#Out of Bears: ooc

[greenzilla4]

Purrrrrple!!!!!

GAH- shit I almost fell. Who's idea was this-

PURPLE ITS MEEEEE OPEN UP!!!!!

. . .

That's it, I'm coming in!

[vxmpirehunterd]

{I look at my writing from years before, then I compare it to now and I'm desperately trying to regain my poetic and fluid--slightly lyrical style I had back then. It's been so long since I've consistently been on this blog rping. It feels as if all the years of severe depression had robbed me of my mojo. I'm trying to get better again--attempting to reach back to the person I was.}

[skegulium]

hey what's up

reblog this if you're a fantroll blog and you want me to follow you (and you're 18+ i'm not following minors lol)

[jane-lynndrake-t]

If you're about to head out, using your IV stand as a kind of polearm will be good for keeping people at a range. But you obviously still need to be wary of guns or other ranged weapons.

If you can make it outside, one of the best things you could do is scream "Fire" to actually attract anyone's attention, or to call out people by specific things they are wearing instead of "somebody help me".

What are some of the most shocking things you found out about? Unfortunately the last 20 years have progressed incredibly far, leaving people lost in the wake.

That’s the plan! I don’t think I could fight off being grabbed, but even if I’m shot at I’m resolved to run no matter what.

I’ve never heard of that before, but that’s such a good idea!

Honestly, nothing has overcome the shock of just how much time has passed.

But I do feel like I took a mini class in computer science while I was focusing on whether or not I could find my specific location.

[belayadyavol]

in relation to yana's hobby of thrifting the ugliest, weirdest shirts known to man - she also gifts them. she'll hold onto a silly shirt for months until the birthday of the person she got it for rolls around.

[kcgarashi]

my favourite thing about muses in this fandom is to know what their infinite tsukuyomi dream would be and like does it stay with them? is there angst around it? do they ever talk about it? it's fun

[stellatenuem]

like this or send an ask or dm me or hit me up on discord (holo_starz) if you wanna write somethin together!

[ask-chimerateto]

that wasn't supposed to happen..! I hope nobody sees this..

[the-great-tiger-of-mumbai]

//Other things you can headcanon around your favorite boxers besides their favorite cereals, video games, shoe sizes, trans and gender, ships, Pokemon, etc:

Their favorite places to go within their birth cities.

Their favorite locally made movies (as in made in their country).

Their favorite local celebrities (from their own countries).

Their favorite local dishes (from their own countries).

The foreign country they want to go and why.

What other languages they can speak (that is not English or the featured language in the game).

Yes, there is a pattern here.

Part of why I absolutely love Punch-Out!! as a game series is how the boxers are internationally represented, even through national stereotypes. But national stereotypes can be fun and even embraced--as a Californian, I embrace Super Macho Man with all my heart. And you can indulge in stereotypes WITHOUT being racist.

I love Great Tiger in particular of all the Punch-Out!! boxers is because his stats and character themes suggest a very interesting background--no Hindu or Vedic imagery, even WITH clones (no multi-heads or arms imagery; the closest you get is Tiger connecting with nature and space), the building he was floating out of appears to be a gurdwara, the composer of his music is Punjabi, and though he comes from Mumbai, he speaks Hindi (when he could have spoken Marathi or Punjabi instead). Not to mention in the NES, Doc Louis has told Little Mac that Tiger's father was a magician. So there is SO much material to work with beyond just his clones.

I know folks are not willing to go the extra mile to do their research, or that research bores them to tears, but I still recommend going that extra mile on your headcanons of your favorite boxers. Glass Joe is not a 15 year old American high schooler, he's a 38 year old Frenchman. Von Kaiser is 42 and from Berlin. Soda is 35 and from Moscow. The headcanons are there, waiting, open for the filling.

It's an invitation to explore, not to avoid. It may feel like much, but trust me on this. Consider this your excuse to visit Madrid with Don Flamenco, who'll be more than happy to take you to other parts of Spain like Zaragoza, Sevilla, Pamplona, and Barcelona. Let Glass Joe talk your ears off on the beautiful fields of Province. Take in the sobering experiences of Von Kaiser living in post-WWII/Cold War Berlin.

If this doesn't help you fall more in love with your favorite boxers, then.... I don't know. You do you. You make your own fun. I'm just sad and lonely in my old people corner, lmao.

[keepslore]

How does failure look like to Dhavi? Is it rational? Is it tangible? Does Dhavi have irrational fears regarding failure? Considering the stage she was thrust onto very quickly, does she readily accept and have people help her shoulder failure and shame or was there some sort of story/person/tale/event that ended up reframing how one can rely on others with failure.

unprompted / always accepting but i regret it sometimes @extravagantliar

In order to know what failure looks like, we need to understand what success looks like, what the pressures are on her.

She was still a child when she was named First. Before she was a woman, she was a Keeper. 12 years old is just old enough to understand the level of responsibility being placed on you, and it's far too young to bear it. From that moment on, she would look to the people around her—the adults around her—not as those to care for her, but as her responsibility. At 12.

Success is very simple; success is the Clan moving in harmony. It's the sick being tended to, and the hunters coming home with food and pelts, and the halla being cared for, and so on. Keeper is the kind of job that, when done well, nobody notices it needs to be done. The better a Keeper is at what they do, the less people notice the pressure they are under.

Failure has always been losing people. Failure has always been the sick dying, the hunters coming back empty-handed, the halla languishing. Failure has always been being blamed for things she had no control over—a bad turn of the weather, an unexpected predator, a sudden illness.

In many ways, failure is a lack of trust. She needs the people around her to trust in her, so that they follow her. She needs to be trustworthy, so that they have no reason to doubt her.

To that end, I don't think she ever really learned how to share the burden of failure. Deshanna was an exceptional Keeper, and Dhavi wouldn't have seen her fail very often, but the few times she did, she saw how isolating it was. How easily the blame is placed on the leader's shoulders, and how rarely the credit. How she couldn't afford for the Clan to see her suffer under her own failure, how she had to remain strong in the face of it. If Deshanna had friends she shared her burdens with, she didn't let Dhavi see.

I wrote once that someone betraying Dhavi felt like she had failed them, because it meant they had to look outside of her leadership to find what they needed. I also wrote "#//failure looks like [FOGHORN]" because it does. Failure is always losing people, to death, to betrayal. It's soldiers falling in battle because she's not a strategist. It's doors being closed because she's not a diplomat. It's Solas insisting on dropping the Veil because she can't find a better way. It's Varric dying at the ritual site because she couldn't convince him of the dangers.

Failure is very personal. It's a tension in her shoulders, a knife in her heart. And she really doesn't know how to share that.

[nihils1999]

Is this working? I think it's working.

Hello, everyone who may or may not read this. My name is Nihil, or Nil for short. My Amir.. Gently persuaded me, to create a space like this, to encourage me to 'get myself out there and make some epic buds', in his words. I'm still not entirely sure what that means, but I'll gladly do so if it makes him happy. I like tinkering with Kitguns, and my Warframe of choice is Protea, though with her temporal anchor mostly nullified.

Man, this 'introducing yourself' is tough when firepower is usually exchanged before any of that happens

I like Kubrows? My Chesa Kubrow is named Duke, and he's currently snoozing on the couch with my Amir. And-- Stupidly late of me to mention I know, but yes I'm dating Amir Beckett! He makes me laugh. And after everything that's happened, that's more than enough. Ah, the makeshift wedding with the pizza cake is something I'll never forget..

But before this turns into gushing about my beloved, I should not make this too long. Something about attention span, he said. Any more curious questions can be dropped in the, uh.. Ask box? It says?

See you out there among the stars! ✨ (Catchphrase!)

[pomniegranate]

Me, trying my luck at following Genshin/Honkai Star Rail roleplayers and hoping they'll follow me back ..... telepathically telling them I'd love to roleplay ...

[dnangelic]

i got back into wuwa to cope with waiting for endfield n i gotta say imagining dark still as a crownless-adjacent TD ripping things apart with his bare hands n claws is still both hysterical and hot 2 me

[irl-batsignal]

So, as a vigilant, on a scale from 1 to 10, how bad do you think it is if a person has been missing for 3 days? And there are very few clues as to their whereabouts

Well.. okay, that depends. If it's a regular civilian, the worry level continues the longer they're missing. But also, you need to pay attention to personality, who called in. There is so much that plays in on it.

But if its someone like Red Robin, him disappearing for 3 days is almost nothing. He'll choose to be found if he wants to be.

But obviously your missing person is not Red Robin. Unless.. But. Great chance its not.

Anyways, really, just. So much depends on the situation, the person's personality. Because I do know regular civilians who are my friends, who will disappear for a few days then show back up like nothing happened. But that's apart of their personality.

But. Just assuming to the first paragraph, I would put that worry at about a 5 out of 10.

But then again, I also know practically nothing. I would go to the missing person's close people to ask more about them. See what they know. All that regular vigilante/detective stuff.

But yeah. I'd put the level at about a 5 out of 10.

[mushroompollution]

Pieces

It's been three days since Elliot has seen his own bed.

One amazing day out with his best friend and equal, one exciting evening with his lover. He had fallen asleep with Leo in his arms, the happiest he had ever been.

But somewhere around midnight, that amazing evening had turned into one night in hell.

Elliot had awoken to an empty bed. After calling for his valet to no response, a feeling of dread had already settled in the pit of his stomach. He had gone to look for him, expecting, hoping to find Leo simply raiding the kitchen or reading in the sitting room.

Instead, he found two headless bodies outside his father's study.

The rest of that night is a blur. He had fallen to his knees at the sight of the third corpse. The Great Duke Nightray. His own father. Beheaded by the Headhunter inside a secret room--

The next thing he knew, he was standing on the sidewalk as orange flames lit up the townhouse. Dressed in only a robe and pajama pants in the cold of winter. His family's precious sword in one hand, Leo's precious glasses in the other.

Elliot had been taken to Pandora's Headquarters in handcuffs after refusing to hand over that weapon. But he wasn't a suspect, Reim Lunettes had assured him. It was merely a formality when dealing with an uncooperative hothead.

The barred windows on the room they set him up in suggested different.

He wasn't allowed to rest yet, though. He still had to give a statement, full of details lost to shock. He still had to answer all the questions hurled at him by Xerxes Break, the swordsman he had always admired.

Unlike Reim, the Mad Hatter wasn't so quick to dismiss the possibility of Elliot's involvement.

But that wasn't what really pissed him off.

Over and over, Elliot had asked about Leo. He had demanded Pandora find him. Of course he was upset about his father. But the Duke Nightray was already dead.

Leo was missing.

He could still be alive.

They had to find him, before it was too late--!!

As Elliot begged and pleaded, eventually it became clear.

He might not have been a suspect.

But his valet was.

The realization had angered him to the core, and once again Pandora's guards had to step in to restrain him.

Though the questioning had ended there that night, it would continue in the morning.

Reim had met him over a very late breakfast, attempting to coax answers through a gentler approach.

Why had they been in that townhouse?

Why had the Duke Nightray come in the middle of the night?

What was that secret room?

Did Elliot know about it?

And what was inside?

By the time the fire department had quelled the blaze, everything in that room had been destroyed.

In fact, it had seemed the fire was started there.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Like he didn't have the same fucking questions?!

The interrogation would start and stop as Elliot's temper flared and receeded, dragging on through the day, and on through the next

When was the last time he had seen his adopted brother Vincent?

How well did Vincent and Leo know each other?

Could they have been working together?

Another line of questioning that had the blood boiling inside Elliot.

He hated to admit it.

Adopted or not, Vincent was his brother.

But

he had always been strange.

Suspicious sometimes.

Elliot hated to admit it. But he could see it. He could understand Vincent's involvement.

But not Leo.

Never Leo.

Finally, after the third night, he was released and permitted to return to his family's estate. To embrace his sister and try to pick up the few remaining shards of their broken family.

But when he expressed his concern for finding Leo, Vanessa had frowned. She had held her baby brother, and assured him,

"You don't need to worry about that right now. I'll find you a new valet myself. Someone we can vet properly, this time."

And Elliot's heart had sunk.

He didn't mean to yell at her.

He was just so tired.

And so he excused himself to his room. Or rather, stormed off.

His door slammed behind him, he takes a moment.

It's only been three days since he's seen his own bed.

But the room feels unfamiliar, unwelcoming as he enters.

Nothing has changed.

His bed sits at the far end, by the window, with its blankets and pillows crisp and neatly arranged as ever, completely unaffected by his own life's upheaval.

It pisses him off.

Elliot storms across the room to throw every pillow from his bed. He tears the duvet from its place, but the way it simply falls to the floor is unsatisfactory.

As he huffs and puffs with rage, his gaze turns quickly to the small, potted pine tree near the window. The little tree that he and Leo had picked out and decorated together. They had planned to plant it after the season, a quiet declaration of their growing, secret relationship.

Another reminder of what he's lost.

Without thinking, he gives the tree a violent shove. But as it crashes to the ground, he's instantly filled with regret.

"No. No. No no no no no--"

He drops to his knees, crawling on all fours as he frantically, desperately tries to recover what's left of the holiday tree he and Leo had decorated together. Shards of glass and scattered pine needles poke and cut his shaking hands as he tries to scoop dirt back into its pot. He doesn't stop.

He can't stop.

He snatches up every decoration that managed to survive the assault, trying to put them back exactly as they were. But his hands tremble, and one glass orb slips through his fingers.

As it shatters, so does he.

After three days, Elliot finally starts to cry. And once the tears come, he can't make them stop. He sobs, burying his face in hands stained with dirt and blood as he screams his throat raw in frustration.

He has no idea how long it takes him to calm down. But when he does, he's left feeling empty. Deflated. His head hurts. His chest aches. His body feels heavy.

He looks at the crooked, broken tree. Then at the soil, pine needles, and colorful broken glass across his floor. And he frowns.

He'll find a broom.

The maids shouldn't have to deal with that.

After a long moment, Elliot finally drags himself up from the ground.

He can feel the dirt on his face, as the humiliation of his outburst begins to settle in.

Elliot could have sworn it was only mid afternoon when he stepped into the shower, but the sky is dark by the time he's out. That could mean anything this time of year, though. He doesn't bother to look at the time.

He dresses in a crisp black vest and dress pants. The grief weighing on him like an anvil on his chest is no excuse for an unkempt appearance. But as he looks at his ties, he feels a lump in his throat.

Of course he can tie a bow himself.

But he shouldn't have to.

Leo should be there. Looking up at him with that same, smug smile.

"will that be all, master? or should i lick your shoes till they shine, too?" he'd ask in a flowery voice dripping with sarcasm. Elliot would punch his arm, and Leo would hit back twice as hard--

Elliot slams his wardrobe closed.

Somewhere along the way in his quest for a broom, Elliot had gotten distracted. Instead, he finds himself outside his mother's bed chambers.

The Duchess had been unwell for a while. The deaths of each of her sons had weighed heavily on both her body and mind.

For three days, Elliot had worried, scared this news would break her.

He finally knocks, before gently pushing open one of the double doors. "Mother...?" his voice feels dry in his throat as he calls for her.

The Duchess Nightray rests in bed, sat up against the headboard. Though her blue eyes hold a deep, profound sadness, she smiles at the sight of her last remaining son. "Come here, my Elly," she beckons, and the proud Elliot feels tears burn his eyes again. He pulls them back with a deep breath in, before he marches so bravely across the exquisite suite to crawl into his mother's arms.

He feels so small. Like a child again, the precious little baby of the family.

It makes him burn with shame.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I couldnt. Do anything to save him. I--"

"Shhh," the Duchess coos, petting her dear child's hair reassuingly. "It really is a pity about Bernard, death is such a sad thing. But it will be alright, Elliot. We'll all be together again very soon, you know."

When he looks up at her, his mother has that same gentle smile.

But something about her words make his hair stand on end.

He's quiet for a moment.

"Everyone thinks Leo's involved with the Headhunter," he finally tells her.

The Duchess tilts her head. "Your little servant who climbs the trees in the garden?"

Elliot nods against her chest.

"That seems a bit absurd," she comments. "He's always been so sweet."

Elliot's eyes feel hot again.

Finally.

Finally, someone who believes him. Who doesn't immediately write him off.

Someone willing to understand.

That anvil on his chest feels a little lighter.

"Yeah...."

The Duchess gives her son a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"You look tired...." she remarks with a note of sympathy.

"I havent. Really slept since...that night..."

She cradles him, just as she'd done when he was young, and begins to hum a gentle melody. As he closes his eyes, he recognizes the lullaby as one of the piano pieces he had written for her over the years.

And then, after three days, Elliot finally gets some rest.

[lunarscaled]

new idea i draw las hoeches TWO with other OCs