#Animal lick salt

[yourlocalcorviddad]

Ok ok, more POTS! Danny headcannons

Original one is here!

Danny is like me in the fact that he will sit, hang, float upside down to help regulate issues, and he will very much forget that he has to sit adjust back to sitting normally, let alone standing after.

So he'll realize he's late for something-class, lab, lunch with friends, date with Dick, whatever-and immediately rush to stand, get halfway down the stairs/hall/whatever, and collapse to the floor or crash into the wall

Dick and others have found him many times like this.

Dick starts showing up early, when he can, to make sure Danny annually actually takes time to adjust

It just ends up with Danny falling onto him instead, not that either mind.

Someone gets Danny a salt lick as a joke when they find out it's one of the ones that's helpful. Danny 100% uses it, just leans over and licks it when he knows he needs it. This leads to others, likely Damian, finding the "'highest quality, filled with the best minerals needed' salt licks and stuff for gifts for Danny-either directly from Damian, or given to Dick to give to him-all of them are used and appreciated.

Danny has a love hate terrorism relationship with pickles.

On one hand: salty electrolyte filled treat.

On the other hand: if he bites into one more pickle that isn't crunchy-expecting exceptions for when it's warm on a sandwich or something intentionally-he's going to riot. It will be his supervillain moment.

He's good about eating when he remembers, but if he's in a hyperfixation moment, it can last ages and he'll forget. Tucker makes a reminder thing for him but it's not always helpful.

Once he went so long when he stood up after, it wasn't just black spots and wooziness, he actually passed out, hitting his head on the side of the table and actually cracking a ride l rib and arm landing wrong.

Dick and the others made him promise he'd set alarms. Tim just straight up makes one that visually and audibly reminds him to eat.

They then work together to fit it into his bracelets and then also sell it for others to use.

[littlepawz]

yup, that's my corner of the world :)

[bambiraptorx]

okay important (silly) question that's been rattling around in my head for a while now

in a mood to make a stupid poll lol, reblogs and discussion encouraged

[bitstitchbitch]

my family is lucky enough to own a 26 acre mountain property, log cabin and all. Most people would go up there and think that it is fairly pristine nature. There’s the cabin, and a few dirt roads for 4-wheelers, but the surrounding woods look untouched.

But we actually carefully maintain that nature. We cut down the deadfall. We pull invasive plants. We trim the elderberry bushes. We get more animals than almost anywhere else on the mountain because we put up salt licks and water troughs.

some of these same things are true of national parks. A lot of places that you think of as “untouched wilderness” are influenced heavily by human care and maintenance. And this isn’t a bad thing. We are animals too. In many ways, our ecosystems depend on us to keep them healthy. Many “wild” plants that are useful for food or building materials are actually semi-domesticated because indigenous groups cared for them and encouraged their growth so they do better with human care.

we have a place in nature. We just need to be conscious of our actions.

EDIT: since this post took off, I thought I should add some sources

Also a disclaimer that I am not indigenous or an ecologist. I am putting time and effort into learning, but I am not an expert.

[salt-pro]

[lurks-no-more]

Nom nom nom.

They tend to scorn their old salt lick when it's been there for weeks and it's all dwindled and sad-looking, and the arrival of a pristine new salt lick is always a major pasture event* :) Kind of like when you get to open an exciting new bar of soap after weeks of showering with a pitiful little sliver of old soap, impatiently waiting for it to End.

* Like most things, this does not apply to Pampérigouste. She has her own mental Event Calendar and none of them are salt-related

[gentlefangz]

i was gonna make a post about how i thought it was dumb that people use those himalayan salt rocks for lamps instead of salt licks but for humans because of how big they are but i just checked and they do actually make those. amazing.

[skinnymeanfaggot]

JUST DID SOMETHING REALLY REALLY GROSS AND DUMB.

[diejager]

Cougar monster reader in heat with the boys

~🧋

Cw: implied smut, heat/mating cycle, musk/scent kink, teasing, tell me if I missed any.

It had snuck up on them, like a feline in prowl, stalking from the shadows and only making itself known when it pounced, striking with ferocity and danger. The signs were subtle, sneaking under their nose when they were around you. They were easily forgotten, something that went past their heads without so much as an ounce of concern because it could easily be mistaken for another thing. 

The slight change of scent on your skin, sweeter than usual, but unsurprising when your arrival was so turbulent, changing scents crashing over them like waves, switching between sweet and sour, bitter or salty. The perspiration that clung to your skin, smelling of sea salt and musk, was easily mistaken for exhaustion, sweat that collected from your hours spent at the gym, lifting, pressing and sparring. And your fidgeting wasn’t as abnormal as it was, you were a solitary animal and being introduced to a crowded Task Force made you anxious.

It went without any trouble - much trouble, since you were often struggling with how touchy and open they were - for another week before those subtle signs grew, blaring a bright red in their faces. It hit them in the face with a hard slap, shocking them like a bucket of freezing water would, and your change had them struggling and worried.

Your scent was cloying, overly sweet in your frustration, hauntingly seductive and taunting, calling to them with every small sniff of your musk. The perspiration they once chalked up to sweat from exercise was now connected to the heat that brewed in your guts, a boiling fire that caused your temper to flare. Then your fidgeting had grown to affection and noise, you yowled lowly, purrs rumbling out of your throat, small feline sounds that confused most that weren’t familiar with one; and you were touchy, running your hands over their arms, clinging to them with flickering ears and a swaying tail, fluttering your lashes with wide and dilated pupil. 

“You’re in heat, Hunter,” Horangi bemoaned, his nose scrunched up under his mask, willing - and failing - his body to stop reacting to you. He had formed a bond with you, and succumbing to your teasing and obvious signs of courtships would probably break away all the effort he put in to know you, find a way into your heart as much as you did with his mind, body and soul. 

“Need you, ” you mewled, nuzzling the crook of his jaw, nose running down his glands and nipping at him, your wet lips trailing kisses up and down his throat, “It’s too hot. Frustrating.”

Your persistence was cracking his wall. Your small, kitten licks, the gentle nicks of your sharp canines and the rumbling of your purrs where weakening his resolve, coupled with wandering hands and the curl of your tail around his, wrapping himself around you like a snake, he was a prisoner of his own body and needs. He was so close to throwing all his self-restrain out the window, to pin you against the floor and growl in your face, forcing you to bend and fold to his whims in the middle of the TF’s rec room. Horangi wanted to fuck you, his mind running circles with crazed thought of breeding you here and then, filling you up until he leaked out of you and was sure he’d knocked you up.

“Horangi,” you pawed at him, your hot breath hitting his bobbing Adam’s apple, feeling his patience thinning and thinning. 

You would be the death of his restraint and patience. 

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[bluecollarmcandtf]

Stealing 'em off the Jobsite

You're fed up! Those goddamn construction workers have been across the street for weeks now, and they haven't erected anything (aside from the pole in your pants). Your eyes have studied the collection of sweaty bodies each day, always sad when they pack up and leave.

It's determined. Tonight, things will change. Tonight, they'll be coming home with you...

All it takes is a glance at your newly acquired, hypnotic pocket watch: a family heirloom.

Your grandfather probably didn't think you'd be using his most powerful artifact for this, but he's not here to witness the control you exert over the crew. They may laugh at first, but their eyes quickly glaze over the second they actually look at the thing swinging overhead. Their grins falter as the tendons in their face slacken. They're relaxing, just like you commanded them to.

Suddenly, those big muscular men don't seem so cocky and masculine. Their typical swagger is replaced by something else; something more subdued, more bovine, dumb.

You did that to them. You caught them right before they left the job site and flashed that magical pocket watch in their faces. Now they all stand before you like a herd of dumb work animals. It's an unbelievable site: grown men that are reduced to loyal dogs, patiently awaiting the commands of their master. Who are you to keep them waiting?

You order them to follow...

They're good at following the instruction, even if it's just a simple one. The construction workers fumble down the street behind you, grunting and pushing their way past each other like a bunch of braindead zombies. You know they're tired. The sweat of a long day is soaking through most of their clothes, but you rather enjoy knowing how weak their big arms and meaty pecs have become.

Normally, men like this are rowdy and obnoxious, but right now their jaws only hang stupidly. The occasional moan can be heard deep in their throats, but more often comes the unmistakeable sound of gas from their rears. After all, you did tell them to relax, and that command seems to have loosened up their insides as well. More than a few wet farts can be heard in the crowd, but none of them react. Some of the noises are gross enough to suggest they've even shit themselves, not that filling their pants with crap will stop them from mindlessly following you home.

It's almost comical to see how oblivious they've become, but that blank look on their face is getting old. Their heavy slick bodies are hot, but so are their chauvinistic bro attitudes.

Finally at your house, you order them to grab a beer, smile, and file inside for the party...

Watching the crew of hardened laborers snap out of the trance is eclipsed only by the dumb smile that breaks on each of their masculine faces. Just like that, they're beaming at you, treating you like their best bud and slapping you on the back. Can you remember the last time you were at a party, let alone a party full of grizzled blue-collar workers?

Per your instructions, they haul the booze and speakers down the stairs into the basement. They're only too happy to help, and they get even more excited when you tell them to.

Their eyes pop open wider. Any fatigue from the long workday is replaced with a sudden urge to chug a beer and chest bump the guy next to them. The music is turned up louder than the growing volume of the men joking, laughing, and shit-talking with their gravelly bass and baritone voices.

The testosterone is almost unbearable. You can smell the thick funk of body odor mixing in the humid air. You can even taste the salt evaporating off their skin. But, even more exciting, you can feel any inch of them you want. Diving into the bodies packed tightly together, don't hesitate to touch, sniff, and lick anything you want. The men are lost in a euphoria of moving to the music. They only grin when they find you below, slobbering over their muscle tits or fondling their swollen packages.

They sure as hell wouldn't allow this if you hadn't hypnotized them first. You made them eager to accept an intrusive finger down the back of their work pants. With a little more coaching, they've become even more comfortable around their master...

Your wish is their command, so they relax into each other's arms when you tell them to. They've already been told to relax so much that it hardly takes any effort. Before you know it, the men's bodies are being pulled in close embraces with casual smirks. These macho builders don't mind their colleagues getting all up in their personal space, no matter how intimate it gets.

The first pair brave enough to obey seems happy they did so. The hug turns into a more aggressive groping until the larger of the two rips off his partner's ratty old tank top.

This party's starting to look more like an orgy...

The men are happy with this new direction, mostly because you told them to be. Some of them partner up, greedily grabbing their closest bro at work. It's hard to imagine these guys were ever a platonic, straight work crew.

Some of them probably would've gone home to their families tonight, but these fathers and husbands are yours at the moment. You'll let their wives fuss over tucking the kids in. If you can take away all cares from these men with one simple glance at a pocket watch, then why should you care about their families.

All you need to worry about, is choosing which filthy laborer to break in first...

The Foreman. He's on the far end of the basement, but the boys obediently squeeze their beefy bodies together to give you a path.

He might be the big boss on the job site, but the handsome brute drops to his knees with one word from his master. That dopey smile on his face says just how much this bitch wants to please you, and his workers couldn't agree more. Noticing your lust for their boss, they start egging him on, telling him to be a good boy for the master, encouraging him to be the best slut you've ever had.

You command the Foreman to open his mouth. He does so gleefully and accepts your cock surprisingly well. You can feel how relaxed his throat has become.

With that, the orgy of construction workers is officially kicked off! Your commands begin simple enough, telling who to bend over and who to ram it in, but they become more involved as you gain confidence. You tell the men to moan like two-cent whores, and the whole room echoes with deep manly growls. At one point, you instruct everyone to form a line and jerk off onto the Foreman's face, leaving it smothered with the cum of thirty men. Later, you order them all to lower their pants and touch their toes so you can find the hottest ass to peg. Hours go by as you test the limits of your control over these men.

Eventually, around four in the morning, you are drunk, tired, and sore in the balls. Three of the strongest men are still up to massage your shoulders and each foot, but the rest lay on the concrete floor, using each other's bodies as pillows. You fall asleep to the sound of gruff laborers randomly muttering compliments or praise to you, their master.

Just like you told them...

You wake up, and they're still taking turns to commend you. The three blokes massaging you seem ready to collapse from the fatigue.

With a simple order, everyone stops.

You leave them kneeling in the basement, packed together as efficiently as possible. It'd be nice to keep using them, but you have to go upstairs and heal from the hangover.

Before you flip the light off, you take one more look. The construction workers seem totally oblivious to the fact that you're leaving them down there to wait on their knees in the dark. From the looks on their faces, this would seem completely normal to them. Chuckling, you slip the door shut and move on with the day.

Who knows when you'll flip that light switch back on next? Until then, they'll be patiently kneeling in the dark, listening to the sound of thirty bodies breathing around them.

So, what are you gonna do with them? Return them to their old lives of physical labor and unchecked masculinity? Their wives and kids would probably thank you for that. Or maybe you'll have them cut off whatever friends or family they had before? Turn them into true workslaves that are only interested in bringing you the checks they suffer for? That would definitely be a rewarding financial endeavor. For now you'll just leave them to wait in your basement.

After all, you stole them fair and square...

[nanamiscocksleeve]

First time participating in Thirsty Weekends! I love your writing ^^ Can I please request Sylus + "Lick it"? ☺✨

Hello there! Welcome to your first Thirsty Weekends! Hope you enjoy the depravity and debauchery! "Lick it." --------

Sylus had a thing for you acting innocent during sex. It was teasing, a change to your otherwise incredibly carnal and kinky activities that frequently occurred.

You giggle as you kiss your way down his body, nosing at his chiseled abs, spurred on by the deep chuckle that shakes his chest as he pats your head with affection. You continue to nibble and nuzzle your way down then raise your head once you get to the junction of his legs, putting on a puzzled look as you gaze at his long veiny cock.

"Now what am I supposed to do with this?" You ask him, all schoolgirl naivety and large eyes, making his ruby eyes glitter with desire in the dark.

"Hmmm that's a good question kitten," he says huskily as he rubs your cheek with a finger. "I'd say lick it to start."

"Lick it?" you widen your eyes, enjoying the back-and-forth. With faux trepidation in your eyes, you grasp his cock at the base, feeling the heat emanating from his shaft, the head already engorged and leaking beads of precum. "Would that feel good?"

"So good kitten. Why don't you try it for yourself and see?" Sylus plays along casually, the hunger obvious in his eyes.

You hum as though considering it, then lick a long stripe up the bottom of his cock, feeling the pulsation of the little veins that run on the underside. Sylus sucks in a sharp breath as you near the tip, then swirl your tongue around it, tasting the salt of the pearlescent drops gathering in his slit.

"Fuck," Sylus growl, the sight of his tip disappearing between your lips, suctioning closed around it and teasing him with the tip of your tongue. "Sweetie are you trying to make me lose my mind?"

You look up at him, tip still in your mouth, all doe-eyed and naive and he swears he could feel his control splintering into bits around him. With a slurp, you bob down, taking as much of him as you could go, head bouncing along his length.

His teeth are gritted and all he can manage to do right now is breathe, his will being undone like a ball of string. His hips thrust desperately, filling the cavity of your moist mouth. With a bark, he allows himself to let go, spilling his hot seed into you, which you swallow obediently, feeling it slide down your throat.

You let go and lick your lips before Sylus pounces on you like an animal in heat.

Send me a prompt!

[wired-for-weird]

need more monster posts about recieving pleasure that doesnt automatically make the recipient the sub

like. allowing a human settlement to slowly grow right at a distant edge of my territory til I deem it worth razing, taking my pick of new toys and devouring the rest along with their livestock. returning to my den and servants with limbs aching from the long journey, maw and claws and mane matted with gore. tossing my prizes aside for the moment, knowing they'll be taken care of, fed, cleaned, dressed, restrained if necessary, and sinking into the waters of a hot spring. the heat soaking into my muscles and starting to warm away the aches there while half a dozen pairs of hands work the dried blood from my fur and muzzle, the only interruption the occasional sting as an arrow or splinter is dug from a flesh wound.

when that's done, hauling myself out to drowse and be dried off and have my body worked over more fully. Claws spread and sharpened, sensitive pads pressed and checked for injuries and softened with oils if they're looking too dry. Jaws open so my teeth can be picked clean of cloth or sinew, irritating splinters of bone or metal dug from my gums. The pleasure of having my tongue pushed on and the taste of skin more than enough to get me hard, tail curling and uncurling with every shiver through my body.

having a bound toy brought and positioned under me, so as my cock emerges from its slit, I push straight into a hot, tight, slick hole. rocking my hips into it as my muscles are worked over to finish what the hot water started, especially around my shoulders, hips, and the base of my wings. especially my wings. pressure on the aching flight muscles is delicious, the limbs being moved and stretched making me purr. the purring only gets louder when hands move to my belly, the skin there extra sensitive because of how I gorged myself earlier.

a second toy placed between my jaws, legs forced apart and pinned between my back teeth, licking the salt and fear-taste from their skin, burrowing my tongue into them until they howl, the swell I make in their stomach pressing against the back of my incisors.

a full-body shudder as I come, pulsing so much into the toy beneath me that the bulge of my cock disappears. they're pulled off me, turned around, and have barely enough time to open their mouth before I plunge my cock into their throat. barely softening, I press myself deeper, as far as I can go, purring still as my servants carry on massaging my aches away.

that continuing til I physically cannot come any more, having each toy replaced as they're filled up or worn out, til I'm mindless and limp with well-fed animal pleasure.

[salt-pro]

[radiocmyk]

Hi this is a positivity post regarding alterhuman diet dysphoria versus actual biology

(unless you already know these things)

To herbivore nonhumans who don't want to/can't do a vegan or vegetarian diet but feel dysphoric about being able to digest meat:

Herbivorous animals are not unable to digest meat.

Animal matter is actually easier for a body to process than plant matter, and herbivorous species need very complex digestive systems in order to support their lifestyles. This is why cows have four stomachs; why horses practically go into critical system failure if they get even a little bit sick. Animals that live mostly by grazing actually still do need nutrients that carnivores and omnivores get through their natural diets, which is why farming supply stores sell salt licks for animals. In the wild herbivores will quite often find ways to sneak some meat into their diets by eating bugs or small vertebrates, if you didn't already know about the fun fact of deer eating baby birds. "Obligate herbivore" meaning an animal that can ONLY physically digest plants is not a real ecological term the way "obligate carnivore" meaning animal that can ONLY physically digest meat is, though you might see it in other usages (i.e., referring to an animal that relies on a plant-based diet for all of its nutrients).

If a wild deer was given access to human society, they would probably not opt for veganism for connection with their true species; they would more likely appreciate having a way to get sodium so easily. This isn't to shame anyone who does choose a vegan/vegetarian diet for species euphoria reasons, but more to reassure folks who can't, you aren't less of an herbivore.

To carnivore nonhumans who feel dysphoric that their body can't digest raw meat like wild carnivores can:

It can!

The reason you don't want to be eating raw meat like a wolf or stoat or monitor lizard is because you will get sick or you will contract a parasite, which might sound like just a different reason to feel disconnected from your species, but here's the main two things:

1. The actuality is that wild wolves and stoats and monitor lizards DO get sick and contract parasites. This is often how wolves and stoats and monitor lizards die in the wild and why ones in captivity, being fed parasite-free meat and having illnesses treated, live longer. There are raw meats you can eat safely, you just have to know where they're sourced from and that they're guaranteed not to have risks! That's why sushi is a thing, and why people say you can technically eat raw cut (not ground) beef but not pork or chicken. Cooked meat is also often tastier and easier for the body to process (cit.: Grug et al. 780,000 BCE) so that's why humans have loved their medium-well steak since they came up with it. And 2. wild predators are "able to eat raw meat" mostly because they killed it, so it's fresh and hasn't been sitting around able to pick up bacteria, the way raw meat you get at a grocery store would have. This is why a lot of prey animals have a "play dead" defense mechanism: most predators do not want to eat something that's already dead, because it might get them sick.

If a wild owl was given access to human society, they would probably not desire only the rawest of meats for connection with their true species; they would more likely appreciate having access to food that had all the pathogens cleaned and/or scorched out of it.

[fast-burn]

gaping, helmet/mask, caught for maxiel

doing a little double-entendre for caught

kink list here

XXX

By the time Daniel herds Max into the nearest room with a door that closes--a storage closet by the looks of it, piled with boxes, one of them spilling Red Bull polos in their crinkly packages--he's so desperately horny that he's actually light-headed. He usually doesn't get the spins like this unless he's been drinking lots, or maybe out on the first free practice after a long vacation. But Max, he--

"Show me," Daniel demands. Begs, breathless.

"Hold on a second," Max says, voice muffled behind his helmet. He sounds like he does on the radio, and Daniel makes a mental note to dig up those recordings later. How well could Max have hidden it, giving feedback to GP or cussing when things didn't go his way?

Max struggles to get the helmet off. The HANS is still clipped to it, and it's snagged on something.

"No time," Daniel snaps, going for the zip on Max's suit and yanking it down. He dropped his own helmet and gloves on his car, and it's too bad that Max didn't do the same, but Daniel needs to see.

Daniel shoves down the sleeves of Max's suit, and the HANS comes undone with a gentle give, just caught on some thread. He spins Max around and pushes him up against the wall. Then, finally, he wrangles Max's suit over the plump curve of his ass, taking his snug briefs along with it.

And there it is: the plug Max said he'd put inside himself, just before they went out for Q1. The wide, translucent silicone base is snug between his cheeks. And also like Max had said, it's hollow. He's gaped wide open and Daniel can see right through to the dark, warm core of him.

Max is panting inside his helmet. "Well?" He asks. "What do you think?"

He'd been in the car with the plug inside him. It was probably vibrating with every turn.

"You slut," Daniel gasps, reverent. He puts two fingers inside the plug, inside Max's ass, and Max probably can only feel the echoes of sensation. He's completely vulnerable to whatever pleasure Daniel wants to take from him. "You're so hot, Max, god."

"If you come in me, it will probably leak while I'm driving again," Max offers, and Daniel stops breathing for a moment.

They really don't have the time. The whole rest of the garage is on the other side of the door. Any of them could walk in at any moment--it's not like it locks from the inside. They really really don't have the time, but Daniel hauls Max's body back against his, and grasps Max's full, sweaty tits through his fireproofs.

"You wouldn't be able to hold it in. My come," Daniel says. He mouths across the back of Max's helmet, tasting gas fumes and salt, the surface lightly gritty from the sand blowing across the track. He ruts his clothed cock against the ridge of the plug like an animal.

"It would get all over the place," Max agrees.

Daniel whines and licks the helmet, laves his tongue over Max's logo on the back, leaving a shiny trail through the dusting of grime. "Wanna fuck you so bad. Want you covered in it."

An announcement pings through the garage. "Hurry up," says Max.

"I know, I know," Daniel says, and at the same moment, the doorknob rattles. Daniel throws himself back against the door, pinning it closed. Max scrambles back into his race suit as they both hear someone say what the fuck on the other side. They look at each other, eyes wide. Not that Daniel is looking, but they probably both have enormous boners right now. Probably visible from space.

"You wait," Max instructs after they hear the receding footsteps. "I'll go out first."

"What? No," Daniel says, because he's not going to slink out behind Max. "I'm first."

Max huffs a breath into his helmet. "No, I'm first--"

"Max, c'mon, I should be first--"

"No, you're going after me. I'm first--"

"If anyone is coming second, it's you--"