#death idealization tw

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

The Bronx Zoo has just released Flaco's necropsy results.

He was not thriving, as the people championing the ideal of "freedom" claimed.

He was poisoned.

He was sick.

He was suffering.

"Freedom" would have eventually killed him. A building just happened to do it first.

"Postmortem testing has been completed for Flaco, the Eurasian eagle owl that was found down in the courtyard of a Manhattan building a little over a year after his enclosure at the Central Park Zoo was vandalized on February 2, 2023. Onlookers reported that Flaco had flown into a building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan on February 23, 2024, and acute trauma was found at necropsy. Bronx Zoo veterinary pathologists determined that in addition to the traumatic injuries, Flaco had two significant underlying conditions. He had a severe pigeon herpesvirus from eating feral pigeons that had become part of his diet, and exposure to four different anticoagulant rodenticides that are commonly used for rat control in New York City. These factors would have been debilitating and ultimately fatal, even without a traumatic injury, and may have predisposed him to flying into or falling from the building. The identified herpesvirus can be carried by healthy pigeons but may cause fatal disease in birds of prey including owls infected by eating pigeons. This virus has been previously found in New York City pigeons and owls. In Flaco’s case, the viral infection caused severe tissue damage and inflammation in many organs, including the spleen, liver, gastrointestinal tract, bone marrow, and brain.   No other contributing factors were identified through the extensive testing that was performed. Flaco’s severe illness and death are ultimately attributed to a combination of factors—infectious disease, toxin exposures, and traumatic injuries—that underscore the hazards faced by wild birds, especially in an urban setting."

The naturalistic fallacy kills animals in horrible ways. The romanticism of what humans want to think of as a "free, wild, pure life" cannot be allowed supplant the reality of injury, sickness, and death. Releasing captive animals (or keeping them from being recaptured) because it's "better" for them to suffer untethered than live a healthy, safe, captive life is inhumane and horrific.

Flaco's life didn't have to end in pain, sickness, and suffering.

Flaco's death didn't have to be tragic.

But once the idea of "freedom" entered the chat, Flaco's fate was unavoidable.

[lloydfrontera]

i don't buy that lloyd would get over his fear of the restoration of fate that quickly. he was doomed by the narrative for years and now he's supposed to shake it off in less than two weeks? absolutely not, he literally tried to kill himself in order to avoid it, ain't no fucking way he just stopped being scared about it in a couple days i don't believe it

anyway. this is my way of saying that lloyd refused to cross dimensions until he made javier swear that he would kill him with his own hands if there was even a hint of the restoration of fate starting up again. he wouldn't consider going back if it meant putting his family and home in danger again even if it meant being left behind in a place he would've rather died than stay at.

and they both know that javier would fall on his own sword before hurting lloyd but they also know lloyd would take his own life before allowing him to do that or to let his existence put his loved ones in danger again. they know lloyd doesn't really need javier to kill himself, not if he's really committed to it. he's done it before it after all.

him asking javier this is. a warning. of what he's planning to do if the restoration of fate starts again. it's his way of telling javier that he cannot promise things will be okay if he comes back. that he must be ready to lose lloyd again if necessary because lloyd won't allow anything else.

it's also maybe... an indulgence on lloyd's part. he's felt himself die so many times now. and so many of his deaths were painful or terrifying or surrounded by his enemies and sometimes all three at once.

but he remembers a sunset, a coat over his shoulders, shaky yet reliable hands holding a sword. a quick, peaceful death on his own terms, done by someone lloyd trusted with something far more important than his life.

and he knows it's selfish, he knows it's cruel, but if he has to die, for real this time, can't it be at the hands of his best friend? if he has to be killed, can't it be done by someone lloyd knows cares for him? if he has to close his eyes and never open them again, can't the last thing he ever sees be the face of the person he loves enough to die for as many times as necessary?

and javier agrees because. what else can he do. he spent so long hoping lloyd would finally trust him enough to tell him what he was planning so javier could help him in anyway he was able to and now. now lloyd is asking this of him.

he desperately doesn't want to say 'yes'. but he cannot say 'no'.

what else can he do.

what's the point of being the most powerful human on the world if he can't even protect the one person he swore to protect above all things. what's the point of him if the only thing he can do is promise to kill his best friend because he has no other way to protect everything they've worked for.

how can he promise lloyd that everything will be okay, that things will work out, that if needed javier will die for him before letting anything happen to him, when he already failed before.

what else can he do

anyway. i don't think any amount of end spoilers and confessions to the jewel of truth are enough to soothe the terrified, paranoid and utterly traumatized part inside lloyd's chest that goes tight any time anything goes even remotely wrong for a good while. it takes a couple months, maybe a few years even, before lloyd stops going cold every time there's even a hint of trouble around him. before he stops reflexively looking to javier's sword to calm himself down whenever things don't go perfectly right in every way.

it takes a while. but it does happen. and things aren't perfect, that's not how life works, but they're good and even when they aren't, lloyd can finally face them and believe they're not his fault. that his existence is not an obstacle for the happiness of the people he loves.

[short-for-jules]

VERY rough concept for a 3d modeled statue of Herbert West, just watched re-animator and it did something to me. Ive wanted to make and sell fan statues for awhile and this really lit a fire under my ass, but before i spend the next Several Weeks working on this it would help my motivation a lot if i got a vibe there are people in the world who would pay money for this lol.

I'm not sure how much it will be, since I'll likely be going through a POD provider since posting stl files online freaks me out, so final price will come up to how much production costs, but the ideal price rang is 20-40$ USD, with as minimal up-charge as i can allow myself. fans w disposable income tell me any and all thoughts <3

[shadyvoidhologram]

I was laying in bed overthinking, as you do, and started to go on a depressive doom spiral. And then, to distract myself I started thinking about the things I like.

[Spoilers and some gross details incoming, you know what Mouthwashing is about]

So, eventually I started thinking about Curly being in a similar headspace as I was, laying down, incapable of doing anything, constantly in pain and hearing time and time again how quickly things are going to shit and that it's all your fault.

Him replaying his mistakes over and over on his head, imagining the many ways things could've gone a different way if only he had done something instead of ignoring the issues to "keep the peace".

Remembering every interaction that led to the accident, Anya's confession, his friends poorly disguised resentment, him ignoring and filtering details of his crew's mental state, her taking the gun, the notice, Jimmy.

Him being a coward and disguising his hate of confrontation with the guise of being a good friend.

And then comming back to reality, to is burning flesh. To the blood, shit and bile staining the bandages, robe and bed, to watching and hearing his friends suffer and die, unable to do anything.

When the kid dies, in the midst of all the emotional chaos, he feels some sick sense of relief knowing that probably Swansea will deal with both of them quickly and it'll be over at last.

Then Jimmy finds the gun.

And he can't help but laugh. He remembers the conversation they had and he cackles bitterly because not even in death can her wishes be respected. She trusted him and he failed her even after she was gone.

Soon enough it's just the two of them left.

Through muffled ears he hears Jimmy rambling, talking to himself, asking questions and answering right after, he sees him moving the bodies around. When Jimmy carries him from the infirmary to the common room table he's still as stone, not a sound leaves his mouth, he doesn't look at the bodies thrown on the chairs around the table, he doesn't even breathe.

But all of Jimmy's attention, hatred, idolatry, and envy are on him only. Eyes glossy, cut pieces of a one sided conversation and a tentative smile on his lips when he reaches for the slightly dented knife.

He screams until his lungs close and his throat burns. When he's fed parts of himself he cries and throws up until he is forced to swallow and keep it down.

He's dehidrated, half delirious from the blood loss and emotionally checked out when Jimmy picks him up and tells him they can still fix this, he knows what to do. That he's going home.

Sure, he thinks, he wants to go home.

When he's placed on the cryopod he just stares at Jimmy talk to himself at him some more, about being heroes and everything being all right now. Then he steps out of sight.

It's on the silence after the loud bang when his brain starts working again, he's completely and utterly alone on a crashed ship of a company that's closing it's doors, with a now depleted shipment that wasn't even important enough to guarantee a search party, and no way of fending for himself in the case of 20 years passing and no one coming, even less if the power gave out before that.

As the cryopod finally starts to cool, the few tears he has left fall from his remaining eye.

He hopes he doesn't wake up to see what happens next.

..ok see y'all when I wake up-

[noritaro]

good night gamers

[loserboyfriendrjl]

this is my brother and i need a shovel to love him,

and if tearing my ribcage open and letting him see that i, too, am human, if letting him gnaw at my heart, if letting him see me as i am, of a vulnerability that he never imagined of me, will make him look into my eyes and grin a smile that i almost forgot, then so be it.

and if my murder, my death, is what brings us together, then so be it. may he kneel against my lonely grave and press his warm body against my cold headstone, the fine thin line between death and life. may death unite us, once and for all, and maybe then we will be brothers again.

he is half of my soul, as the poets would say,

but one half of my soul is rotten. it starts with obedience and distance, and with a need for love that no one will give us. our home is cold; our souls are warm. in a home of the dark, few want to see the light; i did, and he stayed in the shadows where, seemingly, he belonged oh, so well.

but one half of my soul is dead. may i never know what brought the sleep of forever upon him, and i shall mourn the boy, not the man. i shall grieve my brother, above all, and not the man he had become; at the end of time, when death writes our story, we are brothers, two stars in the sky.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumptember day 23

“I told you not to do that.” Passing out | Hyperventilating | New scars

Content warning: temporary death, suicidal idealation (arguably)

About two hours after the party had begun, Whumper opened the door to Caretaker’s cell. They were dragging Whumpee behind them, leaving a trail of blood. Whumpee’s limp body was thrown into the cell. Caretaker wasted no time rushing to their side.

Whumpee still wore the suit Whumper had forced them into. Two hours ago, it had looked brand new, a pearl white that stood in stark contrast to the dinginess of their cell. Now the suit was in taters, stained with Whumpee’s blood and torn by piercing blades. The wounds were deep, leaving stains so dark they seemed black.

Whumpee’s face was covered in drying tears, their face in a perpetual look of horror. Their eyes were blank, unfocused. Their head lolled limply on their shoulders, neck unnaturally twisted. They weren’t breathing. 

Caretaker stared at the body, fingers aching. 

“Well?” Whumper spoke, reminding Caretaker of their presence. Instinctually, they reached to pull Whumpee closer to them. “I’ve got people waiting for them to come back. Fix it.”

“I–,” something in Caretaker knew they should resist, but the unnatural stillness of Whumpee’s features silenced them. It always did. They nodded despite themselves, silencing whatever resistance they might’ve pretended to have if Whumpee were still alive. 

Gently, Caretaker straightened Whumpee’s body until it rested flat against the ground. They tried to position their head to face upward, but it simply fell limply to the side each time. When Caretaker caught a glimpse of bone pushing against the skin of Whumpee’s neck, they stopped trying. 

Caretaker brought their shaking hands to Whumpee’s chest. After a moment, their hands began to glow a soft white.

No matter what Caretaker tied, the process always began with Whumpee regaining consciousness. Caretaker saw the moment life returned to Whumpee’s eyes. Their mouth wided on instinct, attempting to gasp with lungs that still thought they were dead. Their face spasmed in pain. 

Caretaker pressed their hands more firmly into Whumpee, praying that doing so would somehow quicken the process.

Their powers moved steadily throughout Whumpee’s body. Caretaker heard the shifting of flesh and bone as Whumpee’s neck repaired itself. They felt Whumpee’s heart resume its beating, felt their body twitch as they regained movement of their limbs. As their lungs began to function again, Whumpee gasped, eyes filling with tears.

Finally, the glow faded from Caretaker’s hands. All that remained of Whumpee’s death were the faintest of scars and a mess of blood. They didn’t move their hands from Whumpee.

Whumpee turned to look at them, something desperate and wild in their eyes. “I–I told you not to do that,” they panted, still too weak to do anything but whisper. “Stop, please just let me–,”

Whumper didn’t wait for Whumpee to finish. As soon as the glow left Caretaker’s hands, Whumpee was grabbed by the arm. They were pulled away from Caretaker, forced to stand on trembling legs. “Hurry up, you’re not done tonight.”

Whumper’s grip on Whumpee was ironclad. Whumpee didn’t fight as they were pulled out of the cell. They stared at Caretaker. Their eyes were desperate, haunted and tearfilled. Their eyes were pleading, asking Caretaker for something they couldn’t give.

Caretaker did not break contact until Whumpee disappeared down the hall. When Whumpee finally disappeared, Caretaker’s eyes traveled down to the bloodstain left on the floor. They thought of the dozens of other bloodstains Whumpee had left, and the dozens of times Whumpee had begged not to be brought back. 

Bringing Whumpee back only allowed them to suffer again. Caretaker knew that, knew that the cycle of life and death was agonizing, that death would be far kinder. 

Caretaker looked down at the blood on their hands. They knew they weren’t strong enough to be kind. 

They simply sat, mind numb as they waited for Whumpee to die again.

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Daily fish fact #424

Wolf herring!

A family of only two species, wolf herrings are closely related to herrings! Unlike herrings, however, wolf herrings have long, sharp teeth and can grow to be about one meter in length (3 feet-ish).

[brainrotlesbian]

Idea: Caretaker who was held captive with whumpee/forced to work under whumper helps whumpee escape. Whumper is furious about this, so they track down Caretaker and make them pay for their actions, then kill them as a warning to whumpee. Whumpee isn’t aware of what happened until they get the news that Caretaker was found dead in an alley, beaten and bruised, with the word “traitor” carved into their forehead.

[clarabowmp3]

Also I started reading this book Everyone I Know is Dying by Emily slapper and good lord does it take you on a trip

[canonically-a-genloser]

"straight out of a novella"

i hate writing titles i hate writing

Paislie slowly opened the door, cursing the way it creaked. Not that it mattered terribly, none of the Showfall escapees still living in the house were light sleepers except for-

"Hey."

-Randy.

"Hi," Paislie said, shuffling to the couch to shed their platform boots. "How were the kids?"

The brunette let out a chuckle at the recollection of Paislie's four siblings. "About as easy to handle as you."

"Oh."

"Nah. They're good," he assured Paislie. "You have a good time?"

Paislie blushed as a smile grew, realizing he'd noticed their mussed dress, undone hair and flushed cheeks- not to mention the lipstick stain on their cheek that still remained.

"Oh, a really good time."

"Shh," Paislie laughed, leaning back on the couch.

"It's alright," Randy grinned in reply. "I worked at a bar, that's the only reason I know. I get it."

He leaned forward, folding his hands in his lap. "So tell me about her, come on."

A high-pitched giggle came from Paislie.

"She bought us a couple rounds, I bought us a couple more. We danced for a bit, and holy French pressed fuck, she knows how to dance. She's so beautiful," Paislie said, a faraway look planting itself in their eyes as they daydreamed in the direction of the carpet.

"How many drinks did you have?"

"Dunno. Five? Maybe."

Randy sighed, though the smile on his face didn't leave. Paislie's friends had probably had them mix drinks as a joke too, knowing he would be fine in the end.

"You don't do anything by halves, do ya."

" 'S okay. Not my first time," Paislie slurred out, and the older of the two nodded.

"I know. Still." He picked up the empty plastic trash can in the room that nobody used anyway. "Need this?"

Paislie laughed, pushing his hand down. "No."

Randy couldn't be bothered hiding a gentle scoff. "Yeah, you do." He put it beside Paislie as a compromise. "I'm glad you had fun."

"Got her number, too," Paislie smiled, laying down on the couch. "Dunno how. She's awesome." They said a few more things Randy couldn't understand, and he shook his head.

Drunk Paislie was decidedly similar to a cat with catnip, he mused.

"Alright, c'mon, tiger. Still up to walking?"

"Nuh uh."

Randy paused. "You alright there until the morning, then?"

"I'm gonna take a nap here," Paislie informed him after a second of thinking, flopping onto their stomach and cuddling into the pillow beside the armrest.

"Okay," he surrendered. "I'll find you a blanket, then."

"M'kay."

He'd barely made it down the hall when the sound of a harsh and very productive cough finally fulfilled his expectations.

Returning with the previously sought blanket and a few towels just in case, he found Paislie somehow more limply draped over the couch. The now-vomit-filled trash bin fortunately managed to contain the contents of whatever drinks Paislie had probably thrown back without a second thought.

"Fuck. Yeah, I did needa throw up," they murmured.

Randy couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped him. "I told you, kid, I've seen this a million times over. Go ahead and sleep."

Paislie's eyes were predictably closed before he'd finished his sentence.

Which meant the only thing left for Randy to do was find a landfill or perhaps a large forest to dispose of the trash bin at.

Maria wouldn't miss it, seeing as how she'd left it at his and Henrik's house.

Probably.

[marshmallowprotection]

Physically and emotionally, how do you the the process of Unknown getting his tattoo done been?

I mean...there must obviously be someone with some sort of tattoo artistry at Mint Eye for him to get it at all

But imagine the pain of enduring not only just a little tattoo - a massive and intricate tattoo like the one he has??

That would've been agony, right?!

And the thoughts going through his head???

What would he have been thinking, as he suffered that??

That tattoo is the ultimate symbol of his Mint Eye role - would he have been thinking 'wow I'm so great, I'm so important to get this' - but deep, deep down...feeling still so broken?

Maybe even...doubting it all?

Power.

Devotion.

Proof of commitment.

What goes through your head when you, Saeran Choi, nameless by choice because the sound of your name makes you break out into a swarm of hives, want to prove yourself to the woman who has spent years drilling lies and falsehoods into your ears in the name of never abandoning you?

How do you prove yourself?

How do you show the world that you're committed to revenge, even in the name of torture that seems endless for you?

How do you show proof that you won't turn against this insufferable organization that makes you feel like there's a hot poker in your spine but it's the only place you're safe from your who wants to hunt down his bastard son for blood sport? How do you show this woman who's hurt you but promised you eternal salvation if you drive your body in the ground for her whimsy?

What choice do you have?

You've been in a living hell for years, and parts of you have been destroyed—

Parts you don't know but feel so deeply inside your chest that's had to become apathetic to survive because the last two were destroyed for having a heart, a conscious, and remorse. You're allowed to live in that place because you were born to not care. You have to live like it... like you don't care, and you don't. You don't care. You just want to let them all bleed for making you become this apathetic, cold, unfeeling thing in the first place.

But, no matter how much you scream and writhe, you are just a dog on a chain and you can only get revenge for your miserable life if you obey and prove yourself to your master. What can you do to show her that you won't bend? What can you do to prove that you will obey her every order as long as it gets you what you want?

What can you do to ensure you survive her growing malice because she no longer is truly capable of seeing you as a son... just a tool... a weapon... something to be replaced her goals were abandoned in the darkness as hatred and misery took the place of whatever her original goals were?

Well, what better way than to mark your body with what you know she could never view in contempt? So, you create a tattoo that will bleed into your skin and prove your devotion to this organization, not just to show you won't turn against her, but to prove to yourself that you have nowhere else to go and revenge is the only thing that will be worth it.

You need justice, retribution, and salt in the wound because it's been years of agony and somebody else needs to know what you suffered and taste the misery for the rest of their life so you can have a—

single.

solitary.

moment.

of.

peace.

You get the tattoo.

You don't think twice.

You designed it yourself, made it look like something a powerful and cruel monster would wear, and you cloak yourself in the darkness of your anger and apathy because that's all you're allowed to feel. Your eyes never waver when you look in the mirror and see the mark that cannot be erased. Why would you? You're not allowed to regret... not allowed to feel remorse. You're not a person. You're a weapon. You're a tool... a means to an end.

This tattoo is nothing more than proof of that.

You don't own your body.

Mint Eye owns your body, mind, and soul.

So, you turn your head to revenge, because that's all you are allowed to experience in this life. You don't get anything else... and that's why when the stars don't align and the person you sent to the apartment messes up, does the wrong action and the universe spirals, and they bring the people you loathe into your room, you get rid of him first... and then, get rid of yourself.

What's the point when everything is meaningless... even when the promised revenge is meaningless and gives you nothing to show for the misery. That's what you think.

Even if that person does everything right and you're wrenched away from Mint Eye one day, hands bloody with something that can never be taken back, you still look in the mirror, knowing that tattoo marks you as a filthy monster and that's all you'll ever be... because you still don't know if you can ever feel remorse... even with blood caking your hands no matter how hard you scrub.

Apathy is all you have, and the tattoo is proof of that.

You won't remove it the tattoo.

You won't let yourself forget what you did. You were a pawn for Mint Eye and you won't forget it. You won't let yourself forget it. You will... spend your life in agony, unsure of how to live when all you've truly dreamed of for years is revenge and then the embrace of sleep that never ends... because if you couldn't feel anything, there wouldn't be any point.

But, you can't do that now, any more than you could before since your fate is controlled no matter where you go or what you do. Be it because Rika wanted a leash, V wanted to save you thinking it may bring back someone who was already dead in your mind, or just that Saeyoung begged you on his hands and knees not to go and you are well aware he'd never let you go.

You're controlled by everyone... but yourself. The tattoo is just the icing on the cake... because you did that to yourself, in your right mind or not, knowing that you would always be a pawn in the name of revenge... until you weren't... but now, you don't know how to live any other way... and you've got this tattoo, no control, and apathy in your heart that won't let you find the peace the young boy in your heart once dreamed of.

Oh, well.

You have the clouds and the endless sky... at the very least, you have that and it makes up for something... God knows what, but that's the least the universe could give you and you're fine with that. As long as you have that, you won't think about the pain and the ache that can't be taken away underneath that apathetic face.

[laulo821]

yes.

[lupismaris]

This year I'm establishing boundaries I'm putting myself first and I'm sticking to them I'm not people pleasing on this exhausting excuse for a holiday I will leave my parents house by 3:30pm no matter how disappointed my father is I will not acknowledge any cunty (derogatory) behavior from my brother today I will bring only an appetizer and my personal cans of wine and smoke in the backyard when I like and I will leave on time for my rugby teammate's dinner because being with friends means more to me than masking for 6+ hours in my childhood home where my mother died on a holiday I've never fuckin liked with a father who is still frankly a little bit scared of existing on the same space as me. It will be.

[too-many-rooks]

Found out my grandfather died. Feels strange - he was the last of my grandparents still alive, and I never really knew any of them very well, but I knew him probably the best. He was 90 and had been struggling for a while, and was being seriously messed around by the care system, so it’s not exactly a suprise.

I wish I knew him better. Is it weird to say I wish I was more upset?

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

about 90% of my brain runs solely on associations and one of the worst ones i have is when im playing the sims 4 and trying to pick out a blue chair.

because way back when (2018ish), i was watching a documentary on jonestown, called jonestown: the life and death of the peoples temple, while playing the sims 4 because adhd brain. and as i was trying to pick out a blue chair for a bedroom, there was a lady (i think her name was june) talking about how she got involved with the peoples temple, and it was quite memorable so association formed immediately.

so now, anytime im trying to pick out a blue chair in the sims 4, i just remember her explaining that her mother-in-law was in need of a new pet monkey, because her previous monkey had hung itself, so she looked in the newspaper for a new monkey and found jim jones selling monkeys, and so her mother-in-law meets him about the monkey and he invites her to his church, and at no point does she indicate that any part of this story is weird which is besides the point but bears mentioning in my brain.