#like first it was my liver now my lungs

[elviraaxen]

God I have yet to start the next felt world update bc I have quite honestly not been doing well enough to draw. I have to be in a good head space to create, and things have been rough unfortunately.

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday, Part Two

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(TW for Jak having to get medical treatment. He's unconscious for this, but it's not fun for any of the adults treating him)

This was going to be a 2 parter but I forgot that this segment in my doc is spread across two chapters lol so 3 parter it is.

"Sire, you need to come to Ward 2."

Damas grunted, but continued observing two recruits sparring in the Arena. One was a Marauder. Had been a Marauder. He'd shot his commander in defense of a prisoner, and that made him a marked man. That the older raider had been his father only made the price on his head higher. And the weight on his shoulder heavier.

It wasn't out of pity that Damas was allowing the young man to earn a place in Spargus. Nostalgia, maybe, but not pity. When he looked at this young Marauder, this Moln, he saw echoes of Jak. The Jak from the Other Future.

Older, perhaps, than Jak had been when he'd first found him. Moln was probably just past twenty. But he had that same wounded anger at the world. That same need to prove himself.

Unfortunately, Kleiver had taken a liking to the kid. Which meant Moln was probably going to go from sullen and silent to swearing like a sailor in a very short period of time. But honestly, Kleiver needed young blood around to keep him on his toes. And a reckless kid to stress him out.

Alright, that was mean. Damas knew he shouldn't be punishing the man for a future that didn't exist anymore. Call it preemptive distraction so he wouldn't try to eat Daxter when they did find him.

"Sire!" The doctor repeated urgently.

Damas turned, brows raised. "What's happening in the children's ward?" he asked.

The doctor, a thin, nervous man under Petros's employ, wrung his hands.

"It- it's- there's been an accident. Jak-"

That was all he got out. Immediately, Damas was moving.

"What happened? Who's injured?"

Rezzik gulped and hurried after him.

"We- we don't know, we're still running tests-"

"Tests?!"

Damas forced himself to breathe.

He never went to the Chair. You saved him. You saved him. He doesn't know to fear the needle yet.

"The other kid involved said something about two ecos mixing, or, or contaminating- it's-"

"Dark eco." Damas felt his heart skip a beat.

"Oh gods."

No-! He's not ready for this!

________________________________

The hospital bed dwarfed Jak. He looked so small against the white sheets. Damas pushed past the nurse and two monks.

They'd called monks.

This was bad.

"Sire-"

"Let me see him."

Damas didn't wait for a reply. He touched two fingers to Jak’s throat. The skin was cold, too cold, but his pulse was easy to find.

"Thank the Precursors," he whispered.

"He's breathing on his own," one of the monks cautioned, "but we do not know if he will awaken, my lord. He has been poisoned severely. Preliminary scans are showing a level of dark eco consistent with the payload of a peacemaker."

"Rezzik mentioned another child. Who else was involved?" Damas demanded.

"It-" the monk looked uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. "It was the mason's daughter. He's here with her, if you need to question her."

Flick.

Of course it was Flick.

The part of Damas still able to think rationally wondered whether this had been her idea, or Jak’s. They were alike enough to be a force of chaos when together.

"Send her in."

The nurse cleared his throat. "Er, my lord, wouldn't it be better to-"

Damas met his eyes with a look that left the nurse sweating.

"You suggest that I leave him?"

He nodded towards the boy -- too pale. Black veins standing out against his temples-- and scowled.

"I am perfectly capable of asking questions from right here."

Flick was leaning on her father for support when she came in. It was obvious that the girl had been crying. The second she saw Damas, she burst into tears again.

"I'm sorry! I'm so- it- it- it's all my fault!" Flick sobbed.

"Tell me what happened."

Damas couldn't bring himself to soften his voice, as he might've any other time. Not when it was his child fighting for his life.

Stammered and halting between sobs, Flick tried to explain.

"We- we were playing with eco. On the beach. Ja- Jak said once he channeled f- four ecos at once-!"

"Boasting, child," the other monk said sadly.

"Not boasting," Damas corrected flatly. "Continue.”

Flick flinched.

"We, we wanted to know if it had, had, had to be all four ecos, or if t- two would make something new, too."

It does. Raw dark eco.

Damas refrained from voicing the thought. Obviously the girl knew that now.

"What colors?"

"It was blue, sire," Flick whispered miserably, "And yellow."

"And where did you both get that eco?"

Flick hung her head.

"...stole it from my mother's ammo pouch."

She's just a child. She's just a child, like Jak.

Damas closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe slowly.

Jak did no better when he got Daxter transformed- gods, if I'd known him then I'd have been furious with him- they're just children. Only children.

"What you did," Damas said with deliberate slowness, "Was wrong."

Eli tightened his arm around his daughter's shoulders.

"Please, forgive her. She didn't know-"

"I know." Damas opened his eyes to meet Eli's gaze. "I speak of the theft. What has happened to- to my son was an accident. An accident caused by someone's wrongdoing, but still an accident."

Merely pronouncing the words "my son" seemed to take all the oxygen from the room. There were rumors all over the tower, but outside, no one had really given it much thought. Kids played in the tower all the time, why would they assume Jak lived there?

"She will be punished for the theft," Eli said heavily.

He seemed to understand the gravity of the situation even more than the doctors.

Of course he did: he was a father.

Damas shook his head. "There is no need. Whatever happens to Jak-" he swallowed down worry and whispers of a broken future- "That will live with them both for the rest of their lives. Your daughter can't erase that knowledge from her mind, Eli. You could not devise a punishment more severe than what she is already inflicting on herself."

Flick covered her face with her hands.

"I'm so sorry-!"

"Go home, child," Damas said. A bone-deep weariness was already setting in. "You can do nothing for Jak right now.”

Eli apologized on his daughter's behalf one more time before hurrying Flick out of Ward 2. The silence that followed was oppressive. Damas was deep in thought, frantically trying to account for every possible turn this event might take. Kana and Yan, the monks, were signing just as frantically together about the viability of light eco as an antidote. And Rezzik and the nurse looked like they'd just had a blade held to their throats with the realization that their patient wasn't just a ward somewhere in Damas’s household. They were treating one of Damas’s sons.

Nurse Brooks regained his composure first. He took a deep breath, then squared his shoulders.

"Lord Damas," he said firmly, startling everyone out of their thoughts, "We need to know for the purposes of treating him: is it true that Jak is able to channel more than one kind of eco?"

When the king looked up, his eyes were lifeless. Resigned.

"It is," he confirmed, "And it is the only reason I know he's going to survive."

"Then will adding green eco have any adverse effects?" the nurse pressed.

Damas paused.

Jak had two ecos. Daxter said something once about the Baron trying to combine speed and strength. Green eco was only given if subjects passed agility tests to the KG's satisfaction, or if the subject started coding in the Chair. All it did was more evenly distribute the unbalanced eco out of the heart and into the limbs.

"Give-"

Oh gods. Forgive me, Jak, forgive me!

"Give him controlled doses. Combined- combined with red."

Rezzik gasped. "But that will also form contamination!"

Damas laid his hand over Jak's chest, feeling it rise and fall. Unlike the rest of his body, the skin there burned as if with fever. If he left it unchecked-!

"It must be balanced." He ignored the cracks in his voice. Let them hear his pain. Let them understand that he didn't want this, either.

"It will hurt him. But if it means that he lives-!"

It was a long shot. A desperate bid to add the other two ecos in the same concentration as the initial imbalance. Damas felt like a monster.

Before they'd even begun, they had to turn Jak to his side so the child didn't choke on his own vomit. The black veins faded and stood out again in turns as his skin heated and cooled. His body was fighting for its life against something it couldn't quite grasp.

Damas couldn't bring himself to watch the first needle enter Jak's chest, just over his eco core. He cursed himself for a coward and squeezed the boy's hand tightly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Jak," he whispered.

The addition of the red had an immediate reaction. Brooks had to hold down Jak's right arm and shoulder, while Damas held his left. The boy's back arched, lifting him almost completely off the cot with a grating cry. He wasn't even conscious, yet he was still processing the pain.

He was pale. Too pale, breathing too rapidly. His gums were the same- no anemia. Too pale.

Rezzik barely waited for them to wrestle the child back onto the cot before administering the green eco.

Jak went limp.

His pulse hammered rapidly, but he was almost completely unresponsive. The dark veins snaked down, fading from his temples to his jaw. Then from his jaw to his throat. Then to his chest.

"We'll have to monitor him closely," Rezzik said grimly. "If we messed up the concentration at all, we'll have to keep compensating, and the dark eco will keep building in his system."

"No." Damas shook his head and looked to the monks.

"Brother Kana. Sister Yan. How quickly can you bring a flask of light eco from the temple?"

The monks didn't look like they found the answer any more favorable than he did.

"A day, sire. Provided no Marauders stop us."

"Go." Damas waved them away. "Take any warriors you wish as escorts. Just get me that light eco."

If this didn't work, it was his only hope for keeping this misadventure from permanently damaging his son's nervous system.

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[hanmaitani]

HEART IN A BOX

a huntsman twisted fairytale...

PAIRING - Fushiguro Megumi x Reader WC - 0.8k GENRE - smut CW - implied cannibalism, implied patricide, dubcon, stepcest, nondescript SUMMARY - ever since his father married you, megumi has been more loyal to you than anyone else. he just wants you to notice it.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

“What is this?” You look at your step-son skeptically. It’s not that he’s ever proved to be untrustworthy. In fact, he’s been more loyal to you than his father on multiple occasions. He’s always listened so well. But as queen, it’s your job to always be skeptical of when people present you with things. Especially when it’s unexpected.

“Open the box step-mother.” Megumi’s tone is rough, flat as he requests it. He shows no indication of any emotion except the slight irritation that seems to be continuously settled on his features.

Any normal person would be disgusted with what they find inside of the box. But you’ve long-since proven that you’re anything but ordinary. The inside of the wooden box is bloody and you smile with delight when you take in the red sight of a fresh pair of lungs and liver.

“Is this hers?” You ask excitedly, already starting your brisk pace towards the kitchen.

Megumi, like always, is one step behind you. “It’s from my father,” he replies, not fully answering your question, letting your assumptions fill in the gaps.

“I don’t understand why he-” you interrupt yourself to hand the box to a kitchen servant, “cook this now. I want it for lunch.” You shoo them off quickly, not even bothering to acknowledge their brief horrification. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t bring me things himself.” You turn and press your palms to Megumi’s cheeks. His grumpy expression seems to lift slightly whenever you do this but you never pay too much mind.

“You’re so good to me Megumi,” you whisper to him, “always do things for me without me having to ask.” You sigh and let his face go, gathering up your skirts and turning towards the halls again. “I wish your father were more like you.”

Megumi falls in step behind you again, his grumpy expression returning as he loses his contact with you again.

Megumi sits quiet as he watches you polish off your plate, your tongue flicking out to lick the remnants off of your fingers. His eyes track the moment of the wet muscle easily, craving it almost as if he needs air. He, like always, waits for you to address him first.

“I don’t understand why your father insists on missing the rewards of his work,” you huff as your knife clatters onto the empty plate. You lean your chin onto your palm and lean that against the table. A lazy way of looking at him as he sits next to your spot at the head of the table.

“My father would treat you as a fool,” he replies bitterly, taking a sip of his water. “He took your request for the girl’s lungs and liver and let her go. Intent, then, on tricking you and giving you that of a boar instead.” He scoffed, distaste written clear on his face.

“What?” You’re dumbstruck for a moment before what he’s said starts to click into place. “Megumi who-”

“I told you it was from my father.” He deadpans and you’re out of your seat and placed on the table before you can think. “You deserve better than he gave you.”

You gasp as he presses a kiss against your neck. “Megumi- wait.” But he doesn’t listen.

“You said it yourself.” His hands push up the skirts of your dress quickly, ignoring your soft pushes at his hands. “I’m good to you. I’ll do anything for you even without you asking.”

You may be the queen but his hands are pressing into your thighs with a fierceness his father has never touched you with. A raw need to possess.

Your head spins as you push at his hands, but it’s the one time he doesn’t listen to you. You’re bent over the table and his hands are pressing up the folds of your dress to expose yourself to him.

Your whined echo in the dining chamber as he gropes at your ass, hands gripping and bruising and pulling. And despite yourself you can feel the way your pussy wettens in response.

“I’d do anything for you.” Megumi whispers in your ear. His breath is heavy, hot. His voice deep in your ear. You can feel the way his fingers dip into your underwear, collecting up your slick as he groans. “I’ll serve you however you want.”

You moan as his fingers slip in easily, curving down into that spot that has you immediately seeing stars. That has you forgetting what unspeakable thing Megumi has just done for the sake of his loyalty for you.

“Me-Megumi…” you whisper in a weak protest as you can hear his buckle undoing.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled as you can feel his tip bump against your entrance. “Let me fuck you how you deserve. I’ll take care of you now.”

You want to protest more. But the way he fills you up… He’s right. He’s so much better to you than his father ever was.

A/N - aha idk man

TAGLIST - OPEN

@needtoloveoutloud @littleplantfreak @hayatoseyepatch

@tsukiran @awkwardaardvarkforever @all-in-the-fandoms @mightyknight501 @qichun

@megumuro @s0uldarling @seiri-ously @deepenthevoid @winniethepooh-lover

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@iluv-ace @rockrose-blossoms @afire24

[scientia-rex]

I also spend a lot of time trying to convince people to prevent problems, because prevention still works better than cures. Don't fucking smoke! I would instantly become the best doctor who ever lived if I could just convince all my patients to quit smoking. Avoid alcohol! Don't do meth! Don't do fentanyl! Things that are poisons will poison you in ways you understand, in the short term, but also ways you can't really understand until you've watched dozens of people die from it thirty years later, struggling to breathe from their COPD or weak and nauseated beyond bearing from their end-stage liver disease. I watched a man take 3 weeks in the ICU to die from what meth did to his heart. Your heart isn't meant to beat 145 times a minute for weeks on end. Your liver isn't meant to metabolize 5 shots of gin a day. You aren't going to be able to use denial and willpower to repair the damage your own habits did.

I drink a lot less now than I did before I went into medicine. Lot of different reasons, including that I'm older and more settled. But I can't look at it the same way I used to; I can't brush off as a "fun quirk" what I know is alcohol use on a level that risks withdrawal seizures if they were to suddenly stop, like some of my family members do, nervously asking me about their loved one's drinking when we're alone because beneath the jokes they know it's a problem.

If you're having more than one, maybe two drinks a day on average, over a long period of time, you are damaging your body in ways you don't understand. You're setting up a permanent heightened inflammatory state. Your heart cells don't like alcohol; Google "alcohol-induced cardiomyopathy." Your esophagus and stomach respond to incessant bathing in poison by first developing wounds and then cancer. Your liver, of course, doesn't like it. Your liver not only converts poisons to harmless substances you can excrete, it also makes your platelets, so your blood can clot. It makes albumin, a protein that's essentially for keeping water in your blood vessels and not letting it leach into your tissues. So people who are dying of liver failure are in pain and weak and tired and sad the whole fucking time! And the only solution, a liver transplant, will come with a lifetime of medication and specialist check-ups and the knowledge that if you fuck up and kill this liver, too, no one is going to be eager to give you another try.

I don't guilt-trip my alcoholic patients with liver disease. I don't guilt-trip my smokers with COPD. They chose to cope with substances for reasons, even if I disagree with their reasons, even if those reasons are opaque to me. They will suffer the natural consequences of those actions whether I guilt-trip them or not. I want them to continue to see me, I want them to be honest with me. Other people will lay enough guilt on them. And nothing I can say or do would ever compare to the physical and mental suffering that goes with those diseases.

But if you can prevent these diseases in yourself, prevent them. Quit smoking. Do it now. Your lungs are going to look better starting almost immediately, with positive changes continuing for many years. Drink less alcohol. Sure, it's fun, sure, it's a longstanding human tradition, but it is also unfortunately a straight up poison and your body knows that no matter how persuasively you argue about the obvious failure of Prohibition. You can't argue with a cell. You can't convince your kidneys that high blood pressure shouldn't damage them. They are a system; they do what they do; they existed long before prefrontal cortex existed to justify what we want to do but know to be harmful.



[muzzlemouths]

Down the Rabbit Hole

Slasher!Sun x Slasher-in-training!Y/N CW: Blood, gore, injury, death, implied kidnapping and hostage situation, general serial killer antics, stockholm syndrome*

Disclaimer: This story is not considered canon to the DFtR au and in fact only bears resemblance in a couple of places, but you're still free to consider this an au of the au.

“Lower, still.”

His shadow stretches over your back, one hand placed between your shoulder-blades, the other laid over your hand, plated fingers leaning into your skin.

“The lateral quadrants of the abdomen are where you want to start. Too high and things get messy, what with all the vital organs that are hoarded up there,” Sun instructs. “The liver, spleen, and kidneys will put him down quick, but if you want to have a little fun, first…”

He patiently directs your aim where he wants it, positioning the knife in your grip to sit atop the skin that guards the victim’s intestines, just below the bellybutton. Cold metal against warm flesh.

“Ovaries and the like can complicate things, but that shouldn’t be an issue with our dear fellow. I picked him out special just for you!”

Your eyes remain locked on the man under your blade. His body slumped forward, deadweight against the ropes binding him to a steel chair. He reeks of sweat and hard won copper, shirt collar sticking against his skin the way crimson clots around his nose and temple, long since having dried. Old blood flaking like dandruff.

If you didn’t know any better, you might have assumed that Sun had brought you a poor sap with one foot already in the grave. It had felt demeaning. All these months spent training for the perfect kill and he brings you a body that’s practically on death’s door like you’re a kitten that can’t yet feed itself. But he had promised you a hunt, and a hunt you will get. The slurred mumbles of the hostage as he— it comes to are certain assurance of that.

“Well, it’s about time,” Sun hums beside your ear. “Might have been a bit too rough with him on the way over here, human skulls can be so brittle these days, but at least it gave you ample time to prepare yourself.” His head swivels on its axis to face you, smile faltering instantaneously. “Are you scared?”

You follow his gaze with slow recognition, watching dumbly as your hand trembles around the knife, its handle made sticky with the sweat coating your clammy palm.

“It’s excitement,” you assure him, desperate to subvert the subtle glimpse of disappointment in his gaze.

“It’s okay to be scared.” He sees right through you regardless. The dissatisfaction in his voice empties into an amused snicker, and his smile returns tenfold, teeth glistening in the moonlight that streams through old factory windows. Broken glass clinks underfoot as he turns you to face him, hands bracing on either side of your shoulders so he can take in the sight of you, hopeful pride in every inch of his grin. “You’re going to do wonderfully, bunny.”

Sun fondly adjusts the lop-ears attached to your cap. A rabbit beanie made of stolen yarn that he’d drawn up a pattern for the day you first fell under his wing. He had presented it to you just outside the entrance to this long abandoned building, all wrapped up in ribbons and bows. A reward for making it this far.

You can’t afford to fail him now.

A final steeling breath pours from your lungs. “I’m ready,” you tell him.

Sun nods towards his— your victim’s rousing shifts as the sorry bastard finally works up the strength to heft his chin from his chest. He is allowed little more time than this to gather his bearings before Sun takes center stage, not oblivious to, but willfully ignorant of the man’s inevitable panic.

“Goooood morning, friend!” He sings. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your schedule so early in the day, goodness knows wall street keeps you busy, busy, busy! It’s just, well, my dearest rabbit here, it’s their very first time doing this sort of thing on their own, see, and I needed someone who would put up just the right amount of fight. We don’t want to make things too easy for them. Where’s the fun in that? And– now, now, struggling isn’t part of the rules, silly! Where was I…oh, yes, on to the matter at hand.”

He comes around to the man’s back, deftly ignoring their attempts at reasoning with him – cries of desperation muffled behind duct tape – and undoes the ropes keeping him there with an easy swipe of hidden claws.

His sigh is nothing if not exasperated as the two of you watch the man test out his newfound freedom by immediately colliding with the floor. 

“Predictable as always,” Sun tuts. He crouches at the man’s side, arms resting casually on his knees, and shares his disappointment with a shake of his head and a quiet click, click, click of his tongue. “They never expect to also be tied at the ankles.” 

He captures a fistful of the man’s hair and idly rams his cheek against the concrete, halting all further attempts at escape then and there. “How positively dull. None of these maggots have a lick of intelligence between their eyes, they’re all boneless writhing and empty promises. Pitiful.” His eyes blink your way. “Not like you, bunny. No, not like you at all.”

Your grip vices around the knife as if it’ll protect you from the questions burning on your tongue.

“Is that why—”

“No.” He silences the notion before it even has room to breathe. “You are where you stand today, alive, for a great many reasons. The fact that you managed to impress me with clever ruses has little to do with it. That said, if you continue to question my motives I will see to it that I find someone quieter to play with. Or have you already forgotten that you aren’t the only soft-furred creature in the burrow?”

His answer arrives as a swift shake of the head, crocheted ears flopping side to side with bitter irony. “I haven’t forgotten,” you promise him. “Is — is that why you’re teaching me to hunt for myself. That’s what I’d intended to say.”

“Oh.” His shoulders fall, joints easing up all at once like a dog relaxing its haunches. He licks his teeth and sheathes his claws for another day. “Yes, bunny, that is why I’ve brought you out here. It’s high time we see the fruits of your labour, hm?”

It is rare that you lie to him, and rarer, still, that he believes you. As such, your answer is a swift nod and a flash of the puppy-dog eyes that got you into this mess to begin with. You aren’t going to push your luck on this one — not when he’s finally starting to trust you.

“Marvelous,” hums Sun. His nails scrape ruthlessly against the scalp as he winds the victim’s head back to see his face, grin widening. “What do you think, bunny — five seconds head start?”

“Make it ten.”

He catches your eye. This — like everything else — is a test, and the flicker of static in his voicebox implies a level of surprise. His gaze rakes over you with the emotionless cadence of someone already expecting to be disappointed. 

“Feeling confident, bunny?”

You need to prove your worth to him. Prove that his investment in your sustained life isn’t a gamble he will live to regret.

“I won’t disappoint you,” is what you end up saying. It’s the answer he wants to hear, regardless.

The ropes at your victim’s ankles are sliced through cleanly and without another word, though it’s obvious by the way he lingers that Sun considers marring the skin with his claws before letting you at him. It’s like an appetizer, he once told you. The game grows boring once they’re dead, and they die too fast if you aren’t careful. You must learn to pace yourself.

But this isn’t your average game. This is a test. This is a hunt.

You won’t leave this building until the knife is drenched in red.

“Oh!” Sun twitches with surprise as the man scrambles to his feet, up and out of Sun’s grip, and takes off around the corner. “Careful, bunny, he’s a slippery one.” He taps the space beside his eye, winking. “Don’t worry, I’ve already started your time. Ready?”

You swallow the remains of your doubt and bolster your grip with phoney pride. “Ready.”

Wordlessly his palm raises, five fingers brandished. Then four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Your shoes snap against concrete. Into a run, then a walk, then an amble. Six months of instruction swells your head, Sun’s voice in your ear: if you’re too hasty, you’ll give yourself away. Slow down. Breathe. The warehouse is only so big, and all exits, save for the one Sun guards, have been preemptively blocked off. You have all the time in the world to get the job done.

A hiss. Just ahead and to the right, muffled abruptly. Behind the pillar. Your neck whirs in its direction, and you tut.

Amateur.

The thing about duct tape is that, try as you might, it is impossible to peel away without a sound.

You press on, happy as a clam with this turn of events. Your anxiety may have been kinder had you known that your first victim was going to hand himself over to you on a silver platter.

The dim atmosphere of the abandoned warehouse aids your every step. Sunlight pierces through the darkness in streams of hazy gold through old, broken windows risen towards the sky. Too high to offer hope of escaping through them, too small to provide anything more than the sparse break in looming shadow.

His silhouette ducks behind a pile of debris and comes around to the other side, hastened footsteps, his gait clumsy and uncertain. Your prey is terrified.

He should be.

You raise onto your toes to muffle the path forward, back hunching close to the ground in a way that bares eerie resemblance to the second and more withdrawn of your two teachers. It’s a short matter of soundless breaths later that you find yourself tucking into the shadow between a pillar and broken furniture, a firm plan already in mind and ready to be acted out by the time you find a suitable piece of debris.

The shard of glass bites at your fingers. You’re careful with it, delicately turning the item in your palm until you’re sure of its weight, then you let it fly. It lands to the right of his silhouette with a hushed ting as though you had kicked it with the toe of your boot and, predictably, the man decides to scurry left.

It’s almost laughable; the way he runs himself into your awaiting knife.

The sound that spills from his throat is gutteral and moist, each pitiful attempt at words hindered by the blood that coats his throat as he coughs into your shoulder. Were this a mercy kill he would already be on the ground, but as it stands, you have some things to prove.

Your knife splits flesh as its sharply withdrawn from his gut in one smooth motion, and he howls, spitting vitriol between blood stained teeth. He stumbles a few paces away and into a delirious, uneven run — though it’s more of an hobble.

It makes no difference to you. Sun’s gaze hovers, expectant, from a few yards away. That’s all it takes to propel you forward.

You’re clumsy, coming up on him too fast, too reckless, and it gives the man room to dodge your first swing. But not your second. This one drives into his shoulder, clawing at muscle and nerves alike. The limb is made useless in an instant. 

Blood pours from the wound like wet confetti, signalling the damage to a vascular vein. That gives you two minutes, if you’re lucky, to finish him off yourself before he’s bled dry.

Red paints your forearm as your knife makes contact for a third time, and his stomach unwraps against the mouth of your dagger like a present. Your wrist trembles with the force applied behind each upward thrust of the blade until your victim falls, and you fall with him, collapsing into a straddle over his already-still chest as you tear your weapon from the body and incessantly plunge it somewhere new. Intestine. Pancreas. Liver. Flesh. Body. Prey.

“Bunny.”

Sun’s voice is a warm ray of light in an otherwise stormy sky. 

His hand lands gently on your shoulder. The other, wound around your wrist where it hangs in the air, halted mid-strike, is almost painfully firm. Decisive. His fingers squeeze until you’re forced to give up the knife. 

You watch it fall to the ground with a clatter, followed by silence.

You look up.

His faceplate tilts with an audible shrill, rusty metal whispering together. “Well?” He mutters, expectant. “How was it?”

Stars dance in your vision, cheering with little voices of praise and pride. “It was…” Your lips part in quick succession, gaping, gulping, gasping around all the words that crowd your mouth yet none of them fall. “It…it was…” 

Terrifying? Your could have died yourself had things gone south.

Horrifying? There is still blood on your hands from a fresh kill.

Disturbing? Addicting? The thrill of the haunt plays on a loop between your ears. You lost yourself somewhere between the chase and the floor. Sticky scarlet coats the underside of your fingernails and soaks into your sleeves. Your hair stands on end and your breath runs ragged, muscles twitching with excitement, not fear.

“Exhilarating,” Sun answers for you. His face splits into a too-wide grin.

You’ve passed the test.

He releases your wrist and comes around to your front, rolling the body of your success out of his way with a shameless nudge of his shoe. Once stood before you he offers his hand, palm up and spotless in comparison to yours, and fits you with an encouraging nod. “You did well, bunny, but this is only a taste,” he promises. “Are you ready to have some real fun?”

Sun allows no room for hesitation. He follows your hand — tiny where it settles against his own — with a fiery gaze that bores into you like that of his namesake. And you shake on it.

“Lead the way,” says the rabbit, in too deep to back out now.

“Good choice,” answers the wolf.

He knows the decision was already made for you from the start.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Okay but given that crows are ready to Throw Down with eagles at the slightest opportunity, I have to know- 1) are there crows in the Seireitei and 2) how much of their Daily Enrichment is causing problems for the 11th Division on purpose?

There absolutely are crows and jays and even ravens in the Seireitei and very nearly all of their daily enrichment is causing some level of mayhem at every division of the Gotei-13,

...except the 11th.

See, Zaraki has the distinct advantage over most eagles in that he is also a human, with a canny eye for social dynamics, and he's worked out a deal with the local corvids. He noticed the pair of ravens on the roof of the 11th the first afternoon he was there, made a note of them, carefully folded it up, and put it in his mental back pocket for later.

The ravens didn't actually notice him that much on the first day because there was an entire bisected corpse of the former Kenpachi and the medics were delayed in retrieving it for some reason so that meant lungs and liver and a spleen and gallbladder and a special course of freshly exposed brains before an eyeball each for dessert while some poor wretch from the 4th completely failed to chase them off with a broom. They did very much notice him in the middle of the afternoon on the second day, when he returned from the early morning captain's meeting they had slept through, on account of yesterday's food coma. -But even still sluggish with guts full of guts, they still sat up and took notice of a man wearing, loud, shiny and extremely steal-able BELLS.

A-ho, A-ho! Called the first raven from the middle boughs of the pine in the courtyard as the new Kenpachi sat down on the porch that surrounded the small and rather pathetic little garden, sighing deeply. What's this that jingle-jangles in like a jester and sighs and settles like a corpse at the bottom of a lake?

A great way for your mate to lose her beak if she gets any closer. He growled back, and the raven on the roof behind him startled, flapping away out of his blade's reach.

A-joke! A-joke! Don't hiss and rattle so! She huffed, joining her wife on the pine and ruffling her feathers.

It might be amusing sport on another day, but I have no humor to speak of. He clattered, turning his patch-covered eye to them in apology. I have suffered a bereavement.

A-no! A-no! Who is it who has died? Asked the first raven.

One who granted me the knowledge of letters, and further so, the wisdom of tales- in telling, and moreso in listening. Thrice blessed by her I was, and only now do I learn of her demise, fifty years too late. He explained, rubbing his temples and shaking his head, trying to soothe himself.

A-woe! A-woe! cooed the second raven in agreement. Any who teaches is a living saint, and their passing the most terrible loss.

A-woe, A-woe! the first raven cooed in sympathy. She didn't leave clutch or wife for you to look after?

She had a husband, but I do not know his name, and he is apparently deceased as well. The Kenpachi frowned. Her brother yet lives- he is my colleague even, and how I learned of this. A wretched way to meet someone she spoke so highly of- but you are right, he needs looking after. He is... unwell, and was never thriving to begin with, but the same sort of saint of words as she, and much braver than his body should allow. Of course, I will look after him for her, as is right.

A-woe, A-woe- A wretched meeting but the right and honorable thing to do. Nodded the second raven.

A-woe, A-woe, but this is not the source of your miserable sighing? asked the first. No, his care does not worry me- The Kenpachi shook his head, folding a leg up and resting his elbow on it and his cheek on his hand in turn. It's that I am left to wonder- If I had known sooner, or even before this catastrophe, if there was something I might have done. But you are interesting company so I will divert myself from useless morose- what do you call yourselves, carrion queens that live beneath my roof?

I am Mun-Yin! Declared the second raven, that spoke only in statements.

If she is Mun-Yin, might I then be Hau-Yin? Asked the first, who spoke only in questions.

You might. The Kenpachi nodded.

A-so? A-so? Who might you be that wears the shredded rags of a dead man like a pauper, but speaks with the grace of a prince? Hau-Yin asked, hopping from the pine to a closer boulder, cocking her head at him.

A-ho! A-ho! It may be your house that supports our nest, but we live above your roof, not under it! Mun-Yin laughed, hopping closer as well.

I am Zaraki Kenpachi, Captain of the 11th division! He smirked at the birds who rolled their eyes at him.

A-no! A-no! Pouted Mun-Yin We didn't ask for your NAME!

A-no! A-no! Sulked Hau-Yin Who ARE you?

The Kenpachi regarded them for a moment, then lifted his head from his hand and leaned forward, a conspiratorial grin on his face. Would you like to know a secret?

A-yo! A-yo! We love a secret! Said Mun-Yin, bouncing in excitement.

A-yo! A-yo! Do we not spend all day learning all the secrets of the city? Giggled Hau-Yin.

Then I will offer you a trade- The Kenpachi grinned, beckoning then closer. -I'll tell you who I am if you promise to leave my hair-bells alone.

Hmmm... the ravens considered, then shook their heads.

A-low, A-low, those are some very shiny jingle-jangle bells, and that's but one measly little secret. frowned Mun-Yin

A-low, A-low- Agreed Hau-Yin. That's not much of a trade is it?

On the contrary, it's a very good secret! Maybe the best secret in all of the Seireitei! The Kenpachi wagged his finger at them. Nobody knows it but me and my daughter, so it's very exclusive! And the risk is all on my end- some secrets are dangerous to know, but in this case, it would grant you great advantage- it would be DEEPLY embarrassing for me if any of the humans -and whatever Komamura is- were to find out.

Hmmm... the birds considered again, and nodded this time.

A-Quo! A-Quo! Very Exclusive and Deeply Embarrassing Secrets are The Best! We will take very good trade! Agreed Mun-Yin

A-Show! A-Show! Who are you, that we will leave your bells alone? asked Hau-Yin, hopping closer and bowing her head, looking up at him with a mischievously glittering eye.

I am Zaraki Kenpachi, Captain of The Eleventh Division, Father of Yachiru, Great Sword Bastard of the North 80th District, and most relevant to you- Youngest and Most Beloved Son of She Who Rules The Sky.

The ravens stared blankly at him for a moment.

What that fuck? Asked Hau-Yin.

Didn't realize we were speaking to ROYALTY. Muttered Mun-Yin

See? It's a VERY good secret! The Prince Kenpachi grinned, leaning back and lounging a bit- someone like him could make even a bare wooden porch look like a throne. -Also, you see how you DO SO live under my roof! He added, pointing up at the clouds.

The ravens shuffled a bit nervously, reconsidering him.

A-so? A-so? Hau-Yin asked, cautiously, shuffling a sideways to him.-How does Your Highness come to be a Shinigami then?

A-so! A-so! nodded Mun-Yin. Your Highness and We alike are strange enough birds for taking Names, but to take a JOB is unheard of!

It has it's benefits... The Prince Kenpachi shrugged. Alas, I may be Her Majesty's Son, but I did not inherit my mother's wings and guts, so I cannot live on the wind and whatever I might find by the roadside alone. Still- like a Name, a Job both restricts and offers opportunity- I am bound by duty, but I also am gifted a dry and sturdy nest and all the meat I may eat in exchange. And better still- My daughter now has her choice of tutors and scholars to learn greater Wisdom than I ever will.

A-sow! A-sow! Mun-Yin considered. You do reap well in that exchange!

A-though, A-though- considered Hau-Yin. Would you have the chance to reap in such fashion had you the wings of your mother? Are you perhaps Blessed in strange Human fashion?

The Prince Kenpachi laughed. Perhaps I am! Perhaps you may be even more blessed than I- you have wings and carrion-guts, but you are not bereft! I can offer you similar employment, if you should find it agreeable.

A-ho! A-ho! You are in a fine humor now, My Prince! Chirped Mun-Yin.

A-ho! A-ho! What is this Job you have in mind for the like of us? Asked Hau-Yin, intrigued.

I am in much better humor now, thanks to you both. The Prince agreed, offering Hau-Yin an outstretched hand and patting his knee to indicate Mun-Yin should join him too. There is naught you may do against death, but you may yet ease my bereavement- I am am saddened by the loss of my friend, but it's the lateness of the news that worries me. You say you spend all day learning the secrets of the Seireitei, and that you greatly desire Shiny Jingle-jangle bells?

A-so! A-so! Mun-Yin bobbed excitedly, hopping onto The Prince's hand. All over, all over from the high pillars of the execution grounds to the lowest grates where the sewers open up, we fly all over all over My Wife and I! And we see and we hear and we remember all the secrets of the city!

A-stow? A-Stow? You poses yet more shiny shiny bells? Hau-Yin clicked with interest, hopping onto his knee.

I happen to have two such golden bells, even bigger and louder than these, and will happily give them to you- with a Doll's shiny ribbon so you may wear them if you so desire- and other shiny and noisy things as I find them, if you tell to me all the secrets of the Seireitei.

Hmmm... the ravens considered.

A-yo, A-yo- It is a good deal. Nodded Mun-Yin. -But sometimes the winter is cold or the pickings are lean, and there is only so much comfort a shiny jingle-jangle brings when it is so.

A-yo, A-yo- Agreed Hau-Yin. Maybe sometimes a secret is worth a night out of the storm or a scrap of meat instead?

You are both very wise. The Prince Kenpachi nodded and the ravens preened with the praise. I am amenable- The ribbon-bells for all the secrets you know right now, and we can work out what payment is best in the future, when you discover more secrets for me?

A-Yo! A-Yo! crowed Mun-Yin, flapping with excitement. Your Highness is as generous as he is wise!

More, I hope! Laughed The Prince Kenpachi. I promise, I am a colossal fool!

A-Yo! A-Yo! crowed Hau-Yin What secrets would you like to know first? And may I have a Pink Ribbon?

I would like to know all you know about- hm, that's a tricky question actually.- There are so many things I wish to know! He considered, rubbing his chin, then jumped to his feet, making them hop, an Ancient Bird Game. Let me go get your ribbon-bells first, and make up my mind!

A-ho! A-ho! the Ravens laughed, hopping down the hall after him.

---

"Hey Boss, I found the payroll forms but fuck me if I can make heads or tails of- what's wrong?" Ikkaku called out as he came into the courtyard half an hour later, only to find Yumichika standing in the doorway, frowning pensively with his hand over his mouth.

"I'm not sure anything is wrong, per se-" Sighed Yumichika, waving at the scene before him.

Zaraki was seated on one of the boulders in the courtyard, delicately fastening one of Yachiru's shiny pink hair ribbons around the neck of an exceptionally smug-looking raven in an elaborate bow with a large golden bell in the middle. A similarly adorned Raven perched upon his shoulder, chattering excitedly between fondly preening where his eyepatch parted his hair.

"-but I can't help but think I've seen this scene before..." Yumichika muttered.

"They look like they're all having fun?" Ikkaku shrugged as Zaraki finished the bow and the raven ruffled her feathers into place, making it jangle and Yachiru giggle and applaud from where she sat on her father's knee. The Newly-belled raven hopped around to croak and click at him as well, flapping excitedly, and he put a hand up to stop her, asking her something in the shrill hiss and click of his native Aquiline tongue.

"You ever get the impression The Boss is way more articulate in Eagle than he is in Japanese?" Ikkaku frowned.

"Darling, he learned his Japanese from Bandits and Buskers and in Brothels, his Eagle has GOT to be better than that." Yumichika rolled his eyes.

"-ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Zaraki suddenly bellowed, shaking his finger at the raven in his lap.

Both ravens cawed in objection.

"-THIS IS NOT UP FOR NEGOTIATION! SO LONG AS YOU TWO LIVE UNDER MY ROOF, YOU LEAVE KANAME AND HIS EYEBALLS ALONE." he growled.

The Raven on his shoulder tipped her head, speculating.

"-He is TOO using them, they're there to keep his eye sockets and brain from getting infected with gods-know-what flesh-eating bacteria or whatever. NO. PECKING."

Both Ravens hunched up their wings and turned away, pouting.

"What's-His-Ass in the Fifth? The faintly greasy one that looks like a sad mop? His glasses are fair game, if it will amuse you." Zaraki relented, and both birds perked up. "-Might be worth a bag of potato chips if you can bring me a pair intact." he offered.

"Oh Gods, he's not gonna make me try to add a pair of BIRDS to the payroll, is he?" Whimpered Ikkaku.

[cravesunconditionallove]

On your recent post for Vivisections

Do you have any more advice or maybe a quick scene lay out on how you'd accurately describe and show it? I've not seen many people explain this before I'd love to know more!

Permission to infodump?? awesome :D

Because it's on topic here, there are a few blogs I think need a mention because they have AMAZING medical/torture writing advice (@scripttorture and @justkidneying )

You didn't ask whether the character lives or dies, I don't know which you want so here's info on both scenarios:

Dying:

First off, without anesthesia, the pain alone would likely lead to a thing called Neurogenic Shock, which will in turn cause a BP drop and organ failure among other things. Your character will likely be breathing quickly, appear pale, have a rapid pulse, and be confused if they are still conscious. And yelling in pain of course.

For death due to blood loss: it's hard *not* to hit a major blood vessel if you're flaying someone open neck to groin, and that will also lead to quick death without immediate treatment. Cautery (using electricity to burn an area, stopping bleeding) will work on smaller bleeding but major blood vessels not so much. Symptoms are similar to shock: clammy/pale skin, thready/weak/rapid pulse, loss of consciousness.

Other: you can also risk damaging organs (someone being vivisected probably isn't going to be staying very still, even restrained, and one slip of a scalpel and oops, that's the aorta...) A punctured lung could lead to pneumo/hemothorax (air/blood in the chest cavity (pleural space), where it shouldn't be) causing respiratory distress—and then shock, and without treatment—death. If the heart is damaged, death would be near instant. Other organs like the liver, kidneys, bowels, spleen etc are pretty big bleeders, so see my Blood Loss section.

Sepsis: If they don't die immediately, sepsis is a big risk, as even in sterile environments you can't completely prevent it. Sepsis is when an infection reaches the bloodstream and is very serious. I imagine whoever is vivisecting the character probably wouldn't care too much about using sterile technique, so you can bet on an infection happening. This can set in within hours or days. Symptoms include high fever, pain, confusion/delirium, sweaty/clammy skin, low blood pressure.

Now, if you want them to live?

Surviving:

If the vivisectionist wants their patient/victim to survive, they'd need a lot of materials. Like any major surgery you'd need blood products, fluids, antibiotics, ligatures, and a way to keep the pain (somewhat) under control. Alcohol has been used in the past for similar procedures, but you could also just opt for a dose of opioids.

Antibiotics are necessary, opening someone up like that is a MAJOR risk (see "Sepsis").

I imagine they'd also somewhat monitor the character's vitals. They'd also probably have a few assistants to help with similar smaller tasks like that—stopping bleeding or handing tools, etc.

Closing the wound: Stitching someone up from such an event would be a lot of work, as you have to close many skin layers (muscle, fat, and the surface skin) and bandage it.

If you don't want to stitch them up immediately, a wound vac (negative pressure wound therapy) would be a good option. Doctors use these in cases of things like compartment syndrome. It is used when you cannot close someone back up right away.

Bandages and proper wound care are also important, you'd need to change the bandages every few hours for the first few days as deep wounds tend to produce a lot of fluids (called "exudate.") Sometimes doctors place drains to help drain away this fluid faster.

All in all, Healing from this would take months, not to mention the psychological trauma from all of this.

The scene:

Writing these scenes is honestly so variable so here's a few thoughts of mine:

You could describe the environment: (cliche, but cold metal table? Harsh lighting? Straps? A table with sharp scary-looking objects on it? How about the scent of disinfectant (or its absence).

The initial sensation would be the biggest to focus on: does the vivisectionist take their time? (pressure before pain?) shock as nerves fire as they are severed (lightning sensation shooting upwards), and the body’s instinctive flinch or freeze. Initially screaming, swearing? Sweating, rapid breathing, muscle spasms, or even vomiting as the body tries to cope?

Smells: Metallic tang of a large amount of blood (I personally HATE this smell, it's like having a penny in your mouth, or if you've ever used a metal scrubber to clean a pan, it smells kind of like that.), burning flesh (if they use cauterization) etc

If the character is partially sedated for it, keep in mind they will still react to pain, albeit sluggishly.

I hope this helps!

[phantomrose96]

Astounding. Incredible. Deeply, deeply horrifying. Incredible and it will be haunting me for at least the next 72 hours minimum. 10/10 sending it to everyone I know.

Reading the first time I fully did not register how much of a literal chekov's gun the disintegrator was. Made me think way to deeply on what is required for Danny to regenerate. Does it require at least a certain amount of flesh 'intact'? Cells? Molecules? Is it that so long as there is a single atom of his being around he will slowly and horrifically rebuild himself? What would happen if he did switch back? Would he briefly feel the incomprehensible pain of every scattered atom of his being or would it go to fast for him to comprehend the pain? Is he even able to fall unconscious when his body is injured that badly or does his being keep him awake at all costs as a self preservation method?

Anyways this is deeply terrifying and will now live happily next to Nothing Remains and Under Moonlight and all the other fan fics you've written traumatizing this poor, poor dead teenager.

(I've also spent way to long thinking about what comes after the end. What do you do with your friends exposed lung and vocal cords and mouth while he slowly regenerates? It's not like they could just leave him on the golf course screaming. But where could they put him that no one would hear? The thermos? The ghost zone? Hope that Vlad has something that could help?)

10/10 fic I'm chewing drywall thank you for writing this amazing piece!

(Prometheus)

JKDSNKJDSJKNDSJKNSD THANK YOU!!!!

I fully did not register how much of a literal chekov's gun the disintegrator was.

YEAH!!! I wanted there to be something that acted as a through-line in the story. I wanted Maddie and Jack's appearance near the end to be sudden and surprising and scary but not "out of nowhere." Carrying the gun through the story served that purpose so well because like, it's gaudy enough to capture people's attention, but it's also easily dismissed as background shenanigans... until it's not.

And the Disintegrator gets to evolve with the tone shift. It's some goofy combobulation Jack uses to blast fish out of a lake at the start. And then he tinkers with it. And it becomes this thing he can shoulder and point at Danny and draw a genuine fear response from his son (even if Jack had no intention of firing. And Danny is in no real danger) And then it becomes the thing he draws on his son with every intention of firing...

The damn thing even gets to be ripped to pieces and put back together over the course of the story. Danny brushing away loose nuts and bolts of the half-deconstructed Fenton Disintegrator while his liver stitches itself back together. But that's probably nothing :)

What is required for Danny to regenerate. Does it require at least a certain amount of flesh 'intact'? Cells? Molecules? Is it that so long as there is a single atom of his being around

YEah and this is absolutely part of the horror element to me. Danny doesn't know. He doesn't know how much is enough and how far-gone is too far gone. From my word of god, it's his ghost core that the reconstruction happens around (which is not a physical thing). So it at least means every cell is not about to spawn a new Danny (sorry no Under Moonlight angst here). But Danny doesn't know. And how can you tolerate gambling your life over and over and over with a mechanism you cannot understand?

Is he even able to fall unconscious when his body is injured that badly or does his being keep him awake at all costs as a self preservation method?

Yes. There is a ghost-amount of consciousness he's clinging to, which if he loses his grip on would result in him dying. ...Unless it doesn't. :) Danny doesn't know. Danny can't know. Danny cannot risk finding out. Because if he risks it, and he's wrong, he'll die. What's really the difference between "this will kill me" and "I THINK this will kill me, and the only way I can ever know for sure is to do it"? The difference only matters if Danny's made the decision he'd rather die.

I've also spent way to long thinking about what comes after the end

Nothing good. Nothing good. And consider how absolutely traumatizing it is for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. They find Danny like this and they can do absolutely nothing while organs of himself scream. And this has been ~7 hours since the run in with the Disintegrator. Danny has only barely regenerated, starting from absolutely Nothing. It could be another 24 hours. Another 48. Before he's done. And he's required to stay conscious the whole time. He was desperately sleep-deprived already and now he needs to remain awake through this all because if he passes out with organs missing, he's done for. (Or he might be done for, and he cannot know for certain unless he takes that monumental gamble).

So what do Sam Jazz and Tucker even do. What do you even do? You can't leave him. God no you can't leave him. But you can't move him. You can't talk to him. You can't help him. You can't leave him. Do you sit in the snow? Do you sit for 24 hours watching screaming flesh grow back together? How ungodly long must 24 hours of that be? Will it ever stop screaming?

[aldisobey]

Nascent Blight

Mostly inspired by the in game note found after Emmrich becomes a lich. Partially inspired by a 'make him worse' trope. Questions and angst surrounding the transition to Lich life with the beginning whispers of things better left alone.

Setting: A few days after the Lich ritual

Pairing: Rook Thorne x Emmrich Volkarin

Rook wandered the upper floor of Emmrich’s study. The scratch of a pen sounded softly below. He took a moment to lean over the bannister and peer down, a soft smile teasing the edge of his lips at the sight of the necromancer. 

“Nearly finished, dearest.” Emmrich’s tone carried the hint of an echo, his glowing skeletal gaze kept locked to the documents at hand.

Rook nodded in reply, skin prickling. 

A mere glance and Emmrich felt it. Rook had been testing the theory in the days since the ritual. He was sure of it now, Emmrich could sense some change in the shift of awareness surrounding him. Was the light in the hollow skull for show? How did he…Rook shook his head, chewed at his cheek to chase off ruminations.

“If you’re in need of distraction, we have some new letters.”

Rook blinked, was he reading minds now too? Brow furrowed at the thought he drummed the bannister before leaving it and wandered to the desk near at hand. He smirked at the neat stack of papers, no need to ask where they might be, his beloved was precise in all things. A corner of that crooked smile remained until he picked up the first one.

Dear Professor Volkarin,

Your preserved heart, liver, lungs, and other diverse organs have been stored in this urn, as requested. Vorgoth and I hope that it will serve as a treasured memento in your many years to come.

With warm regards, 

Watcher Myrna, Keeper of the Seals

Rook’s face fell, throat burning as he attempted to keep the gathering saliva down. So that was? Gut twisting he shifted only his eyes to look at the urn that had escaped notice. He had seen so many like it. It wouldn’t be out of place here…but this was? He dropped the letter in a hurried lurch towards the window, hand flying to cover his mouth. Rook flailed, then grasped the bannister white-knuckled. He pulled himself towards the window, steadied himself with a lean and breathed deep.

“Rook?!” Emmrich’s voice echoed with concern from below and was punctuated by the clatter of his chair. 

The immediate need to retch overcome, Rook rode out the following ebbs of nausea by closing his eyes and sticking his head out into the Fade. Listened to the quick thump of Emmrich’s footsteps on the stairs as he focused on controlling his breathing.

“I’m fine.” eyes still closed, he heard the steps drawing closer, “You don’t need to trouble yourself, it’s almost passed.” The nausea had lessened, he sniffed, the air had a subtle shift, it tasted different somehow. It was pleasant, almost, peppermint? Rook opened his eyes and turned to see Emmrich not far behind him, a whisper of green dancing on the necromancer’s fingers.

“Thank you Emmrich, it was, I was, just surprised is all. It’s lovely. A fine. Memorial?” 

“Darling.” Emmrich’s tone shook with grief Rook could feel burn into his chest, it overrode the sickness for a moment, and he sighed into a lean towards Emmrich’s waiting hands. Once in their grasp they set to massaging him, touching light and tracing on the neck, firm down the back and circling up.

“I’m sorry. That reaction wasn’t ideal.” Rook swallowed hard, eased into Emmrich’s attentions, and tried to ignore the sense of twisting regret in his stomach. “I didn’t expect the shock.”

“Please, my love,” Rook shivered as the skull’s echoing words went deep, “I should have considered how you might take such a keepsake given your discrepancies.” His hands squeezed Rook’s shoulders a last time, and then gently turned him around to look at him. 

“It was a foolish lack of thought.” Emmrich grumbled at himself, and then nodded his head towards the urn, “Truth be told. With everything else requiring our attention it had escaped mine at the moment.” He took a step apart and dipped his head, “Accept my apologies, I’ll have it stored elsewhere until…” Emmrich’s voice quaked, the sentence snapping into silence at the horror of uttering that future. 

For the barest second Rook grimaced, heart pounding at the reality they faced, but he forced out a smile and pursed air from his lips, “Don’t. Keep it where you like, it’s growing on me.” He touched Emmrich’s arm, leaned closer, the shock of Emmrich’s organs in a jar had passed. Looming horror remained, but that was something he could laugh with. His concern was for the despondent lich in front of him.

He reached out and grasped Emmrich’s shoulders, leaned down and crooked his head to catch the green flare still staring at the ground. Once he captured it with a soft stare he slowly lifted Emmrich’s gaze by standing up straight himself. 

“There we go.” Rook grinned and squeezed where held.

Emmrich’s head still dipped, locked now on Rook’s face.

“Can you preserve blighted organs? I could get a matching one, would it be different since I’m not a lich?” Rook mumbled, melting under the flickering green. Emmrich kept silent, subtle movements testament to his attentiveness and portraying worry. Rook let go of where he held and dusted where his hands had been. Withdrawing them to himself he scratched at his neck, “Or, I know you can’t blight the undead, stupid question, but can you undead the blighted?”

Emmrich’s jaw dropped a hair’s breadth, had he lungs to fill he’d have gasped, but silence hung between them as the mind raced for any possible answer. Rook carried on, words tumbling,

“I thought about it. If it’s possible I’d like that. The Nevarran options, that is. You don’t have to burn me alright? I do have questions,” he paused, wondering what to emphasis first, he wanted to let Emmrich know it’d be alright, he could grow fond of an urn, and he’d leave what he could in the hopes it might help mend his absence. Maybe a wisp would like his skull, barring blight restrictions. Before he could continue the thoughts out loud he was drawn into a tight embrace.

“Rook, dearest. Thank you.” Emmrich lessened the pressure in his arms bringing Rook to him, leaned back to take in more of him. Crooked his head at the sight, the movement soft and concerned, then raised his thumb to wipe clear the edge of the warden’s shining eye, “I’ll answer any of your questions.” 

Emmrich could feel Rook trembling in his arms. The Warden was still smiling, oblivious to the panic plain on his face. Emmrich kept a firm hold and spoke slow, “First, I need you to…”

“Can non mages do this lich thing?” Rook interjected with a shaky grin, his voice hushed from the startlingly short breath. He ignored the welling in his eyes. Obviously he was joking, it was more of a dream than anything. But who better to entrust dreams to?

“Oh, my love.” 

It was a rhetorical question at best. A joke in reality. Why did the agony in Emmrich’s response make that deep ache past his chest? Everything burned, lungs and throat tight. This wasn’t the time. All of this was fine. Steadying breaths. He was a Grey Warden after all. He lived content with dying since drinking from that cup. 

But no matter the reasoning of his thoughts, he couldn’t stop the shaking of his hands. So that route was hopeless. He swallowed hard, then…maybe?

“You know, that Warden, Isseya,” Rook didn’t get the chance to finish any further thought. He was suddenly devoid of Emmrich’s touch, the lich had jolted, reacted as if burned and turned his entire body away while bellowing a firm.

“No.” 

Rook flinched as if struck, he’d never heard such a harsh tone from Emmrich. But there was something underneath, something desperate. Pleading.

Don’t breathe the thought.

[perpetualcosmos]

Astrology insight on Health & More. Pt 3

*Please not that these are my personal observations and research, not coming yet from a professional opinion*

Now let's get started for Gemini Placements!

---> Body parts ruled by Gemini is... *drum roll please 🥁🥁🥁* --- Throat, Lungs, Breath, Hands And Nervous System!🎶🎶🎶 I, for one, share Gemini/3rd house/Mercury placements in my chart and I can say this with guarantee, these natives love singing, music, might be into Yoga/Meditation/Breathwork, have problems around lungs and breath, are into writing/journaling, intelligent, sharp, multitask, flaky with plans, have a hard time being consistent, are the definition of "too much on my plate*, love learning, into literature, into learning different languages just for fun, have a good sense of humor, might be too faced, have good communication skills, etc.

---> A very important tip I would like to give any Gemini/Mercurial placement native is to journal, write and record audio about whatever is going on, if you would like it to be about your goals, do it. Visions? Absolutely. About feelings? Yes, the best for it. These natives need an outlet to express themselves, similar to their sister sign (Sagittarius), they require freedom of expression of their thoughts. These natives can also be expressive through their hands and might have a loud voice.

---> You by now know I love co-relating Astrological signs with Chakras, so let's mention Mercurial/Gemini/3rd House placements with the Throat chakra. These natives when imbalanced, can get stressed which would result in a strain of their voice, throat infections, hand injuries, could be burned out with their overthinking, might have a shortage of breath, headaches are prominent, might be prone to drinking problems if the chakra is imbalanced or have a fatty liver.

---> These natives always prefer to thrive in a social environment (Subject to change based on other aspects in the chart). They need people to express themselves, their battery gets recharged around people and open areas. They might prefer to go to a library, book store, cyber café or have a study table to focus on their work.

---> The best way to balance your Gemini placements is to learn new things, read and write and be honest with your own self. And remember to do what you like, don't push yourself to be someone you are not and let your humor & joy come in your daily work. Express yourself through your voice and hands. One ick I have noticed in these people are being told to not speak too much - they can't help it, it's literally out of their personality. You enjoy talking and speaking, but learn to listen as well.

---> When undeveloped, these natives always have a tendency to omit the truth or have many personalities according to what other people want them to see as. These natives get bored easily and have a hard time settling down or being consistent with what they do. I say they are more indecisive than libra placements at times. They carry mutable energy, of course they prefer unpredictability and excitement than safety and security.

*Listen, If someone is going to cheat, they will cheat, a placement can indicate it but otherwise it cannot say for sure. People are people, learn to discern them for who they are as well as what is in their chart, balance is key*

--->There is a chance that Gemini natives can cheat if in a relationship that they find themselves being bored off or distinct, but mostly they would prefer to have casual flings/dates or be friends with you first before getting in a commitment. They like the Friends to lovers trope, and usually words of affirmations is one of their love languages, along with a sense of humor. They enjoy spending time with people who can reach their vibe and their light hearted moments. A thing with these natives is the duality comes from this side as well - humor and seriousness. Chances of extremeness is there to a certain extent.

---> Having a Air modality, one of the best things these natives carry is being adaptable to situations and learning to see things step by step. But a difference they carry from their sister sign is that these natives learn to see the next step instead of the bigger picture. They prefer to take the journey on the go rather than as a whole. You work out situations when they appear in front of you, rather than remain constantly over the destination. Think "live in the now" personality with "we'll see how it goes".

---> One thing I always forget to add is that dissociation is common with these natives. You would see them so lost in what they are thinking or speaking without a stop. Often times they don't even realize what they are doing. And Most Gemini placements are nerds, could be into Anime, Dramas, Super Hero content, comedy shows, etc. Sincerely, coming from someone who has Gemini placements who loves k dramas, anime, animation, digital art, online writing this post, and more.

---> Most Gemini Placements are also found to be active on media about their life, memes, vlogs, sharing their opinions, about their work, etc. This depends mostly where these placements are placed in your chart. They might also have to be careful of putting everything out on social media though.

--> Tarot Card associated with them is the Lovers - Hence why we as readers sometimes also say that when the lovers appears in a reading, this could mean you also have many choices In love coming up or even in relationships.

Examples: I have this placement in my chart, specifically I have Moon in Gemini in 7th house - when I tell you I have such a hard time trying to sit down for something serious I be like not today lol but something like astrology always makes me effortlessly work on it and I have vast knowledge on the subject. I also decided it would be "fun" to learn Korean & Japanese in the middle of my exams 💀✋. I personally also have pets and y'all... when I say the dissociation is real with me. I like learning, it challenges me to be better. I do love reading and writing too (I think most of you can see it as seen by my post right now...), especially romance as a genre is something I have always enjoyed. I also have this at the 14 degree (degree of Taurus) so I do like doodling a lot while I am writing, and the way I am in love with making this in a beautiful format... I also like dressing comfortably when exercising. Another example of this is with Priyanka Chopra's moon in Gemini, which is also conjunct her ascendant in Gemini - I personally also relate to her on so many levels. Definitely someone who enjoys humor and likes acting in dynamic roles. She is someone who speaks often about social topics as well, is active on media about her opinions, and motivates people ahead of her life. Now her moon is in 13 degree (degree of Aquarius), meaning she does have a unique way of expressing herself. And ir makes total sense why she speaks to motivate othets aka serve humanity throught speech. She also speaks multiple languages and enjoys humor as well. With her Ascendant conjunct her moon, her first appearance of her being witty, funny, sarcastic, cool persona is her true emotional side. She also likes expressing her vulnerability in an artistic format.

One more example with Gemini placements is the one of Chris Evans with his Gemini Sun in 7th house conjunct his mars in 7th house - No wonder there is always a connection with someone through which he finds his fame at, and vice versa. I definitely can see why he pulls off so many roles, and also why he played Captain America in the Avengers Film so well - his character famously known with his love interest Peggy Carter, as well as known for the love/hate realtionship between Robert Dowry Jr.'s character Iron Man aka Tony Stark. He also has been known to be with many partners but he does care about them deeply. He is a prankster who loves humor and his timing is just chef's kiss. His work is very important to him, and he does really well in comic roles in general, or being known with someone on screen. And his voice is also something that carries such a charming nature... definitely the 7th house's impact along with mercury in cancer.

Other examples are Octavia Spencer, Marilyn Monroe, Tom Holland, Jennifer Lawrence, Jake Gyllenhaal, etc.

____________________________

A/N: You guys... I am so grateful for all of your love support and follows <3 Thank you.

*Thank you for being here, and thank you for your love.*

With love and grace ✨🎶

[shiveringgroovy]

for those drabble requests. can gender neutral reader cuddle up in fyodors ribcage all comfy like.

bonus points if it’s written in a sweet/fluffy tone despite the viscera the request implies but go crazy go stupid

Crawling into Fyodor's Ribcage!

Contents: Crawling into Fyodor's ribcage. As one does. Pairing: Fyodor/GN!reader, no y/n or physical descriptions used Warnings: Gore, body horror, unrealistic/fantasy situation, breaking bones, it's all consensual though don't even worry Notes: Anon, this has got to be the best first request ever. I love to torture my homunculi and get all up in their organs. [Coughs, the Fyovan fic]

You originally introduced the idea of "crawling into his skin" as an off-hand joke. Fyodor was experienced in the medical field, having performed fringe surgeries and operations on many people he came in contact with, perhaps even you. You could never be too sure with him, he could've very easily had you microchipped. You weren't exactly sure what he'd say to your request, but he responded by wordlessly handing you a scalpel. Shocked, you sat dumbfounded. "Are you serious?" You stammered, holding the scalpel with shaking hands. Not out of fear, no. Excitement. He nodded. "Go ahead," getting up to lay on the floor, smiling up at you. His black hair framed his face like a halo as he began unbuttoning his shirt. You knelt at his side and felt the protruding ribs under your fingertips, the rise and fall of his chest, and the beat of his heart. You wanted to be closer to that beat, those soft insides that invite you just beneath the dermis. He held your hand and guided the scalpel just above the sternum and led it down to the pelvic region, dodging the navel. The cut was sloppy due to your shaking hands and his limited vision due to positioning, but it worked. You gingerly slid your index finger past the cut, warm blood gushing from the wound like a lazy stream pooling on his abdomen. Fyodor hummed, signalling you to keep going. "It doesn't hurt, love. You don't have to be so gentle with me." He assured you with a hand on your shoulder. You felt your face burn up at his words and used both hands to seperate the cut, tearing more skin. The sound wasn't too pleasant, but the great reveal of his insides made your stomach turn with delight. You plunged your hand into his viscera with newfound vigor, it almost felt like being in a hot tub. You loved that sensation and your remaining hand joined the other. Fyodor gasped. You had been so preoccupied with his insides that you hadn't gotten a glimpse of his face for some time. His face was flushed pink and sweating, saliva trickling from the corners of his lips. It was pretty, you thought. "Doing okay?" You chuckled. Fyodor nodded. "Mhm... It feels nice. Different, but nice." His voice was wavering, struggling to keep composure, but he was clearly enjoying it. You noticed his ribs you so revered on the outside, now finally fully exposed. Hungrily, you hooked your fingers under the costal cartilage and pulled outwards, the sickening crack paired with Fyodor's pleased sigh filling your ears. Everything was exposed beautifully, the heart, lungs, liver, diaphragm... all for your eyes to drink in like fine wine. Then, an idea crossed your mind. A little voice telling you to crawl in there and cuddle up closer than anyone ever has. You nudge and adjust some organs out of your way, gently lowering yourself into his chest cavity. Your entire body was soaked in his blood, caking and cracking. The metallic smell overwhelmed both of you, hanging damp in the air like fog. You could taste the blood if you so much as opened your mouth to speak. Fyodor was still fairly quiet, save for a few gasps drawn from his bitten and bloodied lips. You rested your head on his throat, holding his heart in your hands and feeling it beat. "This is nice." You hummed, craning your neck to kiss his chin. "It is," Fyodor agreed. You two didn't get up for a long time.

End notes: "I'm in your walls!" Oh yeah??? I'm in your thoracic cavity feeling your heartbeat up close and personal. Loser. Also, I'm a horror writer and most of my stuff revolves around gore and body horror. I hope I did the fluffy part justice :P And if my anatomy and physiology teacher happens to see this, can I get extra credit or something 💯

[doberbutts]

Also just because I've been getting some harassing anons and replies on my post ever since that one self-identified Zionist blog got BIG MAD at me for posting the Palestinian flag (ironic considering like 3 days later when I reblogged something Jewish I had people then BIG MAD at me for that too.......)

Skoll, I took on knowing I would probably have to euthanize him for his aggression. From the very beginning the deal was that I was his last stop since he was a known abuse court case dog who was taken from his most recent owners and languishing in a kennel environment but deemed otherwise unadoptable due to severe aggression. The agreement was that I would have him for however long it would take to determine if he was fixable and then either I'd fix it and keep him or I'd euthanize. He bit me three separate times when we were still learning each other, and then attacked me randomly for the crime of petting his head, an act of affection he normally would approach me to request. I euthanized him at the advice of literally everyone involved with his case, and a few days after I euthanized him I got a letter from the state telling me either I put him down or animal control would take him and do it themselves. Pennsylvania is very strict on what they consider a mauling or a maiming and the resulting bite from his attack was very severe. I have had multiple people, including vets, neurologists, and behaviorists, tell me that they think he had rage, a seizure disorder which causes uncontrollable aggression, when I describe what his random bouts of attempting to attack literally the first thing he locked eyes on looked like.

Tiki, I rescued because I wanted a tiny dog and a dog that would live longer than a doberman, because dobe lifespans are hideously short due to their health problems. Within about 5 minutes of driving away with her, I realized she was very, very sick. We stopped at the vet before we even got her home. Over the next several months and constant ER visits we discovered she had hydrocephalus and also an immune condition that was slowly eating her lungs. She crashed during a procedure that was supposed to be our last attempt at fixing the lung problem as by then we knew the hydrocephalus would kill her anyway and we were trying to extend her life as long as possible. I dropped her off for the procedure, they called me on my way home, and I turned around so I could be there to say goodbye.

Creed died from cancer 🤷‍♂️ mast cell cancer is THE most common cancer in dogs as a species and it's a genuine coin toss if removing the initial tumor fixes it or if it's too late by the time you notice, because it forms on scar tissue so it hides by looking like a regular scar. Creed had a bunch of nicks and scrapes from running around in the woods on our hikes. One of the earliest scars he ever got is what killed him in the end. Losing him is what turned my blog from what it used to be, all dogs all the time, to what it is now. Ironically, he lived roughly the average lifespan for a doberman at 7.5 years old.

Phoebe, I was not involved in the decision to euthanize her. She came to me once again very sick, and I did my best to fix the problem, but it seemed to be a lot bigger than me or her other owner had expected. Her other owner took her to multiple specialists more local to her, and finally we came to a tentative diagnosis of a liver shunt. Her condition degraded rapidly and she went blind and began having seizures, and her other owner made the choice to say goodbye. Surgery was not an option due to her already bad condition not being certain she would actually survive anesthesia. I knew that she was not doing well, but I was not informed that she had died until several months later, despite my asking for updates because I suspected she'd passed. I don't disagree with the choice, I just wish I'd known when it happened. What we thought was just a chronic hookworm infestation and possible pancreatitus from the long-term damage from the hookworms turned out to be much more serious, and deadly, when it stopped responding to treatment.

If you have any questions on my capability as a dog owner to actually keep dogs alive, I'd like to direct you to the fact that Creed and my other actually-purchased-from-a-breeder dogs have lived good long lives. I keep getting sick dogs in rescue despite being told they are healthy, and that is exactly why I refuse to rescue dogs anymore. I'm tired of breaking my heart while cleaning up a problem someone else created. This is the part of rescue that doesn't get shared- what happens when someone loses the rescue lottery again and again and again with sick and mentally unwell dogs that are doomed to die before they've had a chance to truly live? I'm tired of being that someone. I'm tired of loving dogs and hemorrhaging money in a desperate attempt to fix them and feeling the weight of their bodies in my arms when that wasn't enough and they die anyway.

At least I can say Creed had a good fulfilled life as my constant companion, even if he didn't live nearly long enough compared to what I wanted.

[autistic-mandalorian]

I would love to hear this

Oh sure! Fair warning, this gets long, so it's under a cut:

So I have looked carefully at Maul post-bisection, specifically at where his abdomen ends and his prosthesis begins, and I believe that he was bisected between the L3 and L5 vertebrae, or just above his pelvic bone. Here is a diagram I drew on of where he was cut:

Image Description: The first image is a screenshot of Maul with his prosthetic legs from TCW. The screenshot is annotated to note where exactly Maul is divided between flesh and prosthesis. The second image is two diagrams side-by-side, one of the human body focusing on organs, and the other of the spine. Both have a line drawn around where the belly button is to note where Maul was bisected. End ID.

So in terms of what he lost, it was a LOT. Not just his legs, but most of his intestines, his bladder, his pelvis, his gonads, half his bones, most of his blood volume, and a lot of his abdominal and back muscles (as well as their attachment points, making the remaining muscles limited in their usefulness).

Image description: A diagram of the human musculature, from the ventral and dorsal sides. The diagram has a line drawn across it to show where Maul was bisected.

Fortunately for him, most of the organs in humanoids are located in the chest cavity (because the intestines need a LOT of room to work), so he kept his kidneys, liver, stomach, lungs, hearts, pancreas, gallbladder, etc etc. However, his intestines are interesting in that by getting chopped in half, his small intestine was actually disconnected from his large intestine. The small intestine connects to the large through the ileocecal valve, which is located on the left inferior side of the abdominal cavity. He got chopped right through the middle of the abdominal cavity, so he lost his entire cecum, the majority (if not all) of his ileum, and the valve that connected them. This means that anything he digested would just ooze into his abdominal cavity even after the giant wound repaired itself, unless he got surgery to reconnect them. We will say for the sake of the story that he fixed it with The Force while living in his trash hole.

Now, it is possible for people to be bisected like he was and survive, just only in a medical environment. It's an extremely rare and radical surgery called a hemicorporectomy. It's the last of the last resorts, because it leaves you with a lot of problems. Here are some of them:

Maul would need both a colostomy and urostomy bag, since his rectum and bladder are both gone. These would need to be regularly cleaned and emptied.

His missing intestines would also result in his not digesting most of his food fully, so he would need supplemental nutrients to help combat malnutrition. He obviously does not get these for most of his life (if ever) so he is almost certainly malnourished.

Due to his newfound Nightmare Castration, he would need regular doses of hormones or would risk osteoporosis. Which hormones is up to the reader (I nominate estrogen)

His spinal cord is, thankfully, fine--- it doesn't actually extend past L1-L2. However, he did lose the filum terminale, meaning his spinal cord is kinda unanchored in his spine and floating around, which isn't great and could lead to nerve issues down the line. Some of the nerves that were cut in his lumbar spine (specifically, the L4 lumbar nerve supplying the quadratus lumborum muscle) could also cause partial paralysis in his back, as well as some wicked back pain.

Shoutout to @necropocene for inspiration as well as the following headcanons:

Maul's lungs and other organs are constricted by his intestines being forced upward into his chest cavity, reducing his lung capacity

Maul suffers from chronic nausea

Maul's prosthesis needs to be very well-cushioned because the waist is not a load-bearing structure (too squishy!)

Now onto my specific headcanons for his prosthetics and mobility devices:

The thing about pelvises is not only do they let you use legs, they also allow your organs and muscles to attach to something rigid. For this reason, I think Maul should have two pelvises: one internal, being more like a metal frame that his abdominal and back muscles attach to, and one external and connected to his legs.

The lumbar spine and sacrum are what allow the spine to connect to the pelvis, so in order to use his prosthetic legs, I think it would be prudent to give Maul a prosthetic spine, Borg Queen-style. Now, this would admittedly be a pretty big infection risk (piece of metal sticking through the skin and all) but I think it's cool so I am invoking The Rule of Cool on this one.

Maul's legs are not something I spent much time on, because his canon ones are fine.

I do have headcanons for a wheelchair, though!

His wheelchair wouldn't be designed like your average wheelchair, because those are generally designed to accommodate people who have pelvises. His would probably look more like a plant pot or a baby bjorn, imo? It would have to support him without putting too much pressure on his torso, so I think a sort of foam well with a backrest, attached to wheels would be a good design.

I also think that his prosthetic spine should be able to dock with the wheelchair so that he can control it as an extension of his body, like the prosthetic legs.

Image description: Three pencil drawings on notebook paper. One is of Maul post-bisection, with each of his organs labeled and colostomy, urostomy, and gastronomy ports. The next two are of his wheelchair, which follows the description previously given. End ID.

And yeah, those are my headcanons! Thanks for asking :) I love talking about fantasy biology!

[beardedmrbean]

The first known survivor of China’s forced organ harvesting campaign against religious prisoners said he was now ready to speak out and expose the “evil” of the Chinese Communist Party.

Cheng Pei Ming, 58, who will talk publicly for the first time in Washington on Friday, described how he still feels “extreme pain” 20 years after parts of his lung and liver were forcibly removed.

“I believed they would kill me. I’m not sure they thought I could survive, but I did,” Mr Cheng told The Telegraph as he took off his shirt to expose a scar that wraps around his chest all the way to his back.

Mr Cheng says he was detained and tortured for years by the Chinese state for practising Falun Gong, a spiritual movement founded in the early 1990s. 

The movement swept across the country, but was outlawed in 1999 and then brutally suppressed by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), which branded it an “evil cult” and a threat to the state. 

Beijing has long viewed religious groups as a threat to social order and the party’s ideological grip on power. 

In the decades after Falun Gong was banned and its followers were persecuted, China’s organ transplantation industry exploded. Vital organs became readily available within a matter of days in state-run hospitals – a timeframe no national transplantation system elsewhere in the world has ever been able to achieve.

In 2019, an independent tribunal in London ruled that the Chinese government continued to commit crimes against humanity by targeting minorities, including the Falun Gong movement, for organ harvesting. 

The CCP has denied accusations of organ harvesting and repeatedly denied that Falun Gong practitioners have been killed for their organs.

But in 2021, UN human rights experts reported that along with Falun Gong practitioners, other minorities had been targeted, including Uyghurs, Tibetans, Muslims and Christians in detention in China.

Mr Cheng said he could not understand why they would crack down on a religion that promoted peace.

“Falun Gong teaches people to be good and to have compassion and empathy for all people. We mean no harm to society, the persecution against us should have never happened,” he said.

After 14 years of evading Chinese authorities, including five years in Thailand where he was granted UN refugee status, Mr Cheng reached the US in July 2020.

Mr Cheng was first arrested in September 1999. He said he was tortured and told to give up his faith and that when he refused he was expelled along with his family from his home in the eastern province of Shandong.

In the years that followed, he was “kidnapped by the CCP” five times, each time suffering “unbearable” torture, he said.  

“I remembered asking: ‘Why don’t you kill me instead?’ And they said: ‘It is too easy, we get great pleasure in torturing you’,” Mr Cheng said.

In 2002, he was sentenced to eight years in jail. He recalled seeing other Falun Gong inmates disappear. Some were sent to so-called “re-education” labour camps; others were tortured to death.

In July 2004, Mr Cheng said he was dragged into a hospital where agents from the CCP’s infamous 610 office – dubbed “China’s gestapo” – tried to make him sign consent forms. When he refused, they knocked him down and put him to sleep.

His family was told that he was undergoing surgery and had a 20 per cent chance of survival.

Mr Cheng woke up three days later, terrified, shackled to a bed, and with a 35cm incision across his chest. Transplant experts have since confirmed that scans show sections of Mr Cheng’s liver and left lung were surgically removed.

Two years later, prison guards took him back to hospital. “There was no reason for them to operate, so I understood I would be killed. My family were told I had swallowed knives and wasn’t likely to survive.”

But an unexpected opportunity presented itself for escape. His guard had fallen asleep, so Mr Cheng made a run for it. 

For nine years, “I lived a life of escape and hiding under false names”, he said, adding that the CCP “wanted to find men and kill me to cover up what they had done”.

He eventually escaped to Thailand where “I felt I could have been killed anytime”, Mr Cheng said. He only felt safe once he reached US soil in 2020.

In June, the US House passed The Falun Gong Protection Act, which aims to force an end to the persecution of Falun Gong by the CCP as well as forced organ harvesting from apprehended practitioners of the faith.

Mr Cheng, whose family largely remains in China, still cannot feel parts of his chest, and he struggles on a daily basis with shocks of pain that ripple through his body.

But he is now ready to tell his story. “I want the world to know how evil the CCP is. It does not only seek to harm people in China, but the world. I have to expose what has happened to the Falun Gong.”

Dr Charles Lee, a leading advocate for the Falun Gong movement, who himself was arrested and tortured for his beliefs by the CCP in 2003, told The Telegraph that the importance of Mr Cheng’s testimony cannot be overstated.

“We heard reports for decades about the extremely inhuman treatment Falun Gong faced, those that were tortured to death, their bodies cut open and organs missing. But now we have the first live witness.”

He added: “This should be an alarm to people and governments around the world that the CCP does not care for human lives.”

[minniethemoocherda]

Am I Pretty Enough To Fucking Die?

A/N: Sorry it's been a while since I've posted! IRL stuff got kinda busy for a minute! But I hope it was worth the wait! Also this takes place before my last fic "Saying Something Stupid" Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

They should have realised the first time that they should have died.

They had spent so long in their human form back then that they had nearly been successful in making themselves forget what it was like to be in their natural liquid state. But subconsciously, they mustn't have had, as it was all too easy for Sinister to bring them back from death.

Countless of the countless experiments Sinister put them should have killed them. At times they wished that he had. But as much as it felt like he was trying too kill them, Sinister always brought them back to life.

It wasn't until when Sentinel-Trask shot a fireball at their face, and they heard Logan scream their name in a repeat of that first fatal night, that the thought first came to them. Because whilst the force of having their body ripped apart hurt like hell itself, it could only have been half an hour later that they were able to pull the burnt blobs of their body back together.

Logan refused to leave their side for at least a week after that and whilst Morph wasn't going to complain, they couldn't help but wonder if the extra protection was even necessary.

Morph had no idea about the science behind it but they knew that somehow they didn't need a brain to function. That the few times they reverted back to a full liquid state, just because they didn't have a physical brain to control them, didn't mean they couldn't. Whenever they were in a human form they would create whatever they needed to move their body, such as their heart or lungs or whatever gendered organs they were feeling that day, even though technically they didn't need them to function, as e it would hurt if one of those concocted organs were injured, as it was their cells that were getting damaged, at the end of the day, they could just shift themselves a new one.

They knew that there were other shapeshifters out there. Mystique being the most famous amongst them. Morph had never met her in person but they had read her file. They knew that she could also change their internal organs, it was how Nightcrawler had come into existence after all. And Beast theorised that she could shift at a cellular, maybe even atomic level. But her natural state was still human, a blue skinned and yellow eyed one but human non the less. Whereas Morph's natural state was as a pile of gloop.

Currently they were in what the team saw as their normal form, pale grey skin with a featureless face. The others did know that it wasn't their real form, but Morph doubted that many of them remembered that.

Except for Logan of course, who knew them better than anyone.

They were sitting besides The Wolverine now, a half forgotten game of go-fish scattered across the table between them and bottles of beer keeping them warm against the chill of the evening breeze.

Stealing glances at Logan wasn't anything new for them but this time was different. They gazed at how the last rays of sun illuminated the sharp edge of his nose, wondering how many sunsets that face had seen. Morph believed that Logan was a sight that they would never tire of seeing.

"You gonna keep starin' or are you gonna ask whatever's in that bald head of yours?" Logan grumbled after Morph must have been looking for too long.

The liver and stomach they'd created, digested the alcohol, giving their body a warm buzz, which was probably why Morph didn't think much before opening their mouth.

"When did you realise that you were immortal?"

Judging by the look on Logan's face that wasn't what he had expected them to ask but he answered anyway.

"The first time I remember getting shot in the head."

"Yeah but how did you know, for certain that you were immortal?"

"I don't. Not yet." Logan shrugged. "Beast reckons that gettin' my head cut off would probably do the trick but I ain't plannin' on testin' that out." He then fixed them with those sharp blue eyes of his. "Why?"

Morph took a deep breath. Honestly after coming out as gay and non-binary, this wasn't half as scary.

"I don't think I can die."

"Oh shit." Logan replied after a moment, rare genuine shock crossing his grizzled features. "You sure?"

"Not yet." Morph repeated back to him in his own voice.

"Well I definitely ain't helpin' you test that out either." Logan snorted as though the pair of them were just shooting the breeze, as though this conversation was a completely normal thing to talk about. As thought this was just nothing thing to add to the list of things they had in common like their love of beer, enjoying taking the piss out of Scott and past psychological torture.

But then Logan had always been the only one who understood them. It was what made him so easy to talk to. Almost too easy. Which made it hard not to tell him how they truly felt.

"Looks like you're stuck with me then old man." They said instead.

"Huh." Before Morph had the chance to reflect on that reflective tone, Logan continued. "Well I can think of worse people to be stuck for eternity with."

"Worse then me?" Morph said through the sharp teeth of Sabertooth's mouth.

"If you spend the rest if time dressed up at Creed, I'll kill you myself." Logan said, punctuating his point with the familiar snikt of his claws.

Then the crease in Logan's brow tensed into something sharper.

"Look, sometimes it's harder to be the one who survives. And just 'cus you can't die don't mean you can't feel pain." Logan stated, watching the sun as it finally sunk bellow the horizon.

They both knew that he wasn't talking about the physical kind of pain. It probably wasn't the healthiest conclusion to come to when dealing with ones own mortality or lack there of, but the thought that they couldn't stop coming back to was that it meant that they would never again be able to hurt Logan again with their death.

Then Logan put his claws away, stroking the red of his knuckles as he cleared his throat.

"So don't go looking for new ways to give us all heart attacks alright. I-we don't like seeing you get hurt."

"Trust me I'm not." Morph snorted. "You don't have to worry about me."

Steel blue eyes met their empty grey ones.

"I'll always worry about you."

It wasn't an I love you, and it probably never would be but, promising to care for them for the rest of eternity would most likely be the closest Morph would ever get and they would hold those words forever in their fabricated heart.

Morph honestly hadn't thought too deeply about their new realisation. After coming to terms with their gender and sexuality this was just another thing to add to the long lost of weird shit they'd learnt about themselves.

But it was a comfort to know that whatever life might throw at them, they would always have Logan by their side.

A/N: So the concept of Morph being made of gloop has really stuck in my head and got me thinking how they can function without organs and if they don't need them, then what could actually kill them?? Like they get blasted in the chest in the OG show?? Then Sentinal-Trask blasts them too and we even see them turn to gloop in that shot!!?? So yeah my latest headcanon is that like Logan, they too are potentially immortal! Xxxxxx

[damagedintellect]

💌 Reading into the palms of isekai bullshit:

Chapter 8 💌  

Summary: You were no stranger to isekai bullshit. It’s not like you had a problem with it. The genre took over the anime scene for years now but you try to stay away from thinking about how you would handle the situation. The last time you thought about inserting yourself into your favorite show you wrote a 100k word xReader fic for your favorite characters and you didn’t want to spend all your time consumed by the brainrot again. Never again, you promised yourself that was the last time you’d let the devil on your shoulder win. You clicked on chapter 1 to start the adventure over again but when you opened your eyes and saw Dazai O-FUCKING-samu getting choked by Kunikida you honestly hoped it was a dream.  

Notes: Oh boi first I wanted to thank everyone for being patient with me I'm sure if you read my other works you're in the know, and probably sick of hearing about how the last half of 2023 I was pretty much in and out of the hospital but I'm fine now! ...BTW 🍋 in this one

 ★ Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [You Are Here] ★

💌 Word count: 3,392 💌 <= Previous Chapter | Next Chapter =>

Three hours, you have been running around for three hours trying to find Dazai. You were hunched over panting, clutching the wall of a building to brace yourself. If only you hadn’t lied to Chuuya then you could get his help. Although if Dazai doesn’t want to be found, maybe Chuuya wouldn’t be able to find him either. The roof, Dazai’s room, Oda’s grave, Lupin, rivers, bridges? You were running out of places to go and places that you knew of. You grit your teeth, Ranpo won’t help you either. Not unless you beg and he feels sorry for you. At this point you were pulling on your hair at your wits end. Where would he go? Or rather maybe you should be asking a different question. Where would be the last place you would look?

You coughed before running back to the dorms. There was no way right? The last place you would expect Dazai to be, would be in your room. It was fairly sound logic. With the kind of person he knows you to be, you probably wouldn’t go back to your room until you either found Dazai or gave up. Sometimes the best hiding spot was in plain sight. Your lungs were burning since before you rounded the corner let alone when you tripped up the stairs. This had been the most cardio you’ve gotten in a long time and this was including the week Q’s ability was let loose. You fumbled with the key and stumbled inside heaving as you fell to your knees trying to close the door behind you. The clattering of bottles could be heard from the entryway. You managed to pull yourself to the main room to see the damage. It looked just as cluttered as Dazai’s room to the point where you were concerned for his liver. It was a mixture of empty sake and whiskey bottles. You might have to get Yosano to pump his stomach. Dazai was curled up into a ball in the corner of the room. He still had half a bottle of whiskey in his hands and his head was in his knees.

You tried your best to catch your breath before trying to navigate through the wreckage that you’re going to have to clean up later. To be completely honest you half expected him to drop off the face of existence for a week. You’re surprised you even found the brunette. You looked around whistling to yourself. People always say something, something Chuuya’s the alcoholic but you're convinced otherwise. You don’t think Dazai even registered your presence when you sat next to him. Gently you pried the bottle from his hands, taking a swig for yourself. It wasn’t your go to hard liquor but after everything you needed a drink. Your head had too many thoughts that needed to be quieted down.

You put the cap back on the bottle and leaned your head on his shoulder putting his hand that once held the whiskey in your own while interlacing your fingers to deter him from running. Although you highly doubt he could in this state, but you never know with anime logic. For all you know he could have just moved all the bottles from his room to make it look like he was far gone. The only real clue you had was the fact he smelled like alcohol and sweat but you weren't much better either.

“You still conscious Dazai?” You take a glance in his direction seeing if he turned his head towards you or anything. He didn’t.

“How’d you know I was here?” His voice was cold and smooth. If you didn’t know any better you would probably think he was sober. It takes roughly thirty minutes for alcohol to take an effect on your body. Although you didn’t know when he started drinking and how much he had. Trying to deduce the situation was harder than you thought. There were too many variables you needed to take in account and nothing could have prepared you for this if it was a trap. You would just have to trust your gut and with all the empty bottles laying around, assuming he did drink them then he had no chance to be sober. It kind of worried you.

“I didn’t. I ran out of places to look and hoped you’d be in the last place I searched.”

Dazai only nodded at your explanation. You sighed leaning over him to use your other hand to grab his face. “Look, I’m not like you, or Ranpo,” you paused briefly grasping at straws “Or even Fyodor. I'm not a genius. I have, one, very specific party trick, for everything else I’ve been taking shots in the dark. I’m not actually eloquent with my words and can’t pull these, “Everything will be okay” monologues out of my ass. So tell me what's actually bothering you so I can fix it and we can move on.”

“No” He had absolutely no hesitation in his answer and it caught you off guard.

“No? What do you mean no?” You studied his eyes but he blankly stared back at you before his eyebrows knit together with uncertainty. Dazai huffed “I don't know.” The tone of his voice made your heart clench.

Dazai looked down at the hand that was still holding his. He slowly tugged his fingers free as he changed the grip you had on him. He sucked in a shaky breath melting into the hand you had on his cheek “It hurts,” Dazai turned, pulling you as close as he could before placing your other hand on his chest, directly over where his heart was “Right here.” Your eyes widen at the gesture, your mind going completely blank. You watched as his expression faltered showing just how uncomfortable he was. Dazai was shaking like a cornered animal.

He was trying his best not to push you away or intentionally say something to hurt you even though he could feel the venomous words dancing on his tongue. He didn't know how to sit with the vulnerability. It didn't even occur to Dazai that he was trembling until you pulled him into a tight hug. He latched onto you like you could disappear at any moment. You honestly didn’t know what to make of this either so you did the same, shifting closer. You closed your eyes listening to his breathing as you rubbed his back. Neither of you had anything else to add for a while and you don’t think you could, even if you did.

The only signal that time had even passed you by was the light from outside. It had faded from its original brightness leaving you two huddled in the dark. At this point you were both gross and sticky with sweat, you should probably take a bath or at least start cleaning up so you can lay your futon out. You carefully pulled away just enough to look at the rest of the room. “I’m not letting you leave but we need to at least move everything out of the way if we plan on sleeping tonight. Do you want to bathe first or?”

Dazai mumbled out his response but you couldn’t understand a word or at least you hoped that you heard him wrong because you could have sworn he said “together?”

When you didn’t answer, he finally turned to look at you, reaffirming your assumption. “Can we bathe together?”

You blushed at the sudden request. He was being serious. “I-uh” you were torn. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but you were adults and maybe he just didn’t want to be alone right now? It’s hard to say really when he’s studying you like a hawk, waiting for an answer. You swallowed your embarrassment, worst case scenario you could bathe in your underwear. “We can bathe together,” You stood up to start clearing away the bottles knowing you wouldn’t want to do it after your bath. “But only if the bandages come off because I swear I’m not bathing with a heathen.”

You bolted upright, nearly dropping a bottle when you felt something grab your arm. Dazai was peering down at you with an emotion you couldn’t place “Only if you’re naked too.” It was said firmly and with no room for negotiations. Biting your lip you weigh out your options but given your current circumstance, what did you have to lose? You matched his gaze.

“Okay.” You smiled.

If this is what it took to bring Dazai back to his usual self then so be it. After all, it was only fair. Dazai had done his fair share of laying himself bare. Now it was time to return the favor, albeit in a completely different sense. It didn’t take long to push all the bottles aside and set up your futon. You were amazed Dazai was even standing on his feet. As you grabbed some towels, it occurred to you that Dazai would have nothing to change into afterwards but you didn’t want to leave him to grab something from next door. You guess you would just have to wash his clothes so he had something to sleep in. You turned away to disrobe and surprisingly Dazai did the same. Neither of you said anything as you gathered up his clothes and walked out of the room to put them in the wash. He had a lot of bandages to unravel anyways. You should probably see if you had any for him to use later.

When you walked back in you tried not to look him over but you could feel his eyes roaming your body freely. It was making you self conscious until he said “You’re beautiful.” You nearly got whiplash from how fast your head snapped in his direction. It was jarring to see him without the bandages, numerous scars were scattered on his skin but your eyes were drawn to the faded scar across his chest. The one he acquired while fighting alongside Chuuya at fifteen.

“You're one to talk.” You moved to start the shower. “Don’t you know girls find scars hot.” As you were adjusting the temperature you felt arms wrap around your center. Dazai rested his head on your shoulder. “Hmmm girls maybe but what about beautiful women?”

You turned the shower head to splash him. “Oh, now you're really dripping with good looks.” You laughed teasing him. Dazai looked like a wet cat as you tousled his hair under the warm stream. “Of course I find them hot, silly, I wouldn't have said so otherwise.” You were glad he couldn't see your face that well from his spot on your shoulder. It was one thing to flirt with him in jest, another when you were alone but right now you were both naked in the shower. It kinda made your head spin with how odd the day has been.

As you tried to grab for the soap to start scrubbing off the grime Dazai intercepted your hand. “Allow me.” He said in a low voice. His breath was tickling the shell of your ear. The demand left you frozen as you felt Dazai start feeling up your body with his hands ignoring the luffa hanging from the caddy. Reflexively you squirmed backwards pressing Dazai against you further. You swallowed, there was nowhere to run. Blood rushed to your face. His hands glided over your breasts, brushing your nipples ever so slightly. Dazai made sure they were extra clean before giving them a playful squeeze. You let out a small mewl biting your lip before his hands moved down the rest of your body.

Dazai was intrigued with how far you would let him go, entertained by the soft noises you were making. He kissed your neck as he let one hand drift between your legs. His goal was to clean and tease, but if you begged for it he wouldn't complain. He was thrilled that you didn’t push him away. You had every right to be furious with him but you weren’t. You must really trust him. It makes him feel warm inside.

Dazai was touching you everywhere but the one place you wanted and it was killing you. He never passed through the crease of your folds. It made you take a sharp inhale. This was all so intimate and it was driving you crazy. You were torn, it felt good and you wanted it to go further but you were so tired and dead awake at the same time. The feelings swimming around in your head were all over the place. You decided he’s had enough, it was your turn. Gently you stopped his hands turning around to do the same. Lazily massaging the soap around his body.

Dazai smiled softly as you took the time to kiss every scar within your reach. Your hands stopped on his pelvis. Right now you had so much power. It really depended on what you wanted. Do you get him hard? Maybe suck him off a little and leave him wanting more? Or should you just ignore the area altogether since you’re not sure if you could finish what you start. It was a hard decision but if you wanted to soak in the tub at anypoint tonight you should probably move this along. Instead you forgo the area, handing Dazai the soap as you start washing your hair. If you touched him you probably wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

When you do finally get the bath running you try not to stare at the brunette but the missed opportunity is all you can think about as you step inside the hot water. Dazai was leaning into your chest because you wanted to make up for what you should have done earlier. You had your arms snaked around his torso holding him to your chest. The job of every big spoon is to make sure their little spoon can feel their love and affection. While the gesture was genuinely supposed to be innocent your thoughts were anything but. You both soak like that for a while letting the hot water relax your sore muscles trying to set those thoughts aside.

As the water started cooling down you started kissing the crook of his neck. The events from earlier were getting the better of you. It wasn't long before your hands traveled downwards, once again resting on his pelvis drawing little circles on the area. Decisions, decisions all of them wrong but you didn’t want to stop. Maybe it was because you were both touch starved and emotionally drained. Dazai hummed tilting his head back over your shoulder giving you more room to kiss his neck. Fuck it you’ve already come this far. You started palming at his member with one hand as the other lazily stroked his chest.

Nothing is hotter than being able to feel Dazai grow hard under your touch. It was hard to pump his length under the water in a meaningful way but you continued to fondle him until he was fully erect, marveling at the thickness in your hands. It was hard to tell how much prep you'd need since you were already turned on but the water was also warping your view of his size. Dazai groaned in your ear gripping your thigh. In this position he was at your mercy and right now your hand was giving him way too much friction. If you stroked him any faster it would be an uncomfortable amount. “C-can I help you?” he practically hissed.

“Be a good boy and dry off while I put your clothes in the dryer.” You gave him a kiss on the lips as you were getting up to grab your towel. You didn't have to look back to see that he was excitedly following orders. You could hear the water start to drain when he pulled the plug. Your heart was racing as you quickly filled the dryer. This was happening, you were doing this. Taking a deep breath you prepared yourself mentally.

The room was still dark. It seemed Dazai didn’t bother turning on any of the lights. You could vaguely see Dazai was already splayed out on the futon waiting for you. “Like what you see?” He gestured to himself slowly trying to entice you further.

“I do,” you giggled “But I think I need a closer look.”

You gracefully crawled next to him, giving him another kiss on the lips. “Oops my eyes were closed” You teased playfully, melting into his lips a second time. Dazai smiled, happily invading your personal space. Hesitantly you let your hands wander bringing him closer to you. Each kiss was making you breathless but you didn’t want to pull away. Not when you could feel Dazai’s hands caressing your sides. The brunette shifted on top of you, nibbling your bottom lip. You gasped letting him deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to make your headspin. You were so captivated by his lips you didn’t realize Dazai was spreading your legs until he slipped a finger inside you, causing you to moan out unexpectedly at the sensation.

It went in so easy you almost didn’t notice until Dazai’s slender finger brushed just the right area to send a wave of pleasure down your spine. He was quick to add another grinning “Someone must be enjoying themselves. It’s very wet down here, bella.~” Dazai kissed around your jaw and down your neck, lazily fingering your entrance.

You squirm a little at how slow he was moving. If he didn’t get you all worked up in the shower you would be a bit more patient but it’s consumed your thoughts for the entirety of your bath. “Dazai please, I want you.”

He peppered a few more kisses to your chest before pulling back to look at you lovingly. “Already? I haven’t even gotten a taste of you yet.” He mused before swiping his thumb at your clit, causing your breath to hitch. Having Dazai go down on you would feel amazing but you want to feel amazing together.

“Another time, I want you now.”

He was awestruck that someone could want him so badly. Pride swelled in his chest. He really had panicked for nothing. It took Dazai a moment to pull his fingers out and slick himself with what lingered of you, on his skin. He wasn’t joking when he said you were very wet. It was extremely inviting so much so that he was drooling at the thought. Dazai wanted to savor this moment, ogling you as he let himself plunge deeper than his fingers could reach.

You both share a shaky breath. There was no discomfort, only the pleasurable thought of feeling full. Dazai was so warm within your walls it was taking a lot of self control to move, lest he cum prematurely. That would be embarrassing. Dazai shuddered as he pulled out just enough to dive back in. It felt too good to be true and that's saying something. With every thrust you were seeing stars. At this rate you wouldn’t last very long either. You don’t even know when you started moaning his name.

Dazai dipped his lips to your ear and panted “Osamu, call me Osamu.”

Your eyes had been previously wired shut with the intense ecstasy but they snapped open at the request. “O-Osamu~” It felt so foreign on your tongue. You started choking on your words as Dazai rammed into you harder. You were turning into putty, gripping on to whatever you could to ground yourself when Dazai intertwined your fingers with his. It wasn’t long before you both hit your limits.

Dazai slumped on top of you as you both tried to catch your breath. The hot breath on your skin and the post climax bliss had the words falling out of your mouth before your brain registered them. “I love you Osamu. Don't forget that.”

It took a moment for Dazai to respond. The post nut clarity settled his anxieties just enough to come to a conclusion. He was so tired of running away he just might make the mistake of indulging in the moment, disregarding the concern his mind once had.

“I love you too.”