#he/him for chewy any/all for cricket(:

[ihopethatyoureasleep]

never knew love could be like this (derogatory)

[qnewsau]

Shock and sadness at assault death of Andrew 'Chewie' Truman

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/shock-and-sadness-at-assault-death-of-andrew-chewie-truman/

Shock and sadness at assault death of Andrew 'Chewie' Truman

Friends and family of Melbourne man Andrew ‘Chewie’ Truman remember the 44-year-old gay man following his death after an attack last week.

“Vibrant, independent and courageous”

These are just some of the words that family and friends have used to describe Andrew Truman following his death.

“He was a marvellous and fierce supporter of the LGBTQIAP+ community and a proud gay man,” his family said via social media.

“He didn’t hesitate to take the lead on the dance floor or in singing karaoke.”

“May we all have at least an ounce of his flavour.”

Truman died in hospital on the weekend following an assault last Wednesday.

His father Geoff Truman said his son had suffered an “unsurvivable brain injury”.

He was hit over the head while walking on Elizabeth Street from Flinders Street in the Melbourne CBD.

Truman sustained significant head injuries in the attack and died tragically from his injuries.

In their statement, Mr Truman’s family thanked anyone who had stopped where he was treated to help.

This included the police, paramedics and medical staff at the Royal Melbourne Hospital.

The police have provided a photo and name of his alleged attacker Todd Menegaldo.

Supplied

Police search for man of interest

On Saturday night, a Victoria Police spokesperson said officers were searching for a man named Todd Menegaldo.

Known by the nickname “Rooster”, Menegaldo has a black and white crossbreed Staffordshire terrier.

Homicide Squad detectives have conducted a significant search since the attack.

They have so far been unable to locate Mr Menegaldo.

He is described as being approximately 180-185cm tall and of thin build.

He was last seen wearing a zip-up purple jumper, dark jeans and a yellow beanie.

He is known to frequent the CBD area around Elizabeth Street and Flinders Street railway station.

He is also known to frequent Mildura and Bendigo.

Police are urging anyone who sees him not to approach him but to contact triple-0.

“unafraid to be himself in any context”

Truman was a passionate Western Bulldogs supporter and played AFL for the Wyndham All Abilities Football and Cricket Club.

A football-loving man who was “unafraid to be himself in any context”.

“His love for football was huge, when not playing he was always at Werribee VFL games or at Western Bulldogs games,” club president Paul Barrett said in a statement.

Known as “Chewie” at the club, he was a five-time premiership player and life member.

“He never let his disability get in the road of what he wanted to do.”

His former club, Williamstown Seagulls FIDA FC, paid tribute online.

“His enthusiasm for football, and especially the Western Bulldogs, was infectious,” the club said.

“He was always ready for a friendly chat.”

Williamstown Seagulls FIDA FC extended their deepest sympathy via social media to Chewie’s family and friends.

“Chewie was an original FIDA player with the Maribyrnong Bulldogs, and then the Wyndham Tigers, where he was a life member.

“His enthusiasm for football, and especially the Western Bulldogs, was infectious, and he was always ready for a friendly chat.”

“Go Long With The Wind.”

Anyone with further information can also contact Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000 or submit a confidential report online at www.crimestoppersvic.com.au.

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[cocosstories]

Henry Cavill One Shot

Hey! I had a request for henry cavill if that’s possible for you. I thought about something where reader is famous too and they are doing the game spill your guts together. They don’t really know each other but they kinda have a crush on each other. Can the reader be also younger than him like in her 20’s or something?

You were in the guest dressing room, getting ready for your appearance on James Corden.

Despite your better judgement, you had agreed to play his infamous game of 'Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts', regretting the decision almost immediately when you hear that Henry Cavill will be playing with you.

For the last couple of years, you and Henry had crossed paths a few times, never really getting the chance to actually spend any sort of time together with your busy schedules.

If you had to be honest though, you always had somewhat of a crush on him and were a little bummed that you have never actually got the chance to meet him.

As the show began, more nerves crept up and before you knew it, you were being warned that it was almost time to join Henry and James on stage for the game.

"Welcome back everyone. Now Henry we are going to play a game but I think we need to bring a special guest out to make it a little more fun so ladies and gentlemen please welcome Y/F/N Y/L/N!"

James introduces you and you walk out, joining the two men at the table that has an interesting odor coming from it.��

You give James a quick hug before turning to Henry who is smiling brightly at you. 

He goes in for a hug as well and you take in his cologne for a second before you remember you are on national TV and back away a bit. 

"So Henry you will ask me questions, Y/N will ask Henry and I will ask Y/N. Lets see what foods we will have to eat if we choose not to answer."

James explains the rules as you stare down at the extremely unsatisfying looking 'food' in front of you. 

"We have bird saliva, cow tongue, bull penis, grasshoppers, salmon smoothie, 1000 year old egg, calf's brain and cod sperm."

You, Henry and the audience let out a collective, disgusted groan with each new food he says.

"Alright, Y/N, I am going to ask you the first question. So I am going to give you the bull penis."

James says, turning the table so the dish was in front of you. 

"I mean you could have given me worse I guess."

You say looking down at the bowl in front of you.

"Y/N, out of all of the movies you've done, which one was the worst?"

Laughs come from James as he asks the question while the audience lets out a chorus of 'oohhs'

You think about the question for a moment, trying to decide if it is worth risking your career to answer it so you don't have to chew on bull penis. 

"I have an answer but I don't want to ruin any chances of working with certain people again so..."

You pick up a piece of the bull penis and take a deep breath before taking a bite.

"Oh my god."

You say, quickly grabbing the spit bucket. 

"Its so chewy."

After taking a sip of water, you compose yourself and look at the table trying to decide what to give to Henry.

"So, Y/N, what will you be giving to Superman?"

James asks with a smirk. 

"Be nice, please."

Henry chuckles. 

"Well, I've seen your Instagram and you seem to like to eat healthy so you know what? I'm going to give you the Salmon smoothie."

The audience laughs as you turn the table so the pink sludge is in front of Henry who looks like he might want to kill you for it. 

You pick up the card and giggle a little bit. 

"Henry, rate your last three girlfriends from best to worst."

The audience laughs as Henry looks at you with a slight but joking glare. 

"Hey, this is James' show! I didn't write the questions!"

You say looking to James.

Henry takes the glass and closes his eyes before taking a big drink then almost immediately spits it into the bucket. 

After taking a few seconds to recover, Henry looks at James before choosing the worst possible choice on the table for him, finally deciding on the bird saliva. 

"James,  what celebrity have you turned down for carpool karaoke and why?"

Without even a thought, James picks up the martini glass and takes a swig of the cloudy liquid as you and Henry both gag for him.

James regains his composure once he spits into the bucket and takes multiple drinks of water and picks your next food. 

"Cod sperm, I think."

The grin on his face was almost devilish. 

"I mean you already gave me bull penis so why not keep the theme alive."

You shrug trying to play off how grossed out you were. 

"Ooohhh, Y/N, would you rather score a date with Captain America or Superman?"

He asks and you look at him shocked.

"You're really going to out me on the spot like that, James? I feel like since I am a part of Marvel, I have to pick Cap but I mean Henry is right here so that would be rude not to pick him."

You say, trying to figure out what to say. 

"It's ok love, you can pick Captain America. No hard feelings."

Henry says sweetly trying to help you make the choice as the audience swoons. 

"Well alright then. Cap is my man."

You laugh then begin looking at what was left on the table. 

"Ok Henry, I'm going to be nice and give you the crickets. I hear they are a delicacy in some parts of the world."

You give him a cute wink as you spin the table then pick up the next card. 

"Would you like to go on a da-"

You stop as you read the last part of the question to yourself then look up to James and shake your head.

"What? What does it say? Read the question."

James asks with a knowing smirk. 

"No, I can't read this!"

You refuse. 

"It's ok, you can read it. I don't mind."

Henry says, urging you on and you shake your head again. 

James finally reaches over and takes the card from you. 

"I'll read it. Henry, would you like to go out on a date with Y/N?"

The audience gasps as you look down at your hands. 

Henry blushes a bit and smiles. 

"I would love to."

You look up at him quickly, almost in shock at his answer. 

"Well, that was our first ever love connection on Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts! Stick around and we will be right back with Y/F/N Y/L/N after the break!"

The show goes to commercial and the stage hands begin to clear the set. 

"Why did you say yes?"

You ask Henry, thinking he was just trying to be a good sport for the game and play along with James' crazy antics. 

"Because, I've been wanting to ask you out for the longest time and never had the chance before."

He admits and you feel your heart begin to pound. 

"Really?"

Was all you could manage to get out and Henry chuckles.

"Really. So, after the show? Maybe we can grab a late dinner?"

Henry takes your hand in his with a hopeful smile. 

"That sounds great."

You reply just as you are told the commercial break was about to end and are led up on stage to join James for your segment while Henry heads backstage to figure out where to take you on your first date. 

[bibliocratic]

post-160, jonmartin (cws in the tags)

Martin shivers, a whole body shudder that gallops through his system as the sleeping bag is unzipped. The backdraught is ungodly and he groans vocally as the movement allows a Baltic gust of air to infiltrate the confines previously occupied by the muggy sleep-thick warmth he's been slathered in.

“Christ, Jon,” he complains, trying to yank the material back around him, giving it a bit of a petty tug on his quest to return to the dozy weight of almost sleep he was happily bubbled in.

“Oh hush. It's not that bad,” Jon replies in a grumbling rhythm, showing no remorse, the arse, and Martin winces and hisses like he's been caught by spitting oil as Jon's frigid ice-cherished body curls around him like a bracket. He snuggles in like he's trying to unsuccessfully burgle his body heat, knees pressing into his back.  Martin kicks him with a double-socked foot to complain at this flagrant abuse of privileges.

“Nothing out there?” he mumbles into the angled pillow of his own arm. Thought Jon would be up for a while yet with his thoughts, on his usual pretence of 'checking the perimeter'.

“All quiet,” says the stiflingly-close bundle breathing into the back of his neck, making the skin feel sweaty with condensation. Martin stretches out a little before coiling up again, feeling bony fingers clench at his hips before encircling his waist like a particular committed lock.

Martin doesn't say anything else. The warmth wreathes about his limbs. The small fire they're letting die for the night is still warm enough to throw out a mild corona of heat.

Jon is apparently in a restless mood. His long hands and fingers tracing little idle circles like an spirograph at the skin he can reach. Martin's stomach, his pyjama-covered thighs, his hips, like he's trying to smooth the skin out.

“Would you settle down?” Martin says,  mumbling, mildly grumpy. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Jon's lips are at the curve of his neck, mouthing softly. Not even kissing, maybe he's too tired for it, just motioning his lips over the skin. He's a looming question-mark shaped man, towering over Martin by half a foot, poor posture giving him a natural stoop, and his hold makes Martin feel enclosed, bound up in the intimacy of the space.

“Sorry,” he says, without sounding sorry in the slightest, almost cheeky. He bestows another kiss that is not a kiss to Martin's neck, scraping a little with his teeth.

“Sleep,” Martin repeats, groggy but firm, and traps the soft, unblemished skin of Jon's hands in his own.

“Fine,” Jon still sounds inordinately pleased with himself, but he seems to calm. Burrowing himself so close Martin's running out of room. Arms grip around him, winching tighter.

“Sleep,” he parrots Martin.

Martin tries. Really he does.

Something is stopping him. Some sensation of calm let out when the cool air swept in. There's a  prickling at the seat of his spine.

He fidgets a little, before he turns over, extricating himself from Jon's vice with difficulty, thinking that the change in position will improve things.

Jon's staring at him with a considering smile that curls the edges of his lips like the end of a spiral. They've a solar-powered camping light set up nearby, shaped like a lantern, stolen from a gutted B&Q, and the illumination begun to dim hours ago. Martin watches the artificial light highlights Jon's pale white skin, the upshot of scrubby blonde hair like sun-dried grass already sticking up at the back in a cowlick.

They're so close that Jon's eyes are crossing a little to look at him.

“They'll get stuck like that,” Martin chides roughly.

“Hmm?” Jon asks. He doesn't blink.  

“Your eyes,” Martin repeats. “You keep them like that and they'll get stuck.”

There's a pause, and then Jon's eyes snap up to normal like they're elasticated, seated dead-centre as  bullseyes.  His face beams in a wide smile that rips up to the same level as his ears.

“You're so funny, Martin,” he breathes. Delighted, a childish light ringing in his big green eyes. “Tell me another joke.”

Something fizzes at the bottom of Martin's chest. He wonders if he's eaten something off.

“Errr,” he starts, and it's harder when he's just so close, so crowded up against him. “Jon?”

“Yes, Martin?” Jon replies. He says his name as though he likes how it feels in his mouth, the flavour of the sound, the way it travels down his throat. It's the same way he said it on their first date, when he introduced Martin to his parents, when they got married.

“Can you...” Martin tries to clear his throat of the stifling air. “In my wallet. There's something... something I found earlier. I want to show you.”

“A surprise?”

“It's your birthday soon,” Martin says – August, his brain supplies with a dull clunking mechanism of recollection – and Jon pauses a beat before his lips curl back four-fold like petals and he says happily, like he's touched Martin's remembered.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is soon, isn't it. I'd almost forgot what with everything.”

The cold air siphons in as Jon clambers out. Raking through the bags with his long bony fingers, before he gives a triumphant here we are! and bounds back into the warmth of their cocoon, shivering from the chill, making an exaggerated brrr noise. He passes Martin the worn-down wallet before burrowing up against his side, heated like a furnace as Martin flicks it open.

“It's a surprise,” Martin reminds him, and Jon whines good-naturedly, spoilsport, but moves his head from where it lay on Martin's shoulder. Studies him unblinkingly with those eyes.

“Have it your way then.”

In the wallet section where he might have kept notes if paper currency still existed, Martin pulls out a folded paper. It crackles as he rights it into the bent photograph it is. Studies the fixed and frozen memory there; himself bundled up in two fleeces topped off with a cagoule slitted and damaged by unnatural rains, a slightly fire-singed bobble hat pulled down to smother hair that's been left alone to grow out into a frizzy unkempt afro, holding out the Polaroid camera at arms length to fit them both in frame. The thin-lipped but genuine smile of the man next to him, short, dark stubble maturing into the promises of a beard. Brown eyes faintly sunken, tired but happy, his arm anchored against Martin's. They took two pictures like this one, assurances, Jon had called them, and Martin knows Jon won't have it with him now if he asks to check.

Martin's hand doesn't shake. Doesn't look at Jon, at the man he went on a first date with to a pub where they had the football on too loud and someone was being rowdy at the fruit machine, and Jon ordered a whisky even though he told Martin later he hated the stuff, just wanted to impress him; at blonde hair he knows, has loved, has combed between his fingers while they've watched Jon's pretentious BBC Four documentaries; at green eyes he's seen sleepy and happy and angry and thrilled. Jon who is tapping his elongated fingers against the fabric of the sleeping bag almost impatiently, whose eyes are too yawning, too flattened for the well-boned structure of his face.

Martin has a knife in his pocket. He always has a knife in his pocket these days.

“Did you kill him?” he asks, almost breathless, more silent than sound.

“Hmm?” Jon replies, and Martin stabs him in the throat.

Jon skitters backwards out of the sleeping bag on legs that are fast becoming not. Cradling his throat, gargling out a confused 'Martin?' even as his eyes slide further down and off his face.

Martin's staggering up too, wondering if he has time to go for the cricket bat on Jon's side, the one he's abraded with roofing nails, the cross heads of screwdrivers. The knife feels too small in his fist and Jon looms, spine splaying out of his skin like a tent pole pushed through canvas, and he asks Martin? even as he stretches as though rolling out dough.

“Did you kill him?” he repeats, and his voice does not, will not, tremble.

Martin, the voice strings out like a melted chewy sweet. The bars of confectionery that stuck in Martin's teeth when he was a child; the sound drags and droops and pulls and echoes and it is not kind any more.

It reaches out again, and he thinks manically that it might be going to hug him when something hard and solid and remarkably identical to what a cricket bat decorated in roofing nails and screwdrivers might look like if someone swung it into marshmallow.

Jon screams and the sound cuts  and it swings around with a freakish rotating of its legs in time to be struck across the cheek, sending its nose and freckles and one side of its mouth slopping off to one side like a ship near cap-sizing.

“Get down,” Martin is told and he feels his body submit, drop and hunker down despite itself, and so he does not see what makes the thing that is not Jon howl like wind scratching at a windowpane, like a sound trapped between stations,  doesn't listen to whatever wordless command is shouted that undoes it loudly and aggressively from its mockery of life.

“I – Martin,” comes the voice again. Unsure now. Braided through with worry and exhaustion. “Please, I'm sor- ….Y-you – you can get up now.”

Martin's body can move again. He stands, legs shaky, feeling like  a nerves been trapped somewhere under the skin. The cold is pimpling the flesh of his arms. He observes the dark-skinned, dark-eyed man in front of him. Cricket bat painted with gore along with the front of his coat. Martin doesn't let go of the knife, and the man doesn't ask him to.

Martin holds up the picture. Compares the awkward smiling man of his photo, lower half of his face almost lost to a thick scarf, pock-mark scars trailing over his cheek and up to edge onto his forehead,  to this midnight terror decked in the aftermath of violence. Panting, a large slash across his forehead like he's been attacked, the wound which even now is sucking closed.

The man doesn't move. Waits for Martin to bridge the gap. There are two sets of memories wedged and warring in his head, and both of them are so real and it hurts, rifling through stuffed in remembrances of weddings and birthdays and picnics, Jon drunk off cider and his serenading more like caterwauling; Jon ashen, a machine breathing for him, his skin splintered with the ricochet of masonry and plasterboard and foundation stone;  arguing over money and house prices and their cramped flat in Dagenham; Jon, his trousers soaked and stiff with sea-salt as they tramp across an desolate beach;  sleepily swaying against one another like tired skittles in a game of ninepins at their station as they wait for the early morning commuter train.

 And it's not, it's so real but they aren’t, not all of them can be, not when the corpse of their architect is hollowed out and ripped up,  the air of it hissing out underfoot.

Jon – Jon whose scars decorate him like medals, Jon who is holding himself like he's hurt, Jon  who drops his bat in a heartbeat when Martin closes the gap and grabs him, trying to shake off the false memories like water droplets – Jon shivers like he's frozen, and his hold is a grasping gripping panicked action. Martin, he says as though a placeholder to a hundred different things. His voice is low and raspy and ever so soft.

Jon, who is the realest thing Martin knows.

Martin holds him until he can trust in that again.

[entropic-introspection]

“Ash!”

Feet pounded through the undergrowth, arms shoved branches aside frantically. Fireflies spun about lazily, dim compared to the bright porch light that was the boy’s hoped for salvation.

“Ash!” he called again, slightly desperate.

On the porch, settled in an ancient lawn chair, Ash sighed as she tried to count her stitches again. Did she drop one? Or was she reading the pattern wrong? She ignored the boy running onto her porch in favor of squinting at her knitting in the fading daylight.

“Ash!” he said.

“Yup,” she said. “That’s me.”

“There’s something in the woods!” he exclaimed.

“There generally is,” she agreed. “Most of us call it wildlife.”

“It was big!” he stammered.

“It’s dark,” she said. She gave up on her knitting with a sigh and looked up at him. “Well, at least you didn’t tear yourself up running like that, Jim.”

Jim was nearly vibrating. “There’s something big and scary in the woods!”

“Big compared to you,” she scoffed from her lofty height of five foot nothing with the weight of 25 years behind her.

“What if comes up by the house?” he demanded from his proud ten year old height of four foot five.

She rolled her eyes and picked up her knitting again. “I dunno, it’ll bust down the door and eat us in our sleep.” She shuffled the stitches around on their needles, trying to count. “Wait, is that a knit or a purl,” she muttered to herself.

“My mom’s gonna kill you if I get eaten,” Jim said seriously.

“That she might,” Ash said vaguely.

“You don’t get paid if I get eaten,” Jim said.

Ash paused at that and sighed. “Alright, look. You go on inside and start getting ready for bed. I’ll go take a look.”

“What if you get eaten?” Jim demanded.

“Well, you’ll be inside with Daisy,” Ash said. “If something happens to me, she’ll know. And since she’s a coon hound, she’ll start howling fit to wake the dead. So when that happens, you lock the doors, close the curtains, ‘n wait til morning when your mom comes to pick you up.”

“I’m not leaving you to get eaten!” he protested.

“Nothing out here would eat me, I’m too tough and chewy,” she said. “Besides, there isn’t gonna be anything out there except maybe a lost cow, if I’m lucky. Now go on, get. You should be in bed by the time I’m back.”

She thrust her knitting into his arms and herded him inside over his protests. She grabbed a flashlight from where it sat by the door, paused over her BB gun, and instead resolutely closed a hand over her aluminum baseball bat. Thus prepared, she meandered out into the woods. She didn’t see anything as she walked, except for traces of Jim’s explorations, and the crickets were still buzzing and the frogs chirping, with the occasional bird call mixed in. Eventually, she reached a small clearing, a natural glade. She tapped her bat against the metal post that marked the edge of her property (as far as the county was concerned) and felt the wards still ringing true. A small bundle of fur fell out of a nearby tree at the sound.

“Wondered where you got,” she said, checking it with her flashlight. The creature was small, round, and had rabbit ears. The rest was mostly hidden under dense black fur. “Got anything useful to say?” she asked.

The creature opened its mouth and let forth a stream of noise with no coherency or discernible patterns.

“Useful as ever,” she muttered. “Fine. D’you sense anything all,” she waved her hands around, hampered by the items she still held. “Woo-woo?”

“Mahou shoujo!” it squeaked helpfully, in a disquieting imitation of the animes it had apparently enjoyed watching with her. It jumped up and down excitedly.

“Great,” she sighed. “Couldn’t just be a lost cow.” She knocked the bat against her flashlight a few times, and the woods fell quiet at the sudden intrusion of such a strange, loud sound.

“I dunno what y’all are,” she called out into the calm. “But I am apparently the fucking magical girl of these woods, so. If you’re here for trouble, piss off, wouldja? I don’t have any grievances with you if you’re just passing through, but do try ‘n leave the kid out of it. He’s jumpy enough already.” She stopped and waited for any sort of response.

Nothing was forthcoming, and she sighed. “A’ight then.” She turned to head back home.

“Mahou shoujo!” her fluffy friend insisted.

She glared at it. “Unless you’re suddenly gonna be helpful for once and explain fucking anything, I want to sleep. I got work in the morning.”

She stomped back towards her house, the rabbit-eared creature bouncing close behind, making distressed sounds. A breeze followed after them, carrying the noise away.

The revels the revels the revels, something not quite a voice whispered. It spun and echoed around the glade. The queen the queen the queen.

Tell her tell her tell her, another not a voice answered, excited. Must know must know must know!

The queen of night prepares her revels, but now she must know of this!

-

These assholes might have the start of a story now.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

For someone who talked so much about leaving, Solo certainly found himself in Rebel bases often.

Han strode into the temporary quarters he was sharing with Chewbacca and the Kid (at least, until everything was settled with Luke and Wedge moving into the new Red Squadron quarters with Commander Nerra's pilots) and prepared to make another excuse about why they hadn't left yet. Not that he needed one. Of course not! He could leave any time he wanted!

"Well, that's the last of the fuel runs done, you guys should be set for the evacuation," Han announced, dusting his hands off on his trouser legs. "So it's about time we were- gyah!"

Han recoiled suddenly. "Mother of moons, kid! What happened to you?!"

Luke Skywalker sat on the edge of his cot, looking ever so slightly miserable. And it was plain to see why: his eyes were puffy, nearly swollen shut, and his skin was covered in a blotchy, pink rash. Just at the left edge of his jaw, Han could see a purplish lump of some kind.

"Hi, Han," Luke croaked, sounding very congested.

"We had an Adventure today," said Wedge Antilles. He held up an injector meant to stimulate the cardiovascular system and fight off anaphylaxis.

Luke nodded. "Yes, add we learrd sob bery impordand thigs."

Han winced and sank down on the opposite bunk. He pulled off his boots, set them somewhat neatly by the end of the bed, and leaned back.

"Okay, I'll bite," he said. Wedge's snicker at that was a little telling. "What did you do?"

The other survivor of the last Red Squadron twirled the injector around his fingers. "Luke and I were assigned to disassembly and packing in the main hangar, getting some of the heavier equipment ready to move. Annnd Luke ran across some local wildlife."

Luke took up the story with a sniffle and a grimace. "So here's whad I learrd," he said.

"Od Tatooeed, preddy buch everythig cad kill you one way or adother. So you learrd whed you're little to recogdize adibals' threat displays. Od Yavid, I dote doh eddy of these adibals."

Han wordlessly handed Luke a rag to blow his nose in. It wasn't the cleanest thing around, but it was better than nothing. His words were a little clearer after that.

"So this huge beetle thing wandered in, probably hiding from predators."

"Like those gross blob spiders," Wedge suggested with a shudder.

"Right," Luke nodded. "I was gonna move him so he didn't get into any of the crates. He...did not support the idea, and he let me know. By stinging me. In the face."

Han ran a hand over his jaw and winced in sympathy. "Judging by your face, I'd say you didn't react too well."

"Almost stopped breathing," Luke confirmed in an almost morbidly cheerful way.

"Kid!"

"I said almost! Wedge got a medic." He blew his nose again and coughed. "And now we know that I am definitely allergic to the venom of the...Wedge, what was that thing called again?"

Wedge wrinkled his nose and tried to remember. "I think it was something like a...rat-cricket? Rat-beetle? Rat was somewhere in the name. Rat or wrath."

They were being far too casual about this. Han looked from one to the other, and realized that if Chewie heard about this, he would insist on them staying a few more days, if for no other reason than to ensure Luke's continued survival.

"Makes sense, at least," Han remarked after thinking it all over. "You went with what you knew, but it didn't cover jungle beetles. Might want to look into getting some immunotherapy shots or something. Trust me kid, you can never predict what kind of bugs you're gonna run into on a mission."

Briefly, he allowed himself a violent shudder. "Bugs. I can't stand 'em."

[orange-antics]

Eddsworld miscellaneous hcs

ok there's probably like 100 of these already or something, but I thought I'd add mine anyway, because hey, it's fun and I'll probably change or add a few later. (Also this ended up waaaaaaaay longer then i meant it to be wh o ops so uh be warned its pretty damn long-)

Tom:

Shortest! (i know it's normally either edd or tord, but after seeing saloonatics, I just couldn't resist the idea of the grumpiest one being the smallest. Cute right?)

Relatively strong arms, more fat around his stomach and torso then his legs.

Occasionally works gigs at local clubs and stuff for money.

Doesn't have much social media aside from Facebook so he can occasionally stalk his old college mates.

He actually likes sports like football and tennis. (His favourite sport is seeing how many bars he can hit up in one nigh-//shot//)

His hair smells like pineapple! (And the rest of him like booze-)

He's up for pretty much anything if he's drunk enough to have fun and not remember enough to regret it

But not bowling.

N e ve r bo wl ing

He's still got a scar on his left arm from The End. :( But Matt and Edd helped him to fix it up, so it's all good!

He's actually a pretty chill and sensible guy, and despite being snarky and sarcastic whenever he can, he genuinely cares about his relationships with people, scared that one day they'll get bored of him and cast him aside. He's really just a goofball with big city dreams of becoming a rockstar.

Spends like two hours in the shower crying and listening to MCR

His favourite show is Bad Education. It's good for when he needs cheering up.

He likes snacks and foods that are crunch, and salty, spicy, and sometimes savoury. So Crisps, Pringles, Doritos, chex mix etc.

Edd:

Second shortest/third tallest

Kinda chubby tbh but he's the BEST at hugs.

His forearm game is actually pretty strong because of all the time he spends making art to pay for their bills (because hey, someone's gotta do it amirite). You don't wanna head into an arm-wrestling contest with this guy.

Makes money by selling his art and also taste-testing all the latest cola products! (Just...not the diet ones).

Aside from a devianart, redbubble and maybe even a tumblr for art commissions, he doesn't really care about social media. Or regular media. Politics who?

His favourite sport? Seeing how many cans of cola he can get through on an especially difficult project. (Cricket always looked kind of fun though)

Smells like cola and not taking a shower in days because he HAS to get the lineart perfect and edd are you ok when was the last time you slept- (jokes aside, i can see him smelling like graphite and paints and sharpies from his art supplies).

Can pull the perfect poker face like damn son having a baby face sure comes in handy when lying to your roomate about why there's broken guitar strings hanging out of Ringo's mouth again

Has a scar on the inside of his eyelid from the time Tom 'accidently' poked him in the eye with a pencil (...may or may not be based off personal experience)

Edd is pretty friendly and open with people, he likes getting to know them and joking around. He's the Ultimate Punmaster ™, and loves nothing more to poke fun. He sees the world through the eyes of a cartoonist, and will never miss a comedic opportunity.

Be warned! He's actually fairly smart, and can read people well, knowing just how to really get under someone's skin. It's a good thing he can't be bothered with any of that though.

Gets his best ideas either in the tub or when hes just about to sleep. Because of that, he keeps a water-proof and regular notebook. Nearly had a heart-attack countless times because he accidently swapped them around.

Despite his complaints about absurd plot conveniences, he actually likes Doctor Wh- i mean "Proffesor Why", there's just something about the concept of time travel...he also likes cartoons! Like, a lot. He'll watch most anything and everything if it's animated and the writing is decent.

Likes anything sour, sweet, and chewy! So Jelly Babies, Wine gums, Sour patch kids, that kind of thing

Tord:

(Most of these are heavily based upon his life as Red Leader so sorry if you were looking for more domestic Tord. Maybe I'll do seperate hcs for that one day)

Second tallest! Quite a bit taller then Tom, a bit taller then Edd, just about average height, if a bit taller. He's closer to Matt in height then Edd.

He's actually quite well-built! You wouldn't think it because of the baggy hoodie he wears but he's got pretty good muscle, and his endurance and strength is well above the others. This mostly comes from the logic that he's been training and leading the Red Army, so it just makes sense to me that he'd resemble a soldier physically, yknow? AU-wise, or before he started the whole world domination thing, he'd be a little more scrawny, but he could still kick everyone's ass (he probably tried copying numerous anime battle stances lol-)

He's pretty well off, it turns out you can get quite rich by adopting some uh...rather unconventional means of money-making. Of course you could always say he just sold his inventions.

Does having your own private network of underground intelligence-gathering units count as social media? No? Nevermind.(He has a hentaihaven account-)

He likes dodgeball, archery, and you guessed it, arcade shooter games. Anything where he can point and hit something basically.

He smells like gunpowder, dirt, oil from machine maintenance and the cold? Like if the cold had a smell, he would have that smell, does that make sense? He also probably smells like Old Spice because idfk it just reminds me of him ok.

He doesn't exactly get out to socialise much, be prefers to stay at his desk, or curled up next to the fire with a mug of hot cider when he wants to relax. Sometimes Paul and Pat will drag him outside when they think he needs a breath of fresh air, and they'll go visit the nearest marketplace for food and other supplies. He likes strategic games like Chess or Draughts, and it's a good way to show off and get practice at the same time.

Scar-wise, he probably has quite a few from his fights. Post-the end, I'm not sure what would happen to him, since I've seen people go in a lot of different directions. I DO think he'd replace him arm with the robotic one, since that seemed too heavily implied to not happen. Regarding his face, I think the burns and stuff would probably heal over time, and depending on the technology in the future, he'd either still have some heavy scarring, or maybe he'd develop some kind of treatment so that it restores him to almost fully healed. He could always go the cyborg route and end up half-man half-machine like we see with future Matt and Tom.

(About the patch on his face, I have a theory about how he he aquired that scar/injury. See, I don't think Tord founded Red Army by himself, no. I think he was introduced to it by Paul (who we see in the same classroom as them in Poweredd) who was kept back a few years cause....uh...yknow- Anyway I have a theory that Tord eventually climbed the ranks until he became second-in-command, and he then murdered Red Leader and took his title. Their fight is where he got that injury. It's not really canon-supported much, but I find it an interesting concept!)

You've probably guessed, but I kind of disgree with Tord's portrayal sometimes. I think I prefer the darker, meaner side to him. I wouldn't say he's (completely) evil, but I'm not really one for the whole "self-hating, regretful angsty Tord who just wants some love and support" and stuff. I mean, it's cute with ships amd fluff, amd ideally he does make amends and rejoin the group, but I just like the thought that he's genuinely not a nice guy yknow? Like, he's actually done some fucked up stuff, and The End is probably just one case. (Of course this is all opinion based so feel free to disagree if u wanna wheeze-)

Has the WORST sleeping schedule. Has been known to fall asleep in the bath/shower.

He prefers movies to shows. His favourite is the Kingsman series (he can relate on many different levels).

Likes bittersweet things, (just like his personality amirite-). So cake with coffee, or tarts, liquorice, hard candy, that kind of thing.

Matt:

(My favourite-)

He tol. Tallest of them all!

Someone once described him as "borderline twink" and tbh i agree. I feel like he'd have a slightly feminine figure (which is perfectly normal!) and he both rocks it, and knows he does.

He works at a nail salon every now and again, his self-confidence and bubbliness makes him get along well with customers. (Also Matt would definitely wear nail polish ok dont even try to convince me otherwise. Actually speaking of,)

He has EVERY kind of social media possible. Instagram, twitter, facebook, tumblr, facebook, snapchat, you name it! He's especially prominent on instagram. He likes to keep an ~aesthetic~

He likes gymnastics and dance, activities like that. Anything which puts him in a creative spotlight. He'd probably take up acting classes, and then insist on only being given monologues.

He'd probably have quite a pleasant and nature-y smell? Like uhh citrus-y, pine tree, a hint of flowers, that kind of thing. Although he'd DEFINITELY slap on way too much cologne on a date or something and end up smelling like he just emptied out a bottle of febreeze.

He'd probably go out quite a lot! I can see Matt being a social butterfly, his friendliness and general likeability probably mean that he's got a few friends and stuff around. I can also see him as the kind of person who'd enjoy taking walks in the park, sitting below a tree, that kind of thing. He probably runs a self-love session (that works a little TOO well). He wants to get out there and show off his beautiful face, so it doesn't take a lot to drag him outside (provided you keep a mirror on you, that is).

He doesn't really have any physical scars. I mean, i do hc him with freckles, but they don't count so. he has a mental scar. After he hit himself with the memory eraser gun, he completely erased his memories. It took a while for him to settle onto the personality he has now. His face was the one thing that he knew for certain held a sense of familiarity and stability, so that's partly why his narcissism boomed so much. He sometimes gets random flashbacks of being a zombeh leader, being less of a nicer person, and it can be quite unnerving for him. He also has other memory issues, which is why he can forget things so easily, and comes across as an idiot most of the time.

He can be quite oblivious, but I dont think hes a total idiot. He can read people fairly well, and is emotionally intelligent. He says stupid things sometimes despite knowing they'll get a reaction, just because he wants to, and thinks that life should be as fun and full of joy as possible. He's too trusting, and wants to see the good in everyone. At the end of the day, if you disrespect him (and his face), you'll see that he can be more then just the nice guy.

LUSH!! Matt is HERE for all those lush products. I'm talking bath bombs, lip scrubs, shower jellies, all that good stuff! And ofc he has like 100+ products for his hair and skincare routine, because let's face it, it's Matt. I also like to think he owns a bunch of bath toys and rubber duckies, and like the kid at heart he is, he'll sit in a bubble bath playing with them, and re-enacting all of their adventures.

He mostly prefers youtube videos over TV, so you bet he's subscribed to all the beauty gurus, vloggers, people like that. He does think children's cartoons are nice to watch though, so every once in a while he'll force Tom and Edd to sit with him and watch the latest season of My little pony.

He likes anything sweet and fun to look at! Especially if it's trending, so he can post pictures of himself eating/drinking it. So if there's another rolled ice cream/new starbucks-ccino/unicorn themed food item floating about, he'll probably be trying it.

(Ah man this turned out way longer then i thought. It went from simple headcanons to like full blown theories whoops- maybe i should make seperate posts if its too difficult to read? Anyway let me know what you think nonetheless!)

[jacquirebriggs]

My concept of a WarioWare version of “Everything You Know Is Wrong”

Got this idea after watching the latest episode of WarioWare Tooned which uses the chorus as the intro.

*music starting 13-Amp syncs up the DJ at the organ sounds. Following with 9-Volt, 18-Volt and 5-Volt when guitar music plays "I was driving on the freeway in the fast lane With a rabid wolverine in my underwear" Dribble showing his mad driving skills while Spitz keeps him in check while the "wolverine" is actually similar to Ralphie just hops in the backseat. "When suddenly a guy behind me in the backseat Popped right up and cupped his hands across my eyes" A customer they don't remember picking up mugs Spitz, hurts the "wolverine" and ties Spitz up and returns him to the assistant seat, leaving him helpless on his service and then cups Dribble's eyes. "I guessed is it Uncle Frank? or Cousin Louie? Is it Bob or Joe or Walter? Could it be Bill or Jim? or Ed Or Bernie or Steve? I probably would have kept on guessing But about that time we crashed into a truck" Dribble panics as he tries to stay concentrated on his driving, while swerving like what happens if you lose a microgame in Cruise Controls. However, he eventually crashes into an incoming truck, flinging him and Spitz out the road. "And as I'm laying bleeding there on the asphalt Finally I recognize the face of my Hibachi dealer Who takes off his prosthetic lips and tells me" As Dribble lays down with his right arm and left leg broken, bleeding with Spitz laying down next to him, dead. He gets a glimpse of who causes this disaster happens to be Mitzi the Alien. First chorus Along with scenes with the Nintendo Powers (what I nicknamed their garage band), It also features Mona speeding up to be right on time, when suddenly two Pizza Dinosaur employees set her motorcycle engine on fire with a well-aimed match, causing her motorcycle to explode and flinging her to the side-grass sideways of the highway. As she tries to limp around with one of her leg broken, a wolfish Ruffington starts chewing away her femur which happens to be chewy, because everything you know is wrong. (Don't worry, Mona isn't that affected.) "I was walking to the kitchen for some Golden Grahams When I accidentally stepped into an alternate dimension And soon I was abducted by some aliens from space who kinda looked like Jamie Farr" Features Dr. Crygor taking a midnight snack when suddenly he accidentally steps into one of his inventions and got transported to an alternate dimension and then got abducted by Shroob-like aliens while Orbulon cameos. "The sucked out my internal organs And they took some Polaroids And said I was a darn good sport " The aliens took pictures of Crygor while they dissect him. (He's still alive because this song's everything you know is wrong) and then they treated Crygor like a good sport. "And as a way of saying thank you They offered to transport me Back to any point in history that I would care to go And so I had them send me back to last Thursday night So I could pay my phone bill on time But then the floating disembodied head of Colonel Sanders started yelling " Crygor was transported back to his lab, but the impact somewhat made him unconscious. Then Penny and Mike heard the loud thud and then overreacted because they think Crygor drink something extremely poisonous that he passed out. Second chorus More scenes with the Nintendo Powers, plus Kat, Ana, Cricket, and Mantis star this segment. It was a normal moment of them battling each other until a pesky Splunk shove a boulder to a red button that drops the platform they are on and drops them into a abyss of weirdness. During their freefall, Mantis was captured by a Blargg. After Cricket, Kat, and Ana landed on the white land, they sped through the tunnel of weirdness in worry and fear until they found a little, innocent, orange turtle. However as Ana tries to pet it, the turtle transformed into a large dinosaur similar to Bowser and King Koopa from the Super Mario cartoon and it eats her which led Cricket and Kat sent scrambling away in fear from this monster as it chases after them. Music break Along with more Nintendo Powers scenes. The scene cuts to Ashley and Red pacing into the night looking for missing ingredients when a door appeared out of nowhere. Hoping it's a pathway to the missing ingredients, they both go inside. They did not foresaw this entrance being a alternate world of weirdness that they cannot even predict. *tuba sounds While they trot in the prehistoric-like area, they saw Cricket and Kat being chased by the dinosaur which they attempt to stop it only for the dinosaur to pull out a extendable hand to pull Ashley and Red inside its mouth scaring Cricket and Kat even more. Inside the dinosaur is not flesh and guts, but rather another twisted dimension. *guitar riffles After a twisted portal, they landed in an unfortunate area where people see witches and demons regardless of personality, evil is nearby. Thus, they tied up Ashley and Red to a wooden stake and set the fire to the sticks below and they both cries as they slowly burn away- or had no effect because, broken laws. *guitar strikes (5-Volt, 18-Volt) "I was just about to mail a letter to my evil twin When I got a nasty papercut" Jimmy T. planning to deliver a letter to his "evil twin" (Jimmy P.) But suddenly he got a papercut within the envelope. "And, well, to make a long story short It got infected and I died" Jimmy T. dies by the severely bleeding paper cut. "So now I'm up in heaven with St. Peter By the pearly gates And it's obvious he doesn't like The Nehru jacket that I'm wearing He tells me that they've got a dress code" Jimmy T. heads to join heaven, except "St. Peter" (recasted by the Sewer Guru) didn't accept Jimmy's red jacket due to a dress code. Jimmy looks at him with confusion. "Well, he lets me into heaven anyway But I get the room next to the noisy ice machine For all eternity And every day he runs by screaming" Jimmy was let into heaven, but he's forced to take the room next to the noisy ice machine which he's completely hurt in the ears by it due to not being his preferred dancing music while the Sewer Guru runs around hyperly in circles. Final chorus More Nintendo Powers scenes. Orbulon was floating in the sky when suddenly lightning strikes his Oinker, knocking him out from it. Atfter landing on his stomach, he was cariied by a stream of "WAAAAAs" yelled by a disembodied Wario head with lights of other WarioWare employees flickering as he streams ending with a messed-up Cricket, who got mauled by the faux dinosaur, kicking him to the stars. *another Nintendo Powers break. Orbulon went banging on bells and flippers like if he's in a pinball machine with the space between the flipper being the exits. The parody ends with the band yelling, "Everything You is Know Wrong" within the chorus, finishing the song with Orbulon falling from the ceiling right in front of them.

[hamburgergod]

here’s that silly little ficlet i said i was writing in this post’s tags where dean has a small conversation with an old man.  ~900 words, destiel. 

special thanks to em, who’s the best. 

It’s a beautiful sunset, and a damn shame for nobody to be here to enjoy it with him.

Dean looks out at the park before him with mild interest, a chewy sandwich in one hand and his phone in the other. The streetlight beside his bench flickers on and off, finally giving its last hurrah before it dies and leaves him with only the sun that’s slowly disappearing from the sky. He barely gives the old man who sits down beside him any attention, until he speaks.

“You know,” the old man says, mid-eighties at least, “I honestly never thought I’d live this long.”

Dean looks away from the sunset, and gulps down his bite. “Um.”

The old man doesn’t look away from the sky, but he wears a slight smile. Seems like he’s not the monster of the week, so what the hell? He looks around for someone who might’ve arrived with the guy, but he doesn’t see anyone else in the park. Sam should’ve made sure of that.

“Yeah?” Dean replies instead. With what he looks like, he assumes he’s been in some wars in his prime time. He texts Sam, why the hell did you let this old guy through??

“Yeah,” the old man says. “Used to think I’d go down in a blaze of glory one day or another, and there’d be no way out of it. But here I am.”

Dean smiles despite himself. Yeah, he gets it. “Here you are.”

“And here you are,” the old man says. Dean blinks. “Almost in your fourties and still miserable.”

“Excuse me?” he stutters. He’s confused now. And a bit offended.

“Hell, I get it,” the old man continues. His phone buzzes, but he’s too taken aback to care. “I’ve been there. Shit’s tough to go through. But sometimes, you gotta go through all that shit to, you know,” he makes a scooping motion with his hands, “dig up what you buried in the first place. Otherwise, you’re just going to end up buried in shit up here,” he taps his head, and Dean’s a hundred percent positive that this guy is the weirdest thing he’s come across this week. And he’s seen a dead guy with his brain eaten out this week.

“Alright,” Dean replies, only for the sake of saying something back.

“Just saying,” he says with an incline of his head. “You never know ‘til you try, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Dean says, majorly uncomfortable that despite the most out-of-context conversation he’s had ever, it’s hitting a nerve. He waves Cas out of his head, and glances at his phone.

What old guy? Sam’s replied.

“Dean,” the old man calls, and Dean jumps. “Sam’s not going to give you shit for being bi.”

He almost drops his sandwich. “The hell are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?” he asks, gripping onto his gun tightly and out of sight. For now.

“And this is going to sound like one of those stupid movies,” the old man continues, “but fuck, live a little. Hunting’s been your whole life so far, but it doesn’t have to be the rest of it. You can take my word for it.”

“What the hell are you—”

Dean doesn’t finish, as the old man’s body starts glowing. He jumps out of the bench, and points his gun at him. “What the fuck?”

The streetlight beside them blinks back to life then, giving Dean a good look of the old man’s face. He has green eyes. 

“Shit, guess time’s already up.” The old man shrugs. “Temporary time travelling’s a bitch.”

Dean gapes.

The old man quirks a smile, calm as the warm glow of light becomes brighter and brighter. “And just ask him to stay, dude. I think that’s all he really needs to hear to make up his mind.”

“Who?”

“You know who, you dumbfuck,” he replies. He can barely see his face as he’s entirely engulfed in the light. “Don’t just make him a mix tape and call it a day. Use your fucking words.”

With that, he disappears.

There are crickets chirping in the distant woods along the edges of the park. Dean stares at the empty bench. He bends over to pick up his buzzing phone on the concrete.

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam yells into the phone as soon as Dean picks up. “I called you six times. I thought you were dead! What happened with the old guy? Was it our thing?”

“No, um. No, it wasn’t our thing.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s starting to sink in a little now that he’s gone.

“I swear I didn’t let anyone go through the gate,” Sam replies, not knowing the emotional turmoil that Dean’s going through. “So was he just a regular old man?”

“Not exactly,” he replies. “Sam, I think I just Marty McFly’ed myself.”

“What?” Sam asks, obviously confused.

Dean shakes himself out of it. Despite having time travelled few times before, it’s still weird as fuck to be involved in one out of nowhere like that. “Later,” he promises.

“Uh… Okay. So you’re good?”

The old man’s words—his own words—ring in his ears. If that was even himself. Why the fuck did his future-self decide to drop on him right in the middle of a case, anyway? That’s for later—maybe much more later. As he put it himself, probably when he’s dug himself out of all the shit he’s piled up.  

Still, it’s a little reassuring to hear the words he needed from the person he needed it the most from.

“Yeah,” Dean replies with a smile as he looks over the horizon. It’s completely dark now, but maybe next time, he’ll bring Cas with him to watch the sunset. “Yeah, I’m good.”

[copyseat0]

30 Days to a Better Dog

Have you let problematic or just plain slightly annoying behaviour slide? Or is your dog a “good dog” and so you’ve just stopped brushing up on training, which is really time to engage with your dog, bond, and work together? In either case, we’ve created a 30-day action plan of fun, doable exercises and activities that take hardly any time but can reap huge rewards where your relationship with your dog is concerned. Dive right in—it’s just one simple suggestion per day.

#1 Identify the top three behaviours you want to work on with your dog—say a rock-solid recall, no jumping up, and not pulling on leash—and set aside 15 dedicated minutes twice a day to work on this skill with your dog. Set a timer on your phone. Rotate which skill you’re working on every day. (Find tips for working on these skills plus solving a host of other problems at moderndogmagazine.com/training)

#2 Have you heard the time-worn adage “a tired dog is a good dog?” It generally holds true. Commit to an increased exercise schedule, even if it’s just adding an extra block to your dog walk—it all adds up. Challenge yourself to a jog or a speed(ier) walk every other day. Increase your chances of sticking to it with LinkAKC’s very cool Smart Collar that precisely identifies your dog’s movement throughout the day (linkakc.com) and provides activity level recommendations based on your dog’s age, breed, behaviour, and size to keep you motivated and inspired. Plus it’s GPS feature monitors your dog’s location in case he ever gets away.

  #3 Reward, reward, reward. Food is a powerful motivator. Make sure your dog stays interested in the training sessions by giving him some extra-delicious, high-value treats like Boo Boo’s Best (booboosbest.com), made of wild and free range ingredients.

              #4 Keep those treats handy so that no matter where you are, you can reward your dog when he performs a desired behaviour, whether it’s a “stay,” a “drop it” or an excellent recall at the dog park. Co-designed with dog trainers, Doog’s awesome Good Dog Treat Bag (doogusa.com) is designed to effortlessly and stylishly keep treats on hand.

    #5 Try clicker training if you’ve never done so before. An investment of just a few dollars lets you mark positive behaviours the second they occur, sans treats. Clicker training is excellent for trick training. Keep your clicker on your keychain so it’s always on hand or download the iClicker app in the app store (free; available only for IOS).

          #6 Today you’re going to make your dog work for it. Feed your dog all his dinner by hand, delivered piece by piece in exchange for running through his trick repertoire.

#7 Engage, challenge, and bond with your dog while gaining deeper insight into how he thinks with Kyra Sundance’s Dog Training in 10 Minutes a Day. Her effective, positive, and humane training methods will inspire a confident and happy dog.

#8 Is leash pulling a problem? Upgrade your lead situation with the Otto Dog Harness (petsavvi.com). It reduces the amount of pulling force your dog can create and can be worn with or without a collar.

#9 Walk with purpose. Rather than just letting your dog loose at the dog park, find a friend with a well-matched dog and go for a walk together. This is an especially good activity for dogs who aren’t super with other dogs. United in a common focused purpose, they can get used to one another.

#10 Create a nose-powered treasure hunt! This activity takes all of two minutes to set up and it is super fun for dogs. Have your dog wait in another room while you hide small treats all over the house for her to seek out and find. It also let’s you work on “stay” until you release your dog to find the hidden treats (you may need to enlist a helper to help your dog wait while you hide the treats).

#11 New toyyyyyyys! Sign up for super-fun monthly subscription service like Dog Bundles (dogbundles.ca), which puts together a curated selection of toys and treats matched to your pup and delivers it to your door! What could be more delightful than opening a box of surprise goodies with your dog?

#12 If you have a fetch-aholic on your hands, gift your dog iFetch’s automatic ball throwing toy (goifetch.com). Dogs can play by themselves and you can set the distance so you can even play inside.

#13 Get out into nature, or the closest you can. Think of how mentally stimulating a new wild area is for dogs—and for you as well.

#14  Away for the day? Keep your dog busy with a food puzzle toy. Many of us stop using Kongs and other stuff-able toys when our dogs pass from puppyhood and inappropriate chewing is no longer a problem. But peanut butter-stuffable puzzle toys, like Jolly Pets treat dispensing Monster Ball (jollypets.com) remain a great way to occupy a home-alone dog. Bring back the food-stuffed toys!

#15 Swap out food rewards for play sessions. If your dog is crazy about tug or a particular stuffy, use that as his treat for doing as you ask.

                #16 Rotate your dog’s toys so just a couple are out. Put the rest away and swap them out every week so they remain fresh and interesting.

  #17 Introduce a new trick, such as commando crawling (lure and treat) or sneeze on command (done by capturing and rewarding the behaviour). Encourage your dog’s new skill acquisition will an irresistible treat, like Jiminy’s Pea, Sweet Potato, and Cricket Chewy Training Treats (jiminys.com).

#18 Free day! The absolute best thing you can do for your dog is just spend time being present with him. Bring him along on some dog-friendly errands (the pet store, the hardware store).

  #19 Grooming session. Take this opportunity to really check in with your dog and give him a head to toe once over, handling him from his feet to his ears.

#20 Get inspired! Read Guardians of Being by Eckhart Tolle and Patrick McDonnell. This collection of witty and charming drawings celebrates the oneness of life as well as the wonder and joy to be found in the present moment.

#21 Canine massage. This is a wonderful bonding exercise and great way to keep track of any lumps, bumps, or sore areas. Get the how-to for canine massage at moderndogmagazine.com/caninemassage.

#22 Get your evening walk on! Reflective gear for nighttime or early morning walks keeps you seen and safe. There’s something to be said for dressing the part and willing it into being.

    #23 Finally, give agility a try! Dog training centres typically offer short term beginner’s courses. In Toronto, ON, All About Dogs' six week foundation skill course is just $250 (allaboutdogs.ca). Afraid your pup won't commit? Check and see whether the facility near you offers one-time private lessons to test the waters. 

#24 Try geocaching, a high-tech treasure hunt that’s the perfect outdoor activity to undertake with your dog! You’ll need a GPS-enabled device like a smart phone and your dog, and that’s it! There are millions of geocaches hidden around the world—there are probably some near you right now. Get started at geocaching.com.

      #25 Work on that “stay:” have your dog wait for your cue before you release him to go eat his dinner.

  #26 Give your dog a long-lasting natural chew so he can indulge his desire to chomp on something. Dogs go crazy for braided bully stick beef pizzles from Jones Natural Chews (jonesnaturalchews.com). 

#27 Make some new friends: find a breed meet up. Mixed or purebred, there’s meet ups of all ilk, whether packs of Pugs or eastside dog lovers. Find your new crew at meetup.com. Here’s a look at just a few of the Small Breed Dogs Meetups happening near Vancouver:

- Vancouver Dog Owner Meet-Up.

- The Small Dog Meetup.

- Teacup Pups Playgroup.

- The Burnaby Pug Group.

- Vancouver Boston Terrier Monthly Meetup.

- Lower Mainland Chihuahua Meet Up.

#28 Focused attention. Really check in with your dog instead of just running through obligatory actions. Everyone, our dogs included, bloom with this kind of consideration.

#29 Switch up your usual walk route so your dog can get fired up over all the new sensory info, particularly the smells. The same old trudge around the block is boring for you both.

#30 Day 30! Celebrate your improved bond and your dog’s better behaviour by taking your dog on an outing that really stokes him—a nature walk perhaps, or your best friend’s house or a trip to the beach. You’ve both earned it. Now keep up the great work! You’re one of the good ones.

Source: https://moderndogmagazine.com/articles/30daystoabetterdog

[despairforme]

[How many cookies can you eat in one sitting? How many cookies would you eat in one sitting if challenged? What are your favorite cookies? Do you like dipping them in milk? Do you like them crunchy or soft and chewy? Do you believe cookies should be made the main part of a meal (not as snacks)? What other uses do you think cookies have? What food combinations are good with cookies? Lastly, if you hate cookies and responded negatively to the above, write a 500 words response explaining why.]

     ❝ Alright, so we’re chattin’ ‘bout cookies ‘ta’day? ‘Daz cool. ❞ Generally, Nnoitra didn’t have a problem answering questions. It made him feel somewhat ‘ important ‘, that someone cared enough to bother asking him anything. So, he would gladly answer, even if it was about something as unimportant as cookies.❝ I bet’cha I could eat a fuckton ‘a cookies in one sittin’. ❞ Despite being skinny as fuck, Nnoitra could eat large quantities of food whenever it was offered to him. Maybe it was because, at one point in his life, he had survived with barely any food, so his body would want to get as many calories as possible when it could.❝ If challenged, I’d eat as many as whoever dared me ‘ta eat. ❞ Nnoitra had actually won an eating competition once, so he was no stranger to bets being put on him.

     As for what type of cookies were his favorites, that was a more difficult question to answer. Nnoitra hadn’t really tasted that many different cookies in his life. When he was a kid, he never got cookies, and when he’d grown up, they hadn’t really been on the menu either. 

     ❝ I dunno, but I guess I like those with lots ‘a chocolate in ‘em? ❞ There was a small shrug. ❝ I like ‘em crunchy, so I don’t like dippin’ ‘em in milk. ❞ As far as snacks went, Nnoitra would prefer eating crickets, rather than cookies. Yeah - he was a bit weird like that.

     ❝ I definitely don’t think cookies should be a main part ‘a any meal. Yeah, sure, they’re tasty, but they ain’t really all that cheap, ‘n they don’t contain no protein, which I really fuckin’ need. ❞ Oh, yeah, like he knew anything about this shit ( he really didn’t ), but he did think that someone who struggled with weight issues, should at least try to eat healthy. No doubt he would suffer from malnutrition if he started only eating cookies. ❝ I dunno wha’ else ya can use cookies ‘fer apart from eatin’ ‘em? ❞ He had never had the best imagination when it came to creative solutions. ❝ I guess ya can give ‘em as gifts? I don’t fuckin’ know. ❞ At least he would’ve been happy to receive a box of cookies for his birthday or whatever. ❝ Cookies taste good with berries.❞ Finally, something he could answer. Between cookies and berries, Nnoitra would prefer the latter. 

     Then, the final question, or, ‘ order ‘. Luckily, he hadn’t responded negatively to anything. Which meant he didn’t have to write 500 words. Just the thought of that was almost enough to give him a headache. He didn’t think he had written anything as long as 500 words in his entire life. 

[thytruthwill]

It Came Out of Me

My troubles began in the early morning of a Summer night in August. An ordinary day to say the least from the start, until I endured a series of wicked spells that forced mucus from my body. What felt familiar to a head cold, I took a couple Tylenol and drank some extra fluids with lemon. I didn’t show any other visible symptoms. That evening, a foul taste filled my mouth at dinner, bitter and tangy. Disturbed, my appetite ceased and I went to bed early. Around three in the morning, a sudden sharp ache ran through my stomach and awoken me. Before I could grab my stomach, the ache subsided. Inside my mouth was pasty and dry. I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. Two glasses of water, a quick empty of my bladder and then it was back to bed.

 It was in the bathroom, where I was plagued by another spell that exhausted me for minutes. This was unlike any of the others I experienced that day. Thrusting the muscles in my esophagus would not manifest what was traveling up my chest. It was dense, and creeping its way up into the back of my throat. I figured the old-fashioned way would help; forced my finger down my wind pipe and gagged to force the strange object nesting in the back of my throat. Its great size clogged my airway as it entered the top of my throat. In a fight to avoid choking, I coughed aggressively and oozed out a black gelatin substance the size of a small balloon, filling the entire space in my mouth. Its mawkish taste and lumpy contents encased in the ball sickened me as I spit it out into the toilet, puking up the water I drank minutes prior. The water clogged my throat like glue. Breathing was a sacrifice to be made as I desperately exercised myself to rid my body of this foreign substance.

 This was not mucus and was coming to a realization this ordeal was turning into something far more sinister than what I was already experiencing. The strange specimen shared the same consistency as mucus but I nearly fainted at the sight of the beady black eyes, webbed feet, shiny skin and wide mouths swimming inside the membrane. I retreated from the bathroom, panic spiking my nerves. My mother awoke from her slumber at the sound of her son bawling hysterically. Overwhelmed, I failed to form logical sentences and relied on gestures to get her to follow me back to the bathroom like a dog alarming its owner. When she entered the bathroom, she found me on the floor sitting against the tub. I pointed at the toilet. When she peeked into the bowl the expression on her face settled for a while. Blank. Fixated. I mustered up the courage to inform her that I produced the contents in the toilet. Uncertain of how to react, stunned by my confession, she stepped out of the bathroom. Gaining control of my sanity felt impossible. What was happening to me? I pressed two fingers against my neck, my pulse was thumping like a kick drum. Moments later, my mother entered the bathroom wearing a glove on one of her hands. She reached into the toilet and picked up the membrane with the hand equipped with the glove.

 As a science professor, she was accustomed to occurrences that rendered no explanation. I had seen my mother angry, sad, joyful, but I had no answer for what she was expressing. For all I knew, she felt just as nauseated as I did. My mother turned to me with a gaunt expression and dropped the membrane in the toilet. She held the wall as she stepped out of the bathroom. I rubbed my stomach as a wave of nausea spiraled through me. With a desperate attempt, I shot up from the floor and put my head over the toilet. My gag reflex forced a thick, black gelatin substance to seep out of my throat. My mother ran back into the bathroom on the phone with my father. My muscles contracted as the black substance unforgivingly took its time to come out.

 My mother held my hand while I fought to breathe. Eventually the substance cleared and I collapsed back onto the floor, weary. Every subtle movement triggered a surge of spasms that gripped my abdomen. I could hear my father over the phone trying to understand what was taking place. My mother checked my body temperature. It was slowly rising. Too exhausted to roll over, my mother anchored her arms under my armpits and helped me to sit back up against the tub. She affirmed that my father was on the way to take me to the hospital. In the meantime, she grabbed a wet cloth and pressed it against my head and chest to keep me cool.

 Not long after, I heard my father come through the front door of the house and made his way into the bathroom to witness a concerning sight. A son sweating profusely and in agony. When my father looked into the toilet, a gasp escaped him. Just before his arrival, the membrane had erupted. An army of tiny black frogs were floating in the water atop each other. The largest in the army sat still as a statue, flexing his vocal sac. In haste, my father helped me up to my feet and carried me out to the car. The agony in my stomach hindered me from walking. My mother helped me to get my shoes on my feet in the backseat while my father peeled out of the driveway. There was an urgency that I’d never seen my dad drive with. The passing cars, lights and buildings faded into a blur as I floated in and out of consciousness. I uttered, “I went to Rehmi’s house for dinner the other night.” My mother’s eyes widened, disdain filled my father’s face. I knew the sudden anguish bloomed at the thought of Rehmi’s father.

 Rehmi was one of my closest friends but his father had an obsession with exotic dining, always looking for unusual delicacies. It was uncommon for their household to eat chicken, beef, rice, pork on a more frequent basis, instead, they ate things like crickets, duck bladder, lamb brains, and beaver liver as Rehmi shared with me. I was always invited over for dinner but my parents were serious about where I ate, especially Rehmi’s house. My mother constantly reminded me, “You can’t eat at everybody’s house,” and would proceed to lecture me on the cleanliness of people’s houses and different ways people prepared food. It made sense to an extent but I knew she was more concerned about the food at Rehmi’s than anywhere else.

 A few days ago, Rehmi invited me over to his house for dinner after we bowled a few games at AMF Bowling. He convinced me that his father was cooking sausages made from goose. I figured that was as normal as it was going to get since the last invitation was for dragonfly soup. Allegedly his father was over the roof of how delicious it tasted after spending days catching them in their backyard. As usual, I tried to decline the offer but I was running out of excuses and told him that I was still full from eating fries at the bowling alley, which was the furthest thing from the truth. Rather than be honest, I offended him and he told me forget about it. In the moment, I felt like a terrible friend so I quickly changed my mind and told him I would join his family for a meal.

 When I walked in the house, the first room was the dining room. Four plates were set around a table. The spread consisted of bread rolls in a pan, grilled goose sausages and a dish covered by a metal lid sitting at the end of the table. Rehmi’s father was so thrilled at my attendance that he insisted I try a surprise he had waiting for me before we began the main course. Already aware of his obsession, I felt like I’d made a mistake accepting the invitation but I kept an open mind, maybe a little too open because I wasn’t ready for what Rehmi’s father had in store for me.

 Rehmi’s father stood up from his seat and picked up the small dish that was covered by the shiny metal lid and brought it over to me. I asked what was underneath and he responded with, “I don’t want to spoil the surprise, enjoy.” Reluctant, I removed the lid. A pungent stink filled my nostrils. The odor was absolutely horrible but what sat on the plate nearly tarnished my appetite. Two off-white, bulb-shaped membranes sat in the middle of the plate. I tried to keep my stomach strong but I was having a hard time. At the end of the table, Rehmi’s father gazed with a wicked smile, “Try it.”  I turned to Rehmi, who looked even more like his father as he bared the same sinister grin. I picked up the indistinguishable delicacy. It nearly slipped out of my hand as I plopped it into my mouth.

 With a cautious bite, the mystery meal exploded, filling my mouth with a slimy substance. The tough texture made it impossible to chew. Some things are so horrendous that that’s the only way you can describe them. My eyes swelled with tears as I exercised my jaws to break down the chewy delicacy. This ordeal was enough to make me want to leave but it was too late. Rehmi’s father leaned in, eager to get my opinion. I wanted to fix my mouth and say, You’re a sick individual. What’s wrong with you? But instead, I told him the truth. The real shock came when he revealed that I’d ingested frog ovaries. Rehmi’s father encouraged me to finish the other piece or it would bring bad luck. Ovaries? Goose sausage couldn’t eradicate the taste that coated my taste buds. It was rather odd that Rehmi’s father would go to such extremes to cleanse his family’s digestive system with frog ovaries.

 Ironically the following morning, I had spells of abdominal cramps so intense that I could only find comfort laying in the fetal position. My body temperature fluctuated several times throughout the day. Later in the evening I eventually passed a stool that brought minor relief but little did I know my fate was sealed.

 My father drove up to the emergency room drop off terminal and rushed inside to grab a wheelchair. My mother wheeled me inside asking for immediate assistance. A nurse escorted me to an empty room and began checking my vitals. My mother filled out the forms. My blood pressure was high with a fever and elevated heart rate that was gradually climbing. The nurse stepped out and ordered an I.V.

 At the same time, a doctor entered the room and asked me about what I was experiencing. My explanation made him wonder as he instructed me to turn over onto my back. He pressed his fingers against my stomach and felt a bulge present underneath the surface. It was firm and shifted to the lower portion of my abdomen. I shrieked in pain, clutching his wrist, clinching my teeth. The doctor ordered the nurse to prepare an ultrasound to get a look what was creeping inside my abdomen. In the meantime, my parents bombarded the doctor with a series of questions, anxious to know what was troubling me. He assured them that him and his team of nurses were going to get to the bottom of the situation.

 Within minutes, a nurse rolled in an ultrasound machine. She gently lifted my shirt, as to be cautious not to disrupt what was nesting inside me. The doctor stood close by monitoring the procedure. The nurse took a plastic tube of ultrasound gel and squeezed some out onto my stomach, pressing the transducer on top of it and spreading it around. A wave of spasms gripped my stomach once again, more aggressively this time. The bulge split in two, surging around violently. I pushed the nurse back instinctively trying to curl up and endure the pain. Hollering made no difference as the doctor and other nurses fought to keep me still. The nurse I pushed away proceeded with checking my stomach as an image displayed on the screen of the ultrasound machine.

 Tiny little black pod shaped organisms swimming by the hundreds or thousands. As the nurse scrolled the transducer over my intestines, they made a grave discovery of larger tadpoles slithering around my guts, and back into my stomach cavity. A piercing agony erected through my chest that robbed me of my breathe. Right after, the bulge grew to the size of a basketball and forced its way up my diaphragm, creating a pressure so great that my ribs broke. Frantic from horror, the doctor ordered his team to prep an operating room and rushed me to the O.R.

 Fluorescent white panels glared down on me as I was rushed down the hallway. My vision turned hazy as I caught glimpses of the faces staring at me. Soon as I entered the operating room, the nurses were quick and careful to move me onto the table. Shaking violently, the team fought to hold me down. The bulge in my chest traveled up my throat, clogging my esophagus. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I could no longer breathe. A thick black plasma seeped from every opening in my face. My eyes, mouth, nose, and ears flooded with the black slime. My jaws snapped as thick foot-long tadpoles punctured through my mouth erratically falling out onto the floor squirming around. Nurses screamed as they jumped back at what they were witnessing. Nurses from outside spectated at the gruesome episode taking place before their eyes. Tiny tadpoles escaped through my nose and eyes, sheeting my face in the plasma. A massive bullfrog crawled out of my mouth and hopped onto the floor. Several other species of frogs crawled out of any available opening. My face was stretched and deformed as an army of frogs inhabited the operating room. I lay limp on the gurney as the O.R. staff panicked and locked down the area to prevent the frogs from spreading.

 Later my body was examined to discover several species of frog eggs in my system. The diener ruled my death by severe organ trauma and disruption. Looking from the outside in, there could have been a myriad of ways it all could have ended but I lost sight of my instincts which led to my unfortunate demise. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken watch what you eat so lightly.