Hi, Christine/Kasu here. 21 years old but mentally more like 5. Sometimes I draw. I'm a Fine Arts Major.
MOSTLY SPN HERE BUT I LIKE A LOT OF THINGS. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I HAD THIS URL BEFORE SEASON GR8.
The Fili to my Kili: http://www.themusikabox.tumblr.com/
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Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
The Big Three Get a Visitor
Inspired by those hilarious drawings of Sherlock, Doctor Who, and Supernatural on hiatus.
“Everybody up!” Sherlock barked shortly as he stalked into the living room. Supernatural startled and grabbed for the shotgun on the floor beside the couch. This, thought Sherlock, was at least a reaction; Doctor Who was still lying on the carpet, muffled sobs sounding through the orange shock blanket she was wrapped up into, rather like a burrito.
“What’s the matter?” Supernatural exclaimed, after suspiciously checking the doors and windows, still safely lined with salt. “We having a visitor?”
“Mm,” said Sherlock, “more of a… hanger-on. Finale aired last Thursday.” Supernatural’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, and he darted a quick look at Doctor Who; she moaned miserably. “Yes, he’s always been rather… strong-minded. Much like me.”
Supernatural very kindly did not mention The Winter After Season Two.
“And he’s getting here by himself?” Supernatural asked, still looking dazed. Their location was not very easily found. “The Hellatus House,” Supernatural had called it, in one of his more lucid moments, “get it? Because it’s a house and we’re on h-hiat-” and then had devolved into mumblings about an “Adam.” Sherlock had sighed and gone for the linen closet.
“Yes,” Sherlock said, exasperatedly, “my little brother is arriving shortly. I’ll need to have Doctor Who removed to the top floor, in case she decides to have another… episode.”
“Alright,” said Supernatural, heaving himself off of the couch. He had greatly improved over the past few days, ramblings having quieted and slowly veered into more legible, intelligent mutters. Just yesterday he had ventured into the kitchen, where Hannibal was quietly and calmly making dinner – and, actually, where was Merlin? Sherlock hadn’t seen him for a few days… “I can move her, just lemme…”
He whipped out from under his pillow a raggedy-looking trenchcoat and gently wrapped it around Doctor Who, shock blanket notwithstanding. “I may not be able to carry the burden of these trials for you, but I can carry you,” he whispered, and they went up the stairs.
Sherlock simply pinched the bridge of his nose, and wished briefly for a nicotine patch.
The doorbell rang a moment later, and Sherlock glanced up the stairs, making sure the two were out of sight. He moved into the foyer, and steeled himself for a moment. He opened the door.
“Good afternoon, Elementary.”
Drinking at a Bar - Dwori
Dwalin crashes through the door to their quarters with a grin stretching his face. Ori, who has been sitting up waiting for him, snuggled in a blanket with a book, jumps in his chair with a little yelp of surprise.
Monsters on the Mountain (prologue)
Once upon a time, long ago when the earth was filled with wonder and magic, there was a prospering kingdom named Erebor. The kingdom sat atop an enormous mountain crag, and the rulers were firm, but just in their actions. However, the dreaded gold-sickness overcame even the most gentle of the line of kings, Thorin Oakenshield; and the madness consumed him, until the desire for riches blinded him to the pleading of his people, and he destroyed the flourishing mountain, delving deep into the ground in search of precious stones. He became crueler with every jewel he unearthed from the stone, and the land around Erebor grew cold and barren.
Warhammer
Dwalin thrusts his warhammer into Ori’s hands, and the goblins and their screeching horror fall away. Ori hefts it, and the iron boils in his veins, resonating within the heavy mallet head, and Ori understands the weight of it. It is nothing like holding his meager slingshot, weak and light in his shaking hands; Ori holds the warhammer and fills to the brink with the strength of dwarves in his soul.
//Bilbo made him get Ori some flowers because why the fuck not and somewhere at the back Kili and Fili are laughing so hard they are peeing themselves//
This is for HolyWS because she requested me some Dwori and my life needs more of them too so——— I ended up drawing this awful thing I am so sorry it sucks ;A; I’ll just —— //flies into the sun//
OH MY GOD THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN ASDFKJ thank you
and then my hand slipped and-
Kili peeks out from the rock he and his brother are hiding behind, but he ducks quickly back and smothers a hysterical giggle with his fist. “He’s actually going over!” he whispers to Fili, grinning wildly. Fili chokes on his laughter, and Kili has to pound him hard on the back, spluttering and coughing. When the brothers are able to get themselves under control, Dwalin has paused in front of little Ori, who looks positively terrified of the massive warrior. Their old battle instructor looks more flustered than they have ever seen him, blushing under his beard, hands behind his back. As the silence between the unlikely pair stretches ever thinner, Ori’s pale face gradually turns confused.
“Come on!” Kili hisses. “Just give ‘em to him, you rukhsul menu.” At Fili’s shocked look, Kili has the decency to grimace. “Seriously,” he says, “he’s been moonin’ over him since at least the Misty Mountains.” Fili shushes him, and when they look over again, Ori’s face is bright red. The scribe drops his book with a thump. There is a flash of violet in Dwalin’s hand, and suddenly Ori is holding a beautiful (if slightly crumpled) bouquet of flowers. The sheer bewilderment on Ori’s crimson face is enough to send both brothers into a fit of hysterical, ground-thumping laughter. But while the heirs of Durin are wiping tears of mirth from their eyes, they miss Ori stretching up to give Dwalin a kiss on the cheek.
Unrequited (Dwalin/Ori)
I need more Dwori in my life. So I wrote some.
“Ori is too good for you,” Nori snarls, jabbing a hard finger into Dwalin’s muscled chest.
Pizzicato (The Hobbit fanfic, gen)
Fili started up a steady, quick beat with the butt of his sword against a nearby log. Kili swept his bow up and the forest was filled with a cheerful jig; Kili jumped up to his feet as he played, his fingers flying across the fingerboard. Dark hair tumbling about his face, Kili started to sing jauntily.
Beacon Hills Wildlife Reserve [fic]
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey~” sings an all-together too perky voice at barely sunrise, but the wolves at the Beacon Hills Wildlife Reserve had become accustomed to such early energy after meeting their new handler some 3 weeks prior. Mostly.
There’s a bar in Heaven called the Roadhouse
There’s a bar in Heaven called the Roadhouse. When you walk in, pushing the saloon-style doors aside, the entire place stops and stares. You rock back on your heels, uncertain.
“Hello?”
