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blood-orange-juice · 2 months

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Inspired by a discord discussion.

I keep seeing characters from snowy places portrayed as unbothered by cold or missing it, and every time I remember that it's completely counterintutive if you didn't grow up in freezing temperatures

So I thought I should write this post.

We are very bothered by cold. We are way more bothered by cold than southerners. Being bothered is what keeps you safe. Warmth is a resource.

There are few lucky people who simply never get cold (mostly guys of endomorph body type) but it's not a given and generally northerners start to complain and wear warm coats at the tiniest hint of cold.

Humans can only adjust up to a certain threshold.

For example, Irish and British winters allow you to ignore weather almost completely (you'll be miserable but you'll probably live), so there's a culture of stoicism, not heating your house above 16-18°C (60-65°F), wearing shorts and sandals (and a Very Big Scarf) when it's snowing and all that.

(I quickly got used to leaving the bathroom window open at 4°C when I was living there. who cares really)

So there's a common misconception that you can do the same with even colder weather.

However, once you are past that adjustment threshold (for most people it takes as little as -5..0°C/23..32°F lasting for more than a month per year) there can be no special built-in resistance to that type of cold (unless you are a yogi or a Taoist monk), instead you learn a bunch of behaviours that help you. You start to preserve warmth religiously.

You also start to differentiate between types of being cold and avoid some of them (some build up over time and it wears you down, so it's best to avoid them entirely). Anything that drops your core temperature (this is noticeable long before you start shivering, shivering is the equivalent of fire alarm) is a huge no. Fingers getting a bit numb from building a snow castle is nothing major though.

It can be hard to unlearn that even if you moved to a warmer place years ago.

Stoic northern characters who have moved to a warmer country are very likely to Complain About The Cold.

They'll start wearing coats at higher temperatures than southerners (because, well, the weather might get worse, or you might stay outside longer than you planned, or move less).

They'll get cold hands more often because their body panics at the tiniest signs of cold and diverts blood to the centre (my first impression of the Irish was how warm everyone was when we shook hands. I'm the same now).

Most will heat their houses to the point where it's possible to walk around in a t-shirt no matter how cold it is outside (those who don't will comment "thank gods that people don't do that in your country, I hated it back home").

They'll whine at +5°C (40°F).

Apart from heavier clothes they'll have a bunch of weird habits like Walking Really Fast when the weather is bad (it's for when you don't want to wear heavier clothes).

They might have a fondness for scarves and good winter shoes (warm shoes and a warm hat are even more important than a warm coat. the lack of hats in fantasy upsets me. scarves are less important but they are pretty).

When locals get surprised they'll reply with "yes, but this is *damp* cold, *dry* cold is different" (it's more complicated than that but this answer usually stops further questions, so we go with that).

It's not like they are actually less cold-resistant, they just take cold more seriously.

At the same time they can be weirdly unbothered by things that freak some of the southerners out because they know how their body deals with low temperatures and which things have no consequences.

(it's not something that you learn from books, it's practical knowledge of what you personally can get away with. for example, I often get completely numb thighs during winter walks, takes an hour to start feeling anything when I get home. but I know it's all right as long as my feet are warm and my core temperature is within normal range)

They also won't suffer consequences when it gets truly cold, while more nonchalant southerners won't notice when they get borderline hypothermic or just cold enough to get sick.

They'll probably consider -30°C (-22°F) exciting. It becomes enjoyable again, because the outside world is now a death zone and there's some macabre fun in resisting it. Oh, and your eyelashes get covered in frost and it looks dope. What's not to like.

Kids will make a point to eat ice cream outside in -30°C (no, they won't get sick from it). I can't explain it, it just works like that.

Generally people from colder countries are not bothered by cold if they can return to a warm place soon enough, it's the prolonged exposure to cold (even mild) they are worried about. Going out for a smoke without a coat is common.

If they are still in a cold country, it's also a bit different from what you expect.

There's a trope of drinking to keep warm. It doesn't work like that. You can drink alcohol to feel warm but not to keep warm and it's an important difference. When it's cold your body's proper response is to constrict blood vessels and to divert blood flow from extremeties to slow down the loss of warmth. Alcohol reverts that.

This means it's perfectly appropriate to drink eggnog or mulled wine at a fair (when you are supposed to get to warmth soon enough, so the illusion of not being cold is not harmful) or hard spirits when you get back from the cold (it will help you warm up faster), but not if you are staying in a cold place. During a hike through winter woods a thermos with sweetened tea and fatty food are your best friends.

Some won't know it and get drunk and frostbitten/hypothermic. People are stupid.

Food gets weird, fats start to seem even tastier than usual. People in Antarctic expeditions are known to crave sticks of butter. In certain weather sandwiches with frozen lard are delicious.

Anything can and will be made into tea.

Some tropes I personally disagree with.

Pain. Pain levels depend on the weather. Cold eases any kind of external pain (cuts or burns) but makes worse anything internal (broken bones, cramps, most headaches).

Hypothermia feels nothing like peacefully falling asleep. It's the most miserable state I've ever experienced, psychological trauma doesn't even come close.

Well, maybe there are people who do fall asleep but other people I've talked to seem to share my experience.

I'm not sure how exactly it works, I think it messes up your self-regulation, since most chemicals in your body require a certain temperature range to work properly. Basically you become Not Yourself. Your emotions go whack (usually it's either extreme self-pity or extreme anger). It feels awful. I hope you never get to experience it.

Most of us don't really miss cold.

Well, some perverts do, but there's a general consensus that cold is awful.

We do miss some things that only happen during cold days though. The stillness and the quiet or how pretty snow looks. How bright the stars are on a clear night. The colour of sunsets and twilight sky when it's freezing.

(in my opinion, the best experience happens around -5°C, it's already pretty but the world is not a death zone yet)

There's also an appreciation of contrast with things that are Not Snow.

Walking from the cold into a greenhouse with orchids.

Watching a blizzard rage outside your window while you sit in warmth with a cup of tea.

Jumping into a lake straight out of a sauna (then going back. do not do that if you have a heart condition).

Fireplaces. Holiday food. Mulled wine. Saffron in pastry.

There's also a lot of beauty in the world that is frozen. I keep stumbling upon the fact no one around me shares these experiences anymore and it saddens me.

The xylophone sound of first ice being broken by a passing boat.

Sea moving under the ice — when it's not too thick it rises and falls like some large animal breathing.

The whale-song-like sounds of ice cracking on large lakes.

There's a very special mood of waiting for first snow. The world is too cold and dark without it and then you wake up one night from the sudden quietness (snow muffles all sounds) and you know it's there even before you look out of the window,

There's the exhiliration of spring. The moment when the wind starts to have a scent — thawing snow smells a bit like watermelons but clearer. Winter smells like nothing at all.

The first tiny yellow flowers in mud. They are our hanami.

(I don't think anyone in Europe truly appreciates spring if they are not from Nordic or Baltic countries)

There's a certain attunement to the scent of ice too.

Like that barely perceptible tingle in the air in late September, long before you can see any ice.

I feel the scent of ice when there's wind from the right part of the Atlantic. No one ever notices but it's there. I love it.

It's nostalgic in a way.

But it's never missing the cold itself for me. For very few people it is, I think.

This is, of course, personal perspective and my experience is not universal. I'm a person from continental climate with harsh winters and hot summers and a city dweller with occasional visit to country houses and a tiny bit of mountaineering experience.

An indigenous person from a place with barely any summer or a character from a fantasy everwinter country will probably differ from me.

There are, after all, simply people who genuinely love cold. A lot of them. It is, however, not the default northerner's experience.

But hey, it's still more complex than it's usually written.

If you want to read something focused on winter descriptions, there's Smilla's Sense of Snow by Peter Høeg.

It's hauntingly beautiful prose and the main character is from Greenland.

‘It’s freezing, an extraordinary -18 °C, and it’s snowing, and in the language which is no longer mine, the snow is qanik – big, almost weightless crystals falling in stacks and covering the ground with a layer of pulverized white frost.’

And then there's Moominland Midwinter. I think it gets better when you read it as an adult and it's probably still the best thing I have ever read about winter solstice.

Anyway.

I think we need more good winter stories.

#'the centre of the universe is always warm' says one of our poets #and I still live by that #writing #snow

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jasmineiros · 5 months

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I wasn't going to post this here due to the somewhat sensitive subject of idolization of celebrities and I actually already vented on Instagram stories, but once the dam breaks out it's useless to even try to contain it. And the only thing that is flooding my mind now is rage.

I already hated millionaires, but after Taylor Swift came to Brazil to that freaking circus people called a concert, I hated them even more.

In case you're not aware, Brazil is dealing incredibly badly with the climate crisis. In Rio they hit the temperature of 60°C (100F, but the sensation was of 140F). It was the highest temperature registered SO FAR. A mix of this unbearable heat and the fact that the staff managing the production of concert used certain materials such as god-damned metal to cover certain structures made several people to get severe burns and 23-year-old die of a heart attack.

Now, that's where the irony comes.

After hearing the news, the best Taylor could ever do was posting a stories saying "how sorry she was and she was so young and she was so beautiful and blablabla" but also very vehemently reinforcing that "due to her grief she wasn't going to say anything about it during the show". I mean, a person who technically loved her, had to get donations to travel across the country and literally died because of this god-damned concert and you can't even make a tiny, small tribute for her. She didn't even mention her name in the stories, which was Ana Clara, btw.

She or the staff never reached out to the family to ask if they needed anything, even though they absolutely had the means to do it. Several years ago, when a Rihanna fan was murdered, she personally paid for the expenses of the funeral, because the family couldn't afford it.

And it gets worse.

She cancelled her next performances due to the climate issues. Being herself is the biggest celebrity CO2e polluter of this year so far. And she got back to the US. In a fucking private jet.

I mean, this combo couldn't be more unbelievable. She not only completely dehumanized an incredibly painful and serious situation, as she, with the 1% of magnates that literally rule this planet, is simply the root cause of the imminent destruction of this planet but it doesn't matter, as long as she still has money being shoved into that white ass of hers.

Or maybe I'm being naive, maybe it's our fault, after all, monkeys are meant to the zoo, not to be in the presence of an untouchable, perfect and almighty nature force such as she, since apparently she can't even breathe the same air we do by just using a freaking common airplane, like a sensitive and sane person would.

The fact that she will just run out and make other concerts with that same innocent angel aura, even though she displays a borderline psychopath behavior, like she still was the 16-year-old girl writing songs about her break ups is absolutely unbelievable to me.

This is just so similar to when that cryptofascist piece of trash of Aurora decided it would be just a good idea to make a shallow and generic discourse about love and acceptance and how everyone is being cancelled nowadays when a member of her band posted and gestured dog whistle supremacy symbols on more than one occasion.

Honestly I wish I could feel anything else right now, but the only thing I can still manage to internalize and express is pure hate.

#yara.txt #taylor swift #anti taylor swift #anti swifties #swifties dni #anti capitalism

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arteastica · 3 months

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Early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (23)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (24) | (25)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.5k

“C-commander, you’re going to make me c-come.” You warned for the last time before letting yourself go. Where? Well, that was for him to decide, because your legs had stopped responding a long time ago. But you didn’t need them anyway; with his nails buried in your back and his dick, deep between your legs, you weren’t going anywhere. At least not anywhere he didn’t decide.

Like a starved soul waiting to be spoon-fed, you opened your mouth wide, a silent moan escaping your lips as you were about to taste the sweet orgasm he had so prettily gift-wrapped for you. Indulgent like thick cocoa in oversized cups, comforting like cinnamon upon custard, forbidden like molasses at midnight, or messy like melting ice cream dripping down your fingers. What would he taste like today?

You would’ve found out, if only he had stayed.

Because, without allowing time for confusion or emptiness to happen, he pulled out, slipped his arm under your waist, and turned you around, making you sit back up on the desk, where you finally came eye to eye with him, and the sweaty streaks of sunshine sticking to his forehead despite the unforgiving temperatures lurking outside your window.

His breathing was labored and ragged, like an elaborate quilt. Warm. Homelike. Handmade. But that was something you both had in common. Your chests, rising and falling against each other; your faces, so close you were stealing each other’s oxygen; his lips, hovering over yours, reminding you of butterflies fluttering around a marigold garden; making you realize how long it had been since the last time you kissed; and your folds, desperately dripping and clenching around the overwhelming emptiness, reminding you of how ready you were for that to change.

You lifted a hand up to his face, pulling him closer; your eyes staring into his, blue like the sky after a storm.

Or perhaps, the storm was just on its way.

Strong arm still wrapped around your waist, he smoothly glided back into you; his lush eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, and his mouth hanging slightly open, as your walls squeezed his swollen member. Suffocating him. Just the way he liked it.

Feeble, sheepish whimpers escaped your lips at the gentle intrusion. As gentle as the raindrops now tapping on the window, announcing the last rainfall of the winter.

Or maybe, the first one of the spring.

“I’m sorry.” He grunted against your lips, before finally closing the distance between you.

And even if he hadn’t spelled out the words for you, you could taste them in his kiss. You could taste it all, even though the tea you had prepared for him remained untouched at the other end of the desk. You could taste the lemon, bitter like regret, yet also fresh like new beginnings. And there was also the honeycomb, nostalgic like a sunset, yet sweet like the waltz your tongues were dancing inside your mouth. A slow, gentle waltz under the rain. His tongue, in perfect synchrony with whatever magic his dick was performing inside you, making you moan against his lips, just in case he didn’t know how good he was making you feel.

And the sensation of your mouth stuffed with his tongue and your pussy, with his cock, quickly became too overwhelming for your poor body to bear; your insides crumbling like sand as a sinking feeling took over. Not the type that precedes a bad day however, but the floaty, funny type you always experienced when jumping from treetops during ODM practice. And even though you were perfectly safe there, held in place by his arm around your waist, and your legs around his hips, you felt like you were free-falling, plummeting down into something unknown. And like so, you pulled away, deciding to wrap your arms around his neck instead, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, where you felt the safest.

“Me too.” You whispered against the damp collar of his shirt. “I promise there’s no one else, Erwin.” Finally able to lay your worries down on his chest, as you let your weight fall against him. “Only you.” And you felt his grip tighten at your words, bringing you impossibly closer to him. “Yes, I’m yours. Only yours. A-always yours.” You repeated over an over, answering the question his cock was relentlessly asking, as it stabbed you repeatedly. “I belong to you and no- no one else mmmhh~ I don’t want anyone else inside me but you.” You closed your eyes, now saturated with tears, not knowing if it was because of how much you missed him, or because of how big he was.

But whatever the reason, your words caused his thrusts to hasten, and his nails to bury even deeper in the thick flesh around your hips, burning your skin like the hot iron they use to mark animals. And you called his name for good measure, just in case he needed further confirmation that you were his. You called his name as repeatedly as the drops falling from the sky outside. You called his name as fireworks exploded all over your body; your back arching against the muscular arm he kept around you, your head thrown all the way back, and your breasts in full display, like a ceremonial feast offered to a king.

And when your muscles stopped spasming, you collapsed on him, desperately gasping for air against his neck, as if you had just come back to life after almost drowning. And you honestly didn’t know if the moisture on his shirt was coming from his skin or your eyes.

While your forehead took a much needed rest against his shoulder, you looked down to find him still buried into you, your sweet nectar spilling out of your hole, dripping down his thighs like honey, messily sliding down the glossy wood of his desk.

And you looked up at him through heavy eyelids, a fucked out smile on your lips, silently asking if he too found it beautiful, the mess you had created. And this time, for the first time in days, he smiled too. His hand temporarily leaving the abused skin of your hips to tuck sweaty strands behind you ear.

Please fuck me again.

“Please stay.” You requested softly, clenching around him, hoping he wouldn’t pull out. Hoping things would stay as they were right now. Between the two of you. Trapped in your little bubble. His eyes like the clear sky reflected in a stream, like gentle sun rays tickling your skin, on a Sunday morning, just a little before noon.

I love you. Your lips quivered, tempted to let the words spill. I love you, Commander. But you didn’t want the bubble to burst. You wanted to stay forever trapped inside with him. Together. As one.

I love you, Erwin.

“Please keep making love to me.”

I love you so much.

He placed a soft kiss on your lips just as his hips started to move again. Unhurriedly, gently, indulgently. Like stirring thick cocoa together, by the kitchen window, on a snowy night.

You held his face as he sucked on your bottom lip, as his tongue savored all his favorite flavors on yours, as his lips condensed a million thoughts into a moment. And not long after, when the pace of his thrusts hastened again, you pulled away, not wanting to miss a second of his face when he came, something so captivating and artistic it belonged in a museum. Truly a masterpiece. His temples covered with salty dew as he panted for air, forehead resting against yours. And you had never been this grateful for the unforgiving training that scouts had to go through. You had never been this grateful for that early morning run he never skipped. Because there was no doubt in your mind that he could fuck you all night long. You had no stamina left, but he did, and that’s all that mattered. After all, his body was the one doing all the hard work, and yours just needed to bounce and react.

“Command-”

“I missed you.” As breathless as you currently were, your heart couldn’t afford the luxury of skipping a beat. Yet it did, your entire body choosing to stay silent, just in case he said it again. Because, the thing is, you really needed to hear those three words again. From those very lips that were now hovering over yours. “I missed you so bad.” He ran his thumb across your cheek, his touch as soothing as the gentle breeze from a faraway childhood summer. “Those days were the worst.” He paused, intently scanning your features as if carving them inside his memory. “Realizing I was no longer on the receiving end of that smile.” His thumb found your bottom lip, and caressed it gently. “Asking myself if I was losing you every time you closed the door behind you.”

“Erwin.” His sweet name on your lips, and salty droplets on your eyes. “I want to be with you.”

Forever. You added in your head, remembering the cabin in the woods. By the stream, a faraway windmill as your closest neighbor, the climbing hydrangea guarding the door, and the stepping stones leading up the hill, where the sycamore was always waiting, in front of the snow-capped mountains, the wooden swing below and its musical creak, its only company. Forwards, backwards, forwards and then backwards again. Never getting tired. And neither do you. But how could you? Waking up next to him every day, his bare back beneath the morning light; and making love, your only plan for the weekend. And if it only existed in a fantasy, why could you describe it in such detail? If it wasn’t in your future, then why could you see it all? Smell it all. Hear it all.

Feel it all.

“So do I.” He answered, his eyes like a sunlit lake, and his eyebrows like the evergreen foliage surrounding it.

“Erwin.” You used his name again, as if it was a promise; your voice impossibly breathy as his hips continued its satisfying dance, that by now had grown more and more erratic, telling you that it was near. You could tell, even if words didn’t forecast it: The cloudburst about to happen between your legs.

He buried his nails even deeper in the abused flesh of your hips, presumably looking for some form of stability as his movements became more and more unsteady. And he was so hard it must hurt. So hard you had to stare, not wanting to miss a second of that spectacular finale: his rich, indulgent cream, the sweet result of your lovemaking, a recipe you had created together, splattering everywhere like fresh paint once he pulled out.

But the thing is, he wasn’t pulling out. You looked back up at him, searching for an explanation, not wanting to get your hopes up, since you didn’t know how ephemeral his mistake would be. But it didn’t look like a mistake. Not when he was staring at you like that, so intently, as if he was fully aware of his actions.

You looked down again. He was going to come; there was no doubt. You felt it inside, and it would happen any time now.

“You look the prettiest when you’re happy.” He said all of a sudden, his voice a mixture of grunts and labored breaths, and his lips curving into the sweetest smile he had given you yet. And maybe it was that, or the window behind him, or the fact that it had also been raining back then, but your mind traveled to the very first day you met. So many nights ago. He had told you to come in, and then apologized for how boring and repetitive your days were about to get. All while smiling, just like today.

Oh, if only you knew back then.

“I want to make you happy.” He said, his eyes wrapping your naked body like the softest of silks, and his smile feeling like a promise, one you couldn’t wait to kiss.

“You already do.” You replied, voice filled with sweet adoration, just mere seconds before he collapsed on you, forehead resting against your shoulder, as you ran soothing fingers through his hair, completely drenched, almost as if he had been fucking you under the pouring rain instead.

I love you. “You did so well for me.” You whispered against his forehead, holding him like you wished you could for the rest of your days, and closed your eyes, enjoying the tickling of his breath against your neck, as well as that of his warm cream sliding down your belly. Someday, maybe in the not so distant future, it would be inside instead.

Or maybe not.

But you didn’t feel like entertaining uncertainty tonight. Not when you finally had him in your arms like this.

“I’m sorry.” He said, and the words tickled the sensitive skin of your neck. His fingertips were drawing soothing patterns on the tender flesh of your hips, but the tone of his voice told you that bruises and hickeys weren’t the only thing he was apologizing about.

“Erwin, I swear there’s nothing between him an-”

“Shhh.” He hushed you softly, leaving his comfortable spot on the crook of your neck so he could look into your eyes. His cheeks were so red, perhaps from being under the sun all day. But you liked to think it was from fucking you so hard just moments ago. “It was never your fault, yet I blamed you for it without even asking you first.”

“You can ask me now.”

“You already gave me your answer.” He smiled, and even though you still wondered what had led him to believe there was something between you and Leon, you couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tight and pushing the question to the back of your mind. Your eyes closed, and your cheek resting against his shoulder. Maybe you could try asking him again some other time.

“I’m sorry too.” You said, and even though you were only wearing your underwear, in his embrace, you had no complaints about the cold. “For pulling away all of a sudden, for leaving you in the dark.”

“You can tell me now.”

“Not now.” But maybe some other time. Because, like you said, you didn’t feel like bursting the bubble with your explanations and concerns.

And maybe you were on the same page, because he didn’t pry any further. Instead, he silently caressed your bruised hips and thighs. “I promise I’ll be more gentle next time.”

Next time. You liked that. You liked how those words sounded on his lips.

You took a look at the red skin his fingertips were tracing, skin that would surely be turning purple in the coming days, and smiled teasingly, realizing you hadn’t felt playful in a long time, so the feeling was as foreign as it was welcome. “I guess someone did miss me, after all.”

“You have no idea.” He replied, wistfulness in his words, as you pulled him back to your chest.

next chapter

taglist: @elnyrae @mchlist @apts2000 @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis @goddessinsweats @nube55 @jeanboyjean @crazychaoticizzy @braunsbabe @erwinawesomeness @lucifers-nipple-piercing @karmabyfernando

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bethanythebogwitch · 9 months

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I haven't talked reptiles in Wet Beast Wednesday in a while (and the first time I did it got like 9 notes) so I'll do it again with marine iguanas. Admittedly they're more amphibious than aquatic, but there's no Moist Beast Monday and I think they're cool so it'll have to do.

(Image: Doug Jones in The Shape of Water a marine iguana basking on a rock)

Marine iguanas (Amblyrhynchus cristatus) are large lizards native to the Galapagos Islands. They are unique for being the only extant lizards that spend time in the ocean. As of 2017, there are 11 distinct subspecies that are isolated from each other by the islands they live on. Occasionally a member of one subspecies will end up on the wrong island and produce hybrid offspring. Marine iguanas also can but very rarely do hybridize with the land iguanas of the Galapagos, with whom they are believed to share a common ancestor.

(Image: an iguana perched on a rock

Marine iguanas vary in size based on subspecies, with those from smaller islands reaching a smaller adult size. In general, they race from 12 to 56 cm (4.7 - 22 in) from snout to rear, with a tail ranging from 17 to 84 cm (6.7 - 33.1 in). Males are significantly larger than females, up to twice the weight and noticeably longer. Marine iguanas are robust, with relatively short limbs. Their leg bones are heavy, to provide ballast while swimming. Their tails are laterally flattened and provide propulsion for swimming. They have a row of spines down their backs that provide stability while swimming, similar to a fish's dorsal fin. Their feet have powerful claws and can be used to cling onto and push off of undersea rocks. Marine iguanas were noted by many explorers for their dark color, including Charles Darwin (who referred to them as "clumsy" and "disgusting"). This dark color helps them warm up quickly after diving in the sea.

(image: an iguana going for a swim)

A major feature of the marine iguana is its diet, which is a huge factor in their semiaquatic lifestyle. They feed almost exclusively on green and red algae that grown underwater. To reach the algae, females and smaller males browse the intertidal zone during low tide, while larger males and abnormally large females can swim out to the deeper subtidal zone to forage. They can spend an hour underwater one one breath and dive to 30 m (98 ft), but most dives are much shallower and shorter. Only the largest males swim offshore and dive to significant depths for their food. Because they are positively buoyant, divers must actively swim or cling onto rocks to stay underwater. Most individuals will return to the same spot for feeding and competition over feeding spots have been known to happen. Larger males that swim out for their food have the advantage of less competition for their feeding spots. The species has adapted to be able to fast or subsist on reduced for long periods. During El Nińo, where food supplies can be reduced for years, they will actually shrink, with even their bones getting shorter, then return to full size once the food supply is restored. Because they consume excess salt with their food, marine iguanas have developed the ability to filter the salt out of their blood and expel it through glands in their nostrils. The secreted salt can then be sneezed away. Juveliles spend the first few months of their life feeding on (WARNING: GROSS) the feces of older iguanas. This helps them develop the culture of symbiotic gut bacteria that helps them digest algae. In fact, their digestive systems are so specialized to algae that they can't switch diets.

(image: a marine iguana grazing on algae underwater)

As ectotherms (cold-blooded animals), marine iguanas need to keep themselves warm to survive. The water around the Galapagos is typically around 11-23 degrees C (52-75 F) while their preferred body temp is 35-39 C (95-102 F). This high preferred temperature helps with their digestion. To keep themselves warm, the iguanas spend a lot of their time basking in the sun, especially after swimming. They can also reduce their heart beats while cold to help prevent heat loss. Basking iguanas can cover large beaches. They live in colonies that usually range between 20 and 500 individuals but can sometimes get up to 1000 members. Their biomass to area ratio can be the highest of any reptile. While they are considered gregarious, they display no social behavior such a grooming. The closest they get to a group activity is sleeping next to each other to conserve heat at night. They also get along with other species, such as Darwin's finches, mockingbirds, and crabs who will pick parasites off their skin. Divers may allow cleaner fish to pick off bits of dead skin. Another lizard, the lava lizard, likes to visit colonies to hunt flies attracted to the iguanas. The iguanas allow the much smaller lizards to climb all over them. Marine iguanas often share beaches with Galapagos sea lions, who will occasionally allow the iguanas to climb over them.

(image: a group of iguanas basking together)

(image: a male marine iguana, identifiable by the rough scales on his head, with a lava lizard climbing on him)

During mating season, male iguanas stop being as chill with their neighbors, attempting to establish a territory and push other males out. They also change from their normal dark appearance to a much brighter coloration. Territories are usually bordered by rocks or crevasses and can be found next to each other in groups. Males will attempt to attract females to their territories while fighting other males to get access to their females. This behavior is called lekking. Females show a distinct preference for larger males and it is the largest males that are most successful at maintaining territories. Medium males are forced to patrol the edges of territories to try to pick up mates while small males often pretend to be female to sneak into another's territory and attempt to mate. Males with territories defend them with special displays where they will raise their dorsal spines and open their mouths while bobbing their heads around. If another male challenges the dominant, they will display at each other. If neither submits, a fight will start. Males fight by headbutting and trying to push each other around. These fights can last for hours and the participants will occasionally take breaks. In most cases, one will eventually display a submissive posture and retreat, though in a few cases the fight has escalated to biting and scratching. When courting a female, a male will nod at her and approach in a sideways walk. Smaller males without territories may also try mating forcibly. Females only mate once per year and will signal rejection to additional suitors by nodding at them.

(image: a male performing a territorial display)

(image: two males headbutting each other in a territorial battle)

Mating season usually lasts between December and March. Females will lay eggs about a month after mating. The eggs (usually 2 to 3 but sometimes up to 6) can collectively weigh up to a quarter of the mother's weight, which is very large for an iguana. They are laid well above the tide line and buried in sand or soil. In places with few good nesting sites, mothers will guard their eggs after hatching to make sure other females don't dig therm up to steal the spot. When females fight over nesting spots they are less disciplined than males and will quickly resort to biting. The eggs hatch after 3-4 months. Females reach sexual maturity after 3-5 years while males do so after 6-8 years. They live an average lifespan of 12 years, but can live up to 60.

(image: a female iguana digging her nest)

(image: a group of juveniles climbing on each other)

Marine iguanas are classified as vulnerable by the IUCN, while a few populations are instead considered endangered. A major threat to them is warming seas, which can reduce the red and green algae populations and replace them with inedible brown algae, leading to starvation. Marine iguanas only have a few predators and most of them target juveniles or small adults. As a result, the adults demonstrate island tameness, a lack of wariness to potential predators. This has left them vulnerable to predators introduced by humans, such as dogs, cats, rats, and pigs. Despite these invasive predators being present for ver 100 years, they have not developed any anti-predator defenses against them, a phenomenon called ecological naïveté. They also do not fear humans and will allow tourists to approach them, which has led to injuries and the spread of human-introduced diseases. They are protected by laws of Ecuador and most of their range is in protected areas. Efforts to remove invasive predators have seen some benefit. They are difficult to keep in captivity due to their specialized diets, and they have never been bred in captivity.

(image: a male with his bright mating season coloration)

#wet beast wednesday #marine iguana #biology #zoology #ecology #marine biology #galapagos #animal facts #iguana #lizard #reptile #long post

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aquaquadrant · 11 months

Note

Why do I feel like Etho and Patho would actually really get along well. Like there'd be a minute of "oh shit" then they'd be making some weird machine together.

Also any chance you would be willing to share the story about Patho's clock and maybe info on Hels Bdubs?

(honestly? true. patho isn’t bothered enough w the concept of being a doppelgänger so he’d be chill w etho if etho was chill with him. and etho’s like. always chill. anyway idk if this’ll answer ur questions but here’s uhhhh something)

~*~

patho pauses at the top of the netherrack hill, boots hissing briefly as he shifts off a magma block.

xyz: -12,485.167 / 67.09835 / 253,295.942

the coordinates ever-present within his field of view tell him he should be another hundred or so blocks away in the z axis, but he can already see the jungle’s grown since his last visit. it’s been slowly overtaking the neighboring nether waste biome for a couple decades, now. rate of growth has held constant, unchanging. that's something, at least.

patho slowly scans the horizon. words and numbers flash across the left half of his vision as his cybernetic eye rapidly processes new information based on visual input: netherrack, netherrack, crimson nylium, grass, jungle wood, jungle wood, jungle leaves, weeping vine. light level 3, 3, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4. there's a lava pool eleven blocks over in the x axis; light level 15.

he starts walking again.

153 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 23/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 18 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,487.331 / 65.21091 / 253,375.987 block: -12,487 65 253,375 chunk: -780 15 7,835 facing: south (towards positive z)(1.5/5) client light: 5 (0 sky, 5 block) biome: error:nether waste local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 5/247 + 0/8

the data shifts with every step. he's learned to tune most of it out by now, only paying attention to the biome indicator as he crosses the chunk threshold.

biome: error:crimson jungle

particles and sounds immediately jump up a couple degrees. glowing red specks dance slowly in the air, mingling with the ambient noises; hoglins rooting around in the brush, parrots calling unseen from the canopy above, lava bubbling in a pool nearby.

p: 35 sounds: 23/247

the temperature is warmer here. patho shrugs off his jacket, letting it hang at his elbows as he picks his way through the jungle. he doesn't even need to think about where he's going, coordinates left ignored at the edge of his vision. he's taken this path many times before, and he never has to wander very long.

his boots crunch softly on the nylium and grass terrain. jungle leaves and crimson fungus alike brush at his shoulders as he ducks underneath branches, taking care not to get tangled in weeping vines.

this is his favorite jungle. it's not the only crimson jungle he's ever come across- not to mention the warped jungles- but out of all the biomes he's seen, it's the one with the greenest leaves. something about this jungle sustains the normal trees just as well as it does the fungi, allowing the grass and leaves to stay bright and full instead growing in wilted and brown. it makes a lovely contrast with the blood red fungi.

not for the first time, he's thankful that the jungle is far enough away from spawn to be left alone. if other players knew about this place, with its well-sustained passive mob spawning and greenery, they'd destroy it for resources for sure. but he never worries too much about that possibility, because no mob or player sets foot in this jungle without permission from-

a weeping vine suddenly sprouts from the ground and lashes around patho's leg.

it's quickly joined by several more, snaking out from the undergrowth to wrap around his other limbs. before he can blink, he's lifted off the ground and pulled up into the trees. he doesn't struggle, doesn't panic- this is nothing new to him. the vines string him up among the highest branches, where a familiar figure is crouched in front of him, nothing but a pair of glowing red eyes beneath a heap of moss.

<player>dat -7063fdce-39ac-4a12-d836-a990c45b2bb0

"hey, dbubs," patho says casually.

the figure straightens up, hood falling back to reveal his face. his huge red eyes are sparkling with excitement, despite the dark circles lining them, and his mouth falls open in a wide, sharp-toothed grin. vines of varying shapes and sizes curl lazily around his body, small tendrils sprouting from the mossy cloak he wears. a couple veins of red discolor his skin, crawling up his neck and across his face. his messy hair is a bit whiter than the last time patho saw him, tinged red at the roots. a clock hangs around his neck, to match the one hanging from patho's hip.

"patho!" dbubs practically shouts, throwing his arms out.

sounds: 24/247

before dbubs can say anything else, patho asks his usual question. “what’s your name?”

“what’s my-” dbubs blinks, works his jaw for a second. “GODSLAYER666,” he proclaims loudly, puffing his chest out. then he pauses, frowns. “wait, no, i- i don’t know why i just said that. uh…”

it’s somewhere in the middle, then. not as bad as his worst days- at least he’s aware he’s lying, even if he has no control over it. and patho has to admit, that's one of the most entertaining responses dbubs has ever given to his little test.

"uh huh." patho shifts in the web of vines. they're holding a bit tighter than normal. of course, he could still easily break out of them. if he wanted to. "did you miss me, dbubs?" he asks instead, his voice teasing.

dbubs throws his head back to let out a sharp laugh, sending a shower of red particles fluttering through the air. "what?" he demands incredulously, his eyes blown wide. "miss you? i d- eugh, n'you stupid- i- i didn't even notice you were gone!"

patho hums with amusement. "then you don't wanna, like, kiss me or anything?"

"no," dbubs insists stubbornly, even as he comes closer. he steps boldly into patho's space, hands coming up to grab his face. "no, no of course not, i don't..." his long eyelashes flutter as he looks patho up and down. he smells like moss; like old vegetation and decay. there's soil and dried blood caked under his fingernails. "why would i- you ha- you have a lotta nerve..." dbubs tugs at the left strap of patho's mask, tilting his head. "do i- uh, do i get to see ya?" he asks, expression suddenly eager.

"yeah," patho chuckles.

dbubs grins widely, pulling patho's mask down. for a moment, he just looks at him. his calloused hand scuffs along the metal parts of patho's face- the entire ramus of his left mandible and most of his cheekbone, lost in the explosion that took his eye. the remaining skin is rough with scar tissue. dbubs strokes his thumb along that, too.

"i lo- um, i- i hate your stupid face," dbubs mumbles before he finally kisses patho. he seems to process his words a second later, breaking away with a small gasp of "oh! i d-", but patho simply leans in again, reclaiming his lips.

he knows what dbubs meant.

~*~

dbubs spares patho the trouble of walking, simply having the vines carry him to the hideaway. it's a difficult base to categorize: part tree house, part nest, part garden. in some places the floor is made of wood- in others, just a thick layer of leaves. there are potted plants and hanging vines everywhere, interspersed among stacks of barrels and moldy bookcases. little red mushrooms sprout from walls made of thatch and tree trunks. a couple of shroomlights provide gentle lighting as glittery particles drift through the open air; red, from the biome itself, and green from the spore blossom that patho brought him last year.

the vines unceremoniously drop patho onto the makeshift bed- a mat of moss and old, shredded banners. he's barely gotten settled, pulling his mask up and pulling his jacket off, before dbubs flops onto him with a heavy wuff.

"so!" dbubs starts loudly, propping his elbows up on patho's stomach. "what brings ya to see ol' dbubs today, huh?"

patho huffs a laugh. "what, i can't just stop by to say hi?"

"oh sure, okay." dbubs rolls his eyes, one of his vines flicking through the air dismissively. "you j- yeah, okay, be all secretive, then! see if i care." his haughty demeanor doesn't last long, though, as he shimmies up a little further, arms folded on patho's chest. "d'you- uh, do you wanna hear what i've been doin'?"

patho sighs good-naturedly, shifting so he can tuck his arms behind his head and lean back against the wall. "alright, go ahead."

dbubs beams at him and immediately starts telling lies. he tells patho about all the amazing things he's built (the jungle looks the same), all the incredible battles he's fought (no one's entered the jungle in years), all the wonderful places he's gone (he can't leave the jungle).

but patho doesn't mind that it's all lies. he's content to listen anyways.

they carry on like this until dbubs suddenly pauses, scrambling for his clock. "uh oh! gotta schreep."

patho glances at his own clock; dbubs is right on time, as always. that's one thing he never lies about. "okay, okay," he says, pushing dbubs off- he hits the moss with a soft thump. "lemme get my anchor."

"well, hurry up already!" dbubs shouts impatiently, vines swatting at patho's arm as he pops down his ender chest.

after placing the anchor and setting his spawn, patho reaches up and presses his finger directly into the center of his left eye, shutting it off.

he doesn’t regret putting a data processor into his cybernetic eye; the information it’s given him is invaluable. but every now and then, he needs a break from it. even when his eyes are closed, the display is still active, showing blank values on the back of his eyelid. turning the eye off is the only way to make it go away- of course, at the price of half his vision. so he only does it if he’s sleeping somewhere fully secure, and if he’s alone.

the jungle is an exception. dbubs has full domain out here- no mob or player can come close to his home without him allowing it.

"finally," dbubs huffs as patho settles back down. he's quick to cling with both his arms and assorted vines.

patho can't help but chuckle. "what's that you said about not missing me?"

"oh, shut up!"

~*~

patho abruptly reenters consciousness, emerging from a deep, dreamless sleep. with a soft groan, he fumbles to turn on his cybernetic eye, wincing at the sudden influx of data.

149 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 1/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 52 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,587.412 / 96.77253 / 253,401.623 block: -12,587 96 253,401 chunk: -783 15 7,845 facing: north (towards negative z)(1.5/5) client light: 7 (0 sky, 7 block) biome: error:crimson jungle local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 27/247 + 0/8

"goooood morning!" dbubs calls, over on the other side of the little nook. he's busy rummaging through barrels, perhaps trying to find some breakfast. it’s unlikely he has any food stored; when he’s hungry, he hunts, and the jungle always provides.

"mornin'," patho says, rubbing his face. he sits up- and then pauses. there are weeping vines wrapped tightly around his legs. he sighs. “dbubs, you’re doing it again.”

“what?" dbubs manages to sound surprised. "no! no, i’m not, i’m- i’m just over here, minding my own business, crafting a loom.”

“a loom,” patho repeats flatly.

“yes! for um, for banners.”

“do you even have any wool?”

“do i ha- uh, of course! yes, of course i do.”

“can i see it?”

“no. no, i- i just ate it, actually. um-”

“you ate it?”

“yeah. sorry.”

patho sighs again. he kicks the weeping vines away. "i uh, i didn't mean to be gone for so long," he says, rising to his feet. "but, you know, i- i got held up with a job."

"a job?" dbubs glances over his shoulder at patho, squinting. "what kinda job?"

patho stretches his arms above his head, hearing both his natural and mechanical shoulder joints pop. "some guys out west are tryin' to make a portal out of hels."

"a portal?" dbubs's mouth falls open. "oh, for goodness sakes- and you call me a liar!"

patho knows better than to take offense. "it's true. they've got a player who came here from another world."

"uh huh." dbubs scoffs, but he can't quite hide the anxious shimmer in his eyes. "yeah, yeah, sure... so- i mean, did you do it, then? make them a portal?"

"basically." patho shrugs. "i uh, i told them everything they needed to know, to make one."

"right. you told th- okay." dbubs nods, bites his lip. "um- you didn't stay? to see the portal? or, uh…”

patho chuckles, crossing the distance to put his arms around dbubs's waist. "nah. i mean, come on, you know me, dbubs. i'm a- i'm a hels player, through and through. what's the rest of the universe got that's better than this place, right?"

dbubs grins at that, slotting his arms through patho's. "oh, you- you're such an idiot! y'know, i uh, i've been outside'a hels before and i- um, let me tell ya, you're missing out!"

"mhmm." patho smiles even though his mask is on. he knows dbubs can tell.

"yeah! "dbubs nods vigorously. "and, uh, there's- i got a whole world that's just mine!"

"is that right?" patho rests his chin on the top of dbubs's head. "tell me about it."

"it's a beautiful world, of course. my perfect builds, i ha-"

"of course."

"- uh, hey! quit interruptin'!"

"sorry, sorry."

"i di- thank you. so i um, i built a big ol' crastle, with a- hyeugh, a sorta um, horse course... y'know, with th- with the fastest horses anyone ever saw, one-stick horses, and- and uh, everyone was really impressed…”

this won’t last forever. it’ll only be a matter of weeks, months if they’re lucky, before patho won’t be able to ignore the itch to wander again. before the comfort and familiarity of the jungle becomes unbearable. before dbubs grows so used to his presence that the jungle itself tries to overtake him, the way it has dbubs- vines and veins of red.

he’ll leave without warning in the middle of the night, while dbubs is sleeping, because trying to leave while dbubs is awake never ends well. he’ll leave without a word and try not to think about the frantic whispers he knows dbubs sends him on lonely nights, despite knowing patho will never receive them (it’s the only time he regrets fusing his communicator with his arm- but how was he supposed to know he’d hear it in his mind? how was he supposed to know that disabling the chat was the only way not to lose himself completely to the endless flood of data?)

he’ll stay away long enough for dbubs to shatter apart, losing himself to the wildness of the jungle, and come back together. he’ll wait until dbubs has recovered from his grief, so that the next time dbubs sees him there will only be joy. because no matter how many times patho hurts him, dbubs always forgets it eventually.

“… so, you see, ol’ dbubs been workin' on a new technique, using the uh. grade- uh, gradient? block palettes... to create depth. ah hah! so- so listen, now, to teacher! it all starts with the color scheme..."

this won’t last forever. so for now, patho closes his eyes and listens.

error fps t: b: tx rx c: (s) d: , pc: , pu: , ab: e: , b: , sd: p: t: error fc: xyz: / / block: chunk: facing: ( )( / ) client light: ( sky, block) biome: error: local difficulty: // (day error404 not found) sounds: 1/247 + 0/8

~*~

#hels to pay au #HTP fic #hels hermits #hermitshipping #ethubs #<- i mean SORTA #pathbubs #in case it’s not clear patho’s mech eye basically acts like a debug screen #like when you press F3 in mc to see a bunch of data and stats #he can always see that info. prob less cluttered tho bc there aren’t any computer specs for him to look at LOL #anyway don’t look too much into the data values i was pulling them out of my ass #except for dbubs player data. DO look into that :3 #ALSO ty everyone for the asks i’ll get to em soon #my writing

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kana-de · 9 months

Note

I like you work sm that I decided to req :>>

What about a modern!au or not(up to you) of Wanderer or Scaramouche having a SO that keeps wearing long slevees even in humid weather?

Only for him to accidentally walk in on SO changing and seeing a big tattoo on their back and some designs on their arms too? Bonus if they're still nee in the relationship!!

Dazz all have a good dayyy🤸🤸

summary: scaramouche x fem!reader. scaramouche wants to know why you always hide behind all those long-sleeved clothes, and he finds out. unintentionally.

cw: sfw. developing/new relationship. fluff. a bit of hurt/comfort in the end. mention of self harm, weight insecurity (only once). 1088 words.

a hoodie, another hoodie, a sweater, a black shirt, a hoodie again...

that's what your wardrobe looked like. scaramouche's eyes and hands scanned all of it, and, for about the two weeks you guys were dating, he hadn't seen you in anything other than long-sleeved clothes. it was about june, the weather was getting up to 22-23°C and you still haven't wore a single t-shirt.

he thought he was going crazy with the theories.

barely a few days ago, he invited you to an onsen - to celebrate your birthday, but you had to decline the offer - you really didn't want to disappoint him, but you had to say "no" - the thing is, people with tattoos are not allowed in onsens, but he didn't know you had any. you felt bad, but you lied to him about having an intolerance to sudden changes in temperature - literally the first thing that came to your mind. you ended up celebrating your birthday in a fancy restaurant - scaramouche's treat.

scara knew that your relationship with him were only starting, and he didn't have the right to pry on tou to answer all of his personal questions he has for you - he could ask about if you've done any self harm to cover your arms now, or if you're insecure about your weight... but he was waiting for you to elaborate it yourself.

until he found out himself, absolutely randomly.

on one of the many sunny days he invited you on a picnic date - you just couldn't say no. picking out a hoodie of a light color, you didn't even bother to check the weather forecast. you and scaramouche have already made so mane plans for today, it's not even possible that they'll get ruined!

the date was going completely wonderful. you and scaramouche were laughing, eating some pizza he bought, taking photos on your old polaroid camera for further printing and hanging them on the walls of your rooms - memories are memories.

and then... a pouring rain started. a very heavy rain, so to say, so your clothes quickly got drenched wet.

"c'mon, lets go to my apartment. i'll give you my clothes to change into, and we'll watch something to pass the time." scaramouche said, and stood up from the blanket you brought. he held out his hand for you to grab it and both of you to quickly run towards his apartment. "we have to be quick though. your clothes are already literally sticking to your body, i have no doubts you'll get sick after this."

"my, why so generous? and worried? ohh, are you worried about me, scara?" you taunted with a never once faltering smile, as you took his surprisingly warm hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his. "the always-so-grumpy kunikuzushi finally getting sweete- ow! wait!"

upon hearing your taunts, he could only hide the slight redness on his face by turning around and rushed forward. you almost stumbled and fell to the ground as he pulled your hand and started to run through the rain.

"shut up and run, dumbass! i'm already cold!" scaramouche shouts, but slightly slows down for you to keep up with him; he hears you laugh, tho. he, in fact, is getting sweeter. and he doesn't know if he hates it.

soon enough, you arrive at his humble abode - just a minimalistic flat, nothing too special or eye-catching; but, you swear you've seen an electric guitar in his bedroom - yet, scara quickly shoved you into the bathroom with the words "stop getting distracted and get dressed and cleaned, i don't want you sick, that's why you're here".

but of course he had to forget to give tou clothes in the first place - that's why he took a hoodie and some loose jeans from his wardrobe and rushed to the bathroom that had you in; he also forgot to knock, and opened the door, yet...

instead of seeing you naked, like in some cliché films, scaramouche finally saw what he wanted to see for quite a long time already. he saw the answers to all his questions about your clothes.

your back was tattoed with a big drawing of a dragon, some sakura designs on your forearms, a few butterflies, music notes and stars on the other parts of your arms, back and on your shoulder blades.

to say he was shocked is an understatement. but he was confused more than he was shocked.

scara just... froze in the doorway, clothes falling out of his grasp. he stared at your frozen in place too back, as if he revealed your darkest secret.

"s-scara, i told you to knock!" you stutter, feeling embarrassed not because he's seeing you in a bra, but because he's seeing your secret. your tattoos that you tried so well to keep hidden.

it almost pains you to understand that it all is now revealed. but maybe, just maybe, it brings you some kind of ease, knowing that you won't have to hide them now.

"so that's why you do not wear open clothes..." scaramouche mutters. he still doesn't understand. "i still don't understand."

you sigh.

"it's complicated." you finally say, taking a look at your tattooed arm.

scaramouche raises his eyebrows. "but i like them. i really do. they look very good on you. what's so complicated?"

it's time for you to raise your eyebrows. you thought he'd just brush your tattoos off, because he hates them or doesn't like them, or he'd even break up with you, because most of your colleagues told you that it doesn't suit a woman to have big tatoos...

"i thought you wouldn't like them.." you say, averting your eyes. you look in the mirror instead, at your reflection in it.

"well, i most certainly do." scaramouche said absolutely seriously now. "i mean, there's no need for you to cover them and torment yourself with wearing hoodies in summer. you can show them off, they look cool." scaramouche nods a few times, getting closer to you, picking up the fallen previously clothes and putting them somewhere on the sink.

he then hugs you. tightly. a warm embrace of understanding and acceptance. you can only sigh once more, nuzzling into his neck. his hands trace circles on your arms and backt too, as if unintentionally touching your tattoos.

"you really like them?" you ask whisperlike, sending shivers down his spine because of how your warm breath feels on his neck.

"i do. how could i not?" scara replies, kissing your forehead. "silly."

#kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x you #wanderer x you #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin fluff #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche modern au

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elixir · 11 months

Text

44 years ago, on January 23, 1973,

a previously-unknown fissure in the Earth beneath the small Icelandic island of Heimaey opened up less than a mile from the town of Vestmannaeyjar, which had a population of about 5,000 at the time. Within a day’s time, almost the entire island was safely evacuated, and geologists began to monitor the eruption. The newly-formed Eldfell volcano erupted for about six months, covering much of Vestmannaeyjar in ash, destroying several hundred homes, and sending lava flows toward the harbor—at one point raising the water temperature to 111° F (44° C). An enormous and largely-successful effort was made to slow and control the lava flow by pumping seawater and spraying the leading edge of the flows. Within a year after the end of the eruption, most residents had returned, and today, the island remains inhabited, with a population of about 4,500.

photos from skjalasafn Heimaey

#photography #nature #landscape #volcano #iceland #nature photography #landscape photography #geology #vestmanna eyjar #art #aesthetic #portrait #painting #contemporary art #architecture #abstract #curators on tumblr

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celticcrossanon · 17 days

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"Masters Of The Air" WW2 miniseries vs. H a r r y

I’ve been watching the new miniseries “Masters Of The Air” (produced by Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks and starring Austin Butler) about the US Army Air Force 100th bomb group stationed in the UK during WW2 the past few months while simultaneously reading about Prince Harry and the upcoming 10th anniversary of the Invictus Games this May.

It’s really incredible that American airmen flew in unpressurized bomber planes in minus 60 degree Fahrenheit temperature during WW2. The airmen had to wear special heating suits because if for example they took their gloves off during a fight at high altitudes because their guns jammed, their fingers could painlessly and bloodlessly amputate all the way up to their knuckles. The airmen could literally see their own fingers snap off and fly across the belly of the plane.

23% of all US Army Air crews survived during the WW2 air campaign in Europe with the rest either being shot and/or killed while in the air or their planes were shot down.

Those who survived via parachute after their planes were shot down either escaped back to the UK via resistance groups, were taken to POW camps for the remainder of the war or in some cases were killed by enraged German civilians on the ground.

The first episode started in January with the last episode concluding in mid-March.

I mention all this because Harry has been in the news for weeks, whining about his lack of taxpayer funded security while not feeling safe to attend the Invictus Games 10th anniversary event in London and tonight another article popped up in the Daily Mail about Harry going to a Better Up conference in San Francisco to lecture people about 'Beyond Burnout: Transforming C-Level Stress Into Strength.’

Harry has no clue about executives in stressful jobs. Nor does he have any clue about serving in combat or what honor and loyalty means. Harry actually endangered troops in Afghanistan during both of his tours overseas because he wanted to play soldier.

It’s incredible to look at genuine heroism and sacrifice from WW2 servicemen and women vs a complete royal fraudster who couldn’t even be accepted into the British Army on his own merits because Harry was reportedly too busy drinking and doing drugs while at Eton. Harry got into Sandhurst because his grandmother was the Head of the Armed Forces.

All of these battle hardened WW2 veterans would scoff at this whiny, treacherous, cowardly ginger prick who reportedly is so afraid to attend a church service for the Invictus Games on his own despite bragging about killing 25 enemy combatants in Afghanistan in his memoirs.

It’s a damn shame the Royal Family had the British media to help turn Harry’s PR image from a drug using frat boy into a “war hero” as Harry is anything but a genuine war hero– and uses disabled veterans from IG in order to make himself look good.

And BTW, the miniseries “Masters Of The Air” is quite good and is based on the book by the same name. I’m proud and grateful for WW2 veterans while simultaneously shaking my head at the royal disgrace that is Prince Harry.

Hi TeaWithBooks,

The hardships that the soldiers of WWI, WWII and other wars suffered to defend their countries are incredible to read about. They were all courageous at a level that is not brought out by circumstances today (I say this knowing veterans of those wars and having them in my family).

Harry is nothing in comparison. He does not have the courage that those men possessed. His cowardice and entitlement are thrown into relief by the service of true veterans everywhere. The idea of him coping with stress, let alone using it for anything else, is laughable because, as you said, he has no clue about working in a stressful job.

The palace PR did a brilliant job with “Hero Harry”, but I am glad it has come to an end and we can all see Harry as he really is. I much refer the truth over PR lies.

I have learnt to tune out Harry’s whining. If he is not whining about something he is bragging about how wonderful he is, both of which are very unattractive traits.

I believe you can find military men commenting on Harry’s behaviour on some sites, and what they say is not flattering. The truth always comes out in the end.

#submission

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