#nightiingaled

Incorrect Quotes Generator

Send me 'Fading to Dust' for my muses reaction to watching yours die right in front of them.

To say that their relationship was complicated was the understatement of the decade. However, it didn't stop Isaac from trying to be friends with Killian. Which was also what had lead to the current predicament he was in. Trapped, in a high tech building, about to be experimented on. It was not something he was looking forward to. Nor would he enjoy it. He was truly hoping for a miracle. That he would be found by someone, anyone. To be freed. As luck would have it, he was alone, with his friend trapped alongside him. Albeit not in the same cell, however he could hear him, though he wasn't sure if it was just in his head or his actual voice as well.

What Isaac couldn't understand was why they hadn't come for him yet. He'd been stuck in the room for quite some time. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but it had definitely been days. He only knew it had been days because he had felt the pull of the full moon, which had been days out when he'd been taken. Another reason why he knew it had been days, was the fact that at least once, what he thought was every day, he was given food. Not enough to sustain him, not with his werewolf metabolism, but at least it was better than nothing. Something about the people in the white lab coats that came and fed him, made him think they didn't know what he actually was. And since they'd also grabbed Killian, he wondered idly if it was the organisation he'd heard John talk about once or twice. Because then it would make sense that they wouldn't know he was a werewolf, and that he needed more food than the average human. It would also explain the collar around his neck. It did nothing for him, except annoy him.

He wondered if it worked on Killian. And that was why he was still stuck in here. It would also make sense why no one else had come to find him, or Killian. Albeit he didn't really think anyone else would come for the older man he had befriended. Not after the things he had learned over the years of living around the other tomorrow people. But it didn't stop him from believing in the good of Killian. He truly believed the man to actually be a good person, and having a good heart. No matter who and how many times he was told otherwise.

As time passed, he got more and more bored of being stuck in a room, mainly because the inside of the room had been designed in such a way that the door out, had no grabbable seem from the inside. If it had, he would've busted out already. However, as time passed, he heard Killian more often, not his words, but his screams. The screams had only started recently, and it was what was spurring him to plan to do something stupid. To try and break out, to get to him. To save him, to get out, alive. And so Isaac bid his time, waiting for the next time the door opened, and food was delivered.

As soon as he heard the tell tale sign that the door was opening, he moved to the side, of where he knew it would be opening from, and quickly knocked out the lab technician who brought his food this time. He listened to the food clatter to the ground, and then poked his head outside, looking around, listening, smelling. He could hear people talking, in the distance, along with the occasional scream. He was not sure who's scream it was, but one thing was for certain, this time it was not Killian's. Isaac used his superior sense of smell to track his friend, it wasn't easy with all of the chemicals in the air, because it burned his nose. But he still did it, while also keeping his hearing attuned to make sure he wouldn't be caught unawares by anyone. He wasn't too fond of the idea of being found out to have escaped, and then be recaptured.

As he skulked around the hallways, he eventually found who he was looking for. He snuck into the room, making sure no one else would walk in.

"You look worse for wear." Isaac muttered as he got closer, and looked at the bindings. He continued to mutter to himself as he let more of his werewolf side out, claws and fangs. He used his claws to break the bindings and got Killian out. What he didn't know was that his friend was dying. Especially not with all the scents in the building. It was why he hadn't pinpointed that the smell of death was actually coming off of his friend.

"I've got you Killi, I'll get us both out." He murmured, keeping his voice quiet and soft. All in a way to make sure that he could get out, while mainly carrying his friend. He kept walking, every once in a while stopping and hiding in random empty rooms. After what felt like hours, he'd finally gotten himself and Killian out of the building. Being outside, helped with clearing all the muddied up smells that were stuck in his nose, but not the chemical smell which had burnt the inside of his nose slightly. Which was why it took him a while to realise the the scent of death was still lingering.

Isaac almost dragged Killian to the edge of the road, and into the bushes that lined the road. All to get out of view, and not get caught. He was exhausted, and his entire body ached. Partially from being locked up for so long, but also from a lack of nutrients in his body. He gently placed his friend down, against the trunk of a tree, and then sat down right next to him.

"Killian?" The name came out more as a question than anything else. Especially when he realised that his friend's breathing was slow and laboured. "No, no, no Killian. Don't do this, not now." He muttered and scooted closer and leaned in closer. Focusing in on his heartbeat. Isaac finally realised that Killian was dying, and he really did not like it. It wasn't fair, not when they were finally free, and would be able to get home. "It's not fair." He mumbled, his eyes tearing up. Even if they were only friends, losing people had never sat well with Isaac. It would also often end up as physical pain, even though he wasn't actually hurt. "How am I supposed to get home now?" He asked as he heard the stutter of Killian's heart. And eventually it stopped beating all together.

He's always a bit lethargic after a meal, not even from the amount of food consumed- But due to the sheer amount of organization, time management, concentration, and labor needed to prepare a custom menu. He wasn't bellowing orders at the pass or throwing badly plated dishes at his line cooks (this time, anyway), but the weariness was evident in the way the crime lord's shoulders sagged a touch lower and the flirtatious quality to his voice and gestures had quieted down into something much more thoughtful and subdued.

Swirling the remnants of some disgustingly pricey luxury champagne within a fluted crystal glass, Yoon crosses one long leg over the other with a soft exhale. Business was going well, as to be expected- However, his 'pet project' in sponsoring a up and coming yakuza heir had proved to be a decision that had sent ripples of confusion and unease through his subordinates. While they didn't spurn all dealings with the yakuza brotherhoods stationed overseas, direct business with any who remained rooted to the island proper was obviously quite rare.

The bad blood that stemmed from a long history of incredibly hostile foreign occupation was a blisteringly raw wound that refused to scab over, only to be further exacerbated by the resurgence of strong neo-imperialist sentiment within Japan's political climate. And while Jae-hyo himself could admit that he entertained contacts with origins from Japan, they both knew (but never put words to) the basic rule enforced, ever passed down from generational trauma: You can engage with them at large, even call some of them your friends, but you never forget.

Miyoko was vastly unexpected, the direct offspring said to inherit their father's criminal empire and yet they did not glide across the floor radiating some modern and wordless echo to yamato nadeshiko with an ever graceful economy of subtle and subdued movements. They marched like someone who'd just returned from a stint of career military service, had that sharp-eyed predator's awareness of their surroundings at all times, their body an extremely deadly and more than effective weapon hewn from shattered bones that only grew back thicker and stronger for it, scarred flesh touched by little more than cruelty for the sake of flaunting power, and a personality that more brief flashes of keenly-honed edges and layered barbed wire keeping others at a firmly enforced distance.

They could exercise politeness when needed, but beneath that calm and neutral mask lied something that Yoon recognized very quickly- a learned state of passive acceptance. It wasn't innate, it wasn't some intrinsic yellowed streak that hid beneath the chiton of one's backbone when introduced to increasing pressure.

It was the kind of dead-eyed lack of personhood that he saw staring down at the drain of a public bathroom sink, like the centrifugal force of the ruddy water might drag his body down into the blackness along with it. His mirrored-self's jaundiced and bruised flesh: all manner of painful lessons burned, beaten, strangled, and subdued by anything from knives, to ropes, to chains and the control of much larger stronger hands. There was nothing human there, no 'soul'- Only an ever spiraling void that continued to consume everything leveraged against it, yet was never truly complete. A sieve through which any sense of freedom, expression, or even opinions that differed from that of their master fell straight through the gaping mouth punched through it's foundation.

He should be disgusted by the knowledge, the ability to recognize that shared hollowness that is forever carved through their being- A yawning abyss that did nothing more than gnash it's broken teeth and futilely gnaw at it's own belly, stripping fur and skin until they punctured innards.

He should hate them, for being so weak- As he hated his old self, the coward who did nothing but cry endlessly and snivel into her twin's skirts at the overwhelming hopelessness of their situation. The helpless little girl who had said nothing, not even dared to breathe, even as her only remaining source of unconditional love and selfless protection was so cruelly dragged away- All the while struggling just to lock eyes and deliver a reassuring smile to her other half that was birthed from the same womb.

It's going to be okay, J꙲꙲i꙲꙲-꙲꙲h꙲꙲o꙲꙲.꙲꙲"꙲꙲

Jae-hyo's dominant arm lashes out like a snake, to close steely leather-encased fingers around Miyoko's wrist and pull. Keeps pulling until the guidance and torque results in the yakuza heir sitting astride his hips and thighs. His gimlet-eyed stare is little more than two pools of spilled oil spreading across the encrusted rime of a gelid pond. He doesn't move to grasp at familiar curves or the hard planes of muscle, doesn't lift a solitary finger to coax, cajole, or otherwise lure them into a false sense of comfort. His expression isn't warm or bright, it's not reassuring kindness and closed-lipped smiles. Jae is content to merely study his would-be 'prize', taking mental notes of dark pupils that expand- pushing out the equally rich hue of their irises into thin limbal halos. How they jump from the sharp ridges of his clavicles up the slender column of his neck draped in delicately interwoven gold chains and Cortez pearls in a spectrum of peacock blue-green, lush aubergine, and rose.

On any other person, they might have been garish and over the top- Sneered at for being ostentatious trappings meant for an overly-spoilt trophy wife hanging from the arm of an actual made-man. Yoon wasn’t confident in the sense that he wore what he did because he had convinced even himself that it was stylish, he chose specific accessories and fabrics to artfully drape himself in because he liked the way they looked on his androgynous frame- Limber and all tightly-coiled braids of wiry muscle slumbering against sharper, bony landmarks that could cut through glass.

Mascara-coated lashes accentuated by rich crimson gel liner lower just the slightest increment, brushing feather light against the fullest slope of Miyoko’s right cheekbone- A brief moment of extremely fleeting contact that the heir-apparent craved.

Turning his wrist in a languid motion, he brings the heel of a gloved hand to his mouth and sinks his incisors into the softly treated leather. The protective coverings slip from what would have been long and elegant fingers- An artist’s tools, or the perfect living canvas to model rings. Instead, they reveal cratered and discolored remnants of wounds that went far deeper than surface level contact burns- Countless live embers carelessly stamped and ground into his naked skin when the cigarillo’s pleasant sear no longer mattered as a form of enjoyment.

incorrect quotesㅤㅤㅤㅤ☾ㅤㅤㅤㅤ accepting!!

minjoon: i’m not being weird. am i being weird? kit: yes, and that’s coming from me.

minjoon: so what do you have planned for the future? kit: lunch. minjoon: no, like, long term. kit: oh… um, dinner?

kit: oh shoot! kit: excuse my vulgarity. minjoon: i’ll let it slide.

minjoon: kit has discovered "deez nuts" jokes and it's all she says now. everything is deez nuts. she simply can't stop. minjoon: i asked her where she learned that joke. she made me promise she wouldn't get in trouble if she told me. i agreed. minjoon: so she leans in and whispers, "deez nuts."

Will it be Ty @badassxbirdy? Killian @nightiingaled ? Jordan @bloodbulletsandbytes ?

Personally kind of hope it’s an older and very much alive @edhellfire out of left field getting one in for his favorite time travelling paranormal hot mess Clari.

That or Mal gets tired of sharing Zeke’s brain with Jed and calls in a favor to his sis Lucille @behindtheireyes

idk how I missed this one from fucking April but

holy schmoly wat is happening in whoville.

Lemme get this straight with handy dandy numbered points

There's a murder party and I am not even being invited? ... Screw you Ty, Killian, and Jordy!

YES. MY MAN. AND IT'S EDDIE WITH A STEEL GUITAR--

ALSO when the shit did I miss Clari teleporting into the past again--- Stephen fucking Jameson, nvm. STEVIE STOP YEETING YOUR COUSIN INTO THE PAST. NORMAL COUSINS JUST FIST FIGHT YOU KNOW THAT RIGHT??! Pray for Clari's fashion sense y'all, she's not in danger her clothes are just ugly

... fORGET EVERYTHING I SAID ABOVE, CHILDREN TO THE SIDE THE ADULTS ARE HERE: Mal and Lucille have this in the fucking BAGGGGGGGGGGGG. have you seen those adorable little murders????? I love them.

I need a drink this ask was like six hammers to the chest

@oculusxcaro, @nightiingaled, && @lee-sol all sent 🤳 + 6 for:

ㅤbyan's relationship with food

relationship status: it's complicated

@nightiingaled​ sent:  [ throat ]  (now what if I made you keep being mean to kit; imsorry.)

»  violent actions    ‒‒‒‒‒    accepting      »»    [ throat, reverse ]   your my muse wrapping a hand around mine’s yours’ throat.

  showing subordinates who’s in charge with a little violence isn’t something he’s ever been opposed to, although usually such instances came with calculated and controlled actions, with chosen words. prone as he CAN and HAS always been to emotional outbursts, in most cases he’s still able to maintain his cool.

           —but, most of the time, people aren’t able to strike him so DEEPLY, down to parts of himself he considers long buried.

she hadn’t meant to do it  ( she never does ).  all she had done was come running back to him with freshly picked flowers in hand, a bright smile lighting her face. perhaps she had thought HE might like them as well, that if she shared them with him, he might cheer up a little. unbeknownst to her, however, in that moment he had found himself BACK in inazuma; in a field full of flowers, a young boy tugging him along excitedly as he points at the biggest bloom, reaches out to pick it only to turn around to gift it, to gesture for kunikuzushi to crouch down so he might tuck it behind his friend’s ear.

kit had stepped forward, arm outstretched with a flower in hand, but before she could reach his ear, kunikuzushi had snapped VIOLENTLY back to reality.

there’s no thought, only reaction. a hand thrusts forth and, rather than grabbing her wrist to stop her, he goes for her THROAT. slender fingers apply pressure — not enough to choke, but enough indeed for the THREAT to be there — and his ice cold gaze meets hers. she hadn’t meant to trigger such old, sensitive memories, doesn’t even know that she’s DONE SO, and he KNOWS that, but he’s never reacted well to being confronted so unexpectedly by the past.