#Ivetta

[sunraysandrunway]

Elie Saab Fall 2006 Couture

[gobugabuge]

[everythingfandom12]

[our-cursory-mantra-archive]

if you ignore the fnaf fansong context then youre coming with us by monochromenace is a pretty good song for ivettas relationship to natalia

[katrotica]

Quite some time ago my tumblr friend @eddiessoulkitchen sent me this great pic and suggested that a rain-themed poster might be fun. Ivetta B is one of those models from an era that is likely sunsetting, where girls mainly did just nude pics for a collection of different studios, each with a different psudonym. I think Ivetta B stuck the most. I'm familiar with her as someone who has shown up occasionally on my tumblr thru the years, and she's def hot, and I love those boots, and I love a good themed poster, so here we are! Sadly, it's possible that my friend Eddie may never see this poster, because he has disappeared off tumblr. They cancelled his blog once before, and it looks like they've done it again. It's so obnoxious how tumblr does that bc he's great! Posts excellent stuff, doesn't break the rules, is smart and interesting and respectful and lovely. I really hope he comes back. Do better, tumblr!

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday 💛

Wednesday again, and I'm on time this week!!!

More drawings of my Elder Scrolls OCs, because I haven't done any writing this week. Ivetta, Maewynne, and Aevra, who I believe are my last few Dragonborn on my list of characters to draw! I've just got a handful of OCs left to go in terms of sketches before I move on to neatening them up and adding colour....

As with previous times, more details about them under the read more!

Also been tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter and @throughtrialbyfire since I posted 💛

Ivetta

A member of the Nightingales and Guild Master of the Thieves Guild, Ivetta thrives in the shadows. Even her identity as Dragonborn is shrouded in mystery, with only a select few in Skyrim knowing purely down to coincidence or necessity. A stark difference to her upbringing in the high society of Solitude.

The entire reason that she no longer finds herself in those circles is purely because she hated what was demanded of her. Sure, she knew how to maintain a business ledger and had sat in on a handful of deals and witnessed agreements being made during her youth, but she was always more interested in seeing what happened behind the scenes. Seeing who greased the palms of who, watching as septims were exchanged behind the scenes, and witnessed the employees who had a bone to pick selling goods under the table at their employer's expense. It always intrigued her. It irritated her parents to no end, in particular when it involved business dealings to do with her family... even more so when it involved her uncovering their plans to try and marry her off so that she was out of the way, out of Solitude.

Ivetta decided to take herself out of the way without any strings attached, but not after setting things in motion to make her family's business crumble beneath their feet - finances in ruin, ledgers which didn't add up, and alerting guards to some very illegal practices. She ensured that she couldn't be implicated by relocating over the border before it could come to fruition, into Cyrodiil, and only returning to Skyrim when she caught wind of her family's business collapsing.

Of course, when she returned, she got caught up in that Imperial ambush...

With time, she found herself in Riften, following her encounter with Brynjolf when seeking Esbern, and enjoying the thrill of carrying out his little scheme. She then joined the Thieves Guild, and gradually found herself the Guild Master and Nightingale after unveiling Mercer Frey's treachery.

Unfortunately, she finds herself in the line of sight of the Black-Briar family... Hemming Black-Briar, in particular. And he knows exactly who she was and is.

Maewynne

Maewynne is the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood and the Dragonborn... though to the population of Skyrim, the Dragonborn is an imposing Nord warrior who wants to live in solitude (not the city) thanks to little whispers which she left in the right ears - not a Bosmer with personal space issues brought on through her clashes with the Penitus Oculatus following her attempts on the Emperor's life.

At one point, after the Dark Brotherhood have properly re-established themselves in Dawnstar after their near-eradication, she finds herself... bored. Far too many contracts over petty squabbles, and hardly anything interesting. So when she gets approached by somebody with a proposal not to kill, but to set a chain of events into motion to bring about the downfall of somebody who had been a thorn in her side and a threat to one of the Brotherhood's closest associates, the Thieves Guild... who was she to say no?

Aevra

For most of her life, Aevra had been loyal. Loyal to her Empire, loyal to Skyrim, loyal to her duties as a soldier. She never gave anything less than her best, even when she was tired, bruised, and bloody. Her family had served since the Oblivion Crisis, and it made her proud to fight for the Empire. She fought through the Great War, and continued to serve the Empire ever since. She never found herself in the highest of ranks though, instead preferring being active and on the ground.

But one day, that changed. She participated in the ambush to capture Ulfric Stormcloak - a man she still vividly remembered fighting alongside back in the past, knowing full well that he would not remember her for she was little more than one of many new soldiers at the time. During the night, after having stopped on their way to the border, she was responsible for getting some more firewood... and as she did so, she caught sight of somebody in the trees. An elf - specifically an Altmer. Before she could call for them to come out of hiding... she found herself seeing little more than red.

When the redness faded away, she was horrified to find herself being apprehended by her fellow soldiers. Blood coated her hands, bodies were scattered around, and the axe she had been using to chop wood was discarded on the ground some distance away, clearly having been used as a weapon. She knew that she had been under the influence of a spell, but her allies saw only one thing - she was attacking them. A traitor. There were even whispers that she was a Stormcloak in disguise, even as she protested and tried to explain herself as she was arrested and taken to join the other prisoners set for the executioner's block.

Being saved from death by Alduin was something that she didn't know whether to consider a blessing or a curse, but she knew that she needed to prove her innocence when she caught sight of Hadvar, one of her fellow soldiers, about to return to Solitude after their escape from Helgen.

Even as she found herself in the spotlight after learning that she was the Dragonborn, no matter what she said or did, she was unable to persuade the Empire that she was innocent of murdering several fellow soldiers, and that it had no doubt been part of a Thalmor machination. She feared being arrested that much, she had to get Lydia to carry out tasks in Imperial-held lands in Skyrim on her behalf (unless it was a dragon attack, in which case she would try to get herself out of there as soon as it was handled).

There were those who heard her out though, who believed in her innocence, thanks to somebody who did remember her from the Great War. But when those people were Stormcloaks, people she had seen as the enemy... she finds herself in a dilemma.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Altair and Ivetta's Catacomb Adventure

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Sooooo this was originally gonna be a fill for Whumptober 2022. Obviously that did not happen. But this has been in my head for literal years as vague ideas and impressions, and I wanted to get it out before we start getting into the endgame for this story. Hopefully yall like it!

Contains: Magic, undead, almost-possession, threats/blackmail, angst, complicated relationships, some blood

~~~

It was less than a week after he and Elze’ith parted ways that a knock came at his door.

That in and of itself wasn’t too unusual; sometimes locals sought him and Elze’ith out for the help that they offered. But this sound was far sharper and more insistent than the polite knocking he was used to. Having learned to trust his instincts, Altair approached the door warily and opened it slowly, keeping one hand at the ready to summon his flames if needed.

He wasn’t sure who he was expecting, but Ivetta Vernier definitely wasn’t at the top of that list. Flames danced from his fingertips as his gaze sharpened into a glare. “What are you doing here?”

Her flat expression didn’t change. “Lord Denholm has a task for you, Altair Buchannan.”

“Tell him I’m not interested,” he said, already starting to close the door. Lord Denholm already had Elze’ith; he didn’t need anything else from them.

Ivetta’s foot caught the door before it could fully close. “The Lord of the Valley would like to remind you,” she said, still impassive, “That your partner is staying in Castle Tergoria, and your refusal would reflect poorly on him.”

Ice flooded Altair’s veins. He didn’t know why he didn’t expect this. It wasn’t enough to Lord Denholm to keep them apart, to have Elze’ith alone and isolated and at his mercy. No, Elze’ith also had to be a hostage to keep Altair in line. And it was going to work, because Altair wasn’t going to do anything to make things worse for Elze’ith. Not before he was able to get Elze’ith out.

He set his jaw. “Right. What does he want?”

“There have been some problems with undead in the catacombs. He thinks you’d do a good job at taking care of it.”

Undead. He could do that. He’d do better if Elze’ith were here, but he could manage on his own. “Okay. Give me the location, and I’ll head out later today.”

Ivetta’s face didn’t change, but somehow she still gave off an air of disapproval. “You’re not going alone. I’m going with you.”

He tried and failed not to scowl. “I don’t need your help.”

“Well, you’re getting it.” Her tone brokered no argument. “Pack your things— we’ll be there a while, so make sure you have enough supplies. We leave in ten minutes.”

---

“So what’s the story of this place?”

The entrance to the catacombs seemed to be a natural cave, but several hundred feet in it began to show signs of deliberate tunneling— too smooth, too straight, no stalactites or stalagmites. The site was old, though, that much he could tell. He wondered if it was connected to the ruins he and Elze’ith had found earlier.

Ivetta barely glanced back at him. “Does it matter?”

He didn’t know why he expected anything other than dismissiveness. Ivetta didn’t seem like the type to be interested in history the way Elze’ith was. But idle curiosity aside— “It’ll be easier to handle the undead here if I know what to expect. Undead born of different magic and circumstances don’t act the same way.”

He still couldn’t quite see her face from where she was two paces ahead of him, but he could have sworn her demeanor relaxed ever so slightly. “Can’t say I know the whole story. But the tombs here go back millenia. Easier than trying to bury bodies through two feet of snow. Doesn’t stop the undead problem, though. Lord Denholm thinks it has something to do with the leyline. Prolonged exposure causing reanimation.”

A leyline, hm? It had been a while since he had looked at any arcane maps, but he did think he remembered something about a leyline running through this region. That amount of ambient magic could definitely disturb the dead. Might even be why there were so many monsters in the area.

He had a feeling that it wasn’t the whole story. The dead typically didn’t just reanimate themselves, even with a lot of magic to draw from. Usually there was something more at work. But if Ivetta was being so cagey about it, Altair had a feeling Lord Denholm had some part to play in it. Which meant animus was likely a key factor.

“Gotcha. Good to know.” He kept a careful watch at the firelight flickering on the walls, but there was no writing, no carvings, no signs of the tombs they were entering into yet. “Anything I should keep in mind as we’re going through? I don’t want to disrespect this place.”

“No. There’s no point. The dead don’t care, and they’re the only ones who are here to see.”

---

No heraldry or adornment signaled the passageway opening up into the first chamber of the catacombs. The walls merely gave way to open space, the torches suddenly unable to illuminate all of the darkness as Altair and Ivetta lingered at the threshold. Rows upon rows of caskets laid before them, weathered with age and yet seeming timeless in their stillness.

Nothing moved. There was no wind, no sound. For a moment, it seemed even the firelight paused to observe the aura of stagnation.

Then, a pulse of energy, so subtle Altair wouldn’t have noticed it were it not for the chill that ran down his spine. That sense of wrongness was the only thing that allowed him to jump back in time as a specter, formless and screaming, rushed forward with indistinct hands reaching out to grab and seize and cling.

Fire leapt from his fingertips as instinctively as the muttered curse left his lips. The heat and light made the specter shriek; a single, well-placed swing of Ivetta’s sword dissipated it entirely.

Simple. Easy. Almost too much so. It didn’t escape Altair, based on how hazy it was, how old and weak and desperate the specter was. It had been down here a long, long time, evidently. He almost felt bad for it, wasting away until it forgot any remnant of what it had once been.

But Ivetta was already walking forward. “C’mon. There’s more where that came from.”

---

A faint tugging at the back of his mind as they set up camp made Altair’s heart leap.

He knew that magic, almost as well as his own. He’d been waiting for it ever since he staggered back to his and Elze’ith’s cabin, all alone. He had started to wonder if it would never come. And while this wasn’t an ideal time, he was too happy that Elze’ith was finally reaching out to him to care.

Heart racing with excitement, he started digging through his pack. Some polished metal would give him the reflection he needed to talk to his partner again, to make sure Elze’ith was okay, to figure out what they needed to do next. He just needed to—

“What are you doing?”

Altair whirled around. Ivetta was standing over him, face stern. Gods, he hadn’t even noticed her approach, with how focused he was on Elze’ith. The pull still thrummed in the back of his mind, and he scowled at her for interrupting. “None of your business.”

“I think it is my business.”

“I’m not going to stab you or anything. Just—“ and he stood, pack in hand, because he needed to not be talking to her right now, he needed to be talking to Elze’ith—

But Ivetta caught his arm, and didn’t let go when he tried to pull away. “No. You’re going to stay here.”

“Let. Go.” Why did she care so much? It’s not as if she knew what he was trying to do.

Did she?

“No.” There was a dangerous edge in Ivetta’s voice. “Now sit down before you do something that will get both of us killed.”

Elze’ith’s call pulsed once again in his mind, and Altair scoffed a bit hysterically. “You really want me to believe that—“

Ivetta’s grip on his arm tightened. Her other hand drifted towards the sword on her belt. The careful tension in her posture said more than words ever could.

Altair swallowed, but let his bag fall. “Fine.” He could wait. It hurt, but if he had to bide his time until Ivetta was distracted, or even better, asleep, then so be it. He could do that.

Hopefully Elze’ith could, too.

---

After what felt like an eternity and no time at all, the connection with Elze’ith withered and faded. Altair wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle Ivetta or just curl up and sob.

The damn woman never went to sleep. Even after the fire turned to embers and then ash, he never heard her relax from her watchful position or her breathing even out into slumber. No chance arose for him to slip away and connect with his partner, or even to chase his own rest.

The stillness and silence and utter darkness was just so utterly disheartening.

Ivetta lit a torch; Altair scowled at the light, or maybe just at her. “Get ready. We need to get moving again.”

---

Chills ran up and down Altair’s spine as they scoured the catacombs, not entirely due to the cold. Trepidation lingered on the edge of his awareness, had him tensely jumping at every wayward flicker of their torches. Spirits and specters couldn’t always possess the living, and they didn’t always try. And while under normal circumstances, he would be confident in his abilities to repel such efforts from weakened spirits like the ones they were facing, he couldn’t say he was anymore.

He tried to tell himself it was a rational fear, based on the damage the demon might have done to his soul’s defenses while he had been previously possessed. That was all it was.

Somehow, though, it wasn’t the incorporeal undead they spent the day returning to their rest. Instead they were met with skeletons, their flesh having long since sloughed off their bones, magic holding their forms together in visible networks of not-quite-nerves and veins. It would have been incredible to see, were it not so horrifying.

Those streams of magic, though, weren’t able to withstand a well-placed blow from Ivetta’s sword.

“Do you even need me?” Altair’s voice was flat, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety to it. “You seem to have this well-handled.”

“It would be foolish to go in alone,” Ivetta said, sheathing her blade. “And the undead won’t be this fragile the further in we go. Now come on. We should find a place to make camp.”

---

The call came again that night after they had settled down to sleep.

Altair wasn’t even sure if he was still awake. The fire had long gone out, leaving the catacombs pitch black and achingly cold. He could have just as easily been asleep, been dreaming, been yearning for his partner to reach out again. But the world was solid and the air was crisp in a way that told him that this was real; Elze’ith was reaching out to him yet again.

Hopeful anticipation set his heart aflame, but he forced himself to take a deep breath rather than leap into action. Ivetta was still nearby, and he wasn’t sure if she had finally decided to get some fucking sleep or not. He couldn’t let her find out what he was doing, lest she try to stop him again.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he started to ease himself out of his bedroll and into the chilled air of the catacombs. He barely made it halfway before a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Altair.”

He swallowed, forcing down his frustration. He hadn’t made a sound, and nothing with visible without a source of light this far down. How had she known? “Ivetta.”

“Go back to sleep, Altair.”

“I—“

“Go back,” she said, voice dangerously steely as she pushed Altair back down onto his bedroll, “to sleep.”

It occurred to him, in that moment, that he could try to overpower her. As strong as she was, he had magic and she didn’t. He could knock her out, take her out of the picture entirely, and finally be able to talk to his partner again.

But her threats rang in the back of his mind. There was no doubt that if he hurt Lord Denholm’s loyal enforcer, there would be consequences, and those consequences would fall on Elze’ith. He couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t take that risk.

And did he really want her blood on his hands?

He didn’t try to get up again. Hours later, when the connection to Elze’ith flickered out without him having a chance to make any proper contact, he wondered if he made the right choice.

---

“How deep do these tunnels go?”

His voice echoed off the cave walls, resonant and out of place. Ivetta’s voice somehow fit right in.

“I’ve heard they go for miles.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s been decades since anyone’s mapped them out properly. Not since before Lord Denholm claimed this land, and he’s been preoccupied with other things.”

Altair scoffed. “Yeah, preoccupied with being a fucking creep.”

The soft cadence of footsteps next to him fell silent. “Careful, Buchannan.”

“What? It’s true. Every time we’ve met he’s been fucking slimy. And now he’s all but kidnapped Elze’ith, and—“

The rest of his rant, his bitter words about Ivetta’s complacency, died on his lips as she suddenly seized his shoulder and slammed him against the cave wall. The barest touch of anger colored her impassive face. “Enough.”

“Oh? Am I bothering you?” Part of Altair knew he really shouldn’t press his luck. Mostly, he didn’t care. “Then stop kissing Lord Denholm’s ass and let me talk to Elze’ith.”

Her face didn’t change; at least not in any way that Altair could read. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Buchannan.”

Well. She was probably right about that. Altair wasn’t sure if he could understand.

---

The next call from Elze’ith coming during their next encounter with the undead came as a surprise, enough to catch Altair off-guard as a specter surged forward into him.

The warmth of his partner’s magic was overwhelmed by the cold of the specter’s magic surrounding him, making his muscles seize and his lungs clench. Its mournful wail encompassed all of his senses, almost brought him to scream in tandem at the depth of fear and anguish. He could almost sense how it had died, how desperate it was to live again, if only it had a body—

A solid, forceful hand grabbed his arm and pulled him stumbling back. Blinking through the haze, he was just able to catch Ivetta dispelling the specter with a well-placed swing of her sword.

Something like grief clenched his heart. He couldn’t listen to it. The dead were gone; he couldn’t be their vessel back into the living world.

He had his own life to live, his own unfinished business to tend to.

---

Ivetta, Altair was learning, was a very skilled swordmaster. But even she was not immune to lapses in judgment.

“Look out!”

As Ivetta’s attention was focused on deflecting a blow, a skeleton brought down a clawed hand on her from behind. It was too quick for her to react. Her guard was down.

Altair’s wasn’t.

There wasn’t time to properly block the blow, or to wield his magic to turn the skeleton to dust without burning Ivetta. So Altair followed his instinct. He lurched forward to meet a rush of pain and satisfaction as the claw met the flesh of his shoulder instead of the skin of Ivetta’s neck.

He was no stranger to the sting of his flesh being split, or blood running rapidly down his skin, but the foul necrotic magic that animated the skeleton seeped into the wound and made it burn. He stumbled in time with the sound of bones clattering to the ground, one set after the other. Then an arm steadied him, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Altair.”

Grimacing, he pulled away, not wanting to lean on Ivetta for any longer than necessary. A single deep breath for stability was all he indulged himself with before he looked at the wound. It almost looked like the magic was making it fester. “I’m fine.

“No you’re not.”

He wasn’t. But he had to deal with it, because Elze’ith wasn’t there to heal him. “I’m fine. I have bandages in my pack. I’ll wrap it, and then we can keep moving.”

Ivetta stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll watch your back while you do. ...Take your time.”

---

Another call came as they made their way through an open chamber, surrounded by coffins on all sides in a seemingly endless expanse. The magic vanished in the few minutes it took them to cross the vast space, empty of everything but memories and the light their torches cast.

It was a good thing Ivetta was there to force him to press on, because otherwise Altair might have broken down. He had no idea how long they had been down there. He had no idea how many times Elze’ith had tried and failed to reach out. He had no idea if he’d ever be able to reply. And he was getting so, so tired.

---

The wound wasn’t healing.

As he unwrapped it to change the bandages, he could tell it was still sluggishly bleeding, even all these hours later, and there was a faint tinge of tainted magic clinging to his exposed flesh. Maybe that was why he felt so faint, why his magic wasn’t coming to him as easily as it should.

Though he wanted to curse, he just bit his lip and rewrapped the wound. There was nothing he could do about it. He just had to endure until he could get out.

He wished Elze’ith would call for him again. Maybe that sliver of a connection, even if he couldn’t fulfill his end of it, would be enough to guide him through this.

---

“You could leave me down here, you know.”

Ivetta looked at him strangely. “Why would I do that?”

“I mean—“ Altair gestured vaguely. “You don’t like me. I don’t think your- Lord Denholm does, either. Seems like it’d be easier to let me die down here.”

“Maybe. If either of us wanted you dead.” Ivetta held out her waterskin. “But you’re strong. Good at what you do. That much is clear. It’d be a shame to waste that.”

“Hm.” Altair took the waterskin. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Certainly not good, but…

They agreed on something.Even if their reasons fundamentally differed.

---

“This is the last chamber.”

Altair almost didn’t hear her. He was mourning the lost of another fleeting connection to Elze’ith as it flickered and died. But his gaze was set on the violent whirling of specters above them, the way the air thrummed with magic and anticipation.

“Are you ready, Altair?”

His arm burned. His feet were stones. His heart ached.

“Let’s get this done.”

---

Eventually, Ivetta carried him back out into the sunlight. Somehow, Altair didn’t cry. Part of him wanted to, though. It was so good to be out of that place.

He managed to walk back to the cottage under his own power. Drank one of his precious healing potions before collapsing back into bed. Didn’t notice Ivetta leaving, didn’t care. Just slept, knowing that Elze’ith’s next call would wake him up.

The call never came.

[77ngiez-archive]

who want to her my pafl oc lore

[russianreader]

Pobrecit:a:s

Impact of Discrimination on Integration of Emigrants From the Aggressor Country (with Ivetta Sergeeva) Following the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, up to one million Russians fled their homeland, marking the most significant brain drain since the Soviet Union’s collapse. While some host countries view the highly educated and politically active migrants as an asset, integrating nationals…

[likurg-ever]

Ivetta Lokhmatova - "Glare".

[inemi]

Ivetta Ki

[koifishart]

Lets start #beyocweek with @beyblade-oc-week ! I hadnt time to draw brand new and so detailed arts, so lets say I'll use a few old ones, a few new "fast and furious" to give you opportunity to meet my girl - Nadhezda Ingrid Koroliov.

She's heroine for my fanfiction which I'm publishing on Wattpad, as "Prince Charming".

Day 1. Present.

So for "today", after a few plots, argues and some other things, she's a freshly wed wife of Robert Jurgens, (known for all of you 🤪) as German Beyblade Champion and the head of Team Majestics.

Nadia herself is Russian Beyblade Championess, World Ice-Skating Championess and the first model of the Koroliov's Fashion House. She was forced into match-making relationship with Robert to make a family-business bond between Jurgens and Koroliovs.

On this quick family portrait 🙈 you can see Nadia with her older sister Tatiana Marina (pink dress), mother Ivetta (red dress) and father Igor (only one man 🤪).

If you have any questions, just ask in coments 🧡💜🧡💜 I'd love to answer.

Also feel free to read fanfiction 😁

[gobugabuge]

[everythingfandom12]

[oracle-chan]

Naomi splash illustration. This illustration was made together with my mentor Ivetta from Envar Studios. I thank her for the great help she has been :D

[zpl1nt3r3d-b0n3-zhardz]

i names

illiana

icarus

Ian

ink

incin

irix

iris

inkwell

ilustrial

ivy

Ivan

Ivana

Indigo

indie

inferno

izac

izzie

Izabella

iza

isla

itzel

imani

ivory

ivor

ivannan

iyla

idris

inana

ilsla

ivette

ikie

ivetta

ixiel

iloe

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