#this prompt really was too perfect

[v-thinks-on]

“We are too late; he has been dead some hours already,” I said, pushing myself upright to rejoin Holmes, standing over the corpse and the gruesome message above it. “Do you think he is the poor man who summoned us, driven so far as waiting anxiously in the vestibule until his foe struck, chasing him inside, to slay him in his own home?”

“My dear Watson, you are always ready to spin the facts into a romantic tale,” Holmes answered drily, “but you ought very well know it does not do to speculate. Do you find nothing odd about a dying man taking the time to inscribe the word ‘HELP’ upon the wall in his own blood? A man may shout it naturally enough, but disabuse yourself of any romantic notions, Watson, and imagine yourself in his position—we may only hope that it will not become our reality.

“A glance at the man himself is more than enough to discern that he is in dire need of assistance; his limited time and energies would surely be better spent indicating who or what it is that has brought about his untimely demise. I wonder if perhaps there is someone else here who may still be in dire need of help, but he had insufficient time to indicate who it might be.”

To be continued...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Danse Macabre

[Commission]

[myokk]

Eloise is VERY studious but it’s just because she needs to prove herself. She’s very insecure that she started at Hogwarts so late & studies like crazy to catch up & so nobody can ever doubt her😤😤 She HATES some classes though and will do the bare minimum for them and is fine with getting a possible T in her OWLs (Beasts), unless she deems the subject important somehow (Divination), but with subjects she LOVES (Transfiguration and Arithmancy) she does a lot of extra work outside of what’s necessary.

She’s never been able to stay awake longer than 2 minutes in History of Magic🥲 she swears Professor Binns infuses his voice with some sort of somnolence charm…

Her two best friends are Imelda and Anne😇🙏they drag her along EVERYWHERE with them

[peaceoutofthepieces]

hi perhaps you can do 6 with kandrew or kevneil? 😭😭😭

oh you're choosing violence. okay

6. Teary Kiss

There is not a substitute for alcohol. Not one that works to the same effect, not when one has relied on alcohol for a specific result for so long.

The thing is, alcohol does not make Kevin feel better. Neither, really, does it make him feel worse. It simply allows him to feel without thinking. It allows him to be content without the reminders of why he shouldn't be creeping in; it allows him to feel terrible, to break down and break open and come to pieces, without allowing him to think himself pathetic, at least in the moment.

It's a misconception, maybe, that he drinks to avoid breaking down, when in reality he drinks to allow the breaking down to happen with less loathing and panic to cloud over it.

Drinking is a luxurious vice the Perfect Court do not have time for. Crying is a weakness that is not allowed.

Misconceptions, maybe, that no longer ring true with as much consequence, but still that Kevin only allows synchronously—only at once, rather than in sequence.

Which is why when he feels the tell-tale lump in his throat amidst practice, he swallows it down. When the backs of his eyes start to burn, he tugs his helmet more securely into place and focuses more intently on the ball. When his hand begins to tremor on his racket, he tightens his grip.

Andrew notices. He is the only one who always does. It is why, when the rest of their teammates linger on the court for Wymack's debrief, Kevin allows himself to be pulled into the changing rooms and pushed onto a bench.

Kevin's fingers fumble at the straps of his helmet before Andrew bats them away, and then his hair is falling freely over his forehead and he has an unhindered view of Andrew's face when Andrew says, "Breathe."

Kevin does, but the breath catches in his throat. He wraps his still trembling fingers around his neck, as if putting pressure on the outside will ease the one on the inside, maybe, or just to push the pressure further down, back to where it keeps permanent residence in his chest.

"Stop it," Andrew berates. His fingers slip under Kevin's, leaving a burning trail where they brush the sensitive skin over Kevin's Adam's apple, and pull Kevin's hand away. Andrew presses fingertips firmly against Kevin's palm, against the scar there, before letting their hands hang loosely together. "Whatever it is, let go of it," he demands, in contrast to how easily he's holding on.

Kevin wants, needs to listen and to obey, if only to abide by the deference drilled into him, if only so the pressure will lighten long enough for him to breathe. But the possibility of it overflowing to the point it consumes him, pulling him down into depths he can not escape from when there is nothing to mediate its force, keeps him clinging to the precipice.

Andrew raises his free hand and grips Kevin's chin in his fingers, pulling Kevin's gaze up towards him. Andrew's gaze is fire, golden and molten, but it never threatens to burn Kevin. It is a controlled, steady heat that carefully draws Kevin into the circle of flames, protectively wrapping him up without letting the embers scorch him. "You are here," Andrew says. "No one and nothing may take you away. Do you understand?"

"Andrew," Kevin says, a plead all of its own. His breath hitches, and Andrew's fingers tighten around his own.

"Yes or no?" Andrew finally asks, and mercifully does not push for more than Kevin's shaky agreement, pressing his lips gently to Kevin's in direct opposition to how his nails dig sharply into Kevin's skin. Kevin breaks, and Andrew does not flinch at the dampness that runs down to his fingers, does not retreat at the tang of salt between their mouths.

When he does eventually pull away, he moves his hand from Kevin's chin to his hair. Tangling his fingers in the strands, he guides Kevin's head gently towards his middle, allowing Kevin to cry into his jersey, despite how obvious the tears will appear on the white fabric.

There is not a substitute for alcohol, which is good, because Kevin imagines Andrew would not take kindly to the comparison. Andrew, Kevin has come to realise, is different to any drug, in that he does not work to dull or heighten or play on the mind in any way; he simply stands in the face of the storm and weathers it, unmoved and unchanged regardless of its kind or its force. In its wake, he will not have been brought down, and he will not hesitate to draw Kevin back up with him.

It is not the same effect and does not bring the same result, but Kevin finds he may favour the taste of it, all the same.

send me a number + ship

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i think the diamond dogs should play improv games just bc it would amuse me, an ex theater kid, specifically

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

AFTERMARE WEEK: day 5- spring or fall

and the more i look at your face full of wonder and happiness, the more i fall in love with you.

aftermare week by @bluepallilworld

[kumakuma-circus]

just randomly remembered that during my like 10+ attempts at the shadow yukiko fight i more or less consistently ran out of revival beads so yosuke was just dead (well unconscious but whatever) on the ground for like half the fight gfhfjvhfhfhd-

[howcanibesadyetalsoacowboy]

playthrough's going well.

[boyfrillish]

howdy! for a drabble prompt how about something like, victor/hop where one has to be fiercely protective of the other? (say, a wild pokemon encounter gets out of hand or...)

Victor’s walking toward Challenge Road when it happens. He knows there are plenty of wild Pokémon happy to attack passersby during any weather, yet he’s still caught off-guard when a Bisharp charges at him from behind.

The battle cry rings in his ears and when he turns around, he’s met with sharp blades ready to strike. He can barely shout a command to Sylveon or switch to a different Pokémon. The blow of the attack throws him right into the stairs and he yelps as the edges of the steps dig into his back.

He’s frozen in place as the blade points threateningly at his face.

But that’s when fear melts into a blend of admiration and worry alike.

“Get away from him!” an oh-so-familiar voice yells.

And Victor watches as Hop charges directly into the wild Bisharp, hitting it with his own body to knock it aside, and Dubwool eagerly helping with its Double-Edge.

Hop stands in front of Victor like a shield, Pokéball in hand to switch out. “Go, Cinderace! Hit it with your Pyro Ball!”

With the type advantage on his side, he fends off the wild Bisharp with ease. Though rather than celebrate the win, he rushes to kneel next to Victor.

Grim determination — an expression that’s burned into Victor’s mind ever since their battle at the Champion Cup — makes way for worried frown. “Victor! It didn’t cut you, did it? Let me check you for injuries!”

But the only response Victor can think of is to grab Hop by the collar of his jacket and shout, “You idiot! What were you thinking?!”

“I just saved your butt!” Hop shouts right back. “And you’re probably hurt, so let me tend to you already!”

Victor really wants to argue — because really! What was he thinking? — but his body has to betray him by wincing in pain. “Ugh, fine.”

He slips out of his dojo jacket and loosens the zipper of his binder for ease of breath, at the same time allowing Hop to lift his shirt to examine his back for any obvious signs of injury and patch up the scratches on his arms and legs.

Victor is mad. He really is. But the Butterfree that go wild in his belly again at Hop’s gentle, caring touch make it tough to stay mad. And, okay, maybe Hop going reckless protector mode for him made him fall in love even more than he already was.

Still, though… he’s miffed. Feelings don’t always make sense.

Finally, Hop is satisfied with his work and he fixes Victor’s t-shirt before putting away the first aid kit. Softly, he says, “I did the best I could, but I’m just a Professor’s apprentice, not a Doctor. So you should go back to the Dojo and have someone check you more thoroughly as soon as possible.”

Victor groans. “But I have training to do!”

“Nuh uh, training can wait. Health is more important,” Hop argues. “You’re the Champion of Galar, it’s no good if you end up out of commission because you thought you could tough it out.”

“If health is so important, then why did you charge in like that? You could’ve got hurt!”

“I didn’t think, okay?” Hop says. “I saw that Bisharp attacking you and heard your cry and all I knew was I had to make sure you’re safe. There was no time to think before acting.”

“You keep doing that, Hop. Charging ahead recklessly and rushing off before I have a chance to say something or help you. It can get a bit frustrating, you know?” Victor says. Softly, he adds, “I worry about you and I don't want you to get yourself hurt for my sake. I want you to be safe, too.”

“Sorry about that, Victor,” Hop says. “Sonia reproached me for that too, but I can’t help it sometimes. Especially when something or someone I really care about is in danger.”

“Just, promise you’ll be careful, okay? Or else I’ll charge in and protect you, because I really care about you too.”

A smile blooms on Hop’s face as he squeezes Victor’s hand in affirmation of the promise. “Heh heh, it makes me really happy we always have each other’s back.”

Victor feels like a firework lights up in his heart.

He smiles back. “Me too.”

[countthelions]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: W. D. Gaster/Grillby Characters: Original Female Character(s), W. D. Gaster, Grillby (Undertale) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Western, A Good Ol Fashioned Hell-Raising, Flirting, Yeehawgust, Jealousy, gaster plays a game each time this happens and its:, how long can i let this go on before grillby does something about it, because he likes playing with (his) fire, Post canon, Headcanon Series: Part 5 of Spinning Yarns between Raising Hell Summary:

There's a stranger at the end of the bar that Filly's seen every night - so of course it's time to go an' talk to him before the summer ends and he's just a page in her book of missed opportunities.

[sesamestreep]

Taylor Swift prompts: Matt/Foggy, 13

13. hands around a cold glass (from the SECOND Taylor Swift prompt list) I was struggling with some writer's block a few weeks ago and my dearest Zainab was kind enough to give me permission to write a tiny Matt/Foggy-centric one-shot set in her Great British Bake-Off AU and I absolutely leapt at the chance, because I love this 'verse and I've been bothering her with texts about what these two would be up to in that AU since like January. I think this makes sense without reading her previous entries in the series (which focus primarily on Sam and Bucky, with an ensemble cast of other MCU characters), but you should read them anyway because they're very good and they will make your life better! Cross-posted to AO3 here (with more notes) if that's your jam 🍯

Even though they’ve set aside their evening for the express purpose of making a decision, Foggy waits until they’ve finished the takeout they ordered to the office (neutral ground, so no one has home field advantage) and cleaned up all the various cartons and silverware and settled back at the conference table with each of their second beers of the night before he brings up the thing they’re supposed to be talking about.

“Okay,” Foggy says, setting his beer down firmly and flipping a page over on his legal pad to find where he scribbled some notes earlier. “Reason number one that you should move into my apartment: you love me.”

“You can’t use that as one of your reasons,” Matt replies, tapping a pen against the table in a fidgety gesture that’s unlike him.

“Why not?”

“Because you also love me, which means you should move into my apartment. They cancel each other out!”

“Oh, my bad,” Foggy says, as he crosses it off his list. “I didn’t know we were playing by Boggle rules…”

Matt scrunches his nose in confusion. “I’m not familiar.”

“Really?” he asks. “You don’t know Boggle? It’s like a classic word game, you have these little cubes with letters on them that you shake and—you know what, saying it out loud, it makes sense that you haven’t played it. I understand that now. It would be impossibly boring even if there was a braille version. Moving on! Reason number two that you should move in with me!”

“Okay…”

“I’m super handsome.”

“Foggy!”

“What?”

Matt shakes his head. “I’m also handsome,” he says, quietly, after a minute.

“Damn, that’s true,” Foggy says, as if it had never occurred to him.

“Please take this seriously!”

“Fine! Reason number three: I have a lot more stuff than you do. It will take me so long to pack and it will probably make me cry and possibly throw up. You, comparatively, would have a much easier time packing, because you live like a weird, sad monk.”

“Hey! I do not! Just because I don’t like clutter…”

“Until we started dating, you owned one singular blanket,” Foggy points out. “It was a blanket for your bed and your couch that you moved back and forth as needed.”

“It was a perfectly good system,” Matt grumbles.

“Right, but isn’t it better now that you have a bed blanket and a couch blanket?”

“I guess,” Matt admits, as though he’s being tormented. “To be fair, it would probably take you at least a week just to pack up all of your cookbooks.”

“I don’t have that many!”

“You bought three new ones last week! That’s already three more than I own!”

“I can’t help it that my friends keep writing cookbooks,” Foggy objects. “What was I supposed to do, Matt? Not buy Daisy’s book?”

Matt crosses his arms, irritably. “No, but you didn’t know the authors of the other two books you bought. You could’ve skipped theirs.”

“Cookbooks make me happy! I don’t tell you not to…go to the gym!”

“You do, in fact, tell me that all the time.”

Foggy makes a hand gesture that’s meant to convey the sentiment of duh, except that such things are generally lost on Matt, for obvious reasons. “Yeah, well, usually it’s because I want you to stay in bed longer.”

“And I want you to own fewer cookbooks so that there’s room in the apartment for us to actually have a bed.”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “Give me one of your reasons, then.”

“I know where everything is in my apartment,” Matt says, simply, “whereas at your place, I’m always looking in the wrong cabinets for stuff or tripping over things.”

“That’s just because you’re not as used to it. I’d go through the same thing if I moved to your place!”

“You’d still have an easier time of it than me.”

“That’s…fair,” Foggy concedes. “I can’t really disagree with that without being an asshole.”

“My favorite way to win an argument,” Matt replies, with a smile. “Playing the blind card.”

Foggy shakes his head. “You devious son of a bitch.”

“Also, my apartment is closer to the office and my rent is cheaper.”

“I’ll give you the cheap rent thing, though it is only because of that terrible billboard with the crazy LED lights that come through your windows at all hours, which does not bother you but would definitely bother me.”

“I remember you sleeping through three separate fire drills in college. I think you’d somehow manage to deal with the unique lighting situation of this apartment.”

“Fine,” Foggy admits, begrudgingly. “But I absolutely contest it being a mark in your favor that your apartment is closer to the office. I think it helps with work-life balance that my place is a little farther away.”

Matt thinks this over for a moment and then nods. “Okay, fine. We’ll call it a draw.”

“Good. Moving on, then. Reason number…whatever that my apartment is better: I live right next door to that bodega with those amazing breakfast sandwiches and the good, cheap coffee you love.”

“Fuck,” Matt says, with feeling. “That’s a really good point.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Okay,” he says, in the tone Foggy’s been hearing him use in court and mock trials and even drunken debates for over a decade now.  It means Matt is currently running through his rebuttal in his mind, devising the best and most efficient way to win this round. Foggy loves that tone of voice, and the expression of intense thought that always accompanies it, even if it usually means he's about to lose whatever argument they're having. He really should be more immune to it by now, but love has made him weak and he's truly not even mad about it.

“My apartment,” Matt says, finally, “has an in-unit washer and dryer.”

That’s a solid point, but Foggy is not going to admit defeat so easily. “Okay,” he says, “but—counterpoint—mine has a dishwasher!”

“I don’t mind hand washing dishes,” Matt replies with a shrug.

“Wait until you live with me to say that,” Foggy says. “I bake all the time! It’s a lot of dishes!”

“It’s still not as bad as having to go to a laundromat and pay whenever you need to do laundry!”

“Well, my landlord says the machines in the basement will be fixed soon, so my laundromat days are numbered.”

“I will believe that when I see it.”

“You can’t see anything, sweetheart.”

“Exactly,” Matt says, smugly. He may have a point. Foggy’s landlord has been saying the washing machines will be fixed “soon” for six months now.

Foggy blows out a breath, making as much noise as humanly possible to express his frustration. “So, where does that leave us? Is somebody winning?”

Matt laughs and distractedly runs a finger through the layer of condensation on his beer bottle, dividing it down the middle with a thick line. “Honestly, I don’t know. It feels like we’re even, at this point.”

“In the spirit of honesty, then, can I ask you something?”

Matt shrugs, the gesture completely at odds with how tense the rest of his body became at the question. “Sure.”

“You do want to move in with me, right?” Foggy asks, hating himself a little for even needing to. “I know we’ve discussed it, and you said you wanted to, but it’s okay if you’re not ready yet or you changed your mind. It’s a big step—”

Matt leans forward to cover Foggy’s hand with his own, letting his fingers, still cold and damp from holding the glass, brush over Foggy’s wrist, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Of course I want to! Does it seem like I don’t?”

“No, it’s just—I know you like your space and that you value your independence a lot, and I get that but I also don’t necessarily relate to it on the same level. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into doing something that’s going to make you miserable.”

“Well, for one thing, you’re not pressuring me and living with you is not going to make me miserable. It will do the opposite, in fact.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s not even going to be our first time living together, dumbass,” Matt says, fondly. “You do remember college, don’t you?”

“Very little of it, in fact,” Foggy quips. “I think I was drunk for most of Spring 2010. It’s more or less a blank spot.”

“Still, we didn’t hate living together then, did we?”

“No,” Foggy replies. “One could even argue that we loved living together.”

“And that was with us sleeping in twin beds. Imagine how much better it will be, uh…not in twin beds…”

Foggy stifles a laugh. “Matt, did you seriously get all blushy at the idea of a queen sized bed?”

“No,” Matt says, tipping his chin down to hide his face. "Shut up!"

“You’re so cute. I want to have sex with you immediately.”

“No! No sex! In fact, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you’re not! You love me!”

“Yes, I do,” Matt says, sullenly, “And for what it’s worth, I only got embarrassed because it felt like I was implying that we slept together in our dorm in college, which obviously wasn’t true and I didn’t want to…”

“You didn’t want to admit how big of a crush you had on me back then, I get it,” Foggy says. “Oh, wait, sorry! That was me!”

“Again: shut up!”

“Okay, but now you’ve got me thinking: maybe we should do twin beds…”

“Foggy,” Matt groans.

“I don’t want our relationship to be in violation of the Hays Code, Matt!”

“Well, we’re both men, so that ship has already sailed, I’m afraid…”

“I’m just saying: if it’s good enough for Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke, it should be good enough for us!”

“To each their own, I guess, but I sleep better when I share a bed with you.”

“I’ll pretend your reasons are romantic,” Foggy says, aiming for sarcasm and missing by a wide margin, “and not just because you turn into a koala when you sleep.”

“Have you considered being less huggable, maybe?” Matt asks, with a straight face.

“That’s like asking the sun to be less radiant! It is counter to my very nature!”

He smiles. “Fair point.”

Foggy leans back in his chair, making sure to keep his fingers tangled together with Matt’s as he does. He sighs, closing his eyes, and tries to come up with an answer to their problem. It’s a big step for their relationship and huge life changes tend to require sacrifice or compromise on some level, but it’s difficult to think of an option that doesn’t require much more of that from one of them than the other. Except…

“I have a very stupid idea,” Foggy announces. 

“Okay,” Matt replies, warily.

“And I know it’s stupid, okay? I just said that, but I want to be very clear that I’m aware of it. I’m just going to say it anyway, to put it out there.”

“Okay…”

“Should we just look for a place together?”

Matt furrows his brow, puzzling through the implications of this option. “As in, we both leave our current apartments for a completely new one?”

“Yeah. That way we both have to pack, and move, and get used to a new space, instead of only one of us having to do it. I know it’s more expensive and more trouble, so—“

“Is it weird that it makes me feel better?” Matt asks. “The idea that we’d both have to be inconvenienced, equally?”

“No,” Foggy admits. “It makes me feel better too. I want it to feel equal. And we could find a bigger place, maybe with an extra room.”

“For an office?”

Foggy laughs. “Honestly, it’s a sign of how low my standards are that I’m just relieved your mind didn’t go immediately to an in-home gym.”

Matt’s eyebrows lift, excitedly. “We could find a building that has a gym, though.”

“Like you’d ever cheat on Fogwell’s like that.”

“I meant for cross-training…”

“Of course you did,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “We could make a list. Things we need—“

“Close to the bodega with the good coffee,” Matt interjects, smiling.

“And a functional laundry room, somewhere on site,” Foggy adds, nodding. “And then a list of things that would be nice to have, like a gym or no nearby billboards that will fry my retinas in the middle of the night.”

“So, you’re saying we’d get to debate and write out two more lists?” Matt asks. “Are you trying to seduce me right now? In our office? Where solemn attorney-ing is done?”

“No, it just comes so naturally to me,” Foggy replies, running his thumb over Matt’s knuckles affectionately. “Though it sounds to me like that’s a yes?”

Matt gives him a surprised look. “Yes to…?”

“God, keep your pants on for two minutes, Murdock! I’m talking about the plan!”

“Oh, yeah. The plan. I mean, I know it’s more work for us and more trouble, but…”

“I’d go through a lot more trouble for your sake, if it means making you happy,” Foggy says, simply. It’s the truth, and he tries to make it a habit to say what he means, especially with Matt. It took them long enough to get here. What’s the point in hiding how he feels now?

Matt rests his chin in the hand that isn’t holding Foggy’s. “You’re very sweet, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it before, once or twice.”

“I don’t know what I did to get so lucky.”

“You smiled at me once when we were eighteen and it was all over for me. And then fifteen years later, you got jealous of a woman I met on a reality show and finally fell in love with me.”

Matt turns an adorable shade of pink and takes his hand away to cross his arms petulantly over his chest. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, so it didn’t take me going to a wedding with one of my best friends under completely platonic circumstances for you to admit you had feelings for me?” Foggy asks, grinning.

“I don’t recall, actually,” Matt says, primly, as he reaches for his beer again and takes an uninterested sip. 

“Speaking of Daisy,” Foggy says, enjoying this way too much, “I should talk to her. She and Daniel said their realtor from when they moved was great. They might be able to put us in touch with someone.”

“We could always use the realtor who rented me my place,” Matt suggests, in the neutral tone of someone who definitely wouldn’t rather eat glass than ask Daisy for help with anything. “She was very helpful and I remember she gave me her card. I could probably find it.”

“Yeah, she gave you her card because she wanted to sleep with you,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “Pass.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Foggy,” Matt replies, with an evil smile. “She showed me the apartment under completely platonic circumstances.”

Foggy rolls his eyes at that. “You’ve never been in platonic circumstances with anyone, Matt! Every person who meets you wants to sleep with you immediately.”

Matt shrugs, like this means nothing. “Too bad for them. I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah?” Foggy laughs. “Is it serious?”

Matt nods, and his smile isn’t evil at all anymore. “Very,” he says. “We’re moving in together.”

[theflyingfeeling]

fanfic rambling in the tags, nothing interesting really, just me talking to myself lol, okay to ignore or read as you please ✨

[peapod20001]

Shhh they don’t know my characters and stories have deeper meanings behind them...

[greenvillainredemption]

Been putting the last chapter of ayh on the back burner because I want to have this one shot posted (or at least finished) by tomorrow. It’s the last encantober, I think at the time I missed the last one (maybe a couple others but I still managed to post them close enough after the deadline) But with the very last one I was burnt out and I was like ‘well I can chill now and finish this one later’ but then I never did. So I’ve been chipping away at it since like around Christmas? Ugh. Part of the problem was I had the premise figured out from the very beginning but I didn’t have details and how we get there until I made myself think about it again lol. Send all your prayers hopes and vibes. 🙏💕

[crepuscularray]

Deercember Day Twenty-Six: Rocky Mountain Elk | Wander

The elk (Cervus canadensis), or wapiti, is the second largest species of deer, and one of the largest terrestrial mammals in its native range of North America and Asia. The word "elk" originally referred to the European variety of the moose, Alces alces, but was transferred to Cervus canadensis by North American colonists. The name "wapiti" derives from a Shawnee and Cree word meaning "white rump" for the distinctive light fur on the animal's rear. The Rocky Mountain elk (Cervus canadensis nelsoni) is a subspecies found in the Rocky Mountains and adjacent ranges of Western North America. It is this subspecies that is found throughout Yellowstone National Park, though many of the animals present are transitory and follow annual migration routes to and from their summer and winter ranges; there are currently between seven and eight herds who intermittently call Yellowstone home, numbering around 30,000 animals total in the summer. The Cody elk herd migrates across rugged country on the eastern side of the Absaroka Mountains near Cody, WY. This large herd of 6,000 - 7,000 animals winters in foothill habitat to the south and west of Cody. There are three core winter areas, with each having a different route back to Yellowstone. In spring, the elk begin their migration, though the elk that winter in the upper Greybull River have perhaps the most arduous journey. From winter range, they climb around 900 meters (nearly 3,000 vertical feet), up and over Needle Mountain, before descending down to the Shoshone River, only to climb again out of the river up to the Thorofare for summer. Some animals in this herd make migrations as far as 188 km (117 mi), while others make shorter migrations; the mean migration length is 93 km (58 mi). More information here and here about the Cody Herd, here about Yellowstone National Park, here about Rocky Mountain elk, and here about elk as a species.

Reference: Deer and Background. (The documentary is great, too!)

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '23 ⸺ 「 30 / 31 * SUNSET 」

July 31, 1992

❝God, Doc, I'm so nervous. Am I supposed to be this nervous?❞ Marty has been pacing back and forth for the last ten minutes, his anxiety spiking, and none of Emmett's previous attempts thusfar have managed to still his feet or calm the storm brewing over his head.

He understands the nerves, having felt them when he had decided to propose to Clara, fearing he may have been too forward and misreading the entire situation or she would, when presented with the opportunity, turn him down for his age or his appearance or the fact that the life he currently had was nothing glamorous, certainly not for a brilliant woman who had her entire life ahead of her.

Clara had quashed every single one of his own worries the moment they arose.

❝Marty. Marty!❞ Emmett stops him in his tracks with both hands on his shoulders and when Marty finally looks up, clarity returning the sharpness to the blue of his eyes, he looks exactly like his seventeen-year-old self again, far younger than his years. ❝Of course it's natural to be nervous, but try and relax. Take a few deep breaths. I can assure you that everything is on schedule, Jennifer is not going to stand you up, and things will go just fine.❞

Marty throws a look at him that says how can you be so sure? when he's feeling so uncertain about everything, and Emmett is certain he's running through possibilities in his head that are so highly improbable they could never happen in this timeline.

He squeezes his shoulders and when Marty follows his advice and takes a few long, slow breaths, Emmett switches to straightening the tie his worry has knocked askew.

❝You two love each other. There's nothing that's going to change that. Everybody is nervous on their wedding day and before other pivotal moments in their lives. The sun is setting on this chapter of your life as you take the next step forward. But I promise you that once you step out there and you see Jennifer walking down the aisle, you won't feel nervous anymore.❞

❝You're right, Doc, I know you are. It's just; it's really happening. I'm about to marry Jennifer. She's going to be Jennifer McFly. We're gonna spend the rest of our lives together.❞

❝So then what's the problem?❞

Marty shakes his head and fumbles for the words to explain the frenzy stirring in his chest. Emmett is unflappable even in the wake of the torrent of Marty's emotions and Marty doesn't know where he'd be right now without him. ❝I—the rings?❞

❝Safely in the possession of the ring-bearers.❞

❝The music?❞

❝The band is all present and accounted for.❞

❝My family?❞

❝Seated beside Detective Parker.❞

❝The photographers? Jen wanted to make sure we got lots of pictures.❞

❝Marty, you already spoke to them, remember? They had taken photos of us not long ago.❞

He shakes his head. ❝That's right; it feels like it happened yesterday or in a dream or something.❞

Emmett gently guides him over toward the long mirror and places him directly in the centre of it. Marty takes a moment to look them both over, dressed sharply in their well-pressed black suits. His hair is freshly cut and styled and Marty smiles at the way his best friend had gone through the trouble of wrangling his hair into something neat and well-kept rather than the wild mane it often was.

Clara almost certainly had a hand in that, he thinks, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes she can hear his thank you.

❝Doc? Can I, uh, ask you something?❞

Emmett nods, using the mirror to now fuss over his own appearance while he still has the chance. As best man, it was important everything be in place, and the setup and smooth operation of the wedding was far more important than his own personal appearance. Clara reminded him time-and-time again of his tendency to get too-caught up in whatever endeavour has his attention, and she had reminded him before they left to make sure his appearance didn't suffer as he ran about aiding in the day's proceedings.

Now that they have a moment and less than an hour until it all begins, the last thing he wants is to add even the slightest bit more to Marty's plate for him to worry over.

His black suit is still wrinkle-free, his hair has yet to adopt a life of its own and begin to fly every which way, and no matter how hard he looks, he can't find any part of his appearance that needs fixing.

❝I think maybe I'm also afraid that once we get married, everything's gonna change, you know? That things are going to have to be different now that we're husband and wife. I guess what I'm wondering is after you and Clara got married, did things feel all that different between you? Did things change a lot when she became your wife?❞

Emmett hums. ❝There was an adjustment period after the fact when it came to calling her my wife. As you know, I never imagined such a thing for myself. As a scientist, I was already married to science, as it was, and the idea of falling in love, let alone at first sight, was simply nonsense. The stuff of romance novels.❞

Marty actually finds himself able to manage a grin as he thinks back to the memory of seeing the doc wide-eyed and tongue-tied in a way he never imagined possible. ❝No kidding. I've never seen you look the way you looked at Clara before. You had it bad, Doc, right at the start.❞

❝Not unlike the way I've seen you look at Jennifer over the years. In fact, I think I still recall the way you looked when you mentioned her in 1955.❞ Marty's cheeks tinge pink.

❝But even after being officially married, our relationship didn't change. It became a little more proper for us to be together the way we were—as you may or may not know, perceptions were very different back in the nineteenth century, and as Clara was Hill Valley's only schoolteacher, it was necessary for her to maintain a very good image, as she was a role model for the children—but we didn't treat each other any differently.❞

They had already been married in all but name by the time their wedding day came around. All that was left was to make it official, sign the documents, and appease everyone else's old-fashioned sensibilities.

❝By that time, we were already practically living together. I wasn't rich by any means, but we had Clara's home and the stable which I had converted into living quarters, we were both working, and I occasionally assisted with some of the school lessons. She was my confidante, the one person with whom I could share the truth of my existence with, and she had embraced the idea of time-travel and life in the twentieth century so quickly that even I was astounded.❞

Emmett turns away from the mirror to properly look at his friend.

❝So I suppose that was a very long way to say no, nothing changed after the fact. Other than the entire town openly wondering when we would finally start a family of our own.❞

That prompts a groan out of Marty. ❝Guess I'll have to be ready for my parents to start asking when we'll be giving them grandkids. Got another question for you, Doc.❞

Emmett checks one of his wristwatches. ❝Sure; we still have a little time before the ceremony is scheduled to begin and we have to get into position.❞

❝What was your wedding day like? Since I didn't get to see it, I'd really like to know.❞