#stormclk

Erik knew what Ulfric meant. He’d himself often had trouble falling asleep, out of fear of the ghosts that haunted him. 

He wasn’t entirely sure if he had earned the right to comfort Ulfric like he would a friend. Perhaps he was already overstepping his boundaries by entering the Jarl’s private chambers uninvited.

But dragons weren’t known for caring much about rules and etiquette, and Erik couldn’t help but worry about Ulfric, especially since he read the dossier and realized the leader of the rebellion had gone through what Erik had suffered of as well.

Helping My Injured Muse Sentence Starters || Accepting!

     The dark elf stumbled and fell to one knee, breath harsh and ragged beneath his blood-stained scarf. ‘A lot’ was an understatement. There was blood everywhere, much of it his. Pissing off the Thalmor was bad for one’s health, it seemed.

     He coughed, wincing. Pain lanced through him, but mostly all he felt was was cold. Not a good sign. Shit...

     “You should see the other guy,” he tried to say, but it came out a slurred, jumbled mess of noise, ending in what was probably the only understandable word: “Fuck.”

     Tullius stood in shock, staring at what should’ve been a dead man in disbelief and confusion but it was short lived when he realized that he had no guards with him and it was just him and a man that very possibly wanted revenge. He quickly took a step back and drew his sword to threateningly point it at the former Jarl.

Send OBLIVIATE for your muse to be the first person mine sees after losing their memories

     He sat against the same log he’d tumbled over just moments ago looking far from the proud and intimidating General he was known as. Mud tarnished his once meticulously polished armor and covered his clothes and exposed skin. Dried blood was caked in his some of his hair turning the dark gray and silver to a muddy reddish brown and crusted down the side of his face. 

     His dark eyes were wide and hiding none of his confusion and fear that would have normally been hidden behind his controlled and stoic mask he usually wore that had been non existent since he came to, as if he didn’t know how, or more accurately, couldn’t remember how to guard his emotions.

     Filthy mud caked hands were twisting nervously in his lap as he cowered under the scrutiny of the taller fair haired man standing over him. He didn’t think he’d done anything to make the other man angry but at the same time he couldn’t even recall if he’d ever met him before… or really anyone else for that matter. He also couldn’t quite tell if the other man was actually mad at him or if he just always looked this displeased, either way he didn’t know what in Oblivion was going on.

Send 🌑 To have your discover my muse having a nightmare. Add “Reverse” to have my muse discovering yours having a nightmare.

     Tullius shifted awkwardly when he looked over at the Jarl who was clearly suffering from some kind of nightmare. Despite the fact that it was Ulfric, his first instinct was still to reach out and offer comfort, after all he was intimately aware at how miserable nightmares could be. The panic, the fear, the hopelessness. However he really wasn't in a rush to get a fist to the face should he wake him and his efforts not be appreciated.

     After some hesitation and some grumbling under his breath he finally reached over to the tossing and turning man. Tullius lightly placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shushed him as he rubbed his hand back and forth in a way he hoped would soothe the sleeping Jarl.