#elk gets serious

[three-eyed-elk]

can we not

i hate that i need to make this clear, but if you are doing something that could knowingly harm someone, for the love of all things holy get off my blog, dni. you’re weird. you’re gross. you make me icky and then i need to be the bad guy “hey i know you like my stuff but fuck off”.

anyway.

that’s my little warrior cats meeting over, clan dismissed.

[death---dealer]

So anyway here's to hoping no one forgot about me lmaooo

Caesar would never outright ask to hold your hand, but the premise of what it means it surely something that he's aware of from his time with Will and Caroline; even occasionally seeing teenagers holding hands as they walked outside his window when he was a young Chimp. He's never been outwardly affectionate and that was okay with you, you understood what the Ape King's love languages were and never sought to complain about them. There was always going to be that border between your Humanness and the vast but sometimes strikingly similar displays of affection.

It was something that seemed to stick with him from his younger years though, green-golden irises staring what seemed to be fiery holes right into the back of your head as you lead ahead on a berry foraging trip. From the gait of your shoulders as you moved, something incredible to see on its own as you had spent so much time with the Colony that you were beginning to hold yourself more like an Ape, shoulders more staggered and broad to hold balance, there was amusement there as Caesar had seen you frequently lose your footing on surfaces that were otherwise easy to traverse for him and his spaced toes, the biggest giving way to the other digits to grip and hold tighter onto surfaces.

The way that your feet left imprints on the sediment below, so much smaller than his own and cased with a oval shape from your worn boots to be vandalized as Caesar seemed to intentionally move his own stance to mimic the same steps you were taking. He was all consuming for you, even in his stride and the Ape King was moving behind you with fluttered intent to ensure that even in nature, even to the leaves that rustled above or to the Elk to the right, meters away, knew that you were his.

You were shifting ever so timidly with your weight, hand reaching and grasping the bark of a tree, something that he did not need to mirror himself but found the pace of his body quickened a bit to help in case you lost stability as you hiked your right leg upwards first against a fallen tree-trunk, upwards and then landing on the other side with a 'thunk'. There was less need now than there was when you first came to be in the Colony's grasp to hold your hand for assistance, to find any excuse to do just that but Caesar liked to watch you move regardless. It reminded him of times of his own self. The way he needed to lean back into the Ape instincts that had always been there after the upsurgence.

No... That would be a gross understatement, the Ape thought to himself with a minute tilt of the head to the side when you peered over your shoulder, as if you were checking to see that he was still captivated. Brisked eye contact was made, a smile to follow from you before you looked back forward and trudged onwards through the foliage that reminded you so tenderly of the irises of your Mate. Caesar loved to admire the way that you moved, it reminded him of the days of watching Humans from his enclosed perch, wondering to himself if he'd ever find attraction and love the way that those teenagers did, their boastful laughter still lingering at times inside of his tentative mind.

"I think the spot I vetted out last week with Blue is up ahead to the left! There were so many blueberries when we came, I should have brought more than one basket."

The faux disappointment in your voice softened Caesar's brow line, not enough to be noticeable beyond the minored creases between his innately serious eyes easing a bit but if you were looking at him straight on, the Chimpanzee was sure you'd say something about his expression. Teasing... joking... You always did, it was something that Caesar never understood for it was simply his demeanor. Strong, serious and always shrouded in a veil of mystery. It was something that you found appealing from the start, getting to peel away at the Caesar who rested beneath the display of intimidation.

It was rare enough to get him to leave the Colony on days where it was necessary, days where the council needed him outside of the perimeters they set for themselves in the surrounded red woods. There was comfort around what he had fought so hard to keep alive and prospering. There was alluding desire to stay near to you as you often did not leave the walls of your nest somedays. He did feel that pull towards temptation, something as sickly sweet as honey straight from a hive.

The dripping fire against Caesar's diaphragm gave way to a searing blaze earlier this morning when you had asked him if he'd accompany you. This was even more rare. To get Caesar alone and to leave the Colony for an afternoon where there were so many pressing details of Ape Politics that needed to be tended to, there was some sickly pride that rose against the back of your throat that you had managed just that with just a simple question and a smile. The Ape could spare himself the deprecation for now for leaving things unattended to, watching as you finally dropped your baskets onto the ground below, the wicker made nature making a subtle creasing noise upon impact.

You wanted to come out venturing to the preluded spot that you had been previously with his Son... Caesar watched with increased and bated anticipation as you bent down to inspect a flowering and heavy bush in front of you, hearing the cracking of your knees as you crouched; a position that seemed to natural to you now given the time you had spent adapting. Not out of necessity, there was no reason you needed to stay with the Colony in the first time as you had appeared fine and able to survive for eight years took away all your Human comforts, but out of want. You wanted to stay, you... Wanted... Caesar. That was an illusive thought as he knelt beside you, the position easier for an Ape as his spine was curved to accommodate and his ribs were wider to stance his upper half forward more comfortably. Caesar was never fast to boast of his accomplishments, that seemed vastly embellished beyond what he wanted. All he had wanted... Was the freedom of his fellow Apes. The freedom to live without fear and out of cages... But now that it had come to fruition, his thick fingers reaching up and moving along side your own as you began deeper into the bush in front of you in search for the ripe berries you spoke of before, all Caesar... Wanted... Was you.

A smile pulled its way onto your face, the rubbing of his furred shoulder against yours enough to set the entire skin of your arm aflame with unspoken but always underlying aim. Beyond the sensation, there was always the idea that Caesar's broad frame could tear you apart, piece by piece and you'd be to weak to stop it as if the prospect of putting it to an end every came to the forefront of your mind. It never did, your feet moving the condensed weight of your body over a bit so you could bump against his side, acute with playfulness.

"When was the last time you came berry picking?"

Caesar chortled at that inquiry, the hackles lining the delectable sweep of his collarbones and upwards against the base of his shoulder caps rising with an aggravated assault of your scent as it hit his nostrils and dug themselves into the animalistic side of his thought process. He knew without you saying a word where this was going to end, taking the tip of his tongue along the sharper points of his canines as he contemplated the appropriate answer. The design the Ape had planned inside of his own subconscious to just hold your hand flying off with the breeze that rocked between you, green-golden drenched eyes falling into your own without reserve.

"Many... Years. Not since Blue Eyes was young." Voice was barely a touch above a baritone, reserved only for you, the hardening in your throat indicative of the attraction that fluttered between you at these intimate and private moments. You wanted to eat it and never let anyone else have them. They were yours, selfish in all senses of the word and you were proud to admit that. Caesar was yours.

"I can tell." You bumped into his side once more as your voice tapered from wavering edges to more of a pensive tease and let your eyes slide to the grasp of berries that he had picked, studying them closely with a laugh, "Those aren't ripe. Not even close."

Admittedly, Caesar had not even paid any mind to what his hands were doing as if they were set to an awkward auto-pilot and they were just moving to keep themselves preoccupied with the notion that they'd be against your hot skin in a matter of minutes. Slowly, breaking the stare he had on the side of your amused profile, your mouth formed into a rather smug smirk, Caesar looked down at his hand and saw nothing but a handful of green-blue berries. You were right, there was no way to deny that as they came cascading onto the Earth below, being kissed heavenly with dirt as they tumbled from his heated and calloused palm.

"Thought you knew how to do this, you're the Ape King after all."

There was careful placement in his stare as you turned your head towards him, the grin encapsulating your cheeks bitter in the best way. Exuberant, you moved your hands towards his own and within moments, you were grasping at them. Soft and silken skin against leathered texture and it made the Ape beside you shift his sternly set feet towards you, dragging his larger body to face you instead of sitting shoulder to shoulder. Caesar responded the only way he knew how when you placed yourself so near to him, so near to the primal itch inside of his mind that very seldom came to the surface. Submission in the face of heady lust. "Let me show you..."

Your voice was barely a touch above a whisper and embraced Caesar's stiffened face, his thin mouth parting just enough to let you see the sheen of the leafy sunlight against his canines that peeked themselves out from the rounded bluntness of his other teeth. He knew... The way your words fell from your mouth, the way that he ate them as if it were the last thing that Caesar would taste, that you were no longer talking about berry picking. As if you getting him all alone in the middle of the secluded woods, clicks away from the Colony's embrace, weren't enough to tell the heightened senses and deeply enriched thoughts of the Ape what you wanted to actually do. It was easier here for you to unleash. It was less embarrassing away from the other Apes who could hear even a pin drop at times. Humans got flustered and liked privacy, it was something that was not easily adaptable in the cross-fire of living with a different species. Of... Mating with a different species.

Caesar drew what felt the last bit of sanity he had holding onto the very edges of his winter coat, the fur tingling itself into exhilaration as you casted your body backwards, grasping at Caesar's muscular neck with your free hand to pull him on top of you as your back collided with the ground below. The hand that had a hold against his own collapsed against the dirt beside your head as the Ape had ultimately had you pinned down, his thinned waist slotting itself between your legs that drew open, a reflex that spoke of how often you found yourself in such a position. Weight was sturdy against his forearm as Caesar rolled his hips into yours, not satisfaction garnered from the friction of his furred pelvis against the fabric of your pants.

"Maybe... We should... Make another reason for you to come berry picking more often...." Swallowing hard as Caesar rocked himself against you once more, your head tilted back into the pillow of moss against the ground behind your head as it was now more evident that Caesar's heavy arousal was carding itself above the tuft of fur between his legs.

There was silence as Caesar recollected and processed your chopped incantation. Flirtatious and all encompassing, it was a wonder to see each and every word stitch into place behind his fluttering gaze that switched to convey the purpose of your banter. "Might be..." Dropping his head down, your eyes instinctively rolled back upon impact the moment that Caesar's hot mouth found your jugular, chill hitting at your senses when his teeth were bared against the already prickly skin. "Beneficial..."

[hannyoontify]

seventeen on a road trip

warnings | mentions of food, roadkill?

notes | i've been doing long distance traveling and camping w my family and acquaintances for almost 12 years now so these are js some characters i've seen LMAO

scoups

designated driver

will definitely go 20 over the speed limit almost constantly

but he’s gotten pulled over only once (he’s lucky)

plays katy perry and pitbull to stay awake when he’s driving at night

screams when he sees roadkill

ALSO he insists on finding firewood on his own instead of buying them at the local mart like a normal person

tends the fire like it’s his baby (he may or may not tear up when it’s put out at the end of the night)

he brings an axe. for the firewood.

oh it’s serious

constantly doing head counts when they’re out to make sure no one got snatched up by a tree or eagle or something

hates truck drivers with a burning passion of a thousand suns

definitely farts in the car and pretends it isn’t him

jeonghan

passenger princess™️ 

but he’ll be the drivers right hand man

constantly serving water and snacks and making sure they’re staying awake

doesn’t lift a single finger when you get to your campsite BUT THATS HOW ITS SUPPOSED TO BE

he’ll be shivering in the passenger seat and watching youtube while mingyu hauls the 15 person sized tent out of the trunk

but he’s also keeping an eye on everyone to make sure they’re doing okay

saved dino from a bees nest one too many times

definitely gets his hands on the aux

SNACK FAIRY

he loves packing snacks and passing them out throughout the trip

needs to cuddle someone in the tent

vehemently opposes hiking and prefers to sit in a field and wait for everyone else to come back

joshua

don’t even play with me rn he’s bringing an acoustic guitar

does sing-a-longs in the car and at the fire pit

and he’s good too it’s not cheesy and everyone loves it when he brings out the guitar

one time cheol was desperate to keep the fire going so he almost used shua’s guitar and that was the story of how cheol almost lost his life that day

SMORE MAN. don’t tell me this man doesn’t love smores

he n vernon would def teach everyone how to make smores

sits in the left window seat, second row. end of discussion. that spot is reserved for thought daughters and thought daughters only. FIGHT ME

he’s actually rlly good at pitching the tent

secretly enjoys hiking but he doesn’t want seungkwan to know that

jun

HE BRINGS BOARD GAMES AND CARD GAMES

always has a deck of cards on him at all times

he would def 100% bring cards against humanity and uno (this almost caused them to go home early)

makes friends with the wildlife

like one time everyone else is busy making camp but jun went missing and came back 15 minutes later with an elk at his side

“he said he’s hungry”

“junhui we can’t give ramen to an elk”

SLEEPS WITH HIS EYES OPEN IN THE CAR AND EVERYONE TAKES PICTURES

it keeps everyone entertained and he loves seeing the photos everyone took when he wakes up

waves at strangers they drive by on the road

last time he tried to help pitch the tent, he got lost in the fabric

hoshi

disney princess.

it’s like the moment he sets foot on the camping grounds, all the nearby birds and critters are drawn towards him

they loveee hoshi for some reason

plays ‘i spy’ in the car

“i spy…. something gray!”

“… my socks?”

also plays shinee music on blast and has his own mini concert in the car

there’s a group-wide agreement to never give hoshi more than 3 smores/marshmallows

bc that.. ends in disaster.

he almost started a forest fire the last time he had 5 marshmallows in the middle of the night

likes to play with the fire (we call it 불멍 in korean where you space out while watching the fire)

definitely farts in his sleep in the car

insists on bringing at least two tiger plushies to every road trip

likes to cuddle with someone in the tent

he also likes to play punch buggy (don’t sit next to him)

wonwoo

def 100000% brings a nintendo switch or something for the long car ride

one of the more quiet people on car rides but he always points out something he notices out the window

“hey look that horse is giving birth” “WWWWWWWHERE” (that was hoshi if you couldn’t tell)

plays along with hoshi’s ‘i spy’ games

one time he almost lost his glasses in a river so now he refuses to step foot near any bodies of water 

likes to stick by jeonghan and observe with him

i feel like he’d be good at directions and occasionally drives when seungcheol’s too tired

always has his headphones hanging around his neck

enforces a strict ‘lights out’ rule and tries to get people off their phones when they’re sight seeing

CAMERA MAN #1

he loves taking pics and brings his camera everywhere they go

he dgaf if his phone is dead but if his camera runs out of battery, this man is devastated

woozi

i actually struggled a lot with woozi’s 

cuz i’ve been camping with a lot of diff people but i’ve never been with someone like woozi

but

i think

he’s the quietest one of them all

tbh idt woozi would be the biggest fan of camping

esp where you’re roughing it out in the middle of the woods since he’s a homebody

but i think he would like it in terms of taking a break from the bustling city and enjoying nature

he would sit outside in the early morning and watch the sun rise alone

would deffo get inspo for songs

you can sometimes hear him humming little melodies to himself when they’re hiking

laughs the hardest at dino’s freestyle raps at night tho

sometimes borrows shua’s guitar to play something

i think he would like doing rec activities too tho

like rafting or biking

OR FISHING OOOOOOOOOO

he’s js happy to be there i think

the8

also one of the more quiet members

but he actually likes road trips because he likes to be in nature

he’ll be one of the first people up every morning

you’ll find him meditating, basking in the early morning rays in front of the smoking fire pit from last night

really really likes sight seeing nature

also if he could, he would def bring a travel tea set and make tea for those who want it in the morning

tries to make friends with a feral squirrel but failed tho

he took that personally too

sensitive sleeper so he tends to stay up late at night on car rides to talk w cheol to keep him awake and sometimes drives 

mingyu

all hail kim mingyu because he’s everyone’s life saver

he’s in charge of almost all of their cooked meals

and he makes some damned good camping food

kbbq is a must at camping sites AND HE’S SO GOOD. SOSOSOSO GOOD

but he’s the biggest mfing scaredy cat

clings to jeonghan in his sleep and flinches every time he hears something in the woods

“mingyu go to sleep”

“but what if thats a bear?”

buys bear spray and read up on how to scare bears away

also has to close his eyes when they’re driving on mountain roads bc the cliffs and ravines make him queasy and his knees feel like jelly

cuddles hoshi in his sleep in the car

loves taking pictures of nature and the members

would def go dirt biking or something like that

likes to engage in park rangers’ q&a’s and info sessions

dokyeom

sings almost everywhere

in the car? he’s singing? they’re setting up camp? he’s singing. around the fire pit? he’s singing along with shua’s strumming.

like mingyu, he has to close his eyes when they’re driving on mountain roads bc he gets scared

waves to random babies he sees at popular attractions

he fed an eagle once. he talks about it every other month

CAMERA MAN #2

loves taking pics of nature

esp the sky

sometimes he sticks his head out the window (to the point where it’s illegal) to get a good pic of the sunset

loves loves lovesss stargazing

he can stare at the dark sky for hours, looking and counting each and individual star

seungkwan

designated tour guide™️

makes sure everyone’s sticking together

and kinda forces everyone to go hiking with him

side note: i love seungkwan’s hiking posts

anyway

sings almost everywhere pt. 2

their collective spokesperson 

he’s the one talking to park rangers and campsite managers

likes to engage in deeper conversation with other members once it’s more dark and quiet and a few members already turned in for the night

pls don’t put him on the wheel he’s going to freak out

likes to sit next to vernon and talk to him on longer nature car rides

seungkwan on aux can never go wrong

vernon

has headphones on almost 24/7

even when he doesn’t, he has imaginary ones on

he has like 4 different headphones/earphones as back up in case one dies

the amount of songs he’s downloaded on spotify practically takes up half his phone storage

will randomly start naming all the diff plants’ scientific names

likes to look at mushrooms and plants in his spare time

brings like 3 different, separate snapbacks

vernon would most definitely make a killer smore

like he’s so good at roasting marsmallows

it’s the american in him ig

likes to poke at the fire with a blank expression

if you look at their group photos, he’s always in the same pose and facial expression

freaks out when he sees a bug tho and will aggressively do the harlem shake until it’s gone

dino

in love with everything

he’ll point out something new he sees every 3 seconds

thinks everything is so so cool

i love dino

anyway

would sing in the car deffo 10000%

yk like his drunk freestyle rapping he did in the beginning of nana tour? yea he does that at night in front of the fire pit

if mingyu whips out some kind of camping tool he’d be all “ohhhhhh!!!”

takes so many naps in the car and in the tent

always munching on something

likes to read up on pamphlets and info boards about history or science behind a certain rock formation or historical site

and tell the others what he learned, esp when they ask questions

likes to bring binoculars (idk js a thought)

one time he saw a squirrel sneak into a gift shop and steal a candy bar

but when he tried to tell everyone else

no one believed him

it’s okay i believe you dino

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

[imdedinsidex-x]

Working on a Hazbin rewrite that I’m dubbing The Bed and Betterment Project. Some info about everything so far under the cut!

-Charlie is a lot more menacing in this AU, as I imagine her personality is a lot more like Michael from The Good Place. She’s still fairly cheery and seems kind, but she’s willing to remind others of who she is.

-Charlie started the Bed and Betterment Project as a way to see how far sinners could go to get better and improve, or if that’s even possible. This was mostly just something for her own entertainment, but as she gets used to the members of the project she comes to see that maybe they can actually improve, and thus she changes her sights towards redemption and she becomes a bit more optimistic as the show goes on

-Charlie has very unorthodox ways of trying to get the members of the project to rehabilitate by tempting them with their worse vices and making them relieve traumatic events, hoping it’ll push them forward (or perhaps over the edge.)

-Vaggie’s identity as an exorcist is already known by the denizens of hell, as well as by Charlie. In fact Charlie uses that to her advantage, Vaggie taking in the position of the ultimate bodyguard. Her character arc would be largely focused on her becoming her own person, gaining her own hobbies, and loving herself.

-All the exorcist wear mask that cover their true heavenly features, as do Charlie and Lucifer. Adam is the only one who doesn’t really need a mask, but he prefers to wear it.

-Speaking of Adam, he is much more intimidating in this AU, being a bit more serious but still coming off as affable and laidback, maybe even a little dumb. But despite his hedonistic tendencies, he still is a force to be reckoned with and can be quite threatening when he wants to be.

-Husk doesn’t have wings anymore. I believe they served no purpose, and instead he is slinky! His limbs and neck can extend to incredible lengths, as a reference to his looseness. And while he doesn’t immediately look like a magician like he did in his previous design, he can still do plenty of magical things in a similar fashion to the Cheshire Cat, being able to disappear and reappear really wherever, but he hardly utilizes this ability anymore.

-Alastor I figured could do with a neat little makeover, both in his casual appearance and in his demon form. I’ve gotten rid of his weird technical stuff and have decided they are instead crooked and sharp antlers he can spawn from wherever. Just as well he can control various radio signals and even create static sound or high frequency screams from his jaws, very much inspired by an elk’s cry.

-I’ve also changed Alastor’s backstory, but that’s something for a different piece.

-Wanted to lean into the blaxploitation inspiration of Valentino, as well as find a good balance of conventionally attractive and gross. I imagine whenever he’s about to say or do something particularly nasty, he pukes up maggots before hand to show off his vile nature.

-Not featured here, but I have ideas for Vox and the seraphims as well, but I’ll save that for another sketch page.

[tina-mairin-goldstein]

Hannibal Dashboard simulator!

🐕dogsandflyfishing

This my new dog. Everybody, meet Winston.

No, I did NOT steal him. He was a stray.

And here are the others:

(Except for Zoe, she does not like to have her picture taken)

#dogs

🐈‍⬛ teamsassyscience <- -> reblogged

Aw, your puppies are adorable.

137 notes

🍷are-we-not-made-in-his-image

I would like to share this interesting article I came across.

The Standard Monograph on Time of Death by Insect Activity by Professor Will Graham

_______________________Keep Reading

659 notes

��autopsyguy

Can you guys help me end a debate between me and my colleague, @iwishididn'thaveatwin.

🐈‍⬛ teamsassyscience <- -> reblogged

Guys, I thought we settled this weeks ago...

🔍iwishididn'thaveatwin <- -> reblogged

The definition of the word 'prey' is: An animal that is hunted and killed by another for food. Deer and elk do NOT eat them, therefore they are not prey.

😷autopsyguy <- -> reblogged

Get your own post, Jimmy.

1,708 notes

🐕dogsandflyingfishing

😶‍🌫️Anonymous asked:

Hi! Sorry to bother you, but I noticed some of your posts and your url, and I was wondering if you have any advice for fly fishers? I think I've made my lures all right, but I can't catch anything.

My advice is name it after someone you cherish. If they cherish you back, then you'll catch something. It's worked for me.

17 notes

🔥Sponsored

Chordophone String Shop

Genuine catgut strings imported from Italty.

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📸tattlecrime-official

It Takes One to Know One

The FBI isn't just hunting psychopaths, they're headhunting them, too, offering competitive pay and benefits in hopes of using one demented mind to catch another. Sure, we're familiar with the stereotype of the FBI profiler, swaggering onto a crime scene, fitting the pieces together like a master puzzler with his 1000-piece jigsaw. In reality, profilers should be likened to harridans reading a cup of spent tealeaves- passing off their active imagination as incisive fact.

To read the rest of the article, click the link Here.

🍷are-we-not-made-in-his-image <--> reblogged

@tattlecrime-official I believe we had a very serious discussion on this matter. I am very disappointed that you decided to ignore it. You have been naughty.

📸tattlecrime-official <--> reblogged

@are-we-not-made-in-his-image Freedom of the press and speech. If I truly couldn't write about it, I'd be sitting in jail right about now. Mind your own business.

328 notes

🐕dogsandflyingfishing

🐈‍⬛teamsassyscience asked:

Can we please see a picture of Zoe?

Fine.

47 notes

🍷are-we-not-made-in-his-image

🧀tyromancy-is-fun asked:

I noticed you recently posted a picture of Jose's in reference to a recipe and I was wondering how you liked the place. Isn't it the best?

I am aware this is an alternate account for @the-real-franklyn-froideveaux and I would like to ask you once again to please refrain from following me or interacting with me on social media. It is not appropriate. Thank you. I will be blocking your account after this.

9 notes

💀fawn-in-the-forest deactivated 9-13-2014

Me and Dad on a hunting trip.

3,769 notes

[quicksilverlightning]

So I binged Centaurworld and have spent the last week processing and need to get it out of my system because I havent seen anyone else with this take -

I find it weird that the crimes of the General and Elk are laid at the feet of the Elktaur. After the split, the Elktaur no longer existed; the Elk and General may have each encompassed a half of who he was, but became separate entities by splitting.

The Elk and General were of the Elktaur, but weren't themselves the Elktaur. It's entirely possible I'm digging too deep into what was meant to be a Y7 kids show, but it really bugged me because intention, potential, and action aren't the same things. The Elktaur may have always had the potential to become what the Elk and General did, but he didn't commit any of the actions. Because he no longer existed. We can argue about intentions all day long without getting anywhere; partly because the show never really got into that aspect, but mostly because, in the end, what matters is action. You can intend to cause hurt without ever actually doing so - intention and potential do not make one evil/ a criminal/ etc.

Like, if I clone myself and that clone goes on to become an interdimensional war criminal, am I supposed to be punished as well? Of course not - the copy was me, until it wasn't.

This is a classic Mind-Body Problem and fits the scenario around the Elktaur - can his two component parts really be considered to be a single entity? But if they actually were a single entity, none of this would be happening at all. If we brought a whole version of the Elktaur to stand before his components, would he also be considered part of that conglomerate?

Is one not the sum of their experiences? How then, can two beings with very different experiences be said to be the same? Isn't that why, post-unification, the Elktaur has two voices?

Just to be clear, I'm totally on board with the actual events of the ending - I think killing the guy was a mercy, but that's a different discussion - but I find the reasoning to be questionable. I blame Netflix and thier pattern of canceling shows too early for the writing team not being able to delve further into some really interesting philosophical conundrums surrounding the plot. I did enjoy the show overall, but the Elktaur and his pieces were by far the most interesting thing going on. I totally understand that the juxtaposition of wacky and serious was 100% the point, but that plot thread was simply too good - it made everything else feel like a distraction 😂

[bumpkinspice0]

Recovery Time: Chapter 1

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: Ten years into the outbreak and you'd seen a lot. Through it all you'd managed to make a comfortable life for yourself in the end. A lonely life, but a comfortable one... then a bleeding man comes stumbling into it.

Warnings: dude in distress, serious injury, descriptions of wound care, blood, stitches, shock, I think that's it???

A/N: Let's see if I can write slow burn, kids! (please hold my hand) Got tired of just contemplating stuff in this story and just decided to post it to light a fire under my ass. This fic is inspired 25% by my love for The Last of Us (Games and series) 25% for my love for Pedro Pascal and 50% for my deep desire to abandon everything I know and live in the woods.

Series Masterlist

Next

AO3

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Chapter 1: Mystery Man

Your ass has already gone numb from sitting in your barebones tree stand. It was little more than a seat strapped to a ladder strapped to a tree, but it got the job done— Less conspicuous than a proper deer stand, anyway. Even with numb ass cheeks and a runny nose brewing, the early fall breeze was still nice, not too bone-chilling. The sunrise was exceptionally beautiful today. You don’t recall the last time you watched the sunrise. You don’t really recall the last time you sat this still for this long.

It was too early in the season to start hunting, but you were feeling lucky. And, if you were being honest, just needed to get away from the cabin. From the monotony of daily life you’d created. This was as outside of the box you could think of— coming out to stare out a field while slowly freezing your ass off.

But it was nice… peaceful. A break from routine. Routine was all you had lately. Routine was safe. Routine kept you alive.

It started out as a little hike. Something to get your blood pumping. You had to justify it, of course, so you turned it into a hunting trip. Nothing can be done without purpose. Not in this world. What’s the worst thing that could happen— you actually bring some meat home?

Four hours without a single animal passing through your vantage point and you start to have your doubts. You would have been better off walking through trails and looking for rabbits, but something about just sitting sounded so fucking nice. Just sitting. Not doing a goddamn thing.

You both cherish and hate it at the same time.

Finally, you see movement just over the hill of the clearing. About damn time. Your grasp tightens around your bow in anticipation. You click your cheek to get Gus’s attention just below you. He’d more than likely fallen asleep by now. You look down the trunk to see your loyal companion's ears perk up. The black and white border collie rises and shakes off the leaves from his coat, ready to pounce and give chase as soon as your arrow flies. Both your eyes fixed on the movement in the clearing. It was big. You’re praying for a deer or, god willing, an elk. God, you’d be set through most of winter if you got an elk.

The animal stalks closer, a little over a hundred yards away. The tall golden grass obscures most of its body but once it takes a few more steps you can finally make it out— it’s definitely not any deer.

It’s a man. A very, very injured man. He’s limping, blood staining nearly every inch of him.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

You’re instantly tense, a rush of adrenaline pumping you to full alert. This was the first person you’d seen in— you can’t recall how long— and look at him. Any inkling of him being a possible threat is instantly dismissed. He’s barely walking, if you could even call it that. The possibility of him being infected crosses your mind, but there’s too much purpose to his movements. Too much humanity still left in his face.

Then why was he out here?

The likelihood of this being a trap crosses your mind next, but you quickly abandon the thought when you see him drop his rifle and pack and take a good ten steps past them. If he was acting, he deserves an Academy Award. He looked absolutely exhausted. If his pitiful walking wasn’t convincing enough, his dirty, tattered body was.

You let out a gasp when he finally collapses with a nasty thud. Gus lets out a small ruff below— just as engrossed with the stranger as you. Now what?

What do you do with this? What the hell do you do?

You could help him— of course you could. That’s who you are, what you used to be at least. Someone who helped people. You have all the skills and necessities to do so. You want to help him. Everything in you is screaming to just go up to him— but you have to be smart. You don’t have the luxury of acting on kind will anymore.

The mystery man lies there motionless as you quickly weigh your options. 

This could still be a trap. Even if he wasn’t the one setting it, he could be the bait. You hadn’t encountered it before but you’d heard stories of the raider's tactics. To lure people out with sympathy. Even if he was, Gus would have surely alerted you if there were more nearby by now.

You test this theory as you slowly crawl down from the tree stand and lurk low to the ground, Gus prowling beside you. You take a few steps into the grass and he doesn’t stop you. The coast must be clear. You always trust that dog's instincts above all. He hasn’t led you astray yet. 

Still, there’s more to debate while you let a man bleed out in front of you.

He could have been followed, but something tells you that wasn’t likely either. Or at least if he had been, they would have easily caught up to him in his condition.

Or you’re just hoping that was true.

And the worst option… He could still be infected. You’d never seen an infected come out this far. Hell, regular people never came out this far. They just didn’t. Nothing about his movements or mannerisms suggested he could be infected. And again, Gus would have let you know. He knows their scent. Maybe he’s bitten but it hasn’t taken hold yet? There’s no way to tell.

And there’s really only one way to find out.

You take a deep breath, sliding your bow across your back. You run swiftly through the grass with your dog close at your side, doing your best to remain low and somewhat hidden by the foliage. This was insane. This was stupid. This is risking so much and yet you can’t stop yourself. Even after all these years, that need is still embedded in you. The need to help.

You kneel next to the mystery man and Gus circles the two of you, the ever-vigilant guard dog. 

“Hey…Um, sir?” you say awkwardly as you tap the side of his face. There’s some small movement in his rugged features but nothing resembling consciousness. He’s out cold. 

You quickly assess the obvious damage to him. Your hands lightly glide over his body, checking for broken bones, any bloodied wet spots…or bite marks. He’s bandaged something across his stomach with some ripped fabric and duct tape. You carefully peel back the soaked-through fabric to see two nasty lacerations stretch over his stomach, one on each side. You’re not sure how deep they are and you don’t want to dig your unsanitized hands in it to find out. That was the worst of it. He was covered in small scrapes and bruises. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised. He’d fought his way out of something. A twinge of fear pricks in the back of your mind that he may have been followed after all. You end your examination on his left ankle— definitely badly sprained if not broken entirely. The flesh around his boot was swollen and red. 

But nothing that remotely resembled a bite. Gus gives him a good sniff over and you get the final approval. This man isn’t infected. Just mortality wounded— great.

You sling his gun and backpack across your back and lean over the stranger, giving yourself one final chance to debate all of this.

You could take his stuff and run. Leave him for the birds. Had the world really made you so bitter? No, you know it hadn’t. If you left him here, this man’s death would be on your conscience every day. A death you could have prevented. It’s just not in your nature to be so selfish, even after everything. Even if you couldn’t save him, you’d at least know you tried.

You had the means to get him back home. You’d wheeled out one of the small wagons with you in hopes you’d be bringing some fresh meat back. Well, you guess you still are— It’ll just be live meat. Hopefully live, at least.

If you help him, it’s another mouth to feed. Someone to take care of and bandage on top of your daily work. Are you willing to do it? You’d done it for others before, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Is it still worth it?

Yes, you decide.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.” You assure him as you hook your arms under his shoulders and start to drag him back into the tree line. Even if he can’t hear you, talking at least comforted you. You always talked to your patients anyway. 

“Christ, you’re heavier than you look.” You wheeze, shuffling as quickly as you can back to the tree line. 

Gus walks with you, still on edge. He sniffs at the curious stranger cautiously. You’re sure he’s not going to like any of this. Gus was never a fan of any of the men you brought home— not that you brought that many.

You awkwardly lift Mystery Man into your two-wheeled wagon and toss in all of your combined supplies. Time was of the essence if he’d lost as much blood as you thought he had— and your home was over a mile away. You take a moment to gather yourself before picking up the wagon handles and marching as quickly as possible through the wooded terrain back to the cabin. 

At least the September air was still pleasant. Not too hot, not too cold. The humidity of summer dissipates as fall creeps into the woods. You wish you had time to admire the changing of the leaves, but not today. At least you got to watch the sunrise.

You’re absolutely drenched in sweat by the time the cabin’s finally in sight. You don’t recall ever being so happy to see it. No one’s followed you and Gus hasn’t alerted you to anyone else's presence. Well, that at least makes you feel a little better. You likely still won’t light a fire for the next few nights, just in case.

The journey isn't over yet, though. You drop the wagon with an angry thud against the porch.  

“Here we are!” You say to the practical corpse of a man as you hoist his upper body back into your arms, “God, imagine how much you’d weigh with all your blood.”

You drag him to the living room floor, deciding to roll him into a proper bed once you clean his wounds and take care of whatever needs taking care of— a lot. A lot needed taking care of with him. First, you get his filthy flannel out of the way, unbuttoning it to reveal the full map of bruises across his toned torso. It just further confirms your suspicions of him being in a fight. A bad one.

“Don’t move!” You instruct the still man. You’re probably talking too much given the situation,  but it’s helping you process it all. Gus waits silently at the door as you panickedly rush through your home. You start to boil two large pots of water over the wood stove. One empty and one with gauze and towels. Your water was decently filtered but you’re not taking any chances on possibly making this gravely injured man even sicker with an infection because you don’t have fucking chlorine in your water.

While the water boils you ready your other supplies. You grab your untouched medical supplies from the closet and drop them next to Mystery Man. You quickly dig through the old bag, praying you have any kind of antibiotics left. Luck seems to be on your side for once today, finding a still half-full bottle of amoxicillin in the bottom of the medical bag. You organize the chaos, lining up all your necessary supplies on a towel. It wasn’t an OR but it was…something. This wasn’t necessarily a sterile environment but it was the best you could do.

The water should be sanitized by now. You take the pots off the stove and gingerly place them next to your other supplies. Another few minutes to thoroughly wash your hands and you’re good to go. While this man had lost a lot of blood, his biggest risk factor at this point was infection— the slow painful death kind, not the walking fungus kind. Both are terrible options, really. 

You kneel next to him amongst your scattered supplies, taking a deep breath to gather yourself once more before you begin your work. When was the last time you did this? Who was your last patient? It’d been years , what if you’d forgotten everything? Your isolation out in the woods could have slowly rotted your brain. Still, going through the process in your head, you can recall every step. Sure, it’d been a while but you knew what to do. Just because it’d been so long doesn’t mean your skills dried up like a well—right? You’re still a medic. You’ve got this.

“You can still do this,” You assure yourself with another steady breath. You’d done this thousands of times before. He’s no different than the rest.

Your clean hands ghost over him, deciding where to start. The massive cuts on his sides seem like a good place. You need to clean them, both to get any filth out of them, but also just to see how serious it is. If this wound was deep enough to puncture any organs there’s a good possibility there’s nothing you could do for him. 

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

The wound on his right stretches from his stomach to just below his ribs. The left one is smaller, stretching down vertically about 6 inches, stopping just above his hip. They look maybe 2 days old, based on the bruising and ridiculous amounts of dried blood. He may have saved his life with those shotty duct tape bandages in the field, but there was still a lot that needed to be done. You take a cup of clean water and pour it over the first wound. Blood and dirt trickle out of it. His muscles react to the sensation but he still doesn’t wake up. You pour more water over it and start dabbing it with a towel. You had to take this part slowly. You had to be gentle and observant just to see how bad it was.

You breathe a sigh of relief when there’s eventually only blood rinsing out. No pus or mystery liquid that should definitely be somewhere else. After a thorough cleaning, you feel confident enough to stitch him up. Fishing line is the best you have, but it’ll have to do.

You repeat the same process for the wound on his other side— also a clean cut.

Once he’s all cleaned up and closed, you tape a few layers of gauze over each one and a layer of compression bandages over that. You even top it off with a shot of amoxicillin. Better care than you were able to give some of your other patients, that’s for sure. 

“God, I hope you’re not allergic to this,” You say as you inject the potential life-saving liquid. If that does its job, this guy might just have a chance.

His other wounds were trivial in comparison. Smaller cuts or bruises you couldn’t do anything about. Less life-threatening than the giant new holes around his stomach.

“Well, that’s the worst ones taken care of,” You sigh with little relief, wiping some sweat from your brow, “Unless you’re bleeding from somewhere else I can’t see.”

You looked down at his remaining blood-soaked clothes. If you had to guess you’d say he lost nearly a liter, but maybe not all of it was his— again, you try not to think about it right now. 

You turn your attention to his other grave injury— his ankle. The skin around the joint is tender and red, swollen to nearly double the size of his other leg. You have to get his boot off. If you were treating this like a proper emergency situation you’d have just cut the boot off. Instead, you take the time to carefully unlace them completely and they slide off with no problem. Good boots are hard to come by and this guy's clothes are almost all trashed as it is. The stiffness of the leather boot may have just saved this man’s foot in the long run.

His ankle was badly sprained, if not broken.  None of the tendons seem completely severed so he’ll walk again— thank god. Lord knows you don’t know how to perform actual surgery. The best option for it regardless is to stabilize it. You wrap his foot in compression bandages and immobilize it on each side with a ruler and a wooden spoon. It’s not pretty but it gets the job done just the same. You wished you had ice to help with the swelling. You’ll have to check and see if you have any anti-inflammatories left to help with that.

With his two main injuries stabilized you continue to look over and patch up any of his smaller wounds over the next hour. None as nasty as the cuts on his stomach, but plenty were just more risk for infection. Some are just scrapes… some look fairly similar to shallow stab wounds you’d seen before. You repeat the same process for all of them— Your two bowls of water slowly become crimson red as you work.

His breath remains steady the whole time. Whoever this guy is, he’s a fighter. The scars that already littered his skin were proof enough of that. 

Once satisfied with your work you drag him over to your bedroom and wrap him in a few blankets. With no shirt and tremendous blood loss, he’s going to wake up cold. You do your best to hopefully make him comfortable. 

That’s it. You’ve done everything you can do. All that was left was to wait. 

More premature relief blankets over you as you wash your bloodied hands off in the bathroom sink, fingers trembling from the adrenaline coming down. Your mind drifts back to your brief time as a nurse— back when the world was whole. Within your first week in the ER, you’d seen dozens of injuries worse than his. After the breakout, you’d seen hundreds more. Still, your proper education was nearly ten years ago now. 

The rest of your medical history was stuff like this. Injured folk at the end of the world who needed an actual doctor, but you were the best they had— and that’d been a long time ago too. You still can’t quite recall when your last patient was. 

And of course, the first person you see in years just happens to end up a patient as well. A long-term patient.

With him tucked away and bandaged up, you turn your attention to his supplies. You unload his gun. Only four rounds left. You place the bullets in your junk drawer in the kitchen and drag all his gear into the room, placing it at the foot of the bed. Despite having hovered over him for the last few hours you finally take a moment to just… Look at him. He’s rather handsome, you suppose. For a guy living through the apocalypse. A strong chin and nose framed with a slowly peppering beard. Dusty curls with rich tan skin. If you had to guess you’d say his eyes were brown. The lines on his face are deep with character.  Okay, he was very handsome.

Upon just observing him, more of your foolish decision-making hits you. You didn’t know this man, and you brought him into your home. You put him in your bed! You don’t know his past or what he’s capable of. In his condition, he wasn’t currently capable of much at all. You’re sure you could overpower him if it came to violence when he woke up. If that’s how it had to be, then that’s how it had to be. You pray it wouldn’t come to that, though.

If Art were still here, he’d be absolutely livid right now. Then again, there was very little that didn’t set him off. He’d be so disappointed in you if he’d seen what an idiot you’d been here. Probably both for bringing a stranger into his home and your shotty patch job. 

“You don’t owe anyone anything, and neither do I. Not anymore,” Your old mentor’s voice rings in your head. Stubborn, brutish old man— you missed him so much. 

You suddenly remember who your last actual patient was. You’d learned your lesson once. Helping people had a price. A physical one sometimes. Suddenly you can feel every ridge of the scars on your lower abdomen. A constant reminder of the risks something like this came with. Someone you tried to help took something away from you. 

You hoped this man was different.

And really, what kind of asshole would wake up and murder the person that saved their life? A lot of assholes probably. This new world is full of them. 

You decide to keep your hunting knife on your belt, just in case.

It’s hours later until anything happens.

You’re sitting in the living room when you hear a crash from the bedroom— followed by a pained grunt. Gus is there before you are, his hair raised and a defensive growl in his throat. You rush to the door and there he is, your mystery patient up and walking. Well, sort of. 

He’s rolled out of the bed, knocking over a lamp that hasn’t been turned on in months in the process. He’s trashing in the tangled sheets, trying to get himself up. 

“Easy!” You say first to him, “Easy!” You say again to Gus. The dog backs down, still standing defensively between your legs. 

“Who are you?” The man wheezes out, “Where am I?” His voice is deep and raspy but there’s barely any power behind it. You can tell he’s trying to be threatening but he’s too weak to do much of anything. He’s shivering. His eyes are darting around the room, likely looking for anything he could use as a weapon.

He can’t manage to stand on his own two feet so you think you're probably safe.

You raise your hands and crouch down to his level. He’s tense— A panicked animal backed into a corner. You have to be calm, show him you’re not a threat. You slowly offer a hello and your name. “I saved your life. You’re beat up pretty—”

“Where am I?” He repeats with more force this time.

“Safe. My house.” You say calmly but with force, not letting him have control of this conversation, “I assume not far from wherever you got the shit beaten out of you.”

He flinches with a hiss of pain, grasping at his side. He’s going to open his stitches if he keeps thrashing around like this. You need to get him back into bed. He needs to rest. You need to calm him down.

You take a careful crouched step towards him. 

“Don’t.” He snarls. 

“Look, mister,” You sigh, sitting back on your heels, “Why would I have brought you here? Why wouldn’t I have just left you out there to die, hmm?”

“You might want somethin’. I don’t know what side you're on. Who you work for. ”

“Yes, because you have so much to offer right now,” You can’t help but roll your eyes, “I’m on the side that gets you in the bed and to stop writhing on the ground. You’re gonna—”

“You a raider?”

You raise your eyebrows and almost scoff at the accusation. Did you look like a raider? Is this what raiders looked like? You?

“I’m your fucking doctor and I’m ordering you to get back in that bed.” 

You should be more patient with him. You really should. You have no idea what he’d seen or what really happened to him. You thought you had given him ample reason to trust you but you’re still a stranger to him. And he’s woken up in a strange place after god knows what. 

Give him more reason to trust you. Kindness can still go a long way in this world. You believe that. 

You reach over to the foot of the bed and drag his backpack and boots into view, “Here’s your stuff. I’m washing your shirt, though I’m not sure it’s salvageable at this point. Your rifle is there in the corner. I have the bullets for safekeeping.” You push the bag closer to him, “I saw you go down in a field about a mile north from here, I brought you here, I fixed you up. I’m nobody. I just want to help.” 

You hold each other’s gaze for a moment, searching for answers in the other’s eyes. You were right, his were brown. He looks down, snagging the pack from your grasp. He riffles through it, taking a quick inventory of everything. Trust established— however minuscule it was. 

Or that’s what you thought.

In the split second your guard is lowered he springs forward, pushing you out of the way and tumbling into the hallway. Luckily, he doesn’t get far. Gus bites at his pant leg almost needlessly. The stranger didn’t even have the strength left to make it to the kitchen.

“Have to get back. Have to—” he mumbles incoherently as you approach his curled-up form.

A sane person would cut their losses here, toss him out in the cold, and wash their hands of such a burden. Lucky for him, you hadn’t been completely sane in years. With another heavy sigh, you lean over to help him to his feet. He doesn’t fight you.

“Tess?” Mystery Man deliriously mumbles, limping back to the bedroom on your arm. Well, it seems like your entire interaction was a faded memory. It was common with this kind of trauma. He’s still in survival mode. 

“No,” you grumble, laying him back down on the bed. “Not Tess.”

“I have to– Tommy—” his delirium continues, eyes fluttering open and closed just trying to grasp consciousness. Calling out to the people he knows, not you.

“Hey,” you lightly grab his shoulder. His attention focuses on you again, “You’ll see them again, I promise. Right now you have to rest.”

He studies you again and you start to wonder if he’s going to make another break for it. Thankfully, his only response is a single nod.

“I’ll be right back,” You quickly step out of the room and grab him a glass of water. You offer the glass and he studies it for a moment before chugging it down like a feverish child. He slowly rolls back into the bed with a heavy sigh. You take the empty glass back. “Rest for now. Call me when you're up again and you can have something to eat.”

He’s already passed out again before you finish your sentence. 

[the-starry-lycan]

"Mother? Who were those odd wolves we saw at the Ridge?"

"Odd wolves?" Moon tilted her head at her little son. "What do you mean, Howl?"

"They were wolves," Howl yapped, "but they were all runts, I think.. they were small, and they had the same dark fur on their backs. I think we saw three or.. or four of them."

Moon's grey eyes widened. She looked about, scenting the air, knowing the kind of scent she was looking for. Something that was canine, strong and musty.

"Howl, my small one, where-.. where did you see them?" Moon's tone was serious as she stood, careful not to tread on the tangle of legs and tails and ears in the tall grass. Her mate, Havoc, was asleep nearby, exhausted from their latest foray for food.

Howl stood, tipping his nose to a faraway rocky outcrop on the mountain's back. The Ridge. The place that led to the Burn if you crossed it.. a barren zone where the trees lay charred and stumps stretched for miles.

A place where the prey never ran.

"You saw them on the Ridge, then?"

"They were pacing.. like sire when he gets nervous." Howl averted his gaze. "Back and forth.. they kept looking at us."

"When was this?" Moon sat, lying with her pup sitting between her paws. "And where were you that you could see the Ridge so well?"

Howl's ears drooped and he looked down.

"Howl.." Moon felt a prick of worry in her chest. "Howl, I promise, you are not in trouble."

"I.. I'm sorry! You told us not to stray, but.. Thunder and I.." Howl yelped, tail tucked. "..We didn't mean to go so far, and.. and when we saw them we ran back!"

"Oh..." Moon hugged the curve of her neck around her little one. As much as it filled her with fear to hear this.. she was just glad to hear that Howl and Thunder hadn't been hurt. Worry and anxiety danced in the pale she-wolf's chest like mule deer bucks in the rut. If they'd run back, then those things.. would know where the pups were. Where all of them were.

They needed to move, and fast.

"Come on, now," Moon said, nosing her pups awake. "We must go!"

The little wolves, not much more than two months, wobbled as they stood. They blinked up at the night sky, eyes closing still from sleep. Havoc had gotten up in a flash, pacing around the area, scenting the air for the smaller, vicious canines.

"Howl.." Moon said softly to her fuzzy brown pup. "..They.. the animals you saw.. they are not wolves."

The pup's eyes widened in shock. "Then what are they?"

"Coyotes." Moon said, turning her head to the ridge. "A long time ago, they were like us, but their ways are different from ours. They do not like us wolves."

Howl dipped his head, a frightened look on his face. "They want to.. to hurt us, right?"

Moon nodded. It pained her to teach her pups this, but it was necessary. The whole world was after them. Pumas, coyotes, eagles and bears.. none would stop 'till they were dead.

"My little one, Howl, as long as you are careful, you will be safe." Moon woofed, calling the others to her. "You can recognize coyotes as not-wolves by the fur on their backs, their rank scent, and their thin figures."

"Why do they want to hurt us?"

"Because they want our prey."

"Why can't we share? Like you and sire share what you hunt?"

Moon let out a soft, barking laugh. "They want it all to themselves. But there are so many of them.. that the prey ends up never enough, no matter what."

Howl looked back to the Ridge as they started walking for the night, towards what Moon knew as their summer den.

“Is.. is that's why they're so small and skinny?"

Moon looked up as well. She could see the Ridge from a distance. She'd walked that place, knew its hostile conditions. The herds of deer, elk, and pronghorn never stayed there. Not even wolves wanted to roam that place.. after all, there was nothing there for them in that barren land. A wolf was lucky if they could find even a hare or two to fill their belly for a bit. Mice and voles were hardly any sustenance.

We may not share our food, our lives.. but.. we share our lands, still. And no animal should have to raise their pups there.. not even them.

But there was nothing that would change this. The coyote pack was almost thirty strong, and they were fierce. No wolf pup caught in their grasp would escape their jaws. And they'd make sure of it.

"Yes," she murmured softly. "And my alpha told me that it is for the better."

Even if it isn't.

The mother turned back to the Summer Place, nudging her pups away from that cursed Ridge. She would keep them safe, no matter what. These pups... they were everything.

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 7 - And then you know, you just know

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series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

seventh chapter synopsis: Tomorrow came and became yesterday. In Woodland, you found more than just a roof over your head: you discovered a different way of living. And Thranduil also discovered something, a secret hidden by his own heart. [4K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. padme you will never be forgotten! if you watched pushing daisies i have something to tell you: 😉. another thing and i promise it is the last: anyone interest on hearing the playlist i made for this series?

glossary: Maenwë: Clever girl┆Losto vae: Sleep well┆Melön: Friend┆Vendë: Maiden┆Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Aithor: Warrior┆Alassëa rá: Good morning┆

“You are as intimidating as a butterfly, maenwë.”

A dry laugh escaped your throat as you rolled your eyes. Most people would not do that to a king, but that was a limit already crossed. And the alcohol did not helped. It was all Thranduil’s fault, and he would admit it too. Woodland’s wine is stronger than what you thought, and the sindars party for way longer than you are used to.

You held yourself against the door of your chambers, your fingertips brushing the wood carved elk. It was your best attempt of standing still while also being serious. “You are testing my pati…”, a hiccup stopped you from finishing your sentence.

Thranduil laughed. He guffaw. After a moment of silence, so did you. Everything felt so bright and lighly. “Losto vae”, said Thranduil. It sounded so far away, even thought you knew he was right there in front of you.

How long has it been since you both left the dining room and were there, standing in the corridor of your chambers, talking the night away? Thirty minutes, maybe an hour. You lost track of time. All you knew is that your feet hurt, and your eyes were heavy.

You started to open the door, finally doing what you meant to do since you got up from your seat beside the Elvenking. “You too, dear.” Entering your room, you felt sleep joining forces with the strong wine to get you down. “You too.”

The door had already been closed for a few moments before Thranduil could move. He just stared at it, unable to do anything else. Thranduil gave a step back, his gravity trembling even though he was far away from being as wasted as you, and walked towards his chambers trying not to look back.

For the last week you spent at the inn, you could not keep your eyes closed out of rage. During your small journey, boredom made you sleep for the most part of it. Sleeping have once again become an unachievable task. 

Not out of rage, or disinterest, nor sickness. But because of something else. Something better. Little by little it overcome your body. Strange, but not unsettling. For a moment it felt just like happiness, then it was something else entirely. You never wanted so bad for tomorrow to start. For something else to happen.

Longing. The problem is that you knew exactly what you were longing for. You knew exactly what your mind could not stop itself from thinking about. Who haunts your sleep, accompanied by the full moon. And the more it haunts you, the more you understand what it truly is. Or what it is not.

Gandalf has a gentleness that hides in the brutality of his words and actions. He cares, deeply. Aerin was present, forever concerned about you. Respectful until she was not. Luthien helped you with your shoulder, letters and secrets. Gildor surprised you with his lightness. Even Lorie, whom you know for a few days, already means something for you.

Thranduil is a friend, one that so quickly found a way into your soul, but he is not just that. What you feel for them is something completely different. To call him a friend is to diminish what he really is. To diminish what you feel for him. Thranduil is… 

He is not a friend.

Thranduil is your favorite person in the whole world.

Those days you spend at his Halls, all those moments you shared with him, just made you more sure of that. At every meal, Thranduil saves a seat for you by his side. After every training session with Tuor, he has that concerned gaze that makes impossible for you to not share what happened. And Thranduil, a king, somehow has time to hear all your dirty jokes.

It felt like you had just closed your eyes when Lorie opened the curtains, complaining about how cold it was there. You blamed the wine for not being able to get out of bed, and Lorie for not being kind enough to let you stay in there for a few more hours.

Sat on your bed, you agreed when Lorie showed you a dress. You did not even glanced at it. She spoke a few more things, not that you payed attention. You would have agreed with anything if it meant you could close your eyes and pretend you were sleeping. Your body felt just like static, and your brain was far away from functioning.

Lorie helped you change from your nightgown, mostly because your body would not stand for itself. The dress was so comfortable. So soft. The fine silk made you feel like you were wearing a cloud. It was of a blue that remind you of clear waterfalls. Chains of pearls held it against you.

Glaring at yourself through the mirror, you were mesmerized. You never thought a dress could make you feel like the fairest girl alive, but there you are. You touched the fabric, and it seemed to glow with the contact. It was unlike anything you had ever seen. 

Yesterday you wore a beautiful dress. Today you wore the sea itself.

“The Elvenking will love this one”, murmured Lorie, running her fingers through your hair. She decorated it with flowers, leaving the length loose. “Maybe even more than you do.”

You let go of the dress, turning your head to face her. “You think so?” 

Suddenly, shame hits you without mercy. Lorie should not have realized that Thranduil’s opinion matter so much. Nor should you hope of her being right. “He will not even notice.”

Lorie returned her attention to your hair, weaving the pearly flowers into your strands. Her fingers felt so great against your skin, so delicately tooking care of you. “I thought this was your goal”, she hummed. “To become more.”

You looked at her by the mirror. “To become what?”

“To become our queen.”

You coughed. Hysterically. “What? No, I… I never said that I was trying to do… this. That. Whatever you thought I was doing. I am here to learn.”

And all she did was to smirk. “Alright”, Lorie raised her arms, surrendering. “I judged you poorly. I apologize, melön.”

“It is fine,” you whispered, without looking at Lorie again. Your whole being was aching. Burning. Thranduil and you. That is… impossible. A king, a immortal graceful being, and you. He would laugh at the thought.

"And still, I must admit that I am definitely right about the king”, Lorie touched your shoulders, squeezing them gently. “I never saw Thranduil look at anyone the way he looks at you. And I was born only a few years after him.”

Lorie is old in a way impossible to understand or explain. And when you have the chance of hear a being that saw lands form, seas dry, stone fortresses rise and fall, you do it. You do it, despise fear or embarrassment.

You held her hand, feeling Lorie’s warmth emanate into your skin. “What do you… mean by that?”

Lorie leaned down, her face fit against yours. She felt so warm. So caring. “One day, maybe sooner than i can predict, you will become more”, she whispered against your ear. “And when that happens, I will say ‘I told you so’.”

It felt like a promise. Maybe because it was.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

When Tuor threw you a sword, you credited luck for catching it before it sliced you in half. It certainly was not for a previous experience. Or any further warning.

“That is… new”, you hesitated. “Did you confuse me with someone else?”

There is something so young about Tuor. Perhaps because of his comforting smile, somehow always half present on his face, or for the way Tuor seems so in peace with his own silence. But looks can be deceiving. Tuor appears to be young, but he is eons older than you. Maybe his memory is just as flawed and untrustworthy as one of an elderly human.

Because there is no other sane, logic explanation for Tuor to throw you a fucking sword.

"I know exactly who you are, vendë", Tuor's sword was in its sheath, and you could see it was much larger than yours. You have gone through Gandalf's things a few times, and got used with him hitting you in the head with his staff for using his sword as a toy. You recognize a two-handed sword when you see one. "Now we need to understand who you will become."

You looked around you, hoping someone would enter the hall and give you a reason to avoid whatever this conversation was supposed to be. Only then you questioned yourself about why you both were in a different room than the usual. No furnitures, tapestries, not even paintings or sculptures of any kind. It was just you, four wooden walls, and Tuor.

A perfect room for people to bleed in.

"You will not try to murder me, will you? I know our past lessons did not ended up as we wished, but is this really necessary?”

Tuor lead you throught ancient knowledge in an attempt of getting you in tune with your powers. He showed you Woodland, told stories about gifted people, gave lessons about self control. And no matter how much Tuor tried, nothing ever evolved.

Tuor seemed to lose the thread of his thoughts. "Why would you ever say that, vendë?"

"You have a menacing sword."

"So do you."

With a sword in your hands, the only person in real danger was you. “It would be very unfair if you try to murder me now."

"I will not murder you. I will train you", Tuor could not stop the smirk from growing on his face. "Just in a different way.”

"And how will it help me?"

"I heard so much about you", Tuor walked slowly around you, resting his forearm on the scabbard of his sword. "About how you did not waste a second to act when it was needed. That requires a lot of courage. To face a river."

"Anyone would have done the same on my place. And if I did nothing I..."

"Would have felt bad", murmured Tuor. Was he quotating you? "It all lead me to a obvious conclusion: you work better under pressure."

You sighed. When Thranduil offered you to be trained, you thought he meant read ancient tomes and talk to people older than the sun itself. And for a time it was. But now you will be trained. Trained trained. What have you done with your life?

"You do not have control over your gift", Tuor glanced at you, and in his eyes you saw something beyond confidence. Something similar to competence. "So we should redirect it to something you do.”

The sword you held seemed heavier. “And what should I do with that?”

"Hit me."

You waited for Tuor to say something. Then you waited longer. And longer.

You tried to remember the way Gandalf wielded his sword. How he seemed to use it as an extension of his own body. You also thought about the gleam of Thranduil's longsword.

You looked at the one in your hands. It was so thin, the metal was forged into an almost cylindrical shape. The handle was not long, and it had the right thickness for you to be able to hold it firmly. Paying attention, you saw how beautiful it was.

Your first blow was quick, but Tuor only had to turn his face for you to miss it. He laughed, and so did you. After a long, deep breath you attacked again. This time Tuor took a step back, and you stumbled as if the world was pulling you down.

“Now that you are warmed up,” hissed Tuor. “You can go all out.”

You swallowed the excess saliva, trying to keep yourself from feeling irritated. You aimed harder this time. The sword came down, and if you had hit Tuor he would been split in two.

At every attempt of yours, Tuor just backed away. Unaffected. It did not matter how hard you tried, if you did something different, how you held the sword. It just never hit him. 

And of course it would not. Tuor is a general. Way more experienced than you. A warrior. Respected because of his abilities. And you know that. It is obvious for you. But how could you not get mad when he kept on smirking everytime you fail? Even his eyes mocked you.

With your wrists burning, you decided to stop for a second. Tuor noticed it, and made sure to not keep his mouth closed. “Are you even trying, melön?”

“Right now I do not feel like your friend”, you sighed.

Your response got him off guard, making Tuor chuckle. He quickly returned to his serious face, reminding himself about his goal. Tuor need to get a reaction out of you. To make you feel something deeply, something other than that warm tranquility that is somehow always present in you. 

“So what should I call you? Vendë? Or maenwë?” 

Tuor waited for you to say something, then it clicked. He remembered a thing he heard. At the moment it did not meant anything, but now it could be useful. Thranduil was so upset about it — he mentioned it once and never again talked about it, which could only mean he thinks constantly about it. Tuor hopes it will get an reaction out of you too.

 “I know exactly what to call you.” Tuor gave a step towards you, smirking like a poisonous snake. “From now on, I will only address you as Lossëistar.”

And he did get an reaction out of you. A dumb one. A stupid, idiotic one. You made a decision no one remotely intelligent would have done. You did not even actively thought about it, it was instinctive. 

You slipped your foot on the ground and closed your hand over the base of the sword. For a second the thing on your hand was a spear. One that you threw right at Tuor.

It missed his cheek by an inch.

The sword chased into the ground and broke into a hundred little pieces. But what reached your feet was not forged metal or the base jewels. What broke, floating in that empty hall like a shallow fog, was ice.

Tuor kneeled down, took what once was a piece of your sword, and watched it melting on his palm.

“Melön. From now on, melön.” Tuor’s smiled was infectious. “And we need to get you a spear.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It has been so long since Thranduil had seen his advisors so dedicated. In a matter of days since the translator gave them all documents found, every change was planned. New lookout routes mapped, expenses for new guard posts stipulated, blacksmiths chosen to forge new weapons, evaluations scheduled for soldiers’ skill.

“Which generals will lead the evaluations?” Thranduil inquired, glaring at the dagger in his hands.

It was perhaps the ugliest he had ever seen in his long life. A blackneded dagger, with its tip bent, the edge lost and wrong angles. Even if Thranduil had not know the stench of blood, there would be no need to cling to that sense. The dried blood was begging to be seen, daring anyone to ignore it.

The bag that revealed the betrayal of free people had it hidden in one of its secret pockets. To imagine how many people died at the hands of that disgusting being, and to never be able to discover if any of them were from his realm.

It interested Thranduil almost as much as the loom shaped pendant with snow inside the crystal. Thranduil cannot help but feel offended by it, the same way he felt lured by the jewel. 

So much had been done in Greenwood, and yet not enough. They can change everything, make only the best choices, and it will still not matter if they do not know who the spy is. There is no way of stopping the Enemy without that answer. 

Thranduil knows that it is not a advisor responsibility to find a culprit. He do not blame any of them for not having a name for him to blame. Thranduil has his suspictions. A traveling wizard with long white beard and a pointy blue hat tops his list.

“I will begin with the evaluation of the king’s guard”, said Tuor. “The officers are-”

“There is already a training under your responsibility, aithor”, Thranduil stopped him. “With your focus divided between so many tasks, the chance of one of them being done mediocrely is higher.”

“I disagree, your grace. I am the leader of the king’s guard, I know their limits and abilities. Furthermore, it is not as if your guest’s training is not progressing.”

After a few seconds of silent planning, he nodded. “Then I shall trust your discernment,” Thranduil begun with the subject he was supposed to. After acting as a king, he said what he wanted to. “Her training is progressing.”

It makes no difference Tuor calling him your grace if when given the chance his devilishly smirk will appear for anyone to see. “If there is something I can guarantee, your grace, is that she knows how to use a sword”, rejoiced Tuor. “Or a spear, to be more specific.”

A brief moment of silence came, but it was louder than any scream.

“Out”, said the king.

Tuor was the only one that remained sit.

As the door was carefully closed, Thranduil stood up. Leaning on the table, he bent over look into Tuor’s eyes. “What have you done to her?”

“I trained her. And it worked. Better than I expected.”

“With a spear?” Thranduil growled.

 “A sword”, corrected Tuor. He could feel Thranduil getting angrier, but he did not saw what Tuor did. “Next time it will be with a spear.”

“I thought I ordered you to guide her with her gift”, hissed Thranduil. “Not to make her fight. Not to maim her.”

“I did not…”

“I have no interest in hearing your empty excuses”, Thranduil interrupted. “If she is hurt, if by Varda her shoulder suffered because of your stupid delusions, you will not evaluate the guards. You will be one of them.”

Thranduil stormed out of the room, and Tuor felt as if his breath had followed his king. He shook his head, the echo of the doors slamming against the wall still in his mind, and stood up. “So over the top”, he whispered.

The Elvenking marched towards your chambers. Thranduil knew it would inconvenient to enter a maiden’s room unannounced, but he could not just wait. To think he trusted Tuor. That he believed in his ability. And that is what he get in return.

Thranduil remained determined in his path, until he heard a distant laugh. An all too familiar laugh.

He followed the sound, and was startled to realize it was coming from one of the kitchens. A servant came out, bowed as she passed the king and forgot the door open behind her. Thranduil did not even noticed that. He just continued walking, this time without rush, until he was right in front of the open door.

“And just when I turned around, prepared to walk away and never look at his face again”, your voice lured him. He could not see you, surrounded by elves that were supposed to be working, but to hear you was enough. To know you were there, laughing while sharing a story he did not heard the beginning, was enough to make the Elvenking just stop in time. “The horse decided to run away from me.”

The laughter returned, but his heart remained the same. It was not yours, so it did not affected him.

One of the cooks saw him, and she bowed with an awkward, startled movement. This caught the attention of others around her. With a gesture from their king’s hand, they left the room pulling their distracted colleagues with them.

You already had a smile on your face, but it just got bigger when you saw Thranduil. “Alassëa rá!”

Thranduil steped closer to you, admiring the way you radiated calm. You were fine. Not hurt, and using the dress he personally commissioned Lorie to sew when he saw the sketches. You looked divine.

“What you do here, maenwë?” A small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face.

“I craved something sweet”, you gestured towards the half-made pie in front of you. You were stretching the dough to cover the filling when you got distracted by conversations. 

His smile disappeared. “You should have warned me then. It is Lorie’s responsibility to guarantee you will not lack anything here”, Thranduil scolded. “As my guest, you will never have to work. I will find the best pie-maker and make him do everything you crave.”

“Sometimes it is just not that deep”, you answered. The basket of raspberries was turned over by flour-stained hands, and you turned to him with the prettiest one you could find. “Try it,” you offered him the fruit.

Thranduil stared at the fruit in your hands. “It is a offense that you think you need to deal with hardwork under my home, maenwë.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed his hand and pulled the Elvenking closer. Chocked, Thranduil did not pull away when you opened his hand and placed the raspberry on his cold palm. 

“Again: not that deep”, you smiled as you stared into his ocean blue eyes. “It is just a pie.”

Thranduil did carried you all the way since the meadow until Luthien’s cabin. He did helped you get up from the bed after your long unconscious time. His fingers brushed against yours when you gifted him a precious book.

And still, this was the first time you held him. And by doing that, Thranduil never before felt so complete.

Thranduil could not hear anymore. He could not breath anymore. He did not saw the flour stuck to the bench, or noticed the heat, nor smelled the scent of sweet raspberries. The world could have burned and he would not see the ashes.

His world was reduced to only you. Like a mantra is his head, your name echoed throught the halls and hidden passages of his mind. Time moved, but you remained still. His world was expanded to only you.

Spring flourished in your hair, summer sparkle on your body. Smelling like pomegranates and lilies, you enchanted the earth. Water surrendered too, with rivers running down your curves. And meanwhile the sun shone above, Thranduil finally saw you for what you are.

Like the moon, you empermeated into his darkest nights. And just like the moon, you shone on him.

The sun is warm, but the tight embrace of the darkest nights and its brighiest stars are unstoppable. The sun burns, but the moon heals. Nothing would ever compare to the sweet returning home, or a dream filled with hope, nor the yearn for a sleep that never come. The sun shine on some, but the moon watches them all.

“Will you eat with me?” You asked, fingers still holding his hand. You were looking at the pie, trying to calculate how long it would take, but Thranduil continued glaring at your eyes. Thranduil dived into them, and he would gladly drown. “I think it will take about a hour.”

As discreetly as the lady who arrived late for dinner revealed herself to be able to stop a river, Thranduil discovered that this ache on his heart was what people call love.

You are his moon. Thranduil’s moon and stars. His treasures and riches. His sweet, toothaching sweet, friend. How stupid was him to not see it before. How deaf, dumb and blind.

“I can wait.”

[Eigth Chapter]

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[alleksistrash]

The Stone On The Wall

Chapter 2 of (?)

TW: Description of Seizure

Previous Chapter:

They really needed to clear a way to get out through the front, Bilbo thought to himself. He stumbled a few times on the rocks leading down the mountain path, his body still trying to fully come to. If he hadn’t been watching his feet to see where to step, he would have noticed Thorin slightly turning back every time the hobbit made so much as a noise of annoyance. They managed to safely make it down the path, and started to make their way to the front of Erebor. It didn’t take long, and as they neared the bridge they noticed that most of the elves had dispersed, leaving a handful with Thranduil. Bilbo assumed they were his personal ‘security’, and took notice of the red-headed elf woman he had seen Kili talking to in the dungeons. His eyes were also able to help him see another elf that looked familiar, with a striking resemblance to Thranduil. He could also see Bard and Gandalf talking, Bard having dismounted from his horse. Gandalf turned as they approached closer, and smiled when he noticed Bilbo had joined them. “Bilbo! I am glad to see you are alive my friend, we were quite concerned when you fell. Bard and I were just discussing what had been promised to the people of Laketown, and any help they would need to repair Dale thanks to the dragon.” He turned to Thorin and Balin before continuing, “I take it you are here to discuss these matters as well? I am certain there is enough gold under that mountain for you to part with and still have enough to rebuild Erebor.” He leaned against his staff, looking down upon the dwarves with a mixture of light-heartedness and stern.

Thorin was glaring daggers into Gandalf, he knew he should keep his end of the deal but that didn’t help to soothe his pride. Before he could speak, Balin stepped forward. “We would be happy to discuss our payment to Laketown, and will lend our assistance to rebuild Dale once our kin have come back to Erebor.” He clasped his hands together and smiled, showing his sincerity. Thorin dropped his shoulders, and could hear Kili and Fili grumbling behind them. He turned to Bard, trying his best to offer a voice that didn’t sound too annoyed. “We are grateful for your generosity, and I will not go back on my word.” He noticed Bilbo smiling out of the corner of his eye, and felt a wave of relief wash over him. He straightened his back and continued, “Once we have opened the gates to Erebor and we send word to our kin to arrive, we will be able to go through the treasury properly and give you what you are owed.” Bard nodded his head at this, which Thorin was happy for. This was short-lived though, as Thranduil came over, still mounted on his elk.

“And what of which is still owed to the elves, Oakenshield?” Thranduil drew out his words, disdain dripping from them. Thorin’s face contorted into anger, ready to spit out a string of Khuzdul at Thranduil. Before he opened his mouth, Bilbo piped up. “What, exactly, is owed to the elves? I don’t remember this being discussed, unless I was missing from that conversation.” Thorin looked at Bilbo and could see the serious look on his face, his nose twitching. Pride swelled through Thorin’s chest, realizing that the hobbit would still do anything to defend him and the company. ‘Mahal above, thank you for giving us this burglar,’ he thought to himself quietly. He looked back to the elf king, who had turned to face Bilbo. He could see the smirk on Thranduil’s face, taking delight in the hobbit trying to stand his ground. “Do not fret, Master Baggins. I merely want the white gems of Lasgalen, something promised to me long ago by King Thror. I’m sure a reasonable hobbit such as yourself would find no reason as to why I shouldn’t still collect them.” Thranduil tilted his head down towards the hobbit, as if trying to placate him.

Bilbo shuffled his feet, immediately uncomfortable with the conversation. He twitched his nose, unsure of how to respond. If all the elves wanted were some gems, who was he to argue? But no, he had to go and stick his nose in places where it didn’t belong, he truly was his mother’s son. He looked between Thranduil and Thorin, and could see how Thorin’s face had softened slightly. It was hard to pick up, but there wasn’t as much fire behind his piercing blue eyes. He looked back to Thranduil, a defeated look on his face. He cleared his throat before speaking, “I guess I am in no place to argue, but I do believe you could have approached this better.” He shook his finger at the elf king, because as much as he respected his authority, he knew the king had no power over him. Bard laughed at his actions, a short bark. “Master burglar, you are truly honest and brave. I can see now why Gandalf had you accompany the dwarves on their quest.” Behind Bilbo, he could hear the princes chuckling and Dwalin letting out a snort. 

Thorin rubbed at his face, still angry with Thranduil and his kin, but realizing he needs the alliance if he wishes to restore Erebor to its former glory. “Fine,” he spits out, “We will give you your gems, but only on the condition that you re-establish trade routes with us as well.” He glares at Thranduil on his elk, despising the fact that he has to turn to the elves for assistance after they abandoned them all those years ago.

That was when they heard it, the battlehorn of the dwarves of Iron Hill. Thorin turned towards the sound, a great smile spreading across his face. He could hear the dwarves on the ramparts cheering, along with Fili and Kili. Dain and his soldiers breached the top of the hill, Dain mounted on his war pig. He turned back to Thranduil, still grinning. He had a face of slight disgust, which Thorin took great joy in. “We will be staying in Dale to discuss trade and rebuilding. We will discuss our trade routes with the dwarves once you return to me the gems.” With that Thranduil left, leaving Gandalf and Bard behind. Bard mounted his horse, turning to leave as well. “I look forward to our alliance in the future, master dwarf. Thank you.” He smiled warmly at Thorin before kicking his heels into his horse and riding off to return to his children.

Thorin turned to Gandalf, the wizard still leaning against his staff but now having an amused look on his face. He raised his eyebrow at Thorin, before realizing what the dwarf would be asking for next. “I suppose you are wanting the Arkenstone back, but you need not worry,” he reached into his robes, pulling out the glimmering stone, “I will hold onto it, until the mountain has been reopened.” Thorin’s blood boiled at this, lunging for the stone which was held just out of reach. “I will not play these games with you, wizard! Hand over the stone, or I will pry it from your cold, dead, hands!” Thorin growled at the taller being, reaching for his sword. Bilbo jumped in between Thorin and Gandalf, holding his hands up. “Thorin, do you really need the stone right now? You have the mountain, and there are more dwarves coming!” The halfling gestured wildly in the direction of Dain, who was nearing the group, “You’re acting like a right git! If you want to be king so badly, then act like one!” Bilbo’s brown curls bounced on his head, his green eyes piercing into Thorin’s with a fire behind them that Thorin had grown accustomed to. Thorin seethed at the hobbit, moving to shove him out of the way just as Dain rode up to them.

“Cousin! I see ya made it without dyin’!” Dain eyed Thorin, taking notice of the anger in his face. His eyes wandered to the wizard as he was putting the Arkenstone back in his robes. “Tharkun, ya tall bastard! Didn’t expect to see you here!” Dain dismounted from his war pig, patting her head with his calloused hand. He surveyed the other dwarrow surrounding Thorin, noticing they all had either worry or anger etched onto their features. “Alright, what’s the problem ‘ere? Shouldn’t we be celebratin’ and drinkin’?” That’s when he spotted a halfling just behind Thorin. “Who the hell is this? Some pet you picked up along the way?” Dain laughed to himself, wondering why there would be a hobbit this far east.

Bilbo stepped out from behind Thorin, his anger rising again at being called a pet. “Excuse you! I have a name you know! I am Bilbo Baggins, and I am part of this company! Who exactly are you!?” He spat out at the dwarf, because of course he had to be cursed by Yavanna to have another arrogant dwarf to deal with. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest and started to feel woozy. He tried to take deep breaths to calm down as his vision began to swim, and he could barely make out the ginger dwarf laughing as he said his name. He shook his head as pain shot through him, his hands and feet starting to go numb. He tried to turn and speak to Thorin, Balin, any of them to communicate that something was wrong, but his tongue wasn’t cooperating and all that came out was a garbled mess of words. He thought he could see panic sweep through the dwarrows' faces before feeling a pair of strong arms wrap around his torso. The last thing that crossed his mind was ‘not again’ before his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Next Chapter:

[wi55iams]

F1 Daemon AU Loredump:

Theres so much to cover for the daemon au but one of the things crucial to the story is the relationship between driver and daemon. How they are perceived publically vs how they feel about each other comes up a lot, so me and gabe made this handy chart:

Some details on standout driver and daemon relationships and lore on how the world works below the cut:

Max and Brunhilde: Max and his little bird daemon. Drivers dont take their daemons with them into the car, they stay behind in the garage. As a result the 'tether' that binds them gets strained and damaged over time. Eventually it can 'tear', not seperating them but making emotional and mental communication difficult.

This happened to Max and Brun at a very young age. The rise to F1 at 17 was a lot for them to take, and before they knew it, their tether was shattered. They have gotten used to this lack of communication but it causes them to butt heads an unusual amount and struggle to find common ground as they just. Dont really know the other like they should. They're happier apart.

Oscar and Betty: They are counterparts in the wrong way; Oscar eternally stoic and emotionless, but Betty and her fearful, small Rabbit form betray his emotions frequently. It's frustrating for Oscar who cant give off his unbothered persona, and then Betty feels bad for upsetting him even though she hasnt done anything wrong. Unhealthy and getting unhealthier.

George and Angel: They're percieved by the media to have an iffy relationship due to Angel's size as a massive bull Elk. Theres a bit of a stereotype that people with big inconvenient forms tend to be unhappier due to the unique limitations on their lives. Not George and Angel though. It was hard, at first, but he was lucky enough to be able to accomodate Angel's form well. He's the only daemon who has his own trailer, your other shitty little daemons have to sit in the footwell or on your shoulder. In a serious sense though, Angel feels like the shoulder George can lean on, and he really needs that sometimes.

Daniel and Sarina: These two are perfectly attuned to each other. A near identical goofball pair, who finish each others scentences and after all the years of driving, they seem closer than ever. If theres any damage to the tether, it doesnt manifest in the bond they have.

Carlos and Carmela: The state of Carlos and Carmela's bond is for them to know, and they will be making no further statements to the media at this time.

[memento-morianon]

Hello!! Happy STS! What are your oc's beliefs about violence? Do any of them have special ideas about killing?

Oh fun question.

In the majority of my writing, my characters are living in a peaceful place with no need to think about possible violence, but sometimes I put them through much more intense aus in my head, like superhero aus.

My protagonist Morianon is a carnivore. His diet is mainly fish but he can eat red meat in small amounts. Most of the time, he is averse to the idea of enacting violence on another person, but he does know what it feels like to kill and taste blood, swallowing fish whole and often still wriggling down his throat. He would rather not get into any fights. He's small and a little bit fragile. If he was trapped in a scenario where he had to fight, he would become a very scrappy ambush hunter, staying out of reach and then darting in to deliver blows with his taloned toes. Morianon does not want to fight, but he figures if it can't be avoided then he would be justified in using any means available to him to escape thts situation, even if those means are clawing an opponent's eyes out. At that point, he would be relying on instinct and adrenaline and using his good old fashioned "dissociate and shove the memory to a secret mental compartment" tactic to keep himself from panicking over his own ability to enact harm. I think he would regret it if he seriously had to get violent with someone. But he would justify the means anyway. He's kind of a case of "push him too far and he will lash out", and he absolutely does not have the training to stay calm under serious threat, nor does he have the training to fight in a calculated manner. Even so, he would absolutely hate it if he killed someone in a violent moment, not something he ever wants to do, but he would also tell himself there just wasn't an alternative in the moment.

The other protagonist, his wife, Evarin has more concrete feeling about violence. She is a healer, that's her job. She uses vocal magic to assist her mother, who is a doctor. Evarin would prefer to avoid violent encounters at all cost, and she would never kill someone in a fight unless it became absolutely necessary. She does not have formal battle training, but she is well practiced in keeping her cool during a crisis. So unlike Morianon, she could actually strategize better and make choices to incapacitate an enemy without causing potentially fatal harm. That said, if she did kill someone, i don't think she would regret it one bit. She would not panic over it and fumble for a justification to assure herself, because she would only kill if she already knew it was the only route left to her. She knows bodies. She knows where to put a knife for a quick kill. If it becomes necessary, she would kill in as merciful a manner as possible. And maybe drop a scathing "may the moons guide your soul in peace" or some other gnomish equivalent to "bless your heart". Evarin is actually the first character on page to cause any sort of death in my story, but in this case it was not a violent confrontation or a hunt. She used her vocal magic to help an old man die quickly and painlessly. (Caused fatal and rapid blood clotting while suppressing his pain response) but this is not an efficient method if she's in a fight because it takes a lot of setup time and requires a willing soul.

Their mutual bestie/queer platonic partner, K'arik, believes in the orcish philosophy of "one death can save/nourish many lives". Normally this applies to the hunting/slaughtering of animals for meat. One dead elk, many people saved from starvation. But it applies to the deaths of people as well. When his grandfather passed (the old man Evarin helped out), it could be defined as one death nourishing many lives because of the wisdom he left to his family and clan. And in the case of violent conflict, K'arik believes that sometimes it is necessary to kill a person in order to prevent further violence or harm to a larger group. K'arik himself would rather not be the one to deliver a killing blow. He avoids fights whenever possible and always goes for the diplomatic approach first. He is visibly more pacifist because his tusks curl backwards and the sharp tips are harmlessly pointed to his own cheeks. Orcs achieve special tusk shapes by using custom dental jewelry to encourage growth in specific directions, so this back-curling shape is very intentional and deliberate on K'arik's part. It marks him as a person who will talk things out first, incapacitate non violently, de-escalate, and avoid conflict rather than fight. But it also marks him as someone who definitely knows how to take down an opponent of the peaceful route fails. His mother has forward-pointing tusks. Everyone knows she is a warrior, they know she can hold her own in a fight and strategize quickly. She attacked her own brother when he became a threat to her family, biting his throat so swiftly you'd think he was dead on the spot, but she let him live by being very deliberate about where she bit him. This is the woman who raised K'arik. He believes in violence as a final solution when no other choice is available. He believes that killing is sometimes necessary when it will save other people. So when he is in a situation where violence and death are his only options, you had better believe he's going to deliver it so swiftly. It would be terrifying to watch someone so committed to peaceful solutions just kill another person without hesitation. But he absolutely would. If he had to. He would regret that there was no other choice, but there would be no doubt in his mind that it was the only choice.

[carnivorousyandeere]

with the biker yans, I now want more info on the bee and bunny specifically, the issue is I don't know what to ask about specifically, and I feel like my go to of "possessive headcanons??" for the biker yans is almost too tired at this point /lh but sure lets go about that, Possessive/jellous yan moments make me happy

Hey Alice!! :D

Saw you weren’t feeling well earlier, hope you’re doing a lil better now 💕

(MDNI, NO AGE IN BIO DNI)

CW: kidnapping, captivity, drugs, sex, branding, blackmail, injuries and threats towards reader

Our pretty little Queen Bee is extremely jealous and possessive. She wants your eyes on her, first and foremost. Otherwise, she might just have to cut them out~! Oh, but don’t look so worried! She’s just joking! She “jokes” around like that a lot, almost hoping you’ll push back and see just how serious she might have actually been. She’s more than willing to keep you locked up in her house, only leaving your side if you’re under the watchful eye of her most faithful bodyguards (especially Elk). She’s a big fan of corporal punishment if you step too far out of line, but she also enjoys finding ways to make you dependent on her for pleasure— whether it’s sex, an all-consuming hobby of yours, or even an addiction— she’ll make sure she’s your one and only lifeline to it. Surely you’ll start to associate her with that rush of happiness you get whenever she treats you to your favorite vice, right~?

Bunny gets unusually clingy and touchy when he’s jealous, demanding you let him hold your hand, or crawl into your lap if you’re sitting down. He’s definitely one to bite you— whether it’s just gentle bites on your arm that he considers affection, or harsh bites in very visible areas to scare off any competition. Bunny loves seeing visual reminders of your ties to him. He may not be as deft with a tattoo gun as he is with a piercing needle, but he can still tattoo his name all over you. Or a collar around your neck. Or better still, both! Bunny also loves taking risky photos of you and keeping them… I mean, he enjoys the pictures for his own reasons, but they could also make for some pretty good blackmail to keep you in line if you’re ashamed of that kind of stuff~?

[pigeonleap]

YOUR FANCLANS ARE SO COOL!!!! i cant wait to see more of them omg! could you share some more on the clairvoyants/prophets and their pilgrimages up the mountain? :o also, did you have anywhere specific in colorado in mind when mapping? it looks gorgeous! and i love the landmark names omg, how'd you come up with those? sorry for all the questions im just very excited about these guys!

YAY thank you so much that means a ton! you're enabling my infodumping I'm about to write 1500 words (serious). Don't ever worry about asking too many ST questions it's all i think about.

Here's a MSPAINT doodle of the girls. hope nothing bad ever happens to them

easy questions first!

ST's set in the northern Colorado Rockies where they border the Great Plains. Somewhere unpopulated in the northern Front Range!

Landmark names are usually named after past leaders/healers/deputies of the Clans, who I just made up on the spot (except I have a Blizzard playthrough on Clangen so I used some of those leaders and important cats.) To come up with a lot of the names I researched local fauna. Colorado has a LOT of elk and a lot of large carnivores! Summer Thunder has a storm motif (did you know) so a lot of the place names have to do with that

I'm going to go ahead and put the Clairvoyant/Prophet stuff under a cut because I write headcanons as I go and it gets so lengthy lol.

SORRY IN ADVANCE. this is like 3/4 just for me so i can put it in my document

Clairvoyants are the cats who would have "a strong connection to StarClan" in canon text. StarClan (usually called the Stars in-universe) are not an explicit thing or confirmed. There is something spiritual going on, but it's a lot more like a Primal Force than it is "My Dead Aunt Says Hello To Me In My Dreams." The technical name for cats who are tuned in to this spirituality is "Clairvoyants", though it's an ambiguous label and not something that ever puts cats into a group. Most cats aren't clairvoyant or are to a very low degree (this works since level of clairvoyance in any universe doesn't affect how much you believe in a higher power).

Prophets, a role found only in StormClan, are kind of like canon Medicine Cats except I separated the role into its composite Prophet and Healer. Some cats are both, in which case they'll call themselves whichever one makes more sense - usually Prophet because it's rarer and so it can feel closer to your identity. A Prophet is sort of like how Ancient Greek Oracles were. They are rare and usually have a medium to extremely high level of Clairvoyance. (ex. Leafpool, Goosefeather.) Their role, like medcats, is to speak as the Stars' voice and share wisdom with the Clan. The Stars do not "give prophecies" in the literal sense that they do in canon - cats interpret things how they will, like we would in real life. It's easy to think of an omen or prophecy if you want to hear one.

Storm cats just take it really seriously because they REALLY love the Stars. They have a higher genetic predisposition of Clairvoyants, so they have become really connected to spirituality and piety. They believe in fate and destiny and will use the Stars to justify any achievement. Naming ceremonies often go like "You are so lucky to be blessed by the Stars with such amazing jumping skills - your new name will be Pigeonleap." (Maybe Pigeonleap just got really good at jumping because he trained for his entire apprenticeship. It doesn't matter. It's the Stars.)

Pilgrimages, which I may start calling something cool (like the Prophet's Ascent maybe?) are taken by aspiring Prophets when they want to prove their connection to the Stars. Prophets are usually apprenticed to someone who is also Clairvoyant/a Prophet or a Healer if there isn't one. When they reach the end of their apprenticeship they are sent to hike Cloud's Tooth via Thunder Ridge/Lightning Point. Usually their mentor will follow them as far as the path from the Ridge up to Lightning Point (I'm thinking this is like a day's hike), but the mentor in most cases has already done the hike and is not interested in doing it again.

Cloud's Tooth is tall (probably around 9-11,000ft???) and not too forgiving. Cats are sent when the weather is predicted to be good, but anyone who's been to the Rockies knows that can change in about five minutes. The Clans are crepuscular in my universe like regular cats, so, in the interest of safety, cats usually just try to hike the mountain during the day. It can be 7-9 hours to the summit. They spend the night at the top and the Stars speak to them (whatever that means for the particular cat.) No one else except Prophets hikes this mountain, not even people - it's rocky, without water in most places, and very windy. And slick when wet. And worse when snowy. And you'll notice all the surrounding landmarks have something to do with storms.

That being said - a cat who makes it up and down again is pretty much guaranteed the Prophet role. Otherwise, they probably just fell to Stardom down a scree slope.

[burninghorizon]

Hello hello! I'm Nexus, I'm an adult(26) and I use any pronouns. You've found my spiritual blog focused on astral projection and alterhumanity. I follow from @birdwizardofficial.

I'm often hanging out in the astral in the Astral Harbour! Here's the discord:

I'll get the important stuff out of the way first:

Although some posts here have a humorous tone, all of this is serious metaphysical work. None of this is LARPing or imaginary.

Reality shifters DNI if you don't want to have a bad time.

Minors DNI please, I talk about adult stuff here.

Godkins/Deitykins who demand they be worshipped will be blocked.

Alterhumans who think all of humanity is bad or evil will be blocked.

Spiritual bigots(eg: people who hate demons) will be blocked.

If all of that is cool with you, please feel free to ask about or comment on what I do. I don't bite.

I talk a lot about my soul family here, I'll introduce them!

Mother: Hekate

The Goddess Hekate had a hand in creating my soul, and she's married to my father. She's stern, but gentle, and most of the magic I do was learned from her.

Father: Dante

My father is a demon whose recorded name won't be shared here, he goes by the name and face of Dante from DMC for privacy reasons, and their personalities are practically the same. I am so happy to be reunited with him, he makes me feel so happy and loved. He's the best dad ever. He has a blog now! @redhotandready

Uncle: Vergil

My uncle is my father's twin, he's also a recorded demon but we're calling him Vergil. He used to scare the crap out of me due to his resting bitch face but he's actually nice. An archivist who's very good at his job. Has an excellent sense of fashion and a good taste for teas.

Cousin: Lian

My cousin through paternal bonds, Lian is the best chaos homie anyone could ask for. They're responsible for reuniting me with the family so I'll always be grateful. Damn, don't cry now.... Anyway, they're incarnated like me, and you can find them at @ascending-sun-descendant .

Brother in law: Kagemi

Sometimes I forget there's a stereotype of hating your in laws because of this man. Kagemi is just so sweet and supportive, truly a man my cousin deserves, and one of my biggest enablers supporters. He can be found at @redclothedghost .

Sister in law: Hikari

My wonderful sister in law whom I respect very much. She scares the shit out of me and if you're wise you'll be a little scared of her too. She's at @poisondancer .

Me: Nexus

I'm unsure of where my journey is taking me, all I know is that I live for being on the horizon.

Fiancee: Blake

My first love and soon-to-be addition to our family via marriage, he's a sincere man of unimpeachable character, and the reason the rose is my favorite flower. A fae royal who is proficient in swordplay and poetry. He comes from a culture which despises humans, making him one of the odd ones for interacting with us at all.

Boyfriend: Vadim

One of the Vanir who, for some reason, has decided I am worth his time. He works with humans and aids in matters requiring fertility. He likes elk and hollyhocks, and annoying me.

Girlfriend: Lady

A fascinating woman who is a thousand times cooler than me. Knows more about and owns more guns than me, which is really saying something. She prefers to keep to herself.

[sotwk]

In the BotFA, Thranduil’s standout feat was slicing the heads off five orc soldiers trapped in the antlers of his war elk. Obviously the Eldar are not bound by the laws of physics, so their prowess in battle can easily be dismissed as “magical” and perhaps standard for their race. However, I happen to believe that Thranduil is an extraordinary warrior, even amongst his kind. Without solid proof from the words of Tolkien himself, I can offer only the headcanon that by the Third Age (after the War of the Last Alliance killed Gil-galad and sent Elrond and Celeborn into semi-retirement), centuries of training and experience had honed Thranduil’s Iluvatar-given gifts and leveled him up to being the mightiest Elven warrior left in Middle-earth. (No, reincarnated Glorfindel doesn’t count as he came back virtually as a Maia.)

However, I’m not here to compare and rank him against other Elven warriors, but analyze him on his own merits. Rewatching his BotFA fight scenes over and over, I’m particularly fascinated by how damn physically strong Thranduil must be.

The orcs may have been trapped and lined up for him to land his strike, but keep in mind that he was mounted on a rapidly moving elk, and these were armored opponents with steel coverings that needed to be cut through. True, having an Elven-forged sword helps, but there’s only so much a quality blade can do. There has to be serious muscle behind a one-handed swing like that, especially since he makes it look like he’s slicing air.

Another detail I find particularly badass is that you never see his own soldiers crowding around their king to try and protect him. Obviously this is not because they don’t see him worth shielding; it’s because they know it’s a giant waste of time and they would only get in the way of his warpath. Thranduil is the type of general who’d be the one saving his men’s lives left and right.

Here are my headcanon points about the Elvenking’s fighting abilities:

His key combat assets are his precision and speed as a swordsman, with blows powered by Herculean strength.

Wielding a sword is such second nature to Thranduil that it’s not just “an extension of his arm”, it pretty much IS his arm(s). The way he swings dual longswords around in giant windmill slashes while ahorse or charging a horde shows confidence that he cannot possibly cut himself by accident.

He is an offensive attacker who charges through a crowded field to get up close to his opponents, obliterating them before they have a chance to counter. He can afford to do this because his superior endurance decreases the need to conserve energy.

He has considerable skills with other weaponry such as bow and spear, but early on he realized he was best with a sword, and chose to focus on perfecting his skills with it. He is a bonafide sword master who can outduel anyone.

In terms of physical strength, I would approximate him as stronger than (excuse the Marvel Universe references) Captain America, but less strong than a fully-suited Iron Man.

Hand-to-hand combat isn’t his style, but if it came down to that, there would be few among the Children of Iluvatar who could best him when pitting muscle against muscle.

As a result, Thranduil is almost never challenged to one-on-one combat. Anyone who does so would be either incredibly naive or just wishing for death.