#tiny groomers

[wild-wow-facts]

Meet the Ocean's Tiny Groomers

Did you know that some fish play the role of groomers in the ocean? Discover the Cleaner Wrasse and its fascinating relationship with larger fish.

Check out my other videos here: Animal Kingdom Animal Facts Animal Education

[mikakuna]

i see this jason todd who actually looks his very young age (instead of the 30yr old man that comics like to portray)

and feel my heart breaking just imagining bruce beating him up, almost killing him, mind-breaking him, and just overall being a total piece of shit father towards him.

a huge chunk of the reason why people don't view bruce's actions towards jason as abusive or wrong is because jason doesn't look his age. he's drawn to be this 35yr old father of three who looks even older than dick (and way too on par with bruce) that people see their fights as one between batman and any of his regular rogues. when they fight, it just looks like batman is fighting a man his age and not an actual young person. it doesn't look like batman is fighting his son who's barely even drinking age (and who def wasn't drinking age in utrh). their fights are portrayed in a way that eliminates the very real power struggle between them.

this applies to jason's entire character as well. a lot of people don't sympathize with how he died or his actions as robin or his fights with the other bats because he doesn't look his age. he always looks older and scarier than everyone else. tim has many sympathizers from the titans tower incident because jason just looked like a grown man fighting a 12yr old (even tho i disagree, tim was built and like 17 lmfao).

anyways, i just wish comics would actually draw jason to look his age, which literally ranges from 19 to early twenties. he's young- so young, and it's so annoying to see him drawn and written as someone older than even bruce.

[scarycranegame]

>be me, fan of specific character

>find a handful of fics that characterize him particularly well

>the authors are all antis

>fuck my stupid baka life.wav

>a few other fics are written by proshippers

>they're all either trollfics, hastily-written basic smut, or fics where he shows up for like 0.5 seconds

mfw

[snezus-christ-risen]

Another way to look at it is that we've all been living a nightmare for the past 4 years and just fooled to believe otherwise for the longest time. Nothing has changed, and nothing will unless the collective finally decides we've had enough. However, most people aren't ready nor willing to believe that. Not to mention our money has been going towards the slaughtering of people in other countries for years and years, without a cent given back to us. Broken country, but the system is working as intended to. For the complex, NOT for the people. Many of us really don't know how lucky we are to have the problems we do. You'll wake up tomorrow, just as you did today, no threat of imminent life-ending danger looming, while citizens of other nations die, funded by OUR TAX MONEY. We all need to assess our privileges, even at the smallest level.

Thank you for the privilege check and perspective. It is outrageous that regardless of who won, our taxes would continue to fund wars and genocide. The Democratic party brought this on themselves by continuing to support genocide, refusing to listen to the people, and moving the party further right with every election, but of course the blame will be put on third party voters (despite the math not mathing). The USA is a fucking joke and I’m ashamed to be part of it.

[wetdogblog]

MY FAV WESTIE COCONUT CAME IN TODAY!!!!! (Older photos below the cut!)

LISTEN TO HER BARK IT'S MY FAV

[mudsbray]

mannn you can be so nice and people are so mean. i just groomed a sweet dear doggy who i see a lot and they were two hours LATE ( LATE!!) but i took them as curtesy… put a tiny easily removable bow in her hair and she was so cute. a gift for her owners even if you will. and you know what. He said the bow was awful to. my face.

[ddanmeissu]

svsss doggo au just as an excuse to draw doggos (dog sizes may not be accurate)

lbh = tibetan mastiff, sqq = greyhound, sy = italian greyhound, nyy = bichon frise, mbj = malamute, sqh = corgi, yqy = great dane, lqg = belgian shepherd, and qqq = standard poodle

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

also idk if I told y'all but Luna has been throwing up a lot lately. She's not acting any different or anything so I was pretty sure she was still just binging herself sick, but I took her to the vet just to be safe.

300 DOLLARS OF BLOODWORK LATER she's healthier than me. Vet confirms she's most likely just eating too fast on an empty stomach.

But anyway. The point of this post. I'm pretty sure I traumatized her with the bloodwork--she did NOT appreciate them poking her--because I took her to get her nails done today and she was literally trying to rip apart the carrier the entire time lmfao

[prettyvacanttt]

Fostering this 4 week old kitten named dinky that looks IDENTICAL to fizzgigg when he was born omg I am losing my mind😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

[anytim3youwant]

.

[anexperimentallife]

Project 2025 would ban anything the far right considers pornography. The far right considers anything queer-positive to be pornography, and they WILL encode that into law if given just a TINY bit more power.

Have queer fanfic (or trad published literature) or pics of your transition, or of two men kissing, saved to your hard drive? If the GOP get their way, you'd be guilty of possession of pornography. Did you share any of it? You'd be guilty of distribution of pornography. Have a sweet coming of age story with a queer protagonist? That'd be child pornography.

Even now, states are trying to make it a crime to be openly queer in public (by, among other things, classifying dressing as the "wrong gender" anyplace kids might see as a sex crime against children). Oh, and Florida tried (and thankfully failed) to impose the death penalty for the above.

This is just one example of the horrors awaiting us if the project comes to fruition.

And the far right is already screaming that any adult who mentions around kids that queer people exist is "grooming" children. Wear your Pride shirt past a playground? You're now a child groomer. Think they won't put that into law if allowed? You're naive.

The GOP currently controls the Supreme Court (which is how they overturned Roe v. Wade) and has a majority in one branch of congress. Imagine what will happen nationwide with the GOP controlling every branch of government, including supermajoroties in both houses of Congress.

Oh, and top GOP officials have also announced their desire to NUKE Gaza, so don't come at me with, "but I can't vote blue because Biden..." Or tell me how you think Gaza would somehow be better off with Trump and the GOP.

In France, the left and center joined together--even though they disagree vehemently on many issues (get two leftists together and they'll have three positions on any issue)--to stop the far right from totally taking over, because the one thing they ALL agree on is that fascists dictatorships are BAD.

Much the same with the UK finally kicking out their own neo-fascist party, the Torries, to install 400 Labour MPs. Not everyone loves Labour's policies, but virtually everyone with a brain cell recognizes that the Torries are fascists, and that FASCISM BAD.

"Every election, they tell us this is the most important election if our lives!" Yeah, because each election over the past several decades has been more important than the one before, until we are now at a tipping point between remaining a fucked up oligarchy with SOME resemblance to freedom, and an outright neo-fascist military dictatorship.

Trump has literally stated publicly his intent to criminalize dissent, use US armed forces against protesters (Kent State, but multiply it by thousands), purge all agencies and stuff them with those personally loyal to him, and use the DOJ to go after anyone he perceives as a threat to his political power, among other things.

And remember the things he did in office, like pulling the teeth of federal workplace protections for queer folks (which Biden reatored).

I don't care if you don't like Biden or Harris. Neither do I. But the alternative is Trump, and anyone telling you not to vote in 2024, or to vote third party, is rooting for Trump, and for Project 2025. Anyone telling you not to vote does not give one single solitary flying fuck about vulnerable populations in the US or anywhere else in the world.

"You're just being an alarmist!" Right. Like I was being alarmist when I predicted the failed Jan 6 coup attempt. Like I was being alarmist when I said the GOP would try to use control over SCOTUS to overturn Roe v. Wade.

Fucking vote.

[penguwastaken]

This is a follow up of yesterday's post about me Ace Attorney-ifying the names from Trigger Happy Havoc. Due to the huge success that post had, this time I'm Ace Attorney-ifying the names of the characters from Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair.

Icarus Destiny

Ace ???

Icarus was gifted wings, but got carried away and flew to close to the sun

Destiny is a reference to the game's themes about the future

Deshare

A combination of "despair" and "hare", it also matches with Desbear

Before she gets attacked by Desbear, her name is Teachhare, a combination of "teacher" and "hare"

Emma May

Ace Gymnast

A play on "MMA"

Mitch Knightson

Ace Heir / Ace Impostor

Shares a name with the real Mitch Knightson

Byakuya means "midnight sun", which sounds like Mitch Knightson

Anne Percy

Ace Gamer

A play on "NPC"

Don Dragona

Ace Mafioso

A Don is a powerful Mafia leader

Kuzuryu means “nine-headed dragon”, so Dragona comes from “dragon”

Gundham Spellhound

Ace Groomer

Gundham is a combination of “Gundam” and “hamster”

Spellhound is a combination of “spellbound” and “hound”

Tina Plantain

Ace Traditional Dancer

Tina sounds like “tiny” and is a typical bratty girl name

Plantains are bananas

Kippi Faith

Ace Music Club Member

A play on the album “Keep the Faith” by Bon Jovi

The album represented "the beginning of a new chapter in the history of Bon Jovi" and marked a change in the band's sound and image, referencing her backstory

Daedalus S. Machina

Ace Hope

A play on “deus ex machina”

Daedalus is the one who gave Icarus his wings in greek mythology

He shares a name with the founder of Hope's Peak

Wrench Turner

Ace Mechanic

A play on "wrench turner"

Cammy Rolenze

Ace Photagrapher

A play on "camera lenz"

Shyanne Tender

Ace Nurse

A play on “shy and tender”

Mallory Talisman

Ace Lucky Student

Mallory means “unlucky”

A talisman is an item thought to bring good luck

Bolt Thunderloo

Ace Coach

Bolt and thunder both match his lightning aesthetic

A loo is a toilet

When he turns into a robot, his name becomes Robolt

Saber Serville

Ace Kendoka

A saber is a sword

Serville is a play on “servile”

The serial killer she pretends to be is Killer☆DeKeller, which is a killer who kills killers

Killer☆DeKeller is also a reference to Mask☆DeMasque from Ace Attorney

Solana Farewell

Ace Princess

A play on “so long and farewell”

Kista Chauff

Ace Cook

A play on “kiss the chef”

And that's everyone. This one was way harder to do compared to the last. Some I think are better, and some I think are worse. Oh well.

Part 3 with the cast from Danganronpa Another Episode

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Conservatives are fringe outliers - and leftists could learn from them

The Republican Party, a coalition between Big Business farmers and turkeys who’ll vote for Christmas (Red Scare obsessed cowards, apocalyptic white nationalists, religious fanatics, etc) has fallen to its bizarre, violent, noisy radical wing, who are obsessed with policies that are completely irrelevant to the majority of Americans.

As Oliver Willis writes, the views of the radical right — which are also the policies of the GOP — are wildly out of step with the US political view:

https://www.oliverexplains.com/p/conservatives-arent-like-normal-americans

The press likes to frame American politics as “narrowly divided,” but the reality is that Republicans’ electoral victories are due to voter suppression and antimajoritarian institutions (the Senate and Electoral College, etc), not popularity. Democrats consistently outperform the GOP in national races. Dems won majorities in 1992/6, and beat the GOP in 2000, 2008, 2012, 2016 and 2020. The only presidential race the GOP won on popular votes since 1988 was 2004, when GW Bush eked out a plurality (not a majority).

But, as Willis says, Dems “act like it is 1984 and that they are outliers in a nation of Reagan voters,” echoing a stilted media narrative. The GOP’s platform just isn’t popular. Take the groomer panic: 71% of Americans approve of same-sex marriage. The people losing their shit about queer people are a strange, tiny minority.

Every one of the GOP’s tentpole issues is wildly unpopular: expanding access to assault rifles, banning immigration, lowering taxes on the rich, cutting social programs, forcing pregnant people to bear unwanted children, etc. This is true all the way up to the GOP’s coalescing support for Trump as their 2024 candidate. Trump has lost every popular vote he’s ever stood for, and owes his term in the Oval Office to the antimajoritarian Electoral College system, gerrymandering, and massive voter suppression.

Willis correctly points out that Dem leaders are basically “normal” center-right politicians, not radicals. And, unlike their GOP counterparts, politicians like Clinton, Obama and Biden don’t hide their disdain for the radical wing of their party. Even never-Trumper Republicans are afraid of their base. Romney declared himself “severely conservative” and McCain “put scare quotes around ‘health of the mother’ provisions for abortion rights.”

The GOP fringe imposes incredible discipline on their leaders. Take all the nonsense about “woke capitalism”: on the one hand, it’s absurd to call union-busting, tax-dodging, worker-screwing companies “woke” (even if they sell Pride flags for a couple of weeks every year).

But on the other hand? The GOP leadership have actually declared war on the biggest corporations in America, to the point that the WSJ says that “Republicans and Big Business broke up”:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/republicans-corporations-donations-pacs-9b5b202b

But America is a two-party system and there are plenty of people who’ll pull the lever for any Republican. This means that when the GOP comes under the control of its swivel-eyed loon wing, the swivel-eyed loons wield power far beyond the number of people who agree with them.

There’s an important lesson there for Dems, whose establishment is volubly proud of its independence from its voters. The Biden administration is a weirdly perfect illustration of this “independence.” The Biden admin is a kind of referee, doling out policies and appointments to its competing wings, without any coherence or consistency.

That’s how you get incredible appointments like Lina Khan at the FTC and Jonathan Kanter at the DoJ Antitrust Division and Rohit Chopra at the Consumer Finance Protection Bureat — the progressive wing of the party bargained for these key appointments and then played their cards very well, getting incredible, hard-charging, hyper-competent fighters in those roles.

Likewise, Jared Bernstein, finally confirmed as Council of Economic Advisers chair after an interminable wrangle:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-06-16-team-biden/

And Julie Su, acting labor secretary, who just delivered a six-year contract to west coast dockworkers with 8–10% raises in the first year, paid retroactively for the year they worked without a contract:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2023/06/14/statement-from-president-biden-on-labor-agreement-at-west-coast-ports/

But the Biden admin’s unwillingness to side with one wing of the party also produces catastrophic failures, like the martyrdom of Gigi Sohn, who was subjected to years of vicious personal attacks while awaiting confirmation to the FCC, undefended by the Biden admin, left to twist in the wind until she gave it up as a bad job:

https://doctorow.medium.com/culture-war-bullshit-stole-your-broadband-4ce1ffb16dc5

It’s how we get key roles filled by do-nothing seatwarmers like Pete Buttigieg, who has the same sweeping powers that Lina Khan is wielding so deftly at the FTC, but who lacks either the will or the skill to wield those same powers at the Department of Transport:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

By refusing to stand for anything except a fair division of powers among different Democratic Party blocs, the Biden admin ends up undercutting itself. Take right to repair, a centerpiece of the administration’s agenda, subject of a historic executive order and FTC regulation:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Right to Repair fights have been carried out at the state level for years, with the biggest victory coming in Massachusetts, where an automotive R2R ballot initiative won overwhelming support in 2020:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/13/said-no-one-ever/#r2r

But despite the massive support for automotive right to repair in the Bay State, Big Car has managed to delay the implementation of the new law for years, tying up the state in expensive, time-consuming litigation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/26/nixing-the-fix/#r2r

But eventually, even the most expensive delaying tactic fails. Car manufacturers were set to come under the state right to repair rule this month, but they got a last minute reprieve, from Biden’s own National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, who sent urgent letters to every major car manufacturer, telling them to ignore the Massachusetts repair law:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/m7bbkv/biden-administration-tells-car-companies-to-ignore-right-to-repair-law-people-overwhelmingly-voted-for

The NHTSA repeats the car lobby’s own scare stories about “cybersecurity” that they blitzed to Massachusetts voters in the runup to the ballot initiative:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

The idea that cybersecurity is best maintained by letting powerful corporations gouge you on service and parts is belied by independent experts, like SecuRepairs, who do important work countering the FUD thrown off by the industry (and parroted by Biden’s NHTSA):

https://securepairs.org/

Independent security experts are clear that letting owners of high-tech devices decide who fixes them, what software they run, etc, makes us safer:

https://www.schneier.com/essays/archives/2022/01/letter-to-the-us-senate-judiciary-committee-on-app-stores.html

But here we are: the Biden admin is sabotaging the Biden admin, because the Biden admin isn’t an administration, it’s a system for ensuring proportional representation of different parts of the Democratic Party coalition.

This isn’t just bad for policy, it’s bad politics, too. It presumes that if some Democratic voters want pizza, and others want hamburgers, that you can please everyone by serving up pizzaburgers. No one wants a pizzaburger:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/narrative-warfare/#giridharadas

The failure to deliver a coherent, muscular vision for a climate-ready, anti-Gilded Age America has left the Democrats vulnerable. Because while the radical proposals of the GOP fringe may not enjoy much support, there are large majorities of Americans who have lost faith in the status quo and are totally uninterested in the Pizzaburger Party.

Nowhere is this better explained than in Naomi Klein’s superb long-form article on RFK Jr’s presidential bid in The Guardian:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/jun/14/ignoring-robert-f-kennedy-jr-not-an-option

Don’t get me wrong, RFK Jr is a Very Bad Politician, for all the reasons that Klein lays out. He’s an anti-vaxxer, a conspiracist, and his support for ending American military aggression, defending human rights, and addressing the climate emergency is laughably thin.

But as Klein points out, RFK Jr is not peddling pizzaburgers. He is tapping into a legitimate rage:

a great many voters are hurting and rightfully angry: about powerful corporations controlling their democracy and profiting off disease and poverty. About endless wars draining national coffers and maiming their kids. About stagnating wages and soaring costs. This is the world — inflamed on every level — that the two-party duopoly has knowingly created.

RFK Jr is campaigning against “the corrupt merger between state and corporate power,” against drug monopolies setting our national health agenda, and polluters capturing environmental regulators.

As Klein says, despite RFK Jr’s willing to say the unsayable, and tap into the yearning among the majority of American voters for something different, he’s not running a campaign rooted in finally telling the American public “the truth.” Rather, “public discourse filled with unsayable and unspeakable subjects is fertile territory for all manner of hucksters positioning themselves as uniquely courageous truth tellers.”

We’ve been here before. Remember Trump campaigning against a “rigged system” and promising to “make America great again?” Remember Clinton’s rejoinder that “America was already great?” It’s hard to imagine a worse response to legitimate outrage — over corporate capture, declining wages and living conditions; and spiraling health, education and shelter costs.

Sure, it was obvious that Trump was a beneficiary of the rigged system, and that he would rig it further, but at least he admitted it was rigged, not “already great.”

The Democratic Party is not in thrall to labor unions, or racial equality activists, or people who care about gender justice or the climate emergency. Unlike the GOP, the Dem establishment has figured out how to keep a grip on power within their own party — at the expense of exercising power in America, even when they hold office.

But unlike culture war nonsense, shared prosperity, fairness, care, and sound environmental policies are very popular in America. Some people have been poisoned against politics altogether and sunk into nihilism, while others have been duped into thinking that America can’t afford to look after its people.

In this regard, winning the American electorate is a macrocosm for the way labor activists win union majorities in the workplaces they organize. In her memoir A Collective Bargain, Jane McAlevey describes how union organizers contend with everything that progressive politicians must overcome. A union drive takes place in the teeth of unfair laws, on a tilted playing field that allows bosses to gerrymander some workers’ votes and suppress others’ altogether. These bosses have far more resources than the workers, and they spend millions on disinformation campaigns, forcing workers to attend long propaganda sessions on pain of dismissal.

https://doctorow.medium.com/a-collective-bargain-a48925f944fe

But despite all this, labor organizers win union elections and strike votes, and they do so with stupendous majorities — 95% or higher. This is how the most important labor victories of our day were won: the 2019 LA teachers’ strike won everything. Not just higher wages, but consellors in schools, mandatory greenspace for every school in LA, an end to ICE shakedowns of immigrant parents at the school-gate, and immigration law help for students and their families. What’s more, the teachers used their unity, their connection to the community, and their numbers to get out the vote in the next election, winning the marginal seats that delivered 2020’s Democratic Congressional majority.

As I wrote in my review of MacAlevey’s book:

For McAlevey, saving America is just a scaled up version of the union organizer’s day-job. First, we fix the corrupt union, firing its sellout leaders and replacing them with fighters. Then, we organize supermajorities, person-to-person, in a methodical, organized fashion. Then we win votes, using those supermajorities to overpower the dirty tricks that rig the elections against us. Then we stay activated, because winning the vote is just the start of the fight.

It’s a far cry from the Democratic Party consultant’s “data-driven” microtargeting strategy based on eking out tiny, fragile majorities with Facebook ads. That’s a strategy that fails in the face of even a small and disorganized voter-suppression campaign — it it’s doomed in today’s all-out assault on fair elections.

What’s more, the consultants’ microtargeting strategy treats people as if the only thing they have to contribute is casting a ballot every couple years. A sleeping electorate will never win the fights that matter — the fight to save our planet, and to abolish billionaires.

If only the Democratic Party was as scared of its base as the Republicans are of their own.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

[Image ID: The title page of Richard Hofstadter's 'Paranoid Style in American Politics' from the November, 1964 issue of Harper's Magazine. A John Birch Society pin reading 'This is REPUBLIC not a DEMOCRACY: let's keep it that way' sits atop the page, obscuring the introductory paragraph.]

[granddaughterogg]

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned. 

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard. 

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers. 

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm. 

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling. 

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight. 

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked." 

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute." 

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards. 

"Did you just say that I look like shit?" 

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time. 

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath. 

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant. 

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size. 

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush. 

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins: 

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices." 

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle. 

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled. 

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

[machveil]

Most blogs: Simon would have a German Shepherd, or a Doberman, or a Rottweiler or- Me: ...Simon has a Pomeranian, a living puffball that he bought dog stairs for so she can get onto and off the bed without jumping and hurting herself, and he has little socks and jackets for her for when it's wet or cold outside, and she has a vest with a handle on the back of it so when he takes her outside he can also easily pick her up. He loves his tiny dog, and he has a hoodie that has a pet pocket in the front of it so she can curl up inside while he's working at home or laying on the sofa. Thanks for coming to my sleep-deprived TED Talk -🐸

I am a German Shepard believer, but Simon having a Pomeranian is just— [explodes]

Simon Riley walking down the streets of Manchester, big figure, dressed in black, medical mask over his nose and mouth… holding a cute little pink leash for this fur ball. it has the yappiest little bark and fluffy fur. he’s takes better care of this dog than he does himself - groomers appointments are regularly scheduled, vet checkups, the works

you know the ‘scary breeds’ of dogs that people joke about having names like ‘Cupcake’ or ‘Princess’? I’m thinking we’re on the other end here where Simon - straight faced - tells people his cute little Pomeranian’s name is, like, ‘Bear’ or ‘Tank’. all he adds on is, “She’s a tough one.”, even though this little thing could be blown over by a big gust of wind

firm believer in GirlDad!Simon Riley, but since he doesn’t have kids he’ll just heavily pamper this dog. the groomers said that she’d look cute with little dresses or bows and Simon took that as ‘buy your dog cute outfits, please’. she has her own little drawer full of cute accessories and dog clothes. partial to believing he bought the dog little doggie shoes and a rain jacket for bad weather

Simon does have a hoodie with a pet pocket, absolutely loves wearing it with his puppy. but, he isn’t opposed to just carrying her like a football, tucked in the corner of his arm. he definitely bought a stairway for the dog, her little legs can’t get her onto his bed :( not that Simon has trouble picking up this little thing, but she should be able to get up there if she wants to

[jarate-pissman]

Silly Doodle of TF2 if they were dogs. I wanted their accessories to resemble their human counterparts, but it can be difficult because putting a dog into human clothes is hard to draw.

Scout: A Boston Terrier. A breed known for being lively and happy, it's friendly and open to strangers. Scout as a guard dog would show you where his owners keep the valuables if you give him even a crumb of attention. Also, they can be bug eyed and derpy at times.

Pyro: A Dalmatian. Duh. With a bag on their head that resembles pyro.

Soldier: Solly is an American Pitbull Terrier. The fact that it's a controversial breed makes it an even better fit! ABPTs were used in combat missions in WWI and II. In WWII they appeared often on war propaganda posters. One of the most well known ABPT was named Sgt Stubby in WWI, and he earned himself numerous medals. Stubby is probably the deciding factor. Soldier has an American flag bandana and his food bowl over his eyes. He smells faintly of rotten bbq ribs.

Heavy: An Ovcharka (Caucasian Shepherd) while originally the breed hailed from Georgia, the USSR pushed to have the breed standardized. The huge dog breed was originally bred for guarding purposes, and has a serious and protective nature. Perfect for guarding his medic. He greatly treasures his Sandvich, a stuffed squeaky toy from the bargain bin at the pet store.

Demoman: A one-eyed Scottish terrier with a sturdy body and a manly beard. My personal experience with Scotties as a dog groomer is that they are absolute assholes who are wary of strangers squeezing their ass glands. I'm pretty sure Demo would bite me too if I touched his asshole. Demo has a squeaky bouncy ball that resembles a sticky bomb, one eye, and a hat that looks like a beanie.

Engineer: An American Bulldog. Mainly this was influenced by their stocky body and their friendly personality. Bulldogs are also a very intelligent dog breed that possess high endurance, agility, and strength. American Bulldogs were bred with the intention that they would be a farm dog. I would have gone with the Blue Lacy, but it didn't feel very Engie, despite being the only breed outta Texas. Engineer dog has doggles.

Spy: A french bulldog. Both the French Bull Dog and the Boston Terrier both descended from the Bulldog, so in a way they are related. While a poodle would have fit Spy as well, Frenchies are pretty expensive in their own right, and the cost of their medical bills might as well cost 5 poodles. They're like the luxury bulldog, and I feel like the fact that Spy and Scout's breeds resemble each other makes it better. Since dogs don't usually wear balaclavas, Spy-dog got his face stuck in a pair of red/blu underwear and started wearing them ever since.

Medic: What dog is more demanding, bratty, and sadistic than a Pomeranian? Pomeranians are extroverted, lively, alert, and highly intelligent dogs of German origin. They can be aggressive to humans and dogs to try and prove themselves. They don't seem to realize how small they are, and somehow wind up ruling the house anyways, even if there are other dogs. I can just imagine Medic-dog commanding Heavy-dog, and Heavy-dog going along with whatever he says. Medic has tiny glasses and a stray hair curl.

Sniper: A dingo. Aloof, mysterious, and a bit scrawny for his size, he's an excellent hunter who can brave the scorching bush and all Australia has to offer.