#Infant digestion

[theoppositeofprofound]

Foundling hospitals actually used to use goats or donkeys, this is safer than cow milk for infants. Obviously there were considerable drawbacks but infants nursed on animal milk weren’t 100% always doomed—people have always made do with what they had and once you get past about 4 months babies get much more resilient. Baby farms in Victorian London often used “pap”, a sort of bread water, to feed infants (survival rates weren’t great but some did survive). For sickly infants who needed extra nutrients, parents often added “panada”, a gooey cereal enhanced broth. One of the biggest issues wasn’t the food but bacteria that could build up in feeding utensils like cloths and clay vessels. This is why babies being fed animal milk were often allowed to nurse directly.

Ultimately orphans without access to human wet nurses were fed what was available, and some did thrive! Not all of them, goodness knows the infant mortality rate for babies left on doorsteps wasn’t good even compared to general infant mortality, but enough that those methods kept being used right up until the introduction of artificial formula. Humans are more resilient than they sometimes get credit for.

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

[leonsrightarm]

owl pellets

[parentingvip]

[bharatvarsh22]

NOURISHING NATURALLY: THE POWER OF A2 MILK FOR BABIES AND CHILDREN

In a world where dietary choices abound, one particular type of milk has been gaining attention for its potential to provide a natural and gentle option: A2 milk. With its unique protein composition and reported benefits, A2 milk has emerged as a fascinating alternative to conventional milk. From easier digestibility to potential relief for milk-related discomfort, A2 milk offers a promising path to nourishment without compromise. Join us as we delve into the realm of A2 milk, exploring its properties, advantages, and the growing interest surrounding this dairy innovation. Get ready to discover the power of A2 milk, its potential to nurture our bodies naturally, and why it is recommended for children.

Why A2 Milk?

A2 milk is pretty cool because it has a special protein called A2 beta-casein that’s easier to digest for some folks compared to regular milk with A1 beta-casein. So, if you usually feel uncomfortable after drinking regular milk, A2 milk might be a better choice for you. The best part is that A2 milk has all the same nutrients like calcium, protein, vitamins, and minerals as regular milk, so you’re not missing out on anything important. It comes from cows that naturally produce only the A2 protein, without any fancy genetic stuff. Plus, it tastes rich and creamy, which makes it extra enjoyable. Keep in mind, everyone’s different, so A2 milk might work wonders for some and not make much difference for others. If you have specific dietary concerns or medical conditions, it’s always a good idea to talk to a healthcare pro or a nutrition expert.

Benefits of A2 Milk

In a quest for healthier and more easily digestible milk alternatives, A2 milk has emerged as a fascinating contender. With its unique protein composition and potential benefits, A2 milk has garnered attention as a promising option for those seeking a more natural and gentle dairy experience. From improved digestibility to potential relief for milk-related discomfort, A2 milk offers a compelling story of nourishment and well-being. Join us as we delve into the world of A2 milk, uncovering its properties, advantages, and the growing interest surrounding this nutritional innovation. Prepare to explore the power of A2 milk as we navigate its potential to nurture our bodies naturally and promote a healthier relationship with dairy.

Easier Digestion: A2 milk contains the A2 beta-casein protein, which is believed to be more easily digested by some individuals compared to the A1 beta-casein protein found in regular milk. This may help reduce digestive discomfort, such as bloating, gas, and stomach upset, for those who experience milk-related issues.

Potential Relief for Milk Sensitivity: Many people who are lactose intolerant or have milk sensitivity have reported better tolerance and fewer symptoms when consuming A2 milk. It may be a suitable option for individuals who experience adverse reactions to regular milk but still desire the nutritional benefits of dairy.

Nutritional Profile: A2 milk maintains the same nutritional composition as regular milk, providing essential nutrients like calcium, protein, vitamins, and minerals. It can be a valuable source of nutrition, supporting healthy bones, muscles, and overall growth and development.

Natural and Non-GMO: A2 milk is obtained from cows that naturally produce the A2 beta-casein protein, without any genetic modification. It is a more natural and wholesome milk option, free from artificial additives or alterations.

Flavor and Creaminess: A2 milk is often praised for its rich, creamy taste, making it a preferred choice for those who enjoy a fuller-bodied milk flavor.

Do Visit: https://bharatvarshnaturefarms.com/nourishing-naturally-the-power-of-a2-milk-for-babies-and-children/

[ailurinae]

Causes great back pain, I'd presume. Human spines are bad enough due to being reoriented for the vertical. Having a 90° turn and another whole length of spine is bound to cause even more issues.

Guys do centaurs have to eat both horse food and human food?

[april]

TVs and monitors are separate species with common features, but which features these are have drastically changed over time. the two used to be similar sizes with very similar behaviour, and were differentiated primarily by which connection ports they had.

over time, their courses of evolution brought them closer together in that regard, with both species' survival becoming contingent on how well they could digest HDMI. as their analogue prey, such as VGA and Component, died out, the two display species were faced with the same choice: adapt, or die.

despite this newfound similarity, though, the two species still fill different ecological niches, and the way they adapted to these new environmental situations resulted in further physical distinction in other areas. for example, it is now almost impossible to find a modern TV that is a comparable size to a monitor; while the modern monitor is still limited in dimensions by the desktops where it prefers to nest, the modern TV has an almost unbounded adult size.

another strange new differentiation is that the TV seems to have developed a dependence on internet connectivity and software updates. while this benefits them in the short term, having more selling points than a monitor at first glance, it is working against them in the long-term, with each one's effective lifespan being cut dramatically.

the "dumb TV" that, quite intelligently, does not have any big software features, is nearing extinction, with very few members still producing offspring. and while we may feel sorrow for these displays, it is only natural that they are dying off - they are simply being outcompeted by the once-humble monitor. at the same size, and without the advantage of a wider variety of ports, the dumb TV cannot keep up with the monitor's much more refined adaptations for the same niche.

however, one mystery remains: why did the dumb TV never grow to the same impressive dimensions as its smart siblings? some observations suggests that the larger smart TVs have become overly territorial as a result of their decreased longevity, to the point that they will kill an infant dumb TV if they feel that it could grow to compete with them. it seems cruel to us, but in the wild, it's all a matter of survival. if you win the evolutionary race - you fight to keep first place.

[cece693]

YOU ARE FREE TO LEAVE, BUT KNOW THIS...

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader synopsis: You had enough—determined to end your relationship, you assumed Hannibal would react more to your confession, however, he merely nodded and let you walk through the door. He knows you'll come back; this was merely a lapse in judgement.

The knife rests on the cutting board like a third heartbeat—steady, inevitable, and glinting. Hannibal sets it down only when he hears your key hesitate in the lock, that fractional pause betraying nerves you’ve trained all day to hide. He smiles to himself and wipes his hands on a crisp linen towel, turning the music down until harpsichord and silence become indistinguishable.

You step inside smelling of cold air and decisions.

He knows at once.

Tonight’s cassoulet simmers on the stove, but the aroma doesn’t coax the usual softening around your eyes. Instead, you linger by the foyer, fingers tightening on the strap of a messenger bag you never bring to his house. An exit bag, he thinks—documents, wallet, charger, sweater for the bus ride you expect to take. You haven’t plotted every step yet; the lines in your forehead say you’re still rehearsing your speech.

Hannibal tilts his head in greeting. “You are late.”

“My phone died,” you lie with reflexive ease. “Work ran over.”

He notes the absence of flowers, the lack of a quick kiss, the way you keep your shoes on. Evidence enough. But this is not a courtroom; it is a dining room designed like a chapel, and he the only minister. He gestures toward the table where two crystal glasses wait.

“Sit. Eat while it is still hot.”

“I’m not hungry,” you answer, voice thin. A rehearsal line, spoken too early.

Hannibal’s smile is pale and precise. “How unfortunate. Desire is the seasoning of life; without it, meals—and people—go bland.”

You swallow. “Actually, that’s sort of why I need to talk to you.”

A flick of genuine curiosity warms his gaze. “Proceed.”

You set the bag down—as though placing an infant in a cradle—and fold your hands so tight your knuckles blanch. “I’m leaving, Hannibal. I love you, but I can’t keep living like this. The intensity. The things we see. The things I suspect.” Your throat clicks. “I booked a flight for tomorrow night.”

He watches, unreadable, yet the room seems to contract around your lungs. You expect rage or persuasion—perhaps the cold scalpel of logic—but Hannibal simply pours the wine. Ruby liquid swirls, catching chandelier light like arterial spray. “Merlot,” he murmurs. “Full-bodied. Loyal to the tongue once tasted.”

You flinch at the metaphor. He notices.

“May I ask,” he continues softly, “how long you have planned this?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only to measure my own blindness.”

That stings—he lets it. Silence grows carnivorous, devouring oxygen. Finally, you force the words: “I can’t sleep beside you without wondering if you’re dissecting the sound of my breathing, cataloguing my pulse like… like a specimen.”

Hannibal’s eyelids lower, savoring the accusation. “And you do not wish to be studied?”

“I want to be loved, not preserved.”

He sets his glass down untouched. “You do not leave a relationship like ours the way one leaves a café, closing the door with a polite bell. Love of this caliber is an ecosystem; uproot one vine and entire orchards die.” He steps forward, slow enough not to spook you. “Come here.”

“No.”

“Come.”

Your refusal quavers. He hears the hairline crack—fear, yes, but also history, trust, longing. He steps closer, enough for you to smell rosemary and bone marrow on his cuffs. “Look at me.” Two fingers tilt your chin with something gentler than force, crueler than kindness. “If you must leave, you will at least understand what you abandon.”

“I have shown you every layer of myself,” he says, voice husky with something perilously near pain. “Curated symphonies for your moods. Fed you truth in courses small enough to digest. I have tolerated your moral fevers—your nights of conscience when you fled my bed to retch over thoughts you could not bear.”

Your eyes brim. He brushes a tear away, studying it on his thumb like a jeweler inspecting flawed crystal. “And still you stayed.”

“I stayed because I believed—”

“Because you belong,” he finishes, tone silk-steel. “As surely as spleen belongs beneath the ribcage. Remove it, and the body suffers cascades of failure.”

You shake your head. “That’s not love, Hannibal. That’s possession.”

“Possession is merely the visible spectrum of love.” He smiles, sad and terrible. “The rest lies in wavelengths few can see.”

The room tilts; you step back until the wall stops you. He follows, not hunting—orbiting. “Tell me what future awaits you in whatever city you have chosen. A small apartment. Weeknight dinners of wilted takeout. You will google therapists who promise immunity from the extraordinary. And still, when it rains, you will taste saffron and wonder if I am cooking somewhere nearby.”

Your breath fractures. “Stop.”

“Say instead: continue. Honesty deserves encouragement.”

“I said stop!”

He does. The sudden obedience unsettles you more than pursuit. Hannibal folds his hands behind his back, posture of a surgeon waiting for anesthesia to take hold.

“If your fear is police,” he says, “know they cannot protect you from an ache that originates inside your own ribs. If your fear is me—” he inclines his head—“then you admit I live within you already, and distance is a theatrical illusion.”

You glare, wounded animal edging toward fight. “You think I’m too weak to leave.”

“I think,” he answers softly, “that you are strong enough to attempt it but too sentient to succeed.”

You retrieve the bag, slinging it over one shoulder like a life raft. “I’m going to a hotel tonight.”

Hannibal steps aside, courteous. He even opens the front door. Lamp-lit drizzle threads the street; taxi lights bloom like fireflies. You hesitate in the threshold, cold biting your cheeks. “May I offer you an umbrella?” he asks.

“No.”

“Very well.” He leans against the doorframe, half in shadow, half in amber glow. “You will return.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I have prepared the cassoulet precisely to your palate.” He gestures toward the dining room. Steam curls skyward like a prayer. “When hunger humbles you, my address will be the only one your body recalls.”

You almost laugh—a ragged, incredulous sound. “People move on, Hannibal.”

“Indeed,” he agrees. “But not from sacrament.”

The hotel bed is too white, too flat; your muscles remember the give of his mattress, the scent of bergamot on starched sheets. You dream of silverware glinting under low chandeliers, of a wine glass that never empties. You wake at 2:14 a.m. and realize you are starving.

Dawn paints Baltimore in bruise-purple shadow. You stand outside his townhouse—bag still clutched, pride bleeding from a thousand paper-cut doubts. Before you can knock, the door opens. He has been awake, of course, reading by the fire, hearing your shoes in the gravel. Hannibal says nothing, only lifts an eyebrow that asks, Hungry?

You nod, throat too raw for speech. He takes the bag, sets it gently inside the foyer—never once looking to see whether you intend to stay. Because he knows.

In the kitchen, cassoulet waits, kept warm through the night. You sit. He pours. The first spoonful is a benediction laced with surrender, and when you finally meet his eyes across the table, you expect triumph. Instead you find relief—vast and tidal—as though the world has balanced upon its axis again. “Welcome home.”

[styllwaters]

Hailing from the harsh planet of Ettera, Knights are the only sophont in the Zhagaviit system made of two consciousnesses. ---

At last, here they are! Nearly finished with redesigning every Vivere 44 species. These guys are retconned werewolves which I posted about some time ago. You might have noticed I brought back some space unicorn aspects as well! They've been through so many design changes but I've finally settled on something solid.

More information below!

I'll try to keep this concise. Most of this info is introductory biology.

Knights are the only sophonts living on Ettera, a mostly barren planet where survival is tough. Their civilisation is the least advanced compared to others in Zhagaviit, such as Arrows and Sea Crawlers. They were the third species to be contacted by the ZGC (Zhagaviit Galactic Community) followed by Post Humanity. Knights are known for being hardy, efficient, and motivated.

If it isn't already clear enough, Knights are two species in a symbiotic relationship acting as one individual. Helmets and Hosts have an evolutionary history so intertwined that one cannot survive without the other.

The Helmet is attached to the head of the Host, and will remain there for the rest of their life (unless separation happens - but we'll get into that later). In the relationship, their role is vision and dexterity. Since the Host is effectively blind, it is the Helmet's job to guide them. Their hands are also important, being the Knight's primary manipulators. They played a large part in early tool use. The Helmet lacks a mouth, and receives all its nutrients from the Host through a specialised organ not unlike an umbilical cord.

The Host is essentially the main body of the Knight. Wolflike and mammalian in nature, the Host is the Helmet's mode of transportation. Because they need to eat for two, Hosts are omnivorous and will eat just about anything. Although majority of their diet is comprised of meat, they are capable of digesting plant matter and bones. They are highly skilled and effective hunters.

It is in both party's best interests to assimilate as soon as possible. The Host cannot see without a Helmet, and within a few weeks bonding will become impossible. The stakes are higher for a newborn Helmet, because they cannot feed by themselves and will starve in under a week without a Host or an artificial feeder tube. Prior to first contact with the ZGC, Knights did not have the technology for artificial feeders, and infant death rates were high.

So how do two beings coordinate one body? The fact is that once assimilation occurs, they become one being. The Helmet's brain and the Host's brain are connected by millions of nerves exchanging signals. It's complicated, but the best way to describe the experience would be a 'mutual trance' in which full body coordination is achieved. They have shared interests and intentions. However, a Knight can mentally separate the Helmet and the Host, gaining back individuality; they do this for many reasons, perhaps to discuss something among themselves or simply for company. Yet on the whole, a Knight will spend 80% of their life in this 'trance'.

Both Helmets and Hosts have noticeable sexual dimorphism. Male Helmets are called Pikes, and females are called Guards. Pikes are distinguished by their horn, bold stripes, and more prominent crest spines. Guards lack a horn and have less contrast in their thinner markings.

Female Hosts are called Forts. They are larger than males and have a mane of fur on the back of their necks. Male Hosts, Spires, lack this mane.

In Knight society, individuals are usually referred to based on their combination of Host and Helmet. Since there are four sexes involved, there are four possible combinations.

Guard-spire [female Helmet, male Host]

Pike-fort [male Helmet, female Host]

Guard-fort [female Helmet, female Host]

Pike-spire [male Helmet, male Host]

(Knight languages have their own version of pronouns for each, but in English all are referred to as they/them by default. Of course, each individual has their own preferences. Usually a Knight will refer to themselves as we/us).

____

I'll get into Knight social structure, cultures and more in another post! For now, if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask. Always happy to answer!

[marlynnofmany]

Another Strange Earth Drink

I can finally say I’ve tasted the “worm jerky” that the one Heatseeker ship was named after. It wasn’t as bad as I expected. Extra chewy, and this kind had a sharp flavor that changed wildly between bites — because that’s the variety that Paint liked the most. 

She said, “It’s best if you hold it between your teeth and run your tongue along it to get all the flavors. It’s a full fan of sharpness values!” Her lizardy face was excited as she demonstrated, looking like a kid playing with gummy candy. If that kid was also an orange-scaled lizard alien.

I didn’t bother trying to make sense of the phrasing. “Full fan” was probably something like “rainbow.” I just cleaned my mouth with a handful of cheesy crackers that I wasn’t going to subject everyone else to, and waited for my turn. 

(We had a day to burn while waiting for our next delivery client to meet us, and a visit to the space station’s market had ended with half the crew picking items of their own species’ origins to share with the rest. Eggskin the medic was on hand just in case.)

Oh boy, it was my turn next. 

“What omnivore nonsense have you come up with?” Mur asked, folding his blue-black tentacles sternly. “It had better not involve that infant-food liquid.”

“Nope, no dairy products,” I said, picking up the heavy box under my chair. 

Eggskin tapped a claw against their tablet full of biological info. “I’ve ruled out anything likely to cause digestive distress, and that definitely counts.” 

“Yes, no pizza today, more’s the pity.” I set the box on the table. “This should actually be fun. Marble soda!” I opened the top and began passing them out. 

“Marble what?” asked Blip, frills waving curiously. 

“Is this a drink?” Zhee wanted to know. He angled his antennae into a look of suspicion. Trrili held a similar expression across the table.

“It’s a fun drink!” I said. “There’s a special trick to opening it. The soda itself isn’t that special — the most popular brand is named after a mispronunciation of a common flavor in another language, though they make a bunch of other flavors too — anyways, it’s a bubbly drink with a fruit flavor. This one’s strawberry. And Eggskin says it’s safe enough to try.”

Eggskin nodded their scaly head. “I wouldn’t recommend large quantities, but yes. The bubbles are carbon dioxide and the fruit is in trace amounts.”

“I like fruit,” Paint said bravely, clutching the bottle. “How do we open it?”

“Right. Everybody watch me. First you peel off the plastic wrap.” I demonstrated, exposing the plastic contraption that had something of a learning curve even among my own people. “Now this bit is in two parts. You have to pop the center piece out, ‘cuz that’s the part you actually need, and this part you set aside. It just keeps the bottle from opening early.” I separated the two and held them up.

Everyone was watching carefully. Good.

I continued. “I can help with that if you need. Once you have this part, though, you just place it against the top, give it some pressure, and it pops the marble down into the bottle.” With a flourish, I leaned a palm onto the little plastic doohickey until the marble separated with a satisfying pop.

Paint made a quiet “Ooh” noise while Blop flapped his frills in surprise.

“Now you have to make sure the marble doesn’t just roll back to block the opening when you drink it,” I said. “These dents will catch it; you just have to hold it at the right angle. Like this.” I took a sip, and the marble stayed where it was supposed to.

When I put it down, the air was full of the crinkling of plastic as my alien coworkers got to work on the wrapping. Some had an easier time than others.

“Oh, you’re supposed to rip it along the tiny holes,” Paint said, having already sliced it off with a claw. “I didn’t see that.”

“This is not meant for tentacles,” Mur griped. He tried twisting it, but no luck.

“Here, let me.” I put out a hand, ready to remove the wrap quickly and help the others. Blip and Blop should be fine, but the Mesmers with their praying-mantis pincher arms might find this awkward. They had those tiny little wrist fingers, but—

Identical pops sounded from opposite sides of the table.

I turned to find Zhee and Trrili each holding a bottle with one pincher. They’d used the other to stab through the top, not bothering to remove the plastic wrap first.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” I said.

Zhee said, “Seemed faster.” He peeled off the wrapping now with one deft pincher-tip while Trrili simply wrenched hers away.

A thunk sounded as Blip misjudged the angle and tipped her bottle over instead of opening it. Next to her, Blop was having trouble finding a finger small enough to separate the plastic bits. I hurried to unwrap Mur’s drink and help.

Paint had a little difficulty getting enough leverage to press down on the top, but Eggskin figured it out and gave her a hand, standing on the seat and using their bodyweight. One way or another, everybody got their bottles open.

They tried it! And everybody hated it.

“If the bubbles are regular air, why do they taste so bad?” Blip wanted to know.

“I think it’s the fruit flavor that’s tangy,” Blop said.

Zhee hissed quietly. “You mean fruit’s not supposed to taste rancid?”

“It’s a drink that fights back, and I can respect that,” Trrili declared. “But this is not a battle I’m interested in fighting.”

Mur took a sip and shuddered, sending rippling tentacles in all directions. “Ugh. It tastes like static shock and the wrong part of a plant.”

“That’s a pity,” I said. “It’s pretty good as far as I’m concerned.”

Unexpectedly, Paint said, “I like it! It kind of bites you at first, but then it reminds me of an overripe galaxy fruit. And the bottle is interesting.”

“Glad to hear it!” I said.

So everybody hated it except for Paint. And Eggskin probably, who didn’t make any loud declarations, but they did drink the whole thing. I call that a win.

“Well, that was a fascinating disaster!” Zhee said, shoving his bottle towards the middle of the table. “On to my turn.”

Mur grumbled something that sounded like “Oh great.” He’d already dumped his soda down the sink and kept the bottle as a fidget toy, sticking a thin tentacle in and batting the marble around.

I sipped my own and waited to see what Zhee would bring out. I considered myself lucky to be on the omnivorous side of things — theoretically anything he came up with should be fine.

But of course, theory only goes so far.

“Everyone here is okayed for animal-based nutrition,” Zhee said, setting down an opaque bag. “So everyone ought to enjoy this one. Except for Trrili, who has no taste.”

Trrili did the Mesmer equivalent of sticking her tongue out at him, which involved a disturbing configuration of mandibles.

Zhee opened the bag and began removing little sealed tubs. “I give you: fursqueak brains, with the best vitamin sauce!”

I sank down in my seat, still holding the bottle and not eager to grab a sample of brains. Even when Eggskin clarified that the sauce was Vitamin C, and ought to taste like citrus, it didn’t sound particularly appealing.

Zhee was proud of it, though. Apparently this was the best food in the universe, favored by all the best chefs (of his species, anyway), and there was nothing anyone could say to ruin his enjoyment of it, even if everyone else present was as uncultured as Trrili.

It occurred to me that I could probably ruin his meal by telling him about his ressemblance to the fried crickets that were easy to find back home, but I decided against it.

I just drank my marble soda and enjoyed watching Trrili argue with him instead.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[metamorphesque]

Accept and forget difference or desire that separates and leaves us longing or repelled. Why briefly return to play in broken places, to mock the ground, to collect infant shards, coins, fossils, or the familiar empty canisters and casings that glint from poisoned roots in the blackened dust? We make bad ghosts, and are last to know or believe we too will fade, just as our acrid smoke and those strange flakes of skin and strands of hair will, into largely undocumented extinction. Lie down, lie down; sleep is the best thing for being awake. Do as we’ve always been told and done, no backward glances or second thoughts, leaving sad markers buried in the sand. Sleep now, dream of children with their heads still on, of grandmothers unburdening clotheslines at twilight, of full kettles slow-ticking over twig embers. Ignore boneless, nameless victims that venture out on bitter gravel to claim remains while we rest. Pay at the window for re-heated, prejudiced incantations. Take them home and enjoy with wide-screen, half-digested, replayed previews of solemn national celebration. Then sleep, by all means; we’ll need all the energy we can muster for compiling this generation’s abridged anthology of official war stories, highlights of heedless slaughter, to burnish our long and proud imperial tradition. At some point, by virtue of accidentally seeing and listening, we may find ourselves participating in our own rendering. Few of our prey will be left alive enough to water the sun with their modest, time-rubbed repetitions, to rephrase their particular, unifying laws. Our version of events has already made its money back in foreign distribution and pre-sales; all victory deadlines must be met. It can get so quiet, with or without the dead watching our constant deployments. From our tilted promontory we may see one last woman scuffle away across cracked parchment of dry wash beneath us, muttering to herself—or is she singing at us? —as she rounds the sheared granite face and disappears into a grove of spindly, trembling tamarisk shadows lining the main road. We’ll soon hear little other than our breathing, as shale cools and bats rise to feed, taking over from sated swallows. Night anywhere is home, darkness a cue for turning inward, quiet an invitation to review our expensive successes before morning extraction from the twin rivers of our common cradle.

"Back to Babylon", Viggo Mortensen

[yzegem]

The witches. First post here on Tumblr about my worldbuilding project: Encounters In The Frontier.

The witches are the goblin equivalent in my world, but with some peculiarities.

Male witches have a smaller nose, and bigger ears and chin, while female witches can be recognized by their huge nose, this is because only female witches develop the special organ in their nose that they use to make their potions. This organ is similar to the lymphoid organs of humans, but they produce a special kind of antibodies that act more like digestive enzymes. These enzimes can be created on the go when in contact with a new substance and seem to be controled by the witch by some kind of 6th sense. The coating of this cavity can also change depending on its content (acidic, basic etc...). This potion making nose organ gains function after puberty and becomes larger and more powerful the more its used.

Witches live in small groups in wich all of the females are related and males leave after maturity to enter a new group, thus, genetic exchange is secured. This also means that some female-only traditions, such as potion recipes are passed down and kept in these family groups. Their society is matriarchal and the leader is the oldest female with the largest nose.

Their inmune system is very overpowered wich makes them immune to most diseases and parasites but also prone to lethal autoinmune problems. This sadly means that when a plage affects human settlements and cattle but not witches, they are blamed for it.

In their religion, witches believe to be "failed" birds that will reincarnate in a full avian form in heaven. They believe their infants are shamefully unshelled and hide pregnancy and infancy carefully, so much so that most humans and male witches don't know what a baby witch looks like. Witch babies are usually kept in a special hut until all of their baby fur is gone and only then are they introduced to the world. This period of seclusion usually lasts about 4 months and is the equivalent of incubation.

Witch mothers grow thick hair on torso and back after giving birth so that their babys can latch onto it and feed their Young not with milk but with a special kind of nutritious snot.

Witch houses/nests are mainly weaved from dry grass, branches and rope and hanged between canes or tree branches. Some can get really big or be made of stone but its rare.

[bharatvarsh22]

In a world where dietary choices abound, one particular type of milk has been gaining attention for its potential to provide a natural and gentle option: A2 milk. With its unique protein composition and reported benefits, A2 milk has emerged as a fascinating alternative to conventional milk. From easier digestibility to potential relief for milk-related discomfort, A2 milk offers a promising path to nourishment without compromise. Join us as we delve into the realm of A2 milk, exploring its properties, advantages, and the growing interest surrounding this dairy innovation. Get ready to discover the power of A2 milk, its potential to nurture our bodies naturally, and why it is recommended for children.

Do Read: https://bharatvarshnaturefarms.com/nourishing-naturally-the-power-of-a2-milk-for-babies-and-children/

[mad-maximoff]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

Sum: You and Lydia Deetz are searching for Lydia's daughter Astrid. Until they realized who had her. Delores didn't want Beetlejuice or Lydia. She wants you.

Warnings: Afterlife, stalking, dirty talk, obsession, forced oral

Word Count: 2,529

Masterlist

 How did I get here? You thought as the outline of chalk faded from the brick wall. You and Lydia ran through the corridor entering the land of the undead. "Y/n, follow me. I've been here before."

"Yeah, and look what happened. Your daughter got kidnapped twice. This time it isn't some crazed ghost boy. It's your lover boy's ex-wife." You stomped mad as hell. Your boots scuffing the checkered tile. "Delores!? I watched her die! She got eaten by a sandworm!" Lydia stopped in her tracks in disbelief. "Yeah, well my sources tell me that she somehow dug her way out of the sandworm’s stomach before she was digested. Sorry about your boyfriend though." You motioned her to keep up as time was of the essence.

"I could give a shit about him, we need to find Astrid! Why did Delores take her?"

"Some sort of witch magic Delores got her stitched hands on, she posed as Astrid's father in the living and when Astrid came close enough to her she snatched her to the afterlife." You spoke sternly as your best friend was taken. Your parents were exorcists, but one day something went awry, and you were an infant caught in the crossfire. You were deeply affected resulting in your ability to pass through the afterlife and the living. "Well, Y/n we should turn here I think I remember a shortcut." Lydia pointed to the left whereas you were destined to go straight on. "Lydia, come now. Why not call that bio-exorcist dude? Beetle-"

"No! Don't say his name! Ever! We already have enough problems, let alone letting him get in this mess!" Lydia turned, once you two met face to face the lights in the distorted hallway dimmed turning pitch black. A sharp chill ran throughout your spine as though someone slid their fingers down your skin.

A blue light emerged, revealing Delores at the end of the hall with a firm grasp around Astrid's neck. "Hello Lydia, it's been a minute," Delores smirked. Her pale skin shone in the light as though a spotlight appeared.

"Give me back my daughter Delores! I don't want your husband!" Lydia tried to move her feet but was stopped. Her foot froze not touching the floor.

"Oh," Delores chuckled. "You think I want him? Well, let's just say I'm getting a proper divorce. Being said that however if I can't have him, no woman can." She flicked her wrist flying Lydia backwards crashing into an array of swinging doors down another hallway. Astrid screamed out in fear her mother was injured. You stood motionless as you watched Astrid's small body in comparison to Delore's be disregarded to the ground. She fell to her back wheezing out a cough. Delores lifted her hand again flicking her wrist, as Astrid caught her breath she was flung in the air her body stuck to the ceiling.  

"You made your point. Why me? Our paths never crossed!" You spat as Delores's body cascaded down the hall meeting you. She grinned again tracing her index along the wall. The wall began to crack where her finger lay. "We have not met? Surely you must remember? Did it not matter to you!?" Her hand left the wall snatching your throat and lifted you off the floor. You gasped for air as Delores's hand clenched, her nails dug into your skin. She pulled your face closer to hers. Her lips brushed yours with every breath. Her grin remained as she exhaled out. Your lips met with hers inhaling in, the pit of your stomach dropped and you became lightheaded. Delores exhaled and you quickly regained your senses. Feeling your soul come back to your body.

You did remember. That night, you were passing through a portal during a rather gruesome exorcism. You saw a woman mangled. She was carrying her calf in hand with a stapler. Shaking her limbs out leaving a trail of sand. Her body was wet, you initially thought it was water but upon further inspection, it was thicker than water. Like saliva. The woman's stitches were rusted, and her makeup was ruined, running past her chin to her neck. You stopped for a moment to lend a hand. After all, you thought she was in rougher shape than what you were dealing with. So you helped her remove and staple her body back.

You could not believe you had forgotten that. You were beginning to get lightheaded again as your feet dangled. "C-Can we talk please...put me down," You wheezed. "We can sort this out can't we." You coughed out as the floor underneath Delores became fuzzy. Delores smirked dropping you to the floor. Your feet felt like pins and needles trying to stand up. "Okay, let's talk. In private." Delores kicked your stomach latching your arm and dragging you down the hallway. Further from where Lydia and yourself entered. Your eyes fluttered as the double doors faded in the distance and the hall became more distorted. You blacked out.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

     You awoke on a velvet red decrepit couch. In what looks to be a cubicle office. 6 desks in an array in the middle of the office. Every desk had a phone ringing off the hook but no one to tend to them. Delores caught your eye as she stood on a balcony. You guessed perhaps where the manager of these cubicles sat. "So you decided to wake up? So glad you could join me.” Delores cascaded down the stairs, her dress flowed making it so that she had no feet. Just gliding along the laminate.

"Where the hell am I?" You arose to your feet, you were halted by Delores's hand as she pushed you back down. She smirked as her body bent down on top of you. Funny, at this moment you should have been scared but all you could think about was how far those stitches along Delores's chest went. "As you said, you wanted to talk huh? Sort things out? We can, but I think we can do more than talk." Delores's breathed out dragging her tongue across her teeth. Perhaps you were imagining things or maybe you weren't but it seemed this wasn't a revenge or hostage situation. You started to wish it was.

"W-what do you want to talk about Delores? I have nothing to give you. If you want me to bring you to the living it's impossible! You're not Beetlejuic-..." You were hushed by one of Delores's stitched fingers. "I don't want that Y/n. No need to say his name." Her Italian accent layered thick. "I want you. Your kindness has touched this heart of mine so dearly, my love." Delores's hand snatched your chin lifting your body off the couch. Your boots dragged against the laminate flooring. "Me?! Why? All I did was stitch you back up!"

"Of course amore, the way you touched every part of me...ah...so sensually. Like you cared for me and my body." Delores's other hand traced her body starting from her hips and making her way up to her chest, then to her shoulder. "I stapled you. That's your turn-on? Jesus, the dead are all morally grey." I choked with the frequent buzzing noise from far away. "You are too Y/n, you are 'morally grey'. I saw it." Her hand left her collarbone tracing her thumb along my cheek. "Saw what Delores? All I do is exorcisms in the afterlife, nothing more!"

"Huh, funny because I remember following you a couple of weeks back...you were saving...merda....who was it? Yes! A little girl! You thought you could hide it afterwards. Sneak away sorta speak." Delores let go of her jaw as your boots hit the floor and your body fell to your knees. You slumped forward as you were able to breathe again. You were at eye level with Delores's heels "So you were stalking me?" You spat unpeeling your cheek from the floor. You peered above to see Delores looking down on you. "Stalking is such a hard word, my love, I would say watching, looking out for you if anything would ever occur." She grinned ear to stapled ear playing with her finger. Thrusting that exact finger in and out of her other hand. If you weren't scared shitless you're dirty mind would've taken over by now.

"Like a guardian angel, I suppose?" Your hands fell to your knees wanting to rise from the floor. Delores stopped you again by resting her hand firmly on your head. "Not the word I would use but in a sense. Ever since we met I have had this burning desire. This tingly feeling, as though, I am alive again!"

"So you're obsessed with me? That's why you kidnapped Astrid!" Delores grin disappeared eruptly. "Why the hell are so worried about that stupid girl?!" Delores rushed towards you as tried to scurry away. Her hand latched onto your belt dragging you back to her. "She can't give you what I can! And I know you can give me what I want! I saw you! With that Miss Argentina chick in the breakroom!" Delores's flipped you back on your knees pressing one of her heels to your thigh. You whinced as her strength held you down. "I want you to give me that. Just like you gave to that little civil servant." Delores's knee slid slowly grazing your temple as she lifted the skirt of her gown. You soon realized Delores had no staples on her thighs, only above her kneecaps. If you weren't so pissed off at the moment you would have found this hot. Who were you kidding? You found this hot regardless.

"Delores! No! Come on! You're a beautiful woman but I hardly know you!"

"Well, I survived the Black Plague. I enjoy the opera and wine. I ran a cult in Italy sucking souls to chase immortality and had a fun time doing that, then I got married and got chopped into tiny pieces! Got it? Great! Start licking!" Delores's hand grasped a fistful of your hair tilting your head back. Slamming your face into Delores's center.

"Hmph-..." You tried to speak or push away with your tongue but that drove Delores crazier more than she already was. "Oh-...How about you put those lips to work instead of just talking huh?" Delores groaned smushing your face against her parted lips. You couldn't fight it let alone breathe at this rate. You just had to give in. Though, after you finally caved you didn't object. Your tongue parted Delores's glossy folds feeling her cold body temperature shake up. Her slick warmth began to run down your chin. Delores's thigh starts to twitch against your head. Her skin lightly tapped your cheek. "Uh huh, I need to feel you…Now!" Her Italian accent caked in her groans. Your hands latched onto Delores's thighs caressing her skin. You could feel each staple protruding.

Delores’s hips slowly bucked maintaining the rhythm of your tongue. Her breath hitched with every flick your tongue made. Your tongue continued to soak up Delores as the tip of your tongue traced Delores’s clit rolling it back and forth against you. Delores’s head tilted back sucking a breath back. “Porca miseria…Are you gonna be a good girl for me? Huh-ah!" She moaned out with her hair flying behind her back. The way she murmurs pure Italian filth while they’re touching your hair. Her fingers interlocking in your stands forcefully pushing your face in place. Your tongue slid from Delores's clit to her folds, gently tugging her lips. Sucking each side. "Of course Delor-..." You were shut up by Delores's hand forcefully.  

"Just… right there! That feels so good-..." Delores whimpered out. "Suck on it." She ordered. Your jaw tilted going back to her clit, trying to lap up her juices from running down your neck. Delores stomped her heel on your thigh, it did sting but you did not care. You know she couldn't help it. You felt every muscle twitch against your tongue. You shuddered at the thought of being discovered, you shook the feeling continuing to work on Delores's pussy. You found yourself enjoying it even if you did protest at first. You usually do.

Delores's hips began to grind on your tongue, harshly straddling your face. Her small grunts escaping her lips grew louder. "Oh god...buono...I'm going to cu-ah!" Delores's orgasm came by no surprise for you, you felt it build just not knowing when it would finally come. Delores's fingers squeezed tighter into your scalp with a strange sound. A snapping sound you would say. It wasn't until you heard the sound of a staple plummeting to the floor did you realized it was a part of her.

"That’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl. Swallow it. All of it." Delore's head tilted back as her free hand ushered her hair to fall back off her shoulder. She cooed herself trying to contain her composure. You did as were told, licking up the mess you created. Delores's let up her heel on your thigh but you still felt her heel digging even if she wasn't there anymore. A little hole in your jeans was created.

"Haha! Well amore, I guess you earned your friend back huh?" You watched as she bent down retrieving her severed ring finger off the floor behind you. Delores made attempts to re-attach her finger without assistance but you watched in pity. You watched her lean back to grab a staplegun lying beside the couch. You rose from your knees before this statuesque corpse bride. "Here, you're still shakey. You're going to staple the damn thing backwards." You twisted her finger to have her nail facing you. You stroked her hand lending you the stapler, you positioned it and without hesitation, the stapler went off. A few clicks around her finger. Something that did not bug Delores any longer. The pain you mean.

"Bravo! Where would I be without you Y/n."

"Still here Del. You don't need me." You threw the stapler onto a cushion. "Now, about Astrid." You were hushed again by Delore's re-attached finger. "No, no. We don't need her. We just need each other." Delores leaned in softly grazing her lips across yours.

"Halt! You Succubus!" A loud crash erupted behind you, as a green man appeared in a black and white striped suit. "Toro! Toro!" He crashed through a brick wall waving a red cape.

  "Beetlejuice!" Delores barked throwing you behind her. "Eeek!" This Beetle-maniac silenced Delores by stapling her mouth shut. "Phew! I wish I did that when we first got hitched, Huh honey?" The green menace grimaced. The beetle-man whistled over to me.

"Hey! You! Yeah, you better scram! The ex and I need couples therapy if you catch my drift." He winked still taunting Delores. Delores ripped out the staples spewing Italian profanities at the bio-exorcist which made him break a sweat. Delores flicked her hand sending the green dude pinned against a wall. You scurried out before the chance of being discovered as they both had to work their shit out.

"Now, where the hell is everybody!"

[mariacallous]

Last August, KJ Muldoon was born with a potentially fatal genetic disorder. Just six months later, he received a Crispr treatment designed just for him.

Muldoon has a rare disorder known as CPS1 deficiency, which causes a dangerous amount of ammonia to build up in the blood. About half of babies born with it will die early in life. Current treatment options—a highly restrictive diet and liver transplantation—aren’t ideal. But a team at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia and Penn Medicine was able to bypass the standard years-long drug development timeline and use Cripsr to create a personalized medicine for KJ in a matter of months.

“We had a patient who was facing a very, very devastating outcome,” says Kiran Musunuru, professor for translational research at the University of Pennsylvania and Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, who was part of the team that made KJ’s treatment.

When KJ was born, his muscles were rigid, he was lethargic, and he wouldn’t eat. After three doses of his custom treatment, KJ is starting to hit developmental milestones his parents never thought they’d see him reach. He’s now able to eat certain foods and sit upright by himself. “He really has made tremendous strides,” his father Kyle Muldoon says.

The case is detailed today in a study published in The New England Journal of Medicine and was presented at the American Society of Gene & Cell Therapy annual meeting in New Orleans. It could provide a blueprint for making customized gene-editing treatments for other patients with rare diseases that have few or no medical treatments available.

When the body digests protein, ammonia is made in the process. An important enzyme called CPS1 helps clear this toxic byproduct, but people with CPS1 deficiency lack this enzyme. Too much ammonia in the system can lead to organ damage, and even brain damage and death.

Since KJ’s birth, he has been on special ammonia-reducing medicines and a low-protein diet. After receiving the bespoke Crispr drug, though, KJ was able to go on a lower dose of the medication and start eating more protein without any serious side effects. He’s still in the hospital, but his doctors hope to send him home in the next month or so.

Both KJ’s parents and his medical team stop short of calling the Crispr therapy a cure, but they say it’s promising to see his improvement. “It's still very early, so we will need to continue to watch KJ closely to fully understand the full effects of this therapy,” says Rebecca Ahrens-Nicklas, director of the Gene Therapy for Inherited Metabolic Disorders Frontier Program at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia and an assistant professor of pediatrics at Penn Medicine, who led the effort with Musunuru. She says the Crispr treatment probably turned KJ’s severe deficiency into a milder form of the disease, but he may still need to be on medication in the future.

Ahrens-Nicklas and Musunuru teamed up in 2023 to explore the feasibility of creating customized gene-editing therapies for individual patients. They decided to focus on urea cycle disorders, a group of genetic metabolic conditions that affect the body’s ability to process ammonia that includes CPS1 deficiency. Often, patients require a liver transplant. While the procedure is possible in infants, it’s medically complex. Ahrens-Nicklas and Musunuru saw an opportunity to find another path.

When KJ was born, the researchers used genome sequencing to determine the specific genetic mutation driving his disease. It turns out KJ had actually inherited two different mutations in the CPS1 gene—one from each parent. The team decided to target the mutation that had been reported before in an unrelated patient known to have severe CPS1 deficiency; the other hadn’t been seen before.

KJ’s team turned to Crispr, the Nobel Prize-winning technology that can precisely edit DNA. So far, only one Crispr-based medicine is commercially available. Approved in late 2023, it treats sickle cell disease and beta thalassemia. Other Crispr-based therapies are in development for more common diseases that affect tens or hundreds of thousands of patients.

The allure of Crispr is its potential to directly address the underlying genetic cause of a disease rather than simply treat symptoms, as the vast majority of current medicine does. The approved Crispr therapy, Casgevy, is given as a one-time treatment. But the Philadelphia-led team specifically designed KJ’s therapy to be redosable out of safety concerns, starting with a low dose to ensure there were no adverse effects. Terry Horgan, a 27-year-old with Duchenne muscular dystrophy, passed away in 2022 shortly after receiving the first known custom Crispr treatment. His death was likely due to a reaction to the virus used to deliver the Crispr molecules.

For KJ’s treatment, researchers used a version of Crispr called base editing that can change one “letter” in a DNA sequence to another. They packaged the base-editing components in tiny bubbles called lipid nanoparticles, which were then delivered via an IV infusion.

Before it could be given to KJ though, it was tested for safety in mice and monkeys. Since the drug was unapproved, the team needed permission from the Food and Drug Administration to use the experimental treatment in an individual patient. The researchers applied to the FDA on February 14 and received approval on February 21. They gave KJ his first dose on February 25.

“The clinical responses described are impressive,” says Timothy Yu, a neurologist at Boston Children’s Hospital who wasn’t involved in making KJ’s treatment. He says the Philadelphia team’s approach was a “very thoughtful and comprehensive end-to-end process.”

Yu’s lab has been working on customized genetic medicines based on antisense oligonucleotides, or ASOs—short molecules that block the production of proteins. Yu developed a personalized ASO in 10 months for a young girl with Batten disease, a rare and fatal neurodegenerative disorder. The treatment was dubbed milasen, after the patient, Mila. It was the first medicine that was tailor-made to treat a single patient’s genetic mutation. The treatment temporarily improved Mila’s condition and quality of life, but ultimately, she died in February 2021 at 10 years old.

“The superpower of Crispr base editing is its broad applicability to many types of genetic mutations. Its kryptonite is that we are in the very early days of demonstrating efficient and safe Crispr delivery to many different organs,” Yu says. ASOs, meanwhile, are well vetted for use in the brain, spinal cord, and eye, which are more difficult to address with Crispr.

Crispr could potentially address a variety of genetic diseases and types of cancer, but getting it to the right place in the body remains a challenge. The approved Crispr medicine, Casgevy, involves removing a patient’s cells and editing them outside the body, an arduous and expensive process. A drug given directly to the body would be much more practical. The liver is an easy first target because lipid nanoparticles naturally gravitate there, but only some diseases can be treated in this way.

Since urea cycle disorders primarily originate in the liver, they could be a prime target for custom Crispr medicines. “We’ve just written a new playbook,” says Fyodor Urnov, scientific director at the Innovative Genomics Institute at UC Berkeley, who collaborated on the paper.

Urnov says KJ’s case demonstrates that bespoke genetic treatments can be made quickly and used successfully to treat critically ill patients. “This could have failed in so many ways,” he says. “Nothing was a given.” Every day, he worried that KJ would pass away before they could finish making the therapy.

The team did not say exactly how much the therapy cost to produce, but Musunuru says it was comparable to the cost of a liver transplant, around $800,000. The companies involved in manufacturing—Aldevron, Danaher, and Integrated DNA Technologies—made in-kind contributions.

“Though it will take a lot of work to get there, my hope is that someday no rare disease patients will die prematurely from misspellings in their genes, because we'll be able to correct them,” Musunuru says.