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!
30.Sep.18, 08:12 PM
The arms wrapping around him had F’drel realizing he needed to learn how to throw off Halomirth’s sleepy post-Flight contentment much faster. He should have been gone several minutes ago, not pulled against a bluerider who was clearly just waiting for the right moment to strike. Not at all something F’drel wanted. The breath against his ear had him tensing up and the feeling of teeth had his heart rate increasing, which of course the bluerider would probably (willfully) interpret as him being into it, not him wanting to be anywhere else but here.
It was bad enough already, but when a hand started stroking his stomach and chest the fear increased tenfold, and suddenly Fendrel was fifteen again, in the soft, overlarge bed of the fifth son of the late Lord Nabol, not in a storage room of a Weyr with some bluerider. He wanted to leave. Reacting purely on panic and impulse, F’drel used the moment where the hand touching him lifted to move back to the start of its path down his body to roll away, as the grip on him lessened. The move was sufficiently unanticipated that it actually worked, and within seconds F’drel was standing up and looking around for his clothes. He found his shirt and pants quickly enough, and the belt was still with his pants, but the socks were still somewhere in the blankets. Giving the socks up as lost, F’drel grabbed his boots, debated putting them on, and decided to just carry them out instead.
“Have a good day, my lord,” he said crisply before turning and leaving the room, not at all registering the words before or after he spoke. The address was so ingrained, even after several turns not using it, F’drel didn’t stop to think. With the dredged up memories so close to the surface, the farewell came with them.
He stopped to put his boots on two hallways down, and managed to look fairly well put together on the way back to his weyr, though his hands were shaking as he tried to open his door. Still shaky, F’drel took his boots back off, carefully lining them up by the door before grabbing a spare sheet and heading out to Miri’s section of the weyr. The unfamiliar blue shape that was Aveleth was still there, and F’drel quietly nodded at him, since Miri liked him and he sounded decent, even if he wanted nothing to do with his rider, before taking his sheet over to Miri’s side that wasn’t pressed against Aveleth. Wrapping himself up in the sheet he tucked himself next to his dragon and curled up against her, planning to sleep off his post-Flight hangover in a much safer location.
It was bad enough already, but when a hand started stroking his stomach and chest the fear increased tenfold, and suddenly Fendrel was fifteen again, in the soft, overlarge bed of the fifth son of the late Lord Nabol, not in a storage room of a Weyr with some bluerider. He wanted to leave. Reacting purely on panic and impulse, F’drel used the moment where the hand touching him lifted to move back to the start of its path down his body to roll away, as the grip on him lessened. The move was sufficiently unanticipated that it actually worked, and within seconds F’drel was standing up and looking around for his clothes. He found his shirt and pants quickly enough, and the belt was still with his pants, but the socks were still somewhere in the blankets. Giving the socks up as lost, F’drel grabbed his boots, debated putting them on, and decided to just carry them out instead.
“Have a good day, my lord,” he said crisply before turning and leaving the room, not at all registering the words before or after he spoke. The address was so ingrained, even after several turns not using it, F’drel didn’t stop to think. With the dredged up memories so close to the surface, the farewell came with them.
He stopped to put his boots on two hallways down, and managed to look fairly well put together on the way back to his weyr, though his hands were shaking as he tried to open his door. Still shaky, F’drel took his boots back off, carefully lining them up by the door before grabbing a spare sheet and heading out to Miri’s section of the weyr. The unfamiliar blue shape that was Aveleth was still there, and F’drel quietly nodded at him, since Miri liked him and he sounded decent, even if he wanted nothing to do with his rider, before taking his sheet over to Miri’s side that wasn’t pressed against Aveleth. Wrapping himself up in the sheet he tucked himself next to his dragon and curled up against her, planning to sleep off his post-Flight hangover in a much safer location.
