#people who rant for copious amounts of time on tumblr
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Can't wait till this blog is old enough so posts start showing in main tags, but for now, a salty lil rant
Shipping aside, I'm surprised by how Laios + Marcille even as friends doesn't get as much fan attention as I expected considering how heavily the series focuses on their development? I consider Laios to be the protag and Marcille to be the secondary protag but I can see the argument for the two of them being dual protags especially starting from around Thistle's house arc / Marcille becoming the dungeon lord. The protagonists are party members who bond over losing and finding a loved one. They save each other multiple times and live with each other in the end. They get copious amounts of screentime together and separate. They clearly care for each other and love each other (in whatever way). And there's no forced romance.
Before I read the manga, I saw all the yuri on my TL and was like YESSSSSS I'M READING THIS FOR THE YURI WOOOOOO and finished the Red Dragon anime episodes like "wow that was soooo good and gay. Let me go on Tumblr to see what people are talking about— people are shipping Marcille and LAIOS??? Probably annoying straight people who cannot conceptualize a friendship between a man and woman 🙄". So I started out with a squick for the ship. I think the fan perception made me believe F/M is canon and anything else would be like queer erasure? Except I later learned no ship is canon and was genuinely confused when the manga started giving us L/M crumbs (like the succubus chapter) because I thought the shippers were pulling this ship from thin air lmao.
The more I read, the more I was like.... "okay.... why are they kinda... okay I get it now... why am I.... oh shit... I'm really in it now" and I apologise because I really get it now 😭 and it baffles me to see people who have seemingly finished the manga going "Laios and Marcille have NO CHEMISTRY their only line of connection is through Falin". Like, okay, maybe that was how they were at the beginning (but I would argue they have chemistry even from the first few chapters), but that's the POINT and we get to see them evolve and get closer because they both love and miss Falin. Laios moves on from being "Falin's brother" and Marcille moves on from being "Falin's friend". L+M know about each other's deepest, subconscious desires. Marcille lives with the siblings at the end. No matter the bond, they are the two most precious people to her.
I was still squicky about romantic L/M even at the succubus chapter (which I know is probably the starting point for a lot of shippers) but THEN THE RABBIT CHAPTER. And after that when the Canaries found Marcille and she immediately jumped onto Laios I was like "Oh fuck. I'm really in this now fuck fuck FUCK". (Nothing makes me get into a dynamic more than having an initially squicky reaction because I'll need to have a strong enough conviction to overcome the squick LOL)
Anyways. Seeing people being annoying and pissy about L/M only made me like L/M more 🤡 because at least the shippers appreciate their bond. I'm a little desperate here. Even their platonic bond is kind of a rarepair in the English fandom 💀
I'm so glad the anime is going at the pace it is now because this is only the beginning of the L+M development!!!! The anime onlies will understand later!!! I made the same mistake and judged too early and I'm sorry!!!! So many anime L+M moments and panels and crumbs yet to be seen 🥺
Anyways. Laios and Marcille's bond is absolutely central to the plot and character development. But I wouldn't have guessed that if I didn't read the manga and just based it off fan attention.
#mine#salt#once again my duo with copious amounts of screentime and canon support is seen as a rarepair in the fandom lol#even as just a platonic duo that doesnt 'threaten' other ships#'theyre like siblings' 'theyre siblings in law' ok sure but before that they were fellow party members and companions and FRIENDS IN CANON#after the end of the manga they are no longer solely defined by their mutual connection to falin!!!! (arguably this started midway thru)#besides. for shipping. people can have two hands#also in my mind laios had a squish / platonic crush on marcille#[clears throat] i love it when and a man and a woman are friends. sometimes their bond compels me more than- [THROWN OUT OF THE DUNGEON]
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A (Really Long) Intro Post
Hey there, I’m Katie! Back at it again with yet another side blog. I say yet another because I have split a lot of my interests into sub-categories to make me less nervous about sharing them, I guess. Despite how bad I am at them, intro posts are supposed to have actual intros in them, so here you go?
As of right now I’m a 23 year old aroace artist and writer living in Canada, trying desperately to find a direction for my life, like most mentally ill 20-somethings do. My goals involve drawing, writing and self-publishing my own original stories, which is what this blog is for.
I have a background in animation, but I do character design, graphic design, illustration, comics, writing and worldbuilding. I even dabble in a bit of HTML and CSS coding here and there, like some kind of multi-headed hydra (or well-established identity crisis).
I love video games, cartoons, anime, movies, music, novels, comics, a whole mess of things. With a particular focus on the cute, colourful and otherwise fantastical!
I call this blog a “storybook” because it will have content about the stories I’m making, but also a bit about my personal story while making them. I hesitate to call this blog a full-on writeblr, as there will be some writing, yes, but I will also be talking about personal experiences with creative endeavours and generally note my progress and musings on the subject. Not necessarily as curated as a typical writeblr would be. Like me, it’ll be a bit of everything.
Why not use my personal blog for this? Well, I can’t think of another place to put this stuff (other than spamming a friend with it at 1am every so often), and I thought others might find it interesting as well if I had a dedicated place to put it rather than flooding my dash over there. Either way, I think it’ll help to put it somewhere rather than nowhere, especially if I really need to get it out of my head. As you can probably tell by now, posts like these can get very long, so having a separate place is another advantage. Anyone who might see it can choose to follow this or any of my other blogs depending on what part of me they want to see, rather than having to see all of it at once.
My current blog list, if you’re wondering:
@sweet-star-cookie is my main personal blog, a sort of catch-all for my interests, be it cartoons or silly videos I watch at 2am. I also reblog my art and comic posts here. I am most active here when it comes to reblogs and messaging. I do accept asks on all of my blogs, but I check this one daily.
@akysi is my main art blog, where I post my finished artwork on average every 3-5 days (barring any unforeseen circumstances). I’m primarily a digital artist, but I do post traditional stuff on occasion.
@sweet-star-sketches is my sketch blog, which only updates if I have a sketch or WIP I feel comfortable with sharing, but I also link finished works if it came from that initial sketch.
@starglasszodiac is the blog for my current webcomic project, Starglass Zodiac (I’ll talk more about this and my other projects later on). I plan on being more active on this blog in the near future, but you can still go there for updates on the comic itself.
You can also follow me at these other social sites if you like:
My Main Website | Twitter | Instagram | Facebook | Pinterest | DeviantART | Weasyl | FurAffinity | YouTube | Toyhouse
As a general note, while I don’t wish to turn this blog into one about mental health specifically, I have anxiety and depression, so that will likely appear in one way or another in some of these posts, especially with the ones talking about how difficult being a creative person can be. That said, I don’t want to make this blog inherently negative either, for my sake and yours. I’m just here doing stuff, and if you want to come along for the ride then welcome, fellow voyager!
#sweet-star-storybook#intro#blog intro#artists on tumblr#writers on tumblr#people who rant for copious amounts of time on tumblr
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i’m tired and i’m pissy so i’m gonna go on a quirky tumblr rant 😳 /j, before i go to bed.
i think it’s really fucking stupid how the majority of this fandom treats c!tubbo. i don’t speak about him often but i’m just as much of an apologist for him as i am tommy, and i think it’s weird how this fandom has decided to treat him. most of the “hot takes” about his character have either been 1. saying he’s a bad friend to c!tommy, saying that he didn’t care about him since the beginning/he’s replaced him & that he’s done nothing to hurt him. or 2. saying that c!tommy has been a bad friend to him, he deserves to leave tommy behind and/or that he’s been through a lot more than tommy and he deserves better than him, and it’s just ,,, holds head. god i’m sick and fucking tired of it.
i’m just gonna say it here and now; the reason most people don’t like c!tubbo — the reason most c!tommy apologists don’t like tubbo is because he “exiled tommy”, and yea, from an outside view you’d think that that wasn’t fair and you’d hate him for it, but if you were to watch his pov you would see that he was being manipulated by dream into exiling tommy: it isn’t something that he did — it isn’t a conscious decision he made with the intent/purpose to hurt c!tommy because he fucking hates him, because that’s something people like to throw around, because after he’d exiled tommy, he outwardly showed regret and said he’d missed c!tommy multiple times; that doesn’t sound like something somebody would do if they hated somebody. my memory isn’t the best but he had a scene with ghostbur, iirc, where they were speaking about guilt in the nether and c!tubbo spoke about exiling tommy once again, and they were using the blue as a metaphor for guilt and were throwing it into the lava, and tubbo threw,, so much blue into the lava, man, and if that doesn’t tell you how awful he’d probably felt about exiling c!tommy, i don’t know what was. people in this fandom tend to portray c!tubbo a lot worse in the exile arc for tommy angst purposes, but he wasn’t a cruel fucking dictator — he wasn’t “just like schlatt”, he didn’t fucking exile tommy because he hates him, man’s was literally just a child who was shoved under copious amounts of stress and a position of power when he was a fucking minor and was manipulated into exiling his best friend because he was told it was for the best for his country. and, another thing i see people hating on c!tubbo for is for “replacing tommy with ranboo”, and i’m just shevwjwbjwh,,, sigh. he didn’t replace tommy with ranboo in canon, he was grieving his best friend when tommy was canonically fucking dead, and ranboo was one of the only people that was there for him when he basically didn’t have anyone else — when his best friend was gone, you’re gonna look at me and tell me you wouldn’t get close to someone under those circumstances as well? and, even before tommy died in the prison he’d still been stuck in there with dream for awhile — he’d still been away from c!tubbo, so no!! fucking!! shit!! he would get close to someone else when his best friend wasn’t around, ranboo was the only person he’d probably had at that time!! that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about c!tommy anymore, it’s the complete opposite, and god damn it he’s full in his rights to not know how to behave around c!tommy, to be standoffish around him; this is the second fucking time he’s thought his best was dead only for him to pop up like nothing happened, it’d be surprising if he was completely normal with him after that.
how people treat c!tubbo in this fandom is bullshit, because it’s either 1. saying that he’s the awful one in clingy duos friendship, or. 2. saying tommy’s the awful one in their friendship, and it’s like ,,, god damn it guys, can’t we have the fucking middle ground. c!tubbo and tommy aren’t awful to each other. sure, they’re codependent on each other, but it’s natural for them to be regarding everything they’ve been through — everything they’ve been through that’s left each other being the only one the other can rely on, but that doesn’t mean either of them are fucking awful to each other — are cruel to each other. people putting clingy duo against each other was prominent in the exile arc the most and it’s been something that’s continued on ever since and,,, can we just fucking acknowledge that c!clingy duo are traumatized kids, and they’re going to have arguments, they’re going to hurt each other, but that doesn’t mean one is the victim and the other one is the tormentor — that doesn’t mean one of them is awful to each other, it just means they’re kids and they’re going to make mistakes and putting them against each other when, in canon they’d probably punch you for doing shit like that isn’t gonna get you anywhere, man /hj.
this rant was mostly about people painting c!tubbo as the evil one in their relationship because he’s the one i’ve seen people do this shit most frequently, but it’s both of them as well, and it’s just . i just. bonks you all on the head. clingy duo canonically love each other /p, and you’re gonna be an apologist for one of ‘em and not the other? doesn’t add up, chief.
tldr: c!tubbo isn’t the evil one in clingy duos relationship — there isn’t an evil one in their relationship in general, you’re just an asshole /nm
#clingy duo and tubbo apologists come get this meal#i’m tired#and i’m pissy#too tired to check for misspellings you’re gonna have to deal with this shit </3 /lh#mcyt#mcytblr#dream smp#tommyinnit#mcyters#dream smp spoilers#/roleplay#/rp#tubbolive#tubbo#clingy duo#long post
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2, 5 and 12 with blitzwing 👀 and 7 for mccree! (@robotlover)
@selfshippinglover
Ok I'm gonna make a separate post for Mccree later bc theres a lot and I'm just gonna do a few with him. Thank y'all for waiting on this!
1) what’s a Hot Take you have about your f/o?
Blitzwing would absolutely hesitate to love someone because he has self esteem issues and everyone always throws that out the window when writing him in a romantic scenario. Only when he's the character that's gotta be uwu depressed and romanticizing it is anyone noticing that. This bot has gone through a horror show and he would feel like a burden to whoever he has feelings for because he's just the crazy triple changer that no one respects or likes.
2) on what do you disagree with other fans of your f/o?
Ok this is a bit lemony for my blog but Blitzwing isn't a sex crazed power top and y'all need to get that through your minds, he's Ace or Demi. Yes I'm projecting but I'm still right bc giant alien robots canon don't have that "equipment" boo me all you want I'm still right.
3) did you used to ship your f/o with anyone before realizing you wanted to ship them with yourself?
No actually! I have honestly never actually like.. shipped characters that weren't cannon. I've rarely liked romance in media. I have faint memories of shipping Fluttercord though..
4) do you feel like you have to defend your f/o all the time?
I feel like most folks project so much onto him theres nothing left but on the other end there's folks who just made the stupidest things of how he's an uwu feral boi and I wanna yell underwater. There are a few things I agree with fanon about but those are very few things.
5) what’s the dumbest thing you’ve heard about your f/o, either on the internet or irl?
The dumbest thing I've seen in canon and fannon is that he's an idiot. That just doesn't make sense?? He's shown to be a really smart guy in his first episodes even getting Ratchet into a chokehold forcing the autobots into a standstill until Megs calls him off. (Idiot move there boi)
6) what are some tropes that fan art of your f/o tends to follow?
That his "personalities" have separate bodies and bicker with each other. Which.. doesn't really make sense. If anything he'd be happy to have someone who understands him.
7) did your f/o deserve better?
He got used in an experiment that caused him severe psychological trauma and we don't even know if he was a willing patient. He was a deadly opponent in the first season that got nerfed into a henchman buffoon and shit talked anytime someone brought him up. My man was treated as a trophy in his final scenes to further the political career of an authoritarian xenophobic jerkwad. My mans deserved so much better..
8) do you even like the source your f/o comes from or do you only watch it for them & nothing else?
Oh I absolutely love Transformers animated!! It has such a unique personality compared to other iterations and it has the smartest megatron. Its also the show that got me into transformers (other than the first bay movies which I like much less)
9) do you distance yourself from other fans of your f/o or their source?
In the beginning? No. I was completely fine with all the weird fannon interpretation and ships (and we'll fucking get to that) but I didn't think about it. Nowadays I stay away from anybody that draws blitzwing because if I go to their blog to see more, it turns out they've got 20 other posts tagged as bli***ee or interact with those who do or don't bother tagging ns//fw things
10) how did you feel when you realized “oh of course i had to like That Character”?
(Ok so I didn't really understand this one so I kinda gave 2 answers)
It was when I realized that he had the same emotional issues as me. Having BPD and living with folks with BPD is quite a rollercoaster but I saw so much of me in blitzwing I just wanted to be his friend at first and chill and then the emotions got so much deeper and now I've made fankids and we're happily married ksjdaksj.
But when I realized that he had the traits of the 3 main tumblr sexymen I had a "oh no, people are gonna be weird about him aren't they?.." moment but my heart was set anyway.
11) do you think it’s better to have a copious amount of content for your f/o, even with the risk of finding a lot of ship art, or better to have a lot less?
Oh god this is a tricky one because either 1 when the art isn't a ship and just him he's looking sad or bored or he's insane and never a nice wholesome happy or 2 its ship art. So uh ima say quality over quantity.
12) aren’t you tired of being nice? this is an excuse to rant.
LET'S FUCKING GOOOO!! Listen. LISTEN. I get loving Blitzwing. I fully get it. I also understand having a childhood crush on Bumblebee. Because I had that, as a *child*. Because Bumblebee behaved like a child. Because as a child. I enjoyed his antics. See where I'm going here? It's not that I don't like seeing Blitzwing shipped with other characters! Its really not! It squicks me a bit but it's totally ok! It's the fact that it's with a character who's supposed to be a little brother to the bots and the same age as Sari! Really any ship with Bumblebee or Sari feels very fucking *Yikes*. Not to mention the fact that it's always painted Blitzwing as someone to be fixed, someone who needs to change who they are to fit the wants of someone who showed them the slightest iota of kindness that he's so desperate for and that said person is an irresponsible child that could rival Blue from Fosters Home for Imaginary Friends, or it treats him like a beast that should be controlled by said child. It feels so ableist at best and pedophilia at worst and I'm so upset that more folks don't see it.
(Also want to add that the person who popularized the ship is known to draw porn of underage characters. Ya'll really love rose glasses to hide those red flags for the sake of "good" art huh?)
#shiny speaks#blitzwing#rant#self shipping#self ship#self insert#W O W ok that took so long#let me know if you need something tagged bc i know there's some serious stuff here#dont wanna squick anyone
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Can I ask for my URL for positivity?
send me a url and i’ll spread some positivity.
@fatesdesign
Where to start? This is going to get long and rambly and take many tangents but bear with me...
I have had the absolute pleasure of writing with this wonderful, amazing human being for over 4 years now; back when I was under the name wildlingmalia and she was under wolvesandadderall, the Stiles to my Malia and still is. Someone who was there for me during the anxiety attacks the show canon was bringing out with all their character bashing and the fan-baited forced shipping towards the end, and just being there for me and listening to my anxiety rants and sharing my views on such things.
The she deactivated and I ended up becoming inactive on that blog due to the toxic nature of that fandom here on tumblr at the time. Then fast forward to September 2018, I’m not in the indie fandom, I’m moving around from group rp to group rp, namely Descendants, or original smut rps and I join literally one of the worst run rp’s I have ever been part off (and i’m including group rp’s i’ve been in with toxic admins), but it was one of the only ones I could find that didn’t have a Harriet, and then before the RP opened, the group got a CJ, and we were all talking in the OOC Discord and talking about old blogs and fandoms and low and behold, I discover that our CJ was my AJ.
Cue lots of drama with getting a Hook and then Hook going inactive and the incessant sighing over the admins overly dramatic plots, taking up 20 characters each in a group rp with only 7 players (indies fair enough mumu to your heart’s content, I know I do, but in groups, it sucks for activity if 2 people go on hiatus or activity checks with 28 muses between them), but I digress... AJ tells me about her indie mumu @fatesdesign, where she not only had CJ, but she had Hook and Harry and a bunch of other muses and instantly, my Harriet got heart eyes, pointed and after a couple of nights reading through her threads, Harriet decided she was not putting all her effort into that group anymore and wanted to join indie land with her family.
Thus this blog came to life.
Now anyone that follows AJ, it’s starkly clear how much of an absolutely stunning writer she is, and how much thought and concern is put into her kids. Like she’s scarily good and my kids have so many heart eyes whenever she’s on my dash.
But then March 2019, I met this absolutely beautiful soul in person, and one of our other awesome friends from the disaster group rp (it died before we all met up - shocker right?) went down to Wales for the week, we Air BnB’d, had a live in call called Ella. Just hung out, watched movies, celebrated AJ’s birthday, ate copious amounts of junk. And you know what? I have never been more comfortable around someone in my life. I can’t even hang out with my IRL friends for more than an hour without clock watching and wondering how soon is it polite to say that I need to go home. Not with AJ, completely at ease and comfortable and I’m not to proud to admit I was really upset when it came to going home.
We literally talked every day on the phone or online or every other day, and then AJ came up to Scotland to visit me and it was my turn to do all the sightseeing stuff for her. Real life’s been a bit chaotic since then with AJ going back to uni and moving cities and trying to find work, but we’re always there for one another.
Long story short, I love this girl, AJ means the absolute world to me and is one of my best friends. Still puts up with my anxious rambling most of the time. Has been there for this blog from day one when I said I’m making an indie, and it’s gonna be Harriet and Malia, two muses, one fc, that’s my lot... -cough- in my defence, AJ never says no when I suggest a new character to add.
If you’re not following fatedesign, what are you really doing with your life? Honestly, such quality shouldn’t interact with my trash heap but does. AJ’s writing is just spectacular, detailed, author quality; if you’re not following, I recommend you do so now.
#fatesdesign#[ off the isle: ooc ]#[ others won't be this long i just needed to ramble a little ]#long post tw
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so quinny dear... who's your tumblr squad?
bear with me, nonnie, I have an extensive network of friends.
@stjernfaerie and @youngwolfchaos are truly some of the loveliest people in this world, and I don’t know what I’d do without them. jo is the silliest, funniest, and most adorablely badass human being in this world. I have no idea why she puts up with me, but I’m so happy she does. q is a god, who always knows how to cheer me up. also, I’m so fixated on the fact that she can EMBROIDER. she’s like a grandmother, I love her. angels, the both of them. they make me grateful that I joined this mad cluster-fuck of a community.
@astroboletos was a surprise friend for me–– I sent him a message about his ross-posting, which I did not expect him to respond to. against all odds, he did. chris is kind of an “against all odds” guy. he’s bitterly funny, fiercely opinionated, and a wicked good friend who isn’t afraid to call me out on my bullshit. he makes me a more honest person. I really appreciate him, even though he sometimes says “good girl” and that makes me vomit a little.
@scamandergenes is a wonderful wine mum. I love her, I love her cats, and I love seeing her be a grown-ass woman and still find time to do things she loves. I want to be her when I grow up.
@jenlizrose, @meganhufflepuffrp, and @claud-illich are my favorite english lasses. jen is funny as all hell, ridiculously and absurdly stunning, and far too kind for her own good. megan is the best too snapchat and rant to, and even though she started the cottage cheese controversy, I love her. gabi needs to sleep. she’s incredibly talented, bitingly funny, and a massive dork, I love her to bits and pieces, and she needs a nap. hope is an angel who also needs to sleep. she’s a huge nerd and I love her midnight snaps more than anything.
@marauders-andco nicole is a german angel and I will fight anyone who thinks otherwise. violently.
@tired-lupin is the kind of friend that is supportive no matter what kind of bullshit you send them. I told her I’d drawn Chris as the Goblin King from Labyrinth, and she immediately started to digital sketch it. she’s so fucking funny, and her cats are awesome, and I love her.
@bi-yourself-doe sof is so deeply wonderful. what a godsend. the human embodiment of sass and sarcasm. I love. so much.
@arabella-prongs and @kapitan5o are far too cool to speak to me, and yet by some miracle they do. I thank them sincerely for putting up with my cat pics and weird socks. they are absolutely incredible and deeply talented people.
@tossermalfoy and @gobletofvodka own my ovaries and that is the truth. who gave them the right to be actual harry potter characters? I swoon, I sigh, I die.
I cannot WAIT to become better friends with @mattiprongs and @softsiriusblack as they are so cool and so FREAKING TALENTED it make me wanna, I don’t know… scream? scream.
@cheapenigma and @stuff-of-pi make me laugh so hard I snort bubbles. god-tier humans, I say. god-tier.
@sunshineandrainyflowers is the sweetest human I will protect this flower at all costs. I am like a heavily armed bunny rabbit. so don’t even try it assholes, I’m cute, and vaguely threatening. honestly, she’s so good. just, so good.
@megathy-two is what the love child of clouds and sufjan stevens would be like. so soft, so aesthetically pleasing, has a lovely fluffy cat and a soothing voice. 10 out of 10 could sing me a lullaby and I’d swoon.
@looktothewolfstars spreads love and kindness with reckless abandon. someday I wish to have that kind of love under my belt.
@pomfreypullsnopunches, @thatredlipped-classic, @whatsupitswendy, @2yeetor2yoot, @devilwearsmadammalkins, @smolbeanbella, @michael-the-angelo, @giggling-grindylow, @unafraidoftoil, @geethanksinternet, @steelchildrocks, @nikapuff, and everyone else in the chat that I already mentioned–– the RPeeps chat is what I wake up to and what I fall asleep with. even though my anxiety sometimes (oftentimes) gets in the way of me responding to you all, just know I love and appreciate the kindness and talent you bring both to this community and to my life.
my new pals @askjamessirius, @curly-haired-wizard, @dandypotter, @pleb-petal-potter, @thatcutewerewolf, @askyourlocalhufflepuff, @bringblackback, @vanilla-overdose, @transaurus, @idkmaybenotthatcool, @gryffindor-blood, @prettylestrange, @siriusblacktothefuture, @nerdie-faerie, and @bumblebeaa! I am so stoked to get to know you better! I have a copious amount of cat photos, should you ever require one. or a meme. or a terrible dad joke.
wow, this turned into the terribly long-winded oscar speech everyone hates. uh… hope that answered you question, nonnie!
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Hi, do you have any advice on what to do when public opinion and your general mood affects your hobbies? I usually really love playing video games and analyzing them but Ive been in a stressful position with school and moving and Ive also seen some really negative/hateful stuff online about my hobbies. Now, I seem to feel kind of guilty/conflicted about liking certain things and I doubt my own opinion at times. Its rather frustrating as my enjoyment is being overrun by negative thoughts. Thanks!
hi! after 87 years, we’re back! SO sorry for the wait, this was an amazing question, but i’ve been super burned out lately and haven’t really been able to bring myself to talk seriously with anyone about anything. i hope i’m not too late getting back to you, anon!
ree says: i would recommend making some supportive friends! i used to feel that way literally all the time. the people in my life when i was younger would often shoot down my hobbies and interests and make fun of them or flat out dismiss me when i got excited about things, and it wasn’t until i started befriending more supportive people that i realized that that’s not a thing that good friends do. if you participate in the internet, you’re gonna see some opinions about things you like that make you feel like shit sometimes, ‘tis the nature of the beast. but if you have friends in your life that affirm and validate the things that you enjoy, seeing those comments will hopefully not rock your boat quite as much. you’ll also be less likely to feel insecure about your hobbies. friends who will listen to you rant about things you like and bolster your mood when you’re feeling doubtful or guilty about them are absolutely invaluable, and will do a lot for your self-confidence and security in your likes and dislikes.
if you don’t know a lot of people around you or you find making new friends to be difficult, you could always check out some internet groups surrounding your hobbies. a really good thing to do is branch out and join communities that relate to the things you’re interested in! discord servers, pillowfort communities (if you don’t already have an account there but you would like one, send me a direct message on my personal blog @cerydwynn and i’ll send you an invite link) or being more active in communities here on tumblr are all great ways to make some new friends with common interests. after a little while of that, i would recommend forming your own, smaller groups of people and content to interact with. the thing about internet communities (large ones especially) is that they can be wonderful and uplifting, but they are also prone to copious amounts of negativity and discourse. you’ll have that sometimes, it’s pretty normal, but that’s why it’s important to eventually make your own communities with friends so you can choose when to interact with that negativity (if at all). all of that is actually how this blog got started (shoutout to y’all who actually know its origins… those were some dark times, friends. thanks for sticking around) and found me some wonderful friends that i talk to often who are always there to listen to me yell about things i love (y’all know who you are)!
the more you interact with positive content and reassurance, the less the negativity should get you down, hopefully!
Georgia says: I second Rina’s advice of supportive friends! That doesn’t mean you need to make friends who share your interests, just ones that support them! For example, my friend and I who cosplay together have completely different anime tastes but she still spent a day with me detangling my Sailor Moon wig and encouraging me so I can be more confident with my skills! And as always, Rina’s right: internet communities can be great but there can also be lots of negativity, so if you can find a couple of people whose blogs or accounts make you feel happy, stick with them! You’re under no obligation to interact with things that don’t make you happy and never feel guilty for liking things. We don’t choose what makes us happy!
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8 - When You’re Gone (days gone by - nct)
All the mystery and the magic
You light up what once was tragic
And I know that I will miss you when you're gone
I could never have imagined
All the heavens pour with passion
But I know that I will miss you when you're gone
Johnny had been right about one thing tonight; it was indeed a family affair. What felt like just about everyone Mark was close to, was dispersed throughout Yuta's house. The parents had all congregated in the kitchen, about five too many bottles of wine left empty on the side for the number of people - the chatter and laughter rang in Mark's ears.
God, he hated being drunk. The smallest of sounds seemed to echo in his ears but at the same time it felt like he was hearing things underwater, his head was spinning and he was about six too many drinks in and he'd barely been there two hours. The air around him feels thick, muggy from too many people being crowded into the various rooms.
Jisung had somehow managed to get out of the whole ordeal, arguing with their mum about how it would be inappropriate for someone who is (even more so than the others) underage to be surrounded by drunk people and the possibility of him therefore partaking in said underage drinking would be increased and that's not good for his health. Johnny had called him a pussy under his breath and had promptly earned a slap to his stomach from their mum and a stern "watch your language John" who then turned to Jisung (whose face was now adorning the slight pout and puppy dog eyed look - aka how to get their mum to do whatever they wanted look), her face relaxing into a gentle smile before kissing the top of his head (on her tiptoes which made her pout) and telling him to rest well and not stay up too late studying or engrossed in whatever novel he was currently working his way through. Mark stuck his tongue out on the way out the door - the kid could get away with everything, he and Johnny had dubbed it the youngest child effect. Johnny was pretty upset that he'd wasted good chocolate milk and now Yuta was going to get to drink it.
Mark had been dancing around since he'd first arrived, back and forth between rooms in hopes of avoiding Donghyuck. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to avoid him, the younger was probably doing the exact same thing though since the lack of communication between the two since way back to Mark's birthday. Mark had spent some time pining and was okay about the whole situation now (as okay as he could be on the surface anyhow). Mark had been so busy with school - even with only being a month and a half in - he'd been spending lunches in the library, study periods with his tutor to talk about his personal statement and what felt like every second of his free time was spent pouring over his textbooks, homework and whatever else he could get his hands on. The only breath of fresh air was when he finally submitted his uni applications, nudging the whole ordeal to the back of his mind rather than playing the waiting game to see if he'd get accepted or not. He'd drifted apart from everyone in a sense but with Donghyuck it was weird. When he passed the others in the hallways, they'd spare a second to flash a smile or give a quick wave, things were normal, but with Donghyuck it felt like he purposefully averted his eyes every time, maybe Mark's mind was playing tricks on him, maybe it wasn't.
Renjun had ranted to him over facetime at three am one night about how Donghyuck seemed to squash any and all rumours quite quickly about whether or not he was gay, Heejin and him had made up somehow apparently and Renjun had seen the two of them spending time together - what for, Mark didn't know, nor did he want to. Renjun had said it was probably some sort of ploy due to Hyuck's parents. They all knew the story and they weren't the worst, but when Hyuck's older brother, Taeyong, had come out they just seemed to ignore it - they pretended like it hadn't happened and they never brought up dating around Taeyong ever again until Taeyong had gotten quite sick of it and had decided to bring his boyfriend (although he hadn't introduced him as his boyfriend, it was quite clear by the two's body language that Taeil very much was) to their annual family Christmas party. Not his proudest moment he has admitted on multiple occasions but, to Mark and the others it was quite the scandal, particularly as lovely as Donghyuck's parents were, they just seemed to not realise the number of people around them that were gay, much to the amusement of the majority of their friends. Just about everyone was gay, bisexual or pan between Mark and Johnny's friends, as well as a copious amount of people attending their school alone were part of the LGBTQ+ community and openly expressed their support of it and how the Lee's were yet to realise it no one would ever know, as well as how they've managed to live in their surprisingly accepting small town where political and social 'issues' weren't taboo. Taeyong had moved out the moment he was accepted into uni and promised that he wouldn't end their relationship for the sake of Hyuck, even if it meant the only time he spoke to his parents these days was when 'required' to at family events and the occasional birthday phone call. Mark and Donghyuck had grown distant over the last two months and Mark couldn't help but feel like it was to do with the rumours. Mark knew Donghyuck's parents wouldn't be happy about him being gay, if he was (Mark was still confused as to whether or not he'd come out to him that day) they would just pretend like it wasn't happening, make up a girl that he was supposedly dating to rely it to the family - it had happened before and it would more than likely happen again. But alas, Mark was far too drunk for him to be able to work up the emotional capacity to act like the best friend, if he could even call himself that anymore, he should be too Donghyuck.
- - - -
"Jaehyun, please stop, I'm too drunk for this-"
"Being drunk is the perfect time young padawan! As the expert on all thing’s soulmates, please remember I have known mine since I was a mere five years of age, I am the most qualified to educate you here."
"You're probably more drunk than I am right now-"
"I probably am, okay, I definitely am but, doesn't stop me from being happy and in love and married to the best person in the world."
"You aren't married?"
"That's what you think."
"Jaehyun, what on earth is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that just because I may not be legally married, yet, that doesn't mean I won't be anytime soon. I just need to pick a ring and then ask him but it's not like he's going to say no right? Having a soulmate, you are bound to that person for the rest of your life, that's the whole idea of marriage, is it not? Oh look, there's Doyoung, see you later Mark!" Mark was flabbergasted, apparently Jaehyun had turned into some kind of Tumblr drabble reciting robot when drunk off the dubious substance in his cup, although if you asked him he'd probably just say it's what happens when you're in love and then flash you the famous Jung smile - dimpled and gummy.
"Wait!" Even when he raised his voice himself it made his head pound, "You didn't give me your advice?"
"Oh yeah," Jaehyun could barely stand straight, gently swaying as he paused in his steps half turned to Mark, ��Just confess already. The pining isn't doing you any good and there's no other way to find out if he's your soulmate or not unless he tells you he's the one who caused your tattoo. Right now, you're only hurting yourself, stop feeling guilty all the time and be a little selfish for once, not that telling someone how you feel is selfish. You'll only make yourself sick, literally, either way and yes it could end up worst case scenario but you could also end up happy. You deserve to be happy Mark, you've spent so long doing things for everyone else because you felt like you had to, do something for yourself."
Mark let his weight sink to the floor, his back pressed against the cold wall of the hallway.
Maybe it's what he needed to be able to let go?
"Mark, hey," Jungwoo turned the corner, finding Mark still cuddled up against the wall where Jaehyun had left him earlier, "I was looking for you, you disappeared on everyone."
"Jungwoo... I want to apologise again about what happened at my birthday. I was drunk, wasn't thinking straight. What I did was wrong, so wrong and I'm so sorry for it and for upsetting you and-"
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm okay? Taeyong introduced me to this older friend of his anyway, very cute, very mature so no risk of him doing any classic teenage pining. Besides, neither of us were exactly thinking straight Mark. You and Haechannie will figure things out soon enough."
"Jaehyun told me to confess, that's why I'm here, debating whether that would be easier than yeeting myself off a cliff." Mark couldn't look at Jungwoo, he still felt guilty, sure they'd both been drunk and neither were exactly hoping to start anything in the future but it felt sucky, Mark never wanted to hurt someone else and in that moment he did, whether Jungwoo was okay now or not.
"Maybe you should, get everything out in the open rather than keeping all those emotions bottled up. You never know, maybe good things will come from it."
"Thank you, Woo, I know what I did was super shitty and I really hope you know how sorry I am."
"Shut up Mark, it never happened."
"Right, it never happened."
For the first time in a while, an actual smile threatened to appear on Mark's face.
"Come on, lets re-join the party! Winwin got everyone dancing, even Johnny," Jungwoo grabbed his hand to pull him up from the floor, "let’s have some fun."
As Jungwoo and Mark joined the makeshift dance floor of Yuta's living room, more drinks were pushed into their hands as their friends whooped and cheered that they were back, all far too drunk to remember any of their actions come morning. Jaehyun and Doyoung were cooped up in a corner, speaking in hushed voices to one another, both of their eyes filled with complete adoration for one another. Lucas was twirling Yuqi, the two of them bursting into fits of giggles whenever they made eye contact, it was endearing, Mark thought. Yuta and Winwin seemed to no longer be hiding their relationship status when Sicheng was not-so-subtle, sitting on Yuta's lap, the two leaning in for an R-rated kiss that Mark swiftly looked away from. Jaemin's head was resting on Renjun's thigh as they sat down on the sofa, evidently Jaemin had drunk more than he could handle and Renjun's hands gently cascaded through the younger's hair. Mark liked seeing his friends together, it made him realise just what having one’s soulmate can do, how it can make you feel. But he couldn't help the pang in his chest at the thought, he was alone, his eyes somehow having found Donghyuck among the copious amounts of people dancing. Mark couldn't take his eyes off of him, he gravitated towards him, dancing with some girls from his class who dragged Mark to join them - pushing him towards Donghyuck.
The younger's head snapped up at the mention of Mark's name, no longer focused on perfecting the choreography to whatever song was playing with Yeri and Irene. Before Donghyuck could escape, Mark clasped his wrist, looking at him with pleading eyes. Now or never, now or never.
Donghyuck freed himself, flashing Mark a disgusted look before walking out of the room as fast as he could without drawing attention to them, Mark close behind.
"Hyuck, wait up please!"
"Leave me alone Mark."
"Come on Hyuck, at least let me speak," Mark's shoulders slumped as he let out a deep sigh, attempting to build up his courage, now or never. "J-just let me say this and then you can scream, yell, runaway or whatever it is you want to do," Donghyuck's resistance against Mark pulling his arm again relaxed, "just, please let me speak."
"Fine. What do you so desperately have to say?" His voice was wobbly, Donghyuck was telling himself that it was because of the cold October air and not his emotions getting the better of him. Donghyuck doesn’t even remember at what point they’d made it outside – nor does he see the audience of one they’ve gathered.
"Okay, right, here we go."
"I don't have all night Mark."
"Right, sorry. Of course, I just need a second." Was the air getting thicker or was Mark just having trouble breathing?
"Here goes nothing," Mark took one last deep breath and closed his eyes, he had this speech engraved in his mind ready to use it at any moment, "I like you Hyuck. I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you and I'm also fairly certain that you're my soulmate.
I know that we're young and I'm definitely dumb and you aren't even eighteen yet but, I know that I'm in love with you and I trust that the universe made us meet that day in the library because you are my soulmate. I can't imagine my life without you, I can't imagine waking up next to anyone else. I can't imagine kissing someone else, holding someone else in my arms, running my hands through their hair, listening to them hum along to the radio. It's always you, in my daydreams and my nightmares, whether I'm asleep or awake you're always by my side.
Believe me when I say I tried to stop, I tried to convince myself that you're not the one. I spent so long crying myself to sleep, begging the universe to let me stop loving you, I tried, I really, really tried... but, I'm always going to love you. I think I've known that since the day we first met and I need you to know that, I'm always going to love you. No matter what. I've imagined me saying this to you hundreds of thousands of times and I was never going to say anything but I can't keep doing this. I can't fake another smile, I can't fake like everything’s alright all of the time, I can't fake that I'm alright. I love you Donghyuck."
"Mark," Donghyuck inhaled sharply, "I don't know what you want me to say..."
"Say you feel the same, say you can feel your soulmate mark showing up, whatever," the pleading in Mark's words was clear by his breathlessness, "Hyuckie, please, I know you can feel it too."
"I'm sorry Mark, I really am," his shoulders slumped and he couldn't meet Mark's eyes, Mark's pleading gaze, "I'm so sorry. I can't do this. I don't feel the same, I'm not in love with you Mark. You're hurting someone else by doing this, please get over me and stop - I know you won't be able to handle the guilt. I can't let you hurt someone else, I can't hurt you by lying like that. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."
And with that he turned away, leaving Mark behind, hiccupping in attempts to breathe while he sobbed uncontrollably. A pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling Mark into a warm chest, a gentle hand patting his head and muttering "it's okay" over and over again.
Mark had never felt more sober than he did in that moment. Dizziness overtook him, the walls if the hallway felt like they were closing in around him, getting closer and closer, suffocating him. He sobbed and sobbed until he didn't have a single tear left to cry, his body spasming as he tried to catch his breath, hiccupping into the comfort of Johnny's arms.
Mark had never wanted to get drunk more in his life.
- - - - -
Donghyuck is peacefully absorbed in his history textbook when his attention is snapped away from medieval medical treatments and to Jaemin quite literally plonking himself in the chair over the other side of the table to Donghyuck, letting out an exasperated sigh as he does so, backpack discarded on the floor by his feet as his eyes meet Donghyuck's - they're inquisitive and Donghyuck feels himself shrink in on himself a little, out of apprehension, fear or embarrassment, Donghyuck isn't sure.
"What happened with you and Mark?"
There was a slight bite to Jaemin's voice, no traces of any gentleness or subtly. Jaemin wasn't for softness when it came to life generally, particularly when someone’s upset, he approaches situations with the grace of a herd of elephants.
"Nothing."
Jaemin tuts, rolls his eyes and lets out a deep sigh, clearly not satisfied with Donghyuck's answer - or rather lack thereof.
"Oh, that’s not what I heard?"
Donghyuck can't tell if Jaemin drew the short straw and is the one tasked with interrogating him over the events of the weekend or if he's genuinely doing it for himself. Maybe Mark is keeping quiet about the events of that night, however even with how good the two are at avoiding one another it is clear Mark hasn't been in school the last few days, they aren't that good at not having crossed paths remotely once. Donghyuck couldn't help the pang of guilt. Donghyuck also knows that Jaemin isn't giving up, he's tapping his fingers against the desk as if he's hoping that'll prompt Donghyuck to talk. Jaemin is nonchalant about most things in life (aside from anything Renjun related), yet he doesn't back down and is evidently undaunted when it comes to getting what he wants.
"Well, nothing happened."
"Bullshit." Jaemin counters, without missing a beat.
Donghyuck is taken back by the harshness of his voice. Honestly, Donghyuck thought they would drag this out for longer, more like he was hoping he could keep up his charade of 'nothing happened' for longer, staying in his little bubble where he could pretend like everything was okay - like that night hadn't happened and he hadn't broken his best friends heart. Jaemin was the type to bug you to just the right level of being ridiculously annoying to get what he wanted out of you - driving you to insanity bit by bit was more his style unlike the current look of utter despair lacing his usually kind features.
"That's utter bullshit and you know it. Whatever fantasy charade you're keeping up by pretending everything’s okay is ending right now. You keep sighing in lessons, I can practically feel the anguish radiating off of you from the other side of town and here you are straight up lying to my face and just about everyone else, including yourself."
"Why do you care so much?" Hyuck didn't mean to sound so cold, it was just a second-nature defence mechanism at this point as well as being caught off-guard by Jaemin's sudden outburst.
Jaemin looks at him again, staring dead into Hyuck's eyes like he's searching for Donghyuck's last remaining brain cell, jokes on him though because it's not there. "Because Haechannie, I actually care about you and want to make sure you're okay as well as Mark. The tension between you two is downright depressing and I thought all the melodrama ended when Renjun and I got together but clearly, I was wrong, the two of you are so much worse. Both with permanent pouts on their faces, avoiding talking about whatever happened so no one can do anything to help which again, is just," Jaemin let out some disgruntled sound in lieu of an adjective but laced with the same disgust he was attempting to convey, "you see? Everyone has been here before, we're not all Jaehyun and Doyoung, you're more like Johnny and Ten and the utter mess that was the start of their best-friends-to-boyfriends transition. We all care about you; we all want to make sure that you're coping and not making yourself sick." Jaemin's now looking at him with one eyebrow raised as if Donghyuck's now supposed to magically understand whatever Jaemin's word vomit was actually implying.
Donghyuck lets his eyes wander over Jaemin's appearance, his hand griping his hair in anticipation of Hyuck's reply, pupils blown, wide and gazing at Donghyuck's face for any hint of emotion, looking slightly manic. Donghyuck evaluates his current position and with a deep breath he feels calmer, his muscles have relaxed, a smirk graces his face and-
"Oh, I've been meaning to ask, how are Johnny and Ten?"
6 NEW MESSAGES FROM RENJUN
I don't know what you did but you broke Jaemin
I've been trying to get him to shut up for years and you did it in less than half an hour
teach me your ways
he hasn't said anything since he got back, he's just sat there staring out the window with his mouth hanging open
Jisung and Chenle are seeing how many blueberries they can get in his mouth until he snaps out of it
they're up to nine
let me know how many they get up too
and tell Jaemin I'm sorry and that I'll
talk when I'm ready.
Donghyuck smiles, its only small but it’s his first genuine smile in a while.
- - - - -
The rain is bouncing off the ground as he walks home, splashing his ankles and soaking the ends of his jeans. The temperature seems to have dropped by a million degrees since this morning and he's wishing he checked the weather app and put a warmer coat on. He's at the point where the harsh October air feels like it’s getting in his bones, just about every inch of him is freezing and just when he thinks things can't get any worse, as he turns the corner to his house he's met by a tall figure sat on the steps leading up to his door.
The rain is the last thing on his mind as he lets his umbrella drop to his side, tilting his head as if that would help him get a better look at the boy that's slouched over, flicking his phone between his hands.
Upon hearing Donghyuck let out a pathetic attempt at a cough in hopes of gaining the others attention, the mop of blonde hair moves until Hyuck is met with a heart-warming, lopsided smile he could recognise anywhere.
"Hey, Haechannie."
"Hello, what can I help you with?"
"I think you know why I'm here."
#cznnent#nct#markhyuck#nct fic#markhyuck fic#nct 127#nct fanfic#nct fluff#nct mark#dojae#nct donghyuck#johnten#luqi#renmin#yuwin
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love is blindness: chapter 1
There was a click as Bilbo thrust open his door and glared out on Dwalin’s grave face.
“Did Thorin send you?” demanded Bilbo, too incensed to care about propriety.
“He wants to see you,” rumbled Dwalin. “He’s sorry.”
“I like that!” shouted Bilbo. “Oh, I like that, very much! Well, you can tell the king, he can bloody well come and tell me himself, if he can find the time out of his busy schedule, and if it so pleases him!” and he slammed the door in Dwalin’s face.
*
Things have changed ever since Thorin's gold-sickness, and Bilbo no longer knows what to think of his relationship with Thorin. When he becomes the object of affections from a new dwarf friend of his, Thorin's seemingly-easy acceptance of their relationship both infuriates and confuses him.
or, the one where Bilbo is courted, and Thorin doesn't want to interfere, bc he is NOT a dark fuck prince, and he wants Bilbo to be happy most of all.
there will be an eventual bagginshield happy ending though, don’t worry :)
Rating: General Audiences
Relationships: Bilbo/Thorin, Dwalin/Ori very slightly, at the end
Read on AO3 (bc tumblr messes up the formatting)
Count: 15k
next chapter is already done and will be out next week!
this started out as one sentence in my notes: i must counter dfp thorin somehow
& over the course of conversations w aidan (mistergoblin on ao3, @daddysdevito on tumblr) where we both ranted about our mutual hate for common portrayals of thorin and bilbo in fics, somehow i came up with this monster. so thank you aidan for the beta and for our conversations :) guys check him out, he's amazing
*
It all started with the gifts.
Or rather, Bilbo supposed, it started with Thorin Bloody Oakenshield. Had started with that dinner to celebrate the reclamation of the mountain, with the Ered Nimrais, Ered Luin, Iron Hills, Ered Mithrin and even Orocarni royalty in residence, when Thorin had lifted Bilbo’s hand to his mouth, and named him Khuzdbâha, Dwarf-friend.
Some days Bilbo could still feel a ghostly imprint of Thorin’s lips against the back of his hand. He rather thought Thorin had been drunk at the time, because there hadn’t been any such incidents since then.
So, yes, Bilbo supposed the whole affair started with Thorin’s hand in his, and the warmth of his smile…
*
A pompous knock on the doors of Mr Bilbo Baggins, Ringwinner, Luckwearer, Barrel-rider and Khuzdbâha, woke the hobbit from his slumber one early morning in June. Bilbo looked at the clock on his wall and groaned. Half-past five - a full half hour before he usually rose and took breakfast. What could possibly be so urgent as to demand his attention at so early an hour?
Pulling his dressing-gown tightly around him, he stumped grumpily to the door and yanked it open.
A little beardling of roughly forty years stood before his door, a wilful smile on his face and his hands outstretched. On his palms was placed a large war-helm, intricately decorated with sharp geometric designs and a veritable excess of rubies and diamonds and other unnameable stones.
Bilbo just squinted at it, and thought it was rather too early in the morning to face this sort of nonsense.
When a few seconds had passed with no response forthcoming from Bilbo, the beardling’s mouth twisted into a petulant scowl.
“A delivery for Bilbo Baggins,” he said, shoving the helm at Bilbo insistently. “Are you Bilbo Baggins?”
“Yes, but I fail to see…”
“Then this is for you, Mister Baggins, isn’t it?” the beardling said, rather pointedly this time. Bilbo took the package.
He watched the little dwarrow trot down the hall and disappear somewhere into the gloom. Bilbo wondered if the gift was, perhaps, from one of the members of the Company. Or, dare he hope, from a certain dwarf king?
The thing was, Bilbo had seen neither hide nor hair of that particular dwarf since that dinner with the dwarrows of the other clans. When Thorin had given Bilbo rooms in the royal wing, Bilbo had rather thought it had meant Thorin would be popping around occasionally for a drink or two.
Well, Thorin was busy. It wasn’t an easy task being the ruler of a kingdom rich in coin, but not in resources or people - not yet, at least. And these days it seemed like Thorin was far too busy to afford attention even to his dear friends, the dwarrows of the Company, much less time to spare for an unimportant hobbit like himself.
So Bilbo shut the door behind him, and went to find Balin.
The king’s advisor was always up before the crack of dawn, as was his custom, and so Bilbo’s knock on his door was answered promptly. He looked at the helm in Bilbo’s hand, and his face changed.
“I think you’d best come in, Bilbo,” he said kindly, and relieved Bilbo of the helmet. He set it down on an adjacent table and gestured for Bilbo to sit.
“Did you receive this gift this morning?” Balin asked, sitting down and offering a chair to Bilbo. Bilbo nodded. “It was delivered by a little beardling,” he answered. “Do you have any idea as to its origins? I have to admit, I’m completely stumped as to why anyone would wish to gift me with such a… such a… such an extravagant present. Is it anyone’s birthday today, perhaps? Or,” he continued slowly, his brow furrowing, “a practical joke? I must say, I thought most dwarrows rather above immature tricks like this…”
“It’s no prank, laddie,” Balin said, shaking his head, “neither is it a birthday present. It’s a courting gift. These designs on the helm are of the Ironfists, an eminent clan from the Red Mountains, and this sigil,” here he lifted the headpiece and indicated a small insignia imprinted in the centre of the helmet’s visor, “’tis the sigil of the dwarven prince Zdenek.”
“A courting gift?” Bilbo exclaimed, his mouth falling open in disbelief. “But I hardly even know the dwarf! Why, all I remember of him is that he sat across from me during Thorin’s celebratory dinner, and that he had a rather excessively-flamboyant coat. I spoke barely two words to him the entire evening!”
Balin looked at him. It was a pitying gaze. “One thing you must understand, Bilbo,” he said kindly, “is that for Thorin to name you Khuzdbâha - it was no small feat. Few outside our people are granted this title, and Thorin is a king especially known for his reticence and slowness to trust. As the new leader of Erebor, a kingdom rich in gold, Thorin is vulnerable, and there are many who would seek to take advantage of the trust he gives so rarely.”
“So what you mean by that…” Bilbo said slowly. “I am seen as a useful shortcut to influencing the throne of Erebor? But that’s ridiculous!” He found he suddenly had to sit down, and cover his face with his hands to hide his confusion. “I am hardly as dear a friend to Thorin as that,” he said, his voice forlorn. “There are others - you, Dwalin, the princes… even Óin and Glóin, as relatives to Thorin, would surely be seen as more suitable candidates through whom Thorin can be wooed.”
A hand rested gently on his back, and Bilbo looked up at Balin, whose eyes were as warm and understanding as ever. “I think you are underestimating the value Thorin places in you, Bilbo,” he murmured. “He values your friendship greatly. No less than before your giving of the Arkenstone to Thranduil and Bard.”
Privately Bilbo thought his words to be untrue. If his friendship were treasured by Thorin to such an extent, surely they would have seen more of each other in the past month, instead of the endless meetings and council sessions which had diverted Thorin’s attention. Surely the celebratory dinner would not have been the first time Thorin had gazed upon him with such warmth in his eyes (as it had been). Surely Thorin would have deigned to speak more than the word or two spoken in passing greeting to him over the past few months.
“Talk to him, laddie,” Balin advised. “Let him know of your troubles. For this will not be the last courting gift you receive unsolicited, and Thorin has the power to protect you from further propositions.”
Bilbo nodded, but in his heart he resolved to keep the matter to himself. Perhaps there would not be so many presents as all that. Surely Balin was exaggerating, the old pessimist that he was. And Bilbo felt sufficiently comfortable in the fact that, as a hobbit, his natural physical repugnance and oddities to the dwarrows who knew him not would outweigh any political capital gained with Thorin through his friendship. There would be no more gifts, he was sure.
*
There were more gifts. In copious amounts, and all in bad taste. It was absurdly clear, now that he knew what to look for, that none of these dwarrows sought to court him due to any interest in his personality, or who he was. Bilbo was gifted with necklaces dripping with precious stones that would have hung around his neck like millstones, bracers with intricate designs of which he understood little, and even a multitude of throwing daggers upon which he had almost cut himself. These were presents of an utterly unhobbitly nature, and as such he felt no qualms at all about very firmly telling the messengers who brought the gifts that they could take the presents and shove it right up the senders’ -
Unfortunately, the deluge of gifts did not slow, and in fact, seemed to grow larger by the day. Soon Bilbo began to recognise some of the repeat offenders by name. Prince Zdenek of the Orocarni was one, the dwarf who had sent the initial gift, and who was fond of gifting war implements Bilbo had absolutely no interest in using. Lady Ardris of the Iron Hills was another dwarrow who refused to take no for an answer, and sent increasingly-extravagant jewelleries on a daily basis. And then there was Lord Wili, a distant relative of Dain Ironfoot, who insisted on sending self-composed poems extolling the virtues of his dwarven axe and singing rhapsodies to Bilbo’s ‘jewel-laden caverns’.
At least the last poem had given Bilbo a bit of a laugh. Wili was, if anything, creative about the words he could get to rhyme with ‘mine-shaft’, and as a writer, Bilbo could admit to being entertained by bawdy word-play.
But enough was enough! It had gotten so bad that Bilbo had briefly considered raising the issue to Thorin because, as Balin had so kindly pointed out, if anyone could put a stop to it, Thorin could. When Bilbo and Ori had been discussing the restoration of the library one Tuesday afternoon, they had turned the corner and walked straight into Thorin and his retinue. Bilbo had opened his mouth to speak (because just that afternoon he had received a distinctly phallic-shaped gold fountain, and surely there was no going lower after that).
Then Thorin had noticed them and said, rather distractedly, “Ah - Ori and Master Baggins, good afternoon. Kolmar, if you have the estimates for the weaving guild, you can put those on my desk by tomorrow. And Tryggwi, gather the numbers for the mining expedition, you know how Bofur goes on if they’re not delivered on time - “
And Bilbo had promptly closed his mouth, his cheeks red, and scurried past the group of dwarrows.
Eventually, things came to the point that even Dwalin noticed, and came to speak to Bilbo about it.
“Laddie, ye’ve got to get Thorin to do something about this,” was the first thing he said. Bilbo glared at him.
“I’m not going to involve Thorin in this,” he declared. “I can handle it myself. It’s only a couple of dwarrows, after all.”
“What’re ye going to do?” asked Dwalin, and he sounded genuinely curious.
Bilbo huffed. “I’m going to… I’m going to give them a stern talking-to, that’s what I’ll do!” he exclaimed. “No hobbit should be disrespected like this. Why, if you could only see the awful THINGS people are giving me… oh, right, you tripped over one on your way in. That one’s from Wili. He’s fond of gifts with puerile, penile innuendoes. Perhaps it’s his name. Some sort of unconscious desire to prove himself worthy of such an epithet… but the point is, it’s not right, treating a good gentlemanly hobbit like this. I’m going to talk to them and… and… and tell them off!”
Dwalin nodded seriously. “Aye,” he said, “and when that fails, you’ll talk to Thorin?”
“I am not talking to Thorin Bloody Oakenshield!” fumed Bilbo.
“Why’re ye so opposed to asking Thorin to help ye out?” Dwalin asked. “Ye know he could solve this in a pinch. Be more than happy to, in my opinion.”
“Well, you have your opinion, and I have mine,” Bilbo sniffed. He abruptly wilted, and placed his hand on a nearby chair to steady himself. “And my opinion’s that I’ll not be bothering Thorin about this matter. Not when he’s so busy with the upcoming diplomatic expedition from the elves, and the three-month anniversary dinner for Erebor’s reclamation, and the million other things kings are responsible for. I’m not going to bother him about my problems, not when he has so much to do.”
“Laddie,” Dwalin rumbled, “ye know Thorin would drop everything at the drop of a dwarven war helm to help ye out. Especially if it concerns dwarrows courting ye against your will.”
“That’s not true,” said Bilbo, weakly. “If that were true, then why haven’t I seen - I thought, after the gold-sickness - no. He’s busy, Dwalin. I mustn’t bother him about these unimportant things.”
“He’s a fool,” said Dwalin sternly, disapprovingly.
“I refuse to talk about this anymore,” Bilbo said stubbornly, and stumped off to find elevenses. Honestly! Dwarrows! An empty-headed, dragon-licking, gravel-skinned bunch, the lot of them!
*
In the end Bilbo had no choice in the matter. He supposed it was a cruel twist of fate in recompense for the names he had called Dwalin in his head. Although he had felt rather sorry afterwards, and baked Dwalin a fresh batch of cookies as an apology.
The fact was, Bilbo had been happily going around his normal business, when he realised that his button had come off and fallen to the ground. Being fond of the golden buttons Dori had painstakingly sewn back onto his burgundy waistcoat, he had bent to retrieve the button, and in so doing, became privy to a conversation he would rather have avoided.
It seemed that dwarrows were, as with most other bigger races, not immune from the remarkable ability of hobbits to blend into the furniture. As Bilbo straightened up, he realised that firstly, he had stepped into a small, dark side alley sheltered from the main passageway. And secondly, that Prince Zdenek, of the Ironfist clan, had stopped just outside the entrance to the alley, and was in the middle of a very deep conversation with another dwarf.
“And he won’t accept any of your gifts? Disgraceful!” said the second dwarf, in a loud and rather scandalised voice.
“Yes, well, what can one do?” Zdenek said, with a magnanimous sigh. “It is difficult for a halfling to recognise the great honour heaped upon him when a dwarf of my eminence deigns to court him. Then again, it must be the prolonged exposure to those dwarrows of the house of Durin. A magnificent bloodline, that’s to be sure, but…” he leaned his head closer to the other dwarf’s, and, with a smug smile, made a circling motion with his finger round his head. “Recently a little touched in the head, no? Such a pity that so exalted a line should fall prey to the vagaries of illness.”
“They’ve always been a queer lot, the Longbeards,” said the other voice. Bilbo thought it rather a nasty voice, grasping and eager to please. “When they sought our help, I think you were right to turn them away. Your father was far too weak to do so. After all, what could they have offered us? They did not bring much of the mithril from Erebor with them, and even so, they are a jealous people. They would have kept the best of the lot, and saved us their meagre leftovers. Best that you sent them away before they could drag the rest of us down with them.”
Best that they left before they found themselves in a nest of vipers like yours! Bilbo snarled in his head. So Zdenek had been one of those responsible for refusing aid to the Ereborean refugees when they had been rendered homeless by Smaug. He was about to step out of the alley and challenge them to take their words back, when, suddenly, he felt a warm hand at his back.
Thorin stood behind him, accompanied by Dwalin and another guard, and dressed in his usual finery. His eyes were cold with fury, and his hand shook. Bilbo could feel the heat from his hand radiating through even the thick fabrics of his clothes, and he found that he could not move.
The conversation continued, Zdenek and his companion clearly unaware of the unseen listeners.
“But surely the gifts you gave the halfling were not crafted of your own hand?” asked the other unknown dwarf. “I do not recall seeing you in the forges of Erebor. Nor did you bring any of your crafts with you from Halrubínu.”
Zdenek scoffed, his tone derisive. “As if I would grace the palm of a queer-looking creature as that with the honoured works of my hands! What you speak of is errant foolishness, Stráhek. No, the halfling likely knows little of our most sacred customs, and will be happy enough with works bartered from other smiths.”
“Your marriage will bring great sadness to many of the dams and dwarrows who court you, my prince. And yet there are many also who strive to win the hand of the halfling. The gifts - ”
Zdenek waved his hand dismissively, and sneered down at Stráhek. “’Tis impossible for any dwarf to best Zdenek Keen-eye, prince of the Ironhills, slayer of the Orocarni. Once the halfling recognises my virtues he will all but grovel at my feet to earn my hand in marriage.” He sighed, and turned his attention to one of the many gemstone-encrusted rings that encircled his thick, stubby fingers. “The only thing I regret is that I should have to stoop to such heights to elevate the repute of our great house. To marry a halfling? And such odd, queer looking creatures they are too.”
Well, that was a little bit hurtful. Bilbo blinked, and unconsciously his hand clutched at his chest.
But the dwarf was not done with his tirade. “Those tales of the halfling’s bravery, and of how they earned him his place beside Thorin Oakenshield - I believe them not,” he scoffed. “It is plain he bought his way to eminence, not with gold, for he has none, but by the spreading of his loins. Why else would such an unworthy, unimportant, effably witless - “
Bilbo was bowled over. The hand burning a hole through his back abruptly disappeared, and Thorin swept past him in a flash of opulent purple robes. Zdenek was suddenly and quickly elevated above the ground, with Thorin holding his collar in a very firm, and unyielding, grasp. Stráhek let out a shriek and attempted to scuttle off, but was soon waylaid by Dwalin’s war-axes placed threateningly in his way.
“Lord Zdenek,” he said, and his eyes were as chips of ice. “I urge you to consider your next words very, very carefully. You speak of a hero of Erebor, one who carries the favour of the heirs of Durin, dwarrows who happen to be your liege.”
Zdenek spluttered. His face was turning a curious mottled colour, and his mouth moved shapelessly as if he were trying to form words. Heedless of his discomfort, Thorin yanked the dwarf closer, till they were nose to nose, and stared into his eyes.
“And what did you mean,” he said very softly, “when you said you were courting him?”
Bilbo stumbled to his feet and placed a hand on Thorin’s arm. Thorin started, abruptly, looking at Bilbo as if he had forgotten the hobbit was there, then almost unconsciously, his hand relaxed and Zdenek fell to the floor with an unceremonious thump. He coughed violently, clutching at his throat and staring with wide, fear-filled eyes at Thorin.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty!” he cried, scrambling hastily backwards on his bum as Thorin prowled towards him. “I - I knew not of which I spoke - I meant no disrespect to the halfling - “
“Dwalin,” Thorin said. There was a curious inflection in his voice that made Bilbo turn towards him, but Thorin was not looking at him. “Kindly return Lord Zdenek to his quarters. And please inform King Zdenka that the terms of our trade agreement may need to be renegotiated, and that I will meet him tomorrow in the council chamber to discuss our new terms.”
“But - you can’t do that!” screeched Zdenek. His gaudy robes had fallen off his shoulder in the scuffle. As a result he looked rather smaller, and strangely diminished, in Bilbo’s eyes, crouching ignobly at Thorin’s feet like a creeping loathsome worm. “The terms have already been negotiated! You cannot change your terms because - because of a halfling!” he spat.
“Your vitriol has no place in these halls, Master Dwarf,” Thorin said coldly. “I believe your father is the king, not you. I deal with dwarrows of calibre and nobility, Zdenek, qualities I am afraid you sorely lack, and I have not the time for spoiled princelings who seek to slander and defame one of my - one of this kingdom’s dearest friends. Dwalin?” he turned to the guard.
“With pleasure,” Dwalin growled. He gripped Zdenek’s shoulder, lifting him to his feet bodily and dragging him down the hall, along with a screeching and wailing Stráhek.
Only then did Thorin turn to Bilbo.
“You are unhurt?” he said, gently. Bilbo blinked, then looked down at himself in puzzlement.
“He did not touch me,” Bilbo answered, confused. Thorin let out a gravelly chuckle, tinged with surprise, as if the sudden moment of levity had startled even him.
“No, Master Baggins - I meant, did his words do you harm?”
“Oh! Well,” Bilbo paused and considered the question. The twinge that had appeared in his chest at Zdenek’s words had quite passed, soothed in the face of Thorin’s obvious ire on his behalf. He shook his head. “No, I’m quite alright. It would take rather more than Master Zdenek’s unkind words to irk me.”
“Good,” Thorin said quietly. “I am glad of that.”
There was a slow, sure warmth in Thorin’s eyes as he gazed upon Bilbo, a kind of curious tenderness which did funny things to Bilbo’s insides. It inspired some strange deep ache in Bilbo’s chest, for he had not seen that expression on Thorin’s face for quite some time, not since - not since -
It was quite a discomfiting feeling, so he cleared his throat and tried for a reassuring smile. “I assure you I’m quite alright. You don’t need to fuss over me so, Thor - Your Majesty.” He made the correction rather hastily, having always referred to Thorin by name in his head, but he suddenly thought the epithet more appropriate.
Immediately Bilbo regretted the change, for it was as if a wall had suddenly descended over Thorin’s eyes. Thorin stepped back, inclining his head formally, and Bilbo found himself fiercely missing the heat of his body.
There was a moment of awkward silence, as Thorin tried to recompose himself, and Bilbo called himself some rather rude names in his head.
“You did not tell me there were dwarrows courting you,” Thorin said at last. Bilbo started.
“Oh! Well - yes, I suppose I didn’t. To be honest, I thought I could manage the situation on my own, but just declining the gifts didn’t work. I don’t know why these confounded dwarrows insist on being so bloody stubborn - a no is a no, and repeatedly heaping me with gifts won’t change my answer! And to learn that dwarrows were courting me to earn favour with the throne of Erebor - why, it made me furious, it did, thinking that there were dwarrows out there trying to use you in such an underhanded way - well, Dwalin said - “ Bilbo realised he was wringing his hands in nervousness, and forced himself to tuck them back into the pockets of his waistcoat.
Thorin’s brows descended like a black cloud down upon his blue eyes. “Dwalin knew?” he growled, almost incredulously. “He did not tell me. Mahal, when I get my hands on that tree-humping, dung-eating - “
“Oh, no, no,” Bilbo was quick to reassure him, “it wasn’t Dwalin’s fault. I expressly forbade him from telling you.”
Thorin stopped moving, and just looked at him. It was a hurt expression, and Bilbo did not like the way it looked on Thorin’s face. He rushed to explain.
“I didn’t want to bother you - ” He stumbled over his words. “You were so busy and everything - with the elvish expedition, and the upcoming celebration, and what seemed like a thousand different things - you know, I barely even see you anymore! Well, that’s not your fault, I suppose. You’re off doing kinging things. I understand. I didn’t want to bother you with my tiny problem. I thought I’d be able to resolve it on my own, you see. Except, well, I couldn’t.” Bilbo thought it rather for the best that he left out of the explanation the awful feeling which had swept over him when Thorin had so casually brushed past he and Ori in the halls. After all, on later reflection, he had decided that the feeling was likely guilt at even having thought of bothering Thorin at this inconvenient time, and had dismissed the thought accordingly.
“Bilbo,” Thorin said softly, “I will always have time for you. I am truly sorry that I gave you cause to doubt this.” He looked rather forlorn and tragically regal at the same time, with his great shoulders drooping and his mouth twisted angrily.
Bilbo forced a smile, and patted his shoulder where he could reach. “It’s not your fault, Thorin,” he said, deciding it would be best to address Thorin as such before it resulted in more incidents of the sulking nature. “Now cheer up! This matter’s come to an end now, and we’ll not see any more of these rascally suitors, I hope. I do appreciate your help, Thorin,” he said earnestly, slipping his hand back into Thorin’s, and trying to ignore how right the sensation felt. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the incidents before.”
Thorin was looking down at their hands clasped together. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Bilbo’s, and this time they were hard and unyielding as rock.
“No,” he promised, “they will certainly not bother you again.”
*
“No,” Bilbo said firmly. “One dwarf is quite enough.”
Thorin glared at him from under stormy brows. “Master Baggins,” he growled, drawing himself up to his full height, and around Bilbo, the guards cowered back instinctively. Thorin made an impressive figure when angered and fully roused. “You do not know these dwarrows like I do. For them to have pressed their suit on you so insistently, and completely unsolicited - they are clearly careless of your feelings, and might potentially do you harm. Although we cannot detain them - “ (though we certainly tried, his tone implied) “we can try our best to stave off any attack they might make on your person.”
“With four dwarf guards I’ll certainly stave off most dwarrows!” spluttered Bilbo, refusing to be cowed. He drew himself to his full height also - though admittedly far less intimidating - and crossed his arms, forcing himself to stare straight into Thorin’s eyes. “I most certainly refuse to be saddled with four guards. Firstly, I hardly believe any dwarf, even the ones who have shown me such discourtesy, would resort to physical force to convince me to accept their suit. No, I am far from important enough to warrant such measures.” He held up a hand to silence Thorin as the king tried to interrupt, and Thorin shut his mouth with a mutinous expression. “Second, there are far better things for the guards to be doing - we’re shorthanded when it comes to repairs and restorations as it is already! And lastly,” he added pointedly, “I can take care of myself, Thorin. You of all people should know that.”
Thorin ran his hand through his hair in frustration, having evidently given up on intimidating Bilbo into submission. “I know that!” he snarled. His voice abruptly became softer, quieter, and he stopped pacing around the room, to look at Bilbo. “And well do I know that, Master Burglar. But I can assure you that, while giving you four guards may seem a tad excessive to you, it would certainly make me -” he caught himself, coughed - “make us feel better. The dwarrows of the Company, I meant. It would make us feel better, to know that you were adequately protected against any threats.”
“ One guard, Thorin,” Bilbo said sternly. “You may pick the guard, if you like. But know that if you try to have me subtly followed by more guards I will not have it, and I will tell Dís that you expressly and knowingly disobeyed my request.”
“Dís would take my side,” Thorin muttered petulantly, but it was a moot point - both of them knew Dís would likely side with Bilbo in any argument, largely because she felt he was the only one in Erebor with any semblance of good sense.
“Fine,” Thorin said at last. “One guard it is then.” He leveled Bilbo with a narrow glare that said he was far from satisfied with the conclusion of the argument. Bilbo ignored it. The exhilaration and adrenaline thrumming through his veins from his discourse with Thorin were, at the same time, both strange and painfully familiar. He had had many such arguments with Thorin on their journey, of course, petty tiffs over pipeweed and dinner and who was to have first watch, but these interactions had been distinctly lacking since Thorin had assumed the mantle of King Under The Mountain. It had not occurred to Bilbo until now how much he had severely missed these little seemingly-insignificant moments.
Bilbo met Thorin’s eyes. They looked at each other for a moment, and suddenly Bilbo felt an ache in chest. Where did we go wrong , he wanted to ask. When I stole the Arkenstone from you? When you held me over the ramparts and threatened my life? When I looked in your eyes and realised I didn’t recognise the dwarf I saw standing in front of me?
The gentle light in Thorin’s eyes from the dying embers of the fire flickered and danced, and for a moment Bilbo’s eyes went to Thorin’s lips - he thought, no, he so dearly wanted -
“Your Majesty,” coughed one of the guards, and Bilbo had never wanted to kill someone so dearly in his life.
Thorin withdrew abruptly and turned away. “Yes?” he said, sounding completely unaffected, and Bilbo quietly lifted a hand to his chest to still the thundering of his heart.
“Lady Dís is here,” said the offending guard. Bilbo had some rather uncharitable thoughts about, say, picking up the poker from the dying fire, and perhaps, thrusting it straight through the blasted dwarf’s heart. That would teach him to interrupt when Bilbo and Thorin were -
Were what? Having a moment?
Bilbo suddenly realised he was being rather silly. He and Thorin did not have moments, goodness no. Thorin was a lovely heroic king with a regal birthright stretching all the way back to the first dwarf sent by Mahal, and a most attractive mien, and Bilbo was…
Well, he was a foolish old hobbit, that was all, and foolish old hobbits did not have moments with tragically beautiful kings.
Besides, the look in Thorin’s eyes had likely been exasperation at his stubbornness. Oh dear, Bilbo fretted, he did so hope he hadn’t offended Thorin. He never knew what to say to Thorin nowadays, and sometimes he did let his temper get the better of him, forgetting that things were not as they once were.
While he had known of Thorin’s blue blood and his exalted status while on the journey, it had never really sunk in, and he had been as insolent as he wished with Thorin, with few consequences. Now the reality of Thorin’s birth was far clearer, with that awful crown and his awful kingly robes and how his attention was split between Bilbo and what seemed like every Yavanna-damned dwarf in Erebor!
But Bilbo was being selfish, he realised. He could not expect to have as much of Thorin’s attention as before. Thorin had a responsibility to his people - he had always had - and it was simply the responsibility of a king to treat all his subjects equally. Bilbo ignored the sharp pain in his heart at the thought. Yes, he would simply have to accept the fact that he was no longer as important to Thorin as he had been before.
Perhaps it was all for the best, he told himself, and tried to surreptitiously wipe at the edges of his eyes. His betrayal had rather shaken Thorin, had shaken him deeply, made him doubt who he could and couldn’t trust. It was one of the few things Bilbo had regretted about the whole affair - causing Thorin pain, that was. He remembered Thorin’s expression as he had held him off the ramparts all too clearly.
Perhaps he should really try to stop calling Thorin by his name and start addressing him by his proper epithet. He did not know why it irked Thorin so - perhaps some strange fancy of his - but it was the proper thing to do, after all. Yes, he would have to stop thinking of Thorin by his name in his head as well. It was only proper to start calling Thorin the King Under the Mountain. Only it was such an awfully long name…
Oh, bother! Bilbo had to wipe at his eyes again. Thorin’s - the king’s - rooms really were uncommonly dusty. He should have a word with the chambermaids, to tell them to dust more often - or rather, he should tell Balin to tell the chambermaids. It was not proper for one of his status to comment on the state of the royal rooms, not proper at all…
Oh, Bilbo thought furiously, how he absolutely despised that word!
*
Bilbo was having his breakfast in his rooms when there was a knock at the door. He opened the door to find a stranger on his doorstep.
“Hello!” said the stranger. He was a very funny-looking dwarf indeed. He had on the uniform of the palace guard, but he wore a large blue scarf that covered his neck and most of his chin. His hair was bright yellow, like flax fibre, and hung in an elegant halo around his head. His beard was one of the simplest Bilbo had ever seen - barring the king’s, of course - with the hairs of his beard gathered in a loose knot with an iron clasp and peeking out the bottom of his scarf. He had a fair face, for a dwarf, with ruddy cheeks, a clever mouth, and warm brown eyes.
He smiled at Bilbo. It was a merry smile, and Bilbo found himself inexplicably smiling in return.
A beat of silence passed, and Bilbo was suddenly aware that he was wearing only his dressing gown, having been unprepared for company. He hastily pulled close the edges of the gown, feeling an uncanny sense of déjà vu, and cleared his throat.
“And you are…?” he asked politely, when it seemed there would be no name forthcoming.
Immediately the dwarf swept down into a merry bow, revealing a large hefty mattock strapped to his back. He stood upright again with much jingling of his armour and scraping of his leather garb.
“Oddvar, son of Virdar, at your service!” he said smartly. “I am to be your new guard, Lord Baggins.”
“Goodness!” Bilbo said uncomfortably. “Lord Baggins? Why, I am not so esteemed as that. You must call me Bilbo, since it appears we will soon be spending much time together. I am afraid I am not dressed for company, but if you don’t mind my rudeness, you might want to come inside for a cup of tea?”
“Well, strictly speaking, Master Bilbo,” Oddvar said, a very stern expression on his face, “us guards aren’t allowed into the royal quarters. We’re supposed to stay outside and watch for intruders and ruffians and the like, you see. But,” he said, and his face suddenly split into another of those likeable grins as he leaned forward with a conspiratorial air, “I certainly won’t say no to a strong cup of tea. Only if it is to stay strictly between us, Master Baggins. I’m sure you won’t go telling on me now, would you?”
Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up. Then he burst out laughing.
“You insolent dwarf,” he said, unable to hide his smile, “I hardly know you, and yet you presume to put on airs? Well, I suppose you simply must come in now.” He opened the door a little wider and Oddvar strode in, ducking to avoid the ceiling, as he was rather a tall dwarf.
He sat down at the low table where Bilbo had been taking his meal. Bilbo prepared another plate heaped high with scones and slathered with fresh butter and jam from Dale.
Oddvar was an uncommonly polite dwarf, for he thanked Bilbo for the meal, and ate neatly with little mess. Bilbo squinted at him.
“Are you sure you’re a dwarf?” he said skeptically. “I have never met a dwarf who didn’t have half of his food in his beard by the time he finished his meal.”
“I am indeed an uncommonly unusual dwarf,” said Oddvar solemnly, as he carried his plate to the kitchen and washed it up. Bilbo poured them both a cup of tea, and they sat at the table again.
“You are from Ered Luin?” asked Bilbo, watching Oddvar over the rim of his cup, and observing the way he fiddled absently at the clasp at the end of his beard as he drank his tea.
“I was one of the refugees from Erebor who settled in Ered Luin, yes,” Oddvar replied. “I would have joined the Company on their journey, for I was eager to reclaim our home, but for my mother. She was sick with consumption when the king sought my help, and I could not in good conscience leave her sick and helpless while I went gallivanting halfway across Middle Earth.”
“How awful,” Bilbo said, feeling the statement rather inadequate. “How is your mother now? Did she travel here with you?”
“She passed two months ago,” Oddvar murmured quietly.
“Ah.”
They sat together in quiet silence for a few moments, then Oddvar made a visible effort to perk himself up.
“Well, Master Bilbo,” he said, with a smile, “what will your schedule be like today? I imagine an important personage like yourself would have many responsibilities in and around the mountain?”
Bilbo shook his head, suddenly feeling self-conscious, and wrapped his hands tightly around the cup I his hands. “I don’t have many responsibilities in Erebor. Just a few visits to friends today, I’m afraid. I’m not a very important person, you see.” Then, to stave off the platitudes which often followed such statements when he made them to his friends, he hurriedly added, “I suppose you know the reason why you’ve been employed as my guard?”
Oddvar nodded vigorously. “Overeager dwarrows hoping to cement their position and gather favour with our esteemed king through gaining your hand,” he growled. “You mustn’t fear, Master Bilbo. I will take good care to protect you from any unwanted solicitations.”
Bilbo waved his hands around in the air eloquently. “Nonsense!” he said, in a dismissive tone. “I’m quite sure it will amount to nothing, and that I’ll have wasted a large part of your time. Frankly, I find it hard to believe that any dwarrows would be driven to take action against me simply because I spurned their suit.”
“I think you quite underestimate your own attractiveness, Master Bilbo,” replied Oddvar, cocking his head and smiling. “We of Ered Luin have heard the tales of the role you played in the reclamation of Erebor, and many were present when King Thorin named you Khuzdbâha. ‘Tis a great honour none have been given since the time of Durin the Third, for we dwarrows are a fiercely private race who hold our secrets close within our kin and our peoples, and your title is surely an indication of the high esteem you are held in by our king.”
Bilbo felt rather pleased by the praise, although he rather thought Oddvar’s estimation of his importance in Thorin’s eyes rather exaggerated.
“Be that as it may,” he said primly, “most of my time is now spent in idleness.”
He averted his eyes and stared into the fire. “I wish I had my garden again. When first the dwarrows came to Bag End it was the height of spring, and the snapdragons were but freshly-bloomed. I wonder how my gardenias are doing,” he murmured, now mostly to himself. “Quite a fuss my mother made, when my father planted those fickle plants. Difficult to care for, and as capricious as the worst hobbit lass, and yet when they bloomed the fall my parents passed they were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” His memories of that autumn were clear as crystal - the snowy blossoms of the gardenias blooming hesitantly from the thick green shrubs at the edge of his father’s plot, the cold crisp air of the nights, the tears he had shed sitting on the bench in front of Bag End and remembering the sound of Belladonna’s laughter.
He hadn’t thought about his parents for a while. Hadn’t thought about his garden and his father’s beautiful gardenias, hadn’t thought about his lovely empty smial all dusty and quiet without his care, hadn’t thought about his soft armchair and his plush carpets and the old musty map of Rivendell hanging in his father’s study.
Perhaps he ought to start a garden. Certainly Erebor needed more greenery and growing things. He was going to go mad one of these days, surrounded with nothing but cold, silent rock and the artificial bright light of the crystal lamps. He needed the sun, the birdsong, the feeling of soil sifting under his bare feet; for he was a hobbit, and hobbits were not made to spend their lives in mountains and under stone.
He would ask Thorin - no, no, he would ask Balin. He would not trouble the king with this. He already felt somewhat of a burden, what with the whole courting debacle, and was now rather furious at himself for making a fuss out of what would surely have tided over in a few weeks if he’d just kept a level head and not blurted everything out to the king the moment he’d been questioned on the matter -
“You have worked with plants?” Oddvar said, and Bilbo’s head snapped around. He had completely forgotten about the other dwarf’s existence, and the question startled him.
It took him a few seconds to compose himself, before he could answer.
“I had a garden back - back in Bag End. In Hobbiton,” Bilbo answered, politely.
Oddvar leaned forward with a quick movement, propping himself on his knees and with a sparkle in his brown eyes which, now that Bilbo thought about it, contained a hint of a very familiar mischief. “You don’t say!” he exclaimed. “Master Bilbo, I must admit, I accepted this post partly out of curiosity, for halflings are such strange creatures - never before have I met a halfling, and I dearly wish to know more about you and your curious folk. Would you tell me more about yourself? That is,” he added with a grin, “if I’m not being too insolent. I wouldn’t like to offend you, after all, Master Bilbo.”
His excitement was contagious, and Bilbo found his mood unexpectedly bolstered. He smiled, glad of the distraction from his strange maudlin mood, and the unexpected interest in his species, for not many dwarrows outside the Company had expressed such attentiveness to him, and even deigned to speak to him. So it was thus that he began his lecture.
“Well, Master Oddvar, for a start, we do not like being called halflings, for we are not half of anything, much less men, who coined the derogatory term. It is far more polite to refer to us Shire-folk as hobbits, supposedly from the old Westron word Holbytlan…”
*
Unexpectedly, the king sought Bilbo three days later, and invited him for a meal in his quarters.
“I feel that I have been remiss in my treatment of you,” Thorin told him, in a rather intense sort of way, having cornered him in his chambers as Bilbo prepared to set out to meet Balin for luncheon. “You are a friend of mine, and yet I have not spoken to you proper since - well, since - “
“Yes, quite,” said Bilbo hastily, as he sensed that Thorin was about to say something maudlin, involving a topic which both were quite determined to avoid. “Tomorrow? I will be there.”
“Tomorrow, yes,” agreed Thorin. “And perhaps we could make it a weekly feature?” he murmured quietly, almost shyly. Bilbo blinked in surprise at the unexpected invitation.
“Oh - well, of course,” he said, and ventured a smile at Thorin. “I would love to have dinner with you tonight, Your Majesty.”
Thorin returned his smile, but it looked brittle and strangely sad. “Good,” he said, and took an abortive step forward, as if he had wished to come closer, but had ultimately thought better of him. Bilbo hovered awkwardly at the door, unsure if Thorin had more to say to him, or if they were done.
“If that’s all - “
“Bilbo - “
They spoke at the same time, and cut off their sentences abruptly. Bilbo stared at Thorin, feeling sweat bead on his brow. Thorin made a strange gesture with his hand, somewhere between a gesture forward and an exasperated wave of his hands, and Bilbo took it as his cue to speak.
“Balin’s expecting me,” he said, feeling his fingers tighten where they held onto the edge of the door. “I’ll just - I mean, we’ll see each other tonight, won’t we?”
“Yes. Yes, we will,” Thorin said, his smile looking more like a grimace now. He stood and edged his way out past Bilbo, where Oddvar stood, looking curiously at the both of them. “Good morning, Master Baggins. I look forward to seeing you tonight.”
When he had shut the door behind Thorin, he suddenly turned to Oddvar, who had followed him back into his rooms.
“When I’ve finished luncheon with Balin,” he said, realising his tone was unusually brusque, and making an effort to soften its edge, “won’t you show me round Erebor? I haven’t actually seen most of it, you know. I’d like to see some of the rooms which have been restored.”
Oddvar’s raised eyebrows registered his surprise, although he nodded. “But, Master Bilbo…” he ventured. “There are far more qualified dwarrows to be your guide. Lord Balin, perhaps, or one of the dwarrows from the Company. Or King Thorin himself. For him to visit you personally and invite you to dinner…”
Bilbo frowned. “I know not why I received such an invite,” he admitted, “although I must say it is both welcome, and extremely confusing! Why, I haven’t received such overtures of friendship from the king since we had - since we had our argument.”
“You mean, during his gold sickness, when he found out you gave the Arkenstone to King Bard?” asked Oddvar.
Bilbo looked sharply at him. “How did you know that?” he said, leveling him with a suspicious gaze. Surely there were few who knew of the events on the battlements that day. Where could Oddvar, a simple guard from Ered Luin, have heard about the incident?
“Oh - er, I’ve heard things here and there,” Oddvar said quickly, although he wasn’t quite quick enough to hide the startled flash in his eyes. Bilbo side-eyed him dubiously, but he met Bilbo’s gaze with an all-too-innocent smile.
“Hmm,” Bilbo said at last. He had too little time to ponder on this mystery, for Balin awaited him in his chambers, but he would certainly think on this further. What an interesting dwarf Oddvar, son of Vidar, was turning out to be…
*
Dinner with Thorin was a quiet and peaceful affair. Bombur, now the head chef of Erebor, served them dishes of dwarf-make but with hobbit-y touches, such as a delicious seed cake baked from Bilbo’s own recipe, and a lovely vegetable stew which Thorin made a valiant effort to get through. While their conversation had started out stilted and awkward, Bilbo was delighted that, over the course of the meal, their words flowed more easily, and a semblance of their past relationship began to return.
After the meal they retired to the armchairs by the fire. Bilbo began to stuff the barrel of his pipe and peeked at Thorin, sitting opposite him, from under his lashes. Thorin was puffing quietly at his pipe, his eyes closed, and humming in contentment.
“I hear you’ve spoken to Balin about setting up a garden in Erebor,” Thorin said, suddenly. Bilbo nodded.
“Yes, he said I could set it up on the eastern side of the mountain. There’s a little alcove there which isn’t being put to use, so he gave it to me. You… You don’t have any objections, do you?” Bilbo asked hesitantly.
Thorin shook his head and exhaled, the smoke pouring from his lips in a rather decadent fashion. Bilbo felt himself starting to sweat under his waistcoat. The fire was burning low, the flickering flames casting shadows along Thorin’s ruddy skin.
“It will be difficult to set up a garden in a mountain,” he said at length, “though it is not without precedent.”
“Yes, Balin told me,” Bilbo replied eagerly. He had been so enthused by the notion of his very own garden that he had practically bombarded Balin and Ori with questions as to how it might be arranged. “There was a garden in Moria, supplied with light by strategically placed mirrors and crystals, and rather elaborate, by all accounts. I thought I might take inspiration from there as to the finer logistics of the matter.”
Thorin nodded, his gaze fixed intently on the fire. “The gardens of Tharâkh Bazân, the jewel of Khazad-dûm,” he said, his voice quiet and far away. The Khuzdul words sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine, said as they were in the deep guttural rumble of Thorin’s voice. “Though I know little of plants and trees, even I have heard of these gardens. ’Tis named Durin’s Garden in Westron, for Durin in his first incarnation built it deep within the passages of Durin’s Way. Although dwarrows may happily live their whole lives under the depths of a mountains, even the hardiest of us sometimes long for the touch of the sun on our faces, and the sight of the green things that grow on this earth. Thus Durin constructed this most magnificent of gardens, with help from the elves of Eregion - or Hollin, as it was then known.’
‘He filled it with the rarest and most exotic of trees and blossoms, and throughout all corners of the garden he installed great pools with water clear and cold, taken from the springs that feed naturally into the base of Zirakzigil. Over the years, the walls were etched with tales of the dwarven heroes who had made their mark in the battles of the Second and Third Ages against the Orcs of Gundabad and Angmar. In the centre of the garden was there placed the statue of my ancestor, the last king of Moria - Náin the First, who fell by the hand of the Balrog that slaughtered his father. Before we lost our kingdom, it was many a lore-master and academic who visited Khazad-dûm to look upon the many beautiful and rare plants that were so arranged in Tharâkh Bazân. It was the envy of many races, and one of the prides of our people - that, even deep underground, the masterful craftsmanship of the dwarrows could bring forth green things to grow, and that they could survive under our untutored hands.”
By this time, his eyes were half-closed, the tone of his voice dreamy and reverent. It was as if in his mind’s eye he saw the great halls of Moria once more before him, those soaring ceilings and the weathered carvings on the walls of his ancestral home, which he knew and loved purely from the stories of his scholars alone. As Thorin spoke, Bilbo had a sudden vision of this named underground garden.
Although he had never looked upon it in his life, and never would, he could picture its magnificence now, in his mind, and more. He could imagine the beautiful plants and flowers which had once blessed those hallowed grounds, and which had surely fallen into disrepair and neglect. But although the image was inspiring, he rather thought for his garden -
Thorin suddenly opened his eyes as if he had heard Bilbo’s thoughts, and his eyes were very blue indeed as they gazed intensely into Bilbo’s own.
“But of course,” he murmured, “your garden will be a hobbit garden. Simple, and useful, and beautiful in its simplicity. Without dwarven splendour and flamboyance. I think that is altogether a good thing.”
Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well, yes - of course, my own endeavour would not be so ambitious. I hardly see my little hobbit garden filled with statues of dwarven kings and heroes and all. Just a simple affair, as you said - some herbs, flowers if I can find any, plants I had in Bag End, that’s all.”
“The resources of Erebor are at your disposal,” Thorin said formally. “Gold will be no object. You have a hard-won obligation to our treasure, after all.”
“Yes, I had thought of asking Bard for some transplants from Dale, and perhaps even the elves. Say what you will about them, they do have a way with plants, and I do need all the help I can get. As for the irrigation and lighting and all, Balin has been more than helpful in offering the aid of Erebor’s architects and smiths.”
“Hmm,” Thorin said. It was a pleased hum that reverberated around the room. “You must show me the garden once it is complete. While I am no connoisseur of plants or other growing things, I would be honoured if you were to show me the fruits of your labours.”
“Of course,” Bilbo said, suddenly finding himself rather breathless.
“It is good that you are finding something to do,” Thorin said softly. His eyes glinted in the firelight. “I had worried that you would be bored in Erebor, for I know you find little interest in our dwarvish hobbies and ways.”
There wasn’t really anything Bilbo could say to that, so he hummed in reply and blew out a smoke ring of a diameter he was rather proud of.
“And how is Oddvar?” Thorin asked, tapping his pipe against the arm of his armchair to get rid of the ash.
The thought of that strange dwarf brought an involuntary smile to Bilbo’s face. “He really is a most curious dwarf indeed!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I asked him to guide me about Erebor this afternoon, after I took my luncheon with Balin, and he brought me to the auction halls, of all places. Although it is only half-restored, already it is bustling with merchants and vendors from the dwarf settlements. It was a pleasant change to see the halls so filled with life, when previously it was laid waste to by Smaug. He took me to the food stalls to sample dwarven cuisine. I did not know Erebor specialised in ham, although it was an enlightening experience to try ham cured in the halls of the Lonely Mountain, certainly one no other hobbit can boast! And there was a quite strange dish, I think brought from as far as Dorwinion - some sort of pickled bat organ - I shudder to think what it could have been, though Oddvar assured me it was an exotic delicacy craved by many.’
‘He really was awfully kind, you know. He gave me this - “ Bilbo took out a package from his pocket and unfolded it, revealing a brooch worked with intricate designs of a purple gardenia. “He says he was quite inspired by my speech the other day on the beauty of my father’s gardenias, and was moved to craft this brooch for me last night! Although how he found the time to craft it I will never guess. Look, isn’t it beautiful?” he said excitedly, brandishing the brooch towards Thorin.
Although Thorin had been regarding him with a rather indulgent smile up until this point, as Bilbo proffered the brooch towards him, the smile fell from his face and his eyes seemed to harden.
“A fine piece of work indeed,” he said, with a blank expression on his face, and made no move to take the brooch.
Bilbo frowned at him. “You don’t want to take a closer look?” he pressed. “Why, I met Dori on the way here and showed him it, and he said it was marvellous indeed - in fact, I could hardly get him to part with it and return it to me, so taken was he with its beautiful craftsmanship! I did not know Oddvar was such a masterful craftsman. Perhaps I should commission him to make a gardening pail for my new garden. Something not too ostentatious, something simple and robust, that I could use…”
“I will make the pail for you,” Thorin said firmly. He dropped his pipe carelessly onto the floor and leaned closer.
“Master Baggins,” he said earnestly, his hands closing over Bilbo’s and hiding the brooch from view, as if he could not bear to look upon it, “I beg you to remember, you must be careful. Remember that there are many dwarrows who seek to win your favour and take advantage of you.”
Bilbo blinked up at him, and decided the appropriate reaction would be to give a nervous laugh. “That’s absurd,” he said. “Oddvar’s not - he’s not like the other dwarrows. He’s not trying to gain my favour in an underhanded way. Although I’ve only known him for three days now, I consider myself a good judge of character, you know. He’s - I’m sure he’s just being friendly and trying to get me to feel comfortable here, that’s all.”
Yavanna knows he’s done more towards that quarter than some I might name , he thought, although he immediately regretted his spiteful thoughts.
Thorin’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything in reply, and leaned back into his chair. Bilbo felt the mood rather spoiled by this, and he stared into the fire, the earlier ease of his words lost. There was a silence for a good long while after that, not the comfortable silences of dinner, but a heavy one, heavy with words unspoken and unwilling.
As a result, Bilbo excused himself rather earlier than he would have liked. As he rose to leave, and stood by the door to say goodnight, Thorin abruptly came round the table and laid a hand on his arm.
“I apologise, Master Baggins,” he rumbled, and Bilbo felt a little dizzy from his proximity. “I must admit, my concern for you sometimes manifests in unpleasant ways. I am sorry if I caused you any discomfort.”
He had a contrite expression on his face, and Bilbo found himself softening. He patted Thorin’s arm rather awkwardly. “Well, no harm done, I suppose,” he said, shaking his head. “Just, I think you’re completely wrong about Oddvar, you know. He’s a good dwarf. Or I assume you know so, seeing as you’re the one who employed him to guard me, after all.”
“Dís was the one who recommended him to me,” Thorin said, looking still unhappy about the whole affair. “If it were up to me…”
“Yes, yes, I know, if it were up to you I’d be surrounded by four dwarrows watching over my every movement, every hour of the day,” Bilbo replied, smiling and meaning it as a joke, but he sighed as Thorin’s expression became even more forlorn and crestfallen. Wishing to end their evening not on so dour a note, he patted Thorin’s arm again - a rather patronising gesture, he now thought - and gazed up at him.
“I’ll see you next week then, Thorin?” he said quietly, deciding that perhaps, just this once, he could ignore his inner resolution to refer to Thorin by his kingly epithet. True to form, as Thorin’s name left his lips, the eyes of the king in question became warm and liquid as he looked intently down upon Bilbo. Thorin opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then he seemed to think the better of it, and smiled at Bilbo again. It was one of his genuine smiles, Bilbo had learned. Thorin’s smiles were few and hard-won, and once - long ago - before the whole gold-sickness debacle - Bilbo had made it a secret project of his to chronicle all of Thorin’s smiles.
Not many people noticed, but Thorin had crow’s feet lining the edge of his eyes, despite his relatively younger age, but perhaps not so unexpected if one considered that he had been orphaned young and left to fend for his people with few of his family left beside him. When Thorin smiled, the lines by his eyes would crinkle, ever so slightly, so while his mouth barely moved, one could tell he was smiling, if one knew him well, just by looking at his eyes.
It kindled all sorts of funny feelings inside Bilbo, deeply-buried feelings he had no desire to explore, so he quickly dismissed them and left the rooms with a hurried goodnight to Thorin.
Oddvar was standing outside Thorin’s rooms, chatting amiably with another of the guards. They both snapped to attention and looked rather guilty as Bilbo opened the door and stepped out, but although Thorin looked rather severely at the two of them, Bilbo simply laughed and gestured to Oddvar to follow him. He had learnt by now that Oddvar had a cheerful and voluble personality which was difficult to extinguish.
As they walked slowly down the passageway towards Bilbo’s rooms, Bilbo turned his head slightly to look back, an almost unconscious motion. The last he saw of Thorin was that large, regal figure, standing outside the doors to his rooms, one hand braced on the door frame, and his eyes hooded as he stared after Bilbo’s retreating back.
He was lit from behind by the firelight, and Bilbo had to suppress an involuntary shiver. Perhaps those feelings he had spoken of before were not so deeply-buried, after all.
*
As Bilbo had told Thorin, the location where his garden would be was in a small unused room which had previously been used for storage, and as such was located near the edge of the mountain to keep the temperature of the room low. There was a window situated quite high up on the wall, but Balin had told him that with the right angling of mirrors and the like, the chamber would be sufficiently well-lit for plants to grow.
Right now, the room was empty of any sort of equipment needed to set up his garden. The floor was paved with stone, so when he had first inspected the room the day after his dinner with Thorin, he had decided that the first order of business would be to lay down a deep layer of soil after stripping away the stone. With some careful planning, he was sure that the room could be turned into a nice little hobbit garden indeed.
When the materials arrived from Dale and the Elvenking’s Halls, Bilbo set to work arranging the garden. Although he had insisted that the builders take Erebor’s reconstruction as their priority, Balin had told him in no uncertain terms that Thorin himself had ordered them to focus on fulfilling Bilbo’s demands. After all, Balin had said reasonably, there were plenty of other builders to work on the restoration, and a few bodies would hardly be missed.
Thus it was that the architects and workers had toiled hard the past few days to deliver on Bilbo’s vision, and as a result the previously-dark and dank room was now filled with a warm, soft light filtering in from the window up high and reflecting off mirrors placed strategically on the walls. A path had been clearly paved based on Bilbo’s blueprint, and was surrounded on all sides by a deep, thick layer of soil suitable even for planting trees.
Bilbo smiled a pleased smile as he felt the sensation of the cracks in the paving stones under his feet. It was a welcome feeling, reminiscent of his own garden. Although he had not yet been born when Bag End was being built, the house having been a gift from Bungo to Belladonna to mark their wedding, he did remember how the garden had evolved over time. He remembered how, with each birthday of Bilbo’s, Bungo had laid down new paving stones to newer areas of the garden, and encouraged Bilbo to arrange the new plot of land as suited his imagination and his whims.
A few days ago Bilbo had written to Hamfast and told him of his decision to stay at Erebor permanently, where he belonged. He had added that he was leaving Bag End to his cousins Drogo and Primula Baggins, who had been newlyweds ere his abrupt evacuation from the Shire, and that Belladonna’s set of silver spoons and china set were to be given to the Gamgees as thanks for their years of loyal service.
It had also given Bilbo great pleasure to write that he wished to, in all sincerity and with all his love, donate to his favourite cousin Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that lovely figurine of a female wolfhound which had sat atop his mantelpiece next to his silver spoons for twenty years ever since it had been given him for his thirty-first birthday by his grandmother Laura Baggins, as he had found the resemblance between dearest Lobelia and that majestic figurine most uncanny. She had been admiring it most assiduously, after all, the twenty times she had invited herself to his humble abode to gently remonstrate with him about his life choices and his besmirchment of the Baggins name, and he was sure that she would make far better use of it than he!
The one thing he would truly regret the most about not returning to Bag End was that he would never get to see Lobelia’s reaction. Oh, perhaps she would keel over in shock, and that would be one problem solved for the rest of the inhabitants of the Shire. Well, a hobbit could certainly dream, couldn’t he.
He had also written to Hamfast and asked for some seeds from his garden, specifically seeds from Bungo’s gardenias, the barberry bushes around the edge of his garden, and some from the artichokes which had won him the Hobbiton village prize three years in a row. The missive had been delivered by raven, a large black bird named Linouac, who had side-eyed him most alarmingly at first before bending her head and snatching the message from him with her large claws. Bilbo hoped she wouldn’t give Hamfast too severe a shock when she delivered his letter, and hopefully he would receive his seeds from Hamfast in a month or so.
In the meantime, he had obtained several seeds from Bard and Thranduil. From Dale he had received simpler plants, broad beans and figs and sweet peas, which had been taken from Dale’s budding farmlands. Being the contrary arse that he was, Thranduil had sent simple herbs like parsley, sage and thyme, but coupled with exotic flowers completely unsuited to growing in limited sunlight. Bilbo sighed, and set those aside for a future project.
Oddvar had wandered into the garden after him, and was watching him curiously as he rooted around in the ground, placing the parsley seeds on top of the soil and sprinkling with a light dash of water from his pail. It was a beautiful shiny new watering pail, which had been delivered by Dwalin a day ago, and shaped, apparently, by Thorin. Although Bilbo feigned distress and concern that he had been an unnecessary diversion of Thorin’s valuable time, secretly he had felt rather happy at the gift. Evidently, when Thorin made a promise, he kept it, and Bilbo had carefully tucked the pail away in his closet for use when the seeds arrived.
“This is an odd-looking garden indeed,” Oddvar said mildly, after watching Bilbo trundle happily around his garden for a while.
“Odd-looking in what way?” Bilbo asked, making a mark on his blueprint where he intended to set up a crystal light.
Oddvar looked around with a faintly puzzled look on his face. “Well… It is not a dwarven garden, that is all. Nor is it an elven one, or a garden after the fashion of men. In our travels here from Ered Luin we saw many gardens along the way, many decorated with statues of stone and elaborate fountains, and in the case of men, strange deformed carvings which were intended to resemble goblins - or g-nomes, as they were called. Although you have had dwarven builders working on this day and night for the past few days, I see that you do not intend to place any of such decorations in your garden.”
“Well, Master Oddvar,” Bilbo said merrily, “this is a hobbit garden, might I remind you, not a dwarf garden, or an elf garden, or indeed one built by men. We hobbits are simple folk, and we see no need to augment the natural beauty brought by our fruits and vegetables and flowers, with artificial ornaments. No, keep it plain and keep it simple, is what my father always told me, and I intend to follow his advice.”
Oddvar still seemed ill at ease with the garden, and poked suspiciously at one of the plain walls. “Are you sure you would not like a carving done into the walls?” he pressed. “Perhaps one telling of your riddles with Smaug, or your forays against the spiders of the Mirkwood, or your prowess upon the battlefield of Erebor? You know I am a smith myself, and I am myself loath to leave so bare and valuable a canvas empty.”
“Well, my garden won’t appeal to many a dwarf, I’ll wager,” said Bilbo loftily, “but all the same I think I’ll keep it as it is. There were no gaudy stone statues or self-aggrandising carvings in my garden in Bag End, and I rather think I’ll keep it that way.”
Oddvar shrugged, and leant against the wall next to the entranceway. “It is your garden, after all, Master Bilbo,” he said, smiling, “and while I confess I do not understand the charm an unadorned chamber holds, if it holds value to you, then it is yours to do with as you please. Only - do not expect many a dwarf to seek this garden out at their leisure, is all.”
“You might be surprised,” Bilbo sniffed, and turned back to planting his begonias. Privately he agreed with Oddvar as to his last point - many of the dwarrows he had spoken to regarding his project had been skeptical, and often over-solicitous, regarding his decision to keep his garden to more of a hobbit style. Even Ori had tried to subtly suggest placing a small effigy of himself or his parents on a pedestal in his garden, an alarming notion Bilbo had immediately dismissed.
Well, many of the dwarrows, except for Thorin. Thorin’s easy acceptance of his decision, and indeed his broaching of the subject, had surprised Bilbo greatly. He had not expected Thorin to take his side in the matter, and it had been a pleasant surprise when he had done so.
Bilbo frowned to himself. It was a mystery, that was for sure, and one he found difficult to penetrate.
Oh, well. There was work to do on his garden, and Thorin was a mysterious, implacable, absolutely frustrating creature, as he always had been. Bilbo resolved to turn his attention to other matters, and indeed spent the rest of his afternoon quietly and happily tending to his burgeoning garden.
*
The next time Oddvar joined Bilbo in his garden, he had a gift for Bilbo.
“Oh, Oddvar! This is absolutely lovely!” Bilbo exclaimed, holding up the bracelet to the light. Privately he thought it a tad cumbersome and heavy to wear, but the roses carved out of amethyst on its clasp were truly a thing of wonder. He squinted at the intricate designs on the bracelet, which was fashioned after a twisting vine with red blossoms of roses and other fanciful, imagined plants (Oddvar was clearly no connoisseur of growing things). Then he realised that, like the brooch of gardenias, there were the cirth runes for ‘o’ and ‘w’ carved minutely into the gold.
“Oddvar,” he said sternly, “how have you had time to make yet another present for me? You barely leave my sight! Have you been shirking your duties? Or, perhaps, exerting yourself while you were supposed to be asleep? I cannot decide which is the lesser sin.” For Oddvar only left Bilbo’s side with another silent, sombre guard in his place during the night and early hours of the morning.
The dwarf shuffled his feet awkwardly, suddenly refusing to make eye contact with him. His normally ruddy cheeks flushed even further, and he tightened his jaw, as if unwilling to speak.
“It was no great trouble,” he said at last, through gritted teeth. “I… I already had the mould for the bracelet ready. It was a simple matter to pour the gold into the mould and add the roses. I hope you like it.” He glared fiercely at the ground, and suddenly Bilbo was reminded of Kíli when he had been caught trying to sneak his ‘pets’ into Bilbo’s room for safekeeping. He could not help but laugh at the image.
“I forgive you, Oddvar, though there was no great offence to forgive,” he said playfully, and dared to rest his hand on Oddvar’s arm. “’Tis a beautiful and fine piece of work. I appreciate it very much. Thank you.” To show just how much he appreciated it, he lifted his hand and slipped the bracelet over his fingers and onto his wrist, where the metal lay cool against his skin.
Oddvar looked up sharply. Bilbo started, wondering if something was wrong, but suddenly Oddvar’s face smoothed over, a mischievous smile formed on his face.
“Don’t I get a reward, then?” he asked cheekily. “For my hard work?”
The twinkle in his eye was so reminiscent of Bofur’s that Bilbo had to stifle another laugh. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and shook his head with a smile.
“Alright then, you insolent dwarf,” he said, “I wonder what reward you demand?”
“A hug,” Oddvar replied, after a short deliberation. “I have heard from those in the know that your hugs are a great treasure, given few and far between, and I would consider it a fine payment for my hard work indeed!”
Bilbo raised his eyebrows at the audacious request. A hug? Why, the gall of this dwarf, to ask for such intimacies! But, then again, it was such a beautiful piece of work, and he did very much like Oddvar and his cheer and the idiosyncrasies of his odd personality… Surely a hug would be no great imposition. A hug between friends, that was all, nothing harmless at all.
“Alright,” he said, with a put-upon sigh. “Come here, you big lummock.” He lifted his arms and wrapped them around Oddvar, who smelled, oddly enough, of smoked ham and a little bit of camembert cheese.
There was a sudden thud from behind him, and Bilbo startled, but Oddvar’s grasp was tight around him.
“What was that?” he said sharply, when he had successfully wriggled out from Oddvar’s hold. “Did you hear that? It sounded like someone - ” He turned around, fully intent on marching into the corridor, where the sound had originated.
“MUSHROOMS!”
Bilbo jumped about a foot in the air, and spun around to face Oddvar again, who had uttered the proclamation. He had a slightly panicked look on his face.
“What?” Bilbo exclaimed.
Appearing to compose himself, Oddvar offered him a quick smile. “Mushrooms,” he said in a more reasonable tone. “I was craving mushrooms. Shall we stop by the marketplace and see if Fathi is selling those marvellous mushrooms we sampled the other day?”
Bilbo frowned, and moved towards the corridor. “Just a moment,” he said, “I thought I heard - “
“No!” Oddvar shouted, grabbing his shoulder and stopping him where he stood. “I - I want mushrooms now. I am urgently craving Fathi’s mushrooms. Please, Master Bilbo, I am almost fainting from hunger. Shall we go to the marketplace? It might have just been a cave crawler, or one of those awful gredbyg, after all.”
Bilbo looked at him dubiously. Perhaps he was a trifle daft, a few peas short of a pod - or perhaps he did simply have a sudden craving for mushrooms. Bilbo himself did occasionally experience sudden desires for food, especially when the dish was as good as Fathi’s Fried Frostcaps…
“Very well,” Bilbo said at last, although he cast one last suspicious look at the corridor. The journey with the Company had taught him to ever be on his guard, and to always trust his instincts, but he supposed that if Oddvar, a trained guard of Erebor, hand-selected by Dís and Thorin to guard him, had dismissed any danger from that quarter… He might be making a mountain out of a molehill if he insisted on finding danger where there was none. It was probably some beastly denizen of the mountain, as Oddvar had mentioned, against which the dwarrows had been fighting a desperate battle recently.
Well, now he was craving mushrooms. Oh dear, he hoped there was still time for a visit to the marketplace before he was due at Thorin’s for their dinner that night…
*
“Ereborean smoked ham, as requested!” Bombur exclaimed with a flourish, setting the silver-plated dish down onto Thorin’s table.
“However did you manage to find smoked ham, Bombur?” Bilbo said, with a delighted smile. “Bofur was complaining earlier that there was none to be found in the marketplace earlier!”
Bombur laughed, a deep, booming sound which send tremors through the table. “I’m afraid that was all me, Bilbo,” he admitted merrily. “I bought the last of the smoked hams this morning - the lady Dís was craving sandwiches of ham and cheese for breakfast, and would not be put off by the knowledge that she would be depriving the rest of the citizens of such a necessity for the rest of the day! Besides,” he added with a wink, “I have heard from a funny little dwarf of your propensity for our hams. I thought it would be a nice treat for you, Bilbo.”
“Yes, Dís often has these strange whims and fancies of her. A mighty troublesome thing they are sometimes, too,” grumbled Thorin, as he poked half-heartedly on the salad Bilbo had pointedly piled on his plate.
“Don’t think I don’t see you trying to shove the cucumbers into your pockets, Your Majesty,” Bilbo said sternly, pointing at Thorin with an accusatory fork. Thorin looked up guiltily, and slid the cucumbers back onto his plate, frowning unhappily at having been thwarted. He had been grumpy ever since he had opened the door to admit Bilbo. However, he had gently rebuffed any attempts on Bilbo’s part to inquire as to the cause of his chagrin, and had also made a clear effort to pull himself out of his black mood. Bilbo decided it must have been a difficult day on the throne tending to the requests of the people - a malady which could only be cured by good food and good company, both of which Bilbo was determined he would provide this evening.
As Bombur bustled off to the kitchen to fetch the last dish, Bilbo assiduously shovelled more of Thorin’s favourite foods onto his plate and made sure to include plenty of mutton to make up for the salad Thorin had finally consented to eating. The affectionate smile granted him by Thorin in return more than made up for his bad mood earlier, although he still seemed perturbed, a frown creasing his thick brows and casting a shadow over his eyes.
“How is your work on the garden proceeding, Master Baggins?” Thorin said, and Bilbo swallowed to dismiss the twinge in his chest at being addressed in so formal a manner. He supposed it was only right, since he was now referring to Thorin by his kingly title, that Thorin utilise a more distant manner of naming him. But just because he knew it to be right hardly made it feel right to him, if he was being completely honest with himself…
And now Thorin was staring at him in confusion, having received no answer to his question while Bilbo had been brooding on inconsequential matters. Yavanna, Bilbo really was going senile, and at the tender age of sixty-two-or-something years.
“Things proceed apace,” he answered quickly. “Your dwarven builders are certainly efficient - we had the lighting system up and the soil laid down in a matter of days! I was really quite impressed with your workers’ productivity. I have begun work on the planting. Did you know Thranduil sent me orchids? Orchids, I ask you! What a ridiculous notion!”
At Thorin’s blank look of incomprehension, Bilbo sighed exasperatedly and clucked his tongue. “Orchids,” he explained patiently, “are most pernickety and finicky plants when grown outside their natural habitat. They require much careful adjustment of their surroundings, and I have little expertise in the growing of orchids, so the seeds were practically useless to me! … Sit down, Your Highness, this is not a matter meriting your intervention, although I know you’re practically raring for an excuse to tussle with Thranduil,” Bilbo said peevishly, interrupting Thorin’s attempt to stand and leave the table.
Thorin growled and seized his fork and knife. He carved brutally into the mutton steak on his plate, as if imagining the cut of meat to be Thranduil’s thin, beautiful, vicious face, and chomped ferociously on a piece of the mutton he brought to his mouth. Bilbo winced.
“That blasted elf,” he grumbled, once he had satisfied his need for catharsis. “He probably intended insult through it. You know he never does anything without considering the consequences and every inference that can possibly be drawn from his actions.”
Bilbo sighed to hide his grin at having successfully diverted Thorin’s attention from whatever had been troubling him that day - Thranduil was always a safe target to divert Thorin’s anger onto, since it was a visceral, satisfying hatred the dwarven king had for him.
“Well, you know what he’s like,” Bilbo remarked casually in reply. “Once I have settled the main part of my garden, I will plant his orchids in the centre and perhaps invite him to my garden to see for himself precisely how they are flourishing. I think I will write to Elrond to ask if he has lore-masters familiar in the art of orchid-growing whose expertise he is willing to lend to me…”
At that moment, Bombur trotted back into the room.
“And Fathi’s Fried Frostcaps, as requested,” he declared with a triumphant smile, placing the plate of the most exquisite mushrooms Bilbo had ever seen in front of him. Bilbo hurriedly placed his hand over his mouth to keep himself from drooling, although it was a very near thing.
“Bombur!” he cried, in awe. “You are a magician. How did you possibly know that I was craving Fathi’s mushrooms?”
Bombur winked mischievously at him. “No magic, I’m afraid,” he said, “just a very well-informed little spy.”
Thorin smiled obligingly. “Then we must know the name of this spy, so we know who to thank for satisfying Master Bagginses’ palate this evening,” he said, laying his hand on Bombur’s arm. “Or is that to stay a secret?”
“No secret, Your Majesty,” said Bombur, with a twinkle. “Oddvar, son of Vidar, is his name - he has been most diligently giving his attention to Bilbo’s needs, and indeed it was he who informed me that, due to an excess of time spent in his garden this afternoon, he and Bilbo were unfortunately unable to procure some of Fathi’s famed mushrooms for their consumption before Bilbo was due here for dinner. In fact,” he remarked, whipping out another plate from behind him, “I am to take this plate of mushrooms to him as well, to thank him for his information. Enjoy your meal, Bilbo, Your Majesty.” With that, he swept off with the same unnatural speed and litheness which had so surprised Bilbo upon initial acquaintance with the rotund cook.
“Oddvar,” Thorin muttered, and Bilbo was surprised to see that the dispirited frown had returned to his face.
Then Bilbo remembered that Thorin had been suspicious of Oddvar their previous dinner - inordinately suspicious, in Bilbo’s opinion - and he sought to hastily divert Thorin’s attention, to avoid further distress on Thorin’s part.
“Won’t you try a mushroom?” he said quickly, and scooped up a large spoonful of the aforementioned fungi, gesturing in a rather frantic way towards Thorin’s mouth. “They’re really quite good! I spoke to Fathi yesterday evening, and he said he was doing a roaring business. He picked up the technique in the Shire, you see, and actually, now that I come to think of it, I remember old Bodo Proudfoot’s family recipe for fried mushrooms being rather the same sort of thing - “
A swift touch to his wrist stayed his movement suddenly, and stopped him in his ramble. Bilbo looked at the thick hand on his wrist with a growing sense of foreboding, and indeed Thorin’s hand lay on the bracelet forged by Oddvar that now ringed his wrist.
“How came you by this?” Thorin said, and his voice was curiously soft, devoid of emotion. Bilbo looked warily at him.
“A gift from a friend,” he hedged. “Look, Thorin - “
“The maker’s mark is unfamiliar to me,” Thorin continued, his hand on Bilbo’s wrist gentle, but stern, “but I recognise the runes. This is another gift from Oddvar, is it not?”
“Well, yes,” Bilbo admitted, seeing that the cat was out of the hobbit hole. “He gave it to me earlier this afternoon.”
“I see.”
Thorin’s expression was blank, and he removed his hand from Bilbo’s wrist. The motion left Bilbo feeling strangely bereft.
There was a silence for a few moments, another of those tense silences that seemed to punctuate all of their recent interactions. Thorin ate quietly, keeping his eyes on his plate, the clinking of his cutlery inordinately loud in the quiet of the room.
At last he spoke, and he seemed to find the words difficult to shape. “Master Baggins,” he said, his tone steady and very, very calm, “Oddvar is a good dwarf, as far as Dís and Dwalin were aware. But I must warn you still to be careful. There might be others you know not of - some other plot - “ He seemed to lose his eloquence and his courage then, and his mouth set in an unhappy line.
Bilbo tried a carefree laugh, although it came out sounding twisted and odd. “You need not worry,” he said, and his voice was strangely brittle. “As you said, Oddvar is a good dwarf. He means me no harm - why, he is just a friend to me! He is not cut from the same cloth as Zdenka, or Ardris, or Wili. Why are you so concerned, Your Majesty? Are you worried he is trying to court me? What an absurd idea!” he added, meaning it as a joke to defuse the tension.
A heavy silence, and Thorin averted his eyes.
Bilbo laughed again, but this time it was a shrill laugh. “You cannot mean that!” he said incredulously. He stood from the table and put his hands on his hips, suddenly feeling unaccountably angry with Thorin, this contrary, insufferable king who saw enemies at every corner and sought to warn him off one of the few friends he had in Erebor - no, Bilbo would not have it, no he would most certainly not!
“Oddvar is my friend, and no more,” he said severely. “Any carnal aspect to our relationship is, I quite assure you, quite out of the question! And further to the point, Master Dwarf - “ here he quite expected guards to charge into the room and clap him in irons for his insolence, but when no such guards were forthcoming, he forged on: “ - you have no right to control who I can and cannot befriend! You may be King Under the Mountain, Thorin, but I can assure you, I am a grown hobbit and can choose my company as I please. Even if it be to eschew your company in favour of that of Oddvar, son of Vidar!”
Thorin stood, towering over Bilbo, his face now a mask of anger and wroth. “I can assure you, Master Hobbit,” he thundered, “that I have every right, as your king, and the leader of the Company with whom you travelled to Erebor, my kingdom!”
They stood, toe to toe, staring furiously into each others’ eyes, but Bilbo refused to submit, and suddenly it was as if something broke inside Thorin, for he turned and lifted one hand to cover his face. Bilbo could no longer see his eyes.
“If - If that’s who you want, what you want - I want the best for you,” he said, softly, forlornly. “I want you to be safe.”
And I want you to be mine, Bilbo thought, with a sudden, bitter, agonising passion, but we can’t all get what we want, can we?
Completely incensed, and utterly finished with Thorin, Bilbo stomped angrily from the room and slammed the door behind him.
“Dull-witted, brainless, fucking dwarrows!” he screamed, as soon as he had reached his quarters and shut the door firmly in a very bewildered Oddvar’s face. Futilely he slammed his fists against the wall of his chamber, but as they were made of solid rock, there was no satisfying feeling of the wall giving way under his fists afforded to him. When pounding against the wall brought him no comfort, he flopped down on his bed and tore at his sheets, almost crying in frustration.
Finally, when thrashing about and screaming his throat raw had exhausted him, he lay silently on his bed and thought. He thought, mainly of Thorin, and how Thorin’s hand had trembled as he had held it over his face.
What an unutterably complex, and completely frustrating dwarf! More intensely than ever Bilbo longed for a return to their relationship before it had been destroyed by the gold sickness. More deeply than ever Bilbo regretted his betrayal and his use of the Arkenstone, for it seemed to have formed some unassailable rift between the two of them. Bilbo did not know if Thorin could ever bring himself to trust Bilbo again.
Quietly, and almost unconsciously, his hand crept to his old robes, which he kept on his dresser beside his bed. The cold touch of metal on his fingers soothed him, and on a sudden impulse, he grasped the set of rags which had doubled as his clothes and wrested them to lay across his lap.
The little gold ring lay in the tangle of brown cloth between his legs. Suddenly he very much wished to put it on, to turn invisible and escape from Erebor, to escape from the net of anger and pain which had drawn itself close around Thorin and he. To leave for the green hills of the Shire where he belonged. Because, try as he might, he would never be a dwarf, and Thorin would never be a hobbit, and if he remained in Erebor, surely he would wither away. It would a simple matter indeed, to put on the ring and disappear - he could pack his things in a jiffy, they were laid out neatly in his room after all - put on his pack and run to Dale, where he could surely sneak onto one of the myriad boats sailing to the Brandywine -
It would be simpler even, to put on the ring and creep into Thorin’s chambers, where he surely was, still, to approach that broad, strong back and place his clever hobbit fingers around the hilt of Sting - one thrust, and he would be rid of the source of his unhappiness in one fell swoop -
Bilbo slammed his fist against his head, and tasted blood in his mouth. The copper tang helped him recover his senses, and remembering the thoughts that had been running through his head, he almost fell over himself scrambling backwards and away from - what? Himself? He knew not. How such vile thoughts had entered his head -
His hand closed unwittingly over a small, inconspicuous lump in the pile of brown rags, and he blinked.
Slowly, hesitantly, Bilbo drew the acorn out of the pocket of the robe, and stared at it.
Why, he remembered this well - an acorn from Beorn’s garden, was it not? Was it not the acorn he had presented to Thorin, in the midst of the king’s gold sickness - the acorn he had told Thorin would find its place in the garden of Bag End?
Slowly the fog of anger and confusion began to clear from his mind. His fingers gripped tightly around the small round seed in his hands, and suddenly it was clear to him what he must do.
Leaping out of bed, he went to the door and peered out. True to form, Oddvar had been replaced by Bilbo’s nighttime guard, a surly, unspeaking dwarf who had not deigned to give his name. This dwarf preferred to position himself facing the corridor that ran outside the royal rooms. As such, he did not notice as the door of Bilbo’s room swung slightly outwards, leaving a gap just big enough for a small-bodied hobbit, and then swung close silently.
Bilbo knew from experience how to avoid attention from others when sneaking around under the cloak of invisibility accorded him by his ring. Thus it was with little difficulty that he reached the small, inconspicuous door that marked the entrance to his hobbit garden.
Hurrying to the centre of the room, where the moonlight from the window reflected directly onto a large, deep plot of soil, Bilbo squatted and pulled the acorn from his pocket. Here was where he had intended for the orchids sent by Thranduil to grow, as the gaudy centrepiece of his garden, a sort of subtle triumphant ‘fuck you’ gesture to the Elvenking, but now he had a different plan.
With trembling fingers he laid the acorn in the ground and covered it with soil. Beside the plot of land was neatly placed his lovely little golden pail, carved by Thorin, and greatly treasured by him. In it still was water taken from the springs that fed into the depths of Erebor. Bilbo sprinkled the spot where the acorn had been planted with water from the pail, and smoothed his fingers gently over the soil.
There , he thought, feeling a lump form in his throat. At least I will have something of mine, and Thorin’s, to treasure. For the acorn had been as much a part of Thorin as it had been a part of Bilbo, a shared trinket that had represented their friendship and fondness for each other.
Bilbo slipped back into his bed that night, and dreamt of Thorin’s smile.
visit this on ao3 to see the author’s notes if you want, and to leave a comment or kudo (much appreciated) <3 and check out my other bagginshield work here
#upm works#upm#thilbo#bagginshield#thorin oakenshield#bilbo baggins#hobbit fanfiction#bagginshield fanfic#hobbit#lotr#bilbo#thorin
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I like giving really extended author’s notes (or ‘director’s commentary’ if you will) about my fics, but since AO3 is hardly the place for adding those, ehm, guess it’s gonna be bonus content for the tumblr crowd?
Now chapter 3 of No Shadow Falls is up, I just really want to ramble a bit about the thought process behind it. Do people give spoiler warnings for their own fics? If so, consider this it. Please read ch3 first, just in case :’)
So this is that UTRH/Court of Owls mashup fic I mentioned a while back! The premise I wanted to do was basically ‘What if the Court caught wind of Robin!Jason being led into a trap by the Joker & saw a chance to get a new Talon’. Combine this with a little of ‘what if Bruce never found Jason’s body but still presumed him dead bc of the explosion and copious amounts of blood at the scene etc (even though he secretly keeps looking for him still) à la Arkham Knight’ and voilà, here we are.
Considering the fact this fic’s setting is contemporary, I actually imagine Joker would’ve recorded video evidence of him beating up Jason to taunt Batman with too... Hmm, maybe I should re-label this a UTRH/CoO/Arkham Knight mashup instead...
Did I mention that if you’re here for romance, you better strap in for the long haul? Because this is gonna take a while, alright
Prologue
Can you tell I like being poetic? Or that I enjoy parallel & contrasting sentence structures?
first & last paragraphs (the ’beginning’ & ‘end’) include ‘a boy’ & ‘a bat’
‘how the story goes’ vs the later ‘NOT how this story goes’
second & second-to-last paragraphs both start with ‘you see’
3rd & 4th paragraph start with ‘maybe’
the structural halfway point is between the 3rd & 4th paragraph, so between ‘an end (death)’ & ‘a start (resurrection)’
in those same paragraphs: ‘in flame and fire with ice building in his gut’ versus ‘in liquid and ice with fire running through his veins’
Yes, the prologue is from Jason’s POV through his death and resurrection
Chapter 1
The working title for this chapter was ‘Something In The Water (...it’s bodies)’ though I changed the location the body was found in the end.
That stream of consciousness that serves as the intro paragraph(s) is supposed to reflect the opening narration of the Court of Owls storyline, wherein Bruce muses over the Gotham Gazette's 'Gotham is...' column.
Also let me tell you I knew from the start I wanted to do a UTRH retelling but with Talons, and I still somehow forgot Dick’s leg was in a brace during the original UTRH story until I went back to fact-check.
[announcer voice] All names of the victims/CoO members are purely made up, canon can bite me because I don’t care much for the turn the CoO story took after a while but that’s a rant for another day
‘Dick is getting precariously close to the end of his rope’, get it?? foreshadowing that the victim was gonna be found hung up under the bridge? eh?? I like to think I’m funny when I’m not
Chapter 2
I re-wrote this entire chapter from scratch (except for the last 'night’) because I hated the first draft so much
Guys, I love Babs-as-Oracle. Dunno if I can do her justice, but please know I love her.
I don’t think this detail matters if you don’t know much about comics canon: Tim and Cass did stay in Blüdhaven for a while in the past, but they’re mostly back in Gotham now. They still have a hideout in the Blüd and drop by to visit Dick/avoid Bruce every so often, and Cass also spends a lot of time with Babs (& Steph, again, I’ll mention her at some point. so many characters to juggle, christ. I’m gonna level with y’all, I just do NOT want to deal with the War Games storyline in this fic, so don’t expect me to reference it)
Talon did, in fact, use a crude version of Batman’s grapple hooks to get the body up on the bridge. Why display it in the first place? See ch3: as a provocation to both Batman and Nightwing in specific, because Jason is a dramatic lil’ shit no matter what universe you put him in
The Talons in canon seem to have more weapons that fit their fighting style, but I went for the combination of grappling line + (throwing) knives for now because Jason actually does use a knife in UTRH. I might make him use guns, at some point, but for now it’ll be the usual improvised bat-gadgets like flashbangs, smoke bombs etc, plus knives
And thus starts our story of Talon messing with Dick
Chapter 3
The ‘Such Terrible Hungers’ chapter title is taken from the same poem as the main story title (’No Shadow Falls’), namely, Louise Erdrich’s “The King of Owls”. For obvious reasons.
This chapter, I re-wrote about fifteen times. I wanted to cry in frustration.
Anyway, yay, more Jason POV! (in my weird quasi-poetic format)
[insert obligated identity crisis because he was forced into a role he never wanted but it’s now useful to his cause]
Points I want to single out:
Whenever I use text in italics+brackets, it’s some form of unbidden thought coming to Jason’s mind
Drinking game: spot the references to how Bruce failed to find Jason/the Owls (”a detective who cannot find what he is looking for“) or how nobody seems to want Jason bc he’s Jason, they just want him as a substitute for Dick
This is also why Talon doesn't want to be caught, he wants to be found. Small but significant difference
There’s an underlying theme of ‘stories’ in my quasi-poetic chapters, so I really wanted to incorporate the classic ‘Once upon a time, there was...’ ‘One day, ...’ structure of fairy tales/bedtime stories. Lest we forget the CoO also had a nursery rhyme dedicated to them
“Talon never spilled his secrets but oh, how the Owls would have laughed if they had known.” >>>> the Owls ovbs interrogated ‘Robin’ (Jason) while he was in captivity, but they didn’t get much info from him. I’ll mention the details in some later chapter!
Yes, I do the ‘Night-Wing’ ‘Gray-Son’ spelling thing on purpose to show that Jason’s mind isn’t all alright at this point
The switching between ‘the Gray Son’ & ‘Gray-Son’ is also on purpose to show the cracks in Jason’s conditioning/the Owls’ failure to brainwash him fully
I try to keep most of Jason’s core characteristics intact - his focus on victims + helping them, his disdain of Batman’s methods - but I’m going to have to change some bits to fit the Talon narrative I think. We’ll see how it works out...
That being said, he’s mostly gonna be messing with Dick because he’s petty and bitter, but it turns out to be more fun than he thought it would be. After all, our boy severly lacks human interaction & Dick is a relatively expressive person (the polar oposite of the Owls’ haughty/better-than-thou/distant demeanor & even Batman’s carefully controlled reactions)
Bonus scrapped story element: at one point I had the idea to have Talon be as good as mute because of a particularly brutal blow (from the crowbar) injuring his throat/vocal chords. I couldn’t think of a way to incorporate it on top of everything else though, so that remains an idea for another time...
(Seriously though, Jason and Cass silently bonding over speech issues, sign me up. Especially bc Jason loves literature and Cass is into theater it seems, you can do so much with that)
#eve.fic#i still haven't refered to Jason by his actual name in-fic but I assume all my readers figured out by now he's Talon#addendum: nsf#fic: nsf
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Do we need "Love, Simon?" TIME says, "nah, bro."
I was reading the TIME article that attracted all this controversy over Love, Simon and I'm not gonna lie, some solid points were made. I agree in that there look to be some tropes and cliches, and that the trailer feels it will be a more juvenile film compared to, say, the pedophilic wonder Call Me By Your Name (I joke...sorta) -- but I don't think we can really compare the receptions from both films (CMBYN winning an Oscar and LS getting this [insert adjective that sounds nicer than "shitty" here bc I'm trying to be civil...] Time article) because, as Time itself points out, the two movies were made for different audiences in mind. And isn't that the whole point?
This was the headline^
I'm not saying YA movies/shows, etc., have to be unintelligently written. Many are intriguing, layered and that's why so many rent-paying adults are still toting Harry Potter scarves and arguing about which House is better (Ravenclaw btw, fight me) -- because YA material can engage all ages. But yes, a lot of YA can also be straightforward (hah there's a pun lurking there somewhere) and one-dimensional, it happens. But if Time's point was that the movie didn't do its subject matter justice due to the fact it was a "flat rom-com," that's kind of very much bullshit since it never pretended to be some sort of genius plot to begin with. Like if the movie sucks (which imo it doesn't look horrible but I can see where the tropey tropes might come in) then that's too bad, but how does that have anything to do with whether or not it tried to carry a message that people can still take something away from? I mean when did bringing the LGBTQ+ genre to the big screens suddenly mean one had to produce amazing work in order to justify a gay character being the lead? If the plot was bad bc it did not try to send this message, then yes something would be wrong here but clearly that's not what's happening. The message is clear. Everyone deserves love. Two seconds into the trailer and bam. I already know. You don't gotta be a Ravenclaw to see the message (still best House tho, not backing down). It might not be done cleverly, idk, but the movie's not muddling that message in general no matter how trope-tastic it is. People who thought Twilight was dumb didn't conclude that oh, hey, since this ex-Cedric-Diggory fellow was one-dimensional and the romance was unconvincing, that must mean the efforts to portray straight people finding love on screen for all to see is "unneeded."
In fact, I'd actually be sort of glad if Love, Simon ended up being a "flat rom-com." Hooray! The LGBTQ+ community should be able to have the luxury of making both generic entertainment AND more, idk, Oscary Oscar entertainment (the voting process for that makes it a debateable standard anyway). That would be a hallmark moment: Gay characters can star in shitty movies too, folks. Just like straight leads. How does that put down the LGBTQ+ movement in any way? Why do all works that have homosexuality as a topic HAVE to be "good" in order to be something that exists? Can't the producer/director/cast just try their best to be passionate about what they make and hopefully entertain some people along the way?
But what IRKED me the most was this quote from the article:
"But those kids who were met with support when they came out are probably too sophisticated for Love, Simon–so much so that its vision of how good it feels for a masculine, traditionally attractive bro to receive encouragement might not resonate at all."
Firstly, 'bro'? Art thy not Time? What's with this colloquial language? Did I accidentally stumble upon a Tumblr rant such as my own? For fuck's sake?
Secondly, I get the criticism of Simon potentially being like a stereotypical white dude, but idk if I'd agree that it's this huge horrible thing. I'm not white but I don't feel offended? It doesn't seem like a racist move, in my opinion anyway, I mean whatever someone's ethnicity is they would have a story to tell in this situation and that's what the movie is about. Everyone equal and deserving love.
Thirdly, how does a KID being met with support when coming out mean they are suddenly too mature to handle a movie that represents something that happened to them? Oh shit maybe THAT is why I like Harry Potter! Because I haven't been told "yer a wizard!" It makes so much sense now, only things that I haven't had to handle should grace my TV screens -- so fuck off, all movies starring straight people! If I've seen one man kiss a woman, I've seen em all! Can't learn anything new I guess!
So basically what TIME is saying is that because Simon wasn't oppressed but instead had a healthy, positive coming out experience, the movie was unnecessary. Uh, what? BY THE WAY, Time also argues that the movie isn't relateable because in the parts of Simon's life that ARE indeed making it hard for him to come out, it seems like he's facing an outdated problem. So make up your mind please, Time. Is the movie a waste because it is too kind on Simon or too harsh? Oh, what's that you say? Matters are actually complicated and struggles are not able to be easily dismissed as "over now"? There we go...
Anyway -- not all coming out experiences are the same or laced with tragedy, so why does Simon have to be SAD and DOWN in a movie like this? You sadistic Time writer you? I get it, okay, Time wants to be MOVED, they paid good money on their box of tissues but again, Time already agreed that this is a YA movie. If it wants to be simple, why is that bad? And isn't it good, to not only let others who had a similar coming out experience know that they are just as legitimately a part of the LGBTQ+ community even if they had a calm coming out experience, but also to show audience members an example of how to positively and encouragingly converse with someone who is trying to tell you they are gay and/or any other kinds of things they would want to share with loved ones? Would Time rather ask the YA demographic to watch something gruesome and dark like a beating or some shit? Are the people at Time also those people who are so uptight about violent video games influencing their children yet somehow believe portraying how NOT to handle someone coming out is a good idea, and the only way to give meaning to a story about a gay male lead?
I just don't understand why the article had to make Love, Simon seem like it was this waste of an idea/hard work/money/excitement simply because it happened to be exactly what it said it would be, a YA movie. I don't understand why Time made it sound like the only way hype about a gay male lead would be allowed is if Interstellar happened again but like instead of Matthew McConnaughey trying to find his way back home to save his daughter, spewing copious amounts of philosophy and space jargon as he did so, he was now trying to reunite with his gay lover or some shit. (Actually, now that I say it aloud, I really need to watch that. Please someone make it happen. We can start a petition or something. Matt is a generous guy, I feel it in my soul.) And yeah I'd probably enjoy that movie more than Love, Simon because looking at the trailer, if I may take a moment to pre-judge the movie, it does so far seem to have the setup of a cheesy rom com for young teens. So? That doesn't mean it's some kind of setback for the LGBTQ+ movement. That doesn't mean it's a waste.
Also this has nothing to do with the rant but I thought it was pretty cool:
(found on instagram)
#love simon#love simon movie#time magazine#harry potter#ravenclaw#twilight#the hunger games#sorry for the rant#but like#lgbtq love
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despite the new year being an arbitrary way to mark the passage of time, it provides a great opportunity to get sentimental as shit. i wanna take a moment to appreciate the people who make a difference in my life.
copious amounts of love found below the cut:
to @bethanyactually -- you are one of the people i’ve been friends with the longest on this site, and i’m so grateful to have so many fandoms in common. you are kind and generous and thoughtful -- i cherish every message you send me. our writer/beta relationship is honestly one of the most important dynamics in my life. i love working on fic with you, and i love you in general. thanks for being you.
to @bisummers -- i love you, you talented, beautiful, wonderful lady! i love that we share an appreciation of fuffy and in the heights because sharing interests with you is so much fun. your creative edits are so mind-bogglingly cool -- i can’t wait to see what else you create in 2018, but i promise to leave plenty of praise in the tags. also, you watched crazy ex girlfriend for me this year even though you didn’t enjoy it that much, and that was really touching. thanks for being my friend!
to @neonbars -- hey kid. we were both kind of disasters this year, huh? our respective depression has kept us from touching base very often in the back half of 2017, but not even that could stop me from counting you as one of my closest and most cherished friends. you are so, so strong to deal with all the trauma in your life and still find the courage to go back to school and support yourself. you try so hard, and i know the weight of that trying is hard to bear sometimes, but the fact that you’re still carrying on? you’re an inspiration. i love you so so much.
to @lesbidar -- you are incredible!!!! i still get a little starstruck when i talk to you sometimes because you’re the dazzling combination of kind and creative and beautiful. your webcomic is so interesting, and i admire you a lot for putting a project you’ve poured so much of yourself into out in the world. also, you’re a talented writer, and the btvs femslash fandom is so lucky to have you. i’m so lucky to have you. *muah*
to @textsfromumbridge -- 2017 brought you to me, and i love this year for doing that! you’re fun and funny and so easy to talk to. thanks for being one of my main sluts. i love you and i can’t wait to see what 2018 will bring for us to fangirl about together.
to @pepperf -- listen. no matter what fandom you end up writing for, you are also going to be one of my very favorite authors. your writing is with me, you know? influencing me and inspiring me forevermore. also, you’re a swell person, and i love you, and i love hearing what silly adventures your cats are getting up to. thanks for being in my life.
to @thebadddestwolf -- you are such a role model to me -- you have your life together and you have a really strong sense of who you are. you’re funny and generous and every tag-rant about your life makes me love you a little more. plus, your ability to write heart-twisting angst is unparalleled. thanks for being my friend!
to @thediaryoflaurapalmer -- first of all, thanks for keeping the community fandom alive with your continued giffing. secondly, every time you tag me in something, my heart melts a little bit. you are so sweet, and you deserve so much happiness. i love you!
to @hedawolf -- it’s so great to see you passionate about a story again, but i just want you to know: our fandoms may change, but i will always be here loving the heck outta you and your talented self!
to @buffster -- your buffyverse observations give me a richer enjoyment of a show that’s very dear to my heart, and that is no small thing. thank you for taking the time out of your year to share your thoughts. they make at least one person’s life better.
to @bisexualcordelia -- you are the most fabulous person i know - stylish and beautiful. and your take-no-prisoners attitude is something i admire. it’s been a pleasure to share the buffy fandom with you. i love you. i hope your coming year brings joy and prosperity.
to @jenny-calendar -- honestly you’re just the sweetest person alive? how could someone know you and not be grateful to have you in their life?? i continue to enjoy the depth your bring to jenny calendar. you are a gem and an excellent writer. i hope you feel creative and refreshed in 2018.
to @sunnydaleslut -- i love you!!! may your aesthetic become even more punk rock in the coming year. may your hair be dyed several bold colors. may we continue to enjoy trashy ships together. thanks for being in my life!
to @regenderate -- we don’t talk a lot in the one-on-one sense, but i really do enjoy having you on my dash. your buffy commentary is so wise and chill. keep on being great!
to @thelma2017dirjoachimtrier -- we fall out of touch constantly, but i really love you a lot! every conversation we’ve had has been enjoyable and your meta analysis is a gift to the world.
to @swan-heda -- you’re hilarious and spunky and i’m very grateful to run in some of the same circles as you.
to @kathubs -- where do i even begin!? you are the definition of magnanimous. you are the loveliest person on this website. you spread joy and kindness wherever you go, and i love you so much!! thank you for making tumblr a softer and more enjoyable place to me. now imagine me and amber pulling you into a warm embrace.
to @loosey-goosey -- you are such a good and understanding friend. thanks for always offering a sympathetic ear when i’m feeling blue. you’re kindness is unparalleled, and i am extremely grateful for your presence in my life.
to @lemontoaknifefight -- your enthusiasm for the things you love is so infectious. you bring a lot of happiness and light to my dash, so thank you. also, it’s been an absolute gift to watch you find love this year. may 2018 bring even more goodness to you.
to @buffyscmmers -- wow, um, i just love you a lot. you’re talented and provide a really consistently calming presence to my dash. thanks for making beautiful stuff for the buffy fandom, and thanks for being my friend. <3
to @anyasbunny -- you absolute, adorable delight. i am so lucky to know you. thanks for being the sweetest.
to @womanaction -- you’re classy and beautiful and you bless my dash every day. thanks for being you!
to @scienceofficer-winifredburkle -- i think you’re swell. i hope the new year only brings good things for you.
to @a-mi-zivi -- i really appreciate your multi-fandom madness of a blog and also your charming self. much love for you!
to @bunchofbloom -- the efforts you go to to provide the crazy ex fandom with content is admirable. i admire you. thanks for all that you, and for being a super cool person!
to @starshollowisonahellmouth -- you are so sweet, and i really appreciate that our buffyverse interests are so complementary. thanks for being awesome!
to @valenciaperez -- idk man. i just think you’re really cool. so thanks for blessing my dash with your sweet, sweet self.
to @annbradleys -- i’m so glad we found each other this year! you are a total sweetheart, and i’m happy to call you my friend.
to @dancesong17 -- i think you’re really cool and well-spoken and funny, and i just generally get a kick outta you. so thanks for being you!
#i hope i didn't leave anyone out#that's always the worry when you make stuff like this#but i love all you guys a lot!#thanks for making my year that much more enjoyable!!
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Gentlemen, start your engines...
Welcome to Driven to Shift!
What is Driven to Shift exactly?
Driven to Shift is meant to be a photojournalistic exercise performed by the creator of (I’ll be referring to it as DTS for short eventually) DTS, Adam, the one writing this. Now that’s out of the way, I can finally speak in first-person haha. This blog is about me, and not about me at the same time. Obviously, it will be written from my perspective and experiences of the (usually SoCal) car scene, but it’ll be all about the cars. Maybe one day I’ll do a background story on who I am if people actually want it.
I’ve always been a fan of websites and photojournalism photography blogs surrounding car culture, and most people who know me know I rant and rave about hopefully becoming a Speedhunters photographer in the future. Like I said in the last paragraph, this is more of an exercise more than anything. I’ve always wanted to have a full-fledged and properly written out blog to call my own and I’m finally going to sit down and do it. I’m going to be using tumblr as my platform as it is the platform I’m the most familiar with, and I already know the limitations of what I can and can’t do on tumblr in terms of blogs and photography compared to my completely unknown knowledge of other platforms such as wordpress, etc.
While this is a test of my (potential) journalism skills, this is also meant to be a time capsule of some sort, as this blog or whatever you want to call it, will show the progression of my builds, events I’ve attended, as well as hopefully many other moments filled with heartbreak and/or joy.
This website is also meant to supplement my future YouTube endeavors and Instagram will have a shortform version of what I post here, and clips of what appears on YouTube.
Okay, enough about that poor background attempt. Since this is a car blog, what do you drive???
What do I drive? Something more than you can afford, pal.
Haha, I’m just kidding. If you couldn’t tell, my main vehicle of attack is my 2002 Chevrolet Corvette Z06 in gorgeous Millennium Yellow. Fun fact, the introductory photo isn’t even actually my car but a photo I shot of another Millennium Yellow C5 Z06 at a track day I hung out that I was actually going to race in, until my Corvette broke down months before said track day sadly.
Before you ask, I’ll get to my “mods” in a later story, but for the most part, my Corvette is 97% stock as I write this post. I want to enjoy this car thoroughly before I go absolutely bonkers even though I will stay somewhat conservative in modifying my car. The mods I have planned out will be tasteful and will turn this into a completely enjoyable machine.
Now, what else is in my stable of machinery? Well, I guess the next vehicle in my lineup would be my 1995 Acura Integra LS. Don’t get too excited though, it is sadly autotragic (yes, I know......I know). With my Corvette broken down and it being my only car (technically) I had a few weeks to find a car to use to get around. Luckily though, my (now) sister-in-law had this Integra and her family was just going to send it to the junkyard as she’s now in full-time wife mode as my brother serves in the U.S. Navy and therefore she can use his car. So, several hundred dollars later, I own a Honda with 105,000 miles (about 107k at the time of writing this), a salvage title, no manual transmission, no A/C, at least one previous ricer owner, and various creaks and rattles of the suspension that would put most horror movie houses to shame. After owning this car for a few months I can see why it was as cheap as it was and why my sister-in-law was so willing to practically throw it away. That’s okay though, other than it being a complete deathtrap with no fun factor thanks to the transmission, I’m having fun owning and working on this car. As much as I used to fit the stereotype of USDM car guy hating on imports, I’ve always liked the EG/EK Civics, Integras, RSXs, S2ks, NSXs, and of course any type R variant. I’m still thinking about how long I want to keep this car. 2018 will be an interesting year in my garage and driveway for sure. It’ll be a lot like the trade deadline season for professional sports, cutting things loose and adding others to the stable. Whether the “teggy”, as my friends and I affectionately call it, stays or not, is to be seen. If it wants to stay in my stable, it needs to get a manual swap at some point down the road. Who knows, we’ll see.
Speaking of imports, my other car is a 2008 BMW 528i. There’s not much to this car other than the fact that it is a perfect cruiser and I love taking it on roadtrips. Especially now that I have that Integra that scares me if I try to drive it farther than the five minute drive to work and back every day. Sadly not a M-sport, not a manual, and obviously not a E60 M5. That’s okay though, this car has been absolutely lovely to me and my family. And since I WILL legitimately die trying to take my Integra to canyon roads such as the famous GMR and my favorite, Angeles Crest Highway, the BMW gets to pick up the slack for canyon duties whenever my “banana” is broken. Surprisingly, I’ve taken it on more canyon roads than the Corvette. Its always funny seeing the faces of people I pass going the opposite way in the canyons staring at this seemingly asshole guy in a bland, leasemobile BMW and keeping pace with all my car friends with actual, working sports cars.
Alright folks, I’m going to cut it short here. There’s so much to write about and I have to remember to pace myself as if I’m in the 24 hours of Le Mans or the Rolex 24 hrs of Daytona. Slow, steady and consistent will hopefully show me the results that I want.
I hope you all enjoy this show which I call my life revolving around cars. If you’re on tumblr reading this, please go ahead and hit that “FOLLOW” button in the top right corner. Stay tuned for future posts and copious amounts of car porn.
If you’re reading this without a tumblr account, consider making one perhaps? There’s a lot of great content on this website including cars. But if you don’t want to follow that’s fine too.
Feel free to follow my Instagram: @driventoshift. Whether there will be content on the other outlets to see is in question, but everything will get caught up shortly.
Thanks for reading, now go out and drive to shift!
#driven to shift#driventoshift#cars#sports cars#jdm#usdm#supercars#speedhunters#photography#journalism
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Becoming A Mom
I’ve had a million blogs before, and I’ll probably have a million more; something about Tumblr makes me feel incredibly calm, so I’ll probably continue my thoughts on here.
I miss writing. I’ve had such a strong urge to just sit down and pour out my thoughts, feelings, insecurities, rants and advice and with time not slowing down any, I figured I better go ahead and start before I forget everything.
I see so many people that I’m friends with, in real life and on social, becoming pregnant and it just makes me reflect on that time when I was pregnant and what I wish I had known. So many wonderful and beautiful things are going to happen to you. You can read all of the baby magazines, books and blogs but nothing can prepare you for seeing your baby on that big screen for the first time. Feeling them kick or punch you for the first time. Feeling them have little baby hiccups; sitting around for hours just rubbing your belly wishing you knew what they were thinking about in there. They will not prepare you for the copious amounts of love and (sometimes) unwanted attention. The constant questions of names, nursery décor and how you plan to feed your little one. Everyone whose had a child is going to tell you how amazing it is and how your life is going to change forever, just like I’m doing right now, and they’re all right because it is. I love my husband, my family and my animals. I’m a Taurus and I love fiercely; but I can promise you that you will never feel love like you do for your own child. It is the most intense thing that I have ever felt in my entire life, and I cant even imagine having two or three sweet babies and being surrounded by that much love; it’s unfathomable to me. I promise you, nothing will prepare you for that.
And nothing will prepare you for the fourth trimester.
When I found out that I was pregnant I consumed every spare moment with reading mommy blogs on Pinterest. I was obsessed. I had some basic knowledge of helping to take care of my cousin’s twins when they were little, but I was afraid that I didn’t know enough to keep another human alive. I read about the benefits of breast feeding, how to get your baby in a routine, the best baby gear on the market and so on and so on. I wanted to be as prepared as I could be so that I could be the best mother to Luke, just as every mother does for her child. Looking back on it, there are two major things that I wish I had researched more; formula and coping with the fourth trimester.
You guys, I was so set on breast feeding. I read so many blogs about it, I went to a breast feeding class and I was asking some friends I knew who breastfed their babies to give me any tips to make it easier. What I didn’t take into account was an alternative plan incase breast feeding didn’t work out for me. I was so incredibly blind sided when I got home from the hospital and didn’t have any formula in the house and had only washed a couple of bottles because I wasn’t expecting to have to use them. I’m not going to go into my reasons for not breast feeding, but I hope that you understand that no matter what you decide, it is YOUR choice and don’t let a single person make you feel bad about it. Doctors and nurses will tell you “breast is best” and maybe they’re right, but you have to do what works best for you and your baby. With that being said, I wished that I had researched different formulas so that I was somewhat familiar with them when the time came to choose one for Luke, because there are SO many. Obviously this is something that you can discuss with your pediatrician, but we just stuck with what the hospital had fed him and it ended up not working out for us. We spent many a nights crying together as a family because we had the wrong formula and it was miserable. Luke was an incredibly gassy little one. He would scream and scream from pain until he was holding his breath and turning purple; it was awful and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Once we did find the right formula after THREE MONTHS, things have been great! So many people will ask you how you plan to feed your baby; I had strangers asking me every day at work, and quite frankly, it was none of their business. You need to decide with your husband, partner or make that decision all by yourself, because you’re the mom and you will know what’s best, I promise. I recommend being prepared for both options if you can’t decide; it will make things so much easier when you get home!
I never thought that I could feel such sweet relief and utter terror at the same time, but that’s exactly how I felt when I went home with my two day old baby. Relief to be away from the hospital, nurses, beeping machines and the millions (it seemed) of people who came to hold my baby. Terror of realizing that it’s now up to me and my husband to care for this tiny, fragile little bean and hope that we can give him the life that he so deserves; and that’s when the fourth trimester sets in. At least, that’s when it started for me.
I remember idly scanning over some articles about the fourth trimester and recovering and the possibility of post partum depression, but I didn’t think that that was something that I would have to worry about it, so I didn’t look too much into it. I thought to myself, I have wanted this baby for so long and my dream is finally coming true and there is absolutely no way on god’s green earth that I could be depressed! This is everything I've been wanting for so long! It’s going to be hard, obviously, like I’m aware raising a child is not easy, but it’s going to be so fulfilling and wonderful and I’m going to be so happy all the time! Tired, yes, but over joyed!
One of the biggest pieces of advice that I can give to any new mother, or mom to be, would be to familiarize yourself with post partum depression. Learn the warning signs, discuss them with your partner and family, and have an action plan in place to help cope with it. Your doctors will ask you about it and even the nurses at your child’s doctors appointment will ask about it, but if you’re like me, you’ll lie about it. I’m one of the lucky ones, because sometimes it can get so bad, that it makes mothers want to hurt their children. I never had a bone in my body that made me want to hurt my sweet boy, but it can get that bad. My husband recognized it and made an appointment with my doctor; if it weren’t for him I would have just kept suppressing and ignoring it and there’s no telling what could have happened!
Ask for help. As gut wrenching and uncomfortable as it might make you feel, ask for it. Ask for help cleaning, to have someone bring you hot food, for them to hold the baby so you can eat your hot food, hold them so you can shower, take a nap or just have a moment to yourself. ASK FOR IT. Accept it when people offer it. No matter how much you hate asking or taking things from people, or how bad your anxiety is or how you really can’t stand to see any more people that day, take it because you probably need it more than you realize. If I had followed my own advice I probably would have been a little more happier in those beginning weeks.
I love being a mom. It’s hard and messy and smelly and wonderful. I hope the best for all of you because it’s the literal best thing on the planet. Seriously. Cherish becoming a mom because it goes by so fast.
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