overfull

‘You’ll kill him,’ Poseidon tells him, with the calm of a sea at its most dangerous. ‘You love him and you won’t mean to, but you will.’

Apollo glances at him sharply, ‘You’re the one who drowns him.’

Poseidon’s smile is smug and serene, and he hates it, ‘Yes.’ Then he’s leaning forward, lips brushing his ear in a caress of salt-wind-wet that would feel too intimate if Apollo didn’t know it to be anything other than spite. ‘But out of ruinous love for you,’ murmurs the sea, ‘it’s into my arms he’ll fall.’

A strangled shout—

A crash of waves against the shore—

and Poseidon is gone.

Apollo remains there, hollowed out and worn because he can picture it all too well. The boy with a heart overfull and yet still so hungry. His eyes, how they’ll turn from ecstasy to agony as he learns that you can be destroyed by what you love. A small eternity of falling, the despair of it and the longing.

He thinks of Icarus’ back, the supple curve he’s so often traced, and the marks he’s put there. Because if the boy is greedy, then oh how the sun is too.

He thinks of Icarus breaking upon the waves and—

an ocean embrace putting him back together, a smile of triumph against soft skin, hands and lips soothing the burns on his back with a pleasure to hide the pain.

Those hands and lips are not his own, and Apollo finds he can barely breathe.

— the sun dreams of murder // (c.ruth)

#421 Icarus with burns on his back

anonymous asked:

I've had a hankering for Juuzou eating much too much candy (pshhhh, like you can have TOO MUCH candy) and getting a killer stomach ache/puking as a result. Finally found someone to request it to (though, obviously, you don't have to write it, I can fantasize *winkwink*)

A/N: anon asked: “y'know, this is random, but I’ve never actually seen a Juuzou sickfic for tg? which is odd since it seems like he’d get many based on…just, he’s Juuzou :/ meh”

Juuzou surveyed the obscene mass of sticky candy wrappers decorating the floor around him.

He licked melted chocolate from his lips and smacked appreciatively. 

He’d done well.

The numerous piles of empty wrappers attested to his success. As it happened, stealing Halloween candy from unsuspecting children turned out to be rather anticlimactic. Boring. All they’d done was scream and drop their buckets once he stepped out from the shadows. No fun at all.

He’d remedied his disappointment by returning to headquarters and gorging himself on stolen chocolates and caramels and lollipops until he felt ready to burst.

Slurping the sweet stickiness from his fingers, Juuzou patted his distended stomach, releasing a satisfied burp.

Mmm, he hummed to himself…room for more.

He could do better.

This was a fun game.

A challenge.

Something to distract him until they sent him out on his next mission and he could have some real fun.

Juuzou reached for another candy bar, tearing off the shiny wrapper and shoving the treat in his mouth, moaning as the sweet flavor coated his tongue and gooey filling stuck to his teeth.

Swallowing took a bit more effort this time. He felt his stomach gurgle as it struggled to make room, working overtime to digest his gluttony.

He huffed, frustrated that he was being forced to slow down as he rested a hand atop the small mound of his stomach. He pressed against the side of his belly and burped up another trapped bubble of gas.

Juuzou refused to be beaten by his own body. He snatched up the two remaining candy bars, viciously ripping off the paper and shoving both in his mouth at once.

He chewed determinedly, ignoring the disgruntled rumbling of his stomach.

The milky sweetness of the chocolate had suddenly lost all of its appeal. He nearly choked trying to swallow the final mouthful, wishing he had thought to fetch a glass of milk to help wash everything down.  

But that really didn’t matter, now.

Because he had won!

Juuzou threw his arms in the air, waving to an imaginary audience cheering wildly for his victory.

He chuckled to himself, falling back on the carpet as both hands came to rest on top of his stomach. He rubbed over the bloated expanse, wondering if this was what it felt like to be pregnant…and quickly deciding he really didn’t want to know.

The residue from that last mouthful was still sticking rather uncomfortably in his throat. He pushed up on his elbows, eyes widening in surprise as a much deeper burp brought up a taste of his overindulgence.

His stomach was bubbling now, angry cramps squeezing his churning insides. Juuzou rolled onto his side and moaned, wondering if perhaps binging on Halloween candy hadn’t been such a fantastic idea, after all. Even if he had won, his body didn’t seem very happy about it.

He hauled himself to his feet, swallowing hard as the movement caused his stomach contents to lurch. Juuzou didn’t just feel full; he was feeling undeniably sick.

He cupped a hand over his mouth as another queasy burp brought up a splash of candy…but in warm, liquid form. He shuddered. 

Juuzou squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to gag as he raced towards the bathroom, stomach sloshing noisily with every step he took.

He didn’t even have a chance to kneel in front of the toilet before he was bent double with a sharp heave. Both hands clutched at his revolting stomach as a final belching gag ushered up a thick flood of undigested chocolate. The mess poured out of him in one massive torrent until he found himself choking on the sickly sweet slime, desperate for a breath of air.

This wasn’t fair. He’d made up the game. Getting sick hadn’t been part of the rules.

Juuzou coughed and sputtered, gagging up one last mouthful of chocolatey sludge as he finished emptying himself out.

Panting, he leaned against the bathroom wall and wiped at his dripping lips.

His stomach hurt, his throat was aching, and he felt incredibly disgusting.

This game wasn’t fun anymore.

My biggest daily struggle is having lots of ideas for new projects and growing my style(s) in new directions, but feeling trapped by my constantly-overfull schedule of finishing current projects in the style that is expected from me. Today I gave myself 20 minutes to unleash something in a sketchbook that’s been trapped in my head. I don’t keep a sketchbook and have never ever sketched with a paintbrush before, but I feel okay about this first, rushed attempt! Actually, I feel a lot like this brave little witch and her tiny knife, venturing into The Unknown.

10 Simple Study Tips

1. Hydration helps the mind so keep a bottle of water handy at your desk! 

2. Clear space, clear mind. Try and keep your space tidy. Mess is distracting, even if it is on a subconscious level. 

3. Have adequate lighting, preferably natural - it keeps you alert and strains your eyes less. 

4. Nourish your mind and body with health foods - fruit, veggies, nuts and smoothies are my go to for studying snacks. Don’t overeat however as this puts energy into digestion. Eat so you aren’t hungry, but not feeling overfull. 

5. Sleep sleep sleep. 7-8 hours is ideal. 

6. Consistency is key in every respect.

7. Revision - read, rewrite, revise. 

8. Remove distractions - put your phone on aeroplane mode/do not disturb, log out of social media/put it on do not disturb, close your door, turn off the TV etc. This is not a 24/7 thing - just for reserved study time. Focus.

9. Have breaks! Do whatever it is you do to unwind and have some ‘you time’ - preferably go outside and get some fresh air, exercise, see friends, relax! 

10. Quality over quantity. This goes for every aspect of studying. Quality notes over quantity notes - quality studying over quantity studying.

So, no one ever explained this to me as a kid and it would have been really useful information.

The reason dentists are always screaming that you’re bleeding because you aren’t flossing is, well, because it’s true.

But more specifically, flossing clears out germsin between your teeth and under your gums. This means your immune system doesn’t have to clear those germs out.

If your immune system does have to clear out those germs, it does it by making the area hot- which is hostile for germs- and making there be more blood there, so there’s more white cells and more drainage. These things cause swelling and pain, and make the tissue of your gums so overfull that it can tear easily, even under the strain of things like eating tough foods or brushing your teeth.

That’s why flossing prevents bloody gums.

And, as a fun additional bonus, your mouth is such a roiling cesspit of germs that it actually takes an enormous amount of energy from your fairly limited immune system just to break even. By keeping your mouth cleaner with flossing, you can improve your overall immune function by giving your body more leeway to work with.

Additionally, plaque buildup in your mouth (which flossing helps prevent) can double the risk of plaque build up in your arteries, and leave you much more likely to suffer a heart attack. The reasons why these two things are connected aren’t very well understood, but the numbers are already known, even if the causation isn’t. 

There’s a good chance that flossing regularly can prevent heart disease down the road, as well.

So, that’s why flossing is important and you should try to keep up with it.

If you’re like me, and mouths are gross and floss cuts off your circulation and it’s all just awful and unpleasantly damp, I recommend getting a floss holder. They make it a lot easier and faster to do what you gotta do.

For floss itself, I find that the silk flosses are shit that splinter and hurt, and the same for reach flosses. Glide and easethrough flosses (”tape style”) are the most comfortable but do not offer the best cleaning possible so if you use them, try to pair it with a mouth rinse afterwards. They’re your best bet for just starting to floss regularly because they hurt so much less (flossing should not really hurt at all, though some mild discomfort and a “stretching” feeling is normal, but when you’re first starting out there’s an enormous amount of infection and swelling to deal with and until that goes away, pain is inevitable). 

Overall I think my favourite floss is desert essence brand, it comes in a variety of nice flavours, not just mint but also cinnamon (to which I am allergic, but it is still not mint), unflavoured, and tea tree oil (personal fave). It is very durable so it won’t splinter or snap and hurt your gums, and it is also a round/traditional floss so it gives you a very good interdental cleaning.

So there you go.

Floss regularly and such.

Step Right Up

I really miss these two.

When he arrives, Bruce gives a cursory knock. Two sharp taps, against the tasteful, ultra-modern dark wood door. Then he lets himself in.

“Tim.” He half-says, half-calls. An almost-question. He closes the door behind himself, shrugs out of his coat.

And he hears, muffled from the bedroom, voice low, “In here.”

Unsurprised by his presence, then. 

Bruce puts his overfull bag of food on the kitchen counter, heading up the half-staircase toward the master bedroom. This time, he doesn’t knock.

“You know you wasted a trip,” says Tim, from the bed. He’s faced away from the door, laying on his side. He’s shirtless, blanket drawn up to his ribs. “Because I’m not getting up. Literally, not at all. Like. If my building is on fire, I will embrace it as my time.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” murmurs Bruce, absently. Because getting closer, Bruce can see the bloodstained towel Tim’s lying on, the mottled blue-black-purple bruising down one side of his back. He draws the covers back, down past Tim’s hips, says, “Barbara caught some footage of you last night. Said you weren’t looking so hot.”

“Jealousy,” Tim says effortfully, shifting to glower at Bruce one-eyed. “Is an ugly thing, B. You can tell her I said that.”

Bruce just hmms, hardly listening. He’s focussed instead on the bruise-patterns, murmurs “You need a hospital?” following the line of the contusion down Tim’s side–

and Tim slaps his hand away from the waistband of his novelty boxer shorts, says “Not even going to buy me dinner, first? How gauche.”

Bruce rubs his knuckles. “I did buy dinner,” he says. Huffs. “It’s in the kitchen.” And, “Are you going to let me–?”

How did you not open with that?” Tim says, trying to prop himself up. “Do you just not get how people work?”

Bruce touches his hand to Tim’s bare shoulder, says, “I’ll bring it here.”

“I’m also parched,” Tim calls after him. “If you wondered.”

“Okay, Tim,” he calls back. The corner of his mouth lifting.

He digs around Tim’s kitchen for a minute, grabbing a Gatorade and two bottles of spring water from the refrigerator, a couple clean dish towels and two plates. 

“While you’re in a fetching sort of mood,” Tim says, when he comes back. Stepping over the melted icepack on the floor by the bed. “You want to help me with a shirt?” He’s managed to sit up, propped up against his pillows. He’s got streaks of dried blood on his right arm, from a thick laceration that’s been sloppily glued shut. He’s pointing left-handed to a t-shirt tossed over his drawers. 

Bruce sets the drinks on Tim’s bedside table, the plates and towels and food on the end of the bed. And he hands Tim the shirt– it says Much, much? which Bruce doesn’t get–and watches him pull it over his head and good arm. 

Bruce steps forward, kneeling his weight on the bed by Tim, and helps manually pull his injured arm through the sleeve, opting to ignore Tim’s short hiss of pain.

And Tim, curling up again instantly, juts his chin toward the dish-towels, says, “I appreciate the gesture, B, but my sheets are clearly done for.”

Bruce just sighs, sits at Tim’s feet. He cracks the top off the Gatorade for Tim, and gets one of the water bottles for himself. Then he starts unpacking the Chinese food. He says, “I forgot what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything.”

Tim grins, pearly white and sincere, says “My favourite.” And he says, “Bypass the plates?”

“If you want,” Bruce says, opening one of the containers. Peanut beef. He passes it over to Tim, says belatedly, “You want a fork?” but Tim– Tim’s ambidextrous, more competent than anyone he knows, even pale with blood-loss and exhaustion, even with his right arm wedged against his injured side.

And he smiles like he knows what Bruce is thinking, clicks his chopsticks together left-handed. Says, “I got this, B.” 

They start to eat in silence then, Tim occasionally pointing at another dish for Bruce to pass over, trading containers a few times. 

Partway through the lo mein, Tim pauses, dropping his chopsticks. Then he rummages one handed in his bedside drawer, coming up with a bottle of Tylenol. He shakes out four and downs them, along with a third of the Gatorade, makes a point of ignoring Bruce’s raised eyebrows. 

Then, through a mouthful of food, he says “How come you’re here?”

“Existentially?” Bruce says, chasing around a wonton in the bottom of his container. “Or–?”

Or, what did you do with Damian? He out front in the car, or did Alfred draw the short straw?”

Bruce gives him a look, part warning, part amusement. Says, “Damian is hanging out with Dick tonight. Something about a school project, apparently, but I’m sure it’s an excuse to play video games and spar. Alfred’s got a date.”

“Vivian, right? They’ve been seeing a lot of each other,” Tim says, and “That’s too spicy for you.”

Bruce nods, putting the container back down. “Alfred talks to you about his dates?”

“Not in detail,” Tim says, rolling his eyes. “I know he likes her, and I ran into them at Le Bouchon a couple weeks ago. Nice lady.”

“She is,” Bruce agrees. Though, “It goes on much longer and I’m going to have to do a background check.”

“Like you haven’t already,” Tim snorts. Dragging over the egg rolls. 

“Well of course I’ve done a cursory background check,” Bruce tells him. “I mean an in-depth one. Digging deep.”

Tim just smiles at that, against his chopsticks. Doesn’t make the obvious joke that Dick or Jason would have done, about showing his love in strange “and not-at-all obsessive ways, don’t worry about it, B”. And Bruce is grateful.

“So,” Bruce says, finally. “You going to tell me what happened last night?”

“Didn’t plan to,” Tim says lightly. And, “But hey, at least I know you remember where I live.”

Bruce’s hand stutters, chopsticks fumbling, dropping a greasy piece of beef onto his Givenchy pullover. And he says– “Tim–”

The boy shakes his head, lips turning up. Says, “Sorry, that wasn’t fair. Forget I said that last bit.”

Bruce clears his throat, says, “So the ribs and the arm, obviously. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I’m good,” Tim says. Meeting his eyes now. 

“You really should have stitched your arm,” Bruce tells him critically. Eyeing the flaky, cracking trails of dark blood that reach past Tim’s sleeve and into the curl of his elbow.

Tim nudges Bruce’s knee with his toes, twice, three times. Something like an apology, or forgiveness. And he says, “Do I look like I’m bleeding to death? No? Then I nailed it.” 

END.

A & B get booted out of an AP second language course because of an overfull class, so they are the only two people (besides the teacher) in the class they’re put into that actually understand what’s being taught. While the other kids in the class remain clueless about this language, A & B are… take a wild guess what they’re doing.

Empty your cup (Zen Story)

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor’s cup full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. “It is overfull. No more will go in!”

“Like this cup,” Nan-in said, “you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

Aw, that was sad. But not crushingly so. It’s interesting to finally get something on how Amethyst felt about what happened with Rose and how she seems to feel rather lonely. Seems she and Greg hung out a lot more and they probably both used the show as a way to forget their grief (but Greg had Steven and couldn’t just keep watching the show forever, which I’m guessing amethyst reacted poorly to since the dialogue suggests that Amethyst has mimicked Rose before to Greg out of anger)

‘Maximum Capacity’, meaning both the overfull storage unit but also probably the maximum capacity of grief from the past (which is pretty much what Steven is saying at the end when he got upset)? hm

Garnet and Pearl at the fireworks show was too cute though. In sweaters and jackets and Pearl tapping that container lightly and then Garnet banging the pans, haha. So cute.

Did Steven turn off the video, like, telepathically (or rather magically)? Hm

Gonna watch it again with my little sister now.

A Cup of Tea

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. Nan-in served tea.

He poured his visitor’s cup full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself.

“It is overfull. No more will go in!”

“Like this cup,” Nan-in said, “you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

(From 101 Zen Koans).

(Image - Ip Man)

8

Just finished my self-imposed task over our extended break from school: to clean my wreck of a room! It took two days of work (thanks for the time, FCPS), three overfull black trash bags, two full boxes of donations, and a full vacuum barrel full of dust and feathers.

And it’s made a huge difference. I have desk space! I have closet space! I have a dresser! I have a floor! (Too much floor. I’m considering a throw rug.)

I moved my bed a few inches away from the window so the gap between is large enough to reach down and grab things I drop, as opposed to the area being classified “Gone Forever.” I found so many bobby pins and hair ties!

What I found most shocking is just how much stuff I had. Children’s books I never passed on, old sketchbooks, school notebooks from years ago–with all of it gone, it feels like a physical weight has been lifted.

Many thanks to Unfuck Your Habitat for the inspiration to finally clean up. Moving on to the bathroom next!

Immersed

TITLE:  Immersed

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: mischabea

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:  Imagine having a bubble bath with Loki. Imagine him smiling at you before scooping up some bubbles to form a little butterfly, which he then blows into to give it life with his magic. It flies over to you and lands on your nose before popping, and then Loki kisses you on the nose.

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: None

After a long stressful day, I finally had the chance to settle in to the huge soaker tub, overfull with bubbles. Sometimes a relaxing bath with a glass of wine is the only appropriate way to spend an evening. My earbuds blocked out any outside noise, the dulcet tones of The Cure’s Love Song filling my ears. My eyes were closed, allowing all the cares of the day to stream from my shoulders.

A sudden shift in the water level brought my eyes open.

“Loki! What the hell!” I yelled, tearing the buds from my ears. “You can’t just get in the bathtub with me!”

“And why not?” He asked, using his wounded puppy dog look. “I’ve as much right to this bath as you.”

Keep reading

Here’s what happens when we stuff ourselves

That you can eat until you feel like you might burst without actually bursting tells us a lot about the physics and physiology of the stomach and the neuroscience of appetite. At maximum capacity, the stomach can hold a gallon of food, about sixty-five times its empty volume. As the stomach stretches to accommodate additional food, it inflates like a balloon, pushing against the other organs in the abdomen and making it increasingly uncomfortable to keep eating. Eventually the stomach will start pushing on the diaphragm, making it difficult to take a deep breath.

Well before you reach that maximum volume, the body begins to take action. The stomach is lined with bundles of nerves that can sense the level of stretching and work with gastrointestinal and peripheral hormones to signal fullness to the brain. Should you press onward past the first feelings of fullness, the nerve signals get more insistent.

Between “full” and reflexive vomiting - the body’s final defensive strategy for overfullness - there is a lot of room for holiday overeating. It’s easy to ignore those early signals, convincing ourselves that we’ve still got room to try a few things we couldn’t fit on our plates the first time, and still more room for dessert. And, in fact, the abundance of choice presented by holiday feasts actually enhances our penchant for overeating.

The variety-induced overeating typical of holidays is known as the “smörgåsbord effect” and was first identified in 1956 by the French physiologist Jacques Le Magnen. To study the effects of food flavors on appetite, Le Magnen made tiny feasts for rats. When he fed the rats unlimited amounts of a single type of food, they would eat until they felt full, and then stop. But when he gave the rats a smörgåsbord with four different flavors of rat chow, the rats would eat about three times as much as normal, filling up again on each new flavor.

Humans are like rats in that way: when we’re eating one food, we get a little more bored and a little more full with each bite - the “hedonic rating” (basically the empirical enjoyability) of the meal goes down with every mouthful. If you’ve ever waddled out of a fancy restaurant, overstuffed after eating a tasting menu where many dishes were parceled out in tiny portions over a couple hours, you’ve experienced the reverse: without that sensory boredom kicking in, you can eat more and more enthusiastically throughout the meal.

At a fundamental level, our hunger instincts are controlled by the levels of fats and sugar in our bloodstream, and we eat in order to maintain these nutrients at a stable level. When our blood sugar begins to go down, we start to feel hungry, and hormones tell our brain that it’s time to eat again. But while we’re eating, both sensory pleasure and stomach stretching happen quickly. How we eat—and especially how we eat during the holidays—is influenced by forces beyond just our metabolism and our stomach capacity, namely our willpower and our senses.

[Continue Reading→]

Thank you.
— 

me

I have a co-worker who people say is hard to get along with. But I never have, ever.

She’s an older lady, she’s a little on the “slow” side, and a little reserved. But she’s always been nice enough to me. She works on the maintenance crew, so you always see her around doing this or that.

At the time I was a day cashier, and I couldn’t figure out why people said they had a problem with her. That is until one day I figured it out. See, as a cashier you’re supposed to take care of your own trash and empty it at breaks and your lunch to make sure it doesn’t get overfull. This does not always happen, for one reason or another… or just plain laziness.

Because of this she sometimes came up with a trash card and emptied them for us. This was voluntary. This was not a command from higher up. This was her doing a nice thing.

Whenever she came to me and asked for my trash can I would stop what I was doing, whether it was zoning, or cashing a customer out, or talking to them as I checked them out. I would say “Pardon me.” To my customer. “Need my trash?”

“Yes’m.” She’d say.

I’d hand her my trashcan, and when she gave it back I’d say. “Thank you.” And she would smile and say “Oh, you’re welcome.”

One day I watched her as she went down the aisles and I realized something.

I was the only one that said “Thank you.”

It floored me.

Because I said to little words, those two simple one syllable words, she treated me different. She was nicer to me. She wasn’t as clipped. She waved at me and chit chatted with me. All because I said thank you.

I think people underestimate the power of the words Thank you, and You’re welcome. It’s an acknowledgement of a deed or act that was done. It can make someones day. It can change their perception of you.

So the next time someone does something nice to you. The next time does you a favor, or something that maybe they didn’t want to, or even just had to. The next time someone does ANYTHING for you just say “Thank you.”

Who knows. You might just be the highlight of their day.

#describethingsdammit - The Show, Don't Tell Game

How to play

  • Take the sentence of the person above you and expand it into as many details you can think of.
  • Write a new simple sentence below.
  • Reblog, repeat.

For Example:

Previous Person:  She ran down the street.
You: Shelia dashed down the sidewalk, packages balanced precariously in her overfull arms.
You: [New sentence]

You can reblog to play as many times as you like.  For courtesy’s sake, please delete a few of the previous responses so the post doesn’t grow into a giant that clogs people’s dashes.

REBLOG AS TEXT SO PEOPLE CAN ACTUALLY SEE THE RULES

Those are the rules.  Do not delete anything above this sentence.  

Let’s play!

The dog barked at the tree.

Imagine your favorite character, who is very heavy and very stuffed, attempting to get up and get some more food. The jiggling of their stomach as they move sets off a lot of gurgling and discomfort, so they end up setting up a chair in front of the fridge, so they don’t have to keep moving back and forth. Imagine them eating until they don’t have to move for their stomach to gurgle from overfullness - and they end up falling asleep while trying to soothe it.