#why does a german shepherd snarl

[girlspecimen]

pitties are so cute but i also get why ppl are scared of them (they're def bred as a guard dog lol. my pit mix was the sweetest ever but she still had a scary bark and we had to train her as she got older to be less territorial + short tempered)... i think ppl who say that ppl being cautious of pitties is totally unfounded are wrong but also i do think they get a worse rap than other guard dogs cuz you see them in the city more not as the pets of rich people so they're stigmatized as a CHEAP guard dog for POOR (not white) ppl. every german shepherd i've ever met was absolutely insane and short tempered and territorial sort of as you'd expect from ykw. a guard breed but the white suburban owners of german shepherds i knew did not train their dogs AT ALL even as they snarled at and chased little kids around and still considered them an ideal family pet because they're EXPENSIVE guard dogs for RICH ppl. but they still would stick their noses up at pit bulls and stuff as if their dogs weren't also aggressive and honestly dangerous.

anyways just like everything i fully believe most dog breed discourse comes back to racism and classism, just like everything does :/

#thoughts #just finking....

[j0kers-light]

J with pets/maybe specifically a dog head canons, GO!

Hi anon 🤍✨

I read this ask and literally burst into tears thinking about my furbaby. Is it okay if I dedicate this to J? (Yes, my dog’s name was J, no correlation to Joker tho)

I am not sorry this is literally my fur baby down to the tail wag! I just copied and pasted from my memories. I miss him so much and this brought back so many happy times. Crying is good for the soul but my eyes are gonna be swollen tomorrow at this rate.

I think my J and Joker would’ve gotten along wonderfully. J was a sweet yet demonic boy always getting into trouble while giving me countless laughs and plenty of scars. This one's for you J. 🤍✨

Canon Joker/Harley own two hyenas as pets and in the Dark Knight, Joker had dogs protecting him in the final scene against Batman. So it's only natural that Joker goes out and adopts a dog(s) to protect you when he’s not around.

Does your apartment allow pets? They do now. Joker bribes/threatens management to change the policy.

I’m talking big boys too! Like German Shepherd, Great Dane, Rottweiler, Siberian Husky etc. just to name a few. Pick one, because Joker will if you don’t. If you’re short, they easily come up to your chest and if you’re tall, well past your hip.

If by some chance big dogs aren’t your thing, (I strongly believe any size dog can protect) you lean more towards common household breeds like a Beagle, any terrier, Corgi, Maltese, Dachshund, etc.

Regardless of the breed, Joker trains the dog with an eerie military-like regiment. Fully potty trained, independent, highly intelligent; it's almost like the dog is human with how well it responds to you. The fur baby can be a service dog if it really wants to be! It protec, it attac, but most importantly, it comforts you on the lonely nights when Joker isn’t at home.

You were scared of this big dog at first. It snarled at you whenever you came too close, refused to let you pet him, the whole nine yards– (why did Joker get you such a mean doggie?) until you sucked it up and made it love you.

Like full on dog whisperer transformation. Now the two of you are inseparable! He’s the best boy for his mommy. All the tummy rubs and head scratches he could ever ask for! Joker is noT jealous… 👀

Joker was indifferent towards the animal for the longest, I mean, its sole purpose is for security. Why does he need to nurture it?

But coming home and seeing you laying on the couch with this massive dog serving as your personal weighted blanket, Joker slowly starts to warm up to the furry companion.

If it makes his Bunny happy then he can accept the dog can also double as an emotional support animal but it still has a job to do. Your safety is the number one priority here.

Imagine! You leave for a trip and ask Joker to dog sit for the week. What could possibly go wrong?

Joker wasn’t worried about looking after the mutt, he trained it well so he’s gone most of the time, leaving the dog alone in the apartment. Potty breaks are done on the balcony and you splurge on an automated water and food dispenser set on a timer. What else is there to do? You mentioned walks but Joker ain’t got time for that. He’s a busy criminal.

You really didn’t think this through.

Joker spent the last day chilling on the couch watching TV, waiting for six pm to roll around so he could ‘go to work’ when he hears the soft tink tink tinks of paws on your hardwood floors.

He hadn’t heard the dog all week, he kind of forgets it’s in the apartment, they’re so quiet.

Joker hates the sound of barking. That was the first lesson they were trained on. Silence.

Joker’s green eyes roam over to the dog that jumps on the couch and proceeds to take up well over half a section due to its massive size.

“No. Get down!” Joker calls to the animal, only to get an audible huff in response.

Did this dog just huff at him?

Joker tries again in a more authoritative voice, “I said.. GeT, down. Now.”

And again, it huffs and curls up for a quick nap. Using Joker’s lap as a pillow.

Joker is two seconds away from tossing the deaf mutt across the room but checks himself with a deep breath.

You would never forgive him if he harmed your beloved baby. This was a grown dog by the way, ain’t no baby to be found. You’ve been hard at work sabotaging the meticulous training Joker drilled into this mutt. The dog has fully transitioned into a pampered lifestyle.

Your furbaby may be spoiled but make no mistake. He still protec his mama when push came to shove.

Any deliveries to the penthouse are scared away by the massive dog answering the door. LEAVE IT AT THE FRONT DESK. Save everyone the trouble, mkay?

But anyways.. All this pampering, who’s such a good boy, thousands of treats, scheduled walks, and the fact that you let it sleep in the bed with you, wasn’t helping its true purpose! What did you do to your primary line of defense? This was a guard dog, not a show puppy!

Joker tried freeing his legs out from under the dog's weight, but it hardly budged. If anything it just snored louder.

Nothing was moving the giant and Joker could only imagine if there was an active intruder what the lazy animal would do. Absolutely nothing! That’s what.

Joker growled at being trapped on the couch but let things be. Tomorrow morning he was reprogramming this slouch back to the feral, home defense animal he trained it to be.

Completely unrelated: Joker fell asleep on the couch with the dog practically smothering him. 8/10 good night’s rest. Would do it again.

Morning came around and Joker dragged himself into the kitchen for a bite to eat only to find the dog already eating out of the customized doggie bowl you purchased online. You spoiled the mutt like it was a child! There was a tray with a non-slip mat to catch any spills but the dog ate delicately (something it picked up from you no doubt) and eyed him in passing.

Another unimpressed huff.

Could dogs even have attitudes? And after it had the audacity to use Joker like a pillow all night! Joker wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he could see why you nuzzled up to the mutt often. It made for a good cuddle buddy…

But Joker had a reputation to uphold!

He really wanted to punt kick the darn thing across the room but fixed himself a bite to eat instead. Once he finished they would make their way outside onto the balcony for some offensive training.

The man and dog found themselves outside where Joker wasted no time trying to retrain the dog into attacking if placed into such situations. But much to Joker’s shock, the dog found a squeaky toy penguin from your sunroom and played with it, completely ignoring Joker altogether. The constant sharp squeaks only made Joker angrier.

“Noooo it's noT playtimeee. You don’t play. You attack. You’re supposed to protect my Light ya big, overgrown..” Just then, Joker’s phone rang with your smiling face on the display.

Speak of an angel and you shall appear.

He answered the phone call and your voice floated on the breeze in greeting. Joker didn’t notice the dog’s ears perk up hearing you as well. It abandoned its toy to investigate.

“How are my boys doing?”

Joker grumbled but collapsed into a patio chair. “I’m bored without cha here, Bunny. You bro-ke the uh guard dog.”

“The what? You mean J?” You replied.

“...... uh noT me. The mutt I boughT to keep you safe.”

“J is not a mutt. He’s a (insert selected breed). But what do you mean he’s broken? Is J okay? Oh! I forgot to tell you about his midnight snack! He gets grumpy if you don’t let him brush his teeth before bed. It's a greenie rawhide I keep on top of the fridge...”

“You named it after me?”

“Stop calling J an it. He has a name; and not everything is about you. J is short for um… that doesn’t matter right now! Is he okay?” You heard the distinctive sound of a dog collar chiming in the background.

At least he was nearby. Joker hadn’t killed your tootsie roll yet which was a miracle in itself. Joker only had compassion for you, no one else.

“Light you sound more wor-ried about the, uh, dog than meee.” Joker whined through the phone.

How could you forget about your bigger baby? Joker was known for his bouts of jealousy. It was both cute and annoying. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m worried about both of my boys. Mama will be home soon so don’t fight each other! Oh, and can you do me a huge favor? Can you give J a bath? I know you can’t take him to his grooming appointment but he’s due for a love scrub. Everything is in the storage cabinet in the bathroom labeled in the order I use it in.” It was a stretch, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“No.”

Yeah, you knew Joker wouldn’t go for it. “Please J?”

Joker watched the dog circle around the chair that he was seated in, a clear sign of restlessness. Maybe it picked up the stress in your voice? He watched its tail wag slowly in the air, trying to pinpoint where your voice was coming from. But with each passing minute it failed to find its owner, it gave up and sat by Joker’s heels.

Joker returned his focus back on the phone call. “Are ya asking me or the dog?”

“Ugghhghghgh you’re impossible to deal with! Hey I gotta go, the event is about to resume. Please bathe my baby and you better take a bath too, J! I saw the news earlier.. see you tomorrow!”

You hung up the phone before Joker could speak up.

The nerve you had. He’d have to punish you when you returned home from your business trip. He did quite a bit of evading the GCPD while working this week and could use a good shower but as for bathing the mutt?

His green eyes locked with the piercing black already staring at him. The dog licked its mouth and wagged its tail, waiting for its promised love scrub. He heard his Mama loud and clear. He never skipped a wash day.

Guess there was no avoiding this. Joker wondered if he could call Frost and his daughter to handle this…

You returned home the next day to quite the sight. J was on the loose, wet as a mop, with a distressed Joker stalking behind him, equally drenched.

Joker was a simp that couldn’t say no to you. He had no other choice but to bathe your dog or suffer your cold shoulder.

Joker stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted you still in your GothCon ensemble, standing in the doorway. You were doing a terrible job masking your peals of laughter.

“This… this. Oh… this is noT, funny doll.” He warned.

You burst out laughing when J came to greet you and shook himself dry, spraying Joker and the room with wet dog water. This was priceless!! And Joker looked ready to kill something. Hopefully not your beloved furbaby.

“I regreT buying you a dog.”

#thanks anon! #thanks for the ask! #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #black!fem!reader #reader insert #joker x y/n #romance #headcanon #emotions #got #the #better of me #his lighthouse #joker with a dog is too priceless

[prosebacon63]

Is it Ok for Dogs to Play Growl? - Cuteness Can Be Fun For Everyone

How to Stop a German Shepherd Puppy From Biting (6 Bite Inhibition Games) - PetHelpful - By fellow animal lovers and experts

9 Simple Techniques For FEARFUL GROWLING - Dog Star Daily

If your German Shepherd has been roaring at you then you're probably questioning why and what you can do about it ... This post will show you a number of reasons that your German Shepherd might roar at you and what you can do about it ... So, why does my German Shepherd grumble at me? The reason why your German Shepherd roars at you will be highly dependant on the context of how it does it and there are a number of various things that you can do about it ... Each of the different reasons your German Shepherd grumbles at you will likely come with a number of clues in the way that it does it ...

Close-up of German Shepherd growling Stock Photo - Alamy

The reason it grumbles at you might be that it wants your attention ... This would be more most likely if it does it at specific times such as when it would normally go out for a walk, get fed or get attention in some other method ... It is common for German Shepherds and other pets to roar if someone approaches them when they are consuming ... If your German Shepherd does this then take care since they will often become aggressive if you go too near to it when it is eating ... If your German Shepherd is still a pup then it will be really crucial for you to train it out of the habits while it is still young ...

Why Do German Shepherds Hair Stand Up? You'll Be Surprised! – World of Dogz

Men's Health - Oct 2007 - Page 186 - Google Books Result Fundamentals Explained

This might be the case if it grumbles when you attempt to pet it or when you go near it ... In this case, you can attempt the training method below but you're best option would be to get help from a dog behaviorist who can offer you more pertinent assistance in this scenario ... Related post: Why is my German Shepherd always afraid? Official Info Here could be that your German Shepherd is hurt ... When canines are in discomfort it prevails for them to roar ... If your German Shepherd has actually been growling recently in circumstances when it normally wouldn't then this could be the case ...

#why does a german shepherd snarl

[rainbowloliofjustice]

What do you think of the fifth estate’s documentary on pit bulls?

I haven’t seen it fully, but honestly it comes off as fear-mongering. 

Yes, pit bulls can do serious damage with their bite... any large dog can. 

Yet the bans are only focused on pit bulls. What about german shepherds? or rottweilers? Chows?

It doesn’t help that the media and documentaries often use “pit bull” as an umbrella term to cover around 5 different breeds of dogs and upwards of 50% of dogs in shelters that get labeled as pit bulls are just lookalikes. Given that pit bull can refer to the American pit bull terrier, Staffordshire pit bull terrier, Staffordshire bull terrier, and American Bully. 

Are we going to end up banning any dog that can fall underneath what just gets labeled as a pit bull? When they’re banned, what are we going to do next? Start banning the next highest breed of dogs that cause bites?

Not to mention, pit bulls, like any dog, need to be trained to not be aggressive, need to be properly socialized, etc. just like any other dog. Of course, it isn’t helped by the fact that the media (and documentaries like this) only care about when it is a pit bull. 

Labs made up 13% of bites according to a 2008 study. pit bulls came in second at 8%. Yet people want to ban pit bulls but not labradors?

When it comes to personal injury claims of delivery workers, german shepherds, bull terriers, labs and border collies were among the most common to bite. Yet pit bulls are the only dangerous ones on the list?

And the documentary uses one man whose child was killed due to the babysitter leaving the child unattended with the dogs and that’s just like ??? that’s why you never leave children unattended with any dog that the dog is not familiar with. 

Not to mention, BSL only focuses on pit bull and pit bull-type dogs, but what about german shepherds and labs who make up a significant portion of bite statistics? Small dogs like chihuahuas that can exhibit high amounts of aggression if not properly socialized?

ya know how many times I’ve had someone’s lab growl at me and snarled despite the owners saying they were friendly? A lot

The documentary even shows dogs that are chained up and acknowledges that one person sees many pit bulls living in puppy mills and backyard breeders who sell them as status, guard, or fighting dogs... And mind you, dogfighting is illegal because it is animal abuse but then contrasts that with a woman who worked in/with a shelter that basically tried to sell dogs that they knew may not be good fits for certain homes or families. So when you have ill-bred and ill-trained dogs by people somehow the solution is to ban the breed rather than coming down hard on irresponsible owners?

And yet it’s the breed's fault and the breed should be banned for shelters deciding to lie and be deceptive about how well a dog may fit within another family? So because a shelter, run by a group of people, decided to lie about a dog’s history or past... that means it is the dog's fault and they should be banned? What logic does it make to ban a dog or dog breed when shelters and people decide to intentionally be deceptive about it in order to just rehome them? You basically have someone in the documentary who admits to being irresponsible and negligent yet... ????

Like, this lady admitted to working in a shelter that would be deceptive about a dog’s temperament, but then went on to blame the breed. 

It is only after someone dies or is bitten by a pit bull that people want to try to discuss BSL or banning them... but there was a woman, about 2 years ago, who got mauled by a pack of dachshunds yet there only concerns with pit bulls? people say one attack against people is too many yet... almost every dog breed in existence has attacked at least one person or animal. If you are banning breeds because they attack people, you’re going to be banning a lot more than pit bulls. If it is based on whether or not they are capable of killing someone, you’re going to be banning almost any medium to large size dog. 

It’s almost no secret that toy breeds are known to be very aggressive due to the way they’re often treated and pampered... Chihuahuas rank fourth in breeds that have bitten children and even though their bites aren’t comparable to pit bulls or larger breeds, if the issue is the severity of the bite then... any large breed dog should be banned because any large dog can produce a severe or fatal bite. 

Dogs are bred by people... if aggression is an issue, you can selectively breed that out the same way that certain dogs were selectively bred to be able to run or be as small as possible. If pit bulls get banned, what is going to be the next breed on the list? German Shepards? Dobermans? Chows?

Why are we coming down on breeds rather than irresponsible shelters that are deceptive about a dog’s temperament and backyard breeders that abuse and neglect dogs? Ofc when a dog comes from an abusive or neglectful situation, they’re going to have behavioral and temper issues... so that is somehow the fault of the breed itself?

The documentary ends by basically saying pit bulls are dangerous and it is a matter of public safety...By a surgeon that basically says no one will miss them after a while because there will be fewer fatalities even though other large dog breeds can cause fatalities, a woman who admitted to working for a shelter that would lie and intentionally be deceptive about a dog’s temperament in order to get them out the shelter, a father who lost his child and a baby sitter that was too irresponsible and let the child unattended with two large dogs who basically say “tell me which one is and isn’t going to attack” which can apply to literally any dog and then one pit bull lobbyist that they just portray as selfish and crazy.

Like if you show me two pictures of a chihuahua... I’m not going to know which is going to try to maul my hand. If you are banning pits, why not extend it to german shepherds, mastiffs, chows, etc.? They’re also large dogs that can cause fatal/severe bites. Why not ban chihuahuas, they’re the ones most likely to bite? is it only based on severity/fatality? If so then bye-bye to most large dog breeds. 

Yeah totally not a biased documentary at all. 

#rainbow answers #anon #ask #like fr its fear mongering vibes #like almost any other documentary on pit bulls #because they only really show or emphasize the violent or fatal parts #and focused exclusively on pit bulls but never brought in someone that had to get surgery #because they got attacked by say a lab chow or german shepard #it was pretty one sided and the comments showed how easily people give into fear mongering and information that says #a breed itself is dangerous and should be banned even though many other breeds #can have the same or similar issues as pit bulls #pit bulls and related breeds are not some vicious breed that is bloodthirsty and just waiting to be able to attack a human or animal #like i jest that chihuahuas are little demons in disguise but i don't genuinely believe that #yet when it comes to pit bulls and related breeds #everyone will believe the fear mongering and say they're just naturally or inherently dangerous #while ignoring the number of people that get bit by toy breeds or toy breeds that can be highly aggressive #like on what grounds are you using to ban dogs??? #cause there are going to be a lot more banned than just pit bulls if you are in the favor of public interest and safety #Anonymous

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Man’s Best Friend.”

Try not to bee too mad at me guys :) Sorry about the angst. 

It is a more than well known anomaly that humans will social bond with any species. This is not barring their danger levels, or factors of perceived cuteness; no matter the cost, humans will pack bond with any animal. They have even been known to bond with inanimate objects and houseplants. However, one of the greatest bonds man has ever created, is their bond with dogs. Thousands of years ago a man shared his food and his fire with a wolf: another social pack species. After years and years of careful breeding selection manipulated by humans, they ‘created’ an animal that protects loyally, forgives quickly, and loves unconditionally.

In my study of humans, I have found that the emotional bond with a dog can run deeper than an emotional bond with humans.  I am not entirely sure why a human would find it more displeasing to watch a movie where a dog dies than to watch a movie where a human dies, but I have some suspicion that it has to do with the innocence and unconditional friendship that dog has given man, a quality that man has never given himself.

***

Waffles: a 75lb 34kilo german shepherd shoved her head into an alien bush nose working furiously as she pawed through the strange purple plant. She came back up a moment later and sneezed violently sending up a cloud of delicate yellow polin.

Admiral Vir laughed and whistled, and turning on her heel she bounded back to him over open ground her ears straight up, her tail wagging furiously. She ran up to him and touched her nose to his hand as if tagging base before bounding off again to sniff the path before them.

Krill and Sunny walked with him, Krill staring at the brightly colored alien landscape with buzzing antenna.

Waffles leaped through another patch of wild blue grass sending up more white spores into the air, stopping only to sneeze again before continuing.

Sunny went up to walk beside the Admiral, “She looks happy.”

Adam nodded, “Yeah, I like bringing her down on occasion to get some fresh air. I know she does pretty well on the ship, but I feel bad keeping her cooped up so much.”

With another bound Waffles plowed through a shallow stream sending up droplets of water.

This planet was one the GA had been studying for some time, and, as it seemed, it was a relatively nice, habitable planet that they were readying for colonization for the Finnari, or perhaps, humans, or even both permitting everything went well.

Krill watched the dog as she plowed through the grass, rolling in the  weeds like she was having the time of her life.

Predators used to scare him, but the dog had proven herself to be docile at the Admiral’s command, and he could at least tolerate her if not like her…. Just a little.

Adam Grinned at his dog’s antics and charged into the grass after her.

The dog dropped her front paws, but and tail sticking up in the air, a nonverbal invitation for her master to play with her. He didn’t reject her offer and raced forward to play chasing her around the field, their legs swishing over the grass. She barked happily as they did.

Adam had now ran far ahead of the others towards another nearby forest path. Waffles was behind him just a little ways as he pulled to a halt panting.

It was then that he heard it, a sudden rustling of foliage turning into a swirling thunder of air.

He turned on the spot eyes wide in shock and surprise.

Surprise at the ravening beast charging directly towards him, its purple fur and white tusks glittering in the sun. he leapt out of the way, but the beast was quick, about waist height and angry. He was so startled he couldn't even scream his only reaction to try to kick at the creature and keep it back.

It squared off against him, and he tried backing away, but it charged again.

There was a sudden snarling noise, and waffles charged into the fight snarling and snapping.

She bit the creature hard on it’s back leg.

“WAFFLES!” Adam shouted 

The creature turned violently and whipped it’s tusks at waffles, who didn’t heed them as she charged in again, snapping at its face and throat forcing herself between Adam and his attacker.

It thrashed and she yelped in pain, but charged forward again, grabbing it by the leg and holding on for dear life as  it trampled into the bush dragging her along with it.

Another yelp came from the forest, high pitched and painful.

“WAFFLES!” It didn’t take a moment before Adam was chagrin into the bush after them pulling his sidearm as he did. He followed the sound just in time to see the creature whip it’s head around and catch waffles hard in the side picking her up and tossing her to the ground. Blood drenched her fur, while green icor drenched her muzzle.

He screamed in anger instead of fear this time as he leveled his sidearm and emptied his magazine at the creature. He wasn’t sure how many hit, but the creature was tough enough that it staggered off itne bush yowling. He ignored it for the time and ran, throwing himself to his knees at the side of waffles, who was lying on the ground breathing shallowly.

Sunny roared into the clearing just behind them, her spear raised, but the creature was already gone.

Adam reached out his hands which were trembling so badly he could barely function, “Waffles, waffles no no no no.”

He rested a hand on her side and she whimpered in pain, her muzzle resting on the ground her eyes half hooded.

A choked sob broke from his throat, “No. no…. You’re g-gonna be o-ok.” 

His hands fluttered uselessly over her body, covered in blood.

“KRILL! PLEASE Someone… h-help.”

Sunny stood back in shock and fear as Adam clawed at his hair, tears rolling down his face in uncontrolled streams.

Krill scuttled in not far after.

Adam turned to look at him his face twisted into a snarl, “Help her!” His voice cracked on demand and he turned back hands still shaking not knowing what to do. Being a doctor krill was well aware that the human’s anger was displaced and did not take it personally as he moved forward and took a look at the injured animal.

He lifted her front paw, and she whimpered piteously.

Off to the side Adam was still inconsolable, his hands in his hair threatening to rip out fistfulls with his clutching fingers. His agitations was actually getting in the way of Krill working.

“Adam, Adam just hold her head ok, help her stay calm.”

He nodded following orders stiffly, crawling over the ground to sit her head in his lap and tell her she was such a good girl and that she was going to be ok. Streams of continual tears rolled down his cheeks and onto her fur. Waffles licked his hand lethargically.

Sunny knelt next to him, hand on his shaking shoulder powerless as for what to do.

She had never seen him like this, ever.

Not that Adam was one to conceal his emotions completely, but he generally subscribed to silent tears if there were any at all. This, this was different, no holds barred uncontrollably sobbing, the kind where the human loses all functioning, eyes, nose, mouth and racking sobs that shook the body in aggressive, violent spasms.

Krill rolled waffles a little further onto her side spotting a deep gash from her chest and abdomen. He couldn't tell how deep it was, and didn’t want to look in this sort of environment.

“Sunny, call the shuttle!”

The urgency in his voice only served to secure Adam’s worst fears, “No… no, ou’re going to be o.”

“Adam, give me your jacket.”

He did without hesitation, ripping it off his body and offering it to krill as if it was the thing that was going to save her life.

Krill got Adam to help lift her onto the jacket and wrap her up, while he used some thing from his medical kit to staunch the bleeding. Waffles was still conscious, through her eyes were half lidded.

“Please be ok.” Adam begged, and despite all her injuries, her tail thudded against the ground at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand. This only started his tears flowing even harder.

Overhead the sound of engines whirred, and touched down on the grass not far away.

“Ok, lift her gently.”

He did as ordered hugging her to his chest and practically racing towards the shuttle as it descended.

When the doors opened he practically bowled past the waiting marine who looked on in shock.

He gently lay Waffles on one of the seats all but yellin at one of the marines to make sure she stayed there before racing to the ront of the craft.

“Admiral are you sure…” The copilot began.

“Get out o my fucking way!” he snarled, and the ire in his voice was so that the man quickly leaped from his seat as Adam slid into the pilot’s seat. Krill was worried that the human was going to kill them all trying to pilot in that state, but what he witnessed next was a feat of pure talent and skill as he maneuvered them up through the clouds faster and steadier than krill would have thought possible.

Waffles whimpered softly in the background, held tight in Sunny’s arms now.

Their copilot sent out a medial call as soon as was feasible and very prudent.

By the time they made it inside, a crew was waiting with a stretcher.

Didn’t matter that it was waffles, but they treated her as they might any human with krill tagging long beside.

Adam ran after them until the doors to the med bay shut in his face and he was told to stay outside.

***

Sunny made her way quietly down the hall footsteps no more than a whisper over the metal floor. It was dark on the ship, the lights having been dimmed for the night. Up ahead she could see light filtering out into the hallway, and the rim lighting of a figure sitting in the dark.

She moved forward, and the mass of shadow coalesced from the darkness. Adam sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, head in his hands. Three pairs of bright yellow eyes looked up at her from the darkness. And Sunny tilted her head in surprise to see three Finnari curled up around Adam. One leaned against his left side, one leaned against his right side, and one rested against his legs.

The others raised their heads, though Adam remained curled up with his head in his hands.

Sunny nodded to them, “I can take it from here.” She said quietly

The Finnari looked between each other and then waddled to their feet. One of them patted Adam’s hair before joining the group and waddling off down the hall. Sunny knelt and then slowly sat next to Adam resting a hand on his back.They sat in the dark in silence for a long while before he looked up at her.

His cheeks were still wet, and she had no idea how he was still producing any, sure he would have dehydrated hours ago.

In response, she pulled the human closer using all four of her arms until he was curled up against her head resting against her chest.

“I….I can’t l-lose her s-sunny…. I I don’t know what I-I’d do.”

She rubbed his back gently with one of her lower hands, feeling as his body continued to spasm rhythmically with the beat of his grief. He covered his eyes with his right hand turning into her chest as if trying to hide his face. His teeth were gritted against quiet sobs.

But despite his attempts to stay quiet, he couldn’t.

It killed Sunny to watch.

He was completely debilitated. She had seen a human like this maybe once before under different circumstances. Neither war, nor kidnapping, or injury in the time she had known him had ever brought this man to his knees, and if it had it had been silently and alone where he dealt with it himself.

This was different.

He had snapped, broken right in half.

It surprised her almost how fragile humans were, after everything he could have gone through, and after everything he did, this is what hurt him.

His grief came in waves, one moment she thought he had finally calmed down, and then the next moment he was escalating again just as bad as before. It was exhausting to watch, and she had no idea what to do other than keep him company in the dimness of the hallway.

They were there for hours.

And then the door hissed open.

Adam shot to his feet as krill stepped out into the hall.

His hair was disheveled -- even more so than usual-- his face was red and puffy, his eyes were ringed in bright red. The collar of his shirt was damp. 

Sunny rose to her feat as well.

“Is she-” he couldn't finish, choking up again.

“She’s alright, we were just waiting for her to wake up to make sure. But she’s going to be ok.”

This time the sound he made was a sob of relief rather than grief, “Can I see her?”

Krill paused but then nodded, motioning him back. He hurried after into the med bay.

At the end of the room, waffles lay curled up on one of the beds.

She was wrapped in bandages and an IV was held into her right front leg with pink gauze. Someone had managed to fashion a makeshift cone out of plastic shielding.

Adam rushed over.

Waffles blinked slowly at him, too tired to lift her head, but her tail began to whap happily against the covers of the bed. He smiled rubbing his hands through the soft fur of her face and ears, “Good girl…. You’re such a good girl.” tears were leaking down his face again, but he was smiling.

With great effort, waffles lifted her head, licking at his face with her long pink tongue, whipping the tears from his face the only way she knew how.

Krill walked over and paused by them, “She should be up and about by tomorrow, but she definitely needs to rest and recover.”

Adam looked up at Krill, “Can I stay here…. With her?”

Krill looked at him unsure, but the look on the human’s face was one the little alien certainly couldn't say no to , and he sighed, “Alright, you can stay.”

When Sunny left the room Adam was curled up on the bed with the dog resting with her back to his chest, the two of them fast asleep.

Thank the spirits Waffles was ok.

***

Ask a human, the vast majority of them find the sadness of grief or pain of a dog to be more poignant than that of a human -- unless the human is one they know--. This is why movies often employ dogs for emotional factors. Perhaps you cannot get an audience to cry for the pain of a human, but if you get a dog to wait at its owner's owners grave than you can have an entire audience in tears. As I said earlier. It's hard to watch the pain of someone who doesn't deserve that pain and never will.

Dogs are a reflection of the best parts of man 

[miracle-sham]

Memento Mori Cries Our Shattered Souls.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 3: Grave} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| Soulmates, are a tricky thing. It's said they're the person who best fits you. Everyone goes through life with half of their Soulmate's soul beside them in the form of an animal that represents the soulmate. |

| Marinette always thoughts she'd get to meet her Soulmate and the other half of her soul one day, and now she never will. Jason never wanted to meet his soulmate or be reunited with the other half of his soul. And now, like Romeo and Juliet, they've truly become star-crossed Soulmates. |

| Word Count: 1,371. |

| Warnings/Tags: Soulmate Au, Major Character Death/Implied Death/Temporary Death/Not Really Dead, Death Related Injuries/Injury Recovery, Miscommunication, Loss of Soulmate, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language/Swearing, Starcrossed Soulmates, Wakes & Mentions of Funerary Customs/Traditions. |

———

| A/N: Okay so there's only one song on this one's playlist but c'mon, look my written words in the eyes and tell me that isn't the perfect Jasonette song. Yeah, exactly. Also Choo Choo dear readers, I'm back on the angst train. Grab your tissues and some liquid to hydrate yourself because if you aren't crying by the end of this, then I've failed my job <3 |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics or a specific Au, then feel free to send me a dm and or ask! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It isn't a grave. An important difference, Marinette thinks to herself hollowly. There's a dull pang in her chest, and the constant ache of all her many, many still healing injuries. She shouldn't be up and about yet, it's only been a day since she was discharged from hospital. Her parents and the doctors would have kittens. But Marinette needs to do this. And she's already crawled her way up to her balcony chair (though with a little miraculous help of course). Because it isn't a grave but it might as well be one.

It's a simple little thing really, and yet… Yet it's a lot of things.

A shrine, well an altar. On the half wall besides her balcony chair. It's a small stone slab with a lit incense holder in the middle, and a few lit candlesticks in each of the front two corners of the slab. Behind the incense holder, in the back two corners are two bouquets of marigolds, white lilies, and yellow and white chrysanthemums. And in front of the incense holder, is a single photo of her soulmate familiar and all that she has left of her soulmate; Buddy the german shepherd.

Five days ago, her soul bond shattered. Her soulmate familiar nearly shattered too. It was a miracle Buddy only fell into a pseudo-coma instead. Unlike her though, he's yet to wake up. And considering the situation, he may never. One of the doctors—a soulmate related injuries specialist—had said it's rare but not unheard of for that to happen when the human counterpart to their soul familiar dies. And the final damning nail in the coffin was Marinette's own soul familiar counterpart appearing at some point after she had fallen into the three day coma. After all, it's common knowledge that once a soulmate died, you become reunited with the other half of your soul—your soul familiar counterpart.

Marinette doesn't know what happened to her soulmate's body (if there even is one left, considering the injuries found on her and her soul familiar counterpart). Nor does she have any memorabilia or anything that once belonged to her soulmate. And she certainly doesn't know where he was from and if he would've had any preferred cultural funeral rites. So the best she can give him right now, are the typical funeral flowers her parents both recommended, alongside candles and incense. Somewhat plain and generic almost but it's something, and it's better than nothing.

She chokes back a sob and rubs at her red eyes. “It's not fair… I thought Ladybug's were supposed to be lucky.”

There's a faint pitter-patter and a few droplets splatter against the altar. She blinks and glances upwards, briefly wondering if it is starting to rain. But the cloudless sky is all an answer she needs, along with the realisation of dampness on her cheeks and hands. She blinks again, and a few more tears fall.

Tikki makes a small noise of sadness, and gives Marinette one of those tiny little hugs she always gives.

Still, the grief hurts. Marinette will never get to know who her soulmate was. His name, what he looked like, how he smiled, his accent, what he liked, his favourite things, any stupid habits or mannerisms.

And she will never get to know if her soulmate even has a grave already. She could always ask Tikki, she's right there. But the kwami is stressed enough as it is that Marinette fell comatose for three days and nearly died from the injuries inflicted on her soul familiar counterpart. And five days without a proper Ladybug (and not just Master Fu stepping in out of necessity) protecting Paris has started to visibly take its toll on Tikki.

So, Marinette's little altar isn't a grave but it's where she's burying her grief and wishing the ladybug miraculous could do something to fix this.

———

It's not a fucking grave. If Jason had a choice, he'll never let his soulmate be buried in one of those fuckers ever, y'know just in case she ever ends up like him and is forced to crawl out her own grave. But he hasn't got a fucking choice because who knows who or where his soulmate is and what happened to her after he became a dead robin.

Well other than the fact, she's un-fucking-doubtedly dead and it's all his fucking fault, obviously. It's been six months since he crawled out his grave, and Talia had said the Lazarus Pit could heal broken soul bonds and soulmate familiars that died with the soulmate. Clearly fucking wrong seeing as his bond is still shattered as fuck and there's been no sign of Jules—the naturally shifting little soulmate familiar he used to adore. The kinda weird and scrappy looking calico tabby kitten that according to the internet was a cornish rex, that would sometimes shift into an even tinier, very round and fluffy hamster.

And Jason's spent enough time on the streets as a kid to know what happens to the human counterpart when their soul familiar counterpart snuffs it. If he's lucky, she'll be in a coma and will never wake up. And if he's unlucky, then she'll be six feet under like he was. Either way, she's paying for his fuck ups and deserves way better.

A small part of him wonders if that makes them star-crossed lovers. Like a reverse Romeo and Juliet—fucking ironic considering R&J were the inspiration behind Jules' name. He died, and came back only to find irrefutable evidence that his soulmate's dead—or might as well be—because of him dying first, and she'll never know he survived dying.

“It's not fair!” Jason snarls at his fate, vision staining green for a split second. He grits his teeth and glares down at the little altar he's set up in the corner of his room in whatever league of assassins' compound this is. It's got a single lit candle in each corner of the altar—a substitute for how there's supposed to be a burning candle at each corner of a coffin. Still doesn't make it a fucking grave though.

There's also a few bunches of flowers scattered across the middle of the altar—mostly marigolds, with a few white lilies, a couple black roses, a single pheasant's-eye, and a small handful of asphodels. It hadn't been easy to get them, especially since he couldn't exactly leave the compound yet. But Jules and his soulmate deserved this at least.

Marigolds for grief, white lilies more for the funeral staple than the meaning, black roses for death and mourning, pheasant's-eye for painful recollections, and asphodels for my regrets follow you to the grave.

Fucking ironic, seeing as it's on altar and not a grave.

The worst fucking part of being here, was losing Jules. The one fucking constant in his shitty life. Batman replacing him fucking stung alright, and he's never particularly cared for soulmates, yeah. He's seen and heard more than plenty horror stories growing up, and considering how small and cute Jules is, no way would've his soulmate survived Gotham. It's not like he cared too much about meeting her or whatever, but she was fucking innocent and now she's fucking dead. So yeah, she gets asphodels on her altar because he regrets being the reason she and Jules got shattered.

And the pheasant's-eye, well Talia and all the fucking assassins in this hell hole aren't giving him the chance to hold a wake for either of them. And it's not like he knows shit about her or has anything of hers to sit on the altar. He hasn't even got anything left of Jules 'cept his fucking memories. So all he can really do is recount his own memories of her to himself. Maybe he should write 'em down in a book or something…

All in all, it ain't a fucking grave. But it might as well be one because it's where he's burying his memories and feelings. After all, an assassin without a soulmate familiar, or a soulmate, is a lot harder to kill. 'Least he's got that going for him now. But Jules and his soulmate still didn't fucking deserve dying only for him to survive alone.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Quick reasons behind the Soul Familiar names and species, whilst I know Jason canonically is bad at naming, he's also a literature nerd so hence why he called his soulmate's familiar Juliet, also because it shifts form he can't call it Cat or Hamster. The hamster is because well this is half of Marinette's soul, let's be real, and the cat is because Calicos are seen as lucky and also I thought a Cornish Rex because they're highly intelligent, active, and affectionate and I think that fits Marionette pretty well. As for why Marinette has Buddy, it's purely because Jason reminds me of a German Shepherd and I feel Marinette would've wanted to become friends with her Soulmate as soon as she understood it as a kid, so hence the name buddy. It's not fully accurate to her canon naming skills, but that doesn't matter. |

| If you've been around since the early days of my Maribat/MLB Tumblr side acc, then this premise might sound familiar. Yeah, you've guessed it! It's the Jasonette version of my MTSPY au (rip, I'll get to writing it one day, maybe), aka/originally called LYLaLYL or Lose Your Love and Lose Your Life. I decided since I love the au but I want to re-use a lot of it but with some minor to significant changes. Anyway, if those au names are familiar/you've been around for my last year's content, then here have a virtual hug from me! 🫂 If you can't see this emoji, it's the weird two blue humanoid blobs hugging emoji. Yeah. |

| On a sidenote if there's an obvious difference in writer's voice for the end/beginning notes, tags, and summary, that's because I'm writing this very sleep deprived at 4am and may have gone slightly feral. Yeah. Don't do what I'm doing, get some sleep folks. Half the tags were written at the much more reasonable hour of ten to midnight instead though. |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #MLB x DC #DC x MLB #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July Week 1 #Jasonette July Day 3 #Jasonette July Grave #Memento Mori Cries Our Shattered Souls #MMCOSS #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

[gender-critical-analytical]

"small lap dog breeds (specifically chihuahuas) are the most likely to bite and behave aggressively, yet because they don't do as much damage with their tiny little mouths, they get a pass." i get what you're saying but yes, that is why they get a pass, since they can't do nearly as much harm. an aggressive pitbull and an aggressive chihuahua are not the same when the pitbull has physical traits bred into it to aid in inflicting damage. those don't go away even if the dog does not exhibit aggressive behavior 99.99% of the time, it only takes 1 slip up in a normally friendly dog for serious injury to occur

I'd rather take the very slight risk of a dog randomly snapping one day then having a little rat that snarls and bites everything, sorry not sorry. I've been raised with large dog breeds almost exclusively, and any attempts to own small dogs have gone horrifically, the only decent ones being the pug I had, but that breed isn't an ethical one to have either, due to their health problems. beagles are stubborn and snappy, chihuahuas are easily startled and aggressive, while pitbulls, boxers, german shepherds, and saint bernards have all done well, both in my own family's ownership, and relatives and friends. hypothetically, either of my current dogs could one day randomly rip one of my limbs off. Hypothetically, every time I ride in a car, I could crash and die. In fact, that's much more likely to happen!

I love dogs, and one day want children, and understanding reality, I will feel much safer with them around a large dog who has the ability to hurt them but likely will not, than a dog who will attack them all the time but it won't be 'severe enough to matter'. And, again, if you don't consistently shit on border collies too, I don't want to hear it. Pitbulls sit in shelters and rot away because people look at them and see violent, aggressive animals because of their breed. Having a pet is about caring for and properly training said pet to be safe, which small dog owners more often than not don't do.

like, if you put a pit and a chihuahua in front of me and tell me to pet one, it's going to be the pit, because the risk is far, far less. Pitbulls don't deserve the bad rep, and the case in point from any statistics shouldn't be 'don't own pitbulls', it should be get your male dogs balls fucking clipped, and train your dog.

[octothorpetopus]

spence and derek are together and the team doesn't know but then one of then gets mad bc they are tired of hiding, so angst w happy/fluffy ending

Give A Little Bit (Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid)

After six months of dating in secret, Spencer is ready to tell their friends. Derek isn’t quite so sure.

A/N: I had a lot of fun with this one, especially Derek’s introspection towards the end. I hope you like this!

Tags: @thebostonreaper @criminalminds-world @agenthotchner @rxseinbloom @cha0ticbisexual @starsandsupernovae

“Coffee. Now.” Derek paused in the doorway to the round table room. “Uh, please.” Emily looked up from where she stood by the coffee machine, arching her eyebrows.

“You look awful.”

“I feel awful.” He slumped into his chair, accepting the styrofoam cup gratefully when she offered it to him. “God, why does no one remind me not to drink too much?”

“You’re a grown-ass adult, Morgan. At this point, if you’re hungover on a work day, that’s on you.”

“Yeah, that’s not helpful. Coffee is helpful.” He chugged the entire cup in one go, wincing at the bitter taste.

“Man, what did you do last night?” He shrugged, and the rest of the team filed in. Spencer sat down next to him, his eyes curious.

“I went out.”

“Hot date?” Derek smirked.

“I guess you could say that. We were clubbing for awhile, then went back to my place for a nightcap, things got out of hand, and now…” As if to prove his point, he knocked his sunglasses over his eyes, blocking out the brilliant overhead fluorescent light.

“Wait, wait, wait. This is the fifth night in like, two weeks you’ve had a date. Derek Morgan, do you have a girlfriend?” He laughed easily, but shifted in his seat.

“Come on, Em, I-“

“Who is she? Come on, tell me.”

“You don’t know her.” Spencer cleared his throat, smiling flatly.

“Hey, guys?” He gestured to the front of the room, where Penelope was waiting patiently.

“If you guys would please stop flirting, I’d like to start the briefing.” Sheepishly, Derek waved a hand.

“My bad. Proceed.”

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll look at your tablets, you’ll see- oh, god, I didn’t mean to look at that…”

It was a local case, and as it turned out not one that they could be helpful in, so Derek went home to his little house in Arlington, flopped down on his sofa with his German shepherd’s head in his lap, and flipped on a cooking show. He was ready to doze off to Rachel Ray’s pickled onion recipe when his doorbell rang.

“I swear to god, if you’re a Jehovah’s Witness or someone trying to sell something, I will throw you into the Potomac!”

“It’s me.” Derek’s mood brightened. He raced to the door, skidding on the hardwood floors. and threw it open.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” he said, leaning against the door frame as nonchalantly as he could.

“Hi.” With the awkward sweetness Derek had grown accustomed to, Spencer leaned in to kiss him quickly, his hands wrapped tightly around the strap of his messenger bag.

“Oh, come on, you can give me more than that.” Derek seized Spencer’s face firmly in his hands and kissed him, really kissed him, long and slow and sweet and warm. The beginnings of rain floated through the air. “Come on in,” he said, holding open the door. Spencer stepped inside, but didn’t go straight to the kitchen like he almost always did (Derek always had a steady supply of baked goods from Penelope, most of which Spencer ate). Instead, he stood in the foyer, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“What’s up, Spencer?”

“Uh, can we sit down?”

“Yeah, sure.” They sat down in the living room, and that’s when Derek knew something was happening, something big. Spencer always sat on the floor in front of the sofa, for some reason, and despite Derek’s protests that it was bad for his back. This time, however, he sat in one of the soft but rarely used leather armchairs, his fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the stiff black leather.

“Spencer, baby, talk to me.” Derek absentmindedly scratched the top of Clooney’s head.

“Do you remember our first date? Like, our first real date?”

“Sure. It was about a month before Emily came back.”

“That was six months ago, Derek.”

“Yeah. Wow. Spence, what’s your point?”

“My point is that it’s been six months, or actually six months, two weeks, and four days, and we haven’t told a single member of our team.”

“...Spencer, we’d lose our jobs. We could face legal repercussions. We’re government agents.” Derek leaned back, smiling, but his stomach turned. This was more serious than he’d thought and he knew it.

“Derek, you know Hotch wouldn’t report us. Penelope and Kevin make it work. Why can’t we? Tell me, why can’t we make it work?”

“Look, I don’t want to argue about this tonight.”

“Derek.” Spencer clutched his hand, pleading. “I need to tell my friends- our friends- our family.”

“Why? Why do they need to know?” Spencer got to his feet, stammering and starting to pace.

“I don’t know, Derek, maybe because I’m sick of hearing you talk about all the girls you go out with when I know damn well that at the end of the day, I’m the one you come home to. I don’t want to have to hear you talk about your ‘girlfriend’ who doesn’t exist just so you don’t have to tell Emily. What is going on with you? I understood not wanting to tell people for the first few months, but we’re six months into this thing. Do you… do you not want to be with me?”

“Spencer, of course that’s not it.” Derek stood up and took Spencer’s hands, but Spencer ripped them away.

“Then what? Are you embarrassed of me? Of how young I am? Or is it just because I’m… odd?”

“No. Never, ever think it’s because I’m ashamed to be with you.”

“Then why?”

“I just want some damn privacy! Don’t you? We let these people into every little nook and cranny of our lives whether we want to or not, and I want- no, I need something that they don’t get a say about!”

“They don’t get a say, but I sure as hell should.”

“I’m doing this for us! I’m doing this for you, Spencer!”

“I- what?” Spencer stepped back, puzzled.

“Look at us, kid. You were a child prodigy and had three PhDs by the time you were twenty-four. And me, well… you know me. What are they going to think?”

“They’re our friends, Derek. They’re our family..

“Friends don’t always have the response you want them to. Come on, you know that.”

“So, what? You don’t want them to know about us because if they know we’re queer-” Derek flinched at the word, but Spencer didn’t seem to notice. “-then they’ll think I’m even weirder than they already think I am? I don’t care about that, and I honestly don’t really think you do either. I think this is about you. You don’t want them to view you as any less of the alpha male hypermasculine son of a bitch that you try to be.”

“Don’t you dare profile me, doctor,” Derek snarled, and even though they were the same height, Spencer seemed tiny by comparison. “You know, I thought you were different than them. I thought you were willing to give me a little privacy. Our fourth date, we made a promise not to profile each other. Ever. You just broke that promise, so I don’t think you get to tell me anything about our relationship right now.” Spencer bit his lip, still obviously angry, but he couldn’t seem to come up with anything else to say. “Why did you have to do this, Spencer? We have a good thing going, don’t we?”

“Sure. But what’s the point of a good thing if it never sees the light of day?” Before Derek could respond, both of their phones buzzed.

“New case.”

“New case.” They stared at each other for a moment.

“We should-”

“I think I’ll take my own car.” Spencer pressed his lips together until they disappeared in a thin white line, and Derek couldn’t tell if he was trying not to scream or cry. “I’ll see you there.” Without waiting for a response, he left, slamming the front door behind him and abandoning Derek, who stood quiet and helpless in the living room, Clooney whimpering at his feet. He was so tired of fighting, but something in him wouldn’t let him tell them. Something in him screamed YOU CAN’T YOU CAN’T YOU CAN’T over and over and over again, bouncing around his head like an echo in an empty cathedral. But if he didn’t, he would lose Spencer. Those two things weighed in the scales of his mind, but he pushed them aside. They had a case, and he didn’t have a choice.oice.

At some point while they were arguing, the light mist had turned into heavy rain, and by the time Derek made it into Quantico he was soaked from head to toe. He dripped water on the round table room floor. Spencer was already there when he arrived, folded into his chair, his expression not angry but sober, introspective. When Garcia started the briefing, his head snapped up, as if waking from a dream.

“Last week in Harlon, Kentucky, three former inmates from a federal penitentiary were found stabbed to death and buried in shallow graves in a park. They were found by a woman walking her dog, who used to be a K-9.”

“They were killed fairly close together, that means this unsub isn’t hesitant,” Rossi mused.

“We should be looking at other released inmates.” Hotch set his tablet down on the table.

“Victims and families of their crimes, too,” Emily added.

“Could be a corrections officer gone rog-“

“We should be looking at everyone working in the criminal justice system when they were put into prison,” Spencer said, interrupting Derek without a second thought or glance.

“Uh, yeah.” Hotch’s eyes flirted back and forth between Spencer and Derek. “We’ll do a preliminary profile on the plane. Wheels up in thirty.” Everyone stood to leave, but Hotch didn’t move. “Morgan, stay behind for a minute.” He paused halfway to the door, briefly considered making a break for it, but stayed. When he turned around to look at Hotch, Hotch was more concerned than anything else. “What’s going on with you and Reid?” Derek shrugged, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

“Nothing.”

“Really? He seems upset. Specifically at you.”

“I don’t know, Hotch.”

“Morgan, if there’s something going on with you two-“

“Hotch, I promise. Everything’s fine.” Hotch didn’t look as if he believed Derek, but he didn’t press the issue further.

“Fine. Grab your go bag, let’s get this show on the road.”

That was how it went. It was another short case, not a hard one either. Spencer ignored Derek, Derek let him, and the rest of the team stood by in awkward silence, unsure what was happening but not willing to say anything about it. That was how it went. At least, until the plane ride back to Washington. They sat at opposite ends, instead of curled up next to each other like they always slept, like they had always done even when they were just friends, or at least before they realized that they were anything more than that. Derek watched Spencer turn the pages of his book absentmindedly. He knew that Spencer couldn’t be reading, because it was taking him far too long. Hesitantly, quietly, he got up and crossed the plane to sit across from Spencer, who pointedly didn’t look at him. Everyone else was dead asleep, but Derek couldn’t and he could tell that Spencer couldn’t either.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, fighting the urge to reach over and squeeze Spencer’s bony knee like he always did when they were making up from a fight.

“About what?” Still, Spencer didn’t look up.

“Spencer, goddamnit, I can’t see why you’re so upset with me.”

“Really? You really can’t see it?”

“If anyone has a right to be upset, it’s me. I told you, I’m not ready.”

“And that’s exactly it. You’re thinking about how this affects you. ‘I’m not ready.’ I am. We have to make these decisions together, and you’re not even considering-“

“I don’t need to consider anything,” Derek hissed, trying to keep his voice low but failing. “I’m not ready, and it’s not fair of you to expect me to-“

“No, you know what’s not fair?” Spencer wasn’t thinking anymore, and his volume was increasing steadily. Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw JJ start to stir. “What’s not fair is for you to expect me to not tell my friends about our six-month relationship. What’s not fair is that even though neither of us has been out with another person in those six months, you refuse to let me call you my boyfriend.”

“Keep-“ Derek’s head darted around. Everyone else was still asleep. “Keep your voice down.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep my voice down,” Spencer said, very much not keeping his voice down. “Fine. But I’m sick of you telling me that I have to pretend like everything’s normal when it’s not.” JJ was fully awake now, and Derek could see her gently shake Emily.

“Spencer, I have my reasons. But I also need a certain amount of privacy, even from you. I have things I need to work through and frankly, I need more time!”

“You’ve had six months! Six months to work through these things! What am I supposed to think, Derek?”

“Guys, I-“ Spencer waved a hand to silence Hotch, who stepped back, stunned.

“You act like I don’t get a say in this. Like your feelings and whatever the hell you’re going through only affects you. I’m tired.” Spencer bit his lip. “I’m so tired.”

“I’m tired too, kid.” They stood, just staring at each other. Derek felt the weight of everyone else’s eyes on them.

“So that’s it, huh?” Spencer asked, and in the crack in his voice was everything that wasn’t said. As angry as he was, he would not do to Derek what Derek would not do to himself.

“Yeah, kid. I think that’s it.” Derek had to lean against a seat in order to keep from falling to his knees.

“Morgan, go sit down,” Hotch said firmly.

“I’m gonna go- I-“ Derek gestured vaguely towards the bathroom and stumbled away, his breathing choked and heavy. He hardly closed the door behind him before the first sob racked his body, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. His shoulders heaved and tears began to surge down his cheeks, but he endured it all in as much silence as he could, curled on the floor of the BAU jet bathroom. Outside, he could hear soft, unintelligible whispering, but no one came after him. They all knew better than that, and anyway, the one person he actually wanted to see right now was the last person who would want to talk to him. He briefly considered calling his mom, or even one of his sisters, but he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t be pushed away from the few people on this earth who knew everything about him- well, almost everything. Slowly but steadily, Derek got to his feet. His entire body felt heavy, like he was trying to walk through water. When he opened the door, everyone tried very pointedly not to look at him. He sat down across from Rossi, who flinched but didn’t look up from his magazine.

“You okay, kid?” He asked, so quietly Derek almost thought he imagined it.

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Still not looking up, Rossi pulled a magazine off the seat next to him and tossed it to Derek. It was a Newsweek from two weeks ago, but Derek still felt a surge of gratitude. Not enough to dull the sensation that his heart was quite literally breaking in two, but it was something. No one else spoke, not to Spencer, not to each other, and certainly not to him. They might not have had any idea about what was going on (if they did, they didn’t show it), but they got the idea that it didn’t involve them. Maybe it should, Derek thought to himself. But if he told them now, any of them, what was any of it for?

The little house in Arlington was the same as he’d left it, except that Clooney’s water dish had been refilled by his friend who dogsat for him whenever he was out of town. Stopping only to scratch the elderly German Shepherd behind the ears, Derek headed straight for the living room, collapsing in a heap of limbs on the sofa. He couldn’t deny that it was his fault anymore, could he? Spencer really hadn’t been asking that much, when it came down to it. Just that they could be together in public, in the eyes of their friends. Because that was what you did when you were with someone. Only they had never really been together, because Derek had always laughed it off when Spencer had asked if they were boyfriends. Why was that? Why couldn’t he get up the courage to be something with someone? Not even just someone, but someone he thought he maybe loved.

So, it was love. Then why couldn’t he ever bring himself to say those words, or any like them, out loud? It wasn’t like he had never been in a long-term relationship before. It wasn’t like he had never been someone’s boyfriend, or like he’d never said “I love you”. All the dates he’d been on, the late nights shared on this same sofa, dinners with his family, introductions to his friends passed through his head like the old-school viewmaster he had loved to play with as a kid. It took him a moment to realize why this was so different than all of those other times, and when he did, he fell off the sofa onto the floor, knocking his head against the coffee table as he tumbled down. He had been a boyfriend, he had said “I love you”, he had been out in public and met the parents and the friends before.

But he had never done it with a man.

Why it had taken him this long to figure that out, he didn’t actually know, and kind of wanted to smack himself for, but then he noticed the blood dripping from his head where he had hit the coffee table, and decided he’d probably injured himself enough for one night. While he was getting up to find the first-aid kit he kept in the hall closet, he looked back, incredulous. Sure, figuring out he liked men had been a fairly recent development, but he honestly didn’t see it as life-changing at the time. No, he hadn’t told anyone, but that was because it wasn’t anyone else’s business… right?

No. That wasn’t right.

In the dim light of the bathroom, Derek inspected his injury. It wasn’t a super deep cut, but it would take a while to heal, and he’d probably have a scar for a while. Watching his blood dilute and swirl down the drain, he remembered a specific day from his childhood he hadn’t thought about in years. He had only been twelve, maybe thirteen, and playing basketball with a few friends after school when they heard yelling from around one side of the community center. That had been the first hate crime he had ever seen- a gay kid got beat up simply for being gay. And as a Chicago cop, and an FBI agent, it was not the last. It wasn’t the last time he heard slurs tossed around like they bore no weight, casual ignorance from the coworkers in the locker room or friends on the street. If they’d known about him, would they have stayed quiet? Would they have kept their vitriol to themselves until he was gone and then let it spew, melting the world around them like acid? Or would they have done to him what they did to that kid that day at the community center? No, he was too big and too strong for that. Being big and strong was what protected him, from fists and rage, but also from prying eyes. No one ever expected that the 200 lb former linebacker and Judo black would be the one with the dirty little secret. Maybe if they did, it would be easier. Maybe if he thought it would surprise everyone less, it wouldn’t be quite so hard. When Spencer had come out to the team a few years ago, no one had seemed surprised. It wasn’t hard to see how the skinny kid with the messy hair, who’d never really had a girlfriend, who wore sweater vests and sneakers everywhere, who could carry a conversation with only his endless fount of knowledge, could be different from the rest of them. Only he wasn’t that different, was he? No, his coming out had been what sparked Derek’s journey of self-discovery, so they weren’t as different as they seemed. What he truly couldn’t endure was the surprise. He didn’t want to be seen in a different light- he was just Derek Morgan, same as always. But that was never really the case with a bomb like this. No one ever just took it without flinching, without questions that demanded answers he couldn’t give.

The scales in his mind, which up until this point had been weighted so heavily towards that one side, that side that said everything would go wrong and his life would change forever, began to tip now. Because now he was in his home office, staring at the bulletin board over his desk. His office was the one place no one else ever went in his house (his bedroom was almost his own, except the time he’d let Emily sleep in his bed after getting a little too wasted at the FBI Christmas party). But no, his office was his and his only, so that was where he kept all the reminders he needed for himself, without anyone else’s input. A signed puck from a Chicago Blackhawks game he’d gone to with his father before he died. A dried flower from the bouquet his mom had sent him when he was accepted into the FBI academy. But he wasn’t looking at those things right now, right now his eyes were fixed on the photo that had taken a prominent position front and center. If he’d been profiling himself, he would have said that the reason was that that photo had some kind of importance. It was him and Spencer, about three months earlier, at a Washington Wizards game, basketball being the only sport he could convince Spencer to go to. The picture was a close-up of the jumbotron, during the third-quarter Kiss Cam (he had paid the guy working the Kiss Cam twenty bucks for the footage). In it, Spencer was wearing one of Derek’s old Wizards jerseys, and he was still in the middle of saying something when Derek had kissed him. His wide eyes made it obvious it had been a surprise, but his smile and the hand resting on Derek’s backwards baseball cap gave him away. Derek loved that picture, that’s why he had put it on the board right where he could see it as he worked. He wanted to go back to that, to the quiet ease and the loud feelings, to blending into a world that told them they had to stand out.

The scales were tipping. On one side, there was the world. On the other, there was Spencer. Spencer, who loved brownies and foreign films. Spencer, who wore his sneakers to The Capital Grille. Spencer, who should have been jaded and cynical but still had an optimism about the world Derek couldn’t quite refute. The scales were tipping, and Derek made no effort to stop them. With every minute he stared at that picture, every minute he thought about the last six months, they tipped further and further until there was no denying that one outweighed the other. With a little resignation, a little relief, and a lot of apprehension, Derek got up, turned off the office light, and went to bed.

The round table room was dead silent when he walked in, not that anyone had been talking before he’d arrived. Rossi and JJ were watching everyone with wide, wary eyes. Emily was staring into her coffee. Garcia bit her lip, her nerves obviously getting to her. Hotch was scrolling through his tablet. Spencer sat in his chair, staring off into the near distance. His hair was more of a mess than normal, his tie was crooked, and his eyes were heavy-lidded and red, like he’d stayed up all night.

“Garcia.” Hotch nodded. “Let’s get started.”

“Okay, well-” Penelope’s voice wobbled, and she started suddenly as Derek raised his hand. “I- what?”

“Can I say something before we start?” Confused, a little freaked, she looked to Hotch for confirmation. Hotch looked equally as confused, but nodded.

“Go ahead, but try to make it quick.”

“I will.” On shaky legs, Derek stood. Everyone looked at him, their interests piqued, except Spencer, who continued staring off at some point Derek couldn’t see. “Six months ago, I met someone. Well, no. I already knew them. Six months ago, I saw someone I knew in a different light. And for the last six months, I’ve been falling head-over heels in love.”

“Derek, how come you never told me?” Penelope gently squeezed his hand. “Whoever she is, I’m sure we’d love her.” He smiled, shaking his head.

“That’s just it. You’re not going to love her, because there is no her.” Confused, the team glanced at each other, but remained silent. “He is so incredibly special to me, and I’ve wanted to scream it from the rooftops for six months, but I just… I couldn’t.” Now, for the first time, he turned to Spencer. “Spencer Reid, I love you.” Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes wide like he’d just woken up. His mouth opened and closed a few times but he didn’t say anything. Derek wasn’t watching anyone else, but he was sure they were wearing identical looks of shock. “I’ll never be as sorry for anything else in my life as I am that I never told you that, and that I made you keep this secret for so long.” He crouched in front of Spencer, taking his hands. “I had to think. I shouldn’t have had to, I should have just let myself be with you, but I did. I’ve seen a lot, Spencer, a lot of myself and a lot of the world. And I hate to say it, but I’ve got way too much fear for my own good. But I realized that if I weigh whatever fear I have against you, it’s no contest.” He cleared his throat and straightened, facing his startled friends. “I’m bisexual. It took me a while to figure it out, and even longer to come to terms with it, but it’s who I am. Six months ago, about a month before you came back, Em, I asked Spencer to go to the movies with me. We’ve been together ever since. Last week, he asked me if we could tell you. I let my demons get the better of me. I’m not gonna do that anymore. Spencer.” He held out a big, weathered hand, pleading silently for Spencer to take it. Spencer stares up at him, clearly hesitating. But then he blinks, and whatever reservations he had disappeared. He took Derek’s hand and let himself be pulled into a hug. Derek felt his narrow, bony arms wrap around his shoulders and his head bury into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry,” Derek whispered, knowing the rest of the team was still watching, not really caring.

“I forgive you,” Spencer murmured.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Derek frowned. “Sorry. Love you too.”

“Ahem.” Hotch cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, I’m very happy for you guys, but can we finish the briefing first?” Derek and Spencer untangled their limbs, both grinning sheepishly. They sat back down, an awkward but cheery silence sweeping the room.

“Wow. Uh, okay.” Penelope wiped her eyes and Derek realized she was crying a little. So was he, just a few little happy tears in the corner of his eyes. In fact, it looked like there wasn’t a dry eye at the round table. “So, yesterday in Sacramento, one Mr. Paul Young was found in a dumpster with his hands cut off- ew.”

“Morgan. Reid. Hang on a minute.” Hotch beckoned for them to stay as the rest of the team headed to the jet. Derek winced. He’d known there would be something, but he’d hoped rather foolishly that Hotch would give them a few days. Nope.

“Hotch, listen-“

“Guys, just… hold on.” Hotch scanned them both with those dark, analytical eyes. “I won’t tell Strauss if you don’t want me to, which I’m assuming you don’t. I’m guessing you two know that this isn’t going to be easy.”

“Hotch-“

“I’m not done. You cannot have anything happen like what happened on the plane yesterday. If you do, I will tell Strauss. I’m not threatening your jobs, and even if I do tell Strauss, I will fight for you to keep your jobs. But that can never, ever happen again. Am I clear?” Derek nodded vigorously, and out of the corner of his eye saw Spencer doing the same. “Good.” Hotch remained serious for a moment, then broke out smiling. Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Hotch smile so brightly. “I’m happy for you guys. Really.”

“Thanks, Hotch.” When Derek glanced over at Spencer, he was flushed bright red.

“Alright. Get your stuff, get on the jet. I’ll see you there.” He pushed between them, leaving them alone by the round table.

“I’m sorry too, you know,” Spencer said, turning to face Derek.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Neither do you, really. You needed to process things I didn’t even know you were thinking about. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like those feelings weren’t valid, or if your feelings weren’t as important as mine.”

“No. Never.” Derek took Spencer’s face in his hands and smiled, feeling the happy tears resurface. “It all worked out in the end.”

“No. Not the end. The beginning.” Slowly; hesitantly at first, Spencer leaned in and kissed him, and Derek let him, pushing back with more fervor.

“We should go,” he said quietly, breaking the kiss and leaning his forehead against Spencer’s. “Hotch’ll be pissed if we’re late.”

“Let him.” Spencer grabbed the collar of Derek’s t-shirt with one hand, the back of his head with the other, and pulled him in for another kiss. When he broke the second kiss, he held out his hand, which was soft and bony in comparison to Derek’s. Derek took his hand and let Spencer lead him out of the room. He was right, really. This wasn’t the end of a secret not worth keeping. It was the beginning of a real love story.

#criminal minds #moreid #cm fic #criminal minds fic #moreid fic #derek morgan #spencer reid #angst #criminal minds angst #cm angst #cm fan fiction #cm fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[hailhydra920]

Puppy Guard

Steve x Reader

Warnings: None.

The first time Steve had visited your house, your german shepherd, Komodor, a.k.a. Komo, began to growl.

    "Komo, it's okay. Steve's a friend." You said lightly petting him.

    Steve smiled at the dog and went to pet him, but Komo just growled. Steve moved his hand into his pocket and put on a smile.

    "Cute dog."

    "Thanks." You said as Komo barked happily and rubbed against your legs.

    You walked into the kitchen, getting ready to prepare some food for you and Steve. What you didn't know was that Komo and Steve were having an epic stare down. Steve didn't even know dogs could glare like Komo was doing, but he never backed down from a challenge. Komo began to lowly growl, and Steve tensed his shoulders. Just as Steve and Komo were about to lunge at each other, you walked in again.

    "Does breakfast for dinner sound good?" You asked as you saw Steve and Komo were sitting with happy expressions.

    "Sounds great." Steve said as you entered the kitchen again.

    Once you were out of site, Steve and Komo started glaring at each other and Komo got in an attacking position. Komo was a huge german shepherd, that Steve could not deny. If this thing was gonna fight him, it would put up a pretty good fight. Komo lunged forward and took Steve to the ground. Komo growled by Steve's face and Steve was about to throw off Komo, when you entered again.

    "Aw, he's warming up to you Steve." You said as you saw Komo sitting on top of Steve. "He's already playing with you. I knew you guys would like each other. I'm gonna start some laundry, so I won't disturb you guys. Komo looks like he's having so much fun."

    Once you left, Komo began growling again. Steve rolled over, pinning Komo in the process and laughed.

    "Who's better now?" Steve said as Komo growled and  rolled out from under Steve.

    Komo bit Steve's leg and the caused Steve to muffle his cry of pain, not wanting to upset you. Steve grabbed Komo and they began wrestling on the ground in a full out brawl. Let's just say, Steve hates that dog.

~~~~~~~

      The 10th time Steve saw Komo was his worst nightmare. You had asked Steve to look after Komo for a few days because you had to rush home for a family emergency. Steve of course said yes, and you had dropped Komo off that night.

    Steve locked his door that night and stood in his room contemplating on how he was going to survive the next few days. Steve reached into his pocket and felt the velvet box. He was going to to ask to you marry him, he was sure you were the one. There was only one obstacle, and that was Komo.

    Steve woke up the next morning and cautiously opened the door. Komo began to growl from the other side and he quickly closed it and locked it again. Steve bolted to his phone and dialed Bucky's number.

    "Hey, Steve. What's up?"

    "I need help! There is an angry german shepherd in my house and I have no idea what to do!" Steve exclaimed.

    Bucky chuckled on the other side of the phone. "Let me guess, you're babysitting Y/n's dog."

    "Dog? More like a demon! Do you remember what I told you he did last time?! He tripped me, making me drop my chicken tenders, and he even had the audacity to interrupt my kiss with Y/n before I left!"

    "Oh Steve. Do you need me to come over and help?" Bucky asked as he held back another chuckled.

    "Yes, please." Steve said as he heard Bucky shuffling on the other side of the line.

    "Alright, I'll be there in ten. Key is still under the mat?"

    "Yup. But beware when you enter. That dog is a monster!"

    After Steve put his phone down, he prepared for battle. Anything could happen in the war zone. Steve pulled his shield from out of the closet, and sighed. This was gonna be ruff. (Pun intended)

~~~~~~~

    Bucky got to Steve's house and unlocked the door. He entered the house and everything seemed fine. Bucky closed the door behind him and saw something zoom past him. Was it the demon? Bucky checked his surrounding and then took another step. Komo kept out of nowhere and pinned Bucky to the floor.

    "Steve!" Bucky shouted as he tried to scramble away from the gigantic dog. "I need back up!"

    Komo was growling and Bucky began to tussle with the him. He was greatly surprised by the dog's strength and pure attack attitude.

    "I'm coming Bucky!" Steve said charging out of the room, pillows strapped to his back and chest, shield in his hand..

    Steve tackled to dog, giving Bucky time to get up.

    "Get to my room!" Steve said as he tried to pry Komo off of him.

    Bucky didn't need to be told twice, he dashed into the room quicker than Pietro. Steve was able to throw Komo onto the couch, and then Steve darted into his room, Komo trailing behind him.

    Once Steve jumped into his room, Bucky quickly closed and locked the door behind him. They heard snarls and growls coming from the other side and back away from it. Bucky turned toward Steve and quirked an eyebrow.

    "Pillows? Seriously?"

    Steve huffed. "I needed to protect my body."

    "That's what the shield is for." Bucky said as he sat on Steve's bed.

    "You can never be too careful." Steve said with a shrug.

    "So, are we trapped in here till dinner?" Bucky asked.

    Steve looked at Bucky like he had glowing green skin. "Are you crazy? Forget dinner! We need to know how to get to the bathroom in one piece!"

    Bucky looked at Steve unamused.

    "I'm sorry. I have to use the bathroom, and I don't have one connected to my bedroom!" Steve said as he ran his hand through his tussled hair. "I think we should call Sam."

    "What? No!" Bucky refuted. "Like he would fair any better than us."

    "Well, he had mentioned before that he had worked with war dogs before, and that demon, er, I mean, Komo is a retired war dog."

    "No. Not until we reeeeeaaaaalllly need it." Bucky said crossing his arms.

~~~~~~~

    "Okay, okay! Call Sam!" Bucky said, making Steve jump.

    "It's only been 10 minutes." Steve said turning toward Bucky.

    "I can't bear the thought of going without dinner!"

    "Good, because I didn't think you could bear me squirming much longer. I really gotta go."

~~~~~~~

    "Sam can you stop laughing and just get your butt over here?!" Bucky growled over the phone.

    "I'm s-sorry. I just...(Sam laughs loudly) You guys are being schooled by a dog." Sam said breathlessly as he wiped a tear from his eye. "I'll be over soon."

    Bucky angrily set the phone down and grumbled. "I hate Sam."

    "Well, he's about to help us, so be grateful."

    "I hope that dog attacks him."

~~~~~~~

    Sam opened the door and saw no one. He rounded the hallway. Worst mistake of his life. Komo was waiting like a creepy stalker and pounced.

    "Help! Help! Somebody help me!" Sam cried as Komo began to bite his pants, causing them to rip. "Help!"

    Komo was growling and biting Sam's leg as he cried out in fear. "Steve! Bucky! Get yours butts out here!"

    Meanwhile...

    Bucky and Steve were blasting music inside of the room. Jammin' out and trying to forget that there was a horrid beast on the other side of the door. Bucky and Steve began singing to Asher Angel's Guilty.

    "Do you feel guilty?!" They sang in unison.

    They just kept singing, trying to forget the world.

    Back with Sam...

    "Back away! Back away you demon!" Sam said, rolling pin in hand as he swung it toward Komo.

    Sam looked like a disaster. His face was scratched up and his pants were in shreds, revealing his pink heart underwear. Sam was a mad man. Flailing his rolling pin of destruction any time Komo came near. He threw a dog treat he had in his pocket to the far side of the room. Komo bolted after it and Sam took his chance. He ran toward Steve's room, desperately trying to open the locked door. He banged on it as Komo began edging toward him once again.

    "Guys! Open this door! Open it now!" Sam screamed as he banged ferociously on the door.

    Bucky and Steve...

    "Picture perfect you don't need no filter!" They sang as they danced around the room.

    "Wait...do you gear something?" Bucky asked.

    "No, who would it be..."

    "SAM!" They exclaimed in unison.

    They quickly unlocked the door and looked for Sam. They heard his girl like screams as he was being dragged away by Komo.

    "He's a goner." Bucky said closing his eyes in fake sadness.

    "Bucky! We have to do something!" Steve said grabbing his shield.

    "Fine."

    After strapping pillows around them, they went into the danger zone. They followed Sam's screams down the hall and saw Sam desperately fighting for his life.

    "Now!" Steve called as Bucky tackled Komo to the ground pining Komo.

    Sam scrabbled up, fear swirling in his eyes, as he kept shouting, "Demon! Demon! Demon!"

    With the quickness of lightning, the trio ran into Steve's room. They were huffing and puffing as they locked the door behind him.

    "Who's the victim now?" Bucky said as Sam glared at him.

    "Don't. Just don't." Sam growled.

    Steve's phone began to ring. Steve picked it up and you began to talk.

    "Hi Steve. Is everything going alright?" You asked with a smile on the phone.

    Sam snatched the phone out of Steve's hand and began yelling into it.

    "It's a demon! It's a demon dog!"

    Steve grabbed the phone out of Sam's hand and glared at him.

    "Is Sam okay?" You asked with concern.

    Steve let out a transparent chuckle. "Of course honey. We just watched a scary movie and Sam is a little spooked. Everything is just peachy."

    "Oh, that's good." You said with a sigh of relief. "How is Komo?"

    Steve took in a deep breath. "Just great honey." Steve lied.

    "That's good. I was worried he would be a little scared with me gone, but it seems like you have everything under control. I love you." You said making a kiss noise.

    "I love you too." Steve said with a smile. "Goodnight love."

    "Night Stevie." You said hanging up.

    Once the call ended, Bucky pushed Steve. "Why didn't you tell her she owns a very scary creature and that it's torturing us?!"

    "I didn't want her to worry, and I don't want this to ruin our relationship. I love Y/n with all my heart." Steve said as Bucky shook his head.

    "Great. We're gonna die." Sam said with a laugh.

A/n: Part 2? Let me know!

#steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson #Fluff #humor #dog #marvel #x reader

[mlmxreader]

The Leash | Dan Torrance

request; "“Are you… are you seriously jealous right now?” with Dan being the jealous one? Love you, Jack!" // ANON

notes; gender neutral reader, jealousy, mentions of alcohol/addiction, Daddy!kink but it only comes up once 🥴

The dog inside Dan's head was barking, loud and gruff, tugging at the leash that kept it chained up, years of sobriety had made him an expert at keeping it that way, years staying away from whisky and rum had rendered that dog quite sedated; but his temper was flaring as he watched you get chatted up by Billy, his own best friend. Laughing and giggling like little kids with crushes. It made Dan clench his jaw as he swallowed thickly and did his best to keep the dog on the leash.

It wasn't like Dan was normally one to get jealous, he trusted you more than anyone else in the world, and he knew you would never walk away from him, even though he often thought that it would be for the best at times; he couldn't help the jealousy that pulled at the chain links of the leash as he watched you place a hand on Billy's arm, doubling over in laughter. Dan trusted Billy, sure, Billy was his best friend and was his only friend for far too long, but he couldn't help the jealousy as he dragged his feet over to you, coming to stand beside you as he laid his hand on the small of your back, his beautiful blue eyes burning as he glared at you.

"We should go," Dan said, hoping that you wouldn't recognise the jealousy, praying that he kept it under wraps enough. The dog's barking grew louder, causing his temples to ache. "It's getting late."

You retracted your hand from Billy's arm, looking up at Dan as you slowly nodded, friendly as you bid goodbye to his friend before letting him lead you away, out onto the street; Dan had always been pretty quiet, but there was a tense feeling as he trudged alongside you, glaring at the laces of his boots. It made you frown as you gripped his arm tightly and held on. "Dan... you good?"

"Why don't you ask Billy?" He snapped with a snarl, that canine temperament coming to the obedience trial. "You seemed pretty friendly back there."

You were a little taken aback, letting go of his arm and leaning against the nearest wall, no one was around to see as you rested the sole of your shoe against the bricks, folding your arms across your chest as you raised a brow in questioning. "Danny... c'mon, are you... are you seriously jealous right now? Of Billy, as well?"

Dan shrugged, standing on the curb with his hands in his pockets, jaw clenched so tightly that it could rival a German Shepherd's grip on a bone; the dog in his head started to give some slack on the leash, backing down but not quietening down. He looked down at the cracked asphalt, blue eyes burning, enough to melt the concrete and perhaps even the nearby gutter cover, that crosshatched metal. "My best friend, (y/n), he's my best friend and you-"

You didn't let him finish as you pushed yourself off of the wall and into his arms, gripping the lapels of his jacket, the zipper digging into your hands for a moment before you snaked your deft fingertips round to his sides, pulling him in and planting your lips on his; it didn't take long for your back to end up against the wall again, Dan's hands splayed out on the bricks either side of your head as he did his best to claim you with a kiss, bruising and harsh as you eagerly and desperately tried to get closer and closer. When he deepened the kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth, you let out a soft whimper of approval before grinning, breathless when he pulled away. You laid your hand on his cheek, smiling at the way his stubble scraped your skin and tickled you. The dog ceased barking the moment his eyes met yours.

"Does that give you reason enough to not be jealous?"

Dan allowed his jaw to unclench a little as he nodded slowly, a little unsure of himself, but the way you were looking at him and how you held him... he knew that the dog was firmly back on the leash, under control, a muzzle of fine leather wrapped around its blood stained mouth. He dared to smile. "Yeah... I'm... I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me..."

"You don't have to apologise," you whispered, your hand running round to the back of his neck, the few strands of hair that dared to meet your skin making your smile broaden and brighten. "Everyone gets a little jealous, but..."

"But what?" He asked, a slight concern and worry coming over his eyes, clouding the blue.

"It's kind of hot when you get jealous," you admitted. "All dominant and... well, y'know..."

Dan smirked as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip, his brows raising slightly. "Why don't we go home? I could... could show you how uncontrollable I can be..."

"I'd love that," you agreed, a slight amusement to your voice, anticipation greeting excitement in your stomach. "Daddy."

tags; @rentskenobi @snips-n-skyguy0501 @bellobi @frosted-starlight @spnfanboy777 @aesthetically-bii

#dan torrance imagines #dan torrance imagine #dan torrance x reader #dan torrance #dan torrance one shot #dan torrance oneshot #dan torrance x y/n #dan torrance x you #danny torrance imagines #danny torrance x reader #danny torrance #dr sleep fanfiction #dr sleep x reader #dr sleep imagine #dr sleep #doctor sleep fanfiction #doctor sleep imagine #doctor sleep x reader #doctor sleep #the shining #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor x reader #ewan mcgregor #mlem writes

[oregonforestdog]

I’ve been reading Temple Grandin’s Animals Make Us Human, and something I found very interesting and powerful, is the idea of the moment before the reward being more pleasant to the animal than actually having the reward. She compares it to looking forward to opening a Christmas present. Which absolutely makes sense: for me personally, looking forward to a vacation is more fun than actually being on vacation.

However, I think of my dog and many GSDs, and that moment before being released to a reward does not seem to be particularly pleasant for them. I think of Ribby and Freya screaming with excitement and anxiety as their collars were put on to go for their walks. I think of Ivan’s whining at the doorway when I ask him to wait before being released to run outside and grab his ball. I think of doing shaping with him, and how he will begin to vocalize when he isn’t clicked on every rep anymore. For them there seems to be a higher level of frustration when they know the reward is coming, but the reward is not right now. I don’t think this is at all the same thing as what Temple Grandin is describing and I’m trying to figure out what the difference is. Clearly there is an in-between state here that I don’t fully grasp. Maybe it has to do with clarity (maybe the dog thinks maybe this time the reward won’t come?), or lack of patience. Or maybe what TG is describing is the moment I give the release (which is still before the reward is obtained) rather than the moment before the release is given. Maybe what I’m seeing is rage rather than seeking, to use the book’s terminology.

When I read that whole lines of GSDs have been selectively bred for barrier frustration, it was like a lightbulb went on for me. This is why German Shepherds make such good guard dogs, barking fiercely behind a fence. This is why GSDs are so easy to agitate to snarling frothing barks in protection work. This is why so many GSD owners seem to struggle with leash reactivity. They are so easy to frustrate. We did that on purpose.

So is that GSDs experience frustration when the reward is coming but the reward is not right now, or is it that GSDs do not like being asked to have self-control before getting a reward? This would be incredibly helpful to understand moving forward. Obviously, lowering a dog’s frustration levels in training is important, but what if the dog, at the end of the day, actually just needs to learn how to deal with frustration? How can I work on building my dog’s self control and simultaneously lower his frustration? And, how can I make sure I am rewarding my dog when he is in an appropriate state of mind, to avoid making things worse?

#this post is a mess but it intrigues me and I wish I understood it better

[prosebacon63]

The Ultimate Guide To German Shepherd Behavior Problems: Tips That Actually

How to Stop a German Shepherd Puppy From Biting (6 Bite Inhibition Games) - PetHelpful - By fellow animal lovers and experts

This post will show you why your German Shepherd has been growling at you and what you can do about … - German shepherd, Angry german shepherd, German shepherd dogs

The Only Guide for Out West - Volumes 43-44 - Page 204 - Google Books Result

It might be the case that your German Shepherd grumbles at you due to the fact that it is being aggressive ... This would be most likely if it reveals its teeth when it growls at you, it has its ears erect and it moves stiffly from side to side ... If it holds true that your German Shepherd seems to grumble at you in an aggressive method then the very best alternative for you would be to get the aid of a pet dog behaviorist in your location ... Before attempting to get your German Shepherd to stop growling at you it would assist to figure out exactly why it is doing it ...

Why Does My German Shepherd Growl at Me?

It would assist to think about the way that it grows at you ... If it shows its teeth, lunges towards you, stands more erect and moves stiffly then it would be a strong indication of hostility ... In Look At This Piece , it would be best to keep your range from it and to get the help of an expert pet behaviorist ... With that being stated, even if they do disappoint indications of aggressiveness they can still end up being aggressive ... So, it would still be necessary to be cautious when it is grumbling particularly if it does it when consuming ... It would also assist to think about when your German Shepherd started to grumble at you ...

Some things that may have happened could include: Moving homes, Someone was aggressive towards it, Somebody moved away or another family pet died, The timing of when it growls would also likely inform you a lot about why it is doing it ... For instance, if it only appears to roar when you have actually not fed it for a long period of time then it would suggest that it is advising you of that ... There are a variety of things that you can do if you want to get your German Shepherd to stop growling ... Below, I will reveal you a variety of things that you can do about it ...

#why does a german shepherd snarl

[lastpic21]

READING YOUR DOG

Though dogs have no capacity to communicate with words, they do have a rich language of their own that uses sight, sound, and smell to eloquently express their intentions and emotional states. Your ability to understand this language and its particular social setting is the cornerstone of a good relationship with your dog. The apt expression “reading your dog” means really understanding what she is saying to you and not just what you think it might be. By taking into account the dynamic interaction of various forms of body language, you can avoid problems that occur in the human-dog relationship when owners misinterpret their dogs’ intentions and moods.

For example, one of the complaints we receive from puppy owners involves submissive urination, demonstrated by a puppy who runs up to her guardian and excitedly greets her by urinating on the floor. This behavior is common in puppies, a natural outgrowth from when their mothers cleaned them by rolling them over to lick their genitals and anus. As puppies mature, submissive urination becomes a reflexive sign of their acceptance of dominance and authority. If you observe a young pup greeting an older, more dominant dog in a similar manner (crouching low, wagging tail tucked underneath, excitedly licking at the elder’s muzzle as she leaves several drops of urine on the ground), you will never see the older dog punish the pup. The expression of submission is received gracefully, with an attitude of dominant composure by the older dog as she stands erect, holding her tail high. She understands the sign completely.

Unfortunately, many owners misunderstand its significance and treat it as either a behavioral disorder or a housebreaking problem. We recall a frustrated owner who asked us, “Is she just a masochistic puppy? Doesn’t she understand? Every time I come home she piddles at my feet. I spank her, tell her how naughty she is, that she’s to do this outside, but it only gets worse. Now all I have to do is enter the house and she pees. Why doesn’t she understand?”

The man did not realize what his pup’s behavior expressed. By misinterpreting submissive urination as neurotic, cowardly behavior, and by punishing her with scolding and spanking, he had set the stage for a serious, long-lasting behavior problem. Punishment was the worst possible response to her behavior; it deepened the issue by making her even more submissive, since her body language had already acknowledged his authority. The proper response to this problem is outlined in chapter seventeen.

Expecting your dog to rise to the level of human thought and communication will lead only to frustration. Instead, learn to read her by taking what you know about dogs and stepping into her world, trying to view life from her perspective. This may require a different way of thinking than you are accustomed to.

Try a simple exercise: Imagine looking out of the eyes of your ten-week-old puppy. Do not attempt to verbalize; simply imagine being the dog. Now look up at the big human being next to you (yourself). With the increasing abilities you have as a dog to interpret human body language, what do you “read”? How do you react? Look closely at the eyes, the face, the body. Is the stance imposing and towering, or inviting? Consider the voice—you do not understand the words, but what is the tone? Is it cheerful and pleasant, or harsh and abrupt? Does it sound whiny or anemic? Now look around the room from a dog’s perspective. Observe the pair of leather shoes by the door, the large potted plant, the various pieces of furniture, and the inviting electric cords plugged into the sockets at puppy eye level. With your olfactory powers of incredible sensitivity, what is of greatest interest?

The point of this “pup’s-eye view” exercise is to till the soil of your imagination responsibly, to help you sense, in some small way, what things are like from a pup’s perspective. A good companion and trainer can enter imaginatively into the dog’s reality, interpret it correctly, and then adjust various handling procedures to fit that knowledge. Captain Max von Stephanitz, the founding father of the German shepherd dog breed, was very perceptive in this regard:

The trainer must himself be a psychologist; he must learn to read the soul of the dog, and his own, too. He must observe himself closely so that he shall not only be prevented from underestimating the dog in human arrogance, but also that he may be able to give the dog suggestions and help in an intelligent way. Whoever can find the answer to the question “How shall I say this to my dog?” has won the game and can develop from his animal whatever he likes.

When you approach your dog in this way, the experience is surprisingly multidimensional. Not only does your dog become trained but you become skilled as well, and the ongoing knowledge you acquire from your dog’s behavior has the potential to teach you as much about yourself as it does about your dog. An often neglected aspect of the training process is how your dog becomes a mirror, reflecting you back to yourself, helping you achieve greater self-awareness by drawing out greater degrees of patience, sensitivity, and emotional self-control. This is the heart of training.

In How to Be Your Dog’s Best Friend, we spoke of inseeing and its importance in your relationship with your dog. Inseeing is getting inside your dog’s psyche, putting yourself at her center, where she is a unique, individual creature, and understanding her from that perspective. This is possible only when you genuinely want to know what your dog is saying. To get inside a dog’s head, to understand her from her point of view, you must continually watch, look, and listen, since a dog communicates through her body movements and vocalizations. Inseeing is not a romantic projection of human thoughts and feelings; it takes into account the whole dog by reading what the major centers of communication—ears, eyes, mouth, tail, and body carriage—are saying.

In this chapter, we will examine the significance of these centers of communication and the different meanings associated with various gestures. Your friendship with your dog will mature into real and compassionate understanding when you learn to blend intuition with science in a serious grasp of canine communication and behavior.

Canine Communication

Besides becoming a keen observer of domestic dogs, you can also acquire an authentic sensitivity to a dog’s language by paying careful attention to the lessons available from a natural tutor: the wolf and its pack. Scientific evidence strongly suggests that domestic dogs are closely related to wolves, either as direct descendants of several species or as cousins, possessing a common ancestry in some earlier, unknown canid that is now extinct. Either way, studies performed on communication and social behavior in wolves are enormously illuminating for what they teach us about dogs, since the meaning of various postures and vocalizations are generally consistent throughout the canine family. Despite the fact that artificial selection and domestication have emphasized certain characteristics while suppressing others (for example, by promoting pendulous ears or by the unfortunate practice of tail docking and ear cropping in some breeds), all of the behavior patterns we observe in dogs are also present in wolves. Thus, in the following discussion, we gratefully acknowledge the research in canine communication and behavior carried out by wildlife biologists, ethologists, and animal behaviorists, and we include references to wolves where relevant.

Communication, simply stated, is the passing of information from one individual to another. In canines, this involves hearing, vision, and smell. As we have seen, puppies are born with inherited reflexes that are the basis of instincts—natural behavior patterns that are the means of communication. In the initial phases of life, a young puppy is limited both physically and behaviorally in how she expresses herself. As the brain develops and the pup has the opportunity of interacting with her mother and littermates, however, she becomes more and more capable of expressing a variety of different moods and emotions. These abilities continue to develop long into adulthood.

Vocal Communication

A dog, like a wolf, generally vocalizes in one of several ways, each apparently tied to various body postures that communicate different meanings and moods: whimpering and whining, growling, barking, yelping, and howling, all in a wide variety of tones.

The first vocalizations that puppies make are mewing sounds that indicate need (e.g., for food or warmth). Pups also make high-pitched grunts and squeaks when they nurse. As they grow older, the mewing sound changes into a whine, which carries over into adulthood as an expression of greeting, submission, or desire. Whining is more characteristic of dogs than of wolves (which whine only when expressing submission), and this is probably due to unintentional reinforcement by owners. Young puppies learn quickly what whining will do when their owners continually reinforce this behavior to get them to stop. A classic illustration of this is the puppy who whines the first night she is separated from her littermates. The owner, feeling sorry for her, takes her into bed and lets her sleep there. The puppy learns a fateful lesson in communication, and her whining quickly becomes generalized to any situation of want.

A growl communicates threat and antagonism. It is a warning and may be accompanied with a snarl (i.e., baring of teeth). Young canine puppies growl when they play, thereby learning proper canine etiquette; as they mature, the growl is usually serious. With wolves, it is used by a more dominant wolf over a subordinate and is usually enough to elicit submission. Dogs can utilize the growl in the same way, and if it is directed toward an owner, it signifies the dog’s attempt to assume dominance. An example of this might be an owner getting too close to her pup when she is eating. The puppy may utter a low growl as if to say, “Stay away!” If the owner backs off, the pup easily begins applying this behavior to other situations that challenge the person’s position of authority.

Most domestic dogs bark much more frequently than wolves, probably as a result of selective breeding. Since an early goal of domestication was to have dogs guard and warn, it is clear why they were bred for their barking ability. Wolves, being hunters that do not wish to alert potential prey, bark only in specific situations, such as a warning to other pack members or to the pups that a stranger is approaching. The bark is a short, quiet woof and is generally not repeated.

Domestic dogs bark anytime they are excited. Barks are short and sharp, and the tonal quality reflects meaning. High barks are associated with greetings, such as your puppy’s excited welcome when you come home; when prolonged and frantic, these vocalizations will accompany pain and/or stress and are described as yelps. Warning barks are deeper and alert you that something is up, such as the preliminary bark of the watchdog. The aggressive bark is deeper still and communicates threat. It alternates with growling to send an unmistakable message.

Howling is more common in wolves than in dogs and is their major form of vocalization. It is a prolonged tone, lasting from two to eleven seconds, and may fluctuate over a wide range of notes. Each wolf’s howl is distinct, which seems to suggest that individual wolves can be identified by their vocalizations. Specialists feel that wolves howl for a number of reasons: to reassemble the pack after they have been scattered during a hunt, to advertise territory, or simply to perform a collective celebratory rite. Wolves howl both alone and in chorus, and when they howl together they avoid unison, apparently preferring chord tones.

Dogs howl much less frequently than wolves, though the sound is normal in northern breeds such as huskies and malamutes, as well as in hounds. In our kennel work, we notice that many huskies and malamutes howl shortly after their owners leave them, presumably as an expression of loneliness, and we have periodically experienced the howling of our shepherds, most frequently while we ourselves are singing. Evidently the harmonies they hear encourage them to join in with their own notes.

[whumpiary]

VIBES: Josiah's complicated relationship with being used vs his caretaker instincts 👀👀👀 thoughts?

@wildfaewhump, this ask literally consumed all of my waking thoughts for the better part of a week and then i forgot to post the freaking drabble i wrote lmao. thaNK you for these vibes. have some introspective, flash-backy Josiah with next to no context because u know thats how i do(content warning for: descriptions of an accidentally injured animal and implied self harm/self-endangering behaviour)

—

The phone only rings twice before someone answers. 

“Hi there, can you hold?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Josiah says, hand rubbing over the back of his neck

“Great”

And there’s a click before some chirpy royalty free music starts up, occasionally interspersed with a short jingle punctuated by cartoonish barks. Busy night at the animal clinic, then. Great. 

He’d nearly missed the dog as he was walking past, lost down the back of a dumpster. But he’d heard the whine, as though something had tried for a snarl or a yelp, only to have its voice snagged on a hook, and he’d stopped. Flashing his phone light, catching the eyes flashing in shadows, and then the dark reflection of blood on concrete, the leg tangled in barbed wire snagged on the wheel of the rubbish bin. 

The jingle for the animal clinic repeated itself.

He thought for a minute about maybe leaving. Hanging up the phone and letting this be someone else’s problem. But it was cold and dark and no one would be looking for their lost mutt at two in the morning.

Besides, it was hurt.

He couldn’t just leave it. It wouldn’t be right.

-

“You ever consider going a week without getting in a fight, Ace?”

“Why would I do that when I’ve got a pretty guy like you willing to patch me up?’

It stings a little, that comment, in a way Josiah can’t place. So he frowns and doesn’t say anything, finishes placing the butterfly bandage over the split on Cass’ eyebrow. 

“There you go,” he mumbles, washing his hands off at the sink “All done”

Cass grins, head hanging lazy against the wall. He knows better than to poke and prod at the injury with Josiah still in his sights.

“What would I do without ya, sunshine?”

“Don’t call me that”

“Sorry”

The sound of the running tap fills the room with gentle white noise and Josiah keeps scrubbing at his hands, even though they’re plenty clean by now. The water’s soothing. So’s the quiet. But Cass never does well with quiet.

“Maybe I like getting myself in sticky situations just so a pretty guy like you will patch me up, you ever think about that?”

Josiah turns the tap off, eyes flicking to Cass’ blossoming black eye.

“You don’t though, right?”

Cass’ grin flickers, falters.

“What?”

“You don’t get yourself hurt just so I'll…” he trails off. It feels stupid to even finish the thought. Cass was joking. It was a joke. “Nevermind. Sorry”

-

Josiah doesn’t like dogs, as a rule. He’s never really liked them; erratic and loud and jumping up when you’re not ready.

He had come across this one a couple of times on his late night walks. It was big and stupid and liked to huff a solitary bark across the street when it saw you but it never bothered him. It wasn’t friendly, but not brutish either. Gruff and harmless

The jingle cuts short on its fifth cycle. 

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, hi, I have a dog here?” the end of the sentence curls up like a question and he clears his throat “Sorry. I’m on the corner of Johnston and Park Street and there’s this dog-”

“Is it Trevor?”

Josiah blinks.

“What?”

“German Shepherd? Red collar with a yellow tag?”

He flashes his torch light again and the dog gives a half-hearted warning growl. Gruff and harmless and hurting.

“Yeah, I guess”

“Yep, that’s Trevor. Tell her to go home, she knows where she lives,” says the woman, with the tone of voice that she gets this call at least twice a week. She goes to hang up the phone “Goodb-”

“No, wait, hold on,” Josiah says quickly and there’s a spike of panic in his voice that probably comes across as anger and annoyance but at least she doesn’t hang up “The dog’s hurt. Aren’t you guys meant to come pick her up?”

“Hurt how?”

“Her legs all cut up from some wire or something”

The woman sighs and clucks her tongue.

“Trevor, you big idiot,” she mutters under her breath, and there’s a couple of clicks of a computer mouse “Corner of Park and Johnston, you said?”

“Yeah, the alley a little way down”

“Right, well we won’t be able to get down there for a good hour or so. You right to wait with her?”

“Um…” he takes another look at the dog, crouched in defense by the wall, leg mangled. Gruff and harmless and hurt “Yeah. Yeah, sure. What should I do abou-”

“Great. See you then”

And then she hangs up. 

Fantastic.

He slumps down against the wall, committed to stay in for the long haul. He wouldn’t have been sleeping anyway. May as well not-sleep in an alleyway babysitting an idiot dog. 

The dog gives another low growl as Josiah gets comfortable, but it’s not as committed as before. A rough rumble in the back of its throat. Like it knows it should at least try and put up a fight but it’s too cold and too tired and too sick of being hurt.

“Yeah, yeah,” Josiah mumbles “Growl all you want, I’m not going anywhere”

-

“I’m not leaving, Jos”

It’s Lou’s voice through the door. Like it has been for the past four hours, on and off.

“I’m not leaving today and I’m not leaving tomorrow and I’m not leaving the day after that. I’m not leaving”

He shoves his head under the pillow. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t deserve to hear it. Unfortunately, Lou has a way of being heard when she wants to.

“I don’t give a fuck what y- what she-” there’s a low thump instead of words. Heel of a hand against plaster. A long pause. “You’re more to me than what you can do, alright? I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about any of that. I give a shit about you”

He can feel his throat closing up with grief because God she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how worthless he is now. She doesn’t know. 

He can’t help her anymore. He can’t help anyone.

And she’s gonna open that door. And she’s gonna find out. And then he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

He throws a lamp at the closed door and the light globe smashes into confetti, littering the carpet.

It’s a while before Lou bothers knocking again.

-

The dog has started pulling at its own leg, alternating between licking and gnawing at where the barbed wire’s digging into its flesh, undoubtedly trying to get itself loose. A terse “hey” had worked the first few times but now it’s aggressively ignoring Josiah’s attempts to distract it.

Josiah leans towards it, clicking his fingers to try and get its attention. It turns its head as he stands up, obviously recognising his intention to approach.

It starts growling at him as soon as he takes a step, teeth bared and hackles raised, ready to attack at the first sign of aggression. Josiah puts his hands up in a surrender that the dog is never going to understand. It gives a little warning huff.

“I’m trying to help you, idiot, calm down”

-

“I can do it myself,” says Cass, teeth bared like a beast as he holds his arm by the elbow, keeping the dislocated shoulder in an approximation of the right place. He’s always like this, when it’s bad. Small injuries, cuts and bruises, a sprain that needs strapping, he groans about for hours and demands pampering for. He’ll protest that he’s dying, yelp for a band-aid, declare his disposition to fainting at the sight of blood. It was when he didn’t want help that there was something to be concerned about.

Josiah crosses his arms, blocking the path to the door.

“You said that last time and then I didn’t see you for a month”

Cass’ frown deepens and Josiah knows he’s right. It feels good to be right. It feels good, too, to fight with him on this. To insist on something. To demand the right to help. 

“That was differ-”

“Yeah and you said that last time too,” Josiah interjects “And it wasn’t”

Cass looks up at him through loose hair, wisps of it caught on his forehead where he’s sweating from the exertion of staying up right. He presses his head to the door frame, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the world. His breath, on the exhale, is almost a whine. Like wind around a cliff. 

“Y'not my nurse,” he mutters, voice husked out “Don’t need help”

But he lets his arm get taken up as Josiah reaches for it. 

Josiah watches as Cass turns his head, as if looking away will mean he’s not actually getting help, not actually weak, not actually desperate. He looks tired.  He looks so damn tired and for a moment, all Josiah wants is to hold him. Tell him it’ll be alright. But it’s… That wouldn’t be right. 

“I know you don’t,” he says instead.  It wouldn’t be right. “Alright. On three”

-

He crouches down a foot away from the Shepherd, one hand braced against the wall as he reaches for the bulk of the wire. The dog whines as it tugs at its own leg, shifting to let him in closer. Josiah smiles, despite himself, and begins to untangle the mutt from the knotted mass it’s snagged on.

Then the thing bites him.

-

“The connection we have is such an amazing gift,” says Ellie, tracing the lines of his face in the dark with her fingertips. She kisses his cheek “Imagine how much more special it would be if it was a constant. If we were bonded properly”

She’s mentioned it before, in passing. In jokes. The same way you might mention dream houses or your favourite baby names. Just testing the waters. Just making sure the thought wouldn’t scare him off.

Something like pride curls in amongst the butterflies in his stomach. To be bonded with Ellie. With smart, beautiful, incredible Ellie.

 -

“Bastard,” he says, drawing his hand back fast and hard “Bastard mutt. I’m trying to help”

The dog gives a half-bark like it’s trying to argue, or maybe apologise. Stupid, dumb, gruff, harmless, biting, bastard mutt.

-

“We could help each other, baby. Share each other’s pain, share each other’s burdens. Not just emotionally but physically. Literally. How amazing would that be?”

“You mean like in sickness and in health?” he says, smiling into her hair.

Her laugh is like a river, like a current dragging him under, like the sea.

“Yeah,” she says, and God he wants to kiss her again “Yeah, something like that”

-

Josiah sinks himself down against the opposite wall of the alley, out of the dogs reach and holds his arm up to the dim wash of the streetlight. It had got his forearm, just above the wrist. Lucky to miss an artery. The pain wasn’t so bad, a dull tearing throb along the muscle but, fuck, it was still bleeding a tonne. He takes off his jacket, and then the flannel underneath it, before putting his outer layer back on. The flannel had been five dollars a million years ago. It could stand working as a bandage for a night, the jacket could not.

“You happy now?” he asks the dog through his teeth as he tears off a sleeve and pulls it tight around the wound, one handed.

But Trevor isn’t listening. The dog’s back to trying to tear its leg from the wire with brute force. Josiah kicks his foot on the ground but it doesn’t let up. It’s gonna tear itself to shreds if he lets it keep going.

-

It’s the second time he’s found Cass unconscious in a month. Head lolling back in his chair, pulse barely bothering to keep him from dying.

-

Fuck it. He’s been bitten once now. A second one wouldn’t kill him.

-

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair that every time Josiah patches him up, makes him better, he does this to himself all over again.

When was he going to start giving a shit about staying alive? 

-

Josiah’s close enough to the pavement now that he’s near to a crawl. The dog hasn’t let up it’s growl but it also hasn’t snapped again which is good, he thinks. It keeps scooting back the further he comes in and Josiah’s close to giving up because he can’t speak dog. He doesn’t know dogs, he doesn’t like them. He doesn’t know how to tell it not to be scared. 

“Come on, you dumb mutt,” he says, offering a curled hand out “I just wanna get your leg free”

There’s a whimper and a pant as the dog pulls its head down and away, finally deciding that it’s too exhausted to put up much more of a fight. Trevor reaches her head forward, and after a few cautious sniffs, she nudges her snout into his hand, gives his arm a lick.

“Good,” Josiah murmurs, and he’s caught off guard by how good it feels to have won the thing over “Good dog”

-

“You know I’m not just friends with you because you help me out, right?” he blurts out to Mal one day, halfway through cooking dinner.

“Course not,” says Mal, with an easy smile, he barely even looks up from where he’s slicing onion “It’s at least sixty percent because Lou would kill you if you weren’t.”

“No, I mean,” Josiah stops, tries to ignore the sinking rock in his gut that’s trying to tell him he’s about to ruin everything “Even if you weren’t… I mean, even if you didn’t…”

Mal does stop, then. He puts the knife down carefully, places his hand on Josiah’s arm.

“I know, mate,” he says, with that quiet sincerity only Mal could make look effortless “You too.”

-

When the woman from the animal clinic arrives, Trevor’s resting her head on his lap, eyes sad and breath puffing out in steady heaves.

“Made a friend have you?” she says as she steps out of the car. Josiah gives the big oaf a pat with his good arm as she raises her head from his lap, clearly recognising the woman from the clinic.

“Barely,” he grunts, but his hand remains sunk in her coarse fur, and Trevor’s tail wags lazy. He shifts where he sits so the injured arm is obscured. No need for potential fussing over that mess.

“Well, thanks for waiting with her. I’ll take her off your hands now”

And Josiah watches, his back against the wall of alley and his arm still throbbing sharp, as another nurtured thing goes.

#whump drabble #caretaker whump #injured animal tw #self-endangerment #whoof this ran awaY from me #and also got real sad #but he's a sad boy what's a gal to do #answered #josiah #ellie #mal #lou #the gangs all here! #minus tucker but tucker can eat a bag of dicks #wildfaeworld #cassius

[nastybuckybarnes]

Wicked Games  -  Two

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Soulmate AU

Summary: Everyone in the world has a soulmate. And until they meet that soulmate, everyone in the world stops aging at 25. Wrongfully accused of a horrendous crime and on the run, you happen to bump into the man who’s been avoiding you for the past seventy-five years.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Injuries (Minor), Confrontation???

Word Count: 3.5K

A/n: THE GEOGRAPHY OF BROOKLYN AND ALL SURROUNDING AREAS HAS BEEN CHANGED FOR THIS STORY!!! Bucky centric chapter kinda. Idk I like it.

MASTERLIST Previous Part

Recap:

You run away from the store with a few other people then take a hard right down a back lane, leaning against a building and trying to catch your breath. You shove off of the building after another moment and run deeper into the older part of town where many buildings are either abandoned or worth millions.

As you’re running you hear a sound that makes your stomach drop.

It gets closer and closer, far louder and scarier than the sirens.

They’ve let the dogs loose on you.

~*~

You don’t think you’ve ever ran this much in your life. 

Your legs aren’t hurting anymore, they’re numb. Your lungs have seemed to stop begging for oxygen and are making do with what little they’re getting. Your head is spinning and you feel like if you don’t stop soon you’ll pass out.

Pushing yourself farther, you come across the same little forested area that brought you to this town.

Not giving it a second thought, you run between the trees, looking desperately for somewhere to hide.

“She’s in the woods! Have units on the other side waiting! We cannot let her escape!” You shiver at that voice and run deeper, head snapping up as you hear something rather promising. 

The bubbling of a water body.

You follow the sound, growing anxious as you hear the dogs barking approaching. You reach the water and hesitate for a moment, glancing over your shoulder. 

As you see all the German Shepherds running towards you, you jump into the little river, surprised at how deep it is. You swim as fast as you can, breaking the surface and gasping for breath as one of the dogs jumps in after you. 

It’s teeth latch onto your right calf and you scream, water getting into your mouth and choking you.

You desperately try to kick it off, but it’s teeth stay stuck in your leg.

“We’ve got her!” A different man shouts. You begin apologizing to the dog in your head, then lift your other foot and kick it as hard as you can. It yelps and falls off of you, whimpering as it swims back to the shoreline. 

You pull yourself up on the other side and take a step, gasping as fiery pain licks up your entire right side. 

Leg giving out, you tumble to the ground, cursing and moaning in pain. Your eyes flash open as you see the dogs back in the water, swimming across quickly, the cops not too far behind. 

Gritting your teeth, you shove the pain away and force yourself to your feet, limp-running through the trees as fast as you can. 

As the barking and yelling starts up again, your adrenaline stops the pain from being as severe. You find your way into a grassy area, and a quick look around lets you know that this is someone’s backyard. 

You’re back in the fucking town.

Moving swiftly, you make your way through the streets, realizing you’re in the old neighbourhood where not many people live.

A large, nice-looking house catches your eye and you bit your bottom lip, an idea striking you. 

You peel off your soaked sweater and carefully take off your shoes, setting a trap. As you move up the street, you drop one shoe then throw the other through the window of an abandoned, run down house. 

Limping as fast as you can to the nice house, you tear off a piece of your shirt and stick it to a board on the abandoned house, dropping your sweater outside of it.

You move fast to the nice house, eventually making it there. You drop to your knees and crawl towards the back as you hear the dogs and cops down the street. 

Testing each and every window leading to the basement of the house, you almost cry as a window slides open silently. 

Being as careful, quick, and quiet as you can be, you climb through the window, your feet landing on the hard concrete floor of an unfinished basement.

Your right leg gives out for a second time and you bite back a sob at the pain, struggling to your feet to close the window.

You crawl through the basement, searching desperately for a first-aid kit. Just as you’re about to give up and bleed out all over some stranger’s basement, the familiar Red Cross looks down at you from upon a high shelving unit. 

It takes everything you have not to scream as you pull yourself to your feet to grab the kit, but once it’s safely in your grasp you collapse onto the floor again, only a few feet away from the furnace. 

Carefully, so very carefully, you peel the fabric of your pants away from your leg, whimpering with every brush against your wound. 

It’s dark in the basement, thankfully, because if there’d been light... you doubt you’d be able to stay conscious. 

Below your right knee is soaked. And not with the cold water of the river. It’s warm and sticky to the touch.

You take a shaky breath in and open the first aid kit. The bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide is heavy in your hands, and you dread using it. So much so that you think you’d rather let your leg get infected.

Pulling up your shirt, you stuff a wad of the fabric in your mouth while tipping the open bottle over your leg. 

Your leg spasms and you scream a little, tears streaming down your cheeks at the newfound pain of the wound being cleaned.

You use half the bottle, just to be safe, then start tightly wrapping your entire calf with gauze, using an ace bandage after the gauze has run out.

With the tightness of the gauze and bandages around your leg, the fiery pain has been reduced to a dull ache, an ache that you can certainly live with.

You pull your arms to your chest and let out a shaky breath, trying to control your emotions as you think about how the Hell you’re going to escape someone’s house without getting caught.

~*~

“Again?! We lost her again?! How the fuck does she keep getting away?!” Bucky snarls, slamming his fists down on his desk.

“Calm down, Buck!” Steve’s commanding voice yells, shoving his friend’s shoulder. 

“She’s smart. Clearly she knows what she’s doing, or at least has an idea of what she’s doing. There’s only so many abandoned buildings on your street. Your house is the only inhabited one, and I doubt she’d be stupid enough to go there anyway. You can keep your eyes open in a way that the rest of us can’t. We’re setting up a perimeter as we speak and a team is searching the woods.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, the metal plates in his arm whirring softly as he tries to calm the fuck down.

“Steve, we were so fucking close. How, how does she keep getting away?” Steve sighs and sits on the brunet’s desk. 

“I don’t know. But I do know that there’s definitely a lot more to this case than we know. I looked into her family and her history. She’s basically an orphan at this point. Her mother and father both died in a car accident. Her older brother is working for NASA and hasn’t spoken to or about his little sister since their parents died five years ago. (Y/n) graduated from high school two years early with honours and got scholarships to basically any Ivy League schools. She had a hard time deciding but eventually chose to go to Princeton.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows at that. He figured you were smart, but not Ivy League smart.

“She was interested in Civil and Environmental Engineering, Evolutionary Biology, Sociology, and Soulmate Studies. Spent nearly a decade learning at Princeton, got 2 Ph.D’s and is on her way to her third.”

Bucky’s silent for a moment as he processes this. “So... Doctor (Y/l/n), huh? And no connections to anyone? Not even a best friend?”

Steve scratches the nape of his neck and sighs. “I talked to some of her co-workers. They all had generally the same story.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Bucky asks impatiently. 

“That Rumlow was against her having friends. They all essentially said that whenever he came in and saw her talking to any of her coworkers he’d have a fit. Some say she’d come to work the next day and have a hard time lifting things or would appear to be in pain when she moved.”

They’re both quiet. 

“So he was beating her, you think?” Steve shrugs, then sighs. “It would make sense as to why she called the cops. But I can’t confirm nor deny anything till we have her statement, which we will get.”

“So let’s try to create a hypothetical situation here,” Bucky begins, pacing the soundproof room slowly.

“Rumlow’s been beating (Y/n) for... their whole relationship. One day she snaps? Gets fed up and fights back harder than either of them thought?” Steve purses his lips. “Maybe Brock took it too far. I mean, any abuse is too much abuse, but what if it went beyond that? What if he wanted to do more than just hurt her.” 

Bucky freezes and turns to Steve. “You think... you think he tried to kill her? Why? Why would he even do that? They’ve been together for how many years?”

Steve sighs, “Three and a half. But I mean, maybe he was going off the rails a bit. Closer to the end there he was getting a little more antsy.”

“I think you’re grasping at straws here, Steve. When you get her statement then you can decide whose side you’re on, but until then she’s still a murderer. And she still needs to be brought in, no matter what may have happened.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “I realize that, I just don’t want to rule out the idea that it was self-defence.” Bucky nods, plopping down in the desk chair. “I’m not ruling out anything. Hell, I can’t rule out anything cause I’ve got nothing but fucking ideas to go off of.”

“But ideas are better than nothing. And we don’t have nothing. We have what her coworkers told us. We have the pictures of the crime scene. We have the autopsy, and we have... general knowledge of where (Y/n) is. I say we grab some coffees, grab the pictures of the crime scene and come up with a few plausible scenarios.”

Bucky feels his lips twitch upwards at the suggestion. 

“If you’re trying to bring back old memories to put me in a better mood... fuck you cause it’s working.” The two share a laugh and Steve stands up, shaking his arms out. 

“I’ll be back with the pictures and the coffee. You clear your desk of anything not related to this case. And maybe order a pizza or something. I have a feeling we’re gonna be here for a little while.” Bucky looks at his watch then nods. 

19:47 

“Yeah, You’re right. But I start working evenings tomorrow, so I’m going home to sleep no later than four, alright?” The captain salutes his friend then leaves the room to gather the supplies. 

Bucky orders the pizza then clears off his desk as Steve asked, trying to get himself into the correct mindset.

~

The crime scene photos are... interesting to say the least.

"The whole apartment is trashed. Like they were fighting in different rooms,” Steve notes around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

Bucky inspects the pictures carefully, the one from the bedroom holding his attention.

“Okay, give me a story for this one,” he says while pushing the picture in front of Steve.

“Well... blood on the bed... could be her period?” Bucky scrunches up his nose, not liking that possibility. “I’m no expert, but I don’t think women bleed that much.” He has a point, the white bed is soaked in bright red blood, much more than could be from menstruation. 

“Okay.... One of them is asleep on the bed and the other comes at them with a knife? Hits them but they don’t die. So person one with the knife picks up the pillow and tries to suffocate person two. Person two finds the knife, grabs it, and stabs person one somewhere then runs out of the room.” Steve points to the trail of blood leading out of the bedroom and Bucky nods.

“Person one follows person two out of the room and person two throws a vase at them. Person one tries to stab person two again with a shard of the vase but person two...” Steve trails off, trying to picture what could’ve gone on in the living room of the apartment. 

“Most of the vase shards are by the doorway to the bedroom except for one. And it’s bloody. So person two must’ve been stabbed a second time unless person two grabbed the shard and stabbed person one. Fuck, where are all those papers with the DNA tests? If we know whose blood is on which items it’ll be a shit ton easier to figure this out.” 

“Last I heard Pierce had the papers, and he wasn’t letting them go,” Steve informs. Bucky curses under his breath and takes another sip of his coffee. 

“Is he here tonight?” Steve’s eyes widen as he realizes what Bucky’s gonna try to do. 

“He’s working all week. Next Monday though he starts a four-day weekend. Has his granddaughters dance recital. So then it’ll be safe to get what you want.” Bucky groans and throws his empty coffee cup at the wall, frowning as the paper cup bounces to the floor.

“We could have things to go off of, but instead we’re stuck guessing. But that’s fine, it doesn’t matter. Back to business. I’m gonna read over the autopsy again and I’ll tell you what I hypothesized happened.”

Bucky picks up the document and starts reading thoroughly.

‘MANNER OF DEATH: Homicide.

CAUSE OF DEATH: Exsanguination due to multiple stab wounds. (trunk and lower extremities)

FINDINGS: 1. Generalized pallor and evidence of exsanguination. 2. Multiple stab and incised wounds of trunk, lower extremities with one (1) stab wound penetrating right back into chest cavity; two (2) stab wounds penetrating right thigh; and another single (1) stab wound at lateral right chest penetrating into right lung. 3. A few other minor blunt-force injuries of head and trunk.

LABORATORY RESULTS:

TOXICOLOGY:

1. Blood: a. Ethanol: 0.16 gm%. b. Drugs: Cocaine present at less than 0.1 ug/ml; cocaethylene present at 0.2 ug/ml; quantity not sufficient for further examination. Lysergic Acid present at 1296 ug/ml. Further examination required.

2. Urine: Positive for cocaine, cocaine metabolite (ecgonine methyl ester), and cocaethylene, with negative EMIT barbiturates screen.

3. Ocular fluid: Ethanol, 0.16 gm%.

Bucky puts the paper down and rubs his eyes for a moment. 

“Rumlow was on drugs?”

Steve looks up at that then snatches the papers away from Bucky, skimming over the words then raising his eyebrows. 

“Shit. He was. And not a small amount either, it seems. What the Hell... he didn’t do LSD... this is some other drug with Lysergic Acid. It has to be. But what the fuck drug would he be on? Especially when he had work that day.”

The two sit in silence, a bad feeling washing over them. “Was she ever involved in any Chemistry? Would she have been trying to develop a new drug and tested it on him?” Steve shakes his head, picking up a different file, one with your picture on the front of it.

“Nothing besides high school chemistry and a few labs for Biology. She never would’ve worked with this stuff.” Bucky groans deeply then picks up the autopsy again. “It says here that one of the stab wounds on his leg was one inch wide and half an inch deep. The knife we found at the apartment was two inches wide and six inches long. So I’m gonna guess that she stabbed him with a shard of the vase.”

Steve nods at that and sighs. “Well, what else?”

Bucky tosses the autopsy onto the desk and puts his face in his hands.

“Person one stabs person two in the bedroom. Person two stabs person one back. Person one tries to suffocate person two but person two gets away and throws the vase at person one. Person one grabs a shard and attacks person two. They fight physically for a while until one of them eventually gets stabbed twice in the chest, thus killing them.” Steve nibbles his bottom lip for a moment then shakes his head. “This would be so much easier if we knew what her injuries were... are. Because she couldn’t have possible escaped unscathed. Hell, I’m kinda surprised she escaped at all.” Bucky nods, grabbing another piece of pizza and starting to read a different paper, hoping it’ll give him any evidence he needs to move further with this case.

~

Bucky heads home at three, having a hard time keeping his eyes open after over 36 hours of non-stop working. 

He unlocks the door to his house and pushes inside, closing and locking the door behind himself then walking to the couch. He plops down and closes his eyes, tempted to fall asleep in his uniform right then and there.

Slowly he opens his eyes, something about his home not feeling right. 

Taking a deep breath, he furrows his brows. 

It smells like chemicals. 

Instinctively he grabs his gun, switching off the safety and moving silently around the main floor of his house. 

His heart is beating quickly in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

He moves to search the second floor, eyes alert and looking for anything that may be out of place. Every single room he searches is empty and the exact same as he left if before leaving for work whichever day he left.

That leaves only the basement.

~*~

A door squeaking wakes you from your light sleep and you open your eyes, fear filling you as you hear someone take slow steps down the stairs. 

Pushing yourself to your feet, you move as far away from the stairs as you can get, finding yourself cornered by a locked window.

It takes you a moment to work up the courage to try the lock and when you do, you thank your lucky stars.

It slides silently out of place, the window pushing out with a soft ‘pop’. You bounce a few times to gain momentum and right as you’re about to jump, a booming voice shouts at you.

“Hey! Get the fuck down from there, raise your arms above your head!” 

The voice makes you shiver and you slowly raise your arms, head falling down in defeat.

“Turn around slowly. Keep your hands up.” You do as he demands, your right leg burning. 

“Lift your head up.” You reluctantly do so, your breath leaving you as you see the man.

You focus on his gun for a moment then move to his face, hating him immediately.

He’s absolutely gorgeous. Deep, enticing icy blue eyes; a jaw carved by Michelangelo himself, which is covered in a scruffy beard; brown hair falling out of a man bun and framing his perfect face.

Fuck this attractive man for pointing a gun at your chest. Fuck him for looking like a fucking Adonis while wearing a godforsaken police uniform. Fuck yourself for choosing his house to hide in.

You can’t think of anything else, your world blurring and spinning due to anxiety and blood loss. You drop your arms despite his words and try to steady yourself. It’s no use, however, because in an instant you’re falling to the ground and the world is going black.

~*~

Bucky stares in shock as you lie unmoving on the ground, your chest moving steadily but your eyes closed.

He puts his gun away against his better judgement and pushes your hair out of your face, staring at you for a few more moments.

You’re absolutely breathtaking. So much more beautiful than the pictures he’s seen. And you're right here. The last, biggest piece of this puzzle is in his basement. 

But for some dumb reason, he doesn’t want to turn you in just yet. A selfish part of him wants to hear your side of things before he brings you to the station where you’ll be questioned and treated like garbage. As far as the majority of the station is concerned, you’re a coldhearted killer. Your fate is sealed there.

He slaps your face twice lightly, looking for any kind of twitch. When he doesn’t see any he scoops you up in his arms and walks upstairs. He puts you into the bathtub and cuffs your hands behind your back, his eyes finding the wound on your calf. 

He reaches for it instinctively, wanting to make it better, then rips his hand back. He stares at his own hands in shock and disgust before getting up and walking out of the bathroom, locking the door on the way out.

He heads upstairs and closes and locks his door, desperate for a shower and a chance to clear his mind.

Kicking off his boots, pants, and utility belt, he starts calming down a bit. Making sure to lock his gun away and bringing the key into the bathroom with him. 

He turns the water on hot and lets it run for a few moments, undressing all the way then stepping under the water and letting it soothe his muscles. A soft groan leaves his mouth, and he can’t help but think about you. 

His mind conjures up the image of you, shirt clinging to your body after your swim earlier, showcasing curves that weren’t documented in any file. He hisses at himself and shakes his head hard, trying to shake the thoughts of you away.

He finishes his shower quickly, feeling more relaxed than he would’ve thought, and gets changed into some sweats and a tight black t-shirt. He lies down on the bed and takes a deep breath, body and mind ready for at least a few hours of sleep before he goes and deals with the stressful issue in the bathroom.

The problem that seems to be occupying his thoughts in a way he really didn't think was possible.

~*~

TAGS:

FOREVER:

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MARVEL:

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BUCKY:

@chuuulip @buckyssoul @nerd-without-a-cause @natashasnight

WICKED GAMES:

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[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: Disinhibited

An excerpt from the journals of Combat Search & Rescue Consultant Lana McGee, as provided by Myna Chang Art by Luke Spooner

Don’t call me a mercenary. Those guys are pricks. Kidnappers and murderers, the lot of them. I’m not like that. Sure, I get paid for my work, and yeah, I love a good explosion. Who doesn’t? But my job is to save people. Pull them out of bad situations. Bring them home safe.

I’m not an asshole.

“I didn’t think you were, Ma’am.”

Oh shit, did I say all that out loud?

“Yes, Ma’am, you did.”

Wow, this pilot doesn’t look old enough to shave, let alone fly a chopper.

“I shave, Ma’am.”

“You heard that, too?”

“Yes, Ma’am. My CO warned me this might happen.”

“Name’s Lana, not Ma’am. So, they told you about my disability?” Their word, not mine.

“They said you got a piece of shrapnel in your head. War souvenir. Said you blurt out whatever crosses your mind.”

“Yep,” I nod. “Frontal Lobe Disinhibition. Basically, if I think it, I say it. That’s why I’m freelancing now.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Not a merc. Got it.”

Pilot’s quick. And he does shave. Sexy stubble. Yum. Like to run my tongue up that jawline and–

“Due respect, Ma’am, I’m authorized to tell you to shut up.”

I bite my rogue tongue hard enough to draw blood. Damn it, Lana. Stop scaring the cute flyboy.

He flicks his eyes toward me and grins. “Truth is, Ma’am, I don’t scare easy.”

Oh. Well, then. I smile and shift in the seat. “Just to be clear … You wouldn’t mind–”

“Approaching the drop zone, Ma’am.”

I chuckle. His smile turns to a blush. Tease. “Fine, kick me out of your helicopter. Come on, Diamond, we’ve got people to rescue.”

My German Shepherd sits while I attach a jump harness to her K-9 armor. Takes about three seconds. We’ve done hundreds of these short jumps, and it never gets old. She woofs, ready to go.

“Godspeed.”

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“Both of you, Ma’am.”

He maneuvers the chopper over the moonlit compound and flashes a cheeky grin at me again. I try to keep my mouth shut, but as usual, the words tumble out.

“I’m probably gonna lick your stubbly jaw when this mission’s over, Pilot. Diamond might, too.”

“Countin’ on it, Ma’am.”

I laugh and step into the air.

~

The research facility sits on a swath of blacktop, devoid of plant life, a big wart on a bald head. The gate hangs open. I toss a handful of debris at the razor-wire fence, but it doesn’t spark. Looks like the power’s out. Not a good sign.

I was hoping this job would be a quickie: rescue the dashing scientist, secure his peculiar research, get home in time for dinner. Guess I should’ve known better. Anything involving Chase Mathews isn’t going to be easy.

“At least the compound hasn’t been bombed yet, huh girl?”

Diamond doesn’t respond. She’s good like that.

A Jeep sits abandoned near the fence. Wet-looking handprints smear the windshield, and a case of medical supplies has toppled onto the asphalt.

We skirt it, watching for movement, hoping for some sign of life as we approach the entrance. Nothing stirs. I tighten my grip on the MTAR submachine gun strapped across my chest, and we enter the facility.

Lobby’s dark, except for orange warning lights at the guard’s terminal. My NVGs flare in time with the flashes, so I pull them off. Diamond’s night vision is more reliable than the goggles, anyway. She’s the most capable combat partner I’ve worked with; I trust her with my life.

She nudges me. I nod, and she ghosts away, into the darkness. Nothing will get past her. A low growl, five yards to the right, alerts me to an enemy combatant. I bring my MTAR to bear, just in time. Two quick bursts, and the bad guy goes down.

I love this fucking gun. Compact and efficient, with a little kick. Kind of like me.

Diamond circles the lobby, vigilant, then returns to my side. I prod the body splayed in front of me. Scrawny dude, white lab coat. Blisters all over his face.

Or are those pustules? Jesus, that’s nasty looking. Diamond keens and backs away. I follow her lead. A blister-thing quavers and ruptures, spurting out thick goo. Hard to tell in the darkness, but I think it’s green.

I’ll never eat lime Jell-O again. Diamond rubs her head on my thigh; she won’t either.

“Come on, girl. Our dashing scientist isn’t going to rescue himself.”

She snorts her disapproval. Diamond had never liked Chase. She’d peed on his shoes every chance she got. My dog’s smart. I should have listened.

~

We creep down the hallway behind the guard station. Emergency lights flicker, strobing the corridor in snapshots of weirdness.

Flash. Body on the floor.

Flash. Smear of blood.

Flash. Heap of clothing, soaked with green sludge.

I wish the freakin’ light would either stay on or go dark. Vertigo pulses with every disco blink.

Diamond lets out a cautionary rumble, and I pull up my gun, ready to fire. A woman covered in angry boils slumps on the floor, back against the wall. She reaches out blindly, hands grasping air.

My first-aid kit’s in my pack, but I’m not ready to take my finger off the trigger guard; Diamond’s hackles are still up. The woman’s mouth opens and tainted saliva gushes out. Looks like pond scum.

I don’t think my emergency band-aids will do you much good, lady.

She jerks toward my voice, moaning. Spit froths on her lips. Several of her boils burst, popping like firecrackers, loud enough I can hear them over my thundering heartbeat. Syrupy goop, smelling of burnt licorice, oozes from the sores. Her body cants sideways and her shoulder hits the floor.

Nothing I can do will help her now. Maybe we’ll find a miracle cure in the lab. Diamond and I hug the far side of the hallway, avoiding her still-seeking arms. The thick fluids pooling around her body seem to throb in time with the emergency lights, and the cloying odor intensifies as we pass.

I’m not sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into, but I sure hope this bug isn’t airborne. Our combat armor should protect us from physical contaminants, but it doesn’t do anything to block out the stink.

We come to a junction. I remember the blueprints and hang a left. The bulb in this hallway’s dim, but at least it’s not blinking. Unfortunately, the path is blocked by a mass of writhing bodies.

All naked–explains the abandoned clothes back there–dotted with throbbing cysts. Many have already ruptured, leaving curdled trails of emerald slime. I stare, fascinated. The people are fusing together; everywhere the goo touches, their skin melds. Limbs, feet, heads, all merging into one giant blob.

Diamond paws the floor. One of the faces snaps up, focusing its attention on her. We back away. A distorted jaw juts out, leering. It trembles, and a body begins to emerge from the fused clump of flesh, first a shoulder, then a torso. Straining to reach us, it makes a squelching slurp and tears free–an arm, two legs.

The legs don’t match.

My stomach turns. The newly assembled monster stumbles and lurches at Diamond.

I shoot it in the head. It stops, but doesn’t fall, so I pop it again, center mass, where a heart and lungs should be. It totters for a split second before collapsing.

Diamond whines; the rest of the entangled mound of creatures squirms toward us. Maybe the gunfire got its–their?–attention. They stretch and heave, inching closer. Unnatural liquids gurgle and flesh splits as they rip themselves apart, rubbery appendages groping relentlessly in Diamond’s direction.

I flip the toggle on my MTAR to full auto and spray the clusterfuck. No way in hell those abominations are gonna get sticky with my pup. I let up on the trigger and watch for movement, then give them another blast, just to be sure.

I guess a full magazine was enough to do the job, which is good because, damn, that’s a scary pile of monsters. But now the hallway’s coated in weird-colored gore. Not gonna risk going through that mess. Doesn’t matter, though. According to the map, all hallways lead to the inner lab, where the research stuff should be stored.

And Chase. Can’t forget him, the handsome, charming scientist. My ex.

~

Don’t call me a mercenary. Those guys are pricks.

The electronic lock is toast and the lab door won’t open. Something’s wedged it shut. I kick it, hard, but that only hurts my foot.

“Chase? Are you in there?” Hope he’s not glued to the mishmash back in the hallway.

Diamond watches my back while I pound on the reinforced steel.

“Lana? Is that you?”

“Yeah, and I wanna see if you still turn me on.” Damn it.

“Are you infected?”

“I can still talk, can’t I?” Of course I can. It’s my biggest problem.

The door cracks open. He squints at me.

“Why’d they send you?”

“No one else’d take the job.” True story.

Diamond and I squeeze through the door and shove it closed again.

“Did you bring a platoon of Marines to save me?” Chase demands.

I spread my arms. “Just us.”

He groans.

Not as charming as I remember.

“If you’re all they sent,” he says, “they’re going to nuke the whole island, aren’t they?”

“Probably. I figure we’ve got another hour before the bombing starts.”

“No, no, no, it’s too valuable,” he mutters, already ignoring me.

Feels like old times.

His motions are jerky. He grabs a backpack and shoves miniature computer drives and scraps of paper into it.

Definitely not a turn-on anymore. Looks like hell, all bug-eyed and twitchy. Kinda soft around the edges.

He stops and glares at me.

Stinks, too.

“Still the motor-mouthed bitch.”

Oops. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, you did. You’ve always been an asshole. The piece of shrapnel just makes it more obvious.”

That hurts. Gotta admit it. A muffled thud from the hallway preempts my snarky response. Diamond snarls, low and intense. The warning tone sends goosebumps up my spine.

“Chase, what happened to those people?”

He shrugs. “Sample got out. Spread a lot faster than I expected.”

“Sample? The research I’m supposed to retrieve?”

“Thought you were here to rescue me.”

“Yeah, but boss-man said you’re low priority. ‘Get the research,’ he said. ‘Grab the scientist, too, if you can.’ That’s what he said.”

“God, I hate the military,” Chase spits.

I have to agree, at least a little. CO didn’t mention the rest of the research staff. Guess the woman in the hall is zero-priority in his book. I call bullshit on that–I’ll save whoever I can.

“Is there a cure, or an antidote?”

“Why?” he asks, backing away from me. “Did you get any of the transfer medium on you?”

“You mean the green goo? No. But maybe some of the others are still alive.”

He goes back to rifling through the science junk on his desk. “I only make the contagions. Cures are someone else’s department.”

Seriously? “So you’re a full-on mad scientist now?”

“I prefer bioweapon engineer.”

I stare at him. Has he always been this cold-hearted?

Diamond barks, two short yips. That’s a yes.

Chase rolls his eyes and I realize I’ve spoken out loud again. He glares at Diamond.

“Bitch.”

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“What do you think?” He shoulders past me, opening a biohazard safe. Polished steel containers crowd the shelf. They look like those expensive vacuum insulated tumbler thingies. He yanks one out.

“You keep your weaponized slime in a fancy coffee cup?”

He sneers and shoves the container into the backpack. “I can’t believe they sent a brain damaged mercenary to rescue me.”

That’s ‘value-priced consultant’ to you, jerkface. Diamond snarls, exposing her fangs.

“Can you both shut up?” His hands shake.

Wait. Faster than he expected? How did the sample get out?

“A test,” he answers. “Proof of concept for the buyer.”

“You infected those people on purpose? So you can sell that stuff?”

He laughs. “You weren’t very smart, even before the shrapnel.” He zips his pack and turns.

Something’s wrong with his face.

Diamond’s growl modulates into a high-pitched howl–her extreme danger signal. Almost too late, I realize why: Chase is infected. I didn’t see it before. Hard to miss now.

I raise my MTAR. A smudge of emerald gel shimmers on the edge of the safe behind him. “Don’t move.”

He gapes at me, incredulous. “Put the gun down, Lana.”

I shake my head. “You must’ve gotten sloppy with your death jelly.”

“How dare you?” He frowns and scratches at a freshly blossoming pustule on his right cheek. His fingers drip green. “No!”

Diamond moves into a defensive position, guarding me. Chase stares dumbly at his stained hand. He raises frightened eyes to mine.

“Lana, help me.”

My gun barrel wavers. Diamond barks, short and sharp, warning him to stay back, reminding me to follow protocol. Chase reaches out to me.

“Please–” His voice devolves into a mewl. Sanity, whatever’s left of it, drains from his eyes. His face morphs, cheeks melting in a slurry of jade-colored paste. Pus drips from his scalp. He screams and launches himself at me, and for the first time in my professional career, I freeze.

But Diamond doesn’t.

She meets him mid-air, bashing into him with her shoulder. She ricochets off his body, crashing to the floor a few feet from where he lands. Teeth bared, she’s up in an instant, but he’s already charging toward her, crablike, faster than I’ve ever seen him move.

Diamond! Don’t bite him!

I don’t know if I’ve screamed or if she’s read my mind, but she keeps her mouth off him. We slide into a familiar rhythm of charge and retreat, strike and evade. She dodges, giving me a clear shot. I squeeze the trigger. Chase’s head explodes.

Clabbered wet tissue splatters across his desk. Ears ringing, I inch closer and nudge the slack body, but it doesn’t move. His entire head is gone. I doubt anything could survive that, but I give him a double tap, two to the chest, to be safe. Then I drop the gun and rush to Diamond.

You stupid dog. Did the goo splash you? I run my hands over her armor, up and down her legs, check her mouth and her teeth. After examining her doggie armpits for the second time, my panic dissipates. She’s okay; the K-9 gear did its job. She nuzzles my face, and I realize she’s cleaning up my tears. I wrap my arms around her, trembling. Good girl.

~

I call for evac and wait for the thump of chopper blades to split the air.

On a normal mission, I’d feel rotten about failing to bring my target home alive. This time, not so much. I drag a clean duffel behind me. It’s filled with Chase’s notes and computer drives, but not the bio sample. I left that crap behind for the bombs to take care of.

The chopper circles. I flash my light, three quick blinks, and it lands.

“Look, Diamond, it’s the yummy pilot.”

She woofs and thumps her tail.

“Oh, you approve of this one?”

She barks twice; that’s a yes.

“Okay then, let’s go give him a lick.”

Combat Search & Rescue Consultant Lana McGee specializes in the retrieval of personnel and property from high-risk environments. McGee is assisted by a Hero-Class German Shepherd named Diamond. McGee has recently raised her consultation fees, and now charges a premium for any “mad scientist bullshit.”

Myna Chang writes flash and short stories. Her work has been featured in Daily Science Fiction, The Copperfield Review, Defenestration, and Dead Housekeeping, among others. Find her @MynaChang or read more at mynachang.com.

Luke Spooner, a.k.a. ‘Carrion House,’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree, he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales, his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy, or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility, as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.

“Disinhibited” is © 2019 Myna Chang Art accompanying story is © 2019 Luke Spooner

Fiction: Disinhibited was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#Genetic Engineering #Lana McGee #Luke Spooner #Myna Chang #Virology