#foul-smelling urine

[drforambhuta]

The manifestation of kidney stone symptoms can vary significantly and is influenced by factors like stone size, location, and whether they obstruct the urinary tract. Common indications include:

1. Intense Discomfort: A defining feature of kidney stones is severe, piercing pain, often referred to as renal colic. This kidney pain usually begins suddenly and can extend from the lower back to the abdomen and groin. Its intensity can be agonizing, necessitating immediate medical attention.

2. Hematuria: The presence of blood in urine, known as hematuria, is another prevalent sign of kidney stones. Hematuria can be visually evident, causing urine to appear pink, red, or brown, or it may require microscopic urine analysis for detection.

3. Increased Urination: People with kidney stones may experience heightened urges to urinate, often accompanied by pain or discomfort during the process.

4. Nausea and Vomiting: The severity of kidney stone pain can be sufficient to induce nausea and vomiting in some individuals.

5. Fever and Chills: Infections linked to kidney stones can result in fever and chills, although this is more frequently associated with struvite stones.

6. Turbid or Foul-Smelling Urine: Infections stemming from kidney stones may lead to cloudy or malodorous urine.

There are some of the best hospitals in Delhi, such as Indraprastha Apollo Hospitals, where you can be diagnosed and treated for kidney stones early.

[urologist-surgeon]

If you are experiencing persistent, strong-smelling urine, it is important to consult a doctor as soon as possible, as it could be a sign of an underlying medical condition.

[reallyromealone]

Patreon exclusive

The smell was foul, Aizawa keeping composed as the smell of urine and filth was heavy, what horrified him though was the tiny child that couldn't be older than two sitting there horrified "get the med team"

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#10: NO WAY OUT

Previous/ Masterlist

CW: physical violence, torture, blood, gore?, intense emotional distress, Andrey being a weird fuck.

When Damian awoke, his body screamed in agony. Every muscle, every fiber of his being, was on fire. His head throbbed as if it had been split open, and his arm... oh God his arm. The wound was far from being his only source of pain now, but it burned with a white-hot intensity that blurred his vision.

He could taste blood, his own, mixed with the stale air of the room—a foul blend of sweat, fear, and something more acrid, like the smell of burning flesh. His throat was dry, and his mouth felt like sandpaper, but even if he could speak, what would he say? There was nothing left to plead for. Nothing left to lose.

The smell hit him next—stale sweat, urine, and something metallic, like rust or blood, hung thick in the air. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he tried to push the nausea away.

Then the realization dawned on him. He wasn’t in that grim room anymore. He was outside, and a crowd was gathering. He looked down at his loosely bandaged arm as the murmurs and whispers of hushed and expectant people filled the air around him. "What the fuck...."

The sunlight seared Damian's eyes, and he winced, turning his head away. Andrey stepped into view, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he surveyed Damian’s prone form. The sight of him sent a wave of dread crashing through Damian, the memory of their last encounter still fresh in his mind.

“I see you’re awake,” Andrey said, his voice dripping with condescension. He gestured, and a guard stepped forward, a long, leather whip coiled in his hand. Damian’s breath hitched in his throat as he realized what was about to happen. His mouth went dry, terror clawing its way up his throat.

“No..” Damian croaked, his voice weak.

Andrey ignored him, turning to address the gathered crowd instead. “This,” he began, his voice carrying easily over the assembled throng, “is what happens to those who betray my trust.”

Damian’s heart pounded against his ribs, the sound deafening in his ears. He thought he would be ready.

He should've been ready.

Mikhael -the motherfucker- uncoiled the whip with a sickening snap, and Damian’s entire body tensed in anticipation of the first blow. He could feel the rough texture of the post against his back, the cold bite of the shackles around his wrists, the coarse fabric of his shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked skin.

The first crack of the whip sliced through the air. It connected with his back with a force that drove the breath from his lungs, the pain exploding through him like fire. A ringing sound filled his skull, gasping.

A strangled cry tore itself from his throat before he could stop it, the sound of his own voice raw and desperate. The whip came down again, and again, each strike sending a shockwave of pain through his body that left him gasping for air. The lash came across his injured arm. He let out a guttural scream. He forced himself to look at the arm.

Blood.

Oh lord, there was so much blood.

The world around him seemed to fade in and out, the sounds of the crowd, of Andrey’s voice, of the whip cracking against his flesh, all blending into a dizzying, nightmarish cacophony. Jesus.. how the hell did Noah manage this..?

The smell of blood was thick in the air now, mingling with the scent of sweat and dirt, filling his nostrils, his lungs, choking him. The only thing he could hear now was the continuous slap of the whip.

His breath came in ragged gasps, something as easy as breathing now seeming like a great task. His body trembled uncontrollably, the searing pain in his back making it impossible to think, to feel anything but the agony that consumed him.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The whip fell silent, the tension in the air palpable as the crowd held its collective breath. Damian’s body slumped against the post, every inch of him screaming in pain, his back a mass of raw, torn flesh that throbbed with every heartbeat.

Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the dirt and blood, but he didn’t care. There was no shame anymore, no pride. There was only the pain and the desperate hope that it would end soon.

But it didn’t. The lashes kept coming, each one worse than the last, the whip cutting deeper and deeper until it felt like his very soul was being flayed from his body.

His body sagged against the post, held up only by the iron rings that bit into his wrists. His vision blurred, the world around him fading in and out of focus. He could taste blood, thick and metallic on his tongue, and the coppery scent filled his nostrils, making him gag.

Mikhael finally stopped, the silence that followed almost more deafening than the sound of the whip. Damian’s body trembled, the muscles twitching uncontrollably, spasming in protest. His skin was on fire, the agony so intense that it felt like his nerves had been set ablaze.

He barely registered the hands that unbound him, the rough shove that sent him sprawling onto the blood-soaked ground. His body hit the earth with a dull thud, pain exploding in his back as the wounds made contact with the dirt.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t fucking breathe. The world around him was a blur of colors and sounds, distant and unreachable. His mind was fraying at the edges, the darkness creeping in, and this time, he didn’t fight it.

He was dimly aware of Andrey stepping closer, the man’s presence a dark shadow that loomed over him, suffocating him.

Damian couldn’t respond, couldn’t even lift his head to look at Andrey. All he could do was gasp for breath, the taste of blood heavy on his tongue, the throbbing agony in his back making every movement torture.

“I could have killed you." Andrey paused for a moment, before continuing. But that would have been too easy. No, I want you to live with this, Damian. I want you to remember this pain, this humiliation, every single day for the rest of your life.”

The words were a cruel mockery, twisting the knife that had already been driven so deep into Damian’s soul. He felt the tears begin to fall then, hot and bitter, mingling with the sweat and blood that stained his skin.

Andrey leaned in closer, his breath hot against Damian’s ear. “And know this, Damian… as long as you breathe, Noah will never be free. He will suffer because of you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

The horror of those words, the realization of what his defiance had cost, was too much. The last thing he felt was the cold, unyielding ground beneath him as his body crumpled, the sound of Andrey’s chuckle echoing in his mind like a terrible lullaby.

---

When awoke once again, he was laying on a hard cot in a small, dimly lit cell. His back was bandaged, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to his wounds, but there was no relief from the torment that gripped his soul.

He could still hear Andrey’s voice, those final, damning words that had sealed Noah’s fate. Damian’s heart ached with a grief so profound it threatened to swallow him whole. He had failed. God, why did he always have to fail?! Before Noah it was-

Tears slid down Damian’s face, silent and unbidden, as the full weight of his failure and distant memories pressed down on him. The cell was cold, the air thick with the scent of mildew and despair, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was the pain, the guilt, the overwhelming certainty that he had lost everything.

Andrey had won. Damian had nothing left. Nothing but the knowledge that he had only succeeded in condemning Noah to a fate worse than death.

The tears came harder now, shaking his frail body as the sobs wracked his chest. There was no hope, no light at the end of this dark tunnel. Only pain, and the cold, empty void of despair that stretched out before him, endless and unforgiving.

Reblogs are appreciated <3

Taglist: @miireux134/ @nuriiz134/ @noeul-whumpsss/ @morning-star-whump/ @parasitebunny/ @anutz1234/ @whatwasmyprevioususername/ @whumped-by-glitter/ @lordcatwich/ @someoneoninternettt/ @natthebatt/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/

@electrons2006/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @lolrpop/ @yassifiedinformation(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[ranposbabe]

Infidel | Johan Liebert x Reader

Chapter 4

The breeze was soft. The sky was splattered with shades of a dull grey.

While others would find irritation in such wheather. It brought you comfort knowing you could find sanctuary in such loneliness out in nature.

But of course calmness cannot last forever.

“I’m sick of bringing you to this shit show of a field, y/n !”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking here.” You sigh, tugging at the cuff of your sleeve. “You needn’t stress yourself driving me here. Especially since I cannot recall ever asking you to.”

Your back is turned to him and yet this somehow irritates him more than your sly comments. The stream flows fast yet steady. It’s so steady. Unlike the buzzing.

“Well come on now. You can watch the piss stream flow by any day now let’s get going.” At that he slams the car door.

You don’t fasten your seat belt. Wanting to escape the car as quickly as possible.

You can’t help but wonder why your father wants to take you specifically to a case he’s involved with. For a while now, your fathers been sneaking around chasing this man that you have no interest to learn the name of who your father is certain is involved of handling drugs around the neighbourhood and apparently there’s a child involved.

Your father has been playing pretend friends with the man to gain information. You suppose he wants you to try and find signs of neglect since a young child is involved.

“Now I’m gonna talk to him in a separate room but while that’s happening you sneak round the living room but make sure you don’t search out the child, let the child come to you.”

You nod at his words more so for him.

You don’t need instructions from him.

Perhaps your father was still in his commander role since he always had to explain everything to his colleges that lack the average amount of brain cells.

The car pulls up to a small apartment complex that looked as if though it had been rotting for decades. Although you cannot speak as your apartment had also looked as if though it belonged in the slums.

“It’ll be fine.” Your father attempts to soothe you as if you were a child. Whatever impression you gave off he was surely mistaken. As per usual. “Get off.” You mutter, rubbing off imaginary dirt from your sleeve as you hurriedly walk right past him and into the slums.

“You know you can’t keep giving me the cold shoulder forever, y/n.” He states.

He walks far behind you as you sluggishly make your way up the dainty staircase.

“Is it because I didn’t invite you out drinking last week ?” You shake your head at the imbecile. You’re right. He is always behind you.

“Ah Mr l/n ! So great to see an old friend !” The door is already opened before you reach the top of the stairs. A drunken middle aged man stands theres his arms wide open and his face flushed a vulgar scarlet. Your father walks straight past you as the man barely manages to acknowledge you before limping his way back into the apartment.

Your father nods your way before him and the man walk of to some small room.

Slowly but surely you start to eye around. Your eye instantly catches the small scratches towards the end of the door.

Unless a stray had been around you doubt it was caused by an animal. As you step closer towards the corner of the room your nose scrunches up at the noticeable smell. Urine. Despite the tissues that out on the floor, it’s clear to you that there wasn’t much effort into wiping away the unhygienic area.

Hearing a slight shuffle behind you, you look back over your shoulders to discover a small girl no older than six hovering from side to side. Her mouth is slightly opened yet she doesn’t make a sound. The long sleeves hides any indication of bruising or markings. She holds a stuffed toy. Her head slightly tilts towards the wall to her left and it’s then you see the child’s piece of artwork.

Written in crayons, low on the wall displayed for all to see of such foul word that not only a child shouldn’t know but also shouldn’t be able to perfectly spell. There on the stained wall was the word.

WHORE

Somewhat amused, you crouch down before the shy girl pointing at the word.

“Is that suppose to be me ?”

Before you could analyse the girl further, both men walk out the room distant as per usual. Perhaps the young girl and you shared some in common.

“y/n.” He whistles, nodding back towards the door. Calling you as if you were a dog.

You rise as she rubs the toys stomach repeatedly almost as if she were agitated. She pats the bunny’s head. Wash. She wants in washed. “Next time I come here he will be as pretty as you.” You tell, taking the worn down toy from the girls tight hands.

At that you leave, not daring to look back at the young girl who now has nothing to clutch on to. Oh how you definitely shared more in common.

“Any thoughts ?” You father starts, already pulling out of the driveway. “Clearly he has been bringing prostitutes often.” You sigh.

“He makes sure the prositutes in bed yet not the child.”

“So what did you learn from him.” You attempt to have a conversation with him to somehow give the impression that you actually tolerate his company. However the mask does slip as he recalls you “eyeing towards heaven”

What lies.

“That needn’t concern you.”

Now whose giving the cold shoulder ?

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Seventeen (Part 2)

We get dressed and head off to the festival grounds after that, and Claire, Shane and I agree that we want to go and see Fight Like Apes who are playing at midday. Jen opts to come with us, and I expect Jude to come too, but he decides to go with Joe and Kasper to see some DJ called Tiga, which throws me even more.  Maybe I’m just overthinking. I tell myself he’s being normal, and that he’s probably just playing it cool.

The festival is so busy that day that I don’t see him around again after that, but I try my best to ignore the heavy feeling in my stomach, and the increasing thoughts that maybe I did something to annoy him, or maybe I’m a bad kisser and he’s disgusted by me. Maybe I’m too young and immature, or that he’s figured out that I’m actually a big loser with nothing interesting to say. Maybe everyone is right about me.

Claire is having fun though, and she looks so beautiful dressed all in white in the sun. Every time I think it’s impossible for her to look prettier, she somehow does, and I know I’m not the only one who’s thinking it. I catch Shane looking at her more than once with an expression I’ve never seen him wear before: pure unabashed adoration. Like she’s the sun that lights up his sky. I hope he realises how lucky he is. They’re inseparable all day, and stand together through every concert we go to with their arms around each other, him delivering little kisses to the top of her head as he holds her. Watching them like this makes my heart ache. I want more than anything for somebody to look at me like that, or to touch me like that, but instead I feel heavy with the knowledge that the boy I like is off somewhere, lost in the realm of this gigantic festival, probably with a plastic cup of Corona in each hand, listening to some mindless electronica that he doesn’t even enjoy and not thinking much about me at all. 

I don’t do a good job of hiding my listlessness when Jen and I sit down for lunch together in the shade of the marquee we were just crammed into for a Crystal Castles gig a few minutes ago. 

“What’s up, chicken?” She unwraps a burrito and lays into it. 

“Nothing. I’m tired.”

She nods. “Have you had anything to drink?”

“No.”

She slides the cup of beer she bought for herself across the picnic bench to me and gestures to it like Bon Appetit. “Have one on me, it’ll make you feel better.”

“Won’t drinking just make me feel worse?”

“No! There’s truly nothing a drink won’t fix, right?” She nudges Shane, who’s just joined us at the table with Claire still stuck to his side. He looks at me disapprovingly and then starts to say something boring about how I’m too young to drink, even though he was miraculously fine with Claire doing it yesterday, but Jen just rolls her eyes and tells him to shut up. “You have to stop with this protective-older-brother craic, let her live her life.”

“Well I know her mam, and I know what she’d say if she knew she was drinking.”

“Are you going to tell on her?” 

He knows it’d be heinous to do that, and I know that he never would. I grab the beer and I gulp it down, just to show him that I can. I’ve been drinking since I was fifteen and I know how to handle it as well as he does.

“Better?” Jen asks me, and I nod, even though I find beer to be generally disgusting. The taste transports me to days spent drinking Tesco lager in a field after school until someone throws up. I bring the empty cup over to a nearby bin where a guy with shorn hair is openly urinating. “That’s so foul.” I tell him, letting my horrible feelings seep out of me. I don’t care, he’s a stranger. 

“Piss off.” He suggests, and then directs the stream towards me instead. I jump out of the way too late and it splashes on my wellies. I cry out and try to shake them dry while he cackles with delight. Everything around me seems ugly, I’m so aware of the litter all over the ground, overflowing bins, the horrible man who pissed on my boots, and the smell of distant porta-loos. The sweet, cloying taste of beer in my mouth is making me feel ill. 

Claire is so happy that she’s able to buy alcohol now, so throughout the day I keep giving her money to get me cups of white wine. I drink them quickly, and eventually they do make me feel better, in an synchronously awful kind of way. We go from gig to gig, and I have drink after drink until the day blurs together into one long smear of loud drum beats and bitter wine. I don’t ever really get drunk, the time between each break and the queues for the alcohol stands is so long that I just stay in this queasy purgatory state between states of being until I run out of money and nobody wants to buy anything else for me.

The evening settles down with the smell of bonfires, and eventually we meet up with the three others under the entrance to go and see Foo Fighters, which everyone unanimously decided would be the unmissable gig of the weekend. I feel nervous in anticipation of seeing Jude, now so entirely convinced after a whole day of catastrophizing that he hates my guts, actually, and wouldn’t come to my funeral if I died. 

He’s not that bad, but he’s not being especially friendly either. The only way I can think to describe him is as neutral. Like he’s not experiencing any emotions right now, and when I’m used to him being so lively and expressive it’s very unsettling to be around him. When we start pushing into the crowd I give in to my anxiety and touch Jen’s elbow. “Is Jude okay?”

She nods while rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I think he’s just in one of his moods.”

I didn’t realise he had moods. I can’t think of what to say to that, my thoughts feel fuzzy, so I just utter a dejected: “Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I had to see him like this all the time at school. Just ignore him, he’ll be grand tomorrow.”

“Nothing happened to him, did it?”

“I doubt it. He’s just in his head about something, probably.” She leans towards me. “He’s a scorpio.” She explains, as though that’s supposed to mean something to me. 

I’m still trying to remember what scorpios do when we reach the churning centre of the crowd. It makes me anxious, but everybody else is just diving right in, so I do too. I’m wedged between walls of bodies on all sides of me, but there’s a distinct excitement rising all around. I’m still holding on to Jen, the others seem to have been swallowed up by the crowd like they were never there in the first place.

The first thing I can hear is the soft plucking strings of the opening line of The Pretender rings through the air, and then I can’t see Dave Grohl, but I can hear him. The crowd starts to transform from a solid mass of bodies into something fluid, and I realise that I’m being pushed out of the way, my spot being stolen by big men shoving their way to the front, all limbs flailing everywhere, launching themselves through the crowd to try and get closer as the drums start pounding. One of them actually grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me backwards out of Jen’s grip like I have no right to be where I am, no girls allowed in the Foo Fighters mosh pit. Another one crashes suddenly into the side of my ribs and I am so desperate to escape. When a third bangs his body against me he catapults me into the man behind me and tears spring to my eyes. I let myself go totally limp and let the heaving motion of the animal spit me out to the back shoulders shaking, sobbing and alone.  

When I look back at the pulsing crowd I can’t believe I was in there. It’s a rat king of testosterone, men shoving each other around to the music, hands grabbing collars and shoulders, and in the middle of it I see Joe, Kasper and Jude, gleefully participating in the chaos. I can’t help but feel dismayed, remembering how quick he’d been to save me from the crowd yesterday, holding me in front of him and shielding me from pointy elbows and stomping feet, and today when the crowd is bigger and rougher he’s left me to fend for myself. I don’t know what I did. Maybe I’m just too inexperienced, and he wants a woman, not some seventeen year old. I should have let him keep kissing me, I should have let him take me back to his tent and shown him that I’m grown up enough. That’s what a normal girl would have done. 

I go and stand at the very back where I can see the band, but barely. They’re just little black smudges on a blazing stage. I know the songs but I don’t sing along, or dance, or even uncross my arms from my chest. I stand there until they finish, crying my makeup off my face. I feel like a husk. Hollowed out, nauseous, tipsy. 

Prev // Next

[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite History Books || The Royal Art of Poison: Filthy Palaces, Fatal Cosmetics, Deadly Medicine, and Murder Most Foul by Eleanor Herman ★★★☆☆

For centuries, almost every death of a relatively young royal was rumored to have been caused by poison. But was it poison? Or had they all died of natural causes? I decided to return to this absorbing topic, which so adeptly combines my love of forensic crime shows with my passion for the past. I soon found myself up to my elbows in the grisly, the astonishing, the tragic, and the hilarious. I learned how to perform a sixteenth-century autopsy and embalming—not something for the faint of heart. Wide-eyed, I read Renaissance beauty recipe books whose ingredients included mercury, arsenic, lead, feces, urine, and human fat. I dove into modern scientific papers on the exhumations of royal bodies found to be riddled with a variety of toxic materials. And I discovered the elaborate—and to us comical—poison-prevention protocols at royal courts. As I delved into this world, I learned that palaces were bursting with many kinds of poison, not all of them deadly doses of arsenic intended to kill. Gazing at the gorgeous portraits of centuries past, we don’t see what lies beneath the royal robes flashing with diamonds: the stench of unwashed bodies; the lice feasting on scalps, armpits, and private parts; the lethal bacteria from contaminated water and poorly prepared food; and the excruciating cancers eating away at vital organs. We can’t smell the nauseating odors of overflowing chamber pots or the urine-soaked staircases where courtiers routinely relieved themselves. We don’t glimpse the barbaric medical treatments more dangerous than the original illness itself, or elixirs designed to beautify that sometimes killed. To bring you into this world of sublime beauty and wretched filth, I first investigate the palace poison culture of prevention, protocols, and antidotes, followed by chapters on deadly cosmetics, fatal physicians, and the royals’ perilously unhealthy living conditions. I then examine twenty cases of royal personages rumored to have been poisoned, from the renowned, such as Napoleon and Mozart, to the obscure, such as a fourteenth-century Italian warlord and a sixteenth-century queen of Navarre, household names in their own time but mostly forgotten in ours. … What I have found is that people living in terror of poison were, in fact, poisoning themselves every day of their lives, through their medicine, cosmetics, and living conditions. At Europe’s dazzling royal courts, beneath a façade of bejeweled beauty, there festered illness, ignorance, filth, and—sometimes—murder. Nor is poisoning of one’s political rivals hermetically sealed in the past. As my final chapter will show, in some countries political assassination by poison is as alive and well as ever it was in the sinister royal courts of the Renaissance.

[ooc-miqojak]

Fuck Landlords

Today, I started sharpening my proverbial knives for this winter's Devouring of the Landlord. Here is the snipped text from an email I got from her today in response to a request that they assist me with a foul smell emanating from a wall in my apartment.

Since the snip is so small, I'll copy/paste what the bitch wrote when I told her that there is a horrifyingly vile stench of death in a closet/in a wall that is between my downstairs closet, and my computer room. A smell that is so pervasive, it has even begun to stink upstairs now that it has been almost a week we've been waiting for this to be dealt with (this is a closet under the stairwell).

"We had a maintenance tech and our pest control vendor come over earlier to look at and identify the smell.  They said they noticed a smell but it was not strong.  The pest control vendor said it did not smell like an animal and he did not see any animal droppings.  He was concerned that it may be a pet going to the bathroom in the closet?  Is there anything that could have spoiled that is in a box or around the closet?  Perhaps some cleaning out may help? He will come back in a couple of days and if it has not gone away can go in and open the wall.  We reached out to the resident in the unit below and they are alive.  So there are no dead bodies in the building. Please let me know if the smell continues."

So, when I complain that there is probably a dead squirrel in the wall in my apartment (and intimated they might want to do a quick wellness check on my elderly neighbor downstairs just to be safe, because you never know)... they send pest control who says 'nope, no pests here!'...which I already knew, because I didn't need pest control. Then, either the landlord is lying to me about what pest control said, or he seems to think my cats have human hands that can twist round doorknobs, and they are using their ~magical human hands~ to sneak into my closet to take massive, invisible shits, then they are leaving the closet and closing the door behind them. She is implying that it is my fault and I must just...be living in filth? Except...what pest control person thinks that feces and urine smell like death? And I doubt that anyone said 'the smell wasn't strong', because the first maintenance person to show up today immediately noted that it smelled like death/rot, and even mentioned they'd probably have to open the wall up to access it!

So the bitch lies to me, gaslights me, and then insinuates I must let what are effectively my children shit in the floor, and that's clearly the source of the stench. Except, I know my rights, and I wrote her about 4 paragraphs back about how I know my rights, how what she did is gaslighting and inappropriate and incredibly condescending... and in as kind a way as is possible, made it clear that I'm willing to make this a long, ugly fight she's not going to win. I grew up in the Southeastern U.S. - I will smile bright, call you hon, and the venom you never see will still melt the flesh from your bones, so I think she got my point. She is bound by law to deal with this issue, especially as it could be a health hazard - and it's real funny how her tune changed completely in her responding email, upon having me point out how I would also be making sure to hold onto her condescending and wildly inappropriate email here that blames me and condescends to me (especially as she is not the first member of management to try and step to me), for when I take this complaint further up to the parent company that owns this place.

Just a shame her apology email came too late, and I had already left a voicemail and an email for the parent company about the shockingly inappropriate behavior of this employee, and how she sets a low bar for their brand.

(It's worth noting that she's full of shit on other points, too - I specifically mention in my first complaint email that this closet stores nothing in it but nice smelling candles and toilet paper. So the bullshit question about cleaning it out just amounts to 'cOuLd It Be ThAt YoU'rE jUsT gRoSs?', which is wildly inappropriate, as well!)

Eat the godamned rich. Hold your ground against landlords.

Make them eat shit.

Edit: I made a follow up post to this, but the tl;dr is that I was right and she was wrong(obviously), and she refuses to actually apologize - she just makes almost-apology-excuses for her dogshit behavior. I hope she gets food poisoning over the holidays.

[funny-upset-clown]

nausea

The room unfortunately smells slightly of cat urine, however I cannot be sure if it is originating from within these walls. The smell of urine, cat or otherwise has managed to be chronically present in my nostrils throughout these sweltering summer nights, in the streets, in bed with a lover, on the floor at work, dried on some old clothes. These blue morning nights of nausea and breathless bitching, surely the summer of filth. I hunch around the sheets playing bloodhound but the closer I get to what is strewn about the less I smell the reek. I cannot be sure what is in my head, that is what may be false, even and almost especially within the realm of sense. What is the truth of pain, the pure center of mistake, the immovable essence of defilement? I have many perceptions of my life at this time as any living person would, but when it comes time to verbalize what-in-a-sense my life is I feel the hole-of-it-all run through my ribcage like an angry lattice and go on until the obscure and omniscient regret of life as it is, at all, for a human. It is not despite my incoherently vast depravity that I continue to love, work and want, it is within this ultimate nothing that I am allowing myself to continue living and in time to diagnose this hole of my life that is so opposed to language, as a hunger for something more, something so fantastically and unfathomably better.

And I could still retort-

what I want, to be sure I want, I get and in getting lose wanting.

Throughout the past months my depression is keenly in tune with my nerves which are impressively in cahoots with the food digesting in me volcanically- which upon eruption- smells so similar to the grease I wipe from my hands at the end of a long shift or the piss that sloshes at the torn cuff of my pants. With my eyes closed I float horizontally on a thin pool of waste, I breathe in the fumes deeply, sharpening the weight of my blood brick brain; in all of this, I feel only what I feel about my own life- which coincidentally, in such a moment of foul bliss, is nothing, yes.

I dont smell it anymore when the morning light pours in 40 minutes later. Involuntarily I begin retracing my steps on the day of my fifth grade spelling bee and taste honey gather on my gums. I went to an elementary school with a very clean gym, I remember the squeaking sound of kiddie shoes nervounsly fidgeting about as they sat on fold out chairs- waiting to

[chrryblssmninja]

Please comment on this NPS form (deadline Nov 22) that they need to listen to the community, conduct an environmental impact study, and not consider mass euthanasia for cats that have been there 100s of yrs

Comprehensive article in English:

Article by Carlos Edill Berríos Polanco

"The old city’s street cats, first brought to Puerto Rico by Spanish conquistadors more than 500 years ago, have been a staple ever since and are now a tourist attraction. You can’t walk the cobblestone streets without seeing cats slinking between cars or lounging in the sun, at home in the city as much as their human cohabitants.

The NPS claims it has received a series of complaints from “visitors” about cats attacking them and the foul smell of urine and feces. The agency says it has been looking into the issue for years but only recently started putting more resources into the issue after an uptick in complaints.

It has come up with two plans of action: either let the cats stay as they are, or begin systematically removing them. While the NPS insists that removal means the cats will be adopted, activists fear that it would mean most being euthanized."

More from the article:

"The agency held two open houses on November 2 and 3, where it presented its plan and timeline to residents, allowing the public to comment. As reported by the AP’s Dánica Coto, the first night was tumultuous, with members of the public voicing their frustration at being asked to only leave written comments without being able to speak. The second night, things went a little more smoothly, but people still had a rage in them that was felt with every rousing speech and reinforced by applause from the audience.

Activists in attendance wanted to completely halt any plan that would remove the cats from the area, instead pushing for the NPS to work with the community-led organization Save a Gato to systematically trap, neuter, and release (TNR) the cats."

It is through community actions orgs like these that almost all of the cats are spayed/neutered, vaxxed, and fed.

"Save a Gato has been practicing TNR at cost for years —bringing the group “up to their neck in debt”— and ships cats to the United States, where they have a greater chance of adoption. Cartagena claims the little help they have gotten from both the NPS and the San Juan government has led to the cat population booming over the last decade."

Major point from this article:

"The lack of data and environmental impact studies was one of the most salient issues raised by activists during the two open houses. The only NPS study done was through feeding cameras over a period of a few months, which Save a Gato claims is not enough to assess if there is an actual cat problem. Multiple activists told Latino Rebels that it was “unconscionable” to outline a plan to remove the cats without any studies that show how removing them would affect the old city.

“Things need to evolve. We don’t need to stay in the past,” said Viviana Busquets, who spends about $800 a week running her own program to neuter cats from Puerto Rico.

She is a huge advocate of TNR and has raised the alarm about the “vacuum effect,” wherein removing cats from an area creates a vacuum leading to another cat colony moving into the space formerly occupied by the first.

Busquets proposes that the NPS change its one-size-fits-all policy to better adapt to the environment of Puerto Rico.

... Many activists, like Busquets, recognize the overpopulation of cats in Old San Juan and are not against removing them if they were to be adopted, but they oppose any plan that would kill cats. They push for all levels of government to work with people living in the community and groups like Save a Gato to help adopt the majority of the cats out of the city.

Old San Juan has been one of the hottest sites for gentrification in Puerto Rico with many of the colonial buildings being bought up by crypto millionaires and other rich foreigners as people who have lived there for decades are unable to deal with rising rent prices. Some view the push to remove the cats as merely an extension of this trend."

[envihellbender]

What would the successful Last Feast look like?

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jared Hopworth, John Haan, Monster Pig

Content: gore, bodily fluids, extreme weight gain, animal death, cannibalism

Summary: The UK succumbs to the flesh

—

Jared Hopworth may cause the Last Feast in Istanbul, but it’s the Magnus Institute in London he decides to build the centre of his new world. When it begins, the blue of the sky fades. It becomes grey before turning to the yellow of pus, there’s a strange fractal pattern across it that’s only visible without a telescope when a strange electricity pulses through it. The ground becomes soft and wet, it almost seems to breathe. Flowers aren’t flowers anymore, petals are like skin and they smell of meat. The only respite from feeling as if you’re being marched towards the Killing Floor is if another Fear takes an interest in you.

In place of the Panopticon would be the Abattoir, except instead of towering over all of London, the entire capital city has turned into the horrifying palace of bones, blood, visceral, fat, and muscle. From the outside it’s a gigantic grey building with chimneys that go far beyond the sky, pumping out foul smelling smoke that covers the entire country. There are gigantic metal doors that open automatically to welcome in their guests, the walls inside are covered in flesh and muscle, pulsing and pumping constantly. The first rooms you see are the Flesh Avatars that have happily embraced their new place. John Haan can be found chopping up the victims of the flesh, the ones who stumbled into the Abattoir or who were in London when the Last Feast began. He had his own Killing Floor now, the zombie of his son Tom dutifully bringing him more humans to be toyed with, eaten, or fed to the Boneturner.

If you go down to the pens where the livestock is kept, be careful not to vomit because it’s like catnip to the ruler of the pens. In each one are shaking, sobbing victims, fat with hormones being pumped into their body and covered in their own urine and faeces. In the centre of the hall is sat the most gigantic hog than could possibly have existed outside of the Abattoir. The pig could have crushed Buckingham Palace underneath its behind and its breasts and head are hidden through its gigantic gut. If you were able to climb a top of it, you’d see a grotesque beast, a neck roll that swelled and caused a fat head to sink into it with a snout poking out. As his useless arms can’t lift themselves, and his trotters are pathetic stubs, the building brings his meals to him. The pulsing meat on the walls dragging and passing him down the line until they reach the gaping maw of the sow.

In the heart of the building is the Flesh Garden, where rests Jared Hopworth, or what was Jared Hopworth. Now he’s The Boneturner. If you’re unlucky enough to reach his flesh garden, the first thing you would see was a table, a long, wide table covered in rotting carcasses. Cadavers that have maggots crawling in them but are still being left to be feasted on by The Boneturner. If time still worked, it would take the time to walk to the head of the table as it would to walk from one side of the London to the other. What you will see however is tendrils, so many tendrils. Some of them are pink and pulsing, they’re humming as if they’re pumping a substance towards something. Others are hard white bones with sharp edges that follow the same route as the others.

The denizens of The Abattoir and the Flesh Garden exist to serve the Boneturner, all of the flesh that is shredded from those who enter is fed to him eventually, and the bones are added to his own. Few actually see the ruler of this new world, and only the unlucky are given the opportunity. He isn’t recognisable as anything that was ever remotely human anymore. The fleshy tendrils have sharp teeth when they reach their ends which sink into The Boneturner’s skin and cling to him, pumping him full of all the fat and viscera in the Abattoir. The ones they tangle around, that are hard and white as bone are the man himself, he has become so full of bones that they pierced his muscles and skin. Parts of him have tons of bones forced into gigantic mounds of fat, but the ones that don’t have flesh to cover them simply split his skin open and keep growing. Everything in this new world exists to feed, sustain, and add to his collection.

[icedteaandoldlace]

Just had the worst litter box cleaning experience of my life, but by the grace of God and the wonderful scientists at Nature's Miracle, it didn't take as long as it could have. I wish I remembered what brand of litter that was, because I don't often leave product reviews, but it should be illegal to make a cat litter that bad. Had a thick layer of crystallized litter/urine caked onto the bottom of the litter box that WOULD NOT budge for anything and smelled to high heaven. I only bought it in the first place because I thought McGonagall was peeing outside of the litter box in protest of the new (and far superior) litter, so I'd started looking for a new go-to litter again (McGonagall just had a minor bacterial infection, and a week on antibiotics cleared it up straight away).

Thankfully I only bought one bad of the cursed stuff, because not only does it have BY FAR the worst clumping function I've ever seen, but it does basically nothing for odor control, and it's WHITE so the litter box looks extra gross when it's been used because you can see the yellow of the urine.

Even with the help of Nature's Miracle—the aptly named enzymatic foaming litter box cleaner that has made my life so much easier in many ways, and no one is paying me to say that—I still had to use the litter box scoop to scrape all that mess off the bottom. Usually all I have to do is wipe the box, MAYBE scrub just a little bit on really stubborn spots, but never have I ever had to clean a litter box like this before. It was also the first time I ever had to spray the box down again a second time after I'd already cleaned it out, because the residual smell still on it was just so foul.

A million stars to Nature's Miracle, and a big fat negative zero to whatever the hell that horrendous litter brand was. Negative zero isn't even a real number, THAT'S how bad it is.

[gelato444]

ok I toured the apartment and it was literally perfect. But the two current tenants have 2 Maine coons and.. the litter boxes were foul like they hadn’t been cleaned in forever.. and the apartment smelled of cat urine. So like…. Ugh I don’t wanna pass this place up for that but also that’s a huge deal breaker .. like what does everyone think? Can that smell be removed? Most people are saying yes but it would be a professional cleaning job (which I think we could ask the landlord to do that’s no unreasonable) but what does everyone think?

[nnytweets]

There’s an odd feel and smell to this day, like God is a wino and he pissed onto a hotplate, enveloping the world in a plume of urine vapor.

May 7, 2008

Not as bad as yesterday, but still a foulness in the atmosphere. Gas mask helps a bit, but still not safe to leave the house.

May 7, 2008

[shaunsummers]

And Boom Goes the Dynamite

"Fair." Though recent, the transition hadn't gone unnoticed. The calm brought anxiety all the same; but also all the time in the world to read, to research, but also...to cry. So many options in her isolated cave of dim lighting. With a smile, Robin extends her palm for Shaun's wrist as she watches the wound dried by an overly expensive washcloth. Soon going to work with gentle placement, her hand lightly layers the knarly punctures with Neosporin.

"You know, I never fucked with heroin. Or meth. But coke? Oh, I fucked with coke. I used to do it all the time. It chilled me out. Gave me superhuman focus or something. I don't know if I would've gotten through classes without it. I once snorted a line off some girl's pussy and finished a five hundred page essay in the same night. It was about the fall of Rome, if you were wondering."

Having left a good amount of goo, Robin casually tosses the small tube back into the well organized top drawer. "I didn't stop that long ago. I'm not exactly counting the days so I couldn't give you a number. It's certainly not longer than a few months, though. So, I get the not so peaceful head thing. That part is hella fresh. But no more sleeping with dangerous men for Robin. We love to see it." Though the laugh that followed was forced, Robin grins as she plops her body off the counter with a small grunt.

Entering the home, Lilith states in her still observation. Though even as her eyes scanned the room, her nose crinkles in the mild assault of something foul. It would've been commented on otherwise but with no one in view and concentrated smears of blood on the floor, it easily didn't matter. Without another word, Lilith breaks from her small group to venture towards the obvious sound of Robin's voice, tossing her purse on the couch on the way to the bathroom.

Talk about pearl clutching on the drive home. Never before had Rebel seen such smooth fast and furious traffic dodging. Only the queen of hell could weave in and out of close call collisions and have the confidence to say 'Its fine. It's not like I drive like Robin'. Was it really the driving? Or was it that the car could pass inspection? "It smells like pee." Rebel comments though relieved to see not a peep of anything broken. If no doctors or repairmen were needed, she'd consider that a win.

--------------

Still a bit frazzled from the hectic drive, it takes a second for Tek's nose to register the acrid smell of pee. Why pee? "Ew." Her nose crinkles, wondering how and who's urine could end up in the foyer, but with the blatant spatter of blood dusting the floor like twisted confetti, the worry immediately took over. "Uh..." From the sound of it, Shaun and Robin were in the bathroom, and Lilith was already going in to check on her boo. But there were two involved in the deathmatch, and one unaccounted for.

"I think we should go check on Siren..." Tek's gaze lingers on the mess before trailing back to Rebel; sure, there was no blinking red, blue, or white lights, but the fact that Ash had found out where they lived wasn't good news. And with how far away Siren seemed since she'd gotten back, it was too easy to worry.

She'd felt the need to internally prepare for Robin going in on her arm, but surprisingly, she was rather gentle. And even if she wasn't, the information dump that poured over Shaun in a blunt deluge was plenty to distract. She'd also primarily been into coke, but it had amped her up and left her with a pretty short fuse, though paid its rent by keeping her wired all night. Either fucking around or fucking someone, but it certainly hadn't pushed her into anything productive. "I don't...coke made you calm? I've never heard that. Ever. The only thing it ever made me was an asshole. But, maybe that's how I kept up with Ash for so long."

Casting her eyes down to the subtle shine of ointment, Shaun turns over her arm; it did look a bit better. Still fucked, and she was concerned that the marks would fuck up her tattoo, but the irony of the snake of the Garden of Eden getting marred by the chaotic vengeance of her crazy-ex-first-girlfriend wasn't lost on her. "But, it does get easier. The mental bit. My head was definitely done in by two months, but it's really just sorting everything you didn't when you were using. You'd think sobriety would throw you a bone after going cold turkey, but it doesn't even wait past withdrawals. But, it does get easier." Shaun didn't know the full story about what happened with Kane, only the basics from what Jade had told her. What Robin had done was a whole other can of worms, but being around someone so volatile—as she knew all too well—tended to get sponged up and spill onto everyone else in the process. She'd made her own share of fuck ups in that regard, so for that part? It wasn't hard to find sympathy.

"And there hasn't been another 'Ash', so you've got that to look forward to." Shaun chuckles, but the humored smile suddenly dissipates as the stray piece of information finally clicks in her brain. "Wait....you did coke off of some girl's snatch?" Was it just in the general area, or was she talking about snorting a line out of an ass in reverse? Wouldn't that cause some issues for the snortee? There were so many questions about the mechanics of that scenario, but with Lilith unexpectedly swinging around the corner, Shaun's eyes raise to a far more concerning sight.

It brought a little clarity to why Lilith had seemed so brusque—and just 'off'—on the phone, but she still couldn't peg what exactly was going on in her head. Shaun hadn't never seen this look on her face before. Features set in stone, but her eyes looked...wild. Like an antelope catching the smell of a lion in a nature documentary, just a second before the chase. She'd said they were okay, didn't Lilith know they were okay?

"Hey..." Brows furrowing in concern, Shaun takes a tentative step closer, reaching out to touch her gently on the arm in an effort to pull her out of whatever was going on in her brain. "Are you alright?...Siren's just outside with Sam, but we're all in one piece. Everything's okay."

[alittlemxchievous]

Golden Survival

It was a cool summer morning. Miss Kae spent it like any other, doing her normal morning routine. Naturally, that would eventually lead to her relieving herself, but not yet. That could wait.

Moving through the house to the bathroom she smiled as she looked down.

There on the cold tile, was her loyal little whore. She couldn't help but grin and giggle as she stepped onto them. Her feet were a bit cold so naturally, they first landed on the slut's face. Surely their desperate breathing and licking would warm them up.

And warm up they did, the whore feverishly licking Miss Kae's divine toes and soles. Whatever their mouth could reach was worshipped like the most heavenly being.

While her floor mat was working tirelessly, Miss Kae flashed a sadistic grin. Gently placing one of her divine soles on the neck of her slut. Gently, then applying more pressure. More. More. More. The doormat notices a lack of air. More. And begins to lose their breath. More. The floor mat desperately wants to breath but no mercy from such a sadistic Goddess. More.

And then... life. Given back in the form of precious oxygen. The floor mat gasps, greedily consuming all the air they can.

Miss Kae never skips a beat. As her slave is recovering, she pulls down the pair of pretty white panties that currently hides her growing bulge. Putting them right over the slaves face and naturally ensuring that the ass of the panties is directly over the slaves nose. Don't want them getting too nice of a scent after all. Not for what comes next anyway.

That slut. How lucky they are, given mercy from Miss Kae. Still greedily inhaling air. Albeit, now much less fresh. The smell of Miss Kae's ass musk is intoxicating. Mesmerizing. So much so that they fail to notice a wet drop on their nose. Then another. Then a few more. Then a torrent!

First is the heat. As the warm liquid comes crashing down with so much force. Powerfully slamming into the whores... no urinals face. It's so hot. So very very hot. And the smell. It warps the brain of the urinal slut. It's so intoxicating that it melts the mind.

But the primal desire for life comes before all. Always kicking in at the most desperate of times. Like now, when their body realizes they can not breathe. Naturally, they try to inhale. To no avail, piss stained panties block the path of critically needed oxygen. They open their mouth, only to be met with the same. Blocked by piss soaked panties and now open to receive more of Miss Kae's golden nectar. Panic sets in as more and more urine fills the mouth of the urinal. Body spasming. Desparate for air but unwilling to go against the wishes of its true lord. The only one with power over the urinal's body is Miss Kae.

Just as all begins to fade to black. It stops. The torrent recedes, leaving the slave to swallow the warm beverage. It's bitter and leaves nothing but a foul taste behind. Her panties, once white, now stained in the golden hues of her nectar and left soaking into your skin.

Miss Kae is wildly amused. To her, it was just a normal morning piss; but to her slave, it was a long battle of life or death.

Very well done slut.