Tag: thrain

Ficlet – Singing in Bed

Everybody, please go pepper @kailthia with love and kisses and good wishes and fluffy headcanons. K is having a really tough time at the moment.

@kailthia – Some Fris, Thrain and Custard fluff for you. 

Custard woke. She was the only one awake.

This was unacceptable.

She stood up on the end of the bed, where she had slept,
and decided to do something about it. With a flick of a huge bushy tail,
Custard padded over the lumps and hillocks of warm sleeping bodies until she had reached the peaceful, lax faces. Then she sat down on
the Yellow One’s pillow, and began to yowl.

“Mrrraow. Mraw. Mrrrrroaw!”

“Oh, blast it,” came the mumble from the
yellow one.

“Mroawww!” 

Best Dwarf kept sleeping. Best Dwarf, when he
slept, could sleep well.

When he didn’t sleep… well, then Custard had a job to do, didn’t she?

The room had good acoustics. Custard decided to experiment a little. “Mraaaaaaaaaoow! Mrrrr! Mrrrrr-aaaaow! Aoummmmroow!”

“All right, all right!”

The yellow one was awake now, and was
scratching at her ears. Custard congratulated herself on a serenade well sung, and half-slitted her eyes, rolling back
where she lay. 

Under the covers, Best Dwarf was still snoring slightly.

“Good morning,” said Yellow One, and did that odd
teeth-baring thing that Dwarves did when they were happy. “Aren’t you pushy today?”

Custard only purred and hooked a paw around
Yellow One’s hand. Silly Yellow One – Custard wasn’t pushy – Custard was a cat.

It was at that point that Best Dwarf stirred,
groaning a little and rolling over. “Mmm, not getting up,” he mumbled.

“And a good morning to you too, dearest,” said
Yellow One, still doing the teeth-showing thing.

“Fris, why are we up at this hour?” Best One
complained, and his legs moved a little beneath the covers.

Custard’s eyes immediately snapped open. Movement
under the covers was not to be trusted! She
pounced with both her front paws, following the wriggly things. Best Dwarf
swore and chuckled, and the wriggling things ceased their wriggling. His hand
came to land on her cheek, rubbing slightly. “Ferocious little thing, damn it,
your claws can get through two layers of blankets!”

Obviously, Best Dwarf was happy she had done
her duty.

“It wasn’t my idea,” said Yellow One, rubbing at her eyes.
She threw back the covers and stretched. “I’ll go have a wash. Feed your pushy
monster, would you?”

“Yes, yes,” Best Dwarf said, and he sat up. His hair was a
sight to see. Custard wanted to play with it. Perhaps later. “You’re not a
pushy monster, are you, my sweet little darling?” he cooed, and tickled under
her chin.

Yellow One rolled her eyes, and left.

…

quadrupedum:

Another smol art based on this post. *continues to throw art at determamfidd* Thrain and Fris sharing tiny hand smoochies ❤

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

oh my gosh, they are perfect, you have NO idea how excited I am to see this, I absolutely LOVE these two sweeties and alskdhgfalsjhfa AHHH his hair! HER HAIRNET OH WOW, the clothes, the proportions, their absolutely perfect expressions, all the detail – folds and patterns and eeee *combusts* OH SHUU I AM SO GRATEFUL AND AMAZED, I love it so so so much!! THANK YOU SO SO MUCH!

Happy Birthday, Thráin!

liketotessecret:

liketotessecret:

Even if it’s hella, hella late. Regardless justatouchofgoldsickness, enjoy.

———-

Thráin dearly loved his children, but he did wish that they had allowed him this one day of the year to sleep in. As it was, he was awoken by his youngest sitting astride his shoulders.

“Adaaaa…” she crooned as his sons giggled and snorted from the end of the bed. “Ada, wake up. Ama’s made breakfaaaast…”

“Ada, Náin’s here, and he’s brought his get,” Thorin told him blandly, casually shoving a squawking Frerin off the bed. “Better get up before Dáin destroys your receiving room.”

“Let him,” Thráin mumbled, shoving his face further into the pillow as he spoke. “I can make Náin pay for it and laugh at him.”

“Ama won’t be pleased,” Frerin chirped, peeking over the edge of the bed.

“’S my name-day. I can do what I like,” he informed his son.

“That excuse never works on my name-day,” Frerin complained. Thráin grunted as his youngest began bouncing enthusiastically on his shoulders, giggling.

“That’s because whenever you try to use that excuse, you’ve done far worse than let your cousin destroy my receiving room.” Thráin told him.

“Nu-uh, one of those times that’s exactly what happened.”

“No, that time you destroyed it and blamed it on Dáin despite the fact that he was too young to have achieved that level of chaos,” he contradicted, “and anyway, it’s my receiving room to destroy as I please.”

“Ada, just get up!” Dís wailed, bouncing violently enough to knock the breath from his lungs. “Ama won’t let us eat until you get first choice!”

He snored loudly and unconvincingly, making both Frerin and Dís release offended squeals and Thorin collapse in a fit of giggles.

“All right, you great lump,” his wife ordered from the doorway amusement in her tone. “Don’t starve the children.”

“They could stand to lose a few pounds,” he grumbled playfully, sitting up with some difficulty and dislodging Dís in the process. She collapsed to the bed in a fit of giggles. “Most days Thorin seems to be growing sideways more swiftly than he does upward.”

This time Thorin was the one to release an offended squawk.

——————————

The fire was crackling merrily as his his three children and Dáin wrestled on the rug. He laughed heartily as Frerin pinned his older brother triumphantly and Thorin concealed an indulgent smile.

A pair of study hands landed gently on his shoulders.

“Good day, my love?”

He twisted in his seat to drop a kiss on Frís’ nose.

“Each name-day is better than the last, darling.”

“Cheating!” Dáin shrieked behind them.

Dís cackled and something crashed. Frís didn’t break eye contact with him.

“If I don’t look, it never happened,” she informed him seriously.

“It was ugly anyway,” Frerin chirped hopefully.

His wife sighed, and Thráin’s amused chuckles joined Náin’s unrestrained laughter.

Okay, would you judge me if I collected all the birthday fics on AO3?

Also, determamfidd, forgot to tag you originally. Thought this would make you smile.

oh my GOD is this the cutest thing ever or what! AWW KILI, IT IS ABSOLUTELY LOVELY (happy Line of Durin??? PINCH ME I’M DREAMING)

Loss That Burns – applepieisworthit – The Hobbit – All Media Types, The Hobbit – J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Jackson movies) [Archive of Our Own]

flamesburnonthemountainside:

I wrote a sad thing… (very) short modern au of a house fire inspired by Thorin’s line "You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us" in DoS

determamfidd for you! I borrowed Frís and Hrera for this story 😀 and for liketotessecret who has written many sad things, so in retaliation, here you go!

Also tagging docmanda justatouchofgoldsickness renioferebor and dragonmad and the rest of the Sansukh cast.

AUGH OH MY GOD MY HEART OHHHH DISSSSS

BATTLEPIG YOU ARE MORE EVIL THAN I COULD EVER HOPE TO BE

TEACH ME YOUR WAYS

Loss That Burns – applepieisworthit – The Hobbit – All Media Types, The Hobbit – J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Jackson movies) [Archive of Our Own]

Now I’m having a bunch of feels about Dis in the Halls. Chasing her boys around. Teasing Thorin and Dain. Building Frerin up. Spending time with her parents and grandparents. So much Dis/Vili love.

zksdgfjlsdhgjfalsgfaljshdgfsakjhfdajsh AUGH DIS FEELS AUGH OH NONNIE YEOUCH

It’d take some time, I think, for her to get to the stage of teasing and chasing again. My version of old!Dis is not cheery and brisk and sassy, after all… she is grim and hurt and hard hard hard, turned very nearly to ice by everything she has lost. Song of Steel, her Dark-name means. It suits her.

I think she would need to learn to smile again, to laugh and tease freely without bitterness. She has been alone so long, and that doesn’t just evaporate… She should never be left alone, not ever.

Her boys staying close, their heads resting on her knees or lying on the floor as they read or play a game or talk… her brothers always flanking her as they show her the Halls together… Hrera working beside her at her jewellery-table, Thror bringing her meals… Dain plopping a sweet and sleepy piglet into her lap… Thrain kissing her brow and never letting go of her hand, Fris always humming so that Dis can hear her, stroking back her hair…

Vili, holding her tight at night, so that she never wakes and thinks herself back in her huge and cold bed in Erebor, so very alone, always alone.

So. How bad is it that I am REALLY looking forward to Dis dying and being reunited with all of her loved ones and seeing her parents and her brothers and her sons and VILI (oh god, Vili, you heartbreaking sod, you, visiting her EVERY DAY) and just being able to let go of all of the emotions she’s held in for so long and – oh god. I just want her to be able to be happy. But also dead. And maybe making fun of Thorin because what else are younger sisters for?

Oooh, Nonnie.

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her parents. Thrain running his thumb gently across her face, across her cheekbone and stroking the side of her beard. Don’t imagine him smiling at her with trembling lips, telling her that he is so proud, nathith, so proud. Don’t imagine Fris wrapping her arms around her last child and holding her to her heart; don’t imagine Thrain tugging them both close and tight, cocooning them with his body, pressing whiskery kisses to his daughter’s temple. Don’t imagine the words they would say. Don’t imagine the tearing sound of Dis’ sobs.

Don’t imagine her grandfather kissing both her cheeks and her forehead, and then gathering her close. “Sparrow, our little sparrow,” he would murmur, and she would remember what it cost to lose him, what it cost all of them. Her grandmother’s clever hands stroking Dis’ hair, her soothing, no-nonsense voice, calling her “Dis, darling,” as she did, so so long ago. They have the same hands.

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her (little) big brother. It has been centuries, she can’t even remember him clearly, but at the smell of his hair and the sound of his voice, it comes rushing back, so fast and powerful it is nearly a physical blow. His weight against her is so small, so slight. 

Whatever you do, don’t imagine her reunion with her sons, her madcap bright-eyed darlings. Don’t imagine her crying into their hair. Don’t even entertain the idea that she cannot stop kissing them even for a moment, her grasping hands frantic, her eyes half-blinded by her tears, gripping their clothes so tightly that her arms shake. I’d advise against dwelling on the whiteness of her knuckles, the tenderness in her kisses, how her head bows and her shoulders shudder at the sound of those voices calling her ‘Amad’ again, at long last: Amad, Amad, we missed you Amad.

Whatever you do, don’t think of her pressing her forehead against Dain’s, her cousin, her borrowed-brother, and cursing him for leaving her as well as he throws his arms around her and rocks her back and forth. The last one, she was the last one. Don’t think of Dain gently prying free and wiping her eyes (hopeless, a hopeless task) before turning her around to face the one standing behind her. Don’t picture him giving Dis a little push towards her eldest brother. 

You definitely shouldn’t visualise the look in her eye as she stares at Thorin, stricken. It’s not a good idea to imagine the harsh rasp of her breathing as she curses him and curses him, twice as hard as she ever did Dain, all the while stumbling over to him and throwing herself at him with outstretched arms. Don’t imagine how she clings to him as though he is a tree against a storm, how she buries her head against his shoulder and cries and cries, her whole body wracked with it, and he too smells just the same.

And the last thing you should ever do is imagine her greeting her husband. 

No, you shouldn’t do that at all.