#ori babbles

[thegayestcat]

Julie Langford: I've just brought my first bee colony to Rapture to help with pollination in Arcadia and provide us beeswax and honey! I can't wait to see them thrive!

The one bitch deathly allergic to bees in Rapture who thought if anywhere they'd be safe from bees it would be underwater:

[rizz-penguin]

*gives Dr worm a therapist because even the greatest need one*

:( <3

[rizz-penguin]

Okay, I hate to be the person to say it, but cops aren't exactly the best. Sure, there are good ones out there (the one who arrested my mother and that resulted in her going sober :) ), but there are more bad ones.

Thankfully, I live in a nice town with nice people and nice cops for the most part, but it doesn't mean bad police officers don't.

[oriathura]

Did Tumblr do a bot purge? I just lost 600 followers suddenly?

[ricecaqes]

i hope that someday i create a work of art that gives otherkin people dysphoria in the same way httyd does for me

[cowardlychimera]

ACTUALLY. TALKING ABOUT CHARACTERS SIMILAR TO MARI AND SUNNY. GUESS WHAT.

recently also played the game tomorrow won't come for those without ██████. the main character is named Ori (sound familiar yet?) and he has a dead sister named Mari, who's associated with the color violet. she haunts the narrative and heavily affects Ori's actions. fascinating

[luna-orix]

The reason my shop brings me so much joy and every single order makes my day: there is a person on this planet that decided they like my art so much that they want to physically carry it with them. There is no bigger compliment than that.

I’m grateful I was pushed by some of you to make a decision about opening it.

Thank you 🥰🥹

[celeste-clearwater-06]

heartbeat (thorin oakenshield x female!modern! reader)

gif by me!!

desc. - reader puts her CPR lessons to good use when thorin's on the brink of death. (inspired by an imagine by @imaginexhobbit but make it sad🫶 also i listened to "farewell to dobby" while reading this, it adds so muchhh)

warnings - angst 💔

word count - 2.7k

For most of the time you’d been traveling with Thorin and his merry band of warriors, you could only account a few times you provided yourself useful to the group. Bofur was a whittler and toy maker, Oin a healer, Ori a scribe. Thorin and his sister-sons, the rightful heir to a kingdom. Even Bilbo had squeezed his way into a position of burglary, though he was hardly fit, and was still fighting to prove himself.

You?

A few stories around the campfire. Some questions answered about where you’d appeared from out of nowhere in particular. Mouth watering modern food recipes you babbled on about, over rabbit stew Bombur happily served on the cold nights on the road. And sure, you were getting good with a sword, but not nearly as skillful as the fearless fighter Dwalin.

You could see the malevolence and distaste in Thorin’s eyes when Gandalf decided for himself that you would make a fine addition to the group. After all, some otherworldly stranger happening upon them just as their fateful quest began was no coincidence. To him it meant something. But to the leader of the group? Danger? Deadweight? You couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it settled behind his cold, steel-blue eyes and swelled whenever he watched you fail miserably at every task given.

You simply weren’t built for a world like this.

Thorin didn’t hate you. He wasn’t necessarily fond of you either. And how you longed to fit in, impress him maybe. Break past whatever tough exterior that he used to keep a distance between the two of you. Pushing too much would surely annoy him, so you opted to keep to yourself, sitting back and placing yourself near Gandalf and the witty Bilbo Baggins, who seemed to have walked a few miles in your own shoes. If he could wear them, that is. Hoping maybe one day the King under the mountain would come around. Maybe.

But now, soaring over the horizon of a morning sun and above the towering mountains, on the feathered back of a massive bird, Bilbo had proven himself in his bravery, and you were alone and useless in your skills.

You were seated atop the same eagle as the halfling, right behind another that carried Thorin’s limp body in its talons, wind and the worried cries of his nephews rushing through your hair and past your ears. Azog’s fight was not an easy one. Not that you could do much anyways, dangling uselessly from a blazing pine tree and fingers slipping from its scorching branches. But Thorin, ever the brave, was taken down quickly.

Thank the lord for Gandalf’s endless alliances.

Now, the eagles circled a plateau, oddly sticking out from above high treetops like a sore thumb, and began to descend to its slanted surface where each member of the company jumped off. Some destination this was, hundreds of feet off the ground. You’d think they might find a safer spot to land this band of underground dwelling travelers but beggars can’t be choosers. At least you were out of harm's way for the time being. The eagle you and Bilbo rode flew low enough for you to hop off and land safely on the cliff’s surface, then turn and see Thorin, unconscious and unmoving, set down gently in front of the rest of the group.

They all crowded around him, shouting and shaking his body vigorously, but to no avail. Your stomach dropped when you heard one of them mutter a word that sounded like “dead”.

You rushed over, just getting a few glimpses of his face from behind the heads of thick hair and heavy fur coats circling him like vultures, Bilbo at your heels and following in curiosity.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Thorin! Thorin, wake up!” A hand tapped on the side of his face.

You immediately began shouting to clear some room. The sea of worried dwarves parted for you, just enough room to sling your haversack off your shoulders and lean down on your knees, bringing an ear to his mouth. They were right. Not a breath to be heard. Nor a pulse, you discovered, after placing your fingers to the side of his cold neck.

“No…no no, no.”

The company shared confused mutters and looks, worry lines still etched like canyons in their faces as they watched you clamor to unclasp his thick cloak and pull away as much clothing as you could from his chest.

Now, you were no doctor. Not even a medical student for that matter. Just barely scraping by with an art degree and two, low paying part-time jobs back home. Wherever that was. But, thankfully, those required CPR lessons back in junior high suddenly came rushing back to you, and you were gonna put to the best use you could.

You locked your elbows, flattened your palms, and then hastily pressed against the brute of his firm chest. Mahal, it was stubborn, and the armored shirt between your hands and his heart was no help, but acting quickly spared no time for shedding any more of his clothes. Again and again you pressed, one, two, just how the instructor taught you with her quick tongue and loud voice.

“An even pace! You’re going to lose him!”

The recall made your head spin, especially considering it might have been a bit comedic at the time, trying to revive an armless mannequin on the tile floor of your classroom. But under the steady pressure of your palms was a real person, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Gandalf landed somewhere behind you, being the last to touch ground, but he was forgotten in the sea of deep voices asking what you could possibly be doing.

By the 16th compression, you were beginning to break a sweat. Twenty, twenty one…

“Lass… what are ya’ doing?” Bofur's voice, usually friendly and jovial, was a low and cowering one. His question left the rest of the group quiet. You heard, but you didn’t answer. That would be for later when this was over. Preferably with a happy ending.

Thirty.

You moved to pinch Thorin's nose shut, tilting his head just slightly off the ground with the other hand tangled in his hair and breathed into his open mouth.

Any and all bewildered muttering was lost on the focus you had, to watch for any movement in his relaxed face.

You breathed again, and then bent over to listen. Nothing.

Now things began to get more grave than you’d taken them before.

You moved back to begin compressions again, this time pressing harder and deeper against his heart. You lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat gathering on your brow.

In your class, you were supposed to take turns, and rotate when one got tired so they could properly compress. But this wasn’t class.

Thorin was beneath the weight of your hands and his face was losing color.

“Come on… come on Thorin.”

You lost count after the 19th shove downwards, adrenaline kicking in and tears blurring the corners of your eyes as Thorin convulsed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder above.

“Lass… he-” you smacked it away, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach like fire that you spat out.

“No! No he’s not, n-not yet.”

Again, you breathed into his airway, heavy and even, like you were supposed to. You were doing everything right. So why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t he breathing?

This was the quietest you had ever heard the company. Only birds and the sound of your exhausted, heaving breaths and choking sobs floating in the cool morning air.

You moved back to compressions, starting again, one, two, three. You were begging him, hysterically pleading his unresponsive body to kick start back up.

“Please Thorin. Come on.”

Now tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, warm and bothersome and blinding, falling over your hands and his clothes. Your arms ached at the now desperate shoving against his heart. You looked pathetic, like a widow begging for scraps of Thorin’s lifeline, something to get him through. The ground dug harshly into your knees, bruising and irritating them through the pants as they dully scraped with each movement.

Twenty two.

You were slowing down, growing weary and tired from the work. But it wasn’t good enough. At this point, with the silent stares, you knew that even the ever stubborn dwarves had lost hope for their leader some time ago. And you had too, but now you were already getting past the twenty-fifth press down. Curse the lot of them, just staring down at you with pity as you sniffed and wiped the snot and tears from your face. And curse the beauty of the morning sun peaking over the mountains, so regal and beautiful, and staring down at the morose show of a sad little human weeping to herself.

“Please… please, God you idiot. Running down there like that.”

A cry frogged its way out of the back of your throat, raspy and gurgling. You lift his head for the third time, sniffed in and then pushed your shaking breath as hard as you could manage, pulled away, then back down to press your quivering lips upon his cold ones and-

A breath. Soft and faint, just barely there, and it slightly cooled the tears on your face.

You froze, staring down at Thorin to see his eyes twitch just slightly underneath their lids. Another exhale fled him, his time much more apparent, and his brows furrowed as he stirred awake. The gasps and shouts from the company, scrambling over and circling him like they did before to help him up as he came to.

“He’s alive!”

“A miracle! Bless the Valor!”

You lifted yourself from the ground, onto your feet, but the shock of your attempts actually working, and exhaustion, just left you to stumble backwards onto your butt, crying harder than before, in relief and joy, nonetheless sobbing like your life depended on it. You gave into the fatigue of your muscles, the tiredness from the adrenaline, and exhaustion from your sobs, and fell onto your back, covering your eyes with a forearm with the other limply laying on the ground next to you. Bilbo kneeled next to you and laid his small hand over yours, watching as the king was pulled to his feet and grimacing at the noises of his jovial party celebrating with shouting and laughing.

“You did it,” The burglar said quietly, just enough for you to hear. It wasn’t just amazement in his voice, but reassurance. Something to ground you, like the warm squeeze of his hand.

You trembled, breaths coming in and out with a shiver.

Thorin’s dazed when you slowly sit up off the ground to look at him, swaying about and being jostled as each excited dwarf embraced and jumped around him, and an arm shouldered over Kìli’s to keep his balance.

“You were dead.” Dwalin’s normally stony, hard-set face, was graced with the most horrified look you’d ever seen in your life, eyes widened and brows twisted upwards in awe. That seemed to settle everyone down enough, and shake Thorin from the rest of his stupor. Once again, the world around you was blessed with silence that you hadn’t gotten a taste of since you arrived. It was short lived.

“Dead?” Thorin asked, incredulous and confused.

“Ye’ weren’t breathing lad!” Gloin chimed in, “we thought you were gone!”

The king’s eyes narrow, and shift between the members of his party, blinking away a head rush.

“How is that possible?” The second set of words he’d spoken since he screamed Azog’s name. Thorin’s voice was low and rasping. He slowly turned, following the astounded, wide-eyed stares from the surrounding dwarves, boring into you like you were some God.

You sniffled, wiping at your reddened, runny nose with the sleeve of your shirt.

He lifted a jeweled hand to graze over his heart, where you were reviving him, just staring at the sad sight of your tearful eyes.

“She saved ya’, Thorin,” Balin’s voice is serious and somber, breaking the silence, “Brough’ ya’ back from near death. Mahal knows how.”

Thorin’s eyes grew sharp, brows furrowing and piercing into you, where you pulled yourself to sit on your knees. His fingers tightened around the cloth where his hand laid, clutching at his chest.

“You,” he gruffed, “You did this?”

“I-I… I didn’t know if it was gonna work.” Your throat tightened and squeezed. Great, even more tears flowed down your face. Thorin’s eyes held the same glint that made your stomach twist with embarrassment and shame. The least he could do is offer a nod of gratitude towards you. Instead, he tore free from the group, ripping his arm away off his nephew’s shoulder and stumbling towards you like a drunken fool, with thudding footsteps.

Dwalin calls after him uselessly, just hanging back and letting the scene play out.

When he stops in front of you, eyes firey and broad chest heaving breaths in and out, standing a few inches over where you’re knelt, all you can do is try not to look away. You’re glad you hadn’t.

A boa-tight grip took hold of your heart and tightened when you saw his features soften, worry lines and crow's feet disappearing in the appearance of a small, incredulous smile. His softened eyes lined themselves with the hint of tears catching like jewels in the morning sun. Thorin dropped down to his knees to meet your height in a hug that you could never have prepared yourself for. You freeze for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Thorin, fearless, merciless, King Under the Mountain was hugging, no, embracing you, with the force of a thousand winds and strength of ten thousand men, because he was alive, thanks to you. And you hugged him back, pulling closer than you already were, and grasping at the back of his shirt and cried into his shoulder. The dwarves cheered in excitement behind Thorin. Through the yelling and praise, you can hear Thorin’s low voice next to your ear.

“I cannot repay this deed. Thank you.”

You pull away to see the kindest, warmest smile your eyes had ever been blessed to lay upon. It knocked the breath from your lungs. The corners of his eyes and the arch of his nose wrinkled upwards. It suited his face much more than the cold and stoic stares he was prone to.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.” Was all you could huff out.

“Yet I did. I misunderstood you greatly.” Thorin wiped a tear from the side of your face, “You make a member of this group. My life is indebted to you. And you,”

He peered over your shoulder at a wide-eyed Bilbo Baggins, standing just past your shoulder. You helped him stand from the ground, arm linked in his to meet the hobbit.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he slipped free from your arm, and started toward Bilbo, just as he did you. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?”

Your face fell, akin to Bilbo’s solemn look. He stood there, taking the string of insults like a punching bag.

“That you had no place amongst us?”

And then he pulled the hobbit in just as he did you.

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.”

Your heart reeled, and this time you smiled along with the rest of the company’s rejoices, watching the surprised grin spread across Bilbo’s face. Thorin pulled away.

“I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, no. I would have doubted me, too.”

A hand planted itself on your shoulder, and you turned to look at Gandalf and his sagely smile.

“You’ve made yourself quite the home in these dwarves' hearts, young lady,” he said. It was comedic, the way his silvery hair and beard dramatically blew in the wind, “Perhaps once this has settled, you stay with them. I think you’d find yourself more than welcome in Erebor’s Halls.”

You hummed in thought. The band of travelers were gathered on the edge of the plateau, looking out in the distance towards the peak of the Lonely Mountain, calling their name through the mist.

Thorin turned back to look at you over his shoulder with a gentle smile, and nodded his head to you in a silent thanks. The ghost of a blush spread across his face.

“I just might.”

(aaaaaah! what did you guys think??? :3 it feels wonderful to get a full fic out after so long, ive had this idea in my head for dayyys ugh 💔 please send me some requests loves, i'm in desperate need of some comfort fics! don't forget to reblog and like!! love yas! 🩷🌺🌸🌷💝💞)

tag list : @kumqu4t @tolkien-fantasy @blueberryrock @to-be-frank-i-dont-care @luna-xial @legolaslovely @fizzyxcustard @pistachiozombie @imaginexhobbit @beenovel

[bitterkarella]

JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: i want you to sssay hello to Rowling: graham lineham Lineham: [wearing foil hat] free masons run the country Rowling: he'sss got sssome great ideasss you should hear

Poe: joanne you don't need to bring him here Poe: like, you really don't Rowling: he hass thingsss to sssay and you're ALL going to hear them Poe: this is really kind of off topic for us here Rowling: EVERYONE will hear them

Rowling: ssssee, yearsss ago i disssmisssed graham lineham'ssss babble as the bad opticsss ravingsss of a lunatic Rowling: but now that the overton window hass sshifted Rowling: i'm proud to sssay thessse bad opticsss ravingsss are quite good actually!

Rowling: go ahead, graham, tell them what you told me Lineham: trans people produce no great films, no music, no art Lineham: they're incapable of doing this basic human thing because they're subhuman Lineham: untermensch, if you will Rowling: isssn't he great?

Lineham: trans books are always universally panned because of their incoherence Billy Martin: Hailey Piper: Eve Harms: Gretchen Felker-Martin: Joe Koch: M. Lopes da Silva: Arden Powell: Lor Gislason: Julya Oui: LC von Hessen: GE Woods: Michelle Belanger: Rain Corbyn: SA Chant:

FT Catulla: Viktor Athelstan: Meagan Hotz: Ziggy Schutz: Rose Sable: WN Derring-Judith: Charles Maria Tor: Devaki Devay: Dayna Ingram: Ori Jay: Ai Burton: Gabriel Valentine: Cosmin-Mihai Birsan: Jei D Marcade: Rhiannon Rasmussen: Max Turner: Taylor J Pitts: Vincent Endwell:

Bri Crozier: Theo Hendrie: Derek des Anges: Briar Ripley Page: Winter Holmes: gaast: Maya Deane: Charles-Elizabeth Boyles: Layne van Rensburg: Amanda M Blake: May Leitz: Alison Rumfitt: Rivers Solomon: Lillian Boyd: Torrey Peters: Taliesin Neith: Daniel M. Lavery: Joss Lake: Aubrey Wood: Jonah Wu:

Daphne du Maurier: Patricia Highsmith: Franz Kafka: Kafka: wait Kafka: why did the camera pan to me

Barker: oh you know why haha Poe: clive Kafka: why Kafka: [hugging blåhaj] i don't know what you mean

[rizz-penguin]

Me and my cat just bond over our distaste of human interaction

Autism & Animals

Neurodivergent_lou

[thegayestcat]

Only in Massachusetts do you dance in a bar/club and lock eyes with Ben Franklin

[rizz-penguin]

If you don't love me at my

You don't deserve me at my

[g0thnico]

How I would make Nico and Percy an end game

(a very long text that I wrote at 3 am):

Before Percy threw himself into the River Styx, Nico would declare himself, as neither of them knew if this would work, so all that romantic tension that was between Percy/Rachel/Annabeth would turn into Percy/Rachel/annabeth/Nico, this would help Percy think more about his feelings about Nico, so he would be "rejected" by Rachel and still be thinking about Nico's declaration. thanks to that Annabeth and Percy would never have dated and Percy would still be thinking that during the holidays after the war in Manhattan.

Percy would be kidnapped by Hera, she would remind him of Annabeth to manipulate him, he would find Nico and remember him (even though that shouldn't happen) okay, everything goes normally, but Percy's decisive moment in his decision would be when Annabeth saw him and immediately spun him around in a judo strike. From that moment on, he understood which of the two really cared about him.

Everything would go on normally again until they find Nico in the jar, Percy rescues him and they have a talk about feelings (as much as they both hate it, Percy knew it was necessary) They kind of go into a state of "let's get to know each other before we date" and that doesn't last long because suddenly Percy is in Tartarus with Annabeth. In Tartar, Percy and Annabeth talk about this situation with Nico (he doesn't mention that Nico also likes him because Nico hasn't come out of the closet yet) and they understand each other, realizing that maybe they would be better as friends anyway, They find bob and Percy is like "did Nico say that?" And falling more and more in love. When he poisons that goddess to save Annabeth, he feels resentful when she simply acts like he's a monster and tells him not to use those powers.

On the other hand, Nico and Jason go to Cupid to get that scepter and Nico has to admit about his crush on Percy, but that's not so bad now that they're in a situationship, Cupid is kind of happy about it instead "muahahaha unrequited love! Pain! Suffering!" But he's still upset about being pulled out of the closet, but Jason accepts him and suddenly he became the #0 percico shipper.

when they meet again, after tartarus, Annabeth and Jason end up finding a way to get Percy and Nico alone to clarify things (and even kiss but that doesn't happen), Nico explains about cupid and Jason and Percy vents about Annabeth and misery.

This is a good start for them to get to know each other better and Jason was 100% trying to get them together, but it will take a while because they need to develop more to be ready to really to fall in love.

When they have to separate, when Nico stops to take the Athena Parthenon, Percy promises that as soon as this war is over, they would go on a date. and when Percy is leaving to prepare and face Gaia, he gets a lucky kiss.

(in this part I'm only going to talk about Nico because Percy's part doesn't have anything very relevant to the couple)

I don't remember exactly the order of things that happened in this book but:

Nico meets the Artemis hunters and something in him tells him to reveal himself to Thalia, after all, if her brother knows why not?

Before taking his nap, he ends up revealing he will go on a date with Percy to Reyna, he doesn't know her reaction as he went to sleep afterwards but she was like "oh, good for you man"

When he meets Hades, they have that father and son conversation and at the end he just says "...and I'm dating Percy" and hades "...the son of Poseidon? Wasn't there someone better?"

When Nico arrives at camp and Will Solace is babbling about births, and he just holds Nico's hand to place on his chest, in Nico's mind it's like "get out, I have a boyfriend" but he doesn't say that

This whole Nico arc is basically him finally feeling good enough about himself to come out to his friends and dad, but not good enough to disclose it to anyone. Still, it is a greater evolution than the original book.

The end of the war arrives and Nico is slowly turning into a ghost, Leo has died and so has Octavian, the air smells of death and victory and they need to rest.

The first thing Percy does as soon as he is free is to look for Nico, who was in the infirmary after using his powers a lot. Despite being tired, Nico never asks Percy to stop talking when he starts to tell every little thing about the battle when they were apart, and as soon as he finishes Nico lets out a "I love you, but right now I need to sleep for the next week." Percy thought he was joking when this literally happened. Reyna explained that this was normal and during Nico's nap, he planned their date.

The date: Percy was dressed up (like, with an improvised suit) and had a (stolen) rose in his hand, he took Nico to the entrance of the camp where Sally was prepared as his official driver (inside she was MY SON'S FIRST BOYFRIEND!!!) and there were snacks in the car because the trip would be long (They spent this time in the car talking about Nico's journey and how he came out to his father, Thalia and Reyna). Percy had asked for reservations at an Italian restaurant (a real one, with Italian chefs), because he remembered that Nico is Italian and he probably hasn't eaten real Italian food since he was a kid. They talk about everything, school, camp, friends, family. Until they both realize that neither of them know exactly what they want to do in the future. Nico wanted to continue life the way that is, doing missions for his father, traveling and meeting Percy (usually to save his life buuut who cares) While Percy wanted to have a normal life, going to camp in the summers to meet his friends and help the New demigods, but without going on missions all the time or risking your life, only if absolutely necessary, but still working in the mortal world (he doesn't want to go to college) and have his own house.

To conclude: they both followed their respective lifestyles, but they still met practically every day, and when they didn't, they called each other. Eventually they were falling in love. They only told a few people (Hazel, Reyna, Rachel, Annabeth, Jason, Grover, Thalia and Clarisse) and it was ok!

no one expected that this would end, But love is like that, it's very unpredictable

[oriathura]

It's my 10 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

:0 10 whole years of occasionally posting art, I appreciate all of y'all that have stuck around

[skegulium]

Cat's Getting Out of the Bag

@rebatrolls

"Orivar's SUCH a hardass!"

The corners of her lips twitched and turned downward at the poorly hushed complaining of her little shitten. Baiyan's trying her best to be subtle, but she's never been good at controlling her voice - especially when she's railing against whatever rules she's been placed under.

"I know like, it's the rules of the ball to make us leave after 10, but like! We could pass as old enough Phemoe! Ugh, she just needs to help vouch for us, it's not like we'd get in any worse trouble than -" Baiyan's words were cut off with a sharp yelp as Orivar's cane rapped hard against the back of her ankles.

"Watch your mouth," Orivar scolded as the child stumbled. "And my name is Lu. Mind yourself."

Big, baleful olive eyes stared and sulked at her little reprimand, but Ori paid no mind to it. Children needed to be taught lessons lest they become a little bit too full of themselves. Wild children had to be tamed.

(There was something to be said about the way Orivar was distinctly reminded of her own caretaker's behavior when she was younger and with his wooden spoon and how much she fussed about that, but she refused to explore that memory further.)

Next to the two of them, Phemoe blinked her even larger, more baleful eyes at the two of them. Chin pointed up, she straightened her shoulder and flicked her long, braided hair over one shoulder of her loose, crimson robes to pat gently at the gold leaves mounted against her horns. "I have foresaw," She drawled ominously. Oh joy, her psychic persona was taking the reigns again. "During our glorious entrance into the castle grounds, deep within the courtyard and as we stood upon the shores of babbling lake -" Fountain, Orivar thought, "- Was an ominous sign of bad luck for trolls. The aural reading I pulled from the golden apple given to our most dearest leader -" Orivar shot her a moody look, "- and the way the leaves fell post apple harvest meant that we do not have long for this world."

She paused. Baiyan stared at her, mouth agape. "Do you mean -"

"By world! That is to say!" Phomoe interrupted dramatically with a flair of fin, "This world of magic and wonder!"

Baiyan sagged in relief at her words while Orivar pinched the bridge of her nose. Still, the seadweller continued.

"I believe we will soon come across ill fated encounters, ties to pernicious scenarios trapped in the shards of frozen time, which henceforth will cause us to begin a quick flight from these grounds. That, my beloved diamond, is the future that I have foresaw as the Oracle of Delphi."

Phomoe fell quiet after her declaration, eyes half lidded and expectant as she held her sheaves of wheat against her chest. Expectant for what? None of the trio knew, not even her. Baiyan looked as perplexed as ever hearing her moirail's 'divination' while Orivar simply looked upon her with exhaustion. As much as she's told the child she never did believe in the so-called future sight of seadwellers (psychic abilities never showed in their cooler bloods after all) the child still insisted.

Still, regardless of what Orivar thought, the two of them continued their shenanigans despite it. Baiyan looked increasingly introspective as she digested her words, and her brow furrowed before Phomoe gasped and grabbed her hand, pointing towards a troll across the way.

"Look! Forsooth!" Forsooth? Orivar squinted in confusion, "A hero in the flesh! Hercules himself, draped in the pelt of the monstrous Nemean lion!" The three of them swiveled to look where Phomoe pointed, instantly spotting the massive troll towering over the rest of the guests. With tight braided hair, too much skin showing, and a glorious cape of the whitest lion skin Orivar has seen, he was hard to miss, though she was unsure how much a lusii skin could really carry an outfit. Animal skins are a dime a dozen and with not much else to help accentuate it? Mediocre, at best -

But did the children share the same thoughts? Orivar grimaced as the answer was absolutely not as the two of them immediately bee-lined towards the troll to leave her in the dust. "Is that a real Lusus pelt?" Baiyan's voice floated over the crowd. The tops of her curls barely hit at his elbow as he turned to stare at the two wrigglers accosting him.

"Did you kill it yourself, O Descendant of Zeus?"

"Wait - the fangs are gold! Did it have gold teeth?!"

"Impervious to blade and spear you may be, but surely not to the chill of Hel herself touching the air - are you not cold?"

"Can I touch it?"

Alright alright alright - time to stop this party before it gets started.

Orivar was quick to step in once Baiyan's hands started reaching for the fur and she used the end of her cane to knock her hand away from the troll. "Can you two behave yourselves without attacking this man all at once?" She said, firm enough to make Baiyan pout and Phomoe blink. "Ask and don't touch. Greet and introduce yourselves. Don't act like animals."

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fireplace

Written for @lordoftherazzles. Have a little cosy warm ficlet <3

(Sorry, I posted the fic for the 25th yesterday, so we do a switcheroo)

Characters: Thorin x Bilbo

Words: 1 760

Warnings: elves, dwarves, men, a fireplace...very fluffy, very legal, very cool

Thorin scowled but wiped the discontented expression off his face almost instantly—after all, distasteful as it might have been to him, this project was his very own.

Usually, he and Bilbo spent the winters in the Shire where the climate was more clement and the cold not as biting, but due to the upcoming wedding of his nephew, they had decided to stay in Erebor this time.

The brave Hobbit had not expressed any unhappiness about it, but the King knew, nevertheless, that the howling wind and the pervasive chill were gnawing on him relentlessly.

Bilbo, for all his inner fortitude, was not wrought of hard, non-corroding metal—his was a world of soft comforts, and Thorin was determined to provide as much solace as he could to his beloved.

Thus, he had invited both Bard and Thranduil—loathsome, overly critical intruders—to his realm to help him devise a fireplace that would bring not only welcome and much-needed warmth but also earnest joy to his gentle consort.

Even though Bilbo had expressed genuine, enthusiastic admiration for all the dwarven crafts and mechanisms in Erebor, Thorin suspected that the great furnaces and functional grates were not entirely to his liking.

As the little smial had been discreetly decorated with the angular, geometric patterns of Thorin’s home over time, the King of the Lonely Mountain considered it only proper and fair that he’d make some allowances for the aesthetic sensibilities of his cherished partner in return.

“It’s beautiful,” Bard now commented, grinning widely at their masterpiece.

“It is good,” Thranduil admitted while meticulously straightening the tassels of an intricately embroidered rug that had been sent all the way from Imladris. “He deserves nothing less.”

Smiling grimly, Thorin nodded. He was aware that Bilbo was much more popular than he would ever be, and despite his profound distrust for the Elves and all their creations, he was happy to see how generously they had contributed to the small sitting room he had prepared for Bilbo.

“Now get lost,” he rumbled when Ori slipped in, his arms bending under the weight of a stack of books he was carrying as a last addition to the homely sanctuary. “I don’t know how long Fíli and Kíli can distract my love before he comes looking for me.”

As foreseen, Thorin found Bilbo—red-cheeked and laughing—in the Great Hall where he was engaged in a complicated game of dice. By the looks of frustration and dismay on his nephews’ faces, the Hobbit was also winning which gladdened Thorin’s heart even further.

“Ah, my dear, I shall soon own all the riches of Erebor,” Bilbo hooted as he tilted up his face to receive the forceful kiss he knew Thorin would give him. “This is a hostile take-over!”

“Erebor’s resources are at your disposal,” three Durins said at the same time, in the same self-evident tone, and Bilbo hid his face in his hands for a moment.

They always seemed so ruthlessly efficient and lethally competent that he seemed to regularly forget how sweet and gentle their hearts were—thankfully, they found enough opportunities to remind him that, beneath a tough veneer of polished metal and unyielding stone, they had the best, bravest, and most loyal souls.

“Come, leave the princes to lick their wounds,” Thorin prompted and pulled the other up by a pudgy, soft hand. “There is something I want to show you.”

Confusion and earnest curiosity shone on the handsome, homely face of the Hobbit as he let himself be dragged out of the room without putting up any resistance.

“Ah, the winters in Erebor are a sight to behold,” Bilbo babbled as they walked towards their bedroom. “Thorin?” Smouldering, sensual excitement thrummed in his voice now as he realised in which direction they were headed.

“As much as I wish…” the dwarven king laughed and pointed at the door that had been off-limits for his consort for a whole while now.

“Oh? I finally get to see what secrets you’ve hidden in there? I tried to pry it out of the princes—and I almost got Kíli to the point of letting something slip—but, ultimately, I could not learn anything I didn’t know already.” Visibly peeved by this, Bilbo accelerated his steps, so eager was he to finally get to the bottom of the mystery.

When the door swung open, a soft gasp escaped him.

“What is this then?” he murmured dazedly, even though he was much too astute not to recognise a sitting room when he saw one.

The bare stone walls had been covered with warm, dark wood and a comfortable-looking armchair sat on a beautifully woven rug—both had clearly been made by the Elves, and Bilbo’s head swivelled around slowly to gaze at his lover in speechless shock. He knew only too well how much Thorin objected to his neighbours and their faraway kin, so he could hardly imagine him inviting their craftsmen and artists to work on a room inside his hallowed, jealously guarded mountain.

“Let me,” Thorin grinned and went to kneel by the main draw of the private sitting room: the immense, intricately carved fireplace.

If his hands shook a little while he coaxed the reluctant embers into roaring flame, it was only understandable after all the trouble he had gone through to create this warm, cosy, safe space for his husband.

“You had this made for me?” Bilbo asked in a choked voice as he stepped closer to the richly adorned mantelpiece and traced the impressively detailed decorations of dragons, forests, and acorns. “This is the story of our adventure,” he whispered, entranced by the beauty of the craftsmanship.

“Your adventure, to be exact,” Thorin corrected gently and, getting back to his feet, tapped his finger against the first carving on the far left that depicted Bilbo’s little smial. “I am not entirely convinced by the way these pointy-eared bastards decided to represent me,” he grumbled, frowning at the burly, long-bearded, overly surly-looking doter in the middle of the fireplace’s border, “but I think that they did a solid job otherwise.”

“You…for me?” Bilbo repeated, his eyes starry with wordless delight and deep gratitude. “Why?”

“Well, there is a small smithy in the back garden of Bag End,” Thorin replied sheepishly. “You’ve been so very good at making space for me and ensuring that I’d feel welcome and comfortable in your home. As we stay here for the winter…”

“OH! But I love being here,” Bilbo exclaimed. “Bofur will make me a sleigh, and the boys and I shall have a wonderful time in the snow!”

Cupping Thorin’s bearded cheeks between his warm, slightly trembling hands and pulling that serious face down for a passionate, tender kiss, the Hobbit smiled indulgently. “I love Erebor,” he said. “It is cold and draughty, sure, but it has its own charm. I would not have agreed to stay here for the season if I did not honestly want to.”

His button nose twitched expressively—they both knew that, by now, Bilbo was indeed rarely the kind of creature to hide his displeasure or unwillingness. “More than anything, though, I love being here with you,” he insisted, “and this is wonderful, but it was not necessary.”

Leaning his still furrowed brow against the smooth one of his darling, Thorin gave a deep, shuddering sigh.

“You are the very best partner any Khâzad could ever dream of,” he murmured and slung his strong arms possessively around the lighter, narrower frame of the Hobbit. “Mahal be blessed—I often think that I do not deserve the love of one so kind and understanding.”

“Have you fallen on your head?” Bilbo laughed, reminding his spouse that he had forced him to clean and air out all the stuffy furs of last season only that morning. Thorin had grumbled extensively but had ended up complying. “If anything, I have become even more spoiled since knowing you.”

“Nonsense,” Thorin objected. “You are the very soul of bravery and resilience, dealing with my kin and people, charming my sister, and keeping Erebor up and running like clockwork without ever raising your voice!”

Chuckling sheepishly, Bilbo leaned into the embrace of the dwarven king he so adored and hummed happily as he felt tiny kisses being peppered onto the crown of his messy curls.

“Bombur shall bring up cupcakes soon,” Thorin whispered, his icy blue eyes warming as Bilbo’s head flew up and warm hazels lit up with eager delight. “He thanks you very kindly for your recipe—he said he might have added a distinctly dwarven twist to the rich creaminess of the sweet syrup.”

“Meat, you mean?” Bilbo laughed.

“You really did think of everything, haven’t you?” he then murmured and sank back into the strong, protective arms that would have been more than enough to keep the biting cold at bay as far as he was concerned. “I am so grateful for the immense effort you’ve made. Tell me, do I see foreign influences?”

“You’ve been so enamoured with the Elven designs.” Embarrassed, Thorin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly—at the time they had passed through Rivendell, he had still pretended that he was in no way unduly interested in or attracted by their burglar.

The small squeak of emotion and joy escaping a much more sedate and fully claimed Bilbo now was worth a moment of painful truth though.

“You are well-liked, my love,” the King admitted. “Everyone has fallen over their feet to help.”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy?” Bilbo teased and pressed a soothing, tender kiss onto the warm skin of Thorin’s throat, just above the richly embroidered hem of his handsome tunic. “You needn’t be. As gratified as I am by the willingness of our friends to contribute to my happiness, I really only need you by my side!”

Mollified by this reassurance, Thorin led him over to the soft, inviting sofa and, together, they sat down with a low grunt of relaxation. Soon, Bilbo’s legs were swung over the armrest and his head was resting in Thorin’s lap while thick, blunt fingers carded through his soft hair distractedly.

“You are such a romantic—you’ve remembered all the things that we would have done in the Shire. I’ve never thought that you’d pay that much heed to our silly little habits.”

Snorting in vexation, Thorin tilted his bearded chin down to look at his most precious of gems.

“Maybe,” he said playfully, “it was I who missed the comforts of Bag End.”

Thank you so much for reading <3

-> Masterlist for November