#JumpingSpidersAreJustTinyAdorableAcrobats

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

Lindir, do you happen to like bugs?

Does Rivendell have specific types of bugs there?

(TW: Bugs, insects, and all their many-legged wonders—if such things unsettle you, I advise caution before proceeding!)

Contrary to what I suspect may be "popular belief", I do, in fact, like bugs.

They are creatures of delicate intricacy, often misunderstood, yet undeniably vital to the world around us.

Rivendell is home to many such marvels, though I shall spare you an exhaustive list (unless, of course, you ask for one, in which case I shall gladly oblige). Among my favorites are the iridescent beetles that shimmer like gemstones in the sunlight, their shells gleaming in hues of emerald, sapphire, and gold.

There are the moon-moths, pale and spectral, with wings like fragile parchment illuminated by starlight. Also, LOOK AT THEIR FACE-

And, of course, there are the dragonflies—swift, precise, their gossamer wings cutting through the air with a grace I often envy.

But beyond Rivendell’s borders, one of the most impressive creatures I have ever encountered is the Orchid Praying Mantis. A creature so exquisitely camouflaged that it becomes a living bloom, a whisper of soft pink and white resting upon real petals, waiting, watching.

Its form is one of beauty and deception—an artist of survival, a sculptor of patience.

And, of course, I cannot neglect to mention the bumblebee.

Adorable, round, and industrious, they are like tiny, fuzzy messengers of spring, tumbling from flower to flower in their endless work of pollination. They are clumsy in a way that feels almost deliberate, as if they know their own charm and wield it effortlessly. (Though I must say, certain incidents involving startled horses and one particular bumblebee have made me wary of their unintended chaos. Looking at you, Eredin.)

Then there is the Rosy Maple Moth, which is quite possibly one of the most absurdly whimsical creatures I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. They are pink. They are fluffy. They look like a child’s watercolor dream brought to life. And yet, despite their utterly enchanting appearance, they are real.

The Jumping Spider holds a similar place in my heart—not only are they delightfully small and covered in soft fluff, but they are also curious, intelligent, and prone to tilting their heads in a way that is almost unbearably endearing.

The Silkworm Moth and the Poodle Moth must also be acknowledged—both fluffy, both remarkable in their own right. (Silkworm Moth below, Poodle Moth after)

The Poodle Moth in particular looks as though it belongs in some ancient tale of magical creatures rather than in the natural world, with its large, soft antennae and otherworldly fluff.

And, of course, I would be remiss if I did not end this with a nod to the honeybee, whose work sustains far more than just the hives they call home. Their honey is a gift, their structure a marvel, and they remind us that even the smallest of creatures can shape the world.

Bugs are, in their own way, little wonders of Arda. Some may startle, some may bite, and some—Elihal, I am looking at you—may demand a battle when startled by them. But they are, nonetheless, part of the great weave of life.

And I, for one, admire them.