#Lol you are getting such a good deal

[pawsitivevibe]

I've already had some DNA health testing done for Arthur. I think he needs one more thing done for that that wasn't included on Embark. He's clear by parentage for everything, but I did the generic testing anyway. Then this year I can do the OFA thyroid panel and patellas. I'm hoping to go to the next local eye clinic. Kinda holding out hope for a BAER clinic to pop up, but that doesn't seem common. There is one vet locally who can do it though. Clinics are just way cheaper. I'll have hips, elbows, and spine all done together after he turns 2. That's gonna be super expensive haha but I have savings for it. He'll need his eyes checked yearly. Then at some point if he passes everything, I probably should have sperm count and what not done.

So many things to be done for the CHANCE that my dog might be bred lol. But the people who breed dogs without doing all the health testing? Irresponsible. Horrid. It's a lot, sure, but you have to.

[bixels]

tarpit site.

[demaparbat-hp]

Almost

[buwheal]

Hello, Spamton!

How's life? Also, do you have any opinions on the Addisons? (Pink, blue, orange, and yellow)

If so, what do you think of them?

[wardingshout]

Family for day 6 of SpeSilverWeek! Edition uuh found biological and crime I guess...

[brofightiscancelled]

okay ill bite why do u hate kaoru sakuraba sidem aside from the fact that they went from hokuto as a main blue to downgrade to kaoru. to make it less awkward that I’m asking abt sidem on ur osomatsu side blog, what sidem idols would u assign to each matsu ?

i think sideM should collab w osomatsu-san and put them all in Beit so they can all get JOBS!!!!!!

anyways i hate kaoru from idolmaster sideM. i need all my osomatsu-san side blog followers to know that i hate this man. "i need a lot of money fast to pursue an extremely niche medical research track, which is why i quit my stable and high paying job as a surgeon to become an idol while having no soft skills, physical strength or stamina, or interest in getting along with people" are you Stupid??

he's not even using his idol clout to spread awareness of the rare disease he's trying to cure (like SEM does) so it can secure funding, he sees it 100% as a job and refuses to have fun, he is actively unpleasant and uncooperative in every interaction with his coworkers because he's trying to "rise to the top". it seems like the only thing he has going for him are his looks and that he kind of liked to sing when he was a kid. why not become a model at that point when you have the personality of a wet tree trunk. or better yet why not STAY A FUCKING DOCTOR!!!!!

also, i don't like meganes, so write that down.

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today

[wiihtigo]

these frauds

[samuraisharkie]

I know I’m posting a lot of like. semi-bitter stuff and especially posts with frustration towards the Democratic Party and the liberals who refuse to look anywhere but themselves when it comes to why they failed, as well as acknowledging the fear and anxiety that comes with what we’re about to go through. But I want to say, that despite all of that and the awful feeling in my chest, I have so much compassion for the world. I still think we can fight for a better future, that it’s not over. We got this. It’s bleak but it was going to be no matter what, and we can make it. The results have inspired me to get even more active and try even harder, and I know there’s a lot of people that feel the same. We’ll all support each other, and we will make it. It’s going to suck, and I don’t want to put down the very real fear and danger folks are in— but I also don’t want to give in to that feeling of hopelessness and doom. There are so many people all over the world facing similar plights, or worse, and the least we can all do is keep fighting and supporting each other! Again I don’t want to step on the very real anxieties and fears and sadness from the results of this year’s election, I just feel some encouragement is in order amidst all the fear. For every person that refuses to turn on each other and continues to stand with all those who suffer just like us in our own homes and all over the world, we will be stronger for it. Take care of yourself, and take plenty of time to cry and fear of course, that’s not wrong, but don’t forget it isn’t over. There’s still a lot of love in this world!

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

“I'm gonna find a diner, dig into the lore."

-

“Can I get you anything else honey?”

Sam gives a reflexive little jolt in the plasticky, vinyl seat of the corner booth he’s tucked into, he looks up and sees the waitress who’d brought him the solitary cup of coffee he’s been nursing since he arrived an hour ago.

“Sorry,” she says, voice soft, concerned little half smile on her face, “didn’t mean to scare ya!”

Sam feels warmth flood his cheeks, embarrassed. He really needs to get a better handle on his startle response, he thought he’d been getting better lately, with the Mark finally off Dean’s arm. But she’d taken him by surprise, absorbed as he’d been in a treatise on a specific subspecies of Vetala, native to the area he and Dean were headed. He’d told Dean he was going to dig into the local lore, probably this was digging too deep, but he enjoyed letting himself go down a rabbit hole when he had the opportunity. It felt like that wasn’t often these days, there was always something bigger looming on the horizon.

“I’m alright,” he replies, trying to sound relaxed “just a refill on the coffee if that’s ok.”

“Sure thing.” she leans in and grabs his cup. Sam catches a waft of her perfume, something warm and woody, hint of vanilla, and a floral scent of jasmine; a late summer’s evening lingering in the air just before dusk. Something flutters in the pit of his stomach, a sensation he’s not felt in . . . in a while. He swallows, watches as she turns and heads back to the counter. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a breath, getting hold of himself. Everything drops away. Absently he twists his fingers together, thumb grazing over the palm of his left hand. His eyes open. The sounds and smells of the diner come rushing back: chink of cutlery on cheap china, low hum of voices interspersed with bursts of laughter, coffee and burger grease fighting each other for dominance. He drops his hands to the table, it feels solid beneath them.

There’s a small “thunk”. Another cup of coffee appears. Sam turns to thank the waitress, but she’s sliding into the seat opposite him. She smiles at him again, full smile this time, flash of pearly white teeth, and her eyes crinkle in the corners. “Hope you don’t mind?” she asks, sliding a plate with a pastry towards him. It's fresh and warm, little tendrils of steam coiling from it. “I know you said you just wanted coffee, but you look like you need it.”

“Thanks”, now that it’s there Sam can feel his stomach rumbling. He’d told Dean he was starving before he’d headed here, and then as usual he’d got caught up and forgotten all about food. He reaches forward and pulls the plate the rest of the way across the table.

“I uhh, I just finished my shift.” her voice is low, and she lets her false lashes drop slowly as she speaks, grazing her cheekbone. Oh! Sam looks at her again, properly this time, she’s pretty, really pretty, soft lips, cute nose, gently hooded brown eyes, long blonde hair that she’s just letting out of a ponytail. He hadn’t come here for this, and if he’s being honest with himself he usually would have smiled politely, said “another time” and then vanished off into the night. Certainly, he never would have initiated. He thinks again about the scent of her perfume, god she’d smelt good. Maybe . . . maybe he needs this. Something . . . uncomplicated. ‘You gotta learn to have fun. Seriously, it's pathetic’. His fingers grip the edge of the table again. Making sure.

“I’m Sam.” he mimics her same low tone, shapes his features into something soft and inviting, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, dimples flashing.

“Piper”, she responds brightly, pleased at the reciprocation. She gestures at the pastry, “You going to eat that?”

Sam breathes a tiny sigh of relief that she didn’t mean right this second. He finds this much easier if he gets to talk to the person first, get to know them at least a tiny bit. As much as you can ever know someone you’ll likely never see again. He’s seen Dean walk up to a girl in a bar, whisper something in her ear, and them leave together, all in the space of five seconds, he’s never been able, never wanted to do that.

He picks up the pastry and takes a bite. This isn’t something he does often either these days, eat something sweet. It's good. Soft and warm, buttery, flaky, a hint of salt balancing out the sweetness.

They chat as Sam finishes eating, sipping his coffee. Piper waves another waitress over and has her bring a cup for her too. Sam watches as they exchange looks, an unsubtle “you go girl” grin on the other woman's face.

Piper’s working here to save up to go to nursing school. And, God, Dean can never know about this, he’s already teased Sam once or twice about having a “type”. She turned 30 last year and just decided she wasn’t gonna stay in this middle of nowhere, barely-a-town forever. She, of course, asks what he does, why he’s here, and as ever he carefully treads around the edges of reality, he’s a repair guy, work takes him all over, family business.

-

They finish their coffees at the same time. She pushes her cup away, looks at him expectantly, softly biting her bottom lip.

Ok.

Standing up from the booth, Sam chucks a ten-dollar note on the table, covering her coffee and the pastry too. She grabs his hand and leads him through a staff door out the back of the building. She meets his eyes, making sure. That calms a buzzing noise somewhere in the back of Sam’s skull. He nods. He wants this. She leans in, pushing him gently up against the wall of the diner, rough brick scraping at his back through his shirt. Their lips meet. He drinks in the smell of her again, feels her hair softly brush against his jaw. Her hand snakes round and clasps the back of his neck, fingertips curling into the short hairs at the nape. Yeah, ok, he needs this. Piper parts her lips and her tongue licks across his, he opens his mouth and lets her in, tastes the lingering ghost of the coffee. Sam shivers. They pull back, foreheads lean together. Piper's breath tickles his nose. Unexpectedly, he lets out a tiny giggle at the sensation. She giggles back.

“I live a bus ride away and I don’t know about you but I don’t think I can wait around for a bus right now...” She starts trailing kisses down his jawline. A faint moan escapes his chest.

They could get a motel. For some reason though he hears himself say “car’s parked just round the corner.” Classy Sam! She raises an eyebrow and for a second he thinks he’s fucked it up, couldn’t exactly blame her. But instead she kisses him again, sloppy and wet, needy. And then.

“Haven’t done that since I was a teenager! Could be fun!”

“Me neither” Sam says. Dean is going to kill him. He slides a hand down her side to settle at her waist, his eyes drifting shut, just taking in the warmth of her radiating through her uniform. Something about body heat and soft flesh under his fingers contrasted with the cold chill of the night air is keeping him here, keeping him present. He fucked a lot the year he was soulless. He remembers it, but the memories are at a distance, a sickening disconnect between himself and the actions of his body. He has to be present for this.

-

The car is definitely not the most convenient place he could have chosen. It really has been a long while since he’s done this, at all, but in the car in particular because he doesn’t remember having to contort himself quite this much to make it work before! Piper doesn’t seem to mind though, so he guesses it's ok. He wonders vaguely if maybe he didn’t suggest a motel because of Amelia. The last time he'd done anything had been in that motel room in Texas that he’d never returned to. He doesn’t know if she did. He never will. So much has happened since then.

-

Piper’s eager to take the lead and he’s more than happy to let her. She’s straddling him, his head and shoulders propped up against one car door, lower back on the seat, feet pressed awkwardly up against the other door. She undoes the buttons of his shirt, leisurely, taking her time. She pushes the plaid aside, slipping it as far off his shoulders as the cramped conditions will allow, pushes his t-shirt up to his neck. Taking in the expanse of firm muscle she rakes her nails across his chest. His back arches against the leather of the seat. Piper gives him a satisfied smile. and gets to work on the buttons of her uniform, shimmying it all the way off, dropping it down into the footwell. She grabs his hands and places them firmly on her breasts. His breath hitches in his chest, she’s looking down at him, playful light dancing in her eyes, and her hair, her blonde hair, is cascading down across her shoulders. He’s slipping. He’s not been with a girl, with anyone, with blonde hair, since. . .

“Are you ok?” She whispers. Oh god. This was supposed to be fun. Fun and uncomplicated, and here goes his stupid brain making it anything but that. Pathetic. He blinks. She doesn’t really look anything like Jess.

“Yeah,” he responds, and he can feel himself blushing. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He means it.

“Ok.”

He slides his hands to her back, fumbling for a second to unhook her bra. He’s sure he used to be quicker at this. The bra falls into the footwell, joining her uniform, silky lace slipping through his fingers.

His hands cup her bare breasts, her skin is soft and supple, and now she’s shed her clothes he can properly feel the warmth of her. She whimpers as he brushes his thumb over a nipple. For the first time, he can feel himself truly relax into this. He wends a hand up into her hair, and uses the leverage of his hand on the back of her head to pull himself up to kiss her. She’s tugging at the fly of his jeans and he gasps softly as her fingers make contact with the hard length of his cock through his boxers. He lets himself feel every ounce of the sensation. He's here, in his body, it's his, no-one else's. The door handle presses hard into his shoulder blade. His free hand trails lightly across her stomach, and down, slipping beneath the fabric of her thong. She buries her face into the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin.

-

He's teetering on the edge, pressure coiling, building. He can't let go, he needs something more to ground him. As if she knows, Piper suddenly grabs hold of his wrists, her fingernails dig into his skin, sharp pin pricks of pain. It's enough.

-

“That was . . .” she’s still breathing hard, struggling to get the words out. Propping herself up, barely, her hands planted either side of his shoulders, looking down at him.

“Yeah,” Sam responds, he leans up and kisses her softly again.

She collapses against his chest, a buoyant little laugh escaping her. Sam curls an arm across her back. There’s no way this is going to be comfortable, for either of them, for long, but maybe they can just rest here, just a little while.

-

“Who are you?” Piper’s confused, maybe somewhat interested, voice rouses Sam.

“Oh!” Dean's tone of surprise rings out across the car.

“Ah, good morning. That's, uh, my brother Dean.” Oh my god.

“Sorry, Sam, I didn't - I didn't realize you had company. Sam can feel Dean's palpable amusement radiating off him.

“Can you uh, give us a minute.”

-

They’ve both somehow managed to get their clothes back on and mostly presentable. Piper steps a foot out of the car, leaning down to say goodbye. “Wait” Sam hears himself say. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Do you want my number?” He doesn’t even really know why he’s saying it. It seems like the right thing to do.

She looks at him for a long moment, considering it. “That’s ok.” Maybe she’s seen something on his face. “I really did have a good time though.”

“Me too.” He means it.

She gives him a quick peck on the lips. As Sam cranes out of the car he spots Dean hovering inconspicuously a few feet away, no doubt hoping to catch a fragment of their parting. He can be so fucking nosy sometimes. He already knows he’s not going to let him forget about this for weeks, at minimum. At least he seems to have settled on teasing rather than anger at Sam “violating the sanctity of the car” or some shit.

He leans back in, his head rests against the seat. Lets out a breath. He’d wondered if something would have changed in him. If suddenly he’d feel like doing this again would be easy. It hasn't. Maybe, someday. With someone more permanent. Someone to whom he could even begin to explain the tangled knot that wraps itself around every part of his insides. He really does still want that.

-

Sam's finishing buttoning up his red checked plaid. Dean slips a tape out of the box.

“Dean, I can explain what was going on -” How does Dean still have the ability to make him feel he has to explain himself, flustered like an awkward teenager? Well, maybe the car sex had something to do with that too.

The song starts up. Fucking hell. Yeah he is literally never hearing the end of this.

“Don't “Night Moves” me!” Sam's aiming for indignation but he can't quite get there. Sometimes his brother is just too cheesy to let anything outcompete his fondness.

Somehow he ends up singing with Dean. Plays along with the teasing. Uncomplicated.

“Digging into the lore. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Dean says delighted with himself at the quip.

Sam huffs out a little chuckle, tips his head back.

“Man, I needed that,” he says.

He means it.

[itspileofgoodthings]

one of my favorite things about getting older is that I’m just more sure and more confident in taking control in social situations and making other people feel at ease. I really love it!

[sentientsky]

i'm still only a few hours into bg3 (mostly cause i'm working with a laggy computer that screams at me every time i try to open the game), but i've heard stories about gale, and these are my conclusions thus far:

[soupmanspeaks]

rip william afton you wouldve been a terrible family vlogger

[sysig]

A lot of early concept stuff was expression/pose brainstorming - there’s the classic six Webkinz emotions (which, I learned have been largely pared down to just four after a point! Since they got rid of Dr. Quack’s role, there’s no more “sick” expression and most ‘Kinz’ tired and sad expressions are the same! >:0 What’s the point of having an easily editable puppet with the spaghetti code intact that you have to put an image there AnyWay and not make a slightly different expression!! H’f) as well as the main Sakura poses - so if I’m already making up expressions, why no go a little further! :D

One of the expressions I definitely needed up top was Mischievous - working with a cat, that’s the only logical conclusion really. I think it’s funny that she swerves the compliment only to pay it right back as well lol

The ticklish expression is one I’m still going back and forth on! I’m half tempted to have it be somewhere between happy and angry - maybe a mood gradient, starting out just positive and slowly moving into “Hey stop! >:0″ if it’s too many times in a row? It’s a thought haha

Similarly so, messing with her ears - bothering your pets is a very important element of socialization (lol)

As seen above, I’d reallyyy like to figure a way to have a dual-visual mood system - both the ‘Kinz body language/expression/emotion and a more exact stat bar. I’m still chewing on this idea a bit, no pun intended lol. That and click-and-drag with an actual image you can drag around your screen, hm and hm! Much to think about. Her face here turned out cute and funny haha, helped me push the expression more comedic

Much better :) Webkinz already has some well-known food dialogue, my favourite is probably “Mmm to the mmmax!” haha

Each low-mood would have their own emotion tied to it, but what about somewhere in the middle? I like the idea of the ‘Kinz getting bored if they’re left alone for too long! And little paw taps, showing off her embroidered paw pad haha ♪

[undefeatablesin]

There's no forgetting the blood-letting, I only have myself to blame.

[feroluce]

When Al Haitham dreams, it's in shades of sandy blonde and red, metallic gold and feather-blue. His nightmares are colored much the same.

Kaveh leisurely strolls ahead of him, shoes leaving deep treads in the soft desert sand. He keeps a careful distance, arms length, and in return Al Haitham keeps an eye on him, the other man's back dead center in his sights.

He curses the sand in his boots and the long line of footprints he steps into, already the exact shape of the soles of his shoes.

They aren't lost. Al Haitham knows where they are. They've been here before. They are still here.

Kaveh doesn't watch their feet. His head is constantly tipped back with his eyes on the stars and their constellations (of which Al Haitham only knows two, Vultur Volans and Paradisaea). He'll walk right into a cactus like that. Al Haitham yells ahead for him to watch where he's going.

Kaveh reaches up to touch the side of his head in a strange motion, but otherwise there's no acknowledgement. They press on into the dark of night.

Something squelches beneath Al Haitham's boot.

It stops him short, pulls his attention like a magnet and as much as he wants to, he can't ignore it. He doesn't want to lose any more ground. But something won't let him move on. Al Haitham watches as red seeps into the golden sand, spills beyond the border of his bootprint until he slides his foot aside.

It's an ear.

It's a human ear, and there's a heavy earring attached, metallic gold, gems red and green, a familiar shape, a familiar shade-

Al Haitham opens his mouth to yell. Chokes. Swallows the lump in his throat as he quickly restarts his pace. Tries again.

"Hey!"

Another squelch under a hurried footstep. He doesn't stop to look. Al Haitham is pretty sure he knows what it is.

"Kaveh, hey!"

The path becomes littered, little slices and small pieces, fingertips and knuckles, Kaveh's arms once held casually behind his back now strewn along the sands. Every time Al Haitham extends his hand to him, reality warps and bends like the twisted image in a broken mirror, lines mismatched and edges jagged. Kaveh flits just beyond his grasp, fleeting fae, no longer able to hear him or to reach out to him. Al Haitham can only grit his teeth and follow.

His right foot marches forward. His left follows. His right again. His left suddenly doesn't follow, and Al Haitham is thrown off balance and pitches forward, swinging his arms outward to land on his palms and keep his face off the ground, because he's been in the desert enough times to know what a foot suddenly being stuck can mean.

Quicksand.

Al Haitham curses and swears in just about every language he knows as he tries to spread his weight as evenly as possible, stay afloat at the top of it because if he sinks, he knows he'll be done for, and shit, Kaveh.

His neck cranes uncomfortably in his search, Kaveh had only been a few feet in front of him, he can't be sunk much further, and he's in the desert much more often than Al Haitham anyway, he'll be familiar with what to do-

Kaveh stands in front of him, empty sleeves fluttering loose. Still just out of his grasp, still watching the stars. The quicksand is already up to his calves.

"Say, Al Haitham..." It's the first he's spoken this whole time. His voice resonates somewhere deeply nostalgic in Al Haitham's chest, produces a ripple that momentarily stuns his heart.

Kaveh is sinking.

Al Haitham stretches out on his belly as far as he's able, it's quickly up to his knees, Kaveh isn't even trying to redistribute his weight or pull himself out, it's at his thighs, Al Haitham sucks in a breath and yells for him, his hips, yells louder, his waist, Al Haitham's trembling fingertips can almost reach, his chest, Kaveh drops level with him, quicksand about his neck like a noose.

Kaveh's head tips back, back, impossibly far back, until it hangs, angle awkward, and he's looking right past Al Haitham with his tired smile and gouged, blinded sockets full of starlight.

"Do you believe in karma?"

The quicksand swallows him entirely and Al Haitham dives, shoves his arms deep and pushes off with the one foot he'd had left on safe ground, because he can't, he can't, it's not the same without Kaveh, not anymore, he needs him, no one else keeps him sharp, no one else challenges him like Kaveh, if he can just grab him, if he can just pull him back up-

Al Haitham thrashes, against the sands, against gravity, against the hardwood of his bedroom floor. Clumsily scrubs the back of his hand across his face to rub the grit of quicksand and sleep out of his eyes.

Sometimes he thinks he preferred it when the Akasha was still harvesting his dreams.

He pops his head out from under his weighted blanket and lays where he'd fallen out of bed for a moment, blinking blearily against the lamplight shining from his desk in the corner. Deep breaths. His consciousness shifts along the blurred line of nightmare and reality, crosses over the slow transition into wakeful awareness.

He's home, Kaveh is home. It's dark out. The house is dead silent.

He's just going to go check, he tells himself as he peels himself out of his sweat-soaked shirt and roots around for a replacement. He's already losing memories of his nightmare, the details spilling away from him like wet ink, but he knows he needs to see Kaveh. It'll feel better to do something, anything, than try to go straight back to sleep.

He's quiet when he slips out of his bedroom door, because they both keep late hours but their bedrooms are right next to each other, and Al Haitham will never hear the end of it if he wakes his roommate up.

Lights off, door shut. Nothing conclusive. He moves out to the main room.

Kaveh sits on one of those ridiculous sofas he'd ordered three of for some reason, back to him as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. A mostly-empty wine bottle stands tall on the table, next to the cobbled-together remains of an architectural model that's been picked and fussed over for four days straight now.

"Kaveh? What are you doing?"

This earns him an exaggerated startle, but Kaveh doesn't turn to look at him, preoccupied with whatever new sketch or blueprint he probably has in his hands. "Ohhh, nothing," he slurs cheerfully. "Just working. Just thinking."

Kaveh has always been the world's chattiest drinker. Al Haitham waits for the rest of it.

"Say, I think...I think I asked you this years ago, back then, but you never answered me." Al Haitham feels all the blood drain from his face in ominous familiarity, drip cold down the length of his spine. Kaveh sinks into the couch until he can tip his head over the back of it, looking up at him with a tired smile and exhausted eyes.

"Do you believe in karma?"