Thilbo Baggenshield

[brobadil]

Bilbo: I told Thorin his ears flush when he lies.

Dís: Why?

Bilbo: Look.

Bilbo: Hey Thorin! Do you love us?

Thorin, covering his ears: No.

Dís:

[catchymemes]

[frumpycunt]

so i just finished watching the extended editions of the trilogy which is nearly 13 hrs long and this meme is correct somehow. this is the only line legolas speaks to frodo in the entire series. the only other debatable line is a scene in fellowship where legolas is speaking to gimli but frodo just happens to be near them and he’s cut to for a reaction shot. i wouldn’t really count it though since it wasnt directed at him.

[frumpycunt]

someone already posted this but the kicker is at the end of return of the king where frodo sees the fellowship again and calls out to everyone by name except for legolas lmaooo

[friendlybatteringram]

[lycheesodas]

PLS i swear i saw this in another version of this post but i can’t find it now 😭

if anyone knows who wrote this scenario tag them so they can have credit asldfjslkf

[sea-of-serpents]

[jcash91]

I laughed so hard at this.

[2460onetruepairing]

It actually gets funnier if you read this in Sir Ian McKellen’s voice.

[zagreus]

and people say jar jar tolkien wasn’t funny

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

I knew it was coming but I still laughed so hard

[emilybeemartin]

I had a dream that Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were solving a murder mystery in a giant mansion. Legolas kept eating popcorn.

[emilybeemartin]

Part II

[ithrilyann]

It’s a token.

[stupidfatpenguin]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Ok, so that warm-up prompt from a couple of days ago? It grew on me, and here’s the result. Thank you to everyone who encouraged this, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Summary: Thorin loses his memory and quite forgets that the hobbit by his bedside whom he wishes to court and marry is already his husband. Everyone else find this hilarious.

-

The first thing Thorin sees when he wakes is his own hand resting on the bedsheets. Atop it rests another, smaller hand. It feels warm and looks soft, the skin unworried by forge burns and blemishes. It is not a dwarf’s hand; he knows as much. Yet he cannot quite gather for himself if that is of any importance.

Curious, still sleep-addled and unwary, he follows the hand to where a slender wrist disappears into a deep, blue coat-sleeve of fine make; up and up his gaze trails and finally settles upon the face of the most enchanting being Thorin has ever laid his eyes upon.

He tries to turn his head to get a better look, but the movement is far more difficult than it should be and his vision swims before him. He groans for the dizziness that hits him, but once it clears the dream-like being by his bedside is still there, its hand clutching his gently.

“You… are not a dream.” He croaks the words out, for his throat is parched with long sleep.

“No, I’m right here with you,” says the being, his voice a sweet and comforting sound. He reaches for the bedside table and fills a cup there with water. “Here, drink this.”

He holds the cup up to Thorin’s lips, and he drinks deeply and gratefully, but struggles to keep his eyes off the fay-like creature over the blurred rim of the cup. He is quick to quench his thirst, and once the cup is put down he returns to observing him, trying to puzzle together what such a mysterious, sweet little thing is doing by his bedside.

He can see now that he is clearly no dwarf, for his face is entirely bare of growth, excepting the many tussled curls that frame it. Yet, this does not detract from his comeliness: indeed, something in Thorin finds the sight of him very pleasing, although again he cannot say why that is. He is small, smaller and softer than a dwarf, yet he is decidedly not a mannish child. His face is not that of a youth; his eyes are wizened and set a little deeper.

The word ‘halfling’ comes to mind, and although that might be what he is, Thorin would believe it if he told him he was a fairy sent to give him pleasant dreams. And what pleasant dreams they would be, for the very sight of him sets him alight, stirs fire and heat in every part of his being, and he cannot but think that he must be the most beautiful creature in all the world.

“Thorin?” The sound of his name from the halfling’s lips startles him out of his stupor, and he realises he must have tried speaking to him. But as their eyes meet Thorin cannot remember why it would be important.

“Mahal…” He breathes and looks at him. “How he is gracious, to bless me with such a sight for my weary eyes.”

The halfling tries to conceal a laugh, turns his head away in a poor attempt to hide it. It only serves to make him more stunning, the fall of his lovely bronze curls around a leaf-like ear, and the comely crinkles at the corners of his eyes. And his smile…

“Did the healers send you?”

“Of sorts,” he admits softly, his hand again atop Thorin’s, stroking the skin there. He feels soft. “They said I might wait a while but. I wanted to be here when you woke up.”

He gasps, feeling for a long moment utterly awed that such a lovely being has been waiting by his bedside, looking over him, nursing him, holding his cup to his mouth for him to drink. He feels humbled, his senses yet too dulled to allow any of the embarrassment he knows he should feel for… whatever reason. It must not matter much, for all he can think of is how he should very much like to see this halfling each and every time he wakes. For the remainder of his days.

“What is your name?” Thorin has to know it.

The halfling looks at him, confusion apparent on his face. “You don’t remember me?”

“I should like to very much,” he confesses, breathily. “Have we met?”

The halfling gives him a small smile that has his chest aflutter, but Thorin dislikes the worry marring his brow. “Yes, a long time ago. My name is Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

“And I at yours.” He gives him what he hopes is a meaningful look. “Gladly so.”

The halfling snorts behind a closed fist, attempting to conceal it with a cough, but his cheeks redden as prettily as Thorin had imagined they would. A hint of satisfaction curls in his belly, but before he can say more there is a knock on the door and another dwarf —Balin! His old friend! — enters.

“Balin! Thank goodness you’re here.”

-

Read the rest on ao3

[stupidfatpenguin]

Warm-up Prompt - The Hobbit (Bagginshield)

Prompt:  Hi! I really love your domestic bagginshield in the shire shorts. I feel like their like a series like they belong in the same universe. Can I prompt you to write mor bagginshield fluff? like go wild, it can be fluffy, can be sexy, whatever you want! Maybe something with Thorin wearing hobbit clothes, or Thorin appreciating Bilbo’s clothes? Or him REALLY appreciating when he takes them off for the day, removes his cravat and jacket and shows a little skin Victorian style! Thank you ily

-

Thorin and Bilbo reenact their first meeting. NOTE - rated around T/M ish

-

“Your shirt,” says Thorin, quite out of the blue, and Bilbo looks down his front to see if he’s there is a spot of tea or jam or anything equally embarrassing on it. He is relieved to find nothing and looks up at the dwarf with an eyebrow raised in question.

Thorin sits mute, his still-smoking pipe forgotten in his hand. He looks on for long moments still, seems almost lost to a thought before he lifts his gaze to meet Bilbo’s inquiring face.

“It is familiar to me. Did you not wear this on the evening we met?”

“Oh!” Bilbo glances down in surprise.

It is but a plain cotton nightshirt, and not nearly his finest. It is more beige than white, made of a thin, striped fabric. Its sleeves are much too wide, and its cut far too loose to be of practical use while cooking or gardening—but it is soft and gentle on his skin. It is sewn for comfort rather than for appearing fashionable, and Bilbo would never wear it outside the solitary comforts of his home—much less for hosting any company.

Although, now that he thinks on it, he remembers (with no small amount of embarrassment) that he already has. “You know what, I think you’re right. But it’s not really—it’s my nightshirt. For wearing at night. To bed.”

Thorin looks at him curiously. A teasing smile plays on his mouth. “I’m familiar with the concept of bedwear, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo presses his lips into a tight line not to splutter over his words. “What I mean to say is that it’s not really proper hosting company whilst wearing one’s nightclothes. Although in my defence my company was entirely unexpected, see. In fact, there were already twelve dwarves and a wizard in my house by the time I had a moment to put my trousers on!”

“There is nothing to worry about. I’m certain none of your guests were well-versed in hobbit propriety,” Thorin reassures, letting the mouthpiece of his forgotten (now-extinguished) pipe rest on his lip. “Besides, it is not… unbecoming on you.”

Bilbo frowns, trying to puzzle out exactly what he means by that. “No no no, yousaid that I looked like a grocer.”

Now it’s Thorin’s turn to frown. “I did not.”

“Oh, come on! As if you don’t remember,” Bilbo scoffs, but the look Thorin gives him tells him he really does not—or cares not admit it. He sighs through his nose. “Look, it was a very mortifying evening for me, and I remember it quite clearly! The moment I opened the door you strode in all smug and arrogant and began questioning me about swords and axes and whatnot, and—no, wait no.Gandalf opened the door for you, didn’t he?”

“I believe he did,” Thorin agrees, nodding faintly as if recalling a memory. “You made a fuss about the mark on the door.”

“Well it had been painted only the week before!”

Thorin does not share his recalled distress but gives a nod of acknowledgement. “It’s due another stroke tomorrow morning, I think. If the weather keeps.”

Bilbo must fight the sweet flutter in his heart at this casual remark. These are the little things that, before Thorin, he had to keep track of all by himself. Still, he refuses to let himself be cajoled to complacency by the dwarf’s charming thoughtfulness concerning the upkeep of Bag End. He huffs and tries to recall his crossness. “Yes, thank you. It is about due. But as I recall, it was only just after Gandalf had introduced us that you began questioning and berating me rather rudely. In fact, I’m quite certain you had decided to dislike me from the very moment you walked through my door!”

Thorin glares at something on the floor with evident distaste, as if whatever memories plague him then displeases him to think of. “You might be right on that account, and I admit my failings there. It was not fair to you. But truly, was I so very harsh on you that night?”

There’s a moment of contemplation between them filled only by the cackling of the fire and the faint music of the Shire in the evening through the window.

“Come on, then,” says Bilbo finally and drags the dwarf out of his chair and to the front door.

“What are we doing?” asks Thorin with some mild amusement. He takes a moment to put down his extinguished pipe on the mantle over the hearth as he follows the hobbit out of the parlour. He lets Bilbo arrange him to stand with his back to the closed door, facing the many rooms and hallways of the smial.

“Let me see… you came in through here, and Gandalf was… he opened the door from this side, and I was…” Bilbo wanders around the entrance hall for a moment, then places himself just beyond the doorway to the parlour. “…here! Right, so after you knocked, we all came out to the hall and Gandalf opened the door.”

“Are we re-enacting our meeting, Master Baggins?”

“We’re making sure you remember it!” replies Bilbo, paying no mind to the teasing lilt and use of titles Thorin takes to whenever he wishes to get a rise out of him. “Now, the door opens, and you come inside. You say something about the way being hard to find, and… and then you make a comment on the mark on the door.”

Thorin raises an eyebrow at the directions, but walks forward, nonetheless.

“No, no—you were more, hm. It was more of a saunter. Tall shoulders, more confident.”

“Saunter,” Thorin mimics, humoured by the hobbits wavering gestures as he attempts to direct his own memory of the evening.

Bilbo sighs his annoyance at his tone. “Just, alright. Try it one more time.”

Thorin does, slower this time. He raises his chin as he takes the first steps, but he does not quite manage to quell his amused smile as he listens to Bilbo’s soft narration of the events. He is starting to find this little play of theirs rather entertaining, and so he plays along to his hobbit’s little whims.

He walks through this door and these halls so regularly that it’s hard to recall just what he had thought and felt that very first time. But then, just for a short moment, he can almost envision it: how the warmth of Bag End had washed over him, chasing away the chill of the evening and long weeks on the road with its inviting light and sense of comfort. He remembers looking in, wondering on the inconspicuous yet plentiful circumstances of Gandalf’s proposed fourteenth. For a moment, he can almost remember unclasping his travelling-cloak, taking account of all the dwarves gathered in the doorways, meeting his nephews’ smiling faces for the first time in weeks and turning as Gandalf introduces him to the small, unremarkable creature that is to be their burglar.

“That was perfect,” says Bilbo. “Just as I remember it. And then Gandalf introduced us, and that was when you said—”

“So. This is the hobbit.”

The words return to him with an ease he had not thought possible, and as he looks at Bilbo then, to his perturbed expression and tussled bronze hair, the bracers tight on his shoulders of that same, loosened shirt, he almost forgets that they are not surrounded by twelve other dwarves and a wizard observing their first meeting.

Bilbo looks at him, the confusion morphing into amazement after that short, fleeting moment. “Yes! That was exactly right.”

“Wait.” Thorin halts him before he can launch into another bout of new directions. Bilbo looks down with a scrunched nose, almost leaning back as Thorin lifts his hands to his nightshirt to undo the topmost button.

“What are you—” he begins, a note of anticipation to his heightened voice, but Thorin pulls back once this is done.

“There,” says the dwarf. “You wore your shirt like so.”

Bilbo looks at him, blinking his eyes for a long quiet moment. “I… yes, perhaps you’re right. I had thought to change out of it, but—there was that sound down the hallway, so I only grabbed my trousers. I must have left it unbuttoned.”

Thorin gives him an amused grin as he recounts these details, as if he has to explain himself for a misconduct of sorts. He halts him as he goes to redo the buttons, however.

“Keep it so,” he insists. “It enhances my recollection.”

Bilbo bites his lip briefly, considering this. “Right. Fair enough.”

He clears his throat after another moment of feeling for the mutual anticipation budding between them, and promptly returns to his narration of the memory they are recreating.

“Right. So just after you said that, you began—”

“I remember well enough,” says Thorin, and begins to circle the hobbit who only nods minutely, trying to fall back into his own character. “Tell me Mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

“Pardon me?” replies Bilbo with but a moment’s hesitation, feeling a heady rush of excitement as Thorin walks about him, eyes never once leaving his form.

“Axe or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?”

“Well, I have some skill at conkers, if you must know. But I fail to see… why that’s relevant.”

“Though as much,” Thorin concurs. “And what of your other skills?”

Bilbo blinks. “Thorin, that’s not—”

“I hear you are quick to think on your feet,” Thorin continues over him, undeterred as he leans further into his space. “That you move quietly and unseen. Light on your soles. Brave. Unexpected for one of your size.” He brushes his thumb over the topmost, free button that rests over a tantalizingly bare collarbone. “Good manners. Well-spoken. I’m particularly intrigued by your talents in the diplomatic arts… I’ve been told on good authority that you have a very clever little mouth.”

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s face has gone many shades darker, with embarrassment, yes, but also want. Yet, he keeps his gaze steady as he looks at him resolutely. “That is not what you said to me, and nor would you ever say such things before your kin and companions.”

“You are quite right,” Thorin agrees, still toying with the collar of the shirt. The tips of his fingers intermittently brush against the skin beneath, and Bilbo tries his best to ignore the tingling rush of want that ignites in him when they do. “Then this must be a later hour, long after the rest have found their peace. They have a long journey ahead, come morning. So, Master Burglar.”

An arm around his waist brings him flush against the dwarf prince, forcing him to stand on the very tips of his toes. The fingers at his collar trails sweetly down his arm to find his hand, lifting it so that Thorin may press his lips to the knuckles there in a promising kiss.

“Tell me your thoughts,” Thorin implores, his lips pulsating against his hand, making it harder to think of anything else but the warm arms around him and the mouth on his skin. “Are you considering your contract still? If there are any conditions you would like to discuss with your employer, I am at your disposal.”

“This—Thorin, this was not part of the game,” he tries, but there is little heat to it now.

“There are no games, Master Burglar.” Thorin presses a long, beseeching kiss to meat of his palm, parting from it with a soft smack. “Only a dwarf prince in exile looking to employ the burglar who saunters before him in his hardly buttoned nightshirt. Tell me, then.” He lets his breath touch his ear, knowing how it affects him. “How may I convince you to join in this venture?”

And despite his first grievances, Bilbo in truth enjoys very much where this game is going. What choice is there, really, but to play right along.

“Well.” He breathes the word more than he speaks it, but his voice hitches still as Thorin’s eyes meet his, darkened with what he can only describe as hunger. “It will be a very dangerous journey. And I am only… very small, as you’ve said. For all I can sneak around, I might be in need of protection, from time to time.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. I might need to be pulled up from the edge of a cliff, for all you know.” He does not fight the teasing smile that grows on him then, bringing his free hand up to touch his dwarf’s bearded chin. “So how about, for a start, you show me if you have the strength to manage such a task—and if you do well, perhaps I shall have to demonstrate the talents of my mouth for my future employer.”

He is, not a moment later, heaved up with impossible ease. He is light as a feather in Thorin’s arms, wrapped around him as the dwarf carries him through the hall and to the bedroom where he makes sure to leave many heady kisses on his exposed collar, and many marks for Bilbo to discover sooner or later.

It is well into the night when they, a while later, lie abed with the fires stroked low and Bilbo voiced his initial grievance from earlier that evening.

“You did call me a grocer, you know,” he insists softly against Thorin’s shoulder. He does not say, and all you remember is how many buttons on my shirt were undone, but snorts softly as he thinks it.

“Then I was a fool.”

Bilbo inhales, feeling the admission somewhat misplaced. “No, no you were not. You simply voiced what you saw, and what I was. The hobbit I was—I would have doubted him, too. Far be it for the two of us to expect that… that I would find my courage. Well. Gandalf apparently suspected, but. No, I don’t blame you for not seeing a potential so well concealed I could not see it myself.”

Thorin hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but continues to stroke his fingers through his hair in a pleasing manner that almost sends him drifting asleep.

“To think… had I only known.” Thorin wonders aloud.

“Well, you couldn’t have. And best we don’t think to change anything, for I cannot think of a much happier result for us. Well. I should still have liked to have my handkerchiefs.”

Thorin chuckles softly, and Bilbo admires his grin with a smile of his own. “I only meant to say that had I known sooner our burglar would rob my heart so thoroughly—and that his mouth was so clever… perhaps I should have tumbled him that first evening.”

Bilbo smacks him on his chest, but means no ill by it, even as the dwarf rumbles with laughter at his expenses; instead he lets himself be wrapped into his embrace and lulled asleep by the heavy heartbeat in his ear. He does not dream of second chances and such whimsical things, but he does dream of having pockets full of handkerchiefs in the most convenient situations, it is the best sleep he has had in a long time.

-

Prompt by: anonymous

(This really is turning into a small, silly series, tbh. Should I post them to ao3? In that case, should I make them separate stories in a collection or chapters in the same work? What do you think?)

Send me prompts!

[captain-flint]

when people say thorin is not fit to be a king/leader or would be a shitty king under the mountain if he’d survived like wow did you just erase the past 100 years where he spent literally and figuratively bleeding for his people, trying to find them a new home and then ruled so well they prospered again ?????? “you have built a new lifefor us in the blue mountains a life of pEACE A ND PLENTY” HAHAH WHAT!? REALLY?! ??

[ithrilyann]

#Remember when Balin said ‘A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor’? #Yeah well because Balin is no idiot and he knows what he’s talking about #Thorin would do anything for his people even give his life if necessary #Just look at the Battle of Moria where he gave his everything and then later when he genuinely led his people successfully #So don’t come here and tell me he’s not fit to be a king or leader because he has all the abilities necessary #Thorin would have been the greatest of them all

via thorinds (x)

[chalsfanforce-deactivated202003]

The only one who makes the king kneels

[galpalkirk]

also bilbo: follows dwarves across the world, gets to erebor and still doesn’t know what the fuck he was actually hired for, he just ran out the door because thorin’s singing gave him ”uncomfortable dreams” (book quote)

[nerdeeart]

All i wanted to do was draw Bilbo in a robe, and then this happened.

[soursoppi]

can’t go wrong with flowers

[soursoppi]

mmmm glasses

[soursoppi]

Your hobbit woodland au is so cute and pretty and interesting! It’s really funny that humans are still human lol. What are hobbits in that au?

waffled between a dryad or a fae but since I made (almost) everyone furry, I may as well continue the theme lol- they’re distant relatives to them mochi-making moon bunnies and just as inexplicably clothed as peter rabbit. 

[soursoppi]

ITS SO AWESOME THAT YOU LIKE THE HOBBIT!!! thorin looks so handsome in your style ahdhsjjsksk

i’m just so weak for that stupid sexy dwarf

+ an extra doodle 😆cause I can’t resist

[seadeepspaceontheside]

Wabba wabba  support me with a coffee

[soursoppi]

deep in THOT