#dworin week

[toomanyroleplays]

Hey Gang

So to say the least I am ever so bored and looking to get some new roleplays up and running. First off the very most important thing to know about me is I'm 25 coming to you from the Cringy One Direction Roleplay era. So please please please be at least 18 but I would prefer 20 and up in a perfect world. I ONLY write on Discord in the third person. My minimum is two paragraphs and my max well she's all over the place typically around five paragraphs. I'm ghost and cringe-friendly. I love building playlists and interest boards for RPs and world-building and just all the OOC chit-chat you could dream of. I'm looking for romance and if all parties are comfy some spice in the plot along with everything else we could ever dream up within reason. I'm open to writing all pairing types and OCxCC or CCxCC but no OCxOC sorry! But I double! :) Fandoms and a little more about what I'm looking for in each one. Marvel/MCU/Comics: I am a die-hard Phlint shipper and I am always down to write them. I have hardcore missed this pair so damn much since Omegle left us. There are other canon ships I'm down to write as well the list is hella long and fluctuates with my mood so please ask and I'll happily supply you with that list and whom I write. I am also always down to write OCxCC for Marvel. I'm open to ABO and BDSM AU's in this fandom as well. Hobbit: I've kinda got a half assed OC/fan species idea but like fuck if I know. So like while I wanna say I would be down to write OCxCC I'm probably gonna lean towards CCxCC but you never know I might be in the mood to bust that sucker out. I'm all for Thilbo always have been. Have you read An Unexpected Addition by karategal on AO3? I've basically taken it as canon now. Anywho other ships also include Dworin, Dwori, and Boffins. WWE It's cringe I know but shit dude I love that silly wrestling. Ask me about it in the DM's if you're interested. We can work literally anything out. I love it all. Criminal Minds bring on the OCxCC or CCxCC would love to do a Marvel CCxCC crossover though I could be talked into an OCxCC cross over. Ships I kinda love em all for the sake of not making this post any longer I'll put in my top four but feel free to ask about others. Hotchgan, Demily, Morcia and Moreid Harry Potter Golden Trio I'm looking for OCxCC please don't ask me to play Voldy or like any Malfoy. Characters are 18+ so no Hogwarts sorry fam. Uh plots all I can say is buckle up I'm a little bit of a goblin. Marauders era OCxCC or CCxCC looking for alternate war endings. Rare pairs, and heavy world-building. Please do not ask me to write snape I can't go there.

Ok OK so last one and like this shit is hella specific so don't mind me I'm just being hopeful. Percy Jackson (TV series) I read book one years ago gonna start a read-through soon. I am Specifically looking for an AresxF OC of mine. I'm hoping to find someone flexible and willing to help me make sense of this cracked-out plot I've had bouncing around in my brain for weeks.

If any of this interests you please feel free to shoot me a message on Discord or interact with the post and I'll reach out.

pythonsmonty

[mainecoon76]

Dworin Week 2018: Opinions?

Dear Dworin shipmates,

At this time of year we usually started planning Dworin week - gauging interest, collecting prompts, and so on. We’ve done so for four years in a row, and I’m proud of us all.

This is the first year I’m getting the feeling that… the community isn’t as active as it used to be. Which is the way things go, and I can’t complain because I’ve been more active in the Silm fandom, myself. But I’m not sure we’ll be able to create enough fanworks to fill a week, and the event shouldn’t become a stressful obligation for anyone.

I don’t want to drop it completely, though.

So my idea is to have a Dworin Weekend: Celebrate our dear old ship for two days, create as many fanworks as we like, maybe collect a few prompts in advance, and have a virtual ale together for old time’s sake. Newbies would be welcome, of course.

Opinions?

[judayre]

Back in July it was Dworin week and I 100% intended to write for it.  I even got started!  But then I lost my ability to write for.... what has it been? Eight months?  At any rate, I finished the day 1 prompt (finally), so I’m posting it.  If I get around to the rest (or last year’s Nwalin), I will post them too.

It had been a long time since Dwalin had seen Thorin - both busy doing the things that made them money and brought food to their families.  It didn’t take a second look for him to understand how it had been for Thorin.  There were dark circles under the prince's eyes and he was too pale,  his hair was loose and tangled - stringy where it wasn’t matted.  Even his beard was longer than he kept it normally, but it was uneven and unkempt.

Something had caused Thorin to give in to the despair that ate at him.  Dwalin set Óin's tea steeping and guided Thorin to the bath.  That Thorin went willingly and made no protest meant he was deeply in need of someone to lean on for strength, but Thorin knew his position and there were few he would lean on.

Thorin was quiet as Dwalin bathed him, trimmed his beard, and took care of his hair.  He made no protest to the tea, not even to make a face at the taste.  Dwalin began to fear Thorin was catatonic until Thorin looked at him as he tucked him into bed.  Dwalin smiled at him and ran his fingers lightly down Thorin's face.  He kissed his brow and then left him to sleep, secure in the knowledge that Óin's tea would work.

Thorin was able to stumble out of the bedroom under his own peer.  Hours had passed and Dwalin had used the time to clean and cook something.  It would do Thorin good to eat and to see things at their best.

"Good morning," Dwalin greeted, holding him by the shoulders and kissing rim swayed into it, touch-starved in the best of times.  Dwalin kept an arm around him into the kitchen and served out soup and bread.  Thorin fed himself, but was silent through the meal.

Finally he put down his spoon and looked up.  "You’ve forgotten the date," he said, voice rusty from disuse.  "This is the month the dragon came.  And my grandfather's head was sent to us by the Orcs in Khazad-dûm.  Azanulbizar was at the start of the month, and my father disappeared in this month as well."

Dwalin opened his mouth, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but Thorin continued.  "They want to crown me," he said, voice shaking,  ¡it’s been so long they say there is no hope anymore.  He must be dead."

Thorin's voice choked off into a sob at the word, and Dwalin could see the storm of emotion that Thorin kept down so tightly that sometimes he lost himself to it.  He leaned forward to press his forehead to Thorin's, one big hand on the back of his neck, and was glad that Thorin's eyes slipped closed and his breathing steadied at the comfort.

"You’ve been doing the work all this time," Dwalin said, voice low.  "Take the title that will give you more respect.  When he returns, he can be your adviser and live in leisure."

Thorin snorted a laugh, the best sound ever, and his hands clutched at Dwalin's arms.  "Do you think he will?" he asked.  Not a question he would ask most people but he had always trusted Dwalin.

"Hope doesn’t die until you let it," he said firmly.  "I will continue searching until you tell me not to."

"Keep looking," Thorin begged, hands moving up to tangle in Dwalin's beard.  His eyes were smoother when he opened them, the main storm had passed.  "Your king asks it of you."

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Cookie Raids!

Art by Kazuki-MENDOU

Part of my Dworin week collection as well as the Fíli Ficlets.

Dwalin was standing in the kitchen when he felt the tugging. Looking down at the small face that stared up at him hopefully, Dwalin smiled. “Cookies?” Kíli asked, giving his best puppy eyes. Dwalin chuckled, ruffling his dark hair with a large palm.

“Cookies, eh, karkith?” The little boy nodded seriously. Dwalin crouched down, leaning in conspiratorially. Kíli grinned, the game familiar. “You know what we need, then, Kíli-lad, don’t ye,” Dwalin rumbled, catching sight of Fíli’s golden head around the corner of the doorway. The older dwarfling ran into the kitchen with a loud war-cry, echoed by his younger brother:

“Cookie-raid!”

Dwalin grinned. Scooping up a dwarfling in each arm, he felt Fíli scamper up to sit securely on one of his broad shoulders. Kíli – less brave when it came to scaling the heights that was Dwalin – settled contently on his arm, pulling out the tiny toy axe Bifur had carved for his fourth name-day.

“Du bekâr!” Fíli cried loudly, showing the way with his own toy sword and a fierce scowl copied from his uncle Thorin on his face. Dwalin tried not to laugh, as he obediently jogged through the house.

“Are the cookies in here?” he asked, as they entered each room, making Fíli and Kíli both cry out loud ‘No!’s and continue to the next room. Frís looked up from her mending with a calm smile, while Dís simply shook her head in fond exasperation.

“Only one each, lads,” she called after them as the raiding party retreated from the sitting room. “That includes you, Dwalin!”

Charging onwards, Dwalin clambered over tables and chairs – or, as Fíli proclaimed, strode across mountains and valleys – enjoying the sound of the dwarflings’ laughter. Reaching the front door of the house, he opened it just in time to startle Thorin who was coming home from the forge.

“Cookie-raid, Dwalin?” the dark-haired Prince of Durin’s Folk asked, pressing his lips against Dwalin’s cheek in a quick greeting and ruffling Kíli’s hair fondly.

“The Evil guard tris to stop us!” Fíli yelled, brandishing his small sword at Thorin, his firm grip on Dwalin’s hair helping him keep his balance.

“Yeah!” came Kíli’s voice a few seconds later. Thorin grinned.

“The Evil guard has taken a hostage!” he exclaimed, deftly picking Kíli from Dwalin’s arms and tickling the small dwarfling who resembled him so much. Kíli shrieked with laughter.

“Oh, no,” Dwalin said, trying to stem his own laughter. “We must come to the rescue, Fíli Fabarâl!”

“Chaaarge!” Fíli commanded, also hooting with laughter as Dwalin took advantage of his free arms to launch a full-scale tickle attack on Thorin. When Thorin crumbled to the floor, Kíli joined the attack, until his Uncle was pleading mercy beneath the onslaught.

“Ahh, do you surrender, Thorin Uzbad?” Dwalin asked devilishly, his deft hands finding all the right spots.

“I yield, I yield!” Thorin cried, breathless with laughter.

“The Evil Guard is defeated,” Dwalin said, while Fíli nodded proudly. “Now he’s been enslaved to do our bidding!” the warrior chuckled, winking at Thorin as he pulled him to his feet, Kíli still nestled in the crook of his arm.

“Onwards, to cookies!” Fíli cried from his vantage point, his sword pointing towards the pantry, where Dís kept the cookie jar on the top shelf, out of reach of small fingers. Dwalin obediently went for the door, Thorin trailing behind him with Kíli waving his axe in the air.

Reaching the jar, Fíli reached in for his prize, holding up the cookie with an expression bordering on reverence. Thorin cracked up laughing; the look was copied straight from Dwalin, who scowled playfully at him. Kíli’s small hand found his own reward in the jar, nibbling happily as Thorin returned him to the floor. Fíli slid down Dwalin’s arm, grabbing his brother’s hand and dragging him off to the sitting room to show off their prizes to Dís and Frís. Picking two cookies from the jar, Thorin held out one while he bit into the other. Dwalin returned the jar to its shelf, nicking his cookie from Thorin’s hand.

“So I am your slave now, Dwalin?” he smirked, chuckling when Dwalin stroked his beard thoughtfully, munching his cookie. He nodded. “And what would you have me do, O Master?” Thorin whispered into Dwalin’s ear, nipping the lobe gently.

“Come here and kiss me sweetly,” Dwalin commanded, returning Thorin’s smirk. Pulling Thorin closer, he leaned against the kitchen table as he accepted his sweet reward. Sliding his thick fingers through Thorin’s long dark hair, Dwalin smirked against Thorin’s lips, feeling his lover’s kiss turn hungry. One of his hands travelled down Thorin’s back, following the corded muscles to the small of his back and cupping his arse gently.

Thorin kissed his way slowly to Dwalin’s other ear, his tongue playing with the cuff. “Take me to bed, Dwalin,” he breathed, pressing his hips insistently against Dwalin’s, making them both groan softly.

“Oh, really?” Dwalin smirked. “Me wee slave’s a wanton one, hmm?” With little apparent effort, he picked Thorin up, making the blacksmith prince wrap his legs around his strong hips as he carried him to their shared bedroom.

“Work was slow today,” Thorin admitted. “I had plenty time to think of… other things,” he moaned, rubbing himself against the bulge in Dwalin’s breeches. Dwalin grinned, catching him up in another ardent kiss as he toed the door shut behind them.

“Well, that does sound intriguing, me wee wanton,” he rumbled, his voice turning more gravelly, “tell me more.”

Thorin chuckled, continuing his slow rubbing. “I’m sure you know just what I want… Master.”

[moosefrog]

The Ugly Princeling. I was looking through my photos the other day and came across a photo of myself at age 11. I was a hideous troll-child! XD It’s a pretty funny picture that captured that awkward time of a child’s life when puberty has started to rear its ugly head and some parts of you are adult and some parts are still a child and you just look awkward af.

Then I thought about Thorin and how awkward he might’ve looked and I decided to draw that. XD Eventually he grows into his nose, his adult teeth stop looking so huge and awkward in his too-small mouth, his ears don’t stick out quite so much and his childish facial hair becomes more majestic.

Also, he stops letting his mom dress him.

This is from an AU where Thorin’s angry outbursts as a child was a source of constant worry for his parents. They sent away for Dwalin, a cousin, to come be Thorin’s companion/friend to see if that would help soothe Thorin’s temper.

Dwalin’s outfit includes a ‘modified’ dwarf-sweater! he cut off the sleeves and ribbed neckline and cut a V in it. He was already a little badass as a tween. XD He started maturing earlier than Thorin so he’s taller/bigger than his cousin. (Thorin sulked SO HARD when he realized his younger cousin was speeding past him into adulthood!)

Of course, what Thorin’s parents didn’t count on was... Thorin being able to talk Dwalin into all sorts of mischief and rule-breaking. And vice versa. 

There’s proportion issues happening here. Dwarves are so hard to draw, sometimes, and tween dwarves even more so! But, overall, I’m happy with how this came out and I like the feel of the pic Really, just getting to draw Thorin in romper-shorts was hilarious fun! I drew this with a 0.3mm Pentel mechanical pencil then finished it off with a regular HB pencil. Drawn on Paris Bleedproof paper. It seems that no matter how large a piece of paper I use, I always end up running off of the edge!

[stand-up-and-fight-daleks]

[fic] Perhaps even silver

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Dwalin/Thorin Oakenshield

Warnings: Gold sickness, PTSD, Minor injury (self-inflicted), Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives

Rating: T

Dworin week day 1: Despair –  Hope (light on the hope)

AO3

Summary: The worst part wasn't the sickness. 

                   It was never knowing if it was going to happen again. 

                   Or if it already had.

It came out of nowhere even though everything had been going well. Or perhaps because everything had been going well.

One moment he was smiling quietly to himself, the next he was driven on to his knees and out of himself by a terrible flood of fear.

*

“Thorin! Thorin, what are you doing, stop that!”

He didn’t know where Dwalin had come from, he hadn’t heard him, but there he was, dropping on the floor next to him and pulling him into an embrace that was a bodylock by more than a half. Thorin struggled frantically, trying to get free, trying to get back to ridding himself from the last bits of jewellery he still had on him. Dwalin didn’t let him.

“Get them off,” Thorin pleaded. “I have to get them off, please, get them off me!”

Dwalin loosened his hold slowly and reluctantly, and only just enough to remove Thorin’s ear cuffs. He did it as gently as he could, but it still stung, and when he was done both the cuffs and Dwalin’s fingers were stained with blood. Thorin’s hands had shaken so badly that he hadn’t been able to open the locks and finally he’d panicked and tried to tear them off. He hadn't noticed the pain at the time but he did now, and feeling all the fight draining out of him made his hands shake even worse.

“I had to get them off,” he whispered. Dwalin hadn’t asked, but he felt like he had to explain. “I had to get them off.”

“Why?”

Thorin glanced to his left. The ring lay on a warg-skin rug, exactly where he’d dropped it. It was a miracle Dwalin hadn’t stepped on it when he’d barged in. A gold-flecked piece of lapis as long as his finger-joint set in heavy silver; beautiful, but barely more than a trinket amongst all the gold and gems in Erebor. Dwalin had found it in a heap of treasure he’d been sorting through a month ago, and he’d brought it back to him with a knowing smile.

Thorin didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry or scream.

“I thought you liked it,” Dwalin said quietly.

“I do. I love it.” Thorin’s voice caught a little. “I can’t have it.”

“Why?”

”Don’t you see?! I love it!” Thorin clawed at Dwalin’s shirt, desperately willing for him to understand. “I have to get rid of it, before...”

��Oh.” Dwalin pulled him properly into his lap and wrapped his arms around him, less tight this time. “Do you feel like... back then?”

Back then. As if nine months were ancient history.

“No.” Thorin said hollowly. “Not yet.”

“But-”

“I won’t risk it.” Thorin lifted his head from Dwalin’s shoulder and looked him in the eye, jaw set. “I won’t! I could’ve killed you-”

“Nah, you couldn’t have.” Dwalin nudged their foreheads briefly together. “The way you flailed around you couldn’t have cut through a ripe pear, let alone me.”

That really shouldn’t have been comforting, but Thorin felt a little better all the same. Dwalin could take him out if he wanted to, if it happened again. He just had to hope that he would want to, that he wouldn’t just stand there and let him-

No.

No.

Unthinkable.

“I can’t risk it,” he repeated. “Maybe it would be better if you-”

“If I what?” Dwalin snarled. “’Cause after I’ve followed you to exile and war and half-way across the bloody continent, the answer’d better not be ‘left’ because of this.”

Thorin didn’t answer. Right here, cradled against Dwalin’s warm body, he was as safe from his own madness as he was ever going to be. But he had no way of knowing how safe that would actually be in the end, for him or for the people around him. He couldn’t risk it. Besides it wasn’t fair. He was never going to be less than grateful, but it wasn’t fair to ask this of Dwalin.

Again.

Even though he’d volunteered.

Again.

He was suddenly exhausted to the bone.

“What the hell happened, Thorin?” Dwalin asked after a long silence. “It’s been ages since you’ve tried to push me out of the door for my own good.”

Ages. Nine months.

“I thought I’d wear it,” Thorin said monotonously. “The ring. I was actually clean for dinner for once, and it’s not like we often get the chance.”

Not so long ago they wouldn’t have gotten a chance to wear much jewellery because they hadn’t owned much of it. That was no longer a problem, but only a very select few wore anything but battlefield decorations before going to work in reconstruction or clean-up – hard and dirty work was liable to lead to ruined finery – and most were too tired to do much besides eat and sleep afterwards.

“And I just-” Thorin swallowed. “I loved the way it looked. I was so happy I had it. And I couldn’t stop thinking, once the reconstruction is over I can wear it more often, I can have more-”

He couldn’t go on. He could almost taste it still, the terrible paranoia burning through him until he’d barely known who he was, who anyone was, or why he should've cared.

“Thorin, kurdel,” Dwalin whispered hoarsely. “You aren’t insane for being happy you have something pretty, or for wanting-”

“You can’t know that!” Thorin hissed. “I can’t know that! I can’t tell the difference, so I can’t have it, I can’t have any of it, how am I supposed to- I can’t-”

The corners of his eyes were burning.

Dwalin didn’t say anything. He simply pressed Thorin against his chest and stroked his hair and back like he did when he woke up shaking from a nightmare.

“I can’t-”

A tearful whimper turned into a sob and something final inside him shattered, and then he was crying hopelessly with his face buried to Dwalin’s neck, clinging on to him with desperate strength, choking on the words he was afraid to speak.

“I can’t-”

I can’t tell if I’m going mad.

I can’t tell if I already have.

I can’t tell if I can beat it again, please help me, I’m tired, I’m so tired, I’m so so tired...

[heartoferebor]

Since I made you happy yesterday I’m gonna make you sad today. A short sory in two acts, centering around certain courting clasps, canonverse.

Warnings for canonical character death and grieving.

[hattedhedgehog]

I found this old unposted Dworin sketch in my Hobbit art folder and added a bit of colour.

[formlessvoidbeast]

Dwalin had given his heart once.  Thorin took it and kept it, and held it still and forever.  Dwalin had no regrets.  But Thorin did not have use for everything that Dwalin's heart could do, and betimes Dwalin still was restless, with a kind of love he could imagine but had never yet embodied.

My dear @werpiper’s first nwalin week ficlet! <3

[mainecoon76]

Dworin Week, Day 1: Hope - Despair

On AO3                       

Thorin’s grandfather had never been so radiant as on the day before the battle.

Aye, Thorin had seen him on his marble throne, clad in robes of velvet and mithril jewelry, with diamond beads glittering in his beard. The king had walked the halls under the mountain in all his splendor, a true son of Durin for all to see, loved and revered by the people of his prospering realm. They still loved him as he stood before them near the gate of Khazad-Dûm, humble in his plain armor, and asked them to fight with him one last time. A battle of despair, with little hope of success, but they followed him readily; for his part, Thorin would have followed him anywhere. If there ever had been a dwarrow who could end the nightmare and lead their people to a new home, it had to be Thrór.

Now Thrór was dead.

Thorin had seen him fall, and thus had no trouble in finding the body. The head had been more difficult to locate among the slain, the mass of bodies and limbs and blood both red and black. Balin had eventually shooed him off to look for his father and brother, and Thorin had spend futile hours staggering across the battlefield while carrion crows screamed in his head and the stench almost made him retch. At nightfall Dwalin found him and dragged him back toward the camp, where Thór’s body had already been cleaned and arranged on a sheet. They had covered king‘s severed neck with cloth and concealed the mutilation of his face in bandages that served nothing but his honour. Beside him lay Frerin, his young face too pale and still to merely be asleep.

That had been on the previous evening.

Thorin was mildly surprised when light began to flood the world anew, and birdsong sounded brightly through the thickets around their camp. How could the sun rise again when all hope had fallen to ruin? It was one thing to rush to battle in the knowledge that the odds were slim, but quite another to be proven right.

The flap oft the tent rustled behind him. Heavy footsteps approached, but Thorin did not turn: he recognized those steps, heavier that they used to be, but still distinctive. Dwalin dropped beside him and placed an arm around his shoulder.

„Let them rest,“ he said.

Thorin had no words to return. For a long while they sat in silence, and Thorin found himself in desperate envy of the dead before him – oh, to lie down beside his brother and never rise again, here at the end of all hope! But Dwalin’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, warm, solid, alive. Finally, after his night-long vigil, Thorin‘s sight began to blur; finally he allowed himself to let his head sink against Dwalin’s chest, and he buried his face in his friend’s bloody tunic and wept.

********************************

Many years had passed since Dwalin had seen his king in velvet and gems. The shining armor of a murderous lunatic had done little to inspire his awe. Yet now, as they got ready to charge into the battle for Erebor, Thorin was clad in simple chainmail and the goldlust was gone from his eyes and Dwalin had never seen him so radiant.

One last time they would follow him, as he had asked. One more battle, and then their quest would come to an end: to what end, Dwalin could not tell, but he allowed himself to hope it would be a good one. Stories needed a good ending, their burglar used to say, even if that did not always mean a happy one.

They would know soon enough, for now Bombur sounded his horn, and the barriers in front oft the gates broke. Armor clattered and feet shuffled as the companions prepared to charge, and then Thorin turned, just for a moment, to catch Dwalin’s eye and smile. It was a smile Dwalin had seen too rarely in all their time together, usually reserved for the private moments when they had allowed themselves to dream: a smile of wild, boundless hope.

Perhaps, Dwalin thought grimly, perhaps after all those years of hardship and suffering they had finally earned their happy ending. Surely they deserved it.

[judayre]

I e had the first two lines written for over a week.  But how could anything live up to them?

"You should go before you get it too."

Thorin snorted, not impressed by Dwalin’s sacrifice.  He put a damp cloth across Dwalin’s forehead and sat to continue his mending.  "You haven’t got a pox or a plague.  You aren’t likely to die unless it’s of neglect."  He slanted a look at Dwalin to express his opinion of that.

"You’ll miss the last caravan of the season," Dwalin pointed out, tense despite his aching muscles.  "Don’t we need the money?"

Thorin stilled, then moved to sit on the bedside and pressed a cool hand to Dwalin's flushed cheek.  "My first vow is to you," he said, voice soft and deep as thunder.  "Before any of my people, even Dís and her boys.  It will be tight, but we’ve been doing better the last few years.  We won’t starve."

Perhaps it was the fever, but Dwalin’s tears were closer to the surface than usual.  Thorin patiently wiped them all away and never left his side.

[aowyn]

[Podfic] The Chaos of War

The Chaos of War by @joyfullynervouscreator​​ | read by @aowyn​ | for @officialtolkiensecretsanta​

Length: 31:59, downloads: mp3 | Blooper Reel: mp3,  length: 1:38

For the Dworin Week 17 prompt 'Meeting'

Thorin is stuck in the Durin's Folk camp on the night before the final battle to conclude almost seven years of interspecies warfare. Dwalin is marching to join his family and friends. Their first meeting in nearly a decade won't be what either of them dreamed of.

The Major Character death warning is for canon-deaths: Fundin, Frerin and Náin.

May require tissues.

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Category: Gen, M/M

Fandoms: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types

Relationships:  Balin & Dwalin & Fundin (Tolkien), Dwalin/Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin & Thraín, Dís & Frerin & Thorin Oakenshield

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Balin (Tolkien), Fundin (Tolkien), Dwalin (Tolkien), Original Dwarf Character(s), Azog (Tolkien), Dáin Ironfoot, Frerin (Tolkien)

Additional Tags: Battle of Azanulbizar, Waiting for War, Backstory, Dworin Week, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Canon - Book, Post-Battle of Azanulbizar, So.many.feels, Podfic & Podficced Works, Audio Format: MP3, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes

Language: English

[ao3feed-dworin]

[Podfic] The Chaos of War

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MvPlMt

by elrohir podfic (elrohir)

[Podfic] For the Dworin Week 17 prompt 'Meeting'

Thorin is stuck in the Durin's Folk camp on the night before the final battle to conclude almost seven years of interspecies warfare. Dwalin is marching to join his family and friends. Their first meeting in nearly a decade won't be what either of them dreamed of.

The Major Character death warning is for canon-deaths: Fundin, Frerin and Náin.

May require tissues.

Words: 24, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: Gen, M/M

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Balin (Tolkien), Fundin (Tolkien), Dwalin (Tolkien), Original Dwarf Character(s), Azog (Tolkien), Dáin Ironfoot, Frerin (Tolkien)

Relationships: Balin & Dwalin & Fundin (Tolkien), Dwalin/Thorin Oakenshield, Thorin & Thraín, Dís & Frerin & Thorin Oakenshield

Additional Tags: Battle of Azanulbizar, Waiting for War, Backstory, Dworin Week, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Canon - Book, Post-Battle of Azanulbizar, So.many.feels, Podfic & Podficced Works, Audio Format: MP3, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2MvPlMt

[umetakenoko]

I plan to get  @robinshideout​  to translate the Dworin works I drew in Dworin Week into English☺ Wait a little while:-)

[stand-up-and-fight-daleks]

[Fic] Body, Mind and Soul

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Dwalin/Thorin Oakenshield

Warnings: Mental health issues, Swearing, Hurt/Comfort, (warnings to be added in the next chapters)

Rating: T (rating to change to explicit in the next chapters)

Dworin week day 6:  Illness – Health

AO3

Chapter: 1 / ?

Summary: 

On his darkest days Thorin dragged himself through despair and self-loathing with nothing but sheer stubbornness, convinced every time that surely this would be the final straw for his family who’d put up with him for decades already - but he knew Dwalin had never been prone to moods as black as his.

No, when Dwalin got bad he got... Just like that.

Fuck.

Thorin crawled out of the tent yawning and glaring balefully at the swiftly rising spring sun. The morning was crisp and clear and he’d slept like a log through the night, but his head still felt like it was full of fluff and trying to rub sleep from his eyes only seemed to grind it in deeper. He would’ve given all the gold in Erebor for a mug of coffee, but since both were equally out of his reach at the moment, he had to contend himself with splashing some cold water on his face before shuffling towards the fires for breakfast.

He accepted a bowl of porridge from the cook with an unintelligible grunt that passed for both ‘thanks’ and ‘good morning’. A disapproving voice at the back of his mind that sounded awfully lot like the combination of his mother and Balin reminded him of manners, but luckily the cook was an old greybeard who’d witnessed three generations worth of royal morning moods and was prone to react with amusement rather than offence. ‘Not an excuse,’ his inner etiquette instructor reprimanded. Thorin ignored it.

He went on to slump down next to Dwalin, who didn’t come across as particularly alert either. He was sitting on a half-buried log with an empty bowl in his hands, and his greeting was somehow even more monosyllabic than Thorin’s. Maybe he hadn’t gotten much sleep before he’d had to get up for the night watch, or perhaps there was something in the air of this place that’d caused an outbreak of general grogginess. Who knew?

Thorin was three spoonfuls into his porridge when he reached to adjust the hammer in the loop of his belt and promptly cursed under his breath instead. There was no hammer, because evidently he’d been too bloody asleep to remember the tools of his trade, like a month-old apprentice who couldn’t grow a beard if he tried. He suppressed a groan, poorly.

This was really shaping up to be one of those mornings.

Thorin nudged Dwalin with his shoulder.

“Dwalin, my strong right hand,” he wheedled outrageously. “You mind getting my hammer for me, I just sat down?”

He fully expected Dwalin to roll his eyes and cuff him over the head, and maybe grumble something about not making it his problem if there was no room for memory in a certain princely head – but he didn’t. He nodded once and got up with a shaky exhale and started towards the tents with a drag in his step more suitable for a dwarf returning from a day of hard labour than one just about to start. No cheerful suggestions for Thorin to go fuck himself, no blunt refusal, not so much as a single word. Dwalin hadn’t even put his bowl down.

The teasing smile froze on Thorin’s lips and suddenly he was as wide awake as he'd ever been.

Fuck.

They both had their share of bad nerves and frustration and anger, but those weren't particularly difficult to deal with when you got down to it. Sparring was an efficient cure for inexplicable bouts of bad temper.

Thorin wasn't a stranger to truly bad days, either - and those we much harder to struggle through - but he knew Dwalin had never been prone to moods as black as his, no matter how bad it got.

(On his darkest days Thorin dragged himself through despair and self-loathing with nothing but sheer stubbornness, convinced every time that surely this would be the final straw for his family who’d put up with him for decades already, surely now they'd realise they deserved so much better, surely now they'd finally leave even though they never had before...)

No, when Dwalin got bad he got... just like that.

Fuck.

The first time Thorin remembered this happening he’d walked into the forge to find Dwalin just standing there, staring listlessly at the cold furnace he was supposed to have lit an hour ago. He’d told him that he was fine, that nothing was the matter, but Thorin had been the one who'd lit the fire in the end - after picking the tinderbox out of Dwalin’s hands. He hadn’t seemed to have realised that he’d been holding it.

It hadn’t gotten any better after that. Their tools and materials and the lists of orders hadn’t seemed to have made any sense to Dwalin at all, as if the steps in the job he’d done every day for years were suddenly beyond his comprehension. Thorin had been certain that Dwalin was sick, but there hadn’t been even a trace of fever on him, nor signs of any other harm. And yet the way Dwalin had looked at him had been so wrong it had chilled him to the bone.

He'd looked so defeated.

So lost.

Thorin would’ve sent him straight back to bed, but Balin, Dís and Víli had all been away, and he hadn’t wanted to leave him alone like that. Neither had Dwalin wanted to be left alone, and he’d practically pleaded to be allowed to stay and work.

Thorin had recognised the sentiment well enough. Dwalin had known that he wasn’t ill, that he shouldn’t have needed help with any of this, that he should’ve managed on his own. Only he couldn’t. Couldn’t summon up enough energy to think his way through anything or concentrate on reading an order. He hadn't even had enough fight in him to get angry about it all. No dwarf liked feeling useless, and if it happened like this… It was spoken of only in whispers when it happened like this, and with words no one ever wanted to hear. But if Dwalin could still work… Nothing could be that badly wrong if one could still work, and that's what he'd had to hold on to.

Somewhere beneath all that lethargy Dwalin had been terrified.

Thorin had guided him through his tasks as discreetly as he could, and Dwalin had seemed to have found some comfort in his proximity. The familiar routine of shaping hot iron with his hammer had helped him even more.

He’d thought.

The next day Dwalin hadn’t gotten out of bed at all.

Thorin had been so scared he’d almost thrown up.

It had passed though. It happened again after that, not often but it happened, and it always passed.

It just usually didn’t happen where Dwalin would have to sit in a saddle almost every day.

Thorin cursed himself harshly as he watched Dwalin return. How long had this been going on? How the hell could he have missed this happening to his own lover? Wasn’t he supposed to look after his people?

With some difficulty Thorin forced his self-accusations to the back of his mind for now, and took both the hammer and the porridge bowl out of Dwalin’s hands as gently as he could.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Sit down, will you, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Thorin washed the bowls and returned them to a basket by the cook-fires as quickly as he could. When he got back, Dwalin was waiting for him exactly where he’d left him.

Thorin didn’t waste any time asking how he was doing.

“I’m so sorry,” he said instead, sitting down next to him. “It’s a little over a week to Ered Luin, if the weather holds. Do you think you can hold out if we travel at normal speed?”

Dwalin nodded.

Thorin reached out to cup his cheek, an overwhelming show of affection for a public one.

“You tell me if you can’t. And that’s an order,” he said firmly. “Will you come to work?”

“Aye. I don’t want...” Dwalin glanced at the rest of the caravan bustling about in preparation for the day.

“I know.”

If he wouldn’t work, everyone would be able to tell that something was wrong.

Dwalin didn’t want anyone else to know.

(Of course if it turned out that he couldn’t ride and had to travel in one of the wagons instead, everyone would see. Thorin would have to try and make sure that wouldn’t happen.)

“Come on, then,” he said and got up, helping Dwalin to his feet as well. “There was a halfling that put in an order for a hundred nails. It’s dull and simple, and it’s work that needs doing.”

Dwalin nodded again and leaned into Thorin briefly before following him to their makeshift forges.

Almost two weeks still on the road.

Maker give him strength.

[heartoferebor]

More canonverse fic for today - how Thorin has come to love the harp throughout his life and his changing relationship with it (and Dwalin, of course). No warnings for this one.