[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]// flops back into the chat thread
Eyyy
Posts by ron?n
This is an archived version of FeralFront. While you can surf through all the content that was ever created on FeralFront, no new content can be created.
If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.
-
-
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]guys I suddenly want to do a really angsty 7 minute animation about Ronan wowow
-
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]cry I'm
Cry I'm so sorry but like yesterday's angst wasn't enough angst
Just saying
Prepare your mental state ok -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]THERE IS NEVER TOO MUCH ANGST
but don't worry it's much less angsty than the one last night bc it's his return thread so it's much more happy if you can call it that lmfao -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]"Ronan."
Snow danced around the hiisihound's black form, falling serenely from the sky like leaves in autumn. He was like a dark splotch of ink in the middle of a white field, a stark contrast among all the snow. And the snow wanted desperately to change that, falling on top of the male in an ever thickening blanket, causing his pelt to look like the galaxies had fallen down and merged with his soul, like space itself was a part of his fur. He lay there, unconscious and unresponsive to the cold that kissed his skin, oblivious to the blizzard around him. He was dead. Dead in his own mind. Stuck in a never ending coma yet again as his spirit and mind slowly faded. He had died - the cold of the blade that had pierced his stomach and his heart was still there, transformed into the very blizzard that was around him now. Yet he wasn't dead on the inside yet. Once again a greater force by the name of "father" was keeping him in a state similar to limbo. Not quite dead but definitely not alive.
"Wake up."
A loud, pained gasp escaped the canine as suddenly a sharp pain slammed him awake, forcing the breath back into his lungs at full force. His icy blue eyes opened up, and despite the shock and surprise in them, they were vacant and dull. The eyes of a man who was already dead. Ronan didn't even have time to analyze his situation before the wind starting shrieking around him, tugging and whipping at his pelt, fighting alongside the snow to bring him down and suffocate him. He was suddenly painfully aware of the cold. Of the pain. A silent snarl formed on his maw as he struggled desperately to get onto his paws, to try and orient himself, to try and find a safe haven....
"I'm not done with you."
A whimper escaped his throat as an even greater pain and pressure formed in his temple, forcing him back down and into the mercy of the storm. He clawed desperately at his head, trying to dull or numb the pain, but still it held on and persisted. The snow was starting to blind him, and it didn't help his already panicked and disoriented state. Everything was too white, too bright. Everything looked the same wherever he tried to look, and a blind panick started to crawl up his spine and into his throat, causing his breathing to come out shallow and in pained gasps. He was suffocating. This was how it felt to die in your own mind, this was how it was going to -
"I won't let you die."
A black shadow formed in the horizon, menacing and dangerous. But it was the only thing that Ronan could focus on, the only thing that brought relative safety despite the ominous air around it. Even as his words sent a shiver up Ronan's spine, the hiisihound found himself crawling towards no other but his father. To no other than the one who was putting him through this torment. No other but the one he hated. The one he loved. Yet despite how much he was struggling to move forward towards the man, he didn't seem to be getting any closer. He was stuck perpetually in the same place, his father forever out of reach.
"PLEASE. HELP ME!"
Ronan tried desperately to crawl through the blizzard to get to him, to claw his way forward. It didn't work, and Lirim smirked down at him. Suddenly he was towering above the hiisihound, and an involuntary whimper escaped the male as he felt all control over his limbs leave him, and he fell still once again, the blizzard soon covering him in a freezing blanket of snow. He could scarcely raise his head, and after minutes of trying he finally gave up, squeezing his blue eyes shut.
He felt a hand on his head, and if left to his own devices he would have instantly flinched back. But he was frozen, quite literally, and could do nothing as his father stared down at him, soulless eyes digging into his skull. The snow didn't dare touch his black cloak and suit, didn't dare approach him fearing that he could destroy it with a flick of his wrist. Indirectly, Ronan himself was the reason this was happening, for he feared that if he fought back that something bad would happen.
They sat like that for a while, Ronan quite literally feeling like a dog infront of his father who had taken a human form in his mind. It's exactly how he wanted. Exactly how he saw his own son. A low growl escaped Ronan and his eyes flashed dangerously, a new life suddenly forming in them. Yet his father only smiled sweetly down at him, continuing to pet him. "Help yourself," he murmured out sweetly, and suddenly he was gone in a flurry of shadows, the snow quickly taking his place.
Ronan was alone again in his own head, the blizzard raging around him furiously, screaming at him to fight. But he couldn't. The will to fight against Lirim was long gone from his bones, and he could do nothing but curl up into a tight ball in the snow, a tired sigh escaping his parted jaws. He wasn't even going to cry. He didn't feel like it. He felt numb and empty and tired, and all he wanted was the storm to swallow him up and end it. He wanted to die, and yet his father wasn't even giving him that. After all he had gone through he didn't even want a happy life. He didn't wish for one because he knew it was impossible. He just wanted no life. He wanted everything to end, so that he didn't have to hurt no more. And so the hiisihound dropped his wings to his sides, fell into the blizzard and let it cover him, let it bury him. He let it take him, with a quiet prayer to whatever gods were listening. Please, let this be the end.
[hr]
It was strangely warm, a sharp contrast to the freezing air he had felt only moments ago. There was no snow around, no pain. The birds were singing in the early morning light and instead of snow caking his still form it was dew. Yet despite the serenity, as Ronan slowly regained consciousness he couldn't help but feel his stomach drop, a sick feeling of nausea running through his body. He didn't want to open up his eyes. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to go back to whatever hell he had been in and stay there, where he belonged. The sun wasn't welcoming. It was another fucking reminder that he was still plaguing this earth. It was a constant reminder that he was still here, and that as long as he was here that he was dangerous.
"Fuck you..." Ronan weakly wheezed out as he felt more and more strength enter his tired limbs. Yet despite knowing very well that he could get up and walk back to camp at that moment, he didn't. He stayed on his side, eyes squeezed shut as he desperately tried to will himself away from here, tried to pretend like he didn't have to wake up and face himself and his actions again. A good hour passed by like this, and despite the effort he had put into making himself disappear, all Ronan got from it was a headache that seemed to resonate throughout his whole body.
He had no choice, it seemed. He could go kill himself again but he already knew it wasn't going to work. Lirim's words resonated in his head, only adding onto his pounding headache. So he had to face another day. A groan escaped the canine's parted jaws as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, and it didn't take him too long to realize something was different. The weight and pressure on his back and head were suddenly gone, and a frown tugged at Ronan's lips as he rolled his shoulders in discomfort. Something was off. With a snarl Ronan twisted around, eyes widening in shock as they caught sight of the lack of appendages on his shoulders. And the fact that his whole body was both a different color and shape. In a blind fit of panic the male stood up, rushing over to a nearby river, almost falling into it as he halted infront of it. His suspicions were proven true. His birth body was dead, then. Apparently it was too hard to revive it, or find a body similar. Not even Lirim could do it. So now, he stood in a German Shepard body, much different than his previous one. He actually looked...
Normal. Still intimidating, but normal.A deeper frown etched itself onto his maw as he spun around to take himself in, then turning back to the river Ronan jumped up in surprise as his eyes turned from their previous olive green color to a pure black one. His whole eye, not only the pupil, was the same inky black as his. He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. With a low growl the German Shepard slowly backed away from the river, only to end up turning around and swiftly running back to camp, a turmoil of emotions dancing in his black eyes. At least they weren't soulless - though that was something Ronan failed to see. All he saw was yet another way that his father controlled him.
-
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]// SLAMS FIST AGAINST TABLE
IT HAS BEEN DONE[s]quietly points to Ronan's siggy
:^)
Me like his new siggy -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]YEA I DID
o
Really
Now
? -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]tribe of sins and angst
I love it
Lmfao -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]It was getting increasingly easy to leave the comforts of camp these days, despite the fact that the outer edges of the world were still full of dangers and horrors that Ronan feared. He couldn't say this with ease, but at least his sick mental state could acknowledge the fact that he was getting increasingly better as time went on, though he couldn't help but wonder if he truly was better. He had just died twice now. One time he had died of his father's will, the second he had died willingly, plunging a blade deep into his own abdomen with no external forces to interfere until it was time he was brought back to life yet again. Could anyone truly be better? Could he truly find peace? It was like he was starting to betray everything he was. All of his caution was thrown seemingly into the wind, and the very person he was was fading away into the void which was his father. Did he deserve a second chance? No. That's why he hated himself for giving himself the very chance to think that he did.
But he was getting better. A constant self hatred didn't perpetually haunt Ronan anymore, though Lirim's shadow wasn't short. He was still stuck underneath it, but slowly clawing and fighting his way out of the slavery his father put him through. If he wasn't better, he wouldn't have approached the group of joiners. He would have stayed back and watched them silently from the shadows of camp, avoiding their prying eyes and sharp tongues as much as he did the others. If he wasn't getting better, he wouldn't have been physically able to approach the group on steady paws, olive eyes though wary not holding any of the hostility they usually did.
Yet he regretted his decision instantly. A sudden headache overtook the German Shepard mix as he approached closer, his step wavering and forcing him into an untimely halt right behind the group. There was a dark aura surrounding these people. Ronan could sense it, and instantly memories flashed through his head. Of him. that same aura surrounded him, poured out of every pore in his body. A sudden blind panic clawed it's way up Ronan's throat, and his pale eyes suddenly flickered and flashed, a darkness overtaking the whole eye, turning it inky black and as soulless as his father's. What if these were his men? They were back. They were going to kill him. No. Worse. They were going to kill everyone else. They were going to force him to kill again.
He found he couldn't breathe, and the canine started to back away from the group, shadows dancing wildly around his form, desperately grabbing at him as if to pull him back, as if to shield him from his perceived dangers. He was going to snap. If he didn't run away he would snap and kill everyone. A pained gasp escaped the male, accompanied by a low growl that started somewhere in the pit of his stomach.
"Funny. I think their rather nice," the canine suddenly drawled out, a smirk forming on his maw and his paws suddenly freezing. But it wasn't his voice. They wouldn't know that, of course, having only met him then. But it wasn't his voice. It was Lirim's. "Want some tea before you answer all of these questions flung at you? God knows I hate it when no hospitality is shown to others," his father continued to purr out through Ronan's tongue, but the male could do nothing but accept it as all of his will and the control over his body was lost to the void.
-
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]boop
-
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]TRUE
HED PROBABLY JUST FREAK OUT AND BE LIKE
"?? ?? ?
!!!!!!!!!"
Ronan.exe has crashed -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]War. Oh how he knew the feeling and scent of battle well. It was funny how, after dealing with so much blood and so many massacres that he himself had caused, he could say that he was used to it. You had to be mentally ill to be glad to fight again.
And there Ronan stood, in all of his mentally ill glory. War was the only thing that was comfortable to him. War was the only thing he knew. In war he could get rid of any and all feelings of friendship and morality, lose himself to his father's will and not worry about the consequences. In war, he didn't have to socialize, didn't have to face the painful social anxiety he held bottled up inside of him. In war there was only one rule. Kill or be killed.
Painful memories flashed through Ronan's head as he stood there, eyes turning from olive green to a darker, pure black color that encased his whole eye. It was a sure sign that he was losing himself to the call of battle, the promise of blood. "Murderer," his father cooed sweetly into his ear, but unlike before where the words sent a violent shudder through his spine and fear into his scalp, this time the words brought a smirk up onto his maw as he flexed his claws into the ground, scanning the flaming battle field. "Indeed," the German Sheppard almost purred out in response, his eyes suddenly loosing all that made him human, all morality. He was a soldier again, a pawn for his father to use once more. But at that point, Ronan just didn't care. This was something he was comfortable in. Killing was his element.
He wasted no time as he sped through the warzone, easily avoiding all of the npcs that were fighting among themselves. They didn't trouble him whatsoever. He was going for a bigger prize, someone who had alerted her presence quite loudly. His large paws pounded against the dirt, breathing coming out ragged and shallow, foam forming on his maw. Only one word screamed in his head as he leaped forward. Kill. Kill kill kill kill kill kill. And he couldn't get it out. So he didn't. He would kill.
Without wasting any more time, Ronan aimed to leap towards Oprah from the side in order to barrel her over, unsheathing his claws in an attempt to pierce them into her flank, while at the same time he lunged for her throat with his teeth, a snarl escaping his parted jaws at the same time.
-
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]// FLOPS IN
GUYS IM SO HAPPY I SAW WICKED ON BROADWAY YESTERDAY AND IT WAS SO COOL
SO COOOOOOL
AHHHHHHHHHH -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]eyyy oddi how are you?
ALSO CRY HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME FEEL FEELINGS
// SCREAMS AND THROWS SELF OFF CLIFF -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]// whoooo boy get ready my friend
It was oddly quiet in Sunclan these days. More quiet than it usually was, at least. Or perhaps it wasn't Sunclan that was acting this way, but rather Ronan himself. The thought was late to settle into his head, but once it did the adult knew that it was the truth. Sunclan was as fine as ever, bustling and hustling with individuals who were going on with their lives. And yet he had locked himself up in his home, refusing to walk out as he drowned his sorrows in alcohol and cigarettes. He used to prefer his addictions with a hangover, but now anything that numbed the pain even slightly was good enough for Ronan. As long as he didn't have to think, and as long as the silence enveloped him, he could pretend like everything was okay. He could try and sometimes succeed to lie to himself and say that Tasukete was alright. That nothing had happened. That his life was normal. That they were both going to get out of their personal hell and survive.
"He might be dead."
Lirim's unwanted voice dug into Ronan's skull, but it was extremely easy to ignore him due to the alcohol. Ronan didn't respond, he just continued staring at his hands with a dull and empty look in his pure black eyes. Did it matter anymore? Perhaps it'd be better if Tasukete was dead. It'd save him from the pain of the world, free him of everything that hurt. Sure, that'd mean that he'd lose a friend and they might never see each other again due to the fact that he couldn't die, but at least... maybe he'd be happier.
"Pathetic. Ronan, listen to me. Get out of your fucking thoughts and do something. It's getting tiring just watching you mope around all day. You haven't eaten in days and the only thing you're surviving on is fucking alcohol and cigarettes," Lirim snapped, then Ronan felt his headache slightly disappeared as the pressure of hosting another soul inside of his mind faded away, his father leaving back into his own body. But Ronan made no moves to get up or do anything, instead he quietly took another sip of the vodka in his hands, furiously holding back the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes.
He had promised to protect them. Images flashed violently flashed in his head but in his numbed and dazed state Ronan couldn't focus on any in particular. He simply let them come and go, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into the palm of his hand to make them go away faster. He had promised to protect him and yet he had failed again. Yet another individual to add onto his ever increasing list of things he managed to screw up. He was a god damn fucking failure. If he had only done something, this wouldn't have happened. But of course, what could he have done? Even though he knew that it was completely out of his control, Ronan couldn't help but continue blaming himself. Even though he knew that he had nothing to do with it, he continued punishing himself for it nevertheless.
A shaky breath escaped Ronan, and he quickly dropped his glass to the floor, ignoring the glass that shattered and managed to impale him, shoving his head violently into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as tears streamed down his face. "Dad, please," Ronan whimpered out, rocking back and forth to steady himself. "Please, I want to help him. He can't die. He can't die like that," he continued out, shivering violently as a sudden breeze entered through an open window. No response. No nothing. He was left on his own again, and another shaky sob escaped him, clawing up his throat.
A sudden loud thump ripped Ronan out of his thoughts, surprise and shock filtering into his expression. His eyes suddenly lost their black color, returning to their normal state as wariness set into his already weary bones. Who had done that? The male straightened himself up slowly, getting up from the chair and taking a deep breath to steady himself. This wasn't good. He was too drunk for this. It was probably nothing... and yet....
With a flick of his wrist Ronan activated his powers, moving into his own mind to ease the numbness and the control the alcohol had took on him. Of course that meant that he came back to reality with a god awful headache, but at least he could concentrate more now. All of that money for nothing. But whatever - it was Lirim's anyways and he had his ways to get more. Without wasting any time Ronan left his house, throwing on a jacket before he did so, and then made his way towards where he had heard the sound.
Tasukete's house. Panic suddenly clawed it's way up his system as he froze infront of where Tasukete was being held in his unconscious state. What was going on? No sounds had been coming from there in so long... something was wrong. Ronan sucked in a sharp breath, and without thinking he instantly opened the door with a snarl, throwing it open and glancing around the dark interior with anger and fury in his olive gaze. "Tasukete?" he called out, before taking out his handgun in case someone else decided to jump out instead.
His head continued screaming at him, repeating the same phrase over and over and over. Don't hope. Hoping hurts. He's not going to be awake. It's going to end badly. And yet... he wanted so badly to hope that he was alright. That he was awake. Alive.
"You... you alright?" he called out, before slowly yet surely approaching the male's bedroom door, knocking on it furiously as he glanced around, scanning all of the shadows for anyone dangerous.
Don't get your hopes up. Don't get your hopes up. Don't get your hopes up. Don't get your hopes up.
-
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]// SCREAMS INTO THE VOID
IM LIKE REALLY ANGSTY AND I FEEL FEELINGS I SHOULDNT BE FEELING
no but seriously recently I'm a lot more sensitive to things for some reason, possibly with what's going on with my friend, so anything and everything that is angsty just mentally drains me lmfao and I just want to cry
rip me
I shouldn't be like this wHyY -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]eyyy not sure if I'm going to host a join.me, but does anyone want to watch me draw? :oo
-
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]kkk if anyone wants to pop in then here!!!
https://join.me/739-495-428 -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]welp. I feel like *. It's like all the happiness was simultaneously ripped out of my body right now
// flops ontop of cry -
[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]no, I just got a voicemail from my school saying that I need to attend summerschool. I legit just feel depressed now and hah I want to cry.