#ursine fascination

[sohannabarberaesque]

I suppose the same could be said of Hanna-Barbera's ursine community, in particular Yogi Bear, Breezly Bruin, the Hair Bear Bunch and the CB Bears.

(In particular the Hair Bears "themselves," what with their Secret Surf and Dive Spot outside Malibu and their road trips over the bear mating season to such areas of bear habitat otherwise fascinating to the madcap trio.)

[iftheshoef1tz]

the stars and spaces in between

Summary: Eris Vanserra is on the run from his responsibilities, separated from his traveling party in the unforgiving snows of Svalbard. Things get more complicated from there. For @azrisweek 2024 Day 2: Familiars.

Rating: E

Notes: This is a fusion fic with the series His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. You do not need to have read that series to understand this fic. I have explained all that needs explaining from that universe in this fic, but basically: every person has a daemon (pronounced demon) that is a physical representation of their souls. As children, daemons can change forms, but when a person reaches puberty, it settles into one form that is supposed to be a clue as to their inner character. Also, this is a prequel to a fic I will be writing soon, so…forgive me. You’ll know why.

Thanks to @yanny-77 and @queercontrarian for their beta reading; to @acourtofladydeath for telling me how long a person can walk with a sprained ankle (I’m sorry i ignored your guidance); and to @secret-third-thing for cheering me on when I realized I put the sex scene in the wrong place. Title is from Many Are the Stars I See, But In My Eye No Star Like Thee by Ursine Vulpine and Annaca.

The brutal sky above him is grey and endless. Lying on his back, winded and trying to ignore the pain in his ankle, Eris Vanserra takes his time memorizing the exact shapelessness of his environment.

In his ear, a sigh that’s more of a hiss.

“Shut up, Gizem,” he says, voice calmer than he feels, but his daemon’s hissing continues anyway.

When he sits up, his fingers are starting to get cold, even through his thick gloves. There is also faint cold radiating up through the seat of his pants.

“You couldn’t have watched your feet while you walked?” Gizem’s disgust is evident, and Eris glares down at his knees.

“If you hadn’t been curled in my hood,” he begins, and the quality of Gizem’s hiss is different this time, slightly guilty.

But in the end, it doesn’t change things: he is at the bottom of a moderately-sized crevasse, isolated by a face of sheet ice from the tiny village he had stopped in two nights ago. This morning, he had left to see a fascinating trail marker favored by the inhabitants of this area without any climbing equipment. He has no food beyond a handful of protein bars stashed in his pockets and a half-empty waterskin.

Read now on ao3.

[that-ari-blogger]

How Brave Does Character

Brave is my favourite Pixar film, and one of my favourite Disney films. A lot of the reason behind this is how impeccably the film does characters, by which I mean everyone in this film manages to be both a caricature and a very real person at the same time.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

So, let's start with the side characters. The terrible triplets are fun, but I'd like to focus on the clansmen.

These are so interesting. They are, of course, archetypes. They are the overbearing fathers who hate each other and their three sons, but these are remarkably realistic people. They aren't limited to specific actions, and they bring about the nuances in each other through acting as foils for each other.

And, yes, these nuances are used for comedy a ton of the time, but they aren't just that, they develop over time. Their competition between each other actively changes them.

Although, here's something fascinating. The sons show a completely different demeanor when not under the pressure of their parents. Young Macintosh (Right) relaxes and loses his uptight demeanor, Young MacGuffin (Middle) comes completely out of his shell, and Young Dingwall is, well he doesn't change too much, but he is noticeably more aware of his surroundings when not around his father.

The sons befriend each other and develop a rapport. They do this before anybody else in the entire story, proving that harmony between the clans and between individuals is possible.

Fergus and Elinor follow the same line of thinking, but they bring about different sides of each other through understanding. Both characters feel their freest when they are around each other. Elinor is more open to talking out her emotions around her husband, for example. And it is important to realise this, because when she gets turned into a bear, this dynamic gets shifted notably.

Finally, there is Merida, and her relationship with her mother. I keep bringing up these characters in contrast with each other because that is how character gets displayed. If a person is only in the same situation over and over again, you only see one facet of that character.

So, Merida is an aromantic character. This is important to understand because it is part of the driving conflict of the film. Merida has no interest in marriage or love, and her mother cannot accept that. The story explores the search for these characters to understand each other, and while it centres on Merida's confrontation with consequences and fate, Elinor coming to terms with her daughter's identity. Essentially, the story is derived from character conflict.

But these characters also reveal elements of each other through both their conflict and their teamwork. They reveal each other's inability to show accountable through their conflict (Merida insists everything is not her fault, and Elinor is pathologically incapable of directly answering a question), but they also show each other's adaptability and are catalysts for each other's growth.

Brave is a character drama first and foremost, so all conflict is driven by characters butting heads with each other. I say all conflict, and there is one character I am yet to mention.

"Last time I did this was for a prince. He demanded I give him the strength of ten men, and he gave me this for a spell. A spell that would change his fate."

Mor'du features what I like to call the Firelord Ozai school of character writing. He isn't a character, he's a force of nature, an evil thing to overcome. But he is a person, and everything about him can be inferred by the relationships he has. In this case, the thematic relationship between him and Merida. Both wanted to change their fate, both separated themselves from their families in a rage. Merida was able to reconnect with her mother, you can assume by Mor'du's ursine appearance that he was not able to do the same.

Even in the shot above, Mor'du the character is in shadow, because the nuances of his identity don't matter. The important part, and the part that the light highlights, is the axe. His actions are what's important, specifically the actions that mirror Merida's, and we can learn everything we need about him from that narrative symmetry.

At first glance, all the characters in Brave are archetypes. The rebellious teenager, the strict mother, etc. But it is through interactions with each other that these characters become people. And that is reflected in the theme of the film. It is only through each other, that you can express yourself freely and change for the better. Otherwise, you are floundering with the same choices, and you can never, ever, change your own fate.

I might put up another post soon about Brave's use of Scottish mythology and how that works with the theme of fate, so if you're interested in that, stick around.

[yakourinka]

fascinating scene.

the people on the left are felines - must be gaul? although the text mentions gaulish gunners, gaul was supposedly famous for their strong armor (mirror armor piece from IS2) and phalanx tactics. those long-horned people on the right must be caprinae spire casters of old:

and obviously victoria's represented by the gundams.

the people to the right of those casters look like ursine folk? ursus empire as it is in the story might not have existed during this time period

[lucilleandherrobots]

I do have a drawing of this guy and might add it later on here but since I've been suddenly hit by a wild sense of 3 am inspiration and no one's voting for him at all in the poll, I'm gonna talk about Ursine Himbeer, former courier and Brotherhood scribe.

Ursine was a courier back in the Mojave. He was raised in an orphanage where they primarily spoke German. He gets his last name from his raspberry colored hair. His first name is because of his fondness for the teddybear he was found with. Honestly, Corncockle was just kind of a funny word to the people running the orphanage so they ran with it. He's been hiding his middle name ever since. Think the song "Boy Named Sue" only way less violent but just as easy to anger.

Ursine initially did recover from the bullet wounds and wandered around for quite a bit in the wasteland. He was utterly fascinated by the wildlife and how older tech held up to the environment.

Not much is known about Ursine's exploits in the Mojave. He lost his journal somewhere on the Prydwen after joining the Brotherhood. What is known is that has a gecko named Mitzi who he raised from an egg. He has also hatched a few others in the lab area of the ship for science.

While aboard the Prydwen, Ursine slowly fell in love with their scientist. Together they had a child that ended up sharing the same interest in wildlife.

One day, Ursine went missing, never to never be seen again.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Now just add the Hair Bear Bunch and the Bear Pride Flag, and things couldn't get more fascinating for an ursine road trip galore. Especially when they declare their camping-ground of the nonce to be Camp Volkswagen.

@railguner34 @funtasticworld @iheartgod175 @groovybribri

binkadventure

[imagine-darksiders]

Homesick - Chapter 2

Behind the door.

Warnings: implied child abuse, abusive parents, blood, nosebleeds, angst, themes of childhood trauma, ptsd

Tags: Darksiders, DeathxAzrael, hurt/comfort, angst, Reader, Found family, Reader needs a hug

Chapter 1

---

“What lays beyond that door?”

Azrael's innocent question causes you to stiffen and your steps falter on the landing, knowing precisely to which door he's referring, but unwilling to even spare it a backwards glance.

The momentary delay hardly lasts for more than a second and goes seemingly unnoticed by the angel, whose gaze appears too focused on the locked, mahogany door that stands quiet and guiltless at the furthest end of your landing. Hanging back near the top of the staircase however, with eyes sharp and turned just enough in your direction that they catch the hitching of your chest, Death does notice.

Then, he blinks, and you're suddenly twisting your head over a shoulder to look beyond Azrael at the door in question, a smile on your lips but not in your eyes.

“Oh, that's just a storage cupboard,” you say casually, waving a dismissive hand through the air and continuing your journey to the opposite side of the house, “I've been in and out of there all week stacking boxes of junk up to the ceiling. Now, come this way, all the best human-y stuff is stock-piled in my bedroom.” 

You're too quick to disregard the door, too eager in turning to walk towards your room on stiff legs and Death wishes the angel would turn to look at you so he might also see what the Horseman sees, if only to confirm that he isn't imagining things.

Alas, letting out an intrigued little hum, Azrael clasps his hands loosely behind his back and sweeps after you, all the while pivoting his head this way and that to take in everything your humble home has to offer.

------------------

You had so nearly forgotten what the joy of discovery looks like in another person. To see the eyes of someone else grow wide and bright with unbridled wonder at a world you've long since lost a taste for.

Azrael's fascination at the most mundane of human objects manages to put a genuine smile on your face, though the ensuing pain still throbs like the beat of an insistent drum every time your cheeks press against your bruised eye.

Luckily, the angel appears to have missed your subtle wince.

After first having dragged him away from your television, you've managed to introduce him to many of humanity's other wonders that lay dotted around your bedroom.

Before long, Death had even slunk inside to join you both, taking up the mantle of an uninterested observer and absently perusing your book collection in the corner whilst keeping a surreptitious eye on the goings on of his companions.

You've perched yourself comfortably in a bean bag, content to simply sit back and observe whilst Azrael explores your room, his wide, white wings folded neatly against his back in order to spare some of your ornaments from being knocked off their shelves. 

“This... ursine mammal,” he says, pausing beside your bed and poking a finger into the fur of an old, stuffed bear sitting atop your pillow, “Does it serve some purpose?”

You're too preoccupied with fighting back a laugh to answer him right away, and by the time you realise he's watching you expectantly, Death pipes up in your stead, cutting off any explanation you might have offered.

“I imagine it's only there for decoration,” he muses, casting a critical eye over your bookcase and the dozens of unread stories scattered about on the shelves, “But then, I have to wonder if half the things in this room aren't just ornamentation.”

Knowing what he's implying, you spare the back of his head a scowl. It isn't as though you've had a lot of time to read those books he gave you, not between rebuilding your own home and helping humanity come to terms with life post-apocalypse.

“Ah!” Azrael's head shoots up and he tears his eyes from the bear, glancing towards you instead. “It is symbolic, no? In resembling a most ferocious predator, this bear represents the perfect guard for your home.”

He looks so damn pleased with himself, you almost don't bother to correct him, instead wrestling your grin into a pensive frown and nodding slowly. 

“Uh, sure! That is a pretty... exciting way to look at teddy bears.” Hopping to your feet, you make your way over to the bed and sweep a few of Azrael's primary feathers aside, picking up the toy bear and squeezing it to your chest. “But mostly humans use these for comfort at night, when we sleep. We usually get given them as children. And, as we grow older, I... guess we just get too attached to get rid of them. Most humans keep their childhood toys long into adulthood.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Death huffs, shaking his head with a smile hidden beneath the bone-mask, “You humans will get attached to anything that sits still for long enough.”

Azrael, on the other hand, looks as though you've just revealed to him one of humanity's greatest secrets. Rubbing his chin in thought, he says, “Remarkable! I've heard that humans are rather famous for the bonds they forge with other species, yet I never imagined that could extend to inanimate objects as well.”

“Yeah, you'd better believe it,” you smirk, placing the bear down on your pillow once more, “Someday I'll have to tell you about the woman who married the Eiffel Tower.”

At once, the Archangel blinks hard, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair line. “A tower? Surely that’s a jape?”

So perplexed is his expression, you throw back your head and let out a bark of delighted laughter. “What are you, Shakespeare? Nobody says ‘jape’ anymore, Azrael!”

Off on his own side of your little bedroom, Death's neck twists around slightly to regard both you and the angel as you engage in a light-hearted back and forth about the use of archaic vocabulary. He doesn't even realise that one corner of his mouth has begun lifting at the sight. 

There is a truth about the Horseman that even he is reluctant to acknowledge, and that is that the constant slew of bad things happening in the Universe is... wearing. It’s wearing. To be on a constant path that always seems to lead towards battle or tragedy? Sometimes it feels as though his entire existence has merely consisted of one battle after another. 

He saves one world, only for another to be torn apart, he destroys a species, and another asks him to fight their war for them, he helps the makers but in doing so, inadvertently kills their elder. Century after century - a millennia of bloody battles and terrible sacrifices and trying to keep his siblings safe - If he ever stopped to think about it... 

Death’s eyes slip slowly shut. 

He has worked... so hard, hasn’t he? Is it really so wrong if he enjoys these moments of fleeting repose? 

All of a sudden, a strangled sound leaves Azrael's throat and Death is yanked from his peaceful reverie. “Y/n!?” the angel exclaims, his expression shifting to horrified in less than a second, “You're bleeding!”

Apparently, mentioning your name and blood in the same sentence is enough to get Death's voice to crack as he whips around properly and barks, “What!?”

Baffled, you raise a hand to your nose, dabbing at a sticky wetness gathered there whilst the taste of salty liquid drips onto your upper lip. “Oh, so I am,” you observe casually, only to have a pair of chilly hands curl unexpectedly around your forearms. 

Without warning, the terrifying visage of the Horseman is looming mere inches from your face and in another instant, one of his hands presses itself to your forehead and firmly – albeit gently – tips it backwards.

“Um... Death, we've talked about this. Personal space, remember?”

The Horseman remains eerily silent as he stares transfixed at the blood oozing from your nose and you squirm uncomfortably when the grip he has on your arm begins to grow even tighter. Meanwhile, his wordlessness allows Azrael to fret aloud in the background.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” the angel mutters, pacing back and forth behind Death, never tearing his eyes from the red straining your face, “You shouldn't be having all this excitement. You should be resting.”

It's difficult to hold back your groan of exasperation as you lift your arms and knock Death's hands aside, stepping out of his reach.

“Oh for - It's just a nosebleed! Honestly, what has gotten into you two?” With a hefty sigh, you skirt around the rigid Nephilim, dodge one of Azrael's wings as it tries to curl instinctively around you and march into your ensuite bathroom.

Almost immediately, the angel tries to follow, but he swiftly has the door pushed shut in his face before he can enter and soon, they hear your voice filtering out to them from the other side. “I'm not a baby, guys! Nosebleeds are no big deal, it's just happening because of... well, you know.”

Azrael's stomach twists itself into knots at the sight of yet another locked door standing between himself and his human friend. He's about to call out for you to let him see the damage when an icy chill sweeps across the room and he turns, his mouth falling open slightly at the sight of Death staring at him through unseeing eyes.

The old Nephilim's body has gone completely still and there's a haunted look about him, as though he's lost, or perhaps trapped in another time, another place.

“Horseman?” Azrael murmurs uncertainly, feeling the cold prickle at the hairs on the base of his neck. Seconds pass and he receives no answer. Hesitant now, the archangel reaches towards Death's shoulder and, when he isn't immediately shoved away, places a hand on the frigid, solid muscle that bunches under his gentle touch. “Death,” he tries again, and this time the Horseman's head snaps up to stare at him, as if only just realising he's there.

The angel ducks his head to better catch Death's eye, his voice soft enough that only the two of them can hear it. “Are you alright, old friend?”

A long silence stretches between them with only the faint sound of running water from your bathroom tap to fill it.

Then, giving a start, Death roughly shrugs the comforting hand off his shoulder and stalks past the angel towards your window, leaning his elbows heavily against the sill and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Azrael's concern. He doesn't think the archangel has ever been that close to him before, close enough that the subtle scent of old books and clean linen invaded his nose and chased away the awful stench of your blood, effectively leaving his mind clear once again. 

'Idiot,' he chastises himself, eyes still wide behind the bone mask. How could he have frozen like that? In front of Azrael no less. Creator, he'd never live that one down. He had – for lack of a better word – panicked, and it's as embarrassing to admit to himself as it is to have been caught panicking. But...

The sight of your blood... The smell of it, sweet and strong enough that it even settled on his tastebuds...

It's pathetic, really. He is Death. He's seen and caused far more bloodshed than arguably any being in any realm. So why then does your spilled blood hold his dead heart in such a cruel and unforgivably tight chokehold?

The redundancy of taking a calming breath isn't lost on him, yet he does it anyway, tipping his head up to peer out of your window, chest rising and falling with motions he could only have picked up after spending so much time around you.

It's begun to rain, he notes idly. Tiny droplets of water patter down onto the dusty window panes and Death follows the path of one until it merges with several others and is lost in the fray.

Down in the streets below, many passers-by have dived for shelter, yet there are still two figures who remain. One is an angel, whose golden complexion shimmers when raindrops trickle steadily down his face. He's standing in the shadow of a water-logged bus stop and beside him, leaning just a little too close, is a serpentine demon, scales black and glittering like obsidian. The odd pair rest almost shoulder to shoulder underneath the bus stop's awning, each sharing a brief respite from the rain with what was once a well-loathed enemy.

Death blinks upon seeing that their hands are intertwined. Dainty, golden fingers curl loosely around clumsier claws and suddenly, the Horseman feels as though he's intruding on their secret moment, so he turns back to face your room.

Azrael has drifted closer once again and there's a knowing expression on his face that causes Death to frown. Sure enough, the archangel spares your bathroom door a hasty glance before he looks at the Horseman once more. “...Death,” he says slowly, “It's... all right, you know. If seeing Y/n’s blood upset you-”

Hackles are raised in half a second, a set of sharp teeth clack together and Death hisses, “You think I'm upset?”

Judging by the flat look he receives, that is precisely what the archangel thinks.

Despite the obvious vehemence behind Death's tone, he's careful to keep his voice down, ever mindful that you're only a room over. Perhaps getting defensive isn't the best idea.

“There is no shame in it, Horseman,” the angel coaxes softly, “Y/n is my friend as well. There has already been far too much human blood spilled this century.” He casts another, baleful glance towards your bathroom, quietly adding, “I didn't think I would be seeing it again, not this soon. And especially not from our human.”

...Our human.

Death is unnerved by how natural that sounds coming off Azrael's tongue.

Expertly, the Horseman wills his shoulders to slump and his muscles to relax, then, with an unmistakable air of indifference, he folds his arms across his broad chest and turns himself deliberately away from the archangel, glowering at your bedroom wall.

And Azrael, wise enough to read the standoffish behaviour for what it is, allows his mouth to fall shut because he knows that, as far as Death is concerned, the conversation is over.

He has a care not to release a weary sigh. But with you shutting him out physically and the Horseman shutting him out verbally, it's difficult for even the composed archangel to keep exasperation at bay.

Just then, your voice calls out to them from the other side of the door. “Ugh, sorry about this guys. It's slowing down, but it hasn't stopped yet. I'll just be a minute!”

“So long as you're all right,” Azrael replies.

When he receives no response from you and no further input from Death, he lets his head drop into a disappointed nod, pressing his lips together. Suddenly, his presence feels a little too big for the space he's occupying. He needs to think.

Azrael leaves your bedroom with a far heavier heart than he'd gone in with, raking his fingers through fine, white hair and expelling a soft breath from his lungs, as if that might alleviate the weight settling across his chest.

So far, this first visit to your home has not gone as he'd hoped it would. Through no fault of your own, mind. But trying to focus on taking in everything you show him whilst he knows you're in more pain than you're letting on is woefully distracting. That's without even mentioning the creeping sense of unease that has been hanging over him ever since he first stepped foot through your front door. 

Briefly, Azrael wonders if Death had noticed the way your breath hitched slightly and your reply had an almost imperceptible, underlying tremor when he asked you what lay beyond the door at the end of your landing. He'd have to ask the Horseman about that later, when he's in a more talkative mood.

Already, the archangel can feel the beginnings of a frown forging crevasses down the centre of his forehead. He composes himself in another breath and finally lifts his eyes from the carpet, only to stop in his tracks. 

That door – that unassuming door to your cupboard lays ahead of him, quiet and solid as all doors should be, just sitting there under a flickering light bulb, as though it had been patiently waiting for him to notice it.

And notice it, he does, because something about the door has changed since he saw it last, something so obvious, yet also entirely unsettling.  

Where it had once been shut tight, now it stands ever so slightly ajar.

Despite everything in him screaming that he must respect the privacy of his host, Azrael's curiosity grows too bold and he finds himself treading silently down your landing, his shoes making no sound on the grubby, cream carpet. Drawing to a halt, the angel's keen gaze sweeps over the wooden door, taking in hairline cracks and mottled rot that a hundred years has left upon it like battle scars on a warrior's face. Slowly, he roves his eyes down to the dull, brass door handle and he immediately falters, doing a double-take.

Sitting atop the handle is a very noticeable, very thick layer of dust.

His brows knit together until they nearly touch and he reaches out to swipe a finger delicately along the brass. When he pulls away, he lifts his hand for an inspection and, sure enough, the pad of his forefinger is now sporting the same, grey substance.

'Why would a door you claimed to use recently have so much dust upon the handle?' The feeling of unease that had been stealthily keeping to the back of his mind now pokes its head out a little more, creeping forwards, daring him to acknowledge it.

'Something's wrong...' a quiet voice tells him.

Azrael's hand reaches out once more, except this time, it curls around the handle entirely and rests there for a moment as the angel's mind starts to race. 'Y/n.... Are you hiding something from us?'

As soon as the thought enters his head, he can't shake it loose. 

Yes - he trusts you - he knows you'd have no reason to lie to him, and especially not to the Horseman. And yet... Clearly there is something beyond this door that you're trying to divert their attention from and whatever it is has you spooked.

Feeling more and more like a common criminal, Azrael keeps one ear on the room behind him and slowly begins to twist the door handle, wincing when its rusty springs catch and squeak in protest.

His wings shiver with anticipation as he pushes the door open.

What awaits him on the other side is decidedly not a storage cupboard...

“A... bedchamber?” he murmurs to himself. 

Within an instant, he's hit by an oppressive wave of must and wood rot. The smell spills like liquid from the room and seeps into your hallway, causing the archangel's lips to curl, though he's quick to smooth his expression out again because there's something far worse lingering below the initial stench, something that – even after a hundred years – still clings to the peeling wallpaper and broken, dust-choked bed in the corner of the room.

It isn't quite magic, more like the residue of a dark and terrible memory. Azrael knows as well as any angel that memories can be immensely powerful things and capable of haunting a place long after the living are dead and gone. Hesitating, he takes a moment to steel himself before stepping over the threshold and entering that old, foreboding bedroom.

At once, he notices that, as with the door's handle, absolutely everything is covered in a thick layer of grime and dust, the television on the wall, the various, glass bottles that stand on a table at the room's centre, amidst which sits a single, yellowing glass.

Against the wishes of his own nose, Azrael takes a brief sniff at the air and grimaces.

Alcohol.

Even the most pious of angels would recognise it.

He dismissively turns his attention from the bottles and glides over towards a worn dresser that stands to the left of the bed, a bed that stinks of an odour he desperately tries to ignore. Upon the dresser are a vast array of what you;d once called 'photographs,' all of which sit inside basic, wooden frames. Inquisitive, Azrael bends down and peers at them, a soft smile worming across his face when he sees a familiar human grinning back up at him.

You couldn't be much older than four or five, but he'd recognise you at any age. It seems even as a child, you possessed that same, mischievous spark in your eyes.

You're standing alone, and in spite of a clear gap where a tooth has fallen out, you're beaming up at the camera so hard, he imagines your cheeks had to have hurt. In fact, the more Azrael inspects the photo, the more he thinks your expression most resembles a grimace, not a smile. He shrugs it off however, and moves on. After all, the facial structure of humans is such that they're capable of expressions far more complex than those of angels or demons. Perhaps he’s only misreading it. 

The next picture sees you looking a few years older, sitting in the lap of a tall, angular man wearing a white shirt that looks to have been frequently stained by all manner of substances whilst his face is stretched into a grin that makes Azrael's skin crawl. Captured in stillness, it looks menacing and shark-like. Worse still is the large hand that seems to have secured itself like a vice around your thigh, squeezing noticeably into the little, blue leggings you'd worn that day.

You aren't smiling as widely in this photograph....

The archangel's face begins to fall as well.

Humming, he moves on to the next picture and in an instant, that creeping unease suddenly rings in his head like an alarm bell.

Again, you're older here, perhaps early into your adolescence, and the smile you'd sported before is barely there at all. The same man is standing behind you this time, and his long, gangly fingers are clamped down over your too-small shoulders, fingernails digging so hard into the bare skin, the resulting indents are even picked up by the camera.

Your lopsided wince that could be mistaken for a smile at a glance shows off one side of your mouth and in it, Azrael can clearly see that you're missing a tooth.

He may not be the most well-versed on human biology, but he's definitely heard that children only lose the same tooth once. And that the process is a natural one.

Through the lense of the camera, your younger counterpart seems to peer up past the glass frame, past the fabric of time and space and straight into Azrael's misty, pale eyes, a silent yet clear plea in the tilt of your brows and the whites of your knuckles.

'Help me.'

All at once, the archangel feels sick. He staggers backwards, away from the dresser and doesn't even notice the golden halo on his back is thrumming with protective magics, pushing them outwards to envelope your entire house.

He doesn't need Jamaerah's second sight to know that you were afraid of that man who's eyes are stained the same colour as yours. Hazarding a guess as to why you were afraid causes Azrael's throat to tighten.

Swallowing hard, he tries to regain his composure. The archangel has always considered rationality to be one of the greatest weapons in his arsenal and if there was ever a time to use it, that time is now. 

'Perhaps... I am mistaken,' he reassures himself, 'I don’t know human customs nearly as well as I-’ 

“Azrael?”

The angel gives a start and jerks his head around to face the door, only to find Death eclipsing it, his eyes blazing like twin fires.

Stepping forwards into the room, he hisses, “What are you doing in here?”

The Horseman is quite certain he's never seen Azrael look so guilty.

Instead of giving him an answer though, the angel slowly breathes, “Where is Y/n?” Soon, he droops in relief when Death throws a thumb over his shoulder and replies, “Still in the bathing room, tending to a bloody nose... You didn't answer my question.”

Beckoning the Horseman closer, Azrael keeps his voice to a hushed whisper and holds the last photograph up in front of him.

“What do you make of this?”

Azrael's behaviour strikes him as so uncharacteristically odd and secretive, Death actually hurries over to him and snatches the picture frame from his hands, making an effort not to appear curious about the room he's never been inside. The angel watches raptly as Death scans the photographs with his luminous, orange eyes. Then, all of a sudden, the Horseman's fingers tighten around the little, wooden frame, hard enough to make it splinter and Azrael knows his worst fears are being realised. He hadn't imagined it.

Death sees it too.

“You guys shouldn't be in here.”

A tiny voice, low and trembling calls from the doorway and the angel's gaze snaps up. Death, in the meantime, remains too fixated on the photograph to bother acknowledging your presence.

Azrael drifts towards you cautiously, as though you'll bolt at any second. He tries to decide whether it would be better to apologise for invading your privacy or ask you why you look so terrified.

“Y/n,” he starts, paying attention to the way your hands turn over one another incessantly, “We were only-”

“... How... How did you get in? The door was - it was locked! You can't be in here... Get out!” Your voice raises in pitch. There are tears leaking from your bruised eye, swiftly turning the skin underneath it slick and shiny and there’s still a trace of blood underneath your nose.

Death finally lowers his gaze from the photograph and holds you captive under a wide and menacing stare. “A storage room, was it?” he asks curtly, showing you the picture clutched between his ever-tightening fingers.

The moment you lay eyes on it, your back goes rigid and all the blood drains from your face. “Put that down!” you demand and lift your foot as if to take a step inside the room, but as soon as you cross over the threshold, you seem to remember something, and quickly jerk yourself backwards, stumbling into the hallway again and sucking down a ragged gasp, blurting, “Just – Just don't touch it!”

“Why not?” Death drawls and tilts his head to one side, calculating, “It can't be that important to you. You've had it locked in this storage cupboard for these past two years.”

He's pushing you, Azrael realises with a sinking feeling, he's trying to provoke you into an honest reaction, no doubt. The archangel doesn't like it, but he likes the look of that man in the photograph even less.

“That's none of your business!” you snap, heart pounding like a jackhammer against your ribs. Unfortunately, your response only seems to stir something in the Horseman, who draws his head back as though you'd struck him a physical blow and he growls, “I hate to disappoint you, but it is my business where your welfare is concerned.”

“My welfare stopped being your concern about two years ago!”

Death falls silent, jaw clenching.

He'd be remiss to say that your comment hadn't struck at a place he guards jealously. He's painfully aware of the angel's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head and he nearly squirms at the pitying look he's receiving.

It would seem that Azrael knows him a little too well.

“You never once stopped being my concern...” the Horseman mumbles, his gaze moving down to the image in his hand. A younger, smaller you peers back at him with woe caught like sleep-dust behind your eyelashes. Death's eyes shoot back up to you again, the softness gone from his voice when he growls, “Why did you lie to me?”

Tensions are high enough that Azrael doesn't think it prudent to mention you'd lied to him as well.

Apparently, a direct confrontation was not the best way to deal with this delicate situation, a fact that becomes clear when you cinch your jaw shut for a moment, gaze flickering to and fro between the angel and the Horseman.

Seeing two of your most trusted friends standing in his bedroom with a symbol of your shame and your trauma held quite literally in Death's grasp sends your heart rate skyrocketing, fear like poison dripping down into your stomach. You can hardly believe they'd invade your privacy like this. Death especially, who knows better than anyone the necessity for keeping some secrets buried.

He doesn't need to learn about that part of your history - neither of them do. You don't want to have them worrying. And God forbid they should pity you.

Squaring your shoulders, you spin about on a heel and begin to march purposefully down your landing to the stairs.

“Where do you think you're going?!” Death barks after you.

Chest heaving, you pause on the first step and cast a heavy frown over your shoulder at the Horseman, matching his ferocious gaze without a single blink. “If you won't leave that room,” you tell him, “then I'll leave this house. And I'll thank you both to be gone by the time I get back.” 

And just like that, you continue to descend your staircase and disappear below the wooden balustrades. Seconds later and there's an almighty 'slam' that signals you've had an altercation with the front door before leaving through it.

For some time, the house is weighed down under a blanket of silence as the pair of unearthly beings are left to stand in the aftershocks of their actions.

“Oh dear..” Azrael's stare is vacant, worried, and he has several fingertips pressed to his lips. “I fear I've reopened an old wound..”

“No. This... isn't your fault,” the Horseman sighs, “I should have addressed this sooner. I've known for some time there was something Y/n didn't want me to know. And, I suppose, I'd always suspected that this room might lead to some answers.”

Taken aback, Azrael turns a mystified look onto the Nephilim. He'd expected Death to lay the blame upon his feathery shoulders, after all, he was the one who first ventured into this so called 'storage cupboard' and upset the proverbial applecart. Still, he finds it somewhat odd that the Horseman – a nosy creature if ever one walked the nine realms – hasn't ever tried to see for himself what lay beyond the door. Tilting his head, the angel asks, “You never thought to investigate?”

At the question, Death averts his gaze and shrugs one of his pale shoulders. “Admittedly, no, I did not.”

“Well... Why?” Azrael presses, though he already has an inkling.

After a moment of frowning pensively at the photo in his hands, the Horseman turns to look at him and he's once again thrown off by the level of emotion in those wild, striking eyes. Death really has grown since knowing you.

“I never brought it up because....” 

“.... You didn't want to jeopardise your friendship,” Azrael finishes for him softly, and Death is only grateful that he didn't have to say it himself out loud.

At the same time, the two of them peer back at the photograph and the archangel is surprised at himself for the anger that boils in his lungs at the sight of that man’s hands on you. Death however, isn’t in the least bit surprised at the presence of his own rage. 

“Horseman...,” Azrael says, his voice eerily calm, “You don’t supposed.... Y/n might be trying to hide something else, do you?” 

"The bruise...”

Furious, orange eyes meet cool and misty white. 

“It isn’t out of the question,” Azrael breathes, “A random attack from human zealots? Or-” 

“- Or something a bit closer to home,” Death finishes as he tosses the photo onto the nearby bed and turns to face the door. 

Outside, rain continues to hammer relentlessly on the house whilst a streak of lightening illuminates the bedroom and the two, imposing beings inside, one with dark magics crackling at his fingertips, and the other with a halo of solid gold on his back that thrums with violent energy as the glyphs on his wings begin to glow electric blue. 

Without a word, the Angel of Death and the Grim Reaper slip from your house and stride out into the coming storm, their ancient minds focused solely on tracking down their human.

[viscariaa]

Shall we Drink Tea? Oneshot!

Platonic Ship: Kirumi and Korekiyo

Words: 1186

Type: Canon-Divergence AU 

Trigger Warning: None 

Posted: 02.14.21 

Description: Korekiyo asks Kirumi to do an interesting request... 

Happy Valentine’s Day @musicalregret, @danganronpavalentines​! I hope you enjoy your gift and I wish you happiness on this day! To anyone else, sending you virtual hugs and chocolates for this lovey-dovey day! - Mocha 

Kirumi releases out a heavy sigh. She crosses her arms as she exits out of her elegant lab, the morning light shining behind her from the red drapes. “Since it is after the routine meeting. I must be ready for everyone’s request.”

A small smile plays on her lips before replacing it with a solemn expression. How could she have forgotten? Kirumi winces as she recalls Kaede’s execution, her gloved hands squeezing her white sleeves. “No time to fret. I need to-” 

“Pardon me,” Kirumi glances up after closing her lab door, staring into Korekiyo’s dark orbs. “Kirumi, could you do me a service?” 

“Yes, of course. What is it that you require?” 

“Kehehe, I simply need for you to prepare some green tea and snacks, preferably vegetables, but anything will do. Then, come and find me in the courtyard. Please do not make me wait a while.” 

The anthropologist leaves Kirumi by herself, heading off in the opposite direction of the courtyard. “Now to the library…” She hears him muttering. 

Her hands smooth out her dress, “Time to get to work.” 

----

Kirumi is back in her lab, ignoring the rowdiness of Kokichi and Miu’s vulgerness just outside her door. She turns her attention to the working stove, the water beginning to bubble up in the silver pot. Up in the drawer above, Kirumi fishes out a handful of delicate tea leaves, and sprinkles them into the shiny silverware. 

“It has been nearly five minutes. I mustn’t take long.” 

Soon, a knife and a wooden cutting board are on the marble countertop. Kirumi examines the knife in her hand, shaking her head in disbelief. She goes to a mini fridge near the sophisticated table, where she pulls out: Strawberries, a cucumber, a jar of honey, and a pack of grain bread. 

“One, two, three…” Kirumi counts in her head, turning off the stove.

The heat hits against her face, a smile graces Kirumi’s lips as the scent tickles her nose. When she pulls out the tea leaves, Kirumi reaches for a porcelain teapot, decorated with dainty blue flowers along with two matching bowls and teacups, and three plain white plates. 

After pouring the green tea into the teapot, Kirumi gets to work on the snacks.

She washes the strawberries and cucumber in the sink, Kirumi bends down to an empty trash bin, and begins to peel the cucumber. The green strips go neatly inside, “It has been eight minutes… I cannot bear to be late.” 

The cucumber stains her gloves, but Kirumi pays no mind. She releases a deep breath and cuts the vegetable into little slices before dumping them into a bowl. Kirumi turns her attention to the strawberries, she carefully slices off the green leaves, and fills up another bowl.

“Almost finished. Only a little more now.” 

Her hands reached for a spoon while grabbing the jar of honey, the yellow dew shining brighter in the sunlight. “Honey… perhaps, I should bring it. I’m not certain if Korkeikyo would prefer honey in his tea.” 

Kirumi shakes her head, bringing her attention back to the bread and honey. She dips the spoon into the honey, twisting it to catch all of it like a spider web. Gently, Kirumi spreads honey all over twelve thin pieces of bread, and places them onto a plate in a tidy manner. 

“Eleven minutes…” Kirumi huffs, backing up to change out of her messy gloves. “Now to carry them over to the courtyard. No time to waste.” 

She attempts to balance everything in her arms, “I am going to need some assistance,” Kirumi mutters.

With her eyes close, Kirumi ponders, “Hmm… what could I possibly use?” 

Turning her attention back to the cupboards, Kirumi carefully pulls out a wooden tray. She sets down everything with precision: The teapot in one corner, two empty teacups, a plate filled with honey-coated bread, and a bowl of cucumbers and strawberries. 

Now, with the wooden tray in her hands, she glides over to the door. Kirumi could vaguely hear the chatter among her peers, hushed voices bringing her back to reality; back to the prison known as the Ultimate Academy. 

“I need to head off now.” Kirumi says hastily.  

Then, Kirumi swallows down her nervousness and heads off to the courtyard.

----

Kirumi trots over to a green patch of ‘grass’, her back tensing up as she stands up straight. “No. I could not have taken too long. It has been sixteen minutes exactly. Perhaps I did according to Korkeikyo’s standards? But no… I cannot make a mistake. I have to be-” 

“Kehehe… you are here. Good.”

She snaps her head around, seeing the familiar long hair behind a stack of books. “Now if you may, Kirumi, lay everything down. Thank you.” 

Her silver hair bobs affirmatively, placing the tray onto the ground, and gracefully lays the silverware and snacks out on the ‘grass’. Soon, Korkeikyo plants down, his stacks of books in between the two, and his deadpan eyes flicker to Kirumi. 

He gestures for Kirumi to sit down, which she does of course, her dress creating a shield around her, “Another request. Enjoy some tea and snacks. Admire the human beauty of relaxation while reading. Kehehe.”

“As you wish.” 

Korkeikyo passes her a book, his expression not changing in the slightest. Kirumi is taken aback. This request… was not her usual ones. Perhaps… Kirumi could indulge herself, even if only for a little bit. 

A thin smile presses on her lips and she pours fresh green tea into the teacups, just close enough to the brim. After blowing soft breaths, her throat gets refreshed from the calming liquid, making her stomach happy. 

After a while, all you could hear is their breathing and heartbeat. In the very silent prison with blood inside, the happiness of a fresh cup of tea is still ever so present. 

“How fascinating…” Korkeikyo interrupts the silence, “Humans are so very… keen. What do you believe, Kirumi?”

“The human species is truly a remarkable thing. Who would have believed long ago, a simple pot of green tea would be inside a hel- place such as this,” Kirumi remarks back. 

“You would be-” 

“RISE AND SHINE URSINE!” 

“Puuhuhuh~!” Monokuma’s and the mascot's voices pierce through the sound system, “Alright you ultimates! Time for more heart wrenching despair… Drum-roll, please! Time for another motive! Puuhuh~! Come to the gymanism!!” 

“Please, listen to what Daddy says!” Monophanie shrinks just as the speakers crack out. 

The pair stare at each other, a lump stuck into their throats. Fear was present in their eyes, but both attempting to mask it behind a deadpan expression. 

A ring of alarm rang through Kirumi’s head, “I shall pack this up immediately.” 

Without giving it a second thought, Kirumi quickly places everything back onto the tray, and soon her hands are full once again. 

“Perhaps one day, we shall have tea again?” 

“If that is your wish.” 

In all honesty, it sounded delightful to Kirumi. Perhaps one day, she and Korkeikyo will enjoy tea somewhere else. “One step at a time.” All Kirumi needs to do is survive. 

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

Unbelievably ursine underwater antics recalled

It just came about rather casually the other afternoon over cheese and crackers at our autumnal bivouac--Crazy Claws' lakeside retreat beside the artificial waters of Artificial Lake Delton near Wisconsin Dells--as in Hair Bear just letting slip what you'd call a composite of many a muggy summer afternoon coincident with their mating season road trips, prior to their mating escapades in orgy form:

"You can't help but just imagine this ursine trio just going into what amounts to an underwater meditative mode ... it's just us three diving in wearing just ourselves, basically trying to stand up, arms outstretched, hind legs practically akimbo, just--chilling out in the depths."

"Holding your breath all the time," Huckleberry Hound observed.

"However did you guess?" shot back Square Bear.

"Just obvious."

"After all," Hair Bear continued, "we bears just can't resist some quality time in the water--and underwater, as well! Which can only be nothing less than fascinating."

"So I've heard," observed I. "So I've heard!!"

"Ohhh, just the wonderful quality feeling," the ever-vocally incredible Bubi Bear chimed in, "just the sensation I can't help but look forward to! Especially that sensation between your legs--"

"Which, admittedly," Hair Bear remarked, "can't help but happen--as in just releasing ourselves in an ursine sort of wet dream underwater!"

Moi remarked, "What couldn't be more interesting a sensation underwater?"

Which saw the females of the romantic ursine crowd, Emmy Lou and Jenny Lee, chime in with their own take on ursine underwater fascination, "which," Emmy Lou remarked, "is not just your typical bear diving session ... it's a diving session which feels rather delightful, and then some; just wearing ourselves as well, and just letting the feel of the water guide us into ursine ecstasy!"

To which Jenny Lee chimed in, "And isn't that a sensation!"

"Especially," Emmy Lou added, "when we can just kneel on the lake bottom in our ursine nakedness and give each other something of an underwater bear hug!"

"As a matter of fact," Hair Bear quickly added, "Emmy Lou couldn't resist giving such bear hugs as she does underwater!"

"You mean to tell me," Crazy Claws incredulously observed, "that the Hair Bears have actually joined Emmy Lou and Jenny Lee in diving?"

"Our paths crossed a couple of times during the ursine mating run," Hair Bear added, "and what could have been better than for us to share in the experience underwater?" Which had Jenny Lee childishly noting just what sort of antics Hair Bear was up to underwater when he felt aroused, prompting Hair Bear to remark that "it's bound to happen with us, and breathes there anything more symbolic of feeling good and well than just having an erection underwater?"

"With us bears," Square Bear added, "what could go wrong when our penis suddenly feels so stiff underwater?"

"After all," Huckleberry Hound remarked, "I can't help but find fascinating how bears actually enjoy making love as you do."

"It's just in our nature," Hair Bear respondeth.

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @iheartgod175 @railguner34 @aquablock68 @funtasticworld @multi-fandom-girl-451 @archive-archives @themineralyoucrave @hanna-barbera-land @screamingtoosoftly @hanna-barberians @thylordshipofbutts @hanna-barbera-show-blog @thebigdingle @warnerbros-blog1 @ultrakeencollectionbreadfan @groovybribri @passionateclown @zodiacfan32 @moonrock1973 @warnerbrosent-blog

[bakrahispul]

The outward appreciation in her tone was enough to bring a smile to his face, though he had expected a smidge of irritation from the splattering of mud. Truly a social butterfly, this fiery, ruby-skinned tiefling meshed perfectly with Halsin's attitude. Though, perhaps her kindness surpassed his own benevolence! The fascination was clearer than an untouched lake. Pure and unbridled curiosity emanated just from her presence alone. It almost felt unnerving to have such delicate innocence as this as of recent events, but it made the archdruid all the more reason to be happier.

"Naught a connection can be made if one does not try." He responded, carefully folding his parchment as he tucked it safely within his side pouch. "Though, I must admit that perhaps it's best to approach when the time calls for it. Certain seasons can leave the wildlife in a.... troublesome attitude." Clear as ever, his hands carefully gestured toward his upper left temple. What looked to be a carefully-painted sanguine claw mark was indeed not a painting at all, but a gnarly scar that earned its own right to be as interesting as the story behind its creation. "Far too many regard nature as harsh - which is true, partly. Though many easily forget the kindness it brings. After all, it's easier to remember the pain than the pleasure." Spoken like a tree-hippy indeed. A burly elf with a near-boundless adoration for the giving land. Soft-spoken, yet steadfast words that flowed without even a hitch of hesitation in his breath. For sure, he looks better than his ursine form. "Ah. I almost forgot. The name is Halsin - and you are...?"

In this form? The barbarian blinked almost owlishly. Had she been away from Faerun that long she had forgotten about its wildlife? Not likely, the most she'd ever seen of wildlife had been whatever was skulking around The Elfsong on a fifthday. That little thought Karlach kept to herself. As she peered closer ...

Hang on, thought Karlach. Something's not quite right about that bear. And, as if on cue, the mess of muck and mire that coated her skin and armour was replaced with ... Fuck me, that's a huge elf.

Karlach was floored, and it presented itself in that almost gormless open hang of her mouth, the expression not entirely unlike that of a child being presented with an entire basket full of cake.

"Don't sweat it, mate."

Still not the most peculiar thing she had seen of late. Druid. Her mind finally caught up to what's in front of her, and Karlach let out a small, amused bark of a laugh and moved to brush off what remained of the mud that had dried on her skin. It flaked off of one arm, bit by bit.

"You know," the tiefling began, "I think talking city-folk into approaching random bears is a recipe for disaster."

[reubenyeoart]

Apex Ursine

"Nature takes its course, as it should."- Vorinclex, Voice of Hunger

Some Magic: the Gathering fanart involving a hypothetical Phyrexianized bear... golem thing. New Phyrexia was my proper entry point to Magic: The Gathering, since I was fascinated with the organic, warped shapes the Phyrexian creatures had, what with their marriage of flesh and machinery that wasn't just robot limbs bolted onto an organic body. I had actually sketched this design various times in the past, but this time I strove to fully realize it. It was a challenge to find good reference for the environment to situate the creature in, and I ended up having to use scans of existing New Phyrexia cards to design the backdrop. Painting the tarnished and partially eaten metal was something that I've always wanted to do,  which was easily done with a chalk brush.  All in all, a pretty fun piece!

Magic: the Gathering is ©2020 Wizards of the Coast LLC

[pokebiologist]

Just travelled to the Galar region and I’m fascinated by how differently they treat the Gym Challenge here! In particular the tradition of cooking curry while camping! What I’m worried about however is what kind of ingredients should I avoid that might harm my Pokemon? Everyone I meet seems to just throw in anything!

Great question! Luckily, there are no berries that are poisonous to any Pokémon, they otherwise would not be classified (at least colloquially or legally) as berries. So, not counting for the taste preferences of an individual Pokémon, they can eat any base Curry that is offered to them. 

Supplementary ingredients, you do have to be more careful about. After all, you cannot feed an obligate herbivore meat products without making them sick. When traveling with a mixed group, many trainers will remove a portion or two of the base Curry before adding extra ingredients for their Pokémon with more particular diets. Omnivore Pokémon like primates, ursines, procyons, and most fish and birds are naturally the easiest to travel with and you can worry less when it comes to sharing Curry with other trainers. You should always keep a list of foods that your Pokémon should never ingest. This will be specific to the species, and can change with evolution.

-Thea

[pangolin-404]

we desire the lore, could you give us all the lore?

Ask and ye shall receive!

Toy Soldiers: Simply put, dystopia cyborg children. A wee little island somewhere near Europe run by a vaguely defined government is home to some funky shady labs that toy with with robotics and cybernetic enhancements, going beyond the legal acceptance of prosthetics and sight/hearing restoration. They nab kids or young adults nobody will miss and absolutely brutalize them, full blown sci-fi legs and all that.

These creations are them forced against one another in brawls for entertainment, and bets are placed on who will win. Sometimes, they're forced to kill one another or animals.

The top creations are, broadly made by a dude simply called Zookeeper due to his fascination with animals. He bases his experiments around them. One of his first experiments, Ursine, escaped and begins a revolution behind the scenes.

Vulture is just. Nuts. Chest-deep in Stockholm syndrome. He wholeheartedly believes he was saved by Keeper and was made better by the modifications. He fought it at first, but after his first fight he got some claws in his eyes, resulting in his irreversible blindness. Keeper didn't kill him for it, which effectively pushed him to the point of seeing him in a godlike sense.

Archie(to be named as Hybrid, but he remembers his real name so screw Keeper) was the newest recruit was scheduled to undergo some new procedures. He's best friends with Vulture for treating him like a person and is number 2 on Vulture's list of people he'd kill for. But Keeper messed up, and throughout a chain of connections that Archie had to the outside world, Ursine struck at a golden opportunity.

Lab was burned down and everyone was saved. Keeper is god knows where and Vulture swears to kill Ursine for taking away his normalcy and yeah goes on trying to find her but it really doesn't work

Anthony lived on an even tinier island that was pretty isolated. He and a group of people decided to talk to Ursine to beg her not to run their little island over(her revolt got the whole island evacuated and they really don't wanna be overrun by traumatized cyborg children next). They don't know much other than some experiments that may or may not be sentient revolted so they're going in blind.

But! Ursine's elected military general, Spark, gets shot when freaking out over what he perceives as a militia. He blows up, having a built in propane tank and all, and it takes the car with him. Anthony is the only survivor, and is rightfully freaked out.

Long story short he meets starving, burned, scratched up Vulture(who's barely alive trying to fend for himself) and is threatened into getting him decent food and taking him to Ursine. Fun trip for everyone involved.

Corruption: big ol zombie like virus that turns 70% of everything on earth into monsters. It revolves around a little girl who's immune to it, much to the confusion of the three who find her. She's got a funky label on the hospital gown she was found in so they go on a quest to find the mystery lab in hopes for a cure.

Ivan being a pathologist who wants to vivisect a certain someone, Robert trying to just survive in general, and Robert's husband Jeremy, who is slowly but surely turning into a monster and not having a very good time at all. It's a hot mess that's still being worked on

Edit: I FORGOT ONE HOLD ON

This one's a bit vague because I'm trying not to make a certain character fall into the stereotype people with schitzophrenia have

As of yet unnamed: The sky's black. No moon, no stars, big spooky. A wheelchair-bound man(Ben) wakes up to this, goes 'huh, that's not good' and realizes nobody else is around. Like...ghost town. No bodies, either. He goes around trying to figure out what the hell happened, yelling and knocking on doors but getting no reply.

Ends up finding a kiddo after hearing a scream. Kiddo has just bashed in another kid's skull with a rock. F e a r on both sides.

Kid freaks out, at first terrified of him, the calms down enough to insist he's completely rational and justified in killing 'One', shaking and stuttering and looking over his shoulder all the while. Ben can't rush leaving without possibly getting hurt, especially when the kid starts raving about monsters and voices. Prying reveals that kid has schitzoaffective disorder and says it's completely unrelated to the real monsters(it is indeed unrelated), he just has a hard time telling them apart(this does not help his case against Ben).

Ben isn't going to leave a child alone in the sunless hellscape, murderer or not, and calms him down enough to assure him he's not going to hurt him or sell him out to whatever scientists he keeps referring to. Asks for an explanation, the kid("Five") again starts talking about monsters and a fellow named Six, says One tried to get them killed by alerting the monsters, his story's really scrambled. Ben gets worried about him, thinking the kid needs help, but agrees to help him find his friends. It's a slim chance of finding someone, anyways.

Then an unseen monster touches Five and suddenly becomes very seen. "Told you they're real!" -Five probably

[transeskel]

So I havent played all of witcher 3 (and have not played 1 & 2) but what I'm understanding is

1) viper school got completely wiped out, letho is presumably the only member left

2) cat school also got wiped out Gaetan and Jad Karidin remain (if u spare them) and from the note in Gaetan's hideout presumably there are a few others

3) Manticore school is wiped out, presumably long ago (havent played the dlc yet correct me if I'm wrong)

4) Griffin, no idea

5) Ursine, no idea

6) the wolf is technically intact? I know there's a few other members in the earlier game but they die, then the only other wolves shown are eskel, lambert, geralt, and vesemir (Haha but it doesnt stay that way by the end of the game 😭) Which could be game limitations or just there are VERY few left. We know Kaer Morhen was attacked (honestly I wouldnt be surprised if attacked MULTIPLE times) so it wouldnt be surprising if there were only a few left

I love learning lore about the witcher schools, I find them incredibly fascinating but also incredibly sad. These people were put through hell and all they had was each other. Reading the note in Gaetans hideout made me sad bc not only was the school taken over by soldiers but every cat had a bounty on there head and had to separate from each other.

Lots of fanfics and headcanons are about Letho being the ONLY viper witcher (havent played 2 dont know if its true) and like can you imagine how devastating that must be? Like yeah you go through torture to become a witcher but presumably you at least had the bond that everyone else went through it, everyone understood your pain, your anger.

Geralt and Eskel pick on lambert and call him a prick but I don't think they ever tell him its unjustified. When Lambert tells geralt his past geralt instantly becomes sympathetic and doesnt blame him for not wanting to be a witcher. And ultimately they all care about each other and would die for each other. Letho and Gaetan presumably dont have that. They're already hated by villagers, other witchers dont trust them, and they're own schools are gone.

Anyways I'm crying in the club rn

[umbramatic]

The Bear, The Bird, and The JRPG Protagonist

Heyo! This is a short short slice of life story commemorating our two most recent Super Smash Bros DLC characters. It would have been a bit longer but it ended up taking longer than expected, so I tried to get it out of the way. Regardless, I hope you find this to be an amusing little tale.

(Though it's been years since I've played a game in one of the series featured so forgive me if certain peeps sound a bit off):

The Bear, The Bird, and The JRPG Protagonist

The Luminary gazed out upon the wide open ocean from the dock. He idly watched the waves, letting his thoughts drift with them.

Sure he had three other heroes of legend with him. But was he really prepared to join this elite society of Super Smash Brothers? He knew it was full of legendary heroes and even villains - was he even worthy?

It was then he felt a tap on the shoulder.

He whipped around to see a ursine creature with a bird on its back. His first instinct was to whip out his sword, thinking it was a monster. Then recognition dawned on his face.

"You... You were the others..."

"Hiya!" said the bear. "No need to be so dramatic," said the bird.

"I... I apologize," said the Luminary. "I'm not used to creatures quite like you two."

"I can't tell if you're being insulting or flattering," said the bird.

"Kazooie, be nice!" said the bear. "By the way, I'm Banjo."

"Hello, Banjo, Kazooie," said the Luminary. "You must be the other heroes they recruited to the Smash Bros society."

"Sure are!" said Banjo. "We're pumped!"

"We're gonna catch up on everything we missed and then kick everyone's asses! Including yours!" said Kazooie.

"Wait, catch up?" said the Luminary. "You've met these warriors before?"

"Well," said Banjo, "Some of them. It's a long story. Can we talk about it over pizza or something?"

"Pizza?" said the Luminary. 

Kazooie rolled her eyes. "It's a food."

"Oh! Very well then."

Banjo led the Luminnary off.

----------------

The three sat at a table outside a small restaurant, Kazooie still in Banjo's backpack. Banjo poured a sizeable amount of honey over a slice of pizza before scarfing it down. 

"...That's an interesting meal," said the Luminary.

"More like disgusting," said Kazooie.

"What? It's a combo I discovered in the off years!" said Banjo.

"...Off years?" said the Luminary.

"Oh!" said Banjo. That's what I wanted to tell you about!"

He coughed and cleared his throat.

"See, we used to like hanging out with all of Mario's friends! Link and Fox and Donkey Kong and all... But then something bad happened!"

"How bad?" said the Luminary.

"Very bad. We got bought out by Microsoft!" said Kazooie.

The Luminary tilted his head in confusion.

"Er, Kazooie? I don't think he knows about the Fourth Wall," Banjo says, whispering.

"Oh, my bad, let me give him the dramatic version," said Kazooie.

She turned to the Luminary. "We were screwed over by... The Powers That Be!"

"Powers That Be?" said the Luminary, blinking in suprise. "You mean like... Gods?"

"Ha! The Powers That Be make gods look like quivering worms in comparison!" said Kazooie. They govern all that goes on in the various worlds!"

The Luminary was leaning twoard Kazooie in his seat, fascinated and a little bit horrified. "What did you even do to displease such great and powerful beings?"

"Nothing, that's what!" said Kazooie.

"It was horrible!" said Banjo. We couldn't be friends with Mario and Donkey Kong and their buddies anymore! We could only hang out with Master Cheif and his buddies! Who weren't all that bad granted. But it wasn't the same!"

"More importantly," said Kazooie, "We couldn't get an adventure at all! The only exception was when we were forced into some horrible vehicle-building exercise!"

Now the Luminary just looked horrified. "That sounds awful! I wouldn't want to get stuck in that situation."

"It was and you wouldn't!" said Banjo. "But joining the Smash Brothers finally gives us a new adventure, and one where we can see our old friends again!"

"Plus we can kick their asses!" said Kazooie.

"I'm happy for you two," said the Luminary. "Me, I just got off an adventure so a new one feels... Sudden."

"What kind of adventure?" said Banjo.

"Let me guess it was a dragon quest," said Kazooie.

"Kind of?" said the Luminary. It all started when I turned 16..."

The Luminary then transitioned into a long-winded tale about a band of misfits and Yggdrasil and, yes, dragons. Banjo and Kazooie sat and listened, eating popcorn they had mysteriously procured out of nowhere. Once Luminary was done, Banjo applauded.

"That was awesome! A good tale!"

"Seems like standard JRPG fare but I kinda like it," said Kazooie.

"Standard what?" said the Luminary. "Oh nothing you'd understand, kid," said Kazooie.

The Luminary blinked. "Okay then." 

Banjo looked down. Both the honey and pizza were gone. "You guys want to do something else?"

"Certainly," said the Luminary.

"But what?" said Kazooie.

Banjo thought and thought and thought some more. Then a look of realization came to his face.

"I have an idea!"

---------------------------

The three were standing (well sorta in Kazooie's case as she was still in Banjo's backpack) on a large platform, on opposite ends. The Luminary was eyeing Banjo and Kazooie warily.

"...You want me to hit you?"

"Yeah! As hard as you can! It's good practice for the Smash Brothers society!" said Banjo.

"Give us your worst! That sword of yours probably couldn't even open up a tuna can!" said Kazooie.

The Luminary sighed and charged toward them, swinging his sword as soon as he got close. Immediately Banjo countered with claw strikes, the two sharp objects clanging together. Eventually the Luminary started pushing Banjo back, toward the edge. Banjo flailed, was about to fall off-

Only for Kazooie to push him back upward and for him to strike Luminary dead in the face, sendig him flying back and sprawling. The Luminary immediately got up and sent a blast of fire Banjo and Kazooie's way. Banjo and Kazooie, however, seemed to charge right through it, knocking the Luminary straight off the platform and sending him tumbling down to the ground with a thud.

"Ow..."

Banjo and Kazooie landed far more gracefully next to him.

"You OK kid?" said Banjo.

"He'll live," said Kazooie. "He said he's survived worse."

"I have," said the Luminary, getting up. "But... But I'm suddenly worried about the Smash Brothers."

"Eh? Whaddya mean?" said Banjo. 

"The Smash Brothers... Including you... They all are from various different worlds... Have powers and tricks I can't possibly fathom... I'm having a hard time even with the other Heroes going with me! How can I hope to compete? I mean you two - you two took on the Powers That Be and lived!"

Kazooie snickered at the last sentence, but Banjo nudged her and she fell silent.

"Look, look, kid - the way I see it, Smash isn't... about winning," said Banjo.

"...It's... It's not?" said the Luminary.

"No! It's... it's about everyone being all together! Like you get to be with the other heroes and we get to see our old Nintendo friends again!" 

"You're pulling this out of your rear, aren't you?" said Kazooie, whispering to Banjo.

"I might be but it just might work!" said Banjo, whispering back.

Indeed, the Luminary was furrowing his brow and rubbing his chin.

"You're right... I... we... are going to meet so many different people... That's going to be an adventure in and of itself...."

"See! Told you!" said Banjo.

"Speaking of meeting people... When do you and your buddies head off to meet everybody else?" said Kazooie.

"It's... actually, the invitation said tomorrow," said the Luminary.

"Tomorrow?" said Banjo. "Aw man we don't get to go until -"

A passing seagull squawked very loudly. 

"Oh, that's too bad..." said the Luminary. 

"We'll see you again when we get there at least," said Kazooie.

"Can... Can we at least send you off?" said Banjo.

The Luminary smiled.

"You sure can."

-----------------

The next day, the Luminary and the three other Heroes with him were standing in front of a portal by the seaside. The Luminary turned back to Banjo and Kazooie, who gave him a thumbs up.

"See you on the other side!" said Banjo.

"Don't die!" said Kazooie.

The Luminary simply smiled, then turned and walked through the portal with his companions as it closed.

"I'm gonna miss him till we get there," said Banjo.

"He's a good kid," said Kazooie.

There was a pause.

"...We're still allowed to kick his ass when we get there right?" said Kazooie.

"Of course!" said Banjo. "All part of the fun."

***

[froody-matriarch-of-bleu-cheese]

Civets as well a Genets are very fascinating, adorable creatures. Genets actually make good pets. These animals are feline-like in appearance, either carnivorous or omnivorous, but are not related to actual felines. They are nocturnal and rest in tress, rock crevices, and empty burrows. Civets and Genets are usually solitary. 

“The vocal African palm civet spends most of it’s time the forest canopy, where it feeds chiefly on the fruits of trees and vines and occasionally on small animals and birds. All other species of pine civets are confined to the forests of Asia. They are skillful climbers, aided by their sharp, curved, retractable claws, usually naked soles, and partly fused third and fourth toe, which strengthen the  grasp of the hindfeet” (Mcdonald pg. 124). 

The fossa is a species of Civet that is found only in Madagascar. They have long tails which help with climbing as well as keeping their balance when hunting in the treetops. They look a lot like a big cat. They take up the niches that lions, tigers, or other feline apex predators would because there are no feline species native to the island. They are much closer related to mongooses than actual felines. Even so, they have retractable claws, akin to those of a feline. They can potentially grow up to six feet long and weigh 26 pounds.

Sulawesis or Great or Brown palm civets have webbed, flexible feet. In Southeast Asian forests, there are five species of banded palm civets and otter civets. Banded palm civets eat lizards, frogs, rats, crabs, snails, earthworms, and ants. Owson’s banded civet mainly eats invertebrates. Hose’s palm resembles the banded palm civet in body but has a differing head shape. Otter civets have shorter rounded ears, a thinner pointier muzzle, a more compact body, and a shorter tail. African civets live in all habitats on the continent. Indian civets are smaller than Indian civets and eat small mammals and birds, stalking prey like a cat. They also scavenge and eat eggs.

Binturongs or bearcats have been reported to swim in rivers and catch fish. They resemble a combination of bears and cats but are not ursine or feline. Their long, fluffy tails sometimes serve as a fifth hand. They can potentially live up to 20 years. They are found in forests throughout Southeast Asia. Unfortunately, they are a vulnerable species due to habitat destruction. 

Binturongs are thought to be the most closely related to palm civets. They are generally solitary and nocturnal, like most civets. They are generally shy animals, and hard to spot, especially due to their endangered status. The habitat loss has been worse in the southern range of territory. They rely on thick, dense forests for shelter and safety.