#abandoned island

[littlepawz]

Gouqi island is located in the Shengsi archipelago of about 400 islands. Jane Qing captured the stunning images of this city of seemingly endless buildings, which were a part of a fishing village years ago. The region has a history of doing well, even today, in the fishing industry. Yet, this particular island seems to have been forgotten.

Each discovery of abandoned cityscapes is captivating, but one covered in beautiful ivy and greenery surely enchants in its own way.

~Shengsi Islands - Gouqi Island / Jane Qing Photography~

[zombilenium]

Hashima Island, Nagasaki, Japan,

Image Courtesy: Media Drum World

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Week 4 - Critters

Here it is, the Bagginshield chapter :p

Prompt: Critters

Pairing: Thorin x Bilbo

Words: 2 965

Warnings: Danger, wargs, sexual tension, a kiss

Bilbo sat down heavily on the soft mattress and sighed.

His head was spinning with the latest developments, and he could hardly believe that—within the span of a single night—he’d gone from the hard forest floor to one of the most luxurious feather beds he’d ever seen.

His natural curiosity and worrisome desire for adventure had driven him across the world many a time before, but he’d never made any discovery half as confusing and wondrous as this secret society of charmingly short men.

Moreover, he’d never met a king before, and he wondered whether it was normal to be filled with such deep awe and admiration in the face of Thorin’s magnificence.

“Are you all right?” Elya’s soft voice came from the small door beside the fireplace. She had discarded her muddy clothes and was leaning against the sturdy wooden frame in nought but her practical underwear.

“I’m fine, dear,” Bilbo replied, squashing the inkling of guilt that was scratching at his thoughts. He felt bad for insinuating that the King and his subjects had despicable designs on his little assistant when they’d been nothing but courteous thus far.

Mayhap, he now admitted to himself, he was simply projecting his own twisted insecurities upon everyone around him. In fact, he’d seen Elya in various states of undress before, and he’d never batted an eye.

How could he just assume others would harbour dark thoughts?

As he now looked upon her natural, feminine beauty without the slightest shade of desire or possessiveness and saw her soft smile, he realised that she knew.

Elya had probably known from the start that he was not attracted by women—why else would she have agreed to accompany a man that much older than herself on a mission during which she would inevitably be at the mercy of all his appetites and flaws?

“You like the look of that dwarf,” he said. It was not a question.

“So do you,” she retorted with a mocking giggle. “Not the same one, obviously! Thanks to them, neither one of us is dead, so I’d dare say that it’s not a crime to enjoy beauty, is it?”

Pursing his lips, Bilbo regarded her thoughtfully—overwhelmed by the impression Thorin had made on him, he could almost imagine what it would feel like for a “normal” man to look at her.

Elya was not exactly the kind of woman who drew every eye in a crowded room, but she was not an ugly girl by any means either. Cerebral and somewhat effaced, she only ever came alive when a conversation moved past the initial stages of shallow small talk.

“Be careful, my girl,” he finally said. “You don’t know what is going on in his head.”

“Do you think me unable of wilful seduction?” Elya grinned. “Do you need a lesson to tempt that stern King?”

Fluffing up defensively, Bilbo waved his hands. “Go to sleep; you’re talking humbug!” he scoffed, but his cheeks felt treacherously warm, nonetheless.

“Sleep tight,” Elya chirped and disappeared into the adjoining room, whistling to herself softly.

Despite his inner turmoil and the contradicting impulses racing through his tired brain and leaden limbs, Bilbo fell into a deep, dreamless sleep almost at once.

He knew not how long he’d been out cold when a discreet knock at the door made him bolt upright in befuddled alarm.

“Yes?” he called uncertainly, moving his stiff jaw to dispel the thick taste of slumber from his heavy tongue. “Come in!”

“Mister Bilbo,” Ori said as he poked in his head. “I’ve come to tell you that Thorin is waiting for you by the main gate. Fíli will accompany you downstairs so you don’t get lost.”

As he registered the flustered movements of Ori’s fingers tightening spasmodically around the stack of notebooks he was holding, Bilbo’s gaze grew sharp with suspicion.

“And you?”

“I’ve been advised to take Miss Elya back to the gardens so that we may compare notes.”

“Is that what you call it hereabouts?” Bilbo snapped curtly.

“I don’t understand your meaning,” Ori replied quietly—sudden panic had drained his face of all colour and his eyes were dark lakes of unrest. “I don’t seek to harm her; you have my word.” “You take care of yourself, my boy,” Bilbo sighed. “I’d never thought it possible, but Elya might well try to take a bite out of you.”

“Bite me?” Nervous fear was seamlessly replaced by profound incomprehension. “Why would she do something so unreasonable?”

Sighing, Bilbo decided that he was too tired still to be having useless conversations such as the one he found himself enmeshed in now—he’d warned the boy; there was not much more he could do.

Under Ori’s still-dumbfounded gaze, he checked his kit and swapped his sweat-drenched shirt for a clean one before declaring confidently that he was ready to observe and document whatever enigmatical critter the King wanted to show him.

“Wargs also bite,” Ori commented. “Thorin sends this so you may wear it—for your protection.”

The dwarf held out a shimmering shirt of alluringly archaic chainmail that glittered like starlight encased in polished crystal in the wavering light.

“Oh, it will be too heavy,” Bilbo tried to protest, but—when the odd garment was handed over—he had to admit that it was much lighter than it had any right to be.

He couldn’t fathom what good so light a safeguard would be, but he didn’t want to scorn his host’s generosity, so he slipped into the strange shirt before putting on his overcoat.

“I shall thank him,” he said as he walked past Ori out of the room.

“It’s Mithril,” Ori explained. “Light as a feather but surprisingly durable. May it serve you well. Elya—is she…”

“Elya!” Bilbo bellowed, banging his fist thrice against her door as he went. “Your beau is here to look at your sketches!”

And, on that excessively, embarrassingly petulant note, he stomped off towards the glint of gold at the other end of the hallway.

Fíli merely nodded, but Bilbo could see the grin he desperately tried to hold back tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath the luscious moustache.

As promised, Thorin was standing in the foyer leading to the main entrance to his hidden kingdom.

Suppressing a little gasp of dreamy recognition, Bilbo drew closer. Alarm bells went off in his head at the sight of the impressive sword hanging from the King’s belt and the realisation that Thorin was also fully armoured.

“You wanted to see beasts,” the regal apparition of dark blues and flashing silver grinned when he noticed Bilbo. “So, I’m going to give you exactly that.”

Despite remembering that he could never tell another soul about what he’d seen on the island and wondering why Thorin went to such lengths, Bilbo nodded gratefully.

A tiny part of his heart hoped and prayed that the dwarves acted in such an illogical fashion because they wanted to please their guests.

As he was mostly mocked or ignored by the people around him, Bilbo couldn’t help but feel immensely gratified by so benevolent a behaviour.

“It will be dangerous, though,” the King warned him in a soft, insistent voice. “Please stay behind me.”

The feeble, deflecting joke died on Bilbo’s lips when he met those hypnotising eyes of burning azure, and so he merely nodded and followed wordlessly.

Again, he had to wonder why the ruler of a purposefully secret island realm would take such precautions to safeguard the life of an intruder—he stopped dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going to betray me by feeding me to some unholy, toothy creature, will you?” he asked Thorin’s broad back.

Bilbo had expected blustering anger or cold disdain from the King, but—when he finally turned around as one aged beyond his years—there was only a wistful expression of profound sadness on his elegant, sharp features.

“No,” Thorin sighed. “The thought has grazed my mind, I won’t lie, when my nephews informed me of the presence of unbidden strangers camping in the woods. A moment of despicable weakness that reminded me of the failures of my kin which I regret most earnestly, I assure you. No, I’ve invited you to my Halls, and—as my esteemed guests—you are under the protection of my people and my heart.”

“Your heart?” Bilbo squeaked breathlessly.

“Would it be too forward to confess that your arrival, Master Baggins, is the single most intriguing and delightful event that has happened in this forsaken domain for countless years?”

Bilbo shook his head—he could feel his ears warming up with emotion, so he ducked his head and buried his hands in his pockets for fear that he’d fall prey to one of the maudlin, ridiculous gestures of which he’d accused his poor assistant.

The weakness coursing through his veins was only too common amongst humans, and he instinctively wondered whether someone as formidable as Thorin could and would feel the same tingling of aimless anticipation in so compromising and potentially romantic a situation.

For what felt like half an eternity, they clambered over rocks and pushed through dense foliage in comfortable, companionable silence.

“There they are now,” Thorin whispered as he made a complicated, meaningful gesture that sent Fíli scampering away.

“Where is he…” Bilbo hissed frantically. Thorin had brought him to a stony ledge, overlooking a shallow valley, littered with boulders and dry, dead bushes—looking around, the seasoned researcher recognised with a chill that they’d returned to almost the exact spot from which he’d been taken to meet that mesmerising king now squatting low to the ground and pulling him down with him.

“He’s going to rouse the beasts so you may see them in motion,” Thorin chuckled. “Wargs are fearsome creatures, great hunters and ruthless murderers, and we usually try to avoid them.”

By now, Bilbo sorely regretted his careless words—he’d never sought to expose himself or his hosts to unnecessary danger.

“Don’t worry,” Thorin said soothingly. “Fíli is a brave warrior, and he’s young enough to take great pleasure in tugging at an inveterate foe’s tail.”

Before Bilbo could fill the suddenly oppressive silence that fell between them like a corrupting mist, heavy with possibilities and unspoken desires, with inane, breathless babbling, a great cacophony of howls arose from below.

“Here they come,” Thorin husked.

Eyes wide with shock and instinctive curiosity, Bilbo Baggins watched the huge monstrosities leap to their massive paws and snap their frightening fangs warningly at one another.

It turned out that the misshapen rocks he’d seen glimmering in the moonlight had not been mineral in nature; Bilbo gulped as he realised just in how much danger he and Elya had really been when the dwarven scouts had found them.

“Canine?” he whispered to himself, wondering whether this strange animal was more akin to a wolf or a bear.

Thorin frowned. “They’re alien to everything and everyone,” he then simply said and gave a lopsided shrug. “Hostile and dangerous.”

As if to prove his point, one frighteningly big, densely muscled specimen launched itself off a rocky outcrop and lunged at them, its ghastly fangs bared and glistening like tarnished gold in the moonlight.

Before Bilbo could so much as shriek in terror, Thorin had drawn the sword at his hip and brought it down in a silver arc across the deep blue night sky.

Felled mid-air, the beast thumped to the ground with a sickening noise.

“Forgive me,” Thorin exclaimed. “I woefully underestimated their strength and determination—they’re hungry.”

He’d stepped in front of his paralysed guest instinctively, and Bilbo’s mouth went dry for entirely different but no less visceral reasons as he stared up at the strong, majestic profile that was outlined in silver thread against the mesmerisingly beautiful background.

Below them, panicked whining and a few yelps of pain and anger resounded.

“We root them out and chase them off,” Thorin explained, nodding at the now deserted valley. “It makes them desperate.”

Nodding solemnly, Bilbo sighed—he understood that a thriving colony could not tolerate the proximity of so vicious and unpredictable a foe, but he also felt sorry for the dumb beasts that only followed their instincts and the secret call of some dark power beyond their understanding or control.

As he observed Fíli’s tireless efforts to rout the pack, Bilbo heard a low wheeze from behind.

Believing the warg to have come back to life, he whirled around, but the impressive carcass was still motionless, its congealing blood looking pitch black in the strange light.

“Thorin?”

“A minor scratch,” the King barked defensively, pressing one broad paw against his ribs.

“Let me see,” Bilbo demanded, regretting having left the bigger part of his first aid supplies in his room.

Nevertheless, his mother had taught him never to go on any adventure wholly unprepared, so he was able to staunch the bleeding and disinfect the wound he’d laid bare by tugging off the heavy coat and the torn tunic from Thorin’s solid frame.

Somewhere, deep within his belly, he took note of the fact that the King didn’t so much as shiver in the cool air—he merely glared at his unwelcome nurse ferociously while stubbornly repeating that he was perfectly fine.

“You’re right,” Bilbo finally said, sitting back on his haunches. “You’ll live. Now, I’ve seen enough for a night. Let’s get you back to safety—I’m sure your own healers can do better than my impromptu dressing.” At the thought of Óin’s inevitable fussing, Thorin groaned again.

To his delight, Bilbo insisted on staying by his side even though he was visibly exhausted after the unexpectedly exciting and potentially deadly outing they’d had.

“Will you escort me to my bedchamber to make sure that I don’t overexert myself?” Thorin asked with a mix of hopefulness and wavering mockery.

“You can bet your sweet ass that I will!” Bilbo grunted resolutely.

“I do not understand what the taste of my behind has to do with anything, but I’d welcome your company. Will you have a glass of wine with me before I am forced into bed like an ailing doter?” Thorin grinned.

The cheerful, invigorated look of one who’d just survived a brush with death suited him, and Bilbo was no longer sure that it was such a great idea to be alone with someone he’d ogled shamelessly for as long as he’d known them.

It was late, they were tired and yet overexcited—this was far from ideal or reasonable.

The same electric, slightly metallic taste of danger flooded the scientist’s tongue, and—true to his imprudent nature—he followed the siren call of a world-altering discovery fearlessly.

The wine was surprisingly sweet and mellow, and Thorin’s smile grew softer with every passing minute as they sat in comfortable silence in his private chambers as if they’d been friends for years and decades.

Friends…or lovers.

The way the King was eyeing him now would definitely have raised some eyebrows, and—had he looked at Elya in such a manner—Bilbo would have seen himself forced to hit him over the head with something solid and heavy.

“Do you like it here?” Thorin then asked without any introduction that might have explained his mental leap. “Is there anything else you’d like to see?”

Pursing his lips and cocking his head, Bilbo thought about that for a moment. “I’ve seen the wargs, I’ve seen your bare chest, and I trust Elya is knee-deep in flower drawings by now—no, for tonight at least, I’m good,” he then said with a playful wink.

“First you make reference to my backside, and then you bring up my chest—Master Baggins, is such a manner of speech usual amongst your people?”

Bilbo was not entirely sure that he had people, but he’d hitherto considered his offhand comments to be mildly offensive at the very worst.

He shrugged sheepishly.

“I don’t know how long you intend to stay on the island,” Thorin went on, a hint of doubt and tension creeping into the still stilted staccato of his diction. “However, I can promise you that there are many interesting things yet to discover.”

As rumbling and unwieldy as his speech might have been, Thorin’s body and instincts were those of a trained warrior, and so he moved with enviable agility and grace despite his injury.

In the blink of an eye, he’d left his seat and was crowding Bilbo against the backrest of his oversized, heavy chair.

“Thank you for taking such pains caring for me—I assure you that it was not necessary,” he said in a low, thrumming voice as he took Bilbo’s hand and lifted it to his lips.

Overwhelmed with the sensation of the King’s astonishingly soft beard tickling his skin, Bilbo nearly forgot the echoing laugh of the resident healer who’d taken one look at Bilbo’s field dressing and had given him an appreciative nod before simply walking out again.

“It was my pleasure,” he said breathlessly, leaning forward slightly to entice Thorin to move his lips to a more interesting spot.

“Is it common among your people to kiss someone’s hand?” he asked in a half-hearted persiflage of the King’s previous exclamation of confusion and frustration.

“Only the hands of those who have previously commented on one’s physical attributes,” Thorin whispered, and then, those strong fingers clasped Bilbo’ chin and tilted it up a fraction.

Thus far, Bilbo had been too much of a realist to give any credence to idiotic notions like fate and love at first sight, but—when Thorin’s lips brushed against his own with both righteous caution and undeniable fervour—he felt something he grudgingly had to identify as faith arise in him.

@fellowshipofthefics

-> Masterlist

[maideness]

Gouqi Island

[lionfloss]

MS World Discoverer was a German expedition cruise ship. It hit an uncharted reef in the Sandfly Passage 29. April 2000. The hole was too big to get it repaired on the spot, so all the guests were taken ashore. A few hours later the captain ran the ship full speed on ground in Rodrick bay. (via sv_manjana)

[hellsgate-roadhouse]

Gunkanjima Island - Nagasaki, Japan .

Once the most densely populated place in the world, this island is now a ghost town.

FEW PLACES IN THE WORLD have a history as odd, or as poignant as Gunkanjima’s.

The tiny, fortress-like island lies just off the coast of Nagasaki. The island is ringed by a seawall, covered in tightly packed buildings, and entirely abandoned - a ghost town that has been completely uninhabited for more than forty years. In the early 1900s, Gunkanjima was developed by the Mitsubishi Corporation, which believed - correctly - that the island was sitting on a rich submarine coal deposit.

For almost the next hundred years, the mine grew deeper and longer, stretching out under the seabed to harvest the coal that was powering Japan’s industrial expansion.

By 1941, the island, less than one square kilometer in area, was producing 400,000 tonnes of coal per year.

And many of those working slavishly in the undersea mine were forced laborers from Korea.

Even more remarkable than the mine was the city that had grown up around it.

To accommodate the miners, ten-story apartment complexes were built up on the tiny rock - a high-rise maze linked together by courtyards, corridors, and stairs. There were schools, restaurants, and gaming houses, all encircled by the protective seawall.

The island became known as “Midori nashi Shima,” the island without green.

Amazingly, by the mid-1950s, it housed almost six thousand people, giving it the highest population density the world has ever known. And then the coal ran out.

Mitsubishi closed the mine, everyone left, and this island city was abandoned, left to revert back to nature.

The apartments began to crumble, and for the first time, in the barren courtyards, green things started to grow. Broken glass and old newspapers blew over the streets. The sea-breeze whistled through the windows.

Now, fifty years later, the island is exactly as it was just after Mitsubishi left. A ghost town in the middle of the sea.

[lemonsharkgirlfriend]

everyone's joking about a lesbian love triangle being the focus of rhaenyra/alicent/mysaria's stories in hotd s3 but that will literally be what happens when mysaria acts to uphold and support the image of rhaenyra as queen (or rhaenyra's duty) and alicent is kept prisoner (or a hidden but unavoidable reminder of rhaenyra's love). and so the love triangle will serve to represent rhaenyra's internal conflict between love and duty

[banishedchildofeve]

[scholarofgloom]

[cherrirui-official]

"You know... You didn't have to take that with you."

"But I promised him I'd take him out to see the ocean one day."

[theartsofrust]

[jichanxo]

subjugate your shame (uncropped under the cut)

i like yasu's face too much here to not post it uncropped....

[zombilenium]

Poveglia island, Italy. 

 An island in the Venetian Lagoon, Poveglia attracts ghostly folklore due to its dark history. It served as a quarantine hospital for victims of plague in the C18th, & was converted into an asylum in the C20th.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Week 4 - Music

Back to the roots for me...

Have a multichapter story about Dwarves. Remotely Tarzan-y :D

Prompt: Music

Pairing: Bilbo & OC, Fíli & Kíli

Words: 1310

Warnings: Threat, fear, bad soup

“Keep your eyes open,” Bilbo Baggins warned his assistant as they broke through the dense foliage of the native forest to gracelessly stumble into a wide clearing.

Elya sighed—she’d signed up for this mission, a once-in-a-lifetime chance, to explore a hitherto untouched island and discover exciting new specimens of fauna and flora. Thus far, all they’d found were a few highly interesting trees and a vicious breed of stinging insects.

Her heart sank. She liked the adorably fussy little man waving her closer; Bilbo was incomparably enthusiastic about his work and so knowledgeable that she could have listened to him for hours on end—nevertheless, she’d hoped that they’d have more to show for their efforts after having trudged through the unchartered wilderness for over two weeks.

“Maybe we can set up our camp here for the night and go on tomorrow?” her superior proposed gently when he saw her disheartened face. “We are now very close to the secret heart of the island—I can feel it.”

Nodding, Elya let her heavy pack slide off her sore shoulders. She’d come this far on faith alone—she could and would not falter now so close to the finish line.

Bilbo, with his gentlemanly habits and perfectly polite speech patterns, had turned this haphazard trip into an amazing experience, and she felt bad for repaying him for his boundless generosity with ungrateful moping.

She trusted him, and so she’d gladly trek on for many another gruelling day without complaining if that was what her expedition leader had in mind. 

With calm efficiency, they went through the usual motions without another word, and soon, the odd pair was sitting by a small campfire, nursing insipid but nourishing broth out of steel mugs.

An oddly peaceful nocturnal hush settled on their surroundings, and they were just about to relax into their never-changing evening rituals when an unexpected, entirely incongruous sound cut through the fragrant air.

Music.

Strange, enchanting, and distinctly foreign, the melody was nevertheless undoubtedly the result of a conscious effort.

“But—” Elya whispered, her dark almond eyes wide with incomprehension.

“The island is said to be deserted,” Bilbo agreed under his breath. “However, there has never been anyone to confirm that until now!”

They waited with bated breath, unsure whether they wanted the mysterious musicians to find them or not.

When she looked over, Elya found that Bilbo’s eyes were wide and unmoving with shock while his hand felt blindly along the uneven floor in search of any kind of weapon.

In the end, he grabbed the iron ladle firmly and held it up like a sword in front of his face.

Elya could only suppress a nervous giggle at the very last moment—neither she nor Bilbo were anywhere near accomplished fighters.

Of course, they’d been warned before setting out on their own; two scientists, as small in stature as they were vigorous in mind, were not the kind of people one liked to allow to trundle off on their own.

Especially not if one of them was the renowned and respected researcher Bilbo Baggins, but the stout professor had assured Elya that he anticipated no serious dangers they couldn’t foresee, prevent, or at least eschew easily.

And she had simply believed him.

The minutes ticked by—the forest didn’t move, but neither did the music fade.

“Is it growing louder?” Elya asked breathlessly as she followed Bilbo’s gauging look to the smoking fire.

They were not only woefully exposed, but they were as good as advertising their exact position. Even though a bright fire might have helped keep potential nocturnal predators at bay, it would undoubtedly only attract sentient, intelligent life forms.

Just as she was pondering whether a particularly evolved species of apes might have developed the ability to build crude instruments, the bushes to the right of her parted, and two silhouettes detached from the opaque shadows beyond the glare of the fire.

Elya did not scream; she merely sucked in a sharp breath and shrank back against Bilbo.

As they drew nearer, the formless, hulking shades consolidated into humanoid forms, and her rational mind took over while her heart raced frantically.

The two strangers were seemingly male if their luscious beards were any indication, and—although shorter than most men she’d ever met—they were stocky and densely muscled.

One, the leader by his deportment and stern expression, strode forward and nudged their empty bowls with the toe of an expertly crafted boot.

He grunted something at the other in a language Elya didn’t understand. A quick glance at Bilbo reassured her that this was not due to a lapsus in her academic training but rather to the fact that probably nobody had ever heard it before.

The man pointed at himself slowly. “Fíli,” he declared and then pointed at his companion with a crooked grin that suggested intimacy and deep affection. “Kíli.”

“I dare say, those are their names,” Bilbo whispered and imitated the ponderous gesture by introducing himself and his assistant to the unlooked-for inhabitants of the island.

“The music hasn’t stopped,” Elya whispered back. “There must be more.”

In her mind, horror visions of thousands of faceless strangers, armed to the teeth and battle-ready, arose and abated again—the two that had come forward were visibly wary of them, but they’d not displayed any aggression or otherwise menacing behaviour.

Meanwhile, the seemingly called Kíli had actually crept closer and was presently sniffing the bowls distrustfully. The sound of disgust he uttered didn’t need a translation, and Elya felt herself bristle.

“Listen here, Mister Kíli,” she exclaimed, snapping like a rubber band that had been pulled too far. “We do neither know nor trust the plants in this forest; we have to make do with what we’ve brought from home.”

Home, she thought longingly, wondering if she’d ever see it again.

The way he frowned at her made it exceedingly clear that he didn’t understand a single word of what she’d said.

Extending one hand, palm outward towards them, he signalled that they should wait, though what they were waiting for was not instantly understandable by his curt gesture.

Another short exchange with the first man ensued, and then he disappeared back into the dense foliage without a sound.

“Do not make any rash movements,” Bilbo warned her, his voice tense and his eyes bright. “He seems to be armed.”

“He doesn’t strike me as very belligerent or hostile, though,” she retorted in the same hushed tone, keeping a strenuous grip on her flourishing imagination of wild men and dark secrets.

Despite being profoundly terrified by the humanoid non-dinner guests, and rightly so, she could also not deny that a part of her was elated to, at last, have discovered something worth writing home about.

Discreet rustling and a yelp of pain alerted the researchers to the approach of newcomers, and they both looked up in spellbound anticipation.

“Hello,” a soft voice resounded from beyond the barrier of light. “I’m Ori.”

The words came slowly and carefully as if the speaker was merely trying to emulate sounds he’d heard once or twice before.

He was almost at once interrupted by loud whispering, and then he gave a long, exasperated sigh.

“Kíli asks why you eat brackish water. Do you not hunt?”

“Hunt?” Elya scoffed. She was a woman of many talents, but catching, killing, and dressing wild animals were certainly not among them.

“Are you…hungry? Come!”

When neither Bilbo nor Elya moved, the hitherto unseen speaker of their own language stepped closer.

Elya’s mouth went dry. The two first specimens of this yet-foreign race had been handsome even by her era’s and society’s standards, with their chiselled features and sparkling eyes, but this creature was positively breathtakingly beautiful.

“Come!” he repeated and, when they didn’t move, promptly started to pack their things.

@fellowshipofthefics Here's one for the last week :D

-> Masterlist

[anticbrvtalist]

Hashima Island

[literallyjusttoa]

Left this abandoned in the drafts (which is a bit ironic) but it's a spin on this post, where instead of Apollo just being locked in some room on Olympus somewhere, he's bound to the ruins of an abandoned Ancient Greek city. Maybe somewhere near Delphi, maybe Troy, idk.