ˡⁱᶠᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ

                @carvenking​   :        thorin finds himself reaching for ginn's hand without thought, fingers intertwining as they had many times before, & he drags the other's hand to press a lingering kiss against his knuckles. he uses the leverage to pull his one closer; his thumb traces an idle pattern against flesh before he's leaning & catching the other's lips with his own. he knows that he has been quiet as of late, but that does not diminish his want to see ginn smiling. ❝ you smell of the forge, ❞ he murmurs. ❝ of home.❞

words need not be SPOKEN to convey how they feel,  nor actions done to continue to prove their LOVE for one another.    thorin simply has to be in his presence for ginn to feel at ease,  as a warm fire can soothe the coldest of inhabitants.    yet it is NICE to feel the hand that reaches towards him,  his own seeming to outstretch as if it KNEW what was to come.    the dwarf finds himself moving closer,  a smile easily playing onto his lips as he looked down to his one.

lips pressing against his knuckles draws a soft sigh from him,  more than CONTENT to stand there and be with his one for the rest of the day.   nothing more would have had to come from this,  and still he is glad as thorin’s lips leave his hand to capture his own.    the kiss is SWEET as it is returned,  eyes slipping shut for the moment it is held,  only to reopen when it breaks for the other to speak up.    he leans in,  resting his forehead against thorin’s,  and the smile is still caught on his lips.

                @soughtfor​   :        for gaen uwu, what are his habits?

                so are we talking about stuff he does out of force of habit or painful stuff that he still does even though it’s been years since his tribe died and he’s been left all alone on this world??    because if it’s the latter,  fuck there’s a few things.

whenever gaen finds himself a creature,  a big one he needs to hunt either because he was attacked or just for food,  he kills them swiftly and then strips everything off so the skull can be made into a trophy  (  that is if the creature was big and challenging enough  ).    the tribe used to do that whenever they were faced with a particularly challenging beast,  as a sign that they survived and can overcome most creatures.    the orclings always loved playing with the heads too,  pretending to be the beast themselves.    he does this without even thinking so many years later,  even though there’s no one to present the head to.

                @soughtfor​   :        pick whichever muse, but what's their favorite thing to do with their partner in bed?

                imma just pick all of the boys that are awake at the moment because they’re all a bunch of bitches but i want to talk about their sexy times.    since it’s gonna be a fair amount of characters,  it’s going under the cut

                @songteller​   :        "you’re the most interesting person i’ve ever met" // slides this over for ne'rr also i love u ;v;

INTERESTING had not yet been a word used to describe him.    ODD,  had been one.    EMBARRASSING another.    but interesting,  especially with a POSITIVE tone behind it,  not as such.    people looked sideways at an orc that preferred the lute over battle,  who wore scars dealt to him in lessons as a grim reminder of his OTHERNESS instead of in pride.    not many went out of their way to accept him for who he was.    kylan proved himself to be one of the few.

  —–  THE  SCRAPES  LOOKED  worse  than  they  felt…  brackish  &  red  upon  typically  paler  features,  only  accented  further  by  the  stark  blackness  of  his  close-cropped  beard.  the  dwarf  knew  that  he  was  something  of  a  sight,  but  chose  to  ignore  the  pointed  stares  for  the  most  part.  lips  purse  for  a  moment,  knowing  that  caraq  was  probably  more  frustrated  at  himself  for  ever  having  allowed  anyone  to  get  close  enough  to  take  a  swing  at  him,  &  he  chooses  his  words  carefully  in  turn.   

  ❝ i’m  not  being  nonchalant  about  anything,  caraq… ❞  thorin  replies,  hoping  that  perhaps  that  would  help  dissuade  whatever  impression  that  he  had  not  taken  that  breach  in  security  with  the  utmost  seriousness.  ❝ the  bruises  stopped  hurting  yesterday,  &  with  a  little  rest,  they  will  all  fade. ❞  a  beat,  &  he  reaches  to  pat  the  half-orc  on  the  arm  once,  though  his  touch  lingers  for  a  moment  longer  than  it  should  have. 

  ❝ i  should  have  known  better  than  to  suggest  camping  near  the  southern  road. ❞  in  fact,  after  they  had  returned,  the  innkeeper  had  even  mentioned  avoiding  those  parts  until  the  bandit  stronghold  had  been  dealt  with  –  but  it  appeared  as  if  that  knowledge  hadn’t  become  commonplace  until  they  had  already  departed  from  west  haven  a  few  days  prior.  ❝ we’ll  take  a  few  days  before  going  out  again, ❞  he  suggests,  eyeing  the  other  for  any  sign  of  disagreement.  ❝ considering  we  were  likely  not  the  first  to  stumble  into  those  bandits,  i’m  sure  they’re  already  being  dealt  with. ❞

        treated as an ACCIDENT,  something that could not have been AVOIDED even if they were careful.    yet just because they did not know of the bandits does not mean he should have been caught off guard.    his job was to PROTECT the dwarf on these expeditions,  to make sure no harm came his way.    the bruises and wounds decorating the other’s form were PROOF ENOUGH that he had FAILED at his job,  and thorin seemed to be taking it far too lightly. brows furrowed as the other tried to console him,  and though the touch on his arm was a slight comfort,  it did nothing to ease the orcish rage that BURNED like a wildfire within him.

“    you shouldn’t have gotten hurt AT ALL.    ”    an IMPOSSIBLE feat,  one he even noticed as the words spilled from his lips,  but still he held it true.    his own skin was TOUGHER,  his frame more DURABLE,  so he should have taken the brunt of all throws.    even though he had been dealt the same strength and sharpness of blades,  his wounds were far LESS than thorin’s.    no matter whose mistake it was regarding their camping situation,  caraq felt he should have done even more.    perhaps it was through his pride in his work that he felt this or an attachment far greater for the other.

  —–  HE  LOOKS  TO  ginn  in  earnest,  seemingly  perplexed  by  the  question,  but  by  no  means  reluctant  to  answer.  it  takes  the  dwarf  a  moment  or  two  to  process,  with  brows  gathered  together.  it  is  only  made  more  difficult  to  think  in  proximity,  though  he  would  prefer  to  avoid  giving  up  that  small  bit  of  intimacy  if  he  could.  gaze  lingers  upon  the  forge,  upon  hammer  &  anvil,  yet  is  quick  to  return  to  the  other  beside  him. 

  ❝ there  is  something  intimate  about  forging  together, ❞  thorin  admits  softly,  lips  curved  into  a  small  grin  reserved  for  him  alone.  ❝ i  had  not  considered  it  a  possibility  until  now,  but  a  part  of  me  thinks  that  perhaps  it  is  something  i  have  always  wanted  –  from  the  very  first  time  i  picked  up  a  hammer. ❞  a  beat,  &  he  seems  almost  bashful  in  countenance,  ❝ i  fear  that  my  skill  has  faded  with  time. ❞  

  his  hand  reaches,  tracing  the  accent  of  a  rune  recently  carved,  ❝ but  your  work  is  something  to  be  admired. ❞

        work done in the forge was meant to be an INTIMATE act   --   something he had learned from his father long ago.    whether or not someone else was working with you did not matter,  as the METAL in one’s hands was all important.    there was no hammering away at it until someone forced it into the shape they wanted.   NO,  the shape would come NATURALLY,  as if the metal was alive and guiding one’s hands to complete the craft as it needed.    ginnin had learned of the intimacy between the wielder and the craftsman,  but to work so synchronized with SOMEONE ELSE was another feat.

what he and thorin had achieved was another level,  something ginn realized DWARVES could only achieve amongst themselves.    the forge was their LIFE and PASSION,  and sharing it harmoniously with someone else forged a bond stronger than any metal.   he listened to the other speak,  a soft JOY tugging at scarred features as he felt the meaning in his words.    though as thorin turned bashful and praised him in turn,  ginn chuckled.

  —–  THERE  ARE  SOME  dwarves  that  would  have  sneered  at  the  idea  of  working  alongside  one  outside  of  their  kin,  but  thorin  knew  better  than  to  limit  himself  by  selfish  pride.  caraq  proved  himself  more  than  capable,  if  not  charming  –  somewhat  infuriating  to  a  dwarf  that  preferred  to  keep  to  himself,  but  he  would  go  along  with  it  nonetheless.  statement  earns  an  arch  of  his  brow,  looking  up  from  the  few  materials  he  had  collected  on  their  last  venture  out  together,  &  he  has  the  decency  to  appear  at  least  vaguely  amused.  if  the  half-orc  was  paying  enough  attention,  he  could  probably  glean  that  his  words  had  chipped  away  at  the  armour  that  so  often  encased  the  dwarf  standing  beside  him…  that  perhaps  he  was  not  all  that  he  seemed  to  believe.  beneath  that  hardened  exterior  was  one  that  readily  accepted  the  other,  regardless  that  caraq  had  never  quite  belonged.  that  said  more  about  thorin’s  character  than  anything,  for  he  did  so  without  thought. 

  ❝ it  would  do  you  well  to  avoid  antagonizing  the  merchants, ❞  thorin  quips,  a  near  flirtation,  if  caraq  was  listening  closely  enough,  for  his  voice  held  a  far  more  playful  inflection.  &  despite  words,  he  does  look  up  to  the  other  with  some  level  of  thinly-veiled  appreciation,  for  the  warrior  has  so  obviously  earned  it.   

  ❝ you  will  not  need  to  keep  protecting  me  if  you’ve  scared  off  anyone  willing  to  buy  my  wares.  do  what  you  will  with  that  information. ❞  a  quirk  of  his  lips,  &  he’s  once  more  pulling  his  ladened  pack  over  his  shoulder,  gesturing  to  caraq  to  follow.  

  ❝ i’ll  buy  you  a  pint  once  i’ve  taken  care  of  the  materials. ❞    

        DWARVES had never been fond of him before,  nor had they ever wished to spend more time than they NEEDED to around them.   prejudiced thoughts against orcs ran as RAMPANT as any disease through the cities,  and as such they would continue to GROW.    for thorin to have accepted him was more than a SURPRISE,  but it was one happily held onto.   all the time they had spent now forged something deeper than he had felt in the presence of any other.    and as he watched the other react to him,  he could see the armor he put around himself beginning to CRACK.    little by little,  the half-orc would feel ever CLOSER to the dwarf.    and as the other responded to his own quip,  caraq smirked in return.

“    maybe i wouldn’t have to ANTAGONIZE them if they weren’t such PRICKS.    ”    humans would take advantage of other races if given the chance,  something caraq had learned the HARD way long ago.    not as if the other races were LESS LIKELY to,  even the ones half of his blood were owed to,  but they did not prove to be as shifty as humans were.    even though thorin needed to sell his wares to make wage,  it did not mean he should have to compromise so much.

“    ever thought that i might keep protecting you WITHOUT pay??    ”    a TEASING tone to cover up the TRUTH beneath it,  as thorin had become special to him.    even if the pay stopped,  it would not keep caraq from being at the dwarf’s side.   but he let that be interpreted however,  moving on and grinning to the offer.

Layne can be very entertaining when sober, but when he’s incredibly drunk, that’s absolutely hilarious. Then add to it the fact that Lambert is also highly intoxicated and there is no end to the fun to be had. The wolf witcher is cackling so hard he’s hugging his abdomen in pain, rolling back and forth on a bench, threatened by the prospect of falling off. At least he didn’t use white gull.

When the other touched his face, Lambert offered a grin, turning his face to kiss his wrist before looking back at him.  “ Draw me?  I’m flattered! I don’t see why not, let me just… “  He tries to lie down on the bench, losing his balance several times and having to catch himself before settling into a more comfortable position.  “ Draw me like one of your Toussaint girls. “  He drunkenly giggles.

        INTOXICATED would have UNDERSOLD this moment.    the world could slam itself sideways upon the wrong move,  and yet he could not help still reaching out to lambert and offering something he most certainly could NOT do in that moment.    the laughter that escaped the wolf only FUELD the grin that spread to his lips,  and layne could not help the echo of it that escaped from his own.

THE   SILVERLING'S   ATTENTION   REMAINS   FIXATED   ON   THE   GROOVES   OF   FÍLI'S   KNUCKLES .   her   ears   tentatively   pressed   back   against   the   flat   of   her   hair   in   contemplation   as   she   takes   to   smoothing   her   thumb   over   the   golden   whisps   on   the   proximals   of   his   fingers ,   for   as   silent   as   the   courtyard   is ,   she’s   struggling   to   entirely   compute   the   togetherness   of   his   company .   brea   tilts   her   chin   upward .   she   can’t   help   the   sigh   that   escapes   parted   lips   &   point   of   her   cupids   bow   –   it   wasn’t   anything   malicious ,   or   even   bored   –   she   simply   seems  .   .   .   INDIFFERENT ,   perhaps   even   detached   from   the   conversation   as   a   whole .   A   BEAT .   her   free   hand   finds   the   comfort   of   a   stubbly   jawline   &   manoeuvres   fíli’s   lips   to   hers .   a   disappointingly   chaste   &   brief   embrace ,          ❝     THEN   YOU   MIGHT   KNOW   ME   BETTER   THAN   I   KNOW   MYSELF ,   MY   LOVE .     ❞

      it’s a subconscious gesture, really – not unlike the way she’ll fuss over youngest sister’s bangs in the middle of a meeting with the high court, or lift one hand to adjust a circlet that no longer sits upon her brow. the smear of blue - black pigment had just been so bold against his complexion ( and yet somehow so evasive for dwarven heir ), and by the time she realizes what she’s done, it’s much too late to stop herself. form goes rigid in tandem with his expression of bewilderment, and she pulls her arms in against her sides.

      “ … among other things. ” answer is purposeful, succinct ; no matter fili’s intentions, she can’t imagine he’s taken much interest in the history of brea’s unruliness, and so she’ll spare him the details. “ she’s always been good at that – making a mess out of herself no matter how close someone is watching. i suppose the three of you have that in common. ”

        HOW the smear on his face had gone unnoticed,  or at least UNACKNOWLEDGED,  for so long,  he did not know.    though he could admit he had a fairly good idea of how it had gotten there.    when brea wrote,  her hands would become STAINED with ink of all colors that she would spread around.    a part of fili believed the smudge had been INTENTIONAL and his love had left it on his face just to see when he would finally notice.    it was a KINDNESS that seladon had brought it to his attention and taken care of it.