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[olivenight17]

[olivenight17]

After 8 months, I finally finished my fun little project! "Blood in the Water", a what if story focused on Fareeda!

[olivenight17]

I honestly can't make up my mind/ don't ship him with anyone which feels weird because he's my favorite character so I feel obligated to ship him with SOMEONE so let me know your thoughts

I AM IGNORING ALL BATCEST.

[olivenight17]

Iiiii couldn’t help myself cause I thought this idea was so cute. So, uh, hope you don’t mind

—————

“Kai, just be careful of her head-“

“For the last time, I have her exactly where she needs to be,” Kai snorted. He cradled the baby girl - his baby girl, he could still hardly believe it - carefully in his arms. It was a funny looking image, the little calf was barely visible in his bulging arms, and it felt strange to have to be gentle with another being in his grasp. But as the baby giggled and waved her arms about, he managed a little smile. This could be a good different.

His eyes flickered over to his wife with a smug expression. “See? She likes it! You worry too much.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest seeing her cross her arms and huff at him.

“I don’t know about that, old friend. You look like you’re carrying her like an arm full of weapons.” Oogway chuckled from beside him. He was the whole reason behind this little visit, prodding at Kai to let him see the little one until he gave in. It was surreal, Kai hadn’t expected to be allowed home as quick as he was, or the siege to be this successful. Not that he was complaining, of course.

He just rolled his eyes, easing back in his seat. “And that’s a problem? I’m careful with an arm full of weapons.” He rocked the calf in his arms lightly, jostling her just enough for her to giggle again and reach her little hooves up towards his face.

Oogway remained unconvinced. “Oh, are you? That’s news to me.” A smirk appeared on the turtle’s face as Kai glared at him in warning, but it had never stopped him before. Instead, he raised his claws up just enough to brush past the end of his mustache. “I seem to remember a time of you bringing a handful of spears to be sharpened and in the middle of you boasting how you could fell an entire army with even a dull spear, you tripped and that bit of mustache flitted to the ground.” He laughed as the bull growled at him.

His wife perked her head up in the meantime with a raised brow and a smile that spelled trouble. “You never told me that war story,” she mused towards her husband.

The smug expression fell into what was essentially a grumpy pout within seconds, Kai’s head dipping low in embarassment. “Because it wasn’t a war story, and also, not true,” he barked out in defense.

“Oh, it wasn’t? Would the master of pain lie to his wife?” The turtle continued to chortle, and it raised Kai’s blood pressure further.

He ground his teeth tight and flared his nostrils in annoyance. “How is it a lie? You cracked your head on a rock! You’re likely still suffering the injury you pin headed-“ He was fully prepared to insult Oogway, what he did not prepare for, was the threat below him.

The bull let out a grunt as tiny claws gripped the mustache that was swinging precariously in front of his child’s face, and pulled hard. Out of sheer surprise, his head followed suit with the tug and his eyes trailed down to the child in his arms, still parading his mustache in her grip like a prize.

It earned a surprised laugh from his wife, who leaned over to gently grasp the calf’s arm. “Little one, no, that’s not for grabbing,” she scolded gently, but a smile was still wide on her lips.

“It’s fine, she’s fine. Look at that, she has such an instinct already,” Kai was quick to brush it off. His eyes softened as he looked down at her with a mix of pride and amusement. Such a tiny thing, and yet her first instinct was to grab, to take what she wanted. He poked his free hoof towards her stomach, smirking as she squirmed and tugged his mustache more.

“She certainly has her father’s genes,” Oogway commented, looking over Kai’s shoulder. “Hopefully it stays in personality only.”

“Watch it turtle, because once I put her down, I’m coming for you.” Kai warned him lightly, but he kept his eyes on the baby. It was hard to be too disgruntled with her in his arms, although the annoyance was still simmering beneath the surface. For now, it felt far away, watching her grey fur melt into his own.

She was still too young for her true eye color to show up, just a baby blue that looked curiously at everything around her, especially at what she still had in her grasp. He allowed some give as she moved his mustache this way and that, leaning closer so she didn’t push herself too hard trying to explore his face. Then her other hand reached out and brushed against his chin.

He hadn’t had the time to shave in the last few days, too concerned with travel and then helping his wife with the baby. Stubble had grown that he hadn’t bothered to shave off. But his child seemed positively captivated by it. She let out some incoherent babble, eyes widening. Her stubby fingers poked and prodded the lower half of his face in exploration.

It earned a chuckle from all three adults in the room, as his wife went from trying to pull her arm away to just brushing down the baby’s fur.

Oogway didn’t touch, but he still seemed endeared by the whole scene of the little family. “Yes, he’s very terrifying to look at it, isn’t he? Don’t worry, little blossom, he’s not a monster. Although, his breath did once kill an enemy soldier…”

All the softness that the baby provided took the backseat at that jab. After a few more moments of letting the calf explore his face, he gently pulled away, allowing his wife to hold her once more. Once she was safely out of his arms, he pointed at Oogway with a glare. “If you want your body still attached to your shell, you should run now.” He muttered, standing up to full height.

Oogway stood up as well, but they had done this many times already. There wasn’t any real threat. “I’ll be careful not to slice your horn off this time,” he teased.

It was the last thing said between them before Kai lunged at the other man, fully prepared to spar and bring him to the ground.

Besides Kai’s wife, who was still pacing a few steps away with an exasperated shout, “how many times did I warn you, no fighting near the baby! You are not starting her training this early!”

I just saw such a cute video and it gave me a thought about Daddy! Kai AU:

Rubbing beard stubble on baby's cheek to calm them down, or baby pulling on his beard/mustache 🥺

[olivenight17]

Well, uh, it’s been a while, hi! So, maybe the lil caption on my blog is a lie, I may still write just a little bit. Mostly for my pleasure though and not for requests, although I might open them back up if I revamp the fandoms. Anyways uh, have this cause the Lackadaisy fandom grabbed me by the throat and ran off with me. @a-libra-writes surprise! I’m the sugar baby anon. Lol hope you enjoy what feels like a bunch of headcanons tacked on in a one-shot fashion lol, Asa Sweet man.

Asa Sweet x GN!Reader

You enjoyed the life you had with Asa Sweet.

It was a comfortable one. Not oftentimes cozy, filled with the hazy, golden lights and constant chatter of the speakeasy. It’s where you spent most of your time, after all Asa liked seeing you having fun in clothes he bought you in a place he worked hard to create, even if he wasn’t always in the room himself. It was hard to pass up, the Marigold Room had become a hotspot nowadays, and there was always interesting conversation flowing from one person to another.

And you remembered distantly being in bed with him after a long night, his paw trailing over your tail, and hearing him mumble, “you make the lights shine that much brighter, darlin. Some nights get so unsavory, and then I see you in a booth or a chair, smiling with that brightness to you, makes it all disappear.” It was a touching sentiment, and with him being so soft about it, well, who were you to refuse him that bit of comfort?

He always seemed at ease with you, you had noticed. Not much ruffled his fur, visibly anyways, and he made sure to stand tall no matter who it was he was dealing with. Plenty of times you had sat with him on his lap with his arm steady around your waist as he laughed and talked with various patrons and investors over a game of poker or black-jack. He made sure to tuck you right against his chest, an extra, glittering accessory to add to his charisma and power while he cut deals and traded hands. To you it was nervewracking, while you weren’t quite aware of every bit of the under-belly of Asa’s business, you knew a threat when you heard one, and you’d heard many veiled in honeyed words thrown at him over a game and drink. You’d never even seen him so much as flinch at one, just that charming grin he wore in public as he passed his own threats back.

Maybe you were biased from all the nights you’d spent with him, but those sweet threats sounded a lot better coming from his mouth than his business partners. The grin on his face turned just a bit sharper, just a bit more dangerous, and he looked more like a lion than a regular cat.

Although, as enticing as the danger of that smile could be, you liked it best when it was just the two of you in his office late at night.

“You don’t have to stay with me for this. I know it gets boring,” he told you every time you offered to stay. It could have been just because he wanted to be a gentleman, or because he wanted to keep you at arms length from any important information. You never really knew.

But you smiled up at him all the same and placed a paw on his suit. “What, and miss some time alone with you? Perish the thought, Mister.” You responded playfully back at him, a determined glint in your eye. Plus, he rarely refused you anything, and he craved the softness of your company most of all.

So, you were sat back on his lap, straddling his thigh in a bit more improper manner now that it was just the two of you. Most of all, you just liked taking the time to observe him in moments like these. The act he put on for others disappeared, melting into something a bit more real, less of a figure larger than life, and more like someone you could grasp onto. The smile on his face had gone into a more concentrated frown as he studied the papers in front of him(He was careful, he never handled paperwork that was overly sensitive when you were around, both for your safety and his comfort). His tie was loosened, courtesy of you and he gave you a gentle kiss as a reward, and his shirt held a few more wrinkles from the stresses of the day. His shoulders were hunched over his desk, tired after the constant meetings, and he always rubbed at his forehead with a quiet sigh when something was really perplexing him.

He looked like a man, not a terrifying gangster. Though you had seen both sides of him, it was the man who needed your attention the most, usually because he was never let out. Although there was a small glow of pride in your chest that you brought the man out of him the most. You were a good deal younger than him, and he was more than happy to show you places you’ve never been before. Fancy restaurants, shows in the theater, even allowing you the pleasure of opportunity to photograph yourself. You had managed to pull him into one of the photos once, he looked positively awkward and shocked in the picture, but you kept it anyways. It was a nice momento, and you smiled at the memory.

You sat back against his chest with a little sigh, letting his scent fill your nose. Soft and sweet, with the powdered grit of his cigar smoke tangling with it in the perfect combination. It was hard to catch it in the speakeasy with all the drinks and cigars everyone else was having pouring into your nose. But you liked his scent, it was masculine without being completely overwhelming like most men could be.

“Gettin tired, darlin? I can call you a car to take you back,” Asa’s voice drifted into your ear. It was lower than usual with the quiet atmosphere of his office.

You shook your head, turning slightly to fiddle with his tie some more. “Just reminiscing is all,” you told him before chuckling lightly. There was more of a sparkle to your eye as you looked up at him. “Honestly if anyone should be tired it ought to be you. It’s not as draining to just be your ornament, Asa.”

That pulled a more sardonic smile to his lips and he shook his head, taking a puff of his cigar, and you watched as it curled around his nostrils like a dragon. “Yeah, well thank goodness for that, being so tired doesn’t suit you. You can leave that work all to me.” The arm he had around your hips tightened as his golden gaze flicked over to you.

You just let out a hum, cupping his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his face. “Leaves me the work of having to drag you to a bed and make sure you get some rest though, which I’d argue is harder,” you pointed out teasingly.

That got a chuckle out of him, and the sound rumbled in his chest against your back. “Hardly, all you gotta do is bat your eyelashes and I am humbly at your mercy.”

“That works when I ask for a new hat, not when I need to drag you from your desk at five in the morning. Clearly, you’ve never had to deal with yourself in peak work mode.” You huffed jokingly with crossed arms, though you couldn’t fight the smile crawling onto your face as he pulled you even closer against him.

His head dipped down to nuzzle against your cheek, then pressing into your neck, and you could feel the way he smiled at the resounding purr you gave him at the contact. “That’s what I have you for, honey. I appreciate you, you know I do. Unless this is your way of saying I need to show it a little more.” His breath ghosted along the fur of your neck, and he laughed at the flustered noise you made from it, pulling away to take another puff from his cigar.

You whined his name with a pout on your lips. Your arms crossed and you continued giving him a disapproving glare until he shook his head with an amused smile, leaning down again to press his lips to yours. The kiss was longer than the gentle peck he had given you earlier, and you could feel the smoke unfurling from his mouth and into yours, giving an even more heady sensation. His smoke was the only kind you could stand entering into your lungs, although the nicotine itself wasn’t quite what you were addicted to. Your eyes closed, and you pressed closer for more as you kissed him back. His lips were always so soft against yours, there was never a time where he didn’t treat you delicately, and he tasted as sweet as the candy he kept around on his desk.

You laughed into the kiss as an idea crossed your mind, and you snuck your paw into his inner coat pocket, grabbing a candy out of it as you pulled away. He kept some hidden there in the offchance he came across a kid or two. It wasn’t like he went out of his way for children, but if one crossed his path and he liked their spirit, he tossed a candy their way, and you found the little habit cute.

He gave a disbelieving snort as he watched you pop it into your mouth, and you simply grinned back at him. “You have your addictions, I have mine.” You shrugged nonchalantly, settling your head back against his chest. Your eyes flicked to the clock, it was getting late. Just late enough that you would have to start performing your duty of getting him to bed. “Although if you’re gonna tease me so much, maybe I will need you to show your appreciation more.” Your tail flicked up and across his lap, settling over his other thigh, and you grinned more at the little cough he made. Yet another habit of his, hiding when he thought he was more interested in something than he should be.

“All you need to do is ask, but you’re gonna have to ask me nicely. Think you can do that?” His perfectly manicured claw reached out to tilt your chin upwards, having you look into his eyes.

You could find yourself lost in those golden pools if you tried hard enough. Even so, you relented, sitting up a little more and adjusting yourself in his lap to face him more head on. Conveniently, your figure blocked the view of his mountain of papers, and he merely leaned back to enjoy the image before him. “Please, Asa? It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do to escort me personally to bed, and you’ll already be there so you might as well stay, and I sleep a lot better next to you.” Your tone was light with a practiced softness to it as your fingers trailed up through his fur gently. You’d learned quickly how to pitch your voice in just the right way to convince him of things when you needed to, whether it was to pull him from work or otherwise, it just slowly became part of what you had to do.

He looked you over for a moment longer, head leaning in slightly to the way your fingers brushed at his soft fur with a rumbling purr before he sighed. For a moment he looked older and more weary, but it was gone as soon as it came as he smiled down at you. “Alright, it’s getting unfair how good you are at persuading me, you know.” He gently ushered you off of his lap, and there was a resounding pop as he stretched his back out.

Mindlessly, he gathered his papers into as neat a pile as he could manage for his energy levels, before he shuffled over to grab your coat, taking care to slide it along your arms and up your shoulders. “Although, I bet you’d feel a lot comfier in my bed than yours, darlin. It’s bigger and you’ve already left your night clothes on my floor anyways.” He chuckled at the way your fur bushed up in embarassment at the comment, and he straightened to grab his own coat onto his body. “Just a suggestion, I’ll happily make sure you get to a bed either way, just name the place.”

You shook your head with a grin at his words, but did consider his offer as he finished putting his coat on, grabbing at his hat and briefcase next. Well, it couldn’t be helped, and secretly you did have a bigger preference for his bed given how much softer it was, the springs didn’t poke into your back as much. “Well, it’d be cruel to make you drive so far out of the way to my place when yours is a lot closer by. It defeats the whole purpose of getting you to sleep if you’re kept awake that long anyways.” You slipped your arm into his as he extended it out to you, and pressed yourself tight against him. “So, if you’re offering your place, I certainly won’t refuse.”

“Anything you want, you get. How can I deny a pretty little thing like you?” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you couldn’t help but smile more at the affection as he led you out of his office, locking the door behind him.

The relationship between the two of you was just meant to be an arrangment, a transaction of enjoyment for money. But Asa liked mixing his business with pleasure, and through the time you spent with him, you found yourself enjoying his company outside of what he paid you.

You didn’t find yourself wishing it to end any time soon.

[olivenight17]

Other startouch elf ocs: Beautiful, magestic, powerful, tall, elegant

Lorfeus:

[olivenight17]

IIIIII’VE DONE IT. I’VE BIT THE BULLET. I PRE-ORDERED TALES OF XADIA. ITS NOT IN MY FULL POSSESSION BUT IVE DONE IT. PLEASE OTHER PEOPLE WHO WANT TO PLAY IT FLOCK TO ME, I WILL DM IF I MUST BUT IM VERY NEW TO THE TTRPG WORLD SO IT MIGHT NOT BE GOOD AND IF SOMEONE ELSE WOULD RATHER DM I WILL HAPPILY LEND YOU THE MATERIALS. BUT PLEASE IM READY TO PLAY THIS GAMEEEEEE

[olivenight17]

[olivenight17]

Echoes from a Broken Past (Thorin x fem!reader) (part one)(part two) (part three)

Rated: mature

word count: 4.5k

warnings: none save for canon typical violence, language, and descriptions of mild violence

a/n: chapTER FOUR YEEHAAW YALL remember, there's 6 chapters on my ao3 if you want to be all caught up!

“Look alive there, Cricket!”

Your eyes snap open. Bollocks. You hadn’t meant to close them nor do you remember ever letting them slide shut. Straightening your spine, you rub at your eyes and readjust yourself on the uncomfortable bench. It’s built to host much larger framed folk than yourself and leaves your legs to swing a couple feet from the ground. Leaning forward and propping your elbows on the rough table is the only way to relax—that or slouching against the wall.

Fíli shoves a piping cup of tea into your limp hand—Lady Grey by the smell of it. Your fingers cup the ceramic, appreciating the warmth that seeps through the mug and the delicate blend of bergamot and lemon peel. Your eyes flutter shut as sleep claws up your spine—your body jolts in an effort to fight it off.

“Didn’t get much sleep, I reckon?” Fíli chuckles sympathetically.

No. No you did not. The beds were incredibly lumpy, the noise outside jarring to your delicate ears, and the snoring from your companions loud enough to rival a troll, kept you wide awake.

The chair across from you scrapes over the floor as Fíli pulls it out. Once seated, he takes a sip of his own beverage—his lip curls. “Blegh—this coffee tastes like sewer water.”

You huff. “They probably use sewer water to brew it—have you had a look at this place?”

Even in the pale, grayish hues of the morning light, Bree still holds its brutish edge. Not as terrifying as the night before, no doubt due to the near empty parlor. An old woman who sits by the hearth, a hooded man in the opposite corner, Barliman, and the Company are the only ones here. Not a chance of becoming roadkill this time around.

“Aye—the villages of Men are crude,” Fíli says, pushing his cup to the side with one, thick finger. He eyes the contents of it with disdain. “Dwarven cities are far more hospitable.”

“I’m sure,” you agree. Any place that is not intent on killing you or leaving your legs covered in muck is a vast improvement in your books. The Shire has its flaws, but at least you could manage to get around safely without a chaperon or someone crushing your toes.

Fíli rests his chin in the palm of his hand. His eyes drift about the inn, taking care in watching both his brother and uncle leave through the back door to reach the stables. The rest of the Company is milling about without purpose until Thorin comes calling for departure. A few of them look to be in the same state you’re in—staving off sleep and clutching their preferred morning beverage like a lifeline. Bilbo, ever the early bird, makes chipper conversation with Balin and Gandalf on the upholstered couches beside the fireplace. Must be nice.

“Oh—I nearly forgot.”

Your attention flickers back to Fíli.

The golden haired prince folds over to the side to reach his pack that rests against the leg of the table. From it, he produces a carefully wrapped bundle, held together by a string of twine. He gently places it on the table and gestures towards it. “For you, my lady.”

You narrow your eyes. “What is it?”

Fíli shakes his head and pushes the bundle closer to your side of the table. “Open it.”

You cave with a sigh. “It better not be a toad or something,” you grumble.

Gingerly removing the twine and unfolding the thin cloth, you expect the worst. In the short while you’ve known him, Fíli has given no reason for suspicion or ill intent—he’s pleasant and charming. Yet, based on the prankish gifts you give, your mind jumps to the idea that he’d do the same.

A batch of little lemon scones is what you’re faced with.

You quirk a brow.

Fíli thumbs at his mustache and rolls the silver bead between his forefinger and thumb. His smile is sheepish. “I know they aren’t tea cakes, but I hope these will do.”

Your brows knit together. What on earth is he talking about? “Thanks, Fíli…”

“I always keep my word,” he boasts, chest puffed with pride. “Please—have one.”

Ah right. You remember now.

You pluck one of the tasty treats from the batch and bite into it as memories float to the front of your mind from the night before last. You were kidding—you didn’t actually care that Kíli helped himself to the tea cakes, but oh well. You’re not gonna complain about free scones.

As you reach for a second one, you catch Fíli’s longing gaze. He’s caught under the spell of politeness, biting back the urge in asking to share by pretending he’s uninterested. You roll your eyes. “Oh—just eat one already. You look like a starved puppy.”

Fíli breathes out a sigh. “Thank Mahal—”

The following moments are filled with comfortable silence. You know virtually nothing about one another, but find comfort in sharing scones, dusted in a coat of powdered sugar that stains your fingertips white. A tender thing—a pocket of time before the morning sunlight hits the ridges of the valley just right, turning the wash of land into a windswept painting of hazy stars that twinkle in goodbye.

The seconds blend together and abruptly smothered in the next breath.

Kíli throws open the back door and stomps back into the parlor, tracking in a trail of muck that cakes his boots. He makes a beeline for the two of you. Straw sticks to his clothes, raven black hair peppered with alfalfa, and has a streak of dirt smudged on the side of his narrow nose. He fists at his tired eyes, rubbing away the remaining dregs of sleep. Kíli’s disheveled appearance mimics how you feel.

“Fought an orc in the stables did you, brother?” Fíli comments.

“It’s those damn ponies,” Kíli wines. He crowds in on your side of the bench and brushes his sleeves. Hay and other bits of dirt fall from the fabric and onto the table. He sweeps it to the floor using his palm. “Myrtle near ripped me ear off!”

“I’m not surprised,” you say and then take a sip of your tea. “They are the size of dinner plates.”

Fíli snickers as Kíli faces you with a scorned pout. He touches the shell of his left ear. “My ears are perfectly normal for a dwarrow, thank you.”

“For an oliphaunt, you mean.”

Kíli’s brows knit together and crosses his arms over his broad chest. His attempts at returning a jab fumble and fail miserably, resulting in another round of jests at his expense. “Here I was, thinking halflings were supposed to be gentle folk—you’re meaner than a troll, Cricket!”

“Nay,” Fíli says with a wave of his hand. “She’s much too sharp—try a goblin, maybe.”

You choke on your tea and elbow Kíli in the ribs—penance for the both of them. He lets out a pained grunt. “Och—but brother—she punches like a troll too.”

“And next time I’ll aim for your head, Master Dwarf,” you state, fighting off your smile that threatens to show.

“A shame you can’t reach,” Kíli and his brother chuckle between themselves.

You narrow your eyes. It’s too fucking early to come up with anything but a glare over the rim of your cup. They receive your message loud and clear.

Kíli’s discovery of the scones shatters the fleeting tension. The young prince all but inhales three of them in succession—impressive really, that the lad doesn’t choke.

“Idiot.“ Fíli scolds, slapping his brother’s greedy hand away from the last two left. “Those weren’t for you.”

“Thowry—“ Kíli apologizes before he finishes chewing. He licks his sugar coated fingers and promptly wipes them over the front of his coat. Fíli is right—he does think with his stomach. “Who were they—oh.”

Fīli’s implying look is not lost upon you and before Kíli’s impish grin evolves into anything more—you’re saved by Thorin and Dwalin herding the Company out of the Prancing Pony.

You dread what comes next.

Ponies.

Once the Company gathers in the stable, they busy themselves with strapping on the luggage and mounting the fuzzy creates of death. Your loitering is not unnoticed after you step to the side of Fíli and Kíli’s stable space.

“Don’t think we’ve forgotten you, Lady Cricket,” Fíli laughs. He circles his gloved hand around your forearm and leads you to the pony. “You can ride with Kíli today.”

You dig your heels into the hay covered ground and shake off his grip. “Erm—no-no that’s alright. I think I’ll walk.”

Fíli waves his hand in dismissal. “Nonsense! Kíli is an excellent rider! You’ll be fine.”

Your trepidation with this whole conundrum lands you in even more of a pickle. That mixed with your pride does little to no good.

“Do you need a boost?”

“I’m perfectly fine without your help,” you snip. Fíli holds his hands up in defeat.

You suck in a breath and muster up enough courage to face the shaggy creature. You avoid looking into its soulless, blue eye and find the worn leather saddle. Ok…so far so good. Now—you must admit—you are a bit proud of yourself for trying to climb up on the saddle on your own again.

Just as luck would have it, your short limbs work against you. The pony shifts, your hand slips and damn it all—

Fíli is there to catch you and kind enough to try and push the entirety of your weight onto the saddle. Your heart leaps between your teeth as panic flutters in your chest—you seize up. “Let me down!”

Fíli makes a discontented noise and returns you to your feet. Safely on the ground where you belong.

“Come now, Cricket,” Kíli says, brows furrowed low. He scratches under his chin and glances around the stable. His gaze lands on Bilbo. “Even Master Boggins can do it and he’s—well—“

You glower. He doesn’t finish his sentence. “It’s Baggins,” you correct. “And I am not my cousin.”

You can’t bother to cover up your irritation—it burns hot and bright on the tip of your tongue and Kíli is an unfortunate victim of your frustrations. He’s unfazed by the sharpness of your tongue.

Fíli clears his throat, thumbing at his braided mustache in thought. “I might have an idea.”

Biting your bottom lip, you cross your arms and glare at the wooden post to your left. This is ridiculous. Why can’t you just get on the stupid horse and be done with it? Bilbo did.

“Here—Kíli mount up,” Fíli orders. His brother does so with ease. Bastard. “Grab her when I lift, yeah?”

There’s no time to argue nor think about this thickheaded idea. Really—all you needed was a fucking step stool, not some over eager dwarf launching you to the high heavens so his fool brother could catch you. Kíli does a poor job of it anyhow.

Kíli lodges one hand under your armpit, hauls you up and somehow in the mess of shrieking and flailing limbs, you’re slung over the backside of the ponies like a sack of potatoes. The pony whinnies in alarm and stops its back hoof. Yeah, you think miserably, this sucks. You don’t even bother pushing yourself up—

“What are you three doing?” Comes Thorin’s pointed, disembodied voice. Great.

“My best,” you grumble.

Fíli and Kíli bite back their giggles. “We were just—“

“Fix it,” Thorin interrupts. “If we’re to reach the East Road by midday we must leave now.”

“But, uncle,” Fíli tries to reason. “Cricket—“

“If she has such trouble with the simple task of riding, lash her to the baggage and be done with it.”

He should thank his lucky stars you aren’t facing him. Else you’d need to explain to a hoard of dwarves why you strangled their beloved leader. You watch the hooves of his pony plod away, mumbling curses and ill wishes under your breath at the poor tempered king. This is hardly your fault.

“It would be easier,” Kíli muses. “To strap you to the baggage, that is.”

“Aye! No chance of falling that way!”

Gods save you, you’re going to slaughter them both.

^*^*^*^

“We make camp here tonight!”

The words are a blessing to Bilbo’s ears.

Everything from the waist down aches. His thighs erupt into a wall of fire the moment he swings his leg over to dismount. Bilbo stumbles, catches himself and groans in pain as his fevered nerves rush up his legs. There’s absolutely no reason for it! All he’s done was sit upon a pony and soak in the rolling scenery—nothing that would warrant throbbing, and cramping limbs.

They’d been traveling from dawn until dusk with no pause, save for breaks to relieve themselves. Even those took no longer than ten minutes. Bilbo is not ignorant to the fact that other races in Middle Earth do not place such heavy importance on food and the enjoyment of it, but gods—his stomach twists and bunches with ravenous hunger. Some apples were given out earlier in the day but he’s reserving the treat for a later purpose.

Cricket is in a similar state of pain. Stiff, bowlegged, and rushing to find a place to sit before she crumples. She chooses an outcrop of flattened rock, raised high enough that it spares her the gargantuan task of bending her knees. Her face twists as she balls her fists and digs her knuckles into the meat of her thighs—desperately rubbing out the soreness. It’s all in vain. She gives up with a loud sigh.

“I don’t suppose you’re faring any better?” Cricket asks. Bilbo shakes his head. Her bottom lip puffs. “I hate ponies.”

Nori crosses between them and throws a heavy pack beside Cricket. She jumps. “Yer just upset y’ ‘ent no good at it.”

“Pardon me, oh masterful rider,” Cricket scoffs in retaliation, “I’ll be sure to look to you for tips next time ‘round.” She rests her chin on her hand and raises a brow at Nori. “Shall we race as well?”

“Ha! How much ye wannea wager there, eh Miss Hobbit?” Nori challenges with a fiendish grin. He plants his hands on his hips and taps his large nose. “Mind ye, the ridin’ don’ need ta be ponies.”

Bilbo’s jaw drops. The nerve!

Utterly gobsmacked and rendered speechless, Nori’s brother beats him to the deserved scolding.

“Begone with that foul tongue of yours!” Dori cries, shaking a pointed finger at his brother. Ori tails behind him, curious as ever and innocent to Nori’s implications. “We’ll be havin’ none o’ that, thank you very much. She is a lady, for Mahal’s sake.”

Nori snickers and sidesteps Dori’s motherly swat. “All the better!” One of Dori’s slaps finds its mark on the back of Nori’s head. “Ouch! Leave me be, ye big shriveled harpy.”

The menace is corralled away, Dori hot on his heels. Nori looks over his shoulder and slips in a saucy wink, announcing that the offer still stands. It earns him another cuff around the ear.

Good riddance!

Cricket’s snickering adds fuel to Bilbo’s temper. “This is no laughing matter, Cricket,” Bilbo sniffs. He rocks on his heels and straightens the lapels of his coat. “Have some integrity, please.”

She rolls her eyes and slumps forward so that both her hands now cradle her chin. Her smile is replaced with her usual scowl. “Don’t get your daisies in a twist, cousin.”

Bilbo guffaws. “I’ll not allow some reprobate making vulgar comments about you. You weren’t raised in a barn.”

Her jaw clenches, wildfire igniting behind her sharp eyes. Why can’t she see that he’s trying to help her? Not everything he says is meant to pick her apart, untangling the mess of nerves and sinew and building back anew into something he calls perfection. He wants to save her from the same path martyrs and heroes walk upon—one that will engulf her in nothing but agony and regret. She doesn’t care. She never cares.

“I’ll be deciding what’s vulgar or not, Bilbo,” she quips. “We aren’t in the Shire anymore—I may do as I please.”

He’s going to rip out his hair. Fine. Fine! So be it and see where her foolish antics will land her.

Cricket glares beneath her brows and if he were any other person, Bilbo would have half a heart to be unnerved. Perks of growing up with a feral child he supposes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Cricket taunts. “Afraid I’ll bite you?”

Bilbo isn’t sure what to say to that. He rolls his eyes.

“Oi, Cricket, Bilbo!” Calls Bofur. He’s beckoning them over with a friendly wave and patting the pack carrying the stew pot. And a good thing too—Bilbo is starving and not keen on finding out if Cricket would, in fact, bite him. She’s done it once and she’ll do it again. “Come an’ help me with this.”

Cricket winces. “My legs are going to snap the minute I stand, Bofur.”

“Aye, I can share in tha’ sentiment,” Glóin adds in from a little ways to left. He snaps his blanket with a flourish and settles it on even ground. “Best git up befur ye freeze solid there.”

Cricket hums and pushes herself up with a mighty heave. Bilbo pretends he isn’t irritated that she listens to Glóin and not himself. “C’mon, Bilbo.”

The pair of them hobble over to Bofur’s pony. Minty is her name. Bofur instructs on how to properly untie the lashings and begins to pile on the luggage into both Cricket and Bilbo’s arms. Between runs from the pony to the center of their camp, Bofur pulls Bilbo's cousin off to the side, a little out of reach from the others.

The dwarf tips his hat up to scratch at his forehead. “I’ll give ye some advice—you too, Bilbo.” Bofur meets his eye and shrugs. “No harm in hearin’.”

With a conspiratorial glance around, Bofur bends down a bit to better reach he and Cricket. His voice drops just above a whisper. “Best to watch yer pockets with tha’ one, yeah?” He jabs a thumb in Nori’s direction. “Some seriously sticky fingers he has—swindled me coin he did!”

Bilbo checks his pockets. Nothing amiss.

Yet again, Cricket keeps an open mind to the warnings of others. Hmph.

“Right, now,” Bofur concludes with a clap of his hands. He places a friendly hand on Cricket and Bilbo’s shoulders and pushes them towards the stewpot placed near the little outcrop of rock. “Come help me an’ Bombur with dinner. I’ll naught go cookin’ without the input of hobbits when I ‘ave it.”

Well.

At least there’s food to look forward to.

^*^*^*^

With bellies full and ready to head to bed, most of the Company settles on their respective bedrolls. A select few are roving about. His cousin (not surprising), the princes, Gandalf and Ori who scribbles away in that large, leather book he carries around. Bilbo tries to sleep, but his efforts are fruitless.

The ground is too hard and littered with rocks and twigs no matter how many times Bilbo clears the dirt beneath his bedroll. The scratching of Ori’s quill on parchment and the low murmur of voices causes distraction as well. That and the snoring. Loud enough that it rattles the very ground itself. Bilbo sighs and props himself up onto his elbow.

Bombur is sawing logs and releases, deep thunderous exhales. So powerful, that the cloud of moths collecting above his mouth is sucked in and then blown out with a great flurry of fluttering wings. Bilbo’s lips purse. How is that even possible?

He groans and leaves his bedroll.

Unlike Cricket’s recent aversion to the ponies, Bilbo has become quite fond of his riding companion. Usually she’s the one with the affinity for befriending animals. Oh, how the tables have turned.

Careful not to step on any toes or outstretched legs scattered around the camp, Bilbo tiptoes up to said pony and brushes a gentle hand down her soft snout. Myrtle huffs and pushes her nose into his palm. “Hello, girl. Who's a good girl?”

More interested in what Bilbo hides in his pocket than his hand, she nickers expectantly. Bilbo caves and hurriedly feeds her the apples he’d smuggled away. “It's our little secret, Myrtle. You must tell no one.” The crunching is loud in the quiet night and he rushes to shush her. There’s no need to cause a dispute over missing apples. He puts his fingers up to his lips. “Shh, shh.”

He ruffles Myrtle’s course mane and pats her nose once more.

A shrill, haunting shriek suddenly echoes in the valley below. The hair on the back of Bilbo’s neck stands to a peak. Myrtle’s tosses her head and swivels her ears in the direction of the bone chilling disturbance.

His pulse erupts into a quickened pace. He throws his head over his shoulder and searches for Cricket’s face in the darkness. She sits between Fíli and Kíli alongside the fire, resting against the shallow alcove. Her eyes are shut but at the sound of Bilbo’s feet shuffling through the dirt, she cracks open a lazy eye.

“What was that?” Bilbo asks in alarm. Kíli’s heard it too and pauses his task of scraping out the bowl of his pipe.

“Orcs.” The black haired archer supplies. His keen eyes jump around the clearing, doing a once over before they settle back on his pipe.

This catches Cricket’s attention. She unsticks herself from the wall as curiosity flashes behind her eyes. Bilbo will never understand why danger fascinates her so.

“Orcs!?” He squeaks in repeat. He scampers closer to the fire. Orcs were no more than a bedtime story for fauntlings in the Shire, meant to deter children from wandering into the woods alone and keep them out of trouble. Harmless.

“Aye,” Fíli agrees. He sucks on the stem of his pipe and releases a puff of smoke. It curls over his lips and settles in the air around him. “Throat-cutters. There’ll be dozens of them out there.”

“The lone-lands are crawling with them,” Kíli continues. Cricket is hanging on every word he speaks. “They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep—quick and quiet, no screams.”

Bilbo’s insides twist.

“Just lots of blood.” Kíli finishes with a leveled stare beneath dark brows.

“Watch yourself, dear cousin,” Cricket adds in. “You’d make a mighty meal.”

Cricket and the boys laugh as Bilbo throws panicked looks at the shadowed darkness beyond the camp.

Sometime in their antics, Thorin awoke. “You think that's funny?”

The trio clams up.

“You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?”

Thorin stalks closer to the fire and throws a stern stare at them.

Kíli gapes and rushes to smooth things over. Fíli glances away and takes remorseful drag of his pipe while Cricket attempts to melt into shadow. “We didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No you didn’t,” comes Thorin’s scalding reply. Kíli flinches. “You know nothing of the world.”

Bilbo feels not an inch of sympathy for the trio. The exiled king clasps his hands behind his back and wanders towards the edge of the cliff to brood and ruminate and Eru knows what.

Balin sails a different boat on the matter and takes pity. “Don’t mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs.”

The princes and Cricket inquisitively glance between themselves then stare back up at the older dwarf. “How so?” Cricket pipes up.

Balin sighs and looks away for a pause, misty eyed and gathering his thoughts as recollections of tumultuous past surge to the forefront of his mind. Bilbo makes himself comfortable upon his bedroll. “After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria.”

He’s seen the mine etched onto a map. A little blot of ink he paid no attention to.

“But our enemy had got there first,” Balin says with a deep frown. “Moria had been taken by legions of orcs—led by the most vile of all their race…Azog the Defiler.”

Bilbo’s imagination whips up floating images of nightmarish creatures, gnashing teeth and the clanging of swords. He shudders.

Thoroughly capturing his listeners, Balin continues. “The giant Gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin.” His voice cracks with great pain, distantly staring into the fire. “He began...by beheading the king.”

How terrible, to bear witness to such a thing as that.

“Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed...we did not know.” Balin wets his lips and shifts his weight against the old juniper tree he leans agains. “We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us.That is when I saw him,” Balin nods with pride.

More of the Company arises to hear the grand tale, hanging on Balin’s every word. A gifted storyteller. “A young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc…He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield.”

“Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken.” Fíli and Kíli grin with pride. “Our forces rallied—we drove the orcs back, and our enemy had been defeated.”

Bilbo senses that there’s more to this tragedy. There always is with these sorts of tales.

“But there was no feast...nor song that night. For our dead were beyond the count of grief,” Balin recalls sadly. “We few had survived. And I thought to myself then...there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call king.”

Balin ends the story with a fond look at the dwarf in question who still faces the vast wilds.

“And the Pale Orc?” Bilbo asks. He’s not one to leave a story with loose ends. “What happened to him?”

Thorin sharply turns on his heel. “He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago.”

Doubt washes over Balin’s kind face. He shares a look with the wizard. It’s not meant for Bilbo’s eyes, but the damage is done.

Bilbo works his jaw and rubs at his arms to fend off a bout of goosebumps. He’s not sure he likes this story. Of kings whose hands are stained with blood and ash. Left only with themselves and the ghosts of their past, wearing wounds like decorations and the scars they leave like medals. Of ancient beasts that tower over the weak and collect the bones of their enemies like grand achievements. Grim thoughts that have no place among Bilbo’s gentle views of the world.

Bilbo hopes whatever horror is lurking in the dark remains hidden and far, far away.

[olivenight17]

that's good. i wish you a good semester, with many more good things. -chaotic good

thank you very much, and the same to you!

[olivenight17]

hi. please have a good day. -chaotic good

Well, seeing as this is such a nice request, I can oblige! That and chaotic good people are the best people. The day has been good, I’m back at college, drove there by myself, got all my stuff on my own and have spent good times with friends. A good day indeed.

[olivenight17]

It’s going through the Vesemir tags on tiktok and watching all the things related to the Nightmare of the Wolf movie they did and simping so fucking hard hours. Again. And I’m gonna go watch the movie again because I am obsessed and Vesemir is actually beyond hot. At some point I’m gonna have to drag someone into watching it so I can explode at them because just hot damn-

[olivenight17]

I am an Autumn in love with a Spring.

Both of us bring change. You can tell we are here by the breezes we carry through the room.

But her wind is warm, and promises the creation of things that died within me months ago. Her emotions will rage and rain out, howling and ripping all around her. She feels so that she may create. A warrior, a fighter that breaks free of Winter’s deathly grip and provides everyone around her a chance to grow, a chance at life.

I am her aftermath. My breeze will chill you to your bones. My presence is quiet and muted as my red and orange leaves fall around you, and remind you that you too will join everything below the ground. Your movements become sluggish in my presence. Your mind and soul haunted by grief and fear, and my gentle, disarming presence prepares you for the death of Winter.

We can be so alike, yet so unbelievably different. Opposites connected by a single string, representing two sides of the same coin.

Spring carried you from the womb, I shall carry you to your casket.

But I love you tenderly, as I love all things she creates. Her emotions move me, her spirit drives me, and her kindness reminds me why all deserve a gentle hand.

She lives far from me, on the opposite end of the world it seems. I will yearn for her, and love her in the darkest of nights. Lighting a candle to honor her presence even when she is not there. Just to feel the coolness of my body intermingle with the warmth of hers, even for a moment, could extend my existence for thousands upon thousands of years longer.

I did not always think before her, but now I can’t help but wonder: if we were not separated by string or metal or land or sea, what could we create together?

[olivenight17]

I…I underestimated how accurate this quiz was. The option carrot just cast light on all the darkness in my soul currently lmao

what soup ingredient are you.. options include garlic carrot potato corn and a secret option 🌽🍅🥔🍲🥕🧅🧄

[olivenight17]

Lune and Amon warmup sketch

Just to show that they can be soft cuties sometimes 🥺💖

[olivenight17]

Mmmhmhmhmm math finals time. Someone help. I’m so screwed 🥲🥲

[olivenight17]

It references a famous line in Game of Thrones where the main character(John Snow I think?) goes “winter is coming.” But that’s like all I know lol

I just finally got the reference in s1e1 that Harrow says: "Winter is coming... eventually." How did I miss that?! WINTER IS COMING!!