Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
25.Oct.18, 06:46 AM
N’mor woke slowly; lazily comfortable. He knew he wasn’t in his bed, because there was that subtle difference that he just knew, but the warm body tangled with his easily told his sleep foggy mind that he was at Z’rin’s, and N’mor rolled over lazily, wrapping his arm around Z’rin and nuzzling against his neck as his eyes flickered open and he blinked with a yawn. Faranth, what time was it? Late afternoon, his dragon put in with his own lazy yawn. Most of the Weyr is still asleep. This one is not, though, and N’mor got the image of a little girl chatting cheerfully to the two dragons. Amused, N’mor realised that explained why he was still wearing underpants.
Gently untangling himself from a still sleeping Z’rin, N’mor pressed a tender kiss to the bluerider’s forehead and slid out of bed. Glancing around, he found his pants and was in the process of pulling them on when a little face appeared in the doorway. N’mor stuck his tongue out at Z’rin’s daughter, who stifled a giggle as she vanished out of sight once more. Clasping his pants, N’mor padded out of the bedroom to find the young girl waiting in the main area. “I thought you were going back to your mother’s?” he asked, making his way into the kitchen to poke around looking for food. Her remark about she was, but had to wake up first, was met with an amused snort. “Sassy child,” N’mor chided, closing the last cupboard in disgust. There was nothing in any of them… or at least, nothing edible anyway. Fair, considering Z’rin had been living in Ista for what… N’mor blinked when he realised it had been months. Months?!
Well, shit.
N’mor smiled distractedly when Zararin came over to give him a hug before darting out to the ledge, where Rhezalth confirmed she was being picked up by a dragon. Probably her mother’s partner or a friend; N’mor didn’t really care, honestly, and he was rather focused on staring blankly towards the ledge as he did the math about how long he and Z’rin had been living together. The fires had been at the end of month seven, and it was the start of month ten… so some two and a half months. Give or take because Z’rin had been kept in that awful room until he was well enough that N’mor had taken him up to his weyr (constantly reassuring the bluerider it was no trouble. Silly bluerider.).
N’mor’s eyebrows were still furrowed when he felt arms slide around his waist, and he leaned back against Z’rin, a smile easing his features. “Morning,” he teased, turning his head enough to press a kiss to Z’rin’s lips. “Zararin left on dragonback a few minutes ago,” he added, wondering if Z’rin even remembered that his daughter had ended up staying the night, since the bluerider had been pretty out of it when N’mor had carried the girl home. Then again, N’mor knew he’d barely been awake himself. Point in fact since N’mor hadn’t even remembered the girl was there until Rhezalth had told him! Of course, the spunky child wasn’t his child. Maybe parenthood did something to the memory?
Turning around in Z’rin’s arms, N’mor studied the bluerider’s face for several long moments before finally speaking, his voice low and eyebrows pulled together, expression open and honest and not at all his usual confident arrogance. “Will you come back to Ista?” He knew what he was asking, and certainly was aware of several of the ways it could be interpreted. He’d barely given Z’rin time to process the words, let alone respond, when he quietly added, “Or I could move here?” He didn’t really want to; that was far too close to his father to make N’mor comfortable and B’jin was far too much of a snoop. But he would, and he certainly could, if Z’rin would prefer. After all, he had his kid. He might not be an every-day dad, but N’mor knew the kid had been missed when Z’rin had been trapped in Ista.
Standing quietly, N’mor let his hand rest gently on Z’rin’s hip, trying desperately not to do anything that could be interoperated as ‘pulling rank’. N’mor didn’t want Z’rin to say yes because he felt he had to, or because he thought N’mor wanted him to – even though N’mor desperately wanted Z’rin to say yes – but he wanted him to say yes because he wanted to. So, he waited, gaze locked on the bluerider – expression somewhere between hopeful and worried – and realised he had a lot more he wanted to say before Z’rin answered.
Leaning forward to press a kiss against Z’rin’s lips when he opened his mouth, but before he could speak, N’mor pulled back and pursed his own lisp thoughtfully for a moment. “Before you answer,” he said softly, looking at Z’rin for a moment before looking away, in the region of Z’rin’s throat or shoulders, his gaze kind of darting about. “I want to be more than just this,” and he squeezed Z’rin’s hip gently, a wordless indication of their very healthy sex-life, and what had started as nothing more than such. “If… If you don’t want that, we have to stop, b-because I don’t want to get hurt.” Honest, freighted grey eyes lifted to meet Z’rin’s blue, and N’mor realised with a start that he was trembling.
He could do this! He could definitely walk away if Z’rin didn’t want to get serious, and only feel mostly like an emotional disaster, instead of entirely like one. Which is where he knew he was headed. But he could totally do it, because he knew – he knew – that Z’rin hadn’t signed up for anything serious, and certainly not with a young bronzerider who was barely more than half his age. N’mor would respect what the bluerider wanted (something he’d never imagined even thinking, let alone doing!) as soon as Z’rin told him what that was. N’mor bit his bottom lip, and lifted his worried gaze to meet Z’rin’s.
Gently untangling himself from a still sleeping Z’rin, N’mor pressed a tender kiss to the bluerider’s forehead and slid out of bed. Glancing around, he found his pants and was in the process of pulling them on when a little face appeared in the doorway. N’mor stuck his tongue out at Z’rin’s daughter, who stifled a giggle as she vanished out of sight once more. Clasping his pants, N’mor padded out of the bedroom to find the young girl waiting in the main area. “I thought you were going back to your mother’s?” he asked, making his way into the kitchen to poke around looking for food. Her remark about she was, but had to wake up first, was met with an amused snort. “Sassy child,” N’mor chided, closing the last cupboard in disgust. There was nothing in any of them… or at least, nothing edible anyway. Fair, considering Z’rin had been living in Ista for what… N’mor blinked when he realised it had been months. Months?!
Well, shit.
N’mor smiled distractedly when Zararin came over to give him a hug before darting out to the ledge, where Rhezalth confirmed she was being picked up by a dragon. Probably her mother’s partner or a friend; N’mor didn’t really care, honestly, and he was rather focused on staring blankly towards the ledge as he did the math about how long he and Z’rin had been living together. The fires had been at the end of month seven, and it was the start of month ten… so some two and a half months. Give or take because Z’rin had been kept in that awful room until he was well enough that N’mor had taken him up to his weyr (constantly reassuring the bluerider it was no trouble. Silly bluerider.).
N’mor’s eyebrows were still furrowed when he felt arms slide around his waist, and he leaned back against Z’rin, a smile easing his features. “Morning,” he teased, turning his head enough to press a kiss to Z’rin’s lips. “Zararin left on dragonback a few minutes ago,” he added, wondering if Z’rin even remembered that his daughter had ended up staying the night, since the bluerider had been pretty out of it when N’mor had carried the girl home. Then again, N’mor knew he’d barely been awake himself. Point in fact since N’mor hadn’t even remembered the girl was there until Rhezalth had told him! Of course, the spunky child wasn’t his child. Maybe parenthood did something to the memory?
Turning around in Z’rin’s arms, N’mor studied the bluerider’s face for several long moments before finally speaking, his voice low and eyebrows pulled together, expression open and honest and not at all his usual confident arrogance. “Will you come back to Ista?” He knew what he was asking, and certainly was aware of several of the ways it could be interpreted. He’d barely given Z’rin time to process the words, let alone respond, when he quietly added, “Or I could move here?” He didn’t really want to; that was far too close to his father to make N’mor comfortable and B’jin was far too much of a snoop. But he would, and he certainly could, if Z’rin would prefer. After all, he had his kid. He might not be an every-day dad, but N’mor knew the kid had been missed when Z’rin had been trapped in Ista.
Standing quietly, N’mor let his hand rest gently on Z’rin’s hip, trying desperately not to do anything that could be interoperated as ‘pulling rank’. N’mor didn’t want Z’rin to say yes because he felt he had to, or because he thought N’mor wanted him to – even though N’mor desperately wanted Z’rin to say yes – but he wanted him to say yes because he wanted to. So, he waited, gaze locked on the bluerider – expression somewhere between hopeful and worried – and realised he had a lot more he wanted to say before Z’rin answered.
Leaning forward to press a kiss against Z’rin’s lips when he opened his mouth, but before he could speak, N’mor pulled back and pursed his own lisp thoughtfully for a moment. “Before you answer,” he said softly, looking at Z’rin for a moment before looking away, in the region of Z’rin’s throat or shoulders, his gaze kind of darting about. “I want to be more than just this,” and he squeezed Z’rin’s hip gently, a wordless indication of their very healthy sex-life, and what had started as nothing more than such. “If… If you don’t want that, we have to stop, b-because I don’t want to get hurt.” Honest, freighted grey eyes lifted to meet Z’rin’s blue, and N’mor realised with a start that he was trembling.
He could do this! He could definitely walk away if Z’rin didn’t want to get serious, and only feel mostly like an emotional disaster, instead of entirely like one. Which is where he knew he was headed. But he could totally do it, because he knew – he knew – that Z’rin hadn’t signed up for anything serious, and certainly not with a young bronzerider who was barely more than half his age. N’mor would respect what the bluerider wanted (something he’d never imagined even thinking, let alone doing!) as soon as Z’rin told him what that was. N’mor bit his bottom lip, and lifted his worried gaze to meet Z’rin’s.
