#every child should get to read The Hobbit for pleasure at least once

[hamletthedane]

Coworker: You know, you were talking about that book the other day at lunch, and I kinda wanted to read it.

Me: What book?

Coworker: The Hobbit.

Me: You’ve never read the Hobbit?!?!? Did you get it??

Coworker: I started last night and I’m already almost to the end…..I’m starting to feel strangely sad thinking about all the time I wasted being “too cool” to read for pleasure when I was younger. I wish I had known about this book when I was a teenager - it would have changed my life, I think. There’s just something about this story that I really love. It’s, like, comforting??

Me, trying not to get emotional: Yeah…the Hobbit really does that to you.

[missvifdor]

When I arrive in Middle-earth [Part 1]

Warning: Hi ! It's just to warn that English is not my mother tongue. I apologize if you encounter errors in your reading. Part two is being written. In any case, I hope you enjoy :) Enjoy reading !

I also draw the introductory image :)

Well... Well, well, well... I must not panic. Everything is fine.

After all, I'm just surrounded by a dark forest in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere.

-But what am I saying ? Obviously I'm panicking ! I cried, raising my arms to the sky.

The high sound of my voice in icy silence frightened some birds that flew away, panicked! I want to burst into tears...

I'm going to die in a dark forest and my corpse will be devoured by foxes and squirrels.

-My consolation prize will be that they will not have much to eat, I thought, in a random sense.

Indeed, I am one of those people with the body of an asparagus. An asparagus with glasses and the size of an underfed house elf.

I jump ! An owl hoot somewhere !

-Highness of volatile...

I sigh and squint in the hope of seeing more clearly. It does not work at all.

                                                           [...]

I want to go around in circles for hours and yet I have no idea what time it is ! Or how long am I here !

However, I had time to hit my foot against a lonely pebble to make a very friendly hug on the ground, ride a stream of nettles and land in a calm cove. My life is magic !

I look so silly with my little red summer dress stuck to my skin, my tangled hair and my uncontrollable cold !

-I hate nature ! I hate this forest ! And I hate myself even more for Bugger all ! I cried, furious.

But I think the worst part of all this is that I have to be lobster red. I could not resist the urge to scratch myself because of nettle bites.

                                                          [...]

Do you want to know one thing ? Well, I do not have shoes anymore.

They started giving me blisters and cramps. So, I left them on the side of the road without any regret.

And the day begins to rise too, but I'm not too sure. My eyes are swollen with fatigue and I am dehydrated. I may have hallucinations.

-Hehe ... Hehehe.

And there I laugh alone, now ! I really need help here.

The birds start to sing and it makes me even more eager to take a nap on the floor. My body is so heavy ! And my glasses are still dirty...

I yawned for a long time.

I'm so tired, but I have to keep moving !

Suddenly, I stop and clean my glasses on my dress which, do not hide it, had seen better days !

I put my glasses on my nose and...

-The exit !

I run like crazy ! I'm so happy and relieved to be finally out of this tangle of trees that... I fall into the apples and put the cheek first on the wet grass under the morning dew...

                                                          [...]

I'm fine, there! It's warm and cozy !

-I must be in bed, I thought, holding back a happy little smile, eyes still closed. What an idea to dream of being lost in a forest !

I change position under the sheets and push my face even more in the soft pillow. I think I could sigh with happiness !

I even want to go back to sleep. But I know I can not do it... too bad.

I get up, appear in a sitting position and stretch like a cat. I put my hand in my hair to put it away from my face, then looked for my glasses on the bedside table.

Being short-sighted and astigmatic, a real pleasure...

-Oh, you're awake ! Here I am relieved, miss !

I give my three neurons time to connect correctly and quickly put back my glasses.

I now see a complete stranger holding a tray of food in the doorway of my room which is not my room !

I take a moment to lift the blanket !

-Merlin thank you, I still have my clothes ! I sighed with relief. -Miss? -Hmm ? I look up at him. Oh ! Hmm ... Excuse me, but ... Where am I ?

The stranger advanced to the bed and put the meal tray on my lap with a reassuring smile.

-Do not worry, you're at home, replied the stranger, still smiling. I found you a little further behind my house. You were completely cold! And do not worry, I did not touch your stuff in your bag, I would never allow myself such a thing, especially with a lady !

The poor man seemed panicked at the idea that I imagine him searching my things. I laugh, amused and a little moved by his behavior.

-Do not worry, I believe you and I thank you for taking care of me, I said a little timidly but warmly. Hey, but I do not have any...

My eyes fell on a shoulder bag that I knew very well. Oh yes, I had a bag !

-I introduce myself, my name is Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins ! -Nice to meet you, Mr. Baggins, my name is Isabelle, I introduced myself by extending my hand to shake him.

Bilbo smiled at me and gently squeezed my hand.

-I am delighted, he said. I'm really happy to see you're fine ! Rest as much as you want and eat, you seem to be hungry! If you need me, call and I will come. -Okay, thank you, I said. Could you give me my bag, please? I have to take my medicine before eating. -Of course !

He moves quickly and passed my bag amiably.

I give him back his smile and watch him leave the room. I take this opportunity to examine when he turns to leave the room and my eyes are on his huge bare feet and hairy !

My eyes widen and the memory comes back to me !

-Heheh... Hahahahah !

I laugh nervously. But how could I be so stupid !

This guy is the spitting image of Martin Freeman, the actor of Bilbo, the actor of John ! But I'm stupid ! I am stupid !

-I am in Middle-earth, at Bilbo the Hobbit ! Perfect !

I feel my nerves and my anxiety galloping and frantically searching for my medicine in my bag !

It's a blow to make me even more worried than in life in general !

Seriously, what happened ?! I crossed an invisible space-time portal ?!! I died while boarding a bus and my soul transported me to another universe ?!! I had a cardiac arrest because of all my braids ?!!

I quickly grab the glass of water on the tray and I swallow all of a sudden !

Then I take the time to breathe well, because they recommended me and I feel calm again.

I calm down for another two or three minutes and then I try to see the positive side...

I have always dreamed of meeting my favorite characters and having an adventure with them !

-But I can not even defend myself with my little fists and I burst into tears at the sight of a wounded animal ! I mumbled darkly.

It would be cool to learn new things, to eat new dishes and to make friends !

-I am extremely introverted, shy, I get sick easily and I have phobias of wasps and bees ! I continued to myself.

I could find love, who knows...!

-Be realistic, who would want a burden and a stuck girl like me...? I finished sadly.

Bitterness, I grabbed the sandwich that Bilbo had so kindly prepared and I started chewing.

-It is delicious...

I finish fast enough to eat. Bilbo really cooks like a chef. I have never eaten so well.

I smiled slightly, spread the blankets, then put my sore feet on the soft carpet at the foot of the bed.

I hiss with pain as I get up slowly. Wherever I could lean on my feet, it was on a swollen and painful bulb !

But I decide to keep my comments painful for myself and get out of the room, the meal tray in hand.

Every step deserves a burning insult in my head!

Slowly, I arrive in the vestibule and soon after, I find the kitchen. I wash the dishes that I dirty.

-Oh, you are standing !

I jump and turn, a hand on my leaping heart ! But I find my calm when I see that it's Bilbo.

-Yes, I did the dishes, I said, pointing to the plate I was drying. -Oh, you did not have to, you know, Bilbo frowning. -I took it, it's the least of things !

The Hobbit's eyebrows furrowed a little more. Now that I was standing next to him, I could see him fall on my shoulder !

It was weird to see an adult being smaller than me ! I have already seen grannies do my size, but it was new !

Suddenly, Bilbo put his fists on his hips.

-Have you seen the condition of your legs ? You should rest ! -Mr. Baggins, I'm fine, I lied to reassure him. -And you lie very badly my daughter ! Go ! Go to bed in the living room !

I do what he says to me with surprise !

Well... This is the first time anyone notices that I'm lying about my condition...

I hardly come to the salon, my feet still hurt! I almost collapsed in the nearest chair !

Bilbo does not take long to join me, a kit and small pots in the hands.

He takes a little ottoman to sit down and grabbed one of my legs not without blushing a little. I guess for him it was a pretty intimate gesture.

-I think I've had enough for your wounds, but if you're in doubt, tell me what happened to you, he asked, examining the redness, bruises, and scratches. -I wandered all night in the forest, I came across a rock that made me kiss for the first time, I continued my momentum by going in a field of nettles and finally, I landed in a stream...

The Hobbit looked at me speechless.

-I've had some unlucky and awkward Hobbits, but I think you're in first place ! Bilbo said with a small, mocking smile.

-Eh ! In my defense, I really did not see anything !

I hear him trying to suppress his laughter so I take a slightly sulky look that looks like a child.

It's hard to believe for me that I'm so hostile to be so comfortable with someone I've met !

-I think I have everything I need. But it is best to apply an ointment on clean skin. I think Bag End is always full of my mother's old dresses from when she was young, wait, I'll pick them up.

Bilbo smiled at me and got up and went out of the living room.

                                                             [...]

Half asleep in a deliciously hot and scented water, I massaged my aching areas by humming a song that made no sense.

I even allowed myself the luxury of washing my hair.

Once I'm clean, I put the right cream on my redness and bruises before putting bandages on my scratches.

-I would say that I fought with a bear ! I commented, looking at myself in the mirror of the bathroom.

Then I pulled on the outfit that Bilbo had given me.

I went back to the living room where Bilbo was waiting for me reading a book. He had also taken the opportunity to light the fireplace. I had not noticed it until now, but it was late in the day, the sun was just beginning to fall.

When he hears me coming back, he looks up from the page he's reading and gestures me to sit on the chair next to him.

-This dress looks great on you, I'm relieved that it does not stay in an old dust chest, smiles the Hobbit. -Thank you Mr. Baggins.

I sit next to him.

-Well. Now that you seem to be in a better state than where I found you, I would like to know what happened to you so that you would find yourself wandering in a forest in the middle of the night, wearing only a much too light dress for you. the season.

Bilbo seemed very serious.

I sigh, sinking a little deeper into the cushions of the chair.

It seems like a very serious discussion was about to begin...

- Honestly, I do not remember... I have no memory of how I landed there. All I know is that I woke up in this forest... I was completely disoriented and scared ! -I want to believe you, Bilbo admitted. The woods are not safe when you get too far from Hobbiton, there are wolves running.

I feel my throat tighten ! Shit ! I was much more likely to be eaten by wolves than by foxes and squirrels !

Seeing that the news had shaken me, Bilbo grabbed my left hand and patted me softly.

-Do not worry anymore, you're safe now, the Hobbit said with a reassuring voice. Do you want a hot drink? -With pleasure if you do not mind, Mr. Baggins, I said with a slight smile.

Bilbo smiles at me and gets up.

-I'm coming back, he announces.

I hear him go to the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later with tea, milk, sugar and biscuits.

-This is hawthorn tea, you will see that it will be good for your nerves. I noticed that you were an extremely stressed person. -Thank you so much.

And so, I explain to him more or less generally that I am absolutely not from Middle-earth and that I have nowhere to go.

-I noticed you had a very beautiful accent, Bilbo said. Where are you from ? -From France, this is the country where I was born and where I live... Finally inhabited. And thank you but for my part, I find my accent horrible ! It seems strange when I speak ! -In any case, I appreciate your company and you can stay here as much as you want !

I blush a little, embarrassed.

-Do not give yourself this trouble, Mr. Baggins ! You have already cared for me, fed and dressed ! I would not like to enjoy your kindness ! I exclaimed, red peony. I do not want to disturb you more than necessary ! -But you do not bother me absolutely, Bilbo assured warmly. I find instead that you are a wonderful, polite and kind guest ! And then it is me who proposes it to you, so there is not to discuss ! I am normally someone who does not like to receive a lot, but I do not know, with you I feel at ease and your presence could make me feel less alone. -But...! -No "but" ! You are free to live in Bag End all the time you need until you find a stable situation to live in the area or to return home !

I remain silent for a moment, stunned and moved by this little Hobbit so nice !

-Mr. Baggins... -Yes ? He asked curiously. -You are sure not to be an angel descended from heaven to watch over me ? I asked with a sincere little smile.

Bilbo turns red, and I burst out laughing at his embarrassment as he smiled shyly, mumbling thanks.

                                                            [...]

It's been a year since we live together, Bilbo and me.

The beginnings were not easy, for example, it was necessary to create a schedule for the bathroom or buy a women's business that Bilbo did not have.

But we got used to each other's presence and I started to feel really comfortable in Bag And.

The neighborhood hobbits also knew me very well now.

I even created my small business !

The old Belladonna dresses that Bilbo had given me were beautiful, certainly, but they did not fit my style. So I learned to sew and I started to change these dresses.

When I came to Hobbiton with my modified dresses, hobbits women started to want the same style and I soon realized that I could make money helping these young women with dresses they did not wear anymore and that they wanted to actualize.

The ambience of Hobbiton also helped me with my stress and anxiety for everything and anything. Here, I could live at my own pace and enjoy the sweet life of Hobbit.

I even think that I was a Hobbit in a previous life. Or at least, I had to be a distant cousin of Bilbo because we were on the same wavelength for just about everything !

Today was extremely calm, I visited a customer and went to the Bree market to buy new items.

And since I had work to do, I did not want to embarrass myself with a dress, that's why I was wearing this outfit:

On the way back, it was getting darker and cooler than it was a few hours ago.

A few Hobbits trailing in front of them greeted me, but I felt that it was not as usual. They knew something that I did not know...

So I hurried and I did not make a mistake !

There seemed to be far too much excitement in Bag End, not to mention the strange sign engraved on the freshly repainted door of last week !

-Oh no... Trouble starts... I thought, squeezing my wicker basket against my right hip.

Without waiting a minute longer, I push the door of Bag End and enter the entrance. I take the time to put my wicker basket before looking at the extent of the damage.

-....

The floor was in ruins ! This same floor where I spent so much time cleaning it to shine like new! What do I say so that we can see ourselves as in a mirror !

I waxed this floor ! I was on all fours at this floor !

That's when my eyes land on a shape on the floor that should not be there !

-Bilbo !

My poor Hobbit is lying on the carpet, fainting !

I squatted next to him and tried to make him regain consciousness by masterfully ignoring the crowd of Dwarves and the magician who watch me do in silence !

Bilbo still has not opened his eyes and I panic slightly.

-Hey ! Do not stand there watching and help me move it into the living room ! You see that with my nonexistent muscles I can not do it alone ! I cried angrily.

As if he was coming out of a trance, I see the dwarf that I suspect is Bofur helping me lift Bilbo to lie on the living room couch.

The advantage of living with a Hobbit with the taste of sarcasm and the Took side is that I totally lost my shy side and that I have much more confidence in myself.

The dwarf with the funny hat mumbles things that look like excuses. He seems to feel really guilty with his beaten dog look...

Yeah... I do not have time for her feelings, the important thing is to wake up my roommate Hobbit !

-I'm really sorry, I did not think Mr. Baggins would react this way, stammered Bofur, his cheeks turning pink. -Hmm, I growl. Since you seem to feel so worried, would you be so kind as to prepare tea, sir...? -Bofur ! At your service, miss...? -Isabelle.

The dwarf smiled at me timidly and headed for the kitchen. From the corner of my eye, I see others watching me with curiosity and murmurings.

I roll my eyes and after a few more attempts, Bilbo regains consciousness.

Bofur returns sometime later with a cup of tea. I thank him and pour Wiscky into the tea.

Bilbo does it only when he's really exhausted, and I think he was in those moments.

The Hobbit seems to be comforting to see me and I smiled tenderly as I ran my hand through his honey-colored curls to calm him down.

-So Honey, did you have a fun night ? I asked with a smirk. -They emptied the whole pantry! Nothing is left ! And I'm terribly sorry for the floor, Isabelle... I know you spent a lot of time...

I frown.

-I do not care about the floor. And you ? You ate ?

Bilbo shook his head from side to side, sheepishly. I'm still sighing.

-You are lucky, I crossed the Bree market today ! I will prepare something for you !

I lean over and kiss his temple. Then I went to get my wicker basket, still superbly ignoring the looks that followed me at every step.

But hey... They're "guests", so...

-I hope you enjoy the reception of Bag End ? I say with a sarcastic smile. However, I will ask you to be kind enough to clean up your mess when you finish your little meeting. As you have probably already seen, my dear friend Bilbo was "slightly" shaken.

... But I always blame them for disgusting our house, for moving all the items and for having conscientiously eaten all the food, including the remains of my chocolate fondant !

It is now the turn of the dwarves to look sheepish.

-Excuse us, ma'am, we did not think Mr. Baggins had a wife, apologized a Dwarf with a white beard and a special accent. -You know if Bilbo to a woman or not, it does not matter. When you arrive at someone's place, you take off your shoes to avoid getting dirty, you ask before using it without any embarrassment, you do not wipe your boots full of mud on the family objects of the host and we avoid especially to scare him ! All I just mentioned are etiquette rules, but that, I guess you already know ?

An icy silence falls in the audience.

I use my most stern look against them and go to the kitchen to prepare a dinner for Bilbo who did not have a chance to swallow his.

                                                              [...]

The dwarfs all sleep in the living room and the other rooms (and they have everything tidy and clean as promised).

I had the opportunity to get to know Gandalf. He seemed very amused, I think he wants me to join the company... And I know I do not have a choice.

From the first hour tomorrow morning, Bilbo will start to catch up and leave for Erebor... I do not want to let him go alone.

Oh, I know he'll be able to cope, that's not the problem.

But I will not stop worrying to ask myself every day if he is well, if he is cold, if he is hungry, if the company treats him well !

So I made the decision to come with him, like it or not !

Anyway, I knew that day would come, so I secretly practiced defending and healing.

I also met Thorin. How to say...?

He is taller than me (I can barely reach his shoulder !). And he tried to intimidate me with his great deep voice and his striking blue eyes. But I showed him that I was not at all impressed (inside, I panicked like never before !).

I also remember making the other dwarves nervous, mainly by my stern look as I tried to look confident.

But brief. Now everyone sleeps, Bilbo sleeps, I'll be able to prepare our things so that we do not forget anything tomorrow morning.

I first went to a trusted neighbor to give him the Bag End replacement key and to make sure that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins withdrew and did not touch our stuff.

I prepared extra bags with a clean alternative, my savings, a care kit and creams for bites. I even took our umbrellas !

I go to bed late that night and hope to get up on time.

                                                         [...]

The next day, silence reigns in Bag End. It's hard for me to get out of sleep, but I always try to push my blankets over and put on my dressing gown without taking the time to tie it up.

My lazy feet are hanging out in the living room.

They are always there, I am well on time.

I then look in the kitchen.

-Hmm... I'll have to go to the bakery... I mumbled.

I sigh, I tie my dressing gown, I put on shoes and I go quickly to the bakery.

I am the first customer of the day.

-Do you really need all this ? Ask the baker, incredulous.

I smile at him.

- I'm afraid, yes. Sir, have a nice day. -Good day to you too !

When I return to Bag End, some dwarves have also immersed themselves, including Bifur, Balin and Dori. They made tea for everyone.

-I brought back enough to give energy to everyone before departure ! I announced, looking more friendly than last night.

The three dwarves seem surprised by my new attitude and obviously do not seem to know how to react.

I roll my eyes.

-You behaved like pigs last night, but I do not blame you anymore, you cleaned up everything and that's what counts. Eat while it's still hot, everything I bring comes out of the oven.

The three dwarves smile at me, a little warmer to the touch. I return it to them and see Bilbo in his room.

It is out of the question that I start running behind ponies to catch up with dwarves and a magician !

                                                           [...]

I avoided the disaster !

Bilbo was going to ask to turn around to get his precious handkerchief and I put the cloth under his nose before he could open his mouth.

-Thank you Isabelle ! You really think of everything ! Bilbo said gratefully. -We're a team, Honey, do not ever forget it, I said, winking at him.

We continue our journey for a while, until I smile, amused by the discomfort of my little Hobbit on his pony.

-Relax, Bilbo, He will not eat you. -This is the first time I ride a pony... he admits. -I noticed, I said. Relax your shoulders, you're much too tense and stop pulling too hard on the reins, you'll hurt your horse.

He follows my advice and then looks at my posture.

-You look so comfortable ! You never told me you knew how to ride ! -It really goes back a very long time in my childhood, when I went on trips discovered with my classmates. -Really ?! Did your parents let you travel alone with other children ?! -Oh, I was not alone! I reassured him. We were accompanied by our teacher and three parents to monitor us during the activities of the trip. It was very fun and we learned a lot. We even went to the sea ! -You really saw the ocean ?!

I turn around and see Ori, who blushes with embarrassment but his eyes sparkle with curiosity. I give him a reassuring smile.

-Yes, I really went there. Often even. I went with my family most of the time! And you, Ori ? Have you ever seen the sea ?

The young dwarf blushed and answered shyly.

-No, never, he replies. You know, we dwarves are not made for this kind of place, we live in montages. But I really want to go at least once and draw that kind of landscape ! -And I wish you, Ori. The sea is very pleasant in hot weather, so you can swim and play in my waves!

The young dwarf takes a dreamy look, surely imagining his feet in the sand with the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea.

Subsequently we continue to get to know each other.

                                                            [...]

I look at the sky.

-Hum, Bilbo takes this. Quick.

I pass Bilbo his heavy coat, his waterproof travel cape and his umbrella. He puts them quickly without arguing, but I can still see he wonders "why?".

-Ori ! I called the young dwarf. Comes quickly ! Come next to me !

Curious, the young scribe brings his pony next to mine and I just have time to put my heavy warm coat, to put my waterproof cape on Ori and to unfold my umbrella on our head, it starts to rain as if I had rarely seen !

All the others are surprised by the rain and begin to moan insults at Khuzdul (at least, it looked like insults).

And so the road continues, full of insults in Khuzdul and desperate attempts by Fili and Kili to come and take shelter under our umbrellas.

-M. Gandalf, can not you do anything against this deluge? Ask one of the dwarves after a moment. -It's raining, Master Dori. And it will continue to rain until the rain stops. If you want to change your time, you will need another magician !

                                                        [...]

Here we are in a city I have never visited, in an inn for the night. I must say that we are all exhausted !

It was awful for hours, so most of the company members were soaked and chilled. If we except Bilbo, Ori and me.

Apart from below the knees, we were dry and warm in our clothes !

-It is not fair ! Kili complains, shivering sadly. Why are you alone in having dry clothes ?! -Because I thought it might rain during the trip and we do not take a walk in the sun under a bright sun, I pointed out. -Besides, I thank you, Miss Isabelle, for keeping my little brother warm ! Dori said gratefully. -You're welcome.

We were allocated rooms. Each dwarf member was grouped by family, Gandalf took a room for himself and I sleep in a room with Bilbo in separate beds.

Everyone took the opportunity to change and we all came out of the rooms to eat together.

We ordered a lot of food and drinks (almost all alcoholic).

-You do not want a pint of beer, Miss Isabelle ? Bofur smiles widely. -I avoid drinking alcohol, I can cause trouble. -And what kind, huh? Dwalin laughs with mockery. -Well ... I could go to the bar and dance an Irish jig, be a little too affectionate with the customers, pay a tour to everyone saying "it's good, we only have one life !" Except that I only have one life and small savings. I could also burst into tears while lamenting the sad fate of my favorite literary characters. And all that, in French, my mother tongue ! -You can believe me, I have already seen it done ! Bilbo said, remembering the first time it happened. -And I thank you again for preventing me from undressing in front of strangers because I wanted to prove to everyone that I had abs, I added with gratitude to Bilbo.

All look at me with shock.

-But you swallowed how much glass of alcohol to finish in this state ?! -...Half of my first and only glass of beer...

This is the end of this first part, I hope you have appreciated ! Thanks for reading ! :)

[dukeofriven]

[Note: this post originally appeared in this thread. Owning to Tumblr’s inability to update reblogs with edits because it is a hellsite programmed by a secretive cell of former Stasi operatives to avenge the fall of East Germany, it has thus been re-edited and reformatted here for your reading pleasure.] JK Rowling’s wizards are the most useless, lazy, incapable dumbfucks in the history of fiction. The average Muggle? You take away their technology and they would be able to complete the basic tasks of feeding and clothing themselves without shitting on the floor. If a wizard ever lost their magic in Harry Potter, though, they would die. They’d be dead in three days. They’re garbage and I hate that I’ve come to hate Harry Potter - a series I once loved - because an author inexplicably hailed for her world-building is daily revealed to be appallingly bad at it. I realize this is a really dumb thing to be this angry about but I’ve been told for years what a great world-builder J.K. Rowling is, and that was not even true when the books were coming out. The Time Turner ruined all of Harry Potter forever, not because it offers easy time travel you can hold in your hand (although it does), not because you ask ‘why don’t they just use the time turner’ with every subsequent scenario forever (although you do), but because it was an enormous, flashing red light warning everyone that the series was going to attempt to make the transition from Fairy Tale Logic to Serious Fiction logic and fail. Badly. Really, really badly. I still think Harry Potter & The Philosopher’s Stone is an almost perfect book: a distillation of decades of boarding school genre fiction combined with magic, friendship, and wonder. It is a book that owes as much to Enid Blyton and L.M. Boston as it does to C.S. Lewis or T.H. White and other authors with two first initials. Its sense of place is magisterial, from the frumpy, soul-crushing suburban sadness of Privet Drive to the ephemeral curio-shop wonderland of Diagon Alley to Hogwarts itself, a bastion of astonishment, homeliness, and delight. What it isn’t is the sort of framework on which you can support the horror that is the torture and murder of Charity Burbage in front of her colleague Severus Snape, who could not rescue her because he could not break his deep cover as a spy against Wizard Hitler 2. Long-running series can experience changes of tone and complexity. This is neither something laudable nor worth reviling; it’s a neutral phenomenon. Sometimes series do it well: Susan Cooper’s The Dark Is Rising and Terry Pratchett’s Discworld are both series that by-and-large end with books focused on far more complex issues than their earlier entries. TV series do this too: contrast the early episodes of Steven Universe or Adventure Time with episodes from later seasons. With Adventure Time, for example, trying jumping from the pilot to Remember You and see how hard you get tonal whiplash) Lois McMaster Bujold sublime space opera The Vorkosigan Saga doesn’t just change tones but also genre: space adventure, murder mystery, political thriller, goofy regency romance, comedy of errors, heist movie, schizoid identity crisis - on and on. The latest entry in the series has almost no plot to speak of, but is instead a musing on age, gender roles, grieving the loss of a lover, and the hope of new life. Some series, however, manage the transition poorly, largely because the initial tone cannot be harmonized with the later tone (Mass Effect jumps immediately to mind). But Harry Potter has more than just a problem of its tone getting darker: its trying to have darker events fit in the same world in which people can walk around with names like ‘Mundungus,’ the Hogwarts school song can be a nonsense poem, and the Philosopher’s Stone was defended with a series of video game puzzles. In a world in which the villain openly tortures somebody to death, the Philosopher’s Stone shouldn’t have any whimisical bullshit about its magical defences: it should have trip mines in the floor and an enchanted statue with a gun, because Voldermort isn’t a guy you confound with drinking potions and flying keys. You should just kill him. The charming fairy world of wonder of HP & The Philosopher’s Stone has room for a love potion. The later books, in which it is revealed that Voldemort was essentially born from rape, is not place where Ron Weasley can hand-out a book to Harry called Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches without seeming like a predator in the making. The cradle that is The Philosopher’s Stone cannot hold a beastly baby like Deathly Hallows any more than Grindlewald pontificating about the superiority of wizards can sit comfortably in a universe in which wizards took until the 18th century to accept the outhouse! Not that fascist ravings are inherently logical; but even non-fascists in Harry Potter never act like wizards are anything other than 100% better than muggles at all times. They can’t, because if the series were ever to do that it would have to acknowledge that the two worlds are different: neither better, just different. Instead - well, as Ron once bitched, magic makes coffee perfect every time, so it’s not clear how muggles stand being alive and don’t just roll-over and die from the hellacious half-life that is living with imperfect coffee. This has nothing to do with irony, a suggestion that ‘oh Grindewald talks a big game about wizardly superiority but wizards didn’t use toilets and cal themselves goofy names like Flumpus MacFludgeon: Rowling is using dramatic ironic to lampshade how wizard supremacy lacks self-awareness. No: this is about a world that is silly being asked to host a genocidal dictator and his crimes. It’s like those tedious ‘grimdark’ AUs that always show up in bad fanfiction by authors attempting to be serious: what if the Sesame Street gang had to deal with ICE, what if Po started haemoraging while hanging-out with Laa-Laa, what if Peppa Pig learned that she was adopted and her real parents were brutally murdered as part of gang war because they were heroin dealers and so on. (The best skewering of this edgelord comedy is still probably either Andrew Hussie’s Muppet Babies/Saw comic or any encounters the Shortpacked staff ever had with the Transformers: Buckets of Blood guy.) In Harry Potter, Rowling built a wonderful little fantasy world that ran happily on the logic of fairy tales and fairy stories, and then decided she was never going to be taken seriously as an author unless she introduced Hitler to the equation. And it never works for her. It’s not like it couldn’t have worked. The Lord of the Rings is famously a very different book from The Hobbit. It did, in fact, introduce Hitler into a little fantasy world but Tolkien made it work by abandoning huge portions of the Hobbit’s tone, style, and structure: he wrote a completely different book.  Frodo isn’t scarfing-down Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans on the slopes of  Mount Doom. The moment, say, Cedric Diggory lay dead in Harry’s arms, we needed to never meet Mundungus Fletcher ever again, or Weasley’s Gooftacular Prank Nonsense, or Ron getting Harry a book about love spells. All the very least that needed to go away, at least until the very end, because Rowling is not an author with the skill to keep the silly and the sublime on the same page. That’s fine in and of itself: all artistic people have strengths and weakness, nobody is skilled at every element of creation. J.M. Barrie was very good at writing a book about an eternal child, but a bit crap at writing a biography about his mother. Arthur Sullivan spent his life quietly seething no one wanted to listen to Ivanhoe instead of The Mikado. There’s a reason Jerry Lewis never released The Day the Clown Cried.  Virginia Wolfe is a great writer, but that doesn’t mean she would have written a great run on She-Hulk. [Although now that I’ve said it I can’t think of anything I want to read more.] There’s a great bit in the Lord of Rings after the Shire has been scoured of Saruman where the Hobbits essentially open-up their larders and allow people to have fun again; there’s also a nice bit slightly earlier where Great King Aragorn puts on his old Strider clothes just so he can be his D&D character again: when series change tone, unless you’re really good at walking on a knife’s edge, the quieter, gentler, lighter world isn’t gone forever, but it does have to go away for a while: which means its time to tamp-down on the people with silly names and personalities - like Slughorn, who slips into book six like the second-coming of the vain and silly Lockhart, even though that’s the book where Dumbledore dies.

Rowling keeps trying to makes her old tone fit with her new world without having to pull a Tolkien and actually write differently, which produces moment after moment of tonal whiplash in which the latest Potter-related movie literally involves referencing the holocaust but she also drops some fun trivia about wizards shitting on the floor like animals. (You could describe the entirety of the first Fantastic Beasts film as Tonal Whiplash: The Motion Picture. I’d say that’s an essay for another day but I do not want to have to watch that movie again.)

It needs to be said that a primary reason these tone shifts ‘don’t work’ for Harry Potter is that the logic of a fairy tale is different than the logic of a mundane story. The logic of a fairy tale tends to be self contained: it doesn’t have a smart ass running around asking questions like ‘why’ because there is no why; a thing is the way it is because it is the way it is. Fairies steal babies on the third Sunday of every month, and nobody in the story asks ‘well what about in countries that use different calendars, and what about the shift from Julian to the Gregorian calendar that skipped eleven days?’ because such a pedantic question has no substance in a fairy-tale world. The Clever Child might question what the fairies need with babies, but she’s not about to break-down the week-to-week investment metrics on the Fairyland Infant Exchange. It’s not that one cannot critique or bring critical thinking to fairy stories; it’s that in a fairy story you don’t ask how the sewer system works because it’s not pertinent to what the story is trying to convey. It’s being the guy at the book club who is mad nobody wants to discuss his theories on the music of Rush: its not that the theories are bad, it’s that in this time and place they are of limited relevance. Harry Potter, however, does not belong to to the world of fairy stories, but to the legacy of Tolkienesque fantasy - the world of

  In The Hobbit nobody would ever ask if Hobbiton had sewers - it’s not important, and if you ask those kind of questions expecting there to be a serious answer of grave import you’re being a twit. Lord of the Rings, though? Not only is it a valid question, but Tolkien probably wrote a paper explaining the etymology of the Westron word for ‘sewer’ and how sewers were first invented by Shítlívær the Noldor as a way of helping the Blessed Isles cope with all the crap that tumbled out of Fëanor’s mouth.

The world of The Hobbit is one you could enter and expect to quickly find yourself on an adventure. The world of The Lord of The Rings is one you could enter, walk-about, and study without anyone ever exepecting you to solve some sort of regionally-disturbing social problem: in short, it wants you to be invested in the existence of its world in a different way than The Hobbit. Even then, although The Lord of the Rings is more grounded than The Hobbit, it is not so grounded that it doesn’t leave room for mystery, and questions that refute Wittgenstein’s assertion that all questions must be answerable. Tolkien loved to create complex worlds, but there was stuff he knew wasn’t worth elaborating on. It’s really his fans and authorial heirs who developed the somewhat worrying belief that a good worldbuilder has to have an answer to literally every question or else didn’t think their world through. (This has killed more potentially good books than bad cover art ever has.)

The Lord of the Rings leaves room for The Undiscovered Country. Harry Potter wants too… but can’t. Firstly, Rowling obviously understands the need for what we might call poetic mystery - like the gateway in the somewhat unsubtly name Department of Mysteries - but she also wants you to know how wizards pooped three hundred years ago. You get the feeling she knows exactly how and why that gate works, and what it is, but she withheld the knowledge because she likes mystery’s aesthetic more than she ascribes to any idea that an author might have lacunæ in the knowledge of their own work. That is, she would never put something into her work that she didn’t have an answer for - for her there is no undiscovered country that exists beyond the knowledge of even the author; she is an omniscient deity. Not for her is C.S. Lewis’ insistence that for her characters: All their life in this world and all their adventures had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before. Rowling knows exactly what happens to every one of them from the moment they were born to the moment the rot in the ground and the day-to-day schedules of their lives in heaven. Secondly - and far more of an issue - is that Harry Potter becomes a world that invites you to pick up each part of its structure and think about it, because the author has - with loving care - built that entire world for you to interact with. A place for everything, and everything its place. Except JK Rowling is a lazy thinker who never, ever considers the consequences of anything she says. Nagini is actually an Asian woman cursed to live as a snake, wizards used to magically disappear their shit from wherever they just stood and shat it out, Hermione Granger can have a time travel device to attended a bunch of classes but Harry can’t grab one off a nearby shelf and go back fifteen minutes and save his godfather, and nor a few years later can the Minister for Magic’s protection detail keep them on hand to go back half an hour and tell their past selves ‘Hey Voldemort is about to walk in here and kill y’all thought you ought to know.’ No author can work-out every aspect of every element in their works - that’s impossible, and why ARGs are solved by the internet hivemind in half a day even though they took a far smaller group of minds months to devise. But Rowling is intellectually lazy - she adds the holocaust to her Magic Fun Land without sparing a single moment to think that idea through. She then gets defensive when confronted by the suggestion that her worldbuilding might have been shallow. Hey your American wizard houses seem a bit racist also America doesn’t really use the house system in its schools - and her response was to lash out and not listen.  Rowling tried to move Potter from a fairy logic world with its own rules into our world with our rules and our history but she doesn’t know our history very well, or even our rules, so she tells us wizards shat on the floor until the 18th century while the rest of us sit around going ‘but humans have never done that as social groups - even in horrible slums and facility-free prison cells humans create a designated place for taking a shit even if it’s just ‘that corner over there.’ We don’t just drop pants and go whenever!” This is because, as a worldbuilder, J.K. Rowling is actually kind of rubbish.

[wickednerdery]

Title: Taste Author: @wickednerdery​​ Fandom: Tolkien/The Hobbit Pairing/character: Thranduil/Reader Rating: FRM Summary: “...I was curious of your taste.” Notes: This started as a random, vague, thought in my head and grew like a damned forest fire....There’s been a LOT of damn fine Lee Pace/Thranduil stuff on my dash recently, lol!! …Anyway gets a “Read More” cut because it’s NSFW and long (if you wanna get right to the dirty stuff, just skip to the second half, haha), lol!

It’d been long since I had the feeling of an outsider in my own home, but here it returned, strengthened, as the Elves of Mirkwood whispered about the firen among their guests. Some spoke in interest, some in worry, others insult, but all were careful to avoid me as a being. There would be no direct acknowledgement of my existence until the Elvenking had his say in it.

His statement was short; a cold raking of eyes over my body, a sigh, and a declaration to begin the feast of Ethuil.

After the feast there was wine and music and singing and dancing and I escaped it all to settle just beyond the walls to take in the night sky. These were not my people, but neither was Man. As a child I wondered what had made me so undesirable to the Edain that I would be left to die...at least with the Elves I knew. I did not shine, I did not flow or float through existence as they did. No matter how skilled, how poised, I was for my own kind I would always be flawed for theirs. And, one day, I would grow old and die.

“You are not attending my festivities.” The voice was glass-smooth, deep as a cave. “You do me great dishonor.” He hissed slightly in the last word so that I shivered into my turn.

He stood tall as an Anod with silken white hair and skin that shone in the moonlight. Rarely did I pay much mind to the appearance of Elves these days, but the king seemed beyond others of his kind. In iced eyes I gave up my voice in favor of controlling my body, denying myself the urge to touch what was forbidden.  

“You dare refuse to speak to a king?” He switched to the common tongue, perhaps thinking I could not speak Sindarin.

“Forgive me, your highness,” I lowered my head, snapped back into reality. “I did not dare to dream one such as yourself would speak to me.”

His breath suggested pleasure at my words, but his message was the same. “You are not attending my festivities. What am I to take from this?”

I raised my head, but not my eyes. “I fear am I not welcome. Not...not by you, your majesty, but by others. I do not belong, I know this. I did not wish to become a distraction to your celebration.” The words were placation, but only in their delivery. I knew I was a distraction, I knew I did not belong, and I did fear that I was unwelcome by at least some of the revelers.

“Look at me, Adaneth.” Thranduil ordered, I obeyed. “Your people are my guests, therefore you are my guest. I will not have my guests in an un-festive manner on the feast of Ethuil, it does not bode well for the new year.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

The Elvenking’s lips flicked up, then he began to lean. Down. In. The smell of fresh trees and wildflowers filled my nose as his breath became a cool breeze on my cheek. Once pressed, however, his lips were warm. Warm and soft and he turned into stars as everything around us went black.

I awoke wrapped in silk with the sensation of feathery clouds beneath. The only light came from the moon and the man settled as if upon his throne before me. “I am accustomed to the behaviors of the males of your race,” he soothed out. “But, tell me, do the females faint with frequency?”

His delivery was either in earnest or poorly executed jest and left me unsure how to answer. I begged forgiveness. “Goheno nin, Aran Thranduil.” I examined the bed born from a tree I’d been lain in, I examined the similar chair Thranduil lounged in, but I dare not look at the Elvenking.

“Are you frightened?”

“Ashamed.”

In a single, swift, move he was on the bed beside me. “Look at me.” I did. “Do not hide your shame from me again, Adaneth.”

“Yes, your highness.”

He closed in and I focused only on remaining still, with eyes open, as Thranduil’s scent again threatened to overwhelm. My breath held as soft lips again hit my skin; this time I could feel the warmth of them spread through me, pool in my belly. In his draw back his head tilted with interest and I saw it was a test, though of what was not clear.

“You smell, taste, of Ennor, is this always so?”

I shrugged, unsure what to make of the statement or the question that followed it. Elves could sense things I never could and their tastes were not always the same. I could not discern if this was a compliment, insult, or merely commentary...and I dared not presume any should I risk offense.

Thranduil leaned in, my breath held, and he paused. “Do you wish not to be kissed?

“I wish not to faint,” I blurted the confession so that his lips curled in amusement.

“Worry not, frail child, I would catch you as before.”

Reassuring hands cupped my face, added chill to compliment the heat of his mouth, as it sought and caught mine. While there were thousands of years experience to his actions, there was testing too. The kiss growing hard, demanding submission, before lightening into a tease, then back to dominating again. His tongue ran along my lips only to brush past in search of my tongue, teasing it, tempting it to follow his movements. He tasted heavily of wine and berried sweets.

I shuddered as a hand traveled down from face to collarbone to breast, whimpered when it pulled away. The iciness of his eyes thawed only to be replaced by a blue blaze as the tips of his fingers returned. There was a rush that soared through my veins, set bumps across my flesh, and propelled my lips to his.

Even in taking the initiative there was no doubting the king was in charge. The king whose touch turned into grab, grope, massage as nipples grew hard against the soft fabric that separated his skin from mine. The king who, so swift I cannot remember how, put me on my back with thighs spread to cradle his body. The king who, in a single rut across my body, released an excitement from within that I’d never felt.

A gasp escaped at the sudden wetness between my thighs, the stick of my slip against the back of my legs. His arousal was undeniable, pressing, grinding, against my pelvis. My hands fumbled to unclasp and unknot his tunic, expose marble skin to my hungry mouth; his hands tore, as if my gown were fân, and I arched when his mouth devoured bare breasts.

Perhaps I should have asked why - why me, why now - but I dared not speak lest I break the spell.

With hands moving up my dress, grazing across slowly exposed skin, Thranduil continued down the terrain of my body. His tongue, teeth, lips devoted itself to every peak and valley to be found until mouth met hands at the hips. “Edro.” He ordered and I obeyed.

“Gods!” I cried as his tongue slipped between my folds, flicked against the bundle of nerves only my own hands had touched before. The reaction pleased him as his cool laugh chilled before he repeated the act. My legs attempted to close in the overwhelming rush of his ministrations, but his hands quickly took the option from me. He held me down, still, opened wide for him to do as he pleased...as I pleased, begging to him and the Valar and every being in existence for him to never stop.

The heat of his mouth attended to my clit, kissing softly, then suckling at it, before letting cool air brush across it so that I risked jumping. His tongue lapped at my juices, drew teasingly around my entry, before dipping in to taste my arousal from its source.

I mewled, a hint of discomfort mixing with the pleasure, as a slickened finger replaced the tip of his tongue. My hips rolled on instinct; my desire fell to need as another finger stretched me. I could not speak, could not think, beyond my gasping arousal. The flame begun in my belly turned raging fire that spread throughout, drove tension into my muscles, flooded my cunt and thighs.

I saw nothing, heard nothing, as the blackness and stars threatened to take me over again. I felt only Thranduil - his fingers caressing a place inside I’d never known existed, his mouth tasting every ounce of me, his breath causing shudders - and my own heart pounding against my ribs. I arched in a high gasp, gripped the king’s sheets, and shook with such intensity I feared something was wrong with me.

As quickly as I was overwhelmed, I was relaxed in a way I’d not experienced before. I felt as if I finally understood the word bliss in its truest form. There was a whimper in my panting as the king pulled his fingers from me and I was left hollow.

“Thuio,” he reminded softly, sternly, as he settled to lay beside me. “I cannot abide you losing consciousness with every contact we make.”

My next exhale was a small laugh, then I grew hopeful. “There will be more?”

“Not tonight.” I frowned and it was his turn to laugh. “We’ve been gone from the festivities far too long.”

“What about you? Your desire?”

He kissed my forehead, then my lips, softly. “My desire is under my control.” It was a gentle reassurance before he stood and took care to reassemble his flawless appearance. “I will send someone with a new gown for you, do not worry or rush...you’ve fainted, remember?” There was a tint of a smirk to his lips.

“Thranduil...your highness?”

His brows arched expectantly.

“Why?”

“I told you, Adaneth, I was curious of your taste.”

He gave a long, slow, bow to me and swept out the door.

This is probably just a one-shot of naughtiness, but if I think of a good follow-up I’ll write it, I’m sure. And, yes, throughout I used Elvish - specifically Sindarin, which to the best of my research/recall is what Thranduil speaks - and I’ll put the meanings of the words at the bottom for those curious...and please don’t attack if I’m wrong on these, I used a few sites and, haha, I’m not an Elvish expert, lol!

Next Pieces: Scent, Sight, Sound

Not tagging anyone, but IF I write more and you want to be tagged, just let me know.

(The gif was found on Google and edited by me.)

Word Glossary (in order of usage):

Firen - human Ethuil - Spring, the first season of the Elvish new year Edain - Man, as in the species Anod - Ent, the trees that are people in The Lord of the Rings Adaneth - Woman, as in the female of the species Man Goheno nin, Aran Thranduil - translation: Forgive me, King Thranduil Ennor - Middle-Earth, as in not just earth/dirt, lol Fân - (basically) veil of clouds Edro - the imperative of open, as in it’s a command Valar  - "angelic powers" or "gods" subordinate to the one God Thuio -the imperative of breathe, as in it’s a command