Work Text:
Glorfindel didn’t set out to become an army wife.
Like, obviously. First of all, wrong branch of the military. Second of all, wrong gender. And third of all, he REALLY hadn’t intended for it to be a whole thing. He was married to someone in the armed forces because - well, because he loved Ecthelion but also it had been when Glorfindel was between jobs and his benefits had just pooped out and Ecthelion was getting relocated again, and it turned out that there were some real benefits to being a military spouse, like having their move paid for and also, as Ecthelion kept harping on, health insurance.
“I’m really healthy though,” Glorfindel had said, as Ecthelion swore at the marketplace portal he was trying to navigate on Glorfindel’s behalf. “I don’t really need it? I eat a lot of fiber. And the FitBit is always really impressed with my resting heart rate. ”
“You’ve broken four bones in the time we’ve known each other.”
“I’ve broken four bones since we started dating,” Glorfindel corrected him. “I’ve broken seven bones in the time we’ve know each other.”
“You need health insurance. I get shot at for a living and you might need health insurance more than I do.” Ecthelion picked up the pamphlet that had originally started this conversation. Glorfindel looked at it in fascination; who printed pamphlets anymore? “It’s ridiculous. I have excellent insurance coverage, relocation budget, and potential spousal benefits, none of which you can access -”
“Unless we were married.”
“Which we aren’t.”
Glorfindel put a comforting hand on Ecthelion’s shoulder. It didn’t appear to work, but it was a nice shoulder to touch. “I don’t want you worrying about my broken bones.”
“I do worry about your broken bones,” said Ecthelion, the nice shoulders drawing closer to his ears with tension. “And your tendency to get ear infections. And that bad case of strep last winter.”
Glorfindel patted him once more. “Okay then. So let’s do it.”
The shoulders dropped. “What?”
“Let’s get married.”
Ecthelion whipped around, the pamphlet flapping to the floor, and stared at Glorfindel. “Are you - are you proposing?”
“Oh! Yes, I guess I am.” Glorfindel smiled at him. “So do you wanna-”
Ecthelion got to his feet. “Absolutely not.”
He returned a couple hours later. Glorfindel hadn’t worried; Ecthelion was often doing things like this, usually when he couldn’t handle the way something was unfolding and needed to go resolve it. Like when the neighbor was topping his trees wrong or when the city failed to unblock the storm drain correctly. If he didn’t vanish for more than four hours Glorfindel let him at it and didn't file a missing persons report or anything.
“Sorry for leaving,” said Ecthelion from the doorway. “I realized it might have seemed like I was saying no to your proposal.”
“I would never have thought that,” said Glorfindel, dropping from the pull-up bar in the hallway where he’d been completing a set. “I figured you just wanted to do it better.”
“You figured right,” said Ecthelion. Always efficient, he got down on one knee and held out a bouquet of sunflowers and - what Glorfindel was sure was - a ring from the weird little antique shop down the road. They’d seen it in the window the other day and Glorfindel had commented on what a nice tourmaline it was and Ecthelion had told him it was citrine, actually. And now it was in a box in front of him.
“Glorfindel, you are my best friend and I love you and I am committed to spending the rest of my life making sure you break no more bones than is absolutely necessary. Will you marry me?”
“You betcha,” said Glorfindel, and dropped to his own knees to kiss his fiancé thoroughly enough to require health insurance.
They’d eloped, mostly, and done the courthouse thing just the two of them with Ecthelion in uniform and Glorfindel in the sleeveless shirt he’d been wearing the first time they’d kissed. Ecthelion’s parents had thrown a backyard barbecue and forgiven them for eloping after they’d promised they’d do a proper wedding sometime later, maybe when Ecthelion’s service had ended and when they actually had some money, so they could make a proper big deal out of it. The barbecue had been more than sufficient in Glorfindel’s opinion, with everyone from his old rugby team to Ecthelion’s flute ensemble to the entire staff of Heavenly Arch Tattoo and Piercing swinging by to express their congratulations and get catatonic on Ecthelion’s dad’s bao.
And that was it: Glorfindel was a Marine Husband. Insured and everything. That he was married to someone in the armed forces was supposed to be trivia, not part of his identity.
But then TikTok happened.
It had started with browsing the hashtag #armywife, even if he knew it wasn’t quite applicable to him. He wanted to see if there was a community, a sense of camaraderie. Shared experiences, shared solutions to challenges, maybe some shared funny stories.
There were.
He wondered if there were people who really leaned into the identity, maybe even influencers of some flavor.
There were.
There were a LOT of flavors.
“Okay, so after last week’s storytime a bunch of you were asking about my updo and I’ve got good news: you do NOT need any product, you do not need to blow-dry, and it IS curly-hair friendly. You’re going to need a scrunchy, two hairpins, and good reflexes. Don’t worry, I’ll slow it down for you and write the steps in the caption! While we work on that, I’ll tell you part two of the bootcamp care package fiasco.”
###
“Welcome back to week 3 of what I’m tentatively calling ‘my hubby doesn’t get to be the only one with access to fun weapons.’ Sticking to the theme of weapons from antiquity, today we’re going to be talking longswords! I spent a super instructive afternoon with the ladies at my local CSA and I have the bruises to show for it - also this sick zweihänder.”
###
“When people hear I’m married to a military man - and no, guys, you still aren’t going to see his face on this channel - the assumption is that we’re pretty conservative and buttoned-up. Okay, he IS pretty buttoned up, mostly because of this thing called the uniform code, which we’ll get into in the next video. But there’s no requirement for a military spouse to be equally conventional, which brings me to today’s sponsor: @MmeMeleth69! I’ve spoken highly of their Sky-High Go-Go Boots, but the Slutty Bitch Platforms are - literally - next level. I bet you’re wondering: how do they perform on the pole? Let’s get into some warm-ups…”
###
“Welcome to the flower patch, blossoms! It’s early in the season, but that doesn’t mean we can’t start planning out the bed. In fact, it’s the perfect time to plant your poppies, because they actually like some nice cold nights before they start germinating. You’ll want to save the sunflowers for after any chance of freeze - I know, we’re all here for the sunflowers, but don’t worry, they’re not going anywhere! By the time the better half is back from tour, they’ll be ready for cutting. Now let’s talk fertilizer - need to have or nice to have?”
“Wait,” said Turgon. “Wait. These are ALL you? I thought you were just going to show me examples of different hashtag army wife accounts!”
“I’m not just any hashtag army wife,” said Glorfindel. “I’m multi-talented! And @DrPengolodhPrescribes420 recently diagnosed me with ADHD in the comments, which would explain a lot.”
“I thought you were unemployed. You make money at this?”
“For tax reasons, I’m actually self-employed.”
“He makes more money than I do,” said Ecthelion, who was absently re-lacing one of Mme Meleth’s Slutty Bitch Platforms and had a sunflower tucked into his crewcut.
Turgon, who was still paying off his med school debt, boggled. “How many followers do you have?”
“Oh, nothing like the big guns,” said Glorfindel modestly. “Two, two point five million? But that’s spread across TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube.”
“He has cross-platform appeal,” said Ecthelion, setting the heel on the shelf next to the throwing daggers Turgon had seen in week four of Testing A New Ancient Weapon Every Day Until My Husband Gets Back From Deployment.
Glorfindel flopped down on the floor and leaned back against Ecthelion’s legs. “I did get nuked at 400k - there was this absolute troll -”
“@gothmog510,” said Ecthelion with the icy precision of someone who’d typed the handle into a ‘report abuse’ form more than once.
“- who botted me right when I started taking off. But I came back!” said Glorfindel cheerfully. “And actually better than ever, after that.”
Ecthelion moved the sunflower from behind his ear and tucked it into Glorfindel’s hair. “People like a comeback.”
“They must,” said Turgon. “Wow.”
“Plus I got to shed some of my old cringe content,” said Glorfindel, shuddering. “The GRWMs were dire - I could not pull off a strong contour.”
“Some people still insist he’s not the same influencer,” said Ecthelion. “They call him the new Glorfindel-“
“ ‘The Rivendell Glorfindel,’” said Glorfindel, grinning. “Since it happened after our move to the valley.”
“But we know the truth,” said Ecthelion. “There’s only ever been the one.” And he leaned down to kiss his not-a-hashtag-army-wife on the ear.