#GOR birthday challenge

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Happy Birthday

Dear friend, for your birthday challenge, I have the honour to submit this little idiocy :D

All my best wishes, @guardianofrivendell, I hope you'll be having a marvellous day ❤️

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: None

Pairing : Fíli x Tulls (implied), Ori & Fíli

What if Ori helped Fíli organise a date...

“Dude,” Fíli leaned heavily against the bookshelf behind him, “is there no book on cute dates that aren’t technically dates but are still very sweet?”

It was a mere joke but – as he should have expected – Ori looked up with a serious expression on his face as if he was truly mulling over this idiotic question before shaking his head in earnest regret.

“Why?” he asked softly, cocking his head to the side in an expression of benevolent patience that was so representative of his kind soul that Fí had to smile despite being so annoyed.

“Well, there’s a lady I’d like to invite to a very casual meeting,” Fíli started, “but I’ve run out of ideas on what to do. Kí suggested illegally abducting and riding some wild animals, but I’d rather not end up in the infirmary…if you get my meaning.”

Ori nodded slowly; he was a good friend and a reliable companion, but he would have been one of the last people Fíli would honestly go to for advice as it was common knowledge that the quiet scribe was ridiculously oblivious when it came to dams, their guiles, and their secret wishes. Or so he had thought.

“I cannot recall ever having come across pertinent literature,” Ori declared after another few seconds of contemplation, “but if you’d let me, I can organise something for you?”

His eyes lit up and a broad smile broke like a sunrise on that usually so solemn face, and Fíli couldn’t help but mirror the sunny expression of unadulterated joy; Ori was a good dwarf – honest, diligent, and fiercely loyal – and they did him wrong by dismissing him so easily.

“Alright,” Fíli clapped a heavy hand on the slender shoulder of his old friend, “I put my fate into your ink-stained hands.”

He spoke those words lightly, but – upon seeing the genuine enthusiasm animate every muscle in Ori’s face – he decided that his beloved and he would make the best out of the situation.

“Ah, you trust Ori but not me?” Kíli pouted in mock indignation, but when his brother’s face twitched nervously, he gave him an encouraging grin.

“I hope he doesn’t plan something like a visit of the library? Or book restoration? Or…” Fíli groaned; as much as he wanted to make his friend happy, he felt as if he was on thin ice all the time with the dam of his heart and he couldn’t risk inviting her to a terribly boring date. Especially because he would sit through it – come what may – and he would do his best to enjoy it.

He would not break his friend’s heart out of selfish reasons; no matter how much he yearned for her, he’d never sacrifice another loved one on the altar of his needs.

Kíli cocked one eyebrow at him. “Don’t underestimate the old boy,” Kíli warned him, “do you know how people always say that they failed but not ‘for a lack of trying’? Well, in Ori’s case, it’s definitely a lack of trying though.”

“What are you saying?” Fíli asked, confused by the confidence Kíli was displaying.

“Trust the process; also, if you are going to invite who I hope you’re going to invite, she’ll be fine with whatever you plan to do. She knows both of you and she’ll think that it’s very sweet either way…you know she will!”

That was a comforting thought Fíli had been holding on to as well; he knew that – even if it turned out to be the worst semi-but-not-really-date anyone had ever had – she would laugh it off and do her best to find something enjoyable in it.

“Break a leg, brother dear,” Kíli laughed, “I’m sure it will be fine. And if not, you can always fall back on my idea and break your leg for real?”

Ever helpful, Fíli thought, a sour taste of apprehension and nervousness rising at the back of his throat; it was not as if he had come up with anything better, but it made him nervous that he would have an informal-slightly-romantic-but-not-too-much get-together without knowing what was planned exactly.

“Ori…” Dori stood – thunderstruck – on the threshold to the kitchen, “What are you doing?”

Covered in flour and bits of dough, Ori whirled around with a bright smile on his face.

“I was granted the great honour to organise an outing for the prince,” Ori declared which made his brother chuckle under his breath; Ori was a scribe and not a courtier and the prince was his friend more than his liege, so the pompous description was a testament to his mastery of language more than an accurate depiction of the situation.

“Indeed,” he said nonetheless, staring at the overflowing basket wedged into a corner; not only had his little brother baked, but he had also prepared lemonade, picked out a few tomes of charming poetry, and decorated a pair of fine napkins with floral stitches.

“He asked me,” Ori mumbled – his lower lip tucked nervously between his teeth – as he pulled his cookies out of the oven, looking around on high alert to keep an eye out for Nori who would – without so much as hesitating for a single second – steal some of the delicacies if given half a chance, “I really want to get this right.”

One day, Dori thought, the boy would make some dam really happy; he was eager to please and did not do things half-heartedly. There was a deep yearning and a heart-breaking loneliness shining through the radiant joy on his face now; as his brother, Dori knew how desperately Ori longed to put the same fervour and dedication into the wooing of a dam of his own choosing.

Good at dreaming and planning, and bad at following through, Ori had never found the courage to approach any of the ladies of the court this far, and with every passing day, the probability that he ever would was dwindling.

They all knew and liked him, but he had melted into the background, becoming some kind of moving piece of furniture they leaned on for support without ever giving it a second thought.

“I’m sure the prince will appreciate your effort,” Dori praised him softly, touched by the pride in the younger dwarf’s attitude as he set the baked goods on the windowsill to cool off.

“I sure hope he will,” Ori sighed and busied himself with unpacking and repacking his basket to keep his mind from wandering or dwelling on the gnawing acid of envy that churned in his stomach.

“Wear your new tunic and meet me under the big oak tree.” The note was penned in perfectly executed runes that put his own penmanship to shame.

Fíli shrugged; he had decided that he’d trust Ori and so, he would abide by his cryptic message and wear exactly what he was told to wear.

As he took in his reflection in the polished silver mirror – a gift from his mother – though, he had to admit that the beautiful garment made the rest of him look rather shabby.

Not thinking that Ori would have him climb trees for his date, he decided that this might also be the moment to wear his new trousers for the first time and – while he was at it – he undid his braids, brushed his hair, and redid them carefully.

“Mahal have mercy,” Kíli whistled through his teeth as he strode in and gave his brother a long, curious look, “you sure clean up nicely. Ah, and there is a frown that would give Thorin a run for his money!”

He laughed and ducked at the last moment as the hairbrush was hurled rather forcefully in his direction.

“Do you want to disfigure me, so I won’t be competition?” he jeered; he had ever been light-footed and graceful, and they both knew that there had not been any real danger to that cute face of his.

“Go and annoy someone else,” Fíli grumbled, smoothing his hands down the thick, smooth fabric of a tunic that had never been ripped, mended, burned, or torn before; he felt elated and terrified at the same time, just like he had as a pebble when his mother had given him something new that he was supposed to cherish.

More often than not – thanks to Kí and his hare-brained ideas – the garment or toy was destroyed faster than Lady Dís could imagine and Fíli felt the weight of shame make him crumble in his boots. Not today though, he admonished himself, he would not take any shortcuts or slide down any railings he was not supposed to.

No, he’d walk with a measured, ponderous step as was appropriate and proper for a prince to the blasted tree and wait for the man he already saw as a wise councillor and trusted confidant, long before his own accession to the throne was even in sight.

“Oh Ori,” Fíli cried out when he saw the blanket – dappled by sunlight falling through the branches of the tree – spread out at its base, “you’ve outdone yourself.”

Their friendship as well as the deep love between them was written unabashedly and boldly across the picturesque picnic scene that presented itself to the prince now; the blanket – often mended and lovingly restored – had, for example, been their ship, their horse, and their castle during their childhood adventures, often they had collapsed onto it after playing outside for hours on end, and Fíli knew the story behind most of the carefully stitched lines that crisscrossed it like scars or wrinkles.

“Thank you,” he whispered earnestly; it was too easy to dismiss and forget how attentive Ori was and he felt bad for not always verbalising what seemed so evident to him; he was suddenly ashamed of taking the unconditional support of his friends and family for granted sometimes.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ori chuckled, blushing, “it was my pleasure. Truly!”

He had made the lemonade from scratch, just like she loved it, and those were Fíli’s favourite cookies. Ori’s love for the small touches and the meaningful details never ceased to amaze him and when he saw the guest of honour appear at the other end of the meadow, holding a beautiful envelope, Fíli was overwhelmed with a deep sense of pure joy and gratitude.

“I owe you one,” he whispered, “I’ll introduce you to whatever dam you’d like. I swear…she’ll love this. I love this.”

With another awkward chuckle, Ori simply pulled up his shoulders to his jug ears – embarrassed and lost for words – before trotting away silently; he had done well, Fíli was pleased, and he really hoped that they’d have a wonderful afternoon.

“Ah, I’ve seen you had help,” the newcomer – beautiful in the soft sun speckling her upturned face with flickering gold – commented, tapping the toe of her boot carefully against a small book laid out on the old blanket, “this is Ori’s favourite.”

Looking around and taking in the discreet handwriting of their friend’s heart spelling out deep-felt and unpretentious love, she smiled to herself; she knew not what to expect of this, but the fact that two excellent dwarves had gone to such lengths for her filled her with mortified happiness.

“Ah yes,” Fíli admitted, “Kíli’s pitch was wild boar riding, so you’re lucky I gave Ori a shot.”

“This is marvellous,” she grinned, shaking the bottle of lemonade before opening it and taking a whiff, “just how I love it.”

Maybe, Fíli thought, he would have to pay closer attention as well and learn something from this.

She had recognised the true affection translated by home-baked cookies and an old blanket almost instantly; so, there might be a way to let her know how he felt without having to actually speak the words he was so terrified of.

Again, please allow me to wish you the very best for your birthday :)

Taglist :

@laurfilijames, @linasofia, @lathalea, @middleearthpixie, @fizzyxcustard, @blairsanne, @myselfandfantasy, @legolasbadass, @midearthwritings, @clumsy-wonderland, @mismaeve

I remembered to tag people 🌟

[guardianofrivendell]

June is my birthday month and last year I organized a birthday writing challenge to celebrate. You can find the masterlist with awesome fics written by my lovely mutuals below 👇👇👇

🎉🎉 GUARDIANOFRIVENDELL BIRTHDAY WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST 🎉🎉

Is this something you would want me to repeat this year? With Tullaina (since we share a birthday) or maybe not this time? With just prompts, the incorrect quotes (there aren't any new ones) or based on events in a time-line etc...?

What do you think/want?

[reinvent-and-believe]

another taste of heavenly rush

So this was supposed to be a silly little breathplay PWP drabble as a birthday tribute to the lovely @witchertrashbag but then it kind of...evolved??? Mutated??? lol who knows what happened, I sure as hell don’t. Anyway happy late birthday Wine Aunt, you’re a credit to this fandom, I hope you enjoy this belated smutty mess 🖤

Jaskier is utterly bewitched by the sight of a huge, leather-clad hand on the man’s throat.

He should be paying attention to the words being exchanged, seeing as he started the quarrel that led to the aforementioned hand-on-throat situation. Well. Hadn’t started it, per se, but he had certainly escalated it, and gods know Geralt won’t appreciate that particular nuance.

But the red-faced man currently gasping for breath beneath the witcher’s considerable grip had simultaneously insulted Jaskier’s songwriting and Geralt’s honor in one ill-begotten, unoriginal sentence after Jaskier’s performance in the tavern common room, something about “don’t clap for that little prick’s filth, praising freaks and monsters.” The bard had simply smiled sweetly, taken a sip of his ale, and intimated that the man’s wife was something of an expert on the subject of little pricks.

And then the man tried to hit him with a chair, and Jaskier can hardly be blamed for that, although Geralt will, inevitably. He’d scurried away from the onslaught and called out an only vaguely panicked “Geralt!” which led them here, the ugly sour-breathed man pinned to the tavern wall, his feet twitching desperately for solid ground, held up by one huge, bulky hand.

This little misadventure won’t make it into one of his songs. There’s nothing poetic about a prejudiced drunk man being rude and getting choked for his efforts.

Although...Jaskier’s eyes are drawn again to the sharp contrast of the brown leather of the gauntlets against the greasy pink of the man’s skin. Maybe there is something poetic to choking, after all. Choking, choking out, feeling the life drain from your body by a huge, leather-clad hand. Choking as in choking something else, draining something else from...jerking off, choking as in jerking off, and it’s not his best work but he’s fairly distracted at the moment because the thought of a huge, leather clad hand gripping a swollen, leaking cock has burrowed its way into Jaskier’s mind and fuck, how is he supposed to think about anything else now? Slick red head squeezed a little too hard, beading pearlescent drops disappearing into a supple russet fist that’s a little too coarse, too cold, too dry but feels divine nonetheless…

“Jaskier!”

Fuck.

The innkeep is shouting at them to get out, holding a broom as menacingly as one can hold a broom, and Geralt is glowering at him. “Go, bard! Roach!”

Right. He grabs his lute and flies out the door, the cool night air a shock on his overheated skin. He sprints to the stables and sets to work quickly tacking up the mare as he coos at her soothingly. “Deepest apologies, my dear lady, but it seems our plans for the evening have been altered somewhat.”

He’s leading her out and back toward the tavern when the door flies open, Geralt charging out. He fixes Jaskier with an exasperated glare and snatches the reins from him. “Dammit, Jaskier,” he mutters, swinging into the saddle. “If your cock doesn’t get us both killed, your mouth will.”

And if Jaskier’s arousal had flagged in the process of fleeing and fetching their escape horse, all it takes is a reference to cocks and mouths in close proximity to bring it roaring back to life as Geralt drags him up behind him and spurs Roach into a gallop out of the village.

It’s new, this thing with Geralt.

He’d met the witcher just over two years ago, back in Posada. They’d travelled together and parted near half a dozen times since, but this current sprint is by far their longest together, going on four months. They’ve fallen into a routine, found ways of traveling that make both their paths smoother. Jaskier’s songs are more lucrative when he can theatrically proclaim that their hero, his muse, the town’s savior is in their very midst; Geralt’s presence protects him from beasts and monsters and bandits and keeps him fed on fresh game between towns when they make their camps beneath the stars. And though Geralt’s never mentioned it, he can tell he’s come to appreciate Jaskier’s contributions, too: he sets up camp and builds a fire while Geralt hunts when they stay in the country, procures rooms with less humiliation and rarer downright refusals from rude innkeeps and for significantly less coin when they stay in the village. Noticing Jaskier’s penchant for picking wildflowers on the roadside, Geralt’s even started teaching him the herbs, flowers and berries he needs for his potions.

Traveling together does have its drawbacks, of course, particularly Geralt’s reticence to stay within the confines of civilization. He’s perfectly content to go weeks without sleeping in an inn if the town doesn’t have any contracts available, wont to ride away from perfectly good villages where Jaskier would be able to find perfectly good lovers.

This came to a head a few weeks ago. Jaskier tried to settle on the lumpy ground for the night, tried to ignore that prickling restlessness beneath his skin, but he couldn’t will it away, couldn’t force himself into a fitful sleep like he had the past several nights. He tossed again, unable to stifle a sigh, when the witcher rolled onto his side to glare at him.

“Would you stop your fussing?”

“Fussing? I’m not fussing, Geralt, I can’t sleep.”

“Can’t you not sleep quietly?”

He snorted. “What a very stupid question. Weren’t you just saying yesterday that I don’t even think quietly?” Tired and frustrated and horny as all hell, Jaskier opted for the truth. Watching Geralt get that uncomfortable, vaguely constipated look he got when Jaskier talked about sex always provided an amusing distraction, at least. He sighed melodramatically, adopting a most put-upon voice. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve indulged in the wondrous carnalities of a companion, Geralt?”

“Don’t really care.”

“Ages, Geralt, it’s been ages. At least a week. Some may bear the cruelties of celibacy with stoic fortitude, my dear witcher, but alas, some of us simply are not so equipped. We really should stop in the next village. It’d do us both a world of good to sleep in a bed, particularly one that’s warm, if you get my drift.”

The witcher looked at him with that inscrutable expression. “Plenty of chances for you to get your dick wet once we reach Gors Velen.”

Jaskier darted up, horrified, all pretensions forgotten. “Gors Velen?” he whined. “You said yourself we’re still a month away from Gors Velen!”

Geralt shrugged. “You’ve got a hand.” With that, he turned his back to Jaskier.

And well. It had been Geralt’s suggestion, after all, and Jaskier may have many attributes to his credit and otherwise but shyness has never been counted among them. And if perhaps he put on a bit of a show, fucking up into his hand with a little more bitten-lip moaning, a little more breathless panting than was strictly necessary, well, it served Geralt right for brushing off his perfectly legitimate concerns so rudely. And if he came particularly hard with a surprised gasp that was all too genuine when he shot a glance at his companion and saw the witcher facing him again, perfectly still, with an intent, impenetrable expression that Jaskier thought looked almost intrigued, well, that served Geralt right, too.

And that’s how this thing with Geralt started.

The next night, Jaskier made no such fuss when he laid down atop his bedroll, brazenly pulling his cock from his smallclothes and stroking himself languidly as he met that golden stare with something akin to a challenge. “You too?” he asked, breathless, and moaned as he watched Geralt’s hand drift down to palm himself through the rough cotton.

A few nights later Jaskier laid out their bedrolls side by side, not touching but nearly. “It’s not quite fair, is it,” he explained, rolling his balls indulgently with one hand as he set a lazy pace with the other. “You with your extraordinary superhuman witchery senses, you get to hear every little noise I make, see every little expression on my devilishly handsome face from all the way across the fire. Seems like we ought to level the playing field, as it were.”

“Don’t need witcher senses to hear you,” Geralt groused, but the corner of his lip crooked in what could only be the hint of a grin as he settled in beside him without protest, taking himself in hand and echoing Jaskier’s tempo.

(Geralt can maintain his blank expression fairly well while getting off, Jaskier knows now, but he’s slightly less guarded when it comes to sound, to the noises too soft and unintentional to be noticed without such proximity. The little hitch when he twists his wrist just so at the head; the low rumbling of a moan in his chest that never reaches his lips when he’s close, so close; the voiceless exhale when he comes that sometimes, when it’s really good, sounds as though it’s been punched out of him; the abortive, shuddering breaths as his strokes turn into the gentlest trailing of the fingertips down his shaft just past the point of oversensitivity, prolonging that sweet touch until it can no longer be endured.)

The next night, well. A hand’s a hand, and there’s not so very much difference between wanking and assisting your very best friend in the whole wide world wanking, really.

And that’s what this is. Jaskier has no grandiose romantic notions, not about this, not really. It’s not about the passionate heat of bodies entwined, it’s just hands and cocks to aid with sleep and that’s all it has to be. This thing with Geralt is about getting off, not about sex, and he’s not entirely sure he understands this arbitrary boundary he’s constructed but the distinction feels crucial nevertheless. It’s a matter of convenience, not lust. Jaskier is content with this arrangement. It’s more than he ever hoped to experience with his lovely, taciturn friend, and that’s enough. He can enjoy these encounters with Geralt without needing them, without craving something more, without deluding himself into thinking they’re...something else. Paramours. Lovers.

Anyway, this was all going swimmingly until Geralt throttled a man on his behalf and it was the most arousing thing he’d ever witnessed. Now Jaskier is pressed up against him on a horse riding from a town in which they are no longer welcome with what has got to be the most obnoxiously persistent erection of his life because he can’t stop imagining those hands around his throat.

“Whoa, Roach.” Jaskier feels the witcher’s body tense against him as he pulls on the reins, halting as they approach a small copse of trees. “This’ll do.” He dismounts gracefully and Jaskier scrambles behind.

He’d assumed that Geralt would be furious that they’d finally stopped at an inn only for Jaskier’s uncanny ability to find himself in trouble got them ousted, but he doesn’t seem furious as they set up the campsite. Not that he says anything, of course, and not that he would say anything if he were furious, but Jaskier has grown rather accustomed to reading Geralt’s silences. This particular silence doesn’t seem to be perturbed in any way. If anything, it almost seems amused. Surely he’s misreading something.

He’s just finished situating the bedrolls when he turns around and nearly slams into Geralt. “Bloody hell Geralt, are you trying to...oh.”

Geralt unceremoniously tugs the bow fastening Jaskier’s trousers loose, reaching into them and immediately setting to work with a sure, steady hand.

“...oh, you’re trying to...that.” He closes his eyes at the sensation.

Geralt’s hand stills, gripping him lightly. “Will I get some rest if we don’t?” His face remains impassive as ever, but there’s something in his grumble that Jaskier could almost swear sounds teasing, fond. “Rather deal with you now than listen to you toss about and whine for an hour pretending you’re trying to sleep.”

And Jaskier could protest because honestly, he hasn’t since that first night, but he allows it, lets Geralt have his excuse because something’s different tonight. They never touch until they’ve undressed and settled into their bedrolls for the night. It’s just a part of the routine.

Nothing about this feels routine.

He lets out a laugh that’s a bit higher than he intends as Geralt resumes fisting his cock. “My, my, someone’s eager tonight,” he breathes, and all right, he may have no room to talk, but Geralt initiating this is beyond uncharacteristic.

A hum resonates deep in his chest. “Felt you rubbing up on me since we left town. You’re not subtle, bard.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not…subtle? Fuck.”

The witcher rolls his eyes. “Smelled you before that,” and honestly, fuck Geralt for wanting to have a conversation all of a sudden now that Jaskier’s completely incapable of it, “back in the tavern. What was it?” Geralt is shifting them, guiding him carefully, his hand never losing its rhythm, until Jaskier feels the trunk of a sturdy oak at his back. “What got you so hard in the middle of a bar fight?”

A knee slips casually between his legs, and the hard line of Geralt’s still-clothed cock presses against his hip, rutting ever so gently. “Gods, Geralt.” It comes out a whine, and Jaskier’s sure he’ll hate himself later for how easily he’s undone but now there’s just contact, so much touch all over and hot breath against his neck and he lets his eyes flutter closed, lets himself feel.

“Did you actually fuck that man’s wife earlier? While I was at the armourer’s, maybe? Did she leave you with some good memories?”

It takes a second for Jaskier to catch up to the question with Geralt’s hard body leaned against him, a delightful weight. Right. Man in the bar. Implied he’d cuckolded him, that’s what determined the course of this whole bizarre evening.

“Or was it the barmaid? Was she what distracted you in the middle of that scene you caused?” Geralt sounds perfectly unaffected, somehow, that mild, ribbing tone he uses when he pretends to scoff at Jaskier’s antics. “The redhead. The one whose bed you hoped to be in tonight.”

And he’s right, of all the people in the crowded tavern she’d been the one who caught his eye, the one he’d be planning to direct his next song to. Of course Geralt had noticed. Geralt knows what Jaskier wants. Knows what he needs.

And that’s...that’s what this is, that’s what he’s doing. Jaskier had planned to find a lover for the evening, planned to slip into a blissful haze of fucking where he doesn’t have to concentrate on keeping this unwelcome longing at bay and even though it’s Jaskier’s own fault that opportunity slipped through his fingers, Geralt wants to give him some semblance of that release. It’s why he’s talking, why he’s bringing up these women he assumes drove Jaskier to distraction.

And with Geralt’s breath on his skin and hand on his cock and body leaned so heavily against his, Jaskier wants to give him an answer. Wants to give him everything there is.

What got you so hard in the middle of a bar fight?

Jaskier grasps the hand not stroking his cock and brings it to his throat.

The world stops.

His eyes fly open to meet Geralt’s, and he knows he’s made a mistake. The witcher withdraws quickly, stepping away, turning his back.

“Fuck, Geralt, no, I’m—”

“Stop.” Geralt doesn’t face him, but he’s not leaving, at least. “Don’t.”

Jaskier leans back against the tree, trying to catch his breath. He scrubs his hand over his face. Leave it to Jaskier to fuck up something this divine.

He watches those broad shoulders lower, his breathing even out, but the tension is still written in every line of his body. Geralt stands silent for a moment before he quietly asks, “That’s what...at the tavern?”

Wretched, Jaskier nods, but of course Geralt can’t see that, so he stammers out, “Ah, yes. It seems so.”

When he speaks again, his voice remains carefully flat. “You were afraid of me?”

“What?”

“Were you afraid of me? Back at the tavern.” He considers, then adds, “Or now?”

“Geralt, no,” and maybe he shouldn’t, maybe he should give him space, but Jaskier pushes away from the tree, scurrying over to him and clutching his shoulders frantically. “No, listen to me, Geralt, I’m a horny idiot, that’s the thing, it was just...I don’t know, it was sexy! It was sexy, seeing you manhandle him, imagining if you manhandled me, maybe, with your gloves and your hands and your muscles, I don’t know, it was just a fantasy, I suppose, it just happened, but certainly not because I was scared you’d hurt me.” An ugly, desperate laugh rises from his throat unbidden. “If anything it’s because I know you wouldn’t, Geralt, I know you’d keep me safe.”

The witcher looks past him, but Jaskier sees the tension in his jaw release, sees his chest move a little more freely with his breath. After a moment, Geralt nods. “Thought perhaps I’d misread this.” It’s low, almost too low to hear.

“I want you,” Jaskier blurts out, and he should stop talking, he really means to stop talking, “I want you. Quite a lot. The rough, ah, the choking thing, that’s all just...I don’t need that. Don’t want anything you don’t want.”

It’s all a little too raw, a little too genuine, and Jaskier realizes with a sudden sinking feeling that this may actually be worse than his initial blunder, that an unexpected predilection for rough sex is one thing but voicing that longing he’s worked so hard to keep sectioned away is something else entirely.

He’s about to apologize when he hears the low hum.

Geralt is studying him, head tilted to one side. There’s nothing on his face to indicate disgust or excitement, no rejection or acceptance; just those golden eyes meticulously examining him, just like they had that first night. Curious. Intrigued.

Fuck. Jaskier doesn’t need a hand on his throat to make it hard to breathe.

“No gloves.”

“Sorry, what?”

Rough fingertips map his throat lightly, not pressing, not caressing, just exploring. Jaskier recognizes this look, it’s the same studious evaluation he’d seen Geralt give that nekker corpse yesterday before he began harvesting organs from it and that should definitely kill the mood here but it doesn’t. He pauses, wide finger resting over a thunderous artery. “They’re too thick. Wouldn’t be able to feel if it’s too much.”

“Right,” Jaskier rasps out. “Right, yeah, good. No gloves is good.” And if the image of being thrown about like a ragdoll and forced against a wall had seemed erotic, it somehow doesn’t compare to the overwhelming potency of these careful, analytical touches with Geralt monitoring his breath, his heartbeat, his face.

“Do you still want to try?” It’s a low rumble, but Geralt’s eyes are boring into him and all Jaskier can do is nod aggressively, grabbing Geralt’s hand and pulling him back until he’s leaned against the tree again, pausing only to fling off his open doublet.

Geralt shakes his head, quickly disciplining the little entertained smile that flits across his features but not before Jaskier sees it. It sends a reckless, euphoric thrill through his whole body. “Ah Geralt, admit it, you think I’m endearing,” he grins, striking a dramatic pose against the tree.

“You’re a nuisance,” he snorts, but he snakes his hand down the front of the bard’s trousers again, stroking him with just enough pressure to coax him back to hardness.

Jaskier rocks gently into his fist, a small contented sigh morphing into something much more ragged when he feels that solid hand back on his throat.

“Tap my arm if you want to stop.”

Jaskier nods, delighting in the way his flesh shifts under Geralt’s hand at the motion. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the fingers tighten. “Good?”

“Good.”

“More?”

“Please,” and it’s a whine but he doesn’t care. His eyes drift shut. It feels like the pounding pulse is flowing straight from his throat into Geralt’s hand, or maybe the other way around, it doesn’t matter when all he wants is to lose himself in this swelling, living tattoo.

The pressure lets up and there’s a rush, a bright heady flood of exhilaration and he can feel every cell tingling in his body as his lungs work overtime to compensate and he can’t help thrusting forward faster into the tight fist on his cock.

Geralt’s other hand stays in place, loosely cupping his throat, idly stroking the skin. “Eyes open,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of Jaskier’s neck for just a moment, breathing him in, his own breath labored. When he pulls back he looks a little wrecked. “Eyes on me, yeah?”

Jaskier nods, leaning into both warm hands a little desperately. “More?”

Geralt groans as he applies careful, steady pressure.

It’s good. There’s something soothing about the gentle acceleration of that drumming, far-off and immediate at the same time, the only sound that exists here. Peaceful. Floaty, almost. He wonders vaguely if this is what Geralt feels when he meditates.

“Jaskier.” The voice cuts through the haze, low but firm, the softest command. He focuses on Geralt, that unwavering gaze fixed on him. “Stay with me.”

Where else would he want to be?

And he’s still floating but somehow those golden eyes are a tether, not grounding him entirely but keeping him from drifting away. And when the tension releases and the tidal wave of elation sweeps through him again it’s met with chapped lips on his throat and fingers scratching through the hair at the nape of his neck and a steadying weight against him, and when the dizziness settles and he rests against the reassuring stability of the oak behind him, then there’s shifting, moving, the harsh grinding voice asking a question Jaskier can’t make out but understands anyway, golden eyes full of that question staring up at him and Jaskier answers by threading his fingers through pale locks shining silver in the moonlight and the warm, strong hand stroking him is replaced with the soft heat of Geralt’s mouth.

He won’t last much longer, not with the way Geralt’s thick fingers grip him, digging into the meat of his ass, with the way he chokes a little taking Jaskier all the way down but keeps pulling him in, deeper, and it’s wet and messy and a little too divine.

“Fuck, Geralt, I…” he gasps, the closest to a warning he can formulate, but the witcher’s staring up at him through dark lashes and sucking him down harder and Jaskier surrenders, coming with a keening cry.

Geralt diligently works him through it, swallowing and dissolving into desperate noises around Jaskier as he feverishly strips his own cock. He releases Jaskier and buries his head in the crook of the bard’s hip, shoulders heaving harshly. Jaskier pets him soothingly, long fingers massaging his scalp tenderly through the broken moan, the shuddering aftershocks, the shallow breaths slowly evening out.

They stay that way for a few endless moments, neither willing to break the trance, the intimacy. Jaskier barely notices gentle fingers unlacing his boots, pulling off one then the other. Geralt deftly tucks the bard’s softening cock back into his smallclothes before carefully pulling off his trousers and folding them neatly. He stands slowly, guiding Jaskier to his bedroll and settling him there, crouching beside him moments later with a waterskin he presses to Jaskier’s lips.

“Best take care, witcher,” Jaskier teases softly, “a man could get used to such treatment.”

“Don’t,” Geralt grunts, but there’s no heat to it. He thoroughly inspects Jaskier’s neck, tilting his head one way then the other with two light fingers on his jaw. “Pain anywhere?”

“No pain.”

“Good.” Apparently satisfied, Geralt stands, undressing methodically and lying in his own bedroll. After a few moments of silence, he adds, “Wake me if anything hurts. Or if you have trouble breathing.”

Jaskier huffs a laugh, turning on his side to fix his companion with a rueful smile. “Geralt, have you ever known me to suffer in silence?” Those inscrutable eyes hold him, searching, so Jaskier reaches a tentative hand to his jaw. “Thank you. For your...indulgence.” There’s an entirely different tightness in his throat, suddenly. “For taking such good care of me.”

For a moment, Jaskier thinks Geralt may answer as he watches something unguarded yet still utterly indecipherable flit across the witcher’s scarred, handsome face. When he speaks, there’s something soothing in the low rumble. “Get some sleep, bard.”

And he does.

[snakegills]

8 people I’d like to get to know better: if u wanna do it ill tag u uwu

Tagged by: @david-is-my-king thank u gor tagging me!

001/Alias: sam! Or shork

002/Birthday: september 11th

003/Zodiac: virgo

004/Height: 5'8

005/Hobbies: reading, cosplay, writing, drawing and coloring. I guess vidya games

006/Favorite Colors: blue and pink!

007/Favorite Books: do androids dream of eletric sheep, 1984, challenger deep, cique du freak.

008/Last Song Listened To: boogie by brockhampton

009/Last Film Watched: halloween resurrection, (not.....good....dont watch...)

010/Inspiration For Muse: im a shit head

[daddysfavouriteboytoy]

Astra Junica Umelen

Name: Astra Junica Umelen Nickname: Ash, your highness Age: 23 Birthday: unknown, but the king told the folk it was the 2nd of April Gender: Male Sexuality: Pansexual Species: Half Nymph, Half Human Appearance: just with milky blue eyes (Face-claim: Criedwolves)

Height: 1,89 m Personality: Astra surprisingly has no interest in having power over others and doesn’t care for domineering attitudes at all. He prefers a more democratic approach and works hard to ensure that every voice and perspective is heard. His unshaken belief that all people are inherently good, perhaps simply misunderstood, lends itself to an incredibly resilient attitude in the face of hardship. However, Astra often takes his idealism too far, setting himself up for disappointment as, again and again, evil things happen in the world. At the same time, the man gives the benefit of the doubt too often, and so long as his principles and ideas are not being challenged, he’ll support others’ right to do what he thinks is right. Astra’s open mind combined with the ability to connect many far-flung dots into a single theme, makes it no wonder that his loved ones celebrated him as a poet while most strangers call him an airhead. When something captures the prince’s imagination and speaks to his beliefs, he goes all in, dedicating his time, energy, thoughts and emotions to the project. Even though his shyness keeps him from the podium, he is the first to lend a helping hand where it’s needed. However, only as long as he knows that what he is doing, is meaningful and gives him a sense of purpose and even courage him when it comes to accomplishing something he believes in. Meanwhile, Astra sometimes sees himself as selfish, but only because he wants to give so much more than he is able to. This becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, as he tries to push himself to commit to a chosen cause or person, forgetting to take care of the needs of others in his lives, and especially himself, even going so far as to neglect practical matters like day-to-day tasks including bathing, eating or sleeping. While putting all this effort into making others feel good, Astra often takes challenges and criticisms personally, rather than as an inspiration to reassess his positions. Avoiding conflict as much as possible, the prince will put a great deal of time and energy into trying to align his principles and the criticisms into a middle ground that satisfies everybody. Astra is also private, reserved and self-conscious. This makes him difficult to really get to know, and his need for these qualities contributes to the guilt he often feels for not giving more of himself to those he deeply cares about. Relationships: Xylia Faodonara – biological mother; 52 years old; human; farmer Esthan Leern – biological father; 232 years old; nymph Aasca Liluth Umelen – mother; 60 years old; human; queen Gorred Wynna Umelen – father; 58 years old; human; king Luthais Folwin Umelen – older brother; 29 years old; human; princ Arielle Olora Umelen – younger sister; 21 years old; human; princess Likes: the smell after it rained, growing flowers, fruity teas, bubble baths, so called “bad people” turning out to be actually kind/friendly, being read to, touching soft things, swimming, his hair being played with, not being judged for being blind, being hugged from behind by loved ones Dislikes: being told he looks good or bad, black tea, horse riding because he can’t see where he’s going, his biological parents, war, loud sounds, cold weather, being touched without being asked first, not being allowed to leave the castle’s ground, lying and being lied to, people disrespecting him/making fun of him, people disrespecting nature Hobbies: swimming, being read to, gardening, dancing, daydreaming Occupation: Prince of Islubia  Powers: can grow flowers and plants up to the height of 3 meters wherever he wants, can help plants to grow faster, he has very sharp senses besides his eyesight Housing: Castle Room: 👑 Virgin: Yes Position: Switch Turn-ons: unknown Turn-offs: unknown Other:

he’s blind

owns a white German shepherd named Nasir as seeing-eye dog even though he doesn’t really need him

is allergic to gold, it burns his skin if it touches the metal too long

has forbidden feelings for his brother but would never dare to act on them

knows he’s actual adopted

Backstory: Astra was the sixth child of a poor farmer’s wife and her affair. A bästard child like he was, definitely wasn’t something unusual in the village the small boy was born, after all, it was surrounded by a thick forest and therefore all kinds of attractive wood-creatures lived just next door, seducing both the married folk as well as the lonely ones. Normally, those mixed-humans were raised by their biological mother. However, Astra’s family hadn’t even enough money to feed themselves and their none bästard children, besides the baby boy’s eyes were a strange colour of milky green, an obvious sign that he was blind and therefore useless as another worker on the farm. His parents quickly decided to just put him in a basket and abandoned him on the river near the forest. They thought, if God would want the child to survive, he would help their son someway. It seemed like destiny really had planned greater things for Astra because to his luck, he was gently carried by the waves of the water quite far away from the small village he was born in, right into the arms of some reed. Near these plants, a maid, belonging to the king of the kingdom, was cleaning dirty clothes with the clear river water, humming some joyful tune while doing so. When hearing the lovely melody, little Astra began giggling and laughing, nearly immediately catching the attention of the maid. Said woman was always terrible at containing her curiosity and therefore quickly got up, abandoning the wet and dirty dresses, to look from where this childish laughter came from. After slightly pulling the reed out of the way, she found the young boy still giggling and laying in his little basket. Her heart of gold was too big to just leave the small child alone and to the dangerous creatures which would come for him to get an easy meal as soon as the sun would set. Finishing her duty, she took the basket with the baby in one hand while carrying the wet clothes in the other. Soon the whole castle knew about her found, the news even reached the king and queen themselves after some weeks. The sudden appearance of the baby seemed to be a sign of God himself for the royal couple, because not too long ago their only son and the future king got terribly ill and soon after him, his mother. The future of their kingdom was in danger if it wouldn’t have been for the homeless baby boy. Immediately, the king demanded that the maid should hand over the child, so he could raise him as his own flesh and blood, in the case of his biological son dying. The young woman was devastated, she really started to see the boy as her own child even though he was blind but of course, she knew, being a prince would give the small boy a brighter future than she ever could. Thus, Astra once again changed parents and was now raised as the son of a great king with a gigantic kingdom to rule over. Only a day later, the king announced that his wife had given birth to a new son and named the baby boy Astra. Already from the first day on with his new title, the blind boy got pampered by more than five young maidens who had to take motherly care of the new prince. Opposite the king’s expectations, neither his wife nor son died from their sickness and both recovered fairly well. The big question was now, what should they do with their more or less adopted child? The queen, not caring about some random kid now that her real son was alive and she was healthy enough to bear more children for her husband, wanted to just kill the baby and tell their people it was an accident, however, the king who learned to love the small boy like he was his own, disagreed with his wife and decided to just raise him like one of their own. Unwillingly the queen agreed, only being a mere woman, she had no right to speak against her husband’s words and just accepted the situation. However, the royal lady intended to never speak to Astra and just avoided him, obviously caring only for her biological son, who was also next in line for the throne. Said one, also didn’t really care too much for his new brother, seeing him as weak because of his disability to see, the two only ever interacted when they had classes together or when the older boy was forced to play with his younger brother by their father. Even though Astra was always quite the outsider, he never complained and actually grew very independent while learning to cope with his loose of sight and to use his other instincts more instead, gaining a very special skill, the human echolocation. Meanwhile, the queen gave birth to a daughter and started to ignore everyone besides her little baby girl. During this time, Astra and his older brother started bonding over the ignorance of their mother and instead started spending time together, growing inseparable even to this day on.

Starter

[yudhytrisuharno]

/ 2019 / 31 maret / ldr indonesia / skechers performance runners / 🔻 / birthday anniversary / spr / 🔻 Minggu ini, beberapa komunitas lari di Jakarta diundang oleh Skechers Performance Runners (SPR) @skechersidn untuk bersama-sama ikut memeriahkan acara ulangtahun mereka yang kedua. @ldrindonesia ikut berpartisipasi mengirimkan 5 orang perwakilannya untuk mengikuti perayaan tersebut. 🔻 Acara anniversary ini diisi dengan challenge dimana tiap perwakilan komunitas diminta untuk melakukan check in di 3 tempat yang berbeda. Dimulai dari Planet Sport Asia, berlari menuju check in pertama di Bundaran HI, check in kedua di Monas, check in ketiga di Monumen Pembebasan Irian Barat dan kembali ke tempat pertama. Tiap pos check in memiliki challenge yang harus dilalui bersama agar bisa lanjut ke pos selanjutnya. 🔻 Acara pun berlangsung dengan lancar, semua bahagia dan semua dapat hadiah. 😁😁 🔻 Terima kasih untuk undangannya SPR! Sampai ketemu di GOR Soemantri dan CFD Sudirman. 😉 🔻 Salam L ! 🔻 #Training #Marathon 🔻 #RunningCulture #RunningConnect #Running #Run 🔻 #LDRIndonesia #LongDistanceRunners #GakBolehMalas 🔻 #TogetherWeAchieveMore #TogetherWeAreStronger #RunningCommunity 🔻 #InstaMoment #InstaRunner 🔻 #Compression #CompressionPants 🔻 #SkechersIDN #HBDSPR #SkechersPerformanceRunners #GoLikeNeverBefore #SPR (at Planet Sports.Asia) https://www.instagram.com/su.lit.sen/p/BvsXtSog6FW/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1h4qf25ztlseu

[misc-adventurous]

Get S.M.A.R.T.

"S.M.A.R.T. goals" and theory below is borrowed from Your Coach, an associate of the International Coaching Federation.

...........................................

I'm the type of person that doesn really well with structure. So I am going to cave in and make concrete plans for my learning projections. And what better way than to be S.M.A.R.T.

What does S.M.A.R.T. goal setting stand for?

To make your goal S.M.A.R.T., it needs to conform to the following criteria: Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant and Timely.

Specific

What exactly do you want to achieve? The more specific your description, the bigger the chance you'll get exactly that. S.M.A.R.T. goal setting clarifies the difference between 'I want to be a fluent in every language' and 'I want to be able to hold a decent conversation for five minutes in my target language by Summer '19'.

Questions you may ask yourself when setting your goals and objectives are:

What exactly do I want to achieve?

B1 fluency in Mandarin, Esperanto, and Turkish

Where?

Within the comfort of my own bedroom

How?

By following a text book from cover to cover, using YouTube as native supplement, and participating in langblr challenges

When?

Dec 8 '18 - Jun 8 '19

With whom?

ALL OF LANGBLR, and my few friend who speak these languages

What are the conditions and limitations?

There will be very little live interaction. Lots of book work and writing. Goals require daily diligence, even if only 5 min a day.

Why exactly do I want to reach this goal? What are possible alternative ways of achieving the same?

I have been flirting with these languages and it's high time to make a commitment. Also, I enjoy read manhua and listening to Turkish music. No more translation!

S.M.A.R.T. goal setting: Measurable

Measurable goals means that you identify exactly what it is you will see, hear and feel when you reach your goal. It means breaking your goal down into measurable elements. You'll need concrete evidence.

This is defined by biweekly check ins to see how far I have progressed through my material and a set media piece that I will constantly check how much I understand.

S.M.A.R.T. goal setting: Attainable

Is your goal attainable? That means investigating whether the goal really is acceptable to you. You weigh the effort, time and other costs your goal will take against the profits and the other obligations and priorities you have in life.

If you don't have the time, money or talent to reach a certain goal you'll certainly fail and be miserable. That doesn't mean that you can't take something that seems impossible and make it happen by planning smartly and going for it!

There's nothing wrong with shooting for the stars; if you aim to make your department twice as efficient this year as it was last year with no extra labour involved, how bad is it when you only reach 1,8 times? Not too bad...

I have the time and the money (finally). I dont need to be able to read a thesaurus in my tar-lang with precious. I just want to watch "Hi, my sweetheart" with or without Mandarin subtitles. I believe doing so by next summer is easily done. I'm not trying to be "Fluent in 6 months!!". I'm aiming to experience and appreciate on of my life's joys with deeper gusto.

S.M.A.R.T. goal setting: Relevant

Is reaching your goal relevant to you? Do you actually want to speak another language or do you just want a few phrases to use of and on? Are you willingly to make it a longterm hobby or is it just for travel plans or because it seems like the right thing to do? You decide for yourself whether you have the personality for it, or your life has the space.

If you're lacking certain skills, you can plan trainings. If you lack certain resources, you can look for ways of getting them.

Anyone can learn a second language to a point of confidence!

The main questions, why do you want to reach this goal? What is the objective behind the goal, and will this goal really achieve that?

You could think that having a bigger team will make it perform better, but will it really?

A lot of people talk about wanting to be a polyglot. Just like a lot of people talk about being healthy. This matters to me because I already enjoy learning languages. I've simply chosen to no longer be casual about it. Also I am planning a birthday trip to Turkey for July, so yeah, Turkish is my real focus😂. I want to travel to Taiwan to teach after my degree is finished, do learning Mandarin is super relevant to my 5yr plan.

S.M.A.R.T. goal setting: Timely

Time is money! Make a tentative plan of everything you do. Everybody knows that deadlines are what makes most people switch to action. So install deadlines gor yourself. Keep the timeline realistic and flexible, that way you can keep morale high. Being too stringent on the timely aspect of your goal setting can have the perverse effect of making the learning path of achieving your goals and objectives into a hellish race against time – which is most likely not how you want to achieve anything.

The deadline is Jun '19, 6 months from now. I'll actually be purchasing travel tickets during April/May but June will be time for last ditch efforts to jump any plateaus.

The best thing about my view of language learning is that it is life long. I don't have to worry about "failing", I simply want an easier abroad experience. Being able to string simple declarations will suffice if nothing else.

And the clock starts now.

[debrachau26189-blog]

The Rank Of event In Customer's Market.

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It is such a competitors nowadays to toss one of the most imaginative style event for your kid's birthday, yet often theme party's mean time eating information. Your party planning sections need to look something like this, food, decorations, event prefers, as well as plates, cups as well as paper napkins. Actually, you can additionally find as well as cost-free Hello there Cat party invites online. You could locate all sorts of themed party favors, from the cheap to the high-priced, currently being given out to celebration. guests for occasions like Xmas celebrations, marriage party and baby showers. Despite where the event is being held, the venue needs to be figured out well before the invites are sent by mail. In addition, usually people conserve loan on these things by purchasing the products and also various other supplies beforehand at discount stores while they are on sale or throughout off-season. Typically, the party favors are just one element of the party and also the special theme drivened event products that will be made use of. The celebration host, covertly, informs among the celebration visitors that they is a prohibition representative. You can either create an enjoyable dancing mix of your personal or have fun hiring a dj to take care of all the songs for the party. Celebration favors Ideas: Woman's Birthday celebration event: For a lady's birthday celebration take a cute tiny pink present bag after that load it with white tissue paper and also add celebration prefers such as pink sunglasses, costume precious jewelry, as well as sticker labels. Golden Oldies Food & Drinks: Food for a Golden Oldies party can be served in a variety of means. These Under the Sea party games and various other products could homemade either be or located on the web. Just recently, the Utah courts have been attempting to calculate the number of divorce cases that have at the very least one celebration unrepresented by an attorney. Thoughtfully Simple, è un sito con molte idee e ispirazioni di ogni tipo e che ti potranno sicuramente aiutare a migliorare la tua festa celebration. You should talk as well as try to every person at the event yet in a friendly as well as positive way. We have the most effective choice of Party Supplies for you to purchase our on-line Event Supply Store. Event Favors make your celebration challenging for visitor to neglect, along with making it a lot fun for the youngsters that are participating in that they continue to go crazy about it for weeks and weeks, making your child one very popular woman for a while. Plus, she artistically provides info on complimentary parlor game celebration planning giveaways and celebration materials, prefers, designs. People could gather to make their very own visor to use throughout the party. Examples: child pictures at his birthday party or a pedestrian at his retirement Anything to do with underwear, sex or urinary incontinence-- absolutely anything. Right here is a wonderful collection of details that will certainly make your online celebration sparkle! There are numerous John Deere celebration materials offered in order to help you n your decorating options, like wall surface stickers, mylar balloons, themed tableware and far more.

This Is How celebration Will certainly Appear like In One Decade Time.

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5 Reasons Why party Prevails In UNITED STATE.

Those who have the determination and also capacities in pursuing their objectives could really end up being successful in New York City. Then, offer each child a number to find, when all the products are found, have them come back to a treasure chest (or, more probable, a painted box) of Dora the Explorer celebration prefers for everyone. The site is well arranged to discover the perfect things for any type of children party. If you can not intend in advance because your celebration was a last minute celebration, maintain some simple recipes available together with the ingredients. No doubt the candies wont last long, however the sticker labels and bouncy balls could be used for years ahead and also each time they are utilized, the celebration guests will no doubt experience the enjoyable time he had at your youngsters celebration.

[recaffienated-blog]

Zombie brought down the sun for us

Been a great couple of days so far at Open Air. Much drama before we left, though. Work tried to call me in on my birthday, there was what seemed to be a hurricane outside of Charlie's while I ate my birthday tweety. It knocked out the lights at the house (dropped the cable drop and electric line under a tree limb leaning against the back porch) Duke energy claimed we would be on the priority list (we had a potentially live wire hanging on our home). I went to showmes gor my fishbowl, they had closed from the storm. Duke came out three times, first waking us up at 1:30 am shining lights in the windows, looked a the situation, then took off. Second time I was trying to pack in the light from my window, two duke workers walked by my bedroom window. The third time my stepdaughter and I couldn't pull in the driveway, blocked by a duke worker leaning on his truck, talking on his cell phone. He still took off without restoring power. We have lanterns around. If necessary I can cook over a fire, but when you need to clean and feed two pets for a four day trip, wash clothing to pack, and find something for your esophageally challenged boyfriend to eat, it sort of sucks. And since we have a well, I had to shower at the gym, and I had to collect rainwater to flush it. Had to kill and discard a rat because the snake wouldn't eat him, and I didn't want the rat to starve. The drive to chicago was uneventful. We're staying in South Holland. It's lovely. First day of Open Air gave us Phil Anselmo's cooking show parodies, Falling in Reverse (which wasn't bad at all), Megadeth, Rob Zombie in sparkly pants (I NEED those pants)talking about how he manipulated the environment for the perfect show, and then playing "BLITZKRIEG BOP!" I am not attracted to Rob Zombie, but that did change an outlook or two. It also gave us (well, me) a touch of a hangover. We went to a pancake house for coffee. Joe started turning super pale and wobbly. His lips were a little blue. Hoping it was just unregulated sugar. So we were more subdued today. I drove to the venue, we sat in the bleachers, took pictures of menus, ate donuts. We watched Avatar (not bad), steel panther (could use some enunciation)Body Count (not good) overheard Seether (no opinion), watch a little clutch, came back for godsmack, sat through two songs of Korn. Dukr says they restored power at 5 am, but sent me an email later saying it's complicated because trees. Wanted to see the lion king jr this week, but I can't. The pics look fabulous. We start costuming next week for To Kill A Mockingbird. And soon my little boy will be home and our family will grow again first, sleep, chicago traffic, heavy metal, and more sleep

[middleearthpixie]

This is so sweet…

Happy Birthday

Dear friend, for your birthday challenge, I have the honour to submit this little idiocy :D

All my best wishes, @guardianofrivendell, I hope you'll be having a marvellous day ❤️

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: None

Pairing : Fíli x Tulls (implied), Ori & Fíli

What if Ori helped Fíli organise a date...

“Dude,” Fíli leaned heavily against the bookshelf behind him, “is there no book on cute dates that aren’t technically dates but are still very sweet?”

It was a mere joke but – as he should have expected – Ori looked up with a serious expression on his face as if he was truly mulling over this idiotic question before shaking his head in earnest regret.

“Why?” he asked softly, cocking his head to the side in an expression of benevolent patience that was so representative of his kind soul that Fí had to smile despite being so annoyed.

“Well, there’s a lady I’d like to invite to a very casual meeting,” Fíli started, “but I’ve run out of ideas on what to do. Kí suggested illegally abducting and riding some wild animals, but I’d rather not end up in the infirmary…if you get my meaning.”

Ori nodded slowly; he was a good friend and a reliable companion, but he would have been one of the last people Fíli would honestly go to for advice as it was common knowledge that the quiet scribe was ridiculously oblivious when it came to dams, their guiles, and their secret wishes. Or so he had thought.

“I cannot recall ever having come across pertinent literature,” Ori declared after another few seconds of contemplation, “but if you’d let me, I can organise something for you?”

His eyes lit up and a broad smile broke like a sunrise on that usually so solemn face, and Fíli couldn’t help but mirror the sunny expression of unadulterated joy; Ori was a good dwarf – honest, diligent, and fiercely loyal – and they did him wrong by dismissing him so easily.

“Alright,” Fíli clapped a heavy hand on the slender shoulder of his old friend, “I put my fate into your ink-stained hands.”

He spoke those words lightly, but – upon seeing the genuine enthusiasm animate every muscle in Ori’s face – he decided that his beloved and he would make the best out of the situation.

“Ah, you trust Ori but not me?” Kíli pouted in mock indignation, but when his brother’s face twitched nervously, he gave him an encouraging grin.

“I hope he doesn’t plan something like a visit of the library? Or book restoration? Or…” Fíli groaned; as much as he wanted to make his friend happy, he felt as if he was on thin ice all the time with the dam of his heart and he couldn’t risk inviting her to a terribly boring date. Especially because he would sit through it – come what may – and he would do his best to enjoy it.

He would not break his friend’s heart out of selfish reasons; no matter how much he yearned for her, he’d never sacrifice another loved one on the altar of his needs.

Kíli cocked one eyebrow at him. “Don’t underestimate the old boy,” Kíli warned him, “do you know how people always say that they failed but not ‘for a lack of trying’? Well, in Ori’s case, it’s definitely a lack of trying though.”

“What are you saying?” Fíli asked, confused by the confidence Kíli was displaying.

“Trust the process; also, if you are going to invite who I hope you’re going to invite, she’ll be fine with whatever you plan to do. She knows both of you and she’ll think that it’s very sweet either way…you know she will!”

That was a comforting thought Fíli had been holding on to as well; he knew that – even if it turned out to be the worst semi-but-not-really-date anyone had ever had – she would laugh it off and do her best to find something enjoyable in it.

“Break a leg, brother dear,” Kíli laughed, “I’m sure it will be fine. And if not, you can always fall back on my idea and break your leg for real?”

Ever helpful, Fíli thought, a sour taste of apprehension and nervousness rising at the back of his throat; it was not as if he had come up with anything better, but it made him nervous that he would have an informal-slightly-romantic-but-not-too-much get-together without knowing what was planned exactly.

“Ori…” Dori stood – thunderstruck – on the threshold to the kitchen, “What are you doing?”

Covered in flour and bits of dough, Ori whirled around with a bright smile on his face.

“I was granted the great honour to organise an outing for the prince,” Ori declared which made his brother chuckle under his breath; Ori was a scribe and not a courtier and the prince was his friend more than his liege, so the pompous description was a testament to his mastery of language more than an accurate depiction of the situation.

“Indeed,” he said nonetheless, staring at the overflowing basket wedged into a corner; not only had his little brother baked, but he had also prepared lemonade, picked out a few tomes of charming poetry, and decorated a pair of fine napkins with floral stitches.

“He asked me,” Ori mumbled – his lower lip tucked nervously between his teeth – as he pulled his cookies out of the oven, looking around on high alert to keep an eye out for Nori who would – without so much as hesitating for a single second – steal some of the delicacies if given half a chance, “I really want to get this right.”

One day, Dori thought, the boy would make some dam really happy; he was eager to please and did not do things half-heartedly. There was a deep yearning and a heart-breaking loneliness shining through the radiant joy on his face now; as his brother, Dori knew how desperately Ori longed to put the same fervour and dedication into the wooing of a dam of his own choosing.

Good at dreaming and planning, and bad at following through, Ori had never found the courage to approach any of the ladies of the court this far, and with every passing day, the probability that he ever would was dwindling.

They all knew and liked him, but he had melted into the background, becoming some kind of moving piece of furniture they leaned on for support without ever giving it a second thought.

“I’m sure the prince will appreciate your effort,” Dori praised him softly, touched by the pride in the younger dwarf’s attitude as he set the baked goods on the windowsill to cool off.

“I sure hope he will,” Ori sighed and busied himself with unpacking and repacking his basket to keep his mind from wandering or dwelling on the gnawing acid of envy that churned in his stomach.

“Wear your new tunic and meet me under the big oak tree.” The note was penned in perfectly executed runes that put his own penmanship to shame.

Fíli shrugged; he had decided that he’d trust Ori and so, he would abide by his cryptic message and wear exactly what he was told to wear.

As he took in his reflection in the polished silver mirror – a gift from his mother – though, he had to admit that the beautiful garment made the rest of him look rather shabby.

Not thinking that Ori would have him climb trees for his date, he decided that this might also be the moment to wear his new trousers for the first time and – while he was at it – he undid his braids, brushed his hair, and redid them carefully.

“Mahal have mercy,” Kíli whistled through his teeth as he strode in and gave his brother a long, curious look, “you sure clean up nicely. Ah, and there is a frown that would give Thorin a run for his money!”

He laughed and ducked at the last moment as the hairbrush was hurled rather forcefully in his direction.

“Do you want to disfigure me, so I won’t be competition?” he jeered; he had ever been light-footed and graceful, and they both knew that there had not been any real danger to that cute face of his.

“Go and annoy someone else,” Fíli grumbled, smoothing his hands down the thick, smooth fabric of a tunic that had never been ripped, mended, burned, or torn before; he felt elated and terrified at the same time, just like he had as a pebble when his mother had given him something new that he was supposed to cherish.

More often than not – thanks to Kí and his hare-brained ideas – the garment or toy was destroyed faster than Lady Dís could imagine and Fíli felt the weight of shame make him crumble in his boots. Not today though, he admonished himself, he would not take any shortcuts or slide down any railings he was not supposed to.

No, he’d walk with a measured, ponderous step as was appropriate and proper for a prince to the blasted tree and wait for the man he already saw as a wise councillor and trusted confidant, long before his own accession to the throne was even in sight.

“Oh Ori,” Fíli cried out when he saw the blanket – dappled by sunlight falling through the branches of the tree – spread out at its base, “you’ve outdone yourself.”

Their friendship as well as the deep love between them was written unabashedly and boldly across the picturesque picnic scene that presented itself to the prince now; the blanket – often mended and lovingly restored – had, for example, been their ship, their horse, and their castle during their childhood adventures, often they had collapsed onto it after playing outside for hours on end, and Fíli knew the story behind most of the carefully stitched lines that crisscrossed it like scars or wrinkles.

“Thank you,” he whispered earnestly; it was too easy to dismiss and forget how attentive Ori was and he felt bad for not always verbalising what seemed so evident to him; he was suddenly ashamed of taking the unconditional support of his friends and family for granted sometimes.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Ori chuckled, blushing, “it was my pleasure. Truly!”

He had made the lemonade from scratch, just like she loved it, and those were Fíli’s favourite cookies. Ori’s love for the small touches and the meaningful details never ceased to amaze him and when he saw the guest of honour appear at the other end of the meadow, holding a beautiful envelope, Fíli was overwhelmed with a deep sense of pure joy and gratitude.

“I owe you one,” he whispered, “I’ll introduce you to whatever dam you’d like. I swear…she’ll love this. I love this.”

With another awkward chuckle, Ori simply pulled up his shoulders to his jug ears – embarrassed and lost for words – before trotting away silently; he had done well, Fíli was pleased, and he really hoped that they’d have a wonderful afternoon.

“Ah, I’ve seen you had help,” the newcomer – beautiful in the soft sun speckling her upturned face with flickering gold – commented, tapping the toe of her boot carefully against a small book laid out on the old blanket, “this is Ori’s favourite.”

Looking around and taking in the discreet handwriting of their friend’s heart spelling out deep-felt and unpretentious love, she smiled to herself; she knew not what to expect of this, but the fact that two excellent dwarves had gone to such lengths for her filled her with mortified happiness.

“Ah yes,” Fíli admitted, “Kíli’s pitch was wild boar riding, so you’re lucky I gave Ori a shot.”

“This is marvellous,” she grinned, shaking the bottle of lemonade before opening it and taking a whiff, “just how I love it.”

Maybe, Fíli thought, he would have to pay closer attention as well and learn something from this.

She had recognised the true affection translated by home-baked cookies and an old blanket almost instantly; so, there might be a way to let her know how he felt without having to actually speak the words he was so terrified of.

Again, please allow me to wish you the very best for your birthday :)

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