#Mobile Sports Authority

[hayatheauthor]

10 Non-Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

If you need a simple way to make your characters feel pain, here are some ideas: 

1. Sprained Ankle

A common injury that can severely limit mobility. This is useful because your characters will have to experience a mild struggle and adapt their plans to their new lack of mobiliy. Perfect to add tension to a chase scene.

2. Rib Contusion

A painful bruise on the ribs can make breathing difficult, helping you sneak in those ragged wheezes during a fight scene. Could also be used for something sport-related! It's impactful enough to leave a lingering pain but not enough to hinder their overall movement.

3. Concussions

This common brain injury can lead to confusion, dizziness, and mood swings, affecting a character’s judgment heavily. It can also cause mild amnesia.

I enjoy using concussions when you need another character to subtly take over the fight/scene, it's an easy way to switch POVs. You could also use it if you need a 'cute' recovery moment with A and B.

4. Fractured Finger

A broken finger can complicate tasks that require fine motor skills. This would be perfect for characters like artists, writers, etc. Or, a fighter who brushes it off as nothing till they try to throw a punch and are hit with pain.

5. Road Rash

Road rash is an abrasion caused by friction. Aka scraping skin. The raw, painful sting resulting from a fall can be a quick but effective way to add pain to your writing. Tip: it's great if you need a mild injury for a child.

6. Shoulder Dislocation

This injury can be excruciating and often leads to an inability to use one arm, forcing characters to confront their limitations while adding urgency to their situation. Good for torture scenes.

7. Deep Laceration

A deep laceration is a cut that requires stitches. As someone who got stitches as a kid, they really aren't that bad! A 2-3 inch wound (in length) provides just enough pain and blood to add that dramatic flair to your writing while not severely deterring your character.

This is also a great wound to look back on since it often scars. Note: the deeper and wider the cut the worse your character's condition. Don't give them a 5 inch deep gash and call that mild.

8. Burns

Whether from fire, chemicals, or hot surfaces, burns can cause intense suffering and lingering trauma. Like the previous injury, the lasting physical and emotional trauma of a burn is a great wound for characters to look back on.

If you want to explore writing burns, read here.

9. Pulled Muscle

This can create ongoing pain and restrict movement, offering a window to force your character to lean on another. Note: I personally use muscle related injuries when I want to focus more on the pain and sprains to focus on a lack of mobility.

10. Tendonitis

Inflammation of a tendon can cause chronic pain and limit a character's ability to perform tasks they usually take for granted. When exploring tendonitis make sure you research well as this can easily turn into a more severe injury.

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. This is inspiration, not a thorough guide. Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Contained Monstrous Family  

Thinking about being born into a monstrous family

You, a baby human lovingly in the arms of a vampire man and his werewolf husband 

“Aw isn’t our little peony just perfect!”

“Another gorgeous cub, in our pack. Good job hon!”

“Thanks!”

Inside your opulent crib with a bone ladden mobile above you and the heads of two of your eldest siblings show

“They haven’t got nearly enough fur!” your moth brother says 

Your basilisk sister scoffs,” Or any scales for that matter!”

Life is lovely for awhile 

You’re the apple of everyone’s eye as the youngest of the family

But it’d be early on when you’d discover that wasn’t all that made you different

If they had been more careful perhaps you wouldn’t have discovered what the family hunts were all about 

Chasing humans–creatures just like you–for sport

Who could blame 5-year-old you?

The school lessons you’d sneak to listen to always said to call the authorities if something was wrong

You can vaguely recall the events that followed your brain clearly walling off the memory out of guilt

Time has passed and you are a partially thriving adult

Able to support yourself and devote your time to your study of the mythical

In a movement that had recently come to light, plenty of creatures spoken about in folktales were appearing

And your place of work was housing them

Housing was a strong word

maybe detaining and experimenting were better

As part of the maintenance crew, your job is to upkeep the creatures by their specified scientists demands

Occasionally offering your observations about whatever habits they have when it comes to eating, cleaning, etc.

As someone who’s been working with the facility for a long time so long you may not remember when you’ve become the experienced lead of your department

But you do still interact with the creatures specifically the most high-priority or high-maintenance ones

And like any other, you’ll report for duty with the newly acquired vampire 

Apparently, they’ve been talked about for their violence and intelligent ramblings

Claiming it was married to an earlier capture and the father of some others

So far it drained forty of your employees 

So now it was time for you to come face to face with this menace

You’ll wave off the security guard as you come up to the window

“Your file says your name is Villar? 

“GRAAGRH!!!”

“We won’t get very far if you keep lashing out like this. I’m in charge of making sure you eat, I suggest you get it in gear if you want to ever to see your husband again.”

At the mention of his husband the blonde vampire deflates

His black scleras morph into white 

He tiredly rests his head against the silver bars despite the skin burning

“You…will let me see him?”

You tilt your head sympathetically,” If you can comply with some of our tests. It’ll be a lot easier to make it a necessity for you two to meet if you cease killing so much of our staff.”

He growls tearing himself from the bars to glare 

“What do I have to do to see him?”

You smile flipping through your clipboard

“There’s three blood tests, four endurance tests, and intelligence quizzes for a start. That sound like a plan?”

The vampire reluctantly nods 

You look back at the camera and begin to walk out 

“Hey! What’s your name so I’ll know to tear your throat out if they lie to me?”

You smile again on your way out hushing the security guard

“I’m (Y/n). Pleasure meeting you Villar.”

The black-haired vampire loses his vitriol as he’s reminded of the little bundle he’s agonized over losing so long ago

“WAI–”

“Doctor (Y/n) your absolute genius has saved this company again.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m just someone trying to have a peaceful work environment.”

As planned you handle the older werewolf man

Violent, giant, and usually rotting in his corner 

He hasn’t moved much until you got involved

*knock**knock*

“Hey bud, I’ve got good news for you.”

At the sound of your voice, the werewolf Rod is at the silver bars, practically grazing them as he gets as close as he can to your little window

“Hello (Y/n), have you been eating well today?”

“Sure did but I have an update about your husband.”

He stills but looks interested

“He’s going to work with us so he can see you.”

“That is…what you want?”

“Yes and for you to do the same.”

He stands tall for once, taking an unusual air of authority

“I refuse to do anything if my conditions are not met.”

“Even if it means not seeing him again?”

He growls and turns away from the window

“Look my Uncle is not going to let me go in alone for your tests. Even if you’ve been peaceful so far, he just doesn’t want to take that chance.”

He snarls at the mention of your uncle 

“Fine. Then come in with twice as many guards but I will only agree if it’s you.”

You thank him for his time, “we’ll have to see what Uncle says.”

When you leave the werewolf man slinks back into his corner 

You’ll have to negotiate with your uncle about the most prized pieces of his collection his facility

Not to count the latest editions claiming to be related to the vampire and werewolf 

The real obsession starts because every member of the original family realizes just who you are 

And using your job as a mediator to piece together how you managed to slip out of their grasp

When Villar and Rod finally meet they nuzzle and kiss each other as they whisper to one another

“That’s them! Isn’t it? Our baby’s okay!”

“I know, now we just have to take them far away from here.”

Thus chaos is bound to ensue as they balance escaping with their long-lost human child 

With promises to pay back your abductor and all these scientists back ten-fold for the pain they’ve brought their little family

Part 2

[eatmangoesnekkid]

It's a great sign of stagnation in the mind, heart, and pelvis when when we judge others. When we don't stay curious, open, and ask questions, we cut off our own light and life force. If you want to feel pulse of love move up your spine, not age rapidly in your tissues (as lovely as aging is), not bring further strain or tension around your mobility or eye sight, consider stop standing on your hind legs like an animal judging other people or thinking you know something when you have never had a real conversation with someone, which only tightens up your body and constricts your blood flow, possibly even severing a beautiful bond and incredible connection.

We are actually meant to listen more, to stay more open, tender, and compassionate with one another rather than closed and and constricted, a misalignment and adaption adopted from a world teeming in scarcity consciousness as evidence by the current state of the world. That barbaric foolishness we keep witnessing happening “out there” like it's some kind of sport's event actually lives within us until we make the courageous decision to become different in our psyche and tissues. Because the realest activism that no one wants to talk about is the kind where you create a decisive change in your aura and energetic field, where you begin to open your perspective and strengthen your heart, and thereby become the change and the blessing. --India Ame'ye, Author

[enretrogue]

𝗝𝗨𝗟𝗬 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 𝗙𝗜𝗖 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗦 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟭

༝༚༝༚ = Black/POC Works ⎢ 24’ Fic Rec M.List

a/n: to all of my formula 1 authors, your work has gotten me through this summer semester and i thank you 🫡. what started as a curiosity, grew into a love for a sport i didn't know existed until a month ago and i love you all. (also i apologize for spamming y'all, pls don't block me 🙏🏽🩷)

ATTACK ON TITAN:

Multi-Character

You Went Out Looking a Lil Bit Too Good — @morgluvsconnie ༝༚༝༚

Singing “I’d Rather Fuck on My Ex Again” and Posting it on Your Story — @loveforeren ༝༚༝༚

“But I didn’t shave” So what? — @tasiawrites ༝༚༝༚

“She’s busy”— @luvacookie ༝༚༝༚

Armin Arlert

Toxic!Armin⎢More Toxic!Armin⎢— @chrollohearttags ༝༚༝༚

The Baby Trapper — ^ ༝༚༝༚

Ms. Attitude — @pynkfairyheart ༝༚༝༚

Fatal Attraction — @luminiamore ༝༚༝༚

Stress Relief — @prettygirl222 ༝༚༝༚

Connie Springer

Messages w/ Connie as Your BF! — @morgluvsconnie ༝༚༝༚

Bound⎢ Ch.1⎢ Ch.2⎢ Ch.3⎢ Ch.4⎢ Ch.5⎢ Ch.6⎢ Ch.7⎢ Ch.8⎢ Ch.9⎢ Ch.10⎢ Ch.11 — ^ ༝༚༝༚

Positive — ^ ༝༚༝༚

Sundress SZN — @alanaaii ༝༚༝༚

Cookies ‘n Cream — ^ ༝༚༝༚

Touch Me, Tease Me, Feel Me Up — @loveforeren ༝༚༝༚

24 Hours, Someone There When She Need — @2neaky ༝༚༝༚

Eren Jaeger

Plug!Eren Being Such a Pornographic Whore — @merakidoll ༝༚༝༚

Rockstar Boyfriends!Eren + Geto — ^ ༝༚༝༚

#FREEHIM — @bladebarbie ༝༚༝༚

SUCKER — @luminiamore ༝༚༝༚

Driftin’ and Kissin’ — @st4rbwrry ༝༚༝༚

Eren Loves Thunderstorms — @bunnisari ༝༚༝༚

 Think She Grippin’ on My Dick but That’s My Gun Baby — @gloxk ༝༚༝༚

Spoil You — @backwzzds ༝༚༝༚

Telling Possessive!Eren You Need a Break — @roseloon ༝༚༝༚

Maybe Opposites Do Attract — @wintrrxxo ༝༚༝༚

Under the Influence — @chrollohearttags ༝༚༝༚

Why You Touchin’ Me — @monstas1ut ༝༚༝༚

Wax — @prettygirl222 ༝༚༝༚

Jean Kirstein

Size Kink — @co-psycho

Stalker!Jean HCs — ^

Parenting HCs — @ye4gerism ༝༚༝༚

Mikasa Ackerman

CHARM’D — @chrollohearttags ༝༚༝༚

Onyankopon

SOUL⎢Part 2 — @luminiamore ༝༚༝༚

TRIP — ^ ༝༚༝༚

Ony Fingering You — @hanwiore ༝༚༝༚

Sexy Hot Nasty Smut — ^ ༝༚༝༚

“Let’s Talk In Person” — @dilfl0v3rss ༝༚༝༚

Mutuals⎢ Part 2 — @anucalor ༝༚༝༚

On the Run — @xiamentshoneypot ༝༚༝༚

Don’t You Know I Love You — @wintrrxxo ༝༚༝༚

I’ll Miss You — @awill2live ༝༚༝༚

Accusations and Apologies — @pynkfairyheart ༝༚༝༚

What Goes Around Comes Around — ^ ༝༚༝༚

Prettiest Thing⎢Part 2 — @pwinkprincess ༝༚༝༚

Imagine Onyankopon as Your Boyfriend — @shaguro ༝༚༝༚

Missing Curfew — @klipkillakai ༝༚༝༚

Dad!Ony Blurb — @morgluvsconnie ༝༚༝༚

Any Means Necessary⎢ Part 1⎢ Part 2⎢ Part 3 — @cupidzboww ༝༚༝༚

BLEACH:

Kenpachi Zaraki

Make Me Feel Love — @actuallusaiyan

DC:

Multi-Character

Size Kinks [Bruce + Jason (SEPARATE)]— @arkhamslvts ༝༚༝༚

Batmom

Thunderstorm — @teddypines ༝༚༝༚

Batsis

Roy Asking Batfam Members for Their Blessings to Marry Batsis [+ Roy Harper]— @c-nstantine ༝༚༝༚

Bruce Wayne/Batman

PR Relationship — @c-nstantine ༝༚༝༚

Vampire King!Bruce Wayne — ^ ༝༚༝༚

Jealous!Bruce — ^ ༝༚༝༚

Bruce Being Lovestruck — ^ ༝༚༝༚

ONE CHICAGO:

Jay Halstead

Echoes of Redemption — @berberriescorner ༝༚༝༚

Jay Dating a Younger Woman — @cutielando

Upstead Foster Daughter⎢Chapter 3 — @uptondixon

Kevin Atwater

If I Took You Home⎢Part 2 — @megamindsecretlair ༝༚༝༚

PEAKY BLINDERS:

Thomas Shelby

Scary? My God You’re Divine — @kat-mobile

Tommy With a Wife Who’s His Complete Opposite — ^

Chance Meetings — @myers-meadow

No Negotiations — @fallatyourfeet

A New Day — @garrison-girl-08

Moved On — @storiesforallfandoms

[hussyknee]

This is, bar none, the funniest fucking completely unironic shit published by a legitimate news outlet:

In recent months, orcas in the waters off the Iberian Peninsula have taken to ramming boats. The animals have already sunk three this year and damaged several more. After one of the latest incidents, in which a catamaran lost both of its rudders, the boat’s captain suggested that the assailants have grown stealthier and more efficient: “Looks like they knew exactly what they are doing,” he said. Scientists have documented hundreds of orca-boat incidents off the Spanish-Portuguese coast since 2020, but news coverage of these attacks is blowing up right now, thanks in part to a creative new theory about why they’re happening: cetacean vengeance. Now that’s a story! “The orcas are doing this on purpose,” Alfredo López Fernandez, a biologist at the University of Aveiro in Portugal, told LiveScience last month. “Of course, we don’t know the origin or the motivation, but defensive behavior based on trauma, as the origin of all this, gains more strength for us every day.” López Fernandez, who co-authored a 2022 paper on human-orca interactions in the Strait of Gibraltar, speculates that a specific female, known to scientists as White Gladis, may have suffered a “critical moment of agony” at the hands of humans, attacked a boat in retaliation, and then taught other whales to do the same. Whatever the truth of this assertion, White Gladis and her kin have quickly ascended to folk-heroic status on the internet. “What the marine biologists are framing as revenge based on one traumatic experience may be a piece of a larger mobilization towards balance,” the poet Alexis Pauline Gumbs tweeted before referring to the killer whales as “revolutionary mother teachers.” Media figures and academics are expressing solidarity with their “orca comrades” and support for “orca saboteurs.” One widely circulating graphic shows a pod smashing a boat from below, above the words “JOIN THE ORCA UPRISING.” (You can even purchase it in sparkly sticker form.) Yet all of this fandom and projection tends to overlook important facts: First, these orcas are likely to be playing with the boats rather than attacking them, and second, if one insists on judging killer whales in human terms, it’s plain to see they aren’t heroes but sadistic jerks.

A shark wrote this.

The recent incidents, none of which has resulted in any injuries to humans, are simply the result of curiosity, Monika Wieland Shields, the co-director of the Orca Behavior Institute in Washington, told me. A juvenile may have started interacting in this way with boats, she said, and then its habit spread through the local community of killer whales. Such cultural trends have been observed before: In the Pacific Northwest, orcas have been playing with buoys and crab pots for years; in the late 1980s, one group of orcas there famously took to wearing salmon hats. Is ramming boats the new donning fish? Shields believes that theory makes more sense than López Fernandez’s appeal to orca trauma. White Gladis shows no physical evidence of injury or trauma, Shields told me, so any “critical moment of agony” is purely speculative. Also, humans have given orcas ample reason to retaliate for hundreds of years. We’ve invaded their waters, kidnapped their young, and murdered them in droves. And yet, there is not a single documented instance of orcas killing humans in the wild. Why would they react only now? And though recent events may fit the story of these orcas’ being anti-colonial warriors, you can’t just anthropomorphize animals selectively. What about all the other “evidence” we have of orcas’ cruelty, or even wickedness? Scientists say they hunt and slaughter sharks by the dozen, picking out the liver from each one and leaving the rest of the carcasses to rot uneaten. Orcas kill for sport. They push, drag, and spin around live prey, including sea turtles, seabirds, and sea lions. Some go so far as to risk beaching themselves in order to snag a baby seal—not to consume, but simply to torture it to death. Once you start applying human ethical standards to apex predators, things turn dark fast.

Oh no, they gleefully torment other animals for sport!! Does this species deserve to have any redeeming qualities???

Perhaps #orcauprising was inevitable. Humanity does have, after all, a long history of freighting cetaceans with higher meaning. Moby Dick is, among other things, a symbol of the sublime. The biblical whale—or is it a large fish?—that swallows Jonah is an instrument of divine retribution, a means of punishing the wicked in much the same way some have framed the boat-wrecking orcas. The whale 52 Blue, known as the loneliest whale in the world because she speaks in a frequency inaudible, or at least incomprehensible, to her brethren, has become a canvas for all shades of human sorrow and angst. Orcas in particular have long been objects of both fear and sympathy, in some cases with an explicitly anti-capitalist tint. The 1993 classic Free Willy centers on a conniving park owner’s scheme to profit off of the bond between a child and a young killer whale. And more recently, the 2013 documentary Blackfish chronicles SeaWorld’s real-life exploitation of captive orcas. The “orca uprising” narrative fits neatly into this lineage. In our present era of environmental catastrophe, Shields told me, it’s appealing to think that nature might fight back, that the villains get their just deserts. But projection and anthropomorphization are only shortcuts to a shallow sympathy. Orcas really are capable of intense grief; they are also capable of tormenting seal pups as a hobby. They are intelligent, emotionally complex creatures. But they are not us.

Someone paid this dude actual money to conclude that Orcas aren't human.

In conclusion:

[xuchiya]

"like a mermaid" || jung wooyoung ||

| genre: non!idol wooyung. fluff. swimmer! wooyoung | mentions: competition. anxiety attack. stray kids! han, lee know, i.n. , bangchan

| author's note: if you do not know free! iwatobi club, im sad ;<< its an amazing and wholesome anime.

your school always holds its annual sports activities, meaning some sports clubs are now active with their practice. your school at least has many sports mainly soccer, archery, volleyball, and lastly is swimming.

you have been intrigued with the sports, yet your body never felt like engaging to any sports and stick to playing mobile instead. You were walking around the campus as you watched a few players in their booth, handing out flyers, showing a few videos of their past competition and some encouraging them to try-out.

you thank a few students who were handing you a flyer until you were greeted by a cheery student who jumped out of nowhere, "Hi! Do you want to try out for our swim club?"

you chuckle, shaking your head to which the cheery student pouted, his whole positive aura went downhill as he sat down on the plastic chair while being comforted by his friends. you instantly felt bad, but you knew deep down that your body isn't built for any sports, heck water sports.

"don't feel bad for him. it is really our target to get at least 3 new people to try-out for our club." a new person came in. you look up to see Lee know. he is one of your classmates in geography class.

"Is that usually your target each year?" he nodded, looking at the other booths who had students crowd it with curiosity and excitement. Meanwhile, they both seem to be ... deserted.

"yeah or else our club will close. permanently." you stared at him, wide eyes. you felt your heart fall on your stomach. the guilt and the thought of this club closing because no one seems to be trying or interested.

you would if you just know how to. although weighing the pros and cons of joining the club will matter in your hands, you become relentless and a little bit anxious as you gaze at these people who had deep passion for swimming and you would die in guilt if you ever saw their booth— probably never in the next year opening.

"What about being a manager? I can help you guys with that." the same cheery guy shoots up from his seat as he hears about your suggestion, "please! we are bad at managing ourselves and always tend to mess up with our schedules."

He earned an earful from lee know and smacks from other members of the club. you chuckle as lee know shoots him with a glare.

As the day went on, you were given a chance to roam around the facility of the swimming club. It was located on the second floor of the gym. it was eerie, only the sound of the machine that regenerates the water. The pool is almost the size of a standard Olympic-size pool. The glass windows were covered in dark curtains to emphasize the artificial lights inside the pool instead.

It is beautiful. the blue color hue of the pool shimmering gently with waves. It was long, with a few bleachers to the side and a plank built at the foot of the pool.

It is simple yet it excites something inside you that it made you want to strip down and jump in, but you knew better. When you had enough of exploring the place, your feet took you towards a small archway towards the exit and towards the stairs, you heard a splash. Your ears perk up from the sound of the water hitting the sides, as you run your hand on the wall as you return back to the pool side, you are greeted by a view of a body underneath the water gliding smoothly.

It was as if they are built for this sport, being able to stay under the water for more than a minute. You were fascinated, eyes sparkling how the water hit the sunlight. The way their legs wave like a mermaid tail is something you would love to see every day.

You were at the foot, waiting for the person to rise from the water but you frowned when you waited a little too long and they didn't come up to the surface. you leaned forward, tucking your hair behind your ear as you do so. You yelp when the said person rises up and almost bumps your face. they opened their eyes and widened in surprise when they were met with your eyes wide open too.

"u-uh .. hi?" you awkwardly said, waving using your other hand which is stupid as it is the one holding your entire body. you were greeted by the coldness of the water, bubbles surrounding you as you fell into the pool.

your eyes were close, afraid of the chlorine ruining your eyes, mouth looking like a chipmunk as you felt your body floating amidst the silence of the water around you.

It was a minute later when you felt your hands on yours, it made your eyes snap open, and you saw him again. His hair floating around him is the same as yours. He tugs you towards him, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you both up on the surface.

Clinging to him as much as how your clothes were clinging on your body. You shake your hair out of your face, wiping them before turning towards the guy, "you can't swim." was the first thing he said, his monotone voice echoes your ear. You could feel your cheeks reddening, you meekly nodded, "yeah ..."

he held both of your waist and pushed you up onto the rough flooring of the pool. you twisted your hair to wring out some water, you felt presence beside you and the sight of fresh towels. You look up to see the same guy holding it with a towel drape across his shoulder. What is more surprising is him only having swim trunks and nothing more.

Blinking several times, you thank him while diverting your eyes away from him. you sat there, him also settling beside you; a small distance between you two.

"you're the elected manager?" he asserted. you nodded, “i am … are you a new member or—”

“4 years.” Then silence overshadowed you two. The sound of the generator came back as the white noise only for your mouth to open because of the curiosity of him knowing what your role is although not seeing his figure during the opening.

"how did you know?"

he sighs, dangling his feet in the water. "If you know how to swim which you can't so it only resolves to you being the manager of this team and club." your cheeks flared in embarrassment yet it does make sense. it was silent between you two before he spoke once again.

"Please stay." you were taken back, your eyes darted at his side profile. There is something in his aura that screams for you to save him or the existence of their club; saving the latter is probably the blurriest thing you could think of, saving their club could still stand a chance if you know how to swim but your legs and lungs wouldn’t be able to cooperate. You don’t have a phobia, it’s just you don’t have any skills in staying afloat.

 Choosing to stay silent as you wait for him to talk more to which he did, "I could teach you how to swim so our club won't close."

That is not something you were expecting to come out of his mouth yet it must have been what is also in his mind too. Maybe the mere presence of a new manager won’t save the club though another member could consider it.

Plus, if you got to see him everyday, it would be a bonus.

Agreeing to his offer (if you even think about it as an offer), it has been a month since the opening, you were declared as part of the club as a member and the manager, though it is a bit complicated and full-handed duty, it is better than doing nothing. it would challenge you more physically.

when the guy—wooyoung who you learn its name from lee know— waited at your usual spot. Pushing the door handle of the stairs, you adjust the bag as you reach the bleachers, hands inside the pockets of your jacket. wooyoung walks towards you; already in his swimsuit, "you ready?"

shrugging, hands still inside the pockets, “ready not to drown, i guess.”

As you change from your school uniform to the prescribed swimsuit that lee know told you about and the things needed when joining the club since wooyoung will be more onto the needed positions that you will easily learn and adapt. Wooyoung settled on waist deep, he outstretched his hand for you, "you need to do bubbles first."

you raised an eyebrow, "a what?"

He demonstrates as he submerges himself and multiple bubbles come on top before he resurfaces again and does it again until you proceed to do it to which you end up coughing, water running in your nose. 

Wooyoung looks at you"The major rule in this is always to relax."

"I am."

"you're not."

you glared at him, "I. Am." he shrugs, "if you were, you wouldn't be choking each time you submerge." you huff glaring at him before turning to your front, not liking how he comes to point out the obvious and being called out for it.

"You can do it. you have to get used to it." somehow even in his poor state of encouragement, you understood his assignment to you and slowly learned how he does it.

everytime you see his swimming skills, a certain feeling of determination arises through you. that thought of being able to learn something new aside from firing guns and reloading them; also the thought of being on the same level as them as you continue to strive. Wooyoung took notice of your aura and body language changing each time passed. Months and months pass as he takes you in his swimming lesson serious. he could see behind your eyes the fulfilment of becoming a part of the swim club.

Wooyoung felt nostalgic hit him as he saw his old weak and unskilled self in you. You were just like him before, scared to learn something new yet with a push and new found determination is what got him going.

up until now, he still is.

"start!" you dive, hands in front of you as you swim, you have been practicing the front crawl nearing learning the breaststroke as it is much easier for you to do. You surfaced, leaning on your side as you swam closer and closer to the foot of the pool until your palm touched the other side that you rose up.

Removing the goggles, you look at wooyoung, who pressed the timer in his hand and examined the number written, "time?"

"2 minutes and 13 seconds." You cheered, splashing your hands as you stayed afloat kicking your feet to swam gleefully. It was a new record. You have been doing the front crawl position ever since you took interest in it and now you were determined to master as none of the members were able to.

Your previous records were embarrassing yet a stepping stone. Wooyoung saw your reaction and chuckle, sitting on the edge. You swim near him, folding your arms as you pushed yourself up; your half body still submerge to the pool

“You’re ready to compete.” He spoke, his eyes sparkling. You chuckle, leaning your chin on your folded arms, “I guess I am.”

Six months had passed and your first competition came so fast that it shook you to the point you were being held by Han. He is the cheery guy you met and the others who scolded him were I.N and Bangchan. 

“Hey! It’s normal to be nervous. You know when it was my first competition, I puked everywhere.” if it weren’t for the nerves wrecking you, you would have done the same thing but the difference of your nervousness to his is that you just shake like a leaf.

Lee Know cringes, pushing him away from you using two fingers like he’s worried he’ll contaminate himself with Han’s aura, “One disgusting and two learn personal space you’re making her more nervous.”

You hummed looking at Lee Know, “Don’t worry. I’m good, just really nervous but I’m good.” Lee Know could see through your eyes that you were just bluffing but he didn’t want to pressure you nor added to your burden so instead he smiled at you, “Before the competition starts, there’s like a mini-festival happening to welcome each student from different universities to loosen up. Like you.”

You chuckle, nodding, “Okay. I’ll do that.” 

Walking around the campus of the university where the competition was held, you were amazed at how big it is, how it managed such amazing booths, entertainments and clubs that were sponsored by the government to compete in Nationals.

You were so focused on the speaker about the details of the Nationals that you didn’t notice a figure standing beside you, smiling gently. 

“That’s my goal.” Your head snapped towards the voice and saw Wooyoung looking ahead. It had always been like this, ever since you both met, you had always viewed his side profile and never front profile. When you swim, it was him on his side to demonstrate or him teaching you by being close to you— being oblivious to your red face, warm body— by adjusting and sharing techniques to swim faster and smoother.

“The Nationals?” He hums, eyes glisten with sparkles. You have come to the conclusion that out of all the members, Wooyoung tends to keep everything to himself, suppressing emotions though his relationship with the rest of the members resemble brothers.

With a small pat on his shoulder, you look at him, your lips twitching in a small smile, “You and the others work hard for this. You’ll see yourselves entering it in on time—”

“Don’t exclude yourself.” He spoke with a hint of firm in his voice. Your breath hitch when his head turn towards you. Your heart suddenly started thumping inside your ribs that you held on to it, fearing Wooyoung would hear your loud heart. His face, so symmetrical and smooth, his eyelashes were long and curled, cheeks smooth with a tinge of redness because of the changing season and then his plump pink lips.

He is so gorgeous.

“W-What?” You stuttered, hitting yourself mentally. 

His foot took a step forward, making you step backwards, eyes still at him, “Don’t exclude yourself. You work hard to be part of the team, you finally see the passion, you learn and grind your way up to be on the same level as us. So don’t exclude yourself because you are a family here.”

Your eyes widen, not expecting his words nor his short speech. Your head moving in slow nod, “Okay. I’m part of the team.” A surprise squeak left your lips when a warm hand was on top of your head, tilting to glance at Wooyoung. A boyish smirk arched on his lips, “That’s a good girl.”

Your eyes widen even more, heart finally exploding. From his words and from his change of aura. He only showed one emotion to you and that being neutral and stoic emotions hence Hans and I.N joking around with hilarious stories that made Lee Know chuckle (which is hard for anyone to do but easy for these two). So actually seeing Wooyoung smile (or would you call it smile) gave you a nickname.

You would love to be in heaven right now. 

“Manager-ssi!” You spun, hearing Han called you. Thankful for his entrance since you were close to breaking down in front of him because of the multiple emotions and butterflies he is giving in a span of five minutes. 

Facing Han, you were surprised— literally taken back when a squirt of the water gun hit your entire torso. You frowned at your drenched uniform to Han’s playful face that turned upside down when his eyes flickered behind you. 

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered with fire, Han stumbling back but he was blocked by Lee Know. His face darkened from his previous action, snatching the water gun. A fire blazed in his eyes as he kept firing the water gun at Han and then throwing the water tank of the gun on his head, “You idiot! That is her only uniform!” 

Bangchan stepped in as they were attracting eyes and pulled away a ranging Lee Know while I.N picked up Han and dragged him away, the same direction as Bangchan. You shake your head, even if it is a playful banter and childish play of Han, you chuckle though your problem is the drench, your already transparent uniform being viewed in public.

Your face brightens as you try to subtly cover yourself, not being able to pack up your jacket is a consequence you are facing, that is until you feel a warm cloth covering you. You look up to see Wooyoung eyeing a group of guys before draping his arm around you and pulling you towards the entrance where Lee Know and the others just entered.

“Next time, bring extra clothes.” 

“Noted.”

The competition started. You were the first one to compete and all hell broke loose inside the changing room. You were clenching your chest as you heaved heavily on the bench of the women’s room, thick sweats dripping down from your forehead to your neck, body slowly and flipping from cold to warm. Your mind was racing, running around in circles of the possibilities, errors and most especially about the what if’s.

You were so deep in your consciousness that your entire team plus your coach were waiting outside the women’s changing room and started to get worried when what looks to be the last person inside steps out and your figure hasn’t stepped out of the room.

Everyone looks at each other in worry, not knowing how to call you or approach you without creating a scene but Wooyoung isn’t having any of the hesitations and bursts in the room despite the calls of his members and coach.

Wooyoung knew what it felt like to be cornered, to be alone with your cruel thoughts. To have no one on your side when competing. He searches through the multiple lockers until he hears a faint cry at the end, Wooyoung rushes towards the noise and sees you curled up on the bench, shoulders shaking and hands covering your ears.

His heart broke from the scene. He had never seen you in this kind of state nor were you able to display fear but from that moment, he saw another side of you. The little kid that fear of losing and trembling under the eyes of disappointment.

Wooyoung sat beside you as quietly as he could. Your sniffles and gasp were choking the breath out of you when your stuffed noise managed to swift the smell of cool water and spice, your head slowly tilted to the side to see Wooyoung looking at you.

You wiped your tears and snot, “Y-You can’t be here, this is the women’s room Woo—”

“I don’t care, you’re my priority right now.” That shuts you up, you were still trembling, still in your anxiety zone. Your mind is jumbled up, not knowing what time it is nor were you doing here in the first place.

“Don’t think about winning, no one in this team prioritises that.” You heard Wooyoung speak softly when he noticed you nodding, he continued, “Our team is about feeling the triumph of being part of this competition; winning is a gift of luck.”

“Why?”

He turns to you, and that same smile you saw a while ago comes back, “Because trophies and medals don't measure the strength of your passion and heart.” 

And his hand found itself on top of your head again, patting it gently, “Win or lose, you realise your worth in competition not in those bronze, silver and gold.” His hand slide down towards your shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “Everyone is rooting for their new member, they want to see the unskilled caterpillar turn into a butterfly swimmer.”

A burst of chuckle left your lips while a few streams of tears were wiped by you, “Great pun Woo~” He also chuckled before pulling you up on your wobbly feet causing you to lose your balance and leaned your body on his. Wooyoung felt his entire body fired, hands freezing from your body yet you were oblivious but pumped up from his pep talk.

You turn to him, inhaling deeply locking eyes with him, “Let’s get it.”

Wooyoung smiles at you, nodding, “That’s my girl.”

[fatehbaz]

Whither the man-eater? This entity was once the prime interest of an entire league of famous sportsmen in colonial India, the engrossing content of many books [...]. [T]he man-eater was first constructed, and then dismantled [...]. This erratic rise and fall of the man-eater is descriptive of changing power relations, the ephemeral yet pervasive axis between the colonial and the post-colonial [...].

---

Jim Corbett was a case in point. [Around the time of independence, Corbett authored popular stories of his adventures in colonial India in the preceding decades, including Man-Eaters of Kumaon and The Man-Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag]. [...]

The man-eater was destined [...] to shine in all its ferocity at a certain moment in time and not any other.

Thus, [there is special] context within which specific 'meanings' get associated with animals, at certain times, and at the the hands of select actors [...].

[T]he engulfing realm of the printed word, especially the English book, gave astounding shape and clarity to the idea of a man-eater. [...] The man-eater was never thought of as a sub-species of Panthera tigris in the tables of natural history; rather the man-eater [...] was ‘out of nature’, and thus some kind of an addendum to naturalist understandings. [...] The making of the man-eater into a coherent animal category follows an arduous path. [...] [M]otor cars and other gadgets such as hunting lights had arrived on the scene. [...] [A British officer] who had served in the Central Provinces for quite a while after [1909] [...], commented [..] ‘With modern inventions it would be quite easy to be playing cards in the tent [,] and when the tiger turns up, kill him by pressing a button on a tent wall.’ [His] exasperation was evident [among] [...] [s]portsmen in the 1920s and 1930s [...]. [A] single species splits into undefeatable man-eaters and gentlemanly tigers worthy of observation alone. [...] Amid such lesser sportsmen the man-eater thus became a tactic of power which elevated its [colonial] victor over both the hunters of the past and contemporaries of the present. [...] But it is truly a question if this muzzle-loading gun in the hands of the native [...]. The implication was that sportsmen had a fairer sense of restrictions than the non-sporting classes. With the latter classes gaining political mobility, fears of an 1857-like massacre were also in the air. [...] [B]y the 1930s [...] a host of sportsmen [...] might have preferred to see natives handling a rickety muzzle-loader than an elegant express rifle; the man-eater was intended to remain at large for those ["superior" colonial sportsmen] in possession of the latter. [...]

---

This development of a sportsman into an author can be located within a history of the book. [...] The English novel as a genre [...] began to acquire greater circulation after [...] 1870. [...] [A] book on which the sportsman laboured was like a trophy [...]. For all such ongoing fuss about size [records], a man-eater was more about qualities: cunning, finesse, stealth [...]. If the difficulty of hunting a man-eater was what gave the sportsman a chance to prove the superiority of his skill [...], then this difficulty was the stuff of a story, not a [size] measurement or a mounted trophy. And [...] an aspect of photography. [...] It authenticated the effort of a sportsman and could not be bought of the market [taxidermy trophies available to simply purchase at local shops] except through a book that bore the author’s name. [...]

---

There were dimensions of imagination and power that accompanied this. The idea of a man-eater was such that it helped advance the long held belief that the natives were a hapless lot. [...] Pandian [...] shares how the man-eaters of the colonial period were equated with the ‘arbitrary monarchs’ of a pre-colonial era, which also the British sportsman as a symbol of ‘sovereign might’, would meet on its own grounds. [...] [Consider also] the manner in which the simultaneous depiction of the remaining tigers as ‘large hearted gentlem[e]n’ of the forests (a thing Corbett professed) went to convey the contrary image of a docile, tame and innocent nature that could come to be harmed by natives at the slightest instance.

Protecting the people gave the colonisers power over animals, and protecting animals gave it a power over people.

Notions of animality and criminality intersected at the site of the man-eater.

The entire continuum of man-animal relations was thus canvassed through this tactic, which also the medium of the book in the later colonial periods broadcasted to distant corners of the colony. [...] What perhaps distinguished the man-eater from any ordinary form of game hunting was that it was additionally a form of ‘language-game’. [...] [T]he man-eater was an account in which the ephemeral idea of an ‘India’ glimmered constantly in the background. But it did so largely in English. The man-eater was an English diatribe [...]. The side by side portrayal of the victims of the man-eater as ‘superstitious’, ‘rural’ and ‘ignorant’, only went to establish before the (civilised) readers the proof of an (uncivilised) mass waiting to be salvaged, assimilated or disciplined. [...] [A] mild perusal of Corbett’s My India, published about five years after India’s gaining of Independence, provides ample evidence of the above dynamic. The eventual autonomy of the British administration besides a celebration of the decision making capacities of rural masses (described as ‘real’ Indians) is legend in the pages of this book. The political reality of colonial rule is conflated with a nationalistic pride, which also the sportsman allocates to himself in the describing of his (my?) India. One is left to understand that the man-eater thrived at its best in a colonised India as much as an Indianised colony. As the tension between an emerging nation and an erstwhile colony acquired sharpness in the later colonial periods and a decade thereafter, the narrative of the man-eater came into its own.

The man-eater is thus a veritable creature of timing that shone at its brightest in the 1940s, even if it had been shot down 30 years ago by the likes of Corbett. [...] [Later in the twentieth century, there was a] transformation of the landscape from a designated ‘wasteland’ under colonial administration to a ‘World Heritage Site’ in Independent India. At the peak of such transitions in the 1970s [...], the tiger itself was assuming cosmopolitan proportions and being regarded as a ‘citizen’ by the state. [...] [This was an] emergence of [...] a 'cosmopolitan tiger' [...].

---

All text above by: Varun Sharma. "Rise and Fall of the 'Man-eater': The Changing Science and Technology of a Species (1860-present)". History and Sociology of South Asia Volume 10 (2016), Issue 1. First published online 8 December 2015. At: doi dot org slash 10.1177/2230807515600087 [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text in the first paragraph of this post is from the article's abstract. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[tzifron]

One of the striking features of your book is the strong emphasis on banal forms of nationalism. Why did you pay so much attention to these everyday forms of nationalism?

ES: The omnipresence of banal forms of nationalism makes it very easy to mobilize nationalist feelings in times of crisis. This can be seen around the world, for instance, in cases of foreign aggression, terrorist attacks or natural disasters. However, the idea that every nation has its own culture that is shared by all members is relatively recent; it only arose during the Romantic era in the early nineteenth century. Initially, nationalism primarily entered high culture, including historical novels and classical music, while leading to the creation of statues of national heroes and national museums. At a later stage, nationalism began to find its way into popular culture, such as comics and films. It also influenced the physical environment as exceptional sites and landscapes were converted into cultural heritage and national parks. This process continued even in periods when national differences were not seen as very relevant. A world divided into nation-states, each with its own unique character, is nowadays fully taken for granted. Even cars, fashion and food have become associated with particular nations. Sporting competitions, such as the Olympic Games, and social media have only increased the dominance of a nationalist world view. As a consequence, today the identification with the nation is seen as self-evident.

[gatitties]

Deadly Halloween

Manager Miniseries

─Aoba Josai x fem!reader

─Summary: It seems like you are in a nightmare, unfortunately it is not a bad dream but a reality.

─Warnings: none

13 < 14 > 15

You ran across the highschool, desperate to get to the main gym where Seijo's Halloween party was currently being held. You screamed as you saw that thing try to catch your leg, with the bat you were holding you began to smash its head, desperate for it to die, although theoretically it already was.

Its blood splattered on your clothes, also staining your face, but you didn't care, when you got rid of it, you continued to the gym, closing the doors as quickly as you could, trying to regulate your breathing. No one noticed your presence or what was happening in the city because of the loud music that echoed from the speakers.

"Oh I thought you didn't want to come!"

Oikawa smiled brightly, grabbing you from the shoulder, dragging you over to the group, they were all dressed up so they didn't question why you had blood on your clothes and came with a bat full of nails.

"You look agitated, did something happen?"

Iwa frowned, seeing how your expressions were anything but normal.

"Yeah, it looks like you've seen a zombie!"

Makki patted your back hard, trying to make one of his jokes, however your face contorted when you heard that, zombies. Your mind wandered to the terror you had experienced a few minutes later, with eyes wide open and a face of anguish, your fists clenched tightly.

"Are you really okay?"

You snapped out of your daze when Watari's hand rested on your shoulder. You tried to smile at your friends, but couldn't. Your pulse trembled, letting go of the bat and holding on to the libero in a desesperate hug.

"They have died, e-everyone…"

Many thought that you were acting, that you were part of a Halloween story, but upon seeing your expressions and empty eyes... they swallowed dry. Nothing was invented, the city really was in a damn apocalypse, collapsed from those living dead.

"Th-that can't be! real"

Oikawa looked like he wanted to cry like a baby right there, as did Yahaba and Kindaichi. Watari, Matsukawa and Kunimi remained serious, trying to think of a plan, while Iwaizumi tried to calm Makki, who did not want to believe the truth.

"Then we kill them."

Everyone fell silent when they heard Kentaro, he had disappeared a few minutes ago and now he brought sports equipment that could be used as a weapon.

"Are you crazy?! There are too many!"

Yahaba shook him desperately, he didn't want to die there.

"It will be fine if we stay together."

Now everyone gasped at Iwaizumi's statement, they didn't expect the saner one to trust that idea.

"Okay, if we can block all the entrances, maybe we can wait for someone to come for us."

"What if no one comes?"

You took a look at Makki, who seemed the most nervous along with Kindaichi, you put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard and hitting them on the back of the head.

"I called when I was coming here, the authorities are aware of the problem and are mobilizing to get us out of here."

Your words were like a small ray of hope for the others, who nodded, listening attentively.

"Then, let's finish them off."

Kunimi declared, grabbing a paddle tennis racket. The others rushed to grab material that could serve as a weapon.

You all acted normal in front of the others students while covering all the entrances or exits to the outside world, some zombies could already be seen entering the highschool, but no one should suspect anything and anyway, no one would believe you, so the music didn't turn down one bit.

Everyone continued enjoying, oblivious to the carnage that was happening on the other side of the doors. Until one of the students decided to leave, causing the dead that were piling up at the main entrance to burst in, causing total chaos. The screams were heard above the music, which at some point was cut off, now everything was a total chaos of students running, and trying not to be devoured by the monsters. You were ready to kick those beings' bony asses but someone stopped you.

"Sorry, Iwaizumi thinks it's better to run away for now than fight."

Matsukawa dragged you towards the others, who began to run throughout the premises looking for a safe place. They hid in the boiler room because it was in the basement and it would be more difficult to find them there, the areas they wanted to leave through were obstructed, they would prefer to lock themselves in there since it was less likely to find someone or something.

"Is anyone hurt?"

Watari took on the role of doctor, checking that everyone was in perfect condition, luckily there were only a few scratches here and there, but nothing serious. You rested for a while, but as time passed, impatience began to make an appearance.

"We must leave, if they catch us in this place we will have no place to flee, the other exits must have already been unclogged, it will be easier to get out now without all the chaos even though those things are still roaming freely out there…"

For once in his life Hanamaki used the only neurons he had left, if they continued in that place they would be easy prey due to lack of space now that many teenagers have probably become zombies too

"Yeah, we must be in a visible place for when they come for us."

Everyone nodded, running through the hallways toward your destination, the rooftop. Without noticing that the captain was limping a little, they didn't notice until a zombie started chasing you, followed by a few more. Advancing the step, Oikawa became desperate because of his annoyance, he ended up falling making a dull noise that only Iwaizumi and you heard since you were behind the group. The two of you gasped when you saw how four zombies were pounced on your friend. Without time to think, the boy in danger accepted his death in a dramatic way, feeling how blood splashed on his face. When he opened his eyes he met you, he smiled with teary eyes.

"Am I in heaven?" then his gaze went to his childhood friend "Wait, is it hell?"

The vice captain grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him while you hit him on the head with a frown.

"No, but if you continue like this I will send you to hell myself."

You caught up with the group quickly. When you finally reached the roof you sighed in relief, closing the door and scolding the setter, who practically almost committed suicide.

"Shit, that was close."

You calmed down a little, closing your eyes and recovering the lost air, you looked at everyone with a small smile, sighed heavily, standing up to hug everyone tightly, being grateful that they were still alive. You wouldn't allow anyone to touch your friends.

Suddenly a zombie came out of nowhere, surprising everyone and almost biting you, your eyes widened, leaving all static in surprise. You heard a dull thump after screams of agony that gradually fell silent. You turned your head slowly when you saw that thing decapitated by beatings.

"Are you okay?"

Kentaro scowled, spitting at the dead body and grabbing you so that you were next to him. They wouldn't let you die on this crazy day either.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 2 - She Sells Sanctuary

[can also be read on AO3]

Summary: Rory meets with an arms dealer in Algeria who has inside information about a weapons deal between Iran and Russia

Warnings/Tags: Minors DNI, swearing, Afrikaans slang, smoking

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC - 3rd person POV (Rory Sinclair)

Word Count: 2.4 K

A/N: the further continuation of Rory's story, this follows and expands upon the COD: MW2 reboot canon. Told from Rory's POV. Author's first time writing a South African character, please excuse any mistranslations of Afrikaans slang used.

October 28, 2022 10:49 - Algiers, Algeria

The casbah was a popular tourist destination at this time of year. A plethora of bodies passed back and forth – people shopping, taking holiday snaps – civilians entirely oblivious to their surroundings as Lieutenant Rory Sinclair of the 141 moved amongst them, headed towards one of the many cafes in the center of the quarter. For the end of October, it was unseasonably warm for her tastes, feeling more like early summer before midday had even struck, yet the sky was a crisp, sharp autumnal blue with little cloud cover in the sky – that same bright powdery shade that made her think of John’s intense stare. 

It was a sad state of affairs when she’d been kept apart from him for too long on missions of her own. A not uncommon thing considering she could handle the espionage side of the work without sticking out like a dog's balls when compared to a 6’4” juggernaut in a face mask, a beefcake Scot with a mohawk, or even her own partner, a man who sported facial hair more fitting for the 1880’s and was rarely spotted without his signature boonie hat. At this point, it was just her and Gaz capable of slipping into a crowd unnoticed, and she had more experience under her belt doing so. No, instead, she had to spend the last two weeks separated from the dear Captain – who had promised her years ago that wouldn’t be the case (bloody liar) – while he was off galavanting with Gaz, chasing down AQ cells in Amsterdam.

Readjusting her dark aviator sunglasses that had begun to slip down the bridge of her nose, she scanned her surroundings, casually rolling up the sleeves of her light jacket as if she were only just starting to be affected by the heat. It was an added layer she surely didn’t need, but considering she was strapped to the nines in weapon harnesses underneath, it was a necessary evil. Brushing her hand through her hair, fighting against the breeze, she made sure to adjust her part the right way so that her earpiece stayed out of sight. Sturdy boots thumped against the old pavement stones, cobbles that were likely older than most in London at this point. There was a part of her that wished she could take the time to appreciate the scenery, relish in the history around her— instead, the job came first. 

A cigarette dangled from her lips as she strolled through the crowds, her fingers curling around it as she pulled it away to flick off the ashes, exhaling a stream of smoke from the corner of her mouth. The gun tucked in the waistband of her skinny jeans, resting against her back, was a reminder that she was here for business, the kind kept thoroughly off the books. Pretending to window shop, her mobile finally dinged with the notification of a received text message. 

Meeting’s on. He’s waiting for you. 

She dropped her cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with her boot before carrying on, passing under the clotheslines draped across buildings and the fluttering material above her drying in the morning sun. 

The menthol hit of mint tea perfumed the air around her, coiling and mingling with the scent of coffee as she drew closer to the center. At one of the tables outside the cafe, two men sat under the protection of a large parasol, neither appearing as though they fit the surroundings at all. At least she attempted to be inconspicuous. Nikolai, dressed in a black leather pilot jacket and his golden chain around his neck, gave her a little nod from across the crowd. Sitting across from him was a man dressed in a navy linen suit, wrinkled with the heat, and brown leather dress shoes polished to a shine. So much for keeping their business low profile. What stood out most – besides the suit, of course – was his otherwise unkempt appearance: shaggy brown hair, mussed and wild from the wind, and a beard, patchy with stubble, that needed a trim. He was a cowboy playing gangster, and she could see it from a mile away. 

Of course this was the type of prick Nik would have contact with. Hazel eyes rolled and she sighed heavily, brushing past the others in the crowd. She was already none too pleased about this meeting, but in their line of work there was no retreating from the dubious contacts. Alas, sometimes they were the best sources of info, even if it meant hours spent thoroughly checking the veracity of the claims.

Taking her seat at the little bistro table as the apparent Guest of Honour, Rory sat back in the creaking wooden chair, pushing her sunglasses up and onto the crown of her hair. “Mr. Botha, I presume,” she said, reaching a hand out to shake.

“Call me Niel.” His thick Afrikaans accent rolled off his tongue in a low drawl, as he unbuttoned his suit jacket with one hand smoothly and took her hand in his other, giving it a swift shake. 

His hands were surprisingly soft, smooth. But then again most peoples’ were when compared to Price and the others she was close to, men whose hands were rough and calloused with the nature of their work. 

A young waiter came out and placed a steaming cup of mint tea on a saucer on the table in front of her, his head ducked down, doing his best not to make eye contact with any of them at the table before quickly departing. 

They’ve likely already been made. “Took care of ordering for you,” Nik mumbled. 

“Ta,” Rory said, lifting the tea to her lips and blowing away the steam. 

“So, this is my contact?” Botha gave Nik a sideways glance. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”

She sipped her tea and wet her lips, placing the cup back on the saucer with a quiet clink and leaned back in her seat, draping her arm over the backrest of the chair. Crossing her legs, she let her foot swing casually as she tossed down the first challenge with the lift of a brow. “And just what were you expecting, exactly?” 

Botha adjusted his shoulder, fixing his suit jacket before crossing his ankle over his knee as if mirroring her gesture. “Name like Rory, thought you’d be a mick, at least,” he said with a lazy shrug of his shoulder.

The stoic exterior Rory wore crumbled only slightly, her lips curling at the corner into a smirk. “Fair point.”

“Don’t look like any soldier I’ve met before either, ‘specially not the ones doing any real work.” He looked at her appraisingly and sneered. “Look more like those choty goty they set up Instagram accounts for to propagandise teenage boys just trying to skommel.”

Frozen in her seat, she stared at him as if she’d just made contact with an alien instead. “Beg your pardon?”

“Have a wank,” he restated the point he was trying to make in terms she would understand, motioning lewdly with his hand, simulating the act before checking his nails for the non-existent dirt underneath them.

“Lovely.” She grimaced, hiding her expression of disgust by taking another sip of her tea. “Let’s cut to the chase, yeah?” Leaning forward, she pushed her drink aside and clasped her hands together on the table, causing it to tip towards her. “Certain interested parties I work with have a stake in what occurred between the Russians and Iran in Al Mazrah. Heard through the grapevine you've been rather accommodating to both sides, completing transactions for them so they don’t have to get their hands dirty.”

“Interested parties?” Botha scoffed and took a sip of his coffee. “Who do you think you are?” He glanced over at Nikolai once more. “Who does she think she is?” His attention returned to her once more, a devilishly smug expression tugging his mouth into a lopsided grin. “I’m not some fokken spy, I don’t need any of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit.” Waggling his finger back and forth at her before pressing his hand to his chest, his fingernails clearly well-manicured. “I’m here to protect my own ass. And I’m willing to go wherever I think they can do the best job.”

“Including a British Special Forces Task Force?”

“Who just so happen to also be tied up with the CIA and the US military– if I’ve got my facts right. And, who are more than willing to work with those of a certain less than ethical persuasion.” He glanced at Nikolai, sighing as he scratched at the underside of his jaw, his nails dragging through heavy stubble. “Let’s get this straight, I’m no fan of Captain Price. But, I also know beggars can’t be choosers. I’ve made a few deals with Nikolai in the past, I’m certainly no goody two shoes, I go where the bucks flow. And now, I’m stuck with you lot so I can find my way out from being tied up with AQ. Rather be considered an enemy to them than you bastards.”

“No goody two shoes?” She huffed out a bitter laugh. “You mean being an arms dealer?”

He grunted with distaste at the term. “So crude. I act as a middleman. A service connecting buyers and sellers, and helping with the shipping and transport of select, exotic goods.”

“Fucking hell,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I didn't come here to debate the chosen term for your area of employment, Mr. Botha. You can call yourself a bloody entrepreneur for all I care, I’m just trying to gain some valuable intel and decide if it’s worth our time putting your arse under any sort of protection.”

“Jesus, it's like working with the Captain himself. So cut and fokken dry, aren't you? O man, and thinking you're the kings of the jungle out here while you’re at it.”

“Lions? Hardly— always thought of Price as more of a grizzly bear, quite frankly. Aggressive, territorial. Roar that’s just as bad as his bite. Not to mention, incredibly adaptable.”

“Well, if Price is a bear, then what are you, Lieutenant?”

Her smile was a dangerous thing, a threat. Eyes all agleam with that predatory lupine spark she had when facing down the enemy. “Depends on the situation, really. Now—” Taking a moment, she slipped her metal cigarette case from her pocket and flipped it open, pulling a cigarette from the protective cradle, and placed it between her full lips. “I'm sure you're aware of what happened with Ghorbrani, yeah?” Words coming out slightly muffled by the smoke in her mouth that jostled about as she spoke. 

Glancing up at him, her large doe eyes met Botha’s through the flickering flame of her lighter that had sparked to life as her thumb rasped over the flint. The fire danced over the tip of her cigarette, burning it to orange embers. 

“I'm aware of the dent that happened in my bank account. Yes.” He sighed and flinched at the metal snap of Rory closing the cigarette case. “Especially now that Zayani’s running things.”

“Not a fan?” She pulled the cigarette away and blew out a stream of smoke, leaving it to curl around her face in a veil and drift off into the late morning air.

“He’s mad.”

“Says the man who’s worked with all manner of despots.” 

“Don’t act like you’re squeaky clean. We both know our money’s painted red, and by the looks of things, that doesn't seem to be hanging over your head too heavily.”

“I make do, but this isn’t about me.” Pointing her fingers that held her cigarette at him, she put the focus squarely back on his shoulders. “You said you had information that would make this all worthwhile, care to share?”

“Not even bothering to rub honey on my mouth, huh?” He stabbed his tongue into his cheek and rapped his knuckles against the wood of the table, hesitating in answering. “The Russians. Apparently, they got their hands on something they weren’t supposed to, and handed it off to Zayani themselves. Hassan is a little too close to AQ for my own tastes, and if the Russians are still willing to deal with him despite the fact AQ have the Ruskies as enemy number one… well, it’s become all too much of an inbred fuck-fest for me to want to be involved anymore.”

“Quite the tangled web.”

“It’s koek. I have a hustle, this is all backdoor and black ops shit that your type get their broekies in a twist about and then deal with. It’s time for me to voetsek.”

She took another sip of her tea and a drag of her cigarette, letting him sweat. “Do you have any idea what the Russians found? Was it weapons, intel?”

“Whatever it was included shipping containers.”

Her brow lifted, but otherwise her poker face never slipped. “Shipping containers, eh?” That bit of information sparked something in her head. Just that morning she had received information from Laswell about the same thing in Al Mazrah.

Absorbing and planning, Rory glanced over at Nikolai and noticed the way the Russian sat stiff, his finger kept curled around the cigarette in his mouth as if he were watching something. Turning her head slowly to look out into the crowd, he leaned into her, his other hand clutching her elbow under the table. “Red track jacket. Black hat. Two o’clock,” he murmured quietly. 

Keeping her calm demeanour, she gazed out into the masses, noticing the man by the description given. It was clear they were being watched, and considering what the discussion topic was her gut instinct told her the threat was coming from only one place. 

Clearing her throat, she pushed away from the table. “Well, I hate to cut this short, but apparently we seem to have gained an unwanted appendage. So, I need to deal with that little problem before we can discuss this any further.” She stood up and placed her hand down on the table, her fingertips pressing to the solid wood surface as she laid down the law with the arms dealer. “Stay in town, Mr. Botha. Don’t go too far. Nik’ll be in touch.”

With that, Rory and Nikolai excused themselves from the cafe and headed out towards the center square. The streak of red through the gathered crowd towards the exit that led into the dizzying maze of streets and alleys of the casbah was all the proof they needed to begin the hunt. 

tagging @taciturntraveller

[dragon-deez-ballz]

talking out of my ass about disability headcanons and random bullshit hee hee

we need more dbz characters w chronic pain + disabilities........ i havent seen a lot of headcanons about this......YES this post is brought on because i have had an unrelenting pain in my left shoulder / diaphragm for several days. but i have been thinking baoutthis for a while regardless

i could eprfectly imagine z fighters constantly waving off magical treatment for injuries for the sake of saving senzu for near-death / emergency situations since they take so long to synthesize . like the z fighters are fighters they are not strangers to ghe most common types of sports injuries as well as their own recurring injuries. whayever happened to the swagful compression clothing or ki based mobility aid

or like the saiyans when they get a new transformation always say its super energy-efficient / lossy........ im convinced that the saiyans pushing ghemselves past their limits introduces bone+ muscle damage or quickens degeneration. but they often enough get injuries magically fixed via senzu or dende or w/e post fighting to the death so i dont imagine this is usually a longterm issue

the onyl time i see headcanons about physical disability its like "vegeta gets phantom tail sensations". this is popular because the fans love saiyan tails & want them back, but otherwise have no reason to care about disability HCs outside of this -_-

wai.. actually now im thinking about it. s/o to a goku vegeta bodyswap fic i reqd where the author explains vegetas reduced mobility and military injuries in detail . ily i dont know where i put u.

speaking of health. collectively we need to make gokufatter there is no fucking way Guy who is characterized by being hungry + Guy who is strongest pretty much 99% of the time is as skinny as he is. official art goku has unnaturally defined musculature &is scary and dehydrated. + put those clavicle bones away mister

^image i want to look at

[ransprang]

Hey. I was wondering if you can do a hc of Edward Elric helping and taking care of their GN s/o who sprained their ankle from playing sports

Edward Elric x s/o with a sprained ankle

When Edward learns that their GN s/o has sprained their ankle, his initial reaction might be a mixture of concern and frustration. He can't help but express his exasperation at their s/o's recklessness, emphasizing the importance of being careful. However, beneath his gruff exterior, he genuinely cares for their well-being.

Despite his initial annoyance, Edward sets aside his frustrations and quickly takes charge of the situation. He insists on helping their s/o to a safe place and sternly advises them to avoid putting any weight on the injured ankle, fearing further damage.

Edward's stubbornness surfaces as he devises his own methods to aid in their s/o's recovery. He may research unconventional remedies or create unique alchemical concoctions to assist with reducing swelling and relieving pain. While his methods may be unorthodox, he genuinely believes in their effectiveness.

As their s/o rests, Edward's super-smart and analytical mind goes to work. He studies the anatomy of the foot and ankle, researching the best practices for a speedy recovery. He becomes determined to apply his knowledge to assist their s/o's healing process.

Edward's hot-tempered nature occasionally flares up when his s/o pushes themselves too hard or fails to follow his instructions. He becomes vocal about their negligence, reminding them of the consequences and scolding them for their stubbornness. However, beneath the scolding, his concern for their well-being remains evident.

Edward's commitment to helping their s/o manifests through his unwavering dedication. He becomes their unwavering support system, attending to their every need. Whether it's assisting with daily activities, fetching necessities, or providing emotional comfort, he throws himself into the caretaker role.

Edward's own impatience with rules and authority becomes a driving force behind their s/o's recovery. He encourages them to push their limits (within reason), constantly motivating them to regain strength and mobility. However, he needs to balance this with caution to ensure they don't aggravate the injury further.

Despite his rough exterior, Edward surprises their s/o with small acts of kindness. He might prepare their favorite meals to lift their spirits or find ways to entertain them during their recovery, utilizing his wit and intelligence to engage their minds.

Edward's genuine love and concern shine through his actions, even if his expressions of affection are unconventional. He may not be the most sentimental or verbally expressive, but his dedication and determination to see their s/o back on their feet speak volumes.

As their s/o gradually heals, Edward's pride in their progress becomes evident. He becomes their biggest cheerleader, celebrating each milestone and encouraging them to keep pushing forward.

Your sprained ankle,

admin san

[bucksboobs]

I think even if they just say buck has tattoos now it's still a problem, I remember orville peck talking with Trixie somewhere how when he was showing up on tv they had to get authorization from the artist or had to cover them up

Right like I said there was a whole rant that got deleted by mobile but that’s another dimension to it —every tattoo is a an individual work of art copyrighted by the artist. This has lead to some legal disputes in sports games like NBA and WWE making money off the likenesses of their performers without crediting or paying the artists that own the likenesses of their performers tattoos.

So that just adds to the difficulty of getting tattoos added to a character and encourages coverup which is cheaper but more time consuming which leads to the free option of just making him wear long sleeves

[justforbooks]

Paul Auster

Author of The New York Trilogy who conjured up a world of wonder and happenstance, miracle and catastrophe

The American writer Paul Auster, who has died aged 77 from complications of lung cancer, once described the novel as “the only place in the world where two strangers can meet on terms of absolute intimacy”. His own 18 works of fiction, along with a shelf of poems, translations, memoirs, essays and screenplays written over 50 years, often evoke eerie states of solitude and isolation. Yet they won him not just admirers but distant friends who felt that his peculiar domain of chance and mystery, wonder and happenstance, spoke to them alone. Frequently bizarre or uncanny, the world of Auster’s work aimed to present “things as they really happen, not as they’re supposed to happen”.

To the readers who loved it, his writing felt not like avant-garde experimentalism but truth-telling with a mesmerising force. He liked to quote the philosopher Pascal, who said that “it is not possible to have a reasonable belief against miracles”. Auster restored the realm of miracles – and its flip-side of fateful catastrophe – to American literature. Meanwhile, the “postmodern” sorcerer who conjured alternate or multiple selves in chiselled prose led (aptly enough) a double life as sociable pillar of the New York literary scene, a warm raconteur whose agile wit belied the brooding raptor-like image of his photoshoots. For four decades he lived in Brooklyn with his second wife, the writer Siri Hustvedt.

The fortune that drives his stories played a part in his own career. City of Glass (1985), the philosophical mystery that launched his New York Trilogy and his ascent to fame, appeared from a small imprint after 17 rejections. Though the novel helped build his misleading reputation as a cool cult author, a moody Parisian existentialist marooned in noir New York, it had a pseudonymous forerunner that shows another Auster face.

Squeeze Play, published under the pen-name “Paul Benjamin” in 1982, is a baseball-based crime caper. Its disconsolate gumshoe, Max Klein, muses that “I had come to the limit of myself, and there was nothing left.” If that plight sounds typically Auster-ish, then even more so was the baseball setting. Auster adored the sport and played it well: “I had quick reflexes and a strong arm – but my throws were often wild.” In a much-repeated tale, he failed aged eight to get an autograph from his idol Willie Mays, of the New York Giants, because he had not brought a pencil. Auster “cried all the way home”.

Auster’s work is more deeply embedded in the mid-century national culture that fuelled the novels of his elders, such as Philip Roth and John Updike, than some advocates appreciated. His fables of identity-loss and alienation have emotional roots in the mean, lonely city streets he knew when young. He once insisted, to fans and scoffers who labelled him an esoteric “French” or European coterie author, that “all of my books have been about America”.

He was born in Newark, New Jersey (also Roth’s hometown). His parents, Queenie (nee Bogat) and Samuel Auster, children of Jewish immigrants from eastern Europe, set him on a classic American path of upward mobility through education while remaining, to their son, opaque. The Invention of Solitude (1982) was Auster’s haunting attempt to imagine the life of his impenetrable father. Ghostly fathers would pervade his work. As would sudden calamity. When, aged 14, he witnessed a fellow summer-camper struck dead by lightning, the event became a paradigm for the savage contingency of life, “the bewildering instability of things”. His later novel 4321 (2017), which revisits this formative trauma, cites the composer John Cage: “The world is teeming: anything can happen.” In Auster’s work, it does.

At Columbia University in New York, he studied literature, and took part in the student protests of 1968, before moving to Paris to scrape a living as a translator of French poetry (a surrealist anthology was his first published work). He lived – literally in a garret – with the writer Lydia Davis, and returned in 1974 with nine dollars to his name. Back in New York, they married, but were divorced in 1978, a year after the birth of their son, Daniel. Poetry collections followed, but Auster’s thwarted efforts to secure a decent livelihood meant that he gave his ruefully funny 1997 memoir Hand to Mouth the subtitle “a chronicle of early failure”.

In 1982, he married the novelist and essayist Hustvedt (who recalled their courtship as “a really fast bit of business”). She became his first reader and trusted guide; they had a daughter, Sophie. Husband and wife would work during the day on different floors of their Park Slope brownstone, and watch classic movies together in the evening. Auster wrote first in longhand, then edited on his cherished Olympia typewriter.

The New York Trilogy (Ghosts and The Locked Room followed a year after City of Glass) made his stock soar, and attracted both celebrity and opportunity.

Auster wrote gnomic screenplays for arthouse films (Smoke, Blue in the Face, both 1995), even directed one (The Inner Life of Martin Frost, 2007). But it was the enigmatic, hallucinatory aura of his fiction – in 1990s novels such as The Music of Chance, Leviathan and Mr Vertigo – that defined his sensibility. Sometimes this trademark style could veer into whimsy or self-parody (as in Timbuktu, 1999, with its canine hero) although stronger novels – such as The Brooklyn Follies (2005) – always pay heed to the pulse, and voice, of contemporary America. Keenly engaged in current affairs, Auster held office in the writers’ body PEN, deplored the rise of Donald Trump, and spoke of his country’s core schism between ruthless individualism and “people who believe we’re responsible for one another”.

Auster the exacting aesthete was also a yarn-hungry storyteller. If he edited a centenary edition of Samuel Beckett – a literary touchstone, along with Hawthorne, Proust, Kafka and Joyce – he also compiled a selection of unlikely true tales submitted by National Public Radio listeners. They revealed the strange “unknowable forces” at work in everyday life. In his epic novel 4321, the formal spellbinder and social chronicler meet. It sends a boy born in New Jersey in 1947 down four separate paths in life: an Auster encyclopedia, ingenious but heartfelt too. Bulk and heart also characterised his mammoth 2021 biography of the Newark-born literary prodigy Stephen Crane, Burning Boy.

The ferocity of fate that scars his work gouged wounds into Auster’s life as well. Daniel succumbed to addiction, accidentally killed his infant daughter with drugs, and died of an overdose in 2022. Auster’s cancer diagnosis came in 2023. Prolific and versatile as ever, in that year he still published both an impassioned essay on America’s firearms fixation (Bloodbath Nation) and his farewell novel, Baumgartner. Its narrative hi-jinks dance smartly over a bass chord of grief.

Auster populated a literary planet all his own, where the strange music, and magic, of chance and contingency coexist with love, dream and wonder. In Burning Boy, he wonders why Crane’s output now goes largely unread, although “the prose still crackles, the eye still cuts, the work still stings”. After 34 books, so does his own.

Auster is survived by his wife and daughter, and a grandson, and by his sister, Janet.

🔔 Paul Benjamin Auster, writer, born 3 February 1947; died 30 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 Ecstatic Vibrations, Totally Transcendent

NOID - "Yo, man. What's on your mind?" He drops a bolt into his toolbox.

6. [Conceptualization - Godly 16] Internalize the hard core aesthetic. Don't just nod along, really *feel* it.

+1 Hardened up your ledger. +1 Necktie is on. +1 Analysed the beat. +1 Perikarnassianism is love.

This is our last chance at this.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Godly: Success] - Dedicated. Hyperactive. Unified. You will have to add something of your own to understand this list of loosely formed qualities called hard core. You need your own entry. Make it!

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] - This is for your posse. They got to keep it up. They got to move. You are the major mic enforcer.

[rwac96]

U.N.G.C.C. Incident Report: The Gryphon

U.N.G.C.C. Kaiju Subject #25: The Gryphon/Bioengineered Extraterrestrial Probe-Colonly turned Kaiju

HEIGHT: 2-30 Meters (Probe Bats) 100 Meters (Final, Definitive Form)

LENGTH: 4-30 Meters (Probe Bats)

MASS: 8,000-9,000 Metric Tons (Probe Bats)

THREAT LEVEL: 4

FOR AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY

BIO:

Subject #25, classified by Kaijuologists as "The Gryphon", originated from a meteor that impacted Utah, USA in November of 1994. Though the meteor was recovered, an extraterrestrial organism escaped and went undiscovered for three days throughout the midwestern United States, feeding on animals and one U.N.G.C.C. Agent as a bat-like colony. In Kentucky, USA, the colony settled in a forested area where it's believed they formed into a singular mass. The Gryphon slowly took on a definitive form; with the body of a cougar, the wings of a bat, and a prehensile hydra-headed tongue composed of snakes. Its frontal legs sport large clawed hands, spikes along the fingers; and its hind feet feature a mixture of talons and cloven hooves. Most notably about the Kaiju's appearance, there are three crests on the back of the beast's head. It slowly made its way to New York, USA, its presence alerting the attention of another predator which Kaijuologists learned was related to the Gojiran species.

From studying the meteorite where The Gryphon originated, Kaijuologists hypothesized that Subject #25 was engineered by hostile extraterrestrials to wipe out the target planet's populace. With the probes' consumption of certain animals and the death of Agent Pike, scientists discovered that these probes collect the most dangerous lifeforms of the target planet to conquer it. This was discovered by Jill Llewellyn, widow of the late Dr. Keith Llewellyn, one of the many casualties of Godzilla's (II) 1984 rampage. Llewellyn joined U.N.G.C.C.'s American branch in hopes of assisting in the monster's destruction. G-Force quickly mobilized when The Gryphon's rampage began, but troops were decimated by blasts of electricity fired from its wings. As New York became enveloped in an unnatural storm, Subject #25 was struck by an all too familiar blast of Atomic Breath.

(source)

Titanus Gojira, a Gojiran classified as 'Titan' by Kaijuologists, was somehow aware of The Gryphon's presence. This version of Subject #1 engaged in combat against Subject #25, having the ability to fire Atomic Breath, claws, teeth, and tail as an advantage. Its combat style was strangely similar to bears and Komodo dragons. However, The Gryphon has its own claws, the ability to fly and shoot lightning from its wings, used to hold its own against Godzilla (Titanus). The two Kaiju battled in the heart of Manhattan, causing collateral damage and the death toll to rise. Ultimately, Godzilla used its dorsal spines to greatly injure The Gryphon, taking advantage to claw into its insides and tear off its head. Seeing the alien Kaiju being able to somewhat function, Godzilla spiked Subject #25's head onto the torch of the Statue of Liberty, killing the extraterrestrial.

EVENT ANALYSIS: NEW YORK CITY, USA

EVACUATION SUCCESS: 64%

CITY DESTRUCTION: 34.6%

CASUALTIES: 435,000+ (ESTIMATED)

SUBJECT(S) CAPTURED: 1 (DECEASED)

SUBJECT(S) DISCOVERED: 2 (The Gryphon, Titanus Gojira)

STATUS OF SUBJECT: Deceased, killed by Titanus Gojira, its remains gathered and held in Outpost [REDACTED].