#furry goes punk

[90strashpanda]

Punk opossum! Punk opossum! Causing chaos til the sun comes up.

Ginger © GingerKS_ on Twitter

[lauraluvbi]

xD

[voidcat]

– [16:52]

characters: togame jo, you

notes: use of nicknames (was gonna be pet names too, but oh well for another fic mayhaps) girl help i was possessed idk where this came from. Anywyas enjoy ;w;

Slight vibrations accompanied by a little mew, you scratch the cheeks of the cat by your side, keeping your other arm extremely still.

The cat seems content but a little too energetic to sleep just yet. “Come on now, just rest.” You try to convince the furry fellow, giving ear scratches with your rhythm decreasing to lull it to sleep.

Not the wisest place to lie with a cat on your chest; streets are one thing but Shishitoren territory is on another level by itself.

Lucky for you, this is one of the streets their members rarely walk upon— that, or they’ve just decided to leave you alone for now, embarrassment still fueling hot in the blood of novices and some wayward punks.

“I just want you to use me as a pillow.” You almost wail at the cat with a pout, the cat not caring in the slightest as to what you want, purring and playing with your fingers.

“Is the offer on the table for others?”

A voice from afar breaks the peaceful space you and the cat had crafted, footsteps beginning to make themselves heard, drawing near with each step.

“Because if the little guy won’t, I’d like to take up on it.” The owner of the voice concludes, stopping several steps away from you.

The cat jumps off of you in an instant, bothered by the sudden raise of noise, disappearing into a narrow alley as all you can do is to sit there and watch them go away.

The lack of warmth quickly takes over your body, and you still remain in the same position, same spot. You don’t need to raise your head to be met with Togame Jo’s smug face, his grin already loud in the words he spoke.

“No can do.” You let the sweetness of your tone to drop, mourning the loss of the cat and your limited amount of solitude in the process.

“Come now.” He singsongs with open arms, still keeping his distance. “Gonna turn away a stray just like that?”

He sounds amused if anything, all the more annoying— “last I checked, you weren’t a cat Togame.” You say his name slower, emphasising on it.

The arms drop and he rests one to his hip, leaning his body weight on one foot as well. The use of his name works as you hoped, even just the slightest tinge of annoyance blooming works just fine.

“Back to the pleasantries, I see.” With the last of his word, he resumes his walk toward you.

“And what could I have…” *clink clank* his sandals echo in the air, “possibly done…” *clank* the sandals come to a stop, a curtain of shade cast over you, you can tell he is standing right next to where you lay, “to have upset my doctor dearest now?”

He speaks the words like honey as he crouches down, arms resting on the surface next to you, brushing against your skin, he tilts his head to the side and with each exhale, you can feel his breath tickling your skin.

The nickname does not help once bit. He always makes it a point to remind you of your embarrassment when you’re least expecting.

So what if you were a little naive back then! Unaware just how often and intense the lot of them would fight… if it’s a crime to be concerned at the sight of a human you saw as acquaintances covered in blood and bruises, getting worried and rushing to his side for first aid— sure you’re guilty as charged, take them in officer! put on the handcuffs and lock them away while you’re at it!

“Let me think…” you hum, bringing a finger to your lips to fake thinking. Your arm aches for being still for so long but you try to hide it away.

“Disturbing the peace of citizens, getting in the way of a potential sick animal’s rescue, asking people to use them as body pillows, initiating physical contact with people unprompted… I think the list goes on, don’t you think?” You turn your head to face him as you finish.

He stands close, too close, if you were to lean forward just an inch, your noses would brush already. And worse of all, he looks more smug than anything, just staring into your eyes, uncaring of the empty look you are careying

“An interesting list of accusations.” Togame speaks up after holding your gaze long enough for both of you to grow bored. “But mostly baseless, should I add.”

You raise an eyebrow in return, bringing both your hands by your chest to clasp them.

“The cat part can be handled any time,” he says as his eyes go up, as if thinking on ways to capture the cat later on, “but someone respectable such as you, doctor dearest, shouldn’t go around, spreading rumors now.” He says as his eyes find yours again.

“And last I checked, the physical contact wasn’t unprompted.” The grin returns to his face, with each word, he goes down a volume.

The grin grows bigger and bigger, the same unnerving one on the opposite sides fear, and the same one he loves to use when he feels like he has the upper hand on you. “You enjoyed it, in fact.”

And with the drop of the ball, he waits for your response, only receiving an eye roll in return, then one hand raising from where it lay to flick him off on the forehead.

The same empty mask is nowhere on your face— too many emotions in fact, all boiling, fighting to retort, say something back, bark or shut him off. But it’s an endless battle like that, only ending with one side speechless. And if anything to come by, you know when to admit defeat.

Like now, as unfortunate as it is.

Togame is the first to break the scenery after some time passes, the sky beginning change its colors. Getting up and stretching his arms, he opens his eyes to steal a glance at the sky.

“Heard it may rain today. Dont want a repeat of last time now, do we?” He says as an invitation. Reaching out his arm to you, bent by the elbow, he watches as you repeat after him, get up, stretch your arms and get off the platform you were sitting.

With a sigh, you link your arm to his and immediately pull him to your side with little force.

“Well then Mr. Stray, lead the way.”

[squeakadeeks]

merry christmas my gift to you is telling a terrible tale since I think enough time has passed (ie over a decade) that i can tell you this without exploding.

when i was like 12 and starting out with art, i was so excited to open commissions just like a ✨real artist✨ and it being deviantart in the 2010's, within about a month i got someone asking for furry inflation fetish art. being a kid and having no sex ed, let alone the insanely specific sex ed that would be needed for me to understand what that is, i didnt flag it as inappropriate. I thought it would just be a "cool anatomy exercise like ✨real✨ artists do!" i was so ready and i took it on for 200 llamabucks or w/e the onsite currency was at the time. i did it, i drew it, whatever. well sure enough after posting it i quickly learned what furry inflation art actually was and i was mortified. being in like.....7th grade i was still terrified of sex and i was worried about my parents finding out so i took the entire sketchbook and buried it under my mattress. I lived in fear for months afterwards and felt like i deserved to be shot for falling for it and making something sinful.

the proceeding events happen in a confusing haze because my mother is an utterly puzzling woman so some suspension of disbelief is required but believe me when i say. i wish this was apocryphal. I dont know how or why, but some how some way my mom not only finds the sketchbook under my mattress, goes through the entire thing, finds the one singular offending sketch, then in a concerning mystery i will invest not a single iota of effort to solve due to the implications, immediately clocked that it was sexual fetish art. the one saving grace of a spherical wolf being niche enough that people wouldnt understand the dark deed i had done was out the window. She rips the page out, goes downstairs and parades it to the rest of the family like: "oh my god! look what ____ drew! lets all look at this! lets all look at this right now and laugh at it!" even with just this, i'm full on bursting into heavy hiccuping tears. as a kid this was the ultimate nightmare. you did something bad, you did something really bad, and your primary authority figure not only found it, but is now making sure everyone else you care about also knows the horrible shameful thing you did. except. there was something i couldnt have fathomed at the time that was about to get much, much worse.

my grandfather was dying of parkinson's at the time. when my mother took the sketch and displayed it to everyone like an auctioneer with a high ticket item, i ran out of the room sobbing so i never saw what happened to the blue inflated wolf with punk bangs. Well we all went to visit grandpa. we're all sitting around grandpa who used to be a famous local artist and was a big inspiration to me as a kid. and my mom goes "hey. ____ also wants to be an artist. Do you want to see what they drew?" and you'll never fucking guess what she pulls out of her pocket. hes barely able to turn and look over only to see that goddamn motherfucking wolf again. unlike before where i was crying so hard i couldn't breathe i remember being dead silent and stone still in shock. i dont think i blinked for 5 minutes but when i got up i threw up in the bathroom lol. I cant remember how but this time i did actually get the sketch back and i tore it to pieces and buried it in the yard. it haunted me for YEARS

but anyway now i have a memory of my mother showing my dying grandfather furry inflation art that i accidentally made when i was in middle school because i wanted a rainbow llama badge on deviantart.

[you-cant-fuck-megaman]

I liked the questioning about repli beauty you brought up. So, as we go into this rabbit hole, can we attribute the appearance and preferences for own image of a repli to previous programming and the way the X program developed itself?

Like, it started with humans building the first repli series and setting human society as a parameter of likeness for non-battle/labor replis, and from there, the replis just continued the trend when building the next ones?

Also, is the operating system on the next one based on a blank template or does it come from the repli that programmed/designed them, in a kinda genetical passing manner?

a fantastic question! there's a lot of big question marks about how things work in the X world that aren't really delved into. the question of operating systems is a surprisingly straightforward one, as we know that there are at least three eras of reploids: the original line made from X's template, the improved line made by Dr. Doppler from the X3+ era, and the "New Generation" Reploids in X8+ made by an unspecified designer/developer for spaaaaaace work.

but image preferences? hooooooooooooooooooo. i can't offer a solid answer. but here's some ramblings about my thoughts.

what we DO know is that Reploids were derived from X's template and that they started off as copies of his design/aesthetic, and if we're to take the Archie series as any level of canon (probably level 2 extra-canon) we have a very clear visual as to what the early reploids looked like. and that, despite this, the X series features mostly furry robots as characters.

now, on an out-of-universe level, i want to say that i remember this decision was made because it creates more imposing silhouettes--megaman is a franchise designed for baby children first and foremost, and it's easy for child brain to correlate humanoid shapes as friends and feral beasts as enemies. however, A: i cannot find a source for this, and B: Sonic the Hedgehog

in either case, whatever the reason is, in-universe we have a very clear disparity between the originator of reploids being humanoid (the original term repliroid is even a portmanteau of "replica" [in the likeness of] and "android" [a humanoid machine]) and the majority of on-screen reploids not being humanoid. which tells me that body image is a BIG THING among reploid culture, and either chassis remodeling is a relatively easy process or a lot of reploids are willing to invest a lot into being a different person than who they started out as.

this is something briefly touched in the Classic series, with Tundra Man (a late line Robot Master) intentionally remodeling himself into a body type that he prefers, but it's fleshed out further with the (chronologically farther) X world in the design changes to the non-animal characters--Zero, Alia, and Sigma all similarly sport different bodies as the series goes on. the only person who doesn't change much in the main series is X, ironically enough, outside of Command Mission. Alia X8 and Layer are silly designs that were designed for fanservice first and foremost, but we can reasonably surmise that (in-universe) they chose to look that way. i'm not about to tell a woman she can't wear a car hood as a bra if she wants to, but i will think that it'd look better if it was put back on the jeep because i need that to fucking drive.

meanwhile, there's a lot of obvious correlations to be made with early X Mavericks and their designs being optimized for the environment. icy area gets the penguin. aerial area gets the eagle. underwater area gets the octopus. but as the series goes on, the correlations become significantly less appropriate and it's clear that animals were chosen for their design aesthetic. the munitions factory gets.....the hornet.....? i guess, like...the hornet stinger missiles.......?

it makes more sense if you take iwamoto's X mangas as level 2 extra-canon like the archie comics, because Blast Hornet was a reploid biker-gangster punk who became a hornet for the shock factor. which ends up leaning back to the original theory that reploids ultimately end up choosing how they look--if not from the onset, then further down the line.

you could probably make a solid argument that the X series is a very trans-friendly future, and that nearly every major character is trans and nobody bats an eye about it. instead the robot police are mad about the crimes and murder. but the creed is "be gay do crimes" so this is actually oppression 🙄

[stitchwraith-stingers]

(some-what of) an analysis on patty possom(?)

inspired by this post on the PE-AZ yes this episode is my fave yes i unironically love patty yes i was a fnaf kid yes i am utterly deranged

some of these r incoherent because its midnight and i wanna post this as fast as possible before i go to bed and wake up at the crack at dawn

yayyy patty ^_^

one of the first things ive noticed post becoming alive like the next frankeinstine is that her eye wasnt fixed by the mechanics, which as ill discuss later imply a sort of negligence (? i think) to the properly, i however dgaf and like to interperate this as her having a lazy eye <3

she seems to be a genuially nice person!!!! um . i dont know how to continue this paragrapth pretend theres something here thats interesting

imagine being born into the world and already having a dreadful fear of being abandoned. crazy, mustve impacted her very hard

though this probably means it gave her fake memories or she was already sorta vaugely away of whats happening?? like psudo sentient?? if that makes sense, how the hell do you know this girl, you havent BEEN to the devils sacrament

the way she goes about it and the ending shows that she has no clue on how to socialize or their cues at all, or just cuz of the pov its intentionally shown as more creepy (which it probably is, you could hear her go "where r u going :(" in a sad tone), shes a massive werido and i love her for that

point is, shes nice but has no idea how to say "nooo dont leave me haha" normally cuz she just appeared 2 seconds ago with no idea of proper communication, does that make sense..... help

heres the thing i love about this the most, shes at the end of the ep shes seen dragging background character #47 in the same tone of voice and hes seen uncomfortable. PAN TO THE NEXT SLIDE IN WHICH THEY SEEM OK IN THEIR PRESENCE

LIKE . THE GUY JUST ACCEPTS HER HAND TO HOLD WHEN SHES SHOCKED..... THEY R BESTIES AND IM TIRED OF PPL OVERLOOKING IT, and the fact that i dont think we get to see him again (cuz they couldnt fit him anywhere in the background? i think) makes it better for me, balding old guy notices furry twice his size scared of being left alone so he decides to stay here just for her.... MANNN

the general area

lets see, were right off the bat were introduced to a good few places, the fun tunnels, the game zone, a claw machine thats rigged, the place with the signature snack which i wont go over because thats kinda of its own gag but its sticky and probably unhealthy, and the main stage

i assume the fun tunnels are made with a holograpthic effect inuniverse, and i think theres some LED lights in there to make it glow, i was going to say its polyethylene plastic but i dont think that exists google stock photos lied to me, also not related but it looks like a horrible spray paint job was done on this thing lol

also acording to the lyrics theres supposed to be 3 more members, a raccoon, cat and turtle . i dont think we see craggle in photo though rip (if theyre not a sphyinx ill be dissapointed), tyrone seems to have a 60's? aesthetic going on, rascal has a punk aesthetic going on and patty has a more modern aesthetic ? i think, the spiked collar is throwing me off

from winns dialouge in the start implying that they havent been here in a good while ("when i was little" ur in 5th grade) and the fact that their instruments are still there, then this was probably a recent desicion, or atleast long enough for a 10 y/o that hasnt been here in awhile to be upset by this and for patty to be immediatly spawned in with abandonment issues

along with a rigged claw machine and the snack i think it implies that the people over there who own this establishment are probably really cheap, and the fact that the PRAMBY snack is really sticky is definatly going to cause some health issues down the line, something something fazbear entertainment

oh and also, theres like a split second frame where this shows up, obviously its just there as a morbid joke but atleast it shows us this establishment is atleast old enough to have someones decaying body be bone by now, which after writing that makes me sound stupid because skeletonization might not take as long as i thought it would ("3 weeks to several years" depending on the surroundings)

whoever was there seemed to have been stuck for 25 days at least and has gone undetected, which means this place is linked to one unsolved missing persons case and they dont have a clue (most likely), also theres ballpit balls inside this thing i fucking guess?? theres no actual ballpit in the place idk what this kid was doing

i have tried to make up a map of how the place looks but im always bad with rooms ? and i had to take a fewwww small creative liberties with this cuz i couldnt figure out where theyd be but close enough👍👍

[catball]

my post i just spent forever typing about this just got spontaneously deleted so im not trying as hard on this one. wizard hat staple of middle school skipper’s weekend wardrobe

aging up a little we have the red and white striped shirt which i wore the shit out of in middle school and the loud ass bowling alley carpet button up i wore the shit out of high school, accompanied by of course the ever present lemon demon tee. transition from the red button up to the loud blue one represents baby skipper’s transition from being a weezer panic at the disco gorillaz villagers type guy to an oingo boingo talking heads they might be giants ska punk type of guy as he started high school. i really wish i could find better pics because i feel like the blue button up lemon demon shirt combo is so iconic in terms of baby tober fits

first outfit is definitely less ivonic in terms of skipper fits to me but it still goes crazy. super representative of me as a person at that time i think… the kitten tights paired with the rainbow skirt the furry shirt and my confetti tie… next picture is definitely an iconic skipper fit to me, complete with my beloved shirt which i gifted to @swagginess and my tie which i feel like starts showing up around our wardrobe a lot more around this point

[dandy-dog]

📌🌈🐶☀️

★ SOLAR - 23 YEARS OLD - QUEER - POLYAM - CLOSED - AUTISTIC - GNC TRANS GUY - ALTERHUMAN - WHITE - BRITISH - HE / IT ★

Hey there! My name's Cody, but I generally tend to go by Solar, Ray or Sunny online. That said, you can call me pretty much whatever you want. I'm not too picky. I'm a hobbyist artist, occasional writer and professional dog who's had the misfortune of being on this miserable hellsite (do people still call Tumblr that?) since 2014. I was around before then, but I didn't make an account until that point. My blog isn't strictly NSFW, but I do reblog posts with dirty humour and references to sex. So if you're a minor or someone who doesn't want to see that kind of thing? I wouldn't recommend following me. Want to know more about me or about this blog? You can find more info under the cut! ✌️

The dividers in this post were made by @chocoperrito and you can find them here! ❤

》 WHAT'S THIS BLOG ABOUT, DOG MAN?

I'm glad you asked! This is my main blog so it's generally just a mish mash of all sorts. Anything and everything pertaining to my interests goes here, it's a total free-for-all. That said, you can mostly expect reblogs about queer topics, political and social issues, different media that I like, shitposts and furry art. Lots and lots of furry art. I may occasionally post my own art here and possibly my own writing in the future if I feel confident enough.

》 WHAT ARE YOU INTERESTED IN?

I am, in fact, a human person with nuance so you can argue that no matter how many things I tell you that I like? None of this will even come close to conveying the full spectrum of who I am, so please keep that in mind. I'm more than my interests. That said, it doesn't mean I can't at least give you an idea of the things I enjoy so to name a few things offhandedly: I really enjoy art, writing, reading, poetry, photography, filmmaking, animation, cartoons, video games, RPGs, 3D platformers, visual novels, folk punk music, ska music, 80 and 90s visual aesthetics, bright colours, primary colours, breakfast foods, thrifting, kitsch, antiques, tacky button-ups, animatronics, toy restoration, early 2000s internet, xenofiction, medieval fantasy, lost media, queer history, TV history, film history, furry history (namely the funny animal era and 2000s era), cooking, horror movies, folklore, cryptids, musicals, storytelling, worldbuilding, history, psychology, archaeology, zoology, etymology and space!

》 WHAT MEDIA DO YOU LIKE?

I like a lot of different media and the ones I actively choose to engage with fluctuates pretty frequently, but currently the ones of note are... Pokémon, Warriors, Watership Down, Animal Crossing, The Lion King, Ginga Nagareboshi Gin, Beastars, The Legend of Zelda, Bugsnax, Banjo Kazooie, Viva Pinata, Spyro, Crash Bandicoot, Sonic The Hedgehog, Zero Escape, Ace Attorney, Another Code, Welcome To Nightvale, Little Shop Of Horrors, Ride The Cyclone, Starkid, Be More Chill, Heathers, Cats, Waitress, In The Heights, Silent Hill, Resident Evil, A Nightmare On Elm Street, Child's Play, The Gregory Horror Show, The Owl House, Steven Universe, Portal, Half Life, TF2, HLVRAI, What We Do In The Shadows, Our Flag Means Death, Interview With The Vampire, Doctor Who, Red Dwarf, Scott Pilgrim, Sam And Max, The Good Place, Gravity Falls, My Little Pony, Night In The Woods, Slay The Princess, Dragon Age, Fable and Good Omens! Hyperfixations are bolded, because like it or not I am autistic and that does affect which of these wretched things will get a stranglehold on my attention at any given time 👍

》 YOU'RE QUEER? WHAT ARE YOUR LABELS?

I'm a gender non-conforming trans man. I go by he/him and it/its pronouns and I mostly use masculine terms (man, dude, guy, etc.) or non-gendered ambiguous terms (thing, mutt, dog, etc.) to refer to myself. That said, all this does vary whenever I feel like it and I've got no intentions of trying to mirror cis men. I see myself as a man in the same way Bugs Bunny is a man, masculine in theory but pretty malleable in practice. A man but tilted a bit too much to the left so it doesn't quite fit on the "pallatable for cis people" gender shelf.

My gender is pretty intertwined with my non-human identity; All genders feel like a costume but ambiguously fruity man is the most comfortable one for me personally. I'm a vaguely man-shaped dog thing that's just trying to resemble a person above all else, if we're being entirely honest here.

I use the labels pansexual and queer pretty interchangeably. Gender doesn't really play a part in who I'm attracted to, it's pretty irrelevant and just kind of a neat bonus more than anything. That said? Overall I'm predominantly attracted to other queer people! I do class myself as acchillean because of my attraction to other men but in a non-committal handwave kind of way, considering how weird my relationship with my own gender currently is.

I consider myself as polyamorous. I can comfortably exist in both monogamous and polyamorous relationships but between the two? Up to now I've found the latter is my preference.

Also, I know I don't owe anyone an explanation about my identity. I'm talking about this because I'd like to (queer expression is fun to talk about yippeeee) and not because I feel obligated to. People aren't owed your life story, especially people on the internet ✌️

》 DO YOU HAVE A BYF / DNI?

No, I don't have a DNI. I've come to realise that the culture surrounding DNI lists in online spaces isn't healthy and I'd far rather just curate my own spaces however I feel like it! Not that I wasn't doing that before now but given that? A DNI feels like an unnecessary step that just serves to perpetuate that culture which I don't want to do. The block button exists to be used, I block people wherever I need to for the sake of my own comfort and I recommend you do the same 🤷 That said: I'm a queer neurodivergent leftist. So I have the exact kind of opinions you'd probably expect with those descriptors in mind. All good faith identities are valid, any kind of queer exclusion is bad, bigotry towards any marginalised group is bad. Fascism and capitalism are both poison, cringe culture is dead, do what you want forever so long as it's not hurting anything or anyone and everyone deserves kindness unless they themselves don't show it. Truly some never before heard takes here on Tumblr dot com.

》 WHAT ABOUT A TAGLIST?

Not yet, but I'm slowly working on it. In the meantime? Here's what you mainly need to know. You can find my talking and general shitposts under solar talks, or my art under dog draws. I do have content warning tags! I try to be conscientious and tag anything that I know is a common trigger for people (blood, gore, bones, bright colours, insects, etc) as and where I can. I format all of my content warning tags as "cw //" and then whatever the content of the post is that needs tagged. So for example, if you don't want to see insects? You can blacklist them on my blog using cw // insects and that should stop you from seeing anything with a number of legs you aren't comfortable with. This same format applies to all of my content warning tags. If there's anything more specific you need tagged? Don't be afraid to let me know. I'm happy to accommodate you wherever you need so long as it doesn't infringe upon my right to exist; If it's something that triggers you? Then it warrants being taken seriously.

》 WHO'S THE GUY IN YOUR ICON?

That would be my fursona, Circuit! He is me, I am him, I love showing him off to people so although the art may change? He's usually the face of my online pressence. Here's his current (slightly outdated, whoops) reference sheet that I made for him:

If you're curious, the art of him I have as my Tumblr icon currently (as of February 4th 2024) was a commission I got and is drawn by Pawtastic!

》 WOW, YOU TALK A LOT.

Sure do bud. Thank you for noticing! Want to hear me talk more? Then I have some sideblogs you can check out if you feel like it. fuzzypath is my Warriors sideblog (active) funky-fella is my Bugsnax sideblog (semi-active) canid-canon is my writing sideblog (WIP, inactive) I also have a NSFW sideblog dedicated to outright hornyposting, but respectfully I'm not sharing that here. If for whatever reason you'd like to see that? PM me privately to ask for it and if you're both 18+ (have your age clearly stated somewhere on your blog) and someone I trust to see it then I'll most likely give it to you!

[katyspersonal]

your mutual friend group is terrifying and i love it

PFFFFTTTTtttTttTT I am glad to hear this, anon xD Honestly my random morbid cannibalism jokes is not even our final form, usually it goes more like:

nobody:

me, hyperexcited: GUYYYS GUYS I just realised something after playing BLORBOrne for 50th time, I am such a dumbass ahaha! Turns out that there is a very hard to see detail in the data of Boris (datamined by Russian hackers: ( x ))! The shade of his right eye is kinda white-ish which lines up with theme of losing eye color upon becoming a furry, so despite boasting about his grip he has been secretly reading furry pr0n comics more than he should have! (tagged: #blorborne #boris the cocksucker #blorborne observation #as usual I notice this kind of shit too late AAAAAAAAA #listen it is 5 AM don't @ me)

someone: Katy pls I don't even know who Boris IS 😭

me: What do you mean, he is an easy to miss summon in Horse-Plinked Village!!! By the way, there is a bunch of lore that can be concluded from his items that he never uses but they are in the game files, even though he doesn't have any dialogue!

someone: 😭😭😭

my friends FANDOMette, Wow and Chicken: *reblogging* (tagged: #this is sooooo interesting #really nice observation I never thought about that #I am NOT normal about this #blorborne #boris the cocksucker #nice to finally see more ideas about boris)

fareehaandtheitalians: Girl this is incredible I HAVE NO WORDS, I feel like I am gaining Insight points when I am reading your posts

Jara that reads like 'jara' and not like 'yara' lol: *reblogging* (tagged: #yeah nobody is really safe from corruption in this setting #just like in real life xd #no wonder that I like this game so much because it is just as hopeless as reality #xd #bloorborne)

Chicken: *reblogging from Jara that reads like 'jara'* *screenshot of the tags* GIRL ARE YOU OK 💀💀💀

me: *reblogging from Chicken* NO ONE WITH AT LEAST A BASIC AMOUNT OF BRAINCELLS CAN FEEL OK IT IS NO ONE'S FAULT THAT YOU THINK LIFE IS ANYTHING BUT FARM OF SUFFERING

me and Chicken: *start fighting in the reblogs with progressively ridiculous points about meaning of life and idiotic memes*

fareehaandtheitalians: *already started doodling a meme based on this, as if to immortalize it in a tapestry*

Boom: *reblogging the showdown at its final point when me and Chicken already obliterated one another into a bloody mess* (tagged: #ehehe #stay silly you two!)

other Elden Twink mutuals: *eat popcorn*

Comic: *reblogging* WHY CAN'T YOU TWO BE LEFT WITHOUT BEING WATCHED FOR EVEN ONE DAY?!

Jara that reads like 'jara': Lol I made everything become cursed again xd

Chicken: No, Jara (reads like 'jara'), it is not your fault! You see, none of this would have happened if SOMEONE finally admitted that they are simping for [insert a character that either has the worst haircut in the setting or is so generic-looking that it actually embarrasses me]

robertzombie: *reblogging* She WHAT? People in this fandom have the worst taste I swear

me: You see FRIEND, we will know who ACTUALLY has a bad "taste" when I try a meal out of certain "bird" if you see what I mean.....

Fandomette: KATY NO, DON'T EAT YOUR FRIENDS... You wanted to eat Mewmecolash or something stop 😭

me: WHY ABSOLUTELY EVERY SINGLE PERSON IS SO DEADSET ON OUTING MY SECRETS FOR RANDOM PEOPLE TO READ?????? (tagged: #lmao as if anyone is going to read us after shit like this)

Chicken: THIS IS REVENGE FOR YOU MOCKING MY SON SURPHERROTH MWAHAHAHAHA

me: I AM ENDING THIS POINTLESS FIGHT HERE BECAUSE UNLIKE YOU PUNKS I HAVE SOME REALLY IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO *spends the rest of the day napping or watching cursed Elden Twink challenges letsplays*

Wow: *messaging me in Discord* Dammit what was THAT hahaha

me: Thank you for NOT having my back as usual, well, at least you are good for finishing a dumb post with lol

[roseofithaca]

Spectre

(Fictional news report covering the search for my oc Silver)

17/03/2004

ANNOUNCER: THIS IS BBC NEWS AT 6. WITH SOPHIE RAWORTH.

RAWORTH: Good Evening. Police in Sussex investigating the disappearance of nineteen year old Louise Jones are focusing their search on the woods surrounding West Horsely village after receiving a report of a possible sighting by a local dog walker.

RAWORTH: Samson Carmichael was walking with his eight year old grandson and his two dogs along the public footpath when the sighting occurred. We go now to local correspondent Tim Kingsly, reporting from West Horsely.

-cut to reconstruction of a young woman with black and pink hair, wearing skimpy 'new age punk' clothing, walking at the side of a country road at night-

KINGSLY: Walking alone into the dark, these are the last known steps of missing Louise Jones, spotted by a truck driver at 10:50pm on the 11th of March - Louise's nineteenth birthday. Her mother, Karen Jones, went to sleep in her brother's house in West Horsely village - where the pair were visiting from their home in Essex, along with Louise's sister Lisa - believing both her daughters to be in bed. No one in the house heard Louise leave late at night, and it's believed that she exited through the guest room window she was staying in, on the ground floor.

KINGSLY: Louise's disappearance was reported by her mother as early as lunchtime the following day. However, being over eighteen, police were unable to file the report as a missing person until after 24 hours of her last sighting. Initial investigations into Louise's internet activity led police to believe she may have intended to meet a local Pagan Gathering nearby, but there are currently no known meet-ups in the surrounding area. All local bus drivers and taxi firms have been questioned, and police are certain that Louise remained on foot as she exited east from the village.

KINGSLY, reporting with trees behind him: It's in this dense woodland between a few notable estates where police are now honing in on their search. Louise's family have said that she had a keen interest in both history and the supernatural. As these lands are hot spots for paranormal investigations, with legends such as the Ape Man, the Headless Traitor and the Grey Lady going back centuries, it's believed that Louise may have come here for her own private studying. One of the estate owners was recently questioned by the police and is now helping to fund the ongoing search.

BARCLAY BEG-CHETWYND, LOCAL LANDOWNER: As a father and grandfather, my heart goes out to the poor girl's mother, I can't imagine the Hell she must be going through. Of course, I'm happy to do my bit to look for young Louisa as much as I can, my bi- my furry girls here usually smell danger from miles off and I've rallied a team of fellow concerned citizens from the village to search every nook and cranny until we find something. Uh, I mean someone. Hopefully. *nervous chuckle*

KINGSLY: In the early hours of this morning, 62 year old Samson Charmichael was taking a walk with his grandson Benji, 8, along with his two German Shepherds, through the woods when they alerted him to 'something odd' in the distance.

SAMSON: Me and my dogs, wes both ex-police, y'know. When they catch a sniff o' somethin', can usually tell if it be somethin' bad. They was calm as anythin' one moment, playin' fetch with the boy as we went down the path 'ere. Then all o' a sudden, their ears are up and they're barkin' at somethin' through the trees. At first, I think it just thems smellin' deer or pheasant, then the boy starts pointing and sayin' "Granda! Look! It's Snow White!" *laughs* I says, "What you on about, lad?" He goes, "There's a girl asleep in th'woods! See!"

KINGSLY, interviewing: Did you yourself see anything?

SAMSON: No, I saw nothin'. But the boy was adamant and 'e ain't usually one for tellin' tales. I hollered out if there be anyone but could barely hear owt' over the hounds barkin' beside me. A' first I's thoughts I 'eard a growlin' but not from them. I 'aven't seen them that vexed since we retired. 'Ad I been alone, I'd 'ave gone closer, but had my little lad to think about and don't carry one of these mobiles on me, so I went to the nearest red box and called the police.

KINGSLY, reporting: The area of woodland lies between the estate of Mr. Beg-Chetwynd and that of Button House, which has stood for nearly five hundred years and has a rather checkered history. Back in 1993, Conservative MP Julian Fawcett died during an infamous sex scandal at a fundraiser, with one of his cabinet. A decade earlier, 39 year old scout leader Patrick Butcher was killed during an archery practice with his youth group.

KINGSLY: Lady Heather Button, now the sole resident and owner of the estate, is currently in hospital recovering from recent surgery, but has expressed her concern to the authorities and willingness to help with any enquiries upon her return. The house itself has already been searched.

BARCLAY BEG-CHETWYND: Everyone knows that place is riddled with ghosts and misfortune! I don't blame Lady Button at all for all the excursions she takes, I personally would hate to live there. And we've always had so-called ghost hunters creeping about but, thanks to this new internet, it's attracting all sorts. I'm relieved to know that the women of my family understand it's best to dress modestly while out and about and aren't walking out alone at God knows what time. Obviously, fingers crossed, nothing of 'that sorts' has happened to the young filly.

KINGSLY, as a recent photo of Louise smiling with a black labradoodle shows on the screen: Originally from Colchester in Essex, Louise has been described by her family as a 'quirky' and solitary girl with a love of reading, animals and the environment, but a tendency to be easily misled, leading to concerns she may have fallen into an online cult or been convinced to meet up with someone who was using a fake profile.

KINGSLY: When interacting on Pagan forums, she went under the username 'SilverRavenstar85'. Investigators believe the name may have been influenced by American author Silver Ravenwolf, who has published several books on modern day Witchcraft or 'Wicca', aimed to teach a younger audience. There is no known link between Wicca, claimed to be a peaceful and earth loving religion, and malevolent Satanic practices, but local church groups are warning parents to be vigilant of their childrens interests and activities, especially online. There has yet to be any evidence to suggest that Louise's disappearance may have been connected to any occult practices. Tim Kingsly, West Horsely.

-cut back to main newsroom-

RAWORTH: And we have just received a breaking news update on the disappearance of Louise Jones. Police have confirmed they have discovered what appears to be human remains in the woodland on the Button House estate. The body has yet to be identified but Louise's family have been notified. We'll update you as the story progresses.

RAWORTH: Now onto sports, Manchester United are set to....

-

The zip slides up, her sunken grey face disappearing beneath the black plastic. Robin watches as the men in big white sacks lift the body up and place it on a stretcher, careful not to cause too much interference before wheeling it into their van. They've already remarked on how she's rather well preserved, despite nearly a week in the woods.

All thanks to him. With no way for him to move the actual body, the best he's been able to do is shoo away any animals attempting to have a nibble on the bony bag of meat laying on the ground for them. Couldn't stop the insects, so there is a bit of decomposition, mainly around the eyes and lips. Nothing as ghastly as how his own body looked after only a couple of days left to rot beneath the tree before his tribe found him.

Mother or someone will have to identify her, he knows that from watching Silent Witness on the telly. Not good for any parent to see their child dead, let alone torn to pieces by badgers and foxes. Some dogs as well, he also told not to intrude, just to go fetch help. Find her. Lay her to rest.

With the body finally taken away, he can focus his attention back to the real girl instead of worrying about the shell.

Robin trudges back to the mound of cornflowers, smiling as he sets his eyes on the sleeping young woman. After seeing the disturbing state of her corpse, it made him feel better to know that her soul remained as bright and colorful as she'd been when alive. Skin pale like Moonah. Pink hair that no doubt will have Kitty squirming with envy when she wakes to meet them all.

When she wakes...

She must do. Eventually. Why would anyone stay ghost only to sleep forever?

Robin gently taps his paws around her shoulders, as if tucking her in amongst the blue flowers. She stirs, only slightly, with the smallest hum. Definitely only sleeping. Sleepy Moonah Girl. Strange. Pretty, but strange.

"They take you to rest now. Body can return to Earth Mum. Family not worry anymore soon." He tells her, on the off chance she can hear in her sleep. "Family be sad to know truth. But it better. Trust me."

The cries of his tribe during the ceremony where they'd buried him had been far less harrowing than the cries of them calling his name through the woods as they'd searched for answers. Anything. Nothing scarier than not knowing.

As he strokes her hair back, the girl moves slightly, leaning into the fur of his cuff. At least he can bring her some comfort.

"Sleep well, Moonah Girl. Robin stay. Robin keep you safe. Promise."

[90strashpanda]

Laughing all the way to the pit.

[velvetvexations]

My special interests are Science in general except for DNA/RNA/stuff on the molecular level in general and also astronomy. Within that, especially ecology, entomology, and geology. Also dragons, medieval europe, armor, cats, and clowns. Kinda have. A lot but. So it goes XD. I've only played wizardry 8, stardew valley, minecraft, and ffxiv. Oh and a handful of furry vns. I really like celtic punk and irish folk music!! Especially Gaelic Storm

I like Irish folk! Trouble by Horslips rules.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Beware the Bear (Indruck)

The winner of the "spooky places" prompt poll was 24 Hour Arcade

Credit to Bellafarallones for initially playing in the "only nice when a werebear" super villain space on discord.

The Halloween season is the only time Kepopolis becomes less grim. The winter holidays offer too much contrast, too much of a reminder that the world could be warm, bright, and peaceful if only somebody gave a damn. The rest of the time there’s nothing to offset the gloom, no way to ignore the tombstones of utopia clouding the skyline. Not without feeling like an ostrich whose head is in the sand while a lion runs off with its body. 

Come the end of July, the city reaches an agreement to spend three months coated in orange and purple lights and fake cobwebs, to pretend everything is a horror movie backdrop that will roll away when November comes. 

Mothman’s Arcade is no exception, though Indrid prides himself–as owner–on going above and beyond when it comes to Halloween cheer. He’s rather pleased with this year’s purchase of new, blacklight responsive skeleton banners, which flap cheerfully on the walls as he clocks out, Kirby waving to him as he comes in for his midnight to eight a.m shift. 

It’s eight blocks home, blocks he could do blindfolded, and there are even two streetlights between here and there. Maybe that’s why he lets his mind wander far enough that it’s like being yanked by the throat when someone speaks to him. 

No, wait, someone’s hand is literally on his throat. 

“Okay pal, we don’t want any trouble.” The taller of the two muggers pushes him into an alleyway, behind a dumpster where he has no chance of being seen, “wallet and anything else you’ve got.”

Indrid passes over his wallet, knowing full well there’s nothing in it to steal. The second robber opens it and frowns, “you got anything else? Maybe some cash you’re taking to the bank after emptying those machines?”

He tries not to think too hard about the fact he’s been stalked from work, nor about the fact he does have an envelope of cash he’d been planning to deposit in the morning. 

“Hey, shithead, you heard me, you got any cash?”

“No. I do not have any.” He lies. 

His back bangs into the dumpster as four hands shove and tug at his clothes, coming away with the envelope. His heart sinks; there goes payroll and his nose. 

“You lying piece of-”

Both men leave the ground at the same time, their feet kicking in the air as huge, furry paws grip their scruffs. 

“Now fellas, I’m gonna give you two options: you either give this man back his money and walk away, or I take his money back and toss you in that dumpster.”

The envelope smacks Indrid in the face, sneakers pattering away before he gets it back into his pocket. 

Were-creatures aren’t unheard of in Kepler, and there was a very nice were-cougar who used to come to the arcade after work to place Pac-Man. But he’s never been this close to a werebear, and even on all fours the monster’s snout is level with his face. 

“You okay, slim?” One blue eye and one brown one look him up and down, “they didn’t hurt you too bad?”

“My back is bruised” The adrenaline is dying and his fingers are starting to shake, “I, I’m more shaken up than anything else. And honestly feel very foolish. I know better, I just, I live here, I know here and, and do I look like the kind who has money on him??”

“Nah. But in a cool punk way, not in a bum way.” The werebear pads beside him back onto the sidewalk, “you want me to walk you home? Just in case those chuckleheads get any ideas?”

“Yes, please. It’s not far.” Indrid turns towards Oak Avenue, follows it until Pine, the werebear staying a polite distance to his right, occasionally stopping to throw litter into the nearest trash can.

When they reach Eastwood Apartments, Indrid hesitates. 

“They ain’t followin’ us, if that’s what you’re scared of. Can’t smell ‘em. Just you and” he sniffs the air, “couple of raccoons. Aww, there they are.” He smiles as the masked faces look up from the rain gutter at him. 

He’s so cute. And huge. And Indrid’s apartment is cold this time of year.

“Would you like to come up with me? I haven’t had dinner and it seems only polite given you helped me.”

“If it ain’t too much trouble, sure.”

There’s a slight amount of trouble navigating a werebear up the narrow stairs, but they manage, and his guest sniffs out the water glasses while Indrid opens the fridge. 

“I warn you, I have only the fanciest foods. Behold” he presents the boxes of pizza rolls with a flourish. 

The werebear laughs, “Hell yeah you do.”

Indrid heats the rolls as claws gently click across the fake tile, his furry protector studying the art and posters on the walls and frowning at the shaky kitchen table leg. Since the chairs are not werebear sized, Indrid perches on the arm of the couch as the werebear happily sits and leans against the wall. 

“May I know the name of my guest?” Indrid swings his legs.

“Duck. It’s a nickname.” The werebear drops half the plate of rolls into his mouth, “So, uh, Indrid, what’s it like workin’ at an arcade?”

“How did–oh, yes, my nametag–well, it has its benefits and it’s annoyances like any job. But the hours suit me and I own the place free and clear. Plus being in charge means I pick what goes in the vending machines.”

“You get free play too?”

“Yes. Also the discretion to give tokens to who I please and select the least grim plushes for the prize counter.”

“Who gets free tokens?” Duck finishes his plate.

“Anyone who saves my life, for starters.” Indrid winks at him, gets an ear wiggle in reply. 

“Wouldn't turn down a few, especially if you got old school games. Or Tony Hawk ones. Seriously though, how do you decide who to give ‘em too?”

Indrid explains and finds four more follow up questions waiting for him. Duck makes conversation like a man who hasn’t heard a human voice in ten years. Indrid doesn’t mind one bit. 

Eventually, his body reminds him he needs at least a little sleep, and he yawns. 

“Oughta let you get to bed.”

“I suppose…” Indrid bites his lip, “but I really am enjoying spending time with you. If you have somewhere to be I completely understand but, ah-”

The werebear stands, snuffling the top of Indrid’s head, “Okay slim, I’ll keep you company until you fall asleep.”

Duck covers his paws with his eyes while Indrid changes into his pajama pants and a sweater, then lays down next to the mattress. He’s big enough that his head is level with Indrid’s as they lay in the dark. 

Indrid falls asleep on his stomach, but when he wakes up during the night, he finds he’s draped an arm over a snoozing Duck. 

When he wakes up again, it’s to cursing and the sound of someone rifling through his rickety dresser. 

“Nooo” he whines playfully, “don’t go. You’re so warm and fuzzy, you should stay here.”

“Yeah, well, warm and fuzzy time is over.” A gruffer version of last night's drawl is accompanied by a shutting drawer, “I’m taking these swears and one of these tank tops.”

“Oh, of course.” Indrid sits up, putting on his glasses, “It hadn’t even occurred to me that you’d need clothes if you changed back while here.”

“Bettin a lot of things don’t occur to you.” Duck pulls on the shirt. It stretches across his belly and dark hair peeks through the collar. This softens the insult severely. 

“Well, you’re welcome to them. I have a sweatshirt that might fit too, you can drop it back off at the arcade when you have a chance.”

“Got better things to do than return some kids' laundry.” 

“In that case, no sweatshirt, as I happen to like it.” Indrid stands, crossing his arms, “if you are being defensive because you are afraid I will tell people you are a werebear, you do not need to be. I know people do not always treat the unfamiliar well. Your secret is safe with me.” He tries to meet Duck’s eyes, but the shorter man keeps looking away from him. His face is round, handsome but hardened, and all Indrid wants to do is run his fingers over it. 

“That ain’t what I’m afraid of. Honestly, ain’t afraid of anything you’d do, skinny. I could break you in half. All the same, this never happened, y’hear?”

“Perfectly.” Indrid sits back down, “Is there any chance I will see you again? Perhaps in a less, ah, grumpy mood?”

Duck opens the door, pauses, then says, “doubt it” before stepping through and slamming it shut. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

There was a time where waking up next to a cute guy would have made Duck’s day. There was a time where a lot of things would have made his day; seeing a cool plant, talking with Juno, leading a tour group. 

That was before. This is after. Now if only he could remember that four all the days of the month. 

His lunch is a protein smoothie and a sleeve of Thin Mints, which he bought two full moons ago, making one Brownie’s day.

He looks at the cookie in his hand. He bets Indrid would love cookies for lunch. 

No. That Duck doesn’t come out again. Not until next month, anyway. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay sips his from his travel cup, emblazoned with the logo of Amnesty Lodge, as he and Indrid stand in line for the ATM in the evening light. 

“You want to go see the new Scream movie with me? Brian bailed.”

Indrid isn’t surprised, given that his friend’s boyfriend seems like he’d prefer anything to spending time with Barclay. 

“I’d love to.”  

He moves one spot forward in line, then hears Barclay groan, “guess we’re getting our cash somewhere else.”

Indrid turns to see a supervillain striding towards the line. It’s the Bear, in his beaten duster coat and black mask, boots tromping on the concrete. 

“Everybody moves aside, nobody gets hurt.” He doesn’t even have to flash the gun on his hip; Indrid and the others all move away from the ATM, giving him unimpeded access. 

He’s heard the Bear is a very physical villain. He’s still not expecting him to just walk up and punch the ATM to get at the cash. 

There’s an ease and confidence to his strength, and when he hauls his bag over his shoulder it’s like he’s daring the world to take him on, just so he can give it a black eye to keep it humble. 

Indrid’s wondering what else he could do with those arms when Barclay nudges him and says, “C’mon, let's go grab dinner. I found this new sandwich place you’re gonna love.”

As they walk towards one of the less battered sections of Old Town, Indrid does wish he could have gotten a better look at the villain. 

He regrets this wish a week and a half later when, around two in the morning, a bank alarm sounds two blocks from the arcade.  A few seconds later a masked figure comes into the view through the window and ducks inside the arcade.

The Bear scans the consoles and Indrid pretends to be very busy with his inventory of tickets and tokens. Heavy footsteps that stop at the counter tell him this has not worked. 

“You the only one here?”

“Yes.” Indrid turns, keeps his eyes on the villain’s chest or lower. Which is a bit tricky since he’s actually taller than the pistol-packing example of Kepler’s finest cottage industry. 

“You gonna say anything if they come in?”

“No, as I am much less durable than an ATM. If it is of use to you, that room there” he points to his right, “is mainly full of machines that do not work. No one would ever go in.”

The Bear gives a grunt of assent and disappears through the glow in the dark curtains. Indrid returns to his checklist, only to put it down two minutes later as three cops shove the doors open and make a beeline for him. 

“Hey kid, you alone in here?”

Like any seasoned bystander of Kepler, Indrid lies. 

“Yes. It’s a very slow time of night for us.”

“We’re gonna have a look around all the same.”

He smiles, “Of course, officers. Oh, ah, but do be careful” he points to the glowing curtain, “my repair room has a leak in the roof and there is a terrible mix of water and loose wires in there.”

The cops do a short circuit of the main room, poking their heads into the storeroom, break room, and Indrid’s office before saying, “All clear. Night, kid.”

As the bell dings at their exit, Indrid mutters, “why does everyone keep calling me that? I am thirty-three.”

He’s still musing aloud as he kneels and starts unboxing plushes for the prize shelf. Just as he decides the Bear must have snuck out the back door, weather beaten boots step from the curtain. 

“Nice hiding spot you got back there.”

“Thank you.” Indrid looks up, which means he’s staring at the Bear’s crotch. A roaring, golden grizzly sits as his belt-buckle above a tantalizing bulge in his pants.

“Appreciating the view?”

“I, ah, I” he blushes, figures there’s no harm in a flattering truth, “yes.”

A hand roughly ruffles his hair, “Consider it a thank-you.” The hand moves through his hair again, slower this time, almost gentle, “and you oughta fix up that two-player Pac Man. It’s a crowd pleaser.”

“I will keep that in mind.” He starts to look up farther, to catch a glimpse of that handsome face in the colorful lights of the machines, but the Bear lets go as he tilts his head, turning his back and sauntering out of the store. 

Indrid hopes he’ll see him again, just for the masturbation fodder, but he doesn’t. There’s no sign of him around for weeks, and so Indrid figures he left for a new neighborhood. That or something scared him away. It’s that exact thought he’s mulling over when a knock comes to his door and he opens it to find a different kind of bear altogether.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Duck spent two weeks and change avoiding any place he might see Indrid motherfucking Cold, in spite of the fact his werebear senses, dulled as they are when he’s a human, kept picking up his scent around town. 

So what does he do the minute he transforms? He turns his useless-ass paws towards that skinny weirdo’s door. The moon wasn’t even all the way up yet. 

By the time he’s there, he’s feeling much better; there’s no harm in having a friend he sees once a month. Or maybe even more than a friend, if Indrid is into the idea. 

The human is surprised when finds Duck on his doorstep, but the resulting smile is worth every second of arguing with himself about this. 

“Thought I, uh, I’d check to see if you needed a walk to work? Or if you turned out to be at work, was gonna offer to walk you back.”

“I start at midnight this week.”

“Yeesh, don’t know how you do it.”

“I have always been a night owl of sorts. I used to stay up drawing until I passed out in my crayons.”

Duck follows Indrid inside, chuckling, “You’re like a little moth.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Y’know, all nocturnal and interesting to look at. And you got those tattoos” He tips his snout at the Luna moth on one shoulder and the Emperor Moth on his arm.

Indrid cocks his head, “Duck, have you been trying to come up with a nickname for me?”

“Maybe, uh, I mean, uh, fuck, I…yeah.” He scratches his ear sheepishly. 

“I’m flattered you’d spend so much time thinking of me.” Another smile, a touch more guarded.

Duck drops to all fours so he can meet Indrid’s eyes, “Hey I, uh, I wanted to apologize for last time. I know I was a dick the next morning, and I shouldn’t have been. In fact, that was me trying my damndest not to be, in some ways. When I get all fuzzy I get, well, fuzzy in here too” he taps his chest, “when I ain’t always the nicest the rest of the time. If that means you’d rather I scram, I can. I gotta patrol some tonight anyway.”

Indrid pets his cheek, dooming him to months of trying to recreate the touch with his own fingers, “Thank you for apologizing. And explaining. I’d very much like company on my way to work, and you’re welcome to play and, ah, shoot the breeze, as they say, once we’re there.”

“Sounds great” Duck nuzzles his forehead, “I’m gonna go patrol; when I’m like this, it’s easy to be a hero for folks, and I like to help when I can. See you at midnight, slim.”

“See you then” Indrid purrs. 

—-------------------------

Indrid takes his spot in the tour bus; the Monongahela is beautiful this time of year, and he promised himself that he’d finally get around to taking the tour up the Greenbank summit to see the view. 

As the bus putters forward, he pulls a postcard from his coat pocket. It was waiting for him this afternoon. 

There’s been one in his mail every three days for the last two weeks. 

This one is of the Kepler waterfront. On the back, in slightly sloppy writing, is this:

Hi little moth, 

You ever been on the ferris wheel here? I went as a kid. It’s how I learned I was scared of heights. Wouldn’t stand on anything taller than the front step for months. 

We should go some full moon. I know a real cool spot to see river otters. 

-Duck

The messages have all been written in the same pen. His address has not, and the writing looks like someone’s hand was being forced across the paper. All he can figure is that the reason Duck left early to “run an errand” was so he could write all these before his cranky self returned. 

Untangling his feelings about that is barely started by the time he reaches the summit. He wanders out with the rest of the group, reads the few signs and takes in the view. There’s a firewatch tower near a small, seasonal gift shop, and he looks up to see a man in a ranger uniform watching the visitors, stony-faced all the while. 

Then he sees Indrid and pulls his hat down over his eyes before crossing to another rail. 

That does explain why so many of the postcards are from the national forest.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

In Duck’s defense, he thought Roswell crashing the governor’s civic celebration banquet would keep the cops occupied the whole night. That’s the only reason he’s now running for the one place in this neighborhood he knows he can hide. 

Indrid is behind the counter like last time, looking exasperated rather than afraid when he sees who it is. 

“Same room as last time?” 

“Damn right.” Duck slips into hiding, listens as Indrid does the same song and dance with the cops as before. 

Huh. The two-player Pac Man has definitely been tinkered with since the last time he was here. 

This time, when he steps through the curtain Indrid is waiting for him. 

“You know, I have a perfectly functional back door. You do not need to make me lie for you. You could just run out that door and into the alley or up a fire escape like a sensible villain.”

Duck is not in the mood to be lectured. Not by someone who could never understand what it’s like. 

He grabs Indrid’s shirt and shoves him against the wall, pressing close as he growls, “Let’s get on thing real clear: I can make you do any goddamn thing I want.”

Indrid’s squeak of alarm is not as alarmed as Duck needs it to be right now. 

“Heh, I get it. You’re one of those villain chasers.”

“Nono. If anyone is it’s my friend, I am certain he reads fan-fiction about villains abducting civilians and I will stop speaking now, apologies I babble when, when-”

“Nervous?”

“That’s not quite the word I’d use.” Indrid leans closer, peering at his face, and asks the worst possible question. 

“Do I know you?

“N-no, uh, fuck, you, you don’t not, fuck”

He should punch him and run. Yeah. That’ll work. 

Duck balls his fists and yanks Indrid into a kiss. The other man stiffens, then melts with a moan and cups Duck’s face, kissing him back like he knows him. Duck could break the kiss any second he wanted to, he could, if Indrid would just stop touching him, stop making pleased little sounds and hooking one ankle around Duck’s calf. 

Indrid pulls away, humming happily, and smiles, “You should consider solving more of your problems that way. You are very good at it.”

Duck’s heart sings with affection. So he snarls, shoves Indrid into a pinball machine, and runs out the door. 

—----------------------------------------------- 

It’s not Duck’s fault.

It’s not his fault that Indrid looked so sad in the early morning light, not his fault Indrid chose to wake up extra early so he could bid the werebear goodbye (because Duck had decided to spare him dealing with his grumpy human self come dawn).

It’s not his fault. Just like the dock fire wasn’t his fault. Just like it wasn’t his fault when he saw what the city was doing to Agent X and couldn’t convince them to stop. Just like it wasn’t his fault that they goaded Athena into leveling two city blocks. Just like it wasn’t his fault that when Kepler Chemical blew it’s goddamn top, he was the only member of his team to survive. 

Indrid Cold is just some guy. Duck will not be responsible for him. 

“Ahem.”

Indrid Cold is just some guy who is now standing in the door of the firewatch tower. 

“We need to talk. And please do not try to lie, that is torture beyond anything you can do as a villain.”

“I uh, I-”

“Duck.”  Indrid says more firmly. 

“What? You want a fuckin medal for putting who I am together?”

“No. I want…I wanted to talk with you as human you. Because I am not sure how much of when you are a bear you remember, but last night you begged me to be your boyfriend.”

“And you said no.” It comes out pathetic and defeated.

“Correct. Because I do not want a boyfriend who is kind to me one night a month. Who only wants to see me one night a month.”

“I do.” He bites his tongue, which does nothing.

“You do not act like it. You barely act like human-you sees me as a person, even when he’s not in his villain outfit.”

Duck takes a step closer, “Indrid, a whoooole lotta folks have tried to talk me out of the villain thing, and they offered way more than some skinny freak who’d let me fuck him now and then.”

Indrid’s face remains placid, “I’m not trying to talk you out of anything, or into being a hero again–yes I said ‘again’, anyone with any sense can work out who you used to be even if you or the city won’t confirm it–I am telling you that I am not going to be wooed one night and ignored for thirty, even if the one night makes me so very deeply happy. I think whoever you are when you are a werebear is still in there, and I want that person.”

“I ain’t sure I can give him to you. It’s…it’s complicated, little moth. I got my reasons for things and while they ain’t all noble they ain’t because I get my kicks being an asshole.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, feeling two-feet tall, “but I hear what you’re sayin. You don’t want me around, you say the word and I’m gone. Give you my goddamn word.”

“And what if?” Indrid closes the space between them, “I said I wanted you to try going out to dinner with me like this? Just once, after I get off work, as casual as you like.”

Duck meets his eyes, “I’d say The Bear ain’t one to run from a challenge.”

Indrid kisses him once, “Tomorrow at eight?”

“I’ll be there.”

Indrid turns for the door, then looks over his shoulder as he says, with a wink, “and if you come early, I might even give you some free play tokens for the pac man game I just fixed.”

“You got a deal, slim.”

[moonpool-system]

4, 10, &11 for plural ask :0

Super late whoopp, hello it's Lucis/Prism here for yr infodumps

original post

4. Which headmate is the most different from the body?

Hmmm this is an interesting one cus it can go in a few different directions :0 We assume it means in mindform/physically, so everyone even vaguely humanoid is out haha!

Our two members most different from the body would be Survivor and Flapjack, then! Survivor is a slugcat from the game Rain World, and is a traumagenic split from food insecurity. Flapjack is a wood-carved magic creature called a palisman in the shape of a robin, and is a soulbond we summoned for our Hunter fictive!

10. Which headmates are emo/punk/goth etc?

Oohh like what kinds of subcultures do our members dip into? This one's pretty fun!

- Badeline (@protectingtulpas ) sticks herself in as much of punk subculture as she can with how isolated we are. I'm pretty sure she's anarcho-punk specifically- she's always had the punk spirit but our city friends helped her really blossom. She's learning guitar rn, plans on joining roller derby, goes out tagging/making graffiti art whenever she can, and more. I'm pretty proud of her! Akira has similar beliefs to her, and I'd call him punk too, but he spent a lot of time exhausting himself on rebellion in his exomemories - he shows his passion now by his café being a hub in headspace for people that need comfort and space to be themselves.

- Space identifies as goth, and focuses on the fashion side of things specifically. I'm pretty sure the vibe is tied to their identity as a revived sanitized Octoling, and despite his monotone and dark disposition, he's actually the main caretaker of our littles that want/need a parental figure around. Whenever she requests a drawing of themself I end up getting a hand cramp from the intricacy of the clothing designs!

- I think Ari is the only one that would call himself "emo". He's a Minato Arisato fictive originally, but while Minato of the Prism ended up developing more social schools, he ended up more closed off, asocial, and appearing bitter & melancholic. They've stated many times they enjoy it though, so I'm pretty sure that's what emo is

- Casey (@kitty-creamie-cookie ) is sure part of SOME kind of subculture other than being a plain ol furry but I don't think any of us could pin it down if we tried. Some sort of combination of pastel punk, radical acceptance of consensual kink, and some kinda secret third thing idk?? Psychedelic mushrooms probably /hj She sure knows what she's doing even if we don't

11. What are some pet peeves headmates have about other headmates?

This one's pretty funny, I'm like 80% sure the other frequent fronters have beef with me for spending hours losing time hyperfocusing using the body and subsequently blocking them off from front LMAO... we fight our adhdtism like warriors

[thattripleabattery]

Also entirely unrelated to the comics talk, but while logically I know that Newt's band was almost certainly playing hardcore crust punk or something (and I love punk, so that's very cool of him), whenever my brain autofills what kind of music they played, my brain immediately goes to Newt performing Space Age Bachelor Man (if you've never heard it, it's a song from a musical that could best be described as "What if David Bowie was a furry?")

I need to check that musical out immediately. I’m super into musicals I’m suprised I’ve never heard about that one

(I would like to preface by saying my music taste mostly just consists of musicals and 80s)

I definitely think newts band played some form of punk (I know nothing about music😅) and I also think there was a lot rock very Metallica, AC/DC, and Black Sabbath

I also think as time went on he still loves rock and punk he also evolved music tastes like he probably started liking bands like panic at the disco and fall out boy

[mrfandomgage]

Rags looks over a sports magazine. He lies in his living room's couch. He flips through the magazine of professional athletes, both of regular looking humans, furry men, and everything in between. Rags stops flipping through to see a professional swimmer, a hippo man, who looks like he could easily walk from one side of the pool to the other without the water bothering him. While Rags is hot, he gets bothered by a knock at his front door, dropping his magazine to the floor.

Rags sits up and looks around, he hides his magazine underneath the couch cushion. He stands up and goes to the door, only expecting maybe a cookie package from his gardener. Rags opens the door, staring at white fluffy feet in black sandles. Rags looks up and stands upright. Goat looks exhausted.

"Hey Goat, how are you?" Rags asks, scratching the back of his head with a questioning expression on his face.

Goat puts a hand over his eyes and says, "Howdy, Dick. I probably shouldn't have walked in the sun all day".

Rags taps his foot, "already with insults?"

"I thought Dick was short for Richard, besides, yours stretches out those short shorts pretty far-"

Rags slams the door once he understands what Goat is talking about. He runs across the house and gets on a large shirt to cover himself up. Rags sighs, doubting Goat will still be there. Rags drags himself back to the front door. Upon opening the door he sees Goat leaning against the wall still covering his eyes.

"Is it safe to look?" Goat asks.

"You could've just told me I had a hard on damn it!" Rags shouts.

Goat removes his hand, "I'll take that as a yes. May I come in?"

"... yes, come on in Gage. I didn't give you my address for nothing. Though you were supposed to get here, if I recall correctly, TOMORROW!"

"I can leave if you-"

"NO, please don't! I just didn't expect you to show up is all. Can I take you to my room? That's where I keep a lot of my stuff anyways".

Goat nods. Rags moves to let Goat in and closes the door for him. Goat follows Rags through his house up to his room. Goat compliments the house being clean. Getting into Rags' room Goat flops himself halfway onto Rags' bed. Rags just chuckles.

"I like lying on my bed like that too", Rags laughs, "nice ass by the way".

"What?" Goat responds, he also crawls deeper onto the bed.

Rags shakes his head, "it's nothing, nothing at all. So you just wanna hang out?"

"Yeah, basically", Goat rolls over onto his back and kicks off his sandles, "had nothing better to do, and Catharine said I should".

"Ah. Do you want to dress up or something?"

"If you have anything I'd like wearing", Goat chuckles.

Rags digs in his closet and brings out a spiked collar, "does this-"

Goat snags the collar, and starts putting it on, "does it look nice?"

Rags blinks, "... you really move fast when you want to. I got a few more peices to go with it".

"Sure thing, I like this punk stuff".

Rags searches his closet, shifting around clothes until he finds pants with a few chains that match the style. He hands over the black pants to Goat, and keeps himself facing the closet, looking for more to go with it. After five more minutes, he finds studded boots and a jacket, producing them from the closet. He watches as Goat takes off his shirt, and wishes to object, but stops himself from doing so. Turning back to the closet he looks for a few more things to finish the outfit.

"Hey Rags", Goat starts to ask, "could I possibly get some socks?"

"Sure, for the boots, right?" Rags asks.

"No, for my horns, what else?"

"Ha ha. Looking for some now".

Goat moves his ears around to deal with the spike studded collar. Rags hands over some socks, but as well fingerless gloves with spiked bracelets on the end. Goat slips on the socks and puts the boots onto his feet. Rags gets a brush and starts styling Goat's fur, to help convey the look. Goat puts on the gloves, and tightens them. Rags brings a black power over to Goat.

"Hey, no!" Goat Objects, "I don't like makeup gels, too cold".

"Oh, no, this is a charcoal powder. It's what I use to darken my hair", Rags explains, "I wanted to darken the underneath of your eyes".

"Well I..." Goat thinks about it, breaths in and sighs, "fine Richard, just do it".

"Thank you", Rags says. Goat closes his eyes, and Rags applies the power.

"Can I open my eyes yet?"

"Nope, it'll get in your eyes if you do so now".

"Hey, how do you keep this powder out of your right eye?"

"I only put the powder on top, and some of it goes down, sure, but most of it stays out. I've had some fall into my eyes, it burns".

"Good to know".

"OK, done".

Goat stands up, "the boots are kinda heavy".

Rags looks up, "they make you really tall..."

"You're already short, Richard".

"Gage, they make you much taller, you ass!"

Goat pats Rags' head as he says, "yeah, yeah, you're just always short".

"... I uh... you look great like that, maybe later I can paint your horns with nail polish".

"Maybe later", Goat says, clearly unsure if he'd want that.

"Oh, I do have all my gaming stuff here, and a few controllers".

"Alright, I'm down".