#beauty and wellness in thane

[yarave]

Home Remedies to Get Rid of Open Pores on Skin

Open pores on the skin appear as small pits. Because of open pores, your face appears drab and aged. That is why many people want to get rid of open pores. People with oily skin are more prone to this condition due to excessive sebum production. Open pores can also lead to cosmetic issues such as blackheads and acne.

Mashed Papaya: Papaya is high in antioxidants and contains papain, an enzyme that aids in blemish reduction. It also clears out the pores.

Scrubbing Sugar: Sugar is an excellent exfoliator that easily removes oil and debris from skin pores.

Aloe Vera Gel: Aloe vera is an excellent cleanser. By unclogging the pores, it also nourishes and hydrates the skin.

Mask with Egg Whites: This is an excellent agent for toning, tightening & shrinking large pores. The removal of excess oil is easy. You'll need egg whites to make a peel-off mask for this.

Baking Soda: This aids in skin pH balance and has anti-inflammatory & anti-bacterial properties. It helps to reduce pimples and acne on the skin.

Banana Peel: It contains lutein, an antioxidant that aids in skin rejuvenation and pore tightening, as well as potassium.

Apple Cider Vinegar: With its anti-inflammatory and anti-microbial properties, it acts as a natural skin toner as well as a great treatment for acne breakouts.

Argon Oil: This contains vitamin E and fatty acids, both of which are necessary for keeping the skin hydrated.

Ice Cubes: Applying ice tightens the skin, causing the pores to shrink.

Scrubbing Tomato: It has properties that aid in the removal of excess oil and skin tightening. Lycopene and antioxidants aid in the slowing of the ageing process.

Multani Mitti or Fuller’s Earth: This is used to exfoliate the skin in order to remove excess oil from the surface.

Cucumber: Because of its high water content and antioxidant properties, it aids in slowing the natural ageing process and tightening the pores on the skin.

Jojoba Oil: It has a similar consistency to the oils found naturally in our skin and aids in pore cleansing. It is also useful for treating open pores.

Gram Flour: It is an effective exfoliator for removing dead skin cells, tightening the skin, and reducing pore size.

Oatmeal with Tomato: Oatmeal exfoliates and absorbs oil. Tomatoes have an astringent flavor. When combined, they can help with skin cleansing and pore reduction.

Honey: It is a natural moisturiser and cleanser that improves skin quality. It causes the skin to tighten and the pores to close.

Yogurt: Because of the lactic acid in it, it is beneficial for reducing blemishes and tightening pores. Aside from that, dead cells and impurities are removed.

Olive Oil: It contains phenolic compounds that have anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties & prevents skin issues such as enlarged pores, dryness, itchiness, and others.

Tea Tree Oil: It has astringent properties that help to reduce pore size. It's also an effective antimicrobial agent.

We hope you enjoyed our article and you will take care of your hair from now on. Before leaving, Let us tell you about our platform. YARAVE is an online platform that enables skilled beauty & wellness professionals and Customers to discover and connect with each other.

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[dravidious]

"Mono-red is best" "Mono-black is best" Foolish mutterings from foolish fools too foolish to understand their own foolishness. Don't you see? Can't you feel it in the air? This standard is the season...

... of black-red artifact sacrifice.

[justplainwhump]

Left Behind

This is written for today's wij-prompt "Left Behind", @whumpmasinjuly-archive. Thanks to the wonderful @wildfae-afterdark for the inspiration, and as always to @angst-after-dark for their characters Thane and Dami.

[Angel Masterpost]

Angel is left behind. Again.

Content / warnings: BBU, conditioned whumpee, BBU Romantic, intimate whumper, a bit of revenge, and some semi explicit dubcon touching.

"You be a good girl and wait for me," Sir says softly, his hand on her cheek. Angel would love to close her eyes, melt into his touch, to imagine she's used to this tenderness. To imagine she's loved.

She does not close her eyes, though. Doesn't give in to the comfort of the daydream. Sir wants her to look at him, whenever he addresses her. And so she does. Looks into his face directly, eyes wide open, hides nothing.

Sir demands to see "all of her". Because he owns all of her. And all of her, he says, includes every dumb little thought in her dumb little head, every spark of every emotion, every reaction of her body.

And her body does react. To his touch, to his voice, to his sight. She's shivering, despite the temperature in the house, her knees shake, warmth pools between her legs. She wants him. She needs him. So desperately.

He sees it.

He smiles.

"Please," she whispers, knowing it's futile. "Please, take me with you. Please, don't leave me."

Sir pets her cheek. "There's no need for a desperate, clingy pet whore by my side, when I meet my European producers, Angel." His voice still vibrates with the same, soft nuance, that seems to make her mind dissolve into a puddle of need. His thumb runs over her lip. "Gosh. What a pathetic, idiotic slut you are, even thinking that."

"Please," she whispers. "Please. I'm nothing without you."

"Mh," he hums. "That's true, isn't it? But you know what? I want you to be nothing. I ordered you like that. I want you to need me, and I want you to not get me, and I want you to know that is exactly what you're made for."

She swallows. "I... I'm made for -"

"Shhh," he mumbles, slips his free hand between her legs, runs a finger through the wetness beween her folds. She doesn't deny the moan falling from her lips. He hums. "Now, Angel, this is important. Every Romantic is made for getting fucked. And I guess you're decent enough at that. But what you're truly made for is this." He shoves her back into the couch, and she yelps as her shaky legs give in and she falls over the armrest. "You're made to be left back. You're made to long for me, every second of your entire pathetic existence, and you're meant to be denied. You'll never say no, Angel, but you're meant to suffer hearing mine, and here it is. No, sweetheart. You're not coming. You're not getting fucked. You're not getting whole."

Tears well up in Angel's eyes, but she doesn't dare look away. She's good. She's so good. He loves her tears. Maybe this will -

He wipes his fingers off on his pants. "You'll be a good girl and wait for me," he repeats. "You'll be a good girl and miss your owner dearly. I'll be watching from afar." He points at the camera in the corner. "Maybe I call you. Maybe I won't. And you'll stay needy and horny and desperate for me, and not touch yourself. And-"

"Sir," Dami says from the door, their voice hoarse. "The car."

Sir's face changes, as he looks over to them. It gets softer. Satisfied. Angel's heart shatters.

"Coming, Dami. I hope you're looking forward to see Paris again."

"Sir," Angel reaches out.

He's already half way to the door, but stops once more, looks over her. I want to see all of you.

His gaze takes in her naked body, the smeared film of wetness on her thighs, her heaving chest, the tears in her eyes.

"Please," she whispers.

"You're perfect," he says. His smile is beautiful, wide, and he lets her have it, for long seconds, before he adds a single word, clear, even, cruel.

"No."

The door falls shut.

Angel stays behind.

---

-

Angel tag list (lmk if you want to be added or removed): @whumplr-reader @there-will-always-be-blood

[toasterbunnicula]

Mass Effect Character Sexualities because I want to project

(Partly headcanon, bi-ased, personal opinion)

Ashley: straight, formerly homophobic until she realized that most of her Normandy crew mates were gay

Garrus: bi energy, its simply unfair to our gay guys for such an amazing and hot character to not go both ways. Ive also seen too much Garrus/Thane/Shepard fanart to see him any other way

Liara: obviously bi, I hc that she was confused when she first encountered homophobia because it simply doesn’t exist in asari culture (closest thing is the asarixasari stigma)

Wrex: for some reason I see him as bi? I have no idea where I got this but I want to see a tough, old warrior casually mentioning being into both men and women and not caring at all about it (even though I think krogan culture probably wouldn’t approve)

Tali: for my sake as a helpless bi simp, I see her as under the umbrella, but doesn’t realize it. Like me before I came out, Tali would say “yeah she’s really pretty and I want to hang out with her and hug her and stare at her but I’m not gay or anything.” You are. You are gay. I think it would be in character for her to completely miss the fact that she’s into girls as well as men

Joker: straight. The kind of straight to make jokes about his friends’ sexualities, but not mean anything by it. He goes to pride every June with his wife EDI (who I will get to)

Jacob: I honestly can’t believe that he was originally intended to be bi, I just can’t see him into men unless I squint. It’s hilarious that they tried to make his male romance more like Brokeback Mountain so it’d be accepted

Miranda: I’ve seen a headcanon on Pinterest about Miranda having internalized homophobia because it doesn’t line up with her view of genetic perfection, something she’s established to be insecure about. I think it would make perfect sense for her character. I think it’s easy to see her as a lesbian practicing het-comp, especially with how awkward her initial flirting with Shepard is, but there are more scenes in her romance that feel authentic than there are that feel performative, so I’m inclined to say she is bi/pan/omni/etc.

Mordin: I’m pretty sure his asexuality is canon. I also think that he’s aromantic as well, but can objectively assess beauty/attractiveness well. For example, his film noir short story in the Citadel DLC involves a hookup with Aria. I personally believe that is him saying “yeah, she’s attractive, and if I were into women, I’d smash”

Zaeed: he gives off straight uncle who would punch a homophobe for you but otherwise doesn’t know how to interact with you after you’ve come out and tries a little too hard to acknowledge your sexuality but it’s definitely well-meaning (think the “anyone could be they!” scene from Brooklyn Nine-Nine)

Grunt: straight and supports his bi parents (Shepard and Garrus/Thane/Tali/Liara), wears rainbows at Pride for them, and regularly headbutts homophobes

Jack: I’m forever salty about them erasing her pansexuality. Also she and Miranda should’ve kissed

Kasumi: also gives off pan energy. She definitely feels like the type to not care about gender at all- as long as they’ve got muscles, that’s all that matters to her

Thane: pan energy

Samara: as established, Samara is bisexual

Legion: ace, non-binary (goes with people using he/him based on its masculine voice, pronouns are they/it)

Kelly: she said so herself, she doesn’t care about race/species or gender, all that matters is the person 💖💛💙

EDI: something about Sentient AI Who People Initially Don’t Trust Until She Gets A Humanoid Body That People Can Better Associate With Her reads to me as a trans allegory. Obviously, she’s not trans, but the vibes are there. Many times, people are suspicious of trans women until they transition and pass more as cis, which is similar to EDI’s story. She learns more about herself after her body changes, and others start to appreciate her more and have an easier time referring to her with she/her pronouns. As for her sexuality, she doesn’t seem to lean any particular way to me. She doesn’t seem like the type who’d use labels, even though it would make sense for her to “categorize” herself. I’d say she’s unlabelled- definitely into men, with her relationship with Joker

James: as much as I wish we could get gay gym bro representation, James is great as he is, being a masculine straight guy who’s best friends are openly gay (Cortez) and bi (Shepard)

Traynor: lesbian (canon), definitely into women who can crush her head under their heel but also has a dominant side herself

Cortez: gay (canon)

Diana: that annoying and popular bi girl you secretly had a crush on but didn’t want to because she was intimidating and popular

[messydiabolical]

My latest rarepair obsession: Thane Krios x Steve Cortez, aka, Kriortez <3 <3 <3 [This is a cropped version of a larger un tumblrable piece. Full piece is on my twitter, same name as here]

More about Kriortez under the cut. (Includes descriptions of sexual situations).

I can't stop thinking about them: with the love and support of his found family and reconnection with his son, Thane decides to pursue keprals treatment. The powers of Mordin and Miranda help him kick ass. Refreshed and ready to fight by his dear friend Shepard's side, Thane rejoins the Normandy, where he encounters the beautiful, loyal, warm perfect man that is Steve Cortez. Both being widows gives them a connection, but it's not just that: I genuinely feel that these two characters would bond SO WELL. The always a way with words @zet-sway described it so much better than I could: "I'm just imagining their relationship. Both of them, professional as fuck. House is impeccably clean. They're well spoken and dependable. And the moment their spark is lit they're on each other like white on rice, handprints on the windshield, clothes on the floor, having loud, messy, intense sex on whatever available surface. Cortez has bite marks under his collar, Thane is still dripping by the time they go out for dinner. Heart eyes for days."

[hazelestelle]

Rarepairs! - A SpecRecs Rec List

@spectre-requisitions-exchange authors were revealed (last week XD), and I finally have time for some recs!

First, my wonderful amazing gift!

Stars With One by @wickedwitchofthewilds. I am so happy that you chose Harry Carlyle/Scott Ryder for me, and I love it so much! It's so sweet and a little spicy too.

There's so many great stories and you should definitely check out the collection, but here's some assorted recs:

On The Shore (From A Distance) by kaijuburgers. Kaidan Alenko/Citadel Doctor. It's so lovely and bittersweet, and I love Miles! Byte Me by Kalliesa. Legion/Female Shepard. It is so hot, omg! Trust Me, I'm a Doctor by @cat-shepard. Harry Carlyle/Sara Ryder. The doctor is in! It's so sexy, and the puns are amazing! Stitched Together by @ferindencadash . James Vega/Male Shepard. The slow burn, the pining, the flirting! It has it all. oil & water by forceinsensitive. Gil Brodie/Kallo Jath. The enemies to lovers ships! It's so well done, the world building is incredible and the relationship development is fantastic. Taking on the Broker by @alyssalenko. Shadow Broker/Female Shepard. It's hot. Like, hello?? Be Gentle by FinchMarie. Thane Krios/NB Shepard. It's art. Just look at it. So beautiful. A Deal is a Deal by @vorchagirl. More Shadow Broker/Female Shepard, because yes! a still, small voice by calypsid. Urdnot Wrex/Female Shepard. An amazing exploration of Shepard's character, and very hot sex too.

Of course, I also wrote some things myself :)

comm chats and more, Diana Allers/Samantha Traynor. Diana and Samantha talk a lot over the comms. And then in person. when push comes to shove, Akksul/Scott Ryder. Akksul and Scott's arguments turn physical in the best way. pour me a whiskey melody, Harry Carlyle/Reyes Vidal. According to Sara, Harry really needs to go out and have some fun. So he does just that. afterparty, Urdnot Wrex/Female Shepard. Shepard and Wrex have sex in a hot tub. That's it, that's the story. salt and pepper, Alec Ryder/Cora Harper. Cora is fascinated with Alec. She knows it won't go anywhere. Or maybe it will?

Happy reading! <3

[astorythatwritesitself]

Kiss meme: Shrios for 39 because I want you to hurt me.

39 - A kiss because… time's run out.

(Ao3/bonus version here)

@ me: hey why the fuck'd you write this

Breathe, it's over now, over now.

It's been six months, since the war's end.

Five, since the prognosis.

'A matter of weeks,’ the doctor had said. 'Months, if you're very lucky.’

Adrian had taken it fairly well, all things considered. Vanished for a few hours, along the beach trails near their home, but there had been no tears. Hardly even a tremor in her voice, when she'd said: 'we always knew we were on borrowed time.’ Thane is simply grateful for each day that passes without incident.

It's been small things, mostly. A misplaced item. More notes around the house - reminders of appointments, when to feed the fish, where things were. Tasks left undone, things dropped because her hands won't cooperate. Her biotics failing, once again. Longer pauses in conversation, where she struggles to find her words. Worse - he knows he's not seeing all of it, nor the worst of it. Had she simply been so caught in her own mind? Or had it, like so many things, slipped, when he would be home? Regardless, Thane can't bring himself to rob her of that illusion - but he remembers those long hours on the Normandy. The strange, hazy warmth in her voice as she recited her favorite poems for him, the words flowing like swift waters, her love for them sweeping him along even when they did not translate so well. To hear those same words just the other day, clipped and faltering, incomplete...

'She could be wrong, siha-’ Thane starts. Starts, but the words catch in his throat as Adrian presses closer, arms tightening around his waist. Her lips brush his shoulder - or so he chooses to believe. He can't bring himself to look, to see if she is crying.

‘You can rebuild a lot of things, but a brain's pretty high up there in ‘experimental’,’ she replies, only the faintest of tremors in her voice. ‘I'd… always wondered. If it wouldn't burn out fast, or break down - and that's on its own, being around that much Reaper crap? If they were trying to indoctrinate me or anything…’

That's as far as the conversation goes. The next day - week, ultimately - will be for shoring up what she'd prepared during her arrest, handling any other affairs. What remained of the night was simply to be enjoyed, to commit to memory all they could, before the chance passed by.

—

He's steeled himself as best as he can, to spend no time mourning now, not when there's still more good days than bad. More days than they'd dreamt of having when they'd first met, more days than seemed possible, during the war. A day like this, where Shepard is already awake, taking over the kitchen table with her latest ship model, and Thane almost believes that their future stretches out far and away, beyond whatever either of them could imagine. Her hands are steady, and he can almost forgive the faint, burnt odor lingering in the air, because it means she's remembered to eat on her own. He sits beside her, and they talk for a while - about Vega's upcoming visit, the inaccuracies of the Normandy model strewn before her, Kolyat's last message; and all the while, her words come without trouble, with no grasping or fumbling to recall this detail or that.

—

“We don't have anything else going on today, right? I was thinking, maybe we could go to the beach,” Shepard says after a while, as she starts cleaning up her workspace. “It's beautiful out there.”

Thane hums a brief agreement from where he stands, just behind where she sits, clearing up the last of the dishes of his meal. “That would be lovely, siha,” he replies. Sets the plate aside and turns, resting a hand on Adrian's shoulder. Is about to say something, when she looks up at him, a faint and fretful half-smile on her lips.

“I think my translat-”

Her expression falters - confusion and then a slow, horrified comprehension. (’I think my translator just glitched. What did you call me?’)

She grips his hand, as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. He leans down, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head, all the while reminding himself, there will be more good days ahead.

But there's no denying now, that they are numbered.

[ladyofsnark]

Garrus wasn’t jealous.

He liked Lex. He respected her–admired her, even.

And true, he also thought Lex was beautiful. He didn’t have a human fetish, but there was something about her that went so much deeper than appearances. The way she commanded attention. The way everyone turned to look at her. That kind of presence–that power���was intoxicating in its own way. He was cocky, but he knew what to be cocky about. He knew his strengths and played to them. Lex played to everything and anything with a devastating amount of self-assuredness. Or suicidality. It was hard to tell sometimes.

He glanced back out the windows that looked down into the shuttle bay. They’d created a makeshift firing range there to test their weapons and help the team blow off steam in between missions and long stints at the Citadel. It was Kelly's idea, since half of the ground team needed anger management lessons and this was as close as they would get.

There was no real danger to it. Nothing short of actual AA guns could pierce the Normandy's hull and they used soft-polymer rounds for safety in close quarters, so the most anyone was risking was a painful bruise. Of course, Lex loved it. She cared for her rifles like they were her children and she never wasted an opportunity to tinker with them.

But she was practicing with Thane.

Garrus sighed and pushed away from the window. It bothered him and it bothered him that it bothered him. Lex also practiced with him and with Grunt and Zaeed and she and Jack challenged each other to trick shots when they weren’t being supervised.

Hell, he liked the assassin. Respected him, even. It seemed like there was a sore lack of good people in the universe and few tried half as hard as Thane did to be one.

So why this? This irrational annoyance. This irritation. He couldn’t help but think back to Oraka in Chora’s Den moping over Sha’ira and it didn’t do great things for his ego.

Garrus was so distracted he didn’t even hear the elevator ping. 

“Hey, I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” Jon said as he stepped off. “I looked in the main battery and thought something must have gone horribly wrong to drag you away from your terminal. What’s up?”

Garrus straightened, looking away quickly from the shuttle bay. “Nothing,” he said. “I just came down here to talk to the engineers about the power draw from the new guns.”

Jon leaned against the opposite bulkhead and then glanced out the window, at his sister who was listening to Thane explain something to her with rapt attention. “Uh huh.”

It was more of a grunt than words, loaded with as much skepticism as the older of the Shepard twins could muster.

Before Garrus could make good his escape, Jon spoke again: “You two are a lot alike, you know.”

Garrus gave him a dubious look. “How?”

“Well for one, you’re both dumbasses,” Jon said, surprising a laugh out of the turian, who then reached up to rub the sore side of his face. The man smiled, only half apologetic. “My sister tells me everything and I can count on one hand how many times she’s said she loves me. So, if you’re waiting for her to make the first move, you’ll be waiting for a while.”

Spirits, they were so unmistakably related. Jon might have been the diplomat of the pair but that was only by default, because Lex’s idea of diplomacy involved a dictionary of curse words and probably at least one explosion.

Garrus glanced back down at the shuttle bay, at Lex. “I’m sure she wants something closer to home…”

“And closer to home is someone else with scales? And hallucinogenic saliva?” Jon snorted. “Garrus. Think of it like this. You’re up here pining for a woman who would have thrown her whole life–her whole career–away to go with you to Omega. I can tell you right now, Lex wouldn’t do that for anyone else. Maybe not even me. So the only thing in your way is you.”

He had a point. He usually did, but this was a particularly annoying example.

"You're her brother, aren't you supposed to be threatening me? Not trying to set us up?" Garrus asked, with humor.

Jon laughed. "When we were sixteen one of the Reds decided to cop a feel and Lex almost beat him to death with a datapad. I don't need to come to her rescue. Yours, maybe. But not hers."

[nowandthane]

Mass Effect Trilogy Tag

tagged by @menacingmetal thank you!!!! <3

tagging @grim-starling @stormikins @vakariansvixen @westernlarch @illusivesoul @drelldreams @xoshepard (i know you already got tagged but tag me in yours too if u do it i wanna see it xD) <3 and anyone else who wants to do this!!

I am a fan since: I first played in September 2022 and it's consumed my life since! I had the OT since like 2018/19??? but i couldnt play because it gave me motion sickness kjdfhgkdf then I got MELE free cause amazon was doing a thing and by that point i had friends who taught me to mod the game and i can play with relatively few issues now :3

Favourite game of the series?: oooh idk i love them all and i played them first time all in a row so theyre kind of like one game to me... probably me2?

MShep or FShep?: femshep. ive yet to complete a game with anyone other than femshep. well, anyone other than sarani specifically lmao but hopefully that'll change xD

Earthborn, Colonist or Spacer?: earthborn!! (sarani again xD)

Biotics or Tech: tech (again... sarani. she is not a biotic)

Paragon or Renegade: paragon choices, renegade dialogue xD

Favourite Class: infiltrator!! ive never played a class other than infiltrator (yes, you guessed it, sarani :3) but im trying out vanguard like anytime now so we'll see?

Favourite Companion:

Least favourite Companion:

you could put a gun to my head and i still wont answer those two i will not choose

My squad selection: i dont really have a main i think? it depends on who's narratively appropriate for the mission, then on who will help me most with their build. i try to make sure everyone has equal time cause i wanna see them all....

Favourite In-game romance: well it's def thane if youve known me a while youd know i used his name for like over a year while i was figuring out my gender stuff xD also garrus and tali ofc <3 but tbh they're all good!! with the exception of jacob cause bioware did him so dirty ugh

Other pairings I like: joker/edi, miranda/ashley, miranda/jack are some of my faves but tbh this world is my playground i WILL mix and match them xD

Favourite NPC: jenkins nihlus and aethyta, i kind of really want her to [liara shoots and kills me]

Favourite Antagonist: Saren for sure i need him to choke me

Favourite Mission: Priority: Tuchanka probably... i love mordin so much and his arc... beautiful

Favourite Loyalty Mission: Tali!!!

Favourite DLC: arrival. ok no lmao. omega probably!

Control, Synthesis or Destroy: destroy i guess but only because i pretend the geth and edi dont die lmao.

Favourite Weapon: black widow!!!!!

Favourite Place: Rannoch

A quote I like: Tali's 'The difference was you.' and 'I got better. I got you.' (very romance specific i know i love her okay) garrus's 'gray... i dont know what to do with gray.' legion's 'do these units have a soul?' kolyat saying 'the prayer was for you' when wrex says shepard is a sister to him

im gonna go cry now

[wellthebardsdead]

Riiju-Lei: *sighs with relief up at breezehome as they approach through the still quiet early morning streets of whiterun* Home at last…

Nerevar: I passed by this place so many times when I first arrived here and I had no clue you were just behind these doors…

Riiju-Lei: that explains the random bouts of excitement I had then. I played a lot of tag with the kids those days. Speaking of which, I hope Caryalind handled looking after everyone okay- *opens the door to find Lydia cleaning up the mess the kids had made of the house, Khash quietly helping her and Caryalind passed out from exhaustion by the fireplace* oh dear.

Lydia: *looks up* oh my thane!

Khash: DAD!!! *drops the broom and runs to Riiju jumping up into his arms*

Riiju-Lei: *laughs and hugs her tight* Hello little shadowscale!

Caryalind: *jumps and flails out of his chair with a thud* Ugh! Hnuh?? *looks up to see the group entering* You’re back! It went well I take it??

Riiju-Lei: *smiles* better then just well. *sets Khash down gently* Everything… here? Go well?

Caryalind: *still on the floor* Oh yes, just fine, the kids were delightful…

Riiju-Lei: *quirks his brow*

Caryalind: …Alesan put lizards in my underwear, Blaise got caught shoplifting, Sofie kept bringing wild animals into the house and Lucia broke her hand punching Braith in the face… Khash was the only well behaved one.

Riiju-Lei: *sighs* thank you cary, go have a proper rest I’ll get our new friends settled in and make us all breakfast.

Caryalind: new fri- *spots nerevar then goes visibly pink as Miraak suddenly steps over him offering his hand* I-

Miraak: Let me help you up.

Caryalind: oh my you have a very deep voice- *shakily takes his hand and instantly gets pulled to his feet*

Taliesin: *brow twitching feeling protective of his prince* …

Kaidan: *gives his ass a squeeze* oi. Leave him be.

Riiju-Lei: *snickers taking nerevars hand and leading him upstairs as everyone else starts to unpack and relax* I’ll come help you clean up in a minute Lydia, thank you.

Lydia: *smiles at him and nerevar as they go by* thank you my thane.

Nerevar: *follows Riiju upstairs and into the master bedroom* it’s a lovely house you have here, your daughter is adorable too but… her tail- sh- she wasn’t hurt was she?

Riiju-Lei: hm? Oh Khash. No she just wasn’t born with one. She’s small but she’s the oldest of my kids. The others must all be still asleep. Usually she comes along on adventures, she’s an excellent fighter but… given miraak sent cultists after me and they targeted my family specifically… I didn’t feel safe bringing her along. *chuckles* funny how he’s now downstairs wooing the prince of the aldmeri dominion.

Nerevar: *brain short circuiting* I’m sorry he’s the what now?

Riiju-Lei: oh right, there’s a lot you need to catch up on. I’m sure we’ll discuss it over breakfast but let’s get you unpacked first yes? *smiles at him before dropping his pack on the bed to empty it*

Nerevar: … *smiles and gently embraces him from behind, resting his head against his shoulder* you’ve built a beautiful life here LeiLei… you found so many people who love you and a place where you can feel safe.

Riiju-Lei: *gently reaches back running his fingers through his soft white hair* and now I can finally feel that love thanks to you making me whole again… my moon and star…

Nerevar: *slides his hands up his torso beginning to playfully tug at and undo the straps of his armour* there was a place within my heart empty for too long when I was without you… im glad we’re finally together again… My Voryn…

Riiju-Lei: …I think we can wait a few minutes for breakfast don’t you?

*meanwhile downstairs*

Sero: They’re certainly taking a while up thei-

A wine bottle on the kitchen table: 🍾

Kaidan: and they’re fucking.

Taliesin: *sighs* I’ll get breakfast started.

[omniblades-and-stars]

The Last Time (A Game of Cat and Mouse)

Read on AO3

"Bancroft Exports and Logistics Headquarters" read the sign carved from impeccably polished wood, no doubt from Earth. It was mounted on the wall next to a door made of frosted glass and featuring antique bronze hinges and a matching bronze doorknob, shaped humorously like one of Earth's large felines, a lion, if he remembered correctly. He always did. As he reached for the door knob with a green-scaled hand, Thane Krios noted it as something to ask Mr. Bancroft about. It was obviously meant as a statement, the expense of retrofitting a Nos Astra office building for an ancient human door alone meant that it was not simply a design choice.

He straightened the front panel of his expensive suit jacket as he strolled into the lobby. There was a reception desk with a high counter wrapped around the front, topped in the same dark polished wood that the sign at the door was. There was another office door directly to the right of the reception desk, and a cart against the wall with porcelain tea cups hanging from metal hooks. One was missing.

The receptionist was not at their post, it seemed. There was, however, a small sign that read "Press Button for Assistance". He was surprised when there was no audible tone when his carefully filed talon depressed the cool metallic button.

After several seconds of empty silence, a booming, "I don't pay you to stand around and look pretty! Go see who it is, damn it," reverberated from the office behind the door. A feminine voice answered back, the words of her quiet reply were lost to the barrier provided by thick walls. Thane clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently to be greeted by someone. He was going to enjoy killing Mr. Bancroft later. 

The door cracked open and the first thing out of it was a slender, human, woman's foot. It was clad in a precarious, ruby red high-heeled shoe, a thin strap buckled around a delicately arched ankle. Her legs, shapely and well-toned, were covered by sheer black stockings. A pronounced seam ran up the length of her calf, disappearing behind her knee and beneath the hem of a charcoal gray skirt so tight, it could have been a second skin. 

His eyes traveled up her body, taking in the receptionist as she pushed sideways out of the door. She held a silver tea tray in her delicate, gloved hands, and despite her unreasonably high heels, she moved with well-practiced grace and fluidity. 

A pristine cream colored blouse covered a supple chest, the promising curve of soft flesh hidden beneath whisper thin fabric. A collar buttoned high on her slender throat with dainty, round pearls, covered a scar he knew was there. He was surprised to see her here. She was supposed to be dead.

He killed her.

Bare skin burns hot, pressed and writhing beneath him. A soft moan turns to a surprised gasp and her fingers dig sharp into the muscles of his arms. Silken lips parted against his in a silent plea. Breaths ragged from exertion and the effects of the venom still coursing in her veins. Crimson rivulets wash down the cold metal of his blade. Tears bead at the edges of her clouded, disbelieving eyes, pupils wide, surprised by the betrayal she knew would inevitably come. "Why?" She mouths, unable to speak.

"We can't keep doing this. This is the last time," he whispers, and tenderly brushes wisps of dark hair from her sweat-dewed cheek. Tears that are not hers fall, mingling with the ones sliding over her skin and into the hair tangled on the pillow below her. Her grip on his arms falters as she grows weak. He leaves her alone to die in a Presidium hotel room, disquieted and regretful.

It had been too difficult to stay. He should have known she would pull through. She was stubborn, tenacious.

Beautiful, precious.

And above all, a devious, deadly viper.

But why was it relief that he felt to see her again?

Familiar honey-colored eyes glared at him as she turned to greet him. She drew the plush flesh of her burgundy lip in between her teeth, seductive and no doubt a sign of the anger she felt at the sight of him.

The anger burning in her wide, clear eyes disappeared in a flash, as though it had never existed. A wide smile took its place, creasing the corners of her eyes, and she broke her silence by proclaiming, "Oh, you must be the security consultant here to meet with the board. I am so sorry, how do you pronounce your name, Mister…" Her voice was soft, dripping with syrupy cheer. Her head cocked slightly to the side quizzically, a convincing charade played out for no one but the two of them. 

"Tuek. Rumi Tuek. It is a pleasure to meet you. Though, I am afraid that I do not know your name," he said in reply. In this, he told no lie. No living person knew her true name. Her names shifted like the crashing tides of the sea.

"Julia Tophana," she answered cheerfully and bravely turned her back on him to set the tray on top of the cart. "When I first saw your name on the appointment list this week, I assumed it must have been a salarian name," she lied easily, putting on a breathy, airy voice that he knew very well was an act. She continued putting the pieces of the tea service away with gloved hands as she filled the silence with trite chatter. "I thought, 'Surely it couldn't be a drell name, there are so few to be seen away from Kahje.' But what do I know? Mr. Bancroft always says, 'I didn't hire you for your brains, Jules.'"

How long had she been working as the man’s secretary just to murder him?

She loved the long game.

Julia turned and flashed a charming smile at him, holding a stained tea cup in her left hand. "He underestimates me. They always pay for underestimating me. Don't they?" Thane's hand ghosted over his abdomen, where the memory of her blade made itself known. She started this destructive little game of theirs.

She cries out for help as his target tries to pull her into a filthy alley, one of so many on this part of Omega. He runs to help this stranger, a young, human woman out for a jog. A gunshot echoes out of the alley, and the woman's screams stop.

Too late, he fears. But as he turns around the abandoned building at the entrance to the alley, he sees her standing hunched over a body, hands gripping the pistol like iron. She holds it like it is both her only lifeline and the most terrifying thing in the galaxy. Like she has never fired it before.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I … I … was so scared! I didn't … oh God, what did I do?" Her cries are shrill, panicked, she is nearly hyperventilating. Her hands shake and tears streak over the gentle curve of her cheeks. She looks up at him with large, pleading, amber eyes, and drops the pistol on the ground right before she heaves and vomits all over her lavender running shoes.

"Please, let me help you get cleaned up," he offers quietly as he approaches. She clutches his hands with her own trembling fingers and allows him to lead her away. She tells him her name is Artemis, tells him about how she ended up on Omega, and how lonely it is living on that horrible station.

It's hours later and they are still together, she's pressed against him, hot and needy. Her kisses taste like peppermint toothpaste. "It was so easy. This is the last time you'll see me, see anything," she whispers against his lips. Cold metal bites into his skin, just below his lung and it twists as she pushes him harder against the wall. Her strength is surprising. Too late he realizes that she is not just an innocent woman out for an evening run. The pain forces a groan coursing up his throat. He can feel the blade scraping through his ribs, feel it pierce through the other side. "I don't do competition," she explains and strokes his cheek with a soft hand, now coated in emerald blood. She simply walks away after, leaving her blade, and him, pinned to the wall. It is the kind of folding blade engineered by and for killers, expensive and easily hidden.

The truth of the matter was that she was a small, beautiful woman blessed with large, doe eyes, and perfect, bow shaped lips. Traits that she carefully wielded to her advantage at every available opportunity. Including here, in this moment, where he was her only audience. She was like the sirens of Earth’s ancient mythology, and he too often found himself ensnared by her song.

Arashu protect me, Amonkira guide me, and Kalahira, please take this damnable woman to the darkest, coldest depths of your oceans.

She brought the cup down onto the hard surface of the desk, shattering it with purpose. "Oops! How clumsy of me!" She brushed the shards into the trash can, and in a smooth motion removed the gloves from her hands and deposited them into the receptacle after, careful not to touch the outside material with her bare fingers.

The gloves must have cost a fortune. They appeared to be made of real animal skin, unlike the synthetic leather worn by most. Even in their line of work. 

She'd always been one for flair, even if only for her own sake.

His eyes followed the dexterous lines of slender fingers, recalling the feeling of them tracing tender lines over the ridges of his scales, the feel as they dug into his flesh as she tried to tear his grip from her throat. With a raised brow, he started to ask, “Mr. Bancroft, is he-”

“Dead? He is, but he doesn’t know it yet,” The Shepherd responded while she checked the watch set into a dainty silver band around her wrist. “He will have a “sudden” stroke in approximately four hours.”

Of course, poison. 

One of her favorite methods. She had always been one for a more personal approach. She liked to get in close, get to know the target. She loved to play games, like a cat toying with a mouse that didn't know her claws were already piercing its skin. Until it was much, much too late.

She always played games. 

Thane's lips curled into a disapproving grimace. He despised that she got to Bancroft first.

He despised that she waited until she knew he would be here to do it. This entire charade, this whole show was for his benefit alone. 

It was payback. It was his turn to be the mouse, it seemed. It was probably no less than he deserved.

Deserved or not, he would not let her win.

Her clean up finished, The Shepherd picked up a datapad and waved for him to follow her into the curving hallway. “This way, Mr. Tuek. The board meets on the next floor up, accessible only by the interior elevator.” She strode in front of him, the long curve of her legs accented by the pointed heel of her shoe. Absently, she brushed a long dark lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, held together by shining metal sticks, behind her ear. It was much longer than their last meeting.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Ms. Tophana. It is a shame that I will kill you before I get to enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear as they walked past the office workers diligently working at their desks in the open office space nested behind the reception lobby.

“I like the piercings you have there on the ridge above your frill, those are new. I will take great pleasure in tearing them from your smug face right before I end you,” she retorted while looking straight ahead. Her mouth curled up, confidence hidden in the upturned corner of her lips. "This is the last time, Krios," she whispered hotly.

"You are sure of this? You have yet to kill me, Shepherd," he reminded her and placed a gentle, threatening hand at the small of her back. The silken fabric of her blouse slid pleasantly over his scales. 

Their walk through the office came to a halt at the elevator, tucked into a hall filled with more office spaces. The Shepherd turned to face him as she pressed the call button for the lift. "It will either be me or you this time. To the death, once and for all. I'm not leaving this building without your life."

The elevator arrived with a chime, and the door slid open. "Then you will not leave this building," he answered emphatically and stepped into the elevator.

The Shepherd pressed her arm across the opening to prevent the door from sliding closed. She leaned in, passing the datapad to him, her lips ghosted dangerously close to his cheek, her breath hot on his skin, stirring heat deep within him. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle. It always smelled like honeysuckle. "You make mistakes when you underestimate me. Don't make it easy for me," she whispered. Suddenly, she pulled back, "You'll understand why I won't be joining you in the elevator. The boardroom is directly to your right, through the preposterous double doors. You can't miss it." 

She had the audacity to wiggle her fingers at him as though she were waving goodbye to a friend as the door slid shut. 

He looked down at the datapad and turned the screen on. Thane didn't know whether to be greatly amused or greatly irritated by the image that greeted him:

"A Game of Cat and Mouse" written out in the flowing script he knew to be hers, followed by a humorous drawing of a cat with human hair styled just like hers. And pinned beneath her feline paws, a mouse with green and black scales.

Hiding in an office suite after his meeting, now entirely pointless due to Bancroft's impending death, had concluded was a simple matter. It was easy enough to duck into the office of some executive who was almost certainly on vacation, and simply wait until everyone who was not The Shepherd left. By the time the work day drew to a close, he found himself pondering the pendulous motion of the Newton’s Cradle decorating the large wooden desk in his hiding office.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Cla-

“We’re alone now, Krios. You can come out of hiding,” she shouted down the hall from her roost in the lobby.

As he walked silently down the hall, he removed his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and cuffing his shirt sleeves at his forearms. When he rounded the hall into the lobby, she was standing with her back to him. Her arms were raised, the mass of her hair held tightly in her fist as she began to wrap it around her hand and tie it more suitably to the base of her skull. The two decorative sticks were laid on the counter, perfectly symmetrical to one another.

“That’s close enough, Thane. Rules first,” she said firmly without turning to him. She grabbed one of the sticks and popped the bottom tip off of it, revealing a very fine sharp point. She leaned to the side and pulled the hem of her skirt taut in her fingers. The Shepherd drove the point into the stretched fabric and then pulled it. The organic fibers parted noisily up the side of her leg, up to the leather belt fastened around her thigh, just above where her stockings came to an end, teasing him.

Thane drew his gaze back to her hair. Her hair was safe, it was drawn up messily in a simple elastic band, and was quite possibly the only part of this that wasn't a performance. “I am listening, Shepherd,” he confirmed. She paused, and almost imperceptibly shivered before leaning to tear the other side of her skirt.

Muscle and bone shifts beneath the tan skin of her back as she undulates. Her back is a star-chart, made up of tiny constellations of freckles and scars. Bruises blooming purple and blue prove the background of the galaxy mapped out between her shoulder blades and beyond. He props himself up on one hand before gently running a short talon over a long jagged scar just below her shoulder blade.

"This one?" He asks, breaking the silence. Her skin pebbles beneath his touch, goosebumps, she calls them. She shivers as his finger trails across her back.

"From the time I killed an elcor diplomat," she says through heavy, panting breaths. "Didn't think he'd be sneaky enough to hide a knife." She is lying, a preposterous lie at that. He has asked her about it before. The last time, it was from a krogan battlemaster's pet varren. He is fairly certain it is a scar from a turian's unfiled talon.

He moves again to sit up completely, and her back arches to accommodate him. His left hand circles around her body, tracing gentle lines over her skin, admiring the bumps that form in its wake, but only for a moment. He presses his other hand around the base of her throat, he can feel the tendons shift as she swallows and moves, and the beat of her heart, fast and strong. He can feel another line, just under her breast. "And what of this one?" He asks with his lips pressed against her neck, he can taste the salt of her sweat.

He knows the answer. He put it there. 

They are moving in tandem, languid, and unhurried, savoring this beautiful charade, awash in blinding pleasures. This time, they started as enemies and ended as lovers. He much prefers it this way than the other. Tonight, she is sweet … by the gods is she sweet. Her hair smells of honeysuckle, and the softest sounds drip like nectar from her lips. And he is an addict for them. He can almost imagine that she isn't like a poison to him, or him a sharpened knife to her.

"I tripped and fell into that one. It was an accident, really," she says with a smile in her voice. "Dropped my guard, for the last time," she explains and lies and tells the truth all in the same sentence, through the same panting breaths. He can't explain why he finds these little, unnecessary lies so charming, so enrapturing, but he does.

He is caught in her web, and he climbs further in of his own volition.

"No guns, no poison, no omni-tools, and no warp fields. Agreed?" The Shepherd rolled her shoulders back and stretched her neck, the elongated curve of it far too tempting. The very edge of the silvering scar peaked over the edge of her collar.

"Agreed."

She stood on one leg and pulled her foot up behind her, stretching her leg and rolling her ankle. She was still wearing those impractical, ridiculous, attractive shoes. "Good, any additions you'd like to make?" She continued her stretching as though she were preparing to go on a run,  and he was not a professional assassin ready to attack.

"I would appreciate it if you did not use your biotics to pull my central nervous system apart this time," he requested with a smile. One encounter with her biotics had left him twitching and blinking sporadically for weeks. "I believe that is a fair exchange in return for not using mine to rip you apart from the outside."

"Oh, I hate when you make a good point. Fine. Questions?" She asked as she turned to face him. He had expected to see her cocky smile, or a demure smirk. Maybe even a deep, hateful scowl. 

But her lips were pressed in a hard line, and her eyes were bloodshot, and lined harshly red at the edges. Had she been crying? Was she frightened?

Or was this a part of her game? He could never tell with her. It could have been another of her little lies. Even still, it gave him pause, tightened a knot in his gut. 

Thane shook his head and tried to push off his reservations. He was in her snare, he knew. He tossed his jacket to one of the small chairs in the lobby and clasped his hands behind his back. "Who hired you to kill Bancroft?" 

He was merely curious, very few people earned having more than one assassination plot against them.

"His wife. You?"

"His son," he answered with a smile. Even fewer people were so hated by their families that they would independently hire someone to kill them. "Do you have any questions for me?"

The Shepherd cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Her question fell from her lips quietly and without preamble, and it detonated like a hydrogen bomb, "If I die tonight, will you mourn me? There isn’t anyone else." She fumbled her words and hastened to add, "Who would even notice, much less care if I die, I mean."

The aftershock rolled into him and sent blood thundering through his chest. "Yes, I mourn you every time, " he answered sincerely and before he could grasp the magnitude of his own words. "Shepherd, if Kalahira calls me to the sea tonight, will you mourn for me?"

"Yes. Every time."

They had killed each other, or tried to anyways, far too many times.

The seconds that passed before either of them moved crackled with electricity. The only warning he had before The Shepherd leapt at him was the flaring of her nostrils. She held the slender stick in her hand like a blade as she pushed off the ground without a sound. He threw his left arm up and pushed the blade away with his forearm, and curled his right fist up towards her ribs.

Her body bowed out of the way of his strike, and stepped in towards him. She hooked her foot around his ankle and pulled him off-balance. Her elbow connected with his collarbone sending a sharp pain shooting through his neck and shoulder. Just as the tiny little blade made its way to his chest, he thrust the flat his hand up. The air around his body ignited cerulean blue, and the blade struck the barrier and snapped. 

The Shepherd stumbled backwards, dropping the now useless implement to the ground. "Shit, I hate it when you do that," she grumbled and adjusted her stance again. 

He pressed his hand into his shoulder and rolled it, stretching out the muscle. "You know, you possess the same skill? It might be useful for keeping much more of your blood inside of your body."

Her small nose crinkled up before she smirked, "That your professional opinion, since you're so good at freeing me of mine?"

"Deserved, although the same could be said for you of mine," he retorted right before advancing on her. They fought. Fists, hands, feet, all moving with blinding speed and precision. He pressed hard against her, and she took steps back, all the while blocking quick strikes and narrowly avoiding getting caught in his grasp.

She came to a stop with her back pressed against the reception counter. The Shepherd reached behind her without looking away from him, and snatched the other hair pin up, releasing the pointed tip hidden under a small metallic cap. She was quick, and aimed the small weapon for his neck.

Thane wrapped one hand around her wrist, and pulled the implement free with the other. He didn’t hesitate and drove it into her side, earning a snarling hiss from the woman.

He’d always been faster than her.

The Shepherd struck him hard in the chest with her outstretched palm, and a concentrated blast of energy followed it a fraction of a second later. Indigo light flared from beneath her hand and he was pushed back across the room, knocking the air from his lungs, and his body to the floor. She pulled the weapon from her side with a grunt, vermillion spreading across the thin fabric of her punctured shirt.

She closed the gap between them with a short run. She raised her foot to bring it down hard on his chest. Thane shifted and rolled away just as she brought her foot down, throwing her off balance. He struck her other foot with a blunt kick, bringing her down to his level.

“Fuck!” she shouted as she crashed to her hands and knees. Immediately, she began to crawl away, working her way back up to crouching, trying to stand again.

Until he grabbed her around the ankle and began to pull her back towards him. “No you don’t,” he grunted as he dragged her thrashing body, preventing her escape. “Why do you wear these shoes, Shepherd? They are quite impractical for walking, much less a fight.”

The Shepherd stopped thrashing and allowed him to pull her nearer while answering, “Have you seen what they do for my legs and my ass?” He had, he could see it right now. “Besides, they serve a function.” She pushed her hands up under her body and flipped herself onto her back. She drove the hard, narrow point of her heel hard into the musculature just below his left shoulder.

He growled and nearly bit his tongue. 

Evil, demon of a woman. 

The stiletto ground against sinew and bone, the pain sending a flash of white static through his vision. He dropped his grip on her leg, and groaned as she pulled her foot free from his shoulder, centimeter by visceral centimeter.

The woman scurried away, standing and disappearing around the corner in the hall at dead run. 

He stood and tested his shoulder, it seemed that she managed not to tear any ligaments or tendons. He could move through the pain. Thane darted off after her, “Running away? That is very unlike you.”

“No … ugh … just looking for a change of scenery,” he heard her breathless and grunting reply from down the hall heading towards the elevator. As he neared the hall, he saw her forcing the doors open and pulling herself up and into the empty elevator shaft. He followed after, fully expecting her to be waiting at the next floor to push him to his death down the shaft.

But she was not there.

Instead, a small ceramic saucer came flying at him, a projectile sent from inside of the truly ridiculous, large double doors leading into the boardroom. He ducked below it, but didn't see the next saucer, until it struck him right in the side of the head. The ceramic shattered against his scales, and he could feel the stinging heat of blood gathering on small cuts.

The Shepherd was standing on the board room table, an enormous expanse of wood cut from a singular tree, stained and sealed with resin. She pulled her foot back and kicked a holo-conference terminal, sending it sailing towards him. Thane leaned to the side, easily dodging the awkward projectile.

He balled up his fist and pulled it back, gathering biotic energy before releasing it. It sailed into her and sent her sprawling to the surface of the table. Paper, more saucers, and a datapad or two went scattering out from under her fall. He jumped onto the table, rapidly closing the distance. 

She crossed her ankles around one of his legs, pulling him to the surface of the table. Their fight turned into something more akin to a schoolyard brawl. They traded sloppy, awkward blows, rolling back and forth on the broad meeting room table.

Suddenly, she had him pinned, pressing hard into the wound on his shoulder while she reached for the belt secured around her leg.

Thane wrapped his right hand over her face and pushed her head back hard, and grabbed her wrist with his other hand as she attempted to stab him with the knife that had been hidden on the inside of her thigh. He pushed up while she pushed down. She shifted her head and snapped her teeth around the base of his thumb hard enough to draw blood.

He bared his teeth at her and growled. Thane shifted his weight and wrapped his leg over her hip, with her knife-wielding hand still held firmly in his grip, he pulled her down close just before rolling over her. He sat fully on her abdomen, preventing her from rolling and thrashing.

She clawed at his throat with her free hand, curses quickly turned to animalistic cries as she struggled to keep her grip on her precious little knife. Much of her hair had come loose, splayed out in messy tangles around her head and cheeks. Blood seeped from a bite mark on her lip and her eyes burned with fury, and perhaps, fear.

Thane wrenched the knife from her hand and threw it off to the side. It hit the tiled floor with a sharp, metallic crack, but was immediately forgotten as the woman returned to clawing, scratching and hitting him with every ounce of energy she could muster. And it did hurt. He wrapped his hands around her slender wrists with crushing strength. She let out a guttural cry and twisted at the abdomen, trying to free herself. Her legs scrambled to find purchase on the table and push him up from on top of her, but all she accomplished was scraping deep ruts into the resin coating on the wood.

He gathered her wrists in one hand and brought them down hard and awkwardly just above her head. He brought his other hand to her throat, the buttons of her collar long since pulled free during their struggle, and he paused.

Beneath his fingers, the smooth, but too long line of the scar taunted him. It was thin, almost surgical in its precision, but cruel. His cruelty, not hers. 

His heart skipped while hers thundered beneath his ghosting touch. Her chest rose and fell so rapidly, she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Genuinely.

The Shepherd looked up at him with those wide, terrified eyes of hers. She let her head fall back to the tabletop, exhaled, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Just do it, Thane. You win. Better this way, wouldn't want it to be anyone else.”  Silent tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. “The last time, right?” she asked with a choked, pitiful laugh.

"No," he said, frozen in place with just the barest contact with her skin.

Her breath hitched and her eyes flew open. Impossibly, her heart began to beat faster, breaths came out in short, fast bursts from her nose. "What? Fuck, don't drag this out!” She cried out. “Just snap my neck, or shit, strangle me. Plea-"

Her confused protestations were silenced when his lips covered hers in a bruising, searing kiss. She gasped and he released her hands. Just as he was pulling back to ask her if that was alright, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and brought him back to her lips.

In seconds they were consumed by each other, psychological games, anger and violence all but forgotten in the blinding heat of raw, pent up desire. The way she moved and how they were suddenly undressed was dizzying. His memories of the softness of her skin and sweet melody of her voice could never compare to the satin plush of her thighs gripping his waist, or the sounds that tumbled from her mouth.

By the gods, the sounds she made. They were healing waters from the wellspring of her lips. They were quiet, keening mewls, breathy gasps, and those hushed moans pressed against his lips like mumbled prayers. And oh, the way she whined when his teeth scraped against the delicate curve of her throat. He was drunk on the way she breathed his name with muted fervor.

His world turned upside down, and the cool surface of the table met his back. Loose tendrils of her hair brushed his scales as she moved over him. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, forming the perfect silhouette of ecstasy. The muscles in her stomach slithered and writhed with the hypnotic rhythm beneath his hands.  

He was lost in the intoxicating, feverish warmth of her. 

It crested, they existed on the edge of a corona, just before falling over the edge into the crushing gravity, and all-consuming, plasmic bliss. It surged through him like an electric shock and stole his breath, made his fingers tingle like her skin held a static charge.

She collapsed on top of him, the full weight of her small body pushing what little air was held in his lungs out with a groan. The Shepherd laughed, breathless but musical. “It happened again,” she muttered against his chest.

Thane wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to him and carding his hand into her hair, and drawing gentle circles between her shoulders with the other. She shivered, goosebumps rising beneath carefully filed talons. Her fingers traced lines over the soft ridges of his neck. He stared up at the ceiling above them, struggling to control the surge of confused emotion mounting inside of him. “It did,” he agreed quietly. “Will you tell me your name?”

He could feel her muscles tense, and her shoulder blades drew close together before she released the tension with a sad sigh. “No,” she started and then hesitated. “My real name belongs to someone I’m not anymore. Call me Sophie, always liked that one.”

“Sophie,” he repeated into her flower scented hair.

“There isn’t anyone else. To love or to hate me,” she said suddenly, somehow disarming him again.

“You have me,” it rolled off of his lips too easily. She did that to him, pulled his guard away and rendered him loose with his affections and tongue.

She’d probably try to kill him right now. Tear him apart with biotics, or reveal that she’d poisoned some innocuous part of the office that he touched. Maybe that absurd lion’s head door knob at the entrance to the office. Maybe even the heel of her ridiculous shoe. That’s how this usually went.

Instead, she raised her head and looked at him with tired, quizzical eyes, “To love, or to hate me?”

“Perhaps, it is both,” he responded honestly. Maybe the gods knew, because he certainly did not.

“We can figure it out the next last time,” she said with a small smirk playing at the corner of her bruised, cut and perfect lips. “Assuming we don’t kill each other first.”

He returned her smile with one of his own. “I would not want it to be anyone else.”

[bargarraninc]

the child of a traitorous thane; musings on sleep no more's porter

SON He has killed me, mother. Run away, I pray you! [Dies.]

— Macbeth, Act IV. 2

There is a certain beauty to the Porter's character in Sleep No More — for he exists only in the transitional space of the Lobby, a minion of Hecate meant to set up the important scenes through which the looping tragedy of Macbeth will continue to flow. Without him, Banquo is not given the letter holding his prophecy, Malcolm never learns of the falcon shot down, the prophecy cannot take place.

The Porter is loop-aware — there is a consistent deterioration in the character as the show goes on, everything becoming harder and harder for him to deal with. Throughout setting up the scene for the next magical cycle, he is well aware what his actions lead to. It is why he tries to stall Agnes from going upstairs, to where he knows she will be put through the harrowing ordeal of tear collection by Hecate. He tries to keep her safe, failing each time.

Another party that he desperately (moreso than with Agnes) tries to keep safe is Lady Macduff, the innocent murdered for sins not hers in any manner. This is the most intrusive we see the Porter — as he tries to bat off Danvers and her poisonous milk, milk he knows will render Lady Macduff incredibly vulnerable and thus easier to kill.

In Shakespeare's Macbeth, the chief character who attempts a similar, desperate protection of the Lady and who too fails is the Lady's young son. Stabbed to death by the Murderers, her son cries to his mother — begging for her to run away, abandoning him in his last minutes as to save herself from a similar fate. Reversing the traditional parent-to-child protection, the kind we see with Banquo and Fleance when they are attacked, here, the child must be the protector.

Every loop, our Porter fights off Danvers and loses, watching Lady Macduff grow weaker in the aftermath of drinking the accursed milk. He then hears her death, tortured by its violent sounds as he hides in the lost luggage space, desperately trying to distract himself. Then, everything resets again, actions supplemented by his own hands and he continues to live this harrowing loop again and again and again. Why?

In my eyes, our Porter is not only Hecate's lost child in the forest but also the lost son of the Macduff's. The child doomed to protect his mother. After all, Fife is a wooded area.

The Porter is actively putting himself through the loops, losing himself to the inertia of Hecate's endless time magic, out of a deep, child-like hope that this time, he will be able to set things aright. Maybe, it will be this loop, just one more each time, that he will be able to protect his mother from the brutal fate she suffers. Just one more try. Hope keeps him centred as he hands away the note for Lady Macbeth to Danvers, moping in the phonebooth, knowing it will restart his suffering.

There is more substance in the performance to support the Macduff Child theory —

When Lady Macduff is murdered, something he is intimately aware of and scared by, the Porter hides himself into the Lost Luggage. He leans into childish methods of comfort, making paper boats and busying themselves playing with it, even if the boat is made of a tearful letter to his tormentor that he knows will be ignored. Some Porters even tear up at the noises, cowering closer to the counter.

The Porter only emerges from Lost Luggage when not only the murderer Macbeth but Macduff too is gone. In Macbeth, the only conversation we see between Lady Macduff and her son concerns her worriation that her husband is a traitor — abandoning her and her children in a place which he himself finds too dangerous to stay in. There is little affection lost for Macduff on the end of the Porter. He waits for him to be gone, only willing to put himself through the torment if it is to comfort his mother, to give her her coat. His traitorous father, gone again to protect the son of another.

Lady Macduff's messes are cleaned up with a gentleness the Porter shows little of to the other residents (bar Boy who he is in love with) who pass like storms through the Lobby. As he collects her strewn clothes, the Porter dons them with a childish glee, resembling more than ever a child rifling through their mother's cupboard, finding something that makes them feel beautiful. The clothes are collected carefully and packed away, her coat is kept safely hooked. Her presence in the lobby, even through just her abandoned possessions, is looked after gently.

You can never know the true story behind the residents of The McKittrick — for those are secrets they keep close to their hearts, lost in their chosen silence. But, this personal retelling of the Porter's story as I understood it is one I can share easily and so I do. My poor Porter, my poor poor Porter.

[sol-consort]

Well, Solas and Gaia kissed (I locked in the solas romance), and it was good, and now he calls me "my heart" occasionally and I like that but I'm still waiting for him to crack my back like a glow stick and shove his magic staff up my coochie wizard style. But also, I feel guilty because I'm planning an "exit strategy" by flirting with Cullen in case things go bad so I can rebound with Cullen in case anything happens. I mean, everything's going good rn (almost too good 🤔) but, I've seen so many people saying that the Solas broke them and even you warned me about him so I'm scared, like I'm extra sensitive I cry watching max and ruby, I cried when Ashley and Shepard reunited in me2, I cried playing Andromeda becauseit was set 6000 years after the og mass effect trilogy. My point is I get heartbroken really easily, so I'm worried, I'm shaking in my boots, I'm clutching my metaphorical rosary, waiting for something to go wrong. If I was smart, I would probably leave at the first sign of trouble, but knowing myself, I will probably stick it out for the angst and then complain about it later.

AN EXIST STRATEGY i can't

honestly, I'd be lying if I said i don't do the same thing. Always keeping a side hoe in case things go south with the main babe. That was Jacob for me in ME2, I went as far as his romance allowed, broke up with him, then dated Garrus as far as his romance allows, broke up with him, then finally locked in with Thane. Man, that is one awkward ship crew I tell you.

I'm trying to like Cullen but it's...eh. Like a human noble is his ideal partner and guarantees the best ending but I'm not getting the appeal about him. He's like Any other frat fuck boy, except his frat is the templars with a strick moral code. You can go to any bar during football season and spot 7 of him there.

Maybe I just don't know him enough well? Josephine's comment stuck with me, the law of instrument one "If the only tool you have is a hammer, it is tempting to treat everything as if it were a nail."

Also, because it's EA and Bioware, I'm lowkey worried his romance will have reinforced gender stereotypes, and I'll be treated as The Wife™

Kaidan romance didn't have that problem, but he was soft and into stronger women, Idk if it's applicable here. I swear Cullen's insta following page would be filled with those "alpha" type pages who post about "cultured men" and "embrace your inner sigma" I also installed a mod to give his face a slight tan bc he looked like uncooked raw chicken breasts. And shiny new armour.

For now, I'm flirting with Casaandra and having the time of my life. The flirting is basically me gawking at her swinging swords so powerfully and her getting flustered and saying nonono it's nothing special. She's an idealist with a kind heart I'm on my knees. Also new armour mod.

Josephine might be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and her cleverness. Oh my god. I want her biblically. I installed so many pretty dress mods for her! I cycle through them and feel my soul heal whenever I visit her. She's the one I like most so far, I might lock in with her after taking a spin or two around.

[adventures-tamriel]

Tamrielic Characters of mine based on three separate but sometimes entwining stories.

Runnar Grimsvalk of Falkreath.

Born in the lands of Falkreath Hold, Runnar is the second born of fraternal twins, born a mere minute after his brother, Gunnar. It seems a minute was all it took. As Runnar grew, it was clear that he had inherented less than his brother. Gunnar was more charismatic, stronger and was generally well regarded by the people of Falkreath. Runnar had raven black hair and a pallid complexion while Gunnar was the spitting image of their father, blonde and tanned. As brothers are prone to do, Gunnar picked on his dark twin, usually calling him Draugr-Twin. Gunnar would eventually regret this name.

When both boys were 12, their father was called to war by the Empire, the war versus the Aldmeri Dominion. Their father never returned from that war instead an imperial of commendation arrived. The twins were raised by their mother but, as Gunnar looked so much Ike his father, their mother gave most of her attention to the blonde twin. More and more resentment grew like a plague in Runnar's heart.

Five years passed and the Stormcloak rebellion had been going on for a few years now. The family had lived on the border between Falkreath and the Rift, in the shadow of the Throat of the World. Stormcloak patrols had been seen coming from the Rift, burning farms and houses of any Nord that was loyal to the Empire. Runnar and Gunnar, both on the cusp of manhood, had just returned from hunting deer. Dark smoke rose from their home and the brothers ran. As they arrived, they found a Stormcloak patrol stood over their slain mother. Their mother still clutched their father's imperial medallion. The twins ran, the patrol of seven men chasing after the boys. During the run, the young men became separated.

Runnar ran until his chest burned, seeking shelter in what he thought was an old ruin. Runnar crouched in the archway, gulping down pockets of air. The rotten wood under his feet gave way and plunged the young man into darkness. Having lost the patrol and his brother, Runnar hid as he found he was the only one alive, but he was not alone. Draugr stalked the halls. Runner hid and watched. Three long weeks past as he hid, watching the dead men. Fear turned to curiosity and then to admiration. As Runnar hid along the tomb, he found a terrible tome. Empowered but the tome and his own desire to live, Runnar found his way out of the tomb. He found his eyes had changed, glowing blue like the undead he admired.

Runnar did not return home. Instead, using murder, he acquired a suit of armor and sword and began his life as a sellsword and explorer. Runnar searched the tombs of Skyrim, searching for more necromantic power. Eventually, he came together with a beautiful necromancer. As the two sought a strange power, necrotic fire, they were brought into conflict with a man, a thane of Whiterun. It was there the twins saw each other again. It was there that their rivalry became deadly.

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 6 - BLOOD

The bones shiver in the steaming light of the sunset; the Dragonborn sits down hard on the ground.

She is glowing, still. She is glowing, power flaking off her skin and running like lightning through the tangled maps of her veins, head swimming. Her ears ring with it; her lungs burn. Her body coils around her, heavy and mismatched as if all the joints are on backwards, and she can’t even begin to imagine how to move the thing – she can’t do anything but stare at the dirt with her hands braced hard against it, like something rooted, some ancient thing having grown out of this spot for thousands of years, for an age – and she’s never felt so at home in it, her own incongruous skin. She could topple a tree with the flick of a finger. She could set the world alight with a thought. She could step straight into the sky and rise beyond anything anyone’s ever seen.

Just as soon as she remembers how to lift her head.

Dimly – through the unsettled buzzing in her ears – she hears swearing.

Then she’s back in it, a bit, honing in on the sound, remembering – where is she, what is she doing, what does she have to do next? It’s a voice she knows. She manages a slow, sticky blink; it pulls on the taut skin on one side of her face. Another. Another.

It’s so bright and she feels so alive.

“I didn’t –” the voice says; stops. A strange rustling of the grass. “Damn. I guess it’s really true.”

Then Lydia – the Dragonborn remembers – sounding breathless. “We did tell you.”

“You told me, in all fairness. She didn’t – hey.” The voice stops, for a moment; the grass rustles closer. The Dragonborn blinks again, fixated on the damp grain of the dirt, the grass against her hands. Her sword – where’s her sword? The voice says, “Hey, there. You alright?”

It’s Delphine, that’s it. She remembers. It’s coming back. It’s receding. Where’s her sword?

“She’s fine,” Lydia says easily, and there’s a metallic clank, and the Dragonborn still can’t lift an armoured arm, a shaved head, still can’t look for her sword. There’s a light behind her eyes and every breath is golden and like both times before she’s holding onto it for as long as she can, the fizzing energy ricocheting around inside her. Her body may as well be made from glass. She’s lit up from the inside. She’s still glowing. Closer now, Lydia says, “We’ve fought how many dragons together now, Thane?”

This is the second; she already knows that. Third, but Lydia hadn’t been there that first time. Her head is swimming. It’s strange to think; it feels like Lydia has always been there, gnarled around her like moss growing out of the cracks in a wall.

Another clank sound, and the Dragonborn remembers her own armour. Maybe that’s why she feels so heavy. “Just give it a little time,” Lydia says, and her hands sink into the soft earth.

“All right,” says Delphine, and for a little time, there is quiet.

The Dragonborn lifts her head. Light washes, incomprehensibly bright, across the sky; red as flame and glowing, the dim end already glimmering with stars. The bones have stopped shuddering, now; they lie inert and empty, twisted massively across the earth, a monument. Wreckage. They’re beautiful, she thinks. It’s a shame the scales peeled away when it burned – she remembers the colour of them, like fog cut into sharp-edged gems. It was a nice colour. They’re always nice colours.

She blinks. The bones, laid out over the ravaged ground of the hill, the broken, singed husks of the nearby trees, the too-bright glow of the sky. Her body hangs heavy around her. Maybe it’s the armour. Maybe she should take it off. She considers saying something about it, but she can’t dredge up the words. Can’t find them. Can’t find any – but her fingers curl with irritation when she realises this, so at least she’s moving properly.

“Hello, Thane,” Lydia says, and her arm extends into her field of vision, holding her sword hilt-first. Thank you. She takes it, tucks it back into the frog strapped to her back; it takes multiple tries. She almost stabs herself in the shoulder once. But it’s fine. She can’t imagine it would hurt; can’t imagine being hurt. She doesn’t think she ever has. Doesn’t think she ever will.

Delphine, gravel-voiced, asks, “Do you want –”

A pause, and then Lydia says, “Not yet.” The sound of her voice comes closer. “Thane. Have you noticed you’re covered in blood?”

She had not noticed.

But when she looks down it’s very, undeniably true. She’s dripping in it – half-dried in viscid strips to the creases in her palms, staining the smooth metal of her breastplate, peeling so dark it’s almost black from the lined lame of her faulds. She raises a hand to check if it’s in her hair, and someone makes a strange half-choked noise. She ascertains that it probably is. It might also be on her face.

“She’s not hurt,” Delphine says. “We would know.”

The Dragonborn looks at the hand raised over her face, its thick, clotted smears of blood, and she brings it to her mouth to lick it off. (Whoever makes a noise next makes no effort to quiet it.) It tingles against the roof of her mouth, tart and metallic; “It’s not,” she manages, the words battling into the front of her mind, “mine.”

She promptly falls silent again.

There is a moment of silence. “Well,” Lydia says, “it’s going to rust your armour. We need to wash it off.”

That’s true. It’s very good that she has someone who thinks of these things. The Dragonborn drags herself up to standing and starts walking.

Starts – and stops, stumbles immediately, her steps too heavy and her body still reeling. Her companions catch her, hold her up, and she looks at each of their faces in turn. They glow round and bright as the slow-rising moons. She marches them onward.

“Where are we going?” Delphine asks, wary, but the Dragonborn has said three words and that’s three more than her limit, so she drags them on and they hold her up. She wonders if her skin is burning their fingers. It feels like it should be. She’s getting blood on their hands.

She marches them through a copse of trees to the narrow silver ribbon of a river, lying snakelike over the ground. She hasn’t seen it before, but she knows it; rapid-running but not strong, only deep as the bend in her legs – no, waist-deep. Her body shudders around her and she almost falls again, scuffing her feet against the soil of the banks.

“Thane,” Lydia starts, but she’s already peeling away from them and wading into the river. The water soaks her to the skin; it’s helpful, in a way. Pressing all against her body, so she can feel it from every angle, so she knows where it all is. The bend of her joints; the limits of her flesh. When she falls, the water holds her up.

Momentarily, at least. Her armour is even heavier soaking wet.

She stands again, clumsily, water running down her face and dripping dark from her eyelashes. She just catches the tail end of a laugh from the riverbanks; and she has just enough control of her body, just enough presence of mind, to turn to look at them so they can see her gleaming face.

The Dragonborn stands waist-deep in the running river under the sunset glow of the sky, watching the water around her darken, a bloody halo. She scrapes the stubbornest dregs of gore off her skin with her fingernails, scrubs the dripping plates of her armour with the heel of her hands. When she gets out of the water, Lydia will help her take off the armour, hand her the soap, and make her wash again while she dries every metal-plate piece. Energy thunders around behind the visceral shape of her musculature and bone. She is small against the frothing waters, but she feels endless; she thinks she could encompass the world, she loves it so.

[kookaburra1701]

1, 5, and 18 for Calder :3

From the asks here! Calder the housecarl will be answering for himself. :)

1. Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?

"Most beautiful is easy--the Aalto! The mineral springs come in every shade of green and blue, and there are very few farms so the wildflowers never get plowed under. Not that people haven't tried to grow crops there, but other than jazbay grapes, nothing else takes hold. It's easy to see why the valley is where Kyne's sacred forest is: the caves that shelter the Eldergleam tree are there, and game is everywhere.

"Now that I'm a housecarl with the court of Windhelm, I'm permitted to take game from Kyne's forest. My favorite pastime is hunting in the morning, and having a soak in the hot springs afterwards before heading home.

"Most dangerous...there's a lot to choose from in a place like Skyrim! I was going to say the 7000 steps, because so much of the time you're climbing with a sheer cliff on one side and an ice wall on the other, and one wrong step could send you over the edge! Then there's the caves and tombs, and ruins...those are filled with all sorts of nasty traps and other things that will have you dead before you hit the ground if you don't keep your wits about you. "But I suppose the place I'm most on edge...is the College of Winterhold. Thane Khemor would hate to hear me say it, but the place is awful. There are students flinging spells at each other--I almost caught a fireball to the face once when I was coming around a corner--the bridge is only passable if you've got a way to melt the ice and ward away the wind, so if you're not a mage you'd better hope you can convince one to let you ride their robes across."

5. Would they be able to live off the land if they were lost in the wilds of Skyrim? How skilled are they at foraging and hunting?

"I suppose I could keep from dying, depending on where and what time of year it was. I know the game and wild forage decently well in Eastmarch, where I grew up. In the Stormcloaks I learned a lot about reckoning my location, how to set up a camp so that it is well hidden, that sort of thing. But I always had my fellow soldiers around to share duties. I suppose Falkreath or Riften in the Summer would be easiest to live in the wilds, but if I was stranded alone in the ice fields between Winterhold and Dawnstar I'd be a meal for a frost troll before too long.

18. What is their stance on taking a life? Do they kill without a second thought, in the name of a god or daedra, or do they adhere to pacifism?

"To tell the truth, it depends...the first time I killed a man it was in a skirmish with an Imperial patrol. If I'd had anything in my stomach I would have been sick. But he was about to stick a spear in me, and all those hours of drilling with the commander came in useful. I didn't even think about it until later when I realized I needed to clean the brains and hair off my axe. But I don't think I could ever be a headsman, or anything like that. Just...killing someone helpless and begging for their lives, even if they deserve it, would be more than I could take. Even though that Corrium man killed so many women, I had nightmares about his execution for weeks after.

"Now that I'm a housecarl, there's much less call for me to actually go killing people...usually just standing behind my thane and scowling is enough to get anyone giving us difficulty to back down. But Gregor and I still train every day. We have to be ready to fight to defend our thane and his family at any moment."