New but strong. Be afraid (JOINING)

[=RACLETT=]

Stranger Danger

Hmm yes stranger danger my friends. He took in the scent sof cats dogs wolfs all kinds. He wouldnt be alone here but he wouldnt be in control. So now he padded through the trees. He followed the scent. Once he was close enough to be found he sat. He dug his claws into the ground impatient. He wasnt strong enough to fight right now though. He was weak and alone so he waited. His red eyes glowed in the faint light his blood red tiger stripes glowed his orange and white base coat shone in the light. He was a tiger a big tiger and he had sharp teeth sharp claws and was in good health though very tired. So now becoming impatient he let out a loing growl. He loved being alone but he had gotten older and didnt have the strength to fight the bachalors anymore. So now he just sat sulking waiting for someone to stumble upon him.
Stranger danger my friends stanger danger the big bad tiger has come to kill. But not u of course no his own flesh in blood his meer daughter but he wants revenge.

[Trench]

♠ Yes, yes, yes, the big bad tiger has come, he has come, with blood in his eyes and on his claws and in his mouth, but not on his pelt, no, oh no, not on his pelt; blood red stripe mean nothing, nothing, for roses are red, but blue is the color of death, that tinge to the skin, death, death, death, and he wears it on his pelt, upon his back. Broken-wing king, indeed, the title slides about his mind, consuming him, consuming the blood of his thoughts, turning his claws to action, bidding him forward, death, death, death, yes, he’ll wear it on his pelt, and so will they all, turned blue, turned red; hell, what did he care what they turned? Death, death, death, it drags him on, for him, for her, for it all; death, death and blood, death and blood and pain, pain, yes, yes, the pain. For him, for her, pain for everyone, pain for her pain, revenge, death to fulfill it, vengeance and all, on himself, on them, all for her, all for her. Yes, yes, the pain and death, it drives him on, and he walks. Ambition swims through polluted waters, tinged red with blood, of his mind, that dank, dark place, toxic to him, to anyone, yet still he breathes, draws breath, pollutes it within himself, and does not die, but exhales plague, brings death on winds which once carried him, but no longer, never any longer; broken-wing king, indeed, it has a ring, it is him, is her, for on her his broken wings lie, still upon that dainty feminine frame which waits before his eyes and drive him crazy in the darkness of night, red of her stripes flashing faster and faster across his gaze until all he sees is red, and to him it turns liquid, flowing across his eyes, until he must see it, truly see it, upon them all, flowing, flowing, and finally falling still when there is none left to flow. But damn, what thoughts are these? Of her, of her?! Damn them to hell, these treacherous thoughts, these all-consuming thoughts; what does he care what drives him anymore, what makes him act? Action is called and so he must act; what the hell does it matter whose call it is he answers? For him, for her; what damned difference does it make? He’ll answer them both, or none at all, or anyone else; just let him act, let him move, let his claws slice and his fangs crush and maim, just don’t let him think, never, never let him think! And his mind goes blank.

your touch is what i’m missing

♠ Darkness, in him, about him, upon this place; dark ages, for him, for them, and dark of night, dark of thought, his mind clogged in inky black, left blank, black paint spilled across the black words, no thoughts, no questions, just black, black as claw, as night, as the deepest hole, and so he walks, mindless, into darkness, darkness of night, literal darkness, just walking, itching to act, but having none to act upon. Where were they? Where the hell were they? Her precious subjects, those damn slinking cowards under that bitch’s worthless reign? Subject he’d turn to warriors and killers, murderers by all rights, if only he could find them! A flash of thought, white like lightning across clouded night sky of solid ebony, and then it’s gone, and still he walks, trudges, massive paws dragging over ground which merely stands to take the beating beneath his frame. Like them all, like them all; like they all should just do. Thoughts, thoughts plague him, drag across his perfect darkness, slice through the peace, disrupting the silence with clashes of thunder which rock his frame as sure as his steps; why couldn’t they all shut the hell up, leave him the hell alone? Just as long as they aren’t of her, of her or of him, just leave him his black, leave him his calm or his white, just get far rid of the red, that damn, condemning color. But there! As though in very rebellion to his plea for peace, or even for nothingness, for sanctuary from her, from her, there, before him, leaking across his gaze, pulling across his eyes, there! Damn it to hell, that cursed color, and here it follows him, no escape, never an escape, for there it is, sitting in repose, making itself home before his gaze. Just who the hell was this? Tongue slides across his maw, pressing painfully against fangs, drawing comfort in pain, that ever present force, the only constant beyond the red, that damn red. Head lifts, lips pulling against fang, as though seeking the same pain which pierced but did not pierce his tongue, but none was to be found, only the ivory of fang revealed, discovered, as lips crept back and away, but did not stab against them, merely fled. Fangs, sharp contrast to darkness of night, displayed openly, as easily as the pelt which spread across his frame, as though he could no better hide them than his stripes, or the broken, fraying stumps of what-once-was. As though natural, as though his only expression, and the fangs yet show, his paws dragging him onward, onward, and ever closer to the red. What drags him now, what pulls him forward? He does not know, does not care, and so he stops; why the hell keep moving, why the hell approach this maggot? Paws settle against the ground, holding down an opponent who no longer holds strength to struggle—tap out, tap out! but it does not, and so he stays, choking it until the blackness takes it, and it remains still as ever; there is no satisfaction in victory over so weak an enemy, but what of him? Tongue presses one last time against the ebbing pain, his eyes sliding into focus upon this brute who sits before him, so comfortable, too comfortable, upon his land, and his fangs part against pull of his lips, his tongue sliding into motion, into work. ”Maggot, I do hope you’ve a damn good reason for getting in my way tonight. What the hell are you doing out here?”

_{♠ ripshank
♠ 1038
♠ lyrics © skillet
♠ I do love my violent boy XD He and cozmo should get along just fine, don’t you think? Haha}
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[=RACLETT=]

coming