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basenji18 · 4 years

Text

Brush

She's staring at a toothbrush, trying to decide its significance. It's her toothbrush, in his holder. And she cannot for the life of her remember which one of them put it there. She has a clear memory of sliding it into the cup last night. But memory is fragile, and easy to fabricate. She has an equally clear recollection of sleepily leaving it to dry on the counter, can see him as clearly as herself coming in after her and dropping it in place. Which one of them placed it there, and what does it mean? She knows she's overthinking. But knowing it has never stopped it. It's a toothbrush and it belongs in a toothbrush holder and either of them might have done it because they're both neat freaks but her toothbrush in his toothbrush holder could potentially have very big implications and she wants to know which one of them did it so she knows if he's being hospitable or she's being presumptuous or if it's just a stupid toothbrush and it is too early in the morning for her to be doing this to herself. Her side bites her. She's tensed up and angered her bruised ribs. She grips the marble sink and purses her lips against it. She takes a shaky deep breath through her nose. She always tenses and it hurts and she tries to hide it by tensing up worse. She lets the breath out through her lips, and a little of the pain goes with it. A second inhale-exhale lets her straighten. She's off the pain meds, except for once a day, right before bed. James and the old doctor with the furry ears both encouraged her to take them longer, but she refused. Bad enough her plane is gone. Bad enough Cobra's plans are severely delayed. Bad enough the Joes are still loose. And bad enough that this feels like the first vacation she's had in...ever. She likes the drugs. She likes not being in pain. Fuck American puritanism, she likes being high for a while, nothing bothering her, dropping off wherever she happens to be and waking up six to ten hours later, no dreams, refreshed, still a little hazy. Vicodin keeps her from overthinking toothbrushes. And that's what makes it dangerous. The doctor prescribed regular ibuprofen, if she won’t take the hard stuff. If she wants to be up and working, it will "take the edge off." He doesn't understand she needs her edge. She is the knife the Commander wields to keep his empire in line, and she wants to stay the knife instead of the sheep. She'd love to float in a medicine-induced haze until her ribs don't bite and her brain isn't scrambled and she doesn't get headaches and exhaustion from thinking too hard. But it's dangerous to be caught off guard. Because off guard people don't notice who put their toothbrush in the damn toothbrush holder. Everything else is in its place, but nothing else is hers, so it doesn't matter. She didn't come planning to stay. She got off her transport with nothing but the clothes on her back. She's been provided with everything, from medical care to soft wool sweaters. The clothes she wears and the bed she sleeps in and even the hygiene products she uses because of course that would take place this week all have their places in the castle and wardrobes and bathroom cupboards. But none of that matters, because none of those items are really hers. This would bother most people more than her. Anastasia mostly does not have possessions. This sounds odd to people who do not understand what it's like to have money. She’s rich, right? So she must own things. Yes and no. She uses things. The dresses for the parties are rented. Designers pay Cobra to have her seen in their work. The plane belonged to Cobra. Her glasses were designed by their engineers and assigned to her. The houses in her name are overseen by various historical societies - more than one well-heeled old lady with a pedigree almost as long as Ana's own would laugh her out of the office if she so much as suggested where to hang a picture. Her time is Cobra's. Her energies belong to the Commander. But the toothbrush is hers. You can't scrub your mouth out with something and expect someone to want it back. The toothbrush came from the plane. A little travel case, toothbrush and passport (one of them...) and the like. Fireproof, bulletproof. Explosion proof, apparently. Recovered from the wreckage and dutifully returned. Her glasses slide up her head as she rubs her eyes, pressing her fingers in until she sees stars in the dark. This is not about a toothbrush. This is about her trying to fuck something up so she can feel in charge of the fallout. Because she fixes things. She takes care of problems. And here there's nothing to fix. She's heard of happy households. She knows they exist, in the same way she knows endangered rhinoceri exist somewhere out in the wild, though she's never seen one. For all her experience, the rhinos and the happy families might be actual unicorns. Her own parents considered their second born an accident. A mistake at best, a disgrace at worst. Most of their parenting had been a mad scramble after her brother's death, when they realized they'd have to make the best out of a bad situation and try to salvage the family line. Her ribs twinge. She's hugging herself very tight. James' parents are gone, but his household is close. The people here are a community built over generations, not hired and vetted and run like a military. And they have swept her up immediately. She doesn't understand it. When she's not playing the part of PR representative, she's not charming. Her personality is distant and cold as the best or worst Russian stereotype. But the maids and the workers are all friendly, one housekeeper who may have seen the first stones laid taking particular care of her, like she'd been raised in here, and wasn't the new wink-and-a-nudge interest of the laird. They're treating her like she's human, and she's about to crack under the strain. The other day she had her thumb on the button to call Mindbender, just to hear a familiar, caustic voice. At the last second, she...stopped.

She's never visited her parents' graves. Yet she's already seen where James' parents lie. The McCullen clan has a plot, a rolling field under the grey Scotland sky, which somehow looks less like the kind of well-manicured field of death where she's sure her parents rot than like a kind of stone-marked family get together. As if the ghosts were invisibly hanging around, staying close to their descendants. That's too much fantasy. She frowns at the toothbrush. Behind her in the bedroom, she hears James stir. They haven't had sex yet. Isn't that funny? Shared a bed every night for a week and they spoon like cats, but he hasn't even taken a feel, though he's had every opportunity. They've skipped over the hot and heavy and sexy right to the point where they're sprawled out and drooling on each other. The bed springs creak and she can see him in her mind, stretching, craning like a bear, yawning best he can in that mask. He'll be in in a minute to deal with his own teeth, an unpleasant procedure with strong mouthwash and a straw he's embarrassed of, so she tries to always be done and in getting dressed by the time he comes in. Does he watch her in the mirror? She's never caught him at it. Is this love? Even she has felt infatuation, and this doesn't feel like that. Anastasia can count on one hand the people she's sure she's loved, and have fingers left over. James has the charm and he makes such fun toys at MARS, and she'll admit, he's given her a little flutter before. But he's also blown her off back when, when he was MARS and she was Cobra and he was captain of his own ship and proud to stay that way. The mask has humbled him. Recent events have brought them both down a peg. Blind infatuation isn't necessary. Neither one of them needs more fireworks in their life right now. Her head already hurts from her thoughts spinning round inside it. She's just got up and she's making herself tired. She has only seconds until he gets here to review the facts. He calls her Nastya. Not in front of anyone, of course. She vaguely remembers asking him to, and she believes this memory because 1) it's not the nickname English speakers naturally fall to (he still calls her Ana sometimes), and 2) she wants him to call her Nastya, and she has been very drugged lately. Drugged enough to act on wants. So she believes her memory is real in this case. What does that say for her toothbrush? Eugene. Zhenya. The one person Ana knows she's loved. When she thinks of James, she thinks of him as she thought of Zhenya. Not in brotherly fashion, obviously. But when she thinks of the future, he is there. When she thinks of anything, his presence feels natural. Anastasia holds her thumping head. "Are ye alright?" He's in pajama bottoms, bare-chested, as she's wearing the top half. The stark metal of his mask ends at his throat, above a broad chest with a scattering of ginger hair. Lord help them all if they ever have to follow the Joes to a desert. Between her, him, and Mindbender, they'll have to buy a sunscreen factory for Cobra. "What are you grinning at?" The smile in his voice and eyes, tickled at her getting tickled. In answer she wraps her arms around his waist. His skin is warm, the hair lightly coarse against her cheek. Arms wrap around her in return. Who put the toothbrush in the toothbrush holder? Who cares? In the first draft, I realized I wrote Baroness' POV in the same voice I used for Destro, so I went back and reworked it. I like the result. I feel like James is more soft spoken and considerate, kind of sidling up to thoughts, while Anastasia would be blunt and direct even in her own head, but occasionally work herself into a tailspin of overthinking.

#anastasia cisarovna #james mccullen #baroness #destro #gi joe #gi joe renegades #gi joe: renegades #long post #but i actually cut it in half so watch for the sequel #baroness destro #baronestro #fanfiction

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chasholidays · 5 years

Note

bellarke but clarke and murphy have a weird understanding slash ride or die friendship that they don’t admit to

according to my notes, this also coincidentally fulfills @pepperf’s prompt for Bellamy in makeup, so although tumblr will not let me tag you I hope you see this anyway

Before Clarke and Murphy became friends, Clarke didn’t really think Murphy had friends. He was the kid who sat in the back of every class and made sarcastic comments and never seemed to really interact with anyone else. If someone had told Clarke that he just ceased to exist when he exited her line of sight, she would have believed them. He certainly never seemed to do anything with a lasting impact.

And then, he shows up at the first GSA meeting of tenth grade.

As someone who joined thinking she was on the “straight” side of the alliance, Clarke does get that not everyone who joins the GSA is gay, but she has trouble imagining Murphy just showing up to be a supportive ally. Even if he is somewhere on the LGBT+ spectrum, Clarke is still kind of shocked he’s showing up. She didn’t think Murphy participated in groups of any kind.

Not that he really participates in GSA either. He introduces himself only as “Murphy” every time they go around the circle for names/orientations, and then he sits in the back and cracks quiet jokes when the opportunity arises. It’s like having another class with him, except that no one is forcing him to be there. This is what he chooses to do with his time.

“It’s weird, right?” she asks Finn. He doesn’t belong to the GSA, but she gives him the updates.

Finn shrugs. “I guess. Why do you care what Murphy does?”

“I just don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to understand everything, princess,” he teases, and Clarke just rolls her eyes. Obviously she doesn’t have to understand, but she still wants to.

Sign-ups for the group trip to Pride happen in May, and Murphy is behind her in line, so he’s there when Taylor asks, “You’re coming, Clarke?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Pride is for LGBT members, not allies.”

“I’m bi, remember?” It’s still new, saying it out loud, a word that tastes clunky in her mouth, but it feels right. After she and Finn break up, she’d like to date a girl. That’s an experience she wants to have.

“Oh, well, still,” says Taylor, like that’s somehow all he needs to say.

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up. “Still what?”

“Well, you’re with Finn. I feel like it doesn’t look good for straight-passing people to be in the group.”

Clarke’s jaw drops, and she’s glad it’s anger that floods her veins and not humiliation. Taylor’s never been her favorite person, but even from him, this is a lot.

Defenses crowd her mind, but so do the inevitable counterarguments. She’s had this debate with herself so many times, if she can really be bi if she’s never kissed a girl, how she can know, how she can consider herself a part of the community when she’s dating a guy. She got through all of those things for herself, but if Taylor doesn’t think she’s bi enough for Pride, she doesn’t have any better argument than “I think I am.”

Unexpectedly, Murphy pipes up. “Hey, dipshit, she’s bi, that means she can go to Pride. What’s the holdup?”

“And whybare you going, Murphy?” Taylor shoots back. “I still don’t know why you’re here in the first place.”

“You don’t get to vet people’s sexual orientations,” Clarke says. “We all heard Pride isn’t for allies, so anyone signing up is queer. Like me.”

“I’m asexual,” Murphy says. “Is that good enough for you? I’m genuinely curious,” he adds. “If you think bi girls with boyfriends don’t belong, I’m guessing you’re not real big on letters that don’t even make the main acronym.”

Taylor’s jaw works. “Obviously, if you think you should come, I can’t stop you, I just think you should consider that it’s not entirely appropriate for–”

“You know what? Fine. I’m not coming with you.” Clarke grabs a sharpie from the bucket on the desk, crossing her name out so hard it’s probably going to bleed through to the table. “But I’ll see you there. Because I belong there.”

She’s out of the classroom before she realizes Murphy followed her.

“If I stayed there I was just going to have to talk to Taylor,” he says, with a small shrug. “Didn’t seem worth it.”

Clarke smiles with half her mouth. “Yeah, I guess not. You want a ride to Pride?”

“If you’re driving, yeah.”

And just like that, they’re friends.

Junior year, motivated primarily by spite and a mutual dislike of Taylor, Clarke and Murphy start a Queer Student Union, open to everyone who identifies as queer. To Clarke’s surprise, Murphy not only cares about LGBT issues, he’s actually shockingly informed about them. He identifies as biromantic asexual, although he admits the biromantic part feels a lot more theoretical than the asexual part, mostly because he has yet to meet anyone he likes enough he wants to be romantic with them. But he’s theoretically open to it. He’s done a lot of reading on not only sexuality stuff, but feminism and general activism, mostly because he seems interested in it. Academically, he’s not the greatest, but he’s intellectually curious, likes learning when he’s engaged.

When Finn cheats on her a few months later, he eggs Finn’s car, which is one of those things that Clarke would never approve of and would have told him not to do if he asked, but since he didn’t and she had no idea until several days after it happened, she doesn’t have to even pretend to not be happy.

It feels like the kind of relationship that might not survive college, but they both end up in Boston. Clarke’s at Harvard because she’s that over-achieving legacy kid, and Murphy goes to UMass because Clarke pointed out he could actually get a BA in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies while still avoiding the classes he hates, which is his ideal learning environment.

It turns out he’s a good litmus test for her pretentious Harvard friends, less because he’s a good judge of character and more because it’s useful to see how other people react to him. Clarke doesn’t really care if they like Murphy–Murphy doesn’t care about being liked much–but how and why they dislike him and how they deal with it tends to give her some good insight into whether or not they’re worth befriending. She and Lexa break up in part because Murphy and Lexa never figure out how to coexist, while Murphy and Niylah’s weird friendship is part of why Clarke starts hooking up with her.

“He’s like all the parts of you that you want to pretend you don’t have,” Niylah observes one night, and Clarke frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re supposed to be–The perfect princess. Rich, straight A’s, top of your class at Harvard. And then there’s Murphy, your excuse for not liking people. The scapegoat for all your worst instincts.”

“You have a very weird idea of what makes good pillow talk,” Clarke teases.

“I just think it’s interesting. Have you ever heard the term morality pet?”

“No, psych major.”

Niylah doesn’t bother responding to that. “It’s a concept in fiction. You’ve got a bad character you need to humanize, so they have a morality pet, the sympathetic character that they actually treat well, the one who’s there to make you think the villain isn’t all bad. Murphy’s your immorality pet. He’s the asshole you like because part of you is an asshole too.”

“I can’t believe this is what you think about right after sex.”

Niylah grins, rolls over for a kiss. “I just think it’s an interesting dynamic. The two of you simultaneously make each other better and worse people.”

“That sounds about right,” Clarke agrees, and tugs her closer, ending the talking for a while.

She and Niylah never get quite to being in a relationship, so when they graduate, they don’t break up so much as move apart. Niylah goes back to California, and Clarke stays in Boston in a cheap two-bedroom apartment with Murphy.

Sometimes, she thinks about what her ninth-grade self would think about her life: openly and comfortably bisexual, working in a museum instead of going to med school, living with John Murphy. Even her post-college self has trouble believing it’s real. But it’s good.

After six months of largely successful cohabitation when Murphy comes home late on a Saturday night with a giant bottle of flavored vodka and says, “We need to get drunk.”

Clarke never needs to be asked to drink shitty liquor twice. “Okay.”

Murphy roots around the fridge, frowning when all he finds is Coke and green powerade. “I thought we had lemonade.”

“Nope.”

“Well, this is going to taste shitty with the mixers we’ve got,” he says, frowning at the vodka, which is apparently raspberry flavored.

Clarke grabs the Coke. “If we drink the first one fast enough we won’t taste the second one.”

“Cheers to that,” says Murphy, and pours one generous slosh of booze into his world’s okayest sister mug and another into Clarke’s novelty Pikachu glass.

They’re adults.

After a glass and a half of raspberry-Coke vodka, Clarke asks, “Why are we getting drunk?”

“You need a reason?”

“I don’t, but it was your idea. What happened?”

Murphy makes a face, then drains his drink. “I think I’ve got a crush on a girl.”

It shouldn’t be unthinkable; romantic interest has always been a theoretical possibility for Murphy. He’s always said he could like someone, but Clarke sort of assumed he wouldn’t. It was just hard to imagine what Murphy with a crush would look like, and even harder to imagine Murphy’s type. What does he even like, in a person?

She wants to ask about a thousand questions, but she knows better. Murphy would just shut down. So instead she grabs the vodka, pours him more, and tops it off with what’s left of the Coke. “What girl?”

“She works at the pawn shop.”

John Murphy is probably the only person she knows who, in 2018, not only goes to a pawn shop, but goes to a pawn shop regularly enough to have developed feelings for someone who works there. It’s just so painfully Murphy.

“Is she just being polite to you because you’re a customer?”

He snorts. “She’s not polite to me. She’s an asshole. I keep trying to bring in stuff to sell and she tells me to get better shit.”

“That sounds about right, yeah.”

“So what do I do?”

“Can you just ask her if she wants to get a drink sometime?”

He pulls a face. “Pass.”

“Can you figure out a way to see her outside of the pawn shop without actually asking her?”

“I think she’s in a band.”

“So you got me drunk to agree to go to your crush’s concert with you? I’d do that anyway.”

“Isn’t that weird? Like–going to her concert?”

“How do you know she has a band?”

“She told me.”

“And the concert?”

“There’s a flyer by the register.”

“Did she ever mention it?”

“I asked her what it was and she said it was her band and they were decent.”

“So that seems like a pretty normal way to express interest in someone. You can just say you were curious or bored or whatever.”

“And you’re coming?”

“I’m coming.”

“Cool.” He groans and flops onto his back. “This already sucks.”

Clarke pats his shoulder. “You get used to it.”

Murphy’s crush’s name is Emori and she plays drums in a band called “Jose Chung’s ‘From Outer Space,’” which seems like a lot of name for one band, but Murphy tells her it’s an X-Files reference, so at least it makes some sense. There are four of them, two other women on bass and guitar, and the lead singer, a guy with messy black hair and sharp black eyeliner who looks too pretty to be a real person. He’s got a decent voice too, deep and kind of rough, an unvarnished kind of sound that Clarke feels down to her toes.

“Do you know any of the other ones?” she asks Murphy.

“Nope,” he says. “She was right, though, they’re not bad.”

“They aren’t.” She pulls her attention away from the lead singer to focus on Emori, taking her in. She’s cute, with a big face tattoo that must have hurt like hell to get, and long brown hair pulled away from her face by a red bandanna. She’s wearing a black tank top that leaves her shoulders bare, showing off more ink that clearly continues under the fabric.

She’s not who she would have pictured for Murphy, but she also doesn’t know who she would have pictured. She’s always thought Murphy’s type was more about personality than appearance.

Jose Chung’s “From Outer Space” are the first of three no-name local bands in the set, and Murphy, being the disaster that he is, wants to just leaveas soon they’re off the stage. But Clarke sees the lead singer making his way to the bar, so she makes a quick decision.

“I’m going to go make friends with the rest of the band,” she says. “If you want to run away, you can go, but you’re own your own.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, but she hears some spluttered protests that let her know he is following her, and bites back on her smile. It’s definitely a little bit selfish, but only a little; Murphy did ask for her help. Sort of.

There’s just enough free space next to the singer for Clarke to wedge herself in, and the guy glances over, mildly curious, but doesn’t say anything. She checks around for Murphy, finds he’s hanging back, and leans in to murmur, “Sorry, I’m trying to force my friend to flirt with your drummer.”

The guy’s eyebrows go up. This close, he’s even prettier, tan skin dotted with freckles, a small scar placed perfectly to bring attention to his lips, the eyeliner the icing on the cake. “I’m not sure how this is helping your friend flirt with my drummer,” he replies, just as low.

“If I’m here, he can’t talk to me.”

“My drummer eats guys alive.”

“I think he’s into that. That seems to be his type.”

“Huh.”

Clarke flags down the bartender and orders a beer. “You guys are really good,” she offers.

“Thanks.”

Okay, so, he’s hot, but aloof, and a little too full of himself, if Clarke is honest. The band is really good, but they’re playing a small venue in Cambridge. They’re not big enough that he should be above talking to people, so it’s probably just a personality trait.

“What’s your friend’s name?” he asks, not looking at her.

“Murphy.”

“He probably doesn’t have a chance.”

Clarke shrugs. “I’ll be proud of him if he just gives it a try.”

“Low standards, huh?” says the guy.

“He doesn’t get out much.”

“So, how long do I have to stay here for this?”

Clarke blinks. “Sorry?”

“You’re hitting on me. How long do I have to stay?”

“I didn’t know you were in a big hurry to be gone. I assumed you were at the bar because you wanted a drink. But I can go hit on someone else. Is your bass player into women?”

That perks him up, because he’s apparently the kind of asshole who thinks girl-on-girl is hot. “Possibly, but she’s got a boyfriend right now. Sorry.”

Clarke cracks her neck as an excuse to look around. Murphy is talking to Emori and she’s smiling, which means Clarke’s work here is done and she can leave the surly asshole alone. It’s always a shame when a hot boy in eyeliner lets her down, but she’ll live. “Oh well. Murphy’s set, so you should have a good rest of the night.”

He looks a little surprised. “Oh, uh, yeah. You too.”

Clarke raises her glass in salute and slides away from him, moving down the bar to a less crowded spot. She doesn’t let herself look back to see if he’s watching her, but she does let herself hope.

It would serve him right.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Murphy doesn’t come up with a better way to flirt with Emori than going to her shows, which means that Clarke is also going to her shows, to be a supportive friend, and getting to know Emori and by extension the rest of the band.

Emori, at least, she likes. She’s quick and funny and takes no shit, which is perfect for Murphy, and despite what the surly singer said, she does seem kind of fond of him. It’s hard to get a great read on her, but she keeps coming to talk to Murphy, and Clarke doesn’t think she’s the type to talk to people unless she actually wants to. Their whole relationship seems to be based on talking shit, but that’s got to be Murphy’s type.

Raven and Echo–the bass and guitar players, respectively–are cool too, easy for Clarke to hang out with while Murphy’s busy with Emori. She likes them all, really. It’s not a hardship.

Except that there’s Bellamy, too.

She does want to like Bellamy, but she can’t get over thinking he’s just kind of an asshole. He’s never really as aloof as he was that first night again, seems to warm up once he’s realized that Emori doesn’t seem to be planning to kick Murphy’s ass, but he’s still kind of cold. And part of her can’t help feeling like she should get over it, that it’s unfair of her to hold a grudge for one night, but she just can’t figure out how to get along with Bellamy.

She does try, but from what she can tell, he doesn’t. She asks him about the band and he deflects, talking about how they’re not really that good, it’s just a hobby. She asks what his real job is and he makes a face, says it’s boring. It’s not as if every conversation is like that, but she always feels like he’s not that interested in the conversation, like he’s waiting for her to just stop talking to him.

“So stop talking to him,” Murphy says, with a shrug. “Who cares?”

“Do you like him?”

“I guess. It’s not like I’m making him a friendship bracelet or anything. Does it matter?”

“You’re my barometer, remember?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You want to date Bellamy?”

“No!” she says, but it’s too late. Murphy’s running with it.

“I guess he’s probably kind of hot? Not my type, but makes sense for you. And you’re pissed because he’s not interested.”

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this is news.” It seems like a safer tactic than arguing. “I told you I tried to flirt with him the first day, it obviously didn’t work.”

“Yeah, but you’re still pissed,” he says. “So you’re still into him.”

“I want him to be into me.” If she can’t tell Murphy these things, what good is he? “I don’t get why he’s not.”

“Okay, but if you’re not into him, who cares? He doesn’t like you, you don’t like him, no harm, no foul, right? Way better than the alternative.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. He should like me. At least as a person.”

“I think he’d be good for you.”

That actually does surprise her; she’s not sure he’s ever offered an unsolicited opinion on whether or not she should date someone.

“You do?”

“Yeah, probably. He’s a pretty decent guy and we have fun hanging out. Doesn’t take my shit and gives as good as he gets.”

“But he’s not into me, so I don’t know why we’re having this conversation.”

“Because you wanted to talk about him. You started it.”

“I was complaining.”

“You complain about him a lot.” Murphy groans. “Look, like him, don’t like him, I don’t give a shit. But if you don’t like him, stop caring what he thinks, stop talking to him, and let it go.”

It’s exactly what she should be doing; she flops onto his stomach with a groan of her own. “I hate you she says.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, I owe you an apology.”

It’s a week after her conversation with Murphy and Clarke has admitted, at least privately, that she still wants to make out with Bellamy and still might kind of like Bellamy, despite all logic and reason.

And now he’s smiling at her, nervous and casual in a t-shirt and glasses at Raven’s game night, and she has no idea what’s happening.

“You do?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re talking about and we can go from there? Because I’m kind of lost.”

He clears his throat. “So, uh–I didn’t know Murphy’s name was John.”

“And you’re apologizing to me for that?”

“The first night we met you said your friend was flirting with Emori, and I knew she liked this customer of hers named John, so I thought you were distracting me so some asshole she didn’t like could slobber all over her. So I was annoyed.”

“And you only just realized Murphy was her customer crush?” she asks, stuck between amusement and disbelief. “It’s been months!”

“I know! I thought he just got lucky and she liked him, but then she said John was coming tonight and I said I hadn’t met him and the rest of the band made fun of me for like an hour.”

“It kind of sounds like you deserved it.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly, and Clarke smiles too. “Anyway, I feel like–I never knew how to explain without telling you I thought Emori was into someone else. And I still kind of thought you were a dick for trying to distract me with your feminine wiles.”

“I was joking!”

He laughs. “Yeah, uh–anyway. Sorry?”

“You don’t really have to apologize for that,” she says. “It’s not like you were–you’re pretty polite mostly. I thought you had a bad night. And didn’t like me much.”

“Yeah. But I want us to do better, so–can we start over?”

It’s strange, because part of Clarke feels like they never actually started. Like this is actually going to be their first try.

Which makes it easy. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

It should fix all her problems, or at least all the problems she’s admitting she has, but less than two weeks later she slams a bag into the island and says, “I bought vanilla vodka and orange juice and I want it to taste like a creamsicle.”

“Won’t work but okay,” says Murphy. “What did Bellamy do?”

“Who says it’s about Bellamy?”

“Can we skip the bullshit and you just tell me?”

Clarke considers. “Drink first.”

They make it through the first round and then Clarke says, “He likes me now.”

“And you hate him?”

“No, I still want to make out with him.” She sighs. “You were right, I’m totally into him, and now we’re getting along, and everything sucks. He’s really cute.”

Murphy takes another drink of his vanilla screwdriver. “So ask him to make out. At least you’re not trying to tell him you’re into him but not into sex and you’ve never actually dated anyone before. Why are you complaining?”

“Have you figured out a way to mention you’re ace yet?” she asks.

“Nope. It doesn’t really come up in conversation. No one’s like, how much does everyone love sex? They just assume the answer is a lot and don’t bother asking.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Keep complaining about your thing, that helps.”

She flops onto her back. “He’s just so pretty.”

Murphy pats her leg. “Yeah, that sucks.”

Murphy’s problem seems easier to solve than hers, especially in early May. Clarke gives it a week and then, when they’re out drinking with the whole band, asks, “Oh, is anyone going to Pride? Do you guys need a ride?”

“You’re going to Pride?” Echo asks.

“She’s bi,” Bellamy says, even though Clarke’s never told him that. “Or pan?” he adds, glancing at her for approval.

“I usually go with bi, but as long as it covers no gender preference I’m good.”

“I’m biromantic asexual,” says Murphy. Clarke didn’t warn him, but he’s pretty quick with this stuff.

“We always go to Pride because that’s how we got to be friends. Some asshole in our high-school GSA told us neither of us belonged there because we weren’t queer enough.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Bellamy. “Well, I could use a ride.”

Clarke will admit to startling, just a little. She didn’t really think anyone in the band was queer, had just wanted to give Murphy an excuse to share his sexuality. It was always possible she’d get a taker, but it hasn’t seemed likely.

But Bellamy wants to join them. If he’s gay, that kind of sucks, at least for her. But he’s bi or trans–into women at all and queer, basically–he might be her dream guy.

“I know it’s shitty to ask why people want to go to Pride, but I still want to know,” Murphy says.

“Also bi,” says Bellamy, so, yeah. Clarke wants to marry him. “I’ve never actually been to Boston Pride, though. I don’t like going alone.”

“Then you should definitely come with us,” says Clarke, and he gives her one of his melting smiles.

“Thanks.”

“Can I come along as a supportive outsider who would happily make out with a girl if the opportunity presented itself?” Emori asks.

“Definitely,” says Murphy. “Just don’t talk about ally pride or whatever and we’re good. And kiss a girl if you can, I hear it’s cool.”

Echo’s interested to learn that he’s never kissed a girl, and she and Emori and Raven get drawn into that conversation, leaving Clarke and Bellamy off on their own.

“So, that first day we met,” she says.

Bellamy cocks his head. “What about it?”

“I asked if anyone else in the band liked girls and you kind of–” She shrugs. “I thought you were one of those guys who thinks girls kissing is hot and for your benefit. But you were excited I was queer.”

He laughs. “Shit, I didn’t know you noticed. But yeah, I always like meeting more bisexuals. I was rethinking you.”

“Where did you end up?”

“What do you mean?”

She smiles. “You rethought me, so–what did you end up thinking of me?”

He bites the corner of his mouth, glances over at his band mates. They’re not paying attention that Clarke can tell, but she knows Murphy still has part of his focus on the two of them. The rest of the band probably does too. That’s the kind of group dynamic they have going.

Bellamy must be thinking the same thing. “You want to get another round?” he asks.

“Maybe at another bar.”

He laughs again, this bright, pleased laugh, at odds with his rock-star makeup. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

Outside, he says, “I thought I should have picked you up when I had the chance. I was kicking myself for–I’m still kicking myself for not flirting back.”

Her own smile creeps up, starting small but never stopping growing. “You still could.”

“We could just get a drink at my place.”

“I’d love to.”

“How much do you think Taylor Macdonald would hate us going on a double date to Pride with our straight-passing partners?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy pauses in his application of glitter to Murphy. Apparently he’s as good as makeup as he is because he taught his sister how to do hers, which works out really well. Clarke sucks at makeup; it’s nice that they have complementary skill sets.

“Straight passing?” he asks, dubious.

“His words.”

“Dick.”

Murphy grins. “I figure if I’m pissing off Taylor Macdonald, I’m doing something right. I hope every time I’m happy, he feels like someone walked over his grave.”

Clarke offers her hand and he high-fives her; Emori smiles. “I’m starting to see why the two of you are such good friends. It didn’t quite add up before.”

“Spite and stubbornness,” says Clarke.

“Our main motivations in life.”

“Exactly,” says Emori. “It makes perfect sense.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bellamy teases, but Clarke just smiles.

“Whatever. We’ve got it all figured out.”

#idleafterthoughts

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maskydoo · 5 years

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Nightmare Neighbors 6

(I’m writing out scripts for upcoming storytime style youtube videos, and posting what I have here. Note that this is a true story. Feedback is welcome.)

Nightmare Neighbors 6 draft

Imagine the angriest crazies you’ve ever met online. Now imagine they know where you live. Now imagine, they routinely hang around near your house, waiting to catch you outside and alone.

Somehow, my life next to Loony and Toony Feckwad was like living right next to the worst kind of Youtube comments section.

And there’s no simple block function.

Now, I’ve been using the made-up names for these people throughout the telling of this story so far, but during these events, I didn’t actually know these people’s names.

I figured at this point, since I was getting the law involved, I really should find out.

Also, I told my boss about what happened, and he told the higher ups at the company. They decided for security reasons to preemptively ban the two crazies from the premises, and needed names and identifying photos so the guards could deny them entry if they ever showed up at my work.

But. Like. It’s not like I could just ask them their names anymore.

So what can I do?

The obvious option was to do a public records search by looking up their address. I got names… but… I wasn’t entirely 100% totally certain it was really them.

I didn’t know how trustworthy the information on shady-looking public records sites would be, and I didn’t want to accidentally give the police, and eventually the court, the wrong people’s names.

I was especially confused since multiple surnames came up for Loony, and I wasn’t sure if they were different people who happened to have the same first name, or if Loony really did change her surname that many times. (It turned out to be the latter.)

So. To Facebook. I couldn’t find a profile for Toony, but I did find Loony. Good enough, now I could confirm their identities.

That was all I wanted to do. I didn’t care to go through her information, and I certainly didn’t want to contact her. I wanted as little to do with her as possible, which was partly why I waited this long to even find out their names.

I was about to click away when… I noticed something. Right to the top of her profile there were several unhinged posts that were clearly about me.

For starters, she was convinced I was stalking her Facebook, and had been for some time. These posts were deranged rants that were clearly meant to call me out, and included lines like:

“I know you’re reading this, stalker!”

I mean… now I was reading it, but these posts went back weeks, months. What the hell, lady? She thought I cared to see her facebook, but that was the first time I ever looked her up.

She even had one that was taunting me for not getting to have her husband and how she’s a special beautiful wife.

She… just has no grasp on reality at all. Imagine being mercilessly harassed by crazy people over a situation that only ever existed in their head.

In her posts, she also ranted about how I was calling her from hidden numbers. Anytime she got a call, it was absolutely me. It MUST have been.

I don’t. I don’t think I have to tell you I obviously never called these people. I’m a millennial. I can barely be bothered to call people I actually like. I order pizza through apps just to avoid speaking to a human.

But that’s not all I was accused of. In a more recent post, she insisted that I had some habit of driving slowly past her house with binoculars.

Ummm…

I live next door to her. I drive in this neighborhood because… I live here. But I funny enough, I don’t drive past her house. I don’t need to. My house is on the corner.

And what would I need binoculars for? Their house is only a few yards from the road. Even if I wanted to watch them… I wouldn’t need binoculars for it. And I would think driving at the same time would be pretty difficult.

I don’t think I even own any binoculars.

And what a weird thing to complain about when they are literally the ones watching me. They watch me from their windows, they stand outside in the dark waiting for me to get home from work. And apparently that’s OK.

Lady. Lady. Lady…. lady. Lady. Do you live in your own little world?

I guess she just assumed that since she was so obsessed with me, I must be obsessed with her.

That’s… that’s not how anything works.

I know in an previous video I called out Toony as a viewer,

(replay joke)

But that was obviously a JOKE. I don’t expect him to ever actually watch this. And I don’t expect he’d have the self-awareness to recognize himself if he did.

But Loony, Loony really thought I had nothing better to do stalk her, or at leas that’s what she was claiming to think on Facebook for whatever relatives of hers that would see it.

I have no idea why she wrote those things. It could be she was just lying for attention, just making it up out of nothing. For what reason, I have no idea.

Or It could be that she was truly delusional, and genuinely believed her own words. It’s possible she was suffering from very real paranoia.

I think the difference between her paranoia and mine is that I actually did have crazy, hostile neighbors.

Whereas Luna had a neighbor who wanted nothing to do with her. I’d be happy to pretend she didn’t exist. If she and Toony ever quit their nonsense, that would be the end of it.

Yet here she was, pretending it was the other way around.

Now. I don’t really care about the unflattering and untrue things she was saying about me on her page. They were absolutely insane, yes, but were not really harassment like standing around in the dark screaming at me when I get home. It’s her page. She can write what she wants. I don’t have to read it.

What I did care about though were the references she kept making in her rants to the day I’d ‘get what was coming to me.’ She said multiple vague threatening sounding things along those lines in a number of her posts about me.

So, yeah… I was right about this pattern of escalation. This nutjob clearly intended to do me harm eventually. As she said herself, it was only a matter of time.

To make matters worse is her Facebook friends and family believed her, and wanted involved. Maybe they’re similarly crazy people, or maybe they were actually decent folks but, since they only had her crazy words to go on, got a very wrong impression of the actual situation.

Either way, this was really concerning when a number of these people left comment son her rants, offering to come ‘deal with me,’ and asking Loony for my information, my name, where I lived.

Ok, so that angry internet strangers at my house metaphor I used earlier had a strong chance of becoming a lot more real than I thought. There were now strangers volunteering to physically come to my home to physically punish me for things the Feckwads were making up.

This is bad. This is real bad.

I didn’t know what to do. I was completely sickened by what I saw. I knew I never wanted look at her page again. I just wanted to close the page and never think of it again.

But… forgetting what I saw wouldn’t make it go away. The danger still existed.

And now it wasn’t just the neighbors I had to worry about. This witch has and an army of flying monkeys to send at me. Any random stranger on the block could have been with Loony and I had no way of knowing.

At this point in my life, I was already dealing with a lot of problems. And I really, really, really did not need this.

I was now alone most of the year, with my boyfriend away at work in another country. I didn’t really have any friends or family nearby. Not much of a social life to speak of. Even at work I was largely isolated. Being a security guard, I was often the only person in the entire building.

My only regular human contact was decidedly negative, which made me withdraw more.

It was like when you burn your hand, you don’t want to reach out again.

And now even had to worry about random strangers at my door.

As I mentioned before, my work schedule was inhuman. I’d work morning, day, and night shift all within the span of a week. Sometimes, these would be 12-hour shifts with only 8-hours off in between. I never had a consistent sleep times.

And when I tried to sleep, I was kept awake by daytime noises, just the unease of being alone, and by having unstable neighbors who liked to sneak around near my house at night.

The work schedule and lack of sleep weren’t great for my grades. I was, of and on, taking classes full time. Or, I was trying to, but concentration was hard. I ended up getting sick and as a result of everything, failed an important class.

My dog got sick, needing medication multiple times per day. Then my cat got sick, and needed emergency surgery. I’d drag myself half asleep to vet appointments, try to find ways to make medication times fit work hours, setting alarms to wake myself up in the few hours I could sleep to give meds, and worried constantly about how I was going to pay for it all.

I spent most of my time indoors. The construction of our homes was very much not in my favor. The way they were designed, the neighbors could easily see from their windows when I was outside. Their bedroom window had a clear view over my fence and into my back yard. And their kitchen widow could see my driveway, so they always knew when I came or left. If they saw me outside, they’d shout from their windows or even come outside to confront me.

But my windows minded their own business. I couldn’t see their property from inside my house they way they could see mine. So I had no way of knowing if they were out there until I was already out my door. I had no way of avoiding them.

So I just. Stayed inside. I was exhausted anyway.

That garden project I wanted to start? Not happening now that my yard isn’t a relaxing place to be anymore.

My dog wants to play, but she’ll have to settle for chasing the ball inside.

The grass is getting long, but I can only manage a section at a time before I’m interrupted.

Eventually, it got hard to find the motivation to do much of anything at all. I hardly even saw the sun anymore.

I’m not saying that the neighbors alone pushed me to seriously google symptoms of depression. They weren’t that powerful, and I wouldn’t want to give them too much credit. I probably would have been feeling generally pretty low anyway.

But they were an extra source of stress that I did not need on top of everything else, and contributed to making my existing troubles worse.

I mush have looked pretty pathetic. I don’t care much for malls, but I dragged myself to one one day, and I wasn’t even sure why. I guess I just wanted to be away from my house. I bought a pair of pants I didn’t need just to justify the trip. This cashier, I didn’t even know her, came around the corner and hugged me. I didn’t tell her anything, but I guess she just knew I needed it.

I should be able to feel safe in my home, but this was stolen from me. I worried about what might come next. Maybe they’d damage my property. Maybe they’d hurt my dogs. Maybe they’d attack me in my driveway or break into my home. Maybe they’d send a stranger after me.

I couldn’t know.

But what I did know, is that I couldn’t live with this. No. I wouldn't live like this. I refused.

Time for a plan.

#maskydoo #nightmare neighbors #storytime #script #feedback welcome

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drferox · 6 years

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20 Questions with Dr Ferox #23

Whelp, time for another blast of 20 questions and comments from the inbox. If you were brave enough to use your username I’ve tried to tag you (Thanks Tumblr) but if you were on anon, you’ll have to look yourself.

Would you folks be interested in me answering these sort of short questions in a video instead? Let me know in the replies. Now here we go!

Anonymous said: do u play mobile games on your phone, like animal crossing pocket camp? :O

No, should I? I haven't heard much about it.

@trisaratops45 said: Dr. Ferox, First off I just started following your blog and love it! I'm stuck using mobile so I can't see your faq information. I was just wondering if the clinic you work at sees any exotic or pocket pets? Of so what is your favorite to see and treat? Thank you!

Welcome! We don't see a huge amount of exotics at my clinic, we're not well set up for them, but ferrets are probably my favorites.

Anonymous said: do you follow any medblr blogs? and if you do, are you ever like 'thank goodness i don't have to deal with that' or 'man i wish it was that easy'? question tax: what is your favorite depiction of dragons from fantasy media

I actually had to go check which blogs I was following. No active medblr blogs in the list anyway. I often see real clients, in the flesh, and think 'Im glad i don't have to deal with that', especially when they describe to me their own gross medical problems as though I want to know exactly what's coming out of their orifices. All dragons are good dragons. I don't think i could pick a favorite.

@the-noble-banana said: What style of nail clippers are best for trimming a cat's claws?

Whatever you're comfortable with. I like these ones

Anonymous said: Do dogs get acne? Is that a thing? Just curious! Question tax: if you could shoot something out of your finger, what would it be?

They can get comedones with certain hormonal conditions (black heads) and can get pimple-like lesions with skin infections. I would shoot icy cold water out of my fingers. Great for hot days, and for stupid faces.

Anonymous said: Do you typically bandage and cover amputations? At the vet I worked at (I was only kennel so everything I saw was in passing) every animal who had limb amputation left after a day or two with the incision fully bandaged. My dog had her hind leg amputated and the vet (different one) had her in and out in under three hours and sent her home unbandage. Just out of curiosity is it case by case that you decide to bandage? Gave my mom a little heart attack seeing her all bloody and swollen

We might but a light dressing over them, but in an amputation of anything more than a toe there's often not much to bandage. Limb amputations are typically very high up the limb in dogs and cats and it's hard to bandage something in that position. Also, sometimes dogs eat the dressing.

@crimsonrose95 said: I'm not vet med, but I am into chemistry and physical sciences and the ask talking about chemistry being inconsistent is so weird a thought to me. Biology is way less consistent than chemistry like chemistry is mostly math with elements and compounds while biology is mostly names. It's just really interesting how most people start to think a science they don't like and have trouble in is just the science being completely inconsistent to them. Me included.

I get what you mean. Chemistry has a fairly distinct set of rules, even if they're rules you've not encountered outide of chemistry before. I was never a fan of physics, but it is consistent. Biology likes to bend rules. Life finds a way.

Anonymous said: Why does my cat yell when I try to use the bathroom alone? Question tax: what's your favorite thing about Australia?

Possibly he thinks you need moral support? Or that there's demons in there. My favorite thing about Australia is our universal healthcare system and gun control.

@foxtrottarts said: How common is dewclaw removal in dogs, and what are the benefits/downsides?

Hind dewclaw removal is relatively common at the time of deseing, if they're the sort that flop all over the place and lack a boney attachment. Front dewclaws are usually left, unless removed for a medical reason. I've written about it before here. https://drferox.tumblr.com/search/dewclaw

Anonymous said: Can a dog still have the MDR1 gene if they have never reacted to those drugs in the past (lets says a dog that has regular flea prevention of selemectin)

If the dog has only had a popular flea product containing selamectin but has never had ivermectin, yes they could still have it. MDR1 dogs typically don't react to that product, nor do they react to the annual heartworm injection.

Anonymous said: Hello, I had a question as google only takes me but so far, and the results were iffy at best since it's difficult to locate a vet or someone in a position who would know the answer. How much of a danger is animal or human saliva to pet birds? Some people say kissing the bird, or having another pet such as a dog lick/groom them is an issue, but I'm just lost on if any is true, and would love to find the answer. Thanks a ton in advance since it's all pretty confusing.

It is a potential issue. Carnivore saliva contains many bacterial species that can be devastating to birds or other mammals even through relatively small abrasions. Carnivores should not be permitted to interact with prey species and birds. Cats are especially risky because they're so pointy and because they effectively coat themselves in saliva when grooming. You can find some more information here.

Anonymous said: Hi Dr. Ferox, we recently had to put our cat down due to health issues. We're pretty sure he had FIP as the last week of his life he had every symptom but one. A website we saw said the virus can live in the environment for weeks afterwards and I was wondering if you knew any sort of approximate time. We aren't ready for another cat yet but occasionally foster a kitten and don't want to bring one into the house and have it get sick

I typically reccomnd 4 months, and replacing bedding, litter trays and food dishes. While you are probably fine with 3 months, given the incurable and devestating nature of FIP (Feline Infection Peritonitis) I prefer to err on the side of caution.

@kumoi-no-hikari said: I got a couple rats a few months ago and the lady I bought them from mentioned that most vets don't know much about rats and will probably do more harm than good unless the situation is extreme. Is that true? They haven't had any issues, but I'm worried about traumatizing them or wasting money if they ever have a problem.

Some vets will certainly be better equiped or more interested in treating rats than others, but you'll only know if you call around and ask them. If they're not keen on seeing rats, they might know somebody who is. I think saying 'most vets don't know X' is unfair when you look at the diversity of vets in the world. Call around, plan for the worst ahead of time.

Anonymous said: Do you know how taxidermy works? I plan this route for my cat when she's passes, do I have to contact them before the body stiffens or position her first?

No idea. But I would contact them well in advance incase they have waiting lists or something. But I would think very carefully about whether taxidermy of a pet is something you definitely want.

Anonymous said: Hey there! What’s your favorite brand of stethoscope?

The Littman is what I use and have been very happy with my Classic II.

Anonymous said:Our poodle mix loved grabbing a mouthful of food then running to the living room to eat it - not necessarily to be near us, he just would eat over carpet. Sometimes we'd rearrange the living room so it wasn't a direct shot from the dining room and he'd still run around the furniture to eat there. He also once pooped one piece on each stair when we were gone all day for some unfathomable reason.

There is so much that could be going on there, but since you didn't seem to ask a question I'm not sure what you'd like me to say.

Anonymous said: On the topic if dog eating things they shouldn't. A shitzu swallowed the end of a large chew bone whole and when she puked It up it was about the size of my fist.

Little dogs often seem to overestimate what they can safely eat. Westies seem to be the worst for this though, and are a common breed to see for stuff getting stuck in their oesophagus.

Anonymous said: About people thinking vets are scammers, my family was so bad with this when I was a child. I remember I had a sick kitten, I was around 8, it had some lung issues and I begged and cried to vet it and my dad said "pray really really really hard to God every hour, and maybe he'll bring a miracle!" and the cat died the next day :( I get so LIVID when people refuse taking their pets to vets for stuff that cannot wait. Makes me wanna slap those people senseless!

Your Dad sounds like a lazy asshole and a cheapskate. Even if god existed, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate being dialed up for a miracle like a pizza delivery.

Anonymous said: i just wanted to tell you that i recently adopted an older orange tabby cat (dsh) and he is large. like not just fat (which we are working on), but unusually tall and long. like. maine coon size. he has so far used his size to swipe bacon off a kitchen counter and remain an effective roadblock. he's very calm and sweet, i love my big fat baby.

Congratulations on your new addition! I'm sure your big orange boy loves you back too.

@mise-en--place said: Thought you might appreciate this. We got records on a cat today and on a previous visit they stated; "BCS 5/9. Cat appears to be about 7lbs through the gloves and towel." We got a good laugh, cat was actually quite calm for her visit.

I received a history for my old cat Dippa who had once very badly bitten this other vet that only said "Appears healthy in cage. Vaccinated in cage. Dr Ferox is welcome to come and perform a dental on her own cat any time she likes." I took that to mean "I'm not touching this hellbeast. You deal with her."

#20 questions #dr ferox #veterinarian #vetblr #animal death #death #pet death #taxidermy

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rebelscum-2187 · 4 years

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So I know no one asked to hear this sob story but here it is anyway.

So we had to put my dog down yesterday and we had her for 11 years. It’s been a great life but I was just not ready to let go yet.

I have grieved the deaths of family members and friends plenty of times, and I never expected to grieve for this dog in the same way.

This dog let me lay on her and cry for hours after my grandmother died (who I was closer to than my own mother). Just laid there and let my 12 year old self cry on her fur on the back porch. This dog would lick tears off my face and come, tail wagging and smiling, to comfort me whenever I was sad without fail.

This dog accompanied me on all of our fishing adventures to the lake in our backyard or the one a mile away.

This dog would get scared during thunderstorms and follow me around the house and Star at me as if she was asking me to turn it off. If it got bad enough she would jump onto my lap or into my bed regardless of whether there was enough room for her. She was an 80pound black Labrador retriever.

This dog would not go outside to potty unless a human accompanied her. If I opened the door for her to go out, she would wait for me to go with her and not proceed until I acquiesced. She was scared of the dark. She was scared of wet grass, and when we actually caught a fish and held it up to her, she chickened out and would start barking at it.

She never ran off, we rarely used a leash at all. There were so many times we’d let her sit outside under the tree (shit, I’ve started crying again) by herself and sometimes forget she was out there. I’d remember and frantically run to go check and make sure she didn’t wander off to find her waiting right next to the door to be let in.

If we left a door cracked in the house, she would nudge it open with her nose to come be near us.

There was never a day where any of the family would walk in the front door and not receive a less than extatic greeting. Tail wagging, mouth open in a smile and ready for a belly rub.

She loved food a little too much, and had a bad habit of begging and drooling excessively, but that was our own doing since she’s too cute to resist sharing a bit of our meal with.

She was a little weird too, but in a cute way. She would suck on her stuffed animals as if she was still a puppy. She also loved the smell of my hair while it was still wet after I showered and would rub her face all over my wet hair if I let her. If no one was petting her, she would walk over to your legs, nudge them and pet herself. It seemed she fooled herself into thinking you were petting her if she did that because her tail would wag and she would smile.

Now, our house is eerily quiet. No click clack of her nails across the floor, no happy greetings walking in the door, no intense staring and drooling at your feet while you eat and no more wet sloppy kisses from her. Just an empty dog bed, next to empty food bowls that will never be used again.

A full container of dog food she will never get to eat, and dust bunnies of black dog hair silently floating across the floor. A collar that I will never hear the sweet jingle of the dog tags as she saunters around the house in search of food or a companion to give a belly rub.

Now I eat my food alone without a little beggar a foot away, now I have no one to share the scraps with. No one to take care of and no one to take care of me.

Now I have to pick up the food or ice cubes dropped on the floor because she won’t be there to quickly snag them and lick the tile clean.

I came home yesterday after putting her down and laid in bed until I couldn’t cry anymore, or so I thought. I was on my phone trying to distract myself and noticed the unpleasant feeling of having a hair in my mouth. Annoyed, I grabbed it and soon realized it was a dog hair.

I cried much more after that.

I knew something was really wrong the day before when she wouldn’t get up from her bed to greet my father at the door, and he is her favorite human. I became more worried when she wouldn’t eat her favorite food, just a small piece of banana or get all excited to smell my damp, freshly washed hair. I said goodbye and left for work.

When my dad called me an hour later from the vets office, he asked me how quickly I could get there and I knew it was the end. My hands began to shake and I couldn’t hold back the tears.

When I walked into the room where my dog was and my parents she lifted her head up to see who was coming in the door. She seemed better because they had given her some pain meds, but she didn’t get up or even wag her tail.

The vet confirmed my worst fears: cancer. A massive tumor was surrounding her heart, compressing her lungs and pushing on her trachea. I didn’t have to see the x-Rays to tell that she was in pain, I knew my girl was hurting.

I laid on the floor of the room in the vets office and looked my dog in the eye. With my hand on her face, I cried and watched her struggle to breathe with her compressed lungs that were being pushed on by the tumor. I wanted to say goodbye but I hated to see her like this. Just a day before she had been her usual, happy, active but slightly lazy self, and now she was in so much pain and struggling to stay awake.

She seemed to have a bit of an appetite back since the pain meds helped her feel a bit better. I knew taking her home would just prolong the pain, and my parents had decided to put her down rather than keep her in pain when she can’t even stand up on her own. As the vet began to put the first syringe into her port on her leg, Kele (my dog) winced and lifted her head up to see what the vet was doing.

She was so scared and in so much pain. I remembered they had given us a paper trey with peanut butter and a tongue depressor and I made sure her last few moments were spent eating some peanut butter rather than being scared and in pain. She ate licked that peanut butter until she could hold her head up anymore and we watched until her breaths got so shallow that they stopped. I put my head on my dads shoulder and sobbed with him.

Now I cry because I know I will never have a dog as great as her, as well behaved, good tempered, charismatic, funny and a little (by little I mean a little chubby) bit annoying as she was. I won’t have my black little furball there every time to greet me after a bad day at work or school. I will have to eat in solitude, which as an introvert was fine with me, but with a dog right next to me, those small moments were pure bliss. I feel so empty and there won’t be anything that can fill that void there.

I’m sad for now, but grateful for how much happiness she brought our family, how many laughs she gave us, and for her unwavering loyalty. I surprised myself with how much grief I’ve experienced, but that only means that my love for her, and hers for me was just as strong if not stronger than what I feel now. To all of you that have experienced the loss of a beloved pet, I’m with you, I feel your pain and I send you my love.

If writing your grief helps you like it does for me, share it. I’d love to hear about your lovely pets as well.

#dogsofinstaworld #good doggo #cute puppy #petlovers #wedontdeservedogs #dog

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fahimahammedssss · 4 years

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Some Helpful, Practical Guidelines For Dog Owners.

Dogs make fantastic pets. They are extremely loyal and lovable. To be a great dog owner, make an effort to educate yourself on all of the dos and don'ts of dog ownership. This article is loaded with a number of great tips guaranteed to help your properly care for your pooch.

If you are going to taking your dog on vacation, take a pic of him on your phone. This will help in the rare situation that you get separated from your dog. You will have a current picture of your dog to show to people.

If you have prescription or over-the-counter medication in the house, make sure that your dog does not have access to it. Many medicines that benefit you can be harmful or fatal to your dog. When your dog happens to get at your meds, call the vet ASAP.

When training your puppy or dog, keep the sessions short! Experts say that a dog has the attention span of a small child, sometimes less, and that longer sessions will actually cause him to forget everything you've learned together. Use positive reinforcement and limit your training sessions to no more than 15 minutes.

If your young dog is teething and gnawing at everything, buy him a fun chew toy and keep it in the fridge. Not only does this provide him with a good alternative to your furniture, but the cold will help to make his gums feel better. Most younger dogs gnaw out of necessity, not poor manners.

Remember that dogs are creatures of habit and anything you start with him will be expected in the future. If you're not keen on him sleeping with you, don't let him do it only on occasion. Likewise, if you don't want him begging at the table, never offer him a bite of people food. He will learn and accept things if you are consistent.

If you are considering owning a dog, keep in mind the size of your home when selecting the breed. Large dogs do not mix well with small apartments unless you have the ability to walk them frequently. They need exercise and room to roam. In this situation, a smaller barred might be the better choice.

Dogs, like humans, can develop health problems, and because of this they should be taken to see their vet at least once eat year. This can help to diagnosis any health issues early on, reducing both the extremity of the illness and the cost to fix it. Do whatever you can to follow this rule of thumb strictly.

Your dog needs to wear some sort of identification in case he escapes your house. Keep identification on your dog's collar. Your dog's name and your contact info should appear on the tag. Micro-chipping is another great option to help in the event that your dog gets lost.

When you are finding out what kind of dog you want to get, you might want to introduce the prospective pet to your current pet. Some dogs get along better with one another than others. If you find one that gets along with your current one, you'll save yourself a lifetime of headaches.

You should not just use your dog's cold, wet nose as a barometer of its health. There are multiple reasons a nose could be chilly and damp, and plenty of them don't involve illness. Instead, focus on his energy level, bathroom habits, appetite and thirst. They'll all really tell the story of your pet's health. If necessary, you can get a rectal temperature reading as well.

If you have a hard time with keeping your dog from chewing your possessions or your furniture, use a taste deterrent. Most pet stores sell bitter apple sprays or other products you can use to keep your dog from chewing. Choose a product that does not contain any chemicals if possible.

Always try to do your training in an area where the dog has some distractions around them. Rarely are you going to be in a situation where you need your dog to obey and it is completely quiet. It is best for you to practice your training with the television on, kids running wild and maybe some music playing.

As a responsible dog owner, you'll want to pay careful attention to your dog's food and eating habits. A high-calorie diet is okay in the early stages of a dog's life. As your dog ages, his caloric intake should be reduced to avoid obesity.

If you have a new dog, you have to figure out where he will sleep. Crate training means starting from the very first night. If you let your dog sleep in your bedroom or on your bed, keep in mind that you will not easily get rid of this habit.

If you are going to bring a new dog into your home you should do a lot of the preparation ahead of time. You should have a nice place for it to sleep, food, grooming products and toys all on hand before they arrive. This will make the transition easier for everyone involved.

Never tie out your dog on a deck or elevated place wearing a regular collar. If your dog happens to jump off of the deck, he can end up injuring his neck or even worse. Using a harness can help prevent injuries from happening, in the event that your dog decides to take a leap of faith.

Never punish your dog for being curious about a new baby. Instead, allow your dog to investigate the smells and sights that come with a baby at a safe distance. If the dog is made to feel like the baby has infringed on his home, the very worst is far more likely to happen.

As was mentioned in the opening of this article, dogs make amazing pets. They are loving, loyal and protective. To be a responsible dog owner you must educate yourself on the best dog-care tips and advice. Apply the knowledge you've learned from this article to properly care for your pooch.

dog-education

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samtheflamingomain · 7 years

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to care is human

Warning: gruesome descriptions of suicide methods.

So last night I tried to kill myself. Sometimes I wake up knowing it'll be that kind of day, sometimes it creeps up on me. This time was different.

I usually drink a shitload, eat a bunch of sleeping pills and then put a bag over my head and a belt around my neck. It's almost worked a few times, but I usually wake up with a hole in the bag and a terrible headache.

I can't really do that anymore; I can tell it's causing actual brain damage, and I also don't have more than a few sleeping pills at any given time because my psychiatrist instructed the pharmacy to give me my meds weekly.

I was alright until around 4 when I realized I'd be drinking and that it would make a solid week in a row of drinking. Add in the fact that I just put $1200 of cat surgery on my credit card, and by the time I was gulping down an entire bottle of wine in an hour, I couldn't stop thinking about all the things that stress me out. I have no money. I hate working. I have no parents. I can’t stop drinking. I have to start working more hours.

I didn't wait long enough after the wine before going to the bar. It was another few beers before it hit me HARD. It takes A LOT for me to feel drunk; I've gotten used to drinking 10 beers to feel tipsy, so I was surprised to be genuinely drunk. Wanting that to continue, I kept at ‘er.

This is a pretty odd story, and I don't remember everything that happened but here's a self-indulgently-long description of it anyway:

I go to the bar after the wine and have about 8 beers (they have a non-standard "mini-pitcher" you can buy, maybe the equivalent of like 3.5 beers?) and I'm talking to another regular who's been trying to get rid of her last kitten for a while. I've always loved this kitten and have considered taking him in for a while now.

So Fran says, "Hey, wanna come over and see him?" and drunk me was like "Fuck yeah, kitties!"

We take a cab to her place, I ogle some felines, then had to walk home. I'm guessing I left her place at around midnight. Why am I guessing? Wellll...

My phone was dead, as I discovered trying to figure out how to get home from her place. I had no idea where I was.

I live at the edge of a very large neighbourhood with a lot of winding, twisting roads. I walked for hours in the freezing cold, crying, stumbling over drunk. I remember laying in grass at some point(s?) and also concrete.

And I remember far too vividly crawling from the sidewalk out to the road and laying down.

I laid there for what felt like hours, screaming at approaching vehicles, "FUCKING KILL ME!" as I bawled my eyes out. None did. Obviously.

I remember distinctly being stood up by a paramedic and escorted into an ambulance. The first thing I said was, "Great, another $40 I can't afford."

I was barely able to give the paramedics answers. I don't remember getting out or how I ended up sleeping on a hospital bed in the mental illness waiting area.

I was woken up at 4 in the morning by a crisis worker. She said "sounds like you had a bad night?" No fuckin shit.

Well, I'm not new to this rodeo. I don't remember much of what was said, but she discharged me as soon as we were done. I have a horrible, infected scrape on my hand that is putting me out of commission at work for at least a week. I can hardly move my hand or lift anything. They tell me to go to a walk-in-clinic.

Buses don't start till 7 on weekends, so I went for my phone to call an Uber. And that’s when I discovered a shitty Android-shaped hole in my pocket.

That's right, for those of you keeping score at home, that's two, count 'em, TWO phones I've lost in the last 4 months! How will he lose the next one??? Vote NOW!!

Anyway, I call a cab from the hospital, get home at around 5, message my coworkers that I can't come in to work, then pass out till 10, the exact time I was supposed to start work. I fire up the ole' Book of Faces and find that the shift has been covered.

I go buy a new phone and (attempt) to go to a clinic for my hand. Literally every clinic in this city is closed because of the stupid long weekend. I was exhausted so I didn't bother going back to the hospital for a scrape.

Then something weird happened. I realized that people actually care. Let me explain.

I fucked up the schedule at work this week by having to take my cat to the vet on Tuesday. I felt HORRIBLE about missing another shift, especially two in one week, and especially because this time it was my own damn fault.

It gets worse. When I was told that the shift had been covered, I wasn't told that it was being covered by Rob, who closed last night (a 4-12 shift). Running on 3 hours of sleep, he came in at 10 and is still there now. He'll be there till 12 again.

So now I feel even more horrible. Dude is working 22 hours in 2 days because of me*.

*Not quite - I'll get to that in a bit.

Without a phone to call my best friend, I felt very lonely when I got home from the hospital. I was still able to talk to my other friend from the States, though, and this is an important difference.

When I try to kill myself and tell Connor after the fact, he rarely reacts. (If I'm on the phone threatening to do it he's much more involved and often talks me down). But with Danny instead, who was extremely worried, I finally felt like someone actually cared after the fact.

Everyone will care before because death is scary. Few people care after because living is boring.

Danny wasn't the only one. I didn't realize it at the time because I was still a little out of it but when I told my coworker I wouldn't be able to come in, I told her why. I didn't mean to.

She was so understanding about it, told me not to worry, that I could come in for free food if I wanted.

Then, as I began posting on Facebook about my lovely evening, another coworker messaged me - Rob, the one who is a working machine and could probably work 24/7 if necessary. He said he was on a break at Tim Horton's and I should join him.

Kind of worried at this point; I've bailed on 2 shifts in one week, he's got seniority and I singlehandedly* forced him to work a close-to-open-to-close. *Not really. Again, in a minute. Be patient.

To my surprise we just talked, about what happened, about work, about life. At the end of his break he says to come hang out at work.

The concept of "hanging out" coming together with the concept of "work" had never really made much sense to me because I hate working. But I realized that I hate working, not the work itself, not the place and not the people.

So I go to work and... hang out. I try helping when I can but quickly realize my hand is going to be a problem, probably for a very long time. I can't lift much with it and I have a very limited range of motion; it wasn't just due to the scrape, it was also because I'd used it to break a fall. It's not the worst thing, but it does affect nearly every aspect of making pizzas.

Anyway, I shoot the shit with Alycia and Rob and Lily and nobody's mad at me and the store's a mess but it doesn't matter. *And that's when I'm told that 4 people are out of town, and the other morning person wouldn't message back or pick up the phone all day.* It wasn't completely my fault, so I felt a little better.

Then a few things happened.

First, Anthony showed up for his shift at 4. I really like Anthony: he's a hard worker, nice, funny and a little awkward in the same way that I am. Unfortunately, he only works one night a week, and I've only worked with him twice. He talks with Rob as they count the till and I assume Rob's telling him the reason the dough still hasn't been finished at 4pm (me).

Well, he didn't. I take my glove and bandage off my hand to redo it and he goes "Damn, what happened?" I say, "From last night."

"What happened last night?"

I kind of stare at him for a minute. "Didn't Rob tell you?"

"No, what?"

"I tried to kill myself."

His face falls. I can tell he's starting to wear his awkward face. Many people react differently to this news based on relationship level and experience. When I told Danny, one of my closest friends, he was worried and upset. When I told Anthony, a work acquaintance I barely knew, he had a few moments of awkward "No, hey, that's no good, don't do that" before he suddenly opened his arms for a hug.

I'm a bad hugger. I usually just stand there as the other person does all the hugging. This is because my parents would only ever hug me when they were done yelling at me and had forced me to apologize for something I hadn’t done wrong.

I hugged him back, and I almost started crying. It was the first real hug I'd gotten probably in my entire life. By 'real' I mean for the hugger. He did the socially obligatory thing of pretending suicide isn't as serious as it is before he couldn't keep the charade up. That part of the reaction wasn't real. The hug was real.

Anyway. As Anthony arrives, Alycia leaves. As she's waiting by the door for her ride, she says lots of stuff people say to the suicidal, and also indicates that her boyfriend and herself have had their share of mental illness.

Then she tells me that her second cousin commited suicide. She says he did it because he thought no one would care. "It was sixteen years ago and the family has never been the same. People care. We would all care."

I'd heard it a thousand times before but never really believed it, either because it was being said by someone who probably wouldn't care after a week, or because it's said by someone who is socially obliged to at least pretend to care, so I assume they are just pretending.

But between Danny, a close friend but whom I've never met in person, and my coworkers, who, until now, I wouldn't have called friends at all, I feel like I've "realized" that people really do care.

Something I've never really felt before. Thanks, parents.

Anyway, long story, I know, but a happy-ish ending? Who knows. Still pretty fucking depressed but not suicidal. I don’t know if this will prevent me from trying again, but it might, and that’s better than nothing.

Stay Greater.

#suicide tw #mental illness #hospital #friends #sam

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