#ill never eat pork and there are a lot of things that i will never reconcile anyway that are more veiled in the guile and rigidity

[suraiiya]

sometimes i really really miss the feeling of belonging that the inner monologue of 'im muslim' affords but then i get a glimpse of people tearing each other apart and quoting shit about Lot and homosexuality and i reluctantly sink back to where i am.

[kn11ves]

something about me is that everybody fucking loves my soup

[helen-with-an-a]

Can you do a Barca one where R is suffering with ED, but as one of the newest players, alexia and Jona are rough with her for a bit before she passes out on the field. Her bestfriend, and only friend at Barca, Ingrid, comes to her and feels how light she’s became and that’s when they find out about it?

Hiiiiii - thank you so much for the request and sorry it took so long to get through. Thank you to all the people who reached out offering advice about how to write this - I deeply appreciate it and I hope this helps someone out there. I know that it's scary and daunting but please, please talk to someone. Reaching out for help is the hardest thing, I am well aware of it, but I promise you it will get better. People love you. People want you in there lives. You are worth it and deserve every ounce of love in the world. I hope that my little corner of the internet can help you in some way. Lot of love to every single one of you. Forehead smooches for you all. I hope you enjoy this.

Different From Last Time

Barça Femeni x Reader

Description: R's eating disorder comes back when she moves to Barcelona

TW: Eating Disorder; Disordered Eating habits

Word Count: 3.1k

You hadn’t meant it. Not this time. It wasn’t like last time. Last time, there had been a snippy comment by a jealous girl. Last time, there had been a throw-away quip from a boy that you thought you had a crush on that you hadn’t thrown away. Last time, there had been a slow descent into your Bad Place. Last time, people around you had noticed. Last time, there were hospital visits and psychiatrists. Last time was not like this time. This time, there was no catalyst, no remark that sent you spiralling. This time, it happened without thinking about it. This time the Bad Place had appeared around you without you realising. This time was very different.

It had started when you moved to Barcelona. Your usual breakfast of porridge had made you feel ill one morning. The heaviness of the dense meal sat in your stomach for far longer than was comfortable and paired with the heat … it was not a fun time for you. The next day you had felt the same … and the next, and the next. So, you decided to cut the oats out, and pick at some of the fresh fruit sitting in the fridge instead. It never crossed your mind to replace the oats with something lighter but still filling, like a yoghurt or something. This was fine on your off-days, But by the time lunch arrived, you were starving – so you ate a lot. You plate was piled high of pasta and chicken and vegetables. All healthy, all nutritious. But because you’d ate so much at lunch, you weren’t hungry at dinner. So, you ended up skipping dinner, or picking at some more fruit.

Slowly, without you even realising it, all you were eating at home was fruit. Fruit and a milky coffee or black tea. Your breakfast was a delicious nectarine or a juicy vibrant orange and a mug of freshly brewed coffee with frothy, milky latte art on top or a warm, inviting cup of tea. You knew it might not have been the most nourishing of ways to start your day, but the thought of anything heavier had your stomach churning. The weather was warm, and you truly honestly weren’t hungry. Until you smelled the food in the lunchroom. Every day, you were the first one in and the last one out of the cafeteria. Pasta, rice, potatoes, chicken, beef, pork, carrots, mushrooms, broccoli, peppers. You name it, you probably ate it. It never really clicked in your mind that this could have been a sign. You never felt guilty after eating it, so you didn’t have a problem … right?

But then the off days rolled around. Without the structure of the training schedule, instructing you when and where to eat, you found yourself lost in the quiet of your little flat on the edge of town.  The fridge hummed softly, filled with vibrant colours of fruits you’d stocked up on. Baskets of peaches, plums, and pears lined your kitchen counter. They were beautiful to look at, reminding you of a still-life painting. That’s essentially all they were. A piece of decoration for you to look at.

It was an off day that you finally noticed the changes. You’d stepped out of the shower, steam still clinging to the small bathroom, and caught a glimpse of yourself. The skin stretched tight over your collarbones; your arms looked thinner, almost fragile.  The muscle you had worked so hard to gain was less noticeable. It was subtle, not something that would scream at anyone else, but you knew your body, and this wasn’t right. You brushed it off at first, telling yourself it was just the result of a new lifestyle. The Mediterranean diet, wasn’t that supposed to be healthier? People here were slim, fit, effortlessly beautiful. You were just blending in, adapting, right?

You refused to acknowledge it. You had been through this before. This was nothing like that. The words that lingered in your mind weren’t there this time. You didn’t fear things the way you did last time. You were fine. It wasn’t like last time.

You started to feel tired all the time. Not just sleepy, but exhausted, like your bones were weighed down with sand. It wasn’t the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep could fix. It was deeper, more persistent, as if it had seeped into your very being. You tried to ignore it, pushing through your days with a smile that felt more like a mask.

The coaches had started to pick up on your sluggishness. You were known for your speed – your nimble movements as you dodged round defenders like a dancer weaving through a crowded ballroom, your movements calm and calculated with perfect precision. But now, now your steps felt heavy – your timing off as you, once again, gave the ball away. It was preseason – surely you shouldn’t be this tired?

“Y/N, is everything ok?” Pere asked softly as he pulled you off to the side. You swallowed. Was everything ok?

“Yeh,” you sighed. “Sorry, I’m just tired. Still trying to get used to the heat,” you gestured around you. It was sweltering that’s for such. The temperature at the ground reaching an uncomfortable mid-thirties by mid-morning.

You knew you needed to step it up. You needed to be better. If not for you, then the team. The team needed you at your best. And you had to be the best. Maybe it was the Bad Thoughts talking, but you decided that being the best meant just training harder, not taking that step to talk to someone, to seek professional help. This wasn’t like last time. You could manage it.

And so, you pushed harder. You told yourself that this was the answer; that all you needed was to work through the fatigue, to out-train the tiredness that clung to you like a second skin. Early morning runs before the sun had fully risen, extra drills after everyone else had left the field, more laps, more weights, more sweat. You kept telling yourself that the ache in your muscles was proof that you were getting stronger, that the exhaustion in your bones was a sign that you were working toward something better.

You hadn’t really noticed it, but you were so focussed on training that you had stopped interacting with people. You were so tired all the time, your response became short and snippy. You were getting more and more irritable as the days went by. The little things that never used to bother you—the noise in the locker room, a teammate’s joke, even the way someone chewed their food—started to grate on your nerves. You could feel the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, ready to spill over at any moment. But instead of addressing it, instead of acknowledging that something was wrong, you buried it under layers of denial and discipline. You told yourself it was just the stress, that everyone got like this sometimes. It was just part of being an athlete, right?

It was Alexia who first approached you, a few weeks after her return from the Olympics. She had been well aware of who you were before you signed for Barcelona – she had been on the receiving end of a few of your nutmegs and perfectly executed presses. This was not the Y/N she had played against.

She had found you outside, setting up for free kick practice. She found it strange – that you would choose to practice those of all things. You weren’t on the list to take set pieces, your name so far down the list the pigs would sooner fly then you participating in that part of football games.

“Hola,” Alexia said, coming to stand next to you. You jumped, your body tensing at the intruder. “Lo siento,” she smiled at you.

“Alexia, um, hi?” You sounded genuinely shocked she was near you, voluntarily talking to you.

The Catalan captain scared you a little. It was something about her composure, her intensity that made you nervous to even breathe the same air as her, let alone talk to her.

“What are you doing?” She asked, honestly curious at your choice of activity.

“Practising,” you dismissed, looking across at the set up.

“Why?”

“Because I need to …” you trailed off, making it sound more like a question than anything else.

“We haven’t even had a game yet, I think you’re fine,” she consoled.

“No, I need to push myself. I need to be better. I want to do this for the team.” With those words, Alexia made up her mind. Something she would later regret massively, but something that, in the moment, seemed like a very smart idea.

Alexia observed you the following afternoon. You were right, you were moving more slowly than usual. You were slower, you were less agile, you were making mistakes that you never used to make. Alexia thought she was helping.

“No, de nuevo.” Alexia barked. You flinched at the tone, the harshness of Alexia's voice cutting through the afternoon air like a whip. It wasn’t just you who noticed – everyone on the pitch turned their heads, eyes widening in surprise. Alexia was known for her leadership, for guiding the team with a firm but fair hand. But this? This was different. It was almost like she was pushing you, testing your limits in a way that felt more personal than professional.

You forced yourself to focus, your heart pounding in your chest. Sweat dripped down your forehead, stinging your eyes as you tried to reset, to shake off the growing sense of unease that had taken root inside you. You couldn’t afford to mess this up, not in front of her, not in front of the team.

Again and again, you repeated the drill, your legs growing heavier with each attempt. You could feel your breath hitching, your lungs burning, but you pushed through, ignoring the screaming protests of your body. This was what you needed, right? To push harder, to be better. But with each failed attempt, each barked command from Alexia, doubt crept further into your mind.

Your teammates watched with a mix of concern and confusion. They could see something was off, that you were struggling more than usual, but no one dared to say anything. Alexia’s presence was too commanding, too intimidating to question. So they stayed silent, exchanging worried glances as you faltered once again.

“No, no, no,” Alexia snapped, stepping closer, her frustration palpable. “That’s not good enough. Again.”

You nodded, barely hearing her words over the pounding in your ears. The world was starting to tilt, the edges of your vision blurring as you bent over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. But there was no time for that. You had to keep going. You had to prove yourself.

“Y/N,” Alexia’s voice cut through your haze, sharp and unyielding. “Again.”

You straightened up, legs trembling, and moved to take your position. But the ground seemed to shift beneath your feet, and suddenly, you were stumbling, your vision narrowing to a pinpoint. Panic flared in your chest as the world spun, and before you could stop it, darkness began to close in around you.

Was it the heat? Was it the food? You really couldn’t tell. You felt horrific. But you had to keep going. You swayed gently as you began to sprint off. You needed out … you needed to breathe. Your body was on autopilot as you went through the motions.

Esmee was the first to notice. Your skin had a sallow, sickly paleness. Your eyes were sunken and your hair too thin. You looked awful. Her concern quickly turned to alarm as she watched you sway; your movements unsteady and uncoordinated. She could see the strain etched across your face, the way your muscles trembled with every step. Something was terribly wrong, and it was no longer just about your performance on the pitch.

She reached over to Ingrid, tapping her gently on the shoulder. The pair of them looked over to where you and Alexia were standing – you were barely conscious. How you were still on your feet was anyone’s guess. They exchanged glances, silently agreeing that something was terribly, terribly amiss and Alexia was taking things too far.

“Y/N, stop!” Mapí shouted, her voice breaking through the fog that had settled in your mind. But you barely registered it, your body still moving on instinct, trying to obey Alexia’s last command. The group didn’t hesitate. They were over to you in a flash. They sprinted across the field, reaching you just as your legs buckled underneath you. Ingrid’s gentle arms wrapped around you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she said, her voice soft but urgent as she guided you to sit down on the grass. “You need to stop, Y/N. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Alexia’s frustration melted into concern as she watched the scene unfold. She hadn’t realised just how bad things had gotten until now. She had been so focused on pushing you to be your best that she hadn’t seen the toll it was taking on you, both physically and mentally. Guilt gnawed at her as she hurried over, her expression shifting from stern to worried.

“Y/N, why didn’t you say something?” Alexia asked, kneeling beside you, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your vision was blurry, and the world felt like it was spinning out of control. You felt Ingrid’s hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles, but even that small comfort wasn’t enough to calm the panic rising in your chest.

“I… I thought I could handle it,” you finally managed to whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. “It isn’t like last time.”

“What’s not like last time?” Esmee’s gentle voice drifted over you.

“All of it. The Bad Thoughts aren’t like last time. I didn’t mean to do it. I …” If you had the energy, you would have been hysterical.

“Y/N, I need you to listen to me,” Alexia’s tone posed no arguments. This was Captain Alexia talking. She brought a hand to your cheek, her palm gently guiding you to look at her. “Have you hurt yourself? Do you need an ambulance?”

“Not cuts. I … I don’t do that,” you whispered.

The sigh of relief was audible from all the girls around you.

“What didn’t you mean to do, Kjære?” Ingrid asked the question. She figured that since you were still in her arms, your back against her chest, that it might be easier voicing whatever it was that plagued your mind.

“I …” You remembered how hard it was to voice it all last time. At that had been to a total stranger. But then again … that had been to a total stranger. A stranger that had your best interests at heart, but they didn’t know you. Not like these girls did. “Food,” was what you settled on.

The moment the word left your lips, you felt the air around you shift. The weight of the confession hung heavily in the silence that followed, pressing down on everyone around you. The tension was palpable, each of your teammates processing what you had just said, the reality of the situation settling in.

Mapí's sharp intake of breath was the first sound that broke the silence, her shock evident. You could feel Ingrid's arms tighten around you slightly, as if she was trying to shield you from the world, from the consequences of your admission. Alexia’s hand remained on your cheek, her eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were truly going through.

"Food?" Ingrid repeated softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make the situation even more real. "What do you mean, Y/N? Have you not been eating?"

You hesitated, your mind racing with the implications of what you were about to reveal. But there was no turning back now. The truth had already started to spill out, and you couldn't stop it even if you wanted to. "Not… not like I should," you finally admitted, your voice trembling. "It just… happened. I didn’t mean for it to, but I’ve been skipping meals, and when I do eat, it’s like I can’t stop. At home I can't eat. But in the cafeteria, it's all I can do …"

The guilt in Alexia’s eyes deepened, her mind replaying every drill, every push, every time she had demanded more from you without realizing the burden you were already carrying. "Y/N," she began, her voice laced with regret, "I had no idea. I should have seen the signs. I’m so sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from exhaustion or fear. They were from the overwhelming mix of emotions you felt—from relief that the truth was finally out, to shame for not being able to handle it on your own, to fear of what would come next.

Esmee knelt beside you, her hand reaching out to squeeze yours. "We’re going to help you," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "You don’t have to go through this alone, Y/N. We’re your team, and that means we’re here for you, no matter what."

The others nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting a mixture of concern and determination. You could see the resolve in their eyes, the silent promise that they wouldn’t let you face this battle alone.

Alexia took a deep breath, her hand still resting gently on your cheek. "The most important thing right now is your health," she said, her voice steady. "We’ll figure this out together. We’ll talk to the coach, to the doctors, and we’ll make sure you get the support you need."

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. The support of your teammates was more than you could have hoped for, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this time really was different. Maybe this time, you wouldn’t have to face the darkness alone.

Ingrid gently helped you to your feet, her arm still around your waist to steady you. The others formed a protective circle around you, their presence a silent but powerful reminder that you were part of something bigger, something stronger than any one of you alone.

As they guided you off the field, you knew that this was just the beginning of a long and difficult journey. But you also knew that with them by your side, you could face whatever came next. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were going to be okay.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3

[zenixromeave]

i love fucked up vylad <3 vylad can go crazy sometimes too

-vylad anon

alright. this ones for the people. the diaries: irene's blessing vylad overview

in my rewrite/headcanons, vylad is not a Good person. he wants to be! but he isn't. he thinks he's evil because he's a shadow knight. because he came back wrong. in believing that this is what makes him inherently evil and Bad, he believes the same about every other shadow knight. he doesn't believe they can be good. he doesn't believe they can change. he believes the world should be rid of them, because he believes the world should be rid of himself.

i'm going to show a lot of his healing/character arc through his relationship to food and gardening

vylad forages the nether for the most lethal things it has to offer- warped fungi and its relatives, which shadow knights are basically allergic to in my rewrite. he makes himself ill tasting the plants that aren't meant for him, and with them, he tries to develop poisons that Stick. that kill.

he keeps a journal, in case one of them works. he hopes someone will pick up his work and do what needs to be done. his most effective poison, he used when trying to shoot zenix. on a human target, the poison was the least concerning thing about being shot, but he'd hoped that in the blood of a shadow knight, it might do some real damage. he didn't get to see if it did. he wallowed in guilt for weeks after shooting brendan, cursing himself for another evil deed.

(alright ok this part diverges quite a bit from canon i think, but i didn't want kiva locked up in a prison cell in the nether. it didn't make sense, and lowell already went through that so like, damn, that's just fucked up yknow?) then a young girl gets stuck on the wrong side of the portal. vylad is so thankful to have been the first to find her, and sets his mind on making sure she survives until he can get her out. mostly, that requires food and water. i imagine that if you go high enough, close to the roof of the nether's caverns, you can find water, drip-dripping down from places unknown.

vylad cuts the thick flesh of red and blue mushrooms for a new reason. its a good reason. he's allowed to do something good.

for a long time, he's built himself on the idea of getting rid of evil. of getting rid of things like him. for the first time, he does something good.

after a few days and the smell of sizzling mushrooms and gargantuan pork chops, vylad makes himself a plate to eat. this time, without the things that hurt him.

he used to join his mother in the garden when he was small. even though they could have had anyone else in the world do it for them, they got their own hands dirty and took care of the little plot themselves. vylad was never very good at it, but they didn't do it for sustenance or survival; they did it for the joy of doing it.

he considers trying to garden again. maybe he could enjoy the fruits of his own hard work. maybe he could try to put good into the world, instead of trying to weed out the bad.

after all, any plant can be considered a weed, if you aren't looking at it the right way.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

My dinner was delicious and absolutely one of the cheapest things I have ever made.

It's baked tater tots in a large bowl with vegetarian baked beans over it (not enough to turn the tots into mush), and a generous amount of yellow mustard over the top.

The mustard gives it a nice kick without the heartburn and no added salt. I use canned vegetarian baked beans because they're often cooked with pork, and that shit never fails to make me violently ill (ham is the absolute worst).

For the uninitiated: tater tots are made from potatoes and fucking delicious. My husband likes chili over his. I usually nake mine with garlic salt and dip them in ketchup. Tonight? I wanted something less acidic so close to bedtime.

Plus, I fucking love mustard. I did carrots and chicken tenders in honey mustard. Pretzels (I get GF stick pretzels to munch on) get dipped in either Dijon, spicy brown, cherry, or yellow mustard. I slice up turkey hot dogs and dip those in spicy brown mustard. Y'all get thr general idea.

A big ass bag of tater tots, around I think 5 lbs, is just $15 and serves...a lot. Canned baked beans are cheap as fuck. Mustard varies, depending on how fancy you wanna get. I used to eat this when I was a uni student. It kicked my brain today, so I made it again and holy fuck...for the first time in five days, my belly feels satisfied.

For some reason, the last five days have been what I call Empty Days. No matter what or how much I eat, there's no satisfaction. Hunger still lingers. I'm also absurdly thirsty. Today? No more empty, just lots of thirsty, but I'm gonna blame that last bit on ADHD and hyperfocus.

[htsailicarus]

I can't believe this is the first post I'm gonna make on this blog

I had a bad dream

I've known for literally the entirety of my teenage and adult life that you DO NOT EAT FOOD in dreams. Like ever. You don't need to eat because it's a dream. You especially NEVER take food offered to you. Last night I had a wild dream. I can't remember every detail as clearly as I'd like. But I remember a co-worker being there. I remember that myself and several people with doing experiments. The end result of one was "electrocuted snails". I don't remember why I thought it was a good idea to eat them, but I did. The charred outside wasn't too bad. It actually had a pork flavor to it. But the inside was gooey and vile.

The whole point to me writing this is that when I woke up, I was bothered. I remembered that I wasn't supposed to eat in dreams. I vaguely remembered that it was because someone meant me ill will. So I started to google it. But every result that I turned said that it was about "spiritual nourishment" and "being close to a loved one".

This bothered me even more. I remembered that this was supposed to be a bad thing. That the things that I had just dreamt of were warnings. But it was like everything I had ever known was gone. Wiped away. No reference of the dream or the action of eating being dangerous was online to be found at all. This set me into a state of paranoia that I haven't felt in a very very long time. I'm still kind of freaked out about it as I write this. I've slowly found bits and pieces of it across dream interpreting websites and TikTok but none of the witchy references that I had gotten used to. It's like it's all just gone. The absence of my known research is honestly what has me feeling worse, paranoid, more anxious, and overall worse than anything else I had come across.

The other thing that I can't get out of my head that feels too coincidental is the fact that there are a LOT of references popping up about "spiritual" and "christian" meanings. Keep in mind, my husband and I are about as anti judeo christian as you can get. So references that center around churches, pastors, or god are automatically a scroll away. Meanwhile, the co-worker that I referenced as being in the dream from earlier, is incredibly religious. We still get along really well, but now I'm definitely avoiding any more deep talks with her for a while.

Journaling all of this has helped. I feel calmer, a little less panicky, and a lot less paranoid. The anxiety is still there, but I'm breathing through it.

I want to keep writing. I want some more coffee. I need some water. I have three books to read through today that are pressing. I want to get some products done for my etsy shop. I need to finish painting the dragon for my kitchen sign. I need to fix and straighten up some things that are immediately around me. I'm tired again but I'm ready to work. I really wasn't made to relax. When I relax, I just sleep. As nice as sleep is, I wake up more upset that I wasn't doing something productive.

I'm gonna make another pot of coffee.

[faintlyof]

i don’t usually stray too far from my comfort zone and like try new things

but yesterday and today, i felt a bit more...productive? grounded? i dunno, a little different than usual. i actually opened the curtain and EVEN opened the actual window

literally for the first time since i moved in here almost 2 years ago

(rambling about food and trying new things under the cut)

so today i was feeling a bit antsy and snacky and was contemplating yet another round of mcdonalds when i found myself scrolling through uber eats...

i got paid (not a lot) but my mom helped me out last month so i had a bit extra money and decided to try something else that looked yummy

i wound up looking at korean food and i dont really eat korean food so i dont really know what anything was and also its all in japanese so i just picked out some keywords

but after a lot of scrolling back and forth, i finally took the leap and ordered not one, not two, not three, but four new things! (im counting the drink as new too...)

i was nervous it would be too spicy or i just wouldnt like it and i had wasted my money, but i literally remembered when txt taehyun said that he used to be scared of change so you should start with little things like trying a new type of ramen and that eventually the body remembers that not all change is bad, so i figured if i didnt like it, i would know for the future and i could have some bonus chocolate to soothe the sting and if i didnt like it then there’d be no problem

well, i have just finished eating everything (and it was a lot) and...it was amazing!???

im about to mutilate these romanizations, but i dont really know how to english korean words (im familiar with some, but now many) and also now ive only seen them in katakana so...not the best way to work but ah well

anyways, i got...pork and potato kimchi sundubo (スンドゥブ), cheese tteobokki (トッポギ), hotteok (ホットク), and corn silk tea? sorry again for possibly mangling those, i ate a lot and now im too tired to do anything. xD

my least favorite was probably the hotteok, but the more i ate it, the yummier it got. i guess im neutral on it. it reminded me of a lot of different anko sweets that i dont like on the first bite but by the end im like hmmm not awful actually

i literally got the tteobokki because of that adorable clip of txt taehyun pointing to the menu saying cheese tteobokki and honestly, i get it, it was fucking amazing

the sundubo (??? wtf is thisss??) was also seriously good. it had more tofu than i was expecting, which was my bad, all the descriptions raved about the shops in-house tofu and the tofu is probably one of the main points of the dish, like i said, i didnt really read too much. im not really a tofu person, but it tasted really good in the soup and with the potato and meat. i know im allergic to soy, but i think tofu is processed enough that it doesnt give me issues, i’ve just never found a way to eat it that makes me want to eat it more xD

and lastly the corn silk tea. opened the bottle, smells like my favorite corn chips, took  a sip, tastes like my favorite corn chips but liquid form. 10/10, would drink again!

i started watching All of Us Are Dead to get myself fully in the korean mood and....wow. i really pulled off a successful night! ♡

oh, i just realized the shop name literally has tofu in it xD reading comprehension 0! xD

but yeah, im really happy i convinced myself to try something new. it was a bit pricier than i usually do for delivery but i dont regret it. now im gonna finish the first episode (i didnt realize it was like actually an hour, not “an hour” aka 44 minutes) so i still have like 15 minutes to go

i dont know what ill do after that but, for the time being, im happy~

[zlebooks]

𓂃 xiao + stupid in love .

part two of sorts to this drabble !! this can be read alone, i only wrote this bc some wanted to see y/n and xiao getting together 🫶🫶🫶

xiao knew he was smart.

he maintains his grades in the top percentile of his class. and even though he rarely participates in recitations, he makes up for it with his excellent written outputs.

he's knowledgeable— he can recite the whole process of mitosis and meiosis on the top of his head. his analytic essays on poems and short stories are always returned with a 'great job!' written on red.

xiao knows a lot of things, but this doesn't mean he's aware of everything.

xiao at 13, did not know kazuha beat up some kids on his behalf. the mean kids had been talking bad about xiao behind his back, and the blond happened to be walking by and couldn't resist connecting his fist to their jaws.

the day after those events, when xiao quizzed the other for his bruised eye, kazuha only shrugs as he says he got it from falling down the stairs.

("your house doesn't have stairs."

"i wasn't in my house, silly. i fell down at your house after doing it with your mom."

"get the fuck away.")

xiao at 14 had no clue that zhongli, his upperclassman whom he looks up to the most, sees him as his little brother.

during lunch, zhongli would always drop by at his favorite underclassman's classroom to give him a fruit— it's always high in vitamin c but xiao always receives a different one each day.

the taller noticed how frequent xiao attends their club meetings with either a cold or a cough. being a concerned senior he is, he starts purchasing fruits potent in vitamin c on the way to school to give it to the younger during lunch breaks. 

("your face is so sour that even zhongli decided to give you a lemon." a certain blond friend says.

"it. isn't. sour. at. all." xiao says in between bites as he tries to remain poker faced the entire time.

"you're a monster.")

xiao at 15 had no idea who's been feeding the stray cat other than him. 

contrary to popular opinion, cats aren't afraid of the green-haired boy. he actually seemed to be a magnet for them— threatening his 'i'm intimidating, back off' persona every once in a while as a bunch of cats follow him.

he met a certain black cat on the streets one day, and every other day, he comes to its spot just to feed it.

however, on a particular afternoon, when he arrives at the riverside to give the black cat some food, he notices an opened canned tuna laying around, and a cat heavily invested in gobbling it up.

he shrugs, before laying down water beside it so the black cat can also get its share of drink. 

it doesn't matter who's feeding the friend he had made— as long as the little stray gets fed, he's absolutely fine with it.

(a particular senior who is allergic to beans coos when he learns that xiao has been feeding the cat alongside him.)

xiao at 16, has no clue why he has a bad case of indigestion.

he makes sure he never over eats, or eats too fast. and even with his mother's homemade tonic, his stomach keeps on juggling uncomfortably. 

for a while, he thought that the problem might be from the pork buns he buys on the way to school, but when he notices it only appears whenever you're around, he thinks it's because he doesn't like you.

his alleged dislike turns into something stronger– hate, perhaps. the funny feeling in his stomach seems to never go away, and now he feels hotter than ever, his temperature heating up as his thoughts are always plagued by you. 

this becomes a problem eventually— a huge one that he had to ask around what he can do in order to keep such an ill feeling on the down low. after all, while he might not like you, he still doesn't want to hurt your feelings, oddly enough. the problem starts to become even bigger, especially now that you two are seatmates. ever since the release of the new seat assignments, which inevitably puts you beside him, the symptoms start to worsen for xiao.

("is it necessary to feel this way when you hate someone?"

"what do you mean exactly?" a kind senior asks, his golden eyes shining brightly in contrast with their uniform's black vest.

"i can barely focus when they're around— i'm always at loss for words whenever we talk." xiao replies, muttering low as he puts his head on top of his fist.

zhongli widens his eyes in shock, but then he reverts to his usual self before the younger catches on. "perhaps you need to reevaluate your feelings; there is a possibility that you mistook such feelings for hate."

the younger shakes his head firmly, "that can't be. i'm pretty sure it's hate."

"are you sure of that, xiao? hate is a strong word." he asks in his rich deep voice and xiao affirms. 

zhongli silently hums as he takes a sip from his water bottle. no matter the outcome, this can be a learning experience from his underclassman. xiao is indeed smart— he's sure that the younger would figure it out on his own.)

(when zhongli recounts the events to a close friend of his, he earns a smack on the back of his head.

"why did you leave things at that, idiot!" a thin frail white-haired woman yells, but her appearance is an illusion as the weight of her hand feels like a ton of bricks being slammed against his head.)

xiao at 17, didn't know better than to approach his best friend of four years for advice.

"how do you know if you like someone?" he remembers asking and the relentless teasing that followed.

maybe he should have known better, really. xiao ponders as kazuha lists off the signs of catching feelings for someone. 

"don't forget about the butterflies in the stomach! it's what makes you shy."

xiao tsks, as if— he never gets shy.

although the moment you went close— too close— to him, he feels like he could have erupted like a volcano.

(kazuha hollers, "how'd you turn so red when y/n came up to you?" the blond wipes tears from his eyes. "you literally have it bad for them!"

"if you don't stop, i'm not the only one who's going to be red." xiao threatens, holding the plastic knife a little too tight.)

6 months later, xiao didn't know what to do when you suddenly confessed your feelings to him. 

he feels as if his feet attached itself to the ground; he could barely move, he can't even bring himself to breathe. 

"i like you."

you tell him out of nowhere while the two of you were left behind in the classroom to clean— he was sweeping the floor while you arranged the chairs. from the other side of the room, you suddenly get the urge to confess which left the other gaping. this alone becomes a huge achievement because xiao never gapes.

xiao thinks you should be charged with attempted murder. 

he thinks with the way you took away his breath and almost sent him into a cardiac arrest, you should be sent to jail. but then he disagrees with that thought— because how will he deal with his feelings without you?

for the first time in his entire life, xiao thinks he finally understands what kazuha meant by 'butterflies in the stomach.' because as he stares at your expectant eyes and upturned lips, he thinks he just felt a flap against the walls of his tummy.

and what his friend said to him came into fruition— he realizes what they meant. 

he likes you back.

xiao was never one for theatrics and yet he can't help but drop the broom he's holding dramatically before running over to you. 

coughing awkwardly and taking deep breaths he says, "i do too."

xiao thinks he knows everything now.

("really? 'i do too'? you do know you sounded like you're saying you liked yourself too, right?" a kaedehara descent teases, earning a tug on his hair.

"shut. up.")

♥︎ please do not repost or translate without my permission . reblogs are heavily appreciated!

[petewentzisblack1312]

tell me abt everything abt creole culture you possibly can but separate it under subheadings for adhd ease <3 i especially wanna know abt food/clothing/wedding traditions/religious traditions and festivals/superstitions!

ohhh kay!! ill try to do what i can!

overview

generally, creole culture here in st lucia (and dominica) is influenced by french and english culture, as well as west african culture (especially yoruba iirc) and the culture of the indiginous people of the caribbean (like the taino and kalinago). our culture is also influenced by the environment we live in, which is to say a tropical island, which in turn influences the resources we have available, like materials and foods, and what we can do with it. our culture is heavily influenced by slavery, of course, so a lot of our culture is things that can be made cheaply.

food

the main course has a few repeated motifs, such as using cured meats, like saltfish, smoked herring (my favourite) or salted pork. we also use ground provisions, which is a cultural term for starchy foods that often (but dont always) come from the ground (id describe it as a whole class of foods other than a potato that can do exactly what a potato does). my favourite ground provision is either breadfruit or sweet potato. here in st lucia our national dish is green fig (fig means banana in creole) and saltfish. we also use a lot of cheap cuts of meat, like pig trotters (which are used in a stew called souse which i love) and pig tail and chicken backs because historically these discards were the only thing we could afford to eat. another common motif is seafood, because a lot of our communities are fishing villages, and here in st lucia in anse la raye theres like a cookout called fish friday thats a huge tourist event. our food is very rich and flavourful, we have boullion here but i promise its not like what the french call boullion, its a lot more. More. like a bouillon is never a starter, its the meal.

as for bread, we have regular bread thats like, a different tougher texture from normal bread that we call creole bread, and we have a bread called bakes which you cook by either frying or roasting it (yeah the name is ironic lol) and a slight variation on that that uses yeast instead of baking powder called floats. i really want to experiment with using sourdough to make floats lmao. we also have rough dumplings we put into our boullion but theyre not like stuffed or anything its just lumps of dough boiled in soup. also cassava bread!! the process of making it is very slow because cassava is poisonous and you have to process it a lot to make it not poisonous but cassava bread is so good i love it.

for sweets and desserts, you often see a lot of coconut, from coconut cake, to coconut balls, to coconut tablet, to coconut in paime (which is a boiled corn pudding) (that last one is optional, some people use pumpkin and some people use grated green fig). you also see fudge, which is different from what americans call fudge, it has a snap to it but its crumbly and its caramelly and i love it. theres also tamarind balls which are little balls of tamarind mixed up with sugar, and guava cheese, which idk how to explain. its a sticky delicious mess. in latam they have it too but idr what they call it.

as for drinks, we have one called sorrel thats traditionally drunk at christmas, i think stateside you call it hibiscus tea, its bright red and has spices in it and i love it a lot, and we have a lot of juices made from fruits here like golden apple and green mango and lime and sour orange and grapefruit and my FAVOURITE drink which is cocoa tea which is made from cocoa solids being boiled in water and milk with spices and some people put dumplings in it. its traditionally drunk at breakfast and its really nice and warm and i would make it every morning if it wasnt so involved. this is a cocoa stick you grate it up and boil it with spices and milk to make cocoa tea.

in the crafts section i will talk about the coal pot, which is what these things are traditionally cooked in. i want to learn how to use a coal pot. its easy i just never did it.

clothing

so we actually have a national outfit! here is a little infographic about it

one of the most important features of our national dress is the fabric, which i think you may be familiar with jace! its called madras, and its named after the former name of chennai in south india.

heres an example of the kind of fabric we'd consider madras in the creole sense! this material is visual short hand for creole here in st lucia

music and dance

we have a lot of folk music which features violins, chakchak (like a maraca but its like one long thing) and drums, in lieu of explanation ill just share a short video on the music and the quadrille dance.

here in st lucia we also have dennery segment which is dancehall in creole which i dont know much about bc im a hermit and i dont go to fetes

craft

okay so there are a lot of hand crafts that we do here, for starters we have traditional creole brooms made from palm leaves, we have bowls made from calabash (which is our national fruit but is not edible this is all we use it for) we have coal pots, which are made of clay that we use to cook, we have these reversible doll things. ive made the small version of the brooms before its fun.

coal pot (theres also a literal clay pot on top but thats not necessarily part of it)

these things. i used to have one theyre so fun

festivals

well first of all we have jounen kwéyòl! its a celebration of creole heritage that we have on the last sunday of october, we usually celebrate with foods like a creole breakfast but we use the whole month to celebrate creole culture every year. we also have carnival, which is a big parade thing we have dancing in the street in big fancey costumes. here in st lucia we have la woz and la maguerite, or the flower festivals, which are based on these like, elite societies we used to have, where communities pick someone to be each member of the court, the king and queen and prince and princess and on and on all the way down to like doctors and nurses and go on parade in either red/pink for la rose or purple/blue for la maguerite. we ALSO have masquerade, which is a masked dancer thing we do around christmas. there are a bunch of different roles in masquerade, here is a picture of the regular masqueraders

theres also roles like papa djab (father devil) and the ti djabs (little devils) and pay bannann (dry plantain, hes covered in dry banana/plantain leaves) and the acrobat (an acrobat) and marie anset (a pregnant woman) and chouval bwa (a man on a horse) uncle sam on stilts because we hate america so hes also there. masquerade is so fun.

in conclusion

i love my culture :)

[loxare]

More inadvisable late night Untamed fic. I have a lab in the morning......

Based on the personality swap AU @valdrift drew

The thing about Zidian was, it didn't require a particularly strong cultivator to wield it. Not anymore. Generations of Yu cultivators had filled it with all the power it needed to be a devastating force even in the hands of a weak cultivator. What Zidian truly required in a wielder was the finesse and strength of will to only every hit what was aimed at, and a proper temper. The former could be taught, but the latter needed a solid foundation, a soul that was inclined towards thunderous indignation as the only warning for lightning strike fury.

And so, when Yu Ziyuan needed to choose one of her children to inherit her deadliest weapon, she chose Jiang Yanli.

Jiang Cheng had the core to be truly devastating with Zidian, and he would have done well with it, but he was a mischievous boy, far too easy going, and wouldn't know a slight against him if it slapped him in the face. He was quick enough to anger if someone insulted his sister, and indeed Ziyuan had had to mediate several disagreements caused by Jiang Cheng verbally or, on one memorable occasion, physically assaulting Jin Zixuan. Never mind that his sister was more than capable of verbally assaulting Jin Zixuan herself. The rest of the time, anger slid off his back like water off of a lotus leaf. Even at the tender age of nine, Ziyuan could see that her son would never have the temperament necessary to wield Zidian properly. Perhaps in short bursts, if needed, but he would never truly master it. Not like Yanli would.

The eldest child of the Jiang sect held a fury in her that can only have come from her mother. And why not? As the eldest child of a great sect, she should have everything. But the archaic rules her father insisted on enforcing prevented her from inheriting her rightful position as sect heir, instead condemning her to a life of power borrowed from her future husband, in a sect that would never appreciate her talents. It had been the best that Yi Ziyuan had been able to secure for her daughter, and it would never be enough. Jiang Cheng would inherit, and he would flourish as sect leader, Ziyuan was proud to say, but the knowledge that she would never stand in that lofty place would always weigh her daughter down. And her daughter raged under the weight.

And so, a mere two weeks after Fengmian brought that whelp of a street child into their home, Ziyuan started training her daughter in the use of Zidian.

And in the hands of Jiang Yanli, the whip roared.

A week after Jiang Yanli's twelfth birthday, her father brought home a dirty pile of rags. Those dirty rags turned out to be a boy, a quiet, shy boy who spent most of his introduction to the Jiang children hiding behind her father's robes. Even after a warm bath and a hesitantly eaten hot meal, there wasn't much of him. He seemed to be trying to make himself smaller and smaller. If he could have sunk into the floor, Jiang Yanli was sure he would have. Jiang Yanli scoffed, and went to bed that night thinking that he would be run out of the sect in a week.

It didn't take nearly that long. Jiang Cheng barged into her room in the middle of the night, bawling his eyes out. It took Jiang Yanli pinching him on the thigh to shock him out of his tears enough to tell her why he was crying. "I was sad about Princess an' Jasmine an' Love an' I yelled at Wei Ying and now he's go-o-o-one!" And with that, he started crying again.

Jiang Yanli would have left it at that. Wei Ying didn't want to be here. That was clear enough. All her other shidis had been nervous when they'd arrived, but twenty minutes with Jiang Cheng had them forget their nervousness and by the end of the day, they had opened up and were running and laughing with the other disciples. Wei Ying had been in Jiang Cheng's presence for an entire evening and he had still kept himself separate and small. If he didn't want to be a Lotus Pier disciple, Jiang Yanli was very ok with letting him run off.

Except.

Her baby brother was crying.

Jiang Yanli was not a comforting person, in general. Too sharp, too quick to anger, incapable of seeing things from other people's perspectives, or at least, incapable of doing so with the ease her brother had. Sometimes an arm wrapped around her brother's shoulders, the one thing she knew worked more than it failed, was enough to stop his tears, but she could tell that in this case, it wouldn't even come close. Which meant she had to remove the source of his tears. So she stood up, dropped her quilt over her brother's head, and said, "Stay here dummy." Then she grabbed a lantern and headed out.

Wei Ying's tracks were easy enough to follow and ended at a hollow under a downed tree's roots. The light of the lantern reflected off Wei Ying's pale face. "What are you doing under there?"

"Ah. Well." It was the first time she had heard his voice. Soft and gentle, like a fall rain. "Jiang Cheng told me to go away."

Wei Ying was too deep for her to reach him. Which meant she needed to convince him to come out. Ugh. "And you listened to him? If you do that he'll get a swelled head. An even more swelled head. A-Cheng says a lot of stuff, and if you listen to everything he says you'll start believing that water ghouls sleep under the docks and lotus pods taste better with the stems still attached."

"Do they?"

"No. A-Die wouldn't let ghouls anywhere near the docks, and lotus pods taste the same whether the stem is long or not."

"Oh." Wei Ying fidgeted. "He told me to go away. That if he saw me again, he'd set his dogs on me."

"Dogs he doesn't even have anymore, thanks to you." Wei Ying flinched at her words, and Jiang Yanli winced. Well she'd already started digging this grave. "So he couldn't set them on you if he wanted to. And since he was just in my room crying about scaring you off, I don't think he wants to."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He was just sad cause his dogs are gone. He didn't mean what he said. Now get out here so we can walk back and he can tell you all of this himself."

There was a shuffle. "I hurt my ankle when I was running. That's why I crawled in here."

Jiang Yanli sighed. "Well come out here so I can carry you back, and then a-Cheng can tell you all of this."

There was another shuffle, and then Wei Ying's face appeared between the roots of the tree. Dirty again, like they hadn't just given him a bath. She gave him the lantern to hold and loaded him onto her back.

In the end, Wei Ying didn't have to wait until they got all the way to Lotus Pier to hear Jiang Cheng's apology, because he had followed them, when Jiang Yanli had expressly told him to wait for her! And he'd hurt his knee falling into a ditch. He gave Wei Ying a blinding smile when he saw him and tried to climb out of the ditch in his excitement and then almost hurt himself worse. Which meant Jiang Yanli had to carry both boys home, which meant she was angry enough to burst when she finally got there. As such, instead of heading to the rooms, she went to the kitchens for some late night cooking. Setting things on fire always calmed her down.

She set Jiang Cheng carefully on a chair, then turned around to put Wei Ying on the one next to it. And she washed the dirt off of her hands, set a basin of water and a spare medical kit on the table between the boys, and turned to do some cooking.

In between dry frying spices, blanching pork ribs, and chopping lotus roots, she listened to the boys talk. It started with a hiss as Jiang Cheng wrapped Wei Ying's swollen ankle. Then, "Does she hate me?"

"A-Jie? No. Why would she hate you?"

"She seems mad..."

Jiang Cheng snorted. "That's just Jie. She's always mad. Even when she's happy, she's a little bit angry."

"Oh." More silence, then, "Want me to clean your cut? I'm pretty good at it."

"Ok!" Jiang Yanli looked over just in time to watch Jiang Cheng happily push the cloth into Wei Ying's hands and prop his leg up on Wei Ying's chair so he would have easy access.

For another few minutes, the only sounds were the boiling of the soup, the quiet, indrawn breaths of Jiang Cheng, and the splash of water as Wei Ying rinsed his cloth. He reached for the bandages, but Jiang Cheng pushed the salve towards him. "This first, then bandages. It'll help it heal faster."

Wei Ying put a little of the salve on his fingers, staring at it wonderingly. Then he applied it just as gently as he had cleaned the wound.

Once the bandage was wrapped and secured, Jiang Cheng pulled his leg down, bending the knee to test it. "Wow, you're really good at that! Where did you learn?"

"Ah. Sometimes dogs would attack me if they thought I had food. I had to clean out my injuries very thoroughly or they got infected."

Jiang Yanli paused in ladling her soup. A-Die hadn't said anything about that when he'd taken Jiang Cheng's dogs away. She put the bowls on a tray and carried it to the table. "Eat."

"Yay! Thanks a-Jie!" Jiang Cheng grabbed a bowl and started slurping like the ill mannered cretin he was. Jiang Yanli hid a fond smile.

Wei Ying hesitated, not picking up his spoon until Jiang Yanli put the soup bowl in front of him as hard as she could without spilling any. "I said eat. What, is my soup not good enough for you?" And then she cursed herself, because Wei Ying was doing that making himself smaller thing again. Desperate, she stared at Jiang Cheng until he got the hint, hating herself for having to lean on him like this.

Jiang Cheng just grinned and wrapped an arm around Wei Ying's shoulders. "Jiejie's angry soup is the best. You just don't know that cause you haven't tried it yet." He nudged the bowl closer in an unsubtle hint. When Wei Ying still didn't eat, he pulled back, using his grip on Weo Ying's shoulder to turn him so they were facing each other. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I just..." Wei Ying's shoulders curled in even more. "I don't want to get used to it. Every time I thought I would get to stay somewhere, it hurt more when I got kicked out."

Jiang Yanli's grip on her spoon tightened. "What do you mean by that?"

Wei Ying shifted uncomfortably. "Well the lady who ran the book store let me sleep on the floor of the shop for a few days once, and she fed me lots of good food, but then someone broke in and kicked me in the dark, and I screamed, and... turned out there had been a bunch of robberies and she just wanted some extra security. She kicked me out once they'd caught the guy. And the guy at the inn let me stay in exchange for helping clean the place up, but then when the party of nobles had been expecting arrived, he kicked me out too. And others. So I don't know why I'm here, but I don't want to get used to it so it'll hurt less when I have to leave."

"No!" Surprisingly, it wasn't Jiang Cheng who shouted. He was still staring slack jawed at Wei Ying. It was Jiang Yanli who stood, indignation flooding through her. "You aren't getting kicked out!"

"That's right! Weren't you listening to a-Die? He said you were going to live here and be our new brother!" Wei Ying still seemed hesitant, so Jiang Cheng added, "That means you have to stay here forever and eat a-Jie's soup and learn cultivation with me, unless you can't in which case you need to learn how to be my second for when I inherit the sect. Those are the rules. The most important being the stay here forever bit."

"You mean it?" Wei Ying looked up at them, still wary, but hoping.

Jiang Yanli pushed the soup closer to him again. "We mean it. I don't cook for people I don't like. Now eat your soup."

And then, for the first time, Wei Ying smiled, and it lit up the room like sunrise breaking over the lake. "Ok!"

And Jiang Yanli felt a blow to the place in her chest where she hid her love for her brother, a blow like something, or someone, making a home there. And she thought, Oh no, and she thought, Oh we are definitely keeping him, and she thought I will protect him forever.

She looked over at her baby brother - one of her baby brothers, she thought with a thrill of... something - and saw the exact same sentiment on his face.

Jiang Yanli finished eating her soup and then she took her brothers' bowls to the sink for washing in the morning. And then, she took her brothers, new and old, to their room for bed.

[ayamari-no-goshi]

I was going to make a post about Revenants, but, you know what, this is just going to be a post about the number of BS ways one can become a Revenant and/or vampire (as the folklore isn’t always clear) in Slavic and Balkan folklore. I’ve only included ones where I’m aware of how they’re created. There are a lot of revenant/vampiric creatures in this part of the world than are listed here.

Please note, in some areas of a country, the various terms are interchangeable, but are very different entities in other areas of the same country. You will also see a lot of similar words - this is due to language similarities. Also, the idea of 2 souls appears a lot - folk who have this are also said to have 2 hearts

Also, Hungary is not considered a Slavic country and will not be included.

Long post, so line break:

Albania: Note: while not excusable, this was an area where a lot of damage was done during the Ottoman conquests and was part of the Ottoman empire until 1912. Please keep that in mind

Liogat/Liougat/Ljugat : created upon the death of all Albanians of Turkish descent. Does not matter how they lived their lives

Sampiro: created upon the death of all Albanians of Turkish descent. Can also be created by Albanians who committed an “unnatural act” in life. Examples are, bestiality, homosexuality, prostitution, transvestism, heterosexuality with a Turkish person, consuming meat handled by a Turk, being a habitual liar, or being a professional thief

Shtriga: a vampiric witch and not actually dead. Created from a woman who has become evil through envy or never marrying.

Vryolakas: created when an animal like a cat or dog jumps over the body before burial, person dies by murder or suicide, a person eats meat from an animal killed by a werewolf, or was an evil magic user

Belarus:

Mjertovjec: created when a witch or werewolf died. Uniquely similar to the Filipino Manananggal

Bosnia:

Blut Aussauger (originally from Bosnia, but brought into German lore.. and the German term is what’s used): created from either tricking/force feeding people to eat its burial dirt, eating meat from an animal a wolf killed, committing suicide, dies unbaptized, dies a witch, leads an immoral life, or if a nun walks over the grave (wtf?)

Bulgaria: Note: It’s very common for these creatures to take 40 days to form after death in Bulgarian lore.

Krvoijac -  created from a person who drinks wine or smokes during Lent.

Obour/Obur: traditions varied. Sometimes this ran in families. Sometimes it was created from someone who died suddenly, specifically of murder. Depending on region, this term can refer to 8 distinctly different creatures.

Opyrb/Opirb: created from folk who had improper burial rites, had a cat or dog jump over the dead body, a shadow fell on it before burial (I have no idea how this is prevented), a violent death, or sometimes evil people.

Ustrel/Istral: created from a child born on Saturday but died before being baptized.

Croatia:

Kosci: created from the death of a drowning victim, adulterer, or murderer

Kozlak: created from a child who was weaned before its time and died

Pijavica: created from a man who committed incest with his mother, or a particularly evil person

Vrukolak: (from Dalmatian region) - created when the victim of a Vrukolak dies, by being murdered without anyone witnessing the crime, or when a cat or dog jumps over an unburied corpse

Former Yugoslavia (Czech Republic and Slovakia)

Muroi - created from an evil person. Also similar to a Banshee - rings bells and calls the names of folk, who end up dying.

Nelapsi - specific to the Zemplin district. Created from someone with 2 souls

Upir - created from someone with 2 souls. Some areas state they were a witch in life.

Greece - included simply due to how old the legend is. Reported in ancient Greece.

Vrykolakas: traditionally revenants. Created by improper burial rites, something was left unfulfilled, they were cursed, or were seeking revenge against things something done to them or their families.

Macedonia:

Note: while not excusable, this was an area where a lot of damage was done during the Ottoman conquests and was part of the Ottoman empire until 1912. Please keep that in mind.

Ariogourouno: created from wicked Turkish people who never ate pork

Vryolakas: created when an animal like a cat or dog jumps over a corpse before burial, when a person dies by murder or suicide, if a person eats meat that came from an animal that was killed by a werewolf, or when an evil person who used magic dies

Poland: As a note: areas Poland have a history of looking for signs upon birth to mark folk as something similar to a wise man or shaman. Over years, these signs influenced some of these legends.

Mwere: specifically of Kashubian lore of north central Poland – created from the death of an unbaptized children. Girls are more likely to become one

Ohyn: made from children born with a caul and teeth and died shortly after birth

Strzyga/Striga/Strzygoń - person born with 2 lines of teeth and/or 2 souls becomes one upon death

Upiór - a person born with 2 lines of teeth and/or 2 souls or someone who had a defining feature marking them as ‘off’ becomes one upon death. Or, folk cursed before death, dying suddenly, dying in childbirth, or having a grave desecrated could also create one. Also, in some areas, it’s specifically stated they’re made when a male child who was born with teeth dies. Examples of what was ‘off”: being born with a caul, being a red head, being left handed, having a strange mark on the body, etc.

Vjesci: created from a person born with a caul or teeth renounces God on his or her last breath.

Wieszczy – made when a child born with a cleft palate and either a caul or teeth dies. As a side note: this creature is similar to a Banshee

Wili – created when a bride dies on her wedding day

Romania: Note: there are a lot of regional variations of the word Strigoi. Also, the term Moroi sometimes appears, but the descriptions of it are so varied its hard to place exactly what this term references.

Moloi - created when an illegitimate child is killed by one of its parents

Muroni - created when a person dies a violent death, was a magic user in life, was a child born out of wedlock to parents born out of wedlock in life, or died from a Muroni attack

Pricolic: can be created from a child dies before being baptized, or person burns a porridge spoon, or sweeps dust from the home out of a doorway and into the setting sun (that is insanely specific). BTW, this is the undead variety. The wolf variety… is born of an incestuous relationship and has a tail

Strigoi - there are both living and dead variations of this entity. Living Strigoi are sometimes considered witches or sorcerers, but the 2 soul tradition also comes up. If there is a 2nd soul, it slips out at night and causes havoc. Dead Strigoi (strigoi mort) bring misfortune, illness, and death to their families. Examples of how one can be created: suicide, cursed by a witch, born with extra nipple or tail, have a life full of sin, never married, be born as the seventh son of the seventh son or seventh daughter of the seventh daughter ((this can also make werewolves)), child born out of marriage, born too early, died before baptized, having red hair and blue eyes, being born with a caul...

Strigol: created when a magic user dies

Strigoiul Muronul: created when child born out of wedlock to parents born out of wedlock dies. Always a redheaded boy

Varacolaci: can run in families. Can also be created from an unbaptized child who dies, or a person who commits suicide.

Russia:

Eretik: created from the death of a human sorcerer

Inovercy: created upon the death of a person not practicing Russian Orthodox

Kudlac/Kudlak: created upon the death of person born with a red or dark colored caul.

Upierci: created from someone who committed suicide, died violently, or practiced witchcraft

Upierczi: created when a witch or heretic dies

Upyr: created upon the death of a heretic, sorcerer, witch, or a child born of the union of a werewolf and a witch

Viesczy: created when a person born with a caul or teeth or is the child of a witch and werewolf dies

Serbia:

Jedogonja: created from a person killed by a Jedogonja or the disease it can spread

Mullo/Muli: (Specifically from Roma who live in Serbia): created when a person dies suddenly of an unnatural cause or did not have proper funeral rites.

Nekrstenici : created from the death of an unbaptized child

Vlkodlak: created by when a man under 20 who was a murder, perjurer, or had improper relations with his mother dies, or if he was killed by a werewolf, or if he ate meat from an animal slain by a werewolf before death

Vukodlak : created when a heretic, magic user, or werewolf dies. Can also be created from someone who commits suicide or was murdered.

Slovenia - did not find any distinctly unique to Slovenia that are stated to be created from people

Ukraine - did not find any distinctly unique to the Ukraine that are stated to be created from people

Creatures found in lore of multiple countries:

Lampir/Lampiger/Lampijer/Lepir (Bosnia/Montenegro/Serbia): created from the first person who dies from an epidemic or plague

Navi (Bulgaria/Poland/Russia/Slovenia): created from the death of an unbaptized child or a drowning victim

Veshtitza (Montenegro/Serbia): created from a woman who practiced magic in life

Vompir/Vompiras (Macedonia/Bulgaria): created when a person is improperly mourned or buried, dies in disgrace, or passes on in ‘an unnatural way’ such as childbirth or suicide.

Vudkolak (southern Slavic countries): created when a werewolf dies, or if a bird flies over an unburied corpse

Creature of unclear Slavic lore

Kruvnik: created when a person was not properly mourned or does not have proper burial rites, committed suicide or was evil. Sometimes this is a person with 2 souls. Very neat side note with this one. They sometimes return to their wives. If the wife accepts him for 3 years, he will become human again.

Sources:

The Vampire Book: the encyclopedia of the Undead (3rd edition): by J. Gordon Melton

Night Creatures. The Enchanted World. Time-Life Books

Encyclopedia of Vampire Mythology by Theresa Bane (the full book can be found for free online)

[imeverywoman420]

I love scallion pancakes love boba tea love chicken and or pork gyoza love tonkatsu am quite ambivalent towards sesame chicken.

Honestly take me to a chinese buffet ill probably eat like. More than half the stuff they got there. Not a big deal. Also do chinese buffets always have those BUTTERY ASS FLAT ROLLS!!!!!! Or is that just my experience.

I have had exactly one philiphino dish and i cannot remember what it was called but it was pretty good. It seemed to just be like a stirfry thing??? Chicken very skinny long noodles and some veggies my mom was cooking it for hours tho she learned to cook it for her bf and there were like a lot of sauces and different things. Her white ass west virginia ass redneck ass…. Using a wok. Never thought id see the day. She literally just cooks stuff like that for him shes 1000 times more of a picky eater than me.

[a-libra-writes]

Awkward teenage stannis?

oh, poor kid 😂

I HC that he's always been absurdly tall for a kid, which is a Baratheon thing. Robert is several years older than him, but he and Stannis were eye to eye until Robert shot up ... and then Stannis followed soon after.

Because he grew so much in a short period of time (like a foot in a year), he has a series of long, bright red stretch marks going up his back. He remembers having awful aches in his back and legs when he was thirteen or so, it made riding difficult.

Poor Shireen is going to be cursed to the same fate: All limbs. Just lanky as fuck until he finally gets some muscles and size when he's seventeen or eighteen. Honestly the upside to not having any many friends and Robert being gone is no one saw how clumsy he was. He'd trip over his feet at least twice a day.

The seamstresses give up making new clothes and just alter whatever Robert left behind. It annoys Stannis but he's too practical to not do it.

He eats a lot, as expected of a growing young man, and unlike Robert he doesn't inhale his fucking food. He probably has a plate constantly refilled throughout the day. He's the type to feel bad about making servants stay up in the night to feed him while he works, so he if he stays up late, he deals with being hungry until breakfast.

Once he wandered into the kitchen at night to get something to eat and found a big satchel of some kind of meat. It tasted good, so he ate all of it while studying all night. In the morning he felt like death. Turns out it was heavily salted pork, meant for adding sparingly into a big soup ... ... he doesn't like going into the kitchens anymore.

Sorry to get angsty on main, but the reality is he was only eighteen when the siege happened. He was starved out for a year at the very least, and he and his men were relegated to boiling boots, eating the rats and butchering the dogs. It's possible he would've kept growing and been taller than Robert if it hadn't happened.

His digestion and eating habits are ruined after that, too. Canonically, he never gets the muscle and fat he had back. After some years he's able to put on weight and get wiry muscles, but it never looks like enough. He also struggles to eat a healthy amount of food, even when it's abundant. In the books, when he and his men are starving in the Northern campaign, he has them eat before him because he's "used" to it. He doesn't want them to feel the hunger he had to go through at the siege.

So there's those issues plus my own HC that the starvation left him with stomach problems and an aversion to certain foods and smells. Eating meat just reminds him of the dogs and the boiled leather, so he tends towards vegetables, fruit and fish. He hides it very well but the smell of overdone meat just makes him physically ill.

By the time the Rebellion is over and the war is won, Stannis is just a fraction of what he was. I think when he and Robert meet up again, when Stannis is close to turning twenty, a rush of shame and guilt washes over the new king. He hadn't known the siege became that dire.

But, as usual, Robert processes it in his own way. Drinking, trying to avoid the topic, giving Stannis what he truly believed was a great gift and honor: Dragonstone. Robert thought such a prize would make up for it. We all know how that went ...

[rustycreekspoon]

Yunmeng Soup Brain

Ever since he was little, Jin Ling hated being sick. Getting sick in Lotus Pier meant missing out on the sun, the water, the boats, the training, playtime-- everything. Getting sick meant having to stay in bed, in his room, where it was quiet and peaceful and boring without jiujiu there.

But getting sick in Lotus Pier meant the Soup.

It was, is, and always will be the Soup. Jiujiu's special soup. Pork ribs and slices of lotus root and ginger, simmered and simmered and simmered like jiujiu's rage at Yao-zongzhu, for hours, until meat fell off bone and root gave easily under his tender teeth. The best soup in the whole world. Jiujiu always said that it wasn't as good as Jin Ling's mother's soup, but Jin Ling couldn't help but doubt the veracity of that statement. He'll never get to try a-niang's soup, and part of him goes achy with melancholy at the thought, but he's sure that no soup will ever be like jiujiu's soup. Stuffed with deep love and tender care and electric, acerbic worry in every savory drop.

Jiujiu would sit with him when he was sickest, with shaky hands and sweaty forehead, and gently scold him as he helped him eat-- feeding him, or steadying his hand on his spoon, or wiping his brow with a damp towel while Jin Ling fed himself. He would always give him as much as he could eat, and always, always capitulated to Jin Ling's whining for him to stay until he fell asleep.

He asked, once, why jiujiu made the soup himself when Jin Ling got sick. Jiujiu had given him a complicated look before sighing. He pulled him into his lap and held him close-- these days, Jin Ling knows it was just as much so Jin Ling wouldn't see his face as it was to actively cuddle him-- rocked him, back and forth. And after a moment of thought, told him, "Because you're sick. And you're my greatest treasure, A-Ling-- so I want to make sure you get better. Your a-niang would have done this for you if she were here-- so I will do it for you. Because she loved you so much. Because I do, too."

Jin Ling had curled up in his arms and clung to his robes, soft and smelling like the spring storms that stirred the blooms outside, and silently swore to himself he'd always eat every bit of soup jiujiu made for him. It wasn't much of a promise-- after all, it was the best soup in the world.

Getting sick in Lanling meant he didn't have to deal with his Jin family, he didn't have to put up with the different training, the bullying, the tittering, the demands that he behave as a young Lord should at all times.

But he didn't get the Soup.

He got perfectly balanced, nutritious meals that were nowhere nearly as good as jiujiu's soup. And he told his jiujiu as much, whining when jiujiu came to visit when his duties in discussion conferences overlapped with Jin Ling's illness. His uncle had clicked his tongue at him, and told him then, "Make sure you eat all of it anyway. Someone worked very hard to make you that food-- they put a lot of care and thought into it. A good Jiang will eat everything his loved ones make for him, even if he doesn't like it."

Jin Ling was pretty sure the kitchen staff and infirmary didn't care about him that much-- but he'd taken the lesson to heart. And perhaps, if he went out of his way to say hello, and get to know the kitchen staff, and the infirmary staff, after that-- to put faces to the food that was made for him each day-- then that was his business and his business alone.

He could make soup of his own, now. Nowhere near as good as jiujiu's soup-- but the one time he was there when jiujiu's exhaustion caught up to him and laid him out for a few days, he was proud when he was able to make soup for him in turn. He's sure it was the best soup he'd ever made.

(After Jin Ling went to clean up the kitchen, Jiang Cheng curled around his bowl and wept. His mind was too stuffed with stress and too sapped of energy to stop it. Perhaps it was the illness making his tongue nostalgic. Perhaps it was his brain playing tricks on him. But he could swear that Jin Ling had lived up to his Jiang name and done the impossible-- revived his sister’s soup without ever having known what the real thing had actually tasted like. 

He knew Jiang Yanli would be proud.)

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part I

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

A deafening blast jolted me out of my slumber. I snapped upright.

As a member of law enforcement, I was painfully familiar with the sound of a gunshot, and that was exactly what I’d just heard.

I strained my ears with bated breath, trying to hear over my own thundering heartbeat.

Loud, frantic footsteps raced down creaky, wooden stairs. Then a terrified scream filled the halls of my childhood home.

I tore away the sheets and rushed to where the scream seemed to have come from. When I reached the parlour was when I stumbled upon the scene. There, right at the foot of my mother’s memorial, was my godmother’s cold, lifeless corpse. Kneeling beside her was her granddaughter, Paya, weeping into her open palms in shock.

Only a minute or two had passed since I’d awoken at the sound of gunfire. “Wait here,” I ordered, then made a break for the front entrance, the nearest and most instinctual escape route.

But when I threw the doors open, there wasn’t a soul to be found.

I returned to the parlour with my tail between my legs. Then my toe hit something heavy and metallic that clacked underfoot. When I looked down and saw what it was, I froze. With caution, I ever so slowly stepped away from the weapon.

“Great...” I muttered, seeing as now it would have my toe prints on it. But the longer I looked at it, I realized I’d seen this revolver somewhere before.

Then it hit me. It hit me like a two-ton train car.

I quickly made sure Paya’s head was turned. Then with terribly trembling hands, I did what I had to do and carefully tucked it away in my nightgown.

I’d feared the precinct wouldn’t allow me to participate in the investigation seeing as I’d been on the scene at the time of the crime. However, it seemed they trusted me enough to even appoint me as the lead investigator. Granted, I had done a lot to earn their trust over the past three years, but this was unheard of.

Nevertheless, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The next morning, at seven o’clock sharp, I returned to the scene of the crime equipped with all the necessary tools of my trade.

I looked out the window of the cramped police buggy at our destination in utter astoundment. There were already droves of officers there, awaiting the arrival of me and my partner. The sight of the place I’d once called home being chained off and hidden from the public like this was jarring, to say the least. Of all the strange crime scenes I’d seen, this was the strangest. I never could’ve imagined I’d be returning here, not to eat Auntie Impa’s delicious pork buns or to hear Auntie Purah talk about her latest technological endeavours, but for work. How could I have?

“Zelda! Good—good morning!” greeted a rather skittish Paya when she opened the door for us.

“Good morning, Paya.”

She nearly lost her smile when she noticed Constable Fyori standing beside me. “Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and he and I entered into the low-ceilinged yet stately vestibule, removing our shoes and leaving them by the door. “Can I get either of you anything? Some tea, maybe?”

My assistant opened his mouth, but I raised a hand, silencing him. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We have important business to take care of.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Silly me,” she chortled. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

The first order of business was to examine the body. In most cases, a specialist would be needed to perform an autopsy, but unlike most inspectors, I had the forensic knowhow to take care of it myself. One might have said this was a side effect of my hobbies and my avid interest in all things related to science that I’d harboured since grade school. However, a full autopsy complete with the weighing of the body and the removal of the organs would come later. For now, it would suffice to determine two simple things: the time of death and the cause of death.

But before I could even get close to the body, I was stopped by my assistant, who grabbed me gently by the arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he uttered in his typical, mousy tone. “I can call for someone else to come and take care of it for you.”

The look of real and profound concern seated deep in his aquamarine eyes pulled at my heartstrings. It had been a year, roughly, since he’d first begun working under me. He was always so worried for me, and I always felt terrible because of it. I unhooked his hand from my arm, putting on a warm smile. “I’ll be okay, Link.”

He looked at me as if to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry,” I insisted. “Thank you, though.” This finally got him to return my smile, albeit only briefly.

I already had a decent estimate of the time of death. The period we were looking at was between half ten at night, when the last person awake (which had just so happened to be me) had gone to bed, and three in the morning, when the gunshot had given me that rude awakening. Really I should have examined the body as soon as I’d discovered it. In most other cases I worked on, I even wished I’d been the first on the scene, before the stiff had yet to even go stiff. Of course, the one time I happened to be one of the first to discover a murder, it had to be like this.

And yet, until I knew who was responsible for this atrocity, grieving could wait.

Right off the bat, I could tell that this had been a homicide. This may have seemed obvious to someone like Paya, but as a detective, I’d had to forcefully train myself to assume nothing and question everything. Based on the characteristics of the hole running straight through her neck, however, I determined that the gun had been shot from too far a distance for it to have been suicidal. Auntie Impa’s arms simply weren’t long enough.

But for a death caused by hemorrhage from a severed jugular vein, there was a shockingly small amount of blood. The rush-woven mat beneath her was nearly spotless, and I knew from experience how difficult it was to get stains out of these mats. Even when I checked underneath the mat, there was still nothing. No blood, and no bullet.

With a final nod, I stood up and signalled the other officers to take the body away.

“Now, let’s see here...” I said to myself, scanning the area immediately surrounding the corpse before approaching my mother’s altar. But when I laid eyes on the damage it had sustained, I stumbled back.

Though she hadn’t been a follower of the same faith held by the Sheikahs, my mother’s memory had been enshrined here because, like myself, they’d been like a second family to her.

With all due caution, I picked up what remained of her photograph. The glass was shattered, and a bullet had completely erased her face.

If this wasn’t a sign of the Yiga organization, I didn’t have a clue what was. Who else would’ve borne such ill will toward Hilda Hyrule, the town’s beloved last mayor who’d been dead ever since the tragic “accident” at City Hall eighteen years prior? That massacre had been what had ushered in their age of power, and with no one left to stand in their way, they’d been terrorizing the city ever since.

Before I’d even had the chance to begin my analysis, I heard Paya’s timid footsteps shuffling up to me. “Zelda?” she whispered, obnoxiously tapping her finger on my shoulder. “Excuse me...”

I turned my head and forced a grin. “What is it?”

“Umh, I didn’t know he’d be accompanying you today.” I didn’t even have to follow her gaze to know who she was eyeing.

I suppressed a sigh. “Constable Fyori is my partner,” I reminded her politely. “I take him with me on all of my investigations.”

“Yes, I know, but...” Now her gaze was nervously flitting back and forth between me and Link. “I-I wasn’t prepared to see him again after so long. What if—what if he says something to me?”

“He won’t,” I huffed. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she fretted. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I gave her a nod of the head in thanks, and she kindly stepped back and out of my space. But even after that, I could still feel her intense stare from across the room. I let out the sigh I’d been holding in. Sure, Paya was irritating, and I was going on maybe four or five hours of sleep at most, but there was no excuse for me to be irrational, especially since it would get me nowhere in my line of thinking. What I wouldn’t have done for a nice, hot cup of chamomile at that moment.

Based on the extreme angle of the bullet’s trajectory, one could tell at a glance where the shooter had to have been positioned. They’d have been standing above the altar with very little space between the two—definitely not enough for an entire person. Therefore the bullet that had taken the victim’s life had to have been a different one. This was backed up by the absence of any blood around the hole or anywhere else on the shrine. So why had I only heard one gunshot that night? And where in the world was the bullet responsible for Auntie Impa’s death if not on the scene of the crime?

After photographing the hole and scribbling my thoughts and observations down in my notebook, I began the procedure of extracting the bullet from the altar. This was a delicate task, one that I admittedly had a hard time trusting anyone else in the force with. Once I’d succeeded in retrieving the bullet, I determined it was of the same calibre as the one that had passed through the victim’s throat, meaning it was likely that it had been fired from the same gun. Unfortunately, all these facts corresponded with the weapon I’d found on the scene mere hours ago, two chambers of which were empty. There may have been no prints left on the trigger, but even so, I simply didn’t have it in me to run a striation comparison.

Standing up straight and taking a quick, deep breath, I turned to my assistant, who seemed to be investigating the mantelpiece. “Right, then, Fyori.” He turned his head as I approached him. “Anything to report?”

“No, madam,” he replied solemnly, avoiding my gaze and peering straight ahead over the top of my head.

“Is that so...?” I tapped the end of my pen against my chin habitually. “We seem to have a dreadfully diligent killer on our hands.” I gave the room another once-over from where I stood beside him. “You’ve been thorough in your search as always, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“And you found nothing? Not even a fingerprint?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then let’s move on,” I sighed, turning toward the doorway leading out into one of the building’s many corridors. He followed, just a few paces behind me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to check since we got here.”

“That’s strange...” muttered Auntie Purah as she jumped through the footage captured by the front entrance’s security camera. “Symin, did I miss something?”

The Sheikah estate’s security supervisor shook his head. “Not that I could see.”

“Let me check it again.”

But even when she rewound and skipped through it a second time, the only person to appear was still myself on my initial search for the killer. Link gave me a furtive glance. I smiled at him in reassurance.

“Perhaps the other cameras caught something,” I suggested. “It would make sense that the culprit wouldn’t want to simply waltz right in through the front door.”

Auntie Purah looked to Symin. “Well, there are three other cameras, but two of them are so far removed from the scene that I doubt they’d be of much help.”

“And the third?” I asked, reaching for my notebook and something to write with.

“That would be the courtyard camera.”

“Ah, perfect!” The courtyard was located at the very centre of the property and served as an intersection between the four main hallways. “That one’s bound to have caught something. Let’s see.”

But this, too, would turn out fruitless. Throughout the night, there wasn’t even the shadow of a clue as to the killer’s movements.

“This...” I gaped. “This is impossible.” I knew for a fact that this particular model of camera was designed for the very purpose of protecting its footage from being altered or obstructed. Could the killer have made themselves invisible somehow?

“I don’t believe it.” Auntie Purah shook her head creakily. “Our company takes great pride in the reliability of our security cameras!”

Enraged, the tiny, old lady tried to stand up from her seat. Then a loud crack resounded throughout the cramped surveillance office. She screamed.

“Miss Purah, please calm down,” urged the kindly Symin, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she seethed, adjusting her glasses. “Thank you.” I didn’t know the man as well as I did the rest of the family as he had become a part of it a few years after I’d left the nest. However, it seemed like he would make a fine successor to Auntie Impa’s role of keeping her elder sister’s enduring impulsivity in check.

“There’s no reason to worry, Auntie. This is no fault of yours or your company’s,” I said, hoping to ease her pain a little. She’d suffered a terrible loss, and it was taking a great toll on her. It was difficult to watch such a brilliant mind come undone because of something like this. But after hearing my words, she looked up at me with a wrinkly smile. “My partner and I will just have to do an even more thorough inspection of the property tomorrow.”

The ride back to the precinct wasn’t a pleasant one. By the end of the day, my own mind had deteriorated into a swirling whirlpool of confusion, resentment, and woe. The investigation so far had borne so little results, it was hard to imagine that tomorrow’s search would be that much more successful. Of course there was still so much more that needed to be looked into, but right now, I just couldn’t see this turning out well. I still hadn’t solved the mystery behind my mother’s death in eighteen long years. Why, in this case, would I prove to be any less of a failure?

I curled my fists against my legs, trying my hardest to forget about the empty feeling in my stomach. Despite this, I knew I didn’t have the energy to do much more rational thinking today, if any at all.

Then my colleague broke the silence. “She was important to you, wasn’t she?” he asked, but such a personal question was strangely out of character for him.

“Yes.” I smiled sorrowfully into my lap. “I never really thought of her as a mother figure,” I admitted, “but she did put a lot of time and effort into raising me, in my actual mother’s stead.”

“She must’ve been a wonderful person.”

This made me laugh, to both his and my surprise. “Well, she would often scold me and Paya with the strictest attitude you can imagine, but I suppose she always had our best interests at heart.”

The longer I thought about Auntie Impa, the more I mulled over who could possibly have wanted her dead. She had already been getting on in age. Had the perpetrator’s need to kill her really been that dire? The only time people ever went that far was when their victim’s life would’ve put them in danger somehow if they’d have allowed them to go on living. But then again, there was the Yiga organization. They went around committing murders a couple times every week for seemingly no reason other than to flaunt their power. Perhaps Auntie Impa really had been just another one of their prey. Even so, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was more to it than that.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

The constable cocked his head, but kept his eyes on the road.

But then I stopped myself. There was still no proof of the Yiga’s involvement, so there was no point in bringing it up now. “Well, all of it is quite strange, frankly,” I amended. “The lack of blood, the missing bullet...”

“Could the killer have moved the body from somewhere else, perhaps?” he tentatively suggested.

“Very good, Link. That’s exactly what I’ve been theorizing.” The tips of his ears flushed, and he seemed to shrink back into his seat a little. “Oh, but then...wouldn’t that make it more likely for the cameras to have caught something?”

“That is true,” he concurred. “And there’s still been no sign of the murder weapon?”

I swallowed hard. “No...” My eyes flickered down toward my briefcase. “None.”

[thelittlebutton]

Akaashi w/ a perturbed S/O

Note: I tried writing this with my anxiety and depression in mind and how doubtful and grateful I'd be with a dearly beloved my side, I hope you enjoy.

Kisses had always been a routine ever since the two of you started dating and moreso when the two of you started living together: Akaashi may be busy with work but he'd take any chance he gets to show you're loved. With the two of you in your shared bed along with him sleeping peacefully beside you, you couldn't feel but contented but at the same time torn; He knew you are mentally ill before he started dating you and he honestly didn't care.You can't help but feel lucky because he loved you but oftentimes feel as if you're placing another burden on him in spite of constant reassurance done. 

This matter didn't go unnoticed by the former setter. He’d catch you at times pretending to be asleep with subtle dried tears on your face and empty blisters of Escivex and Diazepam resting beside a glass of half empty water on the bedside table or those times you would steal kisses and he will feel that you'd gaze at him with a pair of teary orbs and a sad and weak smile before turning your back to sleep. He decided to test the waters by letting you be for a bit but then it gets worse when at times he catches you skipping meals and you lying that you're fasting and he knew that what happened was the last straw.

One night, he knocked softly and brought a tray of food for two to eat and placed them at the bedside. The room was silent and the tension was undeniable. Even so, he decided to talk:  "Y/N I know you're not fine, please petal eat just a bit." He talks sternly with a soft gaze, Seeing you break affected him a lot. It's different compared to Bokuto's whims or even Udai's. No, He wouldn't dare compare his beloved princess' grief lightly of any of them. 

"I'm fine keiji I'll eat later, I just don't have the appetite for it. I'm sorry I didn't mean to be a burden." 

That's when he raises his voice; "In the years we have been together though it had it's hardships, I HAD NEVER THOUGHT OF YOU AS A BURDEN!!" He sighs then continues, soft spoken voice audible with a pleading gaze; "I know you've been stealing kisses from me to reassure yourself but please know that you're the best thing that happened to me." You mask how surprised you were and the truth you do such to reassure your perturbed mind and heart. "I've never been so happy when you first told me you love me keiji." avoiding his eyes you mutter: "I do but I sometimes couldn't help but think if you're okay with being with me or if I'm enough or if one day you'll get tire-" getting cut off short with Akaashi's soft but firm grip of her shoulder and a free hand to caress her face.

"Look at me Y/N." He speaks tenderly ushering her to look his way. "You are enough, more even. I'm sorry if I have tendencies to raise my voice or argue with you at times due to stress." Voice weak as he pulls you close into his protective embrace. "Keiji, you don't have to apo-" you getting cut of again as he carry on; "I've known you since and I accept all of you, including flaws. I'm more than happy to help you but it saddens me that you keep matters like this, I-I sometimes feel I'm not reliable enough." Upon hearing such words, you softly sob. THIS was the exact reason why you don't want him to feel even more hurt. "So please petal," He whispers, laying his forehead onto yours; 

"Share me your burdens, Trust me more?" He inquires as you nod bringing your tear stained face towards his chest. Akaashi on the other hand, kept you within his embrace.

Moments later, he loosens his grip and grabs the tray to reheat the food and comes back with it along with a damp towel. Setting the food beside you, he decides to wordlessly wipe your tired face from sobbing and then puts the tray between you. "I cooked your favorite. Rice porridge with pork strips and century egg topped with spring onions, just how you like it." he softly smiles before proceeding to eat his meal until moments later he heard;

"I love you Keiji."

He was caught off guard with what was spoken but then warmly gazed back.

"I love you too Y/N, more than you can think of."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’d like to tag @harunayuuka2060 for patiently giving me her insight about this work. Please follow her tumblr too. She got some good obey me content~~<3 <3 <3