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Pug Appreciation Post!

This is my pug named Bilbo! He is almost four years old. He is a dream come true for me and I love him so much. I love taking him out to do fun things. He likes to go on short walks and loves to run in circles. I am so lucky to have him in my life. We love him!

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Bilba sat and listened to her stepmother berate her for missing a performance no one had even attended. Her hands were clenched into white knuckled fists in her lap and she had her teeth gritted so hard her jaw ached.

“We don’t pay for you to go running about like a little tramp at all hours of the day and night, doing who knows what—“ her stepmother ranted, nose in the air as she looked down on where Bilba sat on the end of her bed.

Bilba’s hands twitched and something inside her snapped. She’d spent all day being treated like a person, a normal person who had value and worth.

She no longer fit in the box her stepmother had kept her in for so long.

She didn’t want to fit.

The very idea, the mere thought of things going back to the way they had been was abhorrent.

Even if it was only for one night.

Bilba blinked in surprise at her own line of thought, and then felt her spirit settle. The fear of leaving, of upending her entire life to step into the unknown had kept her bound to her stepmother for so long.

She wasn’t afraid anymore.

Not now. Not that she knew exactly what her future held, who her future held.

She should have just gone with him.

Immediately. No matter how radical, or overwhelming, or anything else. She should have just…gone.

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Dwalin, seeing Thorin and Bilbo holding hands: so who finally confessed?

Bilbo: it was me. I made sure it was short and sweet :)

Thorin: short and sweet?

Thorin: you got drunk one night, came into my bedroom and yelled; “listen here you little shit, I have feelings for you and I know you have feelings for me too so it’s about goddamn time we acknowledged them”

Bilbo: like I said…short and sweet

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Minuet (Chapter 5)

Bilba hesitantly approached the small window in the front of Dale’s main theater. Outside, she saw the same wide stairs she’d seen the last eight times she’d checked, leading down to the same narrow street. The day was bright and sunny, and a stiff breeze had the ribbons and kites dancig as if they too were celebrating.

“Relax,” she ordered herself firmly, stepping away. “He’s not even supposed to be here yet.”

Her stomach fluttered and she spun on her feet, yanking nervously on the bottom of her short jacket. She’d worn the outfit she used for interviews. It and her performance dress were the only two nice pieces she had and, since she didn’t fancy traipsing around Dale in an evening gown, red floral sundress and denim jacket it was.

She wasn’t insane so she’d elected for her sneakers over the wedges she normally wore with the outfit and had used a barrette to pull her hair to the side so that it swept over her shoulder. She didn’t have any jewelry unless Lobelia loaned it to her, and she’d never been allowed makeup, but she hoped she still looked nice.

She should simply be happy no one in her family had noticed how dressed up she was. For once, their general lack of care and concern about her had worked in her favor.

She risked another look, chewing nervously on her lower lip. As nervous as she was, she was also really excited. Lobelia’s only concern was for the ball, so they’d arrived a day before it was scheduled, which meant the festival had already been carrying on for nearly a full week and was, by now, in full swing.

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Fill and Kili as your big brothers.

Like ugh they would make awesome bigger brothers. I feel like I would make a good little brother to them. Idk I would just love to be in that family. With bagginshield as my uncle’s. And lady dis as my mum. Uhh. Thoughts?

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hey loves, 

just wanted to let you know the ship requests are closed, i still have some in my inbox (and i will be finishing those).

my imagine requests are open! so feel free to request something! I also accept smut requests, but won’t promise i write every idea that you guys come up with (only the ones i feel comfortable with)

i write for:

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Minuet (Chapter 4)

Bilba did speak to Fili the next day.

She also spoke to him the day after that, and the one after that as well.  

Suddenly she couldn’t wait to be left alone in the venues while Lobelia and Priscilla went shopping or Lotho and Otho went off to explore the various nightclubs and entertainment spots.

Suddenly the thought of being dumped in a run-down motel while her family went somewhere better was something she actively looked forward to.

She was careful to always have the phone on silent, or even turned off when she wasn’t using it, and kept both it and the charger carefully hidden. If possible she kept both items with her, hiding them in her clothes or dressing room.

She and Fili soon figured out the best times to text or call, the resulting conversations quickly turning into a routine that Bilba eagerly looked forward to. During the day, it wasn’t unusual for her to glance at her phone and find a funny text he’d sent her, and she soon got into the habit of doing the same.

Talking to him made her life seem brighter in a way it hadn’t been in a very long time, if ever.


“I’m so glad to be done,” she told him nearly three weeks later as she threw herself on her bed at the end of a long day. “The Iron Hills, not fans of classical music.”

Fili chuckled over the phone. He sounded tired, and she made a note to not keep him long. Being a stagehand apparently involved a lot of meetings and he’d already mentioned having been in one that had lasted most of the day. “Not great numbers then?”

“They weren’t terrible,” Bilba said. The numbers had been comparable to a few of the other places she’d been to, but that wasn’t good enough for some people. “My stepmother wasn’t happy. She spent a lot of money trying to get the attention of the nobility and Lord What’s-His-Name, but it was all for naught.”

She tried to keep the satisfaction out of her voice as she spoke, but it was hard. She’d been talking to Fili enough that she’d slowly started to open up to him, a little at least. She hadn’t told him everything. She didn’t want him to think she was a complainer for one thing.

For another, the image of her grandfather was forever flashing across her mind.

Specifically, the memory of sitting across from him, explaining what was going on, and having him not believe her.  

He hadn’t believed her, and that had been her grandfather. Fili was just a friend, little more than a high-tech pen pal for all they’d interacted in person. How could she ever expect him to believe her when her own family hadn’t?

“Dain?” Fili asked in surprise. “She wanted Dain there? I don’t think he’s much of a fan of classical music.”

Bilba laughed. “I figured that. I don’t think she cared about him so much as she was hoping he’d see Priscilla and want to introduce her to his son.”

Fili snorted. “I don’t think she’d be his type. Besides, I thought she was interested in Erebor’s prince?”

“I don’t think she cares as long as his title is Your Highness,” Bilba said dryly. She sat up on the bed suddenly, tucking her legs under her and bouncing a little in excitement. “We’re leaving tomorrow though.”

“Lake-town is next?” Fili asked.

Bilba nodded at the empty room. This hotel, while small, was far nicer than most of the rundown ones she’d stayed in. The room was clean and pleasant, and the staff had been extremely nice to her. “We won’t be staying there long.”

“Let me guess, no royalty?”

“No royalty,” Bilba agreed with a laugh. “And my stepmother gets seasick and the entire town is literally on a lake.”

“I’ve never been so happy for that fact,” Fili said sincerely. “So Dale in plenty of time for the festival?”

“Yeah,” Bilba said. Her face had gone hot at his words and a, by now, familiar tingle ran through her gut. She’d been telling herself to not let her heart get involved, repeatedly. She knew better. He was simply being kind. She was simply lonely. There was nothing there, couldn’t be anything there.

They’d been talking every day, for hours at a time, but that didn’t change the fact that they’d only known one another three weeks. Or that she still didn’t know what he looked like. She could have asked for a picture but was worried he’d think her shallow, or that he’d wonder how it was she’d never looked at him back when he’d first helped her. All she knew for sure was that he was about her age, and had a voice that, of late, had started sending shivers down her spine and causing her toes to curl in her shoes.

She really was an idiot, and she knew it…her brain knew it anyway.

Her heart, however, was stubbornly refusing to listen to anything she had to say to it.

Yavanna, she could just see herself slipping up and watching the tone turn awkward, could almost hear him trying to gently explain that he was just being kind and certainly wasn’t interested in her in that way.

“Are you going to the festival?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts. “Most of it happens in Dale, and then the ball will happen in Erebor on the last day.”

“I wish,” Bilba said. A shadow moved past her window and, through the lace curtains, she spotted one of the two new assistants her stepmother had hired. It wasn’t like her to willingly spend money they didn’t technically need to spend, but she’d gotten tired of how long it took Otho and Lotho to load the cars. Dwalin and Nori had been passing by and offered to help. After, they’d expressed interest in visiting the Iron Hills and, as they seemed fine with nearly non-existent pay and poor lodgings, Lobelia had hired them.

Bilba had been terrified of Dwalin at first. He was enormous, partly bald and covered with tattoos. He also wore knuckledusters as a fashion accessory. He had quickly proven, however, to be a gentle giant, with her at least, and had already chased off several fans who’d tried to harass her after shows.

Nori didn’t have the size or tattoos, or knuckledusters, but he possessed no fear and almost seemed to want people to get in his face so he could laugh at them and terrify him with all the cares he did not give.

Ever since they’d been hired, Bilba’s stress levels had fallen dramatically. They were at the venues all day with her and, best of all, stayed in the same hotels. Both had given her their cells numbers and just knowing they were there if she needed them was an intense relief.

“You’re not going?” Fili asked in surprise. “I thought you were excited about it.”

“I am,” Bilba said, only half paying attention as she idly wondered where Dwalin was going this late. “Unfortunately, I’m tragically lacking in funds.”

“Really?” Fili asked. “How is that possible?”

Bilba pulled her eyes away from the window and stared at the phone as if it had sprouted fangs and bit her. She hadn’t meant to say that. Why had she said that?

“It’s not a big deal,” she said quickly, trying to backtrack. “I started preforming when I was still a minor and my checks would go to my stepmother’s account. I’ve just never bothered to change it is all.”

“Which would be fine,” Fili said slowly, “if you weren’t talking as if she wouldn’t give you access when you wanted it. It’s your money.”

“I know that,” Bilba said defensively. Her face was growing hot again, but for an entirely different reason. “They’ve done a lot for me and it costs a lot to raise a kid and –”

“And that’s their job,” Fili cut in, his voice hard. “And, besides, didn’t you say something about your father leaving money? Why aren’t they using that?”

A low tremor started running over her limbs, and Bilba felt cold.

He didn’t believe her.

She’d said too much and now he didn’t believe her and he’d either go tell her stepmother or he’d call her a liar and leave.

Her vision went blurry and she pursed her lips as the bridge of her nose began to burn.

“It must not have been as much as I thought,” she said softly, her voice wavering. “My dad wasn’t expecting it to be used to support everyone, just me. They must have–”

“Wait,” Fili cut in. “Are you saying that money was left for you? Why are they controlling it?”

Bilba’s eyes slid closed. Why was she making it worse with every word she said? “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Bilba–” Fili started.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” Bilba sucked her lower lip in and bit down until pain splintered through it. An errant tear escaped, and she swiped at it angrily, turning her eyes to the ceiling as if it would somehow retract them.

On the other end of the phone line, there was only silence.

Bilba inhaled sharply and tightened her grip on the phone. Yavanna, she was so stupid. No wonder her stepmother wouldn’t let her control her money. Maybe she was right. Maybe Bilba really was just that useless. “Are you very mad at me?” she asked, timidly.

“No,” Fili said, sounding agitated. “Aule, of course not.”

Bilba let out a slow breath, and physically sagged. “Are we still friends?” Her voice sounded very small even to her own ears and she clenched her free hand, digging her nails into the flesh of her palm.

Yes,” Fili said. “Of course we are. Friends disagree sometimes, it doesn’t mean they stop being friends.”

“Oh.” Bilba relaxed minutely. “Okay.”

Fili started to say something, stopped, and then started again. “Please tell me I’m not your first friend.”

“I don’t get out much” Bilba said, forcing her tone to stay even. “I spent most of my time practicing.”

“All right.” His voice changed, as if he’d been lounging and changed position. He sounded angry, his voice harder than she’d ever heard it, but he wasn’t yelling at her, so maybe that was okay? “How about this then? When you get to Dale, let me take you out to eat and to the festival. My treat.”

Bilba shifted, and folding her legs under her. She focused on her thighs and idly picked at the hem of the nightshirt she’d changed into after getting back. “I don’t know. Lobelia usually likes me to stay at the venue.”

“You’re twenty-one,” Fili said gently. “You know she can’t tell you what to do, right?”

That was true, Bilba mentally agreed, but her stepmother could certainly make her suffer for it after.

“I don’t have any money,” she repeated. “I don’t want to take advantage.”

“It’s not taking advantage when I’m offering.” Bilba heard the faint sound of a voice behind Fili and he covered the phone speaker and dropped his voice as he responded.

As she waited for him to return, Bilba absently studied the hem of her nightshirt. She’d had it for years, a castoff from Priscilla. It was worn, too tight across the chest, and been repeatedly mended in several areas. Most of her clothing was like that, except for the few nicer items she wore to performances or interviews.

An unexpected surge of resentment flashed through her. Her shows would never make her rich, but they certainly provided her enough money to buy a decent nightshirt, or go to a festival if she wanted. And that wasn’t even taking into account her parent’s money which, by all rights, should be hers.

But, no, she had to wear worn out hand-me-downs and spend her time stuck in run down venues while her stepmother and family ran about spending her money. She basically supported them while they, in turn, treated her like garbage and assassinated her character.

“Bilba?” Fili had come back on. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah.” Bilba’s eyes went to the window again. It was dark now, but the day had been nice. Sunny and warm, for that side of the Misty Mountains anyway. If it had been up to her, she’d have sat at a sidewalk cafe with a cup of hot chocolate and simply enjoyed people watching.

Instead, she’d been stuck inside another dusty building, while her stepfamily enjoyed the day without her.

“I should have gone on a walk,” she whispered.

“What?” Fili asked.

Bilba shook her head and focused on the call. “Sorry. I was saying I should have taken a walk today. The weather was nice.”

“It’ll probably still be nice when you get to Dale,” Fili said hopefully. “I could take you on a tour.”

Bilba pictured it, walking alongside her friend through the streets of Dale, enjoying the festival and the nice weather like any other normal person.

She wanted that. Possibly more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life aside from her parents.

“I’d like that,” she whispered. “A lot.” She frowned. “Maybe, when I find out the venue we’ll be in, you can meet me there? I’m usually stuck in those things all day. My stepmother won’t even know I’m gone.”

“Sounds good,” Fili said, voice neutral. 

It shouldn’t matter if her stepmother knew she was going out, Bilba thought. In a perfect world, it wouldn’t. She was twenty-one. She had the right to make her own decisions, her own choices.

Except, her mind reminded her, for the fact that she literally had nothing. No money, no family or friends that would be willing to help her, and few skills outside of playing the piano. She wasn’t even in a familiar place at the moment, but was instead on almost the opposite side of the world. 

If she pushed her stepmother too much, made her angry enough, it was quite likely the woman would throw her out. Right onto the street with little more than the clothes on her back and no one and nothing to help her.

Bilba shuddered and wrapped her free arm around her torso. “Definitely meet at the venue,” she said. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

“All right.” It sounded like he started to say something, caught himself, and then said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Bilba.”

Bilba nodded. “Okay.”

He ended the call and she let out a breath, staring at the phone. She wasn’t sure if she felt elated at the prospect of sneaking out for the festival or terrified.

Probably both.

In any event, one thing she was sure of, was that she couldn’t wait to meet Fili in person.

Okay, so maybe that prospect was a little terrifying too.

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Thank You, Christopher

Christopher Tolkien has died at the age of 95. For those unfamiliar, he is one of the sons of professor J.R.R. Tolkien, the man who created The Hobbit, the Lord of the Rings, and the world of Middle-Earth as a whole.

However, before he could finish his stories in full, he passed, in 1973. Christopher then spent the remainder of his life picking up the pieces and notes left behind by his father, and, after what could have been years of deciphering and uncoding and restructuring, Christopher put together what remained, and published The Silmarillion, as well as several other stories such as the Unfinished Tales, Beren and Luthien, and the Children of Hurin.

Without the work he put in into realizing what remained of his father’s world, our world would be much less bright, and we would suffer for it.

Thank you, Christopher Tolkien. May your passage to the Blessed Realm and the halls of your fathers be gentle, and may you find peace and warmth there.

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Prompt Request from @specialagentsnark for a concert pianist Bilba and a stagehand Fili who is more than what he seems. I definitely took some liberties with the prompt but I think the elements are all there and I hope you like it! :D


Bilba sat quietly in a wood backed chair as her stepmother berated her. Lobelia had been carrying on for a while and Bilba did try to pay attention. The other woman had the habit of periodically stopping to demand Bilba repeat what she’d said, slights and all. If Bilba failed to remember a barb or cutting remark it would launch her stepmother into an entirely new tirade.

“Ungrateful chit,” the older woman was saying, hands on her hips. “After all we’ve sacrificed for you and this is how you repay us?”

Bilba looked at her hands where they lay in her lap, trembling as she slowly wrung them together. She didn’t know why Lobelia still got to her. It wasn’t like anything she was saying was new or even unusual.

The door to the small dressing room opened and Lobelia’s husband, Lotho, squeezed inside. Lotho was Bilba’s cousin and simultaneously Lobelia’s first and third husband. The two had been married quite young and divorced shortly after Bilba had been born to her own parents, Bungo and Belladonna. After her mother had died, Bungo had married Lobelia with the hopes of providing Bilba a mother figure. The marriage had lasted only a few short years, until Bungo had unexpectedly taken ill and passed away.

Bilba had been five and barely capable of understanding the concept of death. All she knew was her father was gone, and no amount of waiting at the window and watching the front lane would bring him back.

Two months later, Lobelia had married, or remarried in this case, Lotho.

You might want to keep it down, my dear,“ Lotho said as he slid the door, barely open a crack as it was, closed. "I could hear you in the hall.”

“Good.” Lobelia raised her chin defiantly. “Perhaps others realizing what a selfish brat she is will bring a certain someone off her high horse.”

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AN; Ok, this is in the drafts/queue thing 1/6, It’s set to post next week at this time, I hope it works, if it does I’ll delete this AN, this is really just for me


Originally posted by justalittletumblweed

 Thorin wasn’t kidding when he said first light. Someone kicked my leg, flinging my eyes open. I shot my hand out from under my torso and pulled who ever kicked me off their feet. Of course, this all happened at once, before the poor soul had even pulled away his toes, wait…. Toes?
    "Sorry Bilbo,“ I said as he hit the ground. I sat up and blinked sleep out of my eyes. It took a moment for the hobbit to respond.
    "How in the Shire did you do that,” He asked. He sat up holding his head. I shrugged.
    "Reflexes, by Durin, is it even dawn yet?!“
    "Stop chatting you two,“ Thorin yelled from behind the fire, where he was destroying breakfast. That’s when I sprang to my feet and stalked over to Thorin.
    "What are you doing,” I asked. He frowned up at me, his mouth half open.
    "Making food, what else would I be doing, burning the hobbit’s foot hair?!“ Bilbo looked at his feet then back at Thorin, a hint of bemusement in his eyes. Thorin pointed a spatula at me, wagging it slightly. "You two are going to saddle the ponies.” I laughed, and wiped a fake tear from my eye.
    "Wake someone else Hobbit, I must save the food,“ I said, getting ready to take the spatula from Thorin. Bilbo glanced around the camp, then walked towards Bofur. Thorin frowned at me and drew the spatula back towards the pan he held over the fire.
    "I can cook,” He growled, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. I snorted and crouched next to him, my hand extended.

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