Tag: gay captions

Gallery
by ccallenreese

pupnovy:

@insertpupname and I having a play…

“So, Jovy, remember my friend Takashi from college?”
Jovy nods.
“This is his pup. Kuro. He’s going to be staying with us for a few days while his
Master is out of town for a business trip. I know he’s a little
different than American pups you’ve met before – he’s a Japanese breed, so he’s a
little smaller than you. Don’t worry though, he may seem reserved but
once he warms up to you he’ll wrestle you until you’re both exhausted.
Go on. Say hello now.”
Jovy instantly loves the mask and wants to make a new friend. He gives Kuro a sniff – a long sniff, cause he had an interesting earthy smell- then he offers a deep “woof!” as a cheerful greeting.
Kuro pops up on all fours, and responds, “Wan!”
Jovy’s so surprised by this that he sits back on his haunches and stares. 
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
Jovy looks at me, then back at Kuro.
“WOOF!” he says, slow and insistent.
Kuro looks at Jovy expectantly.
“Arf!” Jovy tries again.
“Wan?” Kuro says with a tilt of his head.
Jovy looks at me again, as if it say – ‘some help here?’.
I chuckle. “What? Did it never occur to you that dogs make different noises in different countries?”
Jovy stares at me, blinking under his mask. He shakes his head, bewildered.
I swallow my laughter, cause this is precious. “Well, that’s how they say hello in Japan.”
“Won?” Jovy tries.
“Wan wan!” Kuro barks, tail wagging.
“Wan!” Jovy repeats.
“There you go!” I say, giving Jovy a scratch on his neck. “Good boy. It’s nice to make a friend huh. Why don’t you show him where the toys are kept?”
“Woof woof wan wan!” Jovy responds. He bumps Kuro with his head, and then they trot off together.
I smile. “Can’t wait to tell Takashi about how well they’re getting along.”

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Captions are fictional. Adorable boys!

Gallery
by ccallenreese

lumbrjax:

Instagram user @rebilw http://ift.tt/1UNiteg

“Yo, fag.”
Jackson was kneeling on the floor, waiting orders while Sir dressed, and popped up to sitting position when he was summoned. Sir did not like being called Master, and as his subservient, it was not appropriate to use Sir’s real name like they had casual relationship. Sir’s friends could call him Rocky. Jackson though that was such a perfect name for his Sir, with his sleek, muscular body. Without hair, he looked like a Marine. Jackson thought for the millionth time that he was lucky to gaze upon and serve such a handsome man – and talented. He had an amazing singing voice.
“Yes sir?” Jackson asked, looking at the chair he had last flung it over.
“Where is my black V neck shirt?”
“In the closet behind the red Vans shirt.”
“Fetch it,” Sir demanded, picking up his phone to check a text message.
“Yes sir!” Jackson was up like a rabbit, picking the shirt out of the closet. He removed it from the hanger, folded it, then kneeled and presented the shirt.
“Nice. No wrinkles,” Sir muttered, inspecting it. He didn’t need to know that Jackson had ironed it after Sir had gone to bed that night.
Sir dressed. Jackson stared at his bulge.
“Hey boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“My band’s going on a tour this fall. I think you’re trained enough to come with us. Clean up after us, make us coffee, help run errands, service us… wanna come see the US?”
Jackson stared, eyes so wide he could feel the air on them. “Oh my god yes, Sir! Please Sir! I’d love to. I’d be so useful, I wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.”
Sir did an unexpected thing – he smiled. “Your face is precious right now. If you had a tail in now, you’d be wagging it I’m sure. I hated having to board you for our last tour. Hate knowing Sir Bennett was using you.” Sir shook his head. “He boards well, but he’s so gross. Ugh.”
“I don’t like being apart from you either Sir,” Jackson said softly.
“That’s what I like to hear. You are an extension of me, boy. I will be very busy on this tour, and you may have to assume direction instead of waiting for direction – but I know you won’t let me down.”
“No sir!” Jackson said quickly.
Sir considered his happy looking boy kneeling on the floor. “You look weird. You have this dopey expression on your face. I think you need a cock in your mouth.“

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Captions are fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

Matthew carefully creased the towel he was folding and hung it on the towel bar of the stove. He smiled. The barn-red fabric looked nice against the white of the stove. He sniffed the air. The new candle he lit was filling the bottom of the house with its cinnamon-y smell. Perfect.

Matthew gathered the spare oven mitts, floor mat, and towels and took them to the laundry room. He looked at the tropical green patterns with a mournful sigh as he dumped them into a basket. Summer was over. Their Rottweiler had brought him the first yellow leaf to fall in their yard today, and thus it was undeniable that autumn was on its way.

Turning the house over for the season took two days, but Matthew enjoyed the busy work. All of the small linens – like the towels and pot holders – were swapped out four times a year: pink for spring, green for summer, red for fall, and blue for winter. Big things, like the dishes, welcome mats, curtains, and sheets were swapped out twice. Before he’d done the kitchen, Matthew had put the thicker flannel sheets and the down comforter on the Master bed upstairs. Good bye white linen sheets!

The houseboy had also gone through his Master’s clothes, adding thick socks to his underwear drawer and tucked cedar-scented sweaters in drawers underneath. Waterproof boots and slippers came out of storage and now waited by the garage door. Soon the canvas shoes and sandals would vanish until warmer weather.
About that time was also when the snowboard gear would come out of hiding. Matthew couldn’t wait for the season to start on the mountain!

There was also the actual house to work on too. Fall was when Matthew flushed the gunk out of the radiator, checked the dryer for clogged lint, and reversed the direction of the ceiling fans. Tomorrow, Matthew would be busy preparing their vegetable garden for winter – he was just waiting on a few more things to be ready to be picked. Gutters would have to be cleaned. The roof checked. While he was up there, Matthew would also note any breaking or sagging branches of the large elms and pines that flanked theier home. Last year there was a big one splitting off, and the arborist said it had maybe two weeks left on it.

There was also the cars…. Master’s sports car would be covered and the battery disconnected; out would come the larger and more snow-hardy jeep of which it was easier to wash off salt from the roads. And the back had to be packed with emergency gear in case of a road accent into a snowbank. So much to do, so much to do.

Fall was the best baking season though. Finally an excuse to use the kitchen all day long without breaking a sweat! Pies, Thanksgiving, Christmas cookies…. Matthew sighs softly. He can almost smell gingerbread. He opens the box of chai tea he put in the cupboard this morning and makes himself a cup. Master liked tropical fruit blends and light green teas in the warmer months. Now hojicha, chai, and black teas populated the shelf. Matthew preferred them anyway.

Matthew made his tea and tidied up. He stirred coconut milk into the steaming mug in his hands, nibbled banana bread, and surveyed the kitchen. It needed a few more decorations. Oh, he realized, he forgot to swap out his recipes. He shoved the bread into his mouth and set his tea on the counter to cool. He dug the box out from the pantry and sorted things out. Away went the recipes for zucchini, berries, stone fruit, and corn; and in their place went the recipes for squashes, root vegetables, oranges, pomegranates, and cranberries.

All in order, all in order. During his first years in this house, Matthew had to make a list to get everything done. Now he could do it from memory. He looked at the calendar on the wall. December would be their 5 year anniversary. Master was going to get a particularly nice Christmas gift this year – a trip to Beijing. Sir always wanted to see China.

Matthew smiled. Three years of saving. Worth it for what was surely going to be a great reaction. He hoped there’d be a 10th anniversary, then a 15th, a 25th, a 50th… god, he loved his Sir. He loved making his Sir happy and creating a proper home for him. Sir understood him, and knew what kind of environment Matthew needed to be happy. Matthew thought he was very lucky to have that.

He glanced at the clock on the wall again. Hm, if he hurried, he could make that brown sugar-glazed marshmallow sweet potato dish to go with tonight’s pork chop entree. The recipe was just out of finger’s reach now. Yes, Master would be very pleased with that. A content Master was often a horny Master too. What better reward would there be for his hard work than to christen those flannel sheets with lovemaking? Oh god, Master would taste like marshmallows and brown sugar too.

Matthew groaned and his cage felt tight. Yes, definitely making that for dessert.

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Captions are fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO THIS STORY.

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I watch, hands on his shoulders for support. His hand is tense with pain from gripping.
“There you go…just like that…” I murmur in his ear. I feel it first. A tremor ripples down his shoulder to his shaky hands and vibrates the block, making the other blocks resting on the corner of the half pulled one shake and skew. The tower tilts wildly.
“Goddamn,” he swears, back-handing the whole thing. I gasp as the blocks scattered everywhere with a clatter. Cashew, who has been sitting by his Master’s feet waiting patiently, jumps to his paws and begins to collect the wooden blocks on the floor with his teeth and putting them in a pile.

At the chair in front of me, my boyfriend CJ rests his head in his shaking hands. I embrace him awkwardly from half standing position. “It’s ok, it’s ok…”
“No it’s not ok,” he whines, barely holding back emotion. “I hate this. I hate this! Why can’t I do this? I could do it before with no problem. I’m so fucking useless, I should have died in that car accident.”
“No! Don’t you say that. Don’t you fucking say that. I nearly went insane waiting for you to wake up int he hospital.” I pulled up a chair and sat in it. “I lost weight, I missed work, I didn’t eat… I didn’t go through that hoping you would DIE, Christopher James. I know this sucks, and I know it is hard, but you are young. Your noggin took a whack, but science and medicine saved you. You are so, so lucky CJ. It will just take time for your brain to finish healing.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” He sniffles. His shoulders tremble. I put an arm over him. “The doctors say it will,” I say, more soothing this time. “But even if it doesn’t? I will still love you. And I will still help you.”

CJ looks up at me with wet, sorrowful eyes. I’m still not used to seeing him with short hair. A long scar runs over his ear from where the doctors removed fragments of bone to let the swelling have some place to go. They later used plates to hold his skull together. I smile at him, just to show him it’s alright, and I embrace him. He cries and I let him.

The doctors, the nurses, the physical rehabilitation specialists all told us we were lucky. It’s hard to feel that way, but then you remember the fear you felt during those darkest hours and know that it can always be worse. I knew that fear. Getting the news, driving around in a hysterical daze. Picking a funeral home, just in case. Evaluating his organ donor status, just in case. The car accident happened over a month ago. CJ’s car was pushed into the dividing wall of a highway after a senior citizen blew a tire and lost control of her car. She hadn’t driven in a while, and the air pressure in her tires was low. Her daughter was supposed to take her to an appointment, but said daughter was called to her own daughter’s school due to her kid running a fever. Instead of taking a taxi or calling an Uber, the grandmother just decided to drive herself.

CJ’s car was so crumpled that they couldn’t get into it from the passenger side. They had to physically hook it up to the fire engine to move it, use the jaws of life to get the door off, and extract him. I thanked whatever deity or angel was out there looking after CJ, because the woman driving three cars behind him in his lane was a paramedic on her day off. The small paramedic wiggled in the car from the broken back window and held CJ’s neck still and pressed her shirt to the wound to stop the bleeding until the fire department cut him out. I had sent her many, many thank you cards and gifts, and made a donation to her favorite charity.

I think part of her efforts are why CJ’s brain damage isn’t more severe. They called it TBI, or traumatic brain injury. At the worse, it’s life destroying. Personalities can change permanently. People lose the ability to judge or act rationally or logically. They steal, do drugs, become violent. Their speech and mobility can change.

So in that aspect, CJ was oh so very lucky. He was still him, which is really all I asked God to give me. Sure, his speech was garbled and out of order for days after he woke up from surgery, but now he could speak in short sentences. And sure, he couldn’t remember a week before the accident, but he remembered me and his parents and Cashew. It was like I had cashed in all of my good karma and taken a loan out on the rest.
CJ though struggled with controlling his intense emotions like he used to. He would get incredibly frustrated out of nowhere, then burst into tears the next. This was only worsened by the loss of sensation to the right side of his body, meaning he had to have months of physical therapy to relearn walking on that side. He couldn’t manipulate small items yet either and got terrible tremors trying to grip things.

But I have CJ. I have him, the whole him. I promised myself to take his new flaws and love him even more. Cashew had been dopey with doggy happiness ever since his Master was back. He took special joy in helping, every way he could. He’s a good dog.

I fetch CJ a tissue and some water. “Ok?” I asked.
He nods. “I’m ok. Just…stupid jenga blocks.”
I chuckle. “They won’t win. Up for rebuilding and trying again?”
CJ exhales. He reaches down and pets Cashew, and takes some blocks out of his mouth. “Such a good dog.” He smiles, seeing the pile of blocks by his paws. “He’s so cute.”
“He is. And he missed you. The sooner we do this physical therapy, the sooner you can take him on runs and play frisbee like you used to.”
CJ nods. “I miss that. You know what I also miss?”
“What?” I ask.
“Us,” he says softly. It knocks the wind out of me.
“CJ…” I reply.
“I mean like, intimacy. You must have been so needy without me, and I wasn’t there.” Another tear slips down his tan cheek.
I wrap him in a hug again. “It’s not like that. I was so stressed out, sex was the last thing on my mind. But you know, if your right hand isn’t hurting so much after this…maybe we could fool around a little?”
CJ’s face lights up. “I’d love that. Do handjobs count as physical therapy?”
I pick up a cylindrical wooden block out of a tub on the table. “I think I’m a bit bigger than this don’t you think?”
CJ chuckles. I’m stunned by just how much that noise fills me with glee. It’d been so long since I heard him laugh last. “I think I can grip that. Yeah yours is bigger. And less green.”
My turn to laugh. “Maybe my balls are blue, but definitely not green.”
Then he’s laughing again and shaking his head. “You’re doing so much to take care of me, so I want to take care of you too.”
I put the block down and lean in for a kiss. “I’d like that. But you always come first, understand?”

He nods, very serious. “I will get better. I beat the water temple from Zelda 64 for fuck’s sake. I can handle fucking jenga.” His words are a bit slurred by the tenacity shines through.
“Fuck yeah you can.” I herd the blocks into a pile and slap him on the shoulder. “Get building.”
“Fuck yeah. Hey Theo, put on some music would ya?”
“Oh music. Good idea. How about Metallica?”
“You ok with Slayer?”
“Whatever motivates you, baby.”

I, of course, had no idea that what was really driving CJ was that he wanted to be capable of sliding a ring on my finger when I said ‘yes’.

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Captions are fictional. Photo came from here.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

dirtydaddythings:

Yes. This is how it’s done. Playful, dominant, affectionate and the smiling is infectious. Those are the moments I treasure.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” I say – not to be accusatory, but in some desperate attempt to hint that I need reassurance.
“Of course I do. I did a lot of research, talked to people, watched videos… when you told me you were going to be ready for this soon, my heart about exploded. I wanted it to be such a sweet experience for you.”
I smile. My cheeks hurt from smiling already. “So it won’t hurt?”
“It shouldn’t. Not if I take care of you properly. God I love you so much that you want me to do this.” Our lips meet and I momentarily drift off in our kiss.
“I love you so much,” he repeats. “I’m just so honored that you trust me, that you want me inside you, to take you…” The kisses trail down my clavicle. “I’ve been hungry to experience this for a long time now. Sex, love-making – what the fuck is the fuss all about?”
I chuckle. “I hear it feels pretty good. I mean our G-spots are up inside us…”
“Mmnn…” he purrs, rubbing his palms down my thighs. “I’m going to find yours, baby.”
I shudder. “Promise?”

He tosses my underwear to the side, and I’m now naked in his lap. My cock is dark red and hard between me, front and center. The thrill over-riding the shame excites me. He captures my mouth again. “Promise.”

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Captions are fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

flashdoggy:

Today, September 21, is World Gratitude Day. What are YOU grateful for?

Him. I’m grateful for him. Waking up every morning in his bed, in this giant bed with the high-count Egyptian sheets. Warm coastal waters tinted with the scent of sage roll in from the window. Sure, the bed is comfy, the room is huge, and the view is incredible, but I would sleep in a motel bedroom by an overpass in a crime-infested area as long as we were together. This is love. He loves me. Every time I think about this, my heart feels warm like someone is filling it with water from the kettle. It radiates out until my hands and feet tingle. He really loves me.

I thought after we broke up in college, that was going to the end of my chance to be happy. I knew he was the only one I’d ever be happy with. He was lost however, and drowning in the responsibilities of university. “I am not worthy of you, and I can’t be a good partner for you right now,” he told me, sobbing.  “I’m dropping out, going home, and figuring things out.”

I dreaded what that meant. But lo and behold, he got into programming, took local courses, and began to freelance. By the time I walked across the stage for my degree and into an entry-level job, he had made his first million releasing apps.

I watched, fascinated and a bit envious, as my soulmate rose high above me. Forgetting me, surely. But one day, he called me. My number was still the same after all, but his had changed. He called me and said, “I’m deeply apologetic for not calling you sooner. I thought about you every day. I just wanted to be a good partner for you, and worthy of you. Wou- ahem, would you like to come visit me in California?”

He stilled sounded exactly the same – cautious and hopeful. I said yes and got on that plane. The second I saw him at LAX, a smile burst onto my face and tears floated in my eyes. “James,” I choked out, and then he saw me. He ran to me and crushed me in a hug. People aww’ed. When he kissed me, I didn’t stop him, I just cupped his chin and kissed him right back.

From then on, we just picked up where we left off. We never discussed it, because there was no need. I was his, and he was mine, and now our lives could begin.

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Captions are fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

fuckyeahdudeskissing:

Fuck Yeah Dudes Kissing. A place to see men kiss on Tumblr. Submit a kiss.

“Good morning.”
“Oh there you are. I was wondering where you went. I woke up, and the bed was empty.”
“Aww, don’t pout. I went to put on the coffee pot,” Damien replied.
“Mmn, coffee.”
“And look, I brought a friend,” Damien said with a smile, holding up Dustball.
“Aww you brought the chinchilla! Aw come here, baby, daddy wants to say hi,” Tristan cooed, holding out his hands.
Damien passed him their pet and Tristan snuggled the little fuzzball to his bare chest. “Aw you are so cute. Good morning.” He gave the chinchilla a kiss.
“What?” Damien said, “I don’t get one?”
“You made me wake up with a empty bed,” Tristan teased.
Damien scoffed and crawled back in. “Am I such a bad boyfriend that I wanted to kiss you with a clean mouth?”
“That’s nice of you, but I’m gonna get it dirty again. Get over here.” Tristan leaned forward and pushed against Damien for a deep, morning kiss.
“Mmnn….mmnnnn…oh god you are so good at this,” Damien chuckled.
“Cause you got the best lips, I swear,” Tristan replied. For a moment he forgot he was holding the chinchilla, until Dustball begin to squirm.
“Oh, I think our baby wants his breakfast,” Tristan noted, pulling away regretfully..
“I want breakfast,” Damien replied.
“So do I but…”
“But what?” Damien asked.
“Fuck me before coffee?” Tristan begged, reaching forward to rub Damien’s half mast erection under the sheets.
Damien moaned softly. “You fucking bet I will. Go feed your baby, then bring me the lube.”
“We can’t just…do it first?” Tristan asked, distracted.
“You want Dustball to watch us having sex?” Damien asked.
Tristan looked down at the thing, and made a face. “Ookkaay Dustball let’s go get your breakfast.”
Damien laughed. “Bring coffee when you come back! I got the lube right here.”

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Captions are fictional. Lol, that chinchilla, wth.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

The duel was over. Centrus had won. He sheathed his sword and strode up to the slave bound to a pole. Behind him, the healers were tending to his opponent left bleeding in the ring on the floor. Centrus still wondered if not killing that asshole was the right thing to do, considering he’d bribed a judge and robbed Centrus out of what was rightfully his – but at least now people thought he himself was merciful. And a lot of people had been there. Not everyday a warrior challenges another over the ownership of a slave. Usually it’s over a woman of high standing or something. Centrus the Merciful, Challenger of Slaves, had a certain ring to it anyhow.

Centrus paused in front of his new property and lifted the trembling boy’s chin with his thumb. “Don’t panic, little one. You’re safe now, because you are mine. I won’t neuter you, which is illegal anyway. I won’t whip you. I won’t starve you. When I sheath my cock in you, it won’t cause you any pain. Only the sweetest pleasure. You should be happy little one, as you have been spared from cruelty.”
The slave began to weep and Centrus clucked. He ordered the naked boy taken down so he could carry him back to his chariot. It was time to take home his prize and clean him up and see what was under all of that dirt.

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Captions are fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

mastera6:

A collar is such a simple thing yet it states so much.

Eddy reached up and touched the leather for the seventh thousand time that day. It was his first time wearing it out of the house, and he just felt like a million dollars – polished, well-dressed, and handsome. Now that he was working a real, grown-up job, he could afford nice clothes and his Master had shown him the best places to shop – and the benefits of a tailor. His body was staring to show the work of all that time in the gym too, and Eddy felt like he was transforming. People glanced at his ass in public now; women’s eyes lingered on his face. He’d gone from a fat slob to a prime cut of tenderloin, and god, it felt great! Eddy dropped his hand. He had to remember to be humble and not be spoiled or narcissistic. He reveled in the benefits but the process was not his. This was his Master’s work.

His Master – bless him, for Eddy didn’t know how he did it – looked at the nasty piece of trash he used to be and saw how miserable he was. The transition to healthiness and fruitfulness had been brutal, and Eddy had wanted to quit and drown himself in pizza and porn so many times. If he hadn’t started falling for his Master and the reward of sex with him, then Eddy would have likely ran. But he didn’t. Looking back on it, Eddy realized what he wanted most of all wasn’t a smaller waistline, but love. He wanted to belong and be missed and be desired. His self-esteem was in such tatters, he couldn’t believe anyone would wish that upon him.

But his Master had. He’d taught Eddy so much that it was like going through college all over again. Four years of training, and they still weren’t done. Now though, it was more fun than ever. They had a bedroom just dedicated to kink and play, and his Master had perfected how to spank him in just the right way to make him cum without being touched…

Eddy shuddered. He hoped his Master fucked him when he got home from work tonight. He didn’t think he could crave dick until now – but god, his Master had such a strong and beautiful cock! It was a physical extension of his Master’s personality. He sighed dreamily and got on the train as it stopped in the station.

Eddy sat in a seat and absent-mindedly began to finger his collar again. The woman across the way eyed him. He smiled. He was his Master’s prize work, and he wanted everything to know it. Eddy was a success.

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Captions are fictional.

Gallery
by ccallenreese

I gawked. He must have had 1% body fat on him. A pure male god of carved muscle – python thighs, a huge ass in high denim shorts, a triangle torso, big pecs… fuck he was hot! My dick thought so too. The man’s mouth was moving too, and it took a second for me to realize he was talking to me.

“I’m sorry what?” I said, shaking my head.
The man huffed. “Do you know where I could get a broom or a net or something? My hat blew into the water.” He pointed.

I looked. His baseball cap was floating on the water, thanks to the foam on the tracker style hat. The man looked distressed. “That’s my favorite hat,” he added. “My dad bought it for me, just before he died. Said it wasn’t right for a Mets fan to not have a hat.”
Holy shit, this guy was not only smoking hot, but also a Mets fan? The weird male urgency to do shit to impress people kicked in. “I got this.”
“What? You do?”

I took my phone, wallet, and keys out of my pockets. “Hold this.”
“What? Wait – you’re not-”
I threw my shirt on the dock, kicked off my sandals, and dove in. The water was cold and had an odd, marine smell to it, but it wasn’t terrible. The shock of the temperature felt pretty good because of the summer heat. I swam over to where the hat was bobbing and drifting away, and snatched it. The man cheered. Some people nearby clapped.

When I got to the dock, I gave the hot guy his hat back. He beamed at me. “Thank you so much man. Here, let me give you a hand.” He set down my stuff and hauled me out of the water with nearly one hand. Dude was strong!

I stood on the dock dripping. I pushed the water out of my eyes. “That was refreshing,” I stated.
The man was clutching his hat to his chest. “I can’t thank you enough. I um, was gonna do that but I’m scared of water where I can’t see the bottom,” he admitted.
My heart was racing. Hot, into the Mets, and sensitive – plus he had a good relationship with his dad. Prime boyfriend material. I swallowed. Please god let him be gay. “No problem man. I never got to know my dad, so I’m happy you got your hat back.”
The man smiled wistfully. “Sorry to hear that. Damn, you are wet. Ya know I don’t live that far from here. Why don’t you come over and dry off?”
Both of my eyebrows went up. “Uh. Bluh. I mean. Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”
His smile was radiant . “Awesome. Let’s go do that, get something to drink. You like craft beer? I got this sampler…”

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Captions are fictional.