Author's Note: This is a satire of all the common tropes in Thorin/OCs and just plain old OCs falling in Middle-earth, and going on the quest. This is in no way meant to offend anyone, but is meant as a joke. I'm hoping to encourage writers to think outside the box more. You see, tropes are commonly used because they're the most convenient and immediate thoughts when imagining an OC on the quest to Erebor. For example, why do all the romantic moments have to take place in Rivendell, Laketown, and Beorn's? Because those places are most sensible and convenient. So hopefully this fic will encourage young writers to be more creative. And in this story, I will be breaking the fourth wall: as in the company is aware of fanfiction and tropes.
Disclaimer: I do not own any dwarves, hobbits, wizards, or elves, even though it'd be awesome I own nothing. Everything belongs to Tolkien and Peter Jackson.
Chapter One: Trixie
King Under the Mountain at your service, bitch. At least that was what I felt like saying as soon as Gandalf opened the door. I saw him staring at me with that innocent look, like he hadn't made me travel to the fucking Shire to meet a fucking hobbit. Damn him. Really, a hobbit? He wanted to bring a hobbit on the quest? Wasn't it bad enough I had to bring Nori on the quest? I wasn't sure how Dwalin, Balin, Fili, and Kili felt about it, but I felt weird when I thought about the upcoming nights, sleeping less than two-feet away from a criminal on the run. Note to self: sleep with one eye open.
"Gandalf," I said in my super-sexy voice that made young girls write so many fanfictions about me. Couldn't blame them. My family might've been a bunch of screw-ups, but we did have great genes that gave us sexy looks. Must ignore the temptation to flip my hair over my shoulder, while pretending not to wink at―at―
Oh. My. Mahal just struck me down.
I noticed the hobbit as I walked in, those cute green eyes, dainty little hands, and coppery, curly hair. No wonder why BagginShield was such a hit in the fandom. Bilbo got my libido go― nope, must undo these impure thoughts. Remember, I am supposed to not know who Bilbo is.
I folded my arms, acting like asshole of the year. You know, I had to remind all these dwarves, hobbit, and wizard, who was King Under the Mountain.
"So this is the hobbit," I spoke in my infamous pantydropper voice. The whores in the taverns loved it when I called them, "Dirty little cock-sluts." I wondered if the hobbit would like it. Must stop trying to seduce the hobbit after 2.0 seconds of knowing him. That will come off out of character.
"Thorin Oakenshield, meet Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf said, discreetly winking at me. He wished this were a BagginShield fic, too. If even Gandalf wanted BagginShield, then this love interest must be terrible.
And then if things couldn't get any worse, I noticed her, the twenty-something year-old woman who's supposed to be my true love. She was standing by Kili like every other OC, trying to be best friends with the Durins. She had no personality like the rest. Well, when I was forced to shove my tongue down her throat, I guess I would imagine Bilbo to get me through the painful nights―nope, stop thinking of the hobbit that way.
Gandalf noticed me "checking out" the woman.
He cleared his throat dramatically, preparing for the speech he'd given a million times in other fics. "Thorin Oakenshield, meet Trixie Oakenstruck." Well, Oakenstruck was a first. She looked at me with her big, dumb brown eyes. Trixie put her hands on her hips stubbornly, puffing out her chest. She was tiny―you know like every other OC―like one of those "wind can blow them away" types. Not that I haven't seen that done in every Thorin/OC fic.
"A woman?" I declared in all my majesty swag. It was time to look like a sexist pig.
"Yes, a woman," Gandalf snapped, looking seconds away from rolling his eyes. "She is here to change things on the quest, from another world."
"Will she be like the other women who were supposed to change the quest but did nothing?" Kili blurted. Usually, when I saw Kili, I wanted to cry because he was my nephew. But right now, I was so proud I could kiss him. Yes, King Under the Mountain did get wishy-washy sometimes.
"It is my greatest hope that Trixie Oakenstruck will be different," Gandalf started dramatically. "She is part dwarf, part hobbit, part the race of Men, and part elf, raised in another world by 'foster' parents because her father is―"
Dramatic pause.
I tried my hardest to look taut in anticipation, but all I could think about was how I had a bad bout of oncoming diarrhea. Now I had to use a hobbit bathroom. Great. That was certainly going to be an unexpected journey.
"Azog," Trixie finished for Gandalf, nearing me. She stood two inches shorter, her "beautiful" raven black hair cascading over her shoulders. All that description was artsy-fartsy. She wished she had my bountiful, bouncy, healthy hair. I wondered if the author, Pearl Primrose, would delete it. Waiting. Seconds later. Nope, she's intent on putting me through hell. Have I not been through enough hell, you know with the Dragon burning my kingdom down, me―the majestic one―having to do manual labor in villages of Men, and me having to raise two dumbass heirs? Suicide never looked so becoming.
"Azog?" I said, completely outraged. Isn't her elvish blood bad enough? Let me guess, she's also somehow related to Thranduil. I hate that bastard. Could not wait for the opportunity to shove my sword up Thranduil's―
"Do you have a problem with it?" Trixie spoke heatedly, glaring daggers at me. Oh. Now I get it. For a moment, I thought she was going to fall under the Mary-Sue type, but nope, here we have "Thorin's clone" trope. I wanted to bash Dain's face in, kill Thranduil, and strangle Fili and Kili for being stupid, so why would King Under the Mountain put up with a disrespectful―
"Thorin, be gracious," Gandalf chastised.
I gave my best "cold" expression, leering from Trixie to Gandalf.
"You know, I don't want to be here!" Trixie cried. I wanted to say, "You know, no one else wants you here," but I had to stick to the fic.
"She's a fiery one." Fili nodded. "Uncle should take careful heed." Yeah, because Fili would really side with a random bitch over his own uncle. 'Sides, I wasn't just any uncle, I was King Under the Mountain.
"It is all right, lass, we will make sure you are well-fed and taken care of," Balin said all too kindly, wrapping an arm around Trixie, leading her to the kitchen table.
I noticed something weird as I marched to the kitchen, determined to look emotionless and untouchable. People liked to give me Snape swag. I didn't even get to deliver my line to Bilbo: "You look more like a grocer than burglar." I really wished this was a BagginShield fic.
I was seriously contemplating disowning Fili after he said, "If there is a key, there must be a door." If it wasn't for Dis telling me she'd break my neck like a chicken, and then take the throne of Erebor for herself, maybe I would. The entire company already liked Trixie for some reason. They liked her telling me off. She'd shouted with Clary Fray swag, "Shut up, Thorin! I don't like you, Thorin! I wanna go home! I hate you! You're not my King!" Ugh, bitch, where do you think you landed? Narnia? Yep, I was a King and once we got to Erebor, I was planning to have you executed, and then run away happily ever with―with―must control thoughts of a particular hobbit.
Balin sat in front of me, as I longingly gazed after the hobbit. Yum, his rump was so―
"It appears we have lost our burglar," Balin spoke dejectedly. If Pearl Primrose kept using the dialogue from the movie, readers were going to get bored, and miss my swajesty.
We kept talking, me getting emotional when Balin said I had brought my dwarves a life of peace and plenty. I desperately tried to convey my emotions. Hey, but even big bad Thorin Oakenshield could have his heartstrings pulled. Down the hall, I saw Trixie stop and gawk at me. I didn't blame her, my hair was looking extra fabulous today. I was resisting the urge to do a hair flip yet again. It was hard being blessed with these great looks. Every woman, girl, man, and boy wanted to get naked with me. Old people, too. Elves, dwarves, hobbits―hopefully a certain hobbit―it didn't matter. Everyone wanted to get naked with Thorin Oakenshield.
Trixie hissed like some wild animal, licking her bottom lip. I noticed she had hints of a beard from her "dwarf" heritage, hobbit feet, elf ears, and was built like the race of Men. I didn't think an author could create a bigger travesty than those other OCs, but I guess miracles were possible.
She gave me the middle finger, which somehow translated to "come hither" Thorin. I resisted those "feelings" Pearl Primrose wanted me to have, puffing out my chest.
Balin shook his head. "Oakenstruck, now could that be a coincidence?"
No shit, Balin. Bitches be wanting my last name.
Minutes later, after being in the hobbit's bathroom to not sniff his towels and inhale his scent like some weird pervert, I was by the fireplace, ready to make all these grown men cry with my sexy voice. I smoked my pipe weed. Damn, this shit was good. No wonder why Gandalf was always puffing on his pipe. I should've never let Fili and Kili start smoking when they were forty. I think that explained some things―like why Kili was slow and why my nephews were always quick to befriend every OC.
I started singing "Misty Mountains Cold." I swore my voice could put a stop to every war and every orc's need to kill, rape, and be a freak. I was that good. Maybe if I had sung to Azog, we could have been best buds, killing the people who were nothing but diseases and taking over Middle-earth one kingdom at a time―those Rohirrims pissed me off. You know, if Azog hadn't killed my grandfather. Should've castrated him.
Trixie was sitting close to Kili and Fili, giggling like some Balrog meets Gandalf without his pipe weed for a week. Withdrawals with that wizard were brutal. Seriously contemplating stabbing Pearl Primrose here.
And then like a Harry Potter spell―cue my magic harp playing and violins―Trixie smiled at me. Oh, no. Not again. Fuck. Shit. She looked like a jack-o-lantern or an orc, or a jack-o-lantern that was supposed to be an orc. Actually, I'd rather battle Azog again than deal with this. Please. Anything else Pearl Primrose? Even Durincest was looking better than Trixie Oakenstruck. So going to cry my eyes out tonight while dreaming about my―nope. Thorin Oakenshield did not have a thing for hobbits. This chapter had better get fifty reviews or my swajesty is going somewhere else―like Bilbo's―gah, stop thinking of that cute hobbit.
Author's Note: So since I just finished my fourth manuscript, taking a break so I can have some "fresh eyes" on my baby, I probably will be able to finish this fic soon. Again, I will say, this is not meant to offend anyone. It is meant to be funny and to encourage writers to see beyond tropes of The Hobbit fandom. I know this is random, but since I'm an avid YA reader and have been discovering all kinds of songs lately, I thought it'd be cool to share the love. I might do this for every chapter if you peeps don't mind. So *dramatic pause* I recommend Insignia by S.J. Kincaid. It's a science fiction book pitched as Harry Potter meets Ender's Game. It is the perfect example of executing voice while writing third-person. The characterization is awesome, too. Now for song, I'm going with "Heroes" by David Bowie. I can't believe it took me forever to discover it, but luckily I did I think Thorin would like "Heroes."
And before I forget, please review comments, questions, input, and everything is welcomed. No, this chapter doesn't need fifty reviews, that was just Thorin using his swajesty. Swajesty equals majestic swag if any readers are like, "WTF is Pearl Primrose talking about?"
