#all my dogs have been shelter mutts

[lesbiten]

her dad doesnt believe in money for mixed breeds???? how can u be so cruel to say u see an animal has less value bc of their appearance/blood. thats a living thing wtf. im sorry to u and sheldon.

yeah its. upsetting. i was raised in a city that had (and still has) a very high number of dogs/cats in shelters and as such was raised with the mentality that buying a purebred dog just because its purebred is dumb. which like. isnt inherently true people can do whatever they want with their money but i fell in love w sheldon and she did too and im really sad that it took one single phone call to back track months of work to get him :(

[electoons]

I need to keep reminding myself that I did so much to keep her comfortable and alive for long enough for my family to return and also that nothing I could have done would have kept her alive so I can't keep dwelling on it like I didn't do enough. I did so much. I carried her everywhere. I helped her use the bathroom. I constantly was wiping the brown crusty drool off her paws and the crud that kept building in her eyes to give her some feeling of cleanliness and comfort. I stuck an IV in her (that I got from the vet, not just, like, on my own) once a day to keep her hydrated. like even though I was scrambling to finish an animation and get work done I put aside so much time and effort and love for her. I watched her like a hawk for the whole week, dealing with this on my own (it's no one's fault, just really bad timing, everything just happened to line up perfectly for the perfect shitstorm), just to make sure she didn't collapse and hurt herself. I did enough :( it wasn't enough but nothing would have been

[lionblaze03-2]

Oh btw I’d you hate pit bulls based on only the fact that they’re ‘pit bulls’ dni and unfollow me. PAINFULLY serious I will not accept dog racism on my blog

[mellowwillowy]

You really shouldn't have shrugged your husband of convenience like that when he hinted to you about sex.

Yan! Drug Lord Husband x GN M! Spouse (Non-con/Dub-con/con?; asphyxiation)

He really had reached his limit; putting up with your distant self who was only all about framed perfection but never the household's perfection.

It was a marriage arranged by convenience, per se. As the next heir of a crook, you possessed wealth, intelligence, and relation to match his, the drug lord and one of the nation's biggest threats.

What he expected was not something as cold as this when he first saw you. A well-bred heir, growing up in opulence unlike him, a stray mutt who grew up in poverty. Unlike you who was sheltered by the crook of your parent, he was orphaned without a name to remember.

The two of you were different right from the inside to the outside. So it was only natural that he expected the marriage's life to be hollow from any connection.

And not miserable.

Kaspar was a man of avarice himself despite embodying the sin of a glutton, alas his little heart, his little inner child couldn't help but yearn for a sliver of your warmth.

To feel the warmth of your body colliding with his, not out of scheduled marital duty but out of urge and yearning. To chat with you about the weather on the dining table instead of relaying what your parent had asked you to relay to him.

And to hear you reassure his little heart just for once that he had long grown up as a fine man and not a stray mutt.

You had accidentally read his diary, so why, instead of a face flashing in pity, did you show him a face of indifference? You apologized curtly after you were caught reading it, and left without saying anything more. Not a touch or reassurance nor a glance.

That very night too he decided to test your conscience. A shake by your shoulder, a whisper above your ear. The two of you rarely sleep together, let alone perform marital duties.

But instead of giving him the illusion of pity from your conscience, your scrunched-up brows and elbow had snapped his consciousness into half.

He had always been the gentleman to you so naturally you were surprised when something akin to a beast strangled you as he had his way with you, rough and merciless.

Just like the stray mutt he was, forced to bear its canines and defraud for survival. You had always been the sheltered dog despite the life you lived in. You had seen a fair share of beasts in the underground world.

But what you had never expected was to have a beast have its way with you.

Black dots started to cloud your vision as you failed to catch even just a breath. The pressure around your neck had you coughed up in pain as your hole was stretched without any proper lube.

Yet oddly enough, you find this enjoyable.

Being the sheltered dog you were, you craved for something indescribable. Something you had never felt. And you knew what it was. Pain. Horror. Fear.

All three surged into you tonight, your eyes rolling behind out of suffocation and pleasure, your sex made it evident to him which earned a husky chuckle from his lip.

"You should have just told me you enjoyed being abused like this early on, love. That way, I wouldn't have to fuck you to boredom all this time."

Yes. You knew deep down what you were. The heir who gets off from pain, evident when the bullet was shot into your limb that one time.

The moment you read his diary was the moment you shuddered in expectation. A stray who had to fight for survival, surely he knew his way around digging his canines into his enemies instead of just ordering his men around right?

You wrapped your arms around him for the first time, and with a hoarse gasped voice, you pleaded, "Do me how exactly I like it, my love!"

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking my brother to rehome his reactive dog?

Sorry this is so long. I (F22) live with my brother (M25). My brother recently brought home a 120lb rottweiler named Brutus despite knowing I am afraid of big dogs.

I'm afraid of them because when I was 8 I was attacked by my uncle's German shepherd and had to get stitches in my leg and on my face. Don't get me wrong, the attack was my fault. My parents were in the other room comforting my uncle who just lost his son in a car crash, so they weren't paying attention to me. The dog was in her crate, and I snuck away to open it and climb in and start bothering her. She tolerated me for a long time before she finally snapped and attacked. I was old enough to know better, and my parents also told me to stay away from the dog and I didn't listen. It's entirely and solely my fault but all that being said, I'm still afraid of big dogs. I can warm up to them slowly and I have an ok relationship with a few friends' dogs (lab, 2 pit bulls, and a couple mutts).

My brother volunteers at an animal shelter and we had been talking about adopting a small dog, until one day he called me and said "please don't freak out" and told me he brought home Brutus. Brutus was surrendered to the shelter for growling at his owner's toddlers, and had been at the shelter for months with no adoption offers. He was going to be euthanized if no one took him, but my brother had bonded with him and panicked when he heard and adopted him.

I tried to like Brutus, I really did. But Brutus is a one person dog. He bonded to my brother and would resource guard him from me. My brother tried training him and it didn't really help. I tried playing with him, or giving him treats, or being the one to feed him, but whenever I get close to him his body language changes. His body goes stiff, he starts licking his lips with anxiety, and he gives me whale eyes. These are all the signs of a nervous dog who might bite, so I just stay away from him. My brother started locking Brutus in his crate before leaving me home alone with him.

Then Brutus figured out how to open his crate. And the next one my brother bought. And the next one.

I started being terrified to come out of my room when I was home alone, because I never knew if Brutus would be roaming loose. It came to a head after about 8 months when I really, really had to use the bathroom when I was home alone, so I tried to sneak out of my room. Brutus was sitting outside my brother's bedroom door, between me and the bathroom. He tensed up when I got close and growled when I tried to inch around him. I was so scared I left the house and peed outside and called my brother crying and told him I want Brutus gone.

He said no one would take Brutus and he couldn't return him to the shelter because he lied about him only growling at a toddler: he bit the toddler in the face. If I make him give Brutus away, he'll probably need to be euthanized. But I'm really, really scared of him and don't like being terrified to leave my room in my own home. AITA?

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC 'Roan'

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You meet Tim Rockford in the true crime section of the library of all places.

Rating: T 

Warnings: Language, reference of self-harming + assault, meet cute, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford

Author Note: Elements of X-Men and Sherlock/Elementary mashed together because my brain said so. I've got more of these two (plus another Pedro Boy *cough* Thief *cough*) outlined if y'all are interested in seeing more of this world. It was a lot of fun attempting this new guy 😊

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Part 2

The Session

You cross your legs, trying to get comfortable, immediately grimacing when the plush leather couch squeaks as a result. Your psychologist’s office smells overwhelmingly of lavender from the burning candle on her desk. Dr. Odair insists the smell has a calming effect to combat anxiety, but you remain unconvinced. You’re unconvinced about a lot of the advice these mandatory sessions offer, actually.

“How’s your search going?” Dr. Odair asks, pen poised above a fresh sheet of paper. “Have you connected with anyone?”

According to the internet, Dr. Charlotte Odair is one of the leading experts on empaths, telepaths, and other similar mind-gifts in the world. She’s also renowned for helping discharged military personnel integrate back into civilian society which meant you didn’t have much of a choice seeing anybody else.

Most people’s emotions are a finicky and erratic mess, shifting and fluctuating depending on the countless number of influences stemming from one’s surroundings. Some feelings are easy to identify at once, others are too obscure or complex to be named. The latter are the ones which overwhelm you. The ones which bury beneath your skin, an itch you can’t scratch no matter how harshly your nails dig into your arms, deeper and deeper until they’re stained red. 

Dr. Odair’s emotions resemble crystalline waters, transparent and blatant. There’s no second-guessing with her, no hidden tricks. She’s been trained, masterfully so, to carefully bind her feelings to her will.

“Yeah, it’s been going great,” you answer, then nod down at your feet where a small, golden brown dog lies with his chin on his paws. “Connected with Banjo here over the weekend. We’re a total match for each other.”

She fixes you with a look over the thick rims of her glasses. “Is that so?”

Compared to humans, animals have a much smaller range of emotions. They broadcast exactly what they want like a neon sign, whether that be food, shelter, or a good petting. And if their desires are met, the hum of their contentment is a far more pleasant tune than most songs on the radio nowadays.

You’d actually been looking to get a cat when you went to the pet shelter, dismissing dogs as too needy and energetic for your liking, but fate had other plans. One look at the little mutt, with his tangled fur and deep, froggy bark, and you were signing the adoption paperwork within minutes. And still, even after that unexpected love at first sight moment, Banjo continues to surprise you with how easily he adapts to your routine, standing by your side like he always belonged there.

You tell Dr. Odair as much, but there’s no response even though you know she’s absorbing every word out of your mouth, turning them over in her head, analyzing each syllable. Her mood remains almost frustratingly steady, giving no indication as to what she’s thinking. That look remains though, blue eyes narrowing even further. 

“You never said my match had to be another human.” Your hands tighten around Banjo’s leash, hoping she doesn’t catch the defensive edge your voice has taken. 

Her pen starts to scribble a note across the paper, too similar to a doctor’s chicken scratch for you to read upside down. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing towards the flickering candle. Damn it. 

“Miss Roan,” Dr. Odair begins, and you taste blood on your tongue, “I know it’s annoying, being forced to attend these sessions every week, but the fact of the matter is, empaths aren’t meant to live alone. Especially not after what you’ve endured. Finding someone to match with is what your empathy needs to finally settle down.”

She makes it sound so easy, like the rest of the world doesn’t have any issues with mind-gifts and the lack of privacy that comes with them. Like there isn’t a set of laws specifically written for people who can read thoughts with a single touch or predict the future through dreams because their gifts aren’t as flashy, as visible, and thus in the eyes of the government that makes them the scariest threat of all.

On the battlefield things were different. The laws of polite society didn’t apply, not out there amongst the pools of blood and ceaseless gunfire. Your mind-gift was a tool to take advantage of, capable of numbing pain away faster than drugs and boosting the troop’s morale to a near fever-pitch. There was no time to stop and assess the damage you were self-inflicting unintentionally by overworking your empathy. Nobody who cared enough about you as a person to recognize the warning signs—not even your own self.

It was a miracle, as your commanding captain would later put it, when enemy forces staged a midnight raid on the camp and a man pinned you to the floor, radiating nothing but vulgar lust, that your lapse of control only resulted in putting every hostile within a mile radius to sleep instead of killing them instantly. 

A miracle for the unit maybe, but for you it marked the abrupt conclusion of your military career. Loss of control of one’s gifts stipulated their immediate release from serving, even if in your case it saved lives. Your discharge papers were officially signed and filed by the higher-ups before you regained consciousness three days later with a pounding headache from hell. Your mind-gift, once seen as a helpful aid to win battles, was now a time bomb dumped into the hands of Dr. Odair to deactivate. 

And what is her brilliant solution? Matching. Or, as it used to be called back in the olden days when gifts were thought to be divinely bestowed instead of being entirely unpredictable mutations in one’s genetic code, soulbonding. A powerful connection forged between two individuals, locking their gifts together and intertwining their lives until death splits them apart. 

Movies and fairytales will describe matching as the ultimate manifestation of true love, but love’s got nothing to do with it. Matching is a direct result of a human’s innate instinct to survive. It most commonly occurs when one or both members of the potential pairing possess dangerous gifts likely to cause harm to themselves. Supposedly, the bond is instantaneous once the two meet, causing their gifts to settle down, easier to control. Balancing each other out as if they were two halves of the same whole.

Sounds wonderful. In theory, at least. The biggest problem with matching is it can’t be done with just any random person. It can’t be forced either, not even between established couples. The bond happens solely on the choice of the gifts, not the will of the people involved. The hows and whys and other intricate details of the fateful decision-making process remain a mystery, one perhaps beyond mankind’s ability to ever solve, but regardless, it’s hard to argue against the overwhelmingly positive end results. To date, every recorded pair has admitted their match stabilized their gifts and saved their lives from an early death.

So until your mind-gift figures out who it wants, all you can do is walk the streets of Fox Leap, searching for just the right stranger in a sea of wrong strangers, empathy buzzing like a live wire pressed against your brain with each disappointing encounter.

“I am looking.” You’re being honest, despite what the dropping of your eyes to the floor might suggest. It’s too difficult to meet her gaze, afraid of the pity you might find shining through her carefully maintained facade. “I’m just not sure they want to be found.”

The Meeting

You meet Tim Rockford in the true crime section of the library of all places.

Fox Leap Central Library has essentially become your second home ever since you sought shelter from the rain one miserably gray afternoon two weeks after moving there. It’s one of the few places in the city that doesn’t make you feel like ants are crawling along your spinal cord, designed with dozens of cozy spaces to curl up with a good book and cup of coffee and zone out for a couple of blissful hours.

Your eyes are drifting over the colorful covers of fantasy books offering to transport you to alternate universes full of mythical beasts when you feel it. A flash of anger, stronger and more intense than anything you’ve ever felt, illuminating your mind-gift identical to a streak of lightning tearing through the darkness of night.

The emotion fades just as fast as it made itself known, but your empathy bays like a bloodhound picking up a scent trail, urging you to follow it to the source. Your fingers twitch at your side. Not with the desire to scratch, you realize with surprise, but to soothe. You haven’t felt this kind of compulsion since you’d been on the frontlines, taking away the pain from bullet-stricken soldiers, but that had been your purpose back then, a duty expected to fulfill. 

This…This is a purely selfish want.

You bite your lip, glance down at Banjo, tail wagging as if to say what are we waiting for?, and then surrender to the temptation.

Three aisles down stands the library’s only other occupant in sight: a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white shirt and tan trench coat with dark, unkempt hair like he’s been running his fingers through it lately. He’s rubbing at his stubbled jawline, brown eyes glaring beneath furrowed brows at a book on serial killers. 

He’s the perfect example of tall, dark and handsome but it’s not his looks that has your pulse quickening, a flutter of something dangerously akin to hope beginning to stir. If Dr. Odair’s emotions are a crystalline pool, then this man’s are an ocean in the midst of a storm. Turbulent on the surface, rough and irritable, concealing unexpectedly mesmerizing depths luring your mind-gift to dive deeper and deeper–

“Psychic or empath?” the man asks without looking away from the shelf, a slight raspiness to his voice that has your stomach flip-flopping before full awareness of his question even registers.

Startled back into your own head, you can only manage an eloquent, “Huh?”

He finally turns, piercing you with his gaze, intense yet not unkind. The storm afflicting his temperament lessens some, followed by a series of feather-light curious touches along the edges of your mind-gift.

You suck in a breath, expecting the stinging bolt of displeasure that usually follows when someone interacts with your empathy. Whether they’re being delicate or not, it’s never fun to have the most sensitive part of yourself poked and prodded and toyed with. But there are no symptoms of a headache in the seconds that follow. Only a strange sort of thrill at the connection. A sense of rightness.

And there’s that damn fluttering again…

Once again, you find yourself caught off-guard, unsure how the roles have swapped so quickly from you seeking to comfort a stranger to now you being comforted by him.

“Empath,” he says after another beat, answering his own question with a confidence that’s neither tentative nor arrogant. It sounds like a regular fact of life. The sky is blue, the sun is hot, and you’re an empath. 

“Y-yeah, that’s right.” You nod your head, hands trembling where they are clutching Banjo’s leash. God, you don’t understand what’s wrong with you, why his stare has such a strong effect on your galloping heartbeat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

The man looks down at Banjo then, taking in his snaggletoothed grin and perked ears with a soft smile of his own. “Cocker, poodle, schnauzer—interesting ancestry. I bet you have quite the story to tell.”

How did he–? You shake your head, getting your thoughts in some semblance of an order now that you’re no longer the sole focus of his attention. “This is Banjo. I adopted him from the shelter last weekend. We’re still getting to know each other.”

“Oh, good,” his soft grin widens, revealing a dimple in the side of his cheek. “It won’t take long to catch up then. How do you feel about takeout?”

You blink, frowning because huh? Is he just asking your opinion or is he asking something…more? It’s been so long since you’ve been asked on a date, you’re not even sure what the common etiquette is anymore. Isn’t everything arranged online nowadays? Swiping left or right and all that app rubbish?

“My schedule is unpredictable which leaves little time for cooking or grocery shopping, so at least three days a week I order takeout,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to your increasing confusion. “I also have frequent bouts of chronic insomnia, sometimes I’m up for days without any sleep.”

“Why are you telling me this?” 

The question comes out sounding ruder than it had in your head, but if he’s offended by it the man shows no outward sign. “I figured if I were in your shoes, I’d want to know upfront the annoying traits of who I’ve matched with.”

“Who I’ve–?” you choke on the words, eyes widening.

Oh, you think faintly, a strange clarity sweeping over you, at last connecting the dots that seem so incredibly obvious now. What better reprieve for an overwhelmed mind-gift than an underwater safe haven muffling the chaos of the city. It’s you.

The Offer

“Rockford,” the man—your match—says, extending a hand to shake, warm and calloused. “Tim Rockford.”

You introduce yourself, probably looking a bit unhinged with how wide you’re grinning but you can’t help it. You finally found your match. The urge to run to Dr. Odair’s office and jump on her sofa, screaming he’s actually fucking real! at the top of your lungs is near irresistible.  

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Rockford says. “I had a feeling our paths would cross soon once I settled into my new place. An apartment a couple blocks from here. Three bedrooms. One for me, one for my office, and the other is yours if you’re interested.”

Your eyebrows lift incredulously. “Seriously?”

“A good roommate is hard to find these days,” Rockford responds easily, shrugging. “Who better to live with than my match?”

You think about sharing a space with someone else. Someone who's human that you can have a two-way conversation with over meals, who doesn’t react to your mind-gift with repulsion or contempt. He makes a good point; good roommates are hard to find. A yes sits on the tip of your tongue, held back by a little voice in the back of your head insisting it’s too good to be true. He’ll grow tired of you eventually. Get sick of you dipping in and out of his head like a parasite. You should say no. There’s too much of a high potential you’ll wind up hurt and alone again. It’s too risky.

But, another voice chimes in, deep down beside the fragile hope, if it worked out for all the other matched pairs, then aren’t the odds in your favor? 

“You barely know me,” is what ends up coming out of your mouth, a weak extending of a shovel for him to dig himself out of his offer.

He hums a thoughtful note, head tilting to one side, and your shoulders start to instinctively tense up in preparation of rapid backpedaling. A sudden wave washes over your mind-gift, though, steady reassurance drowning your budding fears.

“I know you’ve recently been discharged from the military,” he begins calmly, that same matter-of-fact tone from before. “I know you’re new to the city, not by personal choice but because you must attend mandatory sessions with a psychologist who resides here and has an excellent reputation with patients sharing your similar background. You’ve begun dreading the appointments—possibly because of trust issues, more likely because until you meet your match there’s very little she can do for your empathy and that frustrates you. And I know you adopted Banjo hoping he would pass as a substitute for me, but while he’s been helpful providing companionship, your mind-gift has continued causing you pain up until our meeting.” A pause for a quiet breath. “I think we have quite a solid foundation already, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Roan?”

“I–you–what?” You blink dumbly at him, brain function short-circuiting. Seriously, what? “How on earth…?”

“We all have our gifts."

And maybe it’s because he doesn’t elaborate further, meeting your quizzical stare evenly, still emanating steady reassurance, that makes it surprisingly easy for you to make a decision. You want to know this man. Not just his likes and dislikes, no, you want to know his happiness, his hurt, all the miserable shades of his sadness and every sharp pang of his rage. You want to look at him the way he looks at you: confident and steadfast. Unique to him in all the world.

If the stories are true and he’s going to be a part of your life for a long, long time, then you have the distinct feeling you’re going to need every one of those precious seconds to understand the infinite depths of Tim Rockford.

So, you nod your head. “Okay,” you tell him, lips curling at the corners into another wide grin when you detect how pleased he is with your agreement. “Let’s give it a try.”

“Meet me there tomorrow afternoon,” he says, grabbing the book he’d been burning holes into earlier with his glare. “445D Albatross Lane. Bright yellow door, can’t miss it.”

Then, turning on his heel in one fluid movement, he heads for the front desk, leaving you to process how a single meeting has just shifted your entire world on its axis.

[robsterskellington]

Well, if you all insist. Here's a cute section for those skk shippers.

Necessary context: this is about a year or so after Vanitas came to Yokohama, so his memories have since returned. Certain other characters from VNC have since made an appearance and some caused issues that won't be spoiled here, but just for the context Naenia *has* hurt Chuuya and made a small impact on his appearance, while also harming him mentally and physically. So this is Dazai trying to comfort Chuuya:

"A puppy?" Vanitas tilted his head, surprised at those words coming from Dazai's mouth- it had been a quiet day at the Agency, so Dazai had asked to borrow Vanitas for what he'd called *personal reasons*. It turned out that Dazai wanted to show his love to Chuuya in a new way, and wanted him to feel better after the last incident they had.

"I'm terrified of dogs, but Chuuya loves them. I want him to be happy, and he put up with so much of my crap." Dazai chuckled, though he was visibly shaking and had grown deathly pale, "I thought maybe I wouldn't be as scared if we got a puppy and raised it so it wouldn't be a vicious monster like the dogs I know."

Vanitas understood that, being afraid of something and worried that it would affect his life if he didn’t get over it. Also he was more of a cat person, so were most of the Agency, as proven by how everyone liked Atsushi. Obviously it wasn't the only reason, but it was a big factor. Humming to himself, Vanitas asked, "Are you wanting to go to the pet store, or..?"

That had been something else Dazai had to think about. He slowly shook his head, "I want to adopt from a shelter. Chuuya would love that, plus even I think it's a good idea, rescuing rather than relying on a possibly sketchy breeder."

Now, Vanitas had come to respect Dazai: he was capable of being cruel and calculating, but he had a heart filled with warmth and kindness, and that wasn't something that anyone could or would ignore. Even when it came to something he hated, Dazai chose the option that was best morally and logically. Yokohama had a lot of strays, so rescue centres were an essential, thus it wasn't difficult to find one. Dazai was terrified, both of the dogs and the thought of this new commitment, but...

Naenia had nearly taken Chuuya from him. He couldn't lose him, not Chuuya. So now, he needed to make sure that he never lost him again, without being manipulative or controlling. Not that anything could truly control Chuuya, he was far too *Human*. Dazai had already fucked up so many times, and it was too much- Chuuya had been the one affected, it was time to fix what he could and ease any pain.

Time froze when a giant grey dog started snarling and barking when Dazai got a little too close to its cage, and he immediately fell on his ass, trying to scoot away while hyperventilating; this was far more than just a fear, this was straight up trauma.

*****

"Stand up and fight, Shūji!!"

Shūji Tsushima was about five years old at this point, standing in a makeshift boxing ring with a metal chain fence circling the entire thing. He and his father were the only people there, but in the cage with him were three dogs at least double Shūji's size. His father was training him to become stronger, he'd said. Shūji wasn't unarmed, he'd been provided a knife, and a gun.

But those snarling fangs had absolutely terrified him, he couldn't even attempt to turn his back and grab the weapons he'd dropped the moment the mutts came out. One had jumped towards him and bit his arm, causing the poor boy to scream and cry, "Father, please help me!!" This wasn't how he wanted to die.

"Pathetic excuse for a son." His father's words was the last voice he heard before he passed out, but the last sounds he heard? Three gunshots.

*****

"Dazai! You're okay, just hold onto me."

That was Vanitas' voice... but wasn't he..?

No. That's right. Shūji Tsushima wasn't here anymore, Osamu Dazai stood in his place, but still had all those same fears, memories and visions. Vanitas was rubbing Dazai's back, slowly guiding him from his panic attack. He did hear the sound of a dog, but no vicious barking, just a whine. Dazai steeled his nerves and looked over at the dog who'd barked, and... it was the one whining. Actually, it looked really sad, like it knew it did something bad.

After taking some calming breaths, Dazai sat up properly and Vanitas reached into his pocket, "I've got chocolate on me, that should help you." The Agency Members always carried some form of snack on them in case Ranpo asked them to tag along, and Vanitas usually carried chocolate, claiming that it was medically beneficial, whatever that meant. However, since Dazai felt better after having a piece, he wasn't inclined to call bullshit.

"...that dog looks sad." It was weak and childish sounding, but Dazai wanted to make sure he was still sort of functioning. Plus, he found himself a little curious.

Vanitas gave him that explanation: that dog was female and had been used for breeding most of her life. She was seven years old, and had only just been rescued, though not before her abusers got one last use out of her. Apparently the name she was given was Viola, and she was expecting another litter of puppies within the next few weeks. It sounded like the sort of sob story that would pull at Sigma's heartstrings.

Once he'd calmed down properly, Dazai decided that after coming this far, he wasn't about to give up now. Vanitas stayed close to him, as they looked around. Animals are more intelligent than some people would make them out to be, and not a single dog barked after Dazai's panic attack. It helped him feel a lot more at ease, and he was able to look at the dogs without breaking out in goosebumps.

Eventually, one large cage caught his attention: the inside was full of puppies that had a mix of tan, white and blueish coloured fur. The mother wasn't with them, and the puppies were clearly a few months old, so they weren't dependent on milk but still very small. Most of them were playing with toys or playfully fighting each other, but there was one who was just... in the corner on its own. It must have been the runt.

Dazai didn't know why, but he found himself kneeling down and while he flinched when he got that runt's attention, he also felt warm inside. Its eyes, one was blue and one was brown, just like Chuuya's! Even in the same positions. The white colour that separated the blue from the tan looked peculiar, it was almost like the shape of lightning bolts, all across its fur. The puppy's ears were tall, far too big for its body, and when it tilted its head at Dazai, its entire body tilted with it, until it fell on its side with a squeak.

"Easy there," Dazai chuckled, carefully reaching out to the cage, letting the puppy catch his scent. The puppy nuzzled his fingers and gave a small lick. Dazai's eyes widened and his thoughts stuttered, *Wait, is this how most people react with dogs? That was so adorable, and I don't think I can leave here without this one.*

"Oh, he never usually goes to people!" The woman who ran the shelter had walked up, having heard about the man fainting in her workplace, "He usually hides in the back away from people. Would you like me to get him out for you?"

Of course Dazai said yes. He was still afraid of dogs, and it would take him forever to recover, but this puppy brought out a reaction that wasn't true terror. She scooped up the puppy and put him on the floor- he scampered up to Dazai, sniffing around him and flopping onto the floor when his ears turned against him again. Dazai smirked again, before stroking his fur, absolutely amazed by how soft it was, he imagined that this was what a cloud would feel like if he could touch them. The puppy yawned and curled up close to him, which sold Dazai completely. After all, if this dog liked Dazai, he would love Chuuya.

However, he looked over at Viola's cage and frowned- all alone in the world and pregnant. Didn't seem fair. Fyodor, Nikolai and Sigma had apparently been talking about getting pets, and while they weren't all on speaking terms, Dazai did keep in touch with Sigma and dialled his number.

*Ring... Ring... click.*

"Dazai? Is everything okay?" Of course Sigma would immediately worry. After giving a brief synopsis of the situation, and the detailed version of Viola's story, Dazai grinned when he heard Sigma's voice become laced with emotion and tears, "Luckily I'm in town. And we did think about getting dogs, so one and some puppies on the way? I think that's that. I'll be right there!"

Dazai laughed when Sigma hung up, likely sprinting here. He told Vanitas, who laughed as well and gave the puppy who claimed Dazai a little stroke, "He's adorable. This one is yours and Chuuya's dog?"

After looking down, and seeing the puppy give him a tail wag, Dazai nodded. This was their dog.

***

"I cannot believe you actually did that." Sigma was walking a cheerful Viola down the street with Dazai, who held a box containing the new pup. He also bought another surprise, but he kept that in his coat pocket.

"Which part? Getting that slug and I a pet, or calling you about someone who clearly needs you?" He teased, but when Sigma had arrived and saw Viola, it was love at first sight. Naturally, Sigma had sent photos to his boyfriends, who practically begged/demanded that he come home with the pregnant dog.

"That you faced your fear so well. And that little one is going to be much happier with you." That made Dazai smile, and he appreciated that thought. "...you are prepared, right? For a dog?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I always plan ahead, I actually bought a bunch of dog stuff and hid them on the top of the shelves and my closet so that the shortie couldn't see them." Ah, how long had it been since he'd had a dig at Chuuya's height? It wasn't a lie, though. Dazai had gotten everything necessary and hid it all from Chuuya so that he wouldn't suspect a thing.

After thanking Vanitas and congratulating Sigma on the new family member, and future family members, he headed back to the apartment. Chuuya should be home by now, so he was thankful that the dog had fallen asleep. It wouldn't be much of a surprise if the gift started barking, would it?

Once he opened the door, he heard Chuuya's voice- he was obviously on the phone, and he sounded anxious, maybe a little annoyed? "...so there's no mistakes? Fuck. No- yes, I'm fine. Just... you're definitely sure? This isn't something that you can-... okay, fine." Chuuya took a breath then cleared his throat, "...thanks, *Doc Glasses*. Bye- *yes* I said thanks, fuck off." He hung up the phone, then saw Dazai and lit up with a smile.

Dazai seemed surprised. Ango and Chuuya definitely didn't like each other to say the least, so for them to have an actual discussion with minimal cursing seemed off. But that didn't matter at that moment in time, as Dazai put the box down and went to hug his partner.

Chuuya was still drained and exhausted after Naenia attacked him, the new white streak in his hair showing and nothing could hide it. Dazai just thought it made him look even more beautiful, which he didn't even realise was possible. After a kiss, they sat on the couch, and Dazai made it clear that Chuuya's business was his own, but Chuuya just scoffed a little, "It's... to do with Verlaine."

Oh. No wonder Chuuya had been pacing. They weren't stupid, they knew Verlaine had been alive all these years, and was their superior at one point. Dazai held his hand and squeezed gently, "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not yet, but I will, I promise." Most members of the Port Mafia kept their promises, but the only two who truly kept them were Chuuya and Akutagawa. Sort of.

"Well, no rush. Anyway, I wanted to make you feel better, so I got you something." Dazai pulled out the small box from his coat and handed it over, an idiotic smile on his face.

"What have you done this time?" Chuuya would always be suspicious of any gift that Dazai brought him, since his presents used to be ridiculous in the past: toy slugs, a book about how to train dogs to be obedient, even a rubber knife to replace a real one he once stole then lost on a mission.

Dazai smirked, "Nothing~! It's just a gift to show my appreciation!" When Chuuya went to open it, Dazai quickly cleared his throat, "Ah, but you can't be mad at me."

Chuuya looked at Dazai with furrowed eyebrows, then at the seemingly inconspicuous box tied with a crimson ribbon, "There's not a bomb in here, is there? ...or a stink bug?"

Dazai shook his head, "No, just open it!" When Chuuya finally did, he tried to hide a smirk behind a glare, "What? It's perfect for my loyal dog!"

Inside was a pure black collar, with a tag in the shape of a bone. It didn't have anything engraved on it yet, but that wasn't really what Chuuya focused on, as he half-jokingly called Dazai every name under the sun. "Seriously, 'samu?! A collar?!"

Once he had his fun, Dazai turned serious. He couldn't hold it off any longer, after all. "Chuuya. I do have another gift for you, but I need you to trust me and close your eyes." He blushed when Chuuya *immediately* closed his eyes.

As if to carry on the joke, Dazai had slipped his finger through Chuuya's choker, tugging it slightly in order to pull Chuuya forward for a kiss. He acted as if he was going to completely remove the choker, only to leave it where it belonged and pulled away.

Taking another breath to steady himself, Dazai went to the box and opened it, seeing that the puppy had just started to wake up. His tail wagged at seeing Dazai, who scooped him up, and carried him over.

Swallowing his nerves, he weakly cleared his throat, "O-okay, you can open your eyes now!" Chuuya did, and he froze. Dazai was holding out the tiniest, most fluffy puppy out to him, "Surprise!"

The puppy let out a tiny yap, his tail wagging uncontrollably, and after seeing Dazai give him a look of *please for the love of God, take this puppy out of my hands*, he did, holding him close and letting him sniff, lick and nuzzle him. Dazai had looked really uncomfortable, though it was because he was scared that one wrong move could lead to him getting bitten or something, and yet Dazai was undeniably happy as well, his smile incredibly bright.

He started to cry, he couldn't help it. This was something he'd dreamed about since he learned about dogs, having a puppy of his own. "Is he ours?" He managed to say through his sobbing, which intensified as Dazai nodded. He nuzzled the puppy, who snuggled into him properly, yawning again. "Oh, 'samu. This is the best."

"I wanted to do better with my fear..." He sat with Chuuya and explained everything: the panic attack caused by a frightened Viola, how he was comforted by Vanitas and this puppy, and how they've both now got their forever homes. Chuuya leaned into him and kissed his cheek, making him smile warmly, "Glad to see Chibi thinks I made the right call."

"You really did." Chuuya stayed on the couch, and Dazai retrieved all of the dog supplies he'd hidden- food, toys, a bed, puppy mats, even some medicine in case he ever got sick. Dazai was prepared, and he wasn't letting his fear blind him to the fact that this was a living creature they were taking care of.

They let him roam and explore the apartment, watching him try to climb and run around like a maniac. Chuuya was silently thankful that the puppy didn't have the zoomies, otherwise Dazai would probably faint again. Now there was one last thing to discuss.

The one thing that the shelter didn't do was name the puppies, which naturally meant that the responsibility fell on Double Black. They both took note of the patterns on the puppies fur. Lightening bolts.

Bolt? Cute, but it didn't suit him. Thor? Too generic. Lightening? A bit too long. Zeus? ...actually.

"Zeus is a good name. He's got the lightening patterns, and he's got personality." Dazai couldn't argue with Chuuya's logic, especially since he looked at the puppy and found himself thinking that he *looked* like a Zeus, if that made any sense.

So that was the name they trained him to respond to. And Zeus was welcomed into their home, as a part of their little family. This was how far Chuuya and Dazai's relationship had come, and they loved it, just as much as they both grew to love their little Zeus.

*****

AN: *Psst.* This is what Chuuya looks like from this point, drawn by my cousin, HisDarkDisgrace on AO3:

[lilac-hecox]

Hi Hi! It's god-has-left-chat, I'm on anon since i don't want my main here lol. Since ur prompts opened up I was wondering if I would request a small shayncer fic? Just something really cute and domestic since I love the boys so much! Thank you so so much!!

Spencer/Shayne - Puppy - Shayncer

--

It’s during Smosh’s month-long winter break that Shayne and Spencer adopt a puppy. It’s a mutt, a mix of breeds leaving it adorable if not a tad bit odd. Kiana had been messaging Spencer different posts from the local LA shelters because apparently she and Spencer have these kinds of puppy discussions at work and via text that Shayne just simply isn’t privy to. It’s Spencer who had padded over to Shayne as he read a book, popping his phone in Shayne’s face. 

“Look at what Kiana sent me,” Spencer had said. 

What she sent him was a picture of a dog with floppy ears, tongue sticking out, fluffy and well adorable. 

“Aww,” Shayne had said. 

“Yeah, and she’s up for adoption. She was rescued,” Spencer said, he turned the phone back to read the description of the puppy aloud. 

Shayne slid his bookmark into his current novel, having given up on the idea of reading and paid Spencer his whole attention. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Spencer said, “what do you think?” 

“For us?” Shayne had asked. 

A little over a year ago he and Spencer had moved in together and everything was going well. Shayne was deeply and well in love with the other man and despite the fact that Spencer had a cat, he had been dropping hints that he wanted a dog. Their apartment was a decent size and had space for small walks and potty training. They would have to pay a small increase in their rent… 

Spencer’s eyes had shined with hope and Shayne found it so hard to shut him down. 

“We’ll both be working.” 

“We can bring her to work with us! You know, like Erica does Winnie.” 

Really, the second Spencer decided he really wanted this dog was the minute Shayne was always destined to say yes. 

So, on a cool December morning he and Spencer drove to the shelter and filled out all the required paperwork for their puppy after having passed the background check and all the other requirements the rescue had asked for. 

They had met her a few times. A playdate sort of situation and she was funny, adorable, and most importantly, Spencer lit up when he played with her. 

It wasn’t long at all before Poppy was their puppy. 

After adopting her they had taken her to a pet store and picked up a cartful of food, treats, and toys. Spencer had even gotten her a little dog hat which Shayne had rolled his eyes at. 

“Don’t make us those kind of dog owners,” Shayne had said. 

“Oh, she loves it, look!” Spencer had said. 

Sure enough, Poppy excitedly sniffed the hat and barked in joy as Spencer placed it on her tiny, fluffy head. 

Life with Poppy was busier, but admittedly more fun. She was always ready to play. She loved to sleep in their bed with them, happily snuggled between Shayne and Spencer’s body. Shayne adored her, and Spencer loved Poppy so much, but what Shayne really loved was seeing how much Spencer loved her. How he would hold her, how they would nap with each other on the couch on the weekends. 

He was always up to taking her for a walk. His boyfriend, who couldn’t be bothered to eat homemade spaghetti out of a bowl, was now meticulously measuring out Poppy’s food while she happily hopped around his feet. 

“You’re so cute and so hungry!” he said in his best baby voice to Poppy, who lopped around happily and rolled onto her back for Spencer to rub her belly. “You’re the best girl in the whole world, Pop!” 

Shayne stood watching, fond and also ready to tease Spencer endlessly. 

Spencer looked up and grinned at his boyfriend. “Bro, tell me she’s not the cutest thing ever.” 

“She is,” Shayne had said as Spencer placed Poppy’s bowl on the floor which she attacked in seconds. “But you are too.” he looped his arms around Spencer’s waist and pulled him close, kissing his cheek, which Spencer exaggeratedly wiped off. 

“I’m going to request we do a dog parent episode of Reddit Stories and take the opportunity to roast you to hell and back,” Shayne said to Spencer as the two of them had watched Poppy eat. 

Spencer had snorted in return. 

“Fine. I accept that punishment. Emily will only let you lightly roast me.” 

Shayne laughed as Spencer leaned against his shoulder, the two of them watched their puppy eat.

[murderoushagthesequel]

Misfit Family

listen, i am aware that this is very unrealistic but tbf i don't really care, this is just a cute lil idea i came up with in the car, looking at my dog (who has some weird vendetta against me)

"Oh, she's so cute!" James exclaims, petting the golden retriever puppy they just placed in his arms.

"Oh, isn't she just!" the lady says. "We just got her in last week!" James frowns at that, glancing over at the scared-looking, older dog lying in the corner.

"What about that one?" James asks, looking after the dog sadly.

"Oh, Rufus? You don't want him, he's been here for years," she scoffs. James frowns again.

"Poor baby," he comments, standing up to walk towards the scared looking dog. He appears to be some kind of mutt, broken black and brown patterns covering his fair, with a long, wrinkly face, and floppy ears. Just then Regulus walks into the shelter.

"There you are, James, I've been looking everywhere," he sighs. He then seems to register where he is. "No, James, no."

"But-"

"We are not getting a dog," he says rather firmly. James turns around, eyes wide and sad and he can see Regulus crack slightly.

"James-" he tries again. James cuts him off.

"But look at him!" he whines, going to pet Rufus. "She says he's been here for years, nobody wants him. He needs a good home, Reggie," James says. The lady scoffs again, picking up the puppy from earlier and going to serve another customer. "She told me not to bother with him," he continues in a sad voice. Regulus looks down at Rufus and immediately caves.

"Oh, you poor thing," he says, stroking his fur softly, so as not to upset him, and wincing at every sore he finds on the dog. Rufus seems to be comfortable with Regulus instantly, where he still seemed a bit scared of James. Many people would be offended by that, but to James, it bring him a sense of calm. A nice thought that these two hurt creatures, trust each other intrinsically.

"Who did this to you?" Regulus asks, tears welling in his eyes. James sees the anger grow in his eyes and he stands up immediately to go yell at the lady for her poor treatment of Rufus and ask for, nay demand, adoption papers. James smiles and focuses all his attention on the scared dog next to him. After a few minutes, he seems to adjust to James' presence, chancing to scoot a little closer. James feels honored to have gained his trust.

"There ya go, sweetie, it's alright," he whispers. Rufus whimpers but lays his head on James' lap. He beams and gently strokes his thick fur. Regulus walks back over, a stack of papers in hand, leaving a rather furious and embarrassed-looking shelter worker at the counter. Regulus is smiling.

"You ready to come home, baby?" Regulus asks petting the dog lightly, who leans into his touch. James is absolutely scandalized.

"Did you just call him baby?" he asks in a whine. Regulus winces.

"I can explain-"

"How could you!" James gasps, scurrying back from Regulus. Regulus holds in a chuckle and James twists his face in offense.

"I'm sorry, baby, it'll never happen again. You're my only baby, I promise," Regulus assures, reaching forward to caress James' cheek. His body betrays him, leaning into Regulus' hand and sighing. He quickly pulls back pouting.

"It better not," James huffs. Regulus laughs, holding out a hand for James to stand up. He reluctantly takes it, walking to the front to buy some essentials before they take the dog home. Regulus trails after him.

"I think he needs a new name," Regulus says quietly. "Rufus is associated with his old life, his bad life. I don't want him to have to deal with that." James knows this has more to do with Regulus' own issues, coming from an abusive home as a trans man, but he agrees immediately nonetheless.

"How about Froggie?" James asks, giggling and Regulus laughs too.

"Alright little Froggie, let's get you home," he smiles, clipping the collar and leash onto their new pet. James' eyes full up with tears as they leave the shelter and Regulus turns to him, face full of concern.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asks. James mentally giggles again at the name.

"Nothing it's just. We have our own little family now," James chokes out, letting the tears flow. Regulus understands immediately, running a hand up and down James' arm.

"Yeah, yeah we do," he smiles. By the time they get home, they both have a few tears staining their cheeks. There they all are, their little family of misfits, who somehow fit perfectly together.

side note, thank you @calamitoustide for doing the right thing and encouraging me to name the dog frog (i changed it to froggie but)

[hisuianhellion]

Update. Too tired to be emotional, so this might sound dry.

Not dead. Despite the universe's attempts to kill me, I am decidedly not dead. My family's also doing alright. All of us are alright on food, shelter and no one's injured. I'm... we're sacred, but we're okay.

I was actually kind of amused by Volo's little excersion onto my blog. Seems people don't trust him, but neither does Mutt, so I'm not gonna say you guys are in the wrong. Only that I DO trust him.

Kamado is not content with letting sleeping dogs lie, and despite Cyllene, Akari and Laventon being opposed, their hands are tied. He has been sending Security corp after Mutt and I. And I'm... rapidly losing my patience about that. We've had to fend off three of them. A fourth would've, but... it was Pacif. The one I helped teach. He's... he delivered a message from Akari. And said that he refused to obey, leading to him being cut from the fucking corps by Kamado, going OVER Zisu's head. And she couldn't do anything.

It's made it clear that even if I wanted to rip that man in half, he's a rather integral part of how Jubilife functions. I can't do too much to him. I don't want blood on my hands, but I was more tempted than I care to admit thanks to Maddie's shared fury over the situation. The people listen to him on the whole, and even with people cutting out to defy him, he's the one in charge. He dies, the village rebels.

I have thus spoken to Mutt. We will not be returning. Ever. I do not fucking care what that man says, I do not care if he grovels on the ground, crying out for forgiveness. I will not go back. I will rip my fucking tail off if I'm made to go back. Not again. I will fucking hire people to build me a house in the Fieldlands. There's no feasible way I will ever fucking go back to that village for anything other than helping Cyllene, Laventon, Pacif or Akari.

As for... what I've been trying to do. I explained to Irida and Adaman that the change to being a Pokemon was "within the week" levels of recent, and while confused, didn't seem opposed. I was still me. Mutt was still Mutt. They would help. They've been tag-teaming assisting, with Adaman leading us to Lake Valor and Irida to Lake Acuity.

We met... I think they're Legendaries. Azelf led me on a fucking fool's errand trying to deter me, and I nearly wanted to bite its head off before it conceded. It wanted me to show my willpower. And Uxie effectively quizzed me. They wanted to make sure I knew exactly what I needed to know, which meant a hefty amount of questions about the Pokemon I claimed to know of. And I got something from them both.

Adaman is heading back to the village to keep a closer eye on Kamado. Something about his movements has us all worried. Volo's been making sure we get information by effectively trailing to the Gingko guild both for supplies and for news, and it seems Kamado's prepping. For what, I don't quite know just yet. I'm not inclined to wait to find out, so I'm on my way to Lake Verity to meet the third of the trio. Cogita's offered to craft the Red Chain, so... it's about time we get shit done.

[petboymart]

Snakeboy!Sakusa accidentally biting you and making you very sick he then started wearing masks (to hide himself), getting depressed and not talking to you. So you had decided to get him an emotional support animal Atsumu (who is a fox/dog or whatever) to try open Sakusa up again.

the snake, his therapy dog and his loving owner

employee notice : heheh a play on the lion the witch and the wardrobe,, anyways insecure omi </3 but also cute helpful tsumie <3 and also supportive you!! look at u being so supportive mwah mwah!!!

this product contains : angst 😈, then fluff <3, injury (snake bite), depressed omi, omi traumatized, tsumie has healing kisses /hj, overcoming trauma, love lots of love <3

you knew it was an accident, you also knew what you were getting into when you got a poisonous snakeboy as a pet. but you can’t forget the look of horror on omi’s face when he realized what he’d done. he had only meant to snap at you, he was petty because you went out without him. he didn’t mean to actually bite you. you had gotten too close.

omi couldn’t forget you sitting in that hospital bed, pale. when you woke up you tried to assure him that you were fine and it was just an accident but omi couldn’t believe you. he had hurt you. he was a bad pet. he hurt you.

when you came back from the hospital, perfectly healthy again, omi didn’t greet you at the door like he usually did.

you had to go seek him out, and found him in the guest room. he had stayed there when you first brought him home, too nervous to be around you. but eventually, he warmed up to you and even became quite clingy so you two slept together in your room. when you came into the guest room, all his stuff was there and your heart broke.

“omi.. why’s all your stuff here?” you asked, and omi looked up at you. his mouth with plump lips that parted into the sweetest smiles when he saw you were covered by a face mask. he looked at you with sad eyes, apologetic eyes.

“i’m gonna stay in the gu- in my room. for now.” he said, and you bit your lip. the look in his eyes was firm despite the obvious sadness. you could not convince him or change his mind. you blinked, smiling sadly.

“okay, omi. take as much time as you need.” you whispered. you turned around and omi fought back the urge to cry and tell you to come back and say he’s so so so so sorry and he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you. but he’s terrified. you were pale and ghastly and sick because of him. it was his fault. he had to be punished but he knew your heart was too soft to do so, so he had to punish himself.

it’s been two months since omi moved into the guest room. you barely see him anymore, and when you do his mouth is covered by that damn face mask. you want to rip it off and burn it and stomp it into the ground for hiding your omi’s face from you. but you had to respect his decision. you didn’t want to. you almost grabbed him and forced him to be with you but you knew that would hurt him more. so you were patient.

he wasn’t getting any better though. it was like he was worse than when you first got him. more withdrawn, sad, mopey, dragging his feet and his tail everywhere he went.

after two months, you had decided enough was enough and you were going to get your omi back.

so, you went to a shelter and asked for a dog.

“a friendly one, who can help make another pet more comfortable. oh, and not afraid of snakes.” you said to the shelter woman and she raised a brow at you but nodded.

“we have atsumu here, he’s a clumsy mutt but he’s very friendly and good at bringing other puppies out of their shells.” she said, gesturing to a big golden brown dog with big chocolate eyes who wagged his tail happily. when he shifted he became a handsome man with that same joyful smile and big eyes. he yipped at you happily and almost bowled you over when the shelter woman opened his enclosure.

“he’s perfect, i’ll take him.” you said between atsumu’s furious licks all over your face.

you explained the situation to atsumu in the car on the way home, and his fluffy golden ears flopped sadly.

“that’s so sad that he doesn’t talk anymore! i’ll talk to him and we can be best friends and we’ll all be a big happy family!” atsumu says and you can’t help but smile at his confidence and infectious joy. hopefully, you think, hopefully it will work out.

it’s been 1 week since you brought atsumu home and he has been stuck to omi like white on rice. omi looks aggravated, annoyed even that’s he’s around but you can see that his brows aren’t furrowed as often as they used to be, and the close proximity of someone else is easing his pain.

omi says he hates atsumu, but you can tell he doesn’t. atsumu loves omi, he loves hanging out and napping together and playing games like catch omi’s tail or tag or hide and seek. he brings light to your house that has been dim for some time.

atsumu also helps bridge the relationship between you and omi. you all eat meals together and omi no longer flinches from your movement, he seems actually happy to listen to you and atsumu chatter about your days. you usually work from home, so atsumu and omi will sometimes come into your office, atsumu leading the way. you had some pillows and blankets and dog beds brought into the room, so omi and tsumie can lay down and nap together.

it was that sunday though, when they were both napping when you felt something wrap around your ankle. you looked down and saw that it was omi’s scaled tail. he was fast asleep but his tail was curled around your leg almost protectively. you smiled, leaning down and ruffling both his and tsumie’s hair. they both smiled in their sleep.

the next day, or night actually, was when tsumie finally brought up the big step.

“tonight, all three of us are gonna sleep together!” he cheered, carrying his and omi’s pillows under his arms. for the past week he had been sleeping with omi, and now that they were comfortable with each other and things we’re getting better, he wanted to be a big happy family.

omi looked nervous, afraid even. what if he hurt you and what if you didn’t want to sleep with him ever again or you kicked him out? he couldn’t bare even the thought. he was going to protest when you spoke.

“okay. lets sleep, just the three of us.” you said, eyeing omi nervously. he realized that you were just as anxious as he was. he nodded his head, biting his lip underneath his mask.

when you all laid down, you were in the middle with omi and tsumie on both sides. it was comical, the arrangement. omi was at the edge of the bed, afraid to touch you while tsumie was pressed up against you, rubbing his wet nose on your neck. omi watched with a tingle of jealousy. though he “liked” atsumu, the pup was new. omi had been with you for years yet atsumu was so much more comfortable with you than he was. he watched you ruffle atsumus hair with your soft hands, smiling. you used to do that to his hair. unfair.

wait, why am i so jealous. i was the one who pushed them away, it’s my fault. it’s my fault. omi thought, reminding himself.

“omi?” your voice broke his thoughts, your tone filled with gentleness and warmth. he looked up at you with wide eyes, like a child.

you had your arm stretched out, and nodded your head at him. he stared at your arm for a few seconds, then your face. he tried to find any trace of disgust or falseness in your soft smile, but he found none.

slowly, ever so slowly he crept closer to you, glancing at you ever inch he moved. then, he finally set his head down on your arm, using it as a pillow. his arms were close to his chest but then your hands tangled into his curls. he couldn’t help but shiver. his arms, on instinct, wrapped around your middle, pressing his head into your collarbone. you lay still for a few seconds before sighing in relief, rubbing his scalp with your nails as you pet tsumie’s head on the other side of you.

atsumu was ecstatic, tail wagging happily but he kept quiet as to not disturb the moment. he laid his head on your shoulder, yawning as you all soon fell asleep.

omi took off his mask the next morning just to give you cheek kisses and you could finally see his precious smile again.

all my brain juice ran out so the ending is rushed !! also, will be posting the schedule for fics in a few minutes!!

[justsomeclintasha]

The last man drops with a thud, and Natasha steps over the body, heels clicking on the tile floor.

“It’s always too easy,” she mumbles, holstering her gun. Clint follows her into a room with a large desk. She opens the top drawer and starts pulling out files.

“It was the dress.”

“You think? Not sure it’s my color.”

“If the cut was any lower your boobs would fall out,” he points out, frowning. She smirks.

“You jealous or what?”

“Whatever.”

“Maybe when we get home we can-“ A noise interrupts her and she snaps her mouth closed. Intel showed four goons. They killed exactly four. So who else is here? His shoulders tense as he steps in front of her, pulling out a knife. Silently, he pads down the hall.

He looks back at her in question. The noise is more of a scratching, which is unusual. She shrugs. Slowly, he opens the door. A giant dog bounds out towards him and tackles him to the floor. He bursts out laughing as he’s covered in slobbery kisses.

“No, no, no!” She steps behind the desk, pushing the dog away as he turns to her.

“Aw come on, Nat, he wants to be friends.”

“We have work to do,” she snaps, turning back to the files. Clint helps her sort them with one hand, the other scratching behind the mutt’s fluffy ears. “Got it. Let’s go.”

“But we can’t just-“

“Clint, we are not bringing a dog with us.”

“But he’s all alone and he’s going to starve if we don’t take him.”

“He’s not going to starve.”

“Tasha..”

XXXXX

Which is how she finds herself shoved against the drivers seat window, the dog squished between them on the console. A steady stream of drool is leaking onto her knee. She groans.

“I hate you. Both of you.”

“He appreciates this. You’re saving him from a horrible fate.”

“I’m sure he would have been fine.”

She pulls the car in front of the shelter and kills the engine. Clint seems reluctant to get out of the car, but he does, coaxing the dog to go with him. He uses his belt to secure him to a light post and tucks a note under his collar. Finally, he lays down a blanket and a well chewed toy he found in the house. He crouches down in front of him.

“Take care, buddy. I’m sure you’ll find a new family really soon that’s not in a criminal drug ring.”

“That was really heartfelt,” she says as he gets back in the car. He wipes his eyes and watches as the dog disappears in the side view mirror. “Are you crying?”

“No,” he mumbles stubbornly. She reaches over to lace her fingers with his. Sometimes she forgets what a big heart he has, how he wears his emotions so openly on his sleeve.

“He’s a good boy, Clint. He’s going to make someone really happy.”

“I know.”

XXXXX

Two weeks later, she drops a photo next to his coffee cup. He picks it up and immediately looks at her with a smile.

“Is this our boy?”

“Yep.”

“Aw man he looks so happy.” The dog in the photo is playing tug of war with a small child. She’s laughing, pulling on the stick he holds firm in his teeth. Clint tacks it up on the empty bulletin board next to his desk.

“You did a good thing, Clint.”

“No big deal,” he says with an embarrassed smile. She reaches out and takes his hand.

“Come on. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

“Best day ever.”

[lavampira]

mal copes with survival 👀

wip roundup

ty kels!! 🖤

MAL COPES WITH SURVIVAL, aka the post-destroy ending, malena is trying to recover and find a new purpose to live her life now that she’s survived the reapers, and latches onto a lost stray dog that totally isn’t a metaphor for her life fic

Kaidan fixes her with a pinched stare that she knows all too well. It’s that very same ‘I’m worried that you’ve gone off the rails, but I’m trying not to show it’ look that she’s been getting a lot these days, and not just from him. Maybe she really has lost it this time, clinging to the wriggling mass of fur in her arms like a goddamn lifeline, every inch of her tense and ready to put up a fight if anyone makes a go at taking him from her, even though it’s only them in the room, and the idea is probably furthest from Kaidan’s mind.

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Okay,” Kaidan returns, his voice steady as he regards her. Patient. Always patient, defusing the bomb that’s become her life. “I’m not questioning you, only trying to wrap my head around… Well, this…” It’s punctuated with a brief wave of his hand towards her one-sided last stand in the middle of their bedroom. “Since it’s clearly important. But why not?”

“The shelters are so full now. The first two I tried had turned me away, something about lack of supplies and space, since they’ve taken in so many animals that got displaced in the chaos, and can’t find their owners, so they're just stuck there.” Malena hugs the furball tighter to her chest, earning an enthusiastic lick to her cheek in response. Gross. “The next said the same thing, but also that they would have to put him down if they took him.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. And I can’t— I mean, I know there’s bigger priorities to rebuild everything, and all of it is a certified mess, but that’s fucked. What, nobody can find a place for this weary little mutt, so they decide he isn’t worth it? Damn it, Kaidan, I can’t take that, too.”

A wave of understanding washes over his face, but whatever he’s apparently realized, he keeps to himself. Instead, he approaches her finally, slowly as though still trying not to startle her or the stray in her arms, and he tucks a short tendril of her hair—damn, she really needs to get a cut—behind her ear before cupping her cheek.

[sapphicquill]

Critickle Role: spin me right 'round, baby (chapter 1/2)

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf, Caleb Widogast, the Mighty Nein (Veth and Cad are there, just not by name!)

Wordcount: 2149

Nothing the Mighty Nein ever did made terribly much sense to Essek—at least not right away. The group had a habit of putting their own unexpected twist on just about everything they did, no matter how mundane. Considering Essek had only recently emerged from “the sheltered kid-from-a-strict-religious-family cave” (Veth’s words, not his) he didn’t really have much “real life experience” to lean on, so the group’s antics were a relatively moot point anyway. 

But Essek was about ninety-five percent sure that Spin the Bottle was supposed to involve kissing, and the glaring lack of any was a bit confusing. 

Essek relied on a lifetime of maintaining a completely neutral expression at all times to keep from staring bewildered at the screeching puddle of tiefling that was the current focus of the loose circle of friends. Mollymauk, sprawled out flat on his back underneath Jester, was writhing and wriggling as the young woman mercilessly drilled her claws into her victim’s sides. A lavender tail lashed wildly, the only part of Mollymauk in that moment that still had a full range of motion. 

From beside the pair, Caleb cleared his throat.

“That is time, Jester. Let my boyfriend breathe, please.”

Instantly, the blue tiefling sprung off of Mollymauk, though not without groaning theatrically and turning to the human, her own tail wavering behind her in a way that reminded Essek of Frumpkin before the cat pounced on someone. 

“Caaay-leb, come ooon , that wasn’t two minutes!” 

“Ja, it was exactly two minutes, just like it always is.”

“You’re just whiney because you can never make Molly safeword out, Jes,” Fjord pointed out from his spot across the floor. Jester let out a frustrated noise as she crawled back over to her unoccupied spot in the circle next to her own boyfriend. 

“I totally have before, I just want to do it again!” 

“Try harder next time, darling,” Mollymauk said, voice coming out a little wheezy as he sat back up and grinned over at their host for the evening. 

- - -

Essek was, admittedly, getting better at keeping up with the Mighty Nein. With all of them being so genuine and good all the time (and the somewhat inconvenient, very large crush he was harboring on Caleb and Mollymauk), it was hard to resist the siren call of their unspoken offers of friendship and connection. The longer Essek spent around the collective chaos of the Nein, the easier it was to just shrug and go with whatever happened, regardless of how preposterous Essek found it. 

When Caleb had offhandedly invited him to attend the monthly Jester-mandated party/sleepover (a tradition that long predated Essek’s own knowledge of the group), he had accepted without even thinking about it. His nerves over being in such close, extended proximity to Mollymauk and Caleb were easy enough to tamp down, he hadn’t even gotten close to having a proper panic attack over it. He hadn’t even flinched when Jester’s mutt of a dog nearly knocked him on his ass when he cleared the doorway of her and Fjord’s apartment. 

When Jester had lowered the music and excitedly announced it was time for Spin the Bottle, Essek had taken pause, eyes darting to where Caleb and Mollymauk began untangling themselves to get up from the small overstuffed sofa, laughing and whispering to one another between quick kisses. All the same, after a half-second of hesitation, he took a seat on the floor next to Yasha, who was providing rather aggressive scritches to Nugget while Beau not-so-subtly fed the dog little bits of pepperoni, and resolutely ignored the hammering of his heart.

Jester’s version of Spin the Bottle had, apparently, been a tradition for almost as long as they’d been having these gatherings. At least, that’s what Essek had gleaned from Beau’s exaggerated complaints about how unnecessary having the rules explained again was. Jester’s eyes had met Essek’s from across the circle, alight with mischief, before she continued: either say the safeword—“licorice,” for some reason—or last the full two minutes. Before Essek could ask what, in particular, might necessitate a safeword for a kissing game, Jester had leaned forward to grab the bottle in the middle of their circle.

Honestly, Essek should have been less surprised then he was when Jester’s hearty spin of the empty spirits bottle resulted in the young woman tackling Mollymauk and unleashing a rather brutal tickle attack. One of the first things Essek had accepted as “Nein-normal” was the group’s extremely comfortable relationship with tickling. Caleb had tried to fill in the gaps as much as he could—it had, of course, started with the tieflings (“Look, of all the stereotypes, this one’s probably the sweetest and most accurate,” Molly had said) and had spread from there. It was to be expected, if one spent even five minutes with some configuration of their friend group, that some sort of tickling would occur. 

Essek had seen Fjord tweak Jester’s sides as he passed her by; had seen Yasha loop her arms around Molly’s waist and hold him still while Veth unleashed revenge for whatever antics the tattooed tiefling had gotten up to; had seen the soft, sweet, surprisingly gentle tickling that Jester was fond of showering on Caleb. Essek had witnessed quite a lot. 

He’d never participated, though.

- - -

 “Careful, you know she’ll take that seriously,” Beau said, rubbing Nugget’s head roughly enough for Essek to realize she was probably wiping off excess pizza oil on the dog. 

“I’m hoping for it,” Molly shot back, already half-crawling closer to the middle of the circle. With practiced ease, he sent the bottle into rapid circles, watching intently as they began to slow. Essek glanced at Caleb out of habit—it was he who Essek had gravitated toward first, and then whenever he felt out of his depth around the rest of the Nein—and felt his heart stutter against his chest as crystal blue eyes met his own. A small, comforting smile graced Caleb’s lips, the one that always made Essek feel a bit like there were several tiny birds swooping around in his stomach, before the group around them gave a collective, nearly comedic gasp. Essek watched Caleb’s brow furrow slightly, his eyes dropping down to look at the center of the circle before darting back to Essek’s face. His expression was… strangely unreadable. 

Finally looking away from Caleb, Essek felt another swoop in his gut as he took in the scene before him: the others staring at him, Molly’s grin turning nearly feral, and the empty bottle’s neck pointing squarely at him. 

It felt a bit like time had paused, without the sharp ozone of recently-cast dunamis. 

“Ah, Mollymauk—”

Caleb’s voice was soft, his expression still impossible for Essek to parse, as he curled a hand over one of Molly’s shoulders. His boyfriend turned to face him instantly, and Essek felt quietly relieved that the two’s attention was off of him, if only temporarily. 

“Essek’s new to this, ja? So be—” Caleb paused, seemingly searching for the right word. 

“Gentle?” Yasha offered quietly from beside Essek, and if his mouth wasn’t suddenly so dry, he thought he might thank the woman. 

“Of course, darling,” Molly replied seemingly to the both of them, his voice much sweeter than Essek had anticipated. The tiefling turned, and Essek tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart as Molly crawled the rest of the way across their circle of friends. On his knees, Mollymauk was practically towering over Essek’s seated form. Essek expected that same devious grin from earlier to still be settled on his face, but was surprised again to see a much friendlier, kinder smile curling at his lips. 

It was the same smile Molly wore when he and Caleb got lost in discussing complex arcane theory, or when Essek admitted to not understanding some turn of phrase someone had thrown out. 

The flock of birds in his gut doubled. 

“Remember the rules, dear?”

When had Molly gotten so close? Essek licked his lips, eyes glued to the two sets of claws hovering mere inches from his torso. 

“Ah, say ‘licorice’ to tap out…”

“Or last the full two minutes that Caleb counts out,” Molly finished for him, leaning ever so much closer into Essek’s space. 

“Right. Yes. Two minutes.” 

The last time he’d been tickled he’d been a child, Verin pouncing on him after declaring he was being a stick in the mud and unleashing an attack that had left Essek in blubbering hysterics. 

“Ready?” The question seems mocking, but the look in Molly’s eyes is shockingly genuine and Essek didn’t know if he wanted to run or to kiss him. 

“As, um, as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

The air in the room was still and silent, even Nugget stopping his tail whacking down on the carpet as everyone seemingly held their breath. 

Essek squeezed his eyes shut tightly, bracing for kneading fingers as Molly descended even further. Nervous energy danced like lightning down Essek’s back. 

Then there were two light claw tips, slowly skating down from the tops of Essek’s ribs on either side, and he felt his breath hitch without permission. The light, pinpoint sensations felt a little like pure electricity shooting into his nerves and he started gasping out giggles without even realizing it. It didn’t even tickle that badly—between the anticipation and the fact that it was Mollymauk doing it, Essek felt a bit like he was going insane from the lightest touches. 

He didn’t say anything, though, much less “licorice.” Molly was being so gentle. He could last through this for two minutes. 

Then, the claws reached his hips, and suddenly they were moving much faster and in circles and Essek couldn’t have ever hoped to stifle the surprised laughter that punched out of him. His eyes flew open at the shock of sensation, and the look on Molly’s face made his stomach do a backflip. The tiefling’s eyes glimmered with delight and the kind of affection Essek had only ever seen directed at a certain human wizard. Impossibly, the tickling felt ten times as intense. 

Molly kept valiantly on at Essek’s hips, alternating between skittering spirals and random patterns that Essek couldn’t make sense of. While the majority of his conscious thought consisted of white noise, a tiny section of his mind quietly pondered how different this would be if the rest of the Nein weren’t there—if it was just him and Molly and Caleb sprawled out on the ridiculously opulent bed he knew the two had in their apartment. Maybe there wouldn’t be a countdown at all, just Essek getting slowly driven to pleasant delirium by the two men who had captured his attention and his heart. 

How in the name of the Luxon had it not been two minutes yet?

A sudden third spot of ticklish sensation lit Essek’s nerves like a string of firecrackers. He didn’t even have to open his eyes (though he severely doubted he would even be capable of that at the moment) to know that a lavender tail’s spade tip was dragging ever-so-lightly back and forth cross Essek’s right inner thigh. That, combined with the attack still concentrated on his hips, nearly had him screaming. 

Just as it felt like he might pass out from lack of air, someone spoke up from elsewhere in the circle. 

“Scheiße, that was two minutes and, er, roughly forty-five seconds, sorry, sorry.”

Instantly, Molly let up, his tickling ending so abruptly that Essek almost felt dizzy. Phantom tingles of sensation raced across his skin and his laughter dropped into breathless giggles once more. If not for the near lifetime of practice in self-restraint, he would have let out an aggrieved whine and a soft plea for more. A delightful haze of dazed happiness had descended without Essek even noticing . 

“Wow, Essek, that was like, super impressive for your first time playing!”

Jester’s chirping voice popped the joyful bubble encasing Essek’s mind in an instant, and instinctual chilled terror shot down his spine at the reminder that the rest of the Nein had seen that entire ordeal play out in front of them. He sat bolt upright, vision hazy and unseeing. 

“Ah, ex—” Essek started, a shivering ghost of a laugh rudely interrupting. “Excuse me, I, hah, need to, uh—”

Without even finishing his sentence, Essek stood and hurried from the crowded living room. A chorus of voices sounded behind him, but he didn’t stop. The apartment’s tiny guest bathroom offered a safe place for him to sink to the ground and press his face into his hands, breath slowing even as his heart thrummed rapidly in his chest. 

Even with embarrassment and mild panic coursing through him, Essek’s mind could only conjure the image of Caleb and Mollymauk looming over him with warmth and mischief and affection in their eyes. 

Fuck.

[whumpshaped]

Chapter 2: Sil

Silence Masterlist

tw institutionalised/normalised pet whump, it/its used as a default for pets, past trauma, morally dubious caretaker, defiant/feral whumpee

Rayan sat on the ground a few feet away from the stray as it ate. He was lost in thought, quietly observing the visible injuries and weird bumps under its skin. Bones healed wrong, maybe.

The more he thought about this entire situation, the more he found himself absolutely furious with the pet’s previous owner. He had wanted a pet his entire life. He had grown up wanting one, seeing how happy and lively and perfect they were, knowing that if he was just a little more fortunate, worked just a little harder, get out of his one-bedroom dwelling and move into something a tiny bit more spacious, maybe the Pet Protection Agency would consider him as a potential adopter. He had always been so passionate about wanting to give poor, helpless things a better life, that was precisely why he was so obsessed with helping the stray cats and dogs around the area. His ultimate goal was to get one of the pets out of a shelter and give it a loving home, the best home he possibly could. 

And then there were people like this guy’s owner. He couldn’t fathom having the wealth and opportunity to adopt a pet and then treating it like utter garbage. He couldn’t fathom how the PPA could’ve given someone like that a licence in the first place. Wasn’t there an interview? Weren’t they supposed to check up on pets regularly? How did they miss this? 

His new acquaintance put down the cup gently, almost like it was handling expensive glass or something. Quite out of character for someone moving around so jerkily, and who had pretended not to care much for the soup in the first place.

"My name's Rayan. May I ask what your name is?" He kept his voice quiet, both so he could avoid startling it, and so others on the street wouldn't hear.

"Wouldn't we both like to know?" It choked out a dry laugh, devoid of any joy or amusement. "Owner called me mutt, or that thing. It. I'm not sure I ever had a name, Rayan." His name felt like an insult coming from the pet, as if he was in the wrong for simply having one when it didn't.

Rayan frowned. "Well, do you wanna have one? You could give me anything. Make something up. Go back and change it later if you come up with something better... surely, you don't want me to call you those things?"

"Why do you need to call me anything?" it snapped suddenly. "You're making it sound like you'll just stick around and humour me forever! Why don't you go on your way already?" 

"I- well..." Rayan rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, awkwardly, looking for words that wouldn't upset the other. He wasn't sure words like that existed. "I was hoping I'd find you here tomorrow, like... like always. Well, for the past week. And that I'd have a name to call you by when I came back."

The stray's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but it didn't lash out again. In fact, it didn't react at all, which was already better than the outburst a moment ago. Rayan counted it as a win.

"Think about it, okay?" he said with what he hoped was a friendly and pleasant smile. "I'll take this stuff back now. I'll bring you more tomorrow, if... you know, if you're still here. If I didn't annoy you into leaving and finding another place."

He slowly inched closer and grabbed the bowls and the plate with the cup on it, still without getting a single word in response. It was only when he turned to leave that he heard a quiet voice from behind him, so unlike the harsh tone he had just gotten used to.

"I've been calling myself Sil. In my head. I was always told to be silent, so I guess I just took it and ran with it."

Rayan stopped and glanced back at the stray, Sil, nodding his understanding without giving any indication that he noticed the faint blush on its face. "Sil it is, then."

"Will you really come back tomorrow?" it asked, prompting him to fully turn back around. "Am I really worth it, compared to a dog?"

"Hey." Rayan crouched down to be at eye-level with it. "I'll be back, as long as you want me to. You could even come home with me." Sil visibly recoiled at the idea, and he quickly added, "It's just an option. Just letting you know. All I'm saying is, I'll be back tomorrow. For sure."

"Okay," it said quietly, watching Rayan stand up again with those sharp eyes that seemed to catch even the smallest of movements. The eyes of someone that had been hurt by those movements.

"See you tomorrow, Sil."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @whump-queen @whump-blog @alexkolax @ha-ha-one @hidden-dreamland @looptheloup @batfacedliar-yetagain @oddsconvert

[firelightfoxes]

i saw a post recently that made me want to state my opinion on something.

i do not hate doodles. in fact, i would say i'm pro doodle. as long as the doodle is bred or acquired ethically, i have 0 problem with them existing.

obviously doodles can have problems much like many other breeds. many. most of them. but that doesn't mean they shouldn't exist! and uninformed/uneducated buyers will unfortunately always be a thing. it doesn't mean that whatever they're buying shouldn't exist.

i don't anymore, but i worked in the animal industry (pet retail, shelter, and veterinary) for about 3 years. i NEVER saw a doodle that was as awful as so many people paint them to be. i'm not saying they don't exist! just anecdotally, i interacted with plenty of doodles that were totally fine. not my cup of tea as far as dogs go, but non problematic. in fact, most of the nervy messes i can remember were purebreds (looking at you schnauzers). that does not mean i think that schnauzers should not exist or that we should witch hunt the people who breed or own them.

in my experience working in rescue, i very rarely saw any dogs that could've been a poodle mix (think curls or furnishings) - and when i did, they wouldn't last more than a day there before getting adopted. people like doodley dogs! i understand this may differ regionally, but where i'm located, we don't have an overpopulation problem of doodles. we DO have a very clear overpopulation of pitbulls and bully breed mixes.

but back to the point. people hate doodles for all sorts of reasons - they're designer dogs, they're a fad, they're bred for money, their coats are bad, etc etc. okay fine, you're entitled to that - but you CAN'T hate doodles for those reasons unless you also hate all the other breeds or mixes (sport mixes!!!) that fall under the above criteria as well. doodles aren't special. they're not different. they're just another type of dog and people like them. popularity isn't a sin. lots of breeds have had their time in the spotlight and yet their owners aren't verbally flogged for having them.

i'm pro rescue and adoption. i'm pro ethical breeding. i have a rescue mutt from a shelter and i have a purebred dog from a breeder. and i believe that doodles fill a niche in a lot of homes that other breeds don't. hence their popularity. if you hate doodles, i think you should really try to think deeply about WHY. like, i'll most likely never own a doodle because they're not what i want in a dog - and if you groomed them and thought they were always annoying and you dislike them - fine! but when you think that every single doodle is the scourge of the earth and people should be ashamed for owning them, you need to sit down and think about that, because chances are you've fallen prey to some sort of anti-doodle propaganda without truly examining the facts.