Ao3 Subscriptions Are So Fucking Wild To Me. Every Time I Write My Silly Fanfictions And Post Them 124

Ao3 subscriptions are so fucking wild to me. Every time I write my silly fanfictions and post them 124 people get an email just to let them know that this idiot is posting their fanfictions again. I send 124 people an email every time I write smut. Imagine sending 124 physical letters out just to be like “hello everyone, I put some guys we made up in our heads through the horrors again.” Absolutely absurd. I am kissing all of you on the lips.

Strong

My real life is quite stressful atm, my mood is not great, and the last thing I should do is write fics, but hey, guess what, I needed to compensate. Sorry not sorry. Here is a hurt/comfort Thorin fic. I got inspired by the following request by @shalinizhara-deactivated2021100 (Shalini, if you're reading this, we miss you and hope you'll come back soon 💙):

Maybe reader is like a very emotionally fragile person but holding it together, pretending their ok to others. After being strong for a long time, they finally break down after seeing something from the past, which brings all the emotions back. Thorin then comes home to find them a sobbing mess, and trying to hide themselves away from Thorin as they are ashamed of crying in front of someone?

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Reader (Modern Girl in Middle Earth) Rating: T Warnings: emotions, hurt/comfort

I hope you’ll enjoy it!

As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.

* * *

The Quest of Erebor was a success. The greatest dwarven kingdom was reclaimed, the Battle of the Five Armies was won, the line of Durin remained unbroken, the enemy was defeated, and Thorin Oakenshield was officially crowned as the King Under the Mountain.

And you were there to see it all, from the very beginning. As Bifur’s, Bofur’s and Bombur’s newest friend they met on the road, you joined them on the way to Shire where they were about to meet the whole Company. The three Broadbeams vouched for you and so you became the fourteenth member of the group. Bombur praised your skill in finding the best forest treasures, berries and mushrooms, Bifur approved of your skill with throwing knives, and Bofur admired your ability to spin amazing tales.

The latter came in very handy every evening on the road when all of you sat by the bonfire, resting after yet another long day. It became clear that you took on the unofficial role of the Company’s “Morale Officer”. Everyone would forget about the hardships of traveling as soon as the evening came and you were telling them yet another fantastic story, or making them laugh so that they would forget about the aching muscles, hunger or cold. As days passed, you noticed that the leader of the Company, Thorin Oakenshield, became one of the most attentive listeners. His gaze would often rest on your face, on your lips, as if he didn’t want to miss any of the details of your story, as if your mouth was a spring of life-giving water and he wished to drink it all, to the last drop, making you feel this strange warmth in your chest. It felt… good to be appreciated.

It seemed that Thorin’s appreciation of your storytelling skill only grew during your journey. He made sure you were always safe – he even shielded you with his own body once when a warg was about to lunge at you, and thrust Orcrist into the beast’s chest, killing it on the spot. Thorin was somehow always around whenever your stubborn boot laces became too entangled, whenever you needed help getting on your pony, or whenever Fili and Kili tried to play a mischief on you.

You knew how important the Quest was – both for Thorin and his people – so you tried to do your best to keep everyone’s spirits up with your tales. Even in the Elven King’s dungeons you refused to give up and told them the funniest anecdotes and silliest stories from your life. The Dwarves chuckled and started exchanging their own funny stories, but what mattered for you the most was Thorin’s smile that reached all the way to his brilliant eyes – you saw it clearly through the bars of your cell. That was when you realized what that warmth you felt in your heart meant, that warmth that bloomed every time he looked at you or brushed his shoulder against you by accident or when he just sat next to you, smoking his pipe in silence and looking into the distance.

Perhaps you were a talented storyteller, but you certainly weren’t the most courageous one when it came to your feelings. Besides, you were taking part in an important Quest and matters of the heart seemed trivial in comparison with a huge mountain and a dangerous dragon within it. Besides, Thorin was the King of Longbeards and you were just, well, you. No one special, not a great warrior nor a noble lady. Just the regular you. So you kept quiet, enjoying Thorin’s silent albeit reassuring presence, allowing yourself to cast a glance or two at his majestic profile when no one was looking or dreaming away about running your fingers through his wavy, luscious hair. Knowing that he was there was enough for you to make the Quest bearable. You were not a seasoned traveler, you didn’t have a proper stamina or powerful dwarven physique, and you were used to the comforts of your home. Every day on the road put an enormous strain both on your body and on your mind. The thought that you could be attacked by Orcs, goblins or a huge, fire-breathing dragon at any moment kept lingering at the back of your head, even when you slept, resulting in nightmares at night and nervous glances thrown around during the day. The only respite you found in your stories and in Thorin’s presence.

But then the dragon was killed, Erebor was reclaimed, and the great rebuilding started. Every day more and more Dwarves would appear at the Lonely Mountain, happy to return to their homes, and all of you had your hands full with work, trying to make Erebor a comfortable place to live again. You barely saw Thorin these days as he spent long days negotiating with Dain, Bard and Thranduil so that everyone in Erebor would have enough food and supplies to survive the winter.

You were staying in your temporary quarters, a couple of tiny rooms you shared with Bifur and Bofur while Bombur moved out to live with his family as soon as his wife arrived in Erebor. It was a good enough place to sleep at, much better than the hard ground you remembered from the Quest. You didn’t complain, especially since your companions made sure you were comfortable, but you were looking forward to a moment when you could have a place of your own. You have grown to love Erebor, its beauty, its huge staircases, suspended walkways and secret passages.

One late evening, close to midnight, you were returning to your place after yet another exhausting day, countless hours filled with hard work when you heard voices nearby, just around the corner. They didn’t sound too friendly and when your name echoed against the stone walls of the corridor they stood in, you stopped in your tracks.

“She’s a straggler, that’s what she is!” One voice said. “Aye, a stray without a master! She’s not even a Dwarf!” A woman said, the Blue Mountains accent ringing in her words.

“I couldn’t stomach that Hobbit and I was happy to see him go, but when is she going to leave our Mountain? She’s overstayed his welcome!” Someone else exclaimed.

“What is she still doing here anyway, that slacker? Hard-working Dwarves like us are rebuilding the place while she’s probably sifting through our gold and keeping the best jewels for herself!” “Aye, she’s constantly around the treasure chamber. I even saw her leaving it once with a full pouch in her hand. A thief, that’s what she is!” “Why does the King allow this anyway? Why doesn’t he just banish her from our Mountain?”

“They say His Majesty keeps her as a pet for his amusement, if you know what I mean!”

Nasty chuckles filled the air and it was enough for you to turn around and run away from that place, tears streaming from your eyes, not caring where your feet carried you. Familiar images filled your head. Echoes from your past. You were back at school and your close friend was once again accusing you of that awful thing you never did, telling you that your friendship was over. They never spoke to you again after that, even though you tried to explain, to tell them that you had no idea who did this and why. They just wouldn’t listen. All those feelings came back crashing down on you again. This time you were accused of being a lazy loafer and a thief, among other things, but it didn’t matter. Deep down you knew that if you tried to confront those Dwarves and explain everything, they wouldn’t listen to you anyway, just like your friend hadn’t. In their eyes you were worthless and honourless, two of the greatest flaws, according to Dwarves. You knew how it all would go from there: soon, everyone would be gossiping about you, casting accusing glances at you and ostracizing you, whenever you went.In a week or two, there would be no one in this Mountain you could call a friend, and you would have to pack your things once again and leave into the wilderness, having no place to go to. No home.

You stopped in front of a double door adorned with golden patterns, blurred by the tears in your eyes. The King Under the Mountain’s chambers. Thorin’s chambers. You were sure that he wasn’t there, still busy with all the negotiations, and yet it was the only place you wanted to be at now. Alone and away from prying eyes. As you entered the chambers, you saw fire burning bright in the fireplace in his parlour, and there was an armchair beside it, beckoning to you. You threw yourself at it and covered yourself with a wool blanket that had hung from one of the armrests, trying to grab at the illusive feeling of safety it offered, sobbing into the soft fabric. It smelled faintly like a pine forest, summer rain, and iron. Like Thorin. Even more tears rolled down your cheeks. Soon, the words of your alleged thieving would reach his ears and he would make you leave this place, and you would be alone again, wandering aimlessly from place to place like a stray dog.

You didn’t know when the exhaustion took the better of you and you fell into a shallow, restless slumber. A hand rested on your shoulder, making you wake up with a sudden gasp.

“Mimûna? What is the matter?” A familiar, rumbly voice filled your ears. Mimûna. He started calling you with this nickname during the Quest, whenever you were alone, but you were always too shy to ask what it meant.

Your eyes fluttered open, your cheeks and the blanket still wet from your despair. Your heart clenched in your chest when you saw Thorin’s face and noticed the worry splashing in his eyes. But there were also tired lines on his forehead and shadows under his eyes. Thorin came here to get some rest after a long day and found you where you shouldn’t be. The truth was, you were disturbing his peace and crying like a pathetic baby instead of being strong and braving all the miseries with ease like every proper Dwarf in your place would.

“Thorin!” You whispered, completely mortified, frantically wiping the tears from your cheeks, hoping that he hadn’t noticed your moment of weakness. You always did your best to appear cheerful in front of everyone, especially when he was around, no matter how tired, sad or weak you felt inside. During the Quest and afterwards, the whole Company needed cheering up, and that was the only thing you were really good at. If Thorin saw your real face, if he realized how bitter your tears were, how your heart resembled a chipped porcelain cup and not a battle-hardened flawless diamond, he would surely cast you aside and shun you, just like those other Dwarves already did.

“Are you unwell?” He asked, crouching next to the armchair, his hand still resting on your shoulder, the warmth of his fingers permeating the fabric of your blouse.

“No, no! I’m fine! Everything is well, but it was so noisy in our quarters, and I wanted some sleep and I thought you wouldn’t even notice me taking a short nap here, away from all that hammering!” You tried to smile faintly. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve overslept…”

You tried to rise, but froze when Thorin’s hand moved up, cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing a curved shape across it.

“Why have you been crying?” A shadow of a growl echoed in his voice, his brow furrowing.

“Me? Crying? I was just taking a nap, nothing more...” You shook your head in protest, hoping he wouldn’t notice how your lips trembled from your suppressed sadness. Thorin looked angry and he would probably become even more so if he saw the real you and realized how pathetic you were.

“I know you, Mimûna,” he offered in an even tone, his gaze softening, his thumb caressing your cheek, your skin tingling pleasantly under his touch. “Something made you sad. What was it?” You just shook your head and looked away, unable to face him. A lump of ice grew in your throat. Your eyes welled with tears again, reflecting the hurt you felt, but also because you just realized that this was his first caress, something you have dreamed of for months, but it was also his last one. Soon, Thorin was going to see how unworthy you were, and you would have to remove yourself from this place, leaving both your happiness and your heart behind.

“I see your pain. Will you not share your troubles with me?” He offered, but you remained silent, staring blindly at the mantlepiece on your left, above his head. You were too afraid to speak, knowing very well what would happen if you opened your mouth. Besides, all of your strength was tied up in you trying not to fall apart in front of the person whose opinion mattered more to you than anything else in the world.

“I see,” Thorin spoke again after a pause. “I may not have earned your confidence, but if there is any way I can mitigate your…”

“Oh, Thorin,” you interrupted him and clung to him, the last shreds of control over your emotions disappearing into thin air. Your hands clasped his tunic as you buried your face in the soft fabric covering his broad chest, staining it with tears, muffled sobs escaping your throat. Nothing else mattered any more, only his soothing warmth and his arms that slowly wrapped around you, enveloping you with a cocoon of safety, while your body shook helplessly, your last defenses crumbling.

As that storm of emotions wreaked havoc inside you, Thorin held you close, murmuring soothing words, gently caressing your back, your beacon in the dark sea of sorrow, your safe harbor, giving you his strength. You took it eagerly, hungrily, not daring to think what would come next. You wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you could.

“All will be well, Mimûna, do not think otherwise,” his murmur reached your ears as his lips brushed the top of your head.

But you knew the harsh truth.

“If only…” you sighed and looked up at Thorin, the fire crackling in the hearth softening the lines on his tired face. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you. You should be resting now and here I am burdening you with my silly outbursts. I’d better go.” You wanted to get up, but Thorin’s arms held you gently, not letting go of you.

“There is no need for you to leave. You can stay here for as long as you want, until you feel better,” a soft rumble left his lips, his face so close to yours that you could see the specks of silver in the blues of his eyes, radiating comfort and warmth.

“But…” He shook his head, “My mother used to say that a good night’s sleep makes it easier to tackle the troubles in the morning, whatever they are. It seems to me that this is exactly what you need. Will you stay the night?”

“You mean… Sleep? Here? With you?!” your eyes widened. Once a proposal like this would make your heart beat faster but after what you’ve heard tonight it took a completely new meaning. “I can’t…!”

The frown on Thorin’s forehead deepened, “I hope you know that I respect you too much for any indecent proposals. I am offering you my bedchamber at your sole disposal for the night. I will be on the other side of the door, here, sleeping on this settee, in case you need me.”

“No, we can’t… I mean, this is not right, I won’t tarnish your reputation any more, there are rumors…” you bit your lip that quivered treacherously.

“My reputation…? Rumors? What rumors?!” He growled, flames kindling in his eyes.

“I… It is nothing. People talk...” you swallowed, cursing your stupid mouth.

“Is that what made you upset? You will tell me what it is that you heard,” he spoke slowly, in the commanding manner of the king he was, with that unmistakable glint in his eye that made your knees weak and melted your resolve.

And so you told him everything you heard, your words interrupted by sobs, bracing yourself for the inevitable. Your exhaustion took the better of you and you wanted to be done with it as soon as possible instead of tormenting yourself for weeks. It would be better for Thorin to hear about it all from your own mouth.

You searched for the first signs of disappointment on his face, but they didn’t come. Instead, Thorin growled, stood up and started pacing across the room.

“How dare they?! Calling you a shirker, a thief, and even a wh--” he stopped in his tracks. “Who are they? I need to know!” “I don’t know, I only heard their voices…”

“Do they not know of your merits?” He roared. “Of your contribution to the Quest? Where were they, those Dwarves from flesh and bone, when I asked for help? And now you, a woman of Men, with no obligations to my people, work long hours every day, even though you could simply take your share in gold and leave! Does that mean nothing to them?”

You looked at Thorin in awe, the flames of wrath filling his eyes. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Know this,” Thorin approached you, taking your hands in his. “You have proven yourself more than worthy in my eyes and this is why I chose you to make an inventory of the treasure chamber with Glóin! This is why he put you in charge over the payouts for the workers, because I trust you more than those serpent tongues! They lack all honour!”

You swallowed the tears that suddenly felt sweet on your tongue, “So… Do you believe that I’m not a thief?”

“We had only one burglar in our midst that I am aware of,” he gave you a little smile. “And we both know that it is not you.”

“Do you really think so?” “Have I ever lied to you, Mimûna?” he rumbled softly, the storm in his eyes slowly dissipating. A small, hopeful smile danced on your lips, “Does that mean that I can stay here, in Erebor?”

“I would not have it any other way. In fact, I hope that you decide to stay here for as long as you live, if that is your wish,” his eyes rested on your face, waiting for your reaction. “I would like that very much. I have begun to think of Erebor as my new home,” you admitted quietly and you felt Thorin’s hands squeezing yours gently.

“Your words bring me great joy. I know how fond you are of the world outside of the Mountain,” his throat bobbed as Thorin spoke.

“I am, but I think that I have fallen in love with… with Erebor,” you added clumsily. “There is no other place I’d rather be.”

A new light shone in Thorin’s eyes, “If this is how you feel, If you truly wish to bind your fate to Erebor, then I would like to ask you to hear me out.” You nodded slightly in encouragement.

“I must admit that I expected you to leave us soon, just like Master Baggins did, and therefore I did not wish to burden you with my feelings. But if there is a chance you can return even the smallest part of my affections…” Thorin cleared his throat. “I reclaimed the kingdom of my people. We are prosperous. I now have enough means to marry and can offer my future wife all the comforts she may crave. I know that there are many eligible ladies under the Mountain, but it is you I wish to be with, to call my queen until the end of days. It is you my heart has been beating for since the moment I have met you.”

You felt the scorching heat of his last words on your skin as your lips met for the first time, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. Your kiss was gentle, like the first rays of sun caressing the first snowdrops that braved the last remnants of snow, the first heralds of spring after a long winter.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Thorin asked as your lips parted, kissing the tips of your fingers.

“I think I have just said yes,” you chuckled, the familiar warmth spilling in your chest, but this time all the pain and despair were finally gone. “I will be honored to become your wife, my king.”

As you said it, you realized how true these words were. Thorin was the only one who reigned over your heart and filled it with joy.

And this was when your tiredness ruined the mood, making you yawn. Thorin chuckled and it felt good to join him.

“Will you stay the night, then, Mimûna?” One of his eyebrows rose playfully. “We could both use a good rest.”

“Rest? Is that what you had in mind?” You felt your cheeks burning, not daring to think about what such a night could bring and how many times you imagined certain things to happen.

“That is all that I have in mind until our wedding night,” Thorin nodded with a glint in his eye and then grinned. “Unless we change our minds along the way.” “Thorin!” you gasped.

“But tonight, let us sleep. I wish to simply hold you in my arms until dawn.”

“After what I told you, me staying in your rooms all night long, is that wise?” You voiced your concern, even though your heart cursed you for it. “There will be rumors…”

“If there is anyone who does not approve of my choice of wife, they can leave the Mountain. We will announce our betrothal tomorrow. Everyone will hear of your hard work and deeds during the Quest.” “I don’t care about being painted as a saint. As long as you see me for what I truly am, everyone can think I’m Smaug in disguise,” your regular sense of humor finally returned, and you felt like a great weight was lifted from your shoulders.

“Then I cannot wait until I see you breathe fire at them,” Thorin pulled you closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “And now allow me to take you to bed before you fall asleep standing.”

Effortlessly he lifted you from the floor and carried you to his bedchamber in his strong arms, bridal style. As you wrapped your arms around his neck, you felt brave enough to press your lips against his bearded cheek and were rewarded with a satisfied hum. Something told you that there were more things than being carried in Thorin’s arms that you were going to enjoy a lot.

Thorin placed you gently on the bed and covered you with soft furs. After a few moments, he joined you, his chest brushing against your back, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you gently towards his body that radiated warmth.

“Sleep now, Mimûna,“ he whispered into your ear, shivers running down your spine as his low velvety voice reached you. “I will watch over you.”

You gave out a satisfied sigh, enjoying his closeness, your worries completely forgotten.

“Thorin? What does Mimûna mean? Why do you never call me like this in public?”

“It means Little One in Khuzdul,” he replied. “A term of endearment for someone you hold very dear.”

“Are you telling me you were dropping hints since Rivendell and I have been completely clueless?!”

“This is the only liberty I dared to allow myself since that day you rejected my offer of gathering wood together,” he admitted.

“Your offer of… what? I was so tired that evening, I could barely feel my legs! Have I missed a hint there too?” Your eyes widened.

He chuckled, “I’m afraid so. The dwarven couples have a long tradition of gathering wood together.”

“Is this the Middle Earth equivalent of Netflix and chill?”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind. Why has no one told me anything?!” You exclaimed and promised yourself to have a serious talk with Bofur.

“They thought you weren’t interested in me either. Everyone saw that you refused that roast boar I hunted especially for you.” “But I don’t like boar meat!” You wrinkled your nose. “You can only imagine how confused the Company was when you ate all the food Beorn offered you. We thought you would stay with him.”

“But his food was delicious! And besides he’s not a Dwarf, I’m sure his kind has different customs,” you retorted.

“We won’t know that now, will we?” He hummed into your hair.

Suddenly things started making more sense in your head.

“Wait a moment, is this why you were so extremely grumpy at Beorns, spending every single evening alone outside, brooding at the stars?”

“I was in quite good humor on the last evening before we left that place,” he protested. “Was it because you knew I was coming with you?”

“Perhaps,” Thorin chuckled and embraced you tighter. “But this, this was worth waiting for, Mimûna. Now I have you in my arms.” “And I think I will stay like this for a long time,” you stifled a satisfied yawn.

“I can ask no more than that,” Thorin murmured into your ear, still holding you tight and enveloping you with warmth.

As the tension left your body for good and your eyelids drooped, you whispered, intertwining your fingers with his, “I think I’ll go to sleep now. I’m exhausted. Very happy, but exhausted. This was a very bad evening… and I’m glad it’s ending.” “Worry not. I will stay here with you until it turns into a good morning,” these words rumbled in Thorin’s chest as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, your heart beating steadily in your chest. Perhaps it was a chipped porcelain cup but now, when it rested in Thorin’s protective hands, it felt like a flawless diamond.

* * *

Khuzdul: Mimûna - Little One

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you have an amalgamation of friends that you’ve picked up through your eclectic life. you tether them all together with sundays— brunch that rolls into tapas. there’s one who studies marine biology, and another who draws caricatures in the tourist district. there’s one, however, who is most like you, with a penchant to avoid the digital.

she’s got these old cameras that click and churn when the photos are taken. she clicks away on these sundays, capturing moments on film.

rex doesn’t think he belongs here. but you had been so shy asking him to come— any sunday that he could make work. had played with the tips of your hair and refused to look at his hologram.

“smile!” instructs your friend, with a grin plastered across her face. with a platter of freshly cooked artichokes and mustard in your hands and halfway out onto the patio, you turn and give her a smile.

“thank you!” she chirps. the photo slides out of the camera, and she deposits it on the table.

it happens again, when you decide the only place to sit is in rex’s lap. he’s in a discussion with your marine biologist friend, talking about coral reefs and sharks.

“i need a kiss for my kissing wall,” your friend says, camera in hand.

“take two,” you tell her, tucking your hair behind your ears as to not obstruct your face. “hey, handsome.”

rex’s attention never left you. his hand rubs up and down your back.

“un bisous?” you ask, hand resting on his chest.

you meet each other in the middle. there’s a click, and then a flash of white. rex’s hand comes to cup your jaw, fingers sliding through your hair. you bring your hand up to rest on his wrist, feeling a hardness build in your throat. there’s another click, another flash of white.

you pull away slowly. you can still taste rex on your tongue— him and light beer and artichokes. his hand stays on your jaw and you press it more firmly against you, smushing your cheek.

“i already miss you,” you whisper.

“that’s my line,” rex says, just as soft.

you clean in the morning. the drunkest of your friends spend the night, on couches and in loveseats and on makeshift beds on the floor. rex pauses at the table, filled with polaroids from the night prior.

he holds the one of you, with the dish in your hands, between his fingers.

“take it.” it’s your friend. rex looks over at her. “i have enough photos of her. take it.”

“thanks,” rex says.

“take this one too,” she says, plucking the one of the kiss, where it’s deepening. “it’s too romantic for my wall.”

rex holds both polaroids in his bunk. the ship hums silently around him. he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. he’s lucky enough to have a room— albeit small— to himself. the mirror has no frame to tuck the photos in like yours done back home.

there’s a notch on his data pad. he decides you can go there, so he can flip the device over and look at you.

the kiss, however, needs a special place. for now, it sits on the small desk.

he falls asleep with both of them on the bed beside his pillow.

Rotating Sandwich Mood Board

Rotating Sandwich Mood Board

I bet after Aragorn became king he would continue to be Just Some Chill As Fuck Dude. You go to the market and there’s the king of Gondor. Buying turnips.

Do you ever just look at a guy's hand and think yes