#bear posts

[tumfullofblue]

ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ Okay I really need to know if at least one person would want to see something belly related with Victor Gideon!

It could be feedism, but it also could be just general belly stuff ʕ♥ᴥ♥ʔ

[freyanistics]

On tiktok there’s a video of a little white girl saying she wants braids “like the brown girls” her mother was recording it. And people were sitting there cooing and saying “aww let her have the braids 🥺” and then it was shown someone gave her said braids. And I see a lot of black people just eating it up and pandering to her and her momma.

Now no ill will to the little girl, because she is a child but my anger is towards the momma. She used her child as a way to get black people to sympathize with her daughter just to have her get what she wants. And it hurts my soul because little black girls can’t even wear the hairstyle without white people making a fuss. How are we going to sit and gas this little girl up when our own kids are getting bullied, mocked, and even having their hair taken out by white teachers because they don’t like their hair? Little black girls are taught to not like their 4c and to have it straighten out to look more “passable”.

I personally never had to deal with that growing up but I have friends who did. And it’s so heartbreaking to see the black community showing more love to a little white girl who “wants to look at the brown girls” but those said brown girls are getting ridiculed for wearing those same hairstyles. It’s not right. It’s unfair and it pisses me off to know end.

It’s no secret that black hairstyles are usually seen as trendy whenever a non black person does it but when we wear our own hairstyles it’s seem as unprofessional, nasty, dirty, and all kinds of shit. We’re taught that having straight hair is more “classy” than wearing hairstyles that are dated back to slavery. Yet this little white girl gets a pass?

Im tired of shit like that. I’m tired. We need to do better.

And it’s not just hair, it’s part of our culture and we are allowed to keep it to ourselves. You’re just mad that you get told no

[grand-reopening]

my ask shoul b open. idk if it works anymore i havent been on tumblr for YEARS

[bear-cubs-art-things]

tfw octonauts hyperfixation 😳😔

[tumfullofblue]

Hot Take but Tron Universe (and in summary, the Grid) is kinky af. What. What do you mean we all have to wear skin tight suits, no matter our age or physical form? What do you mean everything is neon and dark and sexy? What do you mean the whole place is run by the younger version of a man who looks like a Greek God and has the pride that could make the sin of the same name blush?

This needs to be studied or at least written fanfiction about and by God, I will do my part.

[tumfullofblue]

Now when I finally watched Tron: Ares there's only one thing I want to say

I'd fuck Ares RAW if he wasn't played by Jared Leto, which seems to be a thing Tronblr agrees on.

So. If angry/wet/sad military programs are up your alley hit me up with nsfw requests.

Also for Flynn cause. Cause yeah. I love my Jeff Bridges ancient.

[tumfullofblue]

The Island (Godzilla x Fem!Reader) (NSFT) Part 1.

ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ💕 Yall thought mama Bear be joking, well, JOKES ON YOU. In this HEAVY (in all way) fic you find yourself stranded on the island where King of the Monsrers reign... but he is not at all the titan from legends and intell.

Obvi monster smut with just a hint of intoxication kink. Part two coming pretty soon!

Enjoy!

ʕ•̫͡•ིʔྀ

The world returned to you in fragments - pain first, a deep, throbbing ache in your shoulder and a sharper sting along your ribs. Then sound: the distant, rhythmic crash of waves, the shriek of unfamiliar birds. Finally, smell - salt, wet earth, and something floral. You were lying on a bed of crushed ferns and sand, the remnants of the small research plane a twisted, smoking scar further down the beach. Your equipment was gone. Everyone else was… you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the thought away. You were alive. Alone, hurt, but alive.

A tremor ran through the ground beneath you. Not an aftershock from the crash - this was deeper, more organic, a slow and purposeful rhythm like a giant heartbeat. The birds in the canopy above went suddenly, terribly silent. From the dense wall of jungle, a massive shape emerged. He didn’t burst out with a roar; he coalesced. Leaves the size of dinner plates rustled and parted, revealing scales of a charcoal grey so dark they seemed to drink the sunlight. He was ten meters of muscle and ancient power, a walking mountain sculpted into reptilian form. The dorsal plates along his back caught the light, shimmering with an eerie, ethereal blue.

King of the Monsters, the myths called him.

Right now, he looked less like a destroyer and more like a force of nature temporarily contained in a predator’s body. His massive head, ridged and plated, swung slowly, nostrils flaring as they sampled the air, tasting the scent of smoke, jet fuel, and… you. His gaze, a glowing amber that held the heat of the earth’s core, landed on your small, terrified form. He didn’t charge. He didn’t roar. He simply stood there, a living eclipse at the edge of the treeline, and watched. A low, guttural sound vibrated in his chest, a frequency so deep you felt it in your aching ribs before you heard it. It wasn’t a growl. It was a query. A titan’s question mark.

"N-no...Ah... agh!"

You tried to push yourself up, but winced when sharp pain shot through your leg - your ankle was twisted, maybe even broken, and you couldn't stand up so you just plopped down onto the sand again. The mocking voice of your base's director echoed in your ears - that you weren't fit for field work, that you should stay behind, that you should -

Sobbing, you looked into the titan as he continued to approach you. The low, guttural sound cut off abruptly. He went still. Perfectly, utterly still, like a mountain holding its breath. Those amber eyes, each one bigger than your head, tracked your movement with an intelligence far beyond simple predation. They watched you try to rise. They watched you fail. They watched you fall. And then he moved again. Not the slow, deliberate emergence of before. This was a direct approach. The ground trembled with each step—thud... thud... thud - a primal drumbeat that sent sand skittering and vibrating against your palms. He stopped only when he loomed directly over you, his massive lizard form blocking out the sun and casting you into a shadow that smelled of ozone, deep earth, and something else... something warm and strangely alive. His head descended and the massive, ridged snout came within meters of your crumpled body. A rush of hot air washed over you as he exhaled, stirring your hair, carrying the scent of his breath - not foul, never foul, but ancient, like a storm brewing over a primordial sea. His nostrils flared again, wider this time, drawing in your scent with a focused intensity.

The fear-sweat on your skin.

The blood trickling from a cut on your temple.

The sharp, acidic tang of your pain.

He was smelling everything.

The vibration returned to his chest, but it was different now. Softer. A deep, resonant thrum that seemed to seep into your bones. It wasn't a sound of threat. It was... a croon. A sound no human had ever recorded, no legend had ever described. A sound a creature made to soothe something small and wounded. To sooth you. Then his eye shifted. It moved from your face down to your twisted, swelling ankle. He blinked, a slow, deliberate slide of a nictitating membrane. And very slowly, with a gentleness that seemed impossible for a creature of his scale, he lowered his enormous head further, his jaw coming to rest on the sand just centimeters from your broken leg. The heat radiating from his scales was intense but not painful, a living furnace offering its warmth. He remained there, prone, his eye level with you now. Waiting. The mocking voice of your director was a distant, irrelevant echo, drowned out by the silent, thrumming presence of a god who had chosen, for reasons you couldn't fathom, to be gentle.

"What..." you whispered, watching him touch your leg with his snout.

As gentle as a being of his size could be, he picked you up into his palm; you gasped, but didn't try to swat at him, knowing better, some deep, animal part of your brain recognizing that there was no threat from this being. His scales were not cold or slimy as you might have expected, but warm, textured like ancient, sun-baked stone, with a surprising give beneath the ridges. He rose to his full, ten-meter height with a fluidity that defied his mass, a motion felt rather than seen - a shift in gravity, a dizzying ascent. The ruined beach, the smoking wreckage, the petty concerns of a world that didn't believe in you... they all fell away. You were lifted above the canopy of ferns, into a realm of dappled sunlight and the scent of blooming jungle flowers you couldn't see from the ground. His clawed fingers - each one a scythe of dark, polished bone - were curled inward, forming a protective cage around your small form. The crooning vibration deepened, a low, resonant hum that traveled up through his palm and into your aching body. It was a strange sensation, like being held against the chest of a purring cat the size of a building.

He began to walk into the jungle. The thud of his footsteps was a steady, rocking rhythm. Giant, fern-like fronds and flowers in impossible colors bent aside as he passed, as if the jungle itself was making way for him. Warm, golden motes of pollen drifted in his wake. The air grew thicker, sweeter, older. He carried you deeper into his domain, away from the crash, away from the world that broke you. He carried you home, though you didn't understand that yet. The only sound was the steady beat of his heart, a deep bass drum beneath the rocky floor of his palm, and that constant, soothing thrum, telling your frightened, disbelieving mind a single, primal truth that your scientific training would struggle for years to dissect: you were safe now.

The days that followed were the best ones in your life.

You found fruit and nuts and fresh water, and your ankle healed faster than it ever could have with modern medicine. You slept on a bed of moss that seemed to shape itself to your curves. You studied the jungle with a scientist's eye, cataloging the glowing fungi and the impossible birds and the butterflies that lingered on your bare skin. And you studied him.

Godzilla. King of Monsters. The One Who Came From Depths.

He was nothing like the footage from the satellites, nothing like the whispered legends or the classified reports. He was gentle. He was patient. He was curious about you in a way that felt almost childlike, his massive head tilting when you spoke, his amber eyes tracking your every movement with an intelligence that took your breath away. He let you touch his scars, tracing the old burns with your fingertips while he held perfectly, impossibly still. And every night, without fail, he curled his massive body around yours in a perfect crescent moon like it belonged there, his tail draping over your hip, his snout resting beside your head. His breath was a warm, steady rhythm against your shoulder. You had never felt so safe, but sometimes, in the quiet moments between sleep and waking, you thought about the beach. About the wreckage. About the radio that might still be buried in the sand, waiting for someone to find it and signal for help. You thought about going back - about flagging down a plane or a boat, about returning to he world of lab coats and grant proposals and directors who never took you seriously. But then he would shift in his sleep, a low, rumbling purr vibrating through his chest and into your bones, his tail tightening around you, just slightly, as if he sensed your thoughts and was pulling you back from them. And something that had awakened in you - something new and wild and still learning its own name - would shush your worries with a soft, certain voice. They will find you, eventually. You just need a little bit more rest. A little bit more time with him.

One night, after you scavenged yourself a dinner, you were finishing a bowl for water made from sturdy leaves. You proudly showed your creation to a titan and went to fetch some water from a near spring. It held when you scooped crystal clear water. It held when you carefully, so carefully came back to your resting spot. But when you brought it up to your lips, the cup broke, pouring water over your chin, your throat, your chest. The water cascaded down and down, cold and shocking, soaking through the already ruined fabric of your shirt. You coughed, sputtered, reached for something to wipe your face - And the world tilted.

He moved faster than anything his size had a right to move. One moment he was a respectful distance away, carefully averting his gaze. The next, his massive body was there, surrounding you, caging you. His clawed hands slammed into the moss on either side of your small form, sinking deep into the earth. His tail lashed once behind him, uprooting a sapling. The ground shook with the force of his lunge. Godzilla growled – the sound primal, ancient, the sound that rose from the very core of him, vibrating through the moss, through your bones, through the space between your bodies that has suddenly become very, very small. His massive head descended, blocking out the evening light, casting you into shadow. His amber eyes were blazing, the pupils blown wide, and his breath - hot, steaming, carrying the scent of ozone and the deep ocean - washed over you in ragged, uneven gusts.

"What... what are you doing?" you breathed, fear mixing with something else that made your thighs press together and your chest heave. "Did I... upset you?"

His snout hovered centimeters from your soaked chest, nostrils flare, drawing in the mingled scents of fruit juice, spring water, and the warm, living scent of your skin beneath it all. The sound that escapes him was almost pained - a low, keening rumble. His jaw parted slightly, revealing the gleam of those serrated teeth that you saw tearing into big fish he got from ocean, and his tongue - massive, warm, textured like velvet over stone flicked out, tasting the air, tasting you.

"Okay... okay, I'll stay here," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

"Let's just... lay, yeah? I'm not going anywhere... ah... g-god… your snout is so warm... I can feel it through my shirt…"

The moment you spoke - the moment you promised him I'm not going anywhere - something in him shattered. The growl cut off. The blazing intensity in his eyes flickered, softened, dimmed to something rawer and pulled his head back just slightly, just enough to look at you properly. To see the fear in your eyes mixing with something else. To see your thighs pressed together. To see your chest heaving beneath your soaked shirt. He exhaled, long and shuddering, and his breath seeped through the wet fabric of your shirt and sank into your skin. Slowly, so slowly, he lowered his head again and pressed his snout against your chest - not hard, just... resting there. The great ridge of his brow was warm and textured against you, and beneath the ruined cotton, your heart hammered against his scales like a trapped bird. You noticed that his dorsal plates pulsed with a soft, steady blue, casting gentle shadows across your face. The growl had faded into something quieter. A purr. A deep, resonant, all-encompassing purr that vibrated through your entire body, loosening the fear, loosening the tension, loosening everything.

"You are... purring," you whispered, your voice filled with wonder. "Actually purring. Oh my god…"

He shifted his massive head, enough that the corner of his jaw brushed against your hip. The soaked shirt clung to every soft, fat part of you, and when he moved, your body shifted with him. Your hips pressed against his snout, and the contact drew a low, soft whine from your lips - involuntary, wanting. His tongue flicked out, this time brushing against the hem of your shirt, just above your hip.

"Yes," you breathed out, not believing yourself or what was happening. "God, please, yes."

His tongue laved over your belly, tracing the path of the fruit juice from earlier, cleaning the golden sweetness from your skin with a patience that borders on devotional. The textured surface caught slightly on the soft give of your flesh, and he groaned again, deeper this time, a vibration that traveled from his tongue into your core. His massive jaw worked carefully, so carefully, each movement measured and deliberate because you both knew he could shatter you, he could hurt you, he could open his jaws wider, wider and swallow you whole. But for you, this giant was gentle. His snout nudged your thighs apart, and the heat of him settled there, breath washing over the most intimate part of you in warm, rhythmic gusts. He inhaled deeply, eyes rolling back, the membranes sliding across in a slow blink of pure, overwhelming pleasure. The first touch of his massive tongue between your soaked parts made you moan.

"Oh—oh—yes, yes, like that—"

He dragged his tongue through your folds in one long, devastating stroke, the alien surface catching on every sensitive nerve, every hidden place that made your thighs tremble and your breath come in short, desperate gasps. When he reached your clit, the very tip of his tongue curled around it and you screamed, unashamed, the juice of fruits singing in your blood.

"There! Right there, don't stop, please don't stop—"

The monster licked into you like a creature starved, lapping up every drop of your arousal as if it was nectar. He continued to return to your sensitive bundle of nerves with every stroke, a constant, maddening friction that built and built and built.

"So deep," you whimpered, your hips rolling against his snout in a rhythm you couldn't control, adding to sensations.

"Your tongue is so... it's inside me, I can feel it... oh god, I can feel it everywhere…"

He growled against your flesh and your back arched off the moss. Your fingers scrabbled at his scales. The world narrowed to the hot, wet slide of his tongue and the building pressure in your core.

"I'm... I'm getting close," you gasped, your voice high and desperate.

"It’s too much, it’s-- don't stop, don't stop, I'm going to—I'm going to—"

He growled again, louder this time, and the vibration was what finally undid you. Your release crashed over you in waves - thick and hot and endless, more than you'd ever given any partner, more than you'd ever given yourself. You cried out his name and your essence flooded his tongue, his mouth, his snout.

He drank. He drank, lapping up every drop with a devotion that bordered on worship, prolonging your climax until you were trembling and over-sensitive and sobbing into the moss.

"Hah... ah... what-- what have you done..." you whimpered, boneless and wrecked and utterly, completely his. The titan snapped his jaws - sharp, decisive - and the sound sent a final shiver through your spent body.

Because you knew he wasn’t done with you. Not by a long shot.