#i cut out 1100 words on this already

[wovenintosilk]

Stubborn

Received a request through a reblog for something related to Miguel's fangs. It's not exactly focused on them but they're definitely part of it!

No Content Warnings

GN!Reader

Word Count: 1100

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“Get your fingers away from my mouth. Are you a child?”

You pouted and withdrew your hand, thwarted in your attempts to sneakily lift the corner of your boyfriend’s lip. “I want to see them,” you defended. “They’re so nice to look.”

“If you’re that bored, I will find you something more productive to do,” he reminded you and twisted his face further from your reach. “I’m not in the habit of allowing people to lounge around my workspace for the fun of it.”

“Can my something productive be getting you to smile?”

“Absolutely not.”

You sighed and sank further into your chair, head tilted back to the ceiling you stared at far too much. “You said you would be finished with this by now.”

“It was a possibility but it required far more attention than I expected. It won’t be much longer.”

Miguel’s desire to be busy never surprised you. From the day you’d met him to the day you kissed him for the first time, you always understood why he obsessed in the way he did. It didn’t hurt you but you worried – more about his own health than anything else.

When was the last time he’d even eaten?

“You know, I actually do have a job to get done,” you said. “I’ll be back soon. Try not to get too big of a headache by scowling at that screen.”

“I know.”

The grumbled words didn’t help your concerns. You cast a glance over your shoulder in his direction. The harsh artificial lighting of his office highlighted how he hunched over his work, shone off his suit in a piercing way.

It really couldn’t be good for him to stand like that.

Your first stop took you over an hour to reach and you still didn’t doubt for one second that Miguel would still be working on your return. Though he cared little about food quality lately, you insisted on getting him something healthy and what you knew he would enjoy.

If it took you ages to find, you didn’t mind too much. You knew it wouldn’t impact on your plans going forward.

Around the side of Miguel’s office, a few wires connected just behind a broken section of the wall. You had to hold your breath to squeeze half into it in order to reach them.

“This is a very bad idea.”

You jumped, hit your head against the wall in your startle, and groaned in the unexpected pain. Lyla watched with a humoured smirk from where she’d appeared, projected out of your personal watch.

“It’ll be fine,” you said. “He won’t even know it was me.”

“He will,” she corrected. “But that’s not what I’m worried about. I know you can handle Miguel yourself but I think you shouldn’t play with electricity.”

“When you asked me to get him to take a break, you should have known I’d need to resort to some extreme measures.”

She sighed and waved a hand for you to continue. You squeezed your way further in so you could reach the wire that fed his office and a few of the surrounding halls. Hobie showed you it wouldn’t turn off the rest of the complex when he did it last time as a joke.

“I’ve already backed up everything he’s working on. If he throws you out, I take no responsibility for it.”

You grinned cut the wire. Everything plummeted into darkness around you, computers shut off loudly and the ever-present hum stopped. You grinned proudly and dropped your cutter back into its space before you headed to the office.

You realised one of the main problems when you walked through the doors and spotted him on his platform. The one that wouldn’t move now without electricity.

“Wow,” you said loudly. “Can you believe the timing of this?”

He turned slowly. The silence stretched thickly between you, your smile a match for his glare. Lyla was right, he knew exactly what had happened.

“Either you have to come down here or find a way to get me up there,” you called. “Because I can’t reach you otherwise.”

You held up the food right as a bright web attached to your chest. It pulled you forward and lifted you into the air as though you weighed nothing. It might not be the first time it had happened to you but you’d never really get used to the sensation of being dragged around.

He steadied you when you landed, his hand rested on your arm until you gained your balance back. His lip curled up ever so slightly as he waited.

“I brought food,” you said and sat down in your chair.

“What did you do?”

“Went a ridiculous distance to get this for you,” you noted. “Do you know how far this place is? And then I got back and the power disappeared. Had to walk here in the dark.”

“Do you know how busy I was? How much you may have gotten lost?”

“I’m sure Lyla managed to get it saved. You can take a break while she finds the fault.”

He loomed above you, leaned down and opened his mouth ever so slightly. Finally, you had an opportunity to see those massive fangs you loved so much. You loved his habit of using them to intimidate. He didn’t even do it purposefully.

“You can’t really be blaming me for the electricity,” you said.

“I’m not stupid.”

You finally placed the packet of food aside, reached up and grabbed the front of his suit so you could pull him closer. You used your free hand to cup his jaw, ran your thumb over his bottom lip. Those fangs really were beautiful. What you’d give to have them showing more often…

“I need you to take a break,” you said. “It might take a while to fix. You may as well give your body a small rest, okay?”

Before you let him go, you pressed a small kiss to the underside of his jaw. He leaned into the touch just enough to let you know you’d been somewhat forgiven for your meddling.

He took the food from you, muttered something about stubbornness, and listened as you spoke about everything you’d been waiting to tell him.

[colleendoran]

Neil Gaiman's CHIVALRY: From Illuminated Manuscripts to Comics

One of the many reasons I wanted to adapt Neil Gaiman's Chivalry into graphic novel form was to create a comic as a bridge and commentary re: comics and illuminated manuscripts.

We're often told that the first comic book was Action Comics #1 featuring Superman, a collection of Superman comic strips that morphed into comic books as an art form.

Sequential art predates Action Comics #1.

Action Comics popularized sequential art book storytelling that had already appeared in other forms in fits and starts throughout history. Comic books didn't take off as a popular medium for several reasons, not least of which was the necessary printing process hadn't been invented yet and it's hard to popularize - and commercialize - something most people can never see. 

You find sequential art in cave paintings and in Egyptian hieroglyphics. I've read that comics (manga) were invented by the Japanese in 12th century scrolls.

And sequential art appears over and over again in Western art going back well over 1000 years, and in book form at least 1100 years ago.

The most obvious example of early sequential art in Western art - as a complete narrative in sequence - is the Bayeux Tapestry. 

At 230 feet long, this embroidered length of cloth was likely commissioned around the year 1070 by Bishop Odo, brother of William the Conqueror. It depicts the Battle of Hastings in 1066 and the invasion of England by the Normans. (The tapestry was made in England, not in France, but it is called the Bayeux tapestry because that's where it is now.)

Imagine what a task it was to embroider this thing. Whew. And you thought it was hard learning Photoshop.

This work of art is important in the history of sequential narrative, but the Norman invasion is also important to the legend of King Arthur - and another important English legend - for reasons we'll get into later. 

It's complicated.

All this is why you see this art in the background of this page of Chivalry.

Using the Romanesque art style of the tapestry in panel 1, I've added the Latin phrase "Rex Quondom, Rexque Futurus" - "The Once and Future King", the final words of Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur as inscribed on King Arthur's tomb, and the title of T.H. White's famous Arthurian novel.  (EDIT) and it has been kindly pointed out to me that QUONDOM should be QUONDAM, which is hilarious and annoying and this is how history gets rewritten by accident.

My original intention was to draw this Bayeux Tapestry scene out and juxtapose it with shots of Galaad interacting with the children, but the two page sequence I imagined didn't really work as well in reality as it did in my head. 

Foremost among my concerns was that the tapestry reference might be too obscure for most readers. I wanted to weave the visual meta-text of Chivalry into the story (For further reading on this project and my use of visual meta-text, symbolism, and history in Neil Gaiman's Chivalry, go HERE. And HERE. And HERE. And Yet again HERE.) in such a way as it would enhance the experience for people who "got" the visual meaning, while not dragging things down for people who didn't. So I cut this scene down to one panel.

The tapestry is a complete, long form comic strip created over 1100 years before some people claim comics were invented. So, I loved being able to reference it here.

But even more interesting to me are the sequential art sequences that appear in illuminated manuscripts - comics in book form.

I once got into a rather vicious argument with an academic who insisted illuminated manuscripts were comics. I said no. She said yes. Then she insulted the lowly comic artist and blocked me on Facebook.

Whatever.

My point was not that you can't find sequential art in illuminated manuscripts. My point is that an illustrated book isn't de facto a comic. Most illuminated manuscripts are illustrated books. Some illuminated manuscripts contain sequential art.

Just because opera is music, that doesn't mean all music is opera.

Just because comics books are books that doesn't mean all books are comic books.

And just because some illuminated manuscripts contain sequential art, that doesn't mean all illuminated manuscripts are sequential art.

But one is.

Let me show you it.

One of the earliest examples of an illuminated manuscript with comic art is The Bible d'Etienne Harding which you can see in this really bad jpg here, sorry, best I could find.

Created around the year 1109, property of a French Cistercian monk, it combines sequences like this with pages of text and illustration.

Not a comic book IMHO, but an illuminated manuscript with sequences of text, illustration and sequential narrative.

It's no more a "comic book" than a newspaper is for having text, illustration, and comic strips in it.

IMHO, academic lady.

And here's a look at the Old English Hexateuch (hexateuch refers to the first 6 books of the Bible) which I think is far more visually complex and interesting work, and comes much closer to the illuminated manuscript as comic, but still intersperses large sequences of text and illustration with sequential storytelling sequences. So I don't consider it a comic, but a book with sequential work in it.

Now this work below is a different matter. This is from the Holkham Bible Picture Book, circa about 1330.

This thing is genius. It measures a little larger than a modern comic, around 8"x11", and almost every page of it is like this spread here. 231 pages of beautifully rendered art, with repeated use of banderoles - "speech scrolls"  (basically word balloons) -  and captions, and (mostly) real sequential art. I've never seen anything else that comes even close to it, and by all accounts, neither has anyone else. 

It may not be a modern comic book - but it's a comic book as far as I can tell. I don't think there's any other illuminated manuscript that is as complete, sophisticated, and innovative a sequential storytelling work.

If this were printed and seen by more people, the comic book medium would have taken off centuries earlier, IMHO. But it wasn't. It was tucked away in a monastery somewhere and few people ever saw it. It ended up being forgotten for centuries until it popped up again around 1816 when a banker sold it to an avid book collector, Thomas Coke, Earl of Leicester, who inherited Holkham Hall and its library and set about restoring and expanding it. 

The banker wrote, “a very curious MS. just brought here from the Continent. . . which I think one of the greatest curiosities I ever saw”.

Sequential art got invented over and over and over by one artist after another until one day centuries later, some teenaged boys found their newspaper strips gathered together in a cheap format, and suddenly comic books were popular and like new.

And then a lot of people who didn't seem to realize that books had had pictures in them for centuries got all up in arms about the harms of books with pictures in them.

I think it's funny that it is called the Holkham Bible Picture Book. There really was no "comic" art language when this work was created or when academics began to catalogue this sort of thing. Will they change the name now?

Who can say.

Anyway, another Holkham Bible Picture Book reference for you.

Look familiar?

I referenced it in this scene in Chivalry.

One of the fun things about the Holkham is that it opens with a discussion between a friar who has commissioned the work and the artist. The friar admonishes the artist to do a good job on the project because it will be shown to important people. And the artist responds, "Indeed, I certainly will and, if God lets me live, never will you see another such book."

He wasn't kidding.

You can see the entire manuscript HERE. 

Sponsored by my Patreon. Thank you.

[ashen-char]

brace yourself

ship: amber freeman (scream) x fem reader

warnings: some jokes about blood/murder since its amber yknow, not much tho

summary: after getting braces, you feel insecure about it. your girlfriend amber reassures you about it

word count: 1100+

notes: requested here. thank you <3 i dont know too much abt braces but i hope you like it regardless

Awkward would be the first word that jumps into your head about how you're feeling right now. Your mouth feels weird, your lips and cheeks feeling crowded like there's suddenly not enough space in your mouth. You can't help running your tongue over the brackets and wires as your orthodontist speaks to you. He's telling you about how to take care of them, what foods not to eat, things to avoid. You're not really paying attention. Instead, you nod along to pretend you're listening when internally all you're thinking about is whether Amber would totally hate it.

When you had told her about the possibility of you getting braces, you couldn't really read your girlfriend's reaction. Amber was a big part of why you had grown to accept your old smile. She had made you confident in something you used to hate when you were younger, always telling you how much she liked it, always trying to make you smile so she could see it.

Your orthodontist hands you a pamphlet that sums up all the care he was describing, and after thanking him you stuff it into your pocket. That's when your phone buzzes with a text from Amber.

Hey, babe! Can't wait to see u. How was it?

You take a deep breath and type back quickly. Walking out of the clinic, you get into your car. You two had planned a date for after your appointment so that Amber could treat you while your gums and stuff were still all achey. It's cute how much she wanted to take care of you.

ah it went alright. give me a few? omw to pick you up

You catch sight of yourself in the rearview mirror. You flash a smile to inspect how the braces look, if it's really as different as it feels. The braces are clear as day in the bright pink you chose, like they're mocking you. You had picked a colour you liked in hopes that it'd cheer you up but maybe that was a bad idea.

Sitting on your driver's seat, you think about Amber's perfect smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she laughs. What if she notices the braces first thing? What if she thinks they’re ugly? Or what if she'll be disappointed that they're just... different?

Your thoughts are interrupted when Amber texts back. There's no time to worry about what she'll think - she'll see you in a few minutes whether you like it or not.

Getting changed. See ya mwah

Sighing, you buckle your seatbelt and turn the ignition key. There's no stalling when Amber's waiting for you.

By the time you pull up in the driveway of her house, Amber is already waiting at her front door. She lights up upon seeing you, walking out to your car before you even had the chance to go to her front door.

"Hey, babe," she says, sliding into the passenger seat. "How was the orthodontist?"

"Hey. And fine, I guess," you answer, barely even turning to look at her. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should go in for a kiss like you usually do. You've heard these stories about braces getting stuck together when people made out, or the brackets cutting lips. You don't wanna hurt Amber.

You hadn't even realised that you were pursing your lips shut until Amber calls you out on it. "What's with the frown, huh? Hiding them from me?" she asks teasingly.

"I-" you go to argue back, but inside you know she's right. It might have been unconscious but you didn't want her to see yet. Didn't want the opportunity to be judged.

"It can't be that bad," Amber says. "Come on. You haven't even kissed me hello yet."

You bite your lip. "I'm just nervous to kiss you with these," you mumble, still trying your best not to talk too much. "I dunno how to. It could scratch you or something."

Amber rolls her eyes. As if something that small would prevent her from kissing her girlfriend. She goes to playfully nudge your arm. "I'm tougher than that. Kissing you 'til I bleed sounds kinda fun, actually. Kinky."

You can't help but to smile at her playful tone. Amber made you forget that you were trying to keep your lips from parting too much. "I should've known you'd say that."

When you speak, Amber goes to hold your face in your hand, holding your jaw to keep your mouth open. "Ah, don't close 'em again. I wanna see!"

And well, you're a simp so you tend to do whatever your girlfriend wants. You feel your cheeks heat up as she studies you, your mouth pulled to a smile to show them to Amber.

"Cute. Pink," she notes. Amber tilts your jaw, looking at you from every angle. "You're always cute."

You avoid her gaze. When she has your face tilted back to look directly at her, relief flows over you when you can see she's being genuine. She likes it. She still thinks you're cute. "Shut up," you say, but you're smiling now.

"Is that all you were worried about, babe? Can I get a kiss from my girlfriend now?"

It's not like your nerves can go away with a few words. As much as she says it's OK now, you don't wanna ruin kissing her. You don't wanna scratch up those soft pillowy lips you love kissing so much. But still, Amber always gets what she wants. And if she thinks a little bit of blood would be hot, well so be it.

"Alright," you breathe out, weak to how she's cupping your face. "If you do it softly. Don't scratch yourself."

"Don't tell me what to do," is her jokey reply. Still, Amber closes the distance, pressing a soft and tentative (on your end, at least) kiss to your lips. You’re hyper-aware of the braces, but her kiss is gentle, careful, and all your fears of metal mishaps melt away. When she pulls back, she’s smiling, her eyes sparkling. “See? Not so bad, right?”

You laugh, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Not bad at all.”

"Were you seriously nervous?" Amber laughs. She swats your arm, thinking you're ridiculous. "As if you could be anything but cute to me. Why would I care about some braces?"

"I dunno... You think the others will say anything?" you ask, of Amber's friends.

"They're not gonna laugh. And if they do, I'll knife em' in their sleep for ya. You know me, babe. I wouldn't let anyone make fun of my girl." Amber smirked, her trademark dark humour helping lighten the mood. She squeezes your thigh in a show of quick reassurance before going to do her seatbelt. "Now hurry up and take me out, I'm fucking starving."

[pipsyy]

roommate! hamzah, part 2

hamzah x f!reader smut! lowkey sub!hamzah.

hi everyone! i wasn't expecting this much support on my first story, so thank you so much for all the kind words and likes <3. if anyone has any requests for me to write about, please message me!

summary: this is a direct continuation, right from where part 1 left off, and i hope you all enjoy.

warnings: smut! smut! smut under cut! please do not read if you are under the age of 18.

word count: 1100

“Hi,” you say, giggling breathlessly as you came face to face with his growing length. 

“H-hey,” he managed to stutter out. Hamzah’s eyes were wide and glossy. He let out a small whimper as you touched his sensitive cock. It twitched once, then twice, as you caressed it in your hand. You dropped to your knees in front of the dark-haired man and he looked as though he was about to faint. His mouth was dry in anticipation and he licked his cracking lips. You placed a soft kiss on his tip, already dripping in pre-cum. He whined.

“Is that good, baby?” you asked him, in a soft, sultry voice that you didn’t even know could come from your throat.

“Mmh,” he responded, nodding his head aggressively. You licked the underside of his cock once and he shuddered, already almost threatening to spill his load everywhere. You began kitten-licking his tip, grabbing the rest of his length in your hands. Hamzah didn’t know what to do with his hands, but opted to put one in your hair, tying it up into a make-shift ponytail. Slowly, you took his entire length into your mouth. He was big and you were unable to take him all without gagging. You began moving your mouth up and down his length and Hamzah led out a heady groan, head tilted backwards towards the ceiling. You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, feeling the thick vein that ran from the tip to the base. You suppressed the gag that threatened to escape your lips as you nuzzled your nose against the thick, curly hair at the base of Hamzah’s cock. You inhaled his scent, as you let him begin to use your mouth however he wished.

His hips were beginning to stutter, as he grabbed your hair tightly, guiding your mouth along the length of his cock. He let out a flurry of groans and whines, eyes alternating between squeezing shut and staring down at you taking his length. Doe eyes wide and innocent, you held eye contact with him, hollowing out your cheeks, and he let out a long moan. You felt his cock twitch in your mouth and you knew he was close. Abruptly, you pulled your mouth off of his length with a pop, and he let out a whine at the lack of contact. 

“W-why’d you stop?” he asked, voice high-pitched and breathy. You didn’t respond, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and standing up. You pushed Hamzah towards the bed, pushing him down to sit on the edge. You moved to straddle his thick thighs, rubbing your uncovered pussy on his hard, wet length. His hands moved to roughly grip your waist and you intertwined your fingers in his hair.

“I want you inside of me,” you whispered into his ear. Hamzah shuddered at the contact of your soaking wet pussy moving along his sensitive cock. The way he was so turned on from not even being inside your cunt made your core throb with desire. 

Arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly close to him. You rub your wet folds along his member, before reaching behind you and lining his tip up with your soaking hole. You slowly sank down on his length, the stretch was blissful and you let out a long whine. Hamzah groaned into your chest. 

“Holy fuck,” he stuttered out. “S-so good. You feel so good, baby.” You slide up and down on his cock, feeling the stretch deep in your core.

“O-oh my god,” you whine. “You're so big, Hamzah.”

“How the fuck have we never done this before?” he whispered into your chest.

“You never asked,” you responded. Hamzah tugged at your t-shirt, reaching underneath it to caress your bare waist. His touch was like electricity, sending tingles throughout your back and down your spine.

“I wanna…” he huffed out. “I wanna-”

“Use your words, baby,” you responded, enjoying how fragile and delicate he was beneath you.

Hamzah’s face reddened, and he spoke, mouth buried in your shirt. “Wanna see your tits.” You giggled, before reaching down and tugging your t-shirt over your head. The air was slightly chilly and your nipples instantly hardened. Hamzah’s eyes widened as he came face to face with your tits.

“H-holy shit,” he said. “They’re so much prettier than I imagined.” He grabbed them in his big hands, massaging them slightly.

“You’ve imagined my tits?” you say, laughing slightly.

“Hell yeah,” he responded. “The other day, when you wore that tight little shirt out to dinner and your cleavage was showing…shit. The second I got home I had to jerk off. Fuck…I came so quick, imagining cumming all over your pretty fucking tits.”

Your face instantly reddened at his breathless confession. He began thrusting up into you, making your tits bounce with the sheer force of it. You let out a long moan, head tilted back, as he hit a particularly sensitive spot deep within your cunt. “S-sometimes,” he continued. “When I jerk off to you, I’m loud on purpose, hoping that you’ll hear me and come help me.”

“S-shit, Hamzah,” you whispered. He latched his pretty red mouth onto your tits, sucking one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. You let out a high-pitched whine as your hips undulated against his. Hamzah reached down to rub your clit. You felt yourself coming closer towards release. “I-I’m close,” you whine.

“Me too, baby,” he responded, voice rough with desire.

Your breath became heavy. Hamzah rubbed your clit harder and faster, at the same time hitting that sweet spot deep inside. You came with a cry---white, hot light taking over your vision. Your orgasm washed over you and you clung onto Hamzah’s broad shoulders. Seconds later, Hamzah gripped your waist tightly and you felt his cock twitch inside you, spurting his seed deep within your cunt. He groaned deeply, head buried deep in your chest. His hips stuttered to a stop and you both sat there, completely still, coming down from your conjoint highs. Hamzah looked up at you, pure adoration present in his completely fucked-out expression. He smiled up at you, reaching up to wipe away the traces of saliva that adorned the corners of your lips. You smiled back. 

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Hi,” he responded, breathless. You giggled, moving your hand to sweep his curly hair back from his sweaty forehead. “Are you okay?” he asked, hands still gripping your waist.

“Yeah,” you responded. “I’m more than okay. Are you?”

“Never better.”

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Domestic life

Azriel's week: Day 4

Hosted by: @azrielappreciationweek

Word count: 1100+

Four broken ribs and numerous cuts and bruises. It felt just as bad as it was. Madja mended your broken bones, so you could at least breathe even though it still hurt. The rest would eventually heal on its own.

Azriel took you back to the House of Wind as soon as Madja allowed you to leave. He gently placed you on bed and looked around.

"Where can I find some proper comfy clothes for you," he asked trying to look anywhere but you.

It was only then you realized you were almost completely naked, few pieces of cloth hardly covering your intimate parts. "Over there," you pointed to small dresser under the window. Heat was burning your face and you wished you could hide somewhere. However at the moment you were glad you at least managed to remain conscious.

Azriel carefully opened one drawer after another warily examining the content. Finally he drew one of your favourite plushy shirts and soft sweatpants, your underwear hanging from his fingers of the other hand. You gasped, utterly mortified. You were more than sure that after this you wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes. Never.

Looking ashamed he turned to you and stepped closer to the bed. You would give anything in the world to be able to change on your own. You even considered asking him to call for Mor or any other female to help you, but he overtook you.

"I won't look. I promise," he murmured, face as red as yours.

"Ok," you mumbled, averting your face to the other side.

Azriel was so damn tender. All the time he was looking elsewhere as he promised while his hands lightly roamed over your body, collecting the fabric scraps that used to be clothes. The touch of his fingers was so light that you wouldn't feel it at all if it weren't for the sensitive bruises that covered you from head to toes. He was done dressing you up in no time.

"Do you need something?" he asked softly, looking down on you with still pink cheeks.

"I'm fine," you mumbled.

Azriel reached to the shadows and pulled out steaming mug. "It's tea from Madja." You accepted the mug and with his help drank it up. In an instant you became very sleepy. "Rest well," were the last words you heard before you dived into the realm of dreams.

You didn't have dreams, not real ones, maybe just one, but you weren't sure if it was dream or reality. You didn't remember it clearly. It seemed you woke up for a moment during the night and saw Azriel sitting next to you on the bed, squeezing your hand. He cried repeating the same words over and over. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault." You didn't know what happened after that because at that point the scene vanished. Maybe it was only dream after all.

You woke up in the morning and found Azriel in an armchair he shoved to the bed. He was reading pretty thick book, totally absorbed in the story. Even thought you already saw him with books in hands, you had never seen him actually read them. It was interesting sight. His features were way softer and he looked young and handsome and attractive and.. sexy. You shook head to get rid of the last thought. You shouldn't think about him that way.

The shadows rubbed against his ear and his eyes immediately shot up to you. He closed the book and put it aside.

"Hey. How do you feel?" he asked leaning closer. Now you could see dark circles under his eyes. He looked so tired. No doubt he sat there all night watching over you.

"Well, I feel like beaten dog, but except of that I'm good," grimacing you sat up. Shadowsinger pursed lips and the gesture reminded you of the strange dream. Looking at him you could see just tiredness and nothing else, so you decided to forget about it.

It took just few days until all your wounds and bruises healed. Azriel spent most of the time talking with you or reading his book in your room. You were curious and asked him what it is about, but his cheeks only turned pink and he didn't want to answer nor show you the book. Every member of inner circle came to visit you bringing books and sweets. Cassian even brought you his famous smoothie every morning. When Rhysand came to visit you except of his excessive care you got a work ban for entire month. No matter what you said he refused to change his mind. And so you sat in your room and didn't know what to do with so much free time.

A light knock that you already knew well, sounded on the doors and Azriel peeked in.

"What are you going to do today?" he asked.

"I have no idea. I'd like to go to library, but when I tried it yesterday, Clotho sent me away because of Rhys and his ban," you grunted.

"I'm going to the city. Don't you want to join me?"

"And what are you going to do? Because if it's going to be spying on someone, I'd rather stayed out of it. At least for some time," you grinned.

His jaw tightened, but he looked amused. "Nothing like that. I think you will like it." And so you went with Shadowsinger.

He led you through narrow streets for some time, finally stopping in front of small shop with lovely looking door and windows. Pleasant smell emanating from inside, made your stomach rumble.

"Where are we?" you asked.

Azriel hesitated and his wings rustled as he tugged them closer. "It's my favourite place that I like to visit when I want to have some rest from others," he muttered sheepishly.

You couldn't believe it. He looked more like the type of guy spending his free time at pleasure hall than in lovely cafes.

"Are you sure it's okay for me to know about your hideaway?"

"This isn't the only place I like to visit. I have others too," he smirked. "So shall we go in?"

"Sure," you grinned. Azriel held the door open for you. The place was so nice and cozy. You loved absolutely everything about it. Azriel ordered tea and four different cakes that you shared together. Even staff seemed to be friendly with scary Shadowsinger, so he really had to visit here often.

After that he took you for a walk, showing you some small, but beautiful and quiet gardens you had no idea that existed.

Thanks to Azriel you had a splendid day, not even once missing the library or books. You returned to the House of Wind tired, but happy and soon fell asleep.

[tribalchief2112]

Hatred: Part 1

Roman Reigns X Laylani Andrews (Black OC)

Word count- 1100+

Warning- 18+!!! Swearing and no smut yet

First time writing….

Not proof read

For aslong as you could remember, you and Roman hated each other. From the moment you stepped foot onto Smackdown, up until now, 3 years later, you two despised each other. You couldn’t even recollect where the shared hatred between the both of you had stemmed from. All you knew was that you couldn’t stand the man that the fans called the tribal chief. His ego, his cockiness, the way he strolled around the building as if the world revolved around him made your blood boil. However, you couldn’t deny his good looks, he way his muscles flexed during his matches, how his silky hair sat perfectly every time he walked past you.

As good looking as Roman was, his attitude was not up the the same standard.

As you two walked past each other in gorilla, your eyes would lock with his, a look off utter distain and disgust spread across your face. Both of you scoffing to yourselves when the moment was over.

Back stage when you were talking to Jimmy or Jey, Roman would march over as if he owned the stadium and interrupt your conversation, shooting daggers your way as if you had no right talking to his family.

Backstage when you two were within even 6ft feet of each other you’d be arguing constantly until someone eventually separate the pair of you.

Your bestfriend Biana was convinced that you two were in love, but were too blinded by the apparent hatred you both shared to realize this. She was deluded. You couldn’t stand Roman, he couldn’t stand you, and that was that

____________________________________________

After a grueling match against Becky Lynch Laylani (Lay Lay as her friends would call her) sat in medical, an ice pack against her bruised ribs and stitches being applied to her cut eyebrow. Becky had gone all out on their no DQ match tonight but that didn’t stop Laylani from pulling out a win.

Just has her stitches were about to sewn, someone burst through the door, their eyes immersed locking with LayLani’s.

‘‘Fuck are you doing in here,’’ Roman spat, as irritating clouded his face.

‘‘Don’t burst in here asking stupid questions Reigns, what the fuck does it look like i’m doing asshole?’’ Laylani retorted.

‘‘Don’t start with that shit today, I ain’t got time for you and your mouth. Just hurry up and get out the chair,’’ Roman stated as the crease in his forehead deepened and his grip on the door handle became tighter, causing his knuckles to turn white.

‘‘ I know you ain’t coming in here tryna boss me about after you’ve been stuck in the locker room doing fuck all. Go get that wise man of yours to sort you out and get out my face,’’ She yelled as Roman came further into the room.

The tension in the air was almost palpable as The 6ft man stormed out the room in anger. Lani sucked her teeth and continued to ice her ribs, letting their sudden altercation play out in her head. This man thought the world revolved around him and expected everyone to just bow down for him all because he was the ‘Tribal Chief’. Laylani was having none of it.

After the show had ended, Lani headed to the locker room to shower before heading back to the hotel. She tied her curls up in a pony, careful not to get her hair or her eyebrow catch the steaming water that cascaded down her body. After she had finished getting dressed, she fished out her phone from her bag, only to find that Bianca (who Lani was supposed to be carpooling back to the hotel with) had already left due to some kind of emergency. She suppressed a sigh as she knew now she had no choice but to get an uber back, which was always a struggle post show.

Lani gathered all her belongings and strolled out the exit of the stadium, trying the get an uber on her phone but to no surprise, none of them were running. As a headache began to brew within her, Lani sighed heavily and decided to just wait it out until and uber eventually became available.

10 minutes has passed and still no uber, but soon after, a car pulled up infront of her and rolled down the window. To her annoyance Roman sat smugly in the drivers seat of the jeep, eyes fixated on Laylani.

‘‘Just get in, we’re going to the same place,’’ Roman stated, his face stoic.

A laugh fell from Lani’s mouth as she clutched her ribs, a mixture of pain and humor engulfed

‘‘ I’d rather walk the 2 hours then sit in that car with your bitchass,’’ She spat, wiping a tear from her eye.

‘‘Oh for fuck’s sake Laylani just get in the car, everyday you wanna be complaining in my ear. We’re going to the same place, it ain’t no issue,’’ he stated, his voice getting louder with each word.

Lani stood there for a few seconds, contemplating what could go wrong. The two of them, trapped in a confined space for an 1 hour. She was sure one of them would end up dead, and it wasn’t about to be her. After a few more seconds she finally gave in, putting her suitcase in the trunk then getting into the passenger seat with her back pack.

The ride to the hotel was scarily quiet, neither of them utter a word, nor did the look in each other’s directions.

30 minutes later, they arrived at the hotel, the both of them retrieving their suitcases from the trunk and entering the hotel together without a word.

As the got the front desk, they both checked in, but as Lani received her key card and was finally about to head to her room, she heard Roman next to her disputing with the receptionist. Somehow, there has been a mistake with the bookings and all the rooms were fully booked.

In the heat of the moment, Laylani blurted out ‘‘You can stay in my room,’’ immediately regretting her decision.

‘‘What?’’ Roman questioned, as his face laced with confusion

‘‘It’s the least I could do after you drove me hear, now hurry up before I change my mind,’’ Lani countered.

She didn’t know what took over her, why on earth she offer to let him stay with her. It was hard enough then passing by each other at work without an argument starting, but this? This was insane. The both of them, cramped in a tiny hotel room for the night. This had bad written all over it.

After I silent ride up to the elevator, they made it to the room room and got settled. Lani retreated to the bathroom, changing into her silk pajama set and begging her curly hair routine. She doused her curls in water and added a styling cream throughout her hair, fingercoiling each strand until her hair sat perfectly.

She finally exited the bathroom, walking straight past Roman and sat on the bed, her face expressionless. Only when he fled off to the bathroom to shower did let out a loud sigh and grab her phone to text Bianca what was happening. It had suddenly hit her that she will be sharing a bed with the man she despised, and she had no way of getting out of it.

____________________________________________

Please let me know if you guys liked it😭😭😭

Might turn this into a series who know

Any fees back is greatly appreciated!!!

[porcelainmortal]

Happy Friday! How about some firstprince and 🩵 Turquoise: Magic? 👀

Thank you for the ask @myheartalivewrites!! I am sorry this took so long, but, well... it is a bit long. This "ficlet" clocks in at 1100 words and I cut it down so many times, but alas. It's a fat ficlet. I hope you love it just the same!! 💕

Selena Martinez, in her little shop below a Jewish deli in the East Village, told a somewhat lost Alex that his dream job was in New York City. Not two months after finishing school in D.C. did Alex land the perfect job. And he hadn't even applied; a former professor of his had recommended him to a colleague in the city and they'd called and offered it to him. It was like magic.

Alex never believed in psychics – mediums, tarot cards, crystals, Ouija boards – it was all a bunch of bullshit in his book. But, he'd visited June in New York City two years ago and she'd brought him to a psychic she swore would change his life and fuck if she wasn't right.

So, now two years and two months after moving to New York, Alex is heading back to Psychic Selena, as he affectionately calls her, to ask about his love life. His time on the New York dating scene has confirmed exactly two things: 1) he’s definitely bisexual and 2) dating is exhausting. He intends to ask Selena where and when he might meet the love of his life.

Selena is exactly as he remembers; a thick Spanish accent, long, somewhat untamed hair, and lots of jewelry. She reminds him a bit of his great aunt on his dad's side. And Salma Hayek. She's a true Bruja, June says, and Alex trusts her. 

She greets him at the door and gets right down to business.

“I'll need a personal item,” she says, holding out a hand. He had to do this last time, too, so he hands her the key from around his neck again. Last time she had commented how it pulsed strongly with his energy and commended him on his choice. She doesn't dole out the same praise this time and part of him wilts a bit in disappointment. 

She steps over to a table against the wall and starts arranging some items. 

“You're not going to read my cards again?” He asks nervously. 

Last time she had just wrapped his key around her wrist, shuffled some tarot cards, and did a fairly quick reading. Alex had worried about how much June spent on it until it turned out to be worth every penny.

“Soulmate magic is a bit more complicated.”

“Soulmate?” Alex asks. “That's a real thing?”

“Mhm," she nods, spooning loose leaf tea into a small teapot. 

“Does everyone have one?” 

“No,” she says, peering at him sideways. “But you do.”

Alex’s heart thuds.

“And you can help me find them?”

“If you're meant to. Seeking the unknown is a risk, and if it’s too soon, this won’t work.”

“Oh,” Alex replies dumbly. Knowing he has a fucking soulmate out there is not helping his impatience.

She stirs the tea in careful circles, murmuring in Spanish that's too low for Alex to hear. He waits, trying not to fidget anxiously. 

“Drink this,” she says eventually, turning to hand him a cup.

“I'm really more of a coffee guy,” he says, staring into the dark brew, which seems to almost shimmer like she'd dropped edible gold dust in it.

“I must read your tea leaves,” Selena explains with a wave of her hand, sitting down at the table opposite him. She takes out her tarot cards and begins shuffling. 

He drinks the tea, which surprisingly tastes pretty good. It's a bit earthy with a hint of something citrusy and almost grassy, like matcha. Alex hated matcha when he tried it once, as a way to curb his coffee addiction, because he thought it tasted like a freshly mown lawn, but this is more of a refreshing flavor. It brings to mind warm summer days at the lake and clear blue waters he wants to swim in.

He downs the tea quickly because Selena has now placed a bunch of cards on the table face down and is eyeing him with thinly veiled impatience. When he hands over his mug, she looks into the bottom of the cup. 

“Oh,” she says with some surprise. “This man is already in your life.”

“He is?”

“Mhm.” She puts the mug to the side and places a few more cards down on top of the other ones. She begins flipping them over, humming quietly to herself a bit before speaking. “You have worked with this man. He is likely tall, fair-haired–”

“So it's not Regé-Jean Page?” Alex jokes. Selena levels him with a look, shutting him up immediately. 

“I get the sense he is not American,” she continues as she flips more cards. “Perhaps descended from royalty.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say royalty?”

“Mhm,” she responds, not looking at him. “You don’t know him well but he seeks you out.” She taps a card.

Alex looks over the cards and recognizes a few from June’s dabbling – The Lovers, the Ace of Cups, The Sun – but Selena doesn’t explain the meaning behind each one. She points to a few here and there, talks about the symbolism of the suits and the body language of the characters, and Alex tries to keep up. She concludes the reading with a soft smile.

“You have a long and happy future with this person, if you commit to loving them. You are twin flames, made for each other in every way.”

“Wait– you said ‘him’ before and now you’re saying ‘them.’ Is it a woman or a man?”

“All signs indicate this is a male lover, but I can’t be entirely sure, you understand.” 

Alex nods, taking back his key when she holds it out to him and looping the chain around his neck. He gets up and heads toward the door, but something stops him. He turns around.

“You said I have a soulmate before you even started the reading.”

“I can sense it in your aura, your soul crying out for its other half.” 

It nearly makes him want to cry. Alex has never considered himself incomplete or missing something, but he has always wished for someone who could understand him and be his true match. Like Nora and June. He exits Selena’s shop and steps onto the sidewalk. 

“Oh, pardon me,” a voice says, as someone exiting the deli knocks into his right. Alex turns in surprise, his reply dying on his tongue as his eyes land on Henry Fox, someone he met briefly through work about a year before and has seen only in passing since then. Alex takes in the tall, blond, British man with eyes like a clear blue lake and– oh. Oh. He smiles.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Virginity

Only mild suggestive content for this <3

As every month, it has been an honour and a joy!

Prompt: Virginity -First Kiss

Pairing: Turgon x Finrod

Words: 1100

Warnings: Virginity, Seduction, work relationship, questionable power dynamics

Finrod was about to call it a night. He’d taken his coat and had dutifully tidied his desk to leave everything spick and span for the long weekend ahead—thus padding along the old, horrifyingly tiled hallway leisurely, he suddenly caught a sliver of light cutting across the worn floor like a blade.

For a moment, he hesitated.

After having squandered most of his youth with wonderfully enjoyable and entirely unregretted frivolities, he’d grudgingly accepted a post as a teaching assistant at the local university to placate his worried family.

Initially, Finrod had not intended to stay here long, but the surprisingly young and sinfully handsome professor he’d been assigned to had inadvertently convinced him to linger in this wholly inappropriate career for longer than he’d ever stayed in a previous job.

Pressing his lips together, he knocked on the door. Probably, he thought, Turgon had merely forgotten to turn off the lights—stupidly hoping and dreaming that he’d find himself alone with his bewitching superior on the deserted campus, as he well knew, would only lead to bitter regrets that might well ruin his enjoyment of the long drive ahead of him.

When his eyes hit the figure, bent intently over a stack of papers, Finrod suppressed a tremulous sigh.

Of course, someone as diligent as Turgon would never leave the light in his tiny, orderly office burning or omit to lock the door.

Finrod’s overactive imagination bolted, flooding his head with deliciously devious visions of utter depravity at once.

He cleared his throat awkwardly—he knew that he shouldn’t, by rights, even be here, disturbing Turgon in his late-night musings, but the idea of being caught gawking at the other man was more mortifying than to announce his trespassing brazenly.

“Oh? I thought you’d left already,” Turgon gasped when he lifted his slightly blurry gaze and tried to get his eyes to focus on the golden apparition of youthful beauty standing in front of him. “Is there a problem? Is the gate stuck again?”

“No, I…I didn’t make it outside yet,” Finrod admitted. “I saw light in your study, and I wanted to check whether…”

He didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence.

“Indeed,” Turgon said with a discreet cough after a moment of prolonged silence. “I thought you had plans for the long weekend?”

“Don’t you?” Finrod burst out, letting his eyes sweep through the room before settling his sparkling gaze on the stern, statuesque visage of the enigma that occupied and tormented his thoughts more often than he cared to admit.

“No,” Turgon admitted. “My family does not have a summerhouse by the sea.”

Something—presumably the thing that had driven him halfway across the world and from one adventure to the next—reared its reckless head deep within Finrod’s soul.

“You’re very welcome to join me! You work too much, you know? Some strong cocktails and sweet kisses by the ocean would do you good.”

“Kisses?” Turgon asked sharply.

Under the merciless glare of the overhead fixture, it was cruelly evident that his face had heated up with either anger or embarrassment.

Sliding closer, Finrod grinned charmingly. “Yeah, kisses. You know what they are, right? Otherwise, I spot a dictionary just over yonder—I can fetch it for you.”

“In theory, I’m familiar with the concept,” Turgon replied tersely, drawing up his shoulders defensively.

“I have a sister, brothers, and some of my cousins might join us,” Finrod smirked. “And—if that’s not too forward an offer—there’s also always me.”

Again, Turgon coughed. The sound betrayed definite nervousness now, which only emboldened Finrod further.

By now, he’d managed to wedge himself between Turgon and the blasted documents he kept perusing blindly as if to anchor himself.

This extraordinary feat of flexibility and grace had been achieved by purposefully throwing one long leg over the chair, to which the other seemed rooted, while pushing aside the paperwork with his perky behind.

“Have you really never kissed anyone?” he purred into Turgon’s ever so slightly pink ear.

“Maybe nobody’s ever bothered kissing me,” the captive professor murmured defiantly.

“Highly unlikely. Nevertheless, that can be changed. Would that please you? After all, your wish is my command, boss.”

Turgon’s head snapped up sharply, and he immediately lost himself in the sea-green depths of Finrod’s gleaming eyes—he found that he longed to take his mouthy assistant by his word and accompany him to the seaside to drown in that cool, sparkling colour.

“I’m waiting,” Finrod hummed gently.

“Very well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess,” Turgon said, realising too late that he was babbling—an undignified habit he thoroughly despised—and closing his mouth just in time to feel warm, soft lips brush playfully against his tingling skin.

Finrod, he learned, smelled like summer and sun, and his lips bore the faint taste of the disgustingly sticky candies he ate all day long.

Bracing his feet against the carpeted floor and surging up, Turgon dove into that careful kiss with all the unleashed, uncontrollable hunger of a man who’d been denied such a bounty for too long.

“Come with me,” Finrod pleaded, toppling off the desk and into Turgon’s lap with a muted moan. He would not have cared if they’d fallen over, because even the idea of cracking open his skull against the old, rusty radiator was a risk he’d have taken if it meant that he’d get closer to that tall, firm body he’d thus far only ever touched in his most outrageous, unprofessional dreams.

“I don’t know about these things,” Turgon whimpered as he felt Finrod’s daring hand slip between their bodies to trace the bulge of his growing arousal teasingly. “I’ve never…”

“You’ve been so good to me,” Finrod interrupted, punctuating every word with another nipping kiss. “You’ve taught me the ropes of this job. Let me pay you back—I’ll be your teacher this time.”

The incredulous expression on the other’s face made him guffaw aloud.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be more patient and upbeat than you’ve been. Please, dear Turno, say you’ll try. For me. With me!”

Mirroring Finrod’s ministrations of literal prestidigitation, Turgon bit his lip when his fingers found his teaching assistant fully engorged and straining against the smooth fabric of his light-grey trousers.

He was not only welcome—he was wanted.

Stronger minds and souls than he had succumbed to the siren call of unequivocal, unabashed desire, Turgon knew, and so he felt blameless as he ultimately nodded slowly.

“Is this your letter of resignation?” he asked, regret and anticipation warring within his heaving chest.

“Yes.”

-> Masterlist

@tolkienpinupcalendar Here's another one from me <3

@fellowshipofthefics let's finish with a cute one: First Kiss.

[jacketkiszka]

Pretty Boy

Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT 18+ Dom!jake, unprotected sex, praise!kink, oral (m. receiving), overstimulation

Word count: 1100

You found yourself watching the time waiting for Jake to get back from the stage. Shortly after the last song on their setlist started, you had left your place in the crowd to wait for him as he had requested. This was nothing new, Jake often asked you to wait on him in his dressing room so that he could see you afterwards, while the energy was still flowing. His energy tonight, however, was different than you’d ever seen it. He had been gaining more confidence as the tour progressed but tonight the Jake you saw on the stage was not the Jake you were used to. Jake rarely wore makeup but when he did it always boosted his confidence, so you had convinced him to try it for the show tonight. There was nothing to be worried about, you reassured him. You had a feeling the fans were going to love it, and you were right. The crowd was going crazy for Jake and because of it, he was putting on his absolute best show. Possibly the best performance you’d seen from him yet. Once Highway Tune came to a close, and the boys all said their last goodbyes, it was not long at all before Jake found his way back to the dressing room to find you, exactly where you had promised to be.

He slammed the dressing room door behind him and started ripping off his jacket. “Jake you were on fire tonight, that was the best-“ he cut you off with a stern “get on your knees.” You felt the blood rush to your cheeks and slinked off of the couch, dropping down to the floor without any question or argument. Usually Jake liked a little opposition, but you could tell how tonight was going to be when you saw the look in his smoked out eyes. Jake undid his pants and let them fall to the floor in front of you. His cock bouncing up to his stomach, already dripping with precum. He reaches down and grabs your chin, tilting it up until you meet his eyes. “I need you to be a good girl for me tonight. Are you going to let me do what I want?” You nod silently. “Use your words. Let me hear you say it.” “Yes sir,” you say softly. With a smile he caresses the side of your cheek before pushing his thumb into your mouth to pry it open. He taps your tongue with the tip of his cock a few times before pushing it as far as it can go into your mouth, holding it in place as a deep groan leaves his throat. He grabs the back of your hair to hold you in place as he begins to thrust it in and out, going as deep as he can every time. It doesn’t take long of him using your mouth before he reaches his high. His fingers grip your hair tighter and his hips falter as his praises and low groans turn into a jumbled string of fuck..fuck..fuck..fuuuck… and you feel his release run down your throat.

Normally that would be enough to get Jake’s post-show adrenaline out, so you’re surprised when he helps you off the ground and pulls you backwards with him until he’s on the couch and you’re above him, straddling his lap. He runs his hands down your sides and brings you closer to his body to whisper in the crook of your neck. “You were such a good girl for me. Always so good. I want to feel you. Please, I need more. Do you want to feel good, baby?” There was a desperation in his voice that you were not used to. You nod and grind down on his lap, his cock already growing hard again. “Needy boy” you hum, feeling him through the wet, thin fabric between you. He lifts your skirt up above your waist and pulls your panties to the side, teasing you with his calloused fingers before lining himself up and letting your sink down onto him. Still coming down from the sensitivity of his first orgasm, he throws his head back onto the couch and lets out a pathetic whine as you sink all the way down to the hilt. Once you’ve adjusted to the feeling of him stretching you out, you take over and start riding him, causing his eyes to roll back into his head. He holds onto your hips trying to keep himself grounded as he feels his second orgasm building. When you pick up the pace, he pulls you in harder. Meeting your hips with gentle thrusts as you lean back and put your hands on his knees. The new angle allows him to reach your sweet spot with every move. “You feel so fucking good baby… I’m so close… I’m so c-“ he manages to get out before slamming his head back into the couch and driving himself deep into you, completely losing control of himself inside you. His brows knitted and mouth gaped open with a strained groan leaving his chest. His fingers grip your hips so tight you’re sure you’ll have bruises in the morning but you don’t care. He moans your name so loud there’s no way anybody else still in the building wouldn’t be able to hear it. He feels you tighten around him as he fills you up. “Touch yourself,” he breathes, never slowing his pace beneath you. “What? Jake, you already-“ “I know. Please. I know you’re close. I want to feel you cum on me.” He’s straining, barely opening his eyes and fighting through the intense overstimulation. You start rubbing small circles on your clit, feeling him drive his cum deeper inside you. The sounds coming from him are almost pornographic as tears well in his eyes. “Please give it to me, baby. Please, I need you so bad” he whines, his black eyeliner starting to drip streaks down his face. He’s completely fucked out and lost in the pleasure. He can barely take it anymore but he doesn’t care. He can’t get enough of you. He moans your name again, this time sending you completely over the edge. Your back arches and your legs shake as you come down from the intense high. Jake loosens his grip on your sides, and pulls you in tight for a kiss. You lay your head in the crook of his neck, trying to catch your own breath while he settles down beneath you. After some time, you pull away and look down at him smiling. “What?” he whispers through a soft smile. “You look so pretty when you cry.”

[the73rdpostscript]

The Low of Your Life Will be Art Soon

Un-beta'd and unresearched.

(No. Seriously. I cannot emphasize enough how much I did not research the 1100s for this.)

Nicky sits at the table, staring blankly at the loaf of bread he meant to cut. Its a picturesque thing - a perfect shade of honey-brown with a sheen on top. They did well making it, but then again they've have years to get it right. And there are even more years ahead; more than he can comprehend at the ripe old age of 80.

He is not looking at the floor, keeping his eyes studiously trained on the bread and not the knife. Anyone walking in might think he doesnt know where the knife fell, but he does. It's all he can think about.

Nicky couldnt forget the knife anymore than he can forget the blood on the dirt or the way the little child had looked - pale and still.

Andromache had handled most of the social easing. She had spoken to the mother and offered comfort while Joe and Nicky had done the burying, and Quynh had asked the men of the village about housing.

So now they stay in this home - bartered for them and safe for the next season of labor.

They come and go from this place of safety while the child's body lays in the ground. And Nicky is here at the table, alive and unable to feed himself or his family because he cannot hold a knife.

They're on a self-imposed break from aiding armies. Andromache and Quynh spoke of building their trust and teamwork. But that is easier said than done now that chores have all been taken and evenly spread.

With four people and one home the work is lessened considerably. Before, Nicky could have spent the whole afternoon making enough bread for him and Joe to split, but instead they are already stocked for the next few days and he is here - staring at it instead of preparing it to be eaten. Which makes him both dangerous and useless.

"Nicky. Why is our knife on the floor?" Andys voice interrupts the wave of rising guilt and Nicky swallows.

"I'm punishing it." He tries, affecting humor where he feels none.

"What did it do?" Andy asks holding his gaze with her own and giving no quarter when he tries on a smile.

When he opens his mouth, no response comes out.

"Okay." She says, stepping forward and pulling him up gently by rhe arm.

"Andromache-"

"You're not doing yourself any good sitting here."

Leading him from the house, she shouts something unintelligible at Quynh where the other woman is sparring with Joe. Joe spares Nicky a questioning look, and Nicky tries to shrug but the gesture looks half insane as the yank of Andys hand throws his shoulders up without his permission. As they storm towards the village, Nicky sees Joe still watching him from the yard - clearly trying to talk to Quynh while he watches the two of them storm off.

"Andromache we have to eat soon," Nicky argues, walking along to keep up with her regardless of the protests hes making. He learned long ago that when Andy is moving you follow her and argue on the way.

"There will be food where we're going."

"Joe-"

"Is fine without you," She retorts, and the words shut him up immediately. She is right, after all.

So they march down the road for the mile or so it takes to get to town, where she directs him to a house hes never seen before.

A woman he recognizes answers the door and greets them both, welcoming them inside after Andy explains that they're here to help with the [bread making]

The woman - who kindly reminds Nicolo that her name is Anna - leads them inside and takes over where Andromache started, directing Nicky to sit in the open space on the floor. There, the two women on either side of him make tittering comments to themselves in the local dialect, too fast for him to catch. They show him what they're doing, and Anna occasionally calls out clearer instructions from somewhere else in the room.

It takes a full hour for him to feel comfortable with the motions, and another hour before they finish making enough. His arms feel well worked - the muscles unfamiliar with the small changes in an otherwise familiar pattern of motion.

Around him, the women talk and laugh. Every so often one of them will aks him a question, and they will all laugh or murmur at his awkward attempts to respond clearly. When the subject of his relationship status comes up, he thinks of sleeping beside Yusuf under the stars - traveling side by side. And he thinks of the disgust in Joe's eyes the first time they argued over the fire, the way his lip had curled at Nicky's defensiveness of his people - his fellow murderers.

He says none of this. He says he is still waiting for the right one, and the responding choke he hears from farther into the room alerts him to Andromache's presence. She's been settled into a chair by the window - working on something he cannot see with Anna. The look on her face is at once smug and indifferent - an expression Nicky has many times considered to be not dissimilar to how God might look at him if he could ever reach the afterlife.

The woman to his left - Elsa - pats his arm and finishes saying something about her very single daughter. Nicky feels himself struggling for an appropriate tone to respond with. But before he can try another woman in the group interrupts and he stays silent as the chaos rises and falls again like a wave - his own part in the process lost to the personal gripes of the community.

Its well past dark when they leave. Andy is quiet beside nicky in a way he has learned to interpret as content. It often baffles him, how easily she slips into comfort or ease - even in the midst of horrors or boredom. In some ways she reminds him of priests and Fathers. But then she speaks and he can't see any similarities at all.

"Thank you. For bringing me there."

"You're welcome."

They walk farther towards home before he asks "When did you set that up?"

"We always ask what may need to be done when we bargain."

And that stops him in his tracks.

Andy walks on a little farther, before pausing and turning to look back at him. One of her feet is still turned forward - pointing towards their temporary home.

"I have stopped asking," Nicky observes, feeling numb with the disgust for himself.

For the first few months that Andy and Quynh traveled with them, he asked incessantly about how he could help. It seems that somewhere in the past few weeks, he stopped.

Andy hasnt said anything since he stopped, so he clears his throat. "I've stopped asking how I can be helpful."

With a shrug, Andy says, "I hadn't noticed." And that revelation alone feels like a slap to the face.

He wants to argue - wants to ask how she didn't see his uselessness, his selfishness. But her face is serene in the moonlight, and it occurs to him that nothing he can say right now will matter much to her in the long run. These are only thoughts, only words and observations. Andromache values what she sees - what he does.

He can't say anything now to change his lack of action over the past few weeks. And even if he could it would only assuage his own guilt.

With a sigh, he begins walking again, and as she walks alongside him once more, he swallows the bitter taste in his mouth.

[ally-holmes]

Jeeves' absence

Day 21 of the 30-day short story challenge

Today's prompt was poppycock and so I did a Jeeves and Wooster fanfic again. The challenge is that make a story with less than 1100 words but this time I failed. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Summary: Jeeves has to be absent for a few days and Bertie is a mess.

CW: pre-slash, angst, comfort? Bertie spirals but Jeeves comes back earlier. Open ending because I want to expand it.

Words: 1225

Also available on AO3

Here it is:

The Drones Club was noisy that day. But Bertie, you may say, you have never complained about the behavior of the chaps before. I say, you are correct. However, when one's heart is miserable everything is a bother.

Allow me to express in these pages that yours truly is sighing in loneliness as he writes.

It all started that very morning when Jeeves had floated into my bedroom at the exact time I was leaving my slumber. He's great at that, you see. My Jeeves is the very best gentleman's gentleman. Usually, as soon as I sit in my bed he deposits the tea tray on my lap and proceeds to buzz around the room to get me ready for my day. Today, however, he stood beside my bed in silence. His face was stiff and cold, but I was well aware that Jeeves wanted to tell me something and was expecting the young master to press the subject. So the y.m. did.

"I say, Jeeves, it looks like you have something to say."

"I do, sir."

"Well, out with it! What is it, old thing? Another old relation telegram? Some chap in need of your big brain? What is it this time?"

"None of that, sir. It is rather… personal."

His hesitation made my arm's hair stand up. Jeeves does not hesitate.

"Um… Right. Personal. Personal? I say, Jeeves, couldn't you tell me?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

I pressed my lips with disappointment. "I see… Well then, Jeeves. If you want to say something you won't tell me, I believe we find ourselves in some sort of impostor."

"Impasse, sir."

"Sounds' like it."

"What I am trying so poorly to express, sir, is that I may need a few days off." I blinked. "I know my annual vacations have already taken place and it is not the same as a night off than a few days. I am aware that I am taking advantage of your good nature, sir, but I–"

"Say no more, old thing!" I had to cut him off. Jeeves, my Jeeves, was rambling! Can you imagine that? "How many days would 'a few' be, Jeeves?"

"Three or four, sir. The issue is not in my hands and I cannot foresee the exact moment of its resolution."

"I say, Jeeves, I'm bally curious now. I won't ask. I won't. Keep your secrets if you must. Now, for three or four days I am certain this Wooster can manage without your capable hands."

Jeeves' eyes widen in shock for a brief moment and if I hadn't been looking right into them I may have missed it.

"Forgive me, sir, but it's giving me the impression that you are not considering hiring a substitute for my absence."

I had to take a moment to decipher how to answer. Jeeves does that sometimes, he speaks in a way I don't bally well know how to answer. I cleared my throat, "I say, old thing, the young master can look after himself for four days. Seven even!"

"Indeed, sir."

"Do not fret, old thing. Remember, I now know how to make tea," speaking of which, I pulled the cup to my lips at took a sip. Delicious.

"Very good, sir."

Jeeves left the Wooster household at the same time I was heading to lunch at the Drones. He walked me to the very door before taking a cab. If I stood in the hall, looking out the window until he disappeared, nobody called me out for it.

Bingo and the other chaps approached me with their problems, complaints, and idiocities. Now, I would've never used that word to describe what came out of their mouths, but I was having a very lonely day.

"Poppycock, Bingo!" I startled him. I know I did because he fell from his chair quite comically. "I say, everything on this deuced day is poppycock!! I'm leaving. Toodle-oo." My stern voice did not match my speech, but my cheeriness had left with Jeeves.

The flat was empty, cold, and lonely. I brewed myself some tea, which tasted opprobriously bad, and planted myself by the piano. I played for hours and hours to the point in which I missed teatime and only left the uncomfortable position at supper time. I did not want to dine away, so I went into the deuced kitchen feeling bally voided inside. My mood was not in the best of moods if you catch my meaning. Instead of eating a proper dinner, I found some scones Jeeves had left me at the ready for the next few breakfasts. Stuffed my face with them, I did.

This Wooster would not succumb to tears usually, and if you'd followed my tales you shall know it. Everything was just too much, I suppose, so I cried silently whilst munching the scones thoroughly.

Darkness surrounded me as I crossed the apartment to the master room and I got under the sheets still fully dressed. I was in no position to undo Jeeves' fine work on dressing me this morning.

Looking up at the dark ceiling, tears falling from my eyes as if it was only natural for them to do as much, I found myself placing a hand on my heart.

Why are you making such a spectacle for a brief absence, old Wooster, you may ask. I wish I knew!! My heart ached painfully, my chest had a huge void inside that was growing bigger and bigger, a lump crept up my throat, and I could not pin down why I was acting such a—

I mean, I am obviously in love with Jeeves, but certainly, this reaction was uncalled for.

Two days later Jeeves found me playing absently on the piano. I must confess that I had not heard him. I had been wearing my pyjamas since the first lonely night because I stayed at the flat. I had also been awake all night in the darkness, only starting to play the moment black turned gray.

"Mister Wooster!"

Jeeves' surprised and outraged yell made me jump to my feet hitting my knees on the piano.

"I say! Jeeves, has it already been four days?"

He opened his mouth without any sound. Then he closed it in his best frog impression and I felt properly scolded without even a word being said.

"Please tell me you did not cut your trip short, old thing."

"I did, sir."

I let myself fall onto the sofa completely defeated mumbling apologies.

"Mister Little was able to contact me to let me know you had been missing, sir. I was utterly concerned."

"Bingo could've just called," I sounded like a bally child.

"My business outside was faster to take care of than what I expected, sir. The shortened absence is not your fault as it is my concern."

"I say!"

"Do not ever do this, sir."

For the first time, Jeeves imposed his resolve so directly on me and he was doing it with perfect calm. I blinked at him. I felt absolute awe the moment he realised what he'd said and his cheeks began to pink up.

What happened next is a tale for another time, I'm afraid. Jeeves had asked me to write it out in 1100 words or less and, as you can see, I failed miserably. Until next time, pip-pip.

The end.

[abiiors]

bestie I need the extended cut of the bad vibrator helpful ross paragraph...

I am already feral from that little bit but I'm not creative enough to expand it in my head so any extra details would be GREATLY appreciated

bestie, your wish has been granted. It's coming your way in a few hours and it's this Ross specifically (since I cannot get that photo out of my head lol) (slut chain and all) (I literally haven't even gotten to the fun bits yet and she's already at 1100 words OOPS!)

Also here's a small snippet 👀

--------------------------

‘No, you’re lying to me,’ he points out, ‘come on, something’s up.’

You grind your jaw lightly, roll your neck as you wonder how best to tell him. You’re not shy around each other, you’ve never been particularly shy around each other. But you do work with him—even if it’s on a freelance basis. One thing is very clear, however. Now that he has sensed something, he’s not going to give up easily. 

‘I, uh…it’s not exactly work appropriate?’ you hedge but he only rolls his eyes. 

‘Come on, I’m a grown man and you’ve told me way worse things before.’

That much is true. You have discussed several topics at length before—topics that include but are not limited to kinks, sexual history, preferences, the works. But this is something you haven’t talked about before. Your hesitation only piques his interest; enough that he finally sets the bass aside and leans back onto his chair. You feel small tingles at the way he sits—arms behind his head that makes his t-shirt stretch over his biceps, chin tilted up slightly in a scrutinising manner, long legs spread wide enough for someone to kneel bet—

No. Stop!

‘This is interesting,’ he mumbles as a smirk forms on his face. ‘Seems like last night wasn’t…good enough?’

Of course, he would know about last night too. You did put up drunken Instagram stories featuring some man you found at the bar. It wouldn’t take him much to put two and two together. 

‘Let’s just say,’ your nails dig into your palm as you think of a delicate way to say this, ‘let’s just say he was quite…self-centred.’

[glewmie]

how do you dare be so cool? and weird?

genuine questions.

i am trying to become braver. and braver also esp when i strike others as uncool and not-fun-nor-easily-digestible -type of weird.

and also to dare to go after the cool and weird things i think i cannot be or do. but i still struggle with even thinking to do any of it, cause i often don't think I even can.

also your practical effects I love practical effects practical effect is lovely and cool and is going on my fave posts ever lists. because of what you created.

and it's like. you did that and thats awesome and so smart and creative.

the tools you used to do it might be simple enough (like print out paper with the text, and put it onto a thicker thing, set it on fire, film it with a phone and make a simple gif),

but the fact that you actually Had the idea and then Also went on and full on did your idea And created And posted it. that's. that's very cool and weird! and i love it!

did you fight with yourself as you created that? did you fight yourself with other things?

like. oh that idea is so silly/whatever word that pops in your head that might not even mean to be judgemental but that might make you not want to do it, and then not do it?

like a lot of people can look at something someone did or made and say "i could do that too" but they might say it with completely different intentions or tones or meaning. often, sadly, it's demeaning.

or anyway, comes across that way?

and idk, i think i feel i was used to being demeaned that way.

and now i am the one to demean myself that way so no one else will.

i am even struggling to continue writing out this ask cause i think i am probably being hugely bothersome by even Thinking of writing this ask to you and sending it.

i think i am going to go anon just so you won't feel a need to reply to it, or that i demand a reply.

but i do want to tell you, you know, you are cool, and weird, and that is cool?

and ask you. how do you do that?

and is it effortless? and is it ever? no matter if it looks like it?

eh fuck it. have decided on not going anon again.

this ask i am sending is pretty cool i think afterall. even if it's very long and very sudden to send to you. i just felt very inspired by you and all the posts I've seen today and all the people. and i just feel like i have to see if this 'effortless' thing is a huge lie I still am buying somehow.

and you helped make one of the top 10 coolest posts of the century, that at time of writing this, has 32 k notes. and at the time of you commenting your thing, had 1100 notes (as you said in the tags of it). it should have more. it probably will.

and so i think you're an excellent person to ask.

It takes a lot of effort to make something look effortless! The pieces that came together were the skills I accumulated, e.g. how to safely set something on fire, how to film and create gifs, etc. These were things that I cultivated over time, not overnight. When I first saw the post, I had to check to see if anybody else has already made a practical version of it. When I saw that no one had, I knew I could be the one to do it. The thing I'm turning over in my head a lot now is how I could've done a better job, but the point was to find the intersection beteween effort and comedy. I coudld've spent extra time on cutting out the letters individually, or even getting it printed out on a color printer, but instead I posted what I posted. Just have fun and be yourself. We all make concessions to participate in society and community. Figure out what you're not willing to compromise on, and let the rest just go with the flow. I don't think any of this is especially helpful advice, but I hope I answered your question.

[arctic-shard]

Outer Child, chapter 13

( I mean, the Foundation has a point, but they have forgotten that they are up against West, whose response to feeling helpless or dismissed is to make terrible plans that cause a lot of trouble. )

Outer Child, chapter 13

Warnings: none

Words: 1100~

-----

Victoria knew it was going to be bad news when Combs wanted to talk to her in her containment's observation room. An interview room would be more appropriate, but he knew that Victoria would get anxious and combative and think the Foundation was going to try to sneak Amica and the Doctor away from her if she was too far from them.

Victoria took a peek through the observation window. She'd deliberately placed her bed directly below it, since the angle gave her a little privacy. It didn't matter much, given that the room also had a video camera. The important part was that Amica and the Doctor were safe, sitting on the floor and occupied with a small tupperware full of apple and pear slices.

The observation room had a small desk. Combs waited, hands clasped on the table, until Victoria sat in the other chair. "They've figured out how to reverse the transformation," he said.

Victoria hadn't realised how tight her chest felt until those words loosened it. "Finally."

"They aren't going to," Combs continued. He had never been much good at hiding his emotions. He was angry about this, too.

The invisible hand clamped around her heart again. "Fuck them."

"They're keeping one of the D-Class they transformed as well," said Combs. "They want to see if she'll age normally. And they want to see if 049 will grow up at all or if he doesn't age since he still has his anomalies."

"What about 035?"

"They think it will be easier to contain this way." Combs sighed. "I tried, West. I told them this would cause setbacks to researching 049. That there had already been an incident with 2264. They didn't want to hear it. They're more interested in using the object to render dangerous SCPs harmless, so they're leaving 049 and 035 transformed to study that."

Victoria clenched her fists. "Do you know the method of restoration? Was the object itself needed, or could a thaumaturge reverse it, or a reality-bender -"

"I don't know. They didn't tell me details. It isn't my project, it just affects my project." He slumped forwards onto his hands. "I'm sorry, Victoria. I know how hard this is on you. Please don't do anything rash."

"What can I do? I don't even know what Site they have the object at," Victoria huffed.

"I know you well enough to know you'll think of something, and it's going to go badly for you." Combs sat back up and held up his hands as if to deflect Victoria's glare. "You're self-aware enough to know what you're like - when you're in a bad situation, you don't ask anyone for help, you try to fight it head-on and you make things worse for yourself. You can't even say it hasn't killed you yet!"

"My plans are perfectly good for the information I have. If I knew what the Foundation did to reverse -" Victoria cut herself off. "No. That's not your fault. They're withholding the information from you, too."

"Please just … make a plan around dealing with the situation as-is, not about how to breach and steal the object or whatever you're plotting. Take some time to think about it and try to accept the change in case it's permanent. Ask for help when you need it," said Combs. "I'll keep trying to get the higher-ups to reverse the decision. But I need you to stay out of trouble."

Victoria sagged back. "Fine. I'll try." Try to accept the change, he'd said. Not maybe you'll come to like it. He knew better than to try to spin things positively.

Once back in containment, Victoria kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the bed. Of course the Foundation wasn't going to help. Leaving Amica and the Doctor like this was an interesting experiment. It rendered two of the most dangerous SCPs in Site-19 harmless. If Victoria didn't know them like she did, if they weren't her spouses that she wanted back so badly, she would have agreed with the Foundation. It would be fascinating to know the results and it made Site-19 a little safer.

Small fingers patted her arm. Victoria turned her head to look into a pair of wide black voids. "Victoria is sad," Amica stated.

"Yes," Victoria agreed, sitting up. "Don't worry about it. I'll always love you."

Amica climbed up on the bed and curled up in Victoria's lap. The Doctor appeared a moment later, having a little more trouble getting on the bed since he had brought the fruit slices along with him. He held out a piece of apple. "Eat?"

The offer almost made Victoria burst into tears. Even like this, the Doctor tried to look after her. Food made him happy, it should make Victoria happy.

Victoria wasn't hungry but she ate a few slices of fruit for the Doctor. Once he was satisfied that his treatment was helping, he settled against Victoria's side and continued munching on his snack. Sometimes he handed a piece to Victoria or Amica. Amica remained curled in Victoria's lap. She pet its hair like petting a cat, and it hummed happily.

They were trying to comfort her, in their childlike ways. It was sweet and made Victoria feel incredibly guilty. It wasn't fair to them. She was the adult, it wasn't their responsibility to comfort her. She had to be strong and look after them.

Ask for help when you need it.

The only help that mattered was restoring Amica and the Doctor to their true selves. If she couldn't have that, she needed comfort and understanding, and there would be none of that in the Foundation. Combs was kind, but he was her researcher and couldn't be a friend. Her therapist would just tell her she needed friends - but even though Site-19 had a small enrichment program being tested, Victoria had never been good at making friends. And who would want her as a friend? She had nothing to offer.

There was only one being left she could ask for help.

Victoria was fairly certain that Odious hadn't lied to her, that it wasn't just a trick to lure her back to Alagadda. Odious didn't cajole or manipulate, it took. The only reason it hadn't simply kidnapped her in the dream was that the other Humours had different plans and would have punished it. But the other Humours didn't care what happened to her or the Doctor.

She couldn't trust Odious. She couldn't trust Alagadda.

But the Lords of Alagadda wanted Amica restored, while the Foundation would do nothing.

The risk of madness, torture, and death against the certainty of a lifetime of having lost the best thing she'd ever had.

She would give Combs a chance to get the decision reversed. He deserved that much of her trust.

But she would make discreet inquiries to the location of Ardente's containment.

[geekthefreakout]

I want to start writing again, but can't pick what to work on, so here is a list of WIPs I have going that I haven't done much with. What should I put effort into first? Poll under the cut. Also, you can suggest things! Please vote and reblog?

Coming Clean (At Least I'm Trying)- Fandom: Supernatural. Pairing: Destiel. Alternate ending to s15, where Castiel struggles with his new humanity and Dean struggles with his nascent sobriety. They both try to make their new relationship work. Features Jack and Sam in big supporting roles. Multi chapter, some already up on AO3 here. I lost half of the next chapter because my computer crashed, and I have been struggling to get back into it.

Blood Brothers- Fandom: MCU. Pairing: Winterfrost. The sequel to my fic Pieces of Me Fit Pieces of You. AU: Canon-divergent after Thor: Ragnorak, ignoring credit scene. Loki and Bucky adjust to life in New Asgard, the people who love them adjust to each other, and the shadow of the Mad Titan looms on the horizon. Features Einar, the best horse ever, and many Avengers in supporting roles. I don't have anything posted yet, but I've outlined a lot of it. Hyperfixation brain has not let me work on this in a while.

The Autobiography of Una Chin-Riley- Fandom: Star Trek. Pairing: Garashir. After Julian's augmentations are revealed, Garak comes to him with a most interesting book. Intended to be a one-shot where Garak and Bashir discuss eugenics and civil rights, and what effect the legacies of both Una and Khan had on Bashir's decision to join Starfleet. I have about 1300 words of this so far.

Killing Time and Killing Dads- Fandom: The Flash CW. Pairing: Coldflash, pre-relationship. Canon-divergent AU where after Zoom kills Henry but before Barry creates Flashpoint, Snart appears on the Flash's radar and the two discuss fathers, failures, and the things they can't change. I've been mulling this over for a while but haven't written it. It would probably be a one or two shot. If you want to know my voices for these characters, check out my other fic that also has Snart being around for Henry's death. I guess I just like the concept.

Untitled Bashir War fic- Fandom: Star Trek Pairing: none focused, but probably light Garashir because I can't help myself. I watched Band of Brothers recently, and the episode "Bastogne" prompted me to consider the toll being a battlefield medic took on Bashir, and meditate a bit on how little war has really changed through the centuries. I have 1100 words so far. I need to rewatch a few Dominion War episodes to make sure I don't have any glaring contradictions in my Star Trek medicine.

Not any particular fic, but some of my usual light stuff you might find in my "Sam Writes Stuff" tag- things like Garashir reacting to stuff, random head canons that may or may not become fics later, various fandoms. Most likely to be Arrowverse Flash, Star Trek, Dragon Ball, Supernatural, or Batfam.

Okay, so what do you think? Do any of these strike your interest? Or do you have something else you would like me to write? Vote below!

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~

Hello <3 I was tagged by the most esteemed @thequeenofthewinter and, though I have shared some of this already, I am about to share more of chapter 27!

Tagging the lovely: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @snippetsrus, @rhiannon1199, @rainpebble3, @elfinismsarts, @friend-of-giants, @archangelsunited, @inquisition-dragonborn -- and anyone else who wants to share what they're up to this week! Tag me back so I can see!

Below the cut, 1100 words re: Varlais, since I know you guys seem to love the poor bean.

Teldryn was interrupted from his thoughts by Varlais, who had wandered up from the other part of the settlement. He was currently complaining once again over the Levitation Rune. To be perfectly honest, he was lucky Neloth hadn’t cut the rune the second he stepped through the door.

Teldryn sighed and looked over at him. Varlais’s Thalmor regalia had been shredded by the Stalhrim just as badly as his own armor had been, yet the man still wore the coat over a plain linen shirt Talvas had been forced to give up. Old habits, maybe, or something more disconcerting.

“I’m leaving. I don’t have much choice in the matter,” Varlais said, sullen as per usual. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he’d barely slept. “I don’t know why, but I wanted to tell you.” He scrubbed the straw blonde stubble that was growing in on his chin. “I’m likely going to be sent back to Alinor for this whole situation. But… I’ll do all I can to get back after that, if it’s at all possible.”

“For Nyenna?” Teldryn asked. Varlais’s eyes went navy, darkening with some kind of swirling discomfort.

“Partially,” he said. He sighed and crossed his arms. His coat tugged and ripped at the seams a bit more. “I might not be the best at what I do, but I have made a difference now and again. It’s too much to explain now, and my colleagues wouldn’t approve.” He ran a hand over the scars on the side of his head. There was stubble growing around those, too. “All I do is for the good of my people, ultimately, though at the moment we’re focused on keeping Nyenna out of the Dominion’s hands.”

Teldryn’s stomach flipped and he frowned. He stood up carefully — not that Nyenna would be disturbed at this point, but still — and led Varlais away from her room. She wouldn’t hear in her condition, but…it seemed somehow rude to talk about her past without her while she was within earshot.

“Do you have any idea why they are after her? She doesn’t know.”

Varlais swallowed hard and, almost as if it was a nervous tick, ran his hand over the scars on his head again. Each time he did this, his youth faded away under layers of stress that weighed heavily over his brow.

“I don’t have all the information,” he drawled, “because as you can imagine, I can sometimes be a bit of a liability.” Teldryn snorted and, despite his nervousness, Varlais managed a half grin, which fell again just as quickly. “Her family was a target. They’d been one of the prominent families purged in Valenwood, and apparently she and her step-brother escaped. Officially, they think she died in Helgen, technically.” He paused and looked up at the ceiling. “Some agents have postulated that the Dragonborn in the songs is Nyenna, and if it gets back to certain people who were part of the purges, the hunt for her could absolutely resume. Right now, they haven’t connected the two halves.”

Teldryn wasn’t exactly shocked. Nyenna has theorized something similar during one of their conversations. She was always hesitant to speak on the topic; the Thalmor had already sent her running from her destiny and the subject was like acid for her, always eating away at her resolve. They were, after all, relentless. If he hadn’t disappeared, he’d have been hunted to the ends of Nirn as well for all he’d done on Vvardenfell back then. The thought occurred to him on a semi-regular basis, when he allowed his mind to wander. It wouldn’t do to let it now. He looked back over his shoulder. She was still sound asleep.

“Who else is working with you to protect her?” Teldryn asked. Varlais made a conflicted noise, as if he almost spoke automatically.

“I, er, shouldn’t say exactly. Just…another friend. He’ll look like an enemy, like me. But he means well. He’s rescued me a thousand times already, and we’re not even from the same — no. Never mind that,” Varlais said. He shook his head. “Look. Just. Not everything is going to be exactly as it seems on the surface. She has some of us in her corner.”

“I don’t understand why, though! And how are we supposed to tell?” Teldryn asked, unable to hide his frustration.

Varlais shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a leather strip and tied his hair back away from his face, stretching the silence on into something less than comfortable.

“She is important. Obviously. But there’s so many facets to that fact alone, and it means something different to every one of us,” Varlais said with a shrug. Teldryn wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to be included in a group of Thalmor double agents, even if the sentiment was true.

“And what about you? Why do you stay mired in all this nonsense? You could disappear. They’d come to check on the little outpost, see the damage, and assume you’d all perished. You could be free. Why stay?”

Varlais went totally still and silent for a moment before he crossed his arms over his chest in a way that looked more like he was holding his ribs together, trying to keep something from escaping.

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. Not with everything that’s at stake. I couldn’t abandon the cause. Not with what it has cost me so far.” He let out a shuttering breath, looking rather crestfallen. “It would be impossible to be part of the cause in any significant way if I ran away. So I’ll suffer. There are people I love that I need to free from their claws.” Another pause. He let go of his ribs long enough to scrub at his scars again. It seemed like the next words were stuck in his throat behind an old terror. “I cannot abandon them. I won’t. Not with how far we’ve come.”

Teldryn had suspected that the spy situation Varlais had told him about before had some dire consequences underpinning all his decisions, but he hadn’t revealed just how close to his heart this work was. To be fair, he hadn’t thought much of Varlais. But the man was determined, even in the face of so much danger. Or chaos, caused or caught up in. He could give him that point in his favor, at least.

“Then you had best get back to it, however you can. Is there…is there someone we can get a message to?” Teldryn asked, though he wasn’t sure what use he’d be at trying to identify friendly Thalmor while still at Nyenna’s side.