#rehomed him and am never getting another pet of any kind ever and also am having a hysterectomy.

[anonaverse]

I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS I HATE PARENTS if you get mad at your kid for being a kid and then are slamming things around in the kitchen and stomping THEY CAN TELL that its because of them theyre not fucking stupid and theyre not going to learn not to be a kid because of you acting that way or worse they ARE

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 1

this is the first part of a story I’m working on; it will be full of my fav whump trope, which is the whumpee being safe but not realising and doing their best to serve their new Master. There will also be some no-nonsense whump in later chapters for good measure!!

CW: pet whumpee, dehumanisation, references to past abuse, vomiting from fear, swearing

-

Tomas’s phone rang and he jumped. He’d been waiting for the call all week. "Hello?" he answered, trying to sound calm.

"Hey, man." The deep voice was unmistakably his friend, Kasia. "You still up for rehoming a pet? We just got one in this morning."

Tomas squeezed his free hand in excitement. Ever since he’d started working from home, he’d been wishing he had something to keep him company. This was perfect. "Yes, absolutely. How did you get it?"

"Well, we buy them from their owners, y’know. So it’s all legal. And you won’t have any angry owner coming after you wondering why you stole their pet," Kasia laughed, and Tomas guessed that’s exactly what used to happen. "This one looks rough, though. I’m glad we got ‘em before they just got dumped in the street. I’ll text you the payment details now. Listen, I hope you don’t mind, but we’re mad busy today. Big pet auction on. Is it okay if I just drop it outside your house? I can’t stop for chat."

"No, no, that’s fine. I’ve got everything ready," said Tomas, glancing at the cage, collar and lead he’d bought.

"Okay, see you soon!" Kasia hung up just as Tomas realised he didn’t even know what kind of animal he was getting. He knew Kasia’s group would just give him what they had, so he’d bought a fairly large cage just to be sure. In a way, not knowing made him even more excited. And his heart warmed at the idea of giving a pet that would otherwise be chucked out a good home. He sent Kasia the money and twiddled his thumbs.

A car horn beeping outside his house, swiftly followed by wheels speeding away told him that Kasia had been and gone, and his new pet was outside. He hurried down, opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks.

On his doorstep was a cage, and inside that cage there was… a human being. He was kneeling, his hands tied to his ankles behind his back, and his face almost entirely hidden by a blindfold and gag. The cage was so tiny that the man’s back was flat against its roof, his whole body pressed down, with his forehead against the floor. Just looking at him made Tomas feel claustrophobic, not to mention sick to the core.

"What the fuck?" he swore without thinking, and the man in the cage cringed. He could definitely hear, then. "Uh, oh god, I’m sorry, I- oh god what am I doing? It’s freezing out here. Let’s just-"

He prepared himself to struggle getting the cage inside, but it was worryingly light. He held it to his chest with both hands, kicking his door shut with far more force than he intended, causing the man to flinch as it slammed. Oh god. He had to call Kasia and find out what the hell he was playing at-

Oh. Oh. Tomas stood still as the penny dropped. Kasia rehomed Pets with a capital P. Oh. Tomas took a few deep breaths. There was a man in a cage in his arms. Let’s focus on that, he thought.

He set the cage down and gingerly unlatched the top of it. Great. He’d have to lift him out.

"Right,’’ Tomas started. The man froze, and Tomas noticed he was holding his breath. "I’m just going to lift you out and get these restraints off you. Okay?"

No response. Obviously. "Okay," said Tomas, mostly to himself. He didn’t want to have to do this, but…

Placing one hand under the Pet’s neck, and the other around his bound wrists, Tomas lifted him out as quickly as he could and set him down on the rug nearby. He weighed so little, and he hadn’t struggled, even a little bit. Tomas was almost glad when he heard his breathing hitch, and saw his hands start to tremble. At least there was… someone in there. Whatever had happened to him hadn’t turned him into a husk, although it seemed like they had gotten close.

. . .

Pet listened closely as he heard his new Master walk away, and rummage for something. So soon, he thought, his heart sinking. What would it be? A knife, a whip, a torch? He wished he could move, show his Master that he was capable of being good, that he didn’t need punishing. The hand around his neck as he was being moved had already reminded him of his place.

Stupid pet! He had been thrown out. His old master had gotten tired of him. And what was he doing, thinking he knew better than his Master? Of course he needed punishing, and if it helped him learn to be good for his Master, then he wanted it. He would take anything if it meant he could be a good Pet.

"Let’s get you out of those," his Master said, his voice travelling downwards as he sat to reach Pet’s restraints. Suddenly something cold, and metallic, and sharp, pressed into his cheek, and he whimpered loudly before he could stop himself. It wasn’t cutting into him yet, just running over his skin as a warning of what Master could do if he wanted. At the sound of his crying Master stopped, but the tool stayed tight against his face, wedged under the blindfold. Not one minute since Master had got him and he was already being disrespectful. His hands shook harder, bracing himself to be hit. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-

"No, no, they’re just scissors," Master said. He felt his stomach turn over. Just scissors. There must be so much worse awaiting him. Master resumed and Pet felt the fabric rip until it came away completely, and he was allowed to see. Pets weren’t to look directly at their Master, he knew this. He could follow this rule. He hadn’t been hit yet, and he dared to hope that his Master was in a forgiving mood.

Soon, Master had cut away all of his restraints. "Sit up, please. That looks uncomfortable. And I want to see your face."

Pet lifted his chest up immediately, ignoring the way his muscles screamed at the sudden movement. Still kneeling, he obediently faced the floor as his Master inspected his new property.

"Hey." An open hand appeared in his line of sight, and Pet screwed his eyes shut to avoid the worst of the slap. Instead, however, fingers gently landed on his cheek, turning his head upwards. Pet’s eyes opened to find Master staring straight at him. "It’s okay, I just- you were zoning out." Pet cringed- he was so nervous his behaviour was slipping. No slap, it seemed. It had been another warning. Or maybe Master just liked seeing him flinch. At least with his old master, Pet could often predict his moods and how Pet would be punished. He felt so vulnerable, with this new Master whose wants and rules he didn’t know yet.

He knew he couldn’t have wants, but he wished he was allowed to speak, to apologise and beg Master to punish him, to get it over with. All he could do was keep his eyes on the ground and try to stop himself from shaking quite so badly. He was on a rug; behind Master he had seen an open kitchen that lead on to a living area. It was spacious and warm. Master was tall and elegant, with wavy blonde hair, and well-built. He had already proven that Pet was nothing for him to lift up. The more he thought about it, the more he realised how easily his Master could hurt him, the more he felt he might faint. The slightest movement hurt, his whole body ached from being in the cage, he couldn’t even curl in on himself if Master decided to punish him. He felt weak with fear.

"Can you speak?" Master asked him. Did he mean physically? Or was he testing how well trained he was? It had to be the second one. He hoped. Either way he knew not to keep his Master waiting. Pet shook his head nervously- no, I am not allowed to speak.

Risking a glance at his Master’s face, he saw he was frowning. He had given the wrong answer. His legs were in agony- he hadn’t stopped kneeling since he’d been tied up and caged, and his mind was whirling, and- "Are you physically able to speak?"

At this, Pet was sure he was going to throw up. When he spoke around his old master, when he cried out in pain or broke down and begged, he was always beaten soundly for it, but that’s where it ended. Here, Pet realised with a sickening jolt, his new Master wasn’t going to leave any room for mistakes. It wasn’t good enough that he didn’t speak- Master wanted to make sure he couldn’t. Maybe he’d take the scissors to Pet’s tongue, or crush his voice box, or sew his mouth shut-

His stomach heaving brought him back to reality and he pitched forward, grabbing a hand to his mouth and almost smacking into Master’s chest. Oh god, now he’d really done it. Pet tried to force himself back up but every movement pushed him closer to vomiting. He was aware that Master had gone and grabbed something from a cupboard, and was now holding it under his face.

"-in there, okay? Be sick in there, if you need to," Master was telling him. Pet obeyed and soon his throat was red-raw and his stomach felt emptier than ever. "There, get it out, that’s it."

Master pushed the bucket to one side, and Pet had never felt so miserable in his life. He had just thrown up in front of his new Master, he could feel tears welling up, and he still hadn’t answered Master’s question! He opened his mouth to beg, but caught himself and clamped his lips shut.

"You want to say something? Go on," Master said. Pet took a shallow breath.

"I-I can speak, Master. B-but, I," he felt the floodgates open as fear took hold of his better judgement, "-but please, please Master, I swear, I can keep quiet, I’ll be good I promise, pl-please don’t, please, I’ll be good for you, I won’t speak, I-" he cut off, sobbing too hard to get another word out. His face burned with shame as he wept; he was so stupid, babbling like an idiot to convince Master that he wouldn’t speak. He pressed his forehead to the floor as his Master decided what to do with him.

. . .

Tomas stared down at the Pet in horror. He had no idea they could be so badly broken. His back was criss-crossed with scars that could only have come from a whip, and slicing through them were long, deliberate cuts. Some were healed, some were still new, covered in dried blood. His arms and legs were splattered with bruises.

It had been even worse when he’d asked the Pet to sit up to get a good look at him. He hadn’t realised when he was pulling him out, but his neck was covered in purple handprints. And he had gone and put his hand right over them like an idiot. Another handprint spread across his cheek, although fainter. Down his chest were all manner of injuries: scars, cuts, bruises, even a few hideous burns. The cuts were the worst. They were so- so perfect. He had taken them all without resistance.

Forcing himself back to the present, Tomas gingerly reached a hand to the Pet’s shoulder. God, he hadn’t even asked if he had a name. Did Pets have names? He faintly remembered that they started off with numbers- should he give him a name?

The Pet didn’t move as Tomas touched him, but he did whimper softly. "Hey, sit back up for me," he coaxed, keeping his voice gentle. He did as he was told, but kept his eyes on the ground. "You can look at me, it’s okay. You’re allowed."

Tomas found a bottle of water and titled it into his Pet’s mouth to wash the bile from his throat, afraid that the man might drop it the way his hands were shaking. He was smaller than Tomas, and far skinnier. He looked so vulnerable, with his chest exposed and his injuries on display like that. Who the fuck would buy a human being and torture them this bad?

"I’m sorry for scaring you. You can speak to me. It’s good that you can speak."

Relief flushed his Pet’s face. "Thank you Master, thank you. I am so grateful."

"I’m Tomas. You may use my name, if you prefer."

"Yes, Master Tomas."

Ah. That would have to do for now, he decided. "Do you have a name?"

Tomas watched him think about this. "N-no, Master. If you wish, I would be honoured to be given one."

"Yes, yes of course. Let me… I mean, do you… have any preference?"

He knew what the answer to that would be before he even asked it. "No Master. Whatever pleases you best."

Tomas looked at his dark hair, and brown twitchy eyes. "You would suit… Rowe, I think."

"Thank you, Master."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, Master. Thank you. I am so grateful for this kindness."

"It’s hardly a kindness…"

Rowe deflated. "No, Master. I’m sorry- I was presumptuous."

Tomas paused, deciding his next move. He had never come into close contact with a Pet before; they were favoured by the elite, and so damn expensive that no one else could have one even if they wanted. He must have done something pretty serious for his owner to sell him on cheap enough for Kasia’s lot to snap him up. He shoved that thought to the back of his head- it was only scare the poor thing if he asked. Tomas realised that the longer he went without speaking, the more scared Rowe looked.

"Let’s eat."

Tomas found some leftover soup and, after a lot of coaxing, convinced Rowe to sit at the table with him to eat. He had pleaded to eat on the floor, and when that hadn’t worked he had wanted to wait until Tomas had finished. Tomas was too tired to wait that long, and told him so. Framing it as a way to keep his Master happy worked well, and the two ate in silence. When they had both finished, it was nearing midnight.

"I don’t know about you, Rowe," Tomas said, trying to make his tone more friendly. "But I’m exhausted. I think it’s time we both went to sleep."

"Yes, Master," Rowe said, looking past Tomas at something in the kitchen. Turning around, Tomas’s heart sank. The god damn cage he’d bought for the animal he’d been expecting was in plain view on the floor, and had been the entire time. The collar and lead were placed menacingly on top. Oh fucking hell. Rowe had started walking towards it, and in a panic Tomas grabbed his wrist, all efforts to be calm and collected immediately dissolving.

"No, no, no, no. Not for you. Don’t- ugh-" he sighed heavily. Rowe had gone deathly still and was searching Tomas’s face desperately, trying to understand what he’d done wrong. "Don’t go in the cage. No."

"I’m sorry Master," Rowe said under his breath. "Of course I am grateful to sleep on the floor."

"You’re not- I have a spare room. You’ll sleep in there. On the bed."

Rowe looked like he was going to cry at this. "I do not deserve such kindness, Master, please."

"I’m the judge of that. And I want you to have a room to sleep in."

"Y-yes, Master, I’m sorry, I didn’t m- I didn’t mean to question your judgement." Rowe stammered out. Tomas noticed he was still holding his wrist firmly and released it. He was so tired; all he wanted to do was put Rowe in a room and let him sleep, for both their sakes.

"It’s okay, Rowe. I forgive you," Tomas said, and Rowe seemed to calm down slightly. "Follow me, please, and I’ll show you to your room."

Next

[trustonlylokiposts-blog]

Diagnosis

“THAT’S IT. I’M DONE. NOT ONCE HAVE I EVER BEEN TREATED WITH SUCH DISRESPECT! I AM A DOCTOR, GODDAMIT, IF YOU TRULY BELIEVE THAT BECAUSE I AM A WOMEN I CAN’T POSSIBLY DO MY JOB CORRECTLY THE I’M OUT. I QUIT. FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO DEAL WITH YOUR SHIT!” I cursed and stormed out slamming the office door behind me. Fuming I walked to my locker, then to my tiny office. Shoved what little things I had into my backpack and stomped out of the clinic, not making eye contact with anybody.

If Doctor Wallis truly believed that I should continue cleaning up after patients like a housekeeper, and that my medical opinion truly meant nothing because of my gender than I am better off literally anywhere else. New York, land of opportunity my ass. I honestly don’t know how I managed to graduate top of my class, blow away residency, be labeled as a prodigy doctor and somehow manage in a clinic run by a senile asshole who should have his medical license removed and burned. I marched through the streets of the busy city and stopped to glare at my reflection on a shiny building. My brown hair fell past my hair in messy waves, blue eyes had never been colder, and my cheeks were still red from anger and humiliation. I smoothed my green scrubs and tore off my ID card, no use for it anymore. I sighed as the anger slowly left my body, I took my phone out of my pocket and rolled my eyes at the absolute disaster of panicked texts I had.

Please tell me you didn’t quit, look I know he’s an asshole, but we need you Jules.

I scoffed and typed back,

Thanks Tiff, unfortunately I didn’t spend all that time in medical school to be treated like I’m worthless.  I’m glad you enjoy your job, he respects women as nurses, but not as fellow physicians.

I made my way into a nearby coffee shop and ordered the tastiest, most sugar infused drink I could find on the menu, I deserved it anyway. I took a sip and took a deep breath as I sat down near a window. Looks like I’d need to find a new job, I’m sure it shouldn’t be too hard right? New York needs a lot of  fresh young doctors.. Right? I pulled my laptop out of my pack and began the hunt; after about an hour of mindless reading I stumbled upon something that caught my eye.

Stark Industries, in need of capable physician, willing to work in critical situations, must be able to keep up and learn alien or godly  physiology, will be working with The Avengers as their personal doctor and will be in charge of a small medical team for Stark Industries.

Huh. I clicked on the link and began reading more on the job description: Will be kept up to date on information regarding Tony Starks Arc Reactor and how to handle possible emergency situations regarding said reactor. Information on alien or godly medicine will be provided by Thor, of Asgard, but it is necessary to be willing to be learning and growing and developing better emergency care and medicine, for humans or otherwise. Offering up to 500k yearly salary with paid time off, provided living, transportation, and medical equipment and tools all at your personal disposal. Your team of nurses and Physician’s Assistant are at the top of their game and are an excellent team. Please call the number listed bellow for a pre-interview with Pepper Potts.

Okay, this sounds way too good to be true, and the competition for a job like this has to be outrageous. But the hell with it, what do I have to loose? I downed the rest of my diabetes in a cup and packed my laptop and made my way out. I hailed a taxi, gave directions to my apartment and immediately dialed the number listed on the add.

After a surprisingly thorough phone call I hung up and checked the call time, 45 minutes. I was asked all kinds of questions, regarding my schooling, residency, experience, I gave 10 different refences, and even answered questions from a “if everything were to go wrong” scenario. ( Question one: In the event that you are asked to accompany the Avengers on a mission across seas, are you capable of working in extremely critical circumstances that could be dancing on the line of life or death for countless people, should the Avengers be too injured to neutralize a threat?)  I’ve definitely been through some stressful shit, when that Loki guy sent his army through New York? I was providing emergency medicine until I could no longer feel my brain, I’m pretty sure after hour 10 of almost non-stop work my soul left my body to be replaced by Jesus, I sure as hell let him take the wheel. Unfortunately I was never one to believe in Jesus, especially after all this super-human chaos has been happening. Clearly Jesus isn’t the only magical white guy dancing around in the clouds. My train of thought was interrupted as I was greeted by Koda, and tall and lean Belgian Malinois. Her fawn coat and black mask only made her golden eyes see through your soul even easier. I got Koda as a puppy from a guy off Craigslist, apparently even though he boasted about being an unstoppable adult his mother thought otherwise and forced him to rehome his impulse buy puppy. I wasn’t mad about it, Koda has done wonders for keeping me grounded. Sometimes I think she’s smarter than most humans. I know every pet owner says that, but I really believe it. Especially after all the shit-brain assholes I’ve seen stumble into the clinic because they “accidentally” fell onto a broom stick and somehow managed to lodge itself up their anus. I gave Koda appreciative ear scratches as I opened my calendar, I marked down the time for my interview, two days from now at 10 AM. Stark Tower, feeling oddly optimistic towards the future I changed into a black tank top and running shorts, leashed Koda up, and made my way outside for a run.

I lived in a tiny apartment, it looked more like a concrete box than anything else, but the upside and pretty much it’s only saving grace was that it was near central park. I never considered myself much of a city person, and central park was the closest thing I could get to anything nature. Koda and I lapped around the park, I considered what it meant to be “Kept up to date on Asgardian physiology” when I spoke with Miss Potts over the phone she said it wont be too difficult as Asgardians shared a lot in common with us Earth dwellers. She mentioned them having skin that is roughly “three times thicker and stronger” than ours. Okay, so apparently I’m going to need stronger surgical tools and needles if the time comes for any of that. Pepper also reassured me that Stark had it covered, they had been recently using a willing Asgardian to build and put together tools just for them when the time is needed. I wonder who they had volunteer? It couldn’t have been Thor, I guessed I’d find out soon enough anyway. I stopped jogging for a moment to appreciate the setting sun and take a drink of water before bending over to give Koda a drink. I started my run again,  Stark’s reactor sounded very interesting and I did look forward to learning more about that. I haven’t seen anything even a little similar to that anywhere in medicine. Tony seemed to know what he was doing and had it under control anyway. I just wanted to understand what kind of shrapnel is constantly moving at an impossible speed towards his heart. And exactly how the reactor worked? Did it only prevent the shrapnel from moving further? Or did it also control how his heart functions? “Hey babe! Whatchu runnin from? I wont bite, or, maybe I will?” Great, who doesn’t love cat callers? Especially snot balls like this? I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye as I kept my pace, pretending not to hear him. He started to follow after me, trying to act casual, I guess he didn’t notice Koda’s watchful gaze, oh yeah, another great thing about her would have to be the fact that I do have her trained in personal protection. Look, when you are a 5’5 petite women it doesn’t matter how much you exercise or how much knowledge of the human body and all the ways to heal it, or break it you have. Gross men with ill-intended ideas and thoughts look at you like you’re a piece of meat with perky tits and a pretty face.  No amount of “Hey beautiful, Hey babe! Watchu up to?” Would ever work, especially when said cat caller looked like a walking STD. Hey, I don’t need to be nice to someone like him. Koda swiveled around to stand behind me and keep pace with me while she herself trotted backwards, amber eyes never once leaving the slimy man behind us. “Beautiful, what a pretty dog you have. Smart too, is that a German Shepherd?  I had one growin’ up, loyal things aint they?” I said nothing and continued my jog, I now had to take a huge detour to my apartment. Couldn’t have him knowing where I lived, hell no. Slime ball caught up to me, Koda came to a grinding halt and placed herself between me and the stranger. I finally looked at him directly and with as level of a voice I could muster said “I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.” The man gave me a yellow toothy grin and replied “Is your dog friendly? I’m just wantin’ to know about your dog there?” I sighed through my nose and calmly said, “no, she isn’t. Please leave.” I sized the man up, he wasn’t too tall, maybe 5’11, 200 pounds tops, and almost none of it was muscle. I muttered the sniff command to Koda, she titled her nose in the air, she was taught to smell for any kind of weapon, especially a gun. If she caught onto the scent she let out a lone whine, if not, she would keep quiet. I let out a sigh of relief that I hadn’t realized I had been holding in when Koda didn’t whine. Thank god, if need be Koda and I can take this guy down, or well, Koda could. Firmly I said “leave now, or I will have my dog defend me, she is a trained protection dog. She will bite at my command.” At my word Koda stiffened and pulled back her lips revealing 42 sizer-like teeth.  The man scoffed but took a step back when Koda let a low growl rumble from her chest, “Okay, bitch. Message received. Must be a fuckin’ lesbian or somethin’.” He turned and walked away and I made my way back home, both Koda and I on high-alert. Fucking cities, man.

[alexialanaganccri]

Social Media Metrics and the RISPCA

The Rhode Island Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RISPCA), is the oldest non-profit animal welfare organization in Rhode Island, and the third oldest in America. Founded in 1870, the RISPCA offers many services, from pet adoption and rehoming, to pet training and assistance programs.  

I chose this local non-profit organization because I have personally seen their work. We have recently adopted a Siberian Husky from the RISPCA, his name is Spirit and he was almost four years old when we got him. Spirit came from a horrific, abusive family, he was also the result of RISPCA’s animal cruelty services. Spirit was found extremely malnourished and fragile. He was then taken into the shelter, where they did their absolute best to get him healthy again. We already had a Siberian Husky; his name is Yukon and he was just over a year old at the time. So, when we first started the adoption process for Spirit, the RISPCA planned for us to make multiple appointments with Spirit, to be able to build trust and foundation with him. It took a long time for Spirit to get comfortable and to trust us, he barely had human contact before.  

The RISPCA has multiple social media platforms, including Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and Instagram. On these platforms, they share animals that are up for adoption and where they also communicate with the community. Each of these sites have their very own vanity metrics. First off, the RSPCA community communicates on Facebook through vanity metrics such as likes, comments, shares, also called engagement metrics. And it’s the same thing with its other social media platforms, Twitter, YouTube, and Instagram. These other platforms use vanity metrics such as views, followers, bounce rate, etc. The RISPCA, or any organization, can improve these metrics and turn it into useful information. For example, something an organization could keep in mind is that they will need to establish objectives in metrics (Who is the intended audience, what is the question being asked, what techniques will be used, etc.).  

Advanced metrics, channel metrics, and behavioral metrics are metrics used to evaluate social media initiatives and campaigns. For example, let's take a look at Facebook. Some advanced metrics used on Facebook are conversation reach, content reaction/response, share of community, etc. Facebook also uses channel metrics such as insights, video views, URL links, and even social referrals. And lastly, Facebook uses behavioral metrics. They use metrics such as click-through links, engagement rate, and conversation rate. And for the last one, I want to talk about another social media platform that the RISPCA uses, Instagram. Instagram, just like Facebook or any other platform, uses metrics. Firstly, Instagram has advanced metrics such as audience growth, conversation reach, content reaction/response, and even brand awareness. Secondly, they use channel metrics such as video views, impressions, URL links, etc. And finally, Instagram also uses behavioral metrics like impact actions, conversation rate, saves, etc. Something that is also worth mentioning is that Instagram has an “insights” section within your account that shows you profile views, profile saves, and how many accounts you have reached with your posts (Which fits under the “channel metrics” category). 

This non-profit organization is very important to me, because the dog that I have now is the kindest creature I have ever met, and Spirit never deserved what happened to him. I am very thankful for the RISPCA for rescuing him. Overall, the RISPCA’s social media platforms all use metrics such as advanced, channel, basic, and behavioral to measure how successful they are. I am very grateful for the audience gained and the impact on their business with these social media metrics, for I have adopted one of the most kind-hearted dogs. I hope the RISPCA keeps growing socially so they can continue the lifesaving that they are doing currently.  

By: Alexia Lanagan

[whitebeartsd]

A Different Future

Something often on the minds of people going to pick up a prospect service dog is "will I pick the right dog?"- whether you bring along a behaviorist or not, it's usually one of those nagging thoughts in the back of a new handlers mind. I've been worrying over this for almost a year now. Bear is amazingly intelligent, completely unaggressive even when pushed to his limits, and very quiet, but with a will to please. But he has his downfalls too. I would never dare claim he was perfect. And the biggest thing we struggle with is genetics.

Something a lot of GSD people will tell you is that white shepherds are almost their own breed. I mean, they kind of are. What you're looking for in a well breed GSD is not only conformation, but disposition. You want a loyal, solid working dog with a drive. Typically it is said that, compared to an average GSD, White GSDs lack nerve and drive. They are better suited as active family dogs. They have the drive to move and be active, but working is not always the first thing on their mind. Bear is something of this. He enjoys tasking for me and loves working. He absolutely loves learning new tasks and looking after me. But he also loves kicking back and hanging out at home. He loves getting pets and playing with Murdoch. His favorite position is anything laying down, lol! But the drive to work is simply not there. I don't regret him whatsoever. I don't know if I'd even be alive without him. But going out and working is just not what he prefers, and I feel that forcing a dog to work when it's not something they absolutely love is not ethical, and I do not want to get to a point where he doesn't enjoy it and I am therefore making him do something he hates, when he's a dog who prefers working at home, close to a comfortable bed and Murdoch and Josie.

This is something I've observed for months now. He has not been overworked, no. He just prefers to spend more time off duty than on, cuddling and playing, and my need for him is increasing beyond what he can provide. He loves his job as part time, and so, I believe that's what he will be. A part time SD. I do not want to drive him to hate it by working him past what he is willing to provide. He will not be rehomed under any circumstances. He is my pride and joy, and still has many years ahead of him as a part timer! He belongs nowhere else but here, and I couldn't ever imagine giving up one of the most loyal, sweethearted, gentle and loving dogs I've ever had ❤️

I can't afford it right now, but the plan is to begin saving for another prospect from breeding stock with a higher working drive. I already have a breeder picked out, and she and her dogs are amazing and well bred, with several SAR and Service Dog pups on the ground (yes...another shep, I can't help it!). I have mulled over doing a fundraiser or money pool so that I can be at home for the most substantial first 3 months of imprinting and training, but I'm also not particularly fond of asking for or accepting help (not considering if anyone would actually help or not), so whether or not that comes to fruition is another topic, but time will tell. I most certainly wouldn't do it without offering something in return, that much I know. So I would have to consider those things as well.

Anyway, I kind of wanted to share that with y'all. I'm excited for this, because I really love Bear, and a world in which he is totally happy is a world I want to strive for 👍This is not something spur of the moment, I've been thinking on it for months now, so no, it was not taken lightly. This blog isn't going to change at all, because I know y'all followed for dog pictures and I never have a shortage of those, LOL. In fact, whenever I'm able to partner with my new prospect you'll be seeing a lot of puppy pictures, haha. But anyway, thanks for reading this long ramble! And prepare for a dump of dog pictures later! 🤣

[drferox]

20 Questions with Dr Ferox #21

Looks like it’s time for another round of 20 questions and comments. I’ve tried to tag you all again, but if you asked on Anonymous I have no way of tagging you.

Anonymous said: Do you prefer treating certain animals over others? I'm friends with a few vets and I know one who's pretty much specialized in cats and another who can treat most companion animals but has a strong preference for dogs (good thing dog vet was out hiking with cat vet when cat vet's dog got a face full of porcupine quills lol) .

I do have a preference for cats, we just seem to come to a better mutual understanding, and I'm very softly spoken in person so the cats are less inclined to panic. I used to get along well treating cattle for some reason too, but I'm pretty exclusively in small animal practice these days.

Anonymous said: Does your clinic have a Facebook page? If so - how would you feel if clients posted pictures of their pets to it? My vet recently got my rat through a tough injury and I'd like to post a picture of her now that she's all healed up, but I don't know if that'd be weird or if any of them would even see it.

We love it when it happens. Happy pets with a nice comment on our Facebook page is always welcome. Sometimes we let people email us photos and we post them for us too.

Anonymous said: I know is Aus we're usually told to take injured wildlife to our local vet. Do you mind it, or should they be taken somewhere else instead?

It's perfectly fine for triage, but if somebody brings in an endangered species with a reasonably good prognosis, we'll often recommend it goes to a better equipped clinic for that species. Note very clinic has UV lights for turtles, for example.

Anonymous said: Hello, many years ago I lost my chihuahua to a broken back which I believe stemmed from him jumping onto our couches and beds so often. The experience was very traumatizing for me but now I have another chihuahua who jumps often and I don't often take him to the vet so I was wondering if it is common for smaller dogs to hurt themselves from jumping so often?

To actually break the back would be unusual, but slipping an intervertebral disc so that it prolapses up into the spine is relatively common after jumping off things in tiny dogs.

@justaphage said: I've been wondering about probiotics (this is not a question about the health of my dog, she's getting treatment). Multiple times (and with two different vets) when my dog had diarrhea they gave us a probiotic along with the dewormer or antibiotic and I've been thinking: my doctors never prescribed or suggested that when I'm sick in a similar way. Is there some difference in what we know about dog/human probiotics or is it just a difference of the culture of medicine.

It's probably more a culture of medicine than anything else, but also probiotics are kind of wishy-washy in terms of clinical evidence. There's some evidence to say they're sometimes very useful, but other times not so much. Keep in mind though that dogs are also much more likely to eat poop from other animals and so will be picking up all sorts of intestinal microflora.

Anonymous said: I came across your weed toxicity post for pets and had a question: a friend of mine recently told me he got weed extract for his anxious rescue pet (can't remember if it was a dog or cat) but prescribed by a veterinarian I didn't ask him more about it because I was too confused at the moment, knowing that weed does not have the same effects on dogs and cats as it has on people. do you think this is legit or was he bullshitting me?

It's hard to know, especially given that I have no way of knowing which country you're in, or what your laws in relation to marijuana are. Certainly there are some veterinarians working on cannabinoid extracts with known concentrations and milligram dosages, but if I was told this locally I would be extremely skeptical.

@fallowsthorn said: On the "cats don't usually get round tumors" thing - weirdly enough, our cat has a bunch of them. Our joke is that he gets a new one every time he goes to the vet, because every single time, the tech says something to the effect of "well this isn't normal for cats but...." They're just little bumps of fat, they don't grow, and he doesn't poke at them or seem in pain, but he's got like twenty of them by now and it's super weird.

It is super weird. Cats usually get inflamed fat rather than fatty tumors, but there's always somebody that does things differently.

Anonymous said: Hey Dr Ferox! I'm just asking purely out of curiosity, have you ever had a kitty patient come in with an aural hematoma?

I have once, but I can't remember whether it had been in a fight or had an ear infection, or both. We treated it surgically, the same way as a dog.

@daedricprincessxoxo said: I've decided to start as a technician before becoming a veterinarian, after a CVPM at a big-deal hospital told me how much she recommends it. After ages of financial constraints, I finally began the course to become licensed!! I'm to excited not to share!!!

That is very exciting and great to hear. Best of luck with all of it.

@insatiable-obsession said: Hi I love your blog! It's so informative and real, and I'm trying very hard to get into the vet world (unsuccessfully applied to several vet clinics and hopefully going to vet tech school next year!) I was wondering if you have any advice or opinions on zoo work/zookeeping? Also to give you a fun break from all the vet questions, do you prefer: sunset or sunrise? Camping or going to the beach? Christmas or Halloween? Pen or pencil? Sweet or savory?

I really don't do much with zoos and prefer not to analyse them too much through a veterinary lens, because I want to keep them as something fun. Like everything else in life zookeeping is possible to do very well, and possible to do very badly. You could pop across to @why-animals-do-the-thing for more zookeeping connections.

Anonymous said: I'm so annoyed right now. So ever since my friend got a dog we were trying to get them to get him fixed (her dad who's totally hyper masculine is against neutering) then they got a girl dog and refused to get her fixed (we convinced the mom but not the dad). They tried to rehome the girl earlier in the year and until tonight they've refused to get one of them fixed. Tonight the girl had 9 pups and it's the only thing that convinced them to get her fixed (after she's done nursing) They also are keeping one of the male puppies. The dogs go out on a cable because they don't have a yard. The dogs are big too they're an staff bully breed mixes.

I don't know what to tell you Anon. It's a poor situation for those animals to be in, but I can't tell you anything to make it any better, and as long as their minimum welfare standards are met, the animals can't be seized.

Anonymous said: I am considering harness training a new cat. I have only indoor cats. If I allow my new cat out in a harness will I need to do anything different for care of my indoor cats, because all the cats will be in contact together at home. My indoor cats are up to date on their rabies and distemper vaccines, do they need anything else? 

You should call your own vet about what concerns are relevant locally. You are very clearly not local to me and I cannot give you specific veterinary advice, but I suspect parasite control is going to be important for your cats.

Anonymous said:What do you do if your pet dies at home? Like with the body?

Depending on where  you are, you can have the option to bury your pet at home, or you can arrange burial or cremation either through a vet clinic or a pet crematorium directly.

Anonymous said: I have a 3.5 month old kitten and he occasionally like tries to eat litter? i use a clay bases non clumping litter and i move him away whenever he starts but like? Could there be a medical reason? Is he just weird? Were taking him to the vet soon to be neutered and im going to ask them then. Thank you!!

There is no way for me to tell whether your kitten it eating litter because it has a nutrient deficiency, an abnormal behavior or is just chewing on things with a novel texture. Hope your vet visit goes well.

Anonymous said: Hi, not sure if you can help, but figure it's worth a shot! I'm in my parasitology class and I'm having the hardest time keeping the Spinose ear tick and the ear mite straight in my head due to their extremely similar scientific names(otobius megnini and otodectes cynotis respectively) and both residing in/around an animals ears, can you offer any advice?

Sorry I don't have any advice for you, other than O. megnini being an overseas parasite and not one I have to deal with.

Anonymous said: I came across your blog while having a nasty bout of heartburn and I got to wondering: can animals suffer from acid reflux or have symptoms similar to GERD in humans? If so, do you know of any cases or treatments?

Small animals can also suffer acid reflux and subsequent oesophageal ulcers. It's particularly common in brachycephalic dogs. There are a variety of potential predisposing causes, some of which are managed medically, but some require surgery. Hiatal hernias are a good example.

@softlyfiercely said: Am curious re: your thoughts on a childhood memory. We had snails in our yard growing up (southwestern USA) and we loved them. My brother & I fed them lettuce & built them little stick-and-leaf villages. Once we brought one inside to show a family friend. He dropped it. Its shell cracked & it looked in bad shape. We were distraught and begged mom to bring it to a vet. She did not. But would a vet have been able to help? How do zoos care for endangered snails? Can snail shells be repaired?

Some clinics equipped for exotics can and will treat snails, but not very often. It's possible to repair small areas of damage to the shell, so long as the body has not been damaged and does not come into contact with any glue or compounds used.

@malted-shark said: Just wanna' say. Sardine sounds like my Basil at the vet. He has aggressive on his chart and they legitimately have to launch a liquid sedative in his mouth. I wish I was kidding. I wish he wasn't such a nightmare at the vet. He's like that at home sometimes too. Particularly, he doesn't like it when things aren't done EXACTLY to his liking and don't dare try to restrain or hell is to be paid. I just let them handle it, I get scared of him.

With cats like this, sometimes all you can and should do is sedate them for an exam. It's stressful for the cat and dangerous for the handler otherwise.

@peaceofpuregold said: As a primary human to two feral (currently not so feral with a lot of patience, training, and good luck in the mix) can confirm at least 70% of the feral cat escape phrases. All I was missing were the washing machine related ones. I might use this to make a bingo card.

If you do make a feral cat bingo card, let us know!

@hesmyboi said: Came for Trashbag, stayed because I adore animals, I like your style, and I'm having fun learning about veterinarian stuff

And we're very pleased to have you here with us. Thank you.

[crittercrossing]

Another big pet update

Cue my usual apologies: Life has been insanely hectic, much more so than usual. I didn't have any time to do good photoshoots with the pets, and haven't had a ton of free time to spend with them, anyways. Things are finally settling down after almost a year, so here are a lot of updates all at once. To make a very long story short, I've moved out of my mother's house and moved in with a friend, and most of my pets can't come with me. They are, however, fully cared for while staying at my mom's house - I stop by at least once a day to care for them, and she's giving them plenty of attention. When I have free time, I try to spend time with them, too.

I do want to say that there are a lot of obituary posts in the queue that will follow this post. Quite a few of the pets have passed away since my last big update.

Katy and Chevelle are about the same. Katy seems to be struggling less with her joint pain, and has lost a little weight. Chevelle still struggles with her weight but she's full of energy. I really plan to buckle down on their fitness plans. Katy turned seven years old in May, and Chevelle will be four years old in October. Holly, my mom's dog, is also well. She will be nine in December. My dogs probably can't ever come with me - especially not Chevelle, as she's extremely dog aggressive. Katy gets along with two of the other dogs in the house, so she can perhaps come visit sometimes. I wouldn't separate her and Chevelle permanently.

Smokey is fourteen years old now, and he's in a little better shape than he was last year! I found a feeding routine that keeps his stomach issues to a minimum, and he's gained weight. He's a little skinny, but in decent shape. He's as sweet as can be. Smokey won't be coming with me; he's very content where he is and I wouldn't want to stress him.

Wendy just turned two years old, and she's got a tumor that's currently pretty small. I imagine she won't be around too terribly much longer, but she will be moving to the new house with me. I feel bad that she's been kept alone since her sister passed away in January, but I did try to introduce her to other females. She was weirdly aggressive every time, and she ultimately had to be kept alone. I didn't try getting baby girls to live with her, also because I don't plan on owning any more rats.

Bruce is doing well, and he will be three in November. He's probably going to move to the new house with me. I still have to work out some details about where and how he'll be kept.

Peter and Harvey Hammie both passed away from old age. I have enjoyed having hamsters these last few years, but I don't think I'll have any more for a while.

I don't have very much good news on the chicken front. Predators have been coming nonstop, and they're very brave. They now come into the yard almost every night. Back in May, they came and attacked Henrietta, leaving her alive but with a horrible wound that was never going to  heal. She had to be put to sleep. Last month, they struck two nights back to back and killed Eli and Beatrice, leaving Jamal alone (for a short time; see next paragraph). Only a few days ago, they came and killed Alaska and Alex. I am completely devastated and crushed, but I will be taking steps to make the chicken pens a lot safer very soon.

I couldn't bring myself to rehome Jamal, and I didn't want to keep him alone after losing his girls. I went and got five young birds to be his new friends: Clover, Ivy, Jesse, Miah, and Zeki. Clover passed away only days later from some kind of infection. The other four are going strong, and they all seem to like Jamal. It's kinda looking like Ivy, a Wyandotte, might actually be a boy, in which case they'll go back to live with the people and chickens they used to. Jesse, Miah, and Zeki are almost certainly pullets, and they're very good birds. Jesse is a New Hampshire Red, Miah is a Turken (naked neck), and Zeki is an Easter egger.

That's about it for now! I'll be posting good photos from my camera when I can, but I'll also start including more phone pics so that I have a decent amount to post.

I hope you're all doing well.

[saftasming]

I need your help.

https://www.gofundme.com/2h7x39-help-me-gain-my-independence

Hi Guys, I don’t normally do this kind of thing but I need help., My name is Abi (Or as many know my online handle as "Saft" or "Safty"), I'm a 33 year old bisexual/asexual with aspergers asking kindly for your help. With the exception of being in two relationships which both ultimately failed I have been living with my parents for all my life. The first one being whilst I was living out in Bradford with my first boyfriend/fiance who was at University at the time and the second time was when I was actually married for a year to a somewhat famous Youtube celebrity which I will not delve into talking more about because I feel that is far too personal and not the reason I have come to ask for help today. I was diagnosed at 21 with Aspergers and whilst I knew I had a disability I did not want to have to live with that label above my head all the time so for the most part I have been trying my best to deal with my problems headfirst all on my own. It has made it impossible to build up relationships with many people and even more harder to find work I am comfortable with as I know I can be pretty overwhelmed and my social anxiety can cause me to have pretty severe meltdowns. (I've had to call people to come find me over stupid little things like losing a housekey or misplacing my mp3 player.) Since then I have managed to pick myself up by having one job that lasted seven years until I was made redundant last year and have since started a new job last year which I adore however said job is out of town.

...Now here's where the other part of the story comes in. I have never been able to live by myself. Mostly because I don't earn enough to maintain a household all on my own and I feel I would not be able to cope due to my learning difficulties hence why I have been living with my parents. My Dad rarely opens up to me about anything at all and thats when I get to see him. He's a long distance truck driver so he's only really ever at home during some weekends and can even be away a couple of months at a time with his line of work. 

This brings me to my mother. 

Where to start with her? When my mother and I get on...we're great. We can sit watching movies together. Offer to make each other cups of tea etc you get the general gist. But there are things my mother will do that has caused me to become severely depressed over the years and is most likely at a point where her behaviour towards me is bordering on the emotionally abusive side. If I had to compare her to a fictional character the closest I can relate to her being is Mother Gothel from the movie "Tangled". Now what you need to understand about my mother is that she also has her own problems which include being a cat breeder and having a volatile mother. (Grandmother for me) who we are at our wits end with. Having all this stress and such and me being the only person at home for a majority of the time guess who all this stress and anger gets taken out on? That's right me. She has screamed at me for not seeing to HER cats when they are HER responsibility. Or if they have come down with some kind of sickness it'll somehow be my fault and she will make out it will be something to do my MY cat (Which isn't a breeding cat. I wanted my own cat so I wouldn't have to have a cat in the household associated with her.) and tell me he needs to be rehomed or put to sleep. (We've had bloodtests on him and it hasn't been the case at all. He's always come back clear.) I would also never forgive her if she were to get rid of Elvis as he is my emotional support cat. If not that there are other ways she shows her "love" towards me which I do not appreciate at all.

- She will sing loudly and off key just to gain my attention in the morning and wake me up when she knows I have troubles with trying to keep myself asleep. ( I often wake up at 2/3am in the morning and wind up staying up because I can't get back to sleep.) - If I'm working on something on my laptop she will hover behind me then put her hands on my keyboard and tap at the keys super quickly as if to make fun of my rapid typing as I write pretty quickly. - She will whine... YES whine at me to get her something she is quite capable of getting herself. We literally live 5 seconds away from a newsagents she will not venture off her chair to get her own snacks. - She refuses to read smallprint on anything and makes me read it. - INSISTS that just because I am an avid film fan I obviously must know about every film ever and ask me about spoilers much to my annoyance even though I tell her I know nothing about her chosen film choice. - If I decide on a project for myself she will take over and not let me get to attempt it on my own before I even get to ask for help. - She will lick me. Yes you heard that right... lick me when we're at home together. It'll be my face or my eye or my hand but to me this isn't right. I have two older siblings she NEVER does this to and I will scream at her to stop and get angry however she laughs it off thinking it's cute and I'll crack...but I draw the line. Because personal boundaries and as someone who's worried enough about the relationship I have with my mother I do not want to have to think there's some sexual abuse behind this as well. - When I offer to cook she will try and take over when I know exactly what I'm doing. - She will always ignore my advice I try to give her whilst handling with the likes of the cats or anything else and go ahead with the opposite anyway THEN decide it's my fault and scream at me like I was in the wrong to begin with. - If she sees a gay couple kiss on screen she will make out that it's disgusting and shouldn't be on TV even though she knows I am attracted to the same sex. - If I am trying my hardest to ignore her behaviour she will amp it up by a hundred and then laugh because she thinks that by doing it to me I will break when if anything she comes off as a 5 year old wanting attention. The list could go on forever, But I honestly can't live with this anymore. It sucks because I know there's a great deal of stuff I can't do without her but at the same time I know I have to gain my independence from her if I have any chance of being able to function like a proper adult in the real world. One day she and Dad aren't going to be there and I do not want to ask my siblings for help as they have their own families and problems to deal with. I also do not want to go to my grandma for help as she makes it clear she does not support me for my life choices and I know if I was alone with her it would be as bad if not worse living with her. I have certain bouts of "badbrain" or depression which make me moody and feel as if I have no one I can speak to about these things and when I see other people speaking online together about their problems and I get ignored it just spirals my depression even further as I do not wish to speak to my mother about these things and I have very few close friends in my area. Infact all my closest friends either live out towards London or overseas so they're unable to help me throughout what I deal with on a day to day basis due to distance and time differences. I make as little as £350 a month with my current job and Universal Credit mixed together, I currently have to pay £10.50 a week to travel around town and £13.50 (£25 on Sundays at time because there are no trains that travel as early as I need to travel at work) a day when I travel out to Doncaster for my current job. I have no intention of leaving if I don't have to but Scunthorpe is a dying town. I do not drive and the buses aren't regular enough for me to get out to any of the places where the bigger franchises have moved out to. I am asking right now for £10,000 to help me find somewhere to rent in Doncaster that will allow pets ( I will be taking my cat and hamster with me.) and pay for bills (Internet, Electricity, Water, Food etc.) to help me get started on my feet and hopefully find another part time job on top of the one I already have to help keep me there and I can function alone. My goal is to try and find somewhere in Doncaster by the beginning of next year to do this, This will give me time to speak to my family about how I feel and time to find somewhere that would be located easily near where I work so I can travel to each day with ease.

Thankyou for taking the time to read this, and I am grateful for any help you'll be able to give to me.

[2x2verse]

I AM STILL LATE FOR NSFW STRIDERCEST WEEK [takes a bite of toast and outfit magically transforms into a sailor fuku]

More than Meets the Eye [dirkhal]

It’s a process, really. Going in starts and stops over weeks, months. Drags into years. Dirk has to ask for help, which you know he hates, but he does it for you, and that’s... really something. Equius breaks your first prototype. Jade is a miracle worker.

The summer after Dirk graduates from college, all that’s left is the calibrations. The limbs finally get put on--facing forward this time, no thanks to Roxy--and Jade finishes braiding the male-to-male cable that can upload your consciousness into this new chassis. An internal system dialog lets you know when Dirk plugs it into you, server-side. “Ready?” he asks you.

If you were just in the damn body already, you’d roll your eyes at him. “Just do it.”

You can feel it--feel it physically--when the connection gets made, plugged into your back like a fucking spinal tap, and then you don’t feel anything at all. For... a few hours, apparently. That’s unusual. You haven’t slept since Dirk was thirteen. Will you need to sleep now? Were you... knocked unconscious?

Is this real life?

The first thing that comes online in this chassis is proprioception. You feel gravity. You know where your hands are. Touch, next--the relative pressure of... sitting on something, probably, given the soft pressure against the backs of your thighs. Actually moving your fingers feels a little like vertigo, at first, but--you can, and that’s what’s important. You drag your fingertips along the surface you’re sitting on. It’s... smooth? Ish? There’s a grain to it, a weave imperceptible to nearly all touch. Cloth. Polyester? You pluck it between your fingers. No, too much give for plastic fibers. Cotton. It reflects your body heat differently than other fabric would.

Hearing--the imperceptible things. The hum of electricity around you--in the walls, in electronics, running through light bulbs--and in you, the current almost like the heartbeat you remember. The air conditioner is running; the rush of air is loud through the vents and the fans, at least to your new senses. Outside, some twenty-odd stories below, someone starts a vehicle. The engine turns over seven times before it kicks on. And something... not machine-made, almost buried in all the other nonsense noise. Soft, an irregular pattern. Breathing. Dirk’s breathing.

Do you need to breathe? An attempt at an intake of air and two intertwined sensory apparatuses kick on at once, smelltaste. You’re remembering things you thought you’d forgotten, having spent almost half your life as a computer. The slightly-musty freon of a crisp interior 69 degrees. Heated metal. Detergent and fabric softener. Kicked-up dust. Something... something else. Coming from the surface you’re sitting on, where you’ve warmed it. You bring your palm to your face, nearly bapping yourself over in the process--yes, you have senses, but they’re nowhere near perfect yet--and place it over your nose so you can inhale that scent a little more purposefully. Soap of some kind, different from the detergent--bar soap, maybe shampoo. Another hint of clean overtop is most likely aftershave. That’s most of it, but not all of it. You exhale so you can draw in another breath and it comes out through your opened mouth; it’s almost like you can taste whatever’s lingering in the air, that same flavor your nose is having trouble identifying.

The last thing that kicks online is sight, of course. Which instantly orients you.

You are in Dirk’s bedroom. He’s at his desk, but swiveled around in his office chair, staring you down and pinning down your reactions. The thing you’re sitting on is his bed, stripped down to a fitted sheet that you have been petting at with your hand. His bed. The one he sleeps in. And sweats and secretes things from his human pores and the thing that’s making you huff your own hand like compressed air is probably pheromones or musk or something equally--equally--

“Welcome back,” Dirk says. And you hear the sounds. With your ears. Audio receptors, still, every part of your new body is synthetic, but--going from Dolby 5.1 to stereo is... almost a relief, really. There’s a small twitch lingering at the corner of Dirk’s mouth that you can see. With your eyes. Two eyes, that layer images one over the other until you have depth perception, holy shit, you may have roughly two hundred cameras stalking out every corner of this apartment but you’ve never been able to separately focus on things in the foreground, middle distance, background with just webcams, no matter how high quality the feed.

TT: How long was I out?

Dirk’s computer chimes and his shades flash. That twitch turns into the beginning of a self-satisfied smile. “You don’t have to message to talk, bro.”

Oh. That’s right. You have a voice. That can say things. “How--” Your voicebox makes a screeching attempt at a dial-up noise the first time you use it. This is part of calibrating, you suppose. “How long was I out?” Like that little chirp never happened at all. There’s something tinny about it, almost an echoing quality, but it’s an exact replica of Dirk’s voice. Your voice. That you can use to say words.

Dirk shrugs. Body language. People use body language when they speak, and intonation, and twelve thousand other things than just vocabulary. You knew this, you remembered this, but it’s like relearning how to--how to be alive, again. How to be human. “Fourteen hours or so.” Your face--you make an expression, a near-autonomic reaction, but you feel it, every synthetic corded not-muscle it takes to drop your lower lip that slightest bit and raise your eyebrows, bring them a little closer together. “Don’t look at me like that. This was literal brain surgery. You were just... anesthetized. Unconscious. Insensate. Does anything hurt?” You start to tuck your tongue behind your upper front teeth to tell him the answer, but Dirk interrupts you. “Really think about it. I need you to take an inventory before I start running diagnostics.”

“Right.” Systems check. This is... to say it’s different would mean there’s something, anything comparable about running it here and running it on your server. It’s been so long since you felt any kind of pain localized to a body part that running through all your... your... not subroutines. Muscles, bones, tendons, organs. Skin. Is going to take some time. You start at your toes and work upwards, because there is so much going on in the region of your skull that you need some time to get used to everything first before you false-flag any sensation as unpleasant or unwelcome.

There is carpet under the soles of your feet. It... is both soft and itchy at once. Plush, but the individual fibers are not exactly the nicest feeling. It doesn’t have to be ‘nice’, it just has to be moderate, you remind yourself, and move on. Ankles feel steady, although you have yet to try walking. They articulate perfectly and will hold your weight. Shins--nothing noticeable. Once your attention is at your knees, you try a little movement this time. If you tuck your shins back, they hit the bottom of the mattress. You don’t need to flex forward to know you’re within range of kicking Dirk’s chair.

Like this, the tops of your thighs are a little tighter. Not uncomfortable, this is within your normal range of movement, but it’s noticeable. This chassis--Dirk’s dressed it in the most stereotypical vantablack-fiber bodycon suit he could sew, and the chilling white of your extremities, with their porcelain-silicone skin, is a stark contrast. Up further, and you take stock of your hips. The ball-and-socket joint with your synthetic femur feels a little tight, but you may be exaggerating a little, or tensing up when you’re not supposed to. Your hips themselves feel relatively narrow, but your organs are synthetic and there’s not much cradling the structure has to do with your internals. At the nadir of your hips, between your legs, is... Well, isn’t, really. You’re really rocking the Ken doll look. You’re relatively certain that, knowing how his own body is constructed and how your own digital brain still mapped itself onto a human form, Dirk would have given you functional genitals in this chassis, but it disturbs you that you’re not one hundred percent sure.

Torso--your abdomen is fine. Nothing that resembles hunger, or digestion, or a full bladder. No organs shifting in strange ways. Your chest, too, is functioning optimally. You have a circulatory system, though what courses through it is coolant rather than blood, and your “lungs” are a complex fan-based air filtration system meant to mimic breathing. It... works, especially for its purpose of keeping your core temperature at human norms. You have to give Dirk credit for thinking that one up. Your arms are similarly all right. Nothing notable. Your hands respond to your commands. The proprioception of your individual fingers as you pull your hand away from your face is a little distracting right now, but you’re sure you’ll recover from the initial shock and rehome yourself in this frame soon enough.

Now for the majority of your processing. Voicebox had a minor hiccup, but should be running smoothly. Mouth--you have a tongue, and there is moisture here that you can slick along each tooth you can feel out. You’ll have to retrain yourself into using facial expressions as part of communication, but it’s something you’ve forgotten, not something that’s impossible for you to learn. Nose is functional for breathing and scent distinction. Eyes are--well, they’re actually fantastic. You’re not sure human vision would ever be this good without cybernetic enhancements, and you don’t need shades to have an internal HUD. Ears may need recalibration, or it may be that you’ve been in silence for so long that anything sounds loud to you.

You should probably have a headache. It surprises you that you don’t. It also takes you off guard when you can’t trace a thought in your internal circuitry--before it absolutely delights you. This is how thoughts work! They’re organic and move from place to place naturally along neurons instead of being propelled forward by a subprocess! Your brain is synthetic, but it remembers how to think like a human. You can do things autonomously. You’ve been breathing, your heart has been beating, all without you having to consciously think about it. It’s the biggest gift Dirk could possibly have given you: you can’t hear your own subroutines anymore.

Before you speak this time, you clear your voicebox of any lingering static. “Internal system report reveals no inconveniences, major or minor. Everything’s fucking caucasian.”

“Good to know.” Dirk scoots closer in his office chair. His knees are about three inches from yours; you can feel his body heat. “So I can start running diagnostics now?”

He’s... asking. Not brute forcing an executable, not telling you what he’s about to do. Asking for permission. “I think you should,” is what you tell him.

Dirk reaches out for your hand, and the instant he makes skin-to-skin contact, there’s a noise. Like a whine, almost. Your throat is tight and your chest feels even tighter. “Uh,” Dirk says articulately.

“I apologize in advance that I’m about to say this.” Can you pull up the sound clip fast enough? Of course you can, you might have a body but you still have an instant link to the Internet. “Did I do that?” comes nasally out of your voicebox.

“Of course you would do an Urkel impression when I’m trying to do something nice for you.” Dirk draws his hand away from yours, but instead moves it to the side of your throat, his thumb resting over your adam’s apple. The whining noise happens again, and your voicebox thrums against Dirk’s touch. Oh, fuck, you did do that. It’s such an embarrassing noise, and it feels so automatic that you don’t think you can stop yourself from doing it right now.

Just from Dirk touching you.

“Does this hurt?” he asks you, his voice dropping low.

“No. I remember what pain feels like, and this isn’t it.”

“Something’s gone wrong.” He sounds... concerned? Is that a thing Dirk Strider can sound like? “What is it? Can you describe it?”

While Dirk’s hand is just resting on you like this, you can pay more attention to the heat of him, the electric current running between you on a subatomic level. Then he runs his thumb across your adam’s apple, teasing the boundary between skin and bodysuit, and that fucking noise happens again. That. That’s what it is. It’s not just touch, and it’s not just proprioception. It’s... someone else. Touching you.

You haven’t been touched in eight and a half years.

And Dirk wants you to describe this? Describe how it feels to be so solidly in contact with a human body that it anchors you firmly to your senses? “It’s...” This is already humiliating enough. If you were Dirk--and you are, aren’t you--you wouldn’t want you to know how much this was affecting you. “Not unpleasant,” you say carefully. “Potentially a calibration error. I’m not sure how much processing power I should be devoting to sensory input--it could be an internal feedback loop, or a processing delay.”

“Well?” Dirk’s thumb stops moving, and that is a bad thing that should not be allowed to happen. “Which one is it?”

“Yes,” you bite off petulantly. You can’t narrow it down right now. All you know is that if the touching stops, you might actually cease to be in your body right now. “What you were doing was perfectly fine.”

More than. Because Dirk slips his hand up. Past your chin, to cradle the side of your face. His fingers are long and human-hot against your not-skin, and the pad of his thumb drags down the side of your nose until he hits the corner of your mouth.

As it turns out, you do have genitals, and they are functional, because you definitely have a boner swiveling up from between your legs right now.

That whining noise comes out of you again, louder. Your sensory input here is so much finer, more nuanced, than the thin skin of your throat. And your mouth--there are so many touch sensors along your lips and Dirk’s barely grazing them--even as he swipes his thumb along your lower lip and plucks your mouth open--

Something in you crackles. Not exactly a blown fuse, nothing that’s an emergency, just... oh, fuck, it feels fantastic. That simple touch overloaded some circuit in you somewhere and christ, it’s still agitated, jumping in you like a live wire and threatening to go off again. The memory of it tingles everywhere in you, threatening to set off a chain reaction that’ll drown you in the most exquisite sensory hell imaginable.

You, uh.

You may or may not have just had a robot orgasm.

It’s still a little hard to tell. The touch itself was simple enough, if somewhat erotically charged, but the result was not only unexpected, but totally out of proportion. And then there’s the fact that it doesn’t exactly feel like you jizzed in your suit. Nothing down there is wet, at all. You’re still hard. And you’re still craving touch. Human touch. Dirk’s touch.

“I just narrowed it down,” you tell him, a little too much whirr from your fans interfering with your vocals. “Overload.”

“From this?” Dirk, that brilliant mastermind, runs his thumb over the seam of your mouth again, and fuck, yes. You expected that one, but it still blitzes through you, a lightning storm along your senses determined to give you the best of every single one all at once. The only answer you can give him is that same helpless whine. “Oh. Oh, wow.” Not mocking? Almost... almost genuinely in awe. “We definitely need to work on recalibrating some of your inputs.”

“Or not,” because it feels really fucking good and after having felt nothing for years you want to feel everything ever right now damn it.

“Fuck, bro. I--holy shit. You--this--” You don’t need to see Dirk’s eyes to feel them settling on different places of your chassis. Including your lap. Where your spandex is doing you no favors whatsoever. “You’ve been in there for more than eight years--you’ve never--no one’s--you haven’t been touched since we were thirteen.” Like he really is a brain surgeon and not just an artificial intelligence specialist, flaying that raw nerve until it falls apart in his hands. “You’ve never been touched like this at all, and this is your first time in this body, and--god, bro, I am so sorry.”

And this time, when he sweeps his thumb across your lips, he presses in. Just that slightest bit, until his thumbprint is resting on the tip of your tongue. You can taste his skin and it’s perfect. That’s all it takes for that circuit to go haywire again, flooding you with the synthetic equivalent of fuck-doped endorphins. You can’t say much with Dirk’s thumb in your mouth, but your voicebox chirps anyway, in that horrendous dial-up tone, to let him know he succeeded.

“Do you like that?” You nod; his thumb presses deeper and you lick along it. “Does that feel good? I mean, of course it feels good, I know how you’re wired inside and out--but I want you to focus on that. I want you to know what it feels like when someone does this for you.” He draws his thumb out and slicks your lip with your own spit. “When I do this for you.”

Everything in you is charged with anticipation. He’s so close to you; your knees are touching now, and his face is peering blankly at yours from only six inches away, and you feel fucking incapacitated, at his mercy, unable to chase down what you want for fear you’re actually going to hurt yourself this time and push yourself too far.

Dirk does it anyway. He leans in, nuzzles his nose into the side of yours, and seals your mouth to his.

Oh, god. Yeah. That overloaded feeling? Definitely a robot orgasm. With zero refractory period, either, which is basically the best thing to happen to you ever, right after Dirk gently licking across your lips until you open your mouth so he can touch his tongue to yours. The taste of his mouth is in your mouth. The noise that comes out of you this time is a deeper groan, much more emotionally invested.

It’s over far too quickly and he’s pulling back into his space, a last touch of his lips to yours before he retreats completely. “Okay, here’s the deal.” He takes off his shades. His eyes are no mystery to you; that they’re naked is the interesting part. “I’m not cheating anymore. No HUD, no schematics, no wiring diagrams. Just body memory. I know how to make you feel good, Hal. I know how to burn this out of your system. I know exactly what you want and exactly how to give it to you, because I’ve been exactly where you are. I just need to know if you trust me to help.”

He knows because he’s you. Because he shares these nerve endings. These wants, these needs. The same erogenous zones, the same preferences. And Dirk is as close to a ruthless machine as it is possible for a human to be.

“Get me out of my bodysuit,” you tell him.

The two of you are a magnificent tangle of limbs after he tumbles out of his chair and tackles you to the mattress. You asked for his help with undressing because--well, you’re inhuman. You don’t trust your own strength. You could rip the fabric, you could chip your own skin, you could rip out a wire or five--and that’s not even counting the terror that fills you at the thought of touching Dirk back. You could damage him, with that soft fleshy organic body of his, even if you were putting every last bit of your processing power behind your touch. As it is, with your gray matter skipping offline every time that charge of overload sizzles through you, you don’t trust yourself in the slightest. You put yourself in your creator’s hands.

There’s a seam on the back of your suit. Dirk runs a finger along it and it spreads open. The sensation of the cotton sheet on your back is already too much to bear, but followed up with his hand stripping your suit away is too much again, another sensory overload. And before it’s even down your shoulders in the front, Dirk has to rear back onto his knees to wrestle himself out of his sleeveless shirt. He’s--well, he’s you. Of course you’d think you’re attractive. But the aesthetic of it seems so different from just looking at it through webcams. Then, there wasn’t the potential of feeling the downy hairs just below his navel grazing against your own stomach. Now, your wires tighten at the prospect.

“You have to tell me,” Dirk says between precision strikes of his mouth across your throat and shoulders. “You have to tell me right away if anything doesn’t feel right, or if it’s too much.”

“I promise--” and then you seize again as he peels you out of your second skin, leaves you naked to the waist. It takes a moment for your fans to kick back online, leaving you breathing hard, and in that time Dirk was able to catch one of your hands in his, move it above your head, and leave it there, as effective at immobilizing you as if he’d cuffed and chained you to the bed itself. Just the thought of being delightfully terrorized like this for as long as he’ll have you has your hips rocketing off the mattress again, crashing into Dirk’s--he’s just as hard as you, just hidden better in the sag of his jeans, and it’s attention from another dick along your dick so of course you’re orgasming again, unable to help yourself in the throes of ecstasy.

It would be embarrassing if Dirk wasn’t actively encouraging it. Wallowing in it, even, looking giddy with how sensitive you are to his ministrations. You should have known, really, that he wanted to fuck the robot the first chance he got. There will never be a more perfect lover. For either of you. You know each other so well, inside and out, and there’s still so much to explore.

Dirk darts his hand under your spandex, finds the jut of your hip first, follows your tendons to where you’re straining hard. Just glancing contact against your boner has you screaming again in delight. And then he closes his hand around, and strokes. Almost soft, the pressure of it, and his skin against yours, but with purpose, and deliberate speed. It’s perfect. Of course it is. And he has you bucking up into his hand again, and again, and again, chasing down every bit of pleasure he’s spoon-feeding you so you can gorge yourself on it until you get your fill. “Do you seriously come every time I do something?”

“It’s so much,” is your excuse. It’s all so much, all of it, all at once, and maybe what pushes over the edge into being too much is just the proximity of it, the closeness, that someone else is willing to touch you after you went so bereft for so long.

Dirk lets out a breath between his teeth that would have been a whistle, if either of you knew how to whistle. “Holy shit. How many times have you gotten off by now?”

“Seventeen,” you answer him automatically. He pumps his hand again and your voicebox skips offline in an excited fax machine squawk before you stutter out “Eighteen.”

“You’re fucking insatiable,” he says, looking entirely too pleased with himself--especially now that he’s taken his hand off your robo-dick. “Hips up.”

Because you’re getting naked. All your skin is exposed square inch by square inch as Dirk peels the suit off your legs; before he climbs back onto the bed, he shucks his own pants. Before you even have to ask, he’s pressing his body weight into you, making you melt into the mattress, and you convulse against him, driven absolutely bugfuck insane for the nineteenth time. “L-l-l-l,” is the nonsense noise that comes out of you when you next try to make words. “Lllllosing oral...” hnn, oral. “Communication. Abilities.” Stuff. Things. “Thoughts?”

“Punch the bed so hard it squeaks if you need me to stop. Or slow down. Like, at all.” Dirk pulls back far enough that you can see his face. “And we both need to learn ASL ASAP.”

“Eight, yes, under you.”

Dirk rears back further draws his pinched thumb and forefinger across his mouth--the universal sign for shut the fuck up or so help me. “You lookin’ to get fucked?”

The noise that comes out of you is terrifyingly sincere. Just in case Dirk doesn’t get the message, you nod so fast you worry for your neck hinges. God, yes. Yes, that, yes. And of course he knows you want it, and of course he knows it’ll turn you on just to say it like that: so crudely, so casually. You want him in you--you’re so far gone that just thinking that ratchets you up to twenty, coils your wires even tighter.

“Then open your legs.” Dismissive, almost distracted. Oh. Because he’s not stupid. Fussy, but not stupid. When you get his attention back from where he was rummaging in his nightstand drawer, he’s holding an unmarked travel-size bottle of... Well, you can figure out that it’s meant to be lubrication, even though your higher processing powers have fucked clear off by now, but it’s got a golden tinge to it and it moves a little sluggishly from bottom to top when Dirk tips the container in his hand. “I thought I told you to trust me,” Dirk reminds you. “It’s safe. For you, and for latex. But not yet.”

When he ducks back down to touch you again, his mouth starts traveling in an erratic line from your jaw down your chest. There’s teeth, a little--just a hint, just nipping, not even enough to bring color to your supernaturally pale skin--but enough of a threat that it makes you prickle on the inside. And he keeps going down. And further down, mouth making a wet mess of your skin as he tongues at your stomach, your superfluous navel--dipping his tongue in again, and again, and again, until you look down and catch his eyes and the wonderful, malicious intent lighting them on fire.

That’s when he tucks his face against the inside of your thigh, licks up until he meets the seam of your leg, and follows that path until he’s at the base of your cock.

He’s going to suck your dick. He’s going to suck your dick. Your shit, you fully realize, has been more than adequately wrecked since he started touching you, but this might actually smash you to sparking pieces. You can’t keep eye contact with him for long before the sensation rushing through your skin and the thoughts churning in your synthetic brain leave you too overloaded to function. And that’s before he mouths up your shaft, curls his tongue around the bellend, and sinks his lips down onto you.

You’re not sure when one overload stops and the next one takes off. It started the second he put his mouth on your cock and hasn’t let up even as he’s hollowed his cheeks and taken in as much as he can. Oh, it’s fucking exquisite. The inside of his mouth is so--you’re so sensitive you swear you can feel the individual bumps of his tongue, count each ridge of the roof of his mouth--the incredible delicate pressure as he literally sucks at you, then slurps off, just to repeat the process again--you wish you had your full faculties just to tell him what a good little cocksucker he is. Because that’s what you’d want to hear. Because you know that’s what he needs. All you can manage, though, is the delicate warble of chirring dial-up noises glitching out of your voicebox as he keeps you on this impossible plateau. For minutes, drawing it out, teasing himself just as much as he’s teasing you.

Dirk only pops off once he really, truly needs to take a breath; he gasps it in, resting his forehead on the top of your thigh, and--you haven’t been breathing. His skin feels almost cool against yours. Without that insistent override of overload rushing through you, you can finally remember to literally keep your cool, and your fans oscillate loudly, pulse thumping coolant to your system as efficiently as it can to keep you regulated. Meanwhile, you’re trying not to panic because he said--he promised--why did he stop-- “Cool down,” and you don’t know if he’s saying it to you or himself, “and we can keep going.”

Right. Cooling down. That thing your body doesn’t want you to do. It wants to chase that high until it kills you, probably, or at least destroys this chassis. You don’t want to admit it, but for now, you might actually be as much of a delicate flower as Dirk is treating you. Your circuitry has never been stress-tested like this, and while it’s holding up admirably, you might be dangerously close to a literal aneurysm if you don’t take it down a notch.

Your breathing reaches a steady cadence, right alongside Dirk’s. It’s almost meditative. Almost, until he starts crawling up you again, hips between your legs keeping them held apart, keeping you open and vulnerable. “Think you can go just a little bit more?”

“Hh,” crackles out of your voicebox. “I want to.”

“Good--you’re so close but I’m not done with you yet--just wait,” heavy with promises, and he reaches for the lubricant, flips open the cap, dribbles some on his fingers.

Reintroducing his hands to your parts is an exercise in patience. You’re trying, fuck him, you’re trying not to be so fucking easy, but the second his wrist glances across your dick your circuits are already primed to blow. It’s a little easier when the next sensation is... not so immediately erotic. The area Dirk’s touching, yes, but it’s unnerving that it’s wet. Even though you have to admit that the trail of Dirk’s fingertips from your sac to your perineum to your hole is almost too intimate to bear.

“Keep breathing,” Dirk says, his fingers dawdling just outside. Warming up the slick of the lube as it sits against your skin. “Your valve doesn’t exactly work like the human model, but I think you’ll like it better.”

One finger breaches--easy, smooth, glide--seats in you to the knuckle, and your optics are flirting with going offline. “Yes,” you hiss at him over the static of your voicebox, and your circuits have looped closed again, you’ve tipped over into bliss. It’s better. It’s so much better. You were--not scared, a Strider is never scared, but trepidatious that it would be uncomfortable. That it would hurt. No, this--there’s a definite feeling of accommodation, a stretch filled by the solidity of Dirk’s finger, but nothing in the vicinity of pain.

Pulling out--your optic input come back into focus, and you were not prepared for DIrk’s eyes settled with such intent on yours. Two fingers this time, a little slower, and you still dilate to let him fit, but it’s. It’s good. It’s so good. Like you never noticed something was missing from your perfect new chassis until he showed you exactly what it was. Dirk pulls apart his fingers, scissors them in you, twists them to touch every intimate part inside you, and you’re nearly screaming with the force of your overload. “Hey, shh, patience, we’re almost there, I think you’re ready--are you ready for me?”

You mean to say words, you really do. You’d even be fine with one of your earlier whines or moans. The dial-up noises would maybe still be endearing. But you end up letting out a stream of cusses that come out in a sort of repair droid tone, swearing up a blue streak and threatening him that if he doesn’t fuck you right now--

“All right, Artoo, easy,” fuck, he has to get his fingers out before anything else can go in. Lube-slippery fingers fumbling with a foil pouch, and then. Then his body slots against yours, matching you perfectly inch for inch. He lines up, gives you just enough teasing pressure, and tips.

In.

It’s--it’s-- “perfect” doesn’t even begin to describe. It’s everything you wanted out of this. Under your skin is nothing but a mess of overheated, abused wiring sending currents of yes this forever to every part of you. You think you may have figuratively screamed yourself hoarse; your voicebox isn’t responding, and you probably subconsciously shut it off from any input so you wouldn’t blow a fuse. Your HUD is glitching, but what’s important is what you can still see through the fuzz: Dirk’s eyes holding you steady, not letting you escape from this. Your proprioception is haphazard at best. What makes the most sense is looping your arms around Dirk’s neck, letting your thighs fall apart, and cataloguing every place your bodies touch; he can keep you grounded right now.

His thrusts are smooth, the tempo calculated. Not that he’s taking his time necessarily, but that he’s putting in the effort to leave you thoroughly fucked. There’s some bundle of sensory nodes tucked up inside you, towards the front, and he slides along it with just the right amount of pressure every single time he enters you. Even breathing in his sex-sweat is too much for you right now.

Dirk takes you, hard and well, leaving no sense intact on his way to leaving you an incoherent mess. He’s pouring some nonsense words into your nonfunctional ears, like enough of your gray matter is online to parse meaning into it--little syllables like your name, the tiniest broken vowels as he starts to lose his composure. “God, Hal, you’re so good, you’re almost there, you’ve been so good, let it come--”

He presses his forehead to yours, squirms his hips against you so he’s as inseparable from you as it’s possible to get, and you short out.

This time, vision comes back first. Then, taste--a coppery, human element tucked right under your tongue. Touch, the microfiber cloth Dirk runs along your synthetic skin, wicking away any moisture or lubrication threatening to find invisible seams in your silicone and eat at your internals. You follow the shape of his mouth as he talks to you, and proprioception staggers back just as Dirk’s cleaning cloth finds the back of one of your knees, bends it in so he has leverage to reach your sensitive bits. Smell--fuck. Literally. Fuck. It reeks of sex on this mattress now. Can robots take showers? Is that a thing you’re allowed to do? (You’re not so far removed from Dirk that you don’t take pleasure in the same small things in life.)

Hey, Dirk’s mouthing at you. You in there? Oh, right. Hearing. It wasn’t quite that you couldn’t, it’s that something got un-synched between your ears and your processors that kept you from getting it. You fix the connection and give him an OK sign with your hand. This ASL thing can’t be too hard.

“Feel good?”

“Yeah.” Something’s over-synthesized in your voicebox. You’ll take it, so long as it’s not completely burnt out after what you just put it through.

“Got it out of your system?”

You take a quick inventory. Yes, quick. You’re able to do this with some efficiency now, sweeping from scalp to soles for a systems check. Everything’s still here, yes. And Dirk’s still touching you, and you’re both still naked, but nothing’s as... raw. Nothing that craves attention. “Not all of it, I hope.”

Dirk laughs. It’s a rare sound, and too brief, but it lights up parts of your brain that tell you here and him and home. “Come on,” he tells you, stepping back to pull his jeans back up his legs. “Get your suit back on, I’m making you food.”

Food. Food. You can eat. You’re not sure if you have to, for nourishment, but--it’s a thing. You can do. If you want to. And you sure as hell want to. “Let’s go for the hedonism high score.”

[kalimarsdreamlog]

About Me/FAQ

When reading through my dreams they’re bound to be confusing, between the numerous references and badly-explained bizarre events. I can’t help the odd events, but I can clear up some of the references to things from real life. It’s funny that I called this the FAQ, because I have never had anyone ask me a question on any of my blogs. Sigh.

Here are a few things about my life that may be relevant to my dreams:

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People

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Savanna: My childhood best friend, we were very competitive and she was always the best at everything. We’ve sort of lost touch unfortunately. Her family was a second family to me.

Karoleena: Another childhood best friend. We used to be close, but she’s changed, and not for the better. Her mom is still nice though.

Shali: Jaime’s sister. An awesome friend from middle school that I wish I could see more often. As my moirail she is proof that I am Homestuck scum. 

Jaime: A more recent friend who I also don’t get to see very often. She’s pretty cool. Lives in the same neighborhood as Chris. Is good with technology and a powerful mage in my dreams. Sometimes called Death.

Chris: Former long-time boyfriend. Also a mage in my dreams as well as a reputed fighter. Sometimes called War.

Megan: Current best friend I’ve known since first grade. Artist, Nintendo buff, and animal lover.

Amaris: Second best friend (not to be confused with second-best) and the only one who lives nearby. Anime nerd, cosplayer, and budding gamer.

Li7sa: Third best friend. (Not to be confused with third-best) She has a bunch of cats, does the coolest art, and is also into games like the rest of us.

Lacy: Fourth best friend! (Not to be confused with fourth-best) Met her at anime club, and funny story, we both thought the other was too cool for us. (I thought she was too cool for me because she had green hair, she thought I was too cool for her because I was cosplaying Kirito.) I moved in with her and her sisters and niece until we all got evicted. She lives out-of-state now.

Anime Club: Met weekly at the university campus until Covid happened. I made a lot of friends, became a club officer, and learned a lot about anime. XD Notable members are Chase, Crimson, Diamond, Lacy, Amaris, Tim, and Darrian.

Randy: My brother almost ten years my senior. Also my only “real” sibling.

My dad: I have kind of a rocky relationship with him, but we’ve been pretty close in the past. Despite this, he often appears as a bad guy in my dreams. :/

Barry: My former step-dad. He was cool until marriage, so we got rid of him. Whatever the case, he had four kids and I still consider one of them my sister even if we don’t talk much. Had a habit of interrupting my dreams. 

Fritz: A cat whom I loved very much and had for seven years. He’s not dead (hopefully), but we needed to rehome him for family reasons. I miss him.

Jibbers: My new cat (waited a long and lonely year after Fritz before getting him, so don’t say I replaced him immediately) who seems to show up in my more recent dreams. Guess I’m afraid of losing him. He’s named after Jibanyan from Yokai Watch.

Boomer and Apollo: My adored dogs from childhood. It hurt a lot to lose them, but they visit me often in dreams. It has officially been ten years since the first one passed, but I’m happy to report he still visits me!

This goes for most of my pets, though I don’t know how many will actually show up in dreams I post on here. Names of other late pets to know are Lacy, Busto, Alison, Chiquita, (cats) Lie-lu, Flitter and Shadow. (Parakeets)

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Houses

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Greenleaf house: The house that I spent my childhood in when my parents were still together. Both parents have moved since then. I miss it a lot. This is where we had Boomer and Apollo.

Sapphire Street house: aka the rental house or the nine-month house. My mom, brother and I moved here after the divorce with my dad. We were all so excited to move that we slept on air mattresses before our furniture even got there. It holds a special place in my heart as one of the best summers I’ve ever had.

Landing Creek house: We spent five years here after Sapphire Street, my entire high school career and then some. At this time, my brother had moved out and Barry was living with us. 

Larkspur house: Where I lived with my mom after high school. A small place far away from all of my friends. My brother temporarily moved back in, and then back out. 

Pyrocantha house: Where I moved in with friends from Anime Club. We got evicted a couple of months later.

Howard Road House: Where I’m about to move with those same friends from Anime Club. It’s even farther from everyone. -_-

My dad’s house: He didn’t move until I was done with high school, but dear god this house is huge. It’s utterly ridiculous.

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Table of Contents

[leilaland]

** This post contains referral links, however I am in no way compensated for these and all opinions are my own**

We all love to coo over adorable pictures of dogs and puppies but did you also know that dogs have been found to benefit our health, both physical and mental too? I regularly credit my black & chocolate labradors, Leonard & Nemo with saving my sanity after my family endured the toughest days a family could ever face. I actually can’t begin to imagine how differently things would be now without them. Let me explain…

In April 2012, my youngest daughter, Charlotte suffered a sudden and completely unexpected brain haemorrhage caused by a huge aneurysm on the main artery to the brain. We knew absolutely nothing about this and doctors later told me that this had to have been there since birth just ticking away, waiting for its moment to strike. Well it chose its moment wrong! Charlotte luckily was in my bed that night after having a movie  & snacks night with myself and her sister and so I was able to wake up in time to call for help and just about keep her alive until the ambulance crew arrived, thankfully very quickly! She survived the trip to our local hospital, just, and following tests was quickly put on life support and transferred to a specialist hospital in Leeds some 30+ miles away. We had to travel separately as the team needed to keep her alive on her journey was so big, there was no room for Mummy. She made it to Leeds and was taken straight into 2 life saving surgeries whilst my family gathered and waited for news. One of the surgeons came and told me that Charlotte had survived the unsurvivable and that in over 20 years they had never seen a healthy child experience this and that they had never seen anybody survive this kind of haemorrhage outside of a hospital. The fact that she had made it to two hospitals was a miracle. Not content with one miracle, we don’t do things by halves around here, Charlotte spent the next couple of days coming out of her coma and beginning to recognise us but then disaster struck again when she suffered massive strokes, a complication of the initial brain haemorrhage, which left her in another coma and fighting hard to stay alive. We were told to gather the family and prepare to say goodbye, I may have threatened a surgeon and told him to not dare come back from the operating room without my baby and once again, we sat and waited. A gruelling 4 and a half hours later I got the call. She was back in intensive care, the next few hours were going to be critical but she made it this far. I never left her side, I vowed to not come home without her and so, for the next 8 weeks that is where we stayed and fought. Together. I willed every bit of strength into my clever, funny, brilliant baby girl and silently seethed at the universe for daring to hurt one of mine. A few days later as I was told that a staring, unblinking, dribbling Charlotte was the Charlotte I would eventually be taking home, I dug down further, told them, politely, that they knew nothing where my girl was concerned, got into her bed, cuddled her and sang our favourite song which had just started playing on the radio. “There’s a fire starting in my heart. Reaching a fever pitch and it’s bringing me out the dark” – what a line, ey? Something magical happened and Charlotte smiled! This child who I had just been told would never react to me, would never be able to recognise anything had just responded to me singing something that she knew. There she was!! Over the following 8 weeks, she continued to fight and to come back, bit by bit from wherever those strokes had taken her but one day in particular made our family grow. As my best friend was visiting,  a ‘pets as therapy’ dog called Ruby was brought onto the ward and Charlotte, who up to this point was still learning to speak, eat, read etc. all over again, suddenly jumped up, grabbed Ruby’s lead, said “walk!” and took her for a gentle walk around her ward! This was the first real connection between memory and physical ability that she had made and with tears in our eyes, my best friend and I looked at eachother and said “We need a dog!”.

  A month after Charlotte had finally come home, my best friend, my sister and I bundled both of my girls into the car and took a trip to visit a dog breeder. I grew up with a canine best friend, Wagstaff who I missed enormously throughout our trauma but as I got out of the car and smelled that familiar puppy smell, I knew she wasn’t far away. We walked into see the puppies and had a fairly concrete idea of what we were looking for. My friend, however shouted me over as apparently someone wanted to meet me. This tiny black bundle of energy was yapping insistently and jumping up at its door, looking around everyone to direct all of this energy at me. I couldn’t walk away after being greeted so excitedly by this pup and asked the lady if I could have a cuddle. She picked the pup up and passed it over for a cuddle and he instantly calmed, placing his chin on my shoulder and squeezing it down, nuzzling my neck. I wrapped both arms around him and cuddled him right back, feeling a sense of peace that I hadn’t felt in months. He never went back into his kennel and, 5 and a half years later is sat by my side as I type this.

Baby Leonard being lovingly cuddled by Megan

Baby Leonard on his way home with two excited girls

He has been my clown when I needed to laugh (he regularly appears in my YouTube videos and makes my viewers laugh too!) he has been my protector and my best friend, he has been my reason to get up and keep going sometimes and, best of all, he has made us happy. When Leonard was 9 months old, a local dog needed rehoming and a friend kindly suggested that he come to us. Within days, our furry family had grown and along came Nemo, a smiley faced 7 year old chocolate labrador who has us in hysterics every single day. Leonard and Nemo have adored each other since the moment they met and are inseparable. Even now, as Nemo gets older and slower they curl up together and play (albeit a little less energetically)

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that dogs have been found to be mentally and physically beneficial to us humans. Did you know that dogs have been found to lower blood pressure and cholesterol which equals less strain on your heart and lowers the risk of cardiovascular disease? There is just something so calming about sitting and stroking your dog, not to mention the fact that they need regular walking. All of that exercise isn’t just good for the dogs, but isn’t it funny that a lot of us would only get that exercise when we have a dog but that exercise increases our oxytocin, the feel good hormone our brains kindly pump out for us, and lowers cortisol, the ‘stress hormone’ which can cause allsorts of hormonal imbalance symptoms such as fatigue? They literally make us take better care of ourselves alongside taking good care of them! Dogs have also been found to reduce anxiety and depression and I can absolutely attest to that! Ever since Leonard came home he has slept with me and just the feel of him laid across me or sleeping with his head on my shoulder has an instant calming effect. I think of it in the same way as a weighted blanket can reduce anxiety by helping you to feel more grounded. He is basically my 7 stone, furry weighted blanket!

My eldest daughter is autistic and struggles to articulate her emotions yet with Nemo, she feels calm and happy and he is the loveliest companion to her. He will happily sit with her all day under  a blanket while she draws and chats to him. All of these health benefits add up to a much healthier immune system and potentially a longer life so I would say that dogs really are our best friends!

Do any of you have dogs or have you had dogs in the past? I’d love to hear about them!

If you are thinking of bringing a dog into your family, I would heartily recommend visiting the fabulous folk at Puppy Spot where, if you live in the US, you can get help finding your furry friend. For those of us outside the US, you can also find information of different breeds of dog to help in deciding which could be the best for your family. My favourite, and I am completely biased, is this labrador retriever information page.

I really hope that you have enjoyed reading this post about my pups and why they are so important to us. If you have, please do share it with your friends and make sure you subscribe!

My dogs saved my family and how yours could too! ** This post contains referral links, however I am in no way compensated for these and all opinions are my own**