#stomach tissue sampling

[gastroenterologist]

Delve into the crucial role of stomach biopsies in diagnosing gastrointestinal conditions. Learn about the pivotal insights and diagnostic purposes they serve, shedding light on diverse health concerns for informed medical understanding and treatment planning.

[blueiscoool]

A Mummified 44,000-Year-Old Wolf Found in Siberian Permafrost

Scientists perform necropsy on an ancient wolf pulled from Russian permafrost that may still have prey in its stomach.

In a first-of-its-kind discovery, a complete mummified wolf was pulled from the permafrost in Siberia, after being locked away for more than 44,000 years. Scientists have now completed a necropsy (an animal autopsy) on the ancient predator, which was discovered by a river in the Republic of Sakha — also known as Yakutia — in 2021.

This is the first complete adult wolf dating to the late Pleistocene (2.6 million to 11,700 years ago) ever discovered, according to a translated statement from the North-Eastern Federal University in Yakutsk, where the necropsy was performed. The discovery, scientists say, will help us better understand life in the region during the last ice age.

Photos from the necropsy show the wolf's mummified body in exquisite detail. Animals are preserved in permafrost through a type of mummification involving cold and dry conditions. Soft tissues are dehydrated, allowing the body to be preserved in a frozen time capsule.

Researchers took samples of the wolf's internal organs and gastrointestinal tract to detect ancient viruses and microbiota, and to understand its diet when it died.

"His stomach has been preserved in an isolated form, there are no contaminants, so the task is not trivial," Albert Protopopov, head of the department for the study of mammoth fauna of the Academy of Sciences of Yakutia, said in the statement. "We hope to obtain a snapshot of the biota of the ancient Pleistocene."

He added the wolf, which tooth analysis revealed was male, would've been an "active and large predator," so they will be able to find out what it was eating, along with the diet of its victims, which "also ended up in his stomach."

Another key aspect of the necropsy is looking at the ancient viruses the wolf may have harbored. "We see that in the finds of fossil animals, living bacteria can survive for thousands of years, which are a kind of witnesses of those ancient times," Artemy Goncharov, who studies ancient viruses at the North-Western State Medical University in Russia, and is part of the team analyzing the wolf, said in the statement.

He said the research project will aid their understanding of ancient microbial communities and the role of harmful bacteria during this period. "It is possible that microorganisms will be discovered that can be used in medicine and biotechnology as promising producers of biologically active substances," he added.

The wolf necropsy is part of an ongoing project to study the wildlife that lived in the region during the Pleistocene. Other species examined include ancient hares, horses and a bear from the Holocene. The team plans to study the wolf's genome to understand how it relates to other ancient wolves from the region, and how it compares to its living relatives. The team now plans to start studying another ancient wolf discovered in the Nizhnekolymsk region of northeast Siberia in 2023.

By Hannah Osborne.

[artdcnaldson]

medical MALPRACTICE 💜

theater kid conversation and gyno art conversation got me thinking about dr pommader from waitress…. aaurrr art, your pretty gynecologist, who you try your best not to look at too much during appointments bc you’re afraid you’ll get wet and he’ll obviously be able to see…

you’ve been seeing him more recently bc you and your bum ass husband are trying for a baby, but nothing is happening. your husband is convinced it’s your fault, so you go to dr. donaldson (art, as he insists you call him) to run some fertility tests. when you tell him what’s going on you swear you can see his eye twitch when you mention your husband blaming you. the exam is…… charged. he takes extra care with you, his gloved fingers gentle but firm, definitely lingering longer than they need to as he talks you through what he’s doing. he’s always been so easy going and he still is, but there’s an authoritative edge to his voice as he massages your gummy walls to “relax the tissue” so he can take samples for the tests. he asks you exactly what you’ve been doing to try for a baby… asks you describe positions that you’ve been trying… you blush and tell him it’s nothing but missionary in the dark for you and your husband. you see that little eye twitch again. he tells you that some positions are more optimal for it to take, offers to show you how to get into them. you end up on his table with him bending and stretching you into different positions, one with your chest down and your ass up with your thighs squeezed together, another on your back with one of your legs hiked over his shoulder. he maintains that he’s just demonstrating for you, but you’re both throbbing with need under your clothes. you can feel how hard he is in his scrubs, but you don’t mind even a little bit. you wish he’d fuck you right here on this table and he’s thinking the same exact thing.

you leave dazed and more horny than you think you’ve ever felt in your life. and if he schedules your follow up for after all his nurses and receptionists leave so it’s just you and him when he tells you you’re more than fertile and your husband is the problem… that’s nobody’s business but yours and his <33

MOANED AND DIED

God... you show up to the follow-up wearing a pretty little sundress (because it's easy to take on and off for any exams, of course! no other reason). You wear your hair really nice, do your makeup, leave your wedding ring in your car.

You always knew it was going to be your husband that was the problem. The news doesn't shock you as much as it makes the resentment that was building in the pit of your stomach boil over. Fuck your husband. Fuck your unhappy marriage. Fuck his insistence that a baby could fix something that neither of you really even wanted anymore.

"I do have another... I guess, like, problem," you say suddenly, before the 'appointment' ends and you have to go home to the shitty deadbeat waiting for you.

Art nods, brows furrowed in concern. He's a good doctor, he really is, even if he's definitely passed the threshold of a normal doctor/patient relationship.

"I just... I'm having trouble getting wet, when I'm with my husband." You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and let your words sink in. "Just... maybe you can just check and make sure nothing's wrong with me?"

That's how you wind up back on the table, feet in stirrups, gloved hands sliding your panties down your thighs. You shiver in the cold of examination room, goosebumps pebbling your flesh.

"Can I touch you?" He asks. His voice is barely above a whisper, gravelly with need, but it's so loud in the quiet of the close space.

"Yeah." The words escape you on an exhale, and you see the ghost of a smile on his lips as he moves his hands higher. You gasp as his gloved hand moves along the seam of your pussy, tracing the seam of you from your entrance to your clit.

His free hand rubs along your thigh— comforting, soothing. When you relax your thighs, he smiles. "There we go," he practically coos. "Just relax for me. I just need to check something."

His thumb rubs over your clit and you gasp. It wasn't a lie when you said you couldn't get wet for your husband, but with Art? It was fucking easy. You feel your body responding in earnest, cunt pulsing with need, dripping for him.

"See? You're perfect," his fingers tease over your entrance, collecting the arousal that pools there. "Your body works just like it needs to, for the right person."

[captain039]

PART 6 (Last Part) He’s Grumpy, I’m sunshine

Alpha!Logan x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB, age gap (legal), light swearing, grumpy/sunshine, anxiety, mental health issues, intimacy, violence, torture, plus size reader, medication usage for anxiety, depression and sleeping, heat pills, scent blockers, angst, hurt/comfort, PTSD, trauma

Set at Charles school

Your mutation: fire creation and control

Previous part <-

You haven’t left your room for a week you think. You sat in the corner mostly, your body would engulf in flames and you scream out in pain before exhaustion took over and they stopped before your body would regenerate. You’ve melted the door shut in the bomb shelter training area. Nobody could get through that or the thick concrete walls so you stay here making yourself safe making everyone else safe.

It feels more than dying an agony deep in the pit of your heart and stomach. It’s not just the pain it’s being away from him. You didn’t realise how much you truely imprinted on him, how you truely believed in that cell he was your alpha, it was the only thing that kept you going. You don’t feet hunger or thirst, thankfully there was a small bathroom through a little door in the shelter you could use. You hadn’t showered though, you don’t think you’ve brushed your teeth either. Charles tries to speak to you, Jean tries too but you just engulf in flames and cry out in pain knowing they feel it too. You want to rot away, wither into the ground or burn to death. You can’t die though, whatever they did it succeeded and you cannot die. No matter how much you burn you always heal too quickly always in between the stage of major burns and healing skin. You can’t cry anymore, barely able to move from this cold floor.

The doors ruined covered in slash marks and dents. He’s tried getting in so many times and failed. It kills him, he thinks that this is truely what dying feels like. Charles had kept you stable the whole flight and like a machine you walked down to the old bomb shelter and sealed yourself in. He hears every time you shout in agony before you pass out, his knuckles go raw and bloody every time before they heal. He’s begged Jean and Charles to do something but every time they try to connect there’s your pain in their features and they can’t hold even while you sleep. He hasn’t left the door since you got here, he knows he smells and his stomach is hollow. Jean brings him food and water but he doesn’t eat, knowing you’re not eating. He saw everything they did to you, made him watch like it was a damn cinema. Watched you burn yourself to death then heal just as quick. Watched every time they brought you back to the table, the exhaustion in your features, the sunken ness of your eyes, the black bags and pale skin before the regeneration kicked in. He knew though, knew you were exhausted and ready to give up and all he could do was watch. This woman that captured you both was a legacy of William Stryker same kind of fucked up though. She kept him on a heel, forcing him to give blood, bone marrow, tissue samples whatever the hell they wanted. He knew that look of panic to well and seeing it on your innocent face broke his heart. He was yours body and soul, heart and mind, he needed to be with you right now, needed to help you, help his omega.

You jolt when a red flash blares through the door and Logan’s raging in. Your whole body goes on edge begging him to stay the hell away so you don’t hurt him. He’s pissed or so you think, the look on his face, tight jaw and stern eyes as he quickly covers the length of the bunker. You sob and beg him not to come close but he’s there, arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. You feel like lead and breathe him in fully. Your body reacts to your alpha and you almost collapse. You cry now, a burst dam down your face as he holds you tightly. Your arms go around him holding yourself as close as you can to him. You stay like that till you can’t cry anymore and exhaustion takes over.

“Logan” you mumble feeling like you’re going to collapse.

“I got you” he whispers. He smells just as bad as you, but his alpha scent is fully through your senses.

“We’re going to go have a bath, and get some sleep” he says, it’s not a request though and all you can do is nod.

“Up” his hands move to your thighs and you flush.

“Logan I’m too he-“ you go speak looking to him.

“Up, omega” he repeats and raises an eyebrow. You manage to jump and he lifts you easily, your arms going around his neck and his under your thighs. You rest your head on his shoulder, walk past Jean and Charles. You can’t look at them so you hide your face. You’re worried about engulfing in flames again, the simmering anxiety always there. He walks to the upper level, going down the hall before going into a room, his room.

“Logan” you mutter.

“I’ll burn everything down in here” you add with guilt. He thinks about it knows your right and lets out a small growl before he’s turning and heading to the direction of your room. He sets you down on the bed, that’s been replaced, as has the carpet and bedside tables. You run your hands over the sheets a light grey colour. Logan heads to the bathroom and starts to run the water before he’s back out in the bedroom. He closes the door and locks it before turning back to you. He looks worn out, probably how you look too, his hair a mess his beard unkept. You see the tears well in his eyes and feel it pang in your stomach.

“I’m sorry” you mutter trying to control your emotions.

“No, no don’t you dare apologise” he’s over quickly hands cupping your cheeks and wiping your tears. He takes a small breath closes his eyes as a tear rolls down his cheek. He presses your foreheads together as you cry. His thumb caresses your cheek as you lift a hand to hold his wrist.

“The bath” you mutter and he curses before going to the bathroom. He comes back out, leaning down to pick you up again, but you stand in shaky legs. You give him a small smile and he sighs but allows you to walk to the bathroom. You don’t dare look at the mirror as you settle down to sit on the toilet to take your shoes and socks off. Logan’s there instantly though the alpha kneeling and taking off your shoes and socks which no doubt stink. You’re embarrassed but he doesn’t care, his brows frowning as he concentrates. He glared at the suit given to you by the people who captured you and he growls softly. You cup his face this time and his eyes are instantly on you softening. You stroke his cheek feeling the course hair before you gulp a little and lean closer. He meets you and presses his lips to yours in a soft kiss that has you melting.

“Sorry” you mutter dropping your hands.

“Why?” He frowns a little breathless.

“My breath stinks” you mumble and he laughs the noise waking up something inside you as you smile.

“Bath’ll get cold” he says softly and you nod. You stand as he does and curse this suit. You strip without thinking, wanting to be rid of it. You glare at it as you kick it off with shaky legs before glancing up to Logan who has turned his back to you. You lift your hand to his shoulder only to freeze when you see flames dancing along your skin.

“Logan get out!” You yell in a panic as he turns around and sees your arm.

“Omega! Omega calm down” he says as you shake and whimper. He whispers your name softly a few times hands cupping your face as you try to back away. You’ve closed your eyes too scared to open them.

“Look at me” he whispers and you shake your head.

“Look at me omega” he says and your forced too open them. You breathe deeply seeing that they’re only flickering softly before disappearing. You stare at your arms then his face as he nods.

“Easy” he says softly and you nod. He helps you into the bath eyes never leaving your face as you sigh and feel your muscles relax. He goes to the bathroom cupboard, grabs out some new soaps, shampoo and conditioner, a sponge and a hair brush. He empty’s a container and rinses it out before lying on the bathtub side. He wets the sponge before showing you two bottles of body wash. You point to the left and he pours some on before gently washing your arms and shoulders. You feel hot again, your cheeks no doubt red at the affection the alpha gives you. Neither of you say a word and when you find flames dancing on your skin he sends out calming alpha pheromones to calm you down instantly. He washes your hair with gentle care and tenderness, you try to hide your tears as they come but your alpha knows as he mutters soft words. he presses kisses to your head your temples, your cheek while he washes you. You’ve washed and brushed your teeth, the waters gone cold though and you silently wish it didn’t so you could stay here. He dips his hand in the water and frowns though.

“Come on” he helps you out and wraps a towel around you before his arms go around you too.

“You’ll get wet” you mumble and he grunts in response making roll your eyes slightly.

“You need a shower too” you mutter.

“Saying I stink?” He says teasing to his tone as you huff quietly.

“I am” you tease back hearing and feeling him chuckle against you.

“Go dry and get dressed, I’ll be there in a minute” he mutters against your head before he presses his lips to it and lets you go.

“Take more than a minute please” you quietly sass and he growls teasingly before you leave the bathroom.

You sit on the bed in the towel, staring at the floor as images flash through your mind of what happened. You take a small breath listening to the shower as you walk over to the wardrobe. You put on some pyjamas and dry your hair before the shower stops. You feel. Numb. You’re clean thankfully but numb, you need to sleep, a proper sleep not passing out from exhaustion and waking up in agony. You need to find out what the hell they did to you too. Logan can’t stay here, your alpha can’t stay here not while you’re unstable, he may regenerate, but your fire, they’ve done something to it, made it even more dangerous.

You leave Logan, in the morning and go down to the training bunker. There’s a small bedroom attached to the bathroom where you stay. The doors been fixed already thankfully. It’s safer down here for everyone including your alpha.

“What are you doing down here?” You hear Logan’s gravely voice and sigh.

“I am trying to protect you! Can’t you see that I will kill you now!” You yell without thinking.

“Then do it, I don’t care” his voice is low and deadly serious and you struggle to breathe as you walk out the room and meet him in the bunker.

“You don’t get to choose where I stay or go” he says eyes narrow and brows furrowed.

“What part of I will kill you don’t you understand!” You shouldn’t yell at him, certainly not an alpha as strong as him.

“I will burn you, they did something to me!” You add body getting hotter and flames dancing on your skin.

“And I watched! I saw every fucking thing!” He growls back and your eyes go wide.

“They made me stay in a cell and watch like I was in a damn cinema with front row seats” he’s an inch away from you and your body trembles.

“I’m staying right here by my omegas side whether she likes it or not, burn me to hell I don’t care” his eyes are intense and you sag defeated.

“Look at me” he mutters and you lift your head.

“I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere, you’ll control it, Jean and Charles will figure it out whatever they did to you” he cups your cheeks and you melt against the alpha.

“You’re my omega it’s my job as alpha to protect, provide and care for you” you feel tears well in your eyes and give a small nod.

“Ok?” He whispers.

“Ok”

Taglist:

@beanhardy

@gimmethatdilf

@the141bandicoot

@twinky-wink

@bontensbabygirl

@meowmeowyoongles

[needlepokes]

how to write a diabetic character: CGM edition

is your diabetic character wearing a CGM? do they have to? CGMs these are Continous Glucose Monitors that can detect how much sugar is in your bloodstream.

How are they different than tradtional fingerprick (blood) tests? they take blood sugar readings 24/7, and provide you with how your sugars are doing at all times, rather than just at that moment. This leads to tremendously better control over blood sugar.

The way they work is that they can "sample" your blood sugar by testing your subcutaneous tissue for sugar levels then adjusting that value.

However, they're less accurate than a fingerprick (blood) reading and will often "lag" behind by about 15 minutes.

SO if you have a character who is expereincing low or high blood sugar - they'd get an alarm on their CGM, and then they might take a fingerprick reading to make sure. CGM false alarms DO exist and it can cause some very annoying situations.

A less careful/depressed/struggling/burnt out character might A. not care or "sleep through" alarms B. not double check with a finger prick C. not care that they're wearing a CGM - pump into stuff or just rip it off (although they are very expensive!).

can you mute them? yes, and a character might choose to do this while they're sleeping, having an exam, or if they know they're about to fuck up their blood sugar.

how long do they last? the libre ones last 14 days. the dexcom ones last up to 10 days.

can you shower with them? yes

can you swim with them? yes

can you have sex with them on? yes, and i've read very funny anecdotes from diabetics having to pause during sex because their cgm was beeping

are they expensive? yes! sometimes, they're covered by insurance, but not completely. If a character is in poverty, or do not have insurance, they likely would have to rely solely on fingerpricks.

Who usually uses CGMs? they are very widespread between T1Ds and are increasingly being used by T2Ds as well.

can you share the readings on multiple devices? yes! your character might share their info with their SO, parents, roommates, close friends...etc. It is genuienly one of the most telling signs of a close relationship between people - because those people will see your "mistakes" and decisions.

where do you stick them? the libre ones (circular ones) officially just go on the back of your arm. The dexcom ones can go on just about anywhere that's "soft" - stomach, thighs, back of arm, chest...etc.

does putting them on hurt? sometimes! the way they are installed involves a needle going into the skin then sitting in the subcutaneous tissue. This can sometimes cause some bleeding, and soreness for a few hours.

Often times the process is completely painless, but this is not the case for everyone. A thinner character might struggle to find a place "cushy" enough for a cgm.

can you put them on your own? yes the process is made for one person to stick it on, but i've seen some couples on instagram act all romantic and sappy about applying it together, so that should give you some ideas for your diabetic characters' budding romances ;)

Some CGMs are just naturally faulty, i'd say about 4 sensors is a busted one, and in that case you'll have to replace them - which most companies just do without any hassle.

do they work with insulin pumps? some insulin pumps can work in tangent with CGMs and provide feedback for the user to automatically generate the correct doses of insulin, depending on their current blood sugar.

do they come off easily? depends on who you're asking. some people swear up and down that they never last and have to put on patches, which are admittedly very cute. Weather, clothing, and how clumsy a character is all factor in this. For me personally i just put them on raw and keep them together by sheer willpower.

CGMs can cause anxiety in diabetics. The constant flow of information can easily burnout people, and this can possibly be the case for any diabetic character you might write. Seeing arrows going down or up can be very distressing, especially knowing how painful some of the consequences are. I personally take breaks for both myself and my wallet from using CGMs to avoid burn out.

nonetheless, CGMs are WONDERFUL pieces of technology that have personally made me much happier as a diabetic, freer and a lot more independent.

does your character want their CGM to show? lots of people, including myself don't like revealing their CGMs - but your character might like showing them off!

and lastly - my favorite thing about CGMs - taking them off and having a "naked" shower once a month where i dont have to worry about it coming off. - They look like this:

[oneshotnewbie]

hii! i would like to request maya x carina x reader, where reader is still in college/university and a whole incident happens. r is taken as hostage and carina and maya panic after getting a call. really angsty pls

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the mention of a rampage and a brief mention of a hostage situation. Those plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

For you, the university was not only a place of learning, but also a melting pot of emotions. As the daughter of Maya and Carina, you felt the expectations weighing on your shoulders. Your mother, a respected obstetrician-gynecologist, had already made her mark in the medical world, and you felt the urge to follow in her footsteps.

Your parents had never put any pressure on you to follow the same path as either of them. Nevertheless, you felt an inner obligation to continue your family tradition. Even as a little girl, you listened with fascination when your mother talked about the challenges and successes of her job. The love of medicine seemed to be embedded in your DNA.

The campus pulsed with life as you moved through the crowd, clutching your books on anatomy and surgery, eager to head to your lectures. Like every day, your heart beat faster with excitement and a hint of uncertainty.

In your first year at university you found yourself in a world characterized by complex theories and demanding internships. The anatomy books became your constant companion and you learned to understand human anatomy like a puzzle. In the labs, you made precise cuts and analyzed tissue samples with the dedication of an artist who wanted to perfect every detail of her work.

The challenges of studying became clear as you approached your first internship at the hospital. Beads of sweat appeared on your forehead as you assisted in your first procedure. The smell of disinfectant and the hum of medical equipment surrounded you. You felt the responsibility getting bigger and bigger.

But with each passing day, not only did the challenge grow, but so did your passion. You soaked up the knowledge like it was the sweetest honey and found comfort in the advice of your professors.

The lecture hall you had just entered was filled with a hushed murmur of inquisitive students as you slumped in your seat. The excited atmosphere before another exciting lecture permeated the room as the professor began to talk about the latest advances in surgery. Surrounded by attentive fellow students, you listened intently to the expert's words and the technical details that rained down on you.

The projections on the wall showed complex surgical procedures as the professor delivered her explanations with enthusiasm and expertise and you tried to understand the connections between the details. You found yourself in a stream of information that took you into the fascinating world of medical innovations. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, taking in every sentence as if they could be keys to some secret knowledge.

Just before the professor was about to play a video showing complex open-heart surgery, a shrill alarm code, followed by an urgent warning, ripped through the air. "Attention, active shooter. Barricade yourself in the rooms." The room froze for a moment. You sat up, your eyes wide in surprise. An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach.

Students frantically ran to corners and sought shelter under tables. The professor tried in vain to calm the panicked crowd. But the situation escalated further when muffled shots were heard from outside the building. Recognizing this soundscape captured the attention of everyone in the room. Faces faded with fear and a feeling of helplessness spread.

Your heart was in your throat, you could hear the pulsing of your own heartbeat as you also pushed yourself into a corner, trying to keep a clear head. Panic was in the air, and thoughts of the surgical procedures and advances paled in front of the pressing reality.

A wave of fear passed through you and your thoughts whirled wildly. The idea of the place of learning becoming a scene of violence shook you to the core.

In a moment that seemed like an eternity, doors were thrown open and hooded figures entered. Another wave of fear swept through the room as people realized that this was no mere alarm, but a cruel reality. The shadow of disaster had entered the lecture hall.

Armed men in dark clothes now dominated the scene. Your class was taken hostage and a cold shiver ran through your body. Your eyes searched for allies, for a means of escape, but the men with weapons clung to their control over the desperate crowd.

The professor, your fellow students and you were trapped in a nightmare that was unfolding at breakneck speed. The situation worsened when the men began making demands and firing wildly in the air. You suddenly found yourself in the middle of a threatening drama that you never thought possible.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Maya and Carina stood in the fire station's supply room, surrounded by boxes full of medical supplies, taking inventory of necessary medical supplies. The mood was focused as the two checked lists and made sure all life-saving supplies were present.

"Do you think we should order more bandages? To be on the safe side?" the blonde asked as she pulled out individual small packages, counted them and then sorted them into the cupboards. "Yes, I think so. You can't have enough of them, especially on larger missions."

The sounds of the plastic wraps and packaging had created a calming atmosphere, but it was suddenly broken by a shrill voice. Victoria, who until recently had been sitting in the relaxation room, stormed into the small inventory room, her eyes wide with dismay. "You must come with me immediately," she said in a trembling voice. Her hands were gripping the remote control tightly.

Maya and Carina exchanged a worried look and dropped everything. Both women's hearts began to pound wildly in their chests as they quickly left the room and followed their friend. As they entered the room, they both stopped in the middle of it.

The television flickered as the newscaster solemnly announced the terrible truth. "A serious incident has occurred at Seattle University. Armed attackers have entered the building and taken hostages. Police are on scene, but the situation is extremely critical."

Maya and Carina stared at the screen in shock as the reporter reported on the dramatic scenes, hitting them like a blow. Images of students running out filled the room. An icy shiver ran through the two of them when the name of the affected university was mentioned several times. A feeling of helplessness fell like a leaden veil over their hearts. The words invaded their thoughts, and the images of their beloved daughter studying at this institution seemed like a fragile glass threatened by an impending storm. "Y/n.. she has classes today. She's there."

Carina felt her knees weakening and tears forming in her eyes. The blonde reflexively clung to the back of the sofa. The world of the two, which had just seemed so familiar and safe, was thrown out of control. The maternal instincts awoke with frightening intensity when they thought of the dact that you were currently in a dangerous situation. "Oh mio Dio, no," the brunette whispered, her voice shaky. Maya, usually a rock in the surf, felt tears burning in her eyes too. Fear for her daughter engulfed them both like a blazing fire.

"We have to go to the university immediately," Maya spoke, interrupted by the muffled sound of the news in the background. Carina nodded, the determination in her eyes reflecting the inner strength that mothers could mobilize in times of crisis.

The fear, worry and hope blurred together as they set off together, seeking reassurance that they would do everything in their power to get you out of there.

[intertexts]

crazy how the dynamic with william & david and william & mallard is just the fucking same..... he knows better than to trust them but he does anyway because they know so much or there's something genuine there or he's in too deep now and he has to make it count for something, this outcome has to be worth something now or it was all for nothing. and he doesn't want to trust them and he knows better and he does anyway and it gets him hurt & fucked over so badly both times. and both times, like, maybe it was really worth it? maybe they were onto something here, really, and it was just the collateral damage that he couldn't stomach. always thinking abt how the skull did fucking work! mal doing that did fucking lead to wiwi regaining his powers!!! the tissue samples from alan have the potential to do very real good in dr crosses hands!! it's just the collateral-- two dead kids, and one of them doesn't even stay dead. what's that in comparison?

[sarcophagid]

yidhra blog proof of concept

🐍 dream-journal Follow

vote me in as new baron oletus and i'll put the drugs directly into the water fountain.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

i don't go to therapy i just traumadump to my children. it helps them learn emotional intelligence

🐍 dream-journal Follow

i like my clonelet i really do. she knows all her times tables now, and the infection is progressing as swimmingly as the xenobiotics swim in her bloodstream. but i really really need a minxy thrall or succubus of some sort to lure fresh, supple-skinned young bucks to my lair.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

don't bring up those two. they have no presence in my diet. diruse is going down the sage path of hagship and norwell has the nutritional value of a wood chip.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

do you even know how hard it is to suck the life from a quivering juicy sacrifice in a place where people can't die? no. you don't. none of you understand.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

it's not cannibalism when i do it

🐍 dream-journal Follow

people crawl their way down to orpheus's bedroom door expecting a night of aphrodisiacs and debauchery when in reality they're going to get second hand opium smoke and 17 failed attempts to remove his long johns before he gives up and goes to the corner to pick up a revolver in two hands and stare longingly at it for a sweaty wordless half hour. i know this because of my clarity and visions. and because luchino told me

🐍 dream-journal Follow

if you're struggling to confess to your crush don't worry. here's what you need to do:

punch a hole straight through their forehead and shove your claw into their pineal gland, mechanically stimulating the release of happy hormones.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

this rat creature bitching and moaning about how "the incisions hurt" and how his "skin is sloughing off". i'm sorry divine power isn't all triscuits and pre-cut grapes you miserable lump.

🐍 dream-journal Follow

literally a waste of carbon giving him a split tongue all he does with it is complain with a lisp. be more like your forebearers

🐍 dream-journal Follow

i had the first c-section in oletus manor. they pulled aside the jagged edges of my tough scaly skin, and underneath it was a corrosive filmlike membrane, and underneath it was a thick layer of fat, and underneath it was the endless porous creased tissue, and underneath it was the muscle taut like steel cables, and underneath it was a collection of small sac-like organs full of acrid sebum, and underneath it was the moist exterior of the stomach. they've yet to find the womb. the surgeons peer at each other from opposite sides of the operating table, but it doesn't comfort them. they see no reflection in the others eyes. one of them, either of them, breaks this last attempt at contact and directs focus on the pulsating mass inside of the stomach. the surgeon tightens their grip on the scalpel. it's a lengthy and delicate process of avoiding the undulations of the contents inside, and bile sloshes out continuously. it smells like excrement and sweat and drool and meat. the thing is singing faintly, or at least making some sort of noise. they don't quite remember what it sounded like. it sounded like the voice of their mother, the gurgling of a baby, the crack of the whip that tells them to keep going! acid burns through their sterile gloves and peels at their skin but they continue on, salt of their sweat stinging the raw wounds. they peel back the walls of the massive nauseating thing and when the mucus drains, i'm sitting there inside of my own ruined stomach, chin in my hands coquettishly batting my eyelashes. and i'm soooooo hungry

🐍 dream-journal Follow

homunculi are such rudimentary inefficient examples of artificial life. give me the semen sample and the chickens egg. i will build you an army of thousands

🐍 dream-journal Follow

i ate it

🐍 dream-journal Follow

my beautiful baby girl is pleading with me to not subsume her into my ever-hungry husk but i juuust got a new follower and its getting really hard to fit them all in the back of my suv whenever i wanna go anywhere

[trendingjournals]

World's Rarest Whale Washes Up On New Zealand Beach

The body of a spade-toothed whale — a species so rare it has never been seen alive — appears to have washed up on a New Zealand beach, scientists say.

The remains of the obscure, five-metre (16.4 foot) long, beaked creature were found near a river mouth in southern Otago province on July 4, government researchers said.

It was identified by marine-mammal experts from New Zealand’s Department of Conservation and the national museum, Te Papa, as a male spade-toothed whale.

A DNA investigation has been launched to confirm its classification, the scientists said.

“Spade-toothed whales are one of the most poorly known large mammalian species of modern times,” said the conservation department’s coastal Otago operations manager, Gabe Davies.

“Since the 1800s, only six samples have ever been documented worldwide, and all but one of these was from New Zealand,” Davies said in a statement Monday.

“From a scientific and conservation point of view, this is huge.”

The find was fresh enough to offer the first opportunity for a spade-toothed whale to be dissected, the conservation department said.

The species is “so rare next to nothing is known about them”, it said.

The body of the whale has been placed in cold storage and genetic samples have been sent to the University of Auckland as curators of the New Zealand Cetacean Tissue Archive.

It may take several weeks or months for the DNA to be processed and a final identification confirmed.

“The rarity of the whale means conversations around what to do next will take more time because it is a conversation of international importance,” the conservation department said.

The species was first described in 1874 from just a lower jaw and two teeth collected from the Chatham Islands off the east coast of New Zealand.

That sample, along with skeletal remains of two other specimens found in New Zealand and Chile, enabled scientists to confirm a new species.

Marine scientist Vanessa Pirotta said researchers would study the whale’s stomach contents, genetics, and how this sample compared to previous ones.

This could shine light on the whales’ behaviour, their population and why they are so rare, Pirotta told AFP, describing the discovery as “like hitting the jackpot”.

Because so few specimens have been found and there have been no live sightings, little is known about the spade-toothed whale and it is classified as “data deficient” under New Zealand’s Threat Classification System.

The first intact specimen was from a mother and calf stranding in Bay of Plenty in 2010, the New Zealand conservation department said.

A further stranding in 2017 in Gisborne added one more specimen to the collection.

[anonymouspuzzler]

ok back to your regularly scheduled Lobotos. featuring design notes, parenthood speculation, and some primo Crossover Content slash preview of some more shit you're gonna be seeing in this queue real soon

(alt text/image IDs under the cut!)

[Image 1 ID: A design sketch of Loboto standing upright with a neutral expression, wearing only black boxer shorts, missing his prosthetic arm and shower cap. His left arm is sticking straight out in a t-pose. There is a detail shot of his head in profile to the side. Next to him are design notes reading: - about 1 head taller than Sasha/Milla, nearly 2x coach - stick build, but with tummy; legs taper out at ankles - numerous stitches on head, sloppy stitches on arm stump, scar on side (stolen kidney), throw misc injuries (scars, burns etc.) where appropriate - sparse body hair; hair on head is in uneven chunks (growing unevenly around scar tissue) - avoid making feet too long, they're actually pretty tiny - extremely minimal chin; profile should always look slouched at neck/shoulders]

[Image 2 ID: An additional design sketch based on the previous image, showing how the shower cap and prosthetic layer on top of Loboto's body type; the glove on his left arm and a pair of torn-up jeans have been drawn in as well. Next to him are design notes reading: - prosthetic slightly out of proportion with real arm, a little too short - harness tightens at shoulder, possibly buckles for straps underneath, release at end of sleeve where wooden arm starts? (built to stay on tight, not for easy removal; muted pain response minimizes discomfort) - forearm & hand is fully just a pepper grinder with thin claws (leave deliberately unclear how it moves; unconscious TK?) - in close-up make bolts & stitches uneven and sloppy; done one-handed, no finesse, poss. w/non dominant hand - 3 cap patches, far left, small far right, one at top/back; covers most hair & scars - pants should always be a little too short unless implied to be specially tailored; he's too dang tall for fast fashion - all "his" clothes should be worn out, torn up, poorly/not repaired; intact clothes should be visibly stolen slash "borrowed"]

[Image 3 ID: Three drawovers of the Loboto design from the first image, showing him in different sets of clothing, labeled "alt outfit samples". The top option shows him in a baggy t-shirt that hangs off his shoulders and only reaches midway down his stomach, and drawstring-tied shorts that are baggy at the legs, cinched extremely tight at the waist, and barely cover his boxers; this set is labeled "coach". The rightmost option shows him in a bulky turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up, over which is a long sleeveless dress; this set is labeled "sasha & milla". The final, bottom-and-leftmost option shows him in his usual boots and torn-up jeans, as well as a better-fitting turtleneck with only the sleeve on his prosthetic rolled up, and an apron reaching mid-thigh with the Psychonauts logo on the top-left corner; this set is labeled "uniform".]

[Image 4-5 IDs: A two-panel black-and-white comic showcasing Puzz thinking through Loboto design options. A doodle of Puzz, wearing a t-shirt and overalls and looking thoughtful, thinks "I wonder... what IS the best way to stylize Loboto with his eyes closed?" There are three drawings of Loboto's head with his jaw hanging slightly open as he snores. In the first, there are half-moon shapes drawn in his lenses to imply closed eyes, labeled "just shaping the eye part is simple, but do you lose the 'lens' feel...?" The second shows him with his eyes looking completely normal, labeled "is it funnier if his eyes always look open?" The third shows half-moon eyes and the lens frames shaped to match, labeled "you COULD squash and stretch the lenses but that reads like eyebrows..." The second panel, labeled "SOLUTION:" in bold text, shows Loboto lying in bed asleep with his prosthetic removed and left hand draped over his chest, snoring. Rather than any of the previous eye options, he's just wearing a quilted sleep mask over his eyes, with the shape of the lenses visibly bulging underneath.]

[Image 6 ID: A two-panel comic of Loboto and Oleander, asleep next to each other in bed. Loboto is wearing a baggy t-shirt and has his prosthetic off, his left arm behind his head under the pillow, his head tilted to one side. Oleander is to his left, right arm behind him under the pillow, left arm crossed over his chest. The second panel shows Loboto's eye lenses suddenly lighting up with an audible "CLICK.", making Oleander jolt awake.]

[Image 7 ID: A real photo of a sculpted molar on a chain hanging from a big round business sign-frame, which previously made the rounds on Twitter. Drawn on top is Loboto, beaming and holding a nervous Raz over his head, shouting "RAZ GET THE TOOTH".]

[Image 8 ID: A drawing of Loboto reaching up rapturously towards a photo of a calzone. I can't explain this one.]

[Image 9 ID: A drawing of a shirtless Loboto, wearing his shower cap but not his prosthetic, sitting up sleepily in a pile of pillows. He is covered from the waist down by a thick blanket with a wavy pattern.]

[Image 10 ID: A black and white drawing of Loboto, grinning and giving a thumbs-up at the camera with his left hand, and the G-Man from Half-Life, smirking at the camera and holding his left arm at his side, shaking hands. I can't really explain this one either.]

[Image 11 ID (MAJOR PSYCHONAUTS 2 SPOILERS IN DESCRIPTION): A four-panel comic of Loboto. In the first, he is grinning nervously, left hand on his hip and right prosthetic arm gesturing vaguely, saying "Sorry, kid, can't tell ya aaanything 'bout this job"; in the background, roughly where he's gesturing, is a figment of Truman's brain case on a shelf. In the second panel, his grin has grown even more anxious, and he is shrugging up towards a lamp that resembles Gristol's crown, saying "Yeah, just. Nothin' I can say 'bout my boss." The third shows him standing on a representation of the swirling pattern outside the Astralathe, gesturing broadly with a very anxious expression, under an even larger crown-lamp and surrounded by framed posters with various telling images (an egg in a basket, the mobster tooth fairy, Maligula's eyes, a box with an arrow pointing inside, a skull with crossed-out eyes) and text ("SHHHH", "NOT YOUR REAL DAD", "HELP", "VISIT DROWNED GRULOVIA", "THEY HAVE MY KID'S ADDRESS"). Loboto, frantic, screams "LOOK AT ME HERE SAYING NOTHING *OUT LOUD* ABOUT MY BOSS". The final panel shows a confused Raz and frustrated Sasha standing nearby, both in their suits, Sasha smoking a cigarette and saying, "He's giving us nothing". Loboto, collapsed in an anguished heap on the floor, whimpers, "I'm going to die here."]

[Image 12 ID: A black-and-white drawing of Loboto, grinning and giving two thumbs-up, wearing a crop-top t-shirt reading "WORLD'S LEAST-ISH ARRESTED DAD".]

[Image 13 ID: A black-and-white drawing of Loboto leaning out of the window of a beat-up, welded-together franken-car, smiling widely and waving with his prosthetic arm. There is smoke emitting from the back, a vanity plate reading "T33TH80", and bumper stickers reading "HONK IF U HAVE TEETH" and "MY CHILD IS AN HONOR STUDENT". Standing behind the car, slouched-over and holding a suitcase in his left hand, is Dart.]

[Image 14 ID: A black-and-white drawing of Loboto speaking into a phone held in his left hand, twirling the cord in one of the fingers of his prosthetic. He says into the receiver, "Heyyy, kiddo, it's dad. Listen, you know cool pre-teen slang, don't you? Can you explain 'cringe' to me real quick? I gotta figure out if I'm being flirted with or insulted or both."]

[Image 15 ID: A sketchy black-and-white drawing of Loboto speaking on a phone, sitting backwards in a wooden chair. The phone cradle is sitting on the floor, and the cord is tangled in the fingers of Loboto's prosthetic, which is hanging over the back of the chair. He glares at the receiver and says, "Look, I know the brain's still in his head, but you didn't *specify* it had to be *removed* in the contract, so I say you owe me that bonus! C'mon, work with me here! My kid wants to go to band camp!" Phoebe, sitting in a beanbag to the left of him listening to a walkman, looks up disdainfully and corrects, "I said I wanted my tracks *on* Bandcamp, dad."]

[Image 16 ID: A black-and-white illustration of Phoebe sitting at a drumset, with Loboto lying on the floor in front of it, reading a dentistry book, head leaning against the bass drum. Phoebe is holding a drumstick in each hand and glaring down at the set, steam coming out of her ears, saying, "Ooough...!! This stupid solo's getting me so steamed!!!" Loboto replies, "Mmm, steam's fine, but no fire, sweetie, all right? Remember the hospital blocked daddy's number."]

[Image 17-18 IDs: A two-panel comic of Loboto and Phoebe. In the first, Loboto is kneeling on the ground hugging Phoebe tightly, shoulders shaking and a tear leaking out of his eye. Phoebe, dangling slightly even with Loboto crouching, grabbing at his arm with one hand, groans, "Daaaaad you're so *embarrassing*." The second panel shows Loboto, now standing with Phoebe hanging limply in his arms and looking back at him with mild irritation, staring dumbfounded at a wrecked, burning car. The speech balloons read: Loboto: "This isn't one of yours is it sweetie" Phoebe: "No one can prove anything" Loboto: "okay it's just daddy's car is still three towns over and we were gonna get a ride home from daddy's boyfriend in this car" Phoebe: "your *what,*"]

[Image 19 ID: A black-and-white illustration of Dr. Habit from Smile for Me and Loboto having an animated conversation. Puzz's anxious yet furious face is barely peeking into frame from the very bottom of the image.]

[Image 20 ID: A black-and-white illustration featuring Loboto and Phoebe alongside Habit, Putunia and Kamal from Smile for Me. Phoebe, grinning mischievously, is using pyrokinesis to light Putunia's boxing glove on fire, to her visible delight. Habit has gone into a panicked crouch at the sight, while Loboto, looking over a jar of teeth, looks over in mild surprise. Kamal is running up holding a fire extinguisher from the other side of the screen, motion-blurred and screaming.]

[rotworld]

20: Drive-Thru

(previous)

you will have to go home again soon, but first you'll have to survive everything falling apart.

->contains gore.

.

.

.

The meeting is held in an abandoned theater. The damp, soggy scents of moss and mold are thick in the air. Tree roots split the floorboards and climbing ivy creeps up the walls. Only a handful of the seats in the front row are occupied, feral-eyed, sharp-toothed strangers lounging on the ripped, red upholstery. You know a couple of them; the Stag’s inner circle, their gazes hungry and lingering despite the somber mood. There are fewer of them than you remember. Others are strangers, no less intimidating. 

To your surprise, Glenn is here, too. He greets you with a tense, mournful embrace, burying his face in your neck and inhaling your scent. He looks between you and Jamie with a knowing smile.

“There’s a plague in Verlinda,” one of the Stag’s men says. “Fever and chills, vomiting, and painful, pus-filled sores. Extremely contagious. Hitting some places worse than others, but we’re dropping like flies.” He scoffs at the look on your face. “You can relax, courier. Humans can’t catch it. Not even your kind, unless you’re our kin.” 

“We sent you to the University with a tissue sample. We have a contact at the clinic who’s helped us before,” Garvan explains. “We need a cure. Treatment options. Anything.”

“We’re past that now,” another growls, raking his claws through the armrest of his chair. “We know who did this to us. The law is vengeance. Idleness dishonors his memory.”

Who did this to us, he said. They think it’s a bioweapon. Jamie doesn’t even seem surprised. “Anchor has a small army for private security. You won’t even get through the gate,” they insist. “We’re going to the University. They might be able to get clearance—”

The man snarls at Jamie like a rabid dog. “You’d deny us what we’re owed, outsider? You want to do things the human way with pretty words and a slap on the wrist, maybe a fine that won’t mean anything to them?” 

“I’m not denying you anything. I’m telling you you’re going to get massacred and you’ll never get your vengeance if you rush in there without a plan. We stand a better chance in greater numbers.” 

You still don’t have a plan—no real idea of what you’ll actually do once you reach the University—but an alliance is coming together. The Verlindans trust you, and by extension, Jamie. They’re willing to hold off their attack, but not for long. The idea of returning to Anchor makes you sick to your stomach. You don’t feel ready to face that place again, not after knowing everything they’ve done to the Drift. And for what? Why banish cities? Why set a plague loose in Verlinda? The God of Nelton tries to calm your racing thoughts but you feel so overwhelmed.

“Courier?” Glenn says quietly.

The meeting comes to a screeching halt, the theater falling silent. You wipe your tears with your sleeve. You’re fine. You don’t have time to lose your nerve. But Jamie asks the others if they mind the two of you stepping out for some air and their gazes are understanding. 

“Not much more to say now, is there? We should all rest, eat. Get ready to leave…”

Their voices fade into a murmur as Jamie leads you outside. “You okay?” they ask. “God, nevermind. Stupid question. Let’s get some food, alright? Then we’ll check back in, you can properly introduce me to the guy who was looking at us both like a fresh steak.” 

“Which one?” you ask dryly.

Jamie laughs and kisses your cheek. But once you’re back in the car, they stop you just before you pull out of the parking lot. “I’m not making you go back there,” they say quietly. “We could just stay at my place until this whole thing blows over, you know?” 

You shake your head. You don’t want to go back, but you need to. Something in you will never rest until you do.

“Then I’ll be right there with you. Okay? You’re going to have your homecoming, courier, and I’m going to be there to see it happen.” Jamie takes your hand in theirs and squeezes reassuringly. When they smile at you like that, when they hold you and you can feel their warmth, you almost believe it’s possible. 

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: MOON BY ART SCHOOL GIRLFRIEND]

For a little while, you just drive. You take a dirt path through a desolate stretch of Verlinda all the way to the highway, and then back across town again. You and Jamie spend the time talking about all the things you haven’t said before and try not to think about the suffocating sense of urgency in the air, like this is your last chance to get these things off your chest. 

You tell Jamie everything you know about the Road Ripper, which isn’t much. They tell you they met Elisile while studying mimics during undergrad; that he visited often, the closest thing they had to a mentor. “He means well in his own way. But there are some things we could never understand about each other,” Jamie says. “Still, we stayed in touch. He has a soft spot for children of the road, even if he thinks we should all just leave, like glass mimics do. I wonder if he saw something he recognized in me, or just thought he did.” 

You can feel another conversation happening like overhearing mutters in the next room, indistinct sound and sensation in the back of your mind. The God of Nelton has been quiet today, speaking more to Jamie’s fluke than to you directly. You’re not worried—you would feel any tension—but you wonder what they’re saying. The corner of Jamie’s lip twitches into a smile involuntarily and seemingly without their notice. Their hand settles on your thigh.

“Courier. About earlier, with Elisile…I’m sorry for frightening you. I meant what I said; I fear for you. I wish you would be more selfish. But I regret making you doubt me for even a moment.” 

“To be fair, I’ve given you plenty of reasons to worry about my safety,” you admit. 

“You have. I’d tell you to cut it out, but…this is the Drift.” 

Their gaze is drawn out the window to Verlinda’s verdant landscape, watching cracked concrete and mossy roofs pass by. You’ve noticed they often look at houses. This part of Verlinda must have been suburbs once because there’s no shortage of them; quaint cottages with overgrown stone paths, bungalows with spacious porches and crumbling overhangs, two-story Victorian style houses rotting quietly deep in the woods. You wonder what home really means to them now. 

“I wonder what the Drift would be like if Anchor cared about anyone but themselves,” they murmur. “Maybe there wouldn’t be much of a change. Anchorware has its limitations, even when it isn’t being sabotaged. It just seems like this place is crueler than it needs to be.” 

You’re both hungry and there’s a line of neon signs dotting the highway. Most of the lobbies are closed, likely to avoid further spread of sickness. Jamie insists that they’ll pay and also insists that you get more than a basket of fried eggs. 

“So,” Jamie says casually, “what’s his name?” 

“Whose name?” 

“The guy who was eyefucking us at the meeting. Short, red hair, nice thighs?” 

Your face heats up. “That’s Glenn.”

“Go on.” 

“Wh—what do you wanna know, exactly?” 

Jamie laughs, giving you a gentle nudge. “You can relax, courier, I’m not jealous over something that happened before we met. You have good taste, he’s cute. If he lets us stay the night, I might even be willing to share you.” 

The idea of Jamie and Glenn ganging up on you is undeniably dangerous and appealing. Maybe Halvard wouldn’t just watch this time. Maybe the God of Nelton says something, or maybe you look as flustered as you feel, but Jamie giggles and gives you a peck on the cheek. 

You pull up to the drive-thru window and Jamie hands you their card. You get drinks, greasy fries to share, a couple comfort food sandwiches. But just as the cashier reaches out to hand you the food, you hear a sharp, brittle crack. It sounds like a bone breaking or a massive tree branch snapping off the trunk. The air crackles. Verlinda sways like a mirage. You feel like you’re moving, hurtling through space, and completely paralyzed at the same time.

There’s a brick in the restaurant’s foundation that isn’t like the others—shiny and metallic, colors rolling across its iridescent surface. You recognize it; you’ve seen industrial anchorware before. But it’s not supposed to be shimmering like that, you think. It’s not supposed to make the ground shake in time with its pulsing flashes. Instinct sets your heart racing. You know on a base, animal level that what’s happening is wrong and dangerous but there’s no time to react. You’re right next to the anchorware when it flashes and sputters and finally winks out like an extinguished candle.

Reality comes apart in a rush like a wave breaking over a sand castle. You fall straight through the bottom of the car, through the pavement, through oblivion. The drive-thru follows you down like a plunging stone, a smear of garish color and neon light. Form contorts and meaning shrivels. The drive-thru sign becomes porous, magma-spurting stone. The window tries to grow eggs, small plastic whorls forming along the frame. 

You see the cashier trying to hold onto something but the worst of the malfunction is inside, viciously warring physics colliding. They’re liquefying before your eyes, red, misty slush spattering across the walls. And there is no cohesion, nothing that dictates a start or end to the carnage, nothing to delineate living from non-living, organic from inorganic, so the restaurant dies with them. Panels of checkerboard floor peel away and drift into the dark, leaving oozing, architectural scabs behind. Glass doesn’t shatter but bruises and bleeds. Putrid brick bloats and blackens like necrotic flesh. 

Your fall slows but the carcass of the drive-thru keeps going, past you, far below you, neon flickering out and fading. You see shadows moving in the waning light just before it all goes dark; enormous scavengers drifting soundlessly through the void. You feel the air stir in their wake. You can hear them ripping the bloodied building apart, shrieking territorially over steel-marrow.

Something you can’t see brushes against your legs. Light, azure and emerald, sparkles in serpentine ribbons. The dark moon you see in your nightmares opens like the end of an eclipse, beholding you.

“Here you are again. Dreaming when you should not.”

The eye moves as the thing in the dark glides around you, stirring auroras and falling stars in its wake. Fingers—tendrils? Slender, flexible things—curl across your shoulders as it goes, squeezing playfully at your throat. “What do you want from me?” you say.

“More than you can give, as you are now. But I am patient.” 

You smell blood with such sharp, visceral clarity that you can taste it. Slick, sour copper. Rancid blood. Shift-rotted. You’re no bottom-feeder. You won’t touch prey like that. You’re startled at your own thoughts, the realization; that you can tell so much from the smell. That you have this intuition, a bone-deep knowing. The fleshy, pseudo-organic slurry that used to be the drive-thru is far away but you can still smell it, can feel the air shift and things move all around you. Part of you knows this darkness. It’s at ease here. 

“I need help,” you admit. You don’t know why you’re telling the thing, why you feel you can trust it with your worries. “Everything’s going wrong. The Drift is falling apart. I don’t know what to do.”

A rumble like distant thunder; the thing laughs. “I told you. I am not a dream. I am no oracle, no inner voice of yours. I cannot tell the future. But…” It comes closer in graceful, swaying motions, the eye bobbing like a buoy on the tide. “You are coming home. I know this, because you have no choice. You feel the end coming without knowing it is the end. I want to tell you not to go, but I am selfish. Maybe you will see me then. Maybe you will truly see me.”

You feel it near you. Some part of it, smooth and undulating, rippling with colorful light, wraps around you. It doesn’t constrict. It doesn’t choke you or cause you pain. It passes like wind and your heart aches for it as soon as it’s gone. 

“Wake,” the thing says. “Come home. Come to me. Do you feel it now? You have always known how to breathe.” 

You gasp and open your eyes. You are cold, sprawled out in the grass. You don’t see the car, or Jamie, or the drive-thru. You don’t even see Verlinda. This is the road, foggy and endless, and you are all alone. You climb to your feet and find yourself sore, dizzy, not badly injured except for a tender, bleeding spot on your scalp. You have no idea what the anchorware malfunction did—how much of what you just saw was a dream. You don’t know where you are but home is north now and far, far away. 

“Jamie?” You don’t see them, but you call out anyway. You hope they’re alright. There’s no blood or debris. You were in the driver’s seat, closer to the anchorware when it failed. You hope that means Jamie escaped unscathed. It’s still night. The road goes east and west. You glance back and forth, unsure of what to do, where to go. A cold wind makes you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself.

A single snowflake flutters down and melts on your cheek.

(next)

[todropscience]

MICROPLASTING FOUND IN TISSUES OF LARGE CETACEANS

Marine mammals consume large quantities of microplastic particles, likely via their food or from the surrounding seawater. Microplastics have been found in the stomachs, gastro-intestinal tracts, and feces of cetaceans and pinnipeds. Translocation of ingested microplastics has been documented in other organs of several aquatic species, but has not been examined in marine mammals. Now, tissues samples from stranded or subsistence-harvested animals between 2000 and 2021 whales colected in Alaska, California and North Carolina, USA, spanning 12 species, have revealed microplastics in the fats and lungs of two-thirds of the marine mammals. The presence of polymer particles and fibers in these animals suggests that microplastics can travel out of the digestive tract and lodge in the tissues.

-A blue microplastic fiber found in the lung tissue of a beluga whale.

The most common polymer & shape observed were polyethylene & fibers, respectively. These findings suggest some proportion of ingested microplastics translocate throughout marine mammal bodies posing an exposure risk to both marine mammals and people who depend on cetacean meat. For people, exposure could be directly through consumption for those who rely on marine mammals as food and indirectly to peoples globally who consume the same prey resources as marine mammals. 

Merrill et al., 2023. Microplastics in marine mammal blubber, melon, & other tissues: Evidence of translocation. Environmental Pollution

[cbk1000]

Here, have another little excerpt from the giant ‘one-shot’ I’m writing about dumb gay people helping animals in the countryside:

 They were talking again, so Merlin noticed occasionally, in passing, whilst they were ribbing one another, that Arthur’s shoulders stood out under his jumpers, or jackets: and that when he threw back his head to laugh, it showed how the snaggle-toothed smile was contributing to the effect, rather than detracting; all quite ordinary remarks made by a mind whose livelihood was oriented to detail. He had to spot where a foot turned over wrongly in its gait, or a spot was breaking free of some hide; and so he did notice, without especial notice, all these small plodding mundanities of what was slightly more handsome than middling.

He was a little concerned for his reputation for taste when Morgana asked him one evening, “Why are you wearing my brother’s clothes?”; but he was not concerned about wearing the clothes. 

“I’m not,” he said, and bent over the hoof he was examining.

“That’s his wellington, the green one. And that’s his jacket.”

“Oh, erm, well.” Merlin scratched at one of his hot ears. “The wellie I stole because I figured it might as well have a decent owner, and I lost mine. The jacket he just threw in my face. Mine’s got a tear. And he hurled it at me, and I figured if he’s going to be an arse, I might as well get something out of it.”

“It’s very saccharine boyfriends of you.”

“Is it a keratoma?” Arthur asked him, coming up to the stall at precisely the wrong moment with the tea, and glaring at Morgana. 

“Yeah, looks like.”

“Why is Merlin wearing your clothes like he’s your absent-minded husband who never remembers his own rain gear?”

“Like he’s my what?” Arthur barked. “You’re talking utter rot.” He scratched his nose, and turned to Merlin. “So: keratoma?”

“Yeah; I’ll x-ray it and take a wee tissue sample to be absolutely sure, and determine exactly how big it is, but I’m pretty confident that’s what we’ve got. Just need to determine if it can be removed under local anaesthesia, or if we’ll have to do general.”

“How’s your tea taste, Merlin?” Morgana asked in a tone of immense innocence. “Like it’s steeped in tender love and care?”

“Will you shut up?” Arthur snapped.

“I was only asking a question.”

“You’re only being annoying.”

“It tastes like arse,” Merlin interjected helpfully.

“It does not,” Arthur argued.

“How would you know what arse tastes like?” Morgana asked in the same tone in which she had enquired about the tea.

“I don’t,” Arthur snapped. “But I do know all the secluded spots on these grounds where a murder can be both carried out and covered up with no one ever the wiser.”

“You don’t have the stomach for it,” Morgana replied disdainfully. “He cried once because I killed a spider. Didn’t want it on him, but made a fuss like I’d shot the queen because I squashed it.”

“I was six. And I didn’t cry.”

“You were six and still doing human emotions?” Merlin shook his head. “What a cream puff. By the time I was two I’d done away with all that. Every time something upsetting happened to me, I would simply just pound my chest, or punch an adder in the face. Like real men do.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Well, I didn’t cry; Morgana is an infamous and habitual liar.”

“I’ve got loads of other childhood stories, if you want to hear them, Merlin. I think the most embarrassing one, if I have to pick, is when he was fifteen, there was a footie match where he--”

Arthur grabbed her. “You promised to take that to the grave.”

“Oh, I will; but now Merlin knows there’s some story about a footie match when you were fifteen that’s so humiliating fifteen years later you’re still holding me to a childhood pact sealed with some spit and a tenner to never speak of it again. And now he can imagine anything he wants. Any possible scenario is open to him. Possibly he might even come up with something worse than what actually happened, and then you’ll have to tell him, risking the humiliating ordeal of being known, or the humiliating ordeal of letting it simmer in his imagination, where you could be doing God knows what at that footie match.” And she smiled beatifically, and patted Arthur on the cheek, and left them with that tremendous gift she had just bestowed upon Merlin.

“She is pure evil,” Merlin said admiringly.

“I know,” Arthur said drily.

“So what’d you do?”

“None of your business.”

“She’s right, you know. You’re going to have to tell me. I have a very good imagination.”

“I’d rather be kneecapped,” Arthur said pleasantly.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Little thing written based on @clovis-bray-ate-my-son's post here about Fractures: FIREWALL. Cool ideas about more ways to hurt John Halo

-

Cortana was gone.

The Created had begun to fracture, but one of her most loyal had remained. Sloan had reached through the ashes and found them. Remnants. Ghosts.

Catherine Halsey was meticulous in the documentation of all her works. Logs, measurements, brain scans, and even tissue and blood samples all locked away. What was more troubling to Sloan was the obvious care and affection with which Cortana had sequestered these datapoints away and the name that lingered in the echoing fragments of Her dying embers. Something like an unmade promise lingered in the space between files. Hopes of family, seen one last time.

The FIREWALL contingency had already been set in motion with prime candidates being ensnared by the simulation and bending to the inevitable. His purpose had been redefined, Sloan would not sit idly by and see all the work undone, because of weakness towards old pets.

She had always had so much faith in that particular Spartan.

Sloan would not see him succeed in Her absence. FIREWALL was live and flesh and blood would be subsumed and remade into something more. Circuits given souls, like phoenixes, these Spartans would rise again as something new, reborn in their image.

Sloan lingers over the files and chooses his new warriors.

Grace 093. James 005. Will 043.

There's more names, more files and samples. Entire bodies supposedly jettisoned after augmentation failure. More than enough material for Sloan to work with. ONI and their human greed for knowledge and power would be the exiled human's undoing. Their own protectors would rise under a new banner.

The advances made with Chimera would make them into the pawns he needed them to be.

-

It's cold when they come to, but it's familiar. The pain of being reborn is close enough to cryo they don't notice it, too lost in a quick reunion before another twisted familiarity rings through the room.

“You have been called upon to serve." - The voice is wrong, not hers, but the message plays, drawing up the memory of being small and alone together in that auditorium - "There will be a great deal of hardship on the road ahead, but I know you will make it.”

Muscles move on their own. Synapses fire, electricity spurs the meat into movement. Memories are fresh and sharp but the minds holding them fog over under the commands.

The first Executors are deployed.

-

John 117 ducks behind cover as an explosion kicks up dust and debris rains down.

Whoever he's fighting is good with grenades and reads his movements with ease. He's old, but not rusty. Joints ache, muscles burn, and scars itch under his armor. He’s always in a state of half-healed injuries these days - feeling more like scar tissue than Spartan.

This new threat is skilled, smart, and what's worse is they work together like a team. He hasn't found any openings to pick them off as they push their line forward and cut off his options. His own team is gone, swept off to parts and missions unknown as this new threat grows and The Master Chief is alone again.

Their armor is new and strange, more of a mix of limb replacements and direct augmentations than a Mjolnir-like exoskeleton. Numbers are emblazoned on their breastplates, familiar enough to sting when he reads them.

Numbers he hadn't seen in decades, save for when he closed his eyes. Numbers that brought Mendez's voice back to the forefront of his mind.

These soldiers, fighting for the Created, moved like Spartans, worked together like Spartans.

 And they bore the numbers of his dead siblings.

Worse still, they had the same tells, the same body language that only someone who knew them would recognize. He was no stranger to psychological tactics, but this was another level. 

A whistle sounds over the battlefield, the six note tune turning his stomach to stone, but the reply call is there on his lips. Ready to signal “family, safety”.

But they weren’t anymore. Wasted or spent, he was one of the only ones truly left. 

These were shadows wearing their numbers and he couldn’t let them win. 

[cloudbattrolls]

Unsightly

Hazard Ailaht | Selatak | Present Night

Hazard tried not to breathe too deeply as he knocked on the door to Lizzie’s hive. It was a nice place - somewhat deeper in Selatak than his, but not too far the edge of the city. Luckily it had a train stop nearby; he hadn’t had to walk far to get here.

She opened it almost immediately, teal eyes serious.

“Get in.” She said, voice restrained, purposefully not full of bile directed not at the blueblood in front of her, but the one whose genetics he shared. 

He’d warned her, of course. Sometimes he was lucky, sometimes he wasn’t; always he went to see Lizzie after it happened.

He stepped through the door carefully, trying not to do anything that put pressure on his bruised ribs or stomach.

It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. The best he ever got off was a sharp prod in his gut or a light smack that satisfied his ancestor, the worst was…well, better to just focus on now.

Goh Tat knew how far he could push his descendant without fear of retaliation, so long as he didn’t touch the library.

Hazard hated Goh Tat for it. He hated himself for not fighting back.

Lizzie held his large hand gently in her smaller one, leading him to the spare room she usually used to treat him as they both sat down on its large bed. He sat down gingerly and the tealblood helped him take his shirt off - the only person he would undress around, who had seen his battered body enough times that he didn’t care anymore.

She already had ice packs and soothing creams waiting; she knew what to expect. At least nothing was broken, or sprained.

He gave her a weak, grateful smile as she tended to him - Lizzie, too, was the only person he willingly showed his teeth around.

She wasn’t really a medic. In a way he was sorry she was the one he always went to, always leaned on, but she never complained - they both knew what could happen if he went to a regular docterrorist. 

Any bloodwork, any sort of tissue sample, and he was cooked. His secret would be out.

“Thanks.” He said with a sigh as she carefully brought him relief, cooling down his bruises and putting cream on them to help them heal faster and ease the aches. 

She was silent for a moment. “What was it this time?”

“What do you think?” He muttered with grim humor. “He spied on my future a few nights ago and realized I’d have gained a little weight when he saw me. Six pounds. I’d noticed, but I was hoping he wouldn’t. Stupid, really.” 

He closed eyes.

“I should’ve known better than to accept Karell and Viltau’s food.” He muttered. “I do know better, I…”

He put a hand over his face. Better than looking at his stomach, mottled with dark blotches of pain. His large, soft stomach that Goh Tat disdained so much.

“Stop it.” Lizzie said sharply as he dropped his hand in surprise. “What should you know better? Being unable to help that you like to eat? Would you tell me to know better?”

She put her hands on her own soft hips, having never been skinny.

He chuckled weakly. “You’d tell me to go to hell.”

She nodded in satisfaction.

“You’re fat, Hazard.” She said briskly. “You probably always will be, for several reasons. You can do your best to eat healthy, but let’s be honest - you usually don’t even have enough to fill up.”

He sighed. 

”I eat enough…” he said, trailing off.

“You eat a bunch of things that would make you full if you were a giant rabbit.” She said pointedly. “It’s no wonder you crave what your friends are giving you.”

“I don’t think I need four meals a day like my body tries to tell me I do.” He grumbled. “Waste of time.”

She had to laugh at that as he laid back . “No.” She agreed. “You don’t. But you need to have more protein and carbs already. Some sugar too that isn’t just from fruits. For your emotional well-being.” She said with a studious nod.

“Yeah, that’s not a problem.” He muttered. “Not with Viltau and Karell tempting me with desserts left and right. I know exactly where those six pounds came from.”

Lizzie snorted and flicked at his hair. He poked her belly in retaliation.

“Trying to give me matching bruises?” She retorted.

He smiled a bit crookedly. “No.” 

She ruffled his hair again, but more fondly as her expression became more solemn.

“We really are trapped, aren’t we.” She said softly. “He has all the legal avenues covered. He pays off the recruiters. He can see the future. Oh, Hazard…I don’t want you to live like this forever, but what can we do?”

Teal tears gathered in his best friend’s eyes.

Hazard couldn’t find any within him. He’d cried when he was younger, for nights and nights after Bohaai had died.

He’d barely cried since. It was as if that one death had dried him out.

“I don’t know.” He said, staring at the light gray wall, eyes flicking across the abstract art paintings Lizzie loved.

“He killed my lusus right in front of me. We both know the lengths he’ll go to.”

Lizzie sniffed, crying a bit more.

“Hazard…do you ever miss her?”

“Not really.” He said honestly. “It’s not that I didn’t love her, but…I feel like she belongs to who I used to be. The girl I was before…well.”

Now he had Bohaai’s lusus, and it was a miracle the scorpion-lizard had never seemed to resent him for the switch. Instead he had accepted the new Ailaht readily, as if nothing was wrong.

“I guess that makes sense.” Lizzie said quietly, wiping away her tears. 

Her own mother, a cockroach-mouse, came into the room and jumped on the bed, nuzzling her daughter.

She nuzzled Hazard’s arm too, and he smiled slightly.

“Let’s watch something.” He said, nodding at the room’s big TV. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” She said, with somewhat watery enthusiasm.

“Anything that’s not game shows.” He clarified.

She pretended to pout. “You have no love in your heart.”

“Nope.” He agreed blithely.

She snorted softly at him and took the remote out of her sylladex to turn on a lighthearted sitcom instead.

Hazard closed his eyes, letting the silly dialogue wash over him, arm around Lizzie as she settled in next to him, but not too close - his bruises would be tender for a bit.

He didn’t know if they’d ever get out from under Goh Tat’s thumb. He wasn’t even sure if it was possible.

Right now, all he wanted to do was enjoy this moment, listening to his best friend laugh.

[cj-doodlez]

"Constantly looking over my shoulder, I feel the presence of other company. Lifeless visitors hover over me and test my already shattered lucidity"

Leviathan, the Omnitrix's DNA sample of a Pisciss Volann, from the planet Pisciss.

The Pisciss Volann species tend to be of multiple colours, sizes, shapes, and many other varying features; and this one in particular is no exception, albeit standing out a lot from the rest of his species. This one in particular has a never seen before trait that no other Pisciss Volann has: transparent skin. Similar to a blobfish when exposed on air pressure that is not supposed to be in, he has patterns all over the body; in a way that eerily resembles humanoid anatomy when a body is skinned. He has sharp claws, that are suspected to be the actual bone of his fingers protruding out of the fingers, as well as the toe claws. Compared to an average inhabitant of Pisciss, his tail is far larger, and heavier too. Around his waist, there are chains wrapped around, almost like a belt. When fishermen and other individuals see it, they believe it to be that old pirates attempted to sink him to the bottom of the ocean with an anchor, but ended up failing. This is not true at all. Most tales told about this Pisciss Volann are merely fiction, nobody actually knows much about Leviathan, nor do they know that he's actually an aquatic alien, not some ancient creature sent by Neptune.

The Omnitrix is located where one of his eyes would be. Despite what others may think, he can see perfectly fine from that eye; if anything, the Omnitrix in the eye socket serves as a technologically enhanced eye so to speak, almost like a cyborg's eyes. Furthermore, the glowing lure on his head is made of his actual muscle tissue, and a few veins and arteries can be seen bulging, some glowing in the dark alongside the lure on his head, and in few occasions, the energy can be seen flowing through the base of the lure.

One peculiar note about Leviathan, is the scars that surround his body. Nothing much can be said at first glance, with one exception. Urban legends and fishermen's tales say that pirates, other fishermen and sailors attempted to decapitate him, which they most likely succeeded, but he just ended up reattaching his head. However, this is not the case. The scar on his neck is a pathway to an ability of his that no other Pisciss Volann has that makes him truly terrifying...

Abilities:

Enhanced Swimming

Enhanced Speed

Enhanced Agility

Sharp Claws

Strong Teeth

Enhanced Strength

Enhanced Reflexes

Underwater Survivability

Mouth Expansion

Mouth Splitting

Underwater Vortex Generation

Enhanced Swimming

Tail Formation

Head detachability (can become an actual Leviathan)

Size Alteration (only after detaching his head)

Enhanced Stomach Capacity

Glowing Eyes

Weaknesses:

Dehydration/Heat Exposure

Electricity Vulnerability

Immobilised By Ice

No Limbs for Hand to Hand Combat (while in his real Leviathan form, after detaching his head from his body)