i had a sudden onset of

If anyone is still wondering why I am so picky about doberman breeders:

A customer came through my cash lane between classes yesterday, returning some dog food because his dog died a few days prior. I did my typical “I’m sorry for your loss” and finished the return, and he asked me where cat litter was because he’d been so worried about his dog that he’d run out of cat necessities. So of course I got Creed out of his tuck so I could walk him there and that’s when he noticed I had a dog with me for the first time…

and fell to his knees sobbing because the dog he just lost was his 5yo doberman, to lymphoma, on Wednesday. Sudden onset, they found it and within the month she was gone. Seeing Creed reminded him so much of his girl that he couldn’t bear the pain and sat on the floor for several minutes crying about his dog. I let Creed break the no-touchie-on-duty rule and he sat with this man, licking his face, leaning against him as he was hugged, until the guy was able to compose himself a little better.

His dog was from a well known shitty breeder that markets her imported dogs as Da Best Evaaa working and breeding dogs, 100% full Euro and superior championship bloodlines all the way from Serbia, super healthy compared to those icky American dogs. His dog died young and it burned him so much that he’s gone to the malinois because at least most of those make it to 10.

You want to know why I’m so choosey about breeder decisions in this breed? Because that’s not uncommon in this breed. Because this guy was completely abandoned by his “breeder” the second he knew that his dog had cancer and had to go through this hard time by himself. Because this guy had such a strong bond with his dog that he could not help but have a complete meltdown on the floor of my store because he saw another doberman.

Because the health in this breed is god awful and because the breeder he’d chosen is similarly god awful, I led a 40+yo 200+lb man through my store as he continued to weep and sniffle and hug my dog because he lost his so tragically.

You can call me elitist when you’re the person comforting the folks who have lost their dogs to such tragedies.

Mistakes In His Head

Peter Maximoff x Reader

Words: 679
Prompt: ( @fandomingforever​ ) Hey I just stumbled upon your writing and it’s amazing!! I was wondering if you could do something where the reader is a mutant that can make anyone attracted to them and they are best friends with Peter. One day Peter all of a sudden feels attracted to her and he is upset because they said they would never you they’re powers on him. So he confronts them only to find out they weren’t using they’re powers?? That would be great.
A/N: No matter how many fandoms I write for; I’ll always come back to Peter. He’s complex, fun and a real sweetheart. I feel like I’ve connected to the character so much since I made this blog that I’ve almost gotten to know him as a real life person. Ah, the curses of fandoming.

Originally posted by future-mrs-rogers-peterm

Peter awoke pasted in sweat; his hands shaking against the hot blankets on his bed. He’d been plagued by restlessness; the sudden onset of intense emotions pulling at his heart and mind. 
He’d been close with (y/n) for almost a year now. She was beautiful, gentle. A flickering candle, illuminating a dark and desolate room. But he’d never…wanted. Wanted for them to be more. Or if he had, he’d shaken it off as a moment in passing; mistakes in his head.
He knew what she could do to people. Pulling their emotions around, if she wanted to. Of course, she had never really wanted to; and if she had, she’d never do it to him. She’d promised him that long ago.
But still.
He gritted his teeth, rushing up from his bed and zipping up his clothes in seconds. He ruffled his silver hair in the mirror, one curl refusing to comply with him no matter how hard he squinted at it and pushed at it.
He’d have to leave it.
Forcing the door open, he sped down the corridor; his hands unsteady as he lifted them to knock on her door. His palms were clammy, and he could feel his heart thrumming against his chest. Why? Why now?
“Come in, Pete!” (y/n) called from behind the door, her voice ringing out softly through the crack.

Giving the door a push, he took in her room. Posters and paintings made some attempt to make it a little brighter; a cream rug lay at the foot of her bed. She sat on the rug in her t-shirt and jeans, flipping through an old magazine. Her hair was still a little wet from showering, and Peter felt his lip tremble.
“You look like death. Not in a good way” (y/n) chuckled, pooling through the pages of her magazine. 
“Couldn’t sleep” Peter added, his voice slightly too high.
She looked up then, her eyes meeting his.
“Is everything alright, Pete?”
“Yes. No.” Peter breathed and then swallowed hard, cracking his knuckles.
“-You said you’d never…do that mind stuff to me. Right? You said you wouldn’t.”
(y/n) opened her mouth, her brow furrowing.
“Of course I wouldn’t. I don’t know why you’d think I’d do something like that, Pete.”
When she said his name, he felt emotions rise in his chest. He wanted to respond; but somehow words weren’t coming to him right. The silence began to hang like a dead weight between them, like lead hanging in the air.
Say something.
He took a deep breath.
“I’ve got all of these…” he waved his arms in the air “…feelings. About things. Recently.”
“Right” he nodded “and they’re complicating things. My thoughts and stuff.”
(y/n) put her magazine down on the floor, pushing herself up to stand across from him. She looked down at the carpet, pulling back a stray hair behind her ear.
“If I did go into your mind and…do something; it wouldn’t last very long. It would feel like seeing through a fog; and then you’d be normal again” she breathed, wrinkling her nose “but I wouldn’t do that to you, Peter. I want you to believe me.”
She was right. He’d seen her do it before; make people think thoughts that weren’t their own, feel things they’d never felt. But it was always like a haze was cast over them; lasting only a day, if that.
This had gone on for too long. Too much clarity.
Peter groaned.
“Ah. I’m…yeah. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t sure.”
She nodded. “It’s okay, Peter. Really. It’s fine.”
Silence hit, hard and fast, and Peter started feeling incredibly awkward. He shifted his weight, his hands clammy at his sides.
“I’ll…I’ll see you at breakfast?” Peter stumbled, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.
“Yeah. Of course” (y/n) smiled sheepishly, avoiding his eyes.
Peter turned to leave, his hand on the doorframe.
“Pete-” she added.
“-yeah?” he interjected almost too quickly, biting his lower lip.
“I do, though. Like you, I mean.”
Peter grinned, his heart feeling warm, his head giddy.

Feel Something

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

Characters: Sam x Siren!Reader, Dean, OFC

Word Count: 2002

Warnings: Spn-like death/murder/violence, Angst, Some Fluff

Request: This idea may seem weird but what if reader is a mermaid. Now stay with me I know you already thinking this idea is crazy but let me elaborate. Reader is a mermaid who feeds off of people’s thoughts. And she believes that she isn’t harming anyone but when people started dying from like brain deca that’s when the duo goes to investigate. Idk this idea came to me after I watched Just My Imagination and this is really long but can you make this happen. Pairing whoever you want(please pick Sam)

A/N: @diesintheshower, I’m so sorry this took forever.  My life kind of spiraled out of control there for a while.  But I really did love your request!  I hope you like this/ I did didn’t muck it up.

You stirred your latte, drawing patters in the foam.

You feigned attention to your book, to your coffee, pretending you were paying attention to anything but the man across from you.  

Still, you found yourself staring at him more than you should be.

Another man would have thought you were flirting with him.  But he was a writer and had eyes only for his work.  What was more, he was in love with one of his characters.  You could feel it, see it in his mind.  

You delved deep into his thoughts, into his work, drinking in the new ideas and the new stories he’d brought with him to the coffee shop today.

He came here daily, to write uninterrupted.  

And you came here daily to feel his stories, to feed off that creative drive.  

You drew your spoon from your coffee, wiping the foam off on a napkin before taking in your reflection in its convex surface. 

Your reflection, a siren’s reflection.

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anonymous asked:

What scenarios constitute an absolute emergency to you? The other day we had an owner call saying their dog was lethargic and had vomited that morning. They could only come in that afternoon so we waited. When the dog arrived it's gums were grey and it's abdomen was tight as a drum. Radiograph revealed a bloat and we had the dog in surgery in a matter of minutes. Luckily it survived but I think we all wished we had pressed for more information on the dog earlier. Other emergencies to me (1/2)

(2/2) include a male animal straining to urinate that may be blocked (we mainly see cats with this issue), any obvious ingestion of a toxin, any issues with dystocia, profuse bloody vomiting/diarrhea, sudden onset of multiple seizures or uncontrollable seizures, extreme fever, labored or troubled breathing. I know in the typical hectic day at a clinic it’s hard to get all the info we need but I feel that some scenarios warrant an immediate visit! Any others that you would include? Thanks!

It can be really difficult to triage appropriately over the phone, because owners don’t always know what they’re looking at, and may inadvertently give you the wrong information. For example, I’ve recently had a German Shepherd patient who was ‘lethargic this morning’ at 9am when they called, but exsanguinating due to a bleeding tumor in her abdomen at lunchtime when they arrived. Another common one is owners mistaking their male cats for being constipated, when really they have a urethral blockage and can’t urinate.

So I can give you a very broad list, but as a general rule if the owner really has a feeling that something is wrong, they’re better off coming into the clinic and being triaged than over the phone. Also, if the condition changes in any way, if the pet seems worse, bring them in sooner rather than later.

Reasons to come in ASAP

  • Male animal straining to urinate or attempting to toilet frequently
  • Attempting to vomit with nothing coming out
  • Active bleeding
  • Seizure lasting more than 2 minutes (if in doubt, just come in)
  • Multiple shorter seizures within last 24 hour period
  • Known or suspected toxin ingestion
  • Foreign object (eg string, corn cob) ingestion within last hour
  • Blood from anywhere
  • Bloated abdomen
  • Rapid respiratory rate
  • abnormal breathing pattern
  • cats that are open mouth panting
  • Collapse
  • Inability to walk
  • Coughing up fluid, different to vomiting
  • Acute distress
  • Found tick or known contact with venomous animal
  • Known trauma, eg hit by car

Reasons to come in the next few hours

  • Eye trauma or pain
  • Female animal straining to urinate or attempting to toilet frequently
  • Dried blood, no active bleeding
  • Vomiting food or fluid
  • Single leg lameness
  • More than one episode of diarrhea
  • The owner is unsure but thinks something is ‘not quite right’.

That list will expand the more time you spend in practice and the more cases you see. I’m sure I’ve left things off, because I don’t really work off lists in this situation. I just hear the symptom or concern explained, and go “yeah, that sounds bad. Come here now.”

You’re never wrong to come to a vet clinic sooner rather than later, so I always err on the side of caution.

As I often say, I’d rather deal with paranoia than regret any day.

Swept Off My Feet (Part 1)

Misha x Reader 

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: sudden onset of illness symptoms (reader), panic, swearing, cliffhanger? kind of?

A/N: Like I stated in previous posts, this is my first time writing Misha. Ahhh! And I’ve never been to a Con before, so if this is not exactly how they go, I apologize. I’m going to my first Con in December, and I’m suuuuuuuuper excited. Anyway, here’s this.

Swept Off My Feet Master List

 This convention was nothing like you had expected. It was your first Supernatural Convention ever, and you were so stoked. So. Fucking. Stocked. Sure, it was raining, but it was the San Francisco Bay Area, so that was nothing new. Plus, it gave you an even better reason to stay the entire day, every day.

The first day was fun, with panels and a concert. Today, you had already watched a panel and grabbed some merch from some of the booths. Your stomach was still aching from how hard you had been laughing during the panel with Misha. And now, you were headed to the autograph line.

Keep reading


See tw’s

Your profile said
you liked to know a person’s boundaries
and then break them 

When you told me 
you wanted to meet and we 
had coffee at a closing creperie
upstairs in a desolate corner
where we could be seen by no one
and attempted to kiss me by grabbing my cheeks,

I should’ve known
you’d figure out my boundaries
sooner, not later

that they were more than hard limits:
no public; photography; no blood; no drugs. 
(Yes, I am a prude.) (Yes, poppers are a drug.)
Soft limits: no photography; no scat; 
tell me what you are going to do before you do that—
and only proceed if I consent.

When you texted me to text you a compliment, I should’ve known you’d turn
my soul’s only outlet into another tool for your domination,
that you’d usurp my means of communication/every hour
making me message you about how pretty you are.

When my words dried up, and I had no praise for you left,
my creativity spent, and you stopped texting me—
I should have known not to relent.
I should have known you’d wanted to abuse more than a writer’s flattery.

But when you texted me that you wanted to cut me up and eat me,
how should I have known to take your desires literally?
I thought your words were terrifying and blocked you,
deleted our message history, deactivated my profile

location settings unshared, read receipts disabled, 
because the monsters were out of the closet
and they were real, and I was scared. When I ghosted you,
I should have known you’d come back to haunt me

for I’d taken a screenshot of that monstrous text,
Disgusted (and perhaps intrigued) in case it would need 
to somehow be used someday as evidence: “exhibit A.”
Your number at the screenshot’s top, remained—

What a shrewd mistake:
though I tried to purge you from the recesses of my memory,
you were pushed to all my Apple devices simultaneously.
Nothing’s lost—in trauma, every detail’s ingrained.
What we try to forget gets archived, repressed, retained.  

So three weeks later when over-worked
abused via text by mum who’d gone berserk
I went searching again
for the cannibalistic man who said he’d only been joking

and found your number easily,
atop a screenshot sub-catalogued in my iCloud Photo Library
Texting you, “I’m back.” “Sorry I was such a scaredy cat.”
You replied, had I no sense of humor? 

The truth is: I don’t. In fact, of all the genres I especially disprove of, 
the top of my list are satire, farce, and improv.
I like to laugh, but only unironically. 
I should have known this was not a comedy. 

So later that night at your flat when you choked me
and bruised my throat making it impossible to speak
could you have known I’d go on the next day to enter
a queer, qualifying slam at the New York LGBT Center? 

Where I wondered to myself silently:
Why do all slam poems begin without poetry?
I did not know expression could feel like High School Forensics
You who begin the slam with what you call “sacrifice:”
What poets are not sacrificial?
When did poetry become a blood sport?
As you turn poet against poet, head-to-head,
I find you cheer for those you already know
and what sounds literal, anecdotal, superficial.
When through my poem whispered the prime-time “feature,”
he should have known it would cause me to forget my words,
like the sudden-onset of atheism upon a sidewalk preacher.

My voice—he did not know the pain, what ailed me:
psychic, neurotic—but also of: how
the night before, you’d assailed me
how you threatened to impale me with a samurai sword
you’d forged yourself while you punched me 
with my own fist, after which you asked me:

who knew where i was?
who had i told where I’d be going that night
how many friends knew i was there?
“3,” i lied/i told no one/because no one cared

Because I’m too sick/stupid/naive/death-seeking/
ashamed the only boys i meet 
are ones who must clobber me before they go to sleep

I should have known you’d try to take my voice
I should have known it was not a joke
I should have known life is not a boundary that can be broken

I should have known my wanting for my throat to be full
was a wish for words, for coherent speech:
to share, to touch—my soul’s outreach;
not for your cock, not for your fist,
I did not desire to be choked out—

but in the dizzying dizziness of trying to hold onto consciousness
wanting to vomit where there’s something that’s in it already
asphyxiating and not knowing who would save me
the words would come if I survived
and I would survive if my
words didn’t fail me;
and survive
I did.

Anne Carson wrote, “Shame lies upon the eyelid.”
We blind ourselves, so that we do not know
She was glossing poetic of how humanity’s Oedipal
We do not want to know, so we do not see
My eyes are open now, lids held
like the harum-scarum boys from Clockwork Orange, only it’s by myself

My neck still hurts, and lidocaine wash I hourly swish;
this thick solution: it’s a shrewd analgesic.
and it’s true, I will never return your copy of Slade House that you lent
or your daily texts, because my words for you’ve been spent.
But my voice, it’s full now, and it’s rising. 
When you tried to kill me, I should have known—
Your intent was always clear from your writing.

When I speak, it may be in a whisper,
it may not qualify me for your teams or your system,
but something’s afoot that’s of more consequence
than making people laugh at analogues and metonyms 
for my will’s been rising since and can’t be forgotten
these words are for me, i write this poem
to teach myself all these things I should have known.

KNOW@betterinthedarkblog​​ © 2017

Go the spoils

Warning/s: Knife play, oral, anal, a tad dub-con, bondage. Spoilers for the newest Gotham ep.

Summary: Gabe sells Oswald to the highest bidder and he gets bought by an anonymous person. Inspired by this, but it deviates pretty hard from the original prompt. 

Read on AO3.

It was freezing in the trunk of the car. Oswald Cobblepot lay on his side with his shoulders hunched up and his arms wound tight around his bent legs, bound hands buried beneath his knees. There were multiple tools banging around the trunk with him, which had thus far proven completely useless in his efforts to remove his bindings. It was only his wrist they’d done, securing them together with rope, but that was still one binding too much for him to be able to effectively protect himself from whoever it was that had bought him.

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It’s Just Business (Part 2/?) (Rogers/Stark x reader)

Part 1

“Well, I have to say, this is definitely a first for me,” Steve grinned nervously, watching his hands as they slowly turned the cup of coffee around and around to give him something to focus on and to pretend to be calm.  He had started this day of his renewed life completely alone and wandering the streets of Manhattan to find his way, and now here he was with you, looking back at him with genuine interest.  “But there’s no way that I’m letting you pay me for this.  A week of dates with a pretty dame like yourself?  That’s a win for me, doll.”

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Arranged Marriage

Where my family comes from, arranged marriages are still very much the norm. It’s really not what most people think when they hear “arranged marriage”; it’s more like going on a blind date set up by people (usually your parents) who know you, love you, and have your best interests at heart with a very clear endgame. My parents always said that my opinion would be the only one that mattered in the end and that I could say no to whoever they brought home, no questions asked. A love match also wasn’t entirely off the table, even if it wasn’t their ideal choice for me.

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This job is a privilege

This past week was my last week on wards as an intern. I was trudging through it, complaining about how tired I was, about all of the grunt work that had to be done, and how lazy our medical student was…

And then…

A teen presented with sudden onset altered mental status that we couldn’t explain. I sat with his mom while she cried, because she was so worried about her boy, and told her that we didn’t know what was wrong with him, but we were going to do everything we could to keep her son safe.

As much as it sometime annoys me, I need to always remember that this job is a privilege. Parents are entrusting their children to our team when they can no longer take care of their kids themselves, and I do our families a disservice when I lose sight of that.

the-fanaddict  asked:

For the whump!cup requests: AU where Hiccup gets the Scourge of Odin

At long last I’ve finished the request! Well, it only took me a couple hours to write, but I haven’t sat down and written in a while. I enjoyed doing this one a lot more than I thought I would.

Requests are closed.

Hiccup was still in shock when he and Toothless landed at the clubhouse. He put his hand to his right bicep, found a bit of blood on his palm when he pulled it back. The scratches there stung and throbbed a little, but if he’d really seen what he thought he had, that was soon going to be the least of his worries.

He breathed a heavy sigh and dismounted, put his hand over his arm again to cover the scratches. Hopefully nobody would notice.

Toothless followed him into the clubhouse, cooing softly in concern. Hiccup didn’t say anything to him to quell his worries just in case the others would overhear.

Fishlegs was the first to notice his presence. He looked up from his notebook, smiled briefly before noticing the tired and distressed look on Hiccup’s face.

“Hiccup, what’s wrong?” he asked, standing. The question brought the attention of everyone else, five heads swiveling in his direction.

Hiccup swallowed hard, now feeling uncomfortable. He could tell them what he’d seen, and he would, but the scratch would be a secret. There was no point telling them because he was already doomed. There was no cure, so there was no need to worry his friends until he was actually on his deathbed. A lump formed in his throat.

“Did you see something on patrol?” Astrid questioned urgently. “Hunters?”

“Um, well, it was a Hunter ship,” Hiccup started. He found it difficult to meet anyone’s curious gazes, so he found himself staring at the floor beneath his feet.

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Sometimes I think about how we were teased that there would be an upcoming LGBT couple for S5 and I got ridiculously excited because they also brought back Mulan and I was stoked because I understandably assumed that the two things were connected and they were going to give her a ladylove, so then they introduced Merida and I was like IT’S HAPPENINNNNGGGG, but then it didn’t happen… but then Ruby showed up and I was like OKAYYY THIS, YES, THANK YOU, but then that didn’t happen either because Ruby had the (very sudden onset) hots for Dorothy, which was great but………

I still to this day feel cheated. I was… Mulan-baited. Mulan’s-happiness-baited. Mulan-getting-a-girlfriend-baited. A&E, YOU… MASTER BAITERS.


Please bring Mulan back and give her a happy ending where she can smooch the heck outta her yet-to-be-revealed girlfriend. It’s all I want from S7.

Start of Something Promising Part 5/?

Summary: When the unimaginable nearly happens.

Word Count: 1373

Pairing: Lin x reader

Author’s note: I know I have been MIA a lot recently, but it is because a) March was a busy busy month and b) so was April and so will May. I hope to be back and writing a bit more this summer. I have been working on a story that I may share with you someday, while there are a couple other stories in the works for this fandom. Thank you to all who are following me (new and old) and ones that have been with me since I started writing. I am starting to tag people, if you would like to be tagged please let me know.

Tags: @gratitudejoyandsorrow (THANK YOU!!!) @secretschuylersister (Double thank you!) @hamwriters

His arms tightened around his wife. He didn’t want tonight to end, they had been apart for nearly six months due to his work schedule taking him all over the world and Y/N not being able to leave for longer than a weekend. They made sure to facetime, called daily and were always texting even when one was sleeping. As she sighed, a smile played across her face. He missed falling asleep to her humming his favorite songs and singing along to the Little Mermaid. He missed seeing her dance around the kitchen cooking some cookies or her attempts to actually cook. He missed the way her hair fell in her face when she laughed. He wished she could have taken a leave of absence for the year he would be in London, but she hadn’t been at her job long enough, thus the living on separate continents, an ocean apart.

He thanked his lucky stars that his sister and two best friends were there for Y/N. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he lost her. He had come too close.

Keep reading


Words: 4,879
Sammy x Reader
Warnings: language, descriptions of disturbing imagery, blood
A/N: Thanks for your patience on this part ya’ll! Our story is progressing… the next part will reveal some important things! And yes, this one does end in a cliffhanger. MUAHAHA!

Your name: submit What is this?

Dean awoke uncharacteristically early. He’d fallen asleep with his head propped against the headboard and he had a pain in his neck to show for it. The radiating pangs were probably what had woken him. The light in the room was dim, suggesting that the sun was probably just starting to break over the horizon. The television was still on, though muted. Sam must have taken care of that after Dean had drifted off. In the flickering glow of some old black and white movie, Dean was surprised to see two figures sitting up against the headboard of the next bed. Sam leaning back, and you leaning towards him.

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Hair (Request)

hey! could you do something where you come home from work and walk in on Harry and your daughter and he is doing her hair or something and OMG


When you’re a mom, getting sick is not ideal. So when you woke up that morning with a pounding head and a throat that felt like daggers, you knew you were in trouble. You laid there in bed, eyes shut and hands trying to shield your face from the intrusive sunlight, and let out a small groan.

Beside you, Harry rolled over and slung an arm over your waist.

“What’s wrong?”

“My head is killing me.” You replied. “And my throat hurts.”

Harry leaned up a bit, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and moved your hand away from your face. You grimaced at the sudden onset of light again as Harry pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart.” He said, eyes full of worry.

You were about to reply when you heard the familiar sound of tiny feet padding down the hallway toward your bedroom. Your door creaked open slowly and soon there was a little figure standing at the side of your bed.

“Hi mumma.”

You put on your best smile. “Morning, precious.”

“Can I snuggle?”

Your three-year-old daughter, (Y/D/N) had a habit of crawling into bed with you and Harry in the mornings after she woke up. Typically you didn’t mind; it let you stay in bed a little bit longer. But this morning, you just weren’t feeling it.

Thankfully, Harry came to your rescue and leaned over your shoulder so he could see her.

“Mumma’s not feeling well, lovebug. Why don’t you come on this side and cuddle with daddy this morning?”

You saw your daughter’s eyes grow a little bigger as she looked at you.

“Mumma, are you sick?”

You nodded and reached out to gently caress her hair.

“A little bit, baby. But don’t worry, I’m okay. I think daddy really wants a snuggle this morning though.”

She nodded hesitantly before walking around to the other side of the bed. Harry helped lift her up and get her situated, cradling her under his arm as she laid on his chest.

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Dysphoria is Not "Trans Only"

So there has been a /lot/ of misinformation about the term dysphoria that has led to a lot of discourse as well, so I would like to clear up a few things.

To start: the word “dysphoria” alone is not trans specific, and is a medical term that predates modern trans terminology. To have dysphoria is to have a level of discomfort, anxiety, or unhappiness with a part of or all of your body, typically due to something on your body feeling “incorrect” or onset due to trauma.

People who can experience dysphoria include: people with phantom limbs (including supernumerary phantom limbs), people who have had sudden and extreme weight gain or loss, people who have lost a part of their body, kids and teens who have recently had a growth spurt (temporary dysphoria is normal with puberty, but only for up to a year or so after a change occurs), trans people*, individuals who also have dysmorphia, people with trauma related to physical incidents, etc.

* This is specifically gender dysphoria.

What trans people experience is “gender dysphoria”, a specific subset of dysphoria that typically is permanent without surgery or hrt, and is usually more intense then typical dysphoria. Gender dysphoria IS a trans specific term, and should not be used outside of describing experiences as a non-cis individual. This is not being disputed.

I also see many people claiming that what is being experienced is actually “dysmorphia” which is both extremely innacurate and a little funny (due to how innacurate it is). Dysmorphia is a serious medical condition in which one cannot hold a true image of what their body appears like, and feels their body is distorted from what it actually appears like. Dysphoria can (though not always) be a symptom of dysmorphia, but they are very different experiences and are not interchangeable.

In closing, please stop attacking people for using the term dysphoria to accurately decribe their experiences. It is a broad medical term, and is not owned by any one community.

@trans-mom @transgenderhelp

I’ve been on prednisone for a week after that last flare. Bad news? You don’t sleep. Good news? I felt like a super hero during our workout. But…here I am. A week later. Friday night up all night with a sudden onset headache. Yesterday came and went. We had a party scheduled…..we had been looking forward to it forever. One of our favorite couple friends throws a Dungeons and Dragons “Nerdfest” every month. I’ve only ever played with these people. I have no idea how to play, and some of these people are pretty serious. They just do math and tell me if I’m still alive. I did get to throw the gnome through the window of a giant castle. The guy in charge wasn’t pleased. Hey. You take your chances when you invite a newbie. That’s a good lesson in life.

We had to leave early because just like the night before, my head suddenly felt like it was being hit with an ax…followed quickly with extreme noise sensitivity. I felt awful. There’s this great guy who really really gets into the game sitting just to my left. The more he got into it, the louder he got and I had to cover my ears. It was super rude. And I felt terrible about it. After a few minutes I told rob we needed to go. Boo.

I felt some better after some meds and quiet (rob puts the windows in when I’m like this) but I’m up again with it. Which means the standard meds aren’t options. And I’m so over it.

Final Episode Analysis: Humanity in Resonance

Well, here we are. The final episode. From the on-point execution of soundtrack to the stunning visuals, the finale was masterfully crafted. The story left just enough ambiguity to leave us wondering “what if?” but enough heartbreak to satisfy our angst needs for the next year or so (if not the rest of our lives). I’ve received a plethora of messages ranging from the emotional extremes of resentment to joy—while all of our reactions may be different, we can all at least agree that the creators have done their job stirring some sort of emotion within us. And now, without further ado, the final episode analysis.


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anonymous asked:

Could you do “I think you’ll be happy to know that I’m not wearing any underwear" with Saitama and Genos?

Ahhhhh, it’s cute. I can’t. Cut for length, not for content.

When Genos got back from a relatively extensive period of repairs, Saitama noticed he had started acting a little…differently. And that was saying something because, well, it was Genos after all, but they had been living together for so long Saitama had gotten used to the usual habits: the note-taking, the fawning, the at-times-inappropriately-detailed observations…

But this was…much odder.

“Sensei,” Genos said suddenly as they were walking in the grocery store, drawing his attention away from the two-for-one Pocky sale.

“Huh? What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, the cyborg fixed him with a serious expression. “Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again?”

“Uh.” Saitama glanced around, confused. “Well, you’ve been standing there, and…I don’t…dude, what?”

“Hmm. Yes. You are right. As always,” Genos finally acquiesced, brow furrowed, as if making some sort of mental note to himself. “My apologies.”


On another day, as they were returning home from “fighting” a monster (Saitama had let Genos try out a few incineration upgrades before finally punching it), Genos asked, “Did it hurt?”

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