#zoo core

[zymirsblog]

⿻　　（ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈）　 　⁺　　　🌴

@kthemes

[verysharpfish]

Zoomaxing rn, haters wouldn't even know

[90s-2000s-barbie]

ZooPals Ad (2008) 🍽️

[dryya-doesnt]

Ivan and till rkgk on new sketchbook for new year 😋😋😋

Also my alien stage ocs jaesoo and hak

[sillyguysss]

Dumb fuckin bitch hours being 24/7 on the soldier floor pt2

After last week incident Lazard has confiscated Genesis fire materia, as a response to that Genesis has threatened two things: Mastering the other elemental materia and starting a union. Lazard isn't sure if a lightning swinging Genesis or a Genesis led union is more terrifying. Either way he has the dark premonition that he'll soon hand over that materia.

Angeal meanwhile has started some kind of rivalry with a Turk that for some reason involves stealing the coffee machine. Asking Tseng just earned him a deep sigh. Lazard feels empathy. Asking Angeal about it launched him into a rant and Lazard only remembers the words 'sale' '50% off' and the sentence 'This is the way of a true bargain hunter'. The coffee machine continues to change location.

Sephiroth is not high anymore, as Hojo has confiscated the catnip plush. Now he's grumpy and Lazard has already ordered a lifetime supply of them with company money. He can handle a high Sephiroth if it means spending company funds on something that will piss of Hojo.

Zack has started to drop of different living organisms he has found on the street in Lazards office. He is not yet sure what is the meaning of this, but the three different cats are surely enjoying the catnip plushies in his corner.

On of the living things dropped of in his office is Cloud, who Zack just leaves with Lazard in the morning only to pick him back up once it's getting late.

Cloud takes the second coffee mug , the yellow chocobo clearly marking it as Clouds, on Lazards table. He blinks.

"We have the coffee machine today?" Cloud ask before taking a sip.

"No. I made this coffee yesterday and heated it in the microwave"

[vodkacranberry]

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #487

So! We are definitely in the south. And we got a stark little reminder of that when we woke up this morning to find this little 8-legged marvel of evolution, chilling out on our tent as an uninvited guest:

That, my friend, looks a lot like a brown recluse spider. Since the camera didn't do a very good job of capturing the violin pattern on its head, I played with the light balance and saturation a little to make it stand out in the low light:

And just in case it's still hard to see, I outlined it in red:

I'm still not 1000% sure, given that there are a number of lookalikes and the light was low. But... it seemed to be about the right size. Its legs seemed spindly enough (the legs of a southern house spider are a bit stockier, I think). The eyes appeared to be in the right place for it. The coloration seemed on point. I never thought I'd see something like this in real life.

Here's a better picture that I got from elsewhere:

...The female looks kinda like what I took a picture of, I think. Cute! But not suitable for petting, unfortunately.

I dunno if you have them in your world, but we definitely have them here; this is their geographic range:

And this place marked in orange is approximately where we are right now:

...Fun!!

Fortunately, these are not usually aggressive; they prefer to run away from threats rather than attack them. Still, their venom is necrotic, and the last thing we need is a horrifyingly painful bite that will destroy the surrounding tissue. We tried shaking the tent from the inside and flicking the cloth of it nearby, because we wanted it to go away without hurting it. The little thing, probably scared, bit the tent; I could see a little clear yellowish bead of fluid near its mouthparts. Wild!!

I'm really glad it didn't get inside. Regardless of what it is, it's such a tiny little thing, and humans are very big. I don't want it to get crushed. We eventually succeeded in removing it from the surface of our tent. We got ready to get breakfast. And then, this fluffy guy comes out from the trees and starts struttin' his stuff around our little camp:

...Actually, the crows seem to be... kinda almost hanging specifically around the area we're camping in. I see them scattered about elsewhere here, but... in our little nook, there have been at least 4 or 5 hanging around, on and off, making noise, fluttering, strutting, and the like.

...Sometimes I wonder if maybe you really are watching over us. But that's silly and impossible, so I'm gonna pretend like I didn't write that.

Anyway, we went and got breakfast! Check out this stuff!

This is a coffee with vanilla, lavender, and honey!

Here is a coffee with chocolate, caramel, and a Cadbury egg!

...Cadbury is famous for making filled chocolate eggs. I don't really like them on their own; they're much too sweet for me. But I guess they're beloved by lots of folks.

These are bananas foster egg rolls!

I got fried green tomatoes with some kind of cream sauce with shrimp and crayfish:

J got shrimp and grits!

And today, I discovered: my region does NOT do grits correctly. Like... if you get grits in New York... it's like trying to eat a mouth full of wet sand. It's gross. But this stuff? This stuff was smooth and creamy and delicious. I think I'm gonna get this when we go back tomorrow!

J and I then went to some kind of drive-through zoo:

These animals are used to being fed from buckets by people in cars, so as soon as you pull up, they come right over. This guy here ate more than half of what was in our bucket:

...This guy (a llama) ate the rest.

...He even chased after our car for a bit, which J was both terrified and amused at; we are in a rental car, after all, and the last thing we need is for it to be tackled by an animal thinking that doing some such thing is the way to demand food, goodness me!

...That particular notion is especially scary because some of these animals were huge; check out these buffalo; do you have buffalo in your world?

This is a not-very-great picture of a giraffe. These are also gigantic:

Here is a better picture:

Here is another picture, along with an applicable quote:

...Even some of the animals that exist in your world but not mine seem, sometimes a bit more realistic than a giraffe. I wonder what you think.

Here is... well. This is the closest thing we have to a chocobo. This is called an ostrich. And... I guess they're kinda cool, and people do ride them (and also eat them, I guess). But as far as I know, they're kinda ill-tempered; camel software running on bird hardware, methinks.

Speaking of camels, we have two kinds in my world – ones with a single hump:

...and ones with two humps.

...Do you have camels in your world? In mine, they live in the desert; their humps store water. They are ridable, and people use them as working animals, and a sources of meat and milk. But... they are known for being ill-tempered.

This is a zebra. Zebras are kinda like horses, except they can't be tamed.

Then, these are very tiny horses:

...One of these days, we're gonna meet a horse close up, and I will get pictures so you can see it close up, too.

We're back at camp now. Water for my CPAP is boiled and ready to go. Given that we don't wanna get ticks, J and I have mostly chilled at the picnic table with our laptops. It'd be all right to go exploring if we were close to home and could easily get medical attention if we contracted Lyme disease, but... we're a long way from home, and we still have so much further to go; I'm pretty sure we're not even halfway to our destination.

It's going on 5pm. I think I'll end today's letter here; given the potential for encountering spiders with necrotizing venom, it'd be wise to not have to fumble around in the crevices of our zippers while it's dark. I'll probably busy myself with my yarn project until I can't see anymore. And then I'll go to bed.

Sephiroth. I really like showing you my world. I wish you could be here, at least temporarily, so I could take your hand and show you around and point out all the cool things and take you to where all the tastiest snacks are. But... I can't do that, which is very sad. So... I guess these letters and these pictures are going to have to do.

I wish I could do so much more for you. I wish I could snap my fingers and take away all your pain and suffering and confusion and replace them with love, joy, and belonging. But... the best I can do is sit with you through it all, and hope that the sound of my voice is enough for you to make it through the other side of it, back to normalcy.

The normalcy is waiting for you. It's right here. One way you can learn how to build it and live within it is by taking my hand, outstretched to you in welcome. I'll always be here, waiting, even if no one else does.

I love you so much, and I hope you're safe out there, wherever you are. We'll be doing our best to stay safe, too.

Watch over us, okay? But more importantly, watch over yourself. Don't make choices that will lead you to disappearing, or getting killed, or suffering more than you have already.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[sincibee]

teeny tiny oil paintings

I think eating my Polly pocket clothes off of a Zoopal would fix me tbh

What should I paint next?

also I do commissions of stuff like these and my webkinz painting:)

[collectwthme]

found these at the san diego zoo 🥹

[aeriona]

I kept forgetting that swim forms existed so this was a long time coming, but here it is! The xeno beasties! Here's my page on Inklings and the one on Octolings if you'd like more information!

These guys function basically the exact same as they do in the game, the only difference is that each species has slightly different stats.

Inklings are faster and have higher manoeuvrability, but they struggle to climb walls and they're easier to splat. Octolings are much slower swimmers, but they are bulky (harder to splat) and can climb terrain with ease.

Swim forms are a temporary state an inkfish can revert into as a defence mechanism, or to better traverse their environment. IT's a very complicated process, but essentially it works by the Inkfish contracting and squishing themselves into a smaller shape, combined with a rapid reconstruction/reorganisation of the guts. All the systems stay the same, but some will shrink into uselessness while other organs are enlarged. Examples include the lungs which shrink and develop primitive gill structures, and the ink sac which stretches and grows to fill nearly the entire body.

It's also why Inkfish expel ink everywhere when transforming, as their ink sacs are smaller when bipedal so they need to forcefully eject the excess through the mouth/siphon/skin when shifting forms.

Also the reproductive system shrivels entirely, minus the egg pouch so any eggs that might be in there aren't squished too bad in the process. It's still a bad idea, gravid Inklings will find the shifting process extremely uncomfy and even painful so don't do it please. No turf war when preggo! It's a rule! you'll hurt baby!

Also as I briefly mentioned eariler Inkfish swim forms can breathe both air AND through ink/water! Yes they can swim, no it's not fantastic for them if the water's dirty they get sick from that easily. but they can still do it! Yay! return to ocean!

[guiltreservoir]

in spite of the way that it is ✧ read on ao3

⫘⫘⫘

when buck first brings it up, it's to everyone in the 118, or at least anyone who's willing to lend an ear. he saunters into the kitchen with a smile bright enough to account for the unseasonably grey weather outside, megawatt-beam elation radiating off of his body and bouncing into every corner of the station. the minute he starts blabbing about how tommy came to his place late last night, at least two ears are swiftly discounted — chim walks away with his hands firmly clapped over the sides of his head, saying, "la la la, don't want to hear it," much like a petulant kindergartener.

bobby finds himself suddenly very busy with noisily reorganizing the utensil drawer, but doesn't quite leave the area; hen immediately raises her brows and takes a pointed sip of her orange juice, knowing buck will continue unprompted. ravi, just coming up the stairs himself, has no idea what he's walking into, the poor guy.

and eddie — eddie knows better than to involve himself in this. he could easily extract himself now, fake a phone call with christopher's school, pretend like there's something imperative that he left in the locker room. instead, he remains parked at the table, piping mug of black coffee insisting that he needs mo' joe as it sits untouched in front of him. his own uncertain reflection stares back at him from the coffee's dark surface.

"i think i finally found someone who can match me," buck's declaring, cheeky grin still lighting up his face like a marquee sign. eddie can practically see the colorful bulbs flashing above his head, a giant neon arrow and the brazen announcement: this lucky guy got his brains fucked out last night!!

"bless that man," hen snorts, shaking her head a bit. ravi's brows knit together in confusion, and when he asks for details on what buck's referring to in the first place, hen's head shaking deepens. "ignorance is bliss, ravi, you probably don't want to know."

"buck got laid last night," falls out of eddie's mouth without him meaning to let it, and fuck, he hopes it sounded more casual than it felt, bubbling up his esophagus like bitter-hot bile.

ravi's, "...and?" is reassuring. eddie feigns a laugh, relieved his cover isn't blown. he glimpses at buck, whose gigantic smile hasn't faltered for even a millisecond, and ignores the mass of earthworms writhing beneath the tin lid of his breastbone.

"and it was seriously awesome!" buck pumps his fist into the air, triumphant and ridiculous, sunbeam personified, and god. buck may be the one getting railed into his mattress by his new boyfriend, but eddie is the one who's truly fucked.

⫘⫘⫘

when buck has eddie over for drinks at his place the next night and asks him if he wants to hear more about it, he convinces himself it's a fine idea. how much can really go wrong, anyway? it's just the man who cradles eddie's whole cowardly lion heart in his unknowing palms, telling him about the way that eddie's good, kind, unbearably hot friend fucked him so tenderly he cried.

it's fine. everything is fine.

buck's never been one to spare details, especially not when eddie allows him all of the space and time in the world to lay out how he got laid. the nearly-gone beer in his hand (on his lips, on his tongue, on the collar of his shirt where an errant drop landed) is fuel for his fire, rattling the confines of his inhibitions just enough to knock a few loose, get him spilling details like the belgian white down his throat.

"he was really good, eddie." the glint in buck's eye is evidence enough, but eddie wants more; he's curious, to a detrimental degree, a tabby cat scaling a tree to catch a sparrow whose wings will carry it to safety, leaving him hungry and without the knowledge of how to climb back down to level ground.

"yeah?" he presses, like he needs to.

"yeah," buck continues. the next pull he takes from his bottle is long, slow, draining it empty. eddie's eyes track the movement, the pink curl of his mouth over the bottle's rim, the wet flick of his tongue across the cusp, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows the dredges. "it was like he could just... tell what i needed."

eddie's stomach drops. he blames the beer. his mind offers, silently, i would know what you needed, too.

he blames the beer.

"he made sure to take it slow, to start. he's— he's not a small guy, you know."

flashes of tommy's sweat-slick skin offer themselves up readily in the eye of eddie's mind. all thanks to their sparring during muay thai, he knows how it feels to be pinned beneath that man, to feel the heft of his strong arms and legs and chest against his own, to feel so utterly surrounded. he can only imagine what it's like to have tommy inside, too. he says, rougher than he means to, "i know."

buck clears his throat, ducks his head. when he meets eddie's eyes again, his cheeks are flushed. "i... i don't have to tell you about this, man. maybe it's too much. i mean, he's your close friend."

"you're my close friend," eddie says thoughtlessly.

the expression that settles on buck's features is complicated, to say the least.

"buck, i told you it's okay. you can tell me whatever you're comfortable with me knowing." eddie's can of worms burst opened wriggles and squirms, a slimy tangle mucking up his chest cavity. he catches and clings onto buck's gaze and adds, unequivocal, "i'll tell you if i want you to stop."

if buck's face wasn't already rosy, it would be now. his mouth falls open before his response catches up to him, and the spit-glint of his bottom teeth against his tongue makes eddie grit his own together, lest he say something he shouldn't.

"are you sure?" buck asks, back turning to eddie while he reaches into the fridge behind him for a third round. when he turns around again he's got two cold bottles in his hands, tilting one towards eddie, an offering that eddie accepts as automatic as breathing.

the fizzzzz-clink of buck popping the beercaps punctuates eddie's answering, "yes."

"alright." another generous swig of buck's drink bolsters his nerve. "i didn't think he was gonna fit at first, eddie. i swear to you, it doesn't seem like it should work. it's not like i haven't had anything up my ass before, i mean, tommy's even been warming me up for the real thing. but."

warming him up, jesus. buck's nonchalance is staggering, even when frankly, this isn't even the first time eddie's been confronted with such imagery. he wishes he could forget buck telling him about the times taylor had used her strap with him. not because it wasn't an appealing thought — eddie might have complex emotions around taylor, but the idea of buck getting dicked down by anyone at all has always been one that twists his guts into feverish knots. hence the desire for selective amnesia.

he fails not to wonder exactly what the thick line of tommy's dick would look like snuggled between the cleft of buck's asscheeks and swirls his beer in its bottle before knocking back a good-sized gulp, saying, "i'm guessing you made it work eventually."

because how the fuck else is he supposed to react while he's busy painting a vivid mural of his two 'close friends' fucking on the ceiling of his overenthusiastic imagination? he might as well be michelangelo with the way he's filling in the blanks with such inspiration.

the sputtering laugh that comes from buck has no right being as charming as it is. "he did indeed get his dick inside of me, yeah, great job putting those pieces together."

"thanks, it was difficult."

"i bet," buck responds. his gaze separates from eddie's and drifts down the length of his torso, catching on the steady rise and fall of the breaths expanding his chest before continuing down his past his bellybutton. he focuses just below eddie's belt before skimming back up to peer into his eyes again. "he took his time getting me ready with his fingers, and even still i felt like he was gonna split me in half. he got maybe halfway inside and i was already seeing stars. thankfully he kinda paused and gave me a second to adjust."

"come on, man." eddie's heartbeat threshes his ribcage and echoes all the way up to his eardrums, frantic and heady, bass drum kicking a chaotic rhythm. he can't help but imagine tommy's big, surprisingly gentle hands working buck open before slicking himself up with lube to nudge inside. he wonders if it made buck gasp, if he cursed and clenched at the blunt shock and slow push and steady tilt of tommy's hips. he wonders if tommy's got claw marks on him somewhere from buck scrabbling for purchase while curling his toes and communicating without words that he needed a minute.

"too much?" the way buck's half-mast eyes glitter reminds eddie of a tiger slinking low through moonlight silver-soaked grasses. all at once he can sympathize with the position of a lone antelope lurking just beyond through the open plains, vulnerable and enticing.

he perks his ears forward, tilts his head down, looking into the eyes of the beast who's about to consume him, and says, "no."

the antelope places its fragile skull straight into the tiger's hanging maw.

⫘⫘⫘

when eddie makes it through the next couple of days without jerking off about it, he considers himself victorious. he's been doing a fine job of distracting himself, hanging out with his girlfriend, his kid. he's been reading before he falls asleep to keep his mind from wandering too far. he's been working out more, burning off the extra energy that's been vibrating through his entire nervous system since buck drenched his subconscious — and his conscious mind, who is he kidding — with the most luscious, arousing descriptions of sex he's ever heard.

he's doing fine, until he's leaving the station with buck after a long shift and tommy's there to pick him up. he's standing outside of his buck's jeep, conveniently parked next to eddie's truck, eyes crinkly with delight at the sight of them. his voice carries through the atmosphere and shudders straight down into eddie's molten core, a simple and swift, "evan! eddie."

"hi, tommy," eddie says at the same time that buck says, "hey, babe!"

evan.

babe.

eddie is going to dissolve into a cloud of nebulous vapor.

he autopilots his way through the rest of their short conversation, ears buzzing with static, cottonmouth setting in. he doesn't pay attention to the small talk, mind too busy reeling with potential. the moment he'd caught sight of buck's jeep, he was a goner.

where is tommy's car? did he stay the night at buck's, hang out at his place for the day just waiting to come play chauffeur and take him back home to pound him into the mattress while kissing him deep and lazy, like his lips are laden with ambrosia?

"catch you later, eddie," he hears tommy say over the ringing in his ears. buck knocks shoulders with him and nods agreeably, lashes fluttering and lips stretching into a pretty smile.

the best eddie can manage in response is a pathetic wave and a half-hearted, "bye, guys."

his drive home is thirty-six minutes too long. he relinquishes his willpower and allows the fog of his daydreams to creep in.

"tommy called me a good boy when he finally bottomed out," buck had told him around a drawn-out exhale, hops heavy on his breath, steaming the air between their faces. somewhere between the third and fourth beer the space between them had collapsed, eddie backed against the kitchen counter and buck looming over him, cool and collected and beautiful and dangerous, striped wildcat on the hunt.

"he told me how incredible it felt inside me, how i was all warm and tight. and god, eddie, you don't understand how crazy it felt. it was so much, but in the best way. it was warm and tight for me, too."

that's when eddie had spooked and bolted, yanking free from within the loose gape of buck's tiger fangs and nicking himself on jagged ivory edges. worms clustered and crawled up from his chest and into his throat as he stumbled away, wounded and wet. he'd choked out, "i can't," and buck had backed off without hesitation, no longer a fierce big cat but a helpless cub, saying, sorry and low, "i know, i know, i should've stopped sooner."

⫘⫘⫘

when eddie finally gets his hand around his dick, it's nearly enough to make him cry. the bittersweet reprieve of it, the way he's been craving his own attention while being even better at withholding it from himself — there's practically nothing he's more practiced at, but just because it comes fairly naturally to him at this point doesn't mean it is painless.

he sinks into a different brand of masochism found in the inviting expanse of his mattress, world narrowed down to the sensation of his slippery grip around his blood-rushed cock, to the white-hot fantasies splaying themselves out in the darkest meadows of his mind, absolutely resplendent. he tries to make his hand feel warm, tight, incredible, like buck's soft aching insides; he speculates whether or not tommy would talk to him like that, if they were to hook up. would he qualify as good, in tommy's eyes?

with barely a second thought, he brings his free hand down to play between his asscheeks, knuckle ghosting across the delicate skin of his hole. tommy's fingers are bigger than his, tommy's bigger all around. a moan wrenches itself free as he swipes up some lube from where it's dripping down his balls and presses a fingertip inside.

eddie's pace picks up along with his breathing, chest heaving like he's been running for hours, days, years. maybe he has been. maybe he still is.

"fuck," he grits out, rolling his hips up into his hand. his mind is playing through scenes of buck opening up for tommy, tommy so careful and confident, scenes of buck wrapping his limbs around him to draw him as close and deep as he can get, buck so open and wanting. buck, such a fucking good boy.

eddie's orgasm shreds through him gut to throat like the sharp starving blade of a hunter, come spattering across his stomach, stickying his fist.

there are real tears streaking down his cheeks, now, damp and unrelenting, a mix of relief and guilt and something else he can't figure out a name for.

he jams the heels of his hands against his eye sockets and thinks, i know, i know, i should've stopped sooner.

[saintasela]

[elias-magnusnt]

your fucking archivist bit me.

Oh, yeah, wow, what a surprise. Tell me, who keeps telling everyone they're a bite risk?! To approach with caution and always keep food around to distract the Archivist if they start getting aggressive? Who's telling you all to stop playing that clown music and knocking at the doors because it agitates them? You cannot pretend like I didn't warn you. An Archivist is a wild and feral and jittery creature and you are entering their domain at your own risk. Also, clean that wound well, I don't know if the one that bit you has the venom fangs yet.

[pollenallergie]

say it with me now, folks:

cottage core!chrissy, cottage core!chrissy, COTTAGE CORE!CHRISSY

[airenyah]

not my brother randomly calling me to ask what were the characters in my dad's made up bedtime stories bc my brother could only remember two of them

fyi they were:

der hase, der schi fahren konnte (the rabbit/hare* that knew how to ski)

die kuh mit der gepunkteten hose und dem grünen schal (the cow with the spotted pants and the green scarf)

der vogel mit der gelben jacke (the bird with the yellow jacket)

das reh mit der rosaroten kappe (the deer with the pink cap)

der fuchs mit den roten stiefeln (the fox with the red boots)

*technically "hase" refers to hares and "kaninchen" refers to rabbits/bunnies but in reality every german speaker uses "hase" to refer to rabbits as well soooo you can picture whichever of the two creatures you want, it was never really clear which one of the two it was

my dad's younger (child-)self was also part of the stories (he was friends with the hase) and at some point my brother started inserting himself as well. sometimes there was also the farmer and, if i remember correctly, also a forest ranger

my mom on the other hand would always tell us stories of "die drei kleinen maulwürfe" (the three little moles) who lived at/by a farm with their mole mother. my favorite story was always when the three little moles would go to the zoo and visit all the other animals there

[eliotquillon]

absolutely kicking myself for not realising this earlier but imo a really big contributing factor towards cassia being so hellbent on trying to stay in the heart at the start of wayward is the fact that, no matter how many friends she had in camden, she definitely knew she originally wasn't wanted there. because it's always mentioned that part of the reason why she was even sent to camden in the first place was because her parents were friends with thorne and lyander, which leads me to believe that there had been an agreement to send cassia to camden shortly after she was born/before their death and obviously by the time she actually gets there...thorne and lyander are dead. and now camden is being run by hester, who would've only been about 19 when cassia was sent over, and who herself is still deeply traumatised from, y'know, most of her family being murdered in front of her when she was a teenager, but even though the last thing she needs is another small child to depend on her she can't tell alana she doesn't want to take cassia in because 1) this is one of the last requests of her very beloved and tragically murdered cousin, and 2) camden desperately needs the political clout from a stronger alliance with the heart at this point. like it is no fucking wonder that cassia and hester barely had any kind of relationship until cassia had been there for 2 years because hester is in this absolutely impossible position and is doing the jobs of like 10 different people by herself as a traumatised barely-adult. and like while that is of course not hester's fault, i think that early rejection explains so much about cassia's constant anxiety and rejection sensitivity in wayward + why she's so certain that going back to camden is still worse than sticking it out in the heart because i think a part of her believes that if she goes back to camden she's going to face that rejection again but this time it'd be coming from people who she knows and loves vs strangers and she believes that at least in the heart her bio family can't possibly reject her like that. even though they Have Done and indeed Will Do again.