solutionsngbuilding

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

i'm a day late but i'm here!

tagged by the amazing @thequeenofthewinter @dirty-bosmer

tagging the fantastic @skyrim-forever @orfeoarte @hircines-hunter @oblivions-dawn @vivifriend

@saltymaplesyrup @viss-and-pinegar @aphocryphas @archangelsunited @changelingsandothernonsense and anyone who feels like joining in!!!! <3333

this is a first draft section of chapter 40 of Cycle of the Serpent. it features emeros thinking about a hunt he went on when he was younger, and some strange dreams he's been having… mild gore warning, but it's more abstract.

He was to kill an indrik. The hunt was a coming-of-age ceremony, one prevalent throughout Valenwood. Once taken with gazelles and other such beasts, the introduction of the indrik into the province from Alinor had created a peculiar problem with the creature, now deemed a pest. Some Bosmer had started farms of indrik, to butcher some calves and spare the rest, a good source of food throughout the northernmost parts of the province. He tracked it for almost a week. In his memory, he was with several other Bosmer, all on the same hunt, to work together, to build a connection to the Valenwood itself and to one another. The hunt lasted days, tracking the beast through the dense forests and humidity of the summer. They would take it down and take the hide, rolling it off like a tight glove, and decide what to do with the other parts. The meat, the organs, the bones, the sinew. He'd made good needles from those bones. Ones which he still used, many years later. He was deemed the best tracker of their group, and with his fathers hunting knife, he crept in pursuit of the wild beast. In his dreams, he was all alone, and the indrik was hunting him.

He'd run through the forests, thick with the natural growth of his home, the sound of hooves not far behind him, trampling the ground and pounding into his skull, the sound all around him now as he sped into any direction which could grant him a chance of survival, meager as it was. He'd come upon a house, and he'd slam open the door and bolt it shut and toe away, eyes wide in terror, the room filled with people he knew - faces, phantom-like, as though his mind didn't care conjure them up - and the voices of curiosity, questioning, why was he running, what from? Faces from his earliest memory, faces from recent, all taking up residence in the growing claustrophobia of the house whose walls threatened to fall in with the force of the indrik outside, pounding away at the door with its antlers, knowing that the one it sought stood there. The door would fall open, and the indrik would grin, and the dream would shift. Blood, in him, outside of him, endless stars, the wink and wax and wane of them. And fire, gods, the endless scorched forests and homes. This, all of this, had been his fault, from the very beginning. The house would not burn if he did not live there. The people would be alive if he had never been. Their faces, fractaled and incomprehensible yet unmistakable, stood in the doorway of a collapsing city and another starless ride through the sands and through the thick fields of another place and the faces shifted to blood on familiar, new faces, to hands reaching from dark waters, to nothingness. Emeros swallowed air as he awoke, the night not yet gone. Sticky with sweat and half-aware of his muddied surroundings, he fumbled for his blankets and tore them off. His throat burnt, hand rubbing against it, muscles beneath shifting as he swallowed down his awareness. Sleep talking, perhaps, the dryness quickly subsiding. He waited in the still, slow breaths through his nose, out through his lips, and again, until his heart could face the same understanding of safety that his mind was now clawing towards. He dressed quickly, seating himself at his desk, head in his hands.

He had not dreamt like this in quite some time. He could not recall what led his mind down this dark pathway, enough to influence the little peace he often got, but he found himself unable to put it aside. The indrik he'd hunted as a teenager, wiry and awkward in his gear compared to his peers, had been a quick kill. Yes, it had taken a few days, but when compared to what use they got out of it, then all had been more than worth the pursuit. Bones for tools, a skull they'd boiled into a stew the night they'd caught the beast, antlers into flutes and other instruments, sinew to thread… It had been routine, practically, and when the gaggle of youths returned a little haggard but with their kill, and showed their skills in taking it apart with the proper techniques and reverence, then they were deemed ready to take on the responsibilities that came with their age. It had never seen its death coming. But in his dream, the eyes took on an almost personal quality, as though borne by someone who wished him harm. Emeros ran his fingers through his thick, chestnut hair, scratching down at his neck and repeating the slow motions, before smoothing it all back with his palm and rising. There was no one to talk to at this hour, whatever hour it was, and the silence permeated the stone walls around him. He slid through the doorway of his dorm, darting his gaze left and right, the licking flames of the hearth and the utter stillness confirming that he was the only one awake, at least on this level. He pulled the door shut behind him and made his way to the kitchens, the sound of Bendt's snoring from his room nearby the only sound aside from the hearth. He could use a drink. Maybe two, if he were being honest with himself.

Emeros pulled one of the high bottles of wine from its shelf, clinking of glass together causing him to mutter curses under his breath, hand snagging the thin neck, wine sloshing around inside. He tugged a goblet from a table and popped the cork from the green bottle, seating himself to watch the flames. He still thought about that rakish boy, the canary-haired Altmer. He thought of him as he sipped his wine, and wondered bitterly how dire the situation in Whiterun must be, now that a Thalmor agent had been given a hand-written note to waltz right through the city gates and up to the Temple of Kynareth, all too close to the statue of Talos, and his zealot. The chill up his spine dusted over his shoulders and through his hair, and it wasn't from a wanton draft down the stairs. He sipped from the brass goblet and studied it in the light, the fine craftsmanship of it, the dents of a hammer which had worked away until the shape came into being. He twisted it in the crook of his thumb to watch the flames cling to the brass sides, the shadow always falling on his side. Another long drink of the wine served to help ease the nerves bundling up like fists in his mind. He poured the goblet full again, and examined the label more closely. Surilie Brothers. Figures, he snickered, that vineyard had a reach that many could only envy, though he had to wonder how. Emeros drank the last of his goblet in the silence, and placed the bottle back where it belonged, and moved to the dormitories. He stood, empty brass vessel in hand, outside the rooms of his friends. Wyndrelis' dorm was to his right, and Athenath's was to his left. He stood outside Athenath's door first, closest to the kitchens, and pressed his ear to the door. He could hear their breathing, punctuated by an occasional snore, then down into the quiet of good sleep. When he made his way to Wyndrelis' room, he twisted the knob, the Dunmer having admitted that he had a habit of not locking doors all the time. It moved, and he peered inside at the sleeping mage, the other in his typical, curled-up position on his side, face buried into the pillow. He shut the door and made his way back to his room, slipping into his chair and watching the faint light trickle in from under the entryway.

[blackmonitor]

Alduin Inspired by Surrogate from @mighty-peacock and @thebeastinsideusallarchive

And also Daedras be Damned, from @mighty-peacock

Watch the (sky) tags!

[varlaisvea]

Winterhold Arch-Mage's quarters in the 2nd Era w/ ESO Housing (Happy Anniversary ESO!)

In honor of ESO's 10th anniversary today, I'm gonna share an example of something I did with maybe(?) my favorite game feature, the ESO Housing system.

I'm working on a fic (not yet published) that involves the Arch-Mage's quarters and the College of Winterhold in both the 4th and 2nd Eras. Inspired by writer's block, I decided to recreate the Arch-Mage's quarters in ESO. (We have not yet seen the College of Winterhold in ESO canon.)

Note to writers: some of the details I knew going in, but I actually got some new key details of the story out of this effort. If you're feeling stuck, it can't hurt to try switching up your medium :)

Due to the limitations of ESO's housing system and the boringness of Skyrim's decor, it's more of an homage than a direct 1:1, but I hope it feels loyal in spirit :) More pics (and unnecessary detail) under the cut!

(Sorry I forgot to turn off the Skyrim HUD.)

The addition of fireplaces, built-in bookshelves, a kitchen, and general fanciness are because of the absolute criminal underdecoration of the Arch-Mage's quarters in base Skyrim. (Which actually fits in my fic, but.)

Like, come on Skyrim, not even a fire in the cavernous bedroom of this enormous stone refrigerator on the edge of a freezing ocean?

Most of the architectural discrepancies, such as the 8-sided room vs. Skyrim's 12-sided room, are because of my choice of venue or because of the furnishing selection in ESO.

The saddest of those is the loss of all the cool arches and the dope vaulted ceilings. The most annoying of them (imo) is the non-matching stone. Otherwise Forbidden Stronghold lent itself so well to this task that i chose it over options that would have let me keep the ceilings.

But actually, most of the more glaring discrepancies are directly related to the lore of my fic :)

The alchemy garden is newly-planted in the 2nd Era portion of my fic! The fact that none of those plants are actually harvestable plants in either ESO or Skyrim is just due to ESO's selection of furnishings. But a lot of things aren't: the lighting source being a Silvenari Sap-Stone that grows out of a wisteria tree (which, notably, is alive), the little spring, the moon-sugar—all of those are part of the story, and I think there might be additional Important Plants in there before I'm finished. :)

Also, in my fic, the 4th Era Arch-Mage is the Dragonborn of course, but the 2nd Era Arch-Mage is the first Khajiit Arch-Mage of Winterhold. Because of this endeavor, I wrote a whole scene where he talks about his decor choices 😂 Might get left on the editor's floor, but the overall gist is: the more public-facing areas of the space are Nord-core, so as to not rock boats unnecessarily. As soon as you step into the study and living quarters, it's Khajiiti af, so as to rock boats the right amount.

i have no idea whether people will be interested in this, so I'm going to stop there, but there's more, obviously. And if you made it this far, thanks! And happy anniversary ESO! 🥳

[matri4rch]

"Conflict of Interest"

How am I going to get these two in the same bed undressed? Idk. But it will happen.

This ✨WIP Wednesday✨ piece but finished

I love noses. -Doja Cat (I just thought it was funny, I love to draw noses w unconventionally attractive shapes please don't snipe me and throw me in a ditch. uwu)

[tallmatcha]

WIP Thursday

I've been tagged in a few weeks' worth of writing games. Thanks for thinking of me, friends! 💗

Let's see WIPs from: @whatsarasaid @gilgamish @thequeenofthewinter @changelingsandothernonsense @mareenavee @saltymaplesyrup @kookaburra1701 @dirty-bosmer @mirrordaltokki @aesadraws @paraparadigm @dei2dei @expended-sleeper @thana-topsy (no pressure, of course)

Rated B for Blood. Here's a bit from Krosis.

As the years passed, I discovered something peculiar: I could not dream. Mine was the deep and untroubled sleep of frozen lakes and slumbering pines. Silas dreamt for me, and when he dreamed he was many things: a soaring bird, a running deer, a prowling wolf. I envied him, for I, too, longed to see in the dark and feel my hackles rise before a storm. When I told him this, he shook his head and said, “It’s more than that. When I dream of being an animal, I’m hungry—so hungry it hurts, Einarth. My heart beats too fast. I can’t get warm. I don’t remember this,” he added, gesturing around us. “Our home, my hands, my feet, my body. I forget what it’s like to be here. To be me.”  He claimed to know the clean, sparkling scent of freshly fallen snow. But he also knew the feel of a living thing writhing between his teeth, the smell of steam rising from torn flesh, and the copper-rich taste of hot blood filling his mouth. As a wolf, he knew the pleasure of eating, and as a deer, the horror of being eaten. I thought I could endure both just to know how it felt to fly.

[abstractredd]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lucien Lachance/Martin Septim Characters: Lucien Lachance, Martin Septim, Jauffre (Elder Scrolls), Ocato (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: Rare Pairings, where the FUCK are you Marcien nation wake up, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Forbidden Love, Introspection, not beta we die like... well. Summary:

It was hard to describe what it was they had, Martin and Lucien.

[daedrabait]

The sun never sets when you turn a blind eye...

Unofficial cover for the next few chapters of my story as it becomes more and more plot-driven <3

Dust and Dim Sunshine can be read here if you’re interested.

[ghoulingcooper]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandoms: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion

Relationships: Female Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters: Martin Septim, Baurus (Elder Scrolls), Jena (Elder Scrolls), Caroline (Elder Scrolls), Cyrus (Oblivion), Achille (Oblivion), Arcturus (Oblivion), Captain Steffan (Elder Scrolls), Female Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Texting, Humor, Fluff, Secret Relationship, Sneaking Around

Summary: where did baurus' gin go???? the groupchat investigates.

for @da3drat <3

[lucius-the-sinful]

On the Other Side (Chapter 1)

Series: Ashblind (Part 3)

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 473

Characters: Helon Drevus, Talyn Drevus, Synrik Drevus, Almythra Drevus

Tags: Riften, Windhelm, Gray Quarter, Orphans

Summary:

Helón stays in Riften for the spring and meets a nameless child.

Part 1: Up In Smoke | Part 2: Frozen Hours | Part 3: On the Other Side

[honkinghonkfriendfics]

Time Is Fleeting! Chapter 1 (technically) is finally up! I'm proud of this and I'm already working on the next few chapters, hope you all enjoy it!

[throughtrialbyfire]

“Cycle of the Serpent”

Chapter 28 - Malkoran

prev. chapter | index

preview:

In the guttural silence, he had too much time to think, and thought far too fast. The idle words conjured themselves in the crevices of his mind, the questions, the demand for an answer as to what the past few weeks had been, and the knowing that there would be no explanation. He thought to himself in the unsettled quiet, what did he know of necromancers?    Sadists, the lot of them, the response came to mind. Especially with the shining example which lay at the end of this winding temple carved into the mountain. Interrupters of aetherial slumber. The bastardizers of the dead, or the thieves of life for whatever purpose they saw fit. They tackled the divide of life and death, and attempted to wield power over both. Many of them turned to illegal body trades, or plucked battlefields like carrion birds. Pursuit of lichdom required many sacrifices, after all. Mostly, it was to continue twisted experiments in the dark caves and ruins where they made their homes. They would carry out the inhumane works, and they would worship the death that they brought.    He shed a backwards glance.   What did he know of Wyndrelis?

[cheeseandstrawberrytartlover]

Chapters: 2/?

Fandom: Elder Scrolls

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Sheogorath (Elder Scrolls)/Reader

Characters: Sheogorath (Elder Scrolls), Reader

Additional Tags: Fluff, Prison, Caretaking

─✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ─

Next thing you knew is that you were in a completely different place. No longer were you in the dimly lit dungeon, but within a room with large stone walls and a few stained-glass windows.

How did you get there so quickl-

Your savior carefully put you on a wooden table. Out of nowhere, you were in a room with a small crowd.

Sheogorath turned to his servants, "I need water to clean the wound."

A few of them spun around hastily and fetched some water while the Daedric Prince was inspecting your leg.

Yes, one of the guards had slashed your leg... though you do not even know what crimes you have committed.

"Let us hope it is not infected yet.... I should have listened to your prayers sooner, apologies."

Your chest tightened and you spoke, "I did not intend on summoning you, My Lord."

"Well, but you still called for someone. And I answered."

The Madgod smiled at you.

"You have gone through so much, little mortal, but no worries. I am here."

For a second, it felt like time stopped as those golden eyes gazed upon you with softness and pure intention. That was not a thing that you thought would come from a Daedric Prince, yet... there they were.

You could now see them clearly with the light coming through the large windows unlike when you both were in the prison.

The Madgod's face seemed soft, but also very sharp. Their cheekbones were chiseled. Thanks to her beard, their face looked more masculine even though all of his features were the peak of androgyny. They had slightly pointed ears which were shorter than those of a normal mer. Their grey, but close to white hair was slicked back and mostly tucked between their ears.... although a rowdy strand got loose and was hanging in his face. Sheogorath's face and ears were adorned with golden piercings. There was a stud in their right nostril, a golden ring in their bottom lip and a few mismatched piercings on their ears.

While you were distracted by the absurdity of the Daedric Prince's beauty, the servants returned with a bucket of clean water and a rag. Your staring did not stop.

"I will clean their wound," Sheogorath mumbled to his servants after they try to help you.

Any other Daedric Prince would have ordered someone to do this for them, but the Madgod really was unlike his kind, huh?

Sheogorath calmly inspected your exposed wound. The blade had cut through your pants and your flesh. The Daedric Prince frowned at the thought of ripping your pantleg, but it had to be done. Even then they were careful.

"Does not seem infected... and trust me, I know what an infected wound looks like."

After the inspection, you gripped the table as the Madgod cleaned your wound.

The Daedric Prince looked up from your wound and asked, "Do you know any healing spells, darling?"

You nodded and Sheogorath stopped cleaning your wound.

"All right, I will intensify the spell by using my energy. I would love to heal you, but that is sadly out my abilities."

Once you looked down, you saw the claw-like hand enter your view. Their nails were long and black. A gradiant ran up to their elbows were it slowly ended in their natural skin color.

You took their hand carefully. A bright light emerged from the Madgod's veins and travelled towards you until it reached your finger tips.

The energy that hit you nearly electrified you.

The urge to pull away was strong, but you felt safe among the Daedric Prince.

"Try a healing spell!"

Looking down at your trembling hand, you raised slightly before you turned your energy into magic, or in this case a familiar healing spell. A golden light gleamed in your hands and you started to feel the energy of the Daedric Prince as your own energy got weaker. You took a look at your leg to see the gash heal rapidly.

"Incredible. Well done, darling. Now... onto more pressing matters..."

The Madgod grabbed you quickly and without any remorse of scaring you. They were now inches away from your face.

"I cannot let you leave until I know that you are safe and well. I want to make sure that you are safe after leaving the isles and that you can live freely on Nirn. This is... a standard procedure."

You look past Sheogorath. The servants were nodding eagerly.

The Madgod's voice had a cynical kick to it as he spoke, "Oh and... I will also bring you new clothes to wear... your poor pants payed the price of being worn. Apologies."

You did have to say that for servants of Sheogorath... they were incredibly well-dressed.

The grip around your arm loosened and the Daedric Prince stood up straight before brushing some dust off their fancy suit.

"All right. My servants will do the rest."

Sheogorath tried to remain serious, mysterious and well... Daedric, but they smiled at you. It was a kind smile.

After the master left, the servants basically ambushed you with kindness and assistance of any kind. They helped you get dressed and you looked at yourself in the mirror.

The colorful spectrum of fabric fit you well and the golden adornments only lightened up the entire outfit. The jacket you liked especially, with its embroidery of fantastical flowers that you had never seen before.

You noticed how the lighting got dimmer and you made your way to a little balcony.

Of course, it was natural to be shocked and amazed at such a landscape. You had read of the Shivering isles, but you never would have imagined it to see it with your own eyes.

"So the bright side is Mania and the gloomy side is Dementia.... interesting," you thought out loud.

[lockewrites]

Twilight Thorns

@blossom-adventures​ sent: “Hidden Tavern, Twilight, Red Berries” & “Entering a Daedric Realm” for @nirnwrote​

F!Dragonborn & Sanguine || Semi-NSFW || 1514 words AO3

Rhea attends one of Sanguine's lavish parties. Spicy content mentioned, but nothing in graphic detail.

The sweet, musky scent of roses greeted her as she found her footing. It wasn’t the first portal Rhea had stepped through, but it was certainly the least taxing physically; normally, she was left with nausea and dizziness, but this one merely filled her body with a strange buzz, an excited tingling in her limbs.

An ogrim stood in front of her, its arms barely crossed over its chest as it glared down at her. Behind it was an imposing metal gate, taller than the daedra and lined with just as tall shrubbery, making it difficult to tell just what it was blocking.

“Need a name,” it grunted, though the “voice” was more like gravel beneath a boot.

“Rheanon Blaire,” she replied. “What’s yours?”

The ogrim gave her a confused look before answering, “Allit.”

It unfolded its arms, revealing a scroll in its hand; the beast began scanning what she assumed to be the guest list, rolling it an impossible number of times given its apparent size.

As it continued searching, Rhea pulled a parchment from her pocket and held it out to the daedra. “I was given this invite.”

“Should’a said so sooner,” it huffed. With an unsettlingly large hand, it pushed open the gate and allowed her to pass.

Rhea stepped through and gaped at the scene before her. A castle, far larger and more lavish than any jarl or even emperor could boast stretched far into the twilight sky; the grounds were decorated with a dizzying array of colored lanterns and candles, and music that wasn’t heard until passing through the gate spilled from somewhere beyond the castle walls. The lawn itself was laced with rose bushes, statues and fountains, many of which expressed a variety of different coital positions, and the different-colored liquids, which wafted a strong and bitter smell, were no doubt the strongest alcohols to be found in Oblivion.

“Milady.”

A deep voice startled Rhea. She looked down to find a horned, crimson-skinned being standing in front of her; he barely reached her mid-thigh and was adorned in his weight in jewelry. She suddenly felt very underdressed.

With a nod of his head and a jingle of his embellishments, he spoke again. “If you would kindly follow me,” he said, “I will guide you to our dear Lord Sanguine’s party.”

Rhea followed him along the twisting path, which seemed strategically placed to pass by the most vulgar of the lawn decor, until they reached the ornate castle doors. Two more daedric beings stood guard; they were far quieter in terms of appearance (and quite literally, as they spoke no words at their approach); their skin and armor were stone-like, as though Sanguine carved them out of granite and granted them mobility.

This close, she could feel the music pulsing in her chest, her heartbeat seeming to match the pace; her stomach tightened and the corners of her lips twitched upward.

The pair of guards opened the doors, revealing ostentation on a scale the vainest of mortals could never dream. Somehow both bright and ambient; flames glinting off the numerous gold surfaces scattered around the grand hall, showing every curve of the piles of bodies writhing in time with the band’s deep, vibrating music.

Inebriation hung in the very air itself, smell and effect, and in simply standing there, Rhea felt that excited tingle shift within her muscles to relaxation and a desire for gaiety.

A servant approached her, holding a tray of gold goblets, each filled to the brim with a shimmering liquid that shifted colors in the light. She took one and sniffed it: cinnamon, vanilla, and various herbs she couldn’t place. With a shrug, she took an exploratory sip; the drink burned all the way down her throat and into her stomach, but pleasantly so, like the heat from a sauna but under her skin.

As she continued on her drink, Rhea looked toward the heart of the hall; a throne as tall as a building, lined with golden thorns and jewels of the bloodiest red, and sitting with as pleased a grin as any was the host himself: Sanguine. An androgynous figure stood beside him, animatedly speaking to him, their arms flailing as they shared their story. Sensing her gaze, Sanguine’s crimson eyes met hers, and his smile widened as he gave her a wink.

Rhea returned the smile and raised her goblet to him before downing the rest of it. After grabbing another, she wandered around the grandiose room, stepping over people enjoying carnal pleasures and skirting between those twisting around the band’s melodies.

“I had wondered when you’d be making an appearance, Rheanon,” a silky voice spoke behind her.

She turned, finding Sanguine standing close enough for her to have to crane her neck to properly meet his gaze. The embellished robes he wore were left open, exposing his chest and the scarlet etchings along his skin; matching black fabric hung low on his hips, graced with gold chains and beads that shimmered perfectly with his movements. He took her hand and brought it to his dark lips.

“I didn’t want to show up prior to the mass orgy,” she replied. The skin beneath his kiss prickled. “This is a bit more lavish than your last party,” Rhea added.

Sanguine chuckled. “Oh, my dear, that was a mere gathering catered to your needs,” he explained. “With you off galavanting and saving the world, a party such as this would be far too overwhelming. But you certainly needed something, and I’m always one to oblige.”

“Oh?” Rhea took a long drink before continuing. “Well, I’m flattered someone would go to the trouble for a stranger like myself.”

“Ah, but you’re no stranger,” he corrected. “Not to me, and not to my siblings. We’ve all had our eyes on you for quite some time.” Sanguine reached out and ran his clawed finger along her jaw, stopping beneath her chin. “It’s not every era the divines grace Nirn with a piece of themselves within a mortal’s skin.”

Her smile fell, and Sanguine’s hand dropped in response.

“Is that why I’m here?” she asked, her tone indignant.

He quirked his eyebrow.

“That’s why all the others have sent for me,” Rhea said. “‘I’ve chosen you as my champion,’ ‘Do this menial task for me,’ ‘You’re power incarnate, and I want it for myself.’”

Sanguine clicked his tongue. “You misunderstand my intentions.” His hand hovered over her chalice a moment before the liquid topped itself off. “I seek your company simply because you are intriguing. And I know you’re capable of indulging in the pleasures of your world, and I’m curious if you can continue to do so in mine.”

After taking a sip of his own, he continued, “So, perhaps, that is part of it–your very nature being a point of interest. But, I’m not about to request you return to Nirn to do my bidding, as I’ve no doubt my siblings have done on many occasions.”

Rhea furrowed her brow. “So, you… what? Just want me to enjoy myself?”

He grinned, showing off his sharp fangs. “Precisely.” He tilted his head, some of his dark locks falling around his horns. “Was that not obvious from our first meeting?”

With a shrug, she replied, “I figured you were trying to butter me up. Get on my good side before asking me to run off and cause hell.”

Sanguine chuckled as he dipped his finger into his drink, pulling out a strange, red berry.

“My Rheanon,” he purred, leaning in close, his breath smelling heavily of his drink. He brought the berry to her lips, which she involuntarily parted and accepted. “I only seek to be on your worst side.”

A deep flush settled in her cheeks and her lower abdomen fluttered. She swallowed hard, too deep in his trance to even taste the fruit, and said, “Well then, you’re, uh, a nice change of pace.” In an attempt to swallow her stuttered words, Rhea took another drink, moving too quickly and spilling a bit from the corner of her mouth.

When she pulled the glass away, Sanguine gathered the excess from her mouth with his thumb and dragged his tongue along the length. It only served to darken her blush.

“I don’t think you’ve freed yourself from the shackles and worries of your world just yet,” he remarked. “I know your divine soul is not so easily taken by daedric influence, but even so, alcohol and the like can still offer some respite.”

He shifted to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She glanced at the point of contact.

“Why don’t I show you how a Daedric Prince properly indulges?” His nails grazed along her skin as he guided her to the front of the hall. “I do so enjoy having a deserving guest of honor. It’s like its own form of voyeurism.”

Rhea let out a nervous chuckle and motioned to the fornicating bodies. “This isn’t voyeuristic enough for you?”

“Oh, darling Rheanon,” he said, shaking his head. “This is simply white noise.”

[matri4rch]

"I did what I had to do. For them, for us."

❤️ AO3 LINK ❤️

[varlaisvea]

Journal entry from a Riften bunkhouse

~850 words Rated G

Here’s a little snippet from a BIG WIP— i’ve been working on it for almost a year, and this is the FIRST thing I’ve published! 😬 Some of it (like this part) is in the form of journal entries. The whole story spans both Second Era and Fourth Era timelines, and features both the Dragonborn and the Vestige of Coldharbour.

This, though, is neither of them—it’s one of the main characters (OC), a Khajiit from the Second Era (less than a decade after the epic year of 2E 582). He’s in his 30s and from Riverhold, which means he’s lived through the Knahaten flu and two Imperial occupations of his home city. He will someday become the first Khajiiti Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and this is an excerpt from his journal as he makes his way to Winterhold for the first time, to enroll in the College.

Please enjoy, feedback welcome! I could use the encouragement!

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Tonight, we are staying at a dingy bunkhouse in Riften. I was, quite unexpectedly, unsuccessful in my attempt at seduction a few days ago, but Vihk was still kind enough to invite me to the tavern with him and some of the others from the caravan. I think he was only being polite, and anyway I was feeling quite restless, so I spent the evening wandering the docks and streets in thought. I had heard the guard here harasses wanderers, especially at night, but correctly guessed that account was from someone who is not of my stature or impressively sleek clawfulness. The worst I got was one “keep moving, cat.”

I do not know how long it has been since I have felt motivated, curious, and excited to learn, but today, when I talked to those mages in the caravan, I remembered: this one is also a mage, and has been ever since he asked his mother if he could learn the clan-magic along with his little sisters. Is this not something Araszha once loved about himself—his intellectual curiosity? To feel it again only made me despair for how long it had been gone, and how little I had even noticed its absence. But to catch a glimmer of it… I wanted to cling to it and chase after it. Not in the joyful way, though, in the urgent and desperate way; clawing at strings. A motivation so flimsy it almost feels shameful.

Still… perhaps it is preferable to my prior plans.

A few days ago in Ska’vyn, I noticed a very handsome, very snobbish-looking Dunmer who was traveling with a caravan to Winterhold, and I saw that Riften was one of the stops the caravan would make. Although I had been idly considering traveling to Riften for a while, I only knew two things about the city: it has a reputation for looking the other way on many unsavory activities, and it is very far away from Riverhold in Ne Quin-al. An ideal destination, yes? I told the caravan driver I was going to Winterhold, and paid for passage, planning to charm my way into a lovely evening (or a few) with a deliciously condescending Dunmeri dandy. 

Perhaps in Riften Araszha-dar would be too drunk to wake up in time for the departure to Winterhold, and be left behind—the caravan driver would already have been paid; no skin off his frozen nose. The only people who might notice a missing cat would be aforementioned Dunmer snob (who would doubtless be glad not to have to avoid eye contact with his most recent less-than-wise decision), and other members of the caravan. All of whom would be unsurprised that the slick and shifty Liar-dar they had met was as unreliable as he was insufferable, and perhaps be mildly relieved to be free of such a cat, if they felt anything at all.

Riften’s seedy reputation seems well-earned—one could easily get oneself into misfortune here. It would be easy for someone—perhaps even someone taller and more furry than most Nords—to go missing, especially at night. In fact, I feel one could easily go missing in such a way that, for example, anyone who might be trailing or threatening them would be delayed for days or weeks, trying to get any sort of definitive answer as to their whereabouts or condition. Otherwise, no one would notice or care, especially if one’s very appearance suggested a lecherous thief to most of the city’s inhabitants—a dozen other identical criminal pests come through here every week, probably. I imagine Riften is more accustomed than most cities to seeing occasional bodies fished out of the water, or removed from a dimly-lit alley, or a cheap inn bed. Likewise, the people of Riften are probably more accustomed than most to avoiding the everyday undead—hollow-eyed skooma eaters, beggars, gamblers, drunks. Which is to say: it seems easy to become a ghost here, and whether one becomes a literal or figurative ghost matters to no one, ghost included. 

Even if, say, one’s family worried for them, even if one’s lovingly tenacious family tracked down their last known location, Riften would shrug with bleak disinterest—why would it matter if a given degenerate ends up face-down in a grimy skooma den, in chains en route to a Morrowind plantation, or at the bottom of the lake? In any case, they are gone. And for the sort of people whose lives end here, one way or another, that is a blessing to them and everyone else—even the people who fish bodies out of lakes and skooma dens get some work out of the deal. My wandering tonight confirmed: Riften seems to be exactly what I was looking for, when I decided a few days ago that it was finally time to make my way here.

I am back in my bunk, but of course I cannot sleep. Isn’t it strange, to think that Mother first told me about the College of Winterhold over twenty years ago? It is stranger still to know that tomorrow, I will be able tell her I have finally arrived! 

[abstractredd]

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hadvar/Ralof (Elder Scrolls), Aela the Huntress/Frea Characters: Hadvar (Elder Scrolls), Ralof (Elder Scrolls), Aela the Huntress, Frea (Elder Scrolls), Minor Characters Additional Tags: Everyone Is Gay, Fraela was supposed to be background but its definitely in there like. a lot lol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, college shenanigans, Enemies to Lovers, Childhood Friends, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Homoeroticism, Gay Panic, this is set in the early 2000s btw, it doesnt super duper matter but, if some stuff seems like outdated or whatever thats why lol, Valentines 2024 Summary:

“Everything was so simple back then,” Ralof said, his voice quiet, eyes staring at the chessboard. “Sometimes I wish I could go back.”

“Me too,” Hadvar said softly, studying the planes of Ralof’s face, piecing it together with his childhood memories of one of the boys on his street.

Ralof nodded to himself, and then, finally, moved. “Checkmate,” he said.

“Huh?” Hadvar looked down at the board. There was no way.

He had lost.

or: the obligatory college au meetcute fic, hadlof edition