Evil Quill Weave pt. 2

Author’s note: Images blatantly and obviously edited from Kazerad’s original Evil Quill-Weave posts. I don’t think he’ll mind. I really like this one. And it’s almost not lewd! (almost). Thanks to the discord folks on UPD5 for providing me with the worst imaginable names for Evil Quill-Weave by the way!

“You need a name if you’re going to be an arch-villain you know,” said the
Faceless Mook. “You can’t just be some nameless mystery villain.”

Quill-Weave sat back on her new throne of skulls. Well, it was painted like
skulls anyway. “I know, I know. But it’s so hard to come up with a good name.
Got any ideas?”

“How about Quill-Reave?”

Quill wrinkled her face in disgust. “No. Lady something. Or maybe Mistress something.”

“Lady Quill-Reave?”

“Too close to my real name too. No, it needs to bear some reflection on me
though. Something unique.”

“Baddy Two-Tits?”

The wine spurted from her nose. “Cute.”

“Mistress Cannonball Rack?”

“If possible, see if you can take your mind out of my cleavage and think!
Maybe something random…”

“Lady Kazerad”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What kind of name is Kazerad?”

“A shitty one.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense.”

“Um… Kill-Weave?”

Quill sighed. “I told you, it’s hard! Let’s go with that for now. But I retain the option to change it later! For now, Mistress Kill-Weave will do.”

“And I suppose I’m just supposed to call you Mistress?”

“Of course! Like all good minions do.”

Faceless Mook stood up from the ebony (colored) table and stretched, “Well,
Mistress, I’m going to call it a day. The wife said I have to be home early today to help clean up the hovel.”

“You don’t tell her where you go every day do you?

“Of course I do. Quill…”

“Mistress!”

“Sorry – Mistress, she’s my wife. I tell her everything I do.”

“What do you tell her?”

“I tell her I’m going back to that crazy Argonian’s tower.”

“And… she doesn’t mind?”

“Not when I bring back money every day.”

“What if we were having an affair? What about that?” Quill asked, rather insulted.

“If I was bringing back money every day, she’d call me a gigolo. And then take
the money.”

“You don’t tell her where my secret lair is, do you?”

“Quill…”

“MISTRESS!”

“Mistress, everyone in the village knows where your secret lair is.”

“They do?”

“They do.”

“Do they cower in fear?”

“Not… precisely. But the carpenter did say nice things about you after you bought that chair from him.”

“Throne.”

“Sorry, ‘Throne’”

“Throne of Skulls.”

“Throne of Carved Skulls. Carved, painted skulls.”

“Well dammit, where am I supposed to get real skulls at anyway?”

“There’s always the graveyard.”

“EWWW! That’s just gross!”

“Sorry Mistress. But I gotta be going.”

“Alright, but I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Noon.”

“Bright and early tomorrow at noon then.”

“Goodnight Quill.”

“MISTRESS!!!”

“Goodnight Mistress,” said the Faceless Mook, as he removed his Mook outfit and put on his regular clothes and walked out the door, taking care to jiggle the
handle so it latched properly.

“Well, every villain has to start with what she has available,” the Mistress of Evil thought to herself. “Now, I need to start thinking about the future. I have to do something Evil. What canI do that’s Evil tonight? Hmmm…”

She rose from her throne and began the ascent to her bedroom. As she rounded the circular stairs to the top of the tower, she looked out from one of the small arched windows.

“No, you peed out the window last night. Besides, then I’d just have to clean it
up again in the morning. Something even more Evil than that…”

Eventually she gave up, removed her Evil garb, and continued her writing. She found that her writing was inspired by these monthly trips to her lair at least. It wasn’t till she had climbed into bed that she finally got an idea. Suddenly she was wide awake. Those stupid villagers. They were probably talking about the crazy Argonian lady even now. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all! She had to inspire fear, and if she couldn’t even get those rubes to fear her, what was the point?

But now she had a plan. It would have to wait until they were all asleep, but then she would strike!

She heard the bats flying in and out of the attic above her. Mooky had wanted to clear them out, but she knew better. They were atmosphere. The dungeon was even better. The manacles were a bit pricey, and they hadn’t a speck of nice authentic rust on them yet, but they were necessary. She’d considered buying a rack, but those things were damnably expensive! The carpenter could make a fake one she guessed.

Finally the candle had burned low and she estimated it must be after midnight. She smiled a toothy grin that would have made an alligator proud and donned her villain outfit again. She only got her tail stuck once this time and felt she was getting better at it. Then she took the remains of her candle and crept down the stairs, pausing momentarily to get what she needed.

Then she slunk out into the cool night air. Before she’d gotten halfway to the village, she realized it was too cool. A breeze was coming up as a storm approached. Suddenly a bolt of lightning flashed in the distance and the slow rolling rumble of thunder swelled.

“That’s more like it,” she thought. “This is a night for Evil. Tonight, Mistress
Kill-Weave will strike fear into the hearts of those who would mock her! Crazy Argonian indeed! I’ll show them crazy!”

The moonlight disappeared as the racing clouds covered it just as she neared the outskirts of the village. Just as she’d hoped, the lights were all out and not a sound was heard, but for a dog yapping from some far-away hut.

Suddenly she realized something.

“What if they have a dog?”

As she approached the door of the nearest hut she looked around her for signs of any pet. Her worries were dispelled when she saw the yellow eyes of a black cat watching her. “No, no dogs here!” she realized.

As if in assurance, the cat padded over to her and stroked itself against her leg. For a moment she wondered if cats could breathe underwater, but banished the thought as irrelevant and unproductive. Instead, she slid from shadow to shadow until she was at the door. She tried the latch.

“Unlocked. Of course. The innocent peons,” she laughed to herself. Soon they would lock their doors and bolt their windows every night now that Mistress Kill-Weave was near! The door opened directly into the kitchen, and was as silent as she was. It took only a little time to find what she was looking for.

When she emerged, the storm was growing stronger and threatening to unleash it’s fury any minute as flash after flash of lightning guided her back to her lair. It was as if her own dark lord’s will was at play. The howl of the wind was now growing and she laughed out loud, knowing the scene of chaos that would present itself in the morning. The laugh, lost on the wind, was the perfect cackle of an Evil Overlord.

Still, she thought, damn but these leggings are thin. The wind raced right up her dress and sent a shiver over her that was at once thrilling and damned embarrassing. Maybe she shouldn’t have worn the Evil Outfit after all.

Suddenly something slapped her hard in the face as the wind caught hold of her dress in earnest and blew the front of it smack into her snout. She pushed it away, and used her tail to hold down the back side.

And then the rain started. It went from dry to monsoon in less than a second. As she staggered towards the tower through the woods, she realized her high-heels were no longer appropriate in the rain. She would definitely need to get boots. She removed her shoes, then remembered that she would ruin her leggings if she tried walking in them. Those things weren’t cheap either. She wondered momentarily if leather was okay to get wet, but decided it was pointless now. She did what was necessary and removed the leggings and tucked them under one arm as her other tried in vain to keep the front of her dress down with her free hand.

She was no longer feeling a thrill at having a breeze blow up her dress. Now she just felt cold, wet, and naked. Miserable. She recalled Mae’s admonition, “Be that woman.” Well, that woman wouldn’t be in this mess. But she saw the tower just ahead and at least she was almost safe within its walls where she could dry off and try and salvage some dignity. At least no one had seen her.

But something had seen her. Suddenly she saw two glowing yellow eyes. The cat. It was hissing as it bounded towards her. She tried to avoid it before she stepped on it, but it let out a yowl as she tripped over it and she fell headlong into the mud just in front of the tower door. The leggings were buried in mud. Slime and muck dripped from her forehead as she raised her head to look at the door she’d almost reached, and some of the water that flowed down her cheeks was not rain.

She staggered up again, now filthy as well as wet and reached the door. The latch wouldn’t budge. She pounded on the door, but the latch diligently did its duty and stayed latched. She slid down and cried.

Only a merciful God could explain why the door gave way when she was at her most wretched, but open it did and she crawled in.

Eventually her tears dried up. She peeled herself out of the wet leather dress, found a towel, and dried herself off. Then she half-walked and half crawled up the stairs to her room and wriggled into bed. A few tears found their way out that apparently she’d saved up when she thought of the beautiful outfit she’d surely ruined.

When she awoke, an afternoon sun was shining through the window. A fresh set of clothes was waiting on the nearby table that she stared at uncomprehendingly for a while. Then she realized she was laying across the bed in her normal posture upon awakening, her upper body slung over the edge. She felt oddly breezy too.

Then she remembered the night’s disaster and realized she was still naked. Somebody had been in here and put those clothes out for her. She closed her eyes and fought to make circumstances different by sheer willpower. It didn’t work. She got out of bed and put on the clothes and went downstairs.

“Good afternoon, Mistress!” Faceless Mook said in greeting.

She wasn’t sure if the man could see the blush on her face. “Good afternoon Mooky. I suppose that was you who left the clothes?”

“Sure was Miss Nipless! I saw your outfit by the door when I came in too. Took ‘em to my wife. Look here. Good as new!”

Suddenly Quill-Weave’s attitude brightened considerably. She took the proffered clothes and held them up. They were as advertised. Even the leggings showed no sign of the previous night’s disaster.

“Oh, Mooky! THANK YOU!” Quill said, tears of joy running down her cheeks as she gave him a hug fit for another Argonian.

“Aww, wasn’t nothing. My wife did most of the work. She’s a wizard with laundry. You should meet her sometime.”

“I will! I will!”

“We figured you got stuck out in that storm last night. It was an awful storm. You must have been soaked.”

“Oh I was. But I made it back. Eventually.”

"Well, all’s well that ends well. Now, come and sit down. The wife made you something special for your troubles.”

The cake on the table looked like it was made by an angel. Quill walked over to it, her eyes wide and sparkling.

“For me?”

“Of course it’s for you! Here, I’ve cut you a slice already. Say, what were you doing out there last night anyway?”

“I… well… I was doing something… evil.”

“Oh! What did you do? Kill some innocent animal or something?”

“No. I started thinking about what you said. About the villagers. That business about the crazy Argonian lady. I took my revenge!”

Suddenly the face on the Faceless Mook became worried.

“Really? Your first real Evil Deed? What did you do?”

“Mooky, I did the most evil thing imaginable. I sneaked into someone’s house and…”

“Yes? What did you DO Mistress?!”

“I… replaced their sugar with… SALT!” she said with an evil grin as she stuffed a big bite of cake into her mouth.

After two full glasses of water, she was able to talk again. But she didn’t say anything. She just sat on her skull throne, sobbing miserably. She didn’t even see Faceless Mook take the cake away and throw it into the trash bin. He left quietly after that, deciding that she probably wanted to be left alone.

Evil Quill Weave pt. 1

Author’s note:

OMG! I didn’t upload this one already? It’s one of my favorites too. I uploaded it to the Prequel Fanart page but not here apparently. If I have already uploaded it, sorry – I couldn’t find it when I looked though. Part 2 to follow in just a bit. Mostly uploading it because I’m going to start a Part 3 soon.

Somebody thought it was NSFW on the booru. I think that’s pushing it though so I’m keeping it here. Sorry, not many illustrations here. A few on Part 2 though.

The idea had been fermenting in her for months. ‘Foment’ might be the better word choice, she realized, but with the added implication of alcohol involvement it seemed more appropriate. It was during her travels doing research on the doomstones that it had truly moved from a fanciful thought process to a more concrete notion. A rumor had come to her of an undocumented doomstone deep in the forests south of the Corbolo River. Since a known doomstone, the Shadow Stone, was in the region anyway it made sense to travel there.

Of course she had gotten lost, but in a very real sense, that was kind of the goal. She’d hired a retainer to act as her guide and, though practically mute, he seemed competent enough. Then they came across a sight she’d not expected. It was a tower, long abandoned but still serviceable, hidden deep within the forest and apparently completely forgotten. Upon her return from her travels, she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. It was her secret, she decided. Her and that retainer anyway. But she’d paid him well to keep quiet, not that he apparently knew any other way, the faceless Mook. She didn’t even tell her lover, Casta, and that was saying something.

However, it was Casta that really was the impetus that began Quill-Weave’s descent into evil. Of course, she’d long been fascinated with the criminal element of society, yet they never measured up to her imagination. Inevitably, when you got right down to it, the criminal mind was one of two types. One was usually a decent enough chap who was pushed into law-breaking by circumstances beyond his control, who then realized he liked it. As long as you didn’t cross him or threaten to expose him, he was likely to be a nice guy really.

Then there were the crazies. Sociopathic nutjobs who would do whatever they felt like at any time, to anyone. Those were the dangerous types and she tried to spot them quickly and then head the other way. But even they were… random. They weren’t like the characters in her books, who were always scheming up some nefarious plot or another. The sociopaths were just crazies who had no filter for any whim that blew across their mind. That’s not really evil. It’s more as if they’re just animals who never developed higher civilized brain function.

Those types she didn’t like though, and on more than one occasion she let slip a clue or two for the Legion. Okay, maybe “clue” would be too subtle. She practically handed them notes saying “So and so did this. Here’s proof. Arrest him.” The Legion wasn’t known for its deep cunning or wit.

But an author knows more than most how deep words can cut. Being called a stick-in-the-mud would have been a trivial offense to most. Quill-Weave was particularly susceptible to its deeper implications. She had spent years writing her series on the lowlifes of Cyrodil, and some of those ‘lowlifes’ had become pretty damned ‘high’ in the political world in that time. And she was more than a little aware of just how bourgeois her own life had become, and in the back of her mind she resented it. So it only took a little spark to set her off.

She sat up in bed suddenly one night, realizing what she had to do. She had to become that which she had sought for all her life. She had to become Evil Incarnate. Her search for it in the criminal classes had been fruitless. It didn’t exist. But she was an author. She knew what it must look like and how it must act. And she had enough resources now to make it a reality. So she made a trip to the Imperial City to visit a tailor she knew who worked in specialty products that only particular trades would have a need for.

In front it appeared to be just another shop marketing trinkets and small leather goods and watched over by an equally nondescript Khajiit. She recognized Quill-Weave when the author entered. A quick exchange and Quill was led through a door in the back, then climbed down a hidden trap door to an underground room of illicit and undeniably erotic fabrics, most of which would require a leap of imagination to call them clothing.

“So, the great author returns to this one’s humble shop eh? Another story of prostitution perhaps you are working on?”

“Cut the Khajiit-talk Mae. I’m here as a customer this time, pure and simple. I need something… special.”

“Alright, alright. I get so used to it I sometimes forget who I’m talking to. So, what are you looking for? Something lacy maybe? I’ve got this great new design for a G-string that can even handle an Argonian tail. Here, take a look!”

Quill-Weave took the pink undergarment with disdain, but then looked at it more closely. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out how the damned thing was supposed to work.

Mae took it back from her with a look of disgust. “You really have no experience at all, do you Quill? This is where the tail goes… here. Then this wraps around the front.”

“But then that part is what goes over your… you? But it’s not big enough to cover…”

“Not meant to cover you, silly lizard.”

“But then why would you eve…”

“Oh forget it. What are you looking for?”

“I need something in leather. Black leather.”

“Oh! I didn’t figure you for the S&M type! Top or bottom?”

“Huh? Well, I need both a top and a bottom I guess.”

The Khajiit rolled her eyes. “Newbie eh? No Quill, that refers to if you are the Dominant or the Submissive. Master or Slave?”

“Oh! Well then… Master. Definitively Master.”

“Come this way. How do you feel about studs?”

“I’m not into men, Mae.”

“Jeeze, no Quill. I mean metal studs. I’ve got a wide variety. Spikey, black, chrome. Here, take a look at this rack.”

“Mae, I might like women, but that doesn’t mean I want to see your tits!” Quill responded to a blank-faced Mae.

“So that’s how it is eh?” the Khajiit finally responded when Quill let the smile creep over her face.

“Hey, you started it!”

“You’re okay Quill, but puns are evil,” the little Khajiit laughed, handing her an odd crotch-less pair of pants.

“Um… no Mae. I’m going more for a Master Villain look. Less sex, more severe.”

Though she tried on some very, very interesting outfits, in the end Quill wasn’t satisfied with any of them. None were quite right for the villain she was planning to become, though she did purchase a couple cute ones anyway just to have on hand should the need arise.

“Well, that’s all we’ve got that will fit an Argonian. I’m afraid we’re going to have to go Custom. Let’s go into my office and see if we can come up with something more like what you have in mind.”

Some minutes later, Quill was watching Mae do sketch after sketch as they both made adjustments.

“Now, about the bodice, do you see it as open or closed?”

Quill looked down at her chest. “I’ve not got much in that department. I guess closed.”

Mae noticed the inherent disappointment in the Argonian’s tone. “Nonsense Quill. Stand up.”

She did as she was bid while the Khajiit boldly grabbed her under her tits and lifted them up and pushed them together. Quill squeaked.

“There, now what do you see?”

“I see a cat squeezing my boobs together. Without my permission I might point out!”

“Oh, lighten up Quill. I’m going to have to take measurements in a little bit, and I get need to get very accurate around your tail region. No, Quill, that’s cleavage and plenty of it.”

“But it’s not real. You’re just squeezing my boobs together.”

“Honey, that’s all cleavage is. And I can design it so you look like a double-D.”

“Will it be comfortable, being squeezed like that?”

“Hell no. You’re a Dominatrix remember. You’re not supposed to be comfortable.”

“Oh… yeah. Well then, open if you can make me look like that!”

The Khajiit hastily drew an open bodice.

“More… evil,” Quill commented but a growing smile on her face.

Mae drew what looked almost like horns on the sides, but lowering the bodice even more on both sides.

“That’s… daring!” Quill said, though her wide eyes showed her approval. “My nipples won’t show?”

“Darling, you’re an Argonian. You have the distinct advantage of not having any nipples to worry about! Rock that advantage!”

“You’re right. Let’s go for it! Now, about the dress. I feel like it’s missing something.”

“Yes… You’ll be practically exposed up top. It’s too conservative below. How about a slit up the side?”

They both looked at the sketch for a minute.

“No, not enough,” Mae admitted. “Two slits. Waaay up.”

Quill’s smile became more pronounced. “I’ll never be able to wear any underwear with that.”

“Ah, but I’ve got just the thing for that. Transparent colored leggings underneath. It’s my latest design.”

“Do it Mae. How long?”

“I’ll have it done in a week. Cash up front of course. You can take those other two outfits with you. If you’re going to buy this, they’re on the house. Now, it’s time for measuring. Quill, don’t be shy and let me do my work here. Humans have it easy with just two legs to worry about. Even Khajiits have smallish tails that don’t require a lot of precision. But you Argonians have a massive tail that must be accommodated precisely. I need to know it’s movements from full up to down flat to full left and full right if I’m to do a proper job. So, off with the clothes and lift your tail as high as it goes…”

An hour later, Quill felt like she’d just finished a workout with her lover.

“You sure you don’t want to measure my depth? It seems like the only measurement you haven’t taken.” she quipped as she pulled her skirt on.

“Don’t laugh,” Mae said while scribbling some numbers on a note pad. “I’ve had to do that before. Sorta. I’ve done some very unusual work. But no, I’ve got everything I need now. Of course, I get paid for doing what I do, and paid handsomely. This isn’t going to be cheap.”

She passed a number to Quill.

An eyebrow was raised.

“The other two outfits are free,” the little tailor reminded Quill, her tail swishing from side to side in anticipation of a sale.

“What’s this line item? Rubies?!”

“I have an idea. Trust me.”

“After what you just put me through, I should marry you! Go ahead. But don’t expect a tip!”

“What I just put you through was my tip, dear. See you in a week!”

By the time the week was out, Quill-Weave had worked up something of a lather in anticipation. No arch-villain worth their salt could go without the appropriate outfit after all, and the one she and Mae had worked up was right up there with her own imagination.

At the sight of her, Mae smiled an enigmatic smile and led her down again.

“Oh, I think you’ll like it. Come, try it on!”

A sparkle of red caught her eye. “What’s this?”

“Just try it on. You’ll see.”

Quill started looking around for a dressing room before she caught the disdainful eye of the tailor.

“Quill, I have seen every inch of you. I hardly think you need privacy from me!”

“Well…”

“Quill, if you’re going to wear this, you need to be this. The woman who wears this dress isn’t going to be looking for a dressing room. She’s going to look for a whip. Be that woman, or you’ll never fit the dress.”

Quill closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she smiled in a way that almost looked like a different person. She felt different. She had her old clothes off in an instant, kicking them aside as if kicking away her old life. Then she pulled the snug leather over herself. She needed a little help getting her tail in properly, but otherwise it fit like it was tailor-made for her, which of course it was.

The look on Mae’s face told her all she needed to know, but she submitted to be led to a full-length mirror anyway.

“Now, put on these leggings,” Mae said, handing her some very sheer, very stretchable cloth in a shocking purple color.

“Mae. This is practically transparent. I told you, this wasn’t for sex!”

“Darling, everything’s for sex.”

“But… it’s very… breezy. I may not have nipples but I’ve got…”

Be that woman Quill! The woman that wears this doesn’t give a fuck about modesty. She wears her modesty in her attitude. If a breeze exposes her, she will wield such disdain for any who would dare to glance at her they would melt! You are untouchable. You are…“

"Evil Incarnate!” Quill finished for her and Mae smiled back.

“Yes, that’s it. You are no longer Quill-Weave, you are Evil Incarnate. And Evil Incarnate doesn’t wear frilly panties.”

Quill took another look in the mirror, her eyes sinking to a sultry glare. The face that stared back at her was not that of the author whose livelihood came from telling of the exploits of others. This was the face of a person that Did Things. She bared her fangs and they shone in flickering underground light. When she looked back at Mae, the little Khajiit backed off reflexively.

“O… okay Quill. That’s enough.”

Quill stepped towards the tailor silently, menacingly until their breasts touched and her gleaming teeth reflected in the Khajiit’s wide, frightened eyes. An involuntary shiver ran through Mae that even Quill could see.

“I like the red skull,” she whispered.

“Please, Quill. You’re scaring me.”

Quill turned around and took off the leggings.

“Sorry Mae,” she laughed. “I had to try it out properly.”

“Heh. Yeah. You’re very good at roleplaying. This is for roleplaying, right?”

“Sure. Roleplaying. That’s what it’s for. Now, please help me get my tail out of this. Will I need someone to help me with it every time?”

“Oh no. Here, let me show you. If you just stick your tail in first like this, the rest is easy. Yes, like that. You’ve got it now.”

“So, what about the skull?”

“Oh, I felt it needed a pop of color. Ruby red. I’ll have you know I looked all over the city for these and no one had anything even close to matching. I ended up buying them from some strange guy outside the city. Weird guy. Would you believe, he wore a lit candle on his shoulder! But he had the perfect stones. I embedded them into the gloves, belt and these optional gauntlets too. And the skull just fit so perfectly, I didn’t have to touch a thing! Crazy cheap too.”

Quill spun back to face her again, her eyes flashing.

The Khajiit’s eyes grew wide again. “I… I meant to tell you I was going to refund some. Here, you can have this back. I’m sorry Quill, but, well, you know how it is, right? Business is business!”

“Don’t fuck with me Mae. You’re the best at this work. You deserve your pay. But don’t fuck me over or you’ll regret it,” Quill said with a menace to her voice that seemed to come of its own accord. Still, the thrill of that cowering look in the little tailor’s eyes was intoxicating.

All the long ride back home, she kept the package on her lap protectively while it kept her warm over the miles, seeming to generate its own heat that went straight to her core. The look in the tailor’s eyes kept coming back to her. For the first time in her life, Quill had seen real fear – fear of her – in someone else’s eyes. She felt at once both ashamed and thrilled by it – the thrill seeming to reach deep into her core and to fill a space she barely knew existed. Something both primal, physical and essential.

She couldn’t wait to get back home, lock the doors, shutter the windows and try it on again.

Shipping Consequences pt. 3 (end)

Katia gave Quill-Weave a hug as her and Rajirra left the Argonian’s home to get a room at the nearby inn. However, Quill-Weave held Katia for a moment and looked at her with an odd expression that Katia didn’t recognize.

“Katia…” Quill-Weave started, unusually hesitant.

“What is it Quill? What’s wrong?”

When she replied, her words were quiet, obviously meant to not be overheard by Rajirra who was waiting outside. “You’re… sure about this right? I mean, you and Rajirra?”

Katia looked at her puzzled, then understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh, you mean about her sex. I know. I had no idea myself! It’s a little embarrassing to talk to you about it, knowing about you and your friend in Chorrol, but yeah! We’re quite… compatible in that department. Who knew I, of all people, would fall in love with a woman!?”

“Certainly not me,” Quill-Weave said, but Katia felt there was still something not being spoken.

“Quill, I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and visit with you for a bit after we’ve got everything lined up at the chapel. But yes, I’m very sure. We love each other very much. We’ll be very happy together, I’m sure!”

“Well, alright. If you’re sure. Goodnight Katia,” Quill said and closed the door.

“What did she want?” Rajirra asked as Katia rejoined her and they headed next door.

“Oh, what any good friend would want. She wanted to make sure I was confident I was doing the right thing.”

“And… are you… confident?”

“Never more in my life,” Katia said and gave her partner an earnest kiss as proof.

The next day was a whirlwind of activity for both Katia and Rajirra. While, of course, they had few guests to worry about, both still wanted to do the wedding right so they spent the morning getting all the preparations into place. Finally, Katia left Rajirra to do some last-minute decorations in the Chapel while she went to talk to Quill-Weave.

The Argonian opened the door graciously enough, but something appeared to be wrong with her face.

“I’m sorry, Katia. I’ve just gotten something in my eyes,” she said, wiping tears away. “But come on in, it’s alright. But I did want to talk to you a little before tomorrow.”

“Sorry to hear that Quill. Have you tried flushing your eyes out with clean water?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. But about Rajirra. How much do you really know about her? I mean, you haven’t been gone all that long.”

“I know. It’s been kind of a love-at-second-sight sort of deal. Oh she hated me at first! If it wasn’t for that joke Sigrid pulled on me I doubt I’d have ever seen her again. Which might have been a good thing because I was non-too-kindly disposed towards her after she left me locked in with that giant Imp either! But the feelings we felt for each other afterwards, even after we confronted Sigrid, were real. Still are. And Cyrodiil isn’t a place you want to wait too long on such decisions either!”

“But… when I met you, you were so… well, to not put too fine a point on it, so heterosexual.”

“I know right? I think it was because sex with men was the one thing I was so good at that I never thought about any other way. Had I known myself better, that night with you would have been just as uncomfortable for me!”

“But, it wasn’t?”

“Oh Quill, no. After all you did for me, I’d never dream of taking advantage of you in that way. You’re the best!”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t?”

Katia stopped, trying to understand what her friend was saying.

Quill looked away, but explained, “…that you wouldn’t dream of me.”

Suddenly Katia understood. “Oh Quill… Quill, you should have let me know! All this time I… I had no idea Quill!”

She tried to give Quill-Weave a hug, but the Argonian pushed her away. “Quill, I don’t know what to say!”

“I’m sorry Katia. Please leave. I don’t want you to see me right now.”

“Quill, if you don’t want to come to the wedding, I understand. I’ll just tell Rajirra you were sick or something. Really, you don’t have to come.”

The Argonian turned to face her, her eyes even redder than their usual orange hue. “I’m sorry Katia. I… just can’t.”

“You should have told me, Quill. I’ll…” Katia stammered, trying to find words.

“No. It’s alright,” Quill said, escorting Katia to the door. “I want you to be happy Katia. You understand, I just can’t do it. Now go. Goodbye Katia Managan.”

“Goodbye Quill-Weave. I do thank you for everything, sincerely.”

Katia stepped out of Quill-Weave’s house for the last time and heard the latch close behind her. And then she heard a sound she’d never heard before, the subdued wailing of a heartbroken Argonian.

The wedding, though sparsely attended, was nonetheless going smoothly until the fateful line was spoken by the priest…

“Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?”

As if to punctuate the line, a pounding and a scream was heard behind them and above them, behind the stained glass rose window. It cried only one word, “Katia!”

Rajirra turned to Katia, who looked at the vague silhouette visible behind the window, then back to her lover. She shook her head.

“Ignore her Rajirra. It is you I love,” Katia said, then turned to the priest who wasn’t quite sure what to make of the awkward interruption.

“I do. Now and forever.” she said to him clearly and strongly for all to hear. The shadow at the window disappeared and was not seen again.

Shipping Consequences pt. 2

Quill-Weave took the letter to her friends at The Count’s Arms to see if they could make heads or tails of it. She had gleaned a little actual information from it at least. It was definitely written by Katia and posted from Kvatch. She was pretty sure it indicated she and a friend named Rajirra were arriving this evening. The only other bit she could understand was that she had failed to get her book replaced. To call it a disappointment, especially after all this time, was really not accurate. To be disappointed you first have to anticipate ‘appoint’ment. The fact that the Khajiit was still alive was actually a relief. Beyond that it was a disjointed mess of mangled words and names that made no sense at all. In fact, it seemed that Katia wrote far better when drunk than sober – assuming she was sober when she wrote the letter anyway.

Of course, her friends were of little help. They kept asking her embarrassing questions like, “Who wrote this?”. Well, if Katia were really going to arrive tonight she’d find out soon enough. So she went back home and began cleaning up her small house. She was none too sure if Katia was planning to stay at her place or not. With a third person it would be awfully cramped. Still, she wanted to be hospitable if she possibly could. She did take the time to hide the hard liquor however.

Finally just before sunset a knock came at the door. Although her clothes were different, there was no mistaking the yellow cat with the big eyes that stood at her doorstep. Behind her stood another Khajiit who, other than the long hair behind her head, looked like she could be Katia’s twin. However, Quill-Weave was aware of her own racial prejudices, having borne the brunt of some of them herself.

“Katia! Welcome back! Come in, come in! And this must be Rajirra!”

Katia’s expression went from worry to happiness at her words. “Oh! So you did get my letter! Yes, this is my betrothed, Rajirra!”

“Come on in, let’s sit in the parlor. So you just came from Kvatch then?” Quill said, greeting the newcomer warmly.

“This one has, and appreciates your hospitality Quill-Weave. Katia has told me much of your helpfulness to her when first she arrived in Cyrodiil,” Rajirra said, her eyes darting around the room and her speech patterns recalling the standard Khajiit aversion to using first person pronouns directly.

Quill-Weave directed them towards the couch in her living room while she turned back to close the door, when she realized what Katia had said. “Betrothed.” Something in her heart sank and her expression changed drastically. Her mind raced, trying to make all the connections needed to comprehend her words. Katia was marrying another Khajiit? A female Khajiit? But… what about her Gaydar? Was it on the blink? All these thoughts and more went through her head in a second, before she’d turned back to her guests and she tried to resume her former appearance. She felt she did a good job, save for a nervous tick of a nictitating membrane.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write before Quill. And sorrier still about your book. You’re okay with it then I hope? I wrote you all about it.”

Quill-Weave sat down in the big overstuffed armchair and leaned back. “I am, though let’s just say I’d rather hear about it from you directly. Tell me all about it Katia.”

And the yellow Khajiit proceeded to do just that. As her story went on, Quill restrained herself from commenting overmuch, and showed the proper responses to Katia’s recitation of her joyous recognition of her magical talents as well as her terrible defeat at the hands of Sigrid. But what Quill was really doing was studying her body language. The way she looked to Rajirra, the way they touched and the way Rajirra returned her affection. It was getting harder to keep her smile in place.

“Quite an adventure! But really, don’t worry about the book. To be honest, I’ve already written to the bookseller there. I’m afraid I didn’t think I’d see you again. But I’m very happy to have been wrong about that.”

Katia’s tail twitched in embarrassment, “After last time I was here, I find that hard to believe. Don’t worry, I’ve told Rajirra about… my issues.”

“Yes,” Rajirra assured Katia, patting her hand. “In our more intimate moments, she has impressed this one with her talents with fruit as well. But these talents will no longer be performed publicly.”

Quill had to laugh at that. “That is good! But then, why have you come all the way back here Katia? Surely you could find a priest of Mara in Kvatch?”

“Why, Quill-Weave! Didn’t you read my letter? I came for your blessing. You know I don’t communicate with my parents and you are the closest thing I have to a mother who can give me that. You cared for me when I badly needed caring for. I couldn’t get married without you!”

“Your mother eh? You know I’m not that much older than you…” Quill trailed off, suddenly realizing that perhaps, in fact, she was.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply…” Katia began but Rajirra cut her off.

“No offense was intended, this one is certain oh hospitable one. We Khajiit have little experience with Argonian ages and appearance. This one is certain that you have many fewer years than we might assume.”

“Did you just tell me you think I’m not as old as I look?” Quill-Weave asked, no longer sure how much she appreciated this Katia clone.

Rajirra’s face turned to fear and she looked to Katia to help intercede, “This one did not intend to offend!”

Katia tried to come to her rescue, “Well, you dress sort of… older… I mean… Oh I’m sorry Quill! I don’t think of your age, I just know how much you helped me! Oh Raj, we’re screwing this up.”

Quill stood up and sighed. “No. No need Katia. I’m just in an odd mood. I’m prone to hear insults where they’re not intended. Rajirra, relax. It’s okay. I suppose I do dress a bit conservative. But I assure you both, I’m not that old. Now let me get you something to drink. You must be thirsty from your long trip. What would you like?”

Rajirra fairly sank back behind Katia, who responded “Oh, anything really. Water? Fruit juice?”

“Milk?” Quill-Weave suggested.

Katia’s eyes darkened, “Are you being racist Quill?”

“Oh no, not at all! Just offering what I have available, that’s all.”

Katia looked to Rajirra who nodded slightly.

“Well then… um… yes. Some milk would actually be quite nice!” Katia admitted.

Quill went to the kitchen, and pulled down two saucers, but then poured two glasses instead. Of course she would never actually serve them milk in platters, but it would have been appropriate since they obviously must think they were little kittens, to think she could be Katia’s mother! But no, she would remain civil. However, if they did stay overnight, she was pretty sure Rajirra would find something nasty in her long, luxurious yellow hair in the morning.

Shipping Consequences pt. 1

Another Prequel fanfic starts. The idea came to me in a flash last night while watching a FurNut stream. Specifically the conversation concerned this FurNut pic below. that depicts the domestic life of Katia and Rajirra. The image is a lightly NSFW but awesome anyway. And if it’s safe enough for the Booru, I figure it’s okay to post here. One of my favorites.

But it got me thinking – in such a universe where that could exist, where would that leave Quill-Weave?

This is part 1. Probably no more than 3 parts expected though. It’s not a complex story. Tragedy Ensues…

“You didn’t tell her about that whole Imp business did you?” she asked her partner as the wagon trundled over the rough path towards Anvil.

The ever-so-slightly darker Khajiit tightened her grip around Rajirra’s waist and the wagon’s frame as a particularly jolting bounce threatened to toss her out.

“Raj, of course I did. I told you I wrote her everything! But don’t worry, I explained what happened, and how we made up. She’ll understand.”

Rajirra shook her head. “This one thinks you have made a mistake. Your Argonian surrogate mother will not approve.”

Katia kissed her lover’s cheek. “You don’t know her. She helped me when I had nothing.”

Rajirra smiled wanly and looked away. “She will not approve.”

“Oh, you’re such a downer Raj. By the way, did you ever read that book I gave you?”

“This one does not enjoy these fictional tales. Khajiit should study practical matters.”

Katia lay down on the bench seat, using Rajirra’s lap as a pillow and watched the clouds go by, but keeping a firm grip on the rough coach’s framework all the same. Rajirra looked down at her affectionately.

“I’m not a practical matter,” Katia said quietly.

Rajirra considered this for a while, lazily stroking Katia’s ear before responding, “No, you decidedly are not. This one did not expect to feel affection for such as you.”

Katia tugged Rajirra’s tail. “Hey, I didn’t even know I liked girls!”

“It was the bug musk. You know this is the only explanation.”

“I suppose so. At first anyway. That was cruel of Sigrid. But it did bring us together, after all. In the end she did us a kindness!”

Rajirra’s face darkened and her stroking stopped.

“Raj? What is it?”

Rajirra swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to glisten. “Kat, you don’t think that might still…”

Katia sat up and hugged her friend close, “What?”

“Oh Kat, this one has been so happy in these days with you. What if it is just the bug musk? How would this one know? How could you know?!”

“Raj, I love you and we haven’t been near Sigrid for weeks. This isn’t magic anymore.”

Rajirra kissed her long and hard unexpectedly, then pulled back. “It is magic, Beautiful Kat. It must be. But maybe it can last a lifetime?”

“A lifetime sounds just about right to me,” Katia said. Then she opened the bag at Rajirra’s feet and pulled a book from it.

“Now, if you won’t read it, I’m going to have to read it for you.”

“That would be pleasant,” Rajirra said as Katia resumed her place on Rajirra’s lap.

“What, my voice no longer rapes your ears with a thorny cock?”

“Only when you try to speak Ta’agra. This you should not do.”

“You could always tutor me you know!” Katia suggested as she flipped the book open to the first page.

Rajirra stroked the fur from Katia’s snout to her eyes, saying, “Beautiful Kat, some things in this world are simply too broken to fix. Your Tamrielic will suffice.”

“That bad eh?” Katia sighed. “Well, then you can listen to my Tamrielic. Now stop that so I can read. Okay… ‘Red Crater’ by Quill-Weave. It was a dark and stormy night…”

Rajirra sighed and looked up the path in front of the wagon as her lover’s voice rolled on, almost like lyrics to a song counterpointed by the rhythmic squeak and rattle of the wheels. She had never been to Anvil before, and she was not looking forward to this trip to see this mythical author that Katia was so enamored with. Yet Katia had insisted that they marry with her blessing, and if that meant meeting and befriending this odd Argonian, it was worth it. She did worry often if the last few weeks of bliss with Katia could be real. It certainly had started off as a prank by that ‘mage’ Sigrid. The woman had apparently planned it as a way to humiliate Katia. And it was certainly the bug musk that had led to that first night of carnal bliss between the two.

Yet that couldn’t explain the rest of it, could it? Surely the effects of such a potion were limited in their longevity? Once the two Khajiits had awoken the next day and realized what had happened, they confronted the witch point blank. She certainly didn’t deny it, and had a pretty jolly laugh at their expense. But that didn’t explain why they left hand-in-hand afterwards. Nor why she still felt something pull at her heart whenever she looked into the eyes of the crazy Khajiit loner that she’d finally found. She prayed that whatever they had together now, that it was real. The pain would be too much if it turned out to be less than true. Even Sigrid couldn’t be that cruel.

Halloween Remembrances

bluedraggy:

Another Halloween is upon us, and I thought this might be a good opportunity to reminisce about Halloween from my childhood – essentially the 1970s. Why? Because there’s a lot of kids who don’t really get the Trick-or-Treat experience that I did as a kid, and it seems like it would be a good idea to at least familiarize them with the holiday in a bygone era.

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be one of those “Your Halloween is awful, it was great back in my day” rants. In many ways, it sucked compared to today. But we’re talking about a ‘holiday’ wherein as a child you get free candy from neighbors. That’s not ever going to suck too bad. But things were a little different back then.

Also, geography may play a role in my experiences and those of others. I’m sure the treats (and tricks) of those in the Northeast are going to vary quite a bit from mine in the Midwest. My childhood is from a smallish farmer town in Southern Illinois, so your mileage may vary.

(picture worth it just for the car. Is that a Chevy Vega? Jeeze, I think it is!)

First – The Treats

Compared to today’s offerings, I seem to recall we had a lot less variety back then. But I do clearly recall that one of the very BEST treats you could get was the Caramel Popcorn Ball. If you got one of these wrapped, even better! But I’m quite sure that they were sometimes dropped ‘naked’ into my bag (usually a pillowcase and we didn’t mind a bit).

The worst, (and this is definitely subjective but…) was the Bit O’ Honey. Now maybe there’s some real Bit O’ Honey aficionados out there, but as subjective as this is, it at least covers all of my siblings. By the week after Halloween, this was about all that was left in any of our bags.

Well, there is one thing worse, but our neighbors knew better than to includ this monstrosity. Black licorice is the worst. The ultimate worst that can still be called candy at all. It is known.

Oddly enough, apples were NOT the worst thing ever. Caramel apples were actually pretty good, even if we just ate the caramel. I seem to recall giving out a lot of apples (not caramel) at Halloween too as a kid. I feel kinda bad because I’m fairly sure that by the end of the night the ones with the nasty bruises and worm holes were all that were left. I never said WE gave out the good stuff.

In the middle were the standard chocolate Hersheys, the hard-as-a-rock Sweet Tarts (Smartees were just a gleam in some candy executives eyes), and maybe Pixie Straws. If it sounds like I’m complaining about Sweet Tarts, believe me, I’m NOT. Possibly the best candy ever was those huge giant Sweet Tarts that were hard as a rock but you’d eventually suck them down to reasonable size. I think all Sweet Tarts have now been softened to the point that they don’t break your teeth, but alas there’s something missing when there’s no dental threat in them any more. Spree was an alternative, and they were okay, but Sweet Tarts ruled the roost. Sorry youngsters, but these are not it. I couldn’t even find an image for the Real Thing.

In between there was the Tootsie Rolls of course, or the more maddening Tootsie Pops that you’d have to work your way down to the Tootsie Roll in the center, that was the only real reason you’d put one of them in your mouth anyway. M&Ms were ubiquitous, but I don’t think they made Peanut M&Ms for years yet when I was a kid.

SECOND – The Tricks

Really, unless you were a really evil child, there were only 2 tricks ever played. And even then it had absolutely nothing to do with what you got at the door. Either you threw toilet paper over trees or the really brave would soap the windows.

If you REALLY REALLY didn’t like someone you would use paraffin (because its harder to get off the windows). ‘Egging’ someone’s car really wasn’t a traditional Trick or Treat thing. That was just malicious and could happen anytime. There were tales of the Dog Shit in a Bag trick, but I think that was more an urban myth than reality. It goes something like this. First, put a lot of dog poop in a brown paper bag. Next, set it on a neighbor’s porch and light it on fire. Third, ring the doorbell. Fourth, run like hell.

In theory, said homeowner will come out, see the small fire, and stomp on it to put it out, getting liberally coated in dog poo in the meantime.

Again, that’s a little mean for the kids in our neighborhood though. It sounds fun, but in reality I don’t know that it ever happened.

THIRD – The Costumes

I would say on the order of 50% of all costumes were home-made. And usually with dad’s throwaways. Being a ‘bum’ was very very common. The really well-to-do might have some ‘vampire blood’ and fangs they could put on and in their mouths. If you had an actual store-bought costume it was just a mask. A mask over your face. Fastened with an elastic band not much more than a rubberband. Hard plastic. An over-the-head mask would be the height of extravagance. More likely if you have full over-the-head mask, you made it yourself with papier-mache, it was hot as hell and weighed a ton, not to mention losing the eyeholes all the time. Odds were you took it off after the first two houses.

‘It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown’ is pretty accurate as to the number of kids in sheets with eye-holes cut out too. (though only 1 pair typically). Actually that show is pretty accurate in a lot of ways, though I never got a rock. I’m sure Halloween parties actually HAPPENED, but I never went to one as I recall. But that’s okay – there’s more free candy to be had, who wants to waste their time bobbing for apples?

TIME TO GO HOME – On Halloween?!

I don’t remember how late I stayed out on Halloween. But pretty damn late. Going home before EVERY SINGLE HOUSE was tried was practically mandatory in my particular subdivision. There were a few that didn’t give out candy, but very very few. I don’t recall having any animosity towards them though. There were so many more houses to go to, I think we appreciated that they left their house dark so we wouldn’t waste time with them. But I’m quite certain we often didn’t get back home till after midnight – and I think I was no more than 11 or 12 even then. Parent’s didn’t mind – since everyone else was out too, it wasn’t that big of a deal. (But we DID have to go back to school the next day.)

Even then though, there were the rumors of Razors in the Apples. Never saw or heard credible evidence of any tampering with any candy, but then we weren’t Internet Connected so it was all just rumor. Didn’t matter to me – I just peeled the caramel off the apples and threw the rest away anyway. 🙂

That’s it. Happy Halloween! Have a fun time. And good luck if you get some…

Slutcat and Sworddog – update

Damn this is fun for me! I’m nearly updating these daily, and I don’t even have to write a plot!

But I noticed I got some “likes” here for the story and I wanted to clarify something. I’m up to 5 “chapters” already but I’m posting them here:

http://slutcatandsworddog.tumblr.com

I made that blog specifically for Slutcat because I have other things to post in bdnsfw.tumblr.com. I know, I confused everyone as I first pointed them to bdnsfw, now I’m pointing to slutcatandsworddog. I promise I won’t move it again!

I do LOTS of Skyrim screenshots there besides straight text, and yes, it’s lewd. Not porn but… it’s a naked Khajiit basically. What would you expect? This image is actually a relatively safe one, but you might as well know what you’re getting into if you go there:

I just wanted to clarify for anyone looking for it that http://slutcatandsworddog.tumblr.com is where I’m continuing it at. Here’s the archive link so you can kinda follow it in-order properly and easily.

http://slutcatandsworddog.tumblr.com/archive

Thanks for the reads though! I know some are essentially pornbots but I’m having such fun making it I don’t really mind!

Slutcat & Sworddog in Skyrim (1)

Well, screw the survey, I’ve already decided where to go. But I’m not at ALL sure this will stay SFW enough to post here. In fact, I’m not sure even the first chapter is SFW enough to post here. So I put it THERE:

https://bdnsfw.tumblr.com/post/166225689321/slutcat-sworddog-in-skyrim-1

All based on FurNut’s terribly-cute image. I’m in the process of installing Skyrim Special Edition for this, and I’ll probably be posting screenshots from it as illustrations. This will DEFINITELY be a long one. It might even end up being a complete playthrough of Skyrim as Slutcat. But if you liked this first one, expect more of the same! If not, expect more of the same.

It’ll be fun to see if I can figure out a way to put swords on a dog in Skyrim like this. But if not, I’ll ignore it.

As for Slutcat, well, she IS named Slutcat after all. I’ll not ever call her Katia since that would be kinda impossible anyway and she’s not got the same personality anyway. I’ll just call her Slutcat.

99 followers! Woohoo!

bdprequel:

Close a-freacking-nuff.

After the fanfic readings Friday night from Kaz, I’m dying to write more. Maybe I’ll even improve my grammar and spelling. But what to write, what to write? Well, I’ve got an idea for that. Since I have SO many followers (50% of which are actually likely not porn-bots), ask the readers! So, have a survey!

If I set it up right, it should be completely anonymous. Using Google Forms because those other ones kinda suck visually and I always like putting images in things.

So… what do you want to see more of on the fanfic side? Don’t worry, there’s ideas for totally new stuff there too as well as a write-in area.

https://goo.gl/forms/FN6V9ZHLUv5NlRRQ2

Do it for Quill-Weave. Look how sad she is. You’re making Quill-Weave cry.

There. Spammed this across enough of my Tumblr blogs for now.

A Day in the Life of an Argonian Writer

(just a silly thing I wrote. All images shamelessly stolen from Kazerad except one from Furnut, credited.)

7:00am – Wake up. This is not a trivial endeavor. Depending on prior evening’s alcoholic consumption, this task alone may require up to an hour to complete successfully. Yet it is a necessary and vital task, so do not skimp. Continuing on to other steps without proper completion of this will result in less-than-optimal experiences. Toothpicks on the eyelids are not a substitute.

8:00am – Get up. Note that this is a separate task than that mentioned previously. More than likely you will find yourself in an embarrassing and muscle-aching position after hours of comatose inactivity. Stretch your muscles, crack any joints that need cracking and scratch your ass. Slither your way into the bathroom. Remember, your ancestors were reptilian. There is no need to feel embarrassed. Perambulation on only two limbs is overrated. You were given four and a tail by Nature. It is no disparagement to use them all in this time of crisis. Upon arrival in your bathroom, complete all natural and necessary functions. Then get yourself into a bath at the earliest possible opportunity. You stink. Also, recall that oral hygiene is of high importance. Brush your teeth. It is also suggested to brush your tongue. Given the size of that particular body part on you, it is perfectly acceptable to use a scrub brush rather than a tooth brush.

9:00am – You are now refreshed and ready to take on the day. However, keep in mind that you are also now naked. You may have been so before, but at that time modesty was of little importance. Now would be a good time to quietly peer about your bedroom to verify it is free of other occupants. Should you encounter any unexpected sentient beings in your room, wrapping a towel around yourself is suggested. If this does prove necessary, keep in mind that your tail will prevent proper and complete coverage. Keep that tail down. Then oust the offending interloper from your room in whatever way seems fit and find clothes. Do not wear the same clothes you wore the previous day. The reasons for this rule are many and need not be discussed here. Hopefully you can find an acceptably clean outfit.

9:30am – Breakfast time! Once again, verify your solitude first. Open a window and feel the fresh breezes of Anvil. The scents from the nearby ocean should remind you of just how close you are to the sea. Now close the window and regret the inhalation of the stench of rotting fish. But do NOT succumb to your instinct and seek to break your fast with more alcoholic beverages. Remember, fruit and nuts are available and cheap. You may even find some dairy and sweet bread. Pork products are the traditional meat breakfast for the Urban Argonian. Do try not to rip and shred your breakfast with your sharp pointy teeth. Try to chew it like the cud-eating flat-toothers do. When you have sufficiently frustrated yourself, go ahead and tear in.

10:00am – Clean up the mess you made. Now it is time to get to work. For one last time, double check your solitude, ready your work space, double check the lock on your door and the shutters on your window. If privacy is assured you may now dress for work properly. It is not necessary to remove ALL clothing. Remember, your goal here is to remove all possible distractions, not to awaken new ones. Make yourself comfortable. Now, review all notes and your previous day’s work, if any.

11:00am – Continue staring at blank piece of paper.

12:00am – LUNCH TIME! Dress yourself properly again (do not forget this step) and head out to whatever comestibles establishment you desire. Do NOT go to the bar again. Save that for later. You’ll need it. If you decide to eat at the establishment, try to conform as well as possible to the norms of human society as befits a well-traveled Argonian. Be courteous and polite. However, do not attempt to smile at other humans. The expression tends to frighten them as they know you are hungry at this time of day. Should you encounter any acquaintances, do not let them know you have seen them and try to escape. If not possible, go ahead and dine with them. They are your fellow citizens after all. Do NOT offer to pick up the tab, especially before food is ordered however. Experience shows that making such a heinous mistake inevitably leads to the ordering of multiple Filet Mignons. Decline the offers of another drink after the meal is done. You have work to do!

1:00pm – Return home. Re-lock the doors, recheck for stray Khajiits, and resume your standard working attire. By this time, the blank page may have become annoying. Failing renewed inspiration, try starting by writing this:

“It was a dark and stormy night.”

Cliche, sure, but it’s better than staring at a blank page. Search your imagination. Surely you can come up with SOMETHING to write about! If the clock continues to click and the last word you wrote continues to be “night”, you can now consider removing the rest of your apparel. SOME distraction may, in fact, be necessary.

(IMAGE BY FURNUT: https://inkbunny.net/furnut5158 )

2:00pm – Stare in horror at the pornography you have just written. Scan the smut for anything even remotely imaginative, then destroy all evidence. If fire codes allow, ignite the paper in a fire-proof area and watch it burn. If not, ingestion is a viable alternative. Resume your working position and for god’s sake put your clothes back on! Look at clock. It should now be at least 2:30pm and you have done absolutely nothing of worth. You need inspiration. Go find something to inspire you. Do not refer to the magazine you keep under your mattress. That is not the kind of inspiration you need now. If all else fails, go for a walk.

3:00pm – As you amble about the beautiful city of Anvil, take in the sights around you. Eavesdrop on some citizen’s conversation, for inspiration OR for later blackmail fodder. All information is valuable. Stop wondering if small animals can breathe underwater. They cannot and societal norms will be transgressed if you endeavor to find out. Should you encounter a fellow Argonian in your rambling, be sure and switch to Jel before making snide and hurtful comments about the humans. Avoid any Khajiit’s you may come across. One is quite enough.

4:00pm – Back to work again. Follow aforementioned procedures to secure your privacy and resume your place at your work space. If you are STILL lacking inspiration, write about what you saw in your walk. No need to be too creative here, just describe what you saw so that you are writing something. Describe the crumbling building you avoided, or perhaps the stinky Nord that you walked too close to. What was he wearing? What kind of weapon did he have? What were the stains in his beard from? Surely there’s something you can write about. Keep in mind that ALL writing is helpful to your craft, even that thing you burnt in the sink earlier.

5:00pm – You made it! QUITTING TIME! You may now put away your writing materials. Spare a few minutes to celebrate (if you actually wrote anything of value) or to sulk (if not). Both can be accomplished by laying on your couch with a book covering your eyes. Make sure it’s a worthy book though. Osmosis has not been conclusively proven to NOT happen this way. Banging on the book’s cover to try and force some of it’s author’s brilliance into your head may be helpful. Remember that in nearly all medical research, some benefits are always attributable to the placebo effect.

6:00pm – Stop moping (or, on rare occasions, celebrating). Time to write to Casta. If you have followed these instructions properly, you will NOT be drunk and you will NOT write her a drunken emotional-wreck letter this time. Being both your mentor and your only significant other, it is important to maintain a loving relationship with her. It is fine to tell her how beautiful her eyes are. It is not appropriate to go into detail about other body parts, as you have been known to do when inebriated. If you have not followed these instructions, do not attempt to write to her. If you do write a letter in that state in spite of these well-intentioned instructions, be sure at least to post it via flame-and-smoke mail into the sink. Of course, the fact that it’s the best writing you’ve done all day may be yet another reason for your 8:00pm visit to the tavern.

7:00pm – Read a book. It is important for all writers to read as well. If you feel inspired, write a critique of what you read. Try not to simply make a list of all grammatical and spelling errors, but also note both the good and bad aspects of the work you read. Find some. What did the author do that could be worth imitation or that you should be sure to steer clear of? If a work of fiction, pay attention to how he introduced new characters or situations. Did he come up with a name that fit? How did he deal with transitions and relationships? Be sure and keep tissues handy, even if it’s not a tearjerker. When you realize how much better the writer is than you, you will need it.

8:00pm – Now it’s officially booze-o-clock. Time to visit your second home. Try to strike up a conversation with others, if they don’t know you already. For those who do, see if they might let you talk with them again anyway. Remember, it’s always better to engage with absolutely anyone but the bartender. He knows you too well already. Also he has the power to cut you off. It’s usually best to talk with non-attractive people too. They don’t have anything better to do. Remember, you need to listen as well as talk. Yes, you’ll have to listen to their sob story about some husband or daughter or son being mauled by a bear or something. But if you want them to listen to you go on at length about the woes of being a writer, you have to put up with some of their whining.

9:00pm – Probably time to switch to another target by now. Also, order some food. Once again, you are surrounded by herbivore flat-teeth types. Try and keep your awesomely sharp teeth from frightening them too much. It might be best to sit at the bar for your dining. Be careful not to use your Gaydar at the bar. The bartender knows that trick.

10:00pm – Verify that at least the most essential clothing is still attached. The bartender will likely be making noises about having had ‘enough’. (As if he has a clue how much is ‘enough’ for an Argonian!) If circumstances allow, you may now begin to sing your favorite three-decades-old renditions of Black Marsh anthems. Ask others to join in for the chorus. Disregard any protests as clear evidence of the crowd’s interest and heighten your volume.

11:00pm – Look up at the stars circling overhead and marvel at their beauty. Disregard the pain in your rump where the bartender kicked you. Life is a pain in the rump, so roll with it. But do not try to roll home. Experience shows that it just gets you dizzy and makes people laugh at you. Besides, it’s difficult to tell what direction you are heading when rolling down the street singing Black Marsh anthems. Clockwise and Counter-Clockwise are not directions. If someone offers to help you home, be appreciative and try not to vomit on them.

12:00am – Verify surroundings are indeed, YOUR home. Also verify no new Khajiits have wandered in. If any Khajiit is found in your bedroom, do not inquire further. Leave the house and return in the morning, even if it means sleeping on the ground beside your house.

-UPDATE: Do NOT sleep underneath your bedroom window in these circumstances!

If house is Khajiit-free, slither up the stairs. Your creator gave you all those extra appendages for a reason. USE them. Use the bathroom before retiring to your bed also. It’s there for a reason. You may now safely remove clothing for your bedtime. Do one final check that no one is in it first before getting in.

1:00am – If you are still awake, cry yourself to sleep and remember that you can do better tomorrow. You may take this time to compose pitiable laments to your lover. No matter how heartfelt and significant they may seem to you at this time, there is no harm in them, and no need to burn them either. Do not worry, they will be completely illegible in the morning and thus can be safely ignored. In the morning, if you are running low on toilet paper, these make an excellent substitute.

(Repeat as needed)