Old Married Spirk is literally the most clean, pure and beautiful thing that ever existed. Spock and Jim are all old and happy and lazy and live peacefully in their flat in rainy San Fransisco where they drink tea and read books in bed and play chess together and snuggle like mourning doves and whisper sweet good mornings and good nights and go out to Italian restaurants and operas every week it’s just so perfect I love OMS they love and need each other so much and retirement is so wonderful for them because they’re finally settled down and can each simply enjoy life together with their soulmate wow I love OMS oh my god
Sitting in your old dressing gown, isn’t going to make your future any brighter, but it will give you peace for a moment. Watching your favourite crappy TV show may just be the rest you need after the hard days work, find the balance between working and simply enjoying life for what it is. You and I both know dreams don’t come easy, but that does not mean you should not be happy whilst you are searching.
Yo honestly,a lot of grown men hate on Odell Beckham. Like if you go on any post about him on social media,80% percent of the comments from men are them callin OBJ gay,making homophobic jokes,stupid shit like that. Simply because the Nigga enjoys life,dances,can be a lil emotional,and is popular among women. Now idk if the OBJ is gay nor do I care,that’s his sexuality and it should be respected. It just always intrigued me how these grown men can be so focused on tryna police Another man’s masculinity. Like,don’t they realize their need to gossip on whether Bruh is straight or not is way more “feminine” then anything He does? Cmon my Nigga,stop hating and go do some “MAN SHIT” build a house,chop down a tree,use “For Men” lotion or some shit.
Back in 1925, Kentucky Utilities set out to build a damn by flooding the Dix River, a tributary of the Kentucky River. The resulting dam would be known as Dix Dam and the soon to be created lake would forever be known as Lake Herrington. At the time, the dam was regarded as an major engineering accomplishment as it was the largest earth filled dam at the time. Upon completion of the dam, Lake Herrington filled up and took on a maximum depth of 249ft (making it the deepest lake in Kentucky) and covered 2,335 acres (nearly 4 miles).
Like every large man made Lake in North America, Lake Herrington is known as an excellent spot for fishing. The lake contains a high number of different species of fish including catfish, hybrid striped bass, crappie, and bluegill. But there is said to be one aquatic creature in the lake many fishermen hope to never encounter face to face, a creature known as the Eel-Pig.
Almost immediately after the creation of the lake, people from the surrounding area claimed to see the Eel-Pig swimming within. The creature is most often described as being roughly 15ft long with a body like that of an eel and a skin tone/pattern reminiscent of a speckled fish. It is said to be as fast as a boat at times, and also possess a stubby pig-like snout and a somewhat curly tail which are both seen poking out above the water when the creature is in the area.
While many people have claimed to see the Eel-Pig since the 1920’s, the creatures existence wasn’t thought of as possible until a sighting was made in 1972 by a University of Kentucky professor. Lawrence S. Thompson, who owned a lake home on Herrington, stated that he had seen the Eel-Pig swimming around the area on multiple occasions and that after his many sightings, the species of the creature remained unknown. Upon hearing the news that a university professor had witnessed a monster in the lake, the newspaper The Louisville Courier made quick work of setting up an interview. Asking the professor if he truly believed that what he had seen was a real monster, Thompson responded by saying, “it’s only a monster in the sense that one would call an alligator a monster if they had never seen one before.”
While sightings of the Eel-Pig are said to continue, there have been no sightings as prominent as Professor Thompson’s in 1972. This means that for over 92yrs, nobody has figured out what the monster is or was. There are however many theories as to what the Eel-Pig could be. These range from the always outrageous to the possibly believable. Some people claim that during the flooding of the Dix River, Kentucky Utilities inadvertently opened up passage to a series of underground limestone caves in which this species of Eel-Pig already existed. Others think that the monster is actually a prehistoric relic that originally lived in the Mississippi River but made its way down the Kentucky River while following a food source. The monster then became trapped in Lake Herrington after Dix Dam was built. Both interesting and entertaining theories, but realistically improbable.
Other more grounded theories include possibly misidentified alligator gar or other fish species, a real pig that was seen swimming in the lake and misidentified as a monster, a simple prank that took on a life of its own, or an out of place alligator. While it is easy to laugh off at first, it should be noted that out of place alligators often turn up in unlikely places across multiple states. It is really not that hard to believe that an alligator made its way up the Mississippi River and eventually down the Kentucky River into Lake Herrington. Ample food sources with no natural competition in an area can lead animals down many strange paths that they might not originally go.
While the Eel-Pig may seem like nothing but a local legend or funny story to some, others feel it is a legit living creature that has just not been identified yet. Like most other lake and river monsters, this one also draws a line between believers and non-believers. Whatever it is though, it doesn’t seem to be bothering anybody and simply enjoys living its life unbothered in the cold dark water of Lake Herrington.
I've been smoking for about 2 years consistently now, and I'm finding myself accruing a massive tolerance - I get barely high (more so just a headache) from a good amount of weed. Did you get a tolerance? If not, what is your secret??? lol
I smoke occasionally (maybe once or twice a month if I’m chilling) or during an experience. I won’t ever smoke consistently simply because I enjoy experiencing life with a clear mind and I prefer to be in control in general and I enjoy missing marijuana. The high is better when you smoke it occasionally, plus the more time I spend around certain people, the more I respect the spiritual association with marijuana. I’ve found alternative ways to relax such as meditation, which takes you to a different place spiritually anyway, so I don’t need to depend on weed to take me to a place of peace. So my advice would be to cut down and if you aren’t already, start smoking sess / no tobacco.
Eric David Harris. Where to start? I wish I wouldn’t know you, I really do. I wish you would graduate, go to college or Marines (it was possible after taking off the medication you were on and waiting for a few months). I wish you would find your love, have kids together and live with your family in a cute house surrounded by forest where you and your kids would just play hide ‘n seek or perform being in a war (as you used to with your old friends when you were a little boy). It’s possible that life of 36 years old man like you would look like this. I wish you would simply enjoy your life. I wish you would. I wish you could.
A lot of people may not understand why to wish nice birthday to a cold blooded killer who took the ability to celebrate birthdays from 13 others. A lot of people may not understand that before this horrifying act you were HUMAN, like us. A lot of people may not understand why did you do what you did. But some of us do. I do.
I wish I wouldn’t have to write this. I really wish I wouldn’t know you. The fact that I wouldn’t know about your existence (which would be a pity since you’re the person with whom I have a lot in common) but you would be alive, simply enjoying your life would hurt less than the fact that you aren’t here anymore, never won’t be again and so 14 others.
But these are only wishes. Unfortunately not accomplished.
Eric. I didn’t even know you and I miss you.
I don’t know how many nice birthdays you were capable of having but I hope you are enjoying your day somewhere with Dylan and Sparky, knowing that here, even on this filthy planet are few people who understand.
I know that you dreamed of having the ability to discover the deepest places of oceans, that was your vision of afterlife. I hope your dream did come true.
The rhythmic sound of the milking machine had the almost hypnotic effect on her that it always had. The accompanying pull and release on her nipples that accompanied the sound was, as always, a constant physical reminder of her usage.
Of course, everything about her situation served to remind her of her purpose. Whether it be the constant bondage, the torture of her body, or the way her Master used her for his pleasure whenever the mood struck him.
But the milking, that was when she was truly reminded of just how much of an object she had become.
It overwhelmed all her senses, became the center of her universe, and, surprisingly, allowed her mind to drift and wander.
She had learned from her Master, the man that had owned her the last two years, that most “dairy farmers” used mind altering drugs, of various types to put their “livestock” into an altered mental state that made them easier to handle.
The drugs were designed to, essentially, cloud a woman’s mind, making her more susceptible to suggestion and, more importantly, make her more accepting of her situation.
Her Master, however, believed that this state of drug-induced acceptance reduced the woman’s production of milk, both quality and quantity and so chose not to use any of them.
Instead, he relied solely on physical training, unyielding bondage, and psychological dominance to achieve the same results.
She knew, from her own experiences, that it was an effective alternative to the drugs. Although it had an extra benefit, according to her Master, it left the woman, completely aware what was happening to her. He liked that his cows didn’t have a drug induced stupor to escape into, and instead were forced the experience everything that they were subjected to with no shield. Leaving them all completely broken and submissive to the will of their cruel Master with no ability or inkling to offer any resistance or even consider trying to escape.
Even if all her shackles and bindings were removed at this very moment, and she was shown a clear path to escape, with a virtual 100% chance of success, she would still not be able to muster the mental resistance needed to take advantage of it.
She had been a slave now for 20 years, but her current Master, was more brutal and effective, as a psychological manipulator and slave trainer, then all the former men she’d been trained and tortured by, combined.
While she’d been tortured, abused, and dominated to the point that she had long learned, that this was her life, and she was never going to escape it, it wasn’t until this man got his hands on her that she truly understood what it meant to be a slave.
All the other men had simply dominated her with their power to rape, beat, and enjoy her, but it was a power they exercised through bondage that rendered her helpless to resist.
Here, on the farm, she’d learned that there were far more powerful forms of domination.
Here, she’d been broken. Completely, utterly, irrevocably broken.
Her current master had taught her, through repeated, and judicious use of the whip, the crop, the cane, and a myriad of other implements of torture, including various electrical devices that had never existed in her darkest night terrors, even after over 15 years of slavery, that she was an object who’s only purpose was perfect obedience and perfect submission, and that anything less than absolute perfection was brutally punished.
If he told her that she was expected to cover a distance of exactly 6 feet, and four steps, while bound, where in ballet boots and a helmet, then that is what he expected.
Anything less than exactly 6 feet led to come at the very least, a vicious caning of her ass, thighs, and calves.
If he was especially displeased, he would use special boots, that had tacks in the soles, and make her do it again, and again, and again, until she was perfect and ready to collapse from exhaustion and pain.
Then he would do it all again the next day.
Every aspect of her existence was like that.
Perfection, obedience, subservience, and submission were the only currency available to prevent some level of suffering.
Nothing could prevent it completely, as she had heard him comment often, suffering, was a slave’s lot in life.
But she had learned, the perfect obedience did help too, usually, keep this to a minimum. After all, damaged cows didn’t produce as well as healthy ones.
It also had the added effect, as mentioned before, of making it impossible for her to even contemplate any form of resistance, let alone escape.
To this day, years after she had learned all this, her mind is still refused to consider, and her body shuddered in uncontrollable terror, at just the mere idea of the savagery she would endure, if she ever tried to escape.
As her mind continued to wander, she was reminded, after all, it is another torture, reminding her of her, “anniversary”, was coming up, she thought about how this all began.
Time had been difficult to track, but she knew at the time she’d been in her early 30’s and had been living in Portland, at the time.
At this time her name, had been Nikki. That of course was one of the first things she’d lost.
She was 6’2”, beautiful, full size 40 breasts, fit and trim, with long, luscious black hair that she took great pride in.
She was a picture that anyone would surely call upon if they wanted to imagine a powerful Amazon warrior.
She took pride in her height, and her body, and enjoy the fact that both men and women looked at her with envy. She had her pick of bedmates and was never without someone to entertain her.
She’d, at one point, been approached to act as a Mistress, but that hadn’t interested her. She was simply enjoying her life and wasn’t looking for anything to complicate it.
Unfortunately for her, it was her physical attributes that first brought her to the attention of the slavers in the area. After they had learned a bit more about her, they decided her attitude was perfect for a future sex-slave. A woman that desperately needed to learn her place.
It was her physical attributes that had attracted their attention, it was her personality that was to be her undoing.
The idea of, “sex slavery” was, to her, something from the movies. A plot to a bad ‘B’ rate movie perhaps, or something one might see in a movie of the week on Lifetime.
It most certainly wasn’t something to be concerned about in modern day America.
Because she could not contemplate the existence of the danger, she certainly wasn’t doing anything to protect herself from it.
She had no idea that she had indeed caught the attention of such a group, nor did she notice when they spent the next several weeks with her under surveillance learning anything and everything about her life. Every aspect was learned, cataloged, and assessed to decide if she was a candidate. If she had too many attachments or too many people that would look for her, they’d have to forgo acquisition.
They’d lost many a prime candidate because of things like that. This time, however, there were no such worries. The green light was given.
Then one night, while she was shopping, not paying attention to the dangers and predators in the shadows around her. She suddenly felt a sharp, painful prick in her ass cheek, she reached back instinctively.
Her hand came back with, what looked like a dart.
She had just enough time to wonder what this could mean, what the hell was going on before the fast acting drugs took effect and her vision quickly tunneled to black.
When she finally regained consciousness, it was in a decidedly different situation than she had been in. She couldn’t see at all, she could barely hear, and, apart from the bindings that were holding her in place, she knew she was naked.
She screamed, struggled, and squirmed for what felt like hours. Tears fell in really from her face, only to be absorbed by the horrible helmet that they had wrapped her head in. Her nipples were in agony as something was pinching them, tightly, and making every move that much more painful.
Finally, she felt hands upon her. That fact, however, did not bring the comfort, as the hands did not try to release her. In fact, the hands lingered and took their time as they stroked, caressed, pinched, twisted, and even slapped various parts of her body.
As she struggled against all of this, more hands joined in. Her breasts were grabbed tightly and bounced and jiggled as if someone were weighing them in her hands. Her nipples were pinched and twisted, and it seemed that they were testing her responsiveness to the pain.
Hands delved into her cunt, and fingers penetrated her without mercy, remorse, or permission. Her clit was grabbed and held tightly, and even her asshole with penetrated.
All this was happening as she struggled to resist, and begged for mercy.
Finally, as the hands slowly fell away, she felt something and part of the helmet was removed.
When it was, her eyes snapped shut at the sudden brightness of the light.
She saw figures in the brightness, shadows in the shape of men, but she couldn’t see their faces. She had no idea the numbers, but she estimated at least a half a dozen.
Soon after, the rest of the helmet was removed and she could open her mouth to speak.
Before she could, howeverr, her nipple was suddenly grabbed tightly and as she tried to pull away, but the pressure was increased and then began to pull, forcing her to move forward, or hurt herself more, rather than away as she wanted.
“A slave does not try to pull away from its master,” a voice said coldly.
“Slave? What do you…”, She didn’t get to finish her question before she was viciously slapped across the face.
“The slave will remain silent, or will be punished”
she didn’t take the hint, her mind too shocked by being hit to register the words that had been spoken and again she tried to speak, “I don’t understand, I’m not a slave.”
She again was cut off, only this time not by a slap to her face, but because she was too busy screaming to speak.
The man had picked up what looked like a switch, and without warning began to rain blow after blow across her body. In her bondage, she could not protect herself, and her ass, thighs, breasts, and feet received repeated vicious blows.
The beating seemed to go on for hours. Slowly, over time her efforts to resist were slowly exhausted and she was even too tired to really scream anymore. It was only then, that the prolonged beating finally ended.
Her body was a crisscross of angry looking welts, but, she would have been pleased to know if she could form a thought at that moment, that the man had known his business and had not left a single permeant mark on her body.
The only place this beating would ever leave a lasting mark was on her psyche. A painful reminder and lesson that would quell many an effort at rebellion in her mind.
The first of many such lessons she would learn over her time as a slave.
“This slave has been warned, it will not talk, it will not attempt to talk, and it will not attempt to resist. Does this slave understand what is demanded, or shall I continue with the more persuasive instruments?”
The man held a bullwhip, and she realized that the long thin leather would be utterly agonizing, and she knew, down to the bottom of her very terrified soul that he would use it on her, happily.
In fact, she was certain everyone would enjoy it.
Except for her.
“The slave will obey, instantly,”, the voice said, “does it understand?”
She nodded her head quickly, desperate to convince his man that she would do anything she was told to avoid more torture or pain.
After that first introduction to her future, her surrender to absolute sexual servitude and slavery became a mere formality.
The occasional bouts of instinctive resistance to her new existence were quickly and ruthlessly overcome by various forms of training and torture. All too quickly, and depressingly easily, her will, her spirit, her very soul came to accept and then embrace her slavery.
Once satisfied, the men began to use her, as a whore to bring them money. They offered her holes by the hour, for the use of various men.
Never in one place more than a few days, she was a traveling pleasure instrument.
Sometimes would be in the back of a trailer, the grunting of manual laborers as their dirty hands pinched and mauled her body.
Other times, her accommodation would seem almost palatial, as well-dressed men violated her body with the abandon of knowing that no one could or would stop them.
Through it all, she slowly lost all hope that she could be rescued. Eventually, she was reduced to completely accepting the realities of her situation.
Time passed the men got tired of her, and the novelty of the Amazon Warrior wore off.
Her owners eventually decided to get rid of her and turn a profit at the same time. She was sold to someone south of the border, she suspected Columbia or Brazil, as she knew the language somewhat and had occasionally seen something she thought she’d recognized as a landmark.
Her new master was, incredibly, even more, vicious than she’d previously been exposed to. Her old Masters were determined to keep her in as good a condition as possible, lest she be worth less when rented out or, eventually sold.
Her new Master didn’t think the same way at all, enjoying her cries as she was raped again, again, and again while being tortured for any perceived lack of skill or effort. She was never once given the option of displaying her obedience to avoid pain.
In fact, the entire idea seemed foreign to him. On more than one occasion she was sure she was going to die. She surrendered to the idea that she wasn’t going to last long here, and eventually, she’d end up in a shallow, unmarked grave.
If she was that lucky
Then, one day, she was simply strapped down, masked, and loaded into, what she thought, was a trailer of some kind. No explanation given, after all, one did not explain the situation to livestock. All she was told, as clamps were applied to her nipples and a vibrator placed against her clit, was that if she came, she would be punished.
She was driven for what seemed like hours, fighting desperately, a losing battle in which she lost count of how many times she came.
Finally, she was dragged out of the trailer, her mask was removed and she gazed upon her new Master who was, incredibly, a farmer.
He owned several slaves, some used as horses, some as cows, and some he simply destroyed.
Her, he thought she would be perfect pulling his cart and proving him milk, and he took great delight in explaining that future to her. But first, she needed to be punished for her failure.
He wielded his whip like an expert and when he was finished there was not a single square inch of her body, save her face, that wasn’t burning red with welts and pain.
She resolzed then and there, to be perfect, if only as a way to maintain her sanity. She would learn, over the course of the next several months, that her sanity was the least of her worries as she suffered more pain, agony, degradation, and breaking, than in all of her previous years of slavery combined.
At least it felt like that.
Her Master was unforgiving, unrelenting, and simply vicious.
He seemed sexually insatiable, violating her ass, cunt, or mouth in what felt like hourly cycles of abuse.
All three seem to constantly be dripping his semen. The slightest twitch that even implied resistance was brutally punished.
The first time he introduced her to the milking machine, she tried to struggle. Even after all she had been through to be reduced that completely to an animal had caused her mind to momentarily flinch.
He said nothing, his demeanor had not changed at all. It wasn’t until she was fully strapped in and immobile that he had beaten her ass to the point that she was sure the flesh was going to peel off.
Then, once he was done with that, and a fully cowed slave was again before him, he showed her the branding iron. She shuddered and struggled in absolute terror, but he ignored it completely, stroking her hair, almost gently as the iron heated up.
When it was finally blazing hot, glowing red with heat, and anger, he calmly walked behind her and, without ceremony or comment, pressed the red-hot metal into her bare ass.
She screamed in utter agony, but he ignored it. He was finally finished, mutilating her with his mark, he put the brand away, applied some salve to the burn, and then fucked her ass again, while she continued to cry and scream in pain, humiliation, and defeat.
Finally, he came around to her face, and lifted her chin roughly, “Congratulations, Niknik, you’re now going to be my perfect cow and my perfect pony. You’ll serve in both ways and do so exactly as I demand. Or else.“
He made good on that promise over the next several months, and then years. His training was relentless as it was effective. She performed flawlessly after just a few months. Pulling his cart like she was born to it. Sometimes he even dressed her elaborately, so he could show her off. She was embarrassed by how proud she was that she performed so perfectly for him.
Where had her pride gone? How could she be so accepting of her reduction to a mere animal?
As a cow, she was, if anything, a greater source of pride for her Owner. Fed a complex cocktail of drugs, including such drugs as Domperidone, to stimulate, and then increase her production of milk.
Every night, after being used in his bed to please him in any way he saw fit, she was strapped into the milk machine and left to produce for the night. After the initial horror of it all wore off she began to look forward to her time with the machine as her breasts were usually very full and sore by the time he hooked her up.
The need to be milked overriding any sense of shame. In too short a time she wasn’t even able to feel shame or humiliation anymore, because, for it to be possible to feel either of those, you needed some sense of self-worth.
She had absolutely none.
She had become a mere thing for him to use and abused.
During her time here, being used as she was, she had twice ended up pregnant. Both times he had taken the child and told her he sold it to an adoption agency.
In both cases, she was never even informed of whether she’d given birth to a boy or girl.
Indeed, she never even heard them cry.
After giving birth the first time, and not even being acknowledged as her child was taken from her, that was when she truly realized what her life had become. Yes, she had accepted her place, but there had still been some small, insignificant part of her that was holding out hope for a chance to return to some semblance of her old life.
But as the vet stitched her up, and her Master carried the little bundle of life away, not even acknowledging her, she truly accepted what she was.
She wasn’t a person anymore. She wasn’t a free woman, American, or even a human being.
She was just a pony girl. She was just a milk cow. She was just a slave.
She was there to bring pleasure to her Master in any way he saw fit to use her.
All these thoughts passed through her head as the machine continued its unfeeling cycle of milking her filled, massive breasts. She felt the tears in her eyes at the memories and she tried desperately to push them away. This was one of the drawbacks of her Master not using the mind-altering drugs as others did. She remembered her life, remembered who she was, and how she came to be here, but, due to the training and complete mastery he had subjected her to, she couldn’t develop the necessary feelings to try to get any of it back, or to even hate him for what he had done to her.
Her master came in, and stroked her hair gently, almost knowingly.
She leaned into the touch, knowing that all too soon these gentle hands were going to be inflicting agony on her once again.
The farmer said, "you’re such a good girl, Niknik. My good little cowgirl.”
Those words, made her cunt spasm in orgasmic need.
Later, as she hung from the ceiling, her ass and cunt fully exposed for her Master’s use, she thought that she didn’t want to be anywhere else, and she was so lucky to have found her place in life.
Her Master simply stroked her bare and well used pussy, and told her, over and over, what a good girl she was.
she knows her worth as a woman and believes in equality. she hates the saying ‘you’re pretty for a black girl’ and doesn’t hesitate to put someone in their place if they are making racial remarks or being disrespectful because of her skin color/her birth name. she’s strong and confident in herself regardless of how much society tries to tear her down and make her feel less than. she respects those who deserve it and think it’s important for black people to build each other up. she dislikes the ‘light skin vs. dark skin’ bullsh*t and will definitely school you on black history if you pull that card with her. she does what she knows best, and that’s to be black and proud. carefree and very intelligent, you’re bound to catch this girl at the library, protesting, uplifting the black community, or simply just enjoying life.
You spent the whole day wandering through the streets of New Orleans, letting Klaus show you around. You stopped a few times to watch the different street artists, tried different foods and simply enjoyed the pure life of the city.
The sun was already setting when Klaus safely navigated you through the streets back to the mansion. You feet were hurting in the thin sandals you were wearing while Klaus seemed just as energetic as ever, moving with ease, you dragged your feet with every step you took.
You pulled on Klaus’ hand and he immediately stopped walking, turning to look at you over his shoulder.
Putting on a pitiful face you complained, “My feet hurt.”
Klaus raised an eyebrow, the stupidly handsome, lopsided grin that made you heart beat fast every single time spread across his face.
“Ah? And what do you want me to do about it?”
Klaus’ smirk widened when you shot him a glare.
“Give me a piggy-back ride home. You’re the strong, bad hybrid. That shouldn’t be a problem for you, right?”
Klaus laughed, a sound so innocent it made you realize once again that there was so much more to him than the rest of the world thought.
“I suppose I could carry you home…” Klaus playfully pondered, but already crouched down a bit to make it easier for you to climb on his back.
Grinning you took a few steps back and charged towards him, jumping on his back with force, your legs easily winding around his waist.
Klaus didn’t even budge from the force, but quickly grabbed your thighs to stop you from falling right back down.
Tilting his head he looked back at you while you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“Careful, love.” Klaus chuckled.
Grumbling you lightly ruffled his hair, your fingers easily sliding through the soft locks.
Still chuckling Klaus tightened his hold on you and started to make his way trough the buzzing streets of New Orleans.
Breathing in his scent you hummed contently and rested your head on his shoulder. You walked in silence for a while until Klaus stopped in front of a street musician, the sound of the guitar drifting through the air accompanied by the musician’s voice.
I think love will come towards me like a warm summerbreeze I got my head among the clouds and I will never be free…
You pressed a small kiss against Klaus’ neck while listening until the musician left, the song still drifting through your head when you reached the mansion.
Hit there! Could you do headcanons for how the paladins cuddle with their s/o? You're doing great so far, have a wonderful day! :)
Aaw, thank you, dear! I appreciate that a lot. I hope you have a wonderful day as well. Here are some cuddling headcanons for you. :)
The real question: how doesn’t this man like to cuddle? Takashi Shirogane is always a slut for cuddling.
You see, Shiro is a very tactile person. You see it in those brief shoulder touches and occasional hugs in canon. It’s how he offers comfort to others.
And how he likes to receive it.
He only initiates it a little further into the relationship, though
Sometimes, during down time, he and his S/O just cuddle up next to each other with his arm around their waist or them just snuggled into him, practically squished together. (While ignoring their Space Children gagging and teasing)
In private, it’s a lot more intimate.
All forms of cuddling are open game BUT if Shiro had to choose, he likes it best when his S/O lays on his chest like a pillow and he gets to wrap his arms around them. He just wants to hold them and their added weight on top of him is comforting.
It reminds him they’re still there, an added comfort and security.
Definitely see Shiro dropping small, frequent kisses on top of their head in this position and rubbing soothing circles on their back
And of course he plays with their hair, are you kidding me? That’s one of his favorite parts.
Sometimes, they switch positions and Shiro loves it just as much because then he can listen to their heartbeat and actually feel the hum in their chest against his cheek as S/O talks
A lot pillow talk during cuddling. It’s a time for them confide in one another and just tell their partner how much they care
Cuddling with Shiro brings about a feeling of safety and protection just as much as affection and love. A physical reassurance that he truly cherishes them and will always protect them.
Keith is a little (really) unused to cuddling but he isn’t opposed to it. Definitely not opposed to it when it comes to his S/O
Just give him a bit to get comfortable up to it, ok?
Doesn’t really do it in public, even when they’re just sitting together and there’s ample opportunity. Not necessarily because he’s embarrassed or uncomfortable. It’s just not his thing.
Rarely initiates, so it’s usually up to his S/O if they want the cuddles
He will let his S/O lean up against, though, if they want. Keith likes to stretch his arm behind their head if they’re on a couch or something so they can use it as a head rest. He’s saved his S/O from a bad neck cramp or two because of this
Cuddles with Keith are mostly kept in private because he’s just a private guy when it comes to this stuff and frankly, it’s no one’s business what he and his S/O do behind closed doors
He more than makes up for it later
I can see him liking the “Heartfelt Headlock” where both are on their sides and S/O just slips under the crook of Keith’s arm. Occasionally his other arm pillows their head
Even better if S/O wraps their legs around him or just slings a calf over his hip to get closer still. Keith feels like he’s completely surrounded by them and it’s fantastic
S/O just feel so warm and safe and downright cozy there, lying chest-to-chest with Keith
If they feel like it, they burrow further into his chest and listen to his heartbeat but it’s also nice to face each other and simply enjoy each other’s presence
Eye contact eye contact eye contact - Keith wants to see his S/O’s face and watch them as they relax and maybe doze off a little
But Keith stays awake. He likes watching his S/O, even if they fall asleep on him (‘cause they are comfortable, man, I’d fall asleep, too). Kind of like he can hardly believe they’re even there and with him?? How did that happen???
More prone to pecking their forehead like this, even brushing hair back from their face. S/O might pretend to sleep just so Keith will do just that (he figures it out when they scrunch up their nose but keeps doing it anyway)
Neither really talk a lot while cuddling. Sure, Keith will listen if his S/O has something they need to talk about, but really cuddling with Keith is quiet but speaks volumes of the affection he holds for them. Intense.
You know this boy is not going anywhere. It’d take a set of pliers to tear him away.
Oh. My. God. Let me just start this with I want to cuddle with Hunk. He’s just so good at it, you know? Best Cuddler among the Paladins, hands down.
He’s big and soft and strong and it’s just the best thing in the world.
Best part? Hunk isn’t shy about it, so he’ll do it whenever or wherever but he also isn’t obnoxious about it either (unlike some people). Not at all. It’s all cool, man.
Initiates plenty and always up for it if his S/O wants
A lot of the time, Hunk clings close to his S/O when he’s either scared or nervous. This is both for his own personal comfort and also so he can just. Grab them if need be and run. Just in case.
Having his S/O close just makes him feel safe, you know? Doesn’t matter how as long as he can reach out and touch them
Overall, Hunk is a really sweet cuddler who likes holding hands with his S/O while cuddling.
Always has this big, huge smile when cuddling and it’s adorable
Typically his S/O lounges right on top of him with his hand resting (respectively) on their waist and the other cushions his head and
They just talk and talk and talk about everything and nothing - how they could possibly recreate cake with alien ingredients, what they miss about earth, Hunk’s fears, what they’ll see next in their voyage through space, whether there really is a nacho planet, etc.
Every now and then, he lifts his head up to grin at them and leans up for a kiss !!!
The best is when he starts laughing at something his partner said and S/O feels it erupt from his belly and then throughout his entire body which makes THEM laugh and suddenly they’re just laughing about nothing
Exactly what the Yellow Paladin needs at the end of the day
Cuddling with Hunk is a bonding experience in and of itself, how he and his S/O spend time together and decompress and simply enjoy life at the present. It’s comfortable and warm and fun.
Oh, Lance. Where do I begin with Lance? Well, I’ll just start with this: good luck getting him off you
Lance is a touchy person in general who has absolutely zero issues with getting in people’s personal space to rile them up or lounge all over them if they’re a friend
That goes up from like 1 to 1 0 0 with his S/O
Lowkey think it’s even more so now that he’s in space and far away from all of his loved ones, sooooo S/O gets all the extra affection Lance has been storing up for awhile
Good or bad, that’s up to the S/O in question
Lance usually hangs off of them all the time anyway but reaches the max when cuddling.
He and his S/O are literally a tangle of limbs. It’s hard to tell where Lance begins and S/O ends. The closest thing I found was something called the “Titanic Tangle.”
Doesn’t help that the Castle gets pretty cold and Lance, being from a hotter climate, just leeches off his S/O’s warmth.
Wraps those long, gangly limbs of his all around his S/O and won’t let go. His arms are locked around their torso and one leg is between both of theirs while the other is draped over them. There is no escape.
Lance likes to nuzzle his face into S/O and screw you if you don’t think that’s the most precious thing (until he nuzzles into someone’s breasts then it’s totally ok to smack him upside the head).
Lance makes up for it however with the things he says. Of course there’s the cheesy pickup lines, that’s who Lance is, but most of it really is sweet whispers that he saves up just for these occasions..
One of those rare moments where Lance starts getting quiet, voice soft and sincere, as he tells them how much they mean to them. He wouldn’t know what to do if they weren’t there. Do they know how much he loves them? He tells them how much he appreciates them, how glad he is that they’re there with him, how special they are.
Tons of kisses. So many kisses. His mouth always has to be doing something and if it isn’t blabbing, he’s kissing his S/O everywhere he can reach.
Lance is probably at his most vulnerable while cuddling with his S/O. He knows it’s a safe place for him and all the feelings he’s been holding back or putting behind that cocky act comes out.
He’s just really glad they’re there.
Ok, so the thing is Pidge is literally a smol and cuddling is probably as big as it’s gonna get for her for a little while.
Like a couple of years while.
That being said, it’s a little awkward at first. Pidge generally Does Not like to be touched all that often unless it’s on her terms and even those are kept brief.
Which doesn’t mean she doesn’t really care for her S/O. That’s just how Pidge is as a person combined with that awkward age of 14 where you don’t know what’s going on with your body half the time and feel so unsure how to actually touch another human being in a non-platonic way.
Y’all remember that age, right?
Cue stiff Pidge if her S/O so much as leans over her to look at the whatever gadget she’s fiddling with or sits close enough that their thighs are touching - so scandalous!
RIP if they even try “the Move”
BUT after some time, as Pidge gets more comfortable with her S/O, she’s more open to cuddling and it eventually becomes one of her favorite things?
Mostly relegated to a couch in a public living area where little Pidge and her beau just snuggle in together, Pidge’s head resting on their shoulder and their arm curled around her as they both watch whatever she’s doing on her computer
Turns out her S/O is actually pretty comfortable
If the Castle has it, I can totally see movie night being a thing they do together while cuddling and making fun of the characters
Cuddling with Pidge is literally the most precious and innocent thing ever?? like, it’s just being close to her S/O and spending time together as they enjoy their mutual interests
Until Lance ruins it all when he barges in and cuddleblocks them. That ass would probably wedge himself between them and sprawl half his body across the couch
Hunk comes in soon after with snacks ‘cause “Movie night, right? Who wants not-really-popcorn-but-close-enough?”
Then of course comes Keith and Shiro followed by the Alteans and suddenly it’s a Space Family movie night
And Pidge is so frustrated but can’t stay mad because this is nice, too
(She and S/O hold hands under the not-really-popcorn-but-close-enough bowl, the precious babies.)
Word Count: 2,667 Warnings: Miscarriage Summary: A tough event turns your life with Matty upside down. Author’s Note: I’m really sorry for the tears this probably will bring. I cried while writing it, personally. Also, the original prompt asked for a song, but I changed it into a letter because I am not a good lyricist :/ I think it still does the job, though. Anyways, read on and let me know what you think xx Please feel free to read my other work here!
Request: Imagine kissing the masked Leonard at a party
It wasn’t part of the original plan, but then, no part of arriving in 2013 was. But if there were one thing Leonard Snart was good at, it was adaptable. The second the team found themselves in Central City, with nothing to do, the thief had his intentions clear, and a plan was set up.
It was clear to everyone that had even been remotely close to you in October of that year that you were looking forward to the Star Labs ball more than almost anything, but despite your insistence, and desperate pleas to get Leonard to attend with you, he seemed to be the one man you could not convince.
Life isn’t all about a flat stomach, nice abs, being skinny or eating clean 24/7.
Life is about creating yourself and making memories…you will look back to the time right now, what do you want to remember? Do want to look back and regret all the missed moments just because you forced yourself to go to the gym? Because you couldn’t eat that burger with your friends because it would ‘ruin’ your progress? Well, I don’t.
I will look back being proud of all the memories I am going to make the following days, being proud about all the fancy food I am going to eat with my friends and family … Simply proud about enjoying life! Enjoying the balance I created between being healthy and living life. It goes hand in hand..it’s called happiness.
@julietsemophase a little birdy told me it was your birthday! I wish I could’ve written you something longer but since I couldn’t I tried to cram in some 8th year year, pining and flirting for you! You’re just such a doll and I feel so lucky to have met you and to be able to all you my friend!
This Drabble was inspired by Blake Steven’s adorable face!
Draco’s 8th year was supposed to be about new beginnings and fresh starts, but Draco knew the moment he laid his eyes on Potter again he was utterly and completely doomed.
He tried to pay attention in all his classes, to focus on his work and ignore all the distractions in the 8th year common room. The problem was, as far as he was concerned, Potter simply being alive was a distraction.
Sometimes Draco caught him looking far away, lost in thought, but most of the time he was laughing and simply enjoying life. Unfortunately Draco found it nearly impossible to concentrate when he was near. He didn’t know how he was supposed to remember the right number of crushed slugs his potion needed for example when Potter was bent over his desk directly next to Draco, close enough he could smell his shampoo and see the damp bit of hair trying to curl at the base of his neck. It was like that in every class they shared, in the great hall at meal times and especially in their new common room.
The worst thing though as far as Draco was concerned was this strange habit Potter had developed of sticking his tongue out and sort of squinting when he was really happy. Draco assumed it was a new habit because he couldn’t recall Potter ever doing it before, though it did occur to him that perhaps Potter simply wasn’t as happy before.
In either case the longer it went on the worse things got. In fact Draco didn’t think it could possibly get worse any until one day when they both somehow ended up sneaking into the kitchens at the same time on a Friday night, both more than a little bit drunk on Seamus’ Firewhiskey. They had simply stared at each other awkwardly until Potter had fallen into Draco in a fit of laughter. The details were all a little fuzzy, all he knows it involved a lot of sweets from the house elves and a lot of things said he most definitely wouldn’t have said sober.
And the next day, without discussing it again, they were somehow friends. Which should’ve been fantastic really, except all it meant was that Draco was now convinced he was doomed to have a miserable life forever.
Because honestly, now that they were basically friends how on earth was he supposed to get anything done when Potter was always so close, smelling like fresh air and grass and broom polish and something sort of musky. And how earth was he supposed to breath when Potter would make a joke, nudging his arms playfully before laughing and sticking out his tongue.
Sometimes Draco wanted to run away, because it did funny things to his chest and made it hard to breathe. And sometimes he couldn’t help but smile, because Potter’s presence made things always seem a little brighter. Mostly though, when Potter stood there licking his lips and squinting up his face with that tongue out, Draco wanted to drop his belongings and shove Potter back against the stone wall and kiss him until neither one of them could remember their names.
All things considered, Draco figured he was doing a pretty good job of maintaining his self respect and self control considering the things he wanted to do to the other boy.
Or at least he was until the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year came up, and Potter casually mentioned them maybe going together. Draco had most certainly not given it more than a passing thought because they were friends and they did loads of stuff together now.
So the last thing Draco expected when he walked outside of the castle was to see Potter learning back against the stone wall nervously fiddling with his hands. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Potter what the bloody hell he was nervous about when Draco noticed Potter’s clothes looked a lot less shabby than usual. In fact Draco was quite positive someone had tried to style Potter’s hair, and his jeans fit far better than the ratty hole filled ones he wore around the common room on the weekends. But what he noticed most was the leather jacket Potter wore over a snugly fitting, soft looking grey shirt. All in all it made Draco a bit weak in the knees and it took him all of five seconds before he realized this was supposed to be a date.
He almost wanted to kick himself because he’d spent so long telling himself that Potter was off limits and to not want things that he hadn’t even noticed Potter apparently wanting him back.
“Potter!” He yells, nearly running down the last few steps. The other boy jumps up, rubbing his hands on his jeans and making that ridiculously happy face again.
Without a word he walks up to Potter, delighting in the way Potter’s eyes follow his own mouth as he licks his lips. Merlin he’d been such an idiot to have not noticed this before.
“Listen, Potter, I’ve changed my mind I can’t go to Hogsmeade with you today,” he says.
“Why?” Potter asks, trying to hide the dejected look spreading across his face.
“Because the castle will be nearly empty and I’ve just realized I have about five months of snogging you within an inch of your life to make up for.”
And there it is again. That familiar crinkle of his eyes and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as Potter sticks out his tongue, and Draco finally does what he has been dying to do for months and presses Potter back against the stone wall, sliding his hands underneath the hem of Potter’s shirt, his fingers gliding across warm skin as he kisses him; it is desperate and needy and Draco feels like he is drowning.
But then Potter’s hands are in his hair and sliding down to cradle his face as Potter kisses him back, and it changes into something that feels less like begging and more like giving and Draco doesn’t know what Potter is offering but he takes it all, pressing their bodies together and whimpering into the kiss.
When he pulls back it takes a few seconds before Potter opens his eyes, blinking at Draco and looking happier than he has seen him in a long time.
“So Potter, wanna break a few rules,” he asks with a wink, holding out his hand and willing away the whooshing sound in his eyes as he remembers the last time he’d offered Potter his hand.
Potter doesn’t hesitate, reaching it to lock his fingers with Draco, pulling him forward until Draco falls against his chest.
“I’ve got a whole list of rules I wanna break with you, Malfoy,” he whispers before kissing him again and it isn’t desperate this time just a bit demanding. It is Potter who pulls away this time, looking somehow both like he’s about to be up to something and entirely playful.
“Scared, Malfoy?” He asks, but Draco just shakes head, squeezing Potter’s fingers and pulling him back towards the castle.
Have you lost anyone close to you before? I've lost great grand parents but I wasn't close to them. I know a lot of people that have lost someone close to them. A best friend that lost her brother and a friend that lost her cousin and I've seen it change their life and just something so tragic. I feel like everyone loses someone close to them in their life(obviously) suddenly or expected and that definitely worries me. I have a whole heart but I know one day I'll have a missing piece and person
I have not lost anybody close to me, but I have seen the effects on other people and it’s undoubtedly tragic on so many levels. It sucks. :-( But I try to not think about that and I simply enjoy life while it’s here, and I try to appreciate the people who are closest to me for as long as possible because I prefer the peaceful & happy approach. We’re all going to lose some people down the road, but that’s why it’s important to express your care and love for them while they’re alive.
Fluffy moment with Sweden, Norway, Italy, Romania and Iceland reaction to their baby wanted attention?
(I’m sorry, I don’t know Romania very well! I hope I did OK - Mod Apple)
Sweden: Sweden had a difficult time to resist any sound his child made. Any coo, cry, giggle he was at their side in a flash, ready to help if there was trouble or to simply enjoy them experiencing life. He could spend all day just staring at his child. Needless to say, if his baby was wanting attention, he was more than ready to give in. Perhaps he spoiled his baby a little too much, but he couldn't’t help the overflowing feeling of love he felt. He would scoop up his baby in his arms and hug them tight. As his child grew, he would more often be the one demanding the attention rather than the other way around.
Norway: Norway felt a deep revulsion whenever he was awoken suddenly from his precious sleep; however, his love for cute things was able to overpower this anger, and his baby was probably the cutest thing he’d ever seen. As soon as he shuffled into his baby’s room, all anger dissipated and his heart swelled with affection. “Why do you cry?” he asked softly, reaching into the crib and lightly touching his child’s face. He smiled when they stopped crying to stare up at him with big eyes. “Are you lonely?” He reached inside and picked up his baby and cradled them against his chest. He made soothing noises before settling himself into the chair in the corner, rocking gently until both of them fell back asleep.
Italy: “Little baby, what is wrong?” He would cry at the first sign of trouble. He’d reach for his baby, smoothing their hair, looking for any obvious signs of something wrong; finding none, he’d laugh happily, “oh, I see how it is!” He would shower his baby’s face in light kisses, tickling their sides and laughing at their giggles. “Do not cry! Papa is here.” He’d spend the rest of his afternoon cuddling with his child, happy to spend as much time with them as possible. His baby is his number one priority - even more than siestas (although, he did love to nap when his baby was napping, so these things worked out quite nicely).
Romania: Romania was exhausted from staying up too late at night reading; he didn’t really have the energy to play, but his baby was crying for attention. He immediately donned a bedsheet like a cloak and found a wooden spoon for a sword and rushed to his child’s aide! They weren’t quite old enough to play pretend on the scale he had envisioned, but that didn’t stop him from playing himself. He dissolved into a fit of giggles as he tickled their little feet, cooing happily. “My little good luck charm!” he cried, “please do not be sad!” As his child got older, he would climb into bed with them and tell them marvelous fairy tales, some from books he read and some he made up himself, before tucking them in for the night.
Iceland: Iceland was annoyed at first. Actually, he was annoyed throughout the whole situation of his child wanting his attention; however, he loved his baby and would, eventually, bend to their desires. He’d not admit it, but he did enjoy the way his baby would cry for him (despite feeling bothered). He wasn’t always happy about what time of day (or night) these incidents took place, but he was glad that his child wanted him and his affection. He’d stare down at them as they cried, not quite certain what to do, asking “what is it?” before finally reaching down and scooping them up, rocking their small body in his arms until the frown was replaced by a happy smile and bubbling giggles. Every time his baby simply wanted his affection, and nothing else was outwardly wrong, his face would flush and he’d feel an overwhelming surge of love.