#as opposed to the handler who has the dog so that they can do other things. augustus just wants to come along and not worry abt it for once

[brittlebutch]

it’s kind of interesting to find points where these characters are kind of tangled up in each other. does anyone else remember that episode of jimmy neutron where sheen and them had to manually detangle jimmy and cindy for plot reasons i don’t recall and like, pick through their traits and skills one by one to redistribute them. that’s what it feels like i’m doing pulling augustus and the changeling out of my head. anyway today i decided that augustus fantasizes about being a service dog a lot and probably fits into the broader furry fandom more than the changeling does.

[darkwood-sleddog]

Hi! I came across your post answering an ask ahout your most ✨controversial takes✨ on the world of dogs from back in April.

I read that you thought the AKC should not allow "professional handlers", and saw that you also seemed to distinguish these from breeders and owners. I've never given it much thought, but I think I would've assumed a handler was just another word for "owner" on my own.

What's the difference between these things, and why do you take your stance against handlers?

(I can infer what a breeder is as opposed to the others lmao, so I guess I'm asking about owner vs handler vs "professional" handler)

In dog conformation the dogs are handled by a handler when they go into the ring. This handler does not have to be the owner and in many instances is not. Professional handlers are just what they seem: people that handle dogs at dog shows for a living. A good handler knows how to make the dog look good, not just from a grooming standpoint, but when moving around a ring. Hiring a pro handler outsources this knowledge, time needed, and skill to somebody else.

There are several problems with this for me:

1.) dog shows, especially at the upper levels, are highly politicized. Hiring the ~right~ handler could give your dog the upper hand from a dog of equal or better value handled by somebody “lesser”. It keeps you and your dogs in the in-crowd.

2.) A dog that shows or “campaigns” a lot becomes known to judges, has more opportunities etc. When dogs are shown by professional handlers the owner/breeder is not always going with them and dogs can be on the road with their handlers going to show after show for months and even years at a time. This is not something the average purebred dog owner can afford.

3.) professional handlers are NOT cheap and conformation dog shows aren’t either. Having the monetary means to hire a well respected pro handler is not feasible for most people. This sets the people who already have the means to compete in dog shows and campaign their dogs year round leagues above people who cannot afford this. This further pinches top dog shows into a 1% that is near impossible to break into for new people, people from marginalized backgrounds, young people, etc.

4.) because of the competitive nature of modern dog shows and it becoming a “sport” instead of an evaluation of the quality of breeding stock you get people willing to look the other way on corrective grooming, poor temperaments, non correct structure to have “their people” win, to have their friends win, to have the people they are connected to win. Dog shows are not an even playing ground and very much an unspoken club of who is “in” and “out”. The culture and ability of hiring pros to take your dog around the country, to groom your dog, to show your dog ensures it stays this way.

In my opinion dogs should be lightly bathed and put into the rings with their owners/breeders/co-owners. Nothing more. This would imo, better level the playing ground and provide more equity in the purebred dog world.

[yawnderu]

I am so sorry about this, but you have opened a floodgate, and you are going to get so many more ramblings off of me

With the topic of skins, it would be really interesting to see what people can come up with, as I know that since KorTac is a PMC they have less strict rules around the uniform compared to something like Taskforce 141, so skins will be able to balance that out. Plus skins can be used in so many ways to even show relationships between characters and to show the character's personality. We have already seen in-game characters wear glorified fursuits, but what if people choose a specific animal for their OC as that animal represents the OC's personality. Or, for religious OCs, they could have religious inspired skin; e.g. for a Catholic OC could have a skin based on Angels where they themselves are an Angel. Or, a skin could be used to subtly convey the OC's backstory without it being directly stated, with a skin being inspired by something like Medusa. Or, a skin could be used to convey the OC's background as it could be very interesting to see a K-9 handler from Taskforce 141 have a skin with their dog or dogs based on a wild hunt that the Fae had. Or, OCs could have opposing skins with a character to represent how they do not like each other and are enemies; I will just use one of my OCs as an example, as he has a dislike for König, who hates him as much back, and I was thinking to represent that he would have a skin based on a deer but a "cursed" one as I was raised with stories about wrong deers, this skin would be in reference to König's The Wolf skin as wolves hunt deers which shows how the OC seems like he would be weak against König, but the horror aspects show that no unlike what it seems he can hold his own

Also, you mentioning casual clothing reminded me of the Senpai Ghost skin, and it would be very fun to see more characters and OCs in casual clothing as it shows what they are like in a none military setting

And with the point of accessories, they could wear or add them to their weapon(s) and that could add so much personality. Someone like Stray could wear a small spider charm as a reference to König, who, in return, wears a small cat charm as he found Stray like she was some kind of stray cat that needed a home. I know for another OC of mine, I wanted to add a kingfisher onto his design somewhere as a way to show his allegiance to Makarov and how he basically belongs to the terrorist as one of Makarov's aliases was Kingfish, and kingfisher sounds extremely close to it without directly saying "Looky here I belong Makarov!" and because kingfish are ugly

Plus, it would be so fun to see OCs with specialised voice lines based on whether they killed a specific character they like or hate. I always hated that we never got that in multiplayer, as I would love to see Ghost say something about revenge for Soap when killing Makarov. Or, OCs saying lines that are based on their beliefs that you would expect them to say to others if they were in the campaign. Or, lines they would say to another character or something they would say to other characters about said character. Using the OC I used as an example in the skins, a lot of his voice lines relating to König would be insults as those two are known at KorTac for always poking jabs at one another and when I write about things relating to the two I always make sure I add that (like when König talked about being both Austrian and German, as I headcanon his mutter is Austrian while his father is German, my OC's reply was "Hahe, what are we going to find out next? That you were rejected from art school before you decided to join?" because he has the autistic issue of having absolutely no filter)

Now, I want to finish my OCs' biographies by Saturday, as you have given me so much motivation, and then I could post the trend ideas since I now want to hear about Stray's or K-9's skins and what voice lines they would have

Sorry about how long this was but you have given me so many ideas and I now want to just ramble about it

U scratch a part of my autistic brain SO fucking much omg I love it

YESYES!! MW3 especially has started going all out with the skins, I have bought so many skin and gun bundles simply because they're pretty, one of my proudest buys have been Senpai Ghost and that decora girl, besides all the anime guns BNGRHJBFFE

Ahhh yes!! I think the MW universe has a lot of potential when it comes to creating many different OCs and even wilder skins now that the multi-player doesn't care about being an accurate representation of war, I'd love to see more stuff like that :3

Accessories are so nice!! Charms or gun buddies would be such a cool concept that adds A LOT of personality to the characters and even OCs, and like you said, it could also be used as a subtle way of knowing more about the character's relationships or allegiances with others.

THE HITLER JAB IS KILLING ME 😭😭😭 it's so blunt, I absolutely love it jkefhjbef YEAH!! I truly wish we got to see more about character's relationships based on voice lines, the same way we get to know A LOT about their personalities and speech patterns. Bit of a nerd ramble, but I absolutely love the way Simon says ''bastard'' a lot, and how calm he is even when he's bleeding out, it's one of my favorite parts about playing him, that ''stay with it... it's nothing...'' voice line when he's about to die and sounds so out of breath makes me fawn every single time, he's such a level-headed soldier.<3

Ohhhh I'm happy to heart that I've inspired you!! <3

OH?? 👀

K-9 is more of a chill and lowkey soldier while on the field, only using SAS-provided uniform, I don't really see her using anything extra despite the fact that she does wear a white coat and regular civilian clothes when she's in base. She gets to go all out when she's not deployed, more of a corporate goth.

Her voice lines definitely would include A LOT of sass and you can tell she's done with everything and everyone, especially the 141 lads despite the fact that she actually enjoys working with them, even if it doesn't seem like it.

Stray... well, if we're going based on the fact that MW3 skins are more wild and less accurate to war, she'd definitely wear something that shows off her arms and stomach, simply because she's proud of all the hard work she puts to make her body strong. I can also see her using something like Ela's elite skin, from R6, though I can also see her wearing something similar to Kali's elite skin! Voice lines would definitely be cocky, very similar to König but even more mocking rather than arrogant. She's one hell of a soldier and she knows it, though being in a hyper-masculine environment for pretty much her entire youth made her even more confident, mocking other soldiers for being taken down by ''a little girl''— something that was used by other soldiers to try and put her down.

[blindbeta]

Hi! I first wanted to say that I love your blog. As someone who wants to write and represent people who aren’t me I always appreciate the help.

I was reading your posts and I was wondering what you thought about my idea for magic I was going to give to my blind character (blind POV character it’s a growing up story and part of his arc is finding some community with other blind people and branching out from his childhood friends)

His power, as it stands, is the ability to communicate to animals and he gets a bird who becomes his sort of familiar and acts as his guide animal. This power was given to him by a spell book mysteriously created for him and written in Braille. His friends have their own books and magic gifts.

Just wondering what you think!

Magic and a Bird Guide Animal

Again, loving the Braille spell books. The idea of everyone having special books and magic gifts is nice, too. The arc you have for him is a refreshing one, as stories so rarely feature more than one blind character, let alone a blind community.

Communicating with animals is a nice power with lots of potential. It doesn’t seem to negate his blindness here.

When it comes to guide animals, I am not opposed to fantasy animals or fantasy versions of guide animals. According to research, these are some of the characteristics guide animals should have:

1) able to learn commands

2) trained to avoid obstacles

3) it should have designated working time and non-working time. For dogs and horses, this is signaled by a harness

4) should not be touched or distracted by others

5) should have good eyesight, hearing, and memory

6) should be able to go anywhere

7) should be docile and not dangerous or aggressive

However, I am wondering about the tactile part of working with a guide animal. For example, this video of using stairs with a guide dog shows the importance of feeling the movements of the guide animal. In the video, YouTuber Lucy Edward’s ascends stairs outside with her guide dog. As they approach the steps, the guide dog places her front paws on the bottom step. The change in elevation signals to Lucy that she is approaching steps. Text reads: ‘The command for guide dog Olga is “step stand” and she places her two front paws on the steps. I then find the step with my foot. When my foot hits the first step, she knows to start climbing. When I feel the harness level off, I know we’re on flat ground.’

For your character, while the bird can help him avoid obstacles, as guide animals should do, the bird will not be on the ground with him. He will miss out on some of the tactile cues. I don’t know how much verbal communication from the bird will make up for this.

Instead, I think giving him a cane will allow him to have tactile experiences and allow him to be aware of changes in the ground. The bird could instead, offer the part of guide animal use that acts as an obstacle avoider.

To elaborate, a cane is usually said to be an obstacle finder, while a guide animal is an obstacle avoider. A guide animal will take a person around objects or find a different path altogether. The handler may not even know the obstacle was there or that a more difficult path existed, depending their level of vision and if they were familiar with the area before. In contrast, a cane user will interact with obstacles. They will need to search around paths and choose the best one for them.

I wonder if using a cane would allow him to navigate his environment while being guided around obstacles and to more suitable paths by his guide animal. This is just a thought I had.

I am not a guide animal handler myself. Therefore, I would like to suggest consulting with guide animal handlers, such as this sensitivity reader who is open for consultation. This can help you write specific details with more ease.

I hope this helps. As always, I am happy to see blind characters using magic, especially when it doesn’t erase their blindness.

This has been cross-posted on WordPress.

[hashtag-xolo]

What are xolos like temperament wise?I'm interested in the breed(especially the coated variety cos less maintenance haha) from what they're described as officially(good companion dog that is aloof with strangers but very affectionate with their own person,smart, active,agile and can do several dog sports).Are they as velcro/affectionate as their description implies despite being a primitive breed?And them being previously used as a watchdog,do you think a xolo could potentially do bitesports?

Xolos are indeed infamously Velcro dogs. If you are their person, expect to have a new shadow as you go to the bathroom. Xolos bond intensely ro one or two people, have a fondness for the satellite family, and that tends to be it. My boy likes the family and will hang out with them but he will immediately ditch them - even as they pet him - because I am leaving the room. That's typical of a xolo. Gotta always be with their person, and this isn't separation anxiety necessarily; they just want to be with their person.

Temperament wise, I'd describe them as calm, aloof, clownish, clever, alert, focused, affectionate, high prey drive, athletic.

Physically, they are capable of a wide variety of sports. They are less biddable than other breeds but very trainable if you understand how to work with them. Xolos have a brain predisposed to seeking patterns and learning patterns so they can be excellent candidates for sports like Rally or Obedience.

When it comes to bitesports... Well, I wouldn't place a xolo as a top pick for bite sports personally. While xolos can absolutely do all the obedience and athletic portions of events like Mondioring, my concern goes back to temperament. See, xolos make better watch dogs than guard dogs. They are happy to alert you to something being up but generally they won't go confront it. Correct temperament for a xolo is stressed as "watchful but never aggressive,". Additionally, bitesports need a dog with a lot of courage and determination to put themselves on the line. And while a xolo will love and adore their handler, that isn't a drive they have in that sense. Xolos tend towards timidity if not well socialized. Remember when I said they're trainable but not highly biddable? Biddability is the desire to please. Xolos as primitive breeds care less about you being happy and more about their paycheck in treats. They don't tend to enjoy tasks that don't pay well. They don't generally have the drive to fight. They prefer to flee and be safe. While bitesports don't put anyone in any real danger, the stress and pressure of the ring would not be very enjoyable for most xolos. As opposed to a sport like nosework where the drive to track is self reinforcement for the sport, bitesports don't have a naturally self reinforcing portion for a correct xolo temperament. While you can absolutely find a unicorn xolo, that dog isn't in correct temperament for the breed. So you aren't likely to see the temperament you'd want from good breeders because they aren't breeding for it. Xolos do have high prey drives but i don't know if that would be enough to keep them going to a high level of success.

And I know you're interested in coated but for the sake of being complete: I definitely wouldn't recommend bitesports with a hairless xolo. Partly due to the lack of due equals lack of protection from injury. Second, their dentition problem. I don't think that a semi toothless dog who easily loses teeth would be a good choice for latching into a decoy.

Hopefully that answers your question well enough!

So potentially? Yes especially if the xolo in question has a very high prey drive. But they're far from my first pick for an offbreed in bite sports as a whole.

[wienerbarnes]

Breathe Deeper

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,324

Prompt: “Why is it always murder and mayhem with you? Don’t you ever just do normal person things? Eat a sandwich? Brush your teeth? Do you even brush your teeth?” (from a random prompt generator)

Warnings: murder, violence, staging a suicide, ~feelings~

A/N: cafe bustelo does wonders for you at 1 am anyway ive been trying to finish this for like two months. have a couple more ideas for these two but feel free to send me any ideas or requests and ill do em if the inspo strikes! also title is purely the song im listening to as i type this out and has no correlation to the story LOL but hey if yall like tame impala enjoy

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

A single pop is heard as a bullet flies out of your gun into the head of the old man who opened the door.

“Christ! No build up?! No tension?! No confirmation that it’s even him?!” Bucky yells as he wiggles his ear to rid the ringing from it.

You brush past Bucky and slide the gun back into the holster strapped to your thigh. You step over behind whatever his name was, Bucky’s having trouble remembering after that blow to his eardrum, and hook your hands under his arms in order to  drag him back into the empty house.

“Why is it always murder and mayhem with you? Don’t you ever just do normal person things? Eat a sandwich? Brush your teeth? Do you even brush your teeth?” Bucky questions you as he closes the door behind him, stepping in between splatters of blood.

“Nope, gotta leave leftovers for the bugs that live in my mouth.”

“That’s gross.”

“Shut up, help me lug this guy to the bedroom.”

The two of you are in a small town in Northern Oklahoma on the property of one of your ex-Hydra handlers. After a few days of researching, the two of you were able to figure out where he moved to and what he changed his name to after retiring from his prior lifestyle.

“I knew it was him from the second I saw him. You never forget.” You explain to him, both of you positioning his body in the corner of the room.

“You go clean up the entryway, I’ll finish staging over here.” Bucky offers it to you. He takes out his own gun from his own waistband and fires a single shot through the same hole you put in between the guy’s eyes. The splatter that explodes on the walls behind him are perfect, artistic almost. Bucky then starts looking around the room; in the closet, under the bed, until he reaches the night stand where a pretty little pistol lays. Not the same gun as his, but he has a feeling the police system in such a small and unpopulated town won’t bother to investigate this death as a murder as opposed to the obvious suicide that took place.

Bucky notices the small skull and octopus stamped into the side of the gun as he places it in his hands. He rolls his eyes before making his way back over to the entryway where you’re sat on the ground, scrubbing away with a rag in your hands and a bottle of bleach next to you. 

Bucky walks over and takes a seat on the loveseat positioned a few feet away from where you are.

“So, where we heading after this?” Bucky asks you, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the arm of the seat.

“Back to New York? You probably gonna be busy working on that murder case.” You glance at him confused before going back to scrubbing.

Bucky pauses before speaking again, “How do you know about that?”

“I… keep up with my fair share of news.”

“You don’t pay for newspapers nor do you have a TV or a phone; you don’t have news. Besides, we haven’t released any information to the public about anything before we get more leads. So, how do you know about that?” Bucky stares at you, eyebrows pinched a bit in the middle as he awaits your answer.

“Do you wanna stop and get some pie on the way back?”

“No. Did you see something about the murders?” Bucky ignores your attempt at changing the subject.

“You just said you haven’t released anything-”

“I don’t mean on the news, I mean in that empty head of yours.” He teases.

You sigh, “I hate when you ask me about my… head.”

“Well, you could be helping here! You can try and be good!”

“I’m sitting on the floor scrubbing an old guy’s blood out of the wood of his own house after I’ve just blown his brains out.”

“Yeah, a bad old guy!”

You get off the last of the specks of blood before standing up and screwing the cap back onto the bottle of bleach. “I didn’t even see anything about the killer, anyway.”

“So, what did you see?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Fetch me a bone here, doll.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d like that, dog.”

He grabs the bleach and rag from your fingers to free up your hands from carrying anything. Tingles travel up the tips of your fingers and flow up through your wrist into your chest. You glance up and make eye contact with Bucky and the dramatic puppy eyes and pouty lips he’s throwing your way. 

You stare for a few more seconds before looking away, “Check that huge pond in Central Park tomorrow. His next victim will be floating there.” You satisfy him before turning and making your way back outside and to the car the two of you took on your little road trip.

While walking back to the parked car, Bucky quickly rushes in front of you and grasps the handle before you can reach it, allowing you to get in the car while he holds it open for you. He throws you an innocent looking smile, a smile coming from a person who surely didn’t just stage a suicide. You bite back your own smile before taking a seat and letting Bucky close the door behind you.

…

When you open your eyes after your nap, it's dark outside the moving car. You slowly lift your head up off the car window and glance over at Bucky, who you now realize is on the phone with someone.

“I told you, it was a weird anonymous number, Sam. I don’t know where it came from.” Bucky speaks softly on the phone before turning his head to look at you in your sleepy state.

“All they said was to check the pond in Central Park tomorrow. I know it’s sketchy, but we don’t have any other leads anyway, we might as well try it.”

“We sounds like a lot of people, ain’t you say that to me one time? Not all of us are on vacation, you know.” You hear another deep voice through the tiny speaker of the phone against Bucky’s ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow, man.”

Bucky wraps up his conversation as you process what you’ve heard. Bucky has lied, again, to the government, to Captain America, in order to protect you and your existence.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks before your thoughts can get too far from you.

“Fine. We’re already heading back to New York?” 

“We’re stopping at a motel for the night, but after tomorrow’s drive, we’ll get there by sundown.”

You sit up proper and stretch your legs as far out in front of you as you can, the bones crunching and popping in relief at the new position. Bucky cringes next to you. He glances at you and watches you pick at the crust gathered at the corners of your eyes, a yawn escaping you along with the last of your grogginess.

Bucky doesn’t know how he’d fully express it to you, but he’s so happy to see the person you’re growing into. Everyday a little bit more of your personality, your mannerisms, your weirdness, your humor, your ideas; everything about the real you, shows more and more. He sees this beautiful woman who, maybe a year and some ago, was walking the line of death and now sits beside him with neon green nail polish and mismatched socks and cute flower earrings adorning the curve of your ear. He stares at the tattoo on your neck, that angry red face with large eyebrows and wonders whether or not that was your idea or not. He wonders if you have any other tattoos hidden among the space of your skin, he doesn’t remember seeing any along your sides or stomach that nightmare of a night in his apartment-

“You’re swervin’.” 

Bucky clears his throat and snaps his head forward, fixing the car to drive straight on the road. Soon, he sees the promising sign, “Motel in 10 Miles,” and the two of you park in the small lot of the light orange building.

The inside smells of old people, an aged scent that isn’t necessarily bad, but makes you scrunch your nose nonetheless. No bugs in clear sight and the roof is still intact, so it should be suitable for a night of rest.

“We only have rooms available on the first floor for tonight, I’m assuming you’ll want one bed?”

Bucky's throat goes dry for a second, “Yes, that’s fine.” He doesn’t want to consult you as you look far off out the front window of the lobby, back turned to the young woman at the front desk. No matter how small a town in whatever state there is at this point in their journey, there is no risking anyone recognizing you, even if your search mission has been deemed unsolved.

A plastic card is slid into Bucky’s right hand and he begins making his way back outside and down the walkway towards their room for the night. You follow him silently.

“I call showering first, I think there’s small clumps of blood still stuck in my hair.” You tell him, flinging your backpack onto the bed, and pulling out a large sweatshirt and panties and taking them into the bathroom with you. 

While the water begins to run, Bucky undoes the blankets, looks thoroughly through the pillows and in between the sheets in search of bed bugs. Next, inspecting the lamps, outlets, and anything else that could possibly hide a camera, microphone, or any other device. He even contemplates tearing apart the carpet under his feet, but decides against the extra work. He places your bag along with his own backpack on the small table in the corner of the room and fixes the bed to not look like he tore it apart recklessly. I wonder what side she prefers-

The bathroom door opens and a cloud of steam flows out, you soon emerge with a towel wrapped around your head, large sweatshirt hanging off your frame and bare feet digging into the soft carpet beneath you. You fling the towel off of your head using momentum from throwing your head and neck forward, the towel landing on the floor in front of you and your wet hair sending a light spray Bucky feels on his warm face.

By the time Bucky finishes with his shower, the room resembles a sauna and his metal arm has gone hot. A long sleeved shirt and cotton shorts are slipped onto his body along with a pair of thick socks to keep him warm at all times. He steps out of the bathroom, using his towel to rub through his hair, and he spots you using the small mirror on the wall. 

Your legs are on display and your underwear is in sight. Bright pink with WEDNESDAY printed on the behind in bubble letters, it’s Friday, the bottoms of your butt cheeks hanging out the bottom of the fabric. The cotton hugs your body and Bucky can’t help but blush at the sight. His mother would smack him over the head if she were here right now. 

Your shirt is lifted, one of your hands holding it high on your chest where Bucky can see a slip of under your breast peeking, the curve intriguing him. Your other hand is occupied rubbing a colorless liquid along your side, Bucky focuses his attention and realizes your rubbing along the scar he left you from your stitches. The bottle on the table has a label that read Vitamin E Natural Oil. 

Your fingers seem unbelievably soft and gentle as he watches them glide along your side, massaging the shiny oil into your smooth skin. You drop your sweatshirt and gather a bit more oil on your hands before rubbing it into your hips where Bucky can see the faintest stretch marks.

“Sorry ‘bout the scar. O-on your side, I mean.” Bucky stutters out, convincing himself that his body is warm from the shower he took. 

“It probably saved my life, so I can’t say I’m sorry about it.” You respond without turning around, as though you knew he was there watching you lather yourself in oil like the beginning of a softcore porn but didn’t mind him enjoying the show.

“What’s that stuff for, anyways?” Bucky asks as he gathers his old clothes back into his bag, folding each piece before placing the packed bag next to yours on the table. Your bag that clearly does not have folded clothes, only crinkled ones. Bucky empties your bag and folds your clothes for you before neatly packing it and closing the zippers.

“Helps fade scars.”

“Yeah, but why? Scars are cool.” 

“I suppose. I’d still like to lighten them a bit. So they look better, prettier.”

“You’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in the last few decades.”

“You don’t even remember most of the last few decades,” You try to joke.

“I mean it. It’s a compliment. It’s okay to accept and enjoy compliments, doll.” Bucky looks at you, forcing you to meet his eyes. You see in your peripheries as he puts the cap on the bottle of oil and places it next to your bag. A small smile adorns his face as he looks at you, and you can’t help but feel a knot form in your throat.

It’s been a long while since you’ve received any kind of love, whether that be physical, emotional, mental, or self. It’s an overwhelming feeling when someone who you aren’t actually the closest with gives you such a deep and personal compliment. 

Aren’t the closest with- this is your only friend he the only person you even know. The point is, being the most beautiful woman of the century is much different than having pretty hair or a good sense of humor.

You look away from him before the small bit of wetness can gather in your waterline.

“Which side of the bed do you prefer?” Bucky whispers softly to you, as to not break the safe atmosphere created by his sweet comment.

You clear your throat that now feels thick with tar, “The right.”

“Good. I prefer the left.”

[lacrow]

Spy x Family D&D Alignment Chart

Okay so I wanna do one of these, but first I’m gonna need input from the community (cuz I’m not an artist and I don’t wanna spend all that time in paint just to mess it all up). Below are my ideas for which character represents each alignment and justifications for each. Give me your opinions and/or suggestions. Tell me if you agree or disagree!

Lawful Good- Loid

Okay so hear me out; Loid is actually more of a stereotypical paladin than you might think. Yes, he has no qualms about killing bad guys, but that’s because to him it’s all justified. He has a singular goal (aside from dealing with Desmond), which is to keep the peace. Any person in the way of that is fair game, so long as what he does/who he kills is okay’d by WISE, like how a Paladin is expected to uphold the morality of their god.

Neutral Good- Yor

Yor is just a nice person. Everything she does is, in her eyes, for the greater good. Killing people who the Shopkeeper deems as traitors is her way of doing good for her country. At home, she is a constant source of positivity for Loid and Anya, and she genuinely cares about her family and would do anything to see them both happy.

Chaotic Good- Anya

A.K.A the get shit done square. Do I even have to justify this one? Anya is literally chaotic good incarnate.

Lawful Neutral- Handler

Okay so this is where things start getting iffy for me. I feel like Handler is clearly lawful, but more neutral that Loid since her job is simply to delegate and keep the WISE cogs turning. I feel like she upholds the law within the agency regardless of her own feelings.

True Neutral- Bond

He’s a dog

Chaotic Neutral- Daybreak

He is literally out there just trying to make a name for himself and he doesn’t care what missions he takes or what he has to do in order to make that happen. He’s not malicious, nor does he have any ideals other than to become famous. Chaos follows in his wake. He was born for this square.

I need to preface these next three: Evil in D&D does not necessarily mean evil like we know it. A person can still be a protagonist and be evil, it’s just that their methods of doing things are inherently selfish and/or their outlook on life is warped in some way from the norm. Having said that...

Lawful Evil- Nightfall

Fiona is textbook lawful evil. She operates within a strict code (i.e whatever WISE tells her to do) but does so for her benefit. She also isn’t opposed to hurting others in order to uphold her version of order. This differs from Loid (hurting others for the greater good) and Handler (hurting others for the sake of order) since really only she benefits in the end, even if she doesn’t see it this way.

Neutral Evil- Yuri

How fitting that Yuri is the direct opposite of his sister. Whereas Yor does everything for the benefit of others, Yuri does so for the benefit of himself; even if he thinks it’s for Yor’s own good, everything Yuri does is to satisfy his own selfish desire to see her happy and have her all to himself. What she wants is irrelevant so long as his fantasy is fulfilled.

Chaotic Evil- Franky

OKAY JUST HEAR ME OUT FOR A SECOND! Franky is, without a doubt, the most chaotic evil character in the whole series so far. This isn’t an exaggeration. This is the asshole square for a reason, and Franky fills it to a tee. Don’t get me wrong; I love Franky as both a character and Anya’s surrogate uncle, but how he’s acted and everything he’s done so far is completely selfish. He is constantly the devil on Loid’s shoulder (i.e telling him to blow agency funds, to not trust Yor, etc.), he has no qualms about deceiving/hurting others (such as wanting to use his disguise to pick up women or threatening to blow Loid’s cover out of spite for not helping him woo a lady), and loves to sow chaos as a pastime (arch-nemesis to Loidman, the SSS agent who loves to torture, he even reveled in Loid’s failed attempts to win over Yor during their date). He might not mean to be malicious, but he totally is. Franky is Loid’s little sidekick, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t sell the guy out for 50 bucks and a ham sandwich if it ever came down to it.

[365days365movies]

January 4, 2021: First Blood (1982) (Part II)

Quick Recap before we go on. Oh, and SPOILERS right up top!

John Rambo (Sylvester Stallone) is a Vietnam vet wandering through Washington State, until coming upon the town of Hope, run by the Sheriff Will Teasle (Brian Dennehy).

Sheriff Will Teasle is an absolute dick who arrests Rambo for no real reason; just for being a “drifter.” His police force, which includes the sadistic Galt (Jack Starrett) and sympathetic Mitch (David Caruso, AKA Horatio Caine from CSI: Miami), beats John Rambo, and post-2020 me is UNCOMFORTABLE!!!!!!!

Rambo has Vietnam flashbacks (like you do) and escapes the prison, pursued by the obsessive and dickish Sheriff and his equally dickish men (except for Horatio, maybe).

Galt tries to shoot Rambo, and karma bitch-slaps him RIGHT in the face, holy shit. He dies, and Rambo is blamed and shot at, escaping into the forest.

OK?

OK. On with the recap!

At this point, all of Rambo’s actions are in self-defense. In truth, it’s been self-defense since the beginning. However, he does kill two dogs, so...yeah, can’t really justify that. That sucks. The dog’s handler gets shot by Rambo, who now has a gun, and we also see that Galt’s certified sociopathy has leaked into everybody else but Horatio upon his death, including the dog guy, who tells his dogs to straight up kill Rambo. But, as previously stated...that’s not what happens.

At this point, I should introduce the amemedala.

The amemedala is a portion of the mesencephalon (or midbrain) discovered in the brains of millennials and younger individuals, recently discovered, named, and made up by yours truly. This area, attached to the thalamus, acts as a relay center between the cerebrum and the various sensory receptors of the body, similar to the function of the thalamus. However, while the thalamus governs the broad relay of senses to the appropriate areas of the brain for analysis, the amemedala relays appropriate sensory signals to the frontal lobes, where catalogs of shared sociological trends, or memes, are housed. This relay and association generates connections between extrenal stimuli, and entries in the meme catalog of the frontal lobes. While this is technically an autonomic process, it can be suppressed with enough willpower.

Why am I ringing this up in the middle of First Blood? Because EVERY. SINGLE. CELL of my brain is working to suppress the amemedala right now. Why? BECAUSE OF THE LORAX, AND FOR WHOM HE SPEAKS.

Is it an outdated meme? Very much so. BUT I CANNOT GET IT OUT OF MY GODDAMN HEAD AS I WATCH THIS MOVIE.

OK. That is now out of my system. Anyway, Rambo continues to speak for the trees, which is understandably starting to spook the smalltown cops. This leads to the VERY surprising moment where a camouflaged Rambo appears OUT OF NOWHERE and stabs Horatio in the goddamn leg! Like, wow, he was invisible! I had to rewind the film to see where he was. This is tense...and awesome, not gonna lie. This is awesome.

And then, he gets another cop by JUMPING FROM A TREE. Well, a tree stump, BUT STILL. After he takes him out, he stands in plain sight in front of an approaching cop. That cop, subscribing once again to the shoot-first-ask-questions-later policy, fires. And I SWEAR, Rambo is FASTER THAN THOSE SPEEDING BULLETS, as he dodges out of the way, and the bullets HIT THE COP HE JUST TOOK OUT!

And then, when I didn’t think this could get any more intense, that cop triggers a booby trap, and A STICK WITH WOODEN SPIKES GOES THROUGH THIS MAN’S LEGS, AND HE’S SPEARED LIKE A KEBAB OH MY GOD

The asshole sheriff runs to the NEW set of panicked screams, and his compatriot is just Batman-ed away by Rambo. It’s just the sheriff, now. The storm is building, and the forest is getting darker. The sheriff frees leg-spike cop, and goes to find the other cop, who’s been PINNED TO A TREE LIKE A BUTTERFLY IN A DISPLAY CASE. See, look!

HOLY SHIT IT’S RAMBO WITH A KNIFE IN THE FOREST. He pins the sheriff up to a tree, then with some legitimately badass lines, threatens with the sheriff with “a war [he] wouldn’t believe,” and telling him to make like Elsa and…

I love this sequence. It is the most intense, crazy, holy shit sequence I’ve seen so far this month. Wow. I understand why people talk about this movie. Man, that was a hell of a ride! Good movie, though. All right, so, time for the final sco-

Oh. Oh, my God. I’m only HALFWAY INTO THE MOVIE?

...Wow. OK, then.

We now meet Colonel Sam Trautman, Rambo’s commander in the Green Berets. He’s come to “get his boy.” He says that he came to rescue the Sheriff’s dumb ass from Rambo, rather than the other way around. And the Sheriff is...an idiot. He’s an ass, he’s a maniac, and he’s a stubborn idiot. Even after learning that Rambo is the best, he’s unwilling to back down, the dummkopf.

Rambo kills a wild boar in the woods, which makes no sense for Washington State, but whatever, sure. Anyway, they try to get the colonel to lure Rambo out, even though that’s obviously gonna make his PTSD, just...SO much worse. Especially as he starts using Vietnam parlance in contacting him. Not gonna end well, guys. But it’s then that we learn that Rambo is now the last surviving member of his unit, contributing to his trauma. Rambo’s also been trying to get in contact with the Colonel, winding up here because he has no place to go. He says that there are no friendly civilians, and the trouble’s been caused by that “king-shit” cop. I will be using this term from now on.

Wow. Damn. Hell of a reason for that title. And I think I love this movie. Seriously, I’m having a good time.

King-Shit Cop keeps going ahead with his absolute idiocy, despite all warnings to the contrary. So, a bunch of troops now converge upon Rambo’s place, but he naturally opens fire on them, without killing a single person. In fact, he hasn’t killed anyone this whole movie, and they make a point of saying that he’s been holding back the whole time. So, they decide to use the next, most logical course of action. They FIRE A ROCKET AT HIM.

Afterwards, the Colonel and King Shit Cop catch up at a bar, where the latter exposes his full sociopathy, commenting that he just wanted to kill Rambo. This is opposed to the Colonel, who doesn’t really know what he’d do if Rambo survived.

Which, of course, he did. C’mon, you think a little military-grade propelled explosive is gonna kill John Rambo? Nah. He’s the best there ever was, and he’s gonna prove it now. He jumps into a military vehicle holding an M-60, and hijacks it. Doesn’t take long for the news to break that Rambo’s still kicking, and he’s quickly intercepted by King Shit Cop, who JUST. DOESN’T. KNOW. WHEN. TO QUIT. And I’d admire his tenacity if he wasn’t SUCH AN ASSHOLE.

The cops try to run Rambo and the truck of the road, and he plays the UNO Reverse Card on them instead. And I’m pretty sure at this point…

...that old Johnny boy’s just killed some cops. So, yeah, now there’s a bigger problem. He powers through the State Police blockade like it was a banner blocking a football team, stops at a gas station, grabs the gun from the car, and LIGHTS ALL OF THAT SHIT ON FIRE! Destroying the livelihood of an individual who had nothing to do with this.

Yeah, Rambo’s starting to turn from innocent acting in self-defense to public menace REAL quick. And yeah, it’s King Shit Cop’s fault entirely...but, yeah, Johnny needs some help, because he’s losing the train at this point. But, not to be outdone, King Shit Cop is also beginning to lose it, and it’s definitely beginning to seem like only one of them is going to come out of this alive. And the Colonel tries to give him an out, but King Shit Cop’s prepared to go down with the ship that he blew a hole in in the first place. Like an asshole.

But here we go, the finale. John Rambo vs. King Shit Cop (whose name, by the way, is Will Teasle. I just like Rambo’s name for him better). KSC’s on the roof, Rambo’s on the street. Rambo causes more property damage, possibly because banks also give him PTSD (I joke, but PTSD is no laughing matter, John clearly needs help), and then finds his way to a store that has just all of the ammo a psychologically-damaged Vietnam War veteran on a revenge quest could ever need.

And then he BLOWS. THAT. SHIT. UP.

And he does this...ALL of this...just to lure KSC out of hiding. This man DESTROYS A TOWN because this idiot, sociopathic, unhinged, King Shit Cop, won’t just STAND. THE FUCK. DOWN ALREADY.

Rambo enters the police station, where KSC is on the roof. And, like the Colonel and the rest of us guessed, KSC gets shot in the process. And as Rambo stands over KSC, the Colonel finally shows up and does what literally everybody else should have done.

Talk. He just...talks to Rambo. He talks to this mentally ill man, and that mentally ill man responds, espousing his pure anger at the war, the public, protesters, work, the country, the town, himself...everyone. And goddamn, is that shit palpable.

This man can no longer fit in the world that he was forced to leave, and forced to return to. This poor, poor, poor man. It hurts. And it sucks. And he pours his heart out to the Colonel, and to us, and...you feel it. You feel his trauma, you feel his pain. You feel the aftermath of war. And it’s been seven years at this point for the Colonel, but no time for John. Not Rambo. John. And it’s just...never over.

Damn. Goddamn.

This...this is one hell of a good movie. And not just a good action movie, either. A damn good movie.

And that’s it. That’s First Blood.

[saywhatjessie]

cute dog related title

3.5k. For Elaine. Join us on Discord! [Ao3]

“What do we think about Joan?”

Henry blinked, looking up from his phone to look over at Alex. “What?”

“Joan!” Alex repeated, excitedly. “As a name!”

Henry’s face contorted. “As in Joan of Arc?”

Alex’s face fell, “No, like Joan Jett. I’m trying to keep with our vintage rockstar theme.”

Henry let out a surprised laugh, turning a bit in his seat so his knee bumped Alex’s. “I like it.”

“Yeah, but if the first thing you thought was a religious figure, that’s not my favorite thing.”

“Well, it’s not like Bowie is the first thing you think when you hear David. Could just as easily be the Bible story with Goliath.”

Alex grimaced. “I don’t know if I like that.”

Henry huffed a laugh again, putting a hand on Alex’s knee. “Well, it’s not as if we have to decide now. Let’s at least meet the dogs first, yeah?”

Alex’s mouth twitched and he groaned dramatically, covering Henry’s hand with his. “ Fiiiiiiiine .”

Henry smiled softly, bringing Alex’s hand up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. Alex grinned, butting his knee against Henry’s, teasing him for being so corny. Henry winked.

“Anyway, I’m more concerned with breed,” Henry said coolly, lifting his phone back to his face. “It’s important to research these things beforehand.”

Alex snorted. “H, I think the last thing we’re going to find is a pedigree where we’re going.”

Henry made a protesting noise in his throat. “It’s not about pedigree, love. We need to get a dog that will get along with David. One that won’t have separation anxiety when we need to be away and one that isn’t terribly difficult with new people.” He turned his phone toward Alex. “I have a list.”

Alex glanced at it and snorted. “Did you really google ‘dog breeds good with beagles’?”

“As opposed to what?” Henry said, his eyebrows hiked. “I got results, did I not?”

Alex snorted again but ran a hand over Henry’s knee as if to say ‘Yes you did, darling, now continue’.

Henry did just that. “Beagles on the whole are rather friendly and there’s very few breeds they won’t get along with.  And there’s always dogs that universally get along with everyone, like golden retrievers and labradors.”

Alex scrunched his face. “Sure, but how basic is that?”

Henry leaned his head against the headrest and turned to look at Alex, mournfully. “You’d look adorable with a Golden retriever.”

“I resent you for implying I wouldn’t look adorable with any dog.” Alex said. “And if I fall in love with a Golden Retriever then it is what it is. But give me more interesting options.”

Henry sighed but dutifully returned to his phone. 

“Greyhounds?” Henry offered, skeptically.

Alex pumped a fist. “Fuck yes. Skeletal horse-looking fuckers. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Henry grimaced but tapped at his phone a bit before humming in interest. “Greyhounds are one of the breeds most in need of rescue, since they’re former racing dogs. But they’re also one of the hardest dogs to rehabilitate and don’t deal well with the cold or being alone.” He looked at Alex, meaningfully. “So a greyhound would definitely do well in New York while we’re away on politics business or some such.”

Alex grimaced. “Okay, fine . What else you got?”

Henry continued to take him through various dog breeds, pros and cons, relating them to David and what life would be like for the new dog back at the brownstone while Henry was abroad and while Alex was in class or potentially doing lawyer things.

It was just so surreal for Alex to think that he could do this. He could get a dog with his boyfriend. They were living stable and almost boring lives. His mother had no more campaigns to run and he was stressed out in school, which was right in his comfort zone. Henry had his youth shelters and his LGBT organizations. He and Henry were out to the world. It felt like they could really start being a family.

And what better way to start a family than with a dog?

“I do hope David doesn’t feel as if we’re replacing him,” Henry mused, briefly looking out the car window. “This is for him. So he isn’t lonely when we’re both out. Since we left Mr. Wobbles, he needs a mate. This is for him. Do you think he knows?”

Alex’s mouth twitched into another smile and rubbed Henry’s knee consolingly. “If he doesn’t know by now, we can always put the new pup in a box with a bow on it. David would have to be particularly stupid if he doesn’t get the hint then.”

Henry turned to him with a frown. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Just a little,” Alex admitted, bringing Henry’s knuckles to his mouth to kiss them. “David knows we love him. He’ll be fine.”

Henry was still frowning but he turned back to the window, getting more and more nervous the closer they got to the shelter.

Zahra had vetted this shelter within an inch of its life, triple checking references and doing follow up calls with adopted dog owners from more than ten years ago. It was extremely important to not only Alex and Henry but to his mother’s public image, that if Alex was going to be adopting a dog, it would be in the most unambiguously ethical way possible. No puppy farms. No PETA ties. Just good old fashioned dog rescue.

They’d set up a private appointment, obviously. They’d tweet about the shelter once they were safely away.

Cash navigated the car around the back of a squat looking building, putting it in park and turning around to look at them. “You both ready?”

Henry nodded, a steely look in his eye. Alex gripped his hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

They pushed out of their respective doors and Alex hurried around the car to Henry’s side, grabbing his hand again before they reached the back door. Henry shot him a grateful smile and knocked.

A woman opened the door with a startled-sounding “Oh!” despite her clearly having expected them. “Well, wow, hi! Come in!”

Alex smiled, as he and Henry stepped past her into an office. The woman was young-looking, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail and glasses on her face. She wore scrubs with little corgis on them.

“Were the corgis for this guy?” Alex asked, pointing to Henry and gesturing at her scrubs. “Because they’re really more the queen’s thing. Our boy is a beagle man.”

Henry rolled his eyes and smiled even as his ears turned red. “Not everything is about me, Alex.”

“Oh, I did wear them for you, though,” the woman said, her hands shyly tucked in her scrubs pockets. “They felt appropriate.”

“You look great,” Alex told her, winking. He gave Henry’s hand a last squeeze before releasing it to offer it to her. “I’m Alex.”

“I know,” she said, with a slight giggle, taking his hand. “I spoke to your handler on the phone. I’m Faith.”

Alex grinned, shaking her hand and turning to Henry. “I’m sure Zahra would love to know she’s my handler.”

“She has been your handler for well over a decade, love.” Henry told him fondly.

He turned to Faith, offering his own hand. “Henry.”

She took it, bending her knees a bit in an awkward curtsy.

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Henry told her, embarrassed.

Alex moved to do his own curtsy, waxing about how amazing and royal Henry is, but he figured that might embarrass Faith more than Henry, so he just grinned and smacked Henry on the ass. “Yeah, he’s really not that great.”

“Alex,” Henry groaned.

“Can we see the dogs?” Alex asked, bouncing a bit on his toes.

Faith looked between them, biting her knuckles, looking very much like she was seconds away from collapsing into giggles. Instead, she cleared her throat and stood up, acting extremely professional. “Of course, follow me.”

They made their way out into the main hallways of the shelter and Alex leaned close to Henry’s ear. “Janis?” He said in a low tone. “Like Joplin?”

“Also Chandler Bing’s annoying girlfriend,” Henry whispered back.

“Goddammit.”

Alex sighed, turning his smile all the way back up when Faith turned to them as they stopped in front of another door.

“I’ve pulled some dogs for you ahead of time. Ones I thought would be a good fit based on what your handler told me. No major abandonment issues, house trained, good with other dogs–”

“Beagle, specifically.” Henry interrupted.

“Yes, a beagle, specifically,” Faith corrected, smiling indulgently. “I’ve pulled three dogs for you to meet today and you can always come back if none of them feel right. But the first one is right behind this door! He’s a Golden Retriever, he’s two years old, and his name is Davey. You ready?”

Alex and Henry nodded and they all headed in.

Davey greeted them very enthusiastically, panting and twining around their legs, his head butting into Alex and Henry’s hands until they scratched his ears. He didn’t bark and he didn't jump up, obviously very well trained.

And he was beautiful. A very handsome and good boy.

“Sit on the ground,” Henry instructed, pulling out his phone. “If I don’t get a photo of you with this dog I will never forgive myself.”

Alex rolled his eyes but sunk to the ground, sitting cross legged in the center of the floor. Davey immediately came up to lick his face, curling his body around so he was sitting square in Alex’s lap. Alex laughed and pet his belly, setting Davey’s tail to thrash in ecstasy. Henry’s grin was too fond as he took approximately a million pictures.

“What do you think?” Alex asked, his hands ruffling Davey’s ears.

Henry glanced nervously at Faith who was sitting at a chair in the corner, supervising their visit. Faith immediately waved him off. “Please speak freely, you won’t hurt my feelings. And Davey won’t understand you, anyway.”

Henry nodded in an acknowledgement, giving a small smile of thanks, but still lowered his voice before answering. “He’s a very pretty dog.”

“ So handsome,” Alex agreed, ruffling Davey’s ears again and kissing his head. “But golden retrievers…”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Henry said, rolling his eyes. “‘Davey’ is also a little too close to ‘David’. Right?”

“We could always change his name,” Alex offered.

Henry’s nose scrunched, telling Alex exactly what he thought of that idea.

Alex scrunched his nose back, mockingly. “Well, he’s an excellent boy. Guaranteed if we don’t take him, he’ll be adopted by the end of the week.”

Henry nodded, his shoulders relaxing a bit at the thought of Davey’s eventual rescue.

Faith smiled, rising from her chair and pulling something from her scrubs pocket. “Next dog?”

Henry nodded, reaching out a hand to Alex, who had been abandoned by Davey almost immediately after Faith had reached into her pocket. Henry helped him to his feet and Faith made Davey sit as she put the peanut butter puzzle treat in front of him.

She let him have it and they left the room while he was distracted.

The next dog was a beautiful floppy eared girl, chestnut with white patches and black feet like she was wearing socks.

Her name was Dobby.

Henry loved her immediately, sitting on the ground and letting her lope up to him and sniff his head. She was a little more demure than Davey, a little more unsure, but she warmed up to them soon enough.

“What is she?” Henry asked, his face in her neck.

Alex translated. “What breed is she?”

“We think she’s an Irish Setter and an English Springer Spaniel mix.”

Alex snorted. “An Irish and an English? Wonder how that worked.”

But Henry’s head popped up from where he’s been focusing on Dobby’s ears and looked at Faith, eyebrow creased. “You think?”

“She was a stray.” Faith shrugged. “We sent her bloodwork in to try and know more but there was some that was inconclusive.”

Henry frowned more, his hands stilling on Dobby’s back before she gave a slight whine and he picked back up on petting her.

Alex kicked gently at his shoe. “Dobby and David. That sounds cute.”

“I don’t like not knowing,” Henry admitted, the inside of his cheek between his back teeth.

“Stop chewing your face,” Alex told him, kicking his shoe again.

Henry stopped, shooting a pout at Alex before repeating “I don’t like not knowing. What if she’s part Chow Chow or Terrier.” He frowned longingly at her bushy tail. “What if she doesn’t get along with David? Chow Chows are not good with beagles.”

“We’re reasonably confident she won’t be a problem with other dogs, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought her in here to meet you,” Faith told them, smiling in sympathy. “I mean, look how gentle she is!”

Henry hugged her around the neck. She was exceedingly gentle.

Alex could have told Henry that they could work with her. That any small percentage of a breed she had that might not like David was something they could overcome. That it would all turn out okay if they took her home.

But Alex didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything for certain and that little margin of error was too much for Henry. If things didn’t work out and he had to give the dog up after falling even more in love with her, it would break his heart.

Alex took a step forward and put his hand on Henry’s head, petting his hair back from his face. He turned to Faith. “I think we should meet the next one.”

Faith nodded, maybe a little disappointed, but reached into her apron again for another peanut butter toy. 

Dobby immediately abandoned Henry when the smell of peanut butter hit the air, so that probably helped the sting some. Alex helped Henry to his feet and pulled him into a brief hug, rubbing a hand over his back.

“Maybe we can come back for her someday,” Alex whispered into his ear, kissing his shoulder.

Henry sighed, sinking a bit into Alex’s embrace before standing up straight. “No,” he said firmly. “I want her to be adopted. She deserves to have a forever home, even if it’s not with us.”

Alex kissed his shoulder again, pulling back and kissing him on the mouth. “This magnanimous sacrificial hero thing you’ve got going?” Alex kissed him again. “Extremely sexy.”

Henry laughed under his breath, ducking his head to kiss Alex back, before turning them both to face Faith, who was already done distracting Dobby and had been politely waiting by the door, politely averting her eyes until after they’d finished their moment.

They made their way to the last room.

Faith opened the door to reveal a medium-sized pointy looking dog.

“ Yeeeees, ” Alex whispered, immediately moving in to sit on the ground.

The dog started jumping around, reacting to Alex’s excitement, her toes clacking on the tile. She ran up to Alex as soon as he was on her level and started licking his face.

“Is this a greyhound?” Henry said, laughing a bit as he watched Alex. Alex, for his part, was entirely focused on petting every inch of this dog.

“Hair’s too long to be a greyhound,” he answered, scratching her butt as she went crazy.

“She’s an Italian Greyhound/Whippet mix,” Faith laughed, watching Alex pick her up over his head like Simba. “We call them Whippigs.”

“ Whippig!” Alex said, delightedly, swinging the dog back and forth above him. Her tongue lolled out in a big doggy smile.

Alex pulled her in close to his chest. She fit in very nicely there: she didn’t squirm too much and she seemed pretty content to be held.

He looked up to Henry, eyes pleading.

Henry smiled fondly down at him before turning to Faith. “We talked about Greyhounds, but we worried it would be too cold in New York. Or that the dog wouldn’t handle us being away very well.”

“Greyhounds usually do have abandonment issues but Whippets are usually better about it, being watchdogs. And any dog you get won’t handle being alone too badly since you have another dog.”

Henry nodded and Alex grinned. “That’s why we’re doing this! So David won’t have to be alone, right?”

Henry sighed, rolling his eyes but quickly returning his attention to Faith. “And the colder weather?”

“Well, they’re not meant to be kept outside, but that’s not really a problem for you.” She paused before turning a smirk to Alex, whispering loudly to Henry behind her hand. “They also wear sweaters very well.”

Alex gasped loudly, getting the pup very excited. “HENRY WE CAN DRESS HER UP IN LITTLE SWEATERS!”

Faith laughed and Henry sighed again, feigning annoyance but with a twinkle in his eye.

Alex put the puppy down and let her run around as Henry talked through more details with Faith.

“She’s three years old. Been here for almost a year after her previous owners moved to an apartment that didn’t allow dogs. Oh, and her name is Evie!”

Alex’s head snapped to them, looking at Henry. “We could call her Stevie. Like Stevie Nicks!”

Henry’s jaw dropped for a second and then he threw his head back and laughed.

From that, their fates were sealed.

  Bringing her home was carefully orchestrated and anxiously accomplished.

Henry had googled it, obviously.

Faith had given them tips but Henry needed a checklist in front of him to calm his nerves. Alex could understand that.

They parked in front of the brownstone (Alex had no idea how Cash always kept this spot open for them) and Alex took Stevie carefully out of the car, setting her on the sidewalk pavement, a Hufflepuff leash clipped to her new collar. They’d decided she was a Hufflepuff.

Alex let her sniff around, familiarizing herself with the environment, while Henry ran inside. She watched him go, whining a little bit, but Alex crouched down to pat her head and she was fine again.

She was getting very invested in the tree planted on the curb when Henry emerged again with David, who came bounding down the steps, panting happily toward Alex.

Step one: introduce dogs while on leashes.

Stevie pulled back, startled, darting behind Alex’s legs and straining at her leash. Alex crouched down, reaching behind himself with one hand to pat her distressed little head, even while using his other hand to greet an excited David. “Hey there, buddy! What’s up, you doing okay?”

David’s tail went nuts as Alex scratched behind his ears. He fell onto his back and showed Alex his belly.

This show of submission brought Stevie sniffing around, tangling Alex in her leash in the process.

When David saw the newcomer he rolled back to his feet and strained on his own leash to try and get a sniff of her.

“Whoa there, mate,” Henry said, pulling on David’s leash. “Gently, now.”

Alex untangled himself from Stevie’s leash and pulled her tight to his chest. The list Henry had said to let her come around on her own but she was shaking! Alex had to hold her.

“David,” he started, looking at the beagle then back to his new baby. “This is Stevie. She’s your sister now. And she’s smaller than you, so be nice.”

He kissed her on the head and then put her down between his crouched knees so she could still feel safe.

She backed into him a little but sniffed back when David got close to her. She took a couple steps away from Alex, getting better access to David’s butt.

“There’s a special gland there, you know,” Alex told Henry as they watched the dogs meet.

“Yes, Alex, I do.” Henry answered. Alex glanced up to see the nervous crease in his forehead.

“Hey,” Alex said, coming to standing. He stepped over the dogs to get closer to Henry, reaching up and rubbing at the crease with his thumb. “It’s going fine.”

Henry took a long breath out. “I know.”

But he was still extremely tense. He was tense when they both dropped their leashes and let the dogs walk around each other freely (step 2). He was tense when they brought the dogs into the house, showing Stevie to her crate and her new food bowls and the other things the PPOs had brought into the house while they’d been doing the emotional labor of introducing the animals (step 3). He was tense right up until the four of them were cuddled together on the couch at the end of the day, watching Bake Off.

Alex and Henry were half on top of each other, their shoulders leaning together in the middle of the couch while David was curled at Henry’s feet and Stevie was hunkered into Alex’s side.

“She was supposed to be David’s mate,” Henry joked, the first joke he’d made since they brought Stevie home.

Alex grinned at him. “I’m cuter than David. I have been trying to get you to admit this for years.”

Henry rumbled a laugh, stretching a bit so he could kiss Alex on the mouth. “You keep thinking that, sweetheart.”

[missdaviswrites]

Fic Writer Intro--MissDavis

I just got back from @ficwritersretreat2019, where we talked about ways to support and promote other fic writers. One idea was to write introductory posts for ourselves, then reblog each others’ posts to spread the word to all our followers. Below I have tagged the other writers who went to this year’s retreat, but even if you’ve never been, feel free to introduce yourself and your own writing. If you tag me, I'll reblog your post, too! 

I’m MissDavis and I've been writing BBC Sherlock fic since shortly after s3. Most of my work is Johnlock with some occasional Johnlockary thrown in for good measure. Here’s the link to all of my writing. If you’re looking for something specific, here’s a breakdown by ship and length, along with summaries from AO3:

Johnlock:

Long fics (50-100+K):

Breakable rated E After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it’s supposed to be. Part 1 of the Breakable Not Broken series.

Full Court Press  rated E College basketball AU: Sherlock is the team’s best shooter. John is the team’s best ball-handler.

Side Effects rated E WIP, currently 10/17 chapters now complete! Sequel to Breakable. Life is a lot better for Sherlock and John than it was a year ago. Yes, John still can't walk and Sherlock is still on antidepressants, but they're married now, and almost everything else is back to their version of normal. They have a dog. Sherlock's solving cases again. But when Moriarty learns of their marriage, he escapes from prison and takes it upon himself to make their lives miserable. Is Sherlock really up to the challenge of catching a criminal whose only goal is to make sure that he and John don't live happily ever after?

Mid-length fics (10-35K):

Chaperones  rated T "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie’s class and you won’t have to share a room with a stranger?“

Christmas With You rated T Watch Sherlock, John and Rosie over the years as they celebrate the season as only they can.

Welcome Christmas  rated T Join John and Sherlock at Baker Street as they celebrate Rosie's first Christmas and beyond. From Rosie crawling around the flat as they tiptoe around each other en route to their first kiss, to a happy retirement with a young grandson who wants to be just like Grandad and Papa, this fic shows how Sherlock and John celebrate Christmas together through the years.

Breaking Christmas rated M Join me in some established relationship Johnlock as I attempt to make Sherlock and John participate in some Seasonal Fucking Cheer. Ficlets that are part of the Breakable Not Broken series.

So This Is Christmas rated T Sherlock, John and Rosie celebrate the Christmas season with the rest of their family. It's not always perfect, but they all do their best. Most of the time. AKA the Christmas ficlets that include Eurus.

Clutter-Free rated E 5 times John made Sherlock clean up the flat and one time he didn’t have to.

Short fics (2K-9K):

The Librarians of Baker Street  rated E Sherlock is a cataloguer who's forced to work the reference desk once a week. Which he hates. Or at least, he used to hate it, until the library hired a new reference librarian. Guess who?

Just a Touch rated E John has trouble falling asleep these days. There’s one thing he can do that always seems to help, but he’s stuck in this hotel room with Sherlock and doesn’t think he’ll get the chance. How will he ever find relief and a good night’s sleep?

If You Lead Me rated M Enough time has passed since Mary’s death that John is finally ready to start a new relationship. With Sherlock, he hopes. But given Sherlock’s stated aversion to romantic entanglements, John is a bit worried about being rejected, and doesn’t know how to proceed. Fortunately, there’s someone who can help him along.

Sherlock Is Actually a Cat Person rated E John brings home a kitten. Sherlock is not okay with it.

The Last Time Alone rated E But it wasn’t enough, not for John. He needed more. He needed someone to hold besides a child, and someone to kiss on the lips and not just the top of the head. He needed sly looks across the dinner table and to know if he put Rosie to bed early he might emerge from her room to find a candle lit and dessert served just for two.

The One Where No One Proposes rated G Sherlock inherits his parents’ wedding rings. It’s ridiculous that they mean something to him. He doesn’t plan to do anything with them. Sentiment.

Equal Footing  rated E Sherlock had certainly never shown any interest in women’s footwear, or in seeing John appear as anything but fully male. But five extra inches—that opened up all sorts of interesting possibilities.

Very short fics (under 2K):

Dirty Laundry rated E If they got far enough along, John knew he would stop noticing the steady clanking thump of the washer, but so far he’d been unable to keep himself from being distracted.

A Boyfriend in Need rated G John's in medical school now, but it's Sherlock who's taking care of him today. A sequel to Full Court Press.

Rosie and the Rainbows rated M Sherlock isn’t exactly opposed to Rosie joining the Girl Guides, but he doesn’t really see the appeal, either. It ends up being much worse than he imagined.

To a Better Year than Last rated G After the life-altering events of the last twelve months, John is more than ready for the new year to begin. Short sequel to Breakable, from John's POV.

Training  rated G Sherlock had terrible running form; they would have to work on that later. For now, John just ran, happy that for once Sherlock was the one chasing after him.

Honey Bee rated G Rosie gets stung by a bee. It’s not a big deal, except that it is.

He Sees You When You're Sleeping rated T Sherlock and John return to the Holmes’ family home for Christmas to find that Mummy has redecorated.

Wrong Disc rated G Two years later and DVDs that Mary made before she died are still showing up every now and then. Thankfully.

The Cute One  rated G "This post says that whenever there are three people, there must be one who's the clever one, one who's the cool one, and one who's the cute one.” Rosie looked from John to Sherlock and back again. “So which of us is which?”

Better  rated G Sometimes the world just calls for a bit of comfort. A 221B ficlet.

Let's Go on a Family Holiday (& Then Not Leave the Room) rated T Sherlock looked up, noting that John’s bare chest lacked the glossy sheen of suncream that he had been anticipating. A 221B ficlet

Johnlockary

Could Be Fun 36K words, rated E This is the first fic I started writing when I got into the Sherlock fandom. John, Sherlock and Mary embark on a new stage of their relationship. Nine chapters of smut and snark, canon-compliant through series 3.

The Life We Choose 16K words, rated M Based on the "30 Days of Sherlock Challenge,” a series of ficlets from the points of view of Sherlock, John, Mary, and, of course, Alice Watson: I have three parents. Some of my friends have three, too, or even four, but none of them has three who all live together, which makes me the luckiest out of all my friends.

Imagine the Christmas Dinners 15K words, rated M A series of Christmas-themed ficlets, featuring Sherlock, John and Mary over the years, with appearances by Baby Watson, Mummy Holmes, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

Better Off Together 9K words, WIP, now complete at 16K! Rated M What if everyone lived happily ever after? Yes, I’m still writing this, maybe 1 or 2 chapters left to go!

An Afternoon Interruption 7K words, rated E Still the only John/Sherlock/Mary/Sally fic on AO3!

The Clothes You Once Wore  4K words, rated E Mary took a deep breath and conceded to herself that maybe she did want to put on the assassin outfit and tie him to the bed and have her way with him. Maybe Sherlock had just known it before she did. Possibly my favorite short fic I’ve written.

Got You Pegged 2K words, rated E Sherlock could think of six different ways they could make it fit using common household items he had in the flat, but he didn’t think he could wait that long.

The Space Between 2K words, rated E This one is really more Johnlock than Johnlockary. Written as part of the Come At Once 24-hour porn challenge.

Safe Not Sound   2K words, rated E "Oh, come on. I'm willing to put up with all this 'gun safety' nonsense you and John are insisting on, the least you could do is give me what I want in return."

Brand New Day 1500 words, rated T Breakfast, babies, and three people trying to do their best.

While You Were Sleeping  1K words, rated E “We—” Mary started and Sherlock pressed his fingers a bit harder against her leg. She inhaled. “He’ll wake up.”

Storage Space  695 words, rated M Sherlock has his own space at John and Mary’s house now. The first fic I ever posted!

Bed rated T It’s a bit tight, but they all fit. A 221B ficlet.

Other Ships or Ship-free

All We Have  5K words, rated T, Gen. My angsty, pre-series 4 interpretation of what might have happened to a third Holmes brother.

One Night, Twenty Weeks 4K words, rated E, Mary/Molly. Mary has a problem. Molly helps her out.

Actually, the Baby Sits on You 3K words, rated G, Gen. Sherlock watches the Watsons’ baby for the first time.

Tea for Three 2K words, rated E, Mrs. Hudson/Mrs. Holmes/Mr. Holmes. Mrs. Hudson had been with many men over the years—older, younger, single, divorced, married and seeing her on the side either secretly or openly—but this was the first time she had ever been with a man while his wife lay right beside them.

Tiny Little Pieces 1594 words, rated G, John/Mary. They watched to the end of the DVD; Sherlock smiled and winked at them and John flicked off the screen again. “So. That’s Sherlock.” He gave her a smile that was even more forced than the one Sherlock had just displayed. “It’s funny. I’d almost forgotten what he sounded like.”

Not in the Job Description 1,505 words, rated E, Sherlock/Sally. The case has Sherlock stumped, and John’s not around to help him focus. Someone has to step up and help him clear his mind.

Once He Is Gone 1K words, rated T, Gen. John is fine at Sherlock’s funeral. Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s been to funerals for so many of his friends. Why would Sherlock’s be any different?

When Mary Met Sally 766 words, rated G, Gen. Sally stops by Baker Street with a case but finds out that Sherlock isn’t home.

Kick  Gen, rated G. Mary is pregnant, John’s not speaking to her, and Sherlock’s still in hospital. A 221B ficlet.

-------------------------

Tagging: @hubblegleeflower @pipmer @pippn-frodo @totallysilvergirl @daringlydomestic @prettyrealisticjohnlockfanart @cumberqueer @addictedstilltheaddict @disaronnus @weneedtotalkaboutsherlock @quantum-sparrow @blogstandbygo @amindamazed @fearlessdiva930 @onwallsiwrite

and tagging *anyone* else who wants to share--really, feel free to promote your fic!

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Silenced

Prompt: Whumptober Day 28, Beaten

Summary: CJ is filming alone when he's approached by a group and asked for directions. Things take an awful turn once they realize, to their disgust, that CJ is mute.

Warnings: Bullying, violence, ableism, ableist language including r-slur

Tagging: @peribloke @tired-eldritchhorror (ask to be tagged!)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

It’s a fun, peaceful afternoon at first.

Cameraman Jim convinced Reporter Jim to use the day to report a “human interest” story; that is, something pleasant and sweet as opposed to something creepy or complicated. RJ didn’t want to at first (“Those are boring, CJ! The people want ghosts!!”), but eventually relented and even seemed to be having a good time. The pair went to a park to film the joggers and the dogs being walked, but mostly to report on the new patch of flowers near the center of the space. By the time the Jims actually got there, having been constantly distracted by dogs and people and squirrels (“Do you think they know Squirrel Jim?”), RJ had needed to double back for a bathroom, leaving CJ to start filming and photographing the flowers alone.

CJ doesn’t mind filming alone. It’s a bit nice to get absorbed in his subject and take in the scenery. He catches sight of a bumblebee flitting among the blossoms and begins following it with his camera, filming the little creature as it collects pollen from the brightest flowers. CJ does his best not to scare the bee away; keeping the camera a reasonable distance away and relying on zooming in the lenses to get a good shot. He didn’t bring the huge news camera that necessitates a tripod, only his smaller video camera, kept around his neck with a strap. It’s easy to follow the bee around film its journey until it flies away into the blue sky.

“Bye!” CJ can’t help signing to it as it goes.

“Hey!” someone suddenly asks.

CJ jumps a little, startled, and turns to look at who spoke. It’s a man with what appear to be a couple friends. They look a little rough around the edges, with stained jackets and face tattoos and unkempt stubble, but CJ’s never been one to judge. He tilts his head questioningly.

“What’s the way to the bike shop from here?” the man who got CJ’s attention asks.

CJ pauses. He knows roughly where it is; he remembers seeing it on the way into the park, and he remembers where he and RJ entered, so he can direct them accordingly. Except…there’s a pretty good chance they don’t know sign. Most humans CJ encounters don’t. Still, he doesn’t want to be rude, so he lets his camera hang loose around his neck as he responds.

“Do you know sign?” he asks, mouthing the words as the signs them. All three men get incredulous looks on their faces.

“What the hell?” asks the man to the right, with longer hair than the other two.

“What are you doing with your hands?” asks the man to the left, who’s wearing an old beanie.

CJ cringes, halting his hands. He doesn’t run into people like this very often, but usually he has RJ with him as support when he does. He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but it might take him a while.

“I can’t talk,” CJ mouths, nervously twiddling his fingers. A moment later, his face lights up with an idea. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens up the notepad app, and starts typing the directions out. The sooner he gives these guys directions the sooner they’ll leave.

“Don’t deaf people talk sometimes?” the first man scoffs, “Can’t you just talk instead of typing?”

“I’m not deaf,” CJ mouths, cheeks starting to turn red, “I just can’t talk.” He starts typing faster.

“Fucking speak up, weirdo,” growls the man in a beanie. CJ ducks his head further into his phone.

“He said he ain’t deaf,” says the long-haired man, “He’s…he’s a mute, I think? That’s what they’re called, right?”

“Oh, so he’s retarded, then,” the first man says, as though he’s cracked some mystery.

CJ’s throat burns with a held-back sob. Tears prick the corners of his eyes. He puts his phone away and turns to leave. He’ll catch up with RJ later, but he can’t stay around these people another moment longer.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going!?” yells the first man. “You were gonna give us directions!”

“Aww, I think we hurt the freak’s feelings,” laughs the long-haired man.

“Nah, he’s probably not smart enough to have his feelings hurt,” the man with the beanie says, “Wonder what he’s doing out unsupervised? Don’t these people normally have handlers?”

CJ walks faster, but to his horror, the group starts to follow him.

“Turn around, freak! Just give us the fucking directions!!”

“You sure he ain’t deaf? He’s sure acting like he can’t hear us.”

“Nah, he can hear us, he’s just being difficult.”

“Hey…maybe we ought to teach him a lesson.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Hey, wait up, retard, we’re talking about you!”

Jims are quick by nature, but the men are too close, and CJ doesn’t have enough of a head start. He doesn’t know which one grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back, he doesn’t know which one grabs his arm to keep him still, but he knows it’s the first man, the one who started this whole thing, who pulls CJ’s camera from around his neck and raises it over his head. CJ pales and shakes his head furiously. Not my camera, please, not my camera!

“Aw, it’s trying to communicate,” laughs the man with the beanie, digging his nails into CJ’s arm and making him yelp.

“Hey, did you hear that??” asks the long-haired man, “It can make noise after all!”

“Alright then,” says the first man, still holding CJ’s camera over his head, “Just tell us to stop and leave you alone, then. If you do, we’ll be on our way. That’s all you have to do, freak.”

And CJ tries, he tries. He’s capable of speech, he knows how to talk, but his voice rarely wants to come out. He can only ever talk when things are calm, when he feels perfectly happy and secure, when he’s with someone he trusts deeply. He can’t talk now, he can’t talk like this. But he tries, he tries to force a word out, tries to say no or stop or please but anxiety and fear tighten his throat and his larynx stays still.

The first man shrugs, lowering CJ’s camera.

“Well, we gave you the chance.”

CJ expects the man to throw his camera down and break it against the pavement path. He’s blindsided when the man raises his arms again and hits him in the face with his own camera, snapping his head to the side and making him bite his tongue. It might have cracked a tooth, it certainly bruised his cheek, and blood fills his mouth from his tongue.

After that, they shove him down to kick him, and CJ loses track of blows. The sobs he tried to hold back before come out in full force, and the kicks make him gasp and scream in pain. Somehow no other people in the park happen to pass by, or they do but just don’t care. CJ doesn’t know; he keeps his eyes closed and his face covered to protect from blows. But he still catches a kick to the face that makes pain explode in his right eye. They mock him every time he yelps and screams, and eventually pause to laugh at him as he lays on the ground, struggling to get up.

“You fucking liar!” the man in the beanie cackles, “You can make plenty of noise!”

“He’s retarded, remember?” the long-haired man says, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “He can screech like a fucking banshee but he still can’t talk.”

“Please, please, please,” CJ begs, mouthing and signing, over and over.

“God, enough with the stupid hand shit!” snarls the first man, suddenly angry. “Guys, hold him down and gimme his hand, I got an idea.”

CJ’s eyes widen and he tries to scramble away, but his body is in too much pain for him to go anywhere fast. The other two men grab him and subdue him quickly, with one straddling his legs and forcing him onto his stomach and the other holding his left arm out along the ground, leaving his hand open and exposed. CJ keeps whimpering, mouthing pleas for them to stop, but none of them care. The first man laughs, then raises a foot. CJ looks away. The man stomps down on CJ’s delicate fingers.

CJ howls.

The man does it again, and CJ can hear bones crack under the thud of his foot hitting the ground. He does it a third time, and CJ almost passes out, his vision going white as pain blinds him. He manages to blink his vision back to normal in time to see the man raise his foot for the fourth time. But before he can bring his foot down –

“Get away from my brother!!”

The man lowers his foot and turns just in time for RJ’s heavy microphone to hit him square in the nose. He shouts in pain, covering his nose as he stumbles back. RJ runs up, swiping his microphone from the ground before anyone can react. Blood seeps through the man’s fingers.

“What the fuck!?” he yells, voice muffled by his hands, and also by his now-broken nose.

“Leave him alone!!” RJ screams in his face. His features are sharp with anger, eyes bright and glittering with rage. He channels every spooky night he’s ever spent in front of a ouija board trying to summon a demon, approaching the group with movements that are almost jerky, just a little too slow but a little too fast at the same time, like a tape being fast-forwarded and paused every other moment. It does its job in unnerving the group, especially when RJ lifts his microphone like he aims to throw it again.

“Alright, fine, fuck!” shouts the first man, still muffled, “This retard isn’t fucking worth it!”

He runs off down the path, and his friends release CJ to follow him just as quickly. Even with the men gone, CJ doesn’t get up, only continues laying on the ground with his arm outstretched, still weeping, trying not to look at his own crushed fingers.

“CJ,” gasps RJ. The unnatural changes fall away and even his anger dissipates, leaving horror and sadness. He almost immediately starts to cry as he scrambles down to CJ’s level. “CJ, oh CJ…”

CJ manages to sit up with help from RJ, gingerly holding his bad hand and resting it in his lap, biting his lip at the agony every tiny movement causes. RJ hugs CJ tight, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead, trying to comfort him even as he cries, too.

“It’s over, CJ, it’s okay, it’ll be okay,” RJ sobs. He uses one hand to pull his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call BJ, he’ll get PJ and they’ll take us home.”

CJ just closes his eyes, squeezing out tears as he leans against RJ’s chest, weeping into his shoulder. He doesn’t tune into RJ’s conversation with Bim, but it’s barely a minute after the call ends when a telltale poof reaches his ears.

He lifts his head to see Bim running to him, panic sweeping his features, panic that turns to horror when he catches sight of CJ’s hand.

“Oh, Cam,” BJ gasps, crowding close. “You poor thing, poor little guy…”

Wilford approaches them slowly as Bim gathers both Jims into his arms to soothe them. When he speaks, his voice is missing its normal accent.

“Which way did those fellows go, exactly?” His eyes are bright pink.

“Not now, Wil,” Bim says, “Take them home first.”

“Alright, fine,” Wilford sighs, like he knows Bim is right. “But mark my words, they’re not getting away with this.”

After the group is poofed to the clinic, what follows for CJ is a flurry of examinations, of stabilizations, of soothing and shushing and stroking hair, of discussions about hand surgery, aftercare, prognosis. CJ listens to it all in a haze, leans into the comfort he’s given despite hardly feeling it. Eventually he stops crying and everyone’s relieved, though still a bit worried, because CJ won’t even talk to anyone with his good hand.

It’s not just CJ’s broken fingers that have left him silenced. It’s the things those men said and the words they called him, ringing through his mind and drowning out everything else.

[madnessinmoderation]

Lost ABO Hannigram omegle rp

Really enjoyed this one, if it was you please get in touch!

You're now chatting with a random stranger.

You both like Omega!Lock, MorMor, Sherlock RP, Wing!Lock, Hannigram, and JohnLock.

Stranger: (S1-ish) Are you courting me? -WG(Omega)

You: Would you be opposed if I were? HL

Stranger: Embarrassed. -WG I've been completely unaware. Alana had to tell me. -WG

You: If I was being too subtle that would hardly be considered your fault. HL It's traditionally an alpha's responsibility to court successfully after all. HL

Stranger: Were you being subtle? Everyone else seems perfectly aware of you staking your claim. -WG It's really not a failure on your part. -WG

You: I wasn't trying to push the issue when you didn't catch onto it, I didn't want to come across as boorish. HL

Stranger: Ha. Like you have the ability to be rude to anyone. I've seen you politely enduring boring conversations with plenty of people, then ask to have them for dinner. -WG How long have you been courting me? -WG

You: I assure you I am capable, I'm just careful to avoid doing so as it's not something I personally like to be known for. HL I have been seriously trying for a few months, although I first started testing the waters not long after we first met. HL

Stranger: Ah, yes. You brought me breakfast and I told you you're not that interesting. I can see why you like me, I'm charming. -WG

You: That was maybe part of seeing how receptive you were. I was perhaps understating how soon after our first encounter I was interested. HL

You: Although it's hard to tell when vague interest turned into solid intent. HL

Stranger: You know, Doctor, I should probably be a little bit more concerned about you strolling around inside my brain when you're also trying to get in my pants. -WG

You: I've only ever been interested in supporting you Will, I hope your knowledge of my interest doesn't make you feel like I have overstepped any boundaries. HL

Stranger: No, I am flattered. -WG

You: Flattered enough to accept an invite to dinner? HL

Stranger: I kissed Alana. -WG

You: Oh. I see. HL

Stranger: It's complicated. -WG I really had no clue you were courting me. I just needed something. It's hard to explain, but you should know. -WG I would still like to come to dinner... if that hasn't changed anything. -WG

You: If you have no present attachment to Dr. Bloom, I see no reason for anything to change. HL

Stranger: You're sure? -WG You don't have to be polite. -WG

You: I'm positive. HL

Stranger: I'll bring the wine. -WG

You: That would be appreciated. HL

Stranger: Just let me know when. -WG

You: This Friday at 7pm? HL

Stranger: As long as I don't end up on a date with a serial killer, I'm all yours. -WG

You: [[Amazing line]] Then lets hope the only 'killing' will be filling in the time before then. HL

Stranger: We'll be friends, won't we? -WG If all of this goes wrong. -WG

You: I'm hoping we won't need to be, but if such an event were to occur I would believe so, yes. HL

Stranger: Good. It's rather had to find company I enjoy keeping. -WG Other than the dogs. -WG

You: Company is easy to come by, good company on the other hand is less readily available. HL

Stranger: Not certain if you should or shouldn't use that as a toast at one of your dinner parties. -WG

You: It sounds about perfect for that sort of occasion. HL

Stranger: I'm sure everyone in the room will feel very special. -WG

Stranger: Shame it isn't the truth. -WG

You: I never specified they were the good company, so it is not technically a lie either. HL

Stranger: You wouldn't consider purposefully withholding the truth a lie? -WG I wish I had known before I mentioned the kiss. -WG

You: At one of my dinner parties I believe a few white lies are necessary to host amicably. HL

You: That is a rather different scenario. HL

Stranger: Is it? Withholding to minimise damage/offence. -WG

You: Dinner guests are aware that these social niceties exist, even if they do not know what the lie is. HL

Stranger: And in the traditions of courting kissing Betas is common place? -WG

You: I'm glad you told me either way. HL

Stranger: I'm deflecting because I feel guilty. Sorry. -WG

You: It's understandable. Would it help if I kissed Alana too yo balance the scales? HL

Stranger: No. -WG No. Don't do that. -WG Just because you're not a jealous man, I am. -WG

You: It was a joke. I know someone I would rather like to kiss, but he's a rather jealous man apparently. HL

Stranger: You've been courting me for months. We could always skip dinner. -WG

You: I suppose I have shown you I can provide plenty of times before. HL

Stranger: Not really want I look for in a partner, anyway. -WG

You: What do you look for then? HL

Stranger: To be understood, I guess. -WG To be seen as someone's equal, despite my biology. Something I usually only get from Betas. -WG

You: Do you think I can provide that for you? HL

Stranger: Are you planning to chain me to the cooker? -WG I should warn you I'll spitefully ruin your fancy pans. -WG

You: I wouldn't give up cooking for anything, so you don't have to worry about that. HL

Stranger: Why do you like me, Hannibal? -WG

Stranger: Out of all the beautiful socialite Omegas you could choose to go after, who would openly welcome your affection, and not take so long to work it out, you want me. -WG

You: Perhaps its because you're not one of those vapid omegas who lack a personality of their own. HL

You: I think you are perhaps I first became intrigued by you because you were the first omega I ever met who stood up to two alphas in the same room in what was clearly an ambush. HL

Stranger: You and Jack are not as scary as you like to believe. -WG

You: Perhaps, but it was impressive none the less. HL I don't want a mate who isn't my equal, I suppose that we have in common. HL

Stranger: You want a mate who challenges you? -WG

You: As much as I challenge them, yes. HL

Stranger: I refuse to believe that I am the first to do that. -WG

You: You're the first to consistently. HL

Stranger: I like that I can't read you. -WG

You: That's a good thing? HL

Stranger: Probably not. -WG

Stranger: It's interesting. -WG

You: It probably isn't a good thing in your books, but I like the way you think. HL

Stranger: You realise you're going to have to share more about yourself. -WG

You: I'm aware. Are you comfortable doing the same? HL

Stranger: Are you pretending you don't know about me? -WG

You: I only know what you let me see. HL

Stranger: And you can draw conclusions on. -WG

You: True, but the same applies the other way around. HL

Stranger: You're far better at selecting what information I see. -WG And Jack isn't in the habit of telling me anything about you. -WG

You: Jack certainly doesn't know as much as you do. HL

Stranger: My point if that Jack tells you everything about me. You're my handler, aren't you? -WG

You: Jack is very professionally oriented. HL

Stranger: Ha. -WG

You: His notes rarely cover simple things like you're favourite food, how many dogs you actually own or what you consider your safe place. HL

You: I've scented you a few times recently, although without much of a chance to do so thoroughly it always leaves me more frustrated than I was before. HL

You: I hope that isn't too much of an admission. HL

Stranger: I always shower before therapy. -WG

You: I know. I can smell the soap on you. HL

Stranger: You're misunderstanding the intent. It's not my regular band. It doesn't dull my natural scent. -WG

Stranger: I hope that is too much of an admission. -WG

You: You wanted me to. HL

You: Have you ever scented me? HL

Stranger: I enjoy the physical effect it has on you. You're usually far more composed. -WG

Stranger: And you've been using biological warfare since our first session. I just evened the playing field. -WG

Stranger: And not exactly scented. Stolen a tie. -WG

You: I have to sacrifice some composure to hold back other desires. HL

You: I didn't exactly change anything, I've never seen any need to hide my scent. HL

You: The blue paisely one? I was wondering where that went. HL

Stranger: You use your scent as a tool to disarm people. It's impressive. -WG

Stranger: Well... comfort people. But familiarity and safety makes people admit things they usually wouldn't. -WG

Stranger: You can have it back, in exchange for another one. -WG

You: I'm hardly the only alpha to take advantage of that. HL

You: You can have something larger if you'd like, the scent will last longer. HL

Stranger: We could sleep together. Your scent would last for a shorter period, but it would be a lot stronger. -WG

You: It would give us an opportunity to fully scent each other too. HL

Stranger: Ah, there is a downside with that. -WG

You: Being? HL

Stranger: I can imagine it'll be somewhat distracting and therefore frustrating when it isn't there anymore. -WG

You: There are ways of making it last long enough til the next night. HL

Stranger has disconnected.

[coldeaglewasteland-blog1]

Advantages of Hiring a Pet Sitter

Unlike humans, pets prefer that their lives be the same every day. He likes to do habits. If you hire an animal handler, your pet can stay at home with you. The sight, smell and sound are familiar to your particular partner as opposed to the boarding facilities. Get the best list of female puppy names.

When you are at home with an animal carer, your pet's diet and routine will continue, which is very important. There are animals in boarding schools who are under great stress for not having any appetite for food. There are also organizations that do not exercise regularly.

If a midwife takes care of you, your pet is less likely to be exposed to stressful situations and illnesses. Your special companion is more likely to have germs and diseases if it is in a boarding school with other animals that are not familiar with it.

There is no need to travel from house to kennel. There are times when frequent travel can be very stressful for your pet.

Professional pet sitter can provide potential animal care that you can count on. Meditation, love, mental stimulation, play time and the possibility of eating incidental items are given to your pet regardless of their breed. There are catering facilities in which some animal species are not accepted.

Choosing animal sitter

Choosing the right pet care specialist can be a difficult task. You need to find someone who knows everything about pets such as feeding and caring for animals, and most importantly how to warm an animal.

If you can hand someone over to your beloved puppy or kitten, you know you can count on being away, you can trust that your pet is in good hands.

First determine whether the person has the necessary qualifications for an animal handler. Ask for references and do some follow-ups. Reference is the best way to get some idea about the reliability of the animal carer.

There are many ways through which you can effectively find reliable pet care. Many websites offer pet care services where you can start your search online.

This is also the best point of contact with your vet. He will probably know someone close to you who knows a lot about sitting pets.

You don't like the first actor you encounter. It is best to have lots of options. You can arrange an interview with any of them. Find out how your pet and person have interacted with each other. A veteran can easily win the trust of an animal.

In addition to your interview, monitor the animal if it asks many questions about your animal. A trusted artist ensures that he knows everything about your pet, especially his diet and medical condition, so he knows how to react to the situation when needed. Questions that do not really care about the well being of your pet.

A shy and scared pet came

Older pets such as cats and dogs get scared and stay away from their new ones. He usually hides and is scared whenever you make contact. It is not really uncommon for animals to be afraid of other people and new environments, especially if they are not socialized properly at a young age. If you are a pet, patience is really something that you have to put into a pet.

A trustworthy animal keeper knows how to trust a shy and scared animal. Learn the "language" of pets so that you can gain confidence more easily.

Do not look at the animal directly if your presence is not used. This sometimes sends an offensive message to the animal that can start a fight.

You periodically sit next to pets so that they know that you are on the same level. That there is no danger to you.

Talk to your special partner as best you can. Once the animal is used to your company, stroke it for a few minutes and for the next day.

[highwaywhump]

795: the first night

I’m fairly new at this, but my first whump piece of course had to feature a boxboy. The story is still in the works, although I think I have a pretty rough outline of it all. Please keep in mind that English isn’t my first language, but I’m doing my best. Good and bad critique is much appreciated, and let me know if I should add any other trigger warnings! (Also, Thomas calls him ‘kid’, but he’s 19.)

TW/CW: boxboy, cage mention, shock collar and shocking mention, regular collar, (brief) beating mention. 

795 was prepared to sleep on the floor or in a cage, or even in the box he came in, but the box had promptly been dismantled for firewood and the man with the beard had told him “the first room up the stairs on the right is yours”. 

He didn’t ask questions, of course not. Just bowed his head, looked to the floor and said “yes, Master,” just like he had been taught to. He was a good boxboy, and he was going to be the best boxboy that Master had ever had. 

“Jesus, don’t call me that,” the bearded man had said as he flipped through the manual that had come with 795 in the box. His tone wasn’t harsh, but maybe slightly strained, and he cleared his throat afterwards. He didn’t seem quite at ease. 

795 caught himself wanting to look up at the man, not Master anymore, but stopped and kept his eyes trained on one of the circles in the hardwood floors, where a branch would be attached if the floorboard still was a tree. “W-what would you like me to call you instead, Sir?” he asked. 

Immediately, he regretted the sentence. Don’t stutter. Never presume. Back at the training facility he would already be writhing in pain on the floor if Handler Mason had caught him stuttering and assuming titles. How could he manage to mess up already, a mere five minutes in? He shut his eyes, the muscles in his shoulders tightening and his jaw clenching in anticipation of the pain that was both sharp and dull at the same time.

It didn’t come. His owner was still fixated on the manual. No little, black controller in sight. “Uhm... my name’s Thomas, that should work?” he eventually said after a bit of hesitation. His voice was questioning, unsure, but it was a lifeline for 795.

“Yes, thank you, Sir Thomas.” His spoke clearly now, there was no stuttering. He was a good boy. 

The bearded man sighed. “I didn’t ... whatever.” 

795 wanted to smile - he didn’t, of course not, but he had done something correctly. He didn’t need positive reinforcement to know that, he just needed relief from the pain, to have any pressure removed. If he wasn’t punished for something, it meant it didn’t warrant punishment, and it meant that he had been good. 

What followed was a quick house tour. The bearded man showed him the kitchen, “could you maybe cook two meals a day, breakfast and dinner? I get usually get takeaway for lunch. And cook something for yourself too, while you’re at it, you’re awfully skinny. Write down any groceries you need - you can write, right? - and then I’ll get them on the way home.” 795 was shown the living room, with what looked like a comfortable couch with dark green pillows and a flatscreen opposing it, and the study, which was dark and full of books, and had a wooden desk, and a fireplace and an old armchair with worn leather. 795 nodded and said “yes, Sir Thomas,” as he followed his owner around the house and eagerly picked up every single word the bearded man said. He was to keep everything clean, do and fold the laundry, cook twice a day, answer the door “if it ever rang” and feed the fish in the aquarium in the living room. 

--

It had already been late when 795 first arrived, and even though the bearded man tried to keep the tour short, the house was big and there was a lot to go through. His name was Thomas Walker, a college professor with a few book deals and two doctorates under his belt, and all alone in a big, empty house after his brother died. The house was too big to take care off all alone, and the couple of different maids he had had in the past didn’t really cut it when it came to company (after all, they were there to clean, not talk), so when a younger colleague talked about these boxboys, he quietly listened. “Great little things, they do everything you say and never complain, and they’re just a one-time investment. My uncle has two!”

Thomas was a history professor, and one who specialized in the modern era at that, so he knew a thing or two about slavery. Initially, this whole keeping human beings as pets-thing seemed off to him, but maybe that was just because he had read so extensively on the French revolution and the ideals of the enlightenment - liberty and equality and all that. 

But his colleague taught sociology, and he was okay with it, so Thomas looked it up and found a legit website that matched the billboards he sometimes caught a glimpse of when going down the highway. They advertised their ...merchandise to be “eager to please”, “user-friendly” and “perfect companions”. The website proclaimed that all parties were of legal consenting age and had signed a clear and informative contract, and were in the programme by their own free will. 

Thomas took a weekend to think it over, a weekend spent pacing about the big, empty house, listening to the deafeing silence and his own thoughts, watching the dust collect in the many window sills and on his late brother’s bed. On monday afternoon, he made the call. A month later, when coming home from a late night preparing lectures at work, he returned to find a sizeable wooden box sitting on the porch. 

--

It was well over midnight when Thomas, 795 in tow, ended up in his brother’s room. It was cold and dusty, and the light flickered a few times when the light switch was pushed. It was a long time since it had been used. 

“So you’ll sleep here, as I mentioned. There are some clothes for you in the closet, I think they should fit, and towels in the bathroom.”

“Yes, Sir Thomas,” 795 said, still delighted with the honor of being allowed to address his owner by his first name. His new life seemed to be a comfortable one, for a boxboy that is. There would be a lot of housework, and since the house was so big, it would take up a fair share of his time. But work was good, he had been taught that. He knew that as long as a he was working, he was useful, and useful boxboys were taken care of. Sir Thomas seemed much less aggressive and much kinder than Handler Mason as well. 

“Oh, and, uh, I got you this. Apparently, the laws are pretty strict about them, but I found one I think you’ll like,” Thomas said and picked up something from the dresser beside the door. It was a leather collar, tan, with a brass buckle. It didn’t look as wide and stiff as the ones frequently used at the training facility, which were often accompanied by the black box at the neck and the black controller in the handler’s hand - the type of collar boxboys were sent off with, the type 795 was presently wearing.

It seemed to be just a regular collar, soft, one might used for a dog. 

Before Thomas could do anything, 795 kneeled before him and bent his head to reveal the buckle at his neck. 

He knew how important collars were. Handler Mason had made sure to beat that lesson into him, quite literally. 

“Well, uhm, okay,” Thomas said. He sounded caught off guard and a little unsure, and for a split second, 795 thought he had done something wrong. But then, he felt Sir Thomas’ fingers at the nape of his neck, carefully and a little clumsily undoing the tightly buckled shock collar. He eventually unlatched it and drew it away.

For the few seconds 795′s neck was naked, he was enveloped in fear. He could feel his heart rate speeding up and his hands, which thankfully were clasped together in his lap, started shaking. Somewhere, deep inside, in the very back of his mind, Handler Mason’s voice rose up to meet him. 

“You goddamn brat, thought you could get away with-”

“There you go.” Thomas said and gave the boy’s shoulder an awkward, but friendly pat once the new collar, thin, soft, not nearly as tight as the previous one, was fastened.

“Thank you for collaring me, Sir Thomas,” 795 shakily said, swallowing. Thomas was oblivious to the fear in his eyes. But with the familiar feeling of a band of safety around his neck, the fear eventually died down and disappeared. 

“Yeah, no worries, kid. Good night.”

795 didn’t move from his blind and helpless position on the cold floor until the bedroom door closed and Thomas’ steps faltered down the stairs. Only when he couldn’t hear them anymore did he slowly get up, almost all alone in a big house. 

--

It felt weird to Thomas to be putting a collar on another human being, but laws were laws, and the kid seemed more than thankful to get one - and he seemed as eager to please as the billboards, website and the lady on the phone had promised. Overall, he didn’t think it was a bad investment. A pricy one, sure, but money had never really been a problem. Academia seldom brings riches, but book deals often do, and the inheritance didn’t hurt either. So Thomas fell asleep that night, slightly less alone in the big house than he had been for a long while. 

[my-love-peterp]

Mistaken Chapter Six

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST DROP ME AN ASK

please like and rb/comment <3

Word Count: 2721 (this actually comprises chapters 7 and 8 on Ao3)

THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: it... it is a thing. Good luck friends lol

Warnings: smut and language and that’s probably it. mentions of death and gun violence probably, it’s been a while since I wrote this

Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three   Chapter Four   Chapter Five

We sat, assessing one another and picking at our plates of food, more for something to do with our hands, as opposed to nothing at all. In those moments I could just read in his body language the fact that he had put two and two together and remembered why I looked so familiar. He had been responsible for training my sister when she failed on missions, whereas I had never had to face the wrath of the Winter Soldier and his handlers. For a year or so after we escaped, my sister and I saw his face in every passing stranger, terrified Hydra was coming back to reclaim us.

Because to Hydra, we weren’t members of a team, as they had initially led my sister and I to believe. We were their property, attack dogs trained to be set loose every once in a while. Caged, every other time. I let my fork clatter to the table before folding my fingers underneath my chin to support my head as I stared at the man across from me.

Barnes followed suit, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair. His ice blue eyes flashed to mine before he took a sharp breath in and out and then spoke for the first time since he’d walked through my door just under an hour ago.

“So, were you sent here to bring me in? Wanda doesn’t seem to think so but I’ve known Hydra for a few more decades than she has, so I’m warier.” Simple and to the point. Disciplined even, to any onlookers there might have been. But, as a fellow survivor of Hydra saw all his tells, the brightness of his eyes, the clenched teeth and slightly hunched shoulders. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he wasn’t fully seated either, prepared to spring up at any moment, despite his look of nonchalance.

“You should trust Wanda more. No, soldat, I didn’t come to bring you in. You know,” I said, chuckling drily, “I thought this conversation was going to happen years ago but in reverse. Did no one from Hydra come looking for us? Before they went under? Or were Nadia and I just new playthings for you and yours?” I asked, ice coating my harsh tone.

Bucky flinched at my use of Russian and again at the name of my sister. So he did remember us. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better about his presence here.

“Our superiors were… rather distracted by certain developments and felt that you all would return to your homes. I guess their arrogance finally got the better of them in that regard. And then, with the new threat of Thor, Steve and Tony and the convergence of the Avengers on the world scale, they more than likely shoved your files deep down. Though I’d imagine your recent resurfacing has been noted by rogue Hydra factions that are still operating around the globe.”

A solid enough explanation for why no one had come for Nadia and I. Another thing I had to thank the Avengers for, I supposed. “So, what happens now? Wanda has seen all she needed to see to support me. Where will the others fall in line?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, leaning forward so his elbows rested on the table. “Steve believes Wanda and is willing to work with you. Same goes for Natasha and Clint and the Maximoffs. Tony… well, he may get over this sooner than he did before but I wouldn’t count on it. We still haven’t figured our shit out, though I was the one who killed his parents in person. But I didn’t do it in my right mind. That’s the difference between the two of us I suppose.”

I laughed, darkly at first before it rapidly became hysterical, but I managed to keep a handle on the powers inside of me. “You really think I was in my right mind Barnes? After years of the torture and abuse I suffered at the hands of my parents to then be rescued and groomed by an evil organization when I was barely twelve? Not even close. But by the time I realized what Hydra really was, it was too late. They weren’t letting us go, not without exacting a terrible price.”

Barnes sighed and looked back at me, eyes softening almost imperceptibly. “You did come here willingly. And you show no ill intent, despite your obvious penchant for self-destructive tendencies.” I couldn’t exactly disagree. “I think you’ll find that you’ll fit right in with this merry little band of superpowered misfits. We’re all a little broken here.”

Nodding, I pushed back my chair and stood up, grabbing my plate to dump its contents into the trash can when Barnes spoke again. “You’re not on lockdown anymore. I would advise against leaving the Tower, but this is your home now. Not a prison. And we’d like for you to treat it that way. Just… maybe avoid tony for a little while.”

Yeah, easy enough when you live a few doors away from the guy. But, Barnes did have a point. He stood and moved to the door and wished me goodnight before slipping through the door without a backward glance.

I tossed and turned that night, but not due to overwhelming nightmares, which was a welcome change of pace. No, my skin itched and my brain raced, looking for something to hold on to, looking for any sort of distraction. My body begged me to take action, to do something. After days of being laid up, even just a simple jog sounded like it would hit the spot for my restless limbs.

I gave in at around two in the morning, throwing on my leggings, slick work out short and tennis shoes before pulling my hair back. Then I was out the door and down to the rec level of the Tower, which was like a carnival for enhanced people.

For the first hour, I thought I was alone as I ran a few miles, lifted so small-ish weights and completed over a hundred sit-ups, which isn’t a lot, but it wasn’t half bad for a warm up. It wasn’t until I was shadow boxing that I realized I wasn’t alone. I felt a rapturous presence behind me and to the left. So I spun quickly and jabbed at the face of the intruder, only to punch… two feet?

“Hey, don’t you know it’s rude to touch someone else’s feet without consent. Could sue you for harassing me, you know.”

Parker. Spidey, it seemed, had decided to literally hang out behind me, upside down, suspended from the ceiling. “What do you want Buggy?” I asked as if nothing had transpired between us over the past few, very eventful dates.

“Sometimes I just hang around here at night. Calms me down, plus the ceilings are high enough that I can practice some more… out of the box acrobatics without embarrassing myself and ending up on the front page of the Daily Bugle again. You know how they are.” I did actually. Their constant tirade against Spider-Man was one of the few things that actually made me laugh out loud.

But I totally understood the need for peace and quiet and to kind of get rid of the riff-raff. So I smiled brightly and asked Buggy if he could show me how exactly he managed to get that tensile strength in the material he used for his webs.

To say Peter was like a toddler around science would be an understatement. But it made us both happy. So we went, the past firmly behind us.

Peter and I spent the rest of the night in the labs. Mostly, it was just Peter demonstrating how each of his projects worked, like the changes he was making to his web formula and improvements he was making to his suit to change the way he could interface with his A.I. Karen.

Sometime later, as the sun was sluggishly rising, FRIDAY gently (for an AI) reminded Peter and me that now would be the only time to shower, eat and dress before training commenced for the day. At the reminder, Peter simply grimaced, and I returned the expression. What was waiting for me down on the common floor couldn’t possibly be good. Peter pushed down the sleeves of his sweatshirt nervously and gestured for me to follow him as he stepped into the elevator.

Down on the common floor, everyone was nursing their own cup of coffee, steam billowing into their faces. Well, everyone except Thor. He had a beer stein full of chocolate milk that he nearly chugged as he giddily bounced up and down in his seat, the godly equivalent of a toddler and golden retriever wrapped in one muscly package of happiness and positivity.

Without a word, Pietro handed Peter and I both our own coffees. Mine was an iced cold brew. Some deep, nearly dead part of me was touched that he remembered my disdain for hot, weak drinks. He winked at me as he turned back to return to his spot next to the fridge, but not before swiping another donut from the breakfast bar. Something must have happened before Peter and I arrived because Clint and Sam both glared daggers at Pietro.

“So...” I began, “we going to talk about the elephant in the room or ignite it until we hit the training rooms and punch it out?”

Steve and Wanda looked up sharply from the food in front of them, taking not so sneaky glances at the others. Tony was gripping his coffee mug so hard, if he’d been anyone else in the room, it would have shattered. Sam just looked weary and Bucky... he was leaning up against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. He almost looked disappointed.

“Punching it out seems to be the winner. If you have a problem with me or need questions answered, you know how to get them. Beyond that, I’m not leaving so don’t even try.” I began choking up out of nowhere. “I’m not letting those bastards take another home from me. You all have always been nothing but kind and I treated that kindness with deception and indifference. But I’m going to blame that on the whole, kindness being a completely new experience for me. Obviously, I mean everyone here no harm...” I petered off, not knowing what to say to get my feelings across. I looked around, lost, capturing the gazes of Pietro and Bucky, who both just nodded back at me.

Bucky pushed off of the counter and approached me, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Kaida is no more Hydra than I am. If you trust in me, be open to trusting her. We’ve all... made mistakes.”

Yeah, that’s one way to put it.

Even Thor looked uncomfortable at this point and Tony was just straight up heading for the elevator without a backward glance. Bruce trailed after him, shrugging apologetically. Seconds that felt like hours passed and finally, the elevator began to descend to the lab floors.

“Alright team, move out. We have work to do,” Steve said in his most Captain-y voice. And damn if it wasn’t kind of hot. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. I could tell just from the shift from light blue to icy gray in Bucky’s eyes that he was going to be pulling Rogers into his room later. Or sooner, depending on how tight his shirt was today

Hours and buckets of sweat later and the whole team broke for lunch. As expected, no one took me up on my offer but we still weren’t pre-incident buddies anymore. Bucky and Pietro seemed most inclined to stick by my side while Wanda was off with Vision. Peter gave me these weird agonizing glances from across the main training floor the whole time. The kid was weird. Who knows what he got up to in his own brain.

Anyways, I knew what I had to do as soon as I stepped on to the elevator, moments after everyone else left to the cafeteria area. There was a confrontation that was way overdue.

As soon as I stepped out on to the slightly grimy linoleum floor of the lab, Bruce looked up and blanched before quickly shoving his papers and laptop into a satchel and bounding for the elevator before it closed behind me.

“Good luck,” he muttered shakily. I nodded in thanks and a moment later he was gone. A quick look around told me that Tony must be in a back room somewhere, probably grabbing parts. In the background, Black Sabbath tinkled through the inlaid speaker system.

“Brucey, darling, do you want to go with blue or green for the new nanotech in Veronica?? Or maybe purple, unless that would be too on the no-.” He quickly cut himself off as he came waltzing around the corner of desks and displays to see me perched on his stool.

“Get out,” he growled, standing stock still, shoulders tense. When I didn’t move, he did, reaching for the minibar he had installed on the wall opposite me, pulling out a bottle of scotch and taking a swig.

“Well if it’s going to be that kind of party...” I drawled darkly before reaching down into my gym bag and pulling out my flask of bourbon and followed suit. Tony didn’t exactly roll out the welcome wagon after that but he did seem to relax a bit. At the very least, he didn’t summon what was left of the Iron Legion protocol to physically remove me from his presence.

“Why are you here Kaida?” Tony finally asked, ice coating his words as they pierced into me in ways I wasn’t expecting.

“Is it so odd for a former assassin to check up on her friends? I mean, it would be a shame to just throw everything away for a simple misunderstanding right? At the very least we have to work and live together. Unless you intend to kick me out?” I stared Tony down, waiting for that explosive anger that I knew he was trying to shove deep down.

“Oh Kaida, we were never friends. We fucked. But I’d fuck anything with two legs and a rack. I think you know that as well as I do. The only reason I ever gave up that life was Pepper and, well, you know exactly how that turned out.”

“Again, not my doing. I was long gone by the time someone executed the hit they had on her.”

“But you knew and you did nothing. Warned no one. You know, it’s not like I’m hard to find. A literal skyscraper that used to have my name on it not stand out to you?”

“I-,” I began, searching for any explanation for my inaction. As terrible as it was to admit, I’d simply never considered interfering with Hydras plans. I was much more concerned with keeping my sister and myself alive at the time.

“You know,” Tony said, interrupting my frantic, guilty train of thought, “some kid once told me that when you have the powers and abilities that we do and do nothing, then the bad things that happen, they happen because of you. Maybe you should chew on that for a little while Kaida. I won’t kick you out but I don’t want to see your face around my space for a long while.”

And then, like a switch flipped in my body, hot rage filled me. What did this entitled, rich snob know about being a kid my age and seeing the shit I’d seen? When he was my age he was partying every night and wrecking Bentley’s and Aston Martin’s like it was nothing, like nothing mattered to him at all.

“Maybe you should grow a pair then Stark. You’re really angry, huh? Prove it. Fight me. Kick me out. We both know I can take it. You saw the bruises when I first moved in. Couldn’t be missed with that lack of clothing when we first got acquainted. Do your worst.”

Suddenly he was in my face again, hatred and something else raged in his eyes. Maybe not hatred at me, but at the reaction, I could always weasel out of him. Had been doing for my past few weeks at the Tower.

Stark slammed his bottle down on the desk right beside me before wrapping his hand through the hair at the back of my hair hard, twisting and pulling me forward before viciously kissing and biting my neck. It was painful but not in a way that made me inclined to push him away.

“God I hate you so much,” he said and he ripped my shirt up and over my head before taking a step back.

“Wanna be useful? Turn around and bend over the desk, hands behind your back. And don’t move a muscle.”

I did as he said, breath coming out in gasps.

Oh, this was bad.

Really bad.

Or maybe really good.

TAGLIST: @peeterparkr @laurfangirl424 @private-bucky-barnes

[tripledogbrain-blog]

Did I mention yet about Mickeys super bad experience at class the other night?

I forgot to give him his anxiety meds beforehand so I knew he'd have a hard time. We had his clicker and cookies though so I figured we'd manage and if it was too much we'd excuse ourselves to leave, no big deal, everyone knows Mickey and his issues. WRONG.

We had a substitute instructor for class and while I liked her when she taught Fable in the past because she was knowledgeable and no nonsense, she seems to have NO understanding of fear free training and reactive dogs.

I'm not 100% opposed to aversive methods of training or anything however, I try my absolute hardest to use NO AVERSIVE METHODS on Mickey at all. He is a fearful and reactive dog and punishment, corrections etc. Make him a lot worse.

Anyway, there were only three of us at class and Mickey was doing ok considering he had no meds. One of the dogs he likes, she is a small female dog and very non-threatening. The other dog is all three of Mickeys triggers: large, male, mostly white. That dogs trainer uses toys to motivate her dog because he doesnt really go for treats so he was doing lots of fast movement and noise making. That's fine, it isnt her fault Mickey has issues so we kept our distance from him and we did some good practice on ignoring from a distance. It would've been fine but at one point the instructor had us take turns going out past some obstacles and calling our dogs to target our hands. She wanted to hold the dogs until we called them. That's fine. I handed her Mickeys leash. (At this point she'd seen him react and I had explained he is fearful of dogs and strangers) I start to walk away but stop when I hear some struggling. I turn around and Mickeys eyes as wide as dinner plates, ears pulled back etc. She has a hand on his neck and is trying to push his butt down into a sit. He doesnt like strangers to touch him let alone restrain him so I come back and put him in a sit, tell him to stay and the instructor states that he needs some obedience work (we have taken obedience level 2 twice and he does great if you tell him to sit and dont just PUSH HIM). I then do the exercise (He performs great btw) and move away for the other dogs to go.

After that, Mickey starts giving the instructor a wider berth for good reason. At one point we are standing in a little circle discussing some agility basics and the dog Mickey is scared of is on the other side of the instructor. His handler scratches him and he gets a little wiggly and excited so Mickey reacts to this change by starting to bark and lunge (because I wasnt on top of his focus - totally my fault). The instructor, however, responds to this (as I am backing up and calling Mickey to me, trying to get far enough away that he can get back under threshold) by getting down in Mickey's face and SCREAMING "NO! STOP THAT!" Which, of course, causes him to forget the dog, low growl at the instructor, and (luckily!!!) Retreat to me where I get him to focus at last and run through a couple of tricks to settle him down. Class was almost over then so we just stood to the side and did dumb tricks at a distance from everyone else so we could end on a positive note.

I was absolutely livid. After class was over, his favorite person at the club who also has a reactive dog and is the only one who he regularly allows to pet him came up to say hello and he wouldnt approach her or let her touch him. She commented that she saw the instructor being very harsh with him so I know it wasnt just me being sensitive. And today Mickey, who I have been trying to get to warm up to my dad for months, was obviously a lot more insecure with him when he visited than he has been in a long time and I'm just so frustrated.

I work so hard with him to build his confidence, make him brave, and make sure he enjoys class. I should've just skipped class straight away when I realized I forgot his pill but I thought he was doing very well all things considered until the instructor did whatever it was she thought she was doing??

If she is ever set to teach a class I'm in again, especially with Mickey, I think I might just avoid going. I cant believe someone who teaches dogs as much as she has/does would treat a dog. Especially someone else's dog like that when they are clearly uncomfortable. Ask me to leave, fine. I understand, but dont scream at or put your hands on my fearful dog. She is just lucky Mickey isnt a biter and I'm too scared of people to be mean. He is obviously having some difficulty now though. I've never had a setback quite like this with him. Hopefully next week with his pill and our regular wonderful instructor things will be better.