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Go back to your books… and your armchair. Plant your trees. Watch them grow. 🍁☕️
(The whirlwind with which these two characters have cemented themselves into my psyche. I adore them so much... l'd like to think this takes place in the depths of Erebor. While they have a still moment together. Soft, shy confessions before the raging storm.) 🥲
His fingers ached as they contorted further into the narrow crevice, arm straining against the unfortunate angle.
"Oh come on, you blasted - hiding - stupid -"
Bilbo floated head over tail in the water, bobbing slightly in the current. He'd stuck his arm into the hollow in the rock almost all the way up to his elbow, and yet, the little critter eluded him. He'd already chipped a claw, digging into the rock to pull himself closer, to get that last inch, that last push.
A smarter mer might have given up. A single oyster was not worth the challenge, the effort. There were others, certainly - Bilbo's little satchel already held three of them, wrangled from other cracks and crannies.
But that one… it was big, it was fat, it held promise of juicy meat and fine aged slime. Bilbo huffed as his arm, the one wedged deep between stone, scraped against the walls uncomfortably. He'd have a few bruises, that was for sure. But dammit, he wanted that oyster. He had never seen one so big, and his stomach was clenching in mere anticipation.
No wonder it had gotten so big, tucked away as it was.
"Hrghhhh -"
His fingers touched shell.
"Hah!"
Gently, gently, he wiggled it loose, pinching it between his fingers in the only way the narrow space allowed, and pulled.
At first, the blasted thing didn't budge. But then it came free with a lurch so powerful it knocked Bilbo's wrist into the stone from the way he'd been pulling. He hissed against the slight throbbing sting. But that was quickly forgotten when he extracted his hand, oyster secured.
seeing people say "this trope has been done to death" as if that's ever stopped anyone from eating bread. BREAD HAS BEEN DONE TO DEATH FOR LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF YEARS AND WE STILL WANT MORE BREAD. write your chosen one AU. write your coffee shop meet-cute. write your 47th iteration of "there was only one bed" because guess what??? we're still hungry.
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The ravens were soaring above screeching at the top of their lungs and managing to get in the way of any of the guards with ropes trying to stop the rams. Bilbo’s eyes were wide taking in the whole scene. His eyes quickly scanned the ground to make sure there wasn’t anyone else trapped or in danger of getting trampled, and that’s when his gaze fell to a fluttering and chirping mass of rope. Poor Thrush had somehow gotten himself tangled up, and was screaming for help as dwarves rushed by just narrowly missing him.
Bilbo raced forward as he fell to his knees, making soothing sounds as he tried to untangle the poor chick. Thrush was not having any of it as he bounced in place and screeched at Bilbo.
“What is it, Little One?” Bilbo cooed, petting his head.
That’s when he heard the shout of his name. Bilbo turned around to see one of those great rams with its head lowered, charging straight at them. Time seemed to slow down. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t look away, he couldn’t even breathe. He could only clutch Thrush tighter to his chest, and brace himself for the inevitable collision.
Excerpt from A Fierce and Jealous Love by @sunnyrosewritesstuff & illustrations by @raventhrush
To my 25 - 35 year olds, you've reached the age where people around you are starting to give up on themselves because they think it's too late. Don't let that energy rub off on you. It's not too late.
Thorin and Bilbo cuddling for warmth, because I love that trope and the huge fur coat is too, too fun to draw—and because the "come here" scene in Ere Break of Day by @alexaprilgarden compelled me to try to capture the moment.
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