#shire streams

[shirecorn]

Who wants an hour long lecture about mermaid anatomy, evolution, respiration, articulation, and vveeery brief history?

Mermaid Overview Lecture

[skyscrapergods]

Streaming my version of the meme! it's so perfect for skyscrapergods

lets goooooo

[shirecorn]

Hey look guys it me!

I joined (begged to be let in) Draft Horses (funny pony artists do pony prompt videos) and I'll be doing silly drawing games on March 30th!

Join me and a bunch of others to have a stupid good time!

We're hosting a 16-artist charity stream on 30th March!

We've been teasing something for the last couple weeks, and it's finally time to reveal it: The Draft Horses channel is hosting the Gartic Horse anniversary stream, this Saturday 30th March! 16 pony artists have teamed up and we're gonna be playing Gartic Phone live on stream to raise money for Cancer Research UK! So come join us!

Head over to the stream page now, and hit Notify Me so you get pinged when the stream is about to go live!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3CeHoSDxgE

If you're wondering "what's Gartic Horse?" Well, a year ago, on March 26 2023, @falloutfurret united a bunch of pony artists to raise money for The Trevor Project by playing Gartic Phone! It went amazingly well, and from there, the idea dawned to make more pony-themed YouTube art content! And so Draft Horses was born! We're returning to our roots and introducing some new friends, so come help us have fun for a good cause!

[professorjirt]

it’s occurring to me that Frodo has had a near death experience, been near dead, or just straight up momentarily dead way too many times

[runawayandhide]

[djemsostylist]

Recently watched Episode 1 of Wild Isles and it's like, if I wasn't understanding Sir Johnald Ronald Rolkien Tolkien before, I really do now

[cinemadaydreams]

Corporate Fantasy Screensaver: The Fellowship of Something or Other

***I saw the first episode of The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power - "Shadow of the Past". This review is specifically for that first episode, not the series as a whole (yet).***

So, what does one do telling a story whose ending is already known? I was always puzzled on a storytelling standpoint why Amazon Studios chose this over all other IP products they could have chosen to invest in, especially a story that looks 'back' instead of looking 'forward' in a narrative. For example, I think a large part of the difficulty of the Prequel Trilogy of Star Wars was due to the fact that we knew who would survive and who would (likely) die. Very little left to the imagination in terms of true suspense. I anticipate it will be a similar corner that Rings of Power will end up in. I hope I'm wrong.

First, what to raise a pint of the Green Dragon to - namely, the set design. I could tell the teams within the set designs, both physical and digital, poured their heart and soul in making it live and breathe as a place. It is always refreshing to be carried away by a world. I was more than impressed by their work and I hope they are commended and paid well for their efforts. 

It is evident that this is a high budget production. There is some level of expectancy that it would need to be at a different level than most tv shows visually given the financial means they had to work with. To this end, it has succeeded. 

And now, the longer journey through Middle-Earth that frankly, needs work….

The Prologue or The Absence of Morgoth (“By rights we shouldn’t even be here!”)

One of the key elements of any good visual storytelling moment is giving the audience the ability to 'see' what happens rather than 'tell' us what happens. I know many can draw upon the initial battle of Sauron vs Men & Elves in Fellowship of the Ring as one of the more powerfully filmed sequences to show us the enormous odds that the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth were facing against Sauron.

So why did it work in Fellowship? I think it worked because Sauron's size and power were shown with equal visual weight, and the iconic 'finger-slicing' sword moment of Isildur was shown through image, not simply dialogue.

The “Shadow of the Past" introduction depends far too much on the dialogue itself to carry the weight of the battle against Morgoth (which, on a pragmatic level, might be because of rights limitations). We see the hordes of orcs and the dragons, but only briefly (and flatly lit) where the color grading of the ground battle looks oddly out of place from the epic shots of gigantic eagles and terrifying dragons. She tells us “Morgoth was vanguished” and "Sauron had to flee" but neither of those moments are shown. This was a gigantic opportunity lost, for no one apart from those that read the books actually will see how treacherous and evil a character Morgoth was in the Middle-Earth world. As a viewer I don't understand why they could defeat Morgoth but not Sauron, who was Morgoth's lesser in terms of strength and size. I hope future episodes actually focus on that difference and not simply through thrown-in dialogue, however well-read the narration may be. 

Galadriel's substance as a leader (“instead of a Dark Lord you would have a Queen!”)

    Her leadership itself isn’t an issue. Who better to lead the Elves on mission into the darkness than one of the most powerful elves in the history of Middle-Earth? It is how the writers chose her emotional set-up of why she’s obsessed with taking down Sauron in the first place that I have to address. I was gobsmacked by how little I cared.

   As a global audience, thanks to Peter Jackson’s trilogy, most of us KNOW how much of a baddie Sauron is (or are at least aware of it). The writers of “Shadow of the Past” seemed keen to emphasize that point without offering anything new in the process. We knew everything they told us. Nothing new was expressed. All we saw were flashpoints (almost video game cut-scene style) that told us how to feel, rather than draw us in. 

There was an incredibly easy solution to this that would have made Galadriel a far more captivating character for me. She’s already a warrior at that point of the War of Wrath, correct? Why not SHOW her brother slain by Sauron in front of our eyes and more importantly, in front of Galadriel. Make us understand her centuries’ long obsession is based on an actual event she witnessed but could not stop. You could even throw in the High King Gil-Galad and her elven warriors fighting, but not willing to risk their lives to vanquish Sauron, thus sacrificing her brother to the slaughter. Make Galadriel’s anger at them for cowardice in her quest to track him down visually palpable.

I think Clark did a fine job as an actor portraying one as an elf kindled by rage and hatred of Sauron, but I as a mere mortal myself who is not a warrior, I found it difficult to really ‘feel’ for her. It made me recall that 10 second moment in “Fellowship of the Ring” where Isildur witnesses his father Elendil bludgeoned to death by Sauron. The grief, fear and rage is all shown within those 10 seconds. As the viewer I understand every piece of that because I was ’shown’ Isildur going through that moment, not ‘told’. I hope if anyone in the writing teams are reading this review, please, I beg you, don’t fall into that trap of telling us about events constantly and expect us to still identify with that character as strongly as we did with those in the original movie trilogy. Unless you show us, it will be hard to want to keep watching this for another five years, let alone the next season. 

The Diversity of Language as a Showcase of Culture (“cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves”)

       The lack of Elvish itself within the narrative of the Elves themselves was bewildering. JRR Tolkien's expertise as a fantasy fiction writer was largely based on how detailed he went to make the races within those world so uniquely specific through language and culture. Professor Tolkien created almost 12 languages single-handedly.

      I had to recollect after the fact why the Elves felt so similar to the world of Men in the first episode and then it hit me: they chose to NOT use the Elvish language in scenes that were featuring only Elves. The main scene I refer to is when High King Gil-Galad of Lindon makes his congratulatory speeches to Galadriel and her warriors. If I'm to truly believe that the Elves are the lords of Middle-Earth, especially at Lindon's height of power, everyone in Middle-Earth would recognize that Elvish is the main language people would want to speak, not the other way around. At the very least, that should have been the focus within the Lindon sequences. All I heard was the Common Tongue (aka English). My guess is that Amazon is attempting to make the story as wide-reaching as possible for all their Prime users, but I could not find it more ironic of them assimilating the Elven culture to the Common Tongue for the sake of ‘universality’ all the while celebrating other choices they made. This is a lost opportunity to welcome in new watchers into the Tolkien world that felt like Tolkien’s making, rather than a company attempting to convince us they can mimic it.

The ending - “my people are leaving these shores”

Galadriel willfully plunging into the middle of the Sundering Seas after what seems like hundreds (if not thousands) of miles was one of the more blatant uses of a future Deus Ex Machina I’ve seen in decades for a big-budget production. It reminded me sadly how different a TV show set in Middle Earth will be structured than a film, with each ending of an episode leaving you dissatisfied with some mystery yet to be discovered (unless you watch the next one). But here’s the thing, and it galls me because I WANTED to like this episode - I felt no urge, no compulsion, no interest whatsoever to know about Galadriel’s plight. Frankly, that moment felt written forcefully to move the plot, not an organic choice that sprung out of creativity. 

A simple change in the story would create a desperate situation for our hero that would kindle our interest and sympathy. Why not have her elven warriors turn on her? If they were fed up with her relentless drive and ego to take down Sauron, why not one of her fellow warriors push her off the boat, denying her entrance into the eternal bliss of Valinor? It might have been initially cruel (and certainly a shock) but then the questions would percolate and make me want to see how she survives, rather than knowing in episode 2 she will be picked up by some kind of raft/ship/boat/etc. And why not we thicken the plot? What if the High King gives that order as his final command to the other elves? “Leave no trace” or something along those lines, and whisper that line in elvish in secret after the ceremony? Show that the corruption of Sauron, though still invisible, is starting to trickle into the veins of Linden itself.

“Here at the end of all things”

Bilbo Baggins was right, the power of the Ring does make one feel stretched and thin. Already I see the unfortunate gathering of what looks to be a beautiful-looking juggernaut of corporate fan fiction that cares not a button for what fans may or may not like. This I would be fine with if the show runners had insisted on better writing, which in turn would create engaging storytelling, regardless if they are taking Tolkien’s characters in a completely different direction than one would expect (or hope for). The Goodwill of all Free Folk will only go so far with this mindset. 

So, for those of you who continue to watch, I wish you all the health that the Shire can muster. For I will not be continuing to watch, as I have yet to encounter a person who tells me “you HAVE to watch the rest!”. Until that point comes, I will keep my Middle-Earth adventures tied more closely to Tolkien’s literary rendition, rather than that of a corporation insistent to regurgitate drone-shot-after-expensive-drone-shot, 3D printed armor (my personal theory, some of the costumes have that look rather than organically made by hand), the writing playing Balderdash with the Fellowship of the Ring prologue, and characters that are telling us their importance, rather than showing their importance through their actions. Like Samwise Gamgee said, “if I take one more step, this is the furthest from home I’ve ever been”. I felt like this show was leaving the home of Middle-Earth into a void of strangeness with no real voice of its own nor language than that of the Tongues of Men. And the “hearts of men are easily corrupted”. I hope I’m proven wrong but until then, I have other roads to walk on. 

Last thought - I have absolutely no problem with the show runners themselves. Frankly, I was impressed as first-time directors they were given the project and pulled off the season with the scale they had to handle. I’m hopeful that if they stick with it, and make a point to improve the writing, that their gamble will pay off to create a story that is memorable and brings people together in hope and one people will want to turn back to again and again. 

[girl-lostconnection]

Hear me out, my dudes/my gals/my stars

Unicorn!Reader x Shire!Simon x Kelpie!Soap

Reader who’s the prettiest fucking thing Simon has ever seen — eyes shining, the glossiest hair he has ever encountered and he knows that such pretty things are not for the likes of him.

But he can’t help but stop his work, coming closer to the fence — all heavy bulk and rolling muscles, deceptively soft steps as he watches you.

“A bit lost, luv?”, he hums out, licking his cracked lips when you turn to him, his breath stalling because well, fuck him, that’s an actual unicorn. Not just a pretty thing, are you?

You don’t come close, watching him out of the woods, even your skin glowing and god, he can bet his left arm you are soft as a cloud to the touch.

He can bet you will look so so good under him. With him.

Simon tilts his heavy head to the side, huffing out air, splintered lips curling upwards. Skittish. It’s good that you are careful, would want to make it too easy for him, would ya?

And then there’s Soap — unruly power and raw hunger and no fucking manners whatsoever, surfacing out of the lakes and streams, always a little too close for your comfort, always ready to invade your space.

Getting you closer and closer to the water, his carefree demeanour just as deceptive as Simon’s softness.

“Ye wound me, bonnie. Ah never would’ve done anythin’”, he swears when you bristle and step back into safety of the woods, his eyes on you so fucking hungry, his eyes never leaving you.

Soap can smell you a mile away, can feel you coming with a sixth sense, always there whenever you need to drink. Or wash, for that matter.

Soap who can also smell someone else’s scent mingling with yours, brows furrowing. Who’s there trying to take what’s his? Not fair, he was here first, he saw you first, he’s getting you first.

But Simon is bigger and Simon is heavier and Simon is older — glare as heavy as his kick is.

Soap just might be in love.

Might continue later

[overthinkinglotr]

One thing I miss in the Age of Streaming is DVD menus. I miss opening up Fellowship of the Ring and getting like, a cozy little menu with the Shire music pretending you were opening a book.

[shirecorn]

Streaming!

Mpreg Seahorses, frog fish, toad fish, straight up frogs?? Confusing and confound array of mermay, that have been requested via ko-fi!

Mermay Stream!

[skyscrapergods]

I love your AU and your art! ❤

I was wondering: have you read the comics? They are dubiously canon (some stuff is contradicted by the show, other times the show seems to subtly reference them so... lower tier cannon I guess? Where they can provide some valuable background info, but show canon wins out over comic canon) but they have some interesting stuff. Apple Jack's parents, how Nightmare Moon was created, and what I wanted to mention: The backstory for Cadence, Sombra, and the Crystal Empire.

I can ramble more if you want later (please I love to ramble), but the gist is that it's HEAVILY implied that Cadence is a sort of reincarnation of the Crystal Empire's first ruler/founder. If true, it makes Celestia's decision to make her the ruler of the Crystal Empire make more sense. Heck, near the end of the episode where the Crystal Empire is introduced, a crystal pony calls Cadence THE crystal princess.

Cadence, Sombra, and the Crystal Empire are honestly more intertwined than they seem, in the comics at least.

I just thought you might find this interesting bc it is so fascinating to me :)

I have not read the comics! I probably should, as half the fun of my worldbuilding is making homages to canon.

I'm a bit too deep in the sombra/cadance/nightmare moon lore to change it now. I've got things mostly planned out in my server with my patrons. I could Try though!

Skyscraper Gods Cadance is installed by Celestia to serve Equestria's interests. She is a colonizer upon the crystal empire, stepping into the power vacuum created by sombra's defeat.

If you want the details of everything I've been planning, please join my patreon or ko-fi (new!!!) on anay tier to see and help me worldbuild in real time

There's also some details given during my streams, though this is somewhat outdated. The Rise of Sombra:

The Fall of Sombra:

[galactic-magick]

Are the hobbits good at sex? AKA hobbit whore hours

Features both x Reader and x canon headcanons. Special thanks to bestie @supremeleaderoofpoof for discussing all of this with me and listening to me talk about hobbits literally nonstop lol

Frodo:

No, he’s not. He will absolutely learn though.

I think he’d find it really difficult to be in the moment. He’d need a partner who’s very patient and willing to take the lead most times.

He would be very good about aftercare, though. He loves cuddling up after and reading a book together.

He’d like to take things slow, both in a relationship in general and with sex. I headcanon him as demisexual personally. Like I genuinely don’t think sex is on his mind most of the time until he has that super deep connection with someone.

He’d be a super good kisser though I think. He loves kissing.

With Samwise, he’d be a pillow princess lmao. As I will talk about later, Sam is a PRO so Frodo would not have to worry about a thing. Sam has no problem taking the lead and focusing on Frodo’s pleasure over his own.

Samwise:

I don’t think I have to explain anything but I will anyway. Sam is INSANELY good at sex. Like, he canonically had 13 children, okay? All I’m saying is Rosie was getting treated GOOD

LOVES oral. Mostly giving but also receiving. He’s so good with his mouth it’s unreal

He’d be so nervous at first, whether it’s his first time ever or just with a new partner, but once he gets the hang of it he’s so confident and passionate

Aftercare legend as well. Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he’ll wind down with you and make a nice meal and bath before falling asleep, although once he’s older and there’s a bunch of kids he might pass out but he doesn’t mean to lol

Merry:

I don’t know why but I get the vibe from Merry that he thinks he’s very good at flirting and sex but he is absolutely not. It’s not because he’s disrespectful or selfish or anything like that, he just lacks some social awareness and always embarrasses himself when he tries to flirt.

So no, he’s not good at it, but he could be taught. You’d have to guide him a lot and tell him exactly what you want him to do. He’s very good at following directions, he just doesn’t have the innate instinct of how to move or where to put his hands etc.

Once he gets better at it though, I think he could be a switch. In canon I feel like Estella Bolger probably pegs him and he loves it lol

He’s the type to fall asleep right after sex. He feels bad about not staying up for aftercare but he always tires himself out. He prefers morning and day sex for this reason, he’d love doing it as the sunshine streams in through the windows and he’d even be down to do it outside by the river.

Pippin:

I’m definitely biased because he’s my hobbit husband but I genuinely think he would be good. He’s a golden retriever lover boy at heart and would do everything he can to make his partner feel amazing.

Also really good at eating out. You’re his seventh meal of the day, okay? He lovesss oral.

Has crazy stamina. He’ll go for as many rounds as you’ll let him.

His dick is bigger than average for a hobbit. Not to the point of it being painful, but still. I think in general the Tooks are bigger than average because they have an ancestor who was super tall and there’s theories of them having elf ancestry as well.

He’s a complete cuddle bug, so aftercare is very cozy and lovey dovey. He likes skin to skin contact and singing you to sleep. He also canonically loves baths and will definitely splash you.

Bilbo (Hobbit Trilogy Version):

He’s not, but he does have a lot of knowledge about it. He loves his books, and I’m sure there’s at least some books in The Shire about how sex works. So he knows how to do everything in theory but not in practice, basically.

He’s a fast learner, though. He would get the hang of it pretty quickly and get better with time.

Doesn’t have much stamina though. One round and he’s satisfied usually. And then he just wants to hold you by the fire with some tea.

With Thorin, he’d be in for quite the adventure lol. I headcanon dwarves as the freakiest of all the Middle Earth races so Thorin would introduce him to things that were definitely not in his books.

That said, I think Bilbo would be open to some kinky stuff.

General hobbit headcanons about marriage and sex:

Sex is not a taboo topic whatsoever among hobbits. It’s considered a natural and normal part of life and it’s not censored in conversation. Hobbits value love, marriage, and children greatly, and there’s really no reason for it to be a big deal.

Hobbits do tend to be fairly traditional though in their relationships. They usually go through a courting stage when they’re interested in marriage, and usually don’t have sex until their wedding night. Nobody would be shunned or judged if they didn’t wait, it’s just not the norm.

Divorce is unheard of in the Shire mainly due to everyone taking their time to choose their partners and being super loyal and devoted. Absolutely no “I hate my wife/husband” jokes, couples are genuinely in love with each other, and any mistreatment of one’s partner would be detrimental to your reputation.

Nobody’s going to the marriage bed knowing nothing. Young hobbits coming of age are educated by their parents and older siblings generally, and it’s not considered weird to ask questions about it. Hobbits aren’t super medically advanced, but they’re at least familiar with the anatomy and how stuff works.

Hobbits love going down on their partners. It’s weird if one doesn’t, honestly.

Everyone has full bushes. Hobbits are very hairy and they’ve probably never even heard of a razor. Body hair is so normal for them. And yes it’s curly lol.

Their dicks are generally more girthy than long. Dick size isn’t really a topic of concern though, hobbits don’t really care about it.

Hobbits aren’t usually freaky or kinky. There’s some that are, but it’s not the norm. They are very very passionate though.

They are very affectionate and silly during sex, they don’t get super serious during it. It’s supposed to be fun and full of love. Lots of smiles and laughter more than screaming lol. It’s not a performance.

There’s no birth control in The Shire, so if you’re one of the rare hobbits that doesn’t want children you’re going to have to get real good at pulling out or tracking your cycle lmao

[skyscrapergods]

ITS ME THE BIG HORSE

I've been in a couple draft horses episodes now! Come see me get hyped about my favorite pony of all: Me <3

Draft Horses anniversary episode!

We've been drawing horses together for a whole 365 days! (Give or take a few...) To celebrate, @timsplosion brings @shirecorn, @captainhoers, @melodymelancholyart, and @thebirdgang together to pay tribute to their fellow Draft Horses artists in the best way possible: putting their sonas in a blender! It's a lot less violent than it sounds, trust me.

Watch us super-combine at the live premiere on August 7, 3:30pm EDT/12:30pm PDT/7:30pm GMT. Make sure to turn on notifications too!

[silmarillion-ways-to-die]

Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, The Shire has a clock on his mantlepiece.

Nobody else in Middle Earth has clocks, outside The Shire and Bree. No clocks are mentioned in Gondor. They certainly don't have them in Rohan. Elrond doesn't announce the start of the Council of Elrond by saying "oh look at the time." Only Hobbits have clocks.

Only Hobbits have mills. Laketown has all that water and no mills. Erebor has a stream coming out of the entrance, where's the mill? What about Thranduil's halls, they have a river running through them, where's the mill?

The Hobbits of The Shire don't wear medieval clothing. It's all waistcoats and jackets—19th Century clothing. They might as well be wearing spacesuits!

And don't get me started on tobacco. Nobody in medieval Europe had tobacco.

Everyone in Middle Earth lives in the Middle Ages except the Hobbits. They're Victorian.

They're from The Future.

THE LORD OF THE RINGS IS A SCIENCE FICTION BOOK.

[eradore]

Combining two of @/acorn-and-oakleaves Shire Summer Festival prompts (might continue to do it this way as I am notoriously awful at completing these, and this would be easier.)

Prompts are: "I should very much like to kiss you right now" & "Please, put that down"

CW: jealousy. Not proof read.

Festival Masterlist

The sun is still low enough to stream through Bilbo's little window when he settles down at his desk. It's the perfect writing conditions: warm, golden light warming his face and hands, a mug of tea to warm the rest of him. There's a gaggle of women gathering round outside preparing for nice picnic on the river later and he's half a mind to see if they'd like company, but he decides he'd rather keep it for later. Besides, it wouldn't do to invite oneself along. Better to just make his own way down when he's finished with a nice snack of his own in arms and make such pleasant conversation they'll have no choice but to ask him to sit with them, he decides, taking another sip of his tea. He sighs in delight, noting the subtler tones of the blend, brewed to perfection. Yes, that'll be the way of it. But first, the writing needs done.

Eyes still closed as he revels in the soft hours between second breakfast and elevensies, his hands move on muscle memory alone, nib finding ink, soft press against the pad to ensure there will be no blots -

But he must not have done a very good job of it, because he only manages to stare in confusion at his empty easel for no longer than three seconds before the first ink drop falls to the desk with a definitive plop.

"It's too early for Dwarrow," he mutters, nose twitching. "Much too early." There's a frantic edge to his voice as he moves throughout his own dwelling, as if he's trying to reassure himself there's no possible way his house guests have found his writing. (It's not, definitely not. Since they've arrived, they've liked nothing better than to sleep all day so as to miss the sun and stay up all night drinking all his stores.) He's been nothing but gracious to them, staying up far past supper to entertain because he knows how much they prefer staying underground when it doesn't involve so much sunlight and windows. It would be some new manner of cruelty to pay him back this way, sneaking into his study at odd hours to pry into writings! He simply can't believe it of any of them. Perhaps if Nori had come, or Balin, being a cautious sort, but it's only Bifu and Bofur, Dwalin, Ori and Dori, and Thorin. Surely none of them would be the type to -

His grimace pulls from one side of the face to other as he looks down the wing where they're staying warily. There's a glow coming from under Thorin's door, as if he hasn't yet bothered to pull his drapes. "Far too early."

--

"Master Baggins," the king drawls once he's bid Bilbo enter. He's at the secretary, with his broad back turned to the door. Just busywork, Bilbo assures himself. A king must have accounts to review, after all, just because he's reading doesn't mean he's reading a Hobbit's silly memoirs.

"Uh, good morning," Bilbo hedges, cringing to himself as he slips one step closer in an attempt to peer over his guest's shoulder.

Thorin doesn't turn to him. There's a shuffle of papers as if a cast swath of book is being flipped past, and then the King's voice is just so slightly off when he asks, "What do you mean?"

Ah.

"No. No, no, no," Bilbo mutters as he stamps closer. "Thorin Oakenshield, that is not -!"

The man finally turns to him, his robe gaped wide to reveal a frankly indecent amount of chest hair and old, blue ink. Bilbo mildly notes that perhaps it's for the best he sleeps all day. He cannot imagine trying to join a picnic with this man in tow. Thorin's still got one hand on the desk, thick fingers propping Bilbo's Unexpected Journey open to a fair few pages. Bilbo notes with some horror how far he's been able to read.

"- ready for reading," Bilbo splutters. It's as good a reason as any to keep his guest from thumbing through it.

"I'll say," Thorin rumbles, leaning back toward the desk so he can turn to one of his marked pages. "You do know how secretive Dwarves are, yes?" He asks patronizingly.

Bilbo twitches, trying to catch a peek at the page before Thorin can say any more.

"You have gathered this?"

"Yes, I've gathered it!" Bilbo snaps, and the king gives him a rather unimpressed glare.

"So you can appreciate why Dwalin brought me this? Why he thought I might find it interesting to know exactly what you're writing about?"

"I've made no mention of any secret doors, or secret languages, or even secret stones," Bilbo snarks, trying to make a desperate lunge for the book.

"And yet you find the time to reveal so much more," Thorin counters, easily spinning out of reach with the book held aloft.

Bilbo could probably still grab it, but he will not participate in such petty games as keep away. "Put that down, please," he begs instead. He still has his pride.

"Braids, for example." Thorin recites, "'Dwarves are very particular about their hair, and their beards. There seems to be a language about it, one they seem neither inclined to tell me, nor lenient with my lack of knowledge upon. Since starting, I have offended Bombur by not knowing he whole host of children, embarrassed myself by not realizing I wasn't the only gainfully employed robber amongst ourselves, and apparently offered my services up as a cobbler. The only sense I can seem to make of all this is that King Thorin -.'"

"Right," Bilbo decides, lunging for the book. Thorin lifts it near to the rafters easily, leaving Bilbo hopping like a child after it as he continues, voice descending to the gravel.

"- 'keeps his beard short as a sign of repentance for the kingdom he believes himself to have lost.'" He glowers down at Bilbo impressively, his stringy hair hanging around them both. "Is this not secret?"

"I think it's possible you're being a little drama -!"

Thorin spins again, holding Bilbo back behind him now with a thick arm barring him from slipping past. "Or maybe beads and jewelry? You seem to know quite a bit about Dwalin's ear cuff," he accuses, and then his voice rises as if to continue reciting, and Bilbo makes a desperate bid to retrieve his book. He knows what that passage contains, knows he may have gotten a bit carried away talking about the other Dwarf's partially missing ear, and how prone he'd been to imagining the fight which took it. Bilbo had always been prone to imagining rather... impressive fights.

(Actually, he hadn't, thank you. Can trace the exact moment he'd become rather taken with them, but it would do him no ounce of good to mention that here, so he didn't.)

"You've made your point!" The Hobbit grits, still trying to lunge for his book.

"Have I?" The king counters, continuing to twist away. There's a rustling of pages before he continues to drone. "'There is, also, a language of tattoos, though those I cannot decipher. I have noted while bathing that each Dwarrow carries many more than he maybe ought, though of course that's easy for me to say considering I am not one. Dwalin is the most heavily decorated, of course. His inkings are not confined by the hem of his attire like the rest of them, and indeed the marking only get more dense as more skin is revealed -.' You know, you talk about Dwalin a lot in here."

Yes. Dwalin. "Will you please put that down now?"

"'They each carry a number of knots on their chests,'" Thorin continues, completely ignoring Bilbo, and the Hobbit pales. "'This is how I know they have a shared meaning, the placement and features are all too similar. Whatever they mean, Thorin wears the most with twin knots upon his breasts which bleed into an intricate belt of knots below. Jarring though they are, they cannot be called ugly, for the artist who did them seems to have had a great eye for form and figure, each line cast in a way to only accentuate the musculature there.'"

These last words are drawn out slow and accusatory as Thorin finally turns to face his host while slamming the book closed with enough force to send a gust of wind ruffling Bilbo's curls.

"Master Baggins," he drawls again.

"Don't!" The Hobbit snaps, wheeling away and shaking his finger as if trying to ward off the very air surrounding them, which has grown oppressive and close.

As always, Thorin ignores him. "I'd no idea you'd such a keen eye for figure."

"Thorin -!"

"Tell me, did you find Dwalin's decorations so well-suited for his musculature?"

Bilbo pinches the bridge of his nose. He'd rather talk about Smaug himself, or the Elves pass as breakfast than Dwalin at the moment; but he'd rather talk about the other Dwarf than the one in front of him, also. "Yes I suppose I found the ones upon his shoulders particularly complementary."

A beat passes. Another. Bilbo still cannot look his guest in the eye.

"I don't want to talk about Dwalin," Thorin decides, throwing the book rather unceremoniously onto the secretary. Bilbo scrambles after it, but the king hardly seems to notice, his voice lifted to be heard over the Hobbit's mad dash. "I want to talk about what possessed you to write about all this in the first place."

"Well, I lived among you for a year, I could hardly help but pick up on things," Bilbo defends peevishly, and then bites off his follow up with a cry when he realizes the book in his hands has been dogeared!

Thorin says something else - probably, at least, he always has needed the last word - but Bilbo isn't listening, rifling through the damaged pages to settle them back into position. He can't help but read as he goes, frustration not enough to suppress his curiosity. It's not until the third page that he spots the similarities.

Dwalin's ax, his family tree (near as Bilbo can puzzle it, at least.) Dwalin, Dwalin, Dwalin.

Well, at least Thorin hadn't been marking off mentions of himself. Bilbo can handle rewriting a damaged page or two, but the whole confounded book would have been a great ask.

"Thorin," he tries, clearing his throat.

The man in question continues to rant.

"Thorin."

"- Have you so little regard for our customs? You seem to know them well enough, and yet you forget -!"

Bilbo's nose is twitching, a sure sign he's about to do something stupid. "Thorin."

"- you continue to disregard all sense of -!"

"Thorin!"

The king's scowl is impressive as always. Ordinarily, it would be enough to make Bilbo wilt, but he's always prided himself on his ability to soldier through, when it's really important, and he believes this time it is.

Bilbo opens the book at random and slims until he finds the name. It's easy because it's always there, his spidery scrawl turned neat as he shapes the letters with precise care. "Thorin takes no breakfast most days, the royal fool. I do believe he is fueled by nothing more than contempt and duty. Me, I favor the little fried brook trouts Fíli caught this morning.' There, you see?"

For his part, Thorin quite obviously doesn't, continuing to glare at the Hobbit with such intensity that for a moment Bilbo feels as if they're back on the battlements and he swallows past the mounting fear building in his belly as he selects a new page. He's no time for doubt just now.

"Here, look," he says, turning the book so Thorin can see as he points to the Dwarf's name. Again and again he does this, nimble fingers drawn like a magnet to the neat letters. He's never noticed how the stand out on the page before. He's loath to rewrite all these pages as well, but this simply won't do. It's no wonder Dwalin would have brought Thorin the book, the meddlesome beast - not to his king, who would take umbrage with the security of all things, good gracious, but to his friend who he probably figured would want to know how lovesick his burglar was.

Must be they've always been this obvious.

"You see now?" He prompts, again guiding Thorin's eye to a paragraph evidently devoted entirely into chronicling the way the king's voice gets impossibly more gravelly in the morning. The rewrite is looking more and more likely by the minute.

"See what, Master Baggins?"

"Oh, you Dwarves -. You're so pigheaded!" Bilbo drops the book onto the bed, nearly fed up with the whole affair. "I'd say maybe I should spend the rest of these pages pining after Dwalin because at least he has some sense about him, but it seems we're too well matched, you and I."

"What are you saying?" Thorin fumes.

"Honestly, it's like you're trying to be obstinate," Bilbo mutters. And then, because he's long since learned the best route one can take when dealing with a Dwarf is the direct one, he clears his throat and says, "I'm in love with you, Thorin."

He expects to have to fight about it because they've done a lot of that through the years, but Thorin just looks dumbfounded. "You what?"

Bilbo stamps his foot. "I said I'm in love with you! Now don't ask me why, because for the life of me I can't come up with a singular good quality of yours, you jealous creature, but if you take another look at that book I'm sure you'll find a million of them -." Thorin makes to protest but Bilbo steams on, bullying into the king's space like he owns it because, well, it's his house and he does. "And I'm saying that I should very much like to kiss you now."

He's wrapped up in thick arms before he can even finish his demand.

divider by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[cthulhusstepmom]

The Many Willful Misunderstandings Of One Thorin Oakenshield, King Under The Mountain

Being alone is a truly exhausting experience. More so when one is surrounded by others making sure that they are quite pointedly aware that they are alone. Bilbo Baggins has been rather terribly alone amidst this dreadful company for several months by his reckoning. By this time, his mother’s blackberry bushes should be heavy with fruit and his prize winning tomatoes should be fat and ruby red on the plant; the thought only adds to his sour mood. Gandalf is as helpful as he has ever been, a familiar face in the crowd but not much more and his quizzical nonanswers grow irritating swiftly. 

Standing on the bank of a sluggish stream, Bilbo gazes down at his reflection in dismay. His companions had all rather boisterously claimed a large stretch of water as well as the banks on either side and, while there was of course no verbal acknowledgement of such things, it was clear that Bilbo was not welcome to join them. Which suited his purposes all the better, truth be told he had no desire to spend any considerable amount of time with those ruffians in the nude. But here, having separated himself by a handful of yards, Bilbo can appreciate just how alien his own form has become. 

It is common knowledge that the peak condition of a hobbit is rounded. The closer a hobbit is to being as wide as they are tall, the better a hobbit they are. Bilbo himself has long struggled with being quite gangly and gawkish by hobbit standards, having inherited the lanky Tookish build of his mother more than the rounded form of a proper Baggins. Putting and keeping weight on has given him no small amount of grief. And so it is to his great dismay that he looks down into the water and a face with sunken cheeks and pitted eyes glares accusingly back. His middle is precariously flat and on his arms, dare he even mention, looks to be the start of stringy muscles.

These dwarves and their love for skipping and skimping on even the barest of rations, Bilbo hadn’t had even a full three meals a day since he’d dashed out his front door. And perhaps to Durin’s hardy folk it’s all well and good to march through lunch without even stopping to boil hard tack or gnaw on jerky, but poor Bilbo Baggins has stingingly felt each bite of food stripping off his bones. For love of courtesy he’s not said a word, better to suffer in silence than to trespass on the already thin goodwill of his company. Every nut and every berry he has gathered has all been surrendered to the steady eye of Balin and the clever hands of Bombur, to keep even a portion for himself would be so unforgivably selfish he’d have to hang up the name Baggins and never look his cousins in the eye so long as his hairy feet tread the fair paths of the Shire.

Gazing down at his warped reflection Bilbo can’t help but feel discouraged. He doesn’t feel much like a hobbit; he’s far from his creature comforts, his mother’s plants, his father’s books. The roots that ground him to his legacy are a thousand and one steps in the other direction. He doesn’t look much like a hobbit either he thinks, halfheartedly combing his fingers through hair that’s grown long and unruly on the road. His best and second best travel waistcoats are utterly ruined, light cotton worn absolutely through from the rough nature of their trek. Clothes that had seen him through many a walking holiday ripped and threadbare under the stress of this godsforsaken journey. 

Hearing the sounds of his compatriots begin to shift and rise in excitement, Bilbo quickly redoubles his efforts to scrub the worst of the road from his skin; the last thing he needs is for them to bring their heckling even here. The rowdy play of the dwarves grows closer and closer, Bilbo freezing in place and hoping that the small stand of reeds he’d chosen shelters him from scrutiny. A large shape moves just upstream and Bilbo’s gaze darts only to meet the stony eyes of Dwalin, looking on unimpressed. Though seemingly his condescension falls not squarely on the hobbit’s shoulders.

As their gazes meet, he catches the slightest hint of evaluation in the warrior’s flinty eyes. Bilbo holds his breath. By all means he’s really doing nothing shameful, beyond lamenting his overall sorry state, there really isn’t anything to hide or feel guilt for. Nothing but the screaming urge for just a moment of privacy for this most vulnerable time. The dwarves all know he has a soft underbelly (regardless of his actual soft underbelly carving away from hunger) and Dwalin, while certainly not the worst, has never spared him before now, Bilbo quietly prepares to endure pointed barbs and sharp remarks. 

Even as he does so, Dwalin averts his eyes and moves away, calling some stern words to the youngest members of their company that Bilbo's relief washes from his ears. A glowing coal at such a small kindness burns dimly in his chest as he hastens to finish his frantic scrubbing and begins to wash his clothing. So occupied in his task he doesn’t feel another stormy gaze pinned on his every movement. 

Lazy afternoon hours turn their shade into the evening as Bilbo whittles away his time at the river. The splashing sounds have long since faded as each dwarf finished their bathing rituals and returned to their camp to begin dinner, Bilbo to his credit faces the duty of washing dishes and feels no such need to rush. What occupies him at this moment is the sorry state of his clothes. After a few good scrubs in the river, the worst of the grime has been defeated, though to his dismay it simply revealed more patchwork he’d need to do. Which is now the way his efforts tend. He’d sacrificed his lovely mustard yellow vest to make patches and now found himself occupied in the patching of his clothes. 

He’s in the middle of a tricky stitch when a voice startles him.

“Dori is a tailor.” 

“Yavanna’s tit!” Bilbo squeaks, quite accidentally plunging his needle deep into the flesh of his thumb and subsequently letting out a slew of other curses. Looking up from his predicament, thumb sorely in his mouth, Bilbo meets the unmoved gaze of the leader of the company. Thorin Oakenshield stands in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and a thunderous expression on his face. 

Gathering that he was meant to speak now from a stately raised eyebrow, Bilbo clears his throat. “Er, sorry?” 

“Dori is a tailor. Would you not seek his skill?” 

Bilbo knew that Dori was a tailor, thank you very much, as much as he also knew that Dori held no love for hobbit garments if the grumbled opinions on his clothing were anything to go by. 

“Er yes, and a rather good one I’ve seen. But my ability is reasonable enough in mending that I wouldn’t trouble him for a few holes in a waistcoat. I wouldn’t like to waste his time.” In truth he would quite like to sit down with Dori to discuss their shared skill set perhaps over a mug of tea, but that didn’t seem to be in his future with the haughty dwarf so he thought it best left unmentioned. 

“You presume his craft is a waste of time?” Thorin’s eyes narrow even further. 

“Master Oakenshield just as I would not call a master artisan to fix a hole in my plaster, I will not trouble Dori with patching my troll ruined wardrobe. My only presumption is that he’d frown upon the imposition I would cause.”

With a smart nod, Bilbo returns to his sewing, uncomfortably aware of the eyes on him. After a minute, two minutes, five minutes, Bilbo sighs and quickly gathers his things. It’s nothing he can’t finish on his watch tonight. Standing, still with no commentary from their fearless leader, Bilbo clears his throat once more. “Ahem, quite so, I will be headed back now… Good evening.”

Sitting neatly, though he cannot say the same for his raucous companions, near to another fire on another night, Bilbo busies himself with writing in his journal. It’s nothing truly extraordinary, simply a small leather bound tome filled with blank pages for his thoughts to fill. He had hoped upon packing such a journal that he would have the unique opportunity to chronicle their quest in progress, though thus far it has been filled with only the inane ramblings of a lonely hobbit. He writes of what he foraged that day and all of the plants he recognized, even going so far as to sketch some of the greenery whose name and nature eluded him so that he might look it up should he ever step foot in a proper library again. And it is as he is sketching a handsome little wildflower that he is quite rudely interrupted.

“What do you write there?” Turning his startled gaze up from his he meets the vexed stare and crinkled brow of one Thorin Oakenshield. 

Bilbo had thought today was a good day too, a good day of course meeting the criteria of 1) largely avoiding or being avoided by heavy handed dwarven scrutiny and 2) not being killed or eaten by orc, warg, or troll. Thusly he was quite taken by surprise and responded rather hotly the first thing that came to his mind.

“What business is it of yours?” He can feel his eyes go wide at his own presumption, though His Majesty’s stormy gaze only draws tighter and more thunderous. 

“My business is the business of what secrets a careless hobbit may write down and leave lying around for any foe to find.” He barks. 

Stung by his distrust Bilbo sniffs distastefully. “If you must know Master Oakenshield, I am journaling. I had hoped to keep a somewhat revised account of our travels, I promise you’ll find no great secrets here.” He says, gesturing to the sketch of the wildflower with great umbrance. Only this reassurance does little to lighten their leader’s displeased stare. 

“Ori is a scribe, do you discount his work as lesser than your own?” 

Catching his gaze across the fire, Bilbo notices that Ori indeed has the appearance of a scholar; ink stains fingertips that at this very moment are scribbling furiously away in a large tome. The young dwarf blushes and averts his gaze, setting down the pen as though it were suddenly liable to bite.

“And one of no small talent I am sure!” Bilbo proclaims before turning back to Thorin. “Master Oakenshield, if you’ll pardon my candor, history does not hurt by more mouths in the telling of it. Ori may write his masterwork while I record my own thoughts and none shall supersede the other.” 

Gandalf makes a pleased noise somewhere behind him and Bilbo has to restrain a rather Took-ish snicker at the snapping frustration in Thorin’s expression as he turns away and storms back to his own seat. 

Rivendell proves to be its own bag of both troubles and delights.

On the one hand: The architecture of the elves is stunning, a brilliant and awe inspiring environ that takes his breath away at every turn. For the first time in weeks his belly is full of good and healthy foods (he simply must acquire the recipe for the vinaigrette of the acorn salad they’d had at brunch), and his ears are full of airy uplifting songs instead of the grumbling of touchy dwarves and his own empty stomach. Their accommodations are phenomenal, Bilbo is quite certain he’d never been quite so grateful to see a feather mattress in his entire life. It is, all in all, a welcome and well needed reprieve from the road. 

But on the other hand…

“I will not tolerate the waffling of cowards and thieves! Nor will I be held hostage!” 

The leader of their expedition was in a truly exceptional bad mood (even by his own previously established standards). Each offering of their hosts is received with thinly veiled hostility at best and loud criticism at the worst; the food, the rooms, the meetings with Elrond, none of them hold up to the lofty scrutiny of their wandering king. Every further insult to hospitality has Bilbo flushing quite red about the ears, the trained Baggins’ socialite in him dying at each slight and jab. It’s just as well with the rest of the company too, with the occasional exception of Balin, each dwarf participates in the brutal slaughter of any and all etiquette present heretofore. 

Bilbo takes to slipping away as often as he can. While the rest of his fellowship is training at axe or sword, the lone hobbit may be found (well hopefully not, he’d not be doing a terribly good job of hiding away if he were found) wandering through the gardens or perusing the library. He is aware of course that it makes for a poor solution to his problems in the long run, when the time comes the company will move on and he with them, but in the meantime it offers a sorely needed relief of solitude. 

It is on a day when it is sorely needed indeed that Bilbo finds himself stumbling into an airy and beautiful kitchen. The counters are a bit high for his stature and perish the thought of a homey wood stove like he’s used to. But the cupboards are full of diverse and intriguing ingredients and the larder is stocked to bursting with fresh and preserved foods alike. Bilbo notices with no small amusement an entire set of shelves dedicated to housing cured meats and cheeses; such fare had yet to make its way to the table of he and his fellows, much to the dismay of his rather more carnivorous travelling companions. Racks of exotic spices call to him with siren song, begging for his perusal. 

A young elf with a joyous countenance provides him with a step stool wrought so smoothly it may as well have grown to the purpose. The youth gives him free reign of the space to work to his contentment (which has Bilbo’s own countenance growing rather joyous) and bids him good wishes as he goes on his way. The hobbit can’t quite contain himself when he spies a selection of mushrooms tucked on a shelf just at the top of his reach. If there is one common ground with which a hobbit can draw to a dwarf it may well be coveting treasures of the earth, though the hobbit’s are a fair bit squishier and tastier than gold or gems. He sets about preparing a true feast fit for a king (wayward or otherwise). 

Chunks of springy shelf mushroom are sauteed in a pan with lemon, he mashes some potatoes with copious amounts of rich butter and fresh cracked pepper, dark and tender greens are wilted into a light and tangy sauce to add a bit of bitter repose. Thin strips of a truly monstrous white puffball start the process of becoming jerky for the road. A poppyseed and lemon loaf floods the hall with a bright and citrusy aroma. He toils away in this kitchen just as he would in Bag End, despite the many miles and hardships in between. It is not meant for any one in particular, Bilbo had quite accidentally made far more than he had anticipated, so excited as he was to ply his expertise with tools far more deserving than a spluttering campfire. He supposes he’ll offer the meal to the company, or perhaps to the elves to give to the company. Or perhaps just to the elves, it seems as though they might appreciate his efforts far more than his contractually bound comrades. 

It is as he ponders such things that his peace is quite rudely interrupted. 

“What exactly are you doing Master Baggins?” 

Bilbo can’t even bring himself to act surprised, after living under such intense scrutiny these passed months it’s a wonder he’s surprised by anything at all anymore; let alone the unannounced arrival of a lone critical dwarf.

“I’m cooking.” His next words hasten to beat Thorin to the punch. “And yes I know that Master Bombur is our cook, having sampled of his trade many a time I would go so far as to label him a master of the art.”

The king not currently under the mountain seems taken aback before summoning back the familiar perturbed contempt. 

“You would presume to measure his skill? What would you know of his trade?”

Bilbo raises an unimpressed eyebrow. It is one thing to question him on passing handy tasks or hobbies, but to berate a hobbit over his cooking? And a Baggins at that? This is a true and unforgivable trespass that will not be allowed to go uncorrected; the kind that has caused many generational feud upon the fair soils of the Shire.

“I will have you know Master Oakenshield that I have been studying the culinary arts since before I could properly say my own name. When I was barely a tween I perfected my first souffle and since then I have created countless recipes and won my own fair number of awards for those recipes. There is a great deal that I am uneducated and inexperienced in concerning the wider world beyond the Shire, Your Majesty, but until you know the difference between braising and marinating, I should appreciate it if you were to keep your thoughts to yourself on the matter forthwith.”

For the first time in recent memory, Thorin Oakenshield appears to be stunned into silence. Riding high on this small victory, Bilbo shoves a dish into his hands. 

“Now follow me, the sulphur shelf will become far too rubbery if it goes cold.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65736589/chapters/169289479