#How To Neutralize Cat Spray

[etheries1015]

I had sort of a crack idea of what would the non-human twst boys do if their crush or s/o was allergic to them? Savanaclaw and Octonivelle with like the fur allergy and seafood allergy. Maybe diasomnia’s s/o has some sort of fairy allergy? Sorry if this is too silly for you to write, it’s alright if you don’t 😭

I LOVE THIS BECAUSE I'VE HAD A SIMILAR THOUGHT i'm allergic to cats and i'm like...man what am I gonna do around Grim BUAHAHA...this is a great idea. Nothing is too silly to write my friend!

Non-human Twst boys reacting to a S/O who is allergic to them!

featuring: Savanaclaw and Octavinelle!

general warnings: gender neutral reader, not really proof read \

TW: None! just fluff. and allergies.

Leona

The first time you sneezed around him, they didn't know it was literally BECAUSE of him. This was until you two took a nap together for the first time, and when you woke up he saw your face...Oh, brother. Your eyes were puffy and red, congested, and your nose leaked like nobody's business. He genuinely felt bad about this, but wouldn't let you in on his true feelings/emotions. Without understanding the cause (though he had an inkling) he immediately took you to the doctor.

"They're allergic to me? What kind of shitty nonsense is that?!"

Leona invested in the most expensive of healthcare for you. Allergy pills and whatnot, because he wasn't about to sacrifice his lovely naps with his significant other. No amount of allergy is gonna stop him from getting what he wants, and that is your affection.

Ruggie

"Sooo...basically you're saying you're allergic to me? Cause' im part heyena?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. It's more like...animal dander? I guess?" You didn't seem to certain in your answer either, it was more or less a guess since...well, there wasn't half beast half human where you are from. You can only make an educated guess on why you're so allergic to him based off of the information you had back at home.

Ruggie is honestly so sad about this. He can't afford to get you any treatments or medical help with this, so you two just have to be careful. He does manage to get his hands on some special washing products (probably legally) and takes extra care of what he eats, and how clean he his. He's consistently brushing his hair and cleaning his ears.

"Man i'm such a simp. What's wrong with me?!" ...He isn't used to bending backward for people. But seeing you so sick around him, hurt him even more than his pride, so he of course would do anything to make sure you're as comfortable around him as possible. Ahh...the power of love <3

Jack

He gives me the "I must stay away from you for your own good," Type. Although this doesn't last very long. Jack is incredibly loyal, and he's far too attached to let you go. There's times where he would try and keep a distance (much to your annoyance), but when you began sneezing and itching your eyes you knew he was somewhere nearby. Jack is protective like that, but it pains his heart to see you so sick because of something he cannot control.

He does both a mix of what Ruggie and Leona does. He took up extra part-time jobs to afford good allergy medication for you, the entire works. Pills, eye drops, nasal sprays, breathing treatments...He also invests in high-quality shampoo and conditioner to help rid of his dander and hopefully reduce the amount of shedding he has.

With the amount of hair Jack has, he is CONSTANTLY brushing it and it is CONSTANTLY shedding. He does EVERYTHING under the sun to control this, all for you. Although... this is a partnership! You told him that a relationship goes two ways. You love him regardless of how itchy you may get, and you equally chip in to problem-solve.

You're both loyal to each other until the very end, no matter what trivial matters may get in your way <3

Azul

He knew before you two started dating that you had a severe allergy to seafood, so he made it a point to avoid you. But...that didn't stop YOU from coming to HIM. It was one of the things that drew him towards you, the way even though you were gaining a rash you would still wrap your arms around the back of him. Although it wasn't as bad in his human form, he was always terrified what would happen if he were to unleash his original form.

But worry not! We are talking about the literal king of potionology. He finds a remedy very quickly, and you trust him...a little too fast. He is astonished when he says;

"Take this...the second you drink this your allergies will be something of the past. But be warned-" You grabbed it out of his hand and chugged it. He stared at you with his jaw slacked open, his face turning a deep shade of hot red when you throw yourself onto Azul and place a big fat kiss against his cheek.

He imploded. But hey! his potion worked! He tried to get you to give him some sort of paypack, but you mentioned that your form of payment was in that kiss.

He now demands kisses every time he makes the potion for you <3 It's kind of a silent agreement. He just stares at you after you're done drinking it, and whenever you feign ignorance the point upon his lips is far too obvious.

Jade

The first time you broke out in hives, he remained completely calm. Jade is rather smart, and he understands your allergy must be because of his disposition as a mer-folk. Although in human form, he couldn't help but notice the way you would hide your rashes either behind makeup or by bulking clothing. He was amused by this for a moment, but when he saw it worsen he couldn't help but become worried.

"Why would you go so far for me? what do you gain by allowing yourself to become sick?" When you replied with a blush that you simply liked Jade, thus his shock soon turned into action. He excused himself for a few days to climb mountains and collect the most effective of flowers and medicinal remedies for allergies and put together a potion that you were able to take to alleviate your symptoms.

He isn't the vice house warden for nothing! His talents and magic prowess truly aided him, albeit in a way that was seemingly selfish. It was all worth it for you, though.

But he does use you as an example during a class project in potionology, having you stand up in front of the class while he compares your allergies before and after taking the potion.

He got a 100% in the project. And a Significant other. A win-win for everyone!

Floyd

Floyd is much smarter than he lets on. The moment he hugs you from behind and touches your arm, he notices the rash right away. He eyed it with a frown, and without saying anything he let go of you much to your dismay, leaving you to your lonesome for a few days on end.

You had to admit you missed Floyd, his silly jokes and way of talking, his unpredictable personality, and the attention he would often give y you. While sitting at the table during a free period, your head was propped up against your hand and a sad sigh escaping your lips.

"Ehhhh? Why is shrimpy sitting here all alone? Didya miss me?" A familiar voice teased as arms wrapped around you and something akin to a vegetable drink set in front of you. You gasped and smile up at the tall male, who wasn't wrapping his arms around you as you were used to, typically ignoring the itching of your rashes. He convinced you to drink what he sat in front of you, and although you eyed it with suspicion, you sighed and drank it in one gulp and tightly shut eyes.

Nothing happened. You turned to look over at Floyd, about to question the purpose of making you drink the (surprisingly tasty) smoothie-like liquid but were quickly interrupted by lips pressing against your own.

The kiss caught you off guard and you began to panic, talking about your allergy...before you realized that nothing was happening. No rash, no itchiness, nothing.

"Seeeee? It's a potion. I made Azul make it for me. Now I can touch you as much as I want," He smiled proudly. However he managed to convince Azul would forever be beyond you...

He forgets to give you the potion sometimes, only when you two are cuddling and a rash or itching pops up do the both of you realize it's time for a dose.

Ya'll are so silly for each other <3

[rambling-at-midnight]

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 3; final part)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Just minutes after discovering his secret identity, it’s time for you and Jason to clear the air about how the two of you actually met.

Word count: 3.4k

Your heart is racing a hundred miles a minute when you make it back to your apartment. And not just because of the five sets of stairs you have to walk up, although that's pretty bad.

You make sure that your roommate isn't home, then usher your cat out of your bedroom and open the window. You sit on the edge of your bed, nerves twisting in your stomach.

No, you can't stay still.

Also, your cat's scratching at the door, furious that he's been locked away.

You decide to wait in the living room instead.

His approach is soundless. You don’t hear him come through the window, or when he opens your bedroom door, but your cat meows happily and you turn around to see your six-foot-two lying boyfriend looming in your apartment.

“Is your roommate here?” he growls through the mask. Your cat yowls at his feet, wondering why Jason—the Red Hood—hasn’t begun to lavish him with attention yet.

“No, so you can take that off.”

You’re a little pleased with yourself for figuring out his identity so quickly. Unfortunately, you’re much less pleased with him for messing with you. You’re not mad that he didn’t tell you his vigilante identity; you’ve known each other about a month, which is nothing in the grand span of a lifetime. You’re not a pessimist, but you are realistic, and you’re not sure if your relationship is going to work out yet after a week and a half of dating. Any disgruntled ex-girlfriend could reveal his secret identity to the press—not that you’re that type of person.

No, it’s smart to be cautious with his identity.

So wearing a costume that displays one of his most unique features isn’t the brightest.

Also, now that you think about it, Jason wandered into the library the day after the Red Hood walked you home.

So you’re not exactly worried, but you are a bit cautious. You’ve seen that Netflix show You, where that perfectly charming man kills every woman he’s in a relationship with. If it came down to that, you wouldn’t be able to beat Jason in a fight.

Also, you don’t want to fight in front of the cat.

With a click and a hiss, the mask—more a muzzle—comes off, and there appears your handsome boyfriend, a little disheveled and sweaty from the five-story climb to your window after stowing his bike. He’s still beautiful, and it’s such a shame. He could have been the one, had he not stalked and lied to you.

You think.

You’re going to find out.

Jason’s eyes dart to your dominant hand, which is hidden behind your back with your trusty pepper spray ready to go at the slightest sign of aggression. “I take it I’m in trouble,” he says, light, almost joking, and bends to pick your cat up. The little bastard squirms every time you do that, but he settles right down in Jason's arms and gets to purring.

“Jason—” You start, then falter, because you don’t actually know his last name. Or his middle. “Jason,” you say again through gritted teeth, trying to make it as menacing as possible. “I think we have something to talk about, don’t you?”

“Y/N,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I am the Red Hood. I couldn’t tell you bec—”

“I don’t give a shit that you’re the Red Hood,” you interrupt.

Jason’s mouth clicks shut. He gives you an odd look.

“Well, that you didn’t tell me,” you amend. “We’ve known each other a month. It would be pretty pathetic if you couldn’t keep the secret that long. Everyone in the city would know by now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So what are you mad about, exactly?”

“That I was right!” You exclaim. “You were stalking me! I thought you just liked coffee and reading, but you were following me the whole time. You even offered to beat yourself up. What else about you is a lie?”

“Okay, whoa,” he says, holding his hand up, and if you weren’t mad before, you’re getting there now. He has no right for you to motion to calm down. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I guess I kind of did start this all out by following you.”

Your hands fall limply to your sides. Now that he’s admitted it, all the wind is out of your sails. You’ve never been so disappointed to be right. Secretly, you were hoping he would write it all off as a freak coincidence so thoroughly that you’d have no choice to believe it, all the way up until he strangled you. “Okay,” you say calmly. You hear your own voice, but it’s from very far away. “Are you going to hurt me now?”

“What?” He looks aghast at the very thought. “No, no, I won’t—why would I—No.” He’s so firm in the reply, so utterly certain, that your grip loosens on the pepper spray. He might be a really good liar… or he might be telling the truth. “No, Y/N, I really like you, which is why I asked you out, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t hurt you anyway because you’re my friend. And you’re a good person. The Red Hood punishes criminals; he’s not some crazy serial killer.”

“I mean, you kind of are,” you mumble. You’ve seen the statistics. He ruled through fear for several years. But, like he’d said earlier, he’s reformed himself. He still kills people, though, but you find that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.

“I am not—” Jason stresses, looking you right in the eyes— “the kind of man that hits women.”

There’s a story there, in the way he says it, but it’s not the time to ask. You’re not sure that your fledging relationship is ready for it, either, but you’re still curious. You’re also curious about why he killed so many people when he started out. You’re curious about everything about him. You think you could listen to him talk for hours about himself and you still would only touch the surface of everything that makes up Jason.

“Okay,” you say. His eyes track your hand as you set the pepper spray down on the counter.

He repeats it like a question. You’re a little surprised, too, but— “Jason, I wouldn’t have agreed to be your girlfriend if I wasn’t sure that you’re a good person. But I need you to tell me about how we met.”

“You mean the robbery?” He looks confused. “That really was just a coincidence. I heard that something was going down and stopped by. I had no idea who you were before that night, I swear.”

“Okay. So why did you follow me to the library?”

“Oh.” Jason coughs. “Yeah. Okay, well, the first day, I actually was following you.”

You slap the counter with an open palm, triumphant. Your cat hisses at the sound. "I knew it!"

"Wait, wait, just hear me out. I was following you to make sure that you didn't die of blood loss. Or sepsis. Or gangrene. Or—"

"So you were stalking me... because you cared?"

"It's how my family shows love," he shrugs.

Your eyes widen. Because you hadn't considered it, but if he's a Bat—and he is, judging by the red shape on his chest—then his family is the Batclan. "Oh, my God. Batman is your dad."

Jason folds his arms over his chest like he's self-conscious about the symbol. "Yeah, and I've got the weird attachment style to show for it."

"Wait," you blurt out. "The brother you were supposed to meet in the coffee shop—were you supposed to meet Red Robin?"

"Um..."

You can't believe you were almost in the same place as the actual Red Robin. "Wow. Is his civilian identity as cool as his superhero one?"

"Please don't tell me you're a Red Robin fan," Jason says, his voice pained. "We might actually need to break up."

"Do you think I could meet him sometime?" you whisper.

"He's a huge loser," Jason tells you. "He's short and scrawny and actually pretty ugly beneath the mask. He looks like a troll. Also, I think he watches Andrew Tate videos and moderates Reddit forums in his free time. You really don't want to meet him."

You can't stop grinning. "There's no need to be jealous, Jason. Red Robin's way too young for me, but I think it's cool that he uses his brain to fight crime."

"What, and I don't?" he scoffs.

"Okay." You hold up a hand, determined to get the conversation back on track. "So you wanted to make sure that I wasn't actively dying. Why'd you keep coming back?"

"Well, then I thought you might be a supervillain," he said casually, like that's a normal thing to spring on someone.

You just gape at him.

"You treated a gunshot wound like it was nothing!" he defended himself shrilly. "Most civilians would be a little more concerned about an open wound in their side."

"I'm a medical student. Doctors make the worst patients."

"Yeah, well, Gotham has a pretty bad track record of doctors becoming supervillains, so excuse me for trying to curb a new one before she had the chance to turn."

You cross your arms. "What did you think would happen, Jason? I'd accidentally take a dip in Gotham River and the bacteria in there would travel from my side to my brain and make me go crazy?"

"I mean, yeah. That's pretty much exactly what happened with Harley Quinn."

Well, shit. He's got you there.

"Okay, well then why approach me at the coffee shop?"

Jason raises his eyebrow. "You were the only one there and I had a spare coffee. Am I not allowed to do nice things?"

"It was right after I told the Red Hood that I thought I was getting stalked. Did you do that on purpose?" you accuse.

"No, I swear. I didn't even know that you liked that place. Red Robin mentioned liking it.” Oh, my God, you and Red Robin like the same coffee shop. “I just… kept showing up after I saw you there the first time." He must be scratching your cat too hard, because he wiggles out of Jason's arms and runs over to his food bowl, looking at you pleadingly like he's been starving for a hundred years, even though your roommate texted you earlier saying that he'd already fed him. "I was planning on disappearing from your life and telling you as Hood that I'd, I don't know, threatened the dude or whatever, but..."

"But what?"

He shrugs. "You're pretty, Y/N. You're smart. And you were funny when I talked to you as Hood. Is it a crime for me to want to make a friend?"

"Just a friend?" You squint at him.

"Yeah. Just a friend." Jason tousles his hair again, and this time you let yourself admire the way the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms flex at the motion. "Believe it or not, I've never been in a relationship before. This wasn't what I was expecting—I never expected anything—but I'm happy. You're happy... aren't you?" He's pleading now, and it tugs on your heartstrings.

You sigh, but take a step closer to him. "Yes, I'm happy, Jason." It's definitely not the most conventional way to start a relationship, and most other people would be running for the hills by now, but this is Gotham. You moved here and stayed here because you fit in with the crazy. "I just need you to tell me one thing." Step. "One honest thing."

"Of course," he says immediately. Big green eyes pleading for you to bridge the gap between your bodies, to forgive him.

"What's your last name? I can't date someone whose last name I don't know."

For some reason, he grimaces. "Uh... my full name is Jason... Peter... Todd." His voice gets quieter with every word, until you're straining to hear his surname.

That rings familiar with something in your memory. You frown. "Jason Todd... not like Jason Todd Memorial Library?" Usually with memorials, the person they're named after is dead, but Jason's real and in front of you. Also, wasn't Jason Todd the kid that Bruce Wayne adopted several years ago?

The corners of Jason's lips turn down. "Yeah, I wasn't thrilled with your choice of study locations at first. But it is quieter than my apartment. B adopted too many fuckin' kids, and they always find my place, even when I move—"

"Does Red Robin hang out at your apartment a lot?" you ask, just to see him scowl.

"No, he's never there, and I'm going to dropkick him off a roof the next time I see him unless you stop talking about him."

"Okay," you say. You're close enough now to put a hand on his forearm, so you do. "I'll stop talking." You have to get on your tiptoes and pull the back of his head a bit, but you kiss him, and somehow it's even better than the first time.

Jason's lips are a little dry, but not chapped, soft and pillowy. He blinks when you rest back on your heels, looking dazed like someone hit him over the head with a frying pan. "Am I forgiven now?"

"Mmm..." You pretend to think it over. His hands snake around your back and pull you flush against him, stomach to stomach. "I think so," you say through a gasp, which might be embarrassing if he didn't bend to kiss you before the words had fully left your lips.

You kiss for a little while after that, shivering when his hands slip beneath your jacket. Not quite up your shirt, but getting there. He's got huge hands, and he grips your waist firmly, using his thumbs to gently rub at your hipbones as he pulls you even closer. That small contact, so gentle yet also a little greedy, heats your body from the inside like an inferno.

You're starting to bend backwards now, and the hand on the back of his neck is less there to pull him down and more there to keep you up. Are you lightheaded? You might be. You breathe in through your nose, but it doesn't help.

Jason may be inexperienced, according to his own testimony, but he doesn't kiss like it. He kisses with his whole body. He keeps leaning forward, moving his lips against yours with the single-minded intensity that took you by pleasant surprise the first time you kissed. Soft but firm, pressing against you, in a way that makes you think he'd really like to crowd you against a wall and cage you in. Not that you want to escape.

When you're bent over, you take Jason's chin in your hand and slowly push his head back. He resists at first, eyes fluttering as he chases after your lips, but you're about to fall over, so you murmur, "What's the plan here, babe?"

"No plan," he says, voice low and gravely in a way you've never heard before. Jason looks at you from beneath his long lashes. A heat flashes in his eyes. Something flutters in your stomach, bigger than butterflies. Maybe birds? Maybe robins.

And then you feel his hands on the bare skin of your back when they slip beneath the hem of your shirt. You gasp and jerk away on instinct because his hands are so warm, so calloused, but he's got a good grip on you; you're not falling anytime soon.

Then your entire world shifts as Jason yanks you upright, at the same time pulling the hem of your jacket and shirt up enough so he can see your wound.

"Oh, my God," you groan, embarrassed and a little amused. "You little pervert, were you doing all that to distract me?"

"No." Jason's voice is still gravely. He looks at your hip, then stares at your mouth like he's making a decision. He kisses you again, a firm press, and nips at your bottom lip before he leans back to squint at the scar. "Is it still bruised?"

"Yes," you sigh, covering your eyes. You're embarrassed for reasons you can't quite explain. Maybe because he's pulling your shirt up and you're not quite as firm everywhere as he is. You're pretty sure champion bodybuilders aren't as firm as he is. "It's gotten much better, though. See? No infections or anything like that."

He measures the scar against his hand: it's about two fingers wide, and one finger long. It scabbed over a while ago, and now that the scab's gone, it's just a shiny pink patch of skin.

"You could have stitched it anyway," he sighs.

"I don't care." You grab him by the chin and force him to meet your eyes. "I don't care about scars. Mine or yours. Most of the time, they're sexy. And apart from me, you're the only one seeing it." His hands clench your waist at the words, then loosen. He sends you an apologetic look. You continue, "So as long as you don't mind it, then nobody does."

"I wish it had never happened to you," he sighs.

"Well, it did. But it wasn't your fault and we can't change the past."

Jason's still mulling over your words when you start to work at his belt. He makes a choked noise and grabs your hands. Doesn't push them away, just holds them still right where they are. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I showed you mine." You grin up at him. "It's only fair that you show me yours."

He snorts. "You don't trust your own handiwork?"

"It's a follow-up appointment," you say. "To make sure everything's healing normally. Now take off your shirt, Mr. Todd. This veterinarian's apartment does, after all, moonlight as a strip club."

He undoes his belt buckle with one hand, and you have to make sure that your mouth isn't open. That was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. "You ready?" he grins, cocky in the way he only gets when he's flirting with you. "One look at me and you'll forget all about Red Robin. Forever."

"God, don't bring up your little brother while we're making out," you groan.

"Good to know that you plan on kissing me some more tonight," he says casually. Then he peels off the skintight gray shirt, and every thought wipes from your mind.

His muscles have muscles. And, somehow, despite your apartment's shitty lighting, he's glowing. His pants sit low on his hips like he's a model or something.

How has no one ever dated him before? He's actually perfect.

The longer you stare without saying anything, the more uncomfortable he looks. Finally he says, "I know I've got a lotta scars," his native Gotham accent bleeding through a little, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. He's warm and firm and soft, just like you thought he would be.

"My God," you whisper. "You're beautiful."

Jason goes beet red.

"And the one I stitched is healing up nicely," you continue, tracing your fingers lightly over the slightly raised line.

His whole body shudders. He swallows almost violently, eyes clenched tight like they're in pain. Then they fly open, and you gasp, because they're glowing green. Not metaphorically glowing. Like, actually glowing.

Jason kisses you again like he's trying to herd you. You don't know where's all right for you to touch, so you cup his face with both your hands and pour everything that he gives you right back at him. Warmth, affection, something bright that you can't name.

Then you lean back. Your lips disconnect with an audible pop.

"Hang on. Is Bruce Wayne Batman?"

Jason's chin drops down to his chest. He groans, deep, and you pretend that warmth doesn't pool in your stomach at the sound. Voice thready, he says, "You know, talking about my dad really kills the mood."

"Oh, my God, he is." You pump your fist in the air. "I'm two for two. Who's the world's greatest detective now, Batsy?"

"If I kiss you again, will you shut up about Batman?" Jason asks.

You grin. "I don't know. Maybe you'll have to find out."

He does.

And you do.

You've decided that the Red Hood is your favorite superhero, anyway.

~~

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

[cosmictuesdays]

CHEMIST HAS THE POWER TO TAME SKUNK'S SPRAY

Copyright 1994 Chicago Tribune Company Chicago Tribune November 25, 1994 Friday

HEADLINE: CHEMIST HAS THE POWER TO TAME SKUNK'S SPRAY

BYLINE: By Peter Kendall, Tribune Staff Writer.

Salk conquered polio. Einstein unraveled relativity. And Krebaum? Well, Paul Krebaum, it appears, has developed the first home remedy for skunk spray.

If ever an idea was in the air, it was this: How do you get rid of the smell that comes from two tiny but ingenious glands at the business end of a skunk.

A garden hose is impotent, soap is utterly useless, and tomato juice is a quaint old wives' tale that has left many people with skunk-sprayed dogs that not only stink, but are pink.

But Krebaum's formula, distributed nationally in recent months on e-mail and in state agriculture department bulletins, is winning over converts who thought the only viable antidote was the passage of time.

The story of how Krebaum, a Lisle chemist, has conquered the fetid, putrid odor of skunk is a simple tale of necessity being the mother invention.

But, alas, Krebaum's formula will never bring riches to its inventor, for the solution is trapped within a cruel chemical Catch-22.

The very chemical properties that make his formula deodorize skunk spray make it impossible to package. It will burst out of any bottles.

If the story of Krebaum's formula is ever made into a movie, the first scene will show Krebaum working away in his lab at Molex Inc. in Lisle. His face is screwed up as he smells something bad.

He is doing research using chemicals called thiols--some of the nastiest smelling chemicals around.

Thiols are produced by many things, including the degradation of proteins. Thiols are responsible for the odors that comes from decomposing flesh and fecal matter.

Most animals have a deep-seated repulsion to thiols, a gift of evolution that keeps them from eating things that will make them ill.

Using basic chemistry knowledge, Krebaum figured out a way to get these foul smelling thiols out of his lab by changing them into other compounds. The trick was oxidation-getting oxygen molecules to bond with thiols and change them into things that didn't smell bad at all.

To do that, he made a solution of simple ingredients-hydrogen peroxide and sodium bicarbonate (baking soda)--that did the trick quite well. The solution threw off oxygen like a dog shakes off water, and some of that oxygen grabbed onto the thiols and neutralized them.

Meanwhile, in Lisle and elsewhere, evolution had been chugging along for eons and produced an animal that scientists call mephitis mephitis, the common striped skunk. Natural selection led the skunk to develop a spray that exploits other animals' aversion to thiols. Skunk spray is, fundamentally, essence of putrification.

But fate never would bring mephitis mephitis and Paul Krebaum together, at least not directly. Krebaum has himself never smelled skunk spray at any greater concentration than that lingering in the air on a country road.

There were, instead, intermediaries--one of Krebaum's colleagues and a pet cat.

"He came in to work and said his cat had an encounter with a skunk," Krebaum recalled. "He said he had tried tomato juice, and it didn't work, and the cat still wasn't able to come into the house."

Krebaum knew skunk spray was made of thiols ("general knowledge," he calls it), and suggested using a variation of the formula he used for getting rid of thiols in the lab.

"He came back the next day and said the stuff worked like magic, that every trace of skunk odor is completely gone from the cat," Krebaum said.

The variation he developed for the cat was this: 1 quart of 3 percent hydrogen peroxide, which costs about $2 at a drugstore; 1/4 cup of baking soda; and 1 teaspoon of liquid soap, which breaks up the oils in skunk spray and allows the other ingredients in the solution to do their stuff. The solution should be rinsed off the pet with tap water.

In October 1993, Chemical and Engineering News published Krebaum's formula.

One of the most interested readers of the article was Tom McCutcheon, who was then with the West Virginia Department of Agriculture. McCutcheon, a plant pest biologist, was something of an answer man for callers to the department.

"We'd get probably a dozen calls a year, 'What do we do, our pet's been sprayed by a skunk,'" McCutcheon said. "Tomato juice is the old remedy. Everybody would say, 'We've tried that, and it doesn't work at all.' We really didn't have a remedy."

When he read of Krebaum's formula, he was skeptical. Over the years, he had learned never to recomend [sic] anything he hadn't tried himself, but getting sprayed by a skunk posed practical difficulties.

"I asked my dog if she'd volunteer, but she said no," McCutcheon said.

It was while driving last February through the hickory and oak forests of Roane County, West Virginia, that McCutcheon spotted a road-killed skunk. More hit than run over and preserved by the late winter chill, the skunk was in fine shape.

Carefully, he wrapped the skunk inside two plastic bags and put it in the trunk. He knew he had a potent specimen for his experiment when he went into a drugstore to buy the ingredients for Krebaum's formula and the druggist noticed the smell on McCutcheon's clothing.

Back behind his office, he made up the solution.

"The whole time, my eyes were watering--I had never been this close to a skunk in all my life," he said. "I dunked the skunk in the bucket, and immediately the smell went away. I was very surprised and impressed."

Krebaum had briefly considered trying to figure out a way to patent his formula, but quickly abandoned the idea.

The formula is, essentially, a chemical engine for churning out oxygen, and all that oxygen refuses to be bottled.

"Once you mix the hydrogen peroxide with the baking soda, it is no longer stable," said Krebaum. "You can't store it in a bottle, because it would explode from all the oxygen."

"It wasn't worth trying to get a patent on it because I couldn't put it in a bottle, said Krebaum. "So why not make this a free-gift-to-humanity type deal."

-end-

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[scozthewoz]

mercs as perfumes

inspired by perhaps my favorite blog on this hellsite, @fragranticareviewers

scout ▪︎ artifical fruit punch bubblegum. if that horrific chemical fake fruit flavour was a smell. notes of axe body spray and baseball field dirt. confusing, powerful, and frankly a bit distressing. turns into a smelling salt if you hold it too close to your nose. lingers for a worryingly long time and cannot be washed off no matter how hard you scrub.

soldier ▪︎ it's... eugh. gunpowder like crazy at first. cough inducing explosion the second the cap comes off. dries down into an overpowering sweat and BO type scent tinged with something that ellicits army barracks, like an old bed with sheets that haven't been washed in years. human odor. note of unpleasant animal stench, followed by the linger of mud and an odd honey sweetness? it's an utterly bizzare scent you haven't smelled anything like in your life and won't ever smell again.

pyro ▪︎ suffocatingly smokey, kerosene, kind of rubbery. standing in the smoke bellows of a campfire you threw a tire into. dries down with a weird candy sweetness. hot pink plastic car on fire. something else in there you cannot for the life of you put your finger on but is quite sickening. a hate it or love it sort of scent, and the people who love it are CRAZY about it.

demoman ▪︎ holy shit sulfur. it opens exactly like you just set off a firework. on the drydown it unforunately turns into a pungent, slightly vomit inducing alcoholic scent. like if you wore this out, people would think you were heavily intoxicated. smells exactly like a drunk person haphazardly setting off roman candles in a local neighborhood. will trigger bomb detection dogs. incredible to wear if you're looking to get arrested.

heavy ▪︎ opens strong with with smokey gunpowder and something warm and spicy that gives you a kick, but dries down unexpectedly subtle. not particularly good or bad, something neutral and inoffensive you can wear pretty much anywhere with no complaints. notes of tea, library, and somehow that specific scent of cold air. quite comforting actually.

engineer ▪︎ metal. ever put a penny in your mouth? that taste but a scent is the first thing that hits you in the face. undertones of gasoline and leather, but in a good way? smells like working on a car. dries down milder into something more warm and comforting, like the memory of your dad's garage.

sniper ▪︎ wood, moss, cut grass, petrichor, patchouli. very earthy and subtle. would be quite pleasant if it weren't for the creeping yet undeniable note of piss. not just human piss, that specific lingering rank cat pee smell that permeates carpets. also a twinge of wet animal fur. dogs go crazy if you walk by wearing this.

medic ▪︎ burning disinfectant is the first to hit you. eye watering the second you take the cap off. doctors office x10, uncanny in how perfectly it replicates rubbing alcohol. if you can manage to survive spraying it, it dries down a bloody sort of metallic, emblaming fluid, fresh cadaver. it smells eerily similar to a mortuary in a way that fills any who smell it with dread. something about it activates your fight or flight response.

spy ▪︎ the only way i can describe it is the essence of a sexy european man. pleasant and very subtle, replicates a natural musk more than a perfume. wine, roses, an opera, sex on silk sheets. luxurious and slightly erotic. will turn you into a chick magnet and may even pop a few boners from guys around you, so be careful with it. notable whiff of cigarettes if you smell it too close. classy yet skanky.

[fire-lizard-ro]

Woo~ Hope you're ready to read Mr. Sunday taking you…

Up the ass- Psych, mfs-

Bet you didn't expect that one from me, huh? I know I normally don't write bottom character, but... I felt like it? I want to see this man wrecked.

I'm writing for both bottom Sunday and top Sunday on this glorious- checks time moonlit (I haven't checked outside and idk what day it is today) night. A little birdy told me she wanted to see bottom Sunday first. Call yourself out if you wanna. 😂

CW: COCK JUMPSCARE- (jk), anal (I mean- come on you knew this), choking (+a little breath play y'all please be sure to make this distinction when talking about it ijsige-), edging, overstimulation, discussion of safe-wording, dom/sub stuff, mention of subspace, spanking, toys (there's an anal plug and cock ring), degradation (+praise), nipple play, harness???, bondage, collaring, slight public play, some subbing from Sunday and some power bottoming (but we'll be focusing on him subbing- it's only really mentioned), prone bone+cat position(that's what it's called, right???)+mating press, some namecalling (ex: praising - good boy, degrading - slut, etc., etc.), crying during sex (the good kind), marking, begging, dumbification, mention of being ashamed but liking it, belly bulge, slight cumflation/excessive cum, excessive lube, objectification(I think???), talk of his cock being useless (it's sex talk I swear reader doesn't mean it-), ever so slight gaping, cumming dry

Reader gender: Gender neutral, but you can envision what you want. Reader has a dick/strap and the cum can be uhhh- Lube? Is that what people put in squirting straps-

If I forgot to add anything to the CW or made any typos- Whoops. You can let me know if you wanna~

Personally, I think Sunday would be a switch. How he leans is up to you. But when he's topping, I see him being more prone to domming. Opposite can be said of when he's bottoming. More likely to sub, but does have his moments when he wants to take control again.

While I do love a good "turnabout is fair play", I think that considering Sunday's need to be in control (…the leaks told me so-), he needs a clean cut decision on what you'd be doing that night. If you've decided together that he'd be topping and domming, don't try to take over please- It'd probably fray his nerves and make him upset. This is because for him, I imagine that he'd need to mentally prepare himself and get in the mindset to sub. He loves giving up the control he holds onto so tightly, but he needs to remind himself that it's okay. That he can trust you and that you'll make him feel so, so good for his concession.

But by god is he a vision when he does slip into that submissive mindset.

It'd start with you two showering together after a long day of Sunday upholding the harmony of Penacony and dealing with any issues that arose to threaten that peace. It's both a way to wind down and to ease him into letting you take care of him and allowing him to slowly loosen his grasp on his control.

Soft touches and soothing words whispered in his ears between the sounds of water with gentle hands petting his wings has him melting into you. The stiff set of his shoulders, imperceptible to all but you, relaxes and the tension drains from his body along with the water as it swirls down the drain.

It is also now that you take out the plug he'd been wearing today while he was away from home. The night before, he'd just finished with you when you two took to the shower and you helped him clean up before stretching his pretty hole with lubed, insistent but gentle fingers. The plug went in nicely after that, the little jeweled heart of the plug's flared base in your color marking him as yours.

He hides behind his wings as you pull at the plug, the toy tugging at his rim that you trace with a playful finger. But of course you nose at them until he lets you in to kiss him soothingly, his wings then pressed to your cheeks to hide you both from the spray of the shower head and the rest of the world. It's just you two here and now. He would gasp a little as the plug slid out to the widest part of the toy. Thin and perfectly groomed eyebrows would furrow while you play with him a little. Push it back in carefully before slowly pulling it back to the wide part again a few times before finally bringing it out fully, rewarding him with "good boy" and "thank you for indulging me" and more kisses.

Once you both are finally in bed, that's when the fun begins.

You both go over the rules again. What to do if he ever wants to stop, reminding him that ultimately he is still in control because he controls if they stop or not. He's the efficient and straightforward type. Traffic light system along with three firm taps if he couldn't talk was enough for him. (Let it be known that when you started dating him, he was not at all aware of these things. I think he'd have been inexperienced to sex beyond vanilla beforehand.)

Tonight, you two were going to use a lot of implements (?). You laid them out, making sure that they were the same as the ones you discussed using prior (yes I think Sunday needs for you two to explicitly discuss beforehand and honestly I agree with him unless you like spontaneity) and going over what you'd do with them to recheck with him that he was okay with it. Consent is sexy, folks.

You then kiss him while fixing the collar on him, checking that it wasn't too tight. He liked using a collar when subbing because it helped him reach subspace and was something the two of you trained him to relax more with when subbing. Helps calm his constantly racing thoughts. The next step is the harness. It's a pretty pale blue-grey that matches his soft hair and is worn with his legs through it and over his hips. They're there for easier handling on your part. The fact that they accentuate his soft, shapely ass and strong thighs is a very welcome bonus. When you put it on for him, please make sure to kiss up his legs all the way to his hipbones while you pull up the harness you helped him step into. Nibble on said hipbones a bit and kiss his navel, near dangerously close to his neglected cock that twitched cutely at your proximity to it. Once that's done you can lube up his hard-on with one cursory tug in order to slip on the cock ring. He won't be getting any more than that for most of the night.

You then have him on him hands and knees so you can get him in position and bind him. Tonight would be a simple set of padded cuffs. You would push between his shoulder blades to guide him to press his chest to the bed, leaning down to kiss down his spine while pulling his hands gently pull his hands behind his back to put the cuffs on. Be sure to praise him for being a good boy, for doing so well for you as you prepared him for the night.

Once that's done, press one more kiss to his body. This time on the top curve of his soft ass before lubing him up some more. It's never bad to be safe about things and there's more than enough chance that he needs more as it dried throughout the day.

Tease him by purposefully tapping on his prostate softly while making sure he's stretched enough and wet with lube coating his inner walls that clenched around your skilled fingers.

Keep going until he finally asks you in a small voice to get on with it. "Hm? What was that?" "You heard me-" "Only good boys get what they want and good boys ask for what they want." You aren't going to make him beg for it (yet), but you'll still make him ask for it like the good, polite boy you know he is.

(Okay we're switching styles here, folks.)

"F-fine… Please fuck me," Sunday said, words trailing of into a mumble. You knew what he was saying, but you didn't really hear it. "What was that? Couldn't hear you, baby." "I-" he angled his head to glare back at you with traces of a pout tugging at his lips. He then turned again to avoid your eyes that took in his face, pressed to the bed and needy. "…please fuck me." "Was that so hard, pretty boy? Since you asked…" You slipped your fingers out slow, letting him feel the drag of them against his sensitive walls as he gave a shuddering sigh. Sunday had attempted to keep it under wraps, but it still slipped out.

Your chuckle caused him to flush more, a wing attempting to hide his face despite you being unable to see it from this spot behind him.

As you slicked up your cock, you watched his hole twitch and cock sway as he unconsciously sunk his hips back more as if to ask you for your thick length in his hungry, empty hole. "Aeons you have the prettiest ass, you know that?" You then finally line yourself up, the head of your dick pressing to the still tight but prepped hole's rim as you slide your hands down the man's sides to grasp his hips before sliding fingers into the straps of the harness that cradled his slim hips.

The angelic man beneath you held his breath in anticipation for a moment. "Breathe, baby." And then you were pushing in, slowly spearing open that wet warmth. He gasped and jolted, but your hand was quick to hold him down by the back of his neck while the other kept an iron grip on the harness to keep his hips steady. A whine escaped Sunday as he attempted to close his legs at the delicious sensation of your cock sliding deep into him- Up to the hilt. Once you bottomed out, he was already panting like he was in heat and his wings that had flared and flexed while you had been pushing inside drooped to rest on the bed.

Your cock was so big- So deep in him he swore he could feel it in the back of his throat, his own cock drooling messily onto previously clean sheets where it hung between his legs. It throbbed as he finally had a clear enough mind to remember the cock ring you'd fastened onto his needy dick. "Such a good slut for me, taking everything." He felt a bold of shame, yet it made his cheeks redden with more than shame. Arousal. As he felt mixed feelings of pleasure and shame swirling in his gut, he also then felt something else in there- Your cock grinding heavily, steadily into him with hips rubbing against his plush ass.

Sunday allowed himself to lean into the pleasure you provided, hips moving back into your slow but strong humps forward. Your cock was sliding over his prostate so nicely and it had him closing his eyes to focus in on it. The arch of his back deepened, emphasizing the lean musculature of his back and bringing out the little dimples above his ass as you leaned forward to put more your weight into your grinding. The pressure inside him and on his neck had his eyes fluttering along with his wings. A moan startled out of him when you proceeded to nibble on said wings, teeth gently nibbling along the fragile bone in the first bend of the feathery appendage. Your hand moved from its spot holding the back of Sunday's neck to press him face first into the bedding moved to instead wrap around his throat, turning him towards you so you could steal a sloppy kiss from him. It was filthy and wet, the sounds of it joining the wet squelch and the slight sound of skin on skin as you began to thrust. His whine was swallowed up by your mouth and when you pulled back he looked a bit dazed, uncomprehending eyes looking at the string of saliva between your lips and his that was promptly licked away by your sinful tongue.

"So good- Such a good boy, yeah? You're all mine aren't you?" He was deep enough in that he just nodded at he tried to rearrange his thoughts. That idea was de-railed when you thrust hard and spanked his ass with the hand not holding his throat, grip tightening enough to make him a bit lightheaded. "Words, harlot. Tell me how you're mine- How good I make you feel." The name made him feel deliciously ashamed of how he was really letting someone push him down and fuck him like a whore. But aeons did he love it. He managed to get out in between panting breaths a, "So good so good please- 'M all yours-" "That's a good cockslut. But just for me right?" "Just for you-"

You rewarded him by speeding up your thrusts, slowly ramping up how hard you fucked into his clenching heat that pushed out lube with every push in- You had made sure to use a lot so he would have to hear the obscene sound of your fucking him and dominating him. His moans became louder along with it, a whimper escaping him when your thrusts forced his hips to the bed. His once neglected cock now lay trapped between him and then bed as yours wrecked him and claimed him. He began babbling about how it felt, how it was like you were in his belly how it was too much not enough please please- Sunday was begging, now, with his drooling mouth, hole, and cock.

"I didn't know toys were supposed to speak- Especially when not spoken to." Your hand tightened around his neck again, this time pressing so it made it a bit harder for him to breathe. "Shhhh- Just be quiet and take it, pretty baby. I'll make you feel good. Make you forget all those troublesome thoughts. Don't you wanna be my dumb little slut? Only focus on taking my cock?" Yeah… he did. He wanted to let go of all the thoughts making his head hurt and give in, even if just for a little while. You'd taken care of him before. Now wasn't any different.

Even through the grip on his throat, he still let out little "ah- ah- ah-" sounds to the rhythm of your hips slapping into his ass, pushing your cock into his deepest parts. Yet you made it feel so good- It didn't hurt at all. All he could think about was how filthy he was and how pleasurable it was. Sunday must have tried to wheeze something out despite everything because you said, "Yeah? You like being dirty for me? A filthy slut for be behind closed doors while in public you act like such a proper leader? What would your dear people think of you if they knew you got fucked like a used prostitute- a mere toy?" You then let go of his throat to let him speak, the air rushing into his lungs making his head spin. "I- I love it! Love it so much please please lemme cum lemme cum on your cock-!"

Another spank to his ass had his hole tightening around you, a cry being startled out of him and tears beading at his lash line. "Good boy-" You then slowed a bit, causing him to whine despite how he had been held on edge for a while, now. Still wanting the bright hot pleasure despite the agony of being denied his release. "Color, baby?" "Mmmf- Green-" "Good boy-" A kiss was pressed to a wing before you harshly thrusted in and went back to pounding him within an inch of his life. Every thrust forced his body up and down the bed, cock an angry red and leaking profusely. Sunday buried his face into the pillow, tears staining them as they came faster. "Please- Let me cum, please! I'll do anything!" "Anything?"

Maybe that was a mistake.

One that had you yanking your dick out of his hole, the greedy thing clenching around nothing as if missing your cock in it. He whined pitifully, tears staining his face as he sobbed into the bedding. Fuck did he sound good. You uncuffed him to flip him over, tossing the things somewhere to the side of the bed. He was unable to keep up with the sudden changes and before he knew it, you were pressing his thighs to his chest in a mating press, cock sliding up and down his own teasingly. "Such a big cock and yet you don't even know how to use it. It's just a big, dumb, useless thing hanging between your legs. All you need is this slutty hole of yours, right?" Your thumb came down to rub at the slightly gaped hole, smearing the lube even more over his sloppy pucker that twitched at your touch.

He hid his face with his wings, flushed and crying as you belittled his cock. He was only good as an anal slut for you. But his wings flared open as he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. You had sunk your teeth into the spot in reprimand and to mark your toy as yours. "What did I say about that? No hiding." He whimpered and nodded- A spank. "Words." "I won't hide anymore!" "Good toy."

Once you slid in, his mind went blank again. Though somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he noted- Oh. You were in his belly. There on the otherwise flat surface that scrunched up from his position, was the slight bulge of your cock in his guts. "Look at you- So pretty." You pressed on it, making him toss his head back with a pitchy moan, hips jerking under you and insides clenching wetly at the dick they were sucking on while his hands flew up to claw at your back desperately. As you leaned over him to lick into his mouth, you then reached one hand between you to slip off the cockring. "You wanted to cum- So cum." You immediately began a brutal pace that had him screaming as he finally was able to find his release, hurtling off that cliff and vision going white as he emptied his cum onto his stomach and yours, the pressure of having held it in so long and the angle of your mating press- The jerking of his hips from you shoving your deliciously big dick into his hungry little hole forcing his cum to splatter over his chest and on his neck and even wings. It was like a sinful angel was laying beneath you.

You slowed, then, and he let his breathing begin to even out. But it was an act of deception because you transferred his legs from your hold to over your shoulders and grabbed hold of his softened cock that laid on his cum covered belly to begin fucking him hard. He screamed and whimpered at the onslaught of now almost painful pleasure. "Wait no no no- Can't- Too much! Stop please I can't cum again-" "I know you can. You've done it before. Come on- Give me another one. Haven't even filled you up, yet."

He began crying even harder, tears blurring his vision as he panted and whimpered while his thoughts slipped away. Even as his mind went blank, his body still responded with his hips jerkily trying to meet your thrusts even as the twitched in overstimulation. Later he would glare at you with tears in his eyes and a pout while declaring that he would be in charge the next time he bottomed and would hold you down, instead, to take what he wanted. But for now, he could only let his hole be used as a warm, wet little cock sleeve. He choked on his drool as you bent him further so you could lean down to tongue his sensitive nipples, sucking bruises and hickeys into his chest and even right around his nipples- Going as far as to nibble on them.

It felt like hours of cumming and cumming and cumming and losing his mind as you fucked him and wrung out every drop of his spend and pleasure as you could along with the tears that still poured from his puffy eyes. It didn't help that he could feel the way you were filling him up with your own cum, having only orgasmed the second time he did. He was cumming dry when you finally slowed, kissing him gently and rubbing at his slightly distended belly that was full of your cum sloshing inside.

"Did so good for me, baby. I love you so much- Such a good boy for me." You helped him slowly come back down, helping to ground him as the high faded. You had slowly lowered his legs from your shoulders. This was why you always ended facing each other. So he could have that intimacy towards the end of seeing you and being able to kiss you. And so you could help him return to earth Penacony after you were done milking the cum and pleasure and pesky thoughts out of him.

Once he was back with you, you made sure to praise him more and kiss him all over his face before finally coming back to his lips to kiss him slow and deep. "Come on. Gotta drink water, birdie." You always made sure to help him up, let him lean against you as you began aftercare. "I love you," you would remind him at the end of it all. "I love you, too darling," he would always reply back, sealing it with a kiss.

Ah yes. Another round of: Roro writes entirely to much and with far too much detail. I made this one even longer and more detailed as well as included a bunch of writing in more story format rather than headcanon-ish form like I normally do. Because I'm back in business!!! (To write smut about hot characters I like-)

Hope you enjoyed~

-Roro, your friendly neighborhood degenerate

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 9

Rating: SFW

Warnings: ANGST

Summary: You have a date! Not with Ghost 💀

Notes: If you feel this is out of character for you personally, valid, I just like making Ghost suffer 😌

Word count: 1,513

ao3 link

You were going on a date!

It had been some time since you’d been on one, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the man who you refused to name even in your own head. You weren’t doing this out of any petty desire to prove you were desirable; no, this was personal growth! This random man from Tinder could be your future husband, after all!

Well, that was taking it a bit too far, but at the very least, he might knock some of the spiderwebs off your headboard.

Your day had been spent preparing for your date, starting with an hour-long bath in which you shaved everything from your eyebrows down, leaving your skin smooth, polished, and buttery soft. You didn’t want to think about the cost of all the moisturiser you’d used, only how nice you smelled, as though you’d been dipped into a vat of cocoa butter. Then, it was onto makeup. Thankfully, today had been a good skin day for you, so you kept it simple, a fuckton of mascara to make your eyelashes really pop, and then another half hour tweezing your eyebrows into a perfect shape. You dithered over colours, settling with a warm lip tint, which you dabbed on your cheekbones. Already, you felt that this man would not be worth all this effort, but you did enjoy the process of making yourself look absolutely breathtaking. The outfit was the last piece of the puzzle and the hardest part. How could you find clothes that said, ‘I’m down to shag, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to put any effort in’. Jeans? Mm, no, too hard to take off while looking sexy. Little dress? Eh, too cold. Midi skirt it was. Warm and practical, and easy to hike up. Plus, it had pockets! What wasn’t to love! You paired it with a nice pair of dark heels and an off-the-shoulder top. You faffed with your hair, trying to figure out if you wanted it up or down, before just sticking a little bow clip in it and calling it a day.

Naturally, now that you were preened to perfection, Soap decided it was the best time to try and rub spiky white hairs all over your outfit, as though his essence was what was missing from the ensemble. He’d been happily snoozing the entire time you were getting ready, seemingly knowing when the exact wrong time was to start trying to fuss you. You simply did your best to pet him at arms reach, then distracted him with treats while you sat on the sofa to kill time, having gotten ready far too early for your date.

You were busy trying to figure out how you were supposed to eat crisps without ruining the outfit when you heard a knock at the door. Strange, you were meeting your date at the bar. If he’d somehow found your address online, he was getting deep heat spray to the eyes. You tucked the little canister into your skirt pocket as you went to the door, peering through the peephole.

Shit.

Why did you suddenly feel awkward about going out on a date? You had nothing to be ashamed about; you were a free agent; you could go on a thousand dates if you liked. Still, you felt uneasy opening the door to him. The chain remained off as you opened the door, your arm wrapped around your waist for comfort.

“Ghost.”

For once, he wasn’t wearing the mask. He still had the ‘definitely a civilian’ clothes on, blue jeans and a black waterproof, and even the way he stood was unquestioningly military, his arms behind his back, but without the mask, he was a little more human. And gorgeous, but you didn’t want to think about that.

“You off out somewhere?”

“Yeah, actually. Got a date.”

You watched his expression carefully, a twinge of guilt in your stomach. It wasn’t like you were anything more than friends. Weird, fucked up friends where one of them broke into the other’s house and left cats. His face didn’t change. Still perfectly neutral, his eyes dead and cold, just like you remembered them. He shifted from his stiff position, bringing forth the bouquet he’d apparently been concealing behind his back.

You’d been given a lot of bouquets over the years, some from dates, some from thankful cat parents, a lot from your girls, but this was new. Usually, a man would give you basic red roses or whatever strange mix Lidl had on sale at the doors, but these weren’t cheap supermarket flowers. They were a beautiful mix of purple tulips, some so dark they looked almost black, some soft lavender, without a single limp petal or dangling leaf. A dark purple ribbon was wrapped around their stems, holding them tightly together. Fuck. He’d really gone all out.

“Wanted to give you summat as a thank you.”

“Ghost, these.. they’re really nice. You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

You took them from him, gently inhaling their scent. Christ, did tulips smell good. Did you even own a nice vase to put them in? You’d stashed all your glass ornaments in cupboards, out of Soap’s reach. Soap. Would he know not to eat tulips? They were, after all, exceptionally poisonous to cats. And Soap was a bit of an idiot. You’d just have to keep them up on the shelf in your bedroom with the rest of your treasured possessions. Not that this was a treasured possession. You just didn’t want Soap to get sick.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

There was a moment of silence, things left unsaid, but you couldn’t exactly say what was on your mind. He’d already rejected you once before, and you weren’t made of steel. Still, you felt bad.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“Why would you be sorry? They’re just flowers. Don’t read so much into it.”

Well, that put an end to any guilt on your end.

“Right. Well, thanks for the flowers, Simon.”

He gave you a brisk nod, then turned on his heel and left without another word.

If the man had planned on putting your head in a spin before your date, he’d done a marvellous job. The flowers seemed to stare down at you mockingly from their position on the shelf high above your headboard, watching you spray perfume on yourself, decorating yourself for another man. You scowled at them as though you could singe their petals; they could watch you fuck another man for all you cared; as Ghost had said, they were just flowers. They meant nothing. Nothing that had a place of importance in your room. Ugh.

They stuck with you throughout your date. The man you met at the bar wasn’t unattractive, tall, handsome, dark-haired, and his conversation was pleasant enough, but you just couldn’t feel a spark. Was that a good thing? The sparks you felt with Ghost felt more like a taser; they’d left you fearful and uneasy, but my God, those sparks were strong. Perhaps it was better that you didn’t feel that way about your date. After all, people weren’t supposed to break into your house and then make snarky comments about your home security, nor were they supposed to reject you and then make teasing comments about how you wanted them, or give you flowers and then tell you they meant nothing. This date could have been good for you, a nice, normal man, a picket fence, 2.4 children, weekend walks in the Peak District and holidays in Benidorm.

You went home alone.

You didn’t need a date. You didn’t need a Ghost. What you did need was a therapist.

Unfortunately for you, they were expensive if you went private, and if you didn’t, you’d be stuck on a waiting list for months. Besides, you didn’t really want to confess to a therapist, ‘so I have a stalker, but we’re actually friends, so please don’t report him to the police!’. As if. You could therapise yourself. You knew what you needed to do. You needed to do what most other people in this situation would do: you needed to block his number, change your locks, and forget about him.

You stared at his number in your phone. Ghost. Stupid name. If you blocked him, he’d know he’d gotten to you. Or would he assume you’d moved on? It irritated you that he took up so much room in your thoughts. It would have served him right if you threw those flowers away. You considered it, taking them down off the shelf and holding them in your hand, imagining how it would feel to burn them, trample them underfoot, or beat him to death with them. Nope. Prick or not, the flowers were too beautiful to get rid of, and it wasn’t their fault that the person gifting them was a cunt. Back on the shelf they went.

You’d keep them just because they were beautiful, and they would wilt with your emotions for him, and then you could throw everything away.

[transmascaraa]

!lyney and lynette bday special!

since it was your bf's and his sister's bday, you decided to surprise them with something...

bf!lyney x gn!reader (ft. lynette and freminet)

author's note: HAVE YOU SEEN HIS BDAY ARTTT?? BABYGIRL IS ADORABLEEEEE😭💗 anyways i hope you guys like this cuz i tried my best to do something special for his(and lynette's) bday and yeah👍

"happy birthday, magic man!"

-it was finally that day.

-the 2nd of february.

-your boyfriend's birthday, lyney, and his twin sister's, lynette.

-you and freminet, their younger brother, had been planning this surprise for weeks now, you needed it to be perfect

-they really deserve it, even more than that

-so, as for what you and freminet got lynette...

-you got her a fancy dress, some cute hair clips, and a cat plushie, that looked like her!

-you were confident that she'd like it.

-and as for lyney...

-a bouquet of flowers. roses. all kinds, all types, roses.

-lynette and freminet told you that his favorite flowers are roses but told you to blame it on the little birdie.

-you, separately, also bought him a fuzzy warm red blanket, but sprayed your perfume/cologne on it, so it reminded him of you.

-while the both of you bought him his favorite candy, to which you were sure he would love!

-and finally, you and lynette planned out a perfect date for you and him.

-this is how it went...

-"hey, lynette, so i thought about bringing him to an expensive date with me, what do you say?" you asked her while sipping your tea.

-"how expensive are we talking? $100-$200 or like you eat money for lunch?" she asked, glancing at you from behind the teacup.

-"hmm... like... we eat money for lunch." you replied, smiling innocently.

-"alright... i recommend "gâteaux de coeur". it's very expensive, and that's why there's not much people there. it'll be worth it, i think." she suggested. (help i used google translate for "heart cakes" is it correct???)

-"i'm on it!" so you were already reserving the seats...

-a bit later, you decirated your whole entire house.

-gifts everywhere.

-with the help of freminet, of course.

-the two of you set up everything, and then freminet called them to come tomorrow.

-anytime.

-and so, tomorrow came soon.

-lyney and lynette rang the doorbell, but nobody opened it.

-you and freminet hid behind the couch, with confetti ready in your hands.

-"hellooo?" lyney said as he opened the door. it was unlocked.

-"happy birthday!" you and freminet jumped out when they came in, blasting the confetti everywhere.

-"o-oh... wow... thank you..." lyney could barely speak, he was left flabbergasted by this.

-he was so caught off guard that he had no mask on anymore. pure shock.

-"woah... thank you, you two." lynette added. she's usually there with a neutral expression on her face, but she was surely surprised this time.

-so, after talking a bit and eating some cake...

-freminet and you gave them the gifts. they opened them, all 4 of you sitting on the floor in a circle.

-first, lynette opened her presents.

-"i love these... the plushie... it's cute. and the dress is nice too. and these hair clips will come in handy." she said, thanking you both.

-and then, lyney opened his.

-he saw the gifts, and just buried his head in your thighs. he was blushing hard.(most normal lyney behavior)

-"thank you..." was all he muttered, inhaling your scent from the blanket that he put close to his chest, and your scent itself...

-it was the best birthday he could ever ask for...

~~~~~

I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS

IT'S SO CUTE

HELP I LOVE LYNEY

[xiaolin-show-hoe]

....

Magic School Chack...

Magic School with Older more popular student Chase and younger genius at magical arts Jack who are in the same classes, but Jack lacks finesse and is more adept at craft involving magic rather than manipulation.

Chase always makes it look so easy and never looks Jack's way. Jack envys how gracefully refined Chase's magic is versus his own energy buzzing magic.

Chase's is like the wind, morphing and flowing freely to his will, while Jack's magic is alive, and his way to control it well is to build magic instruments. It gives his magic purpose. His always gave off a vibration like a sound wave that was tied to his emotion.

He was a genius at craft but at basic manipulation he looks like a fool in front of his idol Chase.

One day, half asleep, Jack makes a mistake and blows a WHOLE FLOOR in his dorm room. He is then moved across the door of his idol and everyone who bullies him.

It is his worst nightmare and his roommate is a frequent womanizer so Jack often spends his nights in the study room nearby. Night after night he is getting more tired of everything, from passive aggressive comments and bullying and his lack of being able to even be in his own fucking room.

It all comes to a head when Jack gets told to leave the room so his roommate can get frisky with a girl and Jack has an exam next day that he isn't ready for.

Jack gets pushed too far and the moment the other pokes him aggressively. That's when the redhead gets the door shut on him and that is when Jack grabs the door handle and feels himself tearing the whole door apart.

The magic in his fingers just somehow popping every hinge and ever lock flipped to neutral and that's when Jack bangs on the door so it falls.

The noise causing everyone to pop their head out and the resident officers to come out of their rooms in a huff. Everyone is yelling as Jack walks the halls half insane as he drags his fingers against each door and almost with the ease of breathing, undoes every door belonging to any asshole who talked bad on him.

He was grabbed before he could get the otherside of the hall.

Jack is in detention but not alone as he sees a few people in it as well include top student Chase Young.

The group just stands and leaves. Jack just watches them go and just works on things while he is in detention until the next day, Chase pulls him out the detention door alone.

He pushes Jack against a locker door and tells him to open it. Jack uses his magic and Chase waves him off after he is done.

Pissed off at the attitude despite needing his help, Jack leans against a water fountain across, not knowing his magic was working and suddenly the water sprays Chase's body.

Soaking and aghast, Chase growls at him and Jack starts to run, but laughing against his will. Chase had looked like a wet cat and now Chase made it his mission to hunt Jack in between every class. Quickly a game of fear on Jack's part and one of revenge on Chase's part.

The top student slowly making his life miserable...but why does Jack love it?

[redbean-nom]

opened my old art/comic ideas note for inspiration and wow there's so much in here

love the difference in clone armor wolffe always has perfect pristine fresh paint and has a new design every time he shows up rex constantly looks like he fell down a cliff and into a mud puddle and cody is somehow DENTED

sabine is force sensitive in the same way the force flows through all living things. yes she is force sensitive, technically, but by that definition so is her cat.

the sequels don't start on tattooine because Boba already hired all the Sad Desert Orphan 19-year-olds, so they had to get one from jakku instead

vader, hearing abt Project Necromancer: my lord, was there not an ancient Sith lord who could project himself into different host bodies to stay functionaly immortal without the additional expense of cloning? and on top of that you could pick a better body - something less frail, maybe a bit taller, ooh, or something with fangs- sidious: i am revoking your library card

boba: good hunt shoulder punch din: ! din: (dramatically) Oh No. You Have Defeated Me din lies down slowly beat din arm sticking up darksaber

ezra: baby yoda! revan: tiny vandar

eye of sion running over revan

what if thrawn's giant hyperspace ring accidentally discovered where revan wandered off to in wild space. by running them over

the most awkward elevator ride in the history of the galaxy maul: ahsoka: maul: i told you so

the malachor elevator

ezra @ kanan: please let me use the dark side just a little kanan: no ezra: maul can do it! kanan: and look what happened :/ at the same time… vader: please let me eat planets just a little palpatine: no vader: nihilus did it! palps: and look what happened :/

inspired by that post about vader wanting to eat planets nihilus style instead of dealing with the death star

love how master tholme single handedly prevented yet another tcw-era ensithification by following quinlan around for half the war and spray-bottling him when he gets too evil

that comic where tholme and t'ra and the little blind soup master (forgot his name) keep popping up on quinlan's "solo" mission to help him

fox <- Professional Interior Designer TM neyo & ponds <- Hoarder of Obnoxious Trinkets

from projie's soft wars au

so Rex was fully intending to die fistfighting an AT-AT huh wolffe also cannot lie headcanon that kallus knows wolffe's name because he had a wolffe action figure as a kid

rewatched that episode of rebels

relics of the old republic (but like. the actual old republic)

so totj shows how ahsoka was trained specifically to evade clones but. in the process the 501st also trained specifically to kill jedi no wonder their o66 (even before rex got dechipped) battle was so drawn out compared to everyone else. they both accidentally trained to fight each other

last battle - kanan's job in the battle is basically warding off stray panic attacks lol the empire thought there was a rebel base or something on agamar and nope! just the clone wars here. wow his visor and chestplate survived the entire war if the agamar uh. live fire reenactment? counts as the formal end of the clone wars does that make rex the only clone who fought the entirety of the clone wars lol. first battle of geonosis to last battle of agamar

that other rebels episode

interesting how a decent chunk of the surviving jedi are the species with physical battle advantages. there's of course all the super force powered humans, but also like. gungi (wookiee). k'kruhk (whipid). oppo rancisis (thisspian). the other significant chunk of jedi tend to be the borderline-sithy ones like quinlan or even ezra later on. the jedi purge ended up selecting specifically for jedi who were either a) chronically dark side inclined b) in possession of claws and fangs and perfectly happy to use them c) incredibly strong in the force (grogu is all three)

also i redesigned t'ra a bit because Trees Do Not Have Breasts

this is the Purple Jedi Order they're not quite light or dark. not in a neutral (no light, no dark, bendu) way, but in a chaotic (all the light, all the dark) way

an unreleased au, featuring quinlan, tholme, t'ra, mace windu, korto, and gungi rebuilding the order on kashyyk

au where fox kills palpatine just because the damage control for "chancellor's dead" is easier than the damage control for "chancellor insisted on bringing the zillo to the senate dome and got half the city destroyed and now he wants to do it again"

funny how kalani is like. the separatist version of rex he's a tactical droid who chose his own name (one of the very few droids known to do so) who displays exceptional independent thought who managed to ignore the shutdown and manage essentially the Droid Rebellion well into the rebels era

rogue two

(where hera, ahsoka, and the old rebel pilot ran off to deal with thrawn)

what if ezra went dark side on peridea

given that hes like 28 in the ahsoka show and was a street orphan from 7-14 and stuck in peridea from 18-28 he has been entirely alone for 17 out of 28 years ;-;

what if. domino!Rex THE CHAOS imagine poor cody showing up to check on rishi outpost and just. shiny rex echo fives and hevy running around screaming after having lured the eel into the base to eat the droids (also would that make jesse the 501st captain?)

-> domino rex riding (read: trying not to fall off of) the rishi eel while captain jesse facepalms about it AAAAAAAAA through background

"we're gonna be arcs!!!" ft rex hevy echo fives jesse: whyyyy

it seems like the only thing holding canon-rex back from being equally crazy as echo and fives isthat he has Responsibility

oof between rex hevy and echo that's a lot of competition over squad leadership (many more fistfights are had)

okay imagine if rex just never told his batchmates the details from saleucami ezra pointing: what's that scar from?? sabine facepalm: ezra you can't just ask people that rex: oh yeah i got sniped by a commando droid during the war. its fine though wolffe: REX YOU WHAT

au in which maul's sith order went as planned feat: maul, savage, feral, ezra while everyone else was 100% on board ezra stumbled his way in here somehow it's just the Opress Brothers and a random blue orphan child

i doubt mace windu is alive solely because there's no way he could possibly witness luke and ahsoka fumbling around for 20 years and not shoo everyone out and just do it himself.

omega zillo + boba rancor + bo katan mythosaur + grogu& sabines cat

everybody gets a Large Beast to ride

"i never betrayed my jedi!" in rebels: rex- ahsoka was a "civilian consultant" and anakin was a sith wolffe- wasn't even there gregor- has no jedi uh. good job you three?

funny how crosshair is so punchable. the first time rex worked w tbb he punched cross in the face. on the ice moon with the rest of the bad batch hunter would have hit him if not for echo being the mature one. at the clone rebel base howzer almost got in a fistfight with him.

wonder if they sent wolffe on that mission in extraction bc the (grey version) wolfpack is search and rescue

idea: a tcw spinoff that revisits old arcs, but from the perspective of a different set of clones/jedi. imagine saleucami or christophsis from cody and obi wans perspective instead of anakin and rex. imagine the zillo beast from fox's perspective!!

the empire canonically never changed the passwords/codes. which rex and cody wrote. who are very famously the two most prominent imperial deserters. which means either of them can literally walk into the empire. no wonder rex managed to set up a clone rebellion on coruscant like three months after o66.

99 - originally a sniper, accidental enhancements in eyesight/aim- proto crosshair. aging mutation triggered at age ~10/20 led to extreme acceleration (10x standard, 16/80 during battle of kamino). had stroke at age 12/40, was reconditioned and sent to maintenance. kaminoans see aging acceleration as defect (but use in experimental clones barely outweighs) Kamino Years CF99 99 - age 10/20, tbb - age 3/6

unreleased 99 sort-of-au

anyways now that ragnar is the sole clan viszla heir they just need to keep him from getting eaten by dinosaurs again.

[zooophagous]

How did you introduce your cats? Don't they need time before meeting face to face? Asking bc I've been considering getting another cat soon, and I've heard you gotta give em time

Oh yes, never ever just throw them together and expect them to work it out.

I started with the kitten in my spare room, where she could smell the other cats under the door but nobody could see or touch each other.

After a couple days I graduated to feeding her in the dog crate so they could see and smell but not touch, and did some scent swapping with blankets and towels.

I also used catnip spray to take the edge off and return the mix of smells to a more neutral state on the cat furniture (and my cats love catnip so it helped them forget they were mad)

After about 5 days I let her roam the house for a little bit but still put her up when I left for work.

My cats are pretty accommodating so by the end of the 5th day they were tolerating her nicely.

They're still unsure of her, but they prefer to avoid her rather than fight, and they get closer to her every day, so soon they'll be sharing furniture just fine.

If a cat has an intense reaction or if a physical fight was imminent, I'd take a step back in the process and do the intro more slowly.

It can take weeks or even months for the behavior of the resident cat to level back out as the new cat becomes accepted. They will establish a new normal, and there will likely be a bit of grumbling during that time. Treats help.

Rotisserie chicken is a house favorite. The animals only get it when they can sit nicely next to each other and not fuss, so its a good "get along" exercise.

[doodle-do-wop]

Stina and Keefe HC inspired by this post!

Buckle in this is gonna be a long one

Stina can't fucking stand his ass

Someone save her he's so annoying

Why in the name of the prime sources does Sophie even like this boy he's so obnoxious

He's not even that funny literally why is she laughing at all his dumb jokes

She's in the trenches

This is her personal Exile

Stina can't fucking draw

Like at all

She can't draw

She can draw a horse! A really good horse!

But nothing else it's indistinguishable unless it's a horse

They're literally the same person in a different font

They're both empaths with self esteem issues, the hair(tm), down bad beyond down bad, extremely corny, actually touch starved as all hell, would crack a hole through the earth to reach their partner, self sacrificial morons, unnecessary sarcastic while bleeding out, sassy, detention occupants so frequently in detention once they both attended when they didn't even have detention

They're two cats in a burlap sack(Keefe's the orange one, Stina is the grumpy black cat that will actually kill him if left alone in a room with him)

The simping, did I mention the simping?

Keefe and Stina DONT get along (mostly just Stina) for bloody ages and Sophie and Dex (yes this is also a CopperMares post) wish for them to just grow up and be able to tolerate each other for more than five minutes (Stina lasted SEVEN minutes thank you very much) and the cousins immediately regretted that wish because they forgot how annoying their partners can be

The empath duo will do anything and everything in their power to flirt with/look hot in front of/tease/taint/smirk/smile/wink etc etc etc at their respective partners and it drives them crazy

Sophie and Dex have not know peace (to be fair look at who they're dating, it's a conscious choice)

Keefe might technically be older but despite his white boy attitude and his looks you'd think Stina was his older sister the way she will fully strangle him within an inch of his life and then yank him out of his shoes to buy him lunch

Empaths by genetics, siblings by torture

She still can't stand his ass but at this point that's just Stina's weird way of saying she cares for you (just look at Marella, Stina literally tackles the shit out of her despite Marella being about as tall as your average stepping stool but Stina would still lay down her life for her)

They hang out in the silliest way possible and it's trashing Cassius' house and getting ice cream (not always in that order)

Once they found one of Gisela's wallet cubes and they went to town buying supplies, food, clothes, random furniture (some of which may or may not have been shipped to the neutral territories, what are you a narc?), got their usual ice cream (Stina makes a face at Keefe's order but he swears when there's just the melted stuff at the bottom of the cup it's flavors mix really well) then they leap off to Candleshade and use some of their supplies to trash the house (again)

Cassius' big ass statue of himself has never seen a good day since the two have gotten along

They haven't hit all the floors yet but they will some day

It's a shame the Sencen's suck because they have pretty great taste in furniture and silverware

Sometimes they spray paint a big ass target and have a contest to see who can throw at Cassius statue on the bullseye and get it to stay on the wall (Ro is winning by a lot but Stina's telekinesis is getting really great)

Not an AU goes by where Stina hasn't somehow been stuck with Keefe and at this point I don't think there is

Keefe pretends like he can translate Stina's Stinaness the way Maruca can (ex. Stina telling Maruca she hates her and hopes she falls on her face and Maruca responding with "I love you too Stina") and he's almost never right

Stina 'commit to the bit' Heks has fruitlessly vetoed every Keefe Idea that's ever been brought to the table but guess who's the first person to jump on the bandwagon the second the plan falls into action

Sophie and Dex swap scoldings with each other before they go yell at their idiots for whatever big stupid thing of the month they've done now because otherwise the said idiots might be able to flirt their way out of most of the scolding part

Top 5 people who would sing Agony the way it was meant to be sang, dramatically, competitively, and over a waterfall on the forest with very dramatic very swoonable action

Keefe is princess coded while Stina is reluctant but roguishly handsome prince coded you cannot change my mind

Both would be Flynn Rider though (Keefe can also be Rapunzel though, Stina on the other hand could not)

There's probably so much more I'm forgetting but this is long enough for now

Anyway thanks for reading this all if you have and have a good one

@myfairkatiecat

[simplysedusa]

How I imagine the Powerpuff Girls would dress

(credit to Pinterest for all the pictures)

Blossom Utonium

Blossom would be the kind of young lady who would have outfits for almost any occasion and sort them as such in her side of the closet and in her dressers (aside from maybe clubbing/partying). Clothes for interviews/press conferences tend to be a bit on the preppier side and a bit more modest (collared blouses with a monotone/neutral jumper, turtle necks, longer skirts, hair tied back with a pretty red or pink ribbon, ballet flats). Clothes she wears for casual wear would be a bit more colorful and fun (color striped skirt that may stop above the knee, jean jackets, high waisted jeans and shorts, more colorful sweaters, sneakers, doc martens, and knee/thigh/shin high boots). Longer skirts are ideal because they're easier to slip into in case of an emergency and she doesn't have to worry about being indecent while she's kicking ass and taking names. For my Pinterest board and this collage, I took inspiration from characters such as Betty Cooper from Riverdale, Nancy Wheeler from Stranger Things, Abbi Singh from The Imperfects, and Lara Jean from To All The Boys I Loved Before with a dash of real life fashion icon Audrey Hepburn, who I could see being a huge role model for Blossom. Her clothes would be more toward the pale, subdued, pastel side in terms of coloring. She'd love floral prints ironically because of her name, but also unironically because she thinks they're pretty. If she does wear designs other than floral, they're simple stripes, or polka dots, or plaid. Favorite colors to wear other than pink would be red, orange, gray, black, white, and like a creamy off-white. I also weirdly low-key headcanon Blossom being the sister to accidentally steal her sisters' clothes because she's in a rush to get ready and grabs the first thing that looks like hers and tries to gaslight them into thinking they're hers once she realizes the mistake ("It's pink, Bubbles, of course it's mine", "Why would I wear your stupid collared shirts, Buttercup?").

Bubbles Utonium

Bubbles is a girl who LOVES clothes and fashion (she is the artsy one after all). Her style is fun, cute, youthful, flirty, childlike (affectionate), usually vibrant and eyesore causing catching. She'd definitely buy and wear something that's baby pink, baby blue, AND lime green all at the same time because it reminds her of the bond between her and her sisters or something. She loves oversized cardigans and jackets, especially if they're fuzzy, furry, and/or soft (but NO REAL FUR). One of Bubbles' favorite outerwear is a baby blue winter coat with hearts on the back that reminds her of the Powerpuff Signal that Townsville occasionally uses. She loves to make STATEMENTS with her outfits, causing quite a few of her peers/classmates/coworkers to (make fun of her behind her back) think she's immature and childish. The designs on her clothes are almost always over the top and never subtle (rainbow polka dotted crop top, dresses covered with faces of cats or butterflies, etc.). If Bubbles is under the weather or down in the dumps, her clothes are much more plain OR she goes out of her way to wear something with those corny "it'll get better" empowerment sayings on it. She also isn't above wearing any of the clothing merch since she knows it's going to a good cause. Bubbles loves all colors of the rainbow so long as they're bright; Blossom and Buttercup joke that she might have more pink and green clothes than they do. She has no qualms wearing outfits that remind her of her favorite video games, cartoons, or movies. Luckily for her, Professor Utonium invented a spray that keeps blood and other monster bodily fluids off of the clothes so they don't stain, that way Bubbles' clothes can stay pretty and clean, just how she likes it. Just like her clothes, Bubbles also has a variety of shoes from Mary Jane shoes similar to the ones she used to wear as a little girl, to sneakers, to sandals, to heels she managed to get at a discount, and anything in-between (she definitely wears those furry monster feet slippers out in public too if she felt it complimented her outfit). Her favorite pair are all white converses because "they go with everything". She'd also add matching little clips or flowers in her pigtails, space buns, or whatever other style Bubbles chooses to wear her hair.

Buttercup Utonium

Buttercup's style is either sporty, athletic, and a bit preppy (she loves most of the athletic sport brands such as Nikes or Adidas) or 90's grunge casual. She low-key shows the most skin between her and her sisters with all of the crop tops, ripped jeans (with fishnet stockings underneath) and shorts, and other mesh and transparent tops she has (a girl's gotta show off her toned muscle somehow, she's too proud of it). If she isn't getting dress-coded for that, she's getting dress-coded for the sayings on her shirt that might read "fuck off", "what you can do, I can do bleeding", "free the nipple", or other rather crass remarks that the school might deem "offensive". Buttercup might occasionally dawn a skirt (preferably a not too short jean or even leather one) or dress (usually a T-shirt dress, maxi, or boho, anything fancier than that she lets Blossom and Bubbles pick one out for her) if she felt like it, but only if she's 100% sure she'll look hot in it and she's comfortable. Oversized plaid, collared shirts over grunge, rock band shirts and shorts (with a beanie if it's cold enough) are her bread and butter go-to. Other articles of clothing like leather jackets, tube tops, or her designer variety letterman jackets are saved for her nights out on the town, living up to her fulfilled prophecy from Boogie Frights. Color wise, Buttercup tends to stick to earthier, darker tones than her sisters, but she does own quite a few vibrant colored clothing items such as lime green, orange, purple, and even yellow (even though I didn't feature those, sssh lmao). Buttercup was really into camo when she was younger, but after realizing most of her outfits consisted of "black and/or khaki with camo", she realized she needed to step her game up, so she tries not to wear it as much anymore. Buttercup is also the most obsessed with shoes out of all the Powerpuff Girls. She's a HUGE sneakerhead and she's not modest about it (nothing pisses her off more than stepping on chewed gum, she too is thankful for Professor's new invention). Buttercup's also the only sister who really loves jewelry and accessories, especially chains.

[anabdaniels]

Flufftober 2023 with Agent Whiskey- Day 15- Massaging

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Gender Neutral Reader

Word counting: 410

Rating: General audiences

Warning: Mentions of Jack being a caring old brother (too adorable to not be warned)

Part 2: Flufftober Day 24.

Your backache would end up killing you someday.

Or at least, that was the thought running through your mind on that afternoon. When you fell asleep the night before, your lower back was better than ever, and when you woke up the next morning, you simply couldn't walk without looking like a goose or whining every single time you had to sit down. As always, painkillers weren't enough to leave you pain-free, but at least they could make you less miserable.

Seeing your deplorable state, of course, Jack volunteered to be your private nurse, carrying everything you needed or wanted to the bedroom, providing you with heating pads, and, not less important, putting his hands to work on your favor, massaging your sore back.

Comprehensive as only Jack Daniels could be, he patiently followed your coordinates until his hands were in the right place of your lower back, then started to massage the region the softest possible to relax your muscles without causing you any additional pain.

"I'm afraid to know the answer, but how the hell did you learn how to do this so well?" You asked with your eyes closed, relaxed with his warm touch.

"My little sister, of course." Jack answered with a soft smile, still paying attention to what he was doing "Julia was a baby that suffered with a lot of tummy aches. Thanks to my spoiling services, she would rather come with me than stay with Mom and Dad when she was sick, so I've spent a lot of nights massaging her sore stomach." You smiled while listening to him, always enchanted with how protective he was towards his sister.

"Remind me of thank Julia for that, 'cause you're working better than pain relief spray for my backache." You said in a low voice, for the first time on that day not feeling about to cry due to your lower back pain.

"Of course I am, besides the talent, I have charm. There's no way you'll not feel better." You laughed and opened your eyes to look at him.

"Why can't you just stay silent sometimes?"

"I'm being more dedicated than a cat making biscuits here and that's how you thank me?" He raised one eyebrow, trying to remain serious.

"Fine, fine. If you still massaging my back, you can make a monologue if you want to." You closed your eyes again, smiling openly.

"Good thing you said that, 'cause I was precisely planning one."

Flufftober masterlist

[cherokeegal1975]

The Complete Al's Baby

I discovered this comic in one of my deeply bored out of my mind internet searches because sometimes I go to weird places just to find something entertaining. Rarely does searches pan out with something even vaguely interesting but on rarest of rare occasions something odd pops up that catches my attention. This comic is one of them. I have never let anyone know I have this comic on my bookshelf and it remains hidden between some nonfiction tutorial books on drawing and crafting. I did have it hidden in a cabinet but one of the cats sprayed it and the pee went inside it and damaged my book a little bit. I had to peel apart several pages very carefully because of it. So it hides higher up. Fortunately no one bothers my books… though I sometimes wish they would because I want to share most of them.

Anyway this supposed to be comedy that doesn’t make me laugh is by the same authors who wrote Judge Dredd. A character I’m only familiar with through the movies that I never got to watch so have no opinion on them.

I don’t usually like gangster stories, but I took exception to this one because I was very bored and curious enough to try it. Keeping in mind that I think that the majority of mpregs are awful and this one isn’t too bad. So my compliment really means something. P.S. - Check out Noonibean here on DeviantART for her work and writing. I like her story though I haven’t gotten around to reading more than the first chapter and I don’t know why I haven’t. But I keep her writing in mind so I’ll eventually come back to it.

Anyway when I read this comic I can “hear “ the voices of the characters. Low, gruff any gravely for Al. High and nasal for Sal. Wheezy for their boss.

Al’s wife is a horrible singer and the one scene I really dislike in the book is the panels featuring a cat committing suicide with a gun because Velma was singing on stage. I am fond of cats and never want one to come to harm for any reason.

Now the plot is basically Al wants to be Godfather and will do anything to get the job. The current Godfather who is in poor health wands a grandson to secure the line and will grant Al’s wish to take over his mob if he has one. Velma refuses to be the one to have the baby and suggests the Al have it instead. Velma is even more ferocious than her mobster husband and since the Godfather threatens to end Al’s life if he doesn’t produce an heir, he has no choice but to undergo a procedure that will enable him to carry his baby to term. This isn’t the end of the story, there’s two more parts to it. But I’ll leave it here.

Normally I wouldn’t recommend a book like this but, I am doing it now. It’s surprisingly a good story. The artwork is great if a bit gory at times. I’m never going to be happy about the poor cat, even though I am aware that those panels are symbolically demonstrating just how awful Velma is on stage with her singing. This book is supposed to be a comedy, but it never made me laugh. But to be fair, it takes a lot for something to strike me as funny in a story. It’s a weird adventure with mob wars, one fearsome guy with ambitions enough to do anything to get what he wants. Literally anything, even having a baby himself…twice. So, check it out see what you think, buy it and hide it in your bookshelf too. Because unfortunately it doesn’t come in anything other than a large paperback book. A nice one, but I do wish it came in Kindle too. Or at least find a neutral dust jacket to cover up the cover art. It certainly gets attention, but if the people in my household ever find out I have this book, I can get a lot of grief about it.

[vonderbarr]

It's been awhile since I've done a cat update! In December we adopted a kitten. He was found outside of a haunted castle (or a building that is referred to as a castle), so we named him Edgar. He is definitely more of an Eddie.

He has a little Clark Gable mustache and his nose is a heart 🖤

He is very sweet and cute.

Oscar just turned 10 and hates him.

Eddie is, of course, obsessed with Oscar. We did all the things you're supposed to do when introducing cats, but Oscar is a big ball of anxiety that hates change so it's been difficult.

There are brief moments of peaceful co-existing.

But Oscar started spraying for the first time in his life and has been prescribed anxiety meds that I can't make him take on a regular basis. I've tried literally everything. I can manage to put a calm cat probiotic on his dry food and that helps some. I've also bought a motion capture camera to make sure he's using the litter box on a regular basis. We have two, but Oscar prefers one and Eddie prefers what Oscar prefers so I double clean that one. I've gotten really good at neutralizing cat pee.

It's been stressful, but we're going to make it work. We started letting Eddie out at night instead of sequestering him and it went all right, but Oscar's starting to get squirrely so we're putting that on pause.

Sometimes they play/fight and it's difficult to tell which. The vet said that Oscar might not know either. Oscar makes noise, but he's a talker and I've never heard Eddie hiss. I watch for ears going back and hissing/growling. If I see that I separate them, but most of the time it seems like playing.

We have feliway, we have catnip and toys and silvervine and meds and we're doing all the things. Oscar is just a really anxious cat and I didn't realize how anxious until we brought Eddie home.

We're working on it.