#grizzly den

[the-clawtake]

When Jehan came aboard the Aklak he was unsurprised to discover the Elementals were sparring. They had formed a Bearpit in the center of the cavernous Mech Bay, a loose ring with two Fighters in the middle. Whoever won would stay in the center, whoever lost, would join the tail end of the circle and the next person in line would step in.

He approved. With what faced them on Helios, his troops needed to be at their best, and a Bearpit not only tested skill but also stamina. There were few warriors who could make their way around the full circle without a defeat, and some of those few were in the bay below him.

As he descended to the deck, he waved off attention with an order of "As you were." Scanning the circle, he found the shock of teal hair he was looking for. Good. She was not fighting.

"Point Commander Evelyn. A word." He waved the huge Elemental over. The Freeborn daughter of test-out Elementals, she had made a career as a footballer on Sheliak before he had caught one of her games during a layover on the planet.

Her no-holds barred style (and several penalties for excessive force) had caused him to offer her a Trial of Position on the spot. Despite her promotions since, she retained the flamboyant style that had made her popular on the field.

The pair withdrew from the center of the chamber, setting their backs against the legs of a Dragonfly.

"I have an assignment for you, Evelyn." He started, and she nodded. "You and your Point will not be going into battle with the Striker Nova." He raised a hand to still the inevitable protest.

"Instead, your point, and Point Commander Eirik's, are going to be detached. To the Apitiliit. We expect the Word to deploy WMDs. You and your Elementals will provide security for our quick response decon teams."

"But Star Colonel!" Evelyn's voice was stringent, and carefully pitched not to carry to the Bearpit - an easy feat given the continued sounds of unarmed combat. "Why us? We have no recent demerits, and scored highest in the recent exercises."

"Exactly, Evelyn. The Word are dezgra. Fellow Clanners would not think of attacking support staff who were not part of the Batchall. Even most Spheroid warriors would avoid attacking such a target without provocation. But the Word of Blake would attack such a target in preference to one capable of striking back."

She let out a slight hum, thinking.

"So. This assignment is not to keep us out of combat but because you expect us to be needed, quiaff?"

"Aff. If you can impress this on your warriors, and on Eiriks, I would be grateful. This fight will be hard enough without us jockeying for position and fighting amongst ourselves. There will be glory enough for all of us."

"Very well. When shall we transfer dropships?" Evelyn asked, all business now that her biggest concern had been cleared up.

"I believe there is to be some shuffling of equipment and transfer of personnel and vehicles. Once that is complete, then you may move your Points over. You will be commanding the Clawtake ground assets, but be sure to liaise with your Technicans and with the Star League personnel who will be accompying you."

"Aff. Will that be all?" She asked, and Jehan nodded.

"Go on back to your Bearpit, ruffian." He told her fondly, and then paused. "Actually, is there room for one more?"

He would get absolutely pummeled, but it would be good for morale, and a good brawl would help ease the tension of all this organizing. And his Elementals could be trusted not to break their commanding officer. Probably.

[celineszoges]

[loremastering]

aylen and her babs ;; 

[onelittlespiral]

Warning: Bear Attacks

As we move into the holiday season, we would like to issue our annual warning about bear attacks. With colder weather setting in, an increased number of bears will be driven indoors as they search for food, warmth, and mates. And bears are far more dangerous in confined spaces.

Take this specimen here for instance. At first glance, he seems like a kind, friendly, fuzzy man who would keep you warm through a cold winter night. Maybe not the most happening upstairs, but he means well. Would you believe that just this summer he looked more like this?

Young and cute, but certainly not the hairy beast we have seen him turn into this season. If you are going out this winter, be aware, and be alert for the warning signs and know what to do if a bear sets its sights on you. First, how do you identify a bear? There are a few common varieties, each with their own quirks:

You have the very standard Grizzly bear, warm and cuddly. Pronounced dad bod. Notice the expression, the signature bear smirk. This will be one of the earliest signs that a bear is on the hunt.

Of course you also have the muscle bears. Their signature muscles will be coated in a thick layer of fur, accentuating their size. Hair will peak out from beneath heavy biceps, and their tank tops give no doubt to the forest underneath. They will often infiltrate and train you up before attacking. They like their marks ready, bro.

Even the smaller, younger cubs present a danger this time of year. They may seem helpless, but let us assure you they are far more knowledgeable than they seem. They can cause some of the most drastic changes in age, hair, and temperament. Countless men soon find themselves caring for their cubs, foraging for them, and assuming responsibility as they age into papa bears for their sweet little cubs.

Now bears will all hunt in their own ways, but there are patterns to their behavior. First, bears tend to congregate together. If you notice one, be on alert for others. Second, beware of beer and whiskey drinks offered to you. These are the trademark drinks of several bear species. Third, monitor the air in a room. That many big, burly men will tend to warm a place up and start to sweat, and bear musk is among their most potent tools to pacify targets. And in greater numbers these effects can be amplified. Their fur traps the musk close to their skin, so the closer they get the more enraptured you will become. If you are subjected to a direct hit from, say, a bear’s pit, it may already to be too late.

In case you find yourself taken back to a bear’s den, all is not lost yet, but far more drastic measures may need to be taken. Continued exposure to them will accelerate any changes, so you must be quick and decisive. First, avoid any food they may offer you, no matter how starved you may suddenly feel yourself becoming. Feeding the insatiable new hunger will only awaken the bear that is growing inside of you. Second, avoid direct contact with their fur. They may appear warm and inviting, and their cuddles are indeed among the coziest in the world. But skin-to-fur contact encourages hair growth as your body grows a pelt of its own. Third, avoid getting under the covers with them. Their body heat will quickly begin to melt your wits and your body will begin sweating, creating a musk of its own to compliment. Take this young man for example:

He barely made it out from a cuddle session with a bear, but some drastic changes have already occurred. His 6 pack abs have begun their journey to a muscle gut. He can hardly go a day without shaving or a full beard will quickly cover his face. And the musk he now produces keeps him far hornier than he ever was before. The effect seems to be limited to just himself, for now. Can you believe he is only 21? Hasn’t been carded in months. He had to drop from his football team, no longer in the right shape for it. He now is much more suited to rugby. And he is one of the lucky ones. This one was not so lucky:

These two photos were taken mere days apart. He was, sadly, subjected to the final transformation: becoming a bear himself. After being taken to a den, accepting some greasy snacks, and cuddled into submission, this poor man was selected to be a bear’s mate. He was laid on his back, had his clothes removed, and the bear started massaging his legs and thighs. He ran his thick fingers over his hole and slowly worked his way inside to stretch him out for what was to come. It wasn’t long before his bear dick was pressed against him, and he felt the thick, veiny cock begin to slowly pump into his cavity. Once bears get started, it is nearly impossible to get them to stop. His thighs slapped against his target’s ass as his wild bush pressed against his hole. When a bear decides to breed, it is hot, steamy, and rough. Moans tend to erupt from victims as their body betrays them, fur pushing out from every follicle, minds consumed by thoughts of sex, food, and men. Their dicks tend to stretch to match that of their mate’s, growing thick as a beer can, and so sensitive. Any memories that conflict with the bear they are becoming are churned by a new, heavy sack. Testicles will swell to the size of golf balls under the effort. Their old lives leak out of their cocks as they are edged, molding beneath their captor until the bear is happy with their target. And then, the bear will come, pumping load after load deep into their new mate. The target’s belly bloats to contain it all, creating the signature bear gut that juts out over their new bodies. The effort will push any last memories out as their cock erupts. Both bears will quickly be exhausted, falling asleep in a sticky, smelly, sweaty heap. And then it’s over. We have yet to discover a way to revert any victims. Not that they would want to. They become enraptured with their new bodies, and begin to hunt on their own for new mates. It is said a bear has an insatiable appetite, and will change as many men as they can get their hands on in a winter season until they find the perfect mate for hibernation.

It is advised that men stay aware, stay alert, and stay away. Report any bear sightings immediately. And stay tuned for any further information.

[the-californicationist]

Gunslinger (an excerpt from Chapter 05)

AO3 Link - MDNI

You and John Price had been playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, but when you hide a pair of panties under his pillow one night, the hunter becomes the hunted.

... you left one lace thong under his pillow. It was white with a pink bow. The strings on the side were satin. Laying crumpled there, between the sham and the sheet, you looked forward to whatever happened. Good or bad. Any reaction from this man would be enough to satisfy your craving to see him undone. How far could a patient man be pushed?

The captain was downstairs, sitting at your table, talking over a tablet with Ghost. As you made your way through the small den, you eyed him shamelessly, daring him, and he saw you, a suspicious look on his face, though not obvious enough for anyone else to notice.

But you were both existing on the same plane, living your lives so closely to one another, vibrating at the same frequency, your atoms dancing at the same intensity, that even if he only imagined a word that he wanted to say to you, you’d know what it was. You’d hear it in the quiet parts of your mind. If he breathed too deeply or stared too long at this or that, you’d notice. Hyper aware of each and every movement that the other was making, stalking each other like wolves, hidden in the trees.

You headed upstairs and lay awake as long as you could, trying to stay up to witness his reaction. Maybe he’d be disappointed. Maybe he’d chastise you like you were a child who didn’t know better. Maybe he’d take your teasing too far. Maybe, and this was the worst one, he might just ignore you.

It wasn’t until you heard him crawl his way up the stairs that you heard his answer.

No one knew the sounds of this house better than you. You’d hid hundreds of people in its very walls. You knew every floorboard and furnishing by heart.

You heard him in the hallway outside your room, walking carefully to his door, and listened to him click open the handle. He was inside. You knew the moment he sat on the edge of the bed with the sound that the mattress made, sighing under his heavy weight.

You could hear his rustling, pushing the quilt back, and you heard him sinking down fully into the covers. Then, silence, but not the relaxed sort.

A sigh, ragged and long.

Another. Full of turmoil.

His feet swung around and touched the floor again, the wooden planks there betraying his movement. You thought he might burst into your room to politely deliver them back to you in that restrained, gentleman’s manner he had. But, he didn’t. He was just sitting there.

It felt like hours had passed before your ears, straining, caught his next sound.

It was another sigh, and then...  a groan.

The sticky popping of skin touching slick skin. Repeated. Iterative. Rhythmic.

The bed moved, barely an inch, rocking in place.

Wet little whispers revealed that his hot palm was pumping, steadily, down his shaft, using the source of fluid from its drooling head to ease the path. He rubbed it along his length. The wet noises became frantic.

More rustling of sheets.

He moaned louder this time. You felt the hair on your arms and neck stand up, shocked, awestruck. You were barely able to breathe.

His movements became desperate, the noises of a body that was working itself to a fever, growing more and more obvious as his reservations surrendered to pleasure.

The bed jostled. His feet pressed against the floor.

The grunting you heard was that of an enraged grizzly, panting roughly, blowing scalding air through his nostrils. You imagined his bearded cheeks hollowed from sucking in a breath, braying in a short, shouted cry. Face contorted with hot agony, his sticky release spilled from his rigid font.

Then, satisfied sighing.

Out of breath.

Spent.

Your blood was pounding in your ears, and your head swam with a loud rushing noise as your heart banged against your chest. It was too much to bear. Your dreams had become too real.

The bed creaked again. You held your breath.

Price was in the bathroom then, mere feet from you, moving around, running the water.

As you watched his feet cast shadows below the door frame, you saw him step toward you, hesitating. But, he didn’t touch the handle. He simply backed away and cut the light, keeping himself from you.

...

[whencyclopedia]

Eastman's Biography of Red Cloud

Eastman's biography of Red Cloud (l. 1822-1909) is the first narrative of his Indian Heroes and Great Chieftains (1916), and it sets the tone for those that follow, including the pieces on Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, in explaining the motivation of the Plains Indians in their response to the US government's genocidal policies of expansion.

The piece is of particular interest historically because the Sioux physician and author, Charles A. Eastman (also known as Ohiyesa, l. 1858-1939), was able to interview the warrior and statesman Red Cloud in person, as he was unable to do with many others, such as Crazy Horse, and was also able to receive the story in Red Cloud's native language, unlike the narrative Black Elk Speaks (1932), which was given by the Lakota Sioux medicine man Black Elk (l. 1863-1950) to the American poet and writer John G. Neihardt (l. 1881-1973) through an interpreter. Eastman then translated Red Cloud's account into English for his book. The result is a firsthand account of the life of one of the greatest Sioux chiefs of the 19th century.

Text

The following text has been abridged for space considerations, but the online version of Eastman's book will be found below in the External Links section. The version presented here is taken from Indian Heroes and Great Chieftains, 1939 edition, republished in 2016:

…Red Cloud was born about 1820 near the forks of the Platte River. He was one of a family of nine children whose father, an able and respected warrior, reared his son under the old Spartan regime. The young Red Cloud is said to have been a fine horseman, able to swim across the Missouri and Yellowstone rivers, of high bearing and unquestionable courage, yet invariably gentle and courteous in everyday life. This last trait, together with a singularly musical and agreeable voice, has always been characteristic of the man…

…The future leader was still a very young man when he joined a war party against the Utes. Having pushed eagerly forward on the trail, he found himself far in advance of his companions as night came on, and at the same time rain began to fall heavily. Among the scattered scrub pines, the lone warrior found a natural cave, and after a hasty examination, he decided to shelter there for the night.

Scarcely had he rolled himself in his blanket when he heard a slight rustling at the entrance, as if some creature were preparing to share his retreat. It was pitch dark. He could see nothing, but judged that it must be either a man or a grizzly. There was not room to draw a bow. It must be between knife and knife, or between knife and claws, he said to himself.

The intruder made no search but quietly lay down in the opposite corner of the cave. Red Cloud remained perfectly still, scarcely breathing, his hand upon his knife. Hour after hour he lay broad awake, while many thoughts passed through his brain. Suddenly, without warning, he sneezed, and instantly a strong man sprang to a sitting posture opposite. The first gray of morning was creeping into their rocky den and – behold! – a Ute hunter sat before him.

Desperate as the situation appeared, it was not without a grim humor. Neither could afford to take his eyes from the other's; the tension was great, till at last a smile wavered over the expressionless face of the Ute. Red Cloud answered the smile, and in that instant a treaty of peace was born between them.

"Put your knife in its sheath. I shall do so also, and we will smoke together," signed Red Cloud. The other assented gladly, and they ratified thus the truce which assured to each a safe return to his friends. Having finished their smoke, they shook hands and separated. Neither had given the other any information. Red Cloud returned to his party and told his story, adding that he had divulged nothing and had nothing to report. Some were inclined to censure him for not fighting, but he was sustained by a majority of the warriors, who commended his self-restraint. In a day or two they discovered the main camp of the enemy and fought a remarkable battle, in which Red Cloud especially distinguished himself

The Sioux were now entering upon the most stormy period of their history. The old things were fast giving place to new. The young men, for the first time engaging in serious and destructive warfare with the neighboring tribes, armed with the deadly weapons furnished by the white man, began to realize that they must soon enter upon a desperate struggle for their ancestral hunting grounds. The old men had been innocently cultivating the friendship of the stranger, saying among themselves, "Surely there is land enough for all!"

Red Cloud was a modest and little-known man of about twenty-eight years, when General Harney called all the western bands of Sioux together at Fort Laramie, Wyoming, for the purpose of securing an agreement and right of way through their territory. The Ogallala held aloof from this proposal, but Bear Bull, an Ogallala chief, after having been plied with whisky, undertook to dictate submission to the rest of the clan. Enraged by failure, he fired upon a group of his own tribesmen, and Red Cloud's father and brother fell dead. According to Indian custom, it fell to him to avenge the deed. Calmly, without uttering a word, he faced old Bear Bull and his son, who attempted to defend his father, and shot them both. He did what he believed to be his duty, and the whole band sustained him. Indeed, the tragedy gave the young man at once a certain standing, as one who not only defended his people against enemies from without, but against injustice and aggression within the tribe. From this time on he was a recognized leader.

Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses, then head chief of the Ogallala, took council with Red Cloud in all important matters, and the young warrior rapidly advanced in authority and influence. In 1854, when he was barely thirty-five years old, the various bands were again encamped near Fort Laramie. A Mormon emigrant train, moving westward, left a footsore cow behind, and the young men killed her for food. The next day, to their astonishment, an officer with thirty men appeared at the Indian camp and demanded of old Conquering Bear that they be given up. The chief in vain protested that it was all a mistake and offered to make reparation. It would seem that either the officer was under the influence of liquor, or else had a mind to bully the Indians, for he would accept neither explanation nor payment, but demanded point-blank that the young men who had killed the cow be delivered up to summary punishment. The old chief refused to be intimidated and was shot dead on the spot. Not one soldier ever reached the gate of Fort Laramie! Here Red Cloud led the young Ogallala, and so intense was the feeling that they even killed the half-breed interpreter.

Curiously enough, there was no attempt at retaliation on the part of the army, and no serious break until 1860, when the Sioux were involved in troubles with the Cheyennes and Arapahoe. In 1862, a grave outbreak was precipitated by the eastern Sioux in Minnesota under Little Crow, in which the western bands took no part. Yet this event ushered in a new period for their race. The surveyors of the Union Pacific were laying out the proposed road through the heart of the southern buffalo country, the rendezvous of Ogallala, Brule, Arapahoe, Comanche, and Pawnee, who followed the buffalo as a means of livelihood. To be sure, most of these tribes were at war with one another, yet during the summer months they met often to proclaim a truce and hold joint councils and festivities, which were now largely turned into discussions of the common enemy. It became evident, however, that some of the smaller and weaker tribes were inclined to welcome the new order of things, recognizing that it was the policy of the government to put an end to tribal warfare.

Red Cloud's position was uncompromisingly against submission. He made some noted speeches in this line, one of which was repeated to me by an old man who had heard and remembered it with the remarkable verbal memory of an Indian.

"Friends," said Red Cloud, "it has been our misfortune to welcome the white man. We have been deceived. He brought with him some shining things that pleased our eyes; he brought weapons more effective than our own: above all, he brought the spirit water that makes one forget for a time old age, weakness, and sorrow. But I wish to say to you that if you would possess these things for yourselves, you must begin anew and put away the wisdom of your fathers. You must lay up food, and forget the hungry. When your house is built, your storeroom filled, then look around for a neighbor whom you can take at a disadvantage and seize all that he has! Give away only what you do not want; or rather, do not part with any of your possessions unless in exchange for another's.

"My countrymen, shall the glittering trinkets of this rich man, his deceitful drink that overcomes the mind, shall these things tempt us to give up our homes, our hunting grounds, and the honorable teaching of our old men? Shall we permit ourselves to be driven to and fro—to be herded like the cattle of the white man?"

His next speech that has been remembered was made in 1866, just before the attack on Fort Phil Kearny. The tension of feeling against the invaders had now reached its height. There was no dissenting voice in the council upon the Powder River when it was decided to oppose to the uttermost the evident purpose of the government. Red Cloud was not altogether ignorant of the numerical strength and the resourcefulness of the white man, but he was determined to face any odds rather than submit.

"Hear ye, Dakotas!" he exclaimed. "When the Great Father at Washington sent us his chief soldier to ask for a path through our hunting grounds, a way for his iron road to the mountains and the western sea, we were told that they wished merely to pass through our country, not to tarry among us, but to seek for gold in the far west. Our old chiefs thought to show their friendship and good will, when they allowed this dangerous snake in our midst. They promised to protect the wayfarers.

"Yet before the ashes of the council fire are cold, the Great Father is building his forts among us. You have heard the sound of the white soldier's ax upon the Little Piney. His presence here is an insult and a threat. It is an insult to the spirits of our ancestors. Are we then to give up their sacred graves to be plowed for corn? Dakotas, I am for war!"

In less than a week after this speech, the Sioux advanced upon Fort Phil Kearny, the new sentinel that had just taken her place upon the farthest frontier, guarding the Oregon Trail. Every detail of the attack had been planned with care, though not without heated discussion, and nearly every well-known Sioux chief had agreed in striking the blow. The brilliant young war leader, Crazy Horse, was appointed to lead the charge. His lieutenants were Sword, Hump, and Dull Knife, with Little Chief of the Cheyennes, while the older men acted as councilors. Their success was instantaneous. In less than half an hour, they had cut down nearly a hundred men under Captain Fetterman, whom they drew out of the fort by a ruse and then annihilated.

Instead of sending troops to punish, the government sent a commission to treat with the Sioux. The result was the famous treaty of 1868, which Red Cloud was the last to sign, having refused to do so until all of the forts within their territory should be vacated. All of his demands were acceded to, the new road abandoned, the garrisons withdrawn, and in the new treaty it was distinctly stated that the Black Hills and the Big Horn were Indian country, set apart for their perpetual occupancy, and that no white man should enter that region without the consent of the Sioux.

Scarcely was this treaty signed, however, when gold was discovered in the Black Hills, and the popular cry was: "Remove the Indians!" This was easier said than done. That very territory had just been solemnly guaranteed to them forever: yet how stem the irresistible rush for gold? The government, at first, entered some small protest, just enough to "save its face" as the saying is; but there was no serious attempt to prevent the wholesale violation of the treaty. It was this state of affairs that led to the last great speech made by Red Cloud, at a gathering upon the Little Rosebud River. It is brief, and touches upon the hopelessness of their future as a race. He seems at about this time to have reached the conclusion that resistance could not last much longer; in fact, the greater part of the Sioux nation was already under government control.

"We are told," said he, "that Spotted Tail has consented to be the Beggars' Chief. Those Indians who go over to the white man can be nothing but beggars, for he respects only riches, and how can an Indian be a rich man? He cannot without ceasing to be an Indian. As for me, I have listened patiently to the promises of the Great Father, but his memory is short. I am now done with him. This is all I have to say."

The wilder bands separated soon after this council, to follow the drift of the buffalo, some in the vicinity of the Black Hills and others in the Big Horn region. Small war parties came down from time to time upon stray travelers, who received no mercy at their hands, or made dashes upon neighboring forts. Red Cloud claimed the right to guard and hold by force, if need be, all this territory which had been conceded to his people by the treaty of 1868. The land became a very nest of outlawry. Aside from organized parties of prospectors, there were bands of white horse thieves and desperadoes who took advantage of the situation to plunder immigrants and Indians alike.

An attempt was made by means of military camps to establish control and force all the Indians upon reservations, and another commission was sent to negotiate their removal to Indian Territory, but met with an absolute refusal. After much guerrilla warfare, an important military campaign against the Sioux was set on foot in 1876, ending in Custer's signal defeat upon the Little Big Horn.

In this notable battle, Red Cloud did not participate in person, nor in the earlier one with Crook upon the Little Rosebud, but he had a son in both fights. He was now a councilor rather than a warrior, but his young men were constantly in the field, while Spotted Tail had definitely surrendered and was in close touch with representatives of the government.

But the inevitable end was near. One morning in the fall of 1876 Red Cloud was surrounded by United States troops under the command of Colonel McKenzie, who disarmed his people and brought them into Fort Robinson, Nebraska. Thence they were removed to the Pine Ridge agency, where he lived for more than thirty years as a "reservation Indian." In order to humiliate him further, government authorities proclaimed the more tractable Spotted Tail head chief of the Sioux. Of course, Red Cloud's own people never recognized any other chief.

In 1880 he appealed to Professor Marsh, of Yale, head of a scientific expedition to the Bad Lands, charging certain frauds at the agency and apparently proving his case; at any rate the matter was considered worthy of official investigation. In 1890-1891, during the "Ghost Dance craze" and the difficulties that followed, he was suspected of collusion with the hostiles, but he did not join them openly, and nothing could be proved against him. He was already an old man and became almost entirely blind before his death in 1909 in his ninetieth year.

His private life was exemplary. He was faithful to one wife all his days and was a devoted father to his children. He was ambitious for his only son, known as Jack Red Cloud, and much desired him to be a great warrior. He started him on the warpath at the age of fifteen, not then realizing that the days of Indian warfare were well-nigh at an end.

Among latter-day chiefs, Red Cloud was notable as a quiet man, simple and direct in speech, courageous in action, an ardent lover of his country, and possessed in a marked degree of the manly qualities characteristic of the American Indian in his best days.

Continue reading...

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit Part Four on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

John's eyes shift around the small distillery office, as if he somehow missed Simon lurking behind the door (he may have. Silent as the grave, that one) before he gives into the urge to tap the number at the top of his screen, letting his touch linger as he adds the contact. Even this - even just this - makes his tongue feel heavy in his mouth, his palms big and clumsy. He wants to lick his phone, is pissed when he can't smell her. It feels like snuffling for mushrooms and finding only arid dust and dirt. It is so much more than he had even just an hour ago, but it is not enough.

Note: a lot of this chapter is texting which I struggled to format on Tumblr's goddawful limited HTML. I've opted to display them as chats, but because Reader chapters are second person, I didn't want John's texts to appear as if they are coming from 'you.' So apparently he has himself saved on his phone as 'Price.' Bear with me. Do definitely recommend reading on AO3, it just looks a little better. okay anyway, hope you enjoy!

Unknown Number

Unknown number: Good morning. Thanks for last night, I had a lot of fun!

Unknown number: Also, wanted to ask, as a seasonal local and therefore, I assume, an expert in local fauna, would you say this bear is insanely big or is that normal?

John smirks at the attached photo of himself, docile and friendly as he stares blankly back at the camera; big stupid animal eyes deceptively sweet. It had been hard to behave in that form, but it had been a cold night and he'd wanted to be sure she wasn't frozen stiff in her pathetic little den. He was coming to hate that thing, simultaneously teasing him with its threateningly mobile nature and infuriatingly abysmal quality. He wanted to bring her back to his own den, bury her in thick, warm blankets. Maybe tie her to the posts so he could sleep easy knowing she wasn't going to slip away the moment he closed his eyes. But he couldn't (yet), so he stalks her in his animal form and tells himself it's for her own good and he's satisfied with that.

But now.

Now.

John's eyes shift around the small distillery office, as if he somehow missed Simon lurking behind the door (he may have. Silent as the grave, that one) before he gives into the urge to tap the number at the top of his screen, letting his touch linger as he adds the contact. Even this - even just this - makes his tongue feel heavy in his mouth, his palms big and clumsy. He wants to lick his phone, is pissed when he can't smell her. It feels like snuffling for mushrooms and finding only arid dust and dirt. It is so much more than he had even just an hour ago, but it is not enough.

Bunny: Also is it normal that it just chilled in the parking lot all morning, or should I maybe be worried it's rabid?

Price: Never seen a grizzly that close before so I'm not sure, but I think that's a big one! That's awesome.

Probably not rabid. Some of them have gotten a little too comfortable with humans. Good thing you were in your car, though!

And then, because he's greedy:

Price: Hiking this morning?

Bunny: Well, not anymore 😂

John is antsy, whole body restless. He wants to shift into his other form, or maybe pull a tooth out of his head. He's not hard, but the urge to stroke his cock is there regardless, an ingrained stress relief that won't help him here, he knows. Not without her, at least.

Bunny: What are you up to today?

He wants to spend all day deciding if he likes her better as a fleshlight or a chew toy. Unfortunately…

Price: Interviews all morning and then meeting with a potential vendor later. Boring shite.

Price: You?

Bunny: Probably just reading or something. Boring shit.

He imagines her cozied up in her cute little den: soft, worn quilts and a soft, warm girl. He wants to crawl in with her, change the chemical makeup of the very air until she has to breath him in, too; let her deal with the torture of his scent same as he's done for her. His fingers are heavy on his screen again. He hopes she's kept his coaster. He hopes he's tainting her phone. He hopes the aggression with which he's digging his big greedy claws into her life is enough to make her stay.

Price: Sounds lovely.

Price: Trade you?

Bunny: Haha! Sure, I can definitely handle vendor meetings. No problem.

Price: Cute thing like you, I'm sure you'd be a natural.

Bunny: Well if that's all it takes, I'm sure you'll do great 😉

John can't help the happy chuff that escapes him. It's not an entirely human sound but he doesn't particularly care if Simon is lurking right this moment.

Price: Thanks, honey.

Price: What are you doing tomorrow?

Bunny: Hmm. Don't know. You tell me?

Price: Let's square up, yeah? Get you that coffee.

Price: There's a place over on Nucleus that's pretty good.

Bunny: Sounds great! What time?

Price: Early okay? I'll have to be back to work by 1400

Bunny: Sure. 10?

Price: See you then, bunny.

He finds Simon in the brewery. John held off investing in the equipment for years, refusing to tank the 141 just because Americans thought IPAs were good beers. Blessedly, the last year or so had shown people coming to their senses, ordering porters, lagers, and shandies more often than not. Simon had been elated (or rather, quite stoic but the mask had raised about a half inch on his face which meant the cheeks underneath were slightly dimpled) and had been obsessively perfecting a house ale ever since.

"Need you to take the lunch shift tomorrow." John would feel bad for the last minute schedule change if it were anyone else, but Simon doesn't really have a life outside of work or the gym, so he can deal.

As predicted, Simon just nods in acceptance. "Coffee?"

"Affirm. Also want you to sit in on the barkeep interview."

That gets a rise. "Why?"

"Distracted," John shrugs.

Simon's sigh is a full body thing. "This better not become a normal thing."

"I'll keep it in mind. Thirteen hundred, corner booth reservation." John may take some small pleasure in the other man's grunt of acknowledgement.

***

John hires the first three interviewees on the spot. One's a wait staff vet who he's confident can handle her own on the floor. The other two are young but seem competent and need to start their careers somewhere. Between them and his returning staff, he feels confident in the floor team but with Gaz back in uni, he needs a new barkeep which could make or break their season. They'll get tourists either way, but John prides himself on being one of the few seasonal shops that attracts a fair amount of locals which he knows he owes to Gaz's amiable and experienced presence. Without him, John's anxious to pick a suitable replacement, especially if he'll be busy wooing a mate all season.

He's prescreened a fair few, but only scheduled two interviews. He's hoping he'll be able to call the other lady tonight to tell her no need. It's a dick move but he's busy. Besides, she's very professional and he's confident she'll get another position soon - she's just a little too serious for his place.

Simon comes in through the kitchen and slides into the booth ahead of schedule. John is still waiting by the entry to let the man in when he shows up. The two men nod in greeting.

"Wot's the bloke's name, then?" Simon asks after a few moments.

"John MacTavish. Said to call him Soap."

"That's stupid." A pause while Simon's fingers thud against his phone screen. "'e a Scott?"

John isn't sure how Simon can always find people's social media, given he doesn't have any of his own. "Problem?"

"Not so long as he speaks the King's. How'd you manage to find another Brit anyway?"

"At this point I think they're finding me."

As if on queue, John spots the man in question ambling down the sidewalk. He's larger than John had expected, not quite as tall as John himself but decently muscled. Sharp blue eyes and a confident, charming grin. And a fucking mohawk of all things. His first instinct, oddly, is to keep this man away from his bunny, but close on its heels is the urge to make Simon deal with this smarmy bastard every day and he can't quite fight the grin creeping onto his face as he unlocks the door for the man.

Thankfully, Soap seems to take it for a welcoming smile, which he returns brightly as he extends a hand in greeting. "Price, I assume? Good to meet ye."

"Likewise, always nice to put a face to a name." John locks the door behind them again and ushers Soap to the big booth with a practiced, 'Please, step into my office.'

Simon, predictably, does not rise to greet the interviewee, instead choosing to stare Soap down balefully without so much as a nod of acknowledgement.

"Soap, my head brewer, Simon. Simon, this is John MacTavish."

To John's surprise - and, apparently, more so to Simon's surprise (which is a whole new surprise in itself because Simon is never caught off guard) - Soap slides into the opposite booth and extends his hand to Simon in one smooth move, face the very image of 'I see what you're doing here but I'm not entertaining it so play nice.'

Simon continues to stare for a beat longer, two, before accepting Soap's hand in a singular, gruff, suitably manly shake. When they separate, Soap is grinning like an idiot as he informs Simon about his preferred nickname.

"Not calling you that."

Soap shrugs, completely unaffected. "Well, 'bout to get real confusin' in here, then," he smiles at John.

"No worries, he calls me captain."

"Only when you've earned it." Despite the words, the insult is clear enough that even Soap smirks conspiratorially, eager to be let in on the joke.

John allows some more banter. It's useful in that it draws both the other men out of their respective shells. Simon becomes ever so slightly more professional, while Soap becomes quite a bit less. It's good, though, to see him relaxed in this space. This is the side that John had wanted to see, considering this is the side the customers would be dealing with. It's a good fit, and he's already feeling confident in his choice when they move onto drink choices. He knows he's got his man when Simon nods exactly once at an answer regarding crawfish of all things.

There's more handshakes, promises to be in touch. John locks up behind Soap and turns to find Simon staring after the man. "Well?"

Simon shrugs. "'e'll do."

John nods, eyes his right hand man critically. He knows Simon well enough to spot the difference between natural and affected stoicism. "We planning on selling crawfish this year?"

Simon shrugs again. An obvious tell; the man doesn't make inefficient movements more than twice an hour. "Wanted to stump him." John waits for him to elaborate, a venture he would lose any other day but… "'e's solid."

Well. He'd hoped the Scott would rile Simon's temper, but this might be better.

"Settled, then. I'll have him start next week."

Whether or not this pleases Simon, he doesn't say, simply turns and walks back out through the kitchen. Sighing, John checks the time and is glad to find he's running right on schedule, but upset there are no text notifications. It's probably unreasonable considering she only just gave him her number this morning, but good mates check in on each other and the lack of questions about his interviews leaves him a bit bereft. Still, he follows her lead and pockets his phone without sending any prompts of his own. It's difficult to keep his human suit on whenever she's involved, but he doesn't want to scare her away so he'll behave, even if it makes him want to eat a whole beehive, stingers and all.

***

The trip out to Whitefish is easy enough. John drives the company van to look more professional, but the smell bothers him and he's slightly agitated the whole meeting. The woman doesn't seem to mind. He's fairly certain she's flirting. It would probably be in his best interest to return fire a bit, but the thought makes his stomach roll and his teeth clench. In the end it doesn't really matter. They set up a small supply and she asks if he'd be interested in them featuring one of the blends in a house special. Bourbon ginger with orange. Very basic but the blend she chooses for it isn't right and it's a struggle not to bite her head off over it. He gives his input and she accepts which appeases him, but as he's leaving she winks and asks if he'd like to stay and give the drink a taste test. The rumbling noise he makes at that is a growl, technically, but he plays it off like a groan. Which isn't much better, probably, but at least it's human.

"No thanks. Gotta make it back for the dinner rush."

"Your place, then?" She's smirking, proud of herself. She smells like cleaning supplies.

It's out before he can think about it, "Sure, if you'd like to meet the missus."

The vendor splutters, surreptitiously inspects his hand. "I - I'm so sorry, I didn't realize -."

"Unofficial," Price quickly recovers. "Still committed." Christ, they haven't even been on a date yet, he needs to get his bloody act together.

"Well. She's a very lucky woman," the vendor simpers and John tries not to snort as he collects his things. Yeah, lucky rabbit, caught in his jowls while he assesses exactly how hard he can squeeze without losing her.

Attempting a warm smile, John thanks her for her time and hurries out the door. In the van, he checks his phone and scowls when his rabbit still hasn't initiated a conversation. He can't help it this time, shoots her something about the meeting with the vendor going well but he'd still rather have traded places. He doesn't take it personally when she doesn't respond right away, and then very much does take it personally when she still hasn't responded by the time he returns to the bar. He's surprised to find it open, Simon scowling at him from behind the counter. "You're late," the man accuses and John just smirks at him.

"And you still opened on time?" Simon doesn't react. Unfortunately, the alone time seems to have done him good. Still, John tries a little harder because he's antsy and wants a rise out of someone. "Angling for a good review?"

Not even so much as a 'well someone has to care about this place.' Damn.

"You staying on in the kitchen or heading out?"

"Seen enough of this place," Simon grumbles and slips out the back.

John spends a long boring shift talking with a pair of locals about fishing. He doesn't really go fishing in this form, but he knows his fair share about where to find what fish. It's the quiet sort of night he would have savored even just a few weeks ago, but every hour that goes by without a response from his rabbit has him growing more and more restless. He's not worried about her deciding to hike even with that bear around, of course, but there are plenty of other fates that could have befallen her. Poor rabbit, alone in the woods. Even her den was a dangerous thing, prone to crashes and gas poisoning depending on how she kept it heated. Or worse, if she kept it heated. He swears to all that's holy if he ends up losing her to hypothermia even though he's big and furry and feverish and right bloody here, he's going to lose it.

It's late when she finally deigns to respond. Like, 2300 late. He can't decide if he's more relieved or annoyed so he chooses to be excited instead.

Bunny

Price: For the record, I did win over the vendor.

Price: Still wish I could've been doing boring shite like reading all day.

Bunny: I never doubted you

Bunny: Howd the interview go?

Price: Good. Got some new waitstaff. Happy with the bartender.

Price: How'd not-hiking go?

Bunny: Boring as predicted. Put a good dent in this blanket though!

She sends a photo of a beautiful crocheted blanket, the rows zigzagging in a strange psychedelic pattern which is toned down by the easy earthy tones she's chosen.

Good mate, staying warm. Now all she needs is someone to snuggle up with.

Price: You made that?

Price: That's brilliant.

Bunny: Thank you! 😁

Bunny: I'm about to go cuddle up under it though so goodnight! Glad everything went well today

Bunny: I'll see you tomorrow

Price: Sleep well honey.

Next>>

[cyber-therian]

reminder that you’re allowed to have & enjoy cameo shifts!

i just had a strong grizzly bear paw shift and it was really fun & interesting!

(triggered by upcoming moodboard @den-stims)

[konigsblog]

Grizzly bear Price walking through the forest, accidentally found a campsite set up by reader.

He rummaging through the site look for some food but instead found something even better, sweeter than honey. He turned around and saw reader standing shockingly behind him in wet clothes as reader came back from a swim by the river.

Both stared at each other not knowing what to do.

pspspsps he'd be so gentle and delicate with you, wanting to impregnat you with his babies and watching as your belly began to swell and form babies inside !!! :(((;

taking you with him to his den , nestled in the forest with blankets laid out for you to lay down on. his nose sniffing at your tensed and terrified figure, already preparing be mawled alive - before he began to lap his tongue at you, grazing your body and laying beside you.

demanding you to discard of your clothes because in his own words; “it's nature, you don't need clothes.” his black paws exploring your body, whimpering as he began to get closer to more sensitive areas - tongue lapping at them and exploring the taste, finding your cunt to be sweeter than the honey he was searching for!! :(((

wanting nothing but to stuff you full of his baby bears, grizzly bear price holding back and just licking at your leaking cunny, sweet arousal pooling inside his mouth, addicted to your taste and deciding he'll keep you, capturing you and locking you inside his den.

[luimagines]

Pinky! I'm back, why doesn't a Lynel emoji exist? As it would be super funny. I just need a Lynel and the farm and you know who I am. The one with the Lynel farm.

So to cut to the chase. These headcanons of Bunny!Legend kicked something in my brain and I think it would be cute for Reader but funny for the chain and embarrassing for Legend.

I was a bunny owner myself and I know, that bunnies do nest when they are expecting. So we know that his Dark World form bleeds sometimes into his hylian form. So I think, if Legend has a pregnant S/O. He would go to their shared bedroom and build a nest/ burrow/ den. As soon as his bunny instincts tell him, he will be getting kits.

He will find it embarrassing as soon as he realises what he is actually doing, while Reader finds it endearing. He also sleeps automatically so that he protects Reader and their stomach with his body. Even when Reader turns around, he will turn them back so he can protect them with his kits. Reader is his mate, he has to protect them.

But if the Chain finds out about the little nest that once was a bed. Legend is not going to live it down. Sky and Twilight will tease him relentlessly, but Reader takes the blame in front of them all and says they did it as they miss Legend so much and Reader is pregnant so they can pass it down pregnancy hormones. Legend knows that they did it to protect his pride as they know how much he hates his other form. Legend is glad but also feels guilty as they take the "blame" on their pregnant body.

But if they try to make fun of Legend as he is very protective and soft towards and around Reader. Reader will show that you should never mess with Legend's pregnant S/O. A mother becomes a grizzly bear as soon as they see their baby in danger but their love for Legend strong enough to put them in a similar state and pregnancy hormones, they are dangerous. Damn, Reader is suddenly a WWE fighter and beats the crap out of them, John Cena would be proud as he didn't know he had a hylian child, they even got a chair to smack the boys. All of them got a beating except for Hyrule as he is an innocent baby in their eyes and Time. Wind learns flying. Time didn't do anything so he "just" got a scolding for doing nothing to prevent the group from teasing their hero.

After that the Chain has a new juice to drink "Respect Reader Juice". Legend has to calm them down, normally it's the other way around, as stress isn't good for the baby. Warriors thanks him silently. Wind comes back and asks for another round. Wild wants to fly too! Twilight has to control those two. He drinks "Respect Women Juice", "Respect Pregnant Women Juice" so now he is drinking "Respect Pregnant Reader Or You Turn Into A Punching Bag Juice". Pregnant people are scary.

But I also think Legend would be in a pickle. He needs to travel with the group to slay the Shadow. But Reader is pregnant with his child/ children. In his paranoid mind, he is we all would be paranoid after we go through the same shit he did, he pictures the worst case scenarios. Ravio is a coward, he is incapable of protecting Reader and his kits. In fact, he is sure Ravio would run away as soon as some of Legend's enemies or even monsters from the Shadow come to hurt Legend psychologically. He would break down, if he sees his family dead and knowing, that he wasn't able to protect them! He would lose his will to live. Even if the boys try to cheer him up, nobody would be able to do it as Legend worked so hard for his family only to lose them! So of course, something in his mind he wants to protect them but he definitely doesn't want to take Reader with him or they are really a walking target! And even if Reader says he should go. He can't just pack up and leave! So the group stays until Reader calms Legend down so isn't in a paranoia episode until then the group has to wait and respect whatever Legend's choice is, even if they need his help. Time understands him, he has Twilight as his descendant and he knows how scared he was as Twilight was injured. He would probably react the same if Malon was pregnant as he also doesn't want to lose his loved ones. So he would even persuade the others, that Legend's choice is his to make not theirs. He would explain, that Legend wants to be there when his kit is born, learns to walk, learns to speak, he wants to hear its first words. He just wants to be there and have a kinda peaceful life since the beginning and maybe Hylia did want him to give him that with making Reader pregnant with his kits.

Maybe a Zebra emoji? Honestly, shame on them for not having a lynel emoji.

I actually don't know much about having bunnies either! But I know they stomp when they're mad!

But pregnancy hormones are no joke, what so ever. Especially when they're mad.... Or should I say hopping mad?

.... I'll see myself out.

And poor Legend, worrying his poor little head about every little thing because he wants everything to be nice and safe and homey. Just let the man raise his family in peace. :(

[clumsiestgiantess]

My borrower headcannons:

There are four main subgroups of borrower which coincide with different human styles of living.  Culture and appearance range widely between the types.  Borrowers living in the suburbs and the city have different lifestyles with some similarities, but borrowers living in rural places or completely in the wild have entirely different ways of life, and even different adaptations; they’re nearly two different species.  (Kind of like how polar bears and grizzly bears are technically the same species with different adaptations for their environments)

All borrowers have at least a semi-human appearance, and stay under a foot tall.  (The largest recorded borrower measured 10 inches tall).  They all come from a common ancestor: the feral subgroup, which adapted to an easier lifestyle of thievery over hunting.

Urban subgroup:

They can care less if they’re spotted, most humans just ignore the sighting after a moment anyway.  Being caught is a different story, of course.  A caught urban borrower can let out a deafening shriek loud enough to startle whatever’s caught them to drop them. They can fall a good 30 feet without serious injuries, so being dropped is completely fine.

They’re practically tone deaf, but have heightened visual senses and can even see in blinding light.

Have a type of sign language to communicate, and rarely make noise other than to show displeasure or affection (depending on the sound).

The smallest type; usually grows about 2-3 inches tall.

Homes look like nests stashed with every kind of material imaginable.  This type of borrower is a collector and will steal anything they want without need for it.  The shinier the object, the more valuable it is to them.

Body structure is nearly identical to humans with enhanced reflexes.

Many choose to live solitarily or with a small close family, but some live in larger groups for protection.

Suburban subgroup:

They have a type of sign language that they use between eachother, though most also learn whatever language the humans around them know to at least a basic level.

Homes look drastically different depending on how practiced a borrower is.  A normal home looks like a mix of an underground colony system and a den.  However, the better they are at stealing, the more resources they have to make things aesthetically pleasing.  Thus, borrowers who’ve perfected their skills have homes whose interiors are similar to human ones.

Their average height is 4-5 inches tall.

This is the largest subgroup, and also the most interconnected; they often have hidden meeting places spread out like small towns to come together and share stories, trade materials, get help, find mates, etc.  These are few and far between.  A borrower will consider any place close to these meeting areas prime housing, as living in these meeting areas is forbidden.

Many things are forbidden.  This group put together a series of codes that keep them in ‘perfect’ safety.  They also have professions they take on in order to help the community as well as themselves.  These range from perfecting ‘borrowing’ supplies (this is where their namesake comes from), practicing medicine and healing, crafting tools, becoming strong fighters, studying humans and other animals, etc.

These borrower codes contain many fascinating rules, including a contingency plan if they’re ever caught.  Upon capture, they are to “play dead, play dumb, then run.”  Closer studies have found that these borrowers can vomit bile on command, and use the stench to make themselves seem dead and rotting.  If they’ve been caught in the act, this trick fails and they move to playing dumb.  Using their surprisingly expansive knowledge of small animals other than themselves, they are able to mimic the actions of mice or even bugs to appear less intriguing to humans.  If both ruses fail, they will bolt at speeds seemingly impossible for their bodies to move at, and can maneuver with pinpoint accuracy.

They have longer and wider ears to hear potential danger, double-jointed limbs for maneuverability and manipulation, lankier legs for faster strides.

Rural subgroup:

These borrowers usually live outside the houses they take from, preferring natural burrows and tunnel systems than the walls of houses.

If the home has a garden, there’s a large chance there’s at least a small borrowers’ burrow there to stash items.

Some learn a human language as a second language, but most speak in their own language, which is a mixture of animalistic noises and human ones.  Their relations work more animalisticly; body language is a huge part of understanding one another.

Unlike the first two subgroups, these borrowers will attack when threatened rather than bluff.  Their pronounced canines can leave small needle-like holes in the skin, which can easily heal over and become infected.  When biting down, these borrowers’ jaws can lock into place, making it impossible to remove one without killing it.  Even shaking it does no harm due to its swiveling neck, which can turn 360 degrees in either direction.

Average height is 5-6 inches tall.

Their ears are long and pointed, they have thin tails to help balance their quick movements, and slightly padded feet and palms.

Feral subgroup:

These are, as the name suggests, the most wild of the subgroups, and also the oldest subgroup.  They live entirely away from humans and are completely independent, relying on the things they gather and make themselves.

They are the largest subgroup with an average height of 6-7 inches.

They live in long tunnel systems underground or inside trees.  These tunnel entrances can be told apart from other creatures’ by the rudimentary door system.  

If you see these burrows, DO NOT DISTURB THEM.  There can be as many as 30 borrowers per burrow and they are aggressively protective of their homes.  Springing open a large burrow will lead you to be swarmed.  Mind you, these are creatures that can be nearly as long as your forearm, and a dedicated group of about 5 or 6 can kill you if you don’t fight them off or run.  You will not be able to fight off 30 of them.  If you survive the initial attack, seek medical attention.  Their saliva has a good chance of carrying infectious bacteria.

Another caution:  They can and will lay traps.  Usually they aren’t strong enough to capture a human, and will likely only stun you.  However, again, do NOT stick around or you will be swarmed.

They have clawed fingers, long thin tails, and are capable of running on four limbs for faster movement, as well as the longer ears and padded hands and feet of the rural subgroup.  Their pupils can dilate widely enough to have fair night vision, which is useful for getting around burrows.

They are omnivores that can eat raw meat, and their teeth are sharpened versions of other subgroups’.

Due to the sheer amount of space between the habitats of different subgroups, it’s not often that they meet. When they do, the stories are often chalked up to tall tales. Most subgroups view the other subgroups as cryptids of sorts.

(quick ref I made for body structure & height, penny for scale)

[unreadpoppy]

Anyways, here are my favorite bears

These are not all species of bears, just my faves. Also, no order cause I can't brink myself to rank these babies. Under the cut cause longpost

Beggining with a lesser known one, the only bear species that exists in south america is the Spectecled Bear (also known as the Andean Bear)

They have this name because of the white/cream markings on their face that can somewhat resemble glasses! As I said before, they're the only south american species of bear and is the last short faced bear alive, and most are found in the Andes. I like them because look at that cute little face and also latino solidarity. Fun fact, Paddington is a specteled bear considering he is from Peru.

Now moving on. She is beauty, she is grace, she is the largest species of bear AND the largest land predator, she is the Polar Bear

Few fun facts. Polar Bear's scientific name is Ursus maritmus (which would very roughly translate to sea bear) bc of how much time they spend swimming (which also means they are grear swimmers!). They are the most carnivorous of the bears, and imo, they will eat anything that is made of meat. The reason you see so many pictures of mother bears hugging their cubs is because of the cold. Althought, when they are old, their fur is great to protect from the harsh weahter, when they are young they are still vulnerable to it, so mama bears hugs her cubs to keep them warm. Oh and another thing, I discovered that bears can do this thing where they'll find a hole in the ice where seals come up to breath and they just...sit there and wait for it to happen (and they can wait for a LONG time). I love how cute they are when they're young and how fierce they are as adults, and honestly, look at their faces, I love them a lot.

Next, we're back in the american continent, this time with the American Black Bear

The american black bear has a lot of subspecies, which are mostly different colors than their signature black fur, they are omnivorous (and they will eat anything, like i've seen videos of them eating crabs and moths), and also, they are really good climbers! They are mostly found in North America, and they are a bit more chill, like if you ever encounter a black bear, you can scare it away by making yourself look big and making loud noises. They don't have the shoulder hump that brown bears have, and their ears are more prominent (which makes them so freaking cute.) Also, there has been black bears who have made their dens inside of trees, which i think is cool .

Lastly, this might be cheating, but it's a subspecies of the black bear, which is the Kermode Bear

Mostly found in British Columbia, the kermode bear is also known as the spirit bear or the ghost bear, due to their white fur (important to note that they do not have albinism, look at their noses and eyes). The gene that makes them white is a recessive gene, so they are very rare. It's believed that they might be more succesful when hunting fish bc of their fur color, which could make the fish believe that they are a cloud. I love how different they are, how rare they are, and how beautiful they look, especially in contrast with the green around them.

As an honourable mention, I'll talke not about a species but an individual bear known was Grizzly 399.

(she's the mother in case you couldn't tell). She and her cubs can be found in the Yellowstone National Park, and she's the most famous brown bear in the world. She is famous for how many cubs she has had and raised (22 cubs and grandcubs) and she lives in proximity to humans (some believe that the reason she does that is to avoid the male bears when she has cubs). Also she has learned and taught her progeny how to avoid getting hit by cars, and she's a very old bear. (having 27/28 years, which trust me, for bears is a lot and she's still having cubs!). There have been hunters who claimed to have killed Grizzly 399 but they were all lies as she is very alive and well with her cubs. Also, forgot to mention, the reaosn she has had so many cubs is because while most bears give birth to 1 or 2 cubs, 399 often births twins and triplets, and she has had quadruplets which is very rare for most bears (and she raised them succesfully, which is even more impressive).

Anyways, these are my favorite bears.

[toomanyteefs]

So I've been taking a slight break from fanfic writing for a few days to work on one of my original stories and I ended up writing a scene I think I won't actually include in the story proper, so I just figured I'd post it for some fun. There's also a little painting at the end, just because I've got it on the brain.

***

Rowan skipped through the closest shadow back into Mama’s twilight realm. He came out in the forest and trotted happily through her ancient woods. All the things there were long dead, plant and animal species long extinct, but even the huge predators there were no danger to him. He was a better hunter than all of them anyway. Rowan slipped into Mama’s den and then galloped down the tunnel until he’d reached the main chamber where his mother rested.

“Mama!” the white wolf cried as he entered. With the human, Fox, there earlier they’d had to be professional, lest they be a distraction, but right now there was nobody to see. 

“Hello pup!” the goddess of death whuffed at him. She was laying down in her wolf shape, huge and dark-furred with captured stars shimmering in her coat, but upright and alert rather than resting. Rowan pranced up to her, his tail wagging, and she lowered her head so he could greet her by licking her chin and cheeks happily. She nuzzled him with her nose and he sat down in front of her, his tail still wagging.

“How goes your hunt, pup?” Mama asked him kindly.

“Slowly,” Rowan complained, “Fox is still figuring out how to navigate everything.”

Mama let out an amused huff, “She will get the hang of it before long, patience.”

“Patience is so hard, Mama!” Rowan whined and she laughed lightly.

“Oh I know, little one, but you’ll get better at it the more you practice, just like any skill. How are you getting along?”

“Rafa’s still on the fence about it,” Rowan huffed, although of course he knew his brother was just a grouch at heart, “You know how he is with new people, but Fox is nice! She showed us a hunting game.”

“Oh?” Mama hummed, “Tell me of this game of hers?”

Rowan nodded along to this, his tail brushing the packed earth of the floor, “She calls it ‘fetch.’ It’s a game where she throws something and we chase and capture it so we may return it to her.”

“Sounds familiar,” Mama said with a chuckle.

“It’s a dog’s game,” Rowan told her dryly, “I’ve seen it played before, but I always thought it looked like fun. It’s a good excuse to stretch my legs.”

“Dogs have their own wisdom,” Mama hummed in agreement, “They are simply wolves that saw an opportunity and took hold of it. A line as old as any other.”

“They chose the easy path,” Rowan pointed out, but Mama shook her head.

“A different path, it can be rewarding to form packs with humans and live off their spoils, but you know as well as I do the types of battery and suffering that they can endure. A dog left to starve, chained out in the weather, dies as much as a wolf in a scuffle over a carcass with a grizzly, and the death is far slower and more miserable.”

Rowan sighed, “Perhaps I am being unfair.”

“A little,” Mama teased, “tell me, who won your game, you or Rafa?”

“I won!” Rowan laughed, “Rafa got distracted and I stole the prey from him.”

“Oh, how quick of you!” Mama laughed in return, “Rafa was always easily distracted. What was the prey this time?”

Rowan laid down in front of his mother, his tail still swishing across the floor, “A pinecone, easy prey, even against Rafa.”

“What else have you been up to, pup, surely it’s not all waiting?” she asked him kindly.

“Hmm,” Rowan hummed, “Fox gives good scratches. She is not afraid of us at all, even though we could tear her apart. She’s brave…or perhaps foolish.”

“Ah, that sounds like fun,” Mama said, her tone light, “I’m glad you’re happy, pup, even with a slow chase like this.”

“Rafa thinks it’s undignified to accept the scratches, even though he can’t resist them either,” Rowan told her wryly.

“Always full of bluster that pup,” Mama chuckled, “Eventually he’ll learn life isn’t about depriving yourself.”

“Maybe someday. He’s a slow learner,” Rowan teased, only for Mama to nip his ear.

“Be nice,” she chided lightheartedly, “He’s clever, merely stubborn as a bull.”

“Far more stubborn than a bull,” Rowan agreed, “but he knows he’s full of it, he lets Fox scratch him even while speaking ill of it. He pouts, but he likes the attention.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Mama asked cheerfully, “he has not bitten her?”

Rowan laughed, “Not even close! Worst he does is glare, he hasn't even growled at her!”

Mama laughed with him, her great tail swishing and brushing up a cloud of dust, “Ah he is having a good time then! My ridiculous grouchy pup, normally he snaps at everyone.”

“I think he is taking our duties very seriously,” Rowan confided, “We haven’t even started the chase yet but he is so vigilant.”

“As he should be, this is a serious matter,” Mama hummed, “and I would not put it past the Prince in White to try and take Fox back. The elf lords are the epitome of entitlement. They do not realize that if they do not defend what is theirs, it will be stolen.”

“Fae always think the world turns on words,” Rowan agreed and Mama nodded her head.

“‘Civilized,’ they call it. The magics they weave in their words are powerful, but they cannot withstand tooth and claw. They think themselves immortal, but it is merely arrogance. I will take them as surely as any other. I am very patient.”

“All prey falls before you, Mama,” Rowan praised and Mama nuzzled her nose into Rowan’s side affectionately.

“Always such flattery from you,” she teased.

“Of course,” Rowan yipped, “You created me, how could I not love you?”

Mama smiled at him warmly, but then nudged him to his feet, “I love you too, pup, thank you for visiting, but Rafa will pout terribly if he’s left too long. You should return to your hunt.”

“We will find the prey before long,” Rowan assured her and she nodded.

“I trust you will, but remember, patience. This prey is not easily caught, better to be careful than make mistakes in your excitement.”

Rowan nodded, “Of course, Mama. I will send Rafa to visit you if this goes on for another week, it’s his turn.”

“Good, hunt well, pup,” Mama said, nudging him again towards the exit, although not without giving him a lick that mussed his fur.

Rowan barked in acknowledgment and then took off, back into the forest, back to his brother and Fox, back to the hunt. This was a good one, challenging, but they would not disappoint Mama, the kill would be theirs eventually. As she had said, patience.

[vrnicky]

What are Polvora; Gunner; Kroy; Den like personality wise? Their hobbies? Favorite animals? Along with any other information you’re willing to share about these four!

Are you gonna seduce one? Lol

Pólvora: is quite what you expect him to be, cold, awkward and really quiet, he just.. listens and observes. Around people he grew fond of/comfortable around he jokes a little, he has a darker humor. Totally the "my trauma my jokes" type of guy. He talks to Sombra in private and you'd be surprised by the information he could gather from Sombra...

His hobby could be reading or just meditation, maybe some videogames with the others but he gets pity if he doesn't win. He also sometimes helps with a small garden, avoiding the kitchen.

His favorite animal I would say is.. the wolf! Any surprise? Lol. They could be lonely but they work better with a group... Yeah, that's him.

He takes medication for the lvl, he's in a dangerous stage so while also taking the therapy, he takes medication, his old self is coming back.. or that's what everyone says.

Gunner: oh boy.. a tease, a mess and flirty. He's such a gremlin, a chaotic one. Always teasing and bothering the ones he likes because he can be a threat to the ones he doesn't trust or he just doesn't like lol. He's in a neutral state but still going to therapy and on medication to keep him stable, yeah.. he has some mood swings due to that.

His hobby is carving on wood with his knife, he finds it.. weirdly distracting and has made figures with it!! No one understands what it is except him. Oh and watching/reading romance novels or kdramas lol

His favorite animal gotta be a polar bear, aggressive but nice looking! Gunner what

He wasn't gonna take the medication, was really opposed to the therapy but the royals forced everyone, his gang forced him to take the medication since they also took some at some point...

Kroy: he's just a guy, he's the type of guy to try and joke but when someone doesn't laugh he gets so awkward and nervous, he's trying his best. He isn't exactly in the gang of Torment but sometimes visits them. He can actually be more serious than you think and make you regret your decisions as he doesn't hesitate to fight, that's when he forgets he is awkward lol.

His hobby is surprisingly baking sweets and playing videogames, he's the one that invites Polvora to play and also the one that suffers the consequences of winning against him lol

His favorite animal mmm.. I think the dog! A german shepherd to be more specific! Yeah yeah, common but he just likes them.

He's the one telling the gang to do what the royals say, suggestions and everything. He wasn't that affected as them but he wants them well.

Den: in short, he's a horror Sans that didn't have a good change, Zen wanted to change after what happened, Den.. doesn't, he was forced to change. He is more bold and crude in terms of humor and speaking, also quite scary... he suffers from headaches but no memory loss, at the moment.

His favorite hobby.. he likes photography, capturing moments.. he looks like a stalker but he isn't!! I think. He just takes photos because he has a sight problem due to having just one eye light.

His favorite animal, the grizzly bear, because he's aggressive and a total threat if you put him on alert... Like him.

In difference at Zen, he doesn't have memory loss at the moment but big migraines, and his right eye light is totally gone, no magic could regenerate it again. He didn't want to change his behavior or appearance but was forced to because it was "healthy". (He didn't know he was going to die)

[roachymochi]

Somehow dreamt an entire Don Bluth movie about a little brown bear doing some kind of Oregon trail with his family. The whole thing starts joly and all if you forget the general misery of the migrant families. They get lost in the mountain so they go ask with excessive politeness about the direction to a close bear den and it's probably friendly inhabitant.

He's not friendly and it doesn't go well : it's a grizzly bear. The little hero manage to flee (at least one member of his family is cartoon eaten on screen, the others are implied) but he is all alone and can't cross the mountains by himself before the winter.

He is "rescued" by a bunch of "helpful" critters : some kind of opposums or rats, maybe a raccoon, all trash reject kind of animales. They take him in their group and promise to take him to his destination (the whole thing is themed like a promised Land), "us rejects of society gotta stick together, tight?"

In truth, they are just a bunch of bandits wanting to exploit his bear strength. But he eats to much, so his relationship with the group gets gradually worth. The climax of the movie is him being hunted by his companion during winter (it is implied they are so starved they want to cannibalise him).he barely manage to escape and is saved by the good citizens of the promised land.

The movie end with a song of spring and the hero finally arriving in the promised land. It ends very hopeful and it feels like the horrors are definitely left behind, but not forgotten.

Extra details :

there is a lot of songs, and every animal is associated with an instrument, allowing interesting composition where one character's leitmotiv is played with another's instrument

The nightmarish grizzly bear reappears near the end in a somewhat less hostile way. Very despicable "sorry I ate your family, but you know how it is" kind of attitude. May have helped the hero escape the bandits because he hated the idea of inferior animals killing a bear.

The hero spend the whole movie carrying his little brother plush Teddy Bear, the only thing he could find after the tragedy. He talks to it like its his own little brother. The highest emotionnal moment is him dropping the plushie during the hunt and having to chose between safety and saving the memento of his family.

The tone is cartoony and childish enough to be appropriate to a young audience, but the tone still feels heavy. So, like a typical Don Bluth movie.

I am not american so I have no idea how coherent the film setting is. I don't know, I just dreamed it anyway.

[nutzworth]

jrwi riptide ep 97 (theyve broken into the thieves den in zero): FUCK. WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING? THIS IS INSANE. im like crazy. oh my god. gillion pov is crazy. grizzly did a REALLY good job of immersing both the players and watchers because WWHAT THE HELL?????????????? seeing chip drop dead and jay calling out for him and then gillion fading and then coming back to jay in front of him with her foot (PREVIOUSLY IN A SHACKLE) MANGLED!!!! HER FOOT BROKEN AS HELL! OH MY GOD! environmental storytelling fuck fuuuck. this cant NOT be a dream SURELY so i dont even CARE? REALLY? BUT OH MY GOD!