#my dragonborn has a Rough Time

[fabeong]

Secrets in the Midden

This had been sitting around in my WIPs for a while, but at long last inspiration struck! Huge thanks go to @thana-topsy, who got me inspired to write more for Ryesandeii at long last. Hope this satisfies any cravings for ex-thalmor dragonborns Going Through Troubles...

Summary: When sent deep into the Midden in search of an answer to all the mysteries this so-called “Eye of Magnus” has brought, the dragonborn mage Ryesandeii encounters something that the College would probably rather he hadn’t.

(Quick content warning for descriptions of torture) (Also on AO3 for anyone who prefers)

------

It was a generally well-accepted fact of life in Tamriel that well-bred, well-raised, and superbly educated Altmer did not use foul language.

“This place is a fucking maze.”

Ryesandeii was used to being a contradiction by now.

His companion gave a half-hearted huff in response and looked up from the dark corner he had been sniffing curiously to shoot the elf an unreadable look. Not that Meeko was much of a conversationalist in usual circumstances but here in the dark depths of the so-called Midden the dog had quietened even from his usual litany of barks into soft, quizzical growls. Ryesandeii wasn’t sure if he liked the change yet.

Meeko padded on ahead of the elf as they poked around the frozen depths hidden deep beneath the College, in search of the apparent Augur of Dunlain. Wanting to conserve his magika for the light healing spell he rolled around in one hand, Ryesandeii held a lit torch aloft in the other, squinting into the gloom barely illuminated by the flickering light as he moved.

“What do you think Tolfdir meant by ‘what led to the accident’?” Ryesandeii mused aloud and decided to take Meeko’s backwards glance as an acknowledgment, if not a coherent reply. “I didn’t even think this Augur was a person, but it sounds like Tolfdir speaks to it – I mean, him fairly regularly.”

Meeko didn’t even offer a reply this time, suddenly far more occupied with burying his nose in an unexplored corner. Then with a yelp of triumph muffled by the plants in his mouth the dog bounded back and proudly dropped the heap of mushrooms at his master’s feet. A rare smile lit up Ryesandeii’s face as he crouched down to inspect the find and, raising the fungi to his nose, recognised the tell-tale bitter tang of blisterwort. “Not bad, boy.” He mused, “See if you can find any more in this room and I’ll check the next one.”

Tucking the mushrooms into his alchemy satchel Ryesandaii got up and forged forward, determinedly ignoring the creeping cold that threatened to sap the strength from his shivering limbs. The Midden was indeed a shithole, he decided, and it was little wonder the College had built its glittering halls and adored Arcaneum in a way to conceal the winding dungeon beneath it. Whatever was hidden beneath was evidently not meant for mere student’s eyes, or any ordinary circumstances.

But secrets were not new to Ryesandeii, of course. He had been raised in the Summerset Isles, where secrets were second to gold – or even on par if you were desperate enough. Musing on what he knew were risky lines of thought, he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings.

Then Ryesandeii rounded the corner and his torch fell to the ground. Even from the ground the flickering flame illuminated a heavy metal bar across the wall before him, adorned with glinting chains and eerily rusting shackles –

The icy metal slitting into his wrists as they suspended him above the pit of poisoned spikes for hours, days, months, time lost all meaning when the aedra in charge of it abandoned you –

Ryesandeii felt the icy floor of the prison – no, no, the Midden, the Midden, he was still in Winterhold wasn’t he? – seep through his boots as he stepped forward, a growing inexorable horror curling up his aching spine like a serpent. Somewhere inside of him a voice much like his own screamed at him to run but the all-too-familiar setting dragged him horribly closer, like a call he could not refuse. Beside him now floor-to-ceiling bars made a claustrophobic cell, the bars spattered with blood –

His blood, drenching what rags remained of his clothes after every lash of the enchanted whip, cursed to slice his skin so deeply wherever it landed that the wounds would never fully close, his blood as it bubbled up in his throat from the ice spikes they flung into his chest and the world grew blissfully dark except they would never let him sleep, never let him rest, they would never let him die, not when they could pull him back from the brink and start over again –

The world fell from beneath Ryesandeii’s feet as the walls closed in around him, the flickering shadows coming to life and curling into gleaming blades or outstretched hands –

And from their fingers lightning struck him viciously and endlessly from every direction, lighting his skin and hair aflame, burning his blood, draining and severing his magika until there was nothing he could do but scream for mercy that would never come, forgiveness they would never grant, scream even as the bolts and blows shattered his bones, they put them haphazardly back together and broke them anew, scream for help from a god that was no longer listening –

Something wet, warm, and disgustingly slobbery dragged across Ryesandeii’s cheek. And again. And again. The high elf’s head jerked up with a choked gasp, but the walls were far too close, his chest far too tight, there was a ringing in his ears so loud he felt they might bleed, his muscles jerked in agony as the deep-scarred lines across his back and chest began to split open again from how violently he was shaking –

“Arf!”

Something solid and warm wriggled its way under his arms where they were wrapped around his knees, and that wet thing touched his cheek once more, slobbery and smelling strongly of meat and… wet dog?

“Meeko?”

Ryesandeii opened his eyes. Instead of the cell, the blood, the chains, his vision was completely filled with thick grey fur and golden eyes, and a lolling tongue as the dog squirmed closer and licked his cheek again. Slowly Meeko’s whines became more audible than the agonising ringing and Ryesandeii’s arms stopped shaking to the point where he could open them, at which point his dog pounced properly onto his lap and nuzzled the altmer’s face; Ryesandeii spluttered in token protest at the slobber and indignity of it all and yet… the impossible had happened. His lungs loosened to the point he could breathe, the awful ringing subsided, and the walls returned to their normal place. Well, it was very hard to panic and succumb to terrible memories when there was a heavy nord dog weighing you down and apparently trying to lick your face clean.

“Alright, you silly dog..” Ryesandeii’s throat felt scratchy and hoarse – had he been screaming aloud again? His back felt sticky and wet, and he winced, hoping the blood had not seeped through to his outer robes; they were tricky to clean at the best of times without disturbing the enchantments, and he really didn’t feel like answering the inevitable questions. His gaze flickered unconsciously to the wall across from him again, to the bloodstained chains and –

Meeko was having none of it. The dog growled and Ryesandeii jumped as the sound reverberated through the Midden and Meeko nudged at his chin with a cold, wet nose.

“Alright, alright..” Sucking in a deep breath Ryesandeii looked firmly back at his dog and brought his hands up to scratch behind Meeko’s ears. “You’re not so bad, are you?” he murmured, quiet affection evident in his tone. If he didn’t know any better he would have sworn Meeko actually grinned at his admittance, revelling in the scratches and his whole body swaying with how much his tail wagged. Ryesandeii freed one hand and flexed his shaking fingers, taking a deep breath before calling on his magika to send waves of soothing restoration spells over his bleeding body. The sensations of forced healing wracked through his body and he ducked his head into Meeko’s fur, gritting his teeth and breathing hard through the sensation of his cut skin pulling itself back together, at least temporarily, the stretch of sinew and veins agonising as the spell sought to somewhat undo the damage the Thalmor had never intended him to survive.

Then at last it was done, and though the back of his robes still felt uncomfortably sticky with remaining blood the wounds themselves had sunk back into tenuous risen lines across Ryesandeii’s back. He didn’t move, and neither did Meeko. The dog, loyal and steadfast as ever, remained perfectly still and let Ryesandeii bury his head into thick fur with no complaint. Meeko was neither human nor mer after all and thus the least likely individual to take advantage or mock his weakness, and so Ryesandeii let himself stay where he was and clench his jaw against the remaining tremors. He only roused when the cold, wet nose was once again nudged against his cheek.

“What?” he mumbled. Meeko wriggled ever-so-slightly and Ryesandeii raised his head at last, his gaze following Meeko’s own line of sight. The dog was staring intently in the direction they had come, and once Ryesandeii was looking too he moved, nudging the elf gently yet undeniably persistently until Ryesandeii hauled himself up and obediently followed where his dog now led. This time, he did not look back at the chains.

Meeko bounded back along the corridors and Ryesandeii kept pace as best he could, almost slipping on the icy Midden floors and wincing as the sharp motions twisted his aching body. Once or twice he stopped completely, summoning more restoration to his shaking fingertips and forcing his scars to stay closed. It should not have surprised him that every time this happened Meeko paused, looking back and waiting with far more patience anyone else had ever afforded him. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Ryesandeii mumbled, feeling guilty all the same.

But Meeko hadn’t moved further this time, and instead turned his head to a thick door Ryesandeii hadn’t even noticed the first time around. He approached it with a newfound caution. The very frame seemed to hum and the wooden slats trembled with a powerful, pulsing magika. Moving closer, Ryesandeii raised his hand carefully, pulling his focus into a steadfast ward and watching with wide-eyed intrigue at how the shielding spell shuddered and illuminated as streaks of magika from whatever was behind the door battered the ward, something powerful no doubt as his spell crumbled under its pressure.

Meeko growled, rousing Ryesandeii from his inspection. The dog was hanging back, hackles raised and tail low, evidently uncertain about the forces he could neither see nor interfere with as the Altmer could.

“It’s alright. I won’t let anything here harm you.” The softness in Ryesandeii’s tone surprised himself. When had he last been so gentle, or with whom?

Meeko’s head tilted cautiously at the Altmer’s words and he padded a few steps further. Despite everything he’d just relived and the crippling pain in his very bones, Ryesandeii found himself smiling as he leant down to ruffle the dog’s fur, quietly appreciating the solely innocent companion he’d ever had.

No more time for memories. Ryesandeii squared his aching shoulders and pushed open the door.

------

(...seriously though there's a whole prison and torture setup in the Midden wtf was Savos Aren allowing under his floor???

Like Ryesandeii? Here's his little bio!)

[skyrim-forever]

This is gonna be a very personal post but given the situation I wanted to say something here but

My 6.5 year relationship has ended, I have nothing but love for my ex but it was clear that we need different things in life. We met at 20 and went through 3 years long distance together spread across the country. We had hopes to be together forever and he is the only person I've pictured spending my life with. Despite our differences, we had some great times together.

I particularly wanted to say something here because he was the person who got me into Skyrim. My relationship before him (my only other relationship), my ex got me to play through the tutorial and I said "it was alright but I don't think it's for me" *bombastic sideeye*

After I had moved in back in 2019, he had a spare pc and suggested I try Skyrim because it was one of his favs. I had some time over winter break from uni and got instantly obsessed. I played the game a whole bunch but never dipped any further than what the general Skyrim audience knows. It wasn't until 2022 while I was bored during the summer in grad school that I started playing again, watched all the lore videos I could find and eventually on July 4th 2022 I made this blog because none of my friends where into Skyrim and I needed an outlet for it. Then of course I discovered people made ocs for their Dragonborn's and the imperial named Theodora started to develop in my head. Initially, she hated the Thalmor but as you all know that didn't last long :P

Then I started interacting with some of the cool people here and seeing them write fanfic made me think I could too and even put it out on ao3. And then I made more friends, and I took up beading and I combined it with tes. And then meet more people, wonderful people I now chat with in discord servers and in the dms where we are *very normal* about elves :P I've even had a few voice calls with some and I hope to have many more in the future <3

So all this to say that although my life is in upheaval, my anxiety in particular is really rough now, that relationship did much good for me and one of those things was helping me find this community. Tumblr really has been my refuge throughout the difficult time I had in grad school and the loneliness I've experienced moving away from my irl friends. Thank you all for being funny, kind, creative, very normal :P I'm blessed to have not only a good community around me but a good online community. I hope to have blorbo thoughts again soon <3

[jhunals]

team dragonborn dashboard simulator

(in which the gang discuss the thalmor, rumarin tries something new, an alpha male ventures over to tumblr, and the ldb has a rough time)

[part 2]

🗡️ dragonguard_kaidan Follow

I want everyone to know that @ thlmr.tal has a history of racist behavior, and you can see it clearly in his old posts. It's not a surprise that he still wears the robes of an organization known for gen*cide.

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

You scrolled past all the pictures of my cats on my blog to get to my old posts (from years ago, mind you), and you still left salty?

🌱 greenauri Follow

that in no way excuses what kaidan accused you of?

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

Ah. Well, I have a knack for brushing off my problematic elements.

718 notes

🌼 prince.cary Follow

just as a reminder, i am no longer affiliated with the thalmor. in fact, i actively speak out against them quite often.

🌼 prince.cary

update: my father found my blog and thereby my location due to the attention this post got. will be going offline for a while

22,467 notes

👹 rumarin Follow

about to try this new type of skooma since i don't see anyone else doing it

👹 rumarin

this skooma aint shit

👹 rumarin

who am i . what am ido ing here?

👹 rumarin

ithink i i h9 myslef

👹 rumarin

hmster

👹 rumarin

th dragobnorn wasrigh .t i tinki shld see a teraphist

👹 rumarin

update: it went well 👍

🐉 ldb Follow

ru what the fuck

🥴 elffcker96 Follow

we love you king but you should get help

5,302 notes

😈 bluecatinigo Follow

INIGO THE BRAVE

Volume II, Part V

Inigo was meandering past a farm, when suddenly he was caught in a surprise rainstorm. He ran for cover on the farm's porch, and the door promptly opened behind him. Within stood a tall farmer of unspecified gender and race.

"Come in, friend! The rain can be dreadful, but I have made some soup to get the chill out," said the farmer.

Inigo was grateful for the hospitality, and he followed the farmer inside.

-------------------------------Keep Reading-------------------------------

📜 scholarlucien Follow

Enlightening update! I did not see the plot twist coming. Glad Inigo survived that dragon attack :)

476 notes

🌱 greenauri Follow

i'm tired of EVERYTHING. i want to leave this party right now.

🌱 greenauri

yes, inigo and lucien were eating sweetrolls in front of me again

7,564 notes

🐺 rangerbishop Follow

A woman in a tavern is a red flag. I saw three yesterday laughing together at the Sleeping Giant Inn and I immediately knew something was up. Avoid these wenches at all costs. All they want is your coin.

🪲 thecuntress Follow

yesss pop off king

👑 sapphicmonarch Follow

saw this guy getting his ass kicked by a MUDCRAB on my way to markarth. in case ur wondering i did not help him

🌩️ drowstorm Follow

this dude asked me out. he made me pay for both our drinks btw

🗡️ dragonguard_kaidan Follow

go to hell you you piece of hsit

🐊 lucifer.the.argonian Follow

you know this site is predominantly non-men right? idk what kind of audience you were expecting but you will not find it here

👊 mickeysdicksmasherthelorefriendlykhajiit Follow

this mf needs to SHUT UP

632 notes

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

reblog if you would fuck the LDB

🐉 ldb Follow

taliesin why would you post this

🐱 thlmr.tal Follow

I need to scout out my competition.

72,890 notes

urls (some are a little on the nose lol):

ldb = the last dragonborn

dragonguard_kaidan = kaidan

thlmr.tal = taliesin

greenauri = auri

prince.cary = caryalind thallery

rumarin = rumarin duh

bluecatinigo = inigo

scholarlucien = lucien

rangerbishop = bishop from skyrim romance mod

lucifer.the.argonian = lucifer (the argonian)

mickeysdicksmasherthelorefriendlykhajiit = based on foulserpent (on tumblr)'s dragonborn and their video series on bishop

all other urls = random npcs

[lathez]

[NSFW | Miraak x Reader]

Get strapped you arrogant idiot 💚

Content: Reader is gn, but using a strap-on

Note: I do it for God and the 5 freaks on my level

Firsts

The first time you peg Miraak isn't too long after you pull him from Apocrypha. As much as it pained him, he couldn't keep his hands off of you, your souls too familiar, too entwined. So to say, the hate sex was mind-blowing.

Over time the hate sex stopped being so hateful, although Miraak still made a point of reminding you who the dominant Dragonborn was. That's why it came as such a surprise the first time he requested you dominate him -- though he'd made a valiant attempt at putting it more eloquently.

"It is the natural state of returns. In the Aurbis," He had defended, flustered and red and acting very strange. "Being Dragonborn, it's our responsibility to keep the balance."

"Oh, certainly." You'd responded to his veritable word salad, and set off to get a proper strap.

When it sinks into him he lets such a pathetic moan that you pause for a moment to grab at his hips, squeezing the softness there, mindlessly playing with his body while letting him wallow and writhe in the reality of just how much he needs the Dragonborn he'd worked so hard to convince himself he despised pounding his ass into the mattress till he's drooling and babbling.

Only after drawing a desperate press of his hips back against yours and two whimpered pleas from his tongue do you give him what he wants.

Vocals

He can't seem to help himself from wailing when you take him, especially in a rough mating press, where he'll go absolutely dumb with desperation. You had to build a new house out in the solitary marshes of The Pale; Breezehome wasn't cutting it, especially with his penchant for accidentally summoning a dragon when he cums. The people of Whiterun are less than amused by the sight of you waving off Sahrotaar three or four times a week; although it is fun to leave Miraak stuffed with your strap, ordering him to keep from touching himself and listening to his whines from the hallway for a little while when you come back inside.

You quickly find out he can cum multiple times in a session, a fact you take full advantage of, making him try to keep count while you fuck him senseless, and Divines help him when you find out Mora fucked him once or twice; if he can take that, he can take anything, and you find yourself fashioning larger and larger glass straps, to the point where he begs for mercy, claiming he can't take something that big.

He does, every time, and how you love to see that arrogance drip off his face as he sucks three of your fingers stupidly, eyes rolled back in bliss, cleaning them of his own seed. He's always gaping when you're done with him, sore the next morning. Miraak can hide behind that mask all he likes, when you grab his waist in public his breathing still goes ragged.

Kinks

He has a tendency to want to be choked when he's reaching his limit, placing your hands around his neck encouragingly. You've never felt comfortable doing it. There's a strangeness in his eyes when he asks, like it's an expected part of this. Like it's all he knows. He's gotten used to you dipping and kissing his neck instead, marking him up with bruises there, which you'll sometimes, pleasingly, see him touch at affectionately in the morning.

Aftercare

He looks at you like you've got three heads the first time you bring him a glass of water and a chicken dumpling after fucking him, staring at the offering with confusion.

"For what purpose have you brought these to me?"

You snuggle in next to him. He's still much larger (and warmer) than you; after sex cuddles might be your favorite part. "You need to eat and drink after that. Tell me if you need more."

You're almost asleep by the time you feel a drop of wetness on your cheek, then Miraak's large hand wiping it away. When you look up, his eyes are red and watery, and the glass is trembling in his hand.

"Mirri..."

"Forgive me." He says, and wipes at his eyes with the back of my palm. "I suppose I expected you to leave me here."

The pain in his voice breaks your heart, and you remind yourself to be gentle with him tomorrow. "You couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

"No. No." He laughs, petting your hair. "I have never been able to."

[banes-favourite]

I love the image of Gort being fucked nasty by default!Durge. Especially if Dragonborns can have dragon dicks 👀 two dicks that are completely covered in bumps and ridges. Gortash trying to take both at once because he cannot allow one to be untouched at any point. Durge is SO into seeing him totally stuffed, he can barely thrust properly because Gort is so full.

And oh boy if he doesn't love filling him even further.

On another note: I feel like Durge has always had a part of him that is more than his violence (the origin monologue shows him as horrified after all) and his aftercare game goes HARD. Cleaning him up more gently that he does anything else, praising him. A tenderness Gortash isn't used to. Durge never shows softness except to him. This is something of Durge that is purely HIS, not Bhaal's.

"This is something of Durge that is purely his, not Bhaal's." about Durge being soft and tender goes SO hard, oh my god.

and yeah two giant dragon dicks.... very rough and bumpy... ugh..... I think about it all the time tbh. Gort's cheeks being absolutely stuffed as he tries to swallow both, drooling buckets, crying, the most pathetic expression in the world..

also piss kink with two dicks would go HARD. someone contact laubritter

[friend-of-giants]

● WIP Wednesday ●

A little late to the party, but here I am! I've been tagged by @vervayyn @theoneandonlysemla and @elavoria. Going to tag @sheirukitriesfandom @umbracirrus @juniperberries-canisroot @pocket-vvardvark and YOU, yes you reading this! If you want to be tagged in future posts, just let me know!

I'm taking a little break from writing my main fic and have been working on my bandit backstory stuff. Same universe, as it follows my dragonborn Wren through her early years. This has actually been a nice change of pace from working on Ascent, and hopefully it'll give me some extra motivation when I go back to it.

Fair warning, this snippet does include a lot of foul language and mild physical harm to a child. Read at your own risk.

The door to Tarrick’s chambers flew open and struck the stone walls with a crack that killed the peaceful silence of the afternoon, startling the chieftain from his midday nap.  

“Knock!”  A surge of furious heat spread across Tarrick’s cheeks as he bolted up from his bed.  “How many fucking times do I have to tell you to knock before barging in here?  Do it one more time and-”  

The threat died in his throat as he laid eyes upon who had disturbed him.  Skaldir, his good for nothing right-hand man, stood proudly in the doorway, a malicious grin gleaming from behind his thick beard and a grunting, wriggling bundle draped over his left shoulder.  

“My sincerest apologies,” Skaldir drawled with thick sarcasm, then rapped on the doorframe with his free hand.  “There, I knocked, happy now?”

“Skal, what in the blazes do you want, and what…”  He made an exasperated gesture to the hostage, “what is that?”

“A thievin’ little bitch,” Skaldir replied, then aimed his next words at the captive.  “Ain’t ya?  Thought you could get away with stealin’ from me?  Girl, you got a world o’ hurt comin’ your way.”  Before he even finished speaking, he dropped his shoulder and let her fall.  She landed on the old bearhide rug with an audible whump and a muffled cry.  

Tarrick glanced down at the girl, who appeared to be a young Dunmer.  Her wrists and ankles were bound, and a length of cloth had been wrapped around her head and tucked into her mouth to silence her.  Like a trapped animal, she struggled and growled viciously, though it was doing her no good. 

“Was on my way back with Joli and Leon.  I stepped off the road to take a shit, no more'n finished wiping my arse and turned around and I caught this little bitch diggin’ through my knapsack!  I was gonna cut her damn hands off but Joli wouldn’t let me.  Said it ain’t right to do that to a child.”  The word fell from his lips like it was something rotten.  “Women and their soft fuckin’ hearts.”

"It isn't right," Tarrick agreed, anger darkening his voice.  "We already have a bad enough reputation being brigands, you think I want us to be known as child butchers, too?  You dumb shit, you should have just let her go!"

"She was stealin' my cheese an' jerky, Tarrick, nobody, nobody-" Skaldir gave the girl a rough nudge with the toe of his boot, "-takes food from me and gets away with it!"

"This is a godsdamned kid.  She looks…"  Tarrick glanced down at the girl to truly get a look at her.  Her dark hair was woven into two long, unkempt braids, with countless strands hanging loose and bits of grass and leaves tangled into them.  Her clothing was ragged and filthy, her flesh bruised, like she'd been dragged from one end of the hold to the other.  Two crimson eyes glared up at both himself and Skaldir with a blistering rage behind them.  A shiver rushed up his spine and he felt a fleeting sense of primal terror; there was something eerily bestial about her gaze. 

"...She looks like she's seen better days," he finally concluded.  "We're setting her free, Skal.  I'll take her to the road and send her on her way."

[aureli-us]

no it is NOT monday. it's sunday. it's sujamma sundas. it is not monday.

Topic: This week, Sujamma wants to know about YOUR OC's special someone. What makes their relationship special? How did they meet? Were they enemies to lovers? Lovers to enemies? Lovers AND Enemies? Are they romantic or platonic? What's their favorite way to cuddle? Favorite date night? Anything and everything you can think of 💕

i really could not choose between my BG3 tieflings who have 0 posts on my blog or tharyaak. so i'll stick w tharyaak (shocker) but know that i did write one for my tieflings :3 i was tagged by @kiir-do-faal-rahhe but i'm lowkey lazy and tired rn so anyone who would like to join is welcome to do so!!! i wrote on pc so i got carried away and this is....1k words......sorry

tharya and miraak met like most miraak/LDBs on solstheim. for tharya this was post-civil war, post-alduin, when she's pretty much at the lowest point of her life ever, sort of an alcoholic, but definitely still dogged by the war and in rough shape physically. she goes to solstheim with a very simple creed: save him, or die. she's not scared to die; in fact at certain points it seems the much better route to her, even after learning miraak is dragonborn - that means he'll take her soul, right? and she'll be nothing but bones. easier that way after everything she's witnessed, everything she's struggled through, everything that hurts.

miraak similarly had reached a breaking point in his time in apocrypha, but unlike tharya his only goal is to die somehow with his soul out of reach of hermaeus mora's hands, so he can go to SOME afterlife; maybe sovngarde, maybe the void, he doesn't care which, so he devises a plan to utilize tharya in that goal, either for her to kill him and take his soul, or her to take his place in apocrypha as mora's prized possession. doesn't work too well. this all gets turned on its head largely because tharya suddenly decides she does want to save him and can tell miraak's plan includes his death, and because of this utterly inexplicable kinship she feels towards him, she breaks both their plans.

they were like SORTA ENEMIES TO LOVERS, and it's mostly miraak's fault LMAO. he's pissed at tharya for not letting him die, pissed at this stupid world he's now in, pissed that she's so nice to him and taking care of him!!! he's quite mean to her for a long time, so tharya holds out for a while but eventually she gets FED UP with him so there is a period where they're really at odds with each other.

on the flipside of that, their relationship now (5 years in, married for 1 i think?) is deeply, deeply intimate and tight-knit. what surprises miraak the most is that tharya is actually his FRIEND as well as his lover and divinely ordained counterpart. i don't think he ever had a real concept of love in the merethic era, he was too arrogant for that, and conversely tharya has been alone and keeping people at arm's length most of her life.

it's not that they entirely unlearn these things with each other, but rather the bond they have transcends friendship, romance, intimacy, hatred, annoyance, anything. they are woven together via the literal fabric of time & the universe. and they know (since my dragon break) that this happens in VERY VERY FEW universes - they are some of the lucky handful of miraaks and last dragonborns who get to live on together.

they have an incredible understanding of one another that is impossible to explain to literally anyone else. miraak has known tharya for 5000 years, since (in my canon) her prophecy was written on a scroll in the year of his birth and he held her scroll many times in the merethic era; he has always known her, even hermaeus mora taunted him with the knowledge of her. in fact, he goes into apocrypha loathing the fact that he has failed to bring down alduin and the dragons, and that, however far in the future, it will become her struggle to bear, and her war, because of his failure. tharya struggles to wrap her head around that fact, but at the same time knew from the moment they met on solstheim that she knew miraak too. during their fight she sees flashes of their life together in the future, and knows him from it. they can feel each other's emotions, speak in each other's heads, dream each other's dreams, touch each other's souls. how do you explain that to your parents????

and you know what this is 700 words rn but I WILL TALK ABOUT CUDDLING. always big spooning fans because it's warm and cozy! based purely on size miraak is the default big spoon but i do think he actually enjoys being little spoon sometimes, i think he finds it a bit funny LOL. but tharya uses it to rub his sides/back which knocks him out immediately. tharya's favorite place to sleep is the left side of his chest though bc she likes to hug his torso and listen to his strange dragon-purr-snoring. miraak also likes to sleep snuggled into her belly, though this is more of a nap/"i had an awful day" position, because it puts him at the perfect spot for tharya to rub his head and stroke his hair. occasionally he also puts his head on her chest and sort of half-lies on her, because she holds his shoulders and smooches him, turns onto her side and puts a leg over him. he knows his size makes it difficult for him to actually sleep on her, or be held as totally as he can hold her, but he likes being wrapped up like that hehe. and tharya, similarly, likes being absolutely ensconced in his arms ( she didn't at first). i think they like to nap with each other when they can, they're always snuggling and smooching, and because of it have a really kind relationship towards one another's bodies. :3

bonus points: some pics of them from bg3 (pls ignore miraak a little bit it's as close as i could get to him😔 tharya on the other hand is VERY accurate)

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

God's Gambit, An Adler/Bell Fantasy Au fanfic

Chapter 1: May Anderim strike you down.

Summery:

At some point in battle the screaming gets annoying, the constant non stop cries of pain and death rattle a person's ears so much that you;d wish you couldn’t hear anymore but what was even worse was the aerie silence that fills your ears after a battle.   No screaming, no gasps of pain or struggle, just quiet, dreadful silence.   But there were two on the battlefield that were still alive, for now.   A young unknown soldier and a general whose name and sneer of cold command brought forth respect from allies and fear from enemies. Both now lay dying, leaning against an oak tree that knew more years than the both of them combined.   But a fae scouting group approached.   And the fates of the two were uncertain; the soldier could die whilst the general would live with the weight of all the lives lost dragging down on his shoulders. 

Chapter 1: May Anderim smite you all.

the shuddering breaths that Bell takes as he looks down at his bleeding side, wincing softly in pain cursing himself mentally ‘fucking idiot of course they had reinforcements, stuipid stupid.’

The feathered ends of arrows protrude from his shoulder blades, and his coarse hand presses down on a stab wound that a lucky fae managed to score on him before he took their head off with a cleave of his longsword that was now discarded, lying haphazardly at his non-injured side.

The young boy, a man barely over 20 human years old, had several arrows protruding from his body. A human pincushion. Bell could almost hear the grating laugh of whatever damned magical being found them.

Elf, fae, dragonborn, and any other fucking magic-made asshole would kill them on the spot, especially after seeing Bell’s gold and green uniform.

“General, it has been my honor…” The shuddering gasps from the bleeding boy next to him broke Bell away from his thoughts.

The unlucky man had caught far too many arrows to survive, and it didn’t help that a fae spear had run through his shoulder, but Bell had to be strong even if it just gave the soldier comfort before the boy passed.

“Don't say that, soldier. You’ll live to fight another day. Our king needs soldiers like you.”

The boy had taken several arrows meant for Bell. The general hated when people threw themselves in front of danger for him. He had seen many battles and had won more than he had lost. 

The soldier coughed blood, dripping from his nose and slipping down his face to drip onto his green uniform.

“And what about you, sir? The king needs you more than he needs the rest of us.” He coughed more blood flowing from his nose and now his mouth.

Bell slides up the tree more, extending the arm not holding his bleeding side and placing his hand on the other's shoulder, a silent command not to push himself too far when he needed rest. 

But the soldier pressed on, “Sir, you have the best command of runes that has been seen in centuries, and it has been my honor to serve by your side.” The soldier's words were soft and grateful, but Bell tightened his grip on the other's shoulder.

“Stop. Don't give up now…what is your name, soldier?” Bell asks solemnly, pushing the soldier back against the rough tree bark, eyes raking over the soldier's wounds, inspecting all of them skillfully, adding pressure to the large gashes, and trying to pinpoint where the arrowheads were embedded in his comrade's skin.

“Eric, sir, my name is Eric.” The rough response and small coughs thrumming from Eric's throat made Bell's heart thump wildly. Eric had too many wounds and was losing blood too quickly; he would be dead in a few minutes.

Bell had to act fast. He couldn’t save the other lives lost on the battlefield today, but maybe their god would forgive him for saving Eric's life. 

Before the battle, he had seen Eric several times before in passing. At the feast tent and in other areas, but every time he saw the young man, he was helping someone, either the injured soldiers who were now possibly either imprisoned or dead. 

Bell released Eric's shoulder and roughly shoved up his sleeve, revealing the intricate rune tattoos that swirled around his arms, curling before breaking off into the patterns that harness the magic that humans were not born with, unlike the other species that roamed the world who were ‘gifted’ magic by the gods. 

Bell’s hand brushed against the grass for a few fickle seconds, the magic resonating and clinging to his skin like a lover. As Bell raised his hand away from the forest floor, the patch of grass turned grey and ashen, lifeless. 

The magic swirls around his hands in small light green orbs that leave behind a shimmering, smoke-like trail as they spin and twirl around his hand. 

Eric’s eyes widened slightly in awe, and Bell brought his magic-filled hand to Eric's chest, watching as the magic absorbed into him, the shallow cuts and bleeding from his major wounds stopping and healing over slightly.

Eric took a breathy sigh of relief, and a small smile spread across his face. “Thank you, General. Even if I die in the next few days, at least I can write to my wife.” Eric's smile was as bright as the sun, and Bell could see the joyful memories swirling in the young man’s mind.

Bell smirked softly at Eric's wide smile, awe-filled eyes, and heartwarming words. “I told you we’d—” Bell's words are cut off by the sound of an arrow swishing through the air and the wet splatter of blood flicking across his face.

His eyes flicker up as he blinks rapidly, eyes widening at seeing an arrow sticking out from Eric's eye socket, blood flowing freely down his uniform, a waterfall of carnage.

Instinctively, Bell’s hand raced down towards the earth to gather more magic from the land; his actions were cut short as the cold steel of a longsword pressed against his throat, tilting his head up as rage coursed through his veins. He saw that the being holding the sword was a fucking fae.

Bell felt his heart plummet in his chest, his eyes racing over the small meadow that the oak tree stood in the middle of.A fae scouting party had found them. And Eric... he was dead. 

“Well, well. If it isn't a little world blight.” The fae’s hissed words dripped with mocking hatred, but that did nothing to stop the burning rage in his gut.

“I dare you to say that again, you fucking tree humper.” He cursed the veins in his forehead, pulsing at being called that gods-be-damned slur. He had heard it many times before from prisoners to messengers.

The slur’s origins are a blur in the history texts, but it's pretty self-explanatory: ‘world blight’ to every other magical species, humans were just that, a blight to the world and to magic, the hellish species born from the disgraced god that they worship.

But it stung even more when he knew he was vulnerable and being held at sword-point by a fucking giant pixie.

The fae’s golden and white armor assaulted Bell's eyes as the sun shone down on them. The fae had coppery red hair and hazel eyes that looked like clay and well-tanned skin. 

‘Pampered pricks’ bell curses mentally as the fae presses the blade harder against Bell’s neck as they tilt their head, hazel eyes flickering, Bell’s bloodstained features and uniform before the Fae’s eyes widen in realization, and a wide, triumphant grin spreads across their face.

“We had heard rumors of the great General Bell's presence in this battle. But we had thought you fled after your defeat.” Bell leaned back against the bark of the tree, the Faes sword following his movements. He had to think fast. 

“I ain't no general, you fae scum.” The lie slipped past his lips as easily as blood spilled from a wound, but the scouting fae only chuckled, shaking their head slightly. Don’t try to fool me, general; your soldiers' last words gave you away. Now, what were they? Ah yes, ‘Thank you, general. Even if I die in the next few days, at least I can write to my wife.’ The way that you humans profess your loyalties so easily makes me sick.”

The fae laughed cruelly, and rage could not describe one hundredth of the hate he felt towards the fae, not even just this singular fae but all of the fae species; they were cruel, pampered, disrespectful, arrogant, stuck-up, tree-fondling hippies. May Anderim claim their souls harshly. 

The fae’s free hand reached for a light blue satchel connected to their white leather belt, fishing around for something in the patch. Bell took this opportunity to reach his hand under his leg, fingers brushing against a small daisy. 

But before he could channel the daisies life force with his runes, another thinner blade was pressed against his throat. This time it was a different fae, a tall woman who towered over her counterpart. She was wearing similar golden and white armor, but underneath the plate armor she wore a thin golden chainmail. 

Her hair was a light, almost white blonde, her eyes a piercing purple. The sword that she wielded could be compared to a fucking needle; the blade was thin and circular but still sharp. It was probably some bullshit fae magic or some shit like that; the handle covers most of her hand. 

“Do not think of it; raise your hand slowly.” She hisses, her tone bearing no argument. Bell reluctantly did as he was told and raised his hand up from under his thigh, slowly raising it as the female fae looked over at the other scout who had managed to fish out a ring of thick rope. 

‘Ah shit’ was Bell's last thought before his hands were firmly tied together behind his back, and he was roughly pulled up to his feet. The action made his vision swim as the two fae dragged him through the meadow back towards the battlefield. Bell kicked and tugged but was subdued time and time again.

Before he knew it, the smell of death and decay wafted into his nostrils; the pungent smell emanating from the bodies strung across the battlefield made Bell gag at the smell, but before he knew it, they were passing through the field towards a neighboring meadow not unlike the one he and Eric had both laid in just a few minutes ago, except this one was covered in the cream tents of the fae army, but another set of tents caught Bell's attention, making his breath catch in his throat. 

In the center of the meadow, four large, pure white tents stood tall and imposing. This meant only one thing: the fae king was here. 

‘Shit shit shit’ Bell cursed silently as he dug his heel into the ground, only to be dragged forward, his knees hitting the ground, but the two Fae holding him didn't care; they just continued to drag him until he found his footing again.

As Bell is dragged towards the center of the meadow, he hears the cheers and triumph celebrations of the fae soldiers. The smell of smoke and cooking meat makes Bell's stomach rumble, but he bites his lip and keeps his eyes forward, even as select groups of fae soldiers sit outside of the cream tents and others sit at small campfires looking his way. He starts to hear the murmurs.

“Human!” a fae soldier hissed as he peeled the skin off of a potato, tossing it carelessly into a boiling pot.

“World blight.” Another group of soldiers teased, grinning gleefully at the sight of another human kidnapped. “Isn't that the high general bell?” A young voice spoke up, and the tents fell silent for a few seconds before Fae soldiers, old and young, weak and strong, injured and healers, came rushing out, standing on the outskirts of the tents, staring at Bell wide-eyed, some fearfully, others rageful.

And Bell reveled in it; he couldn’t help but smirk despite his unfortunate situation managing to elicit such a reaction from Fae. It was riveting. 

But the silence didn’t last long before victorious cheers sounded from all around Bell, the realization that they had caught the humans most feared general sinking in. 

Bell was finally brought to the center of the meadow where a giant bonfire raged. Several fae stood around a medium golden throne that looked as if it had been grown from the ground itself, and knowing the magic that these tree humpers possessed, Bell didn’t doubt that it was a possibility, and there on the throne adorned in a blazing white robe, golden chains, and jewels glinting in the bright sunlight was none other than the king of the fae, his royal highness Russell Adler. Whose rich golden hair shimmers around his hair like a halo, but the jarring deep scar etched into the king's cheek drew in on itself the healed skin taut.

Bell was unceremoniously shoved to the ground, his knees scraping against the dirt ground, a grunt escaping his as he twisted his body to try and get up, trying to save whatever self-preservation he had left, but his movements are cut short by a leather boot stomping onto his spine, making his body hit the ground, his chin connecting with the dirt, making his once pristine dark green uniform tattered and stained with dirt and blood from the battle. 

Bell turns his neck to glare up at the female fae whose boot was firmly pressed between his shoulder blades. “Enough,” Adler commands, rising from his golden throne, descending the dais, and walking towards Bell’s fallen form. 

The fae immediately followed his commands, removing her boot from Bell’s shoulder blades as Adler descended the dais. All the fae watching bowed their heads, bending their bodies at their torso. Bell raised his head, glaring up at the king as he shuffled onto his knees, the rope around his ankles preventing him from rising any further. 

“General Bell, I did not think that we would find you here during such an…unimportant battle. I assumed you would be leading the front lines, not defending such an inconspicuous outpost,” Adler spoke, turning to look down at Bell. His voice was smooth and clear; it made Bell feel sick. 

Bell knew the only thing that King Adler wanted more than anything. 

The location of Bell’s king, Perseus. 

Bile rose up in Bell’s throat, disgust and hatred in his gut turning with hatred; he smiled, all teeth and malice. “Yes, well, unlike you mushroom sniffers, we actually find need in securing our outposts, not enslaving the people working in them already.” Bell’s voice is all hatred and malice.

Bell could feel the glares of shock and disgust from the surrounding fae at how he was speaking to their king, and he reveled in it. Knowing that he was getting under their skin, making them feel uncomfortable because they knew his words were true, made Bell's heart soar. 

Adler barely reacts to Bell's words, the only visible reaction being a small quirk at the side of his mouth as if he found Bell…entertaining.

“Take the general to the other captives; it seems he needs some more…convincing.” Adler's taunting words struck a chord in Bell's chest, not that he would admit it, of course. 

As the fae guards approached Bell once more, the human general gathered the saliva in his mouth before letting the spittle fly towards Adler.

The projectile makes its mark on Adler’s cheek, right on top of the scar Perseus gave him during the first war. God Bell loved some good poetic slander.

Before Bell could reveal in his small poetic victory an armored knuckle connecting with his face, a distinct crack echoed through the now quiet meadow, and a fresh gush of blood flowed down Bell's face, joining the dried blood and caked dirt on his uniform.

Bell couldn’t help but laugh at the pain even as the blood dripped into his mouth, the distinct metallic taste making his spine shiver. Adler's voice cuts through Bell's pained laughter as the king wipes the viscous spit off his cheek with his white silk-gloved hand. “Let them starve for a day or two; maybe then the general will learn some manners.” 

Adler's words flew right over Bell's head as he was dragged away towards the outskirts of the meadow, his heart pumping, the blood still gushing from his nose, the pain thrumming constantly, but a dark, bloody teeth smile still persisted on the human general’s face. 

‘Two can play this game, asshole.’ Bell thought triumphantly as he was thrown in a wooden cage, the thick wooden bars of the cage making escape impossible. 

But through it all, Bell still smiled; that is, until a small voice spoke up from the corner of the cage. “General bell!?” The small voice squeaked before it was quickly hushed. Bell's head turns swiftly towards the noise, his hands and feet still tied behind his back. 

Bell drew a sharp breath at what he saw; strewn around the cage were injured soldiers, but that wasn't what drew Bell's attention; curled up in the far corner of the cage was a small clique of women.

And a dozen children, all of whom couldn’t be above the ages of 8.

Realization crashed down onto him as the children looked at him in awe and the soldiers looked at him solemnly; guilt spread through Bell's body like a wildfire when he just realized that he damned these people, these innocent children, to starve in this cage because of his hubris. 

A small, unnoticeable tear falls down his cheek.

Next->

[djai-the-curious]

@the-elder-polls Hi TCS friday yayyy (i'm @bookworm-driven-insane btw this is my side blog for TES oc related stuffs/Djai RP. Kinda empty lmao)

SORRY DIDN'T DO ANYTHING FOR THE PREVIOUS FRIDAY BUT!! I WAS COOKING FOR THIS ONE.

I have decided to draw a family tree of my khajiit!! Without their respective spouses, for now, because they aren't as important for this/in general. Basically the important members of the family only for now xD

Also, as a side note, only Djai and Eric's designs are final, others are a rough sketch only.

Lore below!!

At the top is (Ma')Eric, aka my nerevarine!! I'll ramble about his entire backstory sometime later. I have an outline of his backstory, but I haven't finished morrowind yet and I will complete his backstory once I finish it so it's as lore accurate as possible. x3

Long story short, he has twins, but has to give them away for their own safety because he himself gets death threats basically daily- and his children were already kidnapped once. Also he just doesn't have time, like, at all to care for them. Both twins are ohmes-raht btw!! [possibly. . . with the mix of some dunmer in there. . . but shhh. . . spoilers]

The one of the left ends up in an orphanage in Cyrodiil, before getting adopted by some necromancers. Again gonna ramble more about them later, but I have something planned for them already!!

The other one ends up in Elsweyr, and gets raised by a regular family. He actually has no idea that he is adopted his whole life, I mean, nobody told him and he had no reason to suspect that. He's also, like, a pretty shitty person. Has a talent for magic but never really uses it outside of charming people for his own gain.

He has two children, Murrsea [The one on the left, with a scar on her face] and Djai [the one on the right], Murrsea being two years younger than Djai.

Already rambled about Djai, so going to ramble about Murrsea, but in a more 'meta' way first.

Murrsea is actually really important to me!! She was a shared OC with one of my parents, I helped create and name her a long long time ago when they were playing skyrim and I wanted to watch them play [that was the first time I've ever seen an elder scrolls game, I didn't even know what it was back then]. Since they're not really into OC stuff, though, and they know that I am, they gifted Murrsea to me after finishing skyrim!! :'D Murrsea is also a mage [Duh, everyone in their family is. At least everyone in their family has a natural talent for magic]. She is pretty well-known for killing a dragon once (not completely ofc because she couldn't take its soul), and it was actually rumored she was the dragonborn. She, however, isn't the dragonborn- She's just a really really great battle mage. She took Djai's place when he resigned from being the archmage, and that's kind of what she does now.

I think that's all? Apologies for any mistakes. And once again, a lot of stuff I've written here will likely change later, but the core elements will likely stay.

[mekkthemighty]

My Loot Tables PT 4 Poisons

Assassin’s Knife (Injury): A creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 15 Constitution saving throw, taking 24 (7d6) poison damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.

Assassin’s Blood (Ingested). A creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, it takes 6 (1d12) poison damage and is poisoned for 24 hours. On a successful save, the creature takes half damage and isn’t poisoned.

Barkblood (Ingested): a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 12 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature begins petrifying and gains the benefits of the spell barkskin. The creature may then make another saving throw every hour. For each failed save the creature’s movement speed is reduced by 5ft, if it becomes 0 the creature is petrified and begins transformation into a Cryingwood Tree. If the creature passes the save 3 times before succumbing to petrification then the creature has fought off the poison and regains their lost movement speed.

Bell Flower Extract (Injury): a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 2d6 poison damage. Aberrations have disadvantage on the save, and take 4d6 poison damage or half on a successful save.

Beast’s Foil Extract (injury): a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 2d6 poison damage. Monstrosities and Humanoid beast races such as aarakockra, tabaxi, tortles, etc. have disadvantage on the save, and take 4d6 poison damage or half on a successful save

Bright Rose Concentrate (Ingested) a creature who ingests this poison must succeed on DC 13 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save the creature takes 6d10 radiant damage and 4d10 poison damage. if the creature is a fiend or tiefling, they have disadvantage on the save and ignore resistance to poison damage

Buckthorn Extract (Injury): a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 2d6 poison damage. Dragons and Dragonborn have disadvantage on the save, and take 4d6 poison damage or half on a successful save

Blood Mold Extract (injury): A creature subjected to this poison must succeed on a DC 13 Constitution saving throw or become infected. It takes 2d4 hours for bloodmold’s symptoms to manifest in an infected creature. Symptoms include lightheadedness and disorientation. The infected creature only restores half as many hit points as normal from magical healing, when spending hit dice during a short rest, or after taking a long rest. At the end of each long rest, an infected creature must make a DC 13 Constitution saving throw. After 2 successful saving throws, the creature recovers from the disease.

Burnt Othur Fumes (Inhaled). A creature subjected to this poison must succeed on a DC 13 Constitution saving throw or take 10 (3d6) poison damage, and must repeat the saving throw at the start of each of its turns. On each successive failed save, the character takes 3 (1d6) poison damage. After three successful saves, the poison ends. 

Calcification Virus Dust (Inhaled, Ingested): This virus slowly turns the victim’s bodily fluids into a solid calcified substance. Sufferers typically suffocate on their own blood well before their blood completely calcifies. As the body decomposes, fluids calcify as well, until the body turns into bones and dust. The dust carries the disease and can become infectious if breathed in or ingested. Creatures exposed to the disease must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw or become infected. Within a day, the victim begins to feel pain and fatigue. After 3 days, the creature begins to develop rough patches over the skin that feel hard and thick. At this stage, the creature has disadvantage on Constitution checks (but not saving throw). After 8 days, the creatures become blind and develops stiff joints, gaining disadvantage on Dexterity checks, as well as reducing their movement speed by half. After 18 days the infected creature must make a DC 12 Constitution saving throw every hour or begin to suffocate. There is no natural cure for the crystal virus. Creatures suffering from the disease remain infected until the disease is cured with magic or they die. Curiously, if an infected creature has their shape changed, they may attempt another save to end the disease when they return to their original form

Carrion Crawler Mucus (Contact). This poison must be harvested from a dead or incapacitated carrion crawler. A creature subjected to this poison must succeed on a DC 13 Constitution saving throw or be poisoned for 1 minute. The poisoned creature is paralyzed. The creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success.

Choleric Worm (Ingested): Spread through filthy water, the eggs of this 6-or-so inch worm are hardy enough to weather the harshness of a humanoid’s stomach, though goblinoids are notably immune to its ill-effects (but not infection). Once in the intestine, they hatch and the newborn wretched creatures make their way elsewhere in the body- they are not particularly picky as to where. Once comfortable, they encyst themselves there, perhaps causing some mild discomfort, itching, and the occasional jolt of pain as they feed off their host’s body. They are not greedy worms- in truth, they take very little from the host, precisely enough to develop and reach maturity. The true harm of the worm is an unintended one: in order to survive a host body’s persistent efforts to oust the worm, it must suppress the host’s ability to fend off other infections of all sortsa potentially fatal problem for folk routinely exposed to dangerous illnesses as it forces disadvantage on Constitution saves against disease and poison. After a few weeks (1 month or 1 Session) of developing within the host, the worm will work its way near the surface of the skin, creating an itchy, swollen sore which is soothed only by submersion in water. Once submerged, the worm will emerge and trouble its host no more, living in the water for a time before laying its eggs to start the cycle anew. On exposure to food or water contaminated with the worm, a humanoid must pass a DC 15 Constitution save or become infected. While infected, any saves to resist infection by or the effects of poisons or diseases must be made with Disadvantage. This effect lasts 1d6 weeks. The condition will resolve itself once the parasite departs, but it can also be removed via surgical incision and a DC 15 Medicine Skill Check

Cockatrice Venom (injury): DC 11 or petrified, repeat save or lasts 24 hrs

Darkberry Extract (Injury):: a creature subjected to this poison must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 2d6 poison damage. If the creature is not a spellcaster they have disadvantage on the save, and take 4d6 poison damage or half on a successful save

Death Metal Powder (Inhaled): DC 15 con save or poisoned for 1 hour

Dropping in my references for these, what you don't see at these links is likely my own creation

Reference source 1

[strayheartless]

DnD AGSZC. You know you have HCs. Sharing is caring.

oh well, twist my arm why don'tcha!

So to start, Sephiroth is one of THOSE players. You know the ones: makes broken characters that seemingly can do anything by level five; consistently has a rather depressing backstory that drives their character to be a dick to everyone for the sake of "roleplay". one of THOSE PLAYERS (see also: the Chocobro... or as Salty has pointed out to me, the Genebro.)

Likes to dable with his Characters. Though his favorite remains his Dragonborn Oathbraker Paladin, named Azriel who turned on the party in one paticular campaign to join forces with a powerful female Dragonborn Litch... I don't thing I really need to tell you why.

Angeals a pain because he wants to play "correctly". he's not competative but heis a rulebook warrior. Cloud has banned the Player's handbook from the table for this very reason. Angeal complains about "house rules" and the "rule of fun" all the time, even while activly enjoing the game. He's a pain.

He usually plays a Paladine and his drive for adventure is always "to avenge/ make his father proud. he once pushed the boat out at Clouds behest and broke his oath, and it didn't go... Well. to put it lightly everyone at the table cried (esspecially Zack) and Angeal had to make a new character.

Genesis is predictable to the point of hilarity. always a Bard or a Warlock. Always a Tiefling. Always gender ambiguous. if the games not starting withthe party finding Gen drunk and bemoning exsistence in a tavern then are they really playing DnD? He will always be playing a College of Tragedy bard (Thank you Matthew Mercer.) He's never pushed the boat out once in all the time they've played and if he can squeeze a loveless Quote in where he can he's gunna do it.

Genesis is however the table flirt and the Horny player. he's rolling to seduce the dragon. Cloud has Vowed never to let them play Curse of Strahd... EVER.

Zack is never predictable in his Character build. In the beginning he went similar to Angeal except a human young fighter with dreams of being a hero, But now he likes to dabble with his classes sometimes and mess around in terms of race. Cloud likes Zacks approach to DnD cause it keeps him on his toes.

His Favorite build thus far is his Halfling Rough/Monk multiclass he based off of a little girl he met in Wutai (you know who.).

When Kunsels Available to play he plays as a College of Lore Bard. He knows everything and Cloud is pretty sure He's been spying on his notes between games.

They are all suprisingly big on Roleplay which is fine by cloud cause it makes his job more fun. He's made them cry multiple times with his storylines, and His NPC voices are unparalelled. concidering he's not expressive in his day to day, he comes alive as DM.

There has been some massive in jokes that make other people question if they are sane or not. things like all the boys mimicing Clouds voice yelling "DON'T FUCK THE DRAGON!" everytime they gointo monster dens. Or looking Angeal up and Down and saying "I don't have the hit points to clinb you like a tree," .

Genesis begs Cloud to make a LOVELESS based Campaign... Cloud doesn't want to admit he already has one, hes just afraid Gen will pick holes in it.

Zack is a bastard for casting Fireball when he doesn't have the hit points to survive his own spell. the one time he played a wizard he cast it, did 39 points of damage and only JUST survived by one singular hit point.

Kunsel has the magic touch where dice are concerned. He constantly rolls consistently high rolls.

Cloud is absoloutly sure Sephiroth uses loaded dice. but he can't prove it.

Angeal always seems to end up getting attacked by mimics. doesn'tmatter how many times it happens, he always has too much trust in everyday objects.

[perilouspage]

FUCK what the forgotten realms wiki says, here are my headcanons on dragonborn

Biologically speaking: dragonborn are more reptile than mammal, though their origin as human-dragon hybrids leaves them somewhere in the middle. They prefer to regulate their body temperatures by ambient environmental temperature or sunning, and therefore choose to live in more tropical climates when possible. However, cold will not kill them. They can maintain homeostasis at a suboptimal temperature: they digest more slowly and become sluggish, and so use supplemental heat from fire or magic to stay at peak form.

Their diets are largely carnivorous. They can eat fruits, vegetables, and grains, but their teeth are meant for tearing and chewing meat. Food is usually cooked very little and left intentionally bland. If they're warm, their metabolism burns quickly, and they require more calories. Most prefer not to drink alcohol unless they're warm; metabolizing alcohol more slowly means getting drunk faster, and most prefer not to be impaired unless they're in groups they trust.

They don't have strong sexual dimorphism. Males and females don't have marked size differences, females don't grow larger breasts. Males may tend to have lower voices than females, but I'd say that's more enculturated in women by speech in Common. Draconic would be pretty harsh and guttural. Both sexes gain fat: under the chin, breasts, belly and thighs tend to pad out quickly even in leaner individuals. I'm thinking fat bearded dragon here. Also, hair is rare in dragonborn of either sex, but you're more likely to see it on women. Certain clans have the ability to grow hair; it's always very coiled in texture, and typically kept in protective styles. (Ahryll's clan does have some tendency towards hair, Kieran's does not.)

Once they reach 12 years old, fledglings get to pick their real name and gender. Chosen gender usually follows what they were assigned, but not always. Changing gender isn't uncommon; attitudes on this vary by clan. (Ahryll was assigned male and stayed male.)(Kieran was assigned female and chose not to take a gender when the time came.)

Eggs are laid in a brood (laying period lasts a month, incubation by the laying parent lasts around 6m). Incubation happens in summer/fall; weaker hatchlings die in winter and infant mortality rates are high. They don't nurse young. Instead, hatchlings are fed masticated versions of what adults eat until their teeth come in. (Old traditionalist dragonborn insist you have to chew it for the best nutrition, but more modern dragonborn and those removed from clan just use a mortar and pestle). Dragonborn young age from hatchling (<1y) to pup (1y-11y) to fledgling (12y).  They're referred to comunally as hatchlings and not individuals until 1y of age, at which point they get a child name based on some personality attribute. (Ahryll was Snapper; he was a runt who fought fiercely to live and ate whatever he could get hands on.)(Kieran was Dent, a rough-and-tumble kid who was hard on clothing, furniture, and their own body.) Gender is also assigned at this age.

Names are a big deal to dragonborn. First names can be aspirational; some name themselves after family, mentors, or other figures they admire. Clan name is read before first name. If the dragonborn has a non-dragonborn parent or spouse, or lives outside of clan, they may take a surname according to the traditions of those peoples. (Kieran's full name is Marrakus Kieran.) (Ahryll's full name is Shirrhus Ahryll, though he's estranged and takes no ownership of his clan name.)

Kinship! Anthropology is fascinating forever!

-Brother/Sister/Sibling refers to those who hatched in the same brood as you.

-An individual will typically only have one or two children in their lifefime; if two, they're usually from the same brood. (This, plus the high infant mortality rate and the tendency for dragonborn to group together, are the reasons that dragonborn are more rare in the setting at large.)

-Grandmother/grandfather refers to any elder, especially those in caretaking roles.

-Parent's siblings serve the same role as parents; young are raised communally and live in whatever unit has formed around the parent who hatched them. (Therefore no "uncle" or "aunt" terms exist in Draconic.)(I think dragonborn can be polyamorous or monogamous like other humanoid races, but polyam is more normalized due to the decentralized family structure.)

-"Kin" as used by dragonborn can mean clan, party, or dragonborn as a race at large. It depends on context.

-Clan as a unit is important above all else. Some clans are more militaristic about this than others, pursuing "pure" bloodlines (read: no non-dragonborn in lineage) and favoring those who develop the traditional breath weapon of the clan. Others are more patchwork and accept anyone who would benefit "the unit" as one of their own. (Clan Shirrhus is the former. Clan Marrakus is shifting towards the latter but has some holders-on of the old ways).

-It's rare for dragonborn to strike out on their own. Some do this to learn about the world outside the clan, some follow a passion or trade that they cannot pursue within the clan, some are exiled for overt religious worship (worship of any god is seen as a minimization of the importance of the clan and is therefore taboo, though dragonborn do acknowledge the gods' existence and pay respect when it's required of them). Some dislike their families or are otherwise estranged.

More random shit I couldn't weave in:

-Militia groups (adventuring parties, functionally) are seen as their own type of kin. Dragonborn parties are usually three-to-six strong, consisting of at least one of each of the following:  melee fighter, a magic user, and a ranged attacker. They can stay nearby to defend their clan, patrol surrounding lands, or head off on assigned missions (adventures, functionally) to secure alliances, tail political rivals, perform assassinations or raids, etc.

-Dragonborn shed scutes like turtles.

I have more thoughts but this is everything I can coherently put together atm. I'll add to this if I can string more words together!

-Breath weapons are an in-built biological function in the cases of fire and acid. Ice and lightning can be magically supplemented.

-Draconic magic users are almost always sorcerers, born with inate magical ability due to draconic heritage. Wizards are rarer, as having to study into the ability to cast makes one seem "weaker" and "less draconic". Clerics are incredibly rare due to how uncommon religious faith is in dragonborn culture; healing usually comes from a more druidic source and is treated more like a science than a conjuration.

[wolfofwhiterun]

Since I've had a few people asking to know more about my Nerevarine (thank you to @valtheimm and their lovely tags especially!) I figured I'd write this up as an introduction to them!

Nev started life as an orphaned guttersnipe, working as a refuse collector and general scavenger as part of a small gang of fellow kids along the Imperial City Waterfront, selling knickknacks and odds and ends to make ends meet, often illegally. They spent most of their days swimming through rusted sewer tunnels with his friends to poke around in old Ayleid ruin atriums, until he poked around in the wrong place one too many times and didn't quite manage to outrun the guards, getting caught and shipped up to Vvardenfell.

They spend the majority of their early stay in Morrowind confused and angry at basically everyone, knowing full well they're being used as a pawn for something much, much bigger than they can possibly see the scope of, all whilst attempting to navigate the complex social and political intricacies of the various Houses and guilds and not yell at anyone too important. He does manage to find some solace in the beauty of his new home, fully falling in love with the landscape of Vvardenfell and even managing to throw his lot in with The Twin Lamps for a time.

 This all begins to come to ahead however once they learn the full scope of The Blades plan for him and the Nerevarine Prophecies, which he is horrified to realise may be having more of an effect on him than he realised, witnessing strange dreams and visions of memories that aren't his, knowing people and places before he's even met them, and the faint smattering of gold that now seems to creep over his skin. They're also figuring out the whole Gender thing so they have. A lot. Going on.

His Corprus infection, subsequent loss of his arm and marring of his features drives him even further into mental instability, and by the time he encounters Dagoth Ur he is barely lucid, just gritting his way through the sheer blind terror and resignation of what he's been forced into doing.

During this time he does however manage to construct a rough prosthetic arm out of various Dwemer machinery he scavenges, tinkering with it in his downtime.

His trip to Mournhold during Tribunal does them no more favours as they are intensely wary of Almalexia after his meetings with Vivec, managing to unnerve both of them by speaking to her in Chimeris, although he is still horrified to find Sotha Sil butchered and pleads with Almalexia not to go down the path she has chosen, their duel resulting in her death by a thousand cuts. He bitterly takes Sils arm as a replacement to his other and bluntly tells the manifestation of Azura that he despises her and never wishes to see her again, which she takes. Badly.

After a quick 'holiday' to Solstheim and a battle across The Hunting Grounds in Bloodmoon, he returns to Vvardenfell and tries his very best to help keep the peace in his new home after the upheaval of the death of two of the Tribunal, and the vanishing of the other. This all comes to a head during the Oblivion Crisis and eventual Red Year, where he is assumed dead and vanishes into the sea of refugees fleeing for a new home.

Fast forward 200 years and they have taken up the life of a wandering nomad and are considerably more zen, despite their endless pursuit of Vivec and wherever zhe might have gone to. He briefly travels to Skyrim and encounters my Dragonborn, Tel, during the event of the mod Moon and Star. Aaaaand that's pretty much it for now, I'm still working my way through Morrowind at the mo so this will all probably get a lot more detailed and nuanced in time. But if you'd like to know anything more about him or the rest of my Elder Scrolls OCs, please don’t hesitate to send an ask!

[yarrowace]

hiiiiii it’s random gush about my d&d characters time because i love them

Coal Scarpadia (he/they): Earth Genasi Fighter

Art by felinetrickster

my very first d&d pc, and a big anxious sweetheart with self-worth issues. he got stuck fighting undead while trying to win a scholarship spot at a magic school, and fell hard and fast for a dragonborn wizard 🧡

Brunhilda “Bruny” Bruins (she/her): Zealot Barbarian Harengon

Art by topbananajam

the bounciest, cutesiest lil bunbarian you ever did see. she helped uncover a conspiracy with her new besties and then teamed up on a resurrection quest with the folks who killed her old boss. #1 sales associate for 23 months running (and only)

“Honest” Etterheim (he/him): Tempest Cleric Air Genasi

Art by topbananajam

ohh, my beautifully tragic sad boy. cleric of the truth god, but scarred by her enemy the storm god, he’d had a rough time in love and life even before he joined a criminal crew, but he managed to reconcile with his own truths in the end (and also kill a dragon but whatevs)

Vida Sunheel (she/they): Fey Wanderer Ranger/Hexblade Warlock Tiefling

Art by @charliv-illustration

my current pc, and a delightful mess. all they know is shoot arrow, eat hot chip, and lie. definitely has no underlying issues to address 🩷

[edda-grenade]

astarion/durge

the seduction works well. perhaps even a little Too well.

decided to just post some of the massive mess of bg3 fic i've written, bc a lot of it stands p well on its own, like this thing ^^

(no one gets eaten or murderized or even cut open, buuuut. durge. so.)

_____

Barash cocks her head at him. It keeps reminding him of a cat. A very large, very dangerous, not at all soft-furred cat. With so many teeth.

“So…?”

“Oh, no need to keep playing coy,” Astarion says, smiling winsomely at her. “I felt you shaking when I drank. You want more, don’t you?”

Barash doesn’t blink for a very long time. “Ye-es,” she says finally. Her tail lashes through the air, then stills abruptly. The skin of Astarion’s neck prickles, but he ignores it. Steps closer, allowing his shoulders and hips to sway a little. Barash’s eye tracks the motion like a snake following a mouse. He almost has her. 

“Then why should we not indulge ourselves? Find a little privacy, while the night away together…” She’s still staring. “I do mean sex,” he clarifies. He gives her chest a teasing tap. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”

Barash growls. Smiles.

“Till tonight,” she says. Her black eye seems to sparkle.

.

It’s easier than he expected. Well, Barash herself is rather heavy, but she’s happy to fuck him with those strange dragonborn appendages of hers, requiring naught from him but the occasional arching of his back and a breathy moan. Those are not particularly difficult to provide—the sensation is pleasant, which is a nice surprise. Her scales are warm against his skin, and not rough enough to damage him. At least not the way she is touching him, curled over his back with her thighs framing his, her chest pressed to his shoulders and her hands roaming his front. There will likely be scratches from her talons by the end of it, but the forest floor alone is contributing its share of those. Overall, a resounding success—

How much would you bleed, if I cut you open right now…

Astarion goes still.

Crack apart your ribs, eat your heart.

It's not the tadpole. Is it? That thing always shoved images into his mind, memories. Not… words. Not the sensation of the night sky bearing down on him in all its cold vastness. Barash’s tongue drags along his shoulder blade, a blaze of molten iron.

You're right, I want more, more. Hold you, break you, taste you.

It's her.

Oh gods, it better not be. He can feel her teeth against the nape of his neck.

“Barash,” he croaks, forcing the words out past his gallows-tight throat. “Darling, are—are you. Talking. In my head?”

Barash stops moving. The low growl she's been purring out stops too.

“What did I say?” she asks.

Is she serious? He can't read her tone, his thoughts whirring frantically. His entire body is cold like ice, quivering with tension. She's not Cazador, he thinks, she's not Cazador, she's not, she's not.

She just wants to kill and tear and bite, and she murdered that annoyingly sweet little bard in her sleep.

For a brief, glaring moment, Astarion's mind stops drowning in panic for long enough to think that he should’ve fucking seen this coming.

“Astarion? What did I say.”

His thoughts scramble.

Lie. Lie. Don't give her ideas.

She already has ideas, for fuck’s sake—!

It'll be fine! She fucked Lae'zel already, and Lae'zel is distinctly ungutted.

Lae'zel is githyanki, not some scrawny, malnourished vampire spawn—

Selective honesty! Just lie a little!

“You—you were… fantasizing,” he manages. There, that’s even the truth. Probably.

Barash rumbles in acknowledgement, sounding… tense. Before, her body felt loose with hunger. Now it’s a coiled spring. Astarion really really hopes she’s not going to snap closed on him.

“That’s why you smell like fear now, huh.” One of her talons traces down his belly toward his cock. “Did you like it?”

Astarion swallows. Almost chokes on it. He tries to turn, just enough to see her. The ridge of her brow, the edge of her maw. Teeth. That eye dark and glittering like the night sky. His insides are trying to knot themselves into a noose.

“You can tell me anything,” he murmurs. By some miracle he manages to keep his voice steady, low and sultry. “Whatever depraved things you’re dreaming of, your secrets are safe with me.” He presses back against her, so her jaws slip over his shoulder. Those needle teeth no longer right at his neck. “You can trust me,” he lies.

Barash lets out a sharp breath, smoke and sparks. She hauls him close, back and up until he’s straddling her lap. Astarion wheezes with the sudden motion, his heart making a valiant attempt to pound. Barash is growling again, that deep buzzing noise that by all rights should be called a damn purr.

She nuzzles him. His neck, the top of his shoulder. Her tongue flickers out to taste his skin. His spine, between his shoulder blades…

A gift, Cazador had said. A poem from my hand, to keep with you. Always.

“I want to rip open your scars,” Barash whispers, “give you new ones.”

Astarion has to slap his hand across his mouth to keep a sound inside. A word, strangled between his teeth.

Yes.

[ogyscrypt]

Barely Restrained Dragonborn Durge Felicitations this Fandom Friday, Darlings!

You two have come through so much together – it’s time to steal a moment to indulge in one another.

Full Audio Can Be Found Here.

CW: It's Durge, so the speaker (while reformed), has some BAD shit in his past

You mean far too much to me. For many, that's been a disastrous mistake. The instincts inside of me have done awful things to those I've loved before.

You're the closest I've come to feeling safe. You're the closest love has come to making me feel... all together. You are my missing piece, and that makes me salivate with want for you. I'm going to take you now, and you're going to feel it down into your bones.

[M4F] Barely Restrained Dragonborn Durge [Fucking you] [Rough sex] [Against the ground] [Tail play] [Holding your legs open] [Sweet] but [Rabid horny] [Outdoors] [I want your body] [Baldur's Gate 3] [Dragonborn] [Good Dark Urge] [Angst] [Established relationship] with [Confession] [MDom]