dollar-store-apocrypha

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

A Tableau of Flowers by Anonymous

fandom || Skyrim rating || T categories || gen pairings || - genre || horror characters of note || Elenwen status || 1/1, 900

A darker side of this movement, however, is exhibited by a shadowy group who call themselves the Beautiful. Originally a salon for artists with the reasonable philosophy that Summerset must let go of its past in order to move forward, the Beautiful became a revolutionary gang dedicated to the destruction of the greatest monuments of Altmer civilizations. ~A Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

***

Another wave of her hand and whatever held Elenwen moved, lifting her up so she could see her own body, and the dull stone of the room around her.

Or what had been dull stone, for every inch of it was consumed with flowers, their blooms orange and gold, their leaves the darkest shades of green. A few crimson petals were scattered among them like blood.

And her feet were petals over cracked bone, grayed branches winding between desiccated skin. As if the very flowers around her had consumed them even down to the marrow.

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North of Oblivion by ciderConnoisseur

fandom || Skyrim rating || T categories || gen pairings || - genre || coming of age, adventure characters of note || Sissel, Jouane Manette, the College of Winterhold status || 12/?, 23k

A girl from a small Nord village rejects the raw deal given to her and carves out her own destiny. This fic was initially fueled by two things: the fan theory that Rorikstead is secretly a town of Daedra worshipers, and wanting Sissel to live a happy life. And what better way to live well, than to pursue your dream?

***

the summoner, or is it the other way around? Does the summoner have to maintain a constant alertness and strength, lest the Dremora decides that he is unworthy and turns on him? 

Man is mortal, and doomed to death and failure and loss. This lies beyond our comprehension - why do you not despair?

That night, safely tucked into bed, she dreams of the Dremora whose grinning face she saw illuminated by a thunderstorm. Only this time, he is under her command. Together, they leave Rorikstead behind one last time, never turning back.

Sissel thinks of the bond between a summoner and a Dremora, a bond still inexplicable to her. Is there a mutual respect? Does the Dremora fear the summoner, or is it the other way around? Does the summoner have to maintain a constant alertness and strength, lest the Dremora decides that he is unworthy and turns on him? 

Man is mortal, and doomed to death and failure and loss. This lies beyond our comprehension - why do you not despair?

That night, safely tucked into bed, she dreams of the Dremora whose grinning face she saw illuminated by a thunderstorm. Only this time, he is under her command. Together, they leave Rorikstead behind one last time, never turning back.

***

This fic deserves more attention! I'm really interested to see where it goes. -- ButterflyDreaming

So happy we got another chapter so soon. Really enjoyed this one and I'm loving the world building. The contrast between country farm hamlet Rorikstead and Whiterun was fantastic. The way you write really makes Whiterun feel like a proper city and Sissel feels so small by comparison. -- AchillesEuropa

Sissel is a wonderful protagonist, and I'm really enjoying following her adventures and seeing Skyrim and its people through her eyes. She's likeable, well-rounded, and I'm very invested in her. The rest of your cast is great, too; I'm really enjoying the characterisation you're giving both your major and minor characters. There's so much warmth and life to everyone you describe -- filigreebee

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

The Trash Dweller's Dumpster Dives: 2

[1] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Far From Ourselves - by Babble / @expended-sleeper

fandom || Skyrim rating || M categories || gen, f/f, m/m genre || drama, action/adventure characters of note || Miraak, Sofie, Vilkas, Lucia status || 25/37, 116k

I guess I care about the Companions now.

"Finish it," Sofie ordered, glancing at Miraak and his opponent. The remaining bandit dropped his spear and cradled his injured arm. The potential of his next move rendered Miraak lightheaded. With a swift motion, he could end this Argonian's life. He had not known such a power in many years. But where is the honor that Aela, Vilkas, and Farkas spoke of with such reverence? Certainly he did not see it in his reddened spearhead or the dripping edge of Sofie's axe. Nor did he feel a twinge of honor when he looked down at the cowering bandit bleeding on to the dirt. Sofie took a step closer. "Now, Miraak." "But-" The bandit's hidden dagger slashed and Miraak reacted. While the dagger found no purchase when it hit the leather pad covering Miraak's leg, the spearhead made its home in the Argonian's chest. Miraak stared in disbelief at the living organism that had swallowed the end of his weapon The bandit took a final bubbling breath and went slack against the weight of the spear.

A decade after Alduin's defeat, in a Skyrim still scarred by the barely-repelled Thalmor invasion, Whiterun is about to play host to a new power--one which will test the Companions to their limits, and shine a light on what has always been kept in the darkness. Among those swept up in the conflict are a broken former-Dragonborn looking to regain lost power; a whelp struggling with her inner nature and the young priestess she loves, whose paths seem set in opposition; and the Harbinger of the Companions, who must protect his home and family against this dire new threat.

I'll be honest, it's going to be difficult for me to be coherent about this fic. It's an absolute standout among the current crop of WIPs; a unique, gripping premise executed flawlessly, with a cast of characters who could walk off the page, no matter how small their roles, and the richest and most thought-provoking exploration of theme I've read in a fic possibly ever. Babble's writing is unbelievable in every sense, and this is a fic which deserves so much more attention than it gets.

I'll confess that my usual fic interests don't tend to lead towards the Companions: while there are many very well-written fics set surrounding the guild, they usually tend to focus on the romance between one of the wolf twins and the LDB rather than the rich narrative and thematic potential of the Companions themselves. Absolutely no shade to the many, many people who enjoy those fics, but they've typically fallen less within my wheelhouse.

Far From Ourselves is the Companions fic I've always wanted to read. There are some romance elements--and both the relationships between Miraak/Vilkas and Sofie/Lucia are brilliantly executed and very believable--but they are in the background, with the main subject matter of the fic really being theme. The story asks very meaty, thought-provoking questions about violence and honour and right and wrong and good and evil and all the many shades in between in a way which blows my mind with every chapter update, and inspires me constantly in my own writing. Of particular note is the way Babble asks questions, and examines them from every angle, but so far has yet to provide many answers. The reader is left to turn the problems over in their own mind, to think about the various beliefs and attitudes the characters have, and to arrive at their own conclusions (or not, as the case may be--they're VERY complex questions). It's incredibly well done, and leads to a plot and set of character relationship arcs which feel particularly coherent and meaningful.

This leads me into a discussion of how Babble approaches character. As you can probably assume from how they manage theme, the characters themselves all feel like real, living people with their own complex beliefs and values, rather than author mouthpieces/counter-mouthpieces. Babble is a true master of character writing. I was impressed by the sensitivity and nuance with which they wrote characters in Death of the Dragonborn (which I would also heartily recommend), which is particularly notable given that fic was written between the ages of 16 and 18. In the handful of years since that early promise has ripened and matured to the point where every character Babble takes a brush to comes alive within a few sentences; even the minor characters in Far From Ourselves are incredibly dynamic and three-dimensional. Special mention goes to Babble's sprinkling of OCs, including the wonderful additions to the whelps of Benajah and Hugs-the-Shadows, the Alfiq storekeeper Kishla, and Ruth, about whom I will say nothing other than that it's worth reading this fic for Ruth alone.

And then there's the main cast. Once again Miraak is not usually in my wheelhouse, but Babble paints such an incredibly complex, multi-faceted interpretation of a post-defeat Miraak that I was sucked in from the first harrowing paragraph, and have not been released since. I have never read a character like this Miraak in a Skyrim fic, and am awed at how consistently Babble portrays a mind so alien yet human. Babble's Vilkas is brilliant: he truly feels like the whip-smart, capable and thoughtful man we're given a glimpse of in canon, and a worthy Harbinger to succeed Kodlak. Grown-up Lucia as a priestess of Kynareth is both a delight and very fitting, but oh my god, for me the true standout of this fic's main cast is Sofie. I don't want to give anything away, but this is Sofie is probably one of my favourite canon character portrayals in a Skyrim fic, ever. Babble has done so much more with her potential than I ever could have imagined, and she is a true masterclass in just how much scope there is for both breadth and depth in turning the sketches we get in canon into fully rich and realised characters.

This review is already very long but it's worth noting that the plot is also incredibly fresh and gripping, with a really complex and nuanced 'villain' faction; Whiterun itself is beautifully rendered, as are those parts of broader Skyrim we have the privilege of being shown; and Babble's technical skills are excellent, with marvellous prose and dialogue both. I cannot recommend this fic highly enough--if you have any interest in the Companions, or in just really, really well-written and original, thought-provoking fantasy fiction, you owe it to yourself to check this out.

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

Post Life Post-Doctoral Position by PinguinoSentado

fandom || Skyrim rating || M categories || f/f pairings || f!LDB/Katria genre || romance, comic fantasy characters of note || Katria status || 5/?, 36k

Making sure the dead rest easy is something Sayena takes very seriously and after saving the world three or four times, she has gotten pretty good at it. The ghost of one researcher, unable to rest until she clears her name, should be no different from any other. After all, she knows better than to try and keep a soul on this side of the river, no matter how much she wants to.

***

With an undignified yelp, Sayena spun around and found herself looking at the manifestation of her good vibes toward the dead. The transparent outline of a woman, vaguely blue and misty even in the light of her torch, stood with folded arms barely a few feet away. Clad in armor and sporting a bow, short sword, and small but well-outfitted backpack, she looked the way every budding adventurer imagined themselves before their own reflection revealed the hunchbacked truth.

The steely gaze of the ghost swept over Sayena with the same, exacting judgment of a mother looking over her child before temple services, and a hundred memories of the hot sun and fussing hands around her head all strived to make her feel small. Now realizing it was the ghost’s voice and not her own intrusive thoughts, she stood up straighter, determined to defend her rumpled shawl, messy hair, and scuffed trousers to a mother who could stand none of them.

Huh.

“What?”

You’re not what I was expecting.

“A Redguard?”

No, a scholar. I thought you’d be another treasure hunter. What are you doing down here?

***

Sayena's got it bad on the first date… -- zirafics

How in the heck did you get me invested in this ship. I didn’t even remember this character but I know I have her bow. -- Dww

!!!! I've played hundreds of hours of Skyrim but your writing makes me consider things i never have before (and it's also so fucking good btw) -- FiletMignon

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

If There is a Cure by mongoose_bite / @mongoose-bite

fandom || Skyrim rating || M categories || f/m pairings || Delphine/m!LDB genre || character study characters of note || Delphine status || 1/1, 1.3k

Something must be done about the Dovahkiin.

***

When they heard her, they flung their minions and their magic at her. She parried, twisted, the years hadn't slowed her that much, for she'd never stopped fighting. She took a shambling Breton's head off and he turned to ash.

Pointed teeth met remorseless Akaviri steel armour, and stolen blood flowed as she drew her blade across a screaming vampire's throat. The hive was alive to the intruder now, shouted orders and running feet but still she pressed on, remorseless.

She battled her way into a large chamber, stairways leading back up to a raised dais and disappearing off into further chambers. She looked up, light filtering diffusely from hidden magical sources or crystals – sunlight would not be welcome here.

An Orc armoured in ebony and a head taller than her snarled around elongated tusks, and she raised her sword.

“Stop!” The voice echoed down the chamber. “Let her through!”

She looked up at the man standing on the dais, and her breath caught. He hadn't aged a day.

He was their golden boy. Their hero. Soreld.

***

Holy damn. This is POWERFUL stuff! I don't think I've ever read a fic from Delphine's perspective before, what a fascinating choice - and what a strong presence and voice you've lent to her!! I'm definitely going to remember this - that ending, especially, wheeew! -- alcyonejonquil

"Enjoy", he says, knowing full well what a heart-wrencher this is. -- Thanatopsyturvy

Ooooh I love this - how you've used what happens after the end of the story to make the heroic quest seem hollow and how fascinating you've made Delphine. -- rey_of_sunlight

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

The World Will Never Be The Same by joyofthejoui / @nientedenada

fandom || Skyrim rating || T categories || gen pairings || f!OC & f!OC genre || character study, meet-cute (kinda) characters of note || - status || 1/1, 5.5k

About eighty years before the events of Skyrim, a young Bosmer thief meets the love of her life in Raven Rock. Emilin meets Curinwe. A prequel to "The Bonds of Civility", starring a character from that fic and the Dragonborn's grandmother. But stands on its own. (Pre F/F. One day these two will get together, but right now they are still kids.)

***

Emilin stood up and went to the bars. “What are you doing here?” she whispered. The girl was alone; Emilin did not think she had been brought down here by any guard.

“I came to see you,” said Curinwe quietly. “The guard told me you didn’t have any money and that’s why stole my purse.”

“Uh . . .” Emilin was surprised. One of these stiff-necked guards had enough compassion to summarize it that way?

“What’s your name?” Curinwe asked.

“Emilin,” she answered.

“Are you from Valenwood?”

“Yes.” She stared at the girl. “Why are you back here? Did you find your notes?”

Curinwe nodded. “The purse was right where you said it was. You should have just told me you needed money.”

Emilin began to laugh. “What? Do you give away your coins to beggars then?”

“Only if they’re girls,” said Curinwe promptly. “How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“I thought you were my age,” said Curinwe, sounding disappointed. “I’m twelve but I’m taller than you!”

“You aren’t! You’re wearing boots!” On average, Bosmer were smaller in stature than other races, but this girl wasn’t so tall herself.

Curinwe looked down at her feet. “No, I’m definitely taller than you.”

“Take off your boots then!”

***

I loved the layers in this. On the surface it's a relatively light-hearted tale of their (awkward) first meeting, but then there's these sinister details, from a fourteen-year-old girl 'bedwarming' to the lists made of Bosmer defying the Green Pact ban, and then knowing how Curinwe's parents end up. -- likelolwhat

I really, really enjoyed this. Your worldbuilding is stellar, your knowledge of lore and the world you’re writing in is top notch, and the characters you’ve created are wonderfully well-rounded and three dimensional. An absolute pleasure to read. <3 -- raunchyandpaunchy

Beyond all the context and backstory and deft character building, though, this story was just so well executed and engrossing. You have a knack for subtle world building through natural details without needing to rely on copious description or exposition, and I admire it a lot. Your characters also feel like young teenagers, very real and familiar even in the fantasy setting— you nailed Emilin's specific blend of naivete and bravado, angst and hopefulness. I can already tell she's a fighter. -- cosmikaze

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False Dawn by cosmikaze

fandom || Skyrim rating || M categories || m/m pairings || Rumarin/m!OC genre || romance, action/adventure characters of note || Rumarin, Madena, Erandur, Falion, Movarth Piquine status || 22/22. 111k

A nihilistic Altmer jester gets more than he bargained for after a chance encounter in a snowy ruin turns his life of aimless wandering upside down. One hair-raising mercenary job later and he’s been swept up into a bloody revenge quest that threatens to upend everything he thought he knew about trust, redemption, and what it means to be worthy of love.

***

When Blaise remarked that he was impressed with Rumarin’s fluency in the local flora and fauna, he replied, “I’m no expert. I try not to spend too much time in the northeastern holds, for obvious reasons.” He vigorously rubbed his hands together over the fire to try to restore feeling. “You asked good questions yourself— are you some sort of woodsman?”

“I did a lot of hunting and ranging growing up in High Rock,” said Blaise. “I always feel most at home in the wilds.”

“I don’t know what kind of beasties there are in High Rock, but in Skyrim, the wilds have very big teeth,” said Rumarin, looking at him askance.

“Nature is brutal,” said Blaise. “But her cruelty is simple, unlike man’s.”

“Traveling with you is turning out to be quite the melodrama,” Rumarin remarked, rolling his eyes. “’Nature’s cruelty is simple, unlike man’s?’ What are you, a sad monk?”

***

Now what is that saying? One cannot have their cake and eat it too? Well, I just ate it. And now I'm sitting here chewing on air trying to get but a taste of it back. Maybe I'll magic the cake back and eat it again, guess that's an option. I'll probably end up doing just that. And then maybe go back and do it again afterward. -- Nihilaris

AAAA okay so I was too engrossed in this to comment thus far, ajshdb, but. This fic is just so incredibly well-done in so many ways. From the pacing of the romance, to the mystery and action, to the way you revealed characters, their emotions and motivations, your writing and dialogue in general, all of it was SO well done, I just. Keep going back to read my favourite parts of this fic, which is why I have not yet finished it ;_;. Blaise is just such a vibrant and interesting character. You've also brought to life some of my favourite characters as well, like Madena and Erandur, and Morthal, being my favourite setting within the game, this fic is just. SUCH a treat, I swear. Thank you so much for writing it. -- The SouthernFalconer

Let me very eloquently and politely preface: hey what the fuck. -- mishsticks

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Dancing Day by FourCatProductions / @darklight-tower

fandom || Skyrim rating || T categories || multi pairings || multiple genre || vignette cluster, character study characters of note || Thonar Silver-Blood, Thongvor Silver-Blood, Betrid Silver-Blood, Calcelmo, Faleen, Uraccen, Voada, Rumarin status || 1/1. 5.6k

There's a holiday celebration in honor of some visiting dignitaries. Markarth celebrates.

***

“Imperial holidays,” Thongvor said by way of greeting, and his tone made it clear what he thought of the matter (and indeed, of all things Imperial). “What a great load of pomp.”

Thonar, who had had a headache since the parades began earlier that morning, massaged one throbbing temple and took another sip from his now-full goblet.

“It’s Breton. Comes from Daggerfall.”

“Same thing,” Thongvor said. “Did you know Igmund’s got them watering down the wine?”

“I did. Which begs the question, how are you already drunk?”

***

I loved every single scene here so much, and I absolutely love the transition from 'privileged position at the heart of power in the keep', moving outward to the periphery [...] It's a wonderful structure for a piece where everything stands on its own, but is also deepened in context: oblivious Nord power, the servants (esteemed, not at all esteemed) who support it, the prisoners who unsuccessfully resisted it, and then finally the active resistance. -- wandavon

I am NOT OKAY. -- cosmikaze

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

Chapters: 1/15 Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Stenvar, Summary:  Former thief and current mage apprentice Brittany the Breton finds a strange amulet in a vampire den. Stenvar, sellsword-bodyguard-boyfriend extraordinaire, gets more than a little flustered when she tries it on. The fallout ensues.

Or, two people who thought they knew what their lives would be like realize things can change, and maybe for the better. *** Oh heyyyyyy who’s got two thumbs and is finally posting this fic to AO3?  This chick! now with minor edits thanks to the brilliant @loquaciousquark who was kind enough to say “don’t change a word of it” multiple times over the course of her close reading first part’s up; I’ll add the rest every week or so.  ENJOY ANEW.

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

A Bard's Tale by jibber_jabber / @jjgremlinson

fandom || Skyrim rating || G categories || gen pairings || f!OC&Lurbuk genre || comedy characters of note || Lurbuk status || 1/1, 3.4k

He was bottom of his class during his tenure at the Bard’s College, but now, he’s the savior of Skyrim. These are the adventures of Lurbuk, Tamriel’s worst bard, and the unlucky assassin hired to kill him.

***

“So, you’re here to kill me?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t because…?”

Just a few feet away, a dragon was dead. Its thousands of sharp bones pointed up to Aetherius. Several minutes earlier, the dragon’s soul had dissipated from its body, along with its scales, and been absorbed into a bard’s body. It also appeared that this bard was, in fact, the Last Dragonborn and had the ability to harness the power of the Thu’um, just like the legends said.

She blinked at him.

“I think that’s rather obvious.”

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

The Book of Love by FourCatProductions / @darklight-tower

fandom || Skyrim rating || E (infrequent explicit sexual content) categories || f/f pairings || f!LDB/Rikke, f!LDB&Lydia genre || romance, action/adventure characters of note || Rikke, Lydia, A Whole Lotta Others (ensemble cast) status || 37/?, 181k

Rhiannon's only concern is traveling around the province to finish her book before she's forced to return to Cyrodiil. She has no interest in getting involved in the war. But an unpleasant encounter in a garden leads to the beginnings of an unlikely romance, and so unfolds the saga of an even unlikelier Dragonborn and her companions as they hurtle towards the end of the world. Skyrim needs a hero. What it gets, is a healer.

***

Rhiannon never did find out what he was going to do, because someone grabbed his wrist and wrenched him away from her, making him yelp. She stumbled backwards and fell, landing hard on her rear, book tumbling to the grass next to her. Her arm still throbbed with the imprint of his fingertips.

And then, she looked up and into the eyes of her savior.

Later, the little details would be present in her memory: sunlight glinting off of hair a shade lighter than honey, piercing eyes set deep in a weathered face, a proud nose and strong jaw. The way she held Erikur at bay like it was nothing, her leather armor supple and worn with a Legion crest emblazoned on her armband. At the time, dazed and terrified, Rhiannon’s only thought was, My gods she’s tall.

***

"I found this fic last night, and I barely wanted to sleep or have breakfast because it's such a pleasure to read. I like how the story is unfolding, particularly how the various characters interact with each other and evolve their relationships, how you jump to other points of view, and how your deviations from the canon keep me guessing. And the ships. So many new ships to get behind.

I also never thought about how strange it was that nearly everyone in Skyrim relies on one ridiculously capable stranger to solve all their problems. It's rather gratifying to see them doing their own damn side quests for once, and it definitely feels more real for it." -- FalconHalo

"You've done such a wonderful job in this fic of translating the main quest into a story. It's really quite amazing, especially in this chapter with the Greybeards and the dynamic between Lydia and Rhiannon. You write both of them incredibly well, and it's interesting to see that sarcastic "I'm sworn to carry your burdens" actually carry some weight here. I also think you do a great job in balancing a little bit of levity with more serious moments in your writing--the frost troll bit at the beginning made me laugh. Great work! :)" -- jibber_jabber

"I love this fic but dear fucking God I can't put into words how frustrated I am. They haven't even kissed yet I SWEAR TO GOD- Please, have mercy..." -- chararii

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

Ingenious Gentlemen and the Persistence of Memory by muldezgron

fandom || ESO rating || M categories || m/m, gen pairings || m!Vestige/Cadwell, Cadwell&Meridia, Khunzar-ri/Cadwell the Betrayar genre || character study, romance characters of note || Cadwell, Khunzar-ri, Meridia, Sheogorath, Molag Bal status || 11/11, 96k

In the year 2E 582, Molag Bal attempted to merge his plane of Oblivion with Nirn in an event known as the Planemeld, but was thwarted by a hero known as the Vestige and his companions, as guided by the Daedric Prince of Light, Meridia. Two eras later, in 4E 201, the Vestige is killed in his home, respawns in Coldharbour, and hatches a bizarre plan for vengeance on Molag Bal which is definitely not an ego-sparing cover for recovering his soul. This is not his story (probably). This is the Tale of the Gallant Knight of Coldharbour (maybe) who sets out to help his dear friend the Vestige on his Noble Quest (possibly) and is 100% Totally Fine No Problems Thanks For Asking.

***

“Fascinating little story, isn’t it?”

“All stories are fascinating,” he replied. “What Raksha finds most fascinating is when there is one story with several versions. Often more truth can be learned from the comparison of stories than from one version alone.”

Cadwell shook his empty teacup and reached for the teapot. “Such as Molag Bal being into spears?”

“Such as that, yes,” said Raksha with a patient sigh. “But more than that, also. The differences are often the same events focused through the lens of culture. As this one said before, it comes as no surprise that the Xivilai tell a tale of a great battle while Vivec’s version is very… Vivec.” His brows furrowed in thought. “But there is also this detail, this ‘gift’ of weakness, that is not present in any form in Vivec’s telling, and it is curious that such a specific detail would appear in one version but not the other.”

Cadwell hummed contentedly as he poured himself another cup of tea.

“In many cases,” the Khajiit continued, “changing the perspective of the story changes the story completely, because no one person sees the same event in exactly the same way as any other. Some details will be important to one and invisible to another. So if that is the case here, then that would mean there is something that the Daedra of Coldharbour would know that—”

Raksha stopped. His ears perked upright; his eyes grew wide and shining; his tail thumped loudly against the leg of his chair.

“—that Vivec would never notice,” he said, almost awe-struck. His pupils had grown large and round, like he had just spied the most delicious sweetroll.

***

"This was a great read, I tore through it way faster than I probably should have given it required more concentration than the average fic. Your command of ES lore always staggers me and I love to see your characters play in this world." -- Capraahircus

"Seriously muld, this story is something really special. It's thoughtful, thought-provoking, introspective, gripping, complex, meaty, challenging, readable, intellectual, emotional, unique--fully grounded in the setting and world while also elevating it in ways which you'd never thought of but feel like they were always how it was meant to be. Your Daedric Princes are my benchmark (your Sheogorath especially), your worldbuilding something I could luxuriate in all day, your prose and dialogue so witty and intelligent while also being a genuine pleasure to read. I feel privileged to have read this fic" -- filigreebee

"God DAMN IT." -- Nebulad

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Come Get Your (TES) Fics

Been suffering from some terrible writer’s block lately, so I decided, why not share someone else’s story instead :D Inspired by the many lovely recs and reviews from @dumpsterhipster and her new rec blog @dollar-store-apocrypha, I present to you

Next of Kin - by ClassicHer (@princess-prawn)

Fandom: TES Oblivion Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence) Categories: F/M Genre: Mystery, Crime Thriller, Romance Characters: F!OC, Lucien Lachance, The Dark Brotherhood Status: WIP, 125k words

“The dice were loaded, of course. No other way to play.”

This story is far more than a Dark Brotherhood fic, and while I may have initially clicked for the Lucien Lachance tag, I stayed for the brilliantly crafted, delightfully brash protagonist, the impeccable eye for detail, and the fast, gripping plot, all of which are beautifully woven into one of the most enthralling and original mysteries I’ve read on the archive to date. The intrigue is supplied instantly— I mean, just check out that hook! :o

Set prior to any of the events of Oblivion, Next of Kin follows Talrose Gatthen, a Dunmer living with her younger brother on the Anvil Docks whose fondness for drink complements an equally agreeable penchant for bar-fights and gambling. When Tal returns home from yet another late night out, she discovers that her brother has been taken, and the only surviving trace of the struggle is his pearl necklace, found submerged in a pool of blood. 

Rich in suspense and drama and gritty twists, Tal’s journey to track down her brother leads her deep into the underbelly of Cyrodiil’s infamous guild of assassins. Next of Kin features an entirely original plot with a cast of primarily original characters, and yet ClassicHer manages to write the Dark Brotherhood and the broader setting of Cyrodiil with a vibrancy and richness that is both familiarly authentic and impressively novel. 

Keep reading

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

Fic Friday 200k Edition

It's a very special Fic Friday today! GAHHHH! I never, ever thought that I would make it this far and had assumed that I would have given up by now, but I have not. It has been such a ride and such a wonderful experience, and I have met so many lovely, beautiful people along the way who have made this journey such a blessing for me. I'd like to thank @dumpsterhipster, @nocturnalswarehouse, and @oblivions-dawn as well as anyone who has ever encouraged me, interacted with me, or read anything that I have written. I write because I genuinely love doing so, but I also post it because I love to share. Ok, I'll stop now. This isn't the Grammys.

Link: In the Midst of Winter

Rating: E (Minors DNI with the explicit content)

Pairing: Dahlia Wintersnow (OC Dragonborn)/Ulfric Stormcloak

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, explicit content, minor references to past non-con, minor character death

Snippet:

When she reaches the front door to the Palace of the Kings, it swings open quietly for once. The hinges must have been oiled recently as the they normally make such a racket that it could wake even the dead any time someone enters the building. But not tonight. Tonight, she is forced to wake one body in particular herself.

Dahlia sighs as her feet move her steadily closer to the War Room, then to the second floor, and finally to the door of Ulfric’s room. A dark pit of emotion blooms in her stomach when one of her trembling hands raises to knock on the door.

A sense of foreboding. That is what she is feeling. Instead of happiness, she feels nothing but dread. Of course, she is delighted and even excited to see Ulfric again, but will he feel the same after she has been gone so long? If what Stone-Fist said is to be believed, the answer to that question is uncertain, and the very reason why she hesitates to knock on his door.

Her hand falls to her side.

This is stupid. She is the Dragonborn, and Ulfric is her lover. Why should she be afraid to knock on his door? And why should she have to knock on it at all?

Before she loses what little resolve she has gained, she turns the knob on the door and pushes it open.

When her feet finally cross the threshold of the Jarl’s room, each leaden step she takes echoes like the temple bells of Solitude.

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

Loyal Companions by StopTalkingAtMe

fandom || Skyrim rating || G categories || gen pairings || f!LDB&Meeko genre || character study characters of note || Meeko status || 1/1, 2.3k

What in the name of all the gods is the Dragonborn meant to do with a dog?

***

“Good night for a ghost story,” she murmured. Except, of course, for the small matter of having no one to share it with.

Too long since she’d had a travelling companion. She’d never much liked journeying on her own, especially somewhere as vast and desolate as Skyrim. It wasn’t just the physical risks she had to worry about (although it seemed Skyrim had a never-ending supply of enemies to test her skills against): it was the silence. Spend too long on your own and it started worming its way into your skull. Especially on the clear nights when there wasn't even the soft hush of snowfall to leaven it, the nights when it was heightened by the eerie ribbons of light dancing soundlessly overhead.

She’d lie there, listening to the Shouts hum inside her, a soft fizzing in the cavity of her chest. Feeling a barely perceptible tug in her bones and knowing it was a word wall she was feeling, somewhere buried deep under the earth beneath her feet.

The sort of nights which left her wishing with all her heart that she had someone to keep her company.

Nights, in other words, a bit like this.

***

"I'm such a sucker for "main character reluctantly takes on animal companion" stories, and this was beautifully written. I love Meeko, and almost immediately fell in love with Ida as well - her loneliness, her grumbling compassion, her ghost stories. She's a fully-realized character, and you showed that off in such a tight and well-crafted piece. Fantastic work." -- mimosa-supernova

"In conclusion, I'm absolutely in love with this insight into Ida's world and thoughts. She's such a relatable character, and I found myself rooting for her from the first line. And I love how Meeko takes down the walls she built around herself with his dorky, doggy love and how she tries to stay in denial that maybe, maybe traveling together wouldn't be so bad. Given the possibility, I'd adopt Meeko right away, too!" -- Amiodara

"I really enjoyed this! you have a nice way with words ❤️" -- Jam

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

The Bonds of Civility by joyofthejoui / @nientedenada

fandom || Skyrim rating || T categories || f/m, gen, f/f pairings || f!LDB/Ulfric Stormcloak, Rikke/f!OC genre || political fantasy characters of note || Ulfric Stormcloak, Elenwen, Rikke, Ondolemar, Delphine status || 34/?, 160k

The Dragonborn asked for a truce. Ulfric Stormcloak asked for her hand in return. Neither of them knew what they were getting into. A whole lot of politics, drama, and a backstory involving the Great War and the Aldmeri Dominion, that's what.

***

“But he’s old,” protested Lydia.

Cecilia Varo, Dragonborn, citizen of Cyrodiil, and the heroine of this story, nodded emphatically. “Very old. He fought in the War. My parents fought in the War.”

“Gross.” Lydia threw the letter down on the floor and turned to face her thane who was sprawled out in full glass armour on the only rentable bed in the inn. She’d flopped down there after giving Lydia the letter to read.

“Yes. Really gross. Really, really gross.” Cecilia pushed herself up on one elbow and fixed her housecarl with a glare that was really meant for the absent Ulfric. “I’m glad you understand, Lydia. I want you to talk me out of marrying him.”

***

"First of all: I don't know which character I love most, they're all amazing. Second: this is amazing I'm so glad I stumbled back into the skyrim fandom." -- wanderingmusician

"I truly love your writing, must have read this series 3 or 4 times through during quarantine. Based a good few NPCs in my dnd game off of some of your characters as well, youre a fantastic author and i really love this story x" -- irnbru32

"I just finished reading through the entire story and I loved it! The amount of politics and plot threads that all manage to tie in together, the intricate interwoven families and wow, the insidiousness of your Thalmor! While reading it just jumps out to me how well-thought out everything is. You've got a whole lot of OC's, but they all feel like different persons which is really great as well." -- Moriche

[dollar-store-apocrypha]

The Lands of Our Fathers by Lionheart (TheSouthernFalconer) / @atypicalacademic

fandom || Skyrim rating || T categories || gen pairings || - genre || character study, vignette cluster characters of note || Faendal, J'zargo status || 1/1, 7k

There are histories, and then there are histories.

The knife wasn’t a sword, a sword wasn’t a spell, but it would do. He’d tested it, well and good, on old Salvius’ goat; the goat hadn’t been for him, of course, only the scraps, boiled in hot oil. His mother’s fingers still couldn’t take oil. And he’d been too hungry to see her waste it. But the goat had died, regardless.

One neat cut across, that strangled gurgle before it went still. Cesare thought of Father, again and again and again, thought it until it branded itself inside of his eyelids, thought it until it clogged his windpipe with salt and sandpaper.