#lop kin

[pastelporcini]

Me trust

[little-lucub]

Silly tan lop bunny doodles!

Thank you @little-bunny-in-space for the request ;33

Transparent under the cut! F2U but don't remove my watermark please ^^

[kthecritter]

hi hi! Me again!

I would like to request two user boxes to use on my alterhuman blog @what-do-i-call-this-14

The first one have Strawberry Crepe Cookie with text reading "may be inactive due to fixing wafflebots!"

The second one with a black floppy-earred rabbit with red themes with text reading "this rabbit is slow"

Pls and thank u!

here you go, I hope you enjoy! fun themings, I like it :3

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

self care for : a brown and white holland lop rabbit with themes of autumn and winter

x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x

[kinmeltingpot]

hello!! could i please get activity reccs for a bunny kin? (a holland lop, if specifics matter!)

Of course!

i. Explore! Go outside and look for any landmarks, or perhaps do an outdoor scavenger hunt.

ii. Or if you cannot do that, you can organize an indoor one! Have someone else hide items around your home, and search for them! Holland Lops are very energetic and love scavenging and playing.

iii. Arrange a platter of fruit, veggies, or any snacks you enjoy! After all that exploring and scavenging you’ll definitely need a snack! Try making them fun shapes, or arranging them in a pattern.

iv. Get a sandbox, small or big, with kinetic sand! Dig in it! Bunnies love to dig and burrow.

v. Try out some puzzles. Especially wooden puzzles!

vi. Make some bunny ears, using this tutorial! Or if this is easier, using this tutorial instead!

[catwings-kinhelp]

Fashion board for a black lop ear bunny with grunge themes!

[reincarnival]

Lop-eared Bunny Care kit for anon!

Weighted plush / Sunflower Chewelry / Wooden blocks / Thumb roller / Vegetable beanbags / Carrot squishy

[2-dsimp]

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Yandere Dullahan Incel x Crybaby! Fem reader!

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Cw: incel tendencies, obsessive/possessive tendencies, abuse/neglect, infidelity, slight angst, coercion, manipulation, toxic behaviors, codependency

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Yandere Incel who dislikes you to the point where they grow to love you.

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Yandere Incel! Who came from a broken home, his father was a habitual drunkard ever since his mother up and left them. Saying she couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take waking up everyday to the disembodied heads of her husband and son.

Said husband was a Dullahan where it was seen as normal practice to not have a head on one’s neck. But of course her reason for leaving was a lie, it’s because she had found someone new to fawn over despite the 7 year marriage. His father always had a sneaking suspicion but he didn’t want to believe it until divorce papers were carelessly thrown at him and his 13 year old son, Cynix who were just bonding in the living room.

Yandere Incel! Who became all too desensitized from his father’s drunken rant about women. Namely his wife, Cursing her while swigging on a poor strangers soul he had just reaped the night before. His father didn’t realize the impact he had on his son. What was merely some drunken venting became life lessons for his impressionable kin.

Yandere Incel! Who met you at a birthday he was forced to attend by his dad. He was in his freshman year of high school. And Cynix complained about going to a stupid girls birthday party. When he could’ve been on discord horsing around with his online friends.

However his Father wasn’t having it seeing how much of a reclusive hermit Cynix was. Never going outside only when it came to being forced out of bed. And always hunkering down in his room surrounded by energy drinks. With his Pc monitors glowing upon his head that was placed on the desk. Shit talking everyone while he looked at the chat logs of his streams. As his headless body did all the work of shooting everyone’s heads off.

Whenever his dad wasn’t drunk, the single father would try his best to do damage control. Knowing how traumatic the experience of Divorce must’ve been. As he picked up on his Cynix’s hostile behavior towards the opposite gender. However it was too late, his father and his mother, were already the direct cause of his evident dislike for women.

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Yandere Incel! Who had given you was his head. He brashly plucked it off of his neck and tossed it into your arms. Cynix carried a crass grin on his face at a job well done. You were the birthday girl after all so what better present than having a lopped off head chucked into your arms?

Cynix wanted to scare you off, after all his mother always said that he was an abomination with and without his head on. So it was expected that you’d fuck off. After all it was normal for girls to run away at the first sight of anything remotely inconveniencing them right? just like his cowardice bitch of a mother.

Yandere Incel! Who had a shocked blushing expression on his face when you hugged his head close to your chest. Innocently asking your parents if you could keep his head. Since he gave it to you, that’s when he came to know that you were oh so cherished by a family.

A family that was whole, with a doting father and a caring mother. A mother so different from his who upped and deserted them as if they were just toys. The fact alone made him envy you with gritted teeth. Cynix wanted to throttle you by the neck, and choke off that cute grin of yours.

It just wasn’t fair! As a woman you had everything given to you with a bat of your lashes. The fact made him despise being in your presence. Why couldn’t he have what you’ve got? A functional family. A mother who actually gives a shit about you, A father who wasn’t a drunkard that got suicidal every time he drank. Reliable siblings to confide in instead of rotting alone with dark thoughts. A normal life in which you weren’t seen as a freak, just because you were initially born without your head attached to your neck.

You had everything that he craved deep down. And he hated it, but the way you cradled his head as if he was something precious. Made his heart squeeze uncomfortably making him feel utterly sick and yet giddy simultaneously.

And to his horror his father saw this as an opportunity to make him socialize with a damned girl. Immediately chatting up the couple who happened to be his close friends from work. And becoming his sons unwanted wingman by setting the two of you up on play dates by your request of course.

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Yandere Incel! Who scowled on the outside from having to put up with you always following him around like a damned puppy. But was inwardly growing to adore the pitter patters of your feet hurriedly trailing behind him.

He hates that he loves how much of a crybaby you became, whenever he’d deliberately leave you alone. His head was hiding just out of reach to see you pretty face when you’d cry out for him. It made him shiver in ecstasy every time, at how much control he had over you. How much you needed him. He hadn’t ever felt so wanted by the opposite gender. Especially since his mother treated him like a disease. So he couldn’t help but to abuse that fact of codependency for his own gain.

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Yandere Incel! Who was proactive in keeping you on a tight leash. Making sure your days revolved around him. Though he found women in general to be an eyesore, gradually you became an exception.

With every play date he’d make sure to condition you into always finding him. Like a sick game of hide n seek, he’d leave you in a dark graveyard which his father owned. Making you all fearful and desperate to seek him out for comfort. Until it became an instinct of yours to search for him out of your own volition.

He’d cause rifts in the relationships with your other female friends. Successfully isolating you from them, making you feel alone with nobody to confide in. He didn’t need those dumb whores to put silly ideas into your head. About how he was a damned creep, that he was bad news. He’d make sure you remained untouched by those vile vermin who were just like his mother.

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Yandere Incel! Who’d occasionally get his buddies to terrorize you, just so you’d always come running into his embrace. Whenever you strayed a bit away from him. He’d never allow you to go so much as a day without you hanging off his arm like an obedient pet at his side.

Yandere incel! Who’d Oftentimes make you cry with his silver tongue. Only in the next minute lick them off murmuring garbled half assed apologies. He doesn’t mean to make you cry with his involuntary use of insults that weren’t supposed to be aimed at you.

The incel was just terrible at communicating with women in general. Always on the defensive as His brain immediately generalized the lot of them to be useless bitches out of habit. As that was how deep the resentment he bore for his mother.

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Yandere Incel! Who also sucks at any type of physical boundaries. After you guys started college, his obsessiveness grew palpable. As the nerd was all over you, absentmindedly pulling you into his lap anytime and anywhere. And groping you all over like a stress ball. Not giving a shit about who saw if they were in public.

He’s a touch starved degenerate but he’d gaslight you into thinking that you were the one who needed his hands all over you. His tongue to lick any perspiration off your skin, he found all of this to be completely normal. You were his to do with as he pleased after all.

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Yandere Incel! Who denies all simp allegations. You’d never catch him being a so called simp despite the numerous bodies he had marked for death. All because he caught a group of students ridiculing you for hanging out with a freak like him. Thanks to his undead nature as a natural soul harvester.

It definitely wasn’t simping if he just tossed you the things he knew you liked at your lap whenever he’d drag you into his college dorm room.

Yandere Incel! Who’d shrug his shoulders and claim that it was on sale. When it costed a chunk out of his allowance to buy. It wasn’t simping when he’d take the time out of his busy schedule to help you study. Though it did came with the price of you giving him full access to your body in return. Even though he had that to begin with. He just liked the embarrassment on your face when he’d tell you to do lewd things for him.

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A/n: I’ve been itching to do an incel concept for awhile now let me know if you like this manchild lol ψ(｀∇´)ψ

[shepherdsplash]

temp intro!!

hi! welcome to my kin blog! you can call me fenris or fern.

my main pronouns are [he/it] but i also really like canine themed neos (woof/bark/paw/bite) especially when kinshifted. masc/neu/nonhuman terms only. no she/they or fem terms.

my theriotypes: australian shepherd, holland lop rabbit & tanuki(?)

i also identify as otherkin, otherhearted & etc which i’ll talk about sometimes too. i consider myself to be partially human as i still feel some connection.

dni: basic criteria, anti-alterhuman/therian/otherkin/etc (obviously), nsfw/18+ acc, proship/profic/etc, anti-sfw agere/petre, radqueers, i block liberally!! so if i don't want you to interact with me i'll just block you.

divider & userbox by: @chocoperrito

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Hi Noraxoekodurosugofbyn. I’ve got a very baffled time lord trying to pick out a new name, (new regeneration, old one doesn’t fit as well with the new look). I want to help. But i’ve got no clue. How do gallifreyan names. . . work. How’d you go about making a new one? Not like there’s a Time Baby Naming site.

How do you create a Gallifreyan name?

Hey, you'll find some of the grounding information in this topic, which discusses names:

However, actually coming up with one is a creative venture. You could quite legitimately smash your head onto the keyboard and use what comes out, but ....

GIL uses its own list of "root" particles in order to create names with vague meanings by combining particles (this is from the conlang). If GIL could make a baby name generator it would, but unfortunately I tried and failed 👶

agu=ADD

aki=GAIN

jak=REPAIR

ark=CREATE

uso=READ

bop/pob=KINETICS

dos=REGENERATE

dur/rud/yaw/way=INTERACT

fog=CALCULATE

kin/nik=AFFECT

kow=LIVE

roy=HELP

lig=LEARN

mox=PHYSICAL PASSIVE

jum=PHYSICAL ACTIVE

kup=ENHANCE

nel=PROGRESS

nap=SUCCEED

oke=REALITY

sha/ahs/opa/apo=EMOTION

oxa/pli/dam=COMPLIANCE

gal/tem=STABILITY

ras=STRENGTH

ola=RELAX

tim=TIME

vat/tav=TRAVEL

tro/ort=TRADE

kli=ELEMENT

nor=COMMUNICATE

hol/qoh=MOVE

tyo=GROUP

lun=INGEST

uga=REDUCE

ika=DISCARD

kaj=DAMAGE

kra=DESTROY

osu=WRITE

sod=DEGENERATE

gof=GUESS

wok=DIE

yor=HINDER

gil=TEACH

xom=EMOTIONAL PASSIVE

muj=EMOTIONAL ACTIVE

puk=DIMINISH

len=REGRESS

pan=FAIL

axo/ilp/mad=DISSENT

lag/met=ANARCHY

sar=WEAKNESS

alo=STRESS

mitANTITIME

sta/zap=ATTACK

hep=OWN

nul=EXCRETE

zip=SIZE

dro=CLOTHES

zul=OBJECT

pig=STRUCTURE

ria=BODY

lop=LIGHT

myi=FOOD

paz=GOD

eja=AGENT

noi=LANGUAGE

lia=NATURAL

shu=ACTION

lya=FORCE

byn=STORY

ega=ASSET

zym=MACHINE

pol=DARK

nyi=WATER

zoa=PERSON

However you choose to do it, you should aim for long names with a 2-3 syllable nickname.

Hope that helped! ����

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴

[nonspeakingkiku]

Since y'all know Kiku is part of a system and other system mates sometimes use this accout Kiku has decided to make a list of frequent fronters and a little info about them (and Kiku of course). Kiku is planning an update to Kiku's intro but not sure when that will happen.

Body is an adult. Body is unreliably speaking. Body is autistic, ect.

Kiku is a child/teen alter, but doesn't talk about it much because some people might not understand. Age is complicated with plurality. Kiku is usually around 15 but also age slides younger/has a sub system with a little part (like Kiku said it's complicated).

Kiku | 🍉 | He/Fae | FTM | AroAce | Age slider | 0-7, 15, 19 | Age regressor | 0-5 | Host | Nonhuman alter | Primary user of this blog. | Prefers to communicate with gestures, noises, a bit of signing, echolalia, and our communication device (mainly Proloquo, P4T, and Touchchat) | Finnic Fox, Shiba Inu, and bunny therian |

Jellybean | 🍬

| Fae/Faer | System kid/little | 0-7 | Host | Nonhuman alter | Communicates mostly with sounds and gestures/pointing/leading | Shiba pet regressor | Kiku when age slid down/Kiku's little part

Percy | 🦊 | He/Him | Genderfaun | FTM | Bi, Oriented AroAce | Age Slider/subsystem | 0-6, 12-16, 21 | Age Regressor | 0-3 | Host | Nonhuman alter | Prefers to communicate using LAMP wfl, picture cards, and PODD | Red fox, flame point siamese, and bernese mountain dog therian | Kitsune otherkin |

Oliver | 🚀 | He/Him | Genderfaun | FTM | middle | 12-16 | Age regressor | 0-3 | Host | Nonhuman alter | Communicates using LAMP and picture cards | Red fox therian | Kitsune otherkin | Percy when age slid/middle part

Oli | 🍼 | He/Him | boy | syskid | 0-6 | nonhuman alter | red fox | communicates mostly by pointing/gestures, and a few sounds | Percy's little part

Lavender | 🐺 | He/Fae | Genderfaunet | FTM | Age slider | 0-7,13, 15, 22 | Age regressor. | 3-5 | Host | Nonhuman alter | timber wolf, cross fox, holland lop, draft horse therian | werewolf otherkin | Communicates using P4T, Proloquo, LAMP, P2G, signing, echolalia, and letterboarding.

Ender | 🖤 | Genderfaunet | FTM | Middle | 13 | Age regressor | 3-5 | Host | Nonhuman alter | Fruit bat, wolf, therian | communicates with P4T and Proloquo mostly, some ASL and letterboarding | Lavender when age slid/ Lavender's middle part

Moonbeam | 🌈 | Genderfaunet | He/Fae | Syskid | 0-7 | Host | Nonhuman alter | bunny, fox therian | mlp pony fiction kin | communicates using gestures, sounds, echolalia, Proloquo, letterboarding (with in system help), and occusionally picture cards and our podd book | Lavender when age slid/little part |

That's the hosts. Because of how the subsystems work (we think median subsystems, or something like that) Kiku, Lavender, and Percy each feel like one person/alter (Kiku is distinct from Lavender, ect) but Kiku's parts feel like still Kiku (less distinct).

Other frequent fronters

Frisk | ❤️ | FTM | He/Him | Syskid | 5-11, usually around 9 | Age Regressor | 3-5 | Fictive | Mute | Communicates with ASL and writing and occasionally Prolquo4text (highly prefers ASL) |

Strawberry | 🍓 | Female | She/Her | Ageless (?) Adult (?) | Caregiver | Nonhuman | Pink Raccoon | Generally doesn't interact with meatspace |

Jamesy | 🦕 | cis boy | He/Him | Little | 2-6 | Fictive | Doesn't interact with people outside the body much but likes hanging out in the front room when his interests come up |

Soldier | ⚫️ | cis male | He/Him | Adult | Protector | Doesn't use the body much, stays with Jamesy in Headspace |

Lili | 👻 | Trans girl/enby | She/They | Grey Aro | Bi | Age Slider | 0-3, 19 | Protector/Caregiver | Communicates using Proloquo4text |

Barney | 🎃 | FTM | He/Him | Gay | 20 | Fictive | Hasn't fully fronted yet (he's new) |

Anthony | 🍝 | cis male | He/Him | Gay | 27 | Fictive |

Angel | 🕸️ | Cis male | He/She/It | Adult | Nonhuman | Spider Demon | Fictive |

Wither | 👾 | Male | He/Him | Ageless | Nonhuman | Animatronic | Fictive | Caregiver/Protector | Communicates using deafblind manual |

Peter | 🟥 | FTM | He/Him | Teen alter | 16 | Age regressor | 1-3, 6-12 | Fictive | Caregiver | Communicates using LAMP, gestures, noises, and Echolalia |

Max | 📜 | FTM | He/Him | Gay | 17 | Gatekeeper/ISH |

Recent fronters:

Buck | 👨‍🚒 | FTM | He/Him | Bi, Demi aroace | 28 | Fictive | Caregiver, Protector |

Eddie | 🔥 | cis male | He/Him | gay | 33 | Fictive | Protector |

Munson | 🎸 | male | Hi/Him gay | 20 | Fictive |

Steve | 🩷 | male | Bi |He/Him | 20 | Fictive |

Yadriel | 🗡️ | FTM | Gay | 16 | Fictive |

Ending here for now. This took forever and we aren't completely done. Oops 😅

[little-lucub]

Hi fren! Can I have a tan lop bunny moodbard with a fall theme?

specifically very woodsy, dark and rainy, with lots of orange leaves and cozy feel! Thank you!

(Also, if you can (no rush at all) a tan lop bunny doodle? You don’t have to do it at the same time, I just know I’ll forget to request it later!)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ Tan Lop Bunny fall moodboard!

Tysm for your ask!! Hopefully I got the dark and cozy vibe right TwT

I'll post the doodle separately and I'll tag you :3c

[kthecritter]

Hi!! Could I have a brown and white holland lop therian pfp if you're not busy? Thanks :3

here you go, I hope you enjoy! aww hey, another lop therian!!!

[neko-naruto]

I've got the beats, I've got the bass (I've got the treats, for you to taste)

Summary: Floyd doubts there'll be a lot of him left to save when his brothers find him

Warnings: cannibalism, gore, amputation, Floyd is going through it, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: inspired by the Troll Twins AU by @ohposhers, im aware the cannibalism post was like, not official to the au, but the inner phan demanded i write this. title from DJ Whore by S3RL, hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checking out the ao3 port

edit 2023.12.28: WE GOT A SECOND CHAPTER OUT NOW!! it displays a small amount of comfort edit 2023.12.30: the third and final chapter has been posted, it's also been turned into a series because I have so many ideas about it

It's a little bit twisted, and a lot bit fucked up.

But they can't sing, they're Trolls and they can't sing, maybe if they were Classical it wouldn't be a problem. But they're born Pop and they can barely hold a note despite the fact they want to be famous so fucking badly. So they turn to the next best option, run away to Mount Rageous and make it big with a bunch of jello jointed freaks.

Of course, they still need an iota of talent to make it with even a bit of success.

Their method for getting that talent is beyond cruel, beyond human, beyond anything that could be conceived by a Pop Troll. But Velvet's everything but a Pop Troll these days, sadistic, uncaring, greedy- she'll get what she wants and she'll take her brother with her. She'll take her brother and the first unfortunate thing that has talent at that, figure out how to use that talent for herself and keep it.

Veneer always stared, unable to do anything as she worked, "Vel, this is-"

"Genius? I know," Velvet always answered with as she shucked slices of meat from the Troll under their ownership, paper thin and raw on a plate she'd hand to Veneer, "Eat up."

And he always did, he always fucking ate it. He always took his half and she always took her half, rejuvenating the talent they lacked with a small tray of raw meat from their own kin. She smiled this darling smile the entire time their captive watched them devour him, and Veneer tried to do the same.

"You two are fucked," Floyd argued as Velvet would bandage his arms and block off the bleeding because she had some civility despite everything. He'd clench and unclench his fist just to make sure he still could considering how spindly he was with how much they took away from him.

Velvet just giggles, "Maybe we'll take off your whole arm next, let you bleed out a bit," She traces a sharp nail across the joint of his shoulder. He shudders and tries to jerk away, the cuffs on his wrists make it shockingly hard to do so.

They get famous while he wastes away, chunk by chunk. They're erring closer to having a fame that reaches outside of Mount Rageous and he's erring closer to them having to nibble on his bones for his talent. The idea almost makes him laugh, but then he remembers that laughing hurts with how frail he is.

It's when Velvet enters the room with a hacksaw and a breaking knife that he cries for the first time. Tears welling up in his eyes and he can't bring himself to stifle them or wipe them away even though the cuffs are gone. He just sobs, aware of the fact that this is it, they're finally going to lop off his head.

"Oh don't be a baby," Velvet chided as she grabbed her marker, bright red, paint instead of ink, and dragged it along Floyd's thigh, just above his knee. She left a dotted line around his leg and he tries to stop crying.

"Do you have any anesthetic?" Floyd asked, trying to be smug.

Velvet gives this falsely contemplative hum, "Maybe," She lays down the jagged end of the hacksaw at the line, "But probably not."

Then she starts to cut, back and forth across the flesh with enough pressure to snap a rib. Teeth tear him open and he yowls, nerve endings fraying as his blood pools around him. It's shiny, not glittery per se, but definitely holding an almost opalescent sheen due to his Pop origins. It makes Velvet's mouth water, the fresh scent hitting her nose and she could tear into him with her own teeth right then and there but she doesn't.

No, she just forces further down through tendon and fat alike. His meat is both lean and marbled quite nicely with the diet they've been feeding him. Just enough to keep him alive, but fatty and carbohydrate heavy to make his flesh taste better and less tough. She presses the breaking knife beside the hacksaw when she hits the knob of the femur and presses hard until she hears something splinter. The scream accompanying it confirms her suspicions that she broke it as she cuts through marrow without any remorse.

He just whimpers and bites his tongue, hot tears still roll down his face as he watches her try and tear it the rest of the way. Twisting and yanking and it hurts so fucking bad but he can't do much to stop her. It comes off with this terrible sound and he wails as Velvet just lops off the skin with the breaking knife, aware she'll have to go at it more finely later.

"Shut up," Velvet demanded, tossing aside the leg and grabbing the bandage, "I'm not gonna let you die, or sleep through it."

He just nods as she bandages up his jagged stump, not even bothering to slice it smooth with her knife so the nerve endings aren't everywhere and torn every way possible. She bandages him with some semblance of care, he is their talent, he is their guinea pig, she can't just let him die. That'd be too nice of her considering how much talent is left on his bones, how much skill they can pilfer from his flesh.

"Hey Vel! We're running out of seasoning!" It's Veneer whose shouting down the hallways and Floyd hears.

"So I'm not good enough raw?" Floyd questioned, trying so very, very hard to be smug despite the pain coursing through every inch of his body.

Velvet scoffed, taking the leg and standing up, "Don't flatter yourself."

There's this stench of decay in Floyd's holding room by the time the twins are actually taken down. Even at that they aren't really taken down, just put in the slammer by their ever present assistant Crimp who would occasionally sneak some iron supplements into his food. She was nice, she was trampled on but she was nice, learned how to play ukulele to Floyd's singing and the such.

But she couldn't put back the flesh they stripped him of, tearing him down to his bones and even at that lopping limbs off. He's missing a leg below the knee and his entire right arm, shoulder down, and the rest of him is worryingly thin. Not because he was starved, far from him being starved, by the time he started running out of meat on his bones they upped his diet to try and make him last. It was futile really, they still tore off his skin and the flesh underneath it till all he had was bones with a paper thin layer of nerves and red wrapped in bandages.

The floor and walls are thoroughly saturated in the scent of his blood, his tears, and the medications they used to keep him from dying prematurely. Tranexamic acid to thicken his blood so he wouldn't bleed out. Midazolam to help him keep breathing even with the frailty in his everything. Benzodiazepines to stop his anxiety and force his muscles to ease up so his flesh wouldn't be so tense. Morphine, acetaminophen, risperidone, the list went on and on, he's pretty sure the nights he spent vomiting them up only hastened his wasting.

Dying would've been better than this though. Being torn apart, picked apart, used for his talent, having the life ripped out of him. At least none of his brothers had to see him like this, at least Branch didn't have to see him so ruined. He'd be the worst brother ever if Branch had to see him like this, if any of them did. Traumatized for life, he doubts he could live with himself if any of them got nightmares from seeing him in such a zombified state.

He winces when the door opens and light filters in, the rush of uncontaminated air doesn't reach him through the overpowering scent of decay. He can barely make out the silhouettes as Trolls, and instead of being defiant like he usually is, he crumbles. He can't fight it anymore, he's on his last leg to a literal degree and he knows he'll die if they take anymore.

"I'm out of talent," He begged, tears welling up once again, "I'm dead, just look at me," His voice catches on a sob.

They take one step further in, "Floyd?"

Floyd barely recognizes the voice, but he still sobs, even harder knowing it's one of his brothers, "I told you it was a trap, John," He's laughing now, it hurts so much but he's laughing regardless. He tries to shove himself up but everything hurts too much to do so, "Why did you bring our brothers?"

"Cause last time you were in a diamond holding cell! Now you're in a fucking closet that smells like shit," John snapped before stepping even further in, one step at a time. He was still getting used to the low light, his three younger brothers followed in suite.

"Don't! Just, leave!" It's a plea, it's the closest Floyd can get to a demand. He desperately thrusts out a paw like it'll stop them even though he knows it won't, and the action rubs the bandages against his raw nerves the wrong way. There's a hiss of agony, "Please, don't."

"We came here to save you," Bruce butted in with.

"I left my tribe to find you, Floyd," Clay said, stepping more gingerly than the others, "We're taking you home."

"Do you want to stay here?" Branch questioned.

And Floyd just sobbed, raising his paw to his face to try and hide himself away from them, hitching his good leg to his chest to hide the bandages. He whimpered and cried as they finally stepped close enough to see him in all of his ruination. The footsteps stop and he knows they're all riddled with disgust, riddled with fear, with regret, with shame. Their brother who looks like he was sent through the wood chipper, their brother who promised he'd come back, their brother, destroyed.

"I told you to leave," He whispers the word, eyes shut and body limp because he can't bear to see their disgust, "I fucking told you."

Paws gently lift him up, cradling him in a set of arms and he keeps sobbing, curling into whoever held him. He doesn't know which one it is because they all wear vests and open front shirts, in the past at least. He just knows he's holding on tight and apologizing for all the blood he's getting on their fur despite the repetition of 'its okay' being spoken back softly.

-/-/-/-

Floyd is out cold in the back of John Dory's van, strapped down with strips of the emergency roll of scrap booking felt that Poppy always brings with her. Branch has never been more pleased in his entire life that his girlfriend is a weirdo who always needs to scrap book because it's keeping his brother secured. He still feels absolutely sick to the stomach and he's not sure if it's the vile smell of rotting blood or the disgust with what Velvet and Veneer had done. All of them feel nauseated.

"Is he gonna make it?" Clay is the one who breaks the silence.

"Of course he will, we have the best doctors across any genre," Branch snapped back with, the sharpness of his voice unintentional.

Clay shrinks back just a bit, but shoots something back just as sharply, "Sorry to hit a nerve."

"Can we not argue right now?" Poppy asked, leaning between the two with this nervous look on her face, "Please?"

Branch crosses his arms and slumps against the wall of the van, Clay mirrors the motions.

Bruce clears his throat, "Poppy's right, we should just get Floyd under medical care as soon as possible."

"Is he even awake?!" John shouted from the front, eyes still firmly fixed on the road but body riddled with concern and fear and so many other things.

"He passed out!" Bruce shouted back.

Branch leans up against Poppy, "I'm scared," It's a whisper, it barely comes out at all. He never thought he'd admit an emotion as vulnerable as fear to a Troll as loud as Poppy.

Poppy just wraps an arm around his shoulders before whispering back, "It'll be okay," even though she doesn't know if it will.

"What if it isn't?" Branch asked just as quietly.

Poppy doesn't have an answer.

There's this low groan from the back of the van, no one up front dares to move because Bruce is already back there. They don't want to send Floyd ricocheting into another freak out, "Where am I?"

"In John's van," Bruce answered with.

Floyd tried to move but he couldn't, panic shot through him. His breathing hastened just a bit, "Why am I tied down?" He tries to quell the fear resting so heavily on his voice, weighing down on his calm and cool exterior.

"Because you're not doing so hot, it's for safety," Bruce said, trying to keep his voice soft, slipping into dad mode without even realizing it, "We'll take them off as soon as we get home, okay?"

Floyd gave this weak semblance of a nod, "Okay, is Branch here?"

The aforementioned brother scrambles to get to the back of the van, "Of course I am."

"Sorry you had to see me so messed up," Floyd apologized and Branch feels like crying at the comment because it's so fucked up that Floyd is saying sorry for being destroyed when he could do nothing.

"Floyd, it's fine, you couldn't," Branch tries to speak, he really does, but a whole lot of nothing comes up. He just holds onto Floyd's paw desperately tight, "We should've been there sooner."

"You had your own lives," Floyd countered with, "Thanks for saving me anyways."

"We'll always be there to save you, Floyd," Bruce supplied in place of Branch who was just rendered nonverbal.

"Is he gonna walk again?" Branch asked.

The doctor shook her head, "Even with prosthetics using Funk technology and Rock materials, he still doesn't have enough meat on his bones to properly move them to their full extent."

"Can't you give him a graft?" Clay asked, "I read about it, skin grafts, muscle grafts, take some flesh and use it somewhere else."

"I absolutely would but the thing is," She gives this sigh before gesturing to Floyd's body.

He's near skeletal, not enough of the right bio chemicals in him to scab up everywhere, he's torn up and raw. With the bandages removed he looks even more zombie, even if he is asleep over a hospital cocktail with light analgesia. It wasn't supposed to knock him out, just ease the pain, but apparently he was destroyed enough that the small amount of alcohol did knock him down. His arm is as thin as Clay's, in some places stripped to the bone. His good leg and his other thigh have chunks ripped out of them, whole sections of muscle and tendon alike removed but not quite to the bone there. His ribs are pronounced, so are his collar bones, and the crests of his pelvis, not enough flesh to keep the sharpness hidden.

"There isn't anything to take and use elsewhere. He's a shell of his former self, if we're lucky we can stabilize him and keep him on light foods until he fills out a bit. Then he'll be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, if we're lucky he'd be able to use a prosthetic with crutches on a good day," The doctor explained. A deep sense of horror knotted itself onto the brothers stomachs. Not enough flesh to do a graft, of course there isn't enough leftover, he's a skeleton for fucks sake! They're glad Floyd isn't awake to hear about his brand new future (they don't know he'll take anything so long as he isn't in the hands of Velvet and Veneer).

John Dory won't stand for it, "Hey doc, if you have a donor with the same blood type or whatever, it could work, theoretically speaking," He's grasping at straws really, but he doesn't want his baby brother to live a life without dancing, or going on walks, or any other thing that he can think of. He'd sooner die than use a wheel chair, his life was the mountains, his life was rough terrain. And even though he doesn't know if Floyd feels the same, he doesn't want his brother robbed.

"Are you insane?" Was what Bruce said before the doctor could answer.

"I was in the woods living off of swamp scum and bird carcass for twenty years, I absolutely am," He presses a digit to Bruce's chest as he speaks and shoves him back, "I want my brother to walk with us, to dance with us."

"He can do it in a wheel chair," Bruce countered with, "Medical advances have been made, we've come really far in twenty years."

"Guys," Clay butted in with, they both snapped to glare at him, "Let the doctor speak before you tear your heads off."

"It could work, hypothetically, but if his body rejects the graft for some inane reason he might not make it through the night. Although he might not make it either way given his current condition," The doctor said, "It's up to you four to call the shots because he's out cold."

They all share a tense glance.

"We all have the same blood type," Branch got out quietly.

"Blood type O, universal donor, can only take other O's," Clay tacked on.

"And our fur would match his, he wouldn't look totally frankensteined," John said.

Bruce stayed quiet.

"It's up to you, Bruce, this could work," Branch pressed.

"Fine, just don't take too much off of me," Bruce said, "I have a wife who would not appreciate me coming home butchered."

"Bruce, this is about Floyd," Clay said rather sternly, "We all know your wife will love you no matter how bloody you are."

"Guess some things never change, like your whole 'gotta look good' thing," John teased.

The doctor cleared her throat and all eyes were on her, "If we want to have enough time we'll need to put you under for surgery in the next hour or so, the clock is ticking."

"I'm doing it,"

"Count me in,"

"Me too,"

"So am I,"

-/-/-/-

All of them are unconscious when they're stolen from, strips of flesh taken from their serratus anterior and latissimus dorsi so no one has to see the scars when it's over. They're carefully cut open and extracted, a little bit of skin came with it because Floyd didn't have enough skin himself these days. At least when he still had the bandages on they could lie and say he had scabs and skin, lie and say the stench was because he hasn't had a shower in months, not because his blood refused to dry properly and rot and infect instead.

Mismatched muscles are stitched into the gaping lacerations across his body, surgical glue used around the edges just to make sure. Patches of his brothers skin from where their flesh was taken are stitched atop to try and hide the raw flesh, bright red and shimmery, it might help stimulate his body into trying to regrow his own skin. Otherwise he'll always have scars a deeper hue than his blood beside skin held on with stitches like he's one of Frankenstein's monsters, unfinished and abandoned.

Except his brothers are risking their own hide to try and bring him back from his virtually undead state, so close to death he might as well bury himself. He has four brothers letting themselves be butchered so he'll be able to move his remaining limbs, so he'll be able to live without the risk of developing a medication tolerance too strong. He has four brothers that are giving a doctor permission to take a piece out of them to sew into him instead, maybe if he were awake he'd say something about how poetic that is, how they'll never be apart again.

But he isn't awake, instead he's blissfully asleep on a small shot that was supposed to make him more sociable and numb the pain. He passed out rather fast after taking it, and then his brothers could begin discussing the truth of the matter without Floyd. If he was awake when they brought up the graft they know he would defy it, they know he would say it isn't right for them to make that sacrifice. They also know their brother would waste away without their help, waste away without any extra meat, exposed bone doesn't scream 'healthy' in Pop Village.

There's an extraction from Bruce first, tactfully cut from his lower back and laid atop Floyd's rib cage. Slid over top the painfully thin muscles in thin slices, some if it was placed along his hips to add padding to his painfully prominent bones. To make him less skeletal, it was mostly cosmetic on that front, but if he tripped and fell he could shatter like glass with how exposed they were. He'd shatter and there'd be so much blood it would leave someone scarred for life, so much whimpering because punctured lungs leaves no room for screaming.

The doctor takes from John Dory next because of how insistent he was on the procedure, how insistent he was to make sure Floyd could have flesh again. It's taken from one thigh, a solid chunk taken out and replaced with an almost jelly substance. He'd collapse when he walked without a substitute of some sort, he'll be reduced to crutches until he gets used to it. A consequence perhaps, or just cruel fate that he has the perfect cut of meat to fill one of the larger gaps in Floyd's good leg. He's restitched with most of his skin, but again, a good chunk of it goes to his little brother, to keep him from drying in the sun.

"What's happening?" It's Floyd, waking up strapped down and held open with someone holding a piece of meat. He instantly goes to thrash, scared, afraid, oh god he thought he escaped. What a cruel dream, imagining his brothers would actually pull through, he's still stuck.

"Calm down, Floyd," The doctor said, "We're in a hospital, giving you a surgery, your safe, your brothers are safe."

Floyd tries to nod, "Why am I awake?"

"Analgesia knocked you out, it just wore off," She said, grabbing a needle, "So please, hold still."

He does as told, needle sliding through his skin with ease. It only stings a little bit as he anesthetic pushes through his veins rather sluggishly. The doctor falters on using another needle to actually knock him out and only chooses against it when he drifts back to sleep. There's a long pause of no motion, no advances, just in case he wakes back up again, but when he doesn't she continues.

Placing John's flesh into the cavity of Floyd's leg and stitching it closed, surgical glue to keep it in place after he's been closed up. The stitches almost match his fur, thread off by a single shade, just a bit darker than he is. And it keeps staining on the blood inside of him when the needle goes through, keeps picking up that red pigment that shines like liquid gold. She'll rinse it clean after the surgery is done, after he's patched up using chunks of his brothers who love him so much they'd tear themselves apart for him.

She hesitates to take anything off of Clay because he's already spindly. But he wants to give as well, he's the one who remembered their blood types were all O despite the odds. He gets the exterior layer of skin from his lower back shucked off unforgivingly, he's too thin to take his muscle, that'd put him in danger. The flesh is stitched onto the nub just above Floyd's knee, where he was amputated without any reason. The jagged gore won't connect to a prosthetic very well, it's smoothed with a scalpel before the skin is put into place. Definitely not the average surgical move, but whatever it takes to keep a patient alive, including slicing off bits of meat in need of replacement. It's rotten flesh anyways, always exposed to air and never allowed to properly heal, it reeks of death like the rest of his body.

Branch is the final one taken from, strips out of his thighs spliced into Floyd's arms length wise. They fill out nicely, rest atop the bone in such a fashion they look like they belonged in his arm instead of Branch's leg. The hue of the flesh and the hue of the skin didn't match, the gray that Branch experienced still held strong even upon being cut up and stitched to a new body. It really makes Floyd look chimeric, like a rotten, decaying, beast of mythology that shouldn't be able to exist. And if he makes it out alive he'll fit the description perfectly because his heart rate should've dropped off the face of the planet by now, but it hasn't, he's still alive somehow.

He's still alive and so far his body isn't rejecting the sacrifices his brothers are making for him. It's a miracle really, them getting him to the hospital on time to get him stabilized for a surgery is also miracle. And maybe the defiance John Dory held over letting Floyd be forced into a wheel chair will bring advances to the medical field, probably not. But this in itself is amazing, the fact he's getting pulled together by thread and woke up not coughing blood is absurd.

Maybe when he wakes up at the designated time he still won't cough up blood.

-/-/-/-

John Dory wakes up last, "What happened?" He swings his leg over the edge of his bed and hisses because it hurts real bad.

Bruce is face down on his bed, "We gave Floyd a muscle graft, remember?"

"Right," John answered with before going to stand, he instantly collapsed, heavily leaning on the small table. Crutches, he grabs them instantly to prop himself up, knees shaking, "Where's Floyd?"

"I'm over here," Came Floyd's voice from the other side of the room, he was hobbling over with his new leg. It looked sleek, a lovely metallic sheen to it due to the materials and the Funk craftsmanship ties it together, the shape similar enough to an organic leg. He's using a crutch to walk over, fresh flesh in his thigh sore, but working with a bit of weight alleviation.

"You look great man!" Elation is heavy on John's voice as he tries to take a step over with the crutches. He nearly falls, "Whose are these?"

"Yours, the substitute for the chunk they took out of you is still fresh. It's gonna take time to walk 'normally' with it, but crutches are easy after a bit," Floyd explained, "Thanks."

John sits back down on his bed, "Well jeez, your welcome bro, but I may have to take that flesh back if I can't walk."

"You're lucky you aren't in a wheel chair," Bruce stated boldly, rolling onto his side just a bit, "The doc said that it was almost so bad you'd need one, you're lucky."

"Say, where's Branch? And Clay?" John asked, changing the subject with ease.

Floyd shrugged with one shoulder, the prosthetic not responding as much as desired, "I'm pretty sure they're in the room next too us, still asleep. When I asked the doctor she said they were still alive."

"They fucking better be, I'll crush her skull with these stupid crutches if they aren't," John snarled out.

"See, you're already in love with them," Floyd teased, "I'm sure Branch will outfit them to your style once he's done with his recovery."

Bruce gives a laugh, "Karma."

"Shut up," He pointed the end of his crutch at Bruce threateningly.

Bruce just batted it away with his paw, "How dangerous."

"Guys, neither of you are in condition to get in fight,"

"Beg to differ,"

"I could kick his ass no matter what,"

Floyd sighed, taking a couple disjointed steps closer to take a seat at the foot of Bruce's bed. He leans his crutch on the edge, "You could not, you're a dad."

"Makes me even better at tossing little shits around," Bruce countered with.

John is quick to try and breach the small gap, he ends up face first in Bruce's bed. It garners a loud laugh, "Shut up," it's a muffled plea, "How long are we gonna be in this place for?"

"A considerable while," Floyd offered nervously, "It varies between us. Me, you, and Branch are gonna be here the longest because we need some physical rehab, might be permanent for you and Branch, it will for me."

Bruce hoists up John fully onto the mattress, "I'm regretting saving your life," Bruce clips the back of his head for that comment.

Floyd just laughs, "Gee, I love you too."

[twidiarie]

mother dearest

I'm still your baby

Why won't you cradle me?

mother dearest

It wasn't long ago as weak knees grew strength and the infant who crawled

became the infant who walked

waddling and tumbling, under your care

I'd never fall or trip, my tiny fist enveloping your finger

I was safe, your lips spilled words of praise and prayer

To ask the Almighty to keep me steady, to never let me run off into unsafe terrain and linger

Mother dearest

When I stopped being your cute little doll

When my lips were no longer puppeted with the sounds of obedience and agreement, when I developed the gall

To say no, to say otherwise, to put on different glasses and lenses

Our worlds were now in different colors and in different focuses and perspectives

mother dearest

You spoonfed me mashed fruit and cleaned my drooling chin with tissues and gently wiped away my tears

Now I eat in silence while you tell me that fruit has too much sugar and serve me the bitter vegetables I never liked and I wipe away my own tears

Mother dearest

My face and my body and my beauty is like yours, right?

Yet you've taken your carving knife, determined to shape me into your picture perfect sight

You've poked and prodded, stabbed and mutilated, a sick carnage

Now with my trembling hands I hold your knife, our knife, guided and steadied by yours. my heart and my pride and my joy lopped off, collateral damage.

Mother dearest

When I look in the mirror

Bile rises in my throat, every part triggers a blaring alarm, “error, error”

I perceive and see the scars and bruises, invisible and visible, littering the expanse of my skin,

I realize that I am no longer the product of love of you and my father and my grandmother and my grandfather and all my ancestors and my kin

I am a blight, I am broken, I am no longer your pretty little doll, your pretty little baby

I am defected, not worthy of being declared as a grade C product, I am unsellable junk, faulty

I am misshapen and unsightly.

If only someone would unmake and rebuild and refashion and fix me

mother dearest

I'm still sensitive, I'm still your child

I still get scared when you, from sweet lamb morph into canine-gnashing wolf, feral and wild

Mother dearest,

The mother hen worrying over her chicks

has become the lion who tears away the flesh of her cubs with curled, bloodied lips

Mother dearest

I want to be cute and soft and small and tiny

So that you'll look at me lovingly and hold me

Now you cast me away and push me aside

Wanting space, wanting your own time

Mother dearest

Do I bore you? You used to listen to my nonsensical rambling and babbling

And now when I spout off my hopes and dreams and speak with passion and intention

You roll your eyes and sigh, look away, your head and your body turned away in aversion

The sun, a star, a daily sight, I will see until the day I die

Will capture your attention, it shines far brighter than I

A ball of gas, scorching and blazing

Melts away the lumpy, awkward me into a puddle, unworthy of remembering

Mother dearest

I understand why you love the sun as you do,

I am a young sapling, a withering flower, and you are the sun aren't you?

Vines crawl up spiked barriers,

desperately reaching for warmth through an imprisoned container

Towards you, I reach, but shades surrounds me at every corner,

I have been ignored, I have been shunned, my cries mimic those of the most distraught mourner

I am so cold, I am dying,

My petals are flitting off, my leaves wilting and drying

please, keep me warm, o mother of mine

I still cower in the face of the dark. I know my fears are asinine

But I am alone and you swore to protect me. You swore it. How foolish, how naive I was, this earnest heart of mine

I didn't know that promise had expired past its deadline

Mother dearest

The cruelest things I feel I will never hear from the world outside

Because words are like arrows,

drawn with intention

with aimed direction.

Stray ones bounce off my armor and graze my cheeks. But you know all my chinks, and your arrows pierce paper thin skin, into the vulnerable flesh inside

Your cute little doll is a fragile thing after all, her stuffing is spilling

Her seams have burst, she is hollow and her pain is agonizing

Mother dearest

I'm sorry I'm sorry forgive me forgive me.

I'm turning into you, into my father, into the wretched Frankenstein of the detestable parts of both of you and you hate me.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Please don't hate me.

I'm enraged like you are. I am just like you are but it's wrong because it's me.

Mother dearest

Please love me again,

Even when I'm not good.

Even when I'm bad.

please will you love me again?

Even when you're angry will you love me again?

What can I do, please love me again?

Mother dearest

I'm still your baby

Why won't you love me?

If you don't

How can I love me?

[ddalgi-ddoggi]

hihi :3 i'm Indy, i use any prns, and i'm 18

here's my otherkin sideblog muahaha >:3 for being silly goofy in a nonhuman way

kin types: cat, lop bunny, collie (appearance claims above)

this blog is sfw but i do interact w nsft !

i fb and interact from my main blog, which is under a diff name, so if u follow me and a kpop acc follows u back that's me lolsies

dni: haters (of any kind), basic dni