#olfactory families

[a-perfume-lover]

Understanding Perfume Families: A Beginner's Guide (eBook)

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What are Perfume Families and Why Should I Care?

Perfume families, also known as fragrance families and olfactory families, are perfume categories based on a fragrance’s most prominent scents.

Knowing how to categorize your fragrances will help you to more easily shop for perfumes you’ll love, spend less time looking for a perfume you’ll love, and prevent you from wearing the wrong perfume at the wrong time.

By knowing a perfume’s olfactory family, you’ll know which perfume family smells best on you, which family you like the best, and which family to wear according to season.

If you have a fragrance that smells great on you, learning which perfume family it belongs to will help you find more perfumes that will smell great on you.

Weather Affects My Perfume’s Smell?

Yes, it does. Have you ever bought a new glorious-smelling perfume for a summer holiday and received loads of compliments, but those compliments stopped coming when you wore the same perfume in autumn? It’s because you wore a perfume that belonged to a fragrance family designed for warm-weather use.

Are You Easily Data-Overwhelmed?

Perfume-family classification is a complex topic. Its complexity is enhanced by the fact that professional perfumers often disagree on which family to place a fragrance. Just to make it more confusing, there are not only families, but subfamilies and sub-subfamilies and more.

Keep It Simple!

Breaking such a complex topic into a fast easy read will give you a solid foundation that can be built upon and expanded. For hobbyists who only want to know the basics, “Understanding Perfume Families: A Beginner’s Guide” is all you need. For those of you who want to expand your knowledge, “Understanding Perfume Families: A Beginner’s Guide” will give you a strong base to build on.

[kkujo]

last night i had a mix of tinnitus and sleep deprivation induced auditory hallucinations which was basically just like. literal microphone feedback. and i think it was triggered by me testing my microphone yesterday bc the feedback was awful but yeah i was lying awake and all i could hear was extremely loud microphone feedback in my brain i'm so glad it's over 😭

[permanentbottombunk]

I have this small green slinky and dude let me tell you I have been chewing on this thing like that is it's job seriously chew on a slinky this is the most fun I have had in years

[reasonsforhope]

"Tilia is a vest-wearing conservation dog that the 444-acre [Mequon] nature preserve relies on for vital conservation and restoration work.

The dog’s responsibilities include sniffing out invasive and endangered species in the prairies, forests, and wetlands of Mequon.

Conservation dogs have become more commonplace in wildlife organizations, tapping into their astonishing scent-detecting abilities.

“Dogs in general already have up to 200 million olfactory sensors,” Cory Gritzmacher, the director of operations at the nature preserve, told Wisconsin Life.

Humans, on the other hand, have about 5 million.

“[Dogs are] already set up and designed for scent detection,” Gritzmacher added. “It’s really just finding a dog that’s motivated, that wants to do it on a regular basis and is excited to do it.”

Tilia was the pup for the job.

One of her main roles is to detect wild parsnip, an invasive species that staff removes once it is found on the property.

Compared to humans, Tilia can find parsnip in its first year, while it’s still close to the ground and camouflaged by other plants. This is vital, since parsnip will start to spread rapidly by the time it reaches its second season in the preserve. 

Studies show that the estimated damage caused by invasive species has cost the United States around $120 billion annually, as it impacts agriculture, recreational industries, and wildlife management. 

By catching invasive species that take hold of local flora and fauna early, Tilia achieves something no humans can.

“The best trained volunteers or staff in the world won’t even be able to find what a canine can,” Gritzmacher said. “That’s the pretty impressive part of it. And who doesn’t want to go to work with a dog?” ...

Tilia began training as a puppy, and now nearly seven years old, she’s a pro at scent detection — which all started with some treats hidden in cardboard boxes...

“As she continues to hit on the correct scent, then she gets rewarded. So, she’s going to get paid again. We do our work, we get paid. She does her work, she gets paid.”

Tilia can also spot Blue-Spotted and Easter Tiger Salamanders, which are endangered in the area. Her other scents include Wood Turtle and Garlic Mustard.

Of course, her workload remains balanced with time off. Her official owner is the director of Mequon Nature Preserve, who is happy to embrace her as the family dog when she’s not out sniffing.

But Gritzmacher, who trains and works alongside Tilia, adores her, not only for her companionship, but for the miracles she is able to work as an asset to Wisconsin’s conservationists.

“Canines are going to start to play a huge role in the conservation field just because of their amazing detection skills,” Gritzmacher said, “especially when resources are limited, staff is limited and you have to search potentially thousands of acres or miles.”

In fact, Tilia was joined by a partner in crime a few years ago: Timber, another chocolate lab who is actually the offspring of Tilia’s sister.

By following in her pawprints, Timber’s “powerful nose will be a key tool” in the preserve’s “land restoration efforts,” according to its website.

“For years, scientists have tried to replicate the power and efficiency of the canine nose,” Mequon Nature Preserve adds on a webpage for Tilia and Timber.

“The results keep coming back the same: The canine nose is second to none. Coupled with an insatiable desire to work and serve, Tilia and Timber help us find things humans often can’t.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, December 2, 2024

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Perfumery Vocabulary

Absolute - An extraction from a concrete using alcohol. The essential oil of scented flowers and other aromatic plant parts in its purest and most concentrated form. It is extremely expensive. A few important oils used in an absolute form are: geranium, lavender, lily, and rose.

Accord - A combination of a number of different scents which blend together to produce a new fragrance.

Agrestic - "Of the countryside"; odours of heather, forest depths, and the meadow.

Aldehydes - Aromatic chemicals isolated for the first time in the 19th century, but that also occur naturally. Certain aldehydes provide an increased diffusiveness, sparkle, and lift to perfumes, most famously in Chanel No. 5.

Almondy - Bittersweet, soft, and nutty scent.

Amber - An accord in perfumery that is supposed to recall the qualities of ambergris. It is often constructed with labdanum, Tolu balsam, or Peru balsam. Often an accord in Oriental perfumes.

Ambergris - A highly prized perfume ingredient consisting of the oxidized excretion from a sperm whale. It is rarely used in its natural form in perfumery because of its rarity, exorbitant cost, and concerns about sourcing ambergris from live whales rather than from shore-found ambergris. It’s said to have an earthy, sweet, tobacco, and pleasantly animalic scent. It primarily works to bring out other notes in perfumery rather than to impart a particular scent on its own.

Ambrein - The primary scented molecule in ambergris, isolated and used in perfumery. It’s warm, sweet, vanillic, and ambery, with facets of spice and tobacco.

Animalic - Describes fragrances with animal ingredients in natural or synthetic form, including civet, castoreum, musk, or ambergris. The voluptuous, erotic, and sometimes disturbing quality of animalic perfumes can register in an olfactory way, as something “dirty” or animal-smelling, or as a feeling, a mood, or a quality. Sometimes, it can be both.

Aromatic - Having a strong or distinctive smell.

B—E

Balance - A combination of different fragrance notes so adjusted in proportion to one another that none of the individual notes is more prominent than any of the others.

Balsamic - The resin from the bark of trees and shrubs (Peru, Tolu, styrax) that have a rich vanilla scent. Balsamic is a term used to describe perfumes with the soft, ambery aspects these resins impart.

Benzoin - A sweet, balsamic resin used in incense and as a base note in perfume for its vanillic scent and fixative properties. Also known as styrax because it comes from the bark of the styrax tree.

Bergamot - The essential oil from the peel of the nonedible Citrus aurantium fruit that looks like a small orange. Its sweetish, mellow lemony scent is a crucial top note in perfumery.

Calone - A synthetic “marine” note that is supposed to evoke the freshness of the ocean. It has a slight watermelon facet.

Camphoraceous - Describes a fresh, clean, medical fragrance.

Caramel - Sweet, rich, creamy, buttery scent.

Cardamom - An intensely aromatic, sweet spice from the ginger family, in the form of a pod filled with seeds.

Carnation - A smoky, sweet, and clove-like scent, the latter facet due to Eugenol, the primary component of clove.

Cassis - (or black currant bud) A sharp, fruity, almost cat-urine-like scented perfume note.

Cistus - (or Labdanum) A resin from the rockrose bush, traditionally gathered from goats’ beards as they fed on the plant. Labdanum is said to be the note closest to the scent of ambergris. Creamy, soft, vanillic.

Citrus - Fresh, light fragrance characteristic of citrus fruits, but also imitated synthetically.

Civet - In classical perfumery, the cream harvested from the anal gland of the mongoose-like civet animal, often described as cat like. Fecal-smelling when undiluted, civet “rounds” out other notes when used judiciously. Famous as an overdosed note in Guerlain’s Jicky (1889), it is considered one of the first abstract modern scents. Civet is primarily in synthetic form now.

Clove - An aromatic spice similar to cinnamon, but less sweet. Its primary component is Eugenol.

Coniferous - The fragrance note of pine, spruce, juniper and similar such trees, often used in men's fragrances.

Diffusive - A perfume whose fragrance quickly becomes apparent in the air surrounding the wearer.

Dry - The aromatic effect of perfume ingredients such as woods and mosses in contrast to sweet and warm fragrances.

Earthy - The subtle fragrance impression of earth or earth-mould which is found in certain essential oils such as vetiver and patchouli.

Equine - Notes of hay and leather.

F—M

Floral - The general fragrance of flowers.

Fruity - Citrus, berries, tropical, and other non-citrus fruit scents.

Fungal - Molds, yeast, and mushroom scents.

Green - General fragrance of grasses and green plant parts.

Harmony - A pleasing combination of fragrance notes.

Hayfield notes - Usually based on coumarin, which have an odour of new-mown hay.

Heavy - Denotes a fragrance in which the least volatile ingredients, such as mossy or animalic ones, are dominant, giving a very strong effect. Such fragrances are mostly used in chypre and oriental-type perfumes.

Herbaceous - The characteristic general fragrance of herbs and herbal medicines. Sage, rosemary and lavender are examples.

Honey - Used as an ingredient in early Arab perfumes and appears in later European ones (e.g., Honey Water). In modern perfumery a substance providing the sweet aromatic effect of honey and known as Honey (or Miel) is manufactured synthetically.

Indolic - The disquieting, ripe, animalic, and almost excremental facet of scents.

Leather - A perfume accord and category of perfume constructed from various notes, including birch tar, styrax, castoreum, and a variety of synthetic notes.

Light - Delicate, clean, and fresh-laundry scent.

Marine - Iodized scent.

Mellow - Soothing and calming scent.

Metallic - A fragrance reminiscent of metal, providing a clean, cool effect. Metallic notes are used in perfumes to assist in promoting an effect, not as main fragrances.

Minty - A fragrance reminiscent of mint, e.g., peppermint or spearmint. Such fragances are usually used to provide a special, fresh effect in a top note.

Mossy - The general odour of oils obtained from mosses and lichens.

Musk - Produced by the musk deer and excreted by the male during mating season. Musk deer were killed almost to extinction for their valuable musk glands, which were dried, and whose musk “seeds” were removed and steeped in alcohol to create tinctures for perfume. The scent of real musk is warm, with depth and a dark animalic aroma. Many synthetics now can mimic musk scent, but one of the most superior musk synthetics, nitro-musks, which were in Chanel No. 5 and countless other vintages, has been banned due to toxicity concerns. Musk can also be substituted with plant ingredients including ambrette seed and angelica.

Musty - Damp, earthy, or stale odor.

N—W

Narcotic - Exceptionally strong and heavy fragrances obtained from some flowers (e.g. jasmine and tuberose) and animalic ingredients, which need to be used with careful discretion in a perfume.

Ozonic - A perfume accord that attempts to create the smell of fresh air after a thunderstorm.

Peppery - Odour of pepper.

Powdery - Soft and clean scent.

Rich - Fragrances that have numerous layers, notes, and accords in all stages (top, mid, base), creating a multifaceted feel.

Rounded - The overall smoothness and fullness of a fragrance.

Sharp - A strong scent.

Smoky - The slight smell of smoke created in a perfume by certain oils such as Birch Tar Oil. It is used in men's fragrances to provide a leathery effect.

Spicy - Describes in general the distinctive fragrance of essential oils which have been obtained from spices.

Sweet - A sweet and rather sugar-like fragrance such as vanilla.

Tobacco - Fragrances resembling cured tobaccos, which are particularly popular in masculine toiletries.

Wintergreen - Has a very powerful and fresh, medicinal odour.

Woody - Fragrances reminiscent of wood. These fragrances are provided by wood oils, such as cedar, by essential oils from other plants having a wood-like aroma, such as patchouli, and by synthetics.

Sources: Perfume: The Art and Craft of Fragrance by Karen Gilbert ⚜ The Perfume Handbook by Nigel Groom ⚜ Scent & Subversion by Barbara Herman ⚜ Scent: A Natural History of Fragrance by Elise Vernon Pearlstine ⚜ Introduction to Perfumery by Tony Curtis & David G. Williams ⚜ The Big Book of Perfume

More: Word Lists ⚜ References ⚜ Describing Scent ⚜ Fragrance Notes & Levels

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part One - A twisted fate

I'm gonna be honest: this came to me in a tired, period induced haze and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing but the bunnies would not let me stop until I finished it. Was supposed to be a oneshot... until it wasn't XD Hoping this is just gonna be a short little pet project on the side. Lemme know if I missed any triggers!

Trigger warnings: SA (not by the 141), biting, claiming, angst, depression, self harm

[Edit 7/16/24: updated relationship tags]

The parking lot was a certified mess to navigate, a veritable winter hellscape with the continual snowfall keeping the pavement slick and churning around spinning wheels to create a thick dirty slush. Packed cars fought for spaces towards the front of the store, wanting to avoid the headache of trudging through sloppy sleet, heavy carts overflowing with expensive gifts and last minute groceries.

Parents loaded up their trunks for their upcoming banquets. Little ones chattered in youthful exuberance about brightly wrapped packages and a jolly fat man. Festively dressed bell ringers exhausted their muscles for the cause of charity, offering joyous smiles to those passing by gracious enough to offer a token. Even six inches of heavy wet snowfall were not enough to deter shoppers from their mood. Coupled with the obnoxiously boisterous music that met you at the door it was almost impossible not to get swept up in the infectious holiday spirit.

Almost.

You hadn’t bothered joining the chaotic dominance for prime parking, opting to choose the very last row towards the street instead of wasting precious minutes yelling profanities out the window to an uppity pack trying to steal your spot. The harsh wind burned your face and nipped at your skin, pulling the woolen scarf tighter around your neck and up over your bitten nose. You avoided eye contact with the chipper lady at the front, not wanting to feel guilty for not donating when you barely had enough to scrape by as it is.

Normally you avoided venturing out this close to Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Holidays haven't meant much to you in recent years since your parent’s untimely passing and you hated the constant reminder of ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Sure, there were still your other two alpha fathers, but they’d opted for someplace warmer in their age and visitation was difficult with your busy work schedule. Your younger brother wasn’t almost worth mentioning with his new prissy family somewhere up north. That bridge was burned the day he called you a harlot.

Needless to say, you’d become something of a grinch.

You’d been miserably sick the week prior and ate through most of your stockpile of hoarded food, not enough remaining to keep blowing off shopping with the bustling crowds. If you wanted to last past New Years then a trip into town was unavoidable.

The intense blast of hot air from the overhead heaters thawed your aching bones upon entering the store, shaking the accumulated dampness from your head and shoulders but leaving the thick cloth covering the lower half of your face. It would help you in your endeavors to get through the aisles expediently without irritating your delicate omega olfactory senses. 

It got harder to distinguish the source of fragrances this time of year, when folk spent their days burrowed away from the bitter cold surrounded by the comforts of the season. A chilled glass of rich subtly spiced eggnog, smokey cedar logs crackling in the hearth, sweet woodsy pine wreaths and garlands wrapped around thick oak banisters, trees decorated with peppermint candy canes and dried strings of popcorn. 

Gingerbread, mulled wine, cinnamon, orange, clove; a bountiful buffet of complementary aromas. Your own father had smelled of cranberry sauce once upon a time (it made the holidays that much harder when he was gone). And with so many people filling the space - even with the heating fans working overtime trying to filter out most of it - it could get difficult trying to figure out whether a boozy scent originated from a lovely beta or the soaked rum cake she was placing in her cart.

Honestly if it weren't for the outrageous delivery fees you would've had the groceries dropped off instead of enduring the aggressive pheromones floating through the air. Alas this was one of your few exceptions to your hermit lifestyle.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just December that had you hesitant to leave the sanctuary of your meager apartment. 

For the past few years, you’d been battling a severe case of agoraphobia, something you’d been working on wholeheartedly with a therapist since the accident that made you so. It had crippled you to the point that even daring to have the blinds open on your windows sent you spiraling into that dark abyss of cackling distress, panic consuming every last ounce of breath until you found yourself minutes later curled up on the bathroom floor, lightheaded and queasy.

Nausea was a constant in your life, along with the cold sweat that had you sleeping on a towel just to keep from ruining your bedsheets. Lethargy was embedded in your muscle fibers. A searing ache in your throat. The painful deep tugging in your chest an ever present reminder of the uphill battle you fought each time you opened your crusty sleep filled eyes. Depression was your best friend, curled around you in a false sense of comfort where it was easier to slip into a maladaptive headspace than face the truth of your harsh reality.

But despite the physical manifestations of your trauma, you’d made good strides so far with your weekly sessions. It had been a difficult road getting to this point and your therapist praised you for your dedication to not letting it hinder the life you had ahead. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you tried all the same.

Like a hound that heard you calling, that ominous presence that filled you with dread came crawling into the back of your skull, mittened hand discreetly itching at the wool around your neck and scratching the irritated skin beneath. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths until it settled, you grabbed one of the many baskets available and began the trek weaving down the rows of food.

Christmas was about a week away and the mobs were out in full force. Thankfully the items you were on the hunt for were not the same ingredients needed by everyone else. There was the occasional overlap of things like milk, eggs, bread, etc. But there was no call for a full sized turkey or spiraled ham; no sweet potato casserole or chocolate yule log to bake. Just some bologna, shredded cheese, a couple packs of ramen, and a few other household things here you were running low on. 

Maybe for the hell of it you’d stop in the frozen section and find yourself a mini cheesecake to splurge on for when you inevitably opened that bottle of fireball sitting on the shelf come next Tuesday, forced to listen to your upstairs neighbors' horrendous attempts at Christmas caroling.

Halfway through the store, your browsing was interrupted by an alluring scent swirling somewhere nearby.

Citrusy. Acidic. Sweet. Airy. 

Your scarf had slipped off your face when you bent down to grab something off the lower racks, exposing you to the freshly baked goods across the way. Someone nearby was carrying a batch of lemon cupcakes, your mouth watering as the scent invaded your tastebuds and forced a pleasant hum from the back of your throat. 

Something curled in your chest like a finger beckoning forward, begging for an acknowledgement that had you standing at rapt attention. Your body seemed to move on its own, head swiveling like a rickety chair, scanning the nearby vicinity - for what, you couldn’t say. The inner omega that prowled just underneath the surface vibrated restlessly, choking back a needy whine while your eyes swept over the closest individuals. Something primal had called out to you, throwing your hormones out of whack, piecing together invisible clues so obviously standing right in front of you. 

The summery concoction felt so out of place in the harsh winter months, swirling and nagging at the base of your spine, urgent and loud and taking up too much space until you felt like you could drown in its tang–

Your muscles locked in place, gaze affixed to something - someone - at the end of the aisle. 

A big someone. An alpha.

And he was massive.

There was a natural musculature that came with the inherited alpha genetics. Beta’s could grow to a similar size if they worked at it, but there was a casual arrogance that was impossible to mistake with the former designation. Even still, this man towered over most others in the vicinity, lesser alphas giving a wide berth to the intimidating figure currently staring down at his phone screen. Thick grey hoodie pulled up over his head, a black military jacket layered over top. Dark wash jeans led down to warm boots hefty enough to stomp a man’s skull in. Messy dark blonde hair peeked out from up top, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face from view.

He couldn’t have given off any more ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes if he had it tattooed across his forehead. There was nothing sinister about his bearing per se - one hand casually shoved into a coat pocket as he leaned back against one of the dessert displays - but there was a coiled alertness that gave you the distinct impression he was more aware of his surroundings than he led you to believe.

One thing was for certain: you were never more sure of anything in your less than perfect life that that man was your scent match.

Your lungs expanded in your chest to drink in more of his scent. Palms turned sweaty, hair on the back of your neck prickled, the weight of the basket on your arm all but forgotten. Your throat parched at the prospect of getting to shove your face against his scent gland and taste the delectable lemony goodness right off his skin. 

People went lifetimes never meeting their perfect scent matches. The odds of you ever encountering one wasn’t even worth holding out hope for. Over seven billion people on the planet and you had to win an epic fucking lottery to get as lucky as you just did. Bonding ceremonies like that made the news for how rare it was. You’d never even dreamed of this happening, making peace with the idea that mates only existed in fairytale romance.

You just about dropped your groceries when he was joined shortly thereafter by another gorgeous male, slightly shorter by a few inches and not as broadly built. Rich dark skin, effortlessly cool street style, short black curls, and a dazzling pearly white smile.

This new alpha didn’t seem to flinch in the presence of the other, lemon cupcake glancing up only briefly to acknowledge the newcomer whose toasted coconut aroma barrelled right into you, colliding like a runaway freight at an unguarded intersection. Gulping down mouthfuls of air like a fish heaving on dry land, your head spun wildly at the nutty intrusion; smokey yet sweet, conjuring images of a warm evening bonfire on a lush sandy beach. 

Hope bloomed in your chest something fierce and bright. Your omega preened in unbridled delight, pawing at the surface, eager to get her hands on the two beautiful specimens whose every atom screamed ‘mine’. Tears stung behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and elation, vibrant like bursting fireworks and twinkling Christmas lights. 

What would you say to them? Do you approach them first? Should you wait for them to scent you back or try to pretend you didn’t smell them yet? What did their voices sound like? You could see their lips moving, even if the ones’ were hidden behind a surgical mask. Tenor, baritone, rumbly bass? What were their names? Where did they live? Was this really happening right now?! 

Something twisted and gnarled sunk its claws into your subconscious, rearing its ugly head in protest at the newfound revelation, but for the first time in years you didn’t fucking care. 

They were here. Your alphas. Your pack. Your salvation.

“Babes!” 

Decadent chocolate floated past you, a small apology from her lips as the omega brushed by, bumping her arm against yours on the way to her intended destination. You’d hardly noticed, too caught up in your own inner monologue and girlish fantasies to barely manage a quiet ‘no worries’.

For a split second, your eyes met coconut’s beautiful luscious brown, breath catching in your throat as the object of your desire finally seemed to take note of your existence. It was like gazing into the threads of the universe, pulling taut between you in a cosmic symphony that brought your stardust back together from whence it scattered at the dawn of time. 

A perfect part of an incomplete whole.

…until those shimmering umber pools shifted left, aimed at the bubbly figure headed right towards them. 

Huh?

Confusion as both alphas turned their full undivided attention to the dark haired omega, holding out a box of something for them to inspect and smiling when it met their approval, an affectionate pat on the head from lemon for her success that left her beaming with pride. 

That’s when you noticed it - peeking out underneath the collar of her elegant peacoat. A faint white crescent moon shaped scar, standing out against her lightly tanned skin, a matching one a little farther down. 

Mating bites. A bonded omega. 

And your scent matched alphas were gazing lovingly at her as if she’d hung the stars. 

She was theirs. They’d already found their mate. 

And it wasn’t you.

Something died in your chest, a broken scream torn silent from your soul as it condensed into a burning black hole. Agony unlike anything you’ve ever known, piercing your fragile heart and burrowing like a plague into your veins until the sickness had spread to every corner of your being. Your omega clawed at her eyes, willing the visions in front of you to vanish like a twisted mirage, begging for a bullet to erase the image of coconut planting a soft forehead kiss before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning to leave. 

A dejected whine ripped from your throat as you took an unconscious step forward, hand vaguely outreached, instincts screaming to chase after them and make them choose you instead of her. But you did no such thing. You watched helplessly as the alphas who were supposedly destined for you by the stars turned their backs on your pathetic existence.

This couldn't be happening. Why was this happening?! Please turn around!!!

With the same circulating air that had guided their scents to you, the wind in the store shifted.

Lemon cupcake went ramrod straight, whipping his head around so fast you were worried it’d go flying off his shoulders. It was uncanny the way he immediately zeroed in on your poor trembling figure, standing in the middle of a crowded aisle, uncaring to the concerned glances of the other shoppers as he unknowingly ruined your life. 

Recognition sparked deep behind voided irises before going completely neutral, steeling his expression but remaining unmoving as stone. It’s like the two of you were locked into place, orbiting each other by an invisible tether, watery eyes begging the ones staring back to please… please not leave you behind.

Coconut halted in his own step at the end of the aisle, sniffing the air for a moment with a furrowed brow, glancing over his shoulder at lemon, asking him something too far away to overhear. You can only assume the contents of his reply, the slightest shift of his mask the only tell he’d responded before coconut turned to face you as well.

This time garnered more of a physical reaction than the last, jaw dropping while staring just as unabashedly as his alpha companion. Eyes swept from head to toe, cataloging every minute detail the same as you’d done to them. Pupils dilated exponentially, nostrils flaring taking in the crisp pear scent you exuded, memorizing every facet and swallowing it down like a ravenous predator.

What a sight you must’ve made; eyes red and puffy from the tears that now flowed freely from suffering instead of the earlier jubilation, meek and sheepish and falling apart at the seams. What a piss poor impression to give the men fated to be your mates.

There was a brief moment where coconut seemed to match your initial energy, a flash of something saccharine and longing, only for it to collapse under the grueling weight of our fatalistic reality. There was an internal struggle in the crease of his brow, the downturned expression souring behind clenched teeth and tight fists. But more than that there was pity - pity at how you couldn’t have met sooner. Pity that you’d had to discover them like this, a woman on their arm and bite marks on her neck. Pity that they hadn’t had faith that they would be the lucky ones in a packed society.

You can make out a question on the chocolate omega’s perfectly pouty lips, trying to put the jigsaw together as to why her alphas were suddenly acting this way while glancing between the three of you.

Ignoring her, coconut takes a half step forward; you take two steps back. There’s an apology in your watery eyes, a hushed ‘merry christmas’ too strained for their ears. Your heart’s beating too loudly, your breath comes too shallow. You don’t even realize you’re sucking in heaving sobs until a gentle hand of a passerby lands on your shoulder, snapping you out of the chaos of your psyche. 

You can’t take it any more; the shame, the embarrassment, the gut wrenching defeat. 

The basket falls to the floor with a loud clatter, startling the people nearby who let out shrieks and gasps of surprise as the spilled contents inside break open and shatter. Eggs crack, milk pours onto the mud trekked tile, a fragile jar of strawberry jam splatters across someones pristine boots with an indignant shout.

A smooth tenor voice calls out ‘WAIT’, but you’ve already rounded the corner, barreling through the crowds of happy smiles and ecstatic giggles, too torn up inside to feel anything but desolation at the future so cruelly ripped from your fingers.

The crisp frigid air smacks the breath from your lungs, winter boots slapping on the slushy frozen ground. The squeal of brakes accompanies you as you sprint uncaringly through the bustling traffic, horns honking and voices shouting, muffled and far away as you drown in the whirlwind of your mind. It’s a miracle you’re not hit by a car, an even bigger one that you make it back to your own unscathed.

Slamming the car door shut, you smack your padded palms repeatedly against the steering wheel, banshee wailing your vocal cords raw in despair. The dark presence creeps in once more, a mocking chill down your spine as it caresses your fractured soul. The nausea comes back full force, the tugging on your chest, the burning in your throat. There’s a desperation as you tear your fitted mittens off, reaching under the woolen scarf and incessantly scratching at the irritated skin until it shreds under your nails. The pain doesn't register through your emotional torment, blocking out the inner voice until it inevitably slinks back into the shadows after its bitter lick of victory.

Panting hard, your head slumps back against the cloth headrest, stewing in the silence of misery and defeat, the distant joyful bells of Christmas the only company you have on this cold winter’s night.

It takes a few tries to fit the key in your deadbolt, blinking through tears now frozen to your eyelashes. There’s no recollection of how you even made it home in your brittle mental state. For all you knew were twelve civilians flattened like pancakes on the side of the road and a warrant out for your arrest. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? A break from having to pay bills and function like an adult.

Stumbling through the door, the sparse furnishings of your minimal studio glare at you, flipping them off as you shuck the damp outer layers from your frail form. A mess to be cleaned up another day.  

It wasn't just the rejection of your fated mates you were facing. It was the knowledge that your entire future had been ripped away and no amount of hot glue could piece it back together. Today’s revelation was the final nail in the coffin for the rest of your life.

The bathroom lights flickered with dying bulbs, something that had been on your shopping list tonight and was now being swept off the floor along with everything else you’d left behind. It didn’t stop you from locating the first aid kit under your sink, setting it on the ceramic counter and pulling out the well loved supplies inside.

You avoided staring at your gaunt reflection, not wanting to see the person looking back as you tugged at the thick scarf looped around your neck. The constricting material tore away with ease, falling into a discarded heap on the floor, revealing the torn mottled flesh hidden underneath. 

Your own set of crescent shaped scars - where the line of your neck connected to the meat of your shoulder, long since healed over and faded with time. The area surrounding it was now swollen and inflamed, raised angry red lines dotted with scrapes like a bad case of road rash, bloody from where you'd furiously clawed at your neck on the car ride home. The only time the fucker in your head shuts up - the connection tethering you emotionally gone silent once he got tired of feeling physical pain across the bond.

Memories came unbidden. Flashes of that fateful encounter coming home late from work, dragged into a sequestered shadowy overhang a few meters down the darkened alleyway. A feral alpha hopped up on something illegal, tearing into your clothes and violating the virginal space between your thighs. The muffled cries as he overpowered you, panting through a rut with his greasy fingers shoved down your throat to silence you, gagging on the musky taste. The scream as his teeth pierced your flesh, the bond snapping taut and stealing your future from you without a thought to your own wishes.

He’d fucked you ragged that night, waking up with your cheek pressed into the damp pavement and his arm slung around your waist from hours earlier. There’d been no one to turn to, no one who would care. By law now you were his - no matter the means it had been done. 

A mating bite was binding. 

You’d crawled away from him, your outfit in tatters hanging loosely over your bruised form, dried blood stuck to your neck and a stabbing pain at your apex. You felt dirty and used and wanted nothing more than to strip the skin from your bones. The unconscious form of the– your alpha flopped prone on his back, crimson stains around his mouth and his flaccid cock still half out of his trousers. The pinpricks on his arm told the tale of a junkie. It’s possible he hadn’t even been fully aware of the crime he’d committed. 

You didn’t stick around to find out.

But you paid for that decision harshly, opting for a life not attached to your abuser, at a steep tormented cost. Bonds weren’t meant to be strained for so long. It starts to cause negative impacts on the pair, the omega bearing the worst of the brunt. Nausea, sweating, pain, dizziness, fatigue. The chronic illnesses you endured day in and day out would stay with you for the rest of your life. So long as he was up and walking free - alive somewhere on the other side of the country - his greasy claws strumming your senses through the connection tethering you eternally.

Only a perfect scent match could override the original bite and free you from the oppressive bonds that shackled you to an invisible alpha - the last remaining hope you had at any semblance of happiness.

And you just lost it.

>> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[fuck-customers]

insane how many asks this blog gets complaining about smokers in the most entitled way possible. i get that cigarettes are an unpleasant smell but you don’t gotta be such an ass about it. not to mention addiction is a struggle and cigarettes are incredibly popular in the working class because it can offer stress relief or a break when you otherwise wouldn’t get one. my coworkers smoke in the bathroom cus we can’t get out of the building without going thru security and i couldn’t give less of a shit, honestly i respect it. whatever helps you get thru the day in this hellscape is fine by me if it doesn’t hurt anyone. also your health problems are absolutely not your coworkers responsibility, unless they’re blowing smoke directly in your face grow the fuck up, step away, or request to not work near them if it’s seriously that bad. acting like everyone who dares to smoke a cigarette is a scum of the earth dirtbag is straight up childish, you can acknowledge negative aspects of smoking without building yourself a victim complex it’s really not that hard. then again this is the website of asthmatics and celibates so why am i surprised

Looks like someones diaper is on a bit tight today huh?

Let me explain why. When you are a constant smoker or live with a constant smoker you lose the ability to smell it. Its called "Olfactory fatigue". It is not just like a bad smell, it's like getting hit with a 18 wheeler of bad smell.

For those of us that no longer live with smokers and or those that don't know anyone that smokes, smelling it can cause physical illness to the point of vomiting. For others (like myself) it will give an instant asthma attack.

On a personal note the last smoker that insisted on getting in my face put me in the hospital for 2 days. So I will not allow myself to be near it. I have no living family left as they ALL have died from smoking related illnesses (mostly cancer).

To non smokers it's like if we insisted on walking up to people covered in sunk assholes and expect everyone to just be cool with it.

-Rodney

P.S.

[truevedicastrology]

Unveiling the Enigma of Mars

🚀Mars, the celestial orchestrator of how you magnetize individuals and the manner in which you resonate. It delves into the intricate essence you exude and the perceptions people harbor about you. This cosmic force also embodies masculine energy, offering insights into the archetype of men you may allure.

🌌Mars in the 1st house unravels your allure externally, where your energy becomes swiftly discernible. You're characterized by responsiveness and a tenacious self-advocacy. Occasionally perceived as impulsive or irate, your sanctuary lies in self-indulgence, physical exertion, and athletic pursuits. The gravitational pull extends to men with athletic prowess or those with a self-centric aesthetic.

🌺Mars in the 2nd house manifests allure through olfactory allure, skin aesthetics, or indulgence in epicurean pleasures. Passion for culinary arts and a penchant for opulence mark your identity. Your charm attracts men of affluence or those generously disposed.

🏖️Mars in the 3rd house articulates allure through eloquence and the written word. Passion resonates in your speech, and the written realm becomes a source of profound joy. A proclivity for literature and related pursuits is evident. The enticement extends to multitasking, loquacious men, possibly educators or wordsmiths.

🏡Mars in the 4th house unveils allure in moments of domestic comfort, adorned in unassuming attire. Emotional energy becomes an irresistible magnet. Mars, discreetly nestled here, shares passion exclusively with intimate circles or family. Attraction extends to nurturing, emotionally expressive men, perhaps with a hint of moodiness.

🎨Mars in the 5th house radiates allure during dynamic activities, invoking attractiveness in motion. Passion is channeled into hobbies, joy, and a perpetual youthful spirit. The magnetic pull is towards confident, charismatic, and playful individuals.

🌈Mars in the 6th house renders allure through physique and an organized, health-conscious lifestyle. The zenith of well-being is achieved through proactive endeavors, organization, and animal companionship. Attraction is directed towards industrious, meticulous men, potentially involved in animal care or fitness training.

🌙Mars in the 7th house allures through aesthetic grace, fastidiousness, and a pursuit of justice. The epitome of well-being lies in harmonious relationships and aesthetic refinement. Attraction extends to men who embody beauty, meticulous grooming, and charm.

🔮Mars in the 8th house projects allure through intimate and sexual charisma, intertwined with an aura of power. Stability and emotional equilibrium define your zenith. This allure thrives in secrecy and spiritual pursuits, attracting individuals exuding intense energy, possessiveness, and depth.

🌐Mars in the 9th house emanates allure through vivacity, intellect, and captivating narratives. The ardor for exploration, diverse cultures, and distant realms is palpable. Attraction aligns with optimistic, adventurous men, including educators, professors, or those hailing from diverse cultures.

🏰Mars in the 10th house showcases allure in the public eye, accentuating tenacity and success. Energy converges into achievements and reputation, possibly bordering on work-centric tendencies. Attraction is drawn towards older, stable, and successful men, echoing qualities reminiscent of paternal figures.

📱Mars in the 11th house unfolds allure in the digital realm, exuding uniqueness that captivates social networks. The energy is invested in friendships, aspirations, and dreams. Attraction encompasses peculiar, distinctive men, thriving either in group dynamics or solitude, immersed in individual pursuits.

💖Mars in the 12th house mystically radiates allure, captivating through an enigmatic aura. Appreciation transcends the physical, delving into the spiritual and ethereal facets. Energy is channeled into artistic expressions, resonating with the profound. Attraction unfolds towards artistic, spiritual, emotionally profound individuals, potentially from coastal regions, with a transcendent connection that transcends verbal communication.

Follow our Facebook page Mage Magic Touch for personal consultations https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565561190268

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Chordata - Chondrichthyes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Chondrichthyes is a class of jawed fish, commonly called “cartilaginous fish” due to their skeletons composed mainly of cartilage, making them distinct from all other vertebrates. They are comprised of the superorders Selachimorpha (“Sharks”), Batoidea (“Rays”), and Holocephalimorpha (“Chimaeras”).

Chondrichthyans breath through gills but lack opercula (gill coverings) and swim bladders. They have paired fins, paired nares (nostrils), and placoid (tooth-shaped) scales (except for electric rays, which have loose, soft skin). These placoid scales, also called dermal denticles, provide protection and streamlining, giving the animal’s skin a sandpaper-y feel. All chondrichthyans breathe through five to seven pairs of gills, depending on the species. As a general rule, pelagic species usually must keep swimming to keep oxygenated water moving through their gills, while demersal species can actively pump water in through their spiracles (a small hole or slit behind each eye) and out through their gills. Most larger, pelagic species no longer have spiracles. Chondrichthyans have many sensory organs to perceive the world around them. Their nostrils are attached to powerful olfactory organs. Around their face are a network of electroreceptors called Ampullae of Lorenzini, which allow them to sense electrical fields. Their lateral line has modified epithelial cells which sense motion, vibration, and pressure in the water around them. However, their sound-detecting apparatus has limited range and is typically more powerful at lower frequencies. Some species have electricity-producing organs which can be used for defense and predation. Chondrichthyans have a diverse array of shapes and sizes, ranging from the 10 cm (3.9 in) long, electric Finless Sleeper Ray (Temera hardwickii) to the over 10 m (33 ft) long Whale Shark (Rhincodon typus). All species are carnivores: some predatory, some ambush-hunters, and some filter-feeders. At least one species is omnivorous. Chondrichthyans have internal fertilization and most species give live birth, while some lay eggs. There is no parental care after birth, though some chondrichthyans do guard their eggs.

Chondrichthyans are considered to have evolved from Acanthodians, which appear from the Early Silurian. The first sharks began to evolve in the Devonian Period, though, while often claimed to be relatively unchanged, modern forms did not start appearing until the Early Jurassic.

Propaganda under the cut:

Mentioned briefly above, the Bonnethead Shark (Sphyrna tiburo), a small species of hammerhead, is the only shark known to be omnivorous. While it feeds on crustaceans, molluscs, and small fish, it also ingests large amounts of seagrass, which has been found to make up around 62% of gut content mass.

Also mentioned briefly above, Electric Rays (order Torpediniformes) are known for being capable of producing an electric discharge, ranging from 8 to 220 volts, depending on species, used to stun prey and for defense.

There are over 500 different species of sharks, and only a dozen could be considered dangerous to humans. That being said, of those 12, most do not seem to like the taste of human flesh, and bites are usually accidental or exploratory.

Many pelagic chondrichthyans occasionally breach, leaping out of the water. This can be done for hunting purposes, as a mating ritual, to shake off parasites, or even just for fun!

Today, all species of Sawfish (family Pristidae) are critically endangered. However, they were relatively common in the Cretaceous, where they were likely a common food source for Spinosaurus.

(Confusingly, Sawfish are a type of ray while Sawsharks (order Pristiophoriformes) are a type of shark. Sawsharks live in the deep sea and are rarely seen, while sawfish live in coastal and brackish waters.)

Kitefin Sharks (family Dalatiidae) have bioluminescent organs which glow blue in the dark

Chimaeras have a strange pair of teeth in their lower jaw which look like rodent incisors, giving them the common names “ratfish” or “rabbitfish.”

Great White Sharks (Carcharodon carcharias) are regularly hunted by orcas, and when one is confronted by an orca it will generally flee and not return to that area for up to a year.

Manta Rays (genus Mobula) are incredibly smart. They were the first “fish” in the world to pass the “mirror test” (ie show self-awareness by recognizing themselves in a mirror rather than seeing the reflected image as another manta ray). They also have highly-developed long-term memory, form friendships, and play with each other by blowing bubbles and breaching out of the water.

[canisalbus]

saw your modern au piece where you tagged 'scenthound' and it just made me think about vasco in the original story after machete dies and how he'll never smell and take comfort in whatever unique smell machete had ever again and whoops I made myself sad

O- oh...

To be honest I don't know if Vasco's sense of smell is significantly better than a non-scenthound dog's (I mean maybe a little? Since scenthounds tend to have large nasal cavities and more room for olfactory receptors than a dog with shorter or narrower snout? But it's not really relevant in this context).

The way I see it, dog people's sense of smell is more acute than ours, but not as overpowered as that of an actual dog. Scents are more meaningful to them. For example, when you spend enough time with someone, your scents start to blend together, and smelling like your partner/family is an important part of bonding. I'd imagine that it plays into grieving process too. Even if you held on to the belongings of the deceased, their specific scent will eventually fade away from them as well.

I've talked about how the dogs perceive smells here and here.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Consider this a part 2 of Can't Escape the Nightmares cuz I keep getting ideas for this story 🙃

Pairing(s): Jasper Hale x Human!Reader, platonic!Rosalie Hale x Human!Reader

Warnings: mentions of past assault, mentions of past rape, noncon themes discussed, reader is jasper's mate, platonic!rosaliexreader, human!reader, nightmares, trauma, ptsd, dark content, mention of blood, brief mention of murder/death, hurt&comfort, ft the cullen fam, yes i'd like to sign up to be protected by rosalie ✋🏼, and my depressive ass could certainly use a man like jasper lol

Words: 1253

Summary: It was hard for you to be outside. Not after what happened. And with the Cullen house surrounded by a sea of towering trees. . . It was difficult for you to even step onto the wrap around porch. Everything about the outside reminded you of that day in the woods.

They'd smelled your blood from miles away, noticing that it grew closer and closer until Rosalie was upon the doorstep with you dangling in her arms. Your eyes were open, though void of expression; merely staring at these near angelic looking family with gold hued eyes.

Your injuries were nothing major, yet your blood yanked at their olfactory senses.

And Jasper was helpless when, eyes being engulfed by jet black.

The expression in Rosalie's expression though kept him at bay.

"Get him out of here. He can't handle it." Rosalie snaps, her hold on you growing tighter.

Intently watching Jasper's every move, you see the rigidity of his frame and the back and forth sawing motion of his jaw. He must have ground his teeth to oblivion, at least that's what you thought.

Never imagining the true inner turmoil that was engulfing his every sensibility. Jasper's perpetually cold skin suddenly felt like it was on fire. A monster scratched at his mental door. A monster that wanted to taste every inch of your skin before sinking his straight, razor teeth into your delicate paper-like flesh.

"Jazz, snap out of it." Edward motions for Emmett to keep him back. His hiss is low as not to scare you further. Knowing all the horrors you had just gone through

The fog that reduced his head to a warm flush lifts enough for him to finally notice the state you were in.

Large splotches of red and rich purple are smattered across the entirety of your arms and legs, with a giant one blooming on your jaw. His stomach recoils at your lack of clothes. Connecting the visual clues together to realize what had happened and why Rosalie was dyed in a mess of different blood types that didn't belong to you.

You were already broken.

Suddenly that monster was silent, it too watching with baited breath as Rosalie carries you up the staircase and to Carlisle's office. The older blonde vampire quick and on her heels.

Jasper's monster seemed to take that moment to decide something that was against its very nature: it would protect you, guard you and keep you.

There will always be that hunger in him for your blood. But no longer would he be ruled by it.

When exhaustion finally swept over you, Jasper peeks his head into Carlisle's office. Rosalie sat on the floor in front of the couch you were asleep on.

She's in front of him in a flash, barring him entrance with a fatal snarl.

He dare not mess with this gold mama bear.

It was hard for you to be outside. Not after what happened. And with the Cullen house surrounded by a sea of towering trees. . . It was difficult for you to even step onto the wrap around porch. Everything about the outside reminded you of-

"They can't hurt you again." Edward mentions behind you as you stood in the front door, hand quaking above the doorknob.

That didn't relive the nausea in your stomach. Your eyes shut tight and Edward winces when your mind immediately goes to the day that you were assaulted.

When you catch yourself you immediately apologize and take a step back. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, don't apologize." He's firm on this and finally you turn around. Surprisingly, the Cullens had understood the trauma you had gone through more than you would have thought. Every one of them had gone through a horrifying event much like your own. Rosalie's was almost identical to your's and possibly the very reason why she had saved you and killed those monsters who abducted you. And has protected you since then. She reminded you of a mother hen.

When Jasper first showed interest in you, Rosalie actually became aggressive toward him; telling him that you weren't ready for such a relationship. That you needed to heal more.

Jasper never stepped over any boundaries. He never came close to it. He waited. Helped you whenever you asked for it. Approached you tentatively until you told him that he didn't have to tiptoe around you. Many months were required before this. In the meantime you allowed Rosalie (and to a smaller extent, Alice and Esme) to tend to you and repair your fragmented body.

The only time he used his power on you without your permission was when you were asleep and suffering from your all too frequent nightmares.

"If you want, I can go outside with you. Maybe we can take a short walk around the house." He softly offers when you glance back at the door.

They were all so kind to you, never asking when you'd be ready to leave their house. It never came up. In fact you had the suspicion that Rosalie would insist on you living with them from now on. An unofficial part of the Cullen family.

You knew their secret. Living there, it didn't take long to discover that they were not human. From their perfect pale skin, to their golden eyes, there was something different about them. The way Edward was able to anticipate your every needs or how even being in the same room with Jasper had your anxiety simmering down. Even Alice displayed odd signs that you would have normally passed off as some kind of mental illness when she'd stare off into the distance. You now knew it was her getting a glimpse of the future.

"Thank you, but maybe today isn't the day. . ." You force your trembling lips to quirk up into a tentative smile though it could not fool Edward who could hear the inner turmoil in your mind. He never pushed.

He nods and lets you amble back upstairs to safety. The Cullens required no sleep so their bedrooms were essentially just for decoration. Rosalie and Emmett happily gave up their room so that you could seek out privacy when you were too overstimulated to be in their company. They even bought a tv just to put in the room for you. You didn't know what you did in your life to deserve them.

But before you go to your own designated room, you stop in front of Jasper's with a tentative hand raised to knock on his door. You were always nervous when asking him to hang out with you while Rosalie was gone. You'd heard Rosalie whisper to Emmett one night about you being Jasper's 'mate'. She must have thought you were fast asleep but you heard them discuss the possibility of a relationship between you and the other blonde Hale.

It made you self conscious now when you were near him. You'd known that he was. . . attracted to you.

You jump when his bedroom door opens to reveal his figure. "H-Hi."

His smile is always so sweet and even shy. "Hello."

"Um," Your fingers twist the hem of your shirt anxiously. " well, Rosalie is gone. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out for a little bit. . . Esme bought me a new dvd. We can watch it?"

Adoring the way his eyes crinkle when his smile broadens, you take a step back to allow Jasper to exit his room and close the door behind him. "Lead the way, ma'am." Your chest squeezes when that southern drawl of his comes out.

Trusting anyone again wasn't an easy journey. But being cradled by the Cullen family was bound to heal some wounds.

And perhaps water the seed of love that had been planted in your heart by Jasper.

[theocddiaries]

Sonic: Tails, Shadow is staying over for the night. Is that okay with you? Tails [packing things]: No time. I'm busy. Sonic [nudges Shadow]: See? He's warming up to you. [walks in Tails' bedroom]: What are you doing? Tails: I'm packing my things. Sonic: Why? You don't go places. Tails: I'm going to sleep over at Ray's to learn how to do it, for when I go to the senior lock-in, and college. Sonic: You know, that actually sounds like a not-terrible idea. Tails: I thought so too. I think I have everything. Edison! Should I bring Edison? Sonic: Nah, leave the turtle. Tails and Shadow: Tortoise. Sonic: Nerds. Tails: But… I need Edison. What if I can't sleep without the sounds of his little feet on the glass, or the smell of his food, wafting through the tank vent? Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn't go. Sonic: Tails… Shadow: Why don't you leave Edison here, where he's comfortable? But bring his container of food, so that way if you miss him or you feel nervous you can just smell it. Tails: Hm, olfactory senses are the greatest memory stimulant of all the senses. That's not a bad idea. [goes to grab the container]: Are you planning to staying over often? Shadow: If it's okay with your family… Tails: It's fine by me. Sonic [smiles while looking at Shadow and his brother's interaction] Tails [takes his backpack]: Well, that's everything. You'll be okay without me? Sonic [rolls his eyes]: Yes, I'm sure I'll manage. Tails [leaving]: Bye. Sonic: I'm glad you like Tails. Shadow: What's not to like? He's cool. [walks over]: Is that your room? Sonic [smiles softly as he follows him]

[cherrycola27]

Juno

Pairing: Werewolf!Bradley x Reader

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, allusions to smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Banner made by the wonderful @sarahsmi13s

Part 1 of 2

...........................................

Everyone said you were crazy to leave your pack and move across the country. To trade one coast for another. And maybe you were. But you didn't care. You needed a fresh start. Somewhere new, exciting, somewhere that offered new adventures. Your parents both worried about what you would do for work and where you would live, but you assured them that you would figure it out, and you did.

It just so happened that the marketing firm you worked for needed someone to head up the new start-up at their west coast expansion. In addition to the bump in pay, it also came with a year-long lease at a shiny new apartment complex. You jumped at the chance.

You didn't feel any regret leaving your pack. You honestly couldn't wait to get away from the try hard Betas and the egotistical Alphas that never treated you as their equal because of what you were.

So, when the time came for you to leave, you told your family that you didn't want a big send-off. No last run through the forest, no grand pack howl. Just a hug from your parents at the airport, and you were off.

.................

You were three weeks into your new job, and you'd made a few friends. Some shifters, some not. You were currently getting ready to meet a few of them at a local military bar they had told you about. The idea of a military bar didn't really appeal to you as much as it did to them, but who knows, maybe it could be fun. You slipped on a nice black dress and did some simple make-up before heading to your Uber.

You weren't really sure what you were expecting a bar called The Hard Deck to be like, but when your Uber pulled up to it, you certainly weren't expecting to be greeted by a bright neon sign and the sight of the beach just few steps away.

You thanked your drive and stepped out, texting your friends that you had arrived. You walked up the small sandy path and opened the door, and that's when it hit you.

The deep scent of whiskey, cinnamon, and warm tobacco. It filled your olfactory receptors and spread through you like fire. Warming you from the inside out. Your brain flooded with what felt like a thousand voices, and all of them were saying one thing:

Mate

You were frozen in place, eyes darting from side to side, frantically scanning for which of the men in the crowd that it might be. You took a few tentative steps in, hoping your instincts would lead you to him.

...............

Inside, across the bar, and gather round the pool tables, stood Top Guns finest, the Dagger Squadron. They were all talking, laughing, and blowing off steam after a long week at work.

Rooster had broken away from the group to grab another round of drinks. It was halfway to the bar when he felt it, deep inside him, knocking the air from his lungs like a punch to the gut. He stopped and tipped his chin higher, and that's when he caught it.

The most intoxicating, enthralling scent he'd ever experienced. It was sweet and fresh. Like lilies and honey and fresh squeezed citrus. He knew exactly what it meant before he heard it in his head.

Mate

You were there, somewhere in this bar. The one he'd been searching for. The one he'd almost given up one. He turned on his heels. The beers he meant to get long forgotten. Rooster pushed his way through the crowd, following, not sure where he was going or who he was going to. Blinding following some invisible string that would hopefully lead him to you.

...............

You don't remember making the conscious decision to start walking into the bar. It seemed like your feet had a mind of their own. You stepped quickly, not too quickly, to draw too much attention to yourself, your head on a swivl, scanning for your Mate. You inhaled sharply, ears perking up. The scent was getting stronger, which meant you were close. You were excited to meet him, but in the back of your mind, doubt crept it.

What if he didn't think you were pretty? What if he wasn't kind? What if he didn't like who you were—what you were? You know it's silly to think about, but it wasn't unheard of for mates to not like each other at first.

You weren't shallow like some of the other girls in your pack and concerned with how he would look. If he was handsome, that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. But more than anything, you hoped that he was kind, honest, and caring. Someone you were with because you wanted to be, not because your instincts told you that you had to be.

You sighed, shaking your thoughts from your head. You were hopeful that it would all work out. You took another step forward. Unfortunately, you weren't quite paying attention to where you were going, and you crashed into someone.

You lost your footing and a pair of stong arms wrapped around you, steadying you on your feet. You didn't mean for it to happen, but you found your face buried in his chest. You breathed in his scent deeply.

Whiskey, cinnamon, and warm tobacco.

It was him. Your Mate.

You stepped back and looked up at him. He was tall, so much taller than you, that you had to tip your chin to meet his gaze. He was big and broad, his frame dwarfing you as you stood there.

He was handsome, oh boy, was he handsome. He had the most perfect honey colored curls and golden eyes. His smile was soft and warm as it reached the corner of his eyes. The mustache that had would have been ridiculous on anyone else, but it was perfect for him. You weren't sure how much time had passed. It was like the world around you was frozen. You could have been standing there minutes or hours, just drinking him in. Who knows?

He was the first to break the silence that passed between the two of you. "Hi." He said in a deep voice that had just the right amount of timbre to it.

"H-hi." You replied to him. You were mentally kicking yourself at your lack of confidence and how heavy your tongue felt in your mouth.

"Hi." He repeated again with a soft chuckle. "I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Bradley." He told you with a tooth rotting grin.

"Bradley." You repeated his name softly. It was a good name. A name that fit him well. "What's your name?" Bradley asked you. You told him your name. He repeated it back to himself slowly. Like he was trying to savor the taste of each syllable on his tongue. You liked the way your name sounded coming from lips. At the same time, you were jealous of it. Your name had already had the chance to find out what his tongue tasted like, how it felt to be caressed by his smile. You wanted to know, oh, you wanted to know so badly.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Bradley asked you after another moment. "No. I just moved here from the East Coast for a job. This is my first time here. I'm supposed to be meeting some friends from work, but now—" you trailed off.

"Now you'd rather be anywhere but here?" He finished your thought. "Yeah." You breathed out, suddenly aware that neither of you had let the other one go.

"Well, how about this. You go see your friends, and I'll go back to my friends from work, and in an hour or two, I'll come find you and take you out for a meal where we can get to know each other. How does that sound?" Bradley asked you.

"Good. That sounds good." You tell him sheepishly.

"Good." He smiled before hugging you and letting you get to your friends. You watched him move through the crowd and to the bar. Once he got there, he spoke to the bar tender before turning and pointing to you. You looked away quickly, hoping he didn't catch you staring, but when you looked back, his eyes were still on you. You waved. He waved back and shot you a playful wink before walking towards the pool tables with a handful of beers.

Bradley tried to be as calm as possible as he walked back to the pool table, but he just couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

"Finally. Took you long enough, Rooster." Hangman teased as Bradley approached the group. "Was about to send out a search party for you."

"Sorry, just—got a little caught up." Bradley laughed before grabbing a pool cue and sauntered over to the side of the table to take hus next turn. Bradley leaned down over the table to line up his shot. Just as he took it, another whiff of your scent floated across the bar to him and distracted him, causing him to miss completely.

Instead of getting frustrated, he just laughed and shook his head before handing the cue off to Phoenix.

She took it from him, but didn't move from his path when he went to walk away.

"Bradshaw, you're awfully perky for someone who just lost a game of pool. How come?" Phoenix questioned him.

"No reason. Just in a good mood, I guess." Bradley shrugged.

"Well, that 'good mood' and the fact that you're grinning like an idiot wouldn't have anything to do with that new scent on you, would it?" Nat asked him.

"Well, um—" Bradley scratched the back of his neck, trying to come up with an answer.

"Bradley Bradshaw, in the time it took you to go get beers, did you find your mate?" Nat grins at him like a cat who got the canary. Heat floods Bradley's cheeks as he nods.

"Well, son of a bitch, isn't that the best." Coyote whoops out before giving him a congratulatory smack on the back before the others join in.

"Is she still here?" Bob asks from his perch in the corner.

"Yeah. She's over there with some friends from work. The one in the black dress." Bradley gestures over to you without trying to make it too obvious.

Jake lets out a long, low whistle. "Damn, she is good-looking." He says as he continues to stare.

Bradley turns on his heels and growls a low "Mine," from deep on his chest at Jake before snapping the beer bottle in his hand into a million pieces.

Jake's eyes go wide, but Bradley's go wider. "I'm sorry, Jake. I don't know what just came over me." Bradley says as he wipes himself off with a napkin.

"Instincts, man." Coyote chuckles. "Once you find your mate, your brain goes crazy. After I met Nat in flight school, I remember having to fight off the urge to rip her back seater's head off every time he got in the plane with her." Javy shakes his head and takes a long drink of his beer. "Don't worry, it gets a little easier, eventually."

Bradley shakes his head, embarrassed at what he has done. He's known you for five minutes and already made a fool of himself over you.

..............

"Took you long enough to get here!" Shayla, one of your friends from work loudly exclaims as you make your way over to the table she and the rest are sitting at. "We thought maybe you go lost." Jazz laughs before pushing a margarita in your had.

"Sorry. I got a little—caught up." You say as you glance over to where Bradley and his friends are. "Caught up?" Shayla says as she raises her eyebrow before coming to right next to you.

"Okay, Shay, ever heard of personal space?" You ask her.

"I'm not buying it. You never get 'caught up' with anything, and you're never late. It should be criminal how you are always early to everything." Shayla says as she examines your face.

"Shay, chill and give her some room to breathe," Nia, the fourth and final member of your friend group, finally pipes up. Shayla shushes her with a wave of her hand before leaning closer to you.

Finally, it seems the light bulb goes off for her. "Well, I'll be damned." Shayla chuckles before giving you a pat on the shoulder. Nia and Jazz look at her, confused, waiting for her to say something. Shayla laughs again. "Sorry Nia, sorry Jazz, I forget sometimes that you two aren't like us," she gestures between the two of you, "but it smells like someone has found her mate." Shayla grins as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Mate?" Nia asks. "It's like life partner. Someone that you're destined to be with. It's a wolf thing. It's hard to explain." You tell them. "And you can tell by scent?" Jazz asks. "Yeah, it's instincts. You never know when it's going to happen, but when it does, your brain kinda goes crazy." You tell her.

"Aww, that's so cool. Ugh, you two have it so much easier than the rest of us who are out here fighting for our lives on dating apps." Jazz rolls her eyes.

"So, who is it?" Shayla prys as she looks around the bar. "Him." You say as you point to Bradley and his friends.

"The one in the Hawaiian shirt and the mustache." You say. "Oh, he is fine." Nia says. Without thinking, you growl at her. A low warning. It shocks you. Nia looks back at you with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, Nia. Instincts. Once you meet your mate, your brain hardwires itself to protect your mate from any perceived threats." You try to explain to her.

"Note to self," Nia begins. "Don't tell anyone you think their man is fine." Nia laughs before patting your hand and reassuring you that you're okay.

"So why aren't you over there with him?" Jazz asks you after a moment. "We are both here with friends. We both decided we needed a minute to breathe and wrap our heads around the whole thing. He is going to take me to dinner in an hour so we can get to know each other." You tell them.

"Well, I'm sure you two will click, just like Ian and I did." Shayla says. You knew she was mated since you met her. You saw the barely there scar of a mating mark on the left side of her neck the first time the two of you met.

You raised your hand to rub over your own neck wondering if Bradley would be one of those that instantly wanted to bond, or would he be okay with the fact that you wanted to wait.

"Don't worry." Shayla says as she places her hand on your shoulder. "He is going to love you." She tells you with a reassuring smile.

................

An hour later, Bradley comes and politely steals you away from your friends. Your hand feels so small in his as he holds it to escort you out of the bar and to the parking lot.

"Did you drive here?" He asks you. "No, I took an Uber." You tell him. "Well, I drove. We can take my car to get something to eat, and I can drop you off at your place later, or I can call an Uber if you aren't comfortable riding with me?" Bradley looks down at his feet.

"I'd like to ride with you. Gives us more time to talk. I trust you." You tell him. And you mean it. "Okay." Bradley smiles at you as he leads you across the parking lot to a beautiful vintage blue Bronco. He opens the door and offers you his hand to help you up before he reaches across the seat and buckles you in. He shoots you a wink before shutting the door and running across to the drivers side. You giggle at him.

"So, do you like pancakes? Because I know this diner that has the best pancakes in all of San Diego, that's not too far from here. Or if you don't like pancakes, I know a great taco place, or burgers, or—" Bradley rambles nervously.

"I love pancakes." You blurt out, interrupting his nervous spiral. "Great. Pancakes it is." He smiles at you before driving away from the Hard Deck.

The drive was more— quiet than you thought it would be. Not because you didn't want to talk to Bradley, because god, you really did. But you were afraid to get too close to him before you told him what you were. What if he rejected you because of it? It wasn't unheard of, and you knew it would be easier if you weren't already attached to him. But you could already feel the connection building with him. Between the stolen glances and how he was holding your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze every so often, you already felt yourself yearning for him.

You were broken from your thoughts when Bradley parked in front of a retro looking diner. He hopped out and quickly helped you out of his car. He linked your hands together before walking in.

The two of you were tucked away in a corner booth. Before you could speak, a waitress quickly came and took your order. Chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese and hot sauce, bacon, and toast. Bradley ordered the same thing, claiming that yours sounded good.

"So," Bradley began as you took a sip of the coffee in front of you. He began to open his mouth to say something, but you stopped him before he could.

"I'm a half-ling!" You blurted before looking down at your hands and fiddling with your napkin.

Bradley was silent for a minute before responding, "Okay."

You glanced up at him, wondering how he could be so nonchalant about it. "Okay?" You question him. He looked at you confused. "Were you expecting me to say something else, Honey?" He asked. The pet name dropping smoothly from his lips like the golden liquid itself.

"Um, maybe. I don't know. I just—I just wanted you to know before we went any further, in case you weren't okay with it. I just wanted to give you the chance to—" you look back down at your hands again. The poor paper napkin shredded to bits now.

"To what? Reject you?" Bradley asks. You nod your head, too scared to meet his eyes. Bradley reaches across the table and takes your hand in his. "Honey," god, why did it sound so good when he called you that? "Half-ling or full wolf. I don't care. And I'm certainly not going to reject you over it. You're my mate. And I know it sounds so cliché but I am not going anywhere. I want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?" Bradley asks you with a sincere smile.

"Yeah. I think I do." You smile back at him. Bradley runs his thumb over your knuckles as the two of you sit there, not speaking, but still, so much passing between the two of you.

Your peace is broken by the arrival of your food. You quickly tucked into it, not realizing how hungry you were.

"So, you're a half-ling. That's cool. Which parent is a wolf?" Bradley asks you after a few minutes.

"My mom." You say while spearing an egg. "One of those rare cases where her mate was a human. But we did some genealogy on my dad's family, and it turns out his like great-great-great-great- grandparents were wolves, so he just had the gene passed down. Not enough where he could ever transform or anything, but it's there." You explain.

"Can you transform?" Bradley asks with a mouthful of bacon. "Yes, I can. I'm just smaller than someone who is full wolf. And not as strong. Some of the boys from my pack would try to take advantage of me and some of the other half-ling girls. They were hot head alphas who thought they could have whatever and whoever they wanted. There was this one in my pack, Marco, he cornerned me in the woods near my house once. Had me up against a tree. I know I wasn't the first girl he'd done it to because he told me that none of the others fought back like me. I sunk my claws into his eyebrow and nearly ripped off his face. He never tried anything like that again, and he was kicked out of the pack." You say taking a bite of your pancakes then pausing.

"I don't know why I just told you all of that." You shake your head.

"It's okay. I want to know everything about you." Bradley assures you.

"Well, just so you know, I've never done anything like that. My scars are from when I was a young, hot-headed alpha mad at the world after I lost my mom. I got into my fair share of fights back then.

"Of course you're an alpha, Bradley. How could you be anything else?" You chuckled. "Technically, I'm an alpha, too. So was my mom. But no one takes a half-ling as an alpha seriously." You scoff.

"I do." Bradley says without missing a beat.

The two of you sit in that diner for another two hours, talking, getting to know each other, and eating way too many pancakes.

When you both finally leave, he offers to take you back to your friends at the Hard Deck. But you turn him down, instead asking him to take you home.

Bradley is a perfect gentleman and walks you to your door. The two of you stand in the glow of the light, illuminating your small porch.

"So." He says. "So." You parrot back to him. "I'm having a really good time, and I'm really not tired. Would you like to come in?" You ask him. He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Not for sex." You clarify, quickly. Bradley busts out a laugh. "I mean, it's not that I don't ever want to have sex with you. Just not right now. I thought maybe we could watch a movie or something?" You try to hide the flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

"That sounds great." Bradley smiles at you. You quickly unlock your door, and he follows you into the entryway. Both of you toe off your shoes, and you toss your keys into the bowl in the hall.

"Do you want something to drink?" You ask him. "Water is fine." He says as he makes his way into your living room. It's small but homey and decorated in a style that is uniquely you.

He sits down on your couch and looks at some of the pictures that you have up. He assumes that they are of your family and friends.

"Here you go, Bubs." You say to him as you hand him a glass of water. "Bubs?" He asks you, taking the glass.

"I just thought it fit. If you don't like it, I—" you trail off.

"No, I like it. Bubs and Honey. Sounds like quite the pair." Bradley says as you sit down on the couch. It's small, so the two of you are pressed close together. You can feel the warmth radiating off of Bradley. He causally lifts an arm up and drapes it over your shoulder. You lean in even closer to him until your cheek is pressed against his torso. You can hear his heart beating in his chest. You wonder if yours sounds just the same. Bradley wraps his arm around you. Pulling you closer.

By the time the movie that you hadn't been paying attention to is almost over, Bradley is sprawled out across your couch, feet hanging off on side because of how small it is, and how broad he is. You draped over him with a blanket over the two of you. Bradley gentle strokes your hair, and you hum contently.

"You have to go home, don't you?" You say as you prop your chin up on his chest. He sighs and sits both of you up.

"Unfortunately, I think I do." Bradley says. He cups your face and strokes your cheek. "Before I go, I was hoping—if you want—could I kiss you? I've been thinking it about it all night if I'm being honest." Bradley nervously rubs the back of his neck.

"Please." You say so fast that it surprises both of you. He flashes you another smile and tilts your chin up towards his face. His lips just millimeters from yours.

"C'mon, Bubs. Are you going to kiss me or just look at me?" You tease him. "Maybe I want to do both, Honey." He says before connecting his lips with yours.

Electric is the only way you can describe it. His lips are soft and plush and sweet against yours. His tongue traces along the seem of your mouth, and you gladly grant him access, deepening the kiss. Your hands tangle in his hair as Bradley pulls you into his lap. You plant your knees on either side of his waist as the two of you get lost in each other. His hands roam along your body, keeping you close to him.

He pulls away from your mouth and trails his along your chin and neck. His mustache tickles your skin. You feel his lips grazed over your pulse point on the left side of your neck, and you pull away quickly.

Bradley looks at you with lust filled eyes, silently asking you if he's done something wrong.

"I—I know we are mates, but I want to wait on the whole marking thing. Just for a little while, if that's okay with you." You say, worried he'll be mad.

"I'll wait as long as you want, Honey. We have nothing but time." You smile at him and surge forward, kissing him with fervor. You can't get enough of him. You never want to stop kissing him.

"Stay just a little bit longer, please, Bubs?" It comes out more of a beg than a demand. Bradley looks up at you. Your eyes are so sweet, and your lips are swollen and glossy from where you have been kissing him. How can he tell you, no?

"Yeah, Honey. A little longer, anything you want." He agrees, happily, eagerly. You smile brightly at him, and it warms him from the inside out.

Bradley has only known you for a few hours, but he knows that he would do anything in his power to keep that smile on your face.

.............

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @jiminie-08 @dingochef @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @withahappyrefrain

[serpentface]

Sketch overview of typical facial emoting in elowey, using Etsushir as a reference.

Elowey do not have faces that are as ‘expressive’ as humans in terms of specialized musculature, constantly visible whites of eyes, distinct brows, etc. They have a greater overall variety of communication methods (particularly via strong olfactory senses- many emotions can be detected by scent) and are less specialized than humans for facial emoting. However, facial expression (and body language) is still very important to communication.

Their pre-sophont ancestors lived in hierarchical social systems with a single breeding female and male that were socially dominant to the rest of the family (non-reproductive siblings, elders, and children). Social structures were enforced by body language and olfactory signals in a ritualized capacity- dominance hierarchies were typically very secure and well established, and reinforced by visual signaling rather than violence. These ancestors were highly territorial and would behave aggressively towards other family groups to maintain access to resources, and visual signalling would be an important means of enforcing boundaries against competitors- outright physical engagement is risky and avoided when possible in favor of strong agonistic displays (though outright fights and killing would have been fairly common in instances where rivals were caught trespassing and were vastly outnumbered).

Elowey have great behavioral plasticity and no longer universally exist within similar social systems, but the instinctual basis for this behavior remains and forms the basis of most visual emoting.

The most pronounced difference between facial signalling in elowey and humans is the meaning of teeth. In humans, happy/friendly feelings are often expressed by tightening the lips or pulling them back to prominently expose the upper teeth (eg: smiling). In elowey, tight lips and the exposing of upper teeth is a signal of nervousness, fear, anger, or outright aggression. A contented/happy/friendly elowey will most typically drop the jaw open and fully relax the lower lip, exposing lower teeth while keeping upper teeth sheathed (this expression is a close equivalent to a smile, but may be more passive). Slow blinking or keeping eyes closed is also a polite and friendly signal (and is a more pointed and intentional gesture), and combinations of the two are very friendly.

This difference is generally well-known and understood in human and elowey groups that live in proximity and regularly interact, but can still cause communication difficulties and discomfort. Elowey intentionally replicating a toothy human smile will usually slowly blink or close their eyes in the process, which helps settle internal discomfort at using an aggressive/fearful gesture in a friendly context, and signals to other elowey that their bared teeth is an act of communication with the targeted human. Humans often find the elowey smile somewhat difficult to replicate (due to a stiffer lower lip), and commonly defer to relaxing and dropping the jaw and blinking slowly.

Elowey raised among humans or in historically human-elowey cultures may pick up the toothy smiling behavior from a young age, but will still tend to instinctively include a slow blink. Human-elowey cultures are noted for having very distinctive smiles (which may exist anywhere on a spectrum between elowey-typical and human-typical, but near-ubiquitously include slow blinking).

Yawning will naturally expose teeth and not be read as innately aggressive, but especially dramatic yawns where the upper teeth are exposed throughout are signals of confidence and authority, and can be read as overly cocky and impudent if produced by one who is not an accepted authority figure, or rude/mildly aggressive if it is perceived as a targeted gesture (yawning widely at someone can be an insult). Typically, a yawn where the upper teeth are only briefly flashed at the peak is considered most polite (though exact cultural expectations can vary). In pre-sophont elowey, yawns were used by dominant pairs (particularly the female, with larger cuspids) as a passive enforcement of their place in the social structure, and as an active threat display when encountering rivals. Rival groups would confront each other at a distance with 'yawn-offs', which would allow each group to gauge the other's size, physical strength and health, and confidence.

The tongue is used in some expressions, usually submissively oriented ones. Using the tongue to partly cover teeth usually signals harmless intent, and can tamp down on aggressive/fearful gestures (IE an angry expression with the tongue out says 'I'm upset but I won't hurt you', a fearful expression with the tongue out says 'I'm scared and I'm harmless, please don't hurt me'). Children (and adults) being scolded will often stick out the tongue or lick their lips in acquiescence. In some cultures, poking the tongue out between the lips (in varying positions and forms) is a specific gesture indicating sincerity and good intentions.

The whites of the eye are also important to communication. Elowey have large irises, and the whites are only slightly exposed in a typical expression. Prominently exposing the whites is almost always a signal (unless literally just looking at something to the side), though the meaning is context-dependent. It most often indicates sustained interest/curiosity. Casting the eyes wide to the side is a placating, submissive gesture that can indicate fear, guilt, shame, etc. Elowey tend to find human eye emoting very hard to read, due to the whites of the human eye always being exposed and most gestures being subtle.

Elowey ears are more mobile than humans, but still relatively stiff with a limited range of motion, and not central to emoting. Tucking the ears back is usually an anxious/angry gesture, while moving them slightly forward is a signal of interest and focused attention.

Fur can be erected as a visual signal, usually denoting fear or aggression, sometimes used as a show of confidence or strength.

[anon-e-miss]

Storm's End

(I've been playing sims again now that my mods are behaving. Decided on a fresh mer play and this is what you get)

“Are ya sure this is the right place, Ori?” Jazz asked as they stepped offer the small ferry.

“Only one Damaxus,” Punch replied. “This ain’t what I expected.”

Lilleth sang their songs from the trees as oilgulls squawked overhead. Fishing boats lined the docks, the crews call out to each other. Mechanisms boat the fresh cyberfish right off the boats, despite the drizzle. There was a roar of laughter and then another. The mood was happy and light. It was nothing like the docks in Polyhex. Even when the sea was willing give up a net of cyberfish, no one but the desperate would dare eat anything dragged up from the murky, sewage filled waters. The sea around Damaxus was anything but murky and there was no stink of waste. As far as the optics could see, the ocean surrounding Damaxus was clear turquoise, and apparently brimming with life. It was nothing like the stories Punch had told, a smugglers haven, a wretched slum. Damaxus, to Jazz’s optics, looked like paradise.

“When were ya last here?” Ricochet asked. “Twenty vorns?”

“Even in twenty vorns,” Punch said. “A turn around like this... I’d call it a miracle if I believed in such things.”

“Auntie Dipole’s ‘round here somewhere?” Jazz asked.

“Mhm,” Punch replied. “Maybe she can explain all this. Port was so rough, Lockdown even gave up on it for Primus’ sake.”

They walked past Dipole twice before the spotted the wirey femme among the crowds of mechanisms going from boat to boat, selling their bounty. She hopped down from the bridge of a pretty yacht, surprising all three Polyhexians. Punch let out a happy whoop and hugged his old friend. Dipole looked like a strong breeze could blow her over but she always had. At the same time, she did not look worn but determined but bright and alive. She yacht she was serving as cook on was docked in Damaxus for repairs, having run into trouble with pirates. Jazz blanched at the thought of her near death but his auntie seemed unfazed. She had ordered the captain to sail for Damaxus, even though he had wanted to sail for Polyhex, to sail under the safety of her canons. The yacht’s owner had sided with Dipole and as they had raced into the seas near the island, a great squall had come up and all but blown them into port where the pirates had crashed into the rocks and been scuttled.

“When I saw the red sky with dawn, I knew we’d be safe,” Dipole declared. “Red sky against this light-cycle, that’s why all the boats have come. A storm is coming.”

“Storms always comes to Damaxus,” Punch replied.

“It’s different now,” Dipole replied. “No hurricane has reached land in a decavorn, at least. Not a boat that’s minded the skies had been lost.”

“Seems too good to be true,” Punch declared, frowning.

“Sure, but I’m not going to turn up my olfactory ridge to a gift from the gods,” Dipole replied.

“Ya know a place where we can stay for a few ‘cycles while we get our bearings?” Jazz asked.

“Oh sure, there’s the inn,” Dipole said.

“Damaxus has an inn?” Punch asked, sounding dubious.

“Lovely Praxian family runs it,” Dipole explained. “They’ve got a little pub too. There’s no ordering anything, you eat whatever they have mind to serve that cycle. It’s always good.”

“Where’s the inn?” Jazz asked.

“Lockdown’s old perch,” Dipole replied. “At some point they bought the land and built their place right up from the beach. Its a pretty little place.”

“Surprised he ain’t come to take it back,” Jazz said.

“Lockdown hasn’t had much luck with Damaxus since the sea changed her spark,” Dipole replied. “If any of his ilk had given them trouble, I haven’t heard. I did hear Swerve got caught snooping in their wine cellar. Had him running scared, whatever they did.”

“H’uh,” Jazz murmured.

“H’uh indeed,” Punch replied.

“Oh, I see Tripwire, that’s their grandbitty, he’ll know if they have rooms,” Dipole exclaimed and she waved to a first tier youngling who was walking down the dock with a basket full of fish. “Tripwire! Overhear, Dearspark.”

“Hello Ms Dipole,” Tripwire greeted the femme with a dip of his doorwings. Though he had the telltale doorwings of a Praxian, his other features were distinctly Polyhexian, namely his audial horns and the shape of his mouth. He dipped his doorwings to Jazz and his kin. “Hello, Sirs.”

“Tripwire, do you by chance know if there are rooms in the inn available?” Dipole asked. “My friends have come from away.”

“Oh yes,” Tripwire said. “Two or three. It’s good you’ve come before the storm.”

“We got the last ferry o’ the orn,” Jazz declared. “Now we know why it’s the last.”

“You’ll be save on the island,” Tripwire assured them. “The rain’s going to pick up any klik, follow me to the inn.”

“I can carry that basket for ya,” Ricochet offered, miraculously coming out of his ennui for a moment.

“Thank you, Sir,” Tripwire said. “Grandgeni sent me to get more cyberfish. Lots of sailors in from the wet looking for a hot meal, even if they aren’t staying at the inn.”

“We ain’t sailors but I think he’s gonna have three more plates to fill,” Jazz declared.

“That’s okay,” Tripwire said. “We always have enough.”

“Fraggin’ skiff...” a sailor cursed. The mechling turned to look and the grizzled seafarer looked aghast.

“Language,” Tripwire scolded. The mech’s shipmates roared with laughter.

They walked on. Tripwire’s manners were formal. Sure, Damaxus was not turning out to be the dilapidated slums Ori remembered, it was still a fishing port and the mechling’s manners seemed a little out of place. Yet, the mechanisms working the boats seemed to enjoy him. His accent sounded Praxian to Jazz’s audio horns though he had encountered few of his frametype. Apart from the small clues in his appearance, there was no suggestion of Polyhexian heritage in his accent or formal manners. Perhaps his family had made their lives as sailors before settling on Damaxus, as much as Praxians were noted to keep to their own, Polyhexian spread far and wide in search of work and shelter. The already tough living condition of the Wastes had only been worsened by vorns’ long droughts and Straxus’ greed and corruption. Ori had not been expecting paradise in Damaxus, and clearly it was tripping him up but they could work with this. There were lots of boats going to and fro, what would one more be to the islanders?

“Grandori, do we still have rooms?” Tripwire dipped his doorwings as he greeted the mech cover the desk. “Ms Dipole’s friends came to visit.”

“We have two,” the elder Praxian replied. “One small private room and one with two berths.”

“We’ll take’em,” Jazz replied, offering the innkeeper shanix to pay for the rooms. “Ori’ll have the private one, Rico ‘n me’ll share the double.”

“Please enter your designations on the register,” the innkeeper said. “Tripwire, take the fish to your grandgenitor and then you are free to do as you will.”

“Okay, Grandori,” Tripwire replied. “Thank you, Sir for carrying the basket for me. Have a good stay, Sirs.”

“Great mechling,” Jazz said.

“He is,” the innkeeper replied. “Jazz, Ricochet and Punch. I am Camshaft, my conjunx managing the bar at the moment. Please allow me to show you to your rooms and then I will show you to the pub. I imagine you are hungry.”

“That’d be much appreciated,” Jazz replied. Thunder so loud it almost shook the inn roared over helm, the innkeeper did not flinch, his guests did.

“The inn has generators,” Camshaft assured them. “Our power has never gone out. Though Downshift prefers to serve a fresh catch, we have fuel stores enough to keep everyone well fuelled for a stellar-cycle.”

“Wow,” Ricochet said. “Ori could appreciate that sorta preparation.”

“I can,” Punch agreed.

“This way,” Camshaft guided them out into the rain. Their rooms were in an outbuilding, Ori’s on the bottom and Jazz and Ricochet’s on the top. A sitting room with a piano occupied part of the bottom floor. “If you need anything, at any joor, please ring the bell and one of us will be of assistance.”

“We won’t be any trouble,” Jazz assured him. Punch nodded.

The innkeeper left them to settle in. There was a set of washracks to share between the three of them, which was better than most of the inns they had found themselves in over the vorns, certainly better than the caves. They had little to unpack, all three of them kept their arms close at servo in their subspaces. They might have been planning to blend into the detritus to get their work done but Jazz could not complain. Their rooms were clean, comfortable and warm. It was a far better way to spend a dark-cycle or two as they made a new plan. Thunder boomed again and Jazz appreciated the room over his helm that much more. No one would hear them scheme, in any case, not with their rooms being in their outbuilding and the storm crashing outside.

“It could be worse,” Jazz insisted. “It’s a whole aft island. We can find a spot to to make our base ‘n go from there.”

“Mecha might snoop,” Punch countered.

“The scum that used to be here woulda too,” Jazz countered. “If only to see if our take was worth stealin’.”

“Mm,” Punch hummed with discontent.

“Rico?” Jazz asked his brother. Two helms were better than one against Punch.

“What?” Ricochet asked.

“Do ya got... any thoughts... bout anythin’?” Jazz asked, frustrated with his twin’s disinterest.

“No,” Ricochet replied, looking out into the storm. Jazz and Punch both stared at him a moment... No?

“Shoulda left ya wit yer genitors,” Punch crumbled. “Get yer helm in the game, Ricochet.”

“I guess we should eat,” Ricochet declared.

It might have been a mistake to bring Ricochet along. He had not been the same since he had tangled with Lockdown off the coast of Simfur. Though he had come out alive and maybe even the victor of the match, it had seemed to Jazz like the winds had been sucked from Ricochet and he had been living and working mostly on autopilot. He had not wanted to go back out to sea and maybe this was their punishment for strong arming him into coming. It had been Geni’s idea. Rumbler insisting that what Ricochet needed to find was out here, somewhere, where he had lost it. What that was, Geni had shrugged when Jazz had asked. His spark, his will, his drive, all Rumbler had been certain of was that Lockdown was to blame for Ricochet’s current state. If Jazz only knew what Lockdown had done, Jazz might have switched things up and gone after the bounty hunter to even the score. Although, it was Ricochet who had Lockdown’s servo in a jar in his berthroom, and not Lockdown.

“What’ll it be?” Downshift asked. The innkeeper’s conjunx looked like he could play bouncer if their business ever needed one. He had small ridges on his helm that could have be audio horns. His facial features were not quite classically Praxian, like his conjunx. Perhaps Tripwire had picked up some recessive code.”

“Three soups of the ‘cycle,” Jazz said. The pub was packed. Sailors and fishermecha say sea shanties off key. “Uh... things ever get outta servo?”

“They know better,” Downshift replied. “Which means their friends do and they keep themselves in line. No one wants me, or Primus forbid, Cam, breaking up a fight. They’d never live it down. I’d see it.”

What did that mean? Jazz wondered. He would have to talk to Swerve and see what exactly went on when he had that run in with the innkeepers. Before they set up roots here, they needed to know all the players. If the innkeepers had replaced Lockdown as unoffical warlords of Damaxus, they need to choose a different place to serve as their base. Ratchet needed supplies. His patients needed supplies. The Deadend needed fuel, really they needed everything. From Darkmount, Straxus’ clamp down was spreading. If this kept up, the uprising would be suffocated. Whatever Straxus claimed, he would not lift military law or end the special prosecutions when the last traces of “dissent” died off. The uprising as an organized whole had emerged from them.

Though the storm outside was still going strong, the thunder had moved on. With Ricochet and Ori both recharging, Jazz slipped out. He needed to calm his processor before he could hope to recharge. Jazz only wanted a walk, that was what he told himself, if he spotted anything that might be useful to their business in Damaxus, that would just be a welcome bonus. It was frigus in Damaxus but the storm brought rain and not snow. Like Polyhex, snow was a rarity if not a complete unknown to the island. It was cold enough but Jazz’s insulated armour could hold him through worse than this. He walked past a pretty pond set up in the courtyard of the inn. There was a light glowing from the shallow depths. A shrine to the spirits and a bath for the lilleth were on the edge. It was rather wild, something to Jazz added to its charms. He could smell the sea and the storm and he walked towards it. If Lockdown had made his base here, there might be smuggling coves nearby. Even if they were too close to the inn to be of use to them, there might be abandoned stores that could be.

“Oh, excuse me,” a voice that sounded like the sea itself spoke. Jazz looked up and saw a Praxian coming out of the trees, a nude Praxian.

“Oh no, excuse me,” Jazz said quickly. “I swear I wasn’t gawking or nothin’. I’m just out to clear my helm... I hope’m not trespassing.”

“The grounds are free for guests to visit,” the Praxian said. “I am Prowl.”

“Prowl, ‘m Jazz.”

“My procreators mentioned last klik guests from Polyhex,” Prowl declared. “You were fortunate to miss the storm. What brings you out in it now?”

“Just... restless,” Jazz replied. “I guess I interrupted... somethin’.”

“Oh, yes,” Prowl said. “It is tradition in Damaxus to shower in the rains. They are a blessing, after all. Would you like to join me?”

“Join you?”

They showered in the rain, but only for a moment. Prowl stepped close and invited Jazz to touch and he was not mech enough to deny the beauty. Almost ethereal, the curvy Praxian was something out of a fantasy. His exact frame shape was something Jazz had not seen. He had broad hips, thick thighs and a large, round aft. Under the cover of trees and greenery, Jazz crouched between them as he gave Prowl as taste. The Praxian moaned sweetly as Jazz lapped at his golden folds, cupping his heavy wells, teasing his stiff golden nozzles with his own servos. His waist was snatched, giving him a perfect hourglass all without armour. He could have made statues of Prima jealous. Jazz cupped the beauty’s wells as he filled him from behind, taking his time to ensure Prowl felt nothing but pleasure. Prowl’s moans were beautiful. Jazz twisted the Praxian’s nozzle as he rocked his hips against his delicious aft. He overloaded Prowl with his digits, glossa and spike before flooding the beauty’s belly with his spend.

“Recharge well, Jazz,” Prowl told him as they separated. Exhausted by his efforts, Jazz was sure he would.

[terranceholdsapencil]

"Run."

Human Nature/Family of blood [redraw]

Old one from last year under the cut 👍

"It's empty!"

"Wheres it gone?"

"You tell me"

"Oooh, I think the explanation might me youve been fooled by a simple olfactory misdirection. A little bit like ventriloquism of the nose. Its an elementary trick in certain parts of the galaxy. But it has got to be said, I dont like the look of that hydrokinometer. It seems to be indicating youve got energy feedback all the way through the retrostabilisers feeding bAck into the primary heat converters. oH! Schh. Cause if theres one thing you shouldnt have done, you shouldnt have let me press all those buttons.

BUt, in fairness, i will give you one word of advice.

RUN! :D