#bilbo you might have a point

[must-be-mr-boggins]

I’m sick and can’t talk, but I’ll be d4mned if that stops me from posting Bagginshield trash.

[wolves-etc]

there's a moment in the second hobbit film, a flashback, where thorin's sitting down in the prancing pony inn and going straight for the food and watching as a human dude just picks up a hobbit and sets him on a barstool, right?

it's a moment that looks habitual. familiar. the human says "master saddle," the hobbit seems comfortable with it. thorin doesn't even visibly react much. but I love the thought of him quietly in the back of his mind thinking "if anyone tries that with me, by my grandfather's blood they will get stabbed," and also "I will never find it in me to respect a hobbit."

[the-merry-otter]

If you’re on mobile, you may have to click on the images for better quality!

Plain text version with image descriptions is under the cut.

Please note that the image descriptions will be reflecting what I am trying to convey with the photo, rather than the total look of the photo itself. For example if I am trying to describe a dress, the hair colour of the person wearing it will be ignored. This is to reduce the total word count of the descriptions, because I have a lot of images to describe. On this note, I have also streamlined the information as much as possible.

[Plain text description:]

First slide: Mariota’s Guide to 14th Century (Medieval) Women’s Clothing

This slideshow is brought to you by @the-merry-otter on tumblr

ALRIGHT LISTEN UP MOTHERS AND FUCKERS. I’m bored, so today we’re going to be talking about medieval clothing. Specifically fourteenth century English clothing because that’s what I’m good at. (Source: trust me bro I’m a reenacter). Also this is all female stuff - sorry masc leaning folks, I’ll get to you someday!

Disclaimer: this is not completely comprehensive or nuanced in the slightest, it’s just a quick overview guide. Do your own research xoxo.

[Image ID: to the left is a picture of a woman in a light blue dress and a pink hood gazing out at a lake. The hood has a skirt that falls over her shoulders, and there is along thin pipe attached to the back of the hood that dangles to her knees. The edges of the hood are decorated with burgundy crochet. The picture is captioned “beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, literal goals.” End ID]

[Image ID: To the right is a picture of a typical renn faire outfit. It has a white poofy underdress, a black corset, and a brown skirt. There is a red cross drawn over the image. It is captioned “very pretty, but definitely not medieval sorry!” End ID]

Second slide: Underwear (ooh la la)

Now with nasty pocketses

[Image ID: a picture of gollum, from lord of the rings, snarling in disgust. There is a line in The Hobbit where he asks Bilbo what he has in his nasty little pocketses, which is what I am referencing. End ID]

So, corsets, stays, and shapewear in general kind of wasn’t a thing yet. So your underwear was a shift, which was awesome because it was also your pajamas. They were usually made of linen, though some might have been made of cotton is you were rich.

[Image ID: A plain white linen garment laid out flat on the floor. It is a dress that hangs to about knee length, with elbow length sleeves. An arrow points to it with text reading “this is a shift”. End ID]

There is evidence for supportive shifts for busy support, like this one from the fourteenth century!

[Image ID: a second shift, worn by a female presenting person. It is laced up the front, and is a lot tighter and more fitted, especially around the bust. It has straps instead of sleeves. End ID]

There’s also this bra like fragment found in Austria, but that is a whole debate so.

[Image ID: A bra-like garment fitted to a mannequin. It seems to be made out of white linen, coloured with time. The left cup is damaged, and overall the garment looks incomplete. End ID]

Then, over the shift, yet under your main dress went your pockets, which tied on at the waist. Your dresses had slits do that you could get at your stuff without flashing everyone lol.

[Image ID: A picture of medieval pockets. They are upside down teardrop shaped, but the point is flat and is part of the waist ties. There are slits in the side up the top to access the inside. They are cream coloured with bright floral embroidery. The caption reads “these bad boys can fit so many cool pebbles.” End ID]

[Image ID: A young female-presenting person wearing medieval clothing. She has her hands in the pocket slits of her dress. They are just below hip height. End ID]

Third slide: your dress, or the cotehardie. (Pronounced coat hardy)

Over the shift you put your dress, sometimes referred to as either a kirtle or cotehardie. 14th century people started actually form-fitting their clothes more than previous centuries. These needed fastenings, which were mostly lacings (spiral lacings specifically), or buttons made of either metal or cloth, used at the front of the dress from neckline to waist, and on the sleeves from elbow to wrist, with exceptions of course.

(Sidenote: fuck sleeves, all my homies hate sleeves)

[Image ID: a woman in a warm yellow dress to the left of the text. The dress is constructed simply, with a single piece of fabric used for the length of the body so there is no waist seam. The skirt is widened by inserting four triangles, one each at the front and back, and one on each side. The front has buttons made of the same fabric as the dress, that go down to the belt at the waist. The sleeves have similar buttons from wrist to elbow, on the outside of the arm. The woman is also wearing a liripipe hood. End ID]

Dresses seemed to be mostly wool, though I often use linen for mine because I live in Australia and it’s hot in summer and I don’t want to die. Most often they weren’t lined (that is what the underwear was for).

[Image ID: in the top left of the slide is a woman wearing a green woollen dress. It is constructed the same as the previous image, except it has spiral lacing on the front instead of buttons. The sleeves are fastened by three small buttons. She is wearing a simple and veil. End ID]

[Image ID: the top right of the slide shows a woman in a teal coloured dress, similar to the one before. This one has metal buttons at the sleeves and down the front. She wears a veil only. End ID]

The neckline of these dresses was usually round or an oval shape, and some manuscripts have it so wide that it falls off the shoulders slightly.

[Image ID: A photo of a medieval manuscript, depicting six medieval ladies in a row holding hands. The neckline of their dresses is wide enough that the tops of their shoulders are visible. The image is captioned “me and the girls on a Friday night”. End ID]

Clothing was a lot more colourful than the movies would have us believe lol.

[Image ID: Three women, each in dresses similar to the ones before. To the left is a forest green, the middle one is bright saffron yellow, and the one to the right is a vibrant tomato red. End ID].

Fourth slide: Dress two; electric boogaloo

[Image ID: Merry and Pippin from lord of the rings. Above them, meme text reads “we’ve had one, yes”, and then continues below with “but what about second dress?”. End ID]

You could also wear an overdress, which was usually of a contrasting colour and had shorter sleeves.

As well as fashion, they would have been used for extra warmth, and so were usually made of wool.

[Image ID: a woman in a maroon coloured dress like the ones on the previous slide. The sleeves stop just above her elbow, revealing a blue dress underneath. End ID].

Common people would have only owned a couple of different outfits, as fabric was super expensive.

[Image ID: various pictures of women with examples of an overdress. They are all constructed the same as the overdress, but with shorter sleeves that reveal a second sleeve of a different colour underneath. End ID]

A common late thirteenth to mid fourteenth century overdress was the ladies surcoat, which had big holes instead of sleeves.

Belts would have been worn underneath the surcoat.

[Image ID: three photos of women wearing surcoats. They are normal dresses, except there is a large D shape cut out of either side, leaving a large hole from the shoulder to below the hip. They have no buttons down the front. One of the surcoats is made of red brocade, and obviously belongs to an upper-class impression. End ID].

Fifth slide: Hair and headwear

Hair was worn braided and pinned up, with a coif (cap) and either a wimple or veil, or both. The wimple and/or veil were usually pinned to the coif, or secured on a band of fabric around the head.

Veils would be either oval, or a D shape. Wimples were rectangular. A wimple goes under the chin and a veil goes over your head.

[Image ID: a close up of a woman wearing a wimple. It is made of a light fabric, likely silk. The wimple wraps under her chin and is secured at the back of her head. A narrow band of fabric or possibly leather circles her brow, which would have been used to secure the wimple. End ID.]

[Image ID: A picture of YouTuber Morgan Donner wearing a wimple and veil. The wimple wraps under her chin, and the veil is placed on top of her head, draping down past her shoulders. It does not cover her face. Loops of hair are visible either side of her face. End ID]

All the headwear would be made of linen, thin wool, or silk, depending on class. The veils could also be made really fancy by ruffling the front edge or by attaching pearls.

[Image ID: a woman in a wimple and half-circle veil. The edge of the veil that frames her face is elaborately ruffled. The edge of a coif is visible under the veil. End ID]

I ride the bus in my medieval gear a lot because of events, and way too many people think I’m Amish because of my veil. It’s honestly just funny at this point. I should keep a tally.

[Image ID: a woman wearing a St Birgitta’s coif, pinning a wimple at the back of her head. The coif is a simple white linen cap that encloses the head, with a line of lace down the centre of the head. It is secured with a loop of linen around the head. End ID].

[Image ID: a picture of someone with plaits that have been pinned around the head like a crown. It is captioned “you could also pin your hair up like this”. End ID]

Working women might have just wrapped their head in a scarf instead, fuck this fancy shit right?

[Image ID: a woman in a headscarf that has been twisted and then looped around the front of her head. It is captioned #girlboss. End ID].

Fake braids were a thing! Blonde hair in particular was very fashionable, and bleaching or fake braids were sometimes used to achieve that.

[Image ID: two fake braids made of a coarse fibre. They are blonde in colour, and are looped like a hairstyle seen on many of the reenactors. They have white ribbons attached to the top end to help secure them to the head. End ID]

Sixth slide: Cloaks and hoods

These would have actually been two seperate garments! Integrated hoods on cloaks didn’t actually become a thing until the … seventeenth century or so? (Citation needed).

Cloaks were a lot simpler than the typical cloak we think of nowadays. Often they were just a rectangle of wool, or by the fourteenth century, sometimes a half circle.

They were almost always wool as far as I know, and were generally fastened by a cloak pin or buttons.

[Image ID: a metal cloak pin. It is a circle with a small opening at one point. A long pin is attached via a loop, allowing it to slide along the pin. It can fit through the opening in the circle. To use one, you would gather the fabric on the pin, and then slot the circle over the pin and then turn it, so the fabric is trapped between circle and pin. This is much easier to demonstrate than describe. The picture is captioned “these bad boys are the real MVP’s though”. End ID].

[Image ID: a diagram showing the construction of the bocksten man cloak. It is a half circle pieced together by laying strips of fabric together. In the centre of the flat side, a half circle is cut out for the neck. End ID]

[Image ID: a reconstruction of the bocksten man cloak. It is orange wool, and lined with an off-white linen. It is fastened on the right shoulder by three fabric buttons. It would fall to just above the wearers knees. End ID].

Women’s hoods could be short and open, or with a longer skirt and closed with buttons. Liripipe (pronounced leery-pipe) hoods were named for the tube of fabric that dangled off the back of your hood, varying in length. As well as a fashion statement, it could also be wrapped around the neck like a scarf if it got cold.

Hoods were nearly always wool I’m pretty sure, though they were often lined with linen, silk, or cotton.

[General description: a short liripipe hood would be open, with the bottom only reaching your shoulders. They were made from a single piece of fabric that would wrap over your head, with the seam down the centre back of your head. It was flared at the bottom by inserting triangular gores. At the front edge near your face there would be a strip jutting out that went from one side of your chin, over your head, and down to the other side. This would usually be folded back, revealing the lining colour. The bottom of the hood could either just reach the base of your neck, or reach down to just past your shoulders. The former would usually be open at the front, with fastenings optional. The latter option with the longer skirt was almost always able to be fastened up the front with fabric buttons. The liripipe itself was a thin flat tube of fabric fastened at the centre top back of the hood. End ID]

Fun fact, 90% of why I decided to reenact the fourteenth century specifically was because of liripipe hoods.

Seventh slide: Feet (not in a weird way)

Hose were used to keep your legs warm. For women they were usually knee height, and fastened just underneath it with a garter or tie.

[Image ID: a single light yellow hose, belted beneath the knee with a leather garter. The seam is down the centre back of the leg going all the way to your toes, and then around the top of the foot in front of where it connects to your leg. End ID]

Hose usually would have been made from wool, and were cut on the diagonal (bias) of the fabric to get the maximum stretch possible from the fabric. They still were looser than modern tights are though!

Knitted socks were also a thing I’m pretty sure, but I don’t know enough about them. Sorry!

Shoes were simple, usually referred to as turnshoes because of how they were made. Fun fact: the lack of foot support means that turnshoes are similar to going barefoot in terms of how you walk. Some reenactors love it, some hate it, and some are indifferent lol.

[Image ID: a pair of turnshoes made of dark leather. They have a strap that would fasten around the front of the ankle, similar to some modern shoes. The toes are pointed, and it is captioned “pointy toes were fashionable, especially for men”. End ID].

Because shoes were really hard to waterproof, (ask me how I know), and didn’t have solid soles, wooden pattens (pronounced pat-tens) were worn to keep you off the ground while outside.

[Image ID: a person wearing a pair of wooden pattens over their shoes, standing on a drenched cobblestone street. They are wooden platforms with an archway on the bottom, and are attached to the foot with leather straps around the toe, ankle, and around the back of the heel, similar to modern sandals. The image is captioned “ye old crocs”. End ID].

[Image ID: a woman’s leg with the skirts drawn back, revealing the bright yellow hose underneath. It is fastened below the knee with a strip of fabric. She wears a turnshoe with a buckled strap. End ID]

Eighth slide: Accessories

These are a few other items that might have made up a working woman’s outfit.

Aprons would definitely have been used while working. One were just a large rectangle of cloth tucked into the belt, some were smocked to draw in the fabric. They generally stopped at the waist.

[Image ID: a woman in a red dress, with a very light brown apron. It is smocked at the top, and is attached around the waist with a string. End ID].

Pretty broaches and other jewellery existed! There was cheaper stuff made of pewter for the lower classes.

[Image ID: five gold brooches, studded with different jewels and pearls. End ID].

They had a funny sense of humour as well… and they weren’t all prudes.

[Image ID: a pewter broach of a cat carrying a dick and balls in its mouth. It is captioned “you can actually buy these. I know a website.” End ID].

Eating knives were worn on the belt, though it is debated whether women would have carried one. I do because I’m a modern fourteenth century woman.

[Image ID: a small knife with a wooden handle, laying on top of a leather sheath that has been dyed red. End ID]

Belts are a curiously debated topic. Some people reckon that women would have definitely worn them, others say they they weren’t used by women much at all. As far as I know there are depictions of both, so choose what you’d prefer. They are great for hanging stuff on I gotta say.

[Image ID: a coiled up brown leather belt. The buckle and tip are a gold metal, and it has decorative flower studs along its length in the same metal. End ID]

Pretty little purses would have probably been worn. I don’t know enough about them to say anything else though.

[Image ID: two different pictures of reenactors wearing purses. One is brocade and the other a red fabric. They are in the shape of an upright triangle, and both have five tassels hanging from the bottom edge. They hang off the belt with long drawstrings. Unrelated to the purses, one of the women is wearing a gorgeous orange liripipe hood, that is embroidered and dagged on the bottom skirt edge. End ID]

Ninth slide: Fancy Shmancy

There is a lot I haven’t covered, especially in the realm of the upper classes. Here is some of what has been missed. (Buckle up because this section is very image heavy. I will be as concise as possible).

Heraldic dresses! If you are interested, go check out Morgan Donners video on YouTube.

[Image ID: a picture of Morgan Donner in her heraldic dress. One half of the dress is red, and the other is green, except for where it has been cut out by white with an ermine pattern on it. Her hair is unbound and uncovered, except by a small flower crown. It is captioned “Morgan bestie do your hair properly :(“. End ID]

[Image ID: a drawing of two women in heraldic dresses. The first has a blue right half with a yellow printed design. The top left of the dress is yellow with a blue fish, and the bottom left is red with a white fish. Her train is held by the second lady, who’s dress is blue on the right, and white with green birds on the left. End ID].

Fancy headpieces for rich bitches only.

[Image ID: a reenactor doing a high class impression. Her hair is bound up in Pearl studded hair nets on either side of her head like modern earmuffs, with a spiked coronet around her brow. She has a sheer silk wimple on. End ID]

Fancy dagged edged on hoods, sleeves, dresses, etc.

[Dagging description: where the edge has been cut away to make decorative dangly bits. One hood has red leaves around the bottom edge for example, and another just has a pretty geometric pattern. End description].

Brocade gowns! So pretty!

[Image ID: several different pictures of high class ladies wearing brocade gowns of different colours. These are similar to the wool dresses we were looking at earlier, but with longer trains, and often long draping sleeves. There is even a brocade surcoat. End ID]

Fancy sleeves!

[Image ID: examples of different long sleeves. On some, the sleeve is normal until the elbow, and then it falls away to a long strip of fabric that dangles to the ground. Not mentioned on the slide itself is tippets, which was a band of (usually white) fabric just above your elbow, with a thin strip of the same fabric that draped down to the floor. End ID].

Dresses that were two different colours.

[Image ID: examples of dresses that are exactly like the earlier wool dresses, except they are literally half one colour and half another. The manuscript example is a blue and red overdress with fancy sleeves, and the reenactor example is a yellow and green underdress with a red hood. End ID]

And of course, some of the funky fun fabric choices.

[Image ID: a manuscript depiction of a woman carrying a dead bird. Her hood is red and white striped horizontally, and her dress is dark and light blue striped, also horizontally. End ID].

[Image ID: a manuscript depicting a woman talking to a second lady in a chair. The dress on the first has horizontal stripes of white, red, yellow, and blue, repeated, and the second has horizontal stripes of white, pink, and light blue. Interestingly enough the latter colours are very similar to the transgender flag which would make a very cool dress project. Hmm. End ID].

Tenth (and final) slide: In summery

(Small red text below title reads “I hope you have enjoyed” with a drawn smiling face).

Dis you notice all the “usually” “commonly” and “often’s” in there? That’s because I cannot possibly illustrate everything that we know of the time in only ten slides, nor do I know everything, so I have just tried to show what seems to be the most depicted.

Note: I probably even got some stuff wrong by the way.

If you’re interested in this stuff, I really recommend doing your own research now! Hopefully I have given you a good overview of what a fourteenth century womens outfit might have looked like, so now you can go fourth and know what you’re looking for.

If you have any questions about costuming, reenactment, or anything else, feel free to contact me!! I respond on Timblr decently fast ☺️

[Image ID: a reenactor sitting on a log, staring into the distance with a slight smile. She is wearing a grey-blue dress, belted at the waist with a small purse dangling from it. She has a dark blue cape and a light blue hood, that has fallen back to show a ruffled white veil. There is a pewter broach on her hood. A leather turnshoe peeks out from beneath the hem of her dress. End ID]

A list of helpful YouTubers:

Elin Abrahamsson

Morgan Donner

Opus Elenae

Miss Joss (her instagram is more active).

Now go hydrate!!

[Image ID: a woman in fourteenth century garb drinking from a jug. End ID]

[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.

[brethilach]

Headcanon: Dwarves have event-oriented culture(s). Let me explain.

When I say "event-oriented" I mean that their activies and doings in the day are centered around events rather than strict timeframes, and therefore do not "begin" until a certain amount of people have shown up. Most people come and go as they please, parties often go late into the night, many have a "if you're on time, you're early; if you're late, you're on time" mentality. For example, if someone says they're throwing a party at 6:00, what they're actually saying is that you're setting up the party at 6:00 and the party itself won't start until a couple hours later — and for parties at someone's house specifically, there is no set time to end. People will often put a delay of at least 30 mins just to be sure the host is ready, and people closer to the host might arrive before the scheduled time to help organize. So if you show up on time, you're expected to help set up. Then the party will often go for hours on end, so most just show up when they can and then stay as late as they want. Time is (often) treated like a suggestion and it is totally acceptable or even sometimes socially expected for you to be late (because the set time can sometimes actually be the time people begin preparing for the event).

Most real-life event-oriented cultures are centered in places near the equator (Brazil especially comes to mind for me), and I think the reason behind this is because there's so much warmth and time during the day that it isn't much of a problem for events to go late into the night — whereas for places north of the equator (who usually have stricter time-oriented cultures), there's only so much time in the day before things start getting very dark and cold (impractical for... everything, really), so you need to be more strict with how you spend your time.

For Dwarves, I think it would be the opposite scenario, but would still come back to the same cultural phenomenon. Because most Dwarves live underground in the mountains and probably don't see much of the Sun in their day to lives, they don't need to worry about it getting dark or cold outside because they're not outside all the time to begin with!! I'm thinking about how the Dwaves in the book actually stop Bilbo from getting a lamp for the meeting because they just "like the dark" and tell him that there are "many hours left until dawn" (when it seems as though it's already fairly late for Bilbo at that point).

I don't think they would see (solar) time as a binding. They'd see it as just a guideline at best (and probably have their own methods of keeping time too, actually, but that's a different conversation).

This could be reason behind why all of the Dwarves arrived to Bilbo's house at drastically different times (at least in the book) and the "party" didn't actually begin until most everyone was there. The only one amongst them I think who was really considered late (in the movie) was Thorin, but no one even mentioned it after he said he "lost his way" and explained he just had a hard time finding Bilbo's house (they probably kept their mouths shut in part because he's their King, but even when Gandalf pointed out that he wasn't there before, Dwalin seemed very nonchalant about it).

Think about what happens in the book: Thorin tells Bilbo (in his letter) that they will meet at the Green Dragon to depart from the Shire at 11:00, and explicitly says they expected him to be "punctual." Bilbo wakes up at 10:45 in a panic, rushes out of the door, and runs a mile south to arrive at the Green Dragon "just on the stroke of eleven". When Bilbo apologizes, Dwalin says "don't be precise, and don't worry!" (despite the fact that the letter seemed to clearly state that he should be precise). If you put this in the context of a Dwarven event-orientated culture, they would have meant they would meet at the Green Dragon at 11:00 to prepare for departure. Whereas Bilbo most likely would have intepreted it as though they departing at 11:00 exactly. Thorin's definition of being precise (in this sense) would be "you should start preparing the leave your house at 11" — rather than "we're leaving the Green Dragon at 11 and if you're not there by then we'll just leave without you" (which is probably what Bilbo thought). I imagine that Shire-Hobbits likely have a much stricter time-orientated culture where events start whether or not you've shown up, you're expected to be early regardless of the set time, and being more than a few minutes late is like a social death sentence (just taking into consideration Bilbo's behavior and the fact that jirt pretty obviously based the Shire on pre-industrial Britain)

This is just my headcanon though! I just think it's a neat concept to think about.

[mushroomates]

some thoughts on elves and lactose intolerance:

on the topic of elves being vegan/vegetarian, where would they get eggs? foraging? what about milk.

because they do drink milk!!! they have cheese and milk but they don’t have cows. they don’t rlly farms,,, like i mean the grow food but cows??

because elves CAN eat p much anything and we know they have cheese. where r they getting this cheese??

some potential cheese sources:

aragorn introduced the culture (ha) of cheese.

but then imagine- hey elf dad i got some fermented milk it’s rlly good. like absolutely not would that become widespread accepted and make its way to lorien and mirkwood in a few decades.

they trade??? with humans??? certainly not drawfs. but who are these secret human links to cheese. with hobbits??? i could see bilbo being the elvish cheese supplier.

with gandalf???? is gandalf the cheese wizard? did he try some cheese off in the shire centuries ago and thought- yk what my girl galadriel would love this.

this is mostly likely how cheese was discovered. gandalf just kinda floating through like “you won’t believe what the hobbits just came up with”

but then who brings the cheese to other elves. consistently. like i get a one time thing but that’s a lot of cheese to keep for centuries.

does gandalf have a cheese wagon he brings round elven establishments and gives away wheels on wheels??? does he make them pay. does gandalf even have money or even need it??? (question for another day)

i mean rohan is kinda close to lorien but even then like. lorien is mysterious and gated and no horse girl no matter how cool can pull up and be like “yo elves try this sick brie we just made”

also elves are like capable of making their own cheese i know but that requires milk. and milk doesn’t save like cheese does. also there’s no COWS in lorien,,, where on earth would the put them. in the trees???

so like is the cheese even. cow,, cuz it’s not cow or goat and idk man. sheep?? maybe for clothes,, but where are the tree sheep?? where is the mirkwood sheep?? i can see rivendale with some maybe but???

also how r y gonna convince them in the first place to even TRY it. bc no matter how u pitch it some other creatures lactation is not it.

where is this milk coming from??????? i’m so sorry but i have questions mr tolkien please

also the idea of legolas being lactose intolerant to me is so funny im sorry but like imagine this poor boy goes his whole life without dairy and rocks up to rivendell for the first time, goes to the feast and tries this new fancy treat on crackers and has the shits for weeks

cuz there’s no way cheese is making its way to mirkwood. absolutely not. maybe in like the five army’s war they got SOME but like not enough. also thuranduil would not trust that shit. he’s not eating that and his son certainly isn’t.

but it tastes good with wine…. and that might have been the selling point.

mr tolkien i need awnsers please. tell me about the cheese wizard.

[lapislazuli-012]

Something really personal but here’s the way I ship them.

*after BOTFA, everyone survived AU*

Sorry I’m just, really bad at writing conversations🤦‍♀️. Some of the scripts I borrowed directly from BOTFA. Everything is good up until this point and yes they’re still BFFs and giving me old-married-couple vibe already.

PERSONALLY, I think even as a couple, neither Thorin or Bilbo is the type that is willing to give up their own way of living to live with the other (at least not right now).

Thorin had been forced out of Erebor at a young age and just recovered his long-lost home. There’s a LONG way ahead restoring Erebor and bringing back his people. He will stumble, he will have doubts, he will question himself things like Am I really ready and Will I be a good king… But he won’t turn away, because he is Thorin son of Durin.

For Bilbo, the journey did change him, still he remains a hobbit at heart and values home above gold and glory. He misses the peaceful life and comfort he used to have though he knows it’ll never be the same, because HE is not the same hobbit anymore. He helped the dwarves taking back Erebor, now he longs for his own home.

(All of these are mere personal interpretations😇)

So since Thorin will not live in Shire and Bilbo won’t live in Erebor for their entire life, the most-likely situations I’d imagine are these…

There will be a point where Fili can somewhat take on the responsibilities of ruling Erebor. Thorin might have some kingly vacation (specifically, working on legislations, approving orders and proclamations at night and travel among the day) and visit Shire sometime.

I realized not a lot of ppl talk about the aging problem, so I tried to talk about it🧌. Hobbits have lifespans similar to Men but Dwarves’ are usually 3 times longer if I recall correctly.

Thank you for reading!

[conkers-thecosy]

Hullo! 💛 I know it was a few weeks ago since I posted my fic rec list, but here's the promised compilation of unfinished WIPs that I'd like to recommend, at last! Do give them a look, they're all wonderful! ~ "The Veiled King" by MiraHerondale Bilbo has lost his memory after getting knocked out in Ravenhill, and is found by Thranduil. He’s taken to Mirkwood, unconscious still, to be treated. Upon waking, he discovers he has no memories of the previous year.

Unaware of this development, Thorin and his heirs lie recovering from their wounds and confined to bed rest. Free of the gold madness, the King orders them to search for Bilbo, as the brave burglar is still counted among the many who have disappeared during the fight. Despite this, they find no trace of Bilbo before a terrible snowstorm forces them to abandon their task and accept what they believe to be the hobbit's fate.

The King Under the Mountain mourns and, in the meantime, Bilbo sleeps.

~

"Ambassador To Madness" by @sunnyrosewritesstuff All Bilbo wanted was to be an ambassador to one of the richest kingdoms in Middle Earth. Upon meeting its prince, his opinion is greatly lessened. However, Bilbo still finds himself agreeing to play the part of his consort to help free Erebor from the gold mad Thror. Turns out, Thror may not be as blind as his grandson thinks, and intends to use Bilbo to get rid of Thorin once and for all. ~ "Sleep Alone; Start All Over" by vicious_summer Bilbo had a sudden, cheerful realization. “Oh, my, this must mean you’ve already dealt with the problem of the dragon without me!”

Bofur frowned. “Bilbo, no–”

“Sorry, you haven’t dealt with the dragon?”

Or: the Consort of Erebor loses about seven years of memory. ~ "Golden Hearts Bleed Faster" by @lordoftherazzles Bilbo Baggins, Prince of the Shire, has been left with a kingdom on his back and a ring in his hand after the unexpected death of his parents. Bodyguard Thorin Oakenshield has been brought in to see to the prince’s safety, and do a little investigating of his own on the matter in hopes of coming face to face with the one who turned his mountain, and his life, upside down some years prior. ~ "The Great Ereborian Doily Conspiracy" by @lauramkaye Thorin has always been happy to see Bilbo adopt dwarfish ways, until it is pointed out to him that Bilbo, not actually being a dwarf, might be happier in their marriage if Thorin were to make a bit of effort to adopt some hobbitish ways in turn.

Naturally, Thorin goes about this in a sensible and moderate manner. ~ "Dragonfly" by @edwardallenpoe Snippets of Thorin and Bilbo's life, learning to Heal, learning to Grow, Learning to Trust, and learning to Love, from when they survive, to the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Or; They both love each other and are afraid to tell the other, their plans? To tell everyone else they're together while the other has no idea. ~ "Sparks & Gardens" by @fantasyinallforms Bilbo grew up well-to-do in the peaceful countryside of the shire. Three years after his mother's passing, his father decides to move to London to take up an affluent teaching job at the British museum. Bilbo tries to make the best of his new surroundings and crosses paths with a surly blacksmith named Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo finds Thorin to be an enigma, and Thorin finds Bilbo to be naive. Soon they will learn that Thorin's mistrust of the elite is based on experiences that lead to his dark past, and Bilbo is not as naive to the evils of the world as he may seem. ~ "Of Cold Hearts" by @domesticgoddesswriter Thorin was at a loss. He was a monster slayer. A killer of all evil creatures who prey on humanity. Including vampires. Especially vampires. He hated vampires. He wouldn't be content until he eradicated every last one of the foul beings.

So what in Mahal's name was he doing sitting here in a dusty armchair next to a cold hearth drinking tea (of all things!) with a (admittedly rather cute) vampire. The same vampire that he came to this old castle to kill. ~ Next time I'll do "canon-verse; all time favourites" Feel free to add your recommendations too, I'm always on the look out for new fic to read! 💛

[afewproblems]

Give me older Steve and Eddie, in their mid-thirties, an established couple at this point, seeing Lord of the Rings the Fellowship of the Ring in theaters in 2001.

Steve never did get around to reading the books but he loves Eddie and its a movie, so what could go wrong? He liked Star Wars well enough didn't he?

And the intro narrations plays, a woman's voice explaining history and legend in soothing lilting tones as the story begins to play out on the screen. Steve barely touches his popcorn the entire time as he meets Frodo and Gandalf, as Bilbo disappears from his own birthday party and he gives the ring to his oldest friend, as Frodo and Sam make their way to Bree, as the Ring Wraiths chase Frodo and Arwen through the forrests.

Steve grips Eddie's hand tightly as Arwen tells Frodo not to give in, he misses the loving grin that Eddie shoots him before turning back to the screen.

Gandalf falls, Borromir sacrifices himself, Sam tells Frodo he doesn't mean to leave him. That he won't, he can't.

Steve struggles to wipe his face surreptitiously, he still has Eddie's hand gripped in his left while his right is clamped tightly over his mouth, he ends up letting the tears flow freely, it's fine, he's fine.

The last few hours have flown by and the lights come on slowly as Steve sniffles quietly, he swings his right arm across his face roughly and laughs softly as Eddie asks him how he liked it with a small grin.

"It was alright," Steve says with a watery voice, he smiles at the cackle Eddie throws his way. Eddie helps him up and draws him into a long hug, not caring of the people filing out of the rows of seats around them.

"You okay sweetheart?" Eddie murmurs as he pulls away.

Steve nods and sniffs once more before looking up to catch Eddie's eye, "there are two more after this huh?"

Eddie snorts and brings his arm around Steve's shoulders as they begin to follow the last of the stragglers, "Of this story, yeah why?"

Steve shakes his head with a small laugh, "might finally give those books you love so much a peek".

Eddie hums and leans in to press a soft kiss to Steve's temple, "I think we can arrange that".

[scoops-aboy86]

See You Everywhere (Secret Admirer pt 3)

Steddie Week 2024, July 3: Long / mutual pining / Holding Me by Warlock

It's still July 3 in my time zone, haha I made it! *lame fist pump*

wc: 3293 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

Darling Steve,

You amaze me on so many counts, not least by thinking I would stop writing to you after that, holy shit, not stupid at all. I see the vision, baby, and I think it’s precious that you’d rather picture me in disguise than imagine me wrong. But, sweetheart, you have to know that there are no wrong answers in these letters. This is much more firmly within my comfort zone than yours, I know, so I will never judge you for anything you write to me. 

(Although I am honor-bound to gently, lovingly point out that it’s Bilbo, not Bibo. And I hope your band of gremlins does not end up guiding you to lead a life of crime. Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it might seem without the swords and the magic and the fantastic creatures.)

But I digress. I would happily slink into your bedroom at night, dressed all in black. (I wear a lot of dark colors anyway, so it’s not that much of a stretch.) I’d scale the outside wall up to your bedroom window and silently slip inside. Step softly so as not to disturb you as I approach the bed, where you slumber peacefully in… I want to say, with hope in my heart, nothing but those Hawkins High gym shorts? Nights have been hot lately, that and leaving the window open should help you keep cool. My own costume would be a little warm in this weather but it is, if I am to preserve my secret identity, a necessary sacrifice; one I would willingly make for the privilege of touching you. 

Do me a favor, sweetheart, and touch yourself while you read this. Through fabric, if you want to make it authentic, if you imagine me wearing gloves. (So smart for that, baby, because honestly you’d figure out a lot about me just from seeing my hands.) Lay back like a good boy, Steve, and let me make you feel good and pull those shorts down. It’s dark, I could pull up my mask a little bit to use my mouth. Suck you until you’re hard, use my hand for whatever I can’t fit in my mouth because I can tell you’re very gifted in that area. It’s a shame I’d have my hair covered because I like having it pulled, but I could still moan around you while thinking about it.

And baby? I’d swallow.

I’ll leave it there because… to be perfectly honest, I got a little distracted and made a mess of myself. You have no idea what you do to me, Steve, I feel like I’m on top of the world and all I’ve done is take the fantasy you provided and run with it. 

Which is embarrassing, because I started writing these letters because I wanted to give you something. You’ve seemed so melancholy ever since last fall and I wanted to let you know that someone sees you and cares. And here I am, selfishly imagining you when I can’t let you do the same, because if you knew who I am I don’t think you’d want me. I’m pretty far outside of your type, judging by anyone I’ve ever seen you with or noticed you show interest in. I listen to music you would probably hate. I don’t like sports, be it playing or spectating. Our high school experiences are on such opposite ends of the spectrum that we practically went to different schools. Your house is a castle and mine a hovel. We have nothing in common but I am filled to bursting with devotion to you that I can’t even. 

Do you really want me to continue writing, Steve? I know you’ve asked me to be before, but we’re in new territory here. I know I started it, but I really do feel like it was maybe uncool of me and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

I’ll follow your example and end on a different note. How is it going with your coworker? I don’t have a steady nine to five myself—or the part time version, I guess—but I imagine working with someone who likes to butt heads with you is pretty grating. If it’s an issue, I hope it resolves soon. Wishing you as little stress in your life as possible, I remain, as always—

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. Before you ask, I do recall saying in my last letter that I don’t mind weird. To clarify: I will accept just about any weirdness from you, sweetheart, but it’s different when I do it. Forgive me my dramatics, but at the end of the day, everyone is their own harshest critic. 

~

Eddie is suffering. He’s haunted, too distracted to plan his next campaign or practice guitar—which, incidentally, are the things that usually distract him too much from things like school work or finding a respectable job. All he can think about is Steve, and by inevitable extension Steve’s ninja scenario.  

He’d laughed at first, okay? (Before, you know. Getting really, really into it.) Not in a derogatory way, but because it was actually a creative solution to something that a lot of dudes might not even consider a problem. 

Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are?

Because, just, Jesus H. Christ. Eddie has fooled around with guys in places out in Indy, and being liked for who he is doesn’t really factor in. So this is… new. He feels almost seen, something that should be impossible while he’s still shrouded in anonymity, and yet Steve seems to be holding space for that veil to be lifted someday.

‘Someday’ suggests a mutual future of some sort, which is sparking a dangerous ember of hope in Eddie’s foolish heart. And in the meantime there’s always the mental image of getting to secretly blow the prettiest boy in Hawkins—

Fuck, he needs to get out of this tin oven of a trailer. He’d put his latest letter in the mail two days ago, then come straight home to jerk off some more and smoke his way into absolute paranoia that this time he’d really blown it. Gone full throttle on that fantasy, then told Steve not to want him, then said something dumb about that girl he works with, and then still mailed it?! 

He needs fresh air. 

(He goes and checks his PO box.)

Any air. 

(No reply yet, but the Hawkins Post Office isn’t known for its speed or efficiency.)

Air conditioning. 

It doesn’t surprise him, really, when he ends up pulling his van into the parking lot surrounding Starcourt Mall. Because Steve Harrington is haunting him and will keep doing so matter where he goes, so why not here? Eddie doesn’t even bother to fight the way his feet carry him towards Scoops. Wouldn’t be the first time, after all—Steve’s ass looks great in both green and blue—but he tries not to do it too often. 

All he wants is a crumb, a tiny direct interaction with the guy, even if Steve continues to remain none the wiser. 

~

Steve is suffering. Which really grates, because he woke up in a great mood! He’s already working on a reply to the latest letter—once again all stocked up on paper, so he can rewrite it nicer if he makes a mess of it this time. Every time he thinks about it his chest (and, okay, sometimes his dick too, he’s still a teenaged boy) fills up with giddy warmth knowing that his Secret Admirer liked his dumb ninja idea. Specifically said it wasn’t stupid and that they had to stop writing to masturbate about it. 

(Girls do that, right? Maybe not as often as dudes, but he really has had phone sex with enough of them to know they’re not necessarily opposed. That wasn’t a clue, Secret Admirer still could be either.)

So today should be going great, but instead he’s felt a headache coming ever since he hopped in his car to drive to work. Too late to take anything for it, though Advil or Tylenol sometimes barely dent in these things. He puts his sunglasses on for the drive and into the mall in the hope that will buy him some time before the worst of it hits. 

If only he could stay home, laying in his room as dark as he can make it with a cold washcloth over his eyes and a can of Coke with a crazy straw at the ready. Even better if he could somehow just call and get Secret Admirer to come over to keep him silent company, refreshing the washcloth for him when it gets warm…

“Shades aren’t part of the uniform, cool guy,” Robin says flatly when he walks into Scoops through the back. “I don’t care how hungover you are, company rules.”

“I’m not hungover on a damn Tuesday,” he grumbles back. But maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe the headache will hold off at least until his break, then if he clocks out early at least he still got half a shift’s pay. Maybe if it holds off a little longer after that he’ll be able to get all the way home without being a danger behind the wheel. 

He leaves the sunglasses folded on the break room table and starts helping her haul fresh tubs of ice cream from the walk-in to the display case out front. 

It’s going to be a long shift. 

~

By the time Eddie gets to Scoops, there’s a line so long it’s practically out the door. Frowning, he checks his watch for the time, something he hadn’t bothered to do in the van, and realizes it’s probably the tail end of the lunch rush. Super. 

Steve and the girl he works with are both behind the counter, taking turns scooping and ringing up each individual customer or group and then cycling back around to help the next in line. As he waits, Eddie watches from behind the cover of his long hair and realizes that Steve seems off today. He keeps squinting under the fluorescent lights, distracted, sometimes asking people to repeat themselves to both their and his coworker’s obvious annoyance. But it’s not until some kid shrieks that she asked for double fudge chunk and he’s scooping regular chocolate that Steve winces and brings his shoulders up like he’s trying to cover his ears, and oh. Oh, Eddie thinks he knows what this is. 

Sometimes I get these headaches that really mess me up. It doesn’t just hurt, it’s like all the lights get way too bright and sometimes my eyes go blurry for a while. Great parting gift from the concussion. Ice cream helps sometimes though, which is convenient if I’m at work. 

The tiniest amount of research at the library (or, in fact, two afternoons in a row) had told Eddie that this could be anything from migraines to a brain tumor, but given the concussion the former is more likely. If Steve is having one of those, this is probably the worst place for him to be: loud, bright, and enough people crowded into the ice cream parlor that even with mall air conditioning it feels lukewarm in here, when what he needs is quiet, dark, and a cold compress. And this is not the kind of place where he can just throw up and take a nap—not without the risk of getting in trouble, maybe fired.

Eddie knows that Steve is going to keep trying to power through it, because he knows all about how the guy is saving up to move out of his parents’ house. (Castle… Oh god, he’d called it a castle in his last letter, why had he done that? He knows that Steve wants out of there, wants somewhere cozy and lived-in as opposed to his mother’s taste in cool and impersonal decor.)

There’s nothing he can do but wait as the line inches forward. As a slight tremor starts to show in Steve’s hands, which Eddie is watching like a hawk. By the time Eddie, still last in line, is within touching distance of the display case it’s a full on shake, and Steve fumbles his ice cream scoop trying to spin it into the side loop on his apron. 

The clatter is loud against the background elevator music version of a The Beach Boys song. Steve’s coworker—Robin, according to her name tag—looks up sharply at the sound, but an uncertain kind of concern seeps into her frown when she gets a good look at him. “Steve? You alive over there?”

Steve, who has gone very pale, gives a slight shake of his head that seems to make his whole body sway. “Need a clean scoop. I’ll just… run to the back,” he manages, then stumbles towards the swinging doors marked Employees Only. There’s a choked noise as soon as he’s out of sight, and Robin seems to come to the same conclusion as Eddie: he won’t be back for a while. 

To her credit, she puts on a passably bright fake smile at the lady Steve had been helping, taking her mostly finished cup from the counter where Steve had left it and adding the requested chocolate syrup on top. 

Finally, it’s Eddie’s turn. But now he’s the one who’s distracted, trying to squint through the frosted glass of the window to the back room for any sign of Steve moving around. 

“What can I get you, Munson?” Robin asks loudly, a little annoyed as though it’s not the first time she’s asked. Oops. 

He also feels a little bad that he didn’t recognize her when she obviously knows him, likely from his lunchtime cafeteria soapbox spectacles, but ever since the first time he’d failed senior year he’d tuned out on all the rising underclassmen besides Steve pretty hard.

Eddie orders while glancing towards the window again and fiddling with the chain attached to his belt loop. “Actually, make that two cones. One for me and one to cheer up your fellow at sea.”

Robin wrinkles her nose. “You, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, want to buy Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington an ice cream cone?”

He shrugs, something inside him shriveling because, yeah, that would seem weird from an outsider’s perspective, the way he usually rails against the jocks. Maybe he’s a little bit of a hypocrite in his affections, but whatever Steve was in high school he’s actually a massive sweetheart now. “Yeah, well. You know Hargrove gave him a concussion last year? King Steve may have been a douchebag to us commoners, but at least he’s not as bad as that piece of shit.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, but finishes scooping into the first cone and reaches for a second. “Are you sure there wasn’t some house party he was at last night? Everyone knows he got that title from being Keg King.”

It feels stupid to go to high school parties when I’m not in high school anymore. They’re too loud and just a couple of beers hit me like a brick because of my stupid messed up head. Partying used to be a good outlet but I can’t do it anymore. 

“Nah,” Eddie dismisses immediately, mind scrambling for a reason he can give for being so certain. “Nothing last night, or I would’ve been there. You know, for business purposes.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “By the way, if you ever need a little relief from the grind of dealing with shitty customers…”

It feels sleezy, and isn’t something he usually does, but it helps sell it. 

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” Robin says quickly, and moves to the register. “That’s three dollars and fifty cents.”

“Don’t forget the sprinkles,” he reminds her while digging the money out of his pocket. With that handed over and sprinkles dumped on, he takes his one cone and gestures grandly to the other. “And maybe don’t mention to his Highness that that was from me. It’d be a shame if he had the same reaction as you and simply tossed away good ice cream.”

That would crush him, actually. So even though he wants so, so badly to stay, he forces himself to leave before he tries to eavesdrop, just to be safe. 

~

“Steve?”

Startled, Steve jolts upright from where he’d been slumped in one of the break room chairs, wet paper towel sliding off his face and landing in his lap. The motion makes his head throb harder, and it’s all he can do to swallow down a groan. “Huh?” he grunts, eyes only open enough to make out Robin’s general shape. 

“Why’d you turn the lights off back here?” she asks, quieter this time. He can’t make out her tone at all through the sharp pain threatening to burst out of his skull, but he’s grateful for the lower volume. And that she doesn’t turn the lights back on. 

“‘S not a hangover,” he mumbles. Which, maybe he missed a step in that explanation. It was there in his head somewhere, surely she’ll make the connection? Or maybe just think he’s got some sort of stomach flu, since he totally threw up in the break room trash can. Hopefully in it. He’s… pretty sure he didn’t miss. 

“I’m getting that.” Very gently, Robin takes his hand and wraps it around an ice cream cone. “Here. Generous donation from a concerned citizen who shall remain nameless.”

Steve blinks down at the strawberry ice cream in a cone with rainbow sprinkles. 

Either this is the biggest coincidence in the world, or Secret Admirer was here. 

Suddenly his eyes are silently streaming, because he could use that comforting presence right about now. It shines through on every page—this overwhelming care that he’s never felt from anyone else, not even Nancy. Whoever it is must have remembered the one time he’d mentioned in one of his reply letters that ice cream helps his headaches sometimes. 

Steve cries because he wishes they would’ve just brought it themselves and done away with the mystery because he so, so longs to feel like someone’s in his corner now. Someone to give him a hug and rub just above his temples, which sometimes helps too. He takes a lick of the ice cream and chews on sprinkles and the tears come a little faster because he wants. 

“Oh shit,” Robin whispers, dropping into the seat across from him. “Are you crying? Steve—Steve, it’s okay, if you’re not feeling up to it I’m not gonna make you go back out there again. Especially not if you’re likely to ralph on the customers but, like, mostly because I’d feel like an asshole. I mean, I heard the rumors about you getting a concussion and that’s why you quit the basketball team and swim teams, but…” She hesitates, holding her hands up like he’s a bomb that she’s worried might explode in her face. “Just, it’s okay. You stay back here and I’ll finish the rest of the shift, you don’t even have to clock out. I’ll handle it.” 

For a moment, with hurt in his head and an ache in his heart and strawberry flavor on his tongue, Steve thinks it could be her. Maybe Robin is his Secret Admirer and it was her own idea to scoop this cone for him. But then she leaves, and that doesn’t feel right either. 

Steve is haunted by a faceless, nameless person that he’s probably crossed paths with without knowing god knows how many times. Or rather, by their absence.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever

[tossawary]

So, the Jackson "The Hobbit" movies get rid of the dwarves having musical instruments, rather adding a very atmospheric humming to the "Over the Misty Mountains" song. And I like this adaptational choice just fine, I think it sounds good, and because the question of "What happens to the instruments? Are they taking clarinets and a harp and etc. on the quest?! Are the musical instruments magical?" has bugged me for years. And I do think this choice suits the general *waves hand vaguely* more "serious / grim / lower high fantasy" aesthetic cultivated by the previous Jackson "Lord of the Rings" films.

But I do like the mental image of the Company being a very literal band going on a quest, because I think it's funny and delightful and unique. If I was doing an animated movie in particular, I would not like to be rid of the musical instruments during that scene. The vibe is very magical. Very whimsical. And whimsy does not have to be wholly separate from very serious subject matters! I think it would be very cool if the dwarves had more casually magical tools generally, which would do some easy additional worldbuilding for the level of craftsmanship in this world, and could fit in perfectly well alongside hidden doors and invisibility rings and mithril shirts and glowing swords and jewelry that never comes accidentally undone.

If someone did a version where all the dwarves are carrying musical instruments throughout most of the quest in this way and the creator really leaned into the music generally and audio-visual relationship in film specifically, I would absolutely watch it. That sounds amazing. It wouldn't necessarily have to be a musical or an opera as well, though that would also be extremely cool. (Personally, I would even also watch a "Fantasia" version of "The Hobbit" FOR SURE. I am an artsy dork like that. Though it might not be my first choice in my ideal creative project.)

I think you could could do some great, whimsical scenes with the dwarves singing at various points on the road, the musical instruments breaking at certain emotional points, the dwarves trying to do little musical spells at various points, and so on. A lot of this stuff could even just be other members of the Company fussing around with these things in the background (trying to play a musical spell to light a fire) while Bilbo has a foreground conversation with Thorin or Gandalf or something. I LOVE in animated (and live) movies when you can see supporting characters bickering or getting into hijinks in the background of a scene. (Also, this world was sung into being in a way, wasn't it? Why not have more magical music?)

(OHHH, the way that Smaug could be done in a more audio- and music-focused version of "The Hobbit" would be SO COOL.)

Alternatively, generally, I've also imagined that there are other dwarves with wagons nearby to take the musical instruments away again (let's say the instruments are not magical in any way and taking them along would therefore largely just be impractical), and that the night at Bilbo's house was actually also a RITUAL meal/meeting for the members of a long journey. You're going on a quest? You seclude yourself with your company, eat, drink, talk, plan, and sing a little to bond as an exclusive group the night before heading off together. Normally, this would have been done back at their own home or something, but they had to get their burglar first.

I think this would be a cool way to slip in characters like Dis and Gimli even just in the background, as family members come to see everyone off, seen fixing Kili's hair or hugging Gloin as the Company prepares to leave Hobbiton that last morning. Thorin and Balin could be exchanging a couple quick lines about how Bilbo hasn't shown up yet, and in the background, we could see Dis hugging Fili (the true purpose of a well-done adaptation of "The Hobbit" is to break my fucking heart) and Gloin's wife drawing off with a wagon full of musical instruments while young Gimli waves tearfully! You wouldn't even have to have them say anything to slip them in!

Just... I'm listening to the Andy Serkis audiobook of "The Hobbit" right now and I want to see some gloriously artsy visual adaptations of this world.

[nostalgicnarrator]

𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚖𝚎𝚗

───── ☾ ⍟ ☽ ─────

Word Count: 7736

Parings: Thorn X Bilbo

Description:

Thorin has had it with this outlaw.

───── ☾ ⍟ ☽ ─────

1 / 2

Note:

I put my cowboy hat on first this one, let me know if you want to see more. I might make it into a AO3 book if people want it enough.

⚠️Warning⚠️

Mature content.

───── ꧁✪꧂ ─────

The sun wasn’t even over the horizon when the knock came, loud and persistent, and far too early in the morning for Thorin’s liking.

He was in the middle of a deep, dreamless sleep. The knocks started quietly, just enough to stir him. But they didn’t stop. The knocking quickly turned to banging.

Thorin groaned loudly, dragging his hand down his face. And that’s how he found himself standing at his front door staring at a boy who shoved a paper in his hand.

Thorin half-expected some emergency, not some kid. The problem was that Ered was quiet most mornings, but it had its moments, so when someone comes banging on his door this early, it was usually serious.

Not for some paper. He raised his brow at the young man as he stood there, barely awake himself. The boy rubbed his eyes, swaying slightly as if he might fall asleep standing.

“Telegram for you, Sheriff,” the boy mumbled when he handed it over.

Thorin blinked at the offending piece of paper. It felt heavier than it should’ve, like it carried some kind of unseen weight. Something in his gut told him this wasn’t good, it felt… wrong.

He quickly read the message, his brow furrowing as his tired eyes tried to make sense of it.

꧁——————————꧂

꧁𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖꧂

𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝟻:𝟶𝟶…..𝚃𝚘: 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗 𝙾𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚕𝚍

𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍: 𝟼:𝟹𝟶……

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝙴𝚛𝚎𝚍.

𝙱.

꧁——————————꧂

Thorin stared at the telegram. “B,” he muttered to himself. Just a letter, no name. He turned the telegram over as if he might find some clue hidden on the back.

“Who sent this?” Thorin asked, glancing at the boy. Feeling about as annoyed as a wet cat.

The young man shrugged, still half-asleep. “Dunno. Just got handed it at the post office this morning. Told to deliver it.”

“Great,” Thorin muttered, running a hand through his hair. He shooed the boy away.

He all but slammed the door as he tossed the telegram paper on a table and stormed upstairs. His mind was unhelpfully loud and annoying.

He had no idea who “B” was, or why this person thought it necessary to bother him at this ungodly hour. And why a cryptic message about a train?

It wasn’t like trains were a rare occurrence in Ered. They’re not often eather, and when they did come through they had small shipments. But him getting the notice didn’t make sense. The mayor normally gets the notice about the trains, not Thorin.

He flopped over onto his bed and tried to go back to sleep. His mind rolled through thoughts of who could have possibly sent it.

At first his mind landed on Balin, but that makes no sense, first of all, Balin would’ve waited, second he wasn’t always needed when it came to deliveries. The few times he was, was when the bank got new bills in or gold shipments.

Besides, Balin didn’t deal in cryptic messages; he was direct, always to the point. So If it wasn’t Balin, then who?

He turned the letter over in his mind. Bofur? No, not likely. Bofur wasn’t much for secrets, the man would have blurted out whatever he had to say in the middle of town for all to hear. Probably would have burst into song about it if someone got a little liquor in him.

Bombur wouldn’t send it either, he got his shipments with his brother, and when he didn’t it came by wagon. Sure the man was shy but he knew Thorin and they’ve talked a few times.

Bifur? No, Bifur probably didn’t understand how telegrams worked, so it couldn’t be him. Thorin groaned and rubbed his face again roughly.

None of them would have done it. they all would’ve told him in person if they did actually need help, and at a more reasonable hour.

So it had to have come from outside of Ered. But who, in their right mind, would do this?

“First that outlaw,” Thorin grumbled under his breath. “And now this… I can’t catch a break.”

Thorin hadn’t even caught his breath from that whole disaster, the universe is out for his blood. He could feel it. Thorin sat back up with a huff, he decided to get ready for the day. It was clear he wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon.

And he could feel something was off about this whole situation. It nagged at him like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. The one thing Thorin had learned over the years was that trouble didn’t usually announce itself. It snuck up on you.

Thorin sighed heavily, he really didn’t want to deal with any more problems, he shoved his boots on and pulled his hair back before plopping his hat on his head. He was already tired, and the day hadn’t even started yet.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎︎ 𐬾 ༅ ༅ 𐬾 ☀︎︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Thorin looked up from his desk when Dwalin walked in, the man looked as exhausted as Thorin felt, he vaguely wondered if the deputy got a Telegram too.

That thought left him quickly when Dwalin looked at Thorin with confusion. Dwalin tossed his hat on his desk, it landed with a soft thud. The man slowly walked around to Thorin before he leaned back against the table. He crossed his arms. Dwalin flinched in pain as he did.

Thorin cringed as he saw, Thorin knew Dwalin wasn’t fully healed, but the man wouldn’t stay home no matter how much he was begged, bribed or told to. So Thorin let him keep working, (more like didn’t have a choice)

“Well, I’ll be,” Dwalin chuckled, eyeing Thorin. “What are you doin’ here so early? You usually ain’t this eager to start the day.”

Thorin sighed, his fingers tapped impatiently on the desk. Without a word, he picked up the telegram card.

“I’ve been debating whether to burn this thing in the stove or not all morning,” Thorin grumbled, handing the telegram over like it was the most offensive thing in fifty miles.

Dwalin took it with a smirk, glancing at the Telegram. His eyes moved to the card back to Thorin, then down to the card again. Slowly, he snatched it up and read it.

After a few moments the smirk slipped off Dwalin’s face, replaced with something more serious.

“What do you make of it?” Thorin asked, already half annoyed by the silence.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes, holding the card up to the lamp light as if checking for anything else. “Thorin,” he began carefully, “do you have any clue who this is from?”

Thorin leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in frustration. “No! I’ve been rackin’ my brain over it, and I can’t figure out who this ‘B’ is supposed to be!”

Dwalin paused and slowly turned his head to squint at Thorin. He shot Thorin a look that made the sheriff pause and stare back. “What?” He asked after a beat of silence.

The deputy let out a long, exasperated sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you stupid, or are you just playin’ dumb?”

Thorin straightened in his seat, the irritation from before coming back ten fold. “Excuse me?”

Before Thorin could get another word in, Dwalin cut him off, shaking the telegram at him. “It’s Bilbo, you idiot.”

Thorin blinked, surprised. His expression darkened. “Bilbo?” Granted he had started to think the same thing but- “That outlaw’s not that dumb! And, even if you were right, why would he sign the telegram? It’s too obvious.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes, tossing the card back onto Thorin’s desk. “He clearly wants you to know it’s him! -You really think someone else is gonna go through the trouble of sendin’ your dumb ass a message like this?”

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clenched. “It could be anyone. What's the point then? Why tell me about a train?”

Dwalin let out a grunt, standing up and grabbing his hat. “I’ll tell ya what-he’s tryin’ to get under your skin or he’s just fuckin’ with ya. And by the look of it, he’s succeedin’.”

Thorin bristled. “Where’s your proof?! I'm tellin’ you! If it was Bilbo, I’d know!”

Dwalin raised an eyebrow as he fixed his hat back on his head. “Fuckin’ shit Thorin! Ya really think Bilbo plays by the rules? Outlaws like him, they make their own rules. Now, we can either sit here and argue about it, or we can head to the train station to see if I’m right.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed, his pride burning in him. He wanted to prove Dwalin wrong, but he couldn’t deny that there was something about this that gnawed at him.

Thorin stood up, grabbing his own hat and putting it on his head with more force than necessary.

“Fine, We’ll go. If this turns out to be nothin’, I’m holdin’ you responsible for draggin’ me out there.” Thorin grumbled as he stomped out of the office.

Dwalin smirked and quickly followed. “Oh Sheriff, I’m sure it’ll be well worth the trip.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎︎ 𐬾 ༅ ༅ 𐬾 ☀︎︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

They had been waiting for hours. Thorin checked the clock on the station wall and let out an impatient “tsk.” Dwalin, who was leaning against a wooden pole, glanced over at the noise.

“Ya gonna keep doing that every five minutes?” Dwalin asked, sounding frustrated.

Thorin got up from the bench he had been sitting on with a frustrated grunt. “We’ve been here for hours, and there’s no train. It's gettin’ hot, and I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast!”

Dwalin raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Ya sound like a child.”

Thorin shot him a glare, opening his mouth to retort. Another voice interrupted.

“Uncle!” Fíli yelled as he quickly came up the stairs. “There you are! Ma got worried when you two weren’t in the office.”

“Yeah! She brought lunch for you- unfortunately it must’ve mysteriously disappeared” Kíli said as he shrugged before he came over and stole Thorin’s hat.

The boy plopped it on his head and beamed at his brother. Thorin gave the boy an unimpressed look and snatched his hat back. “Uh-huh sure it did. Tell your momma I’m sorry, but we’re waitin’ on a train so-“ Dwalin interrupted.

“I’ll tell you what we’re waitin’ on, we’re waitin’ for that outlaw, Bilbo.“ the deputy said as he glared at Thorin.

“Ohh! That explains the telegram then!” Kíli said as he nodded very seriously.

Fíli paused for a second then slowly looked at Kíli. “What telegram Kee?”

“The one on uncle’s desk! The B at the bottom makes so much more sense now-” Kíli tried to say, but he was quickly interrupted.

“What?!” Fíli shouted and whipped around completely to glare at his brother. “You saw that and didn’t think to tell ma or me?! Kee!!”

Kíli put his hands up in mock surrender “Well if I did, I wouldn’t of been able to eat lunch! And it didn’t seem like a big deal!”

“It couldn’t have been a bigger deal! What if uncle had gone out after him! No one would have known anything! You know he doesn’t tell anyone anything!”

Thorin decided to stop them when Fíli’s hands started twitching. He knew his sister would like to keep both her sons in mostly one piece

“Alright-alright! you two that’s enough-” but then there was a distant screeching noise. Thorin turned to look.

There was a low rumble too, that started to fill the air as a train moved closer, Thorin could see the billowing of smoke in the distance.

Dwalin stood up straighter, adjusting his hat. “Here it comes,” he said, he tilted his head as he watched the train. “…it’s movin’ fast. Too fast-“

Thorin frowned, watching the approaching train. The rumble grew louder each second that passed, the ground beneath them trembling as the train neared.

Dwalin was right, the train was going too fast, Thorin was pretty sure trains didn’t come barreling through stations like that, unless something was very, very wrong.

The train rocketed through the station in a blur of steam and steel, the air whipping around them as it shot past. Thorin barely had time to catch his hat as the force of the train sent a gust of wind blowing through the station’s platform.

Then, Thorin caught glimpses of human shapes through the windows of the passenger cars, people, civilians- were trapped in that train.

“Hell,” Dwalin muttered, his eyes widening. “You don’t think…”

“Were those?” Fíli asked quietly by Thorin’s side.

Thorin’s jaw clenched, his anger flared. Dwalin was right. Bilbo had sent the message, but this wasn’t just some ordinary train coming through town. This was a hostage situation.

As the end of the train sped past, Thorin’s eyes locked onto a figure standing on the roof of the rear car. His heart lurched when he recognized the figure, he was standing tall and confident despite the speed.

Bilbo Baggins, tipped his hat and bowed with exaggerated enthusiasm. When the outlaw looked back up, his eyes quickly met Thorin’s and Thorin felt a surge of anger and adrenaline. Even though he couldn’t see it Thorin could feel the smug smile on Bilbo’s face.

Dwalin let out a low chuckle that immediately had Thorin glaring at him, this wasn’t funny. “Told ya it was him.”

Thorin clenched his fists. “We don’t got time for this, Those people are in danger!”

Dwalin’s smirk faded, his eyes narrowing. “Right. I’ll gloat later.”

Thorin turned to his nephews. “Fíli your honorary deputy till I get back! Understand?”

Fíli stuttered a bit before quickly shouting after them. “What- but! Uncle wait”

“What about me!” Kíli whined with a huff.

“Tell your mother she’s sheriff if I don’t come back!” Thorin yelled as Dwalin mounted their horses.

Thorin kicked his heels into his horse’s side, urging her forward, and Dwalin was right behind him. The sound of hooves thundered against the ground as they raced after the train.

“What do you think his plan is,” Dwalin called out over the wind, giving another flip to his reins as they sped along the tracks.

But Thorin couldn’t answer, his focus was on the retreating figure of the outlaw. how Bilbo had managed this, he’d probably never know.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎︎ 𐬾 ༅ ༅ 𐬾 ☀︎︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Bilbo dropped down onto the Gangway, his boots hitting the metal with a soft thud. He straightened, dusting off his poncho unnecessarily.

The wind whipped around him still. With a quick motion, he stepped into the passenger car. And pulled his mask down. He took a deep breath and looked around.

The inside of the car was dimly lit, the lamps flickered as the train cars swayed dangerously. Bilbo took a moment to survey the “passengers.” Each seat was filled, but not with people, no, he didn’t want anyone to get hurt after all.

Instead the seats were occupied by dummies, dressed in old clothes Bilbo had managed to get from whoever he could, most only being shirts or old hats.

The figures sat still and lifeless, rocking with the cars their heads slumped forward as if they were sleeping. A few had faces sloppily drawn onto their cloth heads.

Bilbo smiled to himself, the sight of the dummies filling him with a sense of satisfaction. The ruse had worked perfectly. He had to give himself credit for creativity.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” He said as he glanced at the back of the car.

Bilbo’s eyes landed on his right-hand man, who was leaning back casually in one of the seats, his arms crossed. The man’s sharp brown eyes scanned the room with an approving nod.

“As impressive as it is crazy,” his right-hand man said as he shook his head. “Are you sure it worked boss?” The man’s tone was light, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes.

Bilbo nodded, walking down the aisle between the dummies inspecting his work. “Oh, it worked. Trust me, Thorin’s the kind of lawman who can’t resist a baited hook.” Bilbo nodded to one of the Dummies as he sat down across from his right-hand man. “Especially if it involves a train full of ‘innocent’ passengers. He’ll be on board soon enough.”

“… Is this all really just to see if those stories about the sheriff hold water?” The man asked quietly as he leaned forward, giving Bilbo a strange look.

Bilbo tapped the man’s hat. He quickly moved to fix his hat with a grumble. “You, my dear friend, worry too much,” Bilbo said with a sly smile. “You know how people love to blow things out of proportion”

His right-hand man smirked back. “I don’t have anyone else to worry over B, and you happen to be the most worrisome thing in my life”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and sighed. He leaned back against the seat, the smile fading from his lips as his usual bravado slipped away. “I’m sorry.” He muttered.

His right-hand man looked over, “What for, B?” He asked, he sounded concerned. “You didn’t do anything”

“For making you help me again… I didn’t realize so much of your old life was waiting for you in that town. If I’d known- I should have known…” Bilbo trailed off, glancing down.

The right-hand man waved it off, letting out a quiet sigh. “No need to apologize for that, boss man. Neither of us knew, and it doesn’t matter now. I’d, without a second thought, go back there if you needed me to.”

Bilbo looked up at the man, He let a smile slip back on his face “I won’t make you go back there again, not unless you want to.”

They sat in silence for a beat, a moment passing between them. Then, with a sharp inhale, Bilbo stood, his grin turning more playful. “Come on, if we don’t hurry, they’ll catch up.”

“Right.” His right-hand stood up and readjusted his hat again to hide his face more. He followed after Blibo as the two men began to make their way further up the train.

“I want Thorin and Dwalin to feel… welcomed when they finally decide to hop aboard.” Bilbo looked back and smiled at his right-hand.

The man nodded. “As welcomed as they can be on this train anyway, all the muscle is in place…”

“Good,” Bilbo said with a satisfied nod. “Let’s make sure everything runs smoothly. I don’t want anyone dying on my train”

“Yes sir boss man,” the man hummed. “Paid off the conductor yesterday. He’ll take us straight through without any interruptions, if he can help it. And the thugs owe us a favor”

Bilbo nodded, “good, then let’s get moving, we need to make sure we can get to the engine to escape.”

The right-hand man shook his head. “You really are crazy Bilbo.” With that, the two of them made their way to the front of the train, the dummies sitting silently in their seats as the train rattled on through the open plains, waiting for the inevitable.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎︎ 𐬾 ༅ ༅ 𐬾 ☀︎︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The landscape blurred as Thorin and Dwalin raced behind the train, their horses being pushed to their limit. The wind howled past them, tearing through their clothes as they thundered over the open plains.

Thorin could feel his heart pounding in time with the rhythm of everything; the gallop of hooves, the rattling train wheels.

Ahead, the train barreled forward, the smoke from its engine trailing behind like a dark cloud. It cut through the open land, speeding forward.

Thorin looked ahead and saw a narrow bridge over a large river, he cussed under his breath and turned his head towards Dwalin. “Dwalin! We need to get on that train! Now!” He shouted as loud as he could.

Dwalin gave a sharp nod and spurred his horse, digging his heels into his horse’s side. His horse surged forward, cutting through the wind as Dwalin leaned low like a horse racer.

Dwalin reached out, his fingers brushing the iron handle on the back of the caboose car, he pushed himself forward, then the train’s wheels screeched loudly as it hit a sharp curve, the cars swaying dangerously from side to side.

He missed the handle and as he was about to fall, in a moment of panic, grabbed the railing with his other hand. The force pulled him out of his saddle, with a grunt of pain Dwalin hauled himself up.

The second his boots finally hit the metal platform with a heavy thud he had to use the railing to keep himself upright. He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, wincing as he gripped his shoulder.

He looked behind him and turned. He shouted over the roar of the wind and train. “Thorin!” He reached out his hand and Thorin nodded.

Thorin's horse struggled to keep pace even before he leaned forward and spurred his horse to go faster. She tried to run faster but Thorin could feel her falter. He leaned out, reaching for Dwalin’s outstretched hand.

Dwalin surged forward, grabbing Thorin’s wrist, and with a powerful yank, he pulled the sheriff off his horse. Thorin’s stomach lurched as he left the saddle, but before he could process the motion, his feet slammed onto the platform of the caboose. He stumbled for a second, but quickly found his balance.

Their horses fell back. But they kept following the train at a slower speed. The train roared onto the narrow bridge and the horse broke off to cross though the river instead.

For a moment, the two of them just stood there, breathing heavily. Dwalin still leaned heavily against the railing, clutching his shoulder.

Thorin glanced at him. “You alright?”

“Yep.” Dwalin grunted, he didn’t even look up.

“You sure? That didn’t look-” Thorin tried to ask but snapped his mouth shut when Dwalin glared at him.

Dwalin gritted his teeth. “Ask me one more stupid question, and I’ll slap you upside the head.”

Thorin raised his hands in mock surrender, “Fine. Relax.”

They stood there in silence for a beat, the bridge speeding past beneath them, the clatter of the wheels filling the air. Thorin looked down at the tracks, watching the blur of the river below, before turning back to Dwalin.

“That was close,” Thorin muttered.

Dwalin let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “the word close isn’t the right word for what that was”

Thorin nodded, glancing toward the train. He exchanged a look with Dwalin, who took a steadying breath before pushing himself off the railing. “Come on, let’s move,” Thorin said.

With a little difficulty, they managed to budge the door that leads inside open. The car was a mess, crates and tools had been thrown around. They carefully made their way through the clutter, checking any would-be hiding places before heading into the passenger cars.

The moment they entered the passenger car, Thorin’s instincts kicked in as he dodged a fist, pulling Dwalin with him. The man was burly, his face set in a seemingly permanent sneer.

he swung again, his heavy fist straight at Thorin. He barely had time to react before the punch connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backwards. He forced himself to recover quickly.

The sheriff squared himself up and threw his own punch, landing a solid hit to the man’s gut. He quickly dodged the next punch and threw another.

Meanwhile, Dwalin found himself face-to-face with a different goon on the opposite side of the car, he was a lanky man with a crooked grin. Dwalin tried to square his shoulders but hissed in pain instead.

He grabbed at his shoulder but the goon lunged didn’t even give him a second to breathe as he swung at Dwalin hard, he quickly put his arms up and blocked.

Thorin, after a few rough exchanges, managed to kick the man in his stomach to force him on his knees before landing a hard jab at the back of the man’s head. The man dropped like a bag of bricks.

Thorin stood there for a moment breathing heavily, he turned to see Dwalin wrestling with his own opponent. Thorin rushed over, landing a quick blow to the man’s side, allowing Dwalin to finish him off.

As they caught their breath, Dwalin let out a sudden laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

Thorin turned, confused, only to see what Dwalin was laughing at. stuffed dummies, dressed in old clothes, sparsely sat in the passenger seats. They definitely looked like real passengers from a distance.

Thorin growled and frowned. “Bilbo! Damn that outlaw! Damn him!” he muttered under his breath, stomping through the car, checking each seat as he went. He flipped over one of the dummies in frustration, gritting his teeth.

“Looks like you’ve been had, Sheriff,” Dwalin teased, his voice still strained.

Thorin decided to ignore his deputy, and he straightened up. “We need to keep moving.”

Just as the words left his mouth, the door behind them slammed open. A group of Bilbo’s thugs barreled into the car, guns drawn.

They all stood in stock still. Thorin blinked in surprise before barking, “Move!” As his hand darted to his gun. He shot at the wall behind the men and the goons ducked away. Dwalin and Thorin bolted past them and into the open car the men just came from.

They bolted through the cars as fast as they could, dodging bullets and scrambling over overturned dummies. The train jolted beneath them.

As they ran, Thorin’s eyes darted to the narrow gap between the gangway’s. He knew they couldn’t keep running like this if they didn’t shake the outlaws soon, they’d be overrun.

Thorin glanced back, then quickly shoved his gun back in its holster before grabbing hold of the lever that would uncouple the rear passenger cars. He heaved it downward with all his strength.

There was a metallic clank followed by a sudden lurch as the cars separated from the rest of the train. Thorin and Dwalin stood there catching their breath, watching as the uncoupled cars slowly drift away.

Thorin sighed heavily and turned to Dwalin, “Let’s go,” Thorin muttered, stepping back into the remaining cars. There were only a few more left now. The train began to pick up speed at the lost weight.

Inside, the car was eerily quiet. The stillness was unsettling, the only sound the faint creaking of the train as it rattled along the tracks. Thorin’s eyes scanned the room. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something, or someone, was watching them.

Dwalin stood beside him, his hand resting on the hilt of his gun. “This feels off,” he whispered to Thorin. Thorin nodded and took a step forward.

Then a low chuckle echoed from behind them, sending a cold shiver down his spine.

They spun around, Standing behind them in the doorway they just came from was Bilbo, his face covered by his handkerchief. His eyes gleamed with amusement, and he leaned casually against the wall, as if this were all just a game.

Thorin’s jaw clenched as he glanced toward the other end of the car, his stomach sinking when he saw Bilbo’s right-hand man standing there, blocking their only other way out. They were trapped.

Dwalin moved closer to Thorin, their backs pressed together, as they quickly drew their weapons. Bilbo and his right-hand man drew their weapons in return, both of them moving with ease, as if they had done this a hundred times before.

The four of them stood at a standstill, guns pointed at one another, the tension in the room thick enough to cut.

“Well, well,” Bilbo said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Look what we have here. The fearless Sheriff Oakenshield and his trusty deputy, running through my train like children playing tag.”

“Fucking, god damn it,” Thorin cursed under his breath.

Bilbo’s grin widened beneath the handkerchief. “Now, now, Sheriff,” he said with a teasing lilt. “No need for foul language. Why don’t you be a good little lawman and take a seat? You look like you’ve had quite the day.”

“Not happenin’,” Dwalin growled, his voice low.

Bilbo sighs and rubs his forehead. “You two really are a headache, you know?”

Thorin kept his eyes locked on Bilbo, his mouth moved before his mind could stop him. “Why?” he asked, his voice surprisingly steady. “Why the train, the dummies? What’s your game this time, Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s eyes glinted with amusement as he let his hand drop away from his head, he raised a brow. Why?” he repeated back playfully. “I got bored, Sheriff. It’s as simple as that.” Bilbo shrugged.

Thorin felt the bubbling of frustration again. “You expect me to believe that? You risked all this just because you were bored?”

Bilbo chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving Thorin. “Well, when you’ve lived the kind of life I have, boredom is the most dangerous thing. I like to keep myself entertained.”

“Entertained?” Dwalin spat angrily. “By messing with people? By running around killin’ and stealin’ from innocent folks?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Innocent, not so innocent. It’s all a matter of perspective. I do what I have to.”

Dwalin growled and moved to face Bilbo, Thorin’s grip on his gun tightened and he shot his deputy a look. “Enough! What do you really want, Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s grin widened. “Let’s just say I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. The legend of Sheriff Oakenshield. The man who never misses. So far, not impressed sheriff.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed, his patience was wearing thin now. “You think this is some sort of game, but it’s not going to end the way you think.”

Bilbo tilted his head, his words taking a more serious edge to them. “Oh, I’m well aware of how this ends, Sheriff. But I think we both know it won’t be-.”

Without warning, Dwalin bolted forward, charging straight at Bilbo. Unable to move faster enough to dodge Bilbo, the deputy ends up crashing to the floor.

The two of them tumbled backward, their guns clattering to the floor as they wrestled, Throin blinked in surprise at his deputy.

The two men grappled furiously, fists flying and boots skidding on the train’s wooden floor. Dwalin, despite his shoulder, was relentless, using brute force to pin Bilbo down.

Dwalin was scrambling for his gun. He was able to snatch it up. Then, just as fast as Dwalin was, Bilbo's right-hand man pressed his gun to the side of Thorin’s head, the cold metal digging into the sheriff’s temple.

“Drop it, Deputy,” the man ordered, his voice ice-cold. “Unless you want to see how fast I can pull this trigger.”

Dwalin froze, his brows furrowed as his eyes darted between Thorin and the gun, his breathing heavy. He looked at his own gun then he muttered a curse under his breath and let his weapon fall to the floor with a clatter.

“Good boy, Now, let’s make this easy.” Bilbo sneered as he got back on his feet, he rubbed his jaw where Dwalin had hit him. Bilbo grabbed Dwalin’s gun and pointed it at him. “Move to the back, nice and slow. Don’t try anything stupid.”

Dwalin glared at Bilbo, his jaw clenched, but he did as he was told, stepping backward toward the rear of the train car.

Bilbo turned to his right-hand man who still had his gun to the sheriff’s head. Bilbo scooped up his own gun and holstered Dwalin’s

“Keep an eye on him,” Bilbo said, nodding to his partner as he took the man’s place. “Make sure he doesn’t try anything else.”

The right-hand man gave a curt nod, he trained his gun on Dwalin as he walked over to the man, his expression hard.

Thorin remained still, the different but not new weight of Bilbo’s gun pressing against his skull. He looked around trying to think his way out. “Why, Bilbo?” Thorin finally asked, just hoping to distract the man. “What’s the point of all this?”

Bilbo chuckled softly, though there was a hint of something else beneath the laugh. “Why not? It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“You call this fun? You risk innocent lives for fun?” Dwalin spat, glaring at Bilbo with open disdain.

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, his finger hovering dangerously over the trigger. “I’d be careful if I were you, Deputy. One more word out of you, and I might just throw you off this train.”

Dwalin’s mouth snapped shut, but his eyes burned with fury.

Thorin glanced sideways at Bilbo, searching for any opening, anything. “You’re not going to get away with this if you kill me, you know,” Thorin said, his voice low.

Bilbo grinned beneath his handkerchief, his grip on the gun unwavering. “Oh, Sheriff, I’m not going to kill you-” But just as Bilbo was about to say more, there was a sudden commotion behind them.

Bilbo’s right-hand man grunted in pain, Dwalin had slammed his elbow into the man’s face. The force of the blow sent them both reeling backward, and before anyone could react, the two men went tumbling out of the back of the train car.

“Dwalin!” Thorin shouted, his eyes wide with shock.

Bilbo’s face twisted in a mixture of horror and confusion. “What the hell just happened?” he muttered, his grip on his gun loosening as he stared in disbelief at the open door.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎︎ 𐬾 ༅ ༅ 𐬾 ☀︎︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Dwalin and Bilbo’s right-hand man tumbled to the ground in a heap, the impact knocking the wind out of both of them as they rolled to a stop in the dirt.

For a moment, they both just lay there, groaning in pain, trying to catch their breath.

The right-hand man rolled over onto his side, clutching his ribs. “What… the FUCK!” he gasped, dragging himself to his knees. “Are you fucking crazy or somethin’? You just threw us out of the back of a train!”

Dwalin was still trying to catch his breath. He spat on the ground and pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his shoulder twinged painfully. “I should be askin’ you that, outlaw,” he growled, “You started this mess!”

The right-hand man groaned, clutching his side as he staggered up. “Ugh! As pig-headed as ever! You could have killed us, you idiot!” He wiped some dirt from his face, glaring at Dwalin.

Dwalin squinted at him, feeling an unsettling flicker of familiarity. There was something about this man; his stance, his voice, Dwalin didn’t know, but it tugged at the back of his mind. “Who are you?” Dwalin demanded, his eyes narrowing.

The right-hand man made sure his mask was still covering his face, by some miracle it was but his hat was long gone. He huffed quietly. “Figured you’d have recognized me by now, Deputy,” he said, “Then again, I guess I didn’t make much of an impression back in the day.”

Dwalin’s jaw tightened, “You… I know you, don’t I?” Dwalin searched the man’s face, hoping to see anything familiar. He landed on the man’s wild Reddish brown hair but, He still couldn’t place it.

“Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t.” The right-hand man said, he cracked his knuckles. “It's too late now.”

Dwalin snarled and charged at him, his injured shoulder be damned. The right-hand man dodged, Dwalin’s fists were heavy, but the right-hand man was quick, ducking and weaving as best he could despite his own lingering pain.

They grappled. Dwalin landed a solid punch to the right-hand man’s gut, forcing the man to double over with a grunt. Before Dwalin could land another blow, the outlaw lashed out with a well-placed fist to Dwalin’s jaw.

The crack echoed as Dwalin staggered back with a hiss. Dwalin reached out for the man, the man scrambled back and made a dash for the distance tree line.

“Damn it!” Dwalin shouted, shaking off the hit and trying to give chase, but his body wasn’t cooperating. The outlaw disappeared as Dwalin stumbled and dropped to his knees, breathing heavily and cursing under his breath.

Wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, he groaned in pain and frustration, how could he let that outlaw slip away from him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎︎ 𐬾 ༅ ༅ 𐬾 ☀︎︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It hadn’t been more than a few moments since the two men had fallen from the back of the train car. Bilbo stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the open doorway, wide with shock. His heart raced, but his mind was scattered, unable to focus on anything but the image of his right-hand man and the deputy tumbling off the moving train.

For once, Bilbo couldn’t think clearly. The only thing he could focus on was the nagging concern. It was horribly foreign to him.

Dwalin and-… he couldn’t shake the uneasy worry of whether or not the two men survived the fall. He never left people behind, not if he had a choice. Even if they weren’t on his side.

Suddenly, without warning, Thorin slammed his elbow into Bilbo’s side. Bilbo yelped in surprise, the sudden pain knocking him off balance. Thorin punched him in the jaw, hard and Bilbo stumbled to the floor.

His gun slipped from his hand, clattering loudly onto the ground loudly. As it did the gun went off with a deafening bang. Thorin flinched, instinctively ducking, but the bullet never hit anything.

There weren't any bullets to hit things, Bilbo’s gun had been loaded with blanks, Bilbo could see the realization sparked in Thorin then the fresh wave of anger.

Bilbo held his face where Thorin had struck him, his mind reeling. His thoughts were muddled, he hadn’t expected this, not so soon. Pain throbbed through his jaw, his wide eyes locked onto Thorin’s.

“You-” Bilbo began, his voice rasping with both shock and disbelief, but before he could finish, Thorin was on him.

In a blur of motion, Thorin lunged forward, his hand gripping the front of Bilbo’s shirt with unrelenting force. Bilbo barely had time to react before Thorin slammed him against the nearest wall of the train car.

The impact made his brain rattle inside his skull, his back hitting the wall with a thud. A sharp, involuntary whine escaped him. Bilbo blinked rapidly, trying to catch his breath and clear his blurring vision.

Thorin’s grip on his shirt only tightened, hoisting him higher until his boots barely scraped the floor. The sheriff’s eyes were burning with a rage Bilbo didn’t expect, he could feel the anger radiating off the sheriff in waves.

For the first time in a long while, Bilbo wasn’t sure how to talk his way out of this. He wasn’t sure if he could talk his way out. Bilbo twisted in Thorin’s grip, kicking wildly as he tried to break free, cursing under his breath.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Thorin roared, his booming voice. Bilbo stared at him with wide eyes, “Do you ever take anything seriously?! Is this just some fucked game your playin’?!” Thorin’s eyes narrowed, “Answer me!” he demanded, giving Bilbo a sharp shake that left his head spinning.

But then, Bilbo felt a spark hit him. His struggling faded into nothing as he sized up Thorin, a calculating calm settling over him. He had an idea, it could either get him out of this or go horribly wrong.

Thorin loomed over Bilbo by at least a head or more, the sheriff had broad shoulders. Bilbo could feel every bit of strength in the way the sheriff held him pinned, like he weighed hardly anything at all.

There was no way he’d be able to overpower Thorin, let not like this. no way to just kick the man off him and run. So if brute force wouldn’t get him out of this, maybe charm would.

“Why, sheriff,” Bilbo purred, his voice low,“if you wanted to run me up against a wall this badly, all you had to do was ask.”

Thorin’s eyes widened, and Bilbo watched the sheriff’s grip falter, he let Bilbo down, a confused expression found itself in Thorin’s face. “What-”

Without hesitation, Bilbo drove his knee sharply into Thorin’s stomach. Thorin let out a grunt of surprise as the air rushed out of him quickly.

“Sorry, Sheriff!” Bilbo muttered, “nothin’ personal, really, your just not my type.” In one smooth motion, Bilbo scooped up his gun from the floor, even though he knew it was useless, and bolted for the door at the back of the train car.

Bilbo could hear Thorin cursing under his breath. He could also hear the pounding footsteps behind him as he climbed up the side of the train, hoisting himself onto the roof quickly.

The cold wind stung his face as he studied the hat on his head. Bilbo paused, glancing behind him, his gaze darting to where Dwalin and his right-hand man had tumbled off the train earlier.

Concern bubbled up inside him, worse than before. He didn’t want them to be hurt; he couldn't think about them being hurt.

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s voice carried over the roar of the train. Bilbo locked eyes with the sheriff, he was already running before the sheriff’s feet hit the roof of the car.

Bilbo’s heart pounded in time with the train’s wheels beneath him. His mind quickly searched for a way out. He briefly wondered if he’d survive if he jumped off. A little panic flickered in his chest as he glanced back, seeing just how close Thorin was.

Bilbo desperately wanted to push himself, to find some way out, but the roof was narrow, and there was nowhere left to go. His luck had run out, he had lost.

Thorin suddenly lunged, grabbing Bilbo by the arm, Bilbo twisted himself out of Thorin’s grip, he couldn’t just give up here, he couldn’t. He tried to duck under the sheriff's arms as he grabbed at the outlaw again.

The wind angrily whipped around them, the train car swaying beneath their feet.

Thorin managed to grab Bilbo’s poncho and gave a good yanked, dragging the outlaw backwards by the force. Bilbo twisted and kicked, but Thorin’s grip was relentless.

The sheriff had the upper hand. Bilbo grit his teeth as they continued to struggle atop the speeding train.

Then, without warning, Thorin’s foot slipped.

Bilbo’s eyes widened as he watched the sheriff lose his balance, his body teetering dangerously on the edge. Before Thorin could catch himself, he tumbled off the roof, hitting the tracks below with a heavy thud.

Bilbo froze, his breath catching in his throat as he scrambled to the edge, staring down at Thorin who was lying on the tracks. As the distance between them grew, all Bilbo could do was watch, his heart pounding in his chest.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎︎ 𐬾 ༅ ༅ 𐬾 ☀︎︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Thorin lay on the ground, groaning in pain, every muscle in his body burned and ached. Falling off a train was as bad as he thought it would be. His mind was still trying to catch up with what had happened when, faintly, he heard someone shouting in the distance.

“Thorin!”

It was Bilbo’s voice. There was an urgency to it, one that made Thorin’s heart skip a beat despite everything. He didn’t have time to think about why Bilbo was shouting at him, but instinct kicked in.

“Move!”

Without thinking, Thorin rolled to the side, just as the uncoupled passenger cars came speeding down the tracks, rattling by in a blur of metal. They hadn’t slowed down yet, and had Thorin stayed where he was, he’d have been flattened.

As the last car whizzed by, Thorin lay still, breathing heavily and trying to steady his pulse. He wasn’t sure how close it had been, but he wasn’t eager to find out.

Finally, he took a deep breath and sat up. His head pounded, and every inch of him hurt, but he was alive. His eyes drifted down to the tracks beside him, and that’s when he saw it, his hat. Or, what used to be his hat.

Thorin groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Another hat,” he muttered to himself.

With a wince, he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up his side as he stood. His eyes scanned the tracks, searching for any sign of Dwalin. His heart pounded harder as worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind.

“Dwalin…?” He called as he limped down the tracks, his pace picking up despite the pain.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spotted Dwalin sitting near the edge of the tracks,he held his shoulder. Thorin hurried over, kneeling beside him.

Dwalin’s face was bruised up pretty bad, he had dirt stains all over him. Dwalin lifted his head when he heard Thorin. the deputy grunted in irritation more than pain.

“You look like hell,” Thorin muttered, quickly checking him over.

Dwalin rolled his eyes and grumbled. “Cause you look like prince fucking charming.”

Thorin frowned. “…Did you get him?”

Dwalin gave Thorin a look and tried to get up. “No. Bastard slipped away.” He winced as he tried to move his shoulder. “Got a good hit on me, and next thing I know, I’m eating dirt while he’s running off.”

Thorin cursed under his breath, glancing around. The train was long gone by now and the uncoupled cars were still slowing down in the distance.

Thorin offered a hand to Dwalin and pulled the man up easily, he couldn’t help but let his mind get muddled with thoughts. Bilbo tricked them, had them play his games. What was his angel, what was his plan.

But the loudest thought was one he couldn’t even begin to answer; Why did he save Thorin?

Dwalin noticed the look on Thorin’s face and shook his head. “You think too loud, Thorin. That outlaw’s not gonna slip away forever, we’ll get him.”

Thorin nodded. “Right, let’s get home,” Thorin said, he pushed down his frustration, he didn’t have time for it now.

With little difficulty, the two men limped down the tracks. Bilbo may have gotten away this time, but Thorin wasn’t going to let him for long. He had a plan.

───── ꧁✪꧂ ─────

And also, @shantismurf. Stop it, stop being so cleverly close. You don’t understand! You nearly put the nail in the coffin. You swong and you missed twice and if it weren’t for that, you would have put the damn nail in there.

@shurikthereject @midnightstar789

[For anyone Who didn’t want to @ for this please tell me or I will continue to do so till otherwise.]

[aranock]

I'm tired.

Just sort of in general I am exhausted. I know I put on a brave face a lot, but the hate does get to me. The constant unceasing hatred both offline and online gets to me. I'm human idk what to say. Been thinking a lot about the Bilbo quote, I might be paraphrasing, "I feel like too little butter spread across too much toast."

It's pride month, I should be feeling happy right? I convocated finally after a brutal long degree I should be feeling happy right? I like how my body looks for the first time in my life shouldn't I feel happy?

And I know that's not helpful, that feelings are not a should thing. And yet I feel it anyway :/. Not that I do not feel happy, I would say on average I am better than I have been at any other point in my life. But it does get to me.

I was invited to dinner with a former family member, a blood relative that breached every boundary I placed and even went so far as to accost me in a public space. It's hard watching someone lose all love for you the more you become yourself. Being told I'm an embarrassment to my parents by creeps online stings a lot more now that I had a blood relative say it to my face while aggressively yanking my jacket so I couldn't get away. I know its a lie, I know that this person saying that hurt my parents as much as it did me. Alas, anxiety rarely responds to facts or evidence.

Everytime it feels like I'm fine and over it; this person manages to weasel their way around boundaries to fuck up my mental health for a week. And the thing about chronic illnesses like mine is they flare up quite horrendously when you get stressed and anxious. Anxiety means waking up to acid burnt throat from reflux.

It makes my voice dysphoric all day.

I think deep down one of my greatest fears is that I am unlovable, that everyone around me secretly hates me and is just waiting for the excuse to finally be rid of interacting with me. I am terrified that I am a burden. Mortified by the false belief that I am broken.

Despite how horrific my childhood adolescence and some of my early adulthood were, my family was at least a safe place. I recognize that I was privileged to have that. With that said I think the reason this whole thing has rocked me so much is that it violated that one last place I felt safe. It has made me doubt the love of those I never thought I would.

Sometimes transphobia feels like drowning, and if you try to swim for air everyone decides to shove you further down cause actually it's proof you are faking needing breath.

I text someone anytime I go run errands, just to make sure someone knows. Had too many experiences of hate. I get anxious when I go to get groceries; will this be the time I get hit by a vehicle driven by a far right transphobe, am I going to get called a slur again, will the store staff get suspicious of me and search through all my groceries to make sure I actually paid for it. But please, tell me how I don't know what its like to be oppressed. When men sexually harass, catcall, creepily hit on, follow me around clearly I am not at all experiencing sexism. Obviously the real worst thing in the world is that women "cancel" people on the internet, and trans people exist. Did they think sending me hateful articles would suddenly make me go "oh yes clearly its all in my head, please genocide my community, I stand for nothing and have the moral backbone of a slug."

I don't really know why I'm writing this, I dont usually feel or desire to express something like this publicly. I will probably delete it later. Maybe I disappear into writing cause its easier to deal with the feelings that way. That at least then someone gets something out of my pain. That maybe it helps to condense emotional mountains to the mole hills of short strokes of a pen or presses of a key. To let them explode outward in a flurry of thoughts and words that others look at and say "I too have felt this, you are not alone, you are not wrong for feeling this way."

Anything to take the weight of it all off my chest for a second.

Because I am tired.

I'm exhausted really.

I don't want to be brave or strong or resilient. It's tiring to bear the weight of that and a billion projections. Atlas does not bear the heavens upon his shoulders because he is strong or brave. He bears it because he has no other choice. Because people put it on him.

I just want to exist; that is apparently too much to ask for as a trans woman.

If you are concerned, please don't worry I'll be fine, I was fine every other time after all. This too shall pass. But right now it hurts.

And I have had my fill of hurt for many lifetimes.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Edwin flipped the page in yet another thick, obscure volume, the title near faded from the cover with age. Charles and Crystal had retired hours ago with the promise to pick up again in the morning; the human claiming a need for sleep (understandable, considering it was the early hours) and Charles had gone with her in the event of any more unpleasant flashbacks (a common occurrence since she'd recovered her memories), leaving Edwin to search for any possible leads alone. There had to be something relevant in this one! After the fuss he'd kicked up to the Night Nurse about acquiring these particular books for this case in the first place he absolutely could not go back to her admitting that for all of his bargaining (or 'tantrums' as she'd called it. Honestly, that woman could be so patronising at times) it had indeed been all for nothing in the end.

"Anything interesting?"

Edwin did not startle at the sound of his lovers voice behind him. He whipped his head around to see Thomas, arms behind his back and perfectly straight faced even as the shaking of his shoulders betrayed his amusement at having made the other jump.

"Thomas, when exactly did you get here?"

"Here being my room? And you got here about ten minutes ago."

Edwin blinked. No...he was at the office in London. Finally taking in his surroundings, his eyes landed on a familiar circular bed and neon sign.

Thomas moved closer, wrapping the other in a one armed hug, "If I can bring you here without you even noticing, I think that's a sign you need to take a break."

"That's not necessary. Ghosts don't feel physical exhaustion, as you well know by now."

"Who said anything about physical? You might not need to sleep, but you still need to give that big brain of yours a rest before you overlook something incredibly obvious and important."

"I can't right now. I assure you, I'm perfectly fine."

"Yeah? Ok then, tell me all the basic weaknesses of a shape shifter."

"Child's play."

Edwin was confident in his answer until he saw the fond smirk on his lover's face, "What is it?"

"The fact you're mixing up shape shifters and vampires."

"An easy mistake to make."

"Sweetie, you listed sunlight. Twice."

He had? "Hmmm....perhaps a brief respite would be beneficial at this point."

"Perhaps." Thomas laughed, "Your research will still be there in a couple of hours Bookworm, come cuddle with me for a while. I'm feeling generous so I'll even read to you."

Edwin got to his feet, opening his mouth to protest when Thomas plucked the book from his hands, "Ah, ah. Nothing work related though. That's cheating."

He gave the end of Edwin's nose a tap before, with a flick of his wrist, the thick volume was gone. In its place a first edition of The Hobbit, a scrap of paper poking out from the pages (a source of playful bickering between the two. For all that Thomas was capable of conjuring books, he could never be bothered to do the same with bookmarks, instead using whatever was to hand. Thomas argued that at least he didn't dog-ear the pages like some heathen).

Thomas reclined on the bed, giving the mattress next to him an inviting (expectant) pat. Edwin rolled his eyes before climbing on and curing into the others side, closing his eyes and drifting along with the feeling of his lovers fingers running through his hair to the sound of Bilbo Baggins engaging in a game of riddles.

[thorin]

rewatching AUJ (yes again) (yes i am autistic) & i have a couple things to say

in everybody lives/bilbo becomes consort AUs, i feel like i see a lot of, like, bilbo is basically a higher-ranking advisor bc of his marriage to thorin, like he'd have more of a bureaucratic position when actually, i feel like he'd become much more of a warrior than you'd think so

i feel like as soon as erebor begins to thrive again & thorin & bilbo get married, thorin & the company would absolutely encourage bilbo to learn how to properly defend himself. that's what dwarves expect from each other anyway, & bilbo is basically accepted as their kin by that point. so he gets fighting lessons & finally learns how to properly use sting

& you might think that's OOC for him, but honestly, i don't think so! bilbo thirsts for adrenaline & most importantly, he wants to always be able to protect his friends. so i think he'd go along with the lessons, even though he's not a fighter per say, like most hobbits

moving on from bagginshield to the line of durin: in a lot of fics i see thrór being described as an abusive grandfather while under the influence of dragonsickness, & that's a logical & valid headcanon, but i personally have a different hc for him!

i feel like, after succumbing to dragonsickness & losing his home, thrór becomes a very absent & even neglectful kind of (grand)father. in the beginning of AUJ, bilbo himself says thorin, the crown prince, was the one to guide his people through their journey of trying to find shelter & refuge, not thrór. not to mention the fact that he had his siblings, & later on, his nephews, to care for. he had to take on that leadership role quite young. this type of parentified child/neglectful & absent parent dynamic makes total sense for his characterization

so yea that's all i wanted to share, just those tidbits :) give me warrior bilbo that fights alongside thorin even though thorin's not happy about it but he trusts his husband to be a good fighter & ultimately that's what dwarvish relationships are all about (trust) so thorin trusting bilbo to be able to fight means he really loves himmmm

[imaginethisscenario]

I truly love the fact that Thorin, Fili, and Kili survived, and that Bilbo and Thorin got married and they rule Erebor together.

Imagine as they’re ruling, they hear of a coup forming and the entire company is trying to figure out who they are and locate the culprits so that they’re beloved best friends can go on being married and ruling Erebor (as is their right). Unfortunately, there are quite a few dwarves in Erebor who don’t like that Thorin and Bilbo got married, which means weeding out the usurpers isn’t going all that well.

Bilbo : It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Dwalin : See, I never understood that phrase.

Bilbo : What do you mean?

Dwalin : ‘A needle in a haystack’ - I don’t get it. Just burn the hay and then you’ll find the needle.

Bilbo : A fair point, but in this situation, the haystack and needle represent living beings.

Dwalin : So?

Bilbo : *sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose* We can’t just go around burning people we might think are trying to overthrow Thorin, Dwalin.

Nori : I think it’s brilliant.

Dwalin : Thank you!

Bilbo : Nori, there’s no need for your encouragement right now.

Nori : You just said the other day I need to be nicer!

Bilbo : Not to your husband when he wants to burn people!

Nori : Ugh, will you make up your mind?

Bilbo : I have a mind to shove this foot right up your -

Thorin : Beloved, would you like some tea?

Bilbo : I don’t - *looks over to see Thorin has already made him a cup of his favorite, just how he likes it, and immediately sighs as the fight leaves him* Yes, thank you.

Thorin : *kisses him on his hair* Anything for you, Ghivashel.

.

.

.

Dwalin : *whispering* I still say we should burn them.

Nori : *whispering back* Me too. Let’s start with a few that I think are in on it.

Dwalin : I love you.

Nori : I know. You’re obsessed with me. *kisses him on the cheek before grabbing his hand so they leave*