#science of dog smell

[allperfectpets]

The Surprising Truth Behind Why Your Dog Smells You

Have you at any point asked why your dog scents you so eagerly when you return home? Or on the other hand, why do they demand sniffing around your attire, hands, and feet constantly? dogs are known for their remarkable feeling of smell, and they use it for substantially more than simply distinguishing various fragrances. In this article, we'll investigate the astonishing truth behind why your dog scents you and how it affects your shaggy companion.

[teachanarchy]

How do they know dogs are colorblind? (w/ Cleo Abram)

[ragnarssons]

so i gotta understand tho, how it can work. ellie has been bitten months ago. both bites. so joel believes she is infected but doesn’t get sick. yet the dog doesn’t smell it on her. so huh, is she immune in a way that keeps the infection in her blood but “in check” or did her blood/body/whatever, like, “eliminate” the infection through time or something?

[mod2amaryllis]

hey mod do you have any insight into why dog food smells wretched?

their sense of smell is more sensitive than ours, but it isn't that different, is it??

why do we make food for them that smells like crap garbage and why do they accept this

there are dogs who think the highest dining experience is cat shit, i can't know their machinations.

[heathersapples]

why the fuck do dogs smell like that when they come out of surgery. like what the fuck is that

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[princestreetco]

#Think | How do dogs smell so well? #shorts

[qqueenofhades]

Watching the MAGAs online scream about how this guy was able to get a gun with a history of weapons charges and mental illness and it's like... y'all are SO CLOSE to the point. You're basically standing ON the point. If the Point was a fire you'd be burning alive... and yet they miss it entirely. It's absolutely wild.

You mean... a white Republican with a history of mental illness and weapons charges could get an assault weapon in Florida, which famously has zero gun laws?? Say it isn't so!!!

(Like. This is the lamest "assassination attempt" in the history of time and it still smells of Trump desperately trying to distract from his 826 other ongoing fiascos, but also. This very much is not rocket science.)

Anyway, I suggest the Democrats write an omnibus gun safety bill, name it the Protect Donald Trump Act, and double dog dare the Republicans to vote against it. It would be hilarious.

[claws-and-quills]

Hot Blooded

A/N: This takes place during Days of Future Past. There's just something about Logan dressed in those tight ass jeans and wearing that silk button-up that just does something to me.

CW: Breeding Kink, Some Choking, Oxygen Deprivation, Overstimulation, Oral (female receiving), Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Blood, Marking, Primal Dom!Logan, Jealous!Logan, implied age gap, established relationship, Mentions of Male and Female Anatomy

Genre: Smut, some Fluff at the end

Pairing: DOFP!Logan x Fem Reader

The club was packed shoulder to shoulder with a sea of dancing bodies. 70's disco blared over the speakers loud enough to make the bones in your body vibrate with every beat of the bass. Sure, you and Logan had been sent back into the past to fix and repair things between Charles and Erik, but that didn't necessarily mean that you were going to be a stickler the entire time. What better way to blend in than this? While you were jovial and lively, Logan remained more on the stoic side of things.

He watched you closely while you leaned over the pool table. His eyes slowly dragged across the curves of your breasts and waist, then along the curves of your ass and thighs. The spandex pants you wore clung to your curves in all the right places. His eyes trail back up along the length of your legs and the subtle curve of your back just above your hips. Reaching into the front pocket of his jacket, he pulls out a cigar and places it between his lips. Lighting the end of the cigar, he takes in a slow drag from it; the smoke slowly curls and swirls into the air from the flame.

“It's not rocket science, bub. C'mon, it can't be that hard, now can it?” He husks, smoke slowly billows from his mouth and nose as he speaks. You could feel his body against yours as he leans over you, resting his hands over yours to help you line up your shot against the number 2 ball. “Nice and easy, draw back, and shoot.”

The cue ball collides against the 2 and sinks it into the corner pocket. “Good girl. Now, let's see if you can do it to the 4 ball. Just like I showed you.” He pulls away to watch you. Your heart was pounding in your chest and ears. Parts of you wishing he hadn't pulled away. The overpowering aroma of rustic oak, leather, mint, and tobacco lingered in your senses. He smelled heavenly to you, and looked even better. You lift your gaze to be fixed on him. He was a fine piece of work indeed. Your eyes follow him as he walked around to the other side of the table, his eyes trained on you. There's a cocky smirk at his lips as his eyes trailed down to the teasing amount of cleavage your crop top had been showing off.

“Enjoying the view, Logan?” You finally ask with cocky confidence as you line up your shot against the 4 ball. Cursing under your breath as it rolls just short of the pocket. Perhaps you had spoken too soon, not that you minded. Despite his stoic exterior, Logan looked to be in his element. He was already a few beers deep into the evening and seemed to be enjoying himself with you even though you had to practically drag him out here.

“Don't go gettin’ too cocky now, bub. There's still plenty to go. We're just gettin’ started,” he exhales another plume of smoke before grabbing up his poolstick. You couldn't help but stare and drag your eyes across his body. The way his hair was slicked back, the first two buttons of his shirt were undone, showing off a teasing amount of hair on his chest. His dog tags hung lazily around his neck, drawing your attention to them. A familiar heat began to grow between your thighs, but who could blame you? There was something about seeing this side of Logan.

You prop yourself up onto a stool that sat catty-corner to the pool table. Grabbing up your bottle of beer and tipping your head back, you take a long drink while watching Logan. He was definitely beating your ass at this game of pool, but you didn't mind it. In fact, you were enjoying yourself a little too much to even care if you lost this game. You were far too engrossed in the atmosphere. The blaring music, flashing lights, the sea of bodies that covered the dance floor, the stylish clothes, but most of all, you got to have this moment with Logan. You watch intently as he sank several of the striped pool balls into the pockets around the table.

The atmosphere of the nightclub almost hypnotized you. It was so easy to lose yourself. Your body swayed slightly in rhythm with the melodies of the songs that blared over the speakers. It wasn't until you heard an unfamiliar sound of someone clearing their throat that you tuned back into reality. Your brows furrowed slightly at the sight of an unknown man leaning against the table. He rested an elbow on the table, his eyes trained on you which made you shift your weight and lightly tug at the hem of your top, adjusting its position to try to cover yourself from the prying eyes of the stranger.

“What's a foxy mama like you doin’ sittin’ here all by yourself? You look like you're ready to be jivin’. C'mon, let me show ya a good time.” The man gives you a wink and steps closer to you. The expression you held didn't seem to be enough to deter him away. “C'mon, don't be playin’ hard to get. A fine piece of ass like that oughtta be down for a piece of this. C'mon, babe. What's it gonna take?”

You feign a fake smile, setting your beer down and gesturing with your head towards the pool table where Logan had just aggressively struck the cue ball against the striped 9 ball. “It's gonna take you gettin’ through him. You're welcome to be my guest, but truthfully, I really wouldn't advise it.”

The man follows your gaze. He let's out a hefty snort of laughter. Something about his body language told you that this wasn't going to end well. “Pffft, you have got to be trippin’. Don't tell me you seriously came here with your Pops. Hey! Hey Pops! You mind if I borrow your daughter here for a quick sec?!” The man calls out over the music towards Logan. You swallow dryly at the death glare that glazed Logan's eyes. His eyes narrowed at the close proximity that this stranger had to you. In that moment, the small crowd of people that had been occupying the pool tables and dartboards had shifted their attention towards you, Logan, and this stranger.

Logan sets the poolstick down across the table. His movements were rigid and deliberate; his eyes never leaving from the stranger as he approached the table you sat at. He reaches in front of the stranger, placing himself in the middle of you and him as he grabs his glass of whiskey and tosses it back with ease. He stands there in silence for a few moments before curling an arm around your shoulders. There's a smug smirk at Logan's lips as he does so, as though daring this fool to say something else. You lean into his embrace, wrapping an arm around his waist after sliding your arm underneath his leather jacket. He arches a brow at the stranger, inclining his head just slightly. You could feel how the muscles along his back and sides tensed and flexed with the movement.

“Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time, Pops. But since you're right here, guess I'll go ‘head and ask ya again. You mind if I steal your daughter away here for a little bit? It's a Saturday night, and she is just lookin’ foxy as hell. And you, well, you look like maybe you can use a night to yourself. Y'know, can go get your jive on.” The stranger very stupidly jokes towards an unfazed Logan. The corners of Logan's mouth pull into a tight smile, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle slightly as he forces out a hearty laugh. This leads to the stranger and his subsequent group of friends to also erupt into laughter.

“I heard you loud and clear the first time, bub. Either you're incredibly ballsy, or incredibly stupid to ask me the same question twice.” Logan gently pulls away from you to step towards this stranger. Logan towered over the man with ease. “Now…do yourself the favor, and get out of here kid.”

You watched intensely at the exchange between the two. Of the years you've known Logan, never had you ever seen this side of him before. Seeing this side of him had you turned on and wanting more. Judging by the body language on Logan, this wasn't going to end well at all. You slide off the barstool, moving to stand beside Logan. “Lo…just leave this putz be. He's not worth getting riled up over. Besides, we have a game to finish.” You press your body against his arm while rubbing his chest. You could feel the way the muscles of his pectorals rippled and flexed. A groan falls from your lips as the stranger opens his mouth again, and Logan gives you a look worth a thousand words.

“Look, I'm jus’ sayin’, dude. An old man like you can't possibly keep up with a fox like her. So why don't you go back to your little game, an’ let me jus’ take–” Before the stranger can finish his sentence, Logan slugs him across the jaw, followed by kicking the knees out from under the man. You cover your mouth in both shock and amusement as the scene unfolds before you. The stranger is obviously dazed and confused on the ground. Logan snatches him by the scruff of his collar with a menacing snarl.

“Now listen here, bub. I tried to be nice. I did. But you just don't know when to shut the fuck up. Keep your fucking hands and eyes off my girl. Get out of here, you're not worth the fucking time,” Logan threatens, kicking the stranger in the ribs. The poor putz scrambles to get to his feet, tripping on his own feet while shooting a death glare towards Logan. He returns his attention towards you, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you against his body. You knew damn good and well that Logan wasn't one for public displays of affection, but his possessiveness over you turned you on beyond comprehension.

“Someone is getting jealous. He isn't even worth getting riled up over, Lo. Let's just enjoy ourselves while we can.” You say lowly while rubbing his chest. A small smirk tugged at the corners of your lips while you fiddle with the button on his shirt. He could smell the arousal that pooled between your thighs. “Or…we can ditch this place all together.”

“I thought you'd never ask.” He husks under his breath. Inclining his head, he gestures for you to head towards the exit of the club. His eyes were now trained on you as he followed closely behind. Every step he took was calculated, deliberate, and held purpose. Once outside, he shrugs out of his leather jacket to offer it to you as you both approach his motorcycle. “Once we get to the hotel, that ass is mine.”

A high pitched yelp escapes your lips at the sudden sting of his hand colliding against your ass. The spandex pants you wore didn't help one bit. The small layer of fabric didn't provide much protection for your ass. The skin there burned from the initial impact, but you knew you wanted more. You watch as Logan gives you a satisfied smirk while swinging a leg over his motorcycle while he waits for you to get situated behind him. You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your hands near the insides of his thighs. As he kick starts the engine, the vibrations of the rumbling engine made you want to squeeze your thighs together. Once you nod against his back, he revs the engine, speeding out of the parking lot.

The wind whipped through your hair as Logan weaved through the traffic on the streets. The night life was so much different from what you were used to back home. Parts of you wished you could stay in this time, this moment. You pull yourself closer against his back, one of your hands crept closer towards the inseam of his jeans and inching closer towards the ever growing bulge hidden beneath the fabric of his jeans. You eagerly palm his hardening cock through his jeans. A soft ‘fuck’ falls from his lips, only to be swept away in the icy wind of the night. The ride back to the hotel felt like it would never end. Throughout the entire ride, you agonizingly teased him and palmed his throbbing cock to the point the sexual frustration was beyond evident in his eyes. He brings the motorcycle to a screeching halt in the parking lot of the hotel, where he eagerly disentangles himself from your arms.

“You're fucking mine. You've been driving me crazy all fuckin’ night dressed like that.” Logan growls as he stands and pulls you against his chest. His lips crash into yours for a feverent and needy kiss. His hands grips your hips, nails digging into the tender flesh just above the waistband of your pants.

“Then make me yours. I'm all yours.” You breathe into the kiss. The primal growl that came from Logan, rumbled through his entire body. The hunger in his eyes made every fiber in your burn. You needed him to fuck you, to claim you. Using his height and body, he guides you to back up towards the entrance of the hotel. Once you manage to turn your back to him, he's following behind you again like a hungry wolf that's ready to devour you.

Your words drive him over the edge. He fumbles with the key-card to get into the room. His lips and breath are hot and demanding against the hollow of your neck. Once the door is open, you both nearly tumble to the floor in a frenzy of needy touches, kisses, and hands roaming across the spanse of each other's bodies. Logan's hands find their way to the bottom most curves of your ass, hefting you up against his body. Your legs wrap around his waist as he pushes you against the wall in a heated kiss. His teeth scrape against your lower lip, asking for entrance into your mouth. Obeying, your lips part and his tongue eagerly roams and explores the inside of your mouth. The kiss swallows your pitiful and needy moans as you taste Logan. You could still taste the faint remnants of whiskey and cigar on him, but it was intoxicating. Your hands eagerly work away the buttons of his shirt, roaming across his chiseled chest.

He slowly ruts his hips against yours. The friction elicits a heated whimper from you. “Logan, please…” you plead pitifully, raking your nails down his chest.

“Please what?” He growls while sucking on your lower lip. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me, Logan. Fuck me. Make me yours. Ruin me…” Another gasp falls from your lips as you're carried over to the bed, where he roughly sets you down. His lips crash against yours again; his hands grip your hips with a bruising strength before roaming up your body to just below your breasts. His fingers hook the hem of your crop top, pulling the fabric up and over your head and arms. Another moan is pulled from your lips at the rough sensation of his beard against the sensitive skin between the valley of your breasts. His mouth leaves a trail of hot kisses down your chest and abdomen, his tongue dipping into your navel before sinking his teeth harshly into the flesh just above your hip.

“Logan…Oh fuck…” you mewl helplessly as you lean back onto your elbows and kick your shoes off. He merely responds with another primal growl, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants and eases them down your thighs, tossing the garments somewhere across the room. Your eyes flutter as he kisses and nips a trail along the inside of your thighs. The scruffiness of his beard scratches at your skin, making you involuntarily try to close your legs, but he growls in protest, curling your legs over his broad shoulders. He locks gazes with you while placing a hungry but chaste kiss over your clothed clit. The dampness of your arousal against your panties grew more with every aching second that passed.

“Keep those legs open. I'm just getting started with you,” he commands through a husk against you. Using two fingers, he tugs your panties to the side to expose your glistening cunt. The hunger in his eyes grew more primal as he eagerly dipped his head into you. His tongue dragging agonizingly slow through your slick folds. His moan vibrates against your clit and quivering pussy as his mouth encases your clit. His tongue draws tight, deliberate circles around your bundle of nerves. He pulls away just enough to grab your panties into his other hand, tearing the flimsy fabric in half and tossing it haphazardly over his shoulder. Your fingers find their way into his hair, gripping tightly and guiding his head back towards your needy cunt.

“Oh fuck…fuck…Logan…” you mewl at the sensation of the heat of his mouth against your clit. Your eyes flutter again as his tongue works you like a puppet. Every flick against your clit sent bolts of electricity through your body. He groans against you at the sensation of your nails digging into his scalp. Without warning, he plunges two thick fingers into your sopping pussy, earning a pleasurably pained squeal from you. A soft whimper escapes you as he pulls his fingers out, only to ram them into you again, this time deeper. Your walls flutter around his fingers, signaling to him to slowly fuck his fingers in and out of your needy cunt while he continued to eat you out. Soon enough, the room is filled with the squelching sounds of your pussy being ravaged by Logan.

With every pump, twist, and curl of his fingers, the fire in your belly grew hotter and hotter. You began to instinctively grind your hips onto his fingers and mouth. The harshness of the stubble on his chin left your legs trembling. With every flutter of your walls, Logan worked his fingers deeper into you, curling them upwards against your g-spot. The sensation makes your vision go white for a split second as you beg for him to do it again. He flicks his tongue against your clit in rhythm with the way he fucked his fingers deeply into you. This was enough to make the coil in your stomach become harder to control. Your thighs began to tremble and shake, the walls of your pussy convulsing as your orgasm grew nearer.

“L-Logan! Oh fuck!” You cry out helplessly as the first wave of your orgasm rocks through your body. He pulls his fingers out, your squelching orgasm following right behind. There's a dark chuckle that rumbles in his chest as he eagerly laps up your orgasm. Your legs tremble uncontrollably as you try to push him away. The sinful sounds of your squirting orgasm splashing against his chin and onto the floor fills the room. You cover your mouth to muffle the squeal that is pulled from deep within your chest. With every panting breath, your chest rises and falls, gasping for air.

“Fuck…you're doing so well. So good. I'm not finished with you.” He spoke gruffly. You lift your head to gaze at him. His chin, throat, and chest all glistened with remnants of your orgasm. His hair was a disheveled mess; his shirt bunched up and wrinkled around his waist. You swallow thickly at the prominent bulge in his jeans. He makes quick work of unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it somewhere across the room. His eyes drank in your form, dragging across the curves of your body. “Turn over. Hands and knees. Now.”

Just as you turn to get onto your hands knees as commanded, you hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle falling against the floor. After kicking off his jeans and boxers, he kneels behind you, swiping his fingers through your pussy once again. You grip the sheets in your fists at the sensation of him slowly dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds. Lining himself up properly, he slams into you, snapping his hips and burying his entire length inside of your sopping cunt. He snakes an arm around you, his hand finding your throat, digging his thumb and index into your pulse. He leans into you, forcing your knees deeper into the mattress as his chest presses against your back.

“When I'm finished with you, no other man is gonna lay his eyes on you. Everyone is gonna know just who you belong to.” He husks against the shell of your ear, earning a needy whimper from you. As he sits back up onto his knees, he drags his nails down your throat and chest, across your abdomen, and up onto your hip. He sinks his thumbs into the dimples just above the crest of your hips, pulling out of you, only to slam into again. His movements are forceful, powerful, and deliberate. Each snap of his hips rocks your entire body.

The grip he used to hold onto you with was bound to leave bruises, but you didn't care. You wanted him to mark you as his own, to claim you, to ruin you for any other man. Small, pitiful squeaky moans escape you with every thrust that rocks through your body. The room is soon filled with the sounds of the bed creaking, mixing into the symphony of pitiful squeaks and moans that Logan is able to force out of you, and the sinful sounds of skin colliding against skin. You pant raggedly, gripping the sheets tightly and biting onto the corner of a pillow as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

He drags a calloused hand up the length of your spine, stopping at the nape of your neck, where his fingers become entangled into your hair. He tugs harshly, pulling your head away from the pillow, your mouth falls open into a small ‘o’, a symphony of broken profanities fall from your lips. You manage to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder. The veins in his arms bulged slightly under his skin, small beads of sweat decorated his chest in a slick sheen of moisture that made his skin glisten in the pale moonlight. His hips snap against your, hitching forward as he grinds his cock deep into your sweet, tight, pussy.

“Fuck…you feel so good on my cock. You're taking me so well. Look at you…fucking beautiful.” He husks while leaning down to kiss and bite the back of your shoulder. His canines sank deep into your flesh, threatening to draw blood. You cry out helplessly at the searing pain. Hot blood pricks at your skin; the pain is soothed at the sensation of Logan's tongue tracing the rapidly bruising skin with his tongue. A shaky whimper falls from your lips as he pulls out, resting on his knees. “Turn over. Wanna see that pretty face while I fuck a baby into that tight, little pussy.”

Your legs felt like jello beneath you. He releases your hair, grabbing onto your hips to help roll you onto your back. His eyes rake over your body, snarling grin as he licked his lips. Your blood still fresh on his tongue; the metallic taste drove him wild. You weren't sure what came over Logan, but you wanted everything he had in store for you. Cupping a hand under one of your knees, he hikes it up onto his hip, placing his other hand on the mattress next to your head as he buries his entire girthy length into you again. Your eyes flutter at the sensation of being filled by him again. Your chest rose and fell with every gulp of air you tried to suck down while he fucked you into the mattress. Small grunts and growls fell from his lips, mixed in with small words of praise towards you.

You curl your legs around his waist, pushing him in deeper. This encourages him to lean over you completely, his forehead pressed against yours. His dog tags dangle carelessly around his neck, swinging with every hitch and snap of his hips against yours. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you pull him into a needy and breathy kiss. Your tongues meet in a flurry of passion, allowing you to taste the remnants of your orgasm on his breath. His hand finds its way back to your throat; his fingers digging into your pulse and making your head spin at the sudden lack of oxygen. Your eyes flutter as a familiar coil begins to twist in your stomach. Within seconds it's impossible to hold back. Your walls flutter and contract around his cock as your second orgasm surges through your body, blurring your vision.

“Oh fuck. Such a messy girl. So fucking messy.” He groans against your lips. Slowly, he moves his head to the valley between your breasts. His breath is hot and needy; his tongue swirls around the tender bud of one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth. Your back arches upwards into him at the sensation. His hand slides down your side and onto your other breast. The roughness of his hand felt heavenly on your silky smooth skin as he massaged your breast, rolling and pinching your nipple between his thumb and index finger, earning a high pitched squeal from you.

Within moments, he switches the positions of his hand and mouth. Your nipples grow hard and achy at the attention. Your thighs quiver and tremble around his waist. You knew there was no way you could last much longer. Every fiber in your body felt ablaze as you chanted his name like a sinful prayer while your eyes flutter. Gripping his hair, you eagerly pull his head from your aching breasts. A string of saliva being the only thing still connected between his demanding mouth and your aching nipple.

“Lo…fuck…please…” You pant, unable to form a coherent sentence. The coil developing in your abdomen was growing tighter. There was born possible way you could cum for a third time, but the hungry look in Logan's eyes said everything his mouth didn't. The way his hips stuttered against yours, you knew that he was getting close to his orgasm as well.

“Fuck…M’close too…gonna fill you up, pretty girl.” He growls, gripping the headboard in his fist until his knuckles turned white. You drag your nails down his back, digging your heels into the back of his thighs. Your walls clench around him tightly, sending him over the edge. You gasp as his claws sink into both the mattress and the wall as he paints the inside of your quivering cunt white. The searing warmth of his cum fills and warms you straight to the core. Your nails sink deep into the flesh of his shoulders as your third orgasm wrecks your body, filling the room in squelching sounds.

His hips slow against yours, slowly coming to a stop as he pants heavily against your shoulder. Your legs slowly fall from his waist, trembling uncontrollably from the overstimulation. A small ‘fuck’ comes from his lips as he lifts his head to gaze down at you. Once you both come down from your highs, he retracts his claws and pulls you into a tight embrace, tenderly caressing your arms and back.

“Fuck…did I hurt you? Shit…” He peppers your cheeks in tender kisses as he cradles you. His thumb tenderly caresses the bruising and bleeding bite mark he left on the back of your shoulder. “I got too carried away…”

“Ssshhh….it's okay. I…I liked it…” You assure him and rub his chest. He presses a tender kiss to the crown of your head as he stands up, still cradling you on his arms and walking with you to the bathroom for a much needed hot bath.

“Still though…I got too carried away, bub. Way too carried away…” It was the closest to an apology you'd probably get out of him, but you were satisfied with that. He let's you lay against his chest in the hot water, his thumbs drawing small circles on your hips. You lean into the crook of his chest, sighing contentedly while pressing a chaste kiss over his heart.

“I love you, Logan…”

“I love you too…”

[misterjt]

"The latest research adds to a growing body of evidence related to dog behavior — how dogs see, think and smell — and their positive psychological effects. Dogs can make people feel better by relieving anxiety and symptoms of depression. It’s why they often are used to support people with anxiety disorders or those recovering from trauma. "

[natalievoncatte]

Kara knows, and that’s the problem.

She knows.

How does she know?

To put it simply, she’s Kryptonian. More specifically: a Kryptonian under a yellow sun, whose wavelengths of light bring forth her genetic heritage when she basks in its rays. If long lost Rao was once her father, Sol is her mother, raising her up to be all that she can be. A creation of a lost super-science, a power to rival gods, a force that made the Guardians tremble in their emerald tower.

Kara can see everything.

The world is alive with light. It cascades and bounces and caroms off of everything. More than that, Kara’s world is bathed in a thousand thousand hues the human eye will never know. When she looks at a person she can see the electrical conductivity of their skin and the heat bloom of their flesh and a myriad of other details, some of which other humans can pick up on a subconscious level, others that humans haven’t even discovered yet.

Kara can hear everything.

She can hear dog whistles and butterfly wings beating and the secret language of cats. She can hear the crackle of radio waves beating the atmosphere and the music of the spheres. She can memorize human heartbeats and pick out the slightest variation, the tiniest wobble that the owner of the heart never feels.

Kara can smell everything. She can sift between the scents of ingredients in her honey bun, detect poisons in a friend’s wine or flowers in a park half a state away. Sharks would be jealous of her. She can scent people but also their moods; fear smells horrific, sickly sweet and rotten. Joy smells hot and bold. When someone walks in the room, she can tell what they had for breakfast, smell of they’re sick, pick out the fragrances of their emotions.

Kara can feel everything. A touch can betray or affirm. To hear a heartbeat is one thing, to feel it another. Her fingertips can read the surface of another’s skin like braille and she can detect the slightest changes in temperature or perspiration, feel the thrum of contentment or fear in an embrace. Her touch is not dulled by her invulnerability. It as sensitive as her other senses.

Kara can remember everything. The day she stepped from her pod into the brilliant golden sunlight beneath a blue sky was the last time she would every forget; her now empowered brain can recall events in the finest detail, down to the soft timbre of another’s voice or the way her hair fell over her shoulder or the softness in her gaze. And so Kara’s memory is hers to be kept forever, never to lose the sight of her.

That is how Kara knows, and knowing that Lena Luthor loves her is a pain so terrible that she almost wishes she could be spared that pain. When Lena sees Kara, her heart leaps and her breath softens and she comes alive with light, bathed in an auric glow more beautiful than a red sunrise. Kara wishes that Lena could see herself as Kara sees her. Radiant, angelic, a little holy.

Lena loves Kara Danvers, the bumbling awkward nerdy shy girl from Vaguely Canada who brings her burgers and donuts and OTPs.

She doesn’t love Supergirl and Kara doesn’t think she could.

That’s how the torture happens. Kara’s infinite perception becomes a self-imposed exile. She sees and smells the way James lusts after Lena, right in front of her. Baffled, she listens to the calm in her heart when they kiss and once she wakes frantically in the night, reaching about to sift through the city soundscape when she hears Lena’s voice cry out, then the sound of Lena’s heart racing and other sounds, and not for the first time, she pleads with a god she doesn’t know to make her human and free her from this curse.

She seeks feeling of her own. It’s pleasant enough but it lacks something undefinable, like a pleasant chocolate cake that becomes unbearable because she could have had something far sweeter and more filling instead. He tries in a fumbling way but it’s to please his own ego more than sate her desire. Then one day he is gone and in his absence all Kara can feel is a dull numbness, a ragged wound with all the nerves scraped out so that only a dull absence has been left behind, leaving her broken in a way that cannot be defined much less repaired.

Kara cannot help but snap her attention to the sound of Lena growing agitated, no matter how distant or minor. She hears harsh words and the heavy thud of a limo door closing and hears the sharp intake of breath as James realizes the mistake he’s made, and though he is her friend and he matters to him she feels a feral, possessive joy that borders on the cruel. It is a hard feeling, a red feeling, a sharp smelling mean feeling that tastes cold on her tongue, this resentment of the man for having a pale shadow of what she could have but wouldn’t.

Lena loves Kara Danvers and Kara Danvers loves her back, but she can never know because to know she must know all of her. Know the Other, the Super, the Alien.

Kara is two people and one of those people has been, well, a bitch.

Because Kara feels spending else. A green feeling, a sick feeling, the feeling of blades flensing flesh from bone while her veins turn to glass and her body burns to ash, the shocking pain of a little piece of home. A little piece that Lena made and didn’t tell her, and Kara makes the worst mistake.

She stops being Supergirl and is just Kara Danvers in a colorful suit, angrily refusing to ask Lena the question: I love you, how could you do this to me?

She does love her. She loves her laugh and her secret smiles and how soft she looks when she’s deep in thought. She loves the pain in her, the mirror of her own. She cherishes it as she wants hers to be cherished, held close by someone who knows what it’s like to watch your world explode or slip beneath still waters and be gone forever. She knows what it’s like to wonder what could have been and know the price you paid for what you have now.

She wants Lena so terribly that she’d almost choose the pain of Kryptonite instead of an eternity of this longing. She needs her, craves her, thirsts for her.

One night Kara realizes what she’s been doomed to. Another will succeed where James failed, and Kara will be spared none of it, and it will endure forever. She will carry memories of Lena in another’s arms into the sun dies.

No.

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” Lena says.

Kara -Supergirl- says nothing at first.

“I have to fly you.”

Lena nods. She’s doing this for Kara, because Kara asked. When Supergirl extends a hand, Lena takes it and Kara gently lifts her from the ground into a bridal carry, and they fly.

The trip takes nearly an hour. Kara can’t fly too fast or too high. Lena accepts it without complaint.

They land far north of National City, where the warmer climate yields to deciduous rainforest. Kara brings them down on a bare hilltop, an island in a vast ocean of trees. Nearby on a folding table is a basket. It might be important later or it might not. She might have a life of joy or she might spend the rest of forever in a wasteland, waking each day to grief.

There’s only one way to find out. Part of her, the part that hopes, the part that makes her Supergirl, believes in this, in herself, in this moment. She has to, because the chain of events that led her here, flung across endless space to stand in starlight with the most beautiful woman in this world, it demands that it happen. This is fate. It has to be.

Supergirl stands beside Lena. She raises an arm and points.

“There. Second star on the left, and straight on till morning.”

Lena quirks an eyebrow and looks at her.

“You brought me out here for this?”

“Do you see that red light?” Kara asks. “It’s very faint. I don’t know if a human can see it or not.”

“I just see stars.”

“It’s Rao, my sun. I can see him. If I had a powerful enough telescope, I could see it. Krypton. The explosion won’t be visible to Earth for a thousand years.”

Lena looks up, her features bathed in moonlight- alive with a chaotic explosion of hues she’ll never see. She blazes in the night, her eyes a kaleidoscope from which Kara can never truly look away. She’s a rainbow.

Kara falters. Whatever she does tonight, this is it. This is forever.

“You said Kara would meet me here,” Lena says.

“Wait here, please.”

Kara turns quickly and walks into the dark, cape spreading behind her. Once she’s out of sight, she changes without restraining her speed, and walks back to Lena in a hoodie and leggings, hair in a loose ponytail and the back of her neck and hands in her pockets.

She walks back to Lena and stands beside her.

“Hello, Kara.”

“Hi, Lena.”

There is a tense silence between them. Kara devours the moment, consumes it so it will live forever, just in case this is the last time she sees Lena.

“We’re not far from the reservoir,” says Lena. “Why did you ask Supergirl to bring us here?”

Kara swallows hard. “I realized something really important near here.”

Lena turns to her. “What was that?”

“That there was someone who mattered to me a lot, and that I was willing to risk a lot to protect her. There was a moment where I thought I was going to have time make a choice, you or the chemicals. I didn’t have to but I would have. I would have picked you. I will always pick you. I can’t help it.”

Lena is not stunned. Her heart doesn’t miss a beat, but Kara can sense her apprehension, her fear, and something deeper than that.

“You’re Supergirl.”

Kara lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and her legs wobble. There it is. It’s done. She’s free.

“I should have told you sooner.”

“You should have. You should have told me when we fought about the Kryptonite. I thought you would, hoped you would. I wanted you to so desperately, wanted you to trust me.”

Kara’s heart sinks.

“Wait, you knew? How?”

Lena laughs softly.

“The way you touch me. When you pick me up and carry me somewhere, you have this way about you. When I’m in your arms I feel like I’m the most precious thing in the world.”

“You are,” Kara says.

“That and you told me you flew to my office on a bus.”

Kara makes a small, choked sound.

“Oh.”

Lena scuffs the heel of her boot against the ground.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared. I thought if I did, you’d see it as a confrontation and feel threatened. What about you?”

“I’m Kara. Supergirl is something I do, not what I am. When I’m with you I’m just me. I lose that with everyone when they find out. Kara isn’t my secret identity. Supergirl is. I’m just me. I just want to be me, I need to be me, and when I’m with you I am most myself. It’s like laying down all my burdens.”

“Same,” Lena said, softly. “You’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like an extension of my brother.”

Kara sighed. “Should we talk about the Kryptonite?”

“No,” Lena says. “Fuck the Kryptonite. Why’d you bring me out here?”

“To tell you.”

“Great, you told me. What did you think would happen next?”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

Lena nods and seems to think about that for a moment. Her pulse has quickened and her jaw is tight.

“Let me ask you a different question. What did you want to happen?”

Kara swallowed hard. “What I wanted was… for us to make up. Be friends. Work it out. I don’t want to lose you.”

Lena turns and looks at her.

“Bullshit.”

Kara flinches.

“That’s bullshit, Kara, and we both know it. You’re a terrible liar. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the staff at CatCo know who you are. Don’t lie to me. Please. Give me the truth.”

Kara looks up briefly, past Lena. She sees that faint red glow and her heart swells in her chest.

“I love you. That’s the truth. I’ve been in love with you probably since our first lunch together and I want you so badly that I can’t breathe when I think about it. I know a dozen languages and half of them aren’t from Earth, and there aren’t enough words in all of them to tell you how kind and wonderful and beautiful you are. I love you so much that sometimes I think,” Kara fights the tightening of her throat, “I think I’m almost glad that I’m here and not back up there under that red glow. I don’t think I could choose a life without you.”

Lena lets out a long breath and Kara is bombarded with sensations. Lena’s pulse races and her shoulders relax and her skin blooms with an ethereal luminous riot of color.

“I’ll never lie to you again. I promise.”

Kara can taste everything.

Right now the only thing she can taste is Lena.

[coquettetoji]

{ 🪩 } EREN JEAGER MOODBOARD

★ general eren hcs ★

— hot type of nerdy * defo majors in computer science

— my boy by billie eilish coded

— has hot hands ( the veiny kind with long fingers but his hands defo aren’t abnormally huge 💀 ¡ALSO WEARS RINGS! )

— probably smells like weed, mint gum, and expensive cologne. i’m thinking creed aventus with a woody type of scent

— has a silver chain, not gold obvi 👎 defo does the tiktok arm leaning against door frame chain dangling pose

— solid 6’2 maybe 6’3 depending on shoes and lean muscular

— emotion damaging fuck boy (takes ‘hurt people hurt people’ on a whole nother level but he’s hot so who cares?)

— drives a blacked out camaro with tinted windows bc uh

— doesn’t vape, but will always occasionally smoke weed

— gym bro with a sleeper build * bench is probably 265-270 and rubs it in armin’s face atleast once a week

— has 1 playlist because he listens to spotifys default made daily mixes 💀 ( daily mix 4 is always his go to )

— his actual playlist consists of the most overplayed main stream indie songs but then has rnb songs with 3k listens per month mainly from eren that lowk hit?

— mama’s boy and likes cats > dogs

— doberman boy

— has his snapchat in his insta bio with the ghost emoji next to it

— can play guitar and surprisingly well, favorite song to play is sparks by coldplay

— wears prescription clear frame glasses with the blue light lenses on them at night but wears contacts during the day

— all his $$$ comes from stocks, doesn’t have a job but is so smart when it comes to shit like that **defo has one of those metal credit cards that clink against tables 😏

— has dimples on his lower back and deep smile lines with that joker type of smile lol hot

— 3.8 gpa, math and science smart but not reading/english smart

— has a black phone with a clear case, black background, and his most used app is tiktok and messages

— wears street wear, wife beaters, baggy jeans, graphic tees, expensive sneakers, and cargos

— brown / green eyes, show more when they’re in the sun

— has a single diamond piercing on his right ear bc he’s slutty like that

{💌} new message from mica

hopefully this wasn’t a horrible first post bc i’m new to this whole thing, i’ll figure things out after a couple youtube tutorials >:)

i will gladly go emo for eren omfg he’s such a *moan*

SETTING THIS WHOLE BLOG UP SOON I PROMISE 😛

[bunnis-monsters]

Hello!

I really love your writing and the way that you portray the reader 💕✨

I just wanted to drop this doggy bag of ideas at your door and you can do with them what you will!!

Warnings: MDNI, fem!reader, slight colorful language, most of it is suggestive, the last one is more explicit

\(^•^)/

My favorite/comfort vibe: the character genuinely loves the reader and doesn’t make “I hate being married” jokes, the Gomez Addams type of guy. Always supportive and never disrespectful. More loyal than a dog. Literally being rude or hurtful is not even in their operating system. Pure embodiment of gentle chivalry. Maximum dose of respect human beings and living creatures juice every morning. I literally can not get enough of this trope

It’s the old west and that rancher with a spotted tail and a large set of horns sticking out of his head is looking mighty fine as he wipes his freckled chest and neck with his patterned bandanna. You, a sweet young lady who is just passing through the town, offers him some water to drink. He accepts it with gratitude and chugs it down. You try not to stare at the lump moving in his throat, or the stray drop of water that you feel jealous of, it getting the chance to caress his skin instead of you. You try to play coy, but he takes his deep breaths into his large muscular barreled chest, he smells your sweetness and can look down and notice your legs shuffling closely together, your cheeks looking a little more flushed. He wonders if your other cheeks could flush the same way. His patterned ears flick and he tries not to get too excited as his tail swishes back and forth. He gives you back your canteen and offers you a ride to your temporary lodgings. Maybe he can convince to stay indefinitely, maybe he can convince you to do it by his side. <3

The og type vampire! Dracula but a himbo/science genius that studies you to learn about humans. He made a special trip to the village to buy more candelabras for you to move around and 3 more long flowy dramatic gowns that accentuate your curves and allow the moonlight to caress your soft skin just as he wishes to caress you. He leaves your favorite snack lying fresh for you in odd places, he seems to think this is all you need to live in way of nutrition, I mean, he only consumes one thing right? He assumes it’s the same for his little human. Cue hijinks of her escaping to the village to eat and teach the vampire how to take care of humans, and her learning about his vampire ways and his fancy new witchcraft (which is just sciencey things). He loves garlic but is severely allergic to it. Literally has been looking for a formula to cure it for like so long, it’s basically the only reason he got interested in science. He mumbles about cheesy garlic bread when he is in one of his rare sleeps.

The protective punk/gang leader pixie! with nasty ass styled jet black hair (and a hauntingly beautiful shimmer to it) protectively grabbing his girl by the waist, pulling you close as an “accidental” foul baseball narrowly misses your face. He glared back at the team who had just realized that they chose the wrong person to pick on, their smirks sliding off their faces. He does enjoy a good game! He likes to use his baseball bat (decorated with dragonflys that you made to match his wings) for more…unsavory things. He’ll be stopping by the afterschool meet to teach them how one could really use a bat, with them as the kind, totally willing volunteers :) He comes home to you with strange stains on his white tank top, you try not to stare too long at his slender and molded waist, perfectly framed by his high waisted fitted denim jeans. He catches you looking though, and gives you a “c’mere baby doll and gimmie some sugar” an annoyingly smug smirk plastered across his horribly perfect face. You were already glued to him, cursing yourself for loving such an insufferably wonderful and rough and tough fool.

The succubus! Butler who literally never stops thinking about you. Who is with you from sun up to sun down to serve you and care for you in any capacity that your little heart desires. Literal doormat, might actually fantasize being a door mat for you tbh? Loves seeing you in elegant and lavish shoe wear, he hates dirt for existing and never wants your feet to touch an unclean floor. Would literally pass out if someone inconvenienced you. You just roll your eyes and smile. You pat the space between his horns, pulling him close to your chest and resting your head atop his, gently reminding him again that you live in a reasonably priced apartment in a reasonably priced area and you never asked for a butler or to be treated like royalty and that he can relax and just enjoy your company. (He literally just showed up one night and decided he wanted to be your butler). He won’t hear of it though, you are a goddess that must be attended to! Don’t take this from him, it makes him so happy to be of service! You begrudgingly allow him to spoil you once more. This time though, you manage to trick him (you didn’t, all you did was ask) into the bathtub with you where you press your bare chest flush against his back and softly scrub his chest with a softly scented product. You insist that this is his reward for being such a dutiful and kind partner, and he’s glad that the bubbles hide the situation happening between his legs. You’re just as happy to help him with that too, reaching around front and reminding him again how beautiful he is and how lucky you are to have him in his life and he literally went feral, water and bubbles coating the tiles as you two tangle around in the water. The next morning he bring you breakfast to eat on the balcony, he happily watches you eat your meal, happy to see you eating and getting full just as he did to you last night ;)

The Undead!Soldier that never wanted to be sent off to the war in the first place and constantly looks at the photo in the heart locket you gave him and wishing to come home safe to your arms. Wishing to free himself from endlessly reviving in different places where he becomes a part of an undead army, only to be defeated and re animated again, praying to one day respawn somewhere close to you, where you can be his light and save him from this dark and endless maze. When you finally manage to free him, you took him to the local necromancer to get put back together, you guys couldn’t find his ring finger so the necromancer threw one in for free. It had a cryptic and eerily familiar tattoo on it resembling a small yellow creature with blue overalls. A shiver went down your spine and you cringed, the two of you went to another necromancer the next day to get it replaced immediately.

The town crook, swiper no swiping type bitch. He has a large fluffy gray and black ringed tail and a cute matching set of ears. His jaw is sharp and his fingers are dexterous, he can never seem to keep them to himself. It’s hard to get something of yours back once he’s managed to sneak it away from you and into his stash. You’ve certainly been spending a lot of money and time buying new undergarments. One night, you catch him rummaging through your panty drawer. He stops like a deer in the headlights. No, not because you caught him, took you long enough anyways. No, it’s that nice little lingerie nightie that you’ve got on. Now just who did you wear that for? He’s no stranger to your clothing habits (him? A peeping Tom? Nooooo~) You surely must have worn it for him!! You’d never admit it but you did wear it in hopes of stalling him long enough to get a good look at your secret admirer. He blushes profusely as you stalk closer to him, studying the planes and details of his handsome face up close. His fingers twitch uncontrollably by his sides as he desperately fights to keep them off you without your say so. He can smell your sweet scent up this close and- what are you doing to him?! He’s about to make a mess in his pants and you haven’t even touched him yet! Your arms playfully clasped behind your back as you lean back and walk over to the bed, stopping before it. You slowly tease the panties down your plush thighs and flick it in his direction without looking, sliding your soft legs underneath the covers. “Come back soon lover boy” you wave him goodbye as he hops out of your balcony window into the night, a dainty pair of panties worn across his face. The next morning, you awoke to a collection of expensive jewelry and colorful stones mixed with various and obscure snacks, a ringed tail peeking out from atop your window/

the out of luck wolf!mutt street fighter with nothing to lose finding the girl of his dreams when he meets eyes with a widowed Governess. She never actually met her late husband but at the wedding, he promptly left to serve in a far off war and never returned. The Governess publicly shamed and pitied all the same in the eyes of the people. He didn’t care about any of that, he didn’t care about her status or that she was once married or that she probably wouldn’t even recognize who he was if she saw him again. He hasn’t seen her since he was just a scrawny runt, beaten and bruised just as he is today, but with the difference of being able to defend himself now. He remembers your sweet chubby cheeks and plush arms that always felt so safe to be in. You two were just children, him a dirty street urchin, and you, a daughter set to inherit a duchy upon marriage. You to had lost touch as you got busier with your studies and began to grow up. He had honestly let you fade from his mind as well over time. But he’ll never forget when he saw you again. Now fully grown with eyes so striking that you reminded him what life was supposed to feel like with a single spark. His barren and brush covered heart caught fire and the only thing that could quench it was getting a taste of you. He manages to find ways to insert himself into your life and get to know you again. You like to read? He never learned how but he’d be happy to try if you did it with him! Otherwise doesn’t see the point. Wants to impress you with his fighting skills and never understands why you get upset for his safety and getting roughed up. He came back alive right? What’s a few more scratches? (He also loves it when you play nurse on him, he loves being doted on). Nobody understands why the widowed Governess would hang out with a mutt like him, he’s quick to silence the rumors and hate, and you’re growing suspicious of how eagerly he allows you to bandage him. He clicks his teeth when he notices that you’re catching on. He needs to be careful, this is the only time he feel like he can get close to you and get a whiff of your scent. He always feels bad that he’s dirty and smells of the streets. Maybe with time, you can tempt this sweet stray into your safe and open arms, where you can help clean him up, and instead of a street fighter, he’s a dude in a nice suit that he has already managed to fuck up, fighting in the street with the bus boy he tripped into. You’re at the snack table minding your business and letting him get his energy out, getting ready for when you two have to release some different energy in the comfort of your shared home later that night.

The highelf!pervert!artist in his mansion with an garden containing an insurmountable amount of foliage and beautiful landscaping, eyeing his sweet plump little maid from afar, savoring the sight as he paints your soft figure onto the canvas. He hisses as his hand softly brushes up and down his member, the skin with a shimmery undertone and a flushed mushroom tip, long and monstrous. He stops and lets his poor leaking cock go again, it swings down and the weight of it almost seems to stall it from popping back up against his softly defined abdomen, some precum staining it sheen. He furiously paints you, his enhanced eyesight allowing for him to see across the courtyard, his studio conveniently being directly across the way from your room, when you lay on your back, your hand between your plush thighs, his sensitive ears picking up on your soft gasps and moans that occasionally sound like his name. It has to be his name right? Surely you must be doing this to him on purpose!! He finishes the last paint stroke that he needs to complete his first coat, he quickly moves his pillow to the window with a bench built in underneath it. He wastes no time bucking his hips in to its softness, imagining that it was you, he sees you struggle to get your release and he just can’t take it anymore. You’ve known each other for years, you were his favorite maid and the only one that he ever paid attention to. You sure took your sweet time getting comfortable with him, he’s positive that in the past few months, you’ve been deliberately teasing him and trying to get his attention. Surely that’s why you must be driving him insane like this?? Unbeknownst to him, you were just that fucking clueless, but don’t worry, he’s about to come and show you exactly how he’s feeling towards you! When he gets his hands on you, it’s game over for being apart from him. He’s always going to want his pretty little muse to be within his line of sight! How else is he going to paint that lovely portrait of you if you keep closing your legs? Here, he knows a few ways to help you relax!~

Sorry for the long ass ask, I just wanted to share some ideas with you since I’m too lazy to ever do anything with them. I hope you’re doing well and getting all the rest and hydration you need!

For now imma share these ideas with y’all and ask which one y’all like best!!

Comment below what you’d like to see me expand on :3

[gassydumbjocks]

Virilite 1:

Boys will be boys

Ever since I spiked my nephew Liam's beer with a strange pill I found online when he and my brother came to watch a football match, that boy has been acting like a man, as he should.

You see, my brother Noah had a son who, don't get me wrong, I love this boy with all my soul, but god damn he had to grow up and start acting like what he was, a dude, always wearing those girly crop tops and tight-fitting jeans with bright colors because "that's who he was", I admit that I was clearly upset when he revealed to the family that he was gay, but even so I couldn't do anything and neither could Noah, so we decided to accept him as he was, until I found a way to... make him act as he should.

While looking at online articles I found this article online that was supposed to be some pills that could have an effect on the behavior and actions of the person that took them, yes, I know, very science fiction-like, still, what caught my attention was the name and objective of the pill, "Virilite" was its name, and it promised to also have an effect on the levels of testosterone produced in men, which ended up convincing me to buy it.

The instructions were simple, put them in the drink or food that said man was going to consume, once ingested the guy would enter an immediate state of trance, able to only follow the orders that another person suggested in his mind, there were even images of test subjects boys who I assume took the pill, they all had a relaxed yet funny expression, eyes crossed and some even with tongues sticking out like dogs, I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Liam looking like that.

Just as i was now, immediatly after i got Liam to drink it after offering him a beer, he letted out an involuntary loud and guttural deep belch, which from what i knew and readed online was a sign that the pill already took effect, i had Liam in front of me with a dumb smile and an eye-crossed, glazed over look, like that huge burp just took away all his thoughts and personality.

After the first 5 minutes of calling his name and getting no response, i actually started to worry, he couldn't stay as a brainless zombie-like dumbass all his life, and Noah would find out and kill me for it, i tried to remember, i took the pill's container and readed again the instructions.

"Ohh, so i have to, uh, kinda program him?" i said and then i thought of things i could make him do, i certainly bought those pills to make the kid more like a man... So, hell, what a man i would mold out of him.

I heard him let out a dumb chuckle still with that goofy smile from before, i smirked and approached "Liam, buddy, you hear me champ, you hear uncle Dave?" i asked to make sure he could indeed hear me, he slowly nodded and let out some hiccups "great, cuz we got a lot of work to do on you, and im sure you'll love it" i say.

I think of the first command to give him, they suggest to use short and simple commands, there are plenty of manly things he needs to learn, but i think i can cover up basic stuff, i remember Noah and me asking him to join us in our protein farting contests when we relaxed in our man cave watching our team, while Liam just grimaced and waved his hand, saying it was immature and gross, i would make him change his opinion, so it was obvious what would be the command "Liam...fart, loudly and proudly, c'mon" i literally order him to fart, i just wanted to test the effectiveness of the command obeying.

Without hesitation, he lifts his right leg as high as he can, leaving his butt in the air, before a barrage of gas goes out his butt.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Its so strong, big and beefy, even for me, i have to wave the smell and open a window nearby "good lord boy! Where in the hell did you got all that gas from!?" i ask impressed, and try to recover before continuing "ok ok lets keep up!, umm, belch, a nice deep man belch" i say, waiting for it.

I didn't even have to wait when he was already patting his chest and squinting an eye to help the gas release.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPP!!!

And holy fuck, if Liam was concious, he'd know that beast burp would have easily beat his old man and me in our oftens belch offs, the pill was clearly making a miracle on him.

I was admitidly having fun on my nephew making all the stuff he found "gross" and "immature" under a pill's control, i gave him another command, just to get a good laugh "Liam, do some armpit farts, but in the last one, you'll ask me to pull your finger, you'll let out a monster fart, got it?" i asked and he nodded again, he then started with the manly symphony, he took a hand down one of his pits and started to produce the nasty sounds.

PPPPPRRRRTTT

PPPPPPRRRRRRTTT

PPPPPPRRRRRTT

PPPPPPPRRRRRTT

I saw him stop and put hand on his gut, then he talked goofily "uncle, pull my finger" he asked dumbly before laughing and extend his hand at me, i gladly accepted "oh of course kiddo, let me help you with that" i smirked and pulled it hard, unleashing the beast gas he had stuck in his rump.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!

An ABSOLUTELY disgusting deep-ass and loud, nasty fart erupted from him, Liam never losing the crossed look on his face, as he hiked exaggerately his leg to force the fart out, i was shocked, but in the end, finally proud of him, i couldn't wait for Noah to see what he could do! We would think on more funny stuff to do at our just guys nights! After all, boys will be boys, right?

[raggedytiger]

ragatha/agatha and pomni/penny human hcs!

(r)agatha:

is an english teacher!

yes she still loves horses. she used to ride them, & she loves old western movies.

owns cowboy hat and boots.

analytical and loves long & winding conversations.

has a very happy cat named sandwich.

patches her own clothes, doesn't have kids but if she did she would embroider their names into their belongings.

she still plays cello, she loves music in general, probably sings like an angel.

can't do any mathematics.

can drive, but like a lunatic. somehow has never had an accident though, so it's fine.

probably has a cute little baby blue/yellow car now, but definitely had a beat up offroader truck at some point that got put to good use. or maybe she still does, i'm not the boss.

total lesbian, a bit of a heartbreaker but not intentionally (women just keep falling for her)

goes to town/neighbourhood/community meetings. likely is/was in a knitting circle

absurd number of quilts in her home

pomni/penny:

is an accountant as we know, and cannot cook for shit as we know.

no pets she can barely take herself for walks. is more similar to a cat, but had a dog growing up. would love a collie or a dalmatian probably.

would name the dog something stupid like Thermometer Johnson.

she can drive, but nervously.

really quick thinker, like impressively, unless she's under HUGE amounts of stress. is literally always thinking at 100mph.

no sense of interior decor or personal style. all practical, kind of butch. really does kill a suit.

very much lesbian but not fully to terms with it. probably had short-lived relationships with men in which she was 'content' but didn't really care for it. seeing agatha as agatha for the first time was probably a crazy punch to her little gay heart. not to mention the cowboy gear.

autistic

watches 90s anime to wind down

listens to every single genre of music. passes a lot of time with headphones in, slowly making her way thru the entire world's discography

owns no band merch or anything though she just listens

can't sleep without a fan on, thunderstorm 12hr audio, blackout curtains, weighted blanket, water nearby

does not sleep a lot

both of them (going to call them pomni and ragatha for convenience):

didn't immediately recognise one another. i havent got an exact idea of how they reunited after getting out, but there were tears.

bonded in a very rare and unique way - they got to revel in the newfound joys of real life again. they got to eat delicious food, go on long, unobstructed walks in the real sun, be warmed by it, chew on ice cubes and shiver at the pain, listen to each other's heartbeats, listen to real music, read real books, smell soaps and flowers and sauces. they went to the supermarket together and read all the labels, and bought one of each type of fruit to try between them, and smelled all the candles, and touched all the blankets. spent a lot of time holding hands and kissing and i'm sorry to say, probably having sex, because holy shit, i'm real, you're real, we're real

now live together in ragatha's apartment, after pomni moved out of her small and confusingly-furnished flat.

both of them feel inadequate from time to time. this is resolved by a stern-but-loving talking-to.

sandwich likes pomni very much. pomni doesn't really get cats, but loves sandwich a great deal, and enjoys letting her sleep on her lap.

ragatha is very pleased to see her girls getting along.

ragatha cooks, pomni chops the veg. she often doesn't fuck it up

pomni cleans a lot as a 'thank you for letting me live here, i love you'. she's very much acts of service, ragatha is words & physical touch <3

they watch a lot of movies together. depending on how long they've been stuck, they might have culture to catch up on

ragatha wants to have a house with a garden one day. pomni starts germinating seeds from their fruit & veg like a weird science experiment. ragatha is delighted when she is presented with a baby tomato plant.

clothes are shared. ragatha's are bigger, but most of pomni's are ill-fitting anyway so it can go both ways. ragatha likes to dress pomni up in different outfits and have her do a little fashion show. pomni pretends not to savour the confidence boost.

pomni starts sleeping more

[copinghex]

The noose | T.S

Summary: Tommy's wife returned home after the failure of his plan got the whole family arrested. The way they deal with her trauma ends up sending her to a worse place.

The feeling of the noose around her neck still haunted her. At that moment, all she thought about was her family, Rose was a daddy's girl, she would be fine eventually, but what about Violet? What about Tommy? What about her brother and mother? What about Finn?

What about Polly? The woman was side by side with her, tears ran down her face as she muttered a prayer and there was nothing Y/N could do, except hoping that her in-laws on the cells aside met a better ending.

With a deep breath, she revisited the past, the smell of Grace's hair as she held the spy from behind, the sound of the train coming and the bitter taste on her tongue, reminding her Tommy that could be dead by then, that if she let Grace go, she’d certainly reach for the gun a few steps away. Her only choices were to kill or die.

Then, the saving yell came, a desperate guard who didn't truly care for the Shelbys' life and was only complying with the king's order of setting the family free.

As they met again in the hallway of jail, no words were said. Polly cried in Michael's arms while Arthur and John hugged each other. Y/N stood there, speechless, waiting for someone to cross the door and hold her too, but no one did.

Somehow, she knew they also blamed her, because she should've talked Tommy out of the russians' business, because she should've given a warning before their arrest. She wished she had then, if she only hadn't choked on her own fear, perhaps their forgiveness would come easily. 

On the way out, a driver waited for her, Y/N scoffed at the realization Tommy was too ashamed to face her. She wondered if he still blamed the stupid cursed sapphire for all their misery.

Finally, she was home again, Rose and Violet ran to their mother's arms, crying about how much they missed her. Tommy watched the scene from afar with too many words stuck in his throat, if he was able to kneel and apologize, it still wouldn't erase the guilt he felt.

After Y/N promised she'd never leave again, the children left her alone and she had to encounter her husband. However, while he had too much to say, she had nothing.

The truth was that Tommy always had too much to say, he was a clever, eloquent man, no one ever struggled in maintaining a conversation with him because his views of life were beyond intriguing. The war had taken away his will to speak, but his mind was still a powerforce capable of generating the most fascinating speeches.

On the other hand, Y/N carried herself silently, preferring to show than tell. Every time Tommy spoke about politics, science, religion or even boring mundane tasks, she paid close attention, not bothering to hide the adoration in her eyes. She believed displaying genuine interest was more flattering than attempting to engage in the conversation.

Standing at the entry of the house, they remained silent and silently the days went by. No talks about what happened, no apologies, no touches or significant looks. Everything went back to normal as they ignored the elephant in the room.

That lasted until a particularly warm night, the children were in bed, all the windows were open and many watch dogs guarded the garden. The summer was coming and Y/N decided to welcome it by getting a new style, joining the new fashion of haircuts above the shoulders, as if a new external could cease the mess in her head.

That night no comments were made about her sudden change, everyone sensed the tense atmosphere including herself, who was in desperate need of relaxing, then the idea popped in her head, she needed a long, warm bath.

Heading to the bathroom, she denied the maids' offers of help, aware that she regenerated better alone. She filled the bathtub with cold water and enough soap to make bubbles.

The sudden temperature change sent a shiver down her spine, the blood running on her veins matched summer and took a while to cool up. Resting her head on the tub's edge, Y/N closed her eyes trying to focus on the delicious smell of lavender soap.

However, her heart beated fast and her chest held a tight feeling, as if someone was stepping on her, crashing her ribs and making it hard to breathe. 

Her jaw clenched as she ran hands through her recently cut hair, the strange feeling persisted and her blood traveled to her face, heating up her cheeks. 

Ignoring the situation, she took deep, slow breaths and rationalized the symptoms. She had an awful couple of months, her body must've been too warm when she got into the cold water. That was all, it would pass.

In the frustrated attempt to calm down, Y/N conjured happy memories. The night her and Tommy celebrated the first legal betting license. Their first honeymoon night and how delighted she was to be officially his wife. When they moved in and inaugurated the house by spending the night together in the bathtub. 

Everything with the same Tommy she hadn't spoken to in weeks, the same Tommy she had killed for, the same one to send her to the noose. 

The rope squeezed her braid and neck together, Polly's silent prayer was all to be heard, but God wouldn't save them, what would happen next? Was it all done? Would she wake up somewhere else? Was the sapphire really cursed? What now? She wasn't dead but she couldn't breathe,

She couldn't breathe…

She couldn't breathe…!

Y/N opened her eyes, noticing her cheeks wet with tears, gasping for air, her shaky hands grabbed the bathtub's edge in a quick impulse to stand up. Water drops trickled from her naked body making a mess on the bathroom's door, the dogs were barking outside and her sight was getting dark.

Clumsily, she managed to reach for her robe, covering herself with the soft piece of clothing. The tears still came out as her legs got weak, holding onto the walls, she supposed she bumped on something because maids were knocking on the door, "Is everything alright, Mrs. Shelby?" 

Y/N recognized Frances' voice, unable to answer, she shrunk her legs and pressed her lips together.

"I think we should call Mr. Shelby," another maid suggested.

Despite feeling weak, her feet moved rhythmically, quick with the energy the rest of her body was lacking. In a matter of seconds, Tommy called for her.

"Y/N, are you alright in there?" the worry in his tone was clear, "Y/N, I need an answer even if you don't want to talk to me!" 

Gulping, she brushed off her wet cheeks and sobbed, "Tommy?" 

"Y/N, are you alright?" 

"...no," 

Everything got silent, the fear was slipping away as she heard the door unlocking. The extra keys, every single door in the house had extra keys. Tired and confused, she remained still.

Tommy rushed to her, it was his turn to panic, he kneeled to her level looking for injuries. Not finding any, he worried even more.

"What the fuck happened?" he sat her up, "What happened, love?" 

Ashamed, she stared at the floor, a knot formed on her throat with the urge of crying again, "I don't know- I-" 

She sobbed, shrugging off. He immediately pulled her to his chest, not caring if her wet hair would ruin his shirt, "No, no, it's alright, eh? You're alright, I got you now," 

Words were unnecessary for Tommy to acknowledge he was the root of her suffering. He knew how badly he fucked up and seeing his wife like that was the worst punishment ever. Worse than his family's hatred, worse than the possibility of her leaving him, worse than himself being hanged.

Together at bathroom's floor, they grieved her near death. Not all the money, cars or jewels they had could fix the damage, perhaps not even time could, a scar would remain forever regardless of her forgiving him or not.

Feeling her snuggled into him, Tommy muttered, "We need to talk," 

Fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, she quietly answered, "I think we do."