#ambari

[loremaster-lavellan]

Ambarys, proprietor of the New Gnisis Cornerclub.

[firefly-factory]

More Revyn content because I love him 💕

He had a long day at the shop and accidentally fell asleep during dinner. Ambarys decided to let him keep resting, even after the cornerclub had closed, but was relieved when Revyn's wife came to take him home.

[thana-topsy]

I got one - Malthyr and Ambarys of the New Gnisis Cornerclub. #49, I think, but necessity as in "I need you/we need each other because life kinda sucks here and if it weren't for you/us I think we'd lose ourselves".

Okay, I still have some of these prompts still sitting in my inbox and I hate seeing them waste away, especially fun prompts like this. So I'm gonna attempt to use these as writing warm-ups before getting into meatier WIPs. So one smooch, coming right up!

--

Ambarys x Malthyr “A kiss out of necessity.”

“Alright, out you go sera, easy does it.” 

Ambarys busied himself scrubbing down the bar, watching out of the corner of his eye as Malthyr escorted the final patron of the night to the front door. It was well past the witching hour. The mer should have been cut off long ago, but they couldn’t afford to turn down any coin, even if it meant watching his people drink themselves sick. Sour guilt pulled at Ambarys’s stomach and he threw the soiled cleaning rag into the nearby pail with a sigh. And who could blame them, in this wretched city?

“Poor sod,” Malthyr muttered, locking the door behind the mer and pulling down the heavy wooden bar. 

“It’s not our place to babysit them,” Amabrys grumbled. 

“Never said anything about babysittin’ nobody.” Malthyr wiped his nose roughly against his sleeve before beginning to upturn the chairs onto the tables. “Just hate to see ‘em like that sometimes.”

“It’s a corner club, Mal. Comes with the territory.” 

Malthyr let out a frustrated growl, waving a hand in Ambarys’s direction. “Don’t preach to me, you prattling old scrib.” 

Ambarys barked a laugh, then rolled up his sleeves before starting in on the pile of dirty dishes. 

An hour later the New Gnisis was as clean as it ever was; floor swept, tables cleared, dishes washed, glasses dried. Malthyr returned the broom and dustpan to the corner as Ambarys poured them each a finger of shein. They clinked their glasses together without a word, knocking them back in silence as well, each hissing at the burn of the liquor. Ambarys poured them a second, then made his way around to the patron side. He leaned his back against the bar, letting his arm brush against Malthyr’s. 

“This month’s taxes are gonna put us in the red if we aren’t careful,” Ambarys mused. “Was thinking about trying to run a special. Sell off some of the less popular drink for cheap. It’s just gathering dust as is.”

Malthyr grunted in response.

“All these new bloods who’ve never even set foot in Morrowind drink that Nordic swill over the imports. Makes me wonder why I even bother having the stuff shipped in.” 

Another nonverbal acknowledgement. 

“You’re great for conversation.”

“I’m tired, damn you.”

Ambarys let his head roll from side to side, cracking his neck, then attempted to weasel his way beneath Malthyr’s arm where he leaned against the bar. “Hey, c’mon…”

“Annoying swit,” Malthyr grumbled, but lifted his arm and pulled Ambarys against him, taking a swig of shein with his other hand.

Ambarys settled with his back against the bar once again, one arm looped around Malthyr’s waist as he let his eyes go unfocused looking over Malthyr’s shoulder. He felt Malthyr’s thumb trace the muscle of his lower back, heard him exhale as he tipped forward and pressed his forehead against Ambarys’s shoulder.

“Let’s get some sleep, hey Mal?” Ambarys suggested, voice pitched low. 

“Sure,” Malthyr said, little more than a sigh. As he moved to stand, Ambarys tightened his grip around his waist and pulled him in for a kiss. Days old stubble scraped against his chin; the taste of shein and the smell of sweat and spice. It was brief, but Malthyr melted if only for a moment. Then they stacked their glasses to wash in the morning, extinguished the candles, and made their way upstairs.   

[braingone]

Ambrose in Fort Dawnguard: Puppy!

Taliesin in Fort Dawnguard: Oh, we gotta go

[netch-rancher]

my mods yassified ambarys rendar and revyn sadri

[hedonist-aesthete]

I took a really pretty screenshot of Ambarys the other day, so obviously I had to doodle it.

Also Keerava decided to try wearing her broom once and the image has lived rent free in my head since.

[parasite-core]

Calio has two undead war elephants now.

They’re going to guard his demiplane.

[workstitta]

Ambari quicklinks

Ambari quicklinks install#

Ambari quicklinks free#

Stay updated with latest technology trends

Since it is very flexible and adaptive technology, it is fitting perfectly in the enterprise environment.

By installing Kerberos-based Hadoop clusters, Authentication, authorization, and auditing takes place.

Moreover, by visualizing and analyzing jobs and tasks, dependencies and performances monitored here.

Ambari quicklinks install#

Basically, through the Hortonworks data platform, we can easily install Apache Ambari.Also, it is very easy to perform installation due to its user-friendly configuration.Instantaneous insight into the health of Hadoop cluster using pre-configured operational metrics.Here in Ambari Tutorial, some key points of this technology are: In addition, it is very flexible and scalable user-interface which permits a range of tools, for example, Pig, MapReduce, Hive, and many more to be installed on the cluster and administers their performances in a user-friendly fashion. However, to visualize the progress as well as the status of every application which is running over the Hadoop cluster, Ambari offers highly interactive dashboard which permits administrators. Moreover, we can consider it as an open source web-based management tool which manages, monitors as well as provisions the health of Hadoop clusters. What is Apache Ambari?Īn open source administration tool which is responsible for keeping track of running applications and their status is what we call Apache Ambari.īasically, it is deployed on top of the Hadoop cluster. Though, there is much more to learn about Ambari in detail. Moreover, we will discuss how it beneficial in comparing with Apache Zookeeper to understand well.īasically, Ambari is a tool which is responsible for keeping track of running applications and their status. Apart from its brief introduction, we will discuss Ambari architecture, features, and benefits as well.Īlso, we will see Apache Ambari uses to get in-depth information on it. In this Ambari tutorial, we will learn the whole concept of Apache Ambari in detail. Today, we will start our new journey with Apache Ambari Tutorial.

Ambari quicklinks free#

We offer you a brighter future with FREE online courses Start Now!!

[longslow]

Ambari quicklinks

Provide an appropriate description for this change in the next pop-up window. Use the button “Make V3 current” to revert back to version “V3”. Let’s make V3 as the current config to revert back the changes we did earlier in this post. As shown in the example below, we have 2 options: 1. You can revert back to an older config by hovering over the version name. Reverting back to a pervious version config Reverting back to a previous version also creates a new version.Īs you can see in the above screenshot, we have the V4 version with the comment we provided while changing the Config Property. You can revert back to a previous version anytime. Every time you change any config property a new Version is created. You can view the progress is the progress window pop-up.Īmbari keeps track of all the changes made to the Service Config Properties. Please confirm the restart on the pop-up window. We will use the Restart All option to restart all the affected service. Note: Restart All does not mean all the Hadoop services will be restarted rather, only those that use the new property will be restarted. To be safe, the Restart All should be used. The Restart button provides two options: Restart All and Restart DataNodes. The new property will not take effect until the required services are restarted. Once the new property is changed, an orange Restart button will appear at the top left of the window. For example, I have added the description of the change I made. It is highly recommended that historical notes concerning the change be added to this window. A save/notes window will then be displayed. When the property is changed the “save” button becomes activated. This determines the datanode heartbeat interval in seconds. We will change theĭfs.heartbeat.interval from 3 seconds to 4 seconds. Ambari makes this process easy for us.įor the example in this post, let’s change a Config property for HDFS service. In addition to modifying a large number of properties, making changes to a property often requires restarting daemons (and dependent daemons) across the entire cluster. You would find the Basic and Advanced config properties here.

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don’t Hold My Hand (I’ll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 3

Summary: The day Thomas has been awaiting for is finally here and things don't go as planned. The first crack begins to show

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Tommy suffers a pain episode

Author’s note: I am so sorry this took so long! These past weeks have been terribly busy and I have been having a major writer crisis. Yet here we are and I hope you enjoy!

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark @zablife

《 Prev part - Next Part 》

Ever since their last encounter, Thomas’ attitude towards her shifted. Charlotte couldn’t say he respected her, for that would take more than a few harsh words and stern looks. But he seemed to have found something in her that piqued his interest. He still refused her help on the daily with the most basic of things, stubborn as a mule, or rather stubborn as a Shelby, but he granted her the ‘honour’ of a few words of conversation every now and then. And Charlotte used every chance she could to try and talk him out of his miracle doctor.

She brought up every argument she could muster, but they were all met with indifferent shrugs of the shoulders, dismissive waves of the hand and, when she pressed too hard, with Thomas turning his back to her and escaping her well intentioned words, seeking refuge in the safety of his veranda. Charlotte remembered time after time when she had to convince soldiers to follow treatment for their own good, to have their medicines and do the exercises and quit the alcohol and the laudanum. She never had to talk a man out of doing something, and definitely never a man like Thomas Shelby.

“Just tell me this, Thomas. Have you ever, at least once, met or even seen any of these veterans this doctor has claimed to cure?”

His silence sufficed as a reply.

The faithful day, Charlotte awoke with a bitter taste in her mouth and a heavy feeling in her stomach. A dull headache throbbed in her temples, since sleep had refused to find her, leaving her to toss and turn as the moon slowly gave way to the sun and the birds chirped in their branches. She did her best to carry on with her duties as usual, but every now and then she nervously glanced up towards the clock, waiting for the strike of 3 in the afternoon. The minutes felt too long and the hours too short. If she stared at the clock, the hands refused to move under her watchful gaze. But then she would turn her back for what felt like five minutes, and when she looked again, nearly an hour had transpired.

The doctor had sent beforehand some medicines that Thomas had to drink prior to the appointment. Charlotte had poured some onto a cup and stared at it intently, hoping that if she looked hard enough she could discern what exactly had been mixed into the ambary liquid, since the bottles had neither a chemist’s name nor any label. But other than identifying a hint of a sweet, herbal scent, she got nothing. 

A taxi stopped before the gates just five minutes to three. Mrs. Gray and Charlotte both awaited in the foyer, standing side by side, to welcome the man who promised them the greatest miracle to be ever seen. They heard voices out the door, and Frances opened before he could knock. The second the doctor crossed the threshold, the bad feeling in Charlotte’s gut worsened.

The man before her dressed poorly. And not in the modest but clean way that most working class people did. His brown suit had definitely seen better days, perhaps better years too; frayed at the hems, the seams stretched out and the buttons hanging precariously from thinned out threads. Whoever had sewn in the elbow patches definitely had very little practice in tailoring. The shirt had taken a yellow hue from wear and time, and some bare threads hung from the collar. The shoes desperately needed a visit to the shoemaker, soles detached on the tips, the gap widening with each step.

Two women came with him, one on each side and just a step behind him, both with severe faces and strict postures. They dressed as nurses did, with the light blue dress and the Sister Dora cap upon the hair, but had black rubber aprons tied about the waist instead of the usual soft white linen she herself wore. Their appearance evoked more butchers than healers. Charlotte could certainly picture them wielding cleavers and with red splatters on their faces, not precisely from slicing meat.

Mrs. Gray shared her apprehensions, that much Charlotte could tell by the way the older woman lowered her cigarette slowly, one hand holding onto the ruby pendant hanging from her neck, twirling the gem between her fingers nervously. They both shared a tense and brief side glance, loaded with trepidation,  when the doctor took Mrs Gray's hand and kissed it, his head lowered in a bow. She pulled away from his grasp delicately but firmly, the only betrayal in her collected facade being the slight narrowing of her eyes. He then tried to repeat the impish gesture with Charlotte; but the nurse’ hands remained firm behind her, not giving the audacious man even a speck of chance. 

The doctor straightened, arms behind his back and puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. He appeared to not be unfazed by the tepid welcoming, although Charlotte easily noticed his barely concealed disappointment. Perhaps in other houses he had been received with tears and cheers like a hero who would save the day. She wondered if he had been sent off with the same enthusiasm after his magical treatments. 

“Miss and Madame, I am Doctor Elias Keller '' He put a hand to his chest and bowed again, as if he were being presented to Queen Mary and her daughter in Buckingham Palace. “These are my assistants, Bertha and Henrietta” Both women nodded curtly once, still standing just a step behind Doctor Keller, like petty soldiers flanking a high ranking officer, ready to rush to do his bidding.

The man put out his hand again towards Mrs. Gray, mayhaps hoping for a handshake. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction, instead reaching for her cigarette case and lighting a new one. She took her time to take a long, deliberate drag and allowing the smoke to billow from her dark cherry lips before speaking

“I am Mrs. Gray, Mr. Shelby’s aunt. And this is Charlotte, Mr. Shelby’s private nurse” Charlotte had never heard her refer to Thomas as Mr. Shelby, but she understood the motive; she didn’t want to give Dr. Keller any chance of familiarity. As if she wanted, through subtle actions, to remind him of his position before he got too cocksure. In her line of work she had surely met one too many charlatans, Lottie thought, and she too could smell the rottenness in him. 

Doctor Keller smiled, although the gesture looked perfectly practised and not at all sincere. Charlotte did notice that he looked her up and down out of the corner of his eye, and not in a bawdy way; quite the opposite, in fact. He seemed uncomfortable with her presence, a feeling that had appeared upon his face only after Mrs. Gray mentioned her to be a nurse. He fixed his bowtie, giving it a firm tug before addressing her

“A nurse, you say? You certainly don’t look like one, far too young you are. Perhaps a maid turned caretaker?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling with condescending amusement. Charlotte clenched her jaw, teeth nearly grinding in annoyance.

“War nurse, in fact. I served in convalescent homes and then field hospitals in France since 1916. I was awarded for distinguished service” She puffed out her chest at the last part. Even if her recognition strips and medal lay forgotten at the bottom of a drawer in her room she had the right to boast about them. She had earned them through hardship and sweat, and she would not let this mountebank look her down. 

Doctor Keller’s lips tightened into a line, but he regained himself with such ease one might even doubt the gesture existed. He straightened up once more, his eyes fixated upon Mrs. Gray, every aspect of his posture and demeanour indicating he wished to keep Charlotte excluded from the conversation

“Well Mrs. Gray, I must not be delayed. Every second that I am not by my patient’s side it is a second lost. I am very devoted to them and wish to give them only the best of everything, including my time” Charlotte had to look aside to disguise a poorly stifled laugh. The man didn’t spare her a glance, but his guarding dogs both looked her down with a mixture of annoyance and indignation. The shorter, much older woman reminded Charlotte of her commanding matron in the ward when she first enlisted; they both bore a particular type of severity in their faces that could put generals to their knees. Charlotte had bowed her head before the matron; out of respect for her status and service, but she would not let herself be intimidated by the walking circus before her.

Mrs. Gray on the other hand, had Doctor Keller’s complete attention on her. The man kept trying to go up the stairs, but she kept trying to delay him just a few more minutes

“You have just arrived, why don’t we have tea in the drawing room? We can sit down and discuss what treatment are you planning to implement on my nephew” Her manicured hand came to rest on the doctor’s bicep, as if attempting to steer him away from the grand staircase. But the man, who mere minutes ago had presented himself as fulsome and flirty towards her, didn’t take her attempts kindly. He stepped away from her touch, straightening out his worn jacket.

“Mrs. Gray, I must go to my patient at once. I am a very busy man and see many soldiers like him a day. My time is of precious value and not to be so easily wasted. If you do not show me to his rooms I will be forced to leave and reconsider his position as my patient” He spoke fast, a shrill tone edging his voice, the perfectly polished facade he had brought with himself showing the first crack. He appeared nervous to not have the family’s support, surely not used to be resisted that way. Charlotte prayed internally that Mrs. Gray would push just a little harder, that she would stand her ground for a bit more, enough to scare this opportunist into running and never looking back. 

But alas, Mrs. Gray relented, perhaps to spare herself of a round with her nephew when he found out she had blocked the way for his miracle doctor, or mayhaps because she too bore a miniscule sliver of hope that whatever they did to Thomas may work. 

She gave Charlotte a look, a brief one, no more than a second, but loaded with many conflicting feelings. Her lips quivered from the effort it took her to not say word, and she had to remind herself mentally of her position within that house; just a worker, placed there to look after the Master of the house, not to give opinions or interfere with his businesses. Feeling her heart tighten, Charlotte led the way towards Thomas’ chambers. When they reached the double doors she pushed them open, allowing them inside before stepping in. But she found her path blocked by the older assistant, who crossed her arm on the threshold to hold her back

“Doctor Keller works alone. If he needs help he will have us. Please wait outside” The harshness of her voice matched perfectly that of her face, her broad frame firmly forcing Charlotte out of the room. Incensed, and perhaps frightened, Charlotte stood her ground, her shoulder pushing against the human wall that was the other woman.

“I work here. I am his caretaker. You will not touch a hair of his head without me there” She spoke perhaps with more passion and strength than her station required, but she felt an overwhelming need to protect Thomas. She could not let, on her best judgement, allow this swindler to beguile Mr. Shelby and endanger his life on false promises.

Just when she readied to perhaps commit acts unbefitting of her against that woman, Mr. Shelby spoke up, his voice calm but firm.

“Charlotte. It’s okay. Just go downstairs”

The assistant stepped aside briefly, allowing Charlotte a peek inside. Thomas sat in his chair near the windows, an unlit cigarette perched between two fingers. Doctor Keller kneeled at his side, holding his free hand in his own in a reassuring grasp. The sunlights poured abundantly through the panes, golden beams framing them. 

“Charlotte. Please” He had never said please to her.

He nodded towards the doctor, and the man stood up, taking control of the wheelchair and leading Thomas away from the windows and from Charlotte’s view.

The last thing she thought she saw was a smile on Mr. Shelby’s face before the assistant slammed the door on her face.

Time moved painstakingly slowly. Hour after hour slipped away, the sun steadily making its way across the skies. Warm orange bathed the rooms towards the back of the house, shadows lengthening as afternoon gave way to sunset. Charlotte sat in the main room, a luxury she rarely granted herself. Before she laid a teapot of black currant tea which had not been touched, and biscuits she refused to eat. She had chewed her thumb in anxiousness, leaving the imprints of her own teeth on the pads.

At least five times during her wait, Charlotte made her way towards Thomas’ bedroom but stopped halfway through, doubting in her feet before slowly making her way back down. She wanted to go up and see for herself what they were doing; every fibre of her being urged her to. But at the same time she feared what she would see or hear there. 

A half past six, the double doors closed with a dry thud, and heavy footsteps resonated in the stairwell. Charlotte scrambled from her seat, almost slipping on the fancy rug and knocking her hip against a side table as she rushed into the foyer. Somehow Mrs. Gray beat her to it, already standing at the foot of the stairs even though she hadn’t seen her around since the doctor’s arrival.

Doctor Keller marched down the stairs ceremoniously, his head held high, as if he had just rediscovered America. He had removed his jacket, and his yellowed shirt clung to his body with sweat. His assistants walked behind him, carrying his cases and a bag Charlotte swore they hadn’t brought with them. Their rubber aprons had been wiped clean, and for some reason, that didn’t sit right with Charlotte.

He addressed Mrs. Gray, once more his posture and actions disregarding Charlotte’s presence. The man took Mrs. Gray’s hands, and this time she didn’t push him back. His smile suggested reassurance and triumph.

“The procedure has gone well. Mr. Shelby is now upstairs in his bed, sleeping. He has been left exhausted and I suggest he is not disturbed until morning. I will return in a fortnight to repeat the treatment, and will continue to do so as many times as it is necessary, but I feel confident that progress will be seen before my return” 

Mrs. Gray’s eyebrows knit together in worry, and although she didn’t grant the doctor the reward of a smile, she had lost some of the apprehension she bore in the morning.

“Can you tell me what exactly is it that you have done to him? What sort of treatment is this?”

Doctor Keller chuckled heartily, shaking his head while he patted her hand “Now Mrs. Gray, those are gruesome details that delicacies like yourself should not have to endure” Charlotte buffed at the last part. Mrs. Gray could be described as anything but delicate. And the comment obviously didn’t sit well with the older woman either, for she immediately dropped the doctor’s hands and took a step back.

“Allow me to see you out, Doctor Keller” Even in now obvious annoyance, Mrs. Gray displayed an affability that Charlotte envied; a possession and control of the emotions that very few mastered. The small group headed outside while the valet brought the car around. But Charlotte did not follow, instead sprinting up the stairs towards Thomas’ bedroom.

She peered inside quietly, walking on tiptoes. Every window had been opened, the room smelling of damp soil and autumn leaves, but the earthy scent could not entirely mask the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol. The breeze had scattered papers from the desk all over the floor, and she hurried to pick them up, knowing how much disorganisation ticked Thomas off. As she placed them on the desk, she noticed they had left a kidney dish forgotten, alongside with a syringe filled with a milkish substance. The needle, the length of Charlotte’s hand, was coated in red.

Slowly, fearfully even, she turned towards the bed. She didn’t know what she expected to see, perhaps a gory scene with blood splattered on the walls and pooling on the floor, or a massacre akin to those seen in the field hospitals in France. Yet she only saw Thomas, laying on his side and submerged in a deep slumber, dressed only in his sleeping shirt and underwear.

She approached him slowly, her keen eye noticing the layer of sweat covering his skin, hair sticking to his temples and beads rolling down the curve of his neck. She dampened a cloth in the basin and wiped his forehead, feeling his skin feverish to the touch. The corners of his mouth had reddened marks, as if they had been rubbed raw against something coarse. Frowning in confusion, Charlotte leaned back, moving to examine the rest of his body. She found nail marks in his palms, in lines of bloodied crescent moon shapes. Just as she moved to grab the first aid kit to clean them, she picked up a small but significant detail.

The sheets had been changed

That morning, the bed had pure white sheets of plain linen without any embellishment, and these had simple blue embroidery on the edges, intertwined with Thomas’ initials as laundry marks. Charlotte could simply not understand why they would change the sheets amidst such secrecy instead of asking her or one of the maids to handle it, and neither could she find said sheets no matter where she looked. Clearly, whatever had been spilled on those linens, the doctor and his devils in tow wanted to be kept secret.

Worry crept up Charlotte’s spine and clawed at her throat. She didn’t want to disturb Thomas’ slumber, not after seeing him sleeping better than he had ever done before. Yet she could not ignore her instincts, not when they screamed at her so loud they drowned every other thought in her mind. 

So she sat by the bed and watched.

Waited and watched, while the sun gave way to the moon. A maid brought her food but she barely ate, feeling as if Thomas would burst into pieces or fade into mist if she took her eyes away from him for one second. Frances came near eleven, urging her to go to bed, but she only asked the older woman to take watch for a moment while she changed into her nightgown and robe. Even during the brief routine of closing the curtains and turning off lights she kept glancing towards him. But despite her best efforts she was only human, and the ever growing tension of the day had worn her out. She huddled in an armchair near the bed, a blanket around her legs and a small pillow supporting her neck. She had a book in her lap, but fatigue clouded her vision and foggied her thoughts. She swore she heard the grandfather clock chime 1 in the morning just before she fell asleep.

Charlotte woke up in a nightmare.

In the space between the land of dreams and the real world, guttural, horrific groans of pain seeped into her mind, making her hair stand on edge. Her heartbeat quickened and her feet chilled. She had to fight the drowsiness and exhaustion off her body and will her eyes to open. The room was illuminated only by moonlight coming from one curtain she had kept drawn back, casting phantasmagoric shadows on the walls. As her vision adjusted to the darkness and her senses sharpened, she sought the source of those sounds. Her first instinct was to go to the window, but she hadn’t moved a step when the grunts of pain returned, coming from very close to her. 

Thomas doubled over himself in the bed, fingers digging on the sheets and his jaw locked tightly around a corner of the pillow, poorly attempting to drown his pained cries. Charlotte rushed to turn on a lamp, and when warm light bathed him, she let out a scream of her own.

Crimson blossomed in the back of his nightshirt, the stains growing like flowers along the length of his spine. When she pushed his shirt up, she saw bandages entirely soaked in blood, the coppery scent filling her nostrils. The flesh around them had reddened and swelled. Thomas kept writhing, only worsening things as whatever they had done to his back kept tearing open and bleeding anew. 

His fingers dug into his own hair, pulling at the black strands in desperation as he muffled the screams by biting into his forearm. Somehow that grounded Charlotte, setting her back into the same steeliness that got her through the war. She rushed to the medicine cupboard and pulled out bottles, not even bothering to check the labels, for she knew what she looked for. The laudanum she kept at the very bottom, hidden behind all the taller bottles, had not been opened. She went to pour it in a spoon, but thought it better and instead poured it into a glass, estimating what dosage would put two adult men to sleep. With the amount of whiskey and other things Thomas consumed on the daily, she knew a spoonful would barely give him a tickle.

She climbed in bed next to him, trying to sit him up so he could drink. But Thomas seemed to be paralysed with pain, and even the tiniest of movements reignited the agony. Not a word passed his lips, only exclamations of pains mixed with heavy, slowly drawn gasps of air, for even the simple act of breathing had become a struggle.

“Thomas, Thomas, breathe. Breathe with me” She cooed soothingly, running her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress “I have your medicines. But you need to sit up a bit to drink” Her calm words fell on deaf ears, and she couldn’t blame him for not heeding her command. Charlotte wanted desperately to ease his suffering, but for that she had to move him, which would only worsen his pain. She hated she had to do it, but it was for his own sake.

“I am sorry about this” She murmured as she sat by his side, hooking her arms under his heavy body the best she could to pull him up. The scream he emitted was otherworldly, and she could only silence it by putting her hand in his mouth, letting him bite her flesh like a rabid dog. The pain shot up her arm but she ignored it, not moving until his jaw had unclenched. She had managed to prop him upright against her chest, with her own back resting against the headboard. His head laid limp against her bosom, and the still fresh blood stained her robe. But none of that mattered at the moment. 

Charlotte tried to get him to drink with the spoon but he refused to open his mouth. Sweat now poured profusely down his face and neck, giving his skin an unhealthy glistening. Even in the faint light she could see his complexion had paled, but at least it appeared the bleeding had stopped. Charlotte forced the spoon past his lips, but he only splattered on it, spilling the laudanum everywhere. When she tried again, he shook his head like a child refusing his porridge. She sighed in frustration, and also because his weight against her made it hard to breathe.

“Thomas, please. It will do you good. I promise it. You will feel better”

Again, nothing. Every muscle in his body was painfully tense, and she could see the vein in his forehead popping and the pulse beating strong and quick in the side of his neck. She placed a tender hand on the side of his face, her thumb running up and down the sharp length of his jaw to ease the tension. After a few minutes she noticed a slight improvement and how his lips parted open. Lottie seized that opportunity and brought up the spoon again. And this time, he sipped the medicine.

“That’s it. Take it slowly. This will make you feel better Tommy”

The pet name escaped her without thinking, and honestly, she didn’t give it a second thought. His aunt called him that so often that it had simply slipped into her vocabulary. 

Spoon by spoon, slowly and carefully, Thomas drank the laudanum. The medicine acted quickly, and soon the relaxation became visible in his body. His muscles loosened, his breathing calmed and his pulse returned to normal.

Minutes ticked by in peaceful calmness, a stark contrast to the abrupt awakening she had. A brief glance to the clock showed her a quarter to four. Still a long time to go before sunrise. And a lot to be done. The bed had been left a disaster, as had Thomas himself. She would not bother with the sheets but the bandages and his clothes needed changing. It took her some serious shifting and pulling to get out from under him, but at last Charlotte managed to lay him down, propped comfortably on some pillows. She laid him as comfortable as she could, since she doubted she would be able to move him again. 

The shirt was a goner, so she had no qualms in cutting it to shreds to slip it off his body. The bandages soon followed, alongside the thick folds of gauze which were now blood soaked. The sight underneath stole the breath from her lungs

A series of wounds traced the length of Thomas’ spine, from lower to mid back. Perfectly lined puncture wounds, in pairs, going up at regular intervals. Whatever needle had been used surely resembled more an icepick, for the holes seemed to have been drilled in his flesh. Charlotte could not even fathom what sort of procedure Tommy had been put through, but now her other findings made sense. The nail marks on his own hands from where he has fisted them so tight, and the abrasions on his mouth, surely a leather strip or a simile had been put in his mouth as a gag. Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought how he had willingly subjected himself to torture of the worst kind just for a crumb of hope.

She washed him clean as best as she could in that position, rinsing away the blood and sweat. She didn’t have any medicines at hand to apply to the wounds, so she only rebandaged them, making a mental note to ring a real doctor the next day for some real medicines. Since the sheets could not be changed nor could he be dressed again, Charlotte laid some clean towels around him and tucked him tight with the blankets. 

As she moved around him, she paid close attention to his face for the first time. Without that perennial scowl on his face he appeared much younger, even under all that messy hair and unkempt beard. His eyelashes were enviably long, casting shadows upon his high cheekbones even under the weak light of the bedside lamp. His nose had a straight slope, and his jaw a particular sharpness, noticeable despite the beard. He was objectively very handsome, a man girls would surely fawn over. 

Just as she readied to retake her watching post, Charlotte noticed again the nail marks on his palms, now swelling up and the skin purpling. She took his hand on her lap as she cleaned it gently, wrapping a simple bandage around them. Just as she moved to stand, his hand gripped tightly the fabric of her robe, stalling her moves. 

When she turned to face him, she realised Thomas had been awake this whole time. His eyes were open, and the ice had melted from them, giving way to a sharp shade of blue, vibrant even under the obvious exhaustion. His eyes fixed upon her, and they held each other’s gazes for a moment. Charlotte had stared into those eyes many times, and had read many hidden emotions behind the blueness, but that night she saw something new, something she never expected to see in him; vulnerability. Raw, deep, unsuppressed vulnerability. The first glimpse of the man behind the carefully crafted iron mask.

It felt almost wrong to be allowed to see the facade crack, like being made privy to a secret she felt unworthy of. At last, she lowered her eyes first, working on putting aside her medical supplies, just to keep her hands and her concentration busy.

“Sleep, Tommy” The words were hushed, her voice meant to be soothing, although he wouldn’t need much soothing with the dosage of laudanum she gave him “Rest will do you good” 

Charlotte moved to stand, but he moved to grip her wrist instead, his hold firm but not hurtful. She looked up to him again, confusion lacing her features.

“Stay”

The words were spoken through great effort, coming out raspy and strained, but perfectly clear. 

“I will not leave you. I will sit right by your bed” She reassured him, but he didn’t let go. In a sudden movement he pulled on her arm, throwing her off balance and tossing her rather unceremoniously on the bed, so that their bodies laid close together. She felt her heart rise to her throat, eyes wide and breaths quick at the sudden proximity. She wondered if the pain medicines had loosened Thomas’ inhibitions. Or perhaps he was just in desperate need of some of the human contact he often rejected.

For long minutes Tommy just stared at her wordlessly, not offering an explanation as to why he did that, nor letting go of her arm either. Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks, yet she could not look away from him either. The silence lingered until she chose to break the spell.

“Tommy?”

His fingers slid down from her wrist, lacing his hand with hers. His next words held a longing and rawness Charlotte didn’t believe possible in him.

“Don’t leave me alone. Not tonight"

[loremaster-lavellan]

This just in: I ship Malthyr and Ambarys.

[kpopscruggles]

Just some random shit...

Enjoy!

---------

To say he felt locked in was an understatement. A man should never go so deep as receiving pleasure all while smelling your sheets, God he was obsessed with you. The tight grip he had on the pillow as he smelt the ambary vanilla notes of your perfume you had put on. He could suffocate in the smell; he could drown in it. God, he was a mess for you. 

The thoughts of your moans running through his head, how beautiful they sounded...you were a sweet little angel. Touch starved notes hidden in your moans. He loved making you moan like that. Your mouth agape, his name leaving your lips back-to-back. The little bit of saliva painting your bottom lip after you nibbled on it. 

“F-fuck baby~ I’m so close...are you going to cum too? P-please say you are~!” His cock trembling as he reached his aching release. His hips bucking while feeling his body grow that quick tingling obsession with how tight of a grip there was on his cock. His bottom lip between his teeth, almost breaking skin at how hard he bit. His vision blurry as he finally reached his release... 

The euphoria now gone...he was once again in his room, smelling the perfume engraved in your throw blanket he barrowed, his grip on his cock loosening, and his heart thumbing extremely hearing your boyfriend, his best friend, making you cum in the next room over. He sighed at how pitiful he looked. A smirk soon grew on his face though...he had never had such a mind blowing realize. He had no shame. No guilt.  

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest day 3 - GHOST

On the hoary street outside Aventus’ house, the children are throwing snowballs.

It’s snowed thick the last few days, only coming to a stop late this afternoon, so that the cobble of the road is entirely hidden; the younger ones, all a little older than it feels like they should be, are shin-deep in it, wading with some difficulty, clothes freezing wet and shoes probably soaked through. It’s the proper kind of snow, clean and crisp and cold to the bone. It lies smooth and flat where it hasn’t been walked through and most of the streets visible from the upstairs windows still haven’t been shovelled clear. There’s meant to be a market today, but after this weather – roads barely traversable unless people start rustling up sledges - it’s doubtful it’ll go through. It happens. This time of year you need to keep your storeroom well stocked, else you’re shit out of luck.

(Once, there were no storerooms; Torr couldn’t tuck themself away until the blustering died down. He’d wear seven worn-thin layers and stick his fingers in his mouth when they started hurting and if it got really bad he’d find somewhere with Griss and Kyrri and Katla and whoever else he could grab and he’d beat down the door of whoever was least sick of his face at the time. The Cornerclub, if he thought it was worth appealing to Ambarys’ better sensibilities; the temples dotted around the city, though some of them were never very helpful at the best of times. They waited a blizzard out on Eirmund’s kitchen floor, once. Broke into a few cellars, a few abandoned buildings, a shop. It’s lucky they weren’t arrested twice as often as they were. They think they got by mostly on luck, some days.)

It's pretty, if nothing else; there’s nobody else out on the streets yet so it’s just the gaggle of kids in their tatty coats and cloaks and the ends of their tunics wet, breath misting in the air so visible it’s practically crystallised, shrieking and ducking and hurling damp handfuls of snow at each other, loose-packed and crumbling. It hits the walls, sometimes, and sticks dripping between the stones; seeps through their gloves, through their hose, and Torr doesn’t remind them to worry about frostbite because they know and he knows they know, but he thinks about it. Their own hands are still scarred, fingertips ever-flushed, knuckles tough and pitted. It’s hard to remember that things have changed, in some ways. Harder to remember they were ever different, in others.

They’re posted up watching against the chilled stone wall, hood pulled over their head to shield them some from the cold, hands tucked up into the sleeves of their thick wool tunic. (It’s nice. Bluish-purple – Babette picked it out, they think.) The kids are all yelling their heads off, which they suppose the neighbours must have gotten used to. Ambarys is stumbling like a newborn deer through the snow; Griss is darting this way and that, her red skirt fluttering like a flag behind her; Skygna has Gellir on her shoulders, a lump of snow held high in one hand and the other holding onto her head, directing her to charge around lopsidedly. A trio of the newer kids – they’ve been appearing more often, Katla said, since the fighting started, and Torr’s still not entirely clear on which is which – are trying to pile up a crumbling snow wall. Skrauti keeps careful to the porch, mindful of his foot and realistic about the strength of his boots and the real utility of his crutches in that sort of terrain, but he ducks around corners and keeps neatly compacted snowballs piled up in his arms. He darts around the corner, throws one that dramatically misses anyone that it might have been aimed at, and lurches out of view again before anyone can try to get him back. Gellir is bellowing, his little face bright as the sun. Skygna is laughing. She always used to be so serious.

So much has changed. So much has stayed the same. Same clothes, some of them. Same people, mostly. Torr watches, leaning against the cold stone wall, and tries to find familiarity in it. Fails.

(It should be familiar. They used to play like this all the time – Windhelm’s certainly got the weather for it, coated in snow for the better part of the year and not all that much else to do about it; the kids would sneak up on him, or on each other, try to dump a damp handful down the backs of their tunics or grind it into their hair. Katla always tried to get it straight in the eyes. Torr remembers back when Skrauti was new, how he managed to smash a hard-packed snowball through one of the rare glass windows in the Grey Quarter, how he damn near cried with guilt afterwards until Torr promised they’d scrounge up the money to pay for it to be fixed. Torr remembers how Chukka down the docks tried to figure out how to lob snow at them with her tail even though it didn’t have half the dexterity for it. Torr remembers Katla shovelling snow down her throat in response to some stupid dare and then shoving Talres’ face in it when he laughed. Torr remembers, Torr remembers, Torr remembers; but it’s like that’s all he knows how to do. Like he’s slotting it away in the shelves of nostalgia as it’s happening. Like he’s not really here.)

(He isn’t. Not really. Not like he’s supposed to be. Once, they would have been the one to start it, putting snow down Katla’s dress, on Talres’ arm, in Griss’ hair; it kept them all laughing, kept them active, kept them distracted. They were the best at those games, unbeatable, though since half their opponents were half their age having the best arm and the quickest dodge probably wasn’t much to brag about. They remember it all but they’re still leaning statue-still against the wall; trying to move feels like an imitation, unreal. None of it feels real. Every time Torr comes back here they feel like they’re dressing up in their own skin, carving the blood off their palms, trying so hard not to seem like they’re pretending. He loves the kids – he does, he does, he does; he would do anything in the fucking world for them. There’s not much left that he hasn’t already done. But there’s little comfort to be found here, these days, feeling slow and stagnant and ill-fitting. They want him here, though, all the same. So he visits. And he tries not to feel like he’s lying.)

Torr is lost, as he usually is here, in thought (he can’t get away from it – he steps through Windhelm’s ancient gates and falls backwards through time, falls backwards into his own head), so he’s not expecting impact, sudden and sharp, against his right shoulder. Just under the clavicle. Their clothes are thicker-softer-better here than they ever used to be, but even so they can feel the freezing shock against the scar tissue knotted over their joint – they’re reacting before they even begin to think about it –

Their head catches up to their body before they actually put a hand on their knife, but not before they’ve flinched for it, shoulders curled in, sinking their weight low, one foot shifting agitatedly against the powder-pit of the snow; then Torr blinks, remembers himself, remembers when he is and where he is and that there is a world past the sudden snap of vigilance singing through the thundering of his blood. Blinks again. Looks, over the muddy-trodden surface of the sparkling snow, to Griss; who stands with one arm still raised and one side of a smile pinned on. It seems to be caught in place halfway through slipping away. There is snow on Torr’s jacket sleeve.

(Once, keeping her smile in place was the entire pared-down goal of his life; Torr spares a moment to hate himself, acutely and utterly. Then he moves on.)

Torr knows the steps for this game; knows what to do; knows what they would have done, though not why it used to be so easy, or why it’s so hard now. Griss looks grimacingly like she’s about to apologise for startling them, which is so horrendously not how they talk to one another that the idea stings. Torr crouches – all their muscles still coiled, chest held tight, very unhelpful – to dig a handful of snow from the ground at their feet and fling it in her vague direction. She yelps and dodges with ease, but it fixes the look on her face; she sticks her tongue out at him and ducks down to build up another arsenal, and Torr shakes his head ache-inducingly hard and tries as best he can to wrangle his attention to here and now. The snow is painfully cold against his ungloved hand, but it kind of helps. Makes him feel like he’s here.

When Griss hurls another projectile at him, he has at least the presence of mind to sidestep; she cackles delightedly, and he smiles, thin and dirty-cold as the dusting of snow on his shoulder.

[ladytanithia]

Edit: thanks so much for all the love on this one! It's only ever gotten 2 favorites on DA, so I'm very pleasantly surprised to see it kinda blowing up on Tumblr. Had no idea there were so many Revyn fans.

********************

I killed myself on the details, but it was worth it. This was my second piece of digital art, so I'm pretty proud of it!

From Chapter 17 of Dalliances with Dunmer:

"Considering my circumstances here, living in my hovel of a shop in the dirtiest end of a dirty city, I understand that I’m not the most attractive choice. And I also understand that you’re not ready to choose a mate yet, anyway. I am much older than you know; if I were human, and our lifespans were comparable, I would probably be more than old enough to be your father. Yet I’m still drawn to you and your youthful energy, your talent, your beauty, and your loving and compassionate heart. I know you don’t intentionally hurt me, and that it hurts you just to know that I hurt sometimes because of you.

“Even if I did manage to convince you to marry me, I believe our relationship would remain the same as it is now, except that we would share a home. And I ask myself, would it be enough for me to know that my home was your home, and you would always have to come back eventually? That you loved me at least as much as you love all the other lovers in your life? And once again I ask myself what makes me think you’d be my wife?

“And so it goes, back and forth… You don’t make me miserable, Miranja dear. I make myself miserable. Ambarys understands my yearning for you, but he thinks I’m a fool. I probably am. But I have nothing but time. And who am I to tell you what you can and cannot do? Enjoy your life as you see fit, dearest. I’ll continue to enjoy what time I’m able to spend with you. Thank you for choosing to spend time with me and to love this lonely old man.”

Miranja had tears streaming down her face by the time Revyn finished pouring his heart out. “Now may I kiss you?”

Revyn smiled and nodded, and Miranja freed her hands from his, holding his face and kissing him over and over as he embraced her with gentle arms and stroked her hair.

“I do love you and care for you, Revyn. Please don’t ever doubt that. You are actually one of my favorite lovers, as well as one of my favorite friends. I think I’d shrivel up and die if you ever turned your back on me.”

“Sweet girl, I could never do that. Even as rarely as I see you, you’ve become an important part of my life. You bring the sunlight into the darkest corners of my shop when you visit.”

They stood behind the stairs, just holding each other for a long while, until Miranja started to wonder if Talvas was getting bored or impatient.

“I should probably get going, Revyn. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings with me. You’ve given me some things to think about. I look forward to seeing you again soon. I’m glad that coming and going to and from Solstheim brings me right to your doorstep.”

“As am I,” Revyn said with quiet warmth. They shared one last tender kiss before returning to the taproom.

[sheirukitriesfandom]

WIP Whenever

42 days ago (hehe, yeaaah 😅) @elavoria tagged me for WIP Wednesday. It's not Wednesday but at this point it doesn't really matter, does it?

Ambarys Rendar and Savos Aren from the upcoming chapter of Windhelm Woes:

“Business as usual in a miserable stinking city full of miserable stinking people, Sera Aren. Which begs the question: what brings you here? Word is you don’t even leave the college these days.” He noticed Savos’ satchels and bags and smiled. “Ah, Nevermind. The old grump must’ve been happy to sell you half his inventory. How long until you gain partial ownership?”

“Nurelion would sooner croak than give up even a single board of his shop—not that I’d want him to; I’m busy enough as is.” Savos gave a tired laugh. “Anyhow, do you have a space for my companion and me? We, er, got kicked out of Candlehearth Hall.”

Tagging: @elavoria @nostalgic-breton-girl @dirty-bosmer @rakaiawriter @skyrim-forever and @thequeenofthewinter

[thequeenofthewinter]

Work-in-Progress Wednesday

Hi, it's me. Coming at you again with more Idiots (tm). I am trying to get myself out of a grading hole of midterms so chaos still do be chaos-ing. (I'll get to tagged back WIPs as soon as I can. I promise I haven't forgotten you. <3)

Let's go: @oblivions-dawn @mareenavee @dirty-bosmer @paraparadigm @rainpebble3 @tallmatcha @gilgamish @throughtrialbyfire @snowberry-crostata @skyrim-forever @umbracirrus @changelingsandothernonsense @wildhexe @ladytanithia and anyone else who wants to participate. Please feel free to tag me. I love WIPs. <3

Blinking in an attempt to dam her emotions back into place, she tries to arrange her face into some semblance of calm. He looks back at her, his own features shifting, preparing for the tempest which is to come. 

“I—,” she stops and thinks about what she wants to say next—or to give herself a moment to collect herself before continuing. “This has all been too much for me. In-between the normal goings-on paired with the newness of court intrigue, and now—”

“You knew this was going to happen if you chose to marry me. It is not unlike you were unaware.” A hard defensive, perhaps too callous, even for him. He reinforces his walls, preparing himself for the assault he knows is to come.

“Is that what you think?” She blinks at him stunned as her mouth turns into a deep frown, and the urge to throw something at him is swells within her almost too tempting to ignore. “Of all the stupid—”

Ulfric’s elbow moves from its position from leaning on the table as his back straightens against his chair. “What else am I to think when all you do its bicker and fight with me, picking at every single decision that I make?”

“I do not to that all the time.”

“No, you to not, but it has been more oft than not as of late. You cycle through seemingly being enamored with me to not even being able to stand looking at me. You cannot tell me this is false.”

“And you cannot tell me that you truly do not understand my struggle, Ulfric. I am—” She sucks in a deep breath and pushes it out slowly between her teeth. “I am trying.”

“As am I. As are we all.”

“Yes, but—”

“But what? What excuse could you possibly have for being so displeased with me? I have been doing the duties of High King almost single-handedly as you rest—”

“That’s it. That’s the problem.”

Ulfric’s brow furrows in confusion, wrinkles becoming much more prominent as he tries to parse out her meaning. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Ulfric, is that you are working entirely too much past the point of reason and logic. It is stressing you to the point of beyond exhaustion. You’ve stopped seeing me, except for these ‘planned meals,’ and well, I feel alone.” She chews on her lip as a hand comes up to lay on her stomach. “Perhaps I am not entirely alone, but it has been hard. I want to help you, and I feel like I am more like a burden. I want to drag you to bed and make you sleep a few decent hours. I want to slap you across the face.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “And more than anything, I want to kiss you and hold you in my arms. Your absence has been felt, and it is not that I do not appreciate what you are doing as I know that it is important, but…the stress has changed you. Remember Ambarys?”

A hand comes up to massage his temple. She is not entirely wrong, but she is not entirely right either. “What do you want me to say? And what would you have me do? I cannot leave the throne unoccupied, not in a time like this.”