#ralke the elder

[rathma]

i need to play d3 again so i can start crafting my insane person templar x necromancer ocship fr

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

It's from Scooby Doo Mystery Incorporated (2010-2013).

impeccable

[subloganrights]

A list of prompts...

...from the asks of my old sanders sides smut blog that I will never get around to writing for one reason or another, so, feel free to take them and use them in whatever way you want. (And feel free to tag me too)

[Sorry if any of these prompts are yours, yes some are very old, but I’ve either had no inspiration for them, dislike the ship for it now (in the case of prinxiety prompts), I simply have been unable to write them, or I’ve got something very similar already in the works]

prompt: patton x virgil with a daddy kink and some spanking? maybe patton punishing him for being bad or talking back-- or for teasing him to much. (i love the headcanons where patton is secretly kinky and that his entire personality changes in bed--) this is my first time asking for a prompt on a smut blog so sorry if its to kinky (or not kinky enough-- )

Prompt: Virgil taking care of Patton, not necessarily because Patton needs it, but because Virgil wants to. Virgil kissing, cuddling, praising, and loving on Patton (NSFW). Maybe body worship?

Prompt: Virgil accidentally bursting out to Roman: "I just had the weirdest dream about you and now i can’t stop imagining what you’d look like naked"

“Tie my jacket around your waist? Gross-! Just because you couldn’t hold it doesn’t mean I have to get my clothes soiled, too.” Virgil is the one who pissed himself, he washing his jacket or something already so he asked for Roman's jacket.

Prompt: “If you hadn’t drank so much everytime we go somewhere, you wouldn’t have had this problem…” if you’re up for it maybe Princiety? Thank you! I love your writing so much ❤️

Prompt: Sugardaddy au, Moxiety - Virgil is an art major at college and he wants to become an art teacher, but it's really hard for him because of his anxiety. He has a job that doesn't pay too well, but it's okay and he does art commissions for money, but he doesn't sleep or eat enough and is constantly stressed. So when he meets Patton and they get to know each other, Patton offers to be his Sugardaddy, but Virgil refuses. He always has been always will be. Patton continues to insist.

oneshot: virgil goes to see roman in a show and roman sneaks him backstage and dresses him in a costume and fucks virgil in it and makes him cum multiple times

Prompt: so Idk if you've looked at the omorashi tag recently put there us a post ralking about 'voodoo bladder control' and I was wondering if you could write a fic witg roman controlling virgil's bladder all day and V just losing it because "oh my God roman pleaseeee" but he can't do anything cause the group is spending time together and virgil is so embarrassed. I hope this makes sense, also love your blog btw it's amazing💙💙

Prompt: Three of the Sides tied down, vibrating cock rings on each of them. The one Side not tied up is dominating them all, teasing them further and further till all of them are begging messes. Each one tied down trying to please the dom the most so that they could finally cum.

Plz write a fic (or hc you choose fam) of the dom pat wanting sub Virge to scream for him. I beg����

Fic prompt: strong Patton and needy verge. Virgil's a jittery mess and he needs something but getting off alone isn't helping. Que Pat walking in on the writhing whining mess that is virgil on the bed and just instantly picks him up. Of course this causes him to wrap his legs around the elder side. Long story short pat fucking him hard up against the wall is exactly what he needs 💜

Prompt: Remy and a side of your choosing indulging in some mild bondage and somnopholia

Prompt anon here sorry I haven't been online until now. I'm used to people /wanting/ vague prompts so I'm sorry for that. Maybe some moxiety with Virgil asking/begging Patton to do something and getting told to do it himself. (I.e., wanting to be fucked and ending up riding Patton and doing the work etc)

Prinxiety Prompt: "You look so helpless. How does it feel not having the upper hand?" When Virgil decides that he's gonna top Roman, and Roman talks a big game about how Virgil don't break him but uhh...... He breaks

Hello again! I’m the somnophilia Logince anon. Okay so maybe Logan and Roman are cuddling and then Roman ‘falls asleep’ and somehow tells (maybe Morse code or something) Logan that he wants to do this so Logan just sucks roman off and whispering ‘please don’t wake up’

Can you do a fic where Patton makes Virgil wear a vibrator and has a control for it and loves to set it off at random times?... Sometimes even in public. He does it when he doesn't listen to him. Virgil tries not to be turned on or react buuuut it doesn't work.

OH OKAY basically Logan and Roman are arguing about who can do things better and it goes from “i can make decisions better than you” to “at least I’m better at kissing” and then all the way to “i ride dick better than anyone” and it’s very sexually and frustration charged but ends happily post orgasms

prompt: Patton taking Virgil's virginity and it just being really soft and sweet 💕

Then could you do some logince knifeplay? Like power bottom Logan riding Roman who’s tied up and he’s using the (dull sided) knife and saying stuff like “Be still, we wouldn’t want to cut up that pretty face of yours.” And “How defenseless you look, a daring prince in the face of danger, moaning and whining for more.”

Omo prinx anon - I just really like the idea of Virgil flipping it around on usually dom roman, both of them surprised at how much they enjoy it. I’m new to omo? So I’m not sure. But maybe some light restraints? Praise/degradation? Roman being the bigger stronger one but Virgil is still completely in control?

Virgil and Patton go out to the mall, and Virgil waits too long to go to the bathroom, and the nearest one is out of order.

Fic: Patton making Virgil his pretty kitty, complete with a tail, ears, and a collar.

Prompt: Logan stressed out by school/finals/homework that one of the others fuck him to relax him enough to sleep.

Hcs or Prompt. Roman and Vergil sharing ice cream. Vergil flicks a spoonful of ice cream on Roman's shirt. say "Guess we gotta remove that shirt." Roman then smears a spoonful of ice cream down Vergil's cheek and across his shoulder. He then licks and sucks his way back up to vergil's mouth.

Yee! A few I have: Virgil gets scared/anxious and doesn’t realize it but he wets himself out of fear? (Could also work for Patton too) Or, on a lighter note, Roman or Patton giggling so hard they wet themselves. :3 (I blame my friend for that last one). Do with them what you wish my pal. -DA

If requests are open, is it possible for you to write a fake-rape prinxiety fic? Consensual non consent or whatever, with dom Virgil? ~ 💛

So um I'm not a fan of omo but prompt: Patton reminding everyone to stay hydrated and when they don't listen, Patton going all Dom on them forcing them to drink water and then things get messy and omo ensues

Logince and some accidental bondage + some sleepy sex (waking up to a blowjob and being so tangled in the sheets that they're technically restrained)

I'd die for some Remy getting recked, probably by Roman after he was done of the other's pettiness. Basically the prince trying to tame the brat (?) - Cal

when you have a chance could you do something with virgil getting wrecked, maybe by deciet and sleep, maybe have him cry alittle? Thanks you

Prompt: Roman and Logan deciding to shop online and the first thing to pop up on Romans computer is porn. Graphic porn. They decide to... recreate it - new ask sender whom you can call Louise

roman having a collar that says property of virgil or summin, and virgil finds it and ro is embarrassed but virge loves it!! also like. us petplay enthused fanders are having a field week

Prompt: Roman in a skirt in a train, Logan is with him. Ends up fucking him in public while on the train with a few people here and there in the car.

It's slightly odd but like, reverse daddy kink where Virgil is the one who likes being called "Daddy", along with bondage and a Pat being very loud and whimpery. You can choose the situation

[dunmerofskyrim]

75

Simra ran a thinking hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. It was stiff-cloyed and oily with nights spent outdoors. Days spent sweating in the scanty warmth of his clothes surrounded in cold. Days where he’d been too weak to charm himself clean again, needing his strength saved for fire and light and bare-boned survival. But here in the cave’s glassy-walled gut, it was warm enough that he’d tucked back his mantle over his shoulders and held his scarf in one loose hanging hand like a wrung out and well-coloured rag.

In front of him the corner, red as rust and clayed and smeared. Palmprints showed at its edges in the daylight that crept down the tunnel behind him. The sectioned ghosts of fingers, caking the colour onto it, and themselves made of colour. It was hard to stare at. Like it had a gaze of its own looking back at you. Simra turned his eyes and they settled on the tips of his fingers, nails undered with black. Disgusting.

“It needs blood?” Somehow he’d known, in some back-dark cloister of his brain. Of course it did. He tried to say it like it was nothing, but feeling came in at the hems of his voice. Interest, apprehension, stirred and muddled. “Why?”

Kaliklu thought a moment. “Blood is a tie.” He brought his hands together, fingers knit. “Like family. You, a mother, a sister…” His hands pulled apart. “Like that, but still you are tied, do you understand? That is blood.”

Sisters and separation. That struck a nerve. Like he knew, thought he knew, presumed to know. A flash of anger rose up in Simra but banked down quick – just a coincidence, the wrong words said to the wrong person – but the sour taste of it stayed in his mouth. “It connects, then? Joins distant things?”

“Yes.”

“And things share across that joining? The heat of the earth here? This paint and your paint, tied together. Do you feel like you’re here when you’re painted like that? Warm like here wherever you are?”

“If the magic is strong.”

Might be he was flattering himself, but Simra reckoned he caught a hint of something in Kaliklu’s face at that. Not respect, nor even quite appreciation, but an admission, a gratitude. Simra had grasped it, straight to the root. It made a satisfying kind of sense now he saw it, clear as smoke in a cloudless sky.

“And my help…” Simra began. “How much d’you need?”

“Enough. Not a lot. Only enough that there is blood in the mixing.”

Simra’s back teeth set and started to grind. “Can it not be other blood? An animal?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t have any though, do we?” The thing outside, all white flesh and shell — Simra had watched the other Kogaru butcher it, but hadn’t once seen it bleed.

“You said that you would help.”

“I will,” Simra said, harder than he’d meant to. “Just trying to understand.”

Kaliklu crouched to the floor of the cave, dry packed dirt amongst all this glassy stone. There was a shallow pit holed out before the painted corner, a bowl two hands across. Kaliklu placed a hand at the edge of it, showing Simra.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Fine fine fine.”

Reaching into the hidden padded pocket of his jacket, Simra brought out the razor he kept there with careful fingers. A wedge-shaped blade of bronze, almost like an axe-head shrunk down to size. Its thin tang curled to a spiral and Simra gripped it by that, delicate as he could.

Kishewyr had sworn by bloodletting, Simra remembered. Some High Rock assumption about balance in the body. It’d always seemed a fool thing to Simra, imagining a body could have too much blood. Rather that than too little. But Simra had watched a time or two, half-drunk and curious as with the careless slow focus that came from his pipesmoke, Kishewyr found his letting kit, found a vein…

Now Simra took off the braided string from his neck, old arrowhead hanging from its end. Rolled up a sleeve and twisted the cord tight partway up his arm till it bit and the skin swelled either side. Left hand, he’d decided. His right had suffered enough, all old scars and new scabs. He flexed, watching the tendons move, fighting a rising sickness and trying not to think. The veins showed raised, pink-blue through the grey back of his hand. Do it. Now, before you can think too much. Easy as stubbing your toes in the dark, done before you know it’s done, and impossible to do if you’re trying. First came the bloom of red from the vein he’d found on the back of his hand, and then the blossoming pain. The welling and drip of blood from his knuckles and into the packed dirt bowl.

Simra didn’t look. No need anymore. Just a small cut, he'd seen to that much. None of that showy palm-gashing and prick-swinging that came with the swearing of blood-oaths in the old Nord sagas and songs. Too much risk that you'd cut something that wouldn't fix right. Just a small cut, that's all the situation asked. Still, his head felt full of air. He couldn’t stop thinking of what to wipe the blade on. Scarce anything on the blade to wipe, but the thought kept coming back. He’d done worse to himself by accident; others had done worse and he’d done still worse to them. Almost funny that this was so difficult, then. Made him feel sick as it did. It wasn’t the blood or the cut. Just some other something, better left nameless.

“That is enough,” said Kaliklu. He had brought out a skin-wrapped knot of grease, white-yellow. He warmed it to melting in his hands. Mixed it in the bowl with the blood, spitting too now and then till a thick red paste had formed.

Amazed and repulsed the old mer had so much so much spit in him, Simra untwisted the cord and looped it off his arm. Standing, arm held awkward above his head to slow the blood, he hurried over to his bags and fished one-handed through them till he found a strip of cloth, same as had bound his right hand. Muttering, fidgeting and unsure what to do next, he licked the wound and spat too. Copper on his tongue. He wrapped the back of his hand tight.

“What now?” Simra said. “Need tears now too, do you?”

“No.” Kaliklu didn’t look up. “Wake him. The one you hurt. He needs it most.”

The youngest Kogaru woke with a bleary-eyed grimace. He straightened, leaning on a patchy-painted arm with his twisted leg stuck out along the ground in front of him. He wasn’t shivering now. Only making faces when he set his weight wrong, or forgot, and moved the wrong muscle. Seemed a night in the warm cave had done him good. He and the elder spoke in their own tongue, and Simra gave up listening.

The sound of striking stones, the starting of a fire, echoed down into the chamber. The elder crossed to the bowl of dirt and paint again, and chanted as he smeared the wall. Another red handprint, shining new, and then he came back to the boy. Smoke-scent from above.

Simra thought, as the elder mended the patches in the boy’s paint with careful hands and low murmuring words. As the hunter above made fire with stones on stones and set his kindling burning. He wondered about this binding with blood, this sharing across spaces. If they did it with warmth, could they do it with fire? They wouldn't use magic to call one from nothing, but maybe they could borrow across distance. If warmth, then why not the rest of a flame — its light and its hungry violence. He thought about what Noor had said about sigils, about writing that wasn't writing, songs that store themselves even when the singer is silent. But they still needed a singer, she said. A sigil doesn't cast itself. There was something in that, half-hidden from him, but huge just beyond his knowing. Like seeing a sliver of an island out to sea, and knowing it’s a mountain beneath the water. Or maybe not. He’d have to think on this, sound out that connection. Watch the Kogaru and see where that took him.

The painting was done now. Kaliklu turned his attention to the boy’s leg. The skin was wrinkled and wrong in one snarled spot. Beneath it, the muscles bulged and knotted. Clucking in his throat, Kaliklu rubbed his hands together, still cloyed with paint and blood, and pressed down with both palms. A long sigh, and he worked into the flesh with the undersides of his knuckles. Simra saw the tendons in the old mer’s neck stand taut as he pushed hard. His shoulders sunk and slumped, all the weight of his effort and patience down over the boy’s leg. And when his hands came clear, the skin was still wrong, but the muscles had laxed. They tensed, twitched, but the worst was gone.

If it was magic or not, Simra couldn’t say. Might be someone like Noor would claim wisdom was there even in things that took no magic to do. Wisdom, the real wide range of it, was in knowing what others don’t. How to slaughter a guar without sight of the knife souring its meat. How to turn the milk of its ralk into curds and then cheese. How to bring a baby out into the world when the baby won’t let itself come. And now this too. Simra felt bitter over it, covetous and lack-hungry with all he didn’t know. Cheated somehow too, in some cold part of himself. He'd seen the spell in his wand do worse by far to a body. Here it had been weak, easy to fix.

The smell of sizzling flesh, cooking meat was coming down into the cave. The sweet-ripe firm smell of shellfish, but with no tang of the ocean. The other Kogaru was cooking his kill.

Simra could hear Llolamae talking, asking questions, and getting nothing back. He curled and uncurled the fingers of his hand, twisted his wrist this way and that, wary for anything amiss. Nothing, except that the blood wouldn't stop. The rag was red with it now, soaked through.

“Sure you don’t need any more?” Simra muttered.

“It is enough.”

“Still coming. Let me know if your mind changes.” Simra’s lips pulled back, showing a bitter flicker of teeth. If Kaliklu heard the tone of his words, he did nothing to note it. “Well that’s my part of the trade done, anycase. What about yours?”

“Wait. If we are to help you—”

“If?” Simra echoed. The slow seeping away of his blood was doing nothing for his patience. “Wish I’d known there was any ‘if’ about this before I cut myself for you… Help. Will you or won’t you?”

Kaliklu was silent a moment before he spoke. “Yes. But we will give the help in our time, not yours. Or would you try to force us again?”

Simra tried to ignore the temptation in that. Two against one. He still had the razor in his right hand. His mouth felt dry and stiffened. He could do it, but it would only give them reason to lie, trick him. He needed this done, dealt with, worse than he needed it done soon. “In your time,” he said, though his tongue was sour with it.

“Come then. We will eat. Then we will talk more of trade.”

[rathma]

like yeah they have names but The Templar and The Necromancer is so much more delicious