#but i do have a coyote skull

[skepsiss]

I am the rare mix of Jock and Goth that plays perfectly for me to write Steddie.

Did I play Baseball for 10 years? Hockey for 7? Track and Field for 2? (Plus Fencing, Soccer and a few others for 1-2 years). Did I grow up in a big ass house with parents that hated one another? Was I the first and only of my friends that could drive and had a car? Am I always somehow the group Mom (to a point where in Discord servers my role is literally "mom")?

Do I also write DnD books? Do I have an encyclopedic knowledge of LOTRs? Am I a weird little freak that has taxidermy in my house? Do I listen to true crime for hours on end and love horror movies? Do I listen to way too much 1980s Rock, Goth, and Metal music? Do I have nerdy ass tattoos? Am I a fruit?

Yes to all of the above.

[proteusolm]

profoundly disappointed that poking myself in the thumb accidentally with a scalpel covered in bear gore hasn't yet turned me into some sort of half-bear-half-man monstrosity yet.

[nabsthevulture]

How do you get rid of animal parts that you don't use?

It depends. When I could, I would take stuff back out into the desert so something else could eat it/use it as a home/whatever critters do.

Now that I only work on fresher things, I typically use the whole body. If for whatever reason I cant, the parts get frozen and then taken out with the garbage. I really hate doing that though, so I do make the most with anything that I pick up. Excess flesh is turned into beetle food, bones are cleaned or dried for beetle food, I keep certain organs to sell or keep, and then the rest of the guts/unusable meat/fat gets frozen and taken out as well.

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 3

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.08k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (iii) - You

[16 & 17] - THE CAPITOL

When you were six, Eleven had a bad year for crops. Of course, the ones who felt the brunt of it were the district citizens. Your parents had given you half of their rations plus your own, but that still wasn't much and you were starving. So you snuck into the woods in hopes of finding something to eat when you saw it. A coyote stuck on its side, legs too frail to lift itself. 

It looked gaunt, ribs protruding and spine on display. You knew hunger personally enough to recognize it anywhere. But even as weak as it was, it looked at you like you were prey—growling and snapping its teeth from where it laid on its side. 

You knew it could hurt you. No matter how weak it looked, it was still stronger than you and all it would take was one bite for you to get some kind of infection. With how weak your immune system was, something like that would have killed you almost instantly. So you left it there.

As you sit in front of President Snow, you can't help but be reminded of that coyote. 

He's paler in person, face thinner up close. That doesn't make him any less imposing. You fidget in your seat and glance at the door. You know there are four Peacekeepers stationed outside, guns full of ammo. They'll shoot you down without a second thought if Snow wills it, put a bullet in your skull at the snap of his fingers. 

There are dozens of white roses around you, tucked inside vases on any available surface. Almost innocent if not for their cloying scent. It gives you a headache. You’ve never seen so many roses outside of a funeral.

When you received the letter requesting your presence, you were at a loss. The next Victory Tour wasn't for a couple of months. What business do you have in the Capitol? 

You're so concentrated on your surroundings that it surprises you when he finally starts talking. 

"Forgive me, I never personally commended you for your games. I would have done so a year ago, of course, but there were complications." His gruff voice carries in the room. Your shoulders are stiff with tension. 

Is that it? He invited you to the Capitol—to his office— to what? To salute you? Your stylist didn't have you plucked and waxed just for a pat on the back. There must be more behind this, not that you would ever call him out on that. 

He opens a drawer on his right and pulls out an intricately designed, rectangular canister. He places it in front of you, takes off the lid, and picks up a gold-wrapped piece of candy. 

"Many people don't get to relish in the luxuries of the Capitol. For example, this candy. You didn't get to have many of these growing up in Eleven, did you," he chuckles when you shake your head. He knew the answer to that question before he asked it, "No, of course not. But you're a victor now, you should indulge. Butterscotch?" He offers and it feels like bait. 

You're not sure if you can work up the nerve to say no to him, even over something as trivial as a piece of candy. You nod and he raises his eyebrow. You clear your throat, "Yes, please." 

"Good girl." He mutters approvingly, gloved fingers brushing your palm as he hands the candy to you. You barely hold back a flinch. 

He watches you unwrap the candy and place it in your mouth. It's quiet. You can feel your heartbeat in your teeth. 

"It's good, isn't it?" He asks rhetorically but doesn't continue speaking. He just stares. You can't tell if he wants you to answer or not. And when you finally open your mouth to say something, he cuts you off.

"There's something on your mind. Say it." 

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I—I just didn't think my games were impressive enough to garner your attention." You barely did anything worth a spectacle. Your games might have been entertaining, but you're no Finnick Odair. 

“Now, let's be honest with each other. You're thinking, ‘Surely, he didn't invite me here just to congratulate me’, yes?” He smiles with an encouraging nod, almost like a schoolteacher. Are you that easy to read? First Finnick, now him.

You nod, unsure if any noise that comes out of your mouth will be intelligible. 

"You're quite clever for someone of your background. That's why people love you so much. And it's that love that brings you here today. The people want more of you." 

"I didn't know I was so popular." You naively thought the hype surrounding you and your games would die off with the entrance of a new victor. Will you be interviewed by Caesar? Doing another photoshoot for Capitol Couture? 

“I want to explain something to you, my dear, in a way you’ll understand. Imagine a wolf wanders onto your farm—you know what a wolf is, yes? This wolf hasn’t killed any of your cattle, but it has the potential to. Now, you could always get rid of the wolf, kill it, but that’s only a temporary solution. There will always be other wolves.” He scolds you as if you were the one to suggest it and not him. “Why go through the effort of killing it, when you can tame it—give the wolf a bone, so to speak. You earn its loyalty and it protects the cattle from other predators.” You aren’t sure you really follow what he’s trying to say. Are you the wolf? The cattle? You certainly don’t own the farm.

"In the past, I’ve always resorted to getting rid of my wolves. But I’ve found it’s easier to domesticate them. I'll be completely transparent with you as I want no misunderstandings between us. I am in the business of making wolves happy. And something that'll make them very happy is you," your knees ache with how hard you're gripping them, "not even the most blue-blooded citizens can fight the allure of spending a night with a victor. Especially one as captivating as yourself." 

You stare at each other. Your eyes stunned, his apathetic. You’re able to decipher his needlessly complicated metaphor and you wish he was talking about actual wolves. You’d rather take your chances with the predators in the woods than the ones in the Capitol.

“I...I'm sorry, I don't understand. If this is a money thing—” 

"No, I don't do this for money. Although there is a substantial fee involved, the people who are pushing for this are my key endorsers. You provide this service for them and I ensure their loyalty. Wolf, meet bone." 

You shake your head, suddenly nauseous. "Why would I agree to that?" 

"Why? Do you not care about your mother? What of Seeder and her poor children," he asks, tsking at your confusion. "Eleven is our most populated district. It can stand to lose a few people." You hear the threat he's not saying and throwing up becomes a very, very real possibility. 

You say nothing, swallowing around fear and vomit. He leans back in his chair, probably sickly satisfied at how subdued he’s got you.

You've never hated anyone as much as you hate the man before you. Not the peacekeeper that executed your father, or the Crop Overseer that made it her mission to touch as many of the young farmhands as she could. He's going to whore you out to the highest bidder. No, he's giving your body away like a party favor. 

He steeples his fingers. "There's a party tonight. I can expect to see you there, hmm?" 

You nod slowly before remembering what he wants. "Yes, sir." 

"Good," he releases a puff of air from his nose that you can almost count as a laugh. He slides a key card across the desk. "You will be staying at the Marquis Hotel in room 2077. There are only two people with access to the door: you and the Avox in charge of cleaning it. Unless stated otherwise, you will hold all of your appointments in this room." He's given you the top floor, you note faintly. 

"You will receive your assignments from me personally," he sits a paper card face-down in front of you. "This is the name of your client and what time you can expect them to knock on your door. Along with your room number, in case it slips your mind." You pick both cards off the desk, almost expecting them to burn your fingers. But they're just objects. The only thing that can hurt you here is Snow. 

"You've been very compliant thus far. I hope it's a trait you continue to possess in the future." The sound of his leather gloves squeaking against each other draws your attention for a beat. It's a welcome distraction from the blood rushing in your ears. "Now, there's something important I must ask you." 

You look up at him, shaking where you sit. You know your face is twisted into a scowl and you dig your nails into your thighs. 

What more does he want from you? He’s practically squeezing a stone, expecting blood, but can’t he see you have nothing left for him to take? But there’s something Snow knows that you haven’t considered. If you squeeze a rock hard enough, you get diamonds. Finnick finds you with your back pressed to the wall like you’re the only thing keeping it up, scowling at anyone who tries to start up a conversation with you. 

"What's got you pouting, beautiful?" He teases, approaching you with a good-natured smile. 

He leans in next to you, close enough that your bare arm brushes his satin-covered chest with every breath. He's a drink or two in, you can tell by the slant of his eyes and the flush in his cheeks. 

You contemplate it for a second. Should you tell him? You need someone to talk to, or just to listen to you and he's the closest thing you've ever had to a friend in a very long time, especially in the Capitol. That certainly means something to you. You’re so far from your natural habitat and there’s safety in numbers. Though, you guess you’ve never really left the forest, have you? The same rules apply in the Capitol as they do in the wilderness: blend into your surroundings and if a predator spots you, pray to God they lose interest.

"Can I trust you, Finnick?" You ask in place of an answer, eyes locked on the crowd. Snow never said that you had to keep your arrangement to yourself, but it didn't hurt to be safe. You want to confide in him more than anything, but you need to be sure that Finnick won't trade your secret for another. 

He straightens, sobering at your sudden seriousness. "Yeah. Yeah, of course." 

You stare at him for a moment. You've talked to Finnick a handful of times and only had two meaningful conversations that didn't involve either of you flirting. By all means, you shouldn't trust him. 

But you do. You really do.

You take him by the hand and pull him behind you, dodging socialites left and right, to a narrow corridor that nobody frequents. There are too many ears out there and the only people that walk down this hall are Avoxes. And it's not like they can tell anyone what they hear. 

You stand across from each other, so close that your heels touch his boots when he leans against the wall. You open your mouth, hesitate, and close it. 

Finnick pushes off the wall to touch your shoulder, leaning down to try to catch your eye. "What happened?" 

You keep your gaze down; you don't know if you can stomach the look he'll give you when you tell him. 

“Snow…” You trail off, losing steam fast. Finnick stiffens, his grip on your shoulder as tight as a corpse’s.

“What did Snow do?”

You launch into your explanation, starting with the letter you received and ending with the last question Snow asked you. 

"And, when I agreed, he asked me if…if I was still a virgin. Apparently, there's a high demand for my first time." You pick at the skin around your nails, a habit your prep team admonished you for. Nothing pretty about bleeding, peeling fingers. 

You bite the bullet and look up. His sea-green eyes are rocky and there's a grimace on his face. An angry tilt to his mouth, but that's it. No shock, no disgust, none of the emotions that this kind of revelation warrants. You take in his stance. He's tense, but he's not surprised. Almost as if he expected this.

"Finnick, are you...?" Your voice peters out lamely, unable to put words to what Snow is making you do, what you suspect he's been making Finnick do. 

He rocks on his heels and lets out a slow puff of air from his nose. "Since I won my games." 

You shake your head. That can't be right. "You were only fourteen." 

"Only a select few in Snow's private circle could indulge in my services at first. But once I hit sixteen," he shrugs with a mean smile, "I was fair game." Of course. You had thought Finnick was handsome when he first won, in that passing way thirteen-year-olds often thought of others. Obviously, it was a shared consensus. 

And Snow had said that he planned on speaking to you sooner—when you were younger. Stupid of you to think that he was swayed by something as trivial as morals. 

"Who else is he forcing to do this?" 

"You, me, and any other attractive victor with something to lose." The sleeves of his white blouse rub together as he crosses his arms, a sneer stretched on his pretty face. You're quiet. You think of Seeder. You think of Chaff and Haymitch. Cashmere and Gloss. You think of fourteen-year-old Finnick. You think of them in the same chair you were in, guns at their back and faced with an impossible task. 

Were they as scared as you? 

"I had thought...I thought that he wouldn't ask you," he looks at you with a gleam in his eyes that you recognize. It's the same one he had during that first dance. But you can distinguish it now because you feel it; he looks haunted, "Usually, he'd spring it on you as soon as you win, but he didn't with you, so I thought—I hoped …" He cuts himself off, staring over your shoulder. He bites his lip so hard you know it has to hurt. 

You reach forward, using your thumb to pull his lip away from his teeth. He looks between your eyes for a second and you drop your hand. "Hoped what, Finnick?" 

He clenches and unclenches his jaw. "I hoped you were safe." That's...you don't know what that is. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it knocking against your ribcage. You lean your head back with a sigh. You close your eyes and resist the urge to rub at your chest. That's not supposed to happen. This isn't supposed to happen. 

"It almost sounds like you care about me." You joke, voice wavering. You can't do this right now. 

"I do," his arms drop beside him with another shrug, "I care about you." He says plainly, eyes locked on you. Evidently, he's not one to beat around the bush and, usually, you aren’t either. You don't say anything. Speechless is probably a better word for it. And then, he continues on like what he said isn't a revelation within itself. 

"Snow says it's to ensure loyalty, and maybe that's true, but it's not the only reason. His goal, above all else, is to further drive the wedge between victors and the Capitol," he says, an echo of your first conversation. "We're not human, not to them. He made sure of that." 

Neither of you talks, the silence heavy with the truth of that statement. You're well informed now, and you aren't alone in your imprisonment to Snow. You aren't sure what to do with that. It certainly doesn't make you feel better, and it doesn't change the fact that you only have two hours and forty minutes before your appointment. 

Finnick must be able to feel the anxiety wafting off you in waves because he grabs your hand and…pinches the skin between your thumb and forefinger? "What the hell are you doing?" You half-heartedly tug at his grip, more out of reflex than anything else, but he holds on tight. 

"It's a pressure point. You squeeze it when you're stressed or anxious—a trick I learned from Mags." He slides his thumb down to where the bone of your pointer finger meets your thumb and presses down. You both stand like that for at least ten seconds. 

"...It hurts." 

"It's supposed to," he laughs, soft lips pulled into a grin. "The pain, it's supposed to be distracting." It's definitely uncomfortable, but the only thing you're distracted by is his touch. You don't know if it's some kind of placebo effect or if this pressure point shit actually has some validity, but your heart doesn't feel like it'll beat through your ribs anymore. 

Or, the third option. It has nothing to do with the pressure point and everything to do with the man in front of you. This close, his scent engulfs you. Saltwater and something sweet buried under it, a smell you're sure will still be caught in your nose long after you go home. 

He digs in a pocket of his billowy pants and places a card in your hand. 

"Here," it's the same as the one Snow gave you. The only difference is the name, the time, and the room number. 2064, "It's one of my regulars, so I don't need it." He states in such a nonchalant manner, it almost sounds normal to you. 

"Regulars?" You frown before you can catch yourself. A seventeen-year-old shouldn't have regulars. 

"Don't make that face. I don't need your pity. We're in the same boat, remember?" He asks, but it's one of those rhetorical questions that only have one answer. 

"Right." At this point, the waves have capsized your boat. You're drowning, water filling your lungs, but at least you're drowning together. 

"Look, he puts us all on the same floor." He's still holding your hand with both of his. Like it's something delicate, something worth being gentle with. Like it hasn't taken lives. "If you need me, you know where to find me." He offers with a tender squeeze of your hand. And, despite yourself, you believe him. If you need him, Finnick will be there. 

A thought that's just as comforting as it is terrifying. He removes one of his hands from yours and thrusts it forward—correction, one of his pinkies forward in a gesture similar to the one you did months before. You only hesitate for a second before locking yours with his. 

A silent promise.

“Any advice?”

“Advice,” he laughs, short and brittle. “Yeah. Just…breathe and endure. It’s all any of us can really do.” His voice is angry, but his eyes are mournful. That’s definitely not the kind of advice you wanted to hear and you can tell it’s obviously not the kind he wants to give. But what were you expecting, some kind of miracle cure? That’s not the way this works. 

You could always just… disappear. If not physically, then mentally. A trick you picked up in Eleven when the grueling work days got especially long and—Finnick’s pinky is still locked with yours, you hadn’t even registered it. He doesn’t seem too nonplussed about the prolonged contact, quite the opposite, actually.

And, well, it's not like you're complaining.

Present (III) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - DISTRICT FOUR

The escort for District Four, Freesia Ashwind, stands before a rowdy crowd. Most, if not all, of the citizens, are excited to see who will represent them in the Games. 

It makes him sick. 

Finnick stares at the back of her magenta head and cracks his fingers behind him. 

When Finnick was younger, he hated her. Out of all the names she could have picked, all the lives she could have ruined, she picked his. She inadvertently had a hand in the years of suffering he endured. And when he was fourteen, alone and hurting, blaming Snow wasn't enough. 

It's different now. He's older and wiser, and he does still hate her, but no more than he hates every other Capitol. He tunes her out and tries to remember if he's had sex with her. 

After preaching the same spiel she's said every year, she finally says something of substance. 

"Now, normally, it's ladies first. However, since it's such a special occasion, how about we switch it up a bit?" The crowd roars, exhilarated, hanging on to her every word. He's sure she could recite the entire history of Panem and they'd cheer. District Four doesn't suck from the teat of the Capitol like One and Two do, but it's still a wealthy, Career district. 

She approaches the bowl on her right instead of her left. 

He stands alone as the sole male victor. There used to be three others, but they either drowned in their liquor or overdosed on their Morphling. Despite that, she makes a show of it. Swirling her hand around the empty bowl until she plucks the only paper out with a gasp, exaggerated in nature as most people of the Capitol are. 

"Finnick Odair!” He doesn’t know what he was expecting. There—there was no other outcome. Still, he goes cold, heart growing heavy with reality sinking into it. 

Finnick is a good actor. Maybe not the best, but he's certainly up there. Not many people could see through his veneer. It's fragile, cracks and instability on display to anyone who truly knows him—and even then, that's only three people. 

Two of them stand beside him now, waiting to see where the sword will fall. And the other…

Finnick waves to the cheering crowd with a closed-mouth smile. 

The other is lost to him. 

He plays up his enthusiasm, winking and waving. He dons the mask they chose for him: Golden boy of the Capitol, a born killer. Why wouldn't he be excited to get back in the ring? A couple more thoughts like that and maybe he'll start believing it. 

"Ladies next!" A hush settles over the crowd. No one is excited to see this. He glances to his left. Annie is shaking as Mags holds onto her. 

It's so quiet, Finnick can hear the tape tearing off the paper. 

"Annie Cres—” Annie is screaming before Freesia even finishes. He faces forward, biting his cheeks to shit. 

"Oh, it seems we have a volunteer!" He almost breaks his neck from turning so fast. Mags has her hand held high, gesturing to herself. 

The crowd cheers, but this time they cheer for Mags's bravery. Finnick feels like crying. 

As the cameras zoom in on them, he breaks protocol and goes to comfort her. He holds Mags close and kisses the top of her head. He's known her for most of his life and he's still surprised by her selflessness. She must know how high the deck is stacked against her. That, even with him beside her, the odds aren't in her favor. And she still volunteered. There's a reason you and her got along so well. 

He looks at Annie. Her hands are over her ears and she stares back mournfully, more lucid than she's been in years. She makes to come towards them before she's intercepted and ushered off the stage like a sheep. 

Finnick wonders who will take care of her with both of them gone. Annie may not be going into the arena, but this is just as much a death sentence for her as it is for them. 

Right about now, the reaping for Eleven should be taking place. 

Finnick knows Snow well, more than he'd ever admit. He knows, without a doubt, that he put Seeder's name in twice. 

But there's a chance that he doesn't know you as well as he thinks he does. Two years is plenty of time for a person to change. God, he hopes he's wrong about you. He hopes you've grown mean and callous, and you wouldn't even think about trading your life for someone else's. 

He hopes you're safe. 

Peacekeepers approach. Far more cordial than they'd be with the lower districts, but still gripping their guns tight. "Right this way, Mr. Odair." One of them says. He and Mags follow after him, like pampered pigs to the slaughter. 

Present (III) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN  

You don't remember the walk to the stage. You've been out of it since the Quarter Quell was announced. You remember specific instances of Chaff forcing you and Seeder to train, your mother following you around like a shadow—and when you come to, it's to a sea of despondent faces. Every District Eleven resident, young and old, stands before you. 

Argon Wellway is the same announcer Eleven has had for the past five years. His neon purple hair remains stiff despite the breeze. You've always loved purple. It's an odd dichotomy to see something you love on something you hate. 

He steps to the mic, enthusiastic and jaunty despite the dour reception he receives from his audience.

"Hello, District Eleven! Are we excited for the Quarter Quell," he pauses with a wide smile, every tooth on display. The crowd stays silent, "Well, I certainly am. And so is everyone in the Capitol!" 

He steps back, attitude impervious to everyone around him. "Now, for the men!" 

You pity Chaff. He stands by himself on the left, bearing the weight of being the only male victor of Eleven. He never had a chance. 

Argon approaches the bowl on the left like a magician, showy with big movements. He pulls the card out and stands by the mic. "Chaff Mitchell!" 

Chaff doesn't move from where he stands, there's no point. 

Seeder takes your hand and you squeeze back with numb fingers. You don't know where her kids are, the mass of people too big to pick out three children, but you look for them nonetheless. You wonder what they're feeling. You wonder what you’re feeling.

"On to the female victors. This one is especially exciting, a fifty-fifty chance!" There's not a wrinkle on his face as he smiles, skin too tight with Botox. It makes him look inhuman, fitting. 

"Which one, which one," his fingers dance between the two cards inside the bowl, going back and forth like it was a guessing game and not someone's life on the line. He goes on like that longer than needed before deciding, "Aha! This one." 

He steps back to the mic, tearing the tape off the back of the paper before announcing, "Seeder Howell!"

She is quiet, face twisted in an attempt to keep back tears. Her grip is crushing as if she's scared they will drag her away. And you move without putting much thought into the decision. 

You raise your free hand and say, "I volunteer." You don't yell it, you don't need to. 

Your mother lets out a shrill, throat-shredding scream, her voice only elevated by the silence surrounding it. This will be the last thing you hear from her.

Seeder holds on to your hand as you step forward, grip tight. There are tears in her eyes, lips trembling around words she doesn't have the strength to say. 

"I know," And you do. As a mother, she's grateful, but as your mentor—well, "Let me do this for you." You say, but it isn't a request. You're going back into the arena whether she gives you her blessing or not. You can admit your reasons for volunteering aren't entirely selfless. You're going up against seasoned fighters, all prepared to do what it takes to survive. 

But—you don't have to win. No one expects you to win and that...that thought is relieving. You aren't planning on rolling over in the arena and letting someone get a free kill, but this is something Snow won't be able to work around. No matter how hard he tries, he can't manipulate the outcome of the games. And he'll have no one to blame but himself, no one to punish. It's cowardice, in a way, but you're tired. And you think you've been tired for a long time now. You'd be stupid not to take this ticket out. 

Most eyes pity you. You're essentially volunteering yourself to put your head under the executioner's sword. However, some eyes envy you. You're leaving Eleven. For good. For many of the citizens, death is a small price to pay for freedom. But there’s something else, something everyone in the crowd shares. There’s anger, a righteous fury in every face you see. 

Is this the view your dad had? Are these the faces he saw before he was lynched?

You spot your mom a few rows back, someone holding her up. She's inconsolable. You take a moment to look at her for the last time. After you die, they'll make her move out of your house, but you know without asking that Seeder will take care of her. 

"This is certainly a surprise! Very exciting," Argon grabs the stump of Chaff's right arm and the wrist of your left, lifting them into the air, "We have our tributes!" 

No one claps. You don't expect them to. 

Things move pretty quickly after that. You're given no time to say goodbye. No time to try and run. 

Peacekeepers approach and the hands that grab you are rough with their treatment, dragging you and Chaff in the direction of the train. 

There'll be many victors facing the guillotine, many of your friends forced into a death march.

You look to the sky, a quick glance before you're ushered to the train. It's a sunny day with plump white clouds on a baby blue backdrop. It might be the last time you see the real sky as a free woman. Calm and beautiful despite the carnage happening under it. 

You close your eyes for a moment and think. For the first time in almost two years, you'll see Finnick.

[blackbackedjackal]

Saw this on Reddit, could this be a coydog? https://www.reddit.com/r/animalid/comments/105o3g4/local_residents_page_in_mi_cant_decide_if_this_is/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf

I don’t know much about them as I don’t have coyotes in my country but I love learning form your account and seeing the massage variation in them, thank you for posting

So here's the picture of the coyote in question:

And images of the subspecies in that area, Canis latrans thamnos:

The Great Lakes/Northeastern coyotes are one of my favorite subspecies. They have a very unique skull shape and build since they're in this transitional space between the western subspecies and the Eastern Coyote (Canis latrans "var.").

Red coyotes are a very common morph among Eastern coyote subspecies. You see them in almost every Eastern state, and especially within the Northeastern subspecies. Though the theory is that this coloration was introduced into coyote population from dogs, many Northeasterns seem to be this color because it's just beneficial to the environment they live in. I'd need to find the image but there's a trial cam photo of a Northeastern coyote in the woods up there and it blends almost perfectly into the landscape. Coyotes are known for being incredibly adaptable and, as we've seen in Eastern Coyotes, if it's an adaptation they benefit from in a particular area, it spreads realtivly quickly through the populations. I've also wondered if because they look very dog-like from a distance is why you see a lot of them in urban environments (little bit of urban camouflage because the average person would see that color and think they're dogs, so they're left alone and can spread those genes). Here's a group of red Northeastern ones living in downtown Chicago:

There's nothing about the image of that coyote to make me think it's a high content coydog. Read through a lot of the comments on reddit and all these "dog traits" people are looking at are just traits common within that subspecies. I haven't seen a ton of studies done on the Northeastern subspecies but the Eastern Coyotes which are more know for hybridization are still predominantly coyote with admixtures of dog, gray wolf, and eastern wolf within thier lineage. Basically, unless the animal is captured and tested, it's a safer bet to consider it a coyote until proven otherwise.

There was a black coyote that caused a big scene several years ago who was seen actively playing with and befriending dogs. The public was convinced he was a coydog because of his coloration and behavior. He was eventually captured and taken to a conservation center and samples from him were sent to UC Davis. No recent dog lineage was found. He was just a black coyote. His name's Carmine and he's adorable btw

There's also this little lad who was tested and is confirmed to be an F1 coydog. From a distance he would look like a typical coyote, but he's half border collie.

Morphology alone is not the best indicatator for whether or not coyotes have high content of dog or wolf in them, especially if you aren't aware of the differences between the subspecies. Genetic testing is the only way to 100% confirm whether they do or not. Just from that one pic and knowing what area the coyote is from, I definitely think it's a just Northeastern coyote.

[ohtobeleah]

Red Light, Green Light // Mickey Garcia

Summary: For some reason you’d never know, yours and Jake personal Heaven becomes a check point for the friends you left behind. One by one the Daggers come through on their way to their forever life after death.

Warnings: Mentions of death. Car wreck. Instant death. Mickey Garcia Angst.

Word Count: 2.3k

Author Note: This is a spin off Series to Bruises. Masterlist Tagged below.

Bruises Masterlist | Life After Death Masterlist

Name: Miguel Garcia: Age: 55: Cause Of Death: Ejection from moving vehicle resulting in multiple catastrophic injuries. 

***~***~***~**~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Who is this this time?” The brain is the body’s most mysterious organ. It learns. It changes. It adapts. It tells you what you see, what you hear, it lets you feel love. “Bob, Rooster and Phoenix have all come through.” You lulled your head to where your husband sat on the other side of the porch table. The two of you were enjoying a little wine and cheese pairing as the orange hume of the sun cascaded across the rolling hills. “Only Fanyboy, Coyote and Payback are left.” 

“Hello?” Mickey Garcia would even go as far to say it holds the human soul at the very epicenter. But no matter how much research is done, no one can really say how all that delicate gray matter inside your skull works. 

“Dunno.” Jake sighed, he couldn’t help but to squint and lean a little more forward in his chair to see if he could make out who was stumbling up the dirt drive. “You wanna go or should I?” 

And when it’s hurt, when the human brain is traumatised, well—that’s when it gets even more mysterious. 

“I’ll go.” You nodded softly. “I feel like we only just got rid of Tash.” It was still a touchy subject to say the very least. “Hopefully whoever it is isn’t as confused.” 

“Wishful thinking Hotshot.” Jake teased as he cut himself another slice of Brie and placed it on one of those multigrain crackers he really liked. 

As you walked down the driveway, you saw your daughter feeding her chickens, collecting eggs that had been laid and cleaning up the wooden house Jake had helped her build. It was her own mini farm. She was everything. You and Jake knew you had a rough decision ahead of you, to decide when she’d stop aging. But at what point do you decide another soul can’t continue to grow? When a figment of imagination stops being created. It was the down side to parenting in the after life. 

Gravel crunched under every step you took and soon enough you were able to make out the curls that were undeniably Mickey. There was glass all over his shirt and shoulders as blood dripped from his styled hairdo. He looked good, like he’d just been out on the town. 

He didn’t come to you like Bob in his flight suit or Bradley in his hospital gown or even like Natasha who was still in her pajamas. No. Fanboy looked like he was doing something special here—what exactly you didn’t know. 

“So that’s it huh?” You called out to grab his attention. For a second Mickey looked around until he was standing still again, taking you in for all you were worth. “All the WSO’s are out of the race?” Fanboy didn’t look a day older than when you’d last seen him. 

Fuck.

“This is such bull shit.” Fanboy huffed as he kicked up some dust on the drive like a petulant child who didn’t get the desert he wanted. “I had the right of way! That dickhead didn’t even look and I’m the one who dies!?” He pointed at his chest before he shook his head in disbelief. “I was coming back from dinner! I’d been with Becky and her friends and she stayed back and—“ It’s then reality kicks in for Mickey Garcia. He stills all the while his brain catches up with him. “Oh my god—“ It’s then his eyes met yours as they welled with tears. “I’m never gonna see her again.” 

“You will.” You make sure to add before Fanboy can spiral any further into a depressive episode. “Come up to the house with me, there’s someone who wants to say hello.” 

Fanboy linked his arm with yours and slowly he walked side by side with you up to the old but beautiful farmhouse that sat nestled amongst old oak trees and gardens that flowered all year round. He was mesmerised by its beauty—the tranquility of it all. 

“I gotta say, it’s good to see you after all these years.” Mickey began as he tapped his hand over yours as he walked. “But I’m a little confused why it’s you of all people?” Mickey smiled at the chuckle you let out—god that was a sound he’d missed for years and years and years. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of you, or Jake for that matter. How tragic your story was. How meaningful your life was even after your death. “Not that I’m complaining, I just never thought it would look like this.” 

“We’re just as confused as you are.” You explained softly all the while Fanbky caught the sight of a little girl playing with a few chickens. “But please don’t get me wrong here Mick, this isn’t the gates of heaven—“ You tried to explain the best you could. “This is my version of heaven, this is mine and Jakes.” 

“Hangman’s here!?” It was then Fanboy started to look around as you got closer and closer to where you’d left your husband. When the dark curly haired aviator saw the panty dropping smile plastered across Jake's face as he came into vision, he took off running like he’d never run before in his life. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” 

There wasn’t a lick of malice in Fanboys tone as he embraced Jake in the biggest hug he swore he’d ever given. 

“Hey man—“ Jake slapped Mickey's back gently as he hugged his old colleague. “I missed you, really.” 

“You son of a bitch man, you just—one day you were there and the next you were gone and I couldn’t figure it out—“ Mickey was babbling, he was trying to explain how utterly heartbroken the team was after Jake's death. “I uh, I collected your things from the morgue, after, well, you uh—“ 

“You don’t have to say if Mick.” Jake added as he chuckled and sat back down. You followed, only instead of taking your own chair you gestured for  Mickey to take a seat. You decided Jake lap would be more comfortable. It was. “Rooster kinda went a little AWOL after you died, so I went to grab your things and I saw that picture of Hollywood in your wallet and I just knew man—I knew you were dead long before you ever really died.” 

“What photo?” You asked softly as you looked at your husband in the warmth of the afternoon sun. “Honey?” 

“It was just some photo I took way back when—“ You saw the crimson hume creeping itself across Jake's cheeks as he went on explaining. Mickey never got to see this version of the two of you, it felt like a blessing, a chapter finishing on a high it always deserved to have. “We were all hanging around the pool table, it must have been like a week before we shipped out.” You never knew about this. “I snapped a photo of you laughing, god it was just the most perfect picture, Hotshot.” 

“You kept me in your wallet?” How on earth had you never known this. 

“Always—“ Jake replied without a second of hesitation. “You were my WSO.” It was the sweetest of interactions, the most loving of exchanges as Jake leaned in to give you a simple peak full of admiration. “Love you.” 

“Why am I here?” Mickey asked as he flicked shards of glass from his shoulders. “Like I get I’m dead, which sucks so bad because I was about to get married in two weeks!” Mickey explained as tears welled in his eyes at the thought of leaving his fiancée behind. He already missed her, oh so much. “But like, why am I here with you two? And you’re kid?” Fanboy frowned at the thought. “Hold on, how do you two have a kid?” He was throwing out far too many questions way too quickly before you even had a chance to answer them. 

“Okay first.” Jake started as he wrapped his arms around your midsection and drew you back into him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Jake wanted to see if Mickey was dying or if he was already dead. It seemed as though when Bob and Natasha came through they were still just barely holding on. Rooster though, he was dead as dead could be. “Do you hear anything? See anything?” 

“I remember having the right of way at the intersection—“ Mickey sighed as he slumped in his chair. “Next thing I saw was headlights and then I was lying on the bonnet of my car down the road.” It was hard to listen to, but at least it had been quick. “I walked up the first driveway I saw.” You were waiting for Mickey to say he could hear sirens or someone calling out to him. But when he didn’t you knew then and there: 

That he’d died alone, and instantly at that. 

“Oh Mickey.” All you could do was feel a deep rooted sympathy for the WSO who sat in front of you. “I’m so sorry—“ 

“I’ll get to see her again, won’t I?” 

“I hope so.” It was as genuine as ever. “When I first got here I could still hear Jake asking me to stay, but I just had this feeling he wouldn’t be too far behind me if I stayed here and got everything ready.” 

It brought Jake solace to know you weren’t in pain when you left him. That was always his biggest fear. If you suffered or not. 

“I don’t hear anything—“ Again it broke your heart, the poor thing probably didn’t even know her fiancé had died in a car wreck yet. “What do I uh, where do I go?” Mickey cleared his throat as he tried to hold it together. He still wore the ring his fiancée had given him to match the one he’d gotten her. “Do I stay here with you guys or do I just start walking and hope for the best?” 

“Bradshaws with his parents across the hills.” Jake explained as he let his chin fall to your shoulder. “Bobs off somewhere in a music store—“ 

“Phoenix is at the beach house she grew up visiting with her family.” You added softly, still trying to be as sensitive as you could be. “So it just depends on where you’ve always pictured yourself.” 

“So like, if I said I wanted to spend forever in the roller rink my Abuela used to take me to when I was a kid, I could go there?” Mickey asked all the while he admired the beauty that was you and Jake. He never thought he’d get to see this, the happy ending the pair of you deserved. It was all the closure he needed. 

“I think so!” You chuckled. “I’m still not entirely sure how it all works, we don’t even know why you guys keep stopping by.” It was then a light bulb flicked up atop Mickey's head, he knew. He knew why. 

“I do.” Fanboys eyes glasses over with a sadness you couldn’t quite understand. “You guys both took something a little different from all of us when you died.” Jake's hold on you got a little tighter—his forearms pressed against your stomach as he tensed at the thought of leaving his friends behind. “And they say you can’t move onto the next life if you have unfinished business.” It made sense, Mickey had always had a pretty open take on death and the after life. “But our unfinished business died before us, guess this is our way of getting to say a proper goodbye, close that open window you guys jammed open when you left.” 

“Huh—“ Jake pressed his lips into the crook of your neck. “I never thought of it that way.” 

“The brain is the body’s most mysterious organ—“ Mickey could hear the sound of rollerblades racing past. If he closed his eyes he could smell the all too familiar smell of roller rink hot dogs and buffalo wings. “This isn’t the last time I’ll see you guys right?” 

“Nah man—“ Jake confirmed. “We’ll come visit, whenever you need us.” Silence washed over the three of you just as your daughter came racing up the porch steps. Mickey didn’t understand it—but he was happy to see it. “Hey Bug.” Jake pulled his daughter down onto his lap as well. His entire world in his very grasp. “How many did you get today?” 

“Seven.” Mickey swore blind that girl was the spitting image of Jake Seresin. It was almost scary. “I better go put them in the fridge.” 

“Go on sweetheart, we’ll be in soon.” Ellie Seresin didn’t blink twice at the man who sat across from her parents. Mickey would have introduced himself but sure enough, she was heading inside without so much as giving him the side eye. That’s when you told him the truth. 

“She can’t see you.” 

“How come?” Mickey asked, he was cautious not to sound too abrupt. 

“She’s a figment of our imagination.” Jake explained as he watched his daughter through the window. “You can’t create new life in death, she’s not real.” 

“But I can see her?” It was a hard topic of discussion even when it was just you and Jake. She was so real to the both of you. So genuine and pure. But you both knew, one day. She’d vanish. You wouldn’t need her anymore to help you heal. 

“Because you exist.” Was all you said as you sent Mickey a fine lipped smile. “You existed in life so you see everything in death.” 

Mickey Garcia would even go as far to say the mind holds the human soul at the very epicenter. And from what he could gather from what you and Jake had just told him. Little Ellie Seresin was just that. The very epicenter of yours and Jakes forever intertwined souls. And when it’s hurt, when the human brain is traumatised—

Well—that’s when it gets even more mysterious. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai i i @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989 @phoenix1388 @emma8895eb @tsofo26 @itsmytimetoodream

[mutantthedark]

Call Of Duty Modern Warframe II - Sigma's Story

Chapter 1: Interrogation

So much for the meeting with Shadow Company, Sigma felt weird there are only men here. Although she didn't mind and wants the mission to get done.

Weirdly enough, one guy stared at her with confused look, yet shocked, looked like he knew her from somewhere... but he decided to play cool.

Two SAS operators and Los Vaqueros, Alejandro and Rudy did some damage looking for Hassan while Sigma had to help with air support. She was lucky to know Spanish.

After Hassan's capture, Soap's and Sigma's blue eyes met, caught right into sight... He can already tell he never saw a female pilot before. And she couldn't stand Graves talking nonsense, and some of the Shadow mercs are really fond of her... When she met Ghost, her blood ran cold seeing him in skull mask, strong, huge man would beat the shit out of anyone.

From affar before the flight with the Shadows while she met Graves, one of the Shadows said from afar: "Who is this girl? She’s cute and pretty." 

...

Pretended she didn't heard anything.

…

The sky is dark, it's night. The stars can't be seen, a calm peace, only crickets chirping in the field. A faith of howl calling by coyotes in the darkness, then it went silent.

Multiple truck's doors closed as the men jumped out. Soap dragged Hassan out of the vehicle and walks to the field.

"On your knees." Soap shoved Hassan on the ground, removing the black cloth bag off his head.

Graves is working on a signal in front of the green crate while crouching down.

"Ya'll got a clear picture?" Graves asked.

General, adjusting his seat to get comfortable. "Crystal."

"All set." Laswell replied, exhaling the smoke from her lips while smoking a cigarette.

"Alright, we are live, folks." Graves stands up, Hassan watches him approach.

"Do you speak Arabic?" He asks.

“No.” Graves replied, shaking his head.

“Farsi?”

“No.” He replied again, standing in front of him.

Sigma watches them as she stands beside Simon, remaining silent. If Hassan is going to ask her something, he better watch his tongue.

Hassan looks at Sigma, he smirks a little bit. “A woman in war... Who’s holding a weapon.” He starts, “I’m surprised you’re fighting for your country and battles without blood in your hands.”

“Women or men, doesn’t matter. If a man can be one, so do women. So English, you retard.” She replied with harsh voice down her throat.

Hassan nods his head a little bit, turning his attention to Graves. “Of course, then I’ll speak your bastardized medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs.”

“Ahh, see… We’re getting off to a bad start here, Hassan.” Graves gets annoyed quickly, looking on the ground, tapping his foot.

“You are talking to a Quds Force Officer.” Hassan states proudly. All Sigma could just watch and shake her head.

“You’re the commander of a foreign terror organization,” Graves notes, not willing to put any stupid formalities.

“I can say the same thing to you.”

“What’s your target, ‘Major’?” Graves asks, his voice turning into a sarcastic one.

“What was your target when they sent missiles to my land?”

Graves shrugs a bit. “Oh, wild guess… To nails your ass.”

“So insolent and foul-mouthed. You will learn to respect me when your nation sees fire.”

“You will respect an anchor who will sink you in the bottom of the ocean.” Sigma glares at Hassan, crossing her arms. Hassan ignores her, Graves steps closer to him with anger and impatience in his eyes.

“You are in bed with the cartel, Hassan. If you dissapeared, no one would know where to look for a fuckin’ stain.” Graves said as he shakes his head.

“I have no doubt you’ll take pleasure in torturing me.” Hassan replied with a smirk.

Oh, Sigma would definitely torture him, if Graves would let her. Soap starts to speak out-

“Who’d you get American missiles from?”

“I don’t care who they’re from, I wanna know where they’re going.” Shepherd interrupted the conversation.

Coyotes howled in the endless darkness of the shadows, making the others to turn attention. Graves looks around, letting out a low whistle, his hand clutching his tactical vest.

“Take a look around Hassan. Now, you can either become part of the food chain,” Graves lowers himself in front of Hassan. “Or you can start talking.”

“I’m a hostage here,” Hassan states. “This is illegal.”

“You’re a prisoner of war.” Alejandro replied, tilting his head while his hand is squeezing Hassan’s shoulder.

“Iran is not at war with Mexico. I’ve broken no lawns. These men, one useless slut, and their commanders are the law breakers.” Hassan looks at Sigma and Ghost who are they stand beside the vehicle.

Her eye twitches after she heard he called her slut, slowly, her hand is curled into fist.

“You and your beloved General Ghorbrani broke every-“

“Do not speak his name!” Hassan shouted at Soap, cutting him off. He’s forcibly held by Alejandro.

“You executed him, and you will pay for your crimes! Only God can help you now!” He rolls his tongue at Graves angrily.

“I want this bastard in permanent custody or looking up at the goddamn grass!” Shepherd snarled his strict demand through the broadcast.

“General,” Laswell quickly intervened, “Killing Hassan is an act of war, keeping him here is illegal. Right now, he is too hot to hold.”

Shepherd sighs, adjusting his seat. “Tell me you’re getting something actionable, Laswell.”

“Working on it, stand by.”

Graves grabs the laptop and places it on the vehicle’s hood. “Actual, let me finish this.” he loses patience for a second.

“There is nothing I’d like more,” Shepherd agreed with the Commander, “But Laswell's right. Without proof we need to turn him loose. See where he leads us.”

Sigma’s eyes widens after hearing this. Releasing him?! Nonsense! She would’ve asked the questions about the missiles, not Graves. So much for General saying this, making the wrong decisions.

“What?! You can do that!” She joins Graves beside him.

“She’s right! He’s right there, you can’t be serious!” Soap joins along, looking at the screen.

“I’m afraid I am, you both.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Sigma hits the vehicle’s hood and starts to pace out, hands on her hips.

Ghost is holding Hassan’s phone with his right hand, looking at it while standing in place. “Did we get anything from his phone?”

“Affirmative, we got a hit.” Laswell concluded, but not much information required.

“Good. Now, take him back and let him go.” Shepherd confirms.Hassan is watching them, with a smile on his face. Alejandro shoved a black bag back on Hassan’s head, hiding his smile.

“Up, asshole. Come on.” Alejandro grunt in Spanish, raising Hassan back on his feet, dragging him to the vehicle. Ghost shoves Hassan’s phone in his pocket, walking past him.

Soap looks at the laptop and closes it, letting it a grunted sigh. Sigma walks to Graves, clearly not proud.

“That was completely stupid.”

“Call stupid to General who made the choice, but not me.”

“He’ll cause more damage with those missiles, we may be not find who the target is! And we’re just taking him like that?!”

“Sigma…” Graves sighs. “We need to know. I wanted to finish that guy, you wanted to right? Kickass name. We’ll find the missiles and it’s going to be over.”

“Unbelievable…” Sigma shakes her head and walks to the vehicle, avoiding the argument with him. Soap watched it from afar and follows her, gun in his hand.

So much coming to Mexico with Air Support and work with the Shadows, SAS operators and Los Vaqueros. She’s not done yet. She never had blood on her hands in battlefield. Her blood boils by General’s choice, she’s careful with people who can trust the most.

And been in Air Force for 4 years, finally fighting on the ground with heavy loads on her shoulders...

...

Yippeeee, I might draw some cutscenes whanever I can!

[painsandconfusion]

Dionysus

An episodic continuation of 'I Have a Job For You'

(tw: siege, death, starvation, war, alcohol consumption, so much dread)

“..sire?”

The request was timid. A gentle interruption of the king’s somnolescent pacing. 

He sighed, coming to a stop as his eyes fell on his captain. “Yes?”

“..the water has officially run out.”

The king’s eyes fell upward toward the sky. Toward whatever god might still care about them.

None seemed to. This siege has lasted months now with no response. 

No Ares to grant them strength in battle. No Indra sent them rain as they withered. Kratos sent them no strength to withstand this. Odin took their dead and neglected their war. Minerva refused to send him even a scrap of wisdom - of even the smallest morsel of cleverness to find a way out. Ra bore heat down on them every day, not sparing them once.

Not one single god took up the sword in their name. 

Not one god wanted anything to do with them. 

“..sire?”

Ah yes. The captain was still here. Expecting a response. 

Expecting some kind of divine wisdom.

Expecting him to lead. 

But no gods were guiding him. Not anymore. No voices pulled him toward prosperity, wisdom, or strength. 

His people would starve to death in their homes, wrapped around their loved ones and surrounded by their own filth. 

With a deep, languid breath, he gave the command. “Then open the wine cellars. Our people will drink tonight.”

There was a beat of silence as the captain stared at him. “...wine..sire?” Surely wondering if their king had gone mad. 

“Wine,” he confirmed. He looked back to the captain now, crossing the room to retrieve his crown. “Gather the people and have the last of our stores brought to the castle kitchen and let them know to prepare a feast. Gather the musicians and performers and have everyone in their beset. I don’t want a single crumb left in the mornings when we open the main gates.”

In silence, the captain stood. And in silence, they left again.

The king settled the heavy metal over his skull again, just a thin layer of hair and skin between bone and gold. What once glimmered with warmth now felt so cold at it bruised against him. 

He bore it anyway as he dragged himself for the stairs. To his rooms to find a garish outfit to match. Something with tassels and gold and rich furs.

The Coyote offered them no cunning to escape for this. Hephaestus lent them no aid as their swords and spears broke away under the enemy’s blows. Shiva seemed the only one interested in them, watching their kingdom wither and burn. Jupiter gave them no strength to hold out any longer. 

But tonight at least, they would dance with Dionysis. Just this one last time.

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @treasureguardingdragon @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[captain039]

PART 2 The prey

Yautja(prey) x reader

Warnings: Predator/prey kink, sexual, smut, we monster fudging tonight people, ABO, heats, explicit, swearing

(1900s eraish)

Last part <-

You awoke to gentle knocking and a concerned voice of your fathers. You groaned, kicked off the bed covers and struggled with your sticky nightgown.

“You ok hun?” Your father called.

“Fine pa” you finally kicked of the nightgown and sighed mind reeling back to last night.

“I’ll get Betty in here” he said before he walked away. You huffed grabbing a single sheet from the floor awkwardly and pulling it over your naked body. Betty walked in without a knock, she was practically your grandmother.

“Ah, I thought you weren’t due for another week? Or two?” She said, tray in hand with tea.

“Something triggered” you mumbled and she frowned.

“Trigged? There isn’t any alphas here, well except that young lass Tommy” she pointed out.

“Wasn’t him” you quickly said cheeks hot.

“Hm” she said suspiciously.

“I thought a coyote was bothering the girls, so I went out to check I saw nothing but-“ you stopped, you would sound crazy.

“But? Honey I’ve known you since you were in diapers spit it out” she demanded.

“There was something or someone in the woods, I had the shot gun with me, but I froze on the spot and felt my heat triggered, then I heard this clicking and growling noise almost” you sighed, probably side effects, or you were going insane.

“Clicking?” She asked eyes frowning.

“Yeah and like a growl” you tried to recreate it, Betty’s frown getting deeper.

“And the grass moved but nothing was there I swear!” You said taking the tea from her.

“I believe you” she said brown eyes staring at you.

“You do? I don’t even know what I saw” you sighed a cramp hitting.

“There’s a myth, when I was a little girl my parents would tell me about the hunter” you frowned as she sat down.

“The hunter?” You asked.

“Nobody sees it, many have tried to fight it but always ends in death, always their skulls and spine removed” you grimaced at her words.

“The clicking and the noise you make is what some hear, they say it’s a warning, a mark that you’re next” you shivered as her hand patted your thigh.

“I’m sure it’s gone or a myth. You’re not a threat to it” she smiled but you didn’t find any comfort in it.

“Why did it trigger my heat though?” You asked.

“And I smelt- it was like nothing I’ve ever smelt, powerful, not your normal alpha powerful this was primal alpha” you explained and she frowned again.

“I don’t know honey” she muttered and you sighed.

“Don’t ponder on it too much ok?” She said and you nodded as she stood and left.

Despite your triggered heat you went to tend to your horse, avoiding all the stable hands in the process. You had some scent blocker from Betty, some sanitary undergarments on too. You brushed down your horse a surprisingly kind mare with an attitude towards stallions, but she was a sweetheart apart from that. You sighed cleaning out her stall trying to ignore the gut feeling you had and the cramps.

“Miss-?” You jumped hearing Tommy who froze on the spot covering his nose.

“Jesus Christ!” You said hiding behind your horse.

“I’m sorry miss” he stuttered out rushing away.

“Tom-“ you sighed better he go away than stay. You frowned though the same smell from last night hitting your nose, maybe it was Tommy? Maybe he was going into rut?

You followed it without thinking near the woods, Tommy did not go this way, he headed back to the barn. You glanced back to the ranch before huffing and going into the forest a bit. You kept a knife by your side tucked under your shirt.

You heard the clicking again though then the noise. You heard the trees rustle and gulped knife coming out before something thumped on the ground beside you. You couldn’t see anything though, but there was an indent of where it stood. You felt yourself wanting to bend at the scent, what was this? Who was this? You felt yourself weaken too, knife falling on the ground and your knees buckling. You watched the invisible creature move around you and sighed thinking it had left. Soft clicks were by your ear though and you held your breath as you realised it was right behind you. You froze at the leathery hand in front of you, palm up. You saw the claws, you wanted to scream and run, any logical person would. You stared at the palm though, lifting your hand and resting yours on it. A shudder ran through you and you sighed at the coolness of its skin. You were in a daze, the soft clicking somehow soothing to you. The clicks changed, a deep purr coming from the creature. The sound even more soothing and making you tired. You snapped out of it though taking your hand away as you heard your name being called. You stood and quickly turned but it was gone. You stared in shock before returning back to the ranch, ignoring your fathers questions and going to your room.

Next part ->

Taglist:

@itzarat1900

@xxyaoi-nationxx

[breannasfluff]

A Minish Adventure

Noon is contemplating the berries on a bush when his ears prick. There’s the grunt of monsters and the clash of steel. It’s faint, but it’s there. He should probably head back to the boys, but the sound is coming from the opposite direction. They should be safe. Wind is a competent hero and can watch over Twilight.

Mind made up; he takes off at a run.

There are monsters; three bokoblins, but Noon has to stop and stare as he tries to parse out the situation. They grunt and growl, swinging wildly at the underbrush. It’s almost like they are attacking the bushes and there’s no visible person in sight. What’s…going on?

There’s a squeak and a flash of movement which answers the question. Something small, no larger than a mouse, darts between the monsters' legs. It seems to be trying to reach a stump with a little hole; likely to hide inside.

Then a bokoblin is swinging its axe into the stump with a resounding crack. The opening vanishes in split wood. The mouse is even more panicked, trying to backpedal.

Even if it’s just a rodent, it doesn’t deserve to be harassed. Noon waits for an opportunity and then launches himself out of the bushes. The jump takes one bokoblin by surprise and in seconds he’s latched his jaws around its throat. Hot blood fills his mouth, but taking the enemy down is more important. He has practice helping Twilight like this.

Paws braced against the monster’s chest, he tightens his teeth and pulls backward. The bokoblin goes down and he’s off, already bounding for the next one.

It roars and swings a club at him. Noon is forced to flatten himself to the ground, nearly losing his footing. The air ruffles the fur of his ears, even though they are flat to his skull. With a growl, he jumps at the monster.

The bokoblin learns from the fate of its companion and turns to the side. Noon’s teeth latch onto an arm instead, and it becomes an involuntary tug of war. The club comes back and this time lands a glancing blow on his back leg.

Noon lets go with a yelp, shaking his leg to try to banish the tingling. Then he paces around the bokoblin, keeping up a steady growl.

The last one is still chasing the mouse, but with only one to focus on it's doing a better job of evading.

Seeing a chance, Noon darts in and snaps at one of the short legs. The bokoblin falls, clutching at the bleeding wound. It takes a few more bites before it, too, lies still.

Panting, teeth still barred, the coyote turns to the last enemy. His back leg is slowly going numb, but at least it works. He’s going to have a heck of a bruise under the fur, though.

The bokoblin hefts its axe, turning to Noon. Then it takes in the sight of the other fallen monsters and changes its mind, turning and plowing deeper into the forest.

Noon lets him go because he’s not up for taking down another monster alone. If Twilight were here as backup, he would, but the mouse would now be safe.

The coyote turns to head back to the boys and then sits down abruptly. Ah, his back leg isn’t going to support him, at least not for the next few minutes. By Hylia, that stings.

A small squeak has him turning his attention to the ground and he lays down. The mouse is creeping out of a bush, chest heaving. Only…it’s not a mouse.

It looks more like a tiny hylian, although with longer ears. A feathery tail of red and white waves slowly behind it and it wears a green tunic.

“Thank you,” it says, and oh—it talks, too. Definitely not a mouse.

Noon gives a little huff in answer and puts his head on his paws, trying to appear non-threatening. Even if he’s small, this creature is even smaller.

The not-mouse stays out of biting range but gives a little wave. “I appreciate you saving me.” It turns and looks at the ruined stump. “I’m afraid I’m stuck like this for a little bit, though.”

Stuck? What is it like normally, then?

Noon tilts his head, letting one ear flop in question. How he’s supposed to convey anything to this creature is a mystery, but he can try.

“I’m Link,” the not-mouse says. “I’m normally a hylian, not a…minish.” Then he grimaces. “Not that you can understand any of this but…anyway.”

Link. Another Link? What are the chances of Noon stumbling across a stranger in the woods who shares the name with three other boys after being pulled through a portal to a mysterious land?

High, apparently.

Noon gives a little boof and licks his nose, inching a little closer.

“You’re an odd-looking dog,” Link says. “Your ears are too big. And you’re all leg. Are you a half-breed?”

Rude! Noon lifts his lip to show one fang. He doesn’t want to threaten the minish, but he’s not going to be insulted to his face.

“Ah, sorry.” Link rubs his small hands together, then pats them on his tunic. “That wasn’t very nice, especially after you saved me. At least you’re not a cat.”

Then he looks around the woods and pales slightly. “What am I supposed to do now? This was the closest portal…”

Well, Noon can help with that! He wiggles closer until he can nose at the minish. Link squeals and hops back, pulling a tiny sword. The coyote ignores it; he could do little more than prick his nose with it. Gently, he pushes his muzzle into Link’s tunic, causing the minish to give a little oof and fall against his nose. Then he lifts his head a few inches.

Link’s squeak is now outraged and he scrambles, tiny hands grabbing at fur as he pulls himself up Noon’s nose. He’s quick to run up his muzzle and to the top of the coyote’s head, where he pauses, hands tightening in fur.

Now that his passenger is on board, Noon stands. His back leg still throbs and tingles, but it’s recovered enough he can walk. Well, walk with a limp.

“Where are you taking me?”

He has no way of answering, but hopefully, Link will trust him enough not to hop off. Careful of his back leg, Noon sets off back in the direction of Twilight and Wild.

Read the rest here

[flesh-n-bonesss]

An update to my involvement with dead things (GEORGIA PEEPS- you should read this! This applies to EVERYONE in the state of GA)

Well, unbeknownst to me, Georgia (where I reside) changed their laws in 2022 regarding the selling and purchasing of any animal native to the state (GA Code 27-1-29).

I am not longer allowed to sell, nor purchase any animal that is labeled as a native animal in the state of Georgia.

This goes for any animal that is harvested outside of Georgia. It is illegal for me to purchase anything from anyone outside of Georgia, even if the animal was obtained legally in another state.

There are NO special permits I can obtain to legally sell native animal skulls, bones, or parts thereof. I have spoken to DNR regarding this. There are a select few animals who are not protected under this new law (coyotes, beaver, muskrat to name a few…)

This does put me in a hole, as I normally only sell native wildlife that is legally obtained. DNR advised I can legally hold a personal collection of native wildlife, but as stated, no selling or purchasing them.

I will still be selling, cleaning and collecting, but will have to now do so with domesticated animals or native animals considered a nuisance/not protected.

Just wanted to give an update to what I’ve been having to adapt to! I have several hundred dollars worth of raw heads I’ve purchased from animals legally trapped that I’ll now have to just toss out pretty much.

[glass--beach]

do you think the glass beach covers and b-sides (like 1015, world, running) will ever get a physical release? maybe as a comp album or EP? I think it would be fun

covers no, those singles… maybe? no plans but maybe if we accumulate enough. 1015 is actually a favorite of mine. that whole “sick coyote in a cul de sac” section was an enormous lyrical breakthrough for me. “take me off your list” to me is a rejection of the terror of suburbia in the form of a response to a spam call… running is whatever to me it was just some shit we wrote for bill and ted but i’m glad people like it. world is an odd one, was like a casio dad revival that i turned into… something… drunk ska? the “live” video we did with bone skull is the definitive experience for those songs but i’ve never heard many compliments on it bc i had to turn off comments. people left a lot of racist comments because one shot happened to have BLM written on the ground. hate to see it

[definedvines]

my friend is stupid and thinks bears and dogs are basically the same what do you think

why would you ask a zoology major this. you know you're gonna get some insane ass answer.

bears are only related to canines in that they are both in phylogeny categorized as carnivores, which includes a gigantic host of animals-- pretty much everyone with "canine" teeth. so they are just as related to each other as a bear is to a cat, or an otter, or a raccoon. that's all we pretty much know for sure, rest of relation between (phylogenic) carnivores is constantly debated and changing.

the noises they make. their vocals aren't even remotely the same. bears have these really husky grunts/sighs while dogs growl and bark and whine. insane

tails. all bears have this similar stubby type tail. any dog that has a similar kind of tail, or any tail that doesn't look like a long stick in general, is a derived trait new to their species.

overall body/skeleton. dogs are so much freakin leaner! their vertebra are more flexible and make more of a line, while bears' are curved inward as if they have bad posture. bears have a larger pelvis structure and MUCH shorter hind legs. there's a lot of differences to spot. (Left image, dire wolf skeleton from Explorersweb, right image, (extinct) cave bear skeleton from World History Encyclopedia)

skulls. most canids (and dogs that are not derived heavily) have that sloping rostrum, while bears' will stop short. bears also have a pretty distinct postorbital process, and it's actually far easier to confuse their skull with a feline's than a canine's because of those, and the large canines and beeg crushing mass of skull. Not to mention that beeg old crest, called a sagittal crest, on the back of the wolf's head. (Left image, gray wolf skull from Center Of the West, right image, ursidae skull from my lecture on vertebrate classification.)

ears and muzzle/nose. EARS EARS! have u seen bears' ears? those boys got NOTHINN!! look at their beeg thick rostrum with tons of room for nose tissue-- that's where they maxxed all their stats. dogs and canines have more room in their head built for larger more developed ears for hearing!

diet. both can actually be considered omnivores, but canids are far less of ones, usually choosing to hunt for meat. this is something you can tell from their skulls, a bear's teeth includes large flat crowns in the back to crush up plants/fruits/nuts what have you. dogs are mostly big sharp meat-cuttin' jaws (but not as severely as felines are!! those are bonafide canines).

a bit obvious, but size. there ARE small bears and large dogs, but the biggest dog is nothing in comparison to the biggest bear. ursidae generally are much larger!

also climate! you're hardly ever going to see a bear in a hot place! but there are tons of dogs built for savannah, hot plains and deserts-- coyotes, wild dogs and dingos!

i think that's it for my answer, thanks for listening me be weird about synapsids

[strudelbumsen]

Some semi-refs for my BTD/horrorporn OCs! They got a bit of a revamp and redesign.

Top left: Sammy Lovejoy (29, they/them) A stereotypical surface level activist except gone horribly wrong. Sammy stalks down, kidnaps, and kills bigots that they find online, and they stream it to get monetary compensation for their "hard work making the world better." Sammy's activism is incredibly performative and shallow, and they are not in any way an actual good person that cares for those around them. They are a sadist who uses the veil of activism to enact skewed 'justice' that really helps no one in the end. They are very tech savvy, and they program a completely new website for every stream, which has helped them avoid capture so far. The inaccessibility of their work is a saving grace against the cops. Sammy is deaf and uses hearing aids.

Top right: Riley (25, he/she/they) A Strade MC who has the disorder CIPA, which causes them to be unable to feel pain. Strade was immediately fascinated by this and injured them very heavily the first three days she was there. Strade cut off two fingers on each of his hands, as well as causing a huge amount of blood loss that Riley was unaware of and therefore unable to alert him to. Strade did begin noticing the symptoms, and was slightly terrified at the idea of losing such a fun toy. Riley was brought upstairs to live with him and Ren through their recovery, but it ended up being permanent. Riley and Ren get along very well, and their eye patch was a gift from Ren that he sewed together himself.

Bottom left: Rhett (30, he/him) A coyote beastkin and Strade & Fox MC. Strade kidnapped this sad little guy very easily, in fact Rhett just went home with him, thinking it might be a one night stand kind of thing, only to be knocked out inside the door. Strade loved his screaming and cries, what can I say, he has a thing for canidae. Rhett was kept, owned. Strade loved to pit Ren and Rhett against each other and have them fight half to the death for his entertainment. Rhett lived with Strade and Ren all the way up to Strade's death. He was there to watch Ren spiral about the hurt and trauma of it, but was too weak-willed to change his inevitable course of becoming Fox. Ren grew a slight hatred for Rhett, blaming him for Strade being gone and for all the bad he has ever been hit by, loathing him for listening to Strade's orders and beating him within an inch of his life nearly daily. Rhett was the one to be beat up now, being tortured or otherwise fucked with through the entire day every day. And when Fox had traumatized him to the point he was no longer fun, he sold him just like any other pet.

Bottom right: Leigh/Le-le (nonhuman so age not applicable but an adult of her species, she/her) Leigh is a merrow, and her species is capable of taking on a human-like form and breathing on land for a good amount of time. They do need to go back to the water eventually in between sessions of using the ability. Merrow are also capable of human speech, but it can come across as very child-like, slurred, and stilted. More of a mimicry of speech than actual talking. Leigh is kind of a spoiled brat, she is very conventionally attractive to her species and therefore was handed most everything she wanted in life with no effort. Leigh loves being on land, and she love doing risky, ridiculous things. Obviously she had no money so she would steal anything she wanted, or flirt with men until they bought her things. She flirted with the wrong man one day, at the seediest bar she had ever been to. What a great excitement to be threatened to be fucked right there on the table! She was taken with Vincent instantly, so obviously went home with him. Vincent was very shocked to see a nonhuman just like him, and at first was responding very positively and treating her very well. Then she saw the skull in his closet. Vincent took her to the bunker and she was tortured on and off for days. Bizarrely it just made her fall for him even more. What an experience, she has never felt pain like this, it's so delightful, it's so exciting! Needless to say, she joined Farz and Vincent in a polycule, and has been living with them willingly ever since. They installed a salt water pool in the backyard just for her, of course, their spoiled little girlfriend.

[blackbackedjackal]

What was the weirdest thing you've worked on taxidermy-wise? It doesn't have to be like an unusual species, but maybe something odd about the anatomy when you first prepped an animal, or finding an odd color morph or something (or maybe a little of everything lol since you're very into like genetics and collecting Weird Bone specimens with wry noses and extra teeth).

One that really sticks with me is the coyote that solidified my interest in doing research on pathologies seen in the species.

Notice the strange greenish stain on both the jawbone and in the teeth? I'd never seen staining like this before and at this point had been collecting and cleaning some really strange coyotes for a while.

Unless I'm the person who cleans the animal, I'm often missing vital information and clues left in the skin or tissue to figure out what caused a certain abnormality. I'm careful about cleaning every animal separately, all the while taking notes of any initial strange things I see during the cleaning process. Before the skull was clean enough to me to notice the green staining, I did see some pitch black stains where the bullet I assumed had killed the animal was stuck in the tissue. Not an uncommon thing as I'd seen that kind of staining before. These are typically perimortem injuries, around the time of death, so the injury shows no obvious signs of healing. The bullet or fragments of it break off in the tissue when the animal is killed and will still be left in the tissue by the time I get to work. Lead-based ones can stain the bones a dark color while soaking and typically whitens up after being process, but this one didn't.

Not only were the teeth this strange green color, but the surrounding bone had a lot of heavy bloodstaining. This is typically caused from brute force impact injuries, like animals hit by cars but are alive for at least several minutes after being hit. It's usually related to bruising, but in some cases is also be seen in areas where the bone or tissue around the bone is infected. It's these dark pink spots around the orbit and jaw.

I saw where the bullet had struck the animal, but before it was clean assumed this was the bullet that killed the coyote. It's not uncommon for trappers or hunters to shoot animals in the head to kill the animal quickly but there was no bullet hole in the cranium. There was however, a fragment of the bullet lodged in the right body of the maxilla, right in where the marrow and some blood vessels that supply blood to the jaw and teeth were.

This wasn't what killed the coyote. The fragment was lodged in living tissue, long enough that the coyote was suffering from lead poisoning. here's another angle where you can see where the fragment was lodged and how bad the stain was near the point of contact.

In typical Americans hate coyotes form, someone had shot at this coyote at least several weeks before the coyote was killed. Could have been a missed shot and the coyote escaped, but people are extremely cruel and disrespectful to the species, and will shoot at them to haze and injure them, but not kill them. Injuries and infections like this will greatly effect the coyote's ability to hunt, so that can cause them to become "problem" coyotes. They're too sick or injured to hunt wild animals effectively, and will be more prone to scavenging or opportunistic behaviors like attacking outdoor pets or farm animals. Again, I can't determine why the animal was shot to begin with, but I do know why it was killed several weeks later. It was sick, injured, and probably acting really strange. At that point the coyote being killed was blessing, as it would have suffered for weeks before succumbing to it's injures and infection.

When I buy an already cleaned/partially cleaned skull online, I have to work in reverse to identify potential causes of the pathologies I see. Many sellers won't take note of any shards or fragments or foreign objects in the tissue while cleaning. I often loose important clues as to the exact cause of the abnormality. When I clean them myself, I make sure to save everything I find in the tissue and take notes. That way I can refer back to them when I find strange things like this.

Though it greatly saddens me to see any animal suffer in such a way, I know it's important work because it gives me solid information I can use to educate others about coyotes. This skull was sitting in this person's freezer for at least a year or so before I happened to get it in a bulk lot of raw skulls I purchased to clean for sales and for research. It's been invaluable already as it's one of the skulls I cite a lot when doing public education and getting the people I get coyotes from thinking more critically about the species. Many of the taxidermists, hunters farmers, trappers, etc. I work with are very interested in the research we're doing, and like to know the stories of the ones they've crossed paths with. Many of them have stopped hunting coyotes in reckless ways, and no longer view them as pests. In fact, one guy I get coyotes from went from killing maybe 5 or so a month before he met me, to about 5 every 6 months. He no longer views them as pests and pays attention to their behaviors much more closely. He now culls ones he notices are sick/injured on his camera traps or ones that are actively bothering or killing his livestock. He's had far less issues with his local coyotes overall by listening to the advice I've given him, and donates the ones he does take for our group's research. It's a win for everyone, less coyotes are killed indiscriminately, we get coyotes for research that are sourced responsibly and sustainably, and not only is he interested in our research, but he shares the information with his family and neighbors so they spread the information and have really changed the culture of how they feel about the animals and wildlife around them. It's really awesome to see.

Sorry that got into a little ramble but it's the weird animals that have really made such a huge impact on me and the people around me. I'm glad that even in death they can be used as ways to educate others and essentially "save" some of their living relatives. My goal is conservation, preservation, and education about the species, and working with pathological specimens is a big part of that c: