#animal death mention CW

[mamawasatesttube]

yknow how sometimes dogs will hunt things and be like look i did so good!!! yayyy i got you this!!! bc theres a comedy story in my mind in which krypto decides he likes kon's friends and wants to give them presents too! and. well.

krypto leaves a dead bird on tim's pillow and tim goes oh shit fuck is this an oblique threat that someone's discovered my identity as one of the bird-themed heroes in gotham? but then why's it a fucked-up looking pigeon and not a robin or a rook (if youre like me and like tim taking on the name rook later)??????? and why is it so mangled and burned what does it mean is this a threat of a specific way someone wants to kill me?!?! who could it have been from?! when did someone even break in and why didn't they trip any of my alarms?!?! fuck i have to cancel my plans with kon and bart later shit i don't even know how i got compromised so i don't dare see either of them in public i don't want to risk them--fuck fuck fuck how did this happen i don't understand and why is it a pigeon and

meanwhile krypto is just like. :3c i did so good i am SUCH a good dog i leave him presents :) yayyy!!! i even cooked it for him. with heat vision! yaaayyy!!

so tim phones up kon like "listen we can't meet up this weekend i'm so sorry i think i've been compromised--" and goes on about how he needs to go on lockdown alert mode until he figures out what happened and who found him out and meanwhile kon's just. go back. the pigeon. describe that again.

tim describes the fucked up mangled burnt pigeon. and kon, who has dealt with his fair share of Superdog Presents and thought they'd come to an understanding about "krypto you can't do that you'll DECIMATE local wildlife" and such, just narrows his eyes. turns to the dog bed next to him. goes ……………………….. krypto.

and krypto's like :) wag wag wag :) yes thats me :) wag wag :) im good dog :) he is SO pleased with himself. thats one mystery solved!

this ends in tim, haunted, sitting at the farmhouse kitchen table while ma frets over him and makes him hot chocolate, kon wraps him in a blanket, krypto licks his feet, and lois is just like. yeah. been there. just be glad it wasn't sea monsters.

[nicolasbarra]

“ ––I must clothe myself in other worlds. ”

BASICS.

GIVEN NAME.     Nicolas Barra.          NICKNAME(S).     Nick,   Mr. Barra,   give him some more.          AGE.     Forty-seven   (   November 14,   1977   ).          PLACE OF BIRTH.     Paloma City,   Coronado.          THEME SONG.     We’ll Meet Again by Vera Lynn.          ORIENTATION.     Bisexual,  strong lean for women.          EDUCATION.     High school diploma,   favouring mathematics and metalwork.     Various physical and mental studies completed during his Marines training.          FAMILY.     When he was young,   he was a brother and a son.     He is now barely a memory.     The steamed breath that disappears into wintered air.          OCCUPATION.     Private assassin for the Del Bosque family,   doubling as a Fine Arts investor.     Former international faceless scythe   –   Death reincarnate,   forgoing the pale horse   –   bought by those desperate enough to kill without hands.     Previous to that,   an SAS Marine,   dishonourably discharged.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

HEIGHT.     Six foot one,   185 centimetres.          EYES.     Almost black with flecks of brown-life,   like wet soil at the foot of a yellow plant.          HAIR.     Grey plume bifurcating his black crown of hair.     Lush and thick despite his age,   gelled into place.          GENDER IDENTITY.     Cis man   (   He   +   him   ).          BUILD.     Wide shoulders and longer legs.     All in light’s old trick:   making a swallower of a man.     A mere silhouette that the sun wouldn’t recognise.          RESIDENCE.     Some drab brown-brick apartment right at the heart of Paloma City.     Nocturnal by trade:   to watch and be watched.          TIME IN CORONADO.     Seven settled years.     Otherwise,   in and out his whole life.          MARKS OF NOTE.     His Mario moustache   +   little Elvira streak.     Strikingly dead gaze,   despite its penchance for dance around you and your simple possessions,   and straight white teeth.

PERSONALITY   +   BEHAVIOUR.

HOBBIES.     Carving right angles out of arches.     Amassing rice-clothed vinyl records upon his clean bookshelf,   comprised mostly of crooners from the twenties to sixties.     The ear he has for any aged tune:   this love,   passed from his father’s failed dream.     Catching the tail-end of a symphony.     Applause as the prime aftermath of a perfect melody.     Habitual whistler,   wrongly mirroring his father’s songbird chords.     Strategy games like chess or blackjack:   math in all its forms.     Finding a good cut of meat.   �� Reposing,   wrist-locked,   at the periphery of art’s shadow.     Hunting,   post-twin’s death.          LIKES.     Counting any set of fingers:   the prints he leaves upon another’s skin;   humming to test the acoustics,   and the low rumble of a restored mustang;   seeing the city’s red-rimmed,   glassy gaze in the overflowing drains;   watching the moon,   and the path it lights for him to follow.          DISLIKES.     A tool with no use:   a bullet with no trajectory;   deep snow packed with ice and watched by icicles:   living red cheeks that lift,   unseen,   to dead red cheeks;   the songs crickets sing;   poorly disposed viscera.          QUIRKS.     Moods descend upon him like clouded light.     An eternal morbid humour.          STRENGTHS.     There will be no grave left un-dug when he’s on the job.     Dogged in his need for tied ends.          WEAKNESSES.     Narrow focused on the end goal,   like dilated pupils seeing blood droplets from miles away.     Needlessly brutal:   no want to stop or continue.     He simply exists,   as violence.          LOVE LANGUAGE.     A giving heart,   for the benefit of a later date,   in his acts of service and,   at times,   offering gifts.          MORAL ALIGNMENT.     Lawful Evil,   bad to the bone.

CHARACTER INSPIRATION.

Lalo Salamanca,   Better Call Saul.     Jacob Seed,   Far Cry Series.     Anton Chigurh,   No Country for Old Men.     Mr. Blonde,   Reservoir Dogs.     Niko Bellic,   GTA IV.     Jacket,   Hotline Miami.     Travis Bickle,   Taxi Driver.     Jason Voorhees,   Friday the Thirteenth.     Raoul Silva,   Skyfall.     A prickly shadow emerging from the woods,   revealing a human face and its reddened eyes;   prey skeletons silkening in snake stomachs;   holding a dying man by his shoulder and breathing in his final exhales;   a reflection that won’t face you,   chasing a winter-fed phantom limb.

BACKGROUND.

Before you,   there is shattered light.     Stardust scraped across the night sky like pollen trickling from a bee’s back.     Your brother’s eyes,   and their lichenous accord.     And then there is you.     This is how an epoch begins.     How a monsoon melts mud into a river.     The meat within molten,   marbling hands.     July pecks another kiss upon your brow,   pocked with this deep red   –   the shades of forgotten pork   –   every night.     The maw of hate laid upon your eye:   a stye that persists until it taints your gaze.     Reddened skies.     Blackened houses.     What your own flesh,   your own blood shucks.     Pillowed by new muscle;   pelted in a different skin.     The mis-evolved:   torn by the cracks that should’ve stopped their births.     In another translation,   this is your mother.     Down to the sinews,   this is something you know.     And yet,   the word July flocks in droves around her face like a floral candle that meets the morning horizon.     In her,   there is anything but hate.     In you,   there is nothing but hunger.

August hears a sharp ballad:   your cleaver hitting the juice-soaked wooden board.     A bouncing whistle,   cheapened by your rusted scent.     Your father bore the greater vocals,   cheapened by his need to wear fine black netting,   not wrought silk and pure cotton.     He who is broken at the hinge,   like a butcher who will not bypass his father.     What use remains for a man who fears his own ambition?     You love him,   regardless,   for the voice that bobs around his shop.     For the blood and warbled chords you share.     A songbird who won’t sing   ––   have you ever heard the like?   Those attracted would be more than predator.     It would be man.     They would dream your dreams for you.     Count the stars that you will not look up to see.     Hum a familiar tune   –   and oh,   how supine you become in their warm embrace   –   and let you fly away,   wondering how they could’ve known what comforts you.     September leers at bustling nests,   precarious in that thinning tree.     The season bodes better for the caves,   for the birds that look beyond their home.     You know the blood-trail a patched wing leaves.     The hunger that sees a desperate flock in a strained bird.     Another bored whistle,   and the beef is ready.     Boned,   rolled,   and tied.     Like your father taught you.

October mourns the twin that you were,   with a showered song and a flower that fought Autumn’s rot.     Twelve minutes.     Now the rest of your life without your other.     And what for?     A dropped penny.     Their pallid body slatted below the grated floor of a staling fire escape.     The accident waiting to happen that you call,   my other half.     Not chosen,   but given all the same.     As fated,   the blood does not pump harder or faster to your heart.     One wouldn’t know that you,   now,   walk alone on your snowed path.     You were made to exclude.     To inhale ease,   and exhale dread.     The soldier’s lament:   a son cursed by his father’s redless wants.     A thirst that precedes you,   and your father,   and maybe his father too.     November watches,   from your shoulder’s vantage,   the pink-skinned doe you will hold by the scruff,   like your father should’ve done with you.     But then,   you wear an army’s leathers until your lieutenants forget themselves.     Hear voices among the gunfire.     See trodden faces within the country mudslides.     His memory,   and yours,   costs you that uniform.     What follows is only natural.     Your rhythm is for you alone.     Heard only under moonlight;   your hum prickles the air like flickering stars.     The old hymn in your heart.     I SEE,   I WANT,   I EAT.

KEY WORDS:     TWIN-LESS TWIN,  BUTCHER’S SON,  HARK  NOW  HEAR  THE  SHADOWS  SING.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

I  INVOKED  YOU.     There’s a dog at your feet.     It found you   –   by your scent,   or your heart’s thrumming call   –   as it always will.     His teeth are perfect for your needs.     Your wants are perfect for his deft  hands.

THE  SAME  SIN  BINDS  US.     Watch the moon try to peer upon wooded ground,   where red moistens the clumped soil beneath his feet.     One of you is a presage for the other.     One of you would kill the other.

HOW  WILD  IT  WAS.     You knew a rabid dog,   once,   that would bear his teeth without reason.     His mouth;  your throat.     There was something classic,   about you and him,   thereupon the barely lit pier.

[bestiadentro]

//Sorry I haven't gotten to replies yet.

I had to put down my cat that I've had for 11 years since she was a kitten on the 21st. I feel like part of me is missing because she is the only 'friend' I had irl that I could always see. I'm still mourning losing my mother earlier this year too. Among other things.

I want to write so bad it's just.. hard.

[constellaris]

i'm fucking livid i never thought i'd be cutting another family member out of my life, but i've reached that point where i can't fucking do this any more i'm tired of my sister using our parents and myself as free childcare, as a get out of jail free card, and expecting us to foot the bill for everything every time her fucking dogs are the reason i lost my rabbit of 8 years and she has the god damn audacity to not even apologize to me, but to lie about his death to other people after all the shit she fucking put me through over the years, all the mental and emotional scars she's left me with, i can't deal with her any more. i love my nieces and nephews to pieces, but i'm done . i will not be used any more.

[tierra-paldeana]

// i had the craziest, most tone-demolishing fucking dreams back to back

first i dreamed nava ( @monterraverde) encountered an alternate universe version of quinn that was 100% feral, and at first was really fucking confused what she was looking at. found her at the pond she was living in by complete accident, walked into her absolutely demolishing a marrill carcass with her mouth and hands dripping with blood. quinn doesn't take kindly to seeing another human, much less IN the pond that is supposed to be secluded and concealed, and the worst part is that she doesn't recognize herself in her at all, although there's a feeling of fear interlaced with her aggression, as if knowing deep down something was off about the person intruding in their turf (in terms of eerie familiarity, like a distorted reflection). nava tried to reason with her but all she got was snarled at and nearly bitten, prompting nava to realize this was a universe she could barely do anything about and leave her be.

then the other dream was just. @beiowzero walking in on rika swimming with the glaseado clodsire in a warm pond. wondering how the fuck she hasn't passed out from hypothermia yet DJAHDJKAHSJHF

[greenteacology]

I thought Tiny (short for Tiny Baby Lizard) had left my room cuz I hadn’t seen him for a while but he popped up again today while I was packing and now I’m so stressed again

Because I’m leaving in two days and I’m scared that they’ll fumigate the room after I leave or find him and kill him or something

So now I have to try to catch him in the next two days so I can release him outside

I am fully projecting all of my emotions about leaving onto Tiny and the thought of anything happening to him makes me want to cry. Also just looking at him makes me want to cry because he is just. So small 🥺

Anyways here’s a video of Tiny being small and cute

Video description: a very small gecko, maybe 1-2 inches long, is perched on the wall above some shelves. The camera zooms in on him, then zooms out. It zooms in again as he turns around and begins to crawl down the wall with his tail swishing. End description

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

inconsolable in the club about laika and the meteia this evening lads

[cassandraleeds]

Today I'm taking care of my cat who's giving me a lot of signs that she's at the tail end of her life. I'm not being pessimistic, but I don't want to be in denial either.

Getting a urine sample from a continuously bladder sick cat is a whole day thing.

Helpless feeling to watch an old friend you're the caretaker of feel pain. We've been friends for 13 years. If it's time to say goodbye, I won't cling, but God I'm gonna miss her so much.

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

gents it has been a real bad week for restraining myself from scratching out my stepdad's eyes

[deadcaps]

What do they say if the PC tries to force them to go up on stage with Dribbles the Clown?

What do they say when the Player Character asks them to stay in camp? How about when the Player Character asks them to come adventuring again?

( zyn as a companion. || accepting! )

　　　　　　　　　*

　　　zyn will, first and foremost, be a little shocked that you asked it to go up in front of the clown. tav will be able to say something like "zyn, you're up." when prompted for a volunteer. zyn will blink at tav a few times and turn to them and say ❝ and... do what, exactly? it does not think the jokes were bad enough to justify harm. ❞

　　　then, after dribbles does his little schtick and tav can encourage zyn to go up there again, it will approve and smile a little in a weird kind of way, giggle, and say ❝ eheeh. if it can pet buddy... ❞

　　　as for asking it to stay in camp...

　　　> can you stay back at camp for me for a little while?

　　　❝ has it... displeased you in some way, peace-bringer? ❞

　　　> no, just wait for me there.

　　　❝ ... mmh. then... it will prepare a gift for you by the time you return. ❞ the implication would be it would just find a corpse to reanimate kind of like a cat leaving dead animals on your pillow

　　　　　　　　　*

[horrifichaunts]

✏️ ( for henry and will lmao / @spring-lxcked )

Send in ✏️ and I’ll use this (improved) incorrect quote generator featuring both our muses! (please remember to specify how many muses/which muses for multimuses!)

Will: I can’t believe all these people are wearing black. black is supposed to be my thing, they’re all just posers. Henry: Will, for the last time, we’re at a funeral.

Henry: Question. When they shot Bambi's mother, did you find that a sad moment...at all? Will: I'm sure she's mounted on a nice wall in a fine home somewhere.

Will: Henry, you love me, right? Henry: Normally I’d say yes without hesitation, but I feel like this is going somewhere I won’t like.

Henry: This is a bad idea. Will: Then why are you coming along? Henry: Someone has to get your injured ass home.

Henry: Look, I know we don’t always see eye to eye but—

Will: Thats because your too short to do so.

Henry: ...Listen here you fucking—

[autisticbee]

Sometimes I like to think Watzie is a reincarnation of Charlie(my beautiful snake daughter🐍) bc the way her mouth is slightly turned up reminds me of her. It's nice to think that maybe this is chance to get the time with her I was robbed of

[unragazzovero]

A useless headcanon.

Carlo use to have a pet cat named Figaro.

So what happened to Figaro? Carlo doesn't like to talk about it, but she was killed during the whole puppet frenzy, and Carlo was sick and weak and couldn't save her no matter how hard he tried to even get out of bed to save her from being killed by puppets that turned on to their masters and then just went crazy.

Even Carlo was in danger at that time, and Figaro died protecting him from when a puppet had tried to attack Carlo while he was resting in bed.

In the end after her death, Carlo had her cremated. Her ashes had turned into little specks of ergo and was made into a glass trinket and into a necklace, which Carlo wears around his neck and refuses to let anybody touch it no matter who they are.

[tierra-paldeana]

// also, sire verse rika flatout refuses to eat 'human' food. as a kid/teen she found the idea of hunting, killing and eating raw meat gross, but after giving up on people for sure, she had to accomodate and become an actual hunter.

i like to think that she doesn't get ill from it thanks to growing up surrounded by poison pokemon and becoming immune to their poison, which in turn has strenghtened her digestive and immune system in some way.

theorically, canon verse rika could eat raw meat as well without repercussion for the same reason, but she doesn't do it despite her own instincts because she still finds the idea very yucky (and she's very unaware she can do this).

sire rika though? give her a marill or psyduck carcass over a hamburger any day. at least a raw kill wasn't made by disgusting humans!

[supercreig]

About stripe (i think that is the guinea pigs name sorry bestie)

Send me “About [NAME]” for my character’s thoughts on another character! OPTIONAL: Send “About [NAME]: [SUBJECT]” for thoughts about a more specific thing!

@dshret

"I've had plenty of other Stripes in the past. They all meant the world to me. Actually every Stripe I ever had meant the entire world to me. What happened to them, you ask? The first Stripe I had died of old age, the second one ran away, and I suspect the third one was poisoned. Now we're on Stripe number four, which is from Tweek.

Don't get me wrong now. Every Stripe I've had will never replace each one I had. I've only named them all Stripe to keep his legacy going."

Honestly him naming all the guinea pigs he had Stripe was also him coping with loss. One thing he's meaning to leave out is that Stripe number four also has the ability to shapeshift into a ginormous guinea pig, but no one needed to know that. A little surprise can be fun, so he's going to leave that major detail out and have people try to find out themselves what Stripe the fourth can do.

[queenc-x]

me, watching Night Swim: Great. Now I'm gonna spend the whole movie wondering if the cat dies.

Night Swim 5 minutes later: dw i got u