Bilbo who braids Thorin's hair as he fucking dies. Bilbo who can't seem to get his hands to stop shaking but he just has to put the braid in now, before it's too late because they said they would. Bilbo who had the stupid, silver beads in his pocket, ready, because there was never supposed to be a war just a wedding.
I just can't stop thinking about how, sure, there were some rocky moments but that's all they were supposed to be; moments. Bilbo was sure they were going to pass. They were going to work through it. Why else would he be growing out his hair when normally it drove him mad after a certain point?
Thorin who passes gently, peacefully, with the sloppiest, most blasphemous braid in his hair which nobody dares to touch. Thorin who promises to return the favour in the afterlife but in the meantime please do it for me, ghivashel. Thorin whose final breaths are vows.
Bilbo who goes home and learns how to braid. Bilbo who never cuts his hair again.
ANYWAY I'M GOING TO SOB NOW!
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If you’re wanting some MM prompts…I’ve got the best one 👀
“Which one do I hit?!”
Little drabbles with less than 1k words is my goal for these March Madness prompts, and that's hard to do for me! 😂😂😂 So, small snapshots of scenes from various AUs, and this one is from one you can appreciate. (Bookbinder//Songwriter, huehuehuehue)
Each day was different. A routine had been set and while sometimes that routine needed to be jostled around and tweaked for the unexpected, Bilbo was excited for it. For instance, every Sunday evening was dedicated to cooking together (but more importantly, teaching Thorin how to cook anything at all without burning the place to the ground) and enjoying a movie or catching up on shows. Mondays and Wednesdays were dedicated to band practice, and sometimes Fridays and Saturdays for gigs, and then you had Tuesday for Bilbo’s newfound book club–which Thorin insisted on attending. So that left Thursdays for a little them time.
Or ‘Game Night’ as Bilbo had offered up.
Now, going into the idea of ‘game night’, it didn't revolve around sports, but actual games, whether of the board variety or electronic. Sometimes they had guests over for cards or board games, whether it was Dis and the boys, or some of Thorin’s bandmates. But sometimes it was nice to keep things quiet for just the two of them, and if Thorin or Bilbo were feeling particularly impish…well, playing with one another made something of a game…didn’t it?
Today’s idea of game night had been simple. They’d ordered takeout, plopped onto the sofa, and well, in Bilbo’s case, he was currently watching Thorin struggle with a controller in his hands. The poor guy was hunched over, his fingers moving along the buttons and joysticks with no real idea of what he was doing, and the way his face was scrunched up nearly had Bilbo in a fit of tears.
“Which one do I hit!?” Thorin barked, annoyed from here to kingdom come.
“The one that’s hitting you!” Bilbo shouted with a laugh infiltrating his voice as he pointed to the screen where poor Thorin’s character was being massacred by a giant, a bear, and some lone soldiers along a cobblestone road. “This is why you don’t aggro everything you see–”
“They aggroed me first!”
The sound of a growl from the television had Thorin shrieking, and as Bilbo’s eyes caught a glimpse of the agitation, as well as the panic settling in, his lips kept twitching in amusement. Right until that sound he had heard tonight time and time again rang from the television. There went Thorin’s character sailing into the sky after having been launched by a giant’s club like a very epic game of golf.
Luckily, Bilbo was quick to jut his hands out to clasp over Thorin’s before an expensive controller could be thrown. “Let’s…not do that.”
“I hate this fucking game. I’m no good at it!” Thorin lamented as he let Bilbo take the game controller from him before slouching into the sofa in as dramatic of a display as ever. His hands rubbed at his eyes and an annoyed groan escaped his lips. “When you suggested game night, I thought you meant something like…checkers.”
“Wow, and they say I’m the boring one,” Bilbo sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Just give it some time, you’ll get the hang of it if you really want to.” All it took was practice, just like everything else in life. “If you can learn to play the guitar as well as you do, you can learn to play a few video games, and not suck, I promise.” Leaning back and against Thorin’s side, nuzzling up beneath the dramatic musician’s chin, Bilbo gently plopped that controller onto his boyfriend’s stomach before glancing upward to catch a bit of Thorin out of the corners of his eyes. “We can play a different game? One with less shouting, both in game and on the sofa?”
“No, no, I’m going to get it,” Thorin huffed, partially annoyed, but some of that moodiness about him had been quelled by the close snuggling that came his way. “When do I get to fight a dragon?”
“After you learn basic controls, and stop poking giants…and bears…and random NPCs–” Poked right in the belly, Bilbo gave an involuntary squeak before his eyes flashed somewhat dangerously at Thorin’s cheeky face. “On second thought, go poke all of them and leave me out of this.”
It was Bilbo’s annoyed little sigh that truly sent Thorin chuckling. Sometimes it was easier to tease than to be teased, wasn’t it? Cocking an eyebrow at the glare he was still receiving, he had determined then and there to give this game night thing another try, even if it meant being launched into the virtual sky by an angry giant. “When we’re done here tonight, I’m going to be the greatest Dragonborn to ever live.” After all, who didn’t love the idea of becoming a world-famous dragon slayer? Even if that reality was saved for the virtual world.
“You are very good at shouting.”
“Only when I’m with you, of course,” Thorin teased, a rise and fall of his brows before being smacked in the chest as another exasperated sigh left his boyfriend at the implication, but if he wasn’t mistaken, the corners of Bilbo’s lips were turned upward. Not that he had ever been truly annoyed. “Alright–” sitting forward, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth, Thorin returned to his hunched over state of concentration, “–now, walk me through this again?”
With a little patience (on both of their parts) and determination, game night would become a success. No checkers necessary!
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au in which Thror gives Thorin in marriage to Dwalin, of all the people, and they spent the next seventy-five years living the most scandalous marriage ever, even if most of it is just rumours. They call each other husband when the title is the least appropriate and Dwalin makes very not-so-explicit jocks about what he's going to do to the future king once they're alone, around every important person they meet and once. Once they, both of them, almost proposed a threesome to Thranduil and Dìs choked on her wine. The best part, as Thorin always says to his mother, is that they scandalise the court and then spent entire hours laughing about what they did, sharing a bed so big they could have slept in all the positions they wanted and still have all the space to be comfortable.
The fall of Erebor changes everything and they change with it. They still call each other husband whenever they can but now it's more serious and more composed, neither of them laughs as much as they did before and, along the road, they both lose more friends and family than they're comfortable speaking about. They still share a room and a bed but most of the time are made of their capes and the tiny hope to find a way to reclaim their home. Khazad-dûm signs another step, even bigger than before, and now Thorin is king, without all his people and his mountain. That day, in a matter of hours, he lost his king, his father, his brother and his brother-in-law and Dwalin was a close call, in the middle of them.
(Balin is going to tell Bilbo, decades later, that that was the moment he knew he could have followed Thorin to hell and back because he was deserving of his loyalty just like a true king can be. What Thorin remembers of that day, those days, it's the fear, the blood, so much blood, Dwalin's body in the middle of the others and no one them getting up, none of them answering his desperate calls.)
Ered Luin becomes their home, even if it takes other blood, other tears and so much hard work to even arrive at the end of the day that Thorin finds it difficult to believe that that was the best place to start again. Every winter is longer than the one before, work is a little harder to find and Men tend to pay them less and less. On top of that, every Lord of the Mountain has to say his, her or their bit about this or that matter leaving Thorin with no time at all for his family or sleeping. Most of the nights, when he finally comes home, Dwalin is already sleeping, sometimes cuddling Fìli or Kìli or both of them, and Thorin can just lie on his back and try to sleep without making much fuss. Other nights the bed is cold because Dwalin is out for his job and his nephews are already sleeping and everything seems almost too quiet to scare him.
A decade passed, and then another, Dìs is back drawing jewels for rich people and the money is a little more but still just enough to let them breathe. Dwalin twirls his hair between his tattooed finger, you're getting white husband, and Thorin can't do anything if not laughing, if you think me going white is a reason enough to ask for divorce you're sorely mistaken and I should have done that when you shaved your head.
(They already talk about it, the two of them, if the time should come and one, or both, should find his One Thorin would concede an annulment of the marriage. Dwalin had laughed because aye but stop trying to get read of me, oh husband of mine. It happens, in the end, after almost a century of marriage. Dwalin saves Ori, even if he still doesn't know his name, from a falling rock and Ori invites him for tea, as thank you, and so it starts. It takes Dwalin six months to ask for the divorce, and Thorin is hugging him so hard against his chest because I'm so happy for you my dear, but they never stops calling each other husband. When asked Ori answers he doesn't have a problem with it because Dwalin calls him in so many other sweet ways.)
Now they're both laughing, their forehead touching and, for a couple of moments, their back in the hall of Erebor, so young and without a single concern, scandalising people and training at dawn and cuddling even in the middle of summer when both of them were already all muscles and lost altogether their delicate complexion while getting tattoos and piercings in memories of great deeds they did. Scandalising everyone and fighting with the strength of an army against any enemy of their home, begin called the Prince and his Husband by the rest of the soldiers and living up to the next day, the next battle, to hold each other's hand while Oìn closes another future scar.
It ends, or maybe it just begins again, when Thorin comes to Bag End. He's walking non-stop for two days and his feet hurts so bad he could probably just sit on the grass and wait for someone to rescue him but, after only three tries, he comes to his designated destination. He can hear all the voices coming from inside the house, he can hear his nephews and all the merry band he and Bailn created in the last two years but, most of all, he can hear Dwalin laughing and his heart feels a little lighter now and his feet hurt a little less. He almost doesn't notice the hobbit when he finally can enter the house, too worried to run and not to make a bad impression in front of his ex-husband. He doesn't remember the last time he had time for a decent bath and his hair are all over the place and Thorin knows he's being dumb because it's Dwalin he's thinking about and they saw each other in the worst of the situations, they were married for so long!, but he still giddy and his emotions are all over the place, but he can do it, can't he?
They saw each other a little shy over two and half years before, at the beginning of the search for the people of the quest and he misses him. But Dwalin smiles at him, just a couple of tattoos he doesn't recognise and their foreheads touch and everything is out of phase for a little while. Dwalin who still calls him husband and still has on his braid even when he wears Ori's too, Dwalin who, after the quest, will address as Consort and he will laugh back because not any more lads, but still he will do and say all the right things to make him go red in the face in front of his allies and his One, without being crass (not that much at least).
(That same night, or maybe during one of them, Nori will explain to Bilbo that they used to be married, because of his grandfather, and about how people tried to avoid them together because one could never know what they were going to say and how, after all, Ori come in the scene because of falling rocks and Thorin had considered one of the few divorces of their history. Bilbo will sit and listen, trying to grasp how it would feel to have someone like that to share an entire life or at least a good part of it.)
(He's going to find out, a little over a year and a half later when Thorin will finally leave his bed in the tent and start addressing all the problems and the work Erebor needs to be livable again. He will discover how Dwalin must have felt having Thorin and Ori as part of his life when, one afternoon, Thorin is going to invite him over for tea and gift him with the first of the courtship braids, smiling so softly to almost breaking Bilbo's heart. He will discover it and it's going to be another adventure altogether. He will go to Dwalin, at some point or another, to ask for advice for the better gift for his One, even if hobbits don't have a One, and Dwalin will laugh and teach him own to work in the forge, even if the results won't be promising, at least at the beginning.)
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