#different colors of urine

[alfakidneycare]

https://alfakidneycare.com/different-colors-of-urine-color-charts-indicate/

[cipheramnesia]

Dr. Stevenson would have had to take Athena when she was a very young child. Maybe four years old, give or take. It could happen so many ways but it would have been so very easy for her to put just a little pressure on one or two people to have CPS take custody of the girl. This is all just a dream, and Athena's whole life after that is one neutral colored room after another with a slightly different ergonomic office chair every few years, and her only solid memory to hold on to is a reflection of light off water. Sand and water, surrounded by big trees with branches all bent heavy and green. A half open, half broken rusty gate clinging onto a couple concrete pillars long bereft of their accompanying wall. Athena would hold onto that for dear life, treasure any little sliver of color from a light blue hoodie to a cheap pair of headband bunny ears to blue and yellow rain-boots. They would have accumulated over the years of the taped on monitors, blood draws, urine samples, hair clippings, annual spinal tap.

Sometimes she'd go days without food, or her room temperature would swing from frigid to boiling, then the big orderly and the phlebotomist with Dr. Stevenson's sharp voice over them all would come in. "Be careful," she'd snap out, slapping off hands that gripped too tight, never once spoken out of love or even empathy. "Don't damage her, we don't know if we'll ever find another one." The concern only spoke of a rare and treasured object, perhaps a Cartier wind up music box. The others calmed her like an animal, "easy girl, just a moment and it's over." Sometimes when there was a new phlebotomist, Athena got a small piece of candy. She never had the same one more than a few months. She'd try to savor the hard lollipop or drop of chocolate and ignore the sound of Dr. Stevenson through the hollow doors, "This subject is on a specialized diet to ensure consistency of results, you are not to bring any such personal items-" and it went on.

Learning math and reading and writing after a fashion, information provided by Dr. Stevenson with grudging irritation, but once in awhile short and tantalizing sidepaths of the personal. "These sides are you, much like you and the light, you control both sides with the shared information. Oh, nevermind. Figure it out yourself." Athena would never know what kind of a monstrosity Dr. Stevenson was building from her blood and their studies, only the day that something went terribly wrong, and Dr. Stevenson didn't come to see her anymore. The time she'd showed the room the light and it hurt Dr. Stevenson, she still came back a few days later, but this time she left and Dr. White started taking care of her. He was much nicer, but wouldn't let her have her room in the dark, and did not think all the work Dr. Stevenson had been doing was very interesting. Sometimes he would talk about Dr. Stevenson's huge promotion with a sure bitterness. He showed up with a younger girl he called Alice.

[certifiedsexed]

I don't know if this is gross or common knowledge but, why does my underwear get yellow stains over time? I've noticed that it doesn't always happen with every one (maybe because of different materials??) and that it used to happen a lot more when I was younger (I think it doesn't happen that often now but still). Could it be because of the urine or discharge?? They also usually stay even after washing them 😓

Not gross and also, not common knowledge depending on your living situation! No worries, I love answering questions, Anon.

There are several reasons possible for yellow stains in underwear. The most common is vaginal discharge, which can permanently stain fabric, especially overtime.

Depending on the color of your underwear, sometimes the PH of your vaginal discharge isn't perfectly ideal and that can cause a yellow-ish color. [Especially with yeast infections, I believe.]

Even just vaginal discharge mixing with sweat can cause yellow stains.

Another common reason is just sweat! Sweat can also stain underwear, specifically yellow, especially overtime! It could be urine as well, though that's usually more noticable (as in, urine gets very uncomfortable fast usually and has a very specific scent)

It's not at all uncommon, if you're wondering. Yellow stains on underwear happen! And they can be hard to get out. [Depending on the color, bleaching or using stain remover can help though!]

If you don't want yellow stains at all, you could try pantyliners and see how those work! They're made for things like this. But it's also okay to have some underwear with stains, it happens and its more common than you'd think.

Hope this helps! Let me know if you have any other questions. <3

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: American lobster

This series takes us all over the world, but today we're going back to the good-ol' burger-drinking, beer-eating, eagle-worshiping U-S-of-A! The American lobster may be the world's most famous crustacean as they have become a major source of overpriced seafood. There's a lot to learn about this critter, so let's go check out the crustacean sensation that's sweeping the nation.

(Image: an American lobster seen from the side. It is a crustacean with 8 legs, a pair of large pincers, and a pointed head that has two long antennae and small eyes. The abdomen in elongated and segmented and ends with a fan-shaped tail. It is a greenish-brown color. End ID)

Homarus americanus is the largest lobster and largest crustacean, reaching a maximum recorded length of 64 cm (25 in) and weight of 20.1 kg (44.4 lbs). The average size is between 20 and 61 cm (8-24 in) and 680 to 910 grams (1.5-2 lbs). Lobsters are members of the family Nephropidae and despite the common names, they are not closely related to squat lobsters, slipper lobsters, or spiny lobsters. They are, however, closely related to crayfish. Lobsters are decapods, crustaceans with 10 limbs. Of the 5 pairs of limbs, the rear 8 are used for walking and the front two have become enlarged into a pair of powerful pincers used for defense and offense. The claws are asymmetrical and each serves different purposes. One claw is large and stout, with rounded, molar-like growths on the cutting edge. This claw is called the crusher claw and it is used to crush through hard-shelled food. The other claw is more slender and has a sharper cutting edge. This is the scissor claw and it is used to cut soft food into small enough pieces to eat. The crusher and scissor claws can be on either side of an individual lobster and very rarely a lobster will grow two crushers or two scissors instead of one of each. While the pincers can close with incredible force, they can't open with much force. This allows them to be held shut with rubber bands. The front two pairs of walking legs also have pincers, but they are much smaller. Lobsters can regrow missing legs. It can take up to 5 years for a missing pincer to regrow to the size of the original.

(Image: a lobster seen from the front, with the pincers in prominent view. One claw is bulkier than the other. The bulky claw has rough nodules on the cutting edge. The skinnier claw has serrated spines on the cutting edge. end ID)

Lobster anatomy is divided between two major segments: the cephalothorax and the abdomen. The cephalothorax contains the mouthparts, brain, legs, and many sensory organs. While they have eyes, they are weak due to lobsters spending most of their time on murky seafloors. Taste, smell,and touch are their primary senses. Antennae are used to examine the world and both the antennae and legs have sensory hairs called antennules on them that can detect the presence of chemicals in the water. Lobsters can both detect the smell of food and determine which direction it is coming from. The antennules also detect the motion of the water. Lobsters also urinate from a pair of bladders on the sides of the head. They can adjust the scent of the urine to communicate with each other. That's right, lobsters communicate by peeing on each other from their faces. The mouthparts consist of leg-like structures called maxillipeds that grab food and mandibles that help rip food up. Lobsters can't chew their food, but they have a structure in the esophagus called a gastric mill that grinds food down as it is swallowed. The abdomen is long and consists of multiple segments, allowing for flexibility. On the underside of the abdomen are feathery appendages called pleopods or swimmerettes. The first pair of swimmerettes is modified into sex organs called gonopods which can be used to differentiate males from females. The remaining pairs are used to circulate water around the lobster, helping keep fresh water over the internal gills. At the tip of the abdomen is a large, fan-shaped tail. By quickly curling the abdomen under their bodies, lobsters can generate thrust and send themselves shooting backwards. This is done to escape perceived threats.

(Image: a lobster standing on sand with its abdomen curled under its body. End ID)

Like other crustaceans, lobsters periodically outgrow their exoskeletons and must molt. After molting, the lobster will have a new, soft exoskeleton that takes time to harden. This period of softness leaves lobsters much more vulnerable to predators, so they will usually hide until their new shell hardens. They also eat the old shell to regain the nutrients and minerals it holds. The period after molting is also when females become fertile. A molted female will release pheromones that attract males. The male performs a courtship dance and if the female approves, he will use his gonopods to transfer a packet of sperm into her shell. The female can store this packet for over a year before using it. She lays thousands of eggs at once eggs and fertilizes them with the sperm as they come out. The eggs stick to her swimmerettes and she will work to keep them clean and keep air circulated over them. The clusters of eggs allegedly look similar to raspberries and a female with eggs is said to be "in berry". I personally don't see it. The eggs develop for 10 to 11 months before hatching, wherupon the female shakes her tail to dislodge the larvae. The larvae start out as a tiny, planktonic form called a metanapulus that drifts near the surface of the water and eats plankton. After their 4th molt, the larvae takes on a sub-adult form more similar to an adult, though they are still small enough to swim with their swimmerettes. Approximately 1 in 1,000 larvae will live long enough to reach this stage. After another molt, the sub-adult takes on its final form and sinks to the bottom, where they will gradually grow into an adult. Lobsters molt up to 10 times in their first year, then may one molt once every few years. By the time a lobster is large enough for anglers to legally keep, they will have undergone around 25-27 molts. There isn't really a maximum age for lobsters. They don't go through the same aging process as most animals. Lobsters have the ability to repair the damage to DNA that causes aging. While they will not age to death, you are unlikely to find thousand year old lobsters roaming about. Each molt takes more energy than the previous one and a lobster that doesn't die of predation, disease, or injury will eventually become unable to complete a molt and will die as a result. Most estimates place the maximum age for lobsters at about 100 years, but there are unconfirmed reports of lobsters reaching 140 years.

(Image: somebody holding a lobster so the underside of the abdomen is visible. This lobster is a female with masses of small, black eggs on her abdomen. End ID)

(Image: A lobster larva shown in the first four molts. The first three stages look more like transparent shrimp than lobsters. The final stage looks that a miniature lobster and is orange. End ID)

You would be hard-pressed to find a fictional depiction of a lobster that isn't bright red, but wild lobsters aren't that color. Most range from greenish-blue to greenish-brown, good colors for hiding amongst rocks and seaweed. That being said, American lobsters are famous for their wide range of color variants. Lots of people have herd of blue lobsters, but there are actually quite a few color options caused by genetic traits that overproduce certain pigments. Because of the rareness of these traits and the colorful lobsters being more at rick of predation, they are quite rare. Still, many color variants have been seen including blue ( 1 in 10 million lobsters), red (though not as bright as cooked lobsters. 1 in 30 million), bright yellow (1 in 30 million), calico (yellow and blue spots, 1 in 25 million), split down the middle (1 in 50 million), and white (albino or leucistic, 1 in 100 million). Many lobster anglers seem to agree that if they catch colored lobsters they should either be released or donated to aquariums or scientific organizations as opposed to being eaten. Reports of color variants have increased in the last 20ish years. This may be due to overfishing of their predators, but it may also be that social media allows sightings to be reported more easily.

(Images: 6 pictures of lobster color varaints. Let to right, top to bottom: blue, red, yellow, calico, split, white. End ID)

American lobsters are found in cold, coastal waters of the Atlantic Ocean from the USA to northern Canada. They are famously highly abundant around the state of Maine, which has the world's largest lobster fishery. They prefer rocky bottoms with plenty of places to hide. Despite those big claws, lobsters are rather timid. They spend a lot of their time hiding and are quick to use their tails to flee. If pressed, they will use their powerful claws to fight. While occasionally active in the day, lobsters are mostly nocturnal, coming out at night to find food. Speaking from personal experience, I did a night SCUBA dive in Maine and there were so many lobsters I could barely see the seafloor. American lobsters are territorial and will fight over food, shelter, and mates. When they live in close quarters, lobster will establish a dominance hierarchy based largely on size. They use chemical signatures to identify themselves and communicate. The diet of an American lobster mostly consists of small invertebrates such as worms, slugs, clams, and crabs, but they also eat carrion and algae and seagrass. Lobsters in captivity have been known to engage in cannibalism, but this has never been seen in the wild.

(Image: a lobster molting. The carapace on the back of the cephalothorax has come off and the soft-bodied lobster is emerging through the gap created. End ID)

The American lobster is a popular food source and so is fished heavily in the northern USA and Canada, with the state of Maine and Atlantic province having the largest industries. The vast majority of lobster fishing is done with special lobster traps, sometimes called pots. These are cages baited with dead fish that have funnel-shaped entrances. The idea is that the shape of the entrance lets lobsters in, but makes it hard for them to get out. Humorously, lobster traps have been found to be incredibly inefficient, all but the largest lobsters can enter and leave freely. The lobsters that get caught tend to be the ones unlucky enough to be in the trap when it's pulled up. Bait has been found to comprise a large portion of the diet of lobsters in Maine and individual lobsters have been known to claim traps as their territory and fight off others trying to enter them. Modern traps are also required to have holes allowing lobsters below the size limit to leave easily. The inefficiency of lobster traps has allowed the population to remain stable despite the incredibly heavy fishing. in addition, there are many regulations to protect the species, including requirements to release small lobsters and egg-bearing females. There is no lobster aquaculture doe to how long it takes them to reach a usable size. Commercial lobster fishing started with poor laborers who could get them cheap due to how abundant the lobsters were in the area. As with so many other things, the rich came, took an idea created by the poor, and drove up prices so much the original people could no longer afford their own invention. Lobsters are traditionally cooked by boiling, usually with the lobster still alive at the time. The ethics of live cooking lobsters is debated. Some insist their brains do not have the regions responsible for feeling pain while others point out they still respond negatively to stimuli and therefore can still feel some kind of distress even if it isn't the same as human pain. Some jurisdictions have made live boiling illegal and require the lobster to be dead first. Freezing the lobster or a stab through the cephalothorax are offered as more humane than boiling. The American lobster is classified as least concern by the IUCN, meaning they are not at risk of extinction.

(Image: a modern lobster trap. It is a rectangular wire cage painted yellow. There are two chambers inside. The first chamber has two openings to the outside and is where bait is placed. The second chamber has another funnel-shaped opening to the first chamber and is intended to trap the lobsters within. An opening on the side of the second chamber allows small lobsters to escape. A brick is used to weigh the cage down. End ID)

[barbatusart]

found the one poem ive ever written & that i read aloud at an open mic night one time prepandemic. for posterity here it is, i wrote it in 2018 & it's called Places I've Pissed & it fuckin sucks LOL

Places I've Pissed

when i was a young kid in queens the gurgling nightmare sounds of my house's toilet used to scare the shit out of me which i guess was kind of the point

i didnt turn into a secret pisser or anything i sucked it up and eventually used the thing though i used to hold my business out of spite sometimes and, looking back, maybe a little toilet fear

my ma used to sit me down on it and plead that i go no bitch

anyway heres other places ive pissed

once i got tricked into a sober camping larp by an ex and i dont know if there are worse experiences in life than being in the middle of the woods in new jersey painted full green and doing it dead sober i waddled out into some bushes behind our tents in new jersey and squatted and mostly prayed a tick wouldnt find my huge white ass in the dark im pretty sure it splattered all over my boots i payed $2 for them at goodwill so no big loss

that same ex asked me once in the heat of a moment if i would piss on their floor no bitch

once with a different ex but also in the middle of the night in the new jersey woods just off the i95 i was about to burst so i jumped out of his car and asked him to hold my arms while i leaned backwards and stuck said huge white ass out in the direction of the woods the boots i had on that night were way more expensive so i didnt wanna risk it

if jason voorhees was out in those new jersey woods skulking around and saw this sight i genuinely apologize

recently i pissed at a fetish club id attended with a different ex the piss wasnt on her the hygiene logistics wouldve been a nightmare

it was way underground in the basement of an apartment building i did my thing noticing that the whole place had the scent of rubber, and sweat, and that needling ammonia signature, the one that twines down deep into your sinuses, of ancient cat urine i started wondering where the fuck the cat was in all this fetish mess and if some people in the middle of a scene were going to look up and spot the cat stretching out on top of their pile of opened condom wrappers (magnum) (for their magnum silicone dongs)

whose cat was this

was the cat from the apartment building above

about the party, did the landlord know about this

these days the pissing mostly happens at my apartment or at work where i actually have to handle piss all day as part of my job the piss is in a range of colors from crystal clearwaters to neon AZO oranges sometimes samples are blood red but most of the time it's this dehydrated sad brown

the people of new york city arent too concerned about drinking our amazing new york city tap water or about the health of their kidneys

if you have blood in your piss please go to your doctor tomorrow

honestly i used to piss a lot in the shower but ive been asked to stop

(no bitch)

[r1mmvhub]

✄ feeding

tw: +18, au, an unpleasant description, dark, fat kink, forced feeding, ed character: ran haitani/reader summary: you are loved for who you are. ran's don't mind for you.

«enchantéééé moi c'est yougataga alias latifi pour les gradés Ils m'ont pété mais bon j'la sentait y'a que les hèsses qui reste au... attend écoutez» ⤷ igorrr ( grosse barbe )

art by omanjumaturi1

— it's all for you!

there was a plate of disgusting food on the tray: broth with mixed octopus ink and floating, vomited pieces of ham (but you wouldn't guess it until he told you at the moment of the meal), turkish seasonings settled at the very bottom, supposedly obliging to add piquancy and a vibrant flavor. and it smelled of urine.

who would have thought that such a cute guy would turn into a nightmare for an afternoon snack. existing — is from the word exist, in the worst and most pejorative sense that you can imagine. that's how you feel right now, isn't it?

you're tied to a chair. the rope rubbed scaldingly against her plump loins and hands, soaked up sweat under her breasts, and coiled around her like a snake coming out of a toilet bowl. she's afraid too, she doesn't understand what's going on either. just like you, right?

— you could say thank you.

«is he offended?» — you think, how many times are you surprised by the changeability in the mood of this young man.

— thank you, — the voice trembled treacherously.

the spoon clinks against the bottom of the cup. scooping up some unusual soup, ran forcibly shoves it into your mouth.

— honey, you need to get better, — he pokes his finger painfully in the side, curving his fingernail around the juicy curves of his body, swollen with fat. — very thin!

the taste is impossible to describe. the body refuses to take it as food and immediately triggers a gag reflex. only a few droplets seeped down your throat, burning the tender muscles burning from your boyfriend's daily brew. the spoon is still in his mouth and the brunette quickly presses his palm to your lips so that you don't spill the food so that you don't have to clean up again.

it was visible how the gray something was pouring through the cracks of the wound's fingers, how disgustingly and so obviously the pieces of meat and grass tickled the chin. yesterday's dinner, — which was eaten in the same way, — floats out of the gastrointestinal tract before it can be digested.

dislike causes tears and snot, which also mix with everything. haitani sighs, wipes this sickening mix off your face with her hand, smearing it dirty.

— what am i supposed to do with you?

　the inner pain and resentment of this world, the injustice, the invisibility of what is happening in this life. but with your appearance in his life — everything became different. the world acquired more colors, and the young man himself felt power. the power of a self-proclaimed king sitting on a fictional throne made of your vomited guts. gastric juice is oozing out of them, saliva mixed with blood. you've been lying exhausted in a corner for a long time, snuggled up against the wall, not making any movements, because even the smallest thing causes fatigue. you don't want to run out of steam, do you?

　and ran loves you just the way you are.

　the penis is pushed between the breasts. you're steaming, you smell like urine and sweat, dirt has accumulated under your buttocks, which has settled deep into the folds, and you're disgusted with yourself.

　but they adore you like this. they only see it like this.

[simdertalia]

🛀🏽 ACNH Bath Set 🧼

40 items | Sims 4, base game compatible, except for items that have the steam animation. This animation requires Cats & Dogs.

Some items have extra swatches added by me ❤️ All surfaces have slots. The Aroma Candle Holder has been made to fit the small tealight candle HERE (second post from the top)

Type “ACNH Bath” into the search query in build mode to find  quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing  the title and it will appear.

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

I hope you enjoy!

Set contains: -Aquarius Vase (with steam animation) | 3 swatches for water color | 1196 poly -Aroma Candle | 7 swatches | 1068 poly -Aromatherapy Sticks | 9 swatches | 930 poly -Bidet | 8 swatches | 1218 poly -Bubble Tea Decor | 5 swatches | 546 poly -Elegant Mirror | 8 swatches | 1225 poly -Fan Palm Plant | 6 swatches | 1522 poly -Flower Shower (functional) | 6 swatches | 1198 poly -Humidifier (no animation) | 9 swatch | 706 poly -Humidifier (steam animation) | 9 swatches | 796 poly -Japanese Toilet | 1 swatch | 1200 poly -Jar of Soaps (made by me ❤️) | 10 swatches | 414 poly -Leaf Accent Table | 8 swatches | 956 poly -Long Ivy Planter | 9 swatches | 2307 poly -Magazine Rack | 60 swatches | 536 poly -Makeup Bag | 28 swatches | 1198 poly -Plunger | 2 swatches | 332 poly -Pottery Pitcher | 6 swatches | 1096 poly -Rattan Stool | 6 swatches | 730 poly -Rattan Wardrobe Closet | 6 swatches | 1206 poly -Sauna Heater (steam animation) | 2 swatches | 1202 poly -Shampoo Bottle | 24 swatches | 620 poly -Shower Cap Decor | 5 swatches | 1202 poly -Sink Stand (functional) | 6 swatches | 992 poly -Sleep Mask Decor | 1 swatch | 604 poly -Stairs Dresser (functional) | 5 swatches | 1814 poly -Bath Stool (surface) | 8 swatches | 1142 poly -Succulent Plant Pot | 1 swatch | 1189 poly -Table Mirror | 9 swatches | 952 poly -Toilet Brush | 4 swatches | 566 poly -Toilet Roll Holder | 2 swatches | 356 poly -Toilet Roll Single | 3 swatches | 242 poly -Toilet Roll Stack | 3 swatches | 950 poly -Toothbrush Mug | 24 swatches | 1148 poly -Towel Rack | 18 swatches | 1232 poly -Towels Folded | 11 swatches | 176 poly -Towels Folded with slot | 11 swatches | 176 poly -Tub Cabriole (functional) | 12 swatches | 2232 poly -Urinal | 2 swatches | 1188 poly -Wood Screen Shelf | 8 swatches | 1184 poly

📁 Download (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Download (still no ads): HERE 

-Mermaid Oil Painting CC

As always, please let me know if you have any issues! Happy Simming!

✨ If you like my work, please consider supporting me ❤️

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️

Thank you for reblogging ❤️❤️❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15 @public-ccfinds

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 4 EPISODE 09 || THE BIRDS & THE BEES ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

The light outside was dazzling after the taproom’s gloom. Brianna blinked, eyes tearing at the shafts of sun that stabbed through the shifting greens of a screen of maples. Then a movement caught her eye, below the flickering leaves. He stood in the shade of the maples, half turned away from her, head bent in absorption. A tall man, long-legged, lean and graceful, with his shoulders broad under a white shirt. He wore a faded kilt in pale greens and browns, casually rucked up in front as he urinated against a tree. He finished and, letting the kilt fall, turned toward the post house. He saw her then, standing there staring at him, and tensed slightly, hands half curling. Then he saw past her men’s clothes, and the look of wary suspicion changed at once to surprise as he realized that she was a woman. There was no doubt in her mind, from the first glimpse. She was at once surprised and not surprised at all; he was not quite what she had imagined—he seemed smaller, only man-sized—but his face had the lines of her own; the long, straight nose and stubborn jaw, and the slanted cat-eyes, set in a frame of solid bone. He moved toward her out of the maples’ shadow, and the sun struck his hair with a spray of copper sparks. Half consciously she raised a hand and pushed a strand of hair back from her face, seeing from the corner of her eye the matching gleam of thick red-gold. “What d’ye want here, lassie?” he asked. Sharp, but not unkind. His voice was deeper than she had imagined; the Highland burr slight but distinct. “You,” she blurted. Her heart seemed to have wedged itself in her throat; she had trouble forcing any words past it. He was close enough that she caught the faint whiff of his sweat and the fresh smell of sawn wood; there was a golden scatter of sawdust caught in the rolled sleeves of his linen shirt. His eyes narrowed with amusement as he looked her up and down, taking in her costume. One reddish eyebrow rose, and he shook his head. “Sorry, lass,” he said, with a half-smile. “I’m a marrit man.” He made to pass by, and she made a small incoherent sound, putting out a hand to stop him, but not quite daring to touch his sleeve. He stopped and looked at her more closely. “No, I meant it; I’ve a wife at home, and home’s not far,” he said, evidently wishing to be courteous. “But—” He stopped, close enough now to take in the grubbiness of her clothes, the hole in the sleeve of her coat and the tattered ends of her stock.

“Och,” he said in a different tone, and reached for the small leather purse he wore tied at his waist. “Will ye be starved, then, lass? I’ve money, if you must eat.” She could scarcely breathe. His eyes were dark blue, soft with kindness. Her eyes fixed on the open collar of his shirt, where the curly hairs showed, bleached gold against his sunburnt skin. “Are you—you’re Jamie Fraser, aren’t you?” He glanced sharply at her face. “I am,” he said. The wariness had returned to his face; his eyes narrowed against the sun. He glanced quickly behind him, toward the tavern, but nothing stirred in the open doorway. He took a step closer to her. “Who asks?” he said softly. “Have you a message for me, lass?” She felt an absurd desire to laugh welling up in her throat. Did she have a message?

“My name is Brianna,” she said.

He frowned, uncertain, and something flickered in his eyes. He knew it! He’d heard the name and it meant something to him. She swallowed hard, feeling her cheeks blaze as though they’d been seared by a candle flame.

“I’m your daughter,” she said, her voice sounding choked to her own ears.

“Brianna.” He stood stock-still, not changing expression in the slightest. He had heard her, though; he went pale, and then a deep, painful red washed up his throat and into his face, sudden as a brushfire, matching her own vivid color. She felt a deep flash of joy at the sight, a rush through her midsection that echoed that blaze of blood, recognition of their fair-skinned kinship. Did it trouble him to blush so strongly? she wondered suddenly. Had he schooled his face to immobility, as she had learned to do, to mask that telltale surge? Her own face felt stiff, but she gave him a tentative smile. He blinked, and his eyes moved at last from her face, slowly taking in her appearance, and—with what seemed to her a new and horrified awareness—her height. “My God,” he croaked. “You’re huge.” Her own blush had subsided, but now came back with a vengeance. “And whose fault is that, do you think?” she snapped. She drew herself up straight and squared her shoulders, glaring. So close, at her full height, she could look him right in the eye, and did. He jerked back, and his face did change then, mask shattering in surprise. Without it, he looked younger; underneath were shock, surprise, and a dawning expression of half-painful eagerness. “Och, no, lassie!” he exclaimed. “I didna mean it that way, at all! It’s only—” He broke off, staring at her in fascination. His hand lifted, as though despite himself, and traced the air, outlining her cheek, her jaw and neck and shoulder, afraid to touch her directly. “It’s true?” he whispered. “It is you, Brianna?” He spoke her name with a queer accent—Breeanah—and she shivered at the sound. “It’s me,” she said, a little huskily. She made another attempt at a smile. “Can’t you tell?” His mouth was wide and full-lipped, but not like hers; wider, a bolder shape, that seemed to hide a smile in the corners of it, even in repose. It was twitching now, not certain what to do. “Aye,” he said. “Aye, I can.”

He did touch her then, his fingers drawing lightly down her face, brushing back the waves of ruddy hair from temple and ear, tracing the delicate line of her jaw. She shivered again, though his touch was noticeably warm; she could feel the heat of his palm against her cheek.

“I hadna thought of you as grown,” he said, letting his hand fall reluctantly away. “I saw the pictures, but still—I had ye in my mind somehow as a wee bairn always—as my babe. I never expected …”

His voice trailed off as he stared at her, the eyes like her own, deep blue and thick-lashed, wide in fascination. “Pictures,” she said, feeling breathless with happiness. “You’ve seen pictures of me? Mama found you, didn’t she? When you said you had a wife at home—”

“Claire,” he interrupted. The wide mouth had made its decision; it split into a smile that lit his eyes like the sun in the dancing tree leaves. He grabbed her arms, tight enough to startle her. “You’ll not have seen her, then? Christ, she’ll be mad wi’ joy!” The thought of her mother was overwhelming. Her face cracked, and the tears she had been holding back for days spilled down her cheeks in a flood of relief, half choking her as she laughed and cried together.

“Here, lassie, dinna weep!” he exclaimed in alarm. He let go of her arm and snatched a large, crumpled handkerchief from his sleeve. He patted tentatively at her cheeks, looking worried. “Dinna weep, a leannan, dinna be troubled,” he murmured. “It’s all right, m’ annsachd; it’s all right.”

“I’m all right; everything’s all right. I’m just—happy,” she said. She took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “What does that mean—a leannan? And the other thing you said?”

“You’ll not have the Gaelic, then?” he asked, and shook his head. “No, of course she wouldna have been taught,” he murmured, as though to himself. “I’ll learn,” she said firmly, giving her nose a last wipe.

“A leannan?” A slight smile reappeared on his face as he looked at her. “It means ‘darling,’ ” he said softly. “M’ annsachd—my blessing.”

41 JOURNEY’S END

[peoplesrazor]

So, I wanted to address some of Lily's opinions in one of her videos. I know the video in the link is a year old, but I choose it for a few reasons. First, if anyone wants to claim that I just don't like her for criticizing "my show," then The Owl House is the show to do that with. Secondly, this video is about Hunter, a character I started a bit lukewarm on, myself. And lastly, the actual relevant part of the video is mercifully short. I've provided a link to the video, but I'm not going to use time stamps, since it's, again, short.

Lily's Video on Character Potential

So, after her introduction and blaming fan's reactions to character potential on theory videos (without providing evidence that is something that is happening with Hunter,) she gives us her own theory. Which is that people like Hunter for what his character could be, not what his character actually is. Then she says she doesn't like him because he has no purpose in the story.

Okay, that's an opinion. I disagree, but it is stated as more of an opinion than in later videos. She also takes the time to let us know through onscreen text that he is rendered in "every color of the urine spectrum." Lily, we know you hate white blond dudes, no need to diss the color yellow like that.

Culling through the nonsense, her basic premise is that Hunter doesn't do anything in the story and is merely stapled onto other characters. I could point out all the times he does effect the story, but let's just argue the "stapled" thing. Because I think I have a good counter for that, as him being paired with the other characters is where I started to like him and understand him as a character.

Hunter isn't stapled to other characters. Hunter is a mirror into other characters. He has Luz's interest in wild magic and inability to cast spells like other witches. He has been called a half-witch like Willow and shares her insecurity about not being as skilled as others. He is a prodigy like Gus and has the same pressures and anxiety. And he shares the same kind of abusive upbringing as Amity.

Lily claims that everyone gets overshadowed by Hunter in their shared episodes, save Amity. This happens, she says, because of white favoritism; something she has accused the show of doing before. Even if I don't feel he overshadowed anyone in any of the episodes he shares, I can offer a much better explanation for why Amity stands out more in Eclipse Lake.

It's her episode. She's the hero we are following this go around. Kiki and co are obstacles, the titan blood is the MacGuffin, and Eda and King are the sidekicks/comic relief. Lastly, Hunter is there to be Amity's foil; because the episode deals specifically with traits they have in common. They both come from a background where affection is a reward for success. The both feel that if they fail, they will be disappointing someone who thinks they are special.

Make no mistake, without the interference of Luz and the others, Amity would be this kid in two years.

She further says that she likes Hunter better when people other than Dana Terrace write for him. Hunter does seem to be Dana's favorite, or at least one of her favorites. We know he was one of the shows original characters when it was conceived and one Dana has said is a lot of fun for her to write. Still, I don't think the difference is because he's a creator's pet.

I think the episodes Lily is talking about are the ones when he's acting more like the Golden Guard. That the whole Golden Guard thing is a mask for his insecurities is something the show takes the time to point out to us. Look at Thanks to Them, for an example. He gets scared about going into the abandoned house to look for Belos and says that didn't happen when he was the Golden Guard. Luz gives him a Halloween mask they find and he bursts through the door with the same bravado and, indeed, the same line as he when he first confronts Luz. He doesn't take the mask off, either, until Luz calls him family and he breaks down.

The Golden Guard is not, and was never, who this kid is. This was who he had to be to survive his indoctrination. This is why, Lily, it doesn't matter if he had a "destiny" to betray Belos and why it is telling that he still couldn't leave until he committed treason. Did you not watch the episode with him and Gus? You show clips from it and it's one of the episodes you complain about. He was still having trouble convincing himself he did the right thing by leaving. That's how brain washing works.

The rest of the video is her rambling about other things. There is actually a whole section on Sylvanis and then one on Luz's arc later in the series that I won't go into here. Lily, if you really, really don't understand what a negative character arc is, I can go into it for you.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Anyone interested in a quirky renovated 1978 home in Easton, Pennsylvania with a pool inside? 7bds, 5ba, $1.1M. This home confuses me, though. It was definitely renovated.

Two lovely carved doors open to an entrance that is a long wide hall b/c thru the glass wall on left is the pool.

I don't even know what this room is, b/c it's not the living room. That could be a light fixture for a dining room table, but the room had to accommodate the length of the pool next to it.

It looks like the house has levels and different areas. This room on the 2nd level has built-in shelving with a writing desk, and what looks like a very long thin bench under the windows.

This is the living room. I can understand the fireplace, but the raised stone path going across the room from the fireplace is weird.

The living room leads into the kitchen. Why do they have those small steps between the rooms? I'd be tripping all over the place. The kitchen just seems weird. If you're wondering where the stove is...

It's in the next room.

It even has a jazzy red counter. This kitchen is way too white.

And, here is the pool. As you can see, it's a huge space. Not loving that the floor is carpeted. The murals are great and give the room color. The pool looks freshly painted, but why did they make it pure white?

This is a kitchenette in the pool room.

This area overlooks the living room.

This must be the primary bedroom with a raised platform for the bed. There's also a terrace.

This bath looks like a public toilet b/c it has a hand dryer (they are full of germs. People think b/c they get warm, they're not, but they're the worst). A weird long table and a urinal.

This bath has some interesting sinks that overlap the counter.

Off the bath is this large cedar closet.

The tub looks like bigger version of the sinks. Lots of marble in here.

This is a mid-century house, so some of the baths still have the old fixtures.

Side-by-side bedrooms with red rugs.

Look at these gems.

The lot is 2.50 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2390-Norwood-Ave-Easton-PA-18045/10120503_zpid/

[simply-ivanka]

I hate defending any Politician but here’s some facts.

I spent time in Haiti with a medical team in the jungle. To get to the jungle you drive through towns. They point out how much Americans are hated , graffiti everywhere wishing death to our President and people. I had to pitch many items of clothing because I had flags and our colors . I was told I would not be safe wearing them, I had to remove my cross because it was a sign common to the voodoo.

I watched Haitian eat raw birds right out of the nest. When I inquired I was told “yes they eat animals they see no value in cats dogs moles etc. 🤮. I chased a chicken one day being funny because I live to eat chicken and we didn’t get any in Haiti. Chickens are valuable there due to their eggs.

Haiti did not send their finest here as illegal immigrants they sent from their prisons ( they hate us remember).

What benefits would there possibly be to make up a lie that these animals are being eaten. NONE!

It’s a culture. Pull your heads out of the sand and realize we now have cultures of all types there is good and bad in all cultures.

Ohio Troopers have been sent to Springfield Ohio along with $2.5 million because $15000-$20000 Haitians have been sent there .

I’d go back to Haiti in a hot minute to serve I loved those in the jungle. Those on the outside live as they wish , urinating and deficating on the street in the open. Culture doesn’t change just because they entered America illegally and if you had an honest bone in your body if $15000-20000 illegals were brought to your town using up your resources and you no longer had them available to aide your needs you wouldn’t be making fun and laughing. Live it understand it or shut up.

I said it , I’m done with stupidity and taking a break from both sides. Trump is not my favorite but to see people praise Harris who helped make this mess and thinks it’s a joke makes my skin crawl.

I’m in the community I know what’s happening sitting at home playing “I’m so woke “ and you know nothing outside your capsule of safety.

Did you know , Mahoning County is #1 in child trafficking. Mainly because the parents sell their kids for sex for cash to buy drugs.

Franklin County #4 with the highest rate due to immigrants selling children for sex and labor.

Cleveland and many other cities just refuse to report as required.

These FACTS were right out of the mouth of the head of human trafficking to my class.

Love people but don’t be stupid.

This is from a friend of mine. - Connie Our Country is in trouble and you make jokes.

I was woke as a child in my parents home we didn’t boast nor post, we lived it period .

The new woke creates division and hate , you spit on Christians and make up in your heads who they are and what they feel or believe while boasting of your so called love of all , you say you love all people but if they dare see things differently you spew hate. Some of you laughed and posted disgusting memes after an assassination attempt are you kidding a man died , shame on you . turning a blind eye to what others suffer out of your site. It’s not if this stuff will hit your community it’s when.

Vote for who you want, we have little to choose from in the mean time be adults, your kids / grandkids are watching and listening. You bully they will bully, you judge they will judge.

Realize the news is no longer independent nor are the so called fact checkers. Politicians are corrupt . Your opinion is an opinion nothing more . Care about your country both sides.

[contentment-of-cats]

Fun and Games

This has been kicking around in drafts for a few months. I was cleaning it out and...

With thanks to @shards-of-silver for getting me off my ass.

Upon promotion to senior lieutenants, there are perks.

Ensigns sleep a dozen to a barracks, junior lieutenants share a four-rack of bunks around a common area and share sanitary facilities. Senior officers of lieutenant commander or higher have their own private quarters increasing in size and amenities, and at flag rank a suite of rooms. But nothing beats the heady rush of getting your own room with a door that closes. Despite what the contractors say, those bunk partitions don't do squat to stop you from hearing every snore, fart, or wet dream from your fellow juniors. There's a corresponding increase in cubic storage along with the bigger room and one may trust the newly-minted senior loots to go a little crazy.

Thrawn as a new commodore aboard rearranged officers' quarters by duty station, so now all bridge officers are housed a literal thirty second run to the bridge or assigned six-man lifepod. Faro has always run a looser ship in terms of culture, and there are times when bridge officers' country is decorated for various holidays and observances. For example, observances of Longnight see small dishes of food and lanterns set out to guide and appease the spirits of those lost in the vastness of space. But today there is something new outside of Agral and Pyro's twofer.

A sign-up.

It's a datapad on a sticky at reading level with a stylus on a cord.

"Sign up for tabletop games night - Quests & Quarries, Pirates & Privateers, Hyperspace Hellscape, Ancient Lands Archaic Warfare, and other RP games coming to a horizontal surface near you!"

The list is growing fast.

A note above the hatch control says, "Game in progress. ENTER QUIETLY."

"Already the social hub," Faro mutters and then jumps out of her skin when Thrawn agrees with her. Even in boots, he moves almost silently. "Let a lass know, sir! You almost scared it out of me!"

Thrawn's shadow - Vanto - is not here or otherwise she'd have stood a better chance of hearing the approach. He is looking at the sign-up sheet and then at the door sign, then turns to her.

"These are not like Scrabble?"

Pyro's love of table games is legend. She even collects them.

"No, Commodore. These are, well, a kind of strategy game." Thrawn visibly brightens. His skin changes color, his pupils disappear as the nictitating membrane crosses them in a three-part blink. "Players create characters and ascend levels in different scenarios called dungeons. It's kind of like academy war-gaming, but more flexible and personalized."

"They will not mind if we enter and observe?"

"They'll snap to attention for a flag officer on deck or I'll have them cleaning the stormtroopers' urinals with ear swabs, but I do not think they'll object."

Faro taps the hatch open and as they step in Vanto barks, "Commodore on deck!"

The response is satisfyingly swift.

"Officers, as you were," Thrawn nods. "I do not wish to disturb the game in progress, only to observe."

Of course, the furniture is bolted to the deck, but there are an additional folding couch and two additional folding chairs added to the room and-

"Pyrondi, where did you get the holotop?" Karyn hasn't seen one in probably twenty years. This one replaces the low table normally issued to this accommodation, bolted down as per regs. "It's got to be a month's pay."

"I bought it at an antiquities shop on Coruscant. Lomar did the new innards, and then all of us wrote code." Us being - apparently - herself, Lomar, Hammerly, Barlin, Agral, Yve, and Carvia.

"Major Carvia, what is your part in this madhouse?" The man budges loots up the couch to make room for their captain and commodore in the armchairs. "Surely you're not a player?"

"I helped Pyro carry this up here and did the coding for groundpounder dungeons. No offense, but this bunch is all Navy." The major wags his finger at Pyro. "I will thank you, youngster, not to refer to items as 'antiquities' that I am old enough to have owned brand new."

"Everyone do a stretch, get some snacks, and we'll come back into it in fifteen?" Pyro asks and everyone agrees, getting up a little stiffly after hours gaming. "Sync and go."

Thrawn looks over the table, at first studying the current dungeon, but then with more interest at the leather-bound manuals of flimsi, and beautifully made sets of dice and other paraphernalia.

"Please, Lieutenant, explain." Thrawn settles in one of the armchairs, accepting one of Pyro's fruit teas and a packet of sweets.

"Well, first these are the handbooks for players and dungeon masters. These others are for aspects - beings, arms, character classes." Pyrondi takes a small bag and empties it into her hand. "These are my dice."

"Is a gambling chip counted as dice?" Thrawn looks intently. "These are thystine and aurum leaf, correct?"

"If a binary decision is needed, yes, it counts. They are thystine, but as you can see, every player has their set and aside from the chip they can have sets of seven to fifteen, it depends what games they play."

Vanto's set is doonium, which makes Thrawn smile fleetingly. Carvia's is some kind of bone or ivory. Agral's is synthetic fireopal. All sets are as individual as the player.

Oh, no. ART.

"And what about the crystal ball?" Karyn asks. It's a perfect sphere set on an elaborate base.

"Oh, that's a toy I picked up from a junk dealer. He said it didn't work, but when you ask it a yes-or-no question it gives you a nonsensical answer. Watch. Is the mess going to serve hash for firstmeal again?"

The sphere roils with smoke and then shows a wavering answer in its center.

Better not tell you now.

"See? It gives positive, negative, or non-committal answers. To be fair, I don't want to know if we're having hash again."

The players filter back in and take their places as Thrawn is given a rough crash course in play. Pyrondi looks around, sets up a triptych screen to hide her materials and plans, and then asks if everyone is ready. Snacks and drinks to hand, all affirm and the game resumes. Karyn watches her superior as he watches the game with eyes bright. Pyro is a force of chaos and order, handling players firmly but also throwing wild situations at them. The dice can't be rigged or fooled on a dice pad, holding them firm.

Thrawn reminds his officers that night phase is coming, and they have watch coming up. The party breaks up with others putting the room back to order and bidding good rest.

"If you do not mind, Lieutenant, Captain Faro and I will join for the next game."

"Please do, sir. The more the merrier."

Karyn almost groans but holds it in.

"As I remember, you said the same thing before you wiped the walls with me at Scrabble."

Pyro only grins. "Good rest, sirs."

[lookatmysillies]

YAEL PRE-ROUND 6 LORE: Part 1

Underwater

Prefacing this with summary & warnings! This is the first of what will probably be a 2 or 3 part series of Yael lore to lead up to his and Inna’s (@alien-til-i-stage) for Season 40. The narrative is nonlinear, so hopefully that clears up any confusion. TWs include: mentions of v*mit, s**cide attempt, drowning, near-death experiences, allusions to past surgery, needles/syringes, terminal illness, mild physical violence, mental illness, mentions of urine, death, dear god I hope that’s it anyway use your discretion writing below the cut

Drowning was peaceful.

There’s the initial few seconds of calm before the lungs start to burn, the chest begins to spasm and heave. The brain’s survival instincts kick in and begin to override any instructions to remain under, should the drowning be intentional, which in Yael’s case, was true. The pain becomes unbearable. Desperation flies in the face of logic; the mouth opens in a harsh, sucking gasp in a futile plea for air. Water rushes in instead and fills the mouth, nose, windpipe, pushes into the esophagus, invades the lungs. 

But then everything is quiet.

Quiet.

Never in Yael’s life had there ever been such quiet. Half-drowned and half-conscious, his body ceased its involuntary jerks and kicks, too weak to make any clawing attempts back to the living. The Anakt Garden river wasn’t deep–even the deepest point could be stood in, and it was still as glass. Drowning, even intentionally, was difficult. Yael had considered trying to knock himself unconscious in the water with a rock to prevent the struggle, but if he was found trying to do so, his attempts would be thwarted and he himself would be punished. So instead he flattened himself in the deepest point and gripped the wet, mossy floor as tightly as he could, facedown, and waited. Waited.

The green, brown, and blue began to blur and swim in his vision, flashes of colorful dots and lights failing to catch his waning attention. The ever-present roar of thought, feeling, fear, pain, confusion, anguish, pain, pain, pain–it all left with his last breath. Quiet. It was quiet. It was so safe.

Dying was the safest Yael had ever felt. Peaceful. Warm. Loved by something for the first time, something beyond, in the place he always dreamed of. Free.

This was his last thought before his body gave one last jerk and his eyes rolled in his head, feeling draining from his limbs and up to his neck, taking the colors away.

Free.

When the colors came back, they were green like the river.

His vision crawled back into his unseeing eyes, and the light, the color, was so violently bright and sudden that nausea seized him in an instant. He could feel so much, so much that he couldn’t feel much at all. The feeling of vomiting blended in with the screaming in his chest, the bones of his ribs crushed in at odd angles. He saw only one face, the green, the green–white, an eyepatch, green–...there were other figures, but their faces were covered in helmets. If the other children were watching, he didn’t see. He didn’t hear.

His muscles lacked control, and everything was so cold and wet, there was no way for him to pick out the sensation of water, spit, and bile slipping down his chin past the swell of his lower lip, or the brief heat of his bladder failing. He was spiraling.

He didn’t have any control over what happened to him.

Guardian Velji always called his lack of control defective.

Since he was a baby, he would wail over things unseen to anyone else. As a small child, he had night terrors, always wetting his pajama bottoms in the night, sometimes screaming until he lost his voice or passed out in his own sweat and urine. In the daytime, he was kept apart from his guardian’s other young pet human, a small girl with black hair and a sickly pallor who was often accompanied by an older pet human who acted as an orderly. Her name was Nina. The orderly’s was Zair.

Yael understood that Nina was defective, too, but in a different way than he was. Nina was always hooked up to strange machines. Clear tubes were always up her nostrils. Yael was a skinny child, but when he compared himself to her, he recognized that his bones didn’t protrude like hers did from her gray skin so awfully. 

Zair was tall and decidedly more graceful than the younger children. He always wore a white uniform from head to toe, and his hair, brown like Yael’s, was kept neatly cropped. He wasn’t tender with Yael like he was with little Nina, but he was attentive in ways Velji and his partners weren’t.

“Yael,” he would scold when he came to tidy his space in the mornings and check for anything Yael shouldn’t have. “You’ve made a mess of the bedding again. If Master knew how often I have to wash these things, he’d have you sleeping on the hard floor.” He would crouch to eye level with Yael and narrow his eyes at him, pinching his nose just hard enough to hurt a little. “Do you want that to happen?”

Yael just shook his head and murmured, “No. I’m sorry.”

That was usually about the time Zair gave it up. He huffed, tweaked his nose, and stood to hurriedly gather up the wet sheets and clothes.

“I won’t tell,” he would say. Then he left.

With Nina, his words weren’t so harsh. He always let her hold his hand when they walked together. When Nina started being moved around in a wheelchair, it was Zair who pushed it, and although she was mute, he talked to her almost constantly. Yael was sometimes caught staring at them, following them, watching them interact. Nina and Zair stared back. Zair approached him, turned him around by the shoulders, and nudged him off to go play by himself.

Ironically, he and Nina didn’t interact much at all until Nina and Zair stopped appearing around the facility at all. Yael tracked them back to Nina’s room of machines. The very machines he was sometimes hooked up to to take things out, to try and cure this strange rot inside of him, kept Nina safe and alive. He remembered finding this strange. Unfair, maybe.

Zair often shooed him out of the room. After a few times, he grew very cross with him and shoved him into the wall, telling him to get out and stay out and that she doesn’t need the stress, each harsh word punctuated by a sharp jab to the chest with his index finger. When Yael changed into his nightclothes that night, he spotted small red bruises on his chest. This too seemed unfair.

Despite the warnings, he sometimes snuck in when Zair was needed by Velji’s mistresses and sat on the foot of the bed. Nina was mostly asleep during these visits. A few times she was awake and stared right back at him with unsettlingly dark, empty eyes. He tried to see what was in there; what made her this way, as something inside of him had surely made him this way.

More out of curiosity than sympathy for her plight, he once touched her limp, unnaturally cold hand and carefully slotted his fingers in the spaces between hers like he’d seen Zair do with her. It didn’t feel as comforting as he imagined, just clammy and foreign. Something in him made him hold on regardless. Even when she woke and stared up at him, unblinking, he didn’t let go.

Yael was quiet, and she was silent, always. Maybe this was why they could communicate by looking and not speaking. During their brief and unsettling visits, her eyes began to tell him a lot of things he should’ve been too young to understand.

But he understood better than any words he’d ever been told.

So one time he watched from the doorway, just barely cracked open, as Zair administered her dose of medicine. At the first opportunity, he slipped into the room and opened the small drawer where he saw Zair put the key to the medicine cabinet, then unlocked the door and took out the vial with the orange cap. He stepped back to the machines and gripped the port where the medicine was administered. His eyes drifted to Nina’s increasingly sallow, haunted face.

She stared at him as he hooked up the medicine.

An overdose.

He held her hand for the second time until her eyes were wiped of thought or feeling. The feeling of her hand was even more unpleasant than last time. He’d thought it was cold before. He hadn’t had anything real to compare it to.

When Zair came back and found him, he struck him across the face, and Yael fell to the hard floor while Zair wailed and cried for help, shaking Nina’s corpse.

Yael sat up on the floor, hand cupping his stinging cheek, and watched. Inexplicably, for the first time in a long time, he began to cry.

“I didn’t kill her,” Yael insisted even as he was accused of such by Zair. “She was already dead. She wanted me to do it.”

Zair didn’t agree. Neither did Velji.

Yael was supposed to be euthanized that night. He was strapped down to the table and everything, arms bare for a needle to slide into without resistance. It could have been an hour or only a few minutes that he was waiting for the procedure.

It was surreal. That was the only way to describe it. He didn’t scream or try to fight his restraints. He didn’t yell at the ceiling for some hypothetical god to save him. The punishment didn’t make sense to him, but this was the extent of his upset: vague disturbance and that sneaking sense of injustice that prodded at the back of his mind.

When Zair arrived, Yael expected him to grab the key, open the cabinet, fill a syringe with liquid from one of the vials and stick it in his arm without further thought. Instead, Zair paused in the doorway, nothing more than a silhouette in the dark room Yael had been left to wait in. Then he stepped inside, crouched at the head of the table, and undid Yael’s restraints.

Yael looked at him, perplexed by this turn of events. Zair frowned.

“Well? Sit up.” Before Yael could do so, Zair set him upright with hands on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Yael asked.

Zair pinched the baby fat of his cheek, right where he’d hit him, making Yael grimace. “You’re leaving. I’ll give you a bag to put whatever you can fit in there inside. Get up.”

Again, before Yael could do it, Zair lifted him up by the armpits and set him on the ground, grabbing his hand like he never had before and hurriedly walking him to his room. Yael struggled to keep up, tripping alongside him.

“Leaving?” Yael stammered. “That’s not what Master wanted. Did–Did he change his mind?”

“He didn’t change his mind.” Zair shut the door behind them when they reached Yael’s quarters and shoved the plastic bag from the procedure room into his hands, beginning to collect some things Yael sometimes halfheartedly played with and shoving them inside. “I changed his mind. You’re leaving before he changes it back.”

Yael blinked, hand moving to fidget with the hem of a sleeve that wasn’t there. He was still in the tank top he was supposed to die in. “Do you forgive me?”

Zair took off his white orderly jacket and threw it over Yael’s shoulders. “No,” was all he said. 

Then, “Anything else you want?”

Yael peered down at the bag Zair had filled for him, again doing Yael’s task for him. He was too dazed by the last few hours’ roller coaster of events, he didn’t think he would remember even if he did want something else with him. “No.”

Without further deliberation, Zair snatched his hand up again and dragged him through the winding halls to the exit.

“Start walking,” he told Yael, his tone clipped. “The pod will find you when it gets here, but don’t wait here. Start walking.”

Yael looked back at the facility one last time. He took one shaky step forwards, unsure where he was even supposed to go. Two.

“Hey.”

Please don’t make me leave, he thought but didn’t say. Please don’t do this to me.

Instead he turned to look, silent like any lost child, silent like Nina.

Zair cuffed the sleeves of the orderly jacket so they didn’t hang down past Yael’s hands. He held onto his wrists, not his hands, when he said goodbye.

“I’m sorry,” is what he said. For the second time that day, Yael saw pure, unadulterated sorrow in this usually stoic older child’s face. Unfair. Unfair. Unfair.

“I wasn’t good enough to kill either one of you.”

So it is this that sticks with Yael when he’s picked up by the pod for Anakt Garden:

Death was a mercy. What he had given Nina was a mercy Zair could not bring himself to provide. Yael was not lucky to have escaped death that day.

Keeping him trapped in this existence was a selfish act, not for him, but for Zair.

Do you forgive me?

Yael stared out of the transport into the darkness, clutching the hem of his jacket.

No.

Tagging @paradisedisconcert because Can is… sort of mentioned. Not by name but he’s the “green” Yael sees when he’s pulled from the river and resuscitated, he’s just too out of it to know it’s him at the time. And the first tag isn’t working so @alien-til-i-stage once again - for the mention of Inna in my preface and for the fact that this part directly leads into the next part(s) which are heavily Inna and Macbeth centric!!

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A huge copper-colored robot (in clear homage on Kelly Freas’ classic work for Astounding SF and the band Queen) reaches out from the frame to the viewer. It wears a black banded captain’s hat with an inverted red star and laurels insignia on its front, and a little red kerchief tied around its collar. Its face (a tv screen?) shows a vaguely human countenance, albeit one with terrible dentation. It does not look friendly. Text reads, “35, C-ORG, The Small God of Xenu-Biology”]

People like it when things make sense.

It’s a part of the human condition.  When you have to wake up, defecate, consume, hunt, clean, reproduce, and sleep again, logic gradually becomes an addiction.  Without logic, why would you have to do any—or all—of those things?  Without logic, you would be able to wish the urine away, perhaps to a high point above the heads of your enemies; you would be able to snap your fingers and call food to your hand, mates to your bed, children already old enough to be graceful and obedient to your side.  Without logic, everything would be possible, and since everything is not possible, nor made possible by wishing, people like it when things make sense.

Unfortunately for the people, the gods legitimately don’t care whether things make sense or not.  The gods are content to exist in a constant haze of glorious impossibility, bouncing from idea to idea, remaking the world in their own image.  People would be happier if the gods were different.  The gods would not be happier if people were different.  When the gods want people to be different, they just snap their fingers, and logic flies out the window.

Just ask Medusa.

C-org would make a terrible people, but he makes a reasonably competent god.  Xenobiology is a human study, the extrapolation of possible alien biology from the principles known of Earth biology.  It is a speculative field of science, yes, but an increasingly important one, with logical applications to the world as it exists.  It requires little imagination.  It is logical.

Xenu-biology throws logic out the window and waves as it flaps its wings and flies away.  It is the biology of the divine, and divinity requires so little in the way of “making sense” as to treat ridiculousness as a blessing.  And above it all reigns C-org, delighted by the wild majesty of his domain, unwilling to reign it in, unwilling to confine himself to a form more easily worshipped or perceived.

He has what he wants.  He needs no logic.  He needs no worshippers.  The dragon-bats of Jupiter IV will serve him well enough as priests, until all the stars die out.

He is content.

[subskz]

I read the squirting SKz thing, and I asked a male friend about guy's squirting. He said in the case of guys it really is pee, unlike women. Was that the implication in your fic and I just didn't get it?

hihi, yes! i believe in most cases it’s as your friend said, but there are also some males who claim that the fluid that comes out when they “squirt” is actually different from regular urine. according to them it’s clear colored and sometimes odorless, comes out much stronger and feels more intense (it may also just be pee that’s clear from drinking a lot of water) from what i know not all males are capable of it, but the ones who are say they usually achieve it through prostate stimulation and/or rubbing their glans! here’s what they’ve said if you’re curious (1, 2, 3) i hope that makes sense!!

[the-lonelyshepherd]

what does indigo do. like what effect does it have on the human body and how do ppl take it (smoking, eating, injection etc)?

HELLO!!!!! indigo time

so first in case people aren’t liek following every part of my oc thing,,, indigo is like. kind of a drug? ish? it’s a substance sourced in the first threshold (main wacky events of the story) from these butterfly monsters that i literally cannot design i hate them. it’s refined by a group that shay and cat come across and used to sell for money and also used for other. things

there’s a few different versions of indigo so indigo in its raw form is a kind of venom stored in spines on the butterfly monsters. it’s, as the name implies, a very recognizable saturated purple-blue color. the butterfly monsters are very dependent on salt.

most of the salt in the human body (in most animals, but we’re talking people) is stored blood (plasma specifically), sweat, urine, and tears.

if you do happen to get pounced by a butterfly monster (they’re stealthy at first) and stabbed with a spine, you are going to be a. mess of fluid! it’s basically an extreme emotional high (important) and are in tears you are probably going to piss yourself and your nose is bleeding. and then later probably your ears and maybe your eyes and any other possible. wound that might be inflicted. and then u kinda get like. licked to death. they don’t have very strong jaws (and in some designs they only have a proboscis) so they aren’t able to tear flesh to eat. so instead they have indigo.

sounds nasty right. well what if we took it in small refined amounts 💞💞💞💞 yum

basically after years and years of people getting stuck in the first layer forming groups killing each other killing themslves getting eaten etc. some groups did manage to stick around a little longer than most. including one very important one to the story ,,,, a group that. among other things. created a method to refine indigo into a kind of drug because if there’s one thing we love on the range besides alcohol and sex workers after a long day it’s liquid meth on steroids. yay!

this group gets such profits from selling indigo in the first later that they do consciously stay in the first threshold, which is full of. weird sucky shit. (the logistics of how this group specifically does inter layer transport is still being worked out but it IS difficult and they do keep it very. secret. which backfires).

their specific indigo is meant to be taken in small amounts in liquid form by mouth, though injection is also being experimented with.

taking refined indigo also causes an emotional high, usually a positive feeling one but sometimes people have bad. experiences with it. it’s usually very. euphoric though. everything feels a lot like something and it’s very bright and your heart is beating really fast. people usually get teary-eyed. some people think they can talk to god. apparently it’s quite the experience.

ODing can make you piss yourself though. among other things

overuse usually causes frequent nosebleeds and nonsensical crying as well as high blood pressure.

since indigo is so expensive, its common to order it in a drink at the saloon - a minuscule amount in some hard liquor gets you drunk(high?) five times faster than normal. and when you get paid 25 dollars a month its a relief to cut the cost of a good time by five times.

they had so much fun with mixed drinks back then 💞

i hope that was enough info i can talk more if needed grin