#blame a certain Scheming Wretched Man who has some very evil plans and then some more >:)

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

WIP definitely not Wednesday!

Hi, hi, hello, it's been a long time since I last did a WIP Whenever, but I wrote a lot today and I'm quite happy with myself! Things have been quite hectic currently, but words are finally word-ing so I'm grasping the chance to share a lil' something about ch22 of TPATD...👀

They lie there in silence, as still as a held breath, for what feels like forever. Miraak could stay beside her this way as long as she wanted him, till the rain ceased, till the sun came out again, or not at all. Or—or he could tell her stories from his childhood, those long nights in Atmora before the frost set in. He could tell her about roaming through Frostwood Forest, guided only by the moonlight that carved a ghostly path ahead of him; with shadows, both eerie and fantastic, lurking behind the dense cypresses and spruces that inspired him to spin epic sagas in his head and sing the fear away. He could recount how he found his shelter upon the snow, just as he does now with her, gazing up at the sky and counting the stars, always searching for the Lodestar that’d guide him home. He could describe how his own father sent him to hunt for the family in that unforgiving wilderness, ignoring—or perhaps choosing to ignore—that a boy greener than summer’s grass would likely fall prey to nature’s violence and never find his way back to Jylkurfyk. Tonight, he’d tell her anything. For her, he would at least try; no matter how it hurts—how it hurts to remember. But Jia rises to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. The rain and snow have soaked her through her garments, and wet strands of red hair cling to her forehead and cheeks like open wounds. After a little while, Miraak stands up with her. The relentless thunderstorm doesn’t spare him either, but it does little to physically affect him, as the First Dragonborn’s skin is more than resilient to it—it’s made by it. He’s unsure, when he unfastens his cloak and approaches her from behind until he stands tall above her shoulders, for the way she shrinks, jostling her head to the side to check the soft crunch of the sleet underfoot, is the blatant tell of her lingering turmoil. One small step more, and he freezes—her cold body trembles against his chest, yet she doesn’t otherwise pull away. Instead, she remains there, quietly seeking any warmth she can find and shivering helplessly. The little fool is too proud to ask for it aloud. As if a confirmation to his doubts, his arms instantly enfold around her, pulling her close as his cloak cascades over her, and he holds her there, his hands balled into fists upon her bosom. A shaky sigh escapes her when she senses his faint silvery stubble grazing her damp cheekbone, his voice murmuring in her ear—deep and rhythmic as always, like the chime of ancient church bells, so much so that when they sound, it feels like she converses with a God. “This... is no mere storm,” he tells her like he could divine the scrolls of the heavens right this very minute. “This is a growing rage that has been building up for a long, long time, and it had to be unleashed all within an hour. These clouds—racing wild across the sky and pouring out of their bellies all this rainstorm—are but rags torn by the hand of a wrathful god.” Her resolve begins to falter, the cracks in her armor showing. His gaze shifts to her, and he speaks in the language of their souls: “You have been brave tonight, soul of my soul. But you need to pretend no more... Not with me.”

Poor Jiraak... They truly live up to their "Soggy Kittens™" name with all this thunderstorm drenching them both... It's okay though, it's hot.

Okay, so, I'm tagging: @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @thequeenofthewinter,

@miraakulous-cloud-district, @oblivions-dawn,

@blossom-adventures, @hircines-hunter and everyone who wishes to share something—don't forget to tag me back so I can see it! 💖 No pressure of course!