AIN'T THAT JUST THE POINT | open, return

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  • (tw for suicidal thoughts and mentions of drug usage)

    (deer's back at it again at very sleepy rambling- read the last paragraphs if u don't want lore or stuff)

    the pressure placed over the largest wound on his leg made the canines biting his bottom lip puncture the skin. the metallic tang of the blood that seeped between his teeth to his tongue didn't bother him like how it did before. it was oddly relieving in the sense that it was a confirmation that was still, in fact, alive. the thought that pestered him when he realized he was alive and breathing came back once more: how much he wished that wasn't the case; or, in simpler terms, how he wanted to be dead. nonexistent. without a pulse or puff of air tumbling out of him. they were morbid thoughts, but considering how long he'd had them for already, it didn't think they were. after all, the continuous 'reincarnations' due to some unfair and twisted immortality situation made him sort of in the okay to think such things.

    as he kept bandaging the now-clean wound with some traditional cobwebs (thank god he was a healer in the sanctum and had some knowledge on what to do), his mind wandered away from the death thoughts to memories of the past month of so. it hurt emotionally to recount the events that had happened, but he really needed to get his mind off his aching and heavily bleeding body. he had actually begun to settle into the sanctuary decently, with him being surrounded by his children and gaining somewhat-friends in the place he was hesitant to call home. after all, his constant pathetic disappearances and reappearances made it impossible to do so. for once he was confident on not having to go anywhere else to satisfy his broken mind, especially not for his weaknesses of drugs and alcohol. he'd been sober for almost 2 weeks and had no plans to leave again, but something had come up. it was nothing related to his withdraws nor nervousness, but rather something to do with his role as the bogeyman. his domain was a very sensitive plane of existence, one that constantly needed its rulers too appear and make the scales tip to become balanced once more. if the realm didn't have any rulers there for a certain amount of time, it became freely chaotic. and whenever that happened, the rulers could feel it very well. when the realm began to lose it's order and foundation, funhaus had become weaker physically, mentally, and emotionally. such a thing had never happened to him before, but pure instinct made him drop everything and leave to his domain to sort things out. he hated the idea, but it was clear that the nightmare realm out of order would cause chaos on earth and certainly cause him to become... a monster- or more of a monster.

    he'd been in the realm for who knows how long. time in there was practically meaningless. he'd spent more time near his spiteful mess of a brother fixing up their joint realm than ever before, and he hated every second of it. roosterteeth was someone he never was fond of and never will be. but after he got everything in order and before he and rooster can excel their normal verbal fights to dangerous physical brawls, he left the realm. some features had stayed on him such as his pitch black eyes and the horns that were tucked near his ears. it took about a day or so to just have them disappear and for him to return back to his tired and sad state. at this point he wasn't beat up. when he got out, a series of events happened: he let his demonic looks fade away, he walked around to find a way back home, he stumbled upon his old gang friend,,, old lover... current drug dealer by crossing paths, and he was lured to their old hideout to smoke and drink once more. after he had gotten high and began to sip at the strong liquor, his pal got far too close for his taste. although he was certainly not in the right state of mind, the heightened awareness the nightmare realm gives out was still there. so before he even realized it, they were fighting- or him dodging and failing after giving them a cut on their face. funhaus, who was high as hell, and them, who had cleverly not done anything, spent awhile brawling. somehow out of pure luck funhaus had knocked them out and he had escaped with a sliver of his life still connected to him.

    it was how he was here now, battered and worn out, bloodied and aching, and dried up tear trails becoming wet once more as funhaus began to silently sob as he finished the outline of his long memories. he had never done such a thing before, fight the one who he often believed loved him for him. hell, he didn't even think he had it in him. of course it was all just luck and chance that such events occurred and that he escaped with his life and nothing more than that. he was still traumatized by it, and combined with his consistent anxiety and somberness, it was making him feel even more worse than any physical pains. he shook his head and gave a few shaky breaths as he finished bandaging up both legs. it hurt like hell to walk, but luckily he had found a way back to the sanctuary border, which made his now sober but frightened mind a bit more at ease. after testing out both legs and everything else, he heaved himself up and began to heavily limp over to the border. his home's border.

    "h-hello?" funhaus' british voice called out, meek and shaky as he was still very much crying, yet not as much before. if anyone were to ask, he'd definetly say it was for the wounds. no need to delve back into the memories once more. he didn't want to tell them of him being the bogeyman, or admitting he has a problem with drugs and alcohol, or how his life was complete and utter shit. a few things made his life a bit better, such as his children, but he knew that he wasn't saving them from anything whatsoever, or even their hero anymore. he stiffly raised his painful paw up to rub the tears away from his eyes although they kept coming anyways. he had yelped as he harshly touched his many small cuts and bites along his face. which were sure to leave scars soon, "i'm funhaus k-kovic bonaparte gabriel, an-and i'm, um... back... does... does someone have painkillers... p-please tell me you do... this h-hurts..."

    (basically bogeyman stuff and he stood up to his abusive kinda-partner and is kinda bleeding out and is an anxious and crying mess. has major wounds on his legs, stomach, and neck, and tiny bites and claw marks around his sides, cheeks, and upper legs)


    ————- funhaus kovic gabriel bonaparte / the cartel / tags / plot / @ deer ————-  。+゚. if you love me, don't let go

    The post was edited 1 time, last by FUNHAUS ().

  • tan scuttled forward cautiously, his magenta eyes glowing in the rosy dawn light. his mind whirled at that insufferable scent he had first been subject to around iris. he shook his slim face and crept closer.

    "i think i have something that could help."

    concentrating very hard, the kitten thought up the most boring plant in his garden, a sort of succlent that grow in large, hard leaves, protecting his mother's marigolds.

    after a moment, a little green thing began to grow at the kitten's feet, growing and growing until it was about his size.

    "it's called aloe vera. break some off and put it on the red stuff. it feels better."

    a 'níon mhín ó, sin anall na fir shúirí

    renlys targaryen - the empire

    played by lokisaurus

  • ψ ψ ψ seraphim was no stranger to crying. to attempting to bury memories down so deep that she could forget them entirely. though it seemed that even as she buried them, suffocated them within the deepest and darkest stretches of her mind, the memories would always pull through. the cold feeling of bars against her pelt, the knives that danced across her skin, the few words that had been said to her and the scrappy leftovers that she would have to ration out for weeks. and for what reason? she'd done nothing other than live, than breathe, though it seemed for some, that was more than enough reason to torture, to abuse, to taint and ruin. it was no secret that seraphim had seen the bad in the world, there were physical reminders of that bad everyday, the missing wing, the prosthetic leg, but even though she'd seen the bad, she'd also seen the good.

    lucien and the sanctuary had opened up a whole new world for sera. like a door that had been pulled from the depths of the darkness to show her to the light. even if sometimes the darkness still seeped into her mind, right now, the good outweighed the bad. unlike this unfamiliar figure on the border, she could now be happy to be alive and, being the little ray of sunshine seraphim was, she planned to shine her light on others. while she often struggled to understand and interpret emotions, she knew when someone was sad and when someone was happy. perhaps it was also true that she could sense emotions, thus explaining her hasty approach to the stranger on the border.

    three alabaster paws pulled the skinny cub forwards, plastic prosthetic keeping the child balanced as she limped to an uncertain stop besides tanzanitekit. her eyes fell first to the strangers wound, a soft panic resonating in golden luminaries as she gazed upon the bloodied bandages. she wanted to offer her help but, she had not been trained properly yet, her knowledge on healing was still limited, but she was trying, and lucien was teaching her. spotted ears pressed briefly to the top of the girls head. he was crying. "sera sometimes cry too," it's her feeble attempt at comfort as she scours her mind for an answer to her troubles.

    "papa will help," there's a small if not slightly uncertain nod of her head, he has a good habit of being in the right places at the right times so he was sure to show up here, right? though in the meantime perhaps it would be best to tide faunhouse over, even seraphim could see that such injuries would hurt. pretty badly too by the looks of it. "poppy seeds? help pain, ah, might make funhaus sleepy, okay?" her expression contorts as she attempts to string together a sentence, fictional brows pulling together.

    Lucien V.A.J.  





    info — the sanctuary — penned by regius

  • "what if he becomes too sleepy?" tan worried, looking to the amount of blood that stained the male's pelt.

    "i can make some strong vines to carry him to your papa's place."

    a 'níon mhín ó, sin anall na fir shúirí

    renlys targaryen - the empire

    played by lokisaurus

  • Oftentimes, Haiiro felt cheap when he allowed himself to truly hurt. Unlike so many people in his life, he had never faced torture at the paws of another, had never experienced anything he believed justified his emotions. Sure, being there for Sango slowly murdering Finch and not being able to do anything about it had fucked him up, and the neglect of one of his fathers as a child had left him feeling unwanted and incapable of affection, but did it really mean he was allowed to feel pain? Others always had it worse - he would never be valid, so long as he lived.

    With Inu off in HawkClan, Frisk nowhere to be found at the moment, and nobody else to really talk to, Haiiro had decided to lay on his porch with a maroon blanket draped over his thickly-furred shoulders, unused to the chill that never seemed to fall over the jungle back in Shadowclan. With his head rested on his paws, the canine-like creature allowed his senses to expand, practicing his ability to toss and pull back his consciousness like a net over the territory. When he had settled don on his porch, he certainly hadn't been expecting hat he could now hear and see and smell. He did not expect to find Funhaus - Dad - bleeding heavily on the border, surrounded by people he knew his father didn't know. He did not expect the surge of emotions that filled his lungs, his throat, his heart, at the presence of his father returned.

    Hardly thinking, Haiiro pushed himself to his paws, grabbed his pouch of herbs, and began to feel his way through the territory, heart pounding in his chest.

    Dad's back. Dad's hurt. Dad's back. Dad's hurt.

    "Dad!" Haiiro called out, stumbling forward as he reached where Tan and Sera were around the Bernese Mountain Dog. Everything ached as he practically slid to a stop, his body reminding him of the fractured ribs and abrasions across his skin. This was not the time to be feeling so wild, but he let the fire consume him as he pulled two poppy seeds from his pouch on the pad of his paw. "Dad," he said again, softer this time as he let himself breathe.



  • when he'd finally heard some light footsteps coming in his direction, a wave of relief washed over him as the noise came closer and closer. yet the rare beacon of positive in him flickered out once he realized it was a child that had come up to the gruesome scene. it wasn't the fact that a child wouldn't be able to do anything to help. he'd had plenty of children come to his aid many times before. it was the extreme guilt that always crawled upon his body whenever he realized that children, such as the small dark kit in front of him, had to see such gruesome scenes. it became more intense when he knew that he was causing those scenes, tossing children into the loop of consistently seeing bad things around them. it was such a sad thing to funhaus, who's main goal as a father was to try his best to make sure children lived their lives as children for as long as they could, that he was failing his main objective.

    his somber dull orange eyes focused on the child he had never seen before start to grow what he assumed was a plant. before he'd watch with fascination at the powers that little children would show to him, encouraging them to get used to it and use it for good. but now, as the plant grew to one he was familiar with, all he could do was look away to focus on his bloodied paws- ones he used to fight back and heal himself. it took tanzanitekit's voice explain what the aloe plant was to have him look up and give a terribly weak smile. "t-thank you," he whispered out before reaching forward and snapping some off with his teeth. his body ached and he winced as he stretched, but he knew this was good for him. angling it down to one of the wounds he could easily reach, he began to gingerly rub the plant's liquid over it. it stung so much and he knew the tears were coming down harder, but he was powering through. after only covering a few small wounds with it, he tossed the now-dried up plant to his side, trying his best not to aggravate anything anymore. funhaus really didn't want to die in front of such a helpful kid.

    the next person to come happened to be another child, and once again the terrible guilt came over him once more. he was ready to get up and just head to camp to both ask for more medical help and who was letting them wander around on their own, but sera's sweet and somewhat comforting words made him stay put. her confession on crying made funhaus' lips quirk up for a bit, but they fell once more after a short period of time. as she talked about her father helping him out, he could only assume she was the daughter of their healer. that brought him some semblance of actual reassurance, that there was a healer here that would certainly know more than his mere little gig as a healer. he gave a weak nod at the mention of poppy seeds, "yeah. yes. please, sweetie, can you, um, bring me some poppy seeds? it'll-it'll help a lot. it's okay if i get sleepy. i'll... i'll get up, okay? promise." he mostly said the last part to the darker kit, who did bring up a good point in terms of his blood loss and the sleep he'd probably fall into. yet he'd always had such trouble sleeping for more than 5 minutes, and he knew how much to take so that he'd at least be groggy. or at least he thought so. he let out a little yelp as one wound began to sting, and he knew that was a bad sign, "sweetie, kiddos, c-can any o-o-of you b-bring me, um, s-some marigolds? t-they're... they're really pretty f-flowers that are sometimes yellow or orange... i need them, o-o-okay? it's, um, important. a-and there's no need to t-take me anyw-anywhere. it'll probably hurt... hurt a-a lot." he hadn't realized his tears had turned into mere sniffles, and that he honestly didn't care if he died anymore. amazing how fast his mind could switch in an instant.

    he had to blink a few times to take away to wooziness that his evident blood loss was giving him. it wasn't powerful enough to have him pass out, but it was enough to make him realize how tired he was- or how he was more tired than usual. he had begun to search around with his eyes in hopes of finding something to help stop the bleeding, but he immediately stopped and his half-lidded eyes opened widely at an achingly-familiar voice. the loud pounding of pawsteps coming closer at such speed didn't scare him for once, and the tears that had stopped not long ago began to form once more to spill down his dirtied fur. when he laid eyes on haiiro, his heart began to break. he was hurt again. he was hurt, with some physical changes on him that made it evident. funhaus became increasingly worried at such signs, and he had begun to forget about his own dire wounds until haiiro pressed some poppy seeds into his own paw pads. but funhaus could care less if he would even receive the seeds. instead, his tears rolled freely down his face and his voice became an emotional show as he focused on his son. for once he was glad haiiro couldn't see the pathetic sight that was his father, "haiiro..." he spoke, voice cracking as he said his own son's name, "haiiro... i-i-i... i'm so sorry." funhaus couldn't say anything else. the apology was not only for the month-long disappearance, but rather every other moment where he wasn't there- from the birth he was never told of to the depressing moments in his life to the days where their growing father-son relationship dwindled because of his own selfish ways. it was not to best time to do such a thing for sure, but fuck did he want to say it so badly. so with a small heave forward, the canine pressed his nose (which had amazingly stopped bleeding) against his son's forehead, and another ache ran through him as he realized how haiiro was his height now. how his baby boy was no longer a baby anymore. "i missed you so m-mu-much. a-and frisk. and mem... i missed... i missed you all so much a-a-and i'm sorry." his rough accented voice dropped to a whisper, and his wild emotional ride had made him practically forget about his wounds- except for that one wound once more. when it began to give him stinging sensations, funhaus let out a small pained noise. fuck, it all hurt. gingerly he reached down to his son's pads and scooped up the few seeds. without counting them, he took them all. it would be awhile until he felt more numb, but for now, it was alright.

    he was going to be alright.


    ————- funhaus kovic gabriel bonaparte / the cartel / tags / plot / @ deer ————-  。+゚. if you love me, don't let go

  • He looked at me with hollow eyes and he whispered my name as the flowers died
    I felt my heart go cold as I sank between the ocean I am and the river I'm meant to be

    The name was familiar to him, and the creature would pause reflectively, orbs troubled with something or another. He wished he could remember what appeared to be important aspects of his life, but that was all out the window with this apparent new life. He couldn't go backwards, and he couldn't go forward either. Perhaps he was stuck, or perhaps he just didn't care enough to progress forward. Sera's calls weren't meant with deaf ears, although it had taken the creature a bit to even get over here. He lacked the motivation to do anything, but Haiiro was what prompted him forward, an instinict to help and to protect overdriving everything else. He'd pause beside the male in question, aiming to lightly pat his shoulder in what could be seen as brotherly or perhaps fatherly affectionate, who knew. It was his non-verbal way of saying everything would be alright, one way or another.

    Exhaling in gentle undertones, his attention would turn towards the man of the hour. His reflective orbs expressed nothing but warmness despite his forever inner turmoil. It was wrong for him to take so many seeds, but there was no helping that now. If anything, they wouldn't kill him, his wounds would if they remained untreated. He'd bend in front of Fun, assessing the damage quickly with his mismatched gaze. "You'll be okay." It was the first and only thing he rumbled, pausing to momentarily give a half smile that he didn't particularly feel. Not because of Fun's condition or anything, but because of other worrying problems he had buried within him. He'd attempt to flicker one of his tails to rest peacefully against the other male, preferably in a place where he wasn't hurt. The movement was done to offer comfort, that, and to aim to take away his pain. He should be able to at least fall asleep peacefully, or whatever his body decided to do. In the meanwhile, he'd aim to lessen the amount of blood he was losing, by clotting them with cobwebs and the like. It was probably awkward to wait for it to all naturally do it's thing, but the time seemed to fly by to him ; by the end of it, he was attempting to press a marigold poultice into his wounds, with the clear intent to bandage everything up. From what he could rather, there were no broken bones, just a lot of torn and damaged skin.

    Sometimes I wonder if I'm only a ghost, wearing human skin I never change

    I listened to the devil as he spoke because he tempted me with a beautiful rose

    male / domestic feline / all opinions ic