#fic premise really

[gingiekittycat]

Headcanoning that Crowley invented plants so that no one could live without the light from a star

Headcanoning that Crowley designed the Garden before he Fell

Headcanoning that God kept the design with one small addition of a tree in the middle called the Tree of Knowledge as a slight at Crowley’s thirst for answers

Headcanoning that Crowley's angel name was "Eden"

and God kept the name too

[rapidhighway]

everyone who knows me knows im so weak for my fave getting magically de-aged for fluff and plot reasons

[robertdowneyjjr]

when tony started working for bucky, he never imagined that anything would ever, could ever happen between them.

for starters, bucky was a decade older than tony. not that he had a huge issue with age differences, but still. tony was only in his early 20s when they met.

but more importantly, as far as tony could tell, bucky was happily married.

so despite the immediate attraction that he felt the second he laid eyes on bucky and the growing feelings he began to develop the more they got to know each other over the years, tony knew that nothing could ever come of it and that he needed to be content with just admiring the other man from afar.

but sometimes bucky would say things, or just look at tony a certain way, and he’d wonder if maybe, just maybe, the feelings he had were reciprocated.

regardless, though, he knew he would never do anything about it. there was no reason for him to do such a thing and nothing could change his mind about that.

not even when tony complained about another failed attempt at dating during happy hour one day after work and bucky said, “i could never understand why these idiotic bastards would rather waste another day getting drunk with their equally idiotic friends instead of spending time with you.”

or when bucky took him out for a celebratory lunch after signing a major deal with a new partner and their knees kept brushing under the table, and bucky just kept smiling at him for the whole meal like they were sharing a secret.

also not when they were on the phone with each other at midnight trying to salvage an important client relationship and suddenly the conversation segued into personal relationships and when tony sadly confided that he didn’t think anyone had ever loved him before, bucky vehemently declared, “doll, how could anyone know you and not love you? hell, i’m pretty sure i’ve been half in love with you for years.”

and especially not when they were on a business trip and heading back to their separate hotel rooms after a dinner with their biggest client and bucky kissed him before the elevator doors opened on his floor, and tony’s lips tingled for the rest of the night.

no, tony didn’t do anything about his feelings even after all of that because bucky was married.

then tony meets steve at a big company event, where this big beautiful blond man looks adorably lost and alone in a room with four hundred people. tony can’t help but drift closer to him and introduce himself, offer a drink, and ignore everyone else if only so he could make steve feel more comfortable in this crowd of strangers.

they spend the rest of the night together, talking for hours and giving each other meaningful and longing glances, smiling like they both know where they’d like this to go next. tony’s fingers absently stroke along steve’s hand that is placed on the cocktail table they’re leaning against, and steve’s other hand is playing with tony’s hair and sending shivers down his spine when his fingers brush against tony’s neck, and tony has to resist the urge to rub against steve’s hand like a cat.

steve has just leaned closer, lips and breath whispering across tony’s skin to speak softly into his ear when bucky finds them.

tony reluctantly pulls away from steve, refusing to feel embarrassed or guilty in any way, especially when he knows bucky likely interrupted them just so he could ask tony to get back to work. this is a work event, after all.

but then steve looks at bucky and smiles, and says, “oh hey sweetheart, finally got some time for us?”

and bucky glances between steve and tony, sees how there’s barely any space between them and grins from cheek to cheek. “looks like you’ve met my husband, doll.”

and, oh.

oh.

well.

it looks like tony suddenly has a lot to think about.

[ana-cantskywalker]

Ok but imagine Hera on Lothal, still on maternal leave from having Jacen, doing whatever she can to help rebuild the city while she can't be out fighting.

Imagine her, dead on her feet from having a baby but still helping the relief work to those most affected by the Empire. Helping the elderly who had been displaced for being less useful to the empire.

Imagine her meeting an elderly woman with teal-blue eyes that almost look familiar, and immediately feels a connection with her. The woman is kind and asks Hera why she is so weary, Hera tells her about Jacen. She gives her advice on how too get him to sleep through the night.

Imagine her talking about her own son, born all those years ago before the Empire even existed, with her eyes and his father's dark hair. Her little boy who she'd known was special since the day he was born, who had been chosen by the then respected Jedi to train among them. Her little boy who she missed dearly and worried about daily, especially when the Jedi were marked as terrorists.

Imagine Hera sharing stories of the Jedi that were apart of her family, and how much she missed them daily, about how she both worried and wished that Jacen had the same abilities as his father.

Imagine Hera asking her what her son's name was, on the miniscule chance one of her contacts might be able to find intel on what his fate was, and the woman responds

Caleb Dume

[spirk-trek]

The Sensuous Vulcan | Artwork by Gayle F for her story Desert Heat (1977)

Read the full fic HERE. It's a quintessential piece of K/S history (featuring the first ever mention of double ridges... if you know, you know).

[edenfire]

💗🏥 Shuake Week- Day 6 - Wound Tending 🏥💗

I've always really liked the idea of goro waking up after the engine room with a bullet wound in the chest. he miraculously survives, and akira has to take him in and tend to him, while hiding him from shido's men😳💦

(also yes, goro is wearing akira's pj pants😌💞)

[nyerusnova]

NGL I really wanna read a fic where Tim (Robin-era) decides, after Jack Drake dies, that running away is the answer! Cue panicked Batfam trying to stalk him down while also trying not to spook him dslkfjsdl

i think there are some like this either that are pre-Robin Tim or RR Tim??? but i rly want one set in THAT specific era. Like Tim just taking the nuclear option instead of 'fake uncle' which by comparison seems tame. maybe he does that first but when it's clear his ploy is up he decides 'well! time to vanish'

meanwhile, world's greatest detective™️ is left screaming crying sobbing trying to track down one (1) teenager too smart for his own good, while Dick and Babs are having the worst possible times of their lives praying to god every day that Timmy isn't dead in a ditch somewhere ldskfjsld

if you really want things to be fun you could throw in Jason too lol -- antagonistic or not. on that note i do know there's one where Tim *plans* to run away after his fake uncle scheme is up but doesn't get to bc they figure it out. but no i want this boy ON THE RUN and Bruce is one second away from calling the justice league (maybe he does, but Tim knows how to outsmart most of them).

i guess Tim's team would also have to like. not exist in this universe yet or smth. because i dont see Kon Bart and Cassie just like NOT trying to hunt him down if they knew lol

[ceaseless-rambler]

What if I wrote the world's most specific crossover fic that nobody else would care about. What then

[unendingwanderlust]

BAGGINSHIELD WEEK (@bagginshieldweek24) DAY 7: GOTHIC HORROR AU

After much pressure from his publisher to write something new, acclaimed horror novelist Bilbo Baggins decided that a change of scenery would cure his writer's block. Surely Erebor, allegedly the most haunted location in the world, would give him all the inspiration he needed to begin, and even complete, a new literary masterpiece.

What Bilbo didn't expect was that he'd uncover secrets that had been buried for centuries... and that he'd fall in love with one of Erebor's ghostly denizens in the process.

[nibbelraz]

i imagine og!sqh's reasons for not smashing in mobeis head with a brick was smth he thought was sooo smart. yes he could kill the demon here, BUT he was hurt by other cultivators and the thing currently killing him would make him look like a weakass kill stealer, even if he took it out. HOWEVER if he manipulates this man (nobility? they still have concepts of honour in the demon realm) via a life debt then he can get better connetions and rare objects in order to further his own career! obv theres gonna be a little simpering to appease the guy but hey! thems the breaks! then after the sect gets salt earthed mobei is like hey. you didnt die there. that means my debt is repaid btw. you know what that means you slimy little rodent. your mf life ends a week from now in honour of the week you spent healing me. get your affairs in order quickly. bonus scene stealing lines from the princess bride; "I gave you everything! Your power, your crown, your position, your respect! Your riches! Your knowledge! And I'll give you anything else, so long as you let me live!" "Anything?" "Yes, anything! Anything you want!" "I wanted your loyalty you son of a bitch."

HEICJEJCJDJJVF YES YESYETS I LOVE thinking about how OG! Shang Qinghua might've navigated the world and I'm crying at the fact Mobei just like

"You didn't die. That's it. I'm coming to fucking get you."

Especially knowing that OG! Shang Qinghua was just using him even if he built him up from the ground

[gilfodile]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: In Stars And Time (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Isabeau/Siffrin (In Stars And Time) Characters: Siffrin (In Stars And Time), Isabeau (In Stars and Time) Additional Tags: POV Second Person, Light Angst, the usual siffrin angst, Bad Touch Event, With A Twist, Awkward Kissing, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping Summary:

”S-Sif...“

So that's it. He doesn't want you to go, no, he wants you to suffer the consequences for your actions, he wants you to look upon the grave you dug for yourself and push you into it himself. He wants—

”That...That was, uh...A really bad kiss.“

[laughing-moonlight]

Y'know what? Out of SPITE of this wiki page, I now HC that Orion is one of the most OP monsters in the underground. Because why else would he look like the save points?

He doesn't care for battles. Hell, he doesn't really care for anything other than his family and the farm. He knows about saves and resetting but doesn't meddle in that because he doesn't see any point and believes things should just play out like they should. Even Flowey hasn't caught on because Orion has perfected the "just a brother" and nothing more identity. No reason to suspect him of anything.

And so Orion Sunnyside goes about his days, ignoring the power in his SOUL and the itch he needs to scratch inside it. Because there's no real point to him. He's got his family and the farm and that's all he needs. He's a pretty apathetic to anything else.

And then Starlo is killed by his own Deputy.

[ink-stains-and-constellations]

I usually write and post Undertale fanfiction on a different account, but I kept seeing those time-travel The Hobbit fics and I really liked the premise, so I wrote a small bit of one. I have no idea what else to do with it, soooooo here have the random fic I wrote at like 1 AM.

(Quick disclaimer, I'm not actually super well-versed in Middle-Earth lore. I've read and loved The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, but I haven't gotten around to reading The Silmarillion or anything yet. I probably got some stuff wrong in terms of lore, so sorry about that. This was written for fun and I'm not planning on making it into a longer fic, but I thought I'd share it because why not.)

Bilbo was dead.

He knew he was dead. He had died in the Undying Lands, finally succumbing to the age of his body, surrounded by Frodo and Gandalf and the elves as he drifted off into his very last adventure. He had lived a long life. A good life. One with regrets, of course, but also one with much joy and love.

Hobbit-lore had never said much about their afterlife - not like the lore of elves, dwarves, or even men - but Bilbo had always supposed it would be something like this, the comfort of home. For he had found himself back in his hobbit-hole, back in Bag-End, seated at his table with a lovely-looking tea spread out before him.

His aches, his weariness, were gone. His joints and back moved easily, without any pain to speak of. His eyesight was perfectly clear. Even his bald patches had vanished, his head and feet covered once again in thick bushes of curly hair.

"Why, I don't feel a day over fifty," he marvelled under his breath, grinning a little.

Leaving his food on the table, he explored his home, running his fingers along the backs of chairs and rifling through drawers. Most things were exactly as he remembered it - better, even for he had not seen his silver spoons for decades, yet there they were, sitting neatly with the rest of his cutlery. The only objects unaccounted for were the things from his adventure; Sting, the coat of mithril, the chests of gold and silver, and the ring (he caught himself a moment before thinking 'his ring'). But he had given Sting and the coat to Frodo anyway, the ring had been destroyed, and he didn't suppose he would need gold or silver in the afterlife, so he paid it no mind.

He had just sat back down to his tea when the doorbell rang. He was not expecting visitors, of course, as he had only just gotten to this hobbitish afterlife, but he was not nearly as fussy about that sort of thing as he had once been, so he got to his feet and went to greet his guest.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been a dwarf, and it most certainly hadn't been a very familiar dwarf with a long beard and a dark green hood, worn and stained from travel, his bright eyes glittering from beneath its hem.

The dwarf hopped inside as soon as the door was open, hanging his hooded cloak on one of the pegs, then sweeping into a low bow. "Dwalin at your service!"

Bilbo was frozen, one hand still on the polished brass doorknob, staring at his old friend, who now looked decades younger and was wearing the same clothes he had been the first time they had met.

"Dwalin?" he asked. "What are you doing here?" Even if the dwarf was dead too, he surely wouldn't be here, wherever here was.

Dwalin frowned slightly. "I am here for the meeting, of course."

"Meeting?" he echoed, mystified.

"Yes, the meeting." Dwalin gave him an odd look, as if he should have already known. "And, er, whose service do I have the pleasure of being at?"

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"Your name," Dwalin elaborated.

After a moment of mutually puzzled silence, Bilbo took a closer look at Dwalin. The clothes. The appearance. The expression, politely confused. Asking for his name.

I don't feel a day over fifty.

He swallowed. "I - Bilbo." Slowly, he bowed. "Mister Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He straightened, gesturing to the hall behind him. "I, uh - I just set out tea. Please, help yourself."

Dwalin nodded, bustling off down the hall. Bilbo did not follow him, but sat down on the ornamental chair by all the hooks and put his head in his hands. This... wasn't possible, was it? He couldn't be back then. He had died, for goodness' sake.

Before he could get very far with his thoughts, the bell rang again. He sprang up, nearly wrenching the door open to reveal an old, red-hooded dwarf, who immediately hopped inside.

"I see they have begun to arrive already," he noted as he hung his hood next to Dwalin's. He then bowed, giving Bilbo an entirely unnecessary introduction.

"Balin, at your service!"

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," Bilbo replied, bowing in return. "Dwalin is inside - please, go join him, I'll bring out more tea. Unless you would prefer a little beer?" he added, remembering his old friend's preferences.

Balin smiled. "Yes, and some seed-cake, if you have any."

"Yes, lots."

Balin set off down the hall to join his brother, and Bilbo went to the pantry to collect the beer and seed-cakes.

Well, that settles it, he thought, a tad grimly. I am back at the very beginning of it all. He wasn't entirely enthusiastic about the prospect, given that he knew what lay ahead, but he resolved to do his very best with this second chance. To make their journey better with his knowledge. Maybe he could even save...

He shook his head and quickly delivered Balin's food and drink, right before the bell rang a third time and he had to rush back to the door.

It was Fili and Kili this time, and Bilbo's heart started aching when he saw them, young and whole and alive, their yellow beards clean of blood and grime, their eyes sparkling and clear.

"Kili at your service!"

"And Fili!"

He took their hoods and bags, setting them carefully to the side, and bowed back, fighting the urge to pull them both into a hug. Somehow, he managed to speak past the lump in his throat. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family's."

"Dwalin and Balin here already, I see," said Kili cheerfully. "Let us join the throng!"

Bilbo nodded and stepped aside to let them pass. He very firmly set aside his grief, his questions, his racing thoughts, and fixed his mind on the task at hand - namely, preparing enough food, drink, and chairs to host a company of fifteen.

While the four dwarves settled in and got to talking, he hurriedly set out more places at the table, then started raiding his pantry, bringing out everything from the wine to the cheese wheels. Halfway through, the bell rang again, and he practically sprinted to the door - in fact, he got there fast enough that Gloin had only just come puffing up to the doorstep.

Introductions were short, and the five newcomers soon joined the others at the table while Bilbo went back to emptying his pantries before they could do it themselves.

He had almost finished when a loud rapping echoed down the hall, the knock of wood against wood. Bilbo sighed heavily, thinking mournfully of the dent in his nice green door that he had never quite gotten around to fixing, and, whisking one last plate of food onto the table, set off to let his guests inside for the fifth and final time that night.

He made sure to open the door very slowly and carefully, so as not to repeat his mistake from all those years ago and end up with a pile of dwarves on his doormat. This time, all four of them hopped inside without incident, and Gandalf ducked through the doorway a moment later.

"Hello, Bilbo," he greeted with a smile. "I hope you do not mind terribly that I brought guests to our tea."

Bilbo sighed again, casting a glance in the direction of his depleted pantries. "Not at all, Gandalf."

"Excellent!" The wizard clapped his hands. "Now, allow me to introduce you to Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and especially Thorin!"

There were the usual bows and "At your service"s from Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, and none at all from Thorin, not that Bilbo had expected any. He gave all four of them a deep bow in return.

"Bilbo Baggins." He glanced up, meeting Thorin's proud gaze and ignoring the pang of grief, an old, old pain that had never really gone away. "At your service."

Thorin merely turned to toss his sky-blue, silver-tasselled hood onto a hook beside the others.

"Now we are all here!" declared Gandalf, hanging his hat at the end of the row of hoods. "Quite a merry gathering. I hope there is something left for the latecomers to eat and drink!"

"Yes, there's plenty," replied Bilbo, gesturing for the group to follow him down the hall.

Gandalf fell into step beside him, peering curiously down at him. He opened his mouth to ask something, but Bilbo quickly interrupted.

"Be careful of the -"

Thunk.

"Rafters," Bilbo finished with yet another sigh, watching Gandalf rub his head.

"A little low, these ceilings," the wizard commented, grimacing.

"Or maybe you're just a little tall!" called a grinning Fili from the dining room. "We seem to be managing just fine."

"Impertinent dwarf," Gandalf grumbled, hunched over to keep from hitting his head again.

Bilbo darted ahead to pull out a chair for Thorin, the grandest chair he could find in his little hobbit-hole. Thorin paused for a moment, then slowly sank into it, nodding his thanks. Bilbo gave him a quick smile and took his own place at the table, which he had made sure to include this time, as he didn't want to miss out on all the food again.

He wasn't much for conversation, as he didn't want to slip up and reveal all the things he knew, but he didn't bother asking if they would stay for supper after the meal was finished. Already knowing the answer, he just made to collect the plates, and didn't protest when the dwarves sprang up to clear them away instead.

The dishes were soon cleaned and put away, and the dwarves came back to find Bilbo watching Thorin and Gandalf blow smoke-rings around the room.

"Now for some music!" Thorin declared as his company filed into the room, snuffing out his pipe and setting it aside. "Bring out the instruments!"

There was a rush for instruments just as Bilbo remembered, and he sat back in his chair to listen to the dwarves' music. It was enthralling as it had been the first time, and he felt as though he was indeed fifty all over again and feeling a great desire for adventure. He found himself humming quietly along to the familiar tune.

It eventually stopped, of course, once dark had fallen, and Thorin stood to begin his speech.

"Gandalf, dwarves, and Mister Baggins! We are met together in the house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit - may the hair on his toes never fall out! All praise to his wine and ale!"

The ache in Bilbo's heart increased upon hearing his friend's typically long-winded beginning, and he barely managed to reply, "You are very kind." His voice came out with a funny choked quality to it, as if he was about to cry. Which was, of course, absurd, he thought as he blinked furiously against his burning eyes.

Thorin stopped, staring at Bilbo, his brow furrowed. "Is something the matter, Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo quickly shook his head, scrubbing away the tears that were leaking down his cheeks. "Nothing at all, Thorin," he whispered, unable to help the familiarity that slipped out with his friend's first name. "And, uh -" He cleared his throat, speaking a little louder. "Please, call me Bilbo, all of you. It seems appropriate if we're to - uh, work together."

Slowly, Thorin nodded, although he did not continue with his speech. He just... stared at Bilbo, a puzzled divot between his heavy brows, until Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, worried that he had made a mistake.

"Tell me, Mister Baggi - Bilbo," said Thorin suddenly. "Do you have much experience in the matter of burglary?"

Bilbo felt his lips twist into a humourless smile as images flashed in his mind. A golden cup. A large gemstone that could be called white, if you ascribed the same colour to the stars themselves. Before that, a set of keys, countless morsels of food, even the very dwarves who now sat in his dining room. All done while invisible, of course, but perhaps this time he could be a burglar before he found the ring as well as afterwards. (He was a little reluctant to take possession of the ring again now that he knew what it was, but he also knew that it had been an invaluable asset on their journey, and besides if he hadn't found it, it wouldn't have been destroyed, so he resolved to pick it up again as he had before.)

"Yes. Quite a bit, in fact."

A murmur of surprise went around the room. Even Gandalf's bushy eyebrows raised, although he stayed silent, still puffing on his pipe.

"How about travel?" Thorin asked, evidently set on grilling him now. "Fighting? Sword or axe, what's your weapon of choice?"

Bilbo sighed yet again. "I'm rather skilled at darts, if you must know, and I quite enjoy a good hike now and then," he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm that he never would have dared back at the beginning, but he was rather used to being treated with the indulgence afforded to eccentric elderly folk, so he didn't think much of it at all until Thorin snorted and he realised that the dwarf had taken his words seriously.

Another outbreak of muttering spread throughout the room, and amidst all the questions about his sincerity, he caught the fated words, murmured by Gloin to Oin.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

Bilbo's teeth gritted, and he addressed Thorin again, discarding the sarcasm this time. "In all seriousness, I favour a sword, although seeing how I am not currently in possession of one, the question seems moot."

Thorin looked him up and down, as if trying and failing to imagine him using a sword. "I see."

Electing to ignore the dwarves' doubt, Bilbo stood, heading towards the hallway. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I am going to -" His toes snagged on something, perhaps a hole in the carpet, and he stumbled, a hand darting out to steady himself upon Gandalf, who happened to be the nearest solid object.

"Oh, terribly sorry, Gandalf," apologised Bilbo, looking quite a bit less flustered than one might expect. "As I was saying, I am going to fetch a light. I will return in a moment."

"Excellent idea," replied Gandalf, peering down at Bilbo. The dwarves may not have found his stumble suspicious, but the wizard was well aware of the surefootedness of hobbits and suspected Bilbo to be up to something, which, of course, he was.

At fifty, Bilbo Baggins had been polite to a fault and wholly inexperienced in theft. However, having lived over a hundred and thirty years before his death, he now considered himself a fairly seasoned burglar and quite disliked being doubted or mocked. So when he saw the opportunity to prove himself, he took it, and by the time he returned with a lamp, Gandalf was rifling through his pockets in search of a map he was certain he had had on his person.

Bilbo placed the lamp on the table and tilted his head curiously at the wizard, struggling to conceal a grin. "Is there something wrong, Gandalf?"

Gandalf's shrewd eyes snapped to him, and he gazed intently for a moment or two before explaining, "I seem to have lost a rather important map. You wouldn't happen to have any idea of its whereabouts, would you?"

"Not the foggiest clue," Bilbo replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Oh - wait, what is this?" With a - perhaps unnecessary - theatrical flourish, he withdrew the map from his waistcoat, holding it up. "Well, it appears it's right here in my pocket. How odd." He dropped it onto the table in front of Gandalf, his grin breaking through his attempted poker face.

Gandalf stared at the map for a few seconds, then chuckled loudly and suddenly, patting Bilbo on the back. "Very impressive, my friend."

Bilbo laughed and went to sit back down, not noticing the suspicious look Gandalf shot him behind his back.

"Now, then," the wizard began, spreading the map out on the table. "This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin. It is a plan of the Mountain."

Thorin glanced at it, then shook his head, disappointed. "I don't see how this will help us much. I remember the Mountain well enough, and the lands about it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath where the great dragons bred."

"There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain," put in Balin. "But it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there."

"Unfortunately so," Bilbo murmured to himself, his shoulders curling a little inwards.

"There is one thing you haven't noticed, and that is the secret entrance," pointed out Gandalf. "You see that rune on the west side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls."

"It may have been secret once," Thorin countered, "but how do we know it remains so? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves."

"He may, but he can't have ever used it. It is far too small for him - 'five feet high the door and three may walk abreast' say the runes, and Smaug couldn't have crept into a hole that size even when he was a young dragon, let alone now, after devouring so many of the dwarves and the men of Dale. In any case, the door should be closed and hidden, made to look exactly like the side of the mountain, and therefore kept secret from the rest of the world, if not from Smaug."

Bilbo leant closer to get a proper look at the map, which he had not seen for decades. The Mountain drawn in dark ink on the paper seemed a lot smaller than the Mountain of his memories.

"Also," Gandalf went on, "I forgot to mention that with the map came a key, a small and curious key. Here it is!" He presented it to Thorin, a key with a long barrel and intricate wards, flashing silver in the lamplight. "Keep it safe!"

"Indeed I will," replied Thorin, taking the key and fastening it upon the fine gold chain that hung around his neck. "Now things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters them much for the better. So far we have had no clear idea of what to do. We thought of going east, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake -"

Bilbo had heard Thorin's ramblings before, of course, and if this was an ordinary meeting with friends, he would have tuned him out. However, he was acutely aware of just how precious his time here was - every second with Thorin and Fili and Kili alive, every second with the others smiling and in good cheer, every second unburdened by deep, heavy grief - so he listened quietly to the voice he'd spent so many years missing.

"- but we none of us liked the idea of the Front Gate. The river runs right out of it through the great cliff at the south of the Mountain, and out of it comes the dragon too - far too often, unless he has changed his habits."

"That would be no good," added Gandalf. "Not without a mighty warrior, even a hero. I tried to find one, but warriors are busy fighting one another in distant lands, and in this neighbourhood, heroes are scarce, or simply not to be found. Swords in these parts are mostly blunt, axes are used for trees, and shields as cradles or dish-covers; dragons are comfortably far-off, and therefore legendary. That is why I settled on burglary - especially when I remembered the existence of a side-door. And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, the burglar, the chosen and selected burglar. So now let's get on and make some plans."

"Very well, then," agreed Thorin. "Supposing the burglar gives us some ideas or suggestions." He turned to Bilbo with mock politeness, although it was a bit less mocking than it had been the first time around.

Bilbo drew himself up, meeting Thorin's gaze with a determined look. He was the only one there who knew what was in store, and over the course of the night, he had come to the decision that he meant to bring them all through the journey and out the other side alive and more or less intact, if at all possible. "Certainly, Thorin," he answered briskly. "I should think that we ought to focus on actually getting there and finding the side-door before we worry about dealing with much else. I take it there is quite a lot of treasure?" he added, although he already knew.

Thorin nodded. "Yes, halls upon halls of it."

"It will be impossible for me to move it all by myself. I will be able to perhaps steal one or two pieces before the dragon notices us, so I would suggest you give some thought as to which pieces you should like." A large white gem glimmered in his mind again before he pushed the image away and forged on, ignoring the echoes of dread. "I would also suggest -" His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat, trying to keep his words steady. "I would also suggest that we take a moment to consider the possibility of things such as dragon-sickness, and how it may be overcome once the Mountain is in our possession."

"Sage advice," said Gandalf approvingly, filing away his suspicion to deal with later and patting Bilbo on the shoulder.

Bilbo threw him a quick smile, though he was unable to hide the hint of tiredness to it. He found that he didn't particularly want to speak of their journey anymore, not with the knowledge of what was to come weighing on him, heavy as a sack of dragon-guarded gold.

"And, well, don't you know, I think we have talked long enough for one night, if you see what I mean. What about bed, and an early start, and all that? I would appreciate some help with breakfast tomorrow, if anyone would be so kind."

"You're the host, are you not?" replied Thorin, raising a dark, heavy brow. "But I agree about bed and breakfast. I like six eggs with my ham when starting on a journey - fried, not poached, and mind you don't break 'em."

Bilbo crossed his arms, staring at the dwarf expectantly, until Thorin reluctantly added, "Please."

Bilbo nodded and grabbed a small notebook that had been laying on the mantlepiece, quickly jotting down Thorin's preferred breakfast. "Anyone else?"

The dwarves and Gandalf all ordered their breakfasts, and Bilbo managed to get a 'please' from every one of them. Afterwards, he had to find places for all of them to sleep, which was thankfully a much shorter affair than last time, as he had his previous experiences to go by. He did have to dig extra blankets out of the linen cupboard, and set several dwarves and Gandalf (who was much too tall for his spare beds) up on couches and chairs, but he eventually got them all stowed away and retired to his own little bed. The shock of finding himself back in the past, along with having to host thirteen dwarves and a wizard, had left him rather exhausted, despite the renewed strength of his younger body. Before he collapsed into bed, he remembered to leave a sliver of his curtains unclosed, so that he would be awoken by the rays of dawn.

He fell asleep to the sound of Thorin's humming from the bedroom next to his, and this time, it was comforting.

The Hobbit was created by J.R.R. Tolkien.

[mamawasatesttube]

i wish it wasn't so normal for people to complain about unfinished wips or fics that take a long time to update. because sometimes i think i have a really fun idea for a fic but it'd take a while for me to write, and i like talking about my work as i do it and i don't like writing entire fics over like 20k without sharing, because i lose steam. so if i were to write and post that cool fic idea, it'd be as a wip. and then i think about all the people who just refuse to engage with wips, or all the other people who would just go "update pls" all the time, and of how people only really comment in the first 24 hours something is posted and then it's lost to obscurity, and then i just go "actually whats the point in going through the effort writing this out? i'll just daydream about it now and then and be done with it." and then i don't write it. alas!

[thatgirlonstage]

sometimes a show throws a scenario at you that you could see coming a hundred miles off but that in no way is gonna prevent you from going absolutely feral over it. Anyway I binged all of Link Click in like three days and I'm going to start chewing furniture about the end of S2

[deadlysoupy]

the feminine urge to tear out bumblebee's voice box in every continuity

why?? couldn't tell you. prime did it, cyberverse did it, bayverse did it, bumblebee movie did it. it seems like such a sweet spot to inflict angst it's amazing

it's not just a bad thing that can happen to anyone - it's a thing that is specifically made for a specific character archetype. think of transformers animated. a chatter box? boom - no voice now. it works especially well with this iteration and i've read a couple of fics about this it's sooo tasty. while not every bee is like tfa bee, they all value words and use them to encourage allies, give hope, redeem villains even. which is why this narrative is so effective

tldr here's how earthspark can still win (im joking tfe bee deserves good things to happen to him but that's another topic entirely)