hey what are your pronouns

funny you should ask!

transcripts, from top ("[actually answers]") to bottom ("why. what are you saying about me"):

penn: has been referred to with a BUNCH of non-rito pronouns in his travels around and beyond hyrule. finds he prefers he/him or they/them in hylian. masc-presenting

tulin: defaults to he/him, but won't explicitly say anything if assumed otherwise. masc-presenting

molli: can't be super manipulative cutesy with these pronouns :( she/her but will give you "i (hatchling)" at first if asked. fem-presenting

kido: does not care! defaults to he/him for ease of reference but really, it's any/any. masc-presenting

dineli: "what should we call you" -> "my name??? (or elder.)" labelled he/him and shrugged about it. masc-presenting

revali: he/him only (and not in a cis way). masc-presenting

went to a small local history museum and lowkey they just had arrowheads and some modern reproductions of what they thought various baskets and satchels and tools looked like. and like. mannequins. it was fine but. why was that all that it was.

Thurs. July 20, 2022: Milestone for Legerdemain and Adventures with Murder Maps

Thursday, July 20, 2023 Waxing Moon Pluto, Saturn, Neptune Retrograde Cooler, with wildfire haze Latest on the garden over at Gratitude and Growth. Busy day yesterday. Today’s episode is from Legerdemain and marks the ONE YEAR anniversary of this serial’s launch! I love the serial, the characters, the kind of whacky humor mixed with action and adventure, with moments that are more serious.…

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one of those “this user x” banners except it says “is dreaming about a college with a cool geology display” because. reasons.

quick study

miguel o'hara x obsessed lab tech!reader

kinktober countdown, day one (spanking).

synopsis: Miguel wanted you to move on because he was weak. Because he'd always been aware he was gonna give in to you eventually, always knew you’d wear him down and he'd take that sweet ass of yours for a ride.

wc: 3.3k

cw: stalker!reader, but like...in a cute way, spanking, (mentions of) drunk sex, oral (male receiving), handjobs, no gendered pronouns, afab!reader, riding, praying, miguel prioritizing getting his nut over his personal safety, reader has a tattoo, my piss poor spanish (used sparingly, i swear, no use of y/n ever.

author's note: i do headcanon miguel as vaguely catholic, and as an ass man, argue with the wall. mdni. special thanks to kitten, kee and ketsl for being my soundboards and spanish tutors.

Miguel’s head is pounding, like he took a brick to the back of the head, twice. 

A fucking heavy brick.

His mouth is dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, the sandpaper sensation making him desperate for water. Light pierces through the parted section of his blackout curtains, forcing the geneticist to screw his eyes shut tight. He turns, ready to slide back into the easy unconsciousness of sleep, when a low moan startles him. Immediately, his entire body tenses, and he shoots an arm out to take hold of the intruder. 

For his troubles, he ends up with a handful of soft, warm skin and an even more drawn out sound of pleasure. It's enough motivation for Miguel to fully open his eyes and take in his surroundings. His wide, scarred hand covers an exposed shoulder, long, powerful fingers pressed to your shoulder blade. He knows that shoulder. Fuck. He knows that fucking tattoo. The spindly, intricate black ink design decorates your back, disappearing under his black blanket. His heart races with panic, thudding in his chest, he doesn't remember a fucking thing, certainly not taking you home to his place after a lab wide staff social with an open bar. Definitely not stripping to his fucking birthday suit and watching you do the same. 

Wait. Okay. Maybe you’re not naked, maybe you’re just topless. 

Miguel shoots a quick prayer to Guadeloupe, lifting and kissing the gold cross that hangs around his neck, before he raises the blanket covering your lower body, praying to see any kind of underwear covering you.

No goddamn dice.

Miguel does not see underwear. Instead, Miguel gets an eyeful of the ass he's been fantasizing about for months. It's perfect, just like he thought it'd be. Soft, perfect and begging to be bitten, spanked, groped. Your tattoo stops right at your tailbone, the pointy arrowhead-esque end tapering off between the twin dimples bracketing your lower back. 

You fucked. There's no way you didn't. There's no way, drunk or sober (and you had both been ridiculously hammered) he would get you to strip down and not sink his teeth into every inch of your body he could get his hands on. He removes his hand from your shoulder, and nearly screams when he unveils a faint half circle decorating the skin where your shoulder becomes your neck. He suspects there's a lot more where those came from. 

You begin to stir, probably jarred from sleep by the sound of Miguel lamenting his own birth. You open your eyes slowly, sleep in the corners of your eyes, squint near identical to Miguel's. You come to a lot slower than Miguel, casting confused glances around the room before your bleary gaze settles on Miguel's face. Your confusion is palpable, like you’re trying to understand where the fuck you are, and why the fuck Miguel is there too. He can almost see when you remember the night before, the social, the drinks, the way you giggled and sighed, drifted after Miguel from room to room in the ritzy hotel bar, where the party had been thrown. 

"Do not say a word." He growls, reaching over the side of his bed to search for a pair of boxers. "This didn't fucking happen. You're gonna wipe this shit from your mind, understand me? Whatever I did, whatever we did? Never happened." He spits. Irritation at his lack of self control heats up his skin, making him want to claw at his face. He can't find his underwear, his fingers only coming across a tiny g-string that you must've shirked. Or maybe Miguel had torn it off you? Or- fuck, he didn't know. He didn't know anything. 

And wasn’t that a trip. 

All that fucking time holding himself back, restraining himself, all for me to blow it over fancy whiskey sours? Nice fucking going, O’Hara. 

"I…I guess you aren't very…happy about it huh?" When you do speak, directly against his order, the pain and embarrassment in your voice are glaringly evident, and they cut through Miguel's wallowing almost immediately. He lifts his face from his hands, and claps both of them onto your shoulders, shaking you a bit, watching your head bobble from side to side while you clutch his blanket to your body, attempting and failing to hide your chest from view.

"Look…I don't fucking remember it." He hisses through his teeth. Your mouth parts in surprise, eyes wide as petri dishes, and he removes his hands like he's been scalded, his palms tingling from the contact. He balls his hands together, till his knuckles crack with the strain, trying to suppress both the urge to touch you again and the urge to hit something. 

It isn't fair. 

Miguel is not fucking stupid. Yes, you are crazy, and a stalker and probably more than a little dangerous. It was painfully, excruciatingly obvious you were obsessed with him, even before you’d formally met. 

Alchemax’s lab technicians rarely have reason to linger, they pick up samples, they drop off samples, occasionally they’ll ask for input on a report or two. But you? You always seemed to just be…around. Loitering on his floor long enough to wave a hello, to ask him if he wanted a coffee or a bagel, to show off your new “lab shoes”. Which, sure, isn’t all that odd on its own, definitely not cause for alarm, maybe you were just friendly, or bored. No, what tipped Miguel off was how you acted when you thought he couldn’t see you; the long stares, the bit lips, the quiet little laughs to yourself, like you were picturing things. Then, he’d caught you stealing his lab coat, snatching it from his locker and pressing the stark, white fabric to your face before shoving it into your bag and scurrying back to your lair home. The security camera that recorded you couldn’t lie. 

And, call him an idiot, he hadn’t reported you. And you’d stepped it up. Started speaking to him directly, cornering him when he was alone, “running into him” after work hours, before work hours, on weekends. Soon, he was seeing you everywhere, dodging your attempts at “quality time”, praying to God you’d realize he’s fucking boring and move on to some other unfortunate victim.

Not because he was afraid. He balances lab hours with bench pressing, and you…definitely don’t. He watched you struggle with jostling snacks out of the faulty vending machine on the 13th floor.

Miguel wanted you to move on because he was weak. Because he'd always been aware he was gonna give in to you eventually, always knew you’d wear him down and he'd take that sweet ass of yours for a ride. Just once, then he'd let you down easy, so you didn't get clingy or assign more meaning to the hookup than there was. He also knew that crazy people gave the best fucking head, the kind of shit that'd make a grown man weep, the kind of head Miguel would consider doing time for.

And he was too fucking drunk to remember it happening.

"Oh! That's okay!" You chirp, dejection quickly forgotten in the wake of Miguel's confession. You drop the blanket along with all modesty, exposing the curve of your tits and the soft jut of your stomach. Every inch of your skin looks velvety to the touch, tailor made to make Miguel salivate. You push back the cover, flipping nimbly onto your hands and knees. Slowly, you crawl towards Miguel, prowling towards him with single minded focus. The temperature of the room skyrockets, and the geneticist's breath stutters at the sight of your breasts sandwiched between your arms, your hips and thighs swaying and shifting while you advance. Your eyes almost glow in the lowlight of his bedroom, catching the sun filtering in and casting them in golden light. Your hair falls forward, sticking to the spit slick surface of your bottom lip. You look like temptation sent straight from hell, a succubus created by the devil with the sole purpose to drag Miguel to the fiery depths by his cock. 

"I remember everything." Your hand falls heavy on his thigh, and he can't help the interested thump in his groin. Your nails scratch his skin, the sensation so feather light, he worries he imagined it.

"Uh…" he stumbles for words, eyes dropping to the hand brushing his inner thigh. He needs to shut this down. Has to shut this down. Sex with you was supposed to be a one time thing, even if his recollection of that one time was lost in the haze of intoxication.

"And I can remind you. I can be so good at reminding you."  You’re whispering, but it doesn't fucking matter. Every word spilling from your bee stung lips thud through his mind like the heavy bass at a nightclub, knocking insistently at his ear drum for access to his brain. He begins to pray for strength in his mind.

"I don't think that's-" You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, leering, hungry eyes following his happy trail before they flick back up to meet his eye playfully.

Dios te salve, María; llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo. 

"You liked it so much. Said you never fucked anyone without a condom before. Said it felt perfect. Said you couldn't go back." 

Yeah, that fucking sounded like him. 

Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús.

"Look-"

You mouth a kiss at his shoulder, a sweet little gesture that turns into you dragging your tongue over the large vein lining the side of his neck. You puff a hot breath against his skin, crowding close enough for you to crush your chest against his, the hard tips of your nipples making themselves evident.

¿Cómo coño va el resto de la oración?

He's lost in the drugging spiral of your eyes, choking on his own tongue when you wrap a firm hand around his cock, squeezing and stroking with graceful finesse. His hips helplessly jerk to follow the movement, chasing the mindless pleasure you provide. He lets his head fall back, Adam's apple bobbing with each dry, laboured swallow. 

"Fuck." He whimpers, fucking whimpers, trying in vain to resist, but when you lowers your mouth and wrap your lips around the head of his cock, flicking your tongue against the crown, he lets go of it all.

And you, you don't miss a step, cementing your hand around the hilt and forcing the entirety of his dick down your throat in one go. Then instead of bobbing up and down like a goddamn normal person, You swallow. Again. And again. And again. Milking Miguel for all he's worth, never granting him a second of solace. Your tongue sneaks out, easing the path of his cock, dragging the flexing pink muscle against the spot where his shaft meets his balls. All the while humming and giggling as best you can manage around his length, sending vibrations through his legs to the soles of his feet and back again.

Crazy person. Crazy head. He fucking knew it.

He grits his teeth so hard he's worried they'll shatter, knotting his hand in your hair and grinding your face against his pelvis, fucking your face like it was the last thing he'd ever do. 

And with the way you were sucking him off, it just might be.

"Fuck!" He coughs, banging his free hand against his headboard, "I'm gonna-" he tapers off into a drawn out groan, planting his feet in preparation. Unfortunately, You pick that exact moment to pull off, shocking Miguel with cool air on his spit soaked dick. His cock twitches angrily, the tip near purple with need. 

"W-whuh?" He stammers, his mind racing to keep up with the lightning fast developments between the two of you.

“You can’t come yet! That’s not how it happened.” You sing-song, like you’re teasing him, like this was a cute little game you and him were playing. You swing your leg over his hip so you can straddle him. The light from his window illuminates your side, lighting up your silhouette with warm orange sunbeams. “No, no, no.” Your laugh is the tinkling of glass wind chimes in the entryway of a haunted house. “You came right here.” You pat your abdomen, and Miguel has to bite on his knuckle when he catches your meaning. His eyes drift lower and the scientist is blown away by how visibly wet you are. He tries to reach out, to touch, to feel, but You grab his wrists before he can make contact. 

“We gotta get you to remember, Miguel! I’ll show you.” You push his hands back, until both of his arms are bent and his head is resting on his joined hands. 

“You stay just like that,” you murmur, your eyes liquid pools of molten colour, hooded with desire. “I’ll take care of everything.” It’s all Miguel can do to nod like a fucking idiot when you take hold of his cock again, giving it two or three strokes before you notches his head against the already clenching entrance of your cunt. You begin your descent, shuddering with pleasure and keening loudly, letting air whiz through your teeth when Miguel is only half inside. 

“Ah…wanted this so bad. And now I get it again. Couldn’t think of anything else.” You rock your hips, allowing another inch of Miguel to sink inside your pussy. You continue to speak, tone delirious and euphoric, “So deep already!” You press a finger to your stomach, sinking onto his erection and following his place inside you with the tip of a digit. You both follow his path with your eyes, until he’s fully seated inside. He watches as your eyes roll back into your empty little head, watches you palm your chest and swivel your hips, rubbing your clit against Miguel’s pelvis in time with your teasing hand. From the new vantage point Miguel can see the imprints of his own teeth decorating your legs, a trail of his hunger from the night before.

You rise and fall on him, dropping the weight of your mass onto his hips, gripping his shaft like a vice. Every resounding clap throws Miguel’s mind into disarray. 

He wishes his hands were on your hips. 

He likes keeping his hands behind his head. 

He wishes he could watch your ass shake and roll against him. 

He loves watching your tits bounce with every thrust.

He couldn’t decide what would be better, couldn’t decide how he wanted the image of you riding his cock permanently imprinted in his mind. 

Guess he’d just have to do this again. 

Bummer.

“You know,” you pant, fucking up and down on him, never losing your rhythm, even as you feverishly speak to him. You brace your hands on his shins, forcing your own back to arch, showing off your chest even further. “I think I could get addicted to this.” Your voice is breathy and high, and you laugh out loud, giggling non-stop, expression caught between delight and disbelief. “I-I can’t give this up. I can’t forget, Miguel. I won’t.” 

Madre de Dios, you are a psycho.

You circle your hips again, clenching down on him before letting yourself fall forward, squishing your breasts against him, and grabbing at his face, dipping your tongue between his lips until he kisses you back, tangles his tongue with yours. Miguel’s head spins, your scent, the slide of your damp skin on his, your greedy little cunt throbbing around him, all reduce him to rubble. He bites into your shoulder again, in nearly the exact same spot he had the night prior. Miguel wrenches his hands from their relaxed position, bringing both palms down on your ass, hard. You shriek out loud, tongue lolling out of your mouth, the impact shoving you brutally over the edge.

His dick aches for the same release, jolting and twitching as he takes control, planting his feet again and fucking up into your dripping entrance. He pushes your body up, so he can see all of you. Stare with incredulous, hardcoded lust at your swaying form. Miguel spanks you again and again, on your tits, your ass, your thighs, smacks what he can reach of your belly and grunts when you beg for more, raining down blows on every available inch of skin.

“Miguel!” You cry out, pussy fluttering around him. You try to grab at him, try to maintain your hold, wrapping your hand around the cross on his neck. Later, he’ll be grateful for the necklace’s strong chain, otherwise the childhood gift would’ve been long gone. Miguel wrenches your hand off it, letting you lace your trembling fingers with his. 

Even being fucked like a ragdoll doesn’t stop you from being strange. You eyeball your joined hands, a manic, out of control grin smeared like paint over your face. “O-our hands are k-kissing!” You huff out, bringing your joined palms to your lips and sucking on two of Miguel’s fingers, fucking your mouth with them like you did with his cock.

Strange as hell, but fuck if you didn’t make him moan like a bitch. 

Your pussy clings to him, refusing to let him go, every drag in and out tears at the already frayed fabric of Miguel’s control. 

“I’m gonna-” he repeats, and you cut him off again, though this time, mercifully, you don’t pull away. 

“Inside! Come inside” You demand, words slurred around his fingers. You crash down on him even harder, forcing him so deep he swears the tip of his cock breaches your cervix, and by the way you, his little stalker, bucks and screams when he comes inside you, he’d say it's more than a little likely. Heavy gluts of his seed fill you quickly, painting your insides white in waves.

“Ooooh.” You collapse forward, your cheek pressed to his chest, ear directly above his heart. Your shoulders jostle and shake in the aftermath, body shivering with the last remnants of your orgasms. Miguel feels appropriately drained, as though you’d been drinking directly from his life source, draining his vitality through his dick. Your fingers are still intertwined, and Miguel can’t bring himself to break the connection, staring at the union and squeezing your soft hand in his own brutish palm. 

“You are…fucking persistant.” He mutters, shifting you further up his body but not completely pulling out, allowing for your head to find rest in between his neck and shoulder. 

“Mmm.” you murmur, beyond words. “Sorry.” your voice is raspy, well used, and Miguel can’t help the little surge of pride he feels, remembering your screams.

He snorts and reaches down to grope at your ass and thigh. “You aren’t sorry.”

“Well…no. But!” You lift your face to stare at him, “I promise I’ll make it worth your while. You can come in me as many times as you want. You can leave me chained to your bed. Oh! Or you could use my-”

“I get it!” Miguel covers your mouth with his hand, exhaustion settling deep in his bones despite waking from sleep not long ago. “Fuck. Just…shut up for now, okay? Can you do that?” He feels your plush lips open against his palm.

“Aht!” He cuts you off before you can disobey, and relaxes in full when you elect to nod, closing your mouth and settling against him again.

“Good. Let’s just be quiet, hm?”

You linger in silence for a while, you, breathing in the scent of Miguel’s skin and Miguel, brushing his fingertips against your spine.

It’s serene, it’s sweet, he can almost pretend you’re normal.

“I give a really great tit job too.”

Almost.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

whew, squeezed it in under the wire. i promise tomorrow's will come earlier.

support city girls with daddy issues and catholic guilt, reblog what you like.

There are plenty of scholars who would love to study the Traveler, and the number only grows after the Archon Quests.

Most of them just want to know about their opinions and views of the world, or ask about locations like Enkanomiya. However, there are those that act a bit like Dottore and it's freaky.

Luckily, the Traveler has friends.

Collei tries to distract the Traveler by pointing at random directions while chucking Cuilein-Anbar at the scholars.

Kaveh makes a dendro wall to block paths.

Layla and other students guide the Traveler to safer locations, preferably with loads of matra, claiming that they need a new environment to learn.

Tighnari helps Collei with the distractions, but shoots the guys in the knees (he uses blunt arrowheads).

These scholars are banned from the Grand Bazaar.

Nahida always tries to warn the Traveler about their presence.

Dori's network always deals with the researchers.

And so on.

Dehya, Candace, Wanderer, Cyno and Alhaitham are kept in the dark because there would probably be a murder if they found out.

It all comes to a head when Alhaitham finds out abou this. The next day he takes the position of Grand Sage, decrees that the Traveler is a human being and NOT a test subject and resigns (AGAIN) in a matter of hours.

Chaos ensues, Wanderer almost goes on another rampage.

Meteorite Iron Discovered in 3,000-year-Old Bronze Age Gold Hoard

New research reveals that two Bronze Age artifacts from the Treasure of Villena contain iron from a meteor that hit a million years ago.

In the ’60s, researchers discovered a trove of Bronze Age treasure in Villena, Spain. While most of the stunning bottles, bowls and bracelets are made of gold and silver, new research has revealed that some of them were forged from another material: iron from a meteor that struck Earth a million years ago.

According to a recent study published in the journal Trabajos de Prehistoria, researchers conducted tests on two of the artifacts—a bracelet and a hollow decorative sphere—made between 1400 and 1200 B.C.E.

The trove’s materials have long mystified researchers. After finding it on the Iberian Peninsula in 1963, archaeologist José María Soler García noted the presence of a “dark leaden metal” among the gold, per El País’ Vicente G. Olaya. The metal was “shiny in some areas, and covered with a ferrous-looking oxide that is mostly cracked.”

To determine the iron’s origins, researchers used mass spectrometry, a technique that measures a molecule’s mass-to-charge ratio. As Live Science’s Jennifer Nalewicki reports, this analysis revealed that the iron’s nickel composition resembles that of meteoritic iron. These items are the first artifacts made of meteoritic iron ever found in the Iberian Peninsula.

“Iron was as valuable as gold or silver, and in this case [it was] used for ornaments or decorative purposes,” study co-author Ignacio Montero Ruiz, a researcher at the Spanish National Research Council’s Institute of History, tells Smithsonian magazine.

The presence of such an “unusual raw material” suggests it was made by highly skilled metalworkers capable of “[developing] new technologies,” adds Montero Ruiz.

But iron is also quite different from more common materials such as copper, gold or silver. As Montero Ruiz says to Live Science, “People who started to work with meteoritic iron and later with terrestrial iron must [have had to] innovate.”

The study’s other co-authors are Salvador Rovira-Llorens of the National Archaeological Museum and Martina Renzi of the Diriyah Gate Development Authority. The trove is held by Villena’s Archaeological Museum, which says on its website that the 66 items are considered the “most important prehistoric treasure in Europe.” Still, the artifacts’ origins remain a mystery.

Montero Ruiz tells Smithsonian magazine that objects made from meteoritic iron are rare, and most known examples from this period are connected to eastern Mediterranean cultures. The treasure’s creators “probably had access to a fallen meteorite in the area that allowed them to discover the properties of this material and how to shape it,” he says.

Last year, research revealed that an arrowhead found in Switzerland was made from meteoritic iron. That artifact, however, dates to between 900 and 800 B.C.E.

Researchers also don’t know who owned the Villena treasure, though they think it would have belonged to a community rather than a single individual.

“These two pieces of iron had enormous value. For this reason, they were considered worthy of becoming part of this spectacular ensemble,” says Montero Ruiz, per El País. “Who manufactured them and where this material was obtained are still questions that remain to be answered.”

By Sonja Anderson.

Sherlock Holmes is autistic

- “...he had contrived, with that cat-like love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics”. (HOUN) -  “I have [...] an abnormally acute set of senses” (BLAN) - “My friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand” (SOLI) - “I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed much with the men of my year" (GLOR) -  “Who could come tonight? Some friend of yours, perhaps?” “Except yourself I have none, - he answered. - I do not encourage visitors” (FIVE) - “...his disinclination to form new friendships...” (GREE) - “Without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation. There was no trace then of the horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration, but his face showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees the crystals falling into position from his over-saturated solution” (VALL) Low empathy - “He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits“ (CREE) - “He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases [...] Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner” (MUSG) - “He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge “(STUD) - “...never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, and shards” (DEVI) special interest/infodumping - “'My dear doctor,' said he, kindly, 'pray accept my apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch” (SIGN) low empathy - “Arrest you!' said Holmes. 'This is really most grati - most interesting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?” (NORD) low empathy -  “We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a library where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in early English charters” (3STUD) special interest - “My friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man” (3STUD)  - “Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects - on miracle plays, on mediæval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the warships of the future - handling each as though he had made a special study of it” (SIGN) special interest/infodumping - “His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors” (STUD) - “He is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him” (STUD) - 'Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes - it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects” (STUD) low empathy - “He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge” (STUD) - “He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working” (STUD) personal space problems - “With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room, and closed the door behind me” (REDH)  personal space problems - “...his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair...” (DISA) stimming - “He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture” (BRUC) stimming - “He began biting his nails and staring blankly out of the window” (STOC) stimming - “Yes, I have been guilty of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for example, is one "Upon the Distinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos." In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette, and pipe tobacco, with coloured plates illustrating the difference in the ash” (SIGN) special interest - “'Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound of his footstep” [...]  “I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread...” (SIGN) stimming - “...in his nervous restlessness, he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him” (THOR) stimming - “He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century” (STUD) special interest - “When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee” (STUD) stimming? - “But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening halfpenny paper as there could be between your Negro and your Esquimaux” (HOUN) special interest - “'You are hungry”, I remarked. “Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since breakfast”.''Nothing?'' “Not a bite. I had no time to think of it” (FIVE) eating problems - “...for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night” (STUD) a shutdown? - “My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition” (NORW) eating problems - “But how do you know that it is hereditary?” ''Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do” [...] “He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the Government departments“. [...] . There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. [...] My brother was one of the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere”. [GREE] autism run in families - “We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins” (CARD) special interest/infodumping - “For two hours the strange business in which we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was entirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian masters. He would talk of nothing but art, of which he had the crudest ideas” (HOUN) special interest/infodumping - “I remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus” [...] “As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject” (BRUC) special interest - “Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,' murmured Holmes, without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information” (SCAN) - “Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime” (FIVE) - “The first day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made his hobby - the music of the Middle Ages” (BRUC) special interest - “An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction” (MUSG) - “Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind would go for days, and even for a week, without rest” (TWIS) sleep problems - “The mere sight of his excellent appetite was an assurance of success, for I had very clear recollections of days and nights without a thought of food” (VALL) eating problems - “You are knocking yourself up, old man,' I remarked. 'I heard you marching about in the night”. ''No, I could not sleep”, he answered” (SIGN) sleeping problems - “I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them” (NORW) sleep problems

New pre-history-related discovery in Euskadi: evidences of mass warfare in Europe 1,000 years prior to previously thought.

Previous research suggested that conflicts during Neolithic consisted of short raids, lasting no more than a few days and involving small groups of up to 20-30 individuals. As a result, researchers assumed that Neolithic societies lacked the logistical capabilities to support larger-scale conflicts. But the results of the latest study have challenged this view.

To investigate this conflict in the Neolithic, the authors of the latest study re-analyzed remains found at the San Juan Ante Portam Latinam rock shelter (Guardia, Araba), which was discovered accidentally in 1985 when a bulldozer was widening a track and uncovered human remains.

Subsequent rescue excavations identified the remains of at least 338 individuals that have been dated to between roughly 5,400 and 5,000 years ago. These people were buried together in a haphazard way, with the bodies found interwoven with each other—some in unusual positions. The remains were found together with 52 flint arrowheads, 64 blades, two polished stone axes, and other artifacts.

Many of the remains—which include both complete and incomplete skeletons—displayed evidence of arrowhead injuries, while researchers also found a single example of unhealed trauma to the skull, or cranium.

Original interpretations of the mass burial site suggested that the individuals found there were a) buried during a 200 years period or b) slaughtered in a massacre—i.e. the indiscriminate killing of helpless or unresisting people. But subsequent studies have challenged previous interpretations suggesting that many of them died in one or more violent conflicts.

The re-examination of the SJAPL remains in the latest study was aimed at identifying new evidence of violence on the bones: they found that males were disproportionately affected by injuries, while also observing an unusual high rate of healed injuries overall.

The bones provided evidence of re-occurring and varied violent events—for example, some individuals showed both healed and unhealed injuries suggesting repeated exposure to violence, while evidence of arrowhead injuries and cranial traumas indicate that they were involved in different types of combat. The remains also suggest that these people experienced social unrest and difficult life conditions, showing signs of malnourishment, anemia and other conditions.

But what was the conflict?

"We think we are seeing the result of a regional inter-group conflict. We suggest that resource competition and social complexity could have been a source of tension, potentially escalating into lethal violence" said Fernández-Crespo the author of the study affiliated with the University of Valladolid, Spain, Aix-Marseille University, France, and the University of Oxford, U.K

"We can conclude that warfare in the Neolithic was much more sophisticated, organized and with the potential to affect the general population than previously thought, which means that there was necessarily a greater socio-economic hierarchy than previously assumed. The study provides evidence of larger-scale, more organized and longer-lasting conflict than previously suspected for the Neolithic, to an extent that had not been observed until 1,000 years later during the Bronze Age."

[x]

Neil Bockoven

OTZI THE ICEMAN - SOME FACTS YOU MAY NOT KNOW:

1) It took ten years to figure out how he died. The 5300-year-old remains of Otzi were discovered by two hikers in northernmost Italy in 1991, as he melted out of a glacier. First thought to have died from exposure, Otzi was found in 2001 to have an arrowhead in his shoulder that had cut a key artery.

2) He was a wreck - he had severe arthritis, ulcers, whipworms, gallstones, blackened lungs, atherosclerosis and rotten teeth. He had a frost-bitten toe, broken ribs, and genetic markers indicating the world's earliest known case of Lyme disease.

3) He was in shape - pollen studies indicate that, even though in his mid-40's and suffering from multiple ailments, he'd climbed from high elevation to low, then back again, perhaps as much as 8500' each way, all within 33 hours (Dickson et al. 2019).

4) Recent genetic work by Wang et al. (2023) indicates more than 90% of Otzi's ancestry came from Anatolian farmers, and he had dark eyes and skin. Rather than a forehead, Otzi had a five head (i.e., genes for male pattern baldness). These genetic indicators match up with what's seen from the mummified body.

5) Otzi had a relatively high level of Neanderthal genes - some reports saying more than 5% compared to a ~2% average for Europeans today.

6) Otzi may have been a part-time coppersmith. His possessions included one of the oldest-known copper axes, and analyses of his hair indicate that it was heavily contaminated with copper and arsenic, a pollutant associated with copper smelting (Brothwell, 1995).

7) Lead isotope and trace element studies indicate the copper in Otzi's ax came from ores in central Italy's Southern Tuscany region more than 300 miles away. The flint used for his arrowheads came from about 100 miles to the south. This suggests an extensive trade network.

7) Otzi had traces of cannabis on his tools, clothing and in his digestive system. The traces probably stem from its use for pain relief and/or from working with hemp fibers for rope or clothing (Wacker et al. 2019).

It's amazing what all we've learned from the wonderful discovery of Otzi!

Whumptober Day 24: Neglect

The prompt is kinda funny cause a lot of this fic centers around being cared for but anyway here it is

Read on ao3

Warnings: injuries galore, blood, a little vomiting, removing arrows and a broken bone

————————————————————

Sky doesn’t even have time to feel overwhelmed.

The moment the last monster is cut down, he’s running back towards the others, none of them in fighting shape anymore. It had been Sky alone who’d defeated the last several infected monsters, and the screams of the others as they’d fallen still rings in his ears.

He drops to Hyrule’s side first, the traveler clutching a hand to the side of Warriors’ neck. Blood streams through his fingers as his hands glow blue, but he seems heedless of the blood dripping off his own forehead and arm, and his face is pinched in concentration, even as he shakes.

Legend is next to him, holding Warriors steady, but one of his arms is held tightly to his chest, and his face is pale in the light from Hyrule’s magic.

Sky looks between the three of them, wondering where he should even begin, but then Hyrule exhales, and lifts his bloody hands.

“H-He’ll, he’ll live,” he croaks, hands shaking uncontrollably. Sky has just enough time to catch him as he collapses backwards, unconscious.

“I got him,” Legend says as he reaches over, but Sky shakes his head, scanning Warriors’ neck and face. He’s unconscious, but Hyrule was right that he’ll live, the slice that had slipped past the captain’s defenses and sent him plunging to the ground in a spray of blood now almost fully healed. He has other smaller injuries, but they’re less pressing right now.

“Drink this,” Sky says, handing a potion to Legend after rifling in his pouch. For once they’re actually well-stocked in healing supplies, and Sky thanks Hylia for it.

“Give it to Four, he’s almost passed out over there,” Legend says in a mutter, and Sky glares.

“We have plenty of potions and your arm is a disaster, drink it,” he says firmly, then gently sets Hyrule on the ground next to Warriors before getting to his feet. Hyrule’s injuries will have to wait until he’s awake, or they can find a fairy. “Besides, Four needs care before he drinks one.”

Sky doesn’t wait to see if Legend obeys or not, rather slides himself over to the smithy himself. Four is curled over himself, his leggings ripped and legs scraped, and shakily trying to remove the arrows stuck in his upper arm.

“Here,” Sky says gently, placing a hand on Four’s back. “Let me.”

The smithy looks at him, his face drawn with pain, and nods weakly. Sky gives him a smile that hides the unpleasant feeling in his stomach, and quickly gets to work, the familiar motions of pushing the arrows through or snapping them in half born from bitter experience.

Four clutches at Sky’s arm the whole time, the Skyloftian patiently letting him hold on so tightly he’s sure the smithy leaves bruises. He murmurs comfort as Four bites back cries of pain, holding a hand firmly over the holes he leaves, and finally he pulls the last arrowhead out.

Four breathes in a shaky breath as Sky wraps up his arm, then gives his hand a grateful squeeze.

“Go help the others, I can handle myself,” Four says a little shakily, and Sky hesitates, then nods as Four starts to fish in his pouch. He trusts Four not to cut corners.

Sky gets up and looks around, and runs over to Twilight’s side just in time to help him turn over and throw up into the grass.

Sky swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let go until Twilight is done, panting for breath, sweat and blood on his forehead. He lets out a quiet whimper, and Sky gently brushes the hair back from his face, trying to get a good look at his eyes.

Twilight blinks at him, looking the very definition of concussed.

“Sky..? Wh... wh’ happened?” Twilight slurs, and Sky sighs, patting him on the shoulder as he studies the blood pouring down the side of his face. There’s a lump under his hair, and several nasty gashes all along his temple.

“You got hit, buddy, right in the head with a spiked club,” Sky reports, and Twilight blinks at him like he’s having trouble focusing.

“...R’lly?”

“Really,” Sky replies. Twilight had been one of the first to go down, and the noise the club had made as it had hit his skull wasn’t one Sky would easily forget. He squeezes Twilight’s shoulder as he props him up, and tries to coax him into drinking the potion he has.

“Not thirsty,” Twilight huffs, turning his head away, and Sky patiently turns his head back.

“It’s a potion, Rancher. You got hit really hard, you need this if you’re going to be healed,” Sky says, and Twilight squints at him suspiciously.

“‘M not a potion rancher...” Twilight mutters, but he finally drinks the potion, Sky careful to give it to him slowly. Twilight doesn’t seem to change much once it’s in his system, but he seems a little less dizzy, and Sky studies him to make sure that the blood is actually slowing from his head.

Once he’s sure it has, he wraps a quick bandage around his head to stop any more blood from escaping, then moves over to Wild.

Wild is sitting up against a tree, his eyes closed as he takes in quick, shallow breaths. His tunic has several bloody gashes torn into it, and he’s clutching at his leg, Sky quickly looking away when he notices the angle his knee is pointing.

Legend is sitting next to him, talking quietly, and when Sky comes up, Legend makes eye contact with him.

“We’ve got to get his leg back in the right spot before we can give him a potion,” the veteran says a little quietly, and Wild’s breath stutters. “And I... can’t with my arm.”

Sky swallows, the sick feeling in his stomach returning. He’d been lucky so far not to have dealt with anything too horrible, the arrows in Four’s upper arm the worst. But shifting a broken leg back to the correct position...

He breathes out and nods, shoving away the lurch in his stomach. Somebody has to do it.

“Just tell me what to do.”

Legend does his best to explain as Sky bandages the gashes on Wild’s chest, and once he’s finished, he feels like he’s steeled himself enough to deal with it.

“Ready Wild?” Sky asks gently, and Wild gives him a faint nod.

Legend grabs his hand with his good arm, and Sky moves Wild’s leg before he can think about it.

The champion screams, and Sky nearly throws up as bones shift under his hands, noises he never wants to hear again coming from under his hands. Legend does his best to help hold Wild steady, but there’s only so much he can do, his face nearly gone white. Sky ends up nearly sitting on Wild as he thrashes and cries out, but he finally gets his leg and knee back in the right direction.

Wild sags, tears on his face, and Sky runs a hand through his hair.

“There you go buddy, you’re alright,” Sky says in a soothing voice, and Wild doesn’t resist when he and Legend put a potion bottle to his lips.

Sky forces himself to watch his leg right itself, the bit of blood and odd shape slowly smoothing out. The gashes on his middle seem to still be there, the potion having mostly gone to his leg, but the color has returned to Wild’s face.

“Thanks,” Wild says in a trembling voice, and Sky smiles a little weakly before going to the only heroes he hadn’t given any attention to yet.

Time is holding Wind to his chest, what of the sailor’s tunic Sky can see looking burnt in several spots. Time himself has claw marks dangerously close to his good eye, and looks like he’s not breathing the easiest, but the older hero is already wrapping bandages carefully around most of Wind’s left arm, the sailor shaking a little as he works.

Time at least seems reasonably functional, considering the states of some of the others.

Sky hasn’t seen exactly what had happened to either of them, but he’d seen fire, and heard a scream that was way too young. Time had shouted, and there had been enemies running around, but Sky had been busy trying not to be killed himself at the time.

“Here,” Sky says as he hands Time a potion, and the older hero shakes his head.

“Wind already had one.”

“This is for you,” Sky says sternly, and Time ignores him, shushing Wind when the sailor lets out a pained whine. “Old man, those scratches need healing, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t the only thing you’re dealing with.”

“His breathing is a little funny,” Wind whispers, squeezing his eyes shut as Time fixes the bandages. “He got hit in th-the ribs.”

Sky puts a hand on his hip, ignoring the sore feeling he gets for his trouble, but Time ignores him as he continues to help Wind.

“Come on, we have enough potions for you to have one,” Sky says firmly, and Time finally looks at him, blood on his face like a mockery of the tattoos on his opposite cheek.

“Please Time,” Wind says quietly.

The older hero looks at the sailor, then silently takes the potion, his face more worn than usual.

And so it continues.

Having given everyone initial treatment, the job still isn’t done, and Sky runs back and forth between the heroes for most of the afternoon and evening, replacing bandages, settling people into more comfortable positions, and scrounging up some dinner as well.

Even the more functional ones of the group are worn out from their injuries and the fighting, and though Sky aches to rest, he keeps going, heedless of his body begging for him to stop.

When Twilight throws up the potion he was given, Sky patiently gives him another, and when it turns out Legend has a nasty gash on his leg he thought he could walk off, Sky is there and helps him clean and bandage it. Warriors wakes up with a choked gasp much later, and Sky calms him down, offering him some dinner, and Four falls asleep on top of Sky’s sailcloth, his face still pale from blood loss.

It’s the early hours of the morning before everyone is sleeping, at least somewhat peacefully (though Hyrule is still sacked out from magic loss). Sky does his rounds yet again, and realizes suddenly that there isn’t anything else for him to do.

The adrenaline and stubbornness that have so far kept him afloat began to drain away, and Sky quickly sits down, exhaustion weighing on him, pain shooting up from his—

Wait, what?

Sky turns his head around to look at his hip, and sees a tear in the fabric of his tunic, mostly-dried blood soaking most of his lower tunic and upper part of his pant leg.

Sky blinks.

He’d forgotten he’d even been injured, right at the tail end of the battle. He remembered the dark knight swinging at him, and the pain that had torn up his side, but he’d ignored it in favor of finishing the fight and helping the others until eventually it had slipped his mind altogether.

Though that would explain why he’d begun to feel rather dizzy as the evening had worn on.

Sky carefully lifts his bloody tunic out of the way, breath stuttering when it sticks a little. The wound underneath is unpleasant to look at, reasonably deep with half-dried blood stuck all over it. Peeling his tunic away made it begin to bleed again, though sluggishly, and Sky can only stare at it for a minute, the sudden urge to cry sweeping over him.

He’s exhausted, from the battle earlier, and from running around all afternoon and evening caring for the others. He hadn’t been planning to sleep (somebody had to keep watch), but he’d still thought he would get some rest, and now there’s a gash in his side that’s bleeding all over the place.

Maybe it’ll just... be fine for the night, he thinks with a sinking feeling. It’s nearly morning anyway, and there’s no—

He leans over to take off his boots, and gasps, stars glittering at the edges of his vision.

Four shifts where he’s curled up next to him, and before Sky can get a hold of himself, the smithy is sitting up and blinking at him. He stares at him for a moment as be wakes up, then his eyes catch on his side, and they widen.

“Sky! You’re hurt!” he gasps, and Sky shushes him, looking at their lighter sleepers.

Nobody stirs, and he looks back at Four.

“Smithy, I wasn’t—”

“You can’t neglect yourself just because the rest of us are hurt!” Four says more quietly, but his voice is still equally dismayed. Sky shakes his head, feeling that same urge to cry come back even stronger.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad, I... I forgot about it,” he says in a small voice, and Four looks at him, his eyes looking almost red in the firelight.

Then he puts his good hand on Sky’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Sky, you’ve done enough for today,” he says softly. “Let me help you.”

“But...”

“You deserve care as much as the rest of us,” Four says firmly. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, Sky. You did a good job healing us up, and come tomorrow most of us will be in working order.”

He gives Sky a little smile, and lightly knocks his head against his.

“Helping you after everything you did today is the least I can do. And I know the others would agree.”

Sky can only nod in response, his throat tight as he turns away. Four gives his shoulder another squeeze, and gets to work on his side, grabbing a damp cloth to clean it with, and wrapping it up once it’s cared for.

And after he’s finished, he scootches himself over next to Sky, leaning on his shoulder, and pulling the sailcloth over the both.

Neither of them say anything further, and if Sky sniffles once or twice as he finally lets himself relax, Four doesn’t acknowledge it aside from a gentle squeeze.

my desire to have tu.lin be unrelated to the first sage of wind because i love the rito champions being just Some Guys who grabbed destiny by the neck with all their grit and drive and sheer, hard work VS my desire for the intrapersonal conflict that emerges from a lineage connection implying his 'specialness' comes more from Being Born rather than all the effort he put into forging a place for himself as a young rito warrior: FIGHT

edit: porque no los dos :)

Battle cry

written for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘Fool’ wc: 454 rated: M TW: blood, injuries, war, battlefield, cliffhanger

(I had the idea of trying to write a longer fic using Steddie Microfic Prompts, I don’t know if this will work out! This fic is intended as a sequel to I’ll make you proud but can also be read as a stand-alone)

Their camp is burning.

The ground is dripping blood and the soldiers are screaming and running while Steve stares at the huge creature that's standing in front of him.

At his side, Robin, his squire, is trying to drag him away from the battlefield: their enemies have a fucking dragon, and there is no way they can even hope to defeat them. But Steve isn’t moving. His eyes pinned in the dragon's ruby ones. The creature's nostrils flare and he snorts some smoke, trying to intimidate the prince. There's no need. Steve is already terrified. Still. He can't retreat. He must protect his men and his family, or at least die trying to.

"Run," Steve says to Robin, without turning.

"Steve! Don't be foolish! You can't fight a dragon!" She insists, her grip around the boy's arm even tighter.

"I know, but I can still buy you some time."

The dragon is studying him like a big cat ready to jump and catch the mouse he's playing with.

"Think about Eddie! Think about your kid!" Robin begs, her eyes full of tears, but she has been at Steve's side since he was a child, and she knows that she'll not be able to convince him.

"Listen to me." Steve says, his hand already on the hilt of his swords, "We don't know how many dragons they have, but if this is the only one and I manage to keep him busy long enough for you to get back to the castle, we might still have a chance," he whispers, "Find Dustin. Tell him that they have a dragon. I'm sure he'll come up with some clever plan."

For a brief moment, Steve turns toward Robin with a sad smile, then he pushes her away and starts running toward the dragon. He's on foot, he lost his horse during the fight and all he has now are his sword and the medallion with Eddie's mischievous expression. He didn't even have the time to add their son's portrait.

His armor clangs while he gets closer to the enormous creature that stares back at him. Some soldiers try to stop him. An arrow, coming from Steve’s blind side, finds its way under his arm. Steve yelps but keeps going, feeling the blood pouring down his arm: if he's not quick the arrow will kill him before the dragon.

There's a flare of fire at Steve's side and he barely avoids getting burned. He rolls on the ground, whimpering when he hits the ground where the arrowhead is still embedded, and when he finally stops he's so close to the dragon that can count all his scales.

Steve lets out a battle cry.

And then the dragon hits.

(Do I have an idea about how to continue this? Yes, I do and I need at least 2 more prompts that I can use... maybe three to get it more coherent but who cares XD)

it says that ur into poetry in ur bio and thats so cool!!! i like poetry as well and am taking it as an elective at uni but i am actually not too good with poets so was wondering if you had any favourite poets? if not thats totally fine. maybe poetry recs? thanks ☆

poems

i'm not the river / nox by anne carson is tricky to find but there's a fragment here / PORTRAIT OF THE ALCOHOLIC WITH WITHDRAWAL / A BOY STEPS INTO THE WATER / SOME BOYS AREN’T BORN THEY BUBBLE / Thirstiness is Not Equal Division / EVERYTHING THAT MOVES IS ALIVE AND A THREAT–A REMINDER / A Man Said to the Universe / The Worm King’s Lullaby / Cortège / the triumph of achilles by louise gluck / the reticent volcano keeps by emily dickinson / the mirror by louise gluck / i go down the shore / the arrowhead / Brother / My Brother at 3 A.M / I would I might forget that I am I / the second elegy / stripped car / The Saints Come Marching In by Anne Sexton, How to Be a Dog by Andrew Kane, Angel of Hope and Calendars by Anne Sexton / I Remember / WHAT THE BIRD WITH THE HUMAN HEAD KNEW / THE TRUTH THE DEAD KNOW / In The Deep Museum / Lament / The Starry Night / A Curse Against Elegies / jesus suckles / start here / march is march / a bad day by mary oliver / Portrait of the Illness as Nightmare / lord knows / Town of Finding Out About the Love of God / fragments from Avalon Revisited (1963) by Margaret Atwood / from crush by richard siken 'the torn up road', from war of the foxes 'landscape with fruit rot and millipede', 'birds over the trampled field', 'the museum', 'self portrait against red wallpaper'/ from louise gluck's the wild iris 'clear morning' 'spring snow' 'scilla' 'the hawthorn tree' 'april' 'the jacob's ladder' 'matins' 'song' 'vespers' 'harvest' 'retreating light' 'lullaby' 'the gold lily' / from her vita nova 'the open grave' 'roman study' 'timor mortis' 'castile' 'mutable earth' 'inferno' / from faithful and virtuous night 'aboriginal landscape' 'utopia' 'the melancholy assistant' 'a foreshortened journey' 'the horse and the rider' / from meadowlands 'parable of the king' 'moonless night' 'departure' 'rainy morning' 'telemachus' guilt' 'meadowlands I' 'telemachus' kindness' 'parable of the dove' 'purple bathing suit' / from firstborn 'the cripple in the subway' 'seconds' 'letter from provence' 'firstborn' / from the house on marshland 'the pond' 'gratitude' 'abishag' 'the fire' / from descending figure 'the garden (2)' 'origins (4)' 'thanksgiving', from the triumph of achilles 'exile' 'seated figure' 'liberation' 'adult grief' 'horse'/ apostle town / the town of the sound of a twig breaking / strawberry moon by matthew dickman / the wolf god / this poem by mark bibbins (another year on the day/ of class photos/ i scratched at my face/ with a sharpened popsicle stick/ no blood just a few pink lines/ that didn't read/ what else./ i wanted a cast on my leg/i wanted braces and glasses/and my tonsils out/i wanted scars/i don't know when or whether i figured out the difference between wanting to be damaged and wanting to be healed) / ancient text by louise gluck

books

short talks by anne carson, waiting for god by simone weil, blue horses by mary oliver, dog songs poems by mary oliver, men in the off hours by anne carson, trances of the blast by mary ruefle, autobiography of red, red doc and norma jeane baker of troy by anne carson, richard siken and ocean vuong's books are famous honestly but try to read their stuff if you haven't checked them out yet (i don't like ocean vuong but i did like some bits of his first book) and also i suggest reading 'the journal of albion moonlight' if you find yourself particularly liking red doc, i hope you were not expecting old poetry because that really isn't really in my ropes

this is what i have noted on my journal :p if you can't find some stuff dm me but you can search for most poetry books on archive.org and it's free and legal

+ poems by Margaret Atwood ! i forgot, like this one

Keep Me in Your Thoughts (58)

Jaenara was to be awake, she stayed in bed for a moment like she been doing for the pass week before getting up when she knew a certain someone was getting ready for the day. The young girl quickly got ready for the day, she tied the small shawl around her head before she made a bow in the front as all of her hair was up in a messy bun. She grab her boots from next to the door and pull them on quickly when she heard a creak from outside her door, once finish she pull open her door quickly catching the young girl who took the room of across from jaenara by surpise.

Jaenara gave smile at her long time friend, alys, who in return look at her for a second before glancing around her neck before looking jaenara in the eye.

"Morrow." Alys says montone.

"Morrow, cousin." Jaenara gave a small smile happy that alys was talking to her, "Do...Do want to sit next to me at breakfast?" She ask nervous, alys hmm in thought as she study jaenara.

"I...guess." Jaenara let out a soft sigh of relief before she can say anything else, alys close her door before walking down the corridor.

The young velaryon girl watch her bestfriend walk away from her without looking back. She was happy that alys was starting to warm up to her again, at first she didn't understand why alys was ignoring her, when she was first told that her cousins were going to live with her she was so excited and so happy, since her father passing jaenara had been feeling alone the pass couple full moons.

Her mother (nowsdays) ignores her, jacerys has taken to becoming distant to her for a reason she does not know why, even her sweet brother lucerys has taken to not wanting to be around her. She had no one to go to when she felt alone,  when Alys came to dragonstone with the rest of her family, they were good, it was like nothing change but not too long ago Alys just stop playing with her and talking.

She didn't know what she said or did to make her friend hate her, as much as she thought back all she could think about is the days prior after Alys stop talking to her. Her aunt rhaelle took her to the beach to sit and watch the waves, while the others were flying above, that day akys was visiting driftmark.

Jaenara didn't know much about her aunt just that she was sweet and likes to eat sweets just as much as the little girl does, and another thing was their shared love for poetry and sailing. Jaenara remember after dinner rhaelle took her to the great chamber with alys and taught her how to knit, alys hated knitting she tried once but couldn't get the handle of it so when rhaelle and jaenara stayed together knitting, alys left without a word. It was hard at first for her to knit but after a couple of days of her aunt teaching her she got better and now she knits all the time.

The day before Alys stop talking to jaenara, rhaelle gave her a pretty necklace with a silver chain and  dragonglass arrowhead shape with carvings of the word "protection" in high valyrian vertical, it was the greatest gift anyone could have given her. She told alys about the sweet gift and she remembers how alys look at the necklace with an unreadable look, before saying it was pretty alys pulled jaensrs into her room and they started playing.

After that day, alys has been treating jaenara like her mother does, like she didn't exist, and when alys did talk to her it was always so mean like not too long after her aunt barely interacted with her making her go back to that feeling of being alone. She realize it all started with the necklace and as much as she loved it she took it off, and hide it in her trunk, now today was her second week of not wearing it.

Jaenara walk into the dinning hall to find her aunt with daena in her lap bouncing gently on rhaelle's knee, baelon sitting across from maekar, alys was sitting in the middle across from baela. She move to the table and sat next to alys who didn't look at her as she continues to talk to baela, jaenara looks away from them towards the door where daemon walk in.

She watch him as he goes up to her aunt and plant a kiss on top of her head making her smile at him before he kiss his daughter's hair, he took a seat next to her aunt and put his hand over rhaelle's hand. Jaenara continue to watch her aunt and stepfather give each other sweet smiles, she couldn't help but adore the two, the way they look at each other the way she laugh when he whisper something in her ear, she never saw that with her own parents. Her parents acted more like friends unlike rhaelle and daemon, jaenara imagine that they are what her grandfather, viserys, called "idaña perzys" or "twin souls".

Her grandfather would always tell stories about his true love, aemma, to her and her brothers. He said not many people are lucky to end up with their soulmate, better yet end up having one at all. She was young when her grandsire told her about soulmates and twin flames, she couldn't help but be fascinated about the thought of someone out their meant to love her. She hopes her soulmate will be a certain boy, a boy with beautiful eyes and long silk locs and who enjoy playing in the dirt and climbing tress. She hopes the boy will return to her and feel the same way as she felt about him for years.

"Jaenara." A hush voice call making her look up from her plate and towards her younger brother, he finger signal to his nose, "Your nose...it's bleeding." Jaenara's eyes grew big not realizing as she touch her lip and pull it away to see the red crimson, she glance around to see everyone looking at her concern even alys.

Jaenara quickly grab the napkin next to her and put it against her nose wiping the blood away, she never had a nose bleed before, she been getting them from time to time every since she was at Driftmark. She doesn't know what causing it and the maester won't tell her why it keeps happening, she remembers her mother talking about a fight and how she hit her head, but jaenara doesn't remember a fight or hitting her head. She doesn't remember much from laena's funeral, and the memories are still foggy.

"Are you alright, jaenara." Jaenara nod as she pull the cloth away from her nose and look at it with a frown, "Are you sure? I can take you to the maester." Jaenara look over at aemon who sat next to her.

"No, it okay, it happens..." she said folding the cloth before giving it to a servant to take away.

Jaenara glance around the table at the worry looks her family was giving her, she looks back down at her plate at the eggs and sausage making her loss her appetite.

"Can I be excuse, mother." Jaenara ask her mother who was feeding joffrey, rhaenyra look at her daughter as she grunt.

Jaenara push back her chair and left the table, she didn't know where she wanted to go so she decided to go to aegon's garden to be alone.

—

Alys was walking around the garden taking in the flowers and statue she pass by, she headed towards the ash tree that is planted in the corner of the wall that separate weriwood and aegon's garden.

She hope that she find jaenara there since she wasn't in her chamber after breakfast, alys wanted to apologize to jaenara for how she been treating her the last couple of weeks. After her lessons with her mother, rhaelle made her stay behind so they can talk. Her mother wanted her to see if jaenara was okay after what happened at breakfast, Alys angrily snap at her mother as she mentioned the so called girl that her mother has taken to favour over her.

"...Alys that's enough, you have been rude and nasty for a while now and I'm getting a bit fed up with your bad attitude." Alys gave her mother a sharp look that rhaelle mirrored, "Fix your face, little girl." Her mother warn, alys grits her teeth before she cast her eyes down, "All I'm asking is for you to make sure she's alright." Alys snap her eyes back at her mother.

"If you care so much about her than why don't you look for her yourself." Rhaelle clench her jaw at her daughter's tone.

"You are treading on thin ice, young lady. Watch it." Alys gave a sublte eyeroll before she cross her arms over her chest, rhaelle sigh moving her hand up so her fingers can massage her forehead, "After everything I said, I do not understand why you are still acting like this, she is your friend...and she is trying to get back in your good graces for something that has nothing to do with her."

"It has everything to do with her." Alys says angry before her eyes got misty, "You like her more than me." She mutter sadly making rhaelle shake her head quickly at her daughter and kneel to her level.

"You know thats not true, sweetling–"

"Than why do you always want to be around her." Her daughter ask making rhaelle frown, she couldn't tell her daughter the truth about jaenara, it will only make things ten times worse, so she thought about what alys ask her just many moons ago before Alys stop talking to jaenara.

"Do you remember when you ask me why rhaenyra treats her sons better than jaenara." Alys furrow her brows and nodded her head.

"You said it was because her sons needed more attention because they were...different." Rhaelle smile at her daughter and nod.

"Yes, because rhaenyra can't give her daughter her full attention, so I thought I could try. Because I know how it feels to feel alone even through you surrounded by people." Alys hummed understanding what her mother was talking about, an unfamiliar feeling fill alys's chest as she realize how selfish she was being towards jaenara.

Alys made it to the ash tree and look around, jaenara wasn't here, she turn to walk away when she heard rustling in the trees. She turn back around and look up to find jaenara sitting on the branch, alys and jaenara stare at each other for a second before jaenara spoke first.

"Hi." She squeak.

"Hi." Alys says back shyly, she glance away from her friend before looking back at her, "Give me a boost?" She ask coming closer to the tree, jaenara smile and wrap her legs around the thick branch before swinging herself upside down with her hand tightly holding on as her other hand reach out for alys.

Alys back up before she ran towards the tree, she jump grabbing jaenara's hand and use the closest branch to lift her up as she use her foot to push up. Jaenara pulled alys up making the girl climb onto the branch opposite of jaenara and sat with her legs hanging, while jaenara pulled herself up to sit leaning against the tree.

They sat there quiet for a moment before alys brought herself to talk.

"I owe you an apology." Jaenara look at her friend in taken back, "I was mean to you and I'm sorry. I was so jealous that you were spending so much time with my mother, i took my anger out on you out of fear you would take her away from me."

"You know I will never do that to you." Jaenara assured.

"I know." Alys mumble looking to the ground, she looks back up to jaenara, "I hope you can forgive me." Jaenara sat up and use the branch above her to get up, when Alys realize what she was doing she got up as well and lean over just as jaenara did the same.

The two little girls hug one another in an awkward position for a moment before pulling away to look at each other.

"I forgive you." Alys smiles at jaenara.

"Friends?"

"Friends." Jaenara beams.

Alys moves to give jaenara another hug but her foot miss the branch making jaenara gasp and try to save her friend but alys fall out of the tree with a groan, before jaenara could grab her arm to pull her back.

"Alys!" Jaenara call out concern as she climb down the tree and jump before moving over to her friend.

She moves to her friend's side looking over at her to see if anything broken.

"Are you in pain? Is anything broken." Jaenara ask as alys moves to sit up on her elbows.

"No. I'm fine." Alys says shaking her head, "Sort of deserve it, if I'm being honest." Jaenara scoff softly with small smile and lean back on her knees.

"Only a little bit." Alys chuckle laying back down on the grass before looking  at jaenara.

"Join me." She says making jaenars smile and shift so she and alys could lay head to head opposite to each other.

The large tree block the sun from them as they relax in the shade.

"You know we should go on one of your famous misadventures," alys turn her head slightly to look at jaenara, "It feels like we haven't gone on one of those in years." Alys hummed.

"Yeah, but rather than me leading it should be you, I did promise I let you lead the last time we played." Jaenars turn on her stomach making alys do the same as they look at each.

"Really, you mean I can chose where we can go." Alys smiles at the excitement in jaenara's eyes.

"Yes, whatever you go I follow."

Jaenara hummed tapping her finger against her chin as she think up of an idea for their big adventure, jaenara looks up at alys with big grin.

"Jaenara & Alys Great Adventure to Dragonmont: The Day They Claim Their Dragons." Alys and Jaenara shared the biggest smiles at their new adventure, but alys smile turn to a frown when she remember what happened to jace and baelon.

"But, how are we suppose to get in, mother had knights guard the entrance after baelon and jace tried to sneak in the second time."

"We go through the walls, I read about it in the library, somewhere in the stone drum there is a door that is hidden that leads through the tunnels towards dragonmont." Alys nod before smile again.

"Okay, let's do it." Alys says excited.

"We will have to wait until the hour of the bat, before we go–" jaenara and alys pause looking away one another as they heard their names being called.

"Jaenara! Alys! Its time for your afternoon lessons." Aemon calls out to the garden as he walks around to look for his sister and cousin.

Alys and Jaenara look back at each other before they got up and brush off the dirt from their clothes, alys look at jaenara after she finish brushing off some dirt from her pants.

"If we do, do this, we will need a look out." Alys says

"Good idea, but who?" Jaenara ask, the two thought as they walk, "Maybe, Alyssa?" She suggested, alys made a sound.

"Alyssa likes her "beauty sleep" so I doubt she wait up for us." Alys replies, "How about...Lucerys." Jaenara shook her head.

"He a bit too young and he gonna wanna come with us." Alys frown, "How about jacerys," she ask, jaenara pulled a face.

"He just going to try to stop us from going." Alys sighs and stop beside a dragon statue on a pedestal.

"Well...we can try asking baelon, but I just know he gonna be proper ass about it." Jaenara giggle in her hand.

"We ask him after dinner." Alys nod as aemon came from around the nursery of black lotuses.

"There you both are," the girls turn to look at aemon, "come along maester maxir is waiting." Aemon turn on his heels making the girls follow after him back to the castle.

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