#bendwill

[eueclid]

They stare intently at Miraak, mind racing with thoughts and memories of the past week. A killing competition was normal for the two of them, really, considering the amount of crypts and bandits they encountered in their travels. And even now, Ásgeirr couldn't put his finger on what was different about this one. Maybe it was how confidently @bendwill strung up a line of draugr with magic, or how he looked ( or rather, came off, since his face was hidden most of the time ) when the Last proved that they were able to kill each draugr in a different way with the same blade. It felt different, and he didn't know why.

Or maybe he did. It was the feeling coming from his targets whenever he'd seduce them. The feeling he knew they felt before he took them to bed and sliced their throats. It wasn't very often he was on the other side of it, and in fact, it had been years since he had. Brynjolf of the Thieves Guild, and they both had been so very young. Despite his experience with the rest of it, the feelings part was something Ásgeirr was quite inexperienced with. The rest of it? He was good at. So that's what makes him move — maybe with the rest, the part he lacked would come. Miraak is talking, but he stopped paying attention long ago. He makes one fluid motion as he leans forward, moves his mask just enough from his face, and without any hesitation, kisses him.

[denouemente]

Dreams didn’t often come to the Dragonborn. Instead he typically spent his nights tossing and turning fitfully, plagued by the memories of what he’d done in his life and what had been done to him. Sometimes he dreamed of dragons — which, upon learning of his status, made sense. If he had to dream, he liked to dream of his true kin.

Seeing @bendwill would have been surprising if Ásgeirr didn’t expect he could do something like this — materializing into the mortal realm had to be more difficult, or at least more tedious than traveling to another sort of abstract plane of existence. His lips pull back, baring his teeth as he stares at Miraak, trying to decide how to best approach this. If all else fails, he can just wake up.

“ You. ” His tone is rather accusatory, body ready to be on the offense. “ Is it not enough to haunt my waking existence? Must you torture me here too? Lif zey naalein. Hi shur rem gut. ” If they were not in a dream, surely the ground below his feet would tremble with the sheer anger he feels. “ Rah. You have my attention. Make it quick. ”

[illithidparasite]

“&– -  How often it is that you prove decision against your usage as my host...... beyond a temporary necessity..... the correct one.” // @bendwill liked for a starter!

[khalesci]

@bendwill ⊱ 1 (bonus: they are in a library)

▐║  ♛  ┊  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐒𝐎  𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇,  𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐀𝐑𝐄.  High  Hrothgar's  library  is  a  sacred  place,  often  traversed  daily  by  the  Greybeards  themselves.  All  of  these  ancient  tomes  around  them,  many  of  them  holy  texts,  it  almost  feels  sacrilegious  to  engage  in  something  so  carnal  in  their  presence.  And  then  there  is  the  risk  of  discovery,  knowing  that  at  any  moment,  one  of  the  monks  may  enter  and  find  them  in  their  coil  amidst  the  shelves.  So  why,  then,  does  that  make  it  all  the  more  exciting?  Perhaps  the  rush  of  blood  and  lust  has  truly  overridden  all  common  sensibility,  decorum  abandoned  as  she  encourages  every  stray  touch.  She'd  known  all  along  how  this  would  end  the  moment  she  felt  his  body  press  into  hers;  it's  only  a  game  to  pretend  otherwise,  her  false  innocence  countered  by  the  devilish  gleam  in  her  eyes.

How  grateful  she  is  that  she'd  only  worn  a  dress  this  day,  easily  lifted  and  kept  aside  to  allow  Miraak  the  access  he  seeks.  Dany's  quiet  gasps  erupt  into  a  loud  moan  as  he  enters  her  then  and  there,  stifled  only  by  the  meeting  of  their  lips.  A  leg  clings  to  his  hip,  braced  by  Miraak's  gluttonous  hand  roaming  over  the  supple  flesh  of  her  thigh,  while  the  other  struggles  to  keep  its  footing  as  her  body  bucks  against  his  every  thrust,  only  the  front  of  her  boot  still  able  to  touch  the  ground.  It's  times  like  these  when  his  height  and  build  are  both  a  blessing  and  a  curse,  towering  so  tall  that  it  takes  effort  to  remain  upright  in  such  a  position,  but  from  here,  she  gets  to  admire  the  strength  of  his  arms,  how  easily  he  can  hold  her  in  place  and  more  than  make  up  for  this  discrepancy  in  their  sizes.  And  there  are  other  advantages  of  being  with  a  man  so  much  larger  than  herself.

❝ They're  going  to  hear  us  ─  ❞  Daenerys  pleads  half-heartedly,  knowing  silence  is  a  futile  effort.  No  matter  how  Miraak  urges  her  to  control  herself,  somehow  she  doubts  that's  truly  what  he  wishes  for,  given  how  loudly  their  bodies  knock  against  the  shelves  behind  them,  causing  some  of  the  tomes  to  fall  over  and  topple  to  the  ground.  And  she's  not  entirely  sure  she  wants  to  be  quiet,  either.  No,  she  loves  to  be  loud  for  him.  ❝ Miraak,  please  ─  ❞

[tidesfate]

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@bendwill

[recitedemise]

At times, like with color, Gale remembers Miraak is all a storm. No, Gale hasn't his story, but he would wager most everything that Miraak's his share of battles. Unfortunately, nursing such thunder, a break or a shattering is destined to spring. He imagines those windows that would gleam upon the temples. Crack. Shattering in a river, it pours and pours.

It smacks around the tiles. It peals on down the halls.

Gale looks to this fury, his blistering, biting words howling high past the shelves, and the pretty painted glass lies gleaming all about them. It's a good a guess as any who will pick them up.

But maybe! Maybe in time, Gale, familiar with his breaks, will. He had pressed too longly perhaps, complacent as he's become with their fortuitous...something. He would see him as a friend, two rapacious little scholars with a hankering for spells, and he had nearly forgotten that he had never been invited. Or asked for. Right. Eyes widening, Gale, finally realizing, is all an interloper.

But that can't be right, can it?

"Oh. I'm, well, I'm relieved to hear it. In fact, I argue overjoyed may be a more fitting word," he grasps, his timbre achingly vulnerable. Why is he so bare? A weeping wound? It's terrible for his health! He bleeds out anyway. "I resent entirely the idea that this may surprise you, but there are few things I value more than our time together. That said," he nods, "my time is yours -- give or take the clumsiness. I suppose my hunger for reading goes beyond books at times. Understand, I hardly expect you to part with your secrets in an effort to sate my curiosity. As it were, there would be no end to it." He approaches. "You're a mystery, one I can respect." / @bendwill, continued from here.

[thefouraboveall]

" No sweets? Mmm, that explains the miasma of abject misery hanging around your person."

@bendwill / 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐀𝐊. (cont)

[skxrbrand]