#Skata

[michaelnordeman]

I met this adorable young Eurasian magpie/skata when I came home from work. Värmland, Sweden (July 8, 2024).

[camelidae]

I did a short literary equine series a while ago, but I don’t think I ever posted this little lady. This is Skata from The Scorpio Races. She likes to drag people to their watery doom when they try and tame her, and you know what? Same.

[petterbrorson]

Skata, akvarell, 19x19 cm

Den andra av tre.

...

Magpie, watercolour, 19x19 cm The second of three.

[touloumpenia]

[stormupondawnlight]

Giant ball of uncontrollable rage recognises tiny ball of uncontrollable rage. Every yard I’ve ever worked on there’s that one horse who wants to destroy the world and everyone in it and then randomly picks one person and goes “yes, this is my human” and that needs to be Skata and Puck bc Skata being slang for a difficult woman and Puck working with the horse everyone else thinks is too difficult and Skata being violently protective of someone being nice to her.

[psyhologika]

Δεν ξέρω αν έχω αυταπάτες αλλά όταν σε είδα να μου χαμογελάς από μακριά διέκρινα μια φλόγα στα μάτια σου και αισθάνθηκα να καίγεται το σώμα μου

[mimipunk]

Koimamai orthia voithiaaa 😢💤

[eclown4hire]

[glikozi]

h zwh me ftinei kai distixos oxi me seksoualiko tropo

[xxneraidaxx]

pos ke den valame ta mat na filane tin trapeza thematon

[michaelnordeman]

Eurasian magpie/skata. One of these younglings started to pick and hesitantly eat rose petals, which is somewhat unusual behaviour for them. However, once one of them did it, the other two just had to follow suit. I love having the magpies around; they are always up to something. Värmland, Sweden (July 14, 2024).

[sugaroto]

Fantasou na ksupnas kapoion gia na ton rwthseis an koimatai help 8a arxisw na tsirizw

[petterbrorson]

Skata, akvarell, 19x19 cm

Den tredje medlemmen i trion.

...

Magpie, watercolour, 19x19 cm The third member of the trio.

[shadowseductress]

koi itna chutiya kaise ho skata hain

[ravenclawshermione]

New Chapter Up - "Totally Platonic"

He was a mess, a scorch mark on the side of his helmet, his jacket missing, the dark fabric on his left shoulder even darker with blood. 

“Skata,” I cursed, setting the knife down and rushing to help him inside, “Here, the first aid kit is in the bathroom.”

He let me help him, leaning on me heavily enough that I knew it was serious, “I don’t suppose you have any- Jesus Pheebs, did you raid a hospital?”

The voice modulator made the question sound harsher than I felt it was probably meant to. 

“This is Gotham, Jason. Do you really think it’s that hard to get basic medical supplies?” I said, forcing myself to stay calm as I pulled out a few things I knew right away I would need from the giant first aid kit I’d put together, “I need to get a better look at that shoulder. Is the fabric there something I can cut through?”

“Yeah, I took off the armored plating already,” he said, “But those are definitely not basic medical supplies.”

I didn’t bother answering, just got the scissors and carefully cut through his suit. The whole shoulder was coated in blood, but it was hard to tell how serious it actually was. 

“This is going to sting,” I said, pouring some peroxide on a sterile cloth, “Wait, did you come here without even thinking that I’d have the stuff to patch you up?”

“I wasn’t thinking great,” he admitted, letting out a hiss of static as I got to work gingerly cleaning his wound, “Might have a concussion.”

He was badly bruised, with cuts all over his arm and a couple of gashes on his shoulder. Most of them were more shallow than I’d feared initially, but one of the shorter ones on his upper arm was deep. Too deep. 

“This one needs stitches,” I said, biting my lip, “If you’re okay with amateur work, I can take care of it here. But if there’s someone else you’d like to call, I’d understand.”

“You’ve given stitches before?”

“Yes.”

“Stitch me up, doc,” he said, giving another hiss of static as he moved to sit on the counter. 

I got to work properly sterilizing the wound, being as gentle as possible while still being thorough, “Any other major injuries, beyond the cracked rib and possible concussion?”

“Those are the only big ones,” he replied, “Rolled my ankle too, but that’s already feeling better.”

“Burns?”

“Nope, the helmet did its job.”

“That’s good. Shame about your jacket though,” I said, threading the needle, “This is going to hurt.”

“I’ve got a few spares,” he said, not so much as flinching as I sewed him up, “And I’ve been through worse.”

He had been. I bit back the urge to comment on that, or to wish that he’d be careful. Instead, I focused on my work. It didn’t take long, he only needed nine stitches. 

“Alright, time to check out that concussion. Helmet off.”

He reached up gingerly, pressing a spot on the side of his helmet that was apparently a secret button, taking the helmet off with just his right hand. There were no bruises on his face, the helmet had done a great job there. Pulling out the small penlight from the first aid kit, I watched his pupils carefully as I passed the light in front of his eyes. 

“Yeah, that’s a concussion,” I said, pouring away the light, “Which means no alcohol, and unfortunately the one thing I don’t have is pain meds.”

“S’okay, I never take them,” he said, turning to inspect his arm in the mirror, “You did a great job.”

“Thanks. Now, let’s get the rest of this shirt off so I can-”

He shrugged out of it before I could even finish my sentence, careful not to move his injured arm much, “Did you work as a nurse before getting into the librarian life?”

“Nope,” I replied, wrapping the bandage around his chest and trying not to think about the fact that even banged up, he was unbearably gorgeous, “I’m an amateur, remember? My mother was a nurse. She taught me.”

“Your mother taught you how to give stitches?” he asked, dark eyes looking at me with concern, the green flecks brighter than normal. 

“Yup,” I said, looking away, “Are there any less than major injuries that need patching up?”

“No, everything else is just scrapes and bruises,” he said, standing up, his voice softening, “Thanks.”

He was so close, dangerously close, so close that I could feel the heat coming off of him, so close that I could just…

I took a step back, heart racing. It was just my brain trying to distract me, just the lack of sleep, just my hormones going wild because it had been so long since my last one night stand. That was all it was. I didn’t actually want to run my fingers across those perfect muscles, didn’t actually want to kiss a trail across every scar, didn’t actually want him to push me up against the wall and…

Keep it cool, Katsaros 

“Anytime,” I said, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.

“Looks like the adrenaline of your place being broken into by a dangerous vigilante is starting to wear off,” he teased, “You should get some sleep.”

“You’re staying, right?”

There was no way he would have come here if things were good with the others, and I didn’t want him to be alone with his injuries. 

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

[hjartasalt]

What’s the most vile Icelandic food that’s only served at a traditional like holiday dinner

My family is Finnish so I’ve had to eat lutefisk before. Not a fan.

Probably the piss fish (skata)

I luckily come from a family who enjoys food that tastes good and doesn't reek of piss when you cook it so I have not had the displeasure of tasting it. Heard plenty of horrible things though. It's traditionally served on Þorláksmessa (December 23rd)