Heimskrr x Nazeem Romance
Hi, this is Fine and Clothes~. Yes we are 2 authors collaborating on this work of art. Pls give us a chance, it's our first time writing fanfiction and we did it about the most annoying characters in Skyrim.
We are actually serious about this fanfic and it was a challenge to write a convincing love story. If we get enough positive feedback and readers, we hope to continue and write a full fledged gay romance.
Oh stop it, Clothes - Fine
Let's face it, they both need some love too.
Chapter 1
It was the typical rainy day in a metropolitan city close to the ocean, in an allergy inducing season.
"Wake up Nazeem, brush your teeth Nazeem, ask yourself if you've been to the Cloud District Nazeem - even if he knows he's been there a thousand times - and remember to bring an umbrella Nazeem."
His eyes twitched as they gradually got acquainted with the Frostfall sunrise and he hissed at his alarm clock. Although it was blaring out his expertly recorded theme song, he couldn't find himself looking forward to today. The song, Nazeem, Slayer of Peasants stopped playing as he stroked his delicate palm over the snooze button. Deciding whether or not to press it was a dilemma of the ages. Would he go back to sleep like a mundane mongrel or listen to Professor Farengar's lecture today? Neither option appealed to him, but Professor Farengar's lecture would probably lead him on the path to success and just barely passing his Arcane Arts elective.
Getting out of bed was the bane of a university student. Actually, perhaps it was the torrent of midterms and finals. In another universe, one of farmers and country bumpkins maybe, it would not be a problem. Alas, he thankfully lived a life of privilege studying at Dragonsreach University, peering down at the masses. A harsh existence indeed, but still miles better than the poor chaps who have to fetch frost salts for Arcadia's Cauldron, the token alchemist company. Remembering that he did not even know a lick of magic, he resolved to learn from Professor Farengar and prove to him that yes, he can indeed soul trap a chicken. Afterwards, he can finally progress onto the study of real art, the beautiful gleam of a septim, and the canoodling of pockets. For that to happen, he needed a place to firmly lay his roots… and the only place he could do that was the magnificent Cloud District.
For all of the uneducated, the Cloud District was the holiest part of city to do business of all sorts. The only language spoken by its residents was how to milk every drop of septim from anywhere. Unsuspecting bratty children and rowdy drunkards were the ripest pickings. Rows and rows of towering skyscrapers gave the district distinction from the rest of the unholy city. There was no time to slow down and admire the views when there was coin to be made.
Appreciation for the Cloud District was a must, especially when one wishes to form connections and move up the echelons of the modern world. The line "have you ever been to the Cloud District" was drilled into his mind. As an economics major, it was a necessary mantra for the well-being of his education and net worth. Everyone who rose to the top began in the Cloud District. The next wolves of Wall Street and the lowly interns at the Bard's College frequented the area. Hopefully, he wouldn't end up at the Bard's College. It was a rather unrefined and tacky place to start his prosperous career; He most definitely did not want to spend his valuable time chasing after King Olaf's verses.
He rolled his way out of bed, as smooth as the Dragonborn would, and moved his grubby hands towards his closet. It was always the same clothes. Fine clothes. From Radiant Raiments. He loved the fine selection of clothes, even if the shop was owned by two altmer hags, Taarie and Endarie. They had such fine taste albeit their offensive personalities.
"Fine clothes for a fine man, the world cannot wait for you, Nazeem Dudiz," he declared proudly to himself.
A screech in the kitchen broke the reverie of the most annoying man in Skyrim.
"Nazeem! Come get your sweet roll, it's time to go! You wouldn't want to be late to Soul Trapping 101 would you?" yelled his sister, Ahlam.
Ahlam was his dear sister, but at times he couldn't bear her incessant nagging. The feeling was also mutual for her as she had to wake up to Nazeem's theme song every morning.
"I'm on my way, you peas-, I mean, sis. No need to scream my ears off. Good ridd-, err day," he responded in kind.
Of course, he held his older sister in the highest of regards, not just because she was an intern at the famed Arcadia's Cauldron, but because she could spike his sweetroll with poison if she really wanted to. Not the weak frostbite spider's venom, but the jarrin root kind, the one the Dragonborn almost drank by accident. It was the same root that went into that weird concoction served to the Emperor which he read in history books during his youth at Honorhall Orphanage.
Another reason to respect his sister: she was the one who raised him to be the fabulous Nazeem Dudiz he is today after their parents died from drinking poisoned Honningbrew mead. They dropped to the floor like a sack of useless cabbages in a dungeon after a drop slipped past their lips. Having lost their parents at the tender ages of 5 and 8, the siblings were sent to Honorhall Orphanage. The children's world as they knew it changed forevermore after the death of their parents. As if it was Christmas, the rest of the Dudiz family celebrated for Fhelp-Si and Sherrra Dudiz, those penny-pinching perps were dead. Obviously, nobody came forth to take care of the kids so they were sent to Honorhall. At least they inherited their parent's secret stash of septims as delivered by the courier who appeared at the foot of their bed in the middle of the night so they were not dirt poor. Sadly, their situation only worsened when they met the nasty witch of a headmistress, Grelod the Kind. Anyone who "shirked their duties will get an extra beating" from her and not to mention the horrid words of so-called love they were forced to proclaim every single day.
Brave and young Ahlam protected the stubborn little Nazeem from Grelod's wrath often. He had a penchant for irritating the old caretaker and Grelod would have none of it. A sharp slap would ring out in the orphanage whenever Grelod couldn't stand Nazeem anymore. However, it wouldn't be the cheeky Nazeem who was hit, but Ahlam. She would stand in front of her younger brother every single time to bear the brunt of the damage. From the very first time she was struck by Grelod, Ahlam vowed to always take care of Nazeem and to raise him similar to how their mother would've done. Needless to say, she obviously did a fine job in Nazeem's eyes.
Nazeem shuddered, recalling how the children had to proclaim "we love you Grelod, thank you for your kindness."
Whilst walking out the door, Nazeem absentmindedly checked his phone and saw that Daily Hive has yet again said that the TransLink has deemed the 410 bus route to the Cloud District inaccessible for a week.
"Those wretched Stormcloaks in power! Can't they make a deal with TransLink already?"
Sick and tired of the ongoing protests and demonstrations from his favourite transportation company, and not to mention the White-Gold Concordat splitting off the entire northern part of Vancouver as a different fast travel zone, he tiredly trudged trudged into the elevator and the doors closed.
Ding! Ground floor!
The elevator clunked open, and Nazeem stomped out to begin his "exciting" day.
The slow saunter to the skytrain station was actually rather mundane and every part of the scenery repeated itself without fail.
"Oh look its Carlotta being harassed by that bard again and Braith is calling Lars a pansy again," he murmured to himself.
The only exception to the stagnant scenery was the Gildergreen, a tree right in the middle of the city square that slowly withered away. Someone ought to save that tree alright, just not him. He had no time for that. Maybe when Danica, thet tree hugging hippie, gets off her ass, something good will happen to that tree for once.
With the station in view, he quickened his pace to a light power walk, almost kneeing a curled up Lars in the face. Well, he wasn't certain about that matter, but it is of no concern. Lars needed a good kick sometimes to set him straight.
'What a pansy,' the Redguard thought.
The station was normally not very busy during the mornings, but due to the not to be mentioned bastards running the government, everyone needed to beat the morning rush for the whole week. Nazeem smirked as he saw people lining up in front of the Fast Travel card refill stations. No one expected the circumstances befalling the 410 route, but himself. He already had his card with 500 septims ready to go. Strolling to the black plastic gates, a dirty plebeian hand grabs onto his vintage 1930s-esque fine sleeves.
AN: If you loved this, please comment, follow/fav. If you hated this, please comment. WE LOVE, LOVEEEEE COMMENTS (*cough cough for those who understand the reference). Constructive criticism will be much appreciated. Until then, see you next time in the cloud district amigos ;)