#mlm skyrim

[silusvesuius]

properly drew my 2 skyrimlians; Agnes, the tryhard failure, and the recently born Gorshi, the 'neat' one.. sometimes a good guy, sometimes a bad guy. sort of polar opposites maybe.

and their respective horses !!! 😝🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎

[soulofconflict]

maybe this is because im scrounging for crumbs of representation but this one note from The Notice Board mod makes me cry every time i read it

[lucky-fydraws]

Sneak peek as I take my first foray into adult art, featuring my khajiit OC Do'rahgo (and Ra'mihrr).

Still kicking, many WIP (between promised traditional paintings and my fursuit/cosplay)... And to think I'm currently in the "chill" semester. Hopefully pets will be healthy next semester :)

(genuinely feeling alarmed over everyone in the small animal rotation saying they're getting burnout... as someone who has already been feeling like that for months now)

[froobiesalad]

background practice

[merundil]

After being inactive for so long bc of work, i finally found a little time to draw qwq!

I decided to redraw my not so long ago artworks of my favorite tes ocs (theverion and merundil)

This is an au of them where merundil is a thalmor agent as well (originally only theverion works for thr thalmor)

Their relationship is sonewhat toxic, but in this au, things start of better for them than original, but the results are the same (dead)

And tbh, i think i improved!

I hope yall like them ^^

Here is the two older ones

(their designs rapidly changed)

[amanrafromveranda]

a little comic with Taurellice adout his first love in Skyrim

[nightmareonweedstreet]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎ��˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

/) /)

( ⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝ ) 〝₎₎ 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙼𝙴 ✦₊ ˊ˗

. .╭∪──∪────────── ✦ ⁺.

. .┊◟﹫ 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: 𝙺𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚁

. .┊﹒𐐪 𝙰𝙶𝙴 : 𝟸𝟹

. .┊ꜝꜝ﹒𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚂 𝙷𝙴/𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 ⚣ ⚧︎

. .┊ ◟ヾ 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴𝚂 : 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚄𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝚂𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴, 𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙳, 𝚃𝟺𝚃, 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙷𝙸𝚂𝙴, 𝚂𝙰𝚆 𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙷𝙸𝚂𝙴, 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙻 𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙷𝙸𝚂𝙴, 𝙷𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁 𝙸𝙽 𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙻, 𝚇-𝙼𝙴𝙽, 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺 𝟾𝟶'𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚂𝚈, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳, 𝚂𝙺𝚈𝚁𝙸𝙼, 𝙽𝚄-𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙻, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙼𝙴𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈 𝙾𝙻𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙳𝙴𝙴𝙿𝙻𝚈 𝚄𝙽𝙾𝙱𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴

. .┊﹒𐐪 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴𝚂 : 𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙵𝚂, 𝚉𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚂, 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙲𝚄𝚃 𝙼𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴, 𝙺𝙾𝙼𝙱𝚄𝙲𝙷𝙰, 𝚂𝚄𝙽𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙸'𝙼 𝙰 𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙸𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙽 𝚅𝚂 𝙰𝙼𝙱𝙸𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙸𝚅𝙴𝙳, 𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙽𝚄𝚃 𝙱𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁

. .┊ ◟﹫ 𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚁𝙰 : ♍︎ 𝚂𝚄𝙽 / ♏︎ 𝙼𝙾𝙾𝙽 / ♏︎ 𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 / 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙹 ✹

╰───────────── ✦ ⁺.

.˳·˖✶𓆩⚔︎𓆪✶˖·˳. 𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘.˳·˖✶𓆩⚔︎𓆪✶˖·˳.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

• pls do not interact if ur a minor, i ain't no babysitter ✶

• if nsfw content, death/decay, gore, swearing isn't ur jam,,, scram ✹

• feel free to interact, inbox me, comment, repost, spam like, etc ✶

• DO NOT feel free to interact if ur a terf, zionist, or general douche bag ✹

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

𝙸𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄’𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴 𝙸𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝚁 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙼𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙰𝚂 𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙵𝙾𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆,,, 𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝚈 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙰 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙶!!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[thiolliers-consort]

⟢ 🗝️Guidelines 🗝️ ⟣

💜WIPS💜 —ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁! Masterlist !𐰁 𝗓 ᶻ—

⟢ This blog is SFW only ⟣

This post might seem a little long, but it’s my first time making something like this, please be kind. Please and thank you!

What I will write:

⟢ male reader (ftm included)

⟢ female reader (mtf not included)

⟢fem identifying GN reader

⟢ masc identifying GN reader

⟢ plain GN reader

⟢ platonic relationships

⟢ queer platonic relationships (for my fellow aroace companions)

⟢ transmasc and or he/him lesbians

⟢ slightly suggestive situations

⟢ fluff, hurt comfort, angst to fluff

⟢ teen reader (platonic only if paired with an adult)

⟢ readers and characters with autism (nonverbal included)

⟢ implied SH, SA, and any other types of trauma (not romanticized or sexualized. Only as comfort and recovery topics)

What I won’t write:

⟢ NSFT or anything too suggestive

⟢ SH or any trauma used as a kink or romanticized in any way

⟢ uncomfortable age gaps, inc/st, gr//ming, anything along those lines

⟢ abusive characters/readers

⟢ cheating

Please make sure that you explain your request thoroughly! I might not understand some terms!

Fandoms/characters

⟢ Elden Ring

Varre

Hornsent

Morgott

Thiollier

Messmer

Blaidd

Miquella (platonic only)

⟢ Skyrim

Gwilin

Cicero

⟢ IDV

Andrew

Richard

Demi

Victor

Annie

Antonio

Ithaqua

Sangria

Patty

Emma

⟢ Overwatch

Zenyatta

Ramattra

Genji

Juno

Venture

Lifeweaver

DNI

⟢ transphobes, homophobes, racists, and ableists

⟢ proshippers and creeps

[cuttthroatcutie]

There is a dark brotherhood Cicero Body pillow, oh yeah I’m buying it and yeah I will be rawdogging it no questions asked

[pinessydr]

Wip-Wednesday!

Tagged by @madam-whim Thank you for the opportunity to share my mlm draft

“What if Volsung decides to weaken my power? What if someone else comes to take it away from me later or rule over Bromjunaar? I cannot get rid of all my enemies equally easily.” “You can't. But you are not alone. And if even one day I fail to help here, you will always be welcome at the High Gates as long as I live.” The two of them did not speak again that day, thinking about the words separately but alike. About the truth, there was a risk, but how could anyone sit on the throne without it? About the fact it was time for Vokun to return to his own, but he had always stayed in the city he hated a little longer than he wanted to for some reason. About the way Morokei had once conquered the city: with blood and sweat, pain and rage, and blue fire from the core of a dead star, flowing until his predecessor was nothing but ash. Vokun's method was different. Three drops of poison in a wine cup every day, two worn-out iron daggers, one almost suicidal Shout, and a crown taken from a still warm body. He had never liked open arenas where there was no place to hide in the shadows, and yet he won that day. He was ready to do it again, even if he hated face-to-face confrontation. It was simply… justified when things came to this man. Reflecting on the situation as he traveled home, Vokun tried to put his thoughts together. He would repeat his promise again, even though he had forbidden himself to face the danger for someone else back in his youth. This desire caused anxiety. Other feelings were even worse: even though he had never wanted Morokei to get into trouble since the day they met, the thought of him being near under any circumstances seemed sickly attractive. Disgusting, no doubt. But every evening, lying on the pillows, Vokun struggled to drive it away. At night, it was harder. He had never seen what Jon saw but always imagined it. In his dreams, he could do more than just look: he listened to the ragged breathing, traced the curves of the man's body with his palms, counted moles, and kissed his scars, not just those on the arms. Inhaled the intoxicating scent of the hair that fell on his face when Morokei suddenly loomed over him and felt the sweet tension when hot weight rested on his hips. In his dreams, for some reason, he always thought that his sore leg might hurt. So he took the initiative gently but firmly, going deeper, setting the pace until a satisfied sigh burned his ear.

Tagging @lilarus @illumiera @starrythroat @buriedknightto share their wips (no pressure)

[shivering-isles-cryptid]

Velkas: Velimir x Farkas

A Bosmer/Reachman that has to deal with Hircine constantly whispering in his ear comes across a Nord who is constantly fighting the wolf inside him.

When the elf first arrived, Farkas was more than impressed. He, Aela, and Ria had spent an hour with this one single giant, and yet when the elf arrived, it had fallen in 5 minutes. Aela had approached him as he pulled his spear from its chest, his eyes watching her closely, as if scanning for a threat. She offered him a place in the companions, but he just tilted his head in confusion. “What’s a shield-brother?” He had asked, Aela stepping back in bafflement. She had tried to explain, but he shook his head and jumped off the giant, walking away while saying he had other things to do.

Ria was baffled that someone wouldn’t know who the companions are, but both Farkas and Aela waved her off. When the trio returned to Jorvaskr, they were shocked to find the elf was already there, alongside a woman with snowy white hair and a Stormcloak sash across her silver armor, pinned into place by an owl pin. He raised a brow when he saw them, then hummed in understanding before turning back to Skjor. Even standing half a foot shorter than him, the pair gave off just as much, if not more, power and strength than Skjor did, which the man easily recognized and waved off Vilkas’ comments.

The pair followed Skjor into the quarters, with Aela close behind and Farkas behind her. He couldn’t understand it, but he just felt a pull towards the elf. His… other form wanted to be near him, wanted to be with him, wanted him. He stood outside the door as they talked to Kodlak, Aela and Farkas listening closely and staring at each other. “You feel the pull too.” Aela had said, it wasn’t a question, she knew he did. It was an innate feeling, as if his very soul was drawn towards the elf. When the doors swung open, the white-haired woman saw the pair listening in and scoffed before leaving. The elf though, he looked into both their eyes and nodded. Said it was nice to see them again. That he apologizes for his rude behavior earlier. The wolf inside of Farkas growled, urging him to take the man. But he held back, shaking his hand and nodding with a grunt. The elf stared into his eyes, lips pursed slightly before smirking. “Maybe next time.” He said, reaching up and brushing a hand against his shoulder as he left, leaving both Farkas and Aela in shock.

The next time he saw the elf was the 5th of Midyear, when all the beasts were out of control, and the circle locked themselves in the Underforge. Aela and Skjor had slipped out the back for their hunt, while Kodlak and Vilkas meditated in the corner. Farkas sat and watched, gripping his head tightly to try and soothe the beast within. When he felt two cool hands rest on his own, he looked up with a snarl, but it was lost in his throat when he stared into the amber eyes of the elf. “Shh, it’s alright. Don’t fight it, you’ll make it worse.” He said, brushing Farkas’ hair back with a kind smile. Something in the elf’s' eyes made Farkas relax, and the beast inside him to calm down. Even if he didn’t know his name, something about him was familiar, felt like home.

He sat with Farkas, holding one of his hands and massaging the knuckles while they watched Kodlak and Vilkas meditate. They talked, Farkas learned his name is Velimir, he’s from the Druadach mountains, his father was a Bosmer and his mother a Reachman, he has worshiped Hircine since he was a boy but never became a Lycanthrope himself. Farkas told him he was born in Rorikstead, but was kidnapped by necromancers, a Companion named Jergen save him and his brother, but he went to the Great War and never returned, how Farkas was the youngest in the Circle and only accepted the gift because of Vilkas. Velimir nodded, drawing circles in Farkas’ hand with his thumb as he spoke. They didn’t agree on their views of Hircine, but they did share the same view on Lycanthropy. It was fine for those who wanted it, but neither of them did.

They spoke in hushed voices and with soft smiles, Velimir’s hand never leaving Farkas’. When the sun rose the next day, if Farkas and Velimir were asleep in the Underforge, one of Farkas’ arms wrapped tightly around the elf’s waist while their legs were tangled together, that was no one’s business. At least not until Velimir left the next day and the other Circle members felt safe enough to start making fun of him.

It was another 4 months before Farkas saw him again. The moons were the color of blood, and the Circle was once again forced into the Underforge by their second natures. Farkas tried breathing, bringing back the memories of the Night of Hircine, but without Velimir there it was almost impossible to keep the beast under control. It fought against him, demanding the elf, and Farkas was on the verge of agreeing with it. When he finally gave in, leaving the Underforge and preparing to transform, the moon's color was lost and the beast settled. It was no longer pushing to break free of his body, but the urge to find him was still there. He wanted him, he needed him. He sniffed the air deeply, growling lowly as he forced himself back to the city. As he walked, he came across Velimir, who was twisting a silver band on his ring finger. The beast inside urged him toward the elf, and he complied, rushing towards him and smiling softly at his troubled face.

“Farkas?” His voice was quiet, his brows scrunched and lips pursed. Farkas’ smile melted and his beast roared in anger that anything would dare hurt him. Velimir rushed him, arms tight around his waist and face buried in his chest. That sense of power and dominance was gone from the elf, replaced entirely by the stench of fear and sorrow. Farkas held him, the touch keeping the beast restrained without calming it any. Velimir clung to Farkas, his fingers digging into his back through his thin tunic he typically wore to bed. He was shaking, but no tears came out. Farkas was torn between comforting the elf and finding whoever made him feel like this. The small whimper that Velimir made made Farkas’ choice easier, and he carried the elf back to Jorvaskr, glaring harshly at anyone who dared to gawk at his elf. When he brought him into Jorvaskr, the entire Circle flooded to them, the scent of the elf drawing them in. Kodlak and Skjor weren’t affected the same way the other were, made clear when Vilkas and Aela growled at the other Companions for even looking at him.

Farkas let him sleep in his bed, intent on sleeping in a chair before Velimir grabbed his shirt and pulled him back to the bed with more force than he should’ve been capable of. Farkas tried to pull back despite his beasts demands, but Velimir wouldn’t let go and Farkas didn’t want to distress him anymore than he was. He hugged the elf close, resting his chin on the top of his head and reveling in the smell. Velimir seemed to burrow even further in his arms, which kept Farkas far more awake than his beast ever has. In the morning, Velimir woke at the exact moment the sun began to peek through the wooden boards, the little amounts of light that peeked through hitting his eyes and turning them golden. His voice was low and raspy, filled with exhaustion and the pure domestication of it made Farkas’ chest squeeze.

“Farkas? This has to be a dream.” He mumbled, resting his head on Farkas’ chest and holding him closer. “Why would this be a dream?” He asked, rubbing circles into his back and looking down at him as best as he could. “Because it has been for months now.” He answered, his voice showing he was about to fall back to sleep, before he reeled back and stared at Farkas with wide eyes. He scrambles out of bed, rambling apologies and excuses as he rushes to gather his stuff that Farkas has placed on a table. Farkas tried to calm him down, but Velimir just shook his head, which was uncharacteristically warm, as he moved towards the door. Just before he could open it, Farkas placed a hand on the door, keeping both it and Velimir in place.

Farkas looked down at the elf, the power back in his eyes, but he still recoiled under his gaze. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his other hand grabbing Velimir’s chin and bringing his head up to look at him. That’s when he broke down and explained what had happened during the Blood Moons. How Hircine told him to kill a werewolf that stole from him. How he had agreed, desperate to please his patron. How when he got to Bloated Man’s Grotto and saw the werewolf that didn’t want to be, all he could see was Farkas. How he refused to kill him and instead killed the hunters. How he was called a traitor and a disgrace by them, but how Hircine blessed him for his actions. His body once again was shaking without tears as Farkas held him tight, rubbing circles into his back.

Velimir had finished his story, once again turning the silver ring on his finger, the wolf head frozen in a permanent snarl. Farkas reached out, holding one of his hands and rubbing circles into it with his thumb the way Velimir had done for him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Farkas holding Velimir’s hand as he stared at him. “You know, I kinda liked it when you pinned me against the door.” He finally said, Farkas freezing in place as his face heated up. Velimir scooted closer, the hand that once was in Farkas’ was now sliding up his arm. The beast in Farkas told him to take him. Make him his, mark him as his own. But he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right, not while he was so distressed. Farkas pulled back, frowning at Velimir, who pursed his lips and looked away. Farkas slowly raised his hand to Velimir’s chin, turning him to look him in the eyes.

“You’re beautiful. But as much as I want to, I can’t. You’re not feeling right and I can’t be the distraction you want me to be.” He explained, Velimir nodding and resting his head on his shoulder. Instead, they talked. Velimir told him about Skuld, the white-haired woman, who was apparently Dragonborn and a seer of Jhunal. She was one of the first people he had met in Skyrim, and she threatened to put an arrow in his throat because he had stumbled upon the Stormcloak camp she was at. Farkas started to tell him about Vilkas, how he was always the smarter one, more charismatic. Velimir told him to shut up. Farkas instead told him about Jergen, the man who raised him, how he taught him how to wield a sword, how to wear heavy armor, how to use his natural strength. Velimir told him about his tribe, the apothecaries that taught him to make potions and poultices, the warriors that taught him to use a spear and bow, the shamans that summoned Hircine on his 16th year.

Farkas told him about the beast inside him, constantly fight to get out. Velimir told him about how Hircine is constantly whispering in his ear, telling him that everyone else is merely a rabbit and he is a wolf. Farkas told him that he was the only thing that has ever made the beast easier to deal with. Velimir told him that he was the only one that Hircine didn’t tell him to hunt down. Neither of them knew how long they had been talking, but by the time Velimir noticed they hadn’t gotten out of bed yet, the sunlight was already gone and Jorvaskr was silent. Farkas invited him to stay the night again, he could sleep in a chair or in a spare bed, but Velimir refused to kick him out of the bed. “There’s enough room for both of us.” He had said sheepishly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear as he casually fluffed a pillow. Farkas said nothing, merely picked Velimir off the bed, moved him to the inner side, climbed in himself, and held him tightly in his arms.

It was only a week after that before Farkas saw him again. This time he was with Skuld, the Dragonborn, who was now wearing a bear shaped hood attached to her armor, the owl pin still holding the cloak in place. They split apart at the Gildergleam, Skuld heading to the Temple of Kynareth, while Velimir approached Farkas, who was outside with his brother. When he got to them, Velimir said nothing, just grabbed Farkas’ armor and pulled him down into a kiss. When they pulled back, his brother hugged out a “Finally” before heading into Jorvaskr to let them talk. Velimir told Farkas he was staying in Whiterun for the next 2 months. Skuld had some political meeting she needed to attend with Balgruuf, and as Ulfric’s lead diplomat in the Imperial cities, Velimir was to stay in Whiterun with an Imperial diplomat to try and keep the city neutral until the meeting was over.

Skuld was giving him a key to her house, giving him free reign until she returned. Velimir told Farkas where it was, and what times he’d be there, and what times he’d be awake. He offered to make him dinner tonight, show him a few recipes he’d learned when he lived with his tribe. Farkas instantly agreed, his hands firmly planted on Velimir’s hips. “Wonderful.” He said, kissing him again before reluctantly pulling away and meeting back with Skuld before heading up to Dragonsreach. Farkas spent the entire day thinking about Velimir and that night. How excited he was to see him again, how he wanted to kiss him again, how he wanted more, how he didn’t have anything to wear and how he didn’t deserve him, wasn’t good enough.

When the night finally came, Farkas walked to Breezehome in regular clothes, a tray of pastries in one hand, and a bouquet of purple mountain flowers and Kyne’s breath in the other. He used his foot to knock, wincing at the loud noise it made and having to take a breath to soothe the beast inside him and moved the bouquet to his other hand to hold his hand against his chest. When the door opened, he took in a sharp breath at the sight before him. Velimir was wearing a deep green tunic that was unlaced at the top, revealing a light dusting of brown hair on his chest. It was sleeveless and showed off his muscular arms, which had wrapping up to his elbow on which covered his knuckles. His hair was braided back, showing his pointed ears, and some small strands were falling into his eyes. Before he could stop himself, Farkas reached forward and brushed the hair behind his ear, causing both of them to blush fiercely.

Velimir invited him in to the house, taking the bouquet with wide eyes and a red face. “Purple flowers represent stamina and passion. Kyne’s breath represents fertility.” He whispered, placing the flowers in a vase, turning from Farkas’s own burning face. They sat next to each other for dinner, their hands brushing against each other every now and again. They spoke of their childhoods, the events of the week they had been apart, and plans for the next 2 months. When they had finished eating, Velimir grabbed the pastries Farkas had brought and uncovered them. He gasped softly, grabbing one of the small pies and examining them. “It took hours to convince Tilma to let me make something, and she was watching the entire time.” He said, Velimir laughing slightly, biting into and moaning loudly before catching himself. The two burst into laughter, Farkas trying one for himself. They had moved into the entryway, sitting closely together on the couch as they ate.

When they had finished the pastries, Velimir moved close to Farkas, a hand on his shoulder and put his mouth to his ear. “Skuld told me that if we did it in any room except for mine, she’d hang me off Dragonsreach. So I suggest we get moving.” He had whispered, Farkas growling lowly as Velimir’s other hand slid over his thigh. Farkas grabbed the elf, pulling him into his chest and carrying him up the stairs, Velimir’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist and his arms wrapped around his neck as they kissed. Farkas had dropped him on the bed, pinning him against it with an arm on each side of his head. “Take off that tunic. It looks so good on you I’d hate to rip it.”

[supnerdsimbi]

I’d fuck Paarthurnax

[lilgoatgal]

Ok, so I haven't seen any art for this ship. Orthjolf and Vingalmo, from skyrim. In the games, they hate each other, but I swear they have bitter ex lovers tension. So I drew it

[theyre-gay-because-i-say-so]

Today's LGBT+ Headcanon is;

Cicero from Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim-Genderfluid Pansexual

Species: Human

Status: Alive (Depending on player choices)

[critter-in-skyrim]

The Pacifist Dragonborn (Chapter 1)

Ezra's awareness came back slowly. First he noticed his head, how much it hurt, worse than any hangover he had ever had - and that was saying something. Then he noticed his body was moving, as though he was on a ship at sea...but no, as his awareness continued to come back, he could hear the sound of hooves against packed dirt, the creaking of wood. So he was on a wagon, then. Then he heard voices, muffled, but still - Ezra's body immediately tensed up, fear racing through his bloodstream. That fear grew into sheer terror, as he felt the rough binds around his wrists.

He was a prisoner.

In his panic, he must have opened his eyes, because suddenly, someone was addressing him.

“Hey you, you’re finally awake.”

Ezra’s head lolled to the side, his dark brown eyes focusing on the man who had spoken. He was similarly in binds, but unlike Ezra, who was in rags, this man wore a full set of armor. Ezra wasn’t familiar with the blue banner he wore, though. Focusing on his face, the man appeared to be rather young, but weathered, as though he had been through a great deal. His face was framed by straw-like blond hair, slightly matted with dirt and blood. His eyes were a piercing blue color, and at the moment, they appeared full of curiosity. 

When Ezra didn’t respond, the man continued, leaning forward and speaking a little bit louder, as though worried Ezra wasn’t understanding him. “You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” He nodded his head towards the back of the cart.

Ezra flinched as another man spoke, his voice dripping with hatred. “Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy…if they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” He lifted his bound hands, pointing at Ezra, causing him to flinch yet again. “You there! You and me - we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,” the blond man practically spat, in the direction of the horse thief. 

“Shut up back there!” the Imperial Soldier driving their cart snapped.

As the cart fell into a tense silence, Ezra could finally take in his current situation. 

He thought crossing the border from Hammerfell into Skyrim would have been easy…but Ezra was never one to be lucky. Of course he had to choose that particular night to make his escape. He went from being one type of prisoner to another…

Ezra shook his aching head, trying to drive those thoughts away. He wished he had his satchel with him, his wine…wine was always good for removing unwanted thoughts, memories… He didn’t want to think about Hammerfell or his life in Taneth or anything like that. The past was in the past.

Ezra jolted, when he felt his foot be nudged. He once again focused on the blond man, who was staring at him with a puzzling look on his face, his head tilted slightly to the side. Ezra would have almost called the look “concern”. This theory was validated when the man mouthed the words, “You okay?” to him.

He was obviously not okay, none of them were…but Ezra found himself nodding slightly, even giving the man a small smile - though it more than likely resembled a wince. The man smiled back at him though, a small, crooked smile. Ezra kind of liked his smile.

Their little moment was interrupted, when the horse thief spoke once more. “What’s wrong with him?”

At first, Ezra thought the man was referring to him and he tensed up, but then he noticed the man was gesturing to the man that was sitting beside Ezra on the cart. This man was wearing an elaborate set of furs and armor, but most interestingly, he was gagged. Briefly, steel gray eyes met his, and Ezra became frozen in place momentarily from the intensity of that gaze.

“Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!” the blond man snapped defensively. 

The horse thief’s eyes widened. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion.” He leaned forward, seemingly ignorant of how the other man was now glaring at him in annoyance. “But…if they captured you…Oh Gods, where are they taking us?”

The blond man’s own irritated gaze softened slightly at seeing the genuine panic in the horse thief’s eyes. “I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits,” he said somberly.

“No, this can’t be happening, this isn’t happening!” the horse thief exclaimed.

Ezra tried to remain calm, but their words concerned him. It seemed like they believed they were all being taken to execution. But…but that couldn’t be right, could it? Would they truly execute him, for simply crossing the border at the wrong place and time?

Would he truly never taste the freedom he craved?

“Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?” the blond man asked suddenly.

The horse thief had begun rocking back and forth in his seat, his anxiety clearly getting the better of him. However, he sneered when he was addressed. “Why do you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home,” the blond man responded morosely, but matter-of-factly. 

At first, it didn’t seem like the horse thief was going to answer, as his lips curled over his teeth, but then he let out a small sigh, his head hanging low. “Rorikstead. I’m…I’m from Rorikstead…”

Ezra’s thoughts once again turned to his former home, against his will. Regret about leaving was pooling in his stomach. How could he have dared to have hoped for freedom? His brother had always told him that hope was merely fuel for the foolish…maybe that’s all Ezra was: A fool.

And being a fool was going to get him killed.

That sick feeling in Ezra’s stomach only worsened as he noticed they were approaching a gate, which opened to greet them.

“General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!” Ezra heard an Imperial Soldier shout, apparently alerting a man in high ranking Imperial armor to their arrival. He felt a chill go down his spine at those words.

“Good. Let’s get this over with,” the man, General Tullius, responded. 

“Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh…Divines, please help me…” the horse thief began to pray. Ezra thought, perhaps, it would be a good time for him to pray as well, but his head-covering had come off when he was captured - he could never pray without a head-covering.

The blond man made a scoffing sound, his blue eyes narrowing. “Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him.” His lip curled over his teeth, bitterly. “Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”

Ezra turned his head to watch  the man, General Tullius, as he approached the golden-adorned High Elves on horseback. They spoke briefly, a conversation which seemed to irritate the Military Governor, judging by the look on his face. Ezra could not read too much into this, though, as their cart rounded the corner, beginning to make its way through the town. He wondered where exactly they were…

As though to answer his internal question, the blond man spoke up once more. “This is Helgen,” he said, his voice taking on a fond tone. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here…I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in…” Ezra found himself missing a life he had never lived himself. “Funny,” the blond man continued, throwing his head back to look up at the tower casting its shadow on them, “When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

The cart they were on had been slowly making its way through the village of Helgen, surrounded mostly by guard towers and abandoned houses. Now, though, they were approaching the town square, where seemingly everyone was out on their porches to watch the procession. 

“Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?” a very young voice asked. Ezra had to crane his neck to see the little boy, watching them with wide, innocent eyes. 

A man, presumably the boy’s father, placed a heavy hand on his head, ruffling his hair. “You need to go inside, little cub.”

“Why? I want to watch the soldiers!” the boy said excitedly. In response to hearing this, the Imperial Soldier that was riding behind Ezra’s cart gave the boy a little wave, which seemingly amused the boy to no end.

The moment was interrupted when the boy’s father took on a far more serious tone of voice. “Inside the house. Now.”

Once again the wagon rounded a corner, this time exposing the town square…which had clearly been transformed into an execution staging area. Even though that had been what Ezra was expecting, his stomach sank. 

As their cart rolled to a stop, the horse thief spoke up in hushed tones, “W-why are they stopping?”

“Why do you think?” the blond asked, his tone grim. “End of the line.”

[merundil]

"it's our secret"

Greetings✨

I brought you today yall's favorite tes couple❤️ (im delusional)

In this au it is somewhat peaceful (but just in the beginning. They die here too 😭) in this au, merundil is actually part of the aldmeri dominion as well (only theverion is cannonically part of the thalmor)

In their small free time they get off duty, they spend it with each other, reading books to each other out loudy and go for a walk, and share some kisses and cuddles

Theverion is not an affectionate mer, but for merundil, he's willing to be a little bit more open about his feelings. Its the small baby steps for him.

Theverion is a ruthless, cold mer, but merundil holds a soft spot in his heart.

This au is had a better progressing in the relationship, but there's always room for improvement.

For context, theverion is the mer who has the burn scar/mark on his face and the other is merundil❤️

Wish to support me? You like the content i make?❤️

Like, comment, and share! Also follow for more!

All of this are very helpful!❤️