#shout out to that dwarf specifically

[meanbossart]

[shirefantasies]

Heyyy i just wanna say that I LOVE your writing. Its so so comforting 🫶🫶🫶

Can I request a story/headcanon about how Thorins company/ specifically Kíli would react if (fem) reader got her hair braided by her (non dwarf) friend, and it was just a friendly thing, but the dwarves thought it was a courting braid?

Pairing Fem!Reader x Kíli

Thank youu🫶💗

Omg thanks! Comfort writing is a big honor 🥹

Mission of Misunderstanding- Kili x F!Human!Reader

Shout-out to my girlies in the unbraidable hair community lmao 🤝 Warnings: one minor swear lol, a couple suggestive remarks

One more step and your feet were going to fall off. Surrendering to the burn, you all but fell down onto the log, tilting your feet so only your heels rested upon the earth. A sigh escaped your lips and you didn’t even move when the rustling sounded at your back.

A familiar voice spoke your name. Bilbo. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, my friend,” you breathed, “so long as you don’t count anything below the knee. Or my hair. Can’t imagine how much dirt and leaves have gotten in it after all that.”

"Well, yes," Bilbo chided, ever the little mother-hen, "you've got to keep it back. Why don't I braid it for you?"

Your heart burst, and not from exertion this time. "You would do that for me?"

"Of course," the hobbit shrugged, "haven't had much practice of it of late, but certainly I can give it a go for you. I understand. I wouldn't want the mess either. Come here."

Thanking him again, you scooted closer to where Bilbo stood, gritting your teeth for the pain of him detangling your hair, only to relax at the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Eyelids fluttering shut in contentment, you sat as Bilbo worked his magic neatening your hair up and making fresh braids of it for you. Feet still elevated and aching, but less so the longer you sat off of them. When the hobbit pulled back with a quiet, still-focused finished, your first instinct was to reach up around your head, touching the new set of braids with a widening smile.

"And now it shall be free of my face! Truly, thank you, Bilbo!" Pulling him into a quick hug, you vowed to repay him somehow with a teasing final statement. "Since I doubt you want me to braid yours."

"That is quite alright, thank you," he chuckled, "let's head back to camp before Bombur chases us down, eh?”

Camp was nearby, and still sparsely populated as you approached it. Bofur and Bombur were there building a fire, and Thorin stood a ways aside having a conversation with Balin. Dwalin and Gloin sat playing a game with a rock as their table, and Ori sat knitting. The others, you presumed, were hunting, saddling ponies, or else getting attention from Oin. Thinking nothing of it you sat down again, this time near Dwalin and Gloin, asking who was winning and if they were taking bets just to laugh at their responses. Bilbo helped Bofur and Bombur get set up for dinner a few feet off, propping up sticks strong enough to hold the cooking pot.

Sure enough, the rest of the company began trickling in, Oin, Bifur, and Nori first, the latter two with poultices and bandages. You winced. Perhaps you should complain less about your feet. Next up came Dori and Fili, who each carried one half of a felled deer, shot clearly with one of Kili's arrows. The younger prince had a bag in hand, likely having won whatever silly game determined who got the lightest load. Smiling and meeting his eyes, you gave a quick wave, indicating your amusement at the game behind you with your eyes.

Kili smiled back and waved, then swiveled his head away and back again in a double-take. You found yourself frowning as he averted his gaze to help his brother, blinking as you wondered what that was about. All you'd done was say hello. Not even say, really. Did he think you were making fun of the others?

Perhaps it was nothing, but considering your feelings for the prince, it was everything in your mind. Cycling ideas began overtaking your brain like mist. Had he suspected malice of your joke? Had he simply heard something? Why had his expression shifted so? Maybe he was just worried by what he heard.

~

"What did I miss while we were gone?"

At Kili's words, Dwalin simply frowned, peering at him like he'd thoroughly lost his marbles. "What do ya mean, lad?"

"Did...did anything happen?"

"Took Gloin for a right fool on the card table," the older dwarf replied with a smug look, chest puffing and shoulders widening.

"No," the prince shook his head, "not with you, with..."

Despite the way he trailed off, Dwalin gave him a knowing smirk, crossing his tattooed arms. "Ah, I see," he nodded, "not with me, not with me at all. With the lass, eh? Why, she didn’t greet you with a kiss?”

Having an older brother really steeled one to teasing. Much as Kili wanted to fight, to protest and say oi, quit that or I’ll make you, he knew it was exactly the rise Dwalin would’ve wanted to get from him. Beside the other fact that his elder could kick his ass easily.

“‘Course not,” he replied nonchalantly as he could, “I just noticed someone had braided her hair was all.”

Even Dwalin had cause for surprise at that, dark eyebrows shooting up to his metaphorical hairline. “Just since this morning?”

“Yeah,” Kili replied, trying not to sound as deflated as the words made him feel, knocking the air clean out of him now that he’d said them out loud, “thought maybe you’d seen who did it.”

“Hadn’t even crossed my mind, but I think it was like that when she and Bilbo headed back to camp.”

“Bilbo?” He’d lose to a three and a half foot…grocer? “Well now, I’d not have expected that, eh?”

“I can tell ye don’t actually want to laugh, son.”

Sighing, he finally let himself deflate. Bilbo? You and Bilbo?

~

“I hardly see them talk that much. Do you?”

“Not nearly enough to warrant a marriage. Those take time.”

“I know, Fee.”

“Spark.”

“I know.”

“And I thought you two had it. Not even just saying that because you’re my brother. You know I’m honest with you. The only reason those two would have is both feeling like outsiders, and that hardly seems cause to f-”

“Thank you, Fili, yes. Perhaps I was just wrong. Perhaps she could never have loved me after all. She wasn’t my One.”

“Now, brother,” grabbing him by the cheeks with one hand, Fili pulled his younger brother’s gaze to meet his, “not so hasty. Have you talked to either of them yet?”

“Wasn’t ready,” he mumbled, shaking out of the squishing grasp.

“Well, perhaps you should. Knowing is pain, yes, but it is also the thing that keeps us going in the end.”

Kili dropped his gaze thoughtfully before meeting his brother’s eye again, smiling faintly. “Remember our old espionage days? Maybe it’s time we had another mission.”

“Alright,” Fili nodded and smiled, “for old times’ sake.”

~

“Well hello there, Master Burglar.”

“Whatever it is, I won’t fall for it.”

“Now, now, so dry and for what?” Fili wrapped an arm around the hobbit. “I was just wondering how you you were coming along with…a certain member of the company.”

At that, the hobbit’s face crumpled in disgust. By Fili’s reckoning, Master Bilbo seemed barely interested in romance and certainly not with any of the types he currently ran with. He needed someone more doilies and dishcloths and the lot. You may have been the closest to his type, but still far too much of an edge, far too much indeed.

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo simply replied.

With a conspiratorial wink, Fili leaned in and whispered your name, glancing back to the hobbit’s eyes, which narrowed slightly. Suspicious.

“Uh, w-well I would say,” Bilbo stuttered, shrugging lightly, “well as we could be, all things considered.”

“All things considered?” Fili’s grip tightened a bit. “There are things to be considered?”

“There are plenty of things to be considered!” The burglar shot back. “Why, is she upset with me? Last I heard, she liked the braids and I made her feel much more comfortable. Have I done something today?”

Blue eyes closing to near-slits, Fili released his grip entirely, arm falling back to his side. “Did she ask you to arrange her hair?”

“She complained about it,” Bilbo replied, shimmying in his newfound freedom and using his released arm to slide his pack closer, “so I offered to do something about it. Can’t imagine that is much of an outrage…oh. Oh, good heavens! No! Oh, no. No. She could be my daughter, who on earth sent you over here to…?”

Blonde brows raising, Fili’s head shot back in surprising hard enough to send his mustache braids swinging. “Wait, so you do know about courting braids?”

“Gloin was just telling me all about his,” the hobbit replied, freezing in place even in spite of his awkward, hunched-into-his-pack-hands-deep posture, “neither of us thought a thing about it. Privately I was hoping she and Kili would do whatever it was to get the tension out there, you know?”

Fili did know. He knew, all right.

~

“Psst! Psst! Hoo! Hoo! Caw!”

Kili’s head snapped up at the sound, dark eyes meeting his brother’s fair head popping from the scraggly bushes surrounding camp. One gloved hand waved wild beckoning at the younger prince. Rising from the rock he’d sat down on, one with a strategic view of some conversation between you, Uncle Thorin, and Balin, Kili strode to the edges of camp.

“Reconnaissance successful,” his older brother hissed.

“What?” Jaw dropping, Kili felt his hands leave his chest and clench in surprise. “That was fast. Nothing for me to do?”

“Not true, brother. Not true at all,” Fili smiled, “your part is far more important. You have to go talk to her.”

With a sigh, Kili nodded despite the heavy clunk of his heart in his chest. All the childhood playtimes were nice and all, but at the end of the day he had to be a dwarf about things. Face his fears, just like Uncle Thorin and his father and even Fili.

“You’re right. Though I dread it in my heart, I must speak to her. Even if my love is never known.”

“I wish you the greatest of luck,” Fili patted his shoulder, smiling eagerly, “and trust me. She won’t do a single thing to hurt you. I know it. Alright?”

Another nod. “Alright.”

Inhale, exhale. One step, then another. It was hard sometimes. Putting on the bravado. Fili was always so capable and Uncle had high standards. Not that he shouldn’t, but…it just got easier to act unafraid of everything. In truth, there was much Kili didn’t understand. Much he feared. Perhaps even his own heart, and that was why he had allowed himself to play games with it for so long. No longer, though.

Crunching across the dry campsite ground, he marched up to you as your conversation ended and asked to speak with you, frowning slightly at the nod Balin and Thorin exchanged. Focusing instead on your gaze, the way your eyes were intent in his and the-admittedly quite adorable-way shock bloomed across your face before giving way to a smile and a nod.

“Of course,” you said, and that was that.

How was it that one little smile from you could simultaneously calm Kili's heart and set it leaping like nothing else? There truly was no denying that you were special. Perhaps Bilbo had seen what was so dazzlingly obvious, too. Guess that wasn't too much of a shock.

You both ventured toward the tree line, stopping next to a particularly sturdy trunk. Eagerness was written across your face as you leaned against the smooth bark, encouraging Kili with a smile he couldn't help faintly mirroring even as tears swam in his eyes.

"Are congratulations in order?"

"For me?" You asked, head tilting and hand reaching to your chest. "Forgive me, but what are you asking? I thought maybe I'd upset you last night, but now I really fear it. Or are you teasing me again?"

All thought was scrubbed from Kili's brain at your words, a thick blanket of confusion draping over the prince's mind and furrowing his brows. Is this what Fili meant? Were you not to hurt him because you thought him cross with you? That hurt a bit in and of itself. Perhaps you'd known he would be jealous. But then again, you had greeted him so casually, giving him a cute little wave when he came back...

"Please," he all but begged your name, "the suspense is just killing me. Is that not a courting braid you've been given? I know it is new as of yesterday."

"Is that why you looked so perturbed? Courting...courting braid? Kili," you laughed, "my hair was full of sticks and leaves and all manner of muck, so Bilbo detangled it and got it out of my face for me! Bilbo could be my father!"

Still a bit shaky, but Kili's face surrendered a smile at the teasing smack you gave his upper arm. "Oh, forgive me for being a dwarf," he shot back, "I was hardly the only one who noticed."

"But you were the only one who was jealous," you teased him back, "is that not right?"

Kili could tell by the faltering smirk you gave, by the dart of your beautiful eyes, that you did not truly believe it, but by Mahal, you would when he was done with you.

"Madly," he agreed, eyes boring into yours, "never let anyone but me braid your hair again."

Eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, you peeled yourself from the tree as if to get a closer look. "Kili..."

"I mean it," he implored your name once more, gently taking your shoulders in his hands, "please. This isn't a joke, but if you'd like me to convince you..."

Surging forward, Kili closed the gap between you two, his lips soft against yours and stubble pleasantly tickling against your skin, which shifted as you moved in response to his kiss. Your hands found purchase in his hair, tangling in it and eliciting a sound Kili was too focused on you to be embarrassed about. When you finally pulled away for air, he pulled you back, resting his forehead against yours with a growing smile.

"So, you convinced?"

Your eyes glittered with mirth, joy, mischief...perhaps even love, and Kili knew he should have never doubted you were his One. "So convinced I practically want you to rip out all of Bilbo's work and do it over again yourself."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[arminreindl]

Croc colours and patterns

Somewhat inspired by a recent post by Joschua Knüppe, I feel like it's a good thing to remind people just how diverse colours and patterns in modern crocodilians are. When I see people make art, it often seems to stick to grey or yellowish-brown tones, which is of course not incorrect. But theres a lot of, imo, underappreciated variety still. It's also worth noting beforehand that patterns are most striking in younger individuals and naturally become more muddy the older and larger an animal becomes. But as you will see, even some decently large and old animals may maintain a striking appearance.

Take this alligator for example. Gators tend to be on the darker side, dark greys to black, sometimes countershaded and sometimes pretty consistent. Some individuals, like this one photographed by Gar Luc, still retain clearly visible stripe patterns from when they are younger.

Or take one of my favourite species, the Cuban Crocodile, which can appear almost bright yellow with a dense pattern of leopard spots. Of course like with the gator you can find individuals that are much more drab, with washed out colours, but individuals with clearly defined patterns still exist.

Then there's gharials of course. They can range quite a bit in colouration. They can be brown, especially younger ones and females and I've seen males range in colour from a drab grey to almost a light blue or even something that could be described as metalic black.

Black Caimans are also pretty interesting in my opinion and pretty easy to tell apart from other species once you pay attention to their colour. They are primarily a deep dark black of course, but what sets them apart from spectacled and other caimans is that very fine pattern of thin white stripes across the flanks that creates this beautiful contrast. They can also have patches of brown like the one on the right.

Orinocos also vary a great deal. Tho I know less about them than I wish I did, I know that individuals can range from drab brownish greys to yellow to somewhat earthy browns that almost range into reds.

The next ones a bit of an outlier. There are specific cave dwelling dwarf crocodile populations in western Africa with striking orange colouration. Tho this one is not exactly natural pigmentation to my knowledge and instead the result of the chemicals present in the water they inhabit, brought there by bat guano. Still very pretty animals.

And then there's Paleosuchus, the dwarf caiman which contains two species. Again highly varied. The first image, which I believe is a Schneider's dwarf caiman, shows a very earthy brown. The others, which unless I'm mistaken are Cuvier's dwarf caimans, show colours ranging from dark with a rusty head, black to this still beautifully patterned individual. Of course these variations are also subject to change with age.

While salties aren't exactly known to be the most vibrant, I'd be remissed if I didn't mention this specific one. It's kept in a zoo in Germany and has this almost bizarre colour combination of creamy white underbelly and chocolate brown top which I've never seen in another saltwater crocodile. Photos by my friends Markus Bühler from the Bestiarium blog and René Dederich

Spectacled, Broad-snouted and Yacare caimans I'll give a quick shout out. I think most people are familiar enough with how they look like and while their colours aren't anything special, I still think one should appreciate their patterns of spots and stripes and facial markings.

The last one I wanna highlight is the false gharial, Tomistoma, another one of my favourites. Part of the reason why being its at times beautiful reddish-brown colours.

[thedwarrowscholar]

Greetings wonderful scholar! As I am currently writing a Hobbit-themed fic that has a major plot point with someone's culture being treated poorly, I was wondering about how many possible insults there could be. Smaller ones like "idiot" "lazy" or "coward", bigger ones like cussing someone out, and more personal ones like something specifically for elves (maybe something like pointy-ears?), dwarves (maybe brute, or something like that), hobbits, etc.

I hope it's not too hard of a request, and as always, thank you for all of your hard work!

Well met, the-mystical-phoenix!

Crafting a good insult is almost an art form among the seven clans — blunt as a hammer, sharp as an axe, and often rich in cultural bite. Let’s dig in!

📜 First things first: You’re not alone in wondering about Dwarvish insults — I get requests for them rather often! That’s why I compiled a rather sizeable list in Document 45 of the Library section on my site. It’s a collection of fully formed, often ceremonial verbal lashings — the kind you might shout across a hall during a clan dispute, or mutter darkly behind a tankard.

But for your fic — especially if you're after shorter, sharper jabs for quick exchanges — here’s a streamlined selection to suit any occasion, be it barroom banter or battlefield scorn.

🪓 Short Insults (One-word or brief)

Lulkh – Idiot, fool, oaf

Shaik – Coward

Latrûn – Lazy (lit. lazy-one)

Targ-ushrab – Beard-shaver

Rukhs-unam – Orc-kisser

Ushrag – Liar

Binsalbûn – Useless (lit. without-use-one)

Kakhf-Hund – Dunghill

Sabkûn – Weakling (feeble-one, frail-one)

Bintargûn – Beardless (lit. without-beard-one)

Rukhs-Ulbab – Orc-licker

Zars-hamd-jabl – Mushroom-brain

Want extra punch? Combine them with descriptive barbs or personal digs, and you’ve got pure Dwarvish poetry.

🧱 For the More... Colourful Expressions

While the list above suits casual squabbles, I do maintain a much richer set of longer, vivid insults — some of which I’ve even tested on the road. You’d be surprised how satisfying “You smell like aged cheese!” sounds when shouted from a roadside campfire in full Dwarf growl. (The cows were clearly offended. The driver? Mostly confused.)

Some favorites from the full list:

Abrâfu shaikmashâz! – “Descendant of rats!”

A'lâju Mahal! – “Shame of Mahal!.”

Kakhuf inbarathrag! – “Goat turd!”

Ma kasakhbibmî lebal! – “You couldn’t forge a spoon!”

Fanâd duzdnu targ usganul mi mê! – “Elves have a longer beard than you!”

And many more — including culturally targeted jabs for Elves, Hobbits, rival Dwarves, and worse. You can find the full catalogue in Doc 45 – Insults, over in the Library.

Ever at your service (and, I hope, not your insult’s target), The Dwarrow Scholar

[armless-sock]

ok ill bite.... show me the sharks

SDR2 CHARACTERS AS SHARKS

I EVEN GOT EXPLANATIONS!!

some are based on science others are just vibes honestly

Imposter: zebra shark (blending in/disguises and zebra sharks have a specific pattern to help blend into the sand)

Teruteru: cookie cutter shark (because bro is nasty just like cookie cutter bites)

Mahiru: spiny dogfish (they have big ol eyes perfect for determining what would be a good picture)

Peko: thresher shark (thresher sharks attack with their tails and peko uses swords it just makes sense)

Ibuki: great hammer head shark (ibuki is great and also looks silly and is social just like great hammer heads)

Hiyoko: bamboo shark (because she's small and although theyre no where near the smallest shark bamboo sharks typically never grow past 3ft long)

Mikan: nurse shark (no explanation needed)

Nagito: goblin shark (because nagito is a silly little creature akin to a goblin)

Chiaki: dwarf lanter shark (they're deep sea sharks that hide in the dark just like a gamer would)

Gundham: megamouth shark (a very mysterious shark for a mysterious guy, megamouth sharks nocturnal pretty much and also deep sea sharks so theyre spotted rarely and not much is known about them)

Nidai: bull shark (they're both super strong, bull sharks are also the most agressive shark)

Hajime: Caribbean reef shark (average looking shark for the average boy)

Fuyuhiko: ghost shark (ghost shark sounds like it'll be scary and then you look at one and they're just little guys, just like fuyuhiko)

Sonia: angelshark (she's an angel)

Akane: tiger shark (tiger sharks are the 2nd most aggressive shark after bull sharks and the only person Who could kick akanes ass is nidai, theyre also known as the trash cans of the sea because they will eat almost anything)

Souda: sand tiger shark (I feel like sand tigers are the losers of the shark highschool exactly like souda, also they have some crazy teeth just like him)

Monomi: basking shark (basking sharks are often confused with great whites from the surface making people think there's danger when basking sharks are really chill just like how everyone was covinced monomi was dangerous when she wasnt)

Monokuma: blacktip reef shark (blacktips can be found in a lot of places from the shore to reefs as the name suggests just like how monokuma is everywhere all the time)

Special shout out to great white sharks and oceanic white tips because they're my favorite sharks

[agentrouka-blog]

"Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat."- Sansa(ASOS).

I don't think the bat in her belly is positive as Sansa was getting anxious whenever Joffrey look at her.

"Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she'd swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly." -Dany(ASOS).

Dany feels the same about Jorah.

Another time when Sansa was associated with bat was after Joffery death.

"We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window."- Sansa(ASOS).

Which is to malign Sansa same as Robb was accused of sorcery to kill Lannisters. I don't think that bat imagery in Sansa chapters are positive.

I mean, bats in general aren't really laden with positive imagery in the books. See, especially, House Lothston, and doomed House Whent, both associated with the cheery setting of Harrenhal. Or the white giant bats in the cave with Bloodraven.

But most of all bats tend to invoke a specific parallel to dragons because of the leathery (un-bird-like) nature of their wings:

"Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. (AGOT, Daenerys IX)

But in place of arms she [the Harpy] had the wings of a bat or a dragon, her legs were the legs of an eagle, and behind she wore a scorpion's curled and venomous tail. (ASOS, Daenerys II)

"I see them in my dreams, Sam. I see a red star bleeding in the sky. I still remember red. I see their shadows on the snow, hear the crack of leathern wings, feel their hot breath. (AFFC, Samwell II)

 She had a cheerful manner, but when Brienne showed her the shield her face went dark. "My old ma used to say that giant bats flew out from Harrenhal on moonless nights, to carry bad children to Mad Danelle for her cookpots. Sometimes I'd hear them scrabbling at the shutters." (AFFC, Brienne II)

Tyrion listened to Illyrio's snores, the creak of the leather straps, the slow clop clop of the team's ironshod hooves on the hard Valyrian road, but his heart was listening for the beat of leathern wings. (ADWD, Tyrion II)

As Hodor he explored the caves. He found chambers full of bones, shafts that plunged deep into the earth, a place where the skeletons of gigantic bats hung upside down from the ceiling.  (ADWD, Bran III)

Too rich, thought Tyrion, too beautiful. It is never wise to tempt the dragons. The drowned city was all around them. A half-seen shape flapped by overhead, pale leathery wings beating at the fog. The dwarf craned his head around to get a better look, but the thing was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. (ADWD, Tyrion V)

The dragons craned their necks around, gazing at them with burning eyes. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks.  (ADWD, Daenerys VIII)

Viserion launched himself from the ceiling, pale leather wings unfolding, spreading wide. The broken chain dangling from his neck swung wildly. His flame lit the pit, pale gold shot through with red and orange, and the stale air exploded in a cloud of hot ash and sulfur as the white wings beat and beat again. [...] And then a hot wind buffeted him and he heard the sound of leathern wings and the air was full of ash and cinders and a monstrous roar went echoing off the scorched and blackened bricks and he could hear his friends shouting wildly. (ADWD, The Dragontamer)

Nine days after Lord Staunton dispatched his plea for help, the sound of leathern wings was heard across the sea, and the dragon Meleys appeared above Rook’s Rest. [...] Addam Velaryon remained aloft, flying Seasmoke around the city walls, the beat of his dragon’s wide leathern wings a caution to those below that any defiance would be met with fire. [...]   No word of farewell was spoken betwixt man and maid, but as Sheepstealer beat his leathery brown wings and climbed into the dawn sky, Caraxes raised his head and gave a scream that shattered every window in Jonquil’s Tower.  (The Princess and the Queen)

 All these defenses proved useless against Visenya Targaryen, who rode Vhagar's leathery wings above them all and landed in the Eyrie's inner courtyard.  (The World of Ice and Fire - The Reign of the Dragons: The Conquest)

Most terrible of all are the wyverns, those tyrants of the southern skies, with their great leathery wings, cruel beaks, and insatiable hunger. (The World of Ice and Fire - Beyond the Free Cities: Sothoryos)

The dark rumor about Sansa certainly matches those about Lady Lothston. And the reality of Drogon, actually. GRRM inserts giant bats into Bloodraven's cave that match the behavior of Viserion. Lots of parallels.

Basically, if Sansa has bat wings fluttering in her belly, it may as well be dragon wings. The ominous tone is certainly there with Joffrey. (It also invokes poor Rhaego and the other winged, lizard-y Targaryen stillbirths, distantly.) But this bat-dragon imagery joins other dragon imagery in Sansa's arc (related to marital and chivalric themes), so we'll see if and where GRRM wants to take that image.

[marie-swriting]

See You In Two Days - Bucky Barnes

Marvel Masterlist

Summary : This is the story of how Bucky read The Hobbit. In 1937. When it first came out.

Warnings : 30's!Bucky, reader is from England, fluff.

Word count : 1.6k

French version

Shout out to @penguinwriter24 for helping me with the summary of The Hobbit (on top of helping me with the translation as always). Go check her account for some good angsty fanfictions!

Your nose in your book, you’re completely focused by its story. You’re only at the seventh chapter out of nineteen, but you can already claim that it’s your favorite book of the year. This J.R.R Tolkien knows how to captivate you like it hadn’t happened for a long time. 

You’re reading the verses the dwarfs wrote after their meal with Beorn when a masculine voice startles you.

“Pardon me, I didn’t mean to scare you.” the person apologizes, embarrassed.

You look up and find a skinny blond young man and another one who is taller and has dark hair. Right away, you find the latter cute. And considering how Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you either, it is safe to say the feeling is mutual. He didn’t expect to find such a beautiful bookseller when Steve asked him to accompany him to buy a book.

You put your bookmark in your novel and you place it on the counter then, you clear your throat and start acting professional.

“No worries. How may I help you?”

Directly, Bucky is intrigued by your British accent. He didn’t expect it, not that he doesn’t like it, quite the contrary, he finds your accent adorable, though not as adorable as you.

“I’m just looking for some theoretical books about art, where are they, please?”

“Just behind that shelf,” you inform Steve by pointing on your left. “Do you have a specific title in mind?”

“No, I’m just gonna take a look, thanks.”

Steve gives you one last smile before going to the place you showed him. You want to go back to your reading except Bucky doesn’t seem like he’s going to follow his best friend. Instead, he gives you a charming smile and leans on the counter.

“You have an accent,” he notices.

“Yes, I’m English.”

“I love it. How long have you been in the US?”

Normally, the second someone asks you this many questions, you just roll your eyes; however Bucky is so attractive that you don’t mind him. You want to talk to him.

“My family and I moved to Brooklyn when I was eleven so it’s been… nine years.”

“And do you like it?”

“I like it a lot, though I miss London even more.” you confess.

You see Bucky’s eyes quickly falling on your book before going back to yours.

“You’re reading The Hobbit? I love this book!” Bucky affirms, surprising you.

“You know it?”

“Of course! I read it two years ago, so I’ve forgotten the story a bit, but I loved it.”

Following his sentence, you prevent yourself from sighing in annoyance. Bucky ignores it but he just admitted his lie to you. Tolkien’s book just came out so he couldn’t have read it two years ago. Normally, you’d be pissed by now. You don’t like when someone makes fun of you, even less when it’s a guy doing it, especially if it’s just to flirt with you nonetheless there is something in Bucky’s enchanting smile that just prevents you from being mad. Actually, you think it’s even cuter the way he wants to talk to you by coming up with a subject he clearly knows nothing about. 

You could tell him right now you know he’s lying but you want to have some fun so you play along.

“Really? That’s amazing!” you state, exaggerating your surprise. “I just discovered it and I have to say I love it. Who is your favorite character?” you ask him with a fake innocent look.

At your question, Bucky panics. He barely knows the title of the book - what was it already, The Hibbit? The Hobbot? - and now he has to talk about a character! Nevertheless, Bucky doesn’t want to admit he pretends to know this novel just to flirt with you so he racks his brains. If you, a young woman, are reading this book and love it, that probably means it’s a romance novel with basic characters so the names mustn't be complicated. What ordinary names could it be though?

“Give me a second,” he explains to buy himself some time. “It’s been two years since I’ve read it, so I don’t really remember the names. It’s… huh…”

Bucky’s brain is going at full speed while he tries to come up with a name. Desperate, he chooses one specific name.

“It’s James.”

“James?” you question, frowning.

“Yeah, James. Great lad.”

Alright, maybe giving his own name wasn’t Bucky’s smartest idea but it is a common name so he thought he might have a chance it works out. However, considering the look on your face, he has some doubts.

“Bizarre, it doesn’t ring a bell. And yet, I’ve read more than two hundred pages.”

“It’s normal, he arrives later on.” Bucky specifies, hoping to cloud the issue.

“I’m excited to discover him, then!”

Proud he didn’t get caught - at least, that’s what he thought -, Bucky breathes more calmly, however that’s without taking into account your will to see how far he’s willing to go in his improvisation.

“And what is your favorite part in this story? Besides James, I mean.”

“Oh, well, the love story between James and that one female character whose name I forgot. They were cute together. But you haven’t reached that bit yet as you don’t even know James.”

“Ah yes, that must be why I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply with a smile, “not at all because you clearly know nothing about this book.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a second, understanding you have figured him out. Seeing his facial expression, you can’t help but softly laugh and Bucky could swear it’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

“Is it that obvious?” he asks you.

“Well, considering you’ve “read” this book two years ago when it just came out, yes, it was pretty obvious. Though it was funny to see you come up with the story.”

“At least, I made you laugh, it’s still a victory.” Bucky affirms. “What is your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N and you?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

“James? Did you really give me your name for one of the characters?” you chuckle.

“I thought what you were reading had characters with basic names.”

“Sorry to tell you this story is everything but basic.”

“What is it about?” Bucky questions, intrigued. 

“The Hobbit is set in Middle-earth, a country the author created, and follows home-loving Bilbo Baggins - so there's no character named James -, who joins the wizard Gandalf and the thirteen dwarves of Thorin's Company, on a quest to reclaim the dwarves' home and treasure from the dragon Smaug.”

“I was so far away from the love story I was thinking about.”

“More than far.”

“It seems interesting though.” he genuinely admits.

“It is. Tolkien is a new promising author. I’m sure he’ll be an important Fantasy writer, I can feel it. He’s not too well-known, though. The Hobbit just came out in England. The American edition isn’t even available yet.”

“How come you have a copy, then?”

“My father still has some contacts back home so sometimes we can sell books that aren’t out in the United States yet. It’s one of the strengths of our bookshop.” you proudly explain.

“Could you tell me on which shelf I can find it? I’ve been in a reading slump for quite some months now and I’m desperately searching for a good book and I gotta admit, you made me want to read it.”

“I could do that or…” you start while mustering up your courage, “I could lend you my copy. I’ll finish the book in two days, I know myself too well, I won’t be able to put it down, so if you want, you can come back and I could lend you my book and then…”

“We could go to a park and talk about it?” Bucky adds, glad to know the attraction is mutual. “Promise, this time, I’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“We could do that, yes. Unless, of course, you want to have your own copy, of course.”

“I’d like to do it your way.” he affirms, looking deeply in your eyes.

“Perfect.”

You look into each other’s eyes for a few seconds while you can feel the butterflies in your stomach. You can’t believe you found a solution to meet him again. Now, you can’t wait to finish The Hobbit and talk about it with Bucky.

“Sorry, I’d like to buy this book.” Steve interrupts you, a book in hand.

Embarrassed, you look away and set your eyes on Bucky’s friend. You had almost forgotten why Bucky came into your bookshop in the first place. You quickly take Steve’s payment and before Bucky turns around to leave, he gives you one last charming smile.

“We will see each other in two days, then, when you finish the book.”

“Yes. And who knows, maybe there will actually be a love story between a character named James and a female one by the end of the book?” you smile.

“I don’t doubt it for a second. See you in two days.” he completes with a wink.

You wave Bucky goodbye while your smile grows bigger. Bucky leaves the bookshop and the second the door closes behind him, you go back to your novel.

Marvel Masterlist

[starsofarda]

Ok, I am following after this brainrot.

Have a ficlet - it's probably what I am gonna do about this whole thing, unfortunately it's the time where I don't have many energies.

And yes, I know that I have other things, but again, low energy. ADHD is being a bitch to me.

I hope you will enjoy my offer <3

PS: I know, language barriers, pls do not ask me to write in actual Elvish. Here's a small legendarium for different languages:

Normal font: Westron

Typed: Legolas specifically with his horrendous Sylvan dialect

Italic: Sindarin

Bold: Khuzdul (underlined if ANCIENT Khuzdul)

Cursive: Quenya

At first it felt like a light trickling of dust and pebbles over him - he didn't bother opening his eyes yet.

He was still grappling with the fact that he was breathing again and that he was not in the peaceful Halls of Mandos anymore.

And then he heard drums.

Drums and hurried footsteps and the skittering of orcs - no, not orcs, goblins.

That was when he decided to open his eyes and free himself from the wall he had been apparently staying.

It took him a short while to get back some of his movement, enough to start walking towards the source of that noise, hoping that once he got there he would have enough strength to just give a hand to whoever was in there - no pun intended, he thought, as he slowly directed himself whilst leaning against the stony walls.

It seemed that he was in a mine - a Dwarven mine, to be exact.

That was when he heard it - the horrible noise of a Balrog - and he knew those fiendish creatures quite well.

He needed to hurry, whoever was in there did not deserve to face any Balrogs of Morgoth.

It took a while for him to catch up.

When he finally did arrive, he was just in time to see as what looked like a Wizard was facing off with the Balrog.

The Wizard was speaking a language unknown to him.

"You cannot pass! I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass!"

Alas he was way too far yet, as he hurried as best he could towards the group - he could see a Dwarf, an Elf, two men and four halflings - or children, he really could not distinguish them in such darkness.

As the Wizard was caught by the whip of the Balrog and shouted "Fly, you fools!", he jumped straight next to one of the men, helping him hold the little ones.

Aragorn suddenly saw the presence of probably the tallest Elf he had ever met and with fiery red hair - something he himself had never seen. "What?!" He exclaimed confused.

The red haired Elf just shook his head.

"Let's talk later, once we are out of here."

Aragorn nodded and lead the Fellowship out of Moria, as per plans. There would be time to grieve later on.

Once outside the situation looked grim. The Hobbits were stricken by grief, the Fellowship was lost, and on top of that not onl was Gandalf dead at the hands of a Balrog, but they acquired one more Elf - and what kind of Elf.

Tall, fiery red hair, missing right hand and scarred left hand. Aragorn talked to him.

"We will talk once we are out of orcs' sight."

"Fine by me, Elros."

"... My name is Aragorn. I think you have me confused."

"Oh, sorry. My name is Nelyo."

Aragorn definitely had heard that name before, although he could not pinpoint exactly when, or where. Somehow he was thinking of Elrond, but he would know for certain if Elrond had mentioned that name. In any case, that definitely wasn't the time to linger on issues and thoughts - he would have time to do so once the Fellowship reached Lothlorien.

"Boromir, get the Hobbits up, we need to go!"

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!"

"By nighttime this place will be crawling with orcs."

Legolas was looking uneasy, something Aragorn picked up immediately. "Yes, we are taking the Elf with us."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Aragorn."

The man stopped. "And why not? He helped us."

"He is a kinslayer."

"As far as I am concerned, this one just came out of the rocks of Moria, if anything I will let the lady of the Galadhrim decide."

Nelyo understood only about half of the conversation - damn, the language did evolve a lot during the time he was in Mandos. He would have to ask someone what had happened in the meantime, but for the moment he stood upand wobbled a little towards two of the halflings, gently patting them and signaling themm it was time to go.

The two latched onto him, as the rest followed the man who introduced himself

By the time they stopped by the river Nimrodel, they finally shifted the attention to "Nelyo", as Aragorn had relayed his name to the rest of the Fellowship.

In the meantime Nelyo had understood that probably speaking Sindarin instead of Quenya would be a better shot. It was Aragorn, once again, that talked to him.

"We are about to enter Lady Galadriel's realm. We are on a secret errand. What can you tell us?"

Nelyo considered his options. Also, the fact that Galadriel had been mentioned meant a 99% of certain death - that would suck, but at least he'd say sorry.

"I think it's probably easier if I speak Sindarin."

"Indeed."

Nelyo braced himself. "My Sinda name is Maedhros. I died... Well, I am not sure, but I died. Somehow I was re-embodied here."

Now, Aragorn definitely had heard the name "Maedhros".

"That's why Legolas here said that you were a kinslayer." He pointed at the blond Elf next to him.

"Indeed. It is probably not a good idea making me go anywhere near Galadriel."

"Agreed." Legolas interjected. "My father and grandfather have told me about ancient Doriath."

Now things started to click for Aragorn. Boromir was looking at everyone with eyes wide open - as much as he understood Sindarin, he was nowhere near fluent, so he would need to ask about the ordeal later on, swallowing at least a bit of his pride.

Maedhros sighed. "I will take my punishment whatever that will be."

That kind of settled things down.

At that point Sam interjected. "Hey, Mr. Nelyo did help us and has been nothing but mindful! Why are you all being mean?!"

"I am afraid, Master Gamgee, that the issue runs deeper than ever. But it is indeed true, maybe the Lady of the Galadhrim will be merciful, given the more pressing matters."

Maedhros was tired, however. Whatever would be his destiny, at least he'd get to see the stars once more - so he thought as Legolas seemed to tell a story and sing.

He kind of went back memory lane, when Maglor used to sing, now only just a memory.

The halflings suddenly latched onto him once again. "See, Merry? Mr. Nelyo Elf was feeling grief too, that's not hard to see!"

"He doesn't look as scary now, Pippin!"

"I never said he was!"

And Maedhros was not understanding a single word of that language, but he surely understood warmth. These halflings truly were like children to him. He made a half smile.

"See? He smiled! Frodo, Sam, he smiled!"

Boromir intervened. "Yes, and now we are all very tired. And orcs are still about. Leave him be.

That pretty much concluded the night. Every problem that still lingered would be resolved by morning.

[gwen-ever]

Chapter 4: Still your right-hand man

Hey everyone! 😊 I owe you all an apology for not posting any new chapters the past few months. 🙇‍♂️ I've had a ton of work to get through, and it’s been tough to balance everything. 📚 But don’t worry, I’ve got a bunch of chapters written! ✍️ I’ve just decided to slow down a bit so nothing feels rushed. ⏳ The next chapter will be based on a super famous scene from the movies 🎬, but with a fresh perspective. I hope you’ll like it! 🤞 Thanks so much for your patience and support! You’re all amazing! 🙏💖 I promise more updates are coming soon! Catch you soon!

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived… whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin’s past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins’ house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC Rating: M Warnings: none. AO3 LINK: HERE Taglist: @mrsdurin @lathalea

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“Are you alright? Gandalf, where are you going?” Bilbo asked worriedly, looking up at the wizard who strode past him without even sparing a glance.

“To seek the company of the only one hereabouts with a bit of sense,” muttered the wizard, quickening his pace.

“And who would that be?”

“MYSELF, MR BAGGINS,” he snapped, barely turning his head before continuing on his way back the way they’d come.

At the wizard’s outburst, Rosalie startled and backed away, forcing Geira to steady her by tightening the reins.

“I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day,” Gandalf was heard grumbling to himself.

Bewildered, Geira watched the tall figure of the wizard disappear swiftly behind a row of green brambles surrounded by small trees lining the path leading up the little hill.

Bilbo joined her and gave her a concerned look. “Will he come back?” he asked nervously.

She didn’t have time to answer; her words were drowned out by a voice much deeper than hers.

“Come on, Bombur, we’re hungry!” Thorin barked impatiently, drawing the company’s attention to him.

He stood under the charred roof of the farmhouse where they’d found shelter, watching the wizard leave with his hands on his hips, making no effort to stop him. It was clear that just as Gandalf wanted to leave, Thorin desired him to do the same.

Upon arriving on the small hill, the two had stayed back to talk in private beneath the burnt remains of the house. Geira hadn’t paid them much attention, but more than once, a shiver had run down her spine when she caught snippets of Thorin’s words: “elves” and “Erebor.” Within moments, their voices had risen to near shouting. Gandalf had likely realised that arguing with the King of the Dwarves was like debating an immovable wall.

“I think Thorin’s silence just now says enough about why Gandalf’s left,” she replied with a hint of irritation. “Welcome into a company of dwarves, Bilbo,” she added with pointed emphasis, making it clear she was referring to a particular dwarf.

She heard the rustle of a leaf before spotting Kili to her right, his hand near his mouth.

“Someone’s a wee bit touchy,” Kili whispered conspiratorially into her ear, snickering and giving her a meaningful look.

“You’ll have to be more specific. There are far too many candidates for that remark,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh well, just wait until Balin starts yelling, and Oin joins in—then it applies to the whole lot of ’em!” he chuckled warmly.

Geira forced a smile. “It seems you’ve enough words for three dwarves—and they’d cover also what your uncle doesn’t say.”

The sheer volume of words Kili could use in one breath was easily three times more than anyone else in his family managed in a day.

The young dwarf raised one dark eyebrow cheekily. “You’ve no idea who I grew up with, do ya? Supper at our place sounded more like grunts and sighs than anything resembling conversation. Ain’t that right, Fili?”

The blond dwarf smiled as he leaned over the head of his white mare, continuing to stroke its muzzle. “You mean those rare occasions when we weren’t speaking in just glances? Or gestures, with lips pursed and hands flailing?”

“Our mum’s always saying that with a personality like his, no dwarf maid would ever want him. Imagine marrying Uncle—poor lass would end up talking to the walls.”

Geira’s grip tightened around Rosalie’s saddle as that revelation hit her: Thorin had never married. Never taken a wife.

That’s why Fili and Kili were princes—because Thorin had no children. No queen. No one waiting at home for him in over a hundred and seventy years. No one.

A single voice, buried deep within her, stirred, relieved by this knowledge—wrongly and terribly so. But she shouldn’t feel relief. There was no reason for it. Those days were long past. His choices were his alone.

Fili laughed, his gaze shifting back to her. “I’m not saying Uncle’s a bad sort, but even I’ll admit he’s always been better at deeds than words.”

Geira couldn’t help but nod. “I can imagine…” she murmured as she began unpacking the saddlebags from Rosalie.

Kili nudged her elbow playfully. “I’ll have to tell ya about that time on Mum’s birthday when he…”

“Kili, go help with the ponies! Unpack them and make sure they’re tethered for the night!” Thorin’s sharp voice cut through the air.

Kili froze for a moment, looking up at Thorin, who was now descending the small rise where he’d been unloading his pony like the others. Both brothers immediately stopped talking and resumed their tasks without a word, moving away again. Geira looked up at the Dwarf King and met his cold, steady gaze as he slung his bow over his shoulder. 

Kili took the reins from her hands and winked briefly. “Told ya someone’s touchy,” he muttered slyly, throwing a glance at Thorin, who was now speaking with Dwalin while sorting his gear.

“Move along, or you’ll catch another scolding,” she teased, nudging him.

“Oh, as if I’d be afraid of—”

“Kili, go help your brother!” Thorin interrupted firmly.

Geira returned to undoing the saddle straps, ignoring the sting of being silenced yet again.

Finally, the saddlebags were dry. After two days of relentless riding, being able to stop felt like a gift, though the sight of the burnt-out, abandoned farmhouse gave Geira a sense of unease. Why was it left like this, deserted?

She pushed the thoughts aside. They were safe now. Rest was what mattered.

She stroked the white pony, handing its reins to Kili, who had already begun rounding up the company’s ponies with Fili. Before they moved off, Geira raised her eyes to Thorin. For a brief moment, his expression softened as he watched his nephews closely. Even Dwalin’s grumbles seemed far from his mind.

Yes, he’d always been better at deeds than words.

When the stew was ready, the company gathered around the fire. Bilbo, however, seemed restless, throwing nervous glances into the evening shadows. Even after sitting beside Geira for a moment, he quickly got up again, wandering back toward the ruins of the old house.

Gandalf hadn’t returned yet, and the darkening sky suggested he wouldn’t be back until dawn.

Geira understood Bilbo’s unease, though his anxiety was starting to fray her nerves. They had to remain calm. Fear couldn’t gain the upper hand now.

She stopped polishing her sword, her hand pausing as she drew the leather strap along its squared blade. With a deep breath, she sheathed it, her eyes fixed on Bilbo, standing motionless, lost in the forest’s darkness.

“Bilbo, sit down. There’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be back by sunrise,” she reassured him, her voice steady, though the flickering firelight revealed her own concern.

Bilbo didn’t respond right away, his gaze still locked on the engulfing night.

“Weren’t you the one saying he had a good reason to leave?” he finally asked with a shrug, his voice trembling slightly. The distant chirping of a cricket filled the silence, but his anxiety remained palpable. “I don’t like it… not one bit.”

Geira watched him for a moment before stepping closer, her tone calm but firm. “Don’t worry, Bilbo. Gandalf knows how to look after himself, especially when it comes to matters like these.”

Bilbo remained silent, his feet shifting nervously back and forth.

Another sigh escaped her. Even a dwarf wouldn’t fear spending a night under an open sky, but Bilbo wasn’t a dwarf, nor a man—he was a hobbit. That made his fears seem larger than they might otherwise be.

“I doubt any mythical beast will attack us tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said with a faint smile, lowering her sword to rest at her side.

“Eh, what could possibly attack us?” Oin chimed in, his deep voice as calm as ever. “Frogs? Squirrels? That’s all you’ll find in these woods, lad.”

Bilbo studied him for a moment, as if weighing his answer, before returning to his nervous pacing.

“Fili and Kili were just joking earlier,” Geira added gently, masking the slight falsehood in her tone.

Bilbo turned to her, his voice now lower, almost a whisper. “What if there really are orcs out there—behind those mountains—and we don’t even know?”

“Well, if there are orcs, at least they’d end up in Bombur’s stew,” Nori quipped, having overheard. 

His jest earned a round of laughter from the dwarves, though Dori, his face flushed with embarrassment, merely shook his head.

Despite the humour, Bilbo continued his nervous pacing. Geira observed him for a moment, her chest tightening with a concern she couldn’t quite place.

Bofur looked up, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Bilbo, lad, do us a wee favour an’ take these bowls over tae the lads, will ya?” He handed Bilbo two steaming bowls of stew.

Without a word, Bilbo accepted the bowls and walked off along the path towards the ponies, where Fili and Kili were still busy. 

Geira watched as his figure disappeared into the shadows, and the rumble in her stomach reminded her that perhaps it was time for her to eat as well. 

The company was gradually settling by the fire, and Bombur was already ladling out second helpings. Approaching Bofur, who grinned at her knowingly, Geira held out her empty bowl.

“Fili and Kili aren’t back yet,” she remarked, trying to hide the worry in her voice.

“Ah, don’t be frettin’ yerself,” Bofur replied, pouring her a generous portion of stew. “They’ve probably run into a ferocious squirrel or two—and Bilbo’s their last hope, eh? But seriously now, a bit o’ fear does no harm, y’know? At least the wee lad’s brave enough tae wander into the woods on his own.”

Geira blinked, surprised by his perspective. He was right—perhaps she was worrying too much. After all, even Bilbo, with all his little fears, had shown a courage she might have underestimated.

Looking around, she noted how the company was slipping back into their usual routines. Some dwarves lingered by the fire, others tended to their own tasks in silence. Her gaze settled on Thorin and Balin, their heads bent together over the map. Her stomach sank as a chilling realisation struck her.

Bilbo hadn’t returned yet.

“The ponies weren’t far, were they?” she asked, looking up toward the forest. Bofur’s answer sent a shiver through her.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head solemnly.

“Then where on earth has he gone?” she murmured, her eyes darting uneasily toward the trees.

It was then that the cry rang out—urgent and desperate, piercing the stillness of the night. “Uncle! Thorin!”

Geira leapt to her feet, her heart pounding wildly. The company turned, alarmed, their eyes fixed on the forest. A dark foreboding seemed to settle over them all as the voice drew nearer.

From the depths of the forest, Kili emerged, his arms flailing, his breath ragged. He ran straight for Thorin, bypassing the fire and ignoring everyone else, stumbling over his words before finally managing to relay the dreadful news that made Geira’s heart plummet: Bilbo, in an attempt to recover two stolen ponies, had been captured by three mountain trolls not far from where they were camped.

“Why is he alone?” Gloin demanded, already standing and gripping the axe at his side.

Kili gasped for breath, bracing his hands on his knees. “We sent him… y’know, since he’s a burglar,” he explained, looking up at Thorin, who remained seated with an impassive expression. “We thought he wouldn’t get caught! It was all going fine, but then they surprised him! Uncle, I’m sorry—”

“And your brother?” Thorin interrupted sharply.

“He’s waiting for us, hiding in the bushes.”

Thorin’s jaw tightened, his face shadowed under the flickering light of the fire. Balin looked on, his own concern etched deeply in his lined features.

“In the name of Durin!” Thorin growled, clenching his fists against the earth.

In the tense silence that followed, Thorin grabbed the sword at his side and sprang to his feet.

“Let’s move before he gets himself killed,” he ordered brusquely.

For the first time since their journey began, Geira felt relief at following one of Thorin’s commands.

Without hesitation, she seized her sword, securing it to her side as she fell in line with Kili at the head of the group. Everyone moved with deliberate caution through the dense undergrowth.

Dry leaves crackled beneath their boots. The few remaining ponies, left in the shelter of the woods, neighed softly at the familiar sounds of their companions passing. Every member of the company kept their composure, knowing that silence was critical.

Geira stopped just a few steps short of the clearing, raising a hand to calm Rosalie. The mare was skittish, her heavy breaths betraying the shared anxiety rippling through the group. Geira’s gentle motion soothed the animal, who stepped back, revealing the scene beyond the trees.

A massive fire blazed at the centre of the clearing, its crackling filling the cold night air. Behind an ancient tree, Fili crouched, his face pale in the fire’s glow. He didn’t turn to acknowledge them but motioned for the others to lower themselves. Geira crept forward on hands and knees, weaving through branches and leaves until she reached his side.

There were three of them—huge, grotesque figures. The trolls’ monstrous shapes were distorted further by the dancing shadows cast by the fire. At their feet, Bilbo struggled in vain, held upside down by one troll gripping his legs. The hobbit appeared to be talking, perhaps trying to buy time, but every word was met with guttural, raucous laughter.

Geira turned back to the company, now assembled in the cover of the trees. Each face was hidden among the leaves and shadows. At the front, Thorin knelt, his sword clenched tightly in both hands. His gaze was fixed on the scene before them, his jaw rigid, his body still. He didn’t move. None of them did.

Geira’s heart pounded so loudly she feared the trolls would hear it. Every muscle in her body was taut. 

Why aren’t they doing anything? 

She could feel the heat of anger rising, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword as her frustration boiled. She turned her gaze back to Thorin, willing him to give some kind of signal, some command—but he remained motionless, his expression grim.

And then the moment of stillness shattered.

The largest troll swung Bilbo into the air, roaring, “Dinner’s ready early tonight!” His voice thundered, shaking the trees, as the other two doubled over in laughter. Geira’s blood froze, and then boiled again, a furious fire surging through her.

She didn’t wait.

With a fierce cry, she broke from cover and charged forward. Her voice shattered the tense silence, rustling the branches as the trolls spun to face her, startled. Geira didn’t falter. She closed the distance to the nearest troll and slashed at its calf with all her strength. The beast howled in pain, bending down to swat at her, but she ducked, narrowly avoiding its grasp, and struck again, this time aiming for its massive wrist.

Chaos erupted.

Behind her, the rest of the company surged into action. The clash of steel filled the clearing, joined by the bellowing battle cries of the dwarves and the trolls’ enraged roars. Somewhere nearby, Dwalin’s hammer met its mark with a sickening crunch. The chaos was deafening, the firelight flickering wildly as figures clashed and stumbled.

Geira fought to stay focused, her eyes darting between blows. 

Where’s Bilbo? 

Amid the blur of dwarves and trolls, the hobbit’s small figure had disappeared.

To her right, a massive shadow loomed. One of the other trolls had noticed her. Geira tensed, readying her stance, but before the beast could strike, Thorin stepped into its path. With calculated precision, the Dwarf King parried its blow with the flat of his blade, the metallic clang echoing sharply. Thorin didn’t glance her way as he pressed the attack.

Geira caught her breath, watching for an instant as Thorin moved—swift, decisive, deadly.

Her grip tightened on her sword as anger flared within her. 

Of course, this is what you do. Wait. Watch. Act only when it suits you.

She repositioned herself, moving to the troll’s other side. Together, without exchanging a word, Geira and Thorin struck alternately, their blows complementing one another as though choreographed. The troll roared, staggering under the onslaught. Finally, with a guttural wail, it collapsed to the ground.

Geira staggered back, gasping for air, her arms trembling with exertion. She barely had time to recover before an enormous shadow hurtled into her side, throwing her to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind from her lungs, and she hit the dirt hard. Pain flared through her lower back, sharp and unforgiving. She struggled to move, but every breath felt like a knife twisting in her ribs.

No. Not now. I can’t stop now.

With immense effort, Geira managed to kneel, her fingers desperately searching for her sword. She spotted it not far off, grasping the hilt with trembling hands. She pushed herself up to her feet, wobbling unsteadily, and turned toward the battle.

The sight stole her breath.

Two trolls had Bilbo. They held him aloft by his arms and legs, like a prize. The booming laughter of the monstrous creatures echoed through the clearing, and everything seemed to grind to a halt.

The dwarves froze, their weapons still in hand. Geira felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t look away from Bilbo—so small, so fragile, so defenceless. A scream was trapped in her throat, stifled by helplessness.

I won’t let him die. Not like this.

With a shudder, she tightened her grip on the sword. This wasn’t over. Not while she could still stand.

“Drop yer weapons, or we’ll rip his arms off!!” roared one, his voice deep and guttural.

Bilbo was pale and trembling, his grey eyes wide with terror, silently pleading for help. Thorin was furious, and in the end, with a burst of anger, he drove his sword into the ground. The others reluctantly followed his example.

Geira nearly collapsed under the weight of the pain as another sharp stab radiated through her lower back. She struggled to remain upright, her chin held high, even as the trolls roared with laughter.

One of the monsters grabbed a few sacks from a pile near the pony pen—though the ponies had fled—and another rubbed his massive hands together, satisfied.

“Tonight we’ll have a proper feast! Get the spit ready, we’ll roast ’em!”

“Aye, aye! Slow-cooked meat’s the best!” growled another, shoving Bilbo to the ground. 

The force of the push sent him sprawling with a groan. Geira extended her hand as far as she could, helping him up. He looked at her hesitantly before grabbing her hand and rising to his feet.

“All right, you two! What’re ye waitin’ for? Grab a few dwarves and tie up the rest!” the largest troll barked, limping toward the bushes and dragging out two enormous logs along with a tangle of thick ropes.

The camp exploded into chaos. The dwarves kicked, punched, and struggled to escape—but it was useless.

In just a few minutes, Geira, Ori, Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, and Dwalin found themselves tied to a thick wooden spit. Beneath them, a large fire crackled and spat sparks, as though eager to roast them.

Shouts and curses filled the air, Geira’s included, as they were slowly turned on the spit like game animals. Sweat poured from them in the suffocating heat.

The others had been tied up and stuffed into sacks, thrown into a pile. They shouted and screamed, demanding the trolls set them free, while the monsters argued about how best to season them.

“No need t’cook ’em. Just sit on ’em and squeeze ’em into jelly,” exclaimed the tallest troll impatiently as he paced around the fire.

He licked his lips, staring at Geira. She felt the heat of the fire under her, burning against her skin as the spit turned.

If they don’t find a way out soon, luck won’t save her.

“They should be fried up and grilled with a sprinkle of sage,” one of the trolls said, continuing to turn the spit.

“Sounds good to me,” replied another, his eyes fixed on Geira.

The largest troll stepped forward to help turn the spit. “Doesn’t matter what seasoning we use. We don’t have all night. Dawn’s not far off. I dont like to be turned to stone.”

Geira tugged at the rope binding her shoulders, but it didn’t budge. She twisted her wrists, trying to loosen the bonds, but that didn’t work either. Then an idea struck her.

Despite the discomfort, she bent her back awkwardly, lowering her head toward her bound hands. She began gnawing at the rope, trying to tear it apart with her teeth.

“What are ye doin’? Hold still, for Durin’s sake!” Dwalin growled, glaring at her as they continued to rotate.

“I’m trying to free my hands so I can untie this knot!” she snapped, her voice muffled as she bit into the rough fibres, the taste making her gag. She tore at it, managing to rip off a small section.

“WAIT!” Bilbo shouted suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention—hers included—and making her stop chewing on the rope. “You’re making a terrible mistake!”

His voice interrupted the trolls’ chatter. They turned to look at him, confusion evident on their grotesque faces.

“I mean… with the seasoning,” Bilbo added, still standing awkwardly inside his sack and hopping closer to the three trolls.

In Durin’s name, what was he doing?

“Seasoning?” one of the trolls repeated, stepping closer to Bilbo, visibly curious.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of feigned exasperation and indignation. “Have you smelled them? You’ll need something much stronger than sage to serve this lot!”

What did he just say?

Curses and shouts erupted from the dwarves, even Dwalin—who had told her to stay still—began thrashing wildly, trying to break free.

“Traitor!”

“Bloody liar!”

“When we’re free, you’ll regret this!”

Everyone except Geira seemed too furious to speak, trying to process what Bilbo was attempting to do.

“And what do you know about cookin’ dwarves, eh?” asked the troll who was turning the spit, interrupting Bilbo’s rambling.

“Shut up!” snapped the one wearing an apron. “Let the wee flurgburburhobbit talk!” he said, first glaring at them, then turning his attention back to the hobbit.

“The secret to cooking dwarves is…” Bilbo trailed off, his mouth hanging open as if he were stalling.

The trolls prodded him with questions, demanding he explain. It wasn’t until he suggested they be skinned that an uproar ensued, and every single dwarf began struggling harder against their bonds.

“You’ll pay for this!” Dwalin shouted at Bilbo, pointing a bound hand toward him.

Bilbo glanced at Geira and gave her a small, hesitant smile. She could see his lips trembling, and even through the sack, his hands fidgeted nervously.

She was confused. Deeply confused. 

He’s stalling, but why? What could he gain from this? The extra time will only prolong this hateful situation.

The situation escalated when one of the trolls, impatient, grabbed Bombur by the legs, preparing to eat him raw.

But luck had it that the hobbit stopped him. “No, not that one—it’s infected!” Bilbo blurted out quickly, making both Bombur and the troll turn towards him. “It’s got worms… in its… tubes…”

One of the trolls fell back with a resounding thud, looking at Bombur in utter disgust.

“Actually, they all do. They’re infested with parasites! A terrible case, I wouldn’t risk it—truly, I wouldn’t.”

At those words, it was as if a lightning bolt struck her. While the others continued to shout, she turned her head to the side, noticing the first rays of dawn creeping over the horizon.

Dawn.

Geira tried to silence Dwalin beside her and Nori above her with a pointed glance, but they ignored her, failing to grasp Bilbo’s plan.

More angry cries erupted from the dwarves, and she looked up at Thorin. Like her, he had realised the truth and began kicking the dwarves closest to him. She saw him kick Kili hard enough to make him look back. Thorin stopped shouting, and with one sharp glance between uncle and nephew, Kili caught on—soon followed by the rest of those in the sacks.

“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!”

“My parasites are even bigger! Huge ones, massive!”

What followed was a bizarre competition over who was the most infested, listing every kind of vile creature or disease imaginable coursing through their veins or guts. The trolls, caught off guard, glanced back at Bilbo, clearly uncertain what to do.

“So, what do we do, then? Let ’em all go?”

Bilbo shrugged nonchalantly. “Well…”

“DON’T THINK I don’t know what you’re up to!” the largest troll thundered, jabbing a finger furiously in Bilbo’s direction. “This weasel’s taking us for fools!” he growled, trying to convey his anger to the other two trolls.

“Weasel?”

“Fool?”

“THE DAWN WILL TAKE YOU ALL!”

A booming voice echoed through the valley, and all—including her—turned to the end of the hollow, their faces lit with astonishment. Standing tall on a boulder, leaning on his long staff, was Gandalf the Grey.

“And who’s this, then?”

“No idea.”

“Shall we eat him, too?”

What happened next took mere moments.

Gandalf struck his staff against the rock beneath him, splitting it apart to reveal the sun’s first light.

Bilbo, you are a genius!

The dawn’s light poured into the camp like a golden cascade, engulfing everything in its path. The three trolls, caught completely off guard, desperately tried to shield their faces with their massive hands, but it was no use. The sunlight struck them, their guttural, agonised screams filling the air.

Geira stood frozen, breath caught in her chest, as she watched the giants transform before her very eyes. Their rough, leathery skin began to crack and change—first a bruised, pinkish hue, then greying and hardening, splintering like fire-worn stone.

Their cries alternated with the eerie screech of breaking rock until, in a single surreal moment, all sound ceased.

The trolls were still. Three grotesque, hulking statues frozen in desperate poses, their hands forever raised in vain defence.

It took a few moments for Geira to process what had happened. The silence was nearly deafening, broken only by the distant birdsong, oblivious to the chaos that had unfolded. Relief washed over her like a tidal wave. Her knees buckled momentarily, and a raw laugh escaped her lips.

It was a sound rough and broken, but genuine. And once it began, she couldn’t stop. She laughed loudly, almost hysterically, leaning slightly forward as the weight of fear and dread melted away. The others turned to her in disbelief, but within moments, the relief became contagious. One by one, laughter erupted around her, wild and untamed, filling the air with a sense of triumph.

It was over. They were alive. They were all alive.

Geira placed a hand on her side, trying to steady her breathing as she lifted her gaze toward the others. Bilbo remained still, a few steps from the fire, staring at the three statues. He seemed incredulous, almost bewildered, his eyes wide, hands nervously clasped together.

The scene had a surreal quality. The little hobbit approached the centre of the clearing hesitantly, observing the statues with curiosity. Each step was slow, almost tentative, as if he feared the giants might come to life at any moment. For a brief moment, Geira smiled to herself. Bilbo looked like a curious puppy discovering the world for the first time.

Yet, despite his small stature and awkward movements, there was an incredible strength in that small being. Geira realised they wouldn’t have made it without him. All those dwarves, hardened warriors, had been saved by a hobbit. The thought was so absurd she couldn’t help but shake her head and smile again.

It was a story to tell. Oh, it certainly was. Thirteen dwarf warriors saved by a hobbit. If that wasn’t a tale fit for a tavern, she had no idea what was.

Getting down from the trolls’ contraption wasn’t easy for Geira. The dull but constant pain in her back made her bend forward slightly with each step, as if someone had driven a dagger into her lower back. When Bofur approached to untie her hands and free her shoulders from the ropes, she tried to keep a neutral face, but a groan escaped her as soon as her arms were free, and the weight settled back on her.

“Are you alright?” Bofur asked, giving her a worried glance.

“Yes, of course,” Geira lied, trying to mask the discomfort with a strained smile. “Just a bit stiff.”

However, as soon as her feet touched the ground, a sharper pang than the others made her stagger briefly. She tried to disguise the movement by bending down to pick up her boots lying nearby.

“If that’s your version of being alright, I dread to imagine when you’re not,” Bofur murmured, shaking his head, but he walked away, sensing it would be useless to insist.

Geira stood still for a moment, slowly inhaling to control the pain, then straightened up with difficulty and looked around the camp. Fili and Kili were gathering the items scattered by the trolls under a willow, while Bombur and Bofur helped a bewildered Bifur get dressed. The brothers’ giggles were muffled, a mix of relief and exhaustion.

Without wasting more time, Geira headed towards the pile of recovered items. Each step was a torment, but she gritted her teeth, ignoring the stinging pain in her back. She bent down, grabbing her leather corset from the ground. It was torn on one side but still usable. She straightened up slowly, trying to hide the strained expression on her face.

As she tightened the straps and secured the scabbard cord to her belt, her eyes roamed the camp, searching for someone. She found him not far away, by the extinguished fire.

Bilbo was brushing off his red velvet jacket with almost comical concentration, smoothing the collar and shaking off leaves and dust as if the world hadn’t been on the brink of disaster moments before. Geira watched him for a moment, a mixture of disbelief and relief painted on her face.

“In the end, you really did fight three enormous squirrels,” she stated sincerely, appearing behind him. Bilbo almost tripped over his feet, startled by her sudden arrival. His green eyes, at first frightened, softened, and his chubby cheeks flushed crimson.

“Oh no…” he stammered, offering her a weak smile, “nothing like that, I’m not a warrior, I don’t fight.”

“Well, you did brilliantly, not all warriors use their heads to strike someone on the forehead, you know?” she insisted, standing beside him.

She meant it, and Bilbo deserved every word.

The hobbit lowered his gaze, smiling slightly as he continued adjusting his scarf around his neck. “I read a lot, and I did win a contest on Middle-earth races as a child, and I remembered a few things,” he admitted, tilting his head.

“A quiz on Middle-earth races, huh?” she asked, crossing her arms. “So, you should know that dwarves express gratitude differently,” she teased, glancing behind him and pointing at his backpack, neatly placed atop a couple of rocks near the other items, along with his travel staff.

Bilbo looked up at the spot she indicated, blushing even more, his hands trembling as he struggled to tie his scarf properly. She decided to take charge, removing his hands and quickly retying the knot herself.

“We’re a complicated race, Bilbo Baggins, I’ll admit it: loud, irritable, and… particularly proud,” she acknowledged without managing to suppress a smile.

Perhaps too proud.

“But we know when we’re wrong, and even if we don’t admit it openly, we know it’s for the best. We’re not stupid.”

Bilbo nervously bit his lip, awkwardly avoiding looking at her for too long, focusing instead on her hands near his neck.

“I don’t think that’s a trait common to all of you, unfortunately,” he muttered, gesturing to their right.

Geira looked up as she tied the knot at Bilbo’s neck, understanding who he was referring to.

Thorin stood behind the stone figures of the trolls, talking to Gandalf. The dwarf’s face was anything but pleased, and amidst the indistinct words they exchanged, she thought she heard Bilbo’s name.

“He’s never pleased with anything,” she admitted, turning to Bilbo with a smile.

Bilbo said nothing, simply lowering his head with a sigh.

She tried to comfort him, even though she had often sought the dwarf’s approval herself and knew how difficult it could be.

Not that it mattered now, but she knew what Bilbo was feeling.

“I’m grateful to you,” she admitted, giving his scarf a final pat. “You did a great job, Bilbo, truly.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course, I do. If you studied Middle-earth races, you’d also know we’re inherently sincere.”

A playful smile escaped Bilbo’s lips. “I thought many of those were stereotypes not to be relied upon.”

“It’s a fairly common trait,” she replied with a shrug, “though I’ve always heard that hobbits love their homes, a good cup of tea, and their gardening books,” she teased, smiling despite the pang in her lower back.

“I must admit that ‘Courgettes and Sunflowers’ by Madoc Brandybook is the book in my library with the fewest annotations and scribbles, and it’s even signed by the author,” he whispered guiltily, with a glint in his eye that made her smile.

“I’d read a book written by Bilbo Baggins—‘Fourteen Dwarves, a Wizard, and a Hobbit!’” she commented, gesturing with her hands to indicate the title’s length.

“I’d give you a signed copy if it ever happens!”

She chuckled, covering her mouth. “I’d be deeply honoured, Master Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo’s eyes sparkled like they had when she first spoke to him in his home, or when he gazed at the silhouette of the Misty Mountains, glowing with such innocent, carefree light it almost hurt her chest.

She heard someone clear their throat, followed by several low grumbles, prompting her to turn. Dwalin was approaching them from a small path behind some bushes in the distance.

She turned her gaze towards the group of dwarves.

"Gloin, Bofur, Nori, hurry up. We’ve found the trolls’ cave. Thorin wants you there," he said in his gravelly voice.

The three dwarves immediately turned their attention to him and followed as he gestured towards the cave, curiosity driving their steps.

Geira let Bilbo continue tidying himself up while she heeded her back’s unrelenting protests. She needed to sit down, even if only for a moment, to gather her strength and assess how bad her injury was.

The rest of the company, curious as ever, followed the four dwarves in turn, including Bilbo.

Suddenly alone, she finally managed to seat herself on a smooth, weatherworn boulder.

A groan of pain escaped her lips as she brought a hand to her lower back, where she’d been hurt during the fight. She squeezed her eyes shut as her fingers brushed against a swollen lump.

Wonderful. A bruise was all she needed.

She rubbed at the spot, hoping to ease the pain and wondering how many days it would take to subside. She would have to grit her teeth as much as possible to keep the others from noticing that something was wrong—she had no intention of being the group’s weak link.

Of course, it would be a challenge, considering she’d struggled to walk earlier. The sharp, piercing pain in her back and shoulders felt as if blades were still lodged there.

What made it worse wasn’t just the wound but the circumstances that had caused it, and everything that had happened in the hours since.

Her gaze dropped to the hilt of the sword at her side, falling on the two runes engraved upon it: Thorin’s royal seal encircling the rune of her name.

What had happened only hours ago, while she and Thorin had fought side by side, was exactly what she was staring at now.

How long had it been since she’d felt this way? How long since her heart and someone else’s had seemed to beat in unison? Since she’d felt understood with just a glance?

The answer was simple yet so difficult, so painful. And she knew it: it had been one hundred and twenty years since she had last seen Thorin.

What had he done in all that time? What had he become? Had he felt what she had felt, even for a fleeting moment? Had his heart skipped a beat when their paths had crossed again?

Of course not. Of course none of that had happened, nor should it have.

She had a vow to herself keep: to accompany him to the mountain, to help him reclaim that pile of stone and riches, and then to leave again, letting him fade back into a shadow in her mind for the next one hundred and seventy years.

Yes, that was what she was supposed to do—and nothing more.

She tore her gaze away from the sword’s pommel, dismissing the doubts and questions clouding her mind.

Those thoughts only returned because of what Fili and Kili had said to her the night before. But what Thorin chose to do with his life was no business of hers.

Hearing voices in the distance, she removed her hand from her back and rested it on her knee. Within moments, several heads emerged from the narrow path leading to the cave, including those who had gone inside.

Bofur was carrying a barrel, while Nori and Gloin clamped several gold coins between their teeth, likely to test their authenticity.

When she saw Thorin and Dwalin step out of the cave and approach her, she lowered her gaze, unwilling to think about what had just passed through her mind.

But as Thorin walked past, a chill ran down her spine. Her gaze lifted slightly, drawn to the strange hilt in his hand. It belonged to a long sword she was certain he hadn’t owned before.

The shape and engravings made it clear: it wasn’t of dwarven make, nor forged by any human smith.

She kept her head lowered, waiting for Dwalin to pass her by as well—but he didn’t.

Instead, she caught sight of him approaching out of the corner of her eye.

She bit her tongue, holding herself back from standing and walking away, the pain still burning through her bones and muscles.

"You shouldn’t have done it," the dwarf growled, looming over her with his arms crossed over his hammer.

Geira raised an eyebrow as she looked up. "May I ask what it is I shouldn’t have done this time?" she retorted, her patience wearing thin.

Now he was sarcastic as well.

"You shouldn’t have thanked the hobbit. He’s the one who got us captured," he replied, gesturing sharply towards Bilbo, who was muttering something to Gandalf by the cave entrance.

Geira shot him a fiery glare, biting her tongue in frustration. 

Now I don’t even have the right to speak.

"He only wanted to help. He didn’t do anything wrong!" she shot back firmly. "He went to the trolls because Fili and Kili told him to save our ponies."

Dwalin held her gaze, entirely unfazed by her tone. "He went unarmed to save the ponies, without cover, without warning, without thinking—and we were nearly killed because of it! The entire company could have been destroyed by his mistake!" he said harshly, leaning closer.

"He saved us. He bought us time. He made amends for his mistakes. If it weren’t for him, those trolls would have been feasting on Bombur by now!"

"It was the wizard who saved us, not the halfling," Dwalin retorted, enunciating every syllable.

"Bilbo saved us! He used his head and got us out of that mess!"

Dwalin’s mouth curled into a tight, mocking smile, his nostrils flaring in anger. The muscles in his arms tensed, and the tattoos on his hands seemed to come alive.

"‘Using his head’—something you’re still incapable of doing," he murmured smugly, leaning in close. "You’ve proven, by leaping into that bush, that you haven’t changed at all. You still follow your emotions more than the orders of your king. And do you know what’s most amusing? You say you betrayed for love, chose love over duty—but you betrayed the one who cared most for you."

That blow shattered her in every way possible.

A strike so low that she had to force herself to think of words instead of drawing her sword and driving it into the dwarf’s chest.

She drew in a breath, leaning closer to the dwarf she had once called a brother—perhaps the only one in Erebor who had never judged her but now condemned her based on lies.

She slowly opened her mouth to reply, but a rustling sound in the distance froze her. Dwalin straightened, his ears pricked as he turned his head towards the noise.

His hand shot to his sword, gripping its hilt tightly as a flurry of panicked bird calls broke through the air, and branches in the distance snapped with an unnatural force.

"SOMETHING’S COMING!"

[cedar-glade]

I really don’t know Jack still? do you? 

Maybe @spatheandspadix might shed some light on this one.

perhaps y’all have noticed extreme variations in populations of this classic spring plant.

Here is this one:

Narrow spathed, cupped, vibrant color, acuminate  and small. Potentially A. acuminatum???

Ahh yes, a classic to run into while out and about in the forest in May, I still don’t know what subspecies this is and its been in my drafts since like 2016, odd enough I didn’t think this complex would be unresolved this long considering the fact that cernua complex, rudbeckia fulgida complex, and eastern Viola complex(shout outs to Iris Copen and Dr. Harvey Ballard the homies from OU and ODNR/ONAPA) have all had papers since then and so far 3 subspecies have been noted and gone through chromosome analysis and ITS analysis. Non of which are the jack you see above.

Jack in the Pulpit is an incredibly variable and diverse complex/sect. that we see often enough. Morphological variants and subspecies are very noticeable when they occur due to multiple characteristics such as soil specific populations and floral ridges, dwarf like traits, or tapering like you see above. 

Flora of the south eastern USA states this:

“ A genus of about 150-170 species, of Asia, e. North America, e. Africa, and Arabia. Infrageneric taxonomy follows Ohi-Toma et al. (2016). The taxa of the Arisaema triphyllum complex have been variously treated as species, subspecies, varieties, and forms. They are here treated as species with relatively subtle morphological distinctions; they are broadly sympatric, and sometimes occur together in mixed populations with little sign of introgression or hybridization and seem to behave as biological species. Arisaema quinatum (mixed leaved jack) has often been treated as a full species and seems to warrant that status. Arisaema stewardsonii (big ridged hooded bog jack) seems amply distinct in morphology, northern distribution, and boggy habitat. Arisaema triphyllum (common jack) is tetraploid and does not produce fertile seed when crossed with the other (diploid) taxa, including A. pusillum (dwarf alkaline Jack), with which it is broadly sympatric (Treiber 1980).  The size (though diploid), strongly attenuated spathe apex, and geographic integrity seem good reason to accord A. acuminatum (narrow pointed long spathe jack) species status as well.  Species concepts in this treatment largely follow the review by Wyatt & Stoneburner (2022).”

All of this said we still have outliers like this one.

Opening like rich mesic hillside, overall alkaline.  Caldwell NP, Cincinnati Parks, Cincinnati Ohio.

[danco110]

“Just because you can saddle a critter, doesn’t mean-”

Annie Flash paused her taunt and leapt back, narrowly dodging the incoming shot. The bullet struck the ground where she had been standing, but curiously it had come from above her. With a look of dawning realization the un-retired gunslinger looked up, more annoyed than startled.

“That’s a neat trick.”

“Ain’t it just!” shouted the dwarf, over the wind rushing past him. Though he was first sent flying by his rambunctious ox launching him from the saddle, he now soared easily through the air, courtesy of the winged glider strapped to his back. “Learned this one from a feller from Ixalan…and Zendikar…Innistrad too-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s very nice. Time to come down, now.”

“Aw, says who?”

“Says me.”

The angry flash in Annie’s eyes turned mischievous as she twirled her thunder pistol out of its holster. She aimed upward and, with one well-placed shot from the hip, put a hole in one of the dwarf’s wings.

“W-Whoa! We’re losin…what’d that feller call it…Altitude! We’re losin-” was all the artificer managed before crash landing on the desert sand. He patted himself down to check for injuries, finding none. He pumped his fist at his good fortune, just as a long, pistol-wielding shadow drew over him.

“It’s over,” Annie Flash growled.

“Wh…How’d you do that!”

“Some of us know how to move around quietly, without-”

“No, no, no, not that! How’d you…shoot from the hip and specifically hit my wings, but not me?”

“Oh, that. Heh, lots of practice!”

The dwarf said nothing, but glanced back and forth between Annie’s magical weapon, and his more mundane armament lying in the sand nearby.

“…My blaster’s enchanted. It can’t turn a wild miss into a dead-on hit, but it helps when I’m close.”

The dwarf shrugged. “Still impressive. The magic, that is! Maybe I could use some of that to help guide my flying!”

Annie stared skeptically at the wrecked wings, still attached to the dwarf’s back. “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she muttered.

[Change my mind: the Atiin should’ve been the only ones with thunder weapons! You know, give em some distinction! Also, this may be coming from a beginner shooter just shooting at paper targets and clays, but it is *really* hard to hit something with a handgun! Methinks cowboys’ accuracy was embellished just a tad from westerns and such.]

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

Three years late it's PINNED POST TIME! So HI, HELLO, I'm Frenchy (she/her) and I love creative shit!! Specifically, I love tabletop games (LOTS), video games (some), personal creative projects (with the burning passion of a thousand suns) and any/all manner of stories! I'll post about all of these things at any given time with little to no warning. Hope you like OCs!

Personal Tag List

hush frenchy - general talking tag, often used for whinging about personal stuff or excitedly ranting about my various d&d campaigns oc crap - general OC tag, usually for ask games and for shouting into the void about my little play-pretend guys my writing - what it says on the tin. includes bits of drafts and finished pieces good things - my feel-good tag. great for bad days seven cities - writing project tag, currently in stasis while I sort my brain out fortune's favor - campaign tag for my first and longest running d&d game. ongoing. currently playing: Valtish Ankara i need a curse of strahd tag - campaign tag for the CoS game that I'm in. ongoing. currently playing: Elowyn "Wyn" Bannon faerun's finest - placeholder campaign tag for my newest game. ongoing. currently playing: Patronella "Nellie" Callowmire the hupperdook crew - campaign tag for a former Wildemount game. on semi-permanent hiatus. played: Esme Marshcote

Specific OCs and tags below the cut!

OC Tags

(purple is general info tag, green is aesthetic/inspo tag! they overlap sometimes. sue me.)

D&D

valtish - the val tag - Valtish "Val" Ankara, tiefling battlemaster fighter/paladin of fharlanghn. sailor. (she/her) wyn bannon - the wyn tag - Elowyn "Wyn" Bannon, tiefling grave cleric. noble. (she/her) nellie callowmire - the nellie tag - Patronella "Nellie" Callowmire, gnome arcane trickster rogue. scribe. (she/her) esme marshcote - the esme tag - Esme Marshcote, gnome/water genasi astral soul monk. criminal. on hiatus. (she/her) the fizz tag - Mariella "Fizz" Ippkin, gnome trickery cleric of olidammara. acolyte. on hiatus. (she/her) luxus bray - Luxus "Lux" Bray, water genasi swashbuckler rogue. noble. currently not played. (he/him) zephyr - the zephyr tag - Zephyr, air genasi drunken master monk. noble. retired. (she/her)

BG3

aspen gladefall - main BG3 Tav, currently running amok in Faerun with my wife's halfling bard, Forte. Mephistopheles tiefling, path of giants barbarian, outlander, and wizard school dropout.

FFXIV

tritchet pock - Tritchet Pock, lalafell DRG main with a little DRK thrown in for fun, youngest sister to the Warrior of Light and perpetual right hand of the former Azure Dragoon, whether he wants it or not. Currently in: Dawntrail. (she/her)

Dragon Age

alexandria cousland - Alexandria Cousland, human noble. Warden, Reaver warrior, powerless in the face of one (1) Crow assassin. mori ingellvar - Moritani "Mori" Ingellvar, dwarf Mourn Watcher. Warrior and rookie Dread Wolf hunter turned unwilling leader of the Veilguard. Like plants and cute dwarf women who tend them.

Original Works

alex sheffield - the alex tag - Alexandria Sheffield, 24, main protagonist and problem child of the Seven Cities cast. (she/her or he/him) tahir - Tahir, 38, veteran sailor and right hand to the little brat that turned his life around. (he/him) davin & finn - Davin & Finn (last name pending), 26, twin menaces whose main claim to fame is that they can fix anything that they break. (he/him) adelinna carrillo - Adelina Carrillo, 27, Spanish transplant to Santo Domingo who hopped the first ship that came into port. Fortunately for everyone, it was Alex's. (she/her) jonathan mauntell - Jonathan Mauntell, 32, Englishman in all but location, legend hunter, book lover, and absolutely, hopelessly gay. (he/him) myrine - ???? (she/her)

[blackjackkent]

A stocky dwarf with a monacle and a rather proprietary air speaks up as Rakha approaches the underwater dock.

"Oi, what's this? You ain't supposed to be down here, mate."

Narrator: A submersible. It matches the description of the vehicle that brought the Gondian hostages into the Iron Throne.

(A/N: We have a couple of fun options for deception checks here, including a few bard-specific ones, but the intimidation check is VERY Rakha-ish.)

Rakha already knows exactly what's going on here - and that this vehicle was used to bring the Gondian hostages (and, it seems, Wyll's father) deeper below for imprisonment and torture. So she's not interested in playing games. She fixes the dwarf with an impassive glare. [INTIMIDATION] "I have questions. You have answers," she growls.

The dwarf flinches nervously. "Let me guess," he says. "This is about them Umberlee servants. You tell them to stay out of the way! Cap needs right-of-way - he can't stop on a dime when they go darting in front of the prow."

Rakha blinks. This is, to put it mildly, not the response she expected. "Who's Cap?" she asks, bemused.

"This big boy!" the dwarf says proudly, gesturing at the submersible. "The Captain of Grey Harbor. Built him with my own two hands. Can take the passage between here and the Iron Throne faster than you can say 'fuck the Absolute'."

Rakha's eyes narrow slightly. That answers one question at least; if this fellow created the submersible, he can presumably pilot it into the depths they're trying to reach.

"What goes on at this port?" she asks carefully.

"Nothing, without Lord Gortash's go-ahead," the dwarf says curtly. "I transport whoever he needs taken to the Iron Throne. Prisoners, mostly. But that's his business."

Rakha's head tips forward with sudden intensity. "The Iron Throne - that's just the place I need," she says. "What do you know?"

The man's eyes narrow even further. "You testing me?" he asks warily. "All right." Hooking his hands behind his back, he recites, "It's an underwater prison - most secure in the Realms. Myself and Cap are the only ones who can make it there in one piece. Lord Gortash keeps some Gondians there, collateral to keep those working in the Steel Watch foundry under control."

(A/N: Wyll has an interjected line here in which he basically shouts, "Ulder Ravengard is here! He must be!" which is a bit odd. According to the dialogue files, this is triggered by a variable labeled 86602965-004b-8982-eabe-8909b3bf4f40_AskedAboutRavengardAmongPrisoners, which we definitely have not done. I'm assuming this also got set to true by Rakha reading that note back at the Foundry about Ravengard getting sent to the Throne, but for our story purposes, Rakha didn't show Wyll that.)

"I need to get to the Iron Throne," Rakha says, flat and matter-of-fact.

"Do you now?" the dwarf says skeptically. "Boss never sends anyone that-a-way but prisoners."

Time is of the essence and this is wasting it. Rakha takes a slow step forward until she is towering her full seven feet of height very deliberately over the man. [INTIMIDATION] "I'm meant to go," she says through her teeth. "Trust me."

"All right, all right," the dwarf says hastily. "Keep that mad dog stare to yourself." He shrugs. "I'll take you in. But look - there's some bad shit going down in there. You don't want to get involved. Neither did I, but it was them or me."

He pushes past her towards the submersible's ladder. "I'll get Cap warmed up. Get in when you're ready."

-----

When the dwarf has disappeared, Wyll looks at Rakha. He expects her to look triumphant, with the way opened to the Iron Throne and their successful rescue mission - but instead he finds that she looks grim and has gone very still.

"Good job," he tells her with a slight smile, taking her hand and squeezing it. "That was exactly what we needed."

She shrugs.

He frowns. "What is it?"

A muscle works in her jaw. "'Keep that mad dog stare to yourself,' he said," she mutters with a low, humorless laugh. "Nothing changes, does it?"

Wyll remembers Ketheric Thorm staring Rakha down in those days in the Shadowlands at the height of her bloodlust, and the bitter, mocking tone in his voice - it is fitting that one mad dog should judge another.

"You didn't fight him," he points out after a short pause, because he isn't sure what else to say. "You didn't kill anyone here."

"Yes," she agrees, but the brooding expression on her face doesn't shift, and she trudges away from him towards the submersible's hatch without another word.

[melishade]

Now I can show all the animatic's with Megatron's holoform in it. Lol. And this is the first animatic that's in reference to an AOP chapter scene. Specifically this scene from chapter 23 of Attack on Prime:

Before Historia could inject the serum into her arm, a loud gunshot rang through the cave. Rod turned around and looked in horror to see his bag of the titan serum was nothing more than a pile of ash. Everyone turned to the source of the attack and saw that it was Megatron in his human form holding the now useless smoke round.

"No," Eren breathed while Historia gasped in fear.

"Shit," Kenny cursed.

"Who are you?!" Rod demanded.

Megatron didn't respond as he threw the smoke gun aside and pulled out the pistol. Rod yelled in pain as Megatron shot the man in the arm. Rod winced as Megatron put the pistol away and pulled out his sword. The former warlord walked toward the king, dragging the blade across the floor.

"K-kenny! Don't just stand there! Help!" Rod begged.

"I'm not helping you any more you little shit!" Kenny shouted, "And I'm not touching that bastard with a ten foot pole! That fucker's the Flying Titan!"

Megatron stopped and chuckled before he began laughing his head off. "You Ackermans are just full of surprises, aren't you? And while I do appreciate you choosing not to interfere, the only reason I'm not going to kill you is because the dwarf has some unfinished business with you. But since you're not going to attack, I suggest that you enjoy the show as I spill this man's insides."

Kenny internally cursed as Megatron turned his attention towards Rod Reiss. Rod backed away in fear as Megatron rushed him and grabbed him by the collar and throwing him to the ground. Megatron stepped on the man's throat and raised his sword, ready to ram the sword through his head.

"Don't kill my father!" Historia begged.

Megatron merely glanced at her as he was about to make his move, but stopped when he noticed something was wrong. He lowered his sword and looked at the child and noticed a syringe in her hand, laced with energon inside it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Megatron demanded in an ominous tone as he removed his foot from Rod's throat.

Megatron's holoform design

ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! I'M 25!

[waywardstation]

HAPPY WIP WEDNESDAY

It’s been a bit since I’ve posted a WIP, I’m so sorry about that! I’ve been pretty busy with work and life lately, so that’s why. So to make up, here’s a bit of a longer WIP.

This one is from Heart Full, Bowl Empty. Ingo thinks he’s lost something that he always did his best to guard and protect.

This is very old; wording is subject to possibly change!

Enjoy!

—————

Ingo’s legs almost buckled as he reached the ridge’s top — enervation weighed heavy on him, but its pressure was dwarfed by the sight that had been waiting to greet him.

It was exactly what He had been afraid of finding for the last two months.

Spotlit by the dim moonlight reaching through a tear in the clouds, the den’s entrance was twice the size it should have been, a jagged wound of its former self. Long, distinctively claw-shaped gouges and bores decorated the surrounding rock, and great chunks of dirt laid unearthed with uprooted foliage, the aftermath of a frenzied search.

“D-Duchess!” Ingo’s heart jumpstarted so forcefully he tasted bile rush up with a bout of nausea. Heavy legs were slow to coordinate as Ingo stumbled into a rush for the entrance. He heard Akari call his name from atop Wydeer’s back somewhere behind him, but it was distant and muffled behind the blood rushing through his ears. “Nettle!”

After months of strict effort to keep quiet after dark. Ingo didn’t care that he was shouting the names of the kits loud enough for the whole mountainside to hear — in fact, it would now be a plus if the intruding zoroark heard him, if only it would draw the attention of the beast away from any kits if they were somehow still-

“Chomp! Lilac! I’m here!” Ingo’s voice echoed as he plunged into the dark cavern. He couldn’t see, but the tight spaces and jagged walls that he had grown so used to squeezing through were no longer there. Fingers blindly felt newly opened space as boots now kicked and tripped through chunks of rock wall.

“Balm!”

It had razed the tight, strong walls that Lady Sneasler had specifically chosen for added protection when searching for a safe den. Busted right through them to get to the kits; he could practically run right through now if he wasn’t so unsure of what was in front of him. What if there had been more than one? How many had tried to get in? Oh Sinnoh-

“Pecha!” Ingo’s throat felt like it was closing up. “Mochi! I’m right here!”

The disfigured walls opened up — the den’s cavity. He couldn’t see it, but he already knew it had torn the place apart, turned it upside down. Ingo reached through the blackness, and his boots found clumps of nesting material where there should have been packed dirt. Shreds of fabric, splintered wood. His own supplies, nothing more than worthless debris as he got to his knees to feel around. Wet clung to his knees and saturated his pantlegs, and he looked down through the darkness to make out the swamped black puddle. Blood. He touched it, but it didn’t come away sticky. Water, from his own reserve.

It felt like the muscles and cords were shrinkwrapping around his heart, squeezing-

“Taro?”

Those poor, defenseless kits must have been terrified. He had not been here for them. Their mother had not been here for them — he took her away from them to that doomed expedition, and let monsters intrude unobstructed. How could he let this happen?

“Powder-” Ingo choked out. The kits clearly weren’t here. They were not hiding in the nesting materials, they did not trick the intruder into thinking they weren’t there. Gliscor was not here either, protectively huddling over them and keeping them safe.

He had to go outside and look. He had to. Had there been blood at the entrance? Purple or white fur? He couldn’t remember. His hands were shaking; could he even get back to his feet? How could he go back to his Lady, and as her warden, tell her that every single kit, her entire litter that she had tried so hard to have for so long, was now gone?

His heart squeezed harder, painful and burning. The back of his mouth went sour again.

“Ingo!” Only the tail end of the echo registered in the man’s mind. It tugged his gaze back to the entrance, to Akari’s weak silhouette against the moonlight.

“They’re out here-!” She choked — she was crying. “…They’re ok!”

The tight cords and bands constricting Ingo’s heart released in a snap. He heaved out a sob as Akari’s form blurred behind a wall of tears.

[starlesswritings]

✰ * ˑ › ° ◦ &&. whispered trust.

Jamil woke up late. That was already an irregular event in and of itself, but even more strange was where he woke up, and how. How, meaning specifically, the fact that he awoke to his hair being braided by gigantic tan hands and an enormous version of Kalim.

He blinked wide owlish eyes up at the dark yet bright man before his voice cracked and he squeaked, "What?"

Kalim brightened instantly. "Jamil! You're tiny, now!"

Jamil Viper did not wake up with the intention of having to experience this shit in his life. He was no bigger than from Kalim's wrist to his fingertips. He felt himself burn with the shame and embarrassment. He was absolutely tiny. Very small. Too tiny. He was literally the size of a hand. Kalim's hand, to be exact, and while that wasn't the shortest in the world, it clearly indicated that something was wrong.

"What... How — I'm small."

Do not panic. There was no reason to panic. He was still alive. There was, at the very least, that going for Jamil. He was alright, really! He was totally okay! So good! Nice! Awesome. What did it matter that he was the size of the tiniest little person — smaller than a faerie or even an actual dwarf? He was alive, he was healthy otherwise (probably — hopefully) and that was good enough —

"You're so adorable! The cutest! You look so squishy too —"

"AHHHHHHHHHH —"

—————

Kalim watched as Jamil effortlessly swung himself around the halls in his tiny form, not completely hindered by his newfound lack of height, but not at all enjoying himself as he tried to navigate how to live at the size of... a tiny little person. He was just tiny. Absolutely adorable if one thought on the positives, but Jamil didn't necessarily see it that way. He was, after all, forced to not do everything himself and rely upon the one person he really didn't want to have to rely on.

Still, that mattered little! Jamil was a big (small?) boy who could bite the bullets he didn't want to bite. He was a grown up. Very mature. So mature (okay, none of them were very grown up but who was counting their ages? Certainly not Kalim!). Jamil didn't make it too big of a problem and eventually settled into his life as a small being until Professor Crewel could brew a potion to remedy the slight ailment (slight ailment being the Professor's words, not Kalim's nor Jamil's).

"Wait up! Let me get the door for you!" Kalim shouted as he found Jamil struggling in an attempt to quite literally scale the door to get to the handle from the ground. "It's a good thing we're in mostly the same classes!"

Jamil's skin was too dark to tell very well, but he might have blushed ever so slightly at that. "Yeah. I suppose it works out well." He hurriedly fled into the classroom as if running faster would help with the stares and the whispers crowding from all directions without mercy at the very strange appearance he had taken on.

He didn't want to live life like this. It was simply too much to ask for, but literally, what could he do? There was little he could do that would change his situation. Though it angered him, Jamil had to do what must be done. The stares only grew more in intensity.

"Aw, look at the Vice Housewarden of Scarabia! He's so small!"

"Tiny!"