I Know My Brain Is Constantly Cooking Up Aus And One That Has Kept Coming To Me Is Like A The Hobbit

i know my brain is constantly cooking up aus and one that has kept coming to me is like a the hobbit au but it’s like a heist movie… like oceans 11 HDJSHB

OMG I honestly love that… I was actually thinking of Bilbo being like secretly the most infamous burglar ever or that he’s the most normal guy but gandalf said he’s perfect for the job HDJSBDBN

i know my brain is constantly cooking up aus and one that has kept coming to me is like a the hobbit au but it’s like a heist movie… like oceans 11 HDJSHB

yes so very true!! like years after I had seen them in theatres people I know tried to say they were bad and I almost agreed (to fit in) but watching them now again they are absolutely not the garbage people seem to describe… it has the same charm and magic as the lotr trilogy and they both deserve to be kept in peoples hearts for the silly and heartfelt stories they are.

Like I am a dedicated fan enough to see flaws in media I love, it is not perfect but I love it for what it is.. for those who shit on the hobbit movies but hold the lotr trilogies to the perfection standard should maybe look inward-

just keep seeing videos on youtube saying “the hobbit SUCKS!!!!” and am always like… do you really hate fun that much?? it’s just a silly little movie

Thorin Oakenshield is not the sharpest tool in the box, and he was not thinking exactly straight when he allowed Bilbo Baggins to join them, but he had come up with a mental bullet list of possible outcomes for the entire journey — from everyone dead, to some dead, to him dead, to Bilbo dead... And, then, the slightest chance of everyone surviving and heading to Erebor, with every single limb still attached to their bodies, and fighting against the same dragon that ruined Thorin's life — and started the long list of traumatic experiences that shape him.

The only thing Thorin never counted with — never occurred to him, not even in those nights when he let his mind run wild... was that every single dwarf in the world would fancy Bilbo Baggins.

Of course, starting with himself.

As Mahal called for him as the roar of battle diminished, reduced, came to a sweet, rather eerily silent nothing, Thorin was forced to face the cruelest of truths in the world: he was, is, and will always be in love with Bilbo Baggins. He knows that his kin is prone to loving once — some twice, or thrice, or none —, and that they would rather die than seek anyone else. He can recall those tales about fated partners, about souls that match each other perfectly. He even remembers how Dís fell in love with her husband — straightforward, no hesitation as they danced in the new halls of his kin, their eyes never leaving each other's gaze, their hearts beating at the same pace as they waltzed and the world was white noise in the background of the start of their love story.

Thorin has never sought such an adventure for himself. He couldn't, not when everyone needed him: Smaug took his home when he was too young, too naive for a world full of hatred and distrust. What he didn't know back then, he had to learn it while being part of the survivors of the attack wandering through Middle Earth. Even now, his back hurts, his shoulders sag at the weight of carrying his little sister — such a frail child —, one hand firmly grabbing Frerin's. Both so small, robbed from their mother and left with a gone king and grandfather, and a mourning, withering father.

Thorin considers that his father's blatant grief — his figure, a mere corpse walking with bags, following orders and weeping at night — was the first nail on the coffin of his heart. He doesn't even remember crying for his mother back then: everyone else did it for him, sobbing for every single dwarf that fell because they couldn't stop a dragon attracted by the greed of their king, and Thorin swore himself, one night when Dís begged for their mother, to never bring such distress on his kin.

Looking back to his past, Thorin's story is one of loss — losing his home, losing his dignity, losing his status, losing his mother, losing his grandfather, losing his brother — he was such a sunshine in Thorin's life, wasn't he? Never giving up, never failing to smile when feeding Dís, never letting Thorin fall on his knees. And Thorin lost him.

Frerin was the last nail to his heart. Thorin knows he is not exactly the gentleman he could be — trauma has woven the connections in his brain, and he is ready to say goodbye when needed. He keeps himself detached from others, or so he likes to tell himself; he prefers to believe that, deep down, he has done his best in raising Dís, on being there on the day of her wedding, on the day that Fíli came to the world and, years later, Kíli followed. He trained them — he looked over them, harsher than ever, scared, terrified of burying down their bodies as he had been forced to do with Frerin.

A child will always grow up to bury their parents, but should never be forced to shovel down the earth for their sibling, and even less their nephews.

All in all, Thorin Oakenshield has kept everyone at arm's length. Only Dís can break into that vulnerable side of his — only his little sister, with her big eyes, her smirk that resembles Frerin's so much, that looks like their mother more than ever... Only her can kick him awake, awake from the slumber in which he lives, putting everyone's needs above his own.

And then came Bilbo Baggins.

Bilbo Baggins. A hobbit. So frail. So weak. So easy to faint. So unprepared for the wild life, for the perils that would face them. He belongs to cosy homes — when thinking of Bilbo, Thorin can see him wrapped up in blankets, sitting against a comfortable bedhead, reading a book the pages of which are torn, used, visibly read thousands of times, and yet they pull a sigh from the hobbit's lips, a sigh of content, of disappointment, of happiness.

Bilbo Baggins. A fake burglar. A hobbit who has a heart of gold — of more gold than any that Smaug could have ever treasured. A hobbit so selfless, so scared of everything outside his home and yet willing to help them.

Bilbo Baggins. A beautiful being with lovely curls, with wrinkles of his age, with soft eyes. A hobbit that wears his heart not even in a sleeve but on his palms. Huge feet that stomp when he is annoyed, much for Thorin's amusement, and pointy ears that blush when he is embarrassed, much for Thorin's fluttering heart.

Bilbo Baggins. A hobbit that could have gone on with his life, and yet risked it for thirteen dwarves that barged uninvited into his smial, a chaos of chattering and drinking and gobbling down food plus the tale of a dragon and a certain death wish. A hobbit that outwitted trolls, that survived a thunderbattle of giants, that found his way out of a town infested with goblins, that saved them from Thranduil's cells, that encouraged them to find the right spot for the key and even riddled with a dragon. A hobbit had faced Thorin's worst nightmare — the red scales that haunted him in his sleep, in a nightmare from which he always woke up sweaty and paralysed in fear —, and had won.

Bilbo Baggins. A hobbit who never hesitated to check on him. Who smiled at him. Who joked with him. Who hugged him when he suffered from his nightmares and promised not to tell anyone. Who woke him up from his madness — him, following the steps of those before him, and yet Bilbo's voice had been so clear. Pristine clear, piercing through the darkness that isolated him.

Thorin might not be the sharpest tool, indeed, but as he was there, holding on to dear life, exhaling his regret to Bilbo, he considered confessing — telling Bilbo that he loved him, that he was the reason Thorin had not given up mid-journey when everyone despaired, that he was the One and Only for Thorin and that the mithril shirt was a token of secret courtship, not open friendship. He pondered, as life slipped away, if it was worth it to let his heart win the battle for once.

Alas, he is a coward, and could not. He could not say it. He could not whisper it, not when Bilbo was sobbing, tears falling down those beautiful cheeks that lost so much fat — Thorin's worst sin is, definitely, having given Bilbo a life worth of trauma with such a journey. Or so whispers his heart, which also accuses him from betraying his promise and bringing the same sorrow to everyone than those before him.

And now? Now he is the King Under the Mountain due to some miracle — not even Gandalf, in his infinite wisdom, has a clear answer for it. It has been a tough adventure of its own, indeed, to stay in bed, covered in bandages and balms, his lungs almost surrendering to the pain all the time. A fight he has not engaged alone — not when everyone keeps an eye on him, aiding him, and he has been forced to realise that he should have always let others see him... so that the burden was lessened.

It's in the darkness of his room, one night, when the tears start to pour. It's when he has enough strength to lift his arms and wipe them away; when his voice is back, yet can only offer soft whimpers that escape him without control; when his mind takes a hundred-year-deserved break from its duty to keep his heart under chains, and now it yells, screams, lashes out in pain.

It's in the darkness of his room when a smooth palm caresses his bearded cheek; when a honey-dripping sweet voice whispers that everything will be fine; when pointy ears hear, again, that which Thorin has never, ever shared with anyone.

And, now that Thorin can walk around Erebor and see — not help in — the entire, huge project of making it a home again...

... now is when he realises how Bilbo Baggins must be the most coveted hero in the world.

Thorin first notices it when he is wandering through the halls, alone, aided by two makeshift canes. He sees Bilbo's curly hair in the distance — he could recognise him anywhere in the world —, carrying a pile of books. It is impossible for his heart not to flutter and for his lips not to curve into a smile, and he finds his voice to say Bilbo's name; and yet Bilbo's attention is snatched by another dwarf, definitely younger than Thorin.

Bilbo laughs, his ears becoming redder, and, suddenly, Thorin has turned around while his heart is stabbed, a greater pain than his almost final blow leaving him without air in his lungs.

And it happens again — when Thorin wants to eat together with Bilbo, when they find each other in the halls and stop to speak, when Thorin goes into the greatest library of any dwarven hall (besides Khazad-dûm) to seek Bilbo; there's always a dwarf — the same, different, from any gender — covetting Bilbo's attention, desiring to speak with the brave halfling — hobbit, Thorin wants to correct them — to hear his story, or use his small body for something, or simply chat him up, trying to seduce him into a courtship.

And Thorin becomes sick with jealousy each time. Each single time, he departs, leaving a confused Bilbo behind. However, he is terrified to snap, to snarl at someone because they look at his hobbit with heart eyes, flirting in front of his very own face — and then he is horrified by such possessiveness because, does he even deserve to call Bilbo his?

Took him from his home. Almost led him to be eaten by trolls. Pushed him away. Insulted him. Doubted him. Almost killed him with his own hands.

Also loved him. Gave him his coat on cold nights. Laid next to him in Beorn's barn. Let him see a Thorin that no one had seen in so long.

He is not worthy of Bilbo, and yet he longs for him. Thorin feels ridiculous, despicable, even, every time he steps in the way. The jealousy monster takes him over, and then comes the shame of not having self-control — he should have never let his heart dominate him, not when it died when Frerin passed away, and yet Bilbo has resurrected it and holds it in his soft, tender hands.

Bilbo Baggins is free to choose — and Thorin doubts that he will stay much longer, even if he has lived in Erebor for the winter, pushing his return to The Shire to spring. And then, from spring, to summer — never truly showing any sign that he wants to leave, almost as if he was giving himself time to wait for something that escapes Thorin's wit and knowledge. He has caught Bilbo sighing in the distance, curly hair stroked by the wind as his elbows barely reach the bannister of a balcony, eyes lost as he gazes down on the entirety of Erebor — he has caught Bilbo with paper and ink in his hands, writing and crossing out whatever he did before burning the paper in the nearest fireplace.

What is Bilbo Baggins waiting for to leave? To leave him behind? How could Thorin even dare to propose to Bilbo to stay? To tell him that he needs him there, being with him?

No chance.

Except there is a chance.

As the temperature starts to get hotter, Thorin is surprised to see Bilbo with a bag in his hands. His hands run cold — his entire blood freezes as he connects the dots. Bilbo is grabbing stuff to prepare himself to depart the Mountain. He is leaving to the Shire. He is leaving, this time, when summer is up and it is hot enough. He is leaving, and probably will celebrate his birthday in the middle of the road, or, if he reaches, with those elves of Rivendell — not with Thorin, though. Not with his new found family.

He is abandoning them all, and Thorin has found out because he couldn't help himself and knock on Bilbo's room, wishing to see him at late hours.

"Thorin!" Bilbo greets him with a smile, bag still in his hand, and Thorin cannot find the words inside himself to return the greeting. Bilbo's smile falters a bit. "It's rather late... Do you need anything?"

"... Can I go inside?"

Heart thumping, he steps inside Bilbo's room. The door clicks shut behind him, and his hands grow sweaty. This room is such a copy of the Bag End that Thorin could rescue from his memories — he asked the dwarves to decorate it exactly like that to make Bilbo feel home, to seduce him into staying, and yet he is leaving. He is leaving, and Thorin hasn't told him the truth of his heart.

Again.

"I have thanked you before," Bilbo says as he circles Thorin to stand in front of him, "but let me express my gratitude again. This," he looks around, nostalgic smile tugging at his lips, "is amazing."

"Wanted you to feel like home." Since when does Thorin's voice sound like that? So foreign.

Bilbo's eyes soften. "I do." The hobbit looks around for a chair and misses Thorin's softening gaze as he fantasises about the meaning of those two words. "Here, come sit down! I've lost my hobbit manners with you lot."

The teasing tone makes Thorin chuckle as he eases himself on the chair. "A hobbit being more dwarven than hobbit? Impossible."

"Wait until my cousin Lobelia hears about this, she would want more than the silverware!" Bilbo giggles — a sound crafted by Mahal himself —, and Thorin's heart is long gone into a race. Then, Bilbo stares at him, and he wishes to hide somewhere deep under the Sun. "So... Is there any reason for your late visit?"

I missed you. I long for you. I love you. "Nothing much... I haven't seen you in the last few days."

Coward. Coward. Coward.

"I see." Bilbo sits down on his bed, his fingers playing with the blankets, pinching it. "Well, I've been busy."

"With?" Thorin hates the hopeful tone in his voice.

"My journey back home."

There it is. The blow. The lack of air. Thorin's hands become fists on his hands — can he dare to be selfish? When Bilbo is gauging his very expression?

"When?" Thorin whispers, unable to get more than a choked voice out of his throat.

"Next week." That's so soon. Bilbo tilts his head a bit. "I... have nothing to keep me here much longer. I mean, I have the Company but..." Bilbo sighs, looking down. "... You lot will be... well, without me here."

No. Thorin wouldn't. He would plunge into darkness. Why can't he say it? Why can't his heart win this battle and express itself? When Bilbo's eyes weigh on him like that, almost as if the hobbit expected something from him? Get a grip!

"I wish you a good journey back."

Silence reigns after Thorin's words. The dwarf looks down to his lap — he's done it. He has pushed Bilbo away, far away, against his heart's wishes. Bilbo has no reason to stay — he is betraying himself to let Bilbo go, even if they are nothing more than... friends. It stings. It stings how his want has grown this much, and how he will never take a Consort after Bilbo abandons Erebor.

He won't be able to.

"... I might be seeing things but... You have a way to say exactly what you don't mean, Thorin."

Smooth hands cup Thorin's bearded cheeks. He melts at the touch — the familiar gesture from Bilbo, who is staring down to him with such a chaos of emotions in his eyes, all fighting to come forth and all hesitant to stand under the spotlight and be seen and read by Thorin. Thorin thaws, his heart pounding against his ribcage, as he dares to lift his gaze and meet Bilbo's eyes. Small thumbs caress his skin, sparks of fire burning him down and fuelling the warmth that spreads through his chest and makes it want to break free.

"Do I?" Thorin mutters, bewitched, weak to Bilbo's touch.

"You do. It's your way to stay safe." Bilbo's stare jumps one blue eye to the other one, his attention unwavering. "You push others away."

"I thought we were speaking about-"

"And change the topic." Bilbo's tender smile disarms Thorin. "Are you upset because I'm leaving?"

Thorin hesitates. He cannot trust his mouth, so he nods, slowly. Bilbo's smile widens, and the hobbit leans down ever so slightly, yet it has Thorin one step away from trembling.

"Do you want to know why I haven't until now?" Thorin waits patiently for Bilbo to continue. "Because I had hope."

"Hope?"

"This adventure has made me gain attention — unwanted, mostly." Bilbo sighs. "Go here, do that, and a long list... Everyone wanting to hear my tale, my thoughts, but this is not my first rodeo, Thorin, and I know when someone desires more than a brief conversation with me."

"I see," Thorin says curtly.

"You don't." Thorin stares at him, befuddled by Bilbo's sad smile. "You fail, again, because there is one single being I craved attention from, and he didn't give it. He turned away whenever we met. He left me behind, confused. He didn't look for me."

"I did," Thorin defends himself before he realises he has assumed that Bilbo is speaking of him. "Sorry, I shouldn't-"

Bilbo lets out a soft chuckle. "No, you're right." Thorin recoils a bit, embarrassed. "Thorin... I am telling you all this because I want to leave without regrets. It is a long way to the Shire — so long, that I hope that the next time we see each other, I will have forgotten about the very same reason why I've stayed away from it for such a long period of time."

"And that is?"

Bilbo leans down even more. His forehead is warm against Thorin's. His voice is a tender whisper, full of raw emotion, and it has Thorin blushing with so much force that he feels dizzy.

"It is that I love you so much that I thought about dying when you almost did."

Thorin finds, suddenly, that the words are easy. That they roll out of his tongue. That they have broken free from their prison, and that the key was held by Bilbo. Bilbo, always Bilbo.

"Me too," he says, hurriedly. His hands reach to Bilbo's hands, gripping them. "I love you."

Thorin Oakenshield may not be the sharpest tool in the box. He may have not been thinking straight when he brought Bilbo Baggins with his Company into a dangerous adventure. And he may have never thought of falling for Bilbo, and Bilbo falling for him, and both alive with an Erebor that is coming back to life as a phoenix does.

However, if there is anything certain for Thorin Oakenshield, is that Bilbo's lips on his are the truest bliss on this cruel world — that for each wound in his soul, Bilbo's touch closes it up — that for every time Thorin feels undeserving, Bilbo's voice is a soft embrace that reminds him of his worth.

Thorin may have never counted with every dwarf fancying Bilbo Baggins. But Bilbo Baggins always counted with Thorin falling for him since Thorin woke up from battle and his eyes bore a deep love screaming for help to be free.

He always held hope.

And Thorin responded to that call when it was withering away — and, like Erebor, gave them a new beginning when everything was almost lost.

would of wanted to have a spin-off series of just robin, guy and archer getting into stupid shit and have to use their shared brain cell for once…want it so bad dude

Sword w cellphone charms