#i like to eat metre sticks

[drago-boy-the-grate]

-wacks you with a long ruler-

yum

[just-a-casual-newtasaur]

Banished

Banished (Newt x Reader) (what a surprise)

Word Count: 862 words

Warnings: I guess mild violence

Summary: you are banished (why? idk I was too lazy to think of a reason, so feel free to come up with your own)

your breath is ragged and rasping as you are dragged towards the circle of boys. ropes bind your wrists, cutting into your skin. Minho holds tight to the twine, keeping your arms stuck behind the back of your head.

you twist around to look at the boy, he keeps his eyes away from yours, looking like he doesn’t know who you are. though this was the common practice when someone was stung. when someone was banished.

“Minho.” you say in a quiet voice, “Minho you don’t understand,”

you know there is no point trying to dissuade any of them but you were, in truth, desperate. there was nothing that awaited you out there but a lonely, long, painful death.

Minho doesn’t answer or look at you, he keeps his eyes fixed forwards as he walks towards the circle.

as you draw nearer, a somber silence presses in on you, the keepers and glader’s faces are filled with either, hostility, a numb stare, or pity.

yet your eyes seek only one. you spot him, as expected, next to the other keepers, knuckles white on the long stick he held and looking just about ready to crumble into a pile of dust right there and then.

Minho drags you into the middle of the circle and pushes you onto your knees, holding your arms above your head and putting the knife up to it.

he cuts the rope and you fall forwards onto the ground. you watch Minho’s boots move in front of you and here a thump as he throws a bag of stuff that you all know won’t do anything to stop a griever eating anyone.

though it was customary. banishing was not exactly enjoyable experience, and if they had to sentence a child to death they at least wanted to try and help them.

if you were stung you were not sent to death. no, you were sent away to protect the others. and you were sure, if your mind were working properly, you would oblige if it meant keeping the others safe.

however, no such same thoughts occurred to you as the deafening sound of the door closing echoes around the entire glade. feeling your already broken mind break even more, you here Ably’s shout above the sound.

“Hold!” the keepers lower their staffs and point them at you, the gladers doing the same with long pointed sticks. there was no way out.

“No, no please.” your son is lost in the shaking wind and rattling of the doors. you get shakily to your feet, looking around at all of the gladers. the people who you thought were your friends.

no, no they were your friends, that small, still sane part of you pipes up, they were trying to protect the others.

“Move in!” Alby’s second shout breaks your train of thought. the keepers start advancing on you, herding you towards the steadily closing doors. you back away looking at the faces of the keepers.

Zart…Frypan, looking like he was attending a funeral…Alby…Gally, whose face was filled with hostility…Winston…and then the boy you most wanted to see.

Newt looked as though he was about to faint, unlike the other he had not made the move yet to close in on you, Alby nudges him and he starts moving forwards, looking as he did so that he regretted every step.

you are right in between the wall, between the glade and the maze. your eyes lock onto Newt’s who dark insides looked both sick with terror and wet with tears.

“Newt.” you say quietly, yet you are sure everybody can hear you, “Newt please. please.” tears run down your face.

your plea gets more desperate as you are shoved further into the maze, “Please!”

you are in the maze now, and the keepers are drawing their staffs back into the glade, watching you gravely.

Newt looks to be fighting some painful internal struggle. only about a metre is left between the two walls.

you look, terrified, at the gladers as the gap closes. a shout rises from the crowd as do several protests. Newt breaks free of the group and sprints towards you.

Alby dives for him and tackles him to the ground, pulling his arms behind his back and trying to stop him from running at you.

“Get off me!” Newt’s shout is lost in the cries of surprise and gasps from the crowd, as he writhes desperately, kicking his friend hard in the leg.

Alby lets go of him, gasping in surprise and pain. Newt sprints towards you again, ignoring the many outcries of, “Newt!”, “stop!”, “she’s not worth it!”

wasn’t that hard to identify who the last voice belonged to. he slams into you, hugging you tightly before turning to look back at the shocked faces, some still trying to figure out what had just happened.

the last thing you see is Thomas, Minho and Alby looked sadly at the two of you, before the large doors slam shut, and you’re lost in the dark.

the two of you stand in the dark, arms wrapped around each other, breathing heavily and taking in what had just happened.

(Preparing some Newtmas fanfics, exciting)

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Arthropoda - Diplopoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Animals in the class Diplopoda are commonly called “Millipedes.” They comprise the orders Glomeridesmida (“Slug Millipedes”), Glomerida (“Northern Pill Millipedes”), Sphaerotheriida (“Giant Pill Millipedes”), Platydesmida (“Flat Millipedes”), Polyzoniida (“Camphor Millipedes”), Siphonocryptida, Siphonophorida, Julida, Spirobolida, Spirostreptida, Callipodida, Chordeumatida (“Sausage Millipedes”), Stemmiulida, Siphoniulida, Polydesmida, and Polyxenida (“Bristly Millipedes”).

Millipedes are detritivores, eating decaying leaves and other dead plant matter, making them important for cycling soil. Some species eat fungi or drink plant sap. Most species protect themselves with various chemical secretions, but they will also coil into a ball to protect their legs and vital areas when threatened. Polyxenids lack poison and a hard exoskeleton, so their defense involves barbed hairs that detach and stick to the mouths of predators.

Millipede heads are generally round and flattened, consisting of a pair of mandibles, a plate-like “jaw lip” called a gnathochilarium, a pair of small sensory antennae, and simple compound eyes. Some species have secondarily lost these eyes. Many species also have a pair of sensory organs called the Tömösváry organs at the bases of their antennae, which may measure humidity and/or light levels. Millipede bodies may be flattened or cylindrical, and they can be anywhere from 2 mm (1⁄16 in) to 35 cm (14 in) in length, and have from 11 to over 300 body segments. The segment behind their head is called a collum and is legless. The second, third, and fourth body segments are called haplosegments, and each have a single pair of legs on their underside. The remaining segments are called diplosegments and have two pairs of legs each. In some millipedes, the last few segments may be legless. The final segment is called the telson. It is always legless, and contains the anus. Some millipedes (those in the superorder Nematophora) have spinnerets as well, creating silk chambers in which to molt or lay their eggs. Though their name means “thousand feet”, only one species of centipede, Eumillipes persephone, has over 1,000 feet.

Millipede reproductive behavior is diverse. Bristle millipedes reproduce similarly to centipedes: depositing spermatophores onto webs they secrete, which are later picked up by females. Other millipedes have direct reproduction, meeting up to mate. Courtship may involve tapping antennae, the male running along the back of the female, offering gifts of edible glandular secretions, or even “chirping”. Males have one or two pairs of modified legs called gonopods which are used to transfer sperm to the female during copulation. A few species are parthenogenetic, having few, if any, males. Most species simply deposit their eggs on the ground, but some construct nests of dried feces or silk. In most species, the female abandons the eggs after they are laid, but some species do provide parental care for their eggs and young. Young millipedes usually hatch after a few weeks, bearing typically only three pairs of legs. Their development is anamorphic: adding on segments and legs with each moult. Some species can live up to 10 years.

Millipedes first appeared in the Silurian period. The most famous extinct millipedes, the genus Arthropleura of the Carboniferous, grew up to 2.5 metres (8 ft 2 in) long, making them some of the largest arthropods ever known.

Propaganda under the cut:

What is the difference between centipedes and millipedes? Centipedes are if a tiger was small, long, and venomous. Millipedes are if a cow was small, long, and poisonous. Hope that helps.

Mentioned above, Eumillipes persephone can have over 1,300 legs!

Millipedes have a vast array of chemical poisons to ward off predators, varying between genera. Polydesmid Millipedes produce Hydrogen cyanide. Motyxia species not only produce cyanide, but are also bioluminescent.

Despite their chemical defenses, many species prey on millipedes, some even benefiting from the poisons. Some poison dart frogs eat millipedes, converting their toxins into their own poison. Some lemurs use millipedes to self-medicate against parasites, or just to get high!

Many species have formed symbiotic relationships with millipedes. Some millipedes live only in ant colonies, while many mites use millipedes for transport to new areas. The Moss Millipede (Psammodesmus bryophorus) grows multiple species of moss on its back for camouflage, subsequently aiding the moss in dispersal.

[cosmicpancakes]

Hi! So I saw your post about wanting to talk about Will Solace (me too queen, me too) so what are your headcanons? Or funny little tidbits about him and his friends? Love your blog!

OF COURSE THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK!!! to hear that someone genuinely loves my blog is so surreal cause like??? You like my blog?? Where I literally just say what's on my mind and ramble???

(P.S. TO ANYONE SEEING THIS!! IF YOU WANT HEADCANONS FOR OTHER CHARACTERS JUST SHOOT ME AN ASK!!!! I WILL HAPPILY ANSWER THEM ALL :DD)

Okay without further ado, here they are!!!

My Will Solace headcanons! ☀️

He has curly hair! Think somewhere between 2c and 3a

Speaking about hair, his hair is naturally brown and he dyes it blonde

ANOTHER HAIR ONE but he has a very extensive hair care routine! You'd think he would have very damaged hair because of all the bleaching, but that shit is SOFT

Only uses feminine floral perfume cause it smells better (hes right. it does.)

Despite insisting on healthy eating, he survives off of random snacks and red bulls

Loves indie pop and jazz music but does listen to a lot a country as it reminds him of his mother

Hopeless romantic. He will cry to laufey.

90% of his closet is made up of incredibly cheesy dad joke t-shirts.

Wears lots and lots of bracelets! All very mismatched in terms of colour and texture, but it adds to the charm (or so he says)

His hair is just long enough to put in a very short ponytail when he works (but a few loose curls always slip out)

He sticks out his tongue when he's concentrating on something

Clarrisse practically adopted him as her honorary little brother and he went to her highschool graduation!! (she totally did not cry when she saw him. nope. not at all.)

everyone at camp owes him atleast 5 favours except lou ellen because she somehow never gets injured??? Cecil on the other hand, owes him about 13 favours.

Friday is the apollo cabin's game night, and he NEVER wins (kayla swears austin is cheating, but hes just really good at monopoly.)

the cabin is always spotless because he despises stable duty

(This one is canon but not talked about enough) when he said he's horrible at every apollo thing except healing, he was not exaggerating. an absolutely horrid singer and he would miss a target 3 metres away.

okay that was a lie because he can manipulate light.... to a certain extent. he's working on it he swears!!

One of those people that are incredibly insistant about wearing sunscreen even tho he doesn't need it himself

And now for some angsty ones because I know you all love them:

A very obvious one, but he has pretty bad PTSD.

I'm pretty sure this one is canon, but he saw Lee die in botl (i have had a oneshot idea about thia for months, but i literally never finish oneshots so theres no point in trying to write it ☹️)

A lot of people thought him and Lee were biological siblings because they looked so similar and also because they were super close

him and Micheal were also really close, but they were a lot more distant after Lee died and they never really got to reconnect

Post botl, the apollo cabin had about 17 kids. 3 survived the battle of manhattan.

has a really bad habit of overworking to distract himself

Way too many scars for a medic. (He won't admit where he got them from, or why most of them are on him arms.)

Okay, that's all for today!! I hope you enjoyed those headcanons :)

Once again saying this but if anyone reading this wants some headcanons for other characters please please leave me an ask 🙏 love you all okay bye bye

[the-dixon-effect]

Sticks and Stones

A/N: dear fic writers, consider this a public service announcement. DO NOT schedule a week of fic writing that coincides with a camping trip, it is hell!!!!

era: season 3-4, prison era

summary: Y/N suffers from chronic pain in her feet, but hates to feel vulnerable around others so constantly overworks herself. perhaps a certain archer could be the right kind of medicine... | requested from this ask by @justalexheree :) guys i really did my research for this one so i hope you enjoy ^.^

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

words: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of chronic foot pain ig?? lil' time jump

It must be late by now, you thought. You were hesitant to look up to check the position of the sun for fear of getting distracted. You were crouched down, working out in the allotment around the front of the prison. The farm was a brilliant idea, you decided, despite the high amount of labour that was necessary to feed the residents of the prison-turned-camp. God knows you needed the food. Perhaps if the members of your community were aware of your condition, you wouldn't be forced to work out here all day, practically sweating your skin off in the Georgia sun. It didn't matter anyway, 'cause you couldn't let that happen.

So here you were, digging up soil and planting seeds 'til the sun disappeared behind the trees. It was somewhat enjoyable, you convinced yourself, of course you had your thoughts and daydreams to entertain yourself, and back in your old life you would have never found yourself spending so much time outdoors. Even so, a mundane office job might have arguably been a little better for your body. You constantly found yourself having to distract yourself from the persistent ache in your feet, maybe some company would do you good, you thought.

"Hey, we're all eatin' inside, ya can prolly finish up now," you heard the familiar voice of the crossbow-wielding man from several metres away. You knew you needed to stop, but there was still work to be done. If only there was enough food in the first place, then maybe you would let yourself resign to the dining area. Save it for those who needed it, you thought.

"Alright, I'll be inside in a second," That was a lie. It's not like the rest of the group would notice your absence, you figured. You better just stay out here a little longer, making sure the crops were tended to until it was dark. Then maybe you'd get some rest. For now, you didn't need to eat. Truthfully, your feet were killing you and it felt like you could keel over at any second. Get over yourself, you said, over and over in your mind, these people need feeding.

You remembered the look the archer gave you when he called you inside, observing how you were the only person left out in the field. You turned to check if he had left and, to your surprise, he was still stood watching, hands buried in his pockets as he looked straight ahead and met your eyes.

"C'mon," he shouted across the distance between the two of you. You couldn't really say no to him, except he left you wondering why he was so eager for you to join him. You put down your equipment and split from whatever idle job you had yourself occupied with. Something you did appreciate about the humble farmer's life was the reasonable tan you had acquired, which was on display in your little denim shorts as you jogged up to meet him. A part of you wished Daryl would notice.

"Ya' alrigh'? Yer limpin'," he asked, meanwhile you were contemplating on the fact that this might be the most words you'd ever heard the archer speak, to your face anyway. Your lack of association with the man didn't stop you from admiring from afar, though.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Been a long day."

"I bet," he replied, walking side-by-side with you up to the building entrance. You thought it was sweet how he paid attention to you and noticed something like that. Maybe one day you'd open up about your condition, when it felt right.

3 MONTHS LATER

You looked around the room, searching for Daryl's eyes. Today, more than ever, you needed to be with him. After months of breaking down his thick walls, it was safe to say that he'd become one of the most important people in your life. Your feet were hurting like hell today, and the only thing that would make you feel better right now was his presence.

He'd been out on a solo run, which you'd begged Rick to let you join him, ultimately to your disappointment. So you spent your day as you always did, out in the pasture, tending to the crops. After a while you headed back inside in hopes of finding Daryl, perched at one of the rusty tables, waiting for you. To your dismay, you couldn't find him anywhere.

You approached Rick with a worried look shaping your features, "Where's Daryl? Is he back yet?" you asked, your voice laced with concern. "Nah, he's not back yet," sensing your anxiety, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and spoke, "Y/N, he's gonna be fine. Anyway, he's scheduled to be back in... about an hour."

So you waited. And waited. It felt like the longest 60 minutes of your life, busying yourself in your cell by reading a book that Carol recommended, not absorbing a single word. By the time you decided that there was nothing else you could do to distract yourself, you headed downstairs and made idle chatter with one of the prison newcomers, Karen.

"I hear your boyfriend Daryl's coming back from a run today," she said.

"Oh, no, he's not my boyfriend," you said with a slight giggle.

"Oh, right! Gosh, it's just that you two are so close, I just figured- you know what, nevermind, ignore me," she said with a chuckle.

You smiled and looked at the floor, and tried to silence your anxious thoughts about whether something might have happened to him, if he's hurt, or anything. At this, the double-doors swung open and in walked the man you'd been waiting for for the last 48 hours. You approached him, suppressing the relief and excitement you felt just from seeing him walk through those doors. His eyes lit up at your welcoming smile, and maybe, just maybe, he would be inclined to embrace you right here if the prison foyer wasn't so crowded.

For now, he had other things on his mind that he needed to clear with you. Just like you, he spent the last 48 hours worrying more about your safety than he did his own. He regretted not being able to stay with you, or at least bring you along with him. He was the only person who knew about your condition and how badly you were affected by it, which meant he felt an immense responsibility to take care of you and offer you acts of service. Not to mention, you were also the only person who Daryl felt totally comfortable around, comfortable enough to share some of his childhood trauma and emotion with. You liked to think the two of you had a special bond, but despite your healthy friendship, you couldn't help wanting more. Either way, all he wanted right now was to be with you and to not have to deal with anyone else in this damn place.

Maggie shot you a mischievous look from across the room as you tugged on the archer's sleeve. You rolled you eyes at her following Daryl up the steel staircase and entered his cell. You sat down next to him on the mattress and he copied you by rolling his head back against the cool brick wall. You sighed in contentment, still in somewhat pain in your feet.

"So, how'd it go?" you asked, turning to face him.

"Was fine. Are ya' alrigh'?" you noticed how he changed the subject, sensing his concern.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It's just a little relentless, you know," you felt a little guilt for immediately beginning to talk about yourself, even when you knew you needed his comfort. His closeness was good enough for you.

"Mm, I know. Ya' gotta stop overworkin' yerself, ya know," he drawled. His pretty eyes were staring deeply at you now.

"Uh-huh. It's just, it's kind of relentless, you know. Like nothing I do makes it better. There's no distraction that works," it felt undeniably good to talk to someone about it, someone who understands. Someone who doesn't subject you to the same stereotypes or think that you're making it up. He wrapped an arm around you and you instinctively rested your head in the crook of his neck. He smelled delicious, like the outdoors, mixed with the distinct notes of Marlboro cigarettes and stormy weather. This was a pretty good distraction, you thought.

"Hey, I'll always make a run into some pharmacy to get ya yer meds, or anythin' like tha'," he spoke softly with his lips resting on the top of your head, occasionally brushing against your silky hair. "Jus' tell me what ya' need." It was this. You needed this.

“I just need you.”

[wellperfumedbead]

Okay but what if I wanted to ask you about vampire squids? I love autism ramblings about marine life.

:000

Okokok this is going to be very unstructured but sh

Ok so despite their name, they're not actually squid, infact they're probably closer to octopuses are in. And well, they were initially (and wrongly) classified as cirrate octopuses (like the flapjack octopus). And you can sorta see why really

So they're not squid, they're not octopuses but they are cephalopods, their own group of cephalopod of which they are the only known member. Their classification was rectified about the 1940s or 1950s. And this was in a German expedition whose purpose was to prove there was life below whatever number of metres, I can't remember how deep it was.

Anyway, they get about 30cm and live at depths around 600m-1200m (sorry idk how much that is in the imperial system). And they live in practically any the oceans in oxygen minimal zones/the oxygen minimal layer. In the OML there's very very little oxygen, like 5% oxygen or smth. That can be bc of circulation in the oceans and that water just isn't moved around as much (there's a name for those little pockets of ocean but I can't remember it). But they have blue blood that is copper based (?) and it binds oxygen really well. I don't know much about that bc I'm not much of a chemistry guy. But they also just use very little energy and have lots of surface area on their gills to absorb as much oxygen as they can.

They have remained largely unchanged for like 300 million years which is cool. In captivity they have been recorded to live for about 2 months but it's estimated they live for almost a decade in the wild.

Now they're called "the vampire squid from hell" (that's what their scientific name translates to) bc of their appearance. The red colour, the large red eyes (that are actually clear but appear blue or red in certain lighting) and the fleshy cirri (little spike things) that lines their webbing. When they are threatened they pull their webbing over their head and it makes them look scary and pointy but really the cirri is soft and squishy.

I'm gonna go back to the eyes for a second bc they are huge compared to the 'squids' body. Like pretty sure they're the biggest eyes compared to body size in any animal or smth. Really cool.

Oh and btw they do have suckers as well but only small ones on the furthest half of the arms from the body. Argh I want to talk about the arms but I want to finish talking about defence mechanisms first. ILL GET BACK TO THE ARMS!!

Ok so they have really weak muscles so their ass is not going anywhere fast, which is a problem when things are trying to eat you (things like sharks, larger cephalopods, fish, and even some diving whales). Their top speed is like 2 body lengths per second. So apart from the spines, they also have some bioluminesence up their sleeves. They have two large light organs on top of their head that kinda look like eyes and one on each end of their arm. So when they pull up their webbing around them and you look at them from the 'top' BAM suddenly you've got lots of scary eyes looking at you. Also they don't squirt ink but do squirt a sticky bioluminesent goo that either distracts the predator, or sticks to the predator so and even bigger predator comes along and eats them. I think this goo can stay glowing for about 10 minutes? I'm not sure. Im pretty sure that this is symbiotic bioluminescene tho, which is where the animal cultivates glowing bacteria to use rather that mixing all the chemicals for bioluminecense in their body themselves.

Ok ok ok arms and 'tentacles'. So they have 8 arms yeah but no tentacles. Instead they have two looonnngggg filaments that they store in little pockets in their body

You can see one there. These are like 8 times their body length and they connect directly to the 'squids' brain.

FOOD!! Unlike pretty much every other cephalopod ever, they are detrivores, which means they eat essentially garbage. Rotting organic matter known as marine snow and literal shit. They way they eat this is they catch the detritus with sticky cells on their filaments and use mucus to make it into something more easy to pass into their beak.

We don't know a whole lot about their breeding and stuff but the males pass a sperm packet to the female for storage so she can fertilise her eggs when she likes. When the babies hatch they are very teeny and don't have their webbing yet. The parents don't tend to their children at all and until they can feed themselves, they eat their egg sacs. They grow pretty slow bc there's not many nutrients and stuff available for them in the deep.

A cool thing about the babies is that when they hatch, they have one pair of swimming fins, then as they grow they develop a second pair, and then eventually they loose (its absorbed into their body, cant waste it) the first pair and just have their second pair. Sorta like we have adult and baby teeth

Another thing that sets them apart from other cephalopods is that they reproduce multiple (up to 20) times in their life, until they die. Other cephalopods usually die after the first time. This makes them iteraparous, while other cephalopods are semelparous.

Ok almost done I promise. A few more things:

-adults use their fins to swim while juveniles use propulsion

-the ICUN has not evaluated them

-they have very good balancing organs like the ones in our ears

-they can not change colour like other cephalopods bc their cromataphores are underdeveloped

THATS PRETTY MUCH ALL I KNOW SO FAR ABOUT THEM!! When I research, I like to try to exhaust every single reliable site with information about them and write it down so I dont think I missed anything too important when I first was researching them :)

Have some more pictures!!

[cauliflowertree]

you fill my lungs with sweetness—james potter.

summary: day at the beach with james.

word count: i’ll add later. it’s short tho.

fanfic no. 050

midday at the beach—you were sprawled across your towel, arm across your face blocking the sun from your eyes, listening to the shallow waves lap against the sand a mere few metres away from you. the air was warm, holding you in a comforting embrace you’d missed these long months, especially after a particularly cold spring.

surprisingly, the beach was rather deserted. but, you supposed, after a moment thinking on it, it wasn’t so unusual for people to be at work on a tuesday afternoon and children to be in school in early june, despite the luscious weather. it was a pleasant surprise, really, for it meant you had the beach mostly to yourselves.

“hey,” james said, standing over you.

opening your eyes, you saw james holding two ice lollies, one orange and one blue. he held out the orange ice lolly to you and you accepted gratefully, sitting up to eat the little treat.

“have you exerted yourself now?” you asked.

james had been playing in the water for nearly three hours before he had gone to buy you two something cold to eat. you’d joined him for a while, but had spent the last hour reading and sunbathing. relaxing.

“probably. at least for ten minutes.”

“only ten?!” you laughed, juice from your melting ice lolly slipping down your chin as you did so.

“what?! i love the beach,” he defended himself, chuckling.

“we should have bought you a sand bucket and goggles.”

“next time, my love,” he beamed. “we will be coming back, you can be sure of that.”

you giggled, licking your ice lolly again, not doubting for a second that you would become very familiar with this beach and the town around it over the summer. not that you minded in the slightest. james had a way of making everything fun, even if you had previously thought it to be the worst idea on the planet—he would show you otherwise.

“finished,” said james, slipping the ice lolly stick in your bag so he wouldn’t forget it later. “what are you laughing at?”

“you’ve- you’ve got blue all over your lips and tongue,” you sniggered, putting your stick in the bag as well.

“have i?” he laughed, trying to wipe it away. “am i getting it?”

“no!” you giggled, leaning over to try to see if you could wipe it away with your thumb, but to no avail.

“maybe if you kissed me, that might make it go away,” he winked, leaning his body weight on his arm and his head on his shoulder.

he looked up at you mischievously, a smirk growing on his face—it made you fold, like always, so easily. leaning down, you kissed him softly and slowly, lingering there for a long moment before pulling away.

“i don’t think that worked,” you whispered.

“no?” he asked innocently, leaning in again, caressing your neck.

you shook your head before his lips met yours again, this time kissing quicker, a little flurry. and when he pulled away, it was no different, just as the two of you knew it wouldn’t be. and then james jumped up, pulled you up with him and declared a race, ignoring the blue that stained his skin.

“what does the winner get?”

“another ice lolly,” said james.

you nodded firmly, getting into position. james counted down from three slowly, and when he reached one, the two of you set off towards the ocean. james, with all his lean muscles and quidditch training physique, had the upper hand. you both knew this from the start, but it didn’t matter. because you knew as soon as he reached the water, he’d chant and cheer and boast, waiting for you to follow him in. and then he’d pick you up and twirl you around, rustle up your hair, probably dunk you in the water, and then demand his ice lolly.

because he was always declaring a race. whether it was back to your dorm, back to your house, to the shop down the street, to the tree in the distance. and this was always how it went. and you didn’t care that you always lost, because at the end, you’d always get a twirl and a kiss.

🏷 @imabee-oralizard @finns-arm-is-mint @inkluvs @basicallyjustmuggleremuslupin @corp0real @undead90relive @lee-says-things @flesh--amnesiac

[drabblesandimagines]

Congrats on 200 🎉🎉 I got here through Kitty, but I'm staying for everything else. As for the prompt maybe LoZ, Link x reader, 8, dusk? Can't wait to see more of your writing!

Oh, thanks, anon! So glad to see you stick around :) Lil' drabble for you - hope you enjoy! Link x reader (established relationship) 8. "They won’t take you away from me ever again.” -

You don’t know how long you’d been there. You’d had an awareness of the passage of time since the beginning of your captivity, but not in designated segments such as day or night from the confines of your cell. It’s dark and dreary and cold – underground. Food had never been on offer, but once every so often a footsoldier came in with an oilskin full of water, yanking your head back by your hair and forcing it down your throat, doing the bare minimum to keep you alive.

Your wrists ached, chained above your head as if you were ever much of a threat. Your lip had been split in the scuffle and aching ribs from a kick or two… They hadn’t been delicate in their capture of you, despite always having the upper hand. You’d been in your beloved kitchen, brewing tea when there’d came a great thunderous crack as the door had been kicked down and a group of towering figures, dressed in red and black with a horrifying mask adorned with an eye swarmed in, blades raised, hands grabbing for you. You’d tried desperately to keep out of their grip, scrambling up on the counter, ready to hurl yourself out of the window in the hopes of something, but all that had resulted in was your jaw being smashed upon the counter, the blood bright red against the wood…

You hope Link didn’t see the stain, that he just saw the disarray of the place when he got back and knew something was wrong.

Muffled words penetrate the fogginess of your mind – your gaze hazily rests on your lap. At some point, you’d noticed the rusty blood stains upon your white floral embroidered tunic, one of your favourites. It’s been too hard to keep your head upright recently. You’d tried to keep a steely gaze in front of you, waiting for a flash of blonde and blue, but it had become harder. There’s a loud metallic clang and your wrists fall down into your lap – the sensation is odd, like your arms want to float back up. There’s a hand on your chin, gentle, tilting it up. Through blurred vision, you recognise the concerned blue eyes staring intensely at you, his mouth is moving but the words don’t make sense. There’s fresh blood splattered across his face, dark circles under his eyes but a tentative smile on his lips. You lean into his touch, though something doesn’t feel quite right… or maybe it's that you don’t. Is it a hallucination? Are you about to die?

“Link…” your voice hoarse from non-use, seeking confirmation. An arm hooks around your back, another under your legs and as you’re picked up, the world goes black.

-

Something is being wrapped around your wrist as consciousness returns. You try to roll away, wanting to return to the comfort of sleep but firm hands push down on your shoulders gently to hold you in place.

“Easy. You’re safe now, my love.”

Your eyes snap open – if you weren’t being held down you know you would’ve flung your body upright too. Link is kneeling besides you, still looking weary but the blood is now dried onto his skin, almost like face paint. In what appears to be a makeshift campsite, there are bandages and pots of salve to his side and a fire crackling a few metres away in the early evening light – the air smells of the stewing apples. Whenever you were sick, he’d always make them as a gentle meal in the hopes of getting you to eat something.

“Am I dreaming?”  

“No.” He releases your shoulders and shuffles behind before he helps you to sit upright, supporting you with his torso, his legs slipping either side. You’re grateful – the upward motion has sent your head spinning again. He presses a long kiss upon your head and his hands wrap gently around your stomach, grasping the fabric of your tunic. “It has felt like a nightmare to me, though, as I’m sure it has for you.”

“Who were they?” You hadn’t recognised your kidnappers, nor had they ever revealed any information about themselves.

“The Yiga Clan. Despite their dwindling numbers, they held quite a grudge against me.”

“Held?”

He doesn’t hear, or maybe he chooses not to answer. “You trust me, don’t you, my love?” He slides his hand over your own, squeezing it gently.

“Of course.”

“I promise they won’t take you away from me ever again.” There’s finality in his tone and perhaps if you weren’t still a little light-headed, you might’ve noticed that his other hand grips your tunic a little too tight, that he squeezes your hand a little too firm this time, that there’s a dark edge to his voice when he uttered the phrase.

Instead, you sink back into his lap and exhale.

-

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi Details for my event celebrating 200 followers.

[justforbooks]

The Dead of Winter by Sarah Clegg

From the devilish Krampus legend to a spot of disembowelment, the author takes us on a scary romp through Europe’s most disturbing festive folklore

Shaggy figures with snarling masks and metre-long horns, scenes of wild drunkenness, random assaults on strangers, witches winding your intestines out on a stick, a giant “Yule Cat” who will eat you if you’ve failed to put on new clothes for the day – no, it’s not your annual family get-together, at least I hope not. It’s a compendium of European seasonal lore from the dark side, as explored in this excellent short book by historian and folklorist Sarah Clegg. She combines a trove of good stories with a serious critique of earlier mythographers’ ideas about them, and also takes us on adventures ranging from pre-dawn graveyard walks to the terrors of Salzburg’s pre-Christmas “Krampus night”, named for the monstrous masked figures who prowl its streets on 5 December.

Clegg approaches Christmas by a broad avenue, so we get chapters on Venice’s carnival, Saturnalia festivals in ancient Rome, the witchy shenanigans of Epiphany Eve (also known as Twelfth Night), and the wassails of January, in which good health is wished to apple trees by waving horses’ skulls at them. What all these celebrations share is a mood of maniacal excess and social exuberance. Practices include “guising”, or putting on animal disguises; “mumming”, or enacting plays; and “knocking” – going around banging on doors, asking for treats, and even dragging out unwilling residents to join the merriment. The mayhem can spill over into violence, especially in the town of Matrei in Austria, where the Krampus-like “Klaubauf” figures barge into houses and fight in the streets, to the extent that local authorities advise tourists to stay away and the hospital’s emergency department prepares for an influx of injured people. Even Clegg does not venture to Matrei, but the Krampus night she attends in Salzburg is only slightly less extreme. As she strolls amid the usual market scenes of fairy lights and glühwein stands, she is set upon by a Krampus who whacks her with two sticks. It’s all good festive fun – except that she still has the bruises and welts far into January.

Krampus is traditionally an assistant to Saint Nicholas, or Santa Claus, and even the white-bearded chuckling one himself can be less pleasant than we might think. His punitive side now survives mainly in the idea that he will bring no gifts if you’ve been naughty. That’s nothing compared with the punishments inflicted by other characters in the winter-festival tradition. In northern Europe, Saint Lucy is usually visualised as a gentle, white-clad maiden with a feast day on 13 December. But she can turn from sweetness to savagery in an instant if she catches you going to work instead of celebrating on that day, or if you have forgotten to put out snacks for her and her friends. She is the one who likes winching out your intestines, but for variety she sometimes also seizes children, removes their internal organs, stuffs them with straw, and sews them up again.

In the 19th century, a shift took place towards more polite Christmas behaviour, especially in Victorian Britain. Santa Claus became portly and took to riding around with reindeer. The feasting became less about chaotic public drinking sessions and more about a family dinner presided over by the master of the house: it affirmed the hierarchy rather than upending it. The topsy-turvy elements of the season were transferred to other celebrations such as carnivals and pantomimes, and door-to-door knocking and treating became more associated with Halloween. In England today, the tradition of raucous Christmas home intrusions survives only in the (slightly) less scary form of doorstep carol singers.

Where the wilder rituals remain, they have become more self-consciously folkloric. Clegg introduces us to the wassailers of Chepstow, with their horses’ skulls on poles, and the Marshfield Mummers of Gloucestershire, who dress up like giant ragged mops and put on a play. These events are well-attended, suggesting a revival of interest; Krampus runs have even become popular in parts of the US. Clegg suggests that this might reflect an increasing disenchantment with the tame, Victorian-style Christmas, especially now that it’s so commercialised. The frenzies of last-minute gift shopping or trying to get a train or plane ticket home can’t compete with the frenzy of running around with an animal head.

If so, these mixed feelings about the 19th-century family Christmas were there from the start. Clegg notes that the century that created that kind of Christmas also created a new kind of historian, keen to find dark and ghastly “pagan” rituals lurking behind the politer ones. In 1890, James Frazer’s The Golden Bough sought a key to all mythologies in a supposed long-lost midwinter rite, during which a king was killed so as to be reborn as a new king in spring. The idea was exciting, and the book became a bestseller. The problem, says Clegg, is that there was no good reason to think any such rite ever existed. The book was “a collection of wild, unsubstantiated statements”, built upon a titillating fantasy of “primitive” fertility rituals.

Frazer has been demolished many times before, but Clegg sees his ideas living on in our tendency, even now, to assume that modern practices are rooted in a timeless hinterland of mysterious, pagan antiquity. This is misleading in several ways, she argues. First, we know too little about what really went on in the undocumented past. Second, it casts the people of long-ago Europe as passive transmitters of tradition, rather than as active agents who reimagined and adapted their celebrations through time. “Never mistake folklore for something ancient and unvarying,” she writes. Like most of what humans do, it is “creative and dynamic”.

Also, the notion of solemn and ancient mysteries ignores the idea of having fun. When the fifth-century Bishop of Ravenna, Peter Chrysologus, inquired into local festivities, people assured him that it was all “just for fun”. He thought they were putting him off the scent of something more sinister. For Clegg, they were probably telling the truth. If people, given a day off work and a good excuse, choose to race around dressed as animals, drink a lot and bash each other with sticks, perhaps they do it because it’s a holiday and it’s a laugh.

I’m not surprised Clegg is so attuned to the possibility of fun as a major cultural force, because she has a strong sense of it herself. Her book is both thought-provoking and filled with amusing asides and quips. Like Gibbon, but with more brevity, she puts many of her best jokes in footnotes. We need all the fun we can get, because, as she reminds us in one of her own more serious moments at the end of the book, “beyond the glow of firelight, the shadows are waiting”.

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

[joeys-piano]

Fic Author Self-Rec

Tagged by @voxofthevoid to share 5 of my favorite fics I've written. This might be a trip down memory lane for some of you who've been here for a while, and it might be a crazy experience for the rest.

Soft tagging: @feu-eau, @thechaoscryptid, @shiguangism, @heymacareyna, @bowties-are-cool3000, and any of you!

I can't think of a more OG story that had my heart, and my soul, and my sanity stitched inside it. This was a pure character study for one of my favorite characters, Oda Sakunosuke. He's a handyman. He's a gunman. He raises orphans as an orphan himself. He knows love like a favorite meal, but is still surprised he can indulge in it. I just wanted to write a single evening from his life and write how cherished he is even if he doesn't know it.

If he could trade every summer for a bowl of this, he'd never complain again and would savor the moment.

Remember the love stories about the Suez Canal and the Evergiven? I don't write much about trending topics but this was something I wanted to get my hands on. It was refreshing and very freeing getting to bottle this up like a time capsule.

He looked at him the way every ship wanted to be looked at when they docked — for who they were, not what they bore — and that made all the difference.

The most poignant memory I have of writing this is being in Vietnam at my grandfather's house and there is a wild rooster roaming the grounds by the banana trees. And well, given the circumstances, it was a good chance for me to flex my poetry muscles and have something cozy to sink into. I love how playful the writing this. I love how it reflects what I think love is, in the same way I think it's love when I cuddle my squishes in the morning and can't bring myself to leave them in the morning.

It’s no mistake that he’s as part of you as the Middle Ages, that to hold him is like you’re slipping into a bout of familiar Englisc. Which is about as timeless as the stars when you kiss him in a language that’s never not-enough and as part of him as a promise.

It's not a love story, but it's written like one. No one dies, but someone died. There were two brothers in this story; there are two strangers aimed to kill. This is a religious-esque story with a prophet and a martyr, and at the same time this a story about misconceptions disguised as faith. I very rarely write stories that don't feature romance, if you judge based on my body on work. So this one sticks out a lot to me and really gives you the full spread of my dynamic as a writer I feel. I often think romance is what holds me back in my writing, so getting to not do that here and just writing what interested me felt good.

This could swallow, eat him alive, when he tells himself that the hardest part of being human wasn’t hate, or disgust, or the anger, or the insistence to rid another. But to love, and have the patience, and be the kindest you could be when the world — when your brother — struck the anvil of your knees.

I wrote an Akira slide reference I'm still proud of. And I get to write about food, one of my favorite joys.

Lu Guang edges them to the road. He brakes to the side, sliding westward across a storm drain and the open maw of every pothole in existence, burning rubber across the metres. Pushing his whole weight to stop the bike, he digs his right sole into the earth. And almost topples—because of physics, because of mass times acceleration, because of the pressure inside his leg—threatening to fall apart once they stop.

[cirqosmos]

MORE BLOOD

2023 | 13+ | 1.4k | COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES × ENHYPEN

GENRE reverse harem, vampire! enha

WARNING nothing :3

AUTHOR'S NOTE I know I know don't come at me, it's just a short story to celebrate 600 followers! And partly bcs I'm dying to write one 😭😭 thank you sm for reading all my stories and all those kind words and encouragement it truly matters to me and that I truly appreciate it!! I suck at words LOL ok let's not say such self deprecating words but ily folks :3

"This way, miss." snapped out from your deep thoughts when the maid in their formal attire led you to the deep , dark hallways in which the dark red carpet stood out to you the most; it was red for sure, however as you observed the intricate patterns below your shoes—tiny spots of deeper shade of red splattered all across the long, long hall.

"U-uhm? Hey.." the maid had her head slightly tilted at you, "Where are we going?"

"To the masters." she replied in a serious death tone, a stark contrast to when she greeted you in front of the mansion's porch.

Eerie, you thought—however are you seriously having a second thought after signing up for the maid contract in a suspicious, isolated mansion of who the god knows who they belong to? Probably, an old man with an overstretched moustache with his old suit, or maybe an old maiden who prefers to stay isolated in the mansion given to her by her wealthy parents, or a dozen more reasons your wearied mind couldn't put themselves into.

A large main door spreads open before you and the luminous light peeking from the glass windows hits your line of sight, pulling your hands up to your eyes quickly. Rubbing your eyes, your sight were met with a few strangers—young men scattered all over the place

Something you particularly notice was the main desk with scattered papers on top of them, piles of books on the smooth floor, all round you stood a colossal collections of books—resembling a library however it was akin to being consumed by a man-eating monster.

"Young master, we brought your special dinner for today."

"I'm—huh?" Before you could say anything, the door slammed right to your face.

"Hm? Are you an A+?" A red haired young man suddenly were before your very eyes, you were dead sure he was standing a few metres away from you just now.

Your eyes widening frantically upon the strange question, his fanning breath over your face had goosebumps riled through your skin. "F-fuck what?"

Loosen ties hanging down to their white shirts underneath their black jackets, icy pale skin and intense gazes looming over you with orbs that screams those that belong to monsters.

"Tsk, manners, Sunoo!" Puppy-like eyes softening your heart yet the golden crimson orbs of his had your stomach churning. Collars pulled up, red tie and strings of bracelet round his wrists. He exudes downright cockiness and somewhat flirty as his tongue laps on his lower lip, eyes never faltering from you. He took your hands onto his lips, pressing a sweet kiss on it much to your dropping jaw. "Forgive us, young lady. My name's Jake, what's yours—"

"Fuck, we're no longer in the 18th century, goddamn Jake. Quit that act."

A long groan escapes from the blonde haired boy, or Jake as they call it. "And why should I listen to you? Last time I check, none of the maidens look at your way because of your cold ass demeanour."

"You say that again!"

"S-stop, why are you all so noisy." Sunoo whined as he sticks his fingers inside his ear.

A barrage of ruckus from the two man had you silently pulling the door behind you in hopes to escape yet it to your utter disappointment, a hand slams it back right to your eyes. You look up in fear for this young man with faint blonde highlights on his bangs looking down at you with downright contempt. Intimidating he was, it was as if he was eating you with his intense red orbs.

"Where do you think you're going, human?"

Gulping a huge saliva down your throat, "W-w-what are you gonna do, huh?! You think you're so brave for doing this, what—" you widened your trance as if you were a sumo, slamming your hand on the man before you. "K-kill me? Bitch? I'll haunt you if you kill me!—"

"Pffft! She's funny—" a light hearted laughter came out from the young man emitting princely like vibes from the window, you couldn't make out much from his face as the luminous sky behind him overshadowed his form. "I like her."

You couldn't move an inch as the man started to approached you—the beauty mark on his nose and his more defined fangs coming into view as he smirk down at you, "I didn't know our dinner got a feisty mouth. Tsk, I don't mind though. What if you stay here and be our little toy instead?"

"Toy?! Little t-toy?!" You let out a scoff of annoyance yet you know this is was only an attempt to stop yourself from shivering, "Hellooo?! if this is the place where I'm going to work then sorry, I don't have time for this bullshit—"

"Chill, everyone! At least we could give her a little dose of kindness before we sent her away, yeah? Won't hurt to show a bit of kindness, Ni-ki." says the red haired young man with foxy eyes and orbs resembling the shade of his hair, utterly gorgeous he was as he gave you a sugary smile. The sleeves of his coat were folded up revealing his arms wrapped in bandage. "What's your name, sweet one?"

"Huh? Treating a human with kindness? What's that even?" Ni-ki, the tall young man who stood behind your back spun you around, leaning closer as his harsh gaze filled with utter contempt, "You're not even close to our level, peasant."

Sunoo rolled his eyes to the back of his head, "There's no hope for you, Ni-ki."

Clenching your trembling fists as you let out a hiss of annoyance, you pushed him over making him stumble backwards and pushing the door opened, sprinting for your goddamn life.

You took one last look over your shoulder only to wholly regret it as their monstrous orbs stayed fixated on you, you knew they could easily get you then and there but you still tried taking all your might to get away from that devil's place, going as farther as you can in these never-ending hall. Taking endless turns when a large double doors appeared on the end, light peeking through the glasses giving you a hope for freedom.

A sigh of relief escapes your mouth as you pushed the door open but greeny bushes surrounding the area, a gazebo and a fountain a few metres away greets your sight. You realised you were at the garden of the mansion much to your downright disappointment.

Grey misty fog blots out the entire garden as you slowly bring yourself to the pathway trying to find for an exit. Yet, you felt like you were going into an endless loop of maze, your energy only depleting as you panted relentlessly. Beads of sweat trailing down your jaw from your forehead.

"Exit, exit.. where is it?!" You frantically roamed around the garden, as the thought of any chance of survival would vanish into air if they suddenly appear out of nowhere.

A harsh tug on your cardigan had you stumbled backwards on someone's chest, looking up only to dark red orbs resembling a cat; jet black mullet, black web chokers on his neck as red lips pulling up to reveal those fangs.

Your breathe were caught up in the back of your throat, his cold ice fingers caressing your face and tucking the strands of your hair in the back of your ear only accelerated your already rampant heart.

"You smell so good.." breathing in, feline eyes gleaming into something you couldn't fathom. Your heart dropping in immense fear as you immediately pushed him away from you. The warmth of his chest gone from your arms.

"C-creep! Stay away!" You shouted right at his face.

You spun around to the direction back to the mansion, however another one stood before you; grey lush hair, tall frame and dark blue tie hanging loose on his white shirt, his hands in his pockets.

"Who the fuck are you again?! S-stay away— or else!—"

"Hm, you look pretty." his golden crimson orbs a few inches away from you, as you were slammed right to his chest. "Would you let us keep you, little one?"

"Yoi, wouldn't that be too selfish of you, brother?" another arm sneaks into your waist, pulling your back to his warmth chest. His voice near your ears sending shivers down to your spine, "Right, kitten?"

"Let me go you bitch!—"

A soft blow to your face had you letting out a tiny yelp, "Sure, why not?"

Multiple hands suddenly snaps right before your eyes, harsh tug all over your arm pulling you different directions. Golden crimson and dark red orbs gleaming around you under this heavy misty fog, shutting your eyes tight with a series of harsh cries of pain escaping from your lips as you felt this burning sensation of something sharp sinking right to your neck, arm and shoulder.

"Your blood belongs to us."

© sweetpieceofnightmarez [2.22.2023] don't repost or plagiarize.

[dearmrsawyer]

my GARDEN is DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It took 2 years but we made it 🎉🎉🎉 its life story under the cut

last year i dug up all the roses that the previous owners of this house had planted in this space. I HATE ROSE PLANTS. They're VERMIN. It took me a year (interrupted by la niña) to finally get them all out because i had to dig so far down to remove as much root system as i could. i learned that after the first attempt at removing them, where they all simply grew back because i left too many roots in tact 🙃 due to continued la niña last summer i wasn't able to get the space all the way ready so i spent autumn weeding everything that grew in the rain, digging about a foot into the ground to remove as much old dirt (and more roots) as i could, and tidying up everything we'd dumped there while the space was disused. I had pictures of that stage in the process but i can't find them, just know it looked like a garbage dump hahaha. i got all that done right as the temperature started to drop so i laid out a bunch of tarps to minimise the number of weeds that would grow back over winter and waited.

and then! SPRING. I ordered the soil back in September, 8 cubic metres of it which was definitely more than i needed sdkjlgfdkj but how am i supposed to know what a cubic metre is 😅 i was SO excited when it arrived (first photo), quickly followed by 'oh god i need to move all of this myself.' thankfully we had great weather in september so i could use every free moment i had for two weeks shoveling it into our wheelbarrow and then wheeling it down to tip into the garden area (the conclusion of my work in photo 2 lol). It was only at that point that i was like oh boy okay i REALLY have too much soil here. i filled up every single pot i could find and i added some more dirt to to our citrus tree garden in the courtyard since the existing soil had settled by that point and could use a top up. it still felt like way more than i had planned to buy BUT i thought you know what would be good, i could create tiers to organise the vegetables by how deep their roots grow! i laid down a couple of layers of newspaper to deter anything from the existing dirt growing up into my new soil and then started flattening it out. when we first moved in here there was a tonne of random building material around that the previous owners left behind, and we never got rid of it because we figured a purpose would eventually arise. and my garden was it. i collected all the cement blocks and bricks down the side/behind the house, plus the random lattices that had been piled up where our yard meets the neighbour's, and a scrap of fence leftover from the one we put alongside our driveway last year. There were also heaps of random planks of wood, and some logs from a tree that we trimmed earlier in the year. and i used ALL of it (picture three).

Then a couple of weeks ago i finally got to plant my seeds :D (final product, final photo) the tall section up the back is for the deep root veges, so i've planted pumpkin and cucumber there. in the middle i've planted zucchini, cabbage, cauliflower, silverbeet, radish and green beans. and the shallowest area down the bottom has beetroot, celery, lettuce, broccoli and snow peas. also a passionfruit plant in the corner :) i've also scattered flower seeds all over as i've read that it helps to attract pollinators/insects that will eat other insects that want to eat my vegetables. i've put a couple of flowering herbs into pots down there too, and i marked where i planted everything with sticks so i can remember dskfdklj also i drew myself a map.

i'm so thrilled with it :') its such a good space and now it will be useful! there's a good chance some of my seeds won't sprout as they're a couple of years old, but some of them are new and anyway i don't care, whatever grows will grow and whatever doesn't i'll try again in autumn. its just so exciting to have a garden to tend again, i know that i need to be able to just put my hands in dirt sometimes, it is a very helpful outlet, and also will maybe save us grocery money \o/

[kmuradesu]

‘LIMIT’

sorcerer!reader (gn) x jjk

» summary: you don’t know your potential. no one knows your potential. you struggle with your cursed technique quite a fair bit and whilst on a mission where you’re all struggling, it seems to have you in the right mindset to go forth with it.

» CW: worrying thoughts, wholesome yuji, violence, panic, passing out, infirmary, not proofread!

» a/n: i kinda like this one. i do like jjk fics when the reader is injured but I CAN NEVER FIND THEM. bc no-one does them.. anyways eat up sweetcheeks 😘

———————————————————————

4 days earlier.

"Y'know about our transfer student, l/n. I've never seen a cursed technique quite like it." The white-hared man swung his leg over his knee, repositioning the blindfold masking his face.

"And I'm not even sure if they understand their potential yet." He added as he softly threw his head back on the edge of the sofa.

"Well maybe it's time to find what their capable of, have they ever used the technique?" Another man, much more mature-sounding, spoke.

"Hm. Once, but it quickly dissipated after 17 seconds since it's got this mass physical affect on them. They lost consciousness for 2 days."

"You should focus on training them to have more concentration whilst using their technique, don't you think?" Nanami suggested, a small expression of irritation visible on his face.

"Oh trust me, I already am." Gojo smirked to himself, now flicking his blindfold.

———

After a short briefing in Principle Yaga's office about a skill-set mission coming up soon with the other three First-Years: Kugisaki, Fushiguro and Itadori, you were dissmised and found yourself wandering down the class halls.

Deep in thought, you subconsciously walked into an episode of maladaptive daydreaming. Am I ready? I can't control my technique. How am I supposed to fight if I'm struggling?

Just think about food... mochi? donburi, ramen? yakitori, sush-

"L/n-chan!"

You looked back, feeling a hand glide onto your shoulder.

"How are you feeling about the new assignment?" It was Itadori, with his charming pearl smile and chirpy tone.

"..Oh hey, I think it'll go okay, nothing you can't handle."

"I can handle?.. aren't you going to fight too? All four of us Principle Yaga said." The boy looked concerned, brows creasing.

"Yeah but-" You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck with a bit on worry.

"Yeah but, what? There are no buts. You're a talented sorcerer like all of us and deserve some kind of action." A soft smile lifted his lips, brown eyes lightly squinting down at you.

Your stressed thoughts were forced to leave as you returned a wavery lipped-smile, eyes looking down at the floor for a split second.

"Yeah, guess you're right." You muttered, your brain relaxing in defeat.

Itadori then began to tease you, sticking his lean chest out in an exaggerated manner, earning a judging look from you. "I'm always right."

"Who are you and what have you done with Yuji Itadori?"

"Aoi Todo! thank you very much."

Both of you burst out into a fit of giggles.

———

A day later.

"Control your breathing l/n and relax, you're too tense for the technique to work." In one of the abundant training grounds of Jujutsu High, Gojo had put you up against a Grade 2 curse that the school had caged for training purposes.

Beads of salty sweat dripped down the flat of your forehead, chest overfrequently rising and falling as you panted through gritted teeth.

"Easy for you to say." You muttered, replacing your guard once again as the curse lunged with speed towards you. Having a more rapid reaction time compared to the curse, you swerved to the side, causing the slug-like curse to fall flat on its face with a gurgled shout. Swiftly taking the opportunity, using your excessive store of cursed energy you delivered a bone-cracking strike to its spine, earning another agonised cry.

The corner's of your Sensei's mouth turned upwards, still visible from where you were which was around 60 or 70 metres away on the opposite side of the gritty field.

"Stop thinking, and let it happen." The man said, brows furrowing under the fabric covering his eyes.

"I'm trying!"

"Stop talking."

Taking a deep breath, you closed the lids of your eyes for a second trying to blank your mind of any stray thoughts. But you didn't take account of the fact that the curse was quickly recovering from the beating it had recieved.

THWACK!

———

5 hours before the mission.

"Hey y/n-chan! I can't believe you got your ass whooped by a Grade two curse, and we're supposed to be fighting a Grade one today." Kugisaki had bumped into you outside of your dorm, just as you were leaving after getting ready. Mentally, physically and emotionally.

"Yeah yeah whatever. My stupid technique doesn't want to work." You retorted, subtly rolling your eyes.

"Hah, ain't you sure it isn't just you?.."

Your expression had sunk a little, once again going into drowning thought.

"Hey come on, but we'll for sure need you once we're out there though, soooo no pressure." The girl gave you a sly smile, gently patting the ridge your shoulder prior to walking past like she had originally intended to do.

Yep, no pressure then.

———

"DEMON DOGS!"

"YUJI, GO FOR THE FRONT!"

"KUGISAKI!"

“I CAN’T!”

"FUSHIGURO, WHERE'S L/N?!"

Everything was so chaotic, it was all hard to process - what was going on, who was doing what, where should you attack from. It was all going haywire and you were nowhere to be seen after being pummelled into the side of a building with enough force to break all the material in your body.

Almost hyperventilating, you stood about 30 metres from the whole scene in a pile of rubble, fists in balls as its knuckles turned white, and a vexed face full of overflowing rage.

You knew your technique's got a radius of a hundred meters and so everyone fell perfectly in the lines. It was now your time to flipping shine, just how Gojo had said it.

Shaping your fingers and reinforcing your defensive stance, you spoke with malice.

"Cursed technique, Expansive Verve!"

It was a legitimate earthquake. The earth's core grumbled with vigour like it felt like it was falling apart by the second.

Suddenly, Megumi's charging demon dogs had vanished into thin air. Just as he was about to land a punch, Yuji discerned all his cursed energy was draining away, as if someone had pulled the plug. Nobara was half way through using her straw doll technique, before the blue hue around the nail, highlighting its fused energy, had dissolved like it was soluble in water. They all felt terribly weak.

"WHAT?!" Her feminine voice called out, worry, concern, anger - all three evident on her face as she took a step back.

"My cursed energy, it's all gone- Fushiguro's dogs too." Looking desperately at his hands forever hopeful that his store would come back to life again, Yuji's brows knitted together.

"How is that possible?"

The curse seemed to be losing its own too.

"Where's l/n?" The girl mumbled, making all three of them place their heads on swivels as they searched for your form.

And there you were, standing in the dusted debris of what was once a structure, eyes sharp and wild as different tinges of colour were being dragged from the floor into your hands.

"Oh, so that's where it all went." Itadori weakly shrugged, watching your figure struggle a little as it started to make movement towards the curse.

"Hey their doing it! Their technique-"

Kugisaki was swiftly cut off as a powerful beam of light, which was actually multiple sources of cursed energy combined, skimmed past her face, shaking her balance.

A blinding explosion of luminescence painted the onyx night sky of Sendai City, the curse in the middle of it which immediately elicited pained wails and screams of terror as it tore up from the inside out.

It had literally blown up into trillions of pieces as its hot flabby skin pelted to the floor around you.

You didn't just exorcise it, you killed it.. with the help of your friends of course.

The three of them just stood in shock. A cursed technique like that!? What were you, a special grade or something?

Finally feeling the final mass loss of energy you had given yourself, your legs transitioned into jelly, stance faltering as you collapsed.

“Y/N!” Itadori called out, as he made a run for you but he had quickly forgotten that he had zero stamina and power which lead in his vision tipping for a second.

But soon enough all three of them made it to you, the pink-haired boy doing his upmost to check you were okay.

“Are they okay?” Kugasaki’s brows creased, worry staining her stern features.

“Well obviously not, they’re passed out.”

Fushiguro looked dumbly at the girl, muttering ‘common sense’ under his breath.

With a subtly panicked voice, Itadori spoke, “Let’s get them to leiri-san!”

———

It had been 5 days after you had performed your technique, yet you still lay unconscious yet hospitalised in the infirmary of Jujutsu High with Shoko-san being your personal doctor.

Gojo-Sensei’s orders.

The man would’ve yearned to actually be there, and witness the power that one of his students held with much more potential.

Megumi, Nobara and Yuji had also been in the infirmary for about a day, recovering from their sudden loss of cursed energy since you absorbed it all to use it. But they were fine after resting, returning back to their normal day-to-day duties and visiting you every so often.

“I still can’t believe it. How is that not impossible?”

“No-one’s quite sure Itadori, I’m not even sure myself.” Gojo shrugged, bouncing his leg over his knee as he tried to recline back into the uncomfortable, twine-like chairs of the hospital room.

The sterile smell was offensive to their noses, making Yuji scrunch his nose in disgust frequently. And he had to admit, hearing the beeps of the heart monitor you were hooked up to were comforting. It just meant that you weren’t dead at least.

“I mean, that’s the first time they’ve actually managed to complete their technique right?”

“That’s right. We still don’t know the techniques full potential yet until we witness it a few more times though—”

“..mm.” Both of their heads snapped up to the bed you were limp on, being hopeful that the noise they had just heard wasn’t from somewhere else.

“..hm.”

There it was again. Cautiously, the young boy walking up to your bedside, looking down at you as he gently rubbed your shoulder.

“Y/n? Helllooo?”

He thought his words landed on deaf ears.

“..hey Itadori.” Groggily, you blinked open your eyes, shortly squinted after since the light was too bright for your eyes to quickly adjust to.

———————————————————————

heh.. that took longer than expected but i did it all in a day so no complaints please 🙂‍↕️🤚wasn’t sure when i should end it buuuut. please no translating, copying, posting my work on a different platform, or modifying my work. all rights reserved - kmuradesu

[simoncardonefishes]

STALKING GREENFISH – The Swimbait v Soft Plastic Impoundment Challenge!

By Simon Cardone

My personal cod quest began in in the year 2000 and has since taken me all over Australia fishing fast flowing gin clear waters right through to giant murky slow-moving rivers and everything in between.

Like most cod fishos that I know, the search for new locations and different methods to catch greenfish is constant, so with some of the reservoirs managed by SA Water finally being opened to the public of South Australia for recreational activities I immediately purchased a fishing permit and got out exploring.

Happy Valley

The closest reservoir just minutes from my home is Happy Valley, located about 25 minutes’ drive South from the Adelaide CBD. Prior to Happy Valley being opened for fishing in December 2021, it was decided to stock the reservoir with 1000 mature murray cod ranging from 2 to 9kgs in weight so that visiting anglers could have something to target apart from the noxious redfin perch and carp that already inhabited the impoundment.

This proved to be a great move, as the cod immediately started feeding and spread out quickly to all parts of the reservoir. The fish were attacking all manner of artificial lures and almost everybody who had a crack in the early days ticked a murray cod off their bucket list. This feeding frenzy didn’t last however as the cod started to see more lures, they become more selective when it came to what to eat.

Changing Tactics

Due to the Happy Valley cod being smaller sized fish in the 50-80cm range, I initially opted to target them with golden perch tackle, casting 50 – 70cm crankbaits. This worked a treat for the first few weeks, but then the crankbait bite shut down, partly because the bait fishos had moved in and the cod were now feasting on an almost daily diet of chicken and cheese!

This required a rethink on my part, so I decided to walk the banks and fish in places where other people weren’t. Sticking with a seven foot 3-6kg rod matched to a 2500 sized reel spooled with 15lb braid, I tied on a 20lb fluorocarbon leader and grabbed a couple of packets of four and five inch Bite Science paddle tailed plastics. Selecting the appropriate jig heads required a little bit of trial and error, but I have now opted for a ten gram standard 4/0 jig head for the five inch plastic when fishing deeper water, and a 3.5 gram 1/0 weedless jig head for the four inch plastic when fishing shallow water.

After a few fishless sessions with the crankbaits under the belt, I was quietly optimistic that the switch to a more life-like presentation might get me back on the winners list. My hunch proved to be correct, with a brace of hungry cod in my first two sessions exploring new water. A simple slow roll is the preferred retrieve method after allowing the plastic to hit the bottom initially.

Enter the Swimbait

Observation of the immediate environment will always be a key to fishing success, whether on the day or in the future. While the soft plastics were still nailing cod after a few months of fishing, I had noticed a pattern where most of the hits and hook-ups were occurring in a metre or less of water over either rocky bottom or on flats with reeds and weed beds.

For my next outing I decided to leave the plastics at home and cast swimbaits exclusively. I tied on a 190mm Shimano Arma Joint to my 40lb fluorocarbon leader on my swimbait setup and it has stayed there ever since! Again, success was immediate, if not stunning! The short hour-long session yielded five fish from six hook-ups, including three in as many casts. My son also got his first cod off the top on a surface paddler during our brief mission. Again, a simple slow roll is the best retrieve for this lure type – the action is so lifelike.

Of course, I had to try and replicate the results the following week, and yes, the swimbait delivered – it was no fluke. I encouraged a mate who had been struggling to get a fish for a while to give the swimbait a crack and his first session out managed to land seven cod from ten hook-ups – champagne fishing in anyone’s book!

The Verdict

So which lure is best? There was only one way to find out. I spent the last six months of the year fishing with both lure types during all my sessions at the ressie. I have fished at various times of the day in various locations and in all types of weather. And the fish tally is about 50/50 after all this time. Some days both lures have success, on others it’s one or the other, but the numbers don’t lie!

Overall, the soft plastic is the more versatile of the two lures, given you can rig it differently to suit the water depth and surrounding structure. So, on days when the fish are sitting out a little deeper it is a clear winner. As mentioned earlier, the lighter spin outfit used to throw the soft plastic gives the cod a chance to give an honest account of itself as a hard-hitting sportfish – the drag peeling shallow water runs are fantastic!

The most exciting lure in terms of the strike and crunch factor, is the swimbait. Nine out of ten strikes are off the surface – these fish are hell bent on killing the larger prey item and are not messing around. After the initial chaos, generally the fish I have encountered are relatively easy to subdue on the swimbait setup I run. On some days I have had cod follow the lure all the way to my feet, including two cod that hit each other as they both tried to slam the lure!

Go Your Own Way

With both land based and fishing from canoe or kayak being permitted at the reservoirs here in South Australia, fishing with soft plastics and swimbaits are methods that every angler should have up their sleeve for those times when trolling a deep diver or casting a crankbait or spinnerbait isn’t creating any interest from the resident cod – this has been accepted practice by most switched-on cod fishos in the eastern impoundments for some time now.

I highly encourage you to go out and explore your local impoundment either for the first time or with some of the methods I have described – especially with many of the rivers and creeks across the Murray-Darling basin in flood at the time of writing - you might be pleasantly surprised with the results.

Finally good times ahead for South Australian freshwater fishos.

[spellsparkler]

12 with Astarion...

12: Mortifying table manners

When Astarion stumbles back into camp, pale and golden and practically reflecting the light of the campfire, Row’s pick twangs an off note and they say, immediately, “Wash your face.”

They’re sitting cross-legged on a stone by the fire, their sweat-stained silk shirt loose and untied, instrument in hand and plectrum held between their fingers. They’ve been whittling away at it with their unwieldy found blade for ages, and it’s now finally close enough to shape to use – their good pick, the one made of horn, was left at home somewhere in the blur before they woke up on the nautiloid, and they’ve been playing with the handle-end of a comb found in their pocket. It actually works surprisingly well, but the teeth keep biting into the webbing between their fingers, and they like having something to work on with their hands besides. Their new plectrum, carved out of a tough-feeling stick they found (they are not, they have discovered, particularly good at identifying wood types when they’re in their raw forms) is much easier to hold, though it’s rough against their catgut strings and comes uncomfortably close at times to giving them splinters. They’ll need some wood varnish to smooth it out – perhaps there’s some available to buy at the Grove.

They’re sitting on the rock, playing, testing the pick and providing some nice background noise to everyone else’s dreams besides, and Astarion is standing at the very edge of the fire’s light, blinking, the entire lower half of his face smeared with blood. It’s streaked across his cheek, down his chin – a little on his nose and perhaps even in his hair, though it’s hard to see from this far away. The ruffle of his shirt collar seems to have escaped, by some miracle. He blinks again, looking a little dazed, and Row digs a ragged slip of cloth – they all carry them with them, by now, they’re really quite useful for things like bandages or to wipe down weapons or to fidget with when sitting still – and throws it at him, balled-up. It sails through the air and lands in the dirt by the fire, full metres from its intended target.

“Wash your face,” they repeat, in case he hasn’t gotten the message. “It’s not cute. I don’t walk around with soup all down my chin.” It really is a lot of blood. “What in the hells did you kill, a bear?”

Astarion blinks again, garnet-eyed in the firelight; then he smiles, bright and rakish, in a manner that might be more effective if his teeth weren’t dark with blood, too. “It lived in a cave barely ten minutes from camp,” he says, gleeful. “Would have come foraging out this way sooner or later. You’re welcome.”

“I’m impressed,” Row allows. They pick a high, hollow note, fingers pressed tight against the frets. “Wash it off.”

Astarion makes his little exasperated scoffing noise – Row has heard it so much by now that they could probably play its pitch shifts on the citole if they wanted – but he marches forward, scooping up the bit of cloth with careless fingers as he moves past and collapsing in a long-limbed huddle in the grass by their rock.

“You would have soup all over your chin,” he says after a moment; he takes the canteen leaning against their feet and dribbles a bit of water over the fabric rag. “I’ve seen you eat, Row.”

They nudge his knee with their foot. “We barely have cutlery, of course it’s messy,” they say; another strum of the strings, and then they’re playing out the same smooth, lazy-handed lullaby they’ve been fiddling with all the time they’ve been on watch. (It’s a bit of a pointless exercise, really, the watch schedules; the only thing that’s so far tried to hurt them under cover of night and sleep is currently sitting on the ground next to them, grimacing like a cat as he rubs sticky-dark blood off his cheek, and keeping watch did fuck all to help them then since he was the one who was supposed to be doing it. Still. Better to be cautious, they suppose. Can’t hurt.) They watch Astarion scrub at some sticky spot by his lip, nose wrinkled up in distaste; they ask, “Did it taste good, at least?”

“Not –” he starts, immediately, then bites it back; he looks over at them, raising a careful brow. “Well. I’ve had better. But I certainly shan’t complain.”

There really isn’t any blood on the ruffles of his shirt, even though it’s streaked, clotted, along his jaw. None in his hair, either, by the looks of things, which is a narrow escape. “Ass,” Row says, flatly, and he grins again, fangs showing. Then he licks his teeth.

“I think it ate a lot of fruit,” he says ponderously. “And honey. Very storybook. It tastes sugary.”

 Row flattens their fingers against the strings; their pick flashes, pale wood-gold, in the firelight. “You can tell that?”

“I don’t know,” Astarion complains, “I’ve never drank a bear before.” There’s blood on his ear. Row isn’t even sure, logistically, how it would have gotten there. He scrubs at his jaw diligently; it all comes away easy enough without use of soap, which is a relief, because they really don’t have much to spare, least of all for Astarion; vampirism, it seems, is a double-bladed sword in regards to cleanliness, because while it seems to make all those afflicted with it want to look like they’ve just buried their face in a fatal wound, Row has never seen him sweat. They don’t think he can. After spending days in dirty clothes, skin crusted with salt, it’s almost enough to make the prospect of being undead seem appealing.

(It might just be Astarion who doesn’t know how to eat without resembling a toddler. Row hasn’t really met any other vampires to compare him with.)

(From what he’s said, he’s new to getting his fill. Perhaps that’s where the trouble comes in.)

The fire flickers; Row looks at him, right-eyed, their fingers dancing easily over the pattern of the strings, thumb held fast against the citole’s rosewood neck. “What did I taste like?” they ask, because he likes it when they talk about his delicately termed condition so easily – if they’ll readily accept that, then he has little else to worry about – and because they’re curious. “Any observations about my diet? Does the tadpole affect flavour, at all?”

Astarion looks at them, brows slanting further; in the firelight, the shadows creasing themselves around his smile are particularly dark. “Alive,” he says, promptly, “which is the main thing – animals are too stupid to know they’re alive, so it isn’t half so succulent.” (“I hate that word,” Row complains; he ignores them.) He looks at the fire, burning low and quiet, and tips his head. “Like plated gold,” he adds, “and bitter citrus.”

“Huh,” Row says. If their hands weren’t occupied they’d reach up to tap the stern bone socket of their eye. The tune they play has slowed to something cool and sluggish. “When we met, and they – you know, the parasites – you looked like alleys I recognised, all at new angles, and sunlight.” They strum a smooth chord. “Really fucking bright. Gave me a headache.”

(There’d been terror, too – overpowering, so thick they could taste it – but he absolutely wouldn’t want to hear that. So they don’t tell him.)

Astarion hums, swiping the probably-ruined cloth over his jaw. He turns to face them, straight on. “Clean enough for you?” he asks; he’s preening, but he also very much isn’t. His face is alabaster smooth.

“Spotless,” Row says, and watches him crumple up the cloth and stuff it, after a moment of deliberation, under a torn bedroll. They ask, “Are you full?”

The strings they pick at are high and keening. Somewhere off to the side, a cricket mimics the sounds. “Not quite,” Astarion says. His voice is level. He looks again at the fire, mouth tipped a little, almost wry. “Never quite.”

Row’s hands still a moment; something squirms, in the space behind their right eye. “I know the feeling,” they say, subdued enough that he won’t take it as a comparison, and then they pick up the tune again, double-time.

[rjavenuru]

WIP GAME!

"black unicorn" has me very intruiged 👀

Black Unicorn is the story of Ardor de las Montañas, the... well... black unicorn. He is created by a necromancer from volcanic fire and the corpse of a white unicorn as a soulless harvester of life blood for the necromancers magic. One night the volcano erupts again and the necromancers magic and the horrific thunderstorm and molten rock create a magical explosions which awakens a soul in the created creature. Horrified by the memories of his deeds he breaks his reins and flees from the necromancer. For a long time he hides in a dark forest until one day he meets Pequeño, a mandrake in the shape of a child, a servant to a witch who was murdered. The created creatures without masters set out on a journey to avenge the murder of Pequeños creator and ward.

She had only gone a short way when she saw something in the faint light slipping between the trees. She saw the lower half of a face and slender fingers playing a wooden flute. A couple of intrepid sunbeams came hurtling through the thick canopy and bounced off a boot as polished as the kings crown. Something seemed strange to her but she couldn’t quite see through the trees. The flute player stopped and put the flute down. “I can see you, child,” he said with a deep voice. There was music in his voice as well which seemed to echo through the forest. The girl swallowed. “Will you eat me? Cause if you want to eat me I must warn you that I am poisonous. I’m not actually a child, I’m a mandrake.” The flute player laughed. “I have no interest in eating you, child.” The girl peered into the trees. Between them a small glade was being illuminated by the morning sun which made it harder for her to see him sitting on a fallen log where it was darker. “Why are you hiding in the dark? Are you scary?” She could just make out a grin. “What is a mandrake doing all alone in this big forest?” he asked back. “I asked you first,” the girl replied. “Fair enough,” the flute player said and jumped off the log. As he stepped into the light in the glade the girl let out a small gasp and shrunk back into the dark on her side of the pool of light. She realised quickly why it had been so hard to see him in the dark. All his clothes were black: his shiny boots with their pointy toes, his tight fitting pants, his sash tied into a knot at the back, his shirt with two pairs of cufflinks and his tunic. He had black hair sticking into the air like a mane, his eyebrows and long eyelashes were black and he had black paint around his white eyes like some kind of mountain savage. But the blackest of all was the horn in his forehead, sticking almost half a metre into the air. It looked like it was made out of melted black rock. It had a kink in the middle as if it had grown around something and there was a crack in the top of it. She thought she could see something red in the crack but she wasn’t sure. Of all this though what she found the strangest was that he was wearing what could only be described as a bridle with a metal ring around the base of his horn and straps going down across his nose and the back of his head. From two smaller rings on the side of his face hung two straps which looked like torn reins. “What are you?” she whispered. “I am a black unicorn. Ardor de las Montañas, at your service,” he said with a big smile and bowed. She thought she saw a flash of fangs. “You are scary,” she said. “Thank you.” “But you’re not black,” she continued. “Why are you a black unicorn?” He kneeled down in front of her. “What colour is this?” he asked and pointed at his horn. “Uh, black,” she replied. “There. Black horn, black unicorn. That’s all there is to it.”