Being an organ donor, when you pass on you can watch the lives of those people who have received you. You just so happen to have been the donor to both a super hero and their villain.
Actually I wanted to share a fic with you today – an AU where Frodo returns to Bag End after the War of the Ring, with Thorin and Bilbo still living there – but I didn’t manage to finish it yet ;_;
BUT a part of it is ready, so I’ll share the beginning with you ^-^ I’ll post the whole story as soon as it’s finished on AO3, and of course I’ll make a post here on tumblr as well!
A happy hobbit day to all of you!
***
The green door still looked the same. Not even the
silver mark on it had changed. The original one that had been put there more
than sixty years ago had been long lost, of course, but when visiting Bilbo’s
birthday party, Gandalf had left his rune on exactly the same spot again. Bilbo
had pretended to be upset about that, but had actually enjoyed the little
reminder of his famous adventure.
The green colour was bright, the silver mark was still
there, the flowers along the pathway bloomed … nothing had changed, and Frodo felt
helplessly lost.
He still stood in front of the closed garden door, his
arms like dead weights at his side as if even opening it would be too great an
effort. Home. He was home again.
There had been a time – a cruelly long time – where he
hadn’t been able to remember what home looked like, felt like. It had been
erased from his mind, and a tiny part of him had feared that it had been erased
from the world as well. To see now that it was still here, unchanged … He
needed a moment to really understand that. Would it still look the same if he
dared to open the green door, if he entered Bag End? Could it feel the same? He
swallowed nervously, and by now his finger dug into the wooden garden door.
Would he be brave enough to find out?
Frodo would never knew the answer to that as the door
opened with a slight creak. He watched how it was pushed open, and time seemed
to lengthen endlessly until a hobbit left the smial. He took a deep breath and
stretched, blind to the younger hobbit standing at the garden door.
He hadn’t changed. Maybe his hair had become a touch
lighter and there was more white than grey now, but apart from that Bilbo still
looked the same.
Bilbo blinked his eyes open, and they widened as he
finally noticed the young hobbit at the garden door. Different emotions danced over
his face – surprise, relief, something Frodo couldn’t name – before he moved
down the steps. The garden door was pushed open, and suddenly Frodo found
himself in his uncle’s warm embrace.
“My dear Frodo”, he breathed, and his frame shook. “My
dear, dear boy.” He smelt familiar, of tea and pipe-weed and sunlight, and
finally Frodo felt how the shadow that had been upon him for so long lifted a
bit.
“Givashel?”
a deep voice called. “Where have you gone? Are you …” The voice that had so
often sung to him stopped, and Frodo looked over Bilbo’s shoulder to see his
uncle Thorin standing in the open door. Despite his age, the dwarf still was an
impressive figure with broad shoulders and thick silver-white hair. A fond
smile spread on his face, and he hurried to them with open arms. Frodo already
expected to be drawn into a true bear hug, but instead Thorin enfolded him and
Bilbo gently in his arms.
“Welcome home, ibinê”,
Thorin whispered.
Frodo didn’t answer, but stayed in the embrace of his
uncles until his tears stopped flowing.
“Mycroft look! I found him on the streets, wandering around lost.”
“YOU KIDNAPPED ME AT A CRIME SCENE YOU MAD BASTARD!”
“He’s so small and sad! Can I keep him?”
“I AM A CAPTAIN IN HER MAJESTY’S ARMED FORCES PUT ME DOWN AT ONCE!”
(Keep reading = tag stash. Just send me an Ask or Message if you want to be added. Please specify if you want to be tagged for anything Johnlock, or specifically just my “The Science of Affection” doodle-comic. Cheers!)
Watson: Holmes, I don’t think you have any. We used them all on the last case.
Holmes: well, there you have it. I have no fucks to give.
The opening of basically every interview Sherlock Holmes grants to people requesting his help. (Usually after a few minutes he finds some spare fucks in the couch cushions.)
Watson then usually looks disapproving until Holmes finds them, then neglects his practice/wife/life while he helps.
This is also quite true.
WATSON! HOLD MY FUCKS!
Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Missing Fucks by Sir Arthur “Here’s another fucking Sherlock Holmes story, ffs” Conan Doyle.
Bootsrcool 