I long lost the post by now but yesterday I was having trouble going to bed and I remembered that sleeping trick...
Don't count sheep, play the game "Category" with yourself.
Anyway, after like an hour of tossing and turning I thought "huh, what a good time to try out that trick" so I started by listing off the classes in Phylum Cnidaria. (This goes on for a while)
Then I went through the orders in Class Scyphozoa. Then I went through the the families in Order Semasteoastae. Then I went through the genuses in Family Ulmaridae, the ones I remember being Tibernoa, Aurelia, Stygiomedusa, and Deepstaria (+ that brown deep sea one). Next came the genuses in Family Drycomedusae (or something like I don't remember how to spell it). The only one I remembered was the pink meanie, no scientific name. Then I went through the Family Phacellophoridae, only containing the Phacephallora camschatica (or maybe other species, we're still figuring that out). Then the Cyanidae Family, containing the Cyanea capilata, Cyanea lamarckii, and other lions manes ig. Then the family Pelagiidae, which I totally forgot. I remembered genus Noctiluca (with the Noctiluca pelagia) a long with the genus Chrysaora (beloved sea nettles Chrysaora pacifica, Chrysaora hysocella, Chrysaora achylos, Chrysaora colorata, Chrysaora chesapeaki, Atlantic and Pacific sea nettles, among an extensive list)
I was still awake then, but I had a lot more to go. So onto Order Rhizostomeae. I couldn't remember the subfamilies, so I just went down species I remembered. Mastigias papua.... a bunch of subspecies.... Phylorhiza tuberculata ..... Cassiopea, which includes the Cassiopea andromeda and Cassiopea xamachata (?), And .. and..... Zzzzz
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I posted 369 times in 2022
That's 284 more posts than 2021!
60 posts created (16%)
309 posts reblogged (84%)
Blogs I reblogged the most (the / is to avoid accidental mentions, lol):
@/the-enderpony-games
@/cyanidasmain
@/cyanidas
@/yogurtyogitup
@/llithiumstars
I tagged 361 of my posts in 2022
Only 2% of my posts had no tags
#sargu reblogs - 289 posts
#yogscast arts - 97 posts
#sargucopperarts - 25 posts
#sargucoppertalks - 22 posts
#yogscast - 21 posts
#skylord mallark - 18 posts
#funnies - 17 posts
#sargu's ocs - 17 posts
#minecraft oc - 8 posts
#youtube - 8 posts
Longest Tag: 136 characters
#i could think of no better idea than to base mallark's camouflage on the outfits he wore as aramis in the bbc's three musketeers series.
I sent 1 gift in 2022
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
A Goblin and a Gremlin, what are they doing?
22 notes - Posted June 3, 2022
#4
the prefect halloween costume doesn't exis-
[ID: An edited image of the Spirit Halloween Adult costume meme, but this time of Israphel, the well-known antagonist from the popular Minecraft series "Shadow of Israphel". The texts say: "Pale-faced man who can give you scares and be the villain of your survival series" "Try to awake the Jade sentiels and create chaos in all Minecraftia" "Don't stand near him, or you will become crazy (and your hands turned into sandstone)" "He is still alive somewhere after 10 years and no one has obilterated him yet (and rescued Daisy)" /END ID]
22 notes - Posted October 31, 2022
#3
haha, funny shark man goes blergh
ben fanmade skin based on @/shepscapades's design, as seen here
31 notes - Posted May 2, 2022
#2
yeah
56 notes - Posted January 13, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
here you have the pixelarts created by the Yogs + Blebs (HarryBarry who is also from Yogs) community on r/place, as a souvenir of the event and stuff (the Miltank it's from Ravs, just in case)
73 notes - Posted April 5, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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cruelty among children - (1)
Rated E / Explicit | 1.1k words | 1/?
Star Wars Biker AU
Two of the men in the group glance over at you, the third letting his gaze linger- again. His eyes are doe-like, soft; you find it hard to believe that someone with such lovely eyes could be a biker- much less a gang member.
You break eye contact when you realize you’ve been staring.
Jesus, woman. You think. You need to get laid. A pair of big brown eyes shouldn’t do you in like that.
Summary: Tattooine is a rough town, sweltering with rivalry. Two M.C.’s dominate, battling for influence; the Mandalorians and the Hutts. A shooting in a bar leaves you as the only witness to murder- valuable to the cops, the Hutt’s, and the Mandalore. How will this tug-of-war play out?
a/n: Eventual smut, but imma make you wait for it ;). Also, unedited, so have fun with any mistakes I made ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
~
You sat, sipping lightly at the drink in your hand. The bourbon burned, warmth blooming through your chest. Your face flushed as the alcohol traced its delicate fingers along your veins, infiltrating your brain like a lover in the night. You shivered, dispelling the feeling, forcing it from your mind.
“You look lonely over here.” Stevie bumped into your side, jolting you from your hazy stupor. Her eyes glinted in the dim barlight, lips quirking at the edges. She glanced up from your face, raising her brows at a figure across the bar and nudging you with her elbow.
“Check out Mr. Big-Bad-Biker. I heard he’s part of the crew moving through town- the Mandalorians.”
You take a peek across the bar- where a man stretches out in a corner booth, his gaze sweeping the room. Flipping your head, you avoid his eyes. His gaze hangs on you for a moment, and you subconsciously straighten your posture, accentuating the curve of your spine. Stevie grins outright at him, winking.
“Really?” you ask, rolling your eyes. “I thought your last boyfriend had you swearing off of men.”
Stevie lets her eyes roll up and down the man’s body appreciatively, a wicked smile splitting her face. “This one wouldn’t be a boyfriend. A good ol’ one night stand- gone before I even wake up. He’s a biker, so it’s practically guaranteed.”
Laughing softly, you glance back over to the dark booth, where two more men have now joined the first. All three figures are dressed in black, rings adorning their fingers. One of them is bald, with a tattoo crawling across his scalp, barely covering the brutal remnants of an acid burn. You wince, thinking about the pain he must’ve gone through to earn those scars.
“You don’t know he’s a biker,” you analyze the clothing of all three, “...and none of ‘em got a kutte on.” You swirl the bourbon in your glass, watching the ice slowly melt.
“Don’t mean much. Certain groups aren’t allowed to wear the kutte in public- illegal, specifically if they’ve been classified as a gang.”
You raise your brows at her, throwing back the rest of your drink.
She shrugs, replying to your silent question, “I watch too much Sons of Anarchy. Ya pick up on some shit.” You laugh, sputtering on what's left of your drink.
Two of the men in the group glance over at you, the third letting his gaze linger- again. His eyes are doe-like, soft; you find it hard to believe that someone with such lovely eyes could be a biker- much less a gang member.
You break eye contact when you realize you’ve been staring.
Jesus, woman. You need to get laid. A pair of big brown eyes shouldn’t do you in like that.
You slide off the barstool, intending to slip quietly into the bathroom; instead, your feet falter beneath you, your legs shaking. Your head swims, and you barely grab ahold of the bar before your knees buckle.
“Hey, hey, hey, darlin’.” Stevie grips you beneath your armpits, attempting to keep you upright. “I didn’t think we’d ordered that many rounds.”
“You didn’t,” you chuckle softly, “but tonight seemed as good a night as any to drown some memories.”
You can hear the concern in her voice when she asks, “D’ya think you can stand hon?”
You force your legs to straighten beneath you, squinting your eyes closed to stop the world from tilting. The warm pair of hands leave your body, and you could cry from the loss of contact. It’s been too long since someone had their hands on you. Even if it was platonically.
Instead, you turn, using the mahogany counter as an anchor for your body. You allow your back to lean into the sharp edge; a reminder that you need to move.
“I’ll be fine Stevie.” You keep your voice soft, reigning in the sudden anger you feel at your body's betrayal. You didn’t plan on walking out of this bar a stumbling drunk. “Just need to go to the bathroom.”
You take a few unsteady steps, gaining confidence as you maintain your balance. A cool breeze comes in through the front door of the bar, admitting a group of men in kuttes, scantily clad women hanging off of their shoulders. You ignore their rowdy calls, letting the breeze blow against your heated neck.
Stevie eyed your wobbling ankles, asking “Sure you don’t need me to hold your hair back? Maybe even hold you up on the toilet?”
You keep walking, flipping the bird to Stevie over your shoulder. “Shut up, woman.”
Crack.
A gunshot sounds, echoing numbly in your skull. You stand still for a moment, frozen. A man on a stool in the corner startles, dropping his glass; it appears to fall in slow motion, crashing against the floorboards without a sound. Ringing bounces around your skull, your eardrums tingling.
The second shot cracks through your skull like a whip across your spine; you are completely deafened, silent to what is happening. You finally react, dropping to your knees, cradling your head between your hands.
Your thoughts move like molasses, even as people continue to run or duck or hide. You huddle into yourself, frozen to the ground. Glancing up from your position on the floor, you see the bathroom door, mere feet away.
Can I make it?
A body falls at your side, thudding to the floor.
Guess not.
The ringing in your skull deadens, silence reigning- if only for a broken moment. Feet pound, the vibrations from heavy boots reaching your body. A woman in the corner begins sobbing, her chest rapidly expanding. Her mouth opens and closes, whispering silently. You realize in an instant why she doesn’t appear to be making noise, despite the sobs racking her chest- you’ve gone deaf.
You look over at her, focus on the movement of her mouth; how her tongue flicks her teeth on the rolling r’s, how her teeth are bared on what must be a t. The tears fall down her face, dropping off of her chin and onto the soft fabric of her velvet crop top. Her eyes are scrunched tightly closed, her hands still covering her ears despite what must be a reprieve from the gunfire.
She is roughly yanked to her feet by one of the men in kutte’s; he grabs her by the forearm, knuckles straining white. Pushing her towards the exit, you catch a glimpse of the patches on the back of his kutte:
HUTT’S M.C.
-TATOOINE-
Shit.
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