teataintedtoff:

ectopicfantast:

Mius exhales a deep sigh, and reaches up to rub his face. “No, thankfully. Thank words; no, no. No block, just … Self-consciousness?” He pushes himself off from the shelve, and stares blindly at the book-spines. “Writing dry facts and notes is one thing…”

The rabbit hesitates, about to elaborate, but instead turns to Kiran with a quick smile and furtive avoidance, “Oh, what am I saying. You’ve only just got out of the house, finally, and here I am, dumping my problems. What’s wrong with me? Rude.” He laughs, quick and chittery. “Ahh, pardon that.”

"We could, go off and do something else, or speak of something else, I can procrastinate, surely."

"I am hap-py t-to l-list-ten t-to anyth-thin…ng y-you w…ish t-to share." Admittedly a touch curious at the sudden change of subject, he turns slightly away to check the contents of the book, and allow a moment of pause in hopes to dissolve his interest.

He scans a page, “Ah… yes,” and shelves it. “I w-was j…ust f-finishin..g some r-research. Looking back to Mius, he nods. “P-p-perh….aps a st-stroll? I on…nly n-need g-g-gath-ther my att-t-tache c-case.”

”.. You mean that?” There’s a worried smile, there. “I really don’t want to weight on anyone’s mind… And I hardly want to be a bother.”

He gives a small nod at the suggestion. “A walk, yes, that … Walks are good. They’re an equalizer, in most cases.” He trails off, anxious fingers tapping against each other. “Lead the way.”

"I imagine I’ll speak more freely outside…"

17 | 09 | 14      + 9

imagine-assassins:

Do not picture your OTP having a kid and losing said kid in a ball pit.

17 | 09 | 14      + 3431

Natural Balance

traveling-little-prince:

ectopicfantast:

Glancing down the hallway brings very interesting sights to say the least. There’s the glimpse of a walking white-furred, cat-being with blond hair that’s exclaiming something angrily at a sleepy-looking Satyr in what looks to be some large working-kitchen. And further down the hall, it opens up to the view of a tavern’s dining restaurant.

Beings of all kinds mill about, from wolf-people to devils to arachnid-beings, and among others that are more difficult to discern. It’s busy, loud, but for all the oddities in a single place, they seem to be going along well enough.

Sakura opens the door to the out, and  gives the Prince a half-smile tinted in hesitance. “Well …”

"Humans are the dominant species, here. And they haven’t really figured out how to deal with each other yet, much less anything that doesn’t look exactly like them."

"They might judge us weird just for wearing weird clothes. But I think we’ll be okay."

The Prince gave her an encouraged smile, knowing full well he wasn’t human (nevermind he looked like a normal child) and figuring he ought to be well suited for this adventure.”My clothes are not weird, it is what a prince wears," he retorted. Nonetheless, he followed the other prince out, conscious of the talking cat but made no note of her as they filed into the dining area and beheld fantastical creatures he couldn’t pin down what some of them could possibly be.

Rather than feeling subconscious about other people’s looks at his peculiar attire, the Prince was having a difficult time being courteous and keeping back his own stares, all the while keeping close to Sakura’s side.

Sakura laughs at that, “True! We’re not weird; it’s just the rest of the world that’s weird. They’re just not used to it yet, is all.”

A few patreons would give the Prince a glance of their own, but seeing Sakura lead him along, no one bothers to intervene. She, meanwhile, leads the way through the door, and out to open streets. “A’right.”

Long cement roads snake between tall, towering buildings. Cars pass by, and the city noises are back in full. “Keep close, feel free to hold onto me if you get worried. There’s a lot goin’ on out here, but it ought to be a short walk.”

A car honks, speeding past on the street. “… That also takes getting used to.” Sakura rubs at her ear.

17 | 09 | 14      + 42

Literomania

timeywimeyten:

        “Oi, they’re not monkeys, they’re apes. C’mon, get that right. And, even then, they aren’t just apes anymore. They’re so much more.” He shrugs. “Y’see, I’ve kind of adopted Earth as my home. Love humans. Even when they’re nothing but daft dolts, I love ‘em. Since the best of ‘em—Well, the best of ‘em make up for the worst.”

        “Still…” Mius raised a good point. Ten takes the moment to put on a contemplative look. “I’d say closure is important, yet, it depends. You’re still referring to novels, right? ‘Cause, I mean, we’ve got t’ figure out our scope here, mate.”

"Ah! Pardon, the etymology gets away from me sometimes." Mius clears his throat, "Never had that many humans before in a single place… No one questioned it."

The Doctor’s mention of ‘more’ does catch Mius’ interest. His brow raises, and he places a finger against his mouth to consider that over. “More…? Specifically humans? What of other beings? I’ll admit, I  was never too interested in humans alone, but humanoid minds and patterns of thinking, surely…”

With the shift of tone, his attention is renewed. “Hm?” Blink-blink. “Novels?”

He considers the new question in turn, head tilted back to see the early morning sky. “Hum… Yes, novel people. The novel are important, no one pays attention to the ones that aren’t novel.”

"Should we?" He looks to the Doctor, now wincing in self-conscious concern. "I mean, I admit I never really gave them a thought."

17 | 09 | 14      + 25

teataintedtoff:

ectopicfantast:

Mius’ lapin ears give the faintest of swivels, rotating where they stand. His words bring a split-second flash of surprise, followed by a softer smile of his own. “…”

He finally turns his head, enough to glance to Kiran from aside. “I’ve been … Busy. Very busy, yes.”

"Do you know that writing’s a difficult affair?" He grins that tired grin, relieved with sarcasm. "There’s the whole, cutting yourself open and pouring yourself onto pages…"

His shoulders slump with a low groan, and he lets his forehead thump against the shelves. His form gains more weight. More … Physical presence, the aura of magic fading off of him like drying steam. “I feel as if I’ve given eighty pints of blood, and I hadn’t even made more than a page.”

Uuuugghhhhhhhhh.” He groans, dramatic.

Kiran maintains a comfortable, yet polite distance. Holding the book helped keep him focused, keep his tightening chest shielded, and provide a healthy amount of comfort.

At the rhetorical question, he stifles a chuckle. He hasn’t heard writing put quite like that, perhaps similar. He tilts his head slightly to the right, blond bangs shifting behind the lens and not showing through. He watches, ears curving up to listen to the assembly of form. What an odd flux of accelerated growth.

"W-writ-t-ters b-b-block," he asks.

Mius exhales a deep sigh, and reaches up to rub his face. “No, thankfully. Thank words; no, no. No block, just … Self-consciousness?” He pushes himself off from the shelve, and stares blindly at the book-spines. “Writing dry facts and notes is one thing…”

The rabbit hesitates, about to elaborate, but instead turns to Kiran with a quick smile and furtive avoidance, “Oh, what am I saying. You’ve only just got out of the house, finally, and here I am, dumping my problems. What’s wrong with me? Rude.” He laughs, quick and chittery. “Ahh, pardon that.”

"We could, go off and do something else, or speak of something else, I can procrastinate, surely."

17 | 09 | 14      + 9

A Taste for Poison

[Continued from this ask]

drunkenspacewolf:

Tiran watches Kichuna passively, glancing here and there, with a hand coming to scratch the back of his head. “Oh, I just plan to mix them with rum and get the taste of each one. While I inherited Mum’s immunity to poisons, I still want to recognize poison in my drink just in case.” 

The hand behind his head returns to his side. “Call it one of those Ace-up-my-sleeve maneuvers.” Tiran’s grin couldn’t help but spread wide across his face, looking slightly malicious ” How bad would someone just utterly shit themselves if I identify the exact poison which they tried to use? Or at least the fact that it’s poisoned?”

Kichuna stares, in that well-practiced method of silently expressing judgement of the other’s intellect. “…”

But then she smiles.

It’s worrying when she smiles. “… First off, yer plan of action’ll only get you to be on the business end’ve a stomach pump. Dunno how well you got her resilience, but going in’ blind and mixin’ chemicals…”

She raises a finger. “But, I could help. See just how resilient y’really are, fer one thing, then start mixing it up.”

"Wonder if yer a resilient at Koishe…" She considers, lazily curious as she eyes Tiran over. "He got the full resistance to venoms going on. Injected or otherwise. Great stories, let me tell ya."

"As fer yer list, so long as it’s ‘business expenses’ an’ I don’t have to fork over much of my own cash, you’ll get what you …" She trails off for a half-moment, gaze distant and over Tiran’s shoulder.

She catches herself quickly enough, and shakes her head to snap out of it. “To— Get what you asked me to.”

17 | 09 | 14      + 0
Tiran strolls into the infirmary as the AA closes. "Kichuna, could you do me a favor?" Tiran extends a piece of paper with a list on it. "Could you get samples of those poisons and toxins? Don't worry, nothing illegal will follow."
asked by drunkenspacewolf

Kichuna glances over, and this offered little job manages to hold her attention. “-Oh?” Her eyebrows raise, expression neutral. “Hrm…”

She snatches the list, and unfolds it with one hand while she’s locking up the last of the remaining tools. She reads over the list, eyes darting left and right. “Well… Should be easy enough, nothing too unheard of…”

"Dare I ask why, however? Ain’t like you to rely on, heh, indirect methods of dealing with things. Or is this for something else?"

17 | 09 | 14      + 1

geardrops:

indirispeaks:

This is Miko, a champagne pink fox

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

reblog for foxfriends

17 | 09 | 14      + 34723

senjukannon:

Illustrations of surgical instruments by Nicolas-Henri Jacob for Jean-Baptiste Marc Bourgery, who in 1830

“began work on Traité complet de l’anatomie de l’homme comprenant la médecine operatoire, a masterpiece on human anatomy that was published in eight volumes.

Bourgery worked on the atlas until his death in 1849, with the last volume being published posthumously. The finished work contained 2108 pages of folio-sized text and 726 hand-colored lithographs. The illustrative work was performed by Nicolas-Henri Jacob (1782–1871), who was a student of famed painter Jacques-Louis David (1748–1825).

"The first five volumes of Traité complet de l’anatomie de l’homme dealt with descriptive anatomy; volumes six and seven covered surgical anatomy; and the last volume discussed general and philosophical anatomy. It is considered to be one of the most comprehensive and beautifully illustrated anatomical works ever published.”

17 | 09 | 14      + 651
17 | 09 | 14      + 24560

teataintedtoff:

ectopicfantast:

"You look better." Mius comments, gently. He smiles a tired smile.

"That’s good. My last memory of you was of you dying. I thought you did, honestly." The rabbit doesn’t cast a shadow, or even holds any weight in his movements. But he comes up, fingers almost touching the spines of the books on the opposite end. He doesn’t reach them, but pulls his hand away.

He doesn’t look to Kiran, but some far-off distance. “Are you feeling better?”

Slowly his eyes open, blond lashes fluttering as a pleased sigh escapes his lungs. There’s something refreshing about this familiar tone. He looks over, removing the book from the shelf as he does. His voice holds weary warmth, the book moved to be held against his chest.

"I am."

He offers a full smile, bright and bold for his usual demeanor. “I h-have m-m-missed y-you, My F…friend. H..ow ha-ave you b-been?”

Mius’ lapin ears give the faintest of swivels, rotating where they stand. His words bring a split-second flash of surprise, followed by a softer smile of his own. “…”

He finally turns his head, enough to glance to Kiran from aside. “I’ve been … Busy. Very busy, yes.”

"Do you know that writing’s a difficult affair?" He grins that tired grin, relieved with sarcasm. "There’s the whole, cutting yourself open and pouring yourself onto pages…"

His shoulders slump with a low groan, and he lets his forehead thump against the shelves. His form gains more weight. More … Physical presence, the aura of magic fading off of him like drying steam. “I feel as if I’ve given eighty pints of blood, and I hadn’t even made more than a page.”

Uuuugghhhhhhhhh.” He groans, dramatic.

17 | 09 | 14      + 9

teataintedtoff:

Kiran stands quietly in the library, his favored spot on the third floor is unoccupied, and he is alone, bathed in sunlight flooding the book-lined hall. A thin smile on his lips, long ears flicking to a slow pulse, his gloved fingers gripping the the spine of the book on the upper shelf. Lost in a thought or a memory, a blend of both. His eyes are closed, breathing steady; such peace he has not known in so long.

"You look better." Mius comments, gently. He smiles a tired smile.

"That’s good. My last memory of you was of you dying. I thought you did, honestly." The rabbit doesn’t cast a shadow, or even holds any weight in his movements. But he comes up, fingers almost touching the spines of the books on the opposite end. He doesn’t reach them, but pulls his hand away.

He doesn’t look to Kiran, but some far-off distance. “Are you feeling better?”

17 | 09 | 14      + 9

Work Home Balance

anomalous-containment:

The agent regarded the approaching man for a moment in silence, raising a brow when he spoke. Jericho makes an odd noise, a combination of a chuckle and a grunt, before responding. “Yes, actually, I am. Is it someone you know? Probably not.”  He turned his full attention to Koishe, speaking quickly and with an austere tone.  ”Unless you spend your time fraternizing with serial killers… actually, serial killer.  Singular.  One specific man - or woman, we don’t even know that yet.”

Letting out a snort, he shook his head and rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the front of the tavern.  ”So, that being said, I have no reason to believe my guy’s here. Hence, no reason to be subtle. People see a fed, they immediately assume it’s them they’re after. Not my fault if people are paranoid, we have better things to do than worry about what John Doe does in his down time. Chances are, you aren’t that god damn important.”

After a moment, Jericho covered his face with his hands, sighing deeply as he shifted his weight to stand normally, without the support of his car.  ”Sorry, man. Just…” He slowly slid his hands down his face and put them back at his sides.  ”Just irritable lately. Not an excuse to be a dick to strangers.”

The man says nothing, but lets the stranger speak. There’s only the faintest raise of eyebrows at the mention of serial killers. The faintest of smiles tugs up his face, amused but mute. He listens. ‘probably not’, the stranger said. Koishe remains patient.

He gains an outright grin at the mention of not being ‘that god damn important’. Still, he says nothing. He waits with his hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

Koishe finally looks to the stranger once he sighs. “Hm? Oh, no, it is fine. It is … Refreshing, for the matter.” He muses, turning his gaze back on the tavern. “I appreciate it.”

"You know, I help run a tea shop some ways down the road," he suggests, "And it sounds as if you would not even recognize who you are after…"

"I would help, but your details are somewhat, ehh… Vague." There’s a beat of a pause. "And broad."

"But I can assure you, whatever trouble is within there…" He points to the door, "…Will cease to be trouble, if they attempt to do anything else, any time soon."

"Security is rather attentive, within." He finishes, in his own vague manner. "And I am afraid your lead may be a dead end, depending on what end you seek."

"So, tea?"

17 | 09 | 14      + 4

ladyinterior:

Postcards For Ants, Lorraine Loots

17 | 09 | 14      + 35446

singyoularityisheretostay:

Underwater Tango by Katerina Bodrunova (Photographer).

17 | 09 | 14      + 918
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