#what did i do at work today? paint bilbo’s front door

[sir-ghost-the-green]

back on my Tolkien fixation. Everybody lives/nobody dies au bagginshield fics here i come

[luna-redamancy]

Day 26: Feels Like Home

“What’s wrong, (Y/n)?” It was like everyone was asking this question to you today, first, it was Ori at breakfast when you barely ate touched your plate, then it was Kili when you didn’t laugh at one of his hilarious puns, and now it was Bilbo as you stared longingly out the library window, the two of you have met up for tea and some reading for the afternoon. 

“I… I’m not sure,” You murmured, keeping your eyes out the window. “It’s hard to describe,” You announced, voice laced with confusion as you breathed deeply through your nose.

“Would you like to try? To describe it, I mean,” Bilbo’s book was long forgotten as he leaned forward to listen to you, brows furrowed in concern. 

“I miss home, Bilbo,” You chose to put it simply. “I miss my bookshelf with my knick-knacks, and I miss my teapot and my blanket that my great grandmother quilted for me,” You took another deep breath. “And I don’t know how to make it stop, I’m happy truly, I’m happy here but…” 

Bilbo nodded in understanding, “It’s not the same,” He knew what you were feeling, he truly did. Being away from his hobbit-hole for so long truly wasn’t something he was fond of and to completely go without your day-to-day normality, well that was hard on a person.

“It’ll get better,” He chose to say, not wanting to tell you fluffed up words of why you shouldn’t feel the way you were, instead choosing to begin plotting how to help you feel a little more at home with the help of a certain band of dwarves who cared for you just as he does. 

“I need your help,” Bilbo stood rather awkwardly in Dwalin’s doorway, not making eye contact with the intimidating dwarf. 

“With what?” Dwalin said, readily prepared to shoot down his request. 

“(Y/n),” As soon as your name slipped past Bilbo’s lips as he delved into explaining his plan, Dwalin was already on board.

“And I think it would be fantastic if we could–”

“Whatever your plan is, I’m in,” Dwalin nodded, “Whatever we can do for (Y/n),” 

And so, Bilbo went door to door that afternoon, telling each dwarf the plan he had for Operation Home. 

Finishing telling Thorin, Bilbo waited for a response from the newly crowned King Under the Mountain. 

“I know just the place,” Thorin decided, guiding Bilbo through a series of halls and stairwells, twists and turns that had his head-dizzying before Thorin finally opened a door. 

It was a quaint room with a broad window and two doors leading to a balcony. 

“It’s perfect,” Bilbo said, and so, their plan has begun to take motion. 

For the next three nights, the company members worked, hauling furniture, painting, carving, everything they could to replicate details of your home. 

Until finally, it was time. 

“Where are we going?” You voiced again, looking around the empty hallways as Fili and Kili dragged you along. 

“You’ll see,” Kili said in a sing-song voice, his grip on your hand was firm as he continued down the hall before suddenly stopping in front of you.

“Wha-” You looked in front of you again to see a door, painted the color of your door back home. “What is this?” You questioned, looking to see that every member of the company, including Thorin whom you swore, had a meeting at this time, were gathered behind Kili. 

“A slice of home,” Bilbo said, a nervous smile on his face as the dwarves stood proudly behind him. “It took some work, but, we hope you enjoy it,” Dwalin said, voice sincere, his normally gruff voice softened in this moment as you looked from them to the door. 

“Go ahead…Open it,” Fili encouraged, hand going to your shoulder for a comforting squeeze. 

Opening the door, your eyes widened in amazement. It was just like home. And for the first tie in months, the homesick feeling that took place in your heart was forgotten as familiar sights grabbed your attention. 

Eyes watering, you turned to them, at a loss for words for a brief moment. “Why?” Was all you could say as Ori approached. “We took you from your home, it’s only right that we help you give some of it back.” 

A tear slipped down your cheek as a happy smile took hold of your face. “Thank you,” Being the only words that fell past your lips as you gave each one of them an individual hug. 

You finally felt at home.

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[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Six

Alexander was the best kind of regular. He was the curious kind. He would come to the shop, squint up at the chalkboard with those lovely blue eyes, and then finally choose the next thing on the list. If he was trying to be subtle about slowly working his way down the menu, then he needed some work. It was sweet, it was just not subtle.

But today, he’d come in and sat himself up at one of the tables near the window, an impressive scowl painted across that pretty face. (Alexander had some remarkably expressive eyebrows. You could read his mood with them alone.)

Which meant Magnus was spending his morning rush worrying about what exactly had set his favorite customer on such a sour path this morning. He spares a glance over while he steams milk for a matcha latte, and finds Alec staring daggers out of the shop’s front window. But there was no one out there. And Magnus was reasonably certain that Alexander wasn’t angry with Diego’s taco stand. 

What could make such a sweet natured man so sour? It wasn’t girlfriend trouble, Magnus knew that much, thanks to one memorable morning where a young lady gave Alexander her number and when she walked away, he looked at it like she’d handed him a raw mackerel. Boyfriend troubles, maybe?

Magnus hoped not, for his own selfish reasons. He could practically feel Bilbo’s eyes on him from across the shop. Yes yes, he knew he had to get on his side of the promise. No, he wasn’t going to do it right now, in broad daylight in an open tea shop, Bilbo Baggins. Stop judging. 

With the last customer of this burst gone away with their tea and their scones and their lovely pastries, Magnus slips out from behind the counter before his good sense could get the better of him. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” That felt like a good enough segue into conversation, given the fact that Alexander was currently glaring at a cloud. 

But much like the clouds would break this afternoon and the sun would shine through, that sour expression on Alexander’s face breaks apart and reveals the sunshine of his lovely smile beneath. A sheepish, nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Uh..yeah. It is.”

That’s all the opening that Magnus needed. He slips into the seat across from Alec at the small bistro table, hands clasped in front of him. His nails were a gorgeous sea green, in keeping with the summer season. There was even a sheen of glitter built into the polish itself. Magnus was positively in love with the color. “How have you been?” Magnus has to resist the urge to jump straight to ‘what’s wrong?’ People didn’t like being called out like that.

“Oh, good. I’m good.” Alexander was a squirmer, when he was nervous. Magnus knew because he never saw Alec move around in his seat like a worm on a hook until Magnus was sitting across from him. It was flatteringly adorable. “You?”

“I’m wonderful, thank you.” And if he didn’t get them out of this cesspool of polite conversation, they might never get to the meat of the problem. Magnus only had so long until his next batch of regulars came in. A quick glance at the clocked showed him it was a little before 8:30. He had about twenty minutes for this conversation, tops. 

What a world to live in, when reckless and carefree Magnus Bane cared enough about a man’s opinion to schedule in time to talk him through his feelings between customers. Bilbo was probably cackling into his dough right as they spoke. The bastard. 

“So why don’t you tell me why you’ve been sitting here, looking like the most handsome thundercloud I’ve ever laid eyes on?” So maybe that was laying it on a bit thick. But Alexander was a sight for sore eyes on any day, effortlessly gorgeous. It was enough to take someone like Magnus, who spent half an hour in front of the mirror every morning, feel jealous. 

Then again, getting to lay eyes on that effortlessly handsome face every day was enough to push the jealousy back and replace it with a four letter word. 

Lust. The word was lust. Not the other “L” word, which Magnus was going to avoid the damned plague. 

Alexander stutters for a moment, blue eyes huge and wide before he gives up, laughing at himself as he turns his eyes back to the window. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m not trying to bring the mood down or anything.” Alec’s accent was all New York, and before him, Magnus would have never thought that was something he would find attractive. 

An English accent was lovely. An Irish accent was enough to make a man weak in the knees. Magnus himself had a personal weakness when it came to French accents. But in the grand scheme of American accents, New York wouldn’t be anywhere near the top of the list. Or at least, it wouldn’t have been before Alexander. 

There was something about the way he spoke, the same kind of effortless charm that went with his finger combed hair and his (truly hideous, it was a marvel) worn out sweaters. Magnus has always loved a sharp dressed man. But there was something so incredibly genuine about Alec Lightwood that it had made its way under his skin, and he couldn’t get free. 

“You don’t bring the mood down.” Far from it. Seeing Alexander was often the highlight of Magnus’ day. “So go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind.” Magnus cups his chin in his palm, watching Alec through the fan of his lashes. He was never going to tire of the way Alec’s eyes darted down to his lips when Magnus spoke. It was the kind of thing that could make a man’s ego get too big. 

Not Magnus, of course. He was the very picture of...there was no reason to even finish that ridiculous sentence. Magnus was fantastic, and he quite appreciated it when other people thought he was fantastic as well. 

“It’s just that my sister is getting married.” There was that scowl again, dipping across dark brows before it disappears. “And I’m happy for her, really. But she’s having this whole big party about it, and there’s dancing.” Alexander says dancing the way someone else might say bamboo spikes under fingernails. Like it was torture. 

“And you have to dance?” Alexander nods, like a man on his way to the gallows. “So what’s the issue here? Do you not have someone you want to dance with?” Is it cruel to hope that Alec doesn’t have a date he wants to dance with? “Or is it that you don’t know how to dance?”

Alec’s little smile tugs up further on one side of his mouth than the other. Gods, he was a sight. “Both, honestly.”

Both. Which means that Magnus had not one, but two chances to whirl his way into Alexander’s life outside of this little table and the shop around it. This was a chance to see Alexander out in the world, to be a part of his life and not just set dressing. 

“I could teach you.” That absolutely came out too quickly. But this was a blue moon of an opportunity. It would only come around once. So Magnus had to take advantage while he still could. “I used to teach dance. I lived in Spain for a year or two.” Magnus had lived all over in his time. It would honestly be faster just to tell him the places that he hadn’t lived, rather than go through his spiel of all the places he’s called home over the years. 

“Salsa. Flamenco. Even a little ballroom dancing and waltz, which I’d imagine is what your sister is going to want for her party.”

Alec was watching him with wonder on his pretty face. Magnus has to resist the urge to preen. That wouldn’t go well with the whole humble teacher act he was going for here. “How much do you charge by the hour?”

Now that would be a lovely innuendo and segue if this was Magnus looking to climb Alexander like the lovely willow tree he was. But Magnus had to admit to himself, and only to himself, that his feelings were involved in this mess. He didn’t (just) want to give Alec the night of his life. He wanted to stick around for breakfast in the morning too. 

“No charge.” Magnus waves away the protest he can see building on Alec’s lips. He wasn’t the type of man who enjoyed handouts. There was a pride to him, beneath all that rakish charm. “I haven’t taught in ages. I wouldn’t be up to par for being paid anyway. But I can dust the rust off and you can learn enough to cut a rug and make yourself the envy of your sister’s wedding.”

Alec makes a sour face, and Magnus can’t help but laugh. “Fine. I can dust the rust off and you can be a perfectly passable dancer and not draw any undue attention to yourself at your sister’s wedding. How’s that sound?”

Alexander’s shoulders soften and droop down, and the smile he gives Magnus is equal parts relief and something more playful. If Magnus wasn’t already aware how much trouble he was in, then he would have figured it out right at this instant. Because he was in Trouble with a Capital T. “That sounds great, Magnus. Thanks.”

There were people milling outside of the door that the tea shop shared with Bag End Bakery. Two women with big cat’s eyes sunglasses were checking their phones, and their watches, respectively. They were waiting for someone. Which meant in the next few minutes, they’d be coming inside to order, and it would be back to work.

Magnus looks back over at the clock. 8:50. How did time manage to fly by so fast when he was talking to Alec? It was like magic. 

But all good things must come to an end. “How about you can come by here after close. We can move the tables out of the way, and we have a nice wood floor to practice on.” Magnus plucks the napkin out from under Alec’s cup, pulling the pen from behind his ear so he could start to scribble down his phone number.

“For now, wear something comfortable tonight. Something you can move in. Basketball shorts and a t-shirt or a tanktop are what I usually practice in. And wear the most comfortable pair of tennis shoes that you have. We’ll lay the ground work before we get you practicing in the shoes you’ll be wearing at the wedding.”

Magnus writes his name beneath the number with a flourish, and in a moment of pique, he draws a heart on a balloon string next to his name. He even draws the little square in the corner of the heart balloon, like it’s catching the glint of the summer sun on it’s plastic surface. If his intentions weren’t clear before, this would make them neon bright. Hopefully. 

“Here.” He slides the paper napkin back over to Alec, looking over his shoulder as the women spill into the shop, chattering among themselves like a gaggle of sparrows sitting on a wire. They would be ordering from Bilbo and then they would make their way over to his side of the shop. Time was up. 

“Tonight. 8pm. I’ll be here.” 

Feeling especially bold, Magnus reaches over once he stands and pats Alec’s hand. His skin was warm, and soft. Lovely. Every bit of that man was lovely, and Magnus was in so very deep over his head. 

“You be here too.” That’s a playful little waggle of his finger in front of Alec’s nose before Magnus darts back behind the counter, calling out to the women that had broken away from their group at the pastry case to head his way.