#Brown Bear Sow

[johnnyslittleanimalblog]

Pause - 1227b+ by Jen Hall Via Flickr: This pretty brown bear paused a moment to observe us. I'm glad she did. Happy Bear With Me Monday!

[katmaibearfan]

i think this is the funniest picture anyone has ever taken of 32 chunk. look at him. he looks like a slug. and yet. instead of a slug. he is a bear of incredible size.

[bitterrobin]

the thing about Damian, especially pre-Robin, is that you have to straddle a line between child and cult assassin. He’s a nuanced character, you can’t dumb him down or simplify him. (On that note: PLEASE stop calling him feral! It’s pretty racist!)

You cannot make other characters be nice and understanding to him from the start like Dick or Tim or Jason. You cannot make them treat him like a toddler below his actual age.

You also cannot make him a irredeemable psychopath who exists only to hurt Tim and sow conflict. Because that’s just straight up not true. Fanon.

Writing Damian needs to be a balance between these, and he needs this nuance to be interesting.

If everyone treats him softly, then there’s no point for Damian’s personality as it is. He is rude and arrogant and abrasive for a reason. You could argue that he’s spoiled, but he’s also a child who was ripped from a culture he knew and thrust into the arms of a white family who don’t understand him and don’t make the effort to actually teach him their views. He’s rude and angry because there is no place for him there, not until Robin, and even then he is still subject to their judgements. If everyone treats him with kid gloves, then his attitude comes without justification and doesn’t make sense.

Please remember that when Damian first appeared in comics, everyone except Talia disliked him. Bruce wasn’t sure what to do with him, but he also was quick to scream obedience. From Dick’s inner monologue in Resurrection of Ras al Ghul and his very early interactions in Batman and Robin, he didn’t like the kid and thought him a burden to bear in the place of Bruce. Tim never once gave him mercy after the first meeting. His inner monologue and actions all speak of hate and teenage angst - some justified, some way out of line.

Damian’s anger is then reasonably apparent. He doesn’t fit in. He can’t. But he doesn’t seek violence. He doesn’t try to murder everyone in their sleep like some people think. It’s shocking that fanon’s interpretation of him is a boy who goes for the throat in every interaction. He’s snippy, but in every single comic I’ve read he’s never tried to fight someone without a justification. If he was an X-Men level telepath, then I’d argue that his actions would become worse if he really knew what people thought of him at first glance.

If you’re a child that knows he is hated, then you lash out. You test boundaries. You see what will make them exile you, hurt you. You are a brown boy surrounded by a white city in a culture that you don’t understand. You cannot see your mother again. They hate her. You cannot express yourself in a world that expects the worst. You are shackled by expectation and judgement. They won’t let you be, but they won’t let you go.

You are stuck.

And in this, you will always be.

[fatale-distraction]

Okay but bear with me tho cause I have Headcanons

The Dread Wolf prowled through the streets of Minrathous, careful to keep to the shadows, winding a convoluted path with unerring steps through the most obscure backstreets. Overhead, the sentinel towers floated, their lyrium-powered eyes scanning for his presence. They wouldn’t find him. His agents were scattered throughout the city, simultaneously sowing confusion and protecting the elven population of the city. The magisterium would see any elf breaking curfew as a threat, even the lowliest child slave wasn’t above suspicion. The innocent must be protected as much as possible.

He rounded a corner, and immediately stepped back behind the mortar wall as a spotlight swept by, clutching the final piece of his grand puzzle to his chest. The moment it passed, he hurried onward. An elderly elven man stumbled across his path, clinging to the hand of a young woman who froze at the sight of the mage before her.

“Go,” he hissed, gesturing behind him. “Quickly. Tell any others to get to their homes.”

“Thank you,” the girl stammered, staring up at him with large, luminous blue eyes. They weren’t the right color, but so similar it drove a knife into his side.

He pushed on.

“You are in violation of curfew—…”

A shadow flitted by on quiet feet and the scream of a guardsman was cut off with a barely perceptible snick of metal. Everything was going to plan.

“The Chargers have been spotted,” the shadow whispered as it followed his steps. “They’re guarding something, but our people haven’t been able to find out what. No sign of her.”

“She’s likely the very person they’re protecting,” Solas murmured back. “Keep eyes on them, but don’t interfere unless they move first.”

The agent hesitated. “I don’t think it is her. There’s a rumor she was seen on the other side of town. Same area the Blue Wraith report came from. It’s possible The Chargers are merely a distraction, but…”

“Just keep tabs on both of them,” snapped the Dread Wolf. “And get back to work.”

The shadow melted away and Solas picked up his pace again, tugging his hood down more firmly. It didn’t bode well that Cremisius had let the former Inquisitor out of his sight, even accompanied by the most famed Slaver Slayer of the current age. He needed to hurry.

As Solas rounded another labyrinthine corner, he nearly stumbled over a small, shivering bundle pressed against the crumbling brick and swore. The creature squealed in terror and scuttled away. There was a flash of wild reddish-brown curls and fearful violet eyes. The wrong color, both, yet the same. He skidded to a halt and stared. The little bundle pressed further into the shadows, its cloak pinned at the shoulder with an all too familiar golden eye.

Solas crept forward, heart in his throat, stashing the final artifact within the folds of his cloak. The tiny cloaked figure shied away and whimpered, trembling all over. He reached forward and pulled the hood back. His own eyes stared back at him, wider, wetter, and younger. Unruly curls he knew like the back of his hand, the same color his own hair had been so many centuries past. His nose. Her rose-bud lips. A perfect chimera of their shared features.

“No,” he whispered, narrowing his eyes. “No, that’s not—…” But it was possible. She’d tracked him down not long after the Exhalted Council, specifically to yell at him. There hadn’t been much yelling.

That was almost seven years ago. And this fearful little waif couldn’t be much younger than six. He reached for her again and she shrieked, covering her face with tiny, pale hands.

“No!” She squealed. “Please don’t eat me, Dread Wolf! I won’t run away anymore, please!”

His face fell. He could feel his heart shatter like glass, the icy shards dropping down through his stomach. “Oh,” he breathed, kneeling beside her. “No, no, no, please don’t cry…I won’t harm you, da’ean.”

The child continued whimpering, curling in on herself. Watching the terror in her eyes, his own face reflected in irises he’d never forget, the image distorted by tears, tore at him as truly as a wolf’s teeth. As gently as he knew how, Solas tentatively took her by the arms and helped her to stand. When she jerked away and stumbled into the wall behind her it was like a punch to the gut.

“Where is your mother?” Whispered Solas, reaching out to take her hand even more slowly. She eyed him with an all-too-familiar suspicion, but allowed the contact, though her fingers shook.

“She went with the glowing man,” the girl sniffed and squared her little shoulders in sudden defiance. “I wanted to go with, but my Krem said I had to stay. I don’t want to stay, I want to fight with mamae, I want to fight the Dread Wolf!”

Solas couldn’t help the devastated smile that pulled at his lips. “And, da’len? What do you think, now that you’ve found him?”

The child considered him, scrubbing her face with a grubby paw. She set her chin, the same way she always had. “I don’t think you’re very scary at all,” she insisted. “You’re just tall and bald.”

An ugly snort burst from him before he could stop it. “Well, you’re quite right,” he allowed. “What is your name?”

“Mahriel,” she replied. “I already know your name. It’s Fen’Harel.”

“Yes. And your mother? What is her name?”

“Mamae.”

“Her name, child, what is her given name?”

“Her name is Mamae,” insisted Mahriel in a tone that suggested she thought him to be terribly, regrettably stupid.

Solas sighed and stood, still holding onto the girl’s hand. She was so little he nearly had to bend at the waist. “I see. At any rate, it’s not safe for you to be wandering the streets alone. There are people much more scary than I who wouldn’t shy away from harming a child.”

“More dangerous than you?” She asked quietly.

Solas gave her a grim smile. “No.”

She considered this and seemed to come to the conclusion that as long as she had the more dangerous scary person on her side, the other scary people shouldn’t pose much of a problem. “Okay.” She lifted her arms and, clearly unaccustomed to being disobeyed, commanded him. “Up.”

“Yes, my lady,” the Dread Wolf replied soberly, lifting the child easily into his arms. “I’ll see you safely back to…”

“My Krem,” she supplied. The girl put her hand to his ear with a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t want Mamae to know I escaped. She’ll be very angry at him.”

“I’m sure.”

Moving through the streets with a priceless artifact had been difficult enough. This precious package was far more nerve-wracking. Every sweep of the sentinel buildings sent a jolt through his heart, every sound was a potential threat. Where before the adrenaline had been an exhilaration, now just shook him down to his bones. One of his agents bolted by, skidded to a screeching halt, turned around and gaped openly. Solas scowled, made a violent gesture, and they scampered off, tossing a bewildered look over their shoulder.

He needed to hurry before word spread too far.

The last thing he needed just now was an ‘I told you so’ lecture from Merrill.

Who was in charge here, anyway?

“What the FUCK do you mean, she’s GONE?!”

The roof of the skeevy bar shook and glass bottles rattled on the shelves. Krem alone stood before the former Inquisitor, head bowed in shame.

“I don’t know how she escaped, one minute she was here, and then—…”

“You got outsmarted by a six-and-a-half year-old CHILD!” roared Ellana. Fenris leaned against the wall behind her, glowering.

“Grim and Stitches are already out looking for her—…”

The small elven woman grabbed her friend by the front of his armor and yanked him down to her height. “My daughter,” she enunciated through furious tears. “My precious elvhen daughter is wandering around the streets of Minrathous BY HERSELF, during a lockdown, with swarms of Fen’Harel’s agents and Venatori forces crawling about in the middle of the night. And you sent TWO men out after her?”

“Dalish and Skinner are out there, too.”

“Oh, FOUR! That makes me feel so much better, Krem.” Ellana turned to speak to her body guard over her shoulder. “FOUR people out looking for my daughter, Fenris, whom I birthed from my own body at great expense to my health.”

The Blue Wraith snarled an oath. “Shall I go?”

“You’re supposed to be guarding Her Worship,” argued Krem.

“And you were supposed to guard a CHILD,” snapped Fenris, lips curling in rage as he pushed away from the wall and advanced.

“Stop it, both of you,” demanded Ellana, shouldering between the two men before it could come to blows. She raked trembling fingers through her bright red curls, then dropped her hand to rub at her left elbow. It had been almost eight years since the unexpected amputation, and it still ached sometimes. Particularly when emotions ran high. “I’ll go look for her myself. Fenris with me, Krem…”

He looked so thoroughly dejected it broke her heart. The mercenary loved that little girl like his own from the start. She sighed. “Stay here in case she turns up. She’ll be scared and she’ll need you.”

“Yes, Your Worship,” he choked out.

The door to the bar creaked open and all three adults whirled, two swords came unsheathed, and hand-held crossbow found its way into Ellana’s hand.

A small, reddish blur blasted into Ellana, nearly knocking her off her feet. “Mamae!”

“Mahriel!” Her mother cried out, scooping the child into her arms with a fresh burst of tears. Fenris and Krem exchanged relieved looks and sheathed their weapons. Krem slumped against the bar with a groan while the other man turned to secure the door. “What were you thinking, running away from your Krem?! Glowy Man nearly gutted him, and I hadn’t even decided on all the terrible things I was going to make him do!”

“Thanks,” Krem deadpanned from his slumped position.

“Stop calling me that,” Fenris grumbled from his post by the door. His eyes searched the darkness outside through the high peep-hole carved through the wood, but saw nothing but still shadows.

“I was even considering making Krem scrub my chamber pot,” scolded Ellana.

“No!” Her daughter wailed into her bosom, repentant tears streaming down her fat cheeks. “No, don’t make my Krem clean your stinky chamber pot! It was my fault! I tricked him! I’m so sorry, Krem!”

The mercenary just groaned, massaging his temples. “I’m never having kids…” he muttered to himself. “They’re too much trouble, and that one’s not even mine. No kids, not ever.”

His smile ached as the Dread Wolf perched on the roof of the reappropriated bar, listening to the litany of relieved admonishments. She hadn’t changed much, not where it counted. She was still patently incapable of being serious for longer than a moment, still full of kindness even when overcome by righteous fury. Still full of love, even for those who had let her down so terribly. Solas risked a small peek through a knot in the wooden roof. The little girl was now clutched in Cremisius’ strong arms and sobbing out her apologies while her mother recovered with an impressive swig from the first bottle she could get her hands on.

There would be discussions. Later. First he would string his spymaster up by their thumbs and demand to know just how in the ever-loving fuck they’d managed to overlook the existence of a whole entire child for nearly seven years. Then he’d find Ellana and if he could resist shaking her bodily, demand an explanation, regardless of whether he deserved one or not. If there was time, he’d ask Krem how a six year old had outsmarted him.

But for now…He double-checked that the artifact was still safely stowed in his cloak pocket. It was the last piece. Now all that remained was to return to Arlathan Forest and begin.

He had to move quickly.

The Dread Wolf took one last look. Ellana had wrestled her daughter back from her friend and was cradling her close, stroking her hair and murmuring softly. Krem stood at her side, his hand on the former Inquisitor’s shoulder. Fenris, however, stood protectively over all of them, staring straight up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword.

The Dread Wolf fled.

[ilynpilled]

There are walls around this one higher than Winterfell’s.

“Fighting is better than this waiting,” Brienne said. “You don’t feel so helpless when you fight. You have a sword and a horse, sometimes an axe. When you’re armored it’s hard for anyone to hurt you.”

…yet somehow he could not reach her. It was as if she had an iron cage around her that stopped every blow.

The wench has built a fortress inside herself. They will rape her soon enough, but behind her walls they cannot touch her.

They will leave her a cripple too, but inside, where it does not show.

“You swore a solemn vow.” He smiled as a red flush crept up the thick white column of her neck. She turned her back to him. “Still the shy maiden? What is it that you think I haven’t seen?”

“I swore to keep you safe,” the wench said stubbornly. “I swore an oath.” Naked, she raised her hands to Jaime. “Ser. Please. If you would be so good.” The steel links parted like silk. “A sword,” Brienne begged, and there it was, scabbard, belt, and all.

She looked so miserable that Jaime almost found himself wanting to comfort her. Since that day Brienne had been like one half-dead. Even calling her “wench” failed to provoke any response. The strength is gone from her. The woman had dropped a rock on Robin Ryger, battled a bear with a tourney sword, bitten off Vargo Hoat’s ear, and fought Jaime to exhaustion … but she was broken now, done.

Jaime gave her a hard smile. “See, wench? We know each other too well.”

There were shields to be had for pennies, but Brienne rode past them. She meant to keep the heavy oaken shield Jaime had given her, the one he’d borne himself from Harrenhal to King’s Landing. A pine shield had its advantages. It was lighter, and therefore easier to bear, and the soft wood was more like to trap a foeman’s axe or sword. But oak gave more protection, if you were strong enough to bear its weight.

It wasn’t fair. She could not fight without her magic sword. Ser Jaime had given it to her. The thought of failing him as she had failed Lord Renly made her want to weep. “My sword. Please, I have to find my sword.”

This time she dreamed that she was home again, at Evenfall. Through the tall arched windows of her lord father’s hall she could see the sun just going down. I was safe here. I was safe. She was dressed in silk brocade, a quartered gown of blue and red decorated with golden suns and silver crescent moons. On another girl it might have been a pretty gown, but not on her. She was twelve, ungainly and uncomfortable, waiting to meet the young knight her father had arranged for her to marry, a boy six years her senior, sure to be a famous champion one day. She dreaded his arrival. Her bosom was too small, her hands and feet too big. Her hair kept sticking up, and there was a pimple nestled in the fold beside her nose. “He will bring a rose for you,” her father promised her, but a rose was no good, a rose could not keep her safe. It was a sword she wanted. Oathkeeper.

Someone had stripped her of her clothes and armor, she saw. She was clad in a brown woolen shift, thin but freshly washed. Her forearm had been splinted and bound up with linen, though. One side of her face felt wet and stiff. When she touched herself, she found some sort of damp poultice covering her cheek and jaw and ear.

The grey man touched her bandaged face. “We had to cut away some of the flesh. Your face will not be pretty, I fear.” It has never been pretty. “Scars, you mean?” […] Every knight has battle scars, Ser Goodwin had warned her, when she asked him to teach her the sword. Is that what you want, child? ”

Finally the doors opened, and her betrothed strode into her father’s hall. She tried to greet him as she had been instructed, only to have blood come pouring from her mouth. She had bitten her tongue off as she waited. She spat it at the young knight’s feet, and saw the disgust on his face. “Brienne the Beauty,” he said in a mocking tone. “I have seen sows more beautiful than you.” He tossed the rose in her face. As he walked away, the griffins on his cloak rippled and blurred and changed to lions. Jaime! she wanted to cry. Jaime, come back for me! But her tongue lay on the floor by the rose, drowned in blood.

“What are you doing here?” “Something stupid. Get behind me.” He circled toward her, putting himself between Brienne and the bear. “You get behind me. I have the sword.”

“I am grateful, but … you were well away. Why come back?” A dozen quips came to mind, each crueler than the one before, but Jaime only shrugged. “I dreamed of you,” he said.

“When she tried to talk she almost choked on her own tongue. I gave her a rose and told her it was all that she would ever have from me.” Connington glanced into the pit. “The bear was less hairy than that freak, I’ll—”Jaime’s golden hand cracked him across the mouth so hard the other knight went stumbling down the steps. His lantern fell and smashed, and the oil spread out, burning. “You are speaking of a highborn lady, ser. Call her by her name. Call her Brienne.” Connington edged away from the spreading flames on his hands and knees. “Brienne. If it please my lord.” He spat a glob of blood at Jaime’s foot. “Brienne the Beauty.”

“Take the sword and slay the Kingslayer, or be hanged for a betrayer. The sword or the noose, she says. Choose, she says. Choose.” Brienne remembered her dream, waiting in her father’s hall for the boy she was to marry. In the dream she had bitten off her tongue. My mouth was full of blood. She took a ragged breath and said, “I will not make that choice.”

Brienne sucked the air in desperately, even as the rope was strangling her. Nothing had ever hurt so much. She screamed a word.

Jaime scrambled to his feet. “My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon.” Gods be good, she looks ten years older than when I saw her last. And what’s happened to her face? “That bandage … you’ve been wounded …” “A bite.” She touched the hilt of her sword, the sword that he had given her. Oathkeeper.

[staudnhuckn]

Brown bear (Ursus arctos) sow and cubs

Transylvania, Romania

[dionysianivy]

𐙚𓏲⋆Virgo Season⋆ᡣ𐭩

August 23 - September 22 🪷

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Symbol: ♍︎

Solar System: Earth, Mercury

Season: Summer

Day: Wednesday

Element: Earth

Energy: Yin

Chakras: Sacral, Solar Plexus, Throat

Numbers: 6, 9

Colors: Black, Navy Blue, Dark Brown, Gold, Dark Gray, Green, Pink, Purple, Violet, White, Yellow

Tarot: The Hermit, The Magician

Trees: Beech, Chestnut, Cypress, Hazel, Horse Chestnut, Maple, Mimosa, Oak, Walnut

Herbs (Garden): Aster, Bergamot, Dill, Fennel, Honeysuckle, Hyacinth, Lavender, Lily, Lily of the Valley, Marjoram, Peppermint, Rosemary, Valerian, Violet

Miscellaneous Plants: Eyebright, Horehound, Patchouli, Sandalwood, Skullcap

Gemstones: Agate, Amazonite, Amethyst, Andalusite, Apatite, Aquamarine, Aventurine, Carnelian, Chrysocolla, Diamond, Emerald, Garnet, Jade, Pink Jasper, Lapis Lazuli, Lodestone, Moss Agate, Opal, Peridot, Sapphire, Sardonyx, Sugilite, Watermelon Tourmaline, Tsavorite, Turquoise, Red Zircon

Metal: Mercury

Gods: Odin, Hermes

Goddesses: Astraea, Anat, Artemis, Demeter, Diana, Hestia, Inanna, Iris, Ishtar, Isis, Kore, Nanna, Persephone, Vesta

Bird: Sparrow

Angel: Auriel

Animals: Brown Bear, Cat, Pig (Sow), Squirrel

Magical Powers: Abundance, Beginnings, Consciousness, Cycles, Destiny, Emotions, Endings, Grounding, Independence, Intuition, Love, Analytical Mind, Nurture, Order/Organization, Purification, Sexuality, Shyness, Business Success, Well-being.

source: Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences: A Comprehensive & Cross-Referenced Resource for Pagans & Wiccans by Sandra Kynes

tips♡

[veryberryjelly]

I would love to join for a round of twister! I would say the HP fandom :>

Information about me:

Looks-

I am between 5'0 and 5'1 female but my pronounce are she/they and I am pansexual but I feel that matters less in this category. my hair is a little longer then my shoulders and is styled in a subtle wolfcut and the color is dark brown. I am on the pale side and have 3 earrings 2 on my left ear and 1 on the right one. My eyes are hazle color though sometimes they are brown.

Clothing style-

I most of the time wear sweaters but I do sometimes wear tank tops that show my belly and style them with baggy jeans (those who have 6 pokets. I wear skirts around people I am comfortable enough with, I wear a lot of times shorts in the summer but will also suffer the heat if I want to wear something specific. The colors I mostly wear are light brown, brown, white, black, and sometimes green.

Personality-

I would say I am introverted since I don't quite go out a lot and is quite scared of confronting people alone but that might also just be social anxiety but I do need to recharge my social energy while being alone, I have or more like planning to have an army of plushys but I have a specific teddy bear that I sleep with since my childhood (his name is happy :] ). When I am with my close friend group you could say I'm a different person since I become very happy and energetic while when I'm with people I am not as close with I often just get tired easily. I get excited over a lot of small things like puddles! I love those and with that I will also say that my favorite season is the winter.

Hobbies-

I'm an artist, I draw (digitally and on paper), paint, sow and make origami flowers for friends.

I love to read and my own mini library is in development.

I used to sing but that hobby was a little ruined by someone so I don't know if I can count singing as a hobby now. But I like to listen to music and do it a lot.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝟏𝐊 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑

i ship you with...

cedric diggory !!!

i know that cedric is hyperaware of when your social battery is running low

when he notices he'll most likely make up an excuse for you both to leave and take you back to your dorm to ' recharge '

for any sort of holiday he will help you add to your army of plushies

he's always happy when he see's the ones he's bought you on your bed.

[admiral-mason]

You Reap What You Sow - Chapter 2

Genshin Impact SAGAU x Iron Harvest 1920+

It Gets Worse

Liyue was just as bad as Mondstadt if not worse.

Before you headed to Liyue, you slept inside of a ditch you hastily dug. The next day, you had walked there via foot, carrying nothing other than some wild berries and apples, your rifle, and the clothes on your back. When you got there, there was another common chest. When you opened this one up...

...There was a Rusviet Gunner’s anti-mech cannon inside of it.

This experience just gets weirder and weirder. First a Polanian rifle, now a Rusviet anti-mech cannon? You slung the rifle over your back and held the large gun. It was surprisingly lightweight, and you could still run around perfectly fine with it (aside from the bulkiness of the weapon, of course). Whatever. Hopefully Liyue would be much friendlier to you.

“IMPOSTOR! CALL THE MILLELITH!“

There’s your cue. You instantly started running through the streets, not turning back. No way in heaven were you going back to Mondstadt. As you continued to run, the Millelith ran after you.

When you ran to a distance far enough from the Millelith, you pointed your cannon at them, and fired at the ground.

BOOM!

This caused a blast which knocked the soldiers back. However, more started to come, and back you were on your feet. This time, Keqing, Ganyu, and Ningguang were after you too. The wind helped you yet again, allowing you to outrun all of them.

But you halted your legs when you saw Zhongli in front of you with a stern and serious look.

“I will have order!“

Zhongli said, before he unleashed his elemental burst. Panicking, you tried to run away from the meteor while you aimed your cannon at the meteor which was rapidly approaching you. It was kinda like slow-motion. All of a sudden, your cannon fired twelve shots of red projectiles in extreme rapid succession, destroying the meteor from harming you. Zhongli just stood there in utter disbelief as you took the moment to throw your cannon at him (it still felt lightweight), knocking him out. After you did so, you ran to grab your cannon as you continued to make your way out of Liyue.

Meanwhile...

A certain young teenage girl with red hair and blue eyes had noticed the so-called ‘impostor’ run away from Liyue. With her brown bear watching alongside her, she could take away one clear thing.

This wasn’t Teyvat’s impostor.

Despite their relatively short time together, she could recognize them very well. Their clothing, their appearance, and most importantly, the specific weaponry they are carrying.

This was not only Teyvat’s creator, but Europe’s creator as well.

The teenage girl could only watch their grace escape from Liyue. Their forces aren’t strong enough yet. She simply had one thought in mind before she left the scene.

‘Hold out for a little longer, your grace. You won’t have to suffer once we interfere.‘

Genshin Impact is owned by miHoYo. Iron Harvest 1920+ is owned by Jakub Różalski and KING Art Games.

[thelustybraavosimaid]

I'm fairly certain the cannibalism is only going to increase the deeper the series heads into winter.

It started with Tyrion having Symon Silver Tongue cooked into a bowl o' brown:

Tyrion turned his horse. "Give him three days, then inform him that Hamish the Harper has broken his arm. Tell him that his clothes will never serve for court, so he must be fitted for new garb at once. He'll come with you quick enough." He grimaced. "You may want his tongue, I understand it's made of silver. The rest of him should never be found."

Bronn grinned. "There's a pot shop I know in Flea Bottom makes a savory bowl of brown. All kinds of meat in it, I hear."

"Make certain I never eat there." Tyrion spurred to a trot. He wanted a bath, and the hotter the better. (Tyrion IV, ASoS)

Then continued with the kindly man and Coldhands feeding Arya and Bran "pork."

The dead men's clothes and coins and valuables went into a bin for sorting. Their cold flesh would be taken to the lower sanctum where only the priests could go; what happened in there Arya was not allowed to know. Once, as she was eating her supper, a terrible suspicion seized hold of her, and she put down her knife and stared suspiciously at a slice of pale white meat. The kindly man saw the horror on her face. "It is pork, child," he told her, "only pork." (Arya II, AFfC)

--

Meera Reed was turning a chunk of raw red flesh above the flames, letting it char and spit. "Just in time," she said. Bran rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and wriggled backwards against the wall to sit. "You almost slept through supper. The ranger found a sow."

...

"You said no fire," he reminded the ranger.

"The walls around us hide the light, and dawn is close. We will be on our way soon."

"What happened to the men? The foes behind us?"

"They will not trouble you." (Bran I, ADwD)

And additionally with Bran, a suspicious blood and white coloured "weirwood paste" that may or may not be Jojen:

She had a weirwood bowl in her hands, carved with a dozen faces, like the ones the heart trees wore. Inside was a white paste, thick and heavy, with dark red veins running through it. "You must eat of this," said Leaf. She handed Bran a wooden spoon.

The boy looked at the bowl uncertainly. "What is it?"

"A paste of weirwood seeds."

Something about the look of it made Bran feel ill. The red veins were only weirwood sap, he supposed, but in the torchlight they looked remarkably like blood. He dipped the spoon into the paste, then hesitated. "Will this make me a greenseer?" (Bran III, ADwD)

Then it was the members of Stannis's army eating one of Lord Fell's men.

Asha had been as horrified as the rest when the She-Bear told her that four Peasebury men had been found butchering one of the late Lord Fell's, carving chunks of flesh from his thighs and buttocks as one of his forearms turned upon a spit, but she could not pretend to be surprised.

But like she thinks...

The four were not the first to taste human flesh during this grim march, she would wager—only the first to be discovered. (The Sacrifice, ADwD)

[butiki]

in your THRIVING ARC?

i am ALWAYS in my thriving arc i just am extremely bad at posting. though, i'm definitely better now than i was a year ago. 2023 was a year of sorrow and heartbreak for me, letting myself be hurt and etc etc etc... no need to linger on those feelings. suffice to say, they existed, and now i'm learning to love again :) thriving is always nicer when its in embrace of positive emotions & not negative ones.

as soon as 2024 turned, i could feel that it was going to be a good year. then maybe somewhere around early february--the days leading up to my birthday--i felt a tangible shift in my heart. things cleared out, opened up, and i felt like colors were brighter. i've been cruising on that high since then :) i've traveled to see friends a lot this year, and friends have traveled to visit me too. the people i've always had in my life are coming closer and closer to me, and i'm very grateful for that.

there's this very simple line in a poem by stonehouse that caught me and made me smile with resonance. it goes "don't think who gives receives no reward / a fruit forms in time where there is a seed." in my head, reading the line, i could see the whole process of a seed sprouting into a sapling into a tree that bears fruit. i could see the passings of winters and summers, i understood the whole evocation of time moving. and yes, the fruit would not be there were it not for the seed being sown! and its true! in everything good that happens to you there was an initial moment where you sowed the seeds for that thing to grow. some trees grow quickly, some trees take longer, but everything grows where it has been planted. even out of pavement, flowers can bloom.

unnecessary continuation, keeping it around for my own reference point but anything relevant has already been said: and that image reminds me: about a week & a half ago now, i took a walk with my friend bean through the nature preserve nearby her house. there was a segment of the path that was a concrete road built alongside the manmade lake that the park was centered around. this road was crumbling into the lake, falling apart. large sections of the lake-facing side were gated off by barriers, since huge chunks of the asphalt were being undone, falling into the lake. you could see beneath the pavement the rich, brown earth. you could see plants growing out from between each and every crack. you could see the roots of trees working around the asphalt chunks, adopting them into their systems. i think theres something to this image that can develop the kind of half-metaphor i'm working with/adopting from stonehouse.

love as seedform? concrete as sorrow? something something growth of love at every possible opportunity it can take????? maybe theres something to this.... maybe sorrow is just the time after the harvest, when all you have left is threshed oats (what remains) and scattered seeds (what will one day be). i see the comparison to winter with sorrow, i understand what people are going for, but maybe its more about how you must sit for the springtime and watch things slowly grow. maybe its about how the first time you sow oats, you have to wait for them to grow. i think i'm losing the thread, but its somewhere in there. i'll have to hone it down, maybe... but now i'm just babbling along.

short answer: yeah :-)

[johnnyslittleanimalblog]

The Three Big Bears - 0972b+ by Jen Hall Via Flickr: I posted the three little bears last time, so I guess these are the three big bears, LOL. Actually it's mama and her two cubs. She's teaching them how to fish on the lip of the falls. She is an expert at it and they will be too! Happy Bear With Me Monday!

[katmaibearfan]

With 435 Holly, the bear that started me on my Katmai Bear Journey, not showing up yet this year, i am taking a lot of comfort in watching her offspring grow and thrive. Whether they are fishing up a storm like 89 Backpack or playing bitey face with the other subadults like 335 Jolly, they have all been a joy to watch.

503 Cubadult, Holly's son not by birth but by choice, has especially been a bright spot for me this year. Seeing him grow into the large, successful boar that he is today always warms my heart, because the story that him and Holly share -- the story of a scared cub separated too early and the nervous sow who decided to take him in despite the risks -- is one of the best and most special stories we have. We had never seen a Brown Bear adopt a cub before, we didn't know that was something that could even happen. And yet, back in 2014, against all odds, 435 Holly adopted 503 Cubadult.

We will never know how or why that adoption took place -- it happened mostly off camera, and obviously we can't ask the bears about it. But, at the risk of too much humanization, i cannot help but think that of course it was Holly who adopted him. Of course. She is a nervous mother, yes, but she is also a kind, gentle, caring one. When 89 Backpack was a yearling, he couldn't put any weight on one of his front paws for the entire season, and Holly slowed down so he could keep up and changed where she fished so he would be safer. If any sow was going to look at that small, lost, scared 1.5 year old cub and take him in...of course it would be 435 Holly.

i miss her.

[foxydude]

I've seen the HarringroveKinktober event (got so inspired !!!) going on and I wanted to make something for today's prompt : sex mirror (NB : English is not my birth langage, I'm a frog mixed with a bear)

Enjoy ~

Weirdly enough, life had been good with him lately. Billy wasn’t used to this kind of treatment ; he considered that life was more or less a hungry bitch that would always come for him, barking and drooling all over the place like a rabid beast, ready to give him what he sowed. But recently, nothing bad happened, maybe because Neil was gone on a business trip with his crew from the power plant (the douchebag bragged about it for a whole week, but man, it really sounded fucking boring to Billy, to think that someone could enjoy hanging out for three days with his coworkers. He wouldn't even go for fucking Disney World).

So, blondie was able to go wherever he wanted, to come home whenever he wanted. Damn, it felt really good to feel free.

And tonight, Billy was going to Tina’s party. The thought of getting drunk to protect his street cred was annoying as hell but free booze is always great and the blond was looking forward to cross Harrington’s path. As he parks on Tina’s lawn, taking the best spot, Billy smiles avidely to his reflection in the rearview, his aqueous gaze shining brightly. He fetches the bottle of cheap gin that a druggie he bribed with codeine bought for him at the store. To be honest, it was more about the gesture than anything else because he knew that the other kids would bring some fancy drinks. And that's what Tina thought since, when she opened the door, her eyes scanning Billy from head to toes, her gaze stopped at the bottle he was holding.

« Hun, you didn’t need to bring that. We have plenty of beer. 

— I thought I could be a gentleman, or whatever, said Billy, grinning

— As if you knew how to do that. »

Her smile is cheeky as she invites him to enter. The party is already raging on in the living room, the music loud and throbbing. As soon as they spot Billy’s presence, the boys from the basketball team roar KEEEEEG KING. Some of them already look kind of gone and Billy raises his eyebrow when he notices Harringrove’s presence in the background. The brown eyes shift quickly away, dark eyelashes fluttering, when Billy’s gaze meets them. The both of them, the wild dog and the fading king, had been casually making out for the last three months but Billy wanted it to stay a secret ; for the sake of his streetcred’ or because he didn’t want anymore to go public about his sexual life, he didn’t knew anymore.

 But it was working : in the open, they were barely tolerating each other because it was extremely arousing, fumbling at each other’s clothes as soon as they were alone. For Billy who didn’t want anything too personnal, things were just right. Even if sometimes, he had the feeling that Harrington was about to ask him something, his mouth funnily opening before closing again, like a fish drawn out of water. In these moments, Billy went straight to the door. He never was a coward but he didn’t want to aknowledge whatever was lying in these deep brown eyes. So, he always pretended nothing was going on and tonight wouldn’t change anything to his routine.

Parker gives him a fresh bottle of beer that Billy pops open with his lighter. A girl from the cheerleading team (Stacey ? Sandra ? Sonia ?) joins the group, blabbering about how great last practice was. At the corner of his eye, Billy notices that Harrington is shifting uneasily, obviously not liking the praise. Now that his royalty is fading away, he looks kind of uneasy when people tell him about his past greatness. Must be stingy, pretty boy, thinks Billy as he takes a sip of his beer. The crowd around him is swaying lazily, its chatter filling the room with a growing noise.

When the girl finally turns her attention toward him, Billy catches Harrington’s gaze on him behind her back and he smirks cheekily, before lowering himself to get closer to the chuckling maiden (though, he was not sure she really was a maiden). Next time he glances over the has-been king, he sees that his already pale face is growing even whiter, as if he was holding something inside.

« What ? Are you jealous, Harrington ? You wanted Sandy’s-

— Sarah’s, says the girl, her cheeks bright red

— Sarah’s attention all for you ? »

Harrington shrugs and words silently come on his pink lips, obviously meant for Billy.

« Can’t hear you, man. » yells the blond

The fallen royalty rolls his eyes before he reaches to Billy, whispering in his ear and pushing away the golden curls that cover it.

« I said : you and me in the bathroom. Now

— Oh, I like it when you get kinky, answers Billy, his voice low and playful

— Just shut the fuck up, ‘kay. »

Then Harrington just walks away and Billy follows him through the crowd, his eyes set on the brunette’s ass that keeps catching his attention. When they reach Tina’s bathroom, Billy opens the door and makes a galant gesture toward Steve.

« After you, m’lord. »

Harrington narrows his eyes but says nothing, walking inside. When a random guy tilts his heads toward them, Billy barks at him.

« Have you never seen two guys casually taking a piss together ? »

Afterwards, he slams the door shut and is immediatly met with Harrington’s blazing lips capturing his own. His lover pins him forcefully on the wall, grabing him by the collar of his shirt.

« Didn’t knew that jealousy could get you so worked-up, whispers Billy when the tiles of the wall brush against the back of his neck, their coldness making him shuder

— Why are you saying that as if you did it on purpose ? groans Harrington

— ‘Cuze maybe you really are very easy to read.

— And you’re a miscievious hoe.

— Hold on the dirty talk for when we’ll be getting down to business, hun. »

Steve bites his lower lip and Billy knows that his bratting is getting him exactly where he wants to be. Sometimes, he just fools around enough to slip under his lover’s skin, just enough to get his eyes lit with an angry spark that stirs in the deep brown of his gaze. He glances back at him with a teasing grin on his face, holding a pleasured moan when Harrington shoves him against the water bassin. Next things Billy knows, Steve is unbuckling his belt and tying his hands to the faucet. A shiver runs on his skin, filling him with anticipation. He would do anything to get that dominant side out of Harrington, to get the best out of him. It’s a game he likes to play, teasing his lover until he gets forced to shut up.

Sometimes, Harrington plays the same part and that makes Billy crazy with lust

But this time, even if Billy is leading the chitchat part, he knows that Steve is in charge.

Anticipation builts in his stomach when Steve’s fingers dig in his hips and wander to his crotch, grazing it. His lover’s free hand reaches Billy’s curls, grabs them to force him to straighten his head. He feels the brown-haired guy lips brush against his ear as his gaze meets his reflection’s. Steve’s sight behind him gets him hard in an instant.

« You look so hungry right now, murmurs Steve, don’t be loud, otherwise everybody will hear your slutty moans.

— Damn, you look hot when you’re playing the dom part. 

— And you’re the worst submissive.

— ‘Cuze, maybe, I’m not really someone who willingly submits to anybody ? »

The blond gasps when his lover’s fingers open his trousers to slide inside. Usually, he’s always the one who asks for his desire to be met as quickly as it is possible ; but Steve is another kind of lover, slower, sometimes gentler. Billy doesn’t know when he began to like this way of doing things. The pace of Harrington’s fingers on the lenght of his dick is teasingly unhurried and the blond can’t help but catch sight in his reflection of how his own cheeks are getting red and redder, still. The vision is somewhat arousing as if he was a mere plaything.

Steve Fucking Harrington’s toy.

He bites his own lips when he feels the brown-haired guy’s cock press against his butt and there’s definitly something that Billy likes in Steve’s possessiveness. His hands are handling him just in the right way, slowly stroking his arousal until the glimpse he catches of himself is blurred by the mist that’s forming on the mirror. Harrington pulls his pants down his knees and Billy sways his ass at him until a forceful hand pulls him down the washbassin.

Next thing he knows is that he could be the sugar melting on Steve’s tongue.

As Harrington eases himself in him, Billy spots his own teary, glassy eyes in the reflection and he moans, offering his rear to his thrusts. He likes the way Steve’s riding him and he bites his own wrist to muffle his groans. His nose brushes past the faucet as he yelps.

« Shhhh. 

   — Shh...h yourself, retard. »

Steve smiles, and it’s adorable.

Billy feels likes his inside are about to melt and he lets his hips follow the bastard’s rythm as his orgasm builts in his belly, a pool of heat devouring his loins. When he catches sight of the climax coming in Steve’s eyes, the sweet release washes over him. Harrington’s gives one final thrust and comes quickly afterwards, sputtering.

« Well, seems that you still are a king, Harrington, does Billy stutter

— And what is a king without his bitch ?

— Don’t make me laugh while you’re still there, please. »

Harrington pulls out and unties Billy’s hands, his fingers brushing lightly against his skin ; something still waits to be said but it stays stuck in the blonde’s throat. After having put his trouses back up, the brown-haired guy takes his place in front of the mirror, combing his hair and Billy closes his jeans slowly.

« Until next time ?

— Of course, California boy. »

But as the blond opens the door, he catches something in Steve Harrington’s gaze, something that makes him want to fly away. 

[the-communist-unicorn]

Suptober Day 14: All For You

Dean dried his hands on a dish towel and looked around the little kitchen, running through his mental checklist. The brisket was in the oven. The sides were in the fridge, ready to be quickly reheated once the meat was done. The bread was on the cooling rack. All that was left to do food-wise was slicing the apples, and he wanted to do that as close to serving as possible so they wouldn't turn brown. 

With all the cooking done, Dean took a moment to breathe and bask in his accomplishments before turning his attention back to the dining room. (Really just the living room with the couch and TV pushed out of the way, but he was working with what he had.) He laid a clean white cloth over the rickety folding table, and used the best approximation of "good dishes" that two broke grad students could lay claim to: a set of blue and white earthenware plates they'd picked up at a flea market. He transferred the honey from the bear-shaped squeeze bottle to a little ceramic pot shaped like a beehive (another flea market treasure), and he even made an attractive and edible centerpiece with a bowl of ruby red pomegranate seeds. 

Once the scene was set to his satisfaction he had just enough time to hastily tidy up the rest of the apartment and change his clothes before Cas got home from his afternoon class.

He was knotting his tie (the green one that Cas said brought out his eyes) when he heard the scrape of his roommate's key in the lock, followed by the thud of his shoe kicking the door to get it past the sticky spot. Dean didn't hurry out to the living room but gave Cas a minute to take in the scene. 

When he did step out, Cas still had his laptop bag on his shoulder as he stared at the meticulously laid table with tears sparkling in his eyes. 

"Happy New Year," Dean said tentatively. 

Cas put his hand over his mouth and let out a muffled sob. 

Dean quickly crossed the room, skirting the table to pull his friend into a hug and ease the heavy bag off his shoulder. "Please tell me these are happy tears.” 

"Mostly happy, yes," Cas said with a wet sniff. "Thank you, Dean. This… this is everything."

“I know this has been a rough year with coming out to your parents and all the fallout after, and I know you're sad about not getting to spend the holidays with your family. I just wanted to do something nice for you." 

Cas' relationship with his parents had been rocky for a long time. They were very traditional Orthodox Jews, and his decision to pursue a business degree rather than becoming a rabbi like his father and grandfather before him had been difficult for them to swallow, though they'd done their best to respect his chosen path. 

When, after a few years away from home, Cas decided that the Orthodox lifestyle was not for him and stopped observing the Sabbath, keeping kosher, and attending synagogue regularly, his parents were upset, but they held out hope that he’d soon  finish sowing his wild oats and return to the fold with his faith even stronger than before. It happened to many young men and women who found the outside world  full of shiny temptations, or so they told themselves in an attempt to extend their patience.

But the revelation that their son was sexually attracted to men? That was too much. Cas was banned from their home, lest he corrupt his younger siblings.

The oven timer beeped. "Oh, that's the brisket!" Dean exclaimed. 

Cas followed him into the kitchen with a bemused expression. "You made brisket?" Catching sight of the round, raisin-studded loaves on the counter, his eyes widened. "And challah?!" 

"And potato kugel," Dean said, unable to resist preening a little at how genuinely impressed Cas was. "God bless the internet. Even a goyish boy from Kansas can turn out a Jewish holiday feast with a little googling. At least, I hope I did everything right," he added, suddenly nervous. "It probably won't taste as good as your mom's." 

"Dean," Cas cut him off with a smile, "I'm sure it will be delicious. Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"You want to slice apples while I heat the rest of the food?" 

"I'd love to." 

They worked side by side in companionable silence, Cas humming softly to himself, a lilting tune that continuously circled back on itself. He still looked a little wistful and melancholy, but he continued to smile at Dean and touch his arm softly as they moved around each other in the tiny kitchen.

While they waited for the rest of the food to heat up, they ate apples and thick slices of warm, fresh challah drizzled generously with honey. Cas pronounced the bread just as good as his mother's, and smiled fondly at the beehive honey-pot which he'd bought because it reminded him of the one that always adorned his parents' Rosh Ha'Shana table.

The brisket was perfectly tender; the kugel was crispy, greasy, decadent potato heaven; and the sweet, spicy honey cake Dean produced for dessert was dark and moist. As they ate, they talked about favorite holiday memories and traditions, and the homesickness in Cas' eyes grew a little less pronounced every moment. 

As they were clearing up, Cas said again, "Thank you, Dean." 

Dean blushed and shrugged. "It was my pleasure, man." 

Cas caught his arm in a gentle grip as he tried to turn away and pinned him with those piercing blue eyes. "Not just for tonight. Thank you for… for showing me that I still get to have this. All the traditions and pieces of my childhood that I want to keep. They're mine, no matter what anyone else thinks." 

"I'll do them all with you. I mean, if you want me to," Dean said. I'm yours too. If you want me.

Cas smiled. "I’d like that," he whispered, and kissed Dean. 

Dean kissed him back. 

It was going to be a good year. 

Ao3

[starlsssankt]

@siderealxmelody

Nicasia stilled, looking from the fire and candles she was lighting to the other. She averted her eyes from his, focusing on the fire. Holy, beautiful - vibrant. "You think me weak. And I see every horrible thing your parents did to survive. It stains your blood boy. There was a darkness in my blood, in my family. A darkness I used to embrace before it broke me." She looked to him, moving around the table to face him. Her hands folded before her. Regal, genteel, graceful. Her brown eyes piercing the other, ringed in gold and amber. She looked to the fire again, her red hair had lost its lustur but it still held. Still beautiful even nearly 700 years on. "I worry for that darkness in you. I worry you'll drag my sweet Annie down with you. That you'll teach her it is good, and honest. That it doesn't engulf and choke all the good back." She turned to him and tilted her head. "You have fought and killed. But you have not seen war. You have not grown in the mountains and crawled through your dead kin in a battle feild. You've not seen your family broken by your hand again and again till you felt it was something you were capable of. I will not ask you to promise to keep her from that blackened heart in you. I will not tell you to reject her. I've seen the way she looks at you - she will refuse it. She'd burn the world down before she even dares to let you go." There was a pride there, a warm, bloody pride in the lengths her daughter would go for another. The spark dimmed as Nicasia looked back at the fire. "I just ask you be careful with your heart. Ironteeth may be viscous, Blackbeaks especially so. But when we love Aleksander? We love till our dying breath. If she is even just a game to you - I don't think she is. But for even a second you are not ready to commit to her. If you want to sow your oats, leave before you break your heart and I'm forced to snap your neck and steal your soul." She turned back, there was a darkness there. A hungry beast that hadn't been let out in an age. The Heartsinger they'd called her, how her music had lead to soldiers turned on soldier. How her music had rendered families apart. A tempest that had let herself be domesticated and pampered. But an ocean could never be calm for long. She would not lie, if anyone hurt any of her children she'd rend them to nothing. She'd make them wish for death after she was done with them. It was a wildness she'd left behind after finding a home. A need to survive and dominate that she'd lay to waste. But she kept her skills sharp her own way - she would not her family be as defenseless as she'd been. She would let them sufferer the same fate she did. This world was filled with monsters and she wpuod make sure to be the worst one. "Do we understand each other Aleksander?"

𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄, as her words of warning and threat glide over him like a breeze in the wind. His eyes are dark, heavy and burning with a fire as she talked to him. Like a part of him wanted to rip her apart, but surely, he has no reason to...? Right?

❝ You speak to me as if I do not love her. As if her heart is not what matters to me. You speak to me as if I am some sort of monster, come to steal her away-- ❞ He shook his head as he cut himself off.

❝ I understand you want to protect her, but she doesn't need it. She doesn't need your meddling or your protection. She's strong enough to make her own choices, Nicasia. And whatever it is you think of my mother, of me... That has no bearing on Anastasiya, or what we are to one another. ❞

It was the closest he'd ever come to saying that he was her other half, that Ana and he belonged together. At least it was the closest he'd come to confessing it to anyone other than Ana herself.

❝ You think I do not know what it is to fight, to suffer, to flee in the darkness and watch as part of my world gets destroyed? You think you are the only one who has felt such loss, such grief? Do not speak to me like I'm a child, Nicasia! ❞