanity, bunny mutation + spring = fun times, girl imma do my best, this took forever, might be a little long, etc.

As much as he hated to admit it, Logan was worried about you.

In his two-hundred years of living, he had never met someone as hot-headed and brash as you—and that was saying something. But as your you-appointed new best pal, he resigned himself to making sure you didn't piss off the wrong people.

Though it was a nice change of role, seeing as he wasn't the loose canon for once, he couldn't help but begin to grow significantly concerned for your safety.

It wasn't that you were a bad person, far from it, in fact.

Always greeting him with a sweet mornin', Logan!

Always checking up on him after missions.

Always inviting him to "sparring sessions", which would inevitably turn into you two striking up conversation about anything and everything under the sun.

Not to mention you were a humongous flirt—Jean called it being "overly friendly".

She noted that you didn't flirt with any other guys like you did him.

You always gave him those cheeky smiles that seemed to irk him to no end, and put that flirty lilt in your voice when you spoke. Not to mention the constant compliments, which would stick with him for days, sometimes weeks.

But that all stopped about a week ago.

After a day of you acting incredibly off—no jokes, no laughter, little talking—Ororo said you suddenly came down with a "spring cold", but that you'd be up and at 'em soon.

Well, soon hadn't come yet, and Logan hadn't heard anything from you in days.

A spring cold couldn't last this long...

Was it the flu? Was it something else?

And why did everyone else seem so unbothered by it?

These thoughts swam in his head every time he passed your locked door.

Until he finally had enough.

The night everyone went out for a field trip to the county fair, Logan stayed back, opting to visit your quarters with a few choice words, and a container of chicken noodle soup.

When he reached your door, he gave it a soft rap.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Only after a third—more aggressive—knock, did you finally answer.

"Yeah?" you called, your voice low and croaky.

He'd never heard you sound so defeated, and almost... pained.

It made something pang in his chest.

"That must be some cold," he quipped, attempting to play off the feeling with humor.

"Logan?" you asked, sounding shocked. "What are you... What do you want?"

"I just came to give you some soup. Jean told me it's good," he answered, glancing down at the bag in his hand. "S'been a while since I've heard from you."

He waited for a response, but when you never gave one, he began to feel stupid.

This was a mistake.

"Look, I can just leave it outside the door if you don't wanna—"

"No," you interrupted, still sounding strained. "You can come in. Just leave it on my dresser."

A little confused by your tone, he entered nonetheless, boots clicking against the hardwood.

And what he found was concerning.

Your room was a mess—furniture askew, clothes and empty water bottles discarded on the floor, a rumpled mess of sheets on the bed.

The smell in the air was thick with sweat and something else. He looked toward the king-sized bed where a heap sat hunched underneath the sheets

"(y/n)?" Logan called, brows furrowed with confusion and worry as he placed the bag on the dresser.

"Don't come over here!"

You sounded so distressed, in such discomfort.

What's going on?

Why did you sound like you were in trouble?

Ignoring your warning, he slowly stalked closer to the bed, taking slow, tentative steps—now able to hear your soft whimpers and grunts of pain.

"(y/n)?" he questioned, firmly.

You stirred, reacting to his voice, breathing raggedly as if you couldn't get any air in your lungs.

"(y/n), what the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Whatever it is, I can help."

But you turned away, the sheets shifting with you.

"You can't," you whined, "You can't."

Patience running thin, Logan stormed over and snatched the sheets off of you. And there, under the covers, he saw you with his own two eyes.

You were curled into yourself, tail significantly fluffier than he remembered, and ears droopier than he'd ever seen.

Through your thin tank top, he could see your nipples were hard and perky, the shorts you were wearing barely covering your ass cheeks.

'Goddamn...'

When you looked at him, your face flushed red, pupils dilated beyond belief as you covered your face with embarrassment.

You trembled in your skin, tail twitching with discomfort and unease.

"I told you not to come over here," you panted, curling further into yourself. "Didn't want you to see me like this..."

You winced, squeezing your thighs together tight, looking to be in complete agony.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm in heat," you sighed, the cat pretty much out of the bag. "S'cause of my mutation. I can do everything a rabbit can, and go through everything a rabbit goes through. No matter how fucking stupid."

You wiped the sweat off your forehead, your curly hair soaked in it.

"S'why I've been hiding," you explained. "I've been tryna get through this, but I just... can't!"

Now he understood.

Your absence, your uneasiness, the smell of something in the air.

You were horny.

"How long's it last?" Logan curiously asked.

"Depends. Could be a week, could be a month..."

"A month?" he stated, surprised. "Are you in pain?"

Your face screwed tight, triggering something in his core.

"Yes," you groaned, hugging yourself closer.

You looked away from him, appearing so utterly humiliated and ashamed that it pained him.

He had to help.

"What can I do?" he suggested.

You turned to him, eyes widening. "What?" you asked. "What do you—"

"I wanna help you, cottontail," he cut in, already kicking off his boots and taking off his leather jacket to reveal his sexy, white wife-beater. "So tell me what I gotta do."

You watched him, looking completely stunned and mortified, but your pussy throbbed at the sight of his outfit.

"No, no, Logan," you protested. "Y-You can't... you don't need to do this."

But he stood firm in his decision, refusing to leave you.

"I know I don't need to," he firmly responded. "I can't let you go on like this."

"It's okay..." you assured. "It'll probably be done by the end of the week. You don't—"

Before you could even finish, his hand grabbed your face, pulling you close and squeezing your cheeks, his tone demanding.

"Don't protest. Don't argue. Don't push me away... Just let me take care of you, alright?"

His gorgeous brown eyes, filled with the promises of safety and acceptance, bore into yours.

How could you deny him?

"Okay," you caved, leaning into his touch.

"Good girl," he cracked a smile, lips suddenly swooping yours up in a firm kiss.

You let out a soft, eager moan as he scooped you up in his arms, the man letting out a quiet chuckle when you squeaked, your feet dangling off the ground.

While still kissing you, he sat himself down on the bed and plopped you in his lap. His soft lips and tongue made you squirm in his lap, brushing yourself against his quickly hardening cock in his jeans.

"Can I touch your ears?" he whispered, breathless. "'N' your tail?"

Gently, his hand moved down to your ass, caressing your cotton tail. Your toes curled, your body tingling from the sensation.

"Y-Yes," you shakily replied. "Go ahead."

And when his fingers began to lightly brush and stroke your bunny ear from base to tip, you nearly had a full body orgasm, your pussy growing wetter with each pass.

"Fuck..." you gasped. "Yes, just like that..."

Logan smirked as he watched your face contort in pleasure, his ego growing with each whimper.

"Like that?" he asked, teasingly, his cock throbbing at the sound of your pitiful whine in response.

Over these past few months, he'd had countless dreams about having you just like this. And now that he was, he could say with certainty that it was far better than any fantasy.

Gently, one of his big hands slid down between your thighs to pet your pussy through your panties, while the other continued to stroke your ears.

Your mouth fell agape, pleasure coursing through you.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned, tilting your head back as his fingers ghosted over your clit.

You began to shamelessly grind your pussy into his fingers, turning Logan on even more.

"Needy little thing..." he chuckled, amused. "Adorable."

Under his firm gaze and insistent fingers, you nearly came apart at the seams. But before you could, he pulled away, scooping you up with one arm, much to your surprise and arousal, and sliding himself further down the bed.

With a grin, he dropped his head into the pillows, shifting and forcing you to hover over his face.

"M'gonna taste you, now," he stated, as if it was a fact.

You whined in response, moving to grab the headboard as he pulled your panties to the side, giving your pussy a quick peck before completely dropping you on top of him.

"Logan!" you half-moaned, half-screamed, eyes blown wide with pleasure.

You tried to brace yourself, but it wasn't long before he made you a writhing, whimpering, whining mess.

"Ah, Lo, yes!" you cried. "Oh, fuck! Right fuckin' there! Right fuckin' there!"

You were loud and vocal, much to his enjoyment.

He was having the time of his life, massaging your ass and sucking your wet pussy, your juices dripping down his chin.

He even groaned and grunted into your pussy about how good you tasted, only making you wetter at seeing such a stoic man lose his shit over you.

"You want a finger, baby?" he growled, voice slightly muffled. "Talk to me. Tell me what chu want."

"Please," you whimpered. "Fuck me, Logan! Make me come!"

Logan smiled, slowly inserting one of his thick fingers into your hole while his lips gently sucked on your clit.

You nearly screamed, bawling at the pleasure.

"Oh, my God!" you sobbed. "Shit, Logan, I'm gonna... I'm gonna.."

Your orgasm slammed into you without a second thought, drawing a string of slutty moans out as you came all over Logan's tongue.

"That's my good girl," he smirked into your pussy. "So fuckin' good f'me."

Your orgasm was so strong that you began to tremble, the aftershocks taking over your body.

The release helped with the pain... but it still wasn't enough.

You needed more.

Suddenly, he took hold of your chin, staring into your eyes as if he could peer right into your head.

"Do you want more?" he asked, cockily.

Slowly, you nodded, tears pricking your eyes at how much to needed this.

"Yes, Logan," you pleaded, your arousal making you bold and unashamed in your need to be fucked. "Please give it to me. I don't care how you take me. Just please..."

That was all he needed to hear.

He gave you exactly what you wanted and more. The man fucked you, and he fucked you good. He gave your little body everything it needed to knock out those horny thoughts and relieve you of your heat.

In almost every position, too.

He fucked you in missionary while standing up, his hips pistoning into yours while your feet dangled in the air, his hands pinning your thighs apart and making you take each deep, long, slow stroke that had you seeing stars and frantically rubbing your clit watching his handsome face contort in pleasure. 

He fucked you while standing up, your little body bouncing in his arms as you fucked you up and down on his cock, your arms wrapped tight around his neck, your tits pressed flush against his pecs, and your lips locked with his in a passionate, sloppy, wet kiss. 

He fucked you on your side, his big body curled around yours and his cock nestled between your ass cheeks before sliding inside you again, your leg hiked up to get deeper. 

He fucked you on all fours, using your ears to pull you back on his cock, your back arched and ass stinging from random spanks while he pounded into the deep, wet heat of your pussy that squeezed and griped him for dear life. When you tried to rub your clit, he smacked it away and rubbed your pussy for you.

“Uh-uh,” he growled. “No touching what’s mine. All you need to do is cum. Can my little bunny do that?” 

You didn't even answer—you couldn't. But your loud moans and sobs bouncing off of your walls are all the answers Logan needs as he fucked you faster, harder, making your clit sing and pleasure zip through you.

When you felt your last orgasm of the night zip through you, you let out a broken whimper and came all over Logan's cock. 

Triggered by your orgasm and sweet little sounds, Logan gripped you tighter and pounded into you without mercy, until he finally released, too.

“Oh, fuck!” he gasped, his loud groans and grunts echoing throughout the room, triggering another mini-orgasm that made your pussy quiver and drip down your thighs. 

Logan came deep inside of you, filling you to the brim. He even had enough to give you on your ass, pulling out to spray your perfect cheeks with more of his seed, pumping his cock furiously behind you.

A smile stretched across your face as the aftershocks began, practically melting into the sheets. 

You were sweaty, winded, soaked, tired, and covered in cum...but you’d never been more satisfied or happier in your life.

Logan finally settled down beside you, turning you over to face him. He gave you a small smile, his face hot with stray hairs sticking to his forehead. 

“Better now?” he murmured, gently stroking down your back.

You wordlessly nodded, a small, tired hum leaving your lips. 

“Good,” he nodded, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Get some rest.”

And just like that, you were out like a light, softly snoring into his chest, your body curled into his side.

You couldn't wait for next spring...

[princessbrunette]

edging. thats what was being done to you apparently. not that you could remember the word for it by that point, you were in too deep. infact, you think, as you lay there on your back with your thighs splayed open — you may have forgotten every word in the english dictionary.

you’d spent the weekend doting after john b and jj, having them stay in your free house — cooking for them, running around after them, doing anything they wanted to do — and now, they were repaying with a token of their appreciation.

“so here’s the thing, i’m like — 99% sure i can make you squirt. tonight. but here’s the catch, i kinda have to treat you a little mean first. keep working you over and over, and just when you’re gonna cum? i take it away.” john b explains as he helps you out of your clothes, the brunettes voice huskier than usual from arousal.

“s’called edging, dude.” jj stands in his boxers, a halfie poking up against the fabric already as he hurriedly moves your discarded clothes off the bed.

“i was getting there, actually? if you’d just, y’know— let me finish?” the two bicker like they always do, john b shrugging a dismissive shoulder at the blonde who ignores him to tackle you down and start mouthing hungrily at your neck. again, you didn’t really remember or care what the conversation was — the details a little fuzzy due to how much you needed them.

that’s how you ended up laying spread eagle, john b laying a warm hand on your inner thigh, soothing you by stroking your skin with his thumb as you cry out at another stolen orgasm. he pulls his lips off your swollen clit, brows raising and lips quirking up at a soft but amused smile. “ah, ah — i know pup. look, s’gonna feel so good soon okay? just let me be mean a little longer.” he disappears once more, you see him do so through your tears and his fingers start squelching on that squishy spot that made you shake.

jj reclines against the headboard, lazily fisting at his cock as he watches — prepping to eventually fuck the daylights out of you.

“yeah yeah, our girl likes it mean. don’t let those puppy eyes fool ‘ya.” jj drawls casually, tongue tucking between his lips in concentrated pleasure as you arch your back, humping against john b’s face.

“oh—oh m—oh it’s coming, s’coming!” you pant, voice high and desperate making the two chuckle. “please lemme have it, please lemme have it!” you beg, voice cracking and through the haze you feel your brunette boyfriend smirk against your parted folds.

“seeing as you begged so nicely. have at it, sweetheart.” he croons before doubling down on your clit, rolling his tongue over and over all whilst pressing up that spot inside you that made you explode. you mewl, crying and bucking against john b’s face until he eventually holds you down — and then you feel yourself really let go, liquid spewing out of you, a feeling you’ve never felt before.

you go to sit up in a trance, a little distressed and panicked at how overwhelming it felt and jj grabs your hand, rolling his thumb over your knuckles.

“nah you’re good pooch. just a lil squirt. never hurt nobody.” he chuckles and you flop back, rolling your hips up against john b’s face lazily but fluidly. “damn.” jj shakes his head, going to squeeze at his cock once more.

what happens next, you could swear you imagined. something out of a pornographic daydream you’d had. john b pulls back, sitting up from between your thighs and you swear he’s an angel. hair all tousled, skin glowing in the low light of the room on your pink bed sheets, your slick glossing his entire lower face. he holds the eye contact with you only for a little, that affectionate little smile of his not dying even when he breaks his gaze to look toward jj.

it’s then you realise that he’s not spoken, and it’s because he’s got your squirt in his mouth.

you’re panting still, coming down — and your brain is all over the place, unable to form a sentence even if you wanted to. you feel disconnected from your body, with no choice other than to simply watch from your post-orgasm paralysis as john b leans over with a playful smirk, grabs jj by the jaw, opens his mouth forcefully and spits your completion inside.

drawing back, a string of spit connects them both for a second— and whilst jj looks stunned, you noticed his fist tighten around his cock as he swallows it down, silenced for once in his god damn life. john b smirks, patting his cheek.

“uh-huh, get that down ‘ya, slick.”

“closest you’ll ever get to kissing me.” jj retorts, recovering his astonishment with red wet lips and wide eyes.

“i can live with that.” john b shrugs nonchalantly, coming back to lean over you like he didn’t just edge you for an hour. grabbing your hips, he effortlessly moves your body to be splayed infront of jj like a gift, and brushes a thumb against your cheek. “anyway, took that like a champ sweetie. you need a break? or are you gonna let jj in there?” he cups your cunt casually and you shudder.

usually you’d require a break, but after what you just witnessed — you needed it now.

[alisonsfics]

playing pretend

pairing: tyler owens x reader

summary: you’ve had a crush on javi for a while, so it stings when he invites you on a chase and is flirting with other girls. tyler offers to help you make javi jealous, helping you realize maybe the cowboy isn’t so bad after all.

word count: 3.5k

You were sitting in the motel parking lot staring at Javi. When he invited you to come chase some storms with him, you assumed that meant he liked you.

You both had met in college while studying meteorology. You’d remained very close, but your jobs tended to keep you traveling all the time.

You thought his invitation was for you both to reconnect. But now you were sitting alone watching as he flirted with some girl who was fawning over him.

Well not completely alone.

“You got a thing for him or something?” You heard a deep voice ask you.

You looked over to glare at Tyler. Javi had introduced you to Tyler yesterday, and you weren’t exactly seeing yourself becoming fast friends.

He liked to tease you. You were stubborn and didn’t like being teased.

He’d been watching you stare at Javi all night. It was clear to him that you had feelings for Javi.

“No, I don’t have a thing for him.” You lied through your teeth. You weren’t in the mood to confide in the guy who kept bothering you about your relationship troubles.

“So, there’s some other reason you’ve tensed up every time he’s talked to a girl tonight?” Tyler asked you, smirking. You both knew you weren’t fooling him. “Why does it matter to you? You in love with him too?” You joked sarcastically.

Tyler let out a laugh that shook his whole body. He was immediately attracted to your quick sense of humor. He’d never met a girl that kept him on his toes before.

“No, we have more of a rivalry than anything. I was trying to help the damsel in distress, but if you’ve got it handled—” he started to say, baiting you.

He started smirking when you interrupted him. You played right into his hand. “First, I’m not a damsel in distress, got that?” You snapped a him. You thought you’d met a lot of guys like Tyler. Just your traditional fuckboy.

You just hadn’t realized yet that Tyler wasn’t anything like that.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, winking at you. You rolled your eyes at his juvenile sense of humor. “But what did you have in mind?” You asked him.

Tyler could see the way that your eyes lit up with curiosity. He knew you liked chasing tornadoes as much as him, or Javi, or any of the guys there. That meant you enjoyed a little risk. And flirting with your crush’s rival to make him jealous was the perfect kind of risk.

“Why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you?” Tyler said, winking at you. You could feel your stomach do a flip. Why were you feeling like this? You weren’t attracted to Tyler, right?

“Jealousy is your play?” You asked him, pretending like his words didn't make you feel all fluttery. He glared at you. There was a level of nonverbal communication, where you both knew jealousy would work.

He beckoned you over with his hand. You huffed before standing up and walking over to the lawn chair he was sitting in. You felt awkward as you stood in front of him. You didn’t know what to do next.

He held his hands out for you. You set your hands lightly in his, nervously awaiting his next move. You squealed as he pulled you into his lap. He chuckled to himself at your surprised reaction.

He moved your legs over the arm of the chair, letting his hand rest on the back of your thigh. Your breath got stuck in your throat as his hand snuck higher up the back of your leg.

You softly brushed a few stray hairs out of his face. You started to admire him as you saw him up close for the first time. You found yourself getting lost in the small speckles in his eyes.

“Nicely done, gorgeous. We’ve definitely got his attention.” Tyler whispered to you. His voice came out deeper and huskier than you’d heard it before. His words reminded you that all of this was to make Javi jealous.

You felt guilty for how much you were enjoying Tyler’s touch. There was a confidence to the way his hands ran over your skin. You knew it was pretend, but you felt a shiver run down your back every time he touched you.

“Go ahead, look over at him. Let him know you know he’s watching.” He said, taking his free hand and running it along your calf. You coyly looked over your shoulder and saw the way Javi was looking past the girl he was talking to. His eyes were laser focused on you.

You returned your attention to Tyler. Javi was pissed that you wouldn’t pay attention to him for more than a couple seconds. You ran your fingers through Tyler’s hair again.

You watched the way his eyes fluttered softly, almost closing. A soft groan escaped his lips as your nails scratched against his scalp. You couldn’t even admit to yourself how much you liked it.

“If Javi didn’t hate me already, he sure does now.” Tyler said, chuckling to himself. You glanced back over your shoulder. The girl that he’d been talking to had left him. She got annoyed when Javi wouldn’t even look at her.

You ran your fingers over Tyler’s chest, playfully toying with the buttons on his flannel. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?” You asked him. Tyler noticed that mischievous glint in your eye again. The air between the two of you was still as Tyler’s mind raced with possibilities.

“You could drive a man insane with that little mischievous smile, y’know that right?” He chuckled, squeezing your thigh.

You stood up from the chair, pulling Tyler up with you. “Follow my lead,” you leaned in to whisper in his ear. Tyler felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

He noticed how intensely Javi was watching you both, so he wrapped his arm around your waist. You winked up at Tyler and moved his hand into your back pocket.

Tyler nearly choked on the air. He tried his best to hide the blush on his cheeks.

Having seen enough, Javi snuck off to his room for the night.

You and Tyler stopped by the stairwell up to where your rooms were. Tyler moved his hands off of you, and you instantly missed the contact. “I can’t believe your little plan worked.” You said, leaning back against the wall to face him.

“There is one thing no one’s immune to. And it’s jealousy.” He said, kissing the back of your hand softly. His eyes didn’t leave yours. The air between you both felt tight. Neither of you wanted to leave each other.

“Good night, Tyler.” You told him. You went up on your tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. His eyes stayed glued to you as you walked up the stairs.

You walked into your room, but Tyler stayed at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn’t make his feet walk towards his own room. He was stuck in place, watching where you’d gone.

Ignoring everything in him that told him it was a bad idea, he jogged up the stairs towards your room.

When you heard a knock on your door, you assumed it was Javi. You were surprised to see Tyler. He also seemed surprised that he’d worked up the courage to knock. He hadn’t quite figured out what to say yet.

“What’s up, cowboy?” You asked, smirking at how stunned he was. You hadn’t known him long, but you’d never seen Tyler speechless.

He took a step closer to you. Once again, you felt the air get sucked out of you. He was only inches away, completely within your grasp.

You shouldn’t have wanted him the way you did. You had a crush on Javi, right?

“You know, I think it would really piss Javi off if he thought something happened behind closed doors with us.” Tyler said.

You tilted your head to the side. You gulped. Images of Tyler flooded through your mind, dreaming of the possibilities. “What—what're you saying?” You asked, stumbling over your words.

“Can I come in?” He asked, avoiding your question. You hesitated for a second, knowing nothing was off the table once you both were alone together.

You nodded and opened the door for him to step inside. You sat down on the edge of your bed as Tyler struggled to find the words. “He needs to think we slept together or something right? So, maybe just something subtle that makes him spiral.” He hinted.

“Like what? A fake hickey?” You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes. Tyler felt his body heat up at the thought of marking you up like you were his. “Yeah…th-that would definitely work.” He mumbled, clearing his throat.

“I have some makeup, but I don’t know how to make it look real.” You said. Tyler chuckled and smirked at you. “I think there’s a real obvious solution here, gorgeous.” He told you. He waited for you to realize what he was suggesting.

He cockily watched as your eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck it, do what you have to do.” You said, moving all your hair over your shoulder.

He sat beside you on the bed. Your palms felt clammy as his thigh pressed up against yours.

Tyler tightly placed one hand on your waist to steady himself. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” He said, wanting to make sure you were absolutely sure.

“Please, just do it.” You rushed him.

He buried his face in your neck. First, you felt him lick a short stripe across your neck. Your whole body shuddered. He immediately noticed the effect he had on you.

It gave him the boost in confidence he needed. He attached his lips to your neck and started softly sucking on the skin. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the way your eyes instinctively fluttered closed. He let his fingers weave through your hair, cupping the back of your head.

He mentally cursed himself for noticing how soft your skin was and how your hair smelled like roses. Tyler had gotten a taste of you now, and he didn’t want to let you go.

He pulled away. He was feeling self-conscious that he’d been going for too long. He didn’t want you to realize how much he was enjoying it.

“Does it look convincing?” You asked him, nervously. You also had to remind yourself of the reason you were doing this. Tyler looked at your neck, admiring the dark bruise that was forming. He could almost pretend you were his.

“Not quite, hang on,” he lied, attaching his lips to your neck again. Tyler felt bad for lying to you, but he wasn’t done with you yet.

It caught you by surprise this time. You reflexively reached out and grabbed his thigh.

His thumb rubbed small circles on your hip. You had to bite down on your lip to not moan at how good his lips felt. You sunk your nails into his thigh, trying to control yourself. His touch was driving you crazy.

You didn’t know what was happening. It definitely wasn’t Javi that had you feeling like this though.

You tilted your head away from him, giving him more access. He effortlessly moved his lips against your neck, giving the spot a few playful bites.

After what felt like hours, he pulled away to admire his work. “If that doesn’t piss him off, I don’t know what will.” He said, with a mischievous expression.

“So, you come find me at breakfast tomorrow morning after I’ve made sure that Javi’s seen it.” You told him. It was your pathetic attempt to pretend like this was still about Javi. You both were enjoying yourselves a little more than you cared to admit.

He nodded, standing up from the bed. He slowly walked towards the door. He was wracking his brain for any excuse to stay.

“Oh, wait, there’s something else.” You said, rushing over to your duffel bag.

Tyler looked over your shoulder curiously. His eyes went wide when you pulled out a pair of black lace panties. “Oh, gorgeous, a souvenir for my troubles?” He teased you. He was trying tried to distract himself from the mental images of you wearing them.

“Give these back to me tomorrow when Javi is looking. Act like I left them in your room tonight or something.” You said, handing them over. Tyler smirked and tucked them into his back pocket.

“See you tomorrow, gorgeous.” He said, before leaving your room.

You both had very sleepless nights as your minds drifted to each other.

You made sure to choose a revealing tank top the next day that didn’t attempt to hide the hickey at all. You were one of the first people outside for breakfast. Boone was at the grill, cooking bacon and eggs for everyone.

You anxiously waited for Javi to come down.

You finally saw the door to his room open, and your eyes locked instantly. As he walked down the stairs, his eyes ran down your body and noticed the very prominent mark. You felt cocky as he clenched his jaw.

You’d won. You’d made him jealous. Just like you set out to, but you didn’t feel like you’d won.

Javi joined Boone by the grill. He knew that if you and Tyler had hooked up, Boone would have heard about it.

“Morning, Javi. You look rough, you alright?” Boone asked him. Javi didn’t hide his jealousy well. He had bags under his eyes because he couldn’t get the image of you and Tyler out of his head last night.

Javi ignored Boone’s question. “You’re Tyler’s best friend, right?” Javi asked him. Boone laughed off the question as though it was obvious.

“Who else would his best friend be?” Boone asked, glaring at Javi.

Javi rolled his eyes, wanting to skip over any small talk and just ask his questions. “Whatever. Do you know where Tyler was last night?” Javi asked him. Boone stopped what he was doing and turned to face Javi. “Are you trying to ask if Tyler and your girl were together last night?” Boone whispered.

Boone knew you were sitting a few feet away and didn’t want you to hear him. He wasn’t oblivious to the way you and Tyler had been flirting yesterday. So currently, Boone’s loyalty belonged to you, not Javi, because he could tell Tyler cared about you.

Javi quickly nodded, but Boone was hesitant to tell him the answer. “Well, to answer your question, I’d say she’s not your girl anymore.” Boone said, coyly. Javi swore under his breath, kicking the ground.

“You’re really sure?” Javi asked, double checking. He didn’t want to confront you about it if he was wrong. Boone smirked to himself, knowing he had the perfect opportunity to get under Javi’s skin.

“I promise you, I’m sure.” Boone said, raising his eyebrows at Javi.

The look put a pit in Javi’s stomach. Before he could ask, Boone stopped him. “You care about her. I get it. So, don’t ask me how I know cause you won’t like the answer.” Boone hinted.

He knew Javi well enough to know he couldn’t handle the unknown. Not knowing was eating him alive. “Just tell me, man.” Javi begged him.

Boone had to bite his tongue to not laugh at how easy Javi was to read. “Well, on my way to bed I saw him leave her room last night.” Boone started to tell him, and then leaned closer to whisper, “Tyler had her underwear tucked in his pocket.”

Javi’s face went bright red. He stormed away from Boone. He was pissed. He assumed Boone was lying just to get under his skin. After all, Tyler was a pain in Javi's ass, so it made sense that Boone would be too.

You were sitting in one of the lawn chairs scattered around the makeshift camp. You fought back a laugh as Javi stormed over towards you and sat in the chair next to you. He was pouting like a child.

“Morning, Javi,” you cheerily greeted him. You pretended to be oblivious to his dilemma. “Morning. You sleep well?” He asked, gently testing how you’d respond.

You playfully shrugged. “Yeah, pretty good.” You teased.

Then, you saw Tyler’s door swing open. All of a sudden, you felt giddy again. Javi glared at him as he crossed the parking lot towards you. Tyler had his eyes glued on you, and Javi knew exactly where he was going.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” Tyler said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. You smiled up at him.

A few of the chasers were starting to notice the way Javi was glaring at you both. Boone had a giant grin on his face as he watched Javi try to stop himself from punching Tyler.

“Good morning, Javi.” Tyler said, with his signature cocky smile. Javi rolled his eyes and refused to look at Tyler.

Tyler held his hand out for you to grab. You took his hand and let him pull you up out of your seat. The size difference between his hand and yours was still enough to make you weak in the knees.

You heard someone whistle and glanced over your shoulder to see Boone smiling at you both.

Tyler effortlessly interlaced his fingers with yours. You leaned into his side, craving that same closeness from last night.

Last night had given you lots of time to think. In between the dreams you were having about Tyler, you realized the way you felt around him was far from pretend.

Tyler guided you towards his truck. It was only a few feet away from the group, which made it perfectly within Javi's earshot. He opened the bed of his truck.

You almost squealed when you felt his large hands grab your hips. He quickly picked you up and sat you on the edge of the tailgate. You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks from the ease that he picked you up with.

You ran your fingers over his biceps, softly tracing the muscles. “Careful there, gorgeous. You keep lookin’ at me like that, this is gonna quit being pretend real quick.” He told you, softly.

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to ignore how you were aching for him. All your brain could think about was having his lips on you again.

Tyler has very aware that he had Javi’s attention, so he used it. “I had a great time with you last night. Figured I should give these back to you,” he said, pulling your panties out of his pocket. He quickly placed them in your hand, but made sure Javi saw it first.

Javi’s eyes went wide as he realized Boone was telling the truth. He jumped up from his chair and started marching towards you both.

“Tyler, quick, kiss me. He’s coming over.” You whispered.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He teased you. His hands found their place on your hips again. You eagerly slotted your lips against his. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

His lips tasted like spearmint and vanilla. It was like a drug to you. You hungrily kissed him. Tyler playfully bit at your bottom lip, causing a soft whimper to escape your lips. His lips curved into a smirk, telling you that he’d definitely heard it.

Tyler loved how reactive you were to every little touch. You practically melted under his touch. He had to remind himself that it was only pretend.

“He still walking over here?” He mumbled against your lips. Tyler started kissing up and down your jawline, so you could look over his shoulder.

“He’s gone, but don’t stop.” You whispered in his ear, seductively. You were begging him. You were ready to drop the charade.

Tyler pulled away to look you in the eyes. “D-do you mean?” He stuttered.

He felt his knees go weak as he realized the look you were giving him was real. It wasn’t acting. The desperation that he saw in your eyes wasn’t pretend. You actually wanted him.

“Why waste my time on a guy that I have to make jealous to actually get his attention?” You asked.

That was all Tyler needed to hear.

His hands slid down from your hips to cup the back of your thighs. His lips attacked yours, desperately kissing you like his life depended on it.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, which drove him crazy. His tongue ran along your bottom lip before sneaking into your mouth. He tightened his grip on you when he heard you softly moan into his mouth. His hips softly bucked against yours.

“Upstairs?” He asked you, as you both stopped for air. You furiously nodded your head.

Tyler picked the cowboy hat up off his head and placed it on your head. The whole gang erupted in cheers. They’d all gotten invested in the love triangle, and most of them were rooting for Tyler.

Tyler quickly swooped you up into his arms bridal style and raced upstairs to his room.

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