#Bagginshield Week

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.

[morningnoodles]

@bagginshieldweek24: June 28 - Hairbeads + Fire

“I am sitting at my kitchen table waiting for my lover to arrive with lettuce and tomatoes and rum and sherry wine and a big floury loaf of bread in the fading sunlight. Coffee is percolating gently, and my mood is mellow. I have been very happy lately, just wallowing in it selfishly, knowing it will not last very long, which is all the more reason to enjoy it now.”

— Tennessee Williams, from a personal letter

a little illustration break ✿

day: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 // ao3

[sonics-atelier]

Shelter in the Storm

For @bagginshieldweek24 Day 7 : Sky / Storms

Summary : It's raining in Erebor, Thorin and Bilbo reminisce about their past and how far they've come, fluff.

a/n : ahh I'm so sad that bagginshield week is over :( but never to fret I have a big project planned and am working on it, till then, hope you enjoy this <3

In the heart of Erebor, the grand halls of the Lonely Mountain were quiet as a storm gathered strength outside. Dark clouds loomed overhead, and the distant rumble of thunder echoed through the stone corridors. Bilbo Baggins, now a cherished resident of Erebor, watched the approaching storm with a mix of awe and trepidation from one of the high balconies.

Thorin Oakenshield found Bilbo there, his silhouette framed against the turbulent sky. "A storm is coming," Thorin said, his voice calm and steady, as he joined Bilbo on the balcony.

Bilbo nodded, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon. "I’ve always found storms to be quite mesmerizing. The power and beauty of them, all at once."

Thorin glanced at Bilbo, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Aye, they are a force to be reckoned with. Much like you, my dear hobbit."

Bilbo chuckled, his tension easing slightly. "I suppose there’s a certain poetry to it, isn’t there? The calm before the storm, the chaos, and then the peace that follows."

As the first drops of rain began to fall, Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo, pulling him close. "Do you remember the storm we encountered on our journey to the Lonely Mountain?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Bilbo nodded, leaning into Thorin’s warmth. "How could I forget? We were soaked to the bone, but we found shelter together. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once."

Thorin’s eyes softened as he gazed down at Bilbo. "That storm brought us closer. It taught us to rely on each other, to trust and to care."

Bilbo's thoughts drifted back to that fateful night on their journey. The rain had come down in torrents, cold and relentless. They had been miles from any proper shelter, and despite his thick cloak, Bilbo had been shivering uncontrollably. He had tried to appear strong, refusing any offers of help from the dwarves, determined not to be seen as a burden.

"Bilbo," Thorin had said, noticing the hobbit's stubbornness, "you’re freezing."

"I’m fine," Bilbo had insisted through chattering teeth, attempting to put on a brave front. "Just a bit of rain, nothing of consequence."

Thorin had not been convinced. Without another word, he had removed his own cloak, a thick, warm garment, and wrapped it around Bilbo's trembling shoulders. Then, pulling Bilbo close, Thorin had enveloped him in a strong embrace, sharing his body heat.

"You’re too proud for your own good, Master Baggins," Thorin had murmured, holding him tightly. "But I won't let you freeze."

Bilbo had finally relented, resting against Thorin's broad chest, feeling the comforting warmth seep into his bones. It was a moment of vulnerability, but also of deep connection.

Back on the balcony, Thorin smiled at the memory. "You were so stubborn," he teased gently. "Refusing any help until you were half-frozen."

Bilbo laughed, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "I suppose I was a bit foolish. But you saved me from my own pride that night."

Thorin's eyes twinkled with amusement and affection. "And now look at us. We’ve faced many storms together, both literal and figurative."

The rain intensified, falling in sheets and drumming against the stone balcony. Thunder rolled, and lightning split the sky, illuminating the world in stark flashes. Yet, standing together, Thorin and Bilbo felt a sense of peace amidst the chaos.

Bilbo looked up at Thorin, his eyes bright with emotion. "You’ve always been my shelter, Thorin. Through every storm, literal or otherwise."

Thorin’s heart swelled with affection. He cupped Bilbo’s face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing Bilbo’s cheek. "And you, My Love, have been my guiding star. When the world seems dark and uncertain, you are the light that keeps me going."

The storm raged on, but in that moment, they were lost in each other. Thorin leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Bilbo’s lips. It was a kiss filled with all the love and gratitude he felt, a promise of protection and devotion.

When they finally pulled apart, Bilbo’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. "You’re my everything, Thorin."

"And you are mine," Thorin replied, his voice thick with emotion.

They stood together, watching the storm, feeling its power and beauty. The winds howled and the rain poured, but they were unafraid. They had weathered many storms together, and they knew they could face any future tempests as long as they had each other.

As the storm began to subside, a calm settled over the Lonely Mountain. The rain softened to a gentle patter, and the sky began to clear, revealing a tapestry of stars. Thorin and Bilbo remained on the balcony, wrapped in each other’s embrace, content and secure in their love.

They were each other’s haven, their constant in a world of uncertainties. And as long as they stood together, they knew they could face any storm that life might bring.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 , do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form.

[bagginshieldweek24]

Six days away from Bagginshield Week 2024!

This year's Bagginshield Week is steadily approaching, and since we're in the final stretch, it's time to share the AO3 collection and other tid bits for posting.

I'll repeat that the only means I use are Tumblr and AO3, so if you want me to share your work here, you either have to post on either of those two sites, or if you're using another then make a promo post of your work here in Tumblr.

You may make a masterpost as well if you like and I will also share it.

You can post works out of order, meaning, a work with Day 6 prompts on Day 2 or the reverse.

You can also post your works in groups or all together at the end of the week if those options suit you better.

All I ask is that you mention somewhere (beginning/ending Author's Notes, promo post) which prompts you're using.

Giving a little shout out to the blog is appreciated, but definitely not necessary, no worries about it!

Do remember to warn properly! You can keep any other general tags vague and scarce if you wish, but please warn at the beginning/ending notes, before the work text, or in tags, and enact the general rule of caution: if you're unsure it should be included, tag it either way, and you may drop it later with feedback from readers.

The AO3 Collection is already open to set up your drafts or even post early if necessary (say, you're very busy on Monday and rather post that day's work before, just in case). You can head here (plain url: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/bagginshield_week_24) for it!

If you're only posting on Tumblr or for promo posts, this year the tag I'll be tracking will be #bagginshieldw24, or you can also tag the blog directly, @bagginshieldweek24.

For any other tips about posting onto AO3, just keep reading!

Different Posting Dates Since the Collection is now open and you can go in an drop any drafts you may or may not have ready, a general word of advice is to set a different Publication Date the day when you do make your work public. This is done to update the date and ensure your work will appear along with that very day's batch of other publications, and can be done very easily: all you have to do is go to the Associations section of the New Work page, and give it a yes to the option "Set a different publication date" on the day of. Mind you, this means that you cannot set the date before hand. For example, you can't set the publication date to June 25 if you're making the Draft on the 20, or the site will only show you a "the work can't be posted in the futer" like message and you'll have to change it again. (Below an example image.)

Privacy Settings On the matter of privacy, which has become quite the subject due to things like spam comments, AI data bases and harrassment, there are some precautions one can take, such as limit comments and make your works accessible only to signed AO3 users. As the event moderator, I will not limit participants' right to any modicum of privacy, safety and the likes, and you can make use of these features freely. On the New Work page, you can find these options on the Privacy section, right above the Work Text box near the end of the page (image below).

You may also go to your own page, to Preferences, and set your works to be hidden from search engines ("when possible" as is worded).

[bitterseaproduction]

Spring from the Thaw - Day One

“This feels like folly.”

“Don’t be so hasty,” cried the grey wizard riding at Thorin’s side, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. The admonishment was paired with a little glint of a smile paired that the exiled royal did not care for, for it seemed as if Gandalf considered his own words something of a joke. But that good humour faded as quickly as it appeared, and it was hard to chastise the wizard after the clouds fell back across his face. “You need the Shirefolk just as much as they need you,” he went on, his tone serious as death, horridly fitting as that was. “They are the only ones who showed themselves willing to give an ear to your hopes, never mind the only ones capable of fulfilling those hopes west of Imladris.”

“The only ones desperate enough to try, you mean,” Thorin grumbled back without expectation of being heard, prickling with the unsaid mention of elves, his predicament, and his fellow dwarves’ hesitance and lack of faith all at once. Never mind the troubles awaiting him at his lost home: Without outside recruits, he would not have enough people to fill the mountain properly once they got there! The handful of former Ered Luin residents willing to follow him could barely make up a village, much less support restoring a whole kingdom, and it would be some years of grueling work and extreme luck before he could possibly hope to attract reluctant Durin’s Folk back to the mountain. They were not motivated to come. Not after such devastation.

Not when the gold had been lost.

He knew the Hobbits were his only hope if he wished to see his people rise from the ashes, but when he looked about at the land around them, that truth just made their mission feel more onerous. More doomed. The fields he, the wizard, and his trailing company passed through showed nothing of promise. Or much of anything at all, all white and grey with snow and clouds despite the late April day they found themselves in. But that was expected, and the entire reason Thorin was there: The Curse of the Shire. No one knew quite what had caused it, though Thorin suspected Gandalf did, as efforts by his company to question the wise man and try theories by him were met by sharp rebukes, a stormy dimming of the air about him, and heavy, shame-filled eyes that he tried hard not to let anyone see. But Thorin did see. He saw enough to guess that Gandalf felt some responsibility for the ruin about them. Whether that was due to guilt, as Gandalf was supposedly particularly fond of Hobbits and felt responsible for the people, or something far deeper, Thorin could not say.

It did not truly matter: What Thorin did know was that the Fell Winter of years ago had crippled all the freefolk of Eriador with loss and grief, but it had never left the Shire. Nearly thirty years on, the snow continued to fall in the Farthings, or so they said. Few never dared to venture deep into the lands to see the full truth of it, and even there, on the outskirts of the cursed lands, the dwarf shivered with remembered chills of that long ago winter, brought back to vivid life by the scene about them. He could hear his company muttering amongst themselves behind them, and hoped that fear and superstition would not cost him what hope they had before they even reached the meeting point.

Even now, his people still refused to enter the heart of the cursed land, and Thorin would not risk it himself without even a promise, so it had been agreed they would meet at Michel Delving: Once a town of some size that Thorin’s people had happily traded with not so long ago, as it stood in easy access to their home in the Blue Mountains. Now, it was little more than a ruin buried in the snow. There was no bustle nor sound as the white-covered rooftops came into view amid the storm. Their only accompaniment remained the wind, crashing down on him in an obvious rebuke of their foolish intent. Thorin was almost suspecting the old wizard had simply gone mad, or led them into a trap of some sort, for there was no chance an entire population would linger for years in such a place if the weather was truly eternal. Did the Hobbits of the Shire even live? How could anyone survive under such conditions, and if they were truly foolish enough to remain-

Gandalf let out a relieved cry and called out, “Inside, my good dwarves! Whoever feels hardy and reckless enough for it, move the ponies to that building there, but the rest of you, inside at once! And that includes you, Thorin!”

Torn between a scoff at the wizard’s manner and outrage at being ordered about, Thorin bit back both responses in favour of rushing to dismount and toss out his own orders, waiting to be certain his old friend and cousin Balin was at his side and his nephews in sight before squinting through the snows to find the wizard. He was nearly impossible to spot with his unfortunate greys, but Thorin’s efforts were soon unnecessary as a few loud thumps marked Gandalf’s location, and a door swiftly opened, letting out a warm glow of light amid the white. Thorin did not wait to assess, following Gandalf’s lead by turning to his company and ordering them inside, making certain everyone not tending to the ponies’ survival had made it in before passing under Gandalf’s arm for himself.

The room inside was relief. He heard multiple members of his party give a loud gasp or sigh of joy while he himself felt the tension bleed out of him in the wake of such warmth. It was no forge, certainly, but the heat was a wonder for the contrast and where it was, and as he looked about, Thorin realized why, and quickly tensed again. The long hall of a room was peppered with various blazing fireplaces, and those were pleasant enough, but the other source of warmth in the room was people. Dozens upon dozens of Hobbits, all clustered together in little huddles along the sides of the room, gathered in families or what-not around each fire. And they were all looking at them, peering with frowns and glares and in some cases round, hopeful eyes, but always staring. All expectant in one way or another.

Thorin did not like it, and he tossed a glare up at the wizard currently removing his hat to knock off melting snow.

“No need for that, my friend,” he murmured without looking at Thorin, which raised his hackles even more: Why would the wizard feel the need to be subtle? “Just leave them be and they’ll let us go about our business. Come along.” And with that, he donned his hat again, gripped his staff, and led the way down the hall.

Thorin had little choice but to follow and lead his own people where the wizard went.

When they had crossed almost the entire length of the hall – eyes following them the entire way, of course – Gandalf suddenly stopped, turning to one fireplace in particular with a look so soft and heavy that the tension was wiped from Thorin’s mind, replaced by shock and curiosity as he followed the wizard’s gaze. The spot was no different from the others, save for the occupants. There was a small cluster of Hobbit children there, all with wide, round eyes full of wonder and question, and it was impossible not to pity them on sight, given the circumstances. But it was hard to focus on that, for the tiny creatures’ wonder was not for them, but for the sole adult among them: A Hobbit with a mess of golden-brown curls, more-or-less identical to a hundred others Thorin had seen before. Except this one was quite fussily dressed, with a fine jacket and flowery waistcoat, and his face was quite animated, his round nose scrunching up amid a myriad of expressions as he waved his arms about and spoke rapidly to the children gathered around his overstuffed armchair.

“And then, just when I thought I was going to end up in the belly of a wolf, soothing his hunger when all I had wanted was to claim a few winterberries for dinner, dear Forty burst out of the bushes, and-”

And then he stopped, though no one interrupted him. Not the children, not the wizard, not even Thorin and his company. They had all been listening quite raptly, and Thorin had not been aware of his own interest until the tale suddenly stopped as the man’s eyes – some dark colour impossible to name by nothing but firelight – caught on them by chance. Caught on Thorin by chance, for it was he the Hobbit gazed at, and Thorin still could not place the colour of those eyes. But he found himself drawn into trying, meeting that gaze without falter until the Hobbit broke it himself to look elsewhere. His entire face softened at the sight just beside Thorin.

“Gandalf.”

Thorin looked up to see Gandalf smiling at the Hobbit in question with a fondness he had never seen before. He clearly knew this particular Hobbit, and Thorin suspected his identity well before the wizard turned his way with a warm, “Thorin Oakenshield, may I introduce Bilbo Baggins, Thain of the Shire?”

At this mutual confirmation, the Hobbit stood, waving back a child or two who sat in his way. There was no shock of revelation in his face either, and when the Hobbit was standing just before Thorin, he bowed his head in a faint, but fine show of respect, lowering his gaze for only that beat before meeting his eye again. “Just Bilbo will do,” Bilbo said, speaking with a heavy, strained smile and a knowing eye that Thorin again found he could not break. “Welcome, Your Majesty, to the Shire.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Bagginshield Week 2024

Day One - June 24 Prompts: Role Reversal/The Shire Falls Instead + Bilbo is the Thain/Is a Royal

. . . [to be continued] . . .

[lord-angelfish]

Help I did a whole thing for bagginshield week and now I have no ideas for the other days

[coveredinsun]

rewatching lotr, and rewatched the hobbit trilogy like 2 weeks ago, and i must say. i love this franchise for all its “i knew a guy who knew a guy” relations. like to give just one example, gimli presumes for a second, like the whole fellowship, that frodo got injured by the cave troll in moria. but he’s actually just fine! because frodo just happens to be gimli’s dad’s boss’s situationship’s nephew, and therefore has the mithril shirt that gimli’s dad’s boss gave to his situationship right before gimli’s dad’s boss led the company to battle against, among others, legolas’s dad. legolas’s old situationship from like last year (60 years ago) was also there and chose, get this, gimli’s dad’s boss’s nephew over him. i love yall

[ox24g]

Bagginshield Week, day 2: Developing Relationship

I usually imagine they'd finally get to know eachother properly during their stay in Laketown.

Before their stay, the dwarves seemed to see Bilbo as a deadweight at best and liability at worst- even after spending time living with him in Rivendell, the company was up for ditching him in the goblin caves (ouch...) While in Mirkwood, Thorin at least seems to have a bit more faith in Bilbo's eyes and ideas at very least (the part with the boat in mind), but I think the combination of now very much trusting Bilbo (after he rescued them twice) with down time and a lack of any immediate danger is the perfect time for their relationship to develop. Also the perfect place for Thorin to be horrified to find out that Bilbo came up with that barrel plan without knowing how to swim 🥰

[pitsazawr]

amralime

[pilkypills]

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 29: Single Parents/Uncles AU for an event by @bagginshieldweek24

I deeply regret that the challenge is a day late! Exams are merciless to me, and even though I started drawing in advance, I still couldn’t handle the deadline 😅 I promise to catch up with feedback tomorrow, after passing bioinformatics exam.

More headcanons and details under the cut>>

— It’s an alternative Middle-earth universe with hobbits, humans, dwarves, and elves, but set in modern times.

— Thorin grew up in Erebor in a royal family (which makes sense), is accustomed to good coffee, can distinguish different types, and knows which brewing devices are best. Now he has moved to London for work and discovered that both dwarf and human coffee shops would often use cheap beans or bad coffee machines, or they grind the beans incorrectly, or even set the wrong amount of grams of coffee per espresso shot. In general, they save money wherever they can, mostly selling the vibe and relying on the fact that taste isn’t important to most of the customers. Elves occupy the niche of coffee connoisseurs, but Thorin would rather drink filter coffee from a kettle on the roadside than go to elves. And then he discovers that hobbits, little hedonists, love good food and GOOD COFFEE! Of course, in hobbit cafes, he has to sit on low chairs and by the small tables, and at first, the other patrons looked at the dwarf in their company strangely, but it’s worth it. Thorin is willing to sit with a bent back if he gets a quiet and cozy atmosphere, excellent Wi-Fi, and delicious coffee (an office in London is good, but sometimes you need to get out of the four walls to not get nuts).

— Thorin rarely drinks pure espresso, preferring softer variations. He also has a sweet-tooth.

— Bilbo is a children’s book writer, mainly known for a series of fantasy novels about a brave hobbit who traveled over and under the mountains, rode in barrels, and played riddles in the dark (Bilbo, in canon, wrote his memoirs, which all hobbits except Merry and Frodo knew primarily for Hobbiton children, so I think he would primarily write for little hobbit kids).

— It’s not a real feather he uses, but a ballpoint pen with attached feathers, like those sold in souvenir shops. Bilbo bought it after a tour to the Tower of London. He likes the ✨vibe✨ and the fact that he can twirl the feather part around his lips when he’s thinking. (It’s literally an instruction on how to seduce Thorin)

— Mr. Baggins only drinks doppio. The cup is big compared to him because it’s hobbit ceramics, and the portion sizes for hobbits, who love treats, are no smaller than human ones.

— Bilbo has taken care of Frodo since his parents drowned in an accident. Frodo is about 8-9 years old here.

— I love the headcanon that hobbits’ ears react to their emotions, so the fact that Frodo doesn’t lower them when Bilbo scolds him is a good sign. Bilbo is a good uncle.

— Thorin and Bilbo have seen each other several times on Wednesdays. Usually, they don’t care about other patrons, but barista keept trying to serve a doppio to the stern scowling dwarf in black leather jacket, and a cappuccino with whipped cream to the little curly hobbit in a plaid sweater. They’ve had to swap their drinks several times.

— Thorin read Mr. Baggins’ books to his nephews in Erebor and quickly figured out who always sits at the table near the window in his favorite cafe. Thorin likes Bilbo’s books but doesn’t know if he’s married because he keeps his personal life private. Seeing Frodo, he immediately assumed he was Bilbo’s son, considering how the little hobbit looks at him.

— Bilbo immediately noticed the stern ( handsome) dwarf sitting with his eyes glued to his phone, but he always felt too awkward to speak with him. How do you even start a conversation with a stranger, especially from another race? So when Frodo, rather bluntly, commented on his appearance, of course, Bilbo was embarrassed. No, he absolutely agrees with Frodo. The exotic braids, unusual for short-haired hobbits, look amazing on the tall dwarf, and the iron clips highlight his blue eyes perfectly, but isn’t that a bit rude to point that out? Wouldn’t a dwarf decide that he is trying to mock his culture?

— Bilbo saw that while he was scolding Frodo, Thorin turned away and for some reason tugged angrily at his braid, so he decided to muster the courage and compliment him himself to ease the awkwardness and not seem rude (not at all because he would gladly say what Frodo did himself and not because Mr. Dwarf has much more attractive features he’d also like to make a comment on, not at all, what are you talking about, no-no-no).

— The dwarf didn’t seem offended at all.

— They started talking and found out that Thorin’s nephews love Bilbo’s books (Bilbo was flattered by this news. He’s still surprised when his books are read by anyone other than hobbits. (Gandalf didn’t tell him that his books are popular among all races. Mostly because for other races they play the role of kids books where main protagonist is a cute mice)).

— And in the end, as we see, they exchanged numbers 🌚🌝

— They will meet again, but without Frodo and not just for coffee.

— The end✨✨✨

I’m still experimenting with a flat-color style and lineart so I’ll be glad to know what do you think about it. Hope the comic was enjoyable!

[morningnoodles]

@bagginshieldweek24: June 30 - Sky

“Hush, beloved. It doesn't matter to me how many summers I live to return: this one summer we have entered eternity.”

— Louise Glück, The White Lilies

day: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 // ao3

thank you so much for reading this little self-indulgent comic of mine (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) big thanks to @bagginshieldweek24 for this wonderful event! i'm going to take a quick break before my next little project but it's definitely not as huge an undertaking as this one haha

also i lied there's going to be one last little strip set in this world (an omake/extra/epilogue if you may) before i officially call it complete. i'll have it out before the end of the week. ☆

[sonics-atelier]

Ales and Adventures: The Tale of Thorin and Bilbo in the Shire

For @bagginshieldweek24 Day 2 : Developing Relationship + Thorin in the Shire

Summary : Thorin adapts to life in the shire rather well, cue fluff and peace because that's what bagginshield deserve.

a/n : I saw a post where the person said that thorin would live in the shire and make the best ale ever and be very proud of it so i was inspired to write this. Also Thorin is a competitive bitch.

In a quaint corner of the Shire, far removed from the usual hustle and bustle of Hobbiton, there lived a dwarf named Thorin Oakenshield. After his adventures and the tumultuous events of reclaiming Erebor, Thorin found solace and peace in the Shire, a land of rolling hills and hearty folk.

Thorin had settled into a cozy hobbit hole next to Bag End, courtesy of his dear friend Bilbo Baggins. Though it was unconventional for a dwarf to live in the Shire, the hobbits welcomed Thorin with open arms, for his tales of adventure and his boisterous laughter added a new vibrancy to their lives.

Thorin quickly became a beloved figure among the hobbits, not least because of his unparalleled skill in brewing ale. Thorin had brought with him ancient Dwarven recipes, passed down through generations, and his ale quickly became the stuff of legends. It was said that a single sip could warm even the coldest night and lift the heaviest heart.

Each evening, the Green Dragon Inn buzzed with eager hobbits waiting for Thorin's latest batch. His ale was rich, dark, and frothy, with a depth of flavor that no hobbit-brewed ale could match. Yet, this did not deter the local brewers, who saw in Thorin a friendly rival. Bilbo, always one for a good challenge, often found himself caught in the middle of these spirited competitions.

One sunny afternoon, Bilbo and Thorin sat together in the garden of Bag End, enjoying the gentle breeze and the scent of blooming flowers. Bilbo, ever the curious hobbit, asked Thorin about his secret to making such exceptional ale.

Thorin chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling. "It's all in the heart, Bilbo. A good brew needs patience, care, and a bit of magic from the old Dwarven ways."

Bilbo smiled, taking a sip of the ale. "It's truly remarkable, Thorin. Have you ever thought about sharing your secrets with the rest of the Shire? I'm sure the other brewers would be grateful."

Thorin stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But there is something to be said for a little healthy competition. It keeps everyone striving for their best."

As the weeks went by, Thorin's and Bilbo's bond grew stronger. They spent many evenings together, discussing everything from the intricacies of brewing to the wonders of Middle-earth. Bilbo found in Thorin a kindred spirit, someone who appreciated the simpler pleasures of life while still cherishing the memories of grand adventures.

. . .

One evening, after a particularly successful batch of ale, Thorin invited Bilbo to join him for a walk under the stars. The air was cool, and the night was lit by the soft glow of fireflies. As they walked, their hands brushed occasionally, sending a thrill through Bilbo's heart.

"Bilbo," Thorin began, his voice low and earnest, "I've found something here in the Shire that I never expected to find."

Bilbo looked up at him, his breath catching. "What's that, Thorin?"

Thorin stopped walking and turned to face Bilbo, taking his hand. "I've found a home. And more than that, I've found you."

Bilbo's heart soared at Thorin's words. He squeezed Thorin's hand gently, his eyes shining with emotion. "And I've found you, Thorin. You've brought so much joy and adventure into my life. I can't imagine it without you."

Thorin smiled, his thumb tracing circles on the back of Bilbo's hand. "Nor can I, Bilbo. Nor can I."

As the days turned into weeks, their relationship deepened. They shared quiet moments by the fire, exchanged tender glances across the table, and stole kisses under the cover of night. Their love grew, a steady flame that warmed them both and brought a new light to their lives.

One day, the Shire held its annual brewing competition, an event that brought together all the best brewers. Thorin entered with a special brew he had been perfecting for months, while Bilbo, encouraged by Thorin, submitted his own ale as well.

The competition was fierce, with each brewer presenting their finest work. The judges, a panel of esteemed hobbits, took their roles seriously, savoring each sip and debating the merits of each brew. When it came time to announce the winner, the atmosphere was electric with anticipation.

To everyone's delight, Thorin's ale took first place, with Bilbo's coming in a close second. The crowd erupted in cheers, celebrating not just the winners but the spirit of camaraderie and friendly rivalry that the competition embodied.

As the festivities wound down, Thorin and Bilbo stood together, mugs of ale in hand, overlooking the jubilant crowd. Thorin raised his mug to Bilbo, a broad smile on his face.

"To love, friendship, and the joys of life in the Shire," Thorin said, his voice filled with warmth.

Bilbo clinked his mug against Thorin's, his heart full. "To many more adventures, my dear love."

And so, in the peaceful, sun-dappled hills of the Shire, Thorin and Bilbo continued to forge their bond, sharing laughter, stories, and the best ale Middle-earth had ever known. Their love, like Thorin's ale, was rich, deep, and full of heart, a testament to the simple, enduring joys of life.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 , do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form .

[bagginshieldweek24]

Bagginshield Week 2024: Basic Schedule and Prompt Poll

As promised, here is the prompt poll for the 2024 event! But first, a word on the basic schedule.

At first, I was planning to have the entire schedule ready to post, but as it is, a tie breaker is needed for the final date of the event week, since two options got the same amount of votes. Because of that, in the third section of the poll there will be a tie breaker question on the matter.

As for the basic schedule, it goes as follows:

Poll voting: December 10th - January 20th

Poll voting - extension period: January 20th - January 30th

Prompts and date release: February 1st

Now, the star of this post, the poll! Please go to the following link to vote for all manner of prompts: BSW 2024 prompt poll - Formularios de Google or https://docs.google.com/forms/d/16-OctWBOZW5IMs7LINO96CEKPOeEYBU0fxoKs0loPAg/edit

[samthekind]

A cozy afternoon reading together in Erebor

[atlantablack]

from a groundhog day fic I may or may not ever finish

He’s alone in the throne room when Bilbo finds him, a miserable look on his face. It’s been quite some time since he’s seen Bilbo look this unhappy and even with the arkenstone forefront in his mind he still finds the space to worry about it. Focuses on the tight lines of his mouth and the trembling of his hands and feels nothing but worry. 

Bilbo who helped him reclaim Erebor. Who is as precious to Thorin as the gold in the next room. Once the arkenstone was found and the thieves at his front door were dispersed, once he had time and space, he would make sure that Bilbo had a place of honor at his side. 

“Bilbo,” he says, blinking furiously as he tries to stay focused. “Are you well? Has something happened?” 

Bilbo shakes his head and comes to a stop in front of the throne, dropping to his knees in front of Thorin. It’s so out of character that for a minute Thorin’s vision tilts. 

“Bilbo,” he says again, softer, pressing a hand to Bilbo’s cheek and tilting his head up. While it is a dream to have Bilbo in front of him this way he doesn’t like the grief filling his burglar’s eyes. “Tell me, what has happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo says, a sob working its way out of his mouth after the words. “I keep messing up and I’m going to mess up again but I’m trying.” 

He frowns, not sure what Bilbo is speaking of. “I do not understand.” 

Bilbo smiles at him, tragedy written in every line of his face. “I know. But I needed to say it anyway.” 

“This isn’t going to work, but, I’m going to try anyway, okay?” Bilbo pauses, studying Thorin’s face like he’s looking for something. Thorin doesn’t know what but he would give it to Bilbo if he can. 

“Just,” Bilbo swallows, presses into the hand Thorin still hasn’t removed from his face. “Just, please, don’t hate me, okay?” 

“I could not,” he says, wondering what could have happened to make Bilbo think otherwise. It does not once occur to him that betrayal could come from the one in front of him and more fool him. He is blinded by his regard for the hobbit and so, when Bilbo reaches into the pocket of his robe, he has no expectations. 

None, until he catches a glimpse of light playing off of Bilbo’s fingers. No, he thinks, breath catching. The room tilts dangerously and he doesn’t realize that his fingers are digging into Bilbo’s face until he whimpers. 

In the end the most remarkable thing about having the arkenstone pressed into his hand is not the arkenstone at all. It is the tears silently streaming down Bilbo’s face as he presses the stone into Thorin’s hand, his fingers curl over Thorin’s, the stone hidden between their hands. 

“How long have you had this?” Thorin asks, knows his voice has gone dangerous, but he’s helpless to stop the fury licking at the base of his spine.

Bilbo closes his eyes and in the smallest voice Thorin has ever heard from him says, “From the beginning. I found it almost as soon as I went into the treasury.” 

Thorin can’t breathe, the betrayal so strong he feels as if he’s going to drown. For all that he had thought someone would take the stone he had not truly believed Bilbo capable of such a thing. “You,” he says. “You would steal from me.” 

“No, no, I didn’t steal it,” Bilbo says and he sounds as if he believes this. “I was scared to give it to you, Thorin. I’m still scared. You’ve gone somewhere I can’t follow and I don’t know how to help you.” 

“I have gone nowhere,” he says, frowning and realizing that it’s true, Bilbo is terrified, is shaking under Thorin’s hand. It doesn’t erase the fury but it tempers it. He is trying to understand. Feels as if there’s a fog in his mind as he tries. He wants to understand though, does not want to believe that Bilbo could betray him so thoroughly without a reason.

Bilbo tries to shake his head but Thorin’s hand holds him steady. “You’ve gone away into your own mind,” he says, looking up at Thorin with wet, pleading eyes. “You’re sick Thorin. I need you to break out of it.” His voice breaks and he’s a liar, a pretty liar, but a liar nonetheless. 

Thorin pulls away, holds the arkenstone up to his face and finds it as beautiful as he remembers. He looks back down at Bilbo and finds nothing but grief looking back.

“Get out,” he says, the words heavy in his mouth. “Leave Erebor. I will grant you safe passage only because you did, in the end, give me what is rightfully mine.”

But Bilbo is already shaking his head. “No,” he says, a stubborn tilt to his mouth. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

Thorin barely thinks before backhanding him “GET OUT,” he roars. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, there’s shrieking. Dwalin and Nori come running in and for a minute stop dead in the doorway.

Bilbo’s sprawled on the dais, one hand to the blistering red of his cheek, but he still sits back up, eyes terribly wide and betrayed, and says, “No.”

Thorin can see him trembling. Can see Nori, his jaw set, creeping towards them as if Thorin would not notice. “You will leave,” he says, leaning down to the hiss the words in Bilbo’s face, “or I will make you.”

Bilbo’s chin tilts up. “Then make me, Thorin.” And then, like he has no concept of how much danger he is in, he tips forward and presses his forehead to Thorin’s. “I can’t leave you,” he murmurs into the space between them. “I can’t watch you die again.”

Thorin feels frozen. The press of Bilbo’s forehead to his overwhelming. He clenches the arkenstone in his fist until it bites into his skin and dimly, he thinks that he should be concerned about breaking it.

“Get out,” he says again, voice gone unaccountably soft. “I do not want you here. Traitor.”

“Like I said, make me,” Bilbo says, leaning even closer, the words ghosting over Thorin’s mouth.

Bilbo’s mouth, when it finally brushes his, is soft. He presses against Thorin so sweetly and for a minute Thorin wavers. Presses back. Thinks, please, thinks, let me have this one beautiful thing. He wavers—

—and then he pushes Bilbo down the dais stairs. It is not a long fall but Bilbo falls easily and with a resounding thunk as his body hits the bottom. Nori is at his side before Thorin can blink, pulling him to his feet and pulling him towards the door. Thorin feels so dizzy he could fall over.

“You’re a fool,” Dwalin says from the bottom of the stairs.

“I am king,” he says, voice raspier than it should be. “I will not tolerate thieves and traitors.”

“Aye, but you have always been my king. Even without that stone. You used to know that.”

“Get out,” he snaps.

Dwalin leaves and Thorin stares down at the arkenstone for a very long time. Feels like his head is splitting apart. Feels like his heart has torn itself asunder. He’s not sure when he falls to his knees in front of the throne but he’s listening to Bilbo’s voice on repeat, You’ve gone somewhere that I can’t follow. Thinks of Dwalin’s words and the grief that had seemed to pass from Bilbo to Dwalin. A shared grief that Thorin can’t understand, doesn’t want to understand. You’ve gone somewhere that I can’t follow.

The arkenstone, when he throws it across the hall, does not shatter, but Thorin’s head feels clearer than it has in days and so of course, the guilt comes pouring in. By the time Bard and Thranduil arrive the gold haze has almost completely cleared from his mind.

It doesn’t fix anything.

——

“Thorin,” Bilbo gasps, sliding to his knees next to Thorin. “No, no, you can’t do this, not again.”

“Bilbo,” he sighs, reaching for Bilbo’s face despite the way it exacerbates the pain. “Amrâlimê, there is nothing to be done.”

“No,” Bilbo says, voice choked. “You can’t do this. You need to live. I need you to live.”

The side of Bilbo’s face is an ugly mess of blues and purples and Thorin’s heart manages to find the energy to clench. “I have done you a disservice,” he says, struggling to get the words. “You were right to keep the arkenstone from me for as long as you did.”

“No, don’t do this,” Bilbo says and he’s fully crying now. “I can’t do this again, please.”

Thorin presses his palm to Bilbo’s face, says, “I wish to part from you with you knowing that in any other circumstance I would have returned your affection.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispers, leaning down to press a furious kiss to his brow, to cheek, to his mouth. “Please, just hold on for a little longer. The eagles will be here soon.”

“Go home, master burglar,” he says, wishing he were not leaving Bilbo to such pain. “Go home to your armchairs and your books. Go home and live a good life.”

Thorin dies. Thorin dies and then—