#building studies are coming for my kidneys
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patatoots · 2 years ago
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wanting to get better at art and deliberately leaving your comfort zone vs. your drawing not immediately turning out perfect so you don't even bother
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munthersahweel1 · 5 days ago
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‼️Please Help Munther Sahweel Family 🙏
Help Munther to get him treatment
We are the Munther family, from Gaza, a family of 6 members.
✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #256 )✅️
I have witnessed a tragedy in our lives in Gaza, where my family and I have survived many wars before. But today, we are facing the most dangerous and fiercest battle of the current war. The need is urgent for us, as we have nothing left and cannot secure our basic needs such as food, water, medicine and safe shelter.
Here is our story - On October 7th, our lives changed forever. My family and I left northern Gaza for southern Gaza, hoping to return soon, but that was not to be. Our home was surrounded and destroyed. Our home, once a bastion of hope, now lies in ruins, a stark reminder of our shattered dreams.
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We left our home, and we left behind everything we had in our home: clothes, important official documents, literally almost everything - the magnitude of our loss weighed heavily on us.
Our home it was where we found hope, safety, and made precious memories. Losing it felt like losing years of our lives, leaving us adrift amidst the wreckage of our shattered existence.
I am Munther, I suffer from kidney problems (kidney stones) and chronic diseases (diabetes and high blood pressure). I face difficulty in obtaining the necessary medications.
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My story with my sons, Karim 28 years old Information Technology major , Samir 26 years old, Bachelor of Accounting, Aseel 24 years old, studying business administration, and Layan 13 years old, a student.
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We all feel psychological pressure and extreme anxiety. The war hasn't been limited to external attacks but has deeply infiltrated our daily lives. We search among the rubble for a little safety and the basic resources for survival. Every day comes with a new challenge that we must overcome.
As we sway amidst the rubble of shattered dreams, our souls wrestle and our hearts beat strongly challenging the ravages of war.
I need to build a better future for my sons, full of hope because we deserve life with all its meanings of comfort and peace.
Perhaps this fundraising campaign represents a light in the midst of darkness, it is indeed the only hope we cling to firmly.
I appeal to the world as a whole to hear my cry and the mournful cry of my family in Gaza. We need the helping hand that reaches out to wipe our tears and build a bridge to safety.
Your donation is not just a donation; it's an opportunity to rebuild life and brighten a better tomorrow. Be part of our hopeful story, for we need your hand to start anew.
The aim of this fundraising campaign is to save my family - we have no source of income to provide food, drink and medicine, this campaign is our only chance to survive, and I humbly ask for your help in this critical time.
✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #256 )✅️
Donation link on GoFundMe
Thank you for your kindness and support.
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batshitferalejsimp · 1 month ago
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My Particular EJ Headcanons!!
(I don't have a particular last name or nothing decided, like I've seen some of the cool folk coming up with)
Minors DNI
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My eyeless jack is big, VERY BIG, like brick shithouse big, he's 6ft8, and very large and very muscular. I wouldn't say he's shredded, though. He's got like an off-season body builder or power lifter build, with like a healthy layer of fat over it. He's very gifted in the chest department✨️
In my mind, he was a Russian transfer student, studying over in America for his medical degree, feeling a bit isolated due to the lack of peers and friends, and that's when the cult snatched him up.
His voice is usually even and calm, but when he's pissed off, it gets almost layered... but not quite, and it's just off.
He has a bit of an accent (think Nikto from COD), and couldn't care less about hiding it.
He doesn't really care too much for being called EJ or Eyeless Jack. He prefers just being called Jack, but he won't really correct anyone on it because he doesn't care enough.
Over the years, he's set up some contacts through slenderman and has a somewhat successful career in the organ market. He also has a credit card and the like for when he needs to buy new supplies and whatever else he would need. He's probably one of the more put-together creeps, not that it says much about him.
He moves so quietly that it's actually scary, like you turn around and suddenly he's behind you, just watching.
He does a lot of watching and staring and has a habit of tilting his head when confused or trying to investigate things.
He can eat things other than kidneys or just human flesh. He just NEEDS human flesh fairly regularly and will start talking/mumbling to himself, getting aggressive and violent if he goes too long without human flesh, until he snaps and attacks the nearest human, no matter who they are. It usually takes 2-3 days for symptoms to start showing, and he keeps himself well fed, so it isn't usually an issue.
He sometimes hums to himself while working.
Believe it or not, he does sometimes go out in public, especially during and since the pandemic, wearing a mask and sunglasses with a hoodie, isn't suspicious if he pays, acts polite and doesn't act an ass. He can't go out and about as easily as jeff can, though.
He's very clean and sanitary, and oftentimes, if it can be helped, he doesn't kill his victims. He keeps his space clean.
If he needs to get organs, he usually targets men or criminals. He's not fond of harming women and children(he will if he MUST, but he won't be happy about it. )
His morality and emotions are somewhat dulled and disconnected from him.
He can see, and he can see quite well. However, he can't look around without turning his head. He can't side eye as much as he would like to with some of the shit that goes on in the mansion.
He can cook, and he's decent at it, but he usually doesn't because he can eat his food raw and the rest of the people in the mansion are assholes.
He's often getting stuck in fights with Jeff due to Jeff wanting a fight and knowing just how to make EJ fight him. EJ doesn't enjoy this but wins 60-70% of the time.
He enjoys going on walks or reading in his free time, watching a good amount of documentaries, and trying to stay on top of the lastest medical science.
He drinks and smokes, and he can get drunk, but cigarettes do not affect his lungs at all. Which disappointed him when he found out...
He has a strong sense of smell, and when he smells something he doesn't like, his face scrunches up visibly like a cat. It happens a lot around the other creeps in the mansion, particularly Toby.
He sometimes gets like mini zoomies, but he usually just goes out for a run and comes back when he's done.
He sleeps on his stomach or his back depending on how safe he feels, but he never really sleeps on his side unless there's someone else in the bed.
He eats A LOT, often times raw meat(think cow, deer, pig or chicke), he's large and does a lot of moving around and exercise, so he definitely EATS
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ink-and-hedera · 8 months ago
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Acquaintance
"Brewed in academia, we sip knowledge, each cup filled with life's realities. In the shadow of ancient trees and hills, we find comfort, learning to endure our shared existence. Like an over-roasted coffee, life blends bitterness with inexplicable charm."
My go-to is black coffee - drip when I'm in a rush, or filter when my favorite barista is working at the coffee shop near the dormitory. The other barista over-roasts the coffee beans and brews it without passion. I'd rather skip coffee altogether than face that disappointment in a small white cup.
You can always tell when a person loves what they do.
I'd love to say that I wake up to the first rays of the sun sneaking into our room through the solitary window, but the truth is we live in the shadow of a hill and old trees. It's unusual, given that we're in the center of Kyiv, but neither my roommates nor I complain. In the summer, the shade provides welcome coolness.
Our room, a cramped 10 square meters, houses four of us. There's no such thing as privacy here. It's not a life, but a fairy tale. But you get used to it. The options are limited: a) find a third job, neglect studies, and rent an apartment; b) sell a kidney; c) endure.
Since I don't have a spare kidney, and a day only has 24 hours - the first two options are out. As for the third - I'm a born endurer.
Back to the room and its inhabitants. To protect privacy, I've changed the names, ages, appearances, and some biographical details. Girls, if you're reading this, know that I love you. Probably.
We're four girls of different ages, tastes, and views. Essentially, we're strangers forced by circumstances to share a roof. In such a situation, you must find common ground. Living together requires rules and responsibility sharing, and quarrels over household matters are inevitable. Sometimes, someone might eat your dinner, the one you've fantasized about all day during tedious lectures. Sometimes, you spend two hours deciding who should pay for the internet and who should take out the trash.
It's like a family.
“Alaska, are you busy?”
A friend messages me while I'm sitting in class, rubbing my forehead. My students are in an anti-bullying lecture, so I'm doing my own thing. Teaching in college at 22 while studying for a master's? It’s a cruel joke. Don't get me wrong, I love my students. But the administration, colleagues, standards from the ministry, and bureaucracy that has me rewriting the curriculum for the sixth time...
I sigh heavily and return to the message.
“Yes,” I answer, though I'm not really bothered. I have at least 20 free minutes.
“Come outside.”
Ugh.
“Why did you even ask then?” I text back, irritated.
“Just come, grumpy.”
I sigh again, shut off my work laptop, and leave everything in the office. I put on a black trench coat with a packet of two remaining cigarettes, a lighter, and keys in the pocket.
"I hope you didn't call me just because you're bored. I have zero desire to climb back to the 4th floor," I say as I exit the building. The cold autumn wind hits me as I descend the stone stairs of the old building.
Oliver is sitting on a bench next to an abstract statue. He waves as I approach. We study Computer Science together at the university, though we don't fit the programmer stereotype.
Oliver, half a head taller than me, has red hair and freckles covering his nose and cheeks. He might seem cute to some, but his snarky sarcasm ruins that image.
"And I missed you too, grumpy. Let's grab a coffee," he says as I stare at him in disbelief. "You're a jerk. Couldn't you just come to me? I'm gonna die climbing back to the classroom."
"I care about your health. Maybe you'll finally quit smoking."
"Shut up," I snap, though I still follow him through the green gates marking the college territory. "So, what brings you here?"
"Had some business around, decided to stop by, check on our grumpy," Oliver says, smirking.
"And who told you I'm at work, and not in the dormitory or elsewhere?"
"Mary. She's worried because you've been acting strange lately," he says as we reach a coffee shop.
The coffee shop is spacious and not crowded - it's the middle of a workday. The interior is green and white, and I momentarily drift away from the conversation, observing every detail of the décor.
The spacious café is cozy and calm, as if immersed in a peaceful oasis in the middle of the city, where time meditates to the rhythm of coffee drops. Modernity intertwines with elegance in every detail. The walls, made of fresh white brick and adorned with green accents, seem to reflect the trends of nature that seep into the modern urban landscape.
Filling the space, the soft light shimmers from stylish pendant lamps with glass shades, creating an atmosphere of tenderness and tranquility. Tables, made of glass panels and metal legs, embody the spirit of innovation and refinement. Interwoven green and white accents add whimsy and refresh the space, creating a sense of lightness and harmony.
Meanwhile, the café does not lose its functionality. Comfortable chairs with soft cushions invite you to relax and enjoy the aromatic drinks brewed in copper coffee makers on the kitchen windowsill. The taste notes of coffee, complemented by the delicate aromas of freshly baked pastries, awaken all your senses, prompting instant relaxation and rest.
Thanks to its refined design and sophisticated approach to decor, the café in green and white color becomes not just a place where you can enjoy the taste of coffee, but also a true masterpiece of modern urban life, inviting you to discover new horizons of taste and aesthetics.
“Are you even listening to me?” Oliver asks, and I just stare at him, momentarily forgetting that I'm not alone here. “I asked what coffee you'll have.”
“Yes, sorry. Americano,” I finally respond. He smiles again and turns back to the barista, while I decide where we should sit.
My gaze lands on a table by the window, and I head there to claim it.
After a few minutes, Oliver joins me, holding two sandwiches. I look at him with a silent question in my eyes.
“You clearly haven't eaten anything,” he says as if he knows me like the back of his hand.
Indeed, I haven't eaten because I overslept three damn alarms and ran to work as if I had been scalded.
“Thank you,” I say gratefully and unfold the bag. The smell of food makes my stomach somersault, and just from that, I let out a pleased “mmm…”
“God, don't rush. When was the last time you ate properly? You're losing your mind with your work. Mary said you were acting strange, but I think I see that the reason for it is your workaholism,” Oliver says, taking a sip of his cappuccino, which the barista has just brought.
“Just... a lot of work,” I say, just having chewed my long-awaited food. “Mary worries in vain.”
“I think she is doing the right thing worrying. I, of course, call you a workaholic, but that doesn't mean you should actually become one, for God's sake,” he says, looking straight at me and exhales with disappointment. “Anyway, we'll talk about this later. Anyway, I came with a proposition.”
I stop eating and look at him in surprise.
“I won't marry you,” I say, with a note of sarcasm, joking.
“Hey! Actually, I'm a great catch,” he adds, laughing openly. “But no, you're wrong. Not that proposition. I know a guy who really wants to open a private educational institution. Somewhere in the summer. The building is great, and so are the ideas and programs. They promise a room, food, and decent salary..." he says, and I look at him with irritation.
“Oliver, you must be joking? I dream of escaping this teaching pit, and you're offering me to dive deeper into it... sorry, frankly, this shit? You know how I'm counting down the days until the end of the contract,” I add, exhaling.
“Alaska, wait and don't get heated. I know, I know, you're planning to go into the gaming industry. And yes, I know how much you like teaching. But this is a really cool opportunity. At least temporarily, until you finish your master's degree. You've been needing to move out of the dorm for a long time, get away from all the problems and start... living. Come on, where else will you find a job with such conditions? And there's a young team there. Lots of opportunities. You'll be able to balance everything appropriately and finally take care of your health.” Oliver says with such determination, trying to convince me. “You don't have to answer right now. Just think about it. It's a good start... Considering... events. Don't refuse right away.”
I take a sip of my Americano.
Damn.
The beans are over-roasted again.
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littlemisspascal · 2 years ago
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The When (Part 2)
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Pairing: Ruescott Melshi x Female Reader
Word Count: 5000+
Summary: There is a story before, when, and after Keef Girgo enters your life. This is the When.
Rating: M (18+, minors please do not engage!)
Warnings: Prison/Narkina 5 storyline but an AU where woman inmates are assigned to each unit as ‘peacekeepers’, language, established relationship, non-descriptive smut + references of smut, possessiveness, references of violence + blood, drugging, talk of pregnancy, reader has anxiety
- Reader has no official name and no physical traits described in detail. However, she is implied to be shorter than Melshi.
Author Note: Thank you everybody for the kind support of this story! From now on I'm not doing tag lists anymore so if you wanna keep up to date with my writing please follow @littlemisspascalwrites
Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜
The Before | The When Part 1 | The When Part 3
Most newcomers assume Day One at Narkina 5 is the worst, but they quickly find out they’re wrong. Day One is the easiest because nobody expects anything from them except to watch and learn. Day One is orientation.
Day Two is when the gloves come off. It’s sink or swim, do or fry.
Keef obediently follows the group into the work room, taking Tress’ former place at the table on your left. He spares a moment before the shift begins to touch each of the tools within his reach, studying them, familiarizing himself with their details. It’s surprisingly thoughtful. Something you didn’t do your second day, and judging by the looks on the rest of Table Five’s faces, something they didn’t either.
Newcomers never make it through their first hour without a mistake or ten. Keef is no exception. Wrong bolt in the wrong hole, a finger nearly cut off, a too-loose pin falling on the floor. But by hour three there’s a noticeable change in his technique. His motions are smoother, more sure of himself. He even catches a mistake in Taga’s handiwork unnoticed by everyone else. 
Maybe Keef has a history of building things. Or he’s just a naturally quick learner under pressure. Either way, he’s good. Better than good, he’s great. Exactly what Table Five needs to get back on top of the game after yesterday’s disastrous results. 
When hour six comes around you know he’s earned the respect of the whole table when Xaul addresses him by his name. Not new guy or tadpole or any other of the condescending epithets he keeps listed in his head. It’d taken you almost a whole month of shifts before the redhead stopped calling you girly. 
You’d be mad, except it’s kind of hard to commit to the feeling when Table Five finishes second in the end. An achievement no other table has previously claimed with a brand-spanking new member in their ranks. 
Later in the sleeping block, Taga drapes a hand over Keef’s shoulders and squeezes his stubbled cheeks between his fingers while looking at you and Melshi, jokingly asking, “Well, mom and dad, can we keep him? Can we?”
You take one look at Keef’s squished face, his unimpressed eyebrows promising an elbow to the kidney in three seconds if he isn’t released, before turning to Melshi with a shrug. When they’re being idiots they’re yours to deal with.
“Why not,” Melshi says, and the wry smirk on his lips is such a far contrast from the blank mask he’d worn yesterday it’s almost hard to believe he’s the same person. “The more the merrier.”
You stretch your arms over your head, letting loose a jaw-popping yawn. Up in the cot, Melshi finishes the last bites of his breakfast mush, utensil scraping against the plastic plate. Across the hot floor, Keef flicks subtle glances your way when he thinks you don’t notice . 
Grabbing the back of your foot, you stand on one leg, pinning him with a look the next time his brown eyes wander over. “Can I help you with something?”
He has the decency to seem abashed, ducking his head and poking at his food. For as quick as he caught onto the repetition of work, his taste buds have been slower to adapt. That’ll change soon. It has to if he doesn’t want to starve. Beggars can’t be choosers. 
There’s a question on the tip of his tongue, you can sense it pressing against the backs of his teeth. Your stare doesn’t lift, even as you switch legs, content to wait it out.
“You’re the only woman in the unit,” Keef says finally, and it’s not really a question, except that it is.
You laugh, a monosyllabic sound. “Really? Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”
“Why?” Keef looks at you with furrowed brows. You blink, slowly lowering your foot back onto the floor. “There are dozens of womens’ prisons across the galaxy, some even twice as big as this place without any men at all. What reason was there to send you here? Why you? Why Narkina 5?”
Something cold and slimy settles into the pit of your stomach. You had thought he’d ask…You don’t know what you thought he’d ask, but this is not a conversation you want to have anymore. Pasting on a teasing grin, you attempt to sidestep answering with a joke. “Sounds like someone’s pretty familiar with the insides of womens’ prisons.”
Keef frowns a little, not that you blame him. Your voice sounds brittle even to your own ears. He searches your expression, whatever he finds leading him to point an accusing finger. “You don’t know.”
You stay quiet, averting your gaze to his tab when the weight of his eyes feels like it’s going to tear you apart. 2,184 days to go. Not even here a week and he’s already digging for answers, unsatisfied with being kept in the dark. 
Except there are no answers on Narkina 5. Just lies and dead ends and more questions. 
“Doesn’t it—” Keef cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. Then, softer, “You really don’t have any idea at all?”
Before you can decide whether to snap at him or simply shake your head, Keef’s eyes look to the side of you, lithe frame tensing. Melshi’s hand slides around your waist, gently tugging you closer. You hadn’t even heard him climb down.
“The reason why she’s here is the same reason why we build droids, why our numbers were raised,” Melshi counters, and you sneak a glimpse of his face, noting the tightness in his jaw. “Because we’re cheap parts in the Empire’s machine to do with as they please.”
You hide your grimace by nuzzling Melshi’s collarbone, an ache in your ribs like a knife has been plunged there. 
“Droids?” Keef repeats, confused. 
You start to turn your head, a witty retort on your tongue (yeah, those giant metal things we spend twelve hours on everyday), only to be silenced by the morning alarm and Kino’s subsequent shout to line up. Your eyes find Melshi’s, who lifts a shoulder before nudging you forward out of the cell.
It isn’t until you’re in the work room, hands on your head as you await the first widget of the day, that Keef leans closer, lowering his voice for your ears only.
“These aren’t droids.”
You side-eye him. “What?”
“You heard me,” he mutters, watching Kino tap away on his pad. “Droids are circuits and wires—have you ever seen a single droid in all the time you’ve been here?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Already knows it. “Whoever told you that’s what these are is lying.”
Melshi told you. And Melshi doesn’t lie to you, never has, not even in the early days before you kissed him, which means he thinks it’s true. 
The table beeps, but this time the emergence of the hunk of metal brings a frown to your face, something previously familiar now so ominous and strange. If it’s not a piece of a droid…
“What is it then?” you ask, reaching for a wrench, pretending your limbs don’t feel like jelly.
Keef hums. “That’s the million-credit question now, isn’t it?” 
You don’t sleep. 
Staring up at the ceiling, Melshi’s face buried in the side of your neck, you lie still and listen to him breathe. You think about Keef’s questions. You think about the hundreds of other women who could’ve easily been the peacekeepers of Unit Five-Two-D, and you think about luck, fate, unseen forces of the universe.
Melshi’s probably right that your only purpose here is to serve the Empire. But he was wrong about the machinery parts, a voice in the back of your mind whispers, what if he’s wrong about this too? 
You turn your head, lips grazing his brow, an invisible fist squeezing around your heart. Only a fool falls in love in prison. You should have known better, kept to yourself more, trusted nobody. But when you try to imagine sleeping alone in your own cot, no hand holding yours in line or anchor keeping your head out of the clouds, it hurts more than a thousand volts of a zap rod.
What if the reason you’re here is for him?
Melshi curls closer, exhaling a sleepy sigh that has you wanting to smile and cry at the same time. 
What if he’s here for you?
Two weeks since his arrival and Keef still reminds you of a chameleon, but now his turtle qualities are gone, replaced with a spider’s. Quiet, secretive, calculating. Every day his web of lies gets a little bigger, a little more intricate.
He grew up in the underworld of Coruscant. Worked in a mechanic’s shop up until one day he got the urge to take a customer’s ship on a joyride and never looked back. Roamed from one corner of the galaxy to the other, different bedmates keeping him warm every night, and got really, really good at hustling sabacc in back alleyway bars sticky with substances that’ll make even the foulest Trandoshan blush. 
Lie after lie after lie.
You think he knows you know. There are moments when Keef enthralls the unit with a story, usually involving some sort of peril like being held at knifepoint by a gang of thugs or escaping through a window when a husband comes home early, and he’ll shoot you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
There are other moments though, usually in the beats of silence after lights out and everyone’s settled down for the night in their cells, when you find yourself forgetting ‘Keef Girgo’ is just an elaborate illusion. The edges of his mask peeling at the corners, exposing hints of the nameless man you watched cry that first night.
“I have someone waiting for me,” he confesses, words somber and coated with regret.
You look across the gap at him, find he’s staring at his tab, fingertips grazing the outer edges of the screen. “Really?” you reply, all too aware of Melshi pretending to sleep up above, giving you some semblance of privacy. “They must be someone pretty great. Most people don’t have the patience to wait for our release.”
“Yeah, she is,” he clears his throat, offers you a crooked smile. “The greatest.”
She. That’s the only specific detail he’ll ever let slip.
“I’m going to find a way out of here,” Keef says next, bold and indisputable, like that’s not exactly the kind of thing that would get him fried to a crisp if the guards overheard him. “And when I do, you’re coming with me. You and Melshi and the rest of Table Five. Everyone. We’re all getting out.”
Those are the moments when you almost consider him a friend.
Keef’s stubborn determination to escape Narkina 5 is a rarity in the unit these days. Others who once had the same desire were either fried into submission or became too terrified of Kino’s wrath to risk rioting.
There’s only one other man whose rebellious spirit hasn’t been broken yet: Birnok from Table Two.
He plays the part of docile inmate, fooling the guards with his compliance. They don’t see the fire in his eyes. The clenching of his fists. But Keef—ever alert, ever watchful Keef—he noticed immediately.
The pair has developed a new routine of their own. They line up behind each other in the mornings, then again after work’s over, exchanging sarcastic quips and playful punches. It’s not an unusual thing to see men from different tables becoming friends since everyone shares the same sleeping quarters. You suspect to most people that’s probably what it appears like. 
But when you catch glimpses of them exchanging looks across the work room, communicating in a silent code of subtle hand gestures and flitting eyes, you start to also suspect that’s exactly what Keef and Birnok want it to appear like.
You’re filling your plate with dinner mush in your cell—your actual one designated to you on your first day, where your tab taunts you with its dwindling number. Anyone else would be thrilled to have such a short sentence, but not you. Not anymore. The less you have to look at it and the less you have to think about leaving Melshi, the better.
You turn to leave, meal and utensil in hand, when you hear Birnok’s voice.
“The elevator’s not wired.”
…What?
You shake your head, deciding to ignore him. Dinner time only lasts so long and you don’t want to wind up stuck in here for the night.
“Are you sure?”
Keef.
Well, that changes things.
You edge closer to the wall of your cell, staying out of sight, for once grateful it’s purposely distanced a little down the block away from the others.
“Positive,” Birnok answers. “Watch next time they use it. You’ll see. We can climb it if we’re quick enough.”
A pause of contemplation. You bite your lip, heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
“If we can jam the lift somehow, it’ll make reaching the upper deck easier,” Keef says. There’s another pause, shorter this time, punctuated by a derisive snort. “Assuming the guards don’t shoot us in the head first thing.”
“They can’t aim for shit,” Birnok retorts. “Taking them out and stealing their weapons will be a breeze. We’ll be out before they know what hit ‘em.”
“We’ll be fried beyond recognition as long as the floors are active,” Keef counters, voice a low growl. “That should be our priority: turning off the power.”
He makes a good point. Escaping the work room is only a third of the battle. Escaping the prison comes next, then finally getting off Narkina 5 undetected. Increasingly harder challenges verging on impossible. 
“And I’m telling you,” Birnok says, sharper than before, “that water pipe in the refresher is the key.”
Water pipe? Surely they couldn’t be talking about the refresher in the work room, right? Just under the guards’ noses?
“Maybe,” Keef’s skepticism is audible even from your hiding spot.
“Just keep sawing at it,” Birnok urges. “It’ll be worth the effort when the time comes.”
The familiar way they’re talking with each other, it’s clear this isn’t the first discussion of escape they’ve had. It’s funny, the bonds which can be suddenly struck up in prison.
What’s even funnier is the loose wall panel you discover during the next shift over the sink in the refresher. You stare at it while washing your hands, a stirring in your chest of an emotion you haven’t felt in years.
Hope.
It happens during hour two.
The beginning of your morning is uneventful, and so is the walk to the work ring and the first sixty minutes of your shift, going through your routine motions with the same careful efficiency as you always do. 
Your first hint something’s amiss is Kino being messaged on the comm panel. The guards only bother interrupting the flow of things to complain, usually about the speed of production. Kino’s deepening scowl has all of you slowing to a standstill, waiting for the bad news with dread pooling in your stomachs.
Except…there is no bad news. 
Kino turns around and orders the room to resume working again—without insulting the pace or current stats. It’s suspicious as hell, inmates exchanging skeptical looks with each other, but one by one they resume their previous tasks, silence shattered by the grating clangs of metal on metal.
You’re the last to pick your tool back up, hesitating when Kino’s gaze seems to linger on you a beat longer than anyone else. Why would he…? Keef nudges you once, twice, finally having to say your name to yank you out of your worried thoughts. You start again, but there’s a tremor in your fingers, the burning sensation of eyes on your back making your shoulders twitch and roll restlessly. 
“Dream,” Melshi’s voice is a balm to your agitated soul, gentle and even. “Why don’t you take a quick breather?”
You reflexively clutch your wrench tighter in your hand. “I’m fine.”
His jaw twitches in thinly-veiled restraint. “C’mon. Just five minutes.”
Irritation burns through you even though you know he’s just concerned. Gritting your teeth, you repeat, “I’m fine.”
Melshi’s mouth opens, no doubt to rebuttal, only to be blocked from view by Keef tilting his head in front of your face, quietly saying, “We’re up by six. Now would be a good time for a break, if, uh,” he falters at whatever expression you’re making, looking like he expects you to sucker punch him, then bravely soldiers on. “If you needed one.”
You take a deep breath, slowly unclenching your fingers until the wrench slips free of your grip. “Alright,” you say primly, taking petty satisfaction at his slight wince. “I’ll be right back.”
There’s no mirror in the refresher (a shard of broken glass in the right hands can be a fatal weapon), but for once you’re glad about the absence. You don’t want to see the look on your face, the way you’re pacing back and forth.  
That feeling of wrongness is back, the same dread you’d felt the night Tress killed himself. You stick your hands under the running faucet, then slap at your cheeks with the cold water. Snap out of it, you think, as much a mantra as it is a life preserver to keep you from drowning.
Maker, what you wouldn’t do for a drink right now.
The intercom calls you back out on the floor before you can shake off the last of the anxiety buzzing in your blood. You’re forced to stand in the corner of the work room until the alarm stops its incessant blaring, and the gap of distance between you and Table Five has never felt bigger.
Hands on your head, your eyes are drawn immediately to Melshi’s across the room, all previous frustration draining when you register his frown and furrowed brow. Melshi’s always careful during moments like this when he knows the guards are watching, hating the idea of them seeing him provoked. You want nothing more than to run to him and erase his worries, but the punishment of a zap rod, or worse, the box, has your feet frozen in place, mouth going dry.
Two guards stand on the upper deck, both armed with blasters, fingers ready on the triggers. Another pair waits on the lift for the unseen man in the control room to press the button to lower it. They usually only come down when there’s a new man to drop off, but that clearly isn’t the case this time. The ranks are full and there’s nobody in orange and white scrubs up there.
Whatever reason they’re here now, it can’t be good. And if it’s at all related to Kino’s scowl from before…
You watch them step onto the floor, scanning the room casually, like they’ve got all the time in the world. Their smirks betray their enjoyment, knowing they’ve got everyone on edge.
When their gazes fall on you, your heart lodges in your throat.
The taller of the pair says your name in a way you think is supposed to be soothing, but instead it sounds like a hunter cornering prey, the hiss of a lying serpent. 
You shoot a glance towards Melshi. He’s clenching his jaw so tight it’s a wonder he hasn’t shattered a tooth or three.
It’s a mistake taking your eyes off the guards, immediately realized when you look back to discover they’ve advanced forward several steps, looming and intimidating as fuck.
“You’re coming with us, honey,” the serpent says, latching onto your forearm in a vice grip. A warning squeeze confirms your fears he could shatter the bone if he wanted to, eliciting a choked gasp from your lips.
Everything happens quickly after that.
“Let go of her!”
Melshi’s shout tears through the air like an arrow, striking you square in the chest. He’s lunging forward, murder flashing in his eyes, but Kino’s reflexes are lightning-quick, hooking an arm around his middle and hauling him back. Kino knew, he must have, positioning himself in preparation of an outburst.
You’re yanked towards the lift, elbow nearly dislocated. You attempt to pull free, scratching at the bastard with your other hand, only to receive a backhanded slap across the face.
Stars spin across your vision, pain blooming hotly along your cheek and burning down your neck. You blink rapidly, lights and colors blurring together into obscure blobs, tasting blood in your mouth from biting your tongue. You spit it out, a streak of scarlet on the pristine white floor.
Everyone’s shouting at each other. The guards up above aim at Table Five where Melshi’s still fighting Kino’s hold. Keef and Xaul press on his shoulders and chest, telling him to calm the hell down before bodies start dropping. 
“You hurt her, I’ll fucking kill you!” Melshi snarls, ignoring them entirely.
“Melshi,” Kino warns, his voice sharp as a dagger, the muscles in his arms constricting as he squeezes Melshi tighter. “Shut up before I break your jaw.”
Your mouth opens, lips searching for words that won’t come—can’t come when there’s the sharp prick of a needle digging into your arm. That’s new, you think, blinking dumbly at it, and yet you’re somehow not surprised by the sneaky tactic. Lying serpents and cunning foxes, the lot of them.
Arms catch you as your knees buckle. Everything’s blurry again, black specks in the corners growing larger and larger, consuming your world. Cotton’s been stuffed in your ears, cries of your name dissolving into undecipherable static, and as your consciousness fades, you know things are only going to get worse.
You awaken with a groan.
Your head is pounding, body feeling like it’s been hit by a mudhorn, and when you try to move your arms you can’t. Squinting up at the lights overhead, you try to make sense of your situation because it seems like you’re in the med station but that doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t been feeling sick, you’re not due for another contraception shot yet so why—
Memories ram into your brain like a sledgehammer. They drugged you. How long have you been out? Coldness washes over you. Oh, Maker. Melshi must be going out of his fucking mind right now.
“Struggling will only make the restraints tighter,” Dr. Rhasiv tells you when you try to pull your arms free, wrists aching. He comes closer, a scanner in his hands. The light blue marks on his scrubs seem to almost glow beneath the harsh, glaring lights. “This shouldn’t take very long, just keep still.”
“What—why am I—” Your tongue doesn’t want to cooperate, slurring the words together clumsily. You sound like a youngling learning to speak for the first time.
Dr. Rhasiv seems to understand regardless. “All peacemakers are being evaluated via ultrasound for the detection of potential fetuses,” he says, either oblivious to the stunned wheeze you emit or purposefully ignoring it, taking your temperature by scanning your forehead. “A pregnancy was discovered on level four, see. Found out too late that the recent batch of contraceptives was defective. A surprise nobody wants a repeat of since transferring prisoners is an irritating hassle, not to mention the adoption paperwork. So I’m told at least.”
Your breath comes out in short pants. You don’t—What is—This is so fucking—You could be carrying a baby right now. An actual human being who’s half you and half—your eyes water, realization a sickening punch to the lungs—Melshi.
It’s the first time you’ve ever thought of having children with Melshi. Even in your dreams, it’s always just been you and him. Settling down alone together. You don’t know if he wants kids. Hell, you don’t even—you don’t even know if you want a baby. Imagining any sort of life outside of Narkina 5, it’s just that—a figment of your imagination. An impossible reality.
But then you think of Keef, of his solemn swear we’re all getting out, and you think of that loose panel in the refresher, your tiny bud of hope, and maybe, just maybe, the things you’ve been imagining aren’t so impossible after all.
Prison is no place for a baby though—not Narkina 5 or wherever that poor woman from four is being moved to. A baby needs a home. Someplace peaceful. Someplace where being barefoot isn’t a punishment and meals aren’t flavorless slop. Where laughter rings out instead of screams and sunlight fills every room and everything’s warm, warm, warm…
You stiffen, panic turning your blood to ice, remembering what else Dr. Rhasiv had said. Adoption paperwork. If you are pregnant—Maker, just the word alone makes your trembling worse—they’ll take you away from Melshi and then nine months from now they’ll take your baby away from you. A cycle of heartbreak for the Empire to feast upon. Splitting families apart for the sheer entertainment and brainwashing the youth so the sick game never ends.
“It’ll be a quick process,” Dr. Rhasiv says, lifting the hem of your shirt. “Shouldn’t hurt at all. Just breathe regularly.”
Not now, you find yourself thinking, praying, wishing, desperate and emphatic. Not here. 
Dr. Rhasiv applies the cold gel to your exposed stomach. Not now. Not here. The sensor roams over your skin, its quiet beeps resemble explosions in the otherwise quiet space. Not now. Not here. You stare at the doctor’s face the whole time, watching for the slightest of creases in his brow or flickers in his gaze. Not now. Not here.
Finally, he puts the device back in his medical case and grabs a towel to wipe away the gel.
Only when he’s finished does he gesture to a guard you hadn’t noticed standing in the doorway. Your fingers curl into fists, cursing the restraints once more for leaving you vulnerable and exposed.
“Not pregnant,” Dr. Rhasiv announces, blunt in that professional way only doctors can be, like the ripping off of a bandage. 
And it’s…the results are what you wanted. It is the best outcome for everyone. Life will go on as usual. Still…
You flinch as Dr. Rhasiv sticks another needle into your arm. A different contraceptive, he says. This one guaranteed to work.
And while it’ll keep your womb empty, it does nothing to stop your mind from imagining an infant with tufts of Melshi’s dark hair nestled in your arms.   
Not now. Not here.
But maybe one day. Maybe somewhere safe.
It’s another hour before a guard escorts you back to the sleep block. Dr. Rhasiv insisted it was necessary to observe you for any side effects, but you think that was only a partial truth. Somewhere underneath all the pain and hardships he has suffered, there’s a decent man who tries to pull strings where he can, granting his patients small moments of respite from the daily grind. 
The guard this time is as thick and burly as a bear, could snap your spine in two with ease, but fortunately he keeps his hands to himself, sneering at you like you’re as dirty as mud on his shoe. You prefer his company infinitely more than the serpent man’s.
After unlocking the door, he doesn’t hesitate to shove you inside before slamming it on your heels. The floor is cold and the cells are empty. You’re alone.
The acrid smell of cleaning products burns your nose as you step inside Melshi’s cell. Everything looks just the way it did this morning, but nothing feels the same. There’s a lump in your throat—from sadness, from anger. You have no idea where to ever start sorting your emotions out. So you just…don’t.
You climb up onto the cot, back against the wall, arms wrapped around your knees. Half of you wants to sleep, the other half is wide awake and paranoid, convinced you’ll be dragged away again the second your eyes close. You sit there, numbness creeping through your body, and wait for Melshi to return.
It isn’t long before the main door opens again, the sounds of voices and footsteps flooding the silent space like bathwater. Some of the tension in your muscles loosens, and you scoot forward, letting your legs dangle over the edge of the cot. 
You hear Melshi before he comes into view, his accent thicker than normal, the way it only ever gets when he’s barely holding onto his emotions by a thread.
“Just when I think they can’t reach a new low they pull a fucking stunt like that,” he snarls, voice full of such raw, seething rage he’s practically spitting. “When she comes back, if she’s hurt, if they even looked at her the wrong way, I’m going to rip their eyes straight out—”
He freezes when he sees you, threat hanging unfinished in the air. Keef bumps into him, doing a double-take when he also registers your appearance.
“You’re back,” Keef says needlessly, offering a small grin, but it’s the relief in his voice that you find most comforting. 
“Dream,” Melshi’s low murmur wraps around you like a blanket, brown eyes blinking at you like he can’t believe you’re here. There’s so much love and worry and lingering anger spasming across his face it threatens to break your heart.
You feel your own face start to crumple, everything bubbling to the surface, making a sound that might be a sob and Melshi’s closing the gap, reaching for you just as you’re reaching for him.
“Dream, my little dreamer,” he murmurs, holding you tightly, one hand around your back and the other on your neck, lips brushing against your temple, your cheek, wherever he can reach. “I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe.”
One of you is trembling, you can’t tell which. It makes you cling to him tighter, letting him crowd you against the wall of the cot, strong and solid and achingly familiar when the rest of your world feels like it’s falling to pieces.
“Tell me?” he asks, carefully neutral, leaving the decision entirely up to you. His hands are roaming over your body now, as soothing as they are subtly checking for injuries, up your backside and across your shoulders. 
You take a deep breath, but fear paralyzes your tongue.
Melshi leans back, carefully taking your face in his hands. You hate the worry in his eyes, the frown lines at the corners of his mouth. And it scares you to wonder what will happen if you tell him about the ultrasound and the negative result. Will it punch the same gaping hole in his chest as it has in yours? Or will he be pleased to find out you’re not pregnant? That the status quo will remain unchanged for the foreseeable future?
You don’t know which reaction would be worse.
“Just a routine check up,” you whisper finally. The words hurt, scraping against the tender walls of your throat. “Everything’s fine.”
He rests his forehead against yours. “You’d tell me if everything wasn’t, right?”
Guilt tears into your heart, threatening to bleed it dry. 
And yet a second lie slides off your lips just as poisonous as the first.
“Of course,” you say, swallowing thickly against the bitter taste in your mouth. And then, quieter, something sweet to counter the ache, “I love you, Rue.”
A low, anguished groan escapes his chest, and then he’s cradling you tight against him once more, nuzzling his face against the side of your head. “When I saw them take you, I was afraid that…”
“I know,” is your quiet reply, feeling a shudder rack his body.
“I hate when I’m not with you,” he says softly, almost like he’s ashamed by how much he craves your nearness. “I need you by my side, dream. Always.”
You press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, breathing in his scent until you can’t think of anything else. “Good,” you say, a quiet confession belonging to him alone, “because that’s the only place I ever want to be.”
Melshi’s gone when you reach for him in the middle of the night, fingers grasping at empty air. You crack open a bleary eye. Everything’s soft around the edges, fuzzy-like, and it feels��slow. Calm. Your eye flutters shut again a moment later, too much effort required to focus. The needle marks on your arm have finally stopped pinching uncomfortably. There’s a chill sweeping over your body without Melshi to snuggle against, but your limbs are too heavy with sleep to move, mind sluggishly drifting along at a snail’s pace.
“Is she okay?” Keef asks, his low voice seeming to float from a long distance away.
“Whatever they did definitely rattled her,” Melshi answers from somewhere to your side. In your mind’s eye, he’s standing in the narrow space of the cell, staring across at Keef with his arms crossed over his chest. “But she told me once though, as long as she can still dream, she’ll be alright.”
You’re too comfortable to tell them to stop talking about you. A small corner of your brain which hasn’t totally succumbed to slumber yet wonders how many of these conversations they’ve had with each other, if this is some sort of regular man-to-man-midnight-chat thing you’re just now discovering.
“And if her dreams become nightmares?”
Melshi exhales a slow, ragged breath. “Then I’ll take care of her. Whatever she needs.”
Keef doesn’t respond for a moment, maybe answering nonverbally with a shrug or turning the words over in his head, you don’t know for sure.
“Her sentence is shorter than yours—”
“I know,” Melshi says, cutting him off.
“Then you also know you can’t protect her forever,” Keef says coolly. “They’ll take her away and she won’t come back. I don’t…have to tell you the odds of you two reconnecting are slim, do I, Melshi?”
Another ragged breath. Then, tightly, each word forced through clenched teeth: “Get to the point.”
“Escaping is your best chance at staying together,” the other man says, ignoring the thorny tension. “Birnok and I are putting a plan together, but we need as much help as we can get to succeed.”
“It’s suicide,” Melshi says, accent harsh. “They’ll kill us all.”
“Maybe so.” A pause. “But personally? I’d rather face a certain death with the one I love beside me than spend decades trapped in here not knowing what happened to them.”
Sleep sinks its teeth in deeper, tugging you into unconsciousness before you can hear Melshi’s response, before the uneasy knot in your stomach can grow any larger.
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11crowsinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago
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My DnD characters backstory :D
For context I'm currently playing an Ealdrin bard named Ellis, and as the top line would suggest the following backstory is his own. I also made a Spotify playlist for him so here is that: https://spotify.link/aTdRgNDNtDb
If you are uncomfortable with the topics of a character being caused physical harm, please do not read this. I don't go into detail, but I know it bothers people.
Ellis was raised in the fae wild alongside other Ealdrin aristocrat children. As is expected, he was quite the little shit, but mostly just insulted other children. As he grew older, he studied architecture for a little bit, designed some pretty famous buildings for the kingdom he lived in, and then went to bard college.
After he graduated, he flew up the ranks pretty fast and through a string of encounters I didn't bother to come up with, ended up as the king's advisor. Now, the king did not like Ellis very much, purely just because they didn't mix well, but he couldn't exactly do anything about it. Unfortunately for Ellis, over the span of 20 years, he began to develop feelings for the king. And near the end of those 20 years, he truly loved the king and did everything to ensure the king's comfort.
Things did not stay mundane for long, however. One night, the king and his newly wedded wife were killed. Naturally, this brought forth a lot of panic. Due to the customs of this particular kingdom, if there was no direct heir to the throne, the royal advisor would take control. Seeing as the king had no living relatives that could take the throne, Ellis would have been the next king. This naturally brought a lot of speculation that Ellis killed the king since he always seemed to be around him and, well, this had happened before. The dead king's father had been killed by his advisor.
Ellis was promptly charged with murder with basically no evidence, and the sentence given was an exile. During his exile, Ellis wanted nothing more to explain his innocence. This became a bit of an obsession, so by the time he figured out how to summon the spirit of the dead king from a mage he had met, he was already a little bonkers.
Once the ghost of the dead king was summoned, he was immediately furious at the man be seen before him. He never saw the culprit, so he too assumed Ellis had murdered him. Ellis tried to explain, then tearfully confessed his love to the king. I couldn't tell you what drove the king to do what I am about to detail. Be it the fury he marinated in for over 50 years, thinking the innocent man before him had committed such an act, or the fury brought on by his most disliked person confessing his love to the king. Nevertheless, the king was still strong as a spirit. Strong enough to reach for a knife and stab Ellis directly in the heart.
Now Ellis wouldn't be able to tell you what happened next, most certainly because he was already dead, but I certainly can. Ellis was stabbed 8 times in the heart, 3 in the gut, and ruthlessly disembowled. Hell, by the time the mage who had given Ellis the spell to summon the king's spirit, his arm was just about gone.
Through a process too complicated to write out on a sheet of paper, the mage reconstructed Ellis' body as well as he could. Being able to salvage the heart somehow, but doing away with much of the digestive track. The damaged organs I will list are as follows: liver, stomach, left kidney (the right had to be removed) and heart. Since you do not need part of your liver, that took care of itself. The kidney was also easily repaired. The heart needed an incredibly complicated rune to keep it from stopping (though Ellis still has heart palpitations on the regular), and the stomach needed a rune of similar complexity to be able to digest nutrients without the intestines. Being unable to eat properly, he requires a feeding tube. Water and pills can be taken orally, and some pretty easy to digest foods can also be taken as such, but he mainly relies on said feeding tube to get his nutrients. Because of this he also has trained a ferret to respond to his heart issues, and it can detect whenever it's keeper needs help.
Ellis now swears to destroy the fae realms aristocratic circles, and to cause as much harm as he can doing do. He's quite well tampered to others, but his disdain for his kingdom is strong.
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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 2 years ago
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A Hotter Planet Takes Another Toll on Human Health
A new hypothesis about heat waves, redlining, and kidney stones.
By Bill McKibben
January 19, 2023
Shortly after the New Year, the Washington Post ran a story with a headline that would have seemed inexplicable, even runic, to most readers just a few years ago: “The world’s torrid future is etched in the crippled kidneys of Nepali workers.” But we’re growing used to the idea that the climate crisis, in Naomi Klein’s phrase, “changes everything,” so why not the internal organs of Nepalis? Remarkable reporting by Gerry Shih tells a series of unbearably poignant tales: young Nepali men, struggling to earn a living in their impoverished homeland, head to the Gulf states to do construction work in the searing heat, some without access to sufficient water, some until they collapse. (Other reporting also shows that some Nepalis who work abroad resort to the black market for a transplant that might keep them—and the families that depend on the money they earn—alive.) The piece ends with a man coming back to the care of his sister, who donates her own kidney to save him. The costs of the medical procedures require that he sell his half-built house, and that he give up his life’s dream, which was to get married.
The Post was right: the world’s future is likely encapsulated in this story. The planet is getting steadily hotter, and large swaths of it are moving past the point at which it’s safe to do heavy outside labor in the middle of the day. A 2022 study estimated that six hundred and seventy-seven billion working hours a year were already being lost because it’s too hot to go outside and build things or farm. The researchers assessed the cost at more than two trillion dollars annually, but, of course, it could also be measured in other units—in vital organs, or dreams.
But it’s not just the future that’s illuminated by such studies; it’s the past as well. Unless you’ve been keeping up with your issues of Current Opinion in Nephrology and Hypertension, you may have missed a recent article titled “Redlining has led to increasing rates of nephrolithiasis in minoritized populations: a hypothesis.” I saw it only because one of the medical experts who wrote it—David Goldfarb, who runs the dialysis unit at New York’s V.A. hospital and teaches at New York University’s School of Medicine—is an old family friend. He forwarded it to me, and it fairly blew my mind.
“Nephrolithiasis” is the technical term for the development of kidney stones, those small formations that, as they pass, can cause excruciating pain. (I’ve never had them, but I know more than one man who has said he came away from the experience with a newfound appreciation for what his wife had undergone during labor.) Doctors have long known that higher temperatures lead to more sweat, which reduces urine volumes and thus increases “the saturation of the insoluble salts that cause kidney stones.” During heat waves in the U.S., it takes just three days before emergency-room visits for kidney stones begin to spike.
For reasons that remain unclear, kidney stones have traditionally been more common among white people, but, in recent years, doctors have noted huge increases among Black Americans and a significant rise in Latino communities. The authors of the new article looked to the past for a possible explanation—particularly to the nineteen-thirties, when a federal agency, the Home Owners’ Loan Corporation, graded all of America’s neighborhoods and deemed some of them “hazardous” for investment, essentially because they were home to large minority communities. This grading system (from A for “best” and B for “still desirable” to C for “declining” and D for “hazardous”) underlay what came to be known as redlining. The grading system led to “chronic disinvestment” in the lower-rated neighborhoods, resulting, over time, in less of everything from parks and green spaces to street trees and air-conditioning in homes.
Now the results can be measured with a thermometer: in Portland, Oregon, the authors report, neighborhoods that were graded A in the nineteen-thirties now “average 8 degrees Fahrenheit lower than the city’s mean temperature, while D-graded neighborhoods average 4.8 Fahrenheit degrees warmer.” Actually, you don’t need a thermometer—that’s a thirteen-degree gap that anyone can feel just by walking across town. No one has carefully studied the incidence of kidney stones among these different neighborhoods, but the authors, in their hypothesis, point to research now under way. Similar work on asthma, another heat-related disease, has shown emergency-room visits are 2.4 times higher in redlined tracts.
Indeed, Goldfarb’s son Ben—an environmental journalist who this year will publish a book called “Crossings,” on the environmental impact of roads—writes that the HOLC grading program produced all kinds of deleterious health effects. In Syracuse, Miami, Minneapolis, and other cities, large parts of neighborhoods that the agency had redlined—and whose residents were mostly Black—were bulldozed to make room for interstate highways. He told me, “Minorities today disproportionately live near the urban freeways that displaced them, and suffer as a result. Air pollution causes asthma and cancer; noise pollution increases the risk of heart disease and stroke; and the physical fragmentation wrought by highways shatters local economies. It’s heartbreaking, though hardly surprising, that disastrous policy decisions made decades ago continue to destroy bodies and communities today.”
It’s true that everyone is going to pay some price as the planet cooks. The authors of the nephrology study predict a likely additional cost to the U.S. health-care system of at least a billion dollars a year. But some people are going to be hit much harder than others because of history. Doing justice in the present requires taking that past seriously—understanding how we ended up where we are, and why we must put those with the least first, as we try to address the future. But we’re at a moment in this country when the idea of historical responsibility is increasingly seen not as logical and obvious but as some kind of invidious political correctness.
In April, 2022, Governor Ron DeSantis, of Florida, signed the Stop Wrongs to Our Kids and Employees Act, or the Stop WOKE Act. (In introducing the bill, he had said, “In Florida we are taking a stand against the state-sanctioned racism that is critical race theory,” adding that “we won’t allow Florida tax dollars to be spent teaching kids to hate our country or to hate each other.”) A preliminary injunction was issued against the act, which includes a dictum against any school teaching that “a person, by virtue of his or her race, color, sex, or national origin, bears personal responsibility for and must feel guilt, anguish or other forms of psychological distress because of actions, in which the person played no part, committed in the past by other members of the same race, color, national origin, or sex.” 
But, even if you can silence teachers, legislation can’t muffle the effects of history. On a hot summer’s day in Jacksonville, Florida, where DeSantis was born, the temperature in A neighborhoods is 5.5 degrees below the mean, and it’s 4.4 degrees above the mean in the D-rated communities.
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frances-and-the-moon · 2 years ago
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A trip down Memory Lane
When I was a teenager, many of the younger students I taught English to always came up with the proverbial question: "How did you learn to write and speak English so well?". You see, Italy dubs its movies and TV shows; it's only been in recent times that younger folks (specifically millennials and Gen Z) are willing to watch TV shows, dramas, movies, and play games with English subtitles. But when I was a teenager in Southern Italy, foreign language acquisition was not a big thing (yet). Nor was the teaching. So my answer to those sweet summer children was: "Well, I've been travelling a lot and attending lots of English courses (which was true), and I've been watching Harry Potter and reading Shakespeare and Milton and Nietzsche in English and I like playing games that haven't been translated, and I've watched TV shows with subtitles and animes with Eng sub" which was, ofc, all true. But my biggest, first motivator was that I was so deep into the Thorki fandom that I wanted to read all their works on AO3 - but they were all in English! No Italian stories! What was I supposed to do!! I wanted to read those stories!! I was so adamant and so curious that I would've sold my right kidney to read good quality gay porn fanfiction so I kept reading and reading without any dictionaries bc I didn't care, I was too lazy to look up the words unless they were very hard and/or crucial to the sentence at hand. And as I read and persevered, I started understanding more and more the meaning of words by context (and that is why I can't translate many English words into Italian because I have no idea what their Italian counterpart is). And then I went on to read more gay porn fanfiction stories as I got sucked into other fandoms and the language became easier and easier Then I joined Tumblr (ofc). At the same time, I also started writing poems and stories and then started reading more "classical" literature in its original language, like Bronte, Auden, Lawrence etc. Then I went on to live abroad in four different countries and was forced to speak English to the people and my speaking skills improved. I am now watching Kdramas and Thai dramas a lot and I can tell what some words mean even if I don't speak the languages because I *love* passive learning and pretending that "Shibaloma" is a word I completely understand And this is how it takes you 10+ years to learn a language with minimal effort TL;DR: gay porn fanfiction was my first motivator in learning English and that is why all the authors deserve a million Nobel Prizes What I mean to say is, I love learning and studying new languages. I think people should never, ever stop learning. But sometimes we forget that passive learning is as important as active learning. In this crazy world, our minds need rest sometimes, and media sources provide us with that sort of relief and comfort, while also helping us broaden our horizons and reminding us that skill-building doesn't only come from hard work; it also comes from fun and downtime and relaxing. Small tip: if you don't have Grammarly installed in your browser, DEFINITELY get it! It's a lifesaver for me when it comes to fixing minor mistakes and errors. It's not perfect, but it's a good tool for fanfiction writers; it really helps with email-writing, CV building, etc. I highly recommend it <3 (This is ofc not a paid promotion. Nobody pays me).
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weakfleshwillingsoul · 2 years ago
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odd week on sunday i went shopping for katie for her birthday present after she contacted me after not being in touch for just under a year and asked me to attend her twenty second birthday party i bought her a beautiful copy of dracula and a pretty pair of earrings 30 dollars total the book from that place at the end of kensington ave the owners kid followed me around the whole time because i let him talk to me about the music and america and i also bought picnic at hanging rock for myself. on monday i came back home from downtown and went to work feeling as far as i remember apathetic. on tuesday saint valentines day i went to school for 7:30am and had a coffee before proteomics by the pond feeling an incredible euphoria and love of life. at 1:00pm as i was studying in the library an hour and a half before my lab my parents called and told me they were putting down the cat, sudden kidney failure. couldnt do anything about it ... it was over within ten minutes. went to my lab i was out of it. our restriction digest on the gel looked fucked up but at least we ended early. went back downtown, picnic at hanging rock on the subway. wednesday the next day i skipped first class and went for the next one at 11:30, ran thru the rain five minutes late to class and got there to realize it had been cancelled several hours earlier. Fucked over dead cat missed class showed up to school for no reason. tea and went to library and out of all serendipitous encounters saw nick as i was coming up to the second floor of the library we embraced and talked for hours. Any other way the day had gone i would have missed him. on thursday i left the house before my parents had woken up to be at school again by 7:30am and read picnic at hanging rock with a cigarette on the bench by the pond. after proteomics i asked dr donaldson about the lab and he showed me the restricted third and fourth floor of the life sciences building, the thesis laboratories, and the nmr spectrometer, then told me to stay in touch and enrol in his thesis lab for the fall semester. lab went okay, we had to redo the gel because i fucked up the wells but restriction digest showed up where it was meant to on the second one. Went back home and met some old high school friends strangely had a great time. Friday did nothing. Today went to work for rush hours till closing and nearly passed out halfway thru my shift, gave my supervisor a fright, the persian ladies fed me a ferrero rocher in the breakroom, realized my period started and i had bled thru my jeans. went home three hours early. the second i got home and took my coat off i received an anonymous love confession in my inbox. eyebrow piercing fell out about an hour ago, the top ball unscrewed as i washed my face. I gave up trying to put it back in, it looked like two open wounds. I was wearing my brothers old boxers today at work. He left them behind when he went away so he didnt want them anyways. i scrubbed the blood out in the sink with rose dr bronners and watched the rust coloured water wash down the drain.
my dreams this week were about seeing my brother, a dead pigeon run over on spadina with its wings stiff upright and feathers shifting in the breeze, and other things i dont remember
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luminenwalker · 1 year ago
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[31-10-2023]
Saw a walking corpse today. Skin rotting, chrome or something underneath. People go through way too much. How do you get to a point where you can be dead but still walking around. Rotting. How much do you need to say you're still a person? //Degenerate Signal
You watch the smoke drifting lazily. The pills kicked in, and kicked you hard. Is any of this real? It feels real, but it could be your imagination. Watching such violence, hunger. //RRH
The fire's low tonight, but warm. Sparkling lights and candles line my corridor. The sounds of murder are distant and the smell of spice wafts toward our offices. Does the day matter? Not really. It just keeps the wasps away if we do it right. //Afternoon Ashes
When did I stop worrying? Its a question I ask myself sometimes. I used to worry about this city, what it did to me. I used to worry over them. Now I know no fear, for I know how fragile death is. //Flesh
I haven't died yet but my corpse is already stumbling. So this is what they meant by 'zombie'? Its all over but the screaming. I can feel it building in my throat. Needing to rip with my-//Machine
Are these even my hands anymore? I suppose not. Nothing natty about them. Heh, about most of me. I can feel a change. A chrysalis, a crucible, another chance. //Fleshmachine
Is it better to serve in heaven or rule in hell? Why not both? //Flesh-Machine.
Something wrong in the streets. The other day I saw a cat chase a small dog, normal. What wasn't was the Freak that came out the shadows to snatch em both up. Muties are shoot on sight, prostecs' are illegal but the Freaks are fine? Shakin' my head, Cinci. //Jackfuck
'RulZ' says: Gen Zeta kids are being born with abilities beyond the natural out there. Not mutants or augments. Something else. Anomalies, or the next step in our evolution? Who will guide these new souls? Might there be a saviour amongst them to save us from the rot? //TruthWave
'Neath' says: There's a new movement underground. People fleeing the surface for catacombs. Some say freedom from Tower, but I say just another form of bondage. Tower denies it, but they've got fucktons of drone footage with human-mole progeny crawling out of sewers. //TruthWave
We're TruthWave: echoing the unheard. No rumor too wild, no secret too deep. The only beacon of unadulterated truth in Cinci's sea of corporate noise. If your truth is being suppressed, send it our way—we'll make sure it gets heard. No matter what. //TruthWave
'SP1ES' says: Tower's got a new drone model imported from Europe—tinier than dust in the wind. Studies show that 76% of all particulates you inhale are composed of them. If someone calls it a conspiracy, check their pupils—you'll see the drones gleamin in 'em. //TruthWave
'Matron' says: It's that time of the year again, with all these masks out and about. The masks all mean something profound, sure, but don't forget the people wearing them. When was the last time you saw a masked child? Do you think a gaggle of them will settle for cheap chocolate in lieu of your kidney? //TruthWave
'Beezleburger' says: Why Tower? Why such a name? It's certainly not because it will fall. Look beyond the long shadow it casts, and see the puppet strings for what they are, what they tug at. //TruthWave
'Bikemaster' says: These heads coming in from the badlands, dripping pus and swinging their malformed appendages around. Why are we turning a blind eye to this? Gunning stragglers is not the solution. It's wrong, and it's ineffective. We need to get our shit together. We need containment, temporarily, and figure out what's going on for real. And don't call me a- //TruthWave
'Beezleburger' says: A Tower shill, that's what. No one will even foot the bill for a concentration camp. Extermination is impossible. So after this suggestion gains traction, a compromise will be reached, and a revised contract will come about. More money in the pocket. //TruthWave
'Bikemaster' says: Ugh, christ, just shut up! You guys hear this shit? I am trying to say something useful, and they always go "She's Tower, She's a Nazi!" I care because my best friends are mutants! //TruthWave
Codes, hidden qui—et strength—; Words, for— the people— who can see the— ci—pher. //Rubedo Jiedan
Man is matter and spirit and will. Without spirit, he is rotting garbage. Without will, there is nothing but screaming meat. We must uplift the spirit and embolden the will, or all that we'll be left with is rotting meat. //Razor
Rotting meat, a dead limb, attached to a live body. Weighing it down, poisoning the blood. Only one solution. The razor. Cut it all away, let the good flesh thrive. Yeah. The razor will fix this. I can fix this. Wait and see. //Razor
It's inside me now. I thought I could cut it all loose, but there's too much. Meat betrays. Meat rots. Meat is garbage. Can't trust it. I can feel the rot inside me. Only one way to get it out. //Razor
Meat. Blood. Metal. Black liquid, nanite rot. God, the smell. It's the failure of the will. It's that fucking spike. Gotta resist. Can't keep cutting. But it's the only way to get them out, isn't it? //Razor
We was cleaning an old squat today, boss tells us five minute break. She sits down in her vampire-ass dress, grabs her bag, and pulls out, I shit you not, a ramen and shrimp cake sandwich topped with GDX cheese. Woman has six cars and she eats this shit, my boss is a psycho. //Razorgoo
I've been searching for God with a pen knife. I can hear Him beneath my veins. Humming. Red strands of providence. I'm so close, but it's getting hard to think. There's so much blood. There's so much … I hear music //Tripwire
Come! Join us in the dance! //You know this song this dance
I know some of you out there are fighting a monster, something that wants to crawl into your skin and make it its own. We can help. Belief is strength; purpose is a weapon. Follow the red lines. //Redhood Radio
I heard a rumbling outside of my window last night. I watched a haze of perfect black blotting out everything around it. It felt like a helicopter, but there was no light. I don't know if this is a new camouflage or what, but I wasn't the only one who saw it. //Degenerate Signal
Something's been lost. Something precious. Not my innocence, not yours, but all of ours. Our species is rotten. Broken. Lost. We can pretend otherwise, but degeneracy keeps moving forward. Getting more and more of a grasp of our lives. Nothing to be done? //Degenerate Signal
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wyrmoftheweb · 1 year ago
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Ava and Mote got acquainted with the Rosemary Cemetery Cloud after creating a late night college study group that Feldspar attended.
it was just the 3 of them, and they grew to be friends with him (they'd been childhood friends with one another for years). Ava and Mote were the only people on campus that Feldspar could reach out to when one of the professors, a vampire hunter, caught and cornered him in a storage outbuilding. The sun had risen and he was pretty much fucked, hiding as a rat in one of the drawers of an old file cabinet. They saved his life by whacking the hunter in the back of the head with Mote's backpack full of heavy ass medical textbooks and knocking her out. (yaaay).
He slirped that professor like a capri sun* and then answered a bunch of their questions about vampire stuff, hanging out in their apartment until nightfall, when he fucked off and stopped coming to classes. He came back a month later at midnight and was like "hey. thanks for saving my life. i've been thinking on it for a while, and i have something to offer you." And explains how the envenomation process works** and the cultural expectations that come with it and they're like "ok sick yeah we wanna be vampires." So he bites them as gently as possible and then 3 years later they die in a terrible fire and they join the cloud, living in the roost*** for awhile until they get their own place again
(asterisk notes under cut)
*This is for funnies. Feldspar, as a type B/beastlike vampire, doesn't have the dentition for clean and gentle caprisunlike slurpage. Those chompers are designed for ripping throats out. It was more like a drinking fountain.
**Basically, you don't turn into a vampire right when you get bit. Once you're bit, the venom just kind of stays in your body until you die, and you turn upon your death. They do have a very slight effect on kidney function.
***A roost is the home base of a vampire cloud (social/hunting group). Generally one or two of the vampires in the cloud live there. The Rosemary Cemetery Cloud's roost is an abandoned church youth group building with an abnormally large basement.
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newlifemortgages · 2 years ago
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The Rollercoaster Ride Of Ontario's Housing Market
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The Rollercoaster Ride Of Ontario's Housing Market This year Ontario's housing market has been on an epic roller coaster ride. From plummeting prices to slight upticks, it's been a wild ride. But fear not! We're here to make sense of it all and get you up to speed—you don't even need a seat belt! So hang onto your wallets, and let's buckle up for a wild ride of ups and downs. Who knows what the future holds, but we'll be here to help you navigate it all! So sit back, relax, and let's dive into Ontario's housing market!
Let's start with the facts, shall we? According to WOWA.ca, the average home price in Ontario for the month of March 2023 was a mind-boggling $881,946, which is up 2% from the previous month. Can you believe it? It's the highest it's been since May 2022! I mean, who needs a kidney when you can own a 500-square-foot condo in Toronto? Am I right?
The current housing market in Ontario is a rollercoaster of emotions. One moment you're excited at the prospect of owning your own home, and the next, you're contemplating selling your kidney on the black market. While trends and data can be helpful, it's still important to approach them with skepticism.
But here's the good news, for homeowners at least. There has been a slight uptick in home sales in Ontario. According to the Canadian Real Estate Association (CREA), home sales increased by 2.3% from January to February 2023. Now, these numbers aren't staggering, but they do suggest that there might be some light at the end of the tunnel.
However, let's not get too carried away just yet. Admittedly, the data could suggest that the market is finally finding its footing. You might be thinking, 'The worst is over! It's time to throw caution to the wind and buy that dream house!' But hold your horses, folks. Let's consider the bigger picture.
Paraphrasing the wise words of Yogi Berra, 'It ain't over 'til it's over.' There are predictions that home prices will continue to fall before eventually stabilizing. In fact, two banks predict that home prices will drop by 25% by the end of 2023. And a study by Desjardins Economic Studies predicted up to a staggering 50% in some small towns like Bancroft.
So if you're looking for a bargain, maybe it's time to consider a move to a cozy little town called Bancroft.
The lack of supply has been driving up prices to ridiculous levels. I mean, how can people pay $1.5 million for a one-bedroom condo? It's madness
So, what's the solution, you ask? Well, as much as it pains me to say it, there's no easy fix to this problem. We need to start building more homes, plain and simple. And I'm not just talking about luxury condos for the 1%. We need affordable housing options for everyone, from young families to seniors on fixed incomes.
Now, I'm not an urban planner or anything, but I do know that we can't keep ignoring this issue. We need to get creative, think outside the box, and come up with some innovative solutions. Maybe we start building homes out of recycled materials. Or maybe we turn all of those vacant office buildings into affordable apartments. Who knows? The point is we need to start thinking differently if we want to solve this housing crisis once and for all.
Ah, the housing market can be a rollercoaster of highs and lows! So if you've got your eye on a property, now may be the time to invest - unless, of course you think Lady Luck is on your side and want to risk it all for an even bigger win. Remember though, the market could suddenly take off, and you could get left in the dust, so if you're planning on buying and living there for a while, it may be wise to nab that offer before someone else does! Cause when it comes to real estate, fortune really does favour the bold!
Well, everybody, that's all for today! We've talked about Ontario's housing market and how it's been fluctuating, like my two-year-old daughter's mood swings, from the ridiculous prices of homes to considering the sale of our kidneys. Sure, the market is unpredictable, just like trying to predict the weather in Canada! One day it can be sunny and bright real estate weather, and then the next moment, you could find yourself in a full-blown storm of uncertainty. So, be optimistic, but also be skeptical when it comes to this housing market. Always do your research and make informed decisions. As a mortgage agent, I've seen some interesting things in my day. But if you think you can just sit on your couch, twiddle your thumbs, and wait for the perfect moment to buy a house, you might be waiting a while. Life is short, my friends. And if you wait too long, you might just lose your marbles. So, be a tad skeptical, but also embrace the ride. Maybe the housing market will crash tomorrow, or maybe it won't. But either way, we need to enjoy life while we can. You've got to take action! You've got to be daring! You've got to be bold!
Stay tuned for our next blog post, where we'll discuss whether avocado toast is really the reason millennials can't afford homes.
https://www.newlifemortgages.ca/index.php/blog/post/153/the-rollercoaster-ride-of-ontario%E2%80%99s-housing-market
Dallas Martin
519-495-7250
The Mortgage FirmLicense# 13466
Mortgage Agent Level 2 -M17001133
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ammg-old2 · 2 years ago
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Recently, while seeing a patient in an intensive-care unit at my hospital, I stopped to talk with the critical-care physician on duty, someone I’d known since college. “I’m running a warehouse for the dying,” she said bleakly. Out of the ten patients in her unit, she said, only two were likely to leave the hospital for any length of time. More typical was an almost eighty-year-old woman at the end of her life, with irreversible congestive heart failure, who was in the I.C.U. for the second time in three weeks, drugged to oblivion and tubed in most natural orifices and a few artificial ones. Or the seventy-year-old with a cancer that had metastasized to her lungs and bone, and a fungal pneumonia that arises only in the final phase of the illness. She had chosen to forgo treatment, but her oncologist pushed her to change her mind, and she was put on a ventilator and antibiotics. Another woman, in her eighties, with end-stage respiratory and kidney failure, had been in the unit for two weeks. Her husband had died after a long illness, with a feeding tube and a tracheotomy, and she had mentioned that she didn’t want to die that way. But her children couldn’t let her go, and asked to proceed with the placement of various devices: a permanent tracheotomy, a feeding tube, and a dialysis catheter. So now she just lay there tethered to her pumps, drifting in and out of consciousness.
Almost all these patients had known, for some time, that they had a terminal condition. Yet they—along with their families and doctors—were unprepared for the final stage. “We are having more conversation now about what patients want for the end of their life, by far, than they have had in all their lives to this point,” my friend said. “The problem is that’s way too late.” In 2008, the national Coping with Cancer project published a study showing that terminally ill cancer patients who were put on a mechanical ventilator, given electrical defibrillation or chest compressions, or admitted, near death, to intensive care had a substantially worse quality of life in their last week than those who received no such interventions. And, six months after their death, their caregivers were three times as likely to suffer major depression. Spending one’s final days in an I.C.U. because of terminal illness is for most people a kind of failure. You lie on a ventilator, your every organ shutting down, your mind teetering on delirium and permanently beyond realizing that you will never leave this borrowed, fluorescent place. The end comes with no chance for you to have said goodbye or “It’s O.K.” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you.”
People have concerns besides simply prolonging their lives. Surveys of patients with terminal illness find that their top priorities include, in addition to avoiding suffering, being with family, having the touch of others, being mentally aware, and not becoming a burden to others. Our system of technological medical care has utterly failed to meet these needs, and the cost of this failure is measured in far more than dollars. The hard question we face, then, is not how we can afford this system’s expense. It is how we can build a health-care system that will actually help dying patients achieve what’s most important to them at the end of their lives.
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solitarelee · 1 year ago
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@unexpectedyarns Some studies implicate very high protein diets can effect your risk of kidney stones: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4045293/
However that's specifically high protein diets, not a specific form of protein. There's other studies that suggest high ANIMAL protein when compared to high PLANT protein, might be related to higher CRP (C-Reactive Protein) levels in the blood (high CRP levels being related to likelihood of forming kidney stones). https://www.mdpi.com/2072-6643/13/5/1660
I'm at risk of kidney stones due to a deficiency in ability to store and process sodium (sodium and protein being two things that in excess can eventually lead to kidney stones in some individuals), so it's a concern, however, I was unable to find anything indicate that protein isolates specifically would have an adverse effect on kidneys. The key is amount you're intaking, and these aren't protein drinks for muscle building, they're meal supplement drinks; the emphasis is on vitamins rather than protein (a mere 16g), my safe range is around 100g daily.
If you happen to come across a study about the isolates, though, I'd love to see it! These particular drinks don't have anything like that but ya boi gets kidney stones quite often and I'm always keen to avoid anything that ups my risk.
Stockholm Syndrome isn't real in origin but the concept is helpful so I would like to propose we rename it to Nutritional Shake Syndrome or NSS, based on how when you have an unknown stomach condition and can't eat solid food in quantities larger than 3 mini pretzels, nutritional shakes and liquid meal replacements, which objectively taste like scented cardboard and powdered sugar, start tasting like ambrosia.
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kenj1sl0v3r · 3 years ago
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EJ headcannons
(warning: i’ve never written on here before, so i really don’t know what the hell i’m doing, but since your reading this, it’s your problem, not mine)
(this shit is all over the place, i’m sorry-)
General-
so i hc him to be at least 6’5
when it comes to his voice, i definitely see it as low and raspy.
mans is immortal, he’s done everything at least once.
probably smoked for a couple decades, and then switched to vapes just for shits and giggles
did crack once but completely lost his mind, so he doesn’t fuck around with drugs anymore
in the beginning, he wasn’t as good with his victims as he his now
in his free time he studies medical journals and text books and that’s how he’s gotten so good over the years, and became the main doctor at the manor if y’all fw the manor! au
and the kidney thing-
ive heard lots of different fucking story’s about how it came it be, but since none of it is cannon i get to make up my own back story for him :) (bc i obviously make the rules)
am i going to tell you said backstory? absolutely not :) I’m insecure okay
anyway
pre-demon mans probably kept to himself throughout his life. always being an introvert even before the accident.
jack is a pretty patient person, stalking his victims days or weeks before he goes in for the kill. unless he hasn’t eaten in a while, then he might get a bit jittery
the only time his patients yeets itself is when he’s stressed. when the accident first happened, he didn’t understand his thirst completely, so he kind of raged out and did whatever the fuck he felt compelled to do.
through the years he’s learned to control his rage.
insecure™️
he hates his face, hates seeing the gaping holes where eyes should be.
he wears his mask around even when he’s alone, and has broken all the mirrors in his safe house (the mirrors have been broken for years, he just can’t bring himself to get new ones, or fix them 🤷‍♀️)
Romantic-
okay, being honest i don’t really see Jack as the type to go out and socialize, mingle with the singles, that type of shit.
if jack develops romantic feelings for you, it’s either because you are a fellow creep, or you are someone that he admires from his past life.
like i said, jack is one insecure demon boy. it would take years of building his trust for him to feel safe with you.
and that’s what romance is to him, or at least from what he’s known it as.
lowkey super fucking yandere
the demon part of him is just like, “protec human, luv human, no eat human”
and there’s also the part where it’s like, “my human”
so uh, good luck having other friends or hobbies besides demon boy jack if the both of you ever tie the knot <3
no but like seriously. if jack ends up showing you how comfortable he is with you, like taking his mask off around you, things like that- you are absolutely, 100% his.
after that if you feel like you don’t want to be with him anymore, maybe something happens and you no longer feel safe with him, etc. then you either are held captive or killed.
jack doesn’t want to hurt you. you’ve just seen too much <3
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mochegato · 4 years ago
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Truth Be Told
This night was not turning out how she had thought it would turn out… Actually, up until a few minutes ago, it wasn’t much different from how she thought it would go.  She hadn’t been holding out much hope for the guy Rose had set her up with.  They did not have similar vetting styles or criteria.  So despite Rose’s most heartfelt hopes, the date with an overly sugary prick, oozing with fake charm and inauthentic compliments, was a complete flop and yet completely expected. 
While that man was annoying, he was not the cause of her current frustration.  No the current frustration was the man that had attempted to grab her as she walked home, her stilettos in her hand, because truthfully, she’d rather risk the dirty sidewalks of Gotham than the pain and blisters wearing those for another twelve blocks would cause.
She’d kept an eye on the man for the last block as he followed her, getting slowly closer and closer in a vain attempt not to alert her.  Joke was on him, she was always on alert.  But she wasn’t positive he was actually a threat.  Lots of people in Gotham were creepy, it didn’t mean they were a threat. 
When he finally grabbed her arm, she twisted immediately hitting him in the face with one of the stilettos.  He screamed in pain, bringing his hand up to his face.  She took advantage of his momentarily distraction to run.  She was confident in her fighting abilities, but there was always a chance for him to get a lucky hit in and a fight avoided if possible was safer than a fight engaged… or something like that.
He took advantage of his greater size and lunged at her before she could get out of his range.  He jerked her back with such strength and force, she couldn’t stop him or brace herself.  She fell as he pulled, dropping her shoes as she did.  He angrily swung for her head as she laid on the ground.  She rolled out of the way just in time and heard the crunch as his fist connected with the concrete.
She took a breath and stood up, moving behind him to punch him hard in his kidney.  He crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.  She took advantage of his position to knee him in the face, breaking his nose.  He groaned in pain and cradled his nose.  Marinette paused for just a second to take a breath before running again.  The ogre moved quicker than she had expected and grabbed her arm with his good hand, yanking her to him.  She used the momentum to drive her palm into his chin.  He staggered back a few steps, giving her enough room to kick him in the chest.  He fell back against the building next to them, hitting his head on the bricks with a sickening smack and slid down the wall, crumpling into a pile at the bottom.
Marinette edged closer to him to see if he was still alive, tensing as she got closer, ready to bolt if he so much as twitched.  She breathed a sigh of relief feeling a strong pulse and let herself relax for a moment.  Her whole body immediately tensed again as she heard a sound of something dropping behind her.  She slowly turned around to see a figure with a red bat across his broad chest a few feet away from her.  Her body relaxed minutely at the sight.  He was one of the bats.  One of the more violent ones, if she remembered correctly, but only against people who hurt kids.
She watched nervously as Red Hood sauntered slowly up to her.  He stopped a few feet away from her, looming threateningly over her.  He stared at her silently for a few moments, or at least she assumed that’s what he was doing.  It was rather hard to make out where exactly he was looking with his mask on.  She just barely stopped herself from jumping when he lifted his hand out to her, holding her shoes.  She looked at them dumbly for a few seconds before finally taking them with a quiet “Thanks.”
He didn’t react, or maybe he did, she just couldn’t see it under the mask, which was doing nothing to calm her.  Finally after she’d gotten her shoes back on he decided to break the silent, looming, threatening presence aura.  “That was amazing,” he gushed out.
Her eyes widened at the comment and snapped up to the mask’s eyes.  Of all the things she had been anticipating, that was not one of them.  “Uh… Thanks,” she answered uncertainly.  She studied him for a moment and realized he hadn’t been sauntering earlier, he had been staggering and now he was swaying as he stood turned.  “Are you… um… are you okay?  You’re kind of…” she motioned to his body.
Red Hood tore his eyes away from her eyes, with great force of will to examine his body for what she meant.  He stumbled as he tried to check himself for injuries.  He was fine.  He hadn’t even been involved in this fight and Scarecrow’s goons hadn’t landed almost any of their hits.  He was perfectly fine.  He looked back up to meet her eyes again and cocked his head to the side for a moment.  Her eyes were blue but he couldn’t quite tell the shade with his mask on.  The filters in the mask were making them appear slightly different than they really were and he needed to see her eyes properly.
Marinette failed to stop herself from jumping slightly when his hands moved lightning quick to remove his helmet to see her better.  Marinette gasped at his freshly exposed face.  “Should you be doing th…”
“Wow… you’re fucking hot,” he grinned.  He had definitely made the right decision removing the helmet.  He could see her much better without it. He could now make out the rosy hue on her cheeks at his comment and the exact bluebell shade of her eyes.  He had been right.  She was even more gorgeous without the filter.
“Um… thanks,” she gave him a nervous smile.  What the fuck was happening right now?  “So are you.”
“I am,” he nodded in agreement.  “But you’re hotter.  I’m Jason.”  He reached his hand out to shake hers.
Marinette drew in a breath and clenched her lips closed.  Her eyes turned concerned.  “Oh, you definitely shouldn’t be doing that,” she tried to lightly chastise him, but he was looking at her with such an earnest, hopeful expression she couldn’t help but smile at him and take his hand.  “Hi.”
“Hi,” Jason… should she call him Jason or Red Hood.  She really shouldn’t know his name… but she did so… Jason said again breathlessly.
“Hi,” Nightwing added loudly from behind Jason, breaking their moment.  Marinette yanked her hand back and looked back and forth between the two.
Jason groaned loudly and shook his head.  He looked up to the sky for a moment, but quickly returned his focus to Marinette.  “Oh fuck off, Dickhead.  I’m working here.”
“So the body is yours?” Nightwing prodded.
“No,” Jason grinned proudly at her.  “It’s hers.”
Marinette gave Jason a panicked look before switching to look at Nightwing again.  “He attacked me and I stopped him.  He’s still alive.  I checked.”
“Yes you did,” Jason confirmed delightedly.
Nighwing tapped his ear piece and knelt next to the body, examining it.  “Oracle, can you send police to my location, please?  We have an unconscious body.  Looks like he’ll need a medic too.”  He nodded at whatever was said in his earpiece and took a beat to collect himself before walking up to them slowly, watching them analytically as if trying to assess the situation.  “You okay, ma’am?”  He asked with a guarded tone.  Marinette looked over to Jason who rolled his eyes at her and looked away in annoyance at Nightwing’s interruption.  Marinette looked back to Nightwing and nodded slowly.
“Glad to hear it.  Sorry about Hood,” he grinned charmingly at Marinette in a manner she was sure was supposed to lull her into a sense of calm and trust, but after an entire dinner of smarmy smiles, Nightwing’s grated on her instead.  Jason’s earnest smile however… that was something else. 
Despite Jason’s previous insult, Nighwing continued walking closer until he was close enough to throw his arm over Jason’s shoulder.  “Scarecrow had a particularly potent drug and Red Hood got hit with it a few times.  So Hood could have been saying absolutely any crazy thing.  I’m honestly surprised he can even walk right now.”
Marinette caught on quickly.  This was Nightwing’s way of mediating potential security breaches, in case Jason had done anything that could compromise his and their identities, like removing his helmet and telling her his name.  Marinette could sympathize with the attempt after her years of trying to manage the miraculous identities secret, but he’d come with his fake smile and fake concern and she was done with fake people today.  So, mess with him it was.  “So I shouldn’t have taken him saying I was cute seriously?” she asked innocently.
Nightwing paused for just a second.  If Marinette hadn’t been watching, she would have missed it.  “No!  No,” he stuttered.  “I mean, it doesn’t STOP him from saying true things.  And that certainly is true.  It just…”
Jason finally tore his intense gaze away from Marinette to whirl on Dick and shove him away, which was actually quite lucky for Jason, as the shoving motion is the only thing that countered his momentum and kept him from falling.  “Stop hitting on the woman I’m hitting on,” he hissed at Nightwing.  Nightwing gasped at seeing Jason’s naked face, not even a domino mask to hide his identity.
Jason twirled back toward her, but overcorrected and turned past her.  He had to slowly turn back until he faced her and pointed his finger at her accusatorily.  “And I didn’t say you were cute.  I said you were fucking hot and you are.” He smiled proudly at his statement.
Marinette giggled both at Jason’s bluntness and the horror on Nightwing’s face.  She raised her hands in surrender, letting Jason take the win.  He nodded smugly at her acquiescence. 
“Okay Romeo, let’s get you home,” Nightwing said, clapping Jason on the back and not so subtly pushing him past Marinette and down the sidewalk, or at least attempting to. 
Jason swayed back toward Marinette, raising his arm to balance himself just high enough that it landed perfectly on Nightwing’s shoulder in a way that would have been considered smooth if it had been in anyway intentional rather than sheer dumb luck.  “Dickweed, if you stop me from getting her number I’m going to fill all of your uniforms with itching powder,” Jason growled threateningly.  He leaned in closer to Nightwing until their faces were a few inches apart.  “ALL OF THEM.  If she’s willing to give me her number, I’m going to take it.”
“And what good would her number do Red Hood?” Nightwing gritted out pointedly.
Jason blinked and pulled his head back clumsily.  “Don’t know.  But it’ll do Jason Todd a lot of fucking good.”  He smiled roguishly at Marinette.  “And if I’m extremely lucky, maybe eventually, some good fucking too.” 
Marinette sputtered at him completely exposing his identity and his honest admission of his intentions, her mouth dropped.  Nightwing groaned.
Jason moved closer to her, trying to keep his steps measured and graceful.  It didn’t really work, but it reduced the stumbling.  “I never did catch your name, Helen might come close but couldn’t match.”
She blinked a few times to catch up with the rapid change in tone and quirked her head to the side.  “Helen?”
He nodded slowly at her, his eyes still focused solely on her.  “Of Troy.  Face that launched a thousand ships.  Surely yours could launch a million.”  His voice was reverent and his smile had softened becoming affectionate rather than roguish.
“Oh my God," she giggled, an incredulous smile settling on her face.  "Is he like this when sober?”
“Not with me,” Nightwing said rolling his eyes, or at least she thought that’s what he was doing under the domino mask.  His entire head rolled as he did it.  “But he is usually pretty blunt,” he acknowledged.  “But with the serum added in…”  He trailed off, letting her fill in the gaps.  Nightwing looked back over at Marinette appraisingly.  “Look…”
“Marinette,” she supplied.
“Marinette…” Jason repeated.  He let the name linger on his tongue.  “That’s a beautiful name.  Epic poems could be written about that name and that smile.”
Her cheeks reddened and she had to look away from the intensity of Jason’s stare.  She shook her head and coughed to try to calm her heart.  She raised an eyebrow at Nightwing.  “So I take it that it was a truth serum?”  The deep sigh Nightwing let out was confirmation enough for Marinette.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that you are sexy as fuck,” Jason interrupted her.
Marinette, whose mouth had been open to continue her thought, snapped it shut with an audible clap and turned bright red.
Nightwing choked and tried to cough to cover it.  “Jesus, Jason.  Take it down a notch or ten.”
Jason shrugged at him, smiling proudly at Marinette’s expression.  “Equal and opposite flirting rule.”
“Excuse me?” Marinette interrupted.  Because that sounded like he was flirting to the same level she was and she had definitely NOT been flirting at that level or at all.  Damn, she needed to up her flirting game.  She opened her mouth to say something but snapped it shut quickly.  Now was not the time.  He was drugged out of his mind.  She was not going to hit on someone who was buzzed beyond belief.
“The level of flirting exhibited shall match the level of awesomeness of the subject of the flirting,” Jason explained calmly, still smiling his soft smile at her.  And honestly, if he kept that up, she was going to rescind her stance on flirting back at him.
Marinette stared at him for a few seconds “Uhhh,” she started, internally groaning at her very intelligent response.  Eloquent conversation?  Nailed it.  Very deserving of the ‘awesome’ title.
She blinked a few times and turned to Nightwing.  “I understand the value of a secret identity.  I assume you won’t take my word on it, but perhaps you could take a fellow hero’s word?”  Nightwing raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her.  “You’re part of the Justice League, right?  You can check with Ladybug.  She’ll vouch for me.”
“Ooohhh,” Jason suddenly let out, moving in between her and Nightwing.  “Ladybug!  She’s fucking hot too and so amazing.  Almost as much as you.  You fight like that without a magic suit to help.  That’s so impressive.”  Marinette could feel her cheeks grow even redder.  If this kept up, her face was going to be as red as her mask, and there would be no hiding her identity.  “You’re friends with her?” Jason continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil.  “Batman won’t let me meet her.  Are all your friends as hot and amazing as you?” 
“I’ll check with her the next time I see her,” Nightwing confirmed over Jason, putting his arm around his waist again to guide him down the street.
Marinette nodded at him.  “It was nice meeting you two.”
“Wait,” Jason lunged out of Nightwing’s arm toward her, nearly knocking her down.  “I didn’t get your number.”
Marinette looked to Nightwing.  “Uh… I don’t think your… teammate wants me to do that.”
“Ignore that happiness killing asshole.  Dick has always been like that.  Besides, we’ll need your number to keep an eye on you, right?  I volunteer,” he grinned brightly.
Marinette opened her mouth and shut it again.  She determinedly refused to look at Nightwing, Dick apparently, and focused on Jason, fixing him with a pointed stare.  “If I give you my number, will you stop giving me personal secrets?  Yours and your other partners’?”
“My brothers?”  Marinette’s eyes snapped to Nightwing’s this time.
Nightwing slapped himself on the forehead.  “Little Wing…” he groaned.
“Yes your brothers’.  And go home and sleep this off?” she continued.
“Yes I will.  Although I’d sleep better if I knew you were there too, watching over me,” he added earnestly.
“No, you wouldn’t.”  She pulled out a sheet of paper to write it on but he shoved his phone in her hands instead. 
“Just put it directly in here,” he offered instead.
She closed her eyes and sighed.  She looked over to Nightwing for guidance, but he shrugged at her, defeat clear in his slumped shoulders.
“I definitely would,” he countered her.  He turned toward Nightwing.  “You should have seen her take out that thug when he tried to grab her.  She was amazing,” he sighed out dreamily.  “She knocked his ass out.  Hey!” he perked up as if suddenly realizing something.  “She’s a knock out who knocked his ass out!”  He turned back toward her and leaned on Nightwing in a daze.  “I think I’m in love.”
“I am so sorry about him,” Nightwing looked at her pleadingly.
Marinette waved him off and put her name and number in Jason’s phone.  “Truthfully?  Significantly more honest, respectful, and romantic than the date I had tonight or in the past… while, so… Have him give me a call tomorrow if he still feels the same.”
“Oh I will,” Jason grinned at her, taking his phone back and laughing at the (Helen) she’d put next to her name.  “It was nice meeting you Marinette.  It was the highlight of my week.”
Marinette grinned and pushed up to kiss him on his cheek.  “Mine too.  Now put on your helmet before you out yourself to anyone else.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jason nodded.  He put his helmet on as she walked away, but rubbed the area of his helmet over his cheek where she had kissed him, a goofy smile on his face.  He would definitely call her in the morning.  He would make sure he remembered.  He wasn’t stupid enough to let someone like her get away.
Continued in Well, Well, Well, If It Isn’t the Consequences of My Actions
@boldlyanxious
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