THORIN X READER: THIS IS RIDEADCULOUS
AN: You've watched enough south park to know where this is going.
Hide and seek was a favorite game of short people, and you and all of your friends were very very short.
Very short.
Like, it was fucking ridiculous the places you could fit yourself into. Under the sink in the bathroom? No problem? On top of the fridge? You could climb. In the ceiling in the laundry room? Yeah, sure, why not. There was a good six or seven inch gap to crawl into.
So, it was no surprise when you and your 12 buddies decided that you were going to get together at your great uncle's house to play hide and seek. He wasn't really your uncle, but somehow, it was less creepy to hang at his place if people thought you were blood-related. So what, you hung around old dudes who thought they were wizards? Was that anything new? No. (In fact, your drug dealer was a wizard. He always made the best fucking crack rock in the tri-state area.)
It was no surprise that you found yourself standing on his front lawn with your short bearded buddies and your short bearded boyfriend, Thorin. You two had been dating for the last couple of years, ever since you took acid together and slayed the magic dragon that lived in his mountain. (There was a reason you were fucking broke.) Gandalf came out onto the front porch with a glass of lemonade to watch you guys play hide and seek.
"GANDALF. WIZARD. WE NEED YOU TO PICK THE SEEKER." Fili screamed, because he was a little deaf from marching band. Yeah, he and Kili were in the marching band. They co-played a single flute. It was amazing. Or maybe it was the acid. You weren't sure at this point.
Gandalf jumped in surprise, launching his glass of lemonade at Dwalin. Dwalin frowned as it smashed against his face, sniffed, and frowned even harder.
"This is pee…"
"I was going to use that for a drug test later, goddamit. You be seeker." Gandalf grumbled, pointing at you. Of course, you couldn't hear what he was really saying because he had a really big front lawn and you all were gathered at the far edge because Gandalf was scary when you didn't want to buy drugs. The glass of pee-lemonade was proof enough. You just saw him point at you, so you closed your eyes right there and started counting to…
Like
47.
Forty-seven seconds later, you opened your eyes to find Fili and Kili standing behind a tree next to you shouting "WHAT" at each other.
"FOOOOOOUUUNNNNND YOOOOOOOOOOOU"
"WHAT"
"WHAT"
You pointed at them, frowned, and drew your thumb over your neck.
"WHO'S DEAD?"
You sighed and walked away to find the remaining 10 dwarves.
Dwalin was in a tree, hanging like an angry bald monkey.
Balin was standing under the angry, bald monkey, reprimanding him for picking a terrible hiding place.
Nori was inside, under a pile of books.
Ori was hiding on the shelf Nori took the books off of.
Bofur had sat down next to an umbrella stand and pulled his hat down over his eyes, using the age old logic of "if I can't see you, you can't see me."
Bifur was the umbrella stand. How? Probably the acid.
Oin was in Gandalf's instrument room, using a trombone as an ear horn, and playing lovely melodies as he did.
Gloin was laughing at Oin and making requests.
Bombur wasn't actually in the kitchen, but rather, in the bathroom, making bathtub gin.
Dori was swimming in the gin. It added "flavor" (shawtie balls)
The only shawtie you hadn't found yet was your boyfriend. Thorin. Thorin was your boyfriend. Remember? So here you were, tromping through a drug lord's house with 12 shawties, playing hide and seek. Believe it or not, that was not foreign to you. Actually, it was basically a daily occurrence.
"Thoriiiiin! Come on, Gandalf is getting tired of us, we gotta go!" You shouted.
"You know what?" Fili started, yelling.
"WHAT?" Kili shouted, seeing Fili's mouth move.
"I THINK UNCLE THORIN SAID HE WAS GOING TO CHECK INTO REHAB SOON, ACTUALLY. I DON'T KNOW, IT MIGHT'VE BEEN THE [VARIOUS DRUGS] TALKING" Fili shouted.
You interrupted at this point.
"Various drugs? I thought we were all just taking acid?"
"That's just the acid talking." Gloin said, patting you on the back.
And then you kind of realized what Rehab meant. Your gorgeous hunk of shawtie boyfriend had left you to get clean.
You were a bad influence.
A bad influence.
"Oh my god, I'm a bad influence." You said.
"We know, that's the third time you've said it." Gloin said with a sigh.
"Thorin left me because I'm a bad influence." You said, ignoring Gloin.
...Maybe it was time for you to get clean?
FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASHFORWARD MONTAGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
30 YEARS LATER, IN THE FUTURE
Alright, so, here's a little recap of the last thirty years of your life.
After Thorin left you while playing hide in seek, you decided it was time for a change. You checked yourself into rehab and stopped hanging out with Gandalf. After you detoxed and spent a year or so in rehab, you testified against Gandalf in court and he was put away for basically the rest of his life. Or at least, you hope so, because if he ever gets out, you will die. You managed to score a great deal on Gandalf's old house, though, since it was being auctioned off.
You found a new man, had a lovely 10 year relationship with him, but you never really forgot Thorin, and he knew you'd never really love him the way you loved Thorin. After ten years of coping with that, he finally left you, and you couldn't blame him even a little bit.
That was all twenty years ago, though, and now you were just a miserly little shawtie, living alone in your big, ex drug lord house, and today was the day you were cleaning out the attic.
So there you was, up in this big, old, creaky attic, full of drug-lord-wizard shit and a hell of a lot of boxes. Like seriously, there were boxes fucking everywhere. Metal boxes, cardboard boxes, wood boxes, paper mache boxes. There were normal person sized boxes and even shawtie sized boxes. What the fuck did Gandalf even do with all this shit? It'd be a miracle if you went the whole day without finding somebody's bones.
In your hands you held a big black garbage bag, the kind that Hefty is jealous of, in hopes that you'd be able to fit some of those boxes in. Or at least some of the shit in the boxes. You'd been able to clean out most of the weird boxes in the past week and the only one left was a smallish, wooden box.
Good job, shawtie. Nice time management.
You slide some paper mache boxes out of the way, walking over to the smallish wooden box in the back of the attic, a crowbar in your hand. It'd totally been there the whole time, and you knew that for a fact because you are 30 years sober, goddammit. No one would ever call you a bad influence again. On the smallish box, there was a big fancy-looking lock which was quite obviously locked until you smashed it with that crow bar you were holding. Then it was unlocked.
Is a broken lock unlocked, or is it forever locked because it's broken?
Who gives a shit.
You swung open the lid of the trunk and just absolutely started shrieking.
Inside that fancy wooden box was a shawtie sized, bearded skeleton. It was your boo. Your boo, Thorin had actually just found the perfect hiding spot and died. You weren't actually a bad influence. Or maybe you were, considering your boo thang shawtie was dead. One thing was for sure.
Thorin won at hide and seek.
THE END