#partial rat body part

[freckleslikestars]

The X Files Quotes that I say/reference so often that I’ve had to make gifs of them part 2/?

[singeart]

kisses for scratches 😘

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any good words for pain? (Hurt for example) Like being in pain or exclamations of pain (ouch for example)

Pain—unpleasant bodily sensation; mental/emotional distress or suffering

Ache - a usually dull persistent pain

Affliction - a cause of persistent pain or distress

Agony - intense pain of mind or body; anguish, torture

Anguish - extreme pain, distress, or anxiety

Bruise - an injury involving rupture of small blood vessels and discoloration without a break in the overlying skin; an injury especially to the feelings

Burn - to produce or undergo an uncomfortable or painful sensation like that of being injured by fire

Chafe - to make sore by or as if by rubbing

Clonus - a rapid succession of alternating contractions and partial relaxations of a muscle occurring in some nervous diseases

Colic - an attack of acute abdominal pain localized in a hollow organ and often caused by spasm, obstruction, or twisting

Cramp - a painful involuntary spasmodic contraction of a muscle

Deleterious - harmful often in a subtle or unexpected way

Discomfort - mental or physical uneasiness; annoyance

Distress - pain or suffering affecting the body, a bodily part, or the mind; trouble

Fester - to generate pus; putrefy, rot;; to cause increasing poisoning, irritation, or bitterness

Gripe - a pinching spasmodic intestinal pain—usually used in plural

Inflamed - to cause inflammation (i.e., injury that is marked by capillary dilatation, leukocytic infiltration, redness, heat, and pain) in (bodily tissue)

Lancinate - pierce, stab, lacerate

Malaise - a vague sense of mental or moral ill-being

Misery - a circumstance, thing, or place that causes suffering or discomfort

Noxious - physically harmful or destructive to living beings

Pernicious - highly injurious or destructive; deadly; (archaic): wicked

Prickle - a prickling or tingling sensation

Sore - a source of pain, distress or vexation; affliction

Spasm - an involuntary and abnormal muscular contraction; a sudden violent and temporary effort, emotion, or sensation

Sting - a wound or pain caused by or as if by stinging (sharp or piercing)

Suffer - to endure death, pain, or distress

Throb - to pulsate or pound with abnormal force or rapidity

Travail - a physical or mental exertion or piece of work; task, effort; agony, torment

Twinge - a sudden sharp stab of pain

Woe - a condition of deep suffering from misfortune, affliction, or grief

Exclamations of Pain

ouch, boo, ow, aw, woe, shucks, ay, rats, yuk, sheesh, alack, tush, pooh, yuck, wirra (Irish), phooey, alas, tsk, pshaw, bah, humph, tut, pish, ho hum, faugh, fie

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

You'll Never Learn

Simon "Ghost" Riley X John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny could feel his heart slowly crack in his chest as he stared back at Simon, lips parted as he struggled to come back down into his own body.

a/n: ahhhhh! I'm finally writing and posting again! i deeply apologize for basically not posting in forever but writers block and depression hit together, this was heavily inspired and also partially written(via our texts lol)by @gaylemonshark so i hope you all enjoy! tw: mentions of abuse, heartbreak, no happy ending

Johnny wasn’t an idiot, he’d always known he could talk for longer than anyone cared to listen. It was a habit he’d been unable to break since childhood. He understood why he did it as a child, chattering away about his newest obsession to his Ma as if she were actually listening to him for once.

She snapped on him for the first time when he was just over five years old. Her face nearly beet red as she yelled and screamed about how ‘he’d never shut his trap! Always yapping her damn ear off’.

Johnny learned not to talk to his mother much after that, instead turning his focus over to his father. He liked helping him whenever the car needed fixing, or even when he’d sit down with some whiskey. His fathers anger was scarier, the shattered glass on the floor a reminder of his failures.

“Do ye ever stop talkin’?! Aye, I feel like you don’ even listen anymore!”

Johnny stopped talking much after that, only answering when it became necessary. It didn’t matter if he was surrounded by his closest friends, or his family. 

He’d learned early on that no one would ever want to listen to him talk, so why waste his breath?

It was easier being in the military, having to keep his mouth shut unless absolutely necessary. No one needed to listen to his stupid stories, what good would it even do?

When he’d been chosen for the task force, keeping his head held high as his new captain, John Price, introduced him to the team. 

They’re just your teammates, they’re not your friends.

The words ran through his mind like a mantra, a subtle reminder that he couldn’t let himself get close to them. Sure, they made him feel welcome and like he was more than just a part of the team.

It’s all lies, Johnny. Don’t fall for their tricks, they’ll abandon you just like everyone else.

He’d need to at least be friendly with the team, lest they worry and think he’s a rat. Last time that happened he’d nearly been discharged. His Pa would’ve had his hide if that happened.

It started out innocent enough, enjoying a pint with everyone, the scent of beer and smoke filling the air. The lines around Simon’s eyes deepened with every laugh. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

Damnit! He’d been doing so good lately, keeping his nose down and ignoring any feelings that could come up. Lord knows his father was ready to beat him black and blue when he’d found out he liked men.

Johnny had wailed, told his father he still liked women as well. It just landed him in the army so he’d be able to finally escape the abuse. No one needed to know about that, he didn’t need their pity.

Unfortunately, Johnny was never good at listening to his own advice.

The first time he’d spent the night in Simon’s bed, he was sure that he’d met Jesus. His legs shook from the aftershocks of the intense four orgasms that Simon had forced out of him. He claimed it was a one time thing, assuring himself it wouldn’t happen again.

Until it did.

The second time wasn’t as rushed, they took their touch exploring the other's body, searing kisses lingering long after they’d fallen asleep. The taste of smoke and liquor was heavy on his tongue, though the faintness of Simon lingered in the back of his throat.

Johnny could deny it no longer when they continued to fall into bed together, finally admitting to himself the feelings he had for the bigger man. One time was an accident, two times was simply his own fault.

It took too long for him to begin to open up, telling Simon little things about himself here and there. How his mother always made the best bread, or how both him and his sister broke the same arm at the same age. The conversations were kept to a minimum, Johnny refusing to talk Simon’s ear off and annoy the other man. Worry creeped up along the back of his neck each time they began a conversation.

It didn’t matter how many times Simon said how he liked hearing Johnny talk, or the lovestruck gaze on his face as Johnny told him silly childhood stories. None of it mattered, he wouldn’t let Simon hurt him the way everyone else in his life had. Hell, he’d refused to even open up to his Captain or the other Sergeant in the task force, his Lieutenant wouldn’t be any different.

Johnny, why don’t you let Simon see you for who you truly are? What’s the worst that could happen?

As the months slowly turned into years, Johnny’s shell slowly began to crack, their conversations becoming longer as Johnny helped fill the silence. Anyone who knew Simon would know he didn’t like to talk often, so if he truly didn’t mind Johnny’s yapping, then why not?

Their missions went by with ease, Johnny filling the silence when he knew they weren’t in any sort of danger. The conversations were mindless, just a way for them to pass time until they either reached their destination, or were picked up by evac.

In that time, Simon never once complained about Johnny’s lack of filter. Whether it was cracking jokes and telling stories, or simply just talking about the mission at hand. It felt good to finally be seen, to know there was at least one person out there that would simply listen.

The sky was overcast as Johnny sat up in his bed, Simon already up and about for the day so he could get some of the much needed paperwork written up. He debated for a few minutes whether or not he should go and keep Simon company. On one hand he knew how dreadful and boring writing up reports could be, on the other he knew Simon sometimes did them to help ease his mind from their latest mission.

It was an easy mission though, why not see him for a few minutes at least? What’s the harm in seeing your boyfriend?

Nodding to himself, Johnny grabbed some clean clothes and quickly changed, making his way down to Simon’s office where he was typing away. He knocked quietly, softly whispering the other man’s name as he stepped inside the office.

“Come in.” Simon didn’t so much as glance up as Johnny walked inside, shutting the door behind him before heading over to the lone chair on the opposite side of his desk.

“Didn’t know if you wanted any company, I can go if you’d rather be left alone.” Johnny gestured towards the door he’d just walked through, not wanting to impose and anger Simon.

“Y’re fine.” Simon waved him off, almost as if the other man wasn’t really paying attention.

Johnny started on another story from his childhood, one that he hadn’t told anyone, he’d been confident he would take it to his grave, and yet here he was, telling Simon. The words spilled out like word vomit, his lips moving faster than his own brain at that moment. The memories played through his mind like a movie, a reminder of how much his father despised him.

SLAM!

Johnny jumped out of his seat immediately, heart racing as he stared back at Simon on the opposite side of the desk.

“Jesus! Do ya ever shut your goddamn mouth!?” Before Johnny could reply, unsure if he even wanted to, Simon cut him off again. “I swear! All you ever do is talk! I can hardly ‘ear myself think!” Simon’s chest fell and rose harshly, his brow furrowed as the wrinkle between them deepened. “For once in your life, shut the fuck up!” Simon spat harshly, lip pulled back in a snarl.

Johnny could feel his heart slowly crack in his chest as he stared back at Simon, lips parted as he struggled to come back down into his own body. He slowly closed his mouth, jaw hardening as he slowly came to terms with his reality.

It didn’t matter how much someone claimed to love him, he would always need to hide a part of him to be more palatable. No one would ever be able to love John MacTavish the way he deserved.

“I understand, sorry for wasting your time.” Johnny’s words were clipped, tone sharp as he turned and made his way out of Simon’s office before his superior could come to his senses.

Simon watched as Johnny walked out, heart rate slowing until he was calm once more. The harsh reality of his words slowly beginning to sink in. He’d seen how shy Johnny was when he first joined the task force, having assumed that Johnny was just nervous around the other men. His eyes widened in horror as Johnny’s story began to suddenly make sense. 

He never talked about his parents, or his sister, or even any of his friends from when he was younger. Never wanted to talk about anything until Simon told him he liked talking with him, it helped fill the silence.

God, Simon was such an idiot.

He’d destroyed Johnny’s trust in him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to repair that.

[k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl-wr1t1ng]

The M3duS4 Protocol 

Part 1.0

Rubble shifts and slides under slender pointed feet. The dark haze of night shrouding her swift movements through the crumbling streets, the abandoned machine world silent around her as she darts from shadow to shadow. Her almost impossibly dark chassis perfectly suited for infiltration and stealth, reduced now to slinking around like an old world rat. Void pauses as she reaches a jagged opening in the floor in front of her, the edges of the pit’s yawning maw partially melted and gnarled. Void’s sensors begin to scan and calculate, she has no idea what weapon could have caused this damage but she does notice its trajectory, all the damage bent outwards, towards the sky. Whatever it was came from bellow and fired out, and hopefully, if she’s lucky, continued that way itself. She knows she has to decide quickly, spending as long as she has inside such an active zone without an encounter is a miracle, and she’ll need a few more if she’s gonna make it out intact.

A silent sigh escapes her body, she cant afford to stay out in the open any longer. Gingerly she starts her descent, every step carefully placed as to not create any noise, the pile of metal left over from whatever rampaged through here making a convenient staircase down into the dark under-city. Her sensors carefully scanning the room as the sky above her is replaced by thick metal. Her nimble body quickly swallowed by the total darkness of the streets below.

Without the natural moonlight lighting her path, and the thick machined walls insulating her from the world above, Void now relies solely on her other sensors to navigate. Her infrared scanners detecting nothing but the cold, lifeless metal all around her. She could easily get lost down here, with thousands of identical rooms and rundown corridors all it would take is one slip up. Void forces the thought from her CPU.

We need to focus

Continuing along her path she continues to scan each branching pathway for a potential exit, unsure what such an exit would look like, but remaining confident she would know it when she sees it. The dark corridors feel almost alien to her, the old world used to be so fascinating and incredible. She would spend hours studying everything about it. In the hopes that it would make her more capable, better at keeping everyone safe...

Just stay calm, we can alwa-

A loud clanging rings out from beneath her as her foot collides with something she hadn't noticed laying in her path. The sound reverberates off the walls, no doubt alerting anything nearby of her presence.

Fuck

Void freezes in the growing silence as the sounds bouncing around her fizzle out, every sensor in her body working overtime in a desperate attempt to detect any reactions to her fumble. Bitter memories rise up in her memory banks, flashes of a similar situation, decades ago, forever burnt into her core, pain and fear elevating throughout her system in equal measure. Distorted screams impossible to forget.

A heavy force slams into Void’s left side, distracted in the depths of her own memories she didn't sense it approaching until she was already halfway to the ground. Her light, metal frame slams hard into the cold, unforgiving floor as the force in her side crashes down with her. Scrambling under the weight above her, panicking as she gets her hands beneath her chassis, the lithe body of her assailant slowly coming into focus as her sensors turn towards it. A lightweight, civilian frame containing a mess of wires and rusted metal, two poorly connected arms on either side of its torso grasping and scratching desperately towards her.

“Get off me!” Void screamed, hoping in vain that it would understand.

The bot opened its mouth in what looked like an attempt at communication but all that escaped its throat was the sound of ancient parts grinding together, its voice module long since decayed. Not that communication would have helped her. The frenzied movements and ancient design indicated clearly what she feared, the bots core had already completely destabilised, its body acting on nothing more than instinct and impossibly faded memories.

Flailing desperately Void gives the bot a shove with all the strength she can muster. Despite the civilian design it doesn't budge, the four arms and angle of approach giving it a significant advantage.

Knife

Void scrambles to keep the clawing hands at bay as she reaches her free hand down to her thigh, a small click and the outer casing slides apart revealing a small compartment containing a dark metal rod. Clumsily she grasps at the bar, forcing it into her grip. Almost instantly, as if knowing the danger present, a slim blade slides out from within the dark steel. Quickly she takes the blade and thrusts it as hard as she can into the closest shoulder. Something bursts inside the bots body as the blade tears through it, a dark liquid spurting out of the wound and any gaps within the already damaged chassis. The bot, seemingly unbothered by this explosion, continues to grasp and claw into her armour. Void braces her other arm against the bots chest, remembering her training, and slams the knife back down. This time into the exposed wiring coiling up its neck. Almost instantly the bot buckles above her, both its right arms collapsing to the floor, its torso falling flat against Void’s chest.

Sensing her moment, Void pushes with all her might against the partially disabled bot, her body sliding out from underneath it. Clambering to her feet she breaks into a sprint down the corridor, her mind spinning as she desperately tries to escape the now dangerously noisy area.

Synthetic adrenaline surges through her system as she dismisses several warning alerts flashing across her visor. Her panicked movements desperately working to get her as far away as possible. Struggling in the dark she finally spots a branching corridor to duck down, her feet sliding and sparking against the floor as she drifts around the corner, almost slamming into the opposite wall.

Peaking back behind her as she runs, another warning burns through her system, this time a proximity warning. Confusion fills her core, quickly replaced by fear when she turns back to face a burning bolt of plasma rushing towards her, almost the width of the corridor. She dives to the ground, the impossibly scorching heat partially colliding with her left arm as she falls. Another flurry of warnings rocket through her as she once again slams into the hard metal flooring.

Looking up with a long, distorted moan, Void attempts to discern the source of the projectile. She suddenly makes out a large, hulking form limping its way towards her. Six crab like legs straining to hold up a heavy weapons platform, an incredibly ancient warbot. Its design so old it could only have been built during some human war, long ago lost to time.

Multiple targeting lasers circle the dark space, most of them slowly coming to focus on her centre mass, a few others pointing off in seemingly random directions. Void drags her limbs closer underneath her in a desperate attempt to stand and fight. Her servos screaming at her as they fail to give her what she wants. Void sighs, accepting her fate, letting herself think back to those deep, desperate memories. Her body failing her now as it did back then.

I’m sorry

Before Void is able to fall too far into her shame, the entire floor lurches beneath her, a deep rumbling pulses through her body. A deafening explosion roars from somewhere behind her and the entire space around her is shifted and distorted. Void is thrown from her prone position forcefully into the ceiling, before dropping back down onto the now rapidly collapsing floor, the structure disintegrating and warping around her faster than she can process. Watching as the ancient warbot across from her is sucked through the floor, its towering form swallowed by the darkness below.

Attempting to avoid a similar fate, Void thrusts her knife deep into the wall in front of her. Almost as quickly as the knife enters the wall does the floor crack and sunder beneath her, being torn away by whatever force propelled the explosion. Her entire body briefly suspended in the stale air. Gravity quickly takes hold, her form plummeting downwards before jolting to a stop, anchored to the wall by her blade. Her relief is short lived as her her arm is torn from its housing, shorn wires sparking, lighting up the darkness as she falls fast. Warnings and alerts fill her vision, her entire system screaming at her one final time as the impact ruptures something within her, sensors and servos lose power almost instantly, her consciousness only seconds behind. Her limp body pathetically falling through the dark before thudding into a metallic surface one last time.

~~~~~

I'm currently saving up for a tattoo (as well as just trying to survive) so if you wanna support me know it would go to a hot as fuck tattoo hehe - Ko-Fi

[tomorrowxtogether]

TAEHYUN: “I wish happiness for the people who made me feel happy”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY comeback interview

2024.11.14

TAEHYUN never speaks in a roundabout way. The idol doesn’t mince words, and there’s something tender about that.

You spent some alone time at the Hangang River a little while back. What do you do when you go there? TAEHYUN: I buy my choice of drink, a caramel macchiato, and go in search of serenity while I sip it to get the taste of sweetness on my tongue and take in the peaceful scenery with my eyes. It doesn’t really inspire me so much as it just sort of feels restorative. I just feel good when I do that.

You’re probably so busy that you only get little bits of time here and there, but what would you want to do if you could carve some free time out of your busy schedule? TAEHYUN: I’d have some of that serenity I just mentioned, and work out, too. I’d probably just do the same things I do in tiny bursts now but be more relaxed about it. Right now I exercise when I have little breaks, like when I’m done for the day.

It seems like working out’s pretty much a part of your routine. TAEHYUN: It’s so routine for me now that sometimes I don’t even know why I’m doing it. It’s like how gym rats work out with no end goal. (laughs) It’s helpful for my posture since I start hunching over if I haven’t worked out in a while, and anyway, if I go straight home after work, I feel like I haven’t done enough. (laughs) I like how it keeps me ready to go and makes me feel productive.

You even keep it up when you’re on tour, running to stay in shape or working on your abs for “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock).” TAEHYUN: We did around 30 shows and I showed off my abs every time. (laughs) I showed them once on tour in Seoul and then I thought people might feel left out if I skipped it anywhere else. I started getting more into food somewhere down the road so they’re slowly disappearing, but I’m trying to keep them around one way or another. (laughs) It hasn’t been easy. I make myself run until I’m out of breath when we’re on tour because it challenges me in the exact same way as performing. I don’t know if it really helps since I’ve never not done it and therefore don’t have data on it, but I believe it does.

Boxing, on the other hand, seems like something you’ve kept up a long time not for keeping in shape but just for fun. TAEHYUN: Boxing isn’t something where you can slow down when you get tired. If your opponent ups their pace, you have to, too—but you’re just as much an obstacle to them. If you’re not fighting for a title or to make it into a competition, then there’s no risk of getting hurt, so it’s a great way to break a sweat and get in some cardio. You hear sports like these called chess played with the body. Even if you’re not as good as your opponent in some ways, you’ve still got a shot at winning. What makes it so enticing is how you have to hone your skills in order to be powerful.

What does it mean to you to be powerful? TAEHYUN: It means a lot of different things. There’s some boxers who are strong for their weight class, and some who can shut out the crowd when they’re on their opponent’s home turf and win. I think it’s partially mental like that. There’s people who make a plan and work toward their goal, avoiding any obstacles standing in their way—people who don’t fall apart.

It feels like that’s your approach to your work in some regards. TAEHYUN: I’d say so too. Those are the kinds of people who get up in front of tons of people at the pro level. We’re similar in that we get up onstage and show everybody what we’ve got after working at it for a while.

How do you find touring after working at it for a while? It’s been about two years since you resumed in-person touring. TAEHYUN: It feels really overwhelming at first. When you find out how many shows there are, where you’re going, and get the set list, it’s seriously … (laughs) I mean, obviously there’s fun parts, but you’re running in an unflattering way to get through the walkways underneath, and sometimes you just feel like, Let’s get it done, or, Time to go change—I will survive. Then there’s parts where time flies, especially when you first get a mic in your hand. It’s all about jumping around and having fun together. Going around and getting hyped with the audience happens spontaneously. That’s when it gets exciting.

I found what you said about your first online fanlive event on weverse LIVE really memorable: “When the camera’s not on me, there’s nowhere to see me. It was crushing.” TAEHYUN: That was a really weird period, since now there was no way for people to know what I was up to when the camera wasn’t on me. But there’s always somebody looking right at me when we do shows in person. In those cases, I have to be capturing the mood of the songs at all times, and I can’t tuck my clothes in right away if I need to or rub my eye if something gets in there. There’s a lot more I have to pay attention to, but they’re all minor things. I’m always going to feel grateful as long as people are watching me.

You also put a lot of effort in for the tour in regard to your vocals, right? You seem to keep challenging yourself and experimenting in your own unique way. TAEHYUN: Yeah, totally. (laughs) I make minute adjustments, like, How can I make this easier? How can I increase my chances of success? How can I minimize damage to my throat? I try to feel how my body changes every time I do. Even for the sound, I’m in direct communication with them to try and get things right during rehearsals. When you’re recording vocals, you can do it over and over to get it right, but you’ve got people watching you at a concert, so you have to be confident you can keep your vocals steady 10 out of 10 times. I asked our producer Slow Rabbit once if we could bring the key down so it wouldn’t be so hard to sing so hard live (laughs) but eventually it worked out anyway. There’s nothing you can’t do if you just practice. If I can’t do it, it means I didn’t try hard enough. Anything is possible.

You sing several ad libs in The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY that give a real sense of your vocal style. Do you feel like you’ve developed your own style while recording vocals now? TAEHYUN: Recording feels more familiar to me now, and the producer and I can practically read each other’s thoughts now, so it's a completely stress-free experience. But there’s one thing that’s always on my mind. I love so many different genres. I love knowing their histories, singing them, and listening to them. But choosing what suits me is a huge challenge. I’m confident I could handle anything they throw at me to 70 or 80% quality, but there’s nothing I feel confident I could do at 100%. I don’t really know if I’m doing a good job of finding my own style, but knowing people can pick out your voice is something that makes any singer happy and appreciative. It’s a really good sign.

I personally felt like only you could pull of the “Forty One Winks” intro. TAEHYUN: We recorded that in Japan during the tour, and before the parts were assigned, I heard the song and asked the producer if I could do the first verse. I said I’d crush it. (laughs) So he said okay and I got to do it, and on the first day of recording, I immediately nailed it. I felt confident about that part: This is how it should go.

You’ve also been writing lyrics for a while now. How’d it go with this new album? TAEHYUN: I have a lot I want to write whenever I think of something that would be really fun for TOMORROW X TOGETHER to sing. The idea behind “Danger” is sort of cliché, but we hadn’t done something like that before so that actually made it fun. What was unusual this time was that we were out of the country so I couldn’t take my preferred approach of opening up a bunch of windows on the monitor in the studio and writing on my phone. It was a new experience for me to not settle down in one place and write. I wrote “Danger” on a plane, “Resist (Not Gonna Run Away)” in a car. I have a tendency to drag things out when I’m in the studio sometimes, but when I’m on the go, I end up writing faster sometimes because I feel like I have to get it all down before arriving—like the ETA’s now the deadline. (laughs)

The lead single “Over The Moon” has a more straightforward message than previous songs. How did you capture your interpretation of the song? You strike me as someone who really needs to understand what they’re singing. TAEHYUN: It’s way more straightforward, but there’s still one line I’d like to hear MOA’s interpretations of: “Let’s make an ancient future.” I need their help because I’m curious how listeners feel about it. (laughs) I guess “Over The Moon” is first and foremost about feeling good. Visually, the sense of freedom is important. I also hope anyone who sees it feels like we’re steady and talented—so much that it’s like, Huh? They’re so eye-catching—I can’t stop thinking about them! If people feel like, These guys are so uplifting—who are they?, at the end of our performance, I’d say it’s a big success. We have to bring out the subtle allure to achieve that. The vocals need to be so good they sound fluid and flexible, and the choreo flawless.

Doesn’t trying to have that kind of allure make it that much harder? TAEHYUN: It’s way harder. (laughs) We reduced the amount of group dancing and filled that time with individual choreo instead, which took a lot of work. All group choreo takes is good stamina and a lot of rehearsal time—this approach takes exploration and gut feeling into what makes it look cool. I think we’ve reached that point in our career now. It’s something people who perform 30 shows at a time can do. (laughs)

You’ve always been the type to practice as hard as you can and just as confidently say so. Is that the case for this album, too? TAEHYUN: Yes.

You sound very sure of yourself! (laughs) TAEHYUN: I put in everything I’ve got within the time available. That’s something I feel I should do. It’s just one of those obvious things. I feel a huge weight off focusing like that. Doing my best means putting my heart and soul into it until I feel that nothing will change no matter what might happen. That’s what doing my best means, I think.

That’s something only someone who has poured everything they have into their work can say. What’s there waiting at the end of all that hard work? TAEHYUN: I chose this path because I love being onstage and love singing, and now I’ve achieved that, but there are times when it becomes necessary to have goals. I want to set loftier goals—I want to do and reach for lots of things under the name TOMORROW X TOGETHER—the five of us and MOA together. There’s a lot I need to uphold for the fans, like sharing feelings and promises. We didn’t pinky promise, but still. (laughs) I want to keep going with our group for a long time, and in order for that to happen, people need to keep checking us out, which gives me a sense of certainty. Having some goals and achieving them lets us feel like we’re really doing a good job and heading in the right direction.

You’ve been with the other members for eight years now, which is over a third of your life. TAEHYUN: That’s true. And I’ve known YEONJUN for nine years. Now, even when we’re working out how to move, we don’t need to say much—like, “Two? Three?” That’s how we ask whether to stand at the second or third marker on the stage. We’ve reached a point where we can talk entirely in nouns.

I could sense how close you are in episode 144 of TO DO X TXT, “Abandoned Stars,” when the older members were being protective of you even though they were equally scared. (laughs) TAEHYUN: I felt there was still kindness in the world in that moment. (laughs) SOOBIN saying, “He can’t do it alone,” and YEONJUN said, “Don’t send him in by himself.” (laughs) We know each other so well that we don’t hide anything. Working with people who you get along with that well is an absolute blessing. It’s a good thing, too, since we spend more time with each other than our own families. It wasn’t easy to get there, though. (laughs) I don’t mean to be blunt, but we first came together to work together, meaning there were conflicts, and it took some time to figure out what didn’t work. Sometimes I even felt it’d be easier to go alone, but now doing it alone is challenging.

You even brought YEONJUN a lunch you made for him when he went to do a pre-recording to promote “GGUM.” TAEHYUN: I know one thing for sure: I think I’m extremely attentive toward the other members, and I’m always monitoring their performances. Maybe if it were one of the other members, I would’ve expressed how much I care in a different way, but for YEONJUN, I thought it would be best if I went there in person. He finds that kind of thing touching. (laughs) I was worried because he loves to eat and yet he probably couldn’t eat properly and would just be eating fast food from the store. I just happened to be free, so I dropped by, gave it to him, and came back to get some sleep. (laughs) Only love can make that possible.

You’re really good about showing the people around you how much you care. TAEHYUN: I’m actually not close with that many people. There’s people I care for, or see all the time, or do stuff with, and I feel like, even if I put in the time and effort, it still requires a lot of opening up and communication. That’s what the people in my life mean to me. With the group, I feel like it has to be that way to end up with better results and build trust. That means that sometimes when we’re talking together, we’re not just saying nice things. If all you’re looking to do is keep things roughly as they are, you could get away with saying nice things exclusively, but sometimes you just have to say or hear unpleasant things.

That could honestly be hard to handle, but it’s love that keeps you going, isn’t it? TAEHYUN: It’s important how I express things, but I think it’s also important what the other members think of me. If they’re working with the knowledge that I’m saying those things out of love, they wouldn’t think it’s absurd. It’d just be nagging otherwise. (laughs) It takes a lot of effort from everyone involved.

But you have nothing but love when it comes to MOA. I randomly saw how one time while YEONJUN was doing pre-recording, you talked about how  MOA’s wait times need to be shortened. TAEHYUN: I hope our fans can have the best fan experience possible. I felt like it’d be better if we came back out a little sooner in the space between songs to talk. Spending a little extra time on fixing ourselves up doesn’t really make us look that much better, I mean. (laughs) I told our staff, “We should hurry out there,” and I guess they listened. (laughs)

You also left a comment on weverse saying, “Wishing other people happiness is one of the ways I’ve found happiness myself.” I’m guessing you had an experience that led you to feel that way. TAEHYUN: When I meet fans, sometimes they say things like, “You saved my life.” Honestly, all I could do was do my best with singing, put out some albums, and get up onstage. I think maybe the reason they say it that way is because getting to know TOMORROW X TOGETHER and seeing us brings out positive feelings for them. I thought that wishing happiness for the same people who made me feel happy and wishing the best for them would send more positive vibes back their way again. I think that moment really hit me.

[spooky-pomegranate]

Eyes on Fire (pt 2)

*Enemies to Lovers inspired by the Year Zero music video*

Papa Emeritus II x Reader (18+)Word Count: 3.4k (Part 1) (Read on AO3) (Part 3)

Summary: Hoping to escape the headaches of Imperatrix's life you spend time in a forbidden section of the Abbey. Meanwhile, a sleepless Papa Secondo goes for a walk in the early morning hours to clear his mind.

(Dividers by @wrathofrats)

There was only one place you wanted to be...

A place far away from Papa’s dining room, the bustling great hall, and the dormitories flooded with siblings preparing for a night full of debauchery and sin. You wanted to be in the one place that felt most like home with the people who felt most like family. So you climbed. Stride by stride you moved down ancient and worn stone steps covered in cobwebs and dust as you made your way toward the ghoul dens.

The Abbey had stood on the same grounds for hundreds of years. In that time many improvements had been made. A swimming pool was added in the 1890s, the great hall was expanded in the 1920s, and more recently the kitchens had gone under a total rehaul, with new top-of-the-line appliances and expresso machines flown in from Italy. But the one place the ministry hadn’t touched in all those years was the space below.

The basement of the Abbey was a restricted section for all siblings. Partially because it was a bit unsafe and partially because the ghouls were too much of a handful to be trusted with nice things. There was no electrical power down below. The stone walls in the basement were lit only by candle sconces that threw around long casting and eerie shadows. To those unfamiliar, the basement probably looked more like a crypt than it did a home for hell-spawn creatures. But the ghouls liked it that way and so did you.

At the bottom of the stairs, you snatched a candle from one of the wall scones. For some reason lately, there had been an influx of rats scurrying around the Abbey. The last thing you needed was to accidentally step on one. That might just send you to orbit.

By candlelit, you followed the halls through their maze of twists and turns before stopping in front of a massive set of wooden double doors. A large bronze knocker cast in His image hung from the center. You picked it up and slammed it against the splintering wood door three times.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you heard a familiar voice call from the other side. “Hold onto your granny panties would ya.”

The door groaned in a heavy sigh as it opened. A scrawny maskless ghoul stood in the entryway. Two white horns protruded from the crown of his head and ashen black skin covered his body. When his orange eyes met yours his spaded tail flicked from side to side.

“Hey! What’s up little snack pack?”

“Hey, Dew,” you sighed. “Can I come in?”

“Sure thing babe.” The fire ghoul bowed with a flourish and waved for you to enter. “Right this way little lady. You look like shit by the way.”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped past the ghoul. The main room of the ghoul den was decorated in what a generous person might call an “eclectic style.” Mix-matched furniture from varying decades was strewn around the room in random places. A few soft carpets were layered on top of one another to confront the cold that seeped into the stone floors during the winter months and much like the stairs leading to the basement, candles burned on the walls basking the place in a soothing warm and yellow light. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t even that clean. But maybe because this was the only place in the Abbey that wasn’t dripping in opulence, it felt like being wrapped in a warm hug. And you needed that right now.

In the center of the room, Cumulus and Auoroa lounged on a lime-green sofa. On a small coffee table in front of them, snacks and drinks were laid out. They waved for you to join them.

“Hey guys,” you said, plopping down on the couch between them with a huff. Dew grabbed a guitar from a table by the door and sat in a chair across from you. Aimlessly he started picking at its strings.

“Hey, love,” Cumulus said smiling from your left. Like Dew, her skin was the color of burnt embers but her eyes differed. They were a beautiful soft gray. The same color as the sky before an evening storm or the pebbles on the beach by the lake south of the Abbey. “What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in that shiny new suite of yours? Mountain told us it was real pretty.”

“Honestly today’s been a day,” you answered, sinking further into the couch. “Just wanted to hang out if that’s alright. Unless you guys had plans. Then I can fuck off.”

“Nah. No plans,” Aurora assured you, popping a chip into her mouth before offering you one. “We were just gonna practice for a bit. Unless you wanna talk about your day?”

“God no,” you answered, taking the chip. “Listening to you guys sounds really nice actually.”

“Oh thank Satan,” Dew huffed. Both Cumulus and Aurua shot the fire ghoul daggers and he stopped strumming the black and white guitar in his lap. “What?! Don’t lie you both wanna sing. You have been begginggggggg me to practice with you. ‘Dew please play with us,’” He impishly sang. “’Dew no one plays like you. Please Dew. You’re so talented with your fingers Dew.’”

“No one said that,” Aurura grumbled, throwing a chip at him. It landed squarely in between his eyes.

“Also we don’t sound like that. Plus if she’s having a bad day some humans like to talk about their feelings,” Cumulus added, picking up another chip and throwing it at Dew. “It’s called empathy dipshit.”

Dew stuck out his tongue and you laughed. You were surrounded by idiots. Sweet and loveable idiots. You were feeling better already. After a few more minutes of juvenile bickering, the hellspawns eventually settled down and started to play.

For as long as you’d known Dew he’d been a cocky shit, always bragging about his skills with a guitar. But as you listened to him play you knew he’d earned every brag he’d ever boasted. He was a magician with strings. Plucking and picking with a mesmerizing mastery that had to have been a gift from Satan himself. But the ghoulettes were just as spellbinding. Their harmonizing voices bounced off the high-bowed walls like sirens, lulling you into easy relaxation. At some point, you decided to crawl off the couch and lie on the floor, curling up in a pile of pillows and blankets and letting the music soothe you.

“That’s really pretty…” you murmured half-asleep, during a short break in the music.

“Mhmm. It is,” Cumulus purred from her spot on the couch.

“What’s it mean?”

“You don’t speak Latin?” Dew asked incredulously, before taking a long draw of some water Aurora had passed him.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked back at the fire ghoul. “Eh. I’m a little rusty.”

“Through hardships to hell.”

“What?”

“That’s what it means,” Dew answered, setting his water aside. “Per aspera ad inferi. It means through hardships to hell.”

“Oh,” you said shirking back to the floor and into your covers. It hadn’t occurred to you that this song might be incredibly personal to the three ghouls. They had quite literally crawled through hell to be here in this Abbey and serve the ministry. They had come from the real below.

“Did you guys come up with that?” You didn’t know much about their journey. You’d always assumed it wasn’t your place to ask or to know, but the song… it had been so haunting and yet… so strangely familiar. Even though you hadn’t understood the words, the music had clung to you. Like thick sticky syrup, it had swirled into your blood and mixed in your veins. You felt an inexplicable connection that was as old as time.

“No. We didn’t write it,” Cumulus said quietly.

“Who did?”

The three ghouls looked at one another. Seconds passed like minutes.

“Papa.”

There wasn’t much point in staying in the dens after that. You’d come down here to escape thoughts of Secondo only to be reminded of him all over again.

The climb back toward your suite didn’t take long. The Abbey was quiet this late at night. The hallways were empty of their regular hustle and bustle. Most siblings were asleep in their beds or tangled up in the sheets of another. You reached your door in record time. You pulled out your brass key and slid it into the door... but it was already unlocked.

You heard the crackling of your fireplace before you saw him. He was seated with his back to you in one of the tufted leather armchairs across the room. There were no lights on and you couldn’t see his face from the doorway, but none of that mattered. You knew who it was. Only one person owned the tense curve of those broad shoulders. It was him. It was Secondo. He was here in your room.

“Do I repulse you, sorella?” His voice boomed over the fire.

You froze in the doorway. Legs cemented to the ground, heart ready to bound out of your chest. What was he doing here? Had he come to expel you from the church? Was he going to smile as he tossed you out on your ass?

“Speak up sorella,” Secondo commanded. “I will repeat my question. Do I repulse you?”

“N-no, Papa,” you managed to squeak.

“Come here. I want to look at you while we have this conversation.”

Fuck. So this was it. The sadist was going to make you leave right here and now in the middle of the night. You moved across the room and into the dancing firelight.

After what had happened in the dining room you weren’t prepared to meet Secondo’s eye line again. So you delayed it. Slowly you looked him over, starting at his feet and working your way north.

Secondo wore a pair of black Oxfords, buffed and polished so pristinely that you saw your reflection staring back at you. A few inches higher black socks peaked out from underneath a pair of crisp black slacks. And on his steadily rising and falling chest, he’d opted for a button-down of a matching color. A black and emerald Grucifix hung from his neck. Head to toe he was dressed in black.

He looked like an undertaker. You closed your eyes. You weren’t ready to be laid out on his slab.

“You will answer me honestly, sorrella. No lies to your Papa.” It wasn’t a question but you nodded anyway.

You opened your eyes and looked at Secondo’s face. Since dinner, he’d washed away his sacred paints. A pair of dark aviators were perched on his crooked nose. He looked every bit like the Papa the siblings whispered about. An angry, bitter man, full of rage waiting for a spark to ignite his fire.

“You won’t partake in the offerings?” He questioned.

“No, Papa.”

“It is late, sorrella. I will not drag this out. Tell me your reason and do not lie.”

Secondo was right.

It was late. The clock in the corner of your room had finished its 24-hour cycle and the hours had reached into the early morning. But you were sick of having this conversation. You were sick of defending yourself. Fuck it. If Sister Imperator hadn’t told him you would—cards on the table.

“I don’t like to be so casual about who I have sex with.”

For a moment Secondo looked confused before he burst into a fit of laughter. Bending at the hip, he slapped his gloved hands on the arms of your chair. “Say that again sorella. That is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

You wanted to slap him. Anger pooled in your stomach. Your fist clenched at your side. “I believe sex means something more when there’s more than just a physical connection.”

Secondo laughed again and you bit your cheek. “You know you sound like a Catholic when you say these things. ‘Means something more.’ Are you going to tell me that the next sister I sleep with I should marry and that I should make as many babies with her as possible?”

Secondo rose from the chair and stepped toward you. Inches separated you. You could smell his cologne. Rich and deep. Sacramental incense lingered on his clothes. He stared down at you over the ridge of his nose. His brows cast long, and angry shadows over his already glowering features.

“Do not confuse our rituals for something deeper, sorrella.”

“Of course, you would misunderstand me.”

The words slipped from your tongue before you could think twice. But you didn’t want them back. You meant it.

You’d seen Secondo.

You’d watched him as he moved through the Abbey every day and every night. He only ever thought of himself. He was a taker, never minding what others needed. What others wanted. So why would a conversation here and now be any different? Why would he consider any other person’s perspective but his own? He didn’t even remember what he’d said to you. How he’d hurt you.

“Watch your tone diavolessa,” he growled. “I am your Papa.”

Exactly right, you thought. You are my Papa but you are not my owner. My maker. My master. You have no right to claim me or to force me to do anything. I own my destiny. Not you. You took another step closer to Secondo, the front of your habit brushed against his dress shirt. Unafraid you tilted your chin up. Fire blazed in your eyes. Heat emanated from his chest.

“Apologies, your dark excellency. I will ask Sister Imperator to move me back to my former post in the gardens.” You didn’t want to give up your new apartment but you’d rather fight for lukewarm water in the communal showers than deal with him another day longer.

“That is…” Secondo paused and you closed your eyes bracing for the blow. Send me away. Do it. Send me back to the land of the undeserving and misguided. Do it now. I’d take them over you. I’d take anything over you. “Thatisunnecessary. I will see you tomorrow.”

Without another word, Secondo brushed past you and walked out your door.

There was no point in going back to his quarters. Secondo wouldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept well in days. Tonight would be no different. There was too much on his mind.

He needed to clear his head.

So Secondo stepped out into the night.

The air was crisp and cool. Fall would be here soon and the flowers would shrivel. But for now, life still breathed in the grounds and the air still smelled sweet. Secondo followed the dirt path from the south entrance of the Abbey down to the gardens. His older brother had taken meticulous care of them since his retirement, practically spending every waking hour pruning and pampering his beloved piccoli fiori. Primo’s obsession had grown so strong that he’d even moved out of the Abbey’s suites and into a small log cabin on the edge of the ministry’s grounds so he could be closer to his work.

But Secondo hadn’t minded.

It made Primo happy and he could still find his brother for a chat whenever he needed to. If it weren’t for the early morning hour he would have sought out Primo for one of those talks now. The old man was more of a comfort than his father had ever been and his mind had been a mess for weeks. But the sun was almost up. Surely Primo in his old age was sound asleep somewhere. So Secondo chose to stroll the grounds alone and linger in the messiness of his mind.

He wandered through rows of vibrant roses and multicolored hydrangeas, passing various fruit trees and flowering cherry blossoms until he reached something he had not seen before. Underneath a centuries-old weeping willow, Primo had planted something new. In tightly packed rows narrow plots of spectacular white and pink flowers bloomed amongst leathery deep green shrubs. It was beautiful. The shrubbery looked like rhododendrons, but the flowers… Secondo had never seen anything like it. They resembled the cooper bells that hung in the Abbey’s highest towers.

He needed to smell them.

Secondo crouched down on the dirt path and reached for their pretty petals.

“Careful fratello.” Secondo quickly dropped his hand. “She is not so friendly this one.”

Clad in a red robe, Primo emerged from the dark path. His hands were clasped behind his back and he eyed his younger brother with a loving smile.

“Shouldn't you be asleep fratello?” Secondo asked, pushing off the ground with a groan that denoted his age and stood to his full height. “The sun will be up soon.”

“Ah, I was going to ask you the same,” Primo’s smile widened, strolling over to stand next to Secondo. “Do you like the fiori? They are beautiful, no?”

“Si. They are,” Secondo answered truthfully. “New additions?”

“Not entirely fratellino. Many moons ago these flowers used to surround our little Abbey. If you would indulge un vecchio uomo I would like to tell you their story.”

Secondo nodded, “Of course, Primo.”

The elder Emeritus led his younger brother to a stone bench under the willow tree. They sat down together. Secondo looked over the rows of flowers as his brother began to tell his story.

“Before you and I, walked these grounds there was a beautiful sibling who cared for the fiori and impianti. She came to the church with an extensive knowledge of botany and quickly thrived here. From the things she grew, she established the first apothecary in the ministry. She helped many siblings. She was happy and content. Eventually, she fell in love with a brother and he with her. But one day when the sister walked these grounds she witnessed a betrayal. Her mate with another. Her heart was broken. But the sister would not let this indignity stand. She introduced a colony of bees to the garden and let them feed on the nectar of these very beautiful fiori.” Primo’s gloved hand pointed to the rows of pink and white bell flowers in front of them.

“And then the ever-patient sister waited. She waited and pretended everything with her lover was bene, while in the night he continued to be with another. But after a time she returned to the garden and to her bees. She collected their honey knowing their nectar had been poisoned by these beautiful fiori. One evening the sister made her lover a pot of tea and added a spoonful of her wicked honey. As he drank the brother’s lips began to burn. Pain flamed his mouth and throat. He withered and convulsed in pain for hours. The legend diverges here. Some say the brother died. While others claim he recovered but fled the ministry in fear of his beloved’s vengeful wrath. In both versions of the tale these flowers were ripped from our grounds.”

Secondo sat quietly trying to make sense of his brother’s story. Ever since he could remember his elder brother had used longwinded tales to teach him lessons of the world or of the church. But tonight for the life of him, he could not figure out what Primo was to say. What did these poisonous flowers have to do with anything?

He was too tired. A puzzle was the last thing he wanted. He couldn’t hide his annoyance.

“Why are you telling me this brother?” Secondo asked exasperatedly. “You know I don’t care about these plants the way you do.”

“Ahh,” Primo hummed. “That may be true but tastes change fratellino. Things we once thought were insignificant can become valuable to us, no?”

“Primo I don’t under-”

“It’s nice to have beautiful things around, even if we cannot touch, si? Even if we cannot taste?”

Secondo raised an eyebrow. “What have you seen fratello?”

“It should not matter what I’ve seen. You must see for yourself.”

Secondo angered. Standing quickly he spun and stared down at his brother. “How quickly you forget what it is like Primo!” he shouted. “I need guidance. I don’t need this. I don’t know why I bother when you only speak in riddles.”

Secondo turned his back and stormed away from Primo, but before he got lost amongst the roses he heard his brother's voice.

“He has not forgotten you nor have I. Patience fratellino. Plans are already in motion. You will not be denied.”

(Follow along on AO3 here)

(Part 3) (Back to Part 1)

[leiascully]

XF OctoberFicFest Day 1: Teso Dos Bichos

Mulder didn’t consider himself a religious man. Scully would laugh at that, probably, and tell him he believed in every religion but hers and the one he’d inherited. He’d never felt anything in the synagogue, looking at the artifacts: the ark folding its doors open like wings, the Torah in its robe and crown. Even when he’d become bar mitzvah, reading the scroll with its ancient text had inspired more tedium than reverence.

But he felt something when he looked at the Amaru urn. It sent shivers down his spine. It felt like summer nights as a kid when he’d toss and turn, restless, and then out the window, over the water, lightning would strike. There was that same electric tension in the air when he stood near the urn. The hair prickled at the nape of his neck.

He wondered if Scully felt the same. She seemed sanguine, as usual. But then, he’d seen her stifle her fear over the years. She’d built up this smooth shell of seeming invincibility. In Oregon, she’d gotten excited over a fistful of ashes. Now she was unflummoxed by a tree garlanded with intestines or a partial rat body part.

What did Bilac feel when he sipped the yahé? Did he see the glint of canine teeth and the gleam of eyes in the dark? Did a snarl too deep and too close to hear reverberate in his bones? Was he a conduit for the jaguar spirit, or did she move his limbs, snap his jaws shut?

Bilac was a brave man, in a way. He believed in something so deeply that he gave himself over to the unknown. He made himself a vessel for the spirit, something to replace her broken urn. He gave his life for his cause. Mulder sought the unexplained, but in the end, resisted it, arrested it, pinned it to paper. He didn’t have the gumption Bilac had.

They exited the scene, pursued by cats. The urn was returned to its resting place. Mona and Bilac were buried in their own graves; whether they rested easy, Mulder would never know.

[satinpoints]

Colorpoint Dogs

A relatively new color mutation in dogs also known as himalayan, acromelanism, and temperature sensitive albinism. It is the same type of color mutation seen in Himalayan rabbits and siamese cats. Colorpoint is seen in a variety of other species such as rats, mice, and guinea pigs. Cats and rabbits are just the most well known examples.

The current oldest historical case in dogs is Apache the Rottweiler from 2005. The first publicly posted dog was a stray from 2009, and the first researched dog was Matysek the dachshund in 2017. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0378111920308817

There are 5 verified unique mutations in dogs at this point in time, and there may be more. Matysek, Rem, Belyash, and the Canadian dogs all have unique mutations. The South Carolina dogs have a variant nearly identical to Matysek’s but its own unique mutation.

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/age.13496?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2doij1sXb6FMWVHu85tgXAkgXsWwhTw9H34DYDxo1wM3j8P4wuf_5YDk4_aem_5OQRJ0GxfdzI2E28VZjPWA

Unfortunately Apache and the first stray cannot be researched to find out if they have unique variants as well, but perhaps in the years to come others that share their mutation will appear. It’s also possible more unique variants could appear.

Some variants seem very sensitive to temperature changes and have more extreme color shifts with warm and cold temperatures. It is called temperature sensitive albinism because it is a form of partial albinism that still allows color. Cold temperature causes an increase in color, while warm temperatures decrease color production. That’s why the extremities, the colder parts of the body, have more color.

In dogs there are no current health issues associated such as blindness or deafness. There are varying degrees of light sensitivity though. Cats can have crossed eyes, the dogs have not being studied enough yet to find out if that is a trait in dogs. That and the light sensitivity may vary by specific mutation.

[fkeknife]

wreckage of july

millions knives x reader gender neutral reader 800 words

He recoils. He tries to speak, to curse the stranger for touching him, but the breath comes out wheezing and wet and more through his throat than his lips. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t move,” they say. “Don’t move. You’re okay right here.” Knives realizes his body is dying. The stranger is waiting for his body to die.

this fic is about you finding knives’s horrible corpse in the rubble of july and being like. boy howdy that guy is dead then he moves and you're like. oh sorry that guy isn’t dead YET. better go hold his hand while he dies so he experiences love and humanity in his last moments or whatever (MISTAKE)

read on AO3 if you like or read below if you'd rather, up to you

Night is the worst time for these kinds of things to happen. In the dark, you can’t tell survivors from orphaned limbs, shadows from trip hazards, water from blood and gasoline.

Flame spreads over what is left and casts confusing geometries of light and shadow. Smoke turns the air acrid and unbearable and rich with the smell of burning hair and flesh. The rumble and rend of delayed collapse climbs over the noise of panicked humanity.

The explosion doesn’t kill everyone, and it doesn’t break everything. Maybe that’s the worst part–incompletion. Being among leftovers.

Knives wakes in the wreckage of July, immobilized under rubble. He’s on his side, in the shadow of a wall that’s partially at his back and partially splayed over him, crushing.

He tries to move, to shove a hunk of concrete off his chest, but he finds himself weak. The world shivers. He brings a hand towards his face and struggles to focus his eyes on the bone of his fingers as they drip.

Out of the smoke and sound, something resolves before him; shoes. Then knees, then hands, pulling rubble off him, brushing thick dust from his nose and mouth and turning his face to meet a pair of eyes.

The eyes flash in and out of contact with his—wide and alert and assessing; then tight; then gentle.

He recoils. He tries to speak, to curse the stranger for touching him, but the breath comes out wheezing and wet and more through his throat than his lips.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t move,” the stranger says. “Don’t move. You’re okay right here.”

Their knees shift before him in the dark rock and gravel. Black liquid climbs the thread of their clothing. It’s his blood.

The hand on his face touches his cheek with a thumb; another hand slides into his slick palm.

Knives realizes his body is dying. The stranger is waiting for his body to die. As he struggles for physical awareness, it slips away. His throat is open, his chest sodden and ripping when he tries to move.

The stranger makes an odd noise when Knives twists. They try to recapture his attention. “Don’t. Don’t. Can you hear me?”

“Just wait it out. Rest.” The reassuring, gentle expression contorts, the voice breaks. “I’m so sorry I don’t have anything for the pain.”

Yeah, the pain. The pain is what makes everything so difficult.

This is stupid.

Knives screws his eyes shut and draws from the gate. He feels it—his chest starts to warm, to knit, then constricts around something and surges with pain again. This time, his voice works better, and he spits out the feeling, liquid and wordless noise.

Somebody starts. The hand around his tightens and releases.

“You-“

Knives remembers he’s with company.

The stranger’s face is blank, backlit with flame and cast with white light from Knives’s skin.

“You’re…” They trail off, eyes flicking across his body.

Knives jerks his hand away from them, trying to focus on the concept of blades and assemble them at his fingers. To strike the stranger down before they can call anyone else over, rat him out.

“…you might actually pull through this.”

The stranger leans back.

“Okay. Okay. We need to get you out of here right now, especially if you’re going to keep looking like that.”

They turn their back to Knives and begin to heave rubble off his legs, levering it sideways. “I’m going to have to lift you off that beam. I’m sorry.”

Yes—that’s what it is, in his chest. Metal and H-shaped and all the way through him.

He starts to push himself up by inches, to prop himself on his arms, but the left, untested, crumples. He slides back to the ground, sweat and wet agony.

When he opens his eyes, the stranger is over him like an animal. He sees the patterns on his skin reflected in the wet dark of their eyes. Knives swipes at their neck, but the blades are gone—or never came together at all—and his fingers rake blood uselessly across their throat. It drips back into his face.

Fingers slip again into his bloodied hand. Squeeze it. They’re warm, warmer than him. He feels the pulse of blood within them. The heat of life.

“Are you ready?”

Yes.

His hand is placed on the back of a neck. The animal leans over him, wraps limbs around him. It cradles him like an awful doll. The movement is in his ribs, in his teeth. Too slowly, not smoothly enough, it pulls him forward and over. His vision slips like a red blanket. He’s clinging to the gate. To consciousness. To power. To the nape of someone’s neck with his fingernails.

At the height of agony, of demand; something shifts.

The gate cracks away from him. And there is only the raw horror and the helplessness of it left. Him, his body, the animal, the dust, his blood, someone else’s.

He loses his grip on awareness, like everything else.

[xiaoscarasimp]

A Cat and Mouse Game

A friend and I were talking bout how theres only cat boys and girls so I decided to do a fic with a mouse girl reader and cat boi scara (lets be honest: it's canon)

This is just kinda horny drabble lmk what you think

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB! reader, predator/prey dynamics, little bit of blood play, nipple play, degradation(he calls you whore/slut) and slight size kink (no not my usual shenanigans) Minors DNI

Cat boy Scaramouche toys with his darling mouse girl by playing with your folds to where you're bucking your hips against his fingers desperate for relief. As you sit in his lap, he runs one of his long fingers up your slit, sending shivers down your spine and nibbles your sensitive little mouse ears. Your thin little tail thrashes in partial distress from the other powering pheromones the cat boy is putting out but also arousal.

You feel a tingling in your body as he runs electro through your pussy, nerves contracting and expanding how ever he wants them to. He shocks your clit first, then prodding a finger in your entrance he shocks you again, causing a waterfall to gush on your fingers. 

“Oh, what would the rat colony say if they saw you like this? A simple whore that can't get enough of me?” He taunted you. “Never forget I'm in control.”

“I'm not a r-rat, I-I'm a mouse.” You manage to gasp out. 

“Heheh. Same difference. Stupid rodent who will be my fucked out whore.” 

He leans back and flips you around so you're facing him, his dick prodding your back side. You grind your wet pussy on him, but he grabs your hips, forcing you to stop, little whines escape your lips. The cat boy silences these whines with a deep kiss, thrusting his tongue down your throat. His fangs end up drawing a bit of blood as he pulls at your bottom lip, causing you to whine even more. The taste of blood made his eyes light up; how could it not? Taste of his prey on his lips? The most delectable.

“S-scara, plea-” you try to pause the action; things were moving too fast. His member was now slotted perfectly between your supple ass cheeks, leaking precum over your skin. 

“Shh,” He cooes as he pulls away from the kiss, a red string of spit connecting the two of you. “Hush, darling. My cute little dinner's getting all worked up over nothing. Relax.” 

For a brief moment, his predatory face relaxes into a soft expression, almost like he cares, before his eyes narrow and go on the attack again. Scaramouche rubs his weeping cock against your folds, stimulating you to produce even more slick. He starts attacking your neck next, fangs piercing the skin and drawing small droplets of blood not unlike a vampire. As he does, you not only make little moans, but also little squeaks. You almost go limp from this attack, your mouse instincts tell you to freeze while the semi-rational part of you demands more. 

“M-more,” you moan. “D-devour me.”

“Gladly.”

He bites down even harder, his thicker, furrier tail wraps around your thinner, hairless tail. Your ears twitch in agonizing pleasure; it just hurt so good. At this point, even if you wanted to escape, you absolutely could not. 

Once your neck has been thoroughly claimed, he lines up the tip at your entrance, smirking the entire time. Not wanting to waste any time, you slam yourself down on his cock, moaning and gasping, as you do. Luckily for him, you are already so wet and lubed up from the teasing earlier that you hardly need any time to adjust to his size before bottoming out and grinding on him. He notices the little tummy bulge from where he filled you up so thoroughly, so wonderfully. Scaramouche starts rubbing your clit, sending little electric shocks through the sensitive bundle of nerves, walls clenching with each little pulse. 

If he wasn’t careful, he’d finish before you did.

To help speed up the process, he leans up and puts one of your small nipples in his mouth and dances electro on his tongue as he swirls the bud around in his mouth. You arch your back in equal parts pain and pleasure, showing off even more of how much he was filling you up. Excited by your reactions, he uses his fangs to tease the bud even further, raking them across your delicate skin, tasting blood as he goes. 

“S-scara!” You’re getting close, the pain, the pleasure, the overwhelming smell of sex in the air are all making you close to unraveling. 

“Y-you like that, you cock hungry slut?” He grabs your hips and moves you along at his pace, interrupting yours. “Cum all over my cock, whore.” He stimulates your clit even further, your walls clenching so hard he was worried that he’d never be able to get out. 

In a race to last place, you both try to hold out for as long as you can: kissing, biting, making out, marking, maiming skin. You finish first however, but he wasn’t long behind you, painting your insides white. You slump down on top of him, making little content squeaks between heavy breathing while Scaramouche was purring. The vibrations were enough to put you to sleep, curled up on his chest, his seed leaking out of you.

“You did so well,” He murmured through purring. “Next time, I’ll devour you even more.” 

[bibibbon]

Do you consider Quirks to be allegory for anything?

To be honest no I never considered quirks to stand for an abstract concept or for them to be allegorical. Usually when I make posts I never think of quirks like that but I usually think of them as what they literally are which is just superpowers part of the human body.

I have seen various takes like how quirks are just different disabilities that can either hinder your abilities as a human and aren't natural. Iam guessing these stem from the reveal that the origination of quirks is from rats.

I have also seen the same take but with quirkless people.

There's an interesting take I saw a while back that talked about how quirks and how it's basically this huge metaphor for people's destiny/privilege in life. It talked about how the quirks people get heavily influence their life whether that be career path or just overall chance of success in life. Now I think that this idea could of been implemented and even corrupted a bit while adding the HPSC and the government to make it much more interesting.

This idea also ties into some of the fics I have come across that have hints of the system being corrupt, abusing heroes like hawks and even being partially responsible for the discrimination that some characters receive but at the end of the day it can mean nothing.

[deathsbestgirl]

What do you think about Scully’s relationships with animals? We saw in that flashback how horrified she was about her brother shooting the snake then the two (2) instances of her taking in and caring for dogs that weren’t hers. (Honorable mention to partial rat body part).

ohhh!! this isn't something i've put a lot of thought into except that she definitely likes animals but she is afraid of snakes lol i think @randomfoggytiger ?? made a little post about that.

in the revival, she tells a story about what made her believe in god and it was that her parents got them a dog. and when she takes dagoo, she rambles about 'having someone to hold her grudges' — i think she especially loves dogs because of their loyalty & how free with their love they are. scully absolutely values loyalty, and she is not nearly so free with her love as dogs, or mulder, or her family. it's difficult for her to be free at all, but an animal gives a specific freedom you can't just feel with people.

personally, i think sea creatures fascinate her. she loves the ocean, worships the sea her father sailed on. i think that means everything about the ocean. the trenches and tsunamis and all its creatures, known & unknown. she has an abundance of knowledge and a healthy fear, born of the deep respect ahab fostered in her (think of her speeches in quagmire). and in a way, while she loves answers & facts & rules (as far as they serve people or the truth), i think she finds a comfort in how unknowable the ocean is. she's so aware of her patterns, she's in touch with her feelings, she goes to therapy. and all that awareness doesn't make a perfect life, perfect relationships. because humans are, innately, by definition, complicated and not completely knowable. not even yourself. no matter how much you study a person and learn their mind, no matter where or how far you follow them. but that doesn't change how much you love them or they love you. it doesn't change anything you've been through or will go through. there's still choice & possibilities & hope.

this was an ask about scully + animals??

anyway. scully loves animals!! especially dogs and even the ones she fears. i think it was kind of poetic that alpha was about dogs & wolves, and scully didn't trust karin berquist, a woman who felt more kinship with dogs & wolves than people. something, in a way, i think scully relates to lol

[pynkhues]

It's interesting, thinking of how Lestat's traumatic experiences influence the way he perceives and seeks love. I'm curious about your thoughts on something I've been pondering, but I don't feel like I can articulate it that well. Lestat clearly wants Louis to be attracted to him, which makes sense, presumably that's what most people want in romantic relationships. But even that feels tied up, to an extent, in all the trauma -- Magnus chose him partly for his beauty, and his looks/sexual appeal have always played a big part in how others react to him. So it feels sometimes like he thinks that's the main thing he has to offer, and that's partly why Louis not wanting to have sex much on the rat diet feels like such a rejection, like if even his body/face can't entice Louis, then he has nothing. So in the present, what would it take for Lestat to feel confident both that Louis is extremely attracted to him, AND that physical attraction/sex isn't the main reason Louis wants to be with him or the main thing he has to offer?

As I'm typing, I'm thinking that maybe this is obvious--of course most people want their partners to find them attractive AND not to feel like that's the main/only reason their partner is with them. It just somehow feels more complicated with Lestat. And I think you're already exploring this really gorgeously in your fics, actually...just by the way you show that Louis and Lestat have this insane physical connection and need for each other, but Louis keeps fighting to know Lestat on a deeper level too, and Lestat can see that. But anyway, if you had any particular thoughts in this area, I'd love to hear them.

It's definitely an interesting thing to consider, anon! Lestat's vanity is definitely a major part of his character, and while I do think it pre-dates Magnus, I agree that it's probably in part compounded by his turning. Like you said, Magnus chose him in part for his looks, and his beauty is really emphasised throughout his turning, both through Anne's prose, but also specifically through Magnus and Lestat himself.

Half of what Magnus says during his turning is about Lestat's looks, and even in the immediate aftermath, he's laid out a beautiful outfit for him to wear (red slippers and white hose and a red velvet suit worked with gold and rubies and pearls and the same Italian lace of his mother's wedding dress, which has been a fascinating detail to me since I picked it up on re-read) and Lestat spends paragraphs looking at, and admiring himself in a mirror. There's something to it that sort of feels soaked in the sense that Lestat was intended to be a kept boy, only now he has no keeper, and I suspect that's probably partially why Rolin and co have made the decision to extend it from two nights to a week.

Your ask actually brought two beats from s1 to mind - first Lestat's considerable considerables line from 1.05 when Louis' ignoring him as he searches the newspapers for Claudia, but also that tiny moment in 1.01 when he and Louis first meet and Louis makes that jab at Lestat's wardrobe that Sam lets land on Lestat's face in a way that I always love.

(And this is a sidebar, but there's an interesting thread with the clothes too in that people really do dress Lestat a lot - from the theatre troupe to Nicki giving Lestat the wolfkiller cloak, to Magnus laying out those clothes, to Louis updating his wardrobe in New Orleans, than dressing Dreamstat in his favourite suit - - it's one I think about a lot).

Both moments I think speak directly to what you're saying in that Lestat places a lot of his own value on his physicality - both in terms of his appearance and his sexuality - and so the lack of acknowledgement of either, or even a perceived slight against them, I do think is probably felt pretty deeply? It's all intrinsically tied up for him with the trauma of Magnus, yes, but I think also his freedom and ability to survive in Paris was dependent on his looks. He was beautiful enough to be on the stage, for people to want to look at him, something Nicki makes clear in the books and Armand makes clear in 2.03, and in that sense, what he looks like (and his ability to play a role that an audience wants) marks his life and his death and his rebirth in a way that probably only Armand could relate to.

So yeah, I think you're right that even beyond the natural desire to have your partner be physically attracted to you, Lestat probably needs it as a form of validation and that it probably carries a lot of weight in conversations about his self-worth. As for what it would take for him to feel confident in that? I don't know! A part of the fun with Lestat is that he's so in-the-moment that I think he'd probably pendulum between knowing exactly how much Louis wants him / is attracted to him, and being crippled by insecurity about it if, like, Louis didn't look up from his book fast enough, haha. I do think he'd probably like it when Louis dresses him though, because not to go back to that sidebar, but between those relationships (and his conviction is always that he and Magnus loved each other), I do think he probably sees that as an act of love and attraction.

And thank you for your kind words! Interestingly, the sentiment of what Lestat and Louis give each other, both sexually and otherwise, has been a thread in the cruising fic, so it was fun to get this ask and think about it a little more, haha.

[agendergorgon]

Nighty Night

A fusion of two non-characters with no lines, next to no mention, and a bizarre combination power. Nighty Night is Bonesaw's surgical combination of deceased founding S9 member Nyx and alive at the time closing S9 member Night Hag. I guess Bonesaw forgot Night Hag was alive cos she still cloned her anyway. This nerd surviving Worm to never come up in Ward is funny to me. Every other surviving 9 member is in that thing. Anyway, since nobody is likely to ask Wildbow about them (myself included, I like that there's places in the margins where people can make doodles and headcanons) here's some fanfic ideas 1) Nyx and Night Hag can fuse and unfuse. Night Hag's power is to reform herself after death. Does this reform Nighty Night after she dies? Does this reform Night Hag and Nyx separately if Nighty Night dies? How does Bonesaw's surgery even hold up against a breaker state? Does Nighty Night reform with or without any modifications Bonesaw made like with Damsel?

2) Night Hag has access to more bodies at a time. Night Hag's power is to reform herself after death and there were upwards of 9 of her at the end of Worm. Even if Nighty Night can't fully respawn her other selves from Nighty Night, maybe she can reform her dead selves and partial limbs from her possessed terrain, granting her access to a bloody lot of extra parts.

3) Nix wanted to be in Ward but Nighty Night got to her first.

4) Bonesaw, Damsel, and the Number Man clones never mention Nighty Night cos they forgot she was alive, the same way Bonesaw forgot Night Hag was alive and cloned her between 8 and 9 times. Its possible Bonesaw even lost track of which one was the real Night Hag and ended up using the original to make Nighty Night. 5) Bonesaw, Damsel, Swansong, Spawner, Number Man, and the Harbinger squad know who Nighty Night is and just don't care for them at all. 6) Night Hag's shard is eating Nyx's a little more every day, infecting it like Night Hag infects the environment. 7) Nighty Night gets along with themself. Spawner and Murder Rat both were two conflicting mashups. I think it'd be funny if Bonesaw was trying to go for something like that or an interesting power mashup and just ended up making a more rounded and balanced individual than either was on their own. 8) Nighty Night is double trans. Fellas is it trans coded to stay in a breaker state all the time when that breaker state is just a goth lady? Night Hag is prime trans headcanon material and Nyx is a C53, and thanks to Sveta and Gregor we know that all C53s are allegories for being a trans with a disability. Anyway I think it'd be funny if they were both headed in the other direction and their fusion ended up happily squatting in the middle. 9) Nighty Night retired and lives at home with themself, sipping tea and watching the rain pour down on the windowsill on a cold night, sometimes even leaving the patio door open a crack to better hear the pitter patter.

[winedarkthoughts]

on the subject of characters and critters:

jin:

jin thinks bats are adorable, even with their long claw-like fingers and thirst for blood. in fact, that part is a bonus. he can relate. he feels that bats are hugely misunderstood. sky puppies. moths are the same story: misunderstood, adorable, night sky friends. he also loves owls, thinks they’re elegant and fascinating. he’s the first to tell you that a group of owls is called a parliament. or that owl eye balls are completely immobile, that’s why they move their necks to be able to see around them. or that they have a special blood-pooling system that allows blood flow to their heads when their necks turn 270 degrees. or…well, you get the idea.

yoongi:

yoongi loves almost anything that can be found in a garden. he especially likes the pollinators and fertilizers, anything that will help his plants grow. pests, though, he cracks down on with an iron fist. he gathers them in droves and feeds them to his carnivorous plants, watching with pure delight as they squirm in the jaws of a venus fly trap. he’s been known to stand outside in the pouring rain just to save stray snails from being trampled on.

hoseok:

hobi loves the unloved. he’ll take them in without hesitation, clothing, feeding, and loving them unapologetically. critters, humans, creatures, it doesn’t matter to him. but he has a special inclination towards a few specifics. the rumors are true, he did spend a considerable amount of time in a psychiatric facility, and not a very well-maintained one. so he’s quite familiar with spiders and rats. they were the most frequent visitors to his cell. he’s partial to a ball python or hognose, and he can tame even the feistiest cobra. the crows, though. the crows are his most loyal friends, some would even call them his servants. there’s very little they wouldn’t do for him.

namjoon:

cats are his favorite, even the kind with eight eyes or black holes for mouths. they tend to flock to him, being the pillar of comfort that he is. he loves rodents and marsupials too. the trash goblins and ground tunnel dwellers. he’s been known to take them in at the drop of a hat, treating even the mangiest, scruffiest creature like a prized purebred show cat.

jimin:

obviously. jimin loves anything found in the sea, with a particular fondness for the depths. anything with bioluminescence or transparent camouflage or pressure equalizing bodies. anything with tentacles or teeth. anything frighteningly beautiful. he also finds leeches particularly interesting, though they are primarily found in freshwater (the lesser biome, in his opinion).

taehyung:

taehyung likes predators (of the apex variety). but he also loves the graceful strength of horses and deer, how they could kick the life out of you or impale you with an antler if they felt like it. like anything living, he itches to cut them open and see just what makes them tick.

jungkook:

jungkook can’t help but be friends with the decomposers, the worms and maggots and fungi that breaks down flesh. he likes the gentle creatures too, wants to protect them. he likes the anomalies, the ones others would call abominations or deformities.