It was freezing, wet and this was most definitely not my house. Instead of being in my beautiful, warm and cozy bed, I was lying in a massive garden full of plants while cold rain poured down on me. Gone were my mushroom figurines, my flower petal bedsheets, my fluffy stuffed animals, and my collection of trinkets. Instead, they were replaced by corn, tomatoes, carrots, and whatever other plant was here.
My god, where was I?
I winced as my limbs popped, pushing myself into a sitting position while trying not to slip in the mud. My hand slipped, but I managed to catch myself before I hit the ground again. I wiped the water from my eyes, but it did little to clear up my vision. A shudder went through my body, and I gasped as a gust of air hit me, freezing the water onto my skin.
I coughed as I accidentally inhaled some of the rainwater, making my throat burn and my chest tighten. I hit the floor again, still coughing and curling up. By the time I stopped, my body had started shaking.
"What the hell?"
For some reason, my voice sounded a bit deeper than normal. I didn't think too much about it, however, reasoning that it was just an effect from my coughing fit and the weather constricting my lungs.
I pushed myself back up, crying out in annoyance and growing anger when more wind assaulted my senses. More rain blinded me, bringing hot tears that burn mixing in with the cold water in my eyes.
"This is a hate crime!" I cried out. "This is a crime and I hate it!"
Where the absolute fuck was I?
"Hello?!" I called out while looking around. "Who brought me here?! What the fuck do you want?!"
No answer, only more sharp gusts of winds followed by a roar of thunder that made me jump. My body froze at the sound and the strike of lightning, causing my heart to almost stop. I shrieked at a particularly loud clap, the sound so loud it caused my ears to ring. My hands flew to the sides of my head, and I curled to the ground involuntarily.
No. No no no.
Not this. Not right now.
One more roar of thunder made me grip my ears tighter and that's when I felt it.
My stomach dropped as my hands loosened so that my fingers could run along the edges. The very pointed edges that I knew did not belong on my natural ears. My stunned brain short-circuited enough to ignore the next thunder and focus solely on the change to my body.
"What the fuck?"
A few strands of hair had been pushed down by the rain and into my line of sight.
A strangled cry left me as the bright white color shone in the lighting and my hands flew to fist my hair. Even though it was soaking wet, the texture was softer and smoother than my normally dry and shitty hair. It was still short, only down to my mid-neck, but far thicker than I had ever hoped it would be even with those bouji routines my roommate kept trying to get me on.
As I was running my hand through my hair, something in me snapped and I instantly began to feel myself up for any other changes.
"What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?"
My breathing sped up the more I searched and the more that I found. This was not my body. This was not my fucking body. What the fuck? What the actual fuck?!
My breasts were gone and replaced by a flat, and I mean flat, chest. Though I wasn't that big of a person, I knew damn well that I was never this thin. My limbs were far too slim and the little bit of pudge that I had in my stomach had vanished. My thicc thighs that saved lives had shrunk and that alone ripped my heart out.
Speaking of heart, my thump in my chest was pounding so hard in my fucking pointed ears that it almost blocked out the sounds of the disgusting thunder. The rest of the environment was blocked out by my rapid breath that only kept speeding up by the second. I let out a pathetic whine when the lightning blinded me and then a shriek as one last blast nearly destroyed my ears.
Why was everything so loud?
My heart was too loud. The thunder was horribly painful and the rain hitting the ground nearly split my skull open. The more I sat there, shivering and hyperventilating in the freezing storm, the more grating the wind and rain and beats became.
"What the fuck?" I stuttered out, a sob nearly choking me. "Anyone?! Please help me!"
My body gave another shudder as an extremely sharp gust of wind almost knocked me over.
Then I felt it.
As I was checking myself, I gripped something between my not-so-thicc thighs. Something foreign that should not have been there. Something that cemented the fact into my stuttering brain that this was not my fucking body.
A sharp and startled scream tore through the storming sky as I let full panic set in.
Bilbo Baggins liked to think of himself as a very reasonable Hobbit when it came to stressful situations.
After all, he had been the one that had dealt with the disasters in the Shire, such as when his neighbor's crops had been infested with weeds and even prevented a catastrophe from occurring when the Old Lass Ruby had forgotten to order a celebration cake for her son's birthday.
This, however, was far greater of a situation than what he had ever dealt with.
After a particularly terrible storm the night before, he had gone out to assess the damage done to his crops. He had expected a few broken stems or even an abundance of mud that would have been particularly difficult on his garden.
A terrified and crying Big Folk was not what he expected in the slightest.
It took an embarrassingly long time to snap out of his shock and rush to aid this fallen stranger. It took even longer to work up the courage to speak to them, though they were clearly quite shaken. A knot formed in his stomach when he saw the condition of this poor stranger.
Looking a bit closer, he could see that it was a male and a shockingly young one at that. He was soaking wet and trembling violently while curling on the ground. His hands had a death grip on his head, as if it caused him great pain. He was strikingly beautiful, probably the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld, even though mud caked much of his body and face. However, the pointed ears were the most shocking thing about him.
The wonder of seeing an elf in person sent a wave of childhood nostalgia through him - memories of searching and spying into the woods near his home on those summer nights peeking through - only for the shock and worry for this boy to set his head back into place. A pathetic whimper was enough to bring him out fully and he, despite knowing how difficult it would be to remove the mud stains from his clothes, knelt to aid this stranger.
His heart almost shattered when the elf flinched away from him and tried to run. He didn't get very far, barely a foot, before slipping on the mud and landing back on the wet ground on his back. He didn't try to get back up, but the rapid growing fear was as clear as day. The knot in his stomach grew until it became a feeling closer to rage.
What had caused him to end up in such a state?
He wasn't anything like the stories his mother told him, where the elves were graceful, fearless and among the strongest fighters in Middle Earth. Though tall, he was smaller than what he had pictured they'd be, and it seemed like a Fauntling would be able to take him down. No, he most certainly wasn't like them in the slightest, cowering in the mud and terrified of a Hobbit, no less!
The next few moments passed in a rapid blur, with him struggling to calm the elf and keep him from tumbling into his garden any further (Bilbo almost felt his heart give out when he realized that his poor carrots were nearly uprooted in the struggle). The Elf struggled when he went to lift him, but had no strength to do much, to Bilbo's worry. He tried to speak with him and explain that he meant no harm, but alas, none of the words seemed to register.
He didn't know how long it took to calm him down enough to let him pull him to his home, but by the time they were in, the sun was already rising.
Though it was terribly rude and very un-Baggins like, he decided to skip offering his impromptu guest any refreshments and pulled him straight into the bathroom. After all, it would have been even more rude to leave him covered in mud and rainwater.
The Elf was still trembling, occasionally sniffling away tears, but followed him obediently. Bilbo silently thanked his earlier self that he had already heated up water for his bath that morning, even though it might not be enough for his guest. He gently pushed the elf into the bathroom, gesturing him to sit down in the corner while he went to get the bath ready.
Bilbo sighed in relief when he poured the steaming bath water into the tub, finding it just enough to rid his guest of the mud and grime. He would need to heat up more to fully clean him, but it was enough for now. He pulled out a spare washcloth and soap from the cabinet a set them down next to the tub.
Trusting his guest to be able to figure things out from here, he left to gather more water and start breakfast. After all, he didn't want to be ruder than he already was.
This was actually happening.
I made the connection as soon as I saw the huge feet on the small body of the man that had pulled me up and dragged me into his house. After spending hours in the freezing rain without so much a waver in the fabric of reality to indicate that I was going to wake up, the dream theory was out the window, and I was ready to accept any explanation at this point. Seeing Bilbo Fucking Baggins the next morning was the final shock to my system.
I've read enough fanfictions to be able to see what the fuck had just happened.
When he managed to pull my hyperventilating ass off the ground, I managed to push down the rest of my panic enough to follow him. Normally, it would have been a big no-no for me to follow a random man into his house in the middle of nowhere, but I was tired, hungry and more importantly, wet and freezing. My body shuddered when I felt the warm air hit me as I ducked to step inside Bag End.
I didn't bother looking around, since I ended up smearing mud into my eye trying to get the tears and snot off my face. I gasped in pain but kept walking until I was pushed into another room. I couldn't see much of where I was, but I let myself be guided to a wall to sit down on. I could hear the Hobbit moving and water pouring but ignored them in favor of getting my eyes to stop stinging.
By the time I gave up, Bilbo had already left.
Though my vision was blurry, the wooden tub in the middle of the room, larger than what I'd picture for a Hobbit, was easy to see. I almost cried again when I saw the steam rising from the water, pushing myself up and desperately ripping the stained clothes off myself. It was a shame since this was my favorite nightgown and something tells me that it was never going back to white again.
I winced when I looked down at my...new parts...but swallowed my panic and just got in the tub. The tub was rough, small, barely fit my body and the hot water stung at my cold skin, but it felt too good for me to care. After staying there for a while, warming up, I grabbed the rough cloth and oily bar of soap that was left next to it.
I sighed and began the process of scraping off the thick layers of mud off.
Bilbo spent the next hour in the kitchen, pondering about the strange guest in his house as he made a hearty and hot breakfast of bread and butter, a nice ham and a warm apple crumble.
Clearly, something must have happened to make him so afraid. The poor boy was simply terrified and skittish, even somewhere as safe and peaceful as a home in the Shire. He had even flinched and cowered at Bilbo's presence. He never would have thought that he would see the day where someone, much less an Elf, be afraid of a Hobbit. It was preposterous, but right there in his own living room.
His appearance was also very concerning.
Though he knew better than to try to guess an elf's age, the boy looked far too young by his standards. It may have been the delicate beauty of him or the way he shrunk into himself that made him look younger, but he didn't act very old and held no ancient wisdom in his eyes. He felt young, like the youth that would gather around and make a mess in the Shire during the days.
It was nothing like his mother's tales or the books in his father's study.
Speaking of tales, the images in the books looked vastly different. Though he had never met one until now, he knew elves prided themselves on their appearance and would never allow themselves to be disgraced as now.
He had shown up in what appeared to be undergarments and covered in mud. The undergarments were simply too immodest for him to believe that he willingly left his home like that, meaning something had either changed him into them or his clothes had been torn from his body. Neither option seemed to be better in his mind.
The mud could have been explained by the storm he was caught in. The other features, not so much.
Namely, his hair was the biggest concern.
In none of the images he had seen had an elf ever had their hair short. Even in his earliest memories, he had remembered his mother joking about how the Elves would have a heart attack as she trimmed his curls. He knew they kept their hair straight, pristine and long across their backs, not the mess of short and unruly that his guest sported. No elf could ever bring themselves to cut off something they took so much pride in, thus leaving the only possibility that it was cut by force.
Something truly awful must have happened to him and Bilbo wasn't sure he wanted to find out exactly what. He decided not to think about it as he went to pull out the largest extra set of clothes from the guest room while he left the breakfast to bake.
I was covered in bruises.
I didn't notice them until the mud came off and my head cleared up enough to let me examine my body more thoroughly, but they were there. Large red and purple marks littered the areas of my skin, most around my ribs, stomach and thighs, though I wouldn't doubt that there were more on my back and possibly on my face. They were in random places and different sizes without a pattern.
It should have shocked me, but it honestly just felt numb as I traced my fingers over the areas.
I flinched when I heard a knock, quickly grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my chest after a rub down. I still felt dirty, but it was infinitely better than how it was before. I said a small "come in".
He jumped when he saw me, horrified as he saw the bruises upon bruises that littered my body.
He didn't say anything, however, instead gesturing me to follow him to a room through the massive labyrinth that was his home. I shuddered as the colder air hit my still wet skin. I tried not to wince when he shut the door after I walked in, leaving me once again.
I shook my head and looked around.
The room was larger than I expected, with normal sized furniture and space, similar to my college dorm. It was still old and cottage core style like the rest of the house, so warm and cozy all the same. There were no decorations in the room, save for the few empty vases and the single painting of flowers hanging on the wall. The room was also windowless and was illuminated by a single fireplace near the wall and a few candles.
On the bed, which was large enough to be a twin size, were a set of clothes. They were nothing fancy, just plain brown trousers, a shirt and white cloth that looked to be very old-fashioned underwear. It took a while to figure out how everything went, and which buttons belonged where, and it was a bit tighter than I wished. But once again, beggars can't be choosers.
I don't know how long I stayed there. I was too afraid to leave the room and risk getting lost in the halls of the home. With nothing else to do, I started exploring.
There wasn't much for me to look at without moving anything, and I didn't dare touch anything. It looked way too expensive, and I wasn't going to risk breaking something of Bilbo's. Even the jars on the desk reminded me of those high-end antique shops that my roommate would blow her paychecks on. Even the wooden brush looked too fancy to use. I sighed and moved away from the desk.
There was a mirror in the room.
I noticed it as I was drying off my hair with the towel and forced myself in front of it as soon as I was dry. Looking at it made me suck in a breath in shocked horror.
The stranger staring back at me was beyond cute.
He had striking white hair that was messy and sticking out in a way that suited him perfectly, like a fluffy marshmallow or soft cotton. His skin was pale and still pink from the hot water, minus the horrendous bruising, with freckles scattered across his cheeks and adorable nose. His large eyes were the warmest brown that I've ever seen, reminding me of hot chocolate during a cold, winter night.
He was thin and tall compared to most things in the room but didn't seem threatening or intimidating in the slightest. His figure was too fragile and delicate for fighting, more like a gentle dancer than a warrior. Everything about him didn't seem real and he was far too pretty to be let out by himself, like a porcelain doll that one would keep on a shelf to keep from breaking.
The marks across his skin weren't helping the look either. The dark bruises were a sharp contrast against his pale skin and looked horrendously painful. Thankfully, the only one above the clothes that was visible was a small one underneath the right eye that was already fading.
This was me, wasn't it?
What the fuck happened to me?
"This can't be real." I shook my head, moving away from that cursed mirror and going back to sit back down on the bed. "It can't be..."
I buried my face in my hands and felt my eyes burn again.
Bilbo was once again uncomfortable when he opened the door to ask his guest if he wanted any food. He knocked, announced his intention of coming in, waited a few seconds, and then opened the door when he heard no answer.
The elf was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor with a blank expression, though it was clear that he had finished crying not too long ago. He was changed and dry, with the dirty towel and the poor excuse for undergarments folded neatly in the corner of the room. Nothing in the room was touched otherwise, not even the various hair and skin products that he had left out for him.
Had he been sitting there the entire time? He had left him to calm down for well over an hour, and yet he stayed in the small, confined space in the already small room.
However, he pushed down the disturbed feeling and knocked once more to gain is attention.
Bilbo ignored the way he flinched and cleared his throat.
"I've come to see if you would like anything to eat and if there's anything else that I can get for you." He started off, switching back to the polite voice he used for all his guests.
The growl of his stomach answered the question for him. The elf began to blush, but Bibo didn't let him have the time to worry about embarrassment. He made a 'follow me' gesture with his hands.
"Right then. Come along. Breakfast is ready and we can talk once we get you fed."
The Elf nodded without a word, standing up to follow. Bilbo inwardly winced again at his demeanor, so meek and skittish like a cornered mouse as he held himself close and his hands rubbing his arms like a child seeking comfort. He didn't look him in the eye like any polite guest would, instead choosing to look just below him.
Bilbo had never been more disturbed in his short life.
"Right, well. If you would just follow me."