#ownership of his kneecaps!

[kaylinlmfao]

Okay so you know the Dark!Ethan Landry x Fem!reader where he finds out she pregnant, can you do a part to if it?

the abortion (2/3)

type of piece(s): imagine, oneshot, drabble, series

type(s) of writing: smut, angst, fluff, dark, suggestive

warning(s): smut, rough angry smut, sub space, orgasm denial/control, overstimulation, breeding, pregnancy, ownership kink, dom ethan being a cocky tease, choking, slapping, bondage, just really dirty and nasty in general, RAPE/NON CON, degradation, ethan is super experienced like a fuckboy

pairing(s): dom!ghostface!dark!toxic!ethan landry x sub!shy!reader

A/N: thank you guys so much for all the requests that have been coming in! please, keep em coming. any idea you have, no matter how dark it is, I'll write it. but just know, I'm mainly into writing for ethan (or tara and sam) and the sturniolo triplets so if you request someone or something not those people, it might take me a little bit longer to get to them but they will be written. it'll just take a bit longer. but keep the requests coming, I love them! reblogs are much appreciated but please don't repost my original work on other platforms without giving credit! I might do another part to this but idk yet. enjoy!

I bang and pound on his back as i scream for him to put me down. "ethan! put me down right now! I don't want to "try again" you idiot! I didn't want a baby in the first place! we're only teenagers. you fucking-" he cuts off my screams by slamming me on the bed, hand gripping your throat. "fucking what, y/n? hm?" my vision was hazy as I stared into his dark eyes. "bitch" I say, spitting in his face and then starting to kick and fight him to get him off of me. I felt his leg buckle as I kicked his kneecap and I took the opportunity to roll off the bed and run to the door. as I were running, he grabbed my ankle, pulling hard causing me to fall. I let out a cry of pain and he stood and walked over to me.

"sweetheart, I want a baby so we can be together forever. what don't you understand?" "I understand that you are a demented motherfucker who deserves nothing in life." "you're making this much more difficult than it needs to be, princess. I was gonna fuck you slow and romantic on the nice soft mattress, but you pissed me off. so now you get a rough hard fuck on the floor. we could've prevented all of this if you would just listen to me" he told me, looking at me in a way that made me almost forget what he was gonna fuck me for.

i back away as he pulled his belt off with one hand, knowing what was coming. "give me your wrists now, y/n" "no! fuck you!" i shout. "what did I say? you're just making me angrier." he grabs both my wrists in one veiny ring clad hand and wraps the belt in sort of a handcuffs thing. "get off of me ethan please. we can't raise a child." he ignores me as he begins to pull my shorts off. I whimper when I see him pull a knife out of his pocket. "ethan please" "you begging just makes me wanna stuff you with my cum even more sweetheart" i hold back a moan at his words as he cuts my shirt, bra, and panties off, laughing at the goosebumps that cover my skin at his touch.

he immediately takes one of my nipples into his mouth and starts roughly sucking and biting it. I barely hold back a moan as he travels down toward my navel and then past, to where I need him most. he chuckles lowly when he sees how wet i am. "oh princess. you're soaked. do you need me that bad? you're awful wet for someone who doesn't want this." "I don't want you ethan" "so you don't want me to do this?" he asks. I gasp as his lips meet my clit and my eyes nearly roll back into my skull as I feel a rush of pleasure.

"or this?" my clit is sucked into his mouth and I make a pornographic sound I've never heard before. "how about this, mhm?" I shake uncontrollably as he sucks hard on my clit, flicking his tongue rapidly back and forth as I get closer to the edge. he plunges his tongue deep into my pussy, in and out so fast that I can't see. right as I'm about to fall over the edge, he pulls his tongue out and backs away. I let out a loud sob as tears slip down my cheeks from being so close to my orgasm and then getting it snatched away. "oh poor baby. don't worry, I'm gonna fuck you. I'll fill my cock in you so deep you won't be able to breathe. you won't be able to do anything but scream and take what I give you. and you'll love it."

"please! please!" he tears his shirt off and I stare at his muscular upper body while he takes his pants off. I see his dick flap up and hit his stomach. I forgot how big and wide he was. at the sight of his cock and the way my pussy was throbbing so hard I almost was crying, every rational thought flew straight out of my head and all I could think of was getting his dick inside of me. "I fucking-" i scream in pleasure as ethan pushes his entire length into my pussy in one thrust. he's pounding into me so fast and I have no time to adjust, it burns. but I fucking love it.

ethan lifts my legs over his shoulders and now the deeper angle he is at he's hitting my g-spot with every thrust. my breaths keep getting caught in my throat. "ethan. please. slow. down." I make out. "oh no, I'm keeping my promise. fucking you so hard you can't breathe and then filling you up so deep with my cum that your little tummy is bloated." I scream as I cum hard from his harsh thrusts and dirty words as he pinches and slaps my tits. he flips me over onto my stomach and re-enters me so quickly I didn't even have a chance to take a breath before he's pounding into me again, his tip kissing my cervix. he's slapping and gripping my ass hard. "please!" I babble, waving my hands around, needing something to hold onto to keep me from passing out. my back is arching so far as he pulls me up so my back is against his chest.

I'm about to cum again when I feel his hand wrap around my throat as he squeezes hard, leaving me with no oxegen as I cum hard again, creaming and clenching around his dick. he flips me back over onto my back again and continues thrusting. I'm sobbing, tears and mascara running down my face as I moan and babble incoherently from the lack of oxegen and the overstimulation. "who's the bitch? any other insults? I can't hear you. use your words princess" he knows you can't. he knows damn well that there isn't a thought in your head except for him.

he's pressing hard on my stomach which is exactly where I feel him. my body tightens and I come again. but this time, I can't stop cumming. and he won't stop thrusting. he needs to stop because I can't breathe and I'm gonna have a heart attack. "please slow" "you can give one more" little does he know I'm still cumming from the last one. he finally slows his thrusts, just a little bit, but enough that I have a second to breathe and stop creaming his dick.

but then he starts pounding harder than he has this entire time. I'm on my back with my arms above my head, my fists clenching and unclenching trying to find something to hold onto as they're still tied. he pinches my clit one more time hard as I squirt around his dick. he thrusts a few more times before he let's out a groan and fills up my tummy with his cum. I take deep breaths as he pulls out of me, carefully making sure all his cum stays inside my fluttering and abused cunt, which is still clenching around nothing.

I lay there as he stares at me with dark proud eyes. my hair is tangled and stuck to my forehead from the sweat. my lips are swollen and my eyes are bright red from crying. my cheeks are red and tear and mascara streaks are running down them. my tits and neck are red and purple from his abuse and the hickeys. my chest is heaving and my thighs are shaking. I can't even imagine how my ass and thighs look from the way he was spanking me and gripping me. but he doesn't care. he just looks at me with possessive eyes as he goes to run a bath and put his clothes on. he comes out of the bathroom, fully clothed as he unties my wrists. ethan helps me stand and climb into the bathtub before gripping my chin and turning my face to look at his.

"if you aren't pregnant, its ok. we'll have sex until you are. but if you are pregnant and you abort my child again, it will be worse than this. do you understand me, princess?" I nod my head slowly, maintaining eye contact. "good girl" he turns and leaves my dorm, leaving me bruised and exhausted in the bathtub with a thousand thoughts running through my head. the first being, where can I get another abortion pill? I'll be gone before he can do anything to me, but I will not have a child with ethan landry.

1.5k words (I went way overboard)

@onedayatatime6 @ilovechickenwings @tommysaxes @layla29sworld @misscaller06

I hope you guys liked it! I went a little overboard I think and I don't really love it but this is how most of my smut will be so I'm sorry if it was too much for y'all! keep those request coming please! expect more fics with ethan and the sturniolo's (mostly dark smut) coming tonight! i am also working on a chris sturniolo ghostface fic (smut), matt sturniolo ghostface (smut), and one with all three of them (suggestive). comment on this post if you want to be apart of my tagslist for my future fics! thanks! ;) -kaylin

[viraltang]

Whelp, *pores a glass of wine* so not only was HS2 a naked cash grab like actually WP (and Hussie maybe) is in serious debt, but Hussie also threw the writers under the bus by lying to them as to what the project was for, AND they didn't have a choice as to what they could write. They had to run with all of Hussie's bad/offensive ideas. They were his fuckin meat shields.

FUCK you Hussie is all I got... Would it have killed you be transparent with the people you where hiring? Maybe even give them free reign and not tie them to ideas you knew would piss everyone off? Not bust the kneecaps of the project and people who you intended to leave to the wolfs maybe? Just a thought.

My question now is how much are they in debt to Viz for? And for what exactly? The book publishing? Hiveswap? Or an investment on Viz's part that if they don't see a return on will they just take ownership of Homestuck to do with as they see fit? And how will this then effect fan works? And if so what was that investment for and what was it spent on?

Questions we may never know the answers too but dang if it's not going to bother me for night or two.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

“Prince Daeron gave a weary shrug. "Egg has the truth of it. Aerion's quite the monster. He thinks he's a dragon in human form, you know. That's why he was so wroth at that puppet show. A pity he wasn't born a Fossoway, then he'd think himself an apple and we'd all be a deal safer, but there you are." —The Hedge Knight

“And you had best be careful what you say of my family, magister. Kinslayer or no, I am a lion still." That seemed to amuse the lord of cheese no end. He slapped a meaty thigh and said, "You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are all lions or dragons or eagles. I can take you to a real lion, my little friend. The prince keeps a pride in his menagerie. Would you like to share a cage with them?" The lords of the Seven Kingdoms did make rather much of their sigils, Tyrion had to admit. "Very well," he conceded. "A Lannister is not a lion. Yet I am still my father's son, and Jaime and Cersei are mine to kill." —ADWD Tyrion I

GRRM has various characters mock the idea that sigil animal=family, to the point he has characters getting hurt or killed by their supposed patron animal. Daeron “the drunken” even mocks his younger brother’s Tárg exceptionalism ideas about being a dragon in human form, when he’s just a petty sadist who abuses his power as a prince. But in an effort to make the Tárgs seem cool and special, Condal does it unironically with them and other houses (even though it’s canon the Westerlands lions are a critically endangered species) when it’s supposed to be a joke that the Westerosi nobles take their sigils too seriously.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to do it, but I would love to literally just have a pet lion,” Campbell said on “Pardon My Take” in 2021.  “Just a legit pet lion on a chain, a big ass chain, and he really is my pet. We just walk around the building, we go out to practice, we’re at 7-on-7, we’re behind the kicker when he’s kicking.” —National Football League Head Coach of the Detroit Lions Dan “Kneecap Biter” Campbell

(Disregarding actual animal safety because walking lions on leashes is dangerous, I mean there’s a reason carnivore keepers in zoos interact with adult lions through a fence, apparently Lions ownership was okay with it but the league said no. Also asking if he can bring a live Lion to games isn’t in the top 3 of Campbell’s craziest ideas.)

Since the show is clearly doing whatever, and division rival Packers QB Aaron Rodgers had a cameo in Season 8 Episode 5 of the parent show (where he gets burned alive), Dan Campbell should be invited to cameo as part of the Lannister army to fulfill his “lion on campaign” wish.

Condal doubling down on that the-sigil-of-each-house-is-sacred bullshit by having the Lannisters bring a lion with them on their campaign made me shed a single, silent, tortured tear.

If the Tullys don’t bring a gigantic ass trout in a fishtank with them, I’m not gonna keep watching the show.

[wrongpublishing]

BOOK REVIEW: CARSON WINTER'S SOFT TARGETS

by Elizabeth Broadbent, Staff Writer.

You have worked a shit job.

We don’t know each other. We don’t have to, because we’ve all done it. I worked at a hotel in Myrtle Beach which shall remain nameless (it was that really really huge purple one at the end of the strip that has since changed ownership so I can say whatever I want without offending the owner, who I can’t offend any more than I already have anyway because Reasons.) People, mostly Midwesterners, spent a lot of cold, hard cash on this vacay. Pause. Imagine the people that drop cold, hard cash on a very expensive resort vacation . . . in Myrtle Beach. If you don’t understand the meaning of this statement, please watch this video. 

I alternately answered phones and took reservations—we were not allowed to get up, speak to one another, read books, etc. in between phone calls—or was roundly abused at the front desk by people who claimed they’d seen a roach on the ninth floor and demanded a free week’s vacation (newsflash: we had no roaches, and anyway, how the fuck would the roaches make it up nine floors, the goddamn elevator?!)

There were days when I prayed for a death that would not come.

Except what if it would?

What if you were working that Target/Wal-Mart/Piggly-Wiggly register and you could make it all end?

And not in, like, a permanent sense. In a temporary way. Maybe even in a blaze of gory glory. Didn’t you always wanna kill that bitch from accounting who ratted you out for reading under the table? Didn’t you always sorta/kinda/maybe wanna kick that customer in the crotch? Truthbomb: if you are the lady who refused to use our keycards and made staff members let you into your room every single time you left, I wanted to punch that hooker-red lipstick off your face (and no offense to sex workers, ‘cause I wear hooker-red lipstick all the time).

Carson Winter’s Soft Targets imagines . . . yeah, you could do all that. Then you could wake up, consequence-free, roll out of bed, and return to that shit job in the morning. What if some days just didn’t count? What if you figured out which they were, and you . . . did whatever?

Sign my ass up.

Our nameless narrator (yeah, he’s nameless; I checked, and Carson says I’m not the first to ask, so I felt like less of a dumbass) has this buddy, Ollie. He and Ollie are the dark-humor type. Y’all read horror, so you have that buddy. You know, the one you sit around with and say something like, “Okay, so when the zombies come/the aliens arrive/the serial killer breaks in, what do you do?” I mean like, hello job description, writers. Except their conversation revolves around workplace shootings, because, well, their data-entry job sucks ass. 

Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do it. 

Don’t worry it’s too macabre for you, either. I thought it would be—I approached this one with kid gloves, since my husband works in a place where, here in the grand ol’ USA, people execute elaborate shootings, then others offer #thoughtsandprayers. But when our nameless narrator begins musing on shattering windows with staplers, or perhaps a copy machine—would the kneecap break be worth it?—I was in.

These dudes endure the tedium . . . then discover a way to break free. But are there consequences to living without consequences? I just described every F. Scott Fitzgerald story ever, so if you sat through sophomore English, do the math (unless, like me, you failed it, but if you did, you probably know what I’m talking about, anyway._

It reads fast. As usual with Winter, the voice is impeccable (any read him in Split/Scream 1 by Dreadstone Press? Hot damn). His talent with characterization shows not only with the main characters, but the side peeps as well: I know Kayla and Wayne. I wish I didn’t. As for setting: please take me away from your bachelor pads. I’ve seen enough of them. They were very vivid. 

He also sticks the landing. He really, really sticks the landing.

I loved this creepy little romp. Yeah, I called it a romp. It’s a wicked little fantasy, this juicy piece of what-if. Definitely worth picking up. I liked it as much as I’ve liked Winter’s other work, which is to say a hell of a lot. 

Links:

Carson Winter (Instagram): @ wintercarson

Carson Winter (Twitter): @ CarsonWinter3

Tenebrous Press (Instagram): @ tenebrouspress

Tenebrous Press (Twitter): @ tenebrouspress

[mariacallous]

Journalists have been declaring Twitter dead for nearly a decade. Observers see flagging user numbers or feel an amorphous, grim vibe shift and pounce, often prematurely. But this week, everyone is fretting and monitoring. As of this writing, Elon Musk appears poised to finalize his Twitter acquisition, and there is, both inside and outside the company, an apocalyptic feel to the ordeal.

At Twitter’s headquarters, in San Francisco, Musk is doing things like wandering around the lobby carrying a porcelain sink (for content purposes) while simultaneously trying to convince employees that he will not, as previously reported, cut 75 percent of staff. One current Twitter staffer told me that “the bootlicking is next level” as anxious employees greet Musk in the hallway, unsure of his plans for his new company and their place in it. Outside the company, power users are mulling plans to bail, and sharing a report that Twitter is already on life support. My timelines are full of earnest eulogies for the platform or fears that it will turn into a 4chan clone once Musk takes the reins. People are waxing nostalgic, sharing greatest-hits threads of good tweets. Dara Lind, a reporter, summed it up succinctly, noting that the whole thing has “big, big last-night-of-camp energy.”

It seems foolish to try to predict what a mercurial person like Musk—who loves to troll and to float ridiculous ideas in public—will actually do to the platform. But it is impossible to ignore that his tenure is an inflection point for the company and, perhaps, for the 2.0 generation of social-media companies, which have been battered by misinformation, a techlash, and changing online behaviors. Platforms and networks rise and fall and even die out naturally—just look at MySpace—but there’s not much precedent for what’s happening with Twitter: A culturally resonant and politically influential platform could, quite suddenly, flame out as the result of new ownership.

Naturally, this has led me to wonder, and to ask those with experience at large platforms, what could Elon Musk actually do to kill Twitter?

Those I spoke with agreed that Musk likely couldn’t flip a proverbial switch to destroy the platform immediately. Any harebrained, Muskian idea for a new feature couldn’t get implemented overnight. One former senior employee I spoke with also argued that high-profile, controversial decisions (like the reinstatement of Donald Trump or Alex Jones) would certainly drive some people off the service but would be unlikely, on their own, to cause a mass exodus. They cited past mass-quit movements like #DeleteFacebook and #DeleteUber as historical analogues, suggesting that it’s pretty hard to get huge numbers of people to log off as part of a moral stand. That said, Twitter already appears to be hemorrhaging power users, and it’s unclear how much more the platform can take.

But Musk could certainly kneecap Twitter via inept management. If he really does cut a significant chunk of Twitter staff, that would cause an organizational nightmare. Even if one assumes there’s bloat in the company, former employees argued that Twitter could still lose all kinds of institutional knowledge in the shuffle. That institutional knowledge would be useful in a crisis—the kind that social-media companies have all the time, such as when high-profile users go renegade, or the site goes down, or traffic unexpectedly surges. Those I spoke with were especially worried about losing site-reliability engineers and members of the internal trust-and-safety team, which handles content moderation.

Even if Musk’s cuts don’t affect these departments, his ownership could possibly trigger a wave of resignations from employees in key infrastructural roles.

“These sites—no matter how talented the engineering organization—are often held together by a series of fragile, legacy systems, the precise functioning of which is only truly known to a few people,” Jason Goldman, a member of Twitter’s early team, a former board member, and the company’s former vice president of product, told me. “Without even factoring in nefarious intent, it is easy to imagine scenarios where big mistakes happen because of the kind of disruption Twitter is about to endure. The exact nature of the mistake is impossible to predict, but the increased likelihood of a mistake happening is a reasonable assumption. And it’s more likely to be from some small error that compounds than it is from the large decisions that often end up in the spotlight.”

Sources described a few nightmare scenarios that could legitimately hobble Twitter, which is still used by more than 200 million people every day:

1. Outside hackers and/or hostile foreign governments focus their hacking efforts on Twitter. Because of the massive layoffs and org-chart chaos, Twitter is unable to adequately address the attacks, causing catastrophic breaches, loss of personal information, or extended outages.

2. A stripped-down trust-and-safety team is unable to deal with government subpoenas or complex law-enforcement requests. A bare-bones team might, for example, accidentally assist outside efforts to identify anonymous dissidents and activists in foreign countries.

3. The trust-and-safety team is unable to stop coordinated efforts from fraudsters orchestrating low-level scams. Similarly, a strapped trust-and-safety department is unable to combat or monitor child-sexual-abuse material, sex-trafficking efforts, nonconsensual pornography, and copyright violations.

4. An inexperienced engineer pushes some buggy code and part of the site’s functionality goes down, but the people with expertise in that area of site reliability are not there to help restore it.

5. Musk does indeed roll back Twitter’s content-moderation rules and reduces tools for monitoring and reporting abuse on the platform. As Kate Klonick, an associate professor at St. John’s University Law School who studies content moderation, argued recently, a lack of speech governance, or a dismantled trust-and-safety apparatus, will result in a bad product, less engagement, lower ad revenue for the company, and, ultimately, more radicalized communities.

These scenarios are hypothetical, but they illustrate a truism about platforms: They do not run themselves. They are made up of humans, many of whom have complex jobs overseeing niche parts of the social network, much of which is unseen to the average user.

One former trust-and-safety engineer for a large social network told me that many elements of the job that seem boring or straightforward are actually incredibly fraught, like how to define and take action on different kinds of spam. Trust-and-safety officers in charge of such efforts aren’t just dealing with Viagra ads or crypto-scam bots; they’re figuring out how to handle bulk messages from legitimate political organizers exploiting the platforms for mass messaging. As one person put it, there are good actors and bad actors and also “spammy but not necessarily malicious businesses trying to get you to buy things in between, and all those things can look very similar to machine-learning models.”

Those with trust-and-safety experience at the platform told me that a big percentage of the job is dealing with the messy edge cases that are difficult for a computer to decipher. Programs might be able to address specific product quirks if a user files a clear help ticket reporting an obvious problem. “But if I wrote in, ‘My account has been hacked because it “accidentally” liked a porn tweet on 9/11 and I’m U.S. Senator Ted Cruz,’ that’s going to be a lot for a computer to unpack,” Brian Truebe, a former Twitter trust-and-safety professional, told me over email.

“A lot of things humans say and do are only easily interpretable/decoded by other humans,” he continued. “And when all speech is happening in a few places, those few places need more humans to review, not fewer.”

Reactionary tech figures such as Musk like to imply that content-moderation teams act as a kind of thought police. But these teams largely work on protecting users’ privacy, complying with laws, or keeping the site from becoming overrun by the kind of spam that no human wants to encounter. “To really have a robust security-and-abuse team, you need a massive amount of actual humans to respond and filter things that need to be filtered out,” Southey Blanton, a systems technician who worked in trust and safety at MySpace, told me. Blanton said that cuts to his team led to a skeleton crew of moderators, who had to rely on imprecise AI tools to get rid of bots and spam—which led to many legitimate human accounts getting banned as well. “Overall, a social-media site is under attack, as well as being overwhelmed, basically 24/7, 365,” he said. “I am fully convinced that if Musk does what he is saying he will do, it will be an absolute shitshow.”

Klonick echoed the sentiment. “Language and the meaning of language always evolves, but on the internet, that happens a billion times faster,” she told me. “And if what online speech governance does is manage the harms of how people communicate, it has to be constantly working and changing. It’s not like an oil change.”

Even under leadership that values moderation, Twitter isn’t exactly known for peace and harmony. There are numerous reasons for this. The tech journalist Ryan Broderick suggested in his newsletter that “Twitter has never been able to deal with the fact its users both hate using it and also hate each other,” and that the platform’s architecture causes such frequent context collapse and infighting that its least aggressive and obnoxious users tend to leave or just lurk. If Twitter is struggling with this now, imagine the impact if Musk does decide to turn the platform into a maximalist speech Thunderdome. The truth that the anti-“woke” warriors refuse to acknowledge is that the economic success of platforms depends on thoughtful, swift content moderation that strikes a balance between open dialogue and chaos. This morning, in a letter to advertisers in which he used the bloodless, platitudinal language of a veteran social-media executive, Musk wrote that Twitter cannot become a “free-for-all hellscape.”

Most of us understandably think of technology platforms in abstract terms. When tech titans like Musk or his text-message friends wonder what all those employees at Twitter are doing, they are, quite foolishly, looking at a social network as if it were a basic piece of machinery. “There’s often a supposition that sites like Twitter must work like a car; maybe they need some routine maintenance every year, but under the hood they mostly just work,” Goldman, the former Twitter VP, told me. But Twitter isn’t a car; it’s a living, breathing, dynamic entity.

Living, breathing things do one thing quite reliably: They eventually die, for all kinds of reasons. They die of natural causes, or because of direct harm. They die because of unforeseeable events. Musk very well could kill Twitter out of malice or hubris, or through calculated, boneheaded decisions. But one possibility seems more likely than others. If Twitter dies at the hands of this billionaire, the cause is likely to be tragically banal—neglect.

[jsmangoez]

Collateral Pt. 1.5 Fez’s Interlude

Summary: Fez helps his dad run his club. Mouse turns up after a drug deal, bringing an interesting proposition. It’s the first time he’s seen her in years, but he would rather have never seen her again than see her like this.

A/N: This is dark. Lexi is sold out by her dad and has a terrible time, but she will not be hurt during this story. 

Insight on how Fez got to where he was.

At 17 years old, Fezco’s world had crumbled around him. It wasn’t that he had much of a life living as the local drug dealer anyways. Still, Fez always felt as though he was holding his head just above water, just barely getting by. It was one thing after another, just when he felt like he was getting used to one bad situation, another one showed up to take its place.

He was 17 and Ash was 13 when they were forced to move out of their grandmother’s home and go their separate ways. Most surprisingly, it wasn’t due to a police raid, rather the death of his own grandmother. One winter afternoon, he had rushed home after Ash had called. The loud sound of her vitals monitor beeped throughout the house. Suddenly, Fez was transported back to when he was 12 years old, staring at his grandmother’s still body. 

Fez had called for help this time, knowing just how crucial each passing second was when it came to life or death. Part of himself regretted ever doing so. Because of his decision, Ash was sent to live with his foster parents. The image of Ash’s hurt and betrayal was burned into his mind as he was sent to live with strangers, Fez powerless to do anything about it. Even worse, he was sent back to his father. 

He wondered if he should have just left his grandmother in bed that day and accepted what he couldn’t years ago when she first became bedridden. It was silly of him, he had always held out hope she would one day wake up and he would have someone, anyone to shoulder some of the weight on his shoulders. He was so, so tired.

He still blamed himself the first time for not calling for help after her stroke. That’s how he knew he would have questioned himself till the day he died if he hadn’t called for help that day.

His grandmother’s fortune was willed to Fezco, him being the next biological next of kin. Fezco had been smart enough to hide the money he got from his deals into their little convenience store. Honestly, he and Ash could have lived out a year or two modestly with that money.

The only thing was, he hadn’t gotten a single cent since he was sent to his father’s.

It’s funny what the legal system considers an adult. He had been raising Ash alone for most of his life, ran his own business, yet, a few months separated him from taking ownership of any of the hard work he had fought for.

His dad had sold off the convenience store. Whatever money he had under it was taken from him

Her home had gone to him too. It had been desecrated. He remembered the last time he had visited the home to retrieve his last pieces of clothing, it had been torn up and littered. There were bullet holes in the walls, cigarette butts on the floor. He was pretty sure his father’s suppliers were using it as a hideout of some sort.  

Living with his father went as well as he expected. His dad looked the same as he remembered him. The only differences were the additional lines around his face and the unsteady gait in his walk due to his blown kneecaps. He figured he still held some resentment towards his grandmother for that. It would explain why he seemed to want to destroy everything that belonged to her after her death.

He had lived with his father until the day he had turned 18, using the spare bedroom in the basement. He hated living with his father and stepmother, though she was polite enough. 

He still couldn’t figure out his father. The man hadn’t even asked about how he was in the several years they were apart. Instead, he acted as though nothing had happened. It unsettled him. 

Fez had resisted at first, adamant on making it on his own, no matter where he lived, he wasn’t going to stay with him.

It had earned him several broken ribs, Paulie’s men continuing to kick him while he was down. 

Fez didn’t know what he wanted from him. His dad had already taken and destroyed everything his grandmother had left for him. 

It was when he was recovering that he realized, he had no chance out there on his own. He had no money, no real home. The only thing he wanted was to see Ash, reassure him that he would fix things eventually.

Paulie knew this. He allowed Fez to see Ash once a week though Fez was skeptical of his motives.

“I’m not gonna keep you from your friend, son.” Paulie said, eyes piercing through him.

Fez was skeptical of him as he laid in bed, ribs bruised, hardly able to breath as each breath caused him excruciating pain.

It was strange seeing his father who had beaten him until he couldn’t see, be so kind to this woman and her daughter. His dad stated that he never mixed his business with his family, which said a lot about how he felt about Fez.

Currently, he was using one of the backrooms of the club as a makeshift room. It was on the third floor and it was never really used. It had a couch which he had cleaned thoroughly, sure that it had previously been used for other purposes than sleeping. He placed a sheet over it just to be sure though. 

He was thankful that this room was on the farthest side, away from other rooms that were more often used. It did little to mute the noise from downstairs. It didn’t matter much because Fez found that most days, it was hard for him to sleep anyway. 

His father ran a high end strip club that was open nearly all hours of day and night. His father also ran drugs and used the strip club to hide the cash flow. Fez had dealt drugs most of his life so he shouldn’t have been surprised, but his fathers business exposed him to the darkest corners of this world.

He dreamt of waking up from this nightmare. He told himself that he would get out as soon as he could, work the worst jobs to get by. Maybe get his GED and do something, start somewhere new. That’s what he promised Ash. But now, 13 months after his 18th birthday, he was still here.

His father had told him that he would be giving small increments of the money his grandmother gave him after he turned 18. Fez never believed a word that came from his mouth. His father gave him little by little, just enough to keep him there. He hadn’t told anyone, but he was saving up just enough to get 6 months worth of rent to move to a nicer part of town for him and Ash, one where he wouldn’t have to ever cross paths with his father again.

Ash was 15 now and had been at his foster parents place for almost two years. He wondered if it was meaningless. He knew ash was better off. Ash tried to hide it every time he saw him, but he had started scowling less, actually looking like a kid. He wondered if he was better off here as long as Ash was safe, away from the life they previously held, free to actually live out a childhood.

It was at the point that Fez had started to accept his fate, started to conclude that this might be where he belonged, when she had arrived.

Lexi Howard. The little brunette that hung out with Rue, waiting outside for her at his shop. He had always found her pretty, charming in an innocent way. 

It was strange that when he thought of girls, his mind didn’t conjure much outside of his grandmother, Rue, and Lexi. He was in a club full of naked women. Fez could have a pick of any of them if he wanted. In fact, he was sure his dad would be proud if he did so, always telling Fez that he needed to act like a man and fuck one of the women there if he was going to end up running his business one day.

He wasn’t interested in any of that. He supposed not until he saw Lexi Howard. It was the first hint of interest or emotion Fez had shown to his father outside of anger and defeat. His father had seen interest, concern, care - or more likely - he had mistaken these for lust.

Now here she was, on his makeshift bed, still completely naked. 

[perrysian]

still haven't slept so brain is still on full "brr dumb ster wers" ideas BUT

IMAGINE WITH ME: Anakin in fact, DOES leave the Order either post the Hardeen arc or the Ahsoka leaves episodes, right?

Granted he's married to a relatively popular and famous and probably wealthy core politician. And there's probably some weird nebulous merch out there with his face/name on it due to his relative fame that he probably has some variation of rights to know as a private citizen, but that's going to be wrapped up in law suits and all and not immediately viable, but he's married!! He's a free man!! He basically adopted his padawan without his wife's prior consent!

He would like to contribute to the house hold!!!

Granted, also, Anakin-the-arm-candy-house-husband, Anakin the trophy bride, is very very tasty and I applaud anyone and everyone who subscribes to this ideal to sally forth and enjoy yourselves.

But let's be frank, it'd be five minutes at a political party of some sort for someone to say something snarky and backhanded about Padme for Ani's immediate reaction to be to put whoever opened their mouth in the hospital.

Not very good arm-candy if said trophy is busting kneecaps in your honor. Flattering? Yes. Useful to further your political nominally pacifist goals? Mmmmm not reeeeally.

SO, in the effort of Anakin Making Himself Useful and Being Good and Therefore Deserving of Love and Affection (please. please. get some therapy by all the little gods. please.) Anakin comes up with Immediate Plans for Funding to both: a) provide monetary compensation to his household for his many short comings, b) provide funding for Lawyers both Copyright and Legal to defend both his name as a citizen of the Republic and also TO GET THE CLONES RIGHTS AS SENTIENCE, WHICH IS ALSO WEIRDLY A COPYRIGHT ISSUE, WHICH ANAKIN FIRMLY AND LOUDLY DISAGREES WITH How does he do this you may ask? Well Merchandise, of course, that he and His Team (being him, Ahsoka sometimes, Ventress weirdly enough, and C3PO), control the production and sale of.

First piece of merch they create for distribution? ....Hero with No Fear Calendar of the Month. Like a Firefighters Fundraising Calendar, but with Young Saucy Former Jedi Anakin Skywalker.

Needless to say it makes bank. There's a weirdly intimate space magazine article talking about his history and how he had to "relearn ownership of himself and his body" once leaving the order. It's essentially a fluff piece but the accompanying photos are soft lit shots of him in delicate silken robes and mussed hair, long bare legs splayed out on the couch, space lace collar of the robe falling just so over his décolletage.

(Ventress takes surprisingly tasteful photos, for a former Sith apprentice.)

It's Scandal, Sex, and Senate Sanctions from the word go!!!

Anakin Skywalker, Space Wizard turned SpOnly Fans for Lawsuits.

((Padme is already pregnant at this point and if she wasn't she is now fuck you canon timeline, so they were planning on retiring to Naboo anyway once she neared her due date, and honestly if she's gonna go out, Padme's going out with a bang!))

(((Bail Organa: please do not actually go out with a bang, do not get assassinated because your very attractive young bride keeps poking the trade federation and the anti-clone people in the eyes directly. can I get at least 20 copies of the calendar for Breha's staff?)))

[theyoungturks]

Fox News host Greg Gutfeld defends Elon Musk after he tweeted a conspiracy theory about the attack on Paul Pelosi. Ana Kasparian and Emma Vigeland discuss on The Young Turks. Watch TYT LIVE on weekdays 6-8 pm ET. http://youtube.com/theyoungturks/live Read more HERE: https://www.mediaite.com/tv/greg-gutfeld-goes-bonkers-the-day-he-accused-his-female-co-host-of-being-too-emotional-over-the-same-issue/ "Greg Gutfeld screamed into the camera during Monday’s episode of Gutfeld! and insisted the hammer attack on Paul Pelosi wasn’t politically motivated. He did so just hours after he ridiculed co-host Jessica Tarlov on The Five for being “too emotional” over the incident. According to federal charging documents, the alleged attacker confessed to hitting Pelosi in the head with a hammer. The suspect reportedly hoped to find his wife, Speaker Nancy Pelosi there so he could break her kneecaps because she’s the House Democratic leader."* *** The largest online progressive news show in the world. Hosted by Cenk Uygur and Ana Kasparian. LIVE weekdays 6-8 pm ET. Help support our mission and get perks. Membership protects TYT's independence from corporate ownership and allows us to provide free live shows that speak truth to power for people around the world. See Perks: ▶ https://www.youtube.com/TheYoungTurks/join SUBSCRIBE on YOUTUBE: ☞ http://www.youtube.com/subscription_center?add_user=theyoungturks FACEBOOK: ☞ http://www.facebook.com/TheYoungTurks TWITTER: ☞ http://www.twitter.com/TheYoungTurks INSTAGRAM: ☞ http://www.instagram.com/TheYoungTurks TWITCH: ☞ http://www.twitch.com/tyt 👕 Merch: http://shoptyt.com ❤ Donate: http://www.tyt.com/go 🔗 Website: https://www.tyt.com 📱App: http://www.tyt.com/app 📬 Newsletters: https://www.tyt.com/newsletters/ If you want to watch more videos from TYT, consider subscribing to other channels in our network: The Watchlist https://www.youtube.com/watchlisttyt Indisputable with Dr. Rashad Richey https://www.youtube.com/indisputabletyt Unbossed with Nina Turner https://www.youtube.com/unbossedtyt The Damage Report ▶ https://www.youtube.com/thedamagereport TYT Sports ▶ https://www.youtube.com/tytsports The Conversation ▶ https://www.youtube.com/tytconversation Rebel HQ ▶ https://www.youtube.com/rebelhq TYT Investigates ▶ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCwNJt9PYyN1uyw2XhNIQMMA #TYT #TheYoungTurks #BreakingNews 221101__TB02 by The Young Turks

[thepointoftheneedle]

Hostile Takeover

Ok so I don’t really write canon, like...at all.  But it’s like this.  Sometimes my cat gets a hairball and she retches and coughs and then...yuk.  And it’s her mess, so she ought to clean that up, but she can’t.  No opposable thumbs. So unless I want to look at that nastiness I have to get on my hands and knees and clean it myself. That was a metaphor.  Anyway, in that spirit...this.

He was just resting his scratchy, tired eyes for a moment when he heard someone slide smoothly into the booth opposite him. He dragged his eyelids up  with a monumental effort,  afraid of who..or what... he’d see. Dark hair, business suit, gloss and polish. He closed his eyes again. “What do you want, Veronica?”

“Do you know what a hostile takeover is, Jones?” she asked, as if he were in her economics class.

“Yeah, I guess,” he moaned, not interested in becoming one of her acolytes, too wiped out and beaten down to conceive an exit strategy from this conversation.

“So you know that if an investor thinks that a firm has significant value, some unique asset or natural resource, but that the company is undervalued, because the management is incompetent or too stupid to guard the asset, this investor can swoop in and take over the company’s management.  They buy the stock or secure ownership of the line of credit.  That way they can  place it on a firmer footing in terms of governance and maximise its yield. Right?”

“Whatever. I’m sleeping,” he intoned, not loving how much it made him sound like a recalcitrant high schooler.

“Well sleeping on the job isn’t something I’d tolerate but let’s not dwell on that,” she said pertly. “Jones, you are the subject of a hostile takeover. I bought you.”

Now he opened his eyes and looked at her, not sure what she was trying to pull. “What the hell?”

“I was able to get hold of this from your far too indulgent employer,” she said pushing a business card across the table. The card the debt collectors had given Tabitha. “I’ve paid them off.”

“Veronica, you don’t need to do that. I’m on top of it,” he protested.  “I just need to...”

“Oh I didn’t do it to be kind.” She talked over him. “Hostile takeover remember. I also paid your advance back to your publisher. What you write next is mine. And write you will, because I will require pages every day.” She tapped a long fingernail on the table to emphasise her point. “Your talent is mine but you are relieved of all management responsibilities with regard to it.”  

He looked down now, not seeing how he could avoid making the shaming admission.  "I...I can’t... write.”

“Well you’d better because I’m not a pushover like your other employers. Jones, you’re a writer.  So write.  I’m no expert.  As long as the pages are full I won’t be able to tell drivel from gold.  Just fill the pages. Now, as to the damage you are currently inflicting on my property.” He stared at her bewildered.  “Your brain, Jones. It belongs to me and you are destroying it. Booze, whatever the hell else you’re putting in it.  Do you need to enter a facility or will you go to daily meetings? Those are the options. This is not a unicorn and rainbows takeover.  I know people who are much more scary than these dumbos.”  She tapped the business card.

“Meetings,” he mumbled.

“Good. Smithers will collect you and wait outside. At least once a day, until you deliver my book to me. Now, I think that’s everything. Get writing and get clean Jones. You know what happens to people who cross me.” Veronica slid out of the booth, her heels clacking across the floor in a way that seemed to drive nails into his brain.  He watched her go through narrowed eyes, the light searing and painful.  He wasn’t sure what had just happened but it did seem to have focused his sense of purpose somewhat.  He’d better get clean and get writing or Veronica would have goons smash his kneecaps.

Outside, Veronica lowered herself into the car with typical elegance.  “Thanks V,” Betty said with a smile.

“Anything for you, B.  We're going to get him back for you.” The brunette smiled, reaching out to brush away the tear from her friend’s cheek.

[mlbthoughtsandships]

The First Night--4/?

Pairing: Lukanette

Read on AO3

[1-Imprint on Me/Soulmate-Imprint] [2-Jealousy] [3-Unconventional Proposals]

"There's so many things I do" "For just one more night" "With you, my love."

The line was from a Luka Couffaine original song. The entire song had been filled with longing and sheer want that Marinette was thoroughly wrecked. She couldn't think of anything else for days after the song first dropped on Spotify. It was simply titled "My Melody"; something that his fans debated relentlessly on. Did it just mean ownership? Or did it reference someone? Marinette knew the truth.

The song was for her.

They had broken up years ago when they were teenagers, but Marinette still fueled that torch she held for him. Luka remained a vivid part of her heart no matter who she dated after. She hadn't suspected that it would be the same for him. She followed his career closely, supported him with purchases and subtle networking. She knew he had dated others just as she had, but every now and then there would be a song that tell her he was thinking of them, of her.

They were the standard they held other partners to. Even the once-seemingly perfect Adrien had fallen flat compared to how Luka had treated her.

What was that old saying? Right person, wrong time?

Luka's and her timing never seemed to be right. No matter how many times they had been thrown together over the years by friends and meetings, something always came up or they were with someone else. But each time they were in the same space, it would reignite that longing. It was that longing, that damn song, that brought her to his door.  

He wasn't on tour right now. Juleka had promised that he would be home when she sent the text.

Marinette wound her hair around her finger as she wondered for the fifth time why she was doing this. All she was doing was dragging up old memories. Was she just taking meaning from his song that wasn't there? Did she imagine the sound of pleading in his voice when he sang "so, fall into me just for a night; let me be him, the one you love with all your might"? Who was to say he wasn't just caving to his agent's request that he be more relatable?

Well, Juleka had said. Juleka, who had threatened her kneecaps if she dared back out.

Marinette sighed. Maybe she was here because she was tired of longing, tired of constantly wondering where they'd be if she had been honest from the start. With Shadow Moth long defeated, she could give him that now.

Who could say that the right time wasn't right now?

She was single. According to Juleka and that song, Luka was single too.

Why not now?

Marinette let her frustration fuel her and jabbed the doorbell. After a minute, the door opened. Luka blinked down at her in surprise. He dressed as casually as he did whenever they were teens--ripped, dark jeans and a t-shirt. Noticeably not Jagged Stone's merch but a simple black T-shirt that really did wonders for his muscles. Hero work had done him a great service that Marinette couldn't help but appreciate.

"Marinette?" He questioned. "What are you doing here? Not that you aren't welcome any time, but ah..." For some reason, he hadn't expected to see her at his door. When his sister had messaged him asking first if he was home and second if he was seeing anyone, he had thought that she was going to bring by yet another friend of hers for him to politely turn away. He hadn't expected Marinette. Marinette who was shorting his brain with her blue strapless top;  black, distressed jeans; and loose, shoulder length hair.

The words jumped from her mouth before she could stop them: "I was thinking we could start with a night and then go from there..." Her face reddened as Luka stared. She could see him processing her words and wondered after a few seconds if she had broke him. He wasn't blinking, just staring. She forced herself to stand still, channeling some of that Ladybug confidence that had carried her through multiple situations. Finally, he seemed to reach a conclusion.

"Okay." He agreed as he stepped outside of the apartment with her, shutting the door behind him. "You look too beautiful for our first night to be spent in my dingy little apartment. So, why don't we go somewhere?"

"There's a restaurant that has opened on six street. It has really awesome Italian food."

"Sounds great."  

_______________________________________________________________

Send help. My muse is back and it’s giving me too many ideas. 

[ganymedesclock]

Kept meaning to draw more Dead Cells headcanons but w/e so I’m writing them instead.

Prisoner

Does not have clean pretty Hollywood amnesia nearly as much as he remembers everything pre-losing his head technically but in practice, unreliably and wandering too far into memories he can’t ground with more recently observed evidence is just going through a fever dream of what he’s pretty sure maybe probably actually happened at some point.

Related to above he has a breathtaking command of information he has no idea how he learned or from whom.

One time he spent an entire fairly prolonged loop with a particularly bawdy sea shanty stuck in his head and to this day he is not sure if he completely made it up but probably not because he didn’t even know half of those terms were used euphemistically. 

Amenable to most pronouns, but mostly he’d just really like it if someone actually asked.

Overall is just in rough shape. Some of the alterations to his clothing are that he lost a concerning amount of weight prior to his ‘loop reset state’ and used scraps of cloth to tie his shirt and pants on. 

If he could talk and had anybody besides Mushroom Boi to hang out with, would absolutely be the kind of guy where you’re lying in bed half-awake and he says some shit like “do we know factually that swans aren’t just an elaborate hoax” and then you spend the next hour wide awake and angry furiously wracking your brain for the last time you personally saw a swan.

Can pull his fire head close enough to press at his neck stub which basically looks like he turtles inside his scarf

Trying really hard to be cool and unaffected by the dying repeatedly thing and mostly succeeds unless it’s been happening a lot lately.

At any given moment is about three good shoves from an emotional breakdown but the other people in the loop virtually never catch him at it. Basically his psychological state is like looking at a precariously but very strategically balanced bookshelf where the longer you look at it the more upsetting it is that it’s still standing and yet somehow.

Mushroom Boi helps

Mushroom Boi

Has the approximate level of sapience of an abnormally smart dog. Could carry simple conversations if given some kind of proxy to communicate through and the training to use it.

Really unusual compared to the Jerkshrooms whose instinct to kneecap people is hampered by a general fear of anything larger than them that isn’t a Yeeter. Mushroom Boi inexplicably fears nothing. They will headbutt the Hand of the King. They will headbutt the Giant. If given a clear path to their target they would headbutt the gods.

In fact has less fear than Prisoner “haha YOLO” McHeadless which can lead to some interesting results.

Part of the weirdness is them being a lab-grown and human-socialized specimen but also they actually had a surprisingly decent relationship with the researcher responsible for synthesizing them, though the Alchemist took ownership of the project because said researcher went the way of, well, almost everyone else on the island.

They’re coherent enough to wonder what happened to him sometimes.

Keyed decently to Prisoner’s emotional states even when he hides it and has genuinely therapy-mushroomed him off a panic attack at least once.

Y’know that thing in the RE2 remake where Mr. X will kill you faster if you shoot his hat off? Mushroom Boi will do that about their bow. Which is impressive since this is not a superweapon but instead an approximately toddler-sized mushroom.

Sometimes it seems like they might be in the process of figuring out how to use knives and Prisoner is really not sure what emotion he’s supposed to feel but he sure feels it with great intensity.

Time Keeper

She keeps the winding key for the clocktower close to heart by which I mean it’s physically inside her chest. Good news is nobody can sneeze weirdly in the island’s time loop without her knowing about it. Bad news is her way of knowing is unpleasant. The worse news is the deterioration of the loop is partially because an essential and irreplaceable part of the clock has been playing a long losing game against crushing amounts of fatigue and said essential part is her.

Y’know every time she resets the loop or rewinds to avoid a boss fight? Yeah. That sensation sucks a lot and sorta feels like deliberately inducing arrhythmia in yourself.

Doesn’t get sleep she gets results except if she is dead honest god she yearns for eight uninterrupted hours but also that is a luxury she can’t afford. Too disciplined and perfectionist to be a shirker but if she ever gets an actual practical opportunity to be well-rested she might cry a little. 

Not from the island originally; came from a very long ways away, for reasons she has not explained to anyone. At least, as far as anybody knows. the Crypt Keeper isn’t telling.

Three of the alt temporal outfits are places she lived (volcano, jungle, desert) or traveled through coming here. She’s originally from the desert.

Dead-on-her-feet exhausted most of the time. This can mean she comes off as an unstoppable and unnervingly calm terminator who might acknowledge belatedly that she’s just gotten stabbed after she’s tossed you across the room with one of her many, many giant heavy swords, and it can mean sometimes if she’s having a really bad loop she just walks into a closed door, stops, and stays there for a while.

This isn’t a headcanon I just want to point out that she’s canonically more jacked than HotK because Prisoner picks up and wields HotK’s symmetrical lance, but in the optional lore room where you find all of Time Keeper’s swords, Prisoner notes they’re too heavy for him to use.

Prisoner, signing, terrified “Do I weigh anything to you?” Time Keeper, “no it’s like holding a couple of grapes”

She used to have a rigorous workout routine but nowadays who needs that when you’re endlessly surrounded by the living dead, right.

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧  Chapter 192

Justin was going to drag his feet on this regardless of any cooperation he’d promised you. That was just a given. It was why, even though you’d sent Burt over there at five in the morning the next day, you knew you couldn’t stay idle. Justin had warned that Hammer Industries was flooding the illegal market with weapons. That had to be stopped, now. And Stark Industries, nor you, needed ownership of Hammer Industries to do it. 

That was why, a little after five AM, you gathered all your Damage Control agents in the building into one large room and laid out a plan of attack. Hammer Industries had three main industrial warehouses in the city. The largest one was in Queens, with two smaller ones out in Industrial City in Brooklyn. You’d take a team of agents to Queens yourself, and dispatch the rest. This had to be done quickly, efficiently, and most important quietly. The Board was a serious flight risk. That could not happen. 

Though it would have been smarter to take the suit, you opted for some sense of solidarity with your DC agents. This wasn’t an Avengers mission. And you were well suited enough with a gun and a bullet proof vest. Easier to be quiet about all this, too, if you didn’t just drop into the middle of the warehouse and start repulsor blasting everything in sight. 

You had all exit points blocked as your team crept up to the building a little past seven. There was no serious movement in the warehouse- though LUNA had alerted you that there were several heat signatures pinging in what looked like a small conference room. Another deal being struck, perhaps? What a great time to make a bust. With silent hand motions, you pointed your agents up back along the fire escape. And when they just at the point of entry- 

Your team busted down the front door. Rats would be crawling out of every hole in this place. Better to catch them all now and get a headcount. “Damage Control- nobody move!” It wasn’t like you really had to announce your presence. It wouldn’t keep anybody where they were, and more specifically, your presence didn’t need an announcement. 

The second they saw you, the firing started. You were light and keen on your feet, weaving in between gunshots and following the sparse light of muzzle flashes in that dim warehouse as the sun was only just starting to rise. When that wasn’t enough to collar the rest of them, you activated your visor and followed the heat signatures towards the back of the warehouse. Someone got the better of you with a board of wood that split across your back, but you let the forward momentum carry you as you tucked down and then fired back at an angle that surely blew the guy’s kneecap to shreds. 

Pain didn’t bother making itself known, although you did feel just a little bit slower. It was what caused more hand-to-hand than you were comfortable with. Someone’s arms around your neck, a fist in your gut. Something you shook with a jump to disperse the weight, knocking the guy off kilter enough to bend forward and throw him into his buddy. Two for the price of one as you put them both in their place. 

Just in time to hear a gunshot you didn’t have time to dodge. But someone did the dodging for you. Your fiance, in fact, dropping down from the warehouse ceiling where he’d no doubt just cut power. The bullet bounced off Iron Man in a ricochet of sparks. “My gun’s bigger.” His voice echoed out as he held a hand out, sending off one clean blast that knocked the attack off his feet and onto his back. “And probably better. Considering your hardware.”

Your smile was tired. “I thought we agreed to keep this quiet.” 

He half turned to you. “And I thought you agreed not to get shot.” 

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” You put a hand just over his Arc Reactor. 

His helmet slid back, nervous grin waiting there for you on his lips. “Funny. I must have just imagined it, then.” His cold gloved hand touched over yours and the amusement died. “You okay?” 

Before you could answer, your lead agent’s voice called over your comm. “Warehouse is secure. All hostiles down. We have the group upstairs cuffed.” 

You put a hand to your ear, useless as that was. “Got it. We’re on our way up.” 

“Who’s we, ma’am?” 

Tony’s eyes strayed a little as he spoke, “Couldn’t let you guys have all the fun.” 

“I’m not surprised, Mr. Stark.” 

You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head and an even wider smile. Had the two of you gotten that bad? That inseparable that your DC agents had practically planned on Iron Man showing up unannounced? ...well, maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing. “Shall we?” 

Upstairs your agents had a group of eight men on their knees at gunpoint, already in cuffs. Smart. Never knew when these idiots would try something. And they were seething- that was, until you and Iron Man came through the door. Then that rage turned to panicked ice very quickly. 

You put your hands on your hips. “Well, gentlemen. Whoever doesn’t want to go to prison for the rest of their life will start talking. Now.” 

                                                                 --- 

Damage Control established a very tightly controlled kill zone. No information in or out of any of these warehouses. No texts, no emails, no cell phone calls. No media presence. No whiff of anything amiss. To the Board members of Hammer Industries, today was just another regular Tuesday. The first of December. They were in their conference room in that tall building laughing and talking about nothing relevant. Just another day in millionaire paradise. 

Burt had delivered the papers. You were a go for hostile takeover. 

It was why you and Tony in stellar clean-cut suits burst into their little boardroom, startling everyone into a stand. A little jumpy for businessmen. Then again, when you dealt with black market arms and under the table sales, there was probably cause to be just a little on guard. 

But when they saw who it was they eased, only a little. Agape mouths turned to shark-tooth grins. In Tony’s direction. “Ah, Mr. Stark, we weren’t expecting you. This is quite a surprise.” 

He put a hand up. “I’m not the one you should be worried about.” 

You tossed the rather lengthy book of legal documents, fresh off the press, onto the table where it slid to the center. “Congratulations, gentlemen. You’ve just been bought by Stark Industries. And we’re about to destroy everything you’ve ever cared about.” 

Tony put his hands in his pockets. “Probably just profits. Let’s keep it simple.” 

Sweating began, and fear started up anew. One of them dared to try getting angry though. “You- you can’t do this!” 

You rose to the occasion. “Watch me.” Eying everyone in the room, “I know you thought with Justin gone you were all safe to do whatever you pleased, but I’m here to assure you that’s not the case. I’d also like to let you know that you all have about one sweet minute of freedom remaining. I’d suggest you use it wisely.” 

The oldest man in the room sneered. “You’ve got nothing.” 

Your smile was cruel and instantaneous. “How much would you like to wager on that? You’re talking to the pros of putting away arms dealers and destroying rogue weaponry.” Realization swept the room. “What? You thought you’d just get away with it?” 

One of the men turned to the window. “...so. How much did you pay Hammer for this information?” 

“He came to me, actually.” The fact that an offshore account of Stark Industries had just dumped 500k into Justin Hammer’s Seagate commissary had little to do with any of this. That was your parting gift to him. He would have signed regardless. Tony went strangely impassive. “Seems like you poked your little golden goose one too many times.” 

Raising your hand, you gave one single snap and ended their worlds. DC agents flooded the room, taking every single man there into custody. None fought physically, though they were all yelling and cursing up a storm. As they were being escorted towards the door, you and Tony stepped aside. Though you did offer, “Anyone willing to donate their bank account to the new Stark Industries initiative to help victims of gang violence will get a couple life sentences shaved off their inevitable sentencing, courtesy of the DA.” 

The room emptied out. You and Tony stood still for a minute longer. Just waiting. Taking a breath. Waiting for the edge of anxiety over ending this to calm. He slipped on a pair of his sunglasses and offered you his hand. You followed suit, putting in a dark pair of matching tinted lenses. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Ready, honey?” 

You took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” 

Someone had called the media to alert them that something big was happening at Hammer Industries. That someone being you, of course. While they were annoying most every other time, using their frenzy did have its merits in certain situations. Such as the one you were walking out into. Pictures being taken thousands of times over, of every single board member being taken away in handcuffs. 

And then all flash-bulbs and microphones were pointed your way as you and Tony stepped out of the office building. Questions were being shouted at you in quick succession. You tried to focus on only the most important ones to your case. 

“Can you tell us what this is all about?” 

“Stark Industries has just bought- and plans to demolish all Hammer Industries warehouses involving weaponry.” 

“Can you tell us why?” 

“They’ve been selling dangerous weaponry under the table. Flooding the streets of New York with them. Profit in exchange for blood. We won’t tolerate that.” 

“Is Justin Hammer behind this?” 

Now this- ...this you had many ways to answer. You could have ignored it, too. Kept your head down. Kept him out of the spotlight. But… “Justin Hammer played a pivotal role in apprehending the men behind this.” 

“I’m sorry- weren’t you the one that put him in jail?” 

“He put himself in jail. Seems like he’s repenting. He came to me with the information. And New York City will be a safer place for it.” 

Justin Hammer was many things. Your enemy? Certainly. A rat? Very much so. But one thing you knew to be true right now… he could handle a little positive spotlight. Maybe it’d do wonders for his rehabilitation. 

                                                                ---

The lights of the camera, the electric buzz of the press, the rounding up of criminals that had been in power for far too long, making such a big purchase, the promise to demolish every inch of Hammer Industries off the face of the earth, oh- being shot at, attacked… it had wound your adrenaline into a high fever pitch. Something you didn’t realize until you’d gotten back to your office. 

-scratch that. Something you didn’t realize until you realized Tony had followed you into your office. 

There was no reason for this. He could have gone back to the labs. He could have gone upstairs. He could have done any number of things that didn’t involve following hot on your heels, closing your office door- locking it- and then standing steady behind you. 

His touch to your shoulder turned you halfway around and there you saw it in the darkness of his eyes, the expanse of his pupils swallowing that otherwise gentle brown whole- 

He drew a small breath in, lips parting to say something, but there wasn’t really much to say. In the next moment the dam broke and it was tough to tell which one of you had actually made the first move. One of your arms moved around his neck, your other hand at the side of his face, and his hands in turn had grabbed at your hips. Lifting and then sliding further down, cupping your ass and then lowering to squeeze the back of your thighs. Pulling you up against him. Just enough to get your weight off the floor so he could put it wherever he pleased. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you were expecting him to sit you on your desk. That would have been fine. But as his tongue brushed yours and you moaned into his mouth, the next sound out of you was a short startle of surprise. Your back met with a shock of cold glass. He swallowed your gasp and pressed you further- a little harder- against the windows of your office.

Almost instinctively your legs wrapped around his waist in a squeeze and rock forward. He met you there, and what should have been something equally inspiring just drew a frustrated chuckle from your throat. When you had actual control of your voice, “We have too many clothes on for this.” 

His lips curved into a smirk somewhere at the corner of your mouth. “Easy fix.” 

Tilting your head up, you teased the shell of his ear with the tip of your tongue and then nibbled there lightly. He threatened to melt with a shudder, pressing all the more to you, turning his head the other way. Your words were a warm whisper, “You’ll have to let me go.” 

It seemed without much thought he rejected that idea, a small shake of his head. But then he moved back the other way, kiss much softer this time around. Almost pleading somehow. And still as his lips covered yours, “Promise you won’t go far?” Teasing. 

So you gave it back, running the lines of your fingers up along his temple and back through his hair. “Never.” One deeper kiss to quell his insatiable tendencies, and then, “I need you.” His hips practically pinned you then, something that shocked a shiver of delight straight through you. But that made it so much harder for him to actually let you down. 

You even found yourself unsteady on your feet as he set you there- weaker in the knees still as you caught the sight of him slipping one finger into the knot of his tie and then pulling it in one clean swoop. Such an old trick and yet the sight of it now seemed like it was threatening to undo you. Maybe it was just the way he hadn’t taken his eyes off you. You shrugged out of your own suit jacket and then reached up to his own to push it off him. 

His hands were at the sides of your face, unable to stop himself, as he leaned in and kissed you again. Nearly senseless, but you still had enough about you to slide your hands down his chest with quick expertise, pulling every button open without harm. Tony, by contrast, lowered his own hands down to yours and gave a sharp pull, tearing it apart, that had an excited gasp escaping you before you could stop the reaction. The both of you were wound up, there was no reason to pretend otherwise. 

It was why you let him help you out of your undershirt, his hands warm and quick along your skin as he touched up across your back, finding the clasp of your bra. One- maybe two seconds before he unhooked it and rid you of it completely. You only just stepped out of your heels by the time he pressed you against the glass again and this time you really did appreciate just how cold it felt. The sizzle that was offset by his warm hands roaming up your sides, one veering off course completely to tilt your chin up so that he could kiss you again. 

You were getting so completely lost in him. He was taking charge. Control. And you were very happy to let him. Finding it difficult to do much else. You’d said you’d needed him but he was practicing the art of demonstration. You were only just barely able to get his undershirt off before his hands had lowered to your belt, a little tight at your hips before releasing you. His fingers slowed only a little then, perhaps appreciative in their slide at your hips, hooking your underwear, leaning closer in as he so helpfully guided your last articles of clothing off you. 

The kisses slowed. Your arms went around him again. Pressing yourself to him. Begging for him. Utterly lost in him. The sounds of his own belt were quick and clipped. Maybe it was selfish to make him do all the work but he wasn’t complaining. Especially not when his squeezing hands found purchase again at the back of your thighs, lifting you up, holding you there as your legs wrapped around him again. There against the world. So high up where no one could see you- 

But the city was gray and picturesque behind you as a light snowfall had just started. The brightness of it illuminating him so completely. Casting shadows everywhere else. The two of you dipped into a reality that belonged solely to you both. No one else existed, as always was the case when you were so wrapped up in each other. His forehead pressed to yours, your own eyes half-lidded and your mouth parted as you drew in gulps of air. 

Focused so intensely on the sight of him. That was, at least, until you felt him push you just a little bit more so that he could get a hand around his own cock, seeking that sweet purchase inside of you. The second you felt him there against you you could barely help yourself. The two of you moved at the same moment, both your hips moving forward to meet one another and it sent shockwaves through you, your head falling back just that small amount to the window, eyes rolling closed as his cock sunk deep into you. 

The moan that escaped you was something desperate and guttural, eyes shut tight. But that somehow wasn’t enough. “God-” Said on the next gasp for air as you felt him ease just enough back. Then when he thrusted in again it punched another sound through you. Words came quick after that. “-god, fuck me, Tony- hard- don’t stop-” Unable to help yourself. You wanted this. You needed this. Needed to feel him in every available space. Needed him to fill you so completely. 

He was keen to comply, pulling out and then slamming in so hard you found yourself thudding against the double-plate glass over and over and over until your brain may as well have been leaking out of your ears in a puddle of mush. Your limbs shivered, legs and arms wrapped so tight around him, trying just to hang on as you felt yourself getting weak yet winding so tight at the same time. 

But it was nothing compared to when his lips stole another moan from you, echoed with a deeper, darker noise at the back of his own throat- and then somewhere you felt him steady himself even as he kept fucking you. His forehead pressed to yours again and he murmured one command. “Look at me.” 

So you did. 

And what you found waiting for you there was the beautiful mess that was Tony Stark when he was so completely lost in you. Those deep, dark gorgeous eyes, the red flush across his face, hair a mess- no telling how many times you’d dragged your fingers through it at this point. But more than just the way he looked- it was the way he felt. 

The way his heart seemed to just light up when your eyes locked with his. That was when he was painted so suddenly in that glow. His smile then threatened to undo you completely. But it was what he said, as his lips just barely touched against yours, that finally did, “I love you.” So hot and intimate and said as if nothing truer stood in all the universe. 

You tried to hold on to the sight of him but you just couldn’t. Your eyes closed again, holding on to him for dear life as he rocked his hips one last time- heavy and hard, striking deep inside you again. Orgasm was a deep wash, a wave out to sea as it hammered through you. You barely heard yourself- “Fuck- Tony-!” Calling for him just once before the next sounds out of your mouth were just pitched, shaking moans.  

It wasn’t enough, though, and soon you drowned. Scenery shifted. No longer held against your office windows but pinned to your desk. He couldn’t seem to stop himself- and that was because you didn’t want him to. Echoes of your voice flitted in and out of your awareness. It wasn’t him- no it was you- as you begged, “Don’t stop- god, please, Tony- don’t stop-” 

You felt bruises forming beneath the surface of your skin, somewhere deep in your muscles. Your hips. Your thighs. Your sides. He was holding you so tightly and it was lighting every last nerve in your body. Wrecking you so completely as your whole lucidness only returned as you came again- dizzying as you cried out for him- 

And then it wasn’t your desk- it was the couch. It was slower- and you were in control. Sitting atop him, seated fully on his cock as his head tipped back, trying to find you again. And when your eyes blinked open and he saw you, and you realized what he was seeing- almost strange as if you were looking through his eyes- 

Your hands were gentle at the sides of his face, dimming both images of yourselves as both your eyes closed. You kissed him deeply, and took him deeper than that with every lift and then rock down of your hips. You held him to you, your left hand moving to the back of his head, pressing yourself to him as best you could. In your mind’s eye you could picture it. The sight of the two of you on the couch so firmly locked in one another. 

Maybe it wasn’t just a picture. You were a little just outside yourself it felt like. Watching. Watching as he groaned into your mouth, as his fingers flexed tighter at your hips before his right hand skated up your back, causing you to arch closer on the next firm shift down. Taking his cock in so completely it seemed to steal your breath away. 

God. What a sight the two of you were. 

Wherever you were then, somewhere just askew in your office, like a fly on the wall, it wasn’t where you found yourself next when you heard his breath catch in the back of his throat. Felt him holding on. But you couldn’t have that. Wouldn’t, in fact. His next groan was shaky, like he was working up the courage to ask you to- ask you to- 

Your hand guided his head a little back, fingers careful in his hair, his eyes flickered just a quarter open and you denied him his chance to hold on any longer. “Come for me, Tony…” Kissing him once and then one more time telling him, “Come for me…” 

There was nowhere for him to retreat from that. It broke something inside him. His hands grabbed at you as his hips worked up hard. Once in a shiver and then again- and again as you felt him coming inside you. That was all you needed. That deep splash of heat, the way he throbbed inside you. You couldn’t help yourself. Hitched gasps two at least as you couldn’t catch your breath, writhing atop him as your body fell to pieces. 

The world went dark for one slow breath in when you could find it. And then came back in drips in the next slow breath out. 

You were still atop him. Arms loose around him. His hands were careful and sweet, backs of his fingers brushing along your thighs. Your mouth was on his. Kissing him. Loosely- and then deeply- long sweeps of tongues and shivery moans passed back and forth- then softly again, just little touches of lips. Drowning. Unable to stop yourselves. Not wanting to. 

“I love you…” Someone said it first. You weren’t sure who. “I love you…” An answer. Could have been either of you. 

His smile brought you back a little more completely from the brink. You felt it first, and then caught sight of it as your forehead pressed to his one last time. There must have been enough time between then and now. He seemed coherent. A little more than you, though. It was why you were surprised to hear what he was thinking about. “Are you still on birth control?” 

It stunned and startled you at the same time. And soon you couldn’t keep the helpless and confused giggles from escaping. “Yes- are you worried?” Kisses started anew. Fresh and full of laughter. But he eased you down off that high.

He had something on his mind. 

Reaching up, he pushed some of your now damp hair away from your face and then cupped your cheek in his palm. He waited. Waited for you to look at him again and come back. And when you did, that warmth from him as he looked at you- so completely in love- it shook you to your core. “What’s your opinion on stopping?” 

It was strange. Maybe even a little surreal… that he was thinking about that now. That he was- ...you held on to him a little bit tighter. Kissed him again. Soft. Slow. Letting him know you weren’t attempting to silence him or move the question around. But just because you needed to before you answered. And when you found enough strength to do so… 

“Let’s figure out the wedding first. ...but I’ll think about it.” 

Promising. Promising because you would. 

Something sparked deep inside him. Exhilaration. Terrified. But most important… just a sense of wholeness. All wrapped up in that undying love for you. 

The two of you were just barely hanging on to each other again. And the only words you were able to make out were the only ones that were important- 

I love you. I love you… I love you… 

[dougmeet]

Who Kicks Out Paid Hotel Guests During Christmas *Pandemic 2020?  [Richmond Inn & Suites Trudi Veals SMC Hotels Delton Smith Wyndham Hotels Trademark Collection] Executive Order Aside, Hotels, Landlords Resort to Self-Help Eviction [50 Days: TIME TO MAKE THE LAWSUITS]

"Revenge of the Janitor and Maid" a hospitality story

There stood Mike at my door, nervously at first, then slowly inflating  amidst  his ungoverned posse comitatus (always hallways, and this time full of shams),  in his best “break your kneecaps” performance --  and also mercurially like Dickens, who’d  decided  to throw  Tiny Tim a three-hour-bone-window -- before Tim or ME, could use said window for my own auto-defenestration.  

Get-shit-and-leave, was the command, bellicose from  recollected cop shows, or neighborhood escapades -- this  shit was keeping him from some TV.

However unwieldy Mike the Janitor’s authoritarian impersonation (no doubt, the inequity of his having witnessed it from the big-end of the telescope), the authority he lacked,  he now wielded,  previously hacked, in a very  ‘special circumstances’  supplementary determination only by Hizhonor’s erudite discretion -- ‘special’ being synonymous HERE with this NO WRIT, NO ORDER, NO COURT EVICTION, NO WARNING, NO CAUSE, NO COURT OPEN, NO LEGAL WAY TO EVICT DURING A PRESIDENTIAL EVICTION MORATORIUM WHICH SOMEHOW THE COP HAD NO CLUE OR CARE ABOUT   eviction,  displacement,  seizing, COMMANDEERING, of and  from this PAID IN FULL IN ADVANCE, NEVER LATE, RESIDENTIAL STATUS 10-MONTH TENANCY DWELLING property or person dwelling in said property, or  affecting process, AND ALL WITHOUT  authority, also LOOTED, by  falsely commandeering such authority to the benefit of the unlawful action; and by way of utilizing an official  party, under whose dominion  the correct application of legal court-ordered process might be deemed lawful and credible, and   under whose false pretenses in commission of said action, and during “Emergency Act" to the constitution had been recognized, in which these actions considered hazardous or forbidden if carried out, and unlawful (under  CDC State of Emergency, Eviction Moratorium), enacted in order to help combat the spread of COVID-19 from enforced homelessness, due to the close quarters of shelters, of which evictions would multiply ...

But, no matter,  this action had been autonomously  carried out on Christmas, no manager on duty, and, as if all of this were not incredible enough ...

I was illegally evicted  BY THEIR  JANITOR -- but slyly under the direction of the 25-year General Manager of this formerly “Best Western” Richmond Inn & Suites --  from desuetude, which is their business, by venerable 80-year, until O. Harrison Smith’s recent passing, now, straight from middle-aged  Cotillion wedlock, a dyed-in-the-ivy, co-blueblood member of  Shreveport’s elite Socialite daughters and sons, whose nuptials, as  antediluvian as a Tennessee Williams Play, this was their troth, plopped down in  ever-so-sartorial, Old Folks at Home, Stephen Foster-loving, Matin Luther King, Jr., eschewing sooo Southern it made this southerner sick, Social Section of  Shreveport's newspaper, this betrothal, bought and paid for, 100 times over (Harrison is one of the most notably generous givers to that dowager lovingly scraping by called the Met Opera), by Daddy Harrison Smith, devoted benefactor, artsy type cat - which I like, and seemingly, stand-up, self-made -- as opposed to his one, of four, disappointing scion, snag-toothed unmarriageable, Frat / Yuppie / Country Club Shreveporter --  President, only posthumously upon assuming by inheritance, overseer of  family biz, SMC Hotels Group, Shreveport, which  his esteemed  daddy ran until his death, when he called in late, until last year.

Harrison Smith.

AND also, very recently elected  benign President / Figurehead (unofficial) President of the  more pretense and booze than Hotels and Rules  -- (re)movers and (palsy) shakers' Good Ol’ Boy Lodge, called Louisiana Hotels and Lodging Association (whose updated site needs  Deltoid’s first order of business --  promotion from Director to President), which lists him as:

Delton Smith

Richmond Suites Hotel

Baton Rouge, LA  

purportedly,  participatory, as part of the guild  called American Hotels and Lodging Association  AHLA -- but try finding LHLA online, besides  its own vanity website ...

... (cont. from above)

and a duped member of the BRPD, whose color he also shared, with the other maid in the posse, and whose ignorance or willful indifference to this blatantly racist, unlawful, wanton travesty, it was  occurring on his invoked authority, therefor by the authority of his Police Department.  

{me) a paid in full,  10-month resident hotel guest of  Richmond Inn & Suites, Baton Rouge, LA, Energy St., 70808  Corporate Blvd. Business Community,  

committing felony ‘False Report to Law Enforcement in Commission of a Crime,’ utilizing  BRPD backup to do it, instead of arresting him for it  -- Mike’s  cop  stood by and nodded as Mike, more incentivized in his seemingly deranged authority grab, uttered:  Vacate. three hours from now, he haughtily declared -- out of my 'home!' -- or we'll fuckin do it for you," he haughtily proclaimed -- out of my 'home,' -- or we'll do it for you.  

With last-minute scrambling for transportation from  my mother,  whose health he recklessly compromised (this sub-managerial, self-professed Marshall representing SMC Hotel Group --  and ultimately Wyndham Hotel's ownership) obtained for GM Trudi Veals, my eviction:  a happy ending to her story acquired. smchotels.com

https://www.npr.org/transcripts/790193610

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

Pokémon Black: The Novel - Chapter 12 (Heart So Jetlagged)

Prologue and more info

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Pokémon Black: The Novel on FFN

Pokémon Black: The Novel on AO3

Pokémon Retold the series on AO3

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

After fleeing into the tree line, Marlon and the rest of the Team Plasma members present had soon been greeted by a gust of cold air. Each of them fell still and looked around nervously. Marlon was unsurprised when he spotted the two members of the Shadow Triad on either side of their ragtag group, but he was still unsettled by it. He gulped and backed away from the closest one slightly.

“About time,” Lancaster, face covered by a red bandana, muttered. Gorm hissed something at him, and he flinched.

“Thank you for the assistance, brothers,” Gorm said wearily as he bowed a head respectfully at one of the members of the Shadow Triad. The two members of the Shadow Triad bore dark leather clothing that left their eyes, midsection, and silvery white hair exposed. They moved forward and pressed the Team Plasma group closer and closer together, and then touched their fingertips to the shoulders of Marlon and Gorm respectively.

With a nauseating, out-of-body sensation that made his legs feel as if they disconnected from the rest of his body for a moment, Marlon and the rest of the group was dumped on the shimmering, cold floor of the castle. The floor was made of black tiles outlined in pale white, which made the floor look as if it were glowing. The walls were stark white and the hall yawned overhead of them, much taller than any ceiling had any right to be. Pillars carried the roof and allowed the ridiculously tall castle to keep its shape.

Slowly, they all staggered back to their feet. Marlon rubbed his temple and watched as the Shadow Triad members disappeared and reappeared just a few seconds later, this time with a passenger. Everyone reacted with a start and the group bolted into a straight line. Sage Gorm was the only one to remain calm, as he clenched a hand around his injured arm and regarded the passenger, Sage Ghetsis, with a curt, respectful nod.

“Sage Ghetsis,” Sage Gorm began tentatively, “we apologize for the… events of that mission.”

Sage Ghetsis overlooked the group of Team Plasma members in front of him with a cold, crimson stare. He paced back and forth just ahead of them with his left hand behind his back, but not his right. His gait created a unique sound as he moved across the floor, a click and then the sound of a shoe dragging on a hard, smooth surface, giving the tiniest of squeaks. Some might have found it funny, or others might have felt sorry for the partially paralyzed man, but Marlon and his teammates knew better. The familiar sound of his footsteps and the realization that there was no gathered crowd of people around them brought them nothing but panic.

“What was that?” Sage Ghetsis asked at last. He paused his pacing to stare at Marlon.

“What was… what was what, Lord Ghetsis?” Marlon asked in a strangled whisper.

“That mission!” the elderly man barked at him. “At your lead, a Sage has been injured and you were found by a child, the Shadow Triad tells me!”

Marlon shrank away from his harsh words and cruel glare. This was the downside of leading tasks and of tests for one’s eligibility for status as defenseman. The higher responsibility also brought higher consequences for failure. All of Team Plasma’s members faced high stakes in their line of work, of course; their goals were radical, even if they were for the sake of bettering the lives of pokémon. They could not afford careless mistakes. Even so, knowing that didn’t quell the quickening thrum of his heart.

“Gym Leader Lenora was much more persistent than expected,” Marlon mumbled at last, forcing the Humilau accent and slang from his dialogue with visible effort. He didn’t meet Sage Ghetsis’ eyes and stared instead at the bottom of the sage’s cloak, fixating on the dull blue pattern of an eye. “Despite the smokebomb, she immediately sent a search party out, and we couldn’t move but so fast with the skull… And Gym Leader Burgh apparently was in town as well…”

“Excuses,” Sage Ghetsis spat breathlessly. He gulped in a breath of air and then got into Marlon’s face. It required him to bend over slightly, giving him the appearance of hunching over Marlon, due to his height. Marlon instinctively lowered his head and his back tensed like a coil ready to spring. “You are no defenseman today and you are lucky if I don’t feed you to Hydreigon as it is! A Normal- and Bug-type gym leader should not give you issues, nor should a gym challenger fresh to the scene!”

Marlon wanted to defend himself. Part of his brain screamed at him to do so. Gym Leader Lenora had gotten the jump on them, and had decided, in a shocking display, to send her Watchog after one of them rather than wait to battle them, and the challenger had been with Burgh when he discovered them. As Team Plasma members only used pokémon that they had taken in with the intention of rehabilitating them, none of them tended to have full teams, or even pokémon that were willing to battle; his squadron had owned perhaps ten pokémon between all of them. It was likely the two gym leaders and the challenger had owned a dozen or more.

Yet, as Ghetsis continued to descend on him, Marlon’s lips remained as tightly sealed as ever. Instincts may have told him to do otherwise, but he knew defending what had happened back there was a futile effort. Regardless of the cause, in the end, their mission had ended in failure. Even if they no longer needed the skull, three people that knew of Team Plasma’s involvement were now free to broadcast what had happened to the world.

“Now I have quite the mess to clean up thanks to you,” Ghetsis growled.

“S-sir… won’t… won’t it be easy to brush it off as extremists?” Lancaster piped up with a cracking voice.

“Perhaps,” Ghetsis mused, “or perhaps rumors could start spreading that shake our core. As much as I try to make the public see our sense, I cannot guarantee their cooperation all of the time. Which is why we take such care to make sure operations such as these go unnoticed!” Ghetsis turned back to Marlon and brought his left leg up, swiping Marlon’s feet from under him. The rest of the Team Plasma members next to him bolted away from him immediately, watching with wide eyes as he hit the glossy floor on his knees.

“I’ve given you chance and chance again, Marlon,” Ghetsis sneered. “It may have taken you a few tries, but you always got there in the end. I thought recently that maybe that phase was over, that you had learned to put Team Plasma first, keep your focus. Was I wrong? Did I misjudge you?”

That was a loaded question that sent Marlon’s mind whirling. Saying yes meant indirectly insulting Ghetsis’ intelligence. Saying no meant further implicating himself. Opting to stay silent, he gingerly touched his knees with his hands, wincing at the bolts of pain from where he had met the hard floor with his kneecaps. He recognized his failure… he knew why succeeding was so important… what more did Ghetsis want…?

“I see you’re not as stupid as you look,” Ghetsis remarked at his silence with a snicker of wicked amusement. “You’ll return to active duty as a footman. I hear Sage Bronius could use some assistance in Castelia City as of late with errands.”

Gorm chuckled and a couple of the grunts shifted uncomfortably. Marlon found himself more and more irritated with the situation. Why was he being mocked so harshly? Why was it funny to them? Again, he thought desperately, he understood where he had failed! He understood the importance!

Then Ghetsis leaned down to him, grabbing his chin and lifting his face to meet his dark red eye and glittering monocle. The left side of his mouth was turned up in a grin while the right side failed to emote at all. “I do love this part, I must admit,” Ghetsis exhaled the words almost lustily, in a way that made Marlon’s skin crawl. He clenched his eyes shut and every muscle in his body tensed. “I love watching when you have all recognized your error and come back stronger than ever before, understanding what you must do to become a valued member of Team Plasma once more. There’s nothing like it.”

That wasn’t at all what Marlon had picked up from the look in Sage Ghetsis’ trained, malevolent eye. Dawning on him slowly, he realized that Ghetsis had finally taken it too far; wool had been lifted from Marlon’s eyes. The look Ghetsis had just given him was the pleasured expression of someone that enjoyed humiliation and pain. That thought had sent his mind reeling, questioning how someone so cruel could then preach and believe such lofty ideals as releasing pokémon from the ownership of critical, dangerous trainers. In one swift moment, he had concluded this: there was no way someone like that could believe ideas based in such empathy.

It was as if he was seeing the entirety of Team Plasma in a new light. It was too much for his mind to comprehend in that moment, and so he let Ghetsis demean him, allowed the scene to play out, all while he swallowed hard to try and keep from fainting in cold, icy fright. If what he was thinking were true, then…

It was just too horrible to think about. Beyond the personal implications for himself, sadness weighed down on his shoulders as he came to understand the idea he had fought for over the course of the last five years had likely been for nothing. Marlon truly had questioned the morality of people ‘owning’ pokémon, and he had seen firsthand actual pokémon abuse. His Tirtouga had come from a trainer that regularly neglected it to the point its shell had begun to deteriorate in a process known as ‘pyramiding.’ He truly believed changes needed to be made to how people viewed their fellow pokémon and had thought liberation sounded like a splendid way to change it, allow pokémon to be seen as equals, the class-like barriers broken…

Was he alone in this? he thought despairingly. Was this just a path to a lonesome defeat, no matter how he sliced it? What did this mean of Lord N, who had seemed so determined to meet that goal as well? Was he a fraud, too, or was he just as duped as Marlon had been? Those thoughts were by far the most sickening of the ideas racing through his mind.

“Get up,” Ghetsis snorted contemptuously at him. “I’m not done with you yet.”

 --------------

Bianca had managed to convince Hil and Cheren to remain in Nacrene City for a while following the Nacrene City Museum fiasco. She had bounced excitedly up and down as Cheren and Hil woke up, declaring that she had met some friends while they had been busy dealing with the theft, and she wanted them to meet her new friends. Hil had jokingly tossed a pillow her way and then used the second to cover his head.

“Five more minutes,” Hil complained. His entire body felt sore and somehow, he was still tired.

“Who are these friends?” Cheren had asked guardedly.

“Oh, come on! You’ll like them,” Bianca whined. Hil felt his pillow hit his hips and Noodle fell off his side with a hiss. “Oh! I’m sorry, Noodle!” Bianca immediately apologized. Hil moved the pillow from over his head and looked at her as she rushed over to apologetically pet the Snivy, who appeared to have already forgotten the cause of her remorse. Hil rolled his eyes at them and then jolted to sit upright as the rest of his pokémon flooded the bed after Bianca. Roadie the Patrat scurried up her arm and chattered excitedly around her ears.

“Your Disney princess entourage says no more minutes,” Bianca teased him. “They’re probably hungry and stuff. Besides, I think you’d really like to meet some of them!”

She continued to harp on about the idea until Cheren and Hil both relented. Hil wasn’t sure why Cheren had reservations over the idea. He had only been difficult because he was still tired after the exhausting day he’d had yesterday. His tiredness was all but forgotten as he remembered the badge he had been given yesterday and he excitedly added it to his badge case. It would have been easy for him to be upset that Lenora had seemed to just give it to him rather than make him fight for it, but after the favor he had performed for her yesterday, he selfishly thought he had more than earned that square of metal. He tucked the badge case away again and readied himself to meet Bianca’s friends.

Once he and Cheren were decent (Bianca had apparently gotten ready long before waking either of them), she eagerly helped them gather their things and discharge from the hostel room. She chattered away at them as she led them away from the Pokémon Center and toward one of the studio apartments down the road. Hil tried to keep up with her, but for once, he was lagging behind and his comments fell flat. Cheren had seemed to perk up at her excitement, and they held a conversation he felt completely out of place in. Once again he brought up the rear of the group and with a pang of loneliness, wondered if he’d ever find someone he could talk to as easily as Cheren and Bianca did with one another.

Sure, he was good friends with both, but it seemed like they had a connection on another level he wasn’t invited into. Hil could be quite outgoing if he wanted to, contrary to what his actions might have suggested thus far; prior to Vince’s accident, he had always been someone to know the name of every other person his age in town. But Vince’s accident had seemed to bring a curtain over every opportunity at friends he felt he had. Everyone’s decided treatment of him following the incident made making friends feel awkward, forced, and uncomfortable, to the point if they reacted strongly to who he was, he wouldn’t even try to make friends with them.

Perhaps that was why he had reacted so strongly to N’s declaration they could never be friends back in Accumula Town. Someone that had known nothing about him or his father had just decided, on conspiratorial ideas surrounding the usage of pokémon, that he wasn’t worth befriending. The thought brought a rush of heat over his entire body and he squared his shoulders slightly. The nerve of that man! And he felt especially angry at himself for having all but forgotten his anger in a bid to try and make N see the fault in viewing him that way back at the museum. Thank Arcues Cheren had been there, he thought bitterly.

“We’re here!” Bianca exclaimed. Hil paused and watched as she knocked on the door. Right away, it swung open, revealing a guy that looked to be about their age with rusty red hair and brilliant green eyes. He beamed at Bianca and threw his right arm out wide, the left still clutching the door.

“Bianca! You’re here! These your friends?” he asked curiously, craning his neck to look at Cheren and Hil. Hil curiously stared right back, his train of thought abandoned at the sight of the new guy.

“Yeah! Church, these are my friends Cheren,” Bianca prodded Cheren’s nose as she pointed him out making him swat her away with a flustered glare, “and that’s Hil! Hil, come say hi!”

“Hi,” Hil echoed stupidly without a second thought. Something seemed to breathe life into him as he hopped eagerly over to Bianca at the doorway. “I’m Hil! What’s your name?”

Noodle, curled around his shoulders as per usual, chittered at the guy at the door happily.

“Aw, that Snivy’s so cute!” the guy beamed again. Hil felt like a weight disappeared from his shoulders when he saw the guy made no reaction to his name, which told him he probably didn’t know about Hil’s relation to Vince, if he even knew about Vince’s accident. “Nice to meet you, Hil! I’m Churchill, but my friends just call me Church.”

Right, right, Bianca had just said his name… Hil chuckled in a little embarrassment.

“Anyway, you three come inside!” Church nodded, moving away from the door. Bianca rushed in after him and Hil followed hot on her heels, though he trailed Church through the apartment. It was at a respectful distance, but still obvious to everyone else. Upon entering, he noted that there were three others, girls, scattered throughout the apartment situated in front of canvases and drawing pads. Guiltily, he paid them little mind, drawn instead to the boisterous redhead, Church.

“So, Bianca tells me you two are on the gym challenge,” Church said to break the ice. He settled at a countertop in the far right of the room, peering just past a refrigerator to speak to everyone else in the room. His hair was well-combed but fell over his forehead messily and he pressed a palm lazily to his chin to hold his head up. “How’s that going? I hear the triplets and Lenora can be a real hurdle for new guys. Most give up on them.”

Hil opened his mouth to respond, but Cheren cut him off. Hil shut his mouth again to let his friend speak. That was just easier. Despite Cheren speaking, however, Hil only continued to stare at Church.

“The triplets were a little difficult because of that Work Up strategy,” Cheren stated thoughtfully. He had taken a seat on a navy couch next to Bianca, having scooted quite close to her, not that she seemed to mind as she shared hushed whispers with one of the girls that was drawing. “Really teaches one the importance of moves that aren’t just sheer power.” He then sighed. “Lenora, on the other hand… ugh, she was just strong. Honestly, if she didn’t use Take Down so much and wear her own team out with it, I feel like she’d have won. I really need to train more.”

Church nodded thoughtfully and then turned those flashing green eyes to Hil. “What about you?”

Hil couldn’t come up with a cohesive way to tell his story, and instead it came out as more of a stammering avalanche of words. “Well, I had to try against the triplets twice because I got nervous in front of the crowd but they weren’t that bad… Chili was really nice… yeah I faced him because my starter’s Snivy… Lenora, uh, I actually didn’t battle her… well I was going to! But then the whole thing happened yesterday and Burgh arrived and, you know, the smokebomb…”

“Whoa, whoa,” Church laughed, “slow down, I can barely understand you.” He cocked his head at Hil slightly and winked at him. “Don’t go getting nervous on us now, we’re art kids. We set the bar for what weird is.”

Hil snickered loudly at that and then cleared his throat to cut off the awkward laughter. “Uh… well… Lenora had me help with the incident at the museum yesterday,” he finally explained, “and she… she gave me a badge for that.”

“Whoa, you got to help out a gym leader?” one of the girls asked as she turned away from her canvas. She had darker skin and thick black hair. “That’s awesome! Some say that’s a way more genuine way of earning a badge than just a battle. Anyone can battle, but impressing a gym leader’s a big deal.”

Hil’s cheeks flushed with a twinge of red and he smiled awkwardly after her. “Th-thanks…”

Church hit a hand against the countertop excitedly. “Damn right it is! What did you do, man?”

Hil blinked fervently at him and swallowed. “What… what did I do what?”

Church howled in laughter, throwing his head back. “I like this guy. Where’d you find him?” he asked Bianca.

“Known him my whole life,” Bianca shrugged, giggling.

“Oh, another Nuvema kid,” Church nodded agreeably. “Nice little town. Shame what happened to that guy from it, though, in Castelia. I know some mates from Castelia that say he was a really good dude, no matter what those idiots on the news say.” He paused and slicked back some hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Me and my friends here are from Mistralton ourselves.” He rolled his eyes and imitated a plane sound poorly, earning laughter from everyone else in the room. “It’s so boring up there! And cold. And there’s nobody there. So that’s why we came down to Nacrene to try and express ourselves some. Find our path, you could say. We’re on our own journey! An artsy one, but still.”

Hil was hanging onto his every word. Not only did he barely know anything about Vince, but he didn’t feel strongly about it in any way. He was funny and charming and… it was so much different from trying to meet new people back at Nuvema, Accumula, or Striaton.

“Nothing much going on back in Nuvema, either,” Cheren chuckled. “Though, I can’t say the same about any town after that. Seems like we’ve had our run-in with crazy every which way we go. Team Plasma’s a real riot.”

“Dude, Team Plasma is wild,” Church agreed. “Kris! Tell them what you told me about your mom,” he said, turning to the last of the three girls, a platinum blond painting away with intense concentration etched in her pale face.

“My mom’s in the police force of Iccirus City,” she said quietly without ever looking away from her painting. Hil thought he recognized the subject as a Swadloon. “She says that there’s been all sorts of reports over bad stuff with them, but…” she trailed off and fell silent for a few seconds. She paused her painting at last and set the thin brush she had been using to the side. “She says that the police as a whole have no idea what to do about them. They just don’t have the resources to do a probe investigation,” she sighed. “And every time they go after individual people accused of committing crimes, they seem to vanish without a trace. You know, they took Stoutland out to track them once, a huge pack of them, and they still couldn’t find them. It was like the tracks just dropped off at one point, like they flew away or just blipped out of existence.”

“That’s not to even mention how the Pokémon League Staff have more sway over law than the government does,” Church picked up with an amused snort. “Which, since Team Plasma’s always at odds with them… that means lots of people just think the League wants to shut Team Plasma up.”

Kris crossed her arms and nodded.

Hil frowned. “S-so, you’re saying, they just… don’t have the ‘infrastructure’ to check out Team Plasma for real?”

“Nope,” Church shrugged. “Nobody’s got any idea where they’re based at, either. The news is crazy about this stuff, dude, y’all wanna check it out sometime?”

“Maybe not right now,” Cheren intervened with a sigh. “We’ve been running into those idiots ever since we left Nuvema Town. I was hoping to forget about them for the day.”

Hil could agree with that sentiment. He wanted to hear more of what Church had to say aside from Team Plasma. They spent the entire day there, joking and talking about everything under the sun. Hil discovered Church was a musical artist rather than a visual one, and he was a fantastic dancer as well. Much to Hil’s dismay, he enthusiastically tried to get Hil to dance at one point, eagerly offering pointers and tips to try and untangle Hil’s nervous feet.

“Aww, c’mon, you’ve got the perfect build for a dancer,” Church pouted as Hil pulled away from him at last. His entire body was trembling, but Hil didn’t truly want to leave. He just wasn’t comfortable with the spotlight. “Noodle’s cute too. The audience loves a cute sidekick pokémon.” Church winked at him and Hil looked away quickly.

“S-sorry, I just don’t dance,” Hil stuttered. “Uh, why don’t… why don’t you sing something for us?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Kris shot from the other end of the apartment.

“You’re just jealous,” Church sang. He then narrowed his eyes knowingly at Hil. “But sure, I can sing.”

“Here we go,” Kris complained resignedly.

“Don’t you wanna get away from the same old part you’ve gotta play,” Church opened up with a loud verse from a song Hil had never heard before. He yelped when Church then grabbed him by both hands and forced him into a dance of sorts, though Hil flailed and struggled to keep up. “’Cause I’ve got what you need, so come with me, and take the ride…”

“It’ll take you to the other siiide!” Bianca exclaimed gleefully from the couch. “You sound amazing, Church!”

Church laughed and cut himself off from singing. “Hit it, Bianca!” he beamed. He finally let go of Hil, but not without casting another amused glance his way. “You good, Hil?”

Hil realized his face was burning red and he stumbled as he tried to straighten himself out following the performance. Noodle dove off his shoulders and scurried over to Cheren and Bianca on the couch, looking at him in a way that seemed a cross between disappointed and embarrassed. Yeah, me too, Hil thought in amusement. He adjusted his hat over his wild brown hair and offered a thin smile at Church. “Y-yeah, I’m fine!”

Church then snatched Hil’s hat by the visor and tossed it on his head. With a playful grin, he booked it into the living room area of the apartment, away from Hil.

“Church, will you stop being a cat,” the girl drawing next to the couch whined. “Give the kid his hat back.”

Hil hadn’t moved from the spot, bewildered by the playfulness aimed his way.

“Aww, I’m just having fun,” Church whined. He leaned over the counter again, still with Hil’s hat, and tilted it cutely over his head. “I think it suits me.”

Hil had to agree. It definitely suited him.

 --------------

When the day came at last that they were to leave Nacrene City, Hil had to admit, he really didn’t want to go. Cheren had finally complained after two weeks following the museum incident that they needed to move on. Bianca and Hil had added their new friends’ numbers to their Xtransceivers, but Hil couldn’t shake the fear he’d never see them again from his mind. At first, he had fought Cheren on the notion, but Cheren had insisted they needed to travel to actually complete the gym challenge. Hil knew he was right, and Hil could recognize that his own pokémon were getting anxious to move on, but it didn’t ease his worries by much.

For the first time in ages, he had called someone else on the Xtransciever. On the day he, Cheren, and Bianca planned to leave, he had lagged behind and sat just outside of the Pokémon Center. He selected Church’s number from the few options in his contacts and opted to leave it on a video call. He never thought he’d have seen the day again where he called someone else on the Xtransceiver for a video chat. Church answered almost right away, with the camera stupidly close to his emerald eyes.

“Hil!” he exclaimed once he recognized him. Only then did he pull away from the screen some. “Hey! You guys are leaving Nacrene today, right?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to call some before I headed out,” Hil chuckled.

“Good!” Church retorted with a smirk. “You better remember to come visit every now and then, you hear? And call! I answer! Unlike some people.”

“Shut up,” Kris’s distant voice called.

Laughing, Church turned back to Hil. “Well, anyway, I’m guessing your friends are eager to get out of here by now. Good luck, Hil! Call and let me know how future gym battles go!”

Hil nodded and said a few other things before the call was over. He sighed as he defeatedly pushed the device back into his pocket. Noodle trilled and rubbed his face against Hil’s cheeks. “I know, I’m being silly,” Hil muttered. “Just… worried I won’t find anyone else like that, you know?”

Noodle gave a low rumbling noise that resembled a purr, and Hil felt comforted. He hugged the Snivy close as he got to his feet and decided to head for Pinwheel Forest, where Cheren and Bianca were undoubtedly waiting for him.

[thecrazydoglady-posts]

Miniature Bull Terriers

Temperament:

- Upbeat, Mischievous, Comical, Fearless, “Terrier fire”

Size:

- Height: 10-14 in @ the shoulders

- Weight: 18-28 lbs

Life Expectancy:

- 11-14 yrs

- activity levels tend to slow down around 11-12 yrs

About:

- Almost exactly like the Bull Terrier

- Square, muscular, strong for their size

- Large, egg-shaped head and dark, triangular eyes

Nutrition:

- In order to not change a dog’s diet too fast, find out what your new puppies diet was at the breeder’s.

- For a day or two a puppy may not eat because of the new surrounding, any longer than that; contact a vet.

- Don’t leave food down for a puppy if it doesn’t clear it.

- If the puppy experiences any other symptoms, then contact a vet

- If not, the puppy is most likely ‘training the owner’, bull terriers tend to do this, don’t put the food back down and continue with feeding normally.                                                                                                

- Follow breeder/vet advice on portions; bull terriers are sensitive to becoming    overweight.

- Ask your breeder for a natural method feeding chart

- Bull terriers have very powerful jaws and can chew off and swallow pieces of bones which can cause blockages in the digestive system.

- Don’t give your mini bull terrier bones

- Raw hide chews should NEVER be given to bull terriers (including minis!)

- They can be swallowed and get stuck in the throat

Grooming        

- Minis have fast growing nails, regular trimming is needed

- Minis are prone to “eye boogers”, just use a damp clothe to wipe them away and then a dry cloth to dry whenever you spot these

- At home weekly ear checks, look for wax (use a cotton ball to gently remove any wax), or infection (redness, swelling, bad odors). If any signs of infection, contact a vet

- Regular teeth brushing and vet cleanings

- Regular baths (every three months, unless your mini plays in dirt or mud (which is not unlikely!) then use a bristle brush to remove dirt then bathe immediately.)

- Use a hypoallergenic shampoo, minis have very sensitive skin.

- Outside shedding season a weekly once-over with a soft brush or a hound glove is all that’s needed for a well groomed bull terrier!

- During the twice a year shedding season (spring and fall) a daily once-over is recommended.

Basic Brushing

You’ll need: a bristle brush, a fine-tooth comb, and a grooming glove

1. Use bristle brush, start at head and work down he dog’s body, ending with the hind flanks (the space between the hip and thigh) and the tail. Be gentle but thorough!

2. Use the comb, use long strokes to remove loose hair.

3. Use the grooming glove.

4. (Opt.) Spritz a little conditioning spray or rub on a bit of coconut oil

Exercise

- Mini bull terriers require enough exercise to keep good muscle tone.

- Preferably access to a yard but can live in a sizable apartment or condo.

- A moderate walk daily is needed after the 1 year point

-  NOT AN OUTSIDE DOG

- A “sudden lameness” can occur in puppies

- Puppies’ joints can’t handle the energy the puppy wants to exert

- Minimum exercise, no jumping up and down from heights, or sudden stops at high speeds for puppies

Training

- Minis will usually require a trainer with a firm hand and a gentle voice, with patience and a good sense of humor

- Clicker training is recommended

- Positive, light, and fun training that keeps the terrier’s attention is most effective

- Heavy socialization from 8-20 wks is essential, and starting training early is a good idea

- Canine Good Citizen programs are awesome!

- Some cool trainers listed by state below!

Health

Ask your breeder for:

- Health tests performed on sire and dam (father and mother)

- Results on heart and kidney issues, deafness, luxating patellas (a kneecap disorder), and primary lens luxation (dislocation of the eye lens) tests

Recommended Health Tests:

- BEAR Testing

- Kidney-Urine Analysis

- Opthalmologist Exam

- Cardiac Exam

- PLL DNA Test

- May have issues with glaucoma, lens luxation, and deafness

- Susceptible to kidney disease

- Regular hearing and eye exams are highly recommended.

Official Breed Club Health Statement 

History

- Bull terriers were created as fighting dogs in 1830s England

- Cross between bulldogs and (now extinct) english terriers

-  Soon a mini version was worked on to use as above-ground ratters (it’s exactly what is sounds like.)

- Recognized by the American Kennel Club in 1991 as their 134th breed.

Other Future Owner Info

Energy Level: Energetic 

Children: Better with older children

Barking: Likes to be vocal

- Can’t be home alone for too long

- Will get bored and tear apart everything

- They can suffer from separation anxiety which can cause nonstop barking and chasing of the tail incessantly

- Incredibly affectionate

-  Unneutered male don’t get along with other males 

Breeders:

Puppies avaliable June 2020 in Georgia - DILLIGAF MBT

Breed Club Rescue: Miniature Bull Terrier Club of America

Breed Club Rescue Name: Kathy Brosnan

Breed Club Rescue Email: kmbrosnan@earthlink.net

Breed Club Rescue Link: https://www.mbtca.org/

California: lilitchsft@gmail.com / Lil’itch (AKC Breeder of Merit)

Canada: jewelsmb@live.ca / JewelsMBTS

Colorado: bantammbt@gmail.com / Bantam

Connecticut: 203-710-9971 / Olmar Kennels (AKC Breeder of Merit)

Delaware: ironhead4990@gmail.com / Ironhead

Florida: minnehahashores@gmail.com / Minnehaha

Illinois: aqualee000@aol.com / Sly Dog Kenne

Kentucky: cmschuur@gmail.com / Old Forge

Michigan: michkdm@yahoo / Ironwood

Missouri: waltdal@aol.com / Eggstream (AKC Breeder of Merit)

Montana: cjsminiranch@yahoo.com / Big Sky

New Hampshire: annlwiggins@yahoo.com / Ann Wiggins

New York: boats776@yahoo.com / Anchor Up

Ohio: omegambt@gmail.com / Omega (AKC Breeder of Merit)

Oregon: dcomplex@netzero.net / Calypso (AKC Breeder of Merit)

South Carolina: blk@menusha.com / Menusha (AKC Breeder of Merit)

Texas: mdsunrise81@yahoo.com / Sunrise (AKC Breeder of Merit)

Virginia: patronusmbt@gmail.com / Patronus (AKC Breeder of Merit)

Wisconsin: minbull2002@yahoo.com / Kenron

Trainers:

Alabama: Island Dog LLC / Hunstville, AL

Alaska: Your Dog ETC / Anchorage, AK

Arizona: Obedient Beat K9 Training / Phoenix, AZ

Arkansas: Clay’s Top Dog / Conway, AR

California: California Academy of Dog Training, LLC / Downey, CA

Colorado: Noble Beast Dog Training / Denver, CO

Connecticut: Secret Lake Dog Training, LLC / Avon, CT

Delaware: Positive Results Dog Training, LLC / Wilmington, DE

Florida: Jacksonville Pawsitive Training, Inc. / Jacksonville, FL

Georgia: Pups To Pockets, LLC / Peachtree Corners, GA

Hawaii: Pro Dog Hawaii / Kaneohe, HI

Idaho: Canine Companions of Pocatello / Pocatello, ID

Illinois: Torbel’s Canine Connection / Bourbonnais, IL

Indiana: Over The Rainbow Dogs, LLC / Muncie, IN

Iowa: Top Canine Solutions, LLC / Cambridge, IA

Kansas: Daiger Dog Training, LLC / Kansas City, MO

Kentucky: Dependable Partners Dog Training, LLC / Louisville, KY

Louisiana: Dog Gone Right, LLC / Hammond, LA

Maine: Pamela Belcher / pamelajbelcher@yahoo.com / Eliot, ME

Massachusetts: PetSmart, Chicopee MA / 413-377-2883 / Chicopee, MA 

Michigan: FIDO Personal Dog Training, LLC / Ferndale, MI

Minnesota: Dog Talk Training MN / Coon Rapids, MN

Mississippi: Pawsitive Companionship, LLC / Memphis, TN

Missouri: Spry Dogs / St. Louis, MO

Montana: Intelligent Canine / Billings, MT

Nebraska: Big Moose Dog Training / Malmo, NE

Nevada: imPETus Animal Training by Holistic Hounds / Las Vegas, NV

New Hampshire: Wagging Tail Academy, LLC / Hollis, NH

New Jersey: Dogstar Training NJ, LLC / Aberdeen & Hightstown, NJ

New Mexico: Good Dog Training Center & Doggie Resort, LLC / Rio Rancho, NM

New York: Drew Watson Pups / New York, NY

North Carolina: CANINE PawRTNERS / robinthedogtrainer@gmail.com / Charlotte, NC

North Dakota: Captain’s Canine / West Fargo, ND

Ohio: Pups Grow Up, LLC / Dayton, OH

Oklahoma: Elizabeth R. Maupin / z.maupin@yahoo.com / Moore, OK

Oregon: Auntie Sally Dog & Puppy Training / Milwaukie, OR

Pennsylvania: Grandma’s Dog Daycare / Pittsburgh, PA

Rhode Island: Patience Inspired Dog Training / Coventry, RI

South Carolina: Bright Mind Canine Services / Charleston, SC

South Dakota: Tenacious Dog Training / Sioux Falls, SD

Tennessee: Ren’s Pups, LLC / Hendersonville, TN

Texas: Smart Dog Dallas / Dallas, TX

Utah: Three Little Pits Pawsitive Dog Training / Kamas, UT

Vermont: Diamond in the Ruff Dog Training / Burlington, VT

Virginia: Paw in Hand Training / Catharpin, Va

Washington: Matters of the Canine Kind LLC / Tacoma, WA

West Virginia: Wee Beasties, LLC / Danese, WV

Wisconsin: Best Paw Forward / Menomonee Falls, WI

Wyoming: Progressive School for Dogs, LLC / Greeley, CO

Sources:

- https://www.akc.org/dog-breeds/miniature-bull-terrier/

- https://www.petmd.com/dog/breeds/c_dg_miniature_bull_terrier

- http://thebullterrierclub.org/ownership/feeding-3/

- https://apdt.com/

[demytasse]

[Shizaya] Coping Mechanism — Ch 7

[Previous Chapters | Ao3]     Without so much as a drumroll reveal, Shizuo looked at their shrouded meal with abject horror, as though he already knew the innards of the boxed food. Widened eyes, invisible sweat, he suffered from the bane of a psychic's foresight, somehow incapable of receiving the gift as a surprise. In actuality it was the scent of specific spices that he was experienced enough with to separate the smell from stale apartment air.

    “She made curry.”

Experienced, because Shizuo seemed to have trauma attached to the dish, which the sight scrunched Izaya’s nose as he struggled to recall something. A shared memory, or that’s what he felt it might be, one that he should know like a favourite meal — because it was one of his —the meal— and he hadn’t eaten it for quite some time. Izaya struggled to peel the lid off the plasticware, simultaneously struggled to keep his focus on Shizuo’s expression as he did, his hope to gain insight play-by-play. Thoroughly to the end, it was identical horror that remained his reaction even when the prediction was confirmed.

     “Well isn't that a treat.” When he peered down at box cradled in his hands he smiled partially. “Namie-san makes delicious traditional brown curry.”

     “I know.”

Disgust poisoned his lips.

     Oh boy...

     “Hm? Why the resentful tone, Shizu-chan?”

    “Don't play innocent!”

    “I can’t play if it’s not an act. Consider that I don’t always have something up my sleeve.” He showed off a naked wrist, his cuff that was gathered at his elbow.

    Shizuo regarded it as evidence that waived off criminal charges, but was disgruntled with the verdict. “Maybe I'm the only one who remembers 'cause I was the one who couldn't live up to your standards.”

Did Shizuo really remember something he didn’t, or was it that he pulled at his strings? Izaya studied the curry from vegetable chunk to protein, the rich cedar to the darkened ring around the edge; individual ingredients each acted a recollection of the last time he indulged — the sprig of garnish that he often discarded was the sinker of what line Shizuo cast to fish for.

“Ahh,” Izaya drew out grimly, “you made me curry once, didn't you?”

—

    “Oh Shizu-chan, I think even the roux, rues the day it tasted this curry.” Izaya addressed the toasted flour mixture that separated itself from broth, dripped from the spoon to add gloss back from where it came.

    “It's inspired; smokey, but only because it was burned. Spiced, but not well and probably a cover for your flubbed ratio.”

    Fingers wrapped around the granite counter, flexed, but considered not to damage the surface as an unconscious favour. “What the hell!? I make you goddamn curry and all you can do is critique it?!”     “I thought you’d want constructive feedback.”

    “Feedback? That's constructive feedback? Sounds like you're needlessly harsh of my cooking, like you're protective of a lover and their shitty food,” Shizuo muted his tongue, temporarily numbed his ability to use it, “or something.”

    Izaya dropped his spoon and fed a cackle to his laugh. “A lover? You think me and Namie-san…?”

    “Yeah, okay,” Shizuo raked his bangs back, “maybe… Maybe I'm paranoid.”

    “Just because we had a one night stand hardly means I’m primed to cheat, Shizu-chan.”

    The glossed stone creaked out in mercy as Shizuo got bested by confirmation bias.“You two slept together?”

    “Once.”

    “When?”

    “Jealous are we?”

    “Fucking when!?” He slammed his hands down and rattled tabled utensils and troubled thoughts.

    Izaya eased himself back for an escape. “Sometime between you wanting me hospitalised and you personally wanting to bury me six-feet under. No matter; about the time she gave me head, the only one you wanted was mine on a platter.”

    “Fuck you.”

    “Well, you didn't want to…” he wryly added.

    “Why the hell didn't you tell me? Why the hell is she still your secretary?”

    “One, it never came up. Two, she most assuredly pictured me as her brother, so what does that tell you? Three,” he added a thumb to his presented peace sign, “you never told me about your fling with that Vorona chick, but I never questioned your faithfulness.”

    “...oh…” The evidence recoiled Shizuo, foiled his argument with a bullet of truth; taken to the chest and slumped him further into a leatherback barstool. He put more wear into the kitchen furniture than it would’ve procured in its lifetime.

Izaya held the rack of his trepidatious nerves while he searched for any sign of hostility he should be wary of; all he found was a hint of jealousy that dissolved into regret, swirled around his lip curled strong and circled his heavy eyes.

    “So can we move on and go get take out? I'll treat you to whatever your heart desires.” Izaya forced himself to add soft consolation to his demand as he rolled his eyes and rose; he pushed his seat in prematurely, desperate to leave the offensive curry behind.

    Shizuo was stone in his slump, “I'm not hungry.”

    A click of his tongue and Izaya was already on his way out. “What a bother you can be.”

—

    “I wanted to try my luck at the dish you loved so much. Make it just like she made it.”

    “Well, I understand that now. Though you did unfairly accuse me. A tad bit overreacted.” Izaya rebutted poignantly.

    “Because you were an asshole!”

    Izaya flicked the tip of Shizuo’s nose, “because that’s reason to believe I cheated. Besides, was I more of an asshole than normal? You should expect that I’ll act that way.” He never had the blunt force that his partner did — rather his ex, but it snapped Shizuo out of his funk all the same, a chuckle just at the back of his throat.

    “We kinda messed that up.”

    “Shizu-chan, we messed a lot of things up, not even just this.” A flash of anxiety struck his features. “But that's our thing: we fight, we fuck, we fuck things up.”

    “We do.” Shizuo nodded before he shook his head in dismay.

    “But you know what's not fucked up?”

    “Hm?”

Izaya preceded his response with the taste he tested off his finger, a healthy amount of a congealed glob he swiped from the container.

    “This curry.”

    “Oh, shut up! How good could a flea's taste buds be?”

A duplicate crinkle adorned their eyes as they loosened up to the idea that the other was their dinner date. They both decided with a silent nod: their food held no significance other than their current satiation. It was anti-climatic and easier than expected, so they grasped at the chance to move on, now with a check that marked off their progress on a laundry list of conflict.

—

    Their knees were set two inches apart from being uncomfortable as they leaned into their conversation. Colourful and boisterous, they exchanged nothings and happenstances; expended their backlog of stories they'd kept fresh, in hopes that one day they could share them with the other — with Izaya's beautiful monologues for Shizuo, and Shizuo's stroll through vignettes for Izaya. Light and sweet, it threatened to run their wells dry before they could add more to prevent future boredom.

    “...even Tom was pissed.” Shizuo favoured the right side of the ceiling to pluck details from his memory. “He pushed me back an’ yelled right in the bastard’s face.”

    “That's cute, Shizu-chan. Oddly a relief,” Izaya held out a spoon before him, full up on rice and less curry.

    “A relief, eh?” He edged forward to blow steam off the surface, his hand cupped below the gap of another.

    “Seems I don't have to worry about my bodyguard now that he finally has his own bodyguard.”

Shizuo stole his offered bite just to hold the moment that they were connected by proxy; he let the curved metal shape his lips. Perhaps they noticed the slip-up Izaya made of ownership, like it was still his to claim — as if it never wasn't. They acted ignorant of the glitch in his program.

All the while, a particular glisten gathered at the corner of Shizuo's eye; a type of saline Izaya recognised as a product of relieved humour. It was subtle, the difference between what he himself willed back and what the other man let show, but the similarities made it an endearing shared reaction.

Suddenly aware of Shizuo's ridiculous position the two separated — a spoon protracted, the blond fully weighed his chair down, but words continued on after only a short pause.

    “As if I needed one,” he smirked.

    Izaya hummed for him to reconsider, “debt collecting is a dangerous job, what with those horny idiots who can't keep it in their pants, much more their wallet in their pockets.”

    “That's true.”

    “I often speak the truth.”

They brushed knees; the minor touch was warmer than what kneecaps should provide, rather it transposed emotion, wafted over their connection like Summer air. There was a spark that hadn’t shocked them months prior, even further days in the past. At their beginning it was frigid, but also a comfort to share their freezer space, with hands occasionally clutched as a sign that they were trying.

Now, though, it was hard to ignore the spill of kinetic energy that tickled their fingertips and resonated up to burn their cheeks.

    “...I missed this.”

    “What exactly?”

    “Us chattin’,” Shizuo shrugged, careful not to wrench them apart, “your wit.”

    “Oh~? I distinctly remember you making snide remarks about it on several occasions.” Izaya swallowed his own bite, barely able to breathe before Shizuo suggested his piled up cutlery like a comrade smoker that shared his lighter.

Politely, Izaya shook his head, held up a hand that asked for pause; hesitated when Shizuo pressed a little further — eventually gave in. Especially, he savoured the flavour.

    “It wasn't that often.”

    “I mean it was weekly, Shizuo. It was several times weekly.”

    “Doesn't that mean you used witticisms too much?”

    “Woah!” Izaya brightened. “That's my boy, upping his banter game!” He motioned to applaud, but a smashed potato to his mouth beat pride to the punch.

    “God, you're an annoying pest.”

    Izaya sputtered the spud; it sounded much like an intentional spit take. With the back of his hand he cleaned starchy specks from his mouth, “likewise, kettle-chan.”

    Shizuo smudged the final fleck from Izaya's lip with his thumb. “Whatever, pot-kun.”

—

AN: Likes and comments are appreciated. I adore them and they’re always a boost to my mood. If you enjoyed this chapter, reblogs are an immense help as they get more eyes on my work. I say this shamelessly for myself and other fanfic writers — we have a hard time getting noticed and I ain’t too proud to beg for our lot. uwu ♡ ☆ Thank you so much for reading! ☆

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