moriche

[moriche]

Horsegirl brain took over during a long meeting today. The tack and panoply is based on an illumination from Livre de Chasse (1387-9) by Gaston III, Count of Foix.

[moriche]

I have nothing to share for WIP Wednesday, having just finished Serana yesterday. However, I'm looking over my to-do list of art ideas, and thought I'd take a survey of who I should draw next. Just don't count on it being done the next day, or even the next week. Serana took me 20 hours and there was much procrastinating.

Tagging mutuals, but anyone can vote! @dirty-bosmer @guardianlizard @igorlevchenko-blog @moriche @pyre-of-pages @skyrim-forever @snowy-weather @theoneandonlysemla @thequeenofthewinter @weirdisme

Feel free to reblog!

[moriche]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @sulphuricgrin @bostoniangirl21 and @labskeever!

I'm tagging @illumiera, @lilarus, @moriche, @pinessydr, @yansurnummu and anyone else who wants to share their work!

Today I'm just sharing a really small snippet, since I kinda have to get started on TES gala stuff if I want to have any of it done in time. Still, please enjoy Arri being back on her bullshit...

“Martin, honestly, we don’t have time for...” But he refused to let her finish. He was, above all else, a healer, and he could no longer stand by and watch while Arri forced herself to go on, quite possibly bringing harm to herself in the process. “No. I would be fine to go on, but we have been traveling together for days and I have yet to see you sleep. You have an injured leg you shouldn’t be walking on, and besides, you are of no use to anyone if you collapse from sheer exhaustion.” “You’re one to talk, you are this close to passing out from draining your magicka too much,” Arri shot back. “So if you can manage to stay upright, I can as well.” She finally pushed him away and took a step back as if to prove a point, but Martin could see that she still avoided putting her weight on her bad leg as much as she could. Even without the injury dragging her down, though, she barely had enough strength left to stand. “That you are still able to stand, or walk, does not mean you should be doing it,” Martin argued, “And I already told you I will have a headache, nothing more. You, however, look dead on your feet.” “And I hate to repeat myself, but if you die, we will all be dead, not just looking like we are. So I suggest we get moving,” Arri snarked back.

[moriche]

WIP Wednesday!

It’s here again, yay! Thank you @theoneandonlysemla @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer and @labskeever for the tags! I pass along to @friend-of-giants @sundering-keen @falmerbrook @moriche @lucien-lachance and @bougainvillea-and-saltwater ❤️

I bring more Sil and Vivec, having made up from their last squabble and discussing some cultural differences between House Sotha and the Ashlanders.

I’m getting very close to finishing this arc of the fic, which is how I do longfics/epics these days: write a piece of the story, edit it, rest, write something else for a while, and then come back to add another chunk later. This excerpt is from ch 5, and this arc will have 19 in total (I’m currently working on the last one). Also, by this time next week, I will have posted ch 2 of HoE here. :)

[moriche]

WIP Wednesday!

Technically a WIP and on a Wednesday too! Pinged by @skyrim-forever, thank you very much for the poke :)

Forwarding to @changelingsandothernonsense @archangelsunited @dirty-bosmer @kookaburra1701 @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @sulphuricgrin @hircines-hunter @moriche @throughtrialbyfire and @labskeever!

So, this time I've got something a bit different from the usual - some of you might have already seen me post this... close to a year or two ago, but I have only now just reached the point in the story where this snippet becomes relevant again, and so I inflict it upon ye once more <3

Content Warnings: sexual content, alcohol abuse, death

And naturally, spoilers for Aad Semblio Impera chapter 16.

Awful.

Saya slammed the door shut behind herself and immediately put a hand to her mouth, suppressing the urge to hurl. She had nobody but herself to blame for her current condition - Danica had warned her against drinking any alcohol far ahead of time, saying it could potentially cause more damage and complicate the healing process. That knowledge did nothing to ease the unbearable burn in her throat now, as she stumbled into Breezehome with a tilted gait and slush for brains. She fumbled with the key for a while in a futile attempt to lock the door before irritably throwing the sodding thing off into some corner. Future Saya could worry about finding it. Present Saya just needed to fall somewhere. Preferably not the floor.

The funeral was barely a blur in her mind. She had come to the Hall of the Dead before most others. Not before Hrongar. The blooming bruise on her cheek was proof enough of that. She was sure there would’ve been more if Irileth hadn’t been there. Saya didn’t have it in her to defend, or even to be angry on her own behalf. She didn’t have the energy to feign stoicism like Balgruuf or Hrongar did when the priest of Arkay read out his prayers. The only thing she could do was stand there, a hollow husk of herself, staring blankly at the white sheet draped over the body that was once Lydia.

Saya pushed down a hiccup when she missed a step and fell to one knee. She mouthed a mute “Fuck” before gracelessly planting herself down on the stairs, the only remaining semblance of stability she still had being the iron grip with which she hold onto the railing. Her fingers felt as numb now as they did before, when she trailed them along the coffin’s metal lid. When she stood there but only half-there, and imagined herself lifting the lid to see her one last time when nobody else could interrupt, when she could hold her hand and voicelessly whisper all the things she wanted to say but did not, could not, would not.

Grunting, she rose to wobbly feet once more. It was dark, too dark for her to navigate by anything but touch and memory. She groped the walls for direction, bumping her hip against the cupboard with another string of curses. She pushed the door with her shoulder twice before she remembered it was a pull. Anger was beginning to cloud what little remained of her mind - hollow, directionless anger. Anger at nothing in particular yet simultaneously at one thing and one thing alone.

As she entered the room, the object of her ire stared back at her from the mirror with drunken red eyes.

Saya crashed into bed with a sigh and pulled the pillow over her face. The covers felt too fuzzy under her, the mattress too soft and accommodating. She felt like she was sinking, a stone in a shit creek, and she was slowly losing the willpower to swim. Maybe if she was lucky, she wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. Wash the memories down with the drink and wake up empty, confused, and just a smidge less miserable than before. Repeat ad infinitum.

Maybe if she kept it up for long enough, she would forget Lydia too.

Saya sat up, startled by her own thoughts. She clutched the pillow in her arms, holding it close to herself as though it, too, would disappear if she let go. No. She closed her eyes tight and shook her head. No, I don’t want that. Forgetting was the last thing she wanted. Every meeting, every conversation, every stupid joke, every reprimand, every laugh, every smile, every hug - she wanted all of it to be etched into her very core.

She fell onto her side, still hugging the pillow close with one arm. She wanted to hold her close just like this, to feel her warm arms wrapped around her shoulders and let the scent of her hair lull her into a blissful haze. She wanted to run her hand up and down her large back, to feel the tension melt from her muscles and the breath leave her lungs as a flustered laugh. Saya felt her heart quicken at the thought.

She threw one leg over the pillow, her breath growing hotter. She wanted to hear her call her name in hushed whispers, to feel her voice hitch and crack when she pressed her lips to her skin. Saya wanted to feel her, every inch of her, to breathe her warmth like the sweetest poison there was and to taste herself on her tongue with every hungry kiss. Her thighs squeezed around the pillow. She wanted it to be her, to cup her face and tell her everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

When she tried to imagine her smiling, all she could see was a pallid corpse staring back at her. 

Saya’s eyes shot open. The sweat on her back felt cold. No, no, no no- She hunched over the pillow, hand covering her mouth. Her body twitched as she gripped the headboard. Not like this. Damn it, not like this. She tried to keep still, to quell the momentum she had created before she would taint even these nonexistent memories. She bowed her head in shame when she realized it was too late to stop.

When she came, the only warmth she had left was her own hot tears streaming down her face.

I’m awful.

[moriche]

it's WIP Wednesday, my dudes!

Tagged by @theoneandonlysemla and @skyrim-forever—thanks so much!

As usual, I have an excerpt from the Young Martin AU. I was possessed just now and wrote most of it in the span of half an hour in my bed.

The spar finished as it always did: with Torodryn’s sword against Martin’s neck. The Blade held it there only for a moment before he said, "Take a break."

Martin nodded in thanks and trudged over to the nearest blanket, where Corella sat stripping bark off of some odd plant. He flopped down next to her, prone and unmoving save for a deep, dramatic breath. Sunlight warmed his back.

“I see Tor went as easy on you as he always does,” said Corella. “Have you come to look pathetic in my general vicinity so that I’ll mend your bruises?”

Martin raised and awkwardly turned his head to look at her. A little smile traced her lips—a smirk, really.

“Is it working?” he asked.

She set her project down on the blanket and turned to properly look at him. Martin didn’t miss the softness in her eyes as she dragged them along every inch of his bare back, the way her brow lacked that little pinch that it had when she was actually examining someone. Vanity wasn’t the worst of his vices, but he still felt a little smug under her gaze.

“Sit up,” she said.

Martin pushed himself up with a little groan and faced her. She set to work enveloping each of his bruises in a little cocoon of glowing light, perhaps uncomfortably warm in his sweat-soaked state, but not unwanted. Her gestures were languid. Sometimes her fingers rested on a bruise.

“Anything else still hurt?” she asked a few minutes later, when all his visible injuries were mended.

Martin took stock of himself, moving each of his overexerted muscles.

“I think I pulled something in my back, lower left.”

Corella didn’t even bother to make him turn, just reached around and prodded the spot, making him wince. A few seconds of warmth from her hand unraveled the tension. Martin thought he should not be held responsible for the little wisp of a moan that escaped him, but Corella chuckled at it anyway. Then her face took on that curious pinch of hers, and she ran a finger briefly but firmly over a spot on his lower back.

“I presume these are from growing?” she said.

Martin twisted around to see what she was referring to; that was comically futile, so he reached back and prodded the spot himself.

“Oh, the saint’s marks? Yes. I shot up like a stalk of corn when I was fifteen.”

“Saint’s marks? That’s what you call them?”

“Is that not what you call them?” Martin asked.

Corella shook her head. "Properly, they’re—well, healers call them striae. I’ve also heard them called by other names, but never saint’s marks.”

Martin flushed a little. Of course they’d have a more proper name, and of course that’s how Corella would know them. Every year he was alive made him feel like he knew less and less.

“Do you know why they’re called that?” asked Corella.

She looked sincerely interested, wide-eyed and expectant. Sometimes Martin forgot how curious a person she actually was.

"Yes, if my father is to be believed,” said Martin. "He told me that—according to myths, at least—they first appeared on men after Saint Alessia freed us from the Ayleids. For the first time, we had as much food as we wanted to eat. So we ate and ate and ate, and we all grew six inches taller, and”—Martin laughed a little—“the Divines were so busy celebrating that Dibella didn’t have time to repaint our skin the right way. So, saint’s marks.”

Corella was making a face at him that he couldn’t quite decipher. He cleared his throat.

“Silly Colovian legends. I'm sure there's a real explanation for why we have them."

"There is," said Corella, "but I like that name. I like the story. It's poetic."

Martin hummed. “And it made me feel a lot better when I went to my parents asking if I was dying of some strange disease.”

Corella smiled, a far-off thing that made Martin think that she was contemplating something of her own parents. Then she reached out and poked the crease between his arm and shoulder.

"And these?” she said. “They look new."

Martin looked down and was reminded of the newer marks on his arms, these ones red-purple instead of pale.

"Ah. I spent a lot of time in Kvatch moving crates for whichever church needed me on a given day, and I got these for my trouble. Father Wrellan is a firm believer in lifting heavy things as a form of penance.”

Corella hummed. “It looks good on you."

Corella’s tone wasn’t sultry. If anything, it was matter-of-fact, a passing remark of little weight, but still Martin could feel his face flush and his heart beat a little faster.

"Penance, or the marks?" he asked.

"Lifting heavy things," she clarified with a laugh. "And perhaps the marks, too."

“But not the penance?”

Her expression changed the moment that she registered what he had said—subtly, but definitely there. Martin kicked himself internally. That was the sort of joke that would have made one of the brothers at the chapel laugh. Not her. Not someone who knew too personally why he was hauling barrels of fish around as a way of earning the Gods’ grace again.

But her expression schooled itself into light-hearted amusement before he could ponder how to rescue the situation.

“You ask strange questions sometimes, Martin Carius.”

NPT: @heavy-metal-dick @weirdisme @graveofcalaxes @vehksfingerguns @madam-whim @nuwanders @mavariel @truth-01001001-liar @moriche @friend-of-giants

and I can't believe I forgot to tag you @sigrid-of-solstheim! if you have any WIPs you're able to share 👀

[moriche]

Wip Wednesday

tagged by @sulphuricgrin @hircines-hunter @silly-little-diary @bostoniangirl21 @theoneandonlysemla @skyrim-forever @saltymaplesyrup

Thank you, my lovely talented mutuals <3 I am tagging: @gilgamish @ladytanithia @kookaburra1701 @elavoria @sylvienerevarine @unironicallytes @miliabyntite @inkysqueed @pocket-vvardvark @moriche @heavy-metal-dick @pyre-of-pages @throughtrialbyfire @babyblueetbaemonster

Finally felt motivated to work on my Skyrim fic. It's been a while, and I've miss my horrible little necromancer brat, so here's a snip from upcoming chapter 8 of Slither and Writhe.

After a traumatic start to her journey in Skyrim, Sylawen wakes up in Whiterun:

But an hour or so later, Sylawen was not so much falling asleep as she was floating awake, buoyed in a state of mindless boredom. I knew Danica gave me the weak stuff, she bemoaned and turned over in her cot to stare at the temple ceiling. More intrusive brightness poured in from the high windows, flooding her eyes until she was forced to squint. It must have been midday at least, the light so clean and golden. Buttery almost, like she could spread it on toast. The longer she lay bathed in the sun's rays, the easier it was to welcome the warmth, yet Sylawen found herself reluctant to fully acknowledge the days beauty while feeling like a pile of squashed scrib. Still, she kept her eyes trained on the window, because she’d been staring at the walls for so long that she was beginning to find faces in the wood grains. Her Mother. Rillion. Tazara. Thrynn. Did anyone know where she was? Did anyone care? Hells, she knew no more than what Danica had told her, that she was at the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun (wherever that was). Dorand would have known, if he were still alive, and in thinking of him and his savage end, the spit in Sylawen’s mouth grew thin.  There was so very little that had kept her from meeting the same fate, and even now, starved and beaten and reeling from fever, she could hardly believe she’d brushed so close to death. How did one day in Skyrim end so catastrophically?  Eight, I hate this place. As if she needed to remind herself again. She’d told Mother that sending her to Skyrim was a mistake, and for once in maybe all of Sylawen’s life, she was not pleased to be proven correct. A finch or sparrow or some such winged creature darted past the window in a blur. It landed on the eave frames beneath the temple roof, appeared to be building a nest, weaving strands of grass with its beak. Sylawen watched it, given there was nothing else for her to do. Well at least someone likes it here.  “Oh, you’re still awake.”  Craning her neck, Sylawen found Danica approaching from the back door, wiping the dirt from her hands with a rag. She’d just come in from the garden, and bundles of freshly harvested lavender overflowed the basket on her arm.  “Regretfully,” Sylawen replied. “Well, good because someone’s here to see you.” “Not like this, they aren’t.”  Danica did not look amused. “It’s one of the Companions who brought you in.” Sylawen still didn’t know what that meant— a Companion— and could only recall fuzzy images of yesterday. A looming giant. A woman with jagged green scars. A man with eyes made of ice. “I-I’m in no state for someone to see me,” she said, raking one hand through her knotted hair and feeling the sudden need to cover her belly. “Tell them I’m not taking any visitors.”  “He was asking about you this morning too. You might consider it polite to offer thanks, if they still have manners down in Cyrodiil that is.”

[moriche]

WIP Whenever !!

Thank you to those who tagged me, it’s no longer Wednesday here but I still have a wip to share. I’ve shared a couple paragraphs from this one but this is a bigger chunk. Not actually sure where I’m taking this one really, but it keeps coming !

Moments Silence (working title, may change)

Abnur Tharn x The Vestige (Lumriel)

The waters of the small seaside cove flowed in and out soothingly, rays of sunlight poured in through the ceiling, alighting the pink fluttering leaves of the Auridon Heartwood trees growing inexplicably through the sand. It would have been a nice resting place had it not been for its occupants, Abnur thought with disdain as the attention of the conversation shifted away from himself and his loyalties.

Halfway through the conversation with Lyris Titanborn and Varen Aquilarios (or the Prophet, so he was calling himself now), the fledgling hero– a tall, thin, and tanned Altmer by the name of Lumriel– had stopped wringing his hands and gone frighteningly still. The young Altmer was of a shockingly timid countenance for his job description. Usually the new warriors were head strong or egotistical, unable to see past their own swords. Abnur never liked having dealings with young heroes, as attracted to trouble as they were, but admittedly their thirst for power, their inflated ego, and naivete was the perfect recipe for him to manipulate to his benefit. This one was proving to be a much more complex book to read.

Even despite his lack of desire for power, Tharn could see the strings of his heart, pulled back and forth by all the things he cared about. He was already showing signs of…weakness. Back in Coldharbour, after Abnur had re-emerged from Mannimarco’s (admittedly painful) banishment and they had worked together to take down the visage of him, the Vestige had gripped him by the shoulders with a terrified look in his eyes. It was almost like he cared whether or not Abnur had died, which was certainly a new development.

Now the hero stood, news of the Prophet’s true identity as Varen Aquilarios, bringer of all their looming troubles, finally setting in. The adrenaline from the fight lingered and seemed to leave his limbs with a tremble that he couldn’t shake out. The lines of his face grew tighter with every passing word from the Companions.

“You have my solemn promise, Vestige. When this is over, if you still judge me harshly, you can end my life. I will offer no resistance. But we must find Sai Sahan, everything depends on that.”

The Vestige looked at Varen with a withered expression, “I… am not going to do that. But you’re right. We have no choice.” He looked sparingly at Lyris, who took his gaze head on, and said nothing. “I am going to check your injuries and then… and just… I need to think.”

Varen nodded his head once, sagely and sat back down at the rickety makeshift desk underneath the Heartwood trees. Lumriel looked briefly over Lyris’s injuries, making sure nothing would be left to heal wrong or fester and gave her a small health potion. They spoke quietly for a moment, seeming to come to a reluctant understanding.

Even despite Tharn’s standoffish posture and attempts to conceal his discomfort, Lumriel turned to the battle mage, eyes wandering over his tired but still haughty frame. Though he had been through worse bouts before, the banishment spell from Mannimarco, ensuing fight, the spiritual drain that came from lingering too long in Coldharbour, and then that final blow from Lyris had left him wary. Still, he straightened his back under the scrutiny. The young high elf stepped forward, examining him. Warm, clammy fingers came up to whisper across his face, tracing the damages. Abnur flinched back, shying away from the touch he didn’t expect. The fingers grabbed his chin, gently guiding his face to the side to get a better look at a cut that Lyris’s bracer had carved into his face. Lumriel’s brow knit together as he focused.

“This shouldn’t need any magic but let me apply a salve. Auri-El forbid you get an infection. I don’t trust the air in Coldharbour, let alone the waters,” he said quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. Maybe he was. He still looked shaky and off-kilter, Abnur noted.

Normally, Tharn would decline and take care of it himself but their new companion was such an intriguing character, he hadn’t yet pieced him together. He was obviously upset, but not one to lose his temper. The elf reached into his bag and pulled out a small wooden box, opening it to a translucent yellow gel, flecks of small green leaves throughout. Dipping his finger in, he brought a bit of it up to Abnur’s face, spreading it gently over the cut. It stung for only a moment, a cooling sensation soothing the angry skin.

Lumriel inspected him still, seeming stressed. “Maybe I should have cleaned it first, anything could have stuck from that gods forsaken place. It’s not bleeding anymore but I should have— Do you hurt anywhere else? Manni— that mer hit you with a lot of magicka so I should check for any burns, espe—“

Abnur grabbed Lumriel’s wrist, pulling it away from where he had rested it on his face, cutting off the nervous spill of words. “I’m alright, Vestige. I have survived much, much worse.” And it wasn’t a lie, even if he was aching bone deep across most of his body. Lumriel closed his eyes and grounded himself. Tharn noted how his hands trembled. “Are you alright?”

Lumriel looked away, pressing his lips together. “I-I— I’m sorry, I just need some time—“ he pulled his hands away from Tharn and turned, quickly wading through the cove (that he was now understanding was the Harborage— seriously, Varen couldn’t have chosen somewhere less wet?) and out of the entrance, where he could hear the telltale call of seagulls and push and pull of the ocean. Lyris watched him leave with a vaguely guilty look on her face and sighed, sitting down in the sand by their sad little campfire. She began methodically taking off her armor.

Varen shuffled a few things around on his desk idly and seemed to come to a decision in his head. He turned to Tharn, “You are, of course, welcome to stay with us here in the Harborage, should you need it. Though, it’s not the luxury you’re used to,” he said quietly, both of them ignoring Lyris going stiff.

“Thank you, Varen, but I believe I’ll have to decline,” the name fell off his lips clumsily, muscle memory still wanting to call him sire, from all those years ago. “I still have some funds and remaining connections that I should be able to find lodging in the city. We are in Auridon, aren’t we? It has been too long since I’ve last visited.”

Varen nodded once and he could see Lyris settle down again in his peripheral vision. “Yes and I believe the Vestige has a long term residence here as well, despite the inordinate amount of travel he’s been through. You might ask him about it.”

Tharn hummed. “I will. Though I don’t believe he’s in any mood to talk real estate right now,” he muttered. “I might just give him until morning lest he go catatonic.”

Narrowing his eyes in a chastising manner, Varen picked up a book and ran his hand along the pages, words glowing in a white-blue. Tharn assumed this was how he read now. “You don’t have to wait. In fact, I believe the Vestige— Lumriel, would benefit from your conversation right now.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Yes, company would be good for him right now.”

Well, looks like I don’t have a choice then. Tharn thought, wryly.

[moriche]

Cicada

Josh circa 4E 208, about to go make bad deals out of desperation. Joshi's Apocrypha Splunking for missing wifey look to go with a fic idea I want to start soon.

Added a dragonfire burn to the rest of dragon mauling scars.

Coz I'm posting the finished work in lieu of Wip Wednsday I said I was going to tag people who were interested/tagged me already. As I said in the earlier post, if you'd prefer I didn't tag let me know/ignore this post.

@skyrim-forever @sulphuricgrin @theoneandonlysemla @hircines-hunter @vehksfingerguns @moriche @firefly-factory

[moriche]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone! Thank you for the tags @hircines-hunter @silly-little-diary @sulphuricgrin @umbracirrus @theoneandonlysemla got to wake up and look at yours like it's the morning paper <3

Tagging: @pocket-vvardvark @dirty-bosmer @friend-of-giants @changelingsandothernonsense @firefly-factory @scholarlyhermit

@labskeever @heavy-metal-dick @ladytanithia @sanzas-reverie @pyre-of-pages @saltymaplesyrup @sunsettemplar @lucien-lachance

@moriche @thequeenofthewinter @captain-of-silvenar @throughtrialbyfire No pressure to share! Happy to see whatever you have, one word or one line is progress <3

Got a bit of beading done, his skin (and lack thereof) is finished! And there's a bit of hair started, went insane doing it last time so let's see how it goes this time :P Beading has been slower because I've been writing again??? BIG IF TRUE

Gonna share another bit from my Theomar Love Confession Chapter 2, made some really great progress and I hope to finish it soon <3 Under the cut because this is explicit, they are actively smashing <3 Also talk of religion.

In her conceptualization of him, the Imperial is careful to remember that anything she thinks of him can also be said for him to her. The Races of Man are in direct opposition to those of Mer, always have been and always will be. To suggest anything to the contrary is comical. Especially for an Altmer such as him, one typically clad in the Thalmor uniform that was scattered on the floor of a temple in Windhelm. In Ysgramor's city. The northeastern part of the province where man and mer first encountered each other, the place where it all began; on Nirn at least. Such conflict is said to have spawned from when Nirn began, a trick the Altmer in particular viewed as a slight, their head god would one day rectify. A deity Ondolemar is very devoted to, so devoted to that he evokes him now and the woman learns how her lover coincides his faith and his actions now; syncretized. 

“By Auri-El” he utters, sheathing himself in his entirety. The feeling of fullness, as though there had been an emptiness within her that the woman forgot, combined with his choice of exclamation, she can’t help but follow. 

“Gods.” 

She is not faithful like him, the word more of a neutral expression not unlike a verbal reflex. It takes her a moment to recover, handling both the physical sensation and how it all feels even greater with the knowledge he came all this way because he had to tell her. All because he loves her. But she does recover, she has more than proven she can handle any situation with great fortitude. With enough of it, she musters out a retort. How he does love when she speaks to him during it, sure to ask something of her if she does not volunteer it. 

“Should you speak your god’s name at a time like this?” Meekly, she follows up as he pulls nearly completely out, only the head of his cock left in the warmth. “With a woman like me?” While he thrusts back in, it causes her legs to instinctively wrap around his waist, draw him as close as possible; another reflex.

“I’ve told him a lot about you, Theodora.” Oh. What could she offer back now other than her arms across his shoulder in an effort to bring the mer inches deep inside her that much closer. Close enough now that their lips nearly touch, he must be able to feel the breath that emits from her as she whispers; unlike her to be quiet in the throws of passion, but the subject matter demands reverence. 

“What do you say?”

[moriche]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: @hircines-hunter and @sulphuricgrin

Tagging: @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @changelingsandothernonsense @dirty-bosmer @elavoria @friend-of-giants @firefly-factory @guardianlizard @gyldowen-draws @heavy-metal-dick @illumiera @labskeever @ladytanithia @moriche @pocket-vvardvark @rikkimora @rakaiawriter @sheirukitriesfandom @shadovvmarks @thequeenofthewinter @skyrim-forever @vanilleeistee @sanzas-reverie @weirdisme @scholarlyhermit @pyre-of-pages

It’s Wednesday my dudes! I did work more on my new A Taste of Death chapter but honestly, there is nothing in it at the moment that I really want to share. Maybe next week, if I haven’t finished that monster then, haha. So, more Faralda in Mucha-Style for you! I finished the line art and cursed myself for all the details while doing so and I put in the base colours! Next step is shading with watercolour and then she’s done. I will then start with Nevri, I think. As there are four paintings in the precious stones series, I was pondering if there’s anyone who can be the fourth girly and realised that Lovira does exist, haha. Not me forgetting about Morotar’s fiancé lol. (Who am I, him?!) So I’ll probably do that poor girly as the fourth one. Anyway, have fun with Faralda:

[moriche]

Wip Wednesday!

I want to give my special thanks to @hircines-hunter for tagging me this week’s game 💕 thank you for bearing up with me…

I have not written anything new, just tweak a few things here and there on my newest chapter, and a portrait I am working on for our dear Anneberry and her fox, Sweet Roll 🫶🏻

（Yes, my ultimate goal is to get that cartoony Disney vibe xD）im capturing her scene where she sings to Sweet in chapter 2, but again as an adult fox.

Also have this piece of what I have been tweaking these days too! Although, not a happy vibe compared to Anneberry hanging out with SR…

Tagging: @illumiera @madam-whim @pinessydr @keleravna @vivifriend @umbracirrus @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @miraakulous-cloud-district @dirty-bosmer @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @pocket-vvardvark @mavariel @rakimaiirisa @hyperfixations-everywhere @lobo-inu snd anyone else who seeks to join! 💛

Share your art, writing, screenshots, mods… any creation is welcome ✨

[moriche]

WIP Wednesday!! 💛

Today's WIP is just Balgruuf being an idiot because of a certain dragonborn - little more to say than that :3

Tagged by @hircines-hunter and @bostoniangirl21 , tagging @skyrim-forever @friend-of-giants @moriche @oblivions-dawn and anyone else who wants to share a WIP, though obviously no obligations for anyone <3

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As Balgruuf began to make his way towards his study after what felt like hours upon hours -which had actually only been little more than just two – listening to the woes of the people of Whiterun, he found himself hovering outside the porch doors. His hands hovered tentatively alongside the heavy wood, debating whether he would open them just for a moment, or leave his son and Elyse be.

The sudden sound of laughter, light, airy and almost like music to his ears when compared to the near non-stop complaints and troubles he had listened to so far, made that decision for him.

The cool air of the porch was quick to soothe the clamminess of his skin as the doors fell shut behind him, before he went to lean against the closest wall to observe what was happening out there.

It appeared that Elyse was taking a break from training Frothar, as she was sat on one of the bales of straw which were stored out there as she wiped at her brow with a damp cloth. Frothar was inundating her with questions, which appeared to be what was making her laugh... And though he could hear what they were discussing, he wasn’t really focussing on that.

Even in a state of exertion and exhaustion, he just couldn’t keep his eyes off her. The way that the flush across her sunkissed skin looked, the loose strands of hair which had fallen from the messy bun atop her head which she then went to tuck behind her ears, slightly pointed from her Breton heritage and with the earrings which he had bought for her adorning them... Not to mention her smile as she chuckled at his son’s questions.

Perhaps the porch wasn’t as cool as he had assumed it was.

[moriche]

WIP Whenesday

tagged by: @hircines-hunter <33

no pressure tagging: @skyrim-forever @changelingsandothernonsense @sanzas-reverie @pocket-vvardvark @firefly-factory @dirty-bosmer @illumiera @lobo-inu @moogaiashe

@moriche @sunlightpassingthroughthewater @yansurnummu @scholarlyhermit @silly-little-diary @oblivions-dawn @yewphoric @fangsandsoftgrass @madam-whim @ggghoulish @truth-01001001-liar @theoneandonlysemla

i'm still working on that smut oneshot, and this is all I'm willing to share of Lilli and Miraak. 🤭

She steps closer, her legs between his and leans down. Her hands once more cradling his face. “Is this enough? Or am I still overdressed?” she teases, as she still wore her jewelry.  He glances down to her necklace that hangs between them. A simple chain that carried three rings on it. His hand gently touches it, knowing those were his rings. He hums, always satisfied to see them. Looking back at her face, he thinks: this was how she ought to look, bare skin only adorned by precious metals and jewels, absolutely sinful looking.  Miraak more harshly grips the necklace and yanks her closer. Her eyes widen briefly and her hands move to his shoulders to keep her balance with his pull. She’s too easy to read, her eyes peek down at his lips. He smiles smugly when she closes the gap. She eagerly opens her mouth for him ― or was it the other way around? He no longer cares as they move so well together, in sync and ravenous for the other. But too soon, she pulls back. 

[moriche]

WIP Whenesday

It’s close enough right?! Lol it’s Wednesday somewhere I’m cooking up some painful things……. Ehehe.

Gonna tag @umbracirrus @mavariel @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @sulphuricgrin @skyrim-forever @moriche @pocket-vvardvark @sanzas-reverie @dirty-bosmer @madamefluffnstuff @illumiera @yewphoric @oblivions-dawn @silly-little-diary @bostoniangirl21 @lobo-inu @theoneandonlysemla @v1ctory-or-sovngarde no obligations or pressure! Feel free to tag me!

Farkas grabbed Sifkni’s hand. “Sifkni wait. Listen to me.”

Sifkni turned her head away from the portal. “Aye?” She squeezed his hand.

“I think we….” He swallowed. “I think we should send you back. Listen to Hircine. Trade my heart for yours. So you can get back home to Jorrvaskr. Go with Aela and Estinan.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles. He held her hands tightly in his. She shivered in his grip. “Listen. Sifkni.” He put his hand under her chin and tilted her head, looking into her watery eyes. “You can go home. And live. Have our kids and raise them with the help of Jorrvaskr.”

Sifkni shook her head. Tears fell down her face. “I can’t…. Not without you. I can’t!”

“You have to go.” He cupped her cheeks, wiping the tears off her face. “You have to go.”

“Farkas….”

‘Is this what you want? Your husband’s heart for your own? He would become the Hare.’ Adelina looked down at Sifkni. Her ears pinned back.

Sifkni looked at Adelina and then at Farkas. A sob tore through her lips as she collapsed into Farkas’ arms. “I can’t do this Farkas. I can’t!”

“You must. You must live. With the little pups. Back home.” Farkas cupped her cheeks and caressed them with his thumbs. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You must live.”

“Not without you!” She pulled away, breathing hard and fast. She shook her head. “No. No.”

“This is the decision I want to make. My life for your life and the twins.” Farkas wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. He ran his fingers down her arms. “This is not a decision I make lightly. But for your survival and the pups. I am fine becoming the Hare, at this expense.” He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tightly. “We will see each other again. Whether it’s with me winning, or when you finally join me in the Hunting–”

“NO!” Sifkni clawed at his arms as she moved away. “Nono!”

“Sifkni. You must leave.”

Sifkni shook her head and backed away. “No. I refuse.”

“Sifkni please.”

‘I need you to make a decision. I cannot hold this portal much longer.’

Sifkni’s body shook as her vision wavered. She gripped Farkas’ arm. Her nails dug into his skin. “I can’t. Farkas. I cannot. I cannot raise these kids without you.”

“You will have Jorrvaskr. And you will do great.” He cupped her face again and leaned over to kiss her forehead. He kissed her nose and cheeks. Finally he kissed her lips. Soft and gentle.

“I can’t, Farkas.” She said between the soft kisses. Tears streamed down her face. “I won’t.”

[moriche]

Cicada

Josh circa 4E 208, about to go make bad deals out of desperation. Joshi's Apocrypha Splunking for missing wifey look to go with a fic idea I want to start soon.

Added a dragonfire burn to the rest of dragon mauling scars.

Coz I'm posting the finished work in lieu of Wip Wednsday I said I was going to tag people who were interested/tagged me already. As I said in the earlier post, if you'd prefer I didn't tag let me know/ignore this post.

@skyrim-forever @sulphuricgrin @theoneandonlysemla @hircines-hunter @vehksfingerguns @moriche @firefly-factory

[moriche]

TES WIP WEDNESDAY

Tagged by a whole bunch of folks, and tagging a whole bunch of folks in return as well! (Does anyone know if tags work if you put them beneath a cut, btw?) I've really enjoyed seeing all of your work today already and I'll get around to reblogging and fully reading and admiring it tomorrow <3 I'm always super happy to be tagged so I can easily find the posts in my @-mentions ^^

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I've been tinkering with my writing, so have some art for this week! Been setting up some ideas for what the ref sheet will look like, and detailed the base-pose Veryn with just breeches. I've also been thickening some of the lines on the armoured gear to bring 'em up a bit closer in line with the Telvanni armour (not pictured yet).

I also wanted to redraw my old discord emote I made of Veryn peeking and it kinda. maybe. ended up as me painting a lot on top of it. God, painting and drawing faces is so hard. Things end up easily lopsided/assymetrical for me and I only notice it way, way too late. Also need to push those shadows more - even though it feels like I'm using a fairly large range already, it still feels fairly flat.

If you want to get on or off Ms. Moriche’s Wild Ride, please tag me or DM me and I’ll make a note and add or remove you!

And also tagged are YOU! YES! YOU!

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@thequeenofthewinter @truth-01001001-liar @pocket-vvardvark @illumiera @unknownhomosapien @nyarevar @changelingsandothernonsense @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @oblivions-dawn @scorchedcandy @saltymaplesyrup @dirty-bosmer @ladytanithia @thenotebookwizard @sulphuricgrin @umbracirrus @skyrim-forever @hircines-hunter @friend-of-giants @labskeever @heavy-metal-dick @sanzas-reverie @theoneandonlysemla @yansurnummu @scholarlyhermit @linwelinwrites @sylvienerevarine @kookaburra1701 @elavoria @wispstalk @stormbeyondreality @ansu-gurleht @madam-whim @gilgamish @ggghoulish @graveofcalaxes @nuwanders @captain-of-silvenar @pyre-of-pages @guardianlizard @lobu-inu @fangsandsoftgrass @rustyram035 @lathez @babyblueetbaemonster @unironicallytes @bostoniangirl21

If you want to get on or off Ms. Moriche’s Wild Ride, please tag me or DM me and I’ll make a note and add or remove you!

And also tagged are YOU! YES! YOU!

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