#did you ever think about that?

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @hircines-hunter <3 and last week by @orfeoarte (I already posted by then so counting it now!)

Tagging:

@theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @lucien-lachance @umbracirrus @changelingsandothernonsense @firefly-factory

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @pocket-vvardvark @captain-of-silvenar @ladytanithia @thequeenofthewinter

Hello it's another Wednesday and I bring to you *gasps* a wip not about Theodora and Ondolemar??? 😲😲😲

They have graciously let me write about someone else, I briefly wrote about Aicantar in a fic recently and that got me thinking more about him. Reworked an old oc that I did barely anything with and as I much prefer to read slow burn then write it, they are gonna smash immediately 🤭 Background before this is he catches Vevora (Breton/Dunmer artist) trying to steal a Centurion Dynamo Core, decides not to call the guards. They get talking and she spots a particular ✨romance✨ novel because I've made him a virgin smut reader 🤪 MDNI under the cut because it's me

Oh no. So caught up being charmed by a beautiful woman, he distinctly forgot he very well did have something to hide.

“And is this part of living like the Dwemer as well?” The title is partially covered by her fingertips, gently grasping it by the spine. 

“Um, I, well, you see-” Any and all ability to be coherent has left. Heat rising to his face, Aicantar is sure she notices the flush of embarrassment he now wears. In an attempt to save dignity he turns away, mouth covering the little of his face not covered by his hood. 

“Did I interrupt your evening plans, pretty boy?” He screams internally, why did she have to pick up the book? Why didn’t he put it away? Whole body warm now, he decides to fixate on not passing out. Remain present rather than degrade himself further by going unconscious But he is shamefully curious, did she think he was attractive? Pretty to use her own words? Pushing aside hopes that he too, could be like the Dwemer and disappear to some unidentifiable plane, he asks innocently. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Eyes meet hers for a moment before he returns to sharing at the wall. She chuckles lowly. 

“I do. Well, at least from what I can see.” Oh no she’s coming closer. Running would be even more humiliating but he is sorely tempted too. Even more so when she pulls back the hood of his robes, going so far as to grab his chin and make him face her. “Oh yeah, definitely a pretty boy.” Red eyes half-lidded with a teasing smirk on her face. Vevora was enjoying watching him squirm, words failing him as the feel of her hands is too nice to even think. “Hmm, now what part have you marked here? Your favourite, maybe?” Please no. It was overwhelming enough, her hands touching his face, how close she stood, how his mind wandered as he wondered what her hair felt like. The red tresses a different hue than her eyes, eyes that were now opening the book to the marked section he had spent far too much time reading. 

Opening to the beginning of the chapter, she smirks. 

“Oh this one, I remember this part well.” Another gulp. “But dog-eared pages? Tsk tsk.” 

“Are, are you, familiar with this, this story?” 

“Oh I’m very familiar, I know this novel very, very well.” He doesn’t have time to respond before she is recounting the chapter summary while flipping leisurely through the pages. “Princess Brittgerd sucks Akvid off for the first time, the poor lad was not expecting her to have such an appetite.” There’s something about hearing it from someone else that drives him crazy, a few moments ago he was way too afraid to even notice he was hard, now the ache was much greater than could be ignored. Thin trousers yet, not thin enough as they feel incredibly constricting against his length. The sound of the book closing causes him to jump, nearly grateful for it as a whimper was on the tip of his tongue. “The unsuspecting boys are always the most fun.” The Dunmer looks at him and he’s too inexperienced to recognize her own look of hunger; instead confused as to where she was going with this. “Why are you reading this? You’re awfully cute, I can’t imagine you having a hard time with the ladies, or whoever else you prefer.” Oh. Gently, she places her hand on his chest before slightly gripping his robes. The pull is too much and he whines, wanting so badly for her to keep touching him, staying like this for a bit would be more than enough. So in a daze, he asks nearly the same question again. 

“You think I’m cute?” She laughs and by Auri-El is is lovely. Light, authentic, and most importantly;  directed his way, at the young mer she made melt before her.  

“I do.” She humours his repetition. “You seem like a very sweet boy, is that right?” The hand moves lower, dangerously lower as toys with the thin rope of his belt. A sharp inhale is his response. “What do you think of me?” 

For a fleeting moment, Aicantar believes he can spew something resembling the suave men of his books, something about how even in the harsh Dwemer lighting she looks radiant, completely and utterly captivating him. Yet, any opportunity to redeem his reputation and prove he is more than a flustered mess is lost as her fingers run along his waistband, dipping in along his side. What comes out is a far cry from what he wanted. 

“I, um, um, Miss, um, Miss Raviro, um, you’re-” Thankfully she cuts off his stammering. 

“No need to be so formal, call me Vevora.” 

“Miss Vevora, I mean, um, Vevora.” A bit of strength goes a long way. “You’re very beautiful.” 

“Thanks, you’re too sweet.” She moves her hand for one moment, turning to place the novel on the bedside table. Turning back to him, both hands grasp the collar of his hood, pulling him to her lips. Not absolutely clueless, he had done this several times drunk, liquid courage helping him bridge the gap in his own difficulties, but he was more than content to let her lead. Initially, the scholar is grateful she goes easy on him. Slow pecks on his lips, hands about to move to her waist, he freezes when her tongue swipes across; mouth opening immediately for the other to dive in. The moans and whimpers emitting from him nearly drown out the one from her. She breaks the kiss, allowing an obscene moan to echo off the walls. Another, regrettably louder one escapes him as she traces the outline of his cock, providing delicate ministrations over the agonizingly tight fabric. “Do you have that chapter marked because it’s your favourite?”

“Well it’s, um, quite, um, well-written.” 

“That it is, that it is.” Each word of the iteration is enunciated carefully, slowly drawing it out. “Want to recreate it with me, pretty boy?” 

[cornedbeefhashtags]

I know that smartphones and digital appliances are totally ubiquitous, but I’m begging you not to lose the art of using analog clocks. How is an amateur sleuth supposed to pinpoint the exact time of death if the victim wasn’t wearing a wristwatch that shattered on the rocks below his balcony? How is a duchess who was busily committing an unrelated crime supposed to fabricate an alibi if there isn’t a mantle clock in the drawing room for her to roll back fifteen minutes without the other party guests noticing? And how are the party guests supposed to be enveloped in a smothering miasma of dread if there isn’t a grandfather clock in the front hall whose booming chimes serve as a leitmotif for the steady march of mortality while also masking the sounds of the gardener escaping through the conservatory window??

[abbaswift]

maybe the princess who could feel a pea under twenty mattresses was simply autistic

[koobiie]

shoutout to everyone who wants to infodump but cant string together coherent thoughts to form sentences and instead just look at you like this

[freakcliff]

many things about the chronicles of Narnia made me irrevocably insane at the small age of six years old but one of the big ones was the bit in prince Caspian where caspian blows susan's horn to try and summon help and it summons the pevensie kids like. that's crazy ok. that's insane. imagine at 12 years old you're given a horn thats purpose is basically summoning divine intervention & then years later someone blows it and summons YOU . I'm crazy !

[allgremlinart]

little peanutisms

[thedemonshipper]

For personal reasons I will be entering The Fog. I may return, I may not. I make no promises.

[bunnieswithknives]

As much as I love angst I think it would be funny if he just didnt give af

[redeemed-wren]

Thinking about. Stanley Pines. Once summer, not long after Weirdmaggedon. Sitting in his seat, staring at the tv but realising slowly he's not really watching TV, he's listening.

Listening to Soos, taking a tour group around the Shack, his voice confident and happy, eagerly telling tourists all kinds of tall tales. Soos, with his young son strapped to his chest, held close and dear to his heart, always knowing he is loved and wanted by his father.

Listening to Wendy and Melody, laughter turning to deeper conversations in the gift shop as Wendy pours out her latest dating drama and Melody listens sympathetically--not quite a mother, but an older sister figure is all Wendy wants at the moment.

Listening to a distant boom coming from the basement, a cause for some concern that fades quickly as three peals of laughter follow soon after. One deep and familiar, as comforting and close as the sound of a ship's motor and the open sea. One young and high, cracking with adolescent awkwardness. One loud and cackling, a hint of madness never quite leaving it but more settled than it used to be. And Stan figures it's probably time to send someone down to drag Ford, Dipper and McGucket upstairs before they forget what light is and get too nerdy.

Besides it's nearly dinner time, and he's listening to Mabel's steady, unrelenting chatter in the kitchen, punctuated by a few grunts of acknowledgment from Abuelita as they prepare a meal.

And Stan feels a strange, unusual sensation wash over him, something he hasn't felt for over half a lifetime, by a boat on a beach. A sensation of contentment, of security, of peace. And he realises that if he stood up and walked into any one of the rooms in the Shack he would be greeted with smiles and faces lighting up to see him and cheerful cries of his name.

And he looks down at the darned pig sleeping beside his chair and things, with oddly misty eyes, that he spent thirty years trying to find his brother again. And he succeeded--but somehow, he got more than that. He had formed around him, without even realising it, a family.

[jerreeeeeee]

you know how little kids like to interview people?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Look what we've become.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[gongyussy]

you think YOU had a bad day at work?

bonus: sid shrieking "no!!!! NO!!!!!" loud enough to be heard in the stands and on camera

[lazylittledragon]

look gang i know the cishets are going to be annoying about chappell roan like they are with every popular queer artist but we CAN'T gatekeep, because think about how much it would've meant to your little queer self to hear songs about girls kissing girls being played on the radio every single day

[crismakesstuff]

“What if I become him and I don’t even know it?”

[coffinwoodx]

couple of screenshots of kim’s wikipedia page that i felt so deeply in my soul

[shroomerr]

Finally, my design for Mysterion!! this boy gave me so much heartache in the process of making this but its ok its all worth it for him <3

I also couldn't choose between the version with hair or without hair, so here's the one without under the cut (+ my initial drafts for his design):