#Dogs and Jen

[jenoutof10]

alcohol + bsd men because i remembered i have free will 🧎🎉

uncolored bcs i was originally gonna make these 3 + nikolai and sigma but got lazy 🤷 will maybe draw sigma or color in the future if i feel like it

super random post that started when i doodled dazai in my notebook while in a super boring religion class

[milton-chamberlain]

I decided to redesign my old characters. Now their clothes look more like medieval ones.

[waterdroid]

I saw that one "Mission Complete" screen (you know the one) and felt a sudden urge to draw the funniest way that could've happened. I don't actually know if this is funny at all because I've spent too much looking at it, enjoy!!

[idontwikeit]

The Newsreader 2.06 "Fireworks"

"So, I think it's kind of like the house and the big empty house represents Dale now. He's kind of like a big empty house. There's nothing in it." - Sam Reid in The Newsreader podcast

[borgialucrezia]

"In none of the numerous despatches of the day is this suspicion mentioned, although in a private letter of Malipiero's, dated Rome, June 17, 1497, and in one of Polo Capello's reports, allusion is made to the "rumor" regarding the criminal relations of Don Giovanni and his sister. Could the fact that Lucretia never engaged in any love intrigue—at least she is not charged with having done so—with anyone else, when there were in Rome so many courtiers, young nobles, and great cardinals who were her daily companions, have given rise to these reports? It is a fact that nothing has been discovered which would indicate that this beautiful young woman ever did engage in any love affair. Even the report of the ambassador, who, writing to Ferrara, not from Rome but from Venice, states that Lucretia had given birth to a child stands alone. She had at that time been separated from her husband Sforza a whole year. But even if we admit that this rumor was well founded, and that Lucretia did engage in some illicit love affair, are not these relations and slips frequent enough in all societies and at all times? Even now nothing is more readily glossed over in the polite world." — Lucretia Borgia, According to Original Documents and Correspondence of Her Day, Ferdinand Gregorovius (January 1, 1904)

[noxglyph]

I drew what Evan imagines Habit would look like! But I don’t draw animals so it was actually so difficult. Bro just looks like a dog with rabies 💀

[tolerateit]

dog years // halsey

[mundaneandmagicalcreature]

Dale + Alison's dog 🐶

Bonus: Gerry having to shove Dale inside the house because the big dork wants to stay outside and play with the dog

[quillkiller]

microfic: quillkiller, 848 words, explicit/mature

light d/s undertones maybe ?? vaguely described sex scene, nsfw

Bellatrix is poison, or maybe just a very sharp knife. More weapon than a girl, always has been. She did this to herself, and she had done it all wrong.

She destroys what she touches, leaves them a bloody mess at her feet until they crawl away from her on all fours. She had done it to anyone who tried to be her friend.

She had done it to her younger sister. She doesn’t know why her youngest is still around.

She doesn’t want to do it, again, to Rita, she wants so desperately for her to stay— so she keeps her hands behind her back most of the time. She keeps her teeth behind a closed mouth, so as to not tear open Rita’s perfect skin.

She wants to keep her perfect. Pristine and lovely, like a porcelain doll. No teeth grazing her neck, drawing blood. No fingers digging too deep into her hips. No visible hickeys, dragging Rita’s reputation through the dirt.

No, she’s too perfect, and she deserves better. Bellatrix doesn’t doubt she’d duel a pair of scissors if they dared to make Rita bleed.

She’s the loveliest, sweetest thing Bellatrix has ever been in possession of.

“I want to make you bleed,” Rita whispers against her ear, taking Bellatrix’s earlobe between her teeth, biting until it hurts. Until Bellatrix gasps, struggling against the ropes tying her hands together behind her back.

Maybe not that sweet, not really, not actually, but what matters is that Bellatrix thinks so. Rita is nasty, rude and selfish— and she’s perfect. Rita thinks she’s a god, and Bellatrix is happy to indulge her. Happy to worship at her feet.

“How badly do you want to touch me?” Rita asks, sucking down hard on Bellatrix’s neck, “feral thing like you, you’d ruin me if i’d let you,”

Bellatrix would never hurt Rita, hasn’t ever hurt Rita, even when her hands aren’t tied together, but it’s true that Bellatrix is feral. Wild and sharp, and doesn’t know how to love without leaving claw marks. It takes all her effort to be soft, but Rita rewards her every single time.

She’s become Rita’s domesticated beast. A dog on a leash. A leash that Rita loves pulling at, and Bellatrix is all too happy to submit and be led.

Bellatrix wants Rita to stay perfect, not a single tear on her lovely skin, and Rita basks in it. In turn, Rita wants to claw, push and prod. A perfect thing, but not at all kind, and Bellatrix loves her for it.

Who else can you hurt? Bellatrix had asked her once, when Rita had looked at her with fire dancing in her eyes, Bellatrix pushed up against a wall. Rita’s hand around her neck.

She had squeezed, Bellatrix gasping for breath, and said, I want you at my mercy.

Bellatrix had laughed, as much as she could with her airway blocked, and said, I already am, baby. Deliriously happy, Rita’s delicate fingers digging into her.

Rita adjusts herself on Bellatrix’s lap until she’s straddling her right thigh, she sits back up and looks down at Bellatrix, a smirk on her lips. “You’re so good,”

Bellatrix isn’t exactly comfortable, sitting with her back against the headboard and hands tied around her back, but her comfort doesn’t matter. Not to her, and not to Rita. Right now she belongs entirely to Rita. She thinks she was made to make her feel good, if all she’s good for otherwise is to harm and destroy.

Rita starts moving, and all Bellatrix can do is watch. Rita’s still fully dressed on top of her, a miniskirt, but the panties are gone, and a loose fitting button up shirt that refuses to stay in place. Rita’s blonde hair is a mess, eyes rolling back as she’s focusing on her own pleasure. Bellatrix has been tied up and naked for over an hour.

“Baby,” Bellatrix whispers.

God, she’s perfect. A perfect, pristine little thing— and Bellatrix intends to keep her that way. She’ll let Rita ruin her, make her bleed, leave her marks. She’ll beg her for it, and bask in the glory until they’ve faded. Then she’ll beg again.

She wants everyone to know who she belongs to. And in turn, Bellatrix demands Rita be kept perfect. Showing not only who Rita belongs to, but that Rita belongs to her without all of Bellatrix’s violence.

“You’ll hurt everyone,” Rita says, pulling Bellatrix’s hair, just a tad too hard, “but not me,”

“Never,” Bellatrix promises.

Never, never, never.

“Good dog,” Rita gasps, and scratches at Bellatrix’s back until she bleeds. Rita giggles, pleased when Bellatrix hisses from the pain.

“You’re perfect,” Bellatrix says, trying to get closer, but Rita pushes her back against the headboard roughly.

“My perfect girl,” Bellatrix continues, she’s delirious, a stuttering mess, “my one good thing,”

Rita says something, but it’s lost in her frantic movements against her thigh and Bellatrix’s growing desperation. She’s an angel, a god, a porcelain doll.

Bellatrix worships. Like a dog on a leash, held by a perfect, delicate hand that loves her.

[dizzyst4rs]

a successor to my holiday-themed piece from last year and i spent WAY too much time on it 🥴 hope y’all enjoy happy holidays <3

[no-brain-just-akutagawa]

this is exactly how the reveal played in my head

[ID: An edited Hot Ones meme with Jennifer Lawrence. In the top picture there's a far away picture of distressed Fukuzawa. The text reads: "What do you mean? What do you-what do you mean?!". In the bottom picture there's a close shot of Fukuzawa even more shocked and distressed. The text reads: "*crying* What do you mean?!". End ID]

[jenoutof10]

my first dazai art should be silly and cute(?)

[jenniferstolzer]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jennifer (@jensdogscustom)

The Burmilla Longhair is a medium-sized cat with medium-long hair. It became its own breed in the 1990s when enough Burmilla cats were born with long hair to make them distinct. Both breeds have the same lineage because of this!

If you'd like to see five additional colors of this Burmilla Longhair or see the Redbubble and Teepublic stores for any of my pet designs, check out the website at www.jensdogscustom.com

[jensdogscustom]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jennifer (@jensdogscustom)

Don't be fooled by their whimsical hairstyles! The Dandie Dintmont Terrier was raised to hunt badgers and otters in Scotland in the 1600s! These tough little dogs were named after a character in Sir Walter Scott's novel "Guy Mannering" in which the character Dandie Dintmont was based on the breed's originator. The fluff of hair on top of their heads is called a "topknot" and should be distinct and fluffy in show dogs.

Find more coat colors and links to Redbubble and Teepublic at the website.

[kerothi]

character headcanon generator — 10 headcanons! Generate 10 headcanons and share whether they're true or not. Repost, don't reblog.

Jean's favorite color is pink. — False. Not that he hates it or anything, but his favorite is blue.

Jean steals other peoples clothes. — True. Applies to men only (t-shirts and hoodies) and is definitely a good sign that he fancies said man.

Jean is very good at using chopsticks. — True. He's just good with most fiddly things in general. Boy got those piano fingers.

If the source media was a musical, Jean would be the one character that asks why everyone is singing. — True... While also singing.

Jean doesn't own a single pair of matching socks. — False. All that needs to be said there, really lol.

Jean reads Ao3. — True. He absolutely would though. Jean would have ships for all his favorite shows and do not look in his bookmarks. ">_>

Jean has a pet dog. — True... Eren counts, right??

Jean is a horrible liar. — False. But debatable, it depends who he's lying to and why. He's good at blagging though. Can and will rob most people (but especially strangers) blind at the poker table. Cannot bullshit a friend when it comes to something too deep or serious.

Jean tells dad jokes. — False. Jean tells jokes that are bad, but I wouldn't necessarily call them dad jokes. He's not quite there yet lmao.

Jean is very willing to eat inedible things. — False. He is the one trying so hard to wrestle it out of the daring one's mouth because don't be stupid, your body can't digest that, how are you not dead yet already, oh my god.

Tagged by: @polishedforsurvival (tysm!! ♥)

Tagging: @praesidi | @calcitration | @naitfall | @worldhell & anyone that wants to!

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 9 / 31 * A NEW ‘PUPPY’ 」

August 7, 1895

“Are you sure about this, dear?” The sun streaks across the Train’s sleek lines and Clara marvels at the massive steel beast, powerful and elegant, carving its presence out of the otherwise dreary California landscape. Much like her husband, it is a fusion of the times, the present—by her account—and the future, blended seamlessly to create something larger-than-life that would put even Captain Nemo’s prized Nautilus to shame.

“I’m positive it’ll work. Besides, somebody has to test it to make sure everything is properly calibrated and I’d rather not put you or the kids at risk.”

It isn’t that she doubts her husband on this—he’d already invented a Time Machine once—that fancy metal behemoth propped up in the Delgado Silver Mine where it would wait for another sixty years until Mr. East—Marty came to retrieve it, facilitating the events that, to them, have already occurred.

He had been working diligently on this ever since they’d agreed that they couldn’t remain in this time, lest they threaten the space-time continuum and potentially jeopardise Emmett’s own existence. Even when she could no longer keep up with his future knowledge of science that still bordered the realm of science-fiction by this time’s standards, she had nothing but confidence in his ability.

No, it is the inherent risk that any scientific experiment entails that has her worried for Emmett’s safety, for time is the one barrier she has no hope to breach should something go terribly wrong.

But she can’t allow herself to think like that.

“I’ll be back in about ten minutes’ time from your perspective.” Emmett wraps his arms around her waist, radiating such confidence and conviction that Clara almost feels foolish for worrying so much.

“And not a minute longer,” Clara teases, leaning in to send her husband off with a fond kiss.

The train whistle blares, slicing through the tender parting and causing both Doc and Clara to leap a foot in the air. Laughter, muffled, yet still filtering out from the open cab, takes the place of the silence and if Clara strains her ears, now ringing from the sudden unexpected noise, she can hear Jules and Verne shouting at each other from inside the Train, the latter complaining how he wants a turn.

“I’d better go before the boys decide that I have to wait for them to be finished before I’m allowed to interrupt.”

“Boys, come out of there,” Clara calls, projecting her stern teacher voice that leaves no room for discussion or debate. “You know the Time Machine isn’t a toy and your father has very important work to be doing.”

Jules and Verne both groan, but in mere moments, they trudge their way out of the Train, carefully descending the steps.

“Can we come too, Dad?” Jules asks, throwing that wide-eyed, pleading look at his father that usually has him folding.

“Yeah! Us too!”

“I’m sorry boys,” Emmett says earnestly, “not this time. But I promise that the next time we use the Train, it’ll be as a family.”

“He’ll only be gone for a few minutes,” Clara adds, to which both of the boys’ faces immediately fall, their expectations of some grand adventure dashed.

Emmett climbs into the cabin and retracts the steps and Clara ushers the boys back several feet, mindful of Emmett’s tales of the first Time Machine and its aggressive displacement method. The boys wave as the Train picks up speed and Clara finds herself holding her breath, her chest tightening with each crack of thunder resounding through the air in spite of the idyllic blue California afternoon. The shockwave rattles her bones and when the flash of light subsides, leaving nothing but a trail of fire and smoke where the Train was only a moment ago, Clara finally lets out the breath she was holding.

“Whoa!! Did you see that, Mom? Dad’s gone!”

Verne runs along the side of the tracks, chasing the ghost of the train with Jules in tow, and Clara stays rooted where she is, overcome with a number of complex thoughts and emotions. The reality of it thrills and excites—time-travel would open doors and wonders that she only ever dreamed about, only ever found through the escape of fantastic books—while paradoxically releasing hordes of butterflies in her stomach, each flutter of its wings an uncertainty, a yet unforeseen trouble, an obstacle to overcome.

The Twentieth Century awaits—she could practically grasp it in her hands now, alive with possibility and promise and peril—and they were going to greet it together, as a family.

Clara doesn’t know how long she stands there until she comes back to herself, pulling out her pocket watch to check the time. Two minutes until Emmett should be getting back. Jules and Verne have moved well enough away from the tracks now, likely chasing one of the small critters if their fixation with the ground is any indication.  

When the storm rolls in despite the conspicuous lack of overcast, Clara’s attention snaps back to the tracks at the same time the boys whip around, eagerly awaiting their father’s return. The Train returns with all the pomp and circumstance it deserves, steam rising from its engine, and once Clara confirms that it’s safe to approach, the boys take off, meeting Emmett at the cab.

“It worked, Dad, it worked—but it’s so loud!”

Emmett peeks his head out of the window, grinning triumphantly down at his family. “Right on time. The temporal displacement worked perfectly—in reality, I was gone for almost three hours.” Both Jules’ and Verne’s eyes go wide. “But according to my watch”—he digs around in his pocket, fishing out the watch—“it has only been ten minutes exactly. I thought I might have to recalibrate the Time Circuits, but it looks like—”

Something barks from inside the cabin and Clara and her husband exchange a look.

“What was that, Dad?”

“It barked! Did you get a dog?” Verne gasps. “Did you bring a dog from the future?”

“You remember me telling you stories of my faithful companion Einstein, don’t you?”

“Named after one of your heroes of the Twentieth Century,” Clara says, recalling the countless tales in which Einstein the dog made an appearance. She had known she would come face-to-face with her husband’s best friend—before Marty, that is—at some point, but she had hardly expected the large, shaggy creature sitting comfortably in the train as if this is old news, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Einstein looks around at the unfamiliar surroundings, then appraises each new unfamiliar face in turn.

“And the world’s first time-traveller,” he says proudly, reaching down to scratch Einstein behind the ears. “I grabbed him from the lab when I could be certain Marty wouldn’t show up unexpectedly.”

“Does he bite?” Jules asks, his voice trembling slightly.

“Only if he doesn’t like somebody. But Einstein is an exceptional judge of character—he’s more likely to lick the skin off your face if you don’t push him away than he is to bite you.” Emmett ushers Einstein out of the Train and gestures to each member of his family, introducing them as if Einstein was possessed of human intelligence.

“I know this is all confusing right now, Einie, since I’ve only been gone a couple hours as far as you’re concerned, but I’d like you to meet my family.”