#amniotic culture

[alcrego]

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Amniotic Culture series, chapter 2.

March 2022.

[ateliersss]

He Shan‘t Lose

Pairing: Yautja x F!Reader Summary: Mere two months ago, you returned home after the incident on Earth. Now you were back, ready to indulge yourself and go on the weekly "date night" with your mate. If only your unborn pup had better timing… Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 6,716 Part 1: here Part 2: here

⇨ Oh, I missed my Mi‘ytiar.

⇨ I can't believe I finally got this done and I'm able to present this to you. Also, my birthday, guys! God, I'm 20 and I already feel old. Please spoil me with comments, re-blogs and likes.

“Toyou, go! Go! Good boy.” You laughed as you watched your four-legged companion chase after the trail he had scented.

Hell Hounds, they were called, and probably the closest thing to a pet you could get on Yautja Prime. You learned quickly, after your first encounter with them, that they were similar to the hounds on Earth, and like hounds on Earth, they had one purpose — hunting prey.

Unlike a curious Beagle, a devoted Pointer or a stubborn Basset Hound, Hell Hounds were more similar to Yautjas than dogs, both in looks and characteristics. But you still could recognize some traits that reminded you of your childhood dog.

You didn’t hunt with Hell Hounds often — it was more special and intimate when it was just you and Mi‘ytiar — but your mate had insisted that at least one of them should accompany you. As experience showed, the two of you had to split up at times; sometimes he also kept in the shadows, high on top of a tree, to watch you hunt on your own. It was simply a safety measure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle the prey on your own. The creatures you hunted were either as small as a cat or as big as a horse. They were insignificant opponents, laughable for a Yautja and not nearly on their hunting standard, but Mi‘ytiar felt different. He didn‘t care how tiny or weak the prey was compared to him.

It wasn't about him, after all.

Those hunts were solely for you, so you could be a part of his culture without him having to worry about endangering your life. 

He had been ecstatic when you voiced your wish years ago for him to teach you how to hunt, how to track and kill as it was custom on his home planet. And even now, after you had exceeded his expectations, he still was immensely proud of you every time you succeeded.

No, Toyou wasn’t only there for tracking or for flushing out his targets, but also for guarding. You were in the final stages of your pregnancy, and your strength, your speed and your stamina had decreased, leaving you more vulnerable should prey ambush you. 

Speaking of Toyou, he had been gone for quite some time.

“Toyou?” You called, whistled, and waited for a moment for him to return to you.

When you neither could hear him bark or see him running towards you, you tried calling him again, “Toyou?”

And again.

“To–”

The other half of his name turned into a strained whimper as a stabbing pain pierced through your body, coming from your stomach. You stifled a scream, but when something wet suddenly ran down your legs, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

You knew what this meant.

Your water just broke.

“Oh no. Not now, my sweetling.”

Clutching your stomach, breathing in and out, you slowly approached a tree and practically slumped against it. One of your hands gripped the meaty texture of the tree trunk for support, the other snaked down and between your thighs. When you pulled your hand back, it was coated with the clear substance of the amniotic fluid.

And blood. There was also blood on your fingers, but it was nothing too alarming. When you had been pregnant with Akail, there had been blood too, but it was still an unsettling sight to you.

“Ahhh!” You cried out as another wave of agonizing pain washed through you, your head thrown back.

As much as you had enjoyed the mostly perfect pregnancy, you had completely forgotten about birthing the pup at the end. Maybe you had just pushed the whole thing aside, since the mere memory of Akail‘s birth was still able to install that deep-rooted dread within your body.

You went into labor when both moons were at their zenith.

Mi’ytiar, who had slept peacefully next to you, was hovering over you the second you tried to wake him up. 

It took one panicked look from you and he knew what was going on. 

He got up from his lying position on your nest and knelt beside you.

You had already pushed the furs you used as a blanket to the side and he saw your legs shining with moisture in the moonlight.

“My water broke.” You faintly answered his silent question. “Our little one is coming.”

Mi’ytiar was on high alert as he knew what that meant. 

He tried to lift you into his arms, his mind fully set on bringing you to Cahrein, the healer, but unfortunately a contraction hit you right at that moment. The pain plus the one you felt as Mi’ytiar lifted you up ripped a heart-wrenching scream from your throat. 

It hurt so very much that you punched him out of instinct, an instinct telling you to do anything to stop the pain, hitting him right in the face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh God, Mi‘ytiar. I’m so sorry.”

His heart clenched at that. 

You shouldn’t apologize. He’d barely felt the impact anyways, your human strength too weak to actually hurt him, but he didn’t deserve to not feel anything. 

He should have felt pain, should have been knocked from his feet.

He had hurt you, had caused you more pain than you were already feeling.

You noticed the guilty expression on your mate’s face and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, tahní. It‘s o–”

You cut yourself off as you pressed your lips together while another contraction hit you.

“–kay. It’s okay.” You panted, “Just get Cahrein.”

Mi’ytiar shook his head determinedly as he placed his free hand on yours, which clasped his other hand in a death grip. 

“Cannot leave you.” He growled.

Another contraction made you cry out, “Mi’ytiar, please!”

It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally leave your side to get the healer.

You understood that he didn‘t want to leave you on your own, out of fear something bad would happen to you if he let you out of his sight only for a second, but you needed Cahrein to deliver your son safely.

The healer had gotten to work as soon as his eyes met your tiny, withering body. Putting aside the various instruments he had taken with him — you recognized them from one of your visits where he had shown you which ones he used for births — he helped you to remove the panties that you wore with the little piece of clothing you called nightie, which you had already pulled up, over your bulging stomach, and out of the way.

Usually, you and your mate slept naked with nothing shielding you from each other’s skin, but since you got closer and closer to due-day you wanted to be prepared. You wanted to keep at least a little of your dignity, not wanting to lie completely bare in front of Cahrein. 

Even though you knew he wouldn‘t care, taking his job far too seriously for that, your body in all its naked glory was meant for Mi’ytiar‘s eyes and Mi’ytiar‘s eyes only.

With your mate on one side and the healer on the other, you spent hours in indescribable agony.

Mentally, you were so far gone, blacking out for a second here and there. You barely caught how Mi’ytiar was insistently talking to you, or how Cahrein alternately injected you with a transparent and a bright green fluid.

It felt like a miracle when the unbearable pain decreased bit by bit, but not fully disappeared. Your fuzzy mind and your blurry view started to clear. 

With the pain now more bearable, you could finally focus on the natural instinct that told you to push.

What you didn’t know was that the following screams and cries woke up the clan in alarm, gathering almost everyone in front of your home, eagerly awaiting the new addition. 

This occasion was special, after all. Their fierce and mighty leader was expecting his first pup, something no one had expected to happen. Ever.

The tense uncertainty inside and outside of your home dissipated as soon as the whiny squeals of your newborn pup finally filled the air.

“Such a bad timing, my sweetling.” You mewled.

Tears were gathering in your eyes and you quickly blinked them away. You didn’t know if it was because of the pain of the contractions, which were now four minutes apart, or out of fear of being all alone in a hostile environment.

With your tongue between your teeth, you waited until the pain subsided, fully intending to call for your mate, but when you did, his name only escaped your lips in a short-winded whisper.

It was like you couldn’t breathe.

Biting back a sob, you formed your hand into a fist and hit your chest repeatedly, trying to get yourself to breathe regularly again. And when you thought you had enough air in your lungs, you bellowed, “Mi’ytiar!”

Your breath hitched and tears finally streamed down your cheeks. You bend your upper body forward and towards the tree, and pressed the palms of your hands against the tree trunk. With your head facing the ground, tears left your eyes, rolled down the bridge of your nose before dripping down the tip to the forest floor.

You were crying and panting, your body clenching every time another contraction hit you.

“Mi’ytiar, please, please… I need you… please, please.” You begged, your voice barely audible.

Contentment.

That’s all you could feel as you adjusted your lying position on the soft fur and the woolen and cotton fabrics of your nest. It was living up to its name as it reminded you of an actual nest, a bird’s nest; just as round but with more comfortable materials. Mi’ytiar had been very picky, something that amused you to no end.

That and the fireplace embedded into the floor, enclosing the round platform the nest was on, kept you warm and cozy.

You and the pup that was sleeping on your chest.

Little Akail let out little purrs while he enjoyed the warmth of his mother’s body that kept him tranquil and happy.

Only ten hours old and he already had such a significant place in this clan and his parent’s hearts.

You hummed quietly to your pup, only looking up from the endearing sight when Mi’ytiar entered your home and came to a halt in front of your nest, taking in the very welcome view of his (tantalizing naked) mate and his newborn son.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You warned him playfully when you noticed his heated gaze racking over your body.

“Back on Earth, some parents hold their babies like this. The skin and warmth forges a strong bond between them and the baby can get used to its parents’ touch.” You explained, your fingers slowly caressing Akail‘s back.

Mi’ytiar only clicked his mandibles in acknowledgment before he started to take off his armor and his traditional clothing as clan leader. 

You had to bite your lower lip, reminding yourself of your own scolding words only seconds ago, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. Your mate was a fine specimen, a strong and gorgeous Yautja. You were one hell of a lucky woman.

You watched him get on the nest, now only dressed in his loin cloth, and he moved on his knees towards you. 

You wrapped an arm around Akail — still curled up into a ball with his head tucked under your chin and his feet resting on your belly — and got up into a sitting position.

Mi’ytiar grabbed you by your thigh and hip, lifted you up and pulled you to him so you were sitting on his thighs while your legs were wrapped around the width of his hips.

He lopped his arms around you, drawing you into an embrace, so little Akail was now nestled between both of his parents’ warm bodies.

The smile that had grown on your lips since the moment Mi’ytiar had entered your home was now so bright and wide your cheeks started to hurt. 

But you didn’t really care. You couldn‘t hide the sheer happiness you were feeling right now at this moment.

You felt movement against your throat and above the valley of your breasts, and when you looked down as best as you could manage, you saw Akail nuzzle his face into your skin while his tiny hand was now lying on your chest where your heart was beating.

You wanted to cry happy tears.

You had never expected to become a mother, never planned on it, never even remotely wanted it if you were being honest, but having your baby now in your arms made every antipathy disappear. 

You placed a soft kiss on Akail‘s head, using as little pressure as possible so he wouldn’t wake up.

“He’s perfect.” You whispered and looked up at Mi’ytiar who was already watching you intently. “Are you happy?”

He cocked his head to the side, his chest vibrating when he confirmed, “Happy.”

He felt Akail‘s small body against his own, felt his tiny body press against his every time he was breathing.

Breathing.

A beating heart.

Alive.

He loosened the embrace of one of his arms around your body to reach between the two of you and for his son, his fingers tracing from Akail‘s forehead to the back of his head — there, he had the same scale pattern as his father, only with reversed colors — and from his temple over the hints of dreads on each side of his little head with his thumb.

Akail was indeed perfect, just like his mother, and he loved him with all his heart already, but the price he almost had to pay for having him here…

“I thought I would lose you today.” He admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You lifted your head from where it had been resting on his chest to look up at him with a small smile.

“For a second, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never meet our son." You nodded, thinking about the sharp pain and the feeling of life leaving your body as your pup fought his way out of you. “But Cahrein had prepared me as well as he was able to. He helped me through it. Who knows, hadn’t he injected me with your blood…”

You trailed off when Akail began to stir. You quickly started to rock him up and down, luring him back to sleep.

“He’s a very gifted male. I’ve trusted him with my life since the first time we visited him together after my arrival here so many moons ago.”

You adjusted your arm and its hold on Akail, the other reached up and cupped Mi’ytiar’s cheek. You let your fingertips glide over the scaly texture of his skin and dragged them over his jaw to his chin, down his throat to the middle of his chest.

“He also told me that I would be able to give you another pup in a foreseeable future…”

Mi’ytiar frowned, asking skeptically, “After what you gone through today?”

You shrugged and leaned your head forward, your cheek pressed against his pec. “I’m not talking about now or tomorrow, my love, but someday. In a few years, maybe.”

Mi’ytiar bristled, a loud rumble shaking his torso. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He shook his head, a very human gesture in your eyes. “You almost died.”

You smiled into his skin. Protective through and through, even when it came to his own offspring.

You were incredibly lucky to be chosen by a Yautja like him. 

It was rare for them to be interested in a human. It was rarer for them to treat that human like an equal instead of a slave or one of many lovers. It was the rarest for a human to be injected with Yautja blood to largely adapt to their DNA and enable life on their planet.

And Mi’ytiar told you himself — you were the only human ever being Life-Mated to a Yautja who carried his offspring and had a similar leading role as him as the mate of a leader; all in one.

You were the rarest of the rarest, a uniqueness, something completely new.

But humans had birthed Yautja-Human-hybrids long before you, most of them more than one or two.

“The next time will be different, Mi’ytiar. My body will be stronger and mentally I will be more prepared.” You told him and peppered his chest with feather-light kisses before you looked up at him again, a loving smile on your lips. “You shan’t lose me.”

You whimpered in relief when you finally heard the familiar growling bark of a Hell Hound. 

“Toyou!” You called, “I’m… here!”

You felt something move under you and fill the free space between your bend-over position against the tree. You opened your eyes, which you had closed to calm yourself and your breath, and looked down to see the Hound’s face already fixed on yours.

“N‘yaka-de. Get him.” You panted and watched as Toyou turned around to run.

When he suddenly stopped to walk hesitantly back to you, not liking the fact he was about to leave you behind who was obviously in distress, you stomped with your foot and yelled, “Toyou, fucking now!”

He darted off and you felt a tinge of guilt for lashing out. After all, he was loyal and a surprisingly good cuddle partner.

“Argh!” You cried out when another stabbing sensation almost made your legs give out.

Once again it felt like you were being torn apart, but at least you didn‘t feel like you were closer to death than life like at Akail‘s birth over 30 years ago. You were kind of proud of yourself, actually, considering you were still able to stand. 

Yeah, standing against a tree for support instead of lying in your warm and soft nest where you had actually planned to deliver your second pup. You didn‘t want to give birth in an unsafe environment, with no Mi’ytiar and no Cahrein. 

But who would have expected that your pup was ready to be welcomed into the world on a hunt?

You did. 

You had felt premature labor pains for two days now, but you hadn’t paid them any mind as Akail was born only six days after those pains had started. 

But even those pains had felt different in those two days, so why hadn‘t you just listened to your body when it undoubtedly told you “No!” while you answered Mi’ytiar‘s question “Hunt?” with an enthusiastic “Yes!” ?

You knew the answer to that, too. 

While women on Earth had to stop certain activities at one point in their pregnancy and were limited in their doings, Yautja females could still follow their everyday lives throughout their whole pregnancy. Meaning, they could still jump from one obstacle to another, chase their prey and kill it. 

Thinking that you were able to do that too had been utterly stupid and arrogant, but you just didn’t want to seem weak. Yes, the clan had accepted you and saw you as one of them, as the mate of their leader, but you couldn’t stop the suffocating need to prove yourself again and again.

It was unnecessary. Mi’ytiar had told you that, Cahrein had told you that, the Females you liked to spend your time with and considered friends told you that and, hell, even a few Males that were close to your mate told you that.

But here you were, crying and groaning, when another contraction cursed through your body. You regretted leaving your cozy home, regretted not being pampered by your loving mate in your nest, and regretted leaving your son behind, who had been by your side all the time, hovered over you in case he had to step in should you need anything in your state, followed you around like a lost puppy if you weren’t napping in your nest.

It reminded you of the time when he had been much younger and much smaller. He had been practically attached to your hip and everywhere you went, he was there. He had been such an adorable and shy little boy. Who were you kidding? He still was, but you missed those times anyway. He had grown up too fast.

You were nervous.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, you watched the hustle and bustle in the distance. They were preparing for the departure of the five Young Bloods who would soon leave for a faraway world to hunt and complete their initiation into Adulthood.

Among them was your son, your Akail, who would leave you for who knows how long to presumably search for the largest and most dangerous beast and kill it to prove himself.

Just like his father, you thought.

In the first year of your relationship, Mi'ytiar had told you everything imaginable about himself, and one evening about his own initiation ritual. He had told you how reckless and sure of himself he had been as a Young Blood, how he threw himself into danger to impress his clan.

Although that had secured his position as leader, he’d summoned his son the day before to admonish him to proceed with caution, to be logical and strategic, and to not let arrogance control him.

Lost in worried thoughts, you didn't notice as Mi'ytiar approached you, dropped to one knee and pulled you to his torso with his strong arms. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his mandibles running through it.

He loved your hair. It was just as soft as the rest of you.

“What on your mind, yawne?” He asked.

“I’m scared.” You breathed.

“On your home planet, oomans worry too when child leaves?”

You put your hand on one of his arms that was wrapped around you. “They do, but not like this. On Earth, human children leave the safety of their homes every day to go to school, to learn, and then they will return. In a few hours Akail will leave the safety of his home to finish school, so to say, but will he return?” You told him absentmindedly, your attention still fixed on the ship. “Human parents don't have to fear that particular day when their children go on a journey to possibly get killed just because of a custom.”

You felt his arms tighten around you. “Do not be scared.” He said.

“I can’t help it. I’m his mother.”

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle that sounded more like a growl than an actual laugh.

“And I his father.” He said and turned you around, not loosening the close embrace. “I trained him well. Made him strong and made him smart. Doubting my skills, yawne?”

Although he had already lowered himself, reducing his height to be closer to you, you still had to raise your head to look at him.

God, you loved his eyes. Even though there were rare variations at times among their kind — sometimes a lighter shade, sometimes a darker shade, sometimes more orange than yellow — the eyes of all Yautja had the same color.

But to you, Mi'ytiar’s eyes were different, even though one couldn’t possibly spot a difference when he was standing next to other Yautja. To you, they were brighter, more intense, more expressive. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you, with so much gentle affection and love you wouldn't credit a beast of his stature with.

“Of course I’m not. I could never.”

You suddenly could feel large arms engulfing your body from behind, pulling you into an upright-standing position, and you just let yourself instinctively fall into their embrace.

You knew those limbs, knew their warmth and their strength.

“Mi’ytiar, the pup… the pup is coming.” You panted and dug your fingernails into his forearm.

You felt him move behind you. He lifted you up, his arms supporting your back and the back of your knees as he held you to his torso. He briefly registered how you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck before he took off.

He ran like he never did. At the same time, he was careful not to let your body jolt around too much as he jumped over fallen tree trunks and climbed rocks to reach the Scout Ship while you clung to him.

Every time a contraction hit, he could feel your body tense in his arms and your mouth press against his chest as you muffled another scream.

Oh, how he wished he could take away the pain, but at least it wasn’t as horrible as it was at Akail’s birth.

Mi’ytiar remembered your glistening tears and your little withering body, how you had squeezed his hand so hard that even he had felt pain and how you had begged both him and Cahrein to stop it. Especially the fear of death in your eyes haunted him to this day.

He had almost lost you — you, his precious human — all those years ago and it had been his entire fault.

The possibility of becoming a father had been zero, non-existent, and at one point in his life, he had accepted the fact that he may be not meant to be a father. He stopped caring and someday just forgot about it entirely. The wish to continue his line like any proud leader faded away and instead he settled for the idea of passing on his knowledge and experiences to the pups and Younglings of his people.

Then he met you, this petite beautiful thing, when he was lounging on a building near an alley. He heard you before he saw you, heard you and them.

They were calling you strange names and were whistling after you before they decided to follow you down the street. Trying to escape them, you took a left turn and quickened your strides as you crossed the alley.

Mi’ytiar, who was attracted by the noises, slid down the rooftop and soundlessly landed on the metal balcony of one of the apartments. Even from the third floor, he had a perfect view of what was happening down in the alley as the men grabbed you, pushed and pulled on you, and he felt mildly impressed when you started fighting back; kicking, scratching and screaming.

The men’s playful, taunting behavior quickly turned fatal when one of them, fed up with your attempts to flee, slapped you so hard across the face that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and fell backwards to the ground.

Your screams quickly turned desperate when one of them pushed up your skirt and tore on your panties, mumbling something about teaching you a lesson, while his companions held you down.

At this point, Mi’ytiar knew something had been wrong. Mating between a Yautja male and female consisted of fighting each other, too, but not like this; not with more than one male and not with the female resisting long after the male fought the female into submission.

Your behavior told him everything he needed to know — you weren’t even close to being interested in mating with those males — and before things could get any worse, he jumped down and killed those who forced themselves on you.

By the time four bodies in various morbid states of dismemberment were littering the alley, your whole body was trembling as you stayed on the ground, cowering.

He had crouched down to your level and one of his bloodied claws reached out to touch your face, your horror-widened eyes watching him with caution.

To him you were what a kitten was to a human. You were so small, he noted, so small and soft and pink. He also thought you were beautiful, contrastive to what Yautja usually thought about your kind. He took you with him that night and the rest was history.

Even though you weren’t a suitable mate, his clan begrudgingly accepted the idea of a human being with their leader. He couldn’t have pups anyway, so why not just let him indulge himself and let him seek happiness and pleasure in other things?

And then, one day, you told him about your wish to carry his pup. He had been excited, absolutely ecstatic, but not about the image of your rounding belly with his offspring — he knew he was unable to have one — and rather about the fact that you were willing to mate with him in a way that could lead to a child. The fact you loved him and trusted him enough was all he cared about.

As much as he loved his son, he should have done something the second both of you learned that you were pregnant. He had been so overjoyed his human mate was extraordinarily able to have his pup that he never thought about possible consequences.

Anyone would have had serious doubts and would have objected because there was no way a human would survive that, but Mi’ytiar didn’t, too blown away by the prospect of becoming a father.

That changed as the day of the pup being due crept closer and closer, and slowly worry and fear set in.

And to make one thing clear: if you hadn’t been injected with Yautja blood from the beginning — first daily, then weekly, then monthly, until it stopped years ago — you wouldn’t have made it and Akail would have torn you apart from the inside out.

He was glad that Cahrein had kept a cool head and realized that his blood would help you when all other means had failed.

It was like history was repeating itself as he tried to focus on the task at hand — getting you to the ship — and not let the fluid running down his arms and body distract him. He wished he hadn’t dared to look down, to look down and see the blood you were losing, coming from a source that was his fault.

Why did he let you convince him to have a second pup? Why did the mere thought of getting you pregnant again make him so ignorant of your near-death experience? Why did he listen to Cahrein when he told the both of you that another pup was possible? Why did he forget that you weren’t like his kind?

His heavy, thumping footsteps suddenly sounded different, and when you pulled your face away from his chest to look around, you noticed the soft earth of the forest had been replaced by the cold metal of the ship.

As careful and gentle as he could in his rattled state, he put you down on the closest surface he could find — the table used for planning, briefing and orientation with several holo-maps — and slammed his fist down on the surface. He growled and hissed a few words you couldn’t understand. Your translating earpieces were perfectly fine, but your brain was only picking up the pain shooting through your body instead of noticing any stimuli from your surroundings.

You were so out of it, the tears blurring your view, that you missed the conversation between Mi’ytiar and the holographic image of Cahrein.

“Mi’ytiar.” Cahrein greeted his leader in the customary way of placing his left fist on the right side of his chest while slightly bowing down his head.

“The pup is coming.” Mi’ytiar said without hesitation, straight to the point.

Cahrein rounded the table to stand next to him and he leaned over you to get a better look at you. He reached out to grab your calves to open your legs, but his hands went right through you.

“Pauk. I can’t help her like this. You have to bring her here.”

“No.” You cried out, answering before Mi’ytiar could even open his mouth. “The pup is coming now.”

Cahrein looked conflicted, contemplating about what to do next as he was restricted in his actions. He could already tell that this was going to be hard.

“Mi’ytiar, I packed a Medicomp for emergencies when you said you two would go hunt. Get it.”

You let out a whine when your mate disappeared from your side, which was quickly occupied by the healer who noticed your distress. “Calm, (Y/N), calm.”

“It hurts so much.” You cried out.

“I know.” He retorted and eyed the red fluid running down your thighs to your calves, dripping down your toes. “You need to take off your clothes.”

With trembling hands, you started to open the pants-like cloth that hugged your legs like a second skin and circled them from your ankles up to your hips. You struggled with the complicated lacing and cursed as you began to rip on them out of frustration.

Bigger hands replaced yours and when you looked up, you saw that Mi’ytiar had returned and stood between your legs. He used his sharp claws to cut the cords open and he pulled the rest of the garment down. He was more considerate with the bloodied panties underneath and tried not to rip them, although you believed that they were irreversibly ruined.

The first and last time he had torn your panties to shreds, you had scolded him for it after he was done fucking you from behind like a dog in his rut. You didn’t have much of your human clothes left — most of it had been replaced by self-made clothes of local fabrics inspired by their style anyway — but what you definitely wanted to keep was your underwear. So when Mi’ytiar returned to you one day from a spontaneous trip to Earth with a dozen new undies, you had been more than thankful.

Mi’ytiar grabbed your ankles, placed both of your feet flat on the table and spread your thighs apart, stepping aside for Cahrein to finally take a look at you.

The healer’s holo-image got down on his knees and peered between what was happening between your legs.

You wanted to hide and press them back together, but you knew that it wasn’t much of help and just let him do his thing. Instead, you let your head loll to the side and looked at your mate.

Mi’ytiar had his hands in fists, keeping them tightly pressed to his sides, and he watched Cahrein with concern and something else in his eyes. You knew he was worried about you. He tried to hide it, tried putting his true feelings behind the mask of a collected and strong leader and warrior like he always did in dicey situations, but you could see right through it.

“And?” He urged Cahrein to finally give him an answer.

“She is ready. She has to push.”

“What about the blood?”

“Incidental. She has to push.”

So that’s what you did.

Taking a deep breath and gripping the edge of the table for the support, you strained every muscle in your body. The resulting, blood-curdling scream even got the two Yautja to flinch and Mi’ytiar lunged forward. He pried your fingers away from the table where you had been holding on for dear life, and intertwined them with his. You instantly squeezed them and Mi’ytiar let out a surprised hiss.

After a moment, your tense body slumped down. It simply gave up after not being able to endure the pain any longer.

“You need to keep going.”

“I can’t.” You hiccuped, choking on your tears as you shook your head vehemently.

“You can. You did this 30 years ago. It was impressive. I never expected such a tiny creature to survive, but you did. You will again.” Cahrein turned to Mi’ytiar and pointed to the Medicomp. “Take the syringe, take your blood and inject it.”

Rather reluctantly, he loosened the hold you had on him and opened the Medicomp. He rummaged through it, found the syringe, and jabbed it into the flesh of his arm, uncaring of the following pain. You were far more important than anything else right now.

While he filled the syringe with his fluorescent-green blood, Cahrein was talking to you and encouraged you to keep going. He tried to distract you and keep your mind from drifting off to a place of no return.

“Something is wrong.” He murmured after a while.

He had watched Mi’ytiar inject you with three doses of his blood already, but you still were in agonizing pain. You even had lost consciousness twice, something that hadn’t even happened when you birthed your first pup.

You squeezed your eyes shut and only opened them again when the pain subsided a bit. “W-What?”

“You should have started crowning already, but you don’t.”

“Why?” You asked in a long-drawn cry.

Cahrein, for the first time in over thirty years, looked baffled and completely clueless. He couldn’t explain it as he had no idea himself. There had never been complications when the females of his clan gave birth. You were the only exception.

“What are typical problems that arise for oomans during childbirth?” He asked, not knowing what else he could do.

It took a moment until you became aware that you had been asked a question.

“Am-Amniotic fluid e-enters the bloodstream… the u-uterus tears… the ba-baby is in an abnormal p-position… it’s s-stuck…” You offered between pained huffs, trying to come up with as many options as you could think of. “In most emergencies, w-when a natural birth isn’t possible, they d-do a c-section… they cut into t-the woman’s belly a-and get the baby out... and then…”

Mi’ytiar wanted you to stop talking. He wanted you to stop putting images of your cut-open body in front of him. He wanted you to stop making him think of your lifeless form after the pup was pulled out of it.

“You have to incise into her abdomen. I will instruct you.” Cahrein finally said.

Mi’ytiar immediately straightened his back and let out a roar. “No!”

“If you do it, either the pup and (Y/N) survive, or just the pup... but if you do nothing, then they will both die.” Cahrein pressed and eyed you for a second.

You were running out of time.

“I… I can’t.”

He sounded defeated. You had never ever expected to see him like this — so vulnerable, so hopeless, so broken. He was the definition of strength, of courage, of accountability, of resilience, and now only a hollow shadow of the man he was was standing in front of you, thinking about the chance of losing his entire world.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t.

How could it be possible for him to live, breathe, without you?

He had a taste of a life he never wanted to leave, a life he wasn’t able to quit, a life only something as extraordinary as you could give him. Not because you were human, although that was probably one of the aspects, but because you were you.

He loved you.

You had taught him that love was the most valuable thing to a person. Love was worth more than anything else in life. It was such a strong, overwhelming feeling no one could put exactly into words until one actually felt it.

And he loved you.

“No, Mi’ytiar… you have to, you have to.” You urged him between panting breaths. “Save our… our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please.”

Mi’ytiar looked down at you as you begged him to do something he wasn’t willing to do in a million years. Cahrein would have hesitated in his stead, but he wasn’t your mate and would have cut into you. Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, could never do something that would harm you.

But he already did, though. He had doomed you the second his seed took.

“Mi’ytiar!” Cahrein barked and pulled the male out of his thoughts.

His body was on autopilot when his hand reached for a scalpel-like tool from the Medicomp.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried out.

The only thing you felt was relief as your body slowly went numb, tears clouding your view. Everything around you became blurry and Mi'ytiar started to disappear. The world around you grew darker and darker as he set the sharp blade onto your skin and slowly applied pressure, cutting into you until blood flowed onto the table, down to the floor of the ship, creating a red puddle.

You never even registered the feeling of him cutting you open.

Your body shut down before you could.

[flyonthewallmedstudent]

Q Fever

Aka, Query fever. What a weird name for a disease. Imagine telling people that's what you got.

in the 30s-40s, an Australian pathologist in QLD/Brisbane, came across an outbreak of the same or similar illness among abbatoir or slaughterhouse workers.

At the time, he called the disease "Q" fever or query as a temporary name until the pathogen could be identified. Unfortunately it stuck.

decades later, now nobel prize winner and virologist, MacFarlane Burnett isolated and identified the microbe responsible. I think this discovery contributed to his prize. i forget already.

Microbe responsible: Coxiella burnetti. Named for Burnett and HR Cox, the American bacteriologist who found the genus Coxiella where C burnetti falls under.

Initially they felt it was related to Rickettsia, responsible for Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, but as science progressed, this was disproven.

Now for a Case Report

A 55 yo Italian man with a history of aortic valve replacement was diagnosed with pyrexia of unknown origin twice. Further signs included myalgias/splenomegaly/night sweats. The 2nd time he was admitted for PUO he deteriorated rather dramatically and was put on meropenem and teicoplanin.

A host of organisms was tested for on serological testing based on the man's travel and epidemiological history, all negative. Even a rheumatological panel was done, also less revealing. He also had a history of MGUS (a haem disoder), which is kind of a red herring here.

Cultures were negative, no vegetations were seen on a TTE - so they did consider IE. Which is an important differential for PUO.

Eventually a PET-CT was done (often favoured when investigations do not yield much for a sick patient with fevers), finally revealing a focus of infectious on his ascending aorta, where he'd also had previous surgery done. And in a round about way, they also further identified Coxiella Burnetti. He was treated doxycycline and hydroxychloroquine. As it's so rare in Italy, it wasn't really considered even though he mentioned rural travel.

Bottomline: Q Fever is an important consideration in the work up for culture negative IE. Further to this, always consider IE in the differentials for PUO particularly if they're at increased risk for IE (prosthetic valves, damaged valves, select congenital heart issues, previous IE). IE can present with night sweats, fevers, weight loss and splenomegaly. It can be insidious and chronic in nature. other risk factors can be more suggestive as we'll get into below.

Causative organism

Coxiella burnetti, it's a zoonoses - i.e. transmissible from animals. Special powers: very tough/hardy, can survive extreme environments (high temps and UV light etc.) over prolonged periods and is resistant to many common disinfectants/surface cleaners.

It's an intracellular pathogen and gram negative coccobacilli (PINK!)

name coccobaccili reminds me of cocopuffs.

it's mainly associated with farm animals, which the CDC so wholesomely displays on its website on Q fever (wtf).

goats, sheep, cattle typically (but many other animals, even birds, dogs and horses can be reservoirs)

in particular bodily fluids - amniotic fluid, placenta, faeces/urine, milk etc.

you can get it through unpasteurized milk and through inhaling it if it lands on dust in the area

ever visit a farm or petting zoo lately? OMG WASH YOU HANDS.

That said, it's typically inhaled in inorganic dust. You inhale it, it goes to the lungs, and then the bloodstream.

Increased risk for Coxiella burnetti (What to take on history of exposures and when to strongly consider it)

live on a farm or near one

exposure to a farm

work as a vet on a farm

farm worker, dairy workers, researchers on these animals/facilities

slaughterhouse/abbatoir

Also from CDC:

Clinical presentation

Most won't get sick after exposure and remain asymptomatic, a very small minority does. even though it is highly infectious.

incubation time is 2-3 weeks (consider this time in your history of exposure, did they work on the farm 2-3 weeks ago as opposed to yesterday).

Nonspecific acute infectious symptoms:

nonspecific systemic fevers/malaise/arthralgias/myalgias--> key is high fevers though and can be associated with headache and photophobia.

non specific GI - N/V/diarrhoea

respiratory ones - SOB or cough, consider it as atypical cause of community acquired pneumonia.

rare: hepatitis and jaundice (granulomatous) or encephalitis with neurological complications such as demyelinating disease or CN palsies, also haemolytic anaemia and HLH (yikes)

really it's the history of exposure that will lead you down the garden path to Q fever.

Chronic Q fever is perhaps worse, and can present as culture negative IE/PUO. Months/years later, as B symptoms as above above + LOW/LOA, night sweats. More likely to occur if you are predisposed for IE as above, have a weakened immune system for any reason, including pregnancy.

Chronic Q fever has a mortality of 10% if left untreated. About <5% of those with acute Q fever develop this if left untreated. Speculation is that it's more of an autoimmune process or abnormal immunological response to the bacteria.

To be honest, most who walk in the door with community acquired pneumonia get treated empirically for atypicals anyway, (standard course of doxycycline), so we hardly really ponder the question of Q fever in every patient. But if they present chronically and did not have atypical cover at the onset of acute symptoms, then it's something important to consider.

Other important conditions - can cause complications in pregnant women and 20% will get post Q fever syndrome. like chronic fatigue.

investigations

Serology! nice and easy. Look for IgG antibodies in the chronic presentation. Or PCR. Down side to serology - can take 2-3 days for the body to make said antibodies to the bacteria for detection. PCR can be done on any fluids/tissue sent.

Cultures useless, hence it fall under the umbrella of culture negative (hard to grow outside a host cell, it is an obligate intracellular pathogen).

Other hints on bloods (as serology/PCR takes time to return) - elevated or low platelet's, transaminitis with normal bili, opacities in CXR with hilar lymphadenopathy, CSF will show raised protein levels if done when encephalitis is suspected.

imaging can also support the diagnosis.. as illustrated by the case report.

Treatment

Acute disease - as standard for atypical bugs, doxycycline 100 mg BD for 14 days. Alternatives - TMP SMX or Clarithromycin.

Chronic Q fever or IE:

native valves: doxycycline and hydroxychloroquine (200 TDS) for 18 months

prosthetic: same but 24 months

why hydroxy: enhances the action of doxycycline (increases the pH of the phagolysosome)

Follow-up: look for 4 fold decrease in IGG

Sources:

CDC

Stat Pearls

Wiki as linked above

[lost-technology]

The Flowers and the Trees

Ace Trigun Week Prompt 1: Self-Discovery / What Makes Us Human Rem explains demi-sexuality to her twins.

The Flowers and the Trees “Do you think that I’ll meet someone like Alex someday?” Nai asked. Rem laughed softly.  “Maybe,” she said.  Vash and Nai were sitting on the grass with her, asking her for stories of Old Earth and about her past.  She was not forthcoming on most of it, but she could share bittersweet memories of her former lover. To her mild discomfort, they were asking other things, too – things that she could not have imagined in one-million years ever having to answer for children of eight months old… … But Vash and Nai were no ordinary children.  They were Generator-Plants in human-form growing from infancy to adolescence in the span of mere months. Questions were coming up fast.  Rem was unprepared for them.   Her lessons in language, science and culture were supplemented by the ship’s computers.  They could not know the intricacies of love and attraction yet, but they did know a great deal of dry science.  They knew terms such as “amniote” and “placental mammal.”  They knew that storks did not carry babies down to their mothers from Heaven, although they knew that they’d been given to Rem by a Plant. They knew by now that the people in frozen sleep aboard Project SEEDS were meant to settle a new world and to create new generations.  “Do you think you’ll ever have any kids besides us?” Vash asked.  “I mean, when all the people wake up, do you think you’ll meet someone and make some kids?”  Rem almost fell straight backwards.  It was a good thing she was sitting down already.  Good Lord these kids were forward!  “Why do you ask that?” she asked him, in turn.  Vash crossed his arms and pouted.  “The only other kid I have to play with around here is Nai.  I’d like some little brothers or sisters.”  “I’m not enough?” Nai protested.  “Oh, is that all?” Rem said.  She gently poked Vash on the tip of his nose.  “You both will have plenty of other children to play with before you know it!” “Well,” Vash added, leaning back with his hands braced on the dewy ground, “We’re also wondering about you, Rem.  You sound really happy when you talk about being in love.  I keep wondering if you’ll find someone and we’ll be like the families we see in some of the videos.” Rem sighed longingly and looked at the false blue sky above them.  “It is unlikely that I am going to give you two any siblings, And, no, Vash, I do not think it is likely that I am going to meet anyone who will be like Alex was for me.”    “I’m a little confused,” Nai confessed.  Rem put a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “Remember when I told you that there are all kinds of people?” The twins nodded. “Well, some humans don’t have the kind of attraction to each other that makes kids unless they have a deep, unshakable bond. They aren’t naturally as attracted to others as most people are.”  Vash screwed up his face in thought.  “Are you gay, Rem?”  Rem’s eyes went wide.  Nai burst out laughing and grabbed his belly.    Rem’s face fell into a glower.  Eight-month old children.  Asking very personal questions about her sex-life.  Where was the nearest airlock again?  The impromptu-mother took a deep breath.  “Boys,” she said, “It’s not as simple as that.” “So, what are you?” Vash asked, rapt.  “I don’t have the instincts that most other humans have,” Rem said, softly smiling, hoping she could get her words across.  “Some people call it asexual when you aren’t attracted to anyone physically – In my case, I found Alex and developed an attraction to him, so I am what is called demisexual.  I only had eyes for him. I don’t think I will find anyone like him on any world. I’m just not built like most people are.”  “I’m sorry, Rem.”  “You have nothing to be sorry for! You need to know these things! I’m fine, really. There are many ways of being a person. For me and for you.” 

[firespirited]

It's probably been said a hundred times before but Frank Herbert really has the most hilarious gaps in his very elaborate worldbuilding... about women.

Paul bargains with the Bene Gesserit offering his sperm but no sex... and they're all up in arms about no technological interference, no lab grown embryos!!! and it's like, dude, you could have run this manuscript by your wife so she could have the talk about turkey basters and why Onan (from whom we get Onanism) threw his seed into the dirt so Tamar couldn't conceive.

Then he's talking about a ritual about retrieving and reclaiming precious amniotic fluid and zero mention of the placenta.

We have talk of unusually fast blood clotting as a genetic trait but not what that would mean for periods or pregnancy in general.

There's a bunch of much bigger ruder things you really have to sort of groan at (mostly cultural/historical mishmashes) and ignore so you don't curse him and drop the book.

[unregisteredskybox]

four and neo 3 relationship head canons?

im SO glad you asked:

the two of them met when 4 (Cherry) was working a shift at Scorch Gorge during a Big Run, in which n3 (Gila) got swept up into it and 4 "heroically" saved them (fell face first in front of them and nearly got smacked by salmonid)

4 changed her orange squid phone case to a yellow octopus one

4 calls n3 'Gigi'!

Four's diet is exclusively Special-Up drinks and tier 3 Crab-N-Go items, and is forced to eat home-cooked meals by n3 (since they're the only one that actually knows how to cook)

Their "dates" (i'll get to that in a sec) usually involve four absolutely demolishing in turf war to impress n3

n3 is pretty spacey and forgetful at times, which 4, who's usually impatient as hell, finds incredibly sweet

c3 and 8 love to tease 4 about it, as a way to get back at him for being a little shit

oh, and here's an INCREDIBLY sad one! :]

Gila genuinely does not understand romantic love. In my version of Salmonid culture, they are entirely familial. They reproduce asexually, the sludge in the ocean acting as an almost amniotic fluid to incubate their eggs, so they don't date or fall in love. It's been removed as a need from their DNA. Of course, n3 probably does have romantic interest in 4, but every advance she makes goes completely unnoticed because they don't know what it is. In fact, when 4 professes his love for the first time, 3 just says that they love everyone in the NSS, because romance isn't a concept to them.

[exosorcery]

EMERGENCE! A Kel’Dor Pouching Story

It’s happening! It’s happening!

Sim is the creator of a blog ABOUT Kel’ Dors, for NON- Kel’ Dors. He harvests raw video materials from all over the place, however he can - and tonight, guess what’s up for discussion? That’s right.

Pouching is an extremely guarded and private rite in the life of a Kel’ Dor family. It’s also the most painful part of the childbearing experience for a female. She is extremely slight in the midsection to start with, AND that tiny space needs to (A) push two melon sized eggs through tiny extrusions in the abdominal wall into her pouches and (B) open the pouch pockets on the exterior of her abdomen so the amniotic fluid can drain. Mum is in pain, the puppy pads she’s been sleeping on for a week are drenched, and her protective maternal hormones are in overdrive. THIS is not a welcome intrusion, to put it mildly. 

Male Kel’ Dors are raised knowing full well that a female in this state is NOT to be trifled with. Just... hold her hand. That is all... (Sim’s maternal GGmother sent her mate to the Emerg. for sixty eight stitches during a pouching event, once upon a time).   

And for Force’s sake, keep the kids OUT. 

Not sure what happened here. I DO know what Sim’s next life lesson will be though.

(Sim’s blog gig (for Dor”shan/about Kel’ Dors) was inspired by an initiative taken on by the Helsinki city government in the 2000′s... Get talented kids to be the ambassadors for the city, and the local culture. Sim’s skills with public speaking, Graphic Arts and Design and Video Editing got him the job).

Enjoy!

[jennylearns]

Yemonja, also spelled Yemoja or Yemaja, Yoruban deity celebrated as the giver of life and as the metaphysical mother of all orisha (deities) within the Yoruba spiritual pantheon.

Yemonja’s name is derived from the Yoruba words Yeye or Iya (“mother”), omo (“child/children”), and eja (“fish”) and thus literally means “Mother whose children are the fish.” According to the itans (stories) of the Yoruba, the orisha Yemonja was a primordial spiritual entity who was charged by Olofi (God; also known as Olodumare) to assist the orisha Obatala with the formation of humans in Olofi’s creation of Earth. Yemonja descended to Earth on a rope with 16 other orisha from Orun, the abode of Olofi, and traveled throughout the world engaging with other orisha in preparing the world for humankind. She is the orisha of the Ogun River, the largest river within the territory of Yorubaland, and is the counterpart of Olokun, who represents the unknowable bottom of the sea.

In Yorubaland, in Nigeria, each town maintained its own deity based on the myths of its founders. Tapa (Iganna) in the Oke Ogun area is where Yemonja originated. However, the worship of Yemonja began in Saki. Abeokuta, the capital of Ogun state, is the site of her principal shrine; she is especially celebrated in the Ibara quarter of that city.

Yemonja is frequently portrayed as the wife of various male personified orisha, such as Obatala, Okere, Orisha Oko, and Erinle. She is also said to be the mother of Ogun, Sango, Oya, Osun, Oba, Orisha Oko, Babaluaiye, and Osoosi. Many other itans describe her as having never given birth but as having raised many children, in particular Sango, Dada, and the Ibeji (twins). The itans also describe her as having long breasts as a result of the many children she nursed. Her sensitivity and embarrassment about her long breasts are consistent throughout the stories, and several tell of her turning herself into a river in response to insults about that by other orisha.

Although also attributed to the orisha Osun, stories refer to Yemonja as having been given (or as having stolen) the ability to interpret the oral scripture verses of the 16 Odu Ifa through the divination process called merindinlogun. It is said that Yemonja taught other orisha that alternative method of accessing the Odu through the “throwing” of cowrie shells.

Yemonja has been likened to amniotic fluid, because she too protects her children against a predatory world. She is temperamental and can be soothing or unpredictably violent. She is the orisha of fertility as well as of bodies of water and has under her protection dockworkers, boatwrights, fishers, sailors, swimmers, and others who work, live, or travel around water. Yemonja is the patron of the Gelede Society (“Society of Mothers”). She is associated with the fish-gill facial markings worn by the lyawo (initiate into the priesthood) and is said to have assisted Sango in ending the practice of twin infanticide in Nigeria. Her animal totems are the duck, the vulture, the snake, and the small snail; her sacrificial animals are the ram, the lamb, the duck, the rooster, the goat, the fish, and the pigeon. She is represented in her various shrines in Africa by sacred stones, known as ota, placed in river water in a calabash.

The statures of Yemonja and Olokun increased in prominence in the Americas and the Caribbean as the enslaved survivors of the Middle Passage propitiated Olokun to bless their lost kinsmen and petitioned Yemonja for an alleviation of their suffering. Yemonja’s omnipresence surrounding the islands and coastal areas of Cuba, Trinidad, and Brazil served as a continuous reminder of her ability to comfort and nurture hope. Attempts to annihilate African traditional cultural practices were resisted through the establishment of ethnic social organizations in Brazil and Cuba, as well as through the masquerading of the orisha with the saints of Roman Catholicism. In Cuba, Yemonja was creolized as Yemaya. Enslaved and free Africans who spoke Yoruba became identified as Lucumi, and their religious practice became known as Regla Lucumi. In the Brazilian religious movement Candomblé, she is known as Yemanja and has been celebrated since the 1930s on New Year’s Eve as followers of Candomblé and the Amerindian Umbanda systems construct miniature altars on the beaches and send small paper boats into the sea with inscribed prayer.

In Cuban, Brazilian, Trinidadian, Puerto Rican, and U.S. homes, Yemonja’s altars are often decorated with fountains and other symbols of the sea, such as fish nets, miniature boats, shells, live fish, peacock feathers, fans, and a blue or blue-and-white crockery vessel that houses her sacred stones in ocean or river water. The number 7 belongs to her, representing the seven seas; her devotees wear seven silver bracelets, and she is often seen wearing full skirts with seven blue-and-white layers. Her necklace, ileke, is made of crystal or crystal and blue beads, sometimes with red coral. She is summoned with a gourd rattle.

[nononsenseladies]

There's this thing that happens in some child births like 1 in 100,000 where the baby's born still inside the amniotic sac. They call it en caul, 'under the veil' or a mermaid birth.

It's said to give the child powers of visions in some cultures, but in almost all that hold some sort of belief they say that it prevents that person from drowning. They save the caul and it's said possessing that alone would keep a sailor from drowning.

I bring this up because to most people that's a oh wow cool mystery event, some folk beliefs to it and the like, but I bet to the Velaryons being born like that is top shelf mystical absolute sign from the Gods.

Oh shoot I totally forgot about this!!😬So sorry!

Oh yeah absolutely on board with you, that would be ✨the✨ sign for them even more meaningful if it happened to one of the high-born kids since Rhaenys was more Targaryen.

Fun fact the son of a close family friend was born with a caul!

[dragonflightsoffantasy]

Various Notes Upon Dragonkind: Biology, Society, and More

Warning: Vague mentions of infant mortality and reproduction

On Dragons In General:

Dragons of some sort occupy almost every continent on Earth- even the poles! They've naturally evolved over millions of years along with every other species on the planet, having originated in a third branch of amniote between synapsida and sauropsida, dubbed "arcansida"- an unknown vertebrate ancestor bearing traits of mammals, reptiles, and birds, but belonging to a class all of their own, whos talent laid in a ability of "intentional mutation" which hastened their overall evolution.

Highly adaptable as a species- they can occupy almost any environment.

Two main branches exist: "Western" and "Eastern", the classification depending upon which hemisphere the breed inhabits.

Dragons have sapience- but only relatively recently evolved this in comparison to humans and other species. As such, there are still areas in which they steer more towards their instinct rather than reason.

Have their own cultures and languages, varying based on breed; languages which are impossible for human beings to learn how to speak, due to biological limitations (aka lack of a forked tongue).

All dragons have the same vulnerable areas, regardless of breed, where their scales are thinnest: under their chins, on their armpits, their underbelly, etc.

Dragons are capable of manipulating objects with usage of their opposable thumbs- however, since their sharp claws tend to get in the way of using their finger pads, they tend to instead use their knuckles for most things (meaning, basically, that they can use touch-screen technology without scratching it to oblivion).

Dragons have no true gender roles, as males and females both care for the young and hunt: there is no discrimination based on gender. 

They also have very little concept of masculine and feminine- at least, in the way humans define the terms; male and female dragons are very similar, save that females are larger and males tend to develop brightly colored patches of skin under their chin/wings/vulnerable areas during the breeding season- varies between species. 

Dragons have immense lifespans, varying amongst breeds- the longest lived of which are the Chinese Longs, which live to be 5,000 years old; the shortest lived are the English Knuckers (or wyrms) living only 200 years on average.

All dragons lay eggs, and tend to pair off as mates for life; though there are cases of more polygamous groupings of up to three or more, exemplified in various breeds.

Dragons, regardless of breed, have an extreme paternal instinct which will drive them to care for any young they find, regardless of species- adoption is very common, and it isn't unheard of for dragon parents to adopt hatchlings of other breeds- or even humans.

This instinct evolved as a prevention measure due to the species' incredibly high infant mortality rate. Baby dragons are highly vulnerable to innumerable dangers when first born, and sadly only a few dragon infants will survive after hatching. 

Hatchlings, when endangered, have evolved to make a sound eerily similar to a human baby's wails. If a grown dragon hears it, they will go into a frenzy in an attempt to locate both baby and danger (and obliterate the latter); this has become a bit of an inconvenience in modern society, where a human baby wailing in a public space may cause any nearby dragons to go into an instinctual panic.

Dragons have a wide variety of emotions much like humans- however, their psychology and ways of expression are much different than human methods.

Dragons communicate more with body language than actual words; a head tilt can mean several different things depending on which direction the chin goes and how the ears are bent, or even how far you spread your wings (in wing-bearing breeds). As such, mute and deaf dragons tend to still fare well. 

Dragons have their own version of sign language based on body movement rather than hand signs. 

A dragon has two names: the name they were born with, and then the name they give to humans as an alias- a rough translation of their true name into human tongue.

Dragons- both Western and Eastern- have domesticated bears and tigers- these domesticated breeds are smaller and much more docile than their wild counterparts, and are used for companionship, much like humans with cats or dogs.

Dragons can shape-shift, a gift mainly exemplified in the Eastern breeds, and barely understood by either human or dragon biologists; the most that can be said is that it comes from some sort of innate magic usage, and may have evolved as an extreme means of mimicry, allowing them to survive, either via camouflage or passing on their genes (a strange magical ability allowing them to interbreed with other species, which is also barely understood, even with modern science).

Fire breathing breeds unhinge their jaws (not literally: like snakes, they simply have very stretchy ligaments in their mandibles and no chin bone, allowing their jaws to open wide) before breathing fire to avoid burning their tongues, though most of their esophagus is coated in a fire proof mucus.

Most dragon breeds have a nictitating membrane underneath their outer eyelids meant to keep water out- much like birds or alligators. They may use these to express emotion, in some cases (ex: fluttering to show confusion).

******

Author's Note: This is my first post on this blog, and is only a vague, generalized (but enthusiastic) collection of even more generalized headcanons I have thus far amassed and titled "worldbuilding"- I have more, but to get them all out I'll need questions to be able to concentrate and further elaborate on any single subject, because there is a lot of material to discuss. Unfortunately, I have a surplus of only half-baked ideas, due to my very limited knowledge on subjects I want to explore in this world, but am only just beginning to study (ex: linguistics, sociology, speculative biology, etc.). If there are inaccuracies, discrepancies, or discordances, please understand that it is not out of willful malignancy but genuine ignorance, and I am always open to (gentle) critique and correction. However, even with my limited ability I hope that you're able to still glean some enjoyment out of what I present, and even add on to it with your questions and advice! Thank you for reading, and may your wings always spread wide on your own flights of fantasy!

~ Draco S.

[alcrego]

Human Resources

Bookmark between Chapter 1 and 2 of Amniotic Culture series.

[killed-by-choice]

“Whitney Roe”, 18 (USA 1993)

In 1993, a case study from the Department of Laboratory Medicine at Allegheny General Hospital and the Allegheny County Coroner's Office in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology detailing the rapid death of a teenager after a legal abortion. A researcher writing about the case later used the pseudonym “Whitney Roe”.

Whitney was 18 years old when she underwent a “safe and legal” abortion at 18 weeks pregnant. The method used was urea instillation, which involved injecting hyperosmolar urea into the amniotic sac and inserting laminaria dilators to prep for the second stage, which would be either a D&E or a stillbirth induction.

Whitney didn’t make it to the second stage. Only 19 hours after the abortion was started, she was completely unresponsive, went into shock, was acidemic and died.

The autopsy results were horrific. Whitney had developed DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulopathy). Her uterus and renal cortices were necrotic. On examination, her lungs showed diffuse pulmonary alveolar damage. Emphysema of the uterus was found along with subcutaneous emphysema of the anterior abdominal wall. Her blood cultures and tissue cultures tested positive for Escherichia coli and Clostridium perfringens (the germ that causes gas gangrene).

Before the abortion, Whitney had no health problems noted. In less than a day, she was dead with her organs rotting inside of her. It was concluded that the early steps of the abortion procedure introduced C. perfringens and E coli bacteria into the reproductive system and that the infection spread from there.

The case study noted that this was “apparently the first reported case of death caused by Clostridium perfringens and E. coli sepsis following urea instillation.” However, due to a lack of effective reporting systems, any number of others may have been killed the same way.

The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology: June 1993 - Volume 14 - Issue 2 - p 151-154: Fatal Clostridium perfringens and Escherichia coli Sepsis Following Urea-Instillation Abortion

The Department of Laboratory Medicine (K.M.J.), Allegheny General Hospital

Allegheny County Coroner's Office (A.M.S., J.A.P.), Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

(If you think you know who Whitney is and would like to help share her story, please DM me.)

[strangelovealchemist]

“In your dark night you may have a sensation you could call “oceanic”—being in the sea, at sea, or immersed in the waters of the womb. The sea is the vast potential of life, but it is also your dark night, which may force you to surrender some knowledge you have achieved. It helps to regularly undo the hard-won ego development, to unravel the self and culture you have woven over the years. The night sea journey takes you back to your primordial self, not the heroic self that burns out and falls to judgment, but to your original self, yourself as a sea of possibility, your greater and deeper being.

You may be so influenced by the modern demand to make progress at all costs that you may not appreciate the value in backsliding. Yet, to regress in a certain way is to return to origins, to step back from the battle line of existence, to remember the gods and spirits and elements of nature, including your own pristine nature, the person you were at the beginning. You return to the womb of imagination so that your pregnancy can recycle. You are always being born, always dying to the day to find the restorative waters of night.

In the dark night something of your makeup comes to an end—your ego, your self, your creativeness, your meaning. You may find in that darkness a key to your source, the larger soul that makes you who you are and holds the secrets of your existence. It is not enough to rely on the brilliance of your learning and intellect. You have to give yourself receptively to the transforming natural powers that remain mysteriously dark.

That is the point of the night sea journey—to be born into yourself. There, you are in the amniotic fluid, in an alchemical substance once again. You are journeying toward your own life. You are preparing for your fate. The promise is exhilarating, but the dangers are extreme. You have to avoid being just one of the crowd and instead take the chance of being born an individual.”

~ Thomas Moore

[doomedandstoned]

Gnash Tear Open New EP, ‘Shared Nightmare’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Growing up a preacher's kid, I found myself trancing out to the repetitive mannerisms that often accompanied the sermon's delivery. I would disassociate and go to strange, weird, and wonderful places in my mind's eye. If there was anything that could snap me right back into place, it was those diatribes on hellfire and damnation. One oft repeated saying of Jesus lingers with me still: "There will be weeping there, and gnashing of teeth."

Here's a band that has got the gnashing bit down to a veritable art form. They are, in fact, GNASH from Columbus, Ohio, and this is their debut EP, 'Shared Nightmare' (2022). I think we can all identify with its title, as we enter the final quarter of year three on pandemic planet. Whether you view it economically, politically, culturally, or personally, it has been both an interminable nightmare and a wake-up call from our collective delusions of unfettered technological, scientific, and social progress. Put simply, we are at the end of it all still human. We came cosmic dust and to dust we shall return.

Gnash's debut four-track record exposes those wonderful stories we tell ourselves about how things should be, but rarely manifest as envisioned. It is an awakening to pain, loss, and frustration

Am I losing you? Or are you losing me? To a future that we did not plan

First song "The Darker Half" opens to the eerie hypnotic sound of cicadas and a bass riff tuned so low (and captured so remarkably) that you can feel it right down in the pit of your stomach. The dual guitar attack is less for show than atmosphere, conjuring a misty swell of acid rain that buttresses Gnash's nasty vocal stylings.

The cross I bare This pain we share Is more proof that life is just not fair

"Broken Mirror Image" greets us with a crusty, raspy roar and Gnash's attack here is beyond heavy. There is sadness in the air, with the bittersweet chords of rhythm guitar complimented by the melancholic lines of lead guitar.

It's a broken mirror image This broken face that I see It's a broken mirror image Of a severed bond between you and me

"The Amniotic Lake" has a pulsing, headbanging rhythm to it. It swirls and thrashes about. Soon your entire body will be caught in the grinding undertow. The lyrical subtext here is grim, to be sure.

"Sacrificial Bastard" strikes a Nirvanaesque heartbeat, but delivers something else: a hideous, irradiated, sludged-up remnant of what mankind has become in these early stages of the late, great planet Earth. The words here seem to draw a kind of parallel with one's own suffering and the suffering of Christ.

Says singer Josh Richter:

I have always taken pride in being able to pull from whatever emotion I’m feeling inside when writing new music, but this record in particular came from a much darker place than I had expected. Due to some personal things that have transpired over this past year I was able to take the sadness and hatred I was feeling and funnel it into this entire record. I feel as if this band, these songs, and this idea came at the perfect time for me personally. I’m very proud of what we created as a team and I hope everyone can feel a little bit of my pain when they sit down to take a listen.

Nicky Richter (guitar), Keenan McNeal (drums), Josh Richter (vox), and Ethan Martin (bass)

Shared Nightmare by Gnash sees the light of day on Thursday, September 22nd (get it here). Stick it on a playlist with Thou, Usnea, Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean, GoodEye, and Shepherd's Crook. This is the Doomed & Stoned world premiere.

Give ear...

LISTEN: Gnash - 'Shared Nightmare'

SOME BUZZ

Sludge metal newcomers Gnash are preparing to unleash their debut EP, Shared Nightmare. Frontman Josh Richter comments:

“I’ve never done a concept record before so I wanted to try to tell a story in great detail over an entire record rather than just one song. As dark and gruesome as the concept is, the underlying theme is the feeling of carrying around emotional baggage and trauma your whole life and the effects it takes on someone. Life is a heavy burden sometimes.”

Formed this year in Columbus, Ohio, Gnash has already established a powerful and unique sound, drawing influence from the depth of death metal, the raw emotion of black metal, and heaviness of sludge metal, the band’s debut EP, 'Shared Nightmare' (2022), is a profound and thought-provoking insight into the darkest reaches of mental health issues.

'Shared Nightmare' tells a tale of conjoined twins, where one half of the pair dies. The remaining twin must continue on in life, carrying with him a corpse he can’t be rid of. The EP is an exploration of what it means to bear trauma and the toll it takes after a lifetime of being weighed down by such inescapable feelings.

Not for the faint of heart, prepare to be transported into a dark and chilling tale in Gnash’s debut EP 'Shared Nightmare,' coming September 22nd.

Follow The Band

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[freedfromthegalactichivemind]

Horde Clone Headcanons #2: Food

Number 2 in my self-indulgent headcanons, the mythos that I use in my Hordak and spacebat-heavy Spop fanfictions.   #2 Food, Nutrition and Culture(s) around Eating  Solid food, much like emotional facial expressions, is a privilege reserved only for Prime.  A. Capabilities  That said, in my world, Prime eats (the banquet for Glimmer and Catra was not just for show).  The clones obviously prepared all of that food and knew how to set a table, and so I have food as a thing not just to impress and intimidate planetary “guests,” but as something that Horde Prime genuinely enjoys - and, of course, reserves for himself.   Clones are capable of eating.  They have teeth (rather sharp ones judging by those canines).  They have stomachs and intestines, or at least some equivalent thereof.  However, the nutritional fluid they are given (the “nutrient-rich amniotic fluid” according to Wrong Hordak) is their general method of sustenance as it is efficient and not particularly pleasurable / is flat-bland.  They *can* eat (because Prime can inhabit any one of them as a temporary vessel and my choose any one of them to be modified into a main Vessel) but generally do not, as their soldier’s rations are the simple fluid.  B. Make-up of the amniotic fluid  In my ‘verse, it is a mixture of raw ingredients harvested from various planets, grown on-ship, a mix of animal-derived proteins and plant-matter, in particular there is a photosynthetic element that creates basic nutrition when exposed to the light of stars (particularly yellow stars), hence its green color.  It also contains an element of recycled clone, clone-blood and general life-force.   Taking it is not considered the same as raw cannibalism, more on that later.  C. Base-species traits  Whatever species Prime “uplifted” them from or corrupted them from (or he himself came from, I am undecided on my headcanon for Prime’s origins and can go many ways - but my idea of spacebats definitely have a base-species)... well, they were omnivores.  They had a diet comparable with humans and with various kinds of bats.  Like much of the fandom, I enjoy imagining them as big fruit bats and have the idea that fruit featured heavily in their base-species’ diet. I also tend to add insects in, since many kinds of bats are insectivores, hence why one of my OCs enjoys eating bugs and landing on Planet Etheria with its giant magical guardian horror-bugs was the best thing that could have ever happened to him!  BBQ time!  C. Battlefield Permissions and Rites  While clones normally do not eat, as they are able to, they have one type of permission to do so under Prime:  Getting stuck behind enemy-lines.  If a squadron is pinned-down or stranded planetside (and Prime, in his mercy, deems them worthy of rescue / doesn’t want to waste the resources, because, let’s face it, clones take time to grow), they are allowed to eat from local flora and fauna to keep themselves going if their liquid rations have run out. Battleships are equipped with tools to scan what is generally safe for them in chemical-makeup.  This is considered very stop-gap and they are not meant to take any pleasure from it.   If the situation is particularly dire, it is not considered a sin for clones to eat their own dead.  Brothers taking from fallen Brothers to survive has very rarely ever happened, but it has happened.  It tends to forever change the survivors.  D. Post-Primefall Foodways   Eating, to use a pun, was an acquired taste for clones after the Fall of Prime. They each had ingrained in them the “behind enemy lines” permission-idea, but it was very difficult for any of them to not shake the feeling that they were doing something wrong by partaking in “something reserved only for Prime.”  Gradually, because it was a matter of survival, the greater part of them began growing accustomed to it.  Encouraged by their Etherian hosts (and presumably the peoples of other planets, too), they began exploring their own tastes in conjunction with their general learning to embrace identities.  Some clones truly cannot get the hang of eating and, for them, some substitues for the amniotic fluid have been created to replace it when the last of the rations run out.  It is not entirely the same thing as the true fluid, as the photosynthesis process is different than what was available in space and because clones are no longer recycling one another.   There is a form of it available (in a town specific to my fanfic) that is a very close approximation due to some of the healthy local clones doing blood-donations for the sake of its creation.  The replacement-amniotic fluid is employed mainly for the sick and the injured as a medical treatment, for example, for anyone in a coma, but no one has any judgement for a clone who just cannot eat taking it instead.  For those spacebats who do get the hang of eating, fruit is a favorite, if not universal.  Now, different bats may favor different types of fruits, but give a bat a mango or a juicy melon and you’ve made a very happy bat!  As said, in my world, some will snack on a big ol’ bag of roast crickets.  Otherwise, they’re able to eat almost anything that’s within a human range, and then-some on certain fruits that are digestible to them, but may be toxic to humans.   E. Survivor’s Guilt  The few spacebats who’ve survived battlefield experiences via partaking of the fallen of their kin - to a man - cannot stand meat.   This was a trait that was suppressed in Prime’s days, in regards to no one thinking much about the makeup of the amniotic fluid and if a spacebat was unlucky enough to get into that kind of situation TWICE, well, Prime’s orders were Prime’s orders.  In the post-Prime era, anyone who’s had to survive that way becomes a vegetarian by default.   It’s not necessarily a moral decision, it really is more a matter of the texture of flesh on their teeth will bring them flashbacks.   It is a known-trait among them, therefore any time a Horde-clone mentions they are a vegetarian or the topic comes up, they will often be the recipient of grave looks from their brothers - a sense and an assumption that said brother was a one-time cannibal.  This can cause great confusion among those clones that never had to do that for survival but have chosen vegetarianism as a lifestyle due to flavor-preferences or a bonding with animals.   It is a strange bit of stigma - that if the topic comes up, the contingency cannibalism is immediately assumed.   F. Undecided Headcanons  I don’t have it solidified, but sometimes I headcanon that spacebats cannot abide coffee - not caffeine in general (I like making Hordak fond of tea), but coffee specifically. Gives them the shakes, is mildly toxic to them.  I also have used, once, the idea that they become inebriated on sour / spoiled / fermented milk.  (This is something I ganked from the old science fiction film and series Alien Nation for fun). Neither of these are solidified and can vary, depending upon what I want to write for a given fic.  

[poetrythreesixfive]

Only Kids

If only we could reach back into a child’s life

like a surgeon’s blade and cut away the badness

that warped their minds and bodies into perverted

versions of what they could have been—

the tainted bloodstream poisoning the amniotic

sea, the empty hours wailing in a crib without

reassurance, the unanswered cries, the apathy

of orphanage walls, the mother who refuses to

hold them, the father evaporated like a ghost,

the tainted milk, the shaking, the smacking,

the frowns, the arguments permeating his hours

like an erratic rhythm, the deep-throated curses

reverberating through thin walls like bombs

all of its sinking into the core of his being with

epigenetic malignancy, a pernicious anemia

of the soul that drains away his potential, insult

by insult, until his cells are instigated to express

themselves in ways less than ideally, manifesting

the subliminal horror of his history in impaired

processing, hyperactivity, attention deficits, high

blood pressure, diabetes, heart disease, and a life

span shorter than his telomeres would have wanted

—if only we could do this, then we could reverse-

engineer his short, brutish, nasty existence and save

the old man walking down the street whom he one

day attacks for no particular reason, punching him

in the back of the head, and then beating him with

a traffic cone until he is unconscious before he dies

in the hospital a day later from blunt-force trauma.

And we can say that it is not his fault that he turned

into a monster in t-shirt and jeans, and that his six

friends are equally products of an indeterminate

number of environmental abuses fueled by poverty,

culture, and decay, or that the parents are to blame,

but explain that to the old man’s anguished family

who recall how he saved lives during the war and

used to buy ice cream for the neighborhood kids.

Our surgeon’s knives can only operate upon the raw

and bloody present, and if the past cannot be excised

by social scalpel, that is why they invented handcuffs.