#vet tech struggles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

courtana · 6 months ago

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📌 Mutual Aid, Fundraisers, and Actions

a white heart "🤍" denotes GFM campaigns who have reached out to me via in my inbox

I will be updating this as frequently as possible with new information, campaigns, and forms of supporting displaced and vulnerable folks in Palestine, Sudan, DRC, Ukraine, and elsewhere.

Vetted GFM Campaigns 🤝

🤍 Donate to Khader and Ragheb - [€708 raised of €55,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Amira - [€5,118 raised of €20,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Fadi Ayyad - [$9,530 raised of $35,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Hani Al-Sharif [$445 raised of $50,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Mohammed Alanqer [€18,196 raised of €38,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Ahmed Alanqer [€16,338 raised of €35,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Kareem and Carmen [$6,971 raised of $50,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Walaa & her family [$3,405CAD raised of $50,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to the Shamaly family [$23,910CAD raised of $90,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Basel Ayyad [CHF1,828 raised of CHF60,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Ashraf Alanqar [€1,463 raised of €30,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Musab [€705 raised of €7,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Ahmed and his family [£5,253 raised of £30,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Alaa and her children [€2,995 raised of €20,000 goal]

🤍 Donate to Dr. Mohammed Aldeeb [€23,929 raised of his €30,000 goal]

Palestine 🇵🇸

Donate to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society - humanitarian org serving the health and welfare of the Palestinian people

Donate an eSIM for Gaza - helps Palestinians to connect to the outside world

Donate to Gaza Direct Aid - small volunteer-run program funding humanitarian aid in Gaza

Donate to Care for Gaza - supporting displaced families in Gaza

Donate to GazaFunds - find a struggling fundraiser to support

Sudan 🇸🇩

Donate to the Sudanese American Physicians Association - provides critical medical aid, food, and water

Donate to Sudan Solidarity Collective - provides direct financial assistance to civilian-led groups

Sudan Diaspora Network's Sudan Benefit Fundraiser - supports displaced Sudanese by providing medical equipment and food

Fight Hunger in Sudan: The Khartoum Kitchen appeal - feeds the hungry, up to 1,250 people daily, in the greater Khartoum area

Help Sudan- Sudan Relief Fund - helps people on the ground with immediate needs such as food, water, shelter and medication

Congo 🇨🇩

Donate to Focus Congo - partnerships with local grassroots organizations and access to resources necessary for survival

Support Friends of the Congo & the Basandja Coalition - provides food, delivers reporting, rescues children from the cobalt mines and supports diggers and miners demanding accountability, combats sexual violence and provides care for women’s health

Action Kivu - dedicated to repairing the harm done by years of violence and neglect in this region with focus on women and children.

Mutual Aim team fundraiser for Congo, Sudan, and Tigray - campaign collecting money that will be will be divided between the DRC, Sudan, and Tigray

Ukraine 🇺🇦

United 24 – main venue for collecting charitable donations in support of Ukraine

Come Back Alive – provides support to service members in Ukraine

Prytula foundation – provides support to Ukrainian Defense Forces and affected civilians

Dzyga’s Paw – provides Ukrainian Defenders with high-tech equipment

#pinned post

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losehead · 2 years ago

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Dear friend,

A lot did happened since my last time writing.

I turned 25, Christmas, New Year and also I graduated as a veterinary technician. Bet you already guessed that I would manage all my exams since you believed in me all the time.

I hope you're proud of me.

#thoughts #struggle #mental health #mentally tired #friend #grief #grieving #loss #vet tech #graduation

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hotchscoffeecup · 4 months ago

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stricken

summary: hotch tries to hide a panic attack from the team. you walk him through it.

pairing: hotch x reader (platonic)

tags: panic attacks, recall to foyet attacking hotch, mentions of knife violence, recall to foyet killing haley

words: 2k

“He kept them alive.” Morgan sighs and throws the file containing photos of the most recent victim in a long string of murders down on the table.

“These stab wounds are precise,” Reid adds. “He must have extensive knowledge in a medical field; a doctor or a medic, maybe.”

“No,” Emily counters. “This man doesn’t have the confidence to match either of those professions. It would be something that allowed him to blend into the background, where he could observe and hone his skills. He might be a Medical Assistant or Vet Tech.”

“I’ll start cross-referencing work records with clinics, hospitals, and veterinary offices in a twenty mile radius.” Penelope ends the video call and disappears from the wide screen in the conference room, leaving the digital photos of the victims and the crime scenes in full view.

You stare at them, bewildered by the cruelty this unsub inflicts on his victims; the psychological torture he inflicted to coincide with the physical. You click your pen absentmindedly as you pour over the evidence left behind. As you tilt your head, squinting at one of the images, you notice Hotch in your peripheral vision. If you’re not mistaken, you see his hand shaking at his side. You blink and it stops; instead, he flexes his hand open and closed.

The others are talking, exchanging ideas and identifying characteristics to further bulk up the profile. You turn in your chair, brow furrowed as you watch Hotch reach up and loosen his tie.

“Hotch, what do you think?” Morgan asks. The team all turns to look at him and he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Hotch?”

Without looking at anyone in particular Hotch excuses himself, tucking his head and swiftly dipping out of the room.

Morgan arches a brow. “What do you think that’s about?”

“I don’t know,” you say, concern edging into your tone as you push yourself up and out of your chair. “I’m going to go find out.”

As you exit the briefing room, you survey the bullpen and catch a glimpse of his jacket fluttering around a corner. You weave through detectives and uniformed officers, the din of voices, papers shuffling, copiers whirring, and phones ringing echoing throughout the space.

“Excuse me,” you say, maneuvering around three officers chatting by the water cooler.

You turn down the hall you swear you’d seen Hotch disappear into, but all you see is a janitor’s closet at the far end of the corridor.

As you turn around to retrace your steps and search for Hotch, you hear a whoosh of breath. This stops you in your tracks as you strain your ears and turn back towards the closet. Hesitantly, and feeling somewhat foolish, you reach for the handle and open the door.

Your lips part and your heart drops as you identify your Unit Chief braced against a shoddy shelving unit. In the dim light of the single lightbulb illuminating the space, you make out the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to take in a full breath.

Without hesitation, you slink inside and close the door behind you. Fortunately, the space is wide enough to grant you enough room to be in there without it feeling confining.

“Hotch, what’s wrong?” you ask, inclining your head to look up into his eyes. They’re wild, dilated pupils flickering back and forth across your features as he swallows.

“I can’t—” he starts and stops, closing his eyes and scrubbing a hand across his face. “I don’t know why, I just— I can’t breathe. I can’t—”

“Okay,” you say, voice soft but firm. “Hotch, I think you’re having a panic attack.”

His brow pinches as he wrestles with that observation. “A panic attack? No, I don’t— I’m fine. It’s not—”

His hands shake as he reaches for his tie, fingers fumbling with the knot causing them to shake even more.

“Let me help,” you say and telegraph your next moves clearly; reaching forward to completely undo his tie and first button of his shirt.

He releases a heavy sigh and something of a sob escapes his lips. “I’m the, the Unit Chief. I see this stuff every day. I don’t—I’m not—” He swallows hard and looks up at the ceiling, as if there would be some sort of solace to find in the popcorn ceiling tiles.

“I just…I can feel it,” he rasps. “I can feel it.”

“Feel what, Hotch?”

His breathing quickens; coming in short succinct bursts that leave him panting and unable to catch his breath.

“His knife. I can feel it.” He squeezes his eyes shut and a tear leaks down his cheek.

Realization dawns on you then and your heart fractures for your Unit Chief, the pillar of the team; the one who bears the brunt of responsibility to ensure everyone else on the team is okay and ultimately sacrifices himself in the process.

George Foyet. You’d joined the team after this case, but everyone knew the story. He’d incapacitated Hotch inside his own home and stabbed him repeatedly; slowly, and in places that would inflict significant damage, but not kill him. Foyet later would go on to kill Hotch’s ex-wife, Haley. Hotch had been on the phone at the time of it all and heard his wife die. You can’t imagine the turmoil he must have gone through; physically, mentally, and emotionally. It’s no wonder this case would trigger such terrible memories.

“I was alone.” Hotch breathes heavily and clutches an arm around his waist. “I can feel it now. I can—the knife, it was, oh God—” His hand taps rapidly against his leg. When his knees begin to wobble, you’re quick to react when he collapses.

Instinctively, you throw your arms out and thread your arms beneath his as you crash to the floor together, knees slamming into the hardwood as you fall. Hotch sobs into the crook of your neck as he clings to you and you wonder just how long it’s been since anyone has held him. Hesitantly, you shift your weight so you can hold him properly with one arm wrapped around his back while the other cradles his neck. You brush your fingers through his hair and speak grounding words to him.

“You’re safe, Hotch.” You then tell him your exact location and repeat your name to him, reminding him of all that is tangible. You describe the room you’re in, from the arrangement of products on the shelf to the cloying scent of bleach and Windex that lingers in the air. You draw attention to the distant sounds inside the bullpen and instruct him to focus on your voice. “I promise that you’re safe,” you repeat.

“Foyet is dead.”

His grip tightens around you and his tears soak into your blouse.

“He can’t hurt you or anyone else.” You fight to keep your own voice from cracking as you bear witness to your friend’s pain.

“I need you to breathe, Aaron.” His first name feels strange on your tongue, but you need to bring him back. “In for four,” you say and breathe deeply through your nose for four counts, patting Hotch four times on the back to offer a different type of stimulation for him to try and ground himself with through physical touch. “Out for your four,” you say as you release the air in your lungs and pat him four more times on the back.

You continue to model this pattern until you feel him start to relax under you. His breathing continues to shudder, but he’s trying to self-regulate.

“Good, Hotch,” you encourage as he works to regain control. “Keep breathing. You’re safe.”

You continue to pat your hand against his back, acting as a metronome for him to keep time. You find yourself rocking him gently as you do this and eventually he shifts beneath you.

Tentatively, you begin to pull away. You don’t let go of him though, not yet. You want to make sure he has a tether to reality and physical touch can help him remain grounded.

Hotch sniffs and wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. He keeps his eyes downcast and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

Your brow knits together as a wave of utter confusion washes over you. “Hotch,” you say, almost sternly. His eyes flick up to meet yours and you look at him straight on. “Don’t ever apologize for that. In fact, I’m sorry, actually.”

Now it’s his turn to look puzzled. “For what?”

“That you felt like this was something you had to do in private. That you felt like you couldn’t tell one of us.”

Hotch rubs at his eyes. “It’s not that,” he begins. “I’m not supposed to break. I’m the Chief of this Unit. I’m supposed to—”

“That’s bullshit, Hotch.” An exasperated sort of smile crosses your lips then as you realize you never use that kind of language, especially around your boss. “Apologies, Sir, but you know as well as I do that you don’t have to save face for any of us. We’ve all been to hell and back in one way or another. That case out there; the precise stab wounds, keeping the victims alive…it’s exactly what Foyet did to you.”

Hotch bristles, but you continue on.

“The body remembers, Hotch.” You drop your hands to his wrists and squeeze. “You survived the improbable. Your wounds healed and you did the mandated counseling, yes, but you’re still allowed to break down. You’re allowed to have bad days.” You incline your head to meet his gaze head on. “But you can’t shut everyone out. You don’t deserve to suffer alone.”

Hotch nods slowly and takes a full deep breath before meeting your eye. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” you say and you smile when his lips twitch up at the corners. “I know because you taught me that.”

“I remember,” he says, though he doesn’t bring up the unsub that could’ve killed you. It had only been your third week on the team and the case had brought you out to Boise, Idaho. When you’d located the unsub, he’d engaged you in a physical altercation where he’d successfully disarmed you and put you in a chokehold. Oxygen had been effectively cut off from your airway and you were so close to losing consciousness that you’d be dead right now if JJ and Emily hadn’t incapacitated him when they had.

“I was going to quit the team,” you say. “After that case, I didn’t think I had what it takes to be a member of the BAU.”

Hotch’s brow twitches as he relaxes back against the wall. “You never told me that.”

You shrug, “I didn’t have to. When you found me in the break room after hours when I thought everyone else had gone home and talked me down from my own panic attack, I tore up my resignation letter.” You smile then. “The minute we stop feeling, that’s when we can no longer do this job. That empathy is what gives the families hope and keeps our victims alive. When we lose that, we lose our humanity. Never stop feeling. Feel everything, and then feel it again. Talk about it. You’re never alone. We’re a team. We’ll always have one another’s backs.”

“I said all of that?” Hotch asks, both amused and in disbelief.

“It’s what I tell myself every time I feel the strain of this job is getting to be too much, and it helps keep me grounded.”

He tilts his head and laughs to himself. “I should probably write that down.”

You laugh in turn, “You probably should.”

Hotch moves to stand up then, scooping his tie off the ground and offering you a hand as he does so. You take it and allow him to pull you to your feet.

“Thank you,” he says and offers you a genuine smile. “I just hope that these bags under my eyes don’t look puffier than they usually do now.”

You roll your eyes and open your arms to hug him. He chuckles as he embraces you and thanks you once more.

“Don’t ever change, sir.” You rub your hand up and down his back and feel that the tension has completely relaxed out of his posture. “Don't ever change.”

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woozysioux · 4 months ago

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Hello 👋 🤗,

I hope you are well 🌺.

I am writing to you with a heart full of hope and faith, asking for your urgent help. My family is in great danger due to the war, and I am running a fundraising campaign to save them.

Please, could you reblog the post about my campaign on my account? Every share can make a difference in my family's life. 🙏

Note:My old Tumblr account was deactivated💔, and I need your support again♥️.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for any help you can provide. 🌹🌺

🇵🇸this fundraiser is multi-vetted ( 1 / 2 / 3 & more)

$42,936/$58,000 at time of posting - almost there, please donate/reblog to get him all the way to the goal and help this young family!!

Mr. Alanqer's own words under the cut:

"Hello, I am Mohammed Alanqer, married to Enas Majed, and we have four wonderful children.

We live in the midst of the ongoing hellish war in Gaza, trapped between walls of fear and despair. I, Mohammed, am a father of four children and a husband to a woman who was two months pregnant when the war began.

We struggle daily to survive in an environment filled with threats and dangers.

I lost our sole source of livelihood when my tech startup, which I built with dedication and hard work, was destroyed in the war. My children, Layan, Sarah, and Adam, have been deprived of education after their schools were destroyed, severely threatening their future. Amidst these harsh circumstances, my wife gave birth to our fourth child, Amir, in the midst of the war, adding to our state of despair and hopelessness.

My wife, Enas, lives in constant anxiety due to the destruction of hospitals in our area. I have lost my job and source of income, leaving me unable to provide for my family's needs and safety. Our home was destroyed by the war, forcing us to flee repeatedly and rendering us homeless.

We now face extreme difficulty in providing a safe place to live, clean clothes, and food for our children. Additionally, our children have contracted diseases like measles, and our son Adam has been diagnosed with viral hepatitis.

Our only hope now is to escape this ongoing nightmare and find a safe haven for our family. However, this requires exorbitant financial costs; the coordination fees for crossing the borders amount to $5000 per adult and $2500 per child, a sum I cannot afford alone.

We urgently appeal for your moral and financial assistance to cover the necessary costs for escaping to a safe environment, where we can build a better future for our children and ensure our family's safety.

We are in desperate need of your support. Any donation, no matter how small, can help save our lives. Thank you for your attention and support during these harsh times.

With deepest respect and gratitude,

Mohammed Alanqer 🌺🌹"

#answered asks #palestine #free palestine #free gaza #palestine gfm #ceasfire now #save gaza #save palestine #gaza gfm #gaza genocide #palestine gofundme #gaza gofundme #stop the genocide #palestine fundraiser #gaza fundraiser #palestine genocide #gaza

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merrybloomwrites · 5 months ago

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Damien Haas - Vet Waiting Room

Summary: Who knew cats could be wingmen? A chance encounter in the vet waiting room can lead to more for Damien and Y/N.

Word Count: 674

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You absolutely love your cat. Shadow is the cutest, sweetest, chunkiest boy. But god forbid you try to trim his nails. You’ve nearly lost an eyeball one too many times and decided to just pay professionals to do nail trims every couple months.

It’s a bit of an inconvenience, needing to block out an hour so frequently just to get your cat's nails cut, but they’re so good with him that the time and money is worth it.

You’re waiting at the vet’s office for Shadow to be called back when someone walks in with a cat carrier of his own. He signs in and sits next to you on the bench. The first thing you notice is the purple in his hair. The next thing you notice is the biggest, fluffiest cat you’ve ever seen sitting in his carrier.

He notices you looking at him and introduces himself, holding out a hand and saying “Hi, I’m Damien.”

You politely shake his hand and say, “Hi Damien, I’m Y/N. And who is this?” you ask, in regard to his cat.

“This here is Zelda, she’s my big ‘ol chonk,” he replies, his voice full of love for his pet. “Who do you have with you?”

“This is Shadow, he’s also my biggest boy. His brother is home,” you over explain.

“Are they actual brothers?” you nod and he continues saying, “That’s really cool! I call my two cats sisters but they’re not related. They just get along like typical sisters do.”

“Oh yea, my boys definitely act like brothers. All the fights are worth seeing them randomly cuddle together though.”

“Oh I absolutely agree,” Damien says.

He opens his mouth to speak again but the receptionist calls him back to a patient room. “It was nice meeting you,” he says as he gets up.

“You too,” you reply and he walks away.

The receptionist says, “The techs are just a little behind, we’ll get Shadow taken care of soon.”

As you sit and wait, you can’t stop thinking about Damien. Even when Shadow is taken back for his nail trim, you can’t stop kicking yourself for not getting Damien’s number. Your friends are always telling you to put yourself out there, maybe join some dating sites, but you explain that you’d rather meet someone naturally.

And now you’ve met someone. This could’ve been a perfect opportunity and you totally blew it.

Shadow is brought back out and you pay for the service. You hope that Damien will be out before you leave, but now you’ve run out of reasons to be there. You walk out and start to load Shadow into the car.

Just as you’re about to get in the driver’s seat you hear someone calling your name. Turning around you see Damien walking out of the office, struggling to catch up while carrying Freya in her carrier.

“Hold on,” he says, “Just let me-” he cuts himself off and goes to his car, setting Freya inside as you watch amusedly.

He walks back to you and nervously says, “Totally understand if not, but uh, would you maybe want to go out sometime?”

Even though you’re introverted, and truthfully nervous about the idea of a date, you manage to confidently answer, “Yea, I’d like that.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, alerting you that he’s just as nervous as you are, and he says, “Could I get your number and I’ll reach out to set something up?”

“That’s perfect,” you reply and the two of you exchange numbers.

After another goodbye to Damien, with his promise to text you soon, you finally get into your car. Turning to Shadow in the seat next to you, you say, “I guess I need to thank you for hating nail trims, since you technically got me a date.” You laugh, letting out the excited and nervous energy bubbling in you.

As you text back and forth with Damien that night to set up your date, Shadow gets extra treats for being such a good wingman.

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AN: Thank you for reading! I have one more Damien story coming out in a couple of weeks!

#damien haas x reader #smosh fanfiction

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followthebluebell · 6 months ago

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I have a friend whose cat was originally part of a TNR program. The kitty was found in the boiler room of our apartment complex, somewhat feral, and ear tipped, and was given to the friend after a few weeks of no one claiming the cat.

Now here’s the kicker, when she got the cat from them she took it in for a wellness check and was told the kitty was a boy. Fast forward about 2 years and their previous vet retired leading them to find a new one, and one of the first things they say to her after the exam is “you realize he’s actually a she right?” And told her the cat is a girl.

Is this something common with fixed cats? I know when males are neutered later you tend to see more of a deflated sack unless there’s a whole ablation performed, but I also know that’s not a super common procedure so I’m just kinda curious lmao

I wouldn't say it's terribly common, but things happen. One of my personal cats was listed as male for a few years because a vet tech had misclicked on her file and it wasn't caught for ages. Sometimes a kitten looks fairly male at first but then the balls don't drop so you check again and oops, that's definitely a vulva. I called Mouse a boy for a few months just because her genitals were pretty indistinct at first and I didn't bother to check again until it was time for her neuter since it genuinely wasn't important to know if she was male or female right up until that point.

There was also a fun confusing moment where I got a kitten from a shelter and the shelter was very clear that the kitten was a girl. Her paperwork was pretty clear, listing that she was spayed because of a uterus infection. So I was pretty fucking surprised when her balls dropped a few weeks later. I checked her chip and they had given me the wrong kitten.

Which was fine, it all worked out in the end. Hermes nee Hermione found a lovely home.

There was another time when I got a VERY fluffy himalayan cat named Princess. She was matted absolutely SOLID. I shaved her down and started to really struggle with a set of mats around her urogenital area--- I just couldn't find the space to get the blades UNDER the mat.

In fact, I realized, the 'mats' were oddly symmetrical. And had a certain feel to them. And a certain shape. And a certain placement.

They were balls.

Princess was absolutely a boy. To his credit, he was incredibly patient about my fumbling around his testicles.

With a significantly less patient cat, I could see a vet making a mistake. With a semi-feral (or a full feral), you might only have a split second to check and sometimes that's just not long enough.

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skellymom · 1 year ago

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"Cup Of Caf"

The Bad Batch CROSSHAIR One Shot

Crosshair x NON GENDERED Reader (PLEASE put YOURSELF into this story! <3)

Background: Crosshair makes it to Pabu with all of his brothers and sister. Will he open himself up to another? What's his future there?

Word Count: 2.1K

Warning: Really none. This is sweetness, some angsty fluff, and character growth. Purposely wrote this piece for ANY reader! You can take this tale as friendship or the start of a blossoming love relationship. And, I purposely wrote NO GENDER/NO SPECIFIC SEXUALITY/POSSIBLY EVEN AGENDER into this story. It's about healing, sharing, growing, and decisions at one of many crossroads in life. Sometimes it's painful, but growth can be.

This One Shot is dedicated to Crosshair Fans, those of you struggling with hard decisions in life, loneliness, and to the amazing @lightspringrain whose art was one of my inspirations for this story.

(Her Etsy shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/LightSpringRain Just placed my order for the holidays!

(Credit: Dividers by the talented @saradika)

The leaves of the Cascade Tree rippled lazily in the ocean breeze. Its boughs lifted just enough to reveal a man with a scarred head sitting under its canopy at the picnic table.

You were surprised to see someone sitting there at... “your” table. Not really yours, but no one else ever came down this far from the cliffs to watch the surf foam and roil against the shores of Pabu. Every morning walking down to enjoy your cup of caf before starting the day. Today, you were testing out a new mug, fresh off the pottery wheel: Jet black clay with metallic silver phases of the moon depicted in striking detail across its surface. Debated selling this piece, hardly ever keeping anything for yourself.

The man’s back was facing you at quiet approach. He side-eyed you suspiciously, scowling. Immediately recognized him as the newcomer to the island that arrived with his brothers and one sister. Phee Genoa gushed about the one named, “Tech”. She called him “Brown Eyes”. This was the “Grumpy Brother” and was already gaining a reputation as anti-social.

“Uh...hi.”

Silence and unchanging side-eye. He didn’t move from the spot and clearly wanted to be left alone.

“Ok, leaving.”

No reply. He turned back around to stare at the crashing surf.

The next morning you arrived with your fully vetted new mug of caf to find...The Grumpy Man back in “your” spot.

Kriff...what to do? This was awkward. While feeling rather put out and wanting to sit alone, you kind of felt for the guy. The gossip around town was he had been through a lot before arriving in Pabu.

Looking down at the untouched cup of caf: How many people, yourself included, came to this planet looking for solace and safety? How many of the residents of Pabu arrived with baggage before they healed and found community here? How long did it take to be comfortable with others again?

Your heart went out to the man all by himself sitting there. It was an amazing view and perfect place to be alone.

He turned, almost like he had heard your brain humming. Again, scowling over his shoulder. You stepped closer, but he didn’t budge and kept the suspicious side-eye. You approached the table and set the steaming mug next to him.

He seemed briefly surprised, with his features softening slightly.

“Good morning, have a fresh cup on me.”

You awkwardly walked away, leaving him alone with the caf. Heart hammering in your chest.

After closing the pottery studio, you decided to stop by “your” spot on the way home. The Grumpy Man was gone, but the mug was in the same position you left it. You assumed he thought it a weird gesture and refused to touch the mug. But you realized the coffee was gone and there was something in the bottom of the mug. Turning it upside down, a seashell fell out. A very pretty one too. It brought a smile to your face.

Next morning, you looked forward to engaging with Grumpy Man again. The black and silver mug was washed and filled with hot caf for him. Stopping at the local bakery you purchased a large cinnamon pastry on the way.

Grumpy was there. He didn’t turn when approached. You set the mug with the pastry perched on top of it next to him.

“Enjoy.” Walking away.

“Did you like it?” His voice was low, raspy, snakelike.

“What?” Stopping in your tracks and turning slightly to answer. “Oh...yes. Thank you.”

“Hmmm...”

That was all. He said no more and kept his eyes on the crashing surf.

You left and walked onward to the studio.

After close, you walked back to retrieve the mug. It was empty of coffee and now and contained freshly picked flowers.

This carried on for several weeks. Every morning you brought him fresh caf and something to eat. After all, he was skin and bones. Every day something different: a fat muffin, breakfast sandwich, fruit, grain-meal with honey, meats, cheeses, brunch cookies. It was a culinary journey of Pabu, as you picked up things from local shops, or even threw together items from memory of family recipes.

It was almost an obsession to keep this man guessing the food he would be eating. Local shopkeepers noticed you out and about more, enquiring about your sudden social spree. Tongues were starting to wag on the island. You didn’t pay attention to gossip and could care less.

Grumpy seemed to have a decent appetite. You were quite sure he was indeed consuming the food. Of course, he could have thrown it down the ravine to the fish and sea birds, and you would be none the wiser. It was obviously evident his man was thriving as he filled out, less bony, skin no longer a sickly pallor, and his hair was growing back. Hair as silver as the moon.

Every evening he would leave something in the mug as a gift. An unspoken thanks for your kindness:

The split egg of a sea bird, a marine fossil stone, polished sea glass, a cascade tree seed, feathers, bleached bones, a preserved Pabu Butterfly with striking iridescent wings. He even left odd items that suggested a sense of humor. The persnickety land crab attempting to fight you for the mug as its new home. The small octopus bobbing in the salt water filled cup...who inked you in the face.

Every day was a welcome surprise.

You sat the mug and Meiloorun next to Grumpy. There were two covered plates on the table.

He turned around to look you square in the eye. “Sit with me.” It wasn’t a question, but not an order either. “Please.”

This was surprising and you settled in next to Grumpy on the bench.

He slid over a plate and uncovered it: Two stacked grain cakes with a whipped dairy smile and two berry eyes. They were doused in rainbow candy sprinkles, sitting in a huge amount of sugary syrup.

“Wow...uh. I didn’t take you for a happy face kinda guy.” Suddenly regretting the remark and holding your breath.

He rolled his eyes and exhaled. “My sister made them. SOMEONE in town tipped her off that I’m not alone during my ‘Alone Time’.”

You burst out laughing. How could you not?

“Gets better.” He uncovered the second plate: Two cooked sea bird eggs sunny side up with strips of cooked meat centered below them. The “food face” was doused in ketchup to resemble a bullet hole to the head hemorrhaging blood. “I’m more on board with this design.”

You howled with laughter. Grumpy cracked a small smile.

“YOUR sister did THIS??? THAT innocent child?”

“Mhm...” He snickered. “Never. She breathes and farts rainbows. This is my brother's masterpiece.”

The rainbow remark had you roaring again. Wiping away tears. His delivery was so unexpected.

He handed you a fork. Now that ALL his face was visible, you noticed the tattoo.

He produced his own fork. “Let's stab out the eyes and feast upon their faces.”

“Wait!” You lifted the mug of caf. “First, we must drink the blood of our enemies and share the names of the victors.” You were feeling giddy now...never considered maybe taking this Imagined Breakfast Massacre too seriously.

It didn’t seem to matter to Grumpy. In fact, he was smiling.

“Y/N” You took a healthy sip of the caf and passed the mug to him.

“Crosshair” He gulped the caf, giving you a mischievous look.

From that morning on you brought the cup of caf to share and HE brought the food. His sister and brother would cook or bake for Crosshair and “his friend”. According to him, they were overjoyed that he had not been spending his quiet days alone. Then started incorporating his own ideas into the recipes. Crosshair would regale you with “Tales of the Kitchen” interactions with him and his siblings as they cooked. He shared secret ingredients, always asked your opinion on the recipes, and how they could be improved.

However, after the food was eaten and the chatter died he would stare wistfully at the ocean. Deep in thought, mulling over something. You would ask and he would deflect with another topic. Not wanting to push things, you let it go.

This sharing of food and caf carried on for several months. Sometimes you were able to get bits of information out of him: He was a military man before coming to Pabu and was in a special highly trained squad. You asked about his mother and father. He shrugged and said his parentage didn’t matter and that only his sister and brothers were important. You carefully asked about the scar on the right side of his head, now fully covered with thick, unruly silver hair. He glossed over it as an injury and no big deal. He deflected by asking you about yourself. This man was perfectly happy to talk less and hear you speak more. He listened intently and threw brief tidbits in and sometimes his signature “Mmhmm.”

Still, he seemed haunted by something and absolutely refused to talk about it. You sensed it never really left his mind and constantly grappled with something deep. Something he regretted with all his being.

You both sat at the table watching the surf, taking turns sipping from the mug of caf. The breakfast platter was eaten and empty. He was unusually quiet.

Then he finally spoke. “I’m leaving Pabu.”

“What?” You, shocked. It seemed so sudden. “Why???”

“I...” He sighed and looked down at the table. “Need to make amends for certain...things.” His expression was one of thinly veiled shame.

“Don’t know what to say...” Struggling for words. “How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not coming back.” His brows furrowed sadly. There was a lot of emotion, and you could see the difficulty he had expressing it.

Speechless, you stared ahead and watched the surf pull away from the shoreline. There would be no more shared caf and breakfasts with this man. The days of looking forward with anticipation to the mornings would end.

You both sat for some time in silence, listening to the waves. In...out...in...out...as if the island was breathing.

Finally, you felt his gaze. Turning to meet the saddest, deepest brown eyes. Such a pitiful yet touching display that hit you even harder in the gut.

“I’m...grateful to have shared the time we had together. I don’t say that lightly.” His hand slowly advanced palm up on the table begging to be joined with another.

You slid your hand in his and squeezed. “I’ll miss you.” Tears forming in your eyes.

He squeezed back, nodded, then let go. Getting up from the table he whispered “Goodbye.”

“Take this! I made it for you...even if I hadn’t known it yet.” You handed him the empty mug.

He took it with a look of surprise. Then he turned away before you could see the tears in his eyes.

But you saw them. You will never forget that.

Then he was gone.

You sat the rest of the day listening to the ocean breathe. Watching the sun make its progression across the sky, finally dipping below the horizon. You walked home under the stars of Pabu...one of them a low fast-moving light: A ship departing the planet.

Sleep was fretful. Finally frustrated with tossing and turning, you got up, dressed and walked to the studio. Firing up the lights, set the holo on your favorite “create playlist”, and sitting down at the potter’s wheel. Tonight, there would be a new design even if it meant staying up all night to mold, dry, glaze, and fire this creation. You threw yourself into the task, singing, and occasionally wiping away a stray tear.

The sun rose over Pabu. You washed out the new creation: A mug of blazing crimson red, raised relief of the sun, with a magnificent metallic gold corona. Fresh caf brewed in the studio. You poured it steaming hot into the mug. Then closed the studio for the day, leaving a message in the window when it would reopen, and proceeded down to “your” table.

You expected to be alone once again...however...there was someone sitting under the Cascade Tree.

She was blond, dark skinned and looked to be a young teenager. You could tell she had been crying.

“Hello?”

“Sorry...Just wanted some privacy. My brother would come here to sit and be alone.” She moved to get up.

“You don’t have to leave. Please stay.”

She spied the mug in your hand, and the pieces fell into place.

“You’re Y/N!” Her eyes widened. “He talked about you a LOT. He’s never done that with anyone before.”

Warm intense feelings welled up inside you. They spilled out across your face in a smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Omega.”

You set the mug of caf down in front of her.

“Well Omega, looks like I made this for you...even though I hadn’t known it yet.”

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months ago

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WIBTA for taking my elderly, aggressive cat to a groomer?

My childhood cat is M16 going on 17. I lived with him for 13-14 years, and he’s always been very elegant and pretty. Growing up, he was meticulous about grooming to the point where it became a family in-joke that he was a movie star or a model or something in a past life. But he’s getting older now, and he had a particularly hard summer—in addition to slowly going blind, he escaped the house one night and no one could find him till the next morning, and which point he’d clearly been hit by a car or attacked by an animal. He had a broken leg and was slowly suffocating due to a hole in his lung, but somehow the old bastard pulled through and recovered surprisingly quickly (the vet clinic cheered when my parents gave them the update, it was so sweet).

While I’m beyond grateful that he’s still with us, when I came home for the holidays this year I noticed that he’s looking pretty rough. I keep seeing clumps of dirt (or whatever it is he’s getting into, at one point I swear it was chocolate despite my family NEVER leaving anything like that out where the cats can get into it) in his fur that he’ll just leave there. His back claws in particular look like they’re caked in mystery gunk. I don’t think he’s being neglected or anything, but between the blindness and all the crap he went through with his leg I don’t think he’s been able to keep up and groom himself as thoroughly as he used to. It looks really uncomfortable, especially considering how persnickety he was about keeping clean in the past.

I definitely don’t have the expertise to properly groom him myself, and given how old he is + his recent injury I don’t feel comfortable learning through youtube university and potentially hurting him. Problem is, he’s kind of a monster. He was half feral when we got him, and it shows. He’s sweet most of the time, but can get overstimulated with little warning and tends to bite or scratch when that happens. I don’t think he’s ever bitten anyone outside of the family, but he still makes the vet + vet techs’ lives a living hell when we take him for a checkup unless we drug him first. Even when we DO drug him, if he gets pissed enough he’ll sometimes fight through it and struggle and yowl as if he was 100% lucid. Old age has done nothing to temper this, when he got injured this summer he fought so hard at the clinic that they had to knock him all the way out just to get an x-ray.

It feels negligent to just let him be filthy now that I’ve noticed it, but I also don’t want to put an elderly animal AND an innocent groomer through an unnecessary amount of stress just because I think his paws look icky. *I* think he would be more comfortable if he was nice and clean, but he seems happy and perky so it’s very possible he doesn’t even care. I’ve never taken an animal to a groomer before and I have no idea what the etiquette is.

If tumblr doesn’t think it would be too bad, I’ll bring the idea of getting him professionally groomed up with my parents. If y’all think I’d be an asshole for putting him + a groomer through that, I’ll back off and let him live his best pigpen life.

Pet tax (blind old man in his “thank you for surviving” gift, a brand new heated bed):

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #pet tax

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mermaid-of-the-woods · 1 year ago

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Jobs I think the Bad Batch Significant Others Would Have

Hunter: I feel like Hunter's would work as an Elementary Special Education teacher. It's a job that needs a lot of compassion, but is tough at the same time. I feel like Hunter's responsibility for his squad would mimic their responsibility for their students.

Tech: Botanist or Archeologists. Tech is highly intelligent and I believe that is something reflected in a relationship. While Tech is highly into technology, he'll find someone with a slightly different interest which he can learn from.

Wrecker: Baker. Wrecker would end up with the type of baker that is a terrible cook. Where he likes food, it'll motivate him to lean how to cook (which he's good at) and teach their significant other.

Crosshair: I struggled with Crosshair's the most. I feel like at the end, he'd be either with a college student or someone who runs a small business. Before the Empire, he'd be the one to be with someone that had an exciting career. Now, he just wants a semblance of peace.

Post Citadel Echo: Vet. No reason for this one, just Vibes. It doesn't matter to him the job, just that the person is kind.

#bad batch x reader #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #the bad batch x reader #echo x reader #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #tbb headcanons

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bitchesgetriches · 3 months ago

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Your hand holding guide to planning the end of your pets life is EXCELLENT! I’m a licensed vet tech and every point you hit was perfect and so informative. I wish I could print the blog post and use it as client education. Euthanasia is such a complicated part of my job, but I see it as the last gift you can give to your pet. Death with dignity being held by someone you love is a pretty good ending in my eyes. Thank you for writing it, I hope it helps all the pet owners struggling with this decision!

Aw shucks. Thanks doc!!! We're thrilled to hear we got it right and that we have your professional endorsement. Also... what's stopping you from printing it out? 😎 If you think it could help your clients, share away!

Here's the article for those who missed it:

A Hand-Holding Guide To Planning the End of Your Pet’s Life

Did we just help you out? Join our Patreon!

#pets #euthanasia #veterinarian #vet #veterinary care

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victormcdicktor · 25 days ago

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Please take a moment to help the Al-Anqar family.

Ghada and her family were displaced last year after their home was destroyed.

Each working member of the family has lost their source of income; the tech company Ghada worked at, the contracting company her brother Khalid worked at, and the aluminum workshop her father Nabil worked at have all been destroyed

Now, they struggle to survive in absolutely abhorrent conditions. Their area is filthy, putting them in danger of polio and skin diseases. They have no access to clean water or food, causing them to suffer malnutrition. Surrounded by sewage, wreckage, and insects, Ghada's little nieces and nephews no longer even have shoes to protect their feet.

In order for Ghada and her family to be able to evacuate and rebuild their lives, they need to raise €20,000. So far, they've only raised €3,185; they've only had 1 donation in the last 4 hours.

Please do whatever you can to help them; donate if you can and share their campaign. Every contribution matters.

VETTED HERE (6)

TAG LIST (DM me for removal)

@whisperingmedows @e @rykerpuppy @renmemberme @t0w0bey @teddycuba @yogurtcake2000 @uchorusa @imp-panada @irunkefir @insufferablepilled @ichor-arrows @passion2lovvers @awesomepeoplehangingouttogether @dirkcapitationn @fatalbloomsinmoon @nabulsi @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @aria-ashryver @northgazaupdates2 @sar-soor @flower-tea-fairies @palestinegenocide @gazagfmboost @palestine-info-uncensored @heba-20 @aces-and-angels @fairycosmos @greenpinkstraw @ibtisams @radicalgraff @r4ms3yy @thestrugglerrr @shug888 @decolonize-the-everything @fototingobug @gaza-evacuation-funds @g3wgaw @greydrits @gainnecorpse @gasfuzbj @hamsterdads @himbo-noxx @heijegerkannibal @juliccardi @jvstcallmespade @kk3o2 @katylokk @keff-fr @literallyneurodivergentandaminor @lenaeeessshhh @la7ma-mafrooma @lutielutik @certified-dentist @cemetaryvampire @chemautopsy @cryptid-catnip @vetted-gaza-funds @vantisanjo @blu-berriez @neptunerings @neatleaf @meit1

@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygold @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas @imjustheretotrytohelp

(sorry for the randomness of the tags, I just used what popped up. If anyone has advice on how to make a good taglist please tell me)

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