#so we can get her a sanitary shave

[butcherb1rd]

there should be a disclaimer before buying any longhaired cat saying: “warning, you will MOST LIKELY have to get shit out of their fur. it will Suck and you will Hate it.” my family and i did not sign up for this and i’m upset

[wench-and-jezebel]

Dark Angel Reaction: The Kidz are Aiight

Jezebel (@typicalopposite) reacts [with occasional asides by Wench (@scripted-downfall)]

Oh god😕ew [What a way to start]

LINTLICKER!!! ITS BEEN A WHILE

JEEZ

Seee this is the part where he seems to not care.  Like oh I love them …. But I’ll also let them die to find the others

[btw um.  Remember how I've mentioned the whole.  PsyOps thing.  That I've mentioned.  Occasionally.  because... this is PsyOps.]  OH SHIT not the laser to the eyeeeee!?!?  Blech

Is this a different Zach?  Like a recast?  [No, I don't think.  He's just.  Ragged]  He looks different 🤣

Is this real or is he losing it?  Or is this part of what they’re doing?  [Do you really think I'm gonna tell you that?  :)]  Rude

Ah, I see

Ew, creepy smile

[I like her pants]

Ma’am.  That.  Doesn’t seem… Sanitary.  

WAIT!  Is this the gif?!  [Yes.]  ISSS THE GIF!  [*sigh* you’ve found another mouse, I see]

This is sweet  [This is true!  The cane thing was kinda cute too]  I KNOWWW 😭😭

[Bruh, the first thing he's gonna have to do with the feeling in his feet is clean the grit from between his toes laksdjf]  🤣🤣🤣 so true

☠️☠️☠️☠️

Again. KENDRA WHYYY

[They both pulling the 80s romcom obsess-over-the-outfit montage]  I’m loving this

☠️☠️☠️ the what is what sir

[Oop- leg shaving?!?!?!  Damn]  🤣🤣🤣  [Things are serious]

ACK I KNEW THAT WAS GONNA HAPPEN

["Friendship" Bruh, Logan, you lie]  ☠️☠️☠️

Zach ded

WOT?  THE TOMBSTONES!  THE DISrespect

See this is why I don’t like you Lintlicker

Nope! Ack!

Oh.  That-  [Digging himself out of the grave went better for him than it did for Dean ngl]  That was easier… yeah

Is the dr helping or is this a set up  [Nah, I think he was helping?]  Okay good  [I think we saw him hold Zach's hand earlier]  Awwww  [I don’t know for sure though]

You know what this means… Dr gonna die

Friends don’t need candles Logan  [:)))]

Aww  

“So.” Awkwarddddd  🙂

When are we doing another NCIS!?!  I need someTony now lollll  [asdlkfjasldkfj we can do it soonnnn]

Poor Logan  [Getting stood up for incest vibes]  Logan: Zach?!? 💕💕

[Y'all, I'm not liking this parallelinggggg]  

Oh hello (annoying) Max. I was wondering when you'd show up

Bet Max is thinking “well shit… maybe Logan was right”

[Okay, sorry, but... Acting = 3/10, film staging = 1/10, overall judgement = bad]  “Oooooowuwuwuuuwuu”  That’s the noises that face makes.  Like… Suck it up ☠️☠️☠️  [And did I mention the incest vibes suck]  Yea.  They do

Yes, let’s get in this cave and scream.  Genius

["It's different with you" Ummmm See?!?!?!]  Um  ["How could I forget-" oh god]  Huh.  [“-one single thing about you”]  Ewwwww

– – –

Jezebel: *sigh* Aight, let’s see… We got another not much has happened yet episode.  Except I met PsyOp, or however it’s spelled

Wench: PsyOps.  And it's a department, not a person alksjdflkdsajf  

Jezebel: You shush! I know

Wench: But yeah

Jezebel: And the whole laser in the eye is *sigh*

Wench: So recall that I've told you that Alec's been there a good three times :)

Jezebel: Poor doctor guy tho! Like he did not deserve that… just to help the guy in love with his own sister (and maybe her “not boyfriend” too… it’s complicated)

Wench: I'm still not fully certain whether doctor guy was aboveboard btw.  I can't remember, sorry.  And I wouldn't spoil if I did anyway, so hah!

Jezebel: But alas Max and Logan were being cute and I finally got to see the waterside scene irl 💕💕

Wench: I swear, we're gonna find out later that you've actually watched this entire show through gif form.  It's just two seasons of the Leonardo DiCaprio pointing meme

Jezebel: The “not” date was adorable, but, also, I’m sorry Logan…  if that chicken sat in the oven (while it was off) long enough to have cooked fully…. She’s spoiled.  Manticore ain’t gonna be able to get Max if she dies from Salmonella

Wench: lkasjdf

Jezebel: And then its all thwarted by pre-Zachinator ‘cause he nneeeeedsss Max

Wench: Ugh. Like... it'd be different (maybe) if they were in different units, but, as it is. No. She and Zach are too fraternal to be anything but incestuous. It's about the vibes and theirs are. nop.

Jezebel: And, of course, anything for Zach. So I got a good heaping taste of the Max I hear so much about 

Wench: This is true!  You get proof @witchy-writer-lady and I aren't insane!

Jezebel: 🤣🤣🤣

Wench: Thoughts on their... *cough cough* dynamic?

Jezebel: Yes.  EW.  And that’s it!  That’s the thought. 

Wench: And that’s all for midpoint!

– – –

[Once again, btw.  WHAT IS IT WITH FICTIONAL CHARACTERS GETTING TO LOOK DISHEVELED]  🤣🤣🤣 This is fair

The flashback thing tho

[“It’s been a long time since I let my guard down long enough to sleep”  Buddy, you slept for two seconds wtf you mean]

Sooo i thought he was just a physical therapist  [I think he is?]  Oh.  He sometimes seems to be more  [alksjdf idk for sure, sorry]

Also, buddy has horrible timing

[Poor Logan, competing with his brother-in-law for romantic attentions... betcha he never expected to have to deal with that]

The cane looming in the background like the serial killer, scary music and all

Twassss a set up

[Real subtle there, undercover guy]  Yeah, lol… Like y’all know they’re senses are heightened

The doctor’s alive!  You dog!

[Y'all.  Why are you sending Ordinaries after two transgenics alsdkjf  They're begging to get their asses kicked]  🤣🤣🤣🤣

[Zach looking over at Logan like "shit, he's got his legs back; now I've got no chance!"]  Zach’s like oh hello  [Oh, shit, "no chance" with which one?!!? Askdjf] 🤣🤣 [See, normally, I’d make a joke about “Logan has two hands” but the incest is keeping me from being able to]  ☠️☠️☠️ True.  Solution: Alec’s gonna come and he’s gonna be like… Welp, I’ve run out of hands… sorry, Zach.

☠️☠️  [The bitchiness is a family trait]

Poor Logan   [I knowwww.  But at least she apologized this time]

[Oh, no, not Normal's excessive patriotism showing up already]  ☠️☠️☠️  He called him a weenie

Sir, you don’t get to call them your kids, you bastaddd.  Lintlicker!

[Um, I'm sorry, that does not qualify as hair that looks "like she hasn't cut it since we escaped" aslkdfj]  🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Very true  [I swear that looked, like.  Shoulder-length]  Maybe it grows slow

[Okay, a little past shoulder length, but still.  Not nine years or whatever]

Does she die?  [Not answeringgggg]

Lintlicker’s Angels over here

Long gaze

[I find it kinda funny that her s2 mantra is "don't lose track of your family because I did and I regretted it ever since" and yet she legit Does Not Stay With Them despite many opportunities to do so]  ☠️☠️☠️☠️

Your “kids”

[Be concerned about this committee btw.  And about who this "she" is]  Ooooof  [They're not talking about executing the order]

[Um.  "She looks just like I remembered"  BITCH WOT.  Y'ALL WERE NINE]

That. Was.  *sigh*  Really adorable  [I knowwwww]

[She's kinda clueless missing that tbh.  Thought she was a supersoldier with keen senses alkdsjf]  Right  [How tf are you missing this]  Like… Ma’am  [THE VEIN IN HIS FACE IS HIGHLY VISIBLE]  *sigh*

Oooooop let me go talk in circles  [Not the monologues aksdjf]  On the skyscraper

[“Maybe it’s something in the way I’m made or something”  IT'S NOT IN THE WAY YOU'RE MADE, MA'AM, IT'S YOU!  YOU SUCK]  🤣🤣🤣🤣

– – – 

Jezebel: The ending had less happen then the beginning.  Minus the rescue, but like… We should have met the sister way sooner.  That was so rushed.  Like oooop here’s a new sibling!  Who you shall see for .05 secs!  Then she’s off to Canada!

Wench: Accurate assessment

Jezebel: But poor Logan

Wench: You're starting to see the Big Drama btw

Jezebel: Back to candle lit transfusions

Wench: Nom: dinner-I mean, what?

Jezebel: 🤣🤣🤣

Wench: Also, Max looking so annoyed at him was so funny.  Like, ma'am, he is literally holding onto the counter for dear life to stay upright.  And you're bitchy about him not letting you stay for salad.

Jezebel: I KNOW!  And like after the cute little see for yourself, why would he just switch up like that???  Ma’am.  How can you be so genetically enhanced.  And so stupid.  At the same time?

Wench: And it's not even answering nature vs nurture because they "nurtured" the observant side of her but clearly that paid zero dividends lakdsjf

Jezebel: 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Wench: Max legit just goes: yeah, no, nature and nurture have got nothing on my particular brand of sheer stupidity #girlpower

Jezebel: 🤣🤣🤣 I just don’t understand

Wench: You haven't even met Alec yet *sigh*  He puts her so far to shame.  ALSO.  To be fair!  s2 has a whole host of different transgenics and they're literally all better than Max.  Joshua is amazing, Mole is great, and BIGGS.  I love Biggs.  He's in one episode but he and Alec have chef's kiss camaraderie.  

Jezebel: Also!  For my final point of the reaction: that is not how you look at your sister.  And done!

[malikaidith]

'Boys will be boys'

A common phrase we were brought up with.

Being brought up as a girl I wasn't taught to be kind, to be respectful, to seek consent.

Why do I keep seeing posts that announce how parents should raise their boys and the values they should instill in them?

No one teaches parents how to raise their girls. Is it because they assume they will naturally know the do's and don't's? Or how they will be good wives and mothers? 

'You need to learn to cook, wash clothes, do chores or no man will want to marry you.'

In this 21st century where there are no gender roles, do you know how disgusting that is? Why aren't boys taught that? So that they be good husbands, they learn to help their wives.

When I ask for equal rights, why must you assume that I want to be treated like a man?

Why is my facial, arm and leg hair thought to be disgusting?

Why is my period blood revolting?

WOMEN BLEED! 

I bleed red. Not blue. Sanitary towels are not diapers. They soak red not blue. They soak blood not surf. Periods are normal. Showing them on the screen would be too.

Why should you be ashamed or hesitate to tell your father that you are bleeding? That when he comes home he can bring you another pack of pads? Why should that conversation be uncomfortable?

Next time, I will not open my sanitary towels slowly and gently so that the wrappers don't make a sound.

Come on, you know I am not eating a packet of crisps or biscuits or sweets inside a washroom.

I want to go to a shop, a supermarket and they don't wrap my pads, 

Can't I buy one and put it in my bag with everyone looking?

Why have we been taught to shame something that's so natural?

Baby, if you don't want to shave your leg/arm hair it's okay.

If you see nipples under my shirt it's because I got them. Nothing to be apologetic about.

'I can see your bra''I can see your panty line.'

If you are sexualizing anything on my body, YOU are the problem.

Yes. Because I have worn them and they were actually expensive.

Telling your daughter to change to a certain clothe because person A or B is coming, pathetic.

'You can't wear that. You know uncle Steve is coming.' And? So?

She is only a child. 

If I have to make my daughter dress in a certain way because a person is coming, that person is no longer coming.

Why do I get so worked out because I don't have cup sized boobs?Boobs get a little saggy and that's fine.

There's no muscle tissue in my boobs. Breasts are made of fat, duct and glands.

Sexy is not a size. Every calorie in your body is not a war. Your body is not a battleground. Your value is not measured in pounds.

Cellulite is not disgusting, stretch marks are okay. You don't need to have a flat tummy. You are human and that's natural.

Your body is not ruined. You are a tigress who has earned her stripes.

Work out because you love your body not because you hate it.

It is a dress. Not a yes. Wearing a short dress or revealing clothes suddenly makes me a slut? Because men can't control their dicks?

Women are considered fragile but I have never seen anything as easily wounded as a man's ego.

'Her fault she was raped.'

'Did you see what she had worn?'

'What is a lady doing outside that late?'

Rapists rape people. Not outfits.

What will you tell to our hijabi women? Or daughters who were abused by their fathers and uncles?

'Why are you dressed like a slut?'

No. Why are you thinking like a rapist?

Don't tell me how to dress. Teach them not to rape.

I don't wish for women to have power over men but themselves.

To mentally free yourself, you have to erase everything they taught you.

@malikaspoetry

[masterkirby]

How do I even

How do I talk, how can I

How to think about my deceased Mother?

I'm terrified of not having enough memories so I don't try to dig in my head for them because they don't come to the surface naturally, instantly. I quite often dream about her, but she's just there, as part of a family situation, just talking, laughing, whatever. No indication on part of my brain that anything, anyone, is amiss.

How can I think about her?

Round features, prominent chin, piercing blue eyes, thin, wavy and frizzy hazelnut hair,

always wearing a long skirt and that type of top that grandmas and aunties here wear, bought in this or that bazarek, ryneczek.

I kept thinking recently about this leather coat she'd wear, but couldn't find it anywhere.

She's been keeping me warm all these years after her death because I'm just going through her coats.

She was a bit taller than me, I never got taller then her, even when I stopped growing.

When I'd hug her, I'd put my chin over her shoulder, so soft and warm.

Dad would buy her chanel 5 during trips abroad, when he'd fly. I have her last bottle on my shelf and sniff it from time to time.

I don't remember her voice and can't find any recordings. I want to find one so, so, so bad. Her laugh, she would be so cheerful, a sun ray (despite her sun allergy)

Although I've mostly been pondering her melancholy over the years, having moved very suddenly to a country beyond the iron curtain, to marry and live with, basically, a stranger. They'd written letters to each other, my mom and dad, before meeting each other in real life. Dad was a uni professor who fled to the United States, she was a country girl, first in her family to go to university and she studied pharmacy. Dad's father was a professor at med school and somehow got them acquainted. Mom had a way of reaching people's private lives, or hearts. I still don't know and have no way of asking now how Dad got to her heart. Recently he told me, prefacing with a "if you've ever wondered how Mom and I ended up together", that they were both deeply heartbroken at the time. But that she was good to him and he wishes he'd been better to her.

So yeah, alone in a foreign country, no knowledge of the language, and her husband turns out to be... well, now we acknowledge he's on the autism spectrum but back then it just looked like anger issues, depressive episodes and spacing out (not caring about everyday stuff).

I remember surprisingly little about her from my childhood. What did we do together?

I remember asking her why she wears diapers (when I found her sanitary pads)

and her giving out food like kabanosy (where did she get those from??) during long car trips

And going to the supermarket with her

And the Polish food store (where we'd get Kinder niespodzianka and torciki wedlowskie)

And I think the video rental was nearby

I remember going to the Badzian family with her, where they had a TV (we didn't have cable) and Tereska and she were crying when the Pope died.

Tereska tried to teach me English before I went to kindergarten but didn't manage to (I acquired it at school but still have no clue how I survived the time before I knew any English).

We would go to the pool sometimes and that's how I learned how to swim, I guess. It was an outdoor pool and she'd love to swim using the frog stroke, always a dark one suit and a beige, wide-brimmed hat. She'd complain about having to shave specifically for the pool.

She never wore make-up so that was something I learned and unlearned on my own.

She had this silly szlafrok type gown, hot pink, over her regular sleeping gown.

I probably spent a lot of time with her in the kitchen. I remember making rice krispie "cake" together and brownies. She would often make ciasto drożdżowe and I'd eat out the kruszonka, both in baked and unbaked form. We also made flubbers and I'm sure she helped me with any school science experiment I had.

There was something with creating a rainbow on the windowpane.

She would love to make us kanapki for dinner which we would make by ourselves, as in she'd prepare various ingredients and we'd make ships out of them or whatnot.

I want to make an omelette like she did someday.

Another speciality of hers were oponki and she'd make them for everyone's birthdays. And the gołąbki and eggplants with cheese and zapiekanki. Her schabowe were the best I ate.

Turns out she never really cooked before getting married so she had cooking classes, but I only know this from stories and pictures.

Zalewajka, rosół, pomidorowa z ryżem, which is interesting because her mom always makes it with noodles.

She had a small garden in the backyard but only really mint grew there from the times that I remember. But she kept a row of beautiful roses out front, just like grandma does. She loved roses best.

She was overall a very romantic and poetic soul, idealistic and dreaming. Open to people and experiences, well, mostly... She was a devout Catholic which is the reason we'd fall out when I was a teenager and young adult. It was hard hearing that pregnancies from r@pe should be carried to term... And that homosexuality is a disease and we should have compassion for those people but pray for their recovery... Yeah ...

This is always the part that makes me pause my reminiscing. As warm and hard-working and caring a person she was, I always arrive at this... confusion. That I can't help but remember her, in my heart, as somewhat cold and narrow-minded and hurtful.

I remember going to her with my problems (some school drama) and hearing that I should go to god for help. Or all our disagreements because I liked going out, partying, drinking alcohol, wearing skimpyish clothing, making out with people, and so on. When I once told her that I'm being bullied by this one girl, she responded that that girl has a tough family situation. I had hellishly low self-esteem for some reason as a kid and now sometimes as well. Always hearing to be modest and give way for others...

Or when they did a 180 on us when our trip to Poland was supposed to be a one-year sabbatical but turned into a "lifetime".

Her lack of trust in me hurt me deeply and I always couldn't help but compare it to the trust I felt from Dad (I have to ask him someday if it was illusory). And I guess I felt that lack of trust in her overprotectiveness. However horrible it sounds to complain, she'd sometimes show up at my middle school with, say, lunch, or something I forgot to take. Imagine my horror as a kid trying to fit in, in a school where people would regularly be bullied for lesser things. Or she'd try to recruit kids for her rosary circles... I cringe. It hurt to be the laughing stock of, well, at least a few classes. It was a big school.

Or she'd always volunteer to supervise trips and school balls and to go to every school year ending and beginning. I feel like crying even now for feeling... ungrateful. But it just wasn't what I needed as a growing person...

She'd once scolded me for not going to an extracurricular class and she'd never let me not go to school unless I was super sick. But she let me stay home a few days once in high school when my anxiety/depression was really kicking in.

I spent most of my middle school outside of home, if not school then roaming with friends, returning late at night. In highschool my views started forming, far from her own, and I was consumed by school life, building a social persona, dating, having (gasp) premarital sex (not that we ever talked about that). She was more and more into the church, spending all her time and worry on problems of the parish community. We grew distant.

I moved out for uni and she soon fell ill. There wasn't enough time to grow back together.

I don't know. I started therapy recently and I repeat to myself, like a mantra, a thing the therapist said:

Sadness isn't something we're born with. It always comes from somewhere.

I don't think my mom was ever a driving force for my sadness but I have been sad ever since I was a kid. What gives?

The therapist says I didn't have my emotional needs met. Maybe? But still, nothing that traumatic happened in my life until my Mom passed away so suddenly.

I wish I could talk to her about what she remembers about me as a kid. Maybe she could help provide the clues to my potential autism diagnosis. I'd want to hear more of her stories and thoughts. I'd love to hear her worries and troubles and be able to help her, as an adult in my own right. I'd love to get tips on running a household from her, cook and bake together.

I feel like I never really got to know her.

[stevesbipanic]

I heard Punk! Steve and came running to your ask box 😂😅

Anyways tell me more please

Ofc Ally ❤️ I give you the origin of Punk!Steve.

After the events of 1985, The Harringtons never returned. They left a voicemail for Steve, something along the lines of bad investments, disappointments and don't call. Steve didn't hear it til he got out of the hospital. He broke down, went on a bender for a week that only Robin managed to pull him out of once she found his house.

They talked a lot, about childhoods and being misunderstood. Steve felt he could tell Robin anything after their time in the mall bathroom and so he did. Robin had brlught a book about the library about overcoming trauma. It probably hadn't been the books intention, but they burnt a lot of stuff that night. A big bonfire by the pool, chatting the precious lawn, Steve didn't care.

They burnt the couch, the pool chairs, his parents mattress, bits of his rooms wallpaper, shirts, that stupid car picture. Anything that his parents had given him that was meant to build him in their image.

Next was the bathroom. Clippers in hand Steve shaved the side of Robin's hair and she did both of his sides in return. Robin cracked a joke that no matter what they did to Steve's hair it still looked perfect. Steve wanted more. A trip the the drugstore provided an answer. A quick bleach and dye later and Robin and Steve giggled at the red tipped hair.

They weren't done, Steve never wanted them to be done, with every hour he felt more free.

"You sure this is safe?"

"No but I saw a girl do it in the bathroom at school and your room is probably more sanitary."

"OW WHAT HAPPENED TO 1 2 3!"

Steve thought the safety pins through his ears were cool.

"When you turn 18, were getting matching tattoos."

"Soulmates for life, dingus."

The following weekend they took a trip to Indianapolis. They checked out thrift shops and spray painted storefronts. Steve traded his converse for docs, his polo's for ripped and mesh shirts. Splashes of solid colour were added to his look. They ripped his jeans in the car. Steve hoarded pins upon pins.

Back home, Robin carefully lined his eyes in dark kohl. His eyes becoming sharp and calculated. He smiled at himself in the mirror, staring back he finally saw Steve, just Steve made completely by him.

"Honestly, looking like this I could carry around my bat."

"Would certainly be convenient next time we're captured by Russians."

Steve rolled his eyes looking back at her lounging on his bed.

"What're you reading?"

"Oh? Um it's a zine I picked up at the last store, you know...the one with the pink triangle?"

"Oh that one." Robin had been educating him about queer history as much as she could for a small town girl. "What's it about?"

Robin bit her lip, "Um well, it's about people like me, and people not quite like me, ya know? Like there's a whole bunch of labels out there, I just wanted to make sure mine fit."

Steve smiled, "And what did you learn?"

"Definitely a lesbian, sorry babes." Steve laughed in return, his feelings for Robin had shifted firmly to platonic and she knew that. "Here, you should take a look, will help broaden ya education."

Steve took the zine and started to flip through it. Inside it detailed genders and sexualities. Steve was intrigued to find out there were more than just boys and girls, but that wasn't what caught his attention the most.

Bisexuality

Steve's eyes seemed to linger on the page, almost for too long.

"Steve? You ok? If you're getting a migraine again we can read it later, no rush."

Steve pulled his eyes away, "No, um, no migraine, it's just, um..." Robin could easily pick up the hesitation in his voice, there was a slight tremor in his hands. She slowly leant over, taking back the zine.

"Oh, Steve."

"Just didn't know a person could be that."

"How does it make you feel?"

"Honestly, I feel more like me than I have my whole life. Thank you, Robs, for all of thos you know."

"Course, dingus, you're my schmuck for life, and... I'm always here if you need to talk about things."

Steve nodded, no words were needed now between them, there would be more days, more discoveries. But now, for now they could sit together, two broken kids feeling a little more whole.

Just Robin.

Just Steve.

Just Them.

[doberbutts]

pompilini

I can confirm doodles/beardy dogs absolutely have trouble seeing through the bangs. I have to trim my guy every two weeks if I dont want his vision suffer. At least in his case, he's off if he has too much hair (like you'd expect, he's less confident and more distracted), but it's subtle enough that I think it'd be hard to pin down or to even peg as an issue for a lot of people.

I've met other less even-tempered doodle types that are prone to startles and big reactions and I wouldn't be surprised if visibility was a factor there at all.

Oh yes, I used to live with a poodle that was always kept very long, and if his hair was not pulled/banded out of his eyes it was almost a guarantee that he’d startle badly at something because he was constantly walking into walls and sort of feeling around with his feet if he thought he was going to bonk into something. This is also, btw, why I say that if people are going to rag on certain breeds for not being able to survive well without human intervention, then they are going to have to include these fuzzy dogs in that.

This particular dog was also very fearful, and I think that’s just genetic temperament tbh, but I don’t think the occasionally legit not being able to see helped with that at all.

The discussion of sight and how it relates to specifically fear and aggression in dogs is always an interesting one. We know that dogs do not always register pain as coming from the source it’s actually coming from- like a toddler they can build associations and superstitions from undiagnosed/untreated pain and the behaviors that may cause them pain even by accident. A dog that stepped on a thorn may be wary later of walking in that same patch of ground, or it may be several days later when the infected sore bursts against hot concrete and now the dog has a serious aversion to sidewalks or being on leash.

It makes sense to me, then, that a dog that is already constantly unsure and second-guessing what it sees will eventually have a spectacularly bad experience at some point, and a dog that is already unsteady is just waiting to explode once that threshold line is crossed. The big reaction could simply be from them already having felt fear and stress due to being unconfident in their environment/not trusting their eyes, and because that’s the dog’s “normal” there’s no way to tell when the dog is becoming overwhelmed if you’re not already on the lookout for the subtle signs. Otherwise your sign is whatever big dramatic reaction the dog has when it finally does guess wrong and does not like that possibility.

I recall a conversation about Pangur and her very dramatic reaction to a roommate walking into the room despite knowing and liking said roommate, and we eventually came to the realization that the specific room this was happening in was very well lit... which is a problem for an albino cat that likely has the severe photosensitivity and low vision in bright lighting. At that point, she can only react to what she’s able to process, which could be simply a large shadowy shape has entered the room and is coming right at her, and that could explain the “OH MY GOD A MONSTER” reaction here while other times she begs said roommate for affection.

A friend of mine lives in Florida and has a big sun-lit room with bright white tile floors. Her albino doberman on these floors acts like he’s completely unable to see where the floor actually is. He does the thing where he reaches out with a paw and test-steps several times before committing to putting his weight down on that foot, wash rinse repeat. If a toy is on that floor, he will puff up and snarl and bark at it and even when recalled away will continue to hard stare and growl in the toy’s direction. The same toy could be put on a different floor in a different room and he will ignore or play with it. He does the same if one of those big flying roaches or a lizard gets into that room, and her photos of him in that room are with his eyes squinted almost completely shut. I don’t think he can see in that room, and what little he’s able to make out he doesn’t trust, and so it comes out as fear and aggression because he doesn’t know what else to do with what he thinks is there.

I recently had a shih tzu client that is very aggressive for grooming, especially around his face. We’ve been working really hard on getting him to calm down, but one of the big turning points we had was when we finally got him to let us shave around his eyes and trim his head/beard. Suddenly being able to see us comforting him and talking to him seemed to calm him immensely. Of course! He’d already had some trauma related to grooming and now he can’t see what’s happening when these strangers are touching him all over! Suddenly we’re able to comb him fully, give him a sanitary, pick out some knots trying to become mats, etc and he stood there happily wagging his tail at the bather who was talking nicely to him to help him through it.

Anyway. I feel like vision concerns aren’t brought up as factors for some of these behavioral cases when they should be. I’ve seen time and time again that limiting a dog’s sight whether because of a health problem or because of gear/necessity seems to always up your chances for a Big Problem later on, and it’s interesting to see that as well in other animals that rely on their sight as well. Sight might not be THE number one factor for how a dog navigates their world, but clearly it’s important enough that lacking it can create some pretty serious behavior concerns.

[mulletcal]

memento mori - an ashton irwin one shot

a/n: hi friends!! i’m reposting this bc the first time i completely didn’t give the proper credit and i wanted to correct that!  this whole thing was inspired by @sexgodashton​‘s answer to this ask. and while i could have just edited the original post to include the credit, it wouldn’t have sat right with me personally to do that and just pretend like it was there the whole time. lau’s brain blows my mind every day w her creativity and she inspires me so much, thank you lau. thank you also to @myloverboyash​ for reading this over for me i appreciate u sm! word count: 2.5k

warnings: talks about needles, ashton being tattooed, smut, there’s riding, voyeurism (sort of? i don’t know rly but i wanna put the warning there just in case), ashton having a pain kink, light dom ash, spanking, i reused two things in these that i’ve used in the past but you know what??????? i kind of love it

****

Ashton’s felt the pain of a tattoo before; he kind of enjoyed the sting, the drag of the needle. Ashton also enjoyed pain, but he never noticed how erotic the pain of a tattoo could be, the intimacy of being so close to someone’s skin, until he began to date a tattoo artist.

You met Ashton when he came into your shop one day, on the hunt for his typical tattoo artist. He was nothing short of a gentleman, something you weren’t used to when men came into the shop that you owned; Men didn’t take kindly to women being the boss of men they saw as the epitome of masculine, let alone the owner, the ultimate boss if you will. You would never forget the way his eyebrows shot up when you said you were the owner, a small grin on his lips as he asked if he could get his tattoo from you instead.

That was for his snake tattoo, and he was so excited at how it turned out that you did his rose tattoo as well. Ashton kept coming back to you, insisting on the rest of the guys coming to get tattoos from you; it wasn’t until you finished touching up Michael’s finger tattoos did he ask you out.

“I appreciate the boost in clientele, but if you wanted to take me out you could’ve asked sooner,” You had replied, slipping him your card with the business phone number crossed out and your personal written above it.

After that, the two of you had talked nearly every day while he wasn’t on tour, and he often slept over, leaving you being taunted from your employees the next day due to marks on your skin.

It wasn’t until the lockdown did you truly see how wild Ashton could be; he had chosen to quarantine with you, the most responsible option you felt because you would have tried to find a loophole to see him anyways. Ashton encouraged you to try new things with him you never thought were possible, and you were surprised at how much you loved it.

You were shocked to realize that he enjoyed not just the pain of being tattooed, but he had a little bit of a pain kink in general. He tried to shy away from it at first, but when the two of you seemingly had run out of exciting news hobbies to learn, Ashton brought up the idea of watching porn together, to get a feel of what the other person liked. You wish you had felt safe enough to record his reaction when you put on a favourite video of yours, watching him take an invisible pencil from behind his ear and pretending to jot it down.

A few moments after that, with Ashton and you definitely quite in the middle of something, your phone went off, alerting you that you would be allowed to reopen with a set list of guidelines. You’d tried to get as many of your clients in before the shutdown as possible, so you didn’t have too many to reschedule when you got back.

You and the rest of your team had decided to operate on a weekly basis, your employees being allowed to have the shop for the week, with the rules of you setting up additional cameras so you could check in to ensure they were following sanitary guidelines, and all transactions were cashless unless absolutely necessary.

The reopen was going well so far, from what you could tell. Your week had finally rolled around, and you made sure that you left yourself a free day so that you could deep clean the shop; however, that didn’t exactly go according to plan as Ashton asked if you could tattoo him, stating how it had been so long since he’d gotten one and he missed it. Of course, you immediately agreed, pulling up the list of ideas you both had brainstormed throughout the course of the lockdown.

When he got there, you enthusiastically unlocked the door, greeting him with a kiss. You were excited to use him as your canvas, even though it would likely only be something small.

“You ready love?” You asked him, scrolling through the list before looking back up at him.

“Mhm, I’ve been thinking about the list and I’ve really wanted that coin of mortality piece you drew, would you do that one on me?” Ashton had placed his hands on your thighs, tracing his thumbs in small circles against them.

“Well that makes it a bit easier for me, since it’s already drawn, let me just pull it up. Where do you want it?”

You cocked your head, your eyes slowly scanning down his body, checking him out in a way, but also curious where he would say to put it.

“M’thinking on my ribs, yeah?” He pulled back, eagerly lifting his shirt to show his left side.

You nodded, reaching out to gently trace your finger over where you thought the tattoo should go, “Like here, maybe?”

Ashton shivered at your touch, simply nodding before letting his shirt fall back down. With that, you went to print the stencil, definitely not unaware to Ashton’s eyes burning a hole into your skin.

When you turned to him with the freshly printed stencil, you grinned, “You know the drill, Irwin, hop on the chair.”

Rolling his eyes, he made a big show of stripping off his shirt and sitting in the chair. You decided it was probably the best option to have him lay on his right side with his arm just out of the way.  You prepped his skin, cleaning it and shaving it to make sure that no stray hairs would be in the way before you laid the stencil.  Ashton shivered once again, this time at the cool touch of the cleaning solution.

“Okay baby?” You asked gently, tattoo gun poised in your hand and ready to begin.

He hummed in acknowledgement, licking his lips though you couldn’t see.  You started with one small line, not missing the way Ashton sucked in a breath at the drag of the needle. Pausing to wipe at the ink, you briefly glanced up at him to see if he was alright.  Since you didn’t hear him oppose, you continued on with the outline.

Once the outline was completed, you wiped the area once more, sitting back to admire it so far, “Wanna see the outline or do you wanna wait till it’s done?”

Ashton’s breathing was slightly irregular, goosebumps raising on his skin as you cleaned off the area some more, looking for any spots in the outline that you may have missed, “I think I’ll wait til the end, thanks love.”

“Are you doing okay? We can pause you know, I know the ribs are a bit harder.”

“No, no.  It’s not that,” He was quick to say, glancing over his shoulder at you.  You could see something in his eyes, but it wasn’t pain or discomfort, instead his pupils were blown wide and he seemed aroused, maybe? “I’m just kinda enjoying the pain and I’m bracing myself for the shading.”

As you continued on, Ashton would occasionally, which would cause you to pause instantly to check on him.  He would wave you off, saying instead to keep going, that it felt good.  Had the two of you not been dating, Ashton may have felt a little embarrassed the way his cock was straining against his pants, but he knew that should you have free time afterwards, you could make complete use of the empty shop - or at least, he hoped you would.

With the shading completed, you wanted to finish off with some small white detailing.  Glancing up at Ashton, you sucked in a breath, “It’s time to do the white.  You gonna be alright or are you gonna cum in your pants if I do it?”

Ashton let out a laugh, swatting at your hand holding the paper towel, “Would rather cum in you, so hurry that ass up.”

You laughed, but the way he spoke made you press your thighs together as you changed the gun for the white detailing.  It took you a moment to get everything switched over, your mind continuously wandering to the very man whose back was facing you, lingering on the night before.  His bite marks on your breast and collarbone were still sore, but it made the anticipation of what was to come after you finished the tattoo even better.

Ashton let out quiet curses as you started the white detailing, the goosebumps returning to his skin.  He couldn’t believe how on edge he was, just from the sensation of the tattoo alone.  It was almost as if he understood now what Calum had meant when they discussed his chest tattoo, the vibrations sending chills up his spine.

He had to remember to keep breathing, that was the only way he was going to even be able to hold out long enough to make it through the tattoo, using your breaks in tattooing to take a deep breath, rolling his lower lip between his teeth.  Once you were done, you smiled brightly at the piece you had just finished, enjoying the fine detailing you were able to fit within the tattoo.

“Alright baby it’s done, go look in the mirror,” You spoke, touching his shoulder lightly so he could come down out of the daydream like state he seemed to put himself in.

Ashton stood, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the very obvious bulging in his jeans, your eyes unable to look up from that as he headed to the mirror to check it out.  “Shit, baby, it looks amazing.  You did a really good job.”

“Don’t I always?”

Ashton chuckled, nodding his head and headed back over so that you could clean it one final time and put the protective bandage over it.  As soon as that had been completed, you looked up at him.

“Alright, Irwin, sit in the chair laying flat,” you demanded, standing to your full height and looking him in the eyes.

“Oh she wants to be in control, does she?” Ashton asked with a quirk of his brow, but sitting in the chair and doing as he was told to anyways.

“I mean, sure, but it just makes the most sense to ride you while we’re here.  Also it’s easier to clean this up than the floor.”

“How do you know all of this?” “You wanna ask dumb questions, or do you want to fuck me?” You asked, hands on your hips.

Ashton smirked, running his fingers through his black locks before he reached down to undo the button on his jeans, tugging them down.  By the looks of it, he had gone commando, almost as if he was anticipating this.

You shimmied your leggings and panties down, checking behind you to make sure that you had the curtain fully closed.  Though the door was locked, you didn’t want passersby on the street to see into the shop.  Taking Ashton’s hand, you straddled his waist, placing your hands behind his head on either side of the chair once you got your balance.

“Finally can check something off our list, hm? Fucking in my shop.” You spoke next to his ear, removing one hand from behind his head so you could line his cock up with your entrance, sinking down slowly.  Both of you moaned at the feeling, now all too familiar for you.

Ashton grabbed your hips, keeping you steady as you got adjusted.  He had only been in you 12 hours before, but the size of him made you take a moment to adjust almost every time.  It was something you weren’t sure you could handle the first time you and Ashton had slept together, but that was also one of the first times that you didn’t need to be afraid of sex if it was with the right person.

Rolling your hips as a test, you groaned at the pull of his length against your walls, clenching around him.

“Keep that up kitten I really am not gonna last long,” He purred, squeezing your hips as you began a slow and steady rhythm.

You pressed kisses to his lips, his neck, just below his ear, anywhere you could reach really; you also took to tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging gently at each delicious thrust.  The pace of slow and steady didn’t last too long though, Ashton usually the type for hard and fast, which anyone could have guessed just by looking at the drummer.

While you were on top, Ashton decided he needed to take control, so his hands slipped to your ass, gripping tighter as he started to meet your hips at a brutal pace.  Tossing your head back, you gasped, digging your nails into his scalp; this only seemed to drive Ashton more, an almost animalistic growl tearing from his throat.  

His right hand left you for a split second, only to come crashing down against your cheek in a harsh slap that brought you forward so you could bury your face in his neck.  

“So good for me kitten, you like being spanked, don’t you? You love the pain almost as much as I do.” Ashton’s words were low in your ear, causing you to shut your eyes and nod in response.

“Yes, fuck.  Please more,” You begged, fingers clutching at any expanse of skin you could, dragging your nails across.  You began to nip at his neck as he delivered more slaps to your ass, the sting bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “Ash, so close…”

“Yeah, baby? You gonna cum for me?” He moved lower in the chair, giving him a different angle so that his cock was dragging against your g-spot each time, “You wanna fuckin’ scream for me? Come on, who’s gonna hear you?”

His words drove you over the edge with you calling out his name, loudly at first, but then softly whispered like a prayer as he fucked you through it.  Ashton wasn’t far behind, his thrusts only growing more and more sloppy until he finally came with a low curse, your body shivering as he filled you.

When the two of you came down from your highs, you lifted off of him, whining at the loss of him, and also the warmth beginning to trail down your leg.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Ashton chuckled, still panting from the exertion.

“Please,” You laughed, bending down to pick up your pants when you had a thought.  “Hey Ash?”

“Yeah love?”

“Ever wanted to make a sex tape?” You asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“Never really thought about it, why?” Ashton looked at you, confused before brought over a dry paper towel and a wet paper towel to clean up the mess.

“Because we’re on not so candid camera,” Motioning to the newer camera you installed, the two of you burst out in a fit of laughter at the idea that you almost didn’t need to watch porn together, as you could watch yourselves if you really wanted to.

tag list:  @haikucal @talkfastromance4 @calmlftv @canyon-moan @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @notinthesameguey @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @mantlereid @irwinkitten @n-ctarinenga @g-l-pierce @thecurlsofgod @idontneedanyone​ @boomerash @clemmings @cthofficial​ @ashtonsos​ @yikesguys​ @blackbutterfliescal​ @mashlums​ @ohhoneyofmine​ @monimickell​ @petunias-pet​ @treatallwithkindness​ @castaway-cashton​ @tea4sykes​ @begluketostay​ @wheniminouterspace​ @another-lonely-heart​ @ghostofmashton​ @myfavfanficsever​ @xsongxbirdx​ @stardust-galaxies​ @karajaynetoday

[all-of-the-above]

Being a woman today

As a woman in today’s world, you may feel…

a)     Insecure

b)    Body conscious

c)     Unpopular

d)    Not pretty enough

e)    Not perfect enough

f)      Weak

g)     Scared

h)    Unsatisfied

i)      Pressured

j)      All of the above?

Well, I think most of us can say me too. One thing I think we know for certain is that we are not alone in how we feel, yet the world can still make us feel like the odd one out. You see, being a woman is entirely one thing, but to be one in the society we have today is another. We face so many different things, fight for so many rights and are still put down, shamed and ignored. To feel uncomfortable in this world I think is honest and true. I hear you, so many of us are listening its just not enough. Who knew those princess stories weren’t true?

To be male or female in our society is highly pressurising, but I think we can all agree it is more so for women. Social media has infiltrated our lives, bringing connection, laughter and creativity but also pressure, bad body images, abuse and suffering. We scroll through pictures and think this is how I should look, why am I not that skinny, why don’t I have her hair, my teeth aren’t perfect, my lips are too small, I should wear more makeup, but also, I shouldn’t wear too much makeup. I need that outfit, I should go there, I need to be that happy, I should have that by now. No. Stop. Stop hurting yourself, stop hurting your body image, stop hurting your mental health. Take a breather, step back. No one is that happy all the time, no one looks like that 24/7. Stop comparing yourself to others, stop putting yourself down and wishing you could be more. You are already enough, and I know it is hard and it is tough, but so are you. Since when did life become this huge competition sometimes with complete strangers? Why put yourself through more stress just to look good for people who don’t really care. We consistently want something we don’t have and forget what we do have. You don’t need to post every time you do something just to show off. You don’t need to edit your photos so much that you lose yourself. You need to be you, post reality, post if and when you please, post for you. Stop editing and instead start loving what you see, embrace your ‘flaws’, your individuality. Life is for living, for real conversation, for smiles and for sunsets, for food, for music, for friends, for family, not for a screen that makes you feel unhappy in who you are. Stop competing, stop wishing to look like them or be like them, stop scrolling and start being you each and every day and don’t hide it from the world, share it, make a change, be someone who posts life and inspire others to stop wasting precious time editing and putting down and under appreciating themselves and their life.

Something else that really bugs me is the cost of being a woman. Why is everything so much more expensive? No, I don’t want to hear all that rubbish about women being the bigger consumers okay, I get it, we all do, but its still no reason for such stark differences. Why can a man get is hair cut for £10 whilst I have to pay £40 and up? So, women’s hairstyles can be more complicated, okay, but that’s a lot of money! Why is my plain white top £10 whilst his is £5, there’s no difference? Oh, and last time I checked sanitary products still cost. Those are not cheap, it is something we haven’t even chosen, we have no choice, but have to pay for it? What’s all that about? And why in the hell are they considered a luxury? It is a necessity, a healthy and clean way of caring for our bodies and they should be available everywhere for everyone, free of charge. But no. We pay again. And not only this but men have the gall to say periods aren’t painful, we shouldn’t be so moody, there’s no need it’s just natural. You see they refuse to understand, to listen, to help. A Professor of reproductive health at University College London, John Guillebaud, told Quartz that patients have described the cramping pain as 'almost as bad as having a heart attack.' Even a fact like that isn’t believed. Yet again women feel another form of pressure to be a certain way, to deal with it and move on. We are told to look certain ways, so we buy the latest fashion instead of being mocked, we cut our hair to just simply keep it healthy, we get our nails done, our eyebrows, eyelashes, we tan, we wax, we shave. We do so much, yet still pay more. How is it fair that we should pay more for things that men have too (like a haircut) when we also have so many other expenses. To be a woman means to feel under constant pressure. Maybe we don’t need to update our wardrobe every year, or consistently get our nails done, okay, but I think the point still stands. To be a woman is not cheap, it’s not easy, it’s not for the faint hearted, it’s tough.

A woman feels pressure from many aspects of society, and I know one in particular is clothes. We can feel insecure and even scared to wear a particular outfit to a particular place at a particular time. Why is that a thing? How is that fair? Its not. I should be able to walk down the street in a dress and not be starred at by men that are old enough to be my dad. I shouldn’t worry that someone may take my outfit as an invitation. I should be able to wear what I want and not be called out for it. Why am I starred at for wearing leggings and a top yet when I wear jogging bottoms and a large sweater, I’m invisible? You see sometimes it’s like a disguise, a safety net, a comfort blanket. My own invisibility cloak where I can go out and feel maybe just that bit safer, less looked upon, freer. This isn’t right, we shouldn’t be creating a world where girls are scared to wear skirts, to wear shorts or a dress or even jeans or leggings. Girls shouldn’t feel scared to wear their clothes. We don’t take a guy walking around with no top on and shorts as an invitation do we? So why take a girl in a dress, more covered up than a guy like that, as an invitation? I think we’ve proved that even at this point sometimes it doesn’t matter what you wear, its still scary out there. So how on earth have we built a society where women now could wear a mini skirt or high-vis coat and still be taken advantage of, still abused, used and even killed? Its wrong. Why is being a woman labelled as easy, that we don’t have to do much or worry about much. If you listened, looked, read, researched, you would see just how hard it is. It’s not easy, it’s scary, it’s pressurising, it’s tough.

To be a woman today means to be tough, it means to have a hard shell, to be prepared for the world, to support yourself, to love yourself as much as possible and feel comfortable in who you are. It means to be satisfied in your life and in you, whilst trying to not let the world around you scar your skin. This is for all the women out there, I hope you know you are not alone, you a brave, beautiful, bold and brilliant. The world is cruel but don’t let it stop you, know you are strong and capable of so many things. Know that who you are right now is more than enough.

[fairytail-incorrectquotes]

How would the thunder legion handle being in lock down? Would they take turns going out to get food? (Bickslow gets banned after buying junk food)

at first, Bix is the only one allowed out. he's batshit insane enough that people already maintain a six-foot distance from him, and using his levitation, he doesn't actually even need to touch the things he buys. it's a great idea, in theory; they give him a list of things to buy and 20kJ, he gets them, no-one comes into contact with him, there's no risk! however what the legion don't bank on is how much of a chaotic moron he is. "we needed you to get bread??? and milk???? and TOILET PAPER????" "yeah but they had buy one get one frees on bugle chips"

it doesn't affect freed much. he hardly leaves the house as it is - too busy practising spells and reading books. he's set a rune trap around the house, so that anyone who goes near it gets completely sanitised from head to toe and has medical-grade sanitary equipment strapped to their bodies. his "need to read" pile is getting drastically low, though, and he's getting concerned about the amount of wine left in the basement. he's kept himself busy, deep cleaning and reading and stopping bickslow from shaving hedgehogs

Eva isn't coping so well. she's read all her books 100 times by now and perfected her graceful fairy float. Netflix is out of shows about drug cartels and magical girls and she is plain sick of not having milk in her coffee. she's taken it upon herself to do all the shopping, and absolutely loses her mind when Bix explains that he wanted the own-brand redvines, not the real ones. she spends hours staring at the cieling. she's thinking of writing a book of poems, mostly about how she's going to snap bix's femur if he leaves the kitchen door open ONE MORE TIME. she's adopted three cats and a turtle and named them each different iterations of how it sounds when she screams into a microphone. she's about two days away from shaving off all her hair and knitting it into a sweater.

bix is having the time of his life. he's written a musical and is always trying to perform it for the legion, with his dolls as actors. they keep making excuses not to watch it. "sorry I've got... so much... work to do" "no." (that one was laxus) "I just don't have the time" "I've got to walk my turtle" "my hair hurts" - any and everything they can think of. he's starting to suspect they don't actually want to watch it. he's started asking freed stupid questions- "how much human piss would it take to waterlog a football pitch?"- he's dyeing his hair and he's making collages and he's having a great time. sleep all day, sleep all night, dick about in the evening - that's his routine.

laxus doesn't look affected, but inside he is SCREAMING. there's only so many times you can deconstruct and rewire the toaster or watch YouTube videos on the religious references in the 2006 film happy feet, starring hugh jackman and elijah wood. he's tempted to start a "project", meaning he's doing a pavlov's knock experiment on bickslow. he cracks open the heineken at nine am every morning. he no longer believes in the concept of time

it's a ride for all involved.

[skelffricat]

Good grief, Charlie Brown.

I’ve never owned an electric toothbrush. I’ve never had a dishwasher. I am the dishwasher. I like washing dishes. I never bought an iron. I don’t have a hairdryer. I find it strange that I get advertised these reusable alternatives for things that I never use anyway. Alternatives to cling film. I put another plate over the dish. Alternatives to cotton buds. I use my finger. (Ew, you may say, but surely a finger’s that size to fit in ears and nostrils? Or whatever orifice you please. Wash your hawnds.) Alternatives to cotton wool circles. What? I dont know why these thoughts have come into my head, when I want to write about my youngest child. Really, I’m meant to be working, but an annoying email from my dead daughter’s school sent me down a suicide rabbithole. Perhaps those other thoughts come about as my classic brain avoidance schemes. Like when you hoover instead of doing an essay. Positive procrastination, I used to call it. I wanted to visit some friends last night- a fun thing! but I was feeling all solitary and awkward. I cleaned the bathroom ceiling at first, instead! I had to really talk myself into going to see them. I was looking at my bed and it was saying, “Get into me! and read your book!”

Then I went, and I had a lovely time, of course. I still finished the book I was reading, when I got home at midnight, until three am, making myself ever so tired. I’ve stopped taking the tablets- beta blockers and mirtazapine (more by accident rather than design. They’re still up in the chemist waiting for me. I’m rather disorganised) and so sleep doesn’t come as readily. I have to take deep breaths for ages sometimes, to get over. And I awake in the night hearing things that aren’t there. I heard The Woodcarver calling me, one night, plain and loud as day. Another time, I heard my son knocking my door three times, sharply (or was it a burglar? I said that to someone and they laughed. Burglars don’t knock! Oh, hello there, wake up, I’m robbing you blind!) Bounced out of bed. Heart hammering. Called him. He was fast asleep. Was it her ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts, really. Kind of wish I did. She’d be a mischievous one, no doubt. Is it always 5:57am, when I awake? The same time. Time to find your dead child. 

I’m often in the house alone, now. They didn’t want to leave me alone, and there were so many people in the house, for ages. Then all of a sudden, it stopped. And I changed lovers... I changed to the one I’d been in love with for over a year, the one who seemed too young, the one who wasn’t interested. Suddenly he was interested. Well. It wasn’t sudden. It took a few weeks. Seven weeks? The seven week itch? It coincided with when the Scottish lover asked me to stop letting other people come to the house. He wanted me to himself. Which is kind of fair enough, though I knew it wouldn’t last anyway. (People coming to my house, I mean, not the relationship. I really enjoyed having a relationship with him. He is very sweet, funny, intelligent, and kind. The sex was great. He can cook wonderful food and play guitar well. I liked to sing with him. I am ashamed to say I was bothered by his being smaller than me, though. His face tended to itch me, too- he never quite grew a beard long enough to stop that. As he kept shaving it off, not because he couldn’t. That was the first time he kind of annoyed me, though.)

Lockdown doesn’t help, of course. We were all breaking rules in our grief. Covid is cancelled, my mother said. Masks off. Hugs all round. A friend told me you need extra oxytocin when you’re grieving. I was getting plenty of it. Good grief... 

Now I am frequently alone, and as my new lover is very busy studying (or perhaps less interested in me again now that he has my attention back? Though his reticence in getting with me stemmed from his concerns about the uneven nature of our interest in each other...) I haven’t seen him all week. I feel myself becoming depressed, and withdrawn, and paranoid, yet I still don't feel particularly sad about my daughter’s death. Which is strange. Isn’t it? Here is the email I received from her school this morning (it had her name and class at the top of the email): 

“Good morning

I hope this email finds you all well.

A number of years ago I signed the college up to the campaign against period poverty. I receive and distribute sanitary products to girls, primarily on free school meals, but any who are in need of the products and either can’t afford them or it is difficult to get them. The products are normally distributed by myself, during P.E and games, unfortunately this can’t happen at present.

These products are still available during the school closure. If you wish to avail of them, please contact our school info account (which is only read by one member of office staff) your request will be directed to me and I will contact you directly regarding collection.

These are difficult times for many at present and to quote my favourite supermarket, ‘every little helps’.

Kind regards...”

I was really with her until she quoted Tesco. And said they were her favourite!! Ugh! I mean, it really is a great idea. Though they really should check if the people they are writing about are still capable of bleeding. My heart bleeds....

I replied thus:

“Hello there.

Great idea, but as (my youngest daughter) has died, she won't be needing them any more. I hate Tesco- they ruin many little businesses.

Maybe take me off this mailing list?”

Then I attached one of her seven suicide notes: the one for school. Which I had previously not shown them. I only found it on Christmas Eve. Can I attach it, here? It has no names... 

There we are. Is it wrong of me to find her notes amusing? She is so angry, people say. I wonder how much of it is literal, and how much of it is using the school as a big nameless scapegoat. She was funny in the rest of them, too, and very loving. I found them comforting, like a fucked up Christmas present.

Then I started reading articles about suicide, and they were about how we shouldn’t call the people who do it selfish, about how depressed they are, how they need pity, not anger. I’m tired of the pity (though I’m not the suicidal one). I’m not producing enough sadness from myself when people pity me, either. Where is my sadness? Am I too acceptant of it all? We are all going to die. Is suicide like a C-section? Is it cheating death, like I thought my Caesareans cheated birth? Is suicide self euthanasia? Why do I not miss my daughter more? Is it because she had already left? Was she released, happy, free as a bird, swooping away on an Awfully Big Adventure? Trapezing her way into the æther? I googled to see if I could find any positive reactions to suicide. Is this my nature, to try and find the good in everything? To try and make light of the horrific? Is everything a joke to me? 

I found this blog post, from Andreas Moser.

I love it. Am I trying to take the blame away from myself? The NHS? The school? Should I be reeling and railing against the systems that let my daughter get into that state? Why am I instead trying to find ways to applaud her behaviour, accept it, even enjoy it?! When I read his words, “I admire their courage (because logical as it may be, it’s not easy) and the determination to make the ultimate decision in life oneself.” I felt a strange sensation of relief, that someone else could think those things. I had been thinking them, but trying not to, because it seemed like such an awful thing to think. But then I think, why does anyone else have to be to blame? It was her decision. 

The book I was rereading is called Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson. It’s my favourite book, I have decided, for now. Do favourites stay favourites? I was looking at my old Couchsurfing Profile today (because of Andreas’ blog- he, as a hippy hermit, is, of course, on Couchsurfing). One needs to update these every so often. Explain that you have watched another film in the last twenty years, that there is one less sofa in your living room, one less child on your earth. Even though no-one is allowed to move around, really. No visiting. No exploring. Perhaps she killed herself to escape the boredom. 

In Life After Life, the main character, Ursula, lives again and again. (I forgot that to live again and again, she had to die again and again. It's a very sad and graphic book, spanning two wars- read it. It is, ultimately, uplifting.) I wanted to read it again to make my daughter live again, and again. We need to write her alive. Show her drawings and paintings. Listen to her songs (they're hilarious). Read her poems. Admire her photographs. Tell the stories of her antics.

I know that really she was actually depressed and withdrawn. I know it isn’t a glorious escape. That her wee head was broken, and that sometimes it’s just easier to say, it was unfixable, she was determined, this is what she wanted, than to contemplate it as my (or anyone else���s) failure to help her. I know that she used to be confident and gregarious. She would have danced in front of people, inspiring others. She was always upside-down, tumbling, twirling, cartwheeling. She had a dry, cheeky wit, and rather an amusing obsession with poo and wee. She was kind, and wise. She liked to bake vegan treats. She could draw, and paint, and sing so beautifully. She played the ukelele, but by then she was hiding away. She had started to write poems- songs? She wouldn’t show us them. We had to beg her to perform on the trapeze for her Granny’s eightieth, in July. She did so, beautifully, but you could tell she hated the attention. Four months later, she hanged herself on it. 

Had we all withdrawn into ourselves, this 2020? Was there really nothing else to do? Yet I remember the start of Lockdown seeming idyllic. All that free time, all that sunshine. Was I just trying to convince myself, as usual? The only people we saw were the Woodcarver and the neighbours. She taught the wee boy next door to ride his unicycle. When she died, he brought in a picture he had drawn, of them on their unicycles, she as an angel above herself, a rainbow arcing over the three figures. His sadness affected me. I felt like I could only be sad through other people. Where is my sadness? Where is my grief? Good grief, bad grief, no grief? Alternatives to grief.

[todaydreambelieversfic]

Chapter 3
By GleefulDarrenCrissFan He and Kurt had made a plan to meet up at his house and spend the whole weekend together. Burt had agreed reluctantly, but he knew that their time living close together was limited so he told Kurt he could go as long as he promised to be safe and respectable. It was the respectable part that Blaine was pretty sure that they were going to ignore. 
He and Kurt left glee practice around the same time, but Blaine arrived first, so he decided to get everything ready. Although Kurt had become much more comfortable and confident with sex, Blaine knew he’d have to take the lead after seeing Kurt’s embarrassment regarding the subject. 
He was perfectly fine with just making this experience about Kurt. He found he was excited about being on the giving end. In fact, he had read countless articles about it in order to prepare. He even made a stop at the local sex shop to get a few supplies that might make the experience more enjoyable, although it was pretty awkward. He ran into Sebastian while holding a box of dental dams, and of course, Sebastian made a crass remark about showing him how to use them properly. He ended up going to the checkout counter without them, although he did remember a tip about splitting a condom and cutting off the tip to make one or he could even use Saran Wrap, whatever made it more comfortable for Kurt.
He found himself bouncing on his toes as he listened to Kurt’s navigator pull into his driveway. This weekend was going to be so amazing, just the two of them, alone and able to do anything they wanted with each other, or to each other. Blaine felt himself harden in his pants just at the thought of it. “Damn it. Not yet,” he sighed as he shifted his thoughts to think of something, anything, to make his issue go away. Rachel Berry kissing him. Brittany’s and Santana’s sex tape. Jacob Ben Israel in a speedo. No Blaine. You want it to go down not scar himself to the point of trauma. Sebastian buying sex toys. That did it. Blaine shook his head and sighed as he opened the door so he could help Kurt with his overnight bag. 
Kurt smiled as he opened the passenger door and grabbed his bag. “Hey.”
“No, no. I was going to grab that for you.”
“You can get the ones in the back,” Kurt shrugged.
“You have more than one? You’re only staying for the weekend, Kurt.”
“Don’t judge me. I happen to know that when we went to Chicago, you had a bag just for your hair care products. That’s what’s in this one.” Kurt said, holding up the overnight bag. “Well, and my facial cleansers. And I needed clothes. That’s what the suitcase is for.”
“And the little one? Do you have shoes in there? You know, we’re probably going to stay inside most of the time, unless you want to swim in the pool,”
“Um, it’s supplies, for, you know, the thing we wanted to try. I’ve been doing some reading on it, and there are some risks involved. So I got us some things that might help make the experience better.”
Blaine’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You got supplies? Where?” He reached for the small overnight bag but Kurt grabbed it before he could. Blaine reached for it again. 
Kurt bit his lip nervously as he held the bag close to his chest. “At a supply store.”
“You went to a sex shop? You-” Blaine grabbed Kurt’s face and kissed Kurt’s lips passionately. He reached for the bag again and Kurt maneuvered the bag behind his back as Blaine slid his hands from Kurt’s shoulders down his back to his ass, squeezing firmly. 
“Blaine, we’re outside,” Kurt said, looking around nervously, his cheeks blushing bright red. “Someone might see.”
“Then, let’s go inside,” Blaine whispered into Kurt’s ear and then dropped a few kisses to his neck. Kurt turned to the door, the bag dropping to the driveway. Blaine reached for it, but Kurt hurriedly snatched it up from the ground. “Uh uh. This is for later. Show me to my room, Mr. Anderson.”
“Not yet,” Blaine whispered seductively as he pressed Kurt against the door and kissed him passionately, his tongue sliding in between Kurt’s lips. Their tongues danced as Blaine’s hands slid down to Kurt’s ass, and he gave it a firm squeeze. “I can’t wait to take care of you,” he said as he started kissing Kurt’s jaw and made his way to Kurt’s adam’s apple before he realized that Kurt had stopped making noises and had tensed a little in his back. “What’s wrong?”
“Well. I thought since I was staying the whole weekend, we would use tonight for other things. To plan and to talk about what we want. Plus, we need a lot of prep to do this or it could end up being embarrassing or gross, and I don’t want that. I don’t think either of us does. So I have a plan.”
Blaine nodded. “Ok, so what does this plan entail?”
“Well, first, it entails you taking me to my room so I can unpack. Some of the things I brought were for our exploratory escapades tomorrow, so we need to talk about them and I planned for us to use a product tonight.
Blaine’s pupils seemed to grow dark immediately. “Then, by all means, let’s go unpack.”
_____________________________________________________________
“So when you said we’d use something in the bag tonight, this was not what I had in mind,” Blaine frowned as he held the wax in his hand. “Have you ever used this before?”
“I’ve waxed my eyebrows before, but I’ve never used this type before. Santana has. She said it wasn’t that bad.”
“Wait, Santana knows about this?” Blaine’s mouth dropped open in shock. 
“Well, I needed to find a place that had what we needed, and I knew Santana would know just the place. Besides, I had a lot of questions and she was the only person I knew that would know about it and not freak out.”
“Oh God. she’s going to give us so much hell over all of this. You know that she’s not going to be able to keep from blabbing about this,” Blaine grumbled.
“She won’t if she knows what’s good for her. I have dirt on her too. We had a pretty intense talk on the way home, and she spilled some things I don’t think she’d want me just telling anyone. Besides, she’s not as bitchy as everyone thinks she is if you’re her ally.”
“And we are?” 
“We are, I think.” Kurt smiled, grabbing the wax. “Now, do you want to do me first or do you want me to do you?”
“That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one,” Blaine chuckled. “The article I read said you could just shave the area.”
“And the article I read said that’s a bad idea because it itches when the hair grows back and there’s a chance to get cuts and nicks in really delicate areas. Besides, it says there’s more of a chance that you could develop ingrown hairs and that’s supposed to hurt like a bitch.” Kurt looked up at Blaine to notice that his boyfriend was staring at him. “What?”
“It’s just, you really researched this like you’re actually into it.”
Kurt took Blaine’s hand in his. “I’m into you, and this is your fantasy. You’ve fulfilled mine more than once, especially the time you set up your Ipod in that field and brought in all those lilacs.”
“You said that was overkill.”
“You brought squirt bottles to spray the flowers so it was like a dewy meadow and talked like Jacob from Twilight the whole time. I almost expected a sparkly vampire to appear,” Kurt giggled. “But it was amazing. And it was all my fantasy. It’s my turn to fulfill one for you, and I intend to make it as special for you as you did for me.”
“So is that the reason we’re the waxing tonight?”
“Exactly. Santana said that waxing can be a little painful, especially in sensitive places, and the ass is probably the most sensitive place you could do it. One of the articles I read said that the area might be red and sore afterward, and I don’t think we’ll be up for anything sexual after we do that.” Kurt laid out several clean towels on the counter and plugged in the trimmer. 
Blaine starred at Kurt again in wonderment. “Do we really have to do this? I’ve seen you naked. You aren’t really that hairy. Besides, if we’re using protection, we shouldn’t even come in contact with it.”
“Blaine, it’s a lot more sanitary to remove the hair. Hair traps things there you don’t want to be there, like toilet paper or even fecal matter.”
Blaine winced. “Well, when you say it like that, I guess it’s a necessary evil. But I just have a feeling that I’m going to be like Steve Carell in the forty-year-old virgin, yelling obscenities at you and not being able to finish. I’ll look and feel like a-”
“An ass?” Kurt teased.
Blaine laughed. “Yeah. And I don’t want that either.” He sighed. “You know what. Let’s just ease into this. We have so many other things we haven’t tried yet, and I’m ok with what we already do. I don’t want to spend all this time prepping for this and it ends up being awful.”
Kurt smiled softly. “We’ll do whatever you are comfortable with doing today. But at least hear my plan. First, wash each other and exfoliate the skin. You’ve been doing that, right?”
“Uh, I’m your boyfriend. I know how important you rate exfoliation and skincare,” Blaine laughed. “My parents are grateful that I have my own bathroom.”
“Ok, that will make it easier.” Kurt began removing other items from the duffel bag. Two new loofahs, a trimmer, exfoliating cream, oils, baby powder, gloves, and lots of popsicle sticks.”
“There’s a lot of stuff here, Kurt. Where do we start?”
“The articles I read say to make sure that everything is clean. So, we’ll shower first. Then, we need to trim. The instruction guide says that too much hair can be really painful and too little can cause you to remove the skin. I’ve made that mistake once. It hurts like hell. Do you want to shower first, or do you want me to?”
“Why don’t we shower together? We can make sure we are good and exfoliated,” Blaine said with a grin. “Besides, we can have a little fun, just in case the waxing has us so sore that we don’t get to anything else.”
“I like the way you think,” Kurt said with a wink. “But it’ll be fine. Lot’s of men manscape now. How bad could it be?”
_____________________________________________________
“Ok, I’m pretty sure the wax has set,” Kurt smiled as he stirred the wax with a stick. Grab the baby powder and then turn over on the towel. 
Blaine removed the towel around his waist and laid down flat on the clean towel Kurt had laid down in the bathtub. “Like that, Mr. Hummel?” Blaine asked, wiggling his ass at Kurt.
“Getting cheeky, Blaine?” Kurt teased. “You need to stay still. I’m going to trim the area first, and there’s a lot of it.”
“Are you trying to say I’m overly hairy?” Blaine chuckled.
“Oohhh, sharp, Blaine. That’s exactly what I’m saying. The article said the longer the hair, the more it hurts. I got a really good trimmer though. It’s supposed to be the best.”
“Alright, I trust you. Just be careful.” Kurt turned on the trimmer and started at the top of Blaine’s cheeks. Blaine winced. 
“Stay still, Blaine. I don’t want to cut you.”
Blaine pouted. “Sorry. It tickles. And why did you start there?”
“The article suggested starting there first if you’ve never waxed before. It said it would be a good way to test if you can handle the pain.”
“Kurt, I have a pretty high pain tolerance. I told you about fight club. I’ve never lost a match.”
“Yeah, but you’ve probably never had anyone rip the hair straight from your ass either. It’s gonna smart a little.“ Kurt advised as he wiped the cut hairs away. “There. I think that’s good enough. I’m going to apply the powder now.” Kurt began shaking the baby powder on Blaine’s butt. He slapped it playfully when Blaine raised his butt up a little in the air. 
“Oh yes, spank me.”
Kurt blushed. “Blaine, you might want to stay still. I’m about to apply the wax. I have to apply it a certain way.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t hot?”
“It’s not, but it needs to be applied in small increments, and I have to make sure that I go in the right direction. I need to go in the same direction as the hair so that when I pull it, it goes against the grain.”
“You mean, you’re going to do it small patches? You might as well tweeze them if you’re going to do that. You can do a whole cheek. I can take it. And if it hurts, you can kiss it better,” Blaine suggested cheekily.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. It’s ok. Slather it on there. Get it all off at once. I don’t want you to have to go back over the same area multiple times. I’m ready. Just do it,”
Blaine tensed his body as he felt Kurt grab the lip at the end of the strip of wax. “Are you ready? I can do it gently. I have the oils right here. Tell me if it hurts too bad or-”
“For the love of Vogue, just do it alrea- HOLY SHIT On A CRACKER! Geez, Kurt, how much hair did you get?”
“You told me to cover the whole cheek. Are you ok? And what the hell is holy shit on a cracker?” Kurt laughed.
“That hurt like hell, Kurt. Are you sure you applied it correctly?”
“I did it exactly like the package instructed. I told you it’s a sensitive area. That’s the reason I was going to do small patches.”
“I don’t know if I can take that again. I think I’d rather you use a cactus as a dildo on me than to do that again.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“Bend over. I’ll do yours next.”
“Do you really want me to stop or do you want me to try a smaller patch?” Kurt asked sincerely. “Do you want me to go ahead and apply the oil? It’s really red.
“At this point, I’d like some morphine and a tub full of ice.”
Kurt gently applied baby oil to Blaine’s sore, red cheek. “Is that any better?”
“I don’t know. Rub it a little more.” Blaine teased. Kurt could feel his muscles get tight as he applied a small strip of wax on the other cheek. “Alright. Do it quick. All at onc- MOTHER FLICKER!”
“What was that?” Kurt bit his lip in an attempt to stifle a laugh. Mother what?”
“You know there’s certain words I try not to say. Shut up.” Blaine pouted, biting his lip
“Is it really that bad?” Kurt massaged baby oil to the spot where he just removed the strip.
“I think I’d rather get my arm caught in a revolving door. How the hell do girls do this all the time?”
“They get used to it. Do you want me to continue? I haven’t even got near your hole yet.”
Blaine jerked his head around. “I’m sorry but if it hurts this bad on my cheeks, there’s no way I’m letting you actually put wax there. I’m sorry. It’s like I said earlier. If we’re using protection, the hair shouldn’t be that much of an issue anyway.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Kurt asked gently.
“I don’t want my ass to look like Steve Carell’s chest.”
“Noone’s going to see it but me, and it’s ok. You don’t have to let me finish.” Kurt answered.
“Finish it,” Blaine sighed. “It’ll be ok. Just know that you’re next.”
___________________________________________________________
After an hour break so they could eat and Blaine could sit without too much discomfort, Kurt laid on a clean towel in the bathtub with Blaine bent over his bare ass. He trimmed the hair first and then applied the baby powder to Kurt’s soft, pale cheeks. “God, your ass is so sexy. You know, if you hadn’t suggested the waxing, I probably wouldn’t have said anything. You don’t have that much.”
“Well, then. I guess you don’t have to-”
“Nope. it’s too late now. You waxed my ass, I’m waxing yours.” Blaine slapped the stick down, slathering a small strip of sticky wax on Kurt’s right cheek. “Brace yourself, dear.” Blaine pulled the lip of the strip firmly. 
Kurt bucked his ass and hissed, but he flattened back down.”
“Ok, you can do a bigger strip. It’s ok. I’ve waxed before.”
“Wow, you sure?” Blaine questioned.
“Yeah, just do it. It’s not that bad,” he said as Blaine slathered a much larger amount a little further down, closer to his crack. 
“You sure?” 
“I’m sur- HOLY HELLFIRE AND SLAP YOUR MAMA!”
Blaine cackled. “What was that?”
“You shut up. I didn’t get that area on you all at once. Holy shit!” 
“I told you it hurt,” Blaine said as he rubbed oil on the redness on Kurt’s ass. “Are you ok? Do you need some ice?”
“Screw the ice. Just give me the entire tub of icecream I saw in your freezer.”
Blaine chuckled. “It’s ice cream, not asscream. And I’m not explaining to my mother where it went. I did grab another pack of frozen peas. You threw the other ones away, right?”
“No, Blaine. I put them in the crockpot with a pot roast. Of course, I threw them away. I’m not eating those after they’ve been on your ass.”
“You do know that you’re going to be licking that same ass tomorrow, right?”
“Not if you continue to be such a smartas- NUCKIN FUTS! Warn a guy first. Dammit, Blaine.”
“Sorry. You need the peas?”
“Shut up and remove the hair from my- WELL MOTHER FU-”

[porchwood]

ToastedTHG: Does Katniss (protectively) infantilize Prim?

[I may revisit this post later in light of CF and MJ, but it’s ridiculously long already and I really want to stick with THG for the moment.]

I don’t mean this as harshly as it sounds, simply that, to my way of thinking, Katniss depicts - and likely perceives - Prim, especially early on in THG, as a much younger child. I find with older siblings (my own sister and friends that have little sisters), the younger sibling sometimes gets “stuck” in their head at a certain age/stage, and it stands to reason that Prim would be locked in Katniss’s mind by the trauma of Mr. Everdeen’s death, Mrs. Everdeen’s neglect, and the girls’ near-death by starvation as seven-year-old “sweet tiny Prim, who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason.”

When I first started reading THG fic, it bothered me that Prim always came across as so much younger than she’s supposed to be (though I found myself doing the same with her character when I first started writing THG fic). She always seemed to be about eight years old, whether Katniss was twelve or eighteen. And then I went back to THG and really looked at how Katniss presents her:

She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. 

My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother’s body, their cheeks pressed together. 

The community home would crush her like a bug. 

Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. [...] Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?

I reach out to Prim and she climbs on my lap, her arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, just like she did when she was a toddler. 

“She’s just twelve.” (not that age twelve isn’t still childhood, but this reads to me like “She’s just seven years old...”)

The woods terrified her... 

...Prim, who’s scared of her own shadow... 

In this way [Rue’s] exactly the opposite of Prim, for whom adventures are an ordeal. 

I’m not suggesting that any of this is negative or untrue, and as I’ll explain in just a moment, as the story goes on, Katniss paints quite a different picture of her sister between the lines. But as I revisited each of these passages (not to mention the “little duck” references on reaping day), I couldn’t help feeling that Katniss is still seeing and describing a sweet, frail, starving seven-year-old. And it’s not hard to see why.

I protect Prim in every way I can, but I’m powerless against the reaping. The anguish I always feel when she’s in pain wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my face. 

Katniss is an exemplary protective older sister - the only thing she wanted in all of this is to protect Prim :_( - and I would never find fault with her depicting Prim as a tiny frightened thing who needs shielding from the world at all times. But there’s a whole lot more to Prim that her sister eventually lets slip out (intentionally or otherwise):

Sweet tiny Prim...who brushed and plaited my mother’s hair before we left for school, who still polished my father’s shaving mirror each night because he’d hated the layer of coal dust that settles on everything in the Seam. (This is that same tiny vulnerable seven-year-old taking care of her adult mother and tending to her dead father’s memory - every single day, even while she’s starving to death! I can’t think of anything I did that consistently at age seven, let alone taking care of another person!)

On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prim’s gift to me on reaping day. (As @ghtlovesthg pointed out - this means Prim must have been up before Katniss!)

“I’ll be all right, Katniss,” says Prim, clasping my face in her hands. “But you have to take care, too. You’re so fast and brave. Maybe you can win.” (Prim reassuring Katniss at the Justice Building! I’d forgotten about that one!)

...When she sells her goat cheeses at the Hob... (Prim is a businesswoman, not just a sometime-trader! Discussed a smidge more in this post.)

Prim milking her goat before school. (Again, uniquely responsible in a child, because this is an every-single-day responsibility, not something you can skip if you sleep in or rush if you’re running late. At least, not if I understand milking correctly.)

What’s funny was, Prim, who’s scared of her own shadow, stayed and helped. (With that miner’s awful leg wound)

That’s another thing about my mother and Prim. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be of far more use to Peeta than I am. (I’m almost 40 and I’m still squeamish about male nudity! It’s part of why I love Katniss so much! And I love Katniss’s admission of sweet, tiny, vulnerable Prim being useful to a mortally wounded Peeta.)

Something that’s only faintly nodded to (and that in CF) is that Prim has been dealing firsthand with pregnancy/labor/delivery, probably alongside her mother - I’d hazard she’s something of an apothecary apprentice at this point - but certainly with Lady, her goat. Lady was a gift for Prim’s 10th birthday (just over two years before THG begins), which means she’s been tended by Prim through at least two pregnancies, as well as the mauled shoulder. I belabored this a bit in WtM, but this also means that Prim had a small side business in goat kids, either trading them back to the Goat Man for the stud service that keeps Lady in milk, selling male kids to Rooba for meat (which would probably break Prim’s tender heart a bit), and/or selling females for a tidy sum as future dairy goats.  

What’s more, if Prim hasn’t gone through menarche herself by the start of THG, she’s surely intimately aware of it (between close living quarters, limited “sanitary supplies,” and her mother’s patients). This is something else I’ve touched on (and will belabor in the near future) in the Mooniverse, but I think menstruation was both a hopeful and a terrifying thing to the women of Twelve. (On the one hand, they would certainly experience irregular/absent periods, delayed menarche, etc due to malnutrition, so the appearance of a steady cycle would mean joy for those who dearly wanted to get pregnant, but there would also be something of Katniss’s “terror as old as life itself” at the prospect of those children who might result.) We never get a chance to see this, sadly, but I’ll bet Prim had a crush (on Peeta’s oldest brother, who was crazy about her in turn). Did she share Katniss’s fear about bringing children into the cruel world she lived in, or was she looking forward to being a mother one day? 

To wrap this up, for a little perspective, let’s take a quick peek at another example of a twelve-year-old female character. Say, an intelligent one with an ugly yellow cat...

(yes, I know Crookshanks comes along a smidge later, but I’m not crazy about movie!Hermione and this gif was too perfect!)

At the beginning of THG, give or take a few months, Prim is the same age as Hermione in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. 

Please tell me this gives someone else a wee start (and I don’t mean the gif of Captain Kirk)!

Now, I’m not trying to equate these characters by any means, though there are similarities between the two (and I’ve been wondering for days now: if Prim was Hermione, Rory Hawthorne would be Ron, for so many reasons, but who would be Harry??)...The Grangers are dentists, Mrs. Everdeen is a skilled apothecary; both girls have a heritage looked down upon by some of their peers (though it’s interesting that, at least from Katniss’s perspective, Prim is universally adored rather than scorned as a “Seam brat” - and she’s got to look the tiniest bit Seam in some way!). I would hazard that Prim knows the plant book cover-to-cover at this point - and heck, Katniss even describes Prim (and their mother) as “work[ing] magic” in their healing! :)

I freely admit that Hermione had loads of advantages Prim could only dream of (relative affluence in the Muggle world, 20th-21st century conveniences, access to superior education from the get-go, not to mention real magic), but one would expect - and I think, will find - a similar emotional maturity in Prim at that age, if not more weighted to Prim's side, since she's living in a brutal post-apocalyptic dystopia where she lost her father (in terrible circumstances) at a very young age and works alongside her mother to tend sick/wounded/dying coal miners - surely a harrowing experience for even a seasoned healer.

Anyway, I found it interesting to compare the two, however briefly, and consider just how competent Prim totally is may be behind the scenes. I mean, she should have a Time-Turner by CF, at the very least. :)

[ripuels]

Rival Gangs AU: warnings of blood, violence, swearing, bruising, etc.

For @annabellioncourt thank you!

(This got too long so I’m publishing as a text post to use a Read More that’ll actually work. This website is amazing. Really. Also I’m Very Tired, sorry if the editing looks like a four year old did it)

“Are you the one who's been following me? Stalking me?”

Amanda had recognised the eyes straight away, the depth of brown peering over a khaki bandana, pinched tight over his nose and tied at the base of his neck. The switchblade pressing against his throat shaves a tuft of green from it. 

“Fucking answer me, pretty boy.”

His hand moves gingerly as if he were defusing a bomb, a knife rolls from his fingers and clatters into the blue metal like a gunshot in the dark.

“I’m sorry, Ripley.” The synthetic with every reason to flinch doesn't. This woman, more leather and machine grease than human, holding him fast against the tunnel wall, shivers with unpredictability. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You couldn't scare me if you tried. Fuck,” she grimaces against the fading adrenaline, leaving her a dizzy creature, a lamb, holding up a lion. 

They both know a severed throat wouldn't do much to stop a berserk synthetic, especially not with her struggling grip. He stands still regardless, unfazed by the threat. 

“How the hell did you even find me, Samuels?” 

He glances to the blood leading down the train line. A dot-to-dot probably leading all the way from the outskirts of snob-hill to here, X marks the spot right over his chest, staining his cashmere sweater.

Amanda grunts in comprehension and shoves herself off the wall, leaving him to brush his clothes smooth. “Okay, good point.”

Samuels wishes it wasn't. “You've lost a lot of blood. Are you alright?” 

“Fucking peachy.” She says, retreating onto her gang's side of the tracks, replacing the switchblade into her leather jacket with incomprehensible speed. “Wish I could say the same about my bike, I swear to God, if there's so much as a scratch on it, I’ll kill the lot of ‘em.”

She brushes her fingers back through her hair, her hood falling down and he pans over her injuries.

“What happened to you?”

Ripley scoffs in disbelief, leaning a heavy shoulder into the dark emergency alcove. “Like you don't know.”

“I was told nothing more than they intended to attack. They know I'm conflicted by protocols. That I struggle in a fight. I think they try to be kind by not inviting me.”

“Or they know you'll get in their way.” Which he does, far too often to go unnoticed by David. “You're too good for this life, Samuels. It's going to catch up to you one day, believe me.”

This synthetic's deep frown flinches, easing to something far, far worse. Sadness. After all this time, after so many close encounters with others like him, she'd never seen one be that before. 

“Was no big deal.” Amanda can't bare his gaze. “Got jumped behind the garage when everyone fucked off home, too pissed to ride. Fucking cowards, I got shoved in a boot, driven out, and I got away, but... Well,” she gestures vaguely at her face. “It's obvious they didn't want to kill me.”

Christopher knows it's because she would absolutely be dead, and they'd have war on their hands. No, this freckle of red and staining of blue was a scare tactic, an obviously ineffective one as she winces her next breath. Heavy, resolute. Plotting. 

“They shouldn't have been on your side of town.” His voice sounds accusing, but for what it's unclear. 

“I didn't fucking provoke them, if that's what you're asking. Your lil' biker gang of Decepticon wannabees probably just don’t like the fact we kicked your ass in the park district. It's ours now. You want it back? Fine, time and place. Name it.” 

“I personally couldn't care less.” Samuels says rather than stating her very existence seems to egg his crew, his family, on. “I'm worried why you were left alone in the first place, is there still no honour amongst thieves?”

“It's Sunday.” Amanda shrugs as though it explains everything. “Believe it or not, we don't live to terrorize you, we all have jobs to go to tomorrow. Real lives outside this territorial bullshit. To be honest though,” she trembles to dab her brow and winces, a bruise beginning to darken the outer corner of her eye. “I could really use a day off.”

“I'm sorry.” He mumbles and it surprises her.

“Why? You had nothing to do with it. Funnily enough, you never do.” 

“Yes, I did.” A hardness sets in Samuels' gaze, the purity and innocence vanishing in a heartbreaking fall. She can't help but feel as though it's like an angel from grace. “I could have warned you, but by the time I heard-” 

“Shit, Samuels. Don't start blaming yourself, you would'a been killed for stepping foot over the tracks anyway, let alone coming to the workshop. You didn't do anything wrong, I know that. We're good.” It kills to give her direct rival such power. “And yeah, we might be from different worlds completely, but I don't let the actions of some reflect on the whole thing.” 

“Who was it?” He doesn't need to ask, just go back to the clubhouse and see who's missing teeth or some digits. Find someone sourcing parts for repair. “Ash? David?”

“Doesn't matter who it was, they'll be on their guard for a bit now. No need to protect them.” The quiet rage surprises them both, just as genuine as it is violent. “Yet.”

“Please, don’t do this.” Despite all the warnings in his programming, Samuels steps over, ducking into the small archway she's hunkering in. “I’m sick of the bloodshed, on both sides. I'm thinking about- No, I am certain. I'm out, Ripley.”

“You think so, do you?” 

“Yes.” He says in a way that makes her believe him. “I can't see people like this anymore, I can't keep repairing my friends and pretending that it's not all for nothing. That they aren't terrible enough they can do this to you, a human. That you, or one of your friends won't kill us in a few months when tensions run high again anyway.”

Tensions are always high, Amanda thinks as he moves towards her, licking his thumb and scrubbing at a spot of blood on her cheek. It makes no difference in the grand scheme, one mark amongst hundreds. He licks it again and she recoils, almost in disgust, but he stares like steel, nonchalantly taking to the mass of red on her cheekbone. She winces, but doesn't pull away.

“You look a mess.” Samuels hums thoughtfully, tugging his bandana off his neck and sucking on a corner, using it to clean her lip. “They shouldn't have gone this far.”

“Had worse. Done worse.” 

“Seen worse.” He states flatly. “Doesn't mean it's not upsetting to me.” 

“To your protocols.” Amanda doesn't mean to make it sound so much like a weakness, rather than she actually admired it about this one. 

“That too.”

“Speaking of which, since when have you been carrying a knife?” Amanda cocks her head away into his other palm under her ear, a little skeptic, a little in pain. “You expecting a fight or something?”

“With Amanda Ripley involved, always.” He says deadpan, but there's an attempted note of humour in his voice. Her reputation is littered in grey, some awful things proven to be small town gossip; and other more harrowing tales that perhaps only he knows, absolute truth. “But it wasn't for you, I was worried about being followed.”

“Like you were following me?” Her voice finally cracks in good humour, it's short lived but Samuels falters. 

“Just- keep still, will you?”

“Yes, okay, Christopher.” How anyone with a self appointed ID like that ended up in any gang at all is beyond her. She nudges him. “What the hell kind of name is Christopher anyway? Doesn’t exactly scream synthetic delinquent.”

“Like you're one to talk,” he finally smiles, “Amy.” 

They fall into a relaxed silence in the dim, a damp trickle of moisture running from the overpass nearby, fog rolling in down the way. They are relatively secluded, the green exit sign casting them both in a nebulous glow as her wounds are silently tended to in less than sanitary conditions. His eyes leave the mess of injury for hers every few seconds, searching for a tell of her discomfort. Of course it is always relative. Now, it's not so much his proximity to her that's cranking at her anxiety, but the thought that if he was seen on their turf, even by a metre or two, he'd be killed. If they were seen so close, they both might be, the speed of which would depend on who came across them first. 

She remembers Zula, the best damn right hand Amanda ever had, and that Davis, he was alright for a military device. They'd been chased to the edge of the world when David found out about them. They were nothing more than friendly, familiar, but they've yet to stop running for it. An anonymous letter is delivered every now and again, no return address, but one day, she knows they're going to stop. 

This, she thinks, is far too close to that.

“What is it?” Christopher asks the darkening of her face, the silence waning of it's humour. 

“Why the hell are you here? You know if I'm seen with you they'll fucking kill me.” She pushes off the wall, nearly right into his chest. Though her stature is found sorely wanting, her entire demeanour screams louder than Samuels ever could in raw, fearsome, violence. Barely contained in a 5’ 5 cage. “Get the fuck out of here Samuels, before you get us both-”

She swallows her words as his lips crash onto her own, hesitating briefly until her hands take his jaw with a demanding hardness. Shoving herself into him, they hit the far wall hard enough to encourage a deep grumble amongst a slew of colourful names for idiocy, and more specifically, him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Her body presents no complaint. “Chris- think about this.”

“I am- I have.” He brushes down to her neck, detects her tensing, pushing back harder as he finds a firm lump of bruise. A footprint. Fucking David.

It's a wonder what it would be like to feel, anything, let alone pain, learn what about it grounds this woman. It would be a fair deal, he supposes, to have a sense of the worst rather than nothing at all

“Then you're an idiot and a deadman.”

“You don't scare me, Amy.” He says as her angry kisses take control of him. Holding her, bloody and bruised, just tight enough to hurt in all the places it doesn't yet, until his systems blare that it's too much. That it encourages the alarming grip she has of his hair or neck or shoulders. 

“I should.” She hisses in response.

Christopher knows it too. The ghastly stories she had whispered, melting from her lips as her icy exterior thaws over his chest. Her leather and flannels, his denim and cashmere, both of their embroidered patches, all scattered over the floor of dingy motels. Completely bare together, stripped of identity in the next town over, then the next. Riding further and further until one day they might never stop. 

Never need to retreat with their fallen. To lick wounds. To prepare for next time. 

Next time. 

Because there were plenty. So often they met on the field, in the canyon, at the lookout, her hands stained white taking life, his red from saving it. For years Christopher would always find her after the fights by an upturned motorcycle, pacing at an old inn or bar, fingers through her hair, and he'd lead them to a room. They'd find relief from the wounds and the damage, the over-stimulation and adrenaline. Take whatever was left out on each other. It became their ritual.

Now, just like every other time, he takes the side of her face, but offers something new. “Leave with me. Right now. For good. Don't make me beg.” 

“What?” Her lips are yet to leave his, but Samuels' eyes open to slits, slowly pulling away to gauge her. 

“Why do we ever come back, Amy? We know how to get out, in the chaos of the aftermath, we abandon our people to fuck in cheap rooms and play it off as hunting down each other's stragglers. How long do you think we can keep this lie up? How long until they learn where we really go?” Samuels allows himself to lean in, accept a kiss that feels awfully final as her hands grow unbearably tight at his shoulders, taking him by the collar with a rough shake. 

“Jesus, Chris, you can’t be serious. Open your Goddamn eyes.” A demand weaponized by a glance down, their different attire barely touching at the chest but worlds apart, threatening to collide like two orbits never meant to meet. On course to implode, or burn out. It's impossible to tell. “Look at us. I’m a greaser. A criminal. I darken the city with a pitch black bike, and run red into the streets. I am a fucking menace to society just like the rest of us. And you, fuck, you’re a synthetic with a heart of gold. And if you- if you let me, I’m going to ruin that. Ruin you. Shit, I mean you already look forward to the turf wars, because you know what comes after.”

“I do not look forward to them, but being there means I can keep an eye out for you if you need.” His gaze moves away lazily, unapologetic. “They do herald the time we spend together, but it's not that which I like. It's the fact we can escape for a while, just us. A breath of fresh air amongst all of this.”

“And we come back because we know they’ll-” her voice cracks, “they'll find us. Out there is a big fucking world that we already know we can't hide in, we'd never find peace. There's no future, not for me and you.”

“What are you saying?” 

“I mean.” She stands back again. Breaking away. “I mean I'm out too. Of this. Of us.”

His face, already torn between sadness and fear, falls further. “Do you think there is peace here? At least we have a chance out there. Movement, that's what will keep us safe. On the road, under the sun and stars, rain and shine, I don't fucking care. As long as you say you'll come.”

“Samuels, we’ve tried before, to run,” she mumbles softly, “and we were caught. Hurting the others, I don't give a shit, you know I fucking don't, but having to hurt you-”

“Do not dare blame yourself.” He says sternly, holding his shoulder where a long jagged ridge of repaired silicone pushes back. “I didn't feel a thing. They had to believe me, it was the only way.”

“No,” the tremble cheats the strength in her voice, in her eyes. A hundred times he’d looked into them and not seen this. “There was another way, there was always another way, we just don't want to admit it.” 

“And I never will. You cannot convince me to move on, to leave you.”

“You have to. My people will try to kill me, and they'll definitely kill you, and-”

“Then I'll die.”

“Christopher...” She closes the gap between them, hesitant and desperate arms crashing around each other. No longer willing to exchange needy kisses, but fill a void. Squeeze so hard his respiratory system freezes. “Where are we meeting this time?”

“Pardon?”

“I need to get my bike, and you need to get off this side of town. But then what?”

He frowns deeply, for the first time he doesn't want to go through with it. “For our usual rendezvous?”

She convinces herself to back away, catching the last fragments of him like this, his fingers loosening their suddenly paper gentle grip on her waist. “I've been called many things, Christopher Samuels, but never shy of a challenge. Let's get the fuck out of here.”

Chris takes a step forward but stops, “Amanda,” he whispers, not wanting to ask if she's serious, strain this already brittle, whimsical promise. “Sunrise. The lookout.”

“Be there. Oh, and one more thing?” She calls back down the tracks, “I love you.” Her voice echoes in the dark long after she's gone. 

[mr-entj]

Any tips or useful resources for a rookie wanting to do more recreational travel in their future, especially to countries in Europe and SE Asia?

There are many different countries and unique cultures in Europe and Southeast Asia so I’m dumping generalized and random travel tips below.

Europe:

Use public transportation whenever possible because it’s safe, convenient, and affordable. Trying to get around the city in a taxi in their teeny tiny streets is usually more expensive and much slower. Also, don’t drive in Italy, it’s like the European automotive version of The Hunger Games.

Pack accordingly; that means clothes, medication, and travel accessories because everything is way more expensive in Europe if you forget something and need to buy it there.

If you buy anything, don’t forget to get a VAT refund before leaving. People miss out on a ton of money forgetting to do this.

TripAdvisor is your friend to look up reviews and recommendations of local spots, Yelp’s not big over there.

When ordering water in restaurants, specify that you want still water or you may get sparkling (carbonated) water instead. Water’s usually not free.

European food portions are 25-50% smaller than American portions, order accordingly with this knowledge to avoid leaving hungry. #Murica

Tipping in restaurants works differently depending on the country, it’s not the usual 18-25% that it is in America. 10% is a safe number but check local tipping etiquette.

Exercise volume control in public (and private) spaces. We’re usually louder than them overall without realizing it.

Whatever country you’re in, eat their bread. Their bread is magical.

Wearing Trump paraphernalia is a great conversation starter to make new friends

There’s a possibility you may arrive in Europe single but accidentally fall in love and marry a European on your way home. It happens from time to time. Just go with it.

Southeast (SE) Asia:

Singapore is the exception to these because it’s basically Asian Wakanda.

SE Asia is predominantly Muslim. Be aware and respectful of local culture when it comes to clothing and conduct.

Get all vaccines prior to going unless malaria and dengue fever are your idea of a good time. The CDC has a great resource for vaccines based on destination.

Pack medication for the following issues: diarrhea/upset stomach, headaches, and motion sickness. Activated charcoal pills are awesome for funky stomach issues. Pack mosquito repellent. Hand sanitizer is your best friend, use it all the time.

It’s hot in the winter and insanely hot in the summer. Be prepared to sweat like crazy and take 2-3 showers per day. Be a global citizen and wear deodorant. 

Bring cash prior to arrival because foreign exchange places are shady, expensive (conversion rates are bad and fees are high), or shady and expensive (as is the case in Asia). I typically bring $1,000 USD for every 1 week of travel per person but only keep $100 in my wallet when I go out into the city and leave the rest in my suitcase in the hotel locked, bolted, and hidden away.

Drink only bottled water, don’t drink from the tap. Tap water isn’t sanitary in SE Asia and anything that touches it or uses it as an ingredient will destroy your weak first world country stomach. This includes being careful when brushing your teeth. Order bottled water in restaurants.

Avoid street food, especially anything that’s uncooked (i.e. iced drinks, fresh fruit, shaved ice, cold desserts, etc.) because food safety isn’t strictly enforced in SE Asia. If you must eat street food, make sure it’s cooked thoroughly (i.e. fried foods).

Aside from that, try the local cuisine because it’s incredible. SE Asian exotic fruits, vegetables, meats, seafood, and flavors are unmatched. Try as much as you can while there. Eat everything.

If you have a friend/colleague/family member local to that country and who speaks the language, then have him/her buy all the tickets to attractions, museums, national parks, etc. Foreigners are often charged more money for these same tickets.

If you’re an adventurer who likes to go off the beaten path into more rural areas, then pack some toilet paper. Public restrooms there may not have normal flushing toilets, but instead holes in the grounds with a water hose or water bucket to wash your butt. You’re welcome.

If you go on a tour, the restaurants the tour group selects for meals are usually overpriced because they get kickbacks. Look around the area for better and cheaper alternatives.

General:

Most of my business travel tips apply to leisure travel.

Get all necessary visas before traveling. Don’t assume that an American passport will get you in everywhere (especially in Asia) or through certain countries in passing. We once got thrown out of the Czech Republic in ‘98 because of this oversight.

Bring a credit card without international fees because 1-5% fees add up quickly over the course of a trip. Before leaving, call the credit card company and let them know all travel dates so they don’t accidentally flag international transactions as suspicious (possible fraud) and freeze the card.

Activate an international data plan (ex: AT&T) while traveling overseas. Call and request this feature before you board the plane so it’s activated by landing. This will spare you the sticker shock of hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars in roaming fees.

Bring a universal travel adapter and a power bank (up to 20,000 mAh) to charge your phone while out and about. Your smartphone is your lifeline in a foreign country for communication, navigation, and sometimes payment. Make sure it’s always charged.

For hotels and accommodations, it’s better to pay a little bit more money and book something closer to the center of the city than to pay less but stay farther away. The traffic (time) and transportation costs (money) going to and from the city will add up to more than what you initially saved. This is especially true in SE Asia where traffic is insane. Airbnb is a great option.

Don’t bring your passport with you when out and about, it’s going to get lost, and then you’re going to spend an entire day at the consulate dealing with disgruntled government employees and trying to prove you’re not trying to illegally immigrate into your home country. Leave it locked in your suitcase.

[justslowdown]

can you tell us some dog grooming horror stories? :0

animal neglect/abuse cw

I’ll start by saying that there are also some really delightful, sweet, well-cared-for dogs that come in! I love our regulars, especially the puppies I get to watch grow up. And it’s so fun to see the awesome grooms that my co-workers pull off (I’m just an assistant, so bath, dry, nail trim, brush, demat, sometimes sanitary and paw pad shave). 

But then there are the ones where I wonder if their owners ever look at or touch their dogs, at all, period. At least they bring them in for grooming… even if it’s once a year, when they should be in every 8 wks. 

Pekingese last week with a bad underbite. She had a glob of something stuck to her tooth so while I was bathing her I tried pulling it out–to find it was a huge ball of grass seeds wrapped in fur, matted to her chin and wrapped around her tooth, keeping her lip permanently pulled down. There was plaque or something covering it, so you couldn’t even tell it was fur and seeds. And it was 100% visible and noticeable if you looked at her face for even a few seconds, not something I had to go digging for.

The same dog is one of a pair, a mother and daughter. Sweet as pie, super cooperative, nice personalities. I just wish they weren’t trapped in dysfunctional bodies and that their owner did even a little home grooming. They come in smelling rancid with eye boogers caked into every fold of their face, ears and tail matted to hell and asses caked with turds.

That’s something I see a lot of–how can owners not notice the smell of shit following their dog around and take a look under the tail? 

Nails curling into paw pads is another one. Let alone just plain overgrown ones. Tip if you’re not in The Dog World: long nails alter your dog’s foot structure and gait and are uncomfortable to walk on. It’s neglect to allow them to grow as long as your average pet owner does, to be honest, because it really does affect quality of life and comfort. We do nail trims for $8, not knowing how to do it isn’t an excuse. Just take them into a groomer (bring high value treats to distract the dog) and ask to be shown. Another thing average pet folk don’t know to check–if your dog has a longer or curly coat, check their paw pads for mats and burrs. I’ve shaved out marble-sized prickly burrs matted in between toes. 

Another dog that stands out in my memory is a little white fluffy who only comes in once a year. He was absolutely matted down to the skin, all over his entire body. I couldn’t find his dewclaws when I was trimming his nails because the fur was bound so tightly around his ankles. Filthy, disgusting, unidentifiable smells and scum under all that fur, so bad it was hard not to gag while I was helping the groomer shave him down. It came off in solid pelts. Back to the shit thing… a few inches of solid feces down the back of his legs. And he was such a sweet, easygoing boy, patient and calm the entire ordeal, though I’m sure it was incredibly uncomfortable for him.

Or let’s try the 160lb obese golden retriever (yes, 160lb, as in mastiff sized on a golden frame) who can barely stand or walk across the room without panting his poor sweet heart out. He comes in with tennis ball sized mats on his legs, but it’s hard for him to stand up long enough for the groomer to shave them out, so often someone has to hold up that enormous belly. Which is as hard as it sounds. 

The dachshunds whose bellies drag on the ground and get rugburn because they weigh easily twice what they should. The sheltie who was three times as wide (no, not just fluff) as my 60lb dog but half as tall. I couldn’t even find where his tail started without digging around underneath a shelf of flab… and then the base of his tail had an orb of fat the size of an orange. His TAIL was fat. How does that even happen?

This isn’t so much neglect as it is poorly bred and raised dogs… the high-strung, anxious, terrified dogs who come in just break my heart. A mix who had projectile diarrhea and pissed everywhere when her nails were trimmed. The ones who whine and scream starting the second their owners leave. The ones who’ve never been crated, so they screech and claw at the door for an hour straight. The dogs that thrash and shout and look like they’re gonna pop their eyes out if restrained for even a second. The ones who shut down and withdraw into themselves instead of lashing out, but who are clearly scared out of their wits because of a simple brushing or bath.

 It’s tough for me to deal with, the sheer terror so many dogs feel. But grooming really is an integral part of many dogs’ health and quality of life. So I’m glad to be a part of it and to send them out feeling so much better than when they came in. Trapped under mats and burrs and painful nails and caked shit and anal glands so full they’re ready to burst. 

[lowkeyed1]

kitty is on her way home with my partner. seem she wasn't her usual stunned/compliant self so they did have to give her a little calm-down juice -- not enough for a complete knockout fortunately. and she was able to get a sanitary shave, which will help me and my partner with the ever-present task of helping her keep her shitty little ass clean XD i still have to wait on results but i'm assuming they didn't see anything large and massy or they would've done a needle aspirate of it for a sample. so looking like she's just extra gutty right now, hopefully that settles down soon. we're dropping her steroid dose either way, since it doesn't seem to be helping right now -- so that'll help her feel perkier anyway and maybe we can help her lose a couple pounds of that steroid weight and rediscover her ass again! this has been your cat ass report. thanks for the vibes!

i had to drop off kitty at the vet this morning for an ultrasound... she has IBS and her usual steroids aren't seeming to do much so they're just checking to make sure nothing else is going on. this will be her third ultrasound over the last five years and realistically i'm just expecting that they'll say yeah her guts look irritated and that's all. but i had a past experience that's primed me to just be super super anxious and worst case scenario obsessive thoughts about it. like my mind's not running around on it too much but i feel super wound up anyway. send good vibes please i am a mess