how can he not know what the hobbit is


Kíli can’t tell elf genders apart, he just finds everyone really pretty.

(I headcanon that dwarves express their gender with braids, as it’s simple but effective and can be changed as the individual sees fit. As elves don’t have a similar system, younger Dwarves find it difficult to address elves with proper pronouns, because “what do you mean we have to guess based on their features? Assume based on stereotypical traits, how impolite!”)

mrsmarymorstan  asked:

Second Thought: The Hobbit is also a REALLY long version of Gigolas How I Met Your Mother. Right down to the "What is this goblin mutant?" - Yes kids I can confirm your father WAS there that day... I just didn't know it yet..."

okay this is it, the ask that killed me

I can imagine

Legolas: “What is this horrid creature? A goblin-mutant?”

Glóin: “That’s me wee lad, Gimli!”

Legolas, way way way into the future: “And that, kids, is how I met your grandpa Glóin. You know, he still hasn’t let me forget about that. Anyway, it took me another 60/80 (pick movie or book canon) years to meet your dad, but I’m getting to it.”

@determamfidd tagging you bc this is gold

Frodo and Bilbo In The First Three Chapters

Okay so I’m only at chapter four but there’s a thought bunny rattling around inside my head that I had to write down before it drives me to distraction.  

Despite knowing more about Bilbo than the majority of other characters at the start of the book, Frodo clearly idealises his Uncle.  Growing up hearing retellings of his adventures would probably do that to a young and impressionable hobbit.  Through Chapters 2 and 3 we’re repeatedly reminded of Frodo’s desire to follow Bilbo when he leaves, depicting a desire to relive his Uncle’s adventures.

‘“Of course, I have sometimes thought of going away… a series of adventures like Bilbo’s or better”’ – pg 82.

‘a desire to follow Bilbo flamed up in his heart’ – pg 82.

‘Following Bilbo was uppermost in his mind, and the one thing that made the thought of leaving bearable.’ – pg 85.

It could be argued that Frodo romanticises Bilbo’s travels, almost to a naïve degree – which I will come back to later.  What’s most important to remark here is that Bilbo is Frodo’s primary motivation to set off. He does express concern for the safety of the Shire –

‘“I should like to save the Shire, if I could”’ – pg 82,

but it is his desire to find Bilbo that ultimately gives him the motivation to leave.  One might notice a certain precognition on Frodo’s part that their stories are not going to be the same.

‘“Bilbo went to find treasure, there and back again; but I go to lose one, and not return, as far as I can see.”’ – pg 86.

What breaks my heart here is how resigned Frodo is to his own death this soon into the book.  Bilbo represents the protagonist Frodo wants to be and the story he wishes he could be a part of.  Frodo wants a romanticised, fairy-tale adventure like ‘The Hobbit’, where there is hope for a happy ending and the protagonist is rewarded. But Frodo is genre savvy enough to know that his story won’t be a hopeful nor happy one from the very beginning. I think that his desire to follow and reunite with Bilbo comes, in part, from his fear of the Quest.  He hopes to take refuge in the idea of Bilbo and his adventure – a safe, happy, hopeful narrative.  What person wouldn’t want to partake in the stories we were told as a child, only for us to begrudgingly face bleak reality and be filled with reluctance -  to retreat into the romanticised stories that hold a hope for a happy ending that real life events can’t provide.

Symbolically, I think that these different attitudes are best portrayed in Bilbo and Frodo’s renditions of ‘The Road Goes On’.  In content, the two versions are identical save for a single word.  Bilbo describes ‘eager’ feet, whereas Frodo says they are ‘weary’.  The shift in tone that this word change made immediately caught my attention, and the shift perfectly matches that of the book at this point.  The opening chapters of ‘Fellowship’ are quite cheerful, with the underlying tension compounded by quirky hobbit shenanigans.  With the revelation that Bilbo’s ring is in fact the insidious artefact of a malicious demigod, the book suddenly becomes a lot more bleak and paranoid.  Bilbo, who rushes out of his house on a whirlwind adventure in ‘The Hobbit’, Frodo is reluctant to leave and his departure from the Shire is slow and dread-filled.  The word change also completely changes the tone of the rest of the poem.  In Bilbo’s version, the line ‘and whither then? I cannot say’ seems whimsical and adventurous.  In Frodo’s rendition, the line appears to make the singer sound lost, their future indiscernible and scary – just as Frodo must feel.

There is also the added tragedy of imitation.  As Pippin notes,

‘“That sounds like a bit of Old Bilbo’s rhyming… Or is it one of your imitations?”’ – pg 96.

It is both.  The poem’s recitation arguably parallels Frodo’s struggle to imitate Bilbo and be the adventurous, fearless protagonist that he has built up in his mind, to live a life like his idol; but ultimately, he becomes something completely separate, and much more melancholic.

Watch Out Below (2)

Part 1

“All I wanted to do was go for a nice relaxing hike,” You rambled on to yourself as you walked along with the rather terrifying bald man, “That’s all.”

“For the last time,” He growled over to you, “Would ya be quiet?”

“Quiet?” You looked to him with wide eyes, your nerves out of control, “I’m lost. I don’t know where I am. I’m pretty sure I’m dead. Oh god, is this what death feels like? Are you death?”

“For Mahal’s sake, girl,” He nudged you forward gruffly, “You best settle yourself down before I do it for you.”

“What does that mean?” You could not help your heightened tone, your anxiety had finally kicked in and it was not letting up, “Oh god, oh god.”

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The Princess and the Grand Warrior (Part 17)

Title: The Princess and the Grand Warrior

 Summary: What starts as friendship soon becomes love. Everyone knows that classic story. But what happens when self-esteem affects the relationship, when one feels unworthy of the other.  And the other doesn’t understand…can love survive that?  

 Warnings: Slight Angst.  

 Masterlist of Fanfiction

Story Master Post

Originally posted by artymissk


Part 17

Bofur knew what he needed to do, and he knew how he would do it.  He just needed a little help…

The first person who was recruited to his cause was the lovely Lady Drina.  Bofur showed her the courting gift he had been working on for so long.  She gave a wide grin as she looked it over.

“Well, it certainly is fitting.”  She joked. Lady Drina offered some advice, and then nearly stopped his heart before leaving, by saying, “I have no doubt what Dalia will say…so I have some wedding planning to do, and nurseries to make!” 

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Boromir would have acknowledged that Thorin Oakenshield is a King approximately 10 seconds after meeting him.

He would’ve immediately volunteered to come along to the Quest, because the military situation in Gondor is manageable right now, and besides they really do not need the possibility of a dragon allying himself with Mordor, seriously, orcs are bad enough.

Boromir then proceeds to appoint himself as the official protector of everyone around him (because that’s what he does) and after a while he starts to challenge the people who sound like they’re being less than respectful towards Thorin, because fuck that. From what he’s seen and heard, this guy has been fighting tooth and nail for his people for who knows how long, so hold your tongues you’re talking to a King.

And the Company is just staring at Boromir, because there’s no way they’ve somehow managed to find a human Dwalin. Not possible. But there he is, asking those Men if they’d like to have Gondor declare war on them, because that can be arranged, and oh Mahal, definitely a human Dwalin. How???

Thorin isn’t exactly sure what’s happening or why, but this Lord of Men is defending dwarven honour and there’s no way he’s ever forgetting that. Boromir doesn’t know it yet, but he’s just accidentally secured an alliance between Gondor and Erebor. 

Dwalin is nearly beside himself with approval.

How about an au where hobbits have to be buried in the shire when they die because of the hobbits-come-from-the-earth idea ,and Bilbo dies either from being thrown off the ramparts or is killed during the battle. So because he can’t move, on his spirit stays in the mountain trying to get help. Bonus points if only one of the members of the company can see him at first.

Let me know what you think!

Martin once stopped and gave a spoon of sugar water to a grounded bee to revive it.
He once broke character in the middle of Richard III to say “bless you” to someone who sneezed.
He once gave a pizza ordered for him to some fans who hadn’t eaten that were visiting setlock and had been waiting there for hours.

Ben once stopped what he was doing to go and help some fans he saw being shoved over and crushed by paparazzi.
He once recorded a short video saying “happy birthday” to a fan who got sick and couldn’t make it to an event.
He’s been known to call his parents at premieres, and after talking to his dad at the Hobbit premiere, passed the phone to Martin (who some of you may know lost his father when he was young) so he could, too.

Basically what I’m trying to say here is nobody is perfect, not even your faves, but can I just point out how lucky we are to have these two as our Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?

Thranduil Imagine - “You Never Know What Could Happen”

Request - Could you please write a hobbit imagine with Thranduil? Like you’re one of his personal guards; having liked him from the moment you met him. Keeping your feelings secret the whole time he was with Legolas’s mother; and watching how cold he became upon her leave. Somehow he finds out though; you can choose how, and how it resolves. Of course if you don’t want to that’s fine; thanks for reading anyway. :)

Warnings – none

Spoilers - none

You couldn’t see from your position, back to Thranduil’s throne which he was currently lounging on, but eyes had been on you for the past hour. Thranduil had been watching your unmoving figure, poised and ready, should any threat appear, and he couldn’t help but admire you. He had learned of your feelings months ago, but not being a long time for an elf he had done nothing about it. He didn’t know how long you had had feelings for him, but he had begun to notice certain tell-tale signs. Your eyes always gave you away, as they brightened when he spoke to you, which was often, as he enjoyed your company. You made for good conversation, he had found, possessing more personality than most of the other guards, and being a genuinely interesting person. Before you had become Thranduil’s personal guard, you had loved to travel, and you always amused him with stories of your adventures. He smiled, remembering all the conversations he had had with you, and took a minute to consider his own feelings. It had been hard, since his wife had died, and he found you a comfort. Were his feelings merely based on care and admiration, or were they love? This he couldn’t answer, at least not yet anyway. He was brought out of his thoughts by footsteps, and rose into an upright position. He relaxed once again when he realised it was only a guard coming over to swap shifts with you.

As you moved from your position, you risked a quick glance over your shoulder at the king. Seeing he was already looking at you, you quickly looked away, walking out of the keep as you headed to your chamber, hoping to relax, perhaps read, in your free time before your next shift. You dawdled on your way back, looking around and admiring the castle as you walked. You came to stop before a large portrait of the king, almost life size, produced years before. You took in his silvery hair, his powerful stance that exerted confidence and strength. His blue-grey eyes seemed to watch you, and you found yourself lost in them.

“I can still remember when that was painted, you know?” A deep voice said from behind you, and you quickly whipped around, hand falling to your sword. You relaxed when you saw Thranduil before you, but realising where he had caught you, a blush rose up on your cheeks. You looked down, a sign of respect, but also to hide your red face.

“I’m sorry, my king. You startled me” You said, looking back up. He smiled in response, and moved to stand beside you. You shifted slightly, uncomfortable after what had just happened, wanting to bury yourself amongst your bed covers to hide forever. You turned to look at him, and found his eyes already on yours.

“You were admiring my portrait?” He asked, a trace of a smirk on his lips as he already knew the answer.

“Well… yes… sort of.” You stuttered, feeling a blush rise on your face again, and felt the heat radiating from your face.

“You don’t have to be ashamed.” He said, smiling at you. “And you also don’t have to hide.” He added, smirking.

“Hide?” You asked, a look of confusion on your face.

“Your feelings.” He responded, an air of nonchalance that directly juxtaposed the feeling of panic rising in the pit of your stomach.

“My king - ” you began, but Thranduil cut you off.

“Don’t apologise. And don’t hide matters of love again.” He said, his eyes locking with yours. “You never know what could happen.” He added, smirking at you. He quickly walked away, and you whipped around, eyes following his retreating figure as you frowned in confusion.

(I had fun writing this, so let me know if I should continue this.)

- K

I added a size difference tag!

size difference!

1. A Hobbit-FIst:

Kink Meme Fill

Thorin’s dick is the size of Bilbo’s fist.

That’s really not a problem.

2. I Would Feel Like You Would Feel: 

Halflings do not have the right word for Mine like the dwarves do.

3. Last Night in Laketown:

Bilbo and Thorin simultaneously realise that the last time they had sex may be the last time they EVER have sex, with Smaug waiting just around the corner. There is only one problem where can they find short folk that are interested in sex with males in the middle of Laketown??! Sexy times ensue.

‘I can think of someone who’s your height and male.’ Bilbo said slowly, that drink may have been stronger than he had thought, this was crazy. Was he being a little too obvious?

‘I’m not having sex with Dwalin, he’s my best friend.’ Thorin snapped.

Fucking really? Bilbo sighed; it was a good job Thorin was pretty.

4. Too Much:

For my Hobbit Slash Love-Fest on Tumblr. When certain members of the company discover that Bilbo has very sensitive ears, they can do little more than take advantage of the knowledge.

5. A Little Thicker Than These Fingers:

Bilbo had taken some pride when Thorin had stated he was surprised the hobbit was so well endowed. He joked saying, “Well you know what they say about people with big feet,” which had earned a small laugh from Thorin. Bilbo’s pride quickly diminished the moment he saw exactly how large Thorin was.

6. A Handle on Love:

Thorin has a bit of a fixation on something Bilbo is very self conscious about. How long before the stoic dwarf’s legendary control finally unravels and how long before Bilbo realizes that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes?

7. The Difference Between:

For my Hobbit Slash Love-Fest on Tumblr. Bilbo is insecure about his appearance/weight and Thorin reassures him.

8. A Halo On Your Body:

After a humid day’s ride, the Company are keen to bathe and Bilbo finds himself in the company of many naked dwarves, none of whom are shy.

Perhaps the burglar in him is coming through, because Bilbo finds himself very interested in the shiny things they’ve adorned their bodies with.

ashen morning

Dear mobile users, apologies for the loooong text post. Feel free to scroll past - no pics to load here. Though feel free to stop and read XD

Morning dawns ashen and pale. A bitterly cold wind brushes over the field where now frost begins to cover the remaining bodies. Within the shattered stones of Erebor’s grand entrance the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company have sought shelter. Here, at least, the wind does not reach them.

Dori, Nori and Gloin have procured blankets from within the mountain to provide bedding. There are too few tents, too little shelter. Dain’s dwarves have not brought much, nor did Thranduil. Dale is but a ruin, from which yet smoke rises toward the brightening sky. The little sunlight that pierces fog and smoke bears no warmth, and those that survived battle may still succumb to the cold.

Oin works hard. At least - it seems - their company is lucky. Nori sustained a bad scrape, Dwalin broke his ankle and Balin lost two fingers. Minor injuries, though Oin would rather see all of them of their feet, especially Fili and Kili. The princes are pale, casting anxious glances out toward the field from where Dwalin dragged them back - Kili with yet another arrow sticking from his thigh and Fili with a gash across his back.

From their uncle no trace has been seen. Dwalin told them he went after Azog and then Bilbo after him - the news simultaneously elating and terrifying. Elating for Thorin must have finally slain his enemy. The orc armies have dispersed, leaderless and in fear. Terrifying for what likely happened to Thorin.

And Bilbo.

Ever since their smallest member slid from their midst to rejoin Gandalf below, they’d thought him safe. Thought the wizard would watch out for him.

They should have remembered Bilbo Baggins had a mind of his own.

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This is based on a head canon I have where Thranduil is blind in one eye from his time fighting dragons in the north, as Thranduil himself said, “Do not speak to me of dragon fire, i know its wrath and ruin…”

So, sometimes, I imagine Thranduil to be blind in one eye. And in that headcanon I have, Thranduil has excellent hearing, which he uses to help him gauge where people are or when things come at him on his blind side. I imagine that he’s so accustomed to his partial blindness by now that it hardly bothers him.  I imagine that Legolas had no idea that his father was so horribly injured, that this would be a thing Thranduil kept secret even from Legolas. 

Even though Legolas knows what an amazing warrior Thranduil is, he cannot help but feel suddenly afraid for his father, who he once knew to be completely invincible and now realizes is not. I imagine that when he first finds out, Legolas goes into overprotective!mode, and while Thranduil indulges him for a time (because who doesn’t like being shown that they are loved), he has to demonstrate to Legolas how needless his fretting is (though I am sure Thranduil loves the extra attention his son gives him). 

You can see my super rough sketch here.

Fili's Selflessness

Fili’s selflessness is one of his most defining traits. Selfless characters are seldom seen in media and whenever they do I feel a strong liking to them. Fili is no exception to this. From the start of the hobbit trilogy this golden-haired (and golden-hearted) Dwarf has show both small and large acts of selflessness and kindness all the way through to his death at the hands of Azog. In the start of this three-movie journey Fili and his brother are seen as young and joyful, caring more for mischief and mayhem then the seriousness of the quest. But little glances at Fili show that this cheerfulness isn’t all that is to him.

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Alphabet Prompts: Bilbo/Bofur: Vegetables

wyvernchick requested Bilbo/Bofur, Vegetables

Everybody lives AU, Ahoy!


Bofur didn’t truly understand the importance of the earth to Hobbits until he had one of his own, deep inside a mountain.  

To the Dwarves, Bilbo’s life was a good one.  He had gold, and a craft, connections to the royal family and a dedicated husband who came with an entire family to love him.  And Bilbo appreciated all those things, of course, in his somewhat (adorably) grumpy and exasperated way.  The gold provided him with the comforts he loved – including having half the contents of his Smial transported in a special caravan all the way to Erebor.  His craft suited him perfectly; king-wrangling was a unique craft indeed, and Bilbo handled it with class (and sass, and long lectures at Thorin’s expense, and occasional huffy rants for Bofur to soothe away).  No one else in the mountain had Bilbo’s capacity for telling their king when he was being an overbearing, obsessive over-worker.  

The fact that the heirs of Erebor and their mother considered him irreplaceable provided Bofur’s Hobbit with a somewhat smug sense of pride.  And their family, well-

It was difficult not to smile with a pile of nieces and nephews demanding songs and stories.

And yet…

As Bilbo’s second anniversary in the mountain passed, Bofur couldn’t help feeling that his Hobbit was growing paler and progressively more twitchy with each week that passed.

It was generally possible to gauge Bilbo’s mood by the relative twitchiness of his nose and fingers.  With said Bilbo bits in constant movement and their wedding anniversary on the horizon, Bofur did what any dwarf did when faced with a difficult problem: he consulted an expert.

His letter was duly sent off by a good-natured, Hobbit-loving raven to the Master of Buckland.  Master was a rank that made sense to Bofur, as opposed to the nebulous “Thain,” and clearly a Master of Hobbits would know the proper way to maintain a happy one.  He made sure to go through all the polite pleasantries Bilbo insisted were important before getting to his point: how did one cheer up a rather pale, grumpy, twitchy Hobbit whom one loved to distraction?

His reply came by the same raven (looking remarkably well-fed for such a long journey), written in a delicate hand and signed the Mistress of Buckland.

Mister Bofur Son of Kefur,

Thank you for your letter of —- pleasantries, pleasantries, introductions and other Hobbit things—

-As to your question concerning Bilbo’s mood, I can only go by what little I know of Dwarf ways.  It is my understanding from the ONE letter he has sent us (please do speak to him about that) that Dwarves live deep in mountains, far from the sun.  I’m sure this is very proper for Dwarves, but Hobbits are creatures of the sun and the earth.  Even a gentlehobbit such as Bilbo spent his time out of doors, often fussing over his vegetables (his flowers being under the exacting care of Master Gamgee, his gardener).  I am not at all sure it is healthy for Hobbits to be inside at all times and not dig their hands properly into the soil from time to time, making things grow that they can then cook for family and friends.  Have you considered the possibility of a garden, where there is good soil and a patch of sun?  

Bofur had not.

Dwarves on the whole did relatively little gardening.  They were hunters and craftsmen who ate little greenery compared to Hobbits, and who traded for what they did eat.  But on reflection, he saw the merit in what the Mistress of Buckland was saying (she must also be a true Master of Hobbits).  Bilbo always perked up on the days they rode into the markets at Dale to barter for the sorts of foods Bilbo (and Bifur, as it happened) liked so well.  

Coordinating a garden in a mountain of Dwarves was no small feat, as it happened.  However, Bofur was a member of the Company, and the Company was a group with influence and intelligence, as well as the ability to keep a secret.  

Ori found him books on gardening, hidden away in an older architectural section of the library.  Gloin spoke to some of the farmers he bartered with in Dale about what could grow in the area while Oin purchased some seedlings of useful herbs.  Bombur researched and found a little patch of land that received the appropriate amount of sun tucked away a pleasant walk from the mountain; Fíli purchased the land from the Man who owned it with all the gravitas appropriate to a crown prince.  Dwalin kept nosy Dwarves out of the area while Balin kept Bilbo busy.  Kíli came to help Bofur till the ground and prepare it for Bilbo to place all his plants as he pleased.  Nori and Dori made watering cans and oversaw the digging of a small well for Bilbo’s use.

It took two months, but by the time of their anniversary, Bofur had perhaps the least impressive gift he could have imagined: a square of dirt.

“You’re sure this is what he wants?” Nori asked doubtfully as they looked it over the morning of.  “I’m sure it’s not too late to buy him some…jewelry or silver spoons or…something.”

“I’m sure,” Bofur said, though his voice probably said otherwise, but Nori was enough of a friend to let it slide.  “It’s perfect.”

Dirt, he thought, but well.  Hobbits were mysterious creatures.

He brought Bilbo up after their special breakfast.  It was a fine spring morning, a far cry from the terrible storm that had whipped up on the day of their wedding celebration, blowing the flowers Bilbo had insisted on all over the place, leaving only the handful tangled in his lengthening curls.  

He’d been breathtaking that day.

He was breathtaking now, as well, chattering in his Hobbity way as they walked, pointing out this tree or that flower, talking about going to the market and buying everything they’d need for a proper blueberry tart-

His voice trailed off as they crested the little hill that led to his carefully prepared garden.

“Bofur?” he asked, and his voice had taken on that horrible neutral quality that meant Bofur didn’t know if he was about to be kissed or threatened with Sting.

“It’s for you,” Bofur blurted.  It wasn’t what he’d meant to say – he’d had a lovely little speech prepared.  But standing here, presenting dirt to his beloved, had just wiped them all away.  “It’s a garden.  And.  Ah.  Herbs.  And some.  Vegetables.  For you to plant.”

Bilbo looked up at him.

“If you want,” Bofur finished a bit lamely, considering the wisdom of perhaps hiding behind something.

Bilbo looked back at his dirt.  “There are carrots,” he said, “and potatoes, and radishes.”


Bilbo lit up.

He just lit up, those pretty hazel eyes brightening, his back straightening, his mouth curving into that wonderful, bright, rare smile that always made Bofur feel like they’d just retaken Erebor all over again.  Like he was king of more than Thorin could ever be.  “A garden!”  

Bofur grinned back.  “You can teach me how to plant everything properly,” he offered, “or you can tell me to stay out of your way and let you work.  Either way.”

Bilbo laughed, and oh Bofur loved that sound.  “You have to take off your boots!” his Hobbit ordered as he ran forward, spreading his arms wide and soaking in the sun (Bilbo had grown terribly comfortable with giving orders as one of the king’s closest friends and advisors; luckily, Bofur wasn’t a dwarf who minded being bossed around a bit).

Bofur did finally get his kiss – out in the sun, with the wind whipping his Hobbit’s curls against his perfectly pinked cheeks, the strange feeling of loose soil between his toes and his hands filled with carrots.  

He made sure to post his thank you letter immediately, sent along with the first of many notes Bilbo would send to his aunt over the years to come. 


Master Post
tagged as: #444 Followers Ficlets


***omigawsh I loved the Newt british accent one so much! can you please do a part 2? like them using stupidly english phrases that nobody else understands so the others are like what? sorry for my grammar Im terrible. love your blog!***

Part 2 of Mate. Again thank you Queen of The Hobbits (a.k.a Partner in Crime, Imagines of Every Fandom) who helped with the dialogue because I know bugger all (see what I did there?) about British Slang

“How was your first shift as a track hoe?” Newt asks with a smile as he pops a grape into his mouth.

You sigh. “I’m bloody knackered, I feel like my arms are about to pop off. The blinkin’ sun was so hot I swear I’ll go barmy by the end of the week… How d'you think it went, mate?

He nudges you gently. "Only day one of many, Greenie.”

“Oh, bugger it.” You groan, placing your head in your hands.

“Not your cuppa tea?” He asks.

“I don’t want to whinge but blimey mate I’d rather leg it into that bleedin' maze before I go near another chuffin’ weed.”

Thomas looks between the two of you. “Can you please talk in a language I understand?”

“Are you having a laugh, mate? I’m speaking piggin’ English, ain’t I?”

Thomas blinks a few times, try to comprehend the sentence just sprouted at him. “What?”

Newt looks like he’s having a grand old time watching him struggle. With a smile, he translates. “(y/n) just explained to you that we’re speaking English, Tommy. You got a few screws loose or what?”

You look over at Newt. “Maybe he’s just deaf as a doornail?”

“It’s not my fault you two say weird things!” He throws his arms up in exasperation. He gets up and walks away from you but before he's out of earshot you hear him ask himself, “What the hell is a "piggin’, anyway?”

Enslaved by a King- [Revelations Edition]- Thranduil Fanfiction

A shadow hangs over you. It is one of guilt. Of Desire.

Galadriel’s gaze is piercing, but the King of Greenwood is not fazed. He is used to her prying at his mind like a nosy woodpecker. He takes a slow sip of wine and meets her gaze with an icy one of his own. She smiles slightly.

She clouds your thoughts. She has bewitched you.

“She is none of your business.” He says quietly. “What is it that you want? You did not come all the way to my realm just to play mind games.”

“I have had a vision. It concerns the human you’ve kept hidden in the heart of Mirkwood.”


“You know these woods are not what they used to be.” She circles him slowly like a vulture. “I saw a great evil fester and spread, choking out the light. I saw Mirkwood overcome with darkness, your vibrant woods reduced to gnarled husks, sapped dry of life and magic. Your kingdom lost forever, your people corrupted and destroyed.”

His lips curled in a wry smile. “The Lady of Lórien brings such auspicious tidings. Doom. Devastation.”

“Death,” she murmured. “Should Mirkwood fall to darkness, no one shall be safe. All of Middle Earth shall be in grave danger.”

“And what does all this have to do with her?”

“…She shall be the spark that ignites the inferno, the one that ushers in the dark.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And you have seen this? In your vision?”

“Where she walks, she brings ruin. You know nothing of this human that you have stolen from a dragon.”

“I know enough,” He growled.

“She is tainted by dark magic, Thranduil. I can sense her presence in your halls, yet I cannot read her thoughts.”

“Then read mine. I know her. She is no danger.”

It seems as if you have allowed her into more than just your halls. Could it be she has found her way into your heart?

He slams down his glass, wine splattering about like blood. “Are you finished?”

She bows slightly. “I shall take my leave.” As she glides away, she turns back to look at him with cold, knowing eyes.

You know nothing of the woman you take to your bed, Thranduil. Darkness feeds darkness. You put us all in danger.

The black smoke runs its icy fingers through your hair, crawling up and down your scalp like a thousand ants.

“Please,” you beg. “Don’t ask this of me! I no longer serve Smaug!”

It wraps itself around you like a snake, its grip tightening around your neck. You are terrified, but it is not death that you fear. There are far worse things that can happen when one betrays the dark.

You wake abruptly, your entire body shaking. Your sheets are tangled about your legs, your nightgown hiked up your thighs. Thranduil is standing over you by your bed, a hand gripping the hilt of his sword. His face is pale, as if he has seen a ghost.

“You were murmuring Black Speech as you slept. Never has anyone uttered that tongue in these halls and lived.”

Your eyes widen and you clutch at your covers. “I am so sorry, my lord. I did not realize-”

“Galadriel came bearing ill-prophecy, and I defended you without a second thought. And now I find out that you speak the dark tongue of Mordor? How is it that one such as you speaks such a cursed tongue?”

“…Cumber taught me, my lord. I did not know it was forbidden-”

“-Cumber? Who is this Cumber?”

“He is my…” You swallow nervously. Guardian? Confidante? Companion? You feel a pang at the thought of him. Cumber would know what to do about the darkness. He always knew everything. And suddenly you realize how much you miss him, his pompous arrogance and sardonic smile. He must think you dead now, burnt to cinders by Smaug’s enchanted collar.

“…He and I both served Smaug,” you manage haltingly.  

Thranduil is studying your expression with narrowed eyes. “And what unsavory, foul creature of Mordor is he?”

You try to hide your indignance. “He is human! He is the most gentle, caring, and wonderful man.”

His eyes flash at your words. “…You seem very fond of him,” he says quietly, his expression unreadable.

“Cumber has cared for me since I was taken by Smaug. He has risked my master’s wrath time and time again to protect me-”

He presses a finger against your lips. His eyes are bright with displeasure. “I am your master,” he growls. “And I will not have you speaking of another man with such…fondness.”

You lick your lips nervously. “I’m sorry, my lord. It’s just he has been nothing but kind to me-”

In a second, he is upon you, pinning you down as a tiger pins down his prey. Blood pounds in your ears as you feel the heat radiating from his body. He is taut muscle and firm, warm flesh beneath his silver brocade, and you are at once both fear and desire. Slowly, he slips the silken strap of your nightgown off your shoulder and brushes your hair back, exposing your neck. His touch is hot against your flesh, and you are painfully aware of the sensation.

“…And have I not been kind to you?” His words are hot and breathy against your sensitive ear.

Slowly, he runs his tongue along the edge of your ear, and you gasp out loud. He kisses you roughly down your neck, soothing his love bites with flicks of his hot, wet tongue. His fingers slide under your nightgown, grasping at you and caressing your swollen tips in the palm of his hands. His stares at you, his eyes dark and demanding.

“Were you dreaming of him just now? Is that why you were murmuring in Black Speech?”


His lips curl ever the so slightly. “Good. Because if you were, I will see to it that you never sleep again.”

His eyes never leave yours as he closes his mouth over an aching tip, every flick of his tongue sends flames searing through your being. His hand finds his way to your hips, and he pulls your nightgown to your waist, exposing your flimsy undergarments. His eyes wander low, and he bites his lip slightly. His long, slender fingers trail down your trembling stomach and slides between your thighs. With slow deliberation, he grazes you through your undergarments. You mewl softly, begging him with your eyes.

“…How much do you want me?” His voice is hoarse.

“…My lord,” You whimper.

He savors your cries as he teases you through the flimsy fabric.

“I do not care that you do not find me gentle, or caring,” he murmurs, his fingers searing through the silk. “But I will not stand for you holding some other man in higher regard. No one should occupy your thoughts but me.”

He wraps an arm around you possessively as his fingers slip beneath the soaked fabric. You whimper, pawing at him desperately. He is sweet torment, his fingers barely where you need him the most.

“You are mine,” he breathes. “Say it.”

“…My lord,” You beg, grinding yourself against his fingers.

“Say it!”

The words comes from deep within you, half confession, half desperation. And he knows you mean it, with every ragged breath, with every beat of your aching heart. He loses his breath and his mouth finds yours and his tongue is sweet urgency and his fingers- Oh he is where he should have been all this while! His friction is intoxicating, smooth and pure exhilaration. He pushes you closer to oblivion with each slick, velveteen stroke into the heart of you, the source of your desires. His eyes are heavy with need as he drinks in the pleasure in yours. And suddenly you are the warmth and pleasure spreading inside you like a thousand blossoms blooming. You are the burst of starlight in his midnight eyes, the delicious groan in his mouth. He clasps you tightly against him, feeling the electricity dance through your limbs. He looks at you with eyes thick with emotion. And in that moment, you realize that you have lost your heart to him, that your soul is his as his is yours. He is the very air you breathe, the very beat of your heart.

His expression is soft, and he gazes at you as if there is nothing else in the world. “…How can this be darkness when all I feel is light?” 

At his words, a part of you crumbles and dies.

Because you know what is coming, what evil slowly spreads north from the ruins of Dol Guldur. You know, because you were the one that had wakened it. And you’ve brought it straight into the heart of Mirkwood.  

[posted 1.19.14]

[Note: This is a chapter from the series Enslaved by Kings and Dragons

[Check out my other work]

‘Imagine trying to set up Bilbo and Thorin, only to have them fall for you instead’ and 'Imagine caring for Bilbo and Thorin when they catch nasty colds, and they turn out to be the worst patients

Imagines from ImagineXHobbit

Imagine combination requested by anon.

Characters: Bilbo, Thorin, Narrator (gender neutral)
Pairings: duh!

This is happening! Is what I decided, when Thorin hugged Bilbo. The two of them just seemed to radiate love when they were together. And then I understood it all; how Thorin got so upset when he thought Bilbo ran away, after the goblin tunnels, and how he risked falling off a cliff to save Bilbo. Of course, he would’ve done that for anyone else in the company, but it was such a nice moment between the two of them. And there was Bilbo, standing between the pale orc and Thorin. A smart hobbit like him would’ve known that there was no surviving that, if the rest of the company hadn’t jumped in. But after that night, there hadn’t been much interaction between them, so I decided to wade in. 

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i wrote a ficlet.

edit: now on Ao3

AU - EVERYONE LIVES/NOBODY DIES. 6 YEARS POST-BOTFA. Bilbo isn’t the Consort (he visits Erebor every-other-winter) and he and Thorin have not been together romantically because they’re IDIOTS. let’s see if they can figure their shit out. this scene takes place right after what is basically the council of Elrond, only it happened at Erebor. Bilbo has volunteered to be the Ringbearer, the council approved ofc, and Thorin pledged his sword and service to Bilbo (assume whatever else you want about the other members of the fellowship). also, who knows why the events of LOTR are accelerated in this universe, because this shit shouldn’t be happening yet with the ring, BUT IT IS. OKAY HERE WE GO.

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So, perhaps inevitably, there are now a bunch of ‘GABRIEL LIVES’ or ‘GABRIEL COULD LIVE’ theories and plotbunnies buzzing around tumblr, as enthusiastic and fresh as if people had never thought of them before in the last four years. Which is lovely! Except that I keep seeing them and thinking, dammit I have already written that.

So, in order to set aside the repeated urge to say “where were all these Gabriel fans when I tried to recruit for the Gabriel Big Bang or the Team Free Love challenge”, here: have a list of my various canon!verse Gabriel Comes Back fics.

The KALI HAS HIS BLOOD! scenario.

In His Image, in which, yes, Kali has Gabriel’s blood so she can bring him back to life, but it isn’t in her power to recreate an archangel, so he’s stuck as something not human and not angel, and not terribly inclined to rejoin the fight against the Apocalypse (because what use is he anyway?). But being a master of time, one thing Kali CAN give him is the ability to travel through time far more effortlessly (though less precisely) than an angel; and as he travels (though always popping back to the present to communicate with Team Free Will), he begins to rebuild himself - and not just his powers. 153k, Dean/Castiel and Sam/Gabriel. Alternate end to season 5. 

“I don’t want anything of yours, archangel. Not your blood. Not your debt. Not your… magnanimity.” She let the irony linger on her scalded tongue. From the Latin, the language dedicated to his god for longer than she had consciously existed. Greatness of soul. The one thing his father had denied his kind. And in its stead, grace – that she could never restore, and he knew it.

The rest of it – what he chose to be, what he chose to become, what he chose to rebuild – was entirely up to him. He would learn that for himself. In time.


The Devil has a flattering tongue. In which Hallucifer and Castiel decide to do something about this whole Leviathan business - and who is Hallucifer anyway? 12k, pairings all there but entirely up to audience interpretation, set after 7x21.

Gabriel scowled at Dean, and turned the bullet into a bowl of petunias with a flick of his fingers. It felt to the floor and broke with a sad little ‘phut!’ noise. “Dean, Dean, I call that unfriendly. I thought we had something special.”


To behold the stars once more. In which Dean and Castiel find amnesiac!Gabriel in Purgatory and drag him along. Dean is determined to get out and take them both with, but for various reasons the other two don’t have the same drive. Let’s face it, they all have a whole mess of issues to work out down there. And Purgatory itself is intent on consuming them, memories and self and all. 44k, various emotional/sexual combinations of Dean/Castiel/Gabriel (the only actual sex is Dean/Gabriel), set after the season 7 finale.

How many centuries had it been since Gabriel had forged an alliance that wasn’t meant to be abandoned or cashed in at the first sign of turbulence? By all parties? How did you speak to someone who wasn’t waiting to screw you over? who wasn’t just a perplexed, protesting pawn in your little game of justice? 
And what was this hot, possessive twist in his gut every time he looked at Castiel or Dean?
Thirteen vast black birds flew overhead, slow and ponderous, wings bearing them heavily towards the distant light over the mountains. In the saddle between the tallest mountains rose a spire, pale and elegant.


Mole End. A nice quiet option, where Castiel is injured and weak and not getting better no matter how long Dean keeps him tucked away in the bunker and coddles him, until Somebody turns up and starts hanging around, and reading him children’s books. 2k, no real pairings, set after 8x21.

In her last text, Charlie asked how things were going back here at the hobbit hole. Coming from her, that’s… well, sweet, because Dean knows what she means by it, only just now Dean isn’t entirely sure it won’t be a grave.


Kindling. In which we remember that whole Horn of Gabriel thing, which, if it’s anywhere, is definitely going to be hidden in the bunker. And given it’s an instrument of truth, the weight of all the lies hanging around in the air during the early part of season 9 would definitely kick it into gear. 3k, no pairings, set after 9x08.

“Gabriel’s horn?” Sam realised, in an “are you shitting me?” sort of tone.
Gabriel opened his eyes, saw Sam and Dean, groaned and closed them. “You guys. Might have known.”


Your kind prison. For my money, the  ultimate Gabriel-comes-back fic (well, post season 5, anyway). In which Gabriel has been lurking around being amoral and random on Earth since his faked death, and it takes the Fall of all his kindred to kick him into gear. This is possibly my favourite Gabriel I’ve ever written, because he isn’t nice, but don’t you dare lay a finger on his family. 30k, Debriel sex, then Destiel romance and Sabriel sex+romance, set after the season 8 finale (effectively an alternate season 9).

“You pull this shit on every angel you meet, huh?” Gabriel growled at him, teeth glinting - and Dean swallowed, and his eyes went a little wider, and of fucking course that was on his list of kinks.
“Only the ones worth reasoning with,” he shot back. “Can you do it?”


… whoops, not written yet. ;)