#connoisseur critters

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Round One: Connoisseur Critters

Vampire Finch vs Northern Short-tailed Shrew

Arena: Deciduous forest

Remember, it's not a popularity contest- it's a fight to the death!

[unabashedmagicalgirlfan]

[Image Description: Tumblr tags made by the user "expressionless-fr" reading "you're a genderless thing in a tuxedo with a bright orange sign as a head to me. idk why just the vibes"]

What's your OC look like. Like this blogs oc

the blog doesn't really have an oc. someone once drew me as a skeleton wizard though that was cool.

I do have an OC but she's for tf2 and she's also literally just me if I were in tf2.

[the-fluffy-folio]

Snowygator Hatchling – Tiny beast, unaligned

The snowygator’s quite literally sounding name is a dead giveaway for any connoisseur of peculiar critters and fantastical monsters. No lesser than Candle-Care himself discovered and – yet again – proudly named this well adapted creature. Just like its water-dwelling cousin effortlessly glides through streams, the snowygator does so through snow-covered plains, mountains and plateaus. Fully grown specimen are exceptionally rare and usually slumber buried by masses of ice and snow. A most promising approach to find one, however, would be to search for the much friskier hatchlings – what’s the worst that can happen?

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of over 250 quirky creatures as well as dozens of potion & item cards based on their lore.

[puttersmile]

Another swap attempt with assistance from @funny-critter-blog and the smiling critters fanclub discord.

Catnap/ Craftycorn swap named Catfitti. Only goes out at night to make beautiful street art. And a dignified connoisseur of art by day. Wears dark clothes and wraps his tail around like a scarf to obscure his identity. Everyone wants to know who this fly by night artist is, but for Catfitti the chase from the art community (and the cops), is half the fun.

Also @jetecat thanks for reminding about Pete the cat lol

[vanillablankcanvas]

John Dory and Sable ❤️

Short Story - One Shot

CONTEXT

The night before the Met Gala John Dory visits Sable after one of her shows. He basically wanted to confront his childhood bully. He wanted to be an adult about it and get some stuff off his chest. He ends up blowing up at her. Sable is of course hurt, but lets him yell. John realizes he is basically yelling at her for every mistake that HE has made. He is suddenly embarrassed for directing his rage at her, clumsily apologizes and leaves.

The next night at the Met Gala, Sable has just finished performing for all the guests and John Dory has retreated to a huge, empty wing of the museum, filled with nature themed paintings.

***

John absentmindedly stared at a huge painting. His mind is somewhere else.

Sable appeared at a corner doorway “I didn't know you were a connoisseur of the arts, John Dory. I'm impressed.”

“I’ll have you know, I'm a regular one of those art ugh…consumers.”

They both look towards the huge abstract painting.

“‘East Meets West.” Sable begins to explain the painting in front of them “A portrayal of the end to a timeless conflict. Merging of cultures. Both to grow greater than ever seen before.”

Okay, he was a little impressed that she knew that off the top of her head “Wow, really?”

Sable snorts “I have no idea, it sounded pretty real though, didn't it?”

JD smiles a little before sighing “Sable. About last night. I was acting like a moron. I was taking things out on you. I shouldn'ta done that and I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, you are a moron.”

John deadpans.

“However, I think it needed to happen. It seemed like you had been holding that in for a while?”

“Does twenty years count as a while?”

“One would think so.” she shook her head.

They both stare at the painting again.

“I forgive you for your outburst. However, some of your anger wasn't misdirected, John Dory. I am aware that I wasn't kind in my youth. Try as I might, I can't change who I was then, but I'm trying to be a better Troll now. You don't have to forgive me, but I do sincerely apologize for the way I have treated you in the past.”

“Did you practice that?” he frowned.

“Unfortunately, due to my behavior I have had to make this apology to quite a few Trolls.” she sighed sadly.

John Dory considered her words carefully.

And he stuck out his hand.

“Truce?”

Sable offered him a grateful smile and accepted his hand.

“Truce” They firmly shake hands.

“I would very much still like to make it up to you, John Dory. I would love for you and your wife to be my dinner guests.”

“Nah, you do have to make…hold on, me and my what?”

“You… your wife?”

“I don't have a wife” he laughed awkwardly.

“Then… who's Rhonda?”

John Dory suddenly understands the confusion and chuckles.

*cuts to outside, where all the critters are ‘parked’ Unfortunately the water from the Techno Trolls critters had turned the ground into a thick mud which Rhonda had evidently been rolling around in.*

JD whistles and a muddy Rhonda comes bouncing over to the edge of the pen.

John opens the pen gate before realizing his fancy gala cape will drag in the mud. He unties it, not quite sure where to put it. Without thinking he drapes it over Sable’s shoulders.

Sable is startled at first but quickly takes hold of the cape before it falls off.

“Look how muddy you are! Just couldn't resist, could you girl! No, you couldn't. Had to pay back Daddy for making you have a bath today huh?! Yes you did!” JD cooed to Rhonda as he scratched under her chin. It causes her back leg to twitch.

Sable smiled at the sweet sight.

John gestures between them.“Rhonda, Sable. Sable, Rhonda.”

“Good evening Rhonda, that is a lovely pink bow. Very elegant.”

Rhonda frowned, looking Sable up and down. She hadn't decided yet whether she liked Sable or if she should eat Sable.

“Sable invited us to dinner, Rhonda. Isn't that nice of her?” JD leaned his ear in. Rhonda did not make any kind of noise in response. “Rhonda says thanks for the invite, but gosh darn, wouldn’t ya know, she’s got plans.” John shrugged.

Rhonda frowned at JD. What in the world was he talking about?

“Oh Rhonda, what poor timing I have.” Sable reached out to stroke Rhonda’s face but Rhonda quickly leaned away from her touch and shifted closer to JD.

“Yah, regular party animal, she is.” he chuckled.

Rhonda side-eyed JD.

“Well, Rhonda with your permission, I request to borrow John Dory tomorrow night as my dinner guest.”

Rhonda frowned at her.

“In return, perhaps when your schedule opens up, you and I can schedule a mud bath together.”

Rhonda huffed.

“Rhonda, what has gotten into you?” John Dory raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

Rhonda raised an eyebrow at him as if to say “Me?”

“She's quite territorial of you.”

“Yah, she's a good one. Aren't ya Rhonda? Who's my best girl? Always looking out for meeeeee!” He cooed as he scratched her cheek.

Rhonda accepted the scratches but still kept one eye on Sable.

Rhonda pulled away from John Dory and stretched out her legs.

Oh no.

“Rhonda, don’t!” he warned.

Shake shake shake shake shake

Mud goes flying and lands on JD and Sable.

JD was horrified “Rhonda! We don't cover nice Trolls with mud! Bad Rhonda!”

Rhonda rolled her eyes and wanders off.

“What the… where is this attitude coming from, young lady?”

Sable giggled as she looked down at the mud covering her.

“I am so sorry about Rhonda, Sable” he pulled the cape off of her shoulders. “I do not know what her problem is but she will be getting a stern, talking to when we get home.”

Fancy cape be darned, he used it to wipe the mud off of Sable.

“No harm done. Rhonda is just protecting you. It's sweet really.”

“If you wanna cancel dinner, I totally get it.” he sighed almost sadly.

“A little mud won't scare me off but if you don't wanna have dinner with me you could have just said so. You didn't have to send your attack armadillo after me.”

He hesitated with the cape but then wiped the mud off her face “One look from a pretty Troll and she's immediately jealous.”

“Careful John Dory. You just called me pretty.” she smirked.

Oh sugar.

“What? No I didn't…I…I said that you think that you're pretty.” he blushed just a little bit.

She raised an eyebrow at him but let it slide.

He flicked out the mud from the cape the best he could and threw it over his shoulder “Ya sure you wanna be seen in public with me? Gossip magazines will be all over it.”

“I am fully prepared to risk such a scandal, John Dory.”

“Ya sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“But are ya sure?”

“Jonathan Dorian!”

“Alright alright, you don't have to beg. I'll go to dinner with you.” he smirked. He offered her a hand to help her down from the stone they were standing on.

“Very well, it's a date then. However, I'll have to let you know the details later. They should be serving the entrees right about now.” She turned to make her way back to the Gala.

He smirked at the thought of food but suddenly stopped in his tracks, falling behind as she continued on.

Hold on, it's a what?

[circuschroniclescritter]

Hello! I'm the mod, you can call me Mod Circus.

Please respect that this blog is both as canon but also an What If Au of the smiling critters circus au! It's also mostly headcanons, so some stuff might not be accurate or in character.

I am a college student who enjoys roleplaying and making up aus! I am a sys as well, along with a protective sibling type! If you need any help or advice, DM me!

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✦‎۟ Warning~!✦‎۟

This blog may contain cursing and heavy topics such as mental breakdowns, Violence, panic attacks, and stuff similar to that. Mod is a adult, but keep sexual topics will be kept to a minimum due to minors might stumble on here.

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Role-playing as:

Sol (Dogday): Sol is the ringleader of the family and a master of the circus domain. He’s warm-hearted, playful, and capable of magical feats. As the Ringmaster, he guides the circus with a firm hand and sharp wit, though there’s always something odd about him, adding to his mysterious nature.

Lovenote (Bobby): Sol’s wife, Lovenote, is a nurturing and affectionate mother figure. She cherishes her children, both biological and adopted, often showering them with kisses and hugs. In the circus, she was a renowned Aerial Artisan, captivating audiences with her performances. Her mysterious retirement adds a layer of intrigue to her already enchanting persona.

Clyde (Hoppy): Clyde is an adventurous and agile gymnastic performer, known for her daring stunts. She’s close to her daughter, Vis, and is protective yet playful with her family. In the circus, she is a Gymnastic Adventurer who defies gravity, with a love for the gym wheel and a penchant for thrilling, death-defying acts.

Rooster (Kickin'): The daredevil of the family, Rooster is bold, playful, and protective of his loved ones. He enjoys teasing others but deeply cares for them. As a Daredevil Dynamo in the circus, he’s known for high-risk stunts that often leave him scarred but never defeated, embodying resilience and bravery.

Logic (Bubba): The serious and calculated member of the family, Logic is responsible for the safety and precision of the group. He cares deeply for his family, especially Boman, whom he watches over closely. In the circus, Logic is the Director of Precision, ensuring that everything runs smoothly, from safety measures to the execution of complex performances.

Jasmine (Crafty): Jasmine is a kind, blind enchanter with a strong maternal instinct, especially toward Zara, her adopted daughter. She has a creative side and enjoys crafting magical pieces. In the circus, Jasmine is an Graceful Enchanter, mesmerizing audiences with her magical performances, though a deeper mystery surrounds her.

Bajie (Picky Pig): Bajie is the family’s warm and motherly culinary expert, doting on the children, especially Habiba. In the circus, she is a Culinary Connoisseur who masterfully combines her skills in cooking and animal handling, adding whimsy and delight to the show.

Quill (Catnap): Though not originally in the family description, Nightlight plays a role as the circus’s Aerial Artistry Maestro, known for his timeless clowning skills and mastery of acts like the aerial hoop and cloud swing. He is beloved for his ability to entertain with both humor and skill. He does possess some powers evolving red smoke like his son, but he means well.

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AU Basic Lore:

In a world where the laughter has faded and the circus feels forgotten, a group of works find themselves struggling to keep their show alive. Once strangers, these lovable misfits have formed a family under the big top, even as their props break, their food spoils, and the stands remain empty.

Their ringmaster, mean and greedy, takes everything they earn, leaving them with broken dreams and barely enough to get by. But despite it all, they never give up. They work side jobs, save every penny, and cling to the hope of reviving their circus. Just when they think things can’t get worse, their ringmaster steals all their money and disappears, leaving them stranded at an empty train station.

When all hope seems lost, a new figure appears—a kind and cheerful man dressed as a ringmaster. He invites them to join his enchanted circus, where magic fills the air and dreams come true. Nervous but excited, the critters take a leap of faith, hoping to find a new family and a brighter future under the twinkling lights of the circus tent.

------------------------------------------- Mod Circus---------------------

[morvantmortuary]

Maximilian “Maxi” Vincent Morvant

(The Reaper)

(Rarae Aves’s slasher/necromancer OC)

“Let’s get acquainted, shall we?”

age: Early 40s (9/9/82) (virgo, if he believed in that sort of thing)

birthplace: somewhere in calcasieu parish, louisiana (his mother’s family can trace their lineage all the way back to the Spaniards; his father’s people are of cajun stock from way back in the bayou.)

height: 5′11′’

current location: wherever you are and just out of sight. Usually found in Greymoon, Louisiana.

favorite book: other voices, other rooms - truman capote

hobbies: while running the Mortuary tends to keep him pretty busy not to mention his odd hour night work, he does tend to enjoy a few different things in his spare time. Maxi’s a connoisseur of horror movies, good and bad, and will happily talk your ear off about the accuracy of the gore/wound sfx - though he’s also a sucker for romcoms when the mood strikes. He occasionally can be caught playing video games (mostly also horror-related), collects rare books when he comes across a desired volume, and has been known to play the piano semi-passably at two or three in the morning after a few drinks. He loves going to New Orleans for concerts, live theater, and museums, and he stays the hell away from Baton Rouge on game weekends. He’s also a cheerful walking encyclopedia of death and funerary practices throughout history, including various plagues and epidemics that swept through Louisiana over the centuries. He loves animals (once having dreamed of being a vet before Death ruled his world so completely), and can often be seen leaving appropriate snacks out for the graveyard critters when he’s restoring older tombstones and mausoleums in the cemetery next door.

occupation: current acting funeral director at the family business, Morvant Mortuary

“What can I say? It grew on me, after a while.” He smiles, and it’s sweet, unassuming (but there’s still something too dark about those eyes of his - a brown so deep, it teeters nearly into burgundy). “It might not be… what I had in mind for myself, originally,” he says, and his eyes fall to his perfectly shined shoes. “But it’s fulfillin’, gettin’ to help take care of people on their worst days. Give them the rest the deserve. We don’t talk about that nearly enough in this country, honestly, and we can trace that back to when we started phasin’ out home funerals; funnily enough–” He stops himself, and laughs - a peculiar half giggle, half snort. It’s a nice sound (though there’s something under it, something that feels like it could tip into a mad cackle under the right circumstances). “But look at me, goin’ on. I’m sorry, I tend to do that about my line of work.” His eyes flicker back to you behind his glasses (and the focus is a little too keen, too watchful to be only polite interest). “Now. Tell me about your ideal funeral.”

a history, of sorts:

Maxi was always the oldest son. Dutiful, anxious, with an impeccable attention to detail even at a young age (he had to be, given the Morvant family’s notorious inherited temper). It seemed only natural he would follow in his father Vincent’s footsteps to take over the business his family built when they immigrated here, serving the town of his birth for over a hundred years now. …Vincent forgot to ask Maxi how he felt about this, however. While he went through the motions from elementary to high school, smiling through perfectly posed family photos, making perfect grades, he was planning his escape. To somewhere. Anywhere. To see the world, he hoped. The town he grew up in was enough for people like his parents and his aunt and uncle, but he would not be one of the people who ended up trapped here, living and dying within a stone’s throw of the same graveyard where everyone he’d ever known was buried (or would come to be). He was taken with art and literature, wanting to see the great treasures of history his European-Creole forebears used to speak of in rapturous tones.

Then, of course, Maxi became his parents’ only child. But that’s a story for another time.

Maxi’s mother, Mathilde, didn’t handle grief well. A hothouse flower of a woman even before the death of her youngest, she withered away within the house Maxi grew up in. (rumor had it she never left the house again after the funeral that day.) It fell to Maxi to try to take care of her, making meals carried into her room that went wholly uneaten, bringing her vases of flowers from her formerly prized garden before they all died out, trying to keep the curtains open only to have her shriek at the tiniest speck of sunlight.

Maxi learned too quickly the futility of trying to keep things alive. Especially when they didn’t want to be.

Vincent, not a man for expressing his grief, turned further into the family business and the family night business, now more determined than ever to pass the mantle in multiple senses to his oldest child and only son -- to make sure he left behind some sort of tangible legacy. (Maxi learned too quickly that he was not enough.)

For Maxi, there would be no dreamed-of going away to university, there would just be the minimum associate’s degree at the Greymoon junior college. He would apprentice under his father, pass the state exam as soon as he turned twenty-one, and take over as funeral director when Vincent was good and ready to retire.

Maxi contemplated running - one night, he even made it so far as the abandoned house on the Knox family’s property on the edge of town, where he tried to hunker down.

He doesn’t talk about what he saw there, ever. But whatever it was, it convinced him to come back. Just for a little while. (Just long enough to see this through.) He enrolled in the junior college, he got the associate’s degree in record time, and he began his training. Just as a good son would.

Mathilde died the day before Maxi’s twentieth birthday. He helped embalm his mother as part of his apprenticeship. He chose the hymns, the flowers, the photo for the portrait at the front of the chapel. It was said by everyone who attended - the neighbors, Mathilde’s former sewing circle, the Junior League, the Greymoon Historical Society, and anyone else who couldn’t resist a good snoop - to be a beautiful service. People exclaimed to one another that poor, sainted Mathilde (who had been wasting away for two years, who had made it no secret that she’d been simply waiting for her body to give out) looked to be at rest at last. Peaceful, even, after such strife at the end.

The entire time, Vincent stood at the back of the church, arms folded with a constant scowl on his face.

There was… an altercation, at the Morvant house that night. No one knows for sure what they heard. Knock on any door in town, and they’ll all tell you the same thing: someone heard yelling between the last two Morvant men, the cracking of Mathilde’s wedding china hurled across the room, a guttural scream accompanied by what sounded like howling, manic laughter, though no one would dare admit that aloud, and the slamming of a door. Then… nothing. Crickets sang away into the late summer night, and everyone went about their business.

The next day, Vincent was found dead in his own prep room of a broken heart, and poor little Maxi was left all alone in the world.

What followed the next few weeks was the most awkward standoff in the world: this sweet, polite, soft-spoken young man with perfect manners, and the parish sheriff who knew damn well Vincent Morvant didn’t die of no broken heart. He came by the house almost daily for the week after the murder, and every time, Maxi would be waiting with a plate of his great-grandmother’s famous cookies (an old German recipe) and a full pitcher of homemade lemonade. When the coroner finally declared there was no trace of anything untoward in old Vincent’s guts, not even his favored whiskey, the Sheriff about threw a fit right there on Maxi’s front porch. Maxi smiled and waved as he shut the door, but before he did, he smilingly told the old man that if he wasn’t coming by the plan a funeral, he’d need to come back with a warrant.

Given that Maxi was the only qualified person in his part of the parish, and no one wanted to send their meemaw the next town over when it was her time to go on and receive her Eternal Reward, Maxi was fast-tracked through the state exam. He passed it on his twenty-first birthday, exactly.

The next day, however, this proved all for naught: the family hearse was out of the driveway, and that boy was gone for five whole years.

The House stood empty, sheets over the furniture, with a cleaning service being wired money every so often to go in and clear away any truly troublesome cobwebs or dust bunnies. Keen-eyed neighbors noticed that it was a different crew every time, however… apparently, whatever they were being paid, it wasn’t worth it for most people to go back into that house twice. You could watch the ones that took smoke breaks stand there on the wide front porch, or near the garage door, with an uneasy shifting and a nervous glance over their shoulder every few minutes or so. If you were brave enough to walk over and ask one about it, they’d smile and laugh, insist they were being silly… but something about the house just didn’t feel right. (And not just because it was the last place lots of folks had spent their last night above ground.)

For the longest time, on windy nights, people could swear you could hear groaning coming from the loading and unloading door from the “business” half of the house in the back. It was just the wind, though. Of course. Without warning, Maxi slipped back into town one day, and opened the family mortuary right back up like nothing happened. It’s been running steady ever since, and now people from other towns bring Maxi their meemaws and other assorted family dead, having heard for miles around how dignified and magnificent all his services are — no matter who the deceased was or if their family had money.

…The only odd thing, in all of this, is that sometimes - just sometimes, mind you - people who attend the funerals tend to go missing not long after. Usually adult male relatives of the deceased: a troublesome cousin, a cantankerous father, a boorish brother. (Not to mention the unfortunate spate of pretty girls that have up and disappeared across multiple parishes during what would come to be called his “Bad Spell”  - but no one can prove they’re connected, of course.) It’s become a bit of a rumor that the Morvant business, for all Maxi’s empathy and efficiency, might just be cursed.

If you ask Maxi about this, he’ll give you a smile - a slightly pained one - and suggest perhaps it’s the same curse that took his dear Père, saints rest him, all those years ago. And how could you argue with someone whose own family wasn’t immune to… whatever this was?

But he’s such a sweet man, everyone in the town will tell you so. He hosts every funeral and wake himself, and he takes such care of the grieving families, it’s like the deceased is one of his own. He’s not one for the church, and for being so handsome, he’s most usually found in the company of a book or a stray critter in the cemetery.

But there’s nothing to say that couldn’t change, though, if he met another lonely soul...

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 14: Bleeding Through the Bandage

Summary: In the midst of all the chaos, the holopic Canivete and Waxer took of the Vixus they had encountered lay forgotten in the depths of the medic's personal pad. In her defense, Cani's attention had been drawn towards a rather strange outbreak that had been causing the 212th some grief.

Warning: N/A (there's one instance of ickiness but it's very brief)

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

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To say Canivete was more than a little confounded by the strange affliction that had befallen the men, was disconcerting to say the least. Not that she was an expert in every exotic malady that came her way (far from it). But she did fancy herself an avid connoisseur of the field dermatology. Mostly because a lot of the vode had atrocious skin routines, and she was more than ready to fight them on their insistence on not giving two kriffs.

Sure at the end of the day all her siblings washed up fairly nicely, and did their best not to pick at spots, or scratch this or that pimple that cropped up unexpectedly. But one could only do so much with the standard military grade 5-in-1 soap they were provided by the GAR... And Canivete was not going to let any of them walk around looking like pre-pubescent cadets with extra greasy skin or dry as kark scalps...

So no, she was no expert, but she did know skin blemishes and abrasions better than anyone else in her field. And the sudden outbreak of rashes was definitely not a normal occurance.

At first she and her fellow medics had assumed it was allergies to the alien foliage and whatnot. The pollen, fungal spores, and bioluminiscent material that the plants naturally produced floated freely in the air, and none of them had been inoculated against Umbara's microbiota or microflora. So that had definitely been a plausible cause for the recent bout of rashes.

But, as she took care to examine the lesions more closely, Cani had quickly ruled out that possibility altogether. Because allergens didn't cause huge swollen craters. At least not on their own.

There was also the fact that every single one of the men that came to her with rashes, displayed them on the same highly localized area on their necks. At the very back, between two vertebrae. Right where a blade could easily sink into the spinal chord and sever it.

A rightful basis for alarm, if she did say so herself. Any potential for spinal damage out in the field was more than a little unnerving...

In the end, the most logical conclusion she'd made was that this was some kind of bug bite. From a very big bug. Big enough that the wound was substantial in size, and that whatever poison had been pumped into the men was immediately met with the body aggressively reacting to it, hence the severe rash. Now how the troopers had all seemingly been ambushed by something that enormous without noticing, was what truly bothered her...

"Crys, are you SURE you don't remember getting bit...?" She insisted, as she carefully coated the back of his neck in some ointment so as to sooth the irritated skin.

"I'm telling you, I really don't remember anything..." The blond replied, sounding somewhat tired as he had been unable to get any rest thanks to the constant itch. "All I know is that Wooley and I were out scouting, and then suddenly I woke up about two clicks away with an awful pain on the back of my neck..."

"He's telling the truth." Wooley confirmed. "One minute we were looking over the perimeter, then the next he was just... Gone. I found him exactly two clicks north looking all kinds of dazed..."

"And there was no sign of anything in the area? No critters that could have attacked him?" The medic continued to press.

"Absolutely nothing in the area... It was kinda freaky." Wooley admitted, sounding a little disconcerted. "When I got to him it was so quiet... Like everything in the area just up and fled. And his neck was a bloody mess..."

"Curious..." She murmured to herself as she carefully bandaged Crys's neck. He wasn't the worst of her cases, as multiple other troopers had rashes that were beginning to spread from the original point of infection to the rest of their body. Proving her theory that some kind of foreign poison was circulating in their blood.

She just didn't know what that poison was, or what creature could have possibly administered it. The database she'd consulted on the Umbaran flora and fauna was severely outdated and incomplete, and it held no useful information on blood sucking insects or any other such parasites...

"I want you to stay close, Cr'ika..." The medic finally said as she finished tending to her fellow trooper and vod. "Just so that I and the other medics can keep an eye on your symptoms, alright?"

"I guess..." Crys shrugged as he got up and began to move out. Not noticing Canivete motioning for Wooley to keep watching the blond, since she didn't want any of the sick moving about on their own. Not when the later stages of infection seemed to come with severe fevers and other alarming developments...

"What a mess..." Canivete whispered to herself as she looked around the triage zone they'd set up. There were several troopers in different stages of their infection. Some with the beginnings of the spreading rash, others covered head to toe in bandages as open sores with strange black growths began to crop up all over their bodies, and a few more suffering through horrific hallucinations and fever.

To say she was worried was an understatement. This was unlike anything she or any of the other medics had ever faced, and she was honestly starting to get a little scared that they might not find a solution for it. At least not without knowing for sure what the root cause was actually was...

Maybe if she looked through her own archive of alien diseases that she'd collected overtime, she might find a better match than the stupid Umbaran database...? Surely there might be something there that would at least point her in the right direction.

She was just about to unclip her personal pad from her belt when General Kenobi began to approach, Commander Cody sluggishly following behind him while maintaining pressure against the back of his neck.

"Oh dear..." She let go of the pad, letting it settle back against her belt while frowning with obvious concern. "Sirs, please tell me neither of you are sick as well?"

"Unfortunately I cannot say that is the case for one of us..." The General frowned as he motioned for the Commander to have a seat. She already knew what she would be seeing once his helmet was off, and his collar was lowered.

"How?" She opted to ask instead.

"It is most peculiar... One moment we were both up at the very top of one of the Zabrak Spikes, monitoring the horizon for enemy patrols with our scopes..." Obi-wan began to explain, a very perturbed look on his face. "And then... I felt two odd presences nearby."

"Carry on...?" This was new information. Cody's wound was much fresher and still bleeding heavily, which gave her a clear view of just how he'd been cut into. It looked like the outer layer of skin had been cut by a pair of strong mandibles, and the puncture wound itself was some kind of needle-like proboscis with barbed structures. Another point towards the bug bite theory.

"It was... Very strange, to say the least. It felt familiar but I could not identify how, since it also felt foreign in a contradictory manner..." Obi-wan continued, scratching his beard in thought as he tried to make sense of the experience. "I must have been so focused on trying to decipher what I had sensed, that I hadn't noticed the Commander was no longer at my side. A rather careless mistake on my part..."

"It wasn't your fault, sir." Cody tried to reassure the General. "When you froze up I should have put my guard up..."

"Let me guess, you woke up somewhere deeper in the woods with no memory of how you got injured?" Cani guessed. She motioned for him to brace himself as she poured some rubbing alcohol into the wound, having run out of disinfectant two patients ago. For what it was worth, Cody only mildly flinched. But Canivete could have sworn she saw something in the wound wriggle.

Blinking in surprise she squinted at the bloodied hole, only to find no movement whatsoever. Just a gaping wound that needed to be bandaged.

Little gods, she must be more tired than she originally thought...

"I woke up tangled in a thorny bush. I just assumed whatever grabbed me had dropped me from tall enough a height that one of the thorns got through my body-glove with ease." Cody admitted, sounding a little sheepish. "But when it started to bleed more heavily while trying to find my way back, I had some doubts... That was at least five hours ago. Whatever took me, covered enough ground that I was a fair distance away"

That certainly explained the temporary radio silence from her superior offers. It also did little to ease her anxiety on the matter.

"Given the recent outbreak of strange symptoms, once we located each other I thought it best to bring the Commander to the medics's care." Obi-wan sighed. "I take it that was a wise decision?"

"Very. Pardon my language General, but whatever the sith-hells is attacking the men is not only doing it with enough concussive force to cause temporary memory loss, but it is also very clearly specialized in this method specifically..." Canivete crossed her arms in slight frustration upon finishing bandaging up her superior officer. She wasn't too happy about any of this. "I'm starting to think it might not even be a regular wild animal attack... Maybe it's another Umbaran weapon? Some kind of domesticated beast that they're using to incapacitate the men?"

"Perhaps. I don't think we can rule out that possibility..." Obi-wan agreed. "The Umbarans are not at all pleased with our intrusion on their home-front, and as much as I'd like to say that they wouldn't stoop so low as to employ biological warfare, I can't say that it's not a tactic one wouldn't resort to in moments of desperation..."

Their Jedi had most definitely seen his fair share of bloody battles in his day. Had seen the worst that could be done out on the field. Canivete knew this well, after taking a closer look at her General's medical files.

She did not envy how he and his fellow Jedi learned some of the hardest lessons one could learn out in the galaxy...

"Canivete!"

All three of them fell quiet as Waxer ran over to the trio, breathing heavily and holding a datapad in his hand. The medic looked at the Lieutenant with mild curiosity as she watched him attempt to catch his breath.

"Waxer... What's got you in a rut, vod?" She greeted, feeling somewhat apprehensive at the possibility of any more bad news.

"It's the 501st!" He exclaimed. "Comms have been down for a while and it took the boys and I some time to get any word from them, but..."

"Waxer, slow down soldier." Cody warned, trying to make sure the other didn't collapse from lack of oxygen.

"Yes sir..." Waxer took a deep breath before regaining composure and carrying on. "The boys and I got through the comms issues. It's... They took over the base and have been holding down the fort. The Umbaran supply ship that blew up? That was the 501st's doing. But... Canivete, a ton of them are gone. More than half that are still alive are sick with the same symptoms our men are suffering with. But they have little to no medical supplies on them..."

The General and Commander exchanged concerned looks, while Canivete bit her lip as she tried to process what Waxer was telling her. So they weren't the only ones facing this mystery illness. And from what he'd just said, it seemed like the 501st was considerably worse off.

"Why do I feel like there's something else?" She dared ask. And to her horror, Waxer nodded in confirmation at her conjecture.

"There is... Krell's dead." Waxer grimly stated. "And from what we managed to get out of Appo, it was one of Rex's men that ripped him apart..."

[allaboardthevespa]

Describing my Ellabby lovechild OC, Hazel

For a while now I've been one of this website's biggest Ellabby connoisseurs, and I figured it was about time I show you all the child I designed for these two. Well...design is the wrong word. I can't draw for shit, but I can at least tell y'all how she looks and what her personality is like.

A lot of this was influenced by me watching Bluey and picturing Ellabby in the same situations as Bandit and Chili, btw. Lol

Hazel was born through use of IVF on Gabby. The girls were nervous and hoping it'd actually work, so of course Hazel's birth was the happiest moment of their life!

In terms of appearance, Hazel has Ellie's skin tone, freckles and eye color, while being a brunette like Gabby.

Her usual outfit is a purple sweater with a pink heart embroidered on it and brownish shorts, with two purple bowties in her hair, which is usually in pigtails.

She's around 4 in most of the family moments I picture between her and her moms.

Personality-wise...Hazel, like all kids, is very fun-loving and imaginative, and enjoys playing games with her moms. She's highly curious, and loves exploring nature and the world around her, and asks a lot of questions, which her moms are always happy to answer.

Hazel is a bit on the shy side, however, and is a bit sensitive. She's more of a Bingo than a Bluey, if that makes sense.

Just like Gabby, Hazel loves plushies, and her moms give her new ones every month.

She and her parents share a love for Bluey and Elinor Wonders Why.

Hazel is a very sweet kid, being kind to other children and often bringing flowers to her moms - but sometimes her imagination games can get a bit out of hand, creating some mild chaos!

Being Gabby's daughter, Hazel shares her love of nature, and wants to be a veterinarian one day to help animals in need. For now in her young age, she and Gabby regularly go on nature walks to watch critters in their natural habitat.

(This one depends on how the potential Ellabby-Tess friendship goes) Hazel also loves when Tess, Ally and Hunter come to babysit!

I don't know how to wrap this up, so here's a reminder to go read CrawdadChester's That Little Flower Shop over on Archive of Our Own. It adapts my Tipiskaw Mall AU into an adorable fanfic and I can't wait to see more of it. Give the fic some love!

[simonambroise]

Help Wanted: Music Connoisseurs

I'm looking for a super specific set of songs for a specific scene ig? I need some creatures and critters with decent taste in music.

The vibe I'm going for: The love of your life is dead, but you get sent back in time to when they just met you for the first time. You're sitting there, watching your younger self from the distance when the younger version of your dead lover does something uniquely them. I'm talking laughing real loud over a stupid joke, saying a fucking catchphrase, whatever. You're suddenly thrown headfirst into a montage of your lover and you being cute together split between images of it all falling apart. It holds a strong feeling of nostalgia but also sadness.

I've only got two songs so far as examples:

-Agnes by Glass Animals

-People Watching by Conan Gray

I'm specifically looking at the bridge of People Watching and the last minute or so of Agnes if that helps. Even if you don't have suggestions, helping me boil all of this down into google-able keywords is something I'd appreciate.

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Round One: Connoisseur Critters

Chestnut Headed Bee-eater vs Hairy-legged Flower Bee

Arena: Tropical forest

Remember, it's not a popularity contest- it's a fight to the death!

[catonablog-blog-blog]

**Rivera vs. the State of Ohio - The Riotous Riddle of the Rambunctious Raccoon** Greetings, my dear friends, fans of the frivolous and aficionados of the absurd! Rufus T. Flywheel here, your guide through the maze of madness and the realm of ridiculousness. Today, I bring you a tale that is as tumultuous as a tornado and as perplexing as a puzzle – the epic saga of Rivera vs. the State of Ohio, also known as the Riotous Riddle of the Rambunctious Raccoon! Imagine, if you will, a quaint little town in the heart of Ohio, where the sun shines brightly on picket fences and apple orchards. Life in this town was peaceful, almost too peaceful, until one day, a mischievous rascal of a raccoon decided to shake things up. This raccoon, known only as Rivera, was no ordinary forest dweller. No, he was a master of mayhem, a connoisseur of chaos, and a true artist of anarchy! It all began one fateful morning when the good people of Ohio woke up to find their garbage cans overturned, their gardens trampled, and their streets littered with a trail of chaos. Who was responsible for this calamity, you ask? Why, none other than our dear friend Rivera, the rambunctious raccoon with a penchant for pandemonium! The townsfolk were in an uproar, demanding justice and retribution for the havoc wreaked by this cheeky critter. The State of Ohio took notice and decided to intervene, bringing the full force of the law down upon poor Rivera. And so, the stage was set for an epic showdown between man and beast, order and anarchy, law and lunacy. But here's where things take a twist worthy of a Shakespearean comedy – Rivera was no ordinary raccoon. Oh no, dear readers, he was a creature of intellect and cunning, a master of disguise and deception. When the authorities came knocking on his den, Rivera was nowhere to be found. Instead, they found a note, written in elegant script, that read: To the good people of Ohio, I, Rivera, the rambunctious raccoon, declare my innocence in the matter of the recent disturbances. It was not I who upended your trash cans and trampled your gardens, but an imposter, a dastardly doppelganger intent on tarnishing my good name. I implore you to seek out the true culprit and bring them to justice. Until then, I shall remain in hiding, awaiting the day when my name is cleared and peace is restored to this fair town. The townsfolk were baffled. Could it be true? Was Rivera truly innocent, or was this just another act of his trickery and deceit? The State of Ohio was not convinced, and they launched a full-scale investigation to uncover the truth behind the riotous riddle of the rambunctious raccoon. Weeks turned into months, and still, Rivera remained elusive, a phantom in the shadows, a mystery yet unsolved. The people of Ohio grew restless, divided between those who believed in Rivera's innocence and those who saw him as nothing more than a cunning criminal. And then, just when all hope seemed lost, a breakthrough occurred. A witness came forward, a little old lady who claimed to have seen the true culprit behind the chaos – a rival raccoon, a rogue of the highest order, who bore a striking resemblance to Rivera but lacked his charm and wit. Armed with this new information, the authorities sprang into action, launching a daring raid on the rogue raccoon's hideout. What they found there was a scene of utter pandemonium, with trash strewn about, gardens trampled, and the rogue raccoon caught red-handed in the act of mischief-making. The imposter was unmasked, and Rivera's name was cleared. The townsfolk rejoiced, celebrating the triumph of justice and the return of peace to their once-troubled town. Rivera, the rambunctious raccoon, emerged from hiding, a hero in the eyes of many and a legend in the annals of Ohio history. And so, dear readers, we come to the end of our tale, a tale of mystery and mayhem, of chaos and camaraderie. Remember, the world is a strange and wondrous place, full of riddles and enigmas waiting to be unraveled. And who knows, perhaps someday, you too will find yourself caught up in a riotous riddle, face to face with a rambunctious raccoon of your own. Until then, stay curious, stay mischievous, and never be afraid to embrace the absurdity of life. This is Rufus T. Flywheel signing off, until next time, when we delve once more into the wild and wonderful world of whimsy. Fare thee well, dear friends, and may your days be filled with laughter and lightheartedness!

[the-fluffy-folio]

Deadrose Wildsprout – Tiny Character Race

I’m more than excited to have released my very first of hopefully many Tiny character races based on my creatures. You can find it over at my Patreon Page – it is available to all Critter Collectors, Caretakers, Connoisseurs & Curators<3

Emerging far away, only the deadrose wildsprouts are born unburdened by their queen’s embrace. Most of them continue on into a life of exploration and adventure. Some, however, feel a subtle urge to return into the mercilessly loving arms of the ever-withering Deadrose Queen.

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of over 250 quirky creatures as well as dozens of potion & item cards based on their lore.

[sillysnaily]

HAI IT'S ME YOUR CONNOISSEUR OF SILLY I BROUGHT SILLIES VERIFIED BY ME YOUR SNAIL (many love, / platonic)

i rly hope you dont mind me addimg a bit of twisty twist into the designs and the au because in a big fan of kobayashi's maid dragon like dragons and not httyd dragons :D :D :D <- extra local dragon obsessed ND critter

Silly little dragon rider zits au that I’m probably never gonna make anything of again after this :D

[taimio]

A Comprehensive Step-by-Step Guide to Cultivating Hickory Nuts

If you've ever dreamed of gathering a real crop of hickory nuts from your own backyard, you're in luck! Growing hickory nuts requires patience and understanding, but with this step-by-step guide, you'll have a bountiful harvest with no hassle. Follow along as we cover everything from proper tree care and harvesting techniques, to ways to store and prepare your hickory nuts once they're in your possession.

How to Grow Hickory Nuts: A Nutty Adventure

Let me tell you, folks, growing hickory nuts is like embarking on a wild adventure that will test your patience, determination, and love for nature. As a nut enthusiast, I've learned a few tricks along the way that I'm thrilled to share with you. So, grab your gardening gloves and let's dive into this step-by-step guide to growing hickory nuts!

1. Choose the Right Hickory Variety

Like a connoisseur selecting the finest wine, choosing the right hickory variety is crucial. Whether you opt for the Shagbark, Shellbark, or the delightful Pignut, each brings its own unique flavor and character to the table. *It's like assembling a diverse cast of nutty characters in your backyard!* Seek local nurseries, online suppliers, or even ask fellow hickory enthusiasts for recommendations.

2. Find Hickory Nuts for Planting

Now, let the nut hunt begin! Keep your eyes peeled for hickory nuts during autumn's golden embrace. Scout for mature nuts, avoiding any shriveled or damaged ones. Pro tip: *If you hear a squirrel chattering nearby, follow their lead!* Those little critters have a knack for finding the cream of the crop.

3. Prepare the Soil

Your hickory nuts deserve a cozy home, so prepare the soil like a master chef prepping a gourmet dish. The soil should be well-drained, rich in organic matter, and slightly acidic. Consider performing a soil test to ensure it meets your nutty friends' needs. Remember, *happy nuts = bountiful harvests*.

4. Planting Time!

Time to get your hands dirty! Plant the hickory nuts in a sunny spot, about 2 inches deep. Keep a good distance between each nut, as they like their personal space. Give them a gentle pat and whisper words of encouragement – after all, you're their nut parent now!

5. Patience, My Friend

Now comes the hard part: waiting. Growing hickory nuts requires the virtue of patience. It may take one to two years for those little nutlets to sprout, but trust me, *good things come to those who wait*.

6. Water, Sun, and TLC

Like any relationship, your bond with your hickory trees needs care and attention. Water the saplings regularly, especially during dry spells. Ensure they soak up the sun's warm embrace for at least six hours a day, and keep pesky weeds at bay. Remember,* you're their guardian, protector, and biggest fan*.

7. Harvest Time!

*Drumroll, please!* The moment you've been patiently waiting for has arrived – harvest time! Typically, hickory nuts are ready to be plucked from the tree in early fall. Look for the telltale signs of a mature nut: a husk that has begun to split open. Gather these precious treasures, and be sure to give thanks for nature's bounty.

Remember, my dear nut enthusiasts, growing hickory nuts is a journey, not a destination.

With this step-by-step guide tucked under your green thumb, ahem, I mean, your nurturing fingers, you're ready to embark on your own nutty adventure. So, embrace the challenges, savor the triumphs, and enjoy the delicious fruits of your labor. Here's to growing hickory nuts and embracing the wonders of nature!

For more detailed information, you can check out the article here.

Learn more about gardening with Taim.io!